hnmmdlespn / a chapter of adventures: or, through the bombardment of alexandria. mr. henty's historical tales. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges. each book is beautifully illustrated. the cat of bubastes: a story of ancient egypt. «. the young carthaginian: a story of the times of hannibal, s. for the temple: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. ». the lion of st. mark: a story of venice in the th century. s. the lion of the north: a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wars of religion. . in the reign of terror: the adventures of a westminster boy during the french revolution. *. - the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. s. in freedom's cause: a story of wallace and bruce. s. st. george for england: a tale of cressy and poitiers. s. under drake's flag: a tale of the spanish main. s. orange and green: a tale of the boyne and limerick. s. bonnie prince charlie: a tale of fontenoy and culloden. s. the bravest of the brave: or, with peterborough in spain. s. with wolfe in canada: or, the winning of a continent. s. with clive in india: or, the beginnings of an empire. s. true to the old flag: a tale of the american war of inde- pendence. s. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. s. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. s. for name and fame: or, through afghan passes. s. f -« < i blackie <fc son, limited: london, glasgow, & edinburgh. s - a chapter of adventures: or, through the bombardment of alexandria. by g. a. henty, author of " by pike and dyke;" "the lion of st. mark;" "the cat of bubastes;" "bonnie prince charlie;" "by england's aid;" ac. with six full-page illustrations by w. b. overend. blackie & son, limited, london, glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. . illustrations. waiting for help, frontispiece. jack beaches the spar, the fight with the egyptian rioters the three lads witness the bombardment, "surrender," jim shouted, "or we fire!" caught in the cyclone a chapter of adventures. chapter i. a fishing village. |f the tens of thousands of excursionists who every summer travel down by rail to southend, there are few indeed who ever stop at leigh, or who, once at southend, take the trouble to walk three miles along the shore to the fishing village. it may be doubted, indeed, whether along the whole stretch of coast-line from plymouth to yarmouth there is a village that has been so completely overlooked by the world. other places, without a tithe of its beauty of position, or the attraction afforded by its unrivalled view over the thames, from gravesend to warden point, ever alive with ships passing up and down, have grown from fishing hamlets to fashionable watering-places; while leigh remains, or at any a fishing population. rate remained at the time this story opens, ten years ago, as unchanged and unaltered as if, in- stead of being but an hour's run from london, it lay far north in scotland. its hill rises steeply behind it; there is room only for the street between the railway and the wharves, and for a single row of houses between the line and the foot of the hill. to get into leigh from the country round it is necessary to descend by a steep road that winds down from the church at the top of the hill; to get out again you must go by the same way. the population is com- posed solely of fishermen, their families, and the shopkeepers who supply their necessities. the men who stand in groups in the street and on the wharf are all clad in blue guernseys or duck smocks and trousers of pilot cloth or canvas. broad-built sturdy men are they, for in point of physique there are few fishermen round the coast who can compare with those of leigh. a stranger in the place would think that the male population had nothing to do but to stand in the street and talk, but night is for the most part their time for work; although many of the bawleys go out on the day-tide also, for at leigh the tide is all-important. for five hours in the rising tide. day it washes the foot of the wharves, for seven a wide expanse of mud stretches away to canvey island in front, and southend pier to the east. at the wells—for leigh still depends for water on its wells—are, during the hours at which water is permitted to be drawn, lines of twenty women and girls with pails, each patiently waiting her turn. there are not many boys about, for boys require more sleep than men, and a considerable portion of their time on shore is spent in bed. it is ten o'clock in the day; the bawleys have returned from the fishing grounds, and scores of them have anchored in the ray—a deep stretch of water lying between the spit of sand that extends from the end of canvey island close up to south- end pier, and the mud-flats of leigh. the flats are still uncovered, but the tide is rising fast in the winding channel leading up to the village. in a few minutes there will be water enough for the boats, and already these can be seen leaving the bawleys and making for the mouth of the channel. the wind is fair, and each boat hoists its sail, white or yellow or brown, and with the crew sitting up to windward comes flying along the shallow channel, making, as they always do, a race of it home. a fisher lad. the boats are large and roomy, and are, as they need to be, good sea-boats; for they have at times to live in rough water that would swamp lighter craft like cockle-shells. each boat carries two men and a boy, that being the regular crew of a bawley; although, perhaps, for rough winter work, they may sometimes take an extra hand. in the bow of the first boat that comes tearing along up to the wharf sits a good-looking lad, about four- teen years old. his face is bronzed with the sun and wind, his clothes are as rough and patched as those of the other fisher lads; but although as strong and sinewy as any of his companions of the same age, he is somewhat slighter in his build, more active in his movements, and has a more springy and elastic walk in spite of the heavy boots that he wears. he helps the others to land several baskets of shrimps, and carry them to the railway-station hard by. they are already boiled, for the bawleys carry coppers, into which the shrimps are baled straight from the nets, so that they are in readi- ness to send off to town as soon as they are landed. when the baskets are all piled on the platform he crosses the line, follows it along for some fifty yards, and then enters a neat cottage facing it . jack's mother. "back again all safe, jack?" "all right, mother! it's been a fine night, with just enough wind, and not too much. i ought to have been in half an hour ago, but tide is late this morning." "lily brought word, just as she was starting for school, that the boats were coming up the creek, so your breakfast is all ready." "and so am i, mother; though i had a piece of bread and cheese when we dropped anchor. i will just wash my hands, and be ready in a jiffey." mrs. robson was a native of leigh. her father had been a fisherman, who had owned his own bawley; indeed, most of the boats at leigh are the property of one of the men who work them. bessy tripper—not that her real name was tripper, but snow; but her father for some un- known reason got the nickname of tripper, and his sons and daughters were also called by it, and would hardly have answered if addressed as snow—was one of the prettiest girls in leigh; so thought william robson, a young artist, who came down to leigh to spend the summer there, sketch- ing the picturesque boats as they came in and out, or lay, with their heads pointing all round the compass, on the soft mud. a love-match. he had taken lodgings at tripper's house, and when not at work with his brush spent much of his time on board the enterprise, bessy tripper was a conspicuous figure in the foreground of many of his sketches, and occupied as prominent a place in his thoughts. she was as sweet-tem- pered as she was pretty, and at last will robson made up his mind to marry her if she would take him. he was himself an orphan, and had no friends who had any right to object to his marry- ing according to his fancy, and he could therefore do as he pleased without question or comment. bessy tripper was quite ready to take him when he asked her, and they were married at the church at the top of the hill, and went to live at a little cottage near dulwich. william robson was no genius; he had the knack of painting pretty marine sketches in water- colours. these sold readily, but at low prices; and although he was always talking of doing a great picture in oils that was to make his fortune, the picture never was painted. he was always too busy at what he called pot-boilers, which had to be sold to dealers for a trifle, in order to enable him to meet the butcher and baker's bills. he never repented his marriage; bessy was an back at leigh. admirable housewife, and made a shilling go as far as many women would a half-crown. in the summer they generally went down for a couple of months to leigh, for her to see her friends, for him to gather a fresh stock of new subjects. he died suddenly from the effects of a chill, and when his affairs were wound up bessy found her- self mistress of the five hundred pounds for which he had insured his life, and the furniture of the cottage. it was natural that she should return to leigh. she had no friends elsewhere; and she knew that money went much further there than in most other places. two hundred pounds were spent in purchasing the cottage in which she now lived, and another two hundred in buying a bawley. at leigh, as at most other fishing places, the men work on shares—the boat takes a share, and each of the men a share—the owner of a boat supplying nets as well as the boat itself. the bawley, therefore, brought mrs. robson in a sum equal to that earned by a fisherman, with deduc- tions, however, for damages to nets and spears. in good seasons the receipts sufficed to keep her and her boy and girl comfortably; in bad seasons they had to live very closely, and she was obliged in specially bad times to dip a little into on board a bawley. her reserve of a hundred pounds. upon the other hand, there was occasionally a windfall when the smack rendered assistance to a vessel on the sands, or helped to get up anchors or discharge cargoes. at the time of her husband's death jack was ten years old and lily eight. for two years the former attended the school on the hill, and then went as a boy on board a bawley belonging to one of his uncles. the lad's own predilections were entirely for the sea; his happiest times had been spent at leigh, and his father's work had kept the longing alive at other times. he would have preferred going to sea in one of the ships of which there was always such a line passing up and down the river, but he was too young for that when he first began his work on board the bawley; and as the time went on, and he became accustomed to the life of a fisherman, his longings for a wider ex- perience gradually faded away, for it is seldom indeed that a leigh boy goes to sea-—the leigh men being as a race devoted to their homes, and regarding with grave disapproval any who strike out from the regular groove. "we did well this morning, mother," jack said ( ) "i am going to help uncle ben." as he came downstairs in a clean guernsey and pilot trousers. "we had a fine haul off the lower blyth, and not a bad one higher up. i fancy most of the boats did well. the hope was close to us, and i expect she must have done as well as we did." "that's good news, jack. the catches have not been heavy lately, but now they have once begun i hope that we shall have a better time of it." the breakfast was fish, for fish is the chief article of diet at leigh. "are you going to bed, jack?" "no, mother; i did not start until half-past one, and so i got a good six hours before i turned out. i am going to help uncle ben put a fresh coat of pitch on our boat. he is going to bring her in as soon as there is water enough. tom stopped on board with him, but they let me come ashore in atkins' boat; and of course i lent them a hand to get their fish up. we shall land our lot when the bawley comes up." "then you won't go out again to-night, jack?" "oh, yes, we shall, mother. we shall go out with the tide as usual. we shall only do up to the water-line, and the pitch will be plenty dry ( ) b sunday rest. enough by night . we are going to fish over by warden point, i think." "i am glad to hear it," his mother said. "i al- ways feel more comfortable when you are on that ground, as you are out of the track of steamers there." "uncle is talking of going down to harwich next week." mrs. robson's face fell. she had expected the news, for every year a considerable number of the leigh bawleys go down to harwich and fish off that port for two or three months. the absence of jack was always a great trial to her. when he was with her she felt that he was safe, for it is an almost un- heard-of thing for a bawley to meet with an acci- dent when fishing in the mouth of the thames; but off harwich the seas are heavy, and although even there accidents are rare—for the boats are safe and staunch and the fishermen handle them splendidly—still the risk is greater than when working at home. the leigh men themselves attribute their free- dom from accident, in no slight degree to the fact that their boats never go out on sunday. they are god-fearing men these fishermen, and however bad the times, and however hard the pinch, it is a dangerous passage. seldom indeed that a bawley puts out from leigh on sunday, save to the assistance of a vessel in distress. the excursionists who go down in summer weather to margate and ramsgate scarcely think that ships could be cast away and broken up upon the hidden sands beneath the sparkling waters. they know not that scarce one of these sands but at low water is dotted with low, black timbers, and that there are few more dangerous pieces of navigation in the world than the passage up the mouth of the thames on a wild night when a fierce gale is blowing and the snow and sleet driving before it, obscuring the guiding lights that mark the channels between the sands. the bessy—for so ben tripper had named his bawley, after his favourite sister—was lying on the mud just above leigh. a fishy smell pervaded the air, for close by were the boiling-sheds, with their vast heaps of white cockle-shells. these were dug by the cocklers either from the sand at the end of the canvey island or on the maplin sands somewhere off shoebury. the large boats often return deeply laden with them. on reaching leigh the cockles are thrown out in great heaps by the side of the creek, where they cockle heaps. are covered at each tide. here they are left to clean themselves, and to get rid of the sand they have taken in when burrowing. two or three days later they are carried up to the boiling-houses and thrown into great coppers of boiling water. they open at once, and the fish drop from the shells. the contents of the coppers are passed through large meshed sieves, to allow the fish to pass through and retain the shells, which go to add to the heaps outside. these heaps would in time rival in size the cinder tips of the midlands were it not that there is a use for the shells. they make splendid lime, and are sometimes taken away in barge-loads and carried to town, where they are used instead of gravel in the parks, making, when crushed, the whitest and tidiest of paths. before starting jack had put on canvas jumper, leggings and high boots, and was soon at work with his uncle, ankle-deep in the mud. the bawleys are boats almost peculiar to leigh, although a few hail from gravesend and the medway. they are from thirty to forty-five feet long, and are divided into three classes of from six to fifteen tons burden. they are very "broad in comparison to their length, some of them having a beam of fif- teen feet, and they carry their width almost to the the leigh bawley. stern, which is square. this gives the boats a dumpy appearance, as they look as if they had been cut short. they are half-decked, with a roomy fo'castle and a well, where the fish are kept alive. they carry one mast the peculiarity of their rig is that they have no boom to their mainsail, which in shape somewhat resembles a barge-sail, and, like it, can in a moment be brailed completely up. they carry a lofty topmast and large topsails, and these they seldom lower, even when obliged to have two reefs in the mainsail. they are capital sea-boats, fast, and very handy; and it requires a good yacht to beat a bawley with a brisk wind blowing. the men are keen sailors, and when the trawls are taken up and their heads turned homewards it is always a race to be first back. ten years ago all the bawleys were clinker- built—that is, with the streaks overlapping each other, as in boats; but the new bawleys are now all carvel-built, the planks being placed edge to edge, so as to give a smooth surface, as in yachts and large vessels. they now for the most part carry spinnakers, boomed out when running before the wind, and balloon foresails, thereby greatly adding to their speed in light winds. one peculi- "a flock of broken-backkd ducks." arity of the bawleys is that, when at anchor, the mainsail, instead of being stowed with its spars parallel to the deck, is made up on its gaff, which is then hoisted with the throat seven or eight feet up the mast, while the peak rests on the stern. this is done to give more room on deck, and enable the men to get more easily in and out of the fo'castle. it has, however, a curious appear- ance, and a fleet of bawleys at anchor resembles nothing so much as a flock of broken-backed ducks. ben tripper and his mate, tom hoskins, finished tarring the boat under her water-line soon after four o'clock in the afternoon, jack's share of the work consisting in keeping the fire blazing under the pitch kettle. "what time shall we go out, uncle?" "not going out at all, jack. we will finish tarring her the first thing in the morning, and there are two or three odd jobs want doing." "will you want me, uncle? because, if not, i shall go out early with bill corbett cockling. his father has hurt his leg, and is laid up, so he asked me to lend him a hand. i told him i didn't know whether you were going out again to-night or "you can go, jack." whether you could spare me in the morning, but that if you didn't want me i would go with him." "you can go, jack; besides, you will be in early anyhow. we will do the tarring without you." wlm chapter il caught by the tide. hack ran home. "i thought you would have been in by two o'clock, jack," his mother said reproachfully, "so as to see lily before she went off to school again." "so i should have done, mother, but i had to stick at the work until we had finished up to the water-line. uncle ben thought it was not worth while knocking off." jack's meal of bread and bacon was soon finished, then he waited a little until lily had returned from school. "come on, lil," he said; " i have been waiting to take you out with me." "be in by six," mrs. robson said. "all right, mother! we are only just going down to the shore." near the little coast-guard station they came upon bill corbett. be is one of the lazy ones. "can you come to-morrow, jack?" "yes; uncle has agreed to do without me. what time are you going to start?" "we will go out as late as we can, jack. we can get down the creek till three anyhow, so at three o'clock you be ready down here." "joe is going, i suppose?" "oh, yes, he does to carry the cockles to the boat while we scrape them out . that is a nice bawley, that new one there; she only came in this tide. that is the boat tom parker has had built at brightlingsea he expects she is going to beat the fleet. she will want to be a rare good one if she does, and i don't think tom is the man to get the most out of her anyhow." "i don't reckon he is," jack agreed. "he would never have bought that boat out of his own earn- ings, that is certain. it is lucky for him his uncle in town died and left him four hundred pounds. he is one of the lazy ones, he is. half the times he never goes out at all. it is either too rough, or there ain't wind enough, or he don't think it is a likely day for fish. his mother will do a sight better now that he has got a boat of his own, and she will get someone else to work hers. i should not like to work on shares the coast-guard station. with him though he has got a new boat and gear." "well, i must be going," bill said, "shall i knock at your door as i pass in the morning?" "you will find me there as the clock strikes three, bill; but if i ain't, you knock." bill corbett, who was a lad some two years older than jack, strolled away. jack and lily sat down on the sloping stage from which the coast-guards- men launched their boats, and began to chat to the man standing with a telescope under his arm at the door of the boat-shed. jack was very fond of talking to the coast-guardsmen. they had not, like the fishermen, spent all their lives between gravesend and harwich, but had sailed with big ships and been to foreign parts. one of them had been in the china war, another had fought in india with peel's naval brigade, had helped bat- ter down the palace fortresses of lucknow, and when in the humour they had plenty of tales of stirring incident to relate. jack was a favourite with the coast-guardsmen, for he possessed the virtue rare in boys of being able to sit still; and as his favourite place was the slip in front of the boat-house, and he would sit there cutting out toy boats by the hour, he gene- the fleet of bawleys. rally came in for a good deal of talk with the men who happened to be on duty. this afternoon, however, the men were busy burnishing up their arms and getting everything into apple-pie order, as the inspecting officer was to come on his rounds the next morning; so jack after a time strolled along the path between the railway and the track, lily prattling by his side and stopping to gather wild convolvulus and grasses. the sea was out now, and the mud stretched away, glistening red and brown in the sunlight. beyond in the ray lay a long line of bawleys, while a score or more nearer at hand lay heeled over on the mud as they had been left by the receding tide. to a stranger the black hulks would have looked exactly like each other; but the leigh men could tell every boat afloat or ashore, even without looking at the number painted on her bulwarks, just as a shepherd can pick out one sheep from a flock. "it is time to go back, lily," jack said at last. "mother said we were to be in at six, and it can- not be far off that now. there is the yarmouth steamer going up. it is about her time." "how do you know it is the yarmouth steamer, jack?" reckless captains. "oh, i don't know. i know her by her look. i know pretty near all of them—the yarmouth, the scotch, and the dutch boats." "they all look to me alike." "ah! that is because they are a long way off, lily. there is a lot of difference between them when you are close. we know them all, and which whistles if we are in the way, and which will give way for us, and which will come right on without minding whether they run us down or not. the colliers are the worst for that, they just go straight on, and expect you to get out of the way, and don't mind a rap about the rule of the road or anything else. i should like to see half a dozen of those captains hanged." "i do not think it is right to say that, jack." "well, i should like to see them get five dozen lashes anyhow," jack said, "well laid on by some of our fishermen. they would give it 'em heartily, and it would do them a world of good,, and save many a life afterwards. it is too bad the way those fellows go on; they don't care a bit about running down a small craft in the dark. in the first place, they know very well that they are not likely to be recognized, and so steam straight on, and leave men to drown; and in the daybreak. next, if they are recognized, they are ready to swear that black is white all round, and will take their oaths you hadn't got your side-lights burn- ing, or that you changed your course, and that they did all in their power to prevent a collision. i wish some of the people of the board of trade would come down the river sometimes in sailing- boats and see the way these coasters set the law at defiance, and fine them smartly. what is the use of making rules if they are never observed? well, here we are home, and the church is just striking six, so we have hit off the time nicely." by eight o'clock jack was in bed, and having acquired the fisherman's habit of waking at any hour he chose, he was at the door when bill cor- bett and his brother joe came along. the day was already breaking faintly in the east, for the month was may. "going to be fine, bill?" jack asked. "dunno. wind is blowing strong from the north, though we don't feel it here." the water was off the flats and had sunk some distance in the creek. "it is lower than i expected," bill said. "come on; come on." "where is she, bill?" out in the sands. "close to the foot of the steps." the boat had already taken ground; but bill, getting into the water with his high boots, shoved her off. the mast was stepped and sail hoisted, and she was soon running fast down the creek. , "the boats were off an hour ago, i suppose?" jack remarked. "ay, more than that. some of them turned out at half-past one. but those whose boats were down the channel didn't go for half an hour later. father told me. i saw him before i started. he couldn't sleep with the pain in his leg." twenty minutes' sailing took them down to the mouth of the creek and into the wider channel. they now turned the boat's head directly off shore, and jibed the sail, and bore off for the sands stretching away from the end of canvey island. "no other boats here this morning?" jack asked as the boat ran ashore. "no; three or four of them went down to shoebury last night. they say there is more cockles down there than there is here now. but father said we had best come here. i sup- pose he thought that joe, you, and me, made but a poor cocklers' crew. of course, with the wind digging fob cockles. blowing off shore, it is all right anyhow; but men never think us boys can do anything. why, i would not mind a bit starting, us three, for har- wich. i reckon these boats are just as safe as the bawleys?" "i think so too; but they want more hand- ling. however, i expect we could manage it." they had now got out their implements, con- sisting of a shovel, a large rake, and a couple of baskets, on shore, and fastening the boat with a grapnel, went to the place where experience had taught them it was best to dig, and were soon at work. the cockles were for the most part buried some five or six inches in the sand, and were found in great numbers; the two elder boys digging and raking while joe picked them up, and threw them into the baskets. as these were filled bill carried them down on his shoulder to the boat, put the baskets into the water, gave them a heave or two to wash some of the sand off the cockles, and then emptied them into the boat. it was a broad-beamed craft, of over twenty feet long, and would carry more than a ton of cockles if filled up. the sun had long been up, the clouds were fly- ing fast across the sky, and the wind was work- a steamer aground. ing round to the east, knocking up a short choppy sea as it met the ebb, and covering the river with white horses. the boys worked away sturdily, ceasing occa- sionally from their labours to go down and shove the boat further off as the tide fell. at six it was dead low. they had each brought with them a bag with some bread and cheese, and a tin of cold tea, and now sat down on the gunwale of the boat for breakfast. having finished that meal, they continued their work till nine o'clock, by which time they had got several bushels on board. "look there!" joe exclaimed suddenly; "there is a big steamer has run on to the middle ground." the boys had just thrown down their spade and rake, and had agreed to knock off, and they now ran across to the outside of the strip of sand, which had by this time narrowed very considerably. "she will get off easy enough as the tide rises," joe said; "but they won't be able to back her off now." "no; she does not move in the least," jack agreed. "her screw is working hard astern now. look how high her head is. she has run a long way up with wind and tide and steam. she must have gone on it hard." caught by the tide. "she had best get a couple of anchors out astern," bill said, " before she gets broadside on." this was evidently also the view of the captain, as two boats were lowered and anchors got into them. but it is no easy matter to row a boat with a heavy weight in it against wind and tide; and before they had got fairly away from the vessel she had already swung round a consider- able distance, and was heeling over a good deal from the force of the wind and tide. it was nearly half an hour before the boats were far enough off to get the anchors over with any effect . "they won't dare to haul on them now," joe said. "they would only come home. those anchors ain't heavy enough to work her stern round. i expect when a tug comes along they will get them to help, else she will keep on driving higher and higher." "hallo!" the exclamation came from jack, who now happened to look round towards the boat. they had accidentally taken their stand on the highest point of the sand-bank, and in watching the steamer had forgotten all about the tide, which, under the influence of a north-east wind, had risen with great rapidity. the patch of dry ( ) c the boat adrift. sand was scarcely fifteen yards wide, and would be entirely covered in a very few minutes. "look, bill, the boat has gone!" it was true. the grapnel, a very light one, with a short length of rope, had been thrown carelessly down on the sand when they last hauled the boat up, and as the full strength of the tide had caught the boat, it had dragged a consider- able distance, and was drifting away up the ray. "what is to be done?" joe exclaimed. "do you think we could wade along to the island, bill?" jack asked. bill shook his head. "no; there are deep chan- nels where it would be over our heads. i can't swim a stroke, no more can joe." "shall i swim to the boat, bill, and try and get her back?" joe shook his head. "she is in deep water now, jack, and the grapnel ain't holding her a bit; she will drift as fast as you can swim. but of course you can try if you like, it don't make any difference to us, for you could never beat back against this wind and tide. what fools we have been, to be sure!" "the boats will soon be coming back now," "she is heading straight off to us." jack said hopefully. "there are some of them this side of the chapman now." bill shook his head. "it will take them three quarters of an hour to beat up, jack." jack turned and looked the other way. "here are three of them coming in from the nore, bill. they will not be very long before they are up." "they will be here before the others, jack; but i doubt they will be in time. water will be breast- high before they get up, and they may drop an- chor down at the mouth of the ray and not see us. our best chance is the shore." he shaded his eyes and looked steadily across at leigh. "there is a man running from the coast-guard station," he said. "there! there are two or three others running to meet him. now they are going back together." the boys stood looking fixedly at the station. "hooray!" jack said after a minute; "there comes the boat out of the house. do you see they are getting her down the slip; now she is in the water." another minute passed, and then a white sail appeared. "she is heading straight off to us, bill. with this wind she will be here in a quarter of an hour." but the tide was already half-way up to their "get off your sea-boots." knees, and the waves beginning to splash against them. "will they be here in time, do you think, bill?" joe asked. "i hope so, joe," bill said cheerily. "they would be in plenty of time if it were not for the force of the tide. still, i think it is all right." the minutes passed rapidly; higher and higher rose the water, and the waves increased fast in size. it was as much as the boys could do to stand against the sweep of the stream. "bill, you had better take joe on your shoul- ders," jack said. "i have read that one man can carry another across a stream that he couldn't get over alone." "jump up, young un," bill said; "and you, jack, get off your sea-boots. you stand just be- hind me and hold on, i feel much steadier now that i have got joe on my shoulders. if you feel that you are going, leave go of me, you will only pull me backward holding on; and as you can swim you are all right. you have only got to keep yourself afloat, the tide will drift you up to the island in no time." "i don't mean to go if i can help it," jack said. "of course i could not swim with you two, but "you will have us over." if you would lie on your back quiet i might man- age to keep you up for a bit anyhow." the boat, heeling far over to the breeze, was dashing along at a great pace towards them. it was a question of minutes. jack found it ex- tremely difficult to keep his feet, the sand seemed to be scooped out from under them by the force of the tide. the wind, which was blowing in violent gusts, added to the difficulty of withstand- ing the force of the current and waves. "don't pull, jack," bill said, "or you will have us over." "i can't hold on without, bill. which shall i do? swim off alone, or hold on by you till we all go together?" "go off by yourself, jack; the boat will be here in five minutes now. i think i can hold on until then; anyhow, it is the best chance." they were now waist-deep; for, little by little, as the sand gave way under their feet, they had been driven backwards towards deeper water. "there is one other thing, bill. do you think you can shift joe so as to sit on one shoulder? if i get on your other it will add to your weight." "i will try it," bill said; "i was nearly off my feet then. get on to my left shoulder, joe. "i am going!" now, jack, you climb up. yes, i think that is better. i should be all right if the sand would not slide away so much from under my feet." several times jack felt bill totter and sway; he was fast being swept back into the deeper water. "if you do go, bill, do you and joe throw your- selves on your backs, and i will try and hold you up. the boat will be here in no time now." she was indeed less than a hundred yards away when bill exclaimed, "i am going!" "keep on your back, bill!" jack shouted as he went backwards under water. the three came up close together. jack seized the others by the hair, and throwing himself on his back, and striking out with his legs, tried to keep them in a similar position with their faces above water. bill lay quietly enough; but joe struggled to raise his head, and turning, grasped jack round the body, and in a moment the three were under water. jack kept his presence of mind; he knew that the boat was close at hand, and strove, not to loosen the grasp of his companions, which was impossible, but to come to the surface occasionally for an instant . saved. two or three times he managed this, and ob- tained a breath of air before he went under again. the last time, he saw the boat close at hand, and a rope fell across his face; but he could not free his hands to grasp it, and went under immediately. his senses were leaving him, when he felt some- thing grasp him, and then knew no more till he opened his eyes, and found himself in the bottom of the boat with his two companions. chapter iii. a run from harwich. fe of the sailors, dripping wet, knelt be- side him. "that is all right, lad; you will be yourself again directly." jack was already sufficiently recovered to sit up some time before either bill or joe showed signs of life; for, unable to swim or to take ad- vantage of their momentary intervals of coming to the surface, they had become insensible some time before he had done so himself. the sailors rubbed their chests and hands, and at last both showed signs of returning animation. "that was a close shave, jack," the coast-guards- man who was at the helm said. "it was lucky i made you out with my glass when i did. it was touch and go; i saw you trying to get them on their backs. if they had kept quiet you would have managed it; but drowning people never will keep quiet." "that has been a lesson." they were now running up the ray in pursuit of the boat, which had drifted into shallower water near the end of the island, and here the grapnel had brought it up. when they got up to it, the grapnel was raised and brought into the stern of the boat, and the coast-guard boat laid her course close-hauled for leigh, towing the other behind her. before they arrived at the slip the other two boys were both able to sit up. they would have taken their boat up beyond the village, but one of the fishermen said, "you go home and change; you have done quite enough for to-day. tom and i will take the boat up for you." "that has been a lesson to me i shall not for- get," bill said as they walked along. "you saved our lives, jack, there is not much doubt about that." "oh, i expect we should all have been fished out anyhow!" jack replied. "no, we should not, jack. anyhow, not alive. i thought just at first you were going to keep us up pretty easy, and then young joe twisted round and got hold of you, and we all went down to- gether. but i could feel then that somehow you were keeping us up, and i tried not to catch hold of your legs." on shore. "you did not, bill. i was able to use them just at first, and then, somehow, joe got hold of them. however, we all kept together, that was a good thing. if we had separated, i don't suppose they would have got us all." fortunately the news of the danger jack had run had not reached his mother, for she had been engaged in the back-room washing, and lily had gone up to school. at the first alarm many people had run down to the shore; the officer of the coast-guard with his glass had reported what was going on, and up to the last moment it had been believed that the boat would get to them in time, and there had been a gasp of dismay as he suddenly exclaimed, "they are down! the boat is only a few lengths away," he went on; "i expect they will get them. one of the men is standing up in the bow ready to jump." a half-minute later he exclaimed, "there he goes! there, they are hoisting them into the boat!" "have they got them all, sir?" "that i can't see; but i expect they have, for you see they have lowered the sail. yes! they must have got them all, for none of them are the excitement abates. standing up looking about, as they would be if one was missing." five minutes later the sail was hoisted again. the officer watched for a minute or two, and then closed his glass. "they are going up the ray," he said. "i ex- pect they are going to tow the boat in here; she is under the island. they would not trouble about that unless those they have picked up were all right, but would be making straight back again to see what could be done for them." the little crowd, now feeling that nothing worse than a ducking had happened to those on the sand, broke up and scattered to their houses. no one had known at first what boat it was whose occupants had got into trouble, and it was not till it was half-way back that it was made out to be corbett's. "why, i thought he was ill in bed?" one said. "so he is, but i expect his boys went out with it. it was not likely there was a man on board. no one but boys would be fools enough to get caught like that, and i should have thought bill corbett had too much sense." "why, jack, what has happened?" mrs. rob son asked as her son entered the house. a narrow escape. "nothing much, mother; but we have had a ducking. there was a steamer aground on the middle ground, and watching her we forgot all about the tide, and the boat drifted away and we got caught . of course i could swim, so there was no danger for me; but it would have gone hard with the two corbetts if the sailor at the coast-guard station had not made us out, and their boat put off and picked us up." "well, go and change your clothes at once, jack; it has taken all the colour out of your face. i will get a cup of hot tea ready for you by the time you come down." it was not until some of her neighbours came in, and talked to her about the narrow escape her son had had, that mrs. robson realized that jack's life had been in considerable danger, and it was well that she had him before her enjoying his tea before she learnt the truth. "it is no use getting into a fuss about it, mother," jack said cheerfully; "it is not going to happen again, you know. it has been a good lesson to me to keep my eyes open; and when i go cockling again i won't lose sight of the boat, not if there were twenty vessels ashore." a few days later jack started with his uncle at harwich. in the bessy for harwich. for himself he liked the life there better than at leigh. at home men could not be said to live on board their boats. they went only for short trips, taking a meal before starting, and another on their return; but doing no cooking on board. here they were out for longer hours, and the boat was always their home. they were more independent of the tide; and unless it and the wind were both dead against them, could at all times run out to their fishing ground, ten miles away, near the cork light- ship. the fishing was various. soles, whiting, and haddock were the principal fish brought up in the trawls; but there was occasionally a big skate or two in the net, and these had to be handled with considerable circumspection, as they could take off a finger or two with the greatest ease with their powerful jaws and sharp teeth. these fish were always hung up in the air for a day or two before eating, as the flesh improves by keeping; the eatable portions were then cut out, and the rest was thrown overboard. these fish were for the most part eaten by the crew; the small soles, dabs, and flounders were hawked in the town, and the rest of the take sent up to london, wrecks and nets. there was an excitement, too, in the fishing itself, apart from that connected with hauling up the trawl and examining its contents, for the sands off this coast are dangerous, and the wrecks, that have at one time or another taken place there, innumerable. occasionally a net would catch in one of the timbers that had perhaps been lying there a hundred years or more, and then it either came up torn into fragments, or if it ob- tained a really firm hold, there was nothing for it but to cut the trawl-rope and lose it altogether. in fine weather, however, this step would not be taken except as a last resource. after trying in vain to get the net and trawl up the rope would be buoyed, and the next day another attempt would be made to raise the net, the boat being assisted by three or four others. the loss of a net was a serious one, as it took ten pounds or more to replace it and the trawl-beam and its belongings. sometimes a storm would blow up suddenly, and then the nets had to be got on board with all speed, and the topsails lowered and mainsails reefed, and the fleet of perhaps a hundred vessels would go racing back into harwich, there to anchor just above the guard, or under shelter of stow-boating. the shotley spit, or a short way up the orwell, according to the direction of the wind. the hardest part of a leigh fisherman's life jack had not yet encountered, for boys are seldom taken stow-boating. stow-boating is really sprat catching, and no one can exactly explain the meaning of the term. it is carried on in winter at the edge of the sands, far down at the mouth of the river. boats are out for many days' together, frequently in terrible seas, when the boat is more under than above the water. the work of getting up the net is heavy and exhausting, and for all this hardship and labour the reward is often ex- ceedingly slight. sometimes the sprats are abun- dant, and good pay is made; sometimes, when the winter accounts are balanced up, the crew find that their share will barely suffice to pay for their keep on board, and not a farthing is left for the support of their wives and children. londoners who purchase sprats at an almost nominal price know but little of the hard struggle those who have caught them have to make ends meet . after fishing for a month, ben tripper said one friday evening, "we will run up to leigh to-morrow and spend sunday at home. i don't wet jackets ahead. think we shall lose much, for the weather looks bad, and i don't think there will be any fishing to-morrow." "i am pretty sure there won't, ben," his mate said. "i think that it is going to blow really hard, and that we shall get wet jackets as we go up." "we are accustomed to that," tripper said carelessly. "anyhow, if it comes to blow too hard for us we can make for shelter into the crouch or black water." "oh, we are all right as to that, ben! it is not a question of wet jackets or sea that i am think- ing of, only whether we are likely to drop anchor in the ray to-morrow night. if i were sure of that i should not mind a dusting; but i would rather lie here quiet than have a regular day's heavy knocking about, and then have to run in to burnham after all." "so would i," ben assented. "if the wind comes from anywhere to the west of south it is no use thinking about it. it has been chop- ping and changing about to-day, and there is no saying which way it will come when it fairly makes up its mind about it; but i think from the look of the sky this evening that it is as likely to the prospect of a fast run. come from the north-east as not, and in that case i allow we shall make a good passage of it." "ay, that is right enough," tom hoskins assented. "they say the run from harwich pier to leigh has never been done yet by a leigh baw- ley under six hours, though it has been pretty close several times. we have got the springs on now, and with the wind from the north-east we should run the six hours very close, if we didn't beat it. there are two or three of them can go faster than the bessy close-hauled, but running free i doubt if there is one can touch her." "we will make a start at seven," ben said. "we shall take the last of the ebb down to wal- ton, and then catch the flood and have it at its full strength by the time we are opposite clac- ton." jack was delighted at the thought of spending a sunday at home with his mother; but though it was not for him to give an opinion, he agreed with tom hoskins that they were likely to have a dusting on the way up. the sun had gone down angry and threatening; the stars could be only seen occasionally through driving masses of cloud, and even at her snug anchorage the bessy was rolling heavily, ( ) d "it looks rather wild." jack was out soon after dawn. there was a haze over sea andsky, and the wind was blowin g strongly; it was from the north-west now, but jack thought that it was likely to draw round to the quarter his uncle had predicted, "there must be a heavy sea on now all the way from the swin middle to the nore with the wind meeting a lee tide," he said to himself; "but of course when the ebb is done it will smooth down a bit, and will be all right if the weather does not come on too thick. a fog is bad enough and a gale is bad enough, but when you get the two together i would rather be at home and in bed by a long way than on board the bessy." "well, jack, what do you make out of the weather?" ben tripper asked, as he came out from the fo'castle. "it looks rather wild, uncle; but i think the wind is working round to the north of east, just as you thought it would last night." "yes; i think it is," ben said, surveying the sky. "well, get the fire alight at once, jack, and get breakfast ready; we will have our meal before we start. we shall have enough to do when we are once under way. i will run down to the naze anyhow, and then we shall see what round the naze. and get everything ship-shape and tidy. by the time they had finished, harwich was fairly behind them, and they were lying their course a point or two outside the naze, throwing the spray high each time the boat plunged into the short choppy sea. "nice place this, jack," his uncle said, "there is always a sea on the shallows if the wind is anywhere against tide. no wonder they call it the rolling ground. there, i will take the helm now. you had best get the compass up; i can't make out the point sometimes through the mist." an hour and a quarter from the time of getting up the anchor the bessy was off the point. as soon as the ugly ledge of rocks running far out under water was weathered, tripper put down the helm. "haul in the sheet, tom. that is right; now the sail is over. slack out—slack out all it will go; the wind is nearly dead aft. ease off the jib-sheet, jack. that is it . now she is walking along." the motion was smooth and easy now. the waves were much higher than in the shelter of the bay, but they were running easily and regu- larly, in nearly the same line the boat was "always leave well alone." following. coming up threateningly behind her, they lifted the stern high into the air, passing gently under her, hurrying her along as she was on the crest, and then passing on ahead and drop- ping her gently down into the hollow. "i think she would stand a reef shaken out, uncle," jack said. "she has got quite enough on her, jack, and is walking along at a grand pace. always leave well alone, lad. the squalls come up very strong sometimes, and i would not carry as much sail as we have got if she were a cutter with a heavy boom. as it is, we can brail it up at any moment if need be. we sha'n't be long getting down off clacton. then you must keep a sharp look-out for the spitway buoy. it comes on very thick at times, and it is difficult to judge how far we are out. however, i think i know pretty well the direction it lies in, and can hit it to within a cable's length or so. i have found it many a time on a dark night, and am not likely to miss it now. it will take us an hour and a half or so from the time we pass walton till we are up to the buoy. a heavy squalls. sail down, tom; the wind is heavy, and there is too much sea on here to drive her through it too fast." the sea would have been far heavier than it now was in another two hours' time, but the water was still very shallow on the sands, and this broke the force of the waves. the boat was now running along the narrow channel of deep water leading between the spitway buoy and the bell buoy, and almost at right angles to the course they had before been following. the wind was almost on their beam, and even under the reduced canvas the bessy was lying far over, the water covering three planks of her deck on the starboard side. they could see the buoy, and presently could hear its deep tolling as the hammers struck the bell with every motion of the buoy. "ah! here is another heavy rain squall coming down. i am glad we are round the bell buoy before it came up. jack, you may as well put the tea-kettle on. a cup of tea will be a com- fort." all three were wrapped up in oil-skins; but in spite of this they had a general sensation of damp- ness, for it had been raining more or less ever since they started. jack was below, when he heard a far louder roar of the wind than before, tea under difficulties. and heard his uncle shout, "brail up the main as far as you can, tom—the jib is about all we want now!" jack looked out from the fo'castle. the wind was blowing tremendously, sweeping the heads off the waves and driving them into sheets of spray; then great drops of rain struck the deck almost with the force of bullets, and a minute later it came down almost in bucketfuls. "do you want me, uncle?" he shouted. his voice did not reach ben's ears, but he guessed what he had said and waved his hand to him to remain in the fo'castle. jack took off his sou'- wester and shook the water from his oil-skin, and then opening the locker where the coke was kept replenished the fire. it settled down so dark when the squall struck the boat that he could scarcely see across the little cabin. regardless of the howling of the wind and the motion of the vessel, he sat on the floor putting in stick after stick to hasten up the fire. as soon as the kettle boiled he put in a handful of tea and some sugar and took the kettle off the fire, then he got a couple of large mugs and half-filled them with tea, and sat balancing them until the fluid was suffi- ciently cool to be drunk then tying on his sou'- with wind and tide. wester again he made his way out and gave a mug to each of the others. "go down below again, jack!" his uncle shouted at the top of his voice, and although jack was within two or three feet of him, he scarcely heard him. "there is nothing to be done at present here, and it is no use looking out for the swin middle at present." jack took a look round before he went below. away at some distance on either hand were white masses of foam where the sea was breaking on the sands. he went up to the bow and looked ahead through the darkness, then he went back to his uncle. "i caught sight of a light right over the bowsprit." "ah! they have lit up then," tripper said. "i thought they would, for it is almost as dark as night. you had best get the side-lights ready and the flare-up. i don't suppose we shall want them, for if we see a steamer coming down we will give her a clear berth. they won't be able to look far ahead in the face of this wind and rain." jack went forward again and lay down on the lockers. he thought little of the storm. it was a severe one, no doubt, but with the wind nearly due aft, and a weather tide, it was nothing a gun of distress. to the bessy, whose great beam in comparison to her length enabled her to run easily before the wind, when a long narrow craft would have been burying herself. presently he thought he heard his uncle shout, and getting up looked aft. tom hoskins was now at the helm. tripper was standing beside him, and pointing at something broad away on the beam. jack at once made his way aft. "what is it, under' "i saw the flash of a gun. ah! there it is again. there is a ship ashore on the middle sunk." jack gazed in the direction in which his uncle was pointing. in a minute there was another flash. "it is all over with her," ben tripper said solemnly. "the strongest ship that ever was built could not hold together long on that sand with such a sea on as there will be there now." "cannot we do something?" "tripper was silent for half a minute. "what do you think, tom? we might get there through the swash way. there is plenty of water for us, and we could lay our course there. it is a risky business, you know, and we may not be able to get near her when we get there; but that we "dont mind me, uncle." cannot tell till we see how she is fixed. still, if we could get there before she goes to pieces we might perhaps save some of them." "i don't mind, ben, if you don't," the other said. "i have neither wife nor child, and if you like to take the risk, i am ready." ben tripper looked at jack, "i would not mind if it wasn't for the boy," he said . "don't mind me, uncle," jack burst out. "i would not have you hang back because of me, not for anything in the world. do try it, uncle. it would be awful to think of afterwards, when we hear of her being lost with all hands, that we might have saved some of them perhaps if we had tried." ben still hesitated, when another bright flash was seen. it was an appeal for aid he could not resist. "put down the helm, tom," he said. "now, jack, help me to rouse in the sheet. that will do. now then for a pull on the jib-sheet. now we will put the last reef in the foresail and hoist it, slack the brail and haul down the maintack a bit. we must keep good way on her crossing the tide." now that they were nearly close- hauled instead of running before the wind, jack recognized much more strongly than before how making all snug. heavy was the sea and how great the force of the wind. lively as the boat was, great masses of water poured over her bow and swept aft as each wave struck her. her lee bulwarks were com- pletely buried. "give me the helm,tom," tripper said; "and get those hatchways up and cover the well, and lash the tarpaulin over it . it is bad enough here, it will be worse when we get into broken water near the wreck" most of the bawleys are provided with hatches for closing the long narrow place known as the 'well,' but it is only under quite ex- ceptional circumstances that they are ever used. jack and the man got them up and managed to fit them in their places, but getting the tarpaulin over them was beyond their power. "i will throw her up into the wind," ben said. "haul on the weather fore-sheet as i do, and belay it with the foot of the sail just to windward of the mast. now rouse in the main-sheet . that is right;" quitting the tiller as the boat lay-to to the wind, ben lent his aid to the other two, and in three or four minutes the tarpaulin was securely lashed over the hatches, and the boat completely battened down. a terrible half-hour. "now, jack, you had best lash yourself to some- thing or you will be swept overboard; we shall have it a lot worse than this presently. now, tom, before we get well away again get the last reef in the mainsail, then we can haul the tack down taut again; the sail will stand much better so, and we shall want to keep her all to windward if she is to go through the swashway." when all was ready the fore weather-sheet was let go, and the lee-sheet hauled taut. the main- sheet was slacked off a little and the bessy pro- ceeded on her way. it was a terrible half-hour; fortunately the dense heavy clouds had broken a little, and it was lighter than it had been, but this only rendered the danger more distinct. once in the swashway, which is the name given to a narrow channel between the sands, the waves were less high. but on either hand they were break- ing wildly, for there were still but four or five feet of water over the sands. the sea was nearly abeam now, and several times jack almost held his breath as the waves lifted the bessy bodily to lee- ward and threatened to cast her into the breaking waters but a few fathoms away. but the skipper knew his boat well and humoured her through the waves, taking advantage of every squall to eat up near the wreck. a little to windward, but always keeping her sails full and plenty of way on her. at last they were through the swashway; and though the sea was again heavier, and the waves frequently swept over the decks, jack gave a sigh of relief. they could make out the hull of the vessel now loom- ing up black over the white surf that surrounded it. she had ceased firing, either from the powder being wetted or her guns disabled. "which way had we better get at her, tom?" ben tripper asked. "she is pretty near on the top of the sand." "the only way we have a chance of helping her is by laying-to, or anchoring on the edge of the sand to leeward of her. they may be able to drift a line down to us. i do not see any other way. our anchors wouldn't hold to windward of her." "no; i suppose that is the best way, tom. we must make the best allowance we can for the wind and the set of tide, otherwise they will never drift a fine down to us. she won't hold together long. her stern is gone as far as the mizzen, so we must be quick about it." the wreck was evidently a sailing vessel. her masts were all gone, her bulwarks carried away, and she lay far heeled over. a group of people in the broken water. could be seen huddled up in the bow as they neared her. tom hoskins and jack had for the last ten minutes been busy getting the spare an- chor up on deck and fastening to it the warp of the trawl-net, which was by far the strongest rope they had on board. "what water is there on the sand, ben?" "six or seven feet on the edge, but less further on. we do not draw over five feet, so we will keep on till we touch. the moment we do so let the two anchors go. wind and tide will take her off again quick enough. pay out ten or twelve fathoms of chain, and directly she holds up drop the lead-line overboard to see if she drags; if she does, give her some more rope and chain." the anchors were both got overboard and in readiness to let go at a moment's notice, the instant the bessy took ground. the foresail was lowered and the mainsail partly brailed up, so that she had only way on her suffi- cient to stem the tide. as they entered the broken water jack was obliged to take a step back and hold on to the mast. her motion had before been violent, but to a certain extent regular; now she was tossed in all directions so sharply and vio- lently that he expected every moment that the anchored. mast would go. tom looked round at ben. the latter pointed to the sail and waved his hand. tom understood him, and going to the mast loos- ened the brail a little to give her more sail, for the waves completely knocked the way out of her. when she forged ahead again, tom returned to his post. jack held his breath every time the boat pitched, but she kept on without touching until within some eighty yards of the wreck; then as she pitched forward down a wave there was a shock that nearly threw jack off his feet, prepared for it though he was. in a moment he steadied him- self, and crept forward and cut the lashing of the hawser just as tom severed that of the chain. the latter rattled out for a moment. there was an- other shock, but less violent than the first, and then the renewed rattle of the chain showed that she was drifting astern. ben now left the tiller and sprang forward. the jib was run in by the traveller and got down, the foresail had been cast off and had run down the forestay the moment she struck, and the three now set to work to lower the mainsail. "she is dragging," tom said, examining the lead-line, "but not fast." "what is to be done?" "give her another five or six fathoms of chain," ben said, himself attending to the veering out of the hawser. this done they again watched the lead-line. it hung straight down by the side of the vessel. "they have got her," ben said, "now then for the ship." for the first time since they entered the broken water they had leisure to look about them. those on board the ship had lost no time, and had al- ready launched a light spar with a line tied to it into the water. "it will miss us," ben said, after watching the spar for a minute. "you see, i allowed for wind and tide, and the wind does not affect the spar, and the tide will sweep it down thirty or forty yards on our port bow." it turned out so. those on board payed out the line until the spar floated abreast of the smack, but at a distance of some thirty yards away. "what is to be done?" ben asked. "if we were to try to get up sail again we should drift away so far to leeward we should never be able to beat back." "look here," jack said; "if you signal to them to veer out some more rope i could soon do it . ( ) k "i could try, uncle." i could not swim across the tide now, but if it were twenty fathom further astern i could manage it." "you could never swim in that sea, jack." "well, i could try, uncle. of course you would fasten a line round me, and if i cannot get there you will haul me in again. there cannot be any danger about that." so saying jack at once proceeded to throw off his oil-skins and sea-boots, while ben went to the bow of the boat and waved to those on the wreck to slack out more line. they soon understood him, and the spar was presently floating twenty yards further astern. jack had by this time stripped. a strong line was now fastened round his body under his arms, and going up to the bow of the boat, so as to give himself as long a distance as possible to drift, he prepared for the swim. the spar reached. wind to the top of the waves. he trod water for a moment with his back to the wind, took a deep breath, and then dived again. when he came up he was delighted to see that he was as near as possible in the line of the spar, which was towing but a few yards from him. he ceased swimming, and a moment later the tide swept him down upon it. he had before starting fastened a piece of lash- ing three feet long to the loop round his chest, and the moment he reached the spar he lashed this firmly round the rope, and passing one arm round the spar lifted the other above his head. in a moment he felt the strain of the rope round his chest, and this soon tightened above the water. but jack felt that the strain of pulling not only him but the spar through the water might be too much for it, and rather than run the risk he again waved his hand, and as soon as the line slacked he fastened it to the rope from the wreck, loosened the hitches round the spar and allowed the latter to float away. he was half drowned by the time he reached the side of the bawley, for he had been dragged in the teeth of the wind and tide, and each wave had swept clean over his head. at first those on board pulled but slowly, in ( ) jack reaches the spar. i r. communication established. order to enable him to swim over the top of the waves. but the force of the spray in his face was so great that he could not breathe, and he waved to them that they must draw him in at once. as soon as they understood him they pulled in the rope with a will, and more under than above the water he was brought to the side of the smack and lifted on board, the wind bringing down the sound of a cheer from those on board the wreck as he was got out of the water. ben undid the line round his body, carried him downstairs, wrapped a couple of blankets round him and laid him down on the lockers, and then ran upstairs to assist tom, who had carried the line forward and was already hauling it in. "that is right, tom. they have got a good strong hawser on it, i see, and there is a light line coming with it to carry the slings." as soon as the end of the hawser came on board it was fastened to the mast. the line by which it had been hauled in was unfastened and tied to that looped round the hawser, and payed out as those on the deck hauled on it . a minute later two sailors got over the bulwarks, and a woman was lifted over to them and placed in the strong sling be- neath the hawser. a lashing was put round her, jack is set to work. and then they waved their hands and the fisher- men hauled on the line. in two minutes the woman was on the deck of the smack; the lashing was unfastened and knotted on to the sling ready for the next passenger, then at ben's signal that all was ready those on board the wreck hauled the sling back again. jack remained between the blankets for a minute or two. he had not lost consciousness; and as soon as his breath came he jumped up, gave himself a rub with the blanket, slipped into some dry clothes, and was on deck just as the woman arrived. she was all but insensible, and directly the sling had started on its return journey ben carried her on into the fo'castle. "jack! set to work and make a lot of cocoa. there are no spirits on board; but cocoa is better, after all. put the other kettle on and chuck plenty of wood upon the fire, and as soon as the one that is boiling now is empty, fill that up again. i should say there are twenty or thirty of them, and a pint apiece will not be too much. take a drink yourself, lad, as soon as you have made it. you want it as much as they do." fast the shipwrecked people came along the line. there was not a moment to lose, for the all saved. wreck was breaking up fast, and every sea brought floating timbers past the bawley. "it is a good job now, tom, that we anchored where we did, instead of in the direct line of the tide, for one of those timbers would stave a hole in her bow as if she were a bandbox." "aye, that it would, ben. i thought we had made rather a mess of it at first; but it is well that, as you say, we ain't in the line of the drift." nineteen persons were brought on board—the captain being the last to come along the line. the first four were women, or rather, the first two were women; the third a girl of ten years old, and the fourth a woman. then came a middle- aged man, evidently a passenger. then came ten sailors, a steward, two mates, and the captain. "is that all?" ben asked, as the captain stepped from the slings. "i am the last," the captain said. "thank god all are saved who were left on board when you came in sight. we all owe our lives to you and your men. i had little hope that one of us would live to see the night when we made you out coming towards us. but there is no time to talk. the ship cannot hold together many minutes "now, lads, lend a hand." longer, and when she breaks up in earnest some of the timbers will be sure to come this way." "i have got the buoy with a length of rope on the chain ready to slip," ben said, "and a spar lashed to the hawser. now, tom, let the chain out; i will jump below and knock out the shackle. now, captain, if one or two of your men will lend us a hand to get up some canvas, we shall be out of it all the sooner. and please get them all except the women out of the cabin, and put them aft. we want her head well up for running before this sea." "now, lads, tumble out and lend a hand," the captain said. "i see you have got some cocoa here. well, all who have had a mug come out at once, and let the others get aft as soon as they have had their share. the ladies are all right, i hope?" "quite right, captain," one of the men an- swered, "and begin to feel warm already; which is natural enough, for this cabin is like an oven after the deck of the petrel" "now, skipper, do you give the orders," the captain said as ben took the tiller. "run up the foresail and haul in the starboard- sheet. that will bring her head round." before the wind. "now let go the cable and hawser." there was a sharp rattle of chains, and the cry "all free!" "slack off that weather-sheet and haul down on the lee-sheet," was tripper's next order. "not too much. have you got the jib hooked on to the traveller? out with it, then. now, up with her. now man the throat and peak halliards. up with her. slack out the main-sheet well, and boom the sail out with an oar. trice the main- tack up as far as it will go." the bessy was now running almost before the wind. every moment the great waves loomed up high behind her stern, and looked as if they would dash down upon her deck, but she slipped easily away. the clouds had broken up much now, but the wind had in no way abated. a gleam or two of sunlight made its way through the rifts of the clouds, and threw light green patches upon the gray and angry sea. "she is a splendid sea-boat this of yours," the captain said. "i would hardly have believed such a small craft would have made such good weather in such a sea." "there are few boats will beat a bawley," ben said. "well handled, they will live through pretty near anything." "we ought to have tried." "i can quite believe that . which of you was it who sprang overboard to get our line ?" "it was not either of us," ben said. "neither tom nor i can swim a stroke. it was my nephew jack—that lad who has just come out of the fo'castle." "it was a gallant action," the captain said. "i should have thought it well-nigh impossible to swim in such broken water. i was astonished when i saw him leap overboard." "he saw that the spar had drifted with the tide to windward of you and there was no other way of getting at it." "i was in hopes of seeing you throw the lead- line over our line. you might have hauled it in that way." "so we might," ben agreed, "if we had thought of it, though i doubt whether we could have cast it so far. still we ought to have tried. that was a stupid trick, to be sure. i allow i should have thought of it any other time; but we had had such a dusting in getting up to you that our brains must have gone wool-gathering." "one cannot think of everything," the captain said. "you had your hands full as it was. is there anything else i can do at present? if not, making for leigh. i will just go below for a minute and see how my wife and the passengers are getting on, and have a cup of that cocoa, if there is any left." they were now in the knob channel, and the sea, although still heavy, was more regular. as they passed the mouse light-ship there were several large steamers at anchor there, but it was now a straight run down to the nore and they held on. ben tripper had already asked the captain where he would like to be landed. "i can put you either into sheerness, southend, or leigh," he said. "tide is high now, and you can land at any of them without difficulty. but you would get more quickly up to town from southend or leigh; and i should recommend our side, because tide will be running out from the medway pretty strong before we get there, and when that is the case there is a nasty sea at the mouth." "i think we cannot do better than leigh," the captain said. "of course i am anxious to get on shore as soon as i can to get the women into dry clothes." "it will not make more than twenty minutes' difference whether you land at leigh or southend; and it is much handier for landing at leigh, and a safe craft. no distance to the inn, where they can get be- tween blankets while their things are being dried." "then leigh let it be. a few minutes will make no difference one way or the other, and if they have not caught cold already they will not do so in that warm cabin." the wind was blowing far too strongly to admit of conversation, except in shouted sentences. for- tunately there was a good supply of tobacco on board, and the rescued sailors, who had almost all a pipe in their pockets, had, after the smack was once clear of the broken water, enjoyed the con- solation of a smoke. accustomed to look down on the water from the high deck of a large ship, they had at first felt some doubt as to the ability of the low bawley to struggle safely through the towering waves; but as soon as they saw how well she behaved, and how little water she took over the sides, they felt that all danger was over, and became disposed to look at things more cheerfully. the steward had, as soon as he came on board, relieved jack of his duties at the galley, and had kept the kettles going; he now served out a second supply of cocoa all round, and hung up as on shore. many of the ladies' things as they could dispense with round the fire to dry. the passenger had remained below with the ladies. he was suffering from a broken leg, having been knocked down and swept along by the sea soon after the vessel struck. six of the sailors and two of the mates had either been washed overboard or crushed to death when the masts went over the side. as they passed the nore a perfect fleet of steamers and sailing-vessels were at anchor there. tide had turned strongly now, and there was a nasty heavy choppy sea until the bessy passed the end of southend pier, when she entered com- paratively smooth water. in less than half an hour the sails were lowered, and she anchored some fifty yards from the coast-guard sta- tion. the look-out there had already observed the number of people on her deck, and had guessed at once that she had taken the crew off a wreck of some kind, and as soon as the anchor was dropped their boat came alongside. the captain had as they neared the shore asked tripper about inns, and at once sent the crew ashore in charge of the mate, with orders to go to at the ship. the "bell;" and to see that they had everything they required, saying that he would himself, as soon as the ladies were on shore, go to one of the shops and order a supply of clothes to be sent up for them. the ladies were next taken ashore, and then the injured man carried up and placed in a boat, a stretcher being sent off for him to be laid on. a messenger had been already sent up to the doctor on the top of the hill to come down to the ship inn, where the party now went. the ladies had become so thoroughly warmed by the heat in the little cabin that they declined to go to bed, and having been supplied with dry garments by the landlady, they were soon comfortable. the surgeon on his arrival pronounced the frac- ture of the passenger's leg, which was a few inches above the ankle, to be a simple one, and not likely to be attended with any serious conse- quences whatever. after setting it he bandaged it in splints, and said that although he should re- commend a few days' perfect quiet, there was no actual reason why the patient should not be taken up to london if he particularly wished it. ben tripper had gone with the captain, and a pile of flannel shirts, stockings, guernseys, from the petrel. sers, and shoes had at once been sent up to the "bell." furious as was the gale, it was possible to speak so as to be heard in the street of leigh, and ben now learned for the first time some par- ticulars about the wreck. "the petrel was a seven hundred ton ship," the captain said, "and on her way home from australia. she belongs to james godstone & son. there is no james godstone now. the son is the passenger you saved; he is the owner of a dozen vessels all about the same size as the petrel. his wife and daughter are two of the ladies saved. they went out with us to australia. the girl was not strong, and had been recommended a sea voyage. "i had been married when i was at home last time, and was taking my wife out with me; so mr. godstone arranged that his wife and daughter should go with me. we carried no other passen- gers; the other woman saved is the stewardess. mr. godstone himself did not go out with us, but went .across by suez and joined us there for the homeward voyage. we made a fine run home; and took our pilot on board off deal. the gale was blowing up then; but as it looked as if it was coming from the north-east we did not care about how it happened. riding it out in the downs, or going back so as to be under shelter of the south foreland. "it did not come on really heavy till we were nearly off margate, and then we got it with a vengeance. still, as the wind was free, we kept on. then, as you know, it came on almost pitch dark, and i think the pilot lost his head. anyhow, as he was one of those who were drowned, we need not say whether he was to blame or not. i thought we were getting too close to the broken water, and told him so, but he said we were all right. he didn't make allowance enough, i think, for the leeway she was making, and a minute later she struck, and you can guess the rest. her back broke in a few minutes, and her nmzen went over the side, carrying with it the pilot, my first mate, and six sailors. "she soon after began to break up at the stern. i cut away the other two masts to relieve her, but the sea made a clear breach over her. i got the ladies and mr. godstone, who had been on deck when she struck and got his leg broken by the first sea which pooped her, forward as soon as i could, and managed to fire one of her guns three times. i had no hope of rescue coming from shore, but there was a chance of some ship nearly all over. coming up helping us; though how she was to do it i could not see. however, nothing came near until i saw your sail. i expect that any steamers coming up from the south brought up under the foreland, while those from the north would of course take the swin. anyhow, it would have been all over with us had you not come to our rescue. even when i saw you making over towards us i had not much hope, for i did not see how you could get close enough to us to aid us, and i was quite sure that no open boat could have lived in that broken water." ( ) chapter vi. altered prospects is soon as the shipwrecked crew were on shore, jack robson landed and made his way homeward. at the railway-crossing he met his mother hurrying down,for the news that ihebessy had arrived with a number of shipwrecked people had spread rapidly through the place. "well, jack, so i hear the bessy has been help- ing a wreck. i had no idea that you would be home to-day. what in the world induced your uncle to make the run in such weather as this?" "it was nothing like so bad when we started, mother, and as we had both wind and tide with us there was nothing to fear for the bessy. we are accustomed to wet jackets, and should have got nothing worse if it had not been for our hearing guns and making for the wreck. then we certainly had a tremendous sea, the heaviest i have ever been out in. however, we were under a pleasant thought. storm-sails and did very well. it was nasty work when we anchored in broken water near the wreck, and she jumped about so i thought the mast would have gone. however, everything held, and we managed to save nineteen people from the wreck. that is a pleasant thought, mother, and i would go through it again twenty times to do it." by this time they had reached the door of the house. "there, run upstairs and change, jack. i will get you some tea ready by the time you come down." "i have had some hot cocoa, mother, and am as right as possible. still, i shall not object to a cup of tea and something to eat with it . we had breakfast before we started at eight, and it is seven now. we thought when we hoisted sail we should be down here under the six hours, but of course going off to the wreck made all the differ- ence. and, anyhow, we could not have driven her fast in such a sea." by the time jack had had his tea a comfort- .able glow had come over him. now that it was all over he felt bruised and stiff from the buffet- ing he had gone through, and after half an hour's chat with his mother and sister, in which he told "it was a grandaction." them more fully the events of the wreck, he turned into bed and slept soundly till the morn- ing. captain murchison, for that was his name, came round half an hour after jack had gone up to bed to ask him to go round to the inn, as the ladies wished to see him and thank him for his share in rescuing them, but on hearing that he had gone up to bed asked his mother to request him to come round in the morning at ten o'clock "you have reason to be proud of your son, mrs. robson," he said. "his leaping over in such a sea as that to get hold of the line from our ship was a most gallant action." "he told me the line was tied round him, sir, so that there was no danger in it at all." "there is always danger in such a business as that, mrs. robson. the force of the waves in shallow water is tremendous, and will beat a man to death if they do not drown him. then there is the difficulty of his getting on board again when a vessel is rolling and pitching so tremendously, and the danger of his being struck by a piece of drift-wood from the wreck. i can assure you that it was a very grand action, whatever your son may have told you about it." the next morning the gale was still blowing "you must go, jack." fiercely, although with less strength than on the previous day. jack had heard from his mother of his appointment to go to the "ship" with much discontent, and had at first positively refused to go. "i hate going up to see strange people, mother, anyhow; and i am sure that i do not want to be thanked. i am glad enough to have had a share in saving all their lives, but of course it was all uncle ben and tom's handling the boat that did it; i had nothing to do with it whatever, except that little swim with the rope tied safely round me. why, it was nothing to that affair that i had with bill and joe corbett." "but you must go, jack; the ladies naturally wish to thank you for what you did for them, and whether you like it or not you must go. it would be very rude and uncivil not to do so. they would be sure to send round here if you did not come, and what should i say except that you were so unmannerly that you would not go." jack twisted himself on his chair uncomfort- ably. "i don't see why they shouldn't thank uncle ben for the lot and have done with it," he grumbled. "it is his boat and he was the skipper, and he did the state of the bawley. it all; besides, i expect the bessy will have to be overhauled before she goes out again. she came down with a tremendous crash on her forefoot, and the water was just coming up through the boards in the fo'castle when we came in. of course it may have come in from above, but i expect she sprang a leak somewhere forward. i thought she was very low in the water when she came in, and i expect that she must have been half full aft, for she was very much down by the stern. "we had the pump going all the time, and it was always clear water. i did not think of it at the time. we had had such a lot of water over us it was likely it might have got in through the hatches; but i feel sure now that it was a leak. well, i suppose if i must go, i must, mother; but i hate it for all that." however, just before jack was about to start there was a knock at the door, and mrs. robson opening it saw two ladies and a girl. immedi- ately on their arrival the evening before, mrs. godstone had telegraphed home for a servant to come down in the morning by the first train, with clothes for herself and daughter, and she had ar- rived with them an hour before. mrs. godstone visitors. had therefore been enabled to resume her usual attire, and to lend an outfit to mrs. murchison. jack did not in the least recognize in the three ladies the soaked and draggled women, of whose faces he had caught but a slight glimpse on the previous day. "we have come round, mrs. robson," mrs. godstone began, "to thank your son for his share in saving our lives yesterday. we thought that it would be more pleasant to him than coming round to us at the inn." "thank you, madam," mrs. robson replied. "it was kind of you to think of it. i have had a good deal of trouble in persuading jack to go round., he was just starting; but it was very much against the grain, i can assure you. come in, please." mrs. godstone was surprised at the tone in which this fisher lad's mother spoke, for during her thirteen years of married life bessy robson had lost the essex dialect, and acquired the man- ners of her husband's friends. she was still more surprised at the pretty furniture of the room, which was tastefully decorated, and the walls hung with pictures of marine subjects, for bessy had brought down bodily her belongings from jack has to go through it. dulwich. mrs. godstone at once walked up to jack with outstretched hand. "i hope you are none the worse for your exer- tions of yesterday," she said. "my daughter and i have come round to thank you for the very great service you rendered us." mrs. murchison and mildred godstone also shook hands with jack. the former added her thanks to mrs. godstone's. jack coloured up hotly and said, "it is my uncle you have to thank, ma'am. it was his bawley, and he and tom sailed it, and i had nothing to do with it one way or the other." "except when you swam out for the line," mrs. godstone said smiling. "i had one tied round me, and was all right," jack protested. "my husband does not think it was nothing, as you seem to consider," mrs. murchison said; "and as he has been a sailor all his life he ought to know. he says that it was a very gallant action in such a sea as that, and, you see, we are bound to believe him." the ladies had now taken seats. mrs. godstone felt a little at a loss. had jack's home and jack's mother been what they had expected to find them "not so very bad." the matter would have been simple enough, but she felt at once that any talk of reward for the service jack had rendered them would be at present im- possible. "what a pretty room you have got, mrs. rob- son, and what charming pictures!" "they are my husband's painting," mrs. robson said quietly. "he was an artist." "oh! i know the name," mrs. godstone said, "i have four of mr. robson's pictures in my drawing-room. i am very fond of marine sub- jects." this served as an introduction, and for half an hour the conversation proceeded briskly. then mrs. godstone rose. "my husband's leg is very painful this morn- ing," she said, "and i fear that he will have to keep his bed for the next two or three days. when he is well enough to lie down on the sofa i will come down and fetch your son, for mr. godstone is of course anxious to see him, and i am afraid that if i do not come round myself we shall not get jack to the inn." "well, that was not so very bad, was it, jack?" mrs. robson asked after her visitors had left. "no, mother, it wasn't. you see, it was ever examining the bawley. so much better their coming here than it would have been if i had gone to the inn, because there was you for them to talk to, so that really there was not much said to me. if it had been at the inn there would have been nothing to talk about at all, except about the wreck. well, now that is over i will go down and see how the bawley is; but i had best change my things first. uncle was going to get her up as high as he could at the top of the tide, so as to be able to look at her keel." jack found that his uncle and tom had turned out at three o'clock in the morning, and had got the bessy as high up as possible on the sloping shore, just beyond the houses. they were standing be- side her now, while benting, the local boat-builder, was examining her bottom. "well, jack, you have taken it out in sleep this morning," his uncle said. "that i have, uncle. i never woke until eight o'clock, so i had just twelve hours' sleep." "nothing like a good sleep, jack, when you have had a hard day's work; and yesterday was enough to take it out of anyone." "is she damaged at all?" jack asked. "yes, her forefoot is sprung just where it joins the keel; she came down just on the joint." "it's a nasty job, jack. "that will be a rather nasty job to get right, won't it?" "yes, jack, benting says she must have a new stem altogether. he does not think the keel is damaged, but the stem is cracked right through." "that will cost a lot, won't it?" jack said. "yes, it is a nasty job, jack; because, of course, she will want a lot of fresh planks in her. in fact, she will want pretty well rebuilding forward of the mast." "it will cost about twenty pounds to make a good job of it," benting said as he joined them. "i shouldn't like to take the job for less, not on contract. if i did day-work it might come to a little less or a little more, i cannot say." jack looked anxiously up into his uncle's face, for he knew that twenty pounds was a serious matter. "it won't be at my expense, jack," ben replied to his look. "captain murchison came down at seven o'clock this morning and had a look at her with me. i told him yesterday that i was afraid she had damaged herself on the sand, as she had made a lot of water on her way up. he said that i was to have her examined at once, and get an estimate for repairing her thoroughly, and that he would undertake it should be paid. he asked benting's report. what her age was. of course i told him she was only four years old, and that i had only finished paying off the money i borrowed when i had her built, last year. he said that as she was only four years old she was worth spending the money on; but if she had been an old boat, it would not have been worth while throwing money away on her. but benting says he can make her as good as new again." "every bit," the carpenter said. "she will be just as strong as she was on the day she was turned out." "how long will you be about it?" "i would get her done in three weeks. i will go over to southend by the twelve o'clock train and order the timber, and you can arrange this evening whether you will have her done by con- tract or day-work." captain murchison that evening when he re- turned from town, where he had gone up to report to lloyd's the loss of the ship, had a talk with benting, and being assured by him that the bessy would after the execution of the repairs be in all respects as stout a craft as before, arranged with him to do it for the sum he named, and to set to work immediately. rewabding bravery. three days later mr. godstone was able to be brought out on to the sofa in the sitting-room. captain and mrs. murchison had gone home two days before, but the former came down again to leigh on the morning mr. godstone got up. after a talk together captain murchison went out and fetched ben tripper in, and mr. godstone pre- sented him with a cheque for a hundred pounds for himself and fifty for tom hoskins. "we owe you our lives," he said, " and we shall never forget the service you have rendered us. captain murchison tells me that your boat will be as good as before after she is repaired; but if she should not be so, sell her at once for what you can get for her and order a new one, i will pay the difference. in any case i consider i owe you a boat. whether it is five years hence or ten or fifteen, if i am alive and you want another boat i give you authority to order one of the best that can be built, and to tell them to send the bill in to me. i have not given you anything for your nephew, for i have been talking to my wife, and maybe we can serve him better in some other way." mrs. godstone had indeed been in for a chat each day with jack's mother, and had told her the interview. husband that she felt sure neither mrs. robson nor jack would like an offer of money. "the lad is very intelligent," she said, "and he and his mother are of quite a different class to the fisher people here. his father was a gentleman, and she has the manners of a lady. i should like for us to do the boy some permanent good, william." "well, we will see about it, my dear," her husband had said. "as soon as i am well enough to talk to him i will find out what his own wishes in the matter are." jack was therefore sent for after his uncle had left the inn. "well, my lad," mr. godstone said as he en- tered, "i am glad to see you at last and to thank you for what you did for us the other day. my wife tells me that you do not like being thanked, and as deeds are better than words we won't say much more about it. so i hear you have only been living here about two years?" "that is all, sir; we lived at dulwich before." "so i hear. and your father was an artist? have you any taste that way?" jack shook his head. "no, sir; i never thought of being an artist. i always wanted to go to sea." "i wanted to be a sailor" "to go to sea—eh?" mr. godstone repeated. "well, then, you have got your wish." "oh, i do not call this going to sea," jack said contemptuously. "i mean, i wanted to be a sailor—not a fisherman." "and why didn't you go then, lad?" "well, sir, in the first place mother did not know anyone who had to do with ships; and then her friends were all here, and she knew the place and its ways, and she thought that by buying a bawley, as she has done, in time i should come to sail her and earn my living as my uncle does. and then i don't think she would ever have agreed to my going to sea right away from her; but i do not know about that." "well, lad, you see the case is changed now. i have to do with ships, and captain murchison here commands one. at least he doesn't at the present moment, but he will do as soon as i can buy another to supply the place of the petrel. and as he saw one yesterday that he thinks highly of, i shall probably buy her as soon as she has been surveyed. so you see that difficulty is at an end. as to your mother, no doubt she would have objected to your going as a ship's- boy, but perhaps she wouldn't if you were going mrs. robson gladly accepts. to continue his studies, and would speedily have forgotten most that he had learned, and he might have remained many years before the mast before he could pass as a third mate. she thought therefore that he would do better by remaining at leigh and becoming in time master of a bawley. in the two years that had passed she had come to have doubts as to whether she had decided wisely. the profits of fishing were exceedingly small, and the prospects were but poor. she knew well that her husband had hoped that his son would follow some line that would maintain him in his own rank of life, and she fretted at the thought that jack would settle down for life as a leigh fisherman, and that lily would probably in time become a fisherman's wife. when therefore mrs. godstone told her that her husband was ready to place jack on board one of his ships as midship- man, and that he would take care he had every chance of making his way up, mrs. robson thank- fully accepted the offer. "the boy has always wished for a life at sea," she said; "and i am thankful indeed that he should have such a chance of getting on. i am most grateful to mr. godstone for his offer, and most gladly accept it." another kind offer. "it is the least my husband can do, mrs. robson, considering the share your son took in saving his life. but you must not consider that this discharges the debt that i owe for myself and mildred. that is another matter altogether. now, in the first place, i am sure you must wish sometimes that your little girl could have an education of a different kind to that which she can obtain here. now, i should like to send her to a good school where she would be well educated. we need not look farther forward than that at present . she is only ten years old now, and in another seven or eight her brother may be a second mate, and, with the prospect of becoming a captain in another three or four, would like his sister to be educated as a lady." "you are very kind, mrs. godstone," mrs. rob- son said with tears in her eyes. "but in the first place, i don't think i could bring myself to part with her, and in the second, i do not like to take advantage of your kindness." "the second reason is absurd," mrs. godstone said decidedly. "suppose instead of saving all our lives your son had helped to get out anchors and had got the ship off, he would have had his share of the salvage, which might have come to many mrs. godstones arguments. hundreds of pounds; and it is nonsense because he saved lives instead of goods there should be no reward for the service. as to your first reason, i can quite enter into it; and i know that i should not have liked to be parted from mildred. therefore i do not propose to send her away from you, but to do it in another way. to send your girl to a really good school will not cost less than a hundred a year, and that sum i shall be very glad to pay until she is of an age to leave school. "now, i understand that your principal reason in coming to leigh was that your son should in time be able to sail your boat. that reason does not exist any longer, and you might therefore be as well anywhere else as here. your brother can look after your interests in your boat, and you will get the same share of its profits as if you were living here. i think for your son's sake as well as your daughter's, it would be pleasanter and better that you were away from here. "now i am going to pay a hundred a year for your girl to be educated, but it makes no differ- ence to me how that hundred is spent, providing she gets the education. it seems to me, therefore, that it would be better if you were to move again, say to dulwich, where no doubt you have still "it's all settled, jack." friends, having lived there for so long. then you could send her as a day-boarder in a good school for some thirty or forty pounds a year. you could still keep her with you, and have a nice home for jack whenever he comes back from sea. "well, think this over. it seems to me and to mr. godstone to be by far the best plan for all parties. and it will be much the most pleasant to us; as i should then hope to see you often, and to see for myself how your child is getting on. do not give an answer to me now; it will be another week before my husband can be moved up to town, so there will be plenty of time for you to look at it in all lights before you decide. i know that it will be a sacrifice for you to leave leigh where you have so many relations and friends; but i am sure this will not weigh with you as against the interest of your children." so saying the ship-owner's wife shook hands with mrs. robson and at once went out. half- way down the street she met jack. "it is all settled, jack," she said, in answer to his look. "your mother has agreed to your going." "has she?" jack exclaimed in delight. "hurrah! "mother, don't cry over it." thank you so much, ma'am," and throwing his cap in the air he caught it again, and then started home at a run at the top of his speed. bursting in at the door he was sobered instantly by seeing his mother in tears. "my dear mother!" he exclaimed, "don't cry over it. of course i should like to go to sea and always wanted it, still i would not think of doing it if it makes you unhappy. although you did tell mrs. godstone that you consented, i will go off at once and tell them that i have changed my mind, and that on thinking it over i have con- cluded to stay here with you." "no, no, jack," his mother said, as he turned to carry his offer into effect. "it is not that at all. i am quite willing that you should go, my boy. of course i shall miss you; but other women have to see their sons go to sea or abroad, and i shall be no worse off than they are. i am very pleased, indeed, that you should have the life you wish for open to you. there is now a far better prospect of your getting on and doing well than there was when your father consented that you should go to sea some day. i am not crying about that at all, jack, but from pleasure, with perhaps a little pain in it, at the kind offer "boys are boys." mrs. godstone has just made me with regard to lily and myself." and she then told jack the proposal that had been made to her. "and are you going to accept it, mother? oh, i do hope you will. i have never cared for my- self, but i have sometimes been so sorry when i thought that lily would grow up so different from what my father would have wished her." "and so have i, jack. boys are boys, and can to some extent make themselves what they like. poor men's sons can, if they are steady and industrious and clever, rise in the world; rich men's sons can come down to beggary. but it is different with girls. and it always has been a great grief to me too when i have thought of lily's future. for myself, i do not like taking the money—that you can well believe,—but for her sake i should be very wrong to refuse the offer. i shall be sorry to leave leigh; and yet, you see, after living for thirteen years such a different life, i do not see things as i did when i was a girl, and have blamed myself often because i have felt the difference. but i have felt it, and therefore the idea of going back to dulwich again is not so painful to me as i think it ought to be." "it will be grand, mother!" "of course it is quite natural, mother," jack said; "and it would be curious if you did not feel so after living there so long and mixing with people so different in their ways. and won't it be splendid having a nice little home like that to come back to, and lily being edu- cated as a lady, and i making my way on. it will be grand, mother!" "i shall have a talk with my father and ben," mrs. robson said. "my own mind is quite made up; still i should like to speak to them before i see mrs. godstone again." tripper senior and ben quite agreed with mrs. robson that she ought to accept the offer. "we shall be always glad to see you down here, bessy, you know, whenever you like to come; but it is certainly best for you and the young ones for you to accept the offer. it is a grand thing for lily; and though we shall be very sorry to lose you, it would be awfully foolish to say no to such a proposal as that." at heart, perhaps tripper senior and his son were not altogether so very sorry that bessy should go to london. they felt that she was now not one of themselves; and tripper senior, who was much more fond of his glass than was the wild wave. self alongside the wild wave, a fine barque-rigged ship of about eight hundred and fifty tons. a number of riggers were at work on board, and captain murchison was on the poop talking to an officer, whom jack at once guessed to be the first mate. "that's right, jack," the captain said as the lad mounted to the poop; "nothing like getting into harness in good time. we only took posses- sion of the barque yesterday, and have put the hands to work this morning. i thought you had better come to work at once, because there is nothing like learning things from the beginning; and if you keep your eyes open you will learn as much as to the way things should be done as you would do in six months afloat. mr. timmins, this is jack robson, who sails with us as a mid- shipman. he is the lad i told you of who aided in saving all our lives on board the petrel. if it had not been for him and the two men with him the house of godstone & son would have lost its head. as the owner as well as myself owe so much to him, i am sure you will do all you can to help him to learn his work. he is not like a new hand altogether, having already had two years' experience in a fore-and-aft craft. of course the a kind reception. work is very different here; still it is a capital apprenticeship, and men who can manage a bawley in such a sea as was on when thepetrel was wrecked are fine sailors, and would soon be at home on any craft that ever floated." "i will do the best i can for him, captain murchison, and will make a sailor out of him— never fear. there is nothing for you to do on board yet, my boy, except to keep your eyes open. watch all that is going on. this is a rigger's job; but it is well to learn how every- thing is done, because you may be called upon to do it any moment. do not be afraid of asking me questions about anything you do not under- stand, and do not mind if i answer you sharp if i happen to be busy when you ask me—that is my way; and i daresay the riggers, when they see that you really want to learn, will be willing enough to give you a hint or two." "i am going ashore with him now for a couple of hours, mr. timmins. after that he will be at your disposal." jack followed the captain across the gangway on to the wharf. "i am going with you to order your outfit," the captain said. "i had intended to have done it on my own account, but mr. an outfit ordered. godstone would not hear of it; so i must obey orders. your own things will do well enough until we get the riggers out of the ship and the painting done. till then mr. timmins will be the only officer on board; the others will not join till she begins to take in her cargo. the second and third mates of the petrel will sail with me again, and so will all the men who were rescued. naturally they like a run ashore as long as they can; and there is nothing for them to do till the ship is out of the painter's hands." captain murchison took jack to an outfitter's in fenchurch street, and ordered him a complete midshipman's outfit. then jack went back to the docks, and for the rest of the day watched the operations of the riggers. with many of the processes he was already familiar, but he observed several differences in the methods pursued on board a large ship. as soon as he had come on board he had asked the first mate if there was any objection to his lending a hand if the riggers would allow him. "none at all, my lad. an officer ought to be able to show his men how to do everything, and he can never do that if he is afraid of dirtying his hands. of course you do know a good deal at work. already about the serving and parcelling of ropes and stays, but likely enough they are done in a different fashion here to what they are on board a smack. i will speak to the head-rigger myself, and tell him you want to learn your business, and are ready to do anything that he likes to set you to; and as you have been already two years at the work he will not find you a lubber." the rigger at once placed jack at work with one of the gangs, and he worked steadily until four bells sounded, and the men knocked off. "you need not get here till eight in the morn- ing," mr. timmins said to him as he was about to leave. "the captain said you were living at dulwich, and that it would take you an hour to get here; so as at present you are a sort of volun- teer, it will be quite time enough if you are here by eight. i am glad to see that you are handy at your work; but that i expected. there is no better training for a sailor than a couple of years on board a smack. you learn to turn your hand to everything there very much better than you can on a large craft." chapter viii. 'alexandria. en days' hard work and the wild wave's equipment was nearly complete. the riggers were to put the finishing touch to their work that evening, and the carpenters to finish all below, and were to begin in the morn- ing scraping and cleaning the decks, and there then remained only the painting to be done. the captain's usual hour for coming on board was eleven o'clock, but the men were just knocking off for dinner when he arrived. "well, mr. timmins, when do you think we can be ready to take cargo on board?" "well, sir, it will take them three days to get the decks planed. they are in a beastly state, you see. she must have had a dirty lot on board her on her last voyage, and she has picked up six months' dirt in the docks. nothing short of planing will get them fit to be seen. then the "it will be quick work." ill painters will take another four days, i should say, perhaps five, as the bulwarks and all the paint on deck must be done." "that makes eight days' work, mr. timmins. i suppose we cannot set the painters at work until the carpenters are done?" the mate shook his head. "decidedly not, if the paint is to be worth looking at, sir. it would be throwing money and time away to begin to paint as long as the chips and dust are flying about." "if we were to get the painting on deck done directly the carpenters knock off we might do the outside while we are taking the cargo in?" "yes, we might do that," the mate assented; "though even then if it is anything like a dusty cargo the paint wouldn't show up as smooth and clean as one would like to see it." "well, we can't help that," the captain said. "i have just come from the office, and they have had an offer for a freight, part to alexandria and part to smyrna; but they wanted to begin to load at once. i said that was out of the question, but that i thought i could begin to take it on board next monday." "well, it will be quick work, sir. however, beginning to load. sight of land all the way, and alexandria and smyrna are two ports well worth seeing. we don't very often get a jaunt up the mediterranean now; those rascally steamers get all the work." when the riggers had once left the ship jack had nothing more to do, and mr. timmins told him that it would be no use his coming again until monday morning. "you will be useful then," he said, "helping to check off the cargo as it comes on board. you had better bring your chest down and take up your quarters here. i shall get the cook in on monday, and i expect we shall all stop on board. of course when work is over you can always go back home when you are disposed." to mrs. robson's delight, therefore, jack was able to spend the next few days at home, and also to assure her that his first voyage was to be a short one only. all was in readiness on monday morning. the second and third mates came on board early; the crew were not to join until the evening before sailing, as the work of loading was done by steve- dores. the second and third mates were both young men. they had spoken to jack on board the bawley, and had shaken hands with him when they ( ) h busy work. left leigh with warm expressions of gratitude, and they both greeted him most cordially as soon as they met him on the deck of the wild wave. jack therefore commenced his career as a sailor under altogether exceptionally pleasant conditions. the captain and two of the mates were under very deep obligations to him, and mr. timmins had already conceived a very favourable opinion of him fr om his willingness to turn his hand to anything, and from his quickness and handiness. for the next three days work went on from morning until night. jack was stationed at one of the hatchways with the second mate checking off every box, bale, and package as it went down. the boatswain and crew came on board on the tuesday, as there was the work of bending the sails and getting all in readiness for the start to be got through. jack had not returned home on monday or tuesday night, but on wednesday he went home to say good-bye, for the vessel was to go out of dock at noon on thursday. before leaving home he donned for the first time his neat uniform, which had come only a few days before. lily was delighted with his appearance, and his mother felt no little pride as she looked at him, and, sad as she was at the prospect of his long two shipmates. absence, was thoroughly convinced that the choice he had made was a wise one. mrs. godstone and her daughter had been down twice to call upon mrs. robson since her arrival at dulwich, and on the previous saturday jack and his mother had gone there to dine, captain and mrs. murchison being the only other guests. after a tearful good-bye jack started from home. on his arrival on board he found two other lads, one a year older than himself and one as much younger. jim tucker, the elder, had al- ready made two or three voyages in mr. god- stone's ships. arthur hill was going to sea for the first time. jack knew that two other mid- shipmen were sailing in the wild wave, and found them arranging their things in the little cabin, with three banks, allotted to them. "hallo! you are robson, i suppose?" jim tucker began as he entered. "you have got a lot of gear here in the cabin, and you must stow it away in a smaller space than it takes up at pre- sent or we shall never fit in." "i have not begun to stow it away yet," jack said. "i was waiting to see how much you had both got, and which berth you were going to choose, before i began to settle at all," down the river. "yes, that is all right enough," tucker answered. "well, as i am the senior, i will take this berth under the port." "i suppose i am next," jack said. "i will take the top one opposite." this being settled the lads proceeded to put things straight and stow away their portmanteaus. as soon as they had done this they went on deck the vessel was already warping out of the dock, and as soon as she was through the gates a steam-tug seized her and took her down the river. it was eight o'clock, and the sun was just setting, when the hawser attached to the tug was thrown off. some of the sails had already been hoisted, for the wind was northerly. the rest were now shaken out and sheeted home, and under a cloud of white canvas—for the wild wavehad been fitted with an entirely new suit of sails—the vessel pro- ceeded on her way. the officers were divided into two watches. the first and third mates and ar- thur hill were in one watch, the second mate and the other two lads in the other. after the constant work on board the smack jack found it strange as he came down the river to be walking up and down the deck with nothing to do. the wild wave passed through a fleet of "it was a lucky day for me." bavvleys trawling off hole haven; he knew every- one of them by sight, but the bessy was not among them. meals had been irregular that day with the offi- cers, for there was much to be seen after in coil- ing down ropes, washing the decks, and in getting everything neatly in ship-shape. as they passed the middle sunk the second mate touched jack on the shoulder. "that's her," he said; "at least all that remains of her," and he pointed to some black timbers just appearing above the surface of the water. "yes; that's her," jack said. "i heard from my uncle that they blew her up three weeks ago." "rather a different scene from what it was that day," the mate, whose name was hoare, said. "i thought it was all up with us, and even when we saw you coming we hardly believed that you could get near enough to take us off; and now it is as smooth as glass." "it was a lucky day for me, sir, that was," jack said. "i had then nothing to look forward to, beyond sailing a bawley; now i have got the life i always wanted to follow, and every prospect of getting on." "that you have, my lad," hoare agreed, "it a fair start. was a rare bit of luck for you that you made us out, no doubt, and a rare bit of luck for us too." the voyage began well. the wind continued light and in the right quarter all the first week. jack and his companions were not idle, and always went aloft with the watch when there was occasion to make any change with the sails. this was at first a trial for arthur hill; but jim tucker was an old hand at it, and jack, who had often had to make his way up the bessy's mast when she was rolling heavily, was soon quite at home on the yards of the wild wave. for two hours every morning the three boys worked at navi- gation, mr. hoare acting as instructor. so smooth was the sea and so slight the motion that jack could hardly believe that he was sailing down through the bay of biscay, of which he had heard so much; and he was quite surprised when, on the fifth day after sailing, mr. hoare pointed to land on the port bow, and told him that was portugal. "we have had capital luck, so far," the officer said. "if the wind does but hold till we once get fairly round cape st. vincent, it may change as soon as it likes into any quarter except the east, at alexandria. and we are not very likely to get that at this time of the year." "i should not mind a change of wind a bit, sir," jack said; "it would bring us something to do." "ah, yes; after being accustomed to go about every five minutes or so on the thames, i under- stand you finding this monotonous, jack. when you have had a little more of the sea, you won't mind how much you get of fine weather and fa- vouring winds. as for storms, i don't care if i never see another. they are very grand to read of in books, and when you have got a stout ship and plenty of sea room there is no need to be afraid; but when you are wet through for a week at a spell, and the galley-fires can't be kept going, there is very little comfort in it." the wind changed next day to the west, and by evening was blowing hard. a good deal of the canvas was taken off, and the ship edged further away from land; but after blowing strongly the wind abated again, and the next day the wild wave passed cape st. vincent and headed for the straits of gibraltar. as the wind still held from the west they made a rapid run, and in ten days after passing st. vincent dropped anchor in the harbour of alexandria. trouble impending. the next day the captain said to jim tucker, "you three lads can go ashore after dinner to- day. there is nothing particular for you to do on board, and it is well to get a view of these foreign towns while you can. when you once get to be mates you will not have much chance to do so, for then you will have to be looking after the loading and unloading of the cargo. come off before gun-fire. there are about as cut-throat a lot of thieves in alexandria as in any port on the mediterranean, and that is saying a good deal." "it is quite possible that there will be trouble here before long," mr. hoare remarked at dinner. "i saw something in the paper about it," mr. alston, the third mate, said; "but i did not trouble to read through the accounts. what is it all about?" "there has been a sort of peaceable revolution," mr. hoare said "the colonels of the regiments in cairo, headed by a general named arabi pasha, mutinied, and the viceroy had to give way to them." "what did they mutiny about?" the third mate asked . "well, in the first place they wanted privi- leges for the army, and in the second place they landing. wanted a lot of europeans who hold berths to be dismissed, and the government to be entirely in the hands of natives. it is a sort of national movement, with the army at the head of it; and the viceroy, although still nominally the ruler of egypt, is in fact little more than a cipher in the hands of arabi and the colonels. they say the french are at the bottom of it, and it is likely enough. they have always been jealous of our influence in egypt. however, i do not suppose we shall interfere in the matter, unless they break regularly out and ill-treat europeans, and threaten to seize the canal or something of that sort." after dinner the three boys landed together in a boat. half a dozen natives pressed round them directly they stepped ashore, and offered to act as guides; but these offers they refused, for, as jim tucker said, "we have only got to walk about, and we are certain to find ourselves somewhere. it will be time enough talking about taking a guide when it is time for us to make down to the port again. this is a long street, let us follow it. it must lead somewhere." staring into the funny little shops, and at the varying crowds, composed of people of all the nationalities of the mediterranean, mingled with a plague of flies. a swarm of scantily-clad natives, and women wrapped up in dark blue cotton cloths, the lads made their way along. "what an awful place for flies!" arthur hill said, after brushing two or three off his cheek. "just look at that child! why, there are a dozen round its eyes, and it doesn't seem to mind them in the least; and there is another just the same!" "i expect the coating of dirt is so thick that they do not feel it," jim tucker said. "poor little beggars, most of them look as if they had not had a wash for the last month. the women are ugly enough, what you can see of them, and that is not much. what a rascally set the europeans look! the egyptians are gentlemen by the side of them. i fancy from what i have heard they are the sweepings of the european ports—greeks, italians, maltese, and french. when a fellow makes it too hot at home for the place to hold him, he comes over here— "ah! this is more like a town," he broke off as they entered the great square. "my goodness! how hot the sun does blaze down here. i say, here is a refreshment place. sorbette—ices. it is lucky that they put the english. come on, a tour of inspection. you fellows, an ice would be just the thing now." as they came out they were accosted by an egyptian driver. "take a carriage, gentlemen? drive to sweet-water canal. see the gardens." "what do you say, jack?" tucker asked. "i suppose we may as well go there as anywhere else." "well, we will go there later, tucker. one does get shade in the narrow streets; but there would be no fun in driving with this sun blazing down on us. by five o'clock, when the sun gets a bit lower, it will be pleasant enough. i vote we go into the narrow streets, where we shall get shade, and see the natives in their own quarters." the others agreed, and turning out of the square they were soon in the lanes. "this is not half as amusing as the indian towns," tucker said. "last voyage i went to calcutta, and it is jolly in the natives' town there, seeing the natives squatting in their little shops, tinkering and tailoring, and all sorts of things. and such a crowd of them in the streets! this is a poor place in comparison, and most of the shops you see have european names over them. how- ever, one gets the shade; that is something." chapter ix. the riot in alexandria. or half an hour the lads sauntered on, in- terested in the people rather than the shops. they bought a few things. jack invested in half a pound of egyptian tobacco and a gaily-decorated pipe for his uncle ben, two little filigree brooches, and a couple of very large silk handkerchiefs of many colours, with knotted fringes, for his mother and sister. "i do not know what they will do with them," he said; "but they will do to put on the back of a sofa or something of that sort." the others also made some purchases, both ex- pending a good deal more than jack did; but the latter said that he would keep his money for smyrna, where probably he would get all sorts of pretty things. they were walking quietly along, when they saw a commotion in front of them. a number of the outbreak. men were shouting and gesticulating angrily, and blows were exchanged. "let us get out ot this," jack said. "it is no good running the risk of getting our heads broken." people were now running from the shops, while from side streets the natives poured down. "this is a regular row!" jim tucker ex- claimed. "look! those fellows are all armed with big sticks. listen! there are pistols going off somewhere else." a moment later the natives fell suddenly upon some europeans standing close to the boys. these drew knives and pistols, and a fierce combat at once raged. "come out of this!" jim exclaimed, running into a shop close by. "we must make a bolt for it somewhere." at that moment an italian, armed with a pistol, rushed in from behind the shop. on seeing the three lads he exclaimed in broken english," shut the door, they mean to kill us all!" the boys closed the door, and the owner piled some boxes and other goods against it; but there was no fastening up the window, for the fasten- ings were outside. a temporary shelter. "come upstairs," the man said, and the lads followed him to the floor above. the battle was still raging in the street. groups of greeks and italians stood together, defending themselves with their knives from the heavy sticks of their assailants, but were being fast beaten down. the shrieks of women rose loud above the shouting of the combatants, while from the upper windows the cracks of revolvers sounded out as the greek, maltese, and italian shopkeepers who had not sallied out into the streets tried to aid their comrades below. "now, have you got any arms you can give us?" tucker asked. "this looks like a regular rising of the natives. they would never all have their sticks handy if they hadn't prepared for it." "there are some long knives in that cup- board," the man said, "and there is another pistol my brother antonio has got. he is sick in bed." just at this moment the door opened and an- other italian came in in trousers and shirt. "what is it joseph?" "the natives have risen and are massacring all the europeans." the sick man made his way to the window. "we will sell our lives dearly." "i am not surprised," he said, as he discharged his pistol and brought down a native who was in the act of battering in the head of a fallen man. "you said only yesterday, you thought there was mischief brewing—that the natives were surly and insolent; but i did not think they would dare to do this." "well, brother, we will sell our lives as dearly as we can." the conflict was now pretty nearly over, and the two men withdrew from the window and closed the jalousies. "most of them are making off," antonio said, peeping cautiously out through the lattice-work. "i suppose they are going to attack somewhere else. what are the police doing? they ought to be here soon." but the time went on, and there were no signs of the police. the natives now began to break open the shops and plunder the contents. the two men placed themselves at the top of the stairs. it was not long before they heard a crashing of glass and a breaking of wood, then a number of men rushed into the shop. "don't fire, joseph," antonio said, "so long as they do not try to come up here. they may take "in an awful fix." away the soap and candles and other things if they choose, if they will but leave us alone." the stairs were straight and narrow, and led direct from the shop itself to the floor above. after plundering the shop the natives departed laden with their spoil, without attempting to ascend the stairs. "we are in an awful fix here," jim tucker said, "what do you think we had better do? shall we get out at the back of the house and try and make a bolt of it?" "i do not think that is any good," jack replied. "i was at the back window just now, and could hear shouts and the report of firearms all over the place. no; if we go out into the streets we are safe to be murdered, if we stop here they may not search the house. anyhow, at the worst we can make a better fight here than in the streets." two hours passed. at times large bodies of natives rushed along the streets, brandishing their sticks and shouting triumphantly. some few of them had firearms, and these they discharged at the windows as they passed along. "we ought to have had some troops here long before this," antonio said to his brother. the latter, who was sitting on a chair, evidently defending the stairs. exhausted by his exertions, shrugged his shoul- ders. "they were more likely to help the mob than to interfere with them. the troops are at the bottom of the whole trouble." a clock on the mantel-piece struck five, just as a fresh body of natives came down the street. they were evidently bent upon pillage, as they broke up and turned into the shops. shouts and pistol-shots were again heard. "they are sacking the houses this time, joseph. now the hour has come." the two brothers knelt together before the figure of a saint in a little niche in the wall. the boys glanced at each other, and each, following the example of the italians, knelt down by a chair and prayed for a minute or two. as they rose to their feet there was a sudden din below. pistol in hand the brothers rushed out on the land- ing. "do not try to come up!" antonio shouted in egyptian. "you are welcome to what you can find below, but you shall not come up here. "we are desperate men, and well armed." the natives, who were just about to ascend the stairs, drew back at the sight of the brothers ( ) i "they have fired the house!" standing pistol in hand at the top, with the three lads behind them. the stairs were only wide enough for one to advance at a time, and the natives, eager as they were for blood and plunder, shrank from making the attempt. some of those who were farthest back began to slink out of the shop, and the others followed their example. there was a loud talking outside for some time, then several of them again entered. some of them began to pull out the drawers, as if in the hopes of finding something that former searchers had overlooked, others passed on into an inner room. "what are they up to now, i wonder?" arthur hill said. "no good, i will be bound," jim tucker replied. "there! they seem to be going out again now." just as the last man passed out antonio ex- claimed in italian, "i smell smoke, joseph; they have fired the house! they have set fire to the room below," he translated to the lads; but even before he spoke the boys understood what had taken place, for a light smoke poured out from the inner room, and a smell of burning wood came to their nostrils. "the beggars have done us," jim tucker said bitterly. "we could have held these stairs "i am ready." against them for an hour, but this fire will turn us out in no time." the smoke rose thicker and thicker, and they could hear the crackling of wood. "let us get out of the back window, we may get off that way." touching antonio's arm he beckoned him in that direction. the italian nodded, and the party went into the back room. antonio drew the sheets from the beds and knotted them. jim went to the window and looked out. as he did so there was a yell of derision from below. a score of the natives had made their way through the adjoin- ing houses, and taken up their station from behind to cut off their retreat. it needed no words to tell those in the room what had taken place. antonio threw down the sheets and said to his brother, "let us sally out, joseph; the sooner it is over the better. see, the smoke is coming up through the floor already. let us go out before we are suffocated." "i am ready," the other replied. followed by the boys the brothers left the room and descended the stairs. the flames were already rushing out of the back room. there was a shout from without as the defenders were seen to a fight for life. descend the ladder. the boys grasped each other's hands as a final farewell, and then with set lips and knives firmly grasped followed the two italians and dashed into the street. sharp cracks of the revolvers sounded out, and then in an instant the mob closed round the little party. keeping close together, cutting and thrusting with their knives, the boys tried to make their way through. the crowd was so thick, that mixed up as they were in it, the natives could not use their sticks, but drawing their knives grappled with the boys. jack felt a sharp pain in several places; he fell, struggled to his feet again, was again struck down. he seemed to hear a voice raised above the din, then he knew nothing more. when he recovered his senses he found that a native was stooping over him and pressing a cloth to his forehead. he lay still for a minute or two, wondering faintly what had become of him. look- ing round he could see he was in a small room. an egyptian of the better class, in buttoned-up frock-coat and light trousers, and with a scarlet fez on his head, was standing looking down at him, and was apparently giving instructions to the native, who was endeavouring to staunch one of his wounds. as soon as he took this in, the the fight with the egyptian rioters. i i wounded and prisoners. thought of his comrades flashed across his mind, and pushing the man's hand back from his fore- head he struggled into a sitting position. "hurrah, jack! i was afraid that they had done for you," a voice said, and he saw tucker and hill sitting propped up against a wall. two of the natives now took hold of him, dragged him along the floor, and placed him by the side of the others. then the egyptian said, "you keep quiet, i save your lives. if you move or make noise we kill you at once." the lads were all faint from loss of blood, and half stupefied from the heavy blows they had re- ceived; and after a word or two of thankfulness at finding themselves all together and alive, they lay quiet. there were two or three natives in the room, and from time to time one went out or came in with news as to what was passing in the streets. each time there was much talk among their guards, and it was evident that they were dissatis- fied with the result. the outbreak, indeed, had not been, as the boys supposed, universal; had it been, the whole european population would probably have been destroyed. it was confined to a portion only of the lower part of the town. whether it was planned or not beforehand is a disputed point . the rioters undisturbed. it began in a quarrel between some maltese and natives; but this quarrel seemed to be accepted by the latter as a signal for a general attack, and they rushed from their houses armed with heavy sticks and knives and attacked the europeans. rumours had for some time been current among them that the christians intended to conquer egypt and to put down the mahomedan religion, and in their excited state a spark caused an ex- plosion. it was perhaps fortunate that it came when it did, and was confined to a comparatively small part of the town; for had it spread over the whole city the loss of life would have been great indeed, for the natives had entirely their own way from three o'clock in the afternoon until seven in the evening. the police made no attempt whatever to put down the riot. the english and italian consuls, immediately they heard what was going on, drove together to the governor's to call upon him to send for the troops, and to take vigorous steps to restore order. they were attacked upon the way and both wounded, but they succeeded in reaching the governor's palace. by means of the strongest representations, and by telling him that he would be held personally responsible by the powers they a riot not a revolution. represented for the consequences of the disturb- ance, they at last induced him to act, and at seven o'clock the troops arrived and were marched through the streets, when the natives at once dis- persed to their homes. some seventy europeans, including ten or twelve women, were killed, and all the shops in the quarter where the riot took place, pillaged. no damage was done in the business part of the town. there the europeans at once armed them- selves as soon as the news of the riot reached them, and formed up in the square. strong parties were landed from the ships of war, and were prepared to give so hot a reception to the mob should they come that way, that the rioters confined their work to the quarter in which it began. the egyptians are timid people, and the population of alexandria were not sure that the army would go to any great length against the europeans, or that the country in general would be with them. the outbreak was therefore rather the result of the hatred existing among the lower class against the riffraff of the various nationalities gathered in alexandria, whose conduct frequently gave good grounds indeed for the feeling entertained against them, than of deliberate intention. one of the instigators. how many of the natives were killed in the fight was never known; the bodies were hastily carried away and buried by their friends as soon as therumour spread of thearrival of the troops, and only some eight or ten of their dead were found lying in the streets. the rescue of the boys was due to the presence in the mob of a wealthy bey, who lived a short distance out of the town. this man was a brother of one of the leaders of the military insurrection at cairo, and was in close communication with arabi and the colonels. he had been actively preparing for a general rising against the europeans by the propagation of stories hostile to the latter, and by exciting the greed of the lowest classes of the town by point- ing out how great was the wealth they could obtain by looting the well-filled shops and warehouses. some of his agents had assisted to bring about the riot. but he had not intended it to go so far, and had only wished to add to the excitement and ill-feeling that prevailed, by a tumult attended with loss of life upon both sides. he was well satisfied when he saw how eagerly the natives rushed to arms, but as soon as the conflict fairly began he had sent his men among the rioters urging them not to proceed further a crafty schemer. until the army was at hand to support them. he knew that the plunder they had obtained from the small shops would only excite their desire to appropriate the contents of the rich stores in the europeans quarters, and was therefore well contented with what had been done. he had happened to be passing when the little party rushed from the burning house into the crowd. as they did so he caught sight of the naval uniform of the boys, and imagined that they be- longed to one of the ships of war. he saw at once that their lives might be valu- able to him. if his party triumphed he could hand them over and take credit for their capture; if the great insurrection that was already planned failed, he could use them as a means of obtaining favourable terms for himself. he therefore called together two or three of his men who were in the crowd, and made his way to the scene of conflict just as the lads succumbed to their foes. with great difficulty he succeeded in rescuing them from their assailants, and then had them carried into a house hard by. as soon as it was dark the boys were wrapped up in dark clothes and carried away through the streets. as many dead bodies were being similarly captors not friends. taken off by the natives no questions were asked, nor did the soldiers now scattered about interfere with their bearers. the motion started the boys' wounds into bleeding again. they had difficulty in breathing through the cloth bound round them, and when they were at last thrown heavily down upon the ground their consciousness had almost entirely left them. chapter x. prisoners. or two or three minutes after the door was shut and bolted not a word was spoken by the three boys. all were sorely bruised, and bleeding from many cuts and wounds, and breathless and exhausted by the way in which they had been carried along and the force with which they had been thrown down. jack was the first to speak. "i say, how are you both—are either of you badly hurt?" "i don't know yet," tucker replied. "it seems to me there is nothing left of me. i am sore and smarting all over. how are you, arthur?" "i don't know," arthur said. "i wonder that i am alive at all, but i don't know that i am really much hurt." "well, let us try and see," jack said. "this is the rummest affair." "see!" jim repeated scornfully. "why, i can't see my own hand." "well, i mean let us find out if we can stand up and move about. we shall find out, anyhow, whether any of our bones are broken." with some difficulty and with many exclama- tions of pain the lads rose to their feet. "are both you fellows up?" jim asked. "yes." "well, then, we can't be very bad, anyhow. my arms are very stiff, and it seems to me that my jacket is soaked with blood, but where it comes from i do not know. i feel as if my head and face were one mass of cuts and bruises." "that is just how i feel, jim," arthur replied, and jack agreed. "well, this is the rummest affair!" jim said more cheerfully, now it seemed that none of them had sustained any very serious injury. "there were we a few hours ago eating ices and enjoying our- selves stunningly; then this frightful row took place (what it was all about i have not the least idea), and just as it seemed all up with us the fellow this place belongs to (at least i suppose it belongs to. him) steps in and saves us, and then we are dragged up here and chucked into this hole." not out of kindness. "it seems like a dream," arthur said. "it is a good deal too real to be a dream, it is a mighty unpleasant reality. well, i wish there was a little daylight so that we could see what has happened to us and tie ourselves up a bit; as it is there is nothing to do but to lie down again and try to get off to sleep. i say, won't there be a row after this, when they get to know at home what has taken place. i wonder what they are going to do with us in the morning? do you think they mean to kill us, jack?" "no, i should notthink there was a chance of that. this fellow would not have taken us out of the hands of the mob just for the pleasure of cutting our throats privately. still the rough way we were carried along and thrown down here does not look as if he did it from any feeling of kindness," jack remarked. "no, i do not suppose he did it from kindness, jack; anyhow, it does not look like it. well there is no use halloing about that now, let us try and get a sleep. my head feels as if it was swollen up as big as a four-gallon keg." accustomed not unfrequently to get a nap when on watch under the lee of the bulwark, the hard- ness of the ground did not trouble the boys, "we are objects!" and before many minutes they were all asleep.— jack and tucker were awakened by a shout from arthur. "watch on deck!" they started into a sitting position and looked round. a ray of sunlight was streaming in through an opening some six inches square, high up on the wall, "well, we are objects!" jim said, looking at his two companions. they were indeed; their faces were bruised and stained with blood, their hair matted together. arthur's right eye was com- pletely closed, and there was a huge swelling from a jagged bruise over the eyebrow. jack had received a clear cut almost across the forehead, from which the blood was still oozing. jim's face was swollen and bruised all over, and one of his ears was cut nearly off. he was inclined to bear his injuries philosophically until jack told him that half of his ear was gone. this put him into a furious rage, and he vowed vengeance against the whole of the egyptian race. "fancy going about all one's life with half an ear. why, every boy in the street will point at it, and one will be a regular laughing-stock. you fellows' wounds are nothing to that." "i shall be a regular sight." "you will have to wear your hair long, jim; it won't be noticed much if you do." "don't tell me," jim replied. "i tell you i shall be a regular sight wherever i go. i shall have fellows asking me what has happened to me. now, had it been an arm, chaps would have been sorry for me; but who is going to pity a man for losing half an ear?" "i don't think i would mind giving half an ear just at present for a good drink and a bucket of water to wash in." "nor would i," arthur agreed. "that is all very well," jim grumbled . "i have lost half an ear and haven't got any water to drink." "well," jack said, "i suppose they do not mean to starve us anyhow, so no doubt they will bring us something before long." little more was said. their tongues were swollen, their mouths parched, they still felt dizzy and stupid from the blows they had received; so they sat down and waited. the room they were in was apparently an underground cellar, gener- ally used as a store-room. it was about twelve feet square, and the only light was that obtained through the little opening in the wall. jack a glorious wash. enware, and containing three or four gallons of water. "good men!" jim exclaimed enthusiastically; "i will spare your lives for this when i slay the rest of your countrymen," and he shook the egyp- tians warmly by the hand. "i have nothing to give you," he went on," for they turned our pockets inside out; but i owe you one, and will pay you if i ever get a chance. now, lads, this is glorious!" for half an hour the three boys knelt round the pan, bathing their faces and heads. then they stripped to the waist, and after a general wash tore strips off their shirts and bandaged the vari- ous cuts they had received on the head, shoulders, and arms. in no case were these serious, although they were deep enough to be painful. "it's nothing short of a miracle," jack said, "that we have got off so easily. if the beggars had not been in such a hurry to get at us that they got into each other's way they would have done for us to a certainty; but they were all slash- ing away together, and not one could get a fair drive at us. well, i feel about five hundred per cent better now. let us get on our things again and have breakfast. i feel as if i could tuck into that bread now." ( ) k a welcome meal. just as they had got on their clothes, the door again opened, and a gigantic negro entered . he carried with him a wooden box of the shape of a bandbox. he opened this and took out a melon and three large bunches of grapes, laid them down on the ground without a word, nodded, and went out again. "my eye, this is first-rate," jim said in delight. "well, you see, it is not going to be so bad after all. that chap who brought us up here is evi- dently friendly, though why he should have sent us the fruit by itself instead of with the bread and water i do not know. however, never mind that now; let us set to." the boys enjoyed their breakfast immensely. they first ate the grapes; when these were finished they looked longingly at the melon, which was a very large one. "how on earth are we to tackle that?" jim asked. "our knives have gone with our other things." "perhaps we can find something to cut it up," jack said, getting up and turning over the litter on the floor with his foot. for two or three min- utes he searched about. "hurrah!" he exclaimed at last, "here is a bit of old hoop-iron that will do a shrewd guess. first-rate. it is not stiff enough to cut with, but i think we can saw with it, if one takes hold of each end." without much difficulty the melon was cut into three parts, and devoured to the rind . breakfast over they had time to consider their situation again. "i expect," jack said, "this pasha or whatever he is who has got us here is waiting to see how things go. if the egyptians get the best of it he will hand us over to arabi, or whoever comes to be their chief. if we get the best of it he will give us up, and say that he has saved our lives. that would account, you see, for this breakfast business. he only sent us bread and water by his egyptian fellows, and he sent us the fruit pri- vately by that black slave of his, whom he can rely upon to hold his tongue." "i should not be surprised if that was it, jack. that makes it look hopeful for us, for there is no doubt in the world who will get the best of it in the end. we may not thrash the beggars for a time. alexandria is a big place, and there are a lot of troops here, and they can bring any number more down from cairo by rail. the crews of the ships of war here are nothing like strong enough to land and do the whole business at once; besides, they have "we can afford to wait." no end of forts and batteries. i expect it will be some time before they can bring ships and troops from england to capture this place." "but there are the italians and french," ar- thur said. "they are just as much interested in the matter as we are, for i expect there were a good many more italians and french killed yester- day than there were english." "ten to one, i should think," jim agreed. "i don't think there are many english here, except the big merchants and bankers and that sort of thing, while all the small shops seem to have either french, italian, or greek names over the door. well, if it is going on like this, we can afford to wait for a bit." "look here, arthur," jack said, "i will stand under that opening, and you get on my shoul- ders and look out. i don't suppose you will see much, but one likes to know where one is and which way one is looking. we know we are some- where on the high ground beside the town. we must be looking somewhere north-east by the way that gleam of sunlight comes in. very likely you can get a glimpse of the sea." jack placed him- self against the wall, and jim helped arthur on to his shoulders. discussing the position. "yes, i can see the sea," arthur said as soon as his head reached the level of the loop-hole. "i can see the outer harbour, and several ships lying there and boats rowing about." "well, that is something anyhow," jim said as arthur leapt down again. "we shall be able to see any men-of-war that come in, and form some idea as to what is going on. how thick was the wall?" jim went on. "i should say quite a couple of feet thick. i could only see a small patch of the water through it." "then i am afraid there is no chance of our working our way out," jim said. "the only way of escape i can see would be to spring on those two fellows who bring our food. we are stronger than they are, i am sure, and we might master them." "i don't expect we could do it without noise," jack said. "besides, they have got pistols, and we certainly could not master them without their being able to shout. we might manage one easy enough, if one sprang on him and held his arms and prevented him getting his pistol, and another clapped his hands over his mouth; but the three of us could not manage two silently. besides, i jack's opinion. should not like to hurt them after their bringing us that water to wash in." "no; we certainly couldn't do that," the other boys agreed. "besides," jack went on, "we do not know where this staircase leads. but no doubt it goes up into the house, and when we got to the top someone would see us at once; and even if we broke through there would be such a chase we should never get away, and anyhow could not pass through the town down to the port and steal a boat. no, jim, i don't think it is the least use in the world trying to escape that way. if we could dig through the wall and make our way out at night, and get quietly down among the sand-hills by the shore, we might manage to get hold of a boat and row out to the ships; but i do not see that there is any chance of our being able to do that when we haven't got as much as a knife among us." jim examined the walls. "there would not be much difficulty in working through them if we had a couple of good knives, they are made of sun-dried bricks. however, we will hunt about among this rubbish and see if we can find some more bits of iron. anyhow, we can wait a day or two before we make up our minds about it and no chance of escape. see what comes of it. i vote we clear up this litter a bit, and chuck it out through the opening. there is a close, musty smell in the place. the opening will be very handy for checking everything out and keeping the place as clean as we can." '• yes, jim; but the rubbish will be very useful to us if we decide to try to cut our way out, as we can put a lot of brick-dust and stuff under it. it would not do to throw that out of the window, for it would be seen at once by anyone passing." "yes; you are right there, jack. well then, we have nothing to do but to take it as easy as we can." the closest search through the rubbish did not bring to light any other piece of iron, and the bit they had used as a knife was so thin and rusted as to be altogether useless for the purpose for which they required it. the days passed slowly. the two egyptians brought bread and water regularly, and the nubian as regularly additions to their meal—sometimes fruit, sometimes a dish of meat. three bundles of maize straw were brought down the first even- ing to serve as beds for them, and on the follow- ing morning three or four men came down and swept up all the rubbish from the floor. once preparations for defence. every two days they were taken out under a guard of three men with swords and muskets, and allowed to sit down in the sun, with their backs against the wall, for an hour or two. the shipping still lay in the harbour, over which they commanded a good view; and after a few days they saw that several more vessels of war had entered it. "i can see that the boats are going backwards and forwards to the shore," jim said, "so there is no regular war begun yet." "look, jim, over there to the right," jack said. "there is a swarm of men at work. i believe they must be getting up a fresh battery there. that looks as if the egyptians had made up their minds to fight." "so much the worse, jack, i don't mind how much they fight when we are out of their hands (we know what will come of that when it begins), but if they fight while we are here it may turn out bad for us, whichever way it goes." chapter xi. the bombardment. hile the riot had been going on, a con- siderable proportion of the european community of alexandria had taken refuge on board the ships in the harbour, the men who remained behind to protect their property sending off their wives and children. many re- turned on shore as soon as it was known that the troops had arrived, but the alarm was by no means abated when it was seen next day by the manner of the soldiers that they sympathized en- tirely with the rioters. in two or three days a large proportion of the garrison of cairo arrived, and arabi himself came to alexandria. no steps were taken to punish those concerned in the riot, although many were known to the europeans who had escaped. the khedive was evidently powerless. the remonstrances of the european consuls were re- ships of war arr vk ceived by arabi's council with contempt, and it was too evident to all that the riot had been but the beginning of a very much more serious affair. the women and children remained on board the ships; but the europeans reopened their shops and continued business as usual, encouraged by the fact that not a day passed without vessels of war of one european power or another arriving in port. these had been despatched in all haste upon the news being received of the riot in alex- andria, and of the threatening aspect of affairs there. in ten days after the outbreak there were in port english, french, italian, spanish, and ger- man ships of war, and the european community now regained confidence, believing that with so powerful a fleet close at hand the egyptians would not venture upon any fresh act of aggression. captain murchison had been engaged in busi- ness connected with the cargo at the office of one of the principal merchants, when one of the clerks ran in with the news that there was a serious riot in the native part of the town, and it was said that the europeans had been massacred. the office was at once closed, and the strong shutters put up. the clerks and employes were armed a search for the boys. out obtaining any information whatever. the next morning he renewed the search. matters had now settled down a little, and the shops were re- opened. going to the various restaurants in the great square he learned that three young officers had come in and eaten ices at one of them between two and three o'clock the day before, but he could learn nothing further. he went to the english consul. the latter sent a dragoman with him to the head of the police, who promised to have inquiries made. the first and second mates also went on shore and joined in the search. they agreed the best way would be that they should take various streets leading from the square and inquire at every european shop if three lads in european uniform had been noticed. for some time no success attended them; but at last they met with a maltese at whose shop jack had purchased two little filigree brooches. he said he had noticed that after they left his shop they walked down the street which led directly to the spot where the riot had began, and where the greater proportion of europeans had lost their lives. the two officers went down to the scene of the riot, but could obtain no further information respecting the missing lads. no news. the europeans who had remained shut up in their houses while the riot was going on had all left immediately order was restored. the whole of the shops were wrecked and plundered, two or three houses had been burned down, and dark stains in the roadway showed where men had fallen and died. "i fear there is no doubt whatever," captain murchison said, when the two mates reported to him the result of their inquiries, " that the lads must have been just at the spot where the riot broke out; the time at which they passed exactly answered to it. but in that case what could have become of them? mr. cookson has shown me the official list of the killed as far as it is known at present. their bodies have all been found; but neither in that list, nor in the list of the wounded, is there any mention of three young english lads. if they had been killed their bodies would have been found with the others, and indeed their uni- forms would have at once attracted attention." "what in the world can have become of them? could they have been in one of the houses that is burned?" mr. hoare suggested. "i should hardly think that possible," the cap- tain said. "their remains would have been found, the captain still hopes. and would have been returned in the list as three persons unrecognized; but all the bodies seem to have been identified." "perhaps they have been carried off, and are prisoners somewhere," mr. timmins suggested. "that is more likely, mr. timmins. they may have been taken for midshipmen belonging to one of the ships of war, and have been seized by someone in the hope of getting a handsome ransom for them. anyhow, i cannot believe that they are dead; or, at any rate, if they have been killed, it has not been in a fight in the street, or their bodies must have been found. i am most anxious about them, but i cannot believe that the worst has happened to them." captain murchison had bills printed in english, french, italian, and egyptian and distributed through the town, offering a reward for any in- formation that would lead to the discovery, either dead or alive, of the missing lads. the bills met with no response. the egyptians engaged in the attack upon the shops, who alone could have furnished information regarding the boys, were afraid to come forward, as they could not have done so without admitting their share in the massacre. as he could do nothing more, captain negotiations. murchison left the matter in the hands of mr. cookson, the english consul, and a week after the riot the wild wave sailed for smyrna, captain murchison saying that he should look in at alex- andria on his way back, and that the boys if found were to await his return there. he did not write home to announce their disappearance; his belief that they must be still alive was strong, and he was unwilling to plunge their friends into anxiety and grief until a further time had been allowed to elapse. for a long time negotiations went on between admiral seymour, who commanded the british fleet now at the port of alexandria, and the gov- ernment of the khedive. the ministers were really nothing more than the nominees of arabi and the army, and the demands of the english admiral for satisfaction for the outrages, compen- sation to the sufferers, and the punishment of the guilty, were met with evasive answers. so threat- ening and insolent was the bearing of the egyp- tian troops, that the greater part of the european population again left their houses and took refuge on board the ships in the harbour. more and more peremptory became the demands of the english admiral, but still no results were the ultimatum. obtained. egyptian troops now commenced throw- ing up fortifications at points commanding the position of the british ships in the harbour. the admiral sent ashore and insisted that these works should be at once discontinued. no attention was paid to the demand. a message was then sent through the consuls warning all europeans in the town to embark at once, and an ultimatum was despatched to the egyptian ministry, saying that unless the works were stopped and a satis- factory answer to the demands returned before nightfall the ships would open fire the next day; in the afternoon, as no reply had been received, the men-of-war steamed out of the harbour and took up their position off the town. the warships of the other nationalities also left the harbour; but as their governments refused to support actively the action of the english, they either steamed away or anchored at a distance as spectators of the approaching event. the various merchant-ships in harbour also sailed out, all of them crowded with fugitives from the town. the english fleet consisted of the invincible, monarch, penelope, sultan, alexandria, superb, inflexible,and temeraire, with the gun-boats signet, con- dor, bittern, beacon, and decoy, the fight is going to begin. "it would make no odds about our blowing the place up, jim, but it would make a lot of odds if it came to landing. i do not suppose they could land more than a couple of thousand sailors from the fleet, if they did as much, and though i have no doubt they could lick about five times their own number in the field, it would be an awkward business if they had to fight their way through the narrow streets of the town." "well, i suppose there will be some ships along with troops soon," jim said. "it would take them a fortnight or three weeks to get ready, and another fortnight to get out here. perhaps they waited a week or so to see whether the egyptians were going to cave in before they began to get ready; but at any rate there ought to be troops here in another fortnight." the next morning early four of their guards came down and motioned them to follow them. they were evidently in high glee. among them was the one who spoke english. "come along, you english boys," he said. "big fight going to begin. you see the forts sink all you ships in no time." "well, we shall see about that," tucker mut- the view from the garden. tered as they followed their guard. "perhaps you are crowing too early, my fine fellow." "at any rate," arthur hill said, "we may thank them for giving us a view of it." the guards, led them to a spot where six or seven other men, all like themselves armed with muskets, were standing or sitting on a bank which commanded a view of the port and the sea beyond it. the boys threw themselves on the ground and looked at the panorama stretched away before them. they could see the two great ports, known as the old and new ports, with the peninsula jutting out between them, on which stood the khedive's palace, named ras-el-tin, and other important buildings. beyond stretched a long spit of land parellel with the shore, and sheltering the two ports. this spit was studded with forts, which formed the principal defences of alexandria, although there were several forts, among them forts mex and marabout, on the mainland near the mouths of the harbour. most of these forts had been erected under the superintendence of french engineers, and were considered capable of defend- ing the town against any naval force that could be brought against it. they were armed with the first gun. heavy artillery of the best modern construc- tion. the ports were entirely clear of shipping, but ranged along facing the forts lay the eight british ironclads. four of them faced the forts at ras-el- tin and the mouth of the harbour, three lay off the mex batteries, and one off a fort commanding what was known as the boghaz channel, while the little group of gun-boats lay out beyond the line of battle-ships. further away to the east could be seen a great number of sailing-boats and steamers. just at seven o'clock a great puff of white smoke broke out from the black side of the invincible, which was carrying the admiral's flag, and even before the sound reached the ears of the little party on the hill similar bursts of smoke spurted out from the other vessels. then came the deep roar of heavy artillery, mingled with the rushing sound of their huge missiles through the air. almost immediately an answering fire broke out from all the batteries fringing the sea. in a minute or two the hulls and lower masts of the men-of-war were entirely hidden in clouds of white smoke. the very ground seemed to shake with the thunder of the heavy guns, mingled the din of battle. with which came the sharper sound of some of the smaller artillery in the forts and the long rattle of the machine-guns in the tops of the men- of-war. so terrible was the din that the egyptians ceased their chatter and sat in awed silence. the shell from the egyptian guns could be seen burst- ing over the vessels, while jets of water spurting out far to seaward in all directions marked the course of the round shot. "it is downright awful, isn't it?" arthur hill said in a hushed voice. "i've often thought i should like to see a sea-fight, but i never thought it would be as terrible as this." "no more did i, arthur," jack agreed. "i feel just as i have done when i have been out in the bawley and a big thunder-storm has burst over- head. if it feels like this here, what must it be on board a ship?" "i don't believe it is half so bad there," jim tucker said. "they are all hard at work there at those big guns, and haven't got much time to think about it. i wish we could see what harm the shot are doing them. they have got some tremendous guns in some of the forts—pretty well as big as they are on board." for an hour there was no change whatever in the forts silenced. the state of things, then the little gun-boats were seen to be in motion. steaming away to the west, they engaged the marabout fort, which had hitherto taken its part in the fray without any return on the part of the assailants. "i believe the fire of the forts is slackening," jack said. "look at that fort at the entrance to the harbour, its outline is all ragged and un- even. i wish the wind would freshen up a bit, to let us see a little more of what is going on." another hour and it was evident to them all that the fire of the forts was nothing like as heavy as it had been at first, while the guns of the fleet continued to thunder as steadily as when they first commenced. at twelve o'clock several of the forts had ceased to fire altogether. at one, the gun-boats having silenced the marabout fort, joined the three men-of-war in the bombard- ment of the mex batteries, and the temeraire, having silenced the fort at the entrance of the boghaz channel, joined in the attack on the ras- el-tin and pharos forts. at three o'clock there was a tremendous ex- plosion in the pharos fort, and now only an occasional gun answered the fire of the assailants. this soon ceased, and at four some signal flags were cease firing. seen to run up to the masthead of the invincible, and instantly the fire from the british ships ceased, and a dead silence succeeded the din of battle that had continued almost unbroken for nine hours. chapter xii. free. hor two or three hours before the cessa- tion of bombardment flames had been bursting out from several buildings in the neighbourhood of the palace of ras-el-tin. these being in the line of fire, had doubtless been struck by shell from the ships passing over the forts in front. when the fire ceased the egyptians rose and motioned the boys to return to their prison. "well, you see, my friend," jack said to the man who spoke english, "you have not sunk the english vessels in a few minutes, as you talked about. not even one of the little gun-boats; and as far as i can see from here you have not even damaged them." the man made no reply. to him and his comrades the escape of the british ships was a mystery. that they were made of iron they un- the fleet uninjured. derstood, but had no idea of the enormous thickness of their sides; and could not even imagine that ships could be built sufficiently strong to keep out the missiles discharged by the immense cannons in the forts. that not even a mast should have been knocked away seemed to them almost mi- raculous. in point of fact, the ships had been struck but once or twice with the shells from these massive cannon. the egyptian gunners were unaccustomed to the use of the huge pieces, and had consequently aimed too high, and the shell had passed either between the masts or far over- head. upon the other hand the smaller guns had been worked with accuracy, but their missiles had dropped harmless from the iron plates of the ships. the fire of the men-of-war had, in the first place, been directed mainly against these great cannon. the machine-guns in the top had created terrible havoc among the men who were carrying on the laborious and to them difficult operation of loading them, while the huge shell from the great guns had carried wholsesale destruction among them. thus the powerful guns upon which the egyptians had relied to beat off any attack from the sea had been fired but seldom, what next? and one by one had been dismounted or rendered unserviceable by the fire from the ships. the gallantry with which the egyptian gunners stuck to their work was the object of surprise and admiration to the british sailors. it seemed scarce possible that men could work under so tremendous a fire as that to which they were exposed. the forts were literally torn to pieces, and at the end of the day were little better than heaps of ruins scattered thickly with the corpses of the egyptian artillerymen. "well, what do you suppose they will be up to next, jim?" arthur hill asked when the door had again closed upon them. "i suppose they will begin again to-morrow if these fellows have not had enough of it. you see, they hardly fired a gun for the last three hours, and as far as we could see the forts were pretty well knocked to pieces; the one at the mouth of the harbour blew up, and there were several other explosions. they held out a lot better than i thought they would do, i must say, but i cannot believe they will be fools enough to go on to- morrow." they chatted for some time as to the chances of surrender or of resistance to the last, and as to alexandria on fire. what was likely to befall themselves; then, wearied with the excitement of the day their voices be- came more and more drowsy and they dosed off upon their heaps of straw. jack was the first to. wake. he sat up and looked round, puzzled for a time. "i say, wake up you fellows!" he exclaimed suddenly. "there is a tremendous fire some- where." the others sat up at once. they had been asleep for some hours and night had fallen, but there was a red glow of light in the cell. "here, arthur, you jump up on my shoulders," jim said, standing under the opening in the wall. arthur climbed up, and uttered an exclamation as his eyes became level with the opening. "i can- not see the town, but i think it must be all on fire; it is almost as light as day outside, the whole air is full of sparks and red clouds of smoke. it is tremendous!" "jump down and let us have a look," jim said impatiently, and he and jack had by turns a view of the scene. a quarter of an hour later the door opened suddenly and four of their guards ran in. "come, quick!" one of them said, and seizing the boys by their wrists they hurried them up "not a bad idea." without and were soon fast asleep. the idea that their captives might escape did not even occur to them. the boys had thrown themselves down a little apart from the rest. "this is a nice go," jim said. "i suppose this chap is taking us off as hostages, and we may be dragged about like this for any time; for until an army is got together and conquers the .whole country, i do not see how we are going to be re- leased." "i don't see what there is to prevent us going straight back again," jack said; "we have got splendid disguises and might go anywhere." "that is not a bad idea, jack; but how are we to do it? every one is coming the other way." "yes, i don't think we can go back by that road," jack agreed; "but we might get round the other side of the lake, i should think." "but how are we to do that, jack? we do not know anything about the country." "no, we do not know much about it, jim; but i remember the day before we landed, when we were looking at that book mr. hoare lent us so as to get up something about alexandria before we landed, there was a map of the town. i re- the plan of escape. member that the lake behind it, called mareotis or some such name, extended some eight or ten miles to the west of the town, and is only sepa- rated from the sea by the high beach on which the mex forts stand. i do not see why we should not work round there, and get down on to the beach and make our way on to the town. our fel- lows are sure to land to-morrow morning and take possession of it. we have passed across the isthmus between the two lakes, so the one we want to get round must lie somewhere to the north-west. anyhow, the fire will be a guide to us. if we keep rather to the left of that we must strike the lake, and have only got to follow that to keep right." "i am with you," jim said, "what do you say, arthur?" "i am game," arthur replied, "but let us be off at once. what time do you think it is?" "i have no idea. i don't know how long we slept, but it was quite dark except for the fire, so it must certainly have been past eight o'clock. we set out half an hour later. i should say that it must be between twelve and one now, if not later. it will begin to get light again soon after four, so we have no time to lose." on the shore of the lake. "well, let us crawl away as quietly as we can," jack said. "i think those chaps are all asleep, but we cannot be too careful until we get a bit away from them." the boys found it very difficult to crawl in their female garments, but kept on as noiselessly as pos- sible until some distance from the cottage, then they stood up. they followed the lane until they came to the road, crossed the line of railway beyond it and swam the fresh-water canal, and then, guided by the glare of light over alexandria, made their way across the fields. after half an hour's walking they found themselves on the shore of the lake. it was low and swampy, and they had to keep some distance from its edge. the reflection of the light on its smooth surface enabled them to follow its direction as well as if they had been walking close to it. they kept on until morning broke, by which time the glare of light above alexandria lay due north of them. "we had better lie up here," jim said. "there is sure to be a village near the lake, and the first person who came across us and questioned us would find us out." "i shall not be sorry to stop at all," jack said, "for these loose yellow slipper things are horrid nothing to eat. for walking in. i have tried going barefoot for a bit, but there are prickly things in the grass and i soon had to give that up." there was no difficulty in finding shelter, for in many places belts of high rushes bordered the lake. entering one of these for some little dis- tance, and pressing down a lot of the rushes to make a dry bed on the damp earth, the lads lay down and were soon fast asleep. the sun was blazing high overhead when they awoke. "my eye, isn't it hot!" was jim tucker's first exclamation. "it is enough to roast a fellow alive." "it is hot" jack agreed; "and the worst of it is there isn't anything to eat." "no, and there is not likely to be," jack replied, "till we get to alexandria. there are the guns of the fleet still at it . it is evident that the forts have not surrendered. i don't see how we can possibly get along past those forts on the beach to the west as long as they hold out, besides it is not likely that there has been a landing from the ships yet, and the rabble of alexandria will be plundering and killing we shall be safer anywhere than there." "so we should," jack agreed. "but there is one ( ) m water must be had. thing quite certain, we cannot stop here without food or water. we might perhaps do without grub for a day or two, but certainly not without water. there is maize and grain ripe in the fields, so we shall do well enough for eating." "i suppose they must have wells. people must drink here, jack." "i suppose there must be wells," jack said doubtfully. "but, you see, the water in this lake is salt, and i should say they get no fresh water anywhere near, because the ground is so sandy. i rather expect they get it in small channels from the fresh-water canal." "well, anyhow, we can get water there," arthur hill said. "i vote we go back there again. not of course anywhere near where the egyptians are; though i do not know whether that would make much difference, for we should be on one side of the canal and they on the other. still, we had better go beyond them; then we can, as you say, keep ourselves going by picking maize or corn or what- ever we can find for a day or two, till we hear the firing cease." there are sure to be some boats somewhere on this lake," jack said, "and we might get hold of one and go across to alexandria some night, and ■*i interrupted. only to lie down and take things quietly until dark. i fancy it is about three o'clock in the afternoon now by the sun." they lay down among a clump of bushes a short distance from the lake, and as soon as the sun had set went back to the boat again. they had already made another meal, and had finished their maize and water. they stood by the boat waiting until it should become perfectly dark, and looking across the tranquil sheet of water at the distant town, over which the smoke still hung heavily, and as the sky darkened flashes of fire could be seen. they were at last just going to get on board when they heard an exclamation of sur- prise behind them. looking round they saw two natives, who had evidently come down with the intention of going out in their boat. chapter xiii. among friends. ee astonishment of the two natives at seeing, as they supposed, three women standing with their boat, was no less than that of the boys at being thus suddenly sur- prised. suspecting no harm, however, they at once moved forward, asking in egyptian, "what are you doing here with our boat?" "down with them, boys!" jim tucker exclaimed, and at once threw himself upon one of the boat- men, while jack and arthur instantly sprang upon the other. wholly unprepared for the attack, the men were thrown down almost without resistance. "get some rope from the boat, arthur!" jim tucker exclaimed. leaving jack to hold the prostrate man, arthur hill jumped on board the boat, and in a minute returned with two pieces of rope. with these the arms and legs of the natives were soon firmly tied. crossing the lake. "now, what are we going to do next?" jim tucker asked. "it would not do to leave them here," jack said. "if they managed to untie each other they would give the alarm, and if we had to come back we should be caught . if they could not manage to untie each other they might be here and die. i think we had better take them with us." "i suppose that will be the best plan," jim agreed. "i do not know that it will make much difference in the end, for they must be left tied somewhere; still, it would certainly make it safer for us." accordingly the men were lifted into the boat and laid down in the bottom. then the boys threw off the female garments, and taking the long poles punted the boat out into the lake. the water was so shallow, that it was not until they had gone more than a mile from shore that they laid in the poles and took to the clumsy oars. an hour's rowing, and the shore began to rise high in front of them. as they approached it they stopped rowing, and listened attentively. "now, before we go any nearer we had better gag these fellows," jack said. "if they were to set- to to shout as soon as we had landed, our chance of getting back again would be at an end." on shore. they tore off two strips from the cloths, rolled them up, and put them in the prisoners' mouths, putting some lashings across so that they could not get them out; then they put the men so far apart in the boat that they could not touch each other, and lashed them in these positions. this done they again wrapped themselves in their women's garments, and quietly rowed to the shore. they had but little fear of finding anyone here. the natives, if no landing had been effected from the ships, would be all engaged in the work of plundering; while if the english had taken pos- session of the town they would probably be keep- ing in their houses. no one was near when they landed, and fastening the head-rope of the boat to a stone they pushed her gently off again. "if anyone should come along," jim said, "it is too dark for them to see those fellows lying in the boat. now, we must take our bearings accurately as we go along, so as to be able to find the boat again if things go wrong with us." they had landed half a mile beyond the town, and now made their way towards it. as they came to the houses a few people were about, but no one paid any attention to the three veiled figures. the glare of light was a sufficient indication to them of the direction they should follow, for they had the great square agreed that if a landing had been made the sailors would be certain to be at work trying to put a stop to the spread of the flames. presently they came to the edge of the district swept by the fire. the walls for the most part were standing, although in many cases they had fallen across the road. the heaps of rubbish inside still glowed, and now and then tittle tongues of fire leapt up. on they went, making their way very cautiously until they reached a wide open space surrounded by ruins. "this is the great square," jack said. "look, there is the fountain still playing in the middle. there are some fires there too, and a lot of people round them." "let us wait a bit. if they are egyptians we shall be in a nice mess." they stood for some time, afraid to approach closer, then they heard a burst of laughter. "that must be english," jack said. "i don't believe egyptians ever laugh like that." "i don't think so either. let us move a bit closer; but mind, we must be ready for a bolt if we find we are wrong." they went quietly forward, and again stood irresolute. presently they heard a voice call "tom jones!" and heard the reply "aye, aye, sir!" with friends. "it is all right!" jim exclaimed joyfully, and they at once hurried forward. they soon arrived at the fire, round which three or four naval officers were sitting. the boys tore the veils from their faces and threw back the cotton cloth from over their heads, and a general exclamation of surprise broke from the officers as they saw the heads of three european boys. "hallo!" one of them exclaimed. "who are you, and where do you spring from?" "we were wounded and carried off last month, on the day of the rising," jim said, "and have been kept prisoners ever since, sir. we got away the night after the bombardment, and have just arrived. we belong to the wild wave steamer; we are midshipmen on board her." "well, i am glad you have got out of their hands," the officer said; " but i cannot do anything for you now. these rascals keep on setting the town on fire in fresh places, and we are just start- ing to put one out that began half an hour ago." "what is this?" an officer asked, hurrying up to the spot. "three lads, lord charles, who have been kept prisoners by the egyptians for the last month, and have just escaped. they belong to a merchant steamer, and were captured at the rising." a hearty meal"please to march off your men at once, sir; i will overtake you in a minute or two. well, lads, what can i do for you?" "well, sir, you might give us something to eat, perhaps," jim suggested. "we have had next to nothing for the last three days." "come along with me," lord charles beresford said, and he hurried with them to another party of sailors at the further end of the square. "give those lads something to eat and drink," he said. "you had better stop here until i come back, lads, then i will see what can be done for you." a kettle was boiling over a fire, and before many minutes the lads were supplied with a basin each of cocoa and a lump" of bread, and felt as they ate their supper that their troubles were at an end. it required, however, more than one bowl of cocoa and a considerable quantity of bread before their appetites were appeased. while taking their supper the boys gave to the officers gathered round them a sketch of the adventures they had gone through. "now that you have done your supper," one of the officers said, "i suppose the next thing you want is some clothes. the question is how to get them." "we would much ratherstay here." with great joy the boys seized the bundle, and going a little distance off examined its contents. after a good deal of trying on they each found things that fitted them fairly. feeling vastly more comfortable in their new attire, they rejoined the sailors. "i expect your ship has left long ago," lord charles said. "your best plan will be to go round in the morning to the consul, mr. cookson. he has established himself in a temporary office just beyond the range of the fire. one of my men will show you the way. most likely your captain will have left some message with him in case you turned up again. after you have seen him you can, if you like, come back here; i dare- say i shall be able to find something for you to do. or if you like you can be sent off to one of the steamers, where the refugees are on board." "we would much rather stay here, sir, if we may," jim tucker said. "we will do anything that you like to set us to." as they sat by the fire talking with the officers the boys learned what had happened in the town. as soon as it became evident that the fire of the ships of war was mastering that of the forts the troops and the populace began the work of plun- der. the european stores were all broken into; a. stout defence. everything portable was carried away and the furniture broken and smashed. fire was applied in scores of places. a con- siderable number of the poorer classes of euro- peans had remained in their houses, being afraid to desert their possessions, and many of these houses were broken into by the mob and the inmates massacred. it was calculated that upwards of five hundred were killed . the clerks at the anglo-egyptian bank had determined to stay and defend it, and as soon as the work of plunder and massacre began a number of europeans made for this point, and the little garrison was swelled until it numbered nearly a hundred men. the place had been attacked by the mob and soldiers; but had held out gallantly and beaten off the assailants, who had before long scattered to pointy where plunder could be more easily obtained. at night a steam-launch from the fleet entered the harbour. two or three men had landed, and making their way through the burning streets returned and reported that the town was empty. the next morning at daylight a force had landed and driven the plunderers from the euro- pean part of the town, while the ships had battered the forts that still held out. the following day a restoring order. strong force of marines came ashore and patrolled the streets. at the sight of the british uniforms many doors were opened, and the wretched in- mates, who had for forty-eight hours been trem- bling for their lives, made their way down to the water-side and went off to the ships. in the evening, a short time before the boys arrived, four hundred and fifty men had been landed from the british ships, and one hundred and twenty- five from an american man-of-war, and these at once set about the work of re-establishing order. in the morning a sailor conducted the boys to the house where mr. cookson had established himself. as soon as they gave an account of themselves to him he shook them heartily by the hand. "i am glad to see you back in safety, lads. your captain was in a great way about your loss, and hunted high and low for you. he traced you to the spot where the riot began, but could learn nothing more; and as none of your bodies could be found, we had hopes that you had not been killed. of course he could not delay his vessel here, and went on to smyrna. he was going to look in here again on his way back; but as he has not done so, he probably got a freight and had to sail straight home. he asked me if you at the consulate. did turn up to let you have any money you re- quired, and to do all i could for you. i can let you have the money, but i cannot do much else beyond sending you on board one of the ships outside to wait there until there is a chance of sending you home." "thank you very much, sir," jim said . "we shall be glad of some money, but we do not want to go on board ship. lord beresford said he would give us something to do here." "oh, if lord charles said that, i need not trouble about you," the consul said. "he will find you plenty of work. how much shall i give you each?" "i think two pounds apiece, sir, would be plenty," jim said. "one does not like having no money; but i do not see how we are going to spend it." the lads now went back to the square, and there waited for some hours, lord charles beres- ford being away at work. he returned at mid- day, by which time the party in the square had cooked the dinners for their comrades. there were now two thousand sailors and marines on shore, posted in various open places, the grand square serving as head-quarters. sailors and officers were alike blackened with ashes and dust, having been ( o ) n the burning streets. "these are all i could hire to-day, sir," the man said. "they are too much frightened to come out of their houses. to-morrow we shall get plenty of men. the consul told me to go with you as interpreter." "thank goodness for that," the captain said, "i was wondering how i was going to get them to understand me. tell them to fall-in two and two and follow." through the streets, where the heat from the houses was so intense that they hurried through with their hands shading their faces, clambering over masses of fallen stonework, broken furniture, and goods of all sorts scattered about, the party made their way to the edge of the fire. here the flames were ascending, and the conflagration was still spreading, although fortunately but slowly, for there was scarcely any wind. "now, lads," the captain said, "set to work and get down four houses on each side of the way." the marines set the example by entering the houses, and, running upstairs, soon managed to break their way through the tiles and emerge upon the roofs. "come on, darkies!" they shouted. "don't be afraid of blacking your hands!" they at once fighting the fire. began to throw off the tiles, and were soon joined by a score of the most active natives. "that is right, down with them!" the captain shouted, and in a very few minutes the last tiles had fallen. as soon as the shower had ceased the whole of the contents of the houses were carried into the streets. then the marines began with the axes and crowbars with which they were pro- vided to tear up the floor-boards and break down the rafters and beams. then grapnels fastened to long ropes were fixed on the top of the brick- work, a score of hands caught hold, and the lightly-built wall readily yielded to the strain, coming down in great masses. as soon as the walls had fallen the natives were set to work carrying away the beams and woodwork, and in a little more than half an hour from the time the operations commenced two heaps of brickwork and rubbish alone marked the spot where the eight houses had stood. as soon as the work was finished the party moved on into the next street, there to repeat the operations. as parties of sailors were at work at a score of other places the operations proceeded rapidly, and by nightfall the workers had the satis- faction of knowing that the fire was completely cut off, and that there was no chance of its spread- advance to ramleh. on monday morning the th regiment and the third batallion of the th rifles arrived in the harbour, and were at once landed. general sir archibald alison also arrived and assumed the command on shore, and the following day a body of troops marched along the line of railway to ramleh, six miles distant. ramleh stands at the point where a narrow neck of land connects the peninsula on which alexandria stands with the mainland . along this narrow isthmus run the road, the railway, and the sweet-water canal, and here there is a pumping-station, by which water is raised to a higher level for the supply of alexandria. the khedive has a summer palace at ramleh, and here are a large number of pretty villas, the summer abodes of the merchants of alexandria. it was an important position, for here any advance upon the city from the east could be readily checked. thursday was a busy day for the police and troops in alexandria, for a high wind got up and fanned the masses of embers into flames again, and serious fires broke out in several places. the boys were busily engaged all day. they acted now as aides-de-camp to lord charles beresford, carry- ing his orders to the various working parties, and making themselves generally useful. bad news lord charles had established himself with his officers in an empty house, and the three boys had a room assigned to them here. the party all messed together. in the evening lord charles said to the officers, "i hear that the khedive's people have got news that arabi is damming up the sweet-water canal. we shall have a deal of trouble if he does. there is very bad news, too, from the country. they say that everywhere except at cairo the natives have risen and mas- sacred the europeans. arabi has ordered all the able-bodied men in the country to join the army." "i don't call the last part bad news," captain archer said. "we shall have ten thousand men here in a short time, and the more of these scoun- drels- that are gathered together the better, so that we can end it at one blow. if arabi does but stand there is no doubt as to the result. the thing that would puzzle us would be for him and his troops to march away into upper egypt and lead us a long dance there. in this tremendous heat our fellows would not be able to march far, and it would be like a tortoise trying to catch a hare, hunting them all over the country. the more men arabi gets together the more likely he is to make a stand and fight it out." "there is no doubt that is the case," lord reinforcements. charles agreed. "we shall make short work of them directly lord wolseley and the troops arrive. however, i hope we sha'n't be idle in the mean- time. there are two more regiments expected to-morrow or next day, and i expect we shall see some fighting then. the soldiers are furious at the frightful destruction that has taken place, and they will make it hot for these fellows if they get a chance of going at them. they say that they are throwing up tremendous fortifications across the isthmus." on sunday night the th regiment arrived. the water in the canal was now sinking fast. a dam had been erected at its mouth to keep in what water it contained. order had now been restored in the town, and the plundering had been almost put a stop to. the next morning a wing of the th and a squadron of mounted infantry went out beyond ramleh. the enemy's cavalry were driven off, and there was an exchange of artillery fire between some heavy guns that had been sent out by rail and placed into position there, and arabi's battery. the next week was a quiet one, but on friday the th a reconnaissance was made by a railway train, which captain fisher of the navy had plated with iron. it was manned by sailors, and carried "a bright idea." a heavy gun and several gatlings. the enemy on seeing it approaching came out in force, but were driven back by the guns of the train and those in the batteries at ramleh. the reconnais- sance showed that the egyptians had erected a number of strong works across the end of the isthmus. as the work of the bands of hired natives was now only clearing up rubbish and litter, the boys agreed that as there was no more fun to be had in the way of putting out fires, they might as well give up what they called slave-driving, and enjoy themselves until the wild wave arrived. they had only undertaken the work as an alternative to going on board one of the crowded ships in the harbour, and as the population were now returning and the shops opening again there was no occasion for their further stay as overlookers of the seavengers. several temporary inns had been opened by enterprising italians for the benefit of those who on landing from the ships found their houses burnt, sacked, or uninhabitable. "i vote," jack said the first morning that they were free to do exactly as they liked, "that we go up and have a look at our prison." "a bright idea!" jim tucker said. "but that is an out-of-the-way part, jack, and there may prepared for defence. be some of those skulking thieves hanging about there." "they won't catch us napping this time, jim." the boys had, in fact, armed themselves from the store of weapons that had been taken from the natives or found scattered about in the streets and houses. these weapons had been piled up in a shed, and as they had no owners the boys con- cluded that it would be as well to pick some out for themselves, having previously asked their officer to allow them to do so, as they were entirely without arms. he at once gave them permission to take what they liked, and each had taken two revolvers —a full-sized one which they wore openly in their belts, and a small one in their jacket-pockets. the precaution was by no means a useless one, as on carrying messages for their commander from one part of the town to the other they had often to pass through narrow streets. so armed the boys had no fear of being attacked when together, and after breakfast they started on their trip of exploration. as they knew nothing of the road by which they had been taken to the house, and had again left it after nightfall, they were by no means sure as to its exact position, the only indication being the view they had obtained of the sea from its the prison house. garden. when once beyond the town they found almost all the houses entirely deserted; for bands of plunderers were still pillaging everywhere be- yond the range of the parties of british troops, and even after ramleh was occupied they made their way along the shore from the direction of the aboukir forts, and broke into the houses and carried away their contents. "i think this must be just about the position," jim said at last. "i should say from the other side of that house there must be just the same view we had." the gate was locked and closed, but the boys soon found a place where they could enter the grounds. upon going round to the north side of the house they found that they had judged cor- rectly, for they at once recognized the appearance of the building and the various objects in the garden. "here is the bank from which we watched the bombardment," arthur hill said. "well, we have got better out of it than seemed likely then." "that we have," jack agreed. "now, jim, i suppose we may as well get into the house and have a look at it. i should like to get something to carry away. i don't want anything valuable, but something as a sort of memento of our prison." "he treated us well." "it would serve the beggar right," jim said," if we were to set fire to his place and burn it down." "it might serve him right if someone else were to do it," jack said; "but not for us, jim. he saved our lives, you see. if it had not been for him we should never have come alive out of that street." "that is so," jim agreed; "but you know when we talked it over we were all of opinion that he carried us off only to act as hostages for himself." "well, i know we agreed that that was it, jim; but after all we cannot be sure about it. it may have been that, but on the other hand he may really have wanted to save our lives. he would not dare treat us kindly, and was obliged to keep us imprisoned because of the fellows round him. for you know he really did treat us well we may be sure that black fellow of his did not bring us down fruit and other things each meal without his knowledge." "it may have been that," jim assented, "though i doubt it. i am convinced he only carried us off and treated us well in order to get good terms for himself if things went wrong." "perhaps so, jim; but whatever the reason he did save our lives, and he did treat us well, and i feel obliged to him. now, let us look at the house. i wonder whether it is empty?" forcing an entrance. "oh, of course it is empty. why, we saw all his fellows coming away with us." "yes, but that is no reason why it should be empty, jim. there are lots of these plundering fellows about. we know they do not come back into the town because we have got guards at the gates, and i expect they hide up during the day in some of these deserted houses. anyhow we may as well keep our eyes open till we know the place is clear." jim agreed to the prudence of the suggestion, and they went up to the house. the door open- ing into the garden was fastened, but the wooden shutters outside one of the windows about four feet from the ground were unfastened, and swung open as they touched them. the window inside was closed. "just give me a back, arthur," jack said. "i have no doubt i can open the fastenings." standing on arthur's shoulders jack took out his knife, and had no difficulty in inserting the blade between the frames of the window, which opened inwards, and in pushing back the slight and simple fastening. he pushed the window open, and had his foot on the sill ready to enter when he paused. "what is it, jack?" jim asked impatiently. "surrender!" jim shouted, "or we fire "surrender, or we fire!" "there is somebody in the house," jack said in a low voice, "i can hear talking." he stepped very quietly down into the room, and a minute later the others stood beside him. it was as jack had said, there was a loud sound of talking somewhere in the house. "what shall we do, jim?" jack whispered. "we will go and have a look at them," jim re- plied. "we have got two revolvers apiece, and are a match for a dozen egyptians anyway; and besides, if they haven't seen us, and i don't suppose they have, as we came round at the back of the house, they will think we are officers and have got a lot of men behind us." with their pistols drawn and cocked the boys moved quietly across the room and into a passage. the voices came from a room in the front of the house. the door was open. they crept up to it and then suddenly rushed in. "surrender," jim shouted, "or we fire!" the lads were astonished at the sight that met their eyes. they had expected to see a group of natives; instead of that they saw a party of eight or ten greeks and italians sitting on the ground playing cards. the room was piled with goods of all sorts—silk curtains, female dresses, clocks, rich ornaments, choice, carpets, and other articles. prompt punishment. we have got the whole gang, but i will leave four men here in charge with orders to make prisoners of anyone that enters. we will lodge these scoun- drels in jail, and then make our report. there is an immense lot of valuable property here, and i should think it had better be taken down into the town and kept there until claimed by its rightful owners." leaving the four sailors on guard, the party with the prisoners in their midst marched down again to the town, and the latter were speedily lodged in jail. on the affair being reported to lord charles beresford a party of marines and natives with hand-carts were sent up to the house, and the whole of its contents brought down to an empty house in the town. here the articles were inspected by many merchants and other owners of villas at ramleh and near the town, and many of the articles were at once identified by them. the next day the band of plunderers were brought up before the court, presided over by one by the khedive's judges; and the boys having given their evidence, and the owners of many of the plundered villas swearing to their property, the whole band were sentenced to re- ceive three dozen lashes apiece and to be im- prisoned for two years. a hot engagement. before he came to it. thus the marines advancing along the embankment were left unsupported. they had been met with a hot fire from the enemy, who were posted in a large house surrounded by entrenchments, on which some guns had been mounted. the guns on the train kept up a steady fire on this position, and ■the marines pushing for- ward were soon hotly engaged by the enemy's infantry, who were massing in great numbers on both of their flanks. as the marines were now far in advance of the other column, the order was given them to fall back. to cover this movement, major donald with fifty men advanced boldly close to the egyp- tian position, and kept up so hot a fire that the enemy's advance was checked, while the main bodies of the marines retired steadily across the fields to the embankment, keeping perfect order in spite of the tremendous fire that was poured into them, and bringing off every wounded man as he fell. major donald's party then fell back rapidly and joined them. the enemy had now brought up several batteries of artillery, which opened upon the marines, while the infantry pressed forward in heavy masses. the marines, however, aided by the musketry fire of the sailors in the train, as well as by their machine- the "wild wave." guns and heavy pieces of artillery, kept them at bay as they fell back along the embankment, and as soon as the egyptians came within range, the guns at ramleh opened upon them, and they fell back to their camps, while the british columns returned to ramleh. the object of the reconnaissance had been served by the discovery of the strength and position of the enemy's batteries, and it was evident that it would need a large force to carry the formidable positions which guarded the isthmus. a week later the lads, on paying their usual morning visit to the consulate, heard to their de- light that the wild wave had just been signalled approaching the harbour, which was now crowded with shipping, as steamers laden with troops were arriving every day from england. the lads hur- ried down to the port, and as soon as the wild wave dropped her anchor they were alongside of her. they were very warmly greeted by the captain and officers as they came on board ship. "well, you young scamps," captain murchison said after the first greetings were over, "you have given us a nice fright. what has it all been about? for at present we have heard nothing what- ever beyond the fact that you were safe; and we are prepared to put you in irons for desertion a dirty time. row began you had hid up somewhere, and that not knowing that matters had quieted down again you had remained there until after we sailed." the boys had all written home on the day after they had rejoined their friends in alexandria, and had, a week before the arrival of the wild wave, received answers to their letters. an hour later an officer came off with orders that the coal was not to be discharged on shore, but that the transports would come alongside and fill up from her. for a week all hands were engaged in the unpleasant duty of discharging the coal. steamer after steamer came alongside and took from one to three hundred tons on board, to supply the place of the coal consumed on the outward voyage. all on board were heartily glad when the work was over, the decks scrubbed and washed down, and the hose at work upon the bulwarks and rigging. "we shall not be clean again till we have had twelve hour's rain on her," captain murchison said. "it is the first time so far as i know that the wild wave has carried coal, and i hope it will be the last, so long as i command her." "yes, i have been feeling a good deal like a chimney-sweep for the last week, sir," mr. timmins remarked; "and shall not feel clean again till all my togs have been ashore and had a regular wash." home again. the east on their way to ismailia, and the wild wave, which had got her orders late the evening before, sailed for genoa, where she was to take on board a cargo for england. six weeks later she entered st. katherine's docks, and the three midshipmen were at once released from duty. jack had already packed up his small kit, and, taking the train to fenchurch and then a bus to dulwich, was soon home. as the ship had been signalled when she passed the downs, he was ex- pected, and received a joyous welcome. great was the interest of his mother and sister in the adventures he had passed through, and they were delighted with the gold watch and the inscription, stating that it had been presented to him by merchants of alexandria whose property he had been the means of rescuing from its plunderers the next morning mrs. robson received a note asking her to come up with jack and lily to dine with the godstones. jack learned that while he had been away lily had been often there spend- ing the day with mildred, who was nearly her own age. on their arrival mildred took her off to her own room to have tea, while jack dined with mr. godstone and his wife, and after dinner had again to repeat the full story of his adventures. his stay in england was a short one, for the a gale off the cape. wild wave, as soon as she had unloaded her cargo from italy, was chartered for calcutta, via the cape, and a fortnight after his arrival at home jack was again summoned to rejoin his ship. the wild wave was again fortunate in her weather during the early part of her voyage, but when off the cape encountered a heavy gale. jack had never before seen a storm at sea, and, accustomed as he was to the short choppy waves at the mouth of the thames, he was astonished at the size of those he now beheld. they seemed to him as large in comparison to the size of the barque as those he had before seen were to that of the smack. for three days the vessel lay to. fortunately the glass had given notice of the ap- proach of the storm, and all the upper spars had been sent down and the vessel got under snug canvas before it struck her, and she therefore rode out the gale with no farther damage than the carrying away of part of her bulwarks, and the loss of some hen-coops and various other of her deck gear. as soon as the gale abated sail was made, and they continued on their course. "glad it is over, eh, master robson?" the sail- maker, joe culver, said to jack, as he was leaning against the bulwark on the evening after the storm had subsided, looking at the reflection of the set- joe culver. ting sun on the glassy slopes of the long swell that was still heaving. joe culver, or, as he was always called on board, old joe, was a character; he had sailed as man and boy over fifty-five years on board ships belonging to the firm; and now, although sixty-seven years old, was still active and hearty. it was a legend among the sailors that old joe had not changed in the slightest degree from the time he was entered in the ship's books as a boy. "old joe is like the figure-head of a ship," a sailor said one day. "he got carved out of wood when he was little; and though he has got dinted about a bit, he ain't never changed nothing to speak of. if you could but paint him up a bit he would be as good as new." joe could have gone into quarters on shore with a pension years before, for his long service had made him a marked character; and while other sailors came and went in the service of the firm, the fact that his name had been on their books for so long a period, with but two breaks, had made him a sort of historical character, and at the end of each long voyage he was always ex- pected to show himself at the office to have a few words with the head of the firm. he was still rated as an able seaman, with extra pay as sailmaker, but he was never expected to go aloft. a trusty hand. in every other respect he could still do his work, and could turn out a new sail or alter an old one as well as any sailmaker on board mr. godstone's fleet. as captain murchison remarked to the owners when he saw that joe was this voyage to form one of his crew: "the old fellow would be worth his pay if he never put his hand to work. he keeps a crew in good humour with his yarns and stories; and if there is a grumbler on board he always manages to turn the laugh against him, and to show him to the others in his true light as a skulker and a sneak. he looks after the boys and puts them up to their duty, and acts generally as a father to them. a man like that, attached to the owners, always cheerful and good-tempered, ready to make the best of everything, and to do his work to the best of his power, is a very valu- able man on board a ship. i always feel that things will go on comfortably forward when i see joe culver's name down in the articles." "it was grand, joe," jack replied in answer to his question, "though it was very awful. i had no idea that a storm would be anything like that, or the waves so high. i have seen storms on our own east coast, and they seemed bad enough, but they were nothing to this." joe's experience. "and this weren't nothing to some storms i have seen in these latitudes, master robson. i have doubled the cape two score of times, i should say —eh, more than that, coming and going—and i have seen storms here to which that which has just blown over was but a capful of wind. why, sir, i have seen a ship laid on her beam-ends when she was not showing a rag of canvas, and even when we had cut all the masts away the pressure of wind on her hull kept her down until we thought that she would never right again. altogether i have been wrecked eight times, and three of them was down in these ere latitudes. they says as my name has been on the books of the firm for fifty-five years; but that ain't quite correct, for twice it was written off with d.d. after it, but somehow or other i turned up again, just as you see. one of these 'ere businesses happened hereabouts." "i should like to hear about it awfully, joe." "well, sir, seeing it was not what you may call an everyday sort of affair, and as perhaps the yarn might give you a hint as might be useful to you if you ever gets into the same kind of fix, i don't mind if i tell you. just at present i have not finished my work, but if you and the other two young gents like to come forward here at six bells i will tell you about it." a heavy gale. just take the last one and pile it up about ten times, and you have got it. "although we were ready and prepared for it, and had snugged down till we scarce showed a rag of sail, over she went at the first blow, till we all thought as she was going to turn turtle. we cut away her main and mizzen, and at last got her before it and run. that gale blew for ten days right on end. the sea was tremendous. over and over again we were pooped, our bul- warks were carried away, the boats smashed, the caboose and pretty nigh everything else on deck swept clean off. five of the hands had been washed overboard, another three men were down below badly hurt, and the first-mate had his leg broke. we were all pretty well exhausted, as you may guess. where we'd got to none knew, for we had never had a glimpse of the sun since the gale began; and it would not have made much difference if we had, because, you see, we could do nothing but just run before the wind wherever it liked to take us. but we knew anyhow we had got down into high latitudes, for the gale had been blowing pretty steady from the north-west. "the air got bitterly cold all of a sudden; and though we could not see above a mile anywhere round us, we were pretty sure we were in the ( ) p "all hands on deck!" neighbourhood of ice. towards the afternoon of the tenth day the weather cleared just a little, though the wind seemed as high as ever, and we caught sight of some big bergs. the captain, who was as good a sort as ever sailed, had done his best all along to keep up our spirits. the cook had been washed overboard in his caboose; but the skipper had kept his steward at work boiling water over a little spirit-stove he had aft, and kept a supply of hot coffee there at all hours for us; and with that and biscuits we had got on fairly well. now he told us that he thought the gale would soon blow itself out, and that as soon as it abated enough to set a rag or two of sail he would try and bring us up under the lee of a berg. "but it wasn't to be. it had just struck four bells, and there was a gleam of daylight; i was at the helm, with the captain, who had never laid down for above an hour at a time since the gale began, beside me. suddenly i saw it become lighter ahead, just like a gray shadow against the blackness. i had but just noticed it when the skipper cried out, 'good god! there is a berg straight ahead, it is all over with us!' and then he gave a shout, 'all hands on deck!' "there was nothing to do. we could not have changed our course a point if we had tried ever wrecked. so much, and the berg, as we could see in another minute, stretched right away on both sides of us. '"you can leave the helm, joe,' says the skipper; 'we have done all that men could do, we are in god's hands now.' i went forward with the rest, for i knew well as the only chance was to get on to the berg when she struck. it did not seem much of a chance, but it is wonderful how one clings to the hope of a few hours more life. "it was not five minutes from the time when we first saw the gray shadow ahead that we struck. the crash was tremendous. the mast snapped off as if it was a pipe-stem. the whole front of the ship seemed stove in, and i believe that more than half of those gathered forward were killed, either by the fall of the mast or by the breaking up of the bows. the bowsprit was driven aft through the bits against the stump of the foremast, and did its share in the work. i was standing in the fore-chains, having got over there to avoid the fall of the mast. though i was holding tight to the shrouds i was well-nigh wrenched from my hold. there was one terrible cry, and then the ship seemed to break up as if she were glass, and i was in the water. a great wave came thunder- ing down on me; it seemed to me as if i was being carried right up into the air, then i felt a shock, on an iceberg. and it was sometime before i knew anything more. "when i came to myself it was daylight. for a bit i could not move, and i thought my ribs were staved in; but at last, after much trouble, i made a shift to work myself out and found that i was about fifty feet above the water. the wave had carried me upon its crest as it swept up the face of the berg, and just as it was at its highest had, by god's mercy, jammed me in between two pinnacles of ice, and though i daresay others had swept up as high, none of them had moved me. i sat for a time dazed and stupid, and then began to take a view of my position. the ship was gone. there was not a sign of a bit of floating timber or of any of my messmates. i suppose all the wreckage had been swept away by the current. "the iceberg had, i reckon, been floating a long time, for it was seamed all over with cracks and crevices. it had been up under a pretty hot sun before the long gale blew it and us south, and the surface was rough and honey-combed. i did not feel as grateful as i ought to have done, lads, that i had been cast up, for i saw nothing but death before me; and thought that it would have been better to have died when i lost my senses better weatheb. in the water than to have to die again as it were by cold or hunger on the berg. however i set- to to climb over the berg and down to the other side so as to get under its lee. it took me two or three hours of hard work, but by the end of that time my clothes were dry, and i got some spirit and hope in me again. "once over there i was pretty comfortable; the berg sheltered me from the wind, and the sun began to shine out a bit through the clouds, and in the afternoon, although it was still blowing hard, there was a blue sky overhead. there were a good many other bergs in sight, but none of them seemed near as big as the one that i was on. fortunately i had a couple of biscuits in my pocket, having thrust them in there when i run up when there was a call for an extra hand at the helm. one of these i ate, then i lay down on a broad ledge and went off sound asleep. when i awoke it was night. i was warmly clad when we struck, having my thick oil-skin over my pea-jacket, but i felt a bit cold. however i was soon off again, and when i awoke morning had broken, i ate half my last biscuit, took a drink out of a pool—i do not know whether it was melted ice or rain-water—and then climbed up to the top of the berg and looked round . an island in sight. "i had not expected to see a sail, and i didn't, for we were far out of the track of ships. still it was just possible one might have been driven south as we had been. the wind had pretty well dropped now, and the sea was going down. i could see by some small bergs near us that we were driv- ing through the waters at a good rate. when a great mountain of ice like that, you know, gets way on it, it will keep it for a mighty long time. it did not make much difference to me which way we were going; i had only half a biscuit left, and no chance of getting more. i sat down and wondered how long i should last, and whether it would not be easier to go down and jump off into the water than to sit there and die by inches. as i was thinking, i was looking at what i had taken for another big berg, away in the distance, right on the course we were making, and it suddenly came to me that it was not the same colour as the others. i looked up to see if there was a bit of a cloud anywhere about that might have thrown it into shadow, but there weren't, and at last i felt sure that it wasn't no iceberg at all, but an island. "i jumped on my feet now quick enough. an island would be better than this berg anyhow. there might be shell-fish and fruit—though fruit did not seem likely so far south—and birds hope revives. and seals. i had heard tales from others as to islands in the south seas, and though i knew well enough that i should not find cocoa-nuts and such like, i thought i might get hold of something with which to make a shift to hold on until some whaler happened to pass along. for an hour or two i stood watching; at the end of that time i was sure it was land, and also that we were driving pretty straight towards it. as we got near, i could see it was a big island that stretched right across our course, but was still a long way off. i felt sure we should ground some- where in the night, for i had heard that icebergs drew a tremendous lot of water, and were two or three times as deep below the surface as they were above it. we were two or three hundred feet high, so unless the water kept deep right up to the island we should take ground a good way off it. "when it got dark i went down on the other side of the berg, for i had sense enough to know that just in the same way as the masts of a ship went straight forward when she struck, the pin- nacles of the berg would go toppling down towards the island when she grounded. i was hungry enough, i can tell you, that day, but i kept my last half-biscuit until the morning, so as to give me strength to swim. i dosed off for a bit, but a dreary land. would take for choice, but i was too hungry to think about cooking, and i ate as big a meal as ever i had in my life. up till then i hadn't really thought as there was any chance of my being saved in the long run. now i felt as there was, and for the first time i felt really grateful that i had not shared in the fate of my messmates, and i knelt down and thanked god for having brought me safe to shore. then i set-to to climb up to the top of the cliffs. it was hard work, and, as i after- wards found, i had just hit, by god's mercy, on the only spot on that part of the island where i could have got up, for in most places the cliffs rose pretty near straight up four or five hundred feet above the sea. "when i got to the top i saw that there were some mighty high hills covered with snow to the south-east, which might have been fifteen ortwenty miles away. it was a dreary kind of country— rocky and desolate, with tufts of thin grass grow- ing in the crevices of the rocks; and i saw that there was precious little chance of picking up a living there, and that if i was to get grub it was to the sea i must look for it. i thought the best thing to do was to try and find out some sheltered sort of cove where, perhaps, i might find a bit of a cave, for i knew that when winter a search for water. came on there would not be no chance for me in the open; so i set out to walk. i brought up with me a big hunk of flesh that would last me for three or four days, and what i had got to look for was fresh water. i walked all that day, keep- ing along pretty close to the edge of the cliff, i found plenty of little pools of rain-water among the rocks, and did pretty well. i was not hungry enough to tackle raw flesh that night, and had nothing to make a fire with. i had got matches in my pocket in a tight-fitting brass box which had kept them dry, but there was no fuel. "the next morning i started again, and after walking for four or five hours came to a spot where the cliffs broke away sudden. getting to the edge i saw that there was a narrow bay stretch- ing some way up into the island. an hour's walk brought me to its head. here, as i had hoped, i found a little stream running down into it. when you find a bay, most times you will find water running in at its head. the ground sloped gradu- ally here in great terraces; the rock was hard and black, and looked as if it had been burnt. i have heard since that it was what they call volcanic. being so sheltered there were more things grow- ing here, wherever a little earth had gathered; and i saw some things for all the world like cabbages, building a shelter. was more gone in some places than others. i chose a spot where a hole was about eight feet long, and made up my mind to close up the front of this, just leaving a hole big enough for me to crawl in and out. first of all i brought up some big stones and built a wall and filled up the cre- vices with tufts of grass. then i brought up smaller stones and piled against them, shooting in sand from the beach till i had made a regular solid bank, four feet thick, against the wall, then i levelled the bottom of the cave with sand and spread it thickly with dried grass. all this took me five days' hard work. there was no difficulty about food. i had only to go and pick up a few stones and go among the penguins and knock them over. i made a shift to cook them over fires made of dry tufts of grass. "i had been careful not to disturb the seals. i did not want any of them until the weather got cold enough to freeze their flesh. i thought of oil from their blubber, but i had nothing to hold it. when i had finished my hut i began to hunt about to see if i could find drift-wood, but i could only find a few pieces in the cove, and gave it up, for i did not see how i could anyhow keep up a fire through the winter. then i bethought me that the penguins could furnish me with feathers, a harvest of seals. and i set to work at them with earnest, and in a week had filled my cave two feet deep with fea- thers. "every day i could feel that it got colder, and at night there was a sharp frost; so i determined now to set-to at the seals. there were none of the sort that you get fur from, and there was not much warmth to be had from the skins, still they would do to block up the entrance to my den. i killed five or six of them, and found that some of the young ones were furry enough to make coats of. as i was sitting on the ground by them next morning, lamenting i had nothing to boil down their blubber in, an idea struck me, i might use the blubber as candles, sticking wicks into it. i set to work and stripped the blubber off all the seals, and cut it in squares of about six inches. then i got a bit of one of the fresh skins, bent it up all round, of the right size for the squares to fit into, fastened it, and spread it on the rocks to dry. the thought of how i was to make wicks bothered me. i could not spare my clothes. at last, after trying different things, i found that some of the grass was very tough. i put a bundle of this in a pool, and let it lay there for a week; for i was a north of ireland boy, and knew how they worked flax. at the end of that time i took a store for winter. it out, let it dry, and"then bruised it between flat stones, and found that it had a tough fibre. i thanked god, and picked a lot more of it and put it to soak. you may guess i tried the experiment that night; i made six big wicks and put them in one of the cakes of blubber and lighted them, and found that they burned famously and gave out a lot of heat. i killed some more seals; and by the time the winter set in in earnest i had a stock of meat enough to last me for months, and two or three hundredweight of cakes of blubber. "i had made several bowls and plates out of the seals' skins, and had fashioned myself, in a mighty rough way, some suits of young seal-skins with a hood that covered all my head and face except just my mouth and eyes. from the first i had eaten the cabbages regular with my food. i could not cook them, because i had nothing to boil the water in, and they were rather bitter to eat raw; but they were better than nothing with the flesh, and i knew that i must eat green food if i wanted to keep healthy. among the drift- wood i had luckily found a couple of broken oars. to these i had fastened with seal sinews two sharp and strong bones, and they made very fair spears. "by the end of may the ground was covered deep with snow, and the cold set in bitter. what safe against bears. had bothered me most of all was where i was to store my stock of frozen meat and blubber. i knew that there was a chance of bears coming, and that they would scent it out however i might hide it. at last i determined to put it in a hole something like that i had made into a den for my- self. this hole was not like mine, on a level with the ground, but was on the face of a smooth cliff about forty feet high. i made a rope of seal-skin, fastened it to a projection in the rock over the hole, and lowered myself down. i found the place would do well, and was quite big enough for all my store, while the face of the rock was too steep to climb, even for a bear. so i carried all my stock up to the top, and climbing up and down the rope, stored it in the hole, except what i wanted for a week's consumption. "well, lads, i passed the winter there. how- ever cold it was outside—and i can tell you it was bitter—it was warm enough in my den. at the very coldest time i had two of my lamps burning, but most of the time one kept it warm enough. i used to nestle down in the feathers and haul a seal-skin over me; and however hard it blew outside, and however hard it froze, i was warm there. i used to frizzle my meat over the lamp, and every day, when the weather per- exploring. this was pretty well sure to be used by whalers in summer; and if so, i should find signs of their having been there. i made a few excursions first, and found i was pretty near the middle of the island—of course on the westerly side. i climbed a high hill, but i did not learn much except that the island was a big one, and there were hills both to the north and south that looked to me as if they must be thirty or forty miles away. as far as i could see of the west coast of the island the cliffs were everywhere precipitous; and though at the east they did not seem much better, i con- cluded to try that first. you see at this point the island was not more than fifteen miles across, but it seemed to bulge out both ways, and where i was looked like a bort of neck connecting two big islands. it was an awful country to traverse, all hill and rock; but after three weeks' tramping i gave a shout, for in a bay in front of me was a large hut. "i had had a hard time of it and was pretty well done up. my meat had lasted me well enough on short rations and i had filled up on cabbages; but i was often a long time without water, having to depend entirely on melted snow in the hollows of the rocks. i hurried down to the hut; it was a rough shed evidently erected for the use of whalers, and "i will tell you that tomorrow. basin to another for half an hour. melted snow- water is poor stuff if you don't do that. i do not know the rights of it, but i have heard tell that it's 'cause there ain't no air in it, though for my part i never could see no air in water, except in surf. i had heard that that was the way they treated condensed water, and anyhow it was a sort of amusement like, and helped to pass the time." "well, it is a capital story to listen to, joe," jack said; "but i should not like to go through it myself. it must have been an awful time, shut up in a hole with a stinking lamp, for i expect it did stink, all those months." "it did use to smell powerful strong sometimes, lad, and many a time at first it turned me as sick as a youngster on his first v'yage; but i got accustomed to it after a bit. the great thing was to keep your wick short." "and now about your othet wreck not far from here?" "i will tell you that to-morrow evening, lads. that were a more ordinary kind of thing. it weren't pleasant; i don't know that wrecks ever are, but it weren't such an out-of-the-way thing as being chucked up on to an iceberg." up country. they first attacked us. however, at last it was all done; then two chiefs came and had a look at us, and one took me and tom longstaff, and another took the other two. "we had not done bad for eating while we were on shore, for there was several barrels of pork and biscuits among the lot we had landed, and we were free to take as much as we wanted. the other bales and boxes were all broken open and the contents made up into packets, and tom and i and about sixty niggers, each with as much as he could stagger under, started away from the shore. it wasn't a long march, for their village lay only about six miles away. we knew it could not be far, because the women and children had come down to the beach two or three hours after the fight was over. we stopped here about a month, and then one morning the chief and four of his men started off with tom and me. we made three days' marches, such marches as i never want to do again. tom and i did our best to keep up; but the last day we was quite worn out, and if it hadn't been that they thumped us with their spears and prodded us up, we should never have done it. "the place we got to was a deal bigger than the first village. we were left outside the biggest running away. not such a very bad time of it. i used to make myself as useful as i could. i had been a handy sort of chap, and fond of carpentry, and i made a shift with what native tools i could get to turn out tables and chairs, and cupboards, and such like. all this time i was wondering how i was ever to get back again. i used to share a hut with another slave who had been captured in war. they generally sell them to the arab slave-dealers to take down to the coast, but this man was the son of a chief who had gone to war with the fellow who owned me, and had been killed; and he kept this chap as his slave as a sort of brag, i think. "we got on very well together, and of course by the time we had been there six months i got to talk their lingo, and we agreed at last that we would try to make a bolt of it together. so one night—when it happened that there was a great feast in the village—we slipped away as soon as it got dark, and made south, our object being to strike one of the portuguese stations. we armed ourselves with bows and arrows, and spears; and as many yarns as we could carry. it would make a book, lads, if i was to tell you all we went through before we got there. we travelled chiefly by nights; sometimes killing a deer, sometimes getting a few yams or heads of corn from the return to england. fields of the villages we passed. we had one or two skrimages, but fortunately never ran against any strong bodies of natives. by myself i should have died before i had been gone a fortnight, but mwango was up to every dodge. he knew what roots were good to eat, and what fruit and berries were safe. he could steal up to a herd of deer without frightening them, and was a first-rate hand in making pitfalls for game. "i didn't keep no account of time, but it was somewhere about six weeks after we had started when we came down on the banks of a biggish river. we followed it down until, two or three days later, we came on a village. there we stole a canoe, and paddling at night and lying up in the day, we came after about a week to a portu- guese post. there we were kindly received, and stopped for a month; and then i went down the river with some traders to the coast, while mwango took service with the portuguese. six weeks later i was lucky enough to get a ship bound for the cape, and there shifted into another for england. so that, young gentlemen, was the second time as i was off the books of godstone & son." "thank you very much, joe. some day you must give us some more yarns about it, and tell "it may not last." "not a bit, jack. i heard mr. hoare tell arthur that it was very seldom we passed within sight of the island at all. sailors are not fond of land except when they are actually going to make a port. the further they keep away from it the better they are pleased." "such splendid weather as this i should have thought it would have made no difference," jack said. "i should be glad if we were going to coast up the whole way. why, we have had nothing but a gentle regular wind ever since that storm off the cape." "yes, but it may not last all the way, jack," mr. timmins, as he walked past and overheard the lad's words, said. "there is no place in the world where they have more furious cyclones than in the bay of bengal. happily they don't come very often. perhaps there is only one really very bad one in four or five years; but when there is one the destruction is awful. islands are sub- merged, and sometimes hundreds of square miles of low country flooded, the villages washed away, and a frightful loss of life. i have been in one or two sharp blows up the bay, but never in a cyclone; though i have been in one in the china seas. that was bad enough in all conscience." the wind fell lighter as they made their way ( ) r under close canvas. nothing to account for this urgency. the sun was nearly overhead—a ball of glowing fire, and yet, jack thought, less bright than usual, for he could look at it steadily, and its circle was clear and well defined. from that point right away down to the horizon the dull heavy-looking sky stretched away unbroken by a single cloud. as soon as the topgallant-sails were furled the upper spars were sent down, then the courses were clewed up and two of her jibs taken off her. "close reef the topsails!" was the next order, and when this was done, and the men after more than an hour's work descended to the decks drenched with perspiration, the ship was under the easiest possible canvas—nothing but the three closely- reefed topsails, the fore-staysail, and a small jib. mr. hoare and the third mate had been aloft with the men, and as soon as all were on deck the work of coiling away ropes, ranging the light spars, and tidying up began. the first burst of the storm. "look, jack!" arthur hill said, grasping his arm and pointing away on the starboard beam. a wall of black mist seemed to hang upon the horizon, rising momentarily higher and higher. "the squall is coming,lads!"the captain shouted. "when it strikes her hold on for your lives. car- penter, put a man with an axe at each of the weather-shrouds. we may have to cut away be- fore we have done with it." all eyes were now turned towards the bank of cloud, which was rising with extraordinary rapidity. small portions of the upper line seemed at times to be torn off and to rush ahead of the main body, and then to disappear, suddenly blown into fragments. a low moaning sound was heard, and a line of white could be made out at the foot of the cloud-bank. the water around the ship was still as smooth as glass, though there was a slight swell, which swayed her to and fro, and caused the shrouds and blocks to rattle. louder and louder grew the murmur. again the captain's voice was heard: "hold on for your lives, lads!" and then with a scream and roar, as of a thousand railway whistles, the gale struck the ship. so tremendous was the force, that although the closely-reefed fore-topsail was the only sail that the wild wave was showing aloft—for the jib blew taking a spell. jack moore was the next to come down. "cap- tain's orders, steward. i am to have a glass of grog. well, young gentlemen, this is a gale and no mistake. i have been at sea over thirty years, and never seed nothing as was to be compared with it. if you get through this you need never be afraid of another; not if you live to be white- headed!" after jack moore had gone up mr. timmins and the captain came down by turns. each took a cup of cocoa. they said but few words to the boys, and were indeed almost too much ex- hausted by the struggle through which they had gone to be able to speak. the boys gathered again under the lee of the poop and watched the scene. it had changed considerably; the wind seemed as violent as ever, but the sea was no longer kept in subjection to it, and was now tossing itself in a wild and confused manner. another half hour and it had settled in some sort of regularity, and was sweeping before the wind in deep trough-like waves with steep sides, resembling those to which jack had been accus- tomed in sea reach, on a gigantic scale. soon again these were broken up, and were succeeded by a wild tumultuous sea like a boiling cauldron. the vessel was thrown violently from" side to side, "we are running due south!" taking water over, now on one beam now on the other, and at times shaking from blows as if she had struck upon a rock. so sharp and sudden were her movements that the lads could not keep their feet, and again made their way into the cabin. even here it was necessary to shout in order to be heard. "what an extraordinary sea, jim! i never saw anything like it before." "that is what it's from," jim replied, pointing to the tell-tale compass hanging from the beams overhead. jack glanced at it. "why, we are running due south!" "aye; and i expect we have been two or three times round the compass already. that is what makes this frightful broken sea." "well, as long as we keep on running round and round," jack said, "there is no fear of our running against the land anywhere." jim was further advanced in the study of navi- gation. "you forget," he said, "the centre of the cyclone is moving along all the time, and though we may go round and round the centre we are moving in the same direction as the cyclone is going, whatever that may be." for hours the storm raged without the slightest "breakers ahead ." signs of abatement. the sea was now terrific; the waist of the ship was full of water. green seas swept over the vessel's bows, carrying everything before them, and pouring aft burst open the cabin door and deluged the cabin. by turns the boys made their way to the door and looked out. "come out, you fellows!" jim tucker shouted after one of these trips of investigation. "the men are coming out from the fo'castle. there is something to be done." the boys came out and crawled a few steps up the poop-ladder, holding on for life as they did so. they did not attempt to get on to the poop, for they felt they would be blown away if they exposed themselves there to the full force of the wind. looking round, the scene was terrible. the surface of the sea was almost hidden by the clouds of spray blown from the heads of the waves; a sky that was inky black hung overhead. the sea, save for the white heads, was of similar hue, but ahead there seemed a gleam of light. jim tucker, holding on by the rail, raised him- self two or three feet higher to have a better view a moment was sufficient. he sprang down again and shouted in his com- rades' ears,"breakers ahead!" it needed no further words. the light ahead was the gleam of a sea "nothing for it but destruction." of white foam towards which the vessel was hurry- ing. nothing could be done to check or change her course. had the mizzen been standing an effort might have been made to show a little sail upon it, and bring her head up into the wind to anchor; but even could this have been done the cables would have snapped like pack-threads. there was nothing for it but destruction. jack followed jim's example—crawled to the top of the gangway, and holding on by the poop-rail raised himself to his feet and looked forward. right across their bows stretched a band of white breakers, and beyond through the mist he could make out the line of a low shore. the lads descended again into the waist, and with great difficulty made their way forward to where the 'men were huddled together round the entrance to the fo'castle. they too had kept a look-out, and knew of the danger into which they were running and the impossibility of avoiding it. "is there anything to be done?" jim tucker shouted. a silent shake of the head was a sufficient answer. the vessel and all in her were doomed. the officers were now seen leaving the helm and coming forward. it was a proof in itself of the hopelessness of the prospect. the vessel was in- "shake hands all round." deed steering herself straight before the gale, and as there were no regular following waves there was no fear of her broaching to. the boats, that had at the commencement of the storm been hanging from the davits, were all gone or useless. one or two had been smashed to pieces by heavy seas striking them; others had been torn from their fastenings and blown clean away. the long-boat alone remained lashed amidships on the deck. jack pointed to her, but an old sailor shook his head and pointed to the sea. no boat could hope to live in it a minute. once in the breakers it would be swamped instantly. the officers made their way forward. "it is all over, lads!" the captain shouted; "but some of us may reach the shore on pieces of the wreck as she breaks up. we will get the long- boat ready for launching: some of you may cling to her. now, lads, let us shake hands all round, and meet our fate as british sailors should do— calmly and bravely. at any rate some of us may be saved yet." the crew of the wild wave had been a happy one. discipline had been good, although every in- dulgence had been allowed the men, and all were fond of her officers. there was a silent hand-clasp all round, and then some of the sailors followed "cut away the lashings." the officers to the boat. as they did so they knew well that the order was given merely to keep them employed, for that the chance of any- one being washed ashore and reaching it alive through the tremendous surf was small indeed. as they cut away the boat's cover they looked round, and a low cry broke from several of them. the ship was close to the broken water. every man clung to something and awaited the shock. in a few seconds it came. as she de- scended a wave there was a tremendous shock, followed instantaneously by a crash as the fore- mast went over the bow. another and another, accompanied each time with the sound of rending timbers. "cut away the lashings of the boat!" the cap- tain shouted, drawing his knife and setting the example. as he did so he touched jack and pointed into the bottom of the boat. the lad understood him. he was to put in the plugs, which at ordinary times were left out to allow any rain-water to escape as it fell. jack in turn touched arthur, and the two climbed into the boat to re- place the plugs. as they did so a fiercer gust than usual struck the vessel. the lashings of the long-boat had just been cut, and the gale seized it and raised it in ( ) s "we are saved, old man." loudly shouted his name in his ear. with a sigh arthur opened his eyes. "what is it, jack?" he asked feebly. "we are saved, old man. we have been blown right ashore in the boat, and we have both got shaken and hurt a bit; but, thank god, we are both alive." "where are we?" arthur asked, looking round. "as far as i can see," jack replied, "we are in the middle of a grove of trees that have been blown down by the gale, and the leaves and branches have broken our fall, otherwise we must have been smashed up. we must have been lying here for the last ten hours. it was just about six o'clock when we struck, for i looked at the clock in the cabin the last time we were down there; and as the sun will be up before long, it must be getting on for five now. now, let us try to get out of this." with the greatest difficulty, for they were still weak and terribly shaken, the boys made their way through the tangle of trees and branches, into which they had so providentially fallen. both uttered an exclamation of surprise as they reached the edge of the wood: the sea was nearly half a mile away! a tremendous surf was still breaking, and for a quarter of a mile out a band of white the water subsides. the day passed slowly; the boys talked but little, and when they did so their conversation turned entirely upon their lost shipmates, for that subject occupied their thoughts far more than their present situation. before night the water had so far sunk that only some glistening pools appeared where a broad sheet of water had before spread. arthur was suffering much from thirst and would have started at once, but jack persuaded him to wait until the next morning. "we may tumble into deep holes full of mud," he said, "and should get on very slowly. let us have a good night's sleep and start with the first gleam of daylight . we shall be able to get along fast then." they found, however, that it was not very fast work; for the country had been cultivated and the soil was now converted into a soft mud, in which they sank up to their knees. here and there as they went on they saw piles of mud and sunburnt bricks, with timbers projecting, and knew that these marked the site where villages or houses had stood. among the clumps of fallen trees they saw bits of colour, and knew that these were the bodies of some of the natives. here and there, too, they saw the carcass of a bullock. at last they found the ground under their feet much firmer. ' h the state of their funds. is somebody who can talk english. how much money have you got, arthur?" "i have got two pounds," arthur said. "i took it out of my chest while the gale was going on. i thought if we were wrecked and did get to shore it might be useful." "i wish i had done the same," jack said. "i have luckily got a sovereign in my pocket, for i was going to pay joe scales for those six light canvas trousers he made me. well, three pounds between us is not bad; and i have got four or five shillings loose, which will do, i hope, until we get to some place where we can change our gold." they walked on till sunset, passing several other villages by the way. all of these had suffered more or less severely by the storm, but it was evident that as they got further inland the work of destruction had been less complete. at sunset they sat down in a grove of trees still standing, the first they had passed, and there spent the night. "that looks a good-sized place," jack said, as late on the following afternoon they came in sight of what was evidently a town of some size. "we shall probably find someone there who can speak english." home. was only too pleased that he and his wife should have been of service to them. they arrived at calcutta without adventure, and at once reported themselves to the agent of the wild wave and told the story of her loss. here again they experienced the warm-hearted hospitality which is so general in india, the agent taking them out to his house and installing them there until the next steamer was to sail for eng- land. he had telegraphed upon the day of their arrival to mr. godstone, and received an answer requesting him to take passages home for them to england, where they duly arrived without any exciting incident. seven years have passed away, and jack rob- son is now second mate in one of mr. godstone's ships, and will be first officer on his next voyage. he has gone through many adventures since, but none approaching in interest and excitement to those which occurred on his two voyages in the wild wave. his mother still lives at dulwich, and lily is engaged to be married to arthur hill as soon as the latter attains the rank of captain. jack is neither engaged nor married, but his mother has a strong idea that before very long he and mildred godstone will come to an understanding with each other. jack's future. jack is always at the house when at home, and is treated by mr. godstone and his wife as one of the family. indeed, mrs. godstone has as much as hinted to jack's mother that she and her husband will offer no objection to the young sailor; but that, of course, they will wish their son-in- law to leave the sea and settle as one of the firm in london. each time he is at home jack makes a point of running down to leigh and spending a few days there. "sea-life is all very well, uncle," he says, "but for downright good sailing there is nothing in the world that to my mind beats a bawley." the end. blackie & son's catalogue of books for young people. including works by g. a. henty. g. manville fenn. george mac donald, ll.d. prof. a. j. church. s. baring-gould. harry collingwood. dr. gordon stables.. g. norway. f. frankfort moore. ascott r. hope. john c. hutcheson. alice corkran. rosa mulholland. sarah doudney. mary c. rowsell. and other popular authors. blackie <fc son's books for youngpeople. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty ii one of the best of story-tellers for young people."—spectator. by england's aid: or, the freeing of the netherlands ( - ). by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred fx arbe, and maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. the story of two english lads, who go to holland as pages in the service of one of "the fighting veres "—the sir francis vere, who played so impor- tant a part in the freeing of the netherlands from the yoke of spain. after many adventures by sea and land, one of the lads finds himself on board a spanish ship at the time of the defeat of the armada, and escapes from spain only to fall into the hands of the corsairs. he is successful, however, in getting back to spain under the protection of a wealthy spanish merchant, and regains his native country after the capture of cadiz, which finally broke the power of spain in europe. while the plot is entirely distinct from that of by pike and dyke, it follows it immediately in point of historio interest, and is in this sense a sequel to it. by right of conquest: or, with cortez in mexico. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. s. stacey, and two maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, (u. the conquest of mexico by a small band of resolute men under the mag- nificent leadership of cortez is always rightly ranked amongst the most romantic and daring exploits in history. with this as the groundwork of his story mr. henty has interwoven the adventures of an english youth, roger hawkshaw, the sole survivor of the good ship swan, which had sailed from a devon port to challenge the mercantile supremacy of the spaniards in the new world. he is beset by many perils amongst the natives, but is saved by his own judgment and strength, and by the devo- tion of an aztec princess. at last by a ruse he obtains the protection of the spaniards, and after the fall of mexico succeeds in regaining his native shore, with a fortune and a charming aztec bride. with lee in virginia: a story of the american civil war. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne, and maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the story is a capital one and full of variety, and presents us with many picturesque scenes of southern life. young wingfleld, who is conscientious, spirited, and 'hard as nails,' would have been a man after the very heart of stonewall jackson."—times. "this is one of the best stories for lads which mr. henty has yet written. the picture is full of life and colour, and the stirring and romantic incidents which marked the struggle are most skilfully blended with the personal interest and charm of the story."—standard. "a tale in mr. henty's best style. the interest is sustained at a high pitch by the introduction of such episodes as a slave sale, a hunt after a runaway slave, and a revolver fight. is intended to instruct as well as to amuse."—educational news. black e dc sou's books for young people. by g. a. henty. "mr.henty is one of our most successful writers of historical tales."—scotsman. in freedom's cause: a story of wallace and bruce. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, a. "mr. henty has broken new ground as an historical novelist. his tale of the days of wallace and bruce is full of stirring action, and will commend itself to boys."—a theneeum. "scarcely anywhere have we seen in prose a more lucid and spirit-stirring description of bannockburn than the one with which the author fittingly closes his volume."—dumfries standard. throughthe fray: a story of the luddite riots. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. henty inspires a love and admiration for straightforwardness, truth, and courage. this is one of the best of the many good books mr. henty has produced, and deserves to be classed with his facing death."—standard. "the interest of the story never drags. were we to propose a competition for the best list of novel writers for boys we have little doubt that mr. henty's name would stand first."—journal of education. captain bay ley's heir: a tale of the gold fields of cali- fornia. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a westminster boy who makes his way in the world by hard work, good temper, and unfailing courage. the descriptions given of life are just what a healthy intelligent lad should delight in."—st. james's gazette. "the portraits of captain bayley. and the head-master of westminster school, are admirably drawn; and the adventures in california are told with that vigour which is peculiar to mr. henty."—the academy. by george mac donald. a rough shaking-. by george mac donald, ll.d., author of "robert falconer," &c. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. clare, the hero of the story, is a boy whose mother is killed at his side by the fall of a church during an earthquake the kindly clergyman and his wife, who adopt him, die while he is still very young, and he is thrown upon the world a second time. the narrative of his wanderings is full of interest and novelty, the boy's unswerving honesty and his passion for children and animals leading him into all sorts of adventures. he works on a farm, supports a baby in an old deserted house, finds employment in a menagerie, is taken into service by an old lady, becomes a bank clerk, is kidnapped, and ultimately discovers his father on board the ship to which he has been conveyed. the story will certainly rank amongst the best of dr. mac donald's books for boys. blackie «fc son's books foryoung people. by george manville fenn. "mr. fenn it in the front rank of writers of stories for boys."—liverpool mercury. quicksilver: or, a boy with no skid to his wheel. by george manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by frankdadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "quicksilver is little short of an inspiration. in it that prince of story-writers for boys—george manville fenn—has surpassed himself. it is an ideal book for a boy's library."—practical teacher. "the story is capitally told, it abounds in graphic and well-described scenes, and it has an excellent and manly tone throughout."—the guardian. '' this is one of mr. fenn's happiest efforts, and deserves to be read and re-read by every school-boy in the land. we are not exaggerating when we say that quicksilver has nothing to equal it this season."—teachers' aid. dick ' the fens: a romance of the great east swamp. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "we conscientiously believe that boys will find it capital reading. it is full of incident and mystery, and the mystery is kept up to the last moment . it is rich in effective local colouring; and it has a historical interest."—times. "we have not of late come across a historical fiction, whether intended for boys or for men, which deserves to be so heartily and unreservedly praised as regards plot, incidents, and spirit as dick o' the fens. it is its author's master- piece as yet."—spectator. devon boys: a tale of the north shore. by g. manville fenn. with full - page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "an admirable story, as remarkable for the individuality of its young heroes as for the excellent descriptions of coast scenery and life in north devon. it is one of the best books we have seen this season."—athenceum. "we do not know that mr. fenn has ever reached a higher level than he has in devon boys. it must be put in the very front rank of christmas books."— spectator. bpownsmith's boy: a romance in a garden. by g. man- ville fenn. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. fenn's books are among the best, if not altogether the best, of the stories for boys. mr. fenn is at his best in brownsmith's boy."—pictorial world. "brownsmith's boy must rank among the few undeniably good boys' books, hewill be a very dull boy indeed who lays it down without wishing that it had gone on for at least pages more."—north british mail. in the king's name: or, the cruise of the kestrel. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a capital boys' story, full of incident and adventure, and told in the lively style in which mr. fenn is such an adept."—globe. "the best of all mr. fenn's productions in this field. it has the great quality of always 'moving on,' adventure following adventure in constant succession."— daily news. black e <t sou's books for young people. new edition of the universe. the universe: or, the infinitely great and the infinitely little. a sketch of contrasts in creation, and marvels revealed and explained by natural science. by f, a. pouchet, m.d. with engravings on wood, of which are full-page size, and a coloured frontispiece. tenth edition, medium vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, s. rf.; also morocco antique, s. "we can honestly commend professor pouchet's book, which is admirably, as it is copiously illustrated."—the times. "this book is as interesting as the most exciting romance, and a great deal more likely to be remembered to good purpose."—standard. "scarcely any book in french or in english is so likely to stimulate in the young an interest in the physical phenomena."—fortnightly renew. by s. baring-gould. grettip the outlaw: a story of iceland. by s. baring- gould, author of "john herring," "messiah," &c. with full- page illustrations by m. zeno diemer, and a coloured map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a foremost place in the boys' fiction of the season must be given to grettir the outlaw."—globe. "is the boys' book of its year. that is, of course, as much as to say that it will do for men grown as well as juniors. it is told in simple, straightforward english, as all stories should be, and it has a freshness, a freedom, a sense of sun and wind and the open air, which make it irresistible."— scots observer. by professor a. d. church. twothousand yearsago: or, the adventures of a roman boy. by professor a. j. church. with full-page illustrations by adrien marie. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "adventures well worth the telling. the book is extremely entertaining as well as useful, and there is a wonderful freshness in the roman scenes and characters."—the times. "we know of no book which will do more to make the romans of that day live again for the english reader."—guardian. by rosa mulholland. giannetta: a girl's story of herself. by rosa mulholland. with full-page illustrations by lockhart bogle. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "giannetta is a true heroine—warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all good women nowadays are, largely touched with the enthusiasm of humanity. one of the most attractive gift-books of the season."—the academy. "no better book could be selected for a young girl's reading, as its object is evidently to hold up a mirror, in which are seen some of the brightest and noblest traits in the female character."—schoolmistress. blackib fsox's books for young people. by g. a. henty. "mr. ilcuty is the king of story-tellers for boys "—sword and trowel. st. george for england: a tale of cressy and poitiers. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. henty's historical novels for boys bid fair to supplement, on their behalf, the historical labours of sir walter scott in the land of fiction."—standard. "a story of very great interest for boys. in his own forcible style the author has endeavoured to show that determination and enthusiasm can accomplish mar- vellous results; and that courage is generally accompanied by magnanimity and gentleness."—pall mall gazette. the bravest ofthe brave: with peterborough in spain. by g. a . henty. with full-page pictures by h. m. paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work—to enforce the doctrine of courage and truth, mercy and lovingkindness, as indispensable to the making of an english gentleman. british lads will read the bravest of the brave with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite sure."—daily telegraph. forname and fame: or, through afghan passes. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the best feature of the book, apart from its scenes of adventure, is its honest effort to do justice to the patriotism of the afghan people."—daily news. "not only a rousing story, replete with all the varied forms of excitement of a campaign, but, what is still more useful, an account of a territory and its inhabi- tants which must for a long time possess a supreme interest for englishmen, as being the key to our indian empire."—glasgow herald. in the reign ofterror: the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a . henty. with full-page illustrations by j. sohonberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "harry sandwith, the westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat mr. henty's record. his adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict. the story is one of mr. henty's best."—saturday review. orange and green: a tale of the boyne and limerick. by g. a . henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "an extremely spirited story, based on the struggle in ireland, rendered memorable by the defence of 'derry and the siege of limerick."—sat. review. "the narrative is free from the vice of prejudice, and ripples with life as vivacious as if what is being described were really passing before the eye. . . . should be in the hands of every young student of irish history."—belfast news. by sheer pluck:a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "by sheer pluck will be eagerly read. the author's personal knowledge of the west coast has been turned to good advantage."—atherweum. "morally, the book is everything that could be desired, setting before the boys a bright and bracing ideal of the english gentleman."—christian leader. ■ black e ic sows books for touxq people. by george mao donald. at the back ofthe north wind. by george mac donald, ll.d. with elustrations by abthub hughes. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "in at the back of the north wind we stand with one foot in fairyland and one on common earth. the story is thoroughly original, full of fancy and pathos, and underlaid with earnest but not too obtrusive teaching."—the times. ranald bannerman's boyhood. by george mac donald, ll.d. with illustrations by arthur hughes. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the sympathy with boy-nature in ranald bannerman's boyhood is perfect. it is a beautiful picture of childhood, teaching by its impressions and suggestions all noble things."—british quarterly review. the princess and the goblin. by george mac donald, ll.d. with illustrations by arthur hughes, and full- page pictures by h petheriok. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "little of what is written for children has the lightness of touch and play of fancy which are characteristic of george mac donald's fairy tales. mr. arthur hughes's illustrations are all that illustrations should be."—manchester guardian. "a model of what a child's book ought to be—interesting, instructive, and poetical. we cordially recommend it as one of the very best gift-books we have yet come across."—elgin courant. the princess and curdie. by george mac donald, ll.d. with full-page illustrations by james allen. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "there is the finest and rarest genius in this brilliant story. upgrown people would do wisely occasionally to lay aside their newspapers and magazines to spend an hour with curdie and the princess. "sheffield independent. by scottr. hope. the seven wise scholars. by ascott r. hope. with nearly one hundred illustrations by gordon browne. square vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, s. "as full of fun as a volume of punch; with illustrations, more laughter- provoking than most we have seen since leech died."—sheffield independent. "a capital story, full of fun and happy comic fancies. the tale would put the sourest-tempered boy into a good humour, and to an imaginative child would be a source of keen delight."—scotsman. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "all the stories are told well, in simple spirited language and with a fulness of ietail that makes them instructive as well as interesting. "—journal of education. blackie <t son's books for young people. by g. norway. hussein the hostage: or, a boy's adventures in persia. by g. norway. with full-page illustrations by john sohon- berg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». the narrative of the adventures of the young prince hussein and his faithful follower askar in their endeavour to free their oppressed tribe from the persian yoke. hussein is for some time held captive by the persians, and askar, after storing a secret cavern with provisions, sets off to rescue him. he is himself kidnapped, however, and sold to a travelling showman. askar at length rejoins hussein, who has escaped in disguise, gathered about him some of his old adherents, and is holding the cavern against the persian forces. these are happily dispersed at the moment when success seems assured to them. the book has the same originality of conception and treatment which characterized the author's previous story—the loss of john humble. the lossofjohn humble: "what led to it, and what came of it. by g. norway. with full-page illustrations by john sohonberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this story will place the author at once in the front rank. it is full of life and adventure. he is equally at home in his descriptions of life in sweden and in the more stirring passages of wreck and disaster, and the interest of the story is sustained without a break from first to last."—standard. "since the days when we read robinson crusoe no book of its kind has delighted us more. it is just the gift-book for boys."—schoolmaster. "among books of stirring adventure we can highly commend the loss of john humble."—guardian. by sarah tytler. girl neighbours: or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with full-page illustrations by c. t. garland crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "one of the most effective and quietly humorous of miss sarah tytler's stories . . . very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."—spectator. by g. a. henty. a chapter ofadventures: or, through the bombard- ment of alexandria. by g. a. henty. with full-page illus- trations by w. h. overend. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d an east-coast fishing lad, by an act of heroism, secures tho interest of a ship-owner, who places him as an apprentice on board one of his ships. in company with two of his fellow-apprentices he is left behind, at alex- andria, in tho hands of the revolted egyptian troops, and is present through the bombardment and the scenes of riot and bloodshed which accompanied it. they ultimately effect their escape, and in the subsequent terrible voyage their ship is wrecked, and only the hero and a friend are saved. the yarns of an old seaman on board add to the interest of the exciting events of the narrative itself. blackie <fc son's books for youngpeople. by john . hutcheson. afloat at last: a sailor boy's log of his life at sea. by john c. hutoheson. with full-page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "as healthy and breezy a book as one could wish to put into the hands of a boy."—academy. "a tale of seafaring life told with fire and enthusiasm, full of spirited incident and well-drawn character."—observer. picked up at sea: or, the gold miners of minturne creek. by j c. hutcheson. with full-page pictures. cloth extra, s. d "the author's success with this book is so marked that it may well encourage him to further efforts. the description of mining life in the far-west is true and accu- rate."—standard. the white squall: a story of the sargasso sea. by john c. hutcheson. with full-page illustrations by john schonberc}. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. cl "few writers have made such rapid improvement in the course of a few years as has the author of this capital story. . . . boys will find it difficult to lay down the book till they have got to the end."—standard. "the sketches of tropical life are so good as sometimes to remind us of tom cringle and the cruise of the midge."—times. the wreck ofthe nancy bell: or, cast away on ker- guelen land. by john c. hutcheson. illustrated by full-page pictures. crown vo, cloth extra, s. gd. "a full circumstantial narrative such as boys delight in. the ship so sadly destined to wreck on kerguelen land is manned by the very lifelike party, passengers and crew. the life in the antarctic iceland is well treated."—athenaum, sirwalter's ward: a tale of the crusades. by william evebard. with fall-page illustrations by walter paget. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "this book will prove a very acceptable present either to boys or girls. both alike will take an interest in the career of dodo, in spite of his unheroic name, and follow him through his numerous and exciting adventures."—academy. stories of old renown: tales of knights and heroes. by asoott r. hope. with illustrations by gordon browne. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "a really fascinating book worthy of its telling title. there is, we venture to say, not a dull page in the book, not a story which will not bear a second read- ing. "—guardian. brother and sister: or, the trials of the moore family. by elizabeth j. lysaght. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "a pretty story, and well told. the plot is cleverly constructed, and the moral is excellent."—atlienfbv.ru. blackie & son's books for young people. blackie's half-crown series. illustrated by eminent artists. in crown vo, cloth elegant. new volumes. the secret of the old house. a story for children. by evelyn everett-green. tim, a clever boy of romantic tendencies, and his sister dinah go to stay with their rich grandmother in the country, near an old house which has the reputation of being haunted. they not only see the ghost, but serenade it and make friends with it—the ghost proving to be an unhappy youth who has been allowed to seclude himself in one wing of the mansion. the two children succeed in effecting the restoration of the boy to health and his reconciliation with his grandfather. hal hungerford. by j. r. hutchinson, b.a. a boy sent out by an emigration society to a farmer in canada is charged with the committal of a serious crime. seeing no hope of clearing himself, he leaves his new home with a boy-companion, and they take up residence in an old block-house about which mysterious stories are told. they succeed in unravelling the mystery at no little cost, his companion dying of injuries received in the burning block-house, and be himself escaping death by the merest chance. the story is full of exciting incidents—a smuggler's cave guarded by a skeleton, a pirate's treasure, and the like. the golden weathercock. by julia goddard. the goldenweathercock on the church tower has in virtue of his position the privilege of hearing about everything from everybody. from all quarters dainty and interesting stories reach his ears, and the comments and questions of the old gossip himself add piquancy to the interspersed narratives. the hermit hunter ofthe wilds. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., r.n. "a boy's book par excellence."—freeman's journal. "pirates and pumas, mutiny and merriment, a castaway and a cat, furnish the materials for a tale that will gladden the heart of many a bright boy."— methodist recorder. white lilac: or, the queen of the may. by amy walton. "one of the moat charming stories of the year."—pall mall gazette. "every here and there we are reminded of mrs. tulliver and sister pullet in the quaint dialogue of the story. . . . every rural parish ought to add white lilac to its library."—academy. miriam's ambition: a story for children. by evelyn everett-green. "a high minded, simple story, such as miss everett-green can tell so well."— academy. "miss green's children are real british boys and girls, not small men and women, liabs is a charming little one."—liverpool mercury. black ie ic son's books for young people. two shilling series—continued. "a pair ofclogs:"and other stories. by amy walton. "decidedly interesting, and unusually true to nature. for children between nine and fourteen this book can be thoroughly commended."—academy. the hawthorns. by amy walton. "a remarkably vivid and clever study of child-life. at this species of work amy walton has no superior."—christian leader. dorothy's dilemma: a tale of the time of charles i. by caroline austin. "an exceptionally well-told story, and will be warmly welcomed by children. the little heroine, dorothy, is a charming creation."—court journal. marie's home: or, a glimpse of the past. by caroline austin. "an exquisitely told story. the heroine is as fine a type of girlhood as one could wish to set before our little british damsels of to-day. —christian leader. warner's chase: or, the gentle heart by annie s. swan. "in milly warren, the heroine, who softens the hard heart of her rich uncle and thus unwittingly restores the family fortunes, we have a fine ideal of real womanly goodness."—schoolmaster. aboard the "atalanta:" the story of a truant. by henby frith. "the story is very interesting and the descriptions most graphic. we doubt if any boy after reading it would be tempted to the great mistake of running away from school under almost any pretext whatever."—practical teacher. the penang pirate and the lost pinnace. by john c. hutcheson. "a book which boys will thoroughly enjoy: rattling, adventurous, and romantic, and the stories are thoroughly healthy in tone."—aberdeen journal. teddy: the story of a " little pickle." by john c. hutcheson. "he is an amusing little fellow with a rich fund of animal spirits, and when at length he goes to sea with uncle jack he speedily sobers down under the discip- line of life."—saturday review. linda and the boys. by cecilia selby lowndks. "the book is essentially a child's book, and will be heartily appreciated by the young folk."—the academy. swissstories for children. from the german of madam johanna spybl by lucy wheelock. "charming stories. they are rich in local colouring, and, what is better, in genuine pathos."—the timesthe squire's grandson: a devonshire story. by j. m. call well. "the lessons of courage, filial affection, and devotion to duty on the part of the young hero cannot fail to favourably impress all young readers."—schoolmaster. blackie <fs son's books for young people. blackie's eighteenpenny series-continued, tom finch's monkey: and other yarns. by j. c. hutcheson. "stories of an altogether unexceptionable character, with adventures sufficient for a dozen books of its size."—v. service gazette. missgrantley's gipls, and the stories she told them. by thomas archer, "for fireside reading more wholesome and highly entertaining reading for young people could not be found."—northern chronicle. down and up again: being some account of the felton family, and the odd people they met. by gregson gow. "the story is very neatly told, with some fairly dramatic incidents, and cal- culated altogether to please young people."—scotsman. the troubles and triumphs of little tim. a city story. by gkkgson gow. "an undercurrent of sympathy with the struggles of the poor, and an ability to describe their feelings, eminently characteristic of dickens, are marked fea- tures in mr. gow's story."—n. b. mail. the happy lad: a story of peasant life in norway. from the norwegian of bjornson. "this pretty story has natural eloquence which seems to carry us back to some of the love stories of the bible."—aberdeen free press. the patriot martyr: and other narratives of female heroism. "it should be read with interest by every girl who loves to learn what her sex can accomplish in times of danger."—bristol times. madge's mistake: a recollection of girlhood. by annie e. armstrong. "we cannot speak too highly of this delightful little tale. it abounds in interesting and laughable incidents."—bristol times. box of stories. packed for young folk by horace happyman. when i was a boy in china. by yan phou lee, a native of china, now resident in the united states. "has been written not only by a chinaman, but by a man of culture. his book is as interesting to adults as it is to children."—the guardian. theillustrations throughout printed in colours. to, one shilling each. gordon browne's series of old fairy tales. . hop ' my thumb. . beauty and the beast. each book contains pages to, and is illustrated on every page by pictures printed in colours. blackie <t son's books for young people. the shilling series of books for young people. each book contains square mo, neatly bound in cloth extra. pages and a coloured illustration. new volumes. freda's folly: or,the guest at dysart manor. by m. . havcraft. philip danford: a story ofschool life. by julia goddard. the youngest princess: or, little means to big ends. by jennie cuappell. arthur's temptation: or, a bad beginning. by emma leslie a change for the worse: or. the lesson of a day. by hauiuet m. capes. our two starlings. by christian bedford. mr. lipscombe's apples. goddard. by julia by gladys: or, the sister's charge e. o'byrne. a gypsy against her will. by emma leslie. the castle on the shore, bel hornibrook. by isa- by by cora an emigrant boy's story. ascorr r. hope. jock and his friend. langton. john a' dale. by mary c. rowsell. in the summer holidays. by jen- nett humphreys. how the strike began. by emma leslie. tales from the russian of madame kubalensky. by g. jenner. cinderella's cousin, and other storiesby penelope. their new home. by annie s. fenn. janie's holiday. by c. redford. a boy musician: or, the young days of mozart. hatto's tower. by mary c. row- sell. fairy lovebairn's favourites. by . dickinson. alf jetsam: or. found afloat. by mrs. george cupples. the redfords: an emigrant story. by mrs. george cupples. missy. by f. bayford harrison. hidden seed: or, a year in a girl's life. by emma leslie. ursula's aunt. by annie s. fenn. jack's two sovereigns. by annie s. fenn. a little adventurer: or, howtommy trent went to look for his father. by gregson gow. olive mount, by annie s. fenn. three little ones: their haps and mishaps. by c. langton. tom watkins' mistake. by emma leslie. two little brothers. by m. har- riet m. capes. the new boy at merriton. by julia goddard. the children of haycombe. by annie s. fknn. the cruise of the "petrel." by f. m.holmes. the wise princess. by m. harriet m. capes. the blind boy of dresden and his sister. jon of iceland: a story of the far north. stories from shakespeare. every man in his place: or, a city boy and a forest boy. fireside fairies and flower fancies. stories for girls. to the sea inships: stories of suf- fering and saving at sea. jack's victory: and other stories about dogs. story of a king, told by one of his soldiers. prince alexis, or,'' beauty and the beast." little daniel: a story of a flood on the rhine. sasha the serf: and other stories of russian life. true stories of foreign history. >n –||–） c cd │ │ │ o cd |- |---- <， cd (o) |- o cd (d) a jacobite exile. mr. henty's historical tales. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges. each book is beautifully illustrated. the cat op bubastes: a story of ancient egypt. s. the young carthaginian: a story of the times of hannibal s for the temple: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. s. the hon of st. mark: a story of venice in the th century. «. the lion of the north: a tale of gustavus adolphus. as. in the reign of terror. the french revolution. s. the dragon and the raven : or, the days of king alfred. s. in freedom's cause: a story of wallace and bruce. s. st. george for england; a tale of crcssy and poitiers. «. by pike and dyke: a tale of the rise of the dutch republic. s. under drake's flag: a tale of the spanish main. s. orange and gneen: a tale of the boyne and limerick. s. bonnie prince charlie: a tale of fontenoy and culloden. s. the bravest of the brave: or, with peterborough in spain. s. with wolfe in canada: or, the winning of a continent. s. with clive in india: or, the beginnings of an empire. s. true to the old flag. the american war of independence. s. held fast for england: a tale of the iege of gibraltar. s. one of the th: a story of waterloo. s. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. s. by sheer pluok: a tale of the ashantl war. s. for name and fame: or, through afghan passes. s. with lee in virginia: a story of the american civil war. s. the dash for khartoum: a tale of the nile expedition. s. london: blackie & sos, limited; glasgow and ediniu'roii. a jacobite exile: being the adventures of a young englishman in the service of charles xii. of sweden. by g. a. henty, author of " beric the briton;" "the daah for khwtoum;" "the lion of st. mark:" "with cuve in india;" *c. with eight illustrations by paul hard!', and map of central europe. london: black e & son, limited, old bailey, b.c. glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. . preface. my dear lads, had i attempted to write you an account of the whole of the adventurous career of charles xii. of sweden, it would, in itself, have filled a bulky volume to the exclu- sion of all other matter, and a youth who fought at narva -would have been a middle-aged man at the death of that warlike monarch before the walls of frederickshall. i have therefore been obliged to confine myself to the first three years of his reign, in which he crushed the army of russia at narva, and laid the then powerful republic of poland prostrate at his feet. in this way only could i obtain space for the private adventures and doings of charlie carstairs, the hero of the story. the details of the wars of charles xii. were taken from the military history written at his command by his chamberlain, adlerfeld, from a similar narrative by a scotch gentleman in his ser- vice, and from voltaire's history. the latter is respon- sible for the statement that the trade of poland was almost entirely in the hands of scotch, french, and jewish mer- chants, the poles themselves being sharply divided into the two categories of nobles and peasants. yours sincerely, g. a. henty. contents. chap. p"be i. a spy in the household, ii. denounced, iii. a rescue, * iv. in sweden v. narva, vi. a prisoner, ° vii. exchanged, viii. the passage of the dwina ix. in warsaw x. in evil plight xi. with brigands xii. tbeed by wolves, xiii. a rescued party xiv. the battle of clissow, xv. an old acquaintance, xvi. in england again, xvii. the north coach xvi . a confession, illustrations. page "yon won't tell your father?" ciceley asked eagerly, frontis. charlie and his friends rescue sir marmadcke, . . storming the intrenchments at narva, "it is as mcch as i can do to keep my saddle,". . . charlie encounters ben soloman in the wood, . . . charlie and the travellers are surrounded by wolves, "the kino of sweden speaks very highly of you both," charlie comes home again, map of central europe, to/ace p. a jacobite exile. chapter l a spy in the household. n the borders of lancashire and westmoreland, two centuries since, stood lynnwood, a pic- turesque mansion still retaining something of the character of a fortified house. it was ever a matter of regret to its owner, sir marmaduke carstairs, that his grandfather had so modified its construction by levelling one side of the quadrangle, and inserting large mullion windows in that portion inhabited by the family, that it was in no condition to stand a siege in the time of the civil war. sir marmaduke was at that time only a child, but he still remembered how the roundhead soldiers had lorded it there when his father was away fighting with the army of the king; how they had seated themselves at the board, and had ordered his mother about as if she had been a scullion, jeering her with cruel words as to what would have been the fate of her husband if they had caught him there, until, though but eight years old, he had smitten one of the troopers as ho sat, with all his force. what had happened after that he did not recollect, for it was not until a week a jacobite exile. after the roundheads had ridden away that he found him- self in his bed, with his mother sitting beside him and his head bandaged with cloths dipped in water. he always maintained that had the house been fortified it could have held out until help arrived, although in later years his father assured him that it was well it was not in a position to offer a defence. "we were away down south, marmaduke, and the roundheads were masters of this district at the time; they would have battered the place around your mother's ears, and, likely as not, have burnt it to the ground. as it was, i came back here to find it whole and safe, except that the crop-eared scoundrels had, from pure wantonness, de- stroyed the pictures and hacked most of the furniture to pieces. i took no part in the later risings, seeing that they were hopeless, and therefore preserved my property when many others were ruined. no, marmaduke, it is just as well that the house was not fortified. i believe in fighting when there is some chance, even a slight one, of success, but i regard it as an act of folly to throw away a life when no good can come of it." still, sir marmaduke never ceased to regret that lynn- wood was not one of the houses that had been defended to the last against the enemies of the king. at the restora- tion he went for the first time in his life to london to pay his respects to charles ii. he was well received, and although he tired in a very short time of the gaieties of the court, he returned to lynnwood with his feelings of loyalty to the stuarts as strong as ever. he rejoiced heartily when the news came of the defeat of monmouth at sedgemoor, and was filled with rage and indignation when james weakly fled and left his throne to be occupied by dutch william. from that time he became a strong jacobite, and emptied his glass nightly "to the king over the water." in the north a spy in the household. the jacobites were numerous, and at their gatherings treason was freely talked, while arms were prepared and hidden away for the time when the lawful king should return to claim his own. sir marmaduke was deeply concerned in the plot of , when preparations had been made for a great jacobite rising throughout the country. nothing came of it, for the duke of berwick, who was to have led it, failed in getting the two parties who were concerned to come to an agreement . the jacobites were ready to rise directly a french army landed. the french king, on the other hand, would not send an army until the jacobites had risen, and the matter therefore fell through, to sir marma- duke's indignation and grief. but he had no words strong enough to express his anger and disgust when he found, that side by side with the general scheme for a rising, a plot had been formed by sir george barclay, a scottish refugee, to assassinate the king on his return from hunting in richmond forest . "it is enough to drive one to become a whig," he ex- claimed. "i am ready to fight dutch william, for he occupies the place of my rightful sovereign, but i have no private feud with him, and if i had i would run any man through who ventured to propose to me a plot to assassi. nate him. such scoundrels as barclay would bring disgrace on the best cause in the world. had i heard as much as a whisper of it i would have buckled on my sword and ridden to london to warn the dutchman of his danger. however, as it seems that barclay had but some forty men with him, most of them foreign desperadoes, the dutchman must see that english gentlemen, however ready to fight against him fairly, would have no hand in so dastardly a plot as this. "look you, charlie, keep always in mind that you bear the name of our martyred king, and be ready ever to draw your sword in the cause of the stuarts, whether it be ten a jacobite exile. years hence or forty that their banner is hoisted .again; but keep yourself free from all plots except those that deal with fair and open warfare. have no faith whatever in politicians, who are ever ready to use the country gentry as an instru- ment for gaining their own ends. deal with your neigh- bours, but mistrust strangers from whomsoever they may say they come." which advice charlie, at that time thirteen years old, gravely promised to follow. he had naturally inherited his father's sentiments, and believed the jacobite cause to be a sacred one. he had fought and vanguished alured dormay, his second cousin, and two years his senior, for speaking of king james' son as the pretender, and was ready at any timo to do battle with any boy of his own age in the same cause. alured's father, john dormay, had ridden over to lynnwood to complain of the violence of which his son had been the victim, but he obtained no redress from sir marmaduke. "the boy is a chip of the old block, cousin, and he did right. i myself struck a blow at the king's enemies when i was but eight years old, and got my skull well-nigh cracked for my pains. it is well that the lads were not four years older, for then instead of taking to fisticuffs their swords would have been out, and, as my boy has for the last four years been exercised daily in the use of his weapon, it might happen that instead of alured coming home with a black eye, and, as you say, a missing tooth, he might have been carried home with a sword-thrust through his body. it was, to my mind, entirely the fault of your son. i should have blamed charlie had he called the king at westminster dutch william, for although each man has a right to his own opinions, he has no right to offend those of others—besides, at present it is as well to keep a quiet tongue as to a matter that words cannot set right. in the a spy in the household. same way your son had no right to offend others by calling james stuart the pretender. "certainly, of the twelve boys who go over to learn what the rector of apsley can teach them, more than half are sons of gentlemen whose opinions are similar to my own. it would be much better, john dormay, if, instead of com- plaining of my boy, you were to look somewhat to your own. i marked, the last time he came over here, that he was growing loutish in his manners, and that he bore himself with less respect to his elders than is seemly in a lad of that age. he needs curbing, and would carry himself all the better if, like charlie, he had an hour a day at sword exercise. i speak for the boy's good. it is true that you yourself, being a bitter whig, mix but little with your neigh- bours, who are for the most part the other way of think- ing; but this may not go on for ever, and you would, i suppose, like alured when he grows up to mix with others of his rank in the county, and it would be well, therefore, that he should have the accomplishments and manners of young men of his own age." john dormay did not reply hastily—it was his policy to keep on good terms with his wife's cousin, for the knight was a man of far higher consideration in the county than himself. his smile, however, was not a pleasant one as he rose and said, "my mission has hardly terminated as i expected, sir marmaduke. i came to complain, and i go away advised somewhat sharply." "tut, tut, man!" the knight said. "i speak only for the lad's good, and i am sure that you cannot but feel the truth of what i have said. what does alured want to make enemies for? it may be that it was only my son who openly resented his ill-timed remarks, but you may be sure that others were equally displeased, and maybe their resentment will last much longer than that which was quenched in a fair if, a jacobite exile. stand-up fight . certainly, there need be no malice between the boys. alured's defeat may even do him good, for he cannot but feel that it is somewhat disgraceful to be beaten by one nearly a head shorter than he." "there is no doubt something in what you say, sir marmaduke," john dormay said blandly, "and i will make it my business that, should the boys meet again as antago- nists, alured shall be able to give a better account of him- self." "he is a disagreeable fellow," sir marmaduke said to himself, as he watched john dormay ride slowly away through the park, "and if it were not that he is husband to my cousin celia, i would have nought to do with him. she is my only kinswoman, and were aught to happen to charlie, that lout, her son, would be the heir of lynnwood. i should never rest quiet in my grave were a whig master here. i would much rather that he had spoken wrathfully when i straightly gave him my opinion of the boy, who is growing up an ill-conditioned cub; it would have been more honest. i hate to see a man smile when i know that he would fain swear. i like my cousin celia, and i like her little daughter ciceley, who takes after her, and not after john dormay; but i would that the fellow lived on the other side of england. he is out of his place here, and though men do not speak against him in my presence, know- ing that he is a sort of kinsman, i have never heard one say a good word for him. "it is not only because he is a whig; there are other whig gentry in the neighbourhood against whom i bear no ill-will, and can meet at a social board in friendship. it would be hard if politics were to stand between neigh bours. it is dormay's manner that is against him. if he were anyone but celia's husband, i would say that he is a smooth-faced knave, though i altogether lack proof ( ) a spy in the household. of my- words, beyond that he has added half a dozen farms to his estate, and in each case there were complaints that, although there was nothing contrary to the law, it was by sharp practice that he obtained possession, lending money freely in order to build houses and fences and drains, and then directly a pinch came demanding the return of his advance. "such ways may pass in a london usurer, but they don't do for us country-folk; and each farm that he has taken has closed the doors of a dozen good houses to john dormay. i fear that celia has a bad time with him, though she is not one to complain. i let charlie go over to rockley much oftener than i otherwise should do for her sake and ciceley's, though i would rather a hundred times that they should come here. not that the visits are pleasant when they do come, for i can see that celia is always in fear lest i should ask her questions about her life at home; which is the last thing that i should think of doing, for no good ever comes of interference between man and wife, and whatever i learned i could not quarrel with john dormay without being altogether separated from celia and the girl. "i am heartily glad that charlie has given alured a sound thrashing. the boy is too modest; he only said a few words last evening about the affair, and i thought that only a blow or two had been exchanged. it was as much as i could do not to rub my hands and chuckle when his father told me all about it. however, i must speak gravely to charlie. if he takes it up every time a whig speaks scornfully of the king he will be always in hot water, and were he a few years older would become a marked man. we have got to bide our time, and except among friends it is best to keep a quiet tongue until that time comes." to sir marmaduke's disappointment three more years went on without the position changing in any way. mes- ( ) "'b a jacobite exile. sengers went and came between france and the english jacobites, but no movement was made. the failure of the assassination plot had strengthened william's hold on the country, for englishmen love fair play and hate assassina- tion, so that many who had hitherto been opponents of william of orange now ranged themselves on his side, de- claring they could no longer support a cause that used assassination as one of its weapons. more zealous jacobites, although they regretted the assassination plot, and were as vehement of their denunciations of its authors as were the whigs, remained staunch in their fidelity to "the king over the water," maintaining stoutly that his majesty knew no- thing whatever of this foul plot, and that his cause was in no way affected by the misconduct of a few men who happened to be among its adherents. at lynnwood things went on as usual. charlie con- tinued his studies in a somewhat desultory way, having but small affection for books, kept up his fencing lesson dili- gently and learned to dance, quarrelled occasionally with his cousin alured, spent a good deal of his time on horseback, and rode over not unfrequently to rockley, choosing, as far as possible, the days and hours when he knew that alured and his father were likely to be away. he went over partly for his own pleasure, but more in compliance with his father's wishes. "my cousin seldom comes over herself," the latter said. "i know right well that it is from no slackness of her own, but that her husband likes not her intimacy here; it is well then that you should go over and see them, for it is only when you bring her that i see ciceley. i would she were your sister, lad, for she is a bright little maid, and would make the old house lively." therefore, once a week or so, charlie rode over early to rockley, which was some five miles distant, and brought a jacobite exile. saw but little of him, for he was frequently absent from early morning until late at night, riding to visit friends in westmoreland and yorkshire, sometimes being away two or three days at a time. of an evening there were meet- ings at lynnwood, and at these strangers who arrived after nightfall were often present. charlie was not admitted to any of these gatherings. "you will know all about it in time, lad," his father said. "you are too young to bother your head with politics, and you would lose patience in a very short time. i do myself occasionally. many who are the foremost in talk when there is no prospect of doing anything, draw back when the time approaches for action, and it is sickening to listen to the tim- orous objections and paltry arguments that are brought for- ward. here am i, a man of sixty, ready to risk life and fortune in the good cause, and there are many not half my age, who speak with as much caution as if they were gray-beards. still, lad, i have no doubt that the matter will straighten itself out and come right in the end. it is always the most trying time for timorous hearts before the first shot of a battle is fired. once the engagement commences, there is no time for fear; the battle has to be fought out, and the best way to safety is to win a victory. i have not the least doubt that as soon as it is known that the king has landed, there will be no more shilly-shallying or hesitation. every loyal man will mount his horse and call out his tenants, and in a few days england will be in a blaze from end to end." charlie troubled himself but little with what was going on. his father had promised him that when the time did come he should ride by his side, and with that promise he was content to wait, knowing that at present his strength would be of but little avail, and that every week added somewhat to his weight and sinew. a spy in the household. one day he was in the garden with ciceley; the weather was hot, and the girl was sitting in a swing under a shady tree, occasionally starting herself by a push with her foot on the ground, and then swaying gently backward and forward, until the swing was again at rest. charlie was seated on the ground near her, pulling the ears of his favourite dog, and occasionally talking to her, when a ser- vant came out with a message that his father wanted to speak to him. "i expect i shall be back in a few minutes, ciceley, so don't you wander away till i come. it is too hot to-day to be hunting for you all over the garden, as i did when you hid yourself last week." it was indeed but a short time until he returned. "my father only wanted to tell me that he is just starting for bristowe's, and as it is over twenty miles away he may not return until to-morrow." "i don't like that man's face who brought the message to you, charlie." "don't you?" the boy said carelessly. "i have not noticed him much; he has not been many months with us. what are you thinking of?" he asked a minute later, seeing that his cousin looked troubled. "i don't know that i ought to tell you, charlie. you know my father does not think the same way as yours about things." "i should rather think he doesn't," charlie laughed. "there is no secret about that, ciceley; but they don't cpiarrel over it. last time your father and mother came over here i dined with them for the first time, and i noticed there was not a single word said about politics. they chatted over the crops, and the chances of a war in europe, and of the quarrel between holstcin and denmark, and whether the young king of sweden would aid the duke - a jacobite exile. who seems to be threatened by saxony as well as by den- mark. i did not know anything about it, and thought it was rather stupid; but my father and yours both seemed of one mind, and were as good friends as if they were in equal agreement on all other points. but what has that to do with nicholson, for that is the man's name who came out just now?" "it does not seem to have much to do with it," she said doubtfully, "and yet perhaps it does. you know my mother is nob quite of the same opinion as my father, although she never says so to him; but when we are alone together some- times she shakes her head and says she fears that trouble is coming, and it makes her very unhappy. one day i was in the garden, and they were talking loudly in the dining-room—at least he was talking loudly. well, he said — but i don't know whether i ought to tell you, charlie." "certainly you ought not, ciceley. if you heard what you were not meant to hear you ought never to say a word about it to anyone." "but it concerns you and sir marmaduke." "i cannot help that," he said stoutly. "people often say things of each other in private, especially if they are out of temper, that they don't quite mean, and it would make terrible mischief if such things were repeated. whatever your father said i do not want to hear it, and it would be very wrong of you to repeat it." "i am not going to repeat it, charlie. i only want to say that i do not think my father and yours are very friendly together, which is natural, when my father is all for king william and your father for king james. he makes no secret of that, you know." charlie nodded. "that is right enough, ciceley, but still i don't understand in the least what it has to do with the servant." a spy in thfe household. "it has to do with it," she said pettishly, starting the swing afresh, and then relapsing into silence until it again came to a stand still "i think you ought to know," she said suddenly. "you see, charlie, sir marmaduke is very kind to me, and i love him dearly, and so do you, and i think you ought to know, although it may be nothing at all." "well, fire away then, ciceley. there is one thing you may be quite sure of, whatever you tell me it is like telling a brother, and i shall never repeat it to anyone." "well, it is this. that man comes over sometimes to see my father. i have seen him pass my window three or four times and go in by the garden door into father's study. i did not know who he was, but it did seem funny his enter- ing by that door, as if he did not want to be seen by any- one in the house. i did not think anything more about it till i saw him just now, then i knew him directly. if i had seen him before i should have told you at once, but i don't think i have." "i daresay not, ciceley. he does not wait at table, but is under the steward, and helps clean the silver. he waits when we have several friends to dinner. at other times he does not often come into the room. what you tell me is certainly curious. what can he have to say to your father?" "i don't know, charlie. i don't know anything about it. i do think you ought to know." "yes, i think it is a good thing that i should know," charlie agreed thoughtfully. "i daresay it is all right, but at any rate i am glad you told me." "you won't tell your father?" she asked eagerly. "because if you were to speak of it—" "i shall not tell him. you need not be afraid that what you have told me will come out. it is curious, and that is .all, and i will look after the fellow a bit. don't think any- thing more about it. it is just the sort of thing it is well a jacobite exile. to know, but i expect there is no harm in it one way or the other. of course he must have known your father before he came to us, and may have business of some sort with him. he may have a brother or some other relation who wants to take one of your father's farms. indeed, there are a hundred things ho might want to see him about. but still, i am glad you have told me." in his own mind charlie thought much more seriously of it than he pretended. he knew that at present his father was engaged heart and soul in a projected jacobite rising. he knew that john dormay was a bitter whig. he believed that he had a grudge against his father, and the general opinion of him was that he was wholly unscrupulous. that he should, then, be in secret communication with a servant at lynnwood, struck him as a very serious matter indeed. charlie was not yet sixteen, but his close companionship with his father had rendered him older than most lads of his age. he was as warm a jacobite as his father, but the manner in which william with his dutch troops had crushed the great jacobite rebellion in ireland, seemed to him a lesson that the prospects of success in england were much less certain than his father believed them to be. john dormay, as an adherent of william, would be interested in thwarting the proposed movement, with the satisfaction of, at the same time, bringing sir marmaduke into disgrace. charlie could hardly believe that his cousin would be guilty of setting a spy to watch his father, but it was certainly possible, and as he thought the matter over as he rode back after escorting ciceley to her home, he resolved to keep a sharp watch over the doings of this man nicholson. "it would never do to tell my father what ciceley said. he would bundle the fellow out neck and crop, and perhaps break some of his bones, and then it would be traced to her. she has not a happy home as it is, and it would be a spy in the household. far worse if her father knew that it was she who had put us on our guard . i must find out something myself, and then we can turn him out without there being the least suspicion that ciceley is mixed up in it." the next evening several jacobite gentlemen rode in, and, as usual, had a long talk with sir marmaduke after supper. "if this fellow is a spy," charlie said to himself, "he will be wanting to hear what is said, and to do so he must either hide himself in the room or listen at the door or at one of the windows. it is not likely that he will get into the room, for to do that he must have hidden himself before supper began. i don't think he would dare to listen at the door, for anyone passing through the hall would catch him at it. it must be at one of the windows." the room was at an angle of the house. three windows looked out on to the lawn in front, that at the side into a large shrubbery, where the bushes grew up close to it; and charlie decided that here, if anywhere, the man would take up his post. as soon, then, as he knew that the servants were clearing away the supper he took a heavy cudgel and went out. he walked straight away from the house, and then, when he knew that his figure could no longer be seen in the twilight, he made a circuit, and entering the shrubbery crept along close to the wall of the house until within two or three yards of the window. having made sure that at present, at any rate, no one was near, he moved out a step or two to look at the window. his suspicions were at once confirmed. the inside curtains were drawn, but the casement was open two or three inches. charlie again took up his post behind a bush and waited. in five minutes he heard a twig snap, and then a figure came along noiselessly and placed itself at the window. charlie gave him but a moment to listen, then he sprang forward, and with his whole strength brought his cudgel - a jacobite exile. down upon the man's head. he fell like a stone. charlie threw open the window, and as he did so the curtain was torn back by his father, the sound of the blow and the fall having reached the ears of those within. sir marmaduke had drawn his sword, and was about to leap through the window when charlie exclaimed: "it is i, father. i have caught a fellow listening at the window, and have just knocked him down." "well done, my boy! bring lights, please, gentlemen; let us see what villain we have got here." but as he spoke charlie's head suddenly disappeared, and a sharp exclama- tion broko from him as he felt his ankles grasped and his feet pulled from under him. he came down with such a crash that for a moment he was unable to rise. he heard a rustling in the bushes, and then his father leapt down beside him. "where are you, my boy? has the scoundrel hurt you?" "he has given me a shake," charlie said as he sat up; "and what is worse, i am afraid he has got away." "follow me, gentlemen, and scatter through the gardens," sir marmaduke roared; "the villain has escaped!" for a few minutes there was a hot pursuit through the shrubbery and gardens, but nothing was discovered. charlie had been so shaken that he was unable to join the pursuit, but having got on to his feet remained leaning against the wall until his father came back. "he has got away, charlie. have you any idea who he was?" "it was nicholson, father; at least i am almost certain that it was him. it was too dark to see his face. i could see the outline of his head against the window, and he had on a cap with a cock's feather which i had noticed the man wore." "but how came you here, charlie?" a spy in the household. - "i will tell you that aftorwards, father,—don't ask me now;" for at this moment some of the others were coming up. several of them had torches, and as they approached sir marmaduke saw something lying on the ground under the window. he picked it up. "here is the fellow's cap," he said. "you must have hit him a shrewd blow, charlie, for here is a clean cut through the cloth and a patch of fresh blood on the white lining. how did he get you down, lad?" "he fell so suddenly when i hit him that i thought i had either killed or stunned him; but of course i had not, for it was but a moment after, when i was speaking to you, that i felt my ankles seized and i went down with a crash. i heard him make off through the bushes; but i was for the moment almost dazed, and could do nothing to stop him.'' "was the window open when he came?" "yes, sir, two or three inches." "then it was evidently a planned thing. well, gentlemen, we may as well go indoors. the fellow is well out of our reach now, and we may be pretty sure he will never again show his face here. fortunately he heard nothing, for the serving-men had but just left the room, and we had not yet begun to talk" "that is true enough, sir marmaduke," one of the others said. "the question is,—how long has this been going on?" sir marmaduke looked at charlie. "i know nothing about it, sir. till now have not had the slightest suspicion of this man. it occurred to me this after- noon that it might be possible for anyone to hear what was said inside the room by listening at the windows, and that this shrubbery would form a very good shelter for an eaves- dropper. so i thought this evening i would take up my place here to assure myself that there was no traitor in the household. i had been here but five minutes when the a jacobite exile. fellow stole quietly up and placed his ear at the opening of the casement, and you may be sure that i gave him no time to listen to what was being said." "well, we had better go in," sir marmaduke said. "there is no fear of our being overheard this evening. charlie, do you take old banks aside and tell him what has happened, and then go with him to the room where that fellow slept, and make a thorough search of any clothes he may have left behind, and of the room itself. should you find any papers or documents, you will, of course, bring them down to me." but the closest search by charlie and the old butler pro- duced no results. not a scrap of paper of any kind was found, and banks said that he knew the man could neither read nor write. the party below soon broke up, considerable uneasiness being felt by all at the incident of the evening. when the last of them had left charlie was sent for. "now, then, charlie, let me hear how all this came about. i know that all you said about what took place at the win- dow is perfectly true; but even had you not said so, i should have felt there was something else. what was it brought you to that window? your story was straightforward enough, but it was certainly singular your happening to be there, and i fancy some of our friends thought that you had gone round to listen yjurself. one hinted as much; but i said that was absurd, for you were completely in my confidence, and that whatever peril and danger there might be in the enterprise, you would share them with me." "it is not pleasant that they should have thought so, father, but that is better than that the truth should be known. this is how it happened;" and he repeated what ciceley had told him in the garden. "so the worthy master john dormay has set a spy upon me," sir marmaduke said bitterly. "i knew the man was a spy in the household. a knave—that is public property—but i did not think that he was capable of this. well, i am glad that at any rate no suspicion can fall upon ciceley in the matter; but it is seri- ous, lad, very serious. we do not know how long this fellow has been prying and listening, or how much he may have learnt. i don't think it can be much. we talked it over, and my friends all agreed with me that they do not remember those curtains having been drawn before. to begin with, the evenings are shortening fast, and at our meeting last week we finished our supper by daylight; and had the curtains been drawn it would have been noticed, for we had need of light before we finished. two of the gentlemen who were sitting facing the window declared that they remembered distinctly that it was open. mr. jervoise says that he thought to himself that if it was his place he would have the trees cut away there, for they shut out the light. therefore, although it is uncomfortable to think that there has been a spy in the house for some months, we have every reason to hope that our councils have not been overheard. were it otherwise i should lose no time in making for the coast and taking ship to france, to wait quietly there until the king comes over." "you have no documents, father, that the man could have found?" "none, charlie. we have doubtless made lists of those who could be relied upon and of the number of men they could bring with them, but these have always been burned before we separated. such letters as i have had from france i have always destroyed as soon as i have read them. perilous stuff of that sort should never be left about. no; they may ransack the place from top to bottom, and nothing will be found that could not be read aloud without harm in the market-place of lancaster. so now to bed, charlie; it is long past your usual hour." chapter ii. denounced. charlie," sir marmaduke said on the following morning at breakfast, "it is quite possible that that villain who acted as spy, and that other villain who em- ployed him—i need not mention names—may swear an information against me, and i may be arrested on the charge of being concerned in a plot. i am not much afraid of it if they do. the most they could say is that i was pre- pared to take up arms if his majesty crossed from france; but as there are thousands and thousands of men ready to do the same, they may fine me, perhaps, but i should say that is all. however, what i want to say to you is, keep out of the way if they come. i shall make light of the affair, while you, being pretty hot-tempered, might say things that would irritate them, while they could be of no assistance to me. therefore, i would rather that you were kept out of it altogether. i shall want you here; in my absence there must be somebody to look after things. mind that rascal john dormay does not put his foot inside the house while i am away. that fellow is playing some deep game, though i don't quite know what it is. i suppose he wants to win the good-will of the authorities by showing his activity and zeal; and of course he will imagine that no one has any idea that he has been in communication with this spy. we have got a hold over him, and when i come denounced. back i will have it out with him. he is not popular now, and if it were known that he had been working against me, his wife's kinsman, behind my back, my friends about here would make the country too hot to hold him." "yes, father; but please do not let him guess that we have learnt it from ciceley. you see that is the only way we know about it." "yes, you are right there. i will be careful that he shall not know the little maid has anything to do with it. but we will think of that afterwards; maybe nothing will come of it after all. but if anything does, mind, my orders are that you keep away from the house while they are in it. when you come back banks will tell you what has happened. you had better take your horse and go for a ride now. not over there, charlie. i know if you hap- pened to meet that fellow he would read in your face that you knew the part he had been.playing, and should nothing come of the business i don't want him to know that at present. the fellow can henceforth do us no harm, for we shall be on our guard against eaves-droppers; and for the sake of cousin celia and the child i do not want an open breach. i do not see the man often myself, and i will take good care i don't put myself in the way of meeting him, for the present at any rate. don't ride over there to-day." "very well, father, i will ride over and see harry jer- voise. i promised him that i would come over one day this week." it was a ten-mile ride, and as ho entered the court-yard of mr. jervoise's fine old mansion he leapt off his horse and threw the reins over a post. a servant came out. "the master wishes to speak to you, master carstairs." "no ill news, i hope, charlie?" mr. jervoise asked anxi- ously as the lad was shown into the room where his host was standing beside the carved chimney-piece. a jacobite exile. "no, sir, there is nothing new. my father thought that i had better be away to-day in case any trouble should arise out of what took place yesterday, so i rode over to see harry. i promised to do so one day this week." "that is right. does sir marmaduke think then that he will be arrested?" "i don't know that he expects it, sir, but he says that it is possible." "i do not see that they have anything to go upon, charlie. as we agreed last night, that spy never had any opportunity of overhearing us before, and certainly he can have heard nothing yesterday. the fellow can only say what many people know, or could know if they liked, that half, a dozen of sir marmaduke's friends rode over to take supper with him. they can make nothing out of that." "no, sir; and my father said that, at the worst, it could be but the matter of a fine." "quite so, lad; but i don't even see how it could amount to that. you will find harry somewhere about the house, he has said nothing to me about going out." harry jervoise was just the same age as charlie, and was his greatest friend. they were both enthusiastic in the cause of the stuarts, equally vehement in their ex- pressions of contempt for the dutch king, equally anxious for the coming of him whom they regarded as their lawful monarch. they spent the morning together as usual; went first to the stables and patted and talked to their horses; then they played at bowls on the lawn; after which they had a bout of sword-play; and having thus let off some of their animal spirits, sat down and talked of the glorious times to come when the king was to have his own again. late in the afternoon charlie mounted his horse and rode for home. when within half a mile of the house a man stepped out into the road in front of him. denounced. . "hullo, banks, what is it—no bad news, i hope?" and he leapt from his horse, alarmed at the pallor of the old butler's face. . "yes, master charles, i have some very bad news, and have been waiting for the last two hours here, so as to stop you going to the house." "why shouldn't i go the house?" "because there are a dozen soldiers and three or four constables there." "and my father?" "they have taken him away." "this is bad news, banks; but i know that he thought that it might be so. but it will not be very serious; it is only a question of a fine," he said. the butler shook his head sadly. "it is worse than that, master charles; it is worse than you think" "well, tell me all about it, banks," charlie said, feeling much alarmed at the old man's manner. "well, sir, at three this afternoon two magistrates, john cockshaw and william peters" ("both bitter whigs," charlie put in) "rode up to the door. they had with them six constables and twenty troopers." "there were enough of them then," charlie said. "did they think my father was going to arm you all and defend the place?" "i don't know, sir, but that is the number that came. the magistrates and the constables and four of the soldiers came into the house. sir marmaduke met them in the hall. "'to what do i owe the honour of this visit?' he said, quite cold and haughty. "' we have come, sir marmaduke carstairs, to arrest you on the charge of being concerned in a treasonable plot against the king's life.' ( ) c a jacobite exile. "sir marmaduke laughed out loud. 'i have no design on the life of william of orange or of any other man,' he said. 'i do not pretend to love him; in that matter there are thousands in this realm with me; but as for a design against his life, i should say, gentlemen, there arc few who know me, even among men like yourselves, whose politics are op- posed to mine, who would for a moment credit such a foul insinuation.' "' we have nothing to do with that matter, sir marma- duke,' john cockshaw said; 'we are acting upon a sworn information to that effect.' "sir marmaduke was angry now. 'i can guess the name of the dog who signed it,' he said, 'and kinsman though he is by marriage i will force the lie down his throat.' then he cooled down again. 'well, gentlemen, you have to do your duty. what do you desire next?' "' our duty is next to search the house for any treason- able documents that may be concealed here.' "' search away, gentlemen,' sir marmaduke said, seating himself in one of the settles. 'the house is open to you. my butler, james banks, will go round with you, and will open for you any cupboard or chest that may be locked.' "the magistrates nodded to the four soldiers. two of them took their post near the chair, one at the outside door, and one at the other end of the room. sir marmaduke said nothing, but shrugged his shoulders, and then began to play with the ears of the little spaniel fido, that had jumped up on his knees. "'we will first go into the study,' john cockshaw said; and i led them there. they went straight to the cabinet with the pull-down desk, where sir marmaduke writes when he does write, which is not often. it was locked, and- went to sir marmaduke for the key. "'you will find it in that french vase on the mantel,' he denounced. said; 'i don't open the desk once in three months, and should lose the key if i carried it with me.' "i went to the mantel, turned the vase over, and the key- dropped out. 'sir marmaduke has nothing to hide, gentle- men,' i said, 'so you see he keeps the key here.' i went to the cabinet and put the key in. as i did so i said, 'look, gentlemen, someone has opened or tried to open this desk. here is a mark as if a knife had been thrust in to shoot the bolt.' they looked where i pointed, and william peters said to cockshaw, 'it is as the man says. some- one has been trying to force the lock—one of the varlets probably who thought the knight might keep his money here.' "' it can be of no importance one way or the other,' cockshaw said roughly. "' probably not, mr. cockshaw, but at the same time i will make a note of it.' i turned the key and pulled down the door that makes a desk. they seemed to know all about it, for without looking at the papers in the pigeon- holes they pulled open the lower drawer, and took two foreign-looking letters out from it. i will do them the justice to say that they both looked sorry as they opened them and looked at the writing. '"it is too -true,' peters said. 'here is enough to hang a dozen men.' they .tumbled all the other papers into a sack that one of the constables had brought with him. then they searched all the other furniture, but they evi- dently did not expect to find anything. then they went back into the hall 'well, gentlemen,' sir marmaduke said, 'have you found anything of a terrible kind?' "' we have found, i regret to say,' john cockshaw said, 'the letters of which we were in search in your private cabinetr—letters that prove beyond all doubt that you are concerned in a plot similar to that discovered three years a jacobite exile. * ago to assassinate his majesty the king.' sir marmaduke sprang to his feet "'you have found letters of that kind in my cabinet?' he said, in a dazed sort .of way. the magistrate bowed but did not speak. "' then, sir,' sir marmaduke exclaimed,'you have found letters that i have never seen. you have found letters that must have been placed there by some scoundrel who plotted my ruin. i assert to you, on the honour of a gentleman, that no such letters have ever met my eye, and that if such a proposi- tion had been made to me, i care not by whom, i-would have struck to the ground the man who offered me such an insult.' '"we are sorry, sir marmaduke carstairs,' mr. peters said, "most sorry, both of us, that it should have fallen to our duty to take so painful a proceeding against a neighbour, but you see the matter is beyond us. we have received a sworn information that you are- engaged in such a plot. we are told that you are in the habit of locking up papers of importance in a certain cabinet, and there we find papers of a most damnatory kind. we most sincerely trust that you may be able to prove your innocence in the matter, but we have nothing to do but to take you with us as a prisoner to lancaster.' "sir marmaduke unbuckled his sword and laid it by. he was quieter than i thought he could be in such a strait, for he has always been by nature, as you know, choleric. 'i am ready, gentlemen,' he said. peters whispered in cock shaw's ear. 'ah yes,' the other said, 'i had well-nigh for gotten,' and he turned to me. 'where is master charles carstairs?' 'he is not in the house,' i said. 'he rode away this morning and did not tell me where he was going.' 'when do you expect him back?' 'i do not expect him at all,' i said. 'when master charles rides out to visit his friends he sometimes stays away for a day or two.' denounced. "' is it supposed,' sir marmaduke asked coldly, 'that my son is also mixed up in this precious scheme v "' it is sworn that he was privy to it,' john cockshaw said, 'and is therefore included in the orders for arrest.' "sir marmaduke did not speak, but he shut his lips tight, and his hand went to where the hilt of his sword would have been. two of the constables went out and questioned the grooms, and found that you had, as i said, ridden off. when they came back there was some talk between the magistrates, and then, as i said, four constables and some soldiers were left in the house. sir marmaduke's horse was brought round, and he rode away with the magistrates and the other soldiers." "i am quite sure, banks, that my father could have known nothing of those letters, or of any plot against william's life. i have heard him speak so often of the assassina- tion plot, and how disgraceful it was, and how, apart from its wickedness, it had damaged the cause, that i am certain he would riot have listened to a word about another such business." 'i am sure of that to-o," the old butler said; "but that is not the question, master charles. there are the papers. we know that sir marmaduke did not put them there, and that he did not know that they were there. but how is it to be proved, sir? everyone knows that sir mar- maduke is a jacobite, and is regarded as the head of the party in this part of the country. he has enemies, and one of them no doubt has played this evil trick upon him, and the putting of your name in shows what the motive is." "but it is ridiculous, banks. who could believe that such a matter as this would be confided to a lad of my age." "they might not believe it in their hearts, but people often believe what suits their interest. this accusation a jacobite exile. touches sir marmaduke's life, and his estate, even if his life were spared, would be confiscated. in such a case it might be granted to anyone, and possibly even to the son of him they would call the traitor. but the accusation that the son was concerned, or was at any rate privy to the crime intended by the father, would set all against him, and public opinion would approve of the estates passing away from him alto- gether. but now, sir, what do you think you had best do?" "of course i shall go on, banks, and let them take me to join my father in lancaster jail do you think i would run away!" "no, sir, i don't think you would run away. i am sure you would not run away from fear, but i would not let them lay hands on me until i had thought the matter well over. you might be able to do more good to sir marmaduke were you free, than you could do if you were caged up with him. he has enemies, we know, who are doing their best to ruin him, and, as you see, they are anxious that you too should be shut up within four walls." "you are right, banks; at any rate i will ride back and consult mr. jervoise. besides, he ought to be warned, for he too may be arrested on the same charge. how did you get away without being noticed?" "i said that i felt ill—and i was not speaking falsely—at sir marmaduke's arrest, and would lie down. they are keeping a sharp look-out at the 'stables, and have a soldier at each door to see that no one leaves the house, but i went out by that old passage that comes out among the ruins of the monastery." "i know, banks; my father showed it to me three years ago." "i shall go back that way again, sir, and no one will know that i have left the house. you know the trick of the sliding panel, master charles?" denounced. "yes, i know it, and if i should want to come into the house again i will come that way, banks." "here is a purse," the butler said; "you may want money, sir. should you want more there is a store hidden away in the hiding-place under the floor of the priest's chamber at the other end of the passage. do you know that?" "i know the priest's chamber of course, because you go through that to get to the long passage, but i don't know of any special hiding-place there." "doubtless sir marmaduke did not think it necessary to show it you then, sir, but he would have done it later on, so i do not consider that i am breaking my oath of secrecy in telling you. you know the little narrow loophole in the corner?" "yes, of course; there is no other that gives light to the room. it is hidden from view outside by the ivy." "well, sir, you count four bricks below that, and you press hard on the next, that is the fifth, then you will hear a click, then you press hard with your heel at the corner, in the angle, of the flag below, and you will find the other corner rise. then you get hold of it and lift it up, and below there is a stone chamber two feet long and about eighteen inches wide and deep. it was made to conceal papers in the old days, and i believe food was always kept there in case the chamber had to be used in haste. sir marmaduke uses it as a store-place for his money. he has laid by a good deal every year, knowing that money would be wanted when troops had to be raised. i was with him about three weeks ago when he put in there half the rents that had been paid in. so if you -want money for any pur- pose you will know where to find it." "thank you, banks, it may be very useful to have such a store now." a jacobite exile. "where shall i send to you, sir, if i have any news that it is urgent you should know of i" "send to mr. jervoise, banks. if i am not there, he will know where i am to be found." "i will send will ticehurst, master charles. he is a stout lad, and a shrewd one, and i know there is nothing that he would not do for you. but you had best stop no longer. should they find out that i am not in the house they will guess that i have come to warn you, and may send out a party to search." charlie at once mounted and rode back to mr. jervoise's. "i expected you back," that gentleman said as he entered. "bad news travels apace, and an hour since a man brought in the news that sir marmaduke had been seen riding, evidently a prisoner, surrounded by soldiers, on the road towards lancaster. so that villain we chased last night must have learnt something. i suppose they will be here to-morrow, but i do not see what serious charge they can have against us. we have neither collected arms nor taken any steps towards a rising. we have talked over what we might do if there were a landing made from france, but as there may bo no landing that is a very vague charge." "unfortunately that is not the charge against my father. it is a much more serious business." and charlie repeated the substance of what banks had told him, interrupted occasionally by indignant ejaculations from mr jervoise. "it is an infamous plot," he said, when the lad had con- cluded his story. "infamous! there was never a word said of such a scheme, and no one who knows your father would believe it for an instant." "yes, sir, but the judges who do not know him may believe it. no doubt those who put those papers there will bring forward evidence to back it up." "i am afraid that will be the case. it is serious for us denounced. all," mr. jervoisc said thoughtfully. "that man will be prepared to swear that he heard the plot discussed by us all. they seized your father to-day as being the principal and most important of those concerned in it, but we may all find ourselves in the same case to-morrow. i must think it over. it is well that your man warned you. you had best not stay here to-night, for the house may be sur- rounded at daybreak. harry shall go over with you to one of my tenants, and you can both sleep there. it will not be necessary for you to leave for another two or three hours. you had better go to him now; supper will be served in half an hour. i will talk with you again afterwards." harry was waiting outside the door, having also heard the news of sir marmaduke's arrest . "it is villanous!" he exclaimed, when he heard the whole story. "no doubt you are right, and that john dormay is at the bottom of it all. the villain ought to be slain." "he deserves it, harry; and if i thought it would do good i would gladly fight him, but i fear that it would do harm such a scoundrel must needs be a coward, and he might call for aid, and i might be dragged off to lancaster. moreover, he is ciceley's father, and my cousin celia's husband, and were i to kill him it would separate me altogether from them. however, i shall in all things be guided by your father, he will know what best ought to be done. it is likely that he, too, may be arrested. this is evidently a deep plot, and your father thinks that, although the papers alone may not be sufficient to convict my father, the spy we had in our house will be ready to swear that he heard your father and mine and the others making arrangements for the murder of william of orange, and their own word to the contrary would count but little against such evidence backed by those papers." they talked together for half-an-hour, and were then sum- denounced. "i should say nothing against that, lad. if ever a fellow deserved killing he does; that is, next to his rascally em- ployer. but his death would harm rather than benefit us; it would be assumed, of course, that we had removed him to prevent his giving evidence against us. no doubt his depositions have been taken down, and they would then be assumed to be true, and we should be worse off than if he could be confronted with us face to face in the court . we must let the matter rest at present." "would it be possible to get my father out of prison, sirl i am sure i can get a dozen men from among the tenants and grooms who would gladly risk their lives for him." "lancaster jail is a very strong place," mr. jervoise said, "and i fear there is no possibility of rescuing him from it . of course, at present we cannot say where the trial will take place. a commission may be sent down to hold a special assizes at lancaster, or the trial may take place in london. at any rate nothing whatever can be done until we know more. i have means of learning what takes place at lancaster, for we have friends there as well as at most other places. when i hear from them the exact nature of the charge, the evidence that will be given, and the names of those accused of being mixed up in this pretended plot, i shall be better able to say what is to be done. now i must mount and ride without further delay. i have to visit all our friends who met at lynnwood, and it will take me until to-morrow morning to see and confer with them." a few minutes after mr. jervoise had ridden off, his son and charlie also mounted. a man went with them with a supply of torches, for although harry knew the road—which was little better than a sheep-track—well enough during the day, his father thought he might find it difficult if not impossible to follow it on a dark night . they congratulated themselves upon the precaution taken before they had (tone a jacobite exile. very far, for there was no moon, the sky was overcast, and a drizzling rain had begun to come down. they could hardly see their horses' heads, and had proceeded but a short dis- tance when it became necessary for their guide to light a torch. it took them, therefore, over two hours to reach the mountain farm. they were expected, otherwise the household would have been asleep. mr. jervoise had, as soon as he determined upon their going there, sent off a man on horseback, who, riding fast, had arrived before night set in. there was, therefore, a great turf fire glowing on the hearth when they arrived, and a hearty welcome awaiting them from the farmer, his wife, and daughters. harry had, by his father's advice, brought two changes of clothes in a valise, but they were so completely soaked to the skin that they decided they would, after drinking a horn of hot-spiced ale that had been prepared for them, go at once to bed, where, in spite of the stirring events of the day, both went off to sleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows. the sun was shining brightly when they woke; the mists had cleared off, although they still hung round the head of ingleborough, six miles away, and on some of the other hill-tops. the change of weather had an inspiriting effect, and they went down to breakfast in a brighter and more hopeful frame of mind. as soon as the meal was over harry started for home. "i hope it won't be long before i can see you again, harry," charlie said as he stood by the horse. "i hope not, indeed; but there is no saying. my father's orders are that i am to stay at home if people come and take possession, and send a man off to you with the news privately, but that if no one comes i may myself bring you over any news there is; so i may be back here this afternoon." "i shall be looking out for you, harry. remember, it denounced. will be horribly dull for me up here, wondering and fretting as to what is going on." "i know, charlie; and you shall hear as soon as i get the smallest scrap of news. if i were you i would go for a good walk among the hills, it will be much better for you than moping here. at any rate you are not likely to get any news for some hours to come." charlie took the advice and started among the hills, not returning until the mid-day meal was ready. before he had finished his dinner there was a tap at the door, and then a young fellow whom he knew to be employed in mr. jer- voise's stables looked in. charlie sprang to his feet. "what's the news?" he asked. "master harry bade me tell you, sir, that a magistrate and four constables and ten soldier men came to-day at nine o'clock. he had returned but a half-hour when they rode up. they had an order for the arrest of mr. jervoise, and have been searching the house high and low for papers. no one is allowed to leave the place, but master harry came out to the stables and gave me his orders, and i did not find much difficulty in slipping out without their noticing me. mr. harry said that he had no news of mr. jervoise, nor any other news save what i have told you. he bade me return at once, as later on he may want to send me again. i was to be most careful that no one should see me when i got back, and if i was caught i was on no account to say where i had been to." the farmer insisted upon the young fellow sitting down at the table and taking some food before he started to go back. he required no pressing, but as soon as his hunger was satisfied he started again at a brisk run, which he kept up as long as charlie's eye could follow him down the valley. a jacobhe exile. although the boy by no means wished mr. jervoisc to be involved in his father's trouble, charlie could not help feel- ing a certain amount of pleasure at the news. he thought it certain that if his father escaped he would have to leave the country, and that he would in that case take him as companion in his flight. if mr. jervoise and harry also left the country, it would be vastly more pleasant for both his father and himself. where they would go to or what they would do he had no idea, but it seemed to him that exile among strangers would be bearable if he had his friend with him. it would not last many years, for surely the often talked-of landing could not be very much longer de- layed; then they would return, share in the triumph of the stuart cause, and resume their life at lynnwood, and reckon with those who had brought this foui charge against them. that the jacobite cause could fail to triumph was a con- tingency to which charlie did not give even a thought . he had been taught that it was a just and holy cause. all his school friends as well as the gentlemen who visited his father -were firm adherents of it, and he believed that the same sentiments must everywhere prevail. there was then nothing but the troops of william to reckon with, and these could hardly oppose a rising of the english people backed by aid from france. it was not until after dark that the messenger returned. "master harry bade me tell you, sir, that a gipsy boy he had never seen before, has brought him a little note from his father. he will not return at present, but if mr. harry can manage to slip away unnoticed in the afternoon to-morrow he is to come here. he is not to come direct, but to make a circuit lest he should be watched and followed, and it may be that the master will meet him here." charlie was very glad to hear this. harry could, of s a jacobite exile. about five o'clock he saw a figure coming down the hillside from the right. it was too far away to recognize with certainty, but by the rapid pace at which he descended the hill he had little doubt that it was harry, and he at once started at the top of his speed to meet him. the doubt was soon changed into a certainty. when, a few hun- dred yards up the hill, he met his friend both were almost breathless. harry was the first to gasp out: "has my father arrived?" "not yet . harry threw himself down on the short grass with an exclamation of thankfulness. "i have run nearly every foot of the way," he said, as soon as he got his breath a little. "i had awful difficulty in getting out. one of the constables kept in the same room with me, and followed me wherever i went. they evidently thought i might hear from my father or try to send him a message. at last i got desperate, and ran upstairs to that room next mine and closed and locked the door after me. you know the ivy grows high up the wall there, and directly i got in i threw open the casement and climbed down by it. it gave way two or three times and i thought i was gone, but i stuck to it and managed each time to get a fresh hold. the moment i was down i ran along by the foot of the wall until i got round behind, made a dash into that clump of fir-trees, crawled along in a ditch till i thought i was safe, and then made a run for it. i was so afraid of being followed that i have been at least threo miles round, but i don't mind now that my father hasn't arrived. i was in such a fright that he might come and go before i got here." chapter iii. a rescue. he two lads walked slowly down the hill together. harry had heard no more than charlie had done of what was going on. the messenger from his father was a young fellow of seventeen or eighteen, with a gipsy face and appearance; how he had managed to elude the vigilance of the men on watch harry did not know. he himself had only learnt his presence when, as he passed some bushes in the garden, a sharp whisper made him stop, and a moment later a hand was thrust through the foliage. he took the little note held out, and caught sight of the lad's face through the leaves as he leant forward and said—"go on, sir, without stopping; they may be watching you." harry had thrust the note into his pocket and sauntered on for some time, he then returned to the house and there read the letter, with whose contents charlie was already acquainted. eagerly they talked over what each had been thinking of since they had parted early on the previous day, and discussed charlie's idea of an attack on lancaster jail. "i don't know whether i could get as many men as you say, charlie. i don't think i could. if my father were in prison as well as yours i am sure that most of the young fellows on the estate would gladly help to rescue him, but it would be a different thing when it came to risking their ( ) d a jacobite exile. lives for anyone else. of course i don't know, but it does not seem to me that fifty men would be of any use at all towards taking lancaster castle. it always seemed to me a tremendously strong place." "yes, it does look so, harry; but perhaps on examining it closely, one would find that it is not so strong as it looks by a long way. it seems to me there must be some way or other of getting father out, and if there seems even the least bit of a chance i shall try it," "and you may be sure i will stand by you, charlie, whatever it is," harry said heartily. "we have been just like brothers, and of course brothers ought to stick to each other like anything; if they don't, what is the use of being brothers? i daresay we shall know more when wo hear what my father has to say, and then we may see our way better." "thank you, harry, i knew you would stick by me. of course i don't want to do any mad sort of thing. ther is no hurry anyhow, and, as you say, when we know more about it we may be able to hit upon some sort of plan." it was not until eight o'clock that mr. jervoise arrived. he looked grievously tired and worn out, but he spoke cheerfullj' as he came in. "i have had a busy two days of it, boys, as you may guess. i have no particularly good news to tell you, but on the other hand i have no bad news. i was in time to warn all our friends, and when the soldiers came for them in the morning it was only to find that their nests were empty. they have been searching the houses of all sir marmaduke's tenants, charlie, and questioning man, woman, and child as to whether they have seen you. ah i here is supper, and i am nearly famished. however, i can go on talking while i eat. i should have been here sooner, but i have been waiting for the return of the messenger i sent to lancaster a re cue. "yesterday morning there was an examination of your father, charlie, or rather an examination of the testimony against him. first the two letters that were discovered were put in. without having got them word for word, my informer was able to give me the substance of them. both were unsigned, and professed to have been written in france. the first is dated three months back. it alludes to a con- versation that somebody is supposed to have had with sir marmaduke, and states that the agent who had visited him, and who is spoken of as mr. h , had assured them that your father was perfectly ready to join in any well-conceived design for putting a stop to the sufferings that afflicted the country through the wars into which the foreign intruder had plunged it, even though the plan entailed the removal of the usurper. the writer assured sir marmaduke of the satis- faction that such an agreement on his part had caused at saint germains, and had heightened the high esteem in which sir marmaduke was held for his long fidelity to the cause of his majesty. it then went on to state that a plan had been already formed, and that several gentlemen in the south were deeply pledged to carry it out, but that it was thought specially advisable that some from the north should also take part in it, as from their persons being unknown near the court they could act with more surety and safety. they would, therefore, be glad if he would take counsel with the friends he had mentioned as to what might seem to them tho best course of proceeding. there was no occasion for any great haste, and indeed some weeks must elapse before the blow was struck, in order that preparations should be made in france for taking instant advantage of it. "the rest of the letter was to the same purpose, but was really a repetition of it. the second letter was dated some time later, and was as before an answer to one the knight was supposed to have written. it highly approved of the a jacobite exile suggestions therein made, that sir marmaduke and his friends should travel separately and at a few days' interval to london, and should take lodgings there in different parts of the town, and await the signal to assemble near richmond when it was known that the king would go hunting there. it said that special note had been made of the offer of sir marmaduke's son to mingle among the king's attendants and to fire the first shot, as in the con- fusion he would be able to escape, and being but a boy, as he said, none would be able to recognize him after- wards. 'in the event, of course, of the first shot failing, the rest of the party gathered in a body would rush forward, despatch the usurper, cut their way sword in hand through any who barred their path to the point where their horses were con- cealed, and then at once scatter in various directions. for this great servico his majesty would not fail to evince the deepest gratitude upon his restoration to his rightful throne, and pledged his royal word that each of the party should receive rank and dignity, together with ample estates, from the lands of which the chief supporters of the usurper would be deprived. "so you see, charlie, you were to have the honour of playing the chief part in this tragedy." "honour indeed!" charlie exclaimed passionately. "dis- honour, sir. was there ever so infamous a plot!" "it is a well-laid plot, charlie, and does credit to the scoun- drel who planned it . you see, he made certain that sir marmaduke would be attainted and his estates forfeited, but there existed just a possibility that as you are but a boy, though a good big one, it might be thought that, as you were innocent of the business, a portion at least of the estate might be handed to you. to prevent this it was necessary that you also should be mixed up in the affair." a rescue. "has john dormay appeared in the matter so iar, mr. jervoise?" "not openly, charlie. my informant knows that there have been two or three meetings of whig magistrates with closed doors, and that at these he has been present, and he has no doubt whatever that it is he who has set the ball rolling. still there is no proof of this, and he did not appear yester- day. the man who did appear was the rascal who tried to overhear us the other night. he stated that he had been instigated by a gentleman of great loyalty—here one of the magistrates broke in, and said no name must be mentioned —to enter the household of sir marmaduke, a gentleman who, as he believed, was trafficking with the king's enemies. he had agreed to do this in spite of the danger of such employment, moved thereto not so much by the hope of a reward as from his great loyalty to his majesty, and a desire to avert from him his great danger from popish plots. hav- ing succeeded in entering sir marmaduke's service, he soon discovered that six gentlemen, to wit, myself and five friends, were in the habit of meeting at lynnwood, where they had long and secret talks. knowing the deep enmity and hostility these men bore towards his gracious majesty, he determined to run any hazard even to the loss of his life to learn the pur- port of such gatherings, and did therefore conceal himself, on one occasion behind the hangings of a window, and on another listened at an open casement, and did hear much conversation regarding the best manner in which the taking of the king's life could be accomplished. this it was agreed should be done in the forest at richmond, where all should lie in wait, the said sir marmaduke carstairs undertaking that he and his son would, in the first place, fire with pistol or mus- quetoon, and that only if they should fail the rest should charge forward on horse, overthrow the king's companions, and despatch - him, mr. william jervoise undertaking the a jacobite exile. management of this part of the enterprise. no date was settled for this wicked business, it being, however, agreed that all should journey separately to london, and take up their lodging there under feigned names, lying hid until they heard from a friend at court, whose name was not mentioned, a day on which the king would hunt at rich- mond. he further testified that, making another attempt to overhear the conspirators in order that lie might gather fuller details as to the manner of the plot, he was seen by master charles carstairs, who, taking him by surprise, grievously assaulted him, and that he and the others would have slain him, had he not overthrown master carstairs and effected his escape before the others, rushing out sword in hand, had time to assail him. "during his stay at lynnwood he had several times watched at the window of the room where sir marmaduke carstairs sits when alone, and where he writes his letters and transacts business, and that he observed him more than once peruse attentively papers that seemed to be of importance, for after reading them he would lay them down and walk, as if disturbed or doubtful in mind, up and down the room, and these papers he placed when he had done with them in the bottom drawer of a desk in his cabinet, the said desk being always carefully locked by him. "that is all that i learnt from lancaster, save that instruc- tions had been given that no pains should be spared to secure the persons of those engaged in the plot, and that a special watch was to be set at the northern ports, lest they should, finding their guilt discovered, try to escape from the king- dom. so you see that your good father, sir marmaduke, is in a state of sore peril, and that the rest of us, including yourself, will be in a like strait if they can lay hands on us." "but it is all false!" charlie exclaimed. "it is a lie from beginning to end." a rescue. "that is so, but we cannot prove it . the matter is so cunningly laid, i see no way to pick a hole in it. we are jacobites, and as such long regarded as objects of suspicion by the whig magistrates and others. there have been other plots against william's life, in which men of seeming reputation have been concerned. this man's story will be confirmed by the man who set him on, and by other hidden papers, if necessary. as to the discovery of the documents, we may know well enough that the fellow him- self put them there, but we have no manner of proof of it. it is evident that there is nothing for us but to leave the country, and to await the time when the king shall have his own again. my other friends, who were with me this afternoon when the news came from lancaster, all agreed that it would be throwing away our lives to stay here. we have all money by us, for each has for. years laid by something for the time when money will be required to aid the king on his arrival. "having agreed to take thiscourse, we drewup a document, which we all signed, and which will be sent in when we have got clear away. in it we declare that being informed that accusations of being concerned in a plot against the life of william of orange have been brought against us, we declare solemnly before god that we, and also sir marma- duke carstairs and his son, are wholly innocent of the charge, and that although we do not hesitate to declare that we consider the title of the said william to be king of this realm to be wholly unfounded and without reason, and should therefore take up arms openly against it on behalf of our sovereign did occasion offer, yet that we hold assassi- nation in abhorrence, and that the crime with which we are charged is as hateful in our sight as in that of any whig gentleman. as, however, we are charged, as we learn, by evilly disposed and wicked persons, of this design, and a jacobite exile. have no means of proving our innocence, we are forced to leave the realm until such time shall arrive when we can rely on a fair trial, when our reputation and honour will weigh against the word of suborned perjurers and knaves. "we were not- forgetful of your father's case, and we debated long as to whether our remaining here could do him service. we even discussed the possibility of raising a force and attacking lancaster castle. we agreed, however, that this would be nothing short of madness. the country is wholly unprepared at present. the whigs are on the alert, and such an attempt would cost the lives of most of those concerned in it; besides we are all sure that sir marmaduke would be the first to object to numbers of persons risking their lives in an attempt which, even if for the moment successful, must bring ruin upon all concerned in it. nor do we see that were we to remain and to stand in the dock beside him, it would aid him. our word would count for no more than would this protest and denial that we have signed together. a prisoner's plea of not guilty has but a feather's weight against sworn evidence. "at the same time, charlie, i do not intend to leave the country until i am sure that nothing can be done. as force is out of the question, i have advised the others to lose not an hour in trying to escape, and by this time they are all on the road. two are making for bristol, one for south- ampton, and two for london. it would be too dangerous to attempt to escape by one of the northern ports; but though force cannot succeed, we may be able to effect your father's escape by other means, and it is for this purpose that i am determined to stay, and i shall do so until all hope is gone. alone you could effect nothing; but i, knowing who are our secret friends, may be able to use them to advantage. we will stay here to-night, but to- morrow we must change our quarters, for the search will be a rescue. a close one. during the day we will go far up over the hills, but to-morrow night we will make for lancaster. i have warned friends there to expect us, and it is the last place where they would think of searching for us." "you will take me with you too, father?" harry exclaimed eagerly; while charlie expressed his gratitude to mr. jervoise for thus determining to risk his own life in the endeavour to effect the escape of sir marmaduke. "yes, i intend to take you with, me, harry. they will pretend, of course, that in spite of our assertions of innocence, our flight is a confession of guilt, and you may be sure that we shall be condemned in our absence, and our estates declared confiscated, and bestowed upon some of william's minions. there will be no place for you here. my own plans are laid. as you know, your mother came from the other side of the border, and a cousin of hers, with whom i am well acquainted, has gone over to sweden, and holds a commis- sion in the army that the young king is raising to withstand russia and saxony; for both are thinking of taking goodly slices of his domains. i could not sit down quietly in exile, and being but forty i am not too old for service, and shall take a commission if i can obtain it. there are many scottish jacobites, who, having fled rather than acknowledge dutch william as their king, have taken service in sweden, where their fathers fought under the great gustavus adolphus; and even if i cannot myself take service, it may be that i shall be able to obtain a commission for you. you are nearly sixteen, and there are many officers no older. should evil befall your father, charlie, which i earnestly hope will not be the case, i shall regard you as my son, and shall do the same for you as for harry. and now j will to rest, for i have scarce slept the last two nights, and we must be in the saddle long before daybreak." the little bed-room that charlie had used the two previous a jacobite exile. nights was given up to mr. jervoise, while harry and charlie slept on some sheepskins in front of the kitchen fire. two hours before daybreak they mounted, and, guided by the farmer, rode to a shepherd's hut far up among the hills. late in the afternoon a boy came up from the farm with the news that the place had been searched by a party of troopers. they had ridden away without discovering that the fugitives had been at the farm, but four of the party had been left in case mr. jervoise should come there. the farmer, therefore, warned them against coming back that way, as had been intended, naming another place where he would meet them. as soon as the sun was setting they mounted, and, accompanied by the shepherd on a rough pony, started for lancaster. after riding for three hours they stopped at a lonely farmhouse, at which mr. jervoise and his friends had held their meeting on the previous day. here they changed their clothes for others that had been sent for their use from lancaster. mr. jervoise was attired as a small trader, and the lads in garb suitable to boys in the same rank of life. they still, however, retained their swords and the pistols in their holsters. three miles farther they met their host as arranged at some cross-roads, and rode on until within three miles of lancaster. they then dismounted, placed their pistols in their belts, and handed their horses to the two men, who would take them back to the hut in the hills, where they would remain until required. it was two o'clock in the morning when they entered lancaster, and going up to a small house standing in a garden in the out- skirts of the town, mr. jervoise gave three low knocks in quick succession. the door was opened almost immediately. no light was shown, and they entered in the dark, but as soon as the door was closed behind them a woman came out with a candle from an inner room. a rescue. "i am glad to see you safe, mr. jervoise," a man said. "my wife and i were beginning to be anxious, fearing that you might have fallen into the hands of your enemies." "no, all has gone well, herries; but it is a long ride from the hills here, and we walked the last three miles, as we wanted to get the horses back again before daylight. we are deeply grateful to you for giving us shelter." "i would be ready to do more than that," the man said, "for the sake of the good cause. my wife's father and mine both fell at naseby, and we are as loyal to the stuarts as they were. you are heartily welcome, sir, and as we keep no servant there will be none to gossip. you can either remain in the house, in which case none will know of your presence here; or if you wish to go abroad in the town i will accompany you, and will introduce you to any acquaintance i may meet as a cousin of my wife, who with his two sons has come over from preston to pay us a visit. i don't think that anyone would know you in that attire." "i will run no more risks than are necessary, herries. those i wish to see will visit me here, and if i go out at all it will not be until after dark." for a fortnight they remained at the house. after dark each day a man paid mr. jervoise a visit. he was the magistrates' clerk, and had an apartment in the castle. from him they learned that a messenger had been despatched to london with an account of the evidence taken in sir marmaduke's case, and that at the end of twelve days he had returned with orders that all prisoners and witnesses were to be sent to town, where they would be examined in the first place by his majesty's council, and where sir marmaduke's trial for high treason would take place. they were to be escorted by a party of twelve troopers, under the command of a lieutenant . the fugitives had before learned that the search for go a jacobitk exile. mr. jervoise had been given up; it being supposed that he with his son and young carstairs had, with their accom- plices, all ridden for the coast at the first alarm, and had probably taken ship for france before the orders had arrived that all outgoing vessels should be searched. harry and charlie had both been away for two or three days, and had been occupied in getting together ten young fellows from the two estates, who would be willing and ready to attempt to rescue sir marmaduke from his cap- tors' hands. they were able to judge with tolerable accuracy when the messenger would return from london, and two days previously the men had been directed to ride singly and by different roads, and to put up at various small inns in manchester, each giving out that he was a farmer in from the country, either to purchase supplies or to meet with a customer likely to buy some cattle he wished to dispose of. charlie had paid a visit to lynnwood, and had gone by the long passage into the priest's chamber, and had carried off the gold hidden there. as soon as it was known that the messenger had returned, herries had borrowed a horse and had ridden with a note to the farmer, telling him to go up to the hills and bring the horses down with one of his own to the place where he had parted from them when they entered lancaster. there he was met by mr. jervoise and the lads, and mounting, they started with the spare horse for blackburn, choosing that line in preference to the road through preston, as there were troops stationed at the latter town. the next day they rode on to manchester. they went round that evening to the various inns where the men had put up, and directed them to discover whether, as was probable, the escort was to arrive that night. if so, they were to mount at daybreak and assemble where the road crossed the moor three miles north of chapel-le-frith, where they would find a resctte. mr. jervoise awaiting them. at nine o'clock that evening the troop rode in, and at daybreak mr. jervoise and the boys started. two of the men were already at the spot indicated, and half an hour later the whole of them had arrived. mr. jervoise led them back to a spot that he had selected, where the road dipped into a deep valley, in which, sheltered from the winds, was a small wood. leaving one at the edge to give warning directly the escort appeared on the road over the brow, he told the rest to dismount. most of them were armed with pistols, all had swords. "do you," he said, "who are good shots with your pistols, fire at the men when i give the word—let the rest aim at the horses. the moment you have opened fire dash forward and fall on them. we are already as numerous as they are, and we ought to be able to dismount or disable four or five of them with our first fire. i shall give the order as sir marmaduke arrives opposite me. probably the officer will be riding. i shall make the officer my special mark, for it may be that he has orders to shoot the prisoner if any rescue is attempted. "i don't suppose they will be at all prepared for an attack. they were vigilant, no doubt, for the first two days, but once out of lancashire they will think that there is no longer any fear of an attempt at rescue. pursue those that escape for half a mile or so, and then draw rein, and as soon as they are out of sight strike due north across the fells. keep to the east of glossop, and then make your way singly to your homes. it will be better for you to travel up through yorkshire till you are north of ingleborough, so as to come down from the north to your farms. i know that you have all engaged in this affair for love of sir marma- duke or myself, and because you hate to see a loyal gentle- man made the victim of lying knaves, but when we come back with the king you may be sure that sir marmaduke and i will well reward the services you have rendered." a jacobite exile. it was an hour before the man on the look-out warned them that the troop had just appeared over the hill. they mounted now, and, pistol in hand, awaited the arrival of the party. two troopers came first, trotting carelessly along, laughing and smoking. a hundred yards behind came the main body, four troopers first, then the lieutenant and sir marmaduke, followed by the other six troopers. with outstretched arm and pistol pointed through the undergrowth, mr. jervoise waited till the officer, who was riding on his side of the road, came abreast of him. he had already told the boys that he intended to aim at his shoulder. "they are the enemies of the king," he said, "but i cannot in cold blood shoot down a man with whom i have no cause for quarrel. i can depend upon my aim, and he will not be twelve paces from the muzzle of my pistol." he fired, the officer gave a sudden start and reeled on his horse, and before he could recover himself the band, who had fired at the flash of the first pistol, dashed out through the bushes and fell upon the troopers. four men had dropped, one horse had fallen, and two others were plunging wildly as with a shout their assailants dashed upon them. all who could turn their horse's head rode furiously off, some along the road forward, others back towards man- chester. the lieutenant's horse had rolled over with him, as that of mr. jervoise struck it on the shoulder with the full impetus of its spring. "it is all over, sir marmaduke, and you are a free man. we have nothing to do now but to ride for it." and before the knight had fairly recovered from his astonishment, he found himself riding south across the moor with his son on one side of him and mr. jervoise and harry on the other. "you have saved my life, jervoise," he said, holding out his hand to his friend. "they had got me so firmly in their a rescue. clutches that i thought my chances were at an end. how are you, charlie? i am right glad to see you safe and sound, for they had managed to include you in their pre- tended plot, and for aught i knew you had been all this time lying in a cell next mine in lancaster castle. but who are the good fellows who helped you?" mr. jervoise briefly gave an account of the affair. "they are only keeping up a sham pursuit of the soldiers, so as to send them well on their way. i told them not to overtake them, as there was no occasion for any further bloodshed when you were once out of their hands. by to-morrow morning they will all be at work on their farms again, and if they keep their own counsel need not fear." suddenly sir marmaduke reined in his horse. "we are riding south," he said. "certainly we are," mr. jervoise said. "why not? that is our only chance of safety. they will, in the first place, suspect us of having doubled back to the hills, and will search every farmhouse and cottage. our only hope of escape is to ride either for bristol or one of the southern ports." "i must go back," sir marmaduke said doggedly. "i must kill that scoundrel john dormay before i do any- thing else. it is he who has wound this precious skein in order to entrap us, expecting, the scoundrel, to have my estates bestowed on him as a reward." "it were madness to ride back now, sir marmaduke. it would cost you your life, and you would leave charlie here fatherless, and with but little chance of ever regaining the estate. you have but to wait for a time, and everything will right itself. as soon as the king comes to his own your estates will be restored, and then i would not seek to stay your band if you sought vengeance upon this cunning knave." "besides, father," charlie put in, "much as he deserves a jacobite exile. any punishment you can give him, you could not kill cousin celia's husband and ciceley's father. when the truth is all made known his punishment will be bitter enough, for no honest man would offer him a hand, or sit down to a meal with him. ciceley has been as a young sister to me, and her mother has ever been as kind as if she had been my aunt. i would not see them grieved even if that rogue came off scot-free from punishment; but at any rate, father, i pray you to let it pass at present . this time we have happily got you out of the clutches of the whigs, but if you fell into them again you may be sure thev would never give us another chance." sir marmaduke still sat irresolute, and charlie went on:— "besides, father, mr. jervoise has risked his life in linger- ing in lancashire to save you, and the brave follows who aided us to rescue you have risked theirs both in the fray and afterwards, if their share in it should ever be known, and it would not be fair to risk failure after all they have done. i pray you, father, be guided by the opinion of your good friend mr. jervoise." sir marmaduke touched his horse's flank with his heel. "you have prevailed, charlie; your last argument de- cided me. i have no right to risk my life after my good friends have done so much to save me. john dormay may enjoy his triumph for a while, but a day of reckoning will surely come. now tell me of the others, jervoise. have all escaped in safety " "all. your boy brought me the news of your arrest and that we were charged with plotting william's assassination. i rode that night with the news, and next day all were on the road to the coast, and were happily on board and away before the news of their escape could be sent to the ports." "and now, what are your plans, jervoise—that is, if you a rescue. have any plans beyond reaching a port and taking ship for france " "i am going to sweden," mr. jervoise said, and then re- peated the reasons that he had given charlie for taking this step. "i am too old for the wars," sir marmaduke said. "i was sixty last birthday, and though i am still strong and active, and could strike a shrewd blow in case of need, i am too old for the fatigues and hardships of campaigning. i could not hope at my age to obtain a commission in the swedish service." "no, i did not think of your joining the army, sir marmaduke, though i warrant you would do as well as most; but i thought that you might take up your residence at stockholm as well as at st. germains. you will find many scottish gentlemen there, and not a few jacobites, who, like yourself, have been forced to fly. besides, both the life and air would suit you better than at st. germains, where by all accounts the life is a gay one, and men come to think more of pleasure than of duty. moreover, your money will go much further in sweden than in france." sir marmaduke, checking the horse's speed, said, "i have not so much as a penny in my pocket, and methinks i am like to have some trouble in getting at the hoard i have been collecting ever since dutch william came to the throne for the benefit of his majesty when-he arrives." "you will have no trouble in getting at that, father," charlie said laughing, "seeing that you have nothing to do but to lean over and put your hand into my holsters, which are so full, as you see, that i am forced to carry my pistols in my belt." "what mean you, lad?" "i mean, father, that i have the whole of the hoard that was stowed away in the priest's hiding-place;" and he then ( ) e c a jacobite exilk related how banks had revealed to him the secret of the hiding-place, and how he had, the night before sir marma- duke was removed from lancaster castle, visited the place and carried away the money. "i could not see banks," he said, "but i left a few words on a scrap of paper, saying that it was i who had taken the money, otherwise he .would have been in a terrible taking when he discovered that it was gone." "that is right good news indeed, lad. for twelve years i have set aside half my rents, so that in those bags in your holsters there are six years' income, and the interest of that money laid out in good mortgages will suffice amply for my wants in a country like sweden, where life is simple and living cheap. the money itself shall remain untouched for your use should our hopes fail and the estates be lost for all time. that is indeed a weight off my mind. and you are, i hope, in equally good case, jervoise, for if not, you know that i would gladly share with you!" "i am in very good case, sir marmaduke, though i none the less thank you for your offer. i too have, as you know, put aside half my income. my estates are not so largo as those of lynn wood. their acreage may be as large, but a good deal of it is mountain land, worth but little. my fund, therefore, is not as large as yours, but it amounts to a good round sum; and as i hope, either in the army or in some other way, to earn an income for myself, it is ample. i shall be sorry to divert it from the use for which i intended it, but that cannot now be helped. i have had the pleasure year by year of putting it by for the king's use, and now that circumstances have changed, it will be equally useful to myself." "do you know this country well, jervoise?'' "personally i know nothing about it save that .the sun tells me that at present i am travelling south, sir marma- a rescue. duke; but for the last few days i have been so closely studying a map that i know the name of every town and village on the various routes." "and whither think you of going?" "to london or southampton. strangers are far less noticed in large towns than in small, and we could hardly hope to find a ship bound for sweden in any of the dorset or devon ports." chapter iv. in sweden. after much discussion the party agreed that it would be best to make for southampton. the road thither was less frequented than that leading to london, and there were fewer towns to be passed and less chance of interrup- tion. mr. jervoise had brought with him a valise and suit of clothes for sir marmaduke, of sober cut and fashion. they avoided all large towns, and at the places where they put up represented themselves as traders travelling from the midlands to the southern coast, and they arrived at southampton without having excited the smallest suspicion. indeed, throughout the journey they had heard no word of the affray near chapel-le-frith, and knew, therefore, that the news had not travelled as fast as they had. at south- ampton, however, they had scarcely put up at an inn when the landlord said: "i suppose, gentlemen, they are talking of nothing else in london but the rescue of a desperate jacobite by his friends. the news only reached here yesterday." "it has occasioned a good deal of scare," mr. jervoise replied. "i suppose there is no word of the arrest of the man or his accomplices? we have travelled but slowly, and the news may have passed us on the way." "not as yet," the landlord replied. "they say that all the northern and eastern ports are watched, and they make in sweden. g sure of catching him if he presents himself there. the general opinion is that he will for a time go into hiding with his friends in the hills of cumberland or westmore- land, or perhaps on the yorkshire moors; but they are sure to catch him sooner or later." "it is a bad business altogether," mr. jervoise said, "and we can only hope that all guilty persons will in time get the punishment they so well deserve. how can trade be carried on if the country is to be disturbed by plots and conspir- acies?" 'how, indeed?" the landlord repeated heartily. "i do not meddle in politics, being content to earn my living by my business, and to receive all who can pay their reckoning, without caring a jot whether they be whigs or tories?" the next morning mr. jervoise and sir marmaduke went down to the port, leaving the lads to wander about the town at their pleasure, as two persons were likely to attract less attention than four. they found that there were two vessels in port loading with munitions of war for sweden, and that one of them would sail shortly. they at once went on board her and saw the captain. "do you carry any passengers?" "none have applied so far," the captain said; "but if they were to offer i should not say no to them." "we want to take passage for sweden," mr. jervoise said. "the king of that country is, as they say, fitting out an army. clothes are as necessary for troops as swords and guns, and we think we could obtain a contract for these goods. there is no hope of doing so unless we ourselves go over, and though sorely loath to do so, for neither of us have ever before set foot on board a ship, we determined on making the journey together with our two clerks, for whom we will take passage at the same rate as for ourselves, see ing that they are both related to us." to a jacobite exile "have you any goods with youl" "we shall take over but a bale or two of cloth as samples of the goods we can supply; but beyond that we have but little luggage, seeing that our stay may be a very short one." there was a little haggling for terms, as the two gentle- men did not wish to appear eager to go; but the matter was finally settled to the satisfaction of both parties. on their return to the inn mr. jervoise took the host aside. "we have business connected with our trade in cloth in sweden, where we hope to obtain a large contract. the matter may occupy us a week, or a month or two for aught we know, and we do not want our horses to be eating their heads off here while we are away. besides, we may be able on our re- turn to take a passage to one of the devonshire ports, which would suit us much better, but we should not be able to do so if there were need for returning here for our horses. therefore, we would fain dispose of them, and if you can find us a purchaser by to-morrow night we will pay you a fair commission on the money we receive." "i doubt not that i can do that readily enough," the landlord said. "three of them are fine animals, fit for any gentlemen's riding; the other is a stout hackney. trust me, i will get the best price i can for them." the next day he came up to their room. "i have had a good offer for the horses," he said. "two gentlemen who arrived yesterday from france, and are staying at the inn of a friend of mine, are requiring horses for themselves and their servants, and i have promised my friend a slice of my commission if he will bring them round hither. will you name your price for them?" "no, i would rather not," mr. jervoise said cautiously. "if we asked too high a figure we might frighten the pur- chasers away; if we should ask too little we should be the in sweden. losers. i daresay they have named to your friend the price they are willing to give. you had hetter ask from them a good bit above that, then you can come down little by little, and maybe, seeing the horses are really good ones, they may advance a bit. i am not used to a horse deal, and will leave it to you to make the bargain. we are sorry to part with the animals, but they might die on the voyage, or get so injured as to be worthless; and, moreover, we shall have no use for them there. therefore, as we must sell we are ready to take the best terms we can get." when they returned to the inn, after an absence of two hours, they found that the landlord had sold the horses for a sum nearly approaching their value, the gentlemen being as anxious to purchase them as they were to sell. the next day they bought three or four rolls of west country cloth and a supply of clothes suitable to their condition, together with trunks for their carriage. all these were sent down to the ship in the course of the afternoon, and they them- selves embarked late in the evening, as she was to set sail at daybreak. the lads, accustomed to spacious and airy rooms, were quite taken aback at the small and stuffy cabin allotted to their joint use, and slept but badly, for the loading of the ship continued by torchlight, until within an hour of the time of their departure. after tossing about for some hours in their narrow beds they were glad to go on deck and to plunge their heads into a pail of water, and were then, after combing their long hair, able to take an interest in what was passing round them. the sailors were busy stowing away the cargo last received, tidying the decks, and coiling down the ropes. there were but few persons on the quay, for those who had been engaged in loading the cargo had gone off to bed as soon as the last bale was on board. in half an hour the sailors began to hoist the sails, the a jacobite exile. hawsers were thrown off, and with a gentle wind blowing aft the ship glided along past the shore, being helped by the tide, which had begun to ebb half an hour before. the lads were greatly interested in watching the well- wooded slope on the left, with the stately ruins of tintern abbey rising above the trees. then they passed the round fort at the water's edge on their right, and issued out from southampton water into the broad sheet between the island and the mainland. it was dotted with sails, fishing craft and coasters for the most part, but with some larger ships bound from the east to southampton, and others that had come in through the solent. this was very entertain- ing to the boys, and they were still more pleased when they saw the fortifications of portsmouth, with cannon pointing seaward, and with many vessels riding in the strait by the side of the town. "that fort would give the french or the dutch a hot re- ception were they at any time to think to capture the dock- yard and shipping," sir marmaduke said. "the dutch have already captured the place, and that without shedding a drop of blood," mr. jervoise remarked. "that is true enough," the knight said, stamping his foot angrily on the deck, "but what has been won so easily may be lost as quickly. i have seen several changes since i can first remember, and i hope i may live to see another. how- ever, we need not talk of that now." "no, indeed," mr. jervoise agreed. "it may be, sir mar- maduke, that it would be better if we had talked and thought less of it during the last twelve years, better for ourselves and for these lads. we might still have been ready to join his majesty as soon as he landed, but as, till then, we could do nothing, it seems to me now that it would have been wiser had we gone about our business without worry- ing our heads, to say nothing of risking them, about a in sweden. matter that may not take place during our lives; as we know well enough the king of france uses the stuarts only for his own convenience, and at heart cares nothing for them or their cause. it is convenient to have the means of creating trouble here, and of so weakening william; and it may be that some day or other it may suit him to send over an army here to fight william with the aid of the stuarts' friends, instead of fighting him in holland or else- where. but whether he may think fit to do so in one year or in twenty years hence who can say? it is a question solely of military policy. "the stuarts are simply used by the french king to pull english chestnuts out of the fire. i would that they had established themselves anywhere rather than in france. it does them harm with vast numbers who would otherwise be their friends, at any rate in england. in scotland it is otherwise, for scotland has always been in alliance with france; but in england it is different. france has always been the national foe; and had not charles and james proved themselves so subservient to louis, william of orange would never have been crowned king. there are vast numbers in england who would rather see a stuart than a dutchman on the throne, but who will never strike a blow to replace them there, and that because they will come over backed up by french bayonets. well, let us talk of some- thing else. if the time ever comes to act, we shall be ready, but till then we can let the matter sleep, the more so as we have a new life before us, and plenty of other things to occupy our thoughts." "what is it, father," harry asked, "that the swedes and danes are going to fight about " "it is a difficult question, harry; but there can be little doubt that denmark is in the wrong. the king of sweden died in april, . his death was unfortunate, for the a jacobite exile. powers contending in europe had all agreed to refer their quarrels to his mediation. at his death denmark en- deavoured to obtain the honour, but failed; and by the mediation chiefly of the swedish regency peace was con- cluded between france, england, and holland in the autumn of that year; and shortly afterwards the struggle between the german emperor, france, and spain was also con- cluded, but not at all to the satisfaction of the swedish mediatora while sweden was occupied in this matter of the pacification of europe, the king of denmark thought to take advantage of the fact that charles of sweden was but a minor, to oppress frederick, duke of holstein, who was in close alliance with him. "there had long been serious differences between the rulers of denmark and holstein, both of whom were branches of the oldenburg family, and this in reference to the duchy of schleswig. the quarrel had arisen from the act of chris- tian the third of denmark, who decreed that the descendants of his brother adolphus should govern holstein jointly with the king of denmark, and that holstein and schleswig should belong to them in common, neither making any change in holstein without the consent of the other. a more foolish arrangement could not have been conceived, for anyone might have foreseen that it would lead to disputes and troubles. in fact,quarrels continuallyarose until, at the peace of rosahild in , the duchy was adjudged to denmark. holstein, however, never acquiesced in this, and in there was war, when holstein being defeated, the danes imprisoned its duke, christian albertus, until he signed a renunciation of all his rights. "his troops were disarmed and all his towns and for- tresses garrisoned by danish troops. on his release the duke went to hamburg, where he remained till at the peace of fontainebleau, four years later, he was replaced in in sweden. possession of his estates and rights of sovereignty. but this did not last long. new troubles arose, but sweden, eng- land, and holland interested themselves in favour of the duke, and a peace was concluded in , by which he was confirmed in the rights given him ten years before, with full liberty to raise a certain number of troops and of building fortresses, on the condition that he should raise none to the prejudice of denmark. this was another of those stipulations which inevitably lead to trouble, for it afforded to denmark a pretext for continual complaint and interference. when frederick the fourth succeeded his father as duke of holstein in the quarrel grew so hot that denmark would have invaded holstein had not the parties to the treaty of ' interfered and brought about a conference. this lasted all through the year , but the negotiators appointed to settle the matter were unable to arrive at any conclusion. "the following year charles of sweden, who had just succeeded his father, furnished the duke with some troops, to help him to build some forts that were intended to pro- tect the frontier in case of invasion by denmark. christian of denmark at once attacked and captured these forts and levelled them to the ground. the duke being too weak to engage in a war with his powerful neighbour did not resent this attack, and the negotiations were continued as before. in view of the danger of the situation, and the necessity for a monarch at the head of affairs, the swedish diet met at stockholm to take part in the funeral of the late king, which was to be performed on the th of november, and to deliberate upon the situation. "by the will of the late king, charles was not to ascend the throne until he reached the age of eighteen, but the diet passed a vote overruling this, and as the regency concurred, he was at once crowned, and the alliance with holstein a jacobite exile. was cemented by the marriage, that had been previously arranged between charles's eldest sister and the duke of holstein, being celebrated at stockholm. charles xii. at once concluded treaties with france, england, and holland, while denmark is reported to have prepared for war by making a secret alliance with augustus of saxony, king of poland, and the czar of russia. both these monarchs were doubtless desirous of extending their dominions at the cost of sweden, whose continental possessions are considerable. "augustus is not yet very firmly seated on the throne of poland; there are several parties opposed to him, and these united in obtaining from the diet a refusal to pay the saxon troops augustus had brought with him. the king no doubt considered that these could be employed for the conquest of livonia, and that the addition of so large a ter- ritory to poland would so add to his popularity that he would have no further troubles in his kingdom. "charles xii, being in ignorance of this secret agreement, sent an embassy to russia to announce his accession to the throne. the ambassadors were kept a long time waiting for an audience, as the czar was bringing a war with the turks to a conclusion, and did not wish to throw off the mask until he was free to use his whole force against sweden. the ambassadors were at last received civilly, but the czar evaded taking the usual oaths of friendship, and after long delays the embassy returned to sweden feeling somewhat disquieted as to the intentions of the czar, but having no sure knowledge of them. "the king of poland was more successful in disguising his leaning towards denmark, sending the' warmest as- surances to charles, requesting him to act as mediator in the quarrel between himself and the duke of brandenburg, and signing a treaty of alliance with sweden. but while sweden had no idea of the triple alliance that had been in sweden. formed against her, the intention of denmark to make war was evident enough, for king christian was gathering a great naval armament. the duke of holstein, becoming much alarmed at these preparations, hastened on the fortifications of tonningen, on the eider, three leagues from its mouth. the garrison of the place was a weak one, and a thousand swedish troops were thrown in to strengthen it . the king of denmark complained that this was a breach of the treaty, but as his own preparations for war were unmistakable, no one could blame the duke of holstein for taking steps to defend his territories. as you know, christian of denmark died about this time, and was succeeded by his son frede- rick the fourth. "last august he commenced the war by sending a naval squadron to cover the passage of four regiments into pome- rania. charles of sweden, seeing that holstein must be crushed by its powerful neighbour, called upon holland and the duke of lunenburg, who were with sweden guarantors of the treaty, to enforce its provisions; and a joint protest was sent to the king of denmark, who was informed that if he invaded holstein they should consider it a breach of the treaty of altena and treat him as a common enemy. frederick replied by sending some troops into the duchy. "no active operations took place until the beginning of this year. up to that time sweden had not doubted the friend- ship of the king of poland, and charles at first could hardly believe the reports he received from the governor of livonia, that the saxon troops were approaching the frontier. "a few days later, however, came the news that they were advancing against riga. the governor prepared for defence and hastily mounted cannon on the walls. his powers of resistance, however, were lessened by the fact that the river duna was frozen over. fleming, who commanded the saxon troops, arrived before the town early in february with four a jacobite exile. thousand men. the governor had set fire to the suburbs on the previous day; and fleming was surprised to find that instead of taking it by surprise, as he had hoped, the place was in a position to offer a stout resistance. however, he attacked the fort of cobrun, on the opposite side of the river, and carried it by assault. "the news was brought to young charles xii. when he was out hunting, a sport of which he is passionately fond. by alt accounts ho is an extraordinary young fellow. he is not content with hunting bears and shooting them, but he and his followers engage them armed only with forked sticks. with these they attack the bears, pushing and hust- ling the great creatures with the forks of their sticks until they are completely exhausted, when they are bound and sent away. in this hunt charles took fourteen alive, one of which nearly killed him before it was captured. he did not break up the hunting party, but continued his sport to the end, sending off, however, orders for the concentration of all the troops in livonia and finland to act against the saxons. "as soon as the king of denmark heard of the siege of eiga he ordered the duke of wurtemberg-neustadt, his commander-in-chief, to enter holstein with his army, sixteen thousand strong. all of that country was at once overrun, the ducal domains seized, and great contributions exacted from schleswig and holstein. fleming and the saxons, after one severe repulse, forced the garrison of the fort of dunamund, commanding the mouth of the duna, to sur- render. tonningen is the only fortress that now holds out in holstein. so you see, lads, there is every chance of there being brisk fighting, and i warrant the young king of sweden will not be backward in the fray. a man who is fond of engaging with bears, armed with nothing but a forked stick, is not likely to hang back in the day of battle. in sweden. but at present we will say no more on the matter. now that we have got beyond the shelter of the island, the waves are getting up, and the vessel is beginning to toss and roll. i see that sir marmaduke has retired to his cabin. i mean to remain here as long as i can, and i should advise you both to do the same. i have always heard that it is better to fight with this sickness of the sea as long as possible, and that it is easier to do so in fresh air than in a close cabin." the lads quite agreed with this opinion, but were, in spite of their efforts, presently prostrate. they remained on deck for some hours and then crawled to their cabin, where they remained for the next three days, at the end of which time they came on deck again, feeling better, but as weak as if they had suffered from a long illness. mr. jervoise had been in frequently to see them, having escaped the malady, from which, as he told them, sir marmaduke was suffering to the full as severely as they were. "so you have found your feet again," the captain said, when they appeared on deck. "you will be all right now." "we feel much better," harry said, "now that the storm is over." "storm!—what storm the weather has been splendid. we cannot wish for anything better. it has been just as you see it now—a bright sun, and just enough wind for her to carry whole sail." the lads both looked astonished. "then why should we roll and toss about so much?" harry asked. "roll and toss! nonsense, lad! there has been a little movement, of course, as there always must be when there is a brisk wind; but as for rolling and tossing, you must wait till you see a storm, then you will begin to have an idea of what the sea is." the boys both felt rather crest-fallen, for they had flat- tered themselves that their sufferings were caused by some- a jacobite exile. thing quite out of the ordinary way, and it was mortifying to know that the weather had been really fine, and there had been nothing even approaching a storm. the rest of the voyage was a pleasant one. they found they had re- gained their appetites and were able to enjoy their meals; still they were not sorry when they saw the coast of sweden, and a few hours later entered the port of gottenburg, where sir marmaduke for the first time came on deck, looking a mere shadow of his former jovial self. "well, lads," he said, "i was glad to hear that you got through this business quicker than i did. here we are in sweden, and here i at least am likely to stay, unless i can pass by land through holland, france, and across from calais, for never again will i venture upon a long voyage. i have been feeling very ungrateful, for over and over again i wished that you had not rescued me, as death on tower hill would have been nothing to the agonies that i have been enduring i" as soon as the vessel was warped alongside the quay they landed and put up at an hotel, sir mamaduke insisting that the ground was as bad as the sea, as it kept on rising and falling beneath his feet. mr. jervoise agreed to return on board the following day to fetch the luggage, which would by that time have been got up from the hold. at the hotel they met several persons able to speak eng- lish, and from them learnt how matters had been going on since they had last heard. the town and fortress of tonningen had fallen after a vigorous defence; it had been bombarded for eight days, and had repulsed one assault, but had been captured at the second attack. england and holland had agreed to furnish fleets, and an army of twelve thousand swedes were in readiness to march at once, while other armies were being formed. the king had the week before reviewed the army gathered at malmoe, and had on the in sweden. previous day arrived at gottenburg, accompanied by the duke of holstein. mr. jervoise went the same afternoon to find out some of his friends who resided at gottenburg. he was fortunate enough to find one of them, who was able to inform him that his wife's cousin was now a major in one of the newly-raised regiments stationed at gottenburg. he found him without difficulty. major jamieson was delighted at the coming of his former friend. "you are the last person i expected to see here, jervoise. it is true that when we met last you said that if matters went wrong in england you should come out here instead of taking refuge in france; but as everything is quiet, i had little hope of seeing you again until i paid another visit to scotland, of which at present there is but little prospect . have you grown tired of doing nothing, and is it a desire to see some- thing of a stirring life that has brought you over here?" mr. jervoise related shortly the events by which he had been driven into exile, and expressed his desire to serve in the army of sweden, and that his son and young carstairs should also enter the army. "they are but sixteen yet," he said, "but are stout, active fellows, and could hold their own in a day's march or in a stout fight with many men. of course, if i could obtain commissions for them all the better, but if not they are ready to enlist in the ranks. roughing it will do them no harm." "their age is no drawback," major jamieson said. •" there are many no older both in the ranks and as officers. men in sweden of all ages and of all ranks are joining, for this unprovoked attack on the part of poland has raised the national spirit to boiling heat. the chief difficulty is their and your ignorance of the language. were it not for that i could obtain from the minister of war commissions for you at once." he sat thinking for some minutes in silence. ( ) k a jacobite exile. "i think see how it can be managed, jervoise. i have some twenty or thirty scotchmen in my regiment, and i know a colonel who has as many in his, and these i could manage to get an exchange for an equal numberof my swedes. ships are coming daily from scotland, and most of them bring young fellows who have come out to join the army. "you know how the scots fought undergustavus adolphus, and there is scarce a glen in scotland where there are not traditions of fathers or grandfathers who fought in hep- burn's green brigade. therefore, it is natural that, seeing there is no chance of military service at home, there should be many young fellows coming out to join. i can go across this evening to the minister of war, who is a personal friend of mine, and get him to give you permission to raise a com- pany of scotchmen for service. i shall, of course, point out to him that you will enlist them here. i shall show him the advantage of these men being gathered together, as their ignorance of the language makes them for some time useless as soldiers if enrolled in a swedish regiment. i shall mention that i have twenty in my own corps who are at present positively useless, and in fact a source of great trouble, owing to their understanding nothing that is said to them, and shall propose that they be at once handed over to you. as to the exchange, we can manage that quietly between ourselves. you would have no difficulty with fresh-landed men, as these will naturally be delighted at joining a com- pany of their own countrymen." "thank you very heartily, jamieson, this altogether exceeds my hopes, but i fear that i know nothing of drilling them." "two of my men are sergeants, and having "been in the army for some years, speak swedish well. they will do the drilling at first, the manoeuvres are not complicated, and for a pound or two they will be glad to teach you all in sweden. s the orders necessary. i don't know how you are situated as to money, but i can assure you my purse is at your service." "thank you; i am, in that respect, excellently well provided, as is my friend sir marmaduke. we have both made provision for unexpected contingencies." "then if you will call to-morrow after breakfast i shall probably have your commission ready. as a matter of course, you will have the appointment of your own officers, and will only have to send in their names. each company is from a hundred and forty to a hundred and fifty strong, and has a captain, two lieutenants, and two ensigns." mr. jervoise's news was, on his return to the inn, re- ceived with delight by the two lads; and sir marmaduke said, "i wish i could shake off twenty of my years, jervoise, and join also. well, well, i dare say i shall get on comfortably enough. i know there are a good many english and scotch jacobites settled in the town or neigh- bourhood, and i shall not be long before i meet some one i know. as the matter seems settled, i should advise you lads to go down the first thing in the morning to the wharves, there is no saying when ships may come in; moreover, it is likely enough that you may light upon young fellows who have landed within the last few weeks, and who have been kept so far, by their ignorance of the language, from enlisting." "that is a very good idea," mr. jervoise said; "they will be delighted to hear a friendly voice, and be only too glad to enlist in a scottish company. you can say that each man will have a free outfit given him." accordingly, the next morning early the two lads went down to the wharf. presently they saw three young fellows, who were evidently scotch by their dress and caps, talking together; they strolled up near enough to catch what they were saying. a jacobite exile. "it is hard," one said, "that now we are here we can make no one understand us, and it seems to me we had far better have stayed at home." "we shall find some one who speaks our language presently, jock," another said more cheerfully. "the old man where we lodged last night, said in his broken tongue, that we had but to go over to malmoe, or some such place as that, where there is a big camp, and walk up to an officer and say we wish to enlist." "oh, that is all very well," the other grumbled; "but if he did not understand us, we should be no better off than before." "are you wanting to enlist?" harry said, going up to them. the men gave an exclamation of pleasure at being addressed in their own tongue. "that we do, sir; if you can put us in the way we shall be grateful." "that i can do easily," harry said. "my father is raising a company of scotch and englishmen for the regiment commanded by colonel jamieson. this will be far better than joining a swedish company, where no one will understand your language, and you will not be able to make out the orders given. my father will give each man who joins a free outfit." "that is the very thing for us, sir. we expected to find scotch regiments here, as there were in the old times, and we had hoped to join them; but whether it is a company or regiment it makes but little difference, so that we are with those who speak our tongue." "very well, then; if you come to the lion inn at nine o'clock, you will see my father there. if you know of any others in the same mind as yourselves, and willing to join, bring them with you." in sweden. "there are ten or twelve others who came over in the ship with us two days since, and i have no doubt they will be fine and glad to join." "well, see if you can hunt them up, and bring them with you." on returning to the inn, they found that mr. jervoise had already received his commission as captain, and by ten o'clock fifteen young scotchmen had been sworn in. all of them had brought broadswords and dirks, and captain jervoise at once set to work buying at various shops iron head-pieces, muskets, and other accoutrements. during the next three days ten other english and scotchmen had joined, and then a ship came in from which they gathered another four-and-twenty recruits. arms had already been purchased for them, and on the following day captain jervoise marched off to malmoe with his forty-nine recruits. harry accompanied them, charlie being left behind with his father to gather another fifty men as the ships arrived. a week later this number was obtained, and charlie started with them for the camp, sir marmaduke accom- panying them on horseback, in order to aid charlie in maintaining order among his recruits. he had already fixed upon a small house just outside the town, and having met two or three old friends who had been obliged to leave england at william's accession, he already began to feel at home. "don't you fidget about me, charlie," he said. "ferrers tells me that there are at least a score of jacobites here, and that they form quite a society among themselves. living is very cheap, and he will introduce me to a man of business, who will see that my money is well invested." chapter v. narva. for the next fortnight drilling went on from morning till night, the officers receiving instructions privately from the sergeants, and further learning the words of command by standing by while the men were being drilled. at the end of that time both officers and men were sufficiently instructed to carry out the simple movements which were alone in use in those days. it was not, however, until two months later that they were called upon to act. the english and dutch fleets had arrived, and effected a junction with that of sweden, and the danish fleet had shut themselves up in the port of copenhagen, which was closely blockaded. a large army had crossed to zeeland and repulsed the danes, who had endeavoured to prevent their landing, and had then marched up to within sight of the walls of copen- hagen, which they were preparing to besiege, when the king of denmark, alarmed at this unexpected result of his aggression on holstein, conceded every point demanded, and peace was signed. the negotiations were carried on in holland, and the swedes were extremely angry when they found that they were baulked of their expected vengeance on their trouble- some neighbours. the peace, however, left charles xii. at liberty to turn his attention to his other foes, and to hurry to the assistance of riga, which was beleagured by the saxons narva. f> and poles, and of narva, against which city the russians had made several unsuccessful assaults. without losing an hour the king crossed to malmoe. the troops there were ordered to embark immediately in the vessels in the harbour. they then sailed to revel, where the swedish commander, welling, had retired from the neighbourhood of riga, his force being too small to meet the enemy in the open field . no sooner had the troops landed than the king reviewed them, and general welling was ordered at once to march so as to place himself between the enemy and wesenberg, where a large amount of provisions and stores for the use of the army had been collected. the two lieutenants in the company of captain jervoise were young scotchmen of good family, who had three months before come over and obtained commissions, and both had at the colonel's request been transferred to his regiment and promoted to the'rank of lieutenants. captain jervoise and his four officers messed together, and were » very cheerful party; indeed their commander, to the surprise both of his son and charlie, had quite shaken off his quiet and somewhat gloomy manner, and seemed to have become quite another man, in the active and bracing life in which he was now embarked. cunningham and forbes were both active young men, full of life and energy, while the boys thoroughly enjoyed roughing it, and the excitement and animation of their daily work. sometimes they slept in the open air, sometimes on the floor of a cottage. 'their meals were rough but plentiful. the king's orders against plundering were very severe, and even when in denmark, the country people, having nothing to complain of, had brought in supplies regularly. here in livonia they were in swedish dominions, but there was little to be purchased, for the peasantry had been brought to ruin by the foraging parties of the russians and poles. a jacobite exile. there was some disappointment that the enemy had fallen back at the approach of welling's force, but all felt sure that it would not be long before th y met them, for the king would assuredly lose no time in advancing against them as soon as his army could be brought over. they were not, however, to wait for the arrival of the main force, although the cavalry only took part in the first affair. general welling heard that a force of three thousand circassians had taken up their quarters in a village some fifteen miles away, and sent six hundred horse under majors patkul and tisenbausen to surprise them; they were at first successful, and, attacking the circassians, set fire to the village, and were engaged in slaughtering the defenders, when twenty-one squadrons of russian cavalry came up and fell upon them, attacking them on all sides, and posting themselves so as to cut off their retreat. the swedes however gathered in a body, and charged the' russians so furiously that they cut a way through their ranks, losing, however, many of their men, while major patkul and another officer were made prisoners. the king was at revel when this engagement took place, and although but few of the troops had arrived, he was too impatient for action to wait until the coming of the fleet. he therefore marched to wesenberg with his body-guard and a few troops from revol. he at once despatched a thousand men to cover the frontier, and issued orders for the rest of the troops to leave the whole of their baggage behind them, to take three days' provision in their haversacks, and to pre- pare to march the next morning. major jamieson came into the cottage occupied by cap- tain jervoise and his officers late in the evening. they had a blazing fire, for it was now the middle of november and the nights were very sharp. "well jervoise, what do you think of the orders?" he narva. asked, as he seated himself on a log that had been brought in for the fire. "i have not thought much about them, except that we are going to do a long and quick march somewhere." "and where is that somewhere, do you think?* "that i have not the slightest idea." "you would not say that it was to narva?" "i certainly should not, considering that we have but five thousand infantry and three thousand cavalry, and of these a large number have been so weakened by fever as to be unfit for fighting; while at narva report says there are eighty thousand russians in a strongly intrenched camp." "well, that is where we are going, jervoise, nevertheless, at least that is what the colonel has told me." "he must have been surely jesting, major. we may be going to push forward in that direction and occupy some strong position until the army comes up, but it would be the height of madness to attack an enemy in a strong posi- tion and just tenfold our force."' "well, we shall see," jamieson said coolly. "tt is certain that narva cannot hold out much longer, and i know that the king has set his heart on relieving it; but it does seem somewhat too dangerous an enterprise to attack the russians. at any rate that is the direction in which we are going to- morrow. it is a good seventy miles distant, and as they say that the whole country has been devastated and the vil- lagers have all fled, it is evident that when the three days' bread and meat we carry are exhausted we shall have to get some food out of the russian camp if nowhere else." captain jervoise laughed, as did the others. "we can live for a short time on the horses, jamieson, if we are hard pushed for it, though most of them are little beyond skin and bone." "that is true the cavalry are certainly scarcely fit for a jacobite exile. service. welling's troops have had a very hard time of it, and we may thank our stars, though we did not think so at the time, that we were kept nearly three months at malmoe instead of being here with welling." "but do you seriously think, major, that the king means to attack the russians?" cunningham asked. "my own idea is that he does, cunningham. i cannot see what else there is for us to do. at any rate, if he does, you may be sure that we shall make a tough fight for it. the cavalry showed the other day that they can stand up against many times their number of the russians, and if they can do it, i fancy we can. there is one thing, the very audacity of such an attempt is in its favour." "well, we will all do our best, you may be sure; but since thermopylae, i doubt if men have fought against longer odds." the next morning the men jell in, captain jervoise, who, like all of his rank, was mounted, took his place at the head of his company, and the little army marched away from wesenberg. it was a dreary march to purts, but the sight of the ruined villages and devastated fields aroused a feeling of indignation and fury among the troops, and a fierce longing to attack men who had so ruthlessly spread ruin through a fertile country. orders were issued that evening that the men were to husband their provisions as much as possible, and the order was more strictly obeyed than such orders usually are, for the men saw for themselves that there was no possibility of obtaining fresh supplies in the wasted country, and were well aware that there existed no train of waggons and horses capable of bringing up stores from wesenberg. there were a few aged men and women re- maining at purts, and from these they learned that their next day's march would take them to a very difficult pass, nahva. which was held by six hundred of the russian cavalry, together with a force of infantry and some guns. it was the intention of the king to encamp that evening near the pass, and when within three or four miles of it, general meidel, who h.ad with him the quarter-master of the army and four hundred cavalry, rode on ahead to choose a site for the camp. he presently saw a large body of russian foragers in front of him, and sent back to the king for permis- sion to attack them. charles ordered the army to continue its march, and hurrying forward with some of his officers joined general meidel and charged the foragers, killing many, taking others prisoners, and putting the rest to flight. he followed close upon their heels, and rode right up to the mouth of the pass in spite of the heavy fire of artillery and musketry opened by the russians. he at once determined to take advantage of the alarm produced by the defeat of the russian cavalry, and although darkness was now drawing on, brought up some of his infantry and artillery and attacked with such vigour that the russians fled after offering a very feeble resistance. a battalion of foot were ordered to occupy the pass, while the rest of the army piled their arms and lay down where they stood. in the morning they were astonished at the strength of the position that had been gained so easily. the defile was deep and narrow, a rapid stream ran through it, and the ground was soft and marshy. a few determined men should have been able to bar the advance of an army. the troops were in high spirits at the result of this their first action against the enemy, and were the more pleased that they found in the russian camp sufficient provisions to replace those they had used; after a hearty meal they again advanced at a brisk march. the defile was captured on the evening of the th november, and early in the morning of the th the army reached lagena, a league and a jacobite exile. a half from narva, and ordering the troops to follow, the king rode forward to reconnoitre the russian position. the troops were weary with their long marches, and many of those who had but recently recovered from fever were scarce able to drag themselves along, while great num- bers were unfit to take part in a battle until after two or three days of rest. the officers of the malmoe regiment, for it had taken its name from the camp where it had been formed, were gathered in a group at its head discussing the situation. most of the officers were of opinion that to attack at once with men and horses worn out with fatigue was to ensure destruction, but there were others who thought that in face of so great an army as that gathered in front of them, the only hope was in an immediate attack. major jamieson was one of these. "the king is right," he said. "if the russian army have time to form and to advance against us in order of battle, we must be annihilated . at present their camp is an extensive one, for, as i hear, it extends in a great semicircle four or five miles long, with the ends resting on the river. they cannot believe that we intend to attack them, and if we go straight at them we may possibly gain a footing in their intrench- ments before the whole army can gather to aid those at the point of attack. it will be almost a surprise, and i think the king is right to attempt it, for it is only by a quick and sudden stroke that we can gain a success over so great an army." the halt was but a short one, and as soon as the regiments had arrived at the positions assigned to them they advanced. as soon as they appeared on a rise of ground facing the intrenchments the enemy opened fire. the king had al- ready reconnoitred a portion of their position, exposing himself recklessly to their shot, and as soon as the troops narva. came up he issued orders for them to prepare to attack in two columns. first, however, several of the regiments were ordered to fall out and to cut down bushes and make fascines, to enable the troops to cross the ditches. the intrenchment was a formidable one, being provided with parapets armed with chevaux-de-frise and flanked by strong exterior works, while several batteries had been placed to sweep the ground across which an enemy must advance. the right column under general welling was to march to a point nearly in the centre of the great semicircle, while the left under general rhenschild was to assault a point about half-way between the centre and the river, where one of the largest and most powerful of the enemy's batteries was placed. the king himself was with this wing with his body- guard, and he hoped that here he might meet the czar com- manding in person. the russian emperor had, however, left the camp that morning to fetch up forty thousand men who were advancing from plescow, and the command of the army had been assumed by the duke of croy. the swedish left wing had with it a battery of twenty-one guns, while sixteen guns covered the attack on the right . it was two o'clock in the afternoon when two guns gave the signal for the advance. hitherto the weather had been fine, but it had become gradually overcast, and just as the signal was given a tremendous storm of snow and hail began. it set right in the face of the russians, and concealed from them the movement of the swedes, for which, indeed, they were wholly unprepared, believing that the small force they saw was but the advance-guard of a great swedish army, and that no attack need be expected until the main body arrived. the consequence was the swedes were almost at the edge of the ditch before they were perceived, and both columns a. jacobite exile. attacked with such vigour and courage that in a quarter of an hour they had gained a footing in the intrenchments and had so filled up the ditch with the fascines that the cavalry were able to follow them. the russians were so astounded at this sudden attack that they lost heart altogether. * the swedish left, as soon as it entered the intrenchments, swept along them, the russians abandoning their guns and batteries and making for their bridge across the river. unfortunately for them their huts were built close behind the works, and in rear was another intrenchment designed to repel assaults from the town, and the terrified crowd, unable to make their way rapidly along over ground encumbered by their huts, crossed the interior intrenchments, thinking to make their way faster through the fields to the bridge. the swedish king, however, placed himself at the head of his body-guard, and, followed by the rest of his horse, charged right upon them, cutting down great numbers, and driving the rest before them towards the river, while the infantry kept up a heavy fire upon the fugitives in the intrenchments. the panic had spread quickly, and the russian troops nearest to the bridge were already pouring over when the mass of tho fugitives arrived. these pressed upon the bridge in such numbers that it speedily gave way, cutting off the retreat of their comrades behind. ignorant of the result the terrified crowd pushed on, pressing those in front of them into the river, and the number of drowned was no less than that of those who fell beneath the bullets, pikes, and sabres of the swedes. in their despair the russians, rallied by some of their generals, now attempted to defend themselves, and by occupying some houses and barracks, and barricading the passages between these with overturned waggons, they fought bravely and repulsed for some time every effort of the swedes. storming the intrenchments at narva. narva. darkness was now falling, and the king hastened to the spot where the battle was fiercely raging. as he ran towards it he fell into a morass, from which he was rescued with some difficulty, leaving his sword and one boot behind him. however, he at once pushed on and placed himself at the head of the infantry engaged in the assault, but even his presence and example did not avail. the russians maintained their position with desperate courage, and when it became quite dark the assault ceased. the right column had met with equal success; it had penetrated the intrench- ments, defeated all the russians who opposed it, and now moved to assist the left wing. the king, however, seeing that the russian defences could not be carried by a direct assault without great loss, gathered the army in the space between the town and the russian intrenchments, and placed them in a position to repel an attack should the russians take the offensive, giving orders that at daylight the hill on which the enemy had their principal battery should be assaulted. the guns here commanded all the intrenchments, and the capture of that position would render it impossible for the russians to continue their defence, or for the now separated wings of the army to combine. the officers in command of the russian right wing, find- ing themselves unable to cross the river on their broken bridge, and surrounded by the swedes, sent in to surrender in the course of the evening, and two battalions of the swedish guards took possession of the post that had been so gallantly defended. the king granted them permission to retire with their arms, the colours and standards being given up, and the superior officers being retained as prisoners of war. the broken bridgo was repaired, and early the next morning the russian troops uassed over. their left wing was, after g a jacobite exile. the surrender of their right, in a hopeless position, for on that side no bridge had been thrown over the river, and their retreat was wholly cut off. on learning before day- break that the right wing had surrendered, they too sent in to ask for terms. the king granted them freedom to return to their country, but without their standards or arma they filed off before- him, officers and soldiers bareheaded, and passed over the bridge, their numbers being so great that all had not crossed until next morn- ing. the russians lost over , men killed or drowned, a hundred and forty-five cannon and twenty-eight mortars, all of which were new, besides vast quantities of military stores and provisions. a hundred and fifty-one colours and twenty standards, and the greater proportion of their mus- kets, together with the military chest, the duke of croy, their commander-in-chief, and the whole of their generals, colonels, majors, and captains, fell into the hands of the swedes as prisoners of war. the total loss in killed and wounded of the swedes was under two thousand, the chief loss being due to the desperate resistance of the russians after the battle was irretrievably lost. it may be doubted whether so complete and surprising a victory between armies so disproportionate in force was ever before gained. the king had exposed himself throughout the day most recklessly, and was everywhere in the thick of the russian bullets, and yet he escaped without so much as a scratch. the malmoe regiment had been with the left wing, but suffered comparatively little loss, as they were one of the last to enter the intrenchments, and it was only when darkness was closing in that they were called up to take a part in the attack on the position held by the russians. "never was the saying that fortune favours the brave narva. more signally verified, jervoise," major jaraieson said as he sat down to a rough breakfast with the officers of the scottish company on the morning after the russian surrender. "that's true enough, but russians are brave too, as they showed at the end of the day. i fancy you have a scotch proverb to the effect that fou folk come to no harm; i think that is more applicable in the present case." the major laughed. "the fou folk relates rather to drunkenness than madness, jervoise. but of course it would do for both; i own that the whole enterprise did seem to me to be absolute madness, but the result has justified it. that sudden snowstorm was the real cause of our victory, and had it not been for that i still think that we could not have succeeded. the russian cannon certainly continued to fire, but it was wholly at random, and they were taken by sur- prise when we suddenly appeared at the side of the ditch, while we were across before they could gather any force sufficient to defend it. after that, panic did the rest . the commander-in-chief fell early into our hands. there was no one to give orders, no one to rally them, and i expect the russian soldiers gave us credit for having brought on that storm, to cover our assault, by the aid of malign spirits. well,, lads, and how did you feel when the shots were whistling about?" "i did not like it at all, major," charlie said. "it seemed such a strange thing marching along in the thick of that snowstorm, hearing the rush of cannon-balls overhead, and the boom of guns, and yet be unable to see anything but the rear files of the company in front." "it was an uncanny feeling, charlie. i felt it myself, and was very grateful that we were hidden from the enemy, who of course were blazing "away in the direction in which they had last seen us. we onlv lost three killed and twelve ( ) o a jacobite exile. wounded altogether, and i think those were, for the most part, hit by random shots. well, if this is the way the king means to carry on war, we shall have enough of it before we are done." the sick and wounded were sent into the town the first thing, but it was not until the russians had all crossed the river that the king himself rode triumphantly into the place surrounded by his staff, amid the wild enthusiasm of the inhabitants, whom his victory had saved from ruin and massacre. the town, although strongly fortified, was not a large one, and its houses were so dilapidated from the effects' of the russian bombardment that but few of the troops could be accommodated there; the rest were quartered in the russian huts. on the gth a solemn service of thanks- giving for the victory was celebrated, with a salute from all the cannon of the town and camp, and by salvos of musketry from the troops. the question of provisions was the most important now. it was true that large quantities had been captured in the russian camp, but beyond a maga- zine of corn, abandoned by the fugitives at tama and brought in, there was no prospect of replenishing the store when exhausted, for the whole country for a great distance round had been completely devastated by the russians. these had not retreated far, having been rallied by the czar at plescow, and quartered in the towns of the frontier of livonia, whence they made incursions into such districts as had not been previously wasted. "this is dull work," archie cunningham said one day, "the sooner we are busy again the better. there is nothing to do, and very little to eat; the cold is bitter and fuel scarce; one wants something to warm one's blood." "you are not likely to have anything of that kind for some months to come," major jamieson replied dryly. narva. '-' you don't suppose we are going to have a battle of narva once a week, do you? no doubt there will be a few skirmishes and outpost encounters, but beyond that there will be little doing until next spring. you can make up your mind for at least five months of the worst side of a soldier's life— dull quarters and probably bad ones, scanty food, cold, and disease." "not a very bright look-out, major," forbes laughed. "i hope it won't be as bad as that." "then i advise you to give up hoping and to make up your mind to realities, forbes; there is a good deal of illness in the camp now, and there will be more and more as the time goes on. there is nothing like inaction to tell upon the health of troops. however, we certainly shall not stay here, it would be impossible to victual the army, and i expect that before long we shall march away and take up quarters for the winter. as to operations on a great scale, they are out of the question. after the thrashing they have had, the russians will be months before they are in a condition to take the offensive again; while we are equally unable to move, because in the first place we are not strong enough to do so, and in the second we have no baggage train to carry provisions with us, and no provisions to carry if we had it." on the th of december the king quitted narva with the army, and on the th arrived at lais, an old castle six miles from derpt, and here established his head-quarters. a few of the troops were stationed in villages, but the greater part in rough huts in the neighbourhood and along the frontier. it was not long before major jamieson's predictions were verified. a low fever, occasioned by the fatiguing marches and the hardships they had endured, added to the misery from the cold and wet that penetrated the wretched a jacobite exile. huts, spread rapidly through the army. many died, and great numbers were absolutely prostrated. the king was indefatigable in his efforts to keep up the spirits of the troops. he constantly rode about from camp to camp, entering the huts, chatting cheerfully with the soldiers, and encouraging them by kind words and assurances that when the spring came they would soon gain strength again. at narva the four young officers had all purchased horses. most of the swedish officers were mounted; and the king encouraged this, as on occasion he could thereby collect at once a body of mounted men ready for any enterprise; but their own colonel preferred that on the march the lieutenants and ensigns should be on foot with their men, in order to set them an example of cheerful endurance. those who wished it, however, were permitted to have horses, which were on such occasions led in the rear of the regiment . captain jervoise had approved of the purchase of the horses, which were got very cheaply, as great numbers had been captured. "if we can get over the difficulty of the forage," he said, "you will find them very useful for pre- serving your health during the winter. a ride will set your blood in motion, and wherever we are quartered there are sure to be camps within riding distance. the king approves of officers taking part in dashing expeditions, so you may be able to take a share in affairs that will break the monotony of camp-life." they found great benefit from being able to ride about. forage was indeed very scarce. they had no means of spending their pay on luxuries of any kind, their only outlay being in the' purchase of black bread, and an occa- sional load of forage from the peasants. their regiment was with the force under the command of colonel schlippenbach, which was not very far from marienburg, a place open to the incursions of the russians. baron a jacobite exile. vigorous condition contrasted strongly with the debility and feebleness evident so generally among the swedish soldiers. as soon as marienburg was entered, the men were set to work to raise and strengthen the rampart and to erect bastions, and they were aided a few days later by a re- inforcement of two hundred infantry, sent by the king with some cannon from the garrison of derpt. as the place was surrounded by a morass, it was ere long put into a position to offer a formidable defence against any force, that the russians or saxons might bring against it. the swedes engaged on the work gained strength rapidly, and by the time the fortifications were finished they had completely shaken off the effects of the fever. chapter vi. a prisoner. afortnight after the fortifications of marienburg were completed, colonel schlippenbach sent off lieu- tenant-colonel brandt with four hundred horse to capture a magazine at seffwegen, to which the saxons had forced the inhabitants of the country round to bring in their corn, intending later to convey it to the hoad-quarters of theii army. the expedition was completely successful. the saxon guard were overpowered, and a thousand tons of corn were brought in triumph into marienburg. some of it was sent on to the army, abundance being retained for the use of the town and garrison in case of siege. it was now resolved to surprise and burn pitschur, a town on the frontier from which the enemy constantly made incursions. it was held by a strong body of russians. baron spens was in command of the expedition. he had with him both the regiments of horse-guards. much excitement was caused in marienburg by the issue of an order that the cavalry and a portion of the infantry were to be ready to march at daylight, and by the arrival of a large number of peasants brought in by small parties of the cavalry. many were the surmises as to the operation to be undertaken, its object being kept a strict secret. captain jervoise's company was one of those in orders, and paraded at daybreak, and after a march of some distance the force a jacobite kxilk. joined that of baron spens. the troops were halted in a wood, and ordered to light fires to cook food and to prepare for a halt of some hours. great fires were soon blazing, and after eating their meal most of the troops wrapped themselves in the blankets that they carried in addition to their greatcoats, and lay down by the fires. they slept until midnight, and were then called to arms again. they marched all night, and at daybreak the next morning, the th of february, were near pitschur, and at once attacked the russian camp outside the town. taken completely by surprise the russians fought feebly, and more than five hundred were killed before they entered the town, hotly pursued by the swedes. shutting themselves up in the houses, and barricading the doors and windows, they defended themselves desperately, refusing all offers of surrender. the livonian peasants were, however, at work, and set fire to the town in many places. the flames spread rapidly. great stores of hides and leather, and a huge magazine filled with hemp, added to the fury of the conflagration, and the whole town was burned to the ground; numbers of the russians preferring death by fire in the houses to coining out and surrendering themselves. many of the fugitives had succeeded in reaching a strong position on the hill commanding the town. this consisted of a convent- surrounded by strong walls mounted with cannon, which played upon the town while the fight there was going on. as baron spens had no guns with him he was unable to follow up his advantage by taking this position, and he therefore gave orders to the force to retire, the peasants being loaded with booty that they had gathered before the fire spread. the loss of the swedes was thirty killed and sixty wounded, this being a small amount of loss compared with what they had inflicted upon the enemy. "i call that a horrible business, captain jervoise," charlie a prisoner. said, when the troops had returned to marienburg. "there was no real fighting in it." "it was a surprise, charlie. but they fought desperately after they gained the town." "yes, but we did nothing there beyond firing away at the windows. of course i had my sword in my hand; but it might as well have been in its sheath, for i never struck a blow, and i think it was the same with most of our men. one could not cut down those poor wretches, who were scarce awake enough to use their arms. i was glad you held our company in rear of the others." "yes; i asked the colonel before attacking to put us in reserve, in case the enemy should rally. i did it on purpose, for i knew that our men, not having, like the swedes, any personal animosity against the russians, would not like the work. if it had come to storming the convent, i would have volunteered to lead the assault. at any rate i am glad that, although a few of the men are wounded, no lives are lost in our company." harry cordially agreed with his friend. "i like an ex- pedition, charlie, if there is fighting to be done; but i don't want to have anything more to do with surprises. how- ever, the cavalry had a good deal more to do with it than we had; but, as you say, it was a ghastly business. the only comfort is they began it, and have been robbing the pea- sants and destroying their homes for months." many small expeditions were sent out with equally favour- able results; but captain jervoise's company took no part in these excursions. charles xii. was passionately fond of hunting, and in spite of his many occupations found time occasionally to spend a day' or two in the chase. a few days after the attack upon pitschur he came to marienburg to learn all particulars of the russian position from colonel schlippenbach. as he intended in the spring to attack the a jacobite exile triangle formed by three fortresses, in order to drive the russians farther back from the frontier. "i hear that there are many wolves and bears in the forest five leagues to the north. i want a party of about fifty footmen to drive the game, and as many horse, in case we come across one of the parties of russians. i want some hearty, active men for the march. i will send the foot on this afternoon, and ride with the horse so as to get there by daybreak. which is your best company of infantry " "my best company is one composed chiefly of scotchmen, though there are some english among them. it belongs to the malmoo regiment, and is commanded by captain jer- voise, an englishman. i do not say that they are braver than our swedes; they have not been tested in any des- perate service; but they are healthier and more hardy, for their officers since the battle of narva have kept them engaged in sports of all kinds—mimic battles, foot-races, and other friendly contests. i have marked them at it several times, and wondered sometimes at the rough play. but it has had its effect. while the rest of suborn's regiment suffered as much from fever as the other troops, scarce a man in this company was sick, and they have all the winter been fit for arduous service at any moment." "that is good indeed, and i will remember it, and will see that, another winter, similar games are carried on through- out the army. let the company be paraded at once. i will myself inspect them." the company's call was sounded, and, surprised at a sum- mons just as they were cooking their dinners, the troops fell in in front of their quarters, and the officers took their places in front of them and waited for orders. "i wonder what is up now," nigel forbes said to harry. "you have not heard anything from your father of our being wanted, have you?" a prisoner. "no; he was just as much surprised as i was when a sergeant ran up with schlippenbach's order that the com- pany were to fall in." five minutes after they had formed up, three officers were seen approaching on foot. "it is the colonel himself," forbes muttered, as captain jervoise gave the word to the men to stand to attention. a minute later captain jervoise gave the order for the salute, and harry saw that the tall young officer walking with the colonel was the king. without speaking a word, charles walked up and down the line narrowly inspecting the men, then he returned to the front. 'a fine set of fellows, schlippenbach. i wish that, like my . grandfather, i had some fifteen thousand of such troops under my orders. present the captain to me." the officers were called up, and captain jervoise was presented. "your company does you great credit, captain jervoise," the king said. "i would that all my troops looked in as good health and condition. colonel schlippenbach tells me that you have kept your men in good health all through the winter by means of sports and games. it is a good plan. i will try to get all my officers to adopt it another winter. do the men join in them willingly?" captain jervoise and his officers had all, during the nine months that had passed since they landed in sweden, done their best to acquire the language, and could now speak and understand it thoroughly. - "they like it, your majesty. our people are fond of games of this kind. my four officers take part in them with the men." the king nodded. "that is as it should be. it must create a good feeling on both sides. present your officers to me, captain jervoise." a jacobite exile. this was done, and the king spoke a few words to each. charlie had often seen the king at a distance, but never before so close as to be able to notice his face particularly. he was a tall young fellow, thin and bony; his face was long, and his forehead singularly high and somewhat pro- jecting. this was the most noticeable feature of his face. his eyes were quick and keen, his face clean-shaven, and had it not been for the forehead and eyes would have attracted no attention. his movements were quick and energetic, and after speaking to the officers he strode a step or two forward, and raising his voice said: "i am pleased with you, men. your appearance does credit to yourselves and your officers. scottish troops did grand service under my grandfather, gustavus adolphus, and i would that i had twenty battalions of such soldiers with me. i am going hunting to-morrow, and i asked colonel schlippenbach for half a company of men who could stand cold and fatigue. he told me that i could not do better than take thom from among this company, and i see that he could not have made a better choice; but i will not separate you, and will therefore take you all. you will march in an hour, and i will see that there is a good supper ready for you at the end of your journey." colonel schlippenbach gave captain jervoise directions as to the road they were to follow, and the village at the edge of the forest where they were to halt for the night. he then walked away with the king. highly pleased with the praise charles had given them, the company fell out. "get your dinners as soon as you can, men," captain jervoise said. "the king gave us an hour. we must be in readiness to march by that time." on arriving at the village, which consisted of a few small houses only, they found two waggons awaiting them, one with tents and the other with a plentiful supply of provi- a prisoner. . sions and a barrel of wine. the tents were erected, and then the men went into the forest and soon returned with large quantities of wood, and great fires were speedily lighted. meat was cut up and roasted over them, and regarding the expedition as a holiday, the men sat down to their supper in high spirits. after it was eaten there were songs round the fires, and at nine o'clock all turned into their tents, as it was known that the king would arrive at daylight. sentries were posted, for there was never any saying when marauding parties of russians, who were con- stantly on the move, might come along. half an hour before daybreak the men were aroused. tents were struck and packed in the waggon, and the men then fell in and re- mained until the king with three or four of his officers and fifty cavalry rode up. fresh wood had been thrown on the fires, and some of the men told off as cooks. "that looks cheerful for hungry men," the king said as he leaped from his horse. "i did not know whether your majesty would wish to breakfast at once," captain jervoise said; "but i thought it well to be prepared." "we will breakfast by all means. we are all sharp set already. have your own men had food yet?" "no, sir; i thought perhaps they would carry it with them." "no, no; let them all have a hearty meal before they move, then they can hold on as long as may be necessary." the company fell out again, and in a quarter of an hour they and the troopers breakfasted. a joint of meat was placed for the use of the king and the officers who had come with him, and captain jervoise and those with him pre- pared to take their meal a short distance away, but charles said: "bring that joint here, captain jervoise, and we will all take breakfast together. we are all hunters and comrades" . no a jacobite kxile. in a short time they were all seated.round a fire with their meat on wooden platters on their knees, and with mugs of wine beside them, captain jervoise by the king's orders taking his seat beside him. during the meal he asked him many questions as to his reasons for leaving england and taking service with him. "so you have meddled in politics, eh?" the king laughed, when he heard a brief account of captain jervoise's reason for leaving home. "your quarrels in england and scotland have added many a thousand good soldiers to the armies of france and sweden, and i may say of every country in europe. i believe there are some of your compatriots, or at any rate scotchmen, in the czar's camp. i suppose that at william's death these troubles will cease." "i do not know, sir. anne was james' favourite daughter, and it may be she will resign in favour of her brother, the lawful king. if she does so there is an end of trouble; but should she mount the throne she would be a usurper, as mary was up to her death in ' . as anno has been on good terms with william since her sister's death, i fear she will act as unnatural a part as mary did, and in that case assuredly we shall not recognize her as our queen." "you have heard the news, i suppose, of the action of the parliament last month?" "no, sir, we have heard nothing for some weeks of what is doing in england." "they have been making an act of settlement of the succession. anne is to succeed william, and as she has no children by george of denmark, the succession is to pass from her to the elector of hanover, in right of his wife sophia, as the rest of the children of the elector of the palatinate have abjured protestantism, and are therefore excluded. how will that meet the views of the english and scotch jacobites?" a prisonkr. ill "it is some distance to look forward to, sire. if anne comes to the throne at william's death, it will, i think, post- pone our hopes, for anne is a stuart, and is a favourite with the nation in spite of her undutiful conduct to her father. still it will be felt that for stuart to fight against stuart, brother against sister, would be contrary to nature. fo- reigners are always unpopular, and as against william, every jacobite is ready to take up arms. but i think that nothing will be done during anne's reign. the elector of hanover would be as unpopular among englishmen in general as is william of orange, and should he come to the throne there will assuredly ere long be a rising to bring back the stuarts." charles shook his head. "i don't want to ruffle your spirit of loyalty to the stuarts, captain jervoise, but they have showed themselves weak monarchs for a great country. they want fibre. william of orange may be, as you call him, a foreigner and a usurper, but england has greater weight in the councils of europe in his hands than it has had since the death ot elizabeth." this was rather a sore point with captain jervoise, who, thorough jacobite as he was, had smarted under the subservience of england to france during the reigns of the two previous monarchs. "you englishmen and scotchmen are fighting people," the king went on, "and should have a military monarch. i do not mean a king like myself, who likes to fight in the front ranks of his soldiers; but one like william, who has certainly lofty aims, and is a statesman, and can join in european combinations." "william thinks and plans more for holland than for england, sire. he would join a league against france and spain, not so much for the benefit of england, which has not much to fear from these powers, but of holland, whose existence now as of old js threatened by them" a jacobite exile. 'england's interest is similar to that of holland," the king said. "i began this war nominally in the interest of the duke of hohtein, but really because it was sweden's interest that denmark should not become too powerful. but we must not waste time in talking politics. i see the men have finished their breakfast, and we are here to hunt. i shall keep twenty horse with me; the rest will enter the forest with you. i have arranged for the peasants here to guide you. you will march two miles along by the edge of the forest, and then enter it and make a wide semicircle, leaving men as you go, until you come down to the edge of the forest again a mile to our left. "as soon as you do so you will sound a trumpet, and the men will then move forward, shouting so as to drive the game before them. as the peasants tell me there are many wolves and bears in the forest, i hope that you will inclose some of them in your cordon, which will be about five miles from end to end. with the horse you will have a hundred and thirty men, so that there will be a man every sixty or seventy yards. that is too wide a space at first, but as you close in the distances will rapidly lessen, and they must make up by noise for the scantiness of their numbers. if they find the animals are trying to break through they can discharge their pieces; but do not let them do so otherwise, as it would frighten the animals too soon, and send them flying out all along the open side of the semicircle." it was more than two hours before the whole of the beaters were in position. just before they had started the king had requested captain jervoise to remain with him and the officers who had accompanied him, five in number. they had been posted a hundred yards apart at the edge of the forest. charlie was the first officer left behind as the troop moved through the forest, and it seemed to him an endless time before he heard a faint shout, followed by a prisoner. another and another, until at last the man stationed next to him repeated the signal. then they moved forward, each trying to obey the orders to march straight ahead.. for some time nothing was heard save the shouts of the men, and then charlie made out some distant shots far in the wood, and guessed that some animals were trying to break through the lines. then he heard the sound of firing directly in front of him. this continued for some time, occasionally single shots being heard, but more often shots in close succession. louder and louder grew the shouting as the men closed in towards a common point, and in half an hour after the signal had been given all met. "what sport have you had, father?" harry asked as he came up to captain jervoise. "we killed seventeen wolves and four bears, with, what is more important, six stags. i do not know whether we are going to have another beat." it soon turned out that this was the king's intention, and the troops marched along the edge of the forest. charlie was in the front of his company, the king with the cavalry a few hundred yards ahead, when from a dip of ground on the right a large body of horsemen suddenly appeared. "russians!" captain jervoise exclaimed, and shouted to the men, who were marching at ease, to close up. the king did not hesitate a moment, but at the head of his fifty cavalry, charged right down upon the russians, who were at least five hundred strong the little body disappeared in the melee, and then seemed to be swallowed up. "keep together, shoulder to shoulder, men. double!" and the company set off at a run. when they came close to the mass of horsemen they poured in a volley, and then rushed forward, hastily fitting the short pikes they carried into their musket-barrels; for as yet the modern form of bayonets was not used. the russians fought obstinately, but the infantry ( ) h a jacobite exile. pressed their way step by step through them until they reached the spot where the king with his little troop of cavalry were defending themselves desperately from the attacks of the russians. the arrival of tho infantry decided the contest, and the russians began to draw off, the king hastening the movement by plunging into the midst of them with his horsemen. charlie was on the flank of the company as it advanced, and after running through a russian horseman with the short pike that was carried by officers he received a tremen- dous blow on his steel cap, that stretched him insensible on the ground. when he recovered he felt that he was being carried, and soon awoke to the fact that he was a prisoner. after a long ride the russians arrived at pleseow. they had lost some sixty men in the fight. charlie was the only prisoner taken. he was, on dismounting, too weak to stand, but he was half-carried aiid half-dragged to the quarters of the russian officer in command. the latter addressed him, but finding that he was not understood, sent for an officer who spoke swedish. "what were the party you were with doing in the wood " "we were hunting wolves and bears." "where did you come from?" "from marienburg." "how strong were you!" "fifty horse and a hundred and forty foot," charlie re- plied, knowing there could be no harm in stating the truth. "but it was a long way to march merely to hunt, and your officers must have been mad to come out with so small a party to a point where they were likely to meet with us." "it was not too small a party, sir, as they managed to beat off the attack made upon them." the russian was silent for a moment, then he asked- "who was the officer in command?" a jacobite exile. has declared that he will exchange no foreign officers who may be taken prisoners." "very well, sir," charlie said, fearlessly. "he will be only punishing his own officers. there are plenty of them in the king of sweden's hands." the general, when this reply was translated to him, angrily ordered charlie to be taken away, and he was soon lodged in a cell in the castle. his head was still swimming from the effects of the blow that had stricken him down, and without even trying to think over his position he threw himself down on the straw pallet, and was soon asleep. it was morning when he woke, and for a short time he was unable to imagine where he was, but soon recalled what had happened. he had been visited by some one after he had lain down, for a platter of bread and meat stood on the table, and a jug of water. he was also covered with two thick blankets. these had not been there when he lay down, for he had wondered vaguely as to how he should pass the night without some covering. he took a long draught of water, then ate some food. his head throbbed with the pain of the wound. it had been roughly bandaged by his captors, but needed surgical dressing. "i wonder how long i am likely to be before i am ex- changed," he said to himself. "a long time, i am afraid; for there are scores of russian officers prisoners with us, and i don't think there are half a dozen of ours captured by the russians. of course no exchange can take place until there are a good batch to send over, and it may be months may pass before they happen to lay hands on enough swedish officers to make it worth while to trouble about exchanging them." an hour later the door opened and an officer entered, followed by a soldier with a large bowl of broth and some bread. a jacobite exile. "then our cases are pretty much alike," the doctor said. "i had gone through dublin university, and had just passed as a surgeon when king james landed. it didn't much matter to me who was king, but i thought it was a fine opportunity to study gunshot wounds, so i joined the .royal army, and was at the battle of the boyne. i had plenty of work with wounds early in the day, but when, after the irish had fairly beat the dutchman back all day, they made up their minds to march away at night, i had to lave my patients and be off too. then i was shut up in limerick; and i was not idle there, as you may guess. when at last the surrender came i managed to slip away, having no fancy for going over with the regiments that were to enter the service of france. i thought i could have gone back to dublin, and that no one would trouble about me; but some one put them up to it, and i had to go without stopping to ask leave. i landed at bristol, and there for a time was nearly starving. "i was well-nigh my wits' end as to what to do for a living, and had just spent my last shilling, when i met an english captain who told me that across at gottenburg there were a good many irish and scotchmen who had, like myself, been in trouble at home. he gave me a passage across, and took me to the house of a man he knew. of course, it was no use my trying to doctor people when they could not tell me what was the matter with them, and i tvorked at one thing and another, doing anything i could uurn my hands to, for four or five months. that is how i got to pick up swedish. then some people told me that russia was a place where a doctor might get on, for that they had got no doctors for their army who knew anything of surgery, and the czar was always ready to take on foreigners who could teach them anything. i had got my diploma with me and some of my friends came forward and subscribed a prisoner. enough to rig me out in clothes and pay my passage. what was better, one of them happened to have made the acquaint- ance of le ford, who was, as you may have heard, the czar's most intimate friend. "i wished myself back a hundred times before i reached moscow, but when i did everything was easy for me. le ford introduced me to the czar, and i was appointed surgeon of a newly-raised regiment, of which le ford was colonel. that was eight years ago, and i am now a sort of surgeon- general of a division, and am at the head of the hospitals - about here. till the war began i had not for five years done any military work, but had been at the head of a college the czar has established for training surgeons for the army. i was only sent down here after that business at narva. so you see i have fallen on my feet. the czar's is a good service, and we employ a score or two of scotchmen, most of them in good posts. he took to them because a scotchman, general gordon, and other foreign officers, rescued him from his sister sophia, who intended to assas- sinate him, and established him firmly on the throne of his father. it is a pity you are not on this side. perhaps it isn't too late to change, eh?" charlie laughed. "my father is in sweden, and my company is commanded by a man who is as good as a father to me, and his son is like my brother. if there were no other reason i could not change. why, it was only yester- day i was sitting round a bivouac fire with king charles, and nothing would induce me to fight against him." "i am not going to try to persuade you. the czar has treated me well, and i love him. by the way, i have not given you my name after all. it's terence kelly." "is not the czar very fierce and cruel?" "bedad, i would be much more cruel and fierce if i wero in his place. just think of one man with all russia ou iub a jacobite exile. shoulders. there is he trying to improve the country, work- ing like a horse himself, knowing that, like every other rus- sian, he is as ignorant as a pig, and setting to to improve himself—working in the dockyards of holland and england, attending lectures, and all kinds of subjects. why, man, he learnt anatomy, and can take off a leg as quickly as i can. he is building a fleet and getting together an army. it is not much good yet, you will say, but it will be some day. you can turn a peasant into a soldier in six months, but it takes a long time to turn out generals and officers who are fit for their work. . "then, while he is trying everywhere to improve his coun- try, every man jack of them objects to being improved, and wants to go along in his old ways. didn't they get up an insurrection only because he wanted them to cut off their beards? any other man would have lost heart and given it up years ago. it looks as hopeless a task as for a mouse to drag a mountain, but he is doing it . i don't say that he is perfect. he gets into passions, and it is mighty hard for anyone he gets into a passion with. but who would not get into passions when there is so much work to be done, and every one tries to hinder instead of to help? it would break the heart of st. patrick! why, that affair at narva would have broken down most men. here for years has he been working to make an army, and the first time they meet an enemy worthy of the name, what do they do? why, they are beaten by a tenth of their number of half-starved men, led by a mad-brained young fellow who had never heard a shot fired before, and lose all their cannon, guns, ammuni- tion, and stores. why, i was heart-broken myself when i heard of it; but peter, instead of blowing out his brains or drowning himself,' set to work, an hour after the news reached him, to bring up fresh troops, to re-arm the men, and to prepare to meet the swedes again as soon as the a prisoner. snow is off the ground. if james of england had been peter of russia he would be ruling over ireland now, and eng- land and scotland too. but now i must be off. don't you worry about your head, i have seen as bad a clip given by a blackthorn. i have got to go round now and see the wounded, and watch some operations being done, but i will come in again this evening. don't eat any more of their messes if they bring them in; you and i will have a snug little dinner together. i might get you put into a more dacent chamber, but the general is one of the old pig- headed sort. we don't pull together, so i would rather not ask any favours from him. the czar may come any day—he is always flying about . i will speak to him when he comes, and see that you have better entertainment." chapter vii. exchanged. late in the afternoon, dr. kelly came in again to the cell. "come along," he said; "i have got lave for you to have supper with me, and have given my pledge that you won't try to escape till it is over, or make any onslaught on the garrison, but will behave like a quiet and peacable man." "you are quite safe in giving the pledge, doctor," charlie laughed. "come along.then, me boy, for they were just dishing up when i came to fetch you, it is cold enough outside, and there is no sinse in putting cold victuals into one in such weather as this." they were not long in reaching a snugly-furnished room, where a big fire was burning. another gentleman was standing with his back to it. he was a man of some seven- or eight-and-twenty, with large features, dark brown hair falling in natural curls over his ears, and large and powerful in build. "this is my friend, charlie carstairs," the doctor said. "this, carstairs, is peter michaeloff, a better doctor than most of those who mangle the czar's soldiers." "things will better in time," the other said, "when your pupils begin to take their places in the army." "i hope so," the doctor said, shrugging his shoulders. exchanged. "there is one comfort, they can't be much worse." at this moment a servant entered bearing a bowl of soup and three basins. they at once seated themselves at the table. "so you managed to get yourself captured yesterday," dr. michaeloff said to charlie. "i have not had the pleasure of seeing many of you gentlemen here." "we don't come if we can help it," charlie laughed. "but the cossacks were so pressing that i could not resist. in fact i did not know anything about it until i was well on the way." "i hope they have made you comfortable," the other said sharply. "i can't say much for the food," charlie said, "and still less for the cell, which was bitterly cold. still, as the doctor gave me two rugs to wrap myself up in, i need not grumble." "that is not right," the other said angrily. "i hear that the king of sweden treats our prisoners well you should have remonstrated, kelly." the irishman shrugged his shoulders. "i ventured to hint to the general that i thought an officer had a right to better treatment even if he were a prisoner, but i was told sharply to mind my own business, which was with the sick and wounded. i said as the prisoner was wounded i thought it was a matter that did come to some extent under my control." "what did the pig say?" "he grumbled something between his teeth that i did not catch, and as i thought the prisoner would not be kept there long, and was not unaccustomed to roughing it, it was not worth while pressing the matter further." "have you heard that an officer has been here this after- noon with a flag of truce to treat for your exchange?" dr. michaeloff said, turning suddenly to charlie. "no; i have not heard anything about it," charlie said. a jacobue exile. "he offered a captain for you, which you may consider a high honour." "it is, no doubt," charlie said with a smile. "i suppose his majesty thought, as it was in his special service i was caught, he was bound to get me released if he could." "it was a hunting party, was it not?" "yes. there was only the king with four of his officers there, and my company of foot and fifty horse. i don't think i can call it an escort, for we went principally as beaters." "rustoff missed a grand chance there, kelly. what regiment do you belong to " and he again turned to charlie. "the malmoe regiment. the company is commanded by an english gentleman, who is a neighbour and great friend of my father. his son is an ensign, and my greatest friend. the men are all either scotch or english, but most of them scotch." "they are good soldiers the scotch; none better. there are a good many in the russian service, also in that of austria and france; they are always faithful and to be relied upon even when native troops prove treacherous. and you like charles of sweden " "there is not a soldier in his army but likes him," charlie said enthusiastically. "he expects us to do much, but he does more himself. all through the winter he did everything in his power for us, riding long distances from camp to camp to visit the sick and to keep up the spirits of the men. if we live roughly so does he, and on the march he will take his meals among the soldiers, and wrap himself up in his cloak, and sleep on the bare ground just as they do. and as for his bravery, he exposes his life recklessly— too recklessly, we all think—and it seemed a miracle that, always in the front as he was, he should have got through narva without a scratch. exchanged. "yes, that was a bad bit of business that narva," the other said thoughtfully. "why do you think we were beaten in the horrible way we were—because the russians are no cowards v "no; they made a gallant stand when they recovered from their surprise," charlie agreed. "but in the first place, they were taken by surprise." "they ought not to have been," the doctor said angrily, "they had news two days before brought by the cavalry, who ought to have defended that pass, but didn't." "still it was a surprise when we attacked," charlie said, "for they could not suppose that the small body they saw were going to assail them. then we had the cover of that snowstorm, and they did not see us until we reached the edge of the ditch. of course, your general ought to have made proper dispositions, and to have collected the greater part of his troops at the spot facing us, instead of having them strung out round that big semicircle, so that when we made an entry they were separated, and each half was ignorant of what the other was doing. still, even then they might have concentrated between the trenches and the town. but no orders had been given. the general was one of the first we captured, the others waited for the orders that never came until it was too late. if the general who commanded on the left had massed his troops, and marched against us as we were attacking the position they held on their right, we should have been caught between two fires." "it was a badly managed business altogether," dr. michaeloft' growled; "but we shall do better next time. we shall understand charles's tactics better. we reckoned on his troops, but we did not reckon on him. kelly tells me that you would not care to change service." "my friends are in the swedish army, and i am well satisfied with the service. i daresay if russia had been a jacobite exile. nearer england than sweden is, and we had landed there first, we should have been as glad to enter the service of the czar as we were to join that of king charles. everyone says that the czar makes strangers welcome, and that he is a liberal master to those who serve him well. as to the quarrel between them, i am not old enough to be able to give my opinion on it, though, as far as i am concerned, it seems to me that it was not a fair thing for russia to take advantage of sweden's being at war with denmark and augustus of saxony, to fall upon her without any cause of quarrel." "nations move less by morality than interest," dr. michaeloff said calmly. "russia wants a way to the sea— the turks cut her oft'to the sotith, and the swedes from the baltic. she is smothered between them, and when she saw her chance she took it. that is not good morality, i admit that it is the excuse of the poor man who robs the rich; but it is human nature, and nations act in the long run a good deal like individuals." "but you have not told me yet, doctor," charlie said, turning the conversation, "whether the proposal for an ex- change was accepted." "the general had no power to accept it, carstaire. it had to be referred to tho czar himself." "i wish his majesty could see me then," charlie laughed. "he would see that i am but a lad, and that my release would not greatly strengthen the swedish army." "but then the czar may be of opinion that none of his officers who allowed themselves to be captured by a hand- ful of men at narva would be of any use to him," dr. michaeloff laughed.— "that may, doubtless, be said of a good many among them," charlie said, "but individually none of the captains could be blamed for the mess they made of it" a jacobite exile. the doctor did not reply, but michaeloff said quietly, "he arrived this afternoon." "he did!" charlie exclaimed excitedly. "why did you not tell me before, dr. kelly? has he been asked about ny exchange, and is the swedish officer still here?" "he is here, and you will be exchanged in the morning. i have other things to see about now, and must say good- night; and if you should ever fall into the hands of our people again, and dr. kelly does not happen to be near, ask for peter michaeloff, and he will do all he can for you." "then i am really to be exchanged to-morrow, doctor?" charlie said as dr. michaeloff left the room. "it seems like it." "but did not you know?'' "no, i had heard nothing for certain. i knew the czar had come, but i had not heard of his decision. i congratu- late you." "it is a piece of luck," charlie said. "i thought it might be months before there was an exchange. it is very good of the king to send over so quickly." "yes; and of the czar to let you go." "well, i don't see much in that, doctor, considering that he gets a captain in exchange for me; still, of course, he might have refused. it would not have been civil, but he might have done it." "what did you think of my friend, charlie?" "i like him; he has a pleasant face, though i should think he has got a temper of his own. he has a splendid figure, and looks more like a fighting man than a doctor. i will write down his name so as not to forget it, as he says he might be able to help me if i am ever taken prisoner again and you did not happen to be with the army. it is always nice having a friend; look at the difference it has made to me finding a countryman here." exchanged. "yes, you may find it useful, carstairs; and he has a good deal of influence. still i think it probable that if you ever should get into a scrape again you will be able to get tidings of me, for i am likely to be with the advanced divi- sion of our army wherever it is, as i am in charge of its hospitals. you had better turn in now, for i suppose you will be starting early, and i have two or three patients i must visit again before i go to bed. this is your room next to mine, i managed after all to get it changed." "that is very good of you, doctor, but it really would not have mattered a bit for one night. it does look snug and warm with that great fire." "yes, the stoves are the one thing i don't like in russia. i like to see a blazing fire, and the first thing i do when i get into fresh quarters is to have the stove opened so that i can see one. this is a second room of mine. there were three together, you see, and as my rank is that of a colonel i was able to get them, and it is handy if a friend comes to see me to have a room for him." an hour later, just as charlie was dozing off to sleep, the doctor put his head in to the door. "you are to start at daybreak, carstairs. my servant will call you an hour before that. i shall be up; i must put a fresh bandage on your head before you start." "thank you very much, doctor; i am sorry to get you up so early." "that is nothing; i am accustomed to work at all hours. good-night." at eight o'clock, having had a bowl of broth, charlie descended to the court-yard in charge of an officer and two soldiers, the doctor accompanying him. here he found a swedish officer belonging to the king's personal staff. the russian handed the lad formally over to his charge, saying, "by the orders of the czar, i now exchange ensign carstairs ( ) i a jacobite exile. for captain potoff, whom you on your part engage to send off at once." "i do," the swede said; "that is, i engage that he shall be sent off as soon as he can be fetched from revel, where he is now interned, and shall be safely delivered under an escort; and that if either by death, illness, or escape i should not be able to hand him over, i will return another officer of the same rank." "i have the czar's commands," the russian went on, "to express his regret that, owing to a mistake on the part of the officer commanding here, ensign carstairs has not re- ceived such worthy treatment as the czar would have desired for him, but he has given stringent orders that in future any swedish officers who may be taken prisoners shall receive every comfort and hospitality that can be shown them." "good-bye, doctor kelly," charlie said as he mounted his horse, which had been saddled in readiness for him. "i am greatly obliged to you for your very great kindness to me, and hope that i may some day have an opportunity of repaying it." "i hope not, carstairs. i trust that we may meet again, but hope that i sha'n't be in the position of a prisoner. however, strange things have happened already in this war, and there is no saying how fortune may go. good-bye, and a pleasant journey." a russian officer took his place by the side of the swede, and an escort of twenty troopers rode behind them as they trotted out through the gate of the convent. "it was very kind of the king to send for me," charlie said to the swede, "and i am really sorry that you should have had so long a ride on my account, captain pradovich." "as to that it is a trifle," the officer said; "if i had not been riding here i should be riding with the king elsewhere, kxphanokt) so that i am none the worse. but in truth i am glad i came, for yesterday evening i saw the czar himself. i con- versed with him for some time. he expressed himself very courteously with respect to the king and to our army, against whom he seems to bear no sort of malice for the defeat we inflicted on him at narva. he spoke of it himself, and said, 'you will see that some day we shall turn the tables upon you.' the king will be pleased when i return with you, for we all feared that you might be very badly hurt. all that we knew was that some of your men had seen you cut down. after the battle was over a search was made for your body. when it could not be found, questions were asked of some of our own men, and some wounded russians who were lying near the spot where you had been seen to fall "our men had seen nothing, for as the russians closed in behind your company as it advanced they had shut their eyes and lay as if dead, fearing that they might be run through as they lay by the cossack lances. the russians, however, told us that they had seen two of the cossacks dismount by the orders of one of their officers, lift you on to a horse, and ride off with you. there was there- fore a certainty that you were still living, for the russians would assuredly not have troubled to carry off a dead body. his majesty interested himself very much in the matter, and yesterday morning sent me off to inquire if you were alive, and if so, to propose an exchange. i was much pleased when i reached plescow yesterday to learn that your wound is not a serious one. i saw the doctor, who, i found, was a countryman of yours, and he assured me that it was nothing, and made some joke that i did not understand about the thickness of north country skulls. "the czar arrived in the afternoon, but i did not see him until late in the evening, when i was sent for. i a jacobite exile. found him with the general in command, and several other officers, among whom was your friend the doctor. the czar was at first in a furious passion. he abased the general right and left, and i almost thought at one time that he would have struck him. he told him that he had disgraced the russian name by not treating you with proper hospitality, and especially by placing you in a miserable cell without a fire. 'what will the king of sweden think?' he said. 'he treats his prisoners with kindness and courtesy, and after narva gave them a banquet, at which he himself was present. the duke of croy writes to me to say he is treated as an honoured guest rather than as a prisoner, and here you dis- grace us by shutting your prisoner in a cheerless cell, although he is wounded, and giving him food such as you might give to a common soldier. the swedes will think that we are barbarians. you are released from your command, and will at once proceed to moscow and report yourself there, when a post will be assigned to you where you will have no opportunity of showing yourself ignorant of the laws of courtesy. doctor,' he went on, 'you will remember that all prisoners, officers and men, will be henceforth under the charge of the medical department, and that you have full authority to make such arrangements as you may think necessary for their comfort and honourable treatment. i will not have russia made a by-word among civilized peoples.' then he dismissed the rest of them, and after- wards sat down and chatted with me, just as if we had been of the same rank, puffing a pipe furiously, and drinking amazing quantities of wine; indeed my head feels the effects of it this morning, although i was quite unable to drink cup for cup with him, for had i done so i should have been under the table long before he rose from it, seemingly quite unmoved by the quantity he had drank i have no doubt he summoned me especially to hear his rebuke to the general, exchanged. so that i could take word to the king how earnest he was in his regrets for your treatment." "there was nothing much to complain of," charlie said; "and, indeed, the cell was a palace after the miserable huts in which we have passed the winter. i am glad, however, the czar gave the general a wigging, for he spoke brutally to me on my arrival. you may be sure now that any prisoners that may be taken will be well treated; for doctor kelly, who has been extremely kind to me, will certainly take good care of them. as to my wound, it is of little consequence. it fell on my steel cap, and i think i was stunned by its force rather than rendered insensible by the cut itself." after three hours' riding they came to a village. as soon as they were seen approaching there was a stir there. a man riding ahead waved the white flag that he carried, and when they entered the village they found a party of fifty swedish cavalry in the saddle. the russian escort, as soon as the swedish officer and charlie had joined their friends, turned and rode off. a meal was in readiness, and when charlie, who was still feeling somewhat weak from the effects of his wound, had partaken of it, the party proceeded on their way, and rode into marienburg before nightfall. two or three miles outside the town they met harry jervoise. two soldiers had been sent on at full speed directly charlie reached the village, to report that he had arrived there and was not seriously wounded, and knowing about the time they would arrive, harry had ridden out to meet his friend. "you are looking white," he said after the first hearty greeting. "i am feeling desperately tired, harry. the wound is of no consequence, but i lost a good deal of blood, and it is as much as i can do to keep my saddle, though we have been coming on quietly on purpose. however. i shall soon be a jacobite exile. all right again, and i need hardly say that i am heartily glad to be back." "we have all been in a great way about you, charlie, for we made sure that you were very badly wounded. i can tell you it was a relief when the men rode in three hours ago with the news that you had arrived, and were not badly hurt. the men seemed as pleased as we were, and there was a loud burst of cheering when we told them the news. cunningham and forbes would have ridden out with me; but cunningham is on duty, and forbes thought that we should like to have a chat together." on his arrival charlie was heartily welcomed by captain jervoise and the men of the company, who cheered lustily as he rode up. "you are to go and see the king at once," captain jer- voise said as he dismounted. "i believe he wants to hear especially how you were treated. make the best of it you can, lad; there is no occasion for the feeling of charles against the russians being embittered." "i understand," charlie said; "i will make things as smooth as i can." he walked quickly to the little house where the king had taken up his quarters. there was no sentry at the door, or other sign that the house contained an occupant of special rank. he knocked at the door, and hearing a shout of "enter," opened it and went in. "ah, my young ensign; is it you?" the king said, rising from a low settle on which he was sitting by the fire, talk- ing with colonel schlippenbach. "hurt somewhat, i see, but not badly, i hope. i was sure that you would not have been taken prisoner unless you had been injured." "i was cut down by a blow that clove my helmet, your majesty, and stunned me for some time; but beyond exchanged. making a somewhat long gash on my skull, it did me no great harm." "that speaks well for the thickness of your skull, lad, and i am heartily glad it is no worse. now, tell me, how did they treat you?" "it was a somewhat rough cell into which i was thrown, sir, but i was most kindly tended by an irish doctor high in the czar's service, and when the czar himself arrived and learned that i had not been lodged as well as he thought necessary, i hear he was so angered that he disgraced the general, deprived him of his command, and sent him to take charge of some fortress in the interior of russia, and i was by his orders allowed to occupy the doctor's quarters, and a bed-room was assigned to me next to his. i heard that the czar spoke in terms of the warmest appreciation of your treatment of your prisoners, and said that any of your offi- cers who fell into his hands should be treated with equal courtesy." charles looked gratified. "i am glad to hear it," he said. "in the field, if necessary, blood must flow like water, but there is no reason why we should not behave towards each other with courtesy when the fighting is over. you know nothing of the force there at present?" "no, sir, i heard nothing. i did not exchange a word with anyone save the doctor and another medical man; and as the former treated me as a friend rather than as an enemy, i did not deem it right to question him, and had i done so i am sure that he would have given me no answer." "well, you can return to your quarters, sir. your com- pany did me good service in that fight, and colonel schlip- penbach did not speak in any way too warmly in their favour. i would that i had more of these brave englishmen and scotchmen in my service." a jacobite exile. charlie's head, however, was not as hard as he had believed it to be; and the long ride brought on inflammation of the wound, so that on the following morning he was in a high state of fever. it was a fortnight before he was convales- cent, and the surgeon then recommended that he should have rest and quiet for a time, as he was sorely pulled down and unfit to bear the hardships of a campaign; and it was settled that he should go down with the next convoy to revel, and thence take ship for sweden. he was so weak, that although very sorry to leave the army just as spring was commencing, he himself felt that he should be unable to support the fatigues of the campaign until he had had entire rest and change. a few hours after the decision of the surgeon had been given, major jamieson and captain jervoise entered the room where he was sitting, propped up by pillows. "i have a bit of news that will please you, charlie. the king sent for the major this morning, and told him that he intended to increase our company to a regiment if he could do so. he had heard that a considerable number of scotchmen and englishmen had come over, and were desirous of enlist- ing, but from their ignorance of the language their services had been declined. he said that he was so pleased not only with the conduct of the company in that fight, but with its discipline, physique, and power of endurance, that he had decided to convert it into a regiment. he said he was sorry to lose its services for a time; but as we lost twenty men in the fight, and have some fifteen still too disabled to take their places in the ranks, this was of the less importance. so we are all going to march down to revel with you. major jamieson is appointed colonel, and i am promoted to be major; the king himself directed that cunningham and forbes shall have commissions as cap- tains, and you and harry as lieutenants. the colonel has exchanged. authority given him to nominate scotch and english gentle- men of good name to make up the quota of officers, while most of our own men will be appointed non-commissioned officers to drill the new recruits. the king has been good enough at colonel jamieson's request to say, that as soon as the regiment is raised and organized, it shall be sent up to the front." "that is good news, indeed," charlie said with more animation than he had evinced since his illness. "i have been so accustomed to be attended to in every way that i was quite looking forward with dread to the journey among strangers; still, if you are all going, it will be a different thing altogether. i don't think you will be long in raising the regiment. we only were a week in getting the company together, and if they have been refusing to accept the services of our people, there must be numbers of them at gottenburg." early on the following morning charlie and the men unable to march were placed in waggons, and the company started on its march to revel. it was a heavy jour- ney, for the frost had broken up and the roads were in a terrible state from the heavy traffic passing. there was no delay when they reached the port, as they at once marched on board a ship, which was the next day to start for sweden. orders from the king had already been received that the company was to be conveyed direct to gottenburg, and they entered the port on the fifth day after sailing. the change, the sea air, and the prospect of seeing his father again greatly benefited charlie, and while the company was marched to a large building assigned to their use, he was able to make his way on foot to his father's, assisted by his soldier-servant jock armstrong. "why, charlie," sir marmaduke carstairs exclaimed as he entered, "who would have thought of seeing you? you a jacobite exile. are looking ill, lad; ill and weak. what has happened to youl" charlie briefly related the events that had brought about his return to gottenburg, of which sir marmaduke was entirely ignorant. postal communications were rare and uncertain, aud captain jervoise had not taken advantage of the one opportunity that offered after charlie had been wounded, thinking it better to delay till the lad could write and give a good account of himself. "so jervoise, and his son, and that good fellow jamieson are all back again? that is good news, charlie; and you have been promoted? that is capital too, after only a year in the service. and you have been wounded, and a prisoner among the russians? you have had adventures indeed! i was terribly uneasy when the first news of that wonderful victory at narva came, for we generally have to wait for the arrival of the despatches giving the lists of the killed and wounded. i saw that the regiment had not been in the thick of it, as the lists contained none of your names. i would have given a limb to have taken part in that wonderful battle. when you get as old as i am, my boy, you will feel a pride in telling how you fought at narva, and helped to destroy an entire russian army with the odds ten to one against you. of course you will stay here with me; i sup- pose you have leave at present?" "yes, father, colonel jamieson told me that my first duty was to get strong and well again, and that i was to think of no other until i had performed that. and how have you been getting on, father?" "very well, lad. i don't pretend that it is not a great change from lynnwood, but i get along very well, and thank heaven daily that for so many years i had set aside a portion of my rents, little thinking that the time would come when they would prove my means of existence. my exchanged. friends here have invested the money for me, and it bears good interest, which is punctually paid. with the english and scotch exiles i have as much society as i care for, and as i find i am able to keep a horse,—for living here is not more than half the cost that it would be in england,—i am well enough contented with my lot. there is but one thing that pricks me: that villain john dormay has, as he schemed for, obtained possession of my estates, and has been knighted for his distinguished services to the king. i heard of this some time since, by a letter from one of our jacobite friends to whom i wrote asking for news. he says that the new knight has no great cause for enjoyment in his dignity and possessions, because, not only do the jacobite gentry turn their backs upon him when they meet him in the town, but the better class of whigs hold altogether aloof from him, regarding his elevation at the expense of his wife's kinsman to be disgraceful, although of course they have no idea of the evil plot by which he brought about my ruin. there is great pity expressed for his wife, who has not once stirred beyond the grounds at lynnwood since he took her there, and who is, they say, a shadow of her former self. ciceley, he hears, is well. that cub of a son is in london, and there are reports that he is very wild, and puts his father to much cost. as to the man himself, they say he is surrounded by the lowest knaves, and it is rumoured that he has taken to drink for want of better company. it is some comfort to me to think, that although the villain has my estates he is getting no enjoy- ment out of them. however, i hope some day to have a reckoning with him. the stuarts must come to their own sooner or later until then i am content to rest quietly here in sweden." chapter vm. the passage of the dwina. afew hours after charlie's arrival home, major jervoise and harry came round to the house. "i congratulate you, jervoise, on your new rank," sir marmaduke said heartily as he entered; "and you too, harry. it has been a great comfort to me to know that you and charlie have been together always. at present i you have the advantage of him in looks. my lad has no more strength than a girl, not half the strength, indeed, of many of these sturdy swedish maidens." "yes, charlie has had a bad bout of it, carstairs," major jervoise said cheerfully; "but he has picked up wonderfully in the last ten days, and in as many more i shall look to see him at work again. i only wish that you could have been with us, old friend." "it is of no use wishing, jervoise. we have heard enough here of what the troops have been suffering through the winter, for me to know that if i had had my wish and gone with you, my bones would now be lying somewhere under the soil of livonia." "yes, it was a hard time," major jervoise agreed, "but we all got through it well, thanks principally to our turning to at sports of all kinds. these kept the men in health and prevented them from moping. the king was struck with the condition of our company, and he has ordered the passage of the dwina. that in future all the swedish troops shall take part in such games and amusements when in winter-quarters. of course, charlie has told you we are going to have a regiment entirely composed of scots and englishmen. i put tho scots first, since they will be by far the most numerous. there are always plenty of active spirits who find but small opening for their energy at home, and are ready to take foreign service whenever the chance opens. besides, there are always feuds there. in the old days it was chief against chief, now it is religion against religion; and now as then there are numbers of young fellows glad to exchange the troubles at home for service abroad. there have been quite a crowd of men round our quarters, for directly the news spread that the company was landing, our countrymen flocked round, each eager to learn how many vacancies there were in the ranks, and whether we would receive recruits. their joy was extreme when it became known that jamieson had authority to raise a whole regiment . i doubt not that many of the poor fellows are in great straits." "that i can tell you they are," sir marmaduke broke in. "we have been doing what we can for them, for it was grievous that so many men should be wandering without means or employment in a strange country. but the num- ber was too great for our money to go far among them, and i know that many of them are destitute and well-nigh starving. we had hoped to ship some of them back to scotland, and have been treating with the captain of a vessel sailing in two or three days to carry them home." "it is unfortunate, but they have none to blame but themselves. they should have waited until an invitation for foreigners to enlist was issued by the swedish govern- ment, or until gentlemen of birth raised companies and regiments for service here. however, we are the gainers, a jacobite exile. for i see that we shall not have to wait here many weeks. already, as far as i can judge from what i hear, there must he well-nigh four hundred men here, all eager to serve. we will send the news by the next ship that sails, both to scotland and to our own county, that men, active and fit for service, can be received into a regiment, specially formed of english-speaking soldiers. i will warrant that when it is known in the fells that i am a major in the regiment, and that your son and mine are lieutenants, we shall have two or three score of stout young fellows coming over." the next day, indeed, nearly four hundred men were enlisted into the service, and were divided into eight com- panies. each of these, when complete, was to be two hundred strong. six scottish officers were transferred from swedish regiments to fill up the list of captains, and com- missions were given to several gentlemen of family as lieu- tenants and ensigns. most of these, however, were held over, as the colonel wrote to many gentlemen of his acquain- tance in scotland offering them commissions if they would raise and bring over men. major jervoise did the same to half a dozen young jacobite gentlemen in the north of england, and so successful were the appeals that, within two months of the return of the company to gottenburg, the regiment had been raised to its full strength. a fort- night was spent in drilling the last batch of recruits from morning till night, so that they should be able to take their places in the ranks, and then with drums beating and colours flying the corps embarked at gottenburg, and sailed to join the army. they arrived at revel in the beginning of may. the port was full of ships, for twelve thousand men had embarked at stockholm and other ports to reinforce the army and en- able the king to take the field in force, and by the end of the passage of the dwina. the month the greater portion of the force was concentrated at dorpt. charlie had long since regained his full strength. as soon as he was fit for duty he had rejoined, and had been engaged early and late in the work of drilling the recruits, and in the general organization of the regiment. he and harry, however, found time to take part in any amusement that was going on. they were made welcome in the houses of the principal merchants and other residents of gotten- burg, and much enjoyed their stay in the town, in spite of their longing to be back in time to take part in the early operations of the campaign. when they sailed into the port of revel they found that the campaign had but just commenced, and they marched with all haste to join the force with which the king was advancing against the saxons, who were still besieging riga. their army was commanded by marshal steinau, and was posted on the other side of the river dwina, a broad stream. charles xii. had ridden up to colonel jamieson's regiment upon its arrival, and expressed warm gratification at its appearance when it was paraded for his inspection. "you have done well indeed, colonel," he said. "i had hardly hoped you could have collected so fine a body of men in so short a time." at his request the officers were brought up and introduced. he spoke a few words to those he had known before, saying to charlie: 'i am glad to see you back again, lieutenant. you have quite recovered from that crack on your crown, i hope. but i need not ask, your looks speak for themselves. you have just got back in time to pay my enemies back for it." the prospect was not a cheerful one when the swedes arrived on the banks of the dwina. the saxons were somewhat superior in force, and it would be a desperate enterprise to cross the river in the teeth of their cannon a jacobite exile. and musketry. already the king had caused a number of large flat boats to be constructed; the sides were made very high so as to completely cover the troops from musketry, and were hinged so as to let down and act as gangways and facilitate a landing. charlie was standing on the bank looking at the movements of the saxon troops across the river, and wondering how the passage was to be effected, when a hand was placed on his shoulder. looking round, he saw it was the king, who, as was his custom, was moving about on foot unattended by any of his officers. "wondering how we are to get across, lieutenant?" "that is just what i was thinking over, your majesty." "we want another snowstorm as we had at narva," the king said. "the wind is blowing the right way, but there is no chance of such another stroke of luck at this time of year." "no, sir; but i was thinking that one might make an artificial fog." "how do you mean?" the king asked quickly. "your majesty has great stacks of straw here, collected for forage for the cattle. no doubt a good deal of it is damp, or if not, it could be easily wetted. if we were to build great piles of it all along on the banks here, and set it alight so as to burn very slowly but to give out a great deal of smoke, this light wind would blow it across the river into the faces of the saxons, and completely cover our movements." "you are right!" the king exclaimed. "nothing could be better. we will make a smoke that will blind and half- smother them;" and he hurried away. an hour later orders were sent out to all the regiments, that as soon as it became dusk the men should assemble at the great forage stores for fatigue duty. as soon as they did so they were ordered to pull down the stacks and to carry the straw to the passage of the dwina. the bank of the river, and there pile it in heavy masses twenty yards apart. the whole was to be damped, with the exception of only a small quantity on the windward side of the heaps, which was to be used for starting the fire. in two hours the work was completed. the men were then ordered to return to their camps, have their suppers, and lie down at once. then they were to form up half an hour before daybreak in readiness to take their places in the boats, and were then to lie down in order until the word was given to move forward. this was done, and just as the daylight appeared the heaps of straw were lighted, and dense volumes of smoke rolled across the river, entirely obscuring the opposite shore from view. the saxons, enveloped in the smoke, were unable to understand its meaning. those on the watch had seen no sign of troops on the bank before the smoke began to roll across the water, and the general was uncertain whether a great fire had broken out in the forage stores of the swedes, or whether the fire had been purposely raised either to cover the movements of the army and enable them to march away and cross at some undefended point, or whether to cover their passage. the swedish regiments, which were the first to cross, took their places at once in the boats, the king himself accompanying them. in a quarter of an hour the opposite bank was gained. marshal steinau, an able general, had called the saxons under arms, and was march- ing towards the river, when the wind freshening lifted the thick veil of smoke, and he saw that the swedes had already gained the bank of the river, and at once hurled his cavalry against them. the swedish formation was not complete, and for a mo- ment they were driven back in disorder and forced into the river. the water was shallow, and the king going about among them, quickly restored order and discipline, and ( ) k a jacobite exile. charging in solid formation they drove the cavalry back and advanced across the plain. steinau recalled his troops and posted them in a strong position, one flank being covered by a marsh and the other by a wood. he had time to effect his arrangements, as charles was compelled to wait until the whole of his troops were across. as soon as they were so he led them against the enemy. the battle was a severe one, for the swedes were unpro- vided with artillery, and the saxons, with the advantages of position and a powerful artillery, fought steadily. three times marshal steinau led his cavalry in desperate charges, and each time almost penetrated to the point where charles was directing the movements of his troops; but at last he was struck from his horse by a blow from the butt-end of a musket, and his cuirassiers with difficulty carried him from the field. as soon as his fall became known disorder spread among the ranks of the saxons. some regiments gave way, and the swedes rushing forward with loud shouts, the whole army was speedily in full flight. this victory laid the whole of courland at the mercy of the swedes, all the towns opening their gates at their approach. they were now on the confines of poland, and the king, brave to rashness as he was, hesitated to attack a nation so powerful. poland at that time was a country a little larger than france, though with a somewhat smaller population, but in this respect exceeding sweden. with the poles themselves he had no quarrel, for they had taken no part in the struggle, which had been carried on solely by their king with his saxon troops. the authority of the kings of poland was much smaller than that of other european monarchs. the office was not a hereditary one; the king being elected at a diet composed of the whole of the nobles of the country, the nobility em- bracing practically every free man; and as it was necessary, the passage of the dwina. according to the constitution of the country, that the vote should be unanimous, the difficulties in the way of election were very great, and civil wars of constant occurrence. charles was determined that he would drive augustus, who was the author of the league against him, from the throne, but he desired to do this by means of the poles themselves, rather than to unite the whole nation against him by invading the country. poland was divided into two parts, the larger of which was poland proper, which could at once place thirty thousand men in the field. the other was lithuania, with an army of twelve thousand. these forces were entirely independent of each other. the troops were for the most part cavalry, and the small force per- manently kept up was composed almost entirely of horsemen. they rarely drew pay, and subsisted entirely on plunder, being as formidable to their own people as to an enemy. lithuania, on whose borders the king had taken post with his array, was as usual harassed by two factions, that of the prince sapieha and the prince of oginski, between whom a civil war was going on. the king of sweden took the part of the former, and furnishing him with assistance, speedily enabled him to overcome the oginski party, who received but slight aid from the saxons. oginski's forces were speedily dispersed, and roamed about the country in scattered parties, subsisting on pillage, thereby exciting among the people a lively feeling of hatred against the king of poland, who was regarded as the author of the misfortunes that had befallen the country. from the day when charlie's suggestion of burning clamp straw to conceal the passage of the river had been attended with such success, the king had held him in high favour. there was but a few years' difference between their ages, and the suggestion so promptly made seemed to show the king that the young englishman was a kindred spirit, and the passage of the dwina. be exercised quietly. the jews are, of course, money- lenders as well as traders. large numbers of these petty nobles must be in their debtj either for money lent or goods supplied. my agent goes specially charged to deal with the archbishop, who is quite open to sell his services to me, although he poses as one of the strongest adherents of the saxons. with him it is not a question so much of money as of power. being a wise man, he sees that augustus can never retain his position in the face of the enmity of the great body of the poles, and of my hostility. but while my agent deals with him and such nobles as he indicates as being likely to take my part against augustus, you could ascertain the feeling of the trading class, and endeavour to induce them not only to favour me, but to exert all the in- fluence they possess on my behalf. as there are many scotch merchants in the city, you could begin by making yourself known to them, taking with you letters of introduction from your colonel and any other scotch gentleman whom you may find to have acquaintanceship, if not with the men themselves, with their families in scotland. i do not, of course, say that the mission will be without danger, but that will, i know, be an advantage in your eyes. what do you think of the proposal?" "i do not know, sire," charlie said doubtfully. "i have no experience whatever in matters of that kind." "this will be a good opportunity for you to serve an apprenticeship," the king said decidedly. "there is no chance of anything being done here for months, and as you will have no opportunity of using your sword, you cannot be better employed than in polishing up your wits. i will speak to colonel jamieson about it this evening. count piper will give you full instructions, and will obtain for you from some of our friends lists of the names of the men who would be likely to be most useful to us. you will a jacobite exile. please to remember that the brain does a great deal more than the sword in enabling a man to rise above his fellows. you are a brave young officer, but i have many a score of brave young officers, and it was your quick wit in suggesting the strategy by which we crossed the dwina without loss that has marked you out from among others, and made me see that you are fit for something better than getting your throat cut." the king then changed the subject with his usual abruptness, and dismissed charlie at the end of his ride without any further allusion to the subject. the young fellow, however, knew enough of the king's headstrong disposition to be aware that the matter was settled, and that he could not, without incurring the king's serious displeasure, decline to accept the commission. he walked back with a serious face to the hut that the officers of the company occupied, and asked harry jervoiso to come out to him. "what is it, charlie?" his friend said. "has his gracious majesty been blowing you up, or has your horse broken its knees?" "a much worse thing than either, harry. the king appears to have taken into his head that i am cut out for a diplomatist;" and he then repeated to his friend the con- versation the king had had with him. harry burst into a shout of laughter. "don't be angry, charlie, but i cannot help it. the idea of your going, in disguise, i suppose, and trying to talk over the jewish clothiers and cannie scotch traders, is one of the funniest things i ever heard. and do you think the king was really in earnest?" "the king is always in earnest," charlie said in a vexed tone; "and when he once takes a thing into his head there is no gainsaying him." the passage of the dwina. "that is true enough, charlie," harry said, becoming serious. "well, i have no doubt you will do it just as well as another, and after all there will be some fun in it, and you will be in a big city and likely to have a deal more excitement than will fall to our lot here." "i don't think it will be at all the sort of excitement i should care for, harry. however, my hope is, that the colonel will be able to dissuade him from the idea." "well i don't know that i should wish that if i were in your place, charlie. undoubtedly it is an honour being chosen for such a mission, and it is possible you may get a great deal of credit for it, as the king is always ready to push forward those who do good service. look how much he thinks of you because you made that suggestion about getting up a smoke to cover our passage." "i wish i had never made it," charlie said heartily. "well, in that case, charlie, it is likely enough we should not be talking together here, for our loss in crossing the river under fire would have been terrible." "well, perhaps it is as well as it is," charlie agreed. "but i did not want to attract his attention; i was very happy as i was with you all as for my suggestion about the straw, anyone might have thought of it. i should never have given the matter another moment's consideration, and i should be much better pleased if the king had not done so either, instead of telling the colonel about it, and the colonel speaking to the officers, and such a ridiculous fuss being made about nothing." "my dear charlie," harry said seriously, "you seem to be forgetting that we all came out here together to make our fortune, or at any rate to do as well as we could till the stuarts come to the throne again, and our fathers regain their estates, a matter concerning which, let me tell you, i do not feel by any means so certain as i did in the old days. the passage of the dwina. to you for your advice, which certainly puts the matter in a light in which i had not before seen it. if i thought that i could do it well i should not so much mind, for, as you say, there will be some fun to be got out of it, and some excitement, and there seems little chance of doing anything here for a long time. but what am i to say to the fellows'? how can i argue with them? besides, i don't talk polish." "i don't suppose there are ten men in the army who do so, probably not five. as to what to say, count piper will no doubt give you full instructions as to the line you are to take, the arguments you are to use, and the inducements you are to hold out . that is sure to be all right." "well, do not say anything about it, harry, when you get back. i still hope the colonel will dissuade the king." "then you are singularly hopeful, charlie, that is all i can say. you might persuade a brick wall to move out of your way as easily as induce the king of sweden to give up a plan he has once formed. however, i will say nothing about it." at nine o'clock an orderly came to the hut with a message that the colonel wished to speak to lieutenant carstairs. harry gave his friend a comical look as the latter rose and buckled on his sword. "what is the joke, harryl" his father asked, when charlie had left. "do you know what the colonel can want him for at this time of the evening? it is not his turn for duty.'- "i know, father; but i must not say." "the lad has not been getting into a scrape, i hope?" "nothing serious, i can assure you; but really i must not say anything until he comes back." harry's positive assurance as to the impossibility of changing the king's decision had pretty well dispelled any hopes charlie might before have entertained, and he entered the colonel's room with a grave face. a jacobite exile. "you know why i have sent for you, carstairsl" "yes, sir; i am afraid that i do." "afraid? that is to say, you don't like it." "yes, sir; i own that i don't like it" "nor do i, lad, and i told his majesty so; i said you were too young for so risky a business. the king scoffed at the idea he said, 'he is not much more than two years younger than i am, and if i am old enough to command ah army he is old enough to carry out this mission. we know that he is courageous; he is cool, sharp, and intelligent. why do i choose him? has he not saved me from the loss of about four or five thousand men, and probably a total defeat? a young fellow who can do that ought to be able to cope with jewish traders, and to throw dust in the eyes of the poles. i have chosen him for this service for two reasons. in the first place because i know he will do it well, and even those who consider that i am rash and headstrong admit that i have the knack of picking out good men. in the next place i want to reward him for the service he has done for us. i cannot at his age make a colonel of him, but i can give him a chance of distinguishing himself in a service in which age does not count for so much, and count piper knowing my wishes in the matter will push him forward. moreover, in such a mission as this' his youth will be an advantage, for he is very much less likely to excite suspicion than if he were an older man.' "the king's manner did not admit of argument, and i had only to wait and ask what were his commands. these were simply that you are to call upon his minister to-morrow, and that you would then receive full instructions. the king means well by you, lad, and on turning it over i think better of the plan than i did before. i am convinced, at any rate, that you will do credit to the king's choice." "i will do my best, sir," charlie said. "at present it all the passage of the dwina. seems so vague to me that i can form no idea whatever as to what it will be like. i am sure that the king's intentions are at any rate kind. i am glad to hear you say that on consideration you think better of the plan. then i may mention the matter to major jervoise'i" "certainly, carstairs, and to his son, but it must go no farther. i shall put your name in orders as relieved from duty, and shall mention that you have been despatched on service, which might mean anything. . come and see me to-morrow, lad, after you have received count piper's instructions. as the king reminded me, there are many scotchmen at warsaw, and it is likely that some of them passed through sweden on the' way to establish themselves there, and i may very well have made their acquaintance at gottenburg or stockholm. "once established in the house of one of my countrymen, your position would be fairly safe and not altogether un- pleasant, and you would be certainly far better off than a swede would be engaged on this mission. the swedes are of course regarded by the poles as enemies, but, as there is no feeling against englishmen or scotchmen, you might pass about unnoticed as one of the family of a scottish trader there, or as his assistant." "i don't fear its being unpleasant in the least, colonel. nor do i think anything one way or the other about my safety. i only fear that i shall not be able to carry out properly the mission intrusted to me." "you will do your best, lad, and that is all that can be expected. you have not solicited the post, and as it is none of your choosing, your failure would be the fault of those who have sent you, and not of yourself; but in a matter of this kind there is no such thing as complete failure. when you have to deal with one man you may succeed or you may fail in endeavouring to induce him to act in a cer- a jacobite exile. tain manner, but when you have to deal with a considerable number of men, some will be willing to accept your pro- posals, some will not, and the question of success will probably depend upon outside influences and circumstances over which you have no control whatever. i have no fear that it will be a failure. if our party in poland triumph, or if our army here advances, or if augustus, finding his position hopeless, leaves the country, the good people of warsaw will join their voices to those of the majority. if matters go the other way, you may be sure that they will not risk im- prisonment, confiscation, and perhaps death, by getting up a revolt on their own account. the king will be perfectly aware of this, and will not expect impossibilities, and there is really no occasion whatever for you to worry yourself on that ground." upon calling upon count piper the next morning charlie found that, as the colonel had told him, his mission was a general one. "it will be your duty," the minister said, "to have inter- views with as many of the foreign traders and jews in warsaw as you can, only going to those to whom you have dome sort of introduction from the persons you may first meet, or who are, as far as you can learn from the report of others, ill disposed towards the saxon party. here is a letter, stating to all whom it may concern that you are in the confidence of the king of sweden, and are authorized to represent him. in the first place, you can point out to those you see that, should the present situation continue, it will bring grievous evils upon poland. pro- clamations have already been spread broadcast over the country, saying that the king has no quarrel with the people of poland, but, as their sovereign has without the slightest provocation embarked on a war, he must fight against him and his saxon troops until they are driven the passage of the dwina. from the country. this you will repeat, and will urge that it will be infinitely better that poland herself should cast out the man who has embroiled her with sweden, than that the country should be the scene of a long and sanguinary struggle, in which large districts will necessarily be laid waste, all trade be arrested and grievous suffering inflicted upon the people at large. "you can say that king charles has already received promises of support from a large number of nobles, and is most desirous that the people of the large towns, and especi- ally of the capital, should use their influence in his favour.' that he has himself no ambition and no end to serve save to obtain peace and tranquillity for his country, and that it will be free for the people of poland to elect their own monarch when once augustus of saxony has disappeared from the scene. in this sealed packet you will find a list of influ- ential citizens. it has been furnished me by one well acquainted with the place. the jews are to be assured that, in case of a friendly monarch being placed on the throne, charles will make a treaty with him, insuring free- dom of commerce to the two countries, and will also use his friendly endeavours to obtain from the king and diet an enlargement of the privileges that the jews enjoy. to the foreign merchants you will hold the same language, some- what altered, to suit their condition and wants. "you are not asking them to organize any public move- ment, the time has not yet come for that, but simply to throw the weight of their example and influence against the party of the saxons. of course our friends in warsaw have been doing their best to bring round public opinion in the capital to this direction, but the country is so torn by per- petual intrigues that the trading classes hold aloof altogether from quarrels in which they have no personal interest, and are slow to believe that they can be seriously affected by a jacobite exile. any changes which will take place. our envoy will start to- morrow morning. his mission is an open one. he goes to lay certain complaints, to propose an exchange of prisoners, and to open negotiations for peace. all these are but pre- tences. his real object is to enter into personal communi- cation with two or three powerful personages well disposed towards us. come again to me this evening when you have thought the matter over. i shall then be glad to hear any suggestion you may like to make." "there is one thing, sir, that i should like to ask you. it will evidently be of great advantage to me if i can obtain private letters of introduction to scotch traders in the city. this i cannot do unless by mentioning the fact that i am bound for warsaw. have i your permission to do so, or is it to be kept a close secret?" "no. i seo no objection to your naming it to anyono you can implicitly trust, and who may as you think be able to give you such introductions, but you must impress upon them that the matter must be kept a secret. doubtless the saxons have in their pay people in our camp just as we have in theirs, and were word of your going sent, you would find yourself watched and perhaps arrested. we should of course wish you to be zealous in your mission, but i would say, do not be over-anxious. we are not trying to get up a revolution in warsaw, but seeking to ensure that the feeling in the city should be in our favour; and this, we think, may be brought about to some extent by such assurances as' you can give of the king's friendship, and by such expressions of a belief in the justice of our cause, and in the advantages there would be in getting rid of this foreign prince, as might be said openly by one trader to another when men meet in their exchanges or upon the street. so that the ball is once set rolling, it may be trusted to keep in motion, and there can be little doubt that such expressions of feeling among the passage of the dwina. tho mercantile community of the capital will have some effect even upon nobles who pretend to despise trade, but who are not unfrequently in debt to traders, and who hold their views in a certain respect." "thank you, sir. at what time shall i come this even- "at eight o'clock. by that time i may have thought out farther details for your guidance.' ing? in warsaw. being captured by the enemy. the traders of warsaw will need no reminder of such well-known facts, and will be only too glad to be assured that, unless as a last resource, our king has no intention of making war upon poland, and they will certainly be inclined to bestir themselves to avert such a possibility. you have, i suppose, a list of names of the people with whom you had best put yourself into com- munication t" "yes, sir; here is a list. there are, i see, ten scotchmen, fteen frenchmen, and about as many jews." "i know nothing of the frenchmen, and less of the jews," the colonel said, taking the list; "but i ought to know some of the scotchmen. they will hail from dundee and glasgow, and it may be dumfries." he ran his eye down the list. "aha! here is one, and we need go no further. allan ramsay; we were lads together at the high school of glasgow, and were class-mates at the college. his father was a member of the city council, and was one of the leading traders in the city. allan was a wild lad, as i was myself, and many a scrape did we get into together, and had many a skirmish with the watch. allan had two or three half-brothers, men from ten to twenty years older than himself, and a year or two after i came out to sweden and entered the army as an ensign, who should i meet in the streets of gottenburg but allan ramsay. "we were delighted to see each other, and he stopped with me nearly a week. he had, after leaving the college, gone into his father's business, but when the old man died he could not get on with his half-brothers, who were dour men, and had little patience with allan's restlessness and love of pleasure. so, after a final quarrel, they had given him so much money for his share of the business and a letter of introduction to a trader in poland, who had written to them saying that he wanted a partner with some capital; ( ) i a jacobite exile. and allan was willing enough to try the life in a strange country, for he was a shrewd fellow with all his love of fun. five years afterwards he came through gottenburg again. i did not see him, for my regiment was at stockholm at the time, but he wrote me a letter saying that he had been in scotland to marry and bring back one janet black, the daughter of a mercer, whom i remember well enough as an old flame of his. he reported that he was doing well, and that the poles were not bad fellows to live among, though less punctual in their payments than might be wished. he said he did not suppose that, as a swedish officer, i should ever be in poland, unless sweden produced another gustavus adol- phus; but if i was, he would be delighted to welcome me, and that anyone i asked in warsaw would direct me to his shop. i wonder that i did not think of him before; but that is ten years ago, and it had altogether passed out of my mind till i saw his name here. unless he is greatly changed you may be sure of a hearty welcome from allan ramsay for my sake. we need not trouble about the other names. he will know all about them, and will be able to put you in the way of getting at them." this was a great relief to charlie, who felt that it would be an immense advantage to have the house of someone, from whom he might expect a welcome, to go to on his arrival in warsaw, and he was able during the day to talk over the prospects of the journey with harry jervoise with a real sense of interest and excitement in his mission. in the evening he again went to the house of the minister. the latter, a close observer of men, saw at once that the young officer was in much better spirits than he had been in the morning. "have you obtained information respecting any of the persons whose names i gave you?" he asked. in waksaw. "yes, sir. it seems that most fortunately the trader named allan ramsay is an old friend of colonel jamieson, and the colonel has given me a letter to him which will, he assures me, procure me a hearty welcome." "and have you thought anything more of your best plan of action?" "yes, sir. it seems to me that i had better dress myself in an attire such as might be worn by a young scotchman journeying through the country to place himself with a rela- tion established in business. i could ride behind the royal envoy, as if i had received permission to journey under the protection of his escort, and could drop behind a few miles from the capital and make my way in alone. i could not, of course, inquire for allan ramsay in polish, but i know enough french to ask for him at any shop having a french name over it, if i did not happen to light upon one kept by a scotchman." "yes, that plan will do very well. but you will have no difficulty in finding the house, as i have arranged that a man shall accompany you as servant. .he is a lithuanian, and is the grandson of a soldier of gustavus adolphus who married and settled there. his grandfather kept up his connection with his native country, and the young fellow speaks swedish fairly, and, of course, polish. for the last three weeks i have employed him in various matters, and find him shrewd and, i believe, faithful. such a fellow would be of great use to you, and could if necessary act as your interpreter in any interviews you may have with polish jews, although you will find that most of these men speak other languages besides their own." he touched a bell, and on a servant entering said: "bring stanislas bistron here." an active, well-built young fellow of some four-and-twenty years of age entered the room a minute later. his fair hair a jacobite exile. and blue eyes showed that he took after his swedish an- cestors. "this is the gentleman, stanislas, that you are to accom- pany to warsaw as his servant. you will obey him in all respects as if he had hired you in his service, and should he arrive at any situation of danger or difficulty i trust that you will not be found wanting." the man had looked closely at charlie. "i will do my best, sir, and i doubt not that the gentle- man's service will suit me. he has the look of one who would be kind to his servants." "wait at the outside door," the count said. "captain carstairs will speak to you as he leaves." the man bowed and went out, and the count then said with a smile at the look of surprise on charlie's face, "it was not a slip of the tongue. here is a commission signed by his majesty appointing you to the rank of captain, as he has long considered that you had well won your promotion by your suggestion which enabled him to cross the dwina without loss, but he thought there would be a difficulty in placing you over the heads of so many officers senior to yourself. this inconvenience no longer exists now that you have what may be considered a staff appointment, and the rank may, moreover, add to your weight and influence in your interviews with persons at warsaw. you will need money; here is a purse for your expenses. you may meet with some of these men, especially among the jewish traders, who may need a bribe. bribery is common from the highest to the lowest in poland. you will find in this letter of instructions that you are authorized to promise sums of money to men whose assistance may be valuable. it is impossible to fix the sums. these must depend upon the position of the men and the value of their services; and i can only say do not be lavish, but at the same time do not in warsaw. hesitate to promise a sum that will secure the services of useful men. your best plan will be to find out if you are able what each man expects, and to make what abatement you can. the only limit placed is that you must not commit the royal treasury to a total sum exceeding ten thousand crowns. you will, i hope, find a smaller sum suffice. the envoy will start at six to-morrow morning. i do not know that there are any further instructions to give you. you will find details in these written instructions as to the manner in which you are to communicate from time to time the result of your mission, and you will receive orders when to return." outside the house charlie saw his new servant waiting him. "you have a horse, stanislas?" "yes, sir, i have been provided with one. i have also a brace of pistols and a sword." . "i hope you will not have to use them, but in these dis- turbed times they are necessaries." "i have better clothes than these, sir, if you wish me to look gay." "by no means," charlie replied. "i am going in the character of a young scotchman on my way to join a relative in business in warsaw, and you accompany me in the capacity of guide and servant. as i should not be in a posi- tion to pay high wages, the more humble your appearance the better. we start at six in the morning. the envoy will leave the royal quarters at that hour, and we travel with his escort. join me a quarter of an hour before that at my hut. you had better accompany me there now, so that you may know the spot. i shall not require your services before we start, as my soldier servant will saddle my horse and have all in readiness." harry came to the door of the hut as he saw his friend approaching. a jacobite exile. "well, charlie, is all satisfactorily settled v "yes, quite satisfactorily, i think. that is my new servant. count piper has appointed him; he speaks swedish and polish." "that will be a great comfort to you, charlie. jock armstrong, who has not picked up ten words of swedish since he joined, would have been worse than useless." "ihave another piece of news, harry, that i am in one way very glad of, and in another sorry for. i had always hoped that we should keep together, and that just as we joined together, and were made lieutenants at the same time, it would always be so." "you have got another step?" harry exclaimed. "i am heartily glad of it. i thought very likely you might get it. indeed, i was surprised that you did not get it at once after our fight with the saxons. i am sure you deserved it if ever a fellow did, considering what it saved us all." "of course it is for that," charlie replied, " though i think it is very absurd. count piper said the king would have given it to me at once, only it would have taken me over the heads of so many men older than myself; but he con- sidered that now i am going on a sort of staff work away from the regiment i could be promoted, and he thought too that the title of captain would assist me in my mission." "of course it will," harry said warmly. "that is just what i told you, you know; this business was not quite to your liking, but it was a good long step towards making your fortune. don't you think that i shall be jealous of your going ahead, for i am not in the least. i am sorry you are going away, for i shall miss you terribly; but i am quite content to be with the regiment, and to work my way up gradually. as it is, i am senior lieutenant in the regi ment, and the first battle may give me my company; though in warsaw. g don't expect it, for i do not think my father would wish the colonel to givo me the step if it occurred, for all the other lieutenants are older than we are, though they are junior to us in the regiment, and i feel sure that he would prefer me to remain for another two or three years as lieu- tenant; in fact, he said as much to me a short time ago. still, when i am fit to command a company, there is no doubt i shall get it. "of course i am sorry yo'u are going, very sorry, charlie; but even if you go altogether on to the staff i shall see a good deal of you, for as the king is always with the army, this must be your head-quarters still. i wonder how long you will be away. i like the look of the fellow who is going with you. it was an honest open sort of face, as far as i saw it. at any rate, it is a comfort to think that you won't be absolutely alone, especially among people whose language you don't know. mind, if you are sending letters to count piper, be sure you send a few lines by the same messenger to let me know how you are going on. not long letters, you know; i expect you will have your bands pretty well full, but just enough to give me an idea of how you are, and what you are doing." the following morning charlie started. he had said good-bye to no one except the colonel, major jervoise, and harry, as it was not considered advisable that his departure with the envoy for warsaw should be talked about. he only joined the party, indeed, after they had ridden out of the camp. he had laid aside his uniform, and was dressed in clothes which major jervoise had procured for him from one of the last^joined recruits who had but just received his uniform. the lieutenant commanding the escort of twenty troopers rode up to him as he joined the party. "baron seekers informs me that he has given permission to a young scotchman and his servant travelling to warsaw a jacobite exile. to ride under his protection. are you the person in ques- tion, sir?" "it is all right, lieutenant eberstein," charlie said with a smile. "don't you recognize me?" "of course—lieutenant carstairs. i was at the hunt where you were taken prisoner; but i did not expect to see you in this garb." "i am going on duty," charlie said, "and am dressed according to orders. do not address me by my name. i am at present sandy anderson, going to join a relation in warsaw." "ah, ah! is that so? going to put your head into the den of the lion augustus. well, i rather envy you, for it is likely by all accounts to be dull work here for some time. it is hard to be sitting idle while the russian guns are thundering round narva. now i must join the baron again. whore would you rather ride—after us or behind the escort?" "behind the escort. i think it will be more natural, and i can chat more freely with my servant. he is a lithuanian, but speaks swedish, and i hope to get some information from him." the lieutenant rode on, and as he passed the troopers he told them that the two men behind had the baron's per- mission to ride with them, in order that they might have protection from the bands of pillagers who were roaming through the country. "now, stanislas," charlie said. "we can talk freely together. do you know warsaw?" "i have been there several times, sir, but i never stopped there long. still, i can find my way about the town." "when were you there last?" "some two months ago. it was just before i entered the swedish service." "and what do the people say about the war?" in warsaw. "they are bitterly opposed to it. the king entered upon it without consulting the diet, which was altogether con- trary to the constitution. it is true that the king may do so in cases of emergency, and obtain the sanction of the diet afterwards. there was no urgency here, and the king made his agreement with the czar and the king of denmark without anyone knowing of it. he certainly obtained a sort of sanction from the diet afterwards, but everyone knows how these things are worked. he has a strong party, of course, because it is the interest of a great many people to retain him in power, as no one can say who would be chosen to succeed him. but among the people in general, the traders and the peasants, he is hated, and so are his saxon soldiers. suppose he had gained a slice of swedish territory, it would not have benefited them; while, as it is, all sorts of misfortunes and troubles have come upon tho country, and none can say how much greater may ensue. poland is always split up into parties. they used to unite against the turk, and they would unite again against the swedes if their country was invaded; but as long as king charles keeps his army beyond the frontier, they are too deeply engaged in their own quarrels to think of anything else." "then, even if i were known in tho city to be in the swedish service, there would be little danger, stanislas?" "i do not say that at all," the man said gravely. "in the first place, warsaw is held by saxon soldiers, who would show you but scant mercy were you known to be a swedish officer; and in the second place, the lower classes are ever ready to make tumults; and, if worked upon by the arch bishop or the nobles of the king's party, they would readily enough tear a stranger to pieces. going as you do as a scotchman, there is, i hope, little danger, especially if you are received into a scottish household." in warsaw. transaction; while as to the nobles, there is scarce one who is not deep in their books." 'still, you could not do without them," stanislas said; "there must be somebody to buy and to sell, and as the nobles won't do it, and the peasants can't, i don't see that the foreigners are to be blamed for coming in and taking the trade." "that is true enough," the landlord admitted reluctantly. "still, there is no doubt the country is kept poor, while between them these men gather up the harvest." "better that than let it rot upon the ground," stanislas said unconcernedly; and then, having obtained the name of the street where several of the scottish traders had places of business, he and charlie started on foot. they were not long in finding the shop with the sign of the merchant swinging over the door. "you had better wait outside, stanislas, while i go in and see the master. no; if he is not in the shop his men will not understand me, so come in with me till you see that i have met him, and then go back to the inn for the night. whether i join you there will depend upon the warmth of my welcome." two or three young poles were in the shop. stanislas asked them for allan ramsay, and they replied that he was taking his evening meal upstairs, whereupon charlie pro- duced the letter from colonel jamieson, and stanislas re- quested one of them to take it up to the merchant. three minutes later the inner door opened, and a tall man with a ruddy face and blue eyes entered, holding the open letter in his hand. charlie took a step forward to meet him. "so you are sandy anderson," he said heartily, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "my connection, it seems, and the friend of my dear class-mate jamieson? come upstairs. who is this scotch looking lad with you?" "he is my servant and interpreter. his grandfather was a jacobite exile. a swede, and to him he owes his fair hair and complexion. he is a lithuanian. he is to be trusted, i hope, thoroughly. he was sent with me by—" "nevermind names," the scotchman said hastily. "we will talk about him afterwards. now come upstairs. your letter has thrown me quite into a flutter. never say any- thing in english before those poles," he said as he left the shop; "the fellows pick up languages as easily as i can drink whisky when i get the chance. one of them has been with me two years, and it is quite likely he understands at any rate something of what is said. here we are." he opened a door and ushered charlie into a large room comfortably furnished. his wife, a boy eight years of age, and a girl a year older, were seated at the table. "janet," the merchant said, "this is captain carstairs, alias sandy anderson, a connection of ours, though i cannot say for certain of what degree." "what are you talking of, allan?" she asked in surprise; for her husband, after opening and partly reading the letter, had jumped up and run off without saying a word. "what i say, wife. this gentleman is, for the present, sandy anderson, who has come out to learn the business and language with the intent of some day entering into partnership with me; also, which is more to the point, he is a friend of my good friend jock jamieson, whom you remem- ber well in the old days." "i am very glad indeed to see any friend of jock jamie- son," janet ramsay said warmly, holding out her hand to charlie, "though i do not in the least understand what my husband is talking about, or what your name really is." "my name is carstairs, madam. i am a captain in the swedish service, and am here on a mission for king charles. colonel jamieson, for he is now colonel of the regiment to which i belong—" in warsaw. "what!" the merchant exclaimed; "do you mean to say that our jock jamieson is a colonel well, well, who would have thought he would have climbed the tree so quickly " "it is a regiment entirely of scotch and englishmen," charlie said; "and he was promoted to take its command only a short time since." "well, please to s;t down and join us," mrs. ramsay said. "it is bad manners indeed to keep you talking while the meat is getting cold on the table. when you have finished, it will be time enough to question you." while the meal was going on, however, many questions were asked as to colonel jamieson, the regiment, and its officers. "as soon as matters are more settled," the merchant said. "i will give myself a holiday, and janet and i will go and spend a few days with jock. many of the names of the officers are well known to me, and two or three of the cap- tains were at glasgow college with jock and myself. it will be like old times to have four or five of us talking over the wild doings we had together." the supper over the children were sent off to bed. allan ramsay lit a long pipe. a bottle of wine and two glasses were placed on the table, and mrs. ramsay withdrew to see after domestic matters and prepare a room for charlie. "now, lad, tell me all about it," allan ramsay said. "jock tells me you are here on a mission which he would leave it to yourself to explain; but it is no business of mine, and if you would rather keep it to yourself i will ask no questions." "there is no secret about it as far as you are concerned, mr. ramsay, for it is to you and to other merchants here that i have come to talk it over;" and he then went fully into the subject. the scotchman sat smoking his pioe in silence for some a jacobite exile. minutes after he had concluded. "we do not much meddle with politics here. we have neither voice nor part in the making of kings or of laws, and beyond that we like to have a peace-loving king, it matters little to us whom the diet may set up over us. if we were once to put the tips of our fingers into polish affairs we might give up all thought of trade. they are for ever intriguing and plotting, except when they are fighting; and it would be weary work to keep touch with it all, much less to take part in it. it is our business to buy and to sell, and so that both parties come to us it matters little; one's money is as good as the other. if i had one set of creditors deeper in my books than another, i might wish their party to gain the day, for it would, maybe, set them up in funds, and i might get my money; but as it is, it matters little. there is not a customer i have but is in my debt; money is always scarce with them; for they are reckless and extravagant, keeping a horde of idle loons about them, spending as much money on their own attire and that of their wives as would keep a whole scotch clan in victuals. but if they cannot pay in money, they can pay in corn or in cattle, in wine or in hides. "i do not know which they are fondest of—plotting, or fighting, or feasting; and yet, reckless as they are, they are people to like. if they do sell their votes for money, it is not a scotchman that should throw it in their teeth; for there is scarce a scotch noble since the days of bruce who has not been ready to sell himself for english gold. our own high- landers are as fond of fighting as the poles, and their chiefs are as profuse in hospitality and as reckless and spendthrift. but the poles have their virtues, they love their country and are ready to die for her. they are courteous and even chivalrous, they are hospitable to an excess, they are good husbands and kindly masters, they are recklessly brave; and if they are unduly fond of finery, i who supply so many in warsaw. of them should be the last to find fault with them on that score. they are proud and look down upon us traders, but that does not hurt us; and if they were to take to trading themselves, there would be no place for us here. but this has nothing to do with our present purpose. "certainly if it was a question of polish affairs, neither the foreign nor the jewish merchants here would move a finger one way or the other. we have everything to lose and nothing to gain. suppose we took sides with one of the parties, and the other got the upper hand. why, they might make ordinances hampering us in every way, laying heavy taxes on us, forbidding the export of cattle or horses, and making our lives burdensome. true, if they drove us out they would soon have to repeal the law, for all trade would be at an end. but that would be too late for many of us. however, i do not say that at the present time many would not be disposed to do what they could against augustus of saxony. we are accustomed to civil wars; and though these may cause misery and ruin in the districts where they take place, they do not touch us here in the capital. but this is a different affair. augustus has, with- out reason or provocation, brought down your fiery king of sweden upon us; and if he continues on the throne we may hear the swedish cannon thundering outside our walls, and may have the city taken and sacked. therefore for once politics become our natural business. but though you may find many well-wishers, i doubt if you can obtain any substantial aid. with saxon troops in the town, and the nobles divided, there is no hope of a successful rising in warsaw." "the king did not think of that," charlie said; "his opinion was that were it evident that the citizens of war- saw were strongly opposed to augustus of saxony, it would have a great moral effect, and that perhaps they might in- a jacobite exile. fluence some of the nobles who, as you say, are deeply in their books, or upon whoso estates they may hold mort- gages, to join the party against the king." "they might do something that way," allan ramsay agreed. "of course i have no money out on mortgages. i want badly enough all the money i can lay hands on in my own business. giving credit, as we have to, and often very long credit, it requires a large capital to carry on trade. but the jews, who no doubt do hold large mortgages on the land, cannot exert much power. they cannot hold land themselves, and were one of them to venture to sell the property of any noble of influence he would be ruined. the whole class would shrink from him, and like enough there would be a tumult got up, his house would be burned over his head, and he and his family murdered. still, as far as popular opinion goes, something might be done. at any rate i will get some of my friends here to-morrow, and intro- duce you to them and talk it over. but we must be careful, for augustus has a strong party here, and were it suspected that you are a swedish officer it would go very hard with you. to-morrow you must fetch your servant here. i have already sent round to the inn, and you will find your valises in your room. you said you could rely thoroughly upon him?" "yes, he was handed over to me by count piper himself; and moreover, from what i have seen of him, i am myself confident that he can be trusted. he is of swedish descent, and is, i think, a very honest fellow." for a fortnight charlie remained at allan ramsay's, and then, in spite of the pressing entreaties of his host and hostess, took a lodging near them. he had by this time seen a good many of the leading traders of the town. the scotch and frenchmen had all heartily agreed with his argument that it was for the benefit of poland, and especially for that in warsaw. of warsaw, that augustus of saxony should be replaced by another king who would be acceptable to charles of sweden; but all were of opinion that but little could be done by them towards bringing about this result. with the jewish traders his success was less decided. they admitted that it would be a great misfortune were warsaw taken by the swedes, but as poles they retained their confidence in the national army, and were altogether sceptical that a few thousand swedes could withstand the host that could be put in the field against them. several of them pointedly asked what interest they had in the matter, and to some of these charue was obliged to use his power of promising sums of money in case of success. there were one or two, however, of whom he felt doubtful. chief among these was ben soloman muller, a man of great influence in the jewish community. this man had placed so large a value upon his services that charlie did not feel justified in promising him such a sum. he did not like the man's face, and did not rely upon the promises of silence he had given before the mission was revealed to him. it was for this reason principally that he determined to go into lodgings. should he be denounced, serious trouble might fall upon allan ramsay, and it would at least minimize this risk were he not living at his house when he was arrested. ramsay himself was disposed to make light of the danger. "i believe myself that ben soloman is an old rogue, but he is not a fool. he cannot help seeing that the position of the king is precarious, and were he to cause your arrest he might get little thanks and no profit, while he would be in- curring the risk of the vengeance of charles should he ever become master of the town. did he have you arrested he himself would be forced to appear as a witness against you, and this he could hardly do without the matter becoming publicly known. i do not say, however that if ho could ( ) m a jacobite exile. curry favour with the king's party by doing you harm without appearing in the matter, he would hesitate for a moment. even if you were arrested here, i doubt whether any great harm would befall me, for all the scotch merchants would make common cause with me, and although we have no political power, we have a good deal of influence one way or another, and augustus at this time would not care to make fresh enemies. however, lad, i will not further dispute your decision. were i quito alone i would not let you leave me so long as you stop in this city without taking great offence, but with a wife and two children a man is more timid than if he had but himself to think of." charlie therefore moved into the lodging, but every day he went for three or four hours to the shop, where ho kept up his assumed character by aiding to keep the ledgers, and in learning from the polish assistants the value of the various goods in the shop. one evening he was returning after supper to his lodging when stanislas met him. "i observed three or four evil-looking rascals casting glances at the house to-day, and there are several rough- looking fellows hanging about the house this evening. i do not know if it means anything, but i thought i would let you know." "i think it must be only your fancy, stanislas; i might be arrested by the troops were i denounced, but i apprehend no danger from men of the class you speak of. however, if we should be interfered with, i fancy we could deal with several rascals of that sort." at the corner of his street three or four men were standing. one of them moved as he passed and pushed rudely against him, sending his hat into the gutter then as his face was exposed the fellow exclaimed: "it is he, death to the swedish spy!" they were the last words he uttered. charlie's sword in warsaw. flew from its scabbard, and with a rapid pass he ran the man through the body. the others drew instantly and fell upon charlie with fury, keeping up the shout of, "death to the swedish spy!" it was evidently a signal, for men darted out of doorways and came running down the street repeating the cry. "go, stanislas!" charlie shouted as he defended himself against a dozen assailants. "tell ramsay what has hap- pened; you can do no good here." a moment later he re- ceived a tremendous blow on the back of the head from an iron-bound cudgel, and fell senseless to the ground. chapter x. in evil plight. hen charlie recovered his senses he found himself * v lying bound in a room lighted by a dim lamp, which sufficed only to show that the beams were blackened by smoke and age, and the walls constructed of rough stone-work. there was, so far as he could see, no furniture whatever in it, and he imagined that it was an underground cellar, used per- haps at some time or other as a store-room. it was some time before his brain was clear enough .to understand what had happened, or how he had got into his present position. gra- dually the facts came back to him, and he was able to think coherently in spite of a splitting headache and a dull throbbing pain at the back of his head. "i was knocked down and stunned," he said to himself at last. "i wonder what became of stanislas; i hope he got away. this does not look like a prison. i should say that it was a cellar in the house of one of the gang that set upon me. it is evident that some one has betrayed me, probably that jew, ben soloman. what have they brought me here for? i wonder what are they going to do with me." his head, however, hurt him too much for him to continue the strain of thought, and after a while he dozed off to sleep. when he awoke a faint light was streaming in through a slit two or three inches wide, high up on the wall. he still felt faint and dizzy from the effects of the blow. in lvil plight. parched with thirst he tried to call out for water, but scarce a sound came from his lips. gradually the room seemed to darken and become indis- tinct, and he again lapsed into insensibility. when he again became conscious, some one was pouring water between his lips, and he heard a voice speaking loudly and angrily. he had picked up a few words of polish from stanislas—the names of common things, the words to use in case he lost his way, how to ask for food and for stabling for a horse, but he was unable to understand what was said. he judged, however, that someone was furiously upbraiding the man who was giving him water, for the latter now and then muttered excuses. "he is blowing the fellow up for having so nearly let me slip through their fingers," he said to himself. "probably they want to question me, and find out who i have been in communication with. they shall get nothing at present anyhow." he kept his eyes resolutely closed . presently he heard a door open and another man come in. a few words were exchanged, and this time wine instead of water was poured down his throat. then he was partly, lifted up, and felt a cooling sensation at the back of his head. some bandages were passed round it and he was laid down again. there was some more conversation, then a door opened and two of the men went out; the third walked back to him, muttering angrily to himself. charlie felt sure that he had been moved from the place in which he had been the evening before, his bonds had been loosed, and he was lying on straw and not on the bare ground. opening his eyelids the slightest possible degree, he was confirmed in his belief by seeing that there was much more light than could have entered the cellar. he dared not look farther, and in a short time fell into a far more refreshing sleep than that he before had. a jac bi e exile. the next time he woke his brain was clearer, though there was still a dull sense of pain where he had been struck. without opening his eyes he listened attentively. there was some sound of movement in the room, and pre- sently he heard a faint regular breathing. this continued for some time, and he then heard a sort of grunt. "he is asleep," he said to himself, and opening his eyes slightly looked round. he was in another chamber. it was grimy with dirt, and almost as unfurnished as the cellar, but there was a window through which the sun was streaming brightly. he himself lay upon a heap of straw. at the opposite side of the room was a similar heap, and upon this a man was sitting, leaning against the wall with his chin dropped on his chest. the thought of escape at once occurred to charlie. could he reach the window, which was without glass and a mere opening in the wall, without awakening his guard, he could drop out and make for allan ramsay's. as soon as he tried to move, however, he found that this idea was for the present impracticable. he felt too weak to lift his head, and at the slight rustle of straw caused by the attempt, the man opposite roused himself with a start. he gave another slight movement, and then again lay quiet with his eyes closed. the man came across and spoke, but he made no sign. some more wine was poured between his lips, then the man returned to his former position and all was quiet. as he lay thinking his position over, charlie thought that those who had set his assailants -to their work must have had two objects—the one to put a stop to his efforts to organize an agitation against the king, the second to find out by questioning him who were those with whom he had been in communication, in order that they might be arrested and their property confiscated. he could see no other reason why his life should be spared by his assailants, for in evil plight. it would have been easier and far less troublesome to run him through as he lay senseless on the ground than to carry him off and keep him a prisoner. this idea confirmed the suspicion he had first entertained, that the assault had been organized by ben soloman. he could have no real interest in the king, for he was ready to join in the organization against him could he have obtained his own terms. he might intend to gain credit with the royal party by claiming to have stopped a dangerous plot, and at the same time to benefit himself by bringing about the expulsion or death of many of his foreign trade rivals. for this end the jew would desire that he should be taken alive, in order to serve as a witness against the others. "he will not get any names from me," he said; "besides, none of them have promised to take any active measures against augustus. i did not ask them to do so. there is no high treason in trying to influence public opinion. still, it is likely enough that the jew wants to get me to acknowledge that an insurrection was intended, and will offer me my freedom if i will give such testimony. as i am altogether in his power, the only thing to do is to pretend to be a great deal worse than i am, and so to gain time till i am strong enough to try to get away from this place." all this was not arrived at at once, but was the result of half-dreamy cogitation extending over hours, and interrupted by short snatches of sleep. pic was conscious that from time to time some one came into the room and spoke to his guard, and that three or four times wine was poured be- tween his lips. once he was raised up and fresh cloths dipped in water and bandages applied to his head. in the evening two or three men came in, and he believed that ho recognized the voice of one of them as that of ben soloman. one of the men addressed him suddenly and sharply in swedish. a jacobite exile. 'how are you feeling, are you in pain? we have come here to give you your freedom." charlie was on his guard, and remained silent with his eyes closed. "it is of no use," ben soloman said in his own language, "the fellow is still insensible. the clumsy fool who hit him would fare badly if i knew who he was. i said that he was to be knocked down, silenced, and brought here; and here he is, of no more use than if he were dead." "he will doubtless come round in time," another said in an apologetic tone. "we will bring him round if you will have patience, ben soloman." "well, well," the other replied, "a few days will make no difference; but mind that he is well guarded directly he begins to gain strength. i will get him out of the town as soon as i can. allan ramsay has laid a complaint before the mayor that his countryman has been attacked by a band of ruffians, and has been either killed or carried off by them. it is a pity that servant of his was not killed." "we thought he was dead. two or three of us looked at him, and i could have sworn that life was out of him." "well, then, you would have sworn what was not true, for he managed to crawl to ramsay's, where he lies, i am told, dangerously ill, and an official has been to him to obtain his account of the fray. it was a bungled business from beginning to end." "we could not have calculated on the fellows making such a resistance," the other grumbled. "this one seemed but a lad, and yet he killed three of our party, and the other killed one. a nice business that; and you will have to pay their friends well, ben soloman, for can tell you there is grumbling at the price, which they say was not enough for the work, which you told them would be easy." in evil plight. "it ought to have been," the jew said sullenly; "fifteen or twenty men to overpower a lad. what could have been more easy? however, i will do something for the friends of the men who were fools enough to get themselves killed, but if i hear any grumbling from the others it will be worse for them; there is not one i could not lay by the heels in jail. well, as to this young fellow, i shall not come again, i do not want to be noticed coming here. keep a shrewd look-out after him." "there is no fear about that," the man said; "it will be long ere he is strong enough to walk." "when he gets better, we will have him taken away to a safe place outside the town; once there, i can make him say what i like." "and if he does not get well?" "in that case we will take away his body and bury it outside. i will see to that myself." "i understand," the other sneered. "you don't want anyone to know where it is buried, so as to be able to bring it up against you." "you attend to your own business," the jew said angrily. "why should i care about what they say? at any rate there are some matters between you and me, and there is no fear of your speaking." "not until the time comes when i may think it worth my while to throw away my life in order to secure your death, ben soloman." "it is of no use talking like that," the jew said quietly; "we are useful to each other. i have saved your life from the gibbet, you have done the work i required. between us, it is worse than childish to threaten in the present matter. i do not doubt that you will do your business well, and you know that you will be well paid for it; what can either of us require more?" a jacobite exile. charlie would have given a good deal to understand the conversation, and he would have been specially glad to learn that stanislas had escaped with his life; for he had taken a great fancy to the young lithuanian, and was grieved by the thought that he had probably lost his life in his defence. three days passed. his head was now clear and his appetite returning, and he found, by quietly moving at night when his guard was asleep, that he was gaining strength. the third day there was some talking among several men who entered the room, then he was lifted, wrapt up in some cloths, and put into a large box. he felt this being' hoisted up, it was carried downstairs, and then placed on something. a minute afterwards he felt a vibra- tion, followed by a swaying and bumping, and guessed at once that he was on a cart, and was being removed either to prison or to some other place of confinement; the latter he considered more probable. the journey was a long one; he had no means of judging time, but he thought that it must have lasted two or three hours. then the rumbling ceased, the box was lifted down, and carried a short distance, then the lid was opened and he was again laid down on some straw. he heard the sound of cart wheels, and knew that the vehicle on which he had been brought was being driven away. he was now so hungry that he felt he could no longer maintain the appearance of insensibility. two men were talking in the room, and when for a moment their conversation ceased, he gave a low groan and then opened his eyes. they came at once to his bedside with exclamations of satisfaction. "how do you feel?" one asked in swedish. "i do not know," he said in a low tone. "where am i, how did i get here?" "you are with friends; never mind how you got here. you have been ill, but you will soon get well again. some- in evil plight. one hit you on the head, and we picked you up and brought you here." "i am weak and faint," charlie murmured; "have you any food?" "you shall have some food directly it is prepared. take a drink of wine, and see if you can eat a bit of bread while the broth is preparing." charlie drank a little of the wine that was put to his lips, and then broke up the bread and eat it crumb by crumb, as if it were a great effort to do so, although he had difficulty in restraining himself from eating it voraciously. when he had finished it he closed his eyes again, as if sleep had overpowered him. an hour later there was a touch on his shoulder. "here is some broth, young fellow; wake up and drink that, it will do you good." charlie, as before, slowly sipped down the broth, and then really fell asleep, for the jolting had fatigued him terribly. it was evening when he awoke; two men were sitting at a blazing fire. when he moved one of tb em brought him another basin of broth, and fed him with a spoon. charlie had been long enough in the country to know by the appearance of the room that he was in a peasant's hut. he wondered why he had been brought there, and concluded that it must be because allan ramsay had set so stringent a search on foot in the city, that they considered it necessary to take him away. "they will not keep me here long," he said to himself. "i am sure that i could walk now, and in another two or three days i shall be strong enough to go some distance. that soup has done me a deal of good; i believe half my weakness is from hunger." he no longer kept up the appearance of unconsciousness, and in the morning put various questions to the man who spoke swedish as to a jacobite exile. what had happened and how he came to be there. this man was evidently from his dress and appearance a jew, while the other was as unmistakably a peasant, a rough powerfully-built man with an evil face. the jew gave him but little information, but told him that in a day or two, when he was strong enough to listen, a friend would come who would tell him all about it. on the third day he heard the sound of an approaching horse, and was not surprised when, after a conversation in a low tone outside, ben soloman entered. charlie was now much stronger, but he had carefully abstained from showing any marked im- provement, speaking always in a voice a little above a whisper, and allowing the men to feed him after making one or two pretended attempts to convey the spoon to his mouth. "well, master englishman," ben soloman said, as ho came up to his bedside, "what do you think of things?" 'i do not know what to think," charlie said feebly. "i do not know where i am, or why i am here. i remember that there was a fray in the street, and i suppose i was hurt, but why was i brought here instead of being taken to my lodgings?" "because you would be no use to me in your lodging, and you may be a great deal of use to me here," ben soloman said. "you know you endeavoured to entrap me into a plot against the king's life." charlie shook his head and looked wonder'ingly at the speaker. "no, no," he said, "there was no plot against the king's life; i only asked if you would use your influence among your friends to turn popular feeling against augustus." "nothing of the kind," the jew said harshly. "you wanted him removed by poison or the knife. there is no mistake about that, and that is what i am going to swear, in evil plight. and what, if you want to save your life, you will have to swear too; and you will have to give the names of all con- cerned in the plot, and to swear that they were all agreed to bring about the death of the king. now you under- stand why you were brought here. you are miles away from another house, and you may shout and scream as loud as you like. you are in my power." "i would die rather than make a false accusation." "listen to me," the jew said sternly. "you are weak now, too weak to suffer much, this day week i will return, and then you had best change your mind and sign a docu- ment i shall bring with me, with the full particulars of the plot to murder the king, and the names of those concerned in it. this you will sign. i shall take it to the proper authorities, and obtain a promise that your life shall be spared on condition of your giving evidence against these persons." "i would never sign such a villainous document," charlie said. "you will sign it," ben soloman said calmly. "when you find yourself roasting over a slow charcoal fire, you will be ready to sign anything i wish you to." so saying, he turned and left the room. he talked for some time to the men outside, then charlie heard him ride off. "you villain," he said to himself, "when you come at the end of a week you will not find me here; but if i get a chance of having a reckoning with you, it will be bad for you." charlie's progress was apparently slow; the next day he was able to sit up and feed himself, two days later he could totter across the room and lie down before the fire. the men were completely deceived by his acting, and considering any attempt to escape in his present weak state altogether a jacobite exile. impossible, paid but little hoed to him, the peasant fre- quently absenting himself for hours together. looking from his window, charlie saw that the hut was situated in a thick wood, and from the blackened appearance of the peasant's face and garmonts he guessed him to be a charcoal- burner, and therefore judged that the trees he saw must form part of a forest of considerable extent. the weather was warm, and his other guard often sat for a while outside the door. during his absence charlie lifted the logs of wood piled beside the hearth, and was able to test his returning strength, assuring himself that, although not yet fully recovered, he was gaining ground daily. he resolved not to wait until the seventh day; for ben soloman might change his mind and return before the day he had named. he determined, therefore, that on the sixth day he would make the attempt. ho had no fear of being unable to overcome his jewish guard, as he would have the advan- tage of a surprise. he only delayed as long as possible, because he doubted his powers of walking any great distance and of evading the charcoal-burner, who would on his return certainly set out in pursuit of him. moreover, he wished to remain in the hut nearly up to the time of the jew's roturn, as he was determined to wait in the forest and revenge himself for the suffering he had caused him and for the torture to which he intended to put him. the evening before the day on which he decided to make the attempt the charcoal-burner and the jew were in earnest conversation. the word signifying brigand was frequently repeated, and although he could not understand much more than this, he concluded from the peasant's talk and gestures that he had either come across some of these men in the forest, or had gathered from signs he had observed, perhaps from their fires, that they were there. the jew shrugged his shoulders when the narration was finished. the presence in evil plight. of brigands was a matter of indifference to him. the next day the charcoal-burner went off at noon. "where does he go to?" charlie asked his guard. "he has got some charcoal fires alight, and is obliged to go and see to them. they have to be kept covered up with wet leaves and earth so that the wood shall only smoulder," the man said, as he lounged out of the hut to his usual seat. charlie waited a short time, then went to the pile of logs and picked out a straight stick about a yard long and two inches in diameter. with one of the heavier ones he could have killed the man, but the fellow was only acting under the orders of his employer, and although he would doubtless, at ben soloman's commands, have roasted him alive without compunction, he had not behaved with any unkindness, and had, indeed, seemed to do his best for him. taking the stick, he went to the door. he trod lightly, but in the stillness of the forest the man heard him, and glanced round as he came out. seeing the stick in his hand he leaped up, exclaiming, "you young fool!" and sprang towards him. he had scarce time to feel surprise as charlie quickly raised the club. it described a swift sweep, fell full on his head, and he dropped to the ground as if shot. charlie ran in again, seized a coil of rope, bound his hands and feet securely, and dragged him into the hut. then he dashed some cold water on his face. the man opened his eyes and tried to move. "you are too tightly bound to move, pauloff," he said. "i could have killed you if i had chosen, but i did not wish to. you have not been unkind to me, and i owe you no grudge; but tell your rascally employer that i will be even with him some day for the evil he has done mo." "you might as well have killed me," the man said, "for he will do so when he finds i let you escape." a jacobite exile. "then my advice to you is, be beforehand with him. you are as strong a man as he is, and if i were in your place, and a man who meant to kill me came into a lonely hut like this, i would take precious good care that he had no chance of carrying out his intentions." charlie then took two loaves of black bread and a portion of goats' flesh from the cupboard, found a bottle about a quarter full of coarse spirits, filled it up with water and put it in his pocket, and then, after taking possession of the long knife his captive wore in his belt, went out of the hut and closed the door behind him. he had purposely moved slowly about the hut as he made these preparations, in order that the jew should believe that he was still weak; but, indeed, the effort of dragging the man into the hut had severely taxed his strength, and he found that he was much weaker than he had supposed. the hut stood in a very small clearing, and charlie had no difficulty in seeing the track by which the cart had come, for the marks of the wheels were still visiblo in the soft soil. he followed this, until after about two miles' walking he came to the edge of the wood. then he retraced his steps for a quarter of a mile, turned off, and with some difficulty made his way into a patch of thick undergrowth, where, after first cutting a formidable cudgel, he lay down, completely exhausted. late in the afternoon he was aroused from a doze by the sound of footsteps, and looking through the screen of leaves he saw his late jailers hurrying along the path. the charcoal-burner carried a heavy axe, while the jew, whose head was bound up with a cloth, had a long knife in his girdle. they went as far as the end of the forest, and then retraced their steps slowly. they were talking loudly, and charlie could gather from the few words he understood, and by their gestures, something of the pur- port of their conversation. in evil plight. "i told you it was of no use your coming on as far as this," the jew said; "why, he was hardly strong enough to walk." "he managed to knock you down, and afterwards to drag you into the house," the other said. "it does not require much strength to knock a man down with a heavy club when he is not expecting it, conrad. he certainly did drag me in, but he was obliged to sit down afterwards, and i watched him out of one eye as he was making his preparations, and he could only just totter about. i would wager you anything he cannot have gone two hundred yards from the house; that is where we must search for him, i warrant we shall find him hidden in a thicket thereabouts." "we shall have to take a lantern then, for it will be dark before we get back." "our best plan will be to leave it alone till morning. if we sit outside the hut and take it in turns to watch we shall hear him when he moves, which he is sure to do when it gets dark. it will be a still night, and we should hear a stick break half a mile away. we shall catch him safe enough before he has gone far." "well, i hope we shall have him back before ben soloman comes," the charcoal-burner said, "or it will be worse for both of us. you know as well as i do he has got my neck in a noose, and he has got his thumb on you" "if we can't find this swede, i would not wait here for any money. i would fly at once." "you would need to fly, in truth, to get beyond ben soloman's clutches," the charcoal-burner said gruffly. "he has got agents all over the country." "then what would you do?" "there is only one thing to do. it is our lives or his. when he rides up to-morrow we will meet him at the door as if nothing had happened, and, with my axe, i will ( ) n a jacobite exile. cleave his head asunder as he comes in. if he sees me in time to retreat you shall stab him in the back. then we will dig a big hole in the wood and throw him in, and we will kill his horso and bury it with him. who would ever be the wiser? i was going to propose it last time, only i was not sure of you then; but now that you are in it as deep as i am—deeper indeed, for he put you here specially to look after this youngster—your interest in the matter is as great as mine." the jew was silent for some time, then he said: "he has got papers at home which would bring me to the gallows." "pooh!" the other baid. "you do not suppose that when it is found that he does not return, and his heirs open his coffers, they will take any trouble about what there may be in the papers there except such as relate to his money. i will warrant there are papers there which con- cern scores of men besides you, for i know that ben soloman likes to work with agents he has got under his thumb. but even if all the papers should be put into the hands of the authorities, what would come of it? thoy have got their hands full of other matters for the present, and with the swedes on their frontier and the whole country divided into factions, who do you think is going to trouble to hunt up men for affairs that occurred years ago even if they did, they would not catch you. they have not got the means of running you down that ben soloman has. i tell you, man, it must be done. there is no other way out of it." "well, conrad, if we cannot find this fellow before ben soloman comes i am with you in the business. i have been working for him on starvation pay for the last three years, and hate him as much as you can." when they reached the hut they cooked a meal, and then prepared to keep alternate watch. charlie encounters ben soloman in the wood. in evil plight. but you were so busy in taking the spoil that you did not hear us. "i see the jew is dead; fell on his own knife. it is just as well for him, for we should have tied him to a tree and made a bonfire of him if we had caught him." charlie understood but little of this, but said when the other finished: "i understand but little polish." "what are you then—a russian? you do not look like one." "i am an englishman, and am working in the house of allan ramsay, a scotch trader in warsaw." "well, you are a bold fellow anyhow, and after the smart way in which you disposed of this jew and possessed yourself of his purse, you will do honour to our trade." "i hope you will let me go," charlie said. "my friends in warsaw will pay a ransom for me if you will let me return there." "no, no, young fellow. you would of course put down this jew's death to our doing, and we have weight enough on our backs already. he is a man of great influence, and all his tribe would be pressing on the government to hunt us down. you shall go with us, and the purse you took from ben soloman will pay your footing." charlie saw that it would be useless to try and alter the man's decision, especially as he knew so little of the language. he therefore shrugged his shoulders, and said that he was ready to go with them if it must be so. the jew's body was now thoroughly searched. various papers were found upon him, but as these proved useless to the brigands they were torn up. "shall we take the horse with us?" one of the men asked the leader. "no, it would be worse than useless in the forest. leavo it standing here, it will find its way back in time. then chapter xi. with brigands. the man who had spoken to charlie drew the long knife from the back of the jew, wiped it on the grass, and handed it to him. "that ought to be your property," he said. "it has done you good service." not sorry to have a weapon in addition to his cudgel, charlie placed it in his belt and then started with the bandits. he would not have cared to face the charcoal- burner alone; but now that the band regarded him as enrolled among their number, he felt no uneasiness respects ing him. when they issued from the trees the jew was seen standing at the door of the hut. he at once ran in on seeing them, and came out again accompanied by the charcoal-burner, who carried his axe on his shoulder. the jew started on catching sight of charlie among the ranks of the brigands, and said a word or two to his companion. "well, master charcoal-burner," the leader of the party said, "how is it that honest woodmen consort with rogues of the town?" "i don't know that they do so willingly," the man said gruffly. "but some of us to our cost have put our heads into nooses, and the rogues of the town have got hold of the other end of the ropes, and we must just walk as we are told to." a jacobite exile. 'well, that is true enough," the brigand said. "and you, jew, what are you doing here?" "i am like conrad," he replied sulkily. "it is not only countrymen who have their necks in a noose, and i have to do what i am ordered." "by a bigger rogue than yourself?" "that is so; bigger and cleverer." "you are expecting him here now, our new comrade tells us. well, you need expect him no longer; he will not come. if you will go along the path you will come upon his body, and may bury him if you like to take the trouble." an exclamation of satisfaction broke from the two men. "you have done us a service indeed," the charcoal- burner said. "we had thought to do it for ourselves this morning, for after the escape of him you call your new comrade he would have shown us no mercy." "you may thank our new comrade and not us," the brigand said. "we only arrived on the spot when it was all over." the jew looked at charlie in astonishment "what! did he kill ben soloman?" "that did he; or rather the jew trilled himself. there was a grapple hand to hand and a wrestle, the jew fell undermost, and was pierced with his own knife." "but the lad is but just out of a sick-bed and has no strength for a struggle, and ben soloman, though past middle life, was strong and active." "neither strong enough nor active enough," the man laughed. "you have been nicely taken in; who would have thought that two jews and a pole would have been cheated by an english lad? his face shows that he has been ill, and doubtless he has not yet recovered his full strength, but he was strong enough anyhow to overthrow ben solo- with brigands. man. now, what have you in the hut? we are in need of provisions." the hut was ransacked; the flour, two bottles of spirits, and a skin of wineseized, and the meat cut up and roasted over the fire. after the meal was eaten the captain called upon charlie to tell his story more fully, and this he did with the aid of the man who spoke swedish; starting, how- ever, only at the point when he was attacked in the street, as he felt it better to remain silent as to his connection with the swedish army. "but what was the cause of ben soloman's hostility to you?" "there are some in warsaw who are of opinion that augustus of saxony has done much harm to poland in engaging without cause in the war against charles of sweden, and who think that it would be well that he should be dethroned, and some other prince made king in his place. to this party many of the traders belong, and the jew had reason to think that i was acquainted with the design, and could give the names of those concerned in it. there was really no plot against augustus, but it was only in- tended that a popular demonstration against his rule should be made. but soloman wanted me to give evidence that there was a conspiracy against the king's life, so that he might gain great credit by exposing it, and might at the same time rid himself of many of his rivals in the trade." "he was an artful fox," the leader of the brigands said when this had been translated to him. "but where is the jew he put over you?" three or four of the men sprang to their feet and ran out, but the jew was nowhere to be seen. the captain was furious, and abused his men right and left, while his anger was in no way mitigated when one of them told him that if he had wanted the jew kept, he should have given one of a jacobite exile. them orders to look after him. this was so evident that the chief was silenced for a moment. "how long is it since any of you saw him last?" "he went round with the wine-skin, and filled our cups just as we sat down to breakfast," one of the men said. "i have not noticed him since." nor had any of the others. "then it will be no use to pursue; he has had more than half an hour's start, and long before this he will have mounted ben soloman's horse and have ridden off. "well, comrade," he said, turning to charlie,- "this settles your movements. i was but half in earnest before as to your joining us; but it is clear now that there's nothing else for you to do for the present. this fellow will, directly he gets to warsaw, denounce you as the mur- derer of his master. that he is sure to do to avert sus- picion from himself, and if you were to return there it would go hard with you. so for a time you must throw in your lot with us." when this was translated to charlie, he saw at once the force of the argument. he could not have denied that the jew had fallen in a hand-to-hand struggle with himself, and were he to appear in warsaw he might be killed by the co-religionists of ben soloman; or if he escaped this, might lie in a dungeon for months awaiting his trial, and perhaps be finally executed. there was nothing for him now but to rejoin the swedes, and it would be some time yet before he would be sufficiently recovered to undertake such a journey. "i should not mind if i could send a lptter to allan ramsay, to tell him what has befallen me; he will be thinking i am dead, and will at any rate be in great anxiety about me." "i have taken a liking to you, young fellow," the leader with brigands. said, "and will send in one of my men to warsaw with a letter; that is, if you can write one." "yes, i can write. fortunately there are paper, pen, and an ink-horn on that shelf. ben soloman brought them the last time he came to write down the lies he wanted me to testify to. i am greatly obliged to you, and will do it at once." as he had, only the day before he was attacked, sent off a messenger to count piper telling him all he had done the previous week, there was no occasion to repeat this, and he had only to give an account of his capture and the events that had since occurred. "you see," he said, "i cannot return to warsaw; the jew who was here unfortunately heard that it was in a struggle with me ben soloman was killed, and he will of course denounce me as his murderer, though the deed was done in fair fight. i should have all his tribe against me, and might be imprisoned for months awaiting trial. i am still very weak, and could not attempt the journey to the frontier. i am, however, gaining strength, and as soon as i am quite recovered i shall take the first opportunity of leaving the men i am with, and making for the swedish camp. please forward this news by a sure hand to count piper, and ex- press my sorrow that my mission has not been completed, although indeed i do not think that my further stay at warsaw would have been any great service, for it is clear that the great majority of the traders will not move in the matter until the swedes advance, and, from their point of view, it is not to their interest to do so. i know but little -of the men i am with at present, beyond the fact that they are bandits, nor can i say whether they are disbanded soldiers or criminals who have escaped from justice; but at any rate they show me no ill-will. i have no doubt i shall be able to get on fairly with them until i am able to make my escape. i wish i had poor stanislas with me; only one a jacobite exile. of the men here speaks swedish, and he does not know very much of the language. i cannot say at present whether the twenty men here are the whole of the band, or whether they are only a portion of it; nor do i know whether the men subsist by plundering the peasants or venture on more serious crimes. thanking you for your great kindness dur- ing my stay at warsaw, i remain, yours gratefully,—charlie cakstairs." while he was occupied in writing this letter an animated conversation was going on between the bandits. charlie gath- ered that this related to their future operations, but more than this he could not learn. in a postscript to the letter he requested allan ramsay to hand over to the bearer some of the clothes left in his lodgings, and to pay him for his trouble. "as to the money i left in your hands, i do not think it worth while for you to send it. however much these men may consider me a comrade, i have not sufficient faith in their honesty to believe that money would reach me safely; but if you send me a suit of clothes, two or three gold pieces might be wrapped up in a piece of cloth and shoved into the toe of a shoe. the parcel must be a small one, or there would be little chance of the man carrying it far. i will ask him, however, to bring me a sword if you will buy one for me, and my pistols." he folded up the letter and gave it to the captain. there was no means of fastening it, but this mattered little, because, being written in english, there was no chance of its being read. the captain handed it to one of the men with instructions for its delivery. the messenger started at once; the others, after remaining a short time in the hut, set out through the forest. after an hour's walking charlie was unable to go further. the captain seeing this ordered four of the men to stop with him and to follow the next morning. as soon as he had gone on with the rest of with bklgands. the band, the men set about collecting sticks and making a fire. charlie, who was utterly exhausted, threw himself on the ground, and was not long before he fell sound asleep. when he awoke the shades of evening were already falling, and the men were sitting over the fire roasting a portion of a goat, one of a flock they had fallen in with in the wood, where large numbers roamed about in a semi-wild state. the man who could speak swedish was one of those who had remained with him, and from him he learnt that the present head-quarters of the band were some six miles farther away. this distance was performed next morning, frequent halts being made to enable him to sit down and rest; and it was not till five hours after the start that they arrived. overgrown as it now was with trees and under- growth, he could see that a village once stood there. it must, however, have been abandoned a very long time, as trees of considerable size grew among the low walls and piles of stones that marked where cottages had stood. the place occupied by the brigands had in former times been a castellated building of some strength, standing on a knoll in the middle of the village, which had probably been in- habited by the retainers of its owner. part of the wall had fallen, but a large arched room, that had doubtless been the banqueting hall of the castle, remained almost intact, and here the brigands had established themselves. several fires burned on the flagged floors, the smoke finding its way out through holes and crevices in the roof. some fifty men were gathered round these, and were occupied in cooking their mid-day meal. "i am glad to see that you have arrived," the captain said, coming across to charlie. "i expected you two hours ago, and intended as soon as we had finished our meal to send out another four men to meet you and help to carry you in." a jacobite exile. "thank you," charlie said. "it is not the men's fault we are late, but the last part of the way we came on very slowly. i was getting so exhausted that i had to stop every few hundred yards." "well, you had better eat something, and then lie down for a sleep. meat is plentiful with us, for there are thou- sands of goats in the forest, and occasionally we get a deer or wild boar. if we had but bread and wine we should live like nobles. our supplies, however, are low at present, and we shall have to make an expedition to-morrow or next day to replenish them." charlie ate a few mouthfuls of meat, and then lay down and slept for some hours on a bed of leaves. he was awoke by loud and excited talking among the men, and learnt from honred that one of the men who had been left on watch at the mouth of the path by which he had entered the forest, had just brought in the news that a party of a hundred infantry led by the jew had arrived with a cart. in this the body of ben soloman had been sent off, while the troops had established themselves in the little clearing round the hut. "this comes of letting that jew escape," the captain said. "no doubt he told the story his own way, and the jewish traders went to the governor and asked that troops should be sent to root us out. well, they are far enough away at present, and i have sent off to have their movements watched. it is a good nine miles from here to the hut, and they may look for a week before they find this place, unless that rascally jew has heard of it from the woodman, or they get hold of the fellow himself, though i should think they will hardly do that. i fancy he has some cause of quarrel with the authorities, and will not put himself in the way of being questioned closely if he can help it." the next morning when charlie awoke, two men were with brigands. standing beside him. his eyes first fell on the one who had been to the town, and who held a large bundle in his hand. then he turned his eyes to the other, and gave an exclamation of pleasure as he saw that it was stanislas. he looked pale and weak, and was evidently just recovering from a severe illness. "why, stanislas!" he exclaimed, "this is a pleasure in- deed. i never for a moment dreamt of seeing you. i heard from the jew who guarded me that you got away, but i was afraid that you had been badly wounded. why, my brave fellow, what brings you here?" "i have come to be with your honour," the man said. "it was, of course, my duty to be by your side. i was very ill for a week, for i had half a dozen wounds, but i managed after the assailants left me to crawl back to mr. ramsay's to tell him what had happened. i don't remember much about the next few days. since then i have been mending rapidly; none of the wounds were very serious, and it was more loss of blood than anything else that ailed me. mr. ramsay searched high and low for you, and we had all given you up for dead till a few hours before this man arrived with your letter. we heard you had killed ben soloman. i had a long talk with your messenger, who received a handsome present from mr. ramsay, and he agreed to conduct me here upon my solemn promise that if the captain would not receive me i would not give any information on my return as to the whereabouts of the band. mr. ramsay hired a light cart, and that brought us yesterday far into the forest. we camped there, and i had not more than a couple of miles to walk to get here this morning." "have you seen the captain?" charlie asked eagerly. "yes; i was stopped by some sentries a quarter of a mile away, and was kept there while my guide came on and got permission of the captain for me to be brought in. a jacobite exile. when i met him i had no great difficulty in persuading him to let me stop, for mr. ramsay had given me fifty rix-dollars to give him; and so, your honour, here i am, and here is a letter from mr. ramsay himself." "i cannot tell you how glad i am to have you, stanislas. i am getting better, but i am so weak, that i took five hours yesterday to get six miles. now i have got you to talk to i shall pick up strength faster than i have been doing, for it has been very dull work having no one who could understand me. there is only one man here who understands a word of swedish." "we will soon get you round, sir, never fear. i have brought with me four casks of wine. they were left at the place where the cart stopped last night, but the captain has sent off men already to bring them in. you will be all the better for a suit of clean clothes." "that i shall; it is a month now since i had a change, and my jerkin is all stained with blood. i want a wash more than anything; for there was no water near the hut, and tho charcoal-burner used to bring in a small keg from a spring he passed on his way to his work. that was enough for drinking, but not enough for washing—a mat- ter which never seemed to have entered into his head or that of the jew as being in the slightest degree neces- sary." "there is a well just outside," stanislas said. "i saw them drawing water in buckets as we came in. i suppose it was the well of this castle in the old time." "i will go and have a wash, and change my clothes the first thing," charlie said. "mr. ramsay's letter will keep till after that." they went out to the well together. "so you heard the story that i had killed ben soloman before you left?" with brigands. "yes; before your letter arrived mr. ramsay sent for me, and told me a jewish trader had just informed him that news had come that ben solomau had been murdered, and the deed had been done by the young scotchman who had been with him. mr. ramsay did not believe the story in the slightest. he admitted that ben soloman might have been murdered, and even said frankly that, hated as he was, it was the most natural end for him to come to; but that you should have done so was, he said, absurd. in the first place, he did not think that you were alive; and in the second, it was far more probable that you had been murdered by ben soloman than that he should have been murdered by you. "however, even before your letter came three or four hours later, there seemed no longer any doubt that you had killed the jew. by that time there was quite an uproar among his people. he was the leader of their community, and had dealings with so many nobles that his influence was great; and although he was little liked, he was regarded as an important person, and his loss was a very heavy one to the jewish community. a deputation went to the governor, and we heard that troops would be at once sent out to capture you and the band of brigands you had joined. mr. ramsay told me that it was fortunate indeed that you had not returned to the city. but no doubt he has told you all that in the letter." "i feel quite another man, stanislas," charlie said when he had changed his garments. "now i can read the letter you brought me." after expressing the great satisfaction he felt at the news that charlie was alive, mr. ramsay went on to say that even were he well he could not return to warsaw in the present state of public feeling. "your story that you were attacked, grievously wounded, ( ) o a jacobite exile. and after being confined here for some days, carried away and confined in the wood by order of ben soloman, and that he visited you there, would be treated with derision. the version given by the man who brought in the story of the jew's death was that he himself was staying in the cottage of a charcoal-burner, an acquaintance of his, and that a party of brigands, of whom you were one, arrived there, and that they were boasting of having caused the death of ben soloman, who had fallen by your hand. he managed to escape from the brigands, and on the road found the dead body of his em- ployer, who was, he knew, that morning coming out to give him some instructions. my opinion, and that of my friends who knew you, was that the fellow had himself killed and robbed his master; but your letter, of course, showed that his account was true to somo extent—that ben soloman had fallen in a struggle with you, and that you your- self were a prisoner in the hands of these bandits. still, as it would be next to impossible for you to prove the truth of your story, and as the jews of the place, who are numerous and influential, are dead against you, your life would cer- tainly bo forfeited were you to be captured. "i know your story to be true, but it would appear wildly improbable to others that this wealthy jew should have conspired in the first place to cause an attack to be made upon an unknown young stranger, still less that he should have had him carried off to the forest, and should have gone to visit him there. the explanation that you were a swedish officer in disguise would not benefit you in any way, while it would involve us who knew you, in your danger, and would cause the jew to be regarded as a man who had lost his life in endeavouring to unmask a plot against poland. therefore, i think it is extremely fortu- nate that you are for the present safe in the hands of these brigands, and should certainly advise you to make no with brigands. attempt to leave them until you are perfectly well and strong. "i have, as you directed me, hidden a few pieces of gold in your shoe, and have handed the rest of your money to your man, who is starting to join you. he will conceal it about him. i have just heard that a body of troops are starting at once for the forest, and that orders have been sent to other towns to send detachments into it at different points, so it is evident the authorities are deter- mined to catch you if possible. if you had killed half a dozen traders in a smaller way they would have cared little about it; but just at present, pressed as the king is by want of money, he is bound to do everything he can to please the jewish traders, as it is upon them that he must rely for loans for the payment of his troops. "in this matter, then, he will leave no stone unturned to gratify them, and i should strongly advise your band to move away from the neighbourhood, at any rate for a time. they may plunder whole villages with impunity, but what is regarded as the murder of the richest citizen of warsaw, a man mixed up in business and politics with half the prin- cipal nobles of the land, is a different matter altogether. do not think of trying to traverse the country until you are perfectly strong. it will be a dangerous business at the best, but with your man with you to bear the brunt of replying to questions, i have every confidence that you will succeed in making your way through. as to this, i can give no advice, as there is no saying as to the point from which you may start, or the direction in which you may travel. "should you at any time find yourself in a town in which there are any of my countrymen established in trade, and you will find them nearly everywhere, use my name. i think it is pretty generally known to scotchmen in poland. a jacobite exile. you will see i have inclosed a note that will be useful to you." the inclosure contained only a few words: "i, allan ramsay, merchant of warsaw, do declare the bearer of this note to be my friend, and beg any countrymen of mine to whom he may present himself, to assist him in every way, and should he require money, to furnish him with it, i undertaking to make myself responsible for the same, and to pay all monies and other charges that he may incur." "the first thing to do," charlie said, as he placed the letters in his doublet, "is to let the leader of our band know that other bodies of troops besides that at the hut are about to enter the forest. he may decide that it is necessary to march away at once." as soon, indeed, as the outlaw received the tidings, he issued orders for the band to prepare for instant departure. "a party of five or six men together," he said to charlie, "might hide in this forest for years. but a band of fifty is too large to be long concealed. to begin with, they must get food, and must either buy it or hunt for it; and in the second, there are a considerable number of men living in the forest, charcoal-burners and herders of goats and swine, and any of these, if questioned by the troops, might mention that they had seen a considerable number of men passing. as it is, we will break up into parties of seven or eight, and appoint a rendezvous where we may meet again." the band was speedily mustered, for with the exception of those who were watching the forest through which the troops at the hut must march to reach them, the whole were close at hand. a messenger was sent off to call in the scouts. then the booty that had been taken during their late excursions was brought out and emptied on the with brigands. ground. it consisted of money and jewellery. it was divided into equal portions, of which each member took one, the lieutenants of the band two, and the captain three. "you don't share this time," the latter said to charlie; "but next time, of course, you and your comrade will each have your portion." when this was done, the men were told off in parties of six or seven, and instructions given as to the point of rendezvous. each band chose its own leader, and in an hour from the reception of the news the place was deserted, and the parties were making their way in different direc- tions through the forest. charlie and stanislas formed part of the captain's own force, which numbered ten in all. "do you think they will all turn up at the meeting- place?" charlie asked the leader, whose name he now ascertained was ladislas koffski. "they may," he said. "but it is seldom that bands when they once disperse like this ever come together again. it is impossible to content every one, and any man who is chosen leader of a party may, if he is dissatisfied, per- suade those with him to join some other band. even if they do not go in a body, many are sure to break off and make for their homes to enjoy the booty they have gathered. but upon the other hand, as we go we shall gather up fresh recruits. with so many disbanded sol- diers and discontented men roaming the country, there is no difficulty in getting as many men as one cares to keep together. "fifty is the outside that is advisable, for with more, even if one makes a good haul, it comes to so little a head that the men are dissatisfied. of course they work in small parties, but this does not succeed so well as when a small band are under a single leader." "how long have you been at this work?" a jacobite exile. "since last autumn." "and you find it pay?" "we do not get much in money. as you saw, there were but four rix-dollars a head, and that is the result of a month's work. still that is not bad for men who might otherwise starve. sometimes we do worse and sometimes better, but that is about the average. still, the life is a pleasant one, and unless we disbanded soldiers took to it, what would there be for us to do? if government would keep us on regular pay there would soon be no brigands left, except the men who have escaped from justice. but the treasury is empty, and even at the best of times the troops are badly and irregularly paid, and are forced to plunder to keep life together. they are almost in rags, and though we poles do not mind fighting, there is generally a difficulty in getting sufficient infantry. as for the cavalry, they are nobles, and draw no pay. how do you feel to-day?" "better. the night's rest and a wash and change of clothes this morning have made me feel another man. how far do you intend to march?" "we shall go slowly for a day or two. the other parties have all pushed on ahead fast, but by taking matters quietly, and by keeping a sharp look-out, we need have no great fear of being surprised. i know the forest well and its thickest hiding-places, so we can afford to travel slowly, and as you become accustomed to it you will be able to make longer journeys." for ten days they travelled through the forest, increas- ing their distance daily as charlie regained his strength. the last day or two they did not make less than twenty miles a day. their faces were turned steadily east. occasionally they passed large tracts of cleared land, villages, and cultivated fields. at some of these they stopped and replenished their stock of flour, which they with fcrigands. took without paying for it, but did no farther damage. of meat they had abundance. two or three men started each day as soon as they halted, and in a short time returned with a goat or young pig. "we are now close to the bug river," ladislas said at their last halting-place. "to-morrow we shall meet some at least of our comrades. i do not expect a great many, for we were pretty equally divided as to the direction we should travel in. practically we were safe from pursuit when we had gone fifteen miles, for the forest there spreads out greatly, and those in search of us would know that further pursuit would be useless. many of my men did not care about going farther, but all this part of the country has been so harried for the last two or three years that we thought it best to try altogether new ground. when we- have crossed the bug we shall be beyond the forest, but there are great swamps and morasses, and hills with patches of wood; many streams take their rise there, all meeting farther on and forming the dnieper. we must keep north of that river, for to the south the country is thinly populated, and we should have difficulty in main- taining ourselves." charlie made no comment, but he was glad to hear that the band intended to keep to the north of the dnieper, for that river would have formed a serious obstacle to his making his way to rejoin the swedes. the next day they reached the bank of the bug, and following the river down, came after an hour's walking upon a great fire, round which fifteen men were stretched. these as the cap- tain's party approached rose to their feet with a shout of welcome. "that is better than i expected," ladislas said as they came up to them. "five-and-twenty is quite enough for work here. in the forests one can do with more, but, moving a jacobite exile. steadily on as we mean to do till we get pretty near the eastern frontier, five-and-twenty is ample. it is enough when together to surprise a village, and it is not too many travelling in twos and threes to attract attention. things always go on better too after a dispersal. many who are discontented or who want to command a band of their own break off, and one starts fresh with just the men one likes best to keep." "we had begun to give you up, captain," one of the men said as he joined the other party. "we have been here six days." "we travelled but slowly at first, and it is only the last two days we have really made fair journeys; but there was no reason for any great haste. the world is all our own, and at any rate as long as we were in the forest there was no fear of wanting food. so i see some of our comrades have left us." "we can do very well without them, captain. there were thirty of us here two days ago. essos and polinski quarrelled, and essos was killed.- then polinski wanted us to elect him captain, and to move away at once. four or five who have always been grumblers joined him at once, and persuaded some of the others till we were about equally divided. it came pretty nearly to a fight; but neither liked to begin, and they moved away." "there are quite enough of us left," ladislas said. "as to essos and polinski, i am heartily glad that they have gone. i know they have both been scheming for the leadership for some time. most of the others can be very well spared too. there are plenty of us here for travel. there is no doubt, as we agreed before starting, that there is not much more to be done in this part of the country. what with the civil wars and the bands of soldiers without a leader, and others like ourselves who do not mean to starve, the with brigands. peasants have been wrought up into a state of desperation. they have little left to lose, but what they have got they are ready to fight to the death for, and lately at the first alarm they have sounded the bells and assembled for miles round, and, equipped with scythes and flails, routed those who meddled with them. we had more than one hot fight, and lost many good men. besides, many of the nobles who have suffered have turned out with their fol- lowers and struck heavy blows at some of the bands; so that the sooner we get out of this country, which is be- coming a nest of hornets, the better, for there is little booty and plenty of hard blows to be got. "we will go on as we agreed till near the eastern frontier. the country is well covered with forest there, and we can sally out on which side we like, for if there is not much gold to be had in the russian villages, there is plenty of vodka, and sometimes things worth taking in their churches. the priests and headmen too have generally got a little store, which can be got at with the aid of a few hot coals or a string twisted tight enough round a thumb. at any rate we sha'n't starve; but we must move on pretty fast, for we shall have to get up a warm hut in the forest and to lay in a stock of provisions before the winter sets in. so we must only stop to gather a little plunder when a good opportunity offers." chaptek xii. treed by wolves. charlie and stanislas were that evening sitting apart from the rest at a short distance from the fire talking over the future. they agreed that it would be comparatively easy to withdraw from the band as they journeyed forward, if, as seemed likely, they travelled in very small parties. if indeed they found themselves with two others they could leave openly, for these would scarcely care to enter upon a desperate struggle merely for the sake of retaining two unwilling companions in the band. the difficulties would only begin when they started alone. as they wero talking the captain came across to them. "i can guess," he said, "that you are talking together as to the future. i like you, young englishman, and i like your companion, who seems an honest fellow, but i would not keep you with me by force. i understand that you are not placed as we are. we have to live. most of us would live honestly if we could, but at present it is the choice of doing as we do or starving. we occasionally take a few crowns if we come aoross a fat trader, or may ease a rich farmer of his hoard, but it is but seldom such a chance comes in our way. as a rule we simply plunder because we must live. it is different with you. your friends may be far away, but if you can get to them you would have all that you need. therefore, this life, which is hard and rough, to treed by wolves. say nothing of its danger, does not suit you; but for all that, you must stay with us, for it would be madness for you to attempt to escape. "as i told you, the peasants are maddened, and would kill any passing stranger as they would a wild beast. they would regard him as a spy of some band like ours or of a com- pany of disbanded soldiers, sent forward to discover which houses and villages are best worth plundering. in your case you have other dangers to fear. you may be sure that news has been sent from warsaw to all the different governors with orders for your arrest for killing ben soloman, and these orders will be transmitted to every town and village. your hair and eyes would at once betray you as strangers, and your ignorance of the language would be fatal to you. if, therefore, you escaped being killed as a robber by the peasants, you would run the risk of arrest at the first town or village you entered. "translate that to him, stanislas. he is learning our language fast, but he cannot understand all that." "that is just what we were talking about," charlie said when stanislas had repeated the captain's speech, "and the danger seems too great to be risked. think you, that when we get farther to the east, we shall be able to make our way more easily up into livonia?" "much more easily, because the forest is more extensive there; but not until the winter is over. the cold will bo terrible, and it would be death to sleep without shelter. besides the forests are infested with wolves, who roam about in packs, and would scent and follow and devour you. but when spring comes you can turn your faces to the north and leave us if you think fit, and i promise you that no hindrance shall be thrown in your way. i only ask you not to risk your lives by trying now to pass through poland alone." a jacobite exile. "i think you are right, ladislas, and i promise you that we will not attempt to leave you during our journey east. as you say, it would be impossible for us to travel after winter had once set in. it is now the end of september." "and it will be november before we reach our destina- tion. we shall not travel fast; we have no motive for doing so. we have to live by the way, and to gather a little money to help us through the winter. we may shoot a bear or an elk sometimes, a few deer, and hares, but we shall want two or three sacks of flour and some spirits. for these we must either get money or take the goods. the first is the best, for we have no means of dragging heavy weights with us, and it would not do to infuriate the peasants by plundering any of them within twenty miles of the place where we mean to winter. that would set them all against us." "i tell you frankly, ladislas, that we shall not be willing to aid in any acts of robbery. of course, when one is with an army one has to plunder on a large scale, and it has often gone terribly against the grain when i have had to join parties sent out to forage. but it has to be done; i would rather not join men in taking food, yet i understand that it may be necessary. but as to taking money, i will have nothing to do with it. at the same time i understand that we cannot share your food and be with you without doing something. stanislas has brought me a little money from warsaw, and i shall be ready to pay into the common treasury a sum sufficient to pay for our share of the food. as to money taken, we shall not expect any share of it. if you are attacked we shall of course fight, and shall be ready to do our full share in all work. so at any rate you will not be losers by taking us with you." "that is fair enough," the captain said when stanislas had translated what charlie said, suppressing, however, his treed by wolves. remarks about foraging with the army, as the brigands were ignorant that charlie and he had any connection with the swedes, or that he was not, as he had given out, a young englishman come out to set up as a trader. the band now journeyed slowly on, keeping near the north bank of the dnieper. they went by twos and threes, uniting sometimes and entering a village or surrounding a farmhouse at night, and taking what they wanted. the people were, however, terribly poor, and they were able to obtain but little beyond scanty supplies of flour and occa- sionally a few gold or silver trinkets. many other bands of plunderers had passed along in the course of the summer, and the robbers themselves were often moved to pity by the misery that they everywhere met with. when in small parties they were obliged to avoid entering any villages, for once or twice furious attacks were made upon those who did so, the women joining the men in arming them- selves with any weapon that came to hand and in falling upon the strangers. only once did they succeed in obtaining plunder of value. they had visited a village, but found it contained nothing worth taking. one of the women said, "why do you trouble poor people like us there is the count's chateau three miles away. they have every luxury there, while we are starv- ing." after leaving the village the man to whom she had spoken repeated what she had said, and it was agreed to make the attempt. at the first cottage they came to they made further inquiries, and found that the lord of the soil was very unpopular; for, in spite of the badness of the times, he insisted on receiving his rents without abatement, and where money was not forthcoming, had seized cattle and horses, assessing them at a price far below what they would have fetched at the nearest market. they therefore marched to the house. it was a very a jacobite exile. large one. the captain thoughtfully placed charlie and stanislas among the six men who were to remain without, to prevent any of the inmates leaving the chateau. with the rest he made a sudden attack on the great door of the house, and beat it down with a heavy sledge-hammer. just as it gave way some shots were fired from the inside, but they rushed in, overpowered the servants, and were soon masters of the place. in half an hour they came out again laden with booty, each man carried half a dozen bottles of choice wine from the count's cellar slung at his belt. on their shoulders they carried bundles containing silver cups and other valuables; while six of them had bags of silver money that had been extracted from the count- by threats of setting fire to the chateau and burning him and his family. a halt was made two or three miles away, when the silver was divided into shares as usual, the men being well satisfied when they learned that charlie and his companion claimed no part of it; some of the provisions they had alsc taken were eaten; each man had a flask of wine, with which the count's health was derisively drunk. "this has been a good night's work," the leader said, "and you have each sixty rix-dollars in your pockets, which is more than you have had for months past. that will keep us in provisions and spirits all through the winter; but mind, although we took it without much trouble, we have not heard the last of the business. no doubt by this time the count has sent off a messenger to the nearest town where there are troops, and for a day or two we shall have to march fast and far. it is one thing to plunder villages, and another to meddle with a rich nobleman." for the next forty-eight hours they marched by night instead of by day, keeping always together, and prepared to resist an attack. one morning they saw, from their treed by wolves. hiding-place among some high reeds near the river, a body of about sixty horsemen ride past at a distance. they were evidently searching for something, for parties could be seen to break off several times, and to enter woods and copses, the rest halting till they came out again. as the band had with them enough food for another three days, they remained for thirty-six hours in their hiding-place, and then, thinking the search would by that time be discon- tinued, went on again. the next day they killed two or three goats from a herd, the boy in charge of them making off with such speed that, though hotly pursued and fired at several times, he made his escape. they carried the carcasses to a wood, lit a fire, and feasted upon them. then having cooked the rest of the flesh, they divided it among the band. by this time the wine was finished. the next day they again saw horsemen jn the distance, but remained in hiding till they had disappeared in the afternoon. they then went into a village, but scarcely had they proceeded up the street when the doors were opened, and from every house men rushed out armed with flails, clubs, and axes, and fell upon them furiously, shouting "death to the robbers!" they had evidently received warning that a band of plunderers were approaching, and everything had been prepared for them. the band fought stoutly, but they were greatly outnumbered, and as but few of them carried firearms they had no great advantage in weapons. charlie and stanislas, finding that their lives were at stake, were forced to take part in the fray, and both were with the survivors of the band, who at last succeeded in fighting their way out of the village, leaving half their number behind them, while some twenty of the peasants had fallen. . reduced now to twelve men and the captain, they thought only of pushing forward, avoiding all villages, and only occasionally visiting de- a jacobite exile. tached houses for the sake of obtaining flour. the country became more thinly populated as they went on, and there was a deep feeling of satisfaction when at length their leader pointed to a belt of trees in the distance and said, "that is the beginning of the forest. a few miles farther, and we shall be well within it." by nightfall they felt, for the first time since they had set out on their journey, that they could sleep in safety. a huge fire was lit, for the nights were now becoming very cold, and snow had fallen occasionally for the last four or five days, and in the open country was lying some inches deep. the next day they journeyed a few miles farther, and then chose a spot for the erection of a hut. it was close to a stream, and the men at once set to work with axes to fell trees and clear a space. it was agreed that the captain and two of the men of the most pacific demeanour should go to the nearest town, some forty miles away, to lay in stores. they were away five days, and then re- turned with the welcome news that a cart laden with flour and a couple of barrels of spirits was on a country track through the forest a mile and a half away. "how did you manage, captain?" charlie asked. "we went to the house of a well-to-do peasant, about a mile from the borders of the wood; i told him frankly that we belonged to a band who were going to winter in the forest, that we would do him no harm if he would give us his aid, but that if he refused he would soon have his place burnt over his head. as we said we were ready to pay a fair sum for the hire of his cart, he did not hesitate a moment about making the choice. the other two remained at his cottage, so as to keep his family as hostages for his good faith, and i went with him to the town, where we bought six sacks of good flour and the two barrels of spirits. we got a few other things—cooking-pots and horns, and a treed by wolves. lot of coarse blankets, and a thick sheep-skin coat for each man; they are all in the cart. i see that you have got the hut pretty nearly roofed in, so in a day or two we shall bo comfortable." they went in a body to the place where the cart had been left, but it required two journeys before its contents were all transported to the hut. another three days and this was completed; it was roughly built of logs, the inter- stices being filled in with moss. there was no attempt at a door, an opening being left four feet high and eighteen inches wide for the purpose of an entry. the skin of a deer they had shot since they arrived was hung up outside, and a folded rug inside; there was no occasion for windows, a certain amount of light made its way in by an orifice a foot square, that had been left in the roof for the escape of smoke. the hut itself consisted of one room only, about eighteen feet square. when this was finished, all hands set to work to pile up a great stack of firewood close to the door, so as to save them from the necessity of going far until snow had ceased falling and winter had set in in earnest. the cart had brought six carcasses of sheep that had been purchased from a peasant; these were hung up outside the hut to freeze hard, and the meat was eaten only once a day, as it would be impossible to obtain a fresh supply until the weather became settled enough to admit of their hunting. the preparations were but just finished when the snow began to fall heavily. for a week it came down without intermission, the wind howled among the trees, and even charlie, half-stifled as he was by the smoke, felt no inclination to stir out, except for half an hour's work to clear away the snow from the entrance, and to carry in wood from the pile. the time passed more cheerfully than might have been expected. he had by this time begun to talk polish with some facility, and was able to understand the (sou) f a jacobite exile. stories that the men told as they sat round the fire, some- times tales of adventures they themselves had gone through, sometimes stories of the history of poland, its frequent in- ternal wars, and its struggles with the turks. making bread and cooking occupied some portion of the time, and much was spent in sleep. at the end of a week the snow ceased falling and the sun came out, and all were glad to leave the hut and enjoy the clear sky and the keen air. while they had been confined to the hut, two of the men had made a large number of snares for hares, and they at once started into the forest to set these in spots where they saw traces of the animals' passage over the snow. the rest went off in parties of two's and three's in search of other game. with the exception of charlie, all were accustomed to the woods; but as stanislas had much less experience than the others, the captain decided to go with them. "it is easy for anyone to lose his way here," he said; "in fact, except to one accustomed to the woods, it would be dangerous to go far away from the hut. as long as it is fine you will find your way back by following your own tracks, but if the weather changed suddenly, and it came on to snow, your case would be hopeless. one of the advantages of placing our hut on a stream, is that it forms a great aid to finding one's way back. if you strike it above you follow it down, if below upwards, until you reach the hut. of course you might wander for days and never hit it, still it is much more easy to find than a small object like the hut, though even when found it would be difficult to decide whether it had been struck above or below the hut. now, there is one rule if at any time you get lost: don't begin to wander wildly about, for' if you did, you would certainly walk in a circle, and might never be found again; sit down quietly and think matters over, eat if you have got a jacobite exile. charlie felt the cold but little during the day; while at night he found the hut often uncomfortably warm, sleeping as they all did in the same attire in which they went out. in february the weather became excessively severe, more so, the peasants and charcoal-burners, they occasionally met with, declared, than they ever remembered. the wild animals became timer, and in the morning when they went out they frequently found tracks of bears that had been prowling round the hut in search of offal or bones thrown out. they were now obliged to hang their supply of meat by ropes from boughs at some distance from the ground, by which means they were enabled to prevent the bears getting at it. they no longer dared to venture far from the hut, for large packs of wolves ranged through the forest, and, driven by hunger, even entered villages, where they at tacked and killed many women and children, made their entrance into sheds, and tore dogs, horses, and cattle to pieces, and became at last so dangerous that the villagers were obliged to keep great fires burning in the streets at night to frighten them away. several times the occupants of the hut were awakened by the whining and snarling of wolves outside. but the walls and roof were alike built of solid timber, and a roughly-made door of thick wood was now fastened every night against the opening, and so stoutly supported by beams behind it as to defy assault. beyond, therefore, a passing grumble at being awakened by the noise, the men gave themselves no trouble as to the savage animals outside. 'if these brutes grow much bolder," the captain said one, day, "we shall be.prisoners here altogether. they must have come down from the- great forest that extends over a large part of russia. the villages are scarce there, and the peasants take good care to keep all their beasts in treed by wolves. shelter, so no doubt they are able to pick up more at the edge of the forest here." "how far are we from the russian frontier?" "i do not think anyone could tell you. for aught i know, we may be in russia now. these forests are a sort of no-man's-land, and i don't suppose any line of frontier has ever been marked. it is russia to the east of this forest some thirty miles away, and it is poland to the west of it. the forest is no good to anyone except the charcoal-burners. i have met both russians and poles in the wood, and, as there is plenty of room for all—ay, and would be were there a thousand to every one now working in it—they are on friendly terms with each other, especially as the two nations are at present allied against sweden." in spite of the wolves charlie continued his walks in the forest, accompanied always by stanislas. both carried axes and pistols, and although charlie had heard many tales of solitary men and even of vehicles being attacked by the wolves in broad daylight, he believed that most of- the stories were exaggerations, and that the chances of two men being attacked in daylight were small indeed. he had found that the track by which the cart had brought the stores was a good deal used, the snow being swept away or levelled by the runners of sledges, either those of peasants who came into the forest for wood or charcoal, or of travellers journeying between russia and poland. he generally selected this road for his walk, both because it was less laborious than wading through the un- trodden snow, and because there was here no fear of losing his way, and he was spared the incessant watchfulness for signs that was necessary among the trees. at first he had frequently met peasants' carts on the road, but since the cold became more severe and the wolves more numerous and daring, he no longer encountered them; he had indeed a jacobite exile. heard from some of the last he saw that they should come no more, for that the charcoal-burners were all abandoning . ' their huts and going into the villages. one afternoon, when they had on their return nearly reached the spot where they left the road to strike across the forest to the hut, they heard a noise behind them. "that is a pack of wolves in full cry!" stanislas ex- claimed. "you had better get up into a tree. they are after something." 'they hastily clambered into a tree, whose lower branches were but six or seven feet from the ground. a moment later two horses wild with fright dashed past, while some twenty yards behind them came a pack of fifty or sixty wolves. they were almost silent now, with their red tongues hanging out. "the brutes have been attacking a sledge," stanislas said in a low tone. "you saw the horses were harnessed, and their broken traces were hanging by their side. it is easy to read the story. the sledge was attacked, the horses' mad with fear broke their traces and rushed offs or perhaps the driver, seeing at the. last moment that escape was im- possible, slashed the ropes with his knife, so as to give the horses a chance. i expect they got a start, for the wolves would be detained a little at the sledge." "do you think the poor beasts will get safe out of the forest, stanislas?" "i don't think so, but they may. the chase has evi- dently been a long one, and the wolves have tired them- selves with their first efforts to come up to them. it did not seem to me that they were gaining when they passed us. it is simply a question of endurance, but i fancy the wolves will last longest. see, here is a party of stragglers. i suppose they stopped longer at the sledge." "it seems to me they are on our scent, stanislas. do you a jacobite exile. and his companion took their seats where the other two big branches shot out from the trunk, these were two or three feet higher than that on which the fire had been lighted, and ere long a sensation of genial warmth began to steal over them. fresh sticks were lighted as the first were con- sumed, and before long the trunk where the flames played on it began to glow. light tongues of flame rose higher and higher, until the trunk was alight ten or twelve feet up. "the wolves are all gone," charlie said, looking down. "i don't suppose they have gone very far, sir; but when , the tree once gets fairly alight, you may be sure they won't venture anywhere near it." they had already been forced to move some little dis- tance away from the trunk by the heat, and as the flames rose higher and higher, embracing in the course of half an hour the whole of the trunk and upper branches, they felt that it was perfectly safe to drop off into the snow beneath them. blazing brands soon began to fall. they stood a short distance away so as to be.beyond the risk of accident, but at charlie's suggestion they ran in from time to time, gathered up the brands and laid them at the foot of the trunk, and in a short time a second fire was kindled here. the tree was now a pyramid of fire, lighting up the snow for a long distance round. outside this circle the wolves could be heard whining and whimpering, occasion- ally uttering a long-drawn howl. "they know that they are baulked of their prey," stanislas said. "we shall have some of the big branches falling soon, and shall be able to keep up a roaring fire that will last until daylight. i should think by that time the wolves will be tired of it, and will make off; but if not, the captain will be sure to send men out to search for us. he will guess we have been treed by wolves, and we have only to treed bv wolves. get into another tree and fire our pistols to bring them in this direction." "but they may be attacked too," charlie remarked. "there are ten of them, and they are sure to come armed with axes and swords. they ought to be able to fight their way through a good-sized pack; besides the wolves will be so cowed by this great fire, that i don't think they will have the courage to meddle with so strong a party." one by one the arms of the tree fell, burnt through at the point where they touched the trunk. they would have been far too heavy to be dragged, but three or four of them fell across the lower fire and there lay blazing. 'not know- ing which way the tree itself would fall, charlie and his companion were obliged to remain at some distance off, but the heat there was amply sufficient for them. at last the trunk fell with a crash, and they at once established them- selves as near the fire as they could sit without being scorched, and there chatted until morning began to break. they felt sure that some at least of the wolves were around them, as they occasionally, caught sight of what looked like two sparks among the undergrowth, these being as they knew the reflection of the fire in the eyes of a wolf. there was a tree hard by in which they could if neces- sary take refuge, and they therefore resolved to stay near the fire. fortunately the night had been perfectly still, and as the tree they had fired was a detached one, the flames had not spread, as charlie had at one time been afraid they would do. half an hour after daylight had fairly broken they discharged three shots at regular intervals with their pistols, then they waited half an hour. "shall we fire again?" "no. not until we hear shots from them," charlie replied. '' we have but four charges left, and if the wolves made a sudden rush we might want to use them." a jacobite exile. after a time both thought they heard the distant report of a musket. stanislas looked at charlie inquiringly. the latter shook his head. "no, no! stanislas. that gun would be heard twice as far as one of these pistols, let us wait until we are pretty sure that they are near. i don't like leaving ourselves with- out other protection than our axes." chapter xiii. a rescued party. after a considerable pause a gun was again fired, this time much nearer to them. charlie drew out his pistol and was about to reply, when his companion touched his arm. "look!" he said. charlie turned in time to see several gray forms flit rapidly between the bushes. he stepped to the edge of the road, and saw some wolves spring out through the bushes and go straight along the road. "what can have scared them?" he asked in surprise; "the gun was not near enough for that." "no, besides they would have fled deeper into the forest instead of taking to the road. perhaps they hear something coming." almost at the same moment two shots were heard in the direction towards which the wolves were making. "that is it!" charlie exclaimed excitedly. "another body of wolves have attacked a passing traveller. heap the wood on, stanislas. if we make a great fire, and they get as far as this, possibly they could spring off and take refuge here. at any rate the brands will be better weapons even than our axes." the ends of such branches as they were able to move were brought together, and a few blows with their axes a jacobite exile. speedily broke off several of the outer ends of charred wood. these were thrown on, and the fire soon blazed up high again. two more shots were heard, this time close at hand. they ran into the road; a sledge with several figures in it was coming along at full speed. it was almost surrounded by wolves, and as thny looked two of them sprang at the horses' heads; but two shots again rung out and they dropped backwards among their companions, many of whom threw themselves at once upon their bodies, while the sledge con- tinued on its headlong course. "here! here!" charlie shouted at the top of his voice, waving his hands to show the direction which they were to take. a moment later the sledge dashed past them and swept up to the fire. "seize the blazing brands!" charlie shouted as those in the sledge threw themselves out. he and stanislas rolled the two first wolves over with their pistols, and then joined the others. the driver had run at once to the horses, and had muffled them by throwing his coat over the head of one and a rug over the head of the other, and though snorting and trembling in every limb they stood quiet until he had thrown a head-rope round each of their necks and fastened them to the heaviest of the branches. then he seized a handful of fallen leaves which were exposed by the melting of the snow above them and threw them into the fire, whence a dense smoke poured out. the wolves had again stopped to-devour the two animals that had been shot,. and this gave time to the men by their united efforts to move a heavy branch and place it across two others whose ends lay in the fire, so as to fqrm with them a sort of triangular breast-work, the face of which charlie and the travellers are surrounped by wolves. a rescued party. next to them was manned by the two travellers, their ser- vants, charlie, and stanislas, with blazing brands. charlie and his companion hastily loaded their pistols again. the two gentlemen had each rifles and a brace of pistols, as" hud their servants. a lady and child had been lifted from the sledge, and these crouched down at the angle by the fire. the sledge and the two horses protected one of the faces of the position, and the driver at his master's orders took his position on the front seat again, so as to shoot down any wolf that might try to attack the flank of the outside horse. the wolves looked doubtful at the appearance of the dense smoke rising up, but after a little hesitation they rushed to the attack. four were rolled over by bullets from the rifles, and as they came within a few yards the pistols cracked out in rapid succession. as soon as these were all emptied the six men caught up the blazing brands, and struck full in the faces of the wolves, shouting loudly as they did so. seized with a momentary panic, the animals turned and fled, and then a fierce fight took place between the injured wolves and their companions. there was but just time to recharge the rifles and pistols when they came on again. although the fire of the defenders was as deadly as before, the wolves seemed this time determined to get at their victims. in vain were blows showered on their heads, while those who first sprang on the tree were stabbed with the knives the defenders held in their left hands. the contest could have had but one termination, when suddenly two shots were heard, and then with loud shouts a party of men burst through the forest, and with pistol and axe fell on the wolves. this unexpected onslaught had a decisive effect, and with loud howls and yelps the wolves turned and fled. up to this time not a word had been exchanged by the a jacobite exile. defenders beyond charlie's first shout of "lay this branch across those two," and the order of one of the gentlemen to the coachman to take his place in the. sledge, where he had done his work well, for four wolves lay dead by the flank of the outside horse. several of those that had sprung at the heads of the horses had been shot or cut down by the master, who had placed himself close to them, and the horses' thick mufflings had saved them from any serious injury. as soon as the wolves fled the gentleman turned to charlie, and flinging down his weapons threw his arms round his neck. "you have preserved us from death, sir. you have saved my wife and child from being torn to pieces. how can i express my thanks to you?" "it was fortunate that we happened to be here," charlie said, "and that we had this fire handy." a cry from the child called off the gentleman's attention, and he ran to his wife, who had sunk fainting on the ground, and charlie, not a little pleased at this diversion, turned to ladislas and his men, who were looking on with the most intense astonishment at the scene. charlie leapt over the branch and grasped ladislas by the hand. "you have arrived at the nick of time, ladislas. another three minutes and it would have been all over with us." "yes, i could see it was a close thing as soon as i caught sight of you. we have been wondering all night what became of you, and set out as soon as it was light. we fired a shot occasionally, but we listened in vain for your three shots." "we fired them half an hour after daylight," charlie said; "but as we had then only five charges.left between us, and there were wolves all round, we dared not waste them." "we heard firing at last," the captain went on. "first a rescued party. of these men, to whom i am much beholden for the kindness he has shown me." he went across to ladislas, who had heard what was said. "you will not think it ungrateful for me to quit you so suddenly, ladislas," he said in a low voice. "assuredly not. you have done us a service indeed in thus enabling us to obtain favour with the count. he is one of our richest and most powerful nobles, and our for- tunes are as good as made." "i will introduce you to him personally," charlie said. "this, count, is the leader of the party. he has shown me very great kindness, and has proved a true friend. from what i have seen of him i have no doubt whatever that, in spite of certain acts of lawlessness to which he and his friends have been driven of late, you will find him, in any position you may be good enough to give him, an honest and thoroughly trustworthy man." "i will bear it in mind," the count said. "now the sooner we aro off the better. how far is it to the next village?" "about seven miles, count." the count gave orders for the sledge to be taken on to tho road again. "one moment," the captain said, taking charlie aside. "pray tell us in a few words what has happened. the burning of the tree is a mystery to us, and we shall die of curiosity if we have to remain here for another two months with the matter unexplained." in as few words as possible charlie related to the men the story of the preceding night, which was greeted with exclamations of surprise and admiration. "truly you have your wits about you," the captain said. "i should have been frozen to death if i had been in your position, for i should certainly never have thought of light- a rescued party. much to fear, especially as we were five armed men. we fell in with a few wolves yesterday, but beat them off easily enough. last night we stopped at a little village in the forest. they certainly made me feel uneasy there with their tales about the wolves, but there was no help for it. we started as soon as day broke, and had driven some fifteen miles before we came up to you. we had not gone five when the wolves began to show themselves. "at first they kept well behind us, but presently we came upon a large number, who joined in near where we saw an overturned sledge with the snow stained with blood all round it. from there we kept up a running fight, and must have killed a score; but their numbers increased rather than diminished, and when a fresh pack came up from ahead, a quarter of a mile before we saw you, it looked as if our case was hopeless; for the horses, which had been going at the top of their speed from the time we started, were begin- ning to flag, while the wolves were fast closing in upon us, and were just beginning to attack the horses when i saw you in the road. and now, pray tell us how you came to be there so opportunely, and how it was that you had that great fire blazing." charlie gave the full history of the previous night's adven- ture. "wonderful!" the count and his brother exclaimed; and the former went on: "i have heard many stories of escapes from wolves, but never one like yours. it was an admirable thought, indeed, that of at once obtaining heat and frighten- ing the wolves away by setting the tree on fire. that thought saved our lives as well as your own, for our fate would have been the same as those unfortunate travellers whose horses you saw, and who brought the wolves upon you. and now, sir, would it be impertinent to ask for what purpose have you come to poland? believe me, i only put the question a jacobite exile. in order to see if i can in any way be of assistance to you." "i do not know, count, whether my avowal will affect you unfavourably, but i know that it will make no difference in your conduct towards me. i am, as my servant told you, an englishman by birth; but i and my father were obliged, in consequence of political opinions, to leave the country, and i am now a captain in the service of charles of sweden." exclamations of surprise broke from his hearers. "well, sir," the count said smiling, "as his majesty king charles, although not yet one-and-twenty, is one of the greatest generals in europe, i cannot consider it strange that you, who appear to me to be no older, should be a captain in his service. but i own that i pictured to myself that the officers of these wonderful soldiers were fierce-looking men, regular iron veterans." "i am but eighteen," charlie said, "and i myself feel it absurd that i should be a captain. it is but two years since i was appointed an ensign, and the king happening to be with my company when we had a sharp fight with the russians, he rewarded us by having us made into a regiment; so each of us got promotion. i was appointed captain last may, as a reward for a suggestion that turned out useful." "may i ask what it was, captain carstairs, for it seems to me that you are full of happy ideas?" "king charles, as you may have heard, speaks freely to officers and soldiers as he moves about the camp. i was standing on the edge of the river, looking across at the saxons, on the day before we made the passage, when the king came up and spoke to me. he said there was no hope of our passage being covered,—as our advance against the russians at narva had been,—by a snowstorm; and i said that as the wind was at our backs, if we were to set fire to the great straw-stacks the smoke would hide our movements a rescued party. from the saxons. the idea was a very simple one, and would no doubt have occurred to the king himself; however, he put it into execution with success, and was good enough afterwards to promote me to the rank of captain." "so it was owing to you that our army—or rather the saxon army, for but few poles were engaged in the battle— was defeated," the count said smiling. "well, sir, it will do you no harm with us, for personally we are entirely opposed to augustus of saxony. but you have not yet explained how you, an officer in the swedish service, came to be here." "i was sent by king charles to warsaw to ascertain the feeling of the trading classes there. i had an introduction to a scottish merchant, and i passed as a countryman of his, who had come out to enter his business. one of the objects of my mission was to endeavour to induce the foreign merchants in warsaw to do what they could to promote a feeling in favour of peace with the swedes, and the substi- tution of another king in place of augustus." "it is not very clear, captain carstairs, how you can be fulfilling that object by passing your winter with a party of robbers—for i suppose your disbanded soldiers were little better—in a forest on the confines of russia." charlie laughed. "it is rather a long story, count. per- haps you will kindly tell me the news about public affairs first." "by no means," the count said. "that is a long story too, and my wife would much rather hear yours than listen to it; she has not yet recovered from the events of this morning. but we will wait until we are at the village; we have left the forest behind us, and another half hour will take us to stromoff, where we can get pretty good accom- modation." the horses, a splendid pair of animals, had during their a rescued party "and now, sir, will you tell me what has taken place since september?" "things have moved slowly. augustus endeavoured after his defeat on the dwina to make peace with charles on his own account, and without the knowledge of the diet; but charles refused to give audience to any of his agents, and would not even see the beautiful countess of konigs- mark, who is, you know, herself a swede, and whom augustus sent, thinking that her blandishments might win over the young king. it was useless. charles maintained the ground that he took up from the first—namely, that he would treat with the diet, but would have nothing whatever to say to augustus. so the diet sent an embassy of four senators. instead of receiving them with every pomp and ceremony, as they expected, the king met them on horseback. he demanded that, as a first condition, they should dethrone augustus. parties in the diet were pretty equally divided; but the proposal was rejected, for even those most hostile to augustus resented the proposal that we, a free and uncon- quered people, should be ordered by a foreign prince to change our king. so nothing came of it. "the swedish army advanced a certain distance into poland, and there were a great number of skirmishes, but there has been no serious fighting, nor is there much chance of any until the snow has gone and the country dried up in the spring. at present augustus is quarrelling with the diet, who still set themselves against the importation of more saxon troops. but doubtless before the campaign begins in earnest he will have settled matters with the senators, and will have his own way in that respect. there is, however, little chance of the diet agreeing to call out the whole forces of the country, and the next battle will, like the last, be be- tween the swedes and the saxons, who may have with them perhaps a few thousand poles belonging to the king's party.'' a jacobite exile. "you don't belong to the king's party, count?" "no; i, like the majority of our nobles, have no interest whatever in the war, for we were never consulted before it began. it is an affair between saxony and the swedes; let them fight it out. it would be a bad day for poland if augustus and the russians were to overcome and despoil sweden. we want no addition of territory, for that would be to strengthen our kings against us. we see the trouble caused by augustus having saxony at his command, and if he had other territory the country would be divided into two parts, one of which would have nothing in common with the other. still less do we wish to see russia gain territory to the north of us. hitherto we have thought but little of the muscovites, but this war has shown that they can put great armies into the field, and the czar is making them into a nation which may some day bo formidable to us. "charles has sent every assurance that he has no ill-will towards poland, and is an enemy not of the country but of its king,—who had formed a coalition against him in a time of profound peace,—and that his hostility will altogether cease with the overthrow and expulsion of augustus. so you see we who live at a distance from the capital, and hold our- selves altogether aloof from the intrigues of court, look on at the fray as if it were one in which we have no part or lot. if augustus drives out the swedes, we shall probably have trouble with him afterwards. if charles drives out aug- ustus we shall have a fresh king, and shall no doubt choose one upon the recommendation of charles, who will then march away again, leaving us to manage our own affairs. therefore, we have no animosity whatever against you as a swedish officer, but for comfort's sake it is better that nothing should be said of this, and that i should introduce you to my friends simply as an english gentleman who has rendered me the greatest possible service." a rescued party. the countess retired to bed a short time after they had finished their meal, and the others sat up talking until late in the evening. charlie learnt that the country was still in a greatly disturbed state. parties of disbanded soldiers and others, rendered desperate by cold and hardship, were everywhere plundering the peasantry, and many encounters had taken place between them and the nobles, who with their retainers had marched against them. travel would be dangerous for a long time to come. "therefore, until the spring you must not think of moving," the count said; "indeed, i think that your best plan when you start will be to work due north and join the swedish forces near narva. it will be shorter as well as less dangerous. still we can talk of that later on." the next morning they started early, and arrived in the afternoon at the chateau of the count. it was not a fortified building, for the poles differed from the western nations, abstaining from fortifying their towns and residences, upon the ground that they were a free people capable of defend- ing their country from foreign invasion, and therefore requiring no fortified towns, and that such places added to the risks of civil war, and enabled factions to set the will of the nation at defiance. the building was a large one, but it struck charlie as being singularly plain and barn-like in comparison with the residences of country gentlemen in england. a number of retainers ran out as they drove up into the courtyard, and exclamations of surprise and dismay rose as the wounds on the horses' flanks and legs were visible; and when, in a few words, the count told them that they had been attacked by wolves, and had been saved principally by the english gentleman and his follower, the men crowded round charlie, kissed his hands, and in other ways tried to show their gratitude for his rescue of their master and mistress. a jacobite exile. "come along," the count said, taking his arm and lead- ing him into the house. "the poor fellows mean well, and you must not be vexed with them." the countess's first question had been for her child, and with an exclamation of thankfulness when she heard that it was better, she had at once hurried into the house. as soon as they had entered the count left charlie in charge of his brother, and also hurried away. he was not long before he returned. "the child is doing well," he said, "and now that it has got its mother again, it will, i think, improve rapidly. the doctor said this morning that he considered it out of danger, but that it needed its mother sorely to cheer and pet it." in a very short time the tables were laid. the count, his brother, and charlie sat at an upper table, and the hall was filled with the various officers and retainers. the count's arrival was expected, for a horseman had been sent forward on their arrival at the inn the evening before. the dinner had therefore been cooked in readiness, and charlie was astonished at the profusion with which it was served. fish, joints, great pies, and game of many kinds, were placed on the table in unlimited quantities, the drink being a species of beer, although excellent wine was served at the high table. he could now understand how often the polish nobles impoverished themselves by their unbounded hospi- tality and love of display. "i suppose for to-morrow you will like to remain quiet," the count said, "but after that we will try to amuse you. there is game of all sorts to be shot, or if you have had enough sport lately there will be a sledge and horses at your disposal whenever you choose to ride or drive, and in a few days we will give an entertainment in honour at once of our return, your visit, and the child's restoration to health. a rescued party. then you will have an opportunity of seeing our national dances." charlie had had enough shooting, but he greatly enjoyed the drives in the sledges behind the spirited horses. the entertainment came off a fortnight after his arrival at the chateau. the guests for the most part arrived early in the afternoon, many having driven in from great distances. the preparations had been on an immense scale, and the scene at night was a brilliant one. never had charlie seen anything like the magnificence of the dresses, not of the ladies only but also of the gentlemen; the poles having the true oriental love for rich costumes, a taste that their national dress permitted them to gratify to the utmost. next to the splendour of the dresses charlie was surprised at the grace and spirit of the dancing, which was far more vivacious that that of western nations. the poles were long considered to be the best dancers in the world. it was their great national amusement; and all danced, from noble to peasant, entering into it with spirit and enthusiasm, and uniting the perfection of rhythmical motion with the grace and ease peculiar to them and to their kinsmen the hun- garians. the dancing was kept up with unflagging energy during the whole night, and then after a substantial breakfast the men and women were muffled up in furs, and took their places in the sledges. the count would gladly have had charlie remain with him until spring began, but he was anxious to rejoin the army; and seeing that this was so, the count did everythitig in his power to facilitate his journey, which, after talking it over, had been decided should be direct towards the royal camp. the count's brother insisted upon accompanying him on the journey, as in this way many of the difficulties would be avoided two sledges were prepared, the one for a jacobite exile. the use of charlie and count john, and the other for the two servants and baggage. both were horsed by the fastest animals in the count's stables. charlie himself had been loaded with presents, which he had been obliged somewhat reluctantly to accept, as he saw that a refusal would hurt and mortify his kind hosts. ho had, on his arrival, been provided with an ample ward- robe of clothes of all kinds, and to these were now added dolmans, cloaks, rugs, and most costly furs; a splendid gun, pistols, and a sword, with the hilt studded with gems, completed his outfit; while stanislas had been presented with a heavy purse of money. tho whole of the retainers of the castle were assembled to see them start, and the count and countess at parting made him promise to come and pay them another visit if tho fortune of war should bring him within the possibility of reaching them. the journey was a delightful one. each night they put up at the chateau of some nobleman. to many of these count john staroski was personally known; at the others his name secured at once a hearty welcome for himself and his companion. travelling only by day, and at the full speed of the horses, they escaped interruption by the ma- rauding bands, and in fourteen days after starting they drove into the town where charles of sweden had his head- quarters, after being twice stopped and questioned by bodies of swedish horse. the town was crowded with troops, and they had some difficulty in finding a lodging for themselves and stabling for the horses. as soon as this was done charlie proceeded alone to the quarters of count piper. chapter xiv. the battle of clissow. charlie sent in his name, and was shown in at once. "i am glad indeed to see you, captain carstairs," the minister said as he entered; "we had given you up for lost. we heard first that you had been murdered in the streets of warsaw. a month later a man brought a letter to me from your scotch friend ramsay, to say that you were accused of the murder of a jew trader, a man, it seems, of some importance in warsaw. ramsay said that you were in the company of a band of brigands, and that the man who went with you as your servant had joined you, and had taken you somo money. he forwarded the letter you had sent him explaining your position, and said he thought that upon the whole it was the best thing you could have done, as a vigorous search had been set on foot at the instance of the jews, and there would have been but little chance of your making your way through the country alone. he added that he felt confident that, if alive, you would manage somehow to rejoin us before tho campaign opened in the spring. i am glad that you have been able to do so, but your appearance at present is rather that of a wealthy polish noble than of a companion of brigands." "i was able to do some service to count staroski, as when travelling with his wife and child, and his brother, a jacobite exile. count john, he was attacked by a pack of wolves. i have been staying with him for some weeks, and his brother has now had the kindness to accompany me here. he has thereby made my passage through the country easy, as we have travelled with fast horses in his sledge, and have always put up at the chateaux of nobles of his acquaintance. i have, therefore, avoided all risk of arrest at towns. in the letter forwarded to you i explained the real circum- stances of the death of the jew." "yes, we quite understood that, captain carstairs. you had a very narrow escape from death at his hands, and as the danger was incurred purely in the king's service, it will not be forgotten. up to the time when the jew organized the attack upon you in warsaw, i was well satisfied with your reports of your work. so far nothing has come of it, as augustus has been too strong for any move- ment against him, but we hope ere long to defeat him so decisively that our friends will be able to declare against him. i will inform the king of your return, and i have no doubt he will be glad to hear your story from your own lips. he loves tales of adventure, and time hangs some- what heavily on hand, as until the frost breaks nothing can be done in the field." on the following day, indeed, charlie was sent for to the royal quarters, and had to recount the story of his adventures in full to the king, who was highly interested in them, and at the conclusion requested him to introduce count john staroski, in order that he might express to him his obligation for the service he had rendered to one of his officers. this done, charlie drove out with the count to the village where colonel jamieson's regiment was quar- tered, and where his return was received with delight by harry, and with great pleasure by major jervoise and his fellow-officers. he was obliged to give a short outline a jacobite exile. opponents in the diet, that many of these rose and openly denounced the government and the conduct of the king that had brought the country into its present difficulties. as the swedish army advanced they were joined by the duke of holstein, and, in spite of the efforts of a consider- able body of the enemy under prince wisniowiski, pro- gressed steadily, crossed the river memel, and when near grodno, were met by an embassy sent by the diet, to en- deavour to persuade charles not to advance further. an interview took place between the king, the poles, and his ministersj the conversation on both sides being in latin. but as the ambassadors had no definite plans to propose, and their leaders were wholly devoted to augustus, the king refused to allow his advance to be arrested, and con- tinued his march. when near praga they crossed the plain where charles gustavus, king of sweden, had de- feated the polish army in a great battle, that had lasted for three days. the city was occupied, and a contribu- tion of , crowns imposed upon it, in addition to food for the army while it remained there. plundering, how- ever, was strictly forbidden, and as the king issued a pro- clamation declaring that he was no enemy of the polish republic, but simply of their king, the inhabitants were on the whole well satisfied with the conduct of the invaders. a halt was made here for some time, and a bridge was thrown across the vistula, while the army rested after the long and fatiguing marches it had made. a fresh attempt was made to arrest the advance of the swedes, and the cardinal primate himself met the king; but nothing came of the negotiations, and the army entered warsaw. here they were warmly received, and great entertainments were given to the king. towards the end of june they again advanced to meet the force that augustus had gathered, and on the th of july the swedes arrived the battle of clissow. within a few miles of clissow. the next day some rein- forcements arrived, and the king decided to give battle on the following day, which was the anniversary of the victory on the dwina the previous year. his army was twelve thousand strong, while that of au- gustus was nearly double that strength, and was very strongly posted, his camp being surrounded by morasses, although situated on rising ground which commanded the whole of the country round it. the bogs in the front were found to be so impassable, that the swedes were forced to make a circuit to the left, where the ground was firmer. this movement obliged tho enemy also to change front, a move- ment that caused considerable confusion, as they themselves were forced to traverse boggy ground to take up a new posi tion facing that by which the swedes would now advance. the attack was commenced by the division commanded by the duke of holstein, but scarcely had he set his troops in motion than he was mortally wounded \y a ball from a falconet. his troops, however, pushed forward vigorously; the polish division opposed to them resisted the two first assaults bravely, but gave way at the third attack, and were driven from the ground in such confusion that they took no further part in the engagement. while this was going on the saxon cavalry had been repulsed by that of charles, and passing in their retreat under the fire of three infantry regiments, suffered so heavily that they left the field. the swedish foot now advanced all along the line, and in the centre destroyed several bat- talions of saxons. but the swedish right was attacked so vigorously by the saxon left under field-marshal steinau, that for a time the conflict was doubtful. the swedish horse-guards and other cavalry, however, charged with such determination that the saxon horse on this flank were also defeated and driven off the field, while the swedish infantry, c a jacobite exile. advancing without firing, drove several battalions of saxon foot into a village, where, being surrounded, almost all were killed or taken prisoners. the saxon horse gathering once more attempted bravely to retrieve the fate of the day, and engaged the swedish horse with such desperate valour, that a considerable portion of the saxon infantry were enabled under cover of the conflict to draw off, cross the morasses, and make their escape. the battle lasted four hours, and had been throughout severely contested. the saxons lost four thousand killed and wounded, and three thousand taken prisoners, while the swedes had eleven hundred killed and wounded. forty- eight cannon were captured by the victors, together with all the baggage and waggons. the death of the duke of holstein, a gallant prince who was exceedingly popular with the army and beloved by the king, cast a gloom over this great victory which virtually laid poland at the feet of the victors, and insured the fulfilment of the object for which charles had persisted in the war. jamieson's regiment had been on the left wing, but as it had been held in reserve to strengthen the line at any point at which it might give way, the scotch had taken but a small share in the fighting, and had but thirty men killed and wounded by the shot and bullets that passed over the heads of the fighting line. the captain of one of the companies was among those killed, and charlie, who had, since he rejoined the regiment, being doing duty as lieutenant, now took the vacant place. the army still advanced. augustus sent in several pro- posals for peace, but these were all rejected. the saxons had speedily rallied after the battle, but were not in a posi- tion to oppose the advance of the victorious swedes, who occupied cracow without meeting with any resistance. seeing that augustus would not be strong enough to the battle of clissow. hazard another pitched battle, charles had, on the morning after the victory, ordered three of his regiments, of which jamieson's was one, to march with all speed to reinforce major-general schlippenbach, who had sent an urgent re- quest for aid, as he heard that the russian army fifty thousand strong was preparing to cross the frontier, and as he had but six thousand he could not hope to oppose their advance successfully. as the king's orders enjoined the troops to march with the greatest possible speed, they performed the journey back to warsaw in four days, although the distance exceeded a hundred miles. mounted messengers had been sent on before them, and on reaching the town they found boats already prepared to take them down the river to danzic, where orders had already been sent for ships to be in readiness to convey them to revel. the fatigues since the campaign opened had been severe, and the troops all enjoyed the long days of rest while the craft that conveyed them dropped quietly down the vistula. then came the short sea-passage. on their arrival at revel bad news met them. they had come too late. on the th of july the russian army had passed the frontier, and the swedes had tried to oppose them at the passage of the river embach; but the water was low from the effects of a long drought, and the russians were enabled to ford it at several points. the swedes fell upon those who first crossed, and for two hours repulsed their attacks, obtaining at some points considerable advantage and capturing some guns, but as fresh reinforcements poured across the river the tide of battle turned. the russian cavalry drove back the swedish horse, who, as they re- treated, rode through the infantry and threw them into disorder. these were attacked by the russians before they could recover from their confusion and were filmost en- tirely destroyed or taken prisoners. the battle of clissow. ( the point where the neva issues from the lake, was already besieged by the russians, and that the swedish vessels on the lake had been obliged to come down the river. a fort had been raised by the russians on the bank to prevent succour being conveyed into the town, and two thousand men had crossed the river and occupied a small redoubt on the northern side, so that the town was completely invested. the newly-arrived force was ordered to march at once with a hundred horse and four field-pieces, the whole under the command of major sion, who was well acquainted with the country. "what do you think of this expedition, captain car- stairs?" his lieutenant, john bowyer, asked him. "i would rather be back with king charles," charlie re- plied. "of course i don't know the geography of the place, but if the russians keep their eyes at all open i don't see how a force like ours with cavalry and guns can hope to enter the town unnoticed. the addition of the horse- men seems to me altogether ridiculous, as they could be no good whatever if they did enter the town. as for those four field-pieces, they will hamper our march; and as they say the russians have already some forty cannon in posi- tion about the town, those little pieces would be useless. four hundred infantry making the attempt at night under good guidance might manage to slip into the place, but this procession of ours is, to my mind, tempting destruction, for we certainly cannot hope to cut our way by force through the whole russian army. "but even if we do get inside the town, our plight can bo no better. the russians' cannon are bombarding it night and day, and more batteries are in course of erection, and schlippenbach the governor, who is, i believe, a brother of the general, has but a few pieces to reply to them. were there an army advancing to the relief of the place it would c a jacobite exile. 'be different altogether, for our 'reinforcement might be of vital importance in repelling assaults until aid arrived. hut there is no hope of aid; the king's army is some nine hundred miles away, and his hands are full. general kohlippenbach has sent as many men as he could spare. they say there are at least twenty thousand russians round the town, and where is an army to come from that can compel them to raise the siege? to my mind, we shall either be destroyed making our way into the town, or, if we do get in, shall be made prisoners of war, if not massacred—for the russians have but vague ideas as to giving quarter— when the town falls, which may be a fortnight hence." "it seems a bad look-out altogether," the lieutenant remarked. "very much so. the best possible thing that could befall us would be for the russians to make us out before we got too far into their lines, in which case we may be able to fall back before they can gather in overwhelming strength, and may thus draw off without any very great loss." major sion called the captains of the infantry com- panies and the troop of horse to a sort of council of war, when tho little force halted for an hour at three o'clock in the afternoon. "we have another ten miles to march, gentlemen, and i should liko to ask your opinion as to whether it would bo best to try to force our way in as soon as we get there, or to halt at a distance of three or four miles from tho russians, and make our effort at daybreak before they are fairly afoot." tho other three officers gave their opinion in order of seniority, and all advocated tho plan of falling upon tho muscovites at daybreak. "and what do you think, captain carstairs?" major sion asked charlie. a jacobite ex ilk seems unanswerable. what say you, gentlemen i have two objects in view—the first to reinforce the garrison of notteburg, the second to save the troops under my command if i should fail in doing so. i know the country well, but its features will be considerably altered. trees will have been cut down, houses levelled, intrenchments thrown up, camps scattered here and there, and i own that in the dark. i might, as captain carstairs says, very easily miss my way. i think his proposal therefore unites the greatest chances of getting through their line and entering the town, with a possibility of drawing off the troops without great loss in case of failure." the other three officers at once agreed, and orders were issued for the men to lie down until five o'clock and rest themselves before pursuing their march. it was past that hour before they were in motion again. major sion, with a peasant from the neighbourhood of notteburg, rode ahead. then came the troop of cavalry, with the guns close behind them, followed by the infantry. as they approached the russian lines the peasant several times went on in advance, and presently a trooper rode down the line with the order that the troops with firearms were to light their matches and the spearmen to keep in a compact body. they were now not far from the russian lines, and the destruction that had been wrought during the last ten days was visible to them. every tree and bush had been felled for use in the intrenchments or for the erection of shelters. a few blackened walls alone showed where houses had stood. gardens had been destroyed and orchards levelled. light smoke could be seen rising at many points from the russian fires, and when the troops were halted they were but half a mile from the intrenchments. word was passed down that the rapid swedish march was to be moderated, and that they were to move carelessly the battle of clissow. and at a slow rate as if fatigued by a long march, and that the spears were to be carried at the trail, as they were so much longer than those used by the russians that their length would, if carried erect, at once betray the nationality of the troops. there was no attempt at concealment, for the cavalry would be visible for a considerable distance across the flat country. considerable bodies of men could be seen gathered round fires at a distance of not more than a quarter of a mile on either hand, but as the column passed between them there was no sign of any stir. in a short time the order was passed for the troops to form from column into line, and the cavalry officer who brought it said that there was a russian battery erected right across the road a little more than a quarter of a mile ahead. "things look better, captain carstairs," the lieutenant said, as the company, which happened to be leading, fell into line. "yes, i have no doubt we shall take their battery, coming down, as we do, upon its rear. the question is, are there any intrenchments ahead? major sion told us when we halted that the peasant assured him that there were no works beyond it, and that it was the weakest point of the line; but it is three days since he came out from notteburg, and working hard as the russians evidently do, they may have pushed on their intrenchments far in advance of the battery by this time." the force halted for a moment. the guns were unlim- bered, turned round, and loaded. then the line of cavalry opened right and left, the four pieces poured a discharge of grape into tho russians clustered thickly in the lottery four hundred yards away, and then with a shout the swedish cavalry charged, the infantry coming on at a run behind them. the surprise was complete. with cries of terror the russians for the most part leapt from the battery the battle of clissow. tary halt heie for the men to recover their wind. then the musketeers poured a volley into a dark line advancing upon them, the horsemen charged in among them, the long pikes of the front line cleared the way, and with a shout the swedes passed through their foes and pressed forward. but more troops were gathering to bar their way, and the major changed the line of march sharply to the right, sweep- ing along by the side of the force through which they had just cut their way, the musketeers on the flank firing into them as they passed. the movement was an adroit one, for in the gathering darkness the enemy in front would not be able to distinguish friends from foes, or to perceive the nature of the movement. for a few minutes they were unmolested, then the course was again changed, and charlie was beginning to think that in the darkness they would yet make their escape, when a dull heavy sound was heard in their rear. "that's the russian cavalry, bowyer; take the muske- teers on with you, and keep close to the company ahead. i will break them up with the pikemen. if they do come up to you, give them a volley and then continue your retreat with the rest." while the captains of the other two companies had placed their pikemen in the front line, charlie had placed his in the rear, in order to repel any attack of cavalry from that direc- tion. he now formed them in a close clump, taking his place among them. the russian squadrons came along with a deep roll like that of thunder. they were but thirty yards away when they perceived the little cluster of men with levelled lances. a few, unable to check their horses, rushed upon the points, but most of them reined in their little steeds in time. in a moment the swedes were surrounded by a wall of yelling horsemen, some of whom tried to break through the hedge of spears, while others discharged their pistols. charlie listened anxiously for the roll of a volley a jacobite exile. of musketry, but no soiuid came, and he felt sure that the whole bod}' of cavalry had halted round him, and that his movement had saved the rest, who would now, if fortunate, be able to make their way off in the darkness. but the men were falling now from the pistol-fire of the cossacks, and feeling that the work had been done he determined to make one effort to save the men with him. "level your spears, and charge through them shoulder to shoulder," he said; "it is your only chance. once through, throw away your spears and break up in the darkness; most of you may escape. now!" with a shout the swedes rushed forward in a body; horses and riders went down before them. there was a rush from behind. charlie shouted to the rear rank to faco about, but in the confusion and din his words were un- heard. there was a brief struggle in the darkness. charlie emptied his pistols and cut down more than one of his opponents, then a sword fell on his shoulder, while at the same moment he was ridden over by a cossack, and was stunned by the force of his fall. ayhen he recovered con- sciousness several men with torches were moving about him, and at the orders of an officer were examining the bodies of the fallen. he saw them pass their swords through the bodies of three of his own men who were lying near him, and as they came up to him he closed his eyes expecting a similar fate. "this is an officer, captain," one of the torch-bearers said in russian. "very well; carry him to the camp, then. if he is alive the general may want to question him." seeing that he breathed, four of the russian soldiers took him upon their shoulders and carried him away. the pain of his wound, caused by the movement, was acute, but he retained consciousness until, after what seemed to him a the battle of clissow. journey of immense length he was again laid down on the ground, close to a large fire. several officers stood round him, and he asked, first in polish and then in swedish, for water, and at the orders of one who seemed of superior rank to the others, some was at once brought to him. "your king treats his prisoners well," the officer said. "we will do everything we can for you." half an hour later a doctor came to his side, and cutting open his coat, applied a bandage to his shoulder. "is it a serious wounds" charlie asked in swedish. "it might be worse, but it will be a troublesome one; it is a sabre-cut, and has cleft right through your shoulder- bone. are you hurt anywhere else?" "no, i do not think so. i was knocked down in the dark and i believe stunned, though i have a sort of recollec- tion of being trampled on, and i feel sore all over." the surgeon felt his ribs and limbs, repeatedly asking him if it hurt him. when he finished the examination he said: "you are doubtless badly bruised, but i don't think any- thing is broken. our cossack horses are little more than ponies, had they been heavy horse they would have trod your life out." a few moments later there was a sound of trampling horses. they halted close by. the officers drew back, and a moment later marshal scheremetof, the commander of the russian army, came up to charlie's side. "which of you speaks swedish?" he asked the officers, and one of them stepped forward. ' "ask him what force was this that attacked us, and with what object." as charlie saw no reason for concealment, he replied that it was a body of four hundred swedish infantry and a troop of horse, with four guns, and that their object was to enter the town. "they must have been mad to attempt to cut their way a jacobite exile. through our whole army," the general said, when the answer was translated to him; "but by st. paul they nearly succeeded. the swedes are mad, but this was too it'vch even for madmen. ask him whence the force came. it may be that a large reinforcement has reached vyburg without our knowing it." "we arrived two days since," charlie replied, when the question was put to him. "we came in a ship together from revel." "did others come with you?" was next asked at the general's dictation. "no other ship but ours has arrived." "but others are coming?" as charlie had no doubt that great efforts would be made to send further reinforcements he replied: "many more troops are coming, but i cannot say when they will arrive." "will it be soon?" "that i cannot say, but i don't think they will come from revel. there was a talk of large reinforcements, but whether from sweden or from the king's army, i cannot say." "are you a swede " the general asked. "i am an englishman in the swedish sendee, general." "we have many of your countrymen with us," the general said. "it would have been better for you had you come to the czar. see that he is well treated," he said to the officers, and then mounted and rode away. chapter xv. an old acquaintance. he next morning charlie was placed in a tent in _l which lay several officers who had been wounded either the night before or by shots from the town. he learned with great pleasure, upon questioning the doctor, that the swedes had got off safely in the darkness. some eight or ten men only had straggled and been made pris- oners, and not more than twenty had been left dead on the field. - he had the satisfaction therefore of knowing that the defence made by his own pikemen had been the means of saving the whole force. in other respects he had nothing to complain of, for he was well attended to, and received the same treatment as the russians. for another ten days the roar of the cannon continued, some seventy guns keeping up an incessant fire on the town. at the end of that time the governor capitulated, and was allowed to march out with the honours of war. only forty out of the brave garrison remained unwounded at the end of the siege. they, as well as such of their com- rades as were strong enough to travel, passed through the lines of the russians, and marched to vyburg. three weeks after being made a prisoner charlie's wound was so far healed that the surgeon pronounced him able to sit a horse, and under the escort of an officer and four cos- sacks he was taken by easy stages to bercov, a prison fort- ress a short distance from moscow. he had inquired from ( ) s an old acquaintance. days longer on the march.than the czar expected; so i was sent here as a sort of dismissal from active service. yon know no one else who could move in your matter?" "no one; the governor of the castle at plescow was a surly fellow, and was reprimanded by the czar, at least so i heard, for not having treated me sufficiently well. i was only three or four days there, and the only officer i saw besides dr. kelly was a friend of his, another doctor. he was at the table when i dined with kelly. he seemed to me to be a fine fellow, and, by the by, he did say jokingly that if i was ever made prisoner again i was to ask for him, and that he would do anything he could for me." "what was his name?" the governor asked. "peter michaeloff. do you know him?" he added as he saw a look of surprise in the governor's face. "i know one of that name," the governor said doubtfully, 'i don't know that he is a doctor; though he may be, for ho knows something of many things." "oh, he was a doctor," charlie said confidently. "i know kelly said he could take off a limb as well as he could do it himself." "what sort of man was he?" "he was a tall strong man with black hair and gray eyes. he has rather a positive way of talking, and seemed to have very strong opinions about things. he looked good- tempered, but i should say that he could be passionate enough if he were put out." "that might be the peter michaeloff i know," the governor said. "you are sure he said that you were to ask for him if you were a second time taken prisoner?" "i am quite certain he said so, though i don't know whether the promise meant much. but ho certainly spoke as if ho thought ho might bo able to help mo, and though it did not seem likely that i could have such bad luck twice, i think he meant at the time what he said, and i should think he was the sort of man who would keep his word." a jacobite exile. "i will make some inquiries," the governor said, "and find out if i can where he is at present. yes, i should think that he would be able to assist you if he chose to interest himself in the matter." ten days later the governor came into charlie's room. "an officer has arrived with an order for your removal," he said. "you aro to be taken up again to notteburg." "i am very sorry," charlie said; "i have been very comfortable here. you have been very kind to me, and i feel sure the change will not be for the better; besides, we are nearly into september now, and in th.it marshy country round the lake and river the winter will be even more severe than it is here. the only thing i can think of is that the swedes at vyburg may have taken a russian captain prisoner, and that they are going to exchange us." the governor shook his head. "there are no longer any swedes at vyburg, all ingria is in our hands and the swedes have retired into finland. it may be that it is the work of your friend. i sent a message to peter michaeloff, should he be found in that neighbourhood, by an officer who was going there, telling him that you were here, and that having met him when a prisoner at plescow you relied on his good offices. should the officer have found him there, and have given him my message, he may pro- bably have begged the field-marshal to order you to be taken to the prison there, where he could be near you and visit you sometimes." "your doctors must have a good deal more influence in your army than they have among the swedes," charlie remarked, "if that is how it has come about." "it would be a matter of favour," the governor said. "if michaeloff is acquainted with the field-marshal, or had attended him when unwell, he could ask a little favour of that sort. if the field-marshal sent you here he could send for you again without more trouble than signing his name to the order." an old acquaintance. "well, if it is michaeloff who has done this," charlie grumbled; "no doubt he meant it kindly, but i would much rather that he left me here. a ride of two hundred and fifty miles in august is not pleasant to begin with, and the thought of winter in those swamps is enough to make one shiver." "with a comfortable room and a warm stove you will not find much to complain of, captain carstairs," the gover- nor said with a smile; "and no doubt michaeloff may be enabled to obtain leave for you to go out with him on parole. i was about myself to ask you, now that you are strong and well again, whether you would like to give your parole, and offer you the use of my horse for a ride when inclined for it." "thank you, governor; if michaeloff can do that it will certainly be a boon, but i am not disposed to agree that the change can be his work. in the first place, we don't know that he is there; in the second, i can hardly think that he could have managed it; and most of all, i do not see he could possibly have had a hand in the matter, for even supposing the officer had found him directly he arrived and then given him the message, and he had acted upon it at once, there would have been no time for the order to get here. it would have needed a messenger riding night and day with frequent relays of horses to have got to notteburg and back since the day i spoke to you about the matter. when am i to start?" "as soon as you have eaten your breakfast. the order says 'send at once,' and field-marshals expect their orders to be attended to promptly." on descending to the courtyard after breakfast, charlie was surprised to see that instead of a horse as he had expected, a well-appointed carriage with an ample supply of rugs was standing there. the governor was there to see him off. "well, sir," charlie said, "if this is the way in which you a jacobite exile. convey prisoners from one place to another in russia, i shall certainly be able when i meet king charles to report to him most favourably as to the treatment of his officers who have fallen into the czar's hands. this will make the journey a very much more pleasant one than i had expected." "i am glad you are pleased," the governor said, "and that you have no unpleasant recollection of your stay here." a minute later the carriage dashed out through the gate of the prison. an officer was seated by charlie's side, two cossacks galloping in front, while two others rode behind. "it was worth making the change if only for this drive," charlie thought cheerfully as the dust flew up in a cloud before the horses' hoofs, and he felt a sense of exhilaration from the keen air that blow in his face. the journey was performed with great rapidity. one of the cossacks galloped ahead as soon as they arrived at the station, where they changed horses and had fresh ones in readiness at the next post-house. the cossacks themselves were changed at every other station, fresh relays from the men stationed there taking their place. excellent meals were served three times a day, and each night a comfortable bed was provided at the last post-house'where they stopped. the officer was a pleasant fellow, but he spoke nothing except russian, and although charlie fancied he understood him to some extent when he spoke to him in polish, he shook his head and gave no answers in that language. late in the evening of the third day they arrived at notteburg. tho building at which the carriage stopped was of considerable size, it stood in tho heart of the town, and had no outward appearance of a prison. it was apparently at a side entrance at which they stopped. on the officer knocking at the door, it was opened by two cossacks, who, after exchanging a few words in russian with the officer, led charlie along a passage and up a narrow staircase, which led into a somewhat spacious corridor. they opened an old acquaintance. a door, and he found himself in a comfortable room. a table laid for dinner with handsome silver and appointments stood in the middle of the room, which was carpeted with tartar rugs. one of the cossacks opened an inner door, which led into a bed-room snugly furnished. "it must be the doctor after all," charlie murmured to himself in great surprise. "i see now that there was plenty of time for a letter to come up here and have gone back again, and i suppose the good fellow has got leave for me to stay for a night in his quarters before i am handed over to the prison. well, for the last three days i have travelled like a prince, and this is the closing act of it." he enjoyed a good wash, then returned to the other room, and sat down in a comfortable chair to wait for his host. he was on the point of dozing off when the door opened and peter michaeloff entered. charlie sprang to his feet. "well, captain carstairs," the russian said, holding out his hand, "so it seems you had bad luck again. you must have quite an affection for our prisons." "i shall have at least a pleasant remembrance of the kindness shown to me as a prisoner," charlie said; "and i am sure it is you that i have to thank for my transfer here and for the pleasant journey i have had. i conld not have travelled more comfortably if i had been a russian grandee." "well, i am glad to meet you again," the doctor said heartily. "let me see, it is some twenty months since we supped together last at kelly's quarters. poor fellow! i shall miss him greatly. you have heard of his death?" "the governor of bercov told me of it a fortnight ago. i was indeed sorry to hear it. i shall never forget his kind- ness to me." "yes, he was a good man, skilful in his profession, and full of zeal and energy. the blood runs faster somehow in the veins of you islanders than of us slugglish muscovites. an old acquaintance. when charlie stated that he had gone to warsaw on a private mission, whose nature was immaterial to the story, the doctor broke in—" you need not tell me what it was, it was of course something to do with augustus. the way charles is hunting down that unfortunate king is shocking, it is downright malignity. why, he has wasted fifteen months over it already, and it has cost him ingria. he could have made any terms with poland he liked after his victory on the dwina, and would then have been free to use all his forces against us. as it is, he has wasted two summers, and is likely to waste another, and that not for any material advantage, but simply to gratify his hatred against augustus; and he has left us to take ingria almost without a blow, and to gain, what russia has wanted for the last hundred years, a foothold on the baltic. he may be a great general, but he is no politician; no real states- man would throw away solid advantages in order to gratify personal pique." "he considers augustus the author of this league against him," charlie said. "he and the czar had no grounds at all of quarrel against him." "we talked over that the last time we met," the doctor said with a laugh, "and i told you then that a foothold on the baltic was so necessary to russia, that she would have accepted the alliance of the prince of darkness himself to get it. as to augustus, i don't defend him; he was ambitious, as i suppose most of us are; he thought he saw an opportunity of gaining territory. he has found that he has made a mistake, and will of course lose a province. but charles' persecution of him goes beyond all bounds; never before did a sovereign insist upon a nation consenting to dethrone its king at his dictation. but go on with your story." he listened without remark until charlie concluded. "i wish you had been in our service," he said, "instead of that of sweden; you would have mounted fast. you a jacobite exile. have all the requisites for success, above all, promptitude of decision and quickness of invention. you did well in getting away from that jewish scoundrel in the hut and in killing his master, but it was your adventure with the wolves that showed your quality. that idea of setting fire to the tree in which you were sitting, in order at once to warm yourself and to frighten away the wolves, would never have occurred to a russian, and the quickness with which you formed, with three logs, a redoubt against the wolves showed a quick military eye, and the ability to think and act in a moment of danger. now tell me how it was that you were the only officer captured the other day." charlie briefly related how he, with the pikemen of his company, had stayed behind to check the pursuit of the russian horse, and to gain time for the main body to lose themselves in the darkness. the russian struck his fist on the arm of his chair. "it was well done," he said. "there is the difference. a russian captain would have done it if he had been ordered, and he and his men would, without a question, have sacrificed themselves to cover the retreat of the rest, but he would never have done it on his own initiative; the idea would never have struck him; he would have plodded along until the enemy's cavalry came up and annihilated them all. by the way, why did you not ask for me at once?" • "i had asked for dr. kelly the day after i was taken prisoner, and was told that he had gone to the volga. i thought that he would be back before long, and it was only when i heard of his death that it occurred to me to en- deavour to find one who had kindly promised, after a few hours' acquaintance only, to befriend me should i ever find myself in a similar scrape." "it would have saved you the journey down to moscow. i heard, of course, that a swedish captain had been made prisoner that night, but i was myself at moscow at the an old acquaintance. time, and did not happen to notice the name of the officer taken. were you well treated at bcrcov?" "the governor there was most kind, and all the arrange- ments of the prison seem excellent; i had no reason what- ever to complain. the governor was good enough to come frequently himsolf to talk to me. he is a fine soldierly man, and though he did not say much, i think he is eating his heart out at being laid on the shelf there, instead of aiding to fight the battles of his country." the russian took out a pocket-book and made a note, then he rose. "it is time for bed," he said. "i am up at daybreak." "i hope i shall see you often in the prison," charlie said. "i suppose i shall go in there to-morrow morning. i am indebted to you indeed, for the very great kindness you have shown me." "no, you will not go in early. i have got leave for you for another day, and i am going to take you for a drive in the morning. you will be called an hour before sunrise. take your breakfast as soon as you are dressed, do not wait for me; i havo work to do before i start, and shall breakfast elsewhere." as soon as charlie had breakfasted the next morning a cossack told him that the carriage was below, and he fol- lowed him to the door where he had entered on the previous evening. the carnage was a simple one, but the three horses harnessed abreast to it were magnificent animals. charlie stood admiring them for some little time. "i should think," he said to himself, "the doctor must be a man of large property, and most likely of noble family, who has taken up his profession from pure love of it. he is evidently full of energy, and has an intense desire to see russia greater and higher in the rank of nations. i suppose that, like kelly, he is one of the principal medical officers in the army. certainly he must be a man of considerable influence to obtain my transfer here so easily, and to see a jacobite exile. that i travelled so comfortably. i wonder where he is going to take me this morning." four or five minutes later charlie's friend appeared at the door. he was evidently out of temper. he sprung hastily into the vehicle, as if he had altogether forgotten that he had asked charlie to accompany him. then, as his eye fell on him, he nodded and said briefly, "jump in." a little surprised at the unceremonious address, charlie sprang into the seat beside him without hesitation, seeing that his companion was evidently so much out of temper that he was not thinking of what he was doing at the moment. the coachman cracked his whip, and the spirited horses went off at a rate of speed that threatened danger to persons traversing the narrow streets of the town. the cracking of the coachman's whip, and an occasional loud shout and the jangling of the bells, gave, however, sufficient warning of their approach. charlie smiled at the alacrity with which everyone sprang out of the way, and either leapt into doorways or squeezed themselves against the wall. he was surprised, however, to see that not only did the townspeople show no resent- ment at the reckless pace at which the carriage was driven, but that the soldiers, officers as well as men, cleared, out as quickly, and without any expression of indignation or anger. indeed, most of them, as soon as they gained a place of safety, saluted his companion. "these russians have evidently a higher respect for their doctors than have the swedes," he said to himself. "i am sure that not even the chief surgeon of the army would be treated with any- thing like the same respect, and indeed no one would recognize him at all if he were not in uniform." the doctor seemed to pay no attention to what was passing round him, but was muttering angrily to himself. it was not until they dashed out into the open country that he seemed to remember charlie's presence at his side. an old acquaintance. "these people are enough to vex one of the saints by their stupidity," he said. "unless they have someone standing behind them with a whip, they cannot be trusted to do what they are told. it is not that they are not willing, but that they are stupid. no one would believe that people could be so stupid; they drive me well-nigh to madness sometimes, and it is the more irritating because against stupidity one is powerless. beating a man or knocking him down may do him good if he is obstinate or if he is careless, but when he is simply stupid it only makes him more stupid than before; you might as well batter a stone wall. you slept well and breakfasted well, captain carstairs " "excellently well, thank you. what superb horses you have, doctor." "yes; i like travelling fast. life is too short to throw away time in travelling. a busy man should always keep good horses." "if he can afford to do so," charlie said with a laugh. "i should say that everyone, busy or not, would like to sit behind such horses as these, and, as you say, it would save a good deal of time to one who travelled much. but three such horses as these would only be in the reach of one with a very long purse." "they were bred here. their sire was one of three given by the king of england to the czar; the dams were from the imperial stables at vienna. so they ought to be good." charlie guessed that the team must have been a present from the czar, and remembering what dr. kelly had said of the czar's personal communications with him, he thought that the ruler of russia must have a particular liking for doctors, and that the medical profession must be a more honoured and profitable one in russia than elsewhere. after driving with great rapidity for upwards of an hour along the banks of the neva, charlie saw a great number of people at work r( a jacobite exile. on an island in the middle of the river some distance ahead, and soon afterwards, to his surprise, observed a multitude on the flat, low ground ahead. "this is what i have brought you to see," his companion said. "do you know what they arc doing?" "it seems to mo that they are building a fortress on that island." "you are right. we have got a footing on the sea, and we are going to keep it. while charles of sweden is fooling away his time in poland in order to gratify his spite against augustus wo are strengthening ourselves here, and never again will sweden wrest ingria from our hands." "it is marvellous how much has been done already," charlie said as he looked at the crowd of workmen. "everything was prepared," his companion said. "while the army was invading livonia and driving the remnant of the swedes into revel, thousands of carta laden with piles of wood, stone, and cement were moving towards ingria. tens of thousands of workmen and peasants were in motion from every part of russia towards this point, and the day after notteburg surrendered they began their work here. it was the opportunity in the lifetime of a nation, and we havo seized it. the engineers who had in disguise examined it months ago had reported that the island was covered at high tides, and was unfit to bear the foundations of even the slightest buildings. piles are being driven in as close as they will stand over every foot of ground in it. over this a coating of concrete many feet thick will bo laid, and on this the fortress, which is to be the centre and heart of russia, will rise. in the fort will stand a pile which will be the tomb of the future czars of russia, and there in front of us, where you see fifty thousand peasants at work, shall be the future capital of the empire." "but it is a swamp," charlie said in astonishment, alike at the vastness of the scheme and the energy with which it was being prosecuted. a jacobite exile. them from livonia on the west and from finland on the north. but i must to work." and he motioned to a group of five or six officers, who had been standing a short distance away, to approach him. charlie was struck with the air of humility with which they saluted his companion, who at once asked a number of questions as to the supplies that had arrived, the progress that had been made at a point where they had met with a deep slough into which the piles had penetrated without meeting with any firm ground, the number of huts that had been erected during the past three days for the reception of labourers, the state of stocks of meat and flour, and other particulars. to each he gave short, sharp orders. when they had left he turned to charlie. "you guess who i am, i suppose?" "i guess now, your majesty," charlie said respectfully, "but until now the idea that my kind friend was the czar himself never entered my mind. i understood from dr. kelly that you were a surgeon." "i don't think he said so," the czar replied. "he simply said that i could perform an amputation as well as he could, which was not quite true. but i studied surgery for a time in holland, and performed several operations under the eyes of the surgeons there. i saw that you did not recognize my name. it is known to every russian, but doubtless you never heard of me save as peter the czar. directly you mentioned it to the commandant at bercov and described my appearance he knew who it was you were speaking of, and despatched a messenger at once to me. he will be here in the course of a week or so. upon your report of the state of the prison, i at once despatched an order for him to hand over his command to the officer next in rank and to proceed hither at once. he is evidently a good admini- strator, and heaven knows i have need of such men here. i was pleased with you when i saw you with my friend dr. kelly. it was pleasant not to be known and hear a frank an old acquaintance. opinion such as you gave me, and as you know, i sent you back on the following morning. i certainly told kelly at the time not to mention who i was, but i did not intend that he should keep you in ignorance of it after had left, and it was not until i heard from your jailer at bercov that you were ignorant that peter michaeloff was the czar, that i knew that he had kept you in ignorance of it until the end. i should have liked to have kept you as my guest for a time, but winter comes on early and suddenly, and if you did not go now you might be detained here until the spring. i have therefore given orders that one of the swedish vessels we captured on the lake should be got in readiness and its crew placed on board again. you shall embark in an hour, and it shall carry you to any port in sweden you may choose. the wind is from the east, and you have every chance of a quick run thither." charlie expressed his warm thanks to the czar for his thoughtful kindness. "i have much to do now," the czar said, "and must hand you over to the care of one of my officers. he will accom- pany you in my carriage to the spot where the vessel is lying, near the mouth of the river, and will there see you on board. should the fortune of war again throw you into our hands, do not lose an hour in sending a message to peter michaeloff." so saying, the czar shook hands with charlie, beckoned an officer to him and gave him instructions, and then moved away among the workmen, while charlie with his conductor took their places in the vehicle and drove rapidly off. an hour later he was on board the swedish vessel, whose master and crew were delighted at their sudden and unlooked for release. the former was overjoyed, for the vessel was his own property. "you will find your things in your cabin, sir," he said. "they were sent on board this morning, together with food and wine sufficient for a month's voyage, whereas with this ( ) t a jacobite exile. wind we ought not to be more than four days. at which port will you land?" "i would rather go to gotten burg, captain, though it is farther for you than stockholm." "it shall be gottenburg, sir. it is, thanks to you, that [ have got my liberty and my ship, and a day or two can make no difference to me." charlie, indeed, had thought the matter over as he drove along. he would not be able to rejoin the army until it had gone into winter quarters, and therefore decided that he would go to gottenburg, apply for six months' leave, and spend the winter with his father. somewhat puzzled at the mention of his things having gone on board, he went into the cabin, and found there a handsome pelisse trimmed with costly furs, two robes composed of valuable skins, and a change of clothes. the wind held fair, blowing strongly, and four days later he arrived at gottenburg. chapter xvi. in england again. iharlie was received with delight by his father, whom \j he had not seen since the spring of the previous year. "then you got my letter, charlie?" sir marmaduke asked when the first greetings were over; "and yet i do not see how you could have done so. it is little over a fortnight since i wrote, and i had not looked for you for another month yet." "i have certainly received no letter, father. a fortnight ago i was in a russian prison, and my arrival here in so short a time seems to me almost miraculous;" and he then briefly related his singular experiences. "now about the letter, father," he said as he concluded. "i suppose you must have written to ask me to get leave for a time, as it seems that you were expecting me shortly. i suppose you felt that you would like me with you for a time." "so i should, lad, of that you may be sure, but i should not have called you away for that. no, i had this letter the other day from old banks. you know he writes to me once a year. his letters have been oidy gossip so far, for you know my precious cousin kicked him out of the house as soon as he took possession; but this is a different matter. read it for yourself." charlie took the letter, and with some trouble spelt through the crabbed handwriting. a jacobite exii-e. it began: "honoured sir and master, i hope that this finds you and captain charles both well in health. i have been laid up with rhematis in the bones, having less comfort in my lodgings than i used to have at lynnwood. your honour will have heard that king william has fallen from his horse and broken his collar-bono and died. may the lord forgive him for taking the place of better men. anne has come to the throne, and there wero some hopes that she would, of herself, step aside and let him to whom the throne rightly belongs come to it. such, however, has not been the case, and those who know best think that things are no forwarder for william's death, rather indeed the reverse, since the princess anne is better liked by the people than was her sister's husband. there is no sure news from lynnwood. none of the old servants are there; and i have no one from whom i can learn anything for certain. things, however, are, i hear, much worse since young mr. dormay was killed in the duel in london, of which i told you in my last letter. "dame celia and mistress ciceley go but seldom abroad, and when seen they smile but little, but seem sad and downcast. the usurper has but small dealing with any of the gentry. there are always men staying there, fellows of a kind with whom no gentleman would consort, and they say there is much drinking and wild going on. as captain charles specially bade me, i have done all that i could to gather news of nicholson. till of late i have heard nothing of him. he disappeared altogether from these parts just after your honour went away. news once came here from one who knew him, and who had gone up to london on a visit to a kinsman, that he had met him there dressed up in a garb in no way according with his former position, but ruffling it at a tavern frequented by loose blades, spending his money freely, and drinking and dicing with the best of them. "a week since he was seen down here in a very sorry in england again. state, looking as if luck had gone altogether against him. benjamin haddock, who lives, as you know, close to the gate of lynnwood, told me that he saw one pass along the road just as it was dusk, whom he could swear was that varlet nicholson. he went to the door and looked after him to make sure, and saw him enter the gate. next day nicholson was in lancaster. he was spending money freely there, and rode off on a good horse, which looked ill assorted with his garments, though he purchased some of better fashion in the town. it seemed to me likely that ho must have got money from the usurper. i do not know whether your honour will deem this news of importance, but i thought it well to write to you at once. any further news i may gather i will send without fail. your humble ser- vant, john banks." "there is no doubt that this is of importance," charlie said, when he had read the letter through. "it is only by getting hold of this villain that there is any chance of our obtaining proof of the foul treachery of which you were the victim. hitherto we have had no clue whatever as to where he was to be looked for. now there can be little doubt that he has returned to his haunts in london. i understand now, father, why you wanted me to get leave. you mean that i shall undertake this business." "that was my thought, charlie. you are now well-nigh twenty, and would scarce be recognized as the boy who left four years ago. the fellow would know me at once, and i might be laid by the heels again under the old warrant; besides being charged with breaking away from the custody of the soldiers. besides, in this business youth and strength and vigour are requisite. i would gladly take the matter in my own hands, but methinks you would have a better chance of bringing it to a favourable issue. now that anne is on the throne, she and her advisers will look leniently upon the men whose only fault was devotion to her father; and if wo can once get this foul charge of a jacobite exile. "i have come to london to see a little lifo," he said, "and i want to be put into the way of doing it. i don't want to go to places where young gallants assemble; my purse is not deep enough to stand such society. i should like to go to places where i shall meet hearty young fellows, and could have a throw of the dice, or see a main fought by good cocks, or even sally out and have a little fun with the watch. my purse is fairly lined, and i want some amuse- ment,—something to look back upon when i go home again. what is the best way to set about itf "well, sir, if that is your humour, i have a brother who is one of the mayor's tipstaffs. he knows the city well, ay and westminster too, and the purlieus of st. james's, and whether you want to meet young gallants or roistering blades, or to have a look in at places where you can hire a man to cut another's throat for a few crowns, he can show you them. he will be on duty now, but i will send him a message to come round this evening, and i warrant me he will be here. ho has showed young squires from the country over the town before this, and will guess what is on hand when he gets my message." having nothing to do, charlie sauntered about the town during the day, looking into the shops, and keeping a keen eye on passers-by, with the vague hope that he might be lucky enough to come across his man. after he had finished his supper, the waiter came up and told him that his brother was outside. "i have poken to him, sir, and he warrants that ho can take you into the sort of society you want to meet, what- ever it may be." charlie followed him out. a man was standing under the lamp that swung before the door. "this is the gentleman i was speaking to you of, tony." as the man took off his cap charlie had a good view of his face. it was shrewd and intelligent. "you understand what i want?" he asked, as the waiter ran into the house again to attend to his duties. d a jacobite exile. "that alters the affair," the man said gravely. "it will add to your danger; for as you know him, i suppose he knows you also." "no; it is four years since we met, and i have so greatly changed in that time that i have no fear he would recognize me; at any rate, not here in london, which is the last place ho would suspect me of being in." "that is better. well, sir, if that be your object, i will do my best to help you. what is the fellow's name and description?" "ho called himself nicholson when we last met; but like enough that is not his real name, and if it is, he may be known by another here. he is a lanky knave of middle height, but more than that, except that he has a shifty look about his eyes, i cannot tell you." "and his condition, you say, is changeable?" "very much so, i should say. i should fancy that when „ in funds he would frequent places where he could prey on careless young fellows from the country like myself. when his pockets are empty i should say he would herd with the lowest rascals." "well, sir, as you say he is in funds at present, we will this evening visit a tavern or two frequented by young blades, some of whom have more money than wit, and by men who live by their wits and nothing else. but you must not bo disappointed if the search prove a long one before you run your hare down, for the indications you have given me are very doubtful. he may be living in alsatia, hard by the temple, which, though not so bad as it used to be, is still an abode of dangerous rogues. but more likely you may meet him at the taverns in west- minster or near whitehall; for if he has means to dress himself bravely it is there he will most readily pick up gulls. i will, with your permission, take you to the better sort to begin with, and then when you have got moro ac- customed to the ways of these places you can go to those a in england again. lines, saying that harry and carstairs are young officers who have borne themselves bravely and to his satisfaction. it may help with the duke, and will show at any rate that you have both been out here and not intriguing at st. germains.' "the colonel came in late in the evening with a paper, which the king had told count piper to write and sign, and had himself put his signature to it. i have got it sewn up in my doublet with my father's letter to marlborough. they are too precious to lose, but i can tell you what it is word for word: 'by order of king charles xii. of sweden. this is to testify to all whom it may concern, that captain charles carstairs and captain harry jervoise—'" "oh, i am glad, harry!" charlie interrupted. "it was horrid that i should have been a captain for the last year and you a lieutenant. i am glad indeed." "yes, it is grand, isn't it, and very good of the king to do it like that. now i will go on— 'have both served me well and faithfully during the war, showing great valour, and proving themselves to be brave and honourable gentle- men, as may be seen, indeed, from the rank that they, though young in years, have both attained, and which is due solely to their deserts.' what do you think of that?" "nothing could be better, harry. did you see my father at gottenburg?" "yes. the ship i sailed by went to stockholm, and i was lucky enough to find there another storting for eng- land in a few hours. she touched at gottenburg to take in some cargo, and i had time so see sir marmaduke, who was good enough to express himself as greatly pleased that i was coining over to join you." "well, harry, i am glad indeed. before we talk, let us go in and have supper, that is if you have not already had vours. if you have, i can wait a bit." "no; they told me you had ordered your supper at six, so i told them i would take mine at the same time; and indeed i can tell you that i am ready for it." a jacobite exile. after the meal, charlie told his friend the steps he was taking to discover nicholson. "do you feel sure that you would know him again, harry?" "quito sure. why, i saw him dozens of times at lynnwood." "then we shall now be able to hunt for him separately, harry. going to two or three places of an evening, i always fear that he may come in after i have gone away. now one of us can wait till the hour for closing, while the other goes elsewhere." for another fortnight they frequented all the places where they thought nicholson would be most likely to show him- self; then, after a consultation with their guide, they agreed that they must look for him at lower places. "like enough," the tipstaff said, "he may have run through his money the first night or two after coming up to town. that is the way with these fellows. as long as they have money they gamble; when they have none, they cheat or turn to other evil courses. now that there are two of you together, there is less danger in going to such places; for though these rascals may be ready to pick a quarrel with a single man, they know that it is a dangerous game to play with two who look perfectly capable of defending themselves." for a month they frequented low taverns. they dressed themselves plainly now, and assumed the character of young fellows who had come up to town, and had fallen into bad company and lost what little money they had brought with them, and were now ready for any desperate enterprise. still no success attended their search. "i can do no more for you," their guide said. "i have taken you to every house that such a man would be likely to use. of course there are many houses near the river frequented by bad characters. but here you would chiefly meet men connected in some way with the sea, in england again. and stared at the two young men, who had just put on their hats again. they looked up carelessly, and harry said— "fine weather for this time of year." the man replied by a grunt, and then passed on into the landlord's private room. "that is the fellow, sure enough, charlie," harry said in a low tone. "i thought your eyes might have deceived you, but i remember his face well. now what is to be done?" "we won't lose sight of him again," charlie said. "though if we do we shall know where to pick up his traces, for he evidently frequents this place. i should say ho has taken to the road, there were a brace of pistols in the holsters. that is how it is that we have not found him before. well, at any rate, there is no use trying to make his acquaintance here. the first question is, will he stay here for the night or not—and if he does not, which way will he go?" "he came from the north," harry said. "so if he goes it will be towards town." "that is so. our best plan will be to pay our reckoning and start. we will go a hundred yards or so down the road, and then lie down behind a hedge, so as to see if he passes. if he does not leave before nightfall, we will come up to the house and reconnoitre. if he does not leave by ten, he is here for the night, and we must make ourselves as snug as we can under a stack. the nights are getting cold, but we have slept out in a deal colder weather than this. however, i fancy he will go on, it is early for a man to finish a journey. if he does, we must follow him and keep him in sight if possible." two hours later they saw from their hiding-place nicholson ride out from the lane. he turned his horse's head in their direction. "that is good," charlie said. "if he is bound for london ( s) u a jacobite exile. we shall be able to get into his company somehow; but if ho had gone up to some quiet place north, we might have had a lot of difficulty in getting acquainted with him." as soon as the man had ridden past they leapt to their feet, and at a run kept along the hedge. he had started at a brisk trot, but when, a quarter of a mile on, they reached a gate, and looked up the road after him, they saw to their satisfaction that the horse had already fallen into a walk. "he does not mean to go far from barnet," charlie exclaimed. "if he had been bound farther he would have kept on at a trot. we will keep on behind the hedges as long as we can. if he were to look back and see us always behind him he might become suspicious." they had no difficulty in keeping up with the horseman. sometimes when they looked out he was a considerable distance ahead, having quickened his pace; but he never kept that up long, and by brisk running, and dashing reck- lessly through the hedges running at right angles to that they were following, they soon came up to him again. once he had gone so far ahead that they took to the road, and followed it until he again slackened his speed; they thus kept him in sight till they neared barnet. "we can take to the road now," harry said. "even if he should look round he will think nothing of seeing two men behind him, we might have turned into it from some by-lane. at any rate we must chance it. we must find where he puts up for the night." chapter xvii. the north coach. barnet was then, as now, a somewhat straggling place. soon after entering it the horseman turned off from the main road. his pursuers were but fifty yards behind him, and they kept him in sight until, after proceeding a quarter of a mile he stopped at a small tavern, where he dismounted, and a boy took his horse and led it round by the side of the house. "run to earth!" harry said exultantly. "he is not likely to move from there to-night." "at any rate he is safe for a couple of hours," charlie said. "so we will go to our inn and have a good meal. by that time it will be quite dark, and we will have a look at the place he has gone into; and if we can't learn anything we must watch it by turns till midnight. we will arrango at the inn to hire a horse.. one will be enough. he only caught a glimpse of us at that inn, and certainly would not recognize one of us if he saw him alone. the other can walk." "but which way, charlie? he may go back again." "it is hardly likely he came here merely for the pleasure of stopping the night at that little tavern. i have no doubt he is bound for london. you shall take the horse, harry, and watch until he starts, and then follow him, just manag- ing to come up close to him as he gets into town. i will start early and wait at the beginning of the houses, and it a jacobite exile face to him again he would shoot me even if he were hung for it. bad teste, wasn't it? at any rate i mustn't call on him again too soon." "you haven't settled on the night yet, i suppose, captain?" "about the end of next week. friday will l>e a full moon, i think, and i like a moon for the work. it gives light enough to sec what you are doing, and not light enough for them to see much of you. so i suppose i may as well fix friday. i will send up a message for jack mercer and jerry skinlow to be here on thursday evening. i will be here that afternoon and settle matters with them as to where they shall meet mo, and what each man shall do. then i will ride back to town, and come out again just as it gets dark, with jack ponsford." "i suppose you will do it north of here?" "no, i will do it a mile or two out of town. the road north of this is getting rather a bad reputation, and in going out of barnet the guard now looks to his blunderbuss, and the passengers get their pistols ready. it isn't once in a hundred times they have pluck enough to use them, but they always think they will until the time comes. near town we shall take them by surprise, and stop them before they have time to think of getting out their arms. con- found that window; shove something into the hole, john- son. i can feel the cold right down my back." a cloth was pushed into the broken pane, and charlie could hear no more of what was said inside. he had heard, indeed, enough for his purpose, but he had hoped to gather the name of the place at which the man would put up in london. however, he was well satisfied with his success, and at once made his way back to the inn. "well, charlie, how have you succeeded?" harry asked as he sat down at the table. "could not be better, harry, though i did not find out where he puts up in london. however, that is of small consequence. in the first place. found out that our sus- the north coach. picions were right, and that the fellow is a highwayman, and seems to be captain of a gang consisting anyhow of three, and perhaps of more, fellows like himself. in the second place, he intends with his three comrades to attack the coach on friday week, two or three miles out of town. nothing could better suit our purpose, even if we had planned the affair ourselves. of course we will be there. if we can capture him while engaged in that work, we can get anything out of him. he has either got to confess or be hanged." "that is a stroke of good luck indeed," harry exclaimed "it will be rather difficult to manage, though. the fellows will be sure to be masked; and if we were to shoot him instead of one of the others, it would be fatal." "yes, that would be awkward. besides," charlie said, "even if we did recognize him and shot his horse, he might jump up behind one of the other men, or might make off across the country, and we might lose sight of him'before we could get down from the top of the coach to pursue." "it might be better if we were mounted instead of being on the coach." "better in some ways, harry; but if they heard two mounted men coming along beside the coach, they would probably take the alarm and not attack at all; while, if we were to keep a bit behind and ride up as soon as we heard the firing—for they generally shoot one of the horses to bring the coach to a stand-still—they might ride off as soon as they heard the sound of the horses on the road. those fellows are splendidly mounted, their lives depend upon it, and nothing we should be able to hire would be likely to have a chance with them." "well, we shall have plenty of time to think this over, charlie. i suppose we shall carry out our plan to-morrow, as we arranged." "certainly. it is as important to find out where he lives in london as it was before, for if he gets away we can then look the north coach. from the country. i suppose he is in the habit of stopping at that house whenever he comes up with his pockets lined, and is regarded there as a respectable gentloman by the landlord. now you had better take your horse to the stable where you agreed to hand it over, and we will meet at our lodgings and plan what to do next." the discussion did not lead to much, there did not seem to them anything to do until the day when the coach was to be attacked, but they agreed it would be well to take the advice of their friend the tipstaff. hitherto they had not told him more of their motive for desiring to find nicholson than charlie had said at his first inter- view with him. they thought it would be better now to make him more fully acquainted with the facts, for they had found him shrewd, and eager to assist them to the best of his power. they therefore sent a boy with a note to him at the court, and at seven o'clock he came to their lodgings. "we have found our man," charlie said as he entered. "i am very glad to hear it, gentlemen. i had quite given up all hopes that you would be able to do so, and thought he must have left town altogether for a time." "sit down and take a glass of wine; we want your advice in this matter, and unless you know how much there is at stake you will not be able to enter fully into the affair. some four years ago this fellow was concerned in a plot by which six gentlemen, among whom were our friends, were brought to ruin. they were in the habit of meeting to- gether, being all of similar political opinions, and advantage was taken of this by a man, who hoped to profit largely by their ruin, specially by that of my father. in order to bring this about ho recommended this fellow we are in search of to my father, who happened at the time to be in want of a servant. "the fellow undoubtedly acted as a spy, for i once caught him at it. but spying alone would have been of no use, for a jacobite exile. there was nothing at any time said that would have brought harm upon them. they simply discussed what thousands of other people have discussed, the measures that should he taken on behalf of the stuarts if one of them came over from france supported by a french force. the fellow, however, swore that the object of these meetings was to arrange for an assassination of william. he gave full details of the supposed plot, and in order to give substance to his statements he hid in a cabinet of my father's a number of compromising papers, professing to be letters from abroad. "theso were found by the officers sent to arrest my father. he and his five friends managed to escape, but their estates were forfeited. of course, what we want to prove is tho connection between this spy and his employer, who, for his services in bringing this supposed plot to light, received as a reward my father's estates. there is no way of doing this unless this man can be brought to confess his own villainy in the matter of the letters, and to denounce tho scoundrel whose agent he was. probably by this time he has got nearly all he can expect from his employer, and will at least feel no scruples in exposing him if by so doing he can save his own neck. now, we have not only discov- ered the man, but have found out that he is a notorious highwayman and the leader of a gang; but more, i have found out the day and hour on which he proposes to stop and rob the north coach." "well, mr. carstairs, if you have done that," the man said, "you have done marvels. that you should find tho man might bo a piece of good luck, but that you should have learned all this about him seems to me wonderful." "it was a lucky accident altogether. we saw him, watched him, and managed to overhear a conversation from which we gathered these facts. it was all simple enough. of course our idea is that we should, if possible, catch him in the act of robbing the coach, bind and take charge of the north coach. him, saying that we should hand him over to justice, when the coachman and passengers would, of course, appear to testify against him. instead of doing this we should take him somewhere, and then give him the option of either making a clean breast of the whole story, and remaining in our custody until called upon to testify to his statement in a court of justice whenever required, or of being handed over to the authorities to be tried and hung as a highway- man. one of our greatest difficulties is how to effect his capture. the attack will be made at night on the coach, and in the darkness we might shoot him or he might get away. he is at present in london at a lodging in a street behind the abbey, where, doubtless, his real profession is altogether unsuspected by the people of the house. now, you know the whole affair, let us have your opinion as to the manner in which we had best set about the busi- ness." the man sat for some time in silence. "i can think of no better plan than yours, sir, and yet it seems to me that there is scarcely any chance of your catch- ing him at the coach. of course it would be easy enough if you did not care whether you killed or caught him. all you would have to do would be to get half a dozen stout fellows armed with pistols on the coach with you instead of passengers, and then you would be pretty certain to kill some of them, perhaps all; but as you can't do that, and are afraid to shoot lest you should kill him, it seems to me that you have a very small chance of catching him that way." charlie and his friend so thoroughly saw this that they sat silent when he ceased speaking. "we could not arrest him now, i suppose?" harry said at last. "well, you see, you have got nothing against him. he may have been a knight of the road for the last five years, but you have no witnesses to prove it, and it is not much use the north coach. are likely to be pals of his. if they are respectable i will see them on friday evening, show them my badge, and tell them that the man who has been lodging here is a notorious highwayman, and that i am going to arrest him. to prevent any chance of a mistake i will put three or four of my mates round the house, to see that no one goes out to give him the alarm. i will come down and open the door for you at two o'clock in the morning; you can then come up with me into his bed-room, and as he comes in i will nab him. "if, on the other hand, i find the people of the house have a doubtful reputation in the neighbourhood, we must simply hide in door-ways, make a rush upon him as he goes up to the house and overpower him there. if one stands in his doorway and leaps out on him as he comes up, he won't have much chance of using a pistol. i will have a cart ready close by. we will truss him up tightly, gag him and put him into it, and i will have some place ready for us to drive him to, if you think that plan is as good as any other." "i think it is an excellent plan and could not be better," charlie exclaimed, and his friend heartily agreed with him. "i think you will be able to get anything out of him when you get him there," said the tipstaff. "he is sure to have some of the swag about him, and even if none of the passengers of the coach are able to swear to him, that and the talk you overheard would be sufficient to hang him." "can those boys you speak of write " "not they, sir." "there might be a difficulty about a verbal message." "the guard will give it all right if he gets half a crown with it; you need not trouble about that, sir. i will have a man to meet each coach as it comes in. and now we have arranged matters, sir, i will go with you to see the house, and will send a sharp fellow down to-morrow to make in- quiries about the people of the place." when they returned the friends sat for a long time a jacobite exile. 'he is both, sir," charlie said; "but, like major jervoise, an exile." "you amaze me, but i will not ask you to tell me more now. i have to be at st. james's at twelve. let me see, this evening i shall be engaged. come to-morrow morning at half-past eight, and i shall then be able to give you an hour, or may be two if necessary, and will then hear the whole story fully." the young men on presenting themselves the next morn- ing at the hour named were at once ushered in. "now, let us lose no time," the duke said, after shaking hands heartily. "which of you will tell the story " "carstairs will do so, my lord," harry replied. "the mis- chief was hatched in his house, and my father and six other gentlemen were the victims of tho treachery of a kinsman of his." charlie told the story of the events that had brought about the ruin of his father and friends. "it is monstrous!" the duke exclaimed indignantly, when he had brought this part of his story to a conclusion. "that my old friend mat jervoise should be concerned in a plot for assassination, is, i would pledge my life, untrue; and sir marmaduke carstairs was, i know, an honourable gentleman, who would be equally incapable of such an act. that they were both jacobites i can well believe, for the jacobites are strong everywhere in the north, but, as half of us are or have been jacobites, that can scarcely be counted as an offence. at any rate a stuart is upon the throne now, and as long as she reigns there is no fear that a civil war will be set up by another of the race. the story as you have told it, sir, is, i doubt not for a moment, true, but at present it is unsupported, and though on my assurance of their loyalty i think i can promise that her majesty would extend a pardon to the gentlemen who have been so unjustly accused, i fear that sbe could not by her own act restore the estates that have been confiscated, a jacobite kxile. and your experience in the field will be very useful to me. the swedes are wonderful soldiers. the muscovites at present are little better than barbarians carrying european arms, but the saxons are good troops, and the swedes have twice beaten them heavily, and they evidently retain the fighting qualities that under gustavus adolphus shook the imperial power to its centre. "the trouble is to find time. i am pestered with men desirous of employment in the army, with persons who want favours at court, with politicians of both parties, with people with schemes and intrigues of all kinds. i have to be in attendance at the palace, and to see into the whole details of the organization of the army. i have no doubt that at present my antc-chamber is crowded with people who want to see me." he looked at his tablets. "next wednesday evening i am free, except for a reception at lord godolphin's, but i can look in there late. i will not ask you here, be- causo i want you to myself. i will have a private room at parker's coffee-house in covent garden. we will sup at seven. when you go there ask for mr. church's room, and make yourself comfortable there until i come, for i can never answer for my own hours. in that way we shall be free from all chance of interruption, and i can pick your brains undisturbed. you will remember the day and hour. should there be any change in this private matter of yours, do not hesitate to come to me here." tony peters, their guide and adviser, reported favourably as to the people with whom the highwayman was lodging. "the houso is kept by the widow of an usher at the palace. she entertains gentlemen from the country who come up on business at the courts of justice, or with people of influence at court. i have ascertained that our man passes as a well-to-do trader of salisbury, who comes up two or three times a year to transact business, and to enjoy for a short time the pleasures of town. he is liberal in his pay- ments, and is held in high respect by the woman, whose a jacobite exile. wish to escape their creditors, and of men who find village life too quiet for them, and prefer to see the world, even at the risk of being shot, to honest labour on the farms. it requires a stern hand to make a disciplined army out of such materials, but when the time of fighting comes one need wish for no better." before parting with them the duke inquired farther into their arrangements for the arrest of the highwayman, and said he should expect to see them on saturday, and that if he heard that all had gone well he would at once take steps for bringing the matter before a court that would deal with it. the young men felt restless as the day approached. they had seen no more of tony, but they felt complete confidence in him, and were sure that they would hear if any difficulties arose; but though throughout friday they did not quit their lodging, no message reached them. chapter xviii. a confession. at the appointed hour, as the clock of the abbey was striking, they gave three gentle knocks at the door of the house. it was opened immediately by tony, who held a candle in his hand, closed the door quietly behind them, and then led them into a parlour. "well, tony, i suppose all has gone well, as we have not heard from you." "there was nothing to tell you, sir, and, indeed, i have been mightily busy. in the first place, i got two days' leave from the courts, and went down myself in a light cart with the boys and two men. that way i made sure that there should be no mistake as to the houses the boys were to watch. the two men i sent on ten miles beyond the farthest tavern there to watch the road, and if any horseman goes by to-night to track him down. this evening i came here. i brought with me one of my comrades from the courts, and we told the good woman the character of the lodger we had seen leave the house a quarter of an hour before. she almost fainted when we showed her our badges, and said we must arrest him on his return as a notorious highwayman and breaker of the laws. she exclaimed that her house would be ruined, and it took some time to pacify her by saying that we would manage the job so quietly that no one in the house need know of it, and that we would, if possible, arrange it so that the place of his arrest should not be made public. a jacobite exile. at that she at once consented to do all that we wished her. we searched his room carefully, and found some watches, rings, and other matters that answered to the description of those stolen from a coach that was stopped near dorking throe weeks ago. my mate has taken them away. as she was afraid that a scuffle in the bed-room might attract the attention of the four other gentlemen who are lodging here, i arranged that it should be done at the door. in that case, if there was any inquiry in the morning, she could say that it was some drunken fellow who had come to the house by mistake and had tried to force his way in. so she put this parlour at our disposal, and as i have got the shutters up and the curtains drawn, there is no fear of his noticing the light, for as we may have some hours to wait, it is more pleasant to have a candle than to sit in the dark." "docs she come down to let him in?" harry asked. "no, sir, the door is left on the latch. she says he finds his way up to his room in the dark, and the candle and a tinder- box are always placed handy for him there. we will take our shoes off presently, and when we hear footsteps come up to the door and stop we will blow out the candle and steal out into the passage so as to catch him directly he closes the door. i have got handcuffs here, some rope, and a gag." "very well, then. i will undertake the actual seizing of him," charlie said. "you slip on the handcuffs, and you, harry, if you can find his throat in the dark, grip it pretty tightly till tony can slip the gag into his mouth. then he can light the candle again, and we can then disarm and search him, fasten his legs, and get him ready to put in the cart." the hours passed slowly, although tony did his best to divert them by telling stories of various arrests and captures in which he had been concerned. the clock had just struck five when they heard a step coming up the quiet street. "that is likely to be the man," tony said. "it is about the hour we expected him." a confession. when they had made a hearty meal tony was called in again. "now, tony, we will proceed to business. you have got pen and ink and paper, i suppose?" "i have everything ready, sir. i will clear away this table so as to have all in order." when this was done the highwayman was lifted up and placed in a chair, and the gag removed from his mouth. "you don't remember us, i suppose, my man?" charlie began. "the last time i saw you was when i brought my stick down on your head when you were listening outside a window at lynn wood." an exclamation of surprise broke from the prisoner. "yes, i am charlie carstairs, and this gentleman is harry jervoise. by the way, i have made a mistake: i have seen you twice since then. the first time was in a wayside tavern some twelve miles beyond barnet nine days ago; the second time was at another tavern in barnet. you will re- member that a mischievous boy threw a stone and broke one of the lattice panes of the window where you were sitting talking over this little affair of the north coach." a deep execration broke from the lips of the highwayman. "now you see how we know all about it," charlie went on. "now it entirely depends on yourself whether in the course of another hour we shall hand you over to a magis- trate as the leader of the gang who robbed the north coach and took part in the robbery near dorking—we have found some of the watches and other plunder in your bed-room,— or whether you escape trial for these offences. you may be wanted for other similar affairs." "yes, sir," tony put in. "now i see him he answers exactly to the description of a man the officers have been in search of for a long time. he goes by the name of dick cureton, and has been engaged in at least a dozen highway robberies to my knowledge." "you see," charlie went on, "there is no doubt what- ever what will happen if we hand you over to the officers. a confession. the story he told was in precise accordance with the sus- picions that his hearers had entertained. he had been tramping through the country, sometimes pilfering, some- times taking money as a foot-pad. he had one day met john dormay and demanded his money; he was armed only with a heavy cudgel, and thought dormay was defenceless. the latter, however, produced a pistol from his pocket, and compelled him to drop his stick, and then taking him by the collar made him walk to his house. he had asked him questions as to his previous life, and had then given him the choice of going to jail or of acting under his instruc- tions, in which case he would be well rewarded. naturally he had chosen the second alternative. and having him completely under his thumb, john dormay had made him sign a paper acknowledging his attempt at highway robbery upon him. the rest of the story was already known to his hearers. he had several times overheard the conversations in the dining-room, but had gathered nothing beyond talk of what would be done if the pretender came over. john dormay had taught him the story of the assassination plot, and had given him the letters to hide. he now swore that the whole story was false, and had been told entirely at the dictation of john dormay, and from fear of the consequence to him- self if he refused to obey his orders. when he had finished tony's wife was called in, and she made her mark and her husband signed his name as witnesses to the signature of kobert nicholson. "now, i hope i may have something to eat," the man said recklessly. "i am ready to tell my story to whomso- ever you like, but am not ready to be starved." "give him food, tony," charlie said, "and keep a sharp look-out after him. we will go across and show this paper to the duke." "i will bring the matter at once before the council," the general said, when charlie gave him the document and a jacobite exile. briefly stated its contents. "there is a meeting at three o'clock to-day. i shall see the queen previously, and will get her to interest herself in the matter, and to urge that justice shall be done without any delay. i will arrange that the man shall be brought before the council at the earliest date possible. if you will come here this evening i may be able to tell you more. come at eight. i shall be in then to dress, as i take supper at the palace at nine." "i have ventured to promise the man that he shall not be hung, my lord." "you were safe in doing so; the rogue deserves the pil- lory or branding, but as he was almost forced into it, and was the mere instrument in the hands of another, it is not a caso for hanging him. ho might be shipped off to the plantations as a rogue and a vagabond. what are you smiling at?" "i was thinking, sir, that as you said there were a good many of that class in the army, the man might have the option of enlisting given him." "and so of getting shot in the netherlands instead of getting hung at tyburn, eh? well, i will see what i can do." at eight o'clock they again presented themselves. the duke looked at them critically. "you will do," he said. "put your cloaks on again and come with me. where do you suppose that you are going?" "before the council, sir," harry suggested. "bless me, you don't suppose that your business is so pressing that ministers have been summoned in haste to sit upon it. no, you are going to sup with the queen. i told her your story this afternoon. she was much interested in it, and when i informed her that, young as you both were, you had fought behind charles of sweden in all his desperate battles, and that he had not only promoted you to the rank of captain, but that he had under his own hand given you a document expressing his satisfaction at your conduct and bravery, she said that i must bring you to a jacobite bxile. and i hope that their sons will ere long do as good service for me as thoy have done for a foreign prince. you have not seen these gentlemen yet, sarah?" "no, my husband has kept them to himself." "i have had but little time to give them, sarah, and wanted it all to question them on the swedish modes of warfare." "and you thought i should bo an interruption? i am glad to meot you both, nevertheless. since my husband likes you, i am sure to do so;" and she smiled pleasantly as she gave a hand to each. they were then introduced to the prince consort, george of denmark. at this moment supper was announced. the queen and the duchess went in together, followed by the four gentlemen. "lord godolphin and mr. harley were to have been of the party to-night," the queen said as she took her seat at tabic, "but i put them off till to-morrow, as i wanted to hear these gentlemen's story." during the meal the conversation was gay. as soon as the last dish was removed the party returned to the other room. then the queen called upon the young men to tell their story. charlie began, and related up to the time when he had aided in the rescue of his father from the hands of his escort. harry told the story of their military experiences, and then charlie related his narrow escape at warsaw, his adventure with the brigands, and the fight with the wolves. "that is the most exciting of all," the queen said. "i think that oven you, general, would rather have gone through the battle of narva than have spent that night among the wolves." "that would i, indeed, madam, and i doubt if i should have got as well through it as captain carstairs did. i am sure, madam, you will agree with me that these young gentlemen ought to be fighting under our flag rather than that of sweden. there is no blame to them, for they were a jacobite exile. he handed in the confession, which was read aloud by a clerk standing at the lower end of the table. a murmur of indignation arose from the council as he concluded. "you have acted the part of a base villain," lord nor- manby said to nicholson. "hanging would be too good for such a caitiff. what induced you to make this confes- sion?" "i have long repented my conduct," the man said. "i was forced into acting as i did by john dormay, who might have had me hung for highway robbery. i would long ago have told the truth had i known where to find the gentlemen i have injured; and meeting them by chance the other day i resolved upon making a clean breast of it, and to take what punishment your lordships may think proper, hoping, however, for your clemency on account of the fact that i was driven to act in the way i did." one of the judges, who had the former depositions before him, asked him several questions as to the manner in which he had put the papers into sir marmaduke's cabinet. he replied that he found the key in a vase on the mantel, and after trying several locks with it, found that it fitted the cabinet. "his statement agrees, my lords," the judge said, "with that made by sir marmaduke carstairs in his examinations. he then said that he could not account for the papers being in his cabinet, for it was never unlocked, and that he kept the key in a vase on the mantel where none would be likely to look for it." in a short time all present were requested to withdraw, but in less than five minutes they were again called in. "gentlemen," lord normanby said to the young officers, "i have pleasure in informing you that the council are of opinion that the innocence of your fathers and friends of the foul offence of which they were charged is clearly proven, and that they have decided that the sentence passed against them in their absence shall be quashed. a confession. "i don't know what to do about john dormay," charlie said. "there is no doubt that from what the judge said they will prosecute him." "so they ought to," harry broke in. "he has striven by false swearing to bring innocent men to the scaffold. why, it is worse than murder." "i quite agree with you, harry, and if i were in your place i would say just as strongly as you do that he ought to be hung; but you see i am differently situated. the man is a kinsman of ours by marriage. my cousin celia has been always most kind to me, and is my nearest relative after my father. she has been like an aunt, and indeed did all she could to supply the place of a mother to me, and i am sure my little sweetheart ciceley has been like a sister. this must have been a most terrible trial to them. it was a bad day for cousin celia when she married that scoundrel, and i am sure that he has made her life a most unhappy one. still, for their sake, i would not see his villainy punished as it deserves, nor indeed for our own, since the man is to a certain extent our kinsman. besides, harry, as you must remember well enough, ciceley and i in boy and girl fashion used to say we should be some day husband and wife, and i have never since seen anyone whom i would so soon marry as my bonny little cousin; and if ciceley is of the same mind, maybe some day or other she may come to lynnwood as its mistress, but that could hardly bo if her father were hung for attempting to swear away the life of mine." "no, indeed, charlie. i know how fond you were of your cousin." "indeed, harry, there was a talk between my father and cousin celia, a few months before the troubles came, of a formal betrothal between us, and had it not been for the coolness between our fathers it would have taken place." "yes, i remember now your telling mo about it, charlie. well, what is to be done? for i agree with you that if a jacobite exile. possible john dormay must escape from the punishment he deserves. but how is it to be done " "well, harry, a week or two will make no difference to our fathers. they will have no expectation of hearing from us for a long time to come. i should say it were best that i should go down and warn him, and i shall be glad if you will go with me." "of course i will go," harry said. "indeed, it were best that the warning came from me. the man is a villain and a reckless one, and in his passion when he hears that his rascality is known, the prize for which he schemed snatched from him, and his very life in danger, might even seek to vent his rage and spite upon you. now it is clear, charlie, that you could not very well kill a man and after- wards marry his daughter. the thing would be scarce seemly. but the fellow is no kinsman of mine. he has grievously injured us, and i could kill him without the smallest compunction, and thereby rid the world of a scoundrel and you of a prospective father-in-law of the most objectionable kind." charlie laughed. "no, harry; we will have no killing. we will go down and see him together. we will let him know that the orders are probably already on the road for his arrest, and that he had best lose not an hour, but at once cross the water. i should not think that he would wish to encumber himself with women, for i never thought he showed the least affection to either his wife or daughter. at any rate we will see that he does not take them with him. i will tell him that if he goes, and goes alone, i will do my best to hush up the matter, and that so long as he remains abroad the tale of his villainy shall never be told, but that, if he returns, the confession of nicholson shall be published throughout the country, even if no prosecution is brought against him." when they called upon the duke he shook them warmly by the hand. a confession. "this parchment is the royal assent to the decision of the council that the estates of those inculpated in the alleged plot for the assassination of the late king should be forthwith restored to them, it having been clearly proved that they have been falsely accused of the said crime, and that her majesty is satisfied that these gentlemen are her true and loyal subjects. i think i may say," the duke continued with a smile, "that no affair of state has ever been so promptly conducted and carried through." "we feel how deeply indebted we are for our good fortune to your kindness, your grace," charlie said. "we know that but for you months might have elapsed, even years, before we could have obtained such a result, even after we had the confession of nicholson in our hands." "i am glad in every way to have been able to bring this about," the duke said; "in the first place, because i have been able to right a villainous piece of injustice; in the second, because those injured were loyal gentlemen, with no fault save their steadfast adherence to the cause of tho stuarts; and lastly, because one of these gentlemen was my own good friend, mat jervoise, of whose company i have so many pleasant recollections. i hope that as soon as you have informed your fathers that their names are cleared and their property restored, you will think of what i said, and will decide to quit the service of sweden and enter that of your queen. "an officer fighting for a foreign monarch is after all but a soldier of fortune, however valiantly he fights. he is fighting for a cause that is not his own, and though he may win rewards and honours, he has not the satisfaction that all must feel who have risked their lives, not for gold, but in the service of their country. but i do not want any answer from you on that head now, it is a matter for you to decide upon after due thought; i only say that i shall go out early in the spring to take command of tho army, and that if you present yourselves to me before i a confession. "it does, indeed; and the wind has got up very much in the last hour." "yes, we are going to have a storm, beyond all doubt." the wind got up hourly, and when before going to bed they went to pass an hour at a tavern, they had difficulty in making their way against it. several times in the night they were awoke by the gusts, which shook the whole house, and they heard the crashing of falling chimney-pots above the din of the gale. they had arranged to start as soon as it was light, and had the evening before been to a posting-inn and engaged a carriage with four horses for the journey down to lancashire. "there is no starting to-day, gentlemen," the landlord said, as they went down to breakfast by candle-light. "i have looked out, and the street is strewn with chimney-pots and tiles. never do i remember such a gale, and hour by hour it seems to get worse: why, it is dangerous to go across the street." "well, we must try," charlie said, "whatever the weather; it is a matter of almost life and death." "well, gentlemen, you must please yourselves, but i am mistaken if any horse-keeper will let his animals out on such a day as this." as soon as they had eaten their breakfasts they wrapped themselves up in their cloaks, pressed their hats over their heads, and sallied out. it was not until they were in the streets that they realized how great was the force of the gale. not only were the streets strewn with tiles and frag- ments of chimney-pots, but there was light enough for them to see that many of the upper windows of the houses had been blown in by the force of the wind. tiles flew about like leaves in autumn, and occasionally gutters and sheets of lead, stripped from the roofs, flew along with prodigious swiftness. "this is as bad as a pitched battle, charlie. i would as lief be struck by a cannon-ball as by oneof those strips of lead." a jacobite exile. "well, wo must risk it, harry; we must make the attempt anyhow." it was with the greatest difficulty that they made their way along. although powerful young fellows, they were frequently obliged to cling to the railings to prevent them- selves from being swept away by the gusts, and they had more than one narrow escape from falling chimneys. although the distance they had to traverse was not more than a quarter of a mile, it took them half an hour to accomplish it. the post-master looked at them in surprise as they entered his office flushed and disordered. "why, gentlemen, you are not thinking of going on such a day as this? it would be a sheer impossibility. why, the carriage would be blown over, and if it wasn't, no horses would face this wind." "we would be willing to pay anything you may like to ask," charlie said. "it ain't a question of money, sir. if you were to buy the four horses and the carriage you would be no nearer, for no post-boy would bo mad enough to ride them; and even supposing you got one stage, which you never would do, you would have to buy horses again, for no one would be fool enough to send his animals out. you could not do it, sir. why, i hear there are half a dozen houses within a dozen yards of this that have been altogether unroofed, and it is getting worse instead of better; if it goes on like this, i doubt if there will bo a steeple standing in london to morrow. listen to that!" there was a tremendous crash, and running out into the street, they saw a mass of beams and tiles lying in the roadway—a house two doors away had been completely unroofed. they felt that in such a storm it was really impossible to proceed, and accordingly returned to their lodgings, performing the distance in a fraction of the time it had before taken them. for some hours the gale continued to increase in fury. not a soul was to be seen in the streets. a confession. occasional heavy crashes told of the damage that was being wrought, and at times the house shook so that it seemed as if it would fall. never was such a storm known in england. the damage done was enormous. the shores were strewn with wrecks; twelve ships of the royal navy, with fifteen hundred men, were lost, and an enormous number of merchant vessels. many steeples, houses, and buildings of all kinds were over- thrown, and the damage in london alone was estimated at a million pounds. there were few who went to bed that night; many thought that the whole city would be destroyed. towards morning, however, the fury of the gale somewhat abated, and by nightfall the danger had passed. the next morning the two friends started, and posted down to lancashire. the journey was a long one. in many places the road was completely blocked by fallen trees, and sometimes by the ruins of houses and barns. in the former case long detours had often to be made through villainous roads, where the wheels sank almost to their axles, and in spite of the most liberal bribes to post-boys and post- masters, the journey occupied four days longer than the usual time. at last they reached the lodge-gate of lynn- wood. a man came out from the cottage. ho was the same who had been there in sir marmaduke's time. charlie jumped out of the post-chaise. "why, norman, don't you know me?" the man looked hard at him. "no, sir. i can't say as i do." "what, not charlie carstairs?" "bless me, it is the young master!" the man said. "to think of my not knowing you. but you have changed wonderful. why, sir, i have been thinking of you often and often, and most of all the last three days, but i never thought of you like this." "why the last three days, norman?" "haven't you heard the news, sir?" a jacobite exile. "no, i have heard nothing. captain jervoise and i—my old friend, you know, norman—have posted all the way from london, and should have been here six days ago if it had not been for the storm." "well, sir, there is bad news; at least i don't know whether you will consider it bad. most of the folk about here looks at it the other way. but the man in there shot hisself three days ago. a magistrate with some men from lancaster came over here. they say it was to arrest him, but i don't know the rights of the case. anyhow, it is said they read some paper over to him, and then he opened a drawer at the table where he was sitting and pulled out a pistol and shot hisself before anyone could stop him. there have been bad goings here of late, mr. charles, very bad, especially for the last year. he was not friends with his son, they say, but the news of his death drove him to drink worse than before, and besides, there have been dicing and all sorts of goings on, and i doubt not but that the ladies have had a terrible time of it. there were several men staying in the house, but they all took themselves off as soon as it was over, and there are only the ladies there now. they will be glad enough to see you, i will bo bound." charlie was shocked; but at the same time he could not but feel that it was the best thing that could happen, and harry freely expressed himself to that effect. "we won't take the carriage up to the house," charlie said, after a long pause. "take the valises out and bring them up to the house presently, norman." he paid the postillion who had brought them from lancaster, and stood quiet until the carriage had driven off. "i hope sir marmaduke is well, sir. we have missed him sorely here." "he was quite well when i saw him ten weeks ago. i hope he will be here before long. i am happy to say that ml charlie comes home aga x. i i i i a confession. his innocence of the charge brought against him has been proved, and his estates and those of mr. jervoise and the other gentlemen have been restored by the queen." "that is good news, indeed sir," the man exclaimed. "the best i have heard for many a long year. everyone about here will go wild with joy." "then don't mention it at present, norman. any rejoicings would be unseemly while john dormay is lying dead there." "shall i go up with you, charlie, or will you go alone " harry asked. "of course there are some horses here, and you could lend me one to drive over to our own place." "you shall do that presently, harry, and tell them the news. but come in now. you know my cousin and ciceley, it will be all the better that you should go in with me." his cousin received charlie with a quiet pleasure. she was greatly changed since he had seen her last, and her face showed that she had suffered greatly. ciceley had grown into a young woman, and met him with delight. both were pleased to see harry. "we were talking of you but now, charlie," mrs. dormay said. "ciceley and i agreed that we would remove at once to our old place, and that this should be kept up for you should you at any time be able to return. now that queen anne is on the throne and the tories are in power we hoped that you, at least, would ere long be permitted to return. how is your dear father?" "he is well, cousin, and will i trust be here ere long. our innocence of the charge has been proved, the pro- ceedings against us quashed, and the act of confiscation against my father, mr. jervoise, and the others reversed." "thank god for that," mrs. dormay said earnestly, and ciceley gave an exclamation of pleasure. "that accounts then for what has happened here. i do not want to talk about it, charlie. you may imagine how ciceley and i a jacobite exile. have suffered. but he was my husband, spare him for my sake." "i will never allude to the subject again, cousin," charlie said. "but i must tell you that harry and i have posted down from london in hopes of being in time to warn him and enable him to escape. i need not say we did so because he was your husband and ciceley's father." harry then turned the subject by a remark as to the effects of the storm, then ciceley asked questions as to their life abroad, and there was so much to tell and to listen to that even mrs. dormay's face brightened. harry willingly allowed himself to be persuaded to remain for the night, and to ride over to his place in the morning. the funeral took place two days later. charlie went as sole mourner. "he was my kinsman," he said to harry, "and though i can pretend no sorrow at his death, my attendance at the funeral will do something towards "topping talk, and will make it easier for my cousin." the next day mrs. dormay and ciceley returned to rockley, whose tenant had fortunately left a few weeks before. charlie and harry both went over with them and stayed for three or four days, and they were glad to see that mrs. dormay seemed to be shaking off the weight of her trouble, and was looking more like her old self. they then rode to lancaster, and returned to london by coach. they crossed to gottenburg by the first vessel that was sailing, and sir marmaduke was delighted to hear the success of their mission, and that he was at liberty to return at once as master of lynnwood. "luck favoured you somewhat, charlie, in throwing that vagabond in your way, but for all else we have to thank you both for the manner in which you have carried the affair out and captured your fox. as for john dormay, 'tis the best thing that could have happened. i have often thought it over while you have been away, and have blackie & son's books foe young people. by g. a. henty. st. bartholomew's eve: a tale of the huguenot wan. by g. a. hbhty. with page illustrations by h. j. draper, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. the title of this story takes you at once to its subject. the hero, philip fletchor, is a right true english lad, but he has a french connection on the mother's side. this kinship induces him to cross the channel in order to take a share in that splendid struggle for freedom known as the hugue- not wars. naturally ho sides with the protestants, distinguishes himself in various battles, and receives rapid promotion for tho zeal and daring with which he carries out several secret missions. at length, however, he is entrapped in paris, with other prominent huguenots, on that terrible st. bartholomew's eve, when tho tocsin gave the signal at midnight for the massacro to begin. it is an enthralling narrative, and tho chapter which deals with the escape of the hero out of that monstrous city is one of the most thrilling in a story which is full of intorest. through the sikh war: a tale of the conquest of the punjaub. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by hal hurst, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». this story gives a vivid picture of the pluck and obstinacy with which the british maintained their ascendency in india. percy groves, a spirited english lad, leuves school to join his uncle in the punjaub, where he is governor of a district under tho native sikh prince, runjeet singh. the natives are in a state of revoh, and percy takes an active part in all the troubles which precede the sikh war. his uncle's fortress is beleaguered, and he assists in repelling tho attack. then when the authorities at lahore proclaim war percy joins the british force as a volunteer, and takes a distinguished share in the famous battles of moodkcc, sobraon, and chillianwalla. apart from its high interest as a record of personal daring, this story shews in dashing style how englishmen have made an empire. black ie &- son's books for you no people. by q. a. henty. "mr. henty is one of our most successful writers of historical tales."—scotsman. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. henty inspires a love and admiration for straightforwardness, truth, and courage. this is one of the best of the many good books mr. henty has produced, and deserves to be classed with his facing death."—standard. captain bayley's heir: a tale of the gold fields of cali- fornia. by g. a hknty. with page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a westminster boy who makes his way in the world by hard work, good temper, and unfailing courage. the descriptions given of life are just what a healthy intelligent lad should delight in."—st. james's gazette. a jacobite exile: being the adventures of a young english- man in the service of charles xii. of sweden. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by paul hardy, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. in this story sir marmaduke carstairs, who is a jacobite, is denounced as a plotter against the life of king william, and although innocent of the charge, he has to flee from england. his son charlie, who goes with him to sweden, is the hero of the tale. this youth joins the foreign legion under charles xii. of sweden, and takes a distinguished part in several famous campaigns against the russians and the poles. besides his stirring career as a soldier, the narrative is full of the hero's personal adventures in poland, sweden, russia, and england. the narrative swings along at a breathless pace, and holds the reader entranced to the end. condemned as a nihilist: a story of escape from siberia. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by walter paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the best of this year's henty. his narrative is more interesting than many of the tales with which the public is familiar, of escape from siberia. despite their superior claim to authenticity these tales are without doubt no less tic- titious than mr. henty's, and he beats them hollow in the matter of sensations. the escape of the hero and his faithful tartar from the samoycdes is quite the high-water mark of this author's achievement."—natiunal observer. orange and green: a tale of the boyne and limerick. by g. a henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "an extremely spirited story, based on the struggle in ireland, rendered memorable by the defence of 'derry and the siege of limerick."—sat. review. "the narrative is free from the vice of prejudice, and ripples with life as vivacious as if what is being described were really passing before the eye. . , . should be in the hands of every young student of irish history. -—belfast news. blackie & son's books for i'ouno people. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is the king of story-tellers for boys. "—sword and trowtl. held fast fop england: a tale of the siege of gibraltar. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, fi». "among them we would place first in interest and wholesome educational value the story of the siege of gibraltar. . . . there is no cessation of exciting incident throughout the story."—atheiueum. in the reign of terror: the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by j. schiinberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "harry sandwith, the westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat mr. henty's record. his adventures will delight buys by the audacity and peril they depict . the story is one of mr. henty's best."—saturday review. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "by sheer pluck will be eagerly read."—athenanim. "morally, the book is everything that could be desired, setting before the boys a bright and bracing ideal of the english gentleman.' —christian leader. the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "a story that may justly be styled remarkable. boys, in reading it, will be surprised to find how alfred persevered, through years of bloodshed and times of peace, to rescue his people from the thraldom of the danes. we hope the book will soon be widely known in all our schools."—schoolmaster. a final reckoning: a tale of bush life in australia. by g. a. hknty. with page illustrations by w. b wollen. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, j». "all boys will read this story with eager and unflagging interest . the episodes are in mr. henty's very best vein—graphic, exciting, realistic; aud, as in all mr. henty's books, the tendency is to the formation of an honourable, manly, and even heroic character."— birmingham post. facing death: or, the hero of the vaughan pit . a tale of the coal mines. by g. a. henty. with page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "if any father, godfather, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the look-out for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would recommend."—standard. a chapter of adventures: or, through the bombard- ment of alexandria. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown vo, cloth elegant, ». d. "jack robson and his two companions have their fill of excitement, and their chapter of adventures is so brisk and entertaining we could have wished it longer than it is.'—saturday review. blackie <fc son's booifs for young people. by george mac donald. a rough shaking. by george mac donald. with page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. one of mr. mac donald's wonderful and charming stories."—athenamm. "one of the very best nooks for boys that has been written. it is full of mate- rial peculiarly well adapted for the young, containing in a marked degree, the elements of all that is necessary to make up a perfect boys' book."— teachers' aid. at the back of the north wind. by george mac donald. with illustrations by arthur hughes. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "in at the back of the north wind we stand with one foot in fairyland and one on common earth. the story is thoroughly original, full of fancy and pathos, and underlaid with earnest but not too obtrusive teaching."— the times. ranald bannerman's boyhood. by george mac donald. with illustrations by arthur hughes. crown vo, cloth ele- gant, olivine edges, *. "the sympathy with boy-nature in ranald ranne.nnan's boyhood is perfect. it is a beautiful picture of childhood, teaching by its impressions and suggestions all noble things. '—british quarterly review. the princess and the goblin. by george mac donald. with illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "little of what is written for children has the lij-htness of touch and play of fancy which are characteristic of george mac donald's fairy tales. mr. arthur hughes's illustrations arc all that illustrations should be."— manchester guardian. the princess and curdie. by george mac donald. with page illustrations crown vo, cloth extra, ». rf. there is the finest and rarest genius in this brilliant story. upgrown people would do wisely occasionally to lay aside their newspapers and magazines to spend an hour with curdie and the princess. "sheffield indejjemlent. the clever miss follett. by j. k. h. denny. with page illustrations by gertrude d. hammond. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. tin's is the story of a great fortune, anil its attendant train of misfor- tunes. the folletts are a middle-class family whe suddenly find them- selves in tho possession of immense wealth, and the interest is obtained by showing what effect this change has upon their various characters. with fine subtlety the author depicts the schemes, duplicities, worries, and dis- appointments which follow the folletts in their efforts to scramblo into society and make aristocratic marriages. then, in the midst of their plans, the wealth is taken from them, and the friendships which they have made are shewn in their true character. altogether it is a bright, clever, enter- taining tale, with a rare distinction in its minute portrayal of diverse character. a ml, - blackie i son's books fob youso people. by g. norway. a true cornish maid. by g. norway. with page illustrations by j. finnkmore. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf„ this is a story of the cornish coast at a time when the press-gang brought terror into all its seaports, and smuggling was an everyday prac- tice. the heroine of the talo is sister to a young fellow who gets into trouble in landing a contraband cargo, and shooting the officer in charge of the press-gang. in this extremity she stands by her brother bravely, and by means of her daring scheme he manages to escape. there is abun- dance of stirring incident in this talo; the characters are all natural, and the tono is altogether breezy and wholesome. hussein the hostage: or, a boy's adventures in persia. by g. norway. with page illustrations by john schonberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "humein the hoxtage is full of originality and vigour. the characters are life- like, there is plenty of stirring incident, the interest is sustained throughout, and every boy will enjoy following the fortunes of the hero."—journal of education. the loss of john humble: what led to it, and what came of it. by (j. norway. with page illustrations by john schonberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this story will place the author at once in the front rank. it is full of life and adventure. he is equally at home in his descriptions of life in sweden and in the more stirring passages of wreck and disaster, and the interest of the story is sustained without a break from first to last. "—standard. by harry collingwood. the pirate island: a story of the south pacific. by harry collinowood. with s page pictures by c. j. staniland and j. b. wells. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a capital storyof the sea; indeed in our opinion the author is superior in some respects as a marine novelist to the better known mr. clark kuasell."—the times. the congo rovers: a story of the slave squadron. by harry collinowood. with page illustrations by j. schonberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "no better sea story has lately been written than the congo rovers. it is as original as any boy could desire."—morning post. the log of the "flying fish:" a storyof aerial and submarine peril and adventure. by harry collinowood. with page illustrations by gordon browne. new and cheaper edi- tion. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "the flying fi«h actually surpasses all jules verne's creations; with incred- ible speed she flies through the air, skims over the snrface of the water, and darts along the oceau bed. we strongly recommend our school-boy friends to possess themselves of her log. "—a thenorn ire. black e <fc son's books for yqunq people. by dr. gordon stables. westward with columbus. by gordon stables, m.d., c.m. with page illustrations by alfred pkarse. crown va cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. the hero of this story is columbus himself; and a very picturesque, noble, and enchanting hero ho makes. his career is traced from boyheod onwards, but tho narrative deals chiefly with tho great naval venture which columbus conducted across the atlantic, and which resulted in the- discovery of tho american continent. there were many dangers which threatened to wreck this momentous enterprise, but these were all over- come by this indomitable man, and his efforts wero at last crowned with success. it is a splendid story, possessing all the value of truth, with all the charm of the most daring romance. 'twixt school and college: a tale of self-reliance. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., r.n. with page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "one of the best of a prolific writer's honks for boys, being full of practical instructions as to keeping pets, from white mice upwards, and inculcates in a way which a little recalls miss kdgewoith's 'frank' the virtue of self-reliance, though the local colouring of the home of the aberdeenshire boy is a good deal more picturesque."—atheiueuia. by frances armstrong. a faip claimant: being a story for girls. by frances armstrong. with page illustrations by gertrude d. hammond. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. tho heroino of this story is found, when a child, in the attic of a lodging- house in chelsea. her mother has unaccountably disappeared, and her parentage remains a mystery. she is adopted by a wealthy lady, and re- sides abroiui until the death of her benefactress. thereafter, olive bethune comes to england as a governess, and it is thon that she begins to learn her own strango history. it is a tale of surprising vicissitudo, which is slowly unravelled with happy skill, but in the end all the wrongs are pleasantly righted. the interest of this narrativo never for a momont flags, because tho character of the heroine is as fascinating as the mystery of her birth. by anne beale. the heiress of courtleroy. by anne beale. with page illustrations by t. c. h. castle. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "we can speak highly of tho grace with which mlsa eeale relates how the young ' heiress of courtleroy' had such good intluence over her uncle as to win him from his intensely selfish ways."—guardian. "tn le roy we have perhnps the most striking and original creation that miss beale has made. he interests us to the loaf—spectator. black e & son's books for young 'eof lis. by j. m. callwell. a champion of the faith: a tale of prince hal and the lollards. by j. m. callwell. with page illustrations by herbkrt j. draper. crown vo, cloth elegant, ». the earlier part of this story deals with the merry escapades of prince hal and his favourite, sir john oldcastle. then the narrative deepens in its interest when the prince ascends the throne as henry v., while his old comrade bocomes a lollard and a champion of the new faith. as such, sir john oldcastle endures many hardships, and escapes from the tower, but finally he is captured by treachery and burnt at the stake. this his- torical tale is full of the most interesting episodes, while at the same time its tone is pure and ennobling. by alice corkran. meg's friend. by alice corkran. with page illustra- tions by robert fowler. crown vo, cloth extra, 'is. <l. "one of miss corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in that simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first amongst writers for young people."— the spectator. margery merton's girlhood. by alice corkran. with page pictures by gordon browne. cr. vo, cloth extra, s. d. "another book for girls we can warmly commend. there is a delightful piquancy in the experiences and trials of a young english girl who studies painting in paris."—saturday beview. down the snow stairs: or, from good-night to good- morning. by alice corkran. with illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». rf. "a fascinating wonder-book for children."—athenctum, "a gem of the first water, bearing upon every page the mark of genius. it is indeed a little pilgrim's progress."—chrutian leader gold, gold, in cariboo: a story of adventure in british columbia. by clive phillipps-wolley. with page illustra- tions by g. c. hindley. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. ned corbctt, a young englishman, and his companion set out with a pack-train in order to obtain gold on tho upper reaches of the frazer river. many difficulties lie in their path, but chiefly they are tho victims of an unscrupulous yankee. after innumerable adventures, and a life- and-death strugglo with the arctic weather of that wild region, they find the secret gold-minos for which they have toilsomely searched. this story is so real, and vivid, and enthralling that no boy would skip a siugle page. blackie jc son's books for young peoplh. by caroline austin. cousin geoffrey and i. by caroline austin. with page illustrations by w. parkinson. cr. vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "miss austin'! story is bright, clever, and well developed."—saturday review. "a powerfully written and realistic story of girl life. . . . the tone of the book is pure and good."—practical teacher. hugh herbert's inheritance. by caroline austin. with page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "will please by its simplicity, its tenderness, and its healthy interesting motive. it is admirably written."—scotsman. storied holidays: a cycle of bed-letter days. by e. s. brooks. with page illustrations by howard pyle. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "it is a downright good book for a senior boy, and is eminently readable from first to last."—schoolmaster. chivalric days: stories of courtesy and courage in the olden times. by e. s. brooks. with illustrations by gordon browne and other artists. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "we have seldom come across a prettier collection of tales. these charming stories of boys and girls of olden days are no mero fictitious or imaginary sketches, but are real and actual records of their sayings and doings. "—literary world. historic boys: their endeavours, their achievements, and their times. by e. s. brooks. with page illustrations by b. b. birch and john schonberg. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "a wholesome book, manly in tone, its character sketches enlivened by brisk dialogue and high-class illustrations; altogether one that should incite boys to further acquaintance with those rulers of men whose careers are narrated. we advise teachers to put it on their list of prizes."—knowledge. dr. jolliffe's boys: a tale of weston school. by lewis hough. with page pictures. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "young people who appreciate tom brown't school-days will find this story a worthy companion to that fascinating book. there is the same manliness of tone, truthfulness of outline, avoidance of exaggeration and caricature, and healthy morality as characterized the masterpiece of mr. hughes."—newcastle journal. the bubbling teapot. a wonder story. by mrs. l. w. champney. with page pictures by walter sattkrleb. crown vo, cloth extra, s. !. "very literally a 'wonder story,'and a wild and fanciful one. nevertheless it is made realistic enough, and there is a good deal of information to be gained from it. the steam from the magic teapot bubbles up into a girl, and the utue girl, when the fancy takes her, can cry herself back into a teapot. transformed and enchanted she makes the tour of the globe."—the times. blackie & sons books for young people. blackie's new three-shilling series. beautifully illustrated and handsomely bound. new volumes. menhardoc: a story of cornish nets and mines. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by c. j. staniland, b.i. new edition. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "they are real living boys, with their virtues and faults. the cornish fisher- men are drawn from life, they are racy of the soil, salt with the sea-water, and they stand out from the pages in their jerseys and sea-boots all sprinkled with silvery pilchard scales."—spectator. yussuf the guide: or, the mountain bandits. a story of strange adventure iu asia minor. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by j. schonberg. new edition. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "this story is told with such real freshness aud vigour that the reader feels he is actually one of the party, sharing in the fun and facing the dangers with them."—pau hall gazette. robinson crusoe. with loo illustrations by gordon browne. new edition. crown vo, cloth extra, ». "one of the best issues, if not absolutely the best, of defoe's work which has ever appeared."— the standard. gullivep's travels. with loo illustrations by gordon browne. new edition. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "mr. gordon browne is. to my thinking, incomparably the most artistic, spirited, aud brilliant of our illustrators of books for boys, and one of the most humorous also, as his illustrations of 'gulliver' amply testify."—truta. patience wins: or, war in the works. by george man- ville fenn. with page illustrations. cr. vo, cloth extra, s. "mr. venn has never hit upon a happier plan than in writing this story of yorkshire factory life. the whole book is all aglow with life, the scenes varying continually with kaleidoscopic rapidity."—pau mall gazette. mother carey's chicken: her voyage to the unknown isle. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by a. forestieb, crown vo, cloth extra, s. "undoubtedly one of the best mr. fenn has written. the incidents are of thrilling interest, while the characters are drawn with a care and completeness rarely found in a boys' book. the illustrations are exceptionally good. -—liter- ary worid. the missing merchantman. by harry collingwood. with page illustrations by w. h. ovsrend. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "one of the author's best sea stories. the hero is as heroic as any boy could desire, and the ending is extremely happy."—british weekly. blackie * sons books for younq pboplb. three shilling series—continued. the rover's secret: a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry collingwood. with page illustrations by w. c. symons. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "the rover's secret is by far the best sea story we have read for yean, and is certain to give unalloyed pleasure to boys. the illustrations are fresh and vigorous."—saturday heview. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by asoott k. hope. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "is notably good. it gives a very vivid picture of life among the indians, which will delight the heart of many a schoolboy."—spectator. perseverance island: or, the robinson crusoe of the th century. by douglas frazar. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, ». "this is an interesting story, written with studied simplicity of style, much in defoe's vein of apparent sincerity and scrupulous veracity; while for practical instruction it is even better than robinson crwsoe."—illustrated london news. girl neighbours: or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "one of the most effective and quietly humorous of miss sarah tytler's stories. girl neighbours is very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."—the spectator. blackie's half-crown series. illustrated by eminent artists. in crown vo, cloth elegant. nicola: the career of a girl musician. by m. corbet-sey- mour. illustrated by gertrude d. hammond. this is an interesting study of a girl's character who has ambitions, and a rare gift for music. nicola is also self-willod, and selfishly sets aside all claims, both of family and friends, in her desire to become famous. ulti- mately sho learns, after bitter experience, that oven the lowly duties of life bring their own exceeding pleasure. a little handful. by harriet j. scripps. illustrated by l. leslie brooke. in this story you have the amusing escapades of an american boy at an english watering-place. no doubt willie is "a little handful" to his friends, but notwithstanding all his freaks, he is a clever, entertaining, intelligent youngster, whe wins our love without an effort. lackik & son's books for younq people. half-crown series—continued. a golden age: a story of four merry children. by ismay thobk. illustrated by gordon browne. new edition. the four children whose everyday experiences are hero given are singu- larly happy in their choico of pastimes. their adventures have all the virtues of the ordinary and tho probablo, and to these they add tho merit of being set forth in a delightful style. a rough road: or, how the boy made a mau of himself. by mrs. g. linn.eus banks. illustrated by alfred pearse. 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"tim, the little jacobite who asks his grandmother if she can remember charles i. is a charming creation. so original a child as tim must win the hearts of ail who read the pleasant tale."—academy. blackie & sos's books for young people. half-crown series—continued. hal hungerford. by j. e. hutchinson, b.a. "there is do question whatever as to the spirited manner in which the story is told: the death of the mate of the smuggler by the teeth of the dog is especially effective. altogether, hal hungerford is a distinct literary success."—spectator. the golden weathercock. by julia goddard. "a cleverly conceived quaint story, in which the golden cock on the church spire is the recipient of enchanting stories of enchanted people and places. full of pretty and ingenious ideas, prettily and ingeniously written."—saturday review. white lilac: or, the queeu of the may. by amy walton. "every here and there we are reminded of mrs. tulliver and sister pullet in the quaint dialogue of the story. . . . every rural parish ought to add white lilac to its library."—academy. miriam's ambition. by evelyn everett-green. "miss green's children are real british boys and girls, not small men and women. babs is a charming little one."—liverpool mercury. the brig; "audacious." by alan cole. "bright and vivacious in style, and fresh and wholesome as a breath of sea air in tone."—court journal. the saucy may. by henry frith. "mr. frith gives a new picture of life on the ocean wave which will be acceptable to all young people."—sheffield independent. jasper's conquest. by elizabeth j. lysaoht. "one of the best boys' books of the season. it is full of stirring adventure and startling episodes, and yet conveys a splendid moral throughout."— schoolmaster. little lady clare. by evelyn everett-green. "certainly one of the prettiest, reminding us in its quaintness and tender pathos of mrs. ewlng's delightful tales. this is quite one of the beat stories miss green's clever pen has yet given us."—literary world. the eversley secrets. by evelyn everett-green. "a clever and well-told story. roy eversley is a very touching picture of high principle and unshrinking self-devotion in a good purpose."— otumtian. the hermit hunter of the wilds. by g. stables, r.n. "pirates and pumas, mutiny and merriment, a castaway and a cat. furnish the materials for a tale that will gladden the heart of many a bright boy."— methodist recorder. sturdy and strong. by g. a. henty. "the history of a hero of everyday life, whose love of truth, clothing of modesty, and innate pluck carry him, naturally, from poverty to afllueuce. he stands as a good instance of chivalry in domestic life."—the empire. gutta percha willie, the working genius. by george mao donald. "had we space we would fain quote page after page. all we have room to say is, get it for your boys and girls to read for themselves."—practical teacher. dlackie & sows books for children. the ninepenny series of books for children. pcap vo, illustrated, and neatly bound in cloth extra. new volumes. a little english gentleman. by jane deakin. the doctor's lass. by l. e. tiddkman. spark and i. a story told by a cat. by annie abmstbono. what hilda saw. by penelope leslie. little miss masterful. by l. e. tiddeman. a sprig of honeysuckle: a story of hpplng forest . by oeokoina m. squire. an australian childhood. by ellen campbell. kitty carroll. by l. e. tiddeman. a joke for a picnic. by w. l. rooper. cross purposes, and the shadows. by gkokuk mac donald. patty's ideas, and what came of them. by l. k tiddeman. daphne: a story of self-conquest. by e. o'byrne. lily and rose in one. by cecilia s. lowndes. crowded out: or. the story of lil's patience. by m. b. manwell. tom in a tangle. by t. 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cross • :. \ kill i" wiiitk ck charlfs scrihnkr's s <ns but - sh *r: a of the knight white cross a tale of the siege of rhodes by g. a. henty author of "when london burned," "for the temple," "st. bartholomew's eve," "under drake's flatf," "beric the briton," etc. with twelve illustrations by ralph peacock and a plan new york charles scribner's sons i copyright, , by charles scribner's sons trow dtrectory pktntcq and bookbindtng company new vodk preface the order of the knights of st. john, which for some cen- turies played a very important part in the great struggle be- tween christianity and mahomedanism, was, at its origin, a semi-religious body, its members being, like other monks, bound by vows of obedience, chastity, and poverty, and pledged to minister to the wants of the pilgrims who flocked to the holy places, to receive them at their great hospital— or guest house—at jerusalem, dedicated to st. john the bap- tist, and to defend them on their passage to and from the sea, against attack by moslems. in a comparatively short time the constitution of the order was changed, and the knights hospitallers became, like the templars, a great military order pledged to defend the holy sepulchre, and to war everywhere against the moslems. the hospitallers bore a leading share in the struggle which terminated in the triumph of the mos- lems, and the capture by them of jerusalem. the knights of st. john then established themselves at acre, but after a valiant defence of that fortress, removed to crete, and shortly afterwards to rhodes. there they fortified the town, and withstood two terrible sieges by the turks. at the end of the second they obtained honourable terms from sultan soly- man, and retiring to malta established themselves there in an ft preface even stronger fortress than that of rhodes, and repulsed all the efforts of the turks to dispossess them. the order was the great bulwark of christendom against the invasion of the turks, and the tale of their long struggle is one of absorbing interest, and of the many eventful episodes none is more full of incident and excitement than the first siege of rhodes, which i have chosen for the subject of my story. g. a. henty. contents chap. tacr i. the king-maker, i i ii. the battle of tewkesbury, . iii. the grand master's page, • iv. a professed knight, . v. scourges of the sea, . vi. knighted, ..... • vii. a first command, . viii. an evening at rhodes, . . ix. with the galley-slaves, . . x. a plot discovered, . . xi. in command of a galley, • xii. the boy-galley, . xiii. the first prizes, . xiv. the corsair fleet, . . xv. a splendid exploit, . . xvi. festivities," • xvii. captured, • contents chap. pace xviii. a kind master xix. escape, xx. beleaguered xxi. the fort of st. nicholas, . . . xxii. the struggle at the breach, . . . xxiii. the reward of valour, .... illustrations page "then the knights leapt on to the deck of the pirate," i-'rontispiecc, sir thomas tresham brings his wife news of the lost battle, gervaise and ralph are knighted by the grand prior, "a girl was playing a lute, and another singing to her accompaniment," sir gervaise in prison answers the questions of the galley-slaves "you have been attacked by pirates," gervaise said, . the three knights of the cross give thanks for their release, claudia gives sir gervaise a chain of gold to wear as her favour, o sir gervaise is disguised as a nubian slave, . . . "gervaise grasped hassan by the throat with a grip of iron," "with wild shouts the turks swarmed up the ruined masonry," sir gervaise finds himself lying in the hospital of the order, plan of the fortress of rhodes, ....... s a knight of the white cross chapter i the king-maker stately lady was looking out of the window of an apartment in the royal chateau of amboise, in the month of june . she was still hand- some, though many years of anxiety, misfortune, and trouble, had left their traces on her face. in the room behind her, a knight was talking to a lady sitting at a tam- bour frame; a lad of seventeen was standing at another win- dow stroking a hawk that sat on his wrist, while a boy of nine was seated at a table examining the pages of an illuminated missal. "what will come of it, eleanor? " the lady at the win- dow said, turning suddenly and impatiently from it. "it seems past belief that i am to meet as a friend this haughty earl, who has for fifteen years been the bitterest enemy of my house. it appears almost impossible." "'tis strange indeed, my queen; but so many strange things have befallen your majesty that you should be the last to wonder at this. at any rate, as you said but yesterday, naught but good can come of it. he has done his worst against you, and one can scarce doubt that if he chooses he a knight of the white cross has power to do as much good for you, as in past times he has done you evil. 'tis certain that his coming here shows he is in earnest, for his presence,—which is sure sooner or later to come to the ears of the usurper,—will cause him to fall into the deepest disgrace." "and yet it seemed," the queen said, "that by marrying his daughter to clarence he had bound himself more firmly than ever to the side of york." "ay, madam," the knight said. "but clarence himself is said to be alike unprincipled and ambitious, and it may well be that warwick intended to set him up against edward; had he not done so, such an alliance would not necessarily strengthen his position at court." "methinks your supposition is the true one, sir thom- as," the queen said. "edward cares not sufficiently for his brother to bestow much favour upon the father of the prince's wife. thus, he would gain but little by the marriage unless he were to place clarence on the throne. then he would again become the real ruler of england, as he was until ed- ward married elizabeth woodville, and the house of rivers rose to the first place in the royal favour, and eclipsed the star of warwick. it is no wonder the proud earl chafes un- der the ingratitude of the man who owes his throne to him, and that he is ready to dare everything so that he can but prove to him that he is not to be slighted with impunity. but why come to me, when he has clarence as his puppet?" "he may have convinced himself, madam, that clarence is even less to be trusted than edward, or he may perceive that but few of the yorkists would follow him were he to de- clare against the usurper, while assuredly your adherents would stand aloof altogether from such a struggle. powerful as he is, warwick could not alone withstand the united forces of all the nobles pledged to the support of the house of york. thence, as i take it, does it happen that he has resolved to throw in his lot with lancaster, if your majesty will but for- the king-maker give the evil he has done your house and accept him as your ally. no doubt he will have terms to make and conditions to lay down." "he may make what conditions he chooses," queen mar- garet said passionately, "so that he does but aid me to take vengeance on that false traitor; to place my husband again on the throne; and to obtain for my son his rightful heritage." as she spoke a trumpet sounded in the courtyard below. "he has come," she exclaimed. "once again, after years of misery and humiliation, i can hope." "we had best retire, madam," sir thomas tresham said. "he will speak more freely to your majesty if there are no witnesses. come, gervaise, it is time that you practised your exercises." and sir thomas, with his wife and child, quitted the room, leaving queen margaret with her son to meet the man who had been the bitterest foe of her house, the author of her direst misfortunes. for two hours the earl of warwick was closeted with the queen; then he took horse and rode away. as soon as he did so, a servant informed sir thomas and his wife that the queen desired their presence. margaret was standing radiant when they entered. "congratulate me, my friends," she said. "the star of lancaster has risen again. warwick has placed all his power and influence at our disposal. we have both forgiven all the past: i the countless injuries he has inflicted on my house, he the execution of his father and so many of his friends. we have both laid aside all our grievances, and we stand united by our hate for edward. there is but one condition, and this i accepted gladly—namely, that my son should marry his daughter anne. this will be another bond between us; and by all reports anne is a charming young lady. edward has gladly agreed to the match; he could make no alliance, even with the proudest princess in europe, which would so aid him, and so strengthen his throne." ii a knight of the white cross "god grant that your hopes may be fulfilled, madam," the knight said earnestly, "and that peace may be given to our distracted country! the usurper has rendered himself un- popular by his extravagance and by the exactions of his tax- collectors, and i believe that england will gladly welcome the return of its lawful king to power. when does warwick pro- pose to begin ?'' "he will at once get a fleet together. louis, who has privately brought about this meeting, will of course throw no impediment in his way; but, on the other hand, the duke of burgundy will do all in his power to thwart the enterprise, and will, as soon as he learns of it, warn edward. i feel new life in me, eleanor. after fretting powerless for years, i seem to be a different woman now that there is a prospect of action. i am rejoiced at the thought that at last i shall be able to re- ward those who have ventured and suffered so much in the cause of lancaster.'' "my hope is, madam, that this enterprise will be the final one,—that, once successful, our dear land will be no longer del- uged with blood, and that never again shall i be forced to draw my sword against my countrymen." "'tis a good and pious wish, sir thomas, and heartily do i join in it. my married life has been one long round of trouble, and none more than i, have cause to wish for peace." "there is the more hope for it, madam, that these wars have greatly diminished the number of powerful barons. it is they who are the authors of this struggle; their rivalries and their ambitions are the ruin of england. save for their re- tainers there would be no armies to place in the field; the mass of people stand aloof altogether, desiring only to live in peace and quiet. 'tis the same here in france; 'tis the pow- erful vassals of the king that are ever causing trouble." "'tis so indeed, sir thomas. but without his feudal lords how could a king place an army in the field, when his domin- ions were threatened by a powerful neighbour?" the kinomak.ek "then it would be the people's business to fight, madam, and i doubt not that they would do so in defence of their hearths and homes. besides, the neighbour would no longer have the power of invasion were he also without great vassals. these great barons stand between the king and his subjects; and a monarch would be a king indeed were he able to rule without their constant dictation, and undisturbed by their rivalry and ambitions." "that would be a good time indeed, sir thomas," the queen said, with a smile; "but methinks there is but little chance of its coming about, for at present it seems to me that the vassals are better able to make or unmake kings, than kings are able to deprive the great vassals of power; and never since norman william set foot in england were they more powerful than they are at present. what does my chance of recovering our throne rest upon? not upon our right, but on the quarrel between warwick and the house of rivers. we are but puppets that the great lords play against each other. did it depend upon my will, it should be as you say; i would crush them all at a blow. then only should i feel really a queen. but that is but a dream that can never be carried out." "not in our time, madam. but perhaps it may come sooner than we expect; and this long war, which has de- stroyed many great families and weakened others, may greatly hasten its arrival. i presume until warwick is ready to move naught will be done, your majesty?" "that is not settled yet. warwick spoke somewhat of causing a rising in the north before he set sail, so that a por- tion at least of edward's power may be up there when we make our landing." "it would be a prudent step, madam. if we can but gain possession of london, the matter would be half finished. the citizens are ever ready to take sides with those whom they regard as likely to win, and just as they shout at present g a knight of the white cross long live king edward!' so would they shout ' long live king henry!' did you enter the town." "this may perhaps change the thought that you have enter- tained, sir thomas, of making your son a knight of st. john." "i have not thought the matter over, madam. if there were quiet in the land i should, were it not for my vow, be well content that he should settle down in peace at my old hall; but if i see that there is still trouble and bloodshed ahead, i would in any case far rather that he should enter the order, and spend his life in fighting the infidel than in strife with englishmen. my good friend, the grand prior of the order in england, has promised that he will take him as his page, and at any rate in the house of st. john's he will pass his youth in security whatsoever fate may befall me. the child himself already bids fair to do honour to our name, and to become a worthy member of the order. he is fond of study, and under my daily tuition is making good progress in the use of his weapons.'' "that is he," the prince said, speaking for the first time. "it was but yesterday in the great hall downstairs he stood up with blunted swords against young victor de paulliac, who is nigh three years his senior. it was amusing to see how the little knaves fought against each other; and by my faith ger- vaise held his own staunchly, in spite of victor's superior height and weight. if he join the order, sir thomas, i war- rant me he will cleave many an infidel's skull, and will do honour to the langue of england." "i hope so, prince," the knight said gravely. "the moslems ever gain in power, and it may well be that the knights of st. john will be hardly pressed to hold their own. if the boy joins them it will be my wish that he shall as early as possible repair to rhodes. i do not wish him to become one of the drones who live in sloth at their comman- deries in england, and take no part in the noble struggle of the order with the moslem host, who have captured con- the king-maker stantinople and now threaten all europe. we were childless for some years after our marriage, and eleanor and i vowed that were a son born to us he should join the order of the white cross, and dedicate his life to the defence of christian europe against the infidel. our prayers for a son were granted, and gervaise will enter the order as soon as his age will permit him. that is why i rejoice at the grand prior's offer to take him as his page, for he will dwell in the hospital safely until old enough to take the first steps towards becoming a knight of the order." "i would that i had been born the son of a baron like yourself," the prince said earnestly, " and that i were free to choose my own career. assuredly in that case i too would have joined the noble order and have spent my life in fight- ing in so grand a cause, free from all the quarrels and disputes and enmities that rend england. even should i some day gain a throne, surely my lot is not to be envied. yet, as i have been born to the rank, i must try for it, and i trust to do so worthily and bravely. but who can say what the end will be? warwick has ever been our foe, and though my royal mother may use him in order to free my father, and place him on the throne, she must know well enough that he but uses us for his own ends alone, and that he will ever stand beside the throne and be the real ruler of england." "for a time, edward," the queen broke in. "we have shown that we can wait, and now it seems that our great hope is likely to be fulfilled. after that, the rest will be easy. there are other nobles, well-nigh as powerful as he, who look with jealousy upon the way in which he lords it, and be as- sured that they will look with a still less friendly eye upon him when he stands, as you say, beside the throne, once your father is again seated there. we can afford to bide our time, and assuredly it will not be long before a party is formed against warwick. until then we must bear everything. our interests are the same. if he is content to remain a prop to is a knight of the white cross the throne, and not to eclipse it, the memory of the past will not stand between us, and i shall regard him as the weapon that has beaten down the house of york and restored us to our own, and shall give him my confidence and friendship. if, on the other hand, he assumes too much, and tries to lord it over us, i shall seek other support and gather a party which even he will be unable successfully to withstand. i should have thought, edward, that you would be even more glad than i that this long time of weary waiting for action is over, and that once again the banner of lancaster will be spread to the winds." "i shall be that, mother. rather would i meet death in the field than live cooped up here, a pensioner of france. but i own that i should feel more joy at the prospect if the people of england had declared in our favour, instead of its being warwick,—whom you have always taught me to fear and hate,—who thus comes to offer to place my father again on the throne, and whose goodwill towards us is simply the result of pique and displeasure because he is no longer first in the favour of edward. it does not seem to me that a throne won by the aid of a traitor can be a stable one." "you are a foolish boy," the queen said angrily. "do you not see that by marrying warwick's daughter you will at- tach him firmly to us?" "marriages do not count for much, mother. another of warwick's daughters married clarence, edward's brother, and yet he purposes to dethrone edward." the queen gave an angry gesture and said,— "you have my permission to retire, edward. i am in no mood to listen to auguries of evil at the present moment." the prince hesitated for a moment as if about to speak, but with an effort controlled himself, and bowing deeply, to his mother, left the room. "edward is in a perverse humour," the queen said in a tone of much vexation to sir thomas tresham, when gervaise the king-maker had left the room. "however, i know he will bear himself well when the hour of trial comes." "that i can warrant he will, madam; he has a noble char- acter, frank and fearless, and yet thoughtful beyond his years. he will make, i believe, a noble king, and may well gather round him all parties in the state. but your majesty must make excuses for his humour. young people are strong in their likes and dislikes. he has never heard you speak aught but ill of warwick, and he knows how much harm the earl has done to your house. the question of expediency does not weigh with the young as with their elders. while you see how great are the benefits that will accrue from an alliance with warwick, and are ready to lay aside the hatred of years and to forget the wrongs you have suffered, the young prince is unable so quickly to forget that enmity against the earl that he has learnt from you." "you are right, sir thomas, and i cannot blame edward that he is unable, as i am, to forget the past. what steps would you advise that i myself should take? shall i remain passive here, or shall i do what i can to rouse our partisans in england?" "i should say the latter, madam. of course it will not do to trust to letters, for were one of these to fall into wrong hands it might cause the ruin of warwick's expedition; but i should say that a cautious message sent by word of mouth to some of our old adherents would be of great use. i myself will, if your majesty chooses to entrust me with the mission, undertake to carry it out. i should take ship and land in the west, and would travel in the guise of a simple country gen- tleman, and call upon your adherents in all the western coun- ties. it would be needful first to make out a list of the nobles who have shown themselves devoted to your cause, and i should bid these hold themselves and their retainers in readi- ness to take the field suddenly. i should say no word of warwick, but merely hint that you will not land alone, but a knight of the white cross with a powerful array, and that all the chances are in your favour.'' "but it would be a dangerous mission, sir thomas." "not greatly so, madam. my own estates lie in sussex, and there would be but little chance of my recognition, save by your own adherents, who may have seen me among the leaders of your troops in battle; and even that is improb- able. at present edward deems himself so securely seated on the throne that men can travel hither and thither through the country without being questioned, and the lancastrians live quietly with the yorkists. unless i were so unfortunate as to meet a yorkist noble who knew that i was a banished man and one who had the honour of being in your majesty's confi- dence, i do not think that any danger could possibly arise. what say you, wife?" "i cannot think that there is no danger," lady tresham said; "but even sol would not say a word to hinder you from doing service to the cause. i know of no one else who could perform the mission. you have left my side to go into battle before now, and i cannot think that the danger of such an expedition can be as great as that which you would under- go in the field. therefore, my dear lord, i would say no word now to stay you." she spoke bravely and unfalteringly, but her face had paled when sir thomas first made the proposal, and the colour had not yet come back to her cheeks. "bravely spoken, dame," the queen said warmly. "well, sir thomas, i accept your offer, and trust that you will not be long separated from your wife and son, who will of course journey with me when i go to england, where doubtless you will be able to rejoin us a few days after we land. now let us talk over the noblemen and gentlemen in the west, upon whom we can rely, if not to join our banner as soon as it is spread, at least to say no word that will betray you." two days later sir thomas tresham started on his journey, the king-maker while the queen remained at araboise eagerly awaiting the news that warwick had collected a fleet, and was ready to set sail. up to this point the duke of clarence had sided with warwick against his brother, and had passed over with him to france, believing, no doubt, that if the earl should suc- ceed in dethroning edward, he intended to place him, his son- in-law, upon the throne. he was rudely awakened from this delusion by charles of burgundy, who, being in all but open rebellion against his suzerain, the king of france, kept him- self intimately acquainted with all that was going on. he despatched a female emissary to clarence to inform him of the league warwick had made with the lancastrians, and the in- tended marriage between his daughter anne and the young prince; imploring him to be reconciled with his brother and to break off his alliance with the earl, who was on the point of waging war against the house of york. clarence took the advice, and went over to england, where he made his peace with edward, the more easily because the king, who was entirely given up to pleasure, treated with con- tempt the warnings the duke of burgundy sent him of the intended invasion by warwick. and yet a moment's serious reflection should have shown him that his position was pre- carious. the crushing exactions of the tax-gatherers, in order to provide the means for edward's lavish expenditure, had already caused very serious insurrections in various parts of the country, and his unpopularity was deep and general. in one of these risings the royal troops had suffered a crushing defeat. the earl rivers, the father, and sir john woodville, one of the brothers, of the queen had, with the earl of devon, been capt- ured by the rebels, and the three had been beheaded, and the throne had only been saved by the intervention of warwick. thus, then, edward had every reason for fearing the result should the earl appear in arms against him. he took, how- ever, no measures whatever to prepare for the coming storm, and although the duke of burgundy despatched a fleet to a knight of the white cross blockade harfleur, where warwick was fitting out his expedi- tion, and actually sent the name of the port at which the earl intended to land if his fleet managed to escape from harfleur, edward continued carelessly to spend his time in pleasure and dissipation, bestowing his full confidence upon the archbishop of york and the marquis of montague, both brothers of the earl of warwick. the elements favoured his enemies, for early in september the duke of burgundy's fleet, off harfleur, was dispersed by a storm, and warwick, as soon as the gale abated, set sail, and on the th landed on the devonshire coast. his force was a considerable one, for the french king had furnished him both with money and men; on effecting his landing he found no army assembled to oppose him. a few hours after his disem- barkation, he was joined by sir thomas tresham, who gave him the good news that the whole of the west was ready to rise, and that in a few days all the great landowners would join him with their retainers. this turned out to be the case, and warwick, with a great array, marched eastward. kent had already risen, and london declared for king henry. warwick, therefore, instead of marching thither, moved to- wards lincolnshire, where edward was with his army, having gone north to repress an insurrection that had broken out there at the instigation of warwick. lord montague now threw off the mask, and declared for king henry. most of the soldiers followed him, and edward, finding it hopeless to oppose warwick's force, which was now within a short march of him, took ship with a few friends who remained faithful, and sailed for holland. warwick returned to london, where he took king henry from the dungeon in the tower, into which he himself had, five years before, thrown him, and proclaimed him king. on the day that this took place dame tresham arrived in london with her son. the queen had found that she could not for the present cross, as she was waiting for a large french the king-maker : force which was to accompany her. as it was uncertain how long the delay might last, she counselled her friend to join her husband. the revolution had been accomplished without the loss of a single life, with the exception of that of the earl of worcester, who was hated for his cruelty by the people. ed- ward's principal friends took refuge in various religious houses. the queen, her three daughters, and her mother, fled to the sanctuary at westminster. all these were left unmolested, nor was any step taken against the other adherents of the house of york. warwick was now virtually king of eng- land. the king, whose intellect had always been weak, was now almost an imbecile, and margaret of anjou was still de- tained in france, sir thomas tresham went down to his estates in kent, and there lived quietly for some months. the duke of clarence had joined warwick as soon as he saw that his brother's cause was lost; and as the duke had no knowledge of his changed feelings towards him, he was heartily welcomed. an act of settlement was passed by parliament entailing the crown on henry's son edward, prince of wales, and in case of that prince's death without issue, on the duke of clarence. on the th of march following ( ) ed- ward suddenly appeared with a fleet with which he had been secretly supplied by the duke of burgundy, and, sailing north, landed in the humber. he found the northern population by no means disposed to aid him, but upon his taking a solemn oath that he had no designs whatever upon the throne, but simply claimed to be restored to his rights and dignities as duke of york, he was joined by a sufficient force to enable him to cross the trent. as he marched south his army speedily swelled, and he was joined by many great lords. warwick had summoned henry's adherents to the field, and marched north to meet him. when the armies approached each other, the duke of clarence, who commanded a portion of henry's army, went over with his whole force to edward, and warwick, being no longer in a position to give battle, was a knight of the white cross obliged to draw off and allow edward to march unopposed towards london. the citizens, with" their usual fickleness, received him with the same outburst of enthusiasm with which, five months before, they had greeted the entry of warwick. the unfortunate king henry was again thrown into his dun- geon in the tower, and edward found himself once more king of england. sir thomas tresham, as soon as he heard of the landing of edward, had hastened up to london. in his uncertainty how matters would go, he brought his wife and son up with him, and left them in lodgings, while he marched north with warwick. as soon as the defection of clarence opened the road to london, he left the earl, promising to return in a few days, and rode to town, arriving there two days before edward's entry, and, purchasing another horse, took his wife and son down to st. albans, where leaving them, he rejoined warwick. in a few days the latter had gathered sufficient forces to enable him to risk the fortunes of a battle, and, march- ing south, he encamped with his army on the common north of barnet. edward had come out to meet him, and the two armies slept on easter eve within two miles of each other. late in the evening clarence sent a messenger to the earl, offering to mediate, but the offer was indignantly refused by warwick. in the darkness, neither party was aware of the other's precise position. warwick was much stronger than the king in artillery, and had placed it on his right wing. the king, in his ignorance of the enemy's position, had placed his troops considerably more to the right than those of warwick's army. the latter, believing that edward's line was facing his, kept up a heavy cannonade all night upon where he supposed ed- ward's left to be—a cannonade which was thus entirely futile. in the morning (april th) a heavy mist covered the country and prevented either force from seeing the other's dispositions. warwick took the command of his left wing, the king-maker having with him the duke of exeter. somerset was in com- mand of his centre, and montague and oxford of his right. edward placed himself in the centre of his array, the duke of gloucester commanded on his right, and lord hastings on his left. desirous, from his inferiority in artillery, to fight out the battle hand to hand, edward, at six o'clock in the morning, ordered his trumpets to blow, and, after firing a few shots, advanced through the mist to attack the enemy. his miscon- ception as to warwick's position, which had saved his troops from the effects of the cannonade during the night, was now disadvantageous to him, for the earl's right so greatly out- flanked his left that when they came into contac t hastings found himself nearly surrounded by a vastly superior force. his wing fought valiantly, but was at length broken by ox- ford's superior numbers, and driven out of the field. the mist prevented the rest of the armies from knowing what had happened on the king's left. edward himself led the charge on warwick's centre, and having his best troops under his command, pressed forward with such force and vehemence that he pierced somerset's lines and threw them into confusion. just as warwick's right had outflanked the king's left, so his own left was outflanked by gloucester. warwick's troops fought with great bravery, and, in spite of the disaster to his centre, were holding their ground until oxford, returning from his pursuit of the king's left, came back through the mist. the king's emblem was a sun, that of oxford a star with streaming rays. in the dim light this was mistaken by warwick's men for the king's device, and believing that oxford was far away on the right, they received him with a discharge of arrows. this was at once returned, and a con- flict took place. at last the mistake was discovered, but the confusion caused was irreparable. warwick and oxford each suspected the other of treachery, and the king's right still pressing on, the confusion increased, and the battle, which g a knight of the white cross had been so nearly won by the earl, soon became a complete defeat, and by ten in the morning warwick's army was in full flight. accounts differ as to the strength of the forces engaged, but it is probable that there was no great inequality, and that each party brought some fifteen thousand men into the field. the number of slain is also very uncertain, some historians placing the total at ten thousand, others as low as one thou- sand; but from the number of nobles who fell, the former computation is probably nearest to the truth. warwick, his brother montague, and many other nobles and gentlemen, were killed, the only great nobles on his side who escaped being the earls of somerset and oxford; many were also killed on edward's side, and the slaughter among the ordi- nary fighting men was greater than usual. hitherto in the battles that had been fought during the civil war, while the leaders taken on the field were frequently executed, the.common soldiers were permitted to return to their homes, as they had only been acting under the orders of their feudal superiors, and were not considered responsible for their acts. at barnet, however, edward, smarting from the humiliation he had suffered by his enforced flight from eng- land, owing to the whole country declaring for his rival, gave orders that no quarter was to be granted. it was an anxious day at st. albans, where many ladies whose husbands were with warwick's army had, like dame tresham, taken up their quarters. it was but a few miles from the field of battle. in the event of victory they could at once join their husbands, while in case of defeat they could take refuge in the sanctuary of the abbey. messengers the night before had brought the news that the battle would begin at the dawn of day, and with intense anxiety they waited for the news. dame tresham and her son attended early mass at the abbey, and had returned to their lodgings, when sir thomas rode up at full speed. his armour was sir thomas tresham trings his wife news of the lost battle. the king-maker dinted and his plume shorn away from his helmet. as he entered the house he was met by his wife, who had run down- stairs as she heard his horse stop at the door. a glance at his face was sufficient to tell the news. "we have lost the day," he said. "warwick and mon- tague are both killed. all is lost here for the present. which will you do, my love, ride with me to the west, where queen margaret will speedily land, if indeed she has not landed already, or take sanctuary here with the boy?" "i will go with you," she said. "i would vastly rather do so." "i will tell you more on the road," he said. "there is no time to be lost now." the woman of the house was called, and at once set her son to saddle the other horse and to give a feed to that of the knight. dame tresham busied herself with packing the sad- dle-bags while her husband partook of a hasty meal; and ten minutes after his arrival they set off, gervaise riding behind his father, while the latter led the horse on which his wife^was mounted. a thick mist hung over the country. "this mist told against us in the battle, wife, for as we advanced our forces fell into confusion, and more than once friend attacked friend, believing that he was an enemy. however, it has proved an advantage to us now, for it has enabled great numbers to escape who might otherwise have been followed and cut down. i was very fortunate. i had left my horse at a little farmhouse two miles in the rear of our camp, and in the fog had but small hope of finding it; but soon after leaving the battle-field, i came upon a rustic hurry- ing in the same direction as myself, and upon questioning him it turned out that he was a hind on the very farm at which i had left the horse. he had, with two or three others, stolen out after midnight to see the battle, and was now making his way home again, having seen indeed but little, but having learned from fugitives that we had been defeated. he guided a knight of the white cross me to the farmhouse, which otherwise i should assuredly never have reached. his master was favourable to our party, and let the man take one of the cart-horses, on which he rode as my guide until he had placed me upon the high road to st. albans, and i was then able to gallop on at full speed." "and warwick and his brother montague are both killed?" "both. the great earl will make and unmake no more kings. he has been a curse to england, with his boundless ambition, his vast possessions, and his readiness to change sides and to embroil the country in civil war for purely per- sonal ends. the great nobles are a curse to the country, wife. they are, it is true, a check upon kingly ill-doing and oppression; but were they, with their great arrays of retainers and feudal followers, out of the way, methinks that the citi- zens and yeomen would be able to hold their own against any king." "was the battle a hard-fought one?" "i know but little of what passed, except near the standard of warwick himself. there the fighting was fierce indeed, for it was against the earl that the king finally directed his chief onslaught. doubtless he was actuated both by a deep per- sonal resentment against the earl for the part he had played and the humiliation he had inflicted upon him, and also by the knowledge that a defeat of warwick personally would be the heaviest blow that he could inflict upon the cause of lan- caster." "then do you think the cause is lost?" "i say not that. pembroke has a strong force in wales, and if the west rises, and queen margaret on landing can join him, we may yet prevail; but i fear that the news of the field of barnet will deter many from joining us. men may risk lands and lives for a cause which seems to offer a fair prospect of success, but they can hardly be blamed for holding back when they see that the chances are all against them. moreover, as a frenchwoman, it cannot be denied that mar- the battle of tewkesbury • !) garet has never been popular in england, and her arrival here, aided by french gold and surrounded by frenchmen, will tell against her with the country people. i went as far as i could on the day before i left amboise, urging her on no account to come hither until matters were settled. it would have been infinitely better had the young prince come alone, and landed in the west without a single follower. the people would have admired his trust in them, and would, i am sure, have gathered strongly round his banner. however, we must still hope for the best. fortune was against us to-day: it may be with us next time we give battle. and with parties so equally divided throughout the country a signal victory would bring such vast numbers to our banners that edward would again find it necessary to cross the seas.'' chapter ii the battle of tewkesbury riding fast, sir thomas tresham crossed the thames at reading before any news of the battle of barnet had arrived there. on the third day after leaving st. albans he reached westbury, and there heard that the news had been re- ceived of the queen's landing at plymouth on the very day on which her friends had been defeated at barnet, and that she had already been joined by the duke of somerset, the earl of devon, and others, and that exeter had been named as the point of rendezvous for her friends. as the lancastrians were in the majority in wiltshire and somerset, there was no longer any fear of arrest by partisans of york, and after resting for a day sir thomas tresham rode quietly on to exeter, where the queen had already arrived. the battle of barnet had not, in reality, greatly weakened no a knight of the white cross the lancastrian cause. the earl of warwick was so detested by the adherents of the red rose that comparatively few of them had joined him, and the fight was rather between the two sections of yorkists than between york and lancaster. the earl's death had broken up his party, and york and lancaster were now face to face with each other, without his disturbing influence on either side. among those who had joined the queen was tresham's great friend, the grand prior of st. john's. sir thomas took up his lodgings in the house where he had established himself. the queen was greatly pleased at the arrival of dame tresh- am, and at her earnest request the latter shared her apart- ments, while gervaise remained with his father. "so this is the young knight of st. john," the prior said, on the evening of the arrival of sir thomas. "i would, tresham, that i were at present at rhodes, doing battle with the infidels, rather than engaged in this warfare against eng- lishmen and fellow-christians." "i can well understand that," sir thomas said. "i could not hold aloof here, tresham. the vows of our order by no means hinder us from taking part in the affairs of our own country. the rule of the order is indeed against it, but the rule is constantly broken. were it otherwise there could be no commanderies in this or any other country; we should have, on entering the order, to abandon our national- ity, and to form part of one community in the east. the order is true to its oaths. we cannot defend the holy sepulchre, for that, for the present, is hopelessly lost; but we can and do wage war with the infidel. for this funds are nec- essary as well as swords, and our commanderies throughout europe supply the funds by which the struggle is maintained, and, when it is needed, send out contingents to help those fighting in the east. it was from the neglect of this cardinal point that the templars fell. their commanderies amassed wealth and wide possessions, but unlike us the knights abstained the battle of tewkesruuy altogether from fulfilling their vows, and ceased to resist the infidel. therefore they were suppressed, and, with the gen- eral approval of europe, a portion of their possessions was handed over to the knights of st. john. however, as i under- stand, it is your wish that as soon as the boy comes of age to wield arms he shall go to rhodes and become an active member of the order. this is indeed the rule with all neophytes, but having served a certain time they are then permitted to return and join one of the commanderies in their native countries. "i do not wish that for gervaise," his father said; "at least, i wish him to remain at rhodes until all the civil troubles are absolutely at an end here. my life has been ruined by them. loving retirement and quiet, and longing for nothing so much as a life among my tenantary, i have al- most from a boy been actively engaged in warfare or have been away as an exile. here every one of gentle blood has been more or less mixed up in these civil broils. to few of us does it personally matter whether a member of the house of york or lancaster sits on' the throne, and yet we have been almost compelled to take sides with one or the other; and now, in my middle age i am on the eve of another battle in which i risk my life and fortune. if we win i gain naught but the satisfaction of seeing young edward made king of england. if we lose i am going into exile again, or i may leave my wife a widow, and my child penniless." "it is too true, tresham; and as i am as likely to fall as you are, the child might be left without a protector as well as fatherless. however, against that i will provide. i will write a letter to peter d'auluisson, who is the real governor of rhodes, for the grand master orsini is so old that his rule is little more than nominal. at his death d'aubusson is certain to be elected grand master. he is a dear friend of mine. we entered the order the same year,' and were comrades in many a fight with the moslems, and i am quite sure that when i tell him that it is my last request of him, he will, in memory of a knight of the white cross our long friendship, appoint your son as one of the grand master's pages. as you know, no one, however high his rank, is accepted as a novice before the age of sixteen. after a year's probation he is received into the body of the order as a professed knight, and must go out and serve for a time in rhodes. after three years of active service he must reside two more at the convent, and can then be made a commander. there is but one exception to the rule—namely, that the pages of the grand master are entitled to the privi- lege of admission at the age of twelve, so that they become professed knights at thirteen. your son is now but nine, you say, and we must remember that d'aubusson is not yet grand master, and orsini may live for some years yet. d'aubusson, however, can doubtless get him to appoint the boy as one of his pages. but, in any case, there are three years yet to be passed before he can go out. doubtless these he will spend under his mother's care; but as it is as well to provide against everything, i will furnish your dame with a letter to the knight who will probably succeed me as grand prior of the english langue, asking him to see to the care and educa- tion of the boy up to the time when he can proceed to rhodes. we may hope, my dear tresham, that there will be no occasion to use such documents, and that you and i may both be able personally to watch over his career. still, it is as well to take every precaution. i shall, of course, give d'aubusson full particulars about you, your vow, and your wishes." "i thank you greatly, old friend," sir thomas said. "it has taken a load off my mind. i shall leave him here with his mother when we march forward, and bid her, if ill befalls me, cross again to france, and then to keep gervaise with her until she can bring herself to part with him. she has her jewels and a considerable sum of money which i accepted from the man who has been enjoying my estates for the last five years, in lieu of the monies that he had received during the battle of tewkesbury that time. therefore, she will not lack means for some years to come. besides, queen margaret has a real affection for her, and will, doubtless, be glad to have her with her again in exile." "when i am old enough," gervaise said, suddenly look- ing up from a missal of the grand prior's which he had been examining, "i will chop off the head of the duke of york, and bring mother back to england." "you will be a valiant champion no doubt, my boy," the prior said, laughing. "but that is just what your father does not want. chop off the heads of as many infidels as you will, but leave englishmen alone, be they dukes or commoners. it is a far more glorious career to be aiding to defend europe against the moslem than to be engaged in wars with your own countrymen. if the great lords will fight, let them fight it out themselves without our aid; but i hope that long before you become a man even they will be tired of these perpetual broils, and that some agreement may be arrived at, and peace reign in this unhappy land." "besides, gervaise," his father added, "you must bear in mind always that my earnest wish and hope is that you will become a champion of the cross. i took a solemn vow before you were born that if a son were granted to me i would dedi- cate him to the service of the cross, and if i am taken from you, you must still try to carry that oath into effect. i trust that, at any rate for some years after you attain manhood, you will expend your whole strength and powers in the defence of christianity, and as a worthy knight of the order of st. john. too many of the knights, after serving for three years against the infidels, return to their native countries and pass the rest of their lives in slothful ease at their commanderies, save per- haps when at any great crisis they go out for a while and join in the struggle. such is not the life i should wish you to lead. at the death of your mother and myself, you will have no family ties in england—nothing to recall you here. if the a knight of the white cross house of york succeeds in establishing itself firmly on the throne, my estates will be forfeited. therefore, regard rhodes as your permanent home, and devote your life to the order. beginning so young, you may hope to distinguish yourself— to gain high rank in it; but remember that though these are my wishes, they are not my orders, and that your career must be in your own hands." "i will be a brave knight, father," the boy said firmly. "that is right, my boy. now go upstairs to your bed; it is already late. i do not regret my vow," he went on, after gervaise had left the room, " though i regret that he is my only son. it is singular that men should care about what comes after them, but i suppose it is human nature. i should have liked to think that my descendants would sit in the old house, and that men of my race and name would long own the estates. but doubtless it is all for the best; for at least i can view the permanent loss of my estates, in case the york- ists triumph, without any poignant regret." *" doubtless it is for the best, tresham, and you must re- member that things may not, even now, turn out as you think. a knight who has done a brave service does not find much difficulty in obtaining from the pope a dispensation from his vows. numbers of knights have so left the order and have married and perpetuated their name. it is almost a necessity that it should be so, for otherwise many princes and barons would object to their sons entering the order. its object is to keep back the irruption of the moslems, and when men have done their share of hard work no regret need be felt if they desire to leave the order. our founder had no thought of covering europe with monasteries, and beyond the fact that it is necessary there should be men to administer our manors and estates, i see no reason why any should not freely leave when they reach the age of thirty or thirty-five, and indeed believe that it would strengthen rather than weaken us were the vows, taken at the age of seventeen, to be for fifteen years only." the battle of tewkesbury "there is something in that," the knight said thoughtfully. "however, that is far in the distance, and concerns me but little; still, i agree with you, for i see no advantage in men, after their time of usefulness to the order is past, being bound to settle down to a monastic life if by nature and habit un- suited for it. there are some spirits who, after long years of warfare, are well content so to do, but there are assuredly oth- ers to whom a life of forced inactivity, after a youth and man- hood spent in action, must be well-nigh unendurable. and now tell me frankly what you think of our chances here." "everything depends upon time. promises of aid have come in from all quarters, and if edward delays we shall soon be at the head of an overwhelming force. but edward, with all his faults and vices, is an able and energetic leader, and must be well aware that if he is to strike successfully he must strike soon. we must hope that he will not be able to do this. he cannot tell whether we intend to march direct to london, or to join pembroke in wales, or to march north, and until he divines our purpose, he will hardly dare to move lest we should, by some rapid movement, interpose between himself and london. if he gives us a month, our success is certain. if he can give battle in a fortnight, no one can say how the matter will end." edward, indeed, was losing no time. he stayed but a few days in london after his victory at barnet, and on the th of april left for windsor, ordering all his forces to join him there. the i^ancastrians had endeavoured to puzzle him as to their intended movements by sending parties out in various directions; but as soon as he had gathered a force, numerically small, but composed of veteran soldiers, he hurried west, de- termined to bring on a battle at the earliest opportunity. the queen's advisers determined to move first to wells, as from that point they could either go north or march upon london. edward entered abingdon on the th, and then, finding the lancastrians still at wells, marched to the northwest, by a knight of the white cross which means he hoped to intercept them if they moved north, while he w ould be able to fall back and bar their road to london if they advanced in that direction. he therefore moved to cirencester, and waited there for news until he learned that they had visited bristol and there obtained rein- forcements of men and supplies of money and cannon, and had then started on the high road to gloucester. he at once sent off messengers to the son of lord beau- champ, who held the castle of gloucester for him, assuring him that he was following at full speed, and would come to his aid forthwith. the messengers arrived in time, and when the queen, after a long march, arrived before gloucester, she found the gates shut in her face. the governor had taken steps to prevent her numerous adherents in the town from ris- ing on her behalf, and, manning the walls, refused to surren- der. knowing that edward was coming up rapidly, it was evident that there was no time to spare in an attempt to take the town, and the queen's army therefore pressed on, without waiting, to tewkesbury. once across the river they would speedily be joined by the earl of pembroke, and edward would be forced to fall back at once. by the time they reached the river, however, they were thoroughly exhausted. they had marched thirty-six miles without rest, along bad roads and through woods, and were unable to go farther. the queen urged that the river should be crossed, but the leaders of the force were of opinion that it was better to halt. edward would be able to follow them across the river, and were he to attack them when in disorder, and still further wearied by the operation of making the pas- sage, he would certainly crush them. moreover, a further retreat would discourage the soldiers, and as a battle must now be fought, it was better to fight where they were, especially as they could choose a strong position. the queen gave way, and the army encamped on a large field in front of the town. the position was well calculated for defence, for the country the battle of tewkesbury around was so broken and intercepted with lanes and deep hedges and ditches, that it was extremely difficult of approach. in the evening edward came up, his men having also marched some six-and-thirty miles, and encamped for the night within three miles of the lancastrian position. the queen's troops felt confident of victory. in point of numbers they were superior to their antagonists, and had the advantage of a strong position. sir thomas tresham had, as he proposed, left his wife and son at exeter when the force marched away. "do not be despondent, love," he said to his weeping wife, as he bade her good-bye. "everything is in our favour, and there is a good hope of a happy termination to this long struggle. but, win or lose, be assured it is the last time i will draw my sword. i have proved my fidelity to the house of lancaster; i have risked life and fortune in their cause; but i feel that i have done my share and more, and whichever way providence may now decide the issue of the struggle, i will accept it. if we lose, and i come scathless through the fight, i will ride hither, and we will embark at plymouth for france, and there live quietly until the time comes when edward may feel himself seated with sufficient firmness on the throne to forgive past offences and to grant an amnesty to all who have fought against him. in any other case, dear, you know my wishes, and i bid you carry them out within twenty-four hours of your receiving news of a defeat, without waiting longer for my appearance.'' as soon as it was light, edward advanced to the attack. the duke of gloucester was in command of the vanguard. he himself led the centre, while the rear was commanded by the marquis of dorset and lord hastings. the most ad- vanced division of lancastrians was commanded by the duke of somerset and his brother. the grand prior of the order of st. john and lord wenlock were stationed in the centre, the earl of devon with the reserve. refreshed by their rest, a kn ghi' of the white cross the queen's troops were in good spirits. while awaiting the attack, she and the prince rode among the ranks, enc ouraging the men with fiery speeches, and promising large rewards to all in case of victory. gloucester made his advance with great difficulty. the ob- stacles to his progress were so many and serious that his di- vision was brought to a halt before it came into contact with the defenders. he therefore brought up his artillery and opened a heavy cannonade upon somerset's position, supporting his guns with flights of arrows, and inflicting such heavy loss upon him that the duke felt compelled to take the offensive. having foreseen that he might be obliged to do so, he had, early in the morning, carefully examined the ground in front of him, and had found some lanes by which he could make a flank attack on the enemy. moving his force down these lanes, where the trees and hedges completely hid his advance from the yorkists, he fell suddenly upon edward's centre, which, taken by surprise at the unexpected attack, was driven in confusion up the hill behind it. somerset was quick to take advantage of his success, and wheeling his men round fell upon the duke of gloucester's div ision, and was equally suc- cessful in his attack upon it. had the centre, under lord wenlock, moved forward at once to his support, the victory would have been assured; but wenlock lay inactive, and somerset was now engaged in conflict with the whole of ed- ward's force. but even under these circumstances he still gained ground, when suddenly the whole aspect of the battle was changed. before it began edward had sent two hundred spearmen to watch a wood near the defenders' lines, as he thought that the lancastrians might place a force there to take him in flank as he attacked their front. he ordered them, if they found the wood unoccupied, to join in the fight as opportunity might offer. the wood was unoccupied, and the spearmen, seeing the two divisions of their army driven backwards, and being the battle of tewkesbury thereby cut off from their friends, issued from the wood and, charging down in a body, fell suddenly upon somerset's rear. astounded and confused by an attack from such a quarter, and believing that it was an act of treachery by one of their own commanders, somerset's men, who had hitherto been fighting with the greatest bravery, fell into confusion. ed- ward's quick eye soon grasped the opportunity, and rallying his troops he charged impetuously down upon the lancastrians, seconded hotly by gloucester and his division. the disorder in somerset's lines speedily grew into a panic, and the division broke up and fled through the lanes to the right and left. somerset, after in vain trying to stop the panic, rode furiously back into the camp, followed by his prin- cipal officers, and riding up to lord wenlock he cleft his head in two with a battle-axe. his resentment, although justified by the inactivity of this nobleman at such a crisis, was yet disastrous, as it left the centre without a leader, and threw it into a state of disorganization, as many must have supposed that somerset had turned traitor and gone over to the enemy. before any disposition could be made, edward and gloucester poured their forces into the camp, and the lancastrians at once broke and fled. many of their leaders took refuge in the church, an asylum which they deemed inviolable, and which the lancastrians had honourably respected in their hour of triumph. among them were the duke of somerset, the grand prior of the order of st. john, sir humphrey audely, sir gervis of clifton, sir william gainsby, sir william cary, sir henry rose, sir thomas tresham, and seven esquires. margaret of anjou fell into the hands of the victors. as to the fate of the young prince, accounts differ. some authorities say that he was overtaken and slain on the field, but the majority relate that he was captured and taken before edward, who asked him, "what brought you to england?" on his replying boldly, "my father's crown and mine own inheritance," a knight of the white cross edward struck him in the mouth with his gauntlet, and his at- tendants, or some say'his brothers, at once despatched the youth with their swords. the king, with gloucester and clarence, then went to the church at tewkesbury, where the knights had taken refuge, burst open the doors, and entered it. a priest, bearing the holy vessels, threw himself before the king, and would not move until he promised to pardon all who had taken sanctuary there. the king then retired, and trusting in the royal word, the gentlemen made no attempt to escape, although it is said that they could easily have done so. two days later a party of soldiers by the king's orders broke into the church, dragged them from the foot of the altar, and beheaded them outside. the news of the issue of the fatal battle of tewkesbury, the capture of the queen, and the death of the prince, was borne to exeter by fugitives on the following day. beyond the fact that the earl of devon and other nobles were known to have been killed, and somerset with a party of knights had taken sanctuary, they could give no details as to the fate of in- dividuals. in the deepest distress at the utter ruin of the cause, and in ignorance of the fate of her husband, who she could only hope was one of those who had gained sanctuary, dame tresham prepared for flight. this accomplished, she had only to wait, and sit in tearless anguish at the window, listening intently whenever a horseman rode past. all night her watch continued. gervaise, who had cried himself to sleep, lay on a couch beside her. morning dawned, and she then knew that her husband would not come, for had he escaped from the field he would long ere this have been with her. the messenger with the news had arrived at eight the previous morning, and, faithful to her husband's wishes, at that hour she ordered the horses to be brought round, and, joining a party of gentlemen who were also making for the coast, rode with them to plymouth. arrangements were at the battle of tewkesbury once made with the captain of a small ship in the port, and two days later they landed at honfleur, where sir thomas had enjoined his wife to wait until she heard from him or obtained sure news of his fate. a week after her arrival the news was brought by other fugitives of the violation of the sanctuary by the king, and the murder of somerset and the gentlemen with him, of whom sir thomas tresham was known to have been one. the blow proved fatal to dame tresham. she had gone through many trials and misfortunes, and had ever borne them bravely, but the loss of her husband completely broke her down. save to see his wishes concerning their son carried out, she had no longer any interest in life or any wish to live. but until the future of gervaise was assured, her mission was unfulfilled. his education was her sole care; his mornings were spent at a monastery, where the monks instructed the sons of such of the nobles and gentry of the neighbourhood as cared that they should be able to read and write. in the afternoon he had the best masters in the town in military exer- cises. his evenings he spent with his mother, who strove to instil in him the virtues of patience, mercy to the vanquished, and valour, by stories of the great characters of history. she herself spent her days in pious exercises, in attending the ser- vices of the church, and in acts of charity and kindness to her poorer neighbours. but her strength failed rapidly, and she was but a shadow of her former self when, two years and a half after her arrival at honfleur, she felt that if she was herself to hand gervaise over to the order of st. john, she must no longer delay. accordingly she took ship to london, and landing there made her way with him to the dwelling of the order at clerkcnwell. it was in process of re-building, for in it had been first plundered and then burned by the insurgents under wat tyler. during the ninety years that had elapsed since that event the work of re-building had pro- ceeded steadily, each grand prior making additions to the pile a knight of the white cross which, although not yet fully completed, was already one of the grandest and stateliest abodes in england. on inquiring for the grand prior, and stating that she had a letter of importance for him, dame tresham and her son were shown up to his apartment, and on entering were kindly and courteously received by him when informed that she was the widow of the late sir thomas tresham. "i am the bearer of a letter for you, given into my hand by my husband's dear friend your predecessor," she said, "a few days before his murder at tewkesbury. it relates to my son here.'' the grand prior opened the letter and read it. "assuredly, madam, i will carry out the wishes here ex- pressed," he said. "they are, that i should forward at once the letter he has given you to sir peter d'aubusson, and that until an answer is received from him, i should take care of the boy here, and see that he is instructed in all that is needful for a future knight of our order. i grieve to see that you yourself are looking so ill." "my course is well-nigh run," she said. "i have, me- thinks, but a few days to live. i am thankful that it has been permitted to me to carry out my husband's wishes, and to place my boy in your hands. that done, my work on earth is finished, and glad indeed am i that the time is at hand when i can rejoin my dear husband." "we have a building here where we can lodge ladies in distress or need, dame tresham, and i trust that you will take up your abode there.'' "i shall indeed be thankful to do so," she replied. '' i know no one in london, and few would care to lodge a dy- ing woman." "we are hospitallers," the grand prior said. "that was our sole mission when we were first founded, and before we became a military order, and it is still a part of our sworn duty to aid the distressed." the battle of tewkesbury a few minutes later dame tresham was conducted to a comfortable apartment, and was given into the charge of a female attendant. the next day she had another interview with the grand prior, to whom she handed over her jewels and remaining money. this she prayed him to devote to the furnishing of the necessary outfit for gervaise. she spent the rest of the day in the church of the hospital, had a long talk with her son in the evening, giving him her last charges as to his future life and conduct, and that night, as if she had now fulfilled her last duty on earth, she passed away, and was found by her attendant lying with a look of joy and peace- fulness on her dead face. gervaise's grief was for a time excessive. he was nearly twelve years old, and had never until now been separated from her even for a day. she had often spoken to him of her end being near, but until the blow came he had never quite understood that it could be so. she had, on the night before her death, told him that he must not grieve overmuch for her, for that in any case they must have soon been sun- dered, and that it was far better that he should think of her as at rest, and happy, than as leading a lonely and sorrowful life. the grand prior, however, wisely gave him but little time to dwell upon his loss, but as soon as her funeral had taken place, handed him over to the knights who had the charge of the novices on probation, and instructed them in their military exercises, and of the chaplain who taught them such learning as was considered requisite for a knight of the order. the knights were surprised at the proficiency the lad had already attained in the use of his weapons. "by st. agatha," one of them exclaimed, after the con- clusion of his first lesson, " you have had good teachers, lad, and have availed yourself rarely of them. if you go on like this you will become a distinguished knight of our order. with a few more years to strengthen your arms i warrant me a knight of the white cross you will bear your part well in your first tussle with the mos- lem corsairs." it fortunately happened that a party of knights were start- ing for rhodes a few days after the admission of gervaise to the hospital, and the letter to sir peter d'aubusson was com- mitted to their charge. they were to proceed to bordeaux by ship, then to journey by land to marseilles, and thence, being joined by some french knights, to sail direct to rhodes. two months later an answer was received. d'aubusson wrote to the grand prior saying that he would gladly carry out the last wishes of his dead friend, and that he had already ob- tained from the grand master the appointment of gervaise tresham as one of his pages, and begged that he might be sent out with the next party of knights leaving england. it was three months before such an opportunity occurred. dur- ing that time gervaise remained at the house of st. john's studying diligently, and continuing his military exercises. these were severe; for the scions of noble houses, who hoped some day to distinguish themselves as knights, were put through many gymnastic exercises—were taught to spring on to a horse when clad in full armour, to wield heavy battle- axes, to run and climb, and to prepare themselves for all the possibilities of the mode of fighting of the day. gervaise gained the encomiums, not only of his special pre- ceptor, but of the various knights in the house, and of the grand prior himself, both for his strength and activity, and for the earnestness with which he worked. when the time approached for his leaving england, the grand prior ordered for him the outfit which would be necessary in his position as a page of the grand master. the dresses were numerous and rich, for although the knights of st. john wore over their ar- mour the simple mantle of their order, which was a sleeveless garment of black relieved only by a white cross on the chest, they indulged in the finest and most costly armour, and in rich garments beneath their black mantles when not in armour. the grand master's page "i am well pleased with you, gervaise," the grand prior said, on the evening before he was to leave, " and i see in you the making of a valiant knight of the order. maintain the same spirit you have shown here; be obedient and reverent to your superiors; give your whole mind to your duties; strive earnestly during the three or four years that your pagedom will last, to perfect yourself in military exercises, that when the time comes for you to buckle on armour you will be able to bear yourself worthily. remember that you will have to win your knighthood, for the order does not bestow this hon- our, and you must remain a professed knight until you receive it at the hands of some distinguished warrior. ever bear in mind that you are a soldier of the cross. avoid luxury, live simply and modestly; be not led away by others, upon whom their vows may sit but lightly; keep ever in your mind that you have joined the order neither to gain fame nor personal advantage, but simply that you may devote the strength and the intelligence that god has given you to protect christen- dom from the advance of the infidel. i shall hear of you from time to time from d'aubusson, and feel sure that the ex- pectations i have formed of you will be fulfilled." chapter iii the grand master's page the grand prior had, in accordance with dame tresham's request, sent the steward of the house to one of the prin- cipal jewellers of the city who, as the order were excellent customers, paid a good price for her jewels. after the pay- ment for the numerous dresses required for the service as a page to the grand master, the grand prior handed the balance of the money dame tresham had brought with her, and that ( a knight of the white cross obtained by the sale of her jewels, to one of the knights under whose charge gervaise was to travel, to be given by him to d'aubusson for the necessities of gervaise as a page. during their term of service the pages received no remuneration, all their expenses being paid by their families. nevertheless, the post was considered so honourable, and of such great ad- vantage to those entering the order, that the appointments were eagerly sought after. the head of the party was sir guy redcar, who had been a commander in england, but who was now relinquishing that post in order to take a high office in the convent at the isl- and. with him were four lads between seventeen and twenty who were going out as professed knights, having served their year of probation as novices at the grand priory. with these gervaise was already acquainted, as they had lived, studied, and performed their military exercises to- gether. the three eldest of these gervaise liked much, but the youngest of the party, robert rivers, a relation of the queen, had always shown a very different spirit from the others. he was jealous that a member of one of the defeated and disinherited lancastrian families should obtain a post of such honour and advantage as that of page to the grand mas- ter, and that thus, although five years younger, gervaise should enter the order on an equality with him. in point of strength and stature he was, of course, greatly superior to gervaise; but he had been spoilt from his child- hood, was averse to exercise, and dull at learning, and while gervaise was frequently commended by his instructors, he himself was constantly reproved, and it had been more than once a question whether he should be received as a professed knight at the termination of his year of novitiate. thus, while the other lads treated gervaise kindly, and indeed made rather a pet of him, robert rivers ignored him as much as possible, and if obliged to speak to him did so with a pointed rudeness that more than once brought upon him a sharp re- the grand master's page proof from his companions. gervaise himself was but little affected by robert's manner. he was of an exceptionally good-tempered nature, and, indeed, was so occupied with his work and so anxious to satisfy his teachers, that robert's ill- humour passed almost unnoticed. the journey was performed without incident. during their passage across the south of france, gervaise's perfect knowl- edge of the language gained for him a great advantage over his companions, and enabled him to be of much use to sir guy. they had fine weather during their passage up the mediterranean, and on the way their leader gave them their first lessons in the management and discipline of a ship. "you will be nearly as much at sea as you are on land for the five years you must stay at the convent," he said; "and it is essential to the education of a knight of our order to know all things connected with the management of a ship, even to its building. we construct our own galleys at rhodes, using, of course, the labour of slaves, but under our own super- intendence; and it is even more essential to us to know how to fight on sea than on land. there is, too, you see, a rivalry among ourselves, for each langue has its duties, and each strives to perform more gallant deeds and to bring in more rich prizes than the others. we of england are among the smallest of the langues, and yet methinks we do a fair portion of the work, and gain fully our share of honour. there is no fear of your having much time on your hands, for it is quite certain that there will soon be open war between mahomet and the order. in spite of the nominal truce, constant skir- mishes are taking place, so that, in addition to our fights with pirates, we have sometimes encounters with the sultan's gal- leys. "seven years ago, a number of our order took part in the defence of lesbos, and lost their lives at its capture, and we have sure information that mahomet is preparing for an at- tack on the island. no doubt he thinks it will be an easy a knight of the white cross conquest, for in ' he succeeded in landing eighteen thou- sand men on the island, and in ravaging a large district, car- rying off much booty. since then, however, the defences of rhodes have been greatly strengthened. zacosta, our last grand master, laboured diligently to increase the fortifications, and, specially, built on one side of the entrance to the harbour a strong tower, called fort st. nicholas. orsini has carried on the works, which have been directed by d'aubusson, who is captain-general of the forces of the island, and who has deep- ened the ditches and built a wall on the sea front of the town six hundred feet in length and twenty feet in height, money being found by the grand master from his private purse. "at present we are not sure whether the great armament that mahomet is preparing is intended for the capture of negropont, which belongs to venice, or of rhodes. unfort- unately venice and rhodes are not good friends. in the course of our war with egypt in ' we captured from some venetian vessels, in which they were travelling, several egyp- tian merchants with a great store of goods. the venetians protested that as the ships were theirs we had no right to in- terfere with our enemies who were travelling in them, and, without giving time for the question to be discussed, at once attacked our galleys, and sent a fleet against rhodes. they landed on the island, and not only pillaged the district of halki, but, a number of natives having sought shelter in a cave, the venetians blocked up the entrance with brushwood, set it on fire, and suffocated them all. "shortly afterwards, another and larger fleet appeared off rhodes, and demanded the restitution of the egyptians and their merchandise. there was a great division of opinion in the council; but, seeing the great danger that threatened us both from the turks at constantinople and the venetians, and that it was madness at such a time to engage in war with a christian power, the grand master persuaded the council to accede to their request. there has never been any friendly the grand master(s page feeling between venice and ourselves since that time. still, i trust that our common danger will re-unite us, and that whether negropont or rhodes is attacked by the moslems, we shall render loyal aid to each other." there was great excitement among gervaise and his com- panions when it was announced that rhodes was in sight, and as they approached the town they gazed with admiration at the castle with its stately buildings, the palace of the grand master and the hospital of st. john, rising above the lower town, the massive walls strengthened by projecting bastions, and the fortifications of the ports. of these there were two, with separate entrances, divided from each other by a narrow tongue of land. at its extremity stood fort st. nicholas, which was connected by a strong wall running along the promontory to the town. the inner port, as it was called, was of greater importance, as it adjoined the town itself. it was defended in the first place by fort st. nicholas, and at the inner entrance stood the towers of st. john and st. michael, one on either side. into this the vessel was steered. there were many craft lying there, among them eight or ten of the galleys of the order. "we will go first to the house of our langue" sir guy said, "and tell them to send down slaves to fetch up our bag- gage; then i will take you, gervaise, to sir peter d'aubus- son, and hand you over to his care." on landing, gervaise was surprised at the number of slaves who were labouring at the public works, and who formed no small proportion of the population in the streets. their con- dition was pitiable. they were, of course, enemies of chris- tianity, and numbers of them had been pirates; but he could not help pitying their condition as they worked in the full heat of the sun under the vigilant eyes of numbers of over- seers, who carried heavy whips, in addition to their arms. their progress to the upper city was slow, for on their way they met many knights, of whom several were acquainted a knight of the white cross with sir guy; and each, after greeting him, demanded the latest news from england, and in return gave him particulars of the state of things at rhodes. at last they arrived at the house of the english langue. the order was divided into langues or nationalities. of these there were eight—provence, auvergne, france, italy, germany, england, aragon, and castile and portugal. the french element was by far the strongest. the order had been founded in that country, and as it possessed no less than three langues, and held the greater part of the high official positions in the order, it was only kept in check by the other langues acting together to demand their fair share of dignities. the grand master's authority was considerable, but it was checked by the council, which was composed of the bailiffs and knights of the highest order, known as grand crosses. each langue had its bailiff elected by itself; these resided constantly at rhodes. each of these bailiffs held a high office; thus the bailiff of provence was always the grand commander of the order. he controlled the expenditure, superintended the stores, and was governor of the arsenal. the bailiff of auvergne was the commander-in-chief of all the forces, army and navy. the bailiff of france was the grand hospitaller, with the supreme direction of the hospitals and infirmaries of the order, a hospital in those days signifying a guest-house. the bailiff of italy was the grand admiral, and the bailiff of england was chief of the light cavalry. thus the difficulties and jealousies that would have arisen at every vacancy were avoided. in the early days of the order, when jerusalem was in the hands of the christians, the care of the hospitals was its chief and most important function. innumerable pilgrims visited jerusalem, and these were entertained at the immense guest- house of the order. but with the loss of jerusalem and the expulsion of the christians from palestine, that function had become of very secondary importance, although there was still the gftanb master's page a guest-house and infirmary at rhodes, where strangers and the sick were carefully attended by the knights. no longer did these ride out to battle on their war-horses. it was on the sea that the foe was to be met, and the knights were now sailors rather than soldiers. they dwelt at the houses of their re- spective langues; here they ate at a common table, which was supplied by the bailiff, who drew rations for each knight, and received, in addition, a yearly sum for the supply of such lux- uries as were not included in the rations. the average num- ber of knights residing in each of these langues averaged from a hundred to a hundred and fifty. it was not until some hours after his arrival that sir guy could find time to take gervaise across to the house of the langue of auvergne, to which d'aubusson belonged. it was a larger and more stately pile than that of the english tongue, but the arrangements were similar in all these buildings. in the english house gervaise had not felt strange, as he had the companionship of his fellow-voyagers; but as he followed sir guy through the spacious halls of the langue of auvergne, where no familiar face met his, he felt more lonely than he had done since he entered the house at clerkenwell. on sending in his name sir guy was at once conducted to the chamber occupied by d'aubusson. the knight was seated at his table, examining some plans. the room was fur- nished with monastic simplicity, save that the walls were hung with rich silks and curtains captured from turkish galleys. "welcome back to us, sir guy," d'aubusson said, rising, and warmly shaking his visitor's hand. "i have been look- ing for your coming, for we need men with clear heads. of strong arms and valiant spirits we have no lack; but men of judgment and discretion, who can be trusted to look at mat- ters calmly and not to be carried away by passion, are wel- come indeed to us. i was expecting you about this time, and when i heard that a ship had arrived from marseilles i made inquiries, and was glad to find that you were on board." a knight of the white cross "i am heartily glad to be back, d'aubusson; i am sick of the dull life of a commandery, and rejoice at the prospect of stirring times again. this lad is young tresham, who has come out in my charge, and for whom you have been good enough to obtain the post of page to the grand master." "and no slight business was it to do so," d'aubusson said, with a smile. "it happened there was a vacancy when the letter concerning him arrived, and had it been one of the highest offices in the order there could not have been a keener contention for it. every bailiff had his candidate ready; but i seldom ask for anything for members of my langue, and when i told the other baliffs that it was to me a matter of honour to carry out the last request of my dead friend, they all gave way. you see, i am placed in a position of some little difficulty. the grand master is so enfeebled and crippled that he leaves matters almost entirely in my hands, and it would be an abuse of my position, and would excite no little jealousy, were i to use the power i possess to nominate friends of my own to appointments. it is only by the most rigid impartiality, and by dividing as fairly as possi- ble all offices between the eight iangues, that all continue to give me their support. as you know, we have had great dif- ficulties and heartburnings here; but happily they have to a great extent been set at rest by forming a new langue of cas- tile and portugal out of that of aragon. this has given one more vote to the smaller iangues, and has so balanced the power that of late the jealousies between us have greatly sub- sided, and all are working well together in face of the common danger. well, young sir, and how like you the prospect of your pageship?" "i like it greatly, sir, but shall like still more the time when i can buckle on armour and take a share of the fighting with the infidels. i would fain, sir, offer to you my deep and humble thanks for the great kindness you have shown me in procuring me the appointment of page to the grand master." the grand master's page the knight smiled kindly. "there are the less thanks clue, lad, inasmuch as i did it not for you, but for the dear friend who wrote to me on your behalf. however, i trust that you will do credit to my nomination by your conduct here." "there is a letter from our grand prior which i have brought to you," sir guy said. "he commended the lad to me warmly, and seems to be greatly pleased with his conduct." d'aubusson cut the silken string that bound the missive to- gether, and read the letter. "he does indeed speak warmly," he said, as he laid it down on the table. "he tells me that the lad, young as he was, had been well trained when he came, and that he worked with great diligence during the five months he was in the house, and displayed such skill and strength for his age, as to surprise his preceptors, who prophesied that he would turn out a stout swordsman, and would be a credit to the order." "he is well furnished with garments both for ordinary and state occasions," sir guy said; "and in this packet are some sixty gold crowns, which are the last remains of his patrimony, and which i was to hand to you in order to pay the necessary expenses during his pageship." "he could have done without that," d'aubusson said. "recommended to me as he is, i would have seen that he lacked nothing, but was provided with all necessaries for his position. i will in the future take care that in all things he is on a par with his companions." he touched a bell on the table, and a servitor entered. "tell richard de deauville to come here," he said. a minute later the hangings at the door were pushed aside, and a lad about a year older than gervaise appeared, and, bowing deeply to the knight, stood in a respectful attitude, awaiting his orders. "deauville, take this youth, gervaise tresham to your room. he is appointed one of the pages of the grand master. he is english, but he speaks french as well as you do, having lived j a knight of the white cross in france for some years. take him to your apartment and treat him kindly and well, seeing that he is a stranger and new to all here. to-morrow he will go to the palace." gervaise bowed deeply to the two knights, and then fol- lowed the page. "i suppose you arrived in that ship which came in to-day," the latter said, as soon as they had left the room. "you are in luck indeed to have obtained a pageship at the grand mas- ter's. you begin to count your time at once, while we do not begin to count ours until we are seventeen. still, good luck may befall us yet, for if the grand master dies, sir peter is sure to be chosen to succeed him. then, you see, we too shall be pages of the grand master." "how many are there of you?" "only de lille and myself. of course d'aubusson will take on the grand master's present pages; but as there are five vacancies on an average every year, he will be able to find room for us among the number." "why, how many pages has the grand master?" ger- vaise asked, in surprise. "sixteen of them, so you may guess the duties are easy enough, as only two are generally employed, except, ofcourse on solemn occasions." "are there any other english besides myself?" the boy shook his head. "there are eight belonging to the french langues; the others are spaniards, italians, or germans. there, this is our room and this is de lille. de lille, this is the grand master's new page, master gervaise tresham, and our lord says we are to treat him kindly and en- tertain him well until to-morrow, when he will go to the palace. he speaks our language, and has been some years in france." "how came you to be there?" de lille asked gervaise. "my father was a lancastrian, and my mother a great friend of our queen margaret of anjou, and they were with her all the time she was in exile." the grand master's page "how quarrelsome you english are!" de lille said. '• you seem to be always fighting among yourselves." "i don't think," gervaise said, with a smile, "there is any love lost between louis of france and the duke of burgundy, to say nothing of other great lords." '' no; you are right there. but though we talk a great deal about fighting, it is only occasionally that we engage in it." the pages' room was a small one. it contained two pal- lets, which served as seats by day, and two wooden chests, in which they kept their clothes. their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell. "that is supper," de lille said, jumping up. "we will leav e you here while we go down to stand behind our lord's chair. when the meal is over we will bring a pasty or something else good, and a measure of wine, and have our supper together up here; and we will tell the servitors to bring up another pallet for you. of course, you can go down with us if you like." "thank you, i would much rather stay here. every one would be strange to me, and having nothing to do i should feel in the way." the boys nodded, and taking their caps ran off, while ger- vaise, tired by the excitement of the day, lay down on the l>ed which a servant brought up a few minutes after they had left him, and slept soundly until their return. "i think i have been asleep," he said, starting up when they entered the room again. "you look as if you had, anyhow," de lille laughed. "it was the best thing you could do. we have brought up supper. we generally sit down and eat after the knights have done, but this is much better, as you are here." they sat down on the beds, carved the pasty with their daggers, and after they had finished gervaise gladly accepted the pro- posal of the others to take a walk round the walls. they started from the corner of the castle looking down upon the spit of land dividing the two ports. a knight of the white cross "you see," de lille said, " there is a row of small islands across the mouth of the outer port, and the guns of st. nicho- las, and those on this wall, would prevent any hostile fleet from entering." "i hardly see what use that port is, for it lies altogether outside the town, and vessels could not unload there." "no. still, it forms a useful place of refuge. in case a great fleet came to attack us, our galleys would lay up in the inner port, which would be cleared of all the merchant craft, as these would hamper the defence; they would, therefore, be sent round into the outer port, where they would be safe from any attack by sea, although they would doubtless be burnt did an army besiege the town." passing along the walls of the grand master's palace, which was a strongly fortified building, and formed a citadel that could be defended after the lower town and the rest of the castle had been taken, they came to the western angle of the fortifications. "you must know that each langue has charge of a separate part of the wall. from the foot of the mole of st. nicholas to the grand master's palace it is in charge of france. on the line where we now are, between the palace and the gate of st. george, it is held by germany. from that gate to the spanish tower auvergne is posted. england takes the wall between the spanish tower and that of st. mary. you defend only the low- er storey of that tower, the upper part being held by aragon, whose charge extends up to the gate of st. john. thence to the tower of italy,—behind which lies the jews' quarter,— provence is in charge, while the sea-front, thence to the mole of st. nicholas, is held by italy and castile, each taking half. not only have the langues the charge of defending each its portion of the wall, but of keeping it in order at all times; and i may say that nowhere is the wall better kept or more fairly decorated with carvings than where england holds." "you have not told me who defends the palace itself." the grand master's page "that is in charge of a force composed of equal numbers of picked knights from each langue." gervaise leant on the battlement and looked with admira- tion at the scene beyond. the land side was surrounded by hills, the ground rising very gradually from the foot of the walls. every yard of ground was cultivated, and was covered with brilliant vegetation. groves and orchards occurred thickly, while the slopes were dotted with chapels, summer- houses—in which the natives of the city spent most of their time in the hot season—and other rustic buildings. "what a rich and beautiful country!" he said. "it is very pleasant to look at," de lille agreed. "but all this would be a sore disadvantage to us if the turks were besieging us, for the groves and orchards would conceal their approaches, the walls and buildings would give them shelter, and our cannon would be of little use until they reached the farther side of the ditch. if the turks come, i hear it is de- cided to level all the buildings and walls, and to chop down every tree." "if they were to plant their cannon on the hills they would do us much harm," gervaise remarked. "the turks are clumsy gunners they say," deauville re- plied, "and they would but waste their powder and ball at that distance, without making a breach in our walls." "even if they did, they could surely scarce pass that deep fosse," gervaise said, looking down into the tremendous cut- ting in the solid rock that ran round the whole circuit of the walls; it was from forty to sixty feet deep, and from ninety to a hundred and forty feet wide. it was from this great cut- ting that the stones for the construction of the walls, towers, and buildings of the town had been taken, the work having been going on ever since the knights established themselves at rhodes, and being performed by a host of captives taken in war, together with labour hired from neighbouring islands. upon this immense work the order had expended no small s a kn'uiht of the white cross proportion of their revenue since their capture of the island in , and the result was a fortress that, under the conditions of warfare of that age, seemed almost impregnable; and this without any natural advantage of position. in addition to the five great towers or bastions, the wall was strengthened by square towers at short intervals. on looking down from the wall upon which the threej>ages were standing, on to the lower town, the view was a singular one. the houses were all built of stone, with flat roofs, after the manner of most eastern cities. the streets were very nar- row, and were crossed at frequent intervals by broad stone arches. these had the effect, not only of giving shelter from an enemy's fire, but of affording means by which troops could march rapidly across the town upon the roofs of the houses to reinforce the defenders of the wall, wherever pressed by the enemy. thus the town from above presented the appearance of a great pavement, broken only by dark and frequently in- terrupted lines. "how different to the towns at home!" gervaise ex- claimed, as, after gazing long upon the beautiful country out- side the walls, he turned and looked inward. "one would hardly know that it was a town at all." "yes, it is rather different to the view from the top of the tower of notre dame, which i ascended while i was staying in paris. but this sort of building is best here; the thickness of the stone roofs keeps out the heat of the sun, and it is only when it is almost overhead that it shines down into the nar- row streets. as you can see by the number of the people on the roofs, they use them as a resort in the evening. then carpets are spread, and they receive visitors, and can talk to their neighbours over the low walls that separate the roofs. you can trace the divisions. some of the house roofs are larger than others, but all are upon the same level; this being the regulation, in order that there might be free passage every- where for the troops." the grand master's page !) by the time they had made the circuit of the walls dark- ness had fallen, and concealed the martial features of the scene. lights twinkled everywhere upon the stone terraces; the sound of lutes and other musical instruments came up soft- ly on the still air, with the hum of talk and laughter. the sea lay as smooth as a mirror, and reflected the light of the stars, and the black hulls of the galleys and ships in the harbour lay still and motionless. greatly pleased with his first experience of the city that was to be his future home, gervaise returned, with his compan- ions, to the auberge of auvergne. the next morning the bailiff d'aubusson bade gervaise'ac- company him to the palace of the grand master. here he in- troduced him to orsini, an old and feeble man, who, after a few kind words, handed him over to the chamberlain, who, in turn, led him to the official who was in charge of the pages. that officer took him down to the courtyard, where four young knights were engaged in superintending the military exercises of the pages. the scene was exactly the same as that to which gervaise had been accustomed at the house in london. some of the lads were fighting with blunted swords, others were swinging heavy bars of iron, climbing ropes, or vaulting on to the back of a wooden horse. all paused as the official entered with his charge. "this is your new comrade, boys," he said—"master gervaise tresham, a member of the english langue. be good comrades to him. by the reports i hear i am sure that you will find him a worthy companion." the pages had been prepared to like the new-comer, for it was well known that he owed his appointment to the bailiff of auvergne, who was the most popular of the officials of the order, and who was already regarded as the grand master. his appearance confirmed their anticipation. his fair com- plexion and nut-brown hair tinged with gold, cut somewhat short, but with a natural wave, contrasted with their darker a knight of the white cross locks and faces bronzed by the sun. there was an honest and frank look in his grey eyes, and an expression of good- temper on his face, though the square chin and firm lips spoke of earnestness and resolution of purpose. the official took him round the circle and presented him first to the knights and then to each of his comrades. "you may as well join them in their exercises. in that way you will sooner become at home with them." gervaise at once laid down his mantle, removed his doublet, and then joined the others. there was but one halt-hour remaining before they broke off to go to dinner, which was at half-past ten, but the time sufficed to show the young pages that this english lad was the equal of all,—except two or three of the oldest,—both in strength and in knowledge of arms. he could climb the rope with any of them, could vault on to the wooden horse with a heavy cuirass and back- piece on him, and held his own in a bout with swords against conrad von berghoff, who was considered the best sword- player among them. as soon as the exercises were over all proceeded to the bath, and then to dinner. the meal was a simple one, but gervaise enjoyed it thoroughly, for the table was loaded with an abundance of fruits of kinds altogether novel to him, and which he found delicious. the official in charge of them sat at the head of the table, and the meal was eaten in silence. after it was over and they had retired to their own rooms discipline was at an end, and they were free to amuse themselves as they liked. there were many questions to be asked and answered, but his display of strength and skill in the courtyard saved gervaise from a good deal of the teasing to which a new-comer among a party of boys is always exposed. he, on his part, learnt that the duties of the pages were very light. two only were on duty each day, being in con- stant attendance on the grand master, and accompanying him wherever he went. when he dined in public four of them the grand master*s page ci waited on him at table, and one of them performed the duties of taster. if he returned to the palace after dark, six others lined the staircase with torches. on occasions of state cere- mony, and at the numerous religious festivals, all were in attendance. by this time gervaise's trunks had been brought over from the english auberge, where they had been conveyed from the ship, and his garments were taken out and inspected by his comrades, who all admitted that they were, in point of beauty of colour and material, and in fashion, equal to their own. "you will have to get one more suit, gervaise," one of the lads said. "at one or two of the grand ceremonies every year we are all dressed alike; that is the rule. on other occasions we wear what we choose, so that our garments are handsome, and i think it looks a good deal better than when we are dressed alike; though no doubt in religious processions that is more appropriate. de ribaumont, our governor, will give orders for the supply of your state costume. he is a good fellow. of course, he has to be rather strict with us; but so long as there is nothing done that he considers dis- creditable to our position, he lets usdo pretty nearly as we like. "we have four hours a day at our military exercises, and two hours with the sub-chaplain, who teaches us our books and religious duties. the rest of our time we can use as we like, except that every day eight of us ride for two hours and prac- tise with the lance; for although it is at sea we fight the mos- lems, we are expected to become finished knights in all mat- ters. these eight horses are kept for our service, and such as choose may at other times ride them. on saturdays we are free from all our exercises; then some of us generally go on horseback for long excursions on the island, while others take boats and go out on the sea; one afternoon in the week we all make a trip in a galley, to learn our duties on board." cy- a knight of the white cross chapter iv a professed knight ervaise was soon quite at home in the palace of the vl grand master, and his companions were, like other boys, of varying characters; but as all were of noble families, were strongly impressed with the importance of the order and the honour of their own position, and were constantly in contact with stately knights and grave officials, their manners con- formed to those of their elders; and even among themselves there was no rough fun, or loud disputes, but a certain cour- tesy of manner that was in accordance with their surroundings. this came naturally to oervaise, brought up as he had been by his father and mother, and having at frequent intervals stayed with them for months at the various royal castles in which margaret of anjou and her son had been assigned apartments during their exile. even at st. john's house the novices with whom he lived were all a good deal older than himself, and the discipline of the house was much more strict than that at rhodes. he enjoyed both his exercises with the knights and the time spent'with the sub-chaplain, no small proportion of the hours of study being occupied in listening to stories of chivalry; it being considered one of the most important parts of a knight's education that he should have a thorough acquaint- ance, not only with the laws of chivalry, but with the brave deeds both of former and of living knights, with the relations of the noble houses of europe to each other, especially of the many great families whose members were connected with the order of st. john. these matters formed, indeed, the main subject of their studies. all were taught to read and write, but this was a professed knight considered sufficient in the way of actual instruction. the rules of the order had to be committed to memory. beyond this their reading consisted largely of the lives of saints, especially of those who distinguished themselves by their charity or their devotion to their vows of poverty, to both of which the members of the order were pledged. gervaise, however, could see around him no signs whatever of poverty on their part. it was true that they all lived and fed to- gether in the auberges of their respective langues, and that they possessed no houses or establishments of their own; but the magnificence of their armour and attire, and the lavish expenditure of some upon their pleasures, contrasted strangely with the poverty to which they had vowed themselves. it was true that in many cases the means to support the expenditure was derived from the shares the knights received of the plunder acquired in their captures of moslem ships; but undoubtedly many must have possessed large private means; the bailiffs, for example, although only required by the rules to place before the knights at their auberges the rations they received for them, with such luxuries as could be purchased by their yearly allowance for that purpose, ex- pended annually very large sums in addition, and supplied their tables with every dainty, in order to gain popularity and goodwill among the members of the langue. not only did the post of bailiff confer upon its owner a very high position at rhodes, but it was a stepping-stone to the most lucrative offices in their langues. the bailiffs at rhodes had the right of claiming any of the grand priories or baili- wicks at home that might fall vacant, and the grand master was frequently chosen from among their number, as, by being present at rhodes, they had many advantages in the way of making themselves popular among the electors. the emolu- ments of some of these provincial bailiwicks were large; and as the bailiffs at rhodes were generally elected by seniority —although younger knights who had greatly distinguished ( a knight of the white cross themselves were sometimes chosen—they were usually glad to resign the heavy work and responsibility of their position at rhodes, and to retire to the far easier position of a provincial bailiff. in the majority of cases, doubtless, the fortunes of the high officials were obtained from the money amassed when in possession of rich commanderies at home; but even this was assuredly incompatible with their vows of poverty. his hours of leisure gervaise spent either on the water or in the saddle, and his love of exercise of all sorts excited the wonder and even the amusement of his companions, who for the most part preferred spending the time at their disposal in sleep, in idly looking out from a shaded room at what was going on outside, or in visits to friends and relations at the auberges of the languagesto which they belonged. the natural consequence was, that by the time he reached the end of his three years' pageship, gervaise was indisputably superior in strength, activity, and skill in military exercises, to any of his companions. the majority of these, after completing their time, returned to the headquarters of their langue at home, to pass their time there, until of an age to be eligible for the charge of a commandery obtained for them by family influence, which had no small share in the granting of these appointments. as it was known, however, that gervaise intended to re- main permanently in the island, his progress was watched with particular attention by his instructors; and, seeing his own earnestness in the matter, they took special pains with his training. the bailiff of auvergne continued to take much interest in him, inquiring often from the officers in charge of the pages, and from his instructors, of his conduct and prog- ress, and occasionally sending for him to his auberge and talking with him as to his life and progress. just before his pageship terminated, he said to him,— "i was rather puzzled at first, gervaise, as to what we should do with you when your term of office concluded, but a professed knight go i am so no longer, for, although you are some two years younger than the professed knights who come out here, you are better fitted than the majority to take your place in the naval expeditions, and to fight the moslem pirates. i will see that you have your share of these adventures. all young knights are, as you know, obliged to make three voyages, but beyond that many of them do not care to share in the rough life at sea, and prefer the bustle, and, i grieve to say, the gaiety and pleasures of this city. for one, then, really eager to distinguish himself, the opportunities are frequent." when danger threatens, or heavy engagements are expected, every knight is desirous of bearing his part in the fray; but this is not the case when the work to be done consists of scouring the sea for weeks, without perchance coming across a single pirate. of course, as soon as your pageship is over you will go to the english auberge, but i shall still keep my eye upon you, and shall do my best to help you to achieve distinction; and i shall take upon myself the providing of your arms and armour as a knight." accordingly, on the day on which his duties as a page ter- minated, two servitors of the auberge of auvergne brought across to the palace a suit of fine armour and a sword, a bat- tle-axe, a lance, and a dagger; also three complete suits of clothes, two of them for ordinary wear, and one for state occasions. the next day gervaise took the oaths of the order in the church of st. john. the aged master himself received the vows, and formally inducted him as a professed knight of the order, peter d'aubusson and the bailiff of the english langue acting as his sponsors, vouching that he was of noble blood and in all ways fitted to become a knight of justice, this being the official title of the professed knights of the order. ten newly arrived novices were inducted at the same time, and the ceremony was a stately one, attended by a num- l>er of the knights from each langue, all in full armour. the ceremony over, gervaise bore the title of sir gervaise a knight of the white cross tresham; but this was an honorary rather than a real title, as the order did not profess to bestow the honour of knighthood, and it was usual for its members to receive the accolade at the hands of secular knights. at the conclusion of the ceremony, he returned with the bailiff of the english lan«ue to the au- berge, and took up his quarters there. by his frequent visits he was well known to all the members, and in a day or two felt as much at home as he had done in the pages' room in the palace. a week was given to him before he was assigned to any special duty, and he was glad when he was told off as one of the knights who were to take their turn in superintending the work of the slaves employed in strengthening the fortifica- tions, although he would rather that any other employment should have been assigned to him, because he felt deep pity for the unfortunate men who were engaged in the work. he knew well enough that if he himself were ever made prisoner by the turks, his lot would be as hard and as hope- less as that of the moslem captives; but this, although he often repeated it to himself in order to abate his feeling of commiseration, was but a poor satisfaction. he saw one side of the picture, and the other was hidden from him; and al- though he told himself that after slaving in a turkish galley he would feel a satisfaction at seeing those who had been his tyrants suffering the same fate, he was well aware that this would not be the case, and that his own sufferings would only make him sympathise more deeply with those of others. he had found, soon after his arrival on the island, that it was best to keep his feelings on this subject to himself. while the knights were bound, in accordance with their vows, to relieve sufferings of any kind among christians, they seemed to regard their captives rather in the light of brute beasts than human beings. the slaves were struck on the smallest provo- cation, and even the killing of a slave was considered a very venial offence, and punished only because the slave was of value to the order. a professed knight it was true that edicts were from time to time published by the council, enjoining fair treatment of slaves, and it was specially ordered that those employed as servants in the au- berges were not to be struck. the lot of these servants was, indeed, very much easier than that of those engaged on the public works, and such occupation was therefore considered a privilege, the servants being for the most part selected from among the captives of superior rank. for the next six months gervaise worked at various duties in the town. he was employed for a fortnight in the infirm- ary, then for a while he was transferred to the galleys; but for the most part he was with the slaves working on the fortifica- tions. at the end of that time he was, to his great delight, informed by the bailiff that he was one of the six knights of the langue told off to join a galley that was on the point of sailing. among those going in her was sir ralph harcourt, one of his companions on the journey from england. "so you are to go with us, gervaise," the young knight said, "to try your luck for the first time against the infidels. this is my third voyage, and i hope that it will be more fortu- nate than its predecessors, for, beyond picking up two or three small craft, which did not venture upon resistance, we gained neither honour nor booty. i regard you as having specially good fortune, and besides being glad that we shall be together, i expect that you will bring good luck to us, and that we shall meet with foes worth contending with. the corsairs have been very active of late, and have captured many prizes, while, on the other hand, our galleys have been un- fortunate, and have but seldom come upon the miscreants." "how many knights will there be on board?" "forty. "aragon, like us, furnishes five, germany ten, portugal five, auvergne ten, and provence five. we shall be commanded by sir louis ricord, a knight of auvergne, and we could wish no better, for he has proved himself a good sea- man and a brave captain. two other galleys are to start g a knight of the white cross with us. we are to cruise separately unless one gets news of a force so superior that he will need aid to attack it, when he will meet the others at a rendezvous agreed upon, and we shall work together." "who are the other three englishmen?" "john boswell, marmaduke lumley, and adam tedbond —all, as you know, brave knights and good companions." that evening gervaise received a message from d'aubusson, requesting him to call at his auberge. "so you are going to sea, sir gervaise? i hear from your bailiff that you have been working to his satisfaction in the town." "yes, sir. i shall indeed be glad to change it for a life at sea. in truth, it is grievous to me to witness the sufferings of the slaves, and i would rather do any other work." "they are far better off than the christians who fall into the hands of the turks." the bailiff said; "and, moreover, it. is because their countrymen are preparing to attack us that we are forced to use their labour in strengthening our fortifica- tions. they have naught to complain of in the way of food. still, i would myself gladly see their lot alleviated; but we could not afford to keep so great a number of captives in idle- ness; they must work for their living. had it not been for their labour we could never have built and fortified the city. after all, they are little worse off than our serfs at home; they build our castles and till our land." "it may be so, sir; but with us in england men are free, and it was, when i first came, strange to me to see them working under the fear of the whip. it is necessary, i know, that such work should be done, but i own that i shall be glad to be away from the sight of the poor wretched, pirates and enemies of the faith though they be." "i can understand your feelings, and i too felt somewhat the same when i first came here. nevertheless, there is work that must be done if the order is not to be crushed by the in- a professed knight - fidels. here are captives, for the most part malefactors, who have to be fed; and there is no injustice in their having, like all men, to give work for food. i have learnt to see this and recognise the necessity, though i would that the work could be obtained without the use of harshness and severity. we ourselves are prepared at any moment to sacrifice our lives for the good of the order and for the great cause, and it would be wrong, nay, sinful, not to use the means that have been placed ready to our hand. now, sir gervaise, i wish you a pleasant voyage. you will find the life somewhat hard, after your three years' residence at the palace, but this i know you will not mind. i have specially commended you to ricord as one in whom i am personally interested, and from whom i hope great things in the future. be brave; be resolute. from what you have said i need not say—be merciful. ful- fil all orders promptly and without question; bear yourself courteously to all; above all things, remember that you are a soldier, not only of the order, but of the cross." the next day gervaise embarked with his companions on board the galley. it was a long, low boat, similar to those in use by the venetians and genoese. it was rowed by fifty slaves, who slept at night on or beneath the benches they sat on by day. the knights occupied the great cabins in the poop. there were two tiers of these; the upper one con- tained the little cabin of the commander, while the rest of the space on this deck, and that below it, was used by the knights in common. in the upper cabin they took their meals, and a third of their number slept there, the remainder sleeping in the cabin below. a fourth of their number were, however, always on guard, lest any attempt at a rising or es- cape should be made by the galley-slaves. on leaving the harbour the galley, with its two consorts, rowed north, and gervaise learnt that they were to cruise be- tween the mainland and the islands. some of these were in the hands of the turks, while others were still occupied by greeks. a knight of the white cross except when there was a formal and actual state of war, the moslem and christian islands remained in a state of neu- trality, trading with each other and avoiding all unfriendly proceedings that would lead to struggles which would be fatal to the prosperity of both. the archipelago, and indeed the whole of the eastern portion of the mediterranean, was in- fested by pirates, fitted out, for the most part, on the main- land. these, when in force, openly kept the sea, attacking the christian merchant ships, but when cruising alone they hid in unfrequented bays, or behind uninhabited islets, until they could pounce upon a passing ship whose size promised an easy capture. the order of st. john furnished a maritime police, earning thereby the deep gratitude of spain, france, and italy. they were aided occasionally by the venetians, but these, being frequently engaged in quarrels with their neighbours, did but a small share of this work, only sending their fleets to sea when danger threatened some of their pos- sessions in the levant. "this is delightful, ralph," gervaise said, as they stood together on the poop, looking back at the receding city. "what a pleasant change it is from standing in the broiling sun watching those poor wretches toiling at the fortifications! there is only one drawback to my pleasure. i wish that we carried sails, and were moved along by the breeze, instead of by the exertions of the slaves.'' "much chance we should have of catching a pirate under such circumstances!" ralph said, laughing. "you might as well set a tortoise to catch a hare." "i don't say that we should not be obliged to carry row- ers, ralph; but all the prizes that have been brought in since i have been at rhodes carry masts and sails, as well as oars, and, as i understand, for the most part cruise about under sail, and only use the oars when chasing or fleeing." "that is so; because, you see, in most cases the crew themselves have to row, and i have no doubt if we had no a professed knight slaves to do the work we should soon take to masts and sails also; but for speed the rowing galleys are the best, for unless a brisk wind were blowing, the mast and sails would but check her progress when the oars were out, and at any rate con- strain her to travel only before the wind. i know your weak- ness about the slaves, gervaise; but as we could neither build our fortifications nor row our galleys without them, i cannot go as far as you do in the matter, though i own that i am sometimes sorry for them. but you must remember that it is the fault of their people, and not of ours, that they are here." "all that is true enough, ralph, and i cannot gainsay you. still i would rather that we were gliding along with sails in- stead of being rowed by slaves.'' "at any rate, gervaise, you will not see them ill-treated, for i myself heard ricord, just before we were starting, tell the slave-overseers that so long as the rowers did fair work they were not to use their whips, and that only if we were in chase of a pirate were they to be urged to their utmost exertions." "i am right glad to hear it, ralph, and shall be able to enjoy the voyage all the more, now you have told me that such orders have been issued." for a fortnight they cruised about among the islands. several times boats rowed out from the shore to the galley with complaints of outrages by pirates under a notorious cor- sair named hassan ali, who had landed, burnt villages, killed many of the inhabitants, and carried off the rest as slaves; but no one could give any clue to aid them in their search for the corsairs. the time passed very pleasantly. there was no occasion for speed; often they lay all day in some bay, where they could approach near enough to the shore to lie in the shade of trees, while two or three of the knights ascended a hill and kept watch there for the appearance of any vessels of a suspicious character. one morning, after passing the night at anchor, harcourt and gervaise were despatched just before sunrise to take a look a knight of the white cross round before the galley got under way. from the top of the hill they had an uninterrupted view of the sea, studded with islands on all sides of them. beyond a few fishing-boats, looking like black specks on the glassy surface, no craft were in sight. they were about to return to the galley when, taking a last look round, gervaise suddenly exclaimed,— "look, ralph! there is smoke ascending from that island to the south-west. there was none just now." "you mean from that bay, gervaise? yes, i see it; it is not more than a light mist." "it is growing thicker," gervaise said, "and spreading. maybe it is but a hut that has accidentally caught fire, but it seems to me that the smoke is rising from several points." "i think you are right, gervaise. let us hurry down with the news. it may be that it is a village which has been at- tacked by pirates who have landed on the other side of the isl- and during the night, for i can see no ships in the bay." a few minutes' run and they stood on the shore. "quick, men!" ralph said to the rowers of the boat that had brought them ashore. '' row your hardest.'' the slaves bent to their oars, and they were soon alongside the galley, which lay two or three hundred yards from the shore. those on board had noticed the young knights run- ning down the hill, and, marking the speed at which the boat was rowing, concluded at once that they must have observed one of the pirate's ships. "do you see anything of them, sir ralph?" the com- mander shouted," as they came close. "we have seen no ships, sir louis, but there is smoke com- ing up from a bay in an island four or five miles away to the south-west. it seems to us that it is far too extensive a fire to be the result of an accident, for there was no smoke until within two or three minutes of the time we left, and before we started it was rising from several points, and we both think that it must come from a village that has been attacked by pirates." a professed knight the commander rapidly issued his orders, and in two or three minutes the anchor was weighed, the boat hoisted on deck, and the oars in motion. "stretch to your oars!" ricord shouted to the slaves. "hitherto we have exacted no toil from you, but you have to work now, and woe be to him who does not put out his full strength." grateful for the unusual leniency with which they had been treated, the slaves bent to their oars, and the galley sped rap- idly through the water. on rounding the end of the island there was an exclamation of satisfaction from the knights as they saw wreaths of white smoke rising from the distant island. "..there can be no doubt that it is a village in flames," sir louis said; "and from the suddenness with which it broke out, it is clear that it must have been fired at several points. you say you saw no craft near?" he asked, turning to harcourt. "there were none there, or from the top of the hill we should assuredly have made them out, sir louis." "then the pirates—if this be, as i hope, their work—must have landed at some other point on the island, and if they catch sight of us they may make for their ship and slip away, unobserved by us. instead of rowing direct, therefore, we will make for that islet to the right, and row round behind it. there are two others almost adjoining it. once past these, 'tis not more than halfamileto that island stretching away south. once round that, we shall be beyond the one from which we see the smoke rising, and can come down on its southern side. the course will be double the distance that it would be if we took a straight line, but except when we cross from island to island we shall not be exposed to their view, and may fall upon their ships before the crews have returned from their work of plunder.'' the knights fully agreed, and orders were given to the helmsman accordingly. "we must not over-fatigue the rowers," the commander a knight of the white cross said. "we may have a long chase if they have started before we get round." he therefore gave orders to the slaves that, while they were to exert themselves to the utmost when crossing the open sea, they were to relax their efforts and to row within their strength while coasting along behind the islands. on board, everything was made in readiness for a fight: the knights buckled on their armour, the cooks set cauldrons of pitch over the fire, the cannoneers loaded her eight guns. it was an hour and a half after their start before they rounded the end of the last island. it extended a little farther to the south than did that to which they were making, and as they round- ed the point, eager looks were cast in search of the pirate ships. no craft were, however, to be seen. "they must be in some bay or inlet," the commander said; "they can hardly have left, for it would have taken them half an hour at least to cross the island with their booty and captives, and even if they made straight away after having fired the village, their ship could have gone no great distance, for we must have seen her if she put to sea—unless indeed they were anchored on the east of the island, and have sailed in that direction." "keep them rowing along steadily," he said to the over- seers of the slaves; "but do not press them too hard. we may have a chase yet, and need all their strength, for most of these pirates are fast craft, and if they should get a start of three or four miles, it will be a long row before we catch them." they made straight for the island, and on nearing it coasted along its southern side. it was some three miles long, the shore being for the most part steep, but here and there falling gradually to the water's edge. two or three little clusters of houses could be seen as they rowed along; one of these was on fire. "that is good," sir louis exclaimed, as, on turning a a professed knkm t point, they saw the flames. "that cannot have been lighted long, and we are pretty certain to come upon the vessels be- fore the marauders have set sail." several inlets and small bays were passed, but all were empty. a few fishing boats lay on the shore, but there were no signs of life, as no doubt the people would, long since, have taken alarm and sought shelter in the woods. there was a sharp point just before they reached the south-eastern extremity of the island, and as the galley shot past this, a shout of exultation rose from the knights, for, near the mouth of an inlet that now opened to their view, there lay four long, low vessels, above each of which floated the moslem flag. a number of men were gathered on the shore near the ships, and heavily-laden boats were passing to and fro. a yell of rage and alarm rose from the ships as the galley came into view. there was a stir and movement on the shore, and numbers of men leapt into the boats there, and started for the ships. these were some quarter of a mile away when first seen, and half that distance had been traversed when a puff of smoke shot out from the side of one of them, followed almost immediately by a general dis- charge of their cannon. one ball tore along the waist of the galley, killing six of the rowers, and several oars on both sides were broken. two balls passed through the cabins in the poop. but there was no pause in the advance of the gal- ley. the whips of the slave-masters cracked, and the rowers whose oars were intact strained at them. there was no re- ply from the guns, but the knights raised loud the war cry of the order, a war cry that was never heard without striking a thrill of apprehension among their moslem foes. as they neared the pirate ships, the helm was put down, and the galley brought up alongside the largest of them and a broadside poured into her; then the knights, headed by their commander, leapt on to her deck. although a number of the crew had not yet come off from a knight of the white cross shore, the moslems still outnumbered their assailants, and, knowing, that their consorts would soon come to their aid, they threw themselves in a body on the christians. but in a hand-to-hand conflict like this, the knights of the hospital were irresistible. protected by their armour and long shields from the blows of their enemies' scimitars and daggers, their long, cross-handled swords fell with irresistible force on tur- baned head and coat-of-mail, and, maintaining regular order and advancing like a wall of steel along the deck, they drove the moslems before them, and the combat would soon have terminated had not a shout been raised by one of the overseers of the slaves. one of the other ships had rowed alongside the galley, and the crew were already leaping on board it. at the same moment another ship came up alongside that they had boarded, while the fourth was manoeuvring to bring up under her stern. "sir john boswell," sir louis shouted, "do you and your countrymen, with the knights of spain, finish with these miscreants; knights of germany and provence keep back the boarders; knights of auvergne follow me," and he leapt down into the galley. the english and spanish knights redoubled their exertions. the moslems endeavoured to rally, seeing that help was at hand, and that but a small body were now opposed to them, but their numbers availed little. the ten knights kept their line, and, hewing their way forward, pressed them so hotly that the turks broke and sprang over the bulwarks into the sea. then the knights looked round. a fierce fight was going on between those of germany and provence and the enemy, who strove desperately to board from the ship along- side. the other vessel was now almost touching the stern, and her crew were swarming to her side in readiness to leap on board as soon as the vessels touched. "we will keep them at bay there," sir john boswell shouted. "do you, don pedro, and your comrades, aid a professed rnigmt ricord. when his foes are finished with, you can come back to help us." then, with the four english knights, he ran along the deck, and reached the stern just in time to hurl backwards the mos- lems, who had already obtained a footing. for a time the five knights kept back the surging mass of their foes. the deck was wide enough for each to have fair play for his sword, and in vain the pirates strove to obtain a footing. at last sir marmaduke lumley fell, severely wounded by an arrow from a moslem marksman, and before the others could close the gap a score of pirates leapt on to the deck. "fall back, comrades, fall back; but keep together!" sir john boswell shouted, as he cleft the skull of one of the pirate officers who sprang at him. "sir louis will soon finish his work, and be here to our aid. ah!" he exclaimed, looking over his shoulder, as he retired a step, "provence and germany are overmatched too." this was indeed the case. stoutly as they fought the knights were unable to guard the whole of the line of bulwark, and the moslems had already obtained a footing on the deck. the discipline of the knights stood them in good stead. draw- ing closely together as they retreated, they made a stand on the opposite side of the deck, and were here joined by sir john boswell and his companions. they now formed a semi- circle, each flank resting on the bulwark, and the pirates in vain endeavoured to break their line. again and again they flung themselves upon the knights, only to be beaten off with heavy loss. at length a loud cheer arose from the galley, and sir louis ricord, with the knights of auvergne and spain hav- ing cleared the galley of their foes, and carried the pirate that had grappled with her, sprang on to the deck of the ship, and fell upon the throng that were attacking the knights there, ob- livious of what was going on elsewhere. at once the english knights and their comrades took the offensive, and fell upon their assailants who, at the sight of the reinforcement, had a knight of the white cross for a moment stood irresolute. for a short time there was a fierce struggle; then the pirates sprang back to their two ships, and endeavoured to cast off the grapnels. but the knights followed hotly upon them, and, panic stricken now, the pirates sprang overboard. many were drowned, but the greater part managed to swim to shore. chapter v scourges of the sea breathless and faint from their tremendous exertions, the knights removed their helmets, "by st. mary," sir louis said, "this has been as hard a fight as i have ever been engaged in, and well may we be con- tent with our victory! well fought, my brave comrades! each of these vessels must have carried twice our number at least, and we have captured four of them; but i fear the cost has been heavy." seven knights had fallen, struck down by sword, arrow, or thrust of spear. of the rest but few had escaped unwounded, for, strong as was their armour, the keen damascus blades of the moslems had in many cases cut clean through it, and their daggers had found entry at points where the armour joined; and, now that the fight was over, several of the knights sank exhausted on the deck from loss of blood. but the dressing of wounds formed part of a knight of st. john's training. those who were unwounded unbuckled the armour and bandaged the wounds. others fetched wine and water from the galley. the chains of the galley-slaves were removed, and these were set to clear the decks of the moslem corpses. the anchors were dropped, for what little wind there was drifted them towards the shore. they had learned scourges of the sea from a dying pirate that the vessels were part of the fleet of hassan ali, a fact that added to the satisfaction felt by the knights at their capture, as this man was one of the most dreaded pirates of the levant. they learnt that he himself had not been present, the expedition being under the com- mand of one of his lieutenants, who had fallen in the fight. "now, comrades, let us in the first place take food; we have not broken our fast this morning. then let us consider what had best be done, for indeed we have got as much in our hands as we can manage; but let us leave that till we eat and drink, for we are faint from want of food and from our exertions. but we shall have to eat what comes to hand, and that without cooking, for our servants all joined the pirates when they boarded us, and are either dead or are ashore there.'' a meal was made of bread and fruit, and this with wine sufficed to recruit their energies. "it seems to me, comrades," sir louis said, when all had finished, " that the first thing is to search the holds of these vessels and see what valuables are stored there. these may be all carried on board one ship, and the others must be burnt, for it is clear that, as there are four of them, we cannot take them to rhodes; and even with one and our galley we should fare but ill, if we fell in with two or three more of hassan's ships." "but how about the pirates on shore, sir louis?" a knight asked. "there were very many who could not get off to their ships during the fight, and scores must have swum ashore. i should say that there must be full two hundred, and it will be a grievous thing for the islanders if we leave them there." "it is certain," the commander said, "that we are not strong enough to attack them, for were we to land, a party would have to be left on board, or the pirates might elude our search, seize some fishing-boats, and regain possession. cer- tainly, we are in no position to divide our forces." a knight of the white cross "methinks," sir john boswell said, "that the best plan would be to send a boat, manned with ten galley-slaves, taking two or three of us to the rendezvous, to fetch hither the other two galleys. with their aid we might take all the four ships safe into port, after first clearing the island of these pirates. it is but forty miles away, and eight hours' rowing would take us there." there was a general murmur of assent, for all wished that the trophies of their bravery should, if possible, be carried to rhodes. "that will certainly be the best plan, sir john, though it may detain us here for two or three days, or even more, for it is quite uncertain when the other two galleys may put in at the rendezvous. will you yourself undertake the mission?" "with pleasure." "how many will you take with you?" "two will be sufficient, for we shall have no fighting to do, as we shall have to trust to our speed if we fall in with an enemy. i will take, with your permission, sir ralph har- court and sir gervaise tresham, both of whom have to-day fought with distinguished bravery. indeed, i owe my life to them, for more than once, when i was hotly pressed, they freed me from my assailants. truly none bore themselves better in the fray than they did." three or four others joined in hearty commendations of the two young knights. "indeed," one said, "i was greatly surprised to see how tresham bore himself. he is but a lad, with scarce, one would think, strength to hold his own in such a fray. it chanced that he was next to me in the circle, and for a time i kept my eye on him, thinking he might require my aid; but i soon saw that i need not trouble myself on his account, for he wielded his weapon as doughtily as the best knight of the order could have done, and one of the proofs is that, while most of us bear marks of the conflict, he has escaped without a scourges of the sea hi scratch. i trust, sir louis, that when you give an account of the fighting you will specially mention that this, the youngest knight of the order, bore himself as stoutly as any of them. i say this, sir john, because, not being of your langue, i can speak more warmly than you can do of his skill and bravery." "i thank you, de boysey," sir john boswell said, "and i am proud that my young countryman should have so gained your approbation. and now," he went on, "while the gal- ley-slaves are getting a meal—which they have right well earned to-day—i should like to see what there is under the hatches of these ships, so that i can give our comrades in the other galleys some idea of the value of this booty we have taken." they rose from the table, and, going on board the prizes, lifted the hatches. "beware !" de boysey exclaimed, looking down into the hold, when the first hatch was taken off. "there are people below." a chorus of cries followed his exclamation. "they are the voices of women and children," sir louis exclaimed. "they must be captives." this turned out to be so. in the holds of the four ships were found over a hundred and fifty women and children; these had been brought on board in the first boat-loads by the pirates, and when the christian galley had been seen coming round the point, had been thrust below, and the hatches thrown over them. they had heard the din of battle above, but knew not how the conflict had terminated, and, being afraid to cry out, had remained silent until, on the hatch being lifted, they had seen the figures of christian knights standing in the bright sun- shine. all had come from the village on the other side of the island. they related how the pirates had suddenly burst upon them, had slaughtered all the men, set fire to the village, and had driven them before them across the island to the ships. the poor creatures were delighted at their escape from slavery, a knight of the white ckoss but at the same time were full of grief at the loss of husbands, fathers, and sons. some laughed, others cried; while some thanked god for their rescue others heaped imprecations upon the authors of their misfortunes. the knights explained to them that for a short time they must remain on board, as half the pirates were still on shore, but that aid would soon arrive that would enable them to clear the island. half an hour later sir john boswell, with the two young knights, started in a rowing boat, manned by ten of the galley- slaves. the wind had sprung up since the fight ceased, and as it was nearly astern, they anticipated that they would make a good passage, and be at the little islet, named as the place of rendezvous, before nightfall. among the many bales of rich merchandise in the hold of the pirate vessels an abundance of wine had been discovered, and of this a tankard had been given to each of the slaves, by sir louis's orders, as a token of satisfaction at their work in the morning. they had gone some two miles when, from one of the inlets in the island they had left a large fishing-boat was seen to issue out. "by st. george !" sir john exclaimed, '' that boat must be full of pirates. and if they see us, which they cannot help doing, and take it in their heads to chase us, we shall have a hard time of it." the fishing-boat for a few minutes kept along the coast, and then suddenly her course was altered, and her head directed towards their boat. "now stretch to your oars," sir john, who spoke some turkish, said to the slaves. "keep ahead of that boat, and i promise you, on my honour as a christian knight, that i will myself purchase your freedom as soon as we get to rhodes." scourges of the sea with a shout of delight, the galley-slaves bent to their oars, and the boat flew along at a greatly increased speed. "there is but small chance of our getting away," sir john said quietly. "at present we must be rowing as fast as they sail; but wind never tires, while there are limits to the powers of muscle and bone. if those fellow s follow us—and i doubt not that they will, for they must be thirsting for vengeance— they will overtake us long before we get to the rendezvous; and even did we reach it, the chances are that we should not find either of the galleys there. we must hold on as long as we can, and as a last resource must run ashore. unfortu- nately there are no large islands on our way. nor have we any hope of assistance from our friends behind. the inlet looks east, and they will know nothing of our danger; nor, if they did, could they help us. the galley is short-handed now, and there are the captured ships to look after, and the captives we rescued. we have only ourselves to depend on." at the end of an hour's rowing the boat astern had gained little; but the exertions of the rowers were telling severely upon them. they were still doing their best, but their breath came in short gasps, the rowing was getting short and unsteady, and there was a sensible decrease in the speed of the boat. three miles ahead of them was an islet about half a mile in diameter. in some parts it was covered with foliage, but else- where it was bare rock. "that must be our goal," sir john said. "they will be close to us by the time we get there." then he said to the rowers, " stop for a minute to get breath. we will land at that islet ahead, and i shall hold to my promise if we get there in time. those of you who like can remain in the boat until your countrymen come up; those who choose can leave the boat and hide yourselves as best you may. i leave the choice to yourselves. if we are overtaken and fall, i cannot keep my promise, and it will be best then for you to remain in the boat." scourges of the sea "it seems to me, sir john," gervaise said, •• that with the aid of these good fellows we may yet have a chance of escape." "what is your plan, sir gervaise?" "i think, sir john, that if, when we land, we climb straight up that hill, in full sight of the shore, the pirates, when they see us, will follow at once. the slaves should, therefore, be safe for a time if they hide in that wood to the left of the spot we are making for. will you tell them to keep down by the water's edge among the bushes, and that after crossing that crest, we will try to make a dash round, so as to join them there. 'tis probable that most of the pirates will start in pursuit of us, and if we and the slaves make a rush for the shore we may seize our boat, push off, and capt- ure their craft, if there are but a few left on board, knock out a plank and scuttle her, and then row away." "by st. george, your plan is a good one, tresham !—a right good scheme, and we will try it." he at once translated what gervaise had said to the rowers, by whom it was received with short exclamations of approval, for they were too breathless and exhausted for talk. already they could hear the yells of the pirates, who, as the boat ran up on the beach were but a quarter of a mile behind. "now, away for that wood !" sir john cried, as he leapt ashore. "now, comrades, for a climb up the hill!" it was a steep ascent, and more than once one had to behelped up by the others, and then in turn to assist them to get up beside him. - louder and louder rose the shouts of the pirates, but the knights did not glance back until they reached the top of the hill; then they turned and looked round. a swarm of men were climbing after them, and were already halfway up the cliff. "heave them down!" sir john exclaimed, pointing to some loose rocks, and set the example by lifting a great stone and hurling it over the edge. harcourt and gervaise at once did the same, and twenty or thirty rocks were speedily scut ( a knight of the white cross rolling down the steep ascent, and yells, shouts, and cries were heard below. "that will check them a bit. now let us be off," sir john boswell said, and they at once started. after crossing a hundred yards of bare rock they stood at the edge of an- other slope into a deep valley, beyond which rose the central hill of the island. the valley ran right across, and was filled with trees extending to the sea at either end. running rap- idly down, the knights were within the shelter of the wood before the moslems had reached the brow behind them. a minute later they heard the shouts of their enemies. once in the wood they turned to the left, and in a few minutes stood on the sea shore. it was a little bay some two hundred yards across, and at either point the cliffs rose abruptly from the water. "we shall have to swim round the point," sir john said. "take off your mail shirts. we will make our way along the rocks as far as we can, and then drop them into the sea, otherwise they will know that we have taken to the water." they hurried along the rocks, and were able to make their way to within fifty yards of the point; then, throwing their mail shirts into the sea, they plunged in. all knew the im- portance of getting round before any of the pirates, who would be searching the valley, came down on the shore, and they swam their hardest until they rounded the corner. the wood rang with the shouts of their pursuers, but no yell had risen from the water's edge. a hundred yards farther, and they were able to land, and were in a short time in the shel- ter of the trees that fringed the water to the point where they had left the boat. there was no longer any occasion for speed, and they made their way through the thick bushes and undergrowth quietly, until they recovered breath after their exertions. they had gone a few hundreds yards when from the bushes the slaves suddenly rose up. "all has gone well," sir john said to them in their own scourges of the sea language. "the pirates are searching for us on the other side of the hill. there are not likely to be many of them left here. we shall soon be in possession of our boat again." followed by the slaves, they made their way forward until they stood at the edge of the wood. five or six pirates were standing on the shore. "i expect they have been left there," harcourt said, "to prevent the slaves from carrying off the boat. they must have seen them run into the wood. they won't reckon on our being with them." drawing their swords, the three knights rushed out, fol- lowed by the slaves. they had but a hundred yards to run. the pirates, on seeing them, raised a yell and drew their scimitars; but the sight of the knights rushing upon them, when they had expected but a few unarmed rowers, was too much for their courage, and when their assailants were still fifty yards away they turned and fled. the fishing craft had been run ashore but a few yards from their boat. "get her afloat, harcourt, and bring her to the stern of the fisherman. now, tresham, follow me." sir john boswell climbed up on to the fishing boat, which was a craft of some fifteen tons burden. she was entirely de- serted, but the sail still hung from the yard, and a fire was burning on a stone hearth, raised on some logs of wood in the centre of the deck. "look for something to stave in a plank, tresham." gervaise leapt down into the hold. there were some nets and spare sails lying there, but nothing that would answer the purpose. he examined the planks. the boat was very strongly and roughly built. "there is nothing here, sir john, that will do, and noth- ing short of a heavy sledge hammer would suffice to smash one of these planks." "there are a lot of them coming down the hill, tresham. we have not many minutes to spare, but we must disable the a knight of the white cross craft. they will soon be after us again; they have run her hard and fast here, but when they all come back they will soon get her off. let us try one of these sweeps.'' he lifted one of the heavy oars, and holding it upright he and gervaise together tried to drive the handle through the bottom. again and again they raised it and drove it down; but the plank was too strong, and too securely fastened to the timbers. "we must give it up," the knight said, with a sigh, "fortune has befriended us so far, tresham, but she has de- serted us at last. another three minutes, and we shall have thirty or forty of them upon us." at this moment the lad's eye fell upon the fire. "we shall manage yet," he exclaimed, and, seizing a blazing brand, he jumped below and set fire to the sails stowed there; they were as dry as tinder, and the flame shot up at once. "that is good, tresham," the knight said; "but they will put it out before it has caught the boat." "not before it has burnt the sails," gervaise replied. "now for this one," and he applied the brand to the lower edge of the great sail. without a word sir john seized another brand, and fired the sail on the other side of the deck. the flames flashed up, and a wild yell of rage and alarm broke from the pirates, who were now rushing down towards the beach. "now to the boat, tresham; we have no time to lose if we would avoid being pounded with stones." they dropped over the stern into the boat. the galley- slaves dipped their oars into the water, and she shot away just as the foremost of the pirates reached the edge of the water. a few stones were thrown; but the pirates were so anxious about the craft, by which alone they could escape from the island, that the majority at once climbed on board. at a word from the knight, the slaves stopped row ing a scourges of the sea ) hundred yards from the shore. the sail was already con- sumed, and the yard and the upper part of the mast were in flames. a dense smoke was rising from the hold, and.the pi- rates were throwing buckets of water down into it. in a few minutes the smoke decreased. "i thought that they would be able to put it out; but, as far as we are concerned, it matters little. they have lost their sails, and as i saw but four sweeps, we can travel five miles to their one. if we find the galleys we will look in here on our way back, and if they have not left we will fire that craft more effectually, and then the pirates will be trapped, and we can leave them till we have fetched off sir louis and his prizes, and then have a grand hunt here. we took no prisoners before, and a hundred slaves will be a useful ad- dition to our wall-builders. now, tresham, i have to thank you warmly, for harcourt and i doubly owe our lives to you. it was thanks to your quickness of wit that we regained our boat, for i would not have given a ducat for our chances had you not thought of that scheme. in the second place, we should assuredly have been overtaken again had it not been for your happy thought of crippling them by burning their sails. by st. george, harcourt, this young countryman of ours is as quick and as ready of wit as he has shown himself a brave and gallant fighter! we have no lack of sturdy fight- ers; but the wit to devise and to seize upon the right thing in the moment of danger is vastly more rare. as for myself, i have no shame that this lad, who is young enough to be my son, should have thus, twice in a single hour, pointed out the way to safety. with sword and battle-axe i can, i trust, hold my own with any man; but my brain is dull when it comes to hatching schemes. if we live, we shall see sir ger- vaise one of the most distinguished knights of the order." "while i feel gratified indeed, as i may well be by your commendation, sir john, i must, under your favour, say that you have given me a far greater degree of credit than is my a knight of the white cross due. there was the fire, and there was the sail, and the thought that the one-would destroy the other was simply a nat- ural one, which might have occurred to a child. as to the plan about the boat, seeing that there was the hill and the wood, it flashed upon me at once that we might make a cir- cuit and come back to her." "just so, lad; but those thoughts did not flash upon my mind, nor upon that of harcourt. it is just because those sort of ideas do flash upon the minds of some men, and not of others, that the first rise to the rank of distinguished command- ers, while the others remain simple knights who would play their part in a charge or in the defence of a breach, but would be of no account as leaders. now, row along steadily, men," he went on, speaking to the slaves. "we are still in good time, for it was not an hour from the moment we touched the island to our departure from it, and much of that time we had gained by the speed with which you rowed before. at any rate, we shall make out the island before sunset, and whether we arrive there a little sooner or later matters little. harcourt, hand me that wineskin and a goblet. a draught will do us good after our climb and swim, and these good fellows will be none the worse for a cup also." inspired with the hope of freedom, the slaves rowed steadily, and the sun had just set when they entered a little inlet in the rocky isle that was their place of rendezvous. "thanks be to the saints!" sir john exclaimed, as they reached the entrance. "there is santoval's galley." there was a stir on board the galley as the boat was seen approaching. the knights had put on their armour, which they had found still lying in the boat, the pirates, in their haste to pursue, having left her unexamined, while those who had remained on guard had abstained from touching anything un- til the return of their captain and comrades. "whence come you, sir john, and what is the news? no misfortune has befallen ricord's galley, i hope?" the span- scourges of the sea ill ish knight in command shouted, as the boat came near enough for him to recognize the features of its occupants. "all is well," sir john shouted back ; " but we have taken more prizes than we can manage, though not without hard fighting. seven knights have fallen, and at least ten others will not be able to buckle their armour on again for some time to come, so i have been sent here to beg your assistance; and it is well that it should be given speedily, for if more pirate vessels come up before you join, ricord and his companions will be in a sorry plight." by this time the boat had reached the side of the galley, and as sir john and his two companions stepped on board, the knights crowded round to hear the details of the news. exclamations of approval and satisfaction arose when sir john related the incidents of the fight, and told them that the four vessels that had fallen into their hands formed part of hassan ali's fleet. "that is good news indeed, boswell," don santcval said; "and i would i had been there to take part in so gallant a fight. it is well you found us here, for with four prizes on hand, and with half his strength dead or disabled, ricord must be in sore need of aid. we will start to-morrow morning at daybreak. as all the ships were taken, there is little fear of any of the other pirates hearing news of what has happened." "i don't know," sir john replied. "there were, as i told you, some two hundred pirates left on the island. about half those, we know, seized a fishing boat and escaped, for they chased us, and we have had as narrow an escape from death as has ever fallen to my lot, though i have been in over a score of hard-fought battles. the rest may well have taken another fishing boat and made off also, for we saw several craft along the shores of the island. if so, they may have made for hassan ali's rendezvous, wherever that may be, just as i made here, and by this time some of his ships may be on the way there," a knu.iit of the white cross "by st. anthony, this alters the situation gravely !" don santoval said. "fellow knights, we must lose no time in going to ricord's assistance. the slaves have had a long row to-day, but they must start on another. let them have a good meal to strengthen them, and a cup of wine each. whatever their scruples at other times, they never refuse wine when there is heavy work to be done, knowing full well that a draught of it helps them mightily in their labours. your men must have rowed well, sir john, to have brought you here so quickly?" "i have promised them their freedom," sir john said; "and they shall have it, even if i have to pay their value into the treasury. as i told you, we were hotly pursued, for the craft with her sail went faster than we with our .oars; and, knowing the importance of bringing the news here, i encour- aged them by promising them their freedom, should we get away. not only did they row right manfully, but they proved faithful in our extremity, and, when all seemed lost, stuck to us instead of deserting and joining the pirates." "but how did you get away, sir john, if their craft out- sailed you?" "i owe my life entirely to the quick wit of my young countryman, sir gervaise tresham here." and sir john then related the incidents of their adventure on the island, his narra- tive eliciting warm expressions of approval from the knights. "of course, you will go with us, boswell?" don santoval said, when the master of the slaves announced that these had eaten their meal, and were ready. "i must do so," sir john replied. "i want you, on your way, to look in at that island where we had so narrow an es- cape, and if we find their craft still there we can destroy it. the place is directly in our course; we shall, therefore, lose but little time in looking in. of course, they may have gone as soon as they got their vessel afloat, but it is hardly likely. they would have no idea of my returning with a galley so scourges of the sea » soon, and will probably set to to make a dozen more oars before they start, for she had but four on board, which will scarce suffice to send her a mile an hour through the water. there- fore, i fancy they will not put off until to-morrow morning. if that is so, and we destroy their craft, they will be trapped on the islet, and on our return we can capture them all. i think of leaving harcourt and tresham in the boat, in order that when piccolomini's galley comes in, they may direct him also to join us." "he may be in at any moment; we met him three days since. he had captured a pirate, and sent her off under charge of ten of his knights. we agreed to meet him this 'evening; and as he is not here, he will probably be in the first thing in the morning." gervaise and harcourt took their places in the boat again. the galley got up its anchor and started. just as she reached the mouth of the inlet another galley rounded the point and nearly ran into her. "i am going to ricord's assistance, piccolomini," don santoval shouted. "is it urgent?" the commander of the galley shouted back. "we have had a very long row, and can go no farther, unless his strait is a very sore one." "no. come on in the morning. you will hear all the news from a boat lying two hundred yards astern. two young english knights are waiting in her to give you the news. ricord has made a fine capture. row on, men." and the galley proceeded on her way, while the new-comer proceeded up the harbour. harcourt and gervaise at once went on board, and the former gave the italian commander an account of the battle that had taken place, and the capture of the four pirate ves- sels. after the exclamations of satisfaction by the knights had ceased, he recounted their own adventures, which were heard with lively interest. a knight of the white cross "i hope indeed that santoval will burn that fishing boat, and that we shall capture the pirates," the commander said. "we have need of more slaves to carry out the works at rhodes. now, let us to supper, gentlemen, and then to sleep. in six hours we will be off again, for if some more of these villains have escaped and carried the news to hassan ali, our swords may be sorely needed by ricord and santoval to-mor- row. '' chapter vi knighted at three in the morning all on board the galley were astir. a ration of bread and meat was served out to the slaves, and the boat was soon afterwards under way. the rowers of the english knight's boat had been warmly commended by the commander and placed in charge of the overseer, with in- structions that they were to be treated as free men. as soon as the galley-slaves set to work, however, they seated them- selves on the benches and double-banked some of the oars, anxious to please the knights. with the exception of those whose turn it was to be on watch, most of the knights slept until daybreak. "at the rate we are rowing, gervaise," harcourt said, as they went up on to the poop together, " it will not take us very long to join our friends. we are going through the water at fully six miles an hour; and as we have already been two hours under way, in another three we shall be there." an hour and a half later they passed the island where they had landed. the two young knights pointed out to the others the valley into which they had descended, and the point round which they had swum. in a few minutes they caught sight of the landing-place. knighted "look, gervaise, there is some thing black showing just above the water." "i see it. i think it is a line of timbers. there were certainly no rocks there when we ran ashore." "then santoval must have found the craft still there and burnt her," one of the knights standing by remarked, "and the pirates are caged up. it will take them some time to make a raft that will carry them to the next island, and be- fore they can do that we shall be back again. i shall be sorry if they escape, for they are as ruthless a set of villains as sail the seas." the galley had traversed half the remaining distance when the sound of a gun was faintly heard. for a moment there was an absolute hush on the poop; then three or four shots in rapid succession were heard. "some more pirate ships must have come up," the com- mander exclaimed. then he shouted down to the slaves, "row, men—row for your lives! overseer, do not spare your lash if any hang back from their work." the galley had been travelling fast before, but her speed greatly increased as the slaves rowed their hardest. fast as she was travelling, the impatience of the knights was extreme. they walked up and down the deck, making vows of candles that should be burnt at the shrine of st. john if they arrived in time to take a share in the fight, stopping at times to listen to the sound of artillery, which was now so frequent as to show that a severe engagement was being fought. many of the younger knights ran down to the waist and double-banked the oars, and in a shorter time than it seemed possible the galley arrived at the mouth of the bay. a desperate fight was going on. ricord's ship lay, idle and deserted, at anchor. five pirate crafts surrounded santoval's galley. two of them were alongside of her; the others were raking her fore and aft with their shot. the young knights left the oars, sprang up to the poop and joined in the shout of a knight of the white cross encouragement raised by the'others, and then, resuming their helmets and armour, stood ready to leap on board an enemy as soon as they reached her. piccolomini directed the helms- man to lay him alongside one of the ships grappling with san- toval. as they came up, their galley's cannon poured their fire into her, and a moment later the knights sprang on board. in the din of battle their shout had been unheard. the pirates thronging the other side of their ship were intent only on-overcoming the resistance of the knights, and even the dis- charge of cannon had not called their attention to their foe, until the latter, shouting the war-cry of the order, fell sud- denly upon them. a panic at once seized them. some were cut down almost unresistingly, but the great majority, running to the bow or stern, threw themselves overboard and swam to the other ships. the pirate ship on the other side of santo- val's galley instantly threw off the grapnels and thrust off from her side, and, immediately hauling in the sheets of the big sail, began at once to draw away, while her three consorts made for the mouth of the bay. "back to your galley, comrades," piccolomini shouted, "or with this brisk wind they will escape us." the knights at once crossed on to their own craft, the oars were got out, and the chase began. a minute or two later don santoval followed them, but soon gave up, as so large a number of the oars had been broken when the two pirate ships ran alongside him, that it would have been hopeless to pursue. the wind was blowing freshly, and was rapidly increasing in strength, so that, in spite of the efforts of the galley-slaves, the pirates gradually drew away, running straight before the wind, and aiding the effects of the sails with oars. seeing the hope- lessness of the chase, piccolomini abandoned it, after rowing for two miles, and returned to the island. the other two galleys were lying beside each other, and piccolomini had his craft steered alongside them. "thanks, piccolomini, for arriving so opportunely," san- knighted toval, who was seated on the deck leaning against the bulwarks, said, as his fellow commander leapt on board, and came towards him. "would that i had arrived sooner, santoval, for i see that you have been grievously wounded !'' "ay. one of the paynims' cannonballs has carried off both my legs below the knee. the leech has been searing the wounds with a hot iron, and says that he thinks i shall get over it; but if so i fear that my fighting days are past, unless, indeed, i fight seated on a chair. however, i ought not to grumble. i have lost many brave comrades, and others are wounded more sorely than i am." sir louis ricord now joined them. he embraced picco- lomini warmly. "i never heard a more welcome shout, piccoloniini, than that which you gave when you fell upon the moslems, for in truth the issue of the conflict was doubtful. i was delighted when this morning at daybreak santoval's galley rowed in. we had all kept watch during the night, thinking the pirates might obtain boats and make an attack upon us; and, with but twenty of us fit to wield a sword, our position would have been a bad one, and at any rate they might have re-captured the prizes. we agreed that santoval and his knights should land at once. this they did. sir john boswell had of course told me how his boat had been chased by a fishing craft, manned by a large number of the pirates, and that he feared the rest might similarly have escaped, and might have gone to bring some more of hassan ali's ships upon us. "as soon as santoval landed, some of the natives came down and told him that there was not a pirate remaining there, the rest having started in another boat a few minutes after the one that had chased boswell. santoval left two of his men with orders to ascend to the highest spot on the island, and to keep watch, and then brought the rest off to his galley. our first step was, of course, to send all the women and chil- a knight of the white cross dren ashore. then we consulted as to what had best bedone if the pirates should come back in force. we hoped, at any rate, that this would not happen until you arrived. we ex- pected that you would be here before noon; but we decided that, should they get here before you, we from our galley would embark on santoval's, as it was better to fight in one strongly-manned boat than to divide our forces. "it was scarce half an hour after santoval came down be- fore the men, left on the look-out, appeared on the beach. on fetching them off, they told us that as soon as they reached the top of the hill they saw five vessels approaching with sails and oars, and that they would be here in half an hour at the outside. we at once abandoned my galley, brought the row- ers and the wounded here, and prepared for the fight. as you saw, they ran their two biggest ships alongside us, and for two hours the fight went on. they were crowded with men, who in vain strove to get a footing on our decks. had we only had these two to deal with, we should have had nothing to fear, heavily-manned though they were; but the other three kept sailing backwards and forwards, discharging their guns into us as they passed, firing not only shot, but bags of bullets. "their gunners were skilful, and, as you see, they have completely riddled our poop. twenty knights have been killed, and eleven others are sorely wounded. scarce one has escaped unscathed. you may guess, then, how welcome was your aid, which we had not expected for another three hours. we were on the point of abandoning the waist and gathering on the poop, which we could still have defended for a consid- erable time, when, as if dropped from the skies, you fell upon the pirates, and turned the tables. how is it that you were here so early ?'' "we started at three o'clock, instead of waiting for day- break. it seemed, from the story of the two young knights, that it was possible you might be attacked early, and, crippled as your command was, and with four prizes on your hands, i knighted !) deemed it best to come on as soon as the rowers had had a few hours' rest." "it is well that you did so; it would have been a grievous affair had two of our galleys been captured by the pirates. it would have been a blow to the prestige of the order, and would have brought such strength to hassan ali and other pirate leaders that nothing short of sending out a fleet would have recovered our ascendency; and as every ducat we can spare has to be spent on the fortifications, it would have been a misfortune indeed had we been obliged to fit out such an expedition at present." "who have fallen, sir louis?" "five more of the knights of my galley—pierre des vignes, raoul de montpelier, ernest schmidt, raymond garcia, and albert schenck. here is the list of the knights of santoval's galley." "'tis a long list, and a sad one," piccolomini said, after reading the names. "with the seven who fell in your first fight, twenty-seven knights have fallen, all brave comrades. truly, we can ill spare such a loss. it is true there are five prizes to show for it, and we have struck hassan ali a blow that will resound through the levant; but the cost is heavy." "it is indeed," ricord agreed. "the four vessels are well filled with rich spoil that the scoundrels had gathered, and i doubt not the one you captured is equally rich. still, had they been ten times as valuable, the booty would be dearly purchased at such a price.'' there was now a consultation among the leaders, and it was agreed that six knights should be placed in each of the captured ships, with ten of the galley-slaves to work the sails, the others being equally divided between the three galleys. they were, in the first place, to row to the island where the pirates were imprisoned, and to slay or capture the whole of them; afterwards they were to make direct for rhodes; with so numerous a fleet there was no fear of their being attacked. a knight of the white cross the arrangements took but a short time to complete. an hour later they left the port, the three galleys rowing ahead, while the five prizes, under easy sail, followed them. sir john boswell had been wounded, but not so seriously as to altogether disable him, and he was in command of one of the prizes, having sir adam tedbond, harcourt, gervaise, and a german knight, with him. sir marmaduke lumley, who, after the first fight was over, was found, to the surprise and pleasure of his comrades, to be still living, was, with the rest of the wounded, on board one of the galleys. two of the pirates had fallen dead across him, and in the ardour of their attack on the knights, he had lain there unnoticed until the return of sir louis and his comrades had driven the pirates overboard. the leech was of opinion that he might yet re- cover from his wound. on arriving at the island, sixty of the knights disembarked. the woods near the shore were first searched, but were found untenanted. they were about to advance up the hill when a man appeared on the crest above them waving a white flag. he was told to come down, and on his arrival said that he was sent by his companions to offer to surrender, on the prom- ise that their lives should be spared. the knights were well pleased to be saved the trouble of a long search through the woods, and the messenger left at once to acquaint the pirates that their terms were accepted. in a short time some eighty men made their way down the hill. on reaching the beach they were disarmed, divided equally between the galleys, and distributed among the rowers, filling up the places of those who had been killed by the fire of the moslems, and of the men drafted into the prizes. they begged for food and water before they began work, and, on being questioned, admitted that their surrender was due principally to the fact that they had been unable to find food of any sort on the island, and that after searching all over it no spring of water could be dis- covered. kniohtf.n "in that case," sir john boswell said, "i have no doubt they have all surrendered. i before thought it probable that a good many of them would have remained hidden, trusting to be able to make a raft after we had left, and so get away, believing rightly enough that we should be disinclined to search every foot of the island for them. as it is, i doubt not, all are here.'' the little fleet anchored that night at the rendezvous, and after two more days' rowing reached rhodes, where the ap- pearance of the three galleys, followed by their five prizes, was greeted with great acclamation. the news, however, that twenty-seven knights had fallen, and that thirteen or fourteen others were very gravely wounded, damped the satisfaction that everyone had at first felt. d'aubusson came down as soon as they reached the mole, and was greatly affected when he received ricord's report. "it is an unfortunate loss indeed, sir louis," he said, "though it may be that the victory is not too dearly pun based. i do not speak of the captured ships, nor of the spoil they con- tain, nor even of the slaves you have brought us, welcome though all may be, but of the effect that the defeat and capt- ure of these craft of hassan ali's will have. it is plain that the preparations the sultan is making, and the belief that rhodes is doomed, have so encouraged the infidels that they are becoming really formidable at sea. this blow will show them that the order has yet power to sweep the sea of pirates. since, however, this adventure has taught us that a single leader like hassan sails with at least nine ships under his orders, it is clear that in future our galleys must not advent- ure singly among the islands. it was fortunate indeed that first santoval, and then piccolomini, arrived to your assist- ance. how was it that they happened to come up so op- portunely?" "sir john boswell, with ralph harcourt and gervaise tresham, went in a boat to the rendezvous we had arranged, a knight of the white cross and reached it after an adventure, which i will leave sir john to tell himself. i may say that the two young knights named had in our encounter both obtained very high credit amongst us all for the valour with which they fought. no one bore himself more stoutly, and i am glad to take this early oppor- tunity of bringing their conduct before your notice. as you will learn from sir john, gervaise tresham afterwards showed a quickness of wit that was the means of saving the lives of those with him, and i may say also of all with me, for had they failed to reach the rendezvous we should have fallen easy victims to the five ships hassan ali brought against us.'' sending for sir john boswell, the grand prior heard from him the details of his adventure in the boat. "i am right glad to hear you speak so warmly of tresham, sir john, for i regard him as my special protege, and am pleased indeed to find that at this outset of his career he has proved himself not only a brave knight, but full of resource, and quick at invention. i think, sir john, that these two young knights have shown themselves well worthy of receiving the honour of secular knighthood." "assuredly they have," sir john agreed. "then, sir john, will you bestow it upon them? the order, as an order, does not bestow the honour, but its members do not forfeit their right as knights to bestow it individually, and none among us are more worthy of admitting them to your rank than yourself." "i would gladly do it, sir peter; but the honour would come far better from yourself, and would not only be more highly prized by them, but would be of greater value in the eyes of others. i am but a simple knight-commander of the order, and my name would scarce be known beyond its ranks. but to be knighted by one whose name is known and honoured throughout europe would give them a standing wherever they went, and place them on a level with the best, " "if that is your opinion, boswell, i will myself undertake it, knighted and will do it at once; it were better done here than at a conclave of the order—now, when they are fresh from the battle. let the knights be summoned from the other galleys at once." in a few minutes the whole of the knights were assembled on the poop of the galley. "friends, and brother knights," d'aubusson said. "first, in the name of the order, i have to thank you all most heart- ily for the brave deeds that you have performed, and for the fresh honour you have won for it. every man has, as i learn from the three commanders, borne himself as a true and valiant knight, ready to give his life in the cause of the order and of humanity. two names have been specially brought before me by commander ricord, and by the good knight sir john bos- well; they are those of two young companions who, though knights of our order, have not yet received secular knight- hood, and this, in the opinion of these tv> knights, they have right worthily won. sir ralph harcourt and sir gervaise tresham, step forward." the two young knights, colouring with pleasure at this un- expected honour, removed their helmets, and stood with bowed heads before the grand prior. d'aubusson went on, turning to the knights around him, "i am about, comrades, to under- take the office of knighting them. sir louis ricord and sir john boswell stand as their sponsors. but before i proceed i would ask you all whether you, too, approve, and hold that sir ralph harcourt and sir gervaise tresham have proved themselves worthy of the honour of secular knighthood at my hands ?'' there was a general reply in the affirmative, the answer of the survivors of ricord's crew being specially emphatic. the grand prior drew his sword, and the two young knights knelt before him, their sponsors standing beside them. "sir ralph harcourt, you have now been four years a knight of this order, but hitherto you have had no opportu- a knight of the white cross nity of drawing sword against the infidels. now that the chance has come, you have proved yourself a true and valiant brother of the order, and well worthy of the secular accolade. it is in that capacity that i now knight you. it is not the grand prior of auvergne, but sir peter d'aubusson, of the grand cross of st, louis, who now bestows upon you the hon- our of secular knighthood." he touched him lightly with the sword. he then turned to gervaise. "you, sir gervaise tresham, are young indeed to receive the honour of secular knighthood; but valour is of no age, and in the opinion of your commanders, and in that of your com- rades, you have proved yourself worthy of the honour. you have shown too, that, as sir john boswell has related to me, you are not only brave in action, but able, in the moment of danger, to plan and to execute. you were, he tells me, the means of saving his life and that of your comrade, and, by thus enabling him to bear to the place of rendezvous the news of sir louis's danger, were also the means of saving the lives of sir louis and his companions, and of bringing home in safety the prizes he had taken. with such a beginning it is easy to foresee that you will win for yourself some day a distinguished position in the ranks of the order, and are most worthy of the honour i now bestow upon you." and he touched him with his sword. the two young knights rose to their feet, bowed deeply to d'aubusson, and then retired, with their sponsors. they were at once surrounded by the knights, who shook them by the hand, and warmly congratulated them upon the honour that had befallen them, receiving equally warm congratulations on their arrival at the auberge of the langue. the five prizes turned out, when their cargoes were landed, to be much more valuable than the cursory examination made by the knights had warranted them in expecting. they con- tained, indeed, an accumulation of the most valuable contents cervaise and ralph are knighted by the grand trior. knic.hted of the prizes taken by the pirates for a long time previously ; and as these desperadoes preyed upon turkish commerce as well as christian, the goods consisted largely of eastern manufactures of all kinds. costly robes, delicate embroidery, superb carpets, shawls, goldsmiths' work, and no small amount of jewels, were among the spoil collected, and the bulk of the merchandise captured was, two days later, despatched in galleys to genoa and marseilles, to be sold for the benefit of the order. d'aubusson without hesitation carried out sir john bos- well's promise to the slaves who had rowed his boat. they were not only set at liberty, but were each presented with a sum of money, and were placed on board a galley, and landed on the mainland. the english knights were all proud of the honour that had been won by their young countrymen, the only exception be- ing robert rivers, who was devoured with jealousy at their advancement. he did not openly display his feelings, for the reports not only of sir john boswell, but of the other two eng- lish knights, were so strong that he dared not express his dis- content. he himself had twice been engaged with pirates, but had gained no particular credit, and indeed had, in the opinion of his comrades, been somewhat slack in the fray. he was no favourite in the auberge, though he spared no pains to ingra- tiate himself with the senior knights, and had a short time before been very severely reprimanded by the bailiff for striking one of the servants. "i have more than once had to reprove you for your man- ners to the servants," the bailiff said. "you will now be pun- ished by the septaine; you will fast for seven days, on wednes- day and friday you will receive bread and water only, and will be confined to the auberge for that period. the next time that i have reason to complain of you, i shall bring the matter before the grand master, and represent to him that it were best to send you home, since you cannot comport yourself to the servants of the auberge as befits a knight of the order. we a knight of the white cross have always borne the reputation of being specially kind to our servants, and it is intolerable that one, who has been but a short time only a professed knight, should behave with a hau- teur and insolence that not even the oldest among us would permit himself. there is not one of the servants here who was not in his own country of a rank and station equal, if not su- perior, to your own; and though misfortune has fallen upon them, they are to be pitied rather than condemned for it. in future, you are to give no order whatever to the servants, nor to address them, save when at meals you require anything. if you have any complaints to make of their conduct to you, you will make them to me, and i will inquire into the matter; and if i find they have failed in their duty they will be punished. i shall keep my eye upon you in the future. there are other faults that i have observed in you. more than once i have heard you address sir gervaise tresham in a manner which, were not duelling forbidden by our rules, might bring about bloodshed; and from what i have seen when i have been watching the exercises, he is as much your superior in arms as he is in manner and disposition." this reproof had greatly subdued robert rivers; and as he felt that any display of his jealousy of gervaise would be re- sented by the other knights, and might result in serious conse- quences to himself, he abstained from any exhibition of it when they returned to the auberge, although he could not bring him- self to join in the congratulations offered to them. the next day, however, when he was talking to ralph harcourt, he re- marked,— "from what i hear, harcourt, d'aubusson praised young tresham very highly. it seems to me that there was nothing at all out of the way in what he did, and it was very unfair that he should be selected for higher praise than yourself." "it was not unfair at all," ralph said warmly, for he was of a generous nature, and incapable of the base feeling of envy. "tresham did a great deal more than i did. when we saw knighted the pirate boat gaining so fast upon us, it seemed to sir john boswell, as well as to myself, that there was scarce a chance of escape, and that all we could do was to choose a spot on which to make a stand, and then to sell our lives as dearly as we could. i could see that sir john was scanning the hill for a spot where we could best defend ourselves. as to hiding on so small an island, with a hundred men eager for our blood searching for us, it was well-nigh impossible. it was tresh- am's suggestion alone that saved our lives and enabled us to fetch succour to sir louis. sir john, who is an old and tried soldier, said that for quickness and merit of conception, the oldest knight in the order could not have done better; and he is not one to praise unduly. i am four years older than ger- vaise tresham, but i tell you that were he named to-morrow commander of a galley, i would willingly serve under him." "well, well, you need not be angry, harcourt, i have nothing to say against tresham. no doubt he had a happy thought, which turned out well; but i cannot see that there was anything wonderful in it, and it seemed to me unfair that one who is a mere boy should receive higher praise than your- self, who, as i heard sir john and sir adam tedbond say last night at the refectory, bore yourself right gallantly." "i did my best," ralph said shortly; "but there was small credit in that when we were fighting for our lives. the most cowardly beast will fight under such circumstances. when you see a moslem rushing at you, scimitar in hand, and know that if you do not cut him down he will cut you down, you naturally strike as hard and as quickly as you can. you have never liked gervaise, rivers. i am sure i don't know why, but you always speak in a contemptuous sort of tone about him. true, it does him no harm, but it certainly does you no good. for what reason should you feel a contempt for him? although so much younger, he is a better swords- man and a better rider than you are. he is liked by every one in the auberge, which is more than can be said of your- a knight of the white cross self; he is always good-tempered, and is quiet and unassuming. what on earth do you always set yourself against him for?" "i do not know that i do set myself against him," rivers said sullenly. "i own to having no great liking for him, which is natural enough, seeing that his father was a lancastrian, while we are yorkists; but it is not pleasant to see so much made of a boy, merely because d'aubusson has favoured him." "iam certain," harcourt said hotly, "that such an idea has never occurred to any one but yourself. sir peter is a great man and will soon be our grand master, but at present he is but grand prior of the langue of auvergne, and whether he favours tresham or not is a matter that concerns none of us. gervaise is liked by us for his own good qualities. he bears himself, as a young knight should do, respectfully towards his seniors, and is ever ready to do a service to any one. no one has ever seen him out of temper; he is always kind and . considerate to the servants, and when in command of parties of slaves at the public works never says a harsh word to them, but treats them as if they were human beings, and not brute beasts. besides, though he is more skilful than any of us with his sword, or indeed at any of the military exercises, he is un- assuming, and has no particle of pride or arrogance. it is for all these things that he is liked, and the friendship of d'au- busson has naught whatever to do with it. it is not only d'aubusson who has prophesied that he will rise to a dis- tinguished rank in the order. boswell and ricord both said the same, and i for one thoroughly believe it. is there one among us under the age of twenty—and i might go farther— who has already won such credit for himself? one who when but sixteen can make his mark in an order like ours is certain to rise to high office, and you and i may, before many years are over, be proud to serve under him." "that i will never do," rivers said fiercely. "i would rather go and bury myself for life in the smallest commandery in england." knighted "that may be," harcourt retorted, his temper also roused. "but possibly you might prefer that to fighting under any other leader.'' "that is a reflection on my courage, sir ralph harcourt, i shall lay this matter before the bailiff." "you can do as you like," harcourt said disdainfully. "but i don't think you will benefit by your pains." when his temper cooled down rivers acknowledged to him- self the truth of what harcourt said. he was not in the fa- vour of the bailiff, while both harcourt and tresham stood at the present moment high in his estimation. any complaint would lead to an inquiry into the matter that had led to the former's words, and even if harcourt were reprimanded for using them, he himself would assuredly not gain in the esti- mation of the knights. harcourt himself thought no more of the matter, though he laughingly told gervaise that rivers was by no means gratified at their both attaining the honour of sec- ular knighthood, which virtually placed them over his head. "he is not a nice fellow," gervaise said. "but naturally it must be galling to him, and to a good many others who have not yet had the chance of distinguishing themselves. i think it is very good of them that they are all so kind and cor- dial. of course it is otherwise with you, who are as old as most of the other professed knights serving here; but with me it is quite different, and as rivers, somehow, has never been very friendly with me, of course it is doubly galling to him. i hope he will soon get an opportunity of winning his spurs too." "that is just like you, tresham. if i were in your place, i should have no good wishes for a fellow who has never lost an opportunity of annoying me, and that without the smallest cause of offence on my part.'' "i am sure you would not wish him ill, harcourt. you would make allowance for him just as i do, and feel that if he had had the same opportunities he would have obtained the same credit and honours.'' a knight of the white cross chapter vii a first command he first news that the knights heard on their return from seriously ill, and that, at his advanced age, the doctors feared there was little hope of his rallying. gervaise felt a keen re- gret on hearing that the kind and gentle old man, who had been for three years his master, was at the point of death. nevertheless, it was generally felt among the knights that, in view of the dangers that threatened rhodes, it was for the good of the order that a strong and capable man, whom all re- spected, and who possessed their entire confidence, should at such a time be invested with absolute power. d'aubusson had, indeed, for some years been the real head of the community, but every question had, if only as a matter of form, to be referred to the grand master, in order to obtain his approval and signature. in the state of feebleness to which he had for some months past fallen, much time was fre- quently lost before he could be made to understand the ques- tions referred to him. moreover, orders of d'aubusson could be appealed against, his views thwarted, and his authority questioned; and it was therefore felt that, much as they all respected the old grand master, it would be an advantage to the order when the supreme authority passed into the hands of d'aubusson. four days after the return of the expedition orsini died. a few hours later the grand council was convened, and d'aubusson unanimously elected grand master of the order. the ceremony of the funeral of his predecessor was an impos- ing one. every knight of the order in rhodes was present, together with a number of the leading natives of the island; master orsini was a first command and although gervaise had, since his arrival on the island, seen many stately ceremonies, this far surpassed anything he had previously beheld. gervaise had, at one of his first interviews with d'aubusson after his arrival at the island, been advised by him to acquire some knowledge of turkish. "there are but few knights of the order who speak the lan- guage," he said. "as a rule, while young men are ready to devote any amount of time to acquiring dexterity in all mar- tial exercises, they will bestow no labour in obtaining knowl- edge that may be fully as useful to them as skill in arms. in our dealings with the turks, one or other party has to employ an interpreter, and it is often by no means certain that these men convey the full meaning of the speeches they translate. again, we have large numbers of turkish slaves, and it is highly to be desired that the knights should be able to give their orders to these men in their own language. lastly, a knight who has been taken prisoner by the turks—and even the bravest might meet with such a misfortune—would find it an alleviation of his lot, and might be able to plan and carry out his escape, did he speak turkish well. i should strongly counsel you to acquire a knowledge of the tongue." gervaise had intended to follow the advice of the grand prior, but the duties of his office as page, and the time required for his military exercises and his studies with the chaplain, had rendered it well-nigh impossible, during the first three years, to turn his attention to learning turkish. as soon as his pageship was at an end, and he found that his duties in- cluded supervision of turkish slaves, he felt the want of a knowledge of the language, and from that time devoted an hour a day to its study, employing one of the servants of the auberge, who was a man of rank and education at home, to instruct him. while he conscientiously spent this amount of time at the work, it was the most disagreeable portion of this day's a knight of the white cross labour. the events, however, that had taken place during the expedition had impressed him greatly with the utility of a knowledge of turkish, for had it not been for sir john bos- well's possessing some acquaintance with the language, it would have been impossible to communicate with the rowers of their boat, or to have arranged the plan by which they had escaped the pirates. he had then and there determined that as soon as he returned to rhodes he would take the matter up in a very different spirit to that in which he before approached it. he had on the way home spoken to sir john, who had highly approved of the determination. "i myself, when i was a young knight of eighteen, was taken captive, twenty-six years ago, at the time when the egyptian fleet appeared before rhodes. our galleys advanced to attack them, but under cover of night they retired, and proceeding to the mainland took shelter under the guns of a turkish fort. we attacked them there; it was a desperate en- gagement, but without any decisive advantage on either side. we lost no less than sixty knights, the egyptians seven hundred men; and their fleet returned to egypt. i and three others who were left wounded on the deck of one of their ships we had boarded, but failed to capture, were carried to egypt, and remained there captive for six months, when we were ran- somed by the order. "during that time i learnt enough of their language, which is akin to turkish, to be able to make myself understood and to understand what was said to me. i have kept up that much for intercourse with the slaves and servants at rhodes, and have found it very useful. i consider, then, that you will do well to acquire their tongue; it will be useful not only to yourself, but to others, and when we get back i will, if you like, ask the bailiff to free you from all duty in order that you may devote yourself to it." the head of the langue at once granted sir john's request. "i would," he said, "that more of our young knights a first command would give a portion of their time to study; but most of them look to returning home when their term of service here has expired. many think only of amusement, and all imagine that advancement is best achieved by valour. tresham has already distinguished himself very greatly; so much so, that i think it would be well if he did not go on another expedition for a time, but stayed here while others have the opportunity of doing the same. were we to send him out with the next galleys that start, i should be accused of favouritism, and the lad, who is now deservedly popular with all, would be regarded with envy, and possibly even with dislike. "at the same time, after what he has done i should have difficulty in refusing, were he to volunteer to sail in the next galley that sets out. the desire, then, on his part to learn turkish is in all ways opportune. it will, too, in the long run be of great advantage to him in the order, will give him weight, and bring him into prominence. i do not think there are six in the order who can fairly translate a turkish document; there are but two who could write a reply in the same language. inform him, then, that from the present time he will be excused from all work, except, of course, to join in ceremonials when all are required to be present; and if you, sir john, will pick out from among the servitors here one who is well instructed and educated, and capable of writ- ing as well as reading his language, i will similarly relieve him of all other work, and place him at the disposal of young tresham. tell the lad that i hope he will persevere until he obtains a complete knowledge of the tongue. you can men- tion to him what i have said as to my opinion of the advan- tage the knowledge of it will be to him in the order." gervaise accordingly devoted himself to study. his in- structor was a turk of fine presence. he had been a large landowner in syria, and held a high official position in the province, but had been captured in a galley on his way to constantinople, whither he was proceeding on an official mis- a knight of the white cross sion. he was delighted with his new post. gervaise, both as the youngest member of the community, and from the kind manner in which he always spoke to the servants,—all of whom had acquired some knowledge of english,—was a general favourite among them, and the turk was glad that he was to be thrown with him. still more he rejoiced at being appointed his instructor, as it relieved him from all menial work which, although preferable to that to which the bulk of the slaves were condemned, yet galled his spirit infinitely. now that he had entered upon the work with the approba- tion of his superior, and a conviction of its great utility, ger- vaise set to work with the same zeal and ardour which he had exhibited in his military exercises. during the heat of the day he sat in the shade reading and writing with his instructor. in the cool of the morning and afternoon he walked with him on the walls, or in the country beyond them. after sunset he sat with him in an unfrequented corner of the roof, all the time conversing with him, either of his own country, or that of his instructor. at first this was difficult, and he had to eke out the turkish words he had acquired with english; but it was not long before there was no necessity for this. his intercourse for ten or twelve hours a day with this turk, and the pains taken by his instructor, caused him to acquire the language with ex- treme rapidity. of course, he had to put up with a great deal of banter from the younger knights upon his passion for study. sometimes they pretended that his mania, as they considered it, arose from the fact that he was determined to become a renegade, and was fitting himself for a high position in the turkish army. at other times they insisted that his intention was to become a turkish dervish, or to win a great turkish heiress and settle in syria. but as he always bore their banter good-temperedly, and was ready occasionally to join them in the sport when assaults-at-arms were carried on, they soon be- came tired of making fun of him. a first command us after nine months' constant work, the young knight's studies were abruptly stopped by the receipt if a letter from the pasha of syria, offering a considerable sum for the ransom of his in- structor. the request was at once acceded to, as it was the policy of the knights to accept ransoms for their prisoners, both because the sums so gained were useful, and because they were themselves'compelled sometimes to pay ransom for members of the order. suleiman ali was, it was arranged, to be put on board an egyptian craft bound for acre, a safe-conduct having been sent for the vessel and her crew, and for a knight, who was to receive the ransom from the pasha. "at any rate, sir gervaise," the turk said, when the young knight expressed great regret at his leaving them, " our position as instructor and pupil would have come to an end shortly. for the last three months there has been but little teaching between us; we have talked, and that has been all, save that for a short time each day you read and wrote. but there has been little to teach. you speak the native language now as fluently as i do, and would pass anywhere as a syrian, espe- cially as there are slight differences of speech in the various provinces. i believe that in syria you would not be sus- pected of being anything but a native, and assuredly you would be taken for a syrian elsewhere. you have learnt enough, and it would be but a waste of time for you, a knight and a soldier, to spend another day in study." on the following day gervaise was, to his surprise, sent for by the grand master. except on the occasion of a few public ceremonies, he had not seen d'aubusson since he had been elected to his present high dignity, and the summons to attend at the palace therefore came unexpectedly. "we have become quite strangers, tresham," the grand master said cordially when he entered. "i have not forgotten you, and have several times questioned your bailiff concerning you. he tells me that you have become quite an anchorite, and that, save at your meals and for an occasional bout-at- a knight of the white ckoss arms, you are seldom to be seen. i was glad to hear of your devotion to study, and thought it better to leave you undis- turbed at it. yesterday evening i sent for your instructor. he is a man of influence in syria, and i wished to learn how he was affected towards us, now that he is about to return there. we talked for some time, and i then asked him what progress you had made, and was surprised and pleased to find that in his opinion you could pass anywhere as a native, and that you were perfectly capable of drawing up and writing any document i might desire to send to the sultan or any of his generals. this is far more than i had expected, and shows how earnestly you must have worked. your knowledge may prove of much assistance to the order, and believe me, the time you have spent in acquiring it may prove of much greater advantage to you in your career than if you had occupied it in performing even the most valiant deeds, and that at some future time it will ensure your appointment to a responsible office here. it was partly to assure you of my approbation that i sent for you, partly to inform you that i have appointed you to proceed with suleiman ali as the knight in charge of the vessel, and to receive the ransom agreed on, upon your handing him over. the office is an honourable one and one of trust, and it is the first-fruits of the advantages you will gain by your knowledge of turkish. no, do not thank me. i am selecting you because you are better fitted than any knight i can spare for the mission, and also, i may say, be- cause the choice will be pleasing to suleiman ali, whose good- will i am desirous of gaining. before now turkish provinces have thrown off their allegiance to the sultan. they have, i must admit, been usually re-conquered, but such might not be always the case; and if such an event happened in syria, this man's influence and goodwill might be of great advantage to us, as it might well suit us to ally ourselves with syria against constantinople. i am glad to say that i found him at least as well disposed as any man could be who had been some a first command years in slavery. he admitted that, for a slave, he had been kindly and gently treated, and added that any unpleasant memories he might have retained had been obliterated by the nine months of pleasant companionship spent with you." when gervaise returned to dinner at the auberge, and in- formed ralph harcourt and the other young knights that he had been appointed to take charge of the vessel in which su- leiman ali was to be conveyed to acre, the statement was at first received with incredulity. it seemed incredible that the youngest knight in the langue should be chosen for such a mis- sion, involving as it did a separate command. even the older knights, when the news was passed down the table, were sur- prised. "i must say that i am astonished at the grand master's choice. sir gervaise tresham doubtless distinguished himself greatly some months since, but from that time he has not been out with the galleys, or, indeed, done anything that would seem to recommend him for so marked a favour as a separate command." "i don't know, wingate," sir john boswell said. "it seems to me that when a young knight of seventeen eschews all pleasure, refrains from volunteering for service at sea, and spends his whole time in study, he does distinguish himself, and that very greatly. of the three or four hundred young knights here i doubt if one other would have so acted. certainly, none to my knowledge have done so. yet i do not suppose that d'aubusson selected him for this duty as a reward for so much self-denial and study, but because by that self-denial and study he is more fitted for it than any of us here, save some three or four knights in the other laugurs, all of whom are in too high a position to be employed in so unimportant a duty. he can speak turkish—not a few score of words and sentences such as i can, but, as suleiman ali tells me, like a native. were one of us chosen for this mission, it would be necessary to send an interpreter with him; and every one a knight of the white cross knows how hard it is to do business in that manner. it seems to me that the grand master has acted wisely in putting aside all question of seniority, and employing the knight who is bet- ter suited than any other for it." "you are right, boswell," the bailiff said. "i really have been astonished at the manner in which tresham has given himself up to study. it would have been a natural thing had he, after gaining so much credit, been anxious and eager to gain more. when you spoke to me about his determination to learn turkish, i thought he would speedily tire of it, and that when the next galley sailed, his name would be among the list of volunteers for the service. i am sure, comrades, that there are few, if any, among us who would not infinitely prefer fighting the moslems to spending our whole time in learning their language; and i for one consider the fact that he has for nine months laboured so incessantly and assiduously that he has come, as boswell says, to speak it like a native, is even more to his credit than the deed for which he was knighted." this conversation took place at the upper end of the table, and was not heard at the lower end where the younger knights were seated. "i am not chosen from favour," gervaise said hotly, to one of his companions who had asserted that this was so. "i am simply chosen because i can speak turkish." '' how much turkish can you speak ?'' one of them laughed. gervaise turned to the turkish servant behind them, and said, in his language,— "hassan, sir giles trevor wishes to know how well i speak turkish. you have heard me talking with suleiman ali. will you give him your opinion about it?" the man turned gravely to sir giles trevor. "my lord," he said, in english, " sir gervaise tresham, he speaks turkish same as i do. if he dress up in turk clothes t suppose him turk, not know he christian by his speech." exclamations of surprise broke from the young knights. a first command "well, you have earned the appointment, tresham," ralph harcourt said heartily. "you always told me when i asked you that you were getting on, but i had not the least idea that you were getting on like this. and can you read and write i the turkish language?" • "well enough for practical purposes, ralph. at any rate, i wrote a complimentary letter this morning from the grand master to the governor of syria, and the bailiff of spain, who was, as you know, for ten years a prisoner among the turks, read it through at d'aubusson's request, to see that there was no error in it, and was good enough to pass it without altera- tion." "i would give a good deal," sir giles trevor said, "if i could follow your example, and shut myself up for nine months with an infidel to study his language; but i could not do it if my life depended on it. i should throw myself off the wall at the end of the first fortnight." "i don't pretend that i can do what tresham has done," ralph harcourt said. "i always hated our lessons with the chaplain, who gave me the character of having the thickest head of any of his pupils; but i vow"—and he kissed the han- dle of his dagger—" i will spend half an hour a day in trying to learn something of turkish. of course, i know that such time will not be enough to learn a great deal; but if one could get up just enough to be able to give orders to the slaves, to question the captain of a vessel one has captured, and to make them understand a little, if by bad luck one fell into their hands, it would be quite enough for me. i am sure sometimes one is quite at a loss how to pass the hours when the sun is at its hottest, and if cne tried one ought to be able to pick up a little without much trouble. look at the servants; there is not one of them but speaks a little english. and if an infidel . can learn enough english to get on with, without any regular study, i can't see why we shouldn't be able to learn enough turkish in the same way." a knight of the white cross guard of the governor of syria will be of no use whatever to you. in this consists the danger of your mission. i cannot send one of our war-galleys on such an errand, and if there are not enough knights on board to beat off any pirate, the fewer there are the better. i hear that the craft is a fast sailer, and as the crew will be as anxious to avoid pirates as you, they will do their best to escape. i leave it to you to take any route. you can either sail hence direct for acre, or you can coast along the shores of anatolia and syria, lying up at night in bays. "should you be overtaken i do not think it would be ofany use for you to disguise yourself, for some of the crew would be sure to denounce you. should the worst happen, and you are captured by pirates, you will of course in the first place show them your safe-conduct, and if i find that you do not return i shall send at once to the governor of syria, com- plaining of your capture when furnished with his safeguard, and requesting him to order a search for you to be made at every port on the coast, with instructions that you are to be at once released, and either sent to him for return hither, or placed on board a craft bound for any christian port; while you, on your part, will endeavour to acquaint the turkish au- thorities with the fact that you have been seized while travel- ling with a safe-conduct from the governor of syria. "but, more than from any efforts on your part or mine, i rely upon suleiman ali, who will, i am sure, as soon as he is set on shore, lose no time in acquainting the pasha of your capture, and in calling upon him to interfere in your favour. in that case, the worst that could befall you would be a tem- porary detention, unless, indeed, the pirates should take you to egypt. as that country is friendly with us at present, since egypt dreads the ever-increasing power of the turks, it will be but a question of ransom, for i have secret agents there who will inform me without delay of the arrival of a christian captive. a first command "i understand, sir, and will do my best in the matter. if i am captured i trust that an opportunity of escape will soon present itself, for i should, if taken, conceal from my captors the fact that i understand their language, and should thus, if i could evade my guard, have every chance of escaping, as in a native dress i could meet and converse with those hunting for me, without their having a suspicion of my being the white slave for whom they were in search." "once at acre you will be safe. but do not land unless it is absolutely necessary, for you might fall a victim to the fanaticism of its inhabitants, and no knight has ever set foot on shore there since the ill-fated day when the moslems wrested it from us, bathed the ruined walls with the best blood of our order and the templars', and destroyed the last hope of our ever recovering the holy sepulchre." the next morning at daybreak gervaise and suleiman ali went on board the egyptian trader, and sailed for acre. the current of opinion had changed at the auberge when the knights came to think over the mission on which gervaise was about to start, and the slight feeling of jealousy with which the younger knights had received the news was entirely dissi- pated. while it did not seem to them that there was any chance of his distinguishing himself, they perceived, as they thought it over, the considerable danger there was of capture by pirates, and ralph and some of his companions came down to the mole to see him off, with feelings in which envy bore no part whatever. "i see now, gervaise, that it is truly no holiday excursion on which you are starting. i should envy you greatly were you going in command of an armed galley, prepared to beat off any craft that might try to overhaul you; but, going alone as you are, it is a very different thing. should pirates meet you, you could offer no resistance, and your position would be a perilous one indeed. however, i think you are born to good luck, and am confident that your patron saint will look a knight of the white cross after you, and therefore expect to see you back here in a fortnight's time at the outside." "i hope so with all my heart, ralph. it will be no fault of mine if i tarry." "will you keep the open sea, or skirt the land, tresham?" one of the others asked. "i shall keep the open sea. the grand master left me to choose my course; but i think there is more danger by the coast—where pirates may be hiding in unfrequented bays, in readiness to pounce upon a passing craft—than in the open sea, where we should have at least the advantage that we could not be taken by surprise, and might make a race of it. but the sun will be up in a few minutes, and my orders were to set out at sunrise, so i must say good-bye at once." as soon as the vessel was under way, gervaise took a seat on the poop by the side of suleiman ali, and related to him the conversation he had had with the grand master. "the risk that you will run has not escaped me," the turk said, " and indeed, i now regret that you were chosen as my escort. i almost wish that my son had not purchased my free- dom at the present time, since it involves the risk of you los- ing yours. there is no doubt that the sea swarms with pirates; the sultan is too busy with his own struggles for empire to bestow any attention upon so small a matter. the pashas and the officers of the ports have not the power, even had they the will, to put down piracy in their districts, and indeed are, as often as not, participators in the spoils. your order, which, years back, scoured the seas so hotly that piracy well-nigh ceased, have now for forty years been obliged to turn their attention chiefly to their own defence. they possess a com- paratively small fleet of galleys, and their wealth is expended on their fortress. "what with egypt and the sultan their hands are too full for them to act as the police of the sea, and the consequence is that from every port, bay, and inlet, pirate craft set out—some a first command mere row-boats, some, like those under the command of has- san ali, veritable fleets. thus the humblest toasters and the largest merchant craft go alike in fear of them, and i would that the sultan and egypt and your order would for two or three years put aside their differences, and confine their efforts to sweeping the seas of these pests, to storming their strong- holds, and to inflicting such punishment upon them as that, for a very long time to come, peaceful merchants might carry on their trade without fear. "i heard you tell the captain that he was to steer straight for acre, and i think you are right in avoiding the coast, where the most harmless-looking fishing boat may carry a crowd of pirates hidden in her hold. at the same time, if you will take my advice you will head much more to the south, so as to be out of the regular track of ships making from con- stantinople or the islands to acre. you may meet pirates anywhere, but they are assuredly thicker along the more fre- quented routes. the safest plan of all would probably be to bear south, and strike the egyptian coast well to the east of the mouth of the nile. thence, till you get to palestine, the country is utterly barren and uninhabited, while, running up the coast to palestine, there are, save at jaffa, no ports to speak of until you arrive at acre; and besides, the inhabi- tants there, even if pirates, would not venture to disregard the pasha's safe-conduct. i do not by any means say that such a course would be absolutely safe. you may meet with vessels on your way south, and doubtless some of them cruise off the barren coast i speak of, to intercept traders to and from egypt and acre, and other syrian ports; for the trade carried on is considerable, and, although of the same religion, the turks are disposed to view the egyptians as enemies rather than as friends, and would have even less hesitation in plundering them than in robbing their own countrymen." "i think that your suggestion is a good one, and will fol- low it, at any rate. the course is a good deal longer, but g a knight of the white cross that is comparatively of little moment. the great thing is to carry you safely to acre." "and to get back with equal safety," suleiman said, with a smile. "that is quite as important in my eyes; in fact, of the two, i would far rather that we were captured on our voyage thither, for in that case i might be able to arrange for the ransom of both of us. '' chapter viii an evening at rhodes suleiman ali's advice was carried out. it added con- siderably to the length of the voyage; but they saw only one doubtful craft. she was lying close inshore under the shadow of the sand-hills, and they did not see her until she hoisted her sails and shot out from the land. they were, however, three miles distant from the land at the time, and the wind was blowing from the north; consequently the pirate was dead to leeward. every sail was set at once on board the trader, and, being a fast sailer, she maintained her position until nightfall. the wind then dropped, and just as the light faded they could see that the vessel behind them had put out her sweeps. the trader kept up her sails until certain that she could be no longer seen; then the canvas was lowered, and the crew took to the boats and towed her due north. the night was fortunately a dark one, and those watching anxiously from the deck of the trader were unable to discern her pursuer as she passed behind them. as soon as they were well assured that she must have gone on, the boats were got in, the sails hoisted again, and, taking advantage of every light flaw of wind, they proceeded on their course. in the morning the sails of the galley could be seen on the horizon, an evening at rhodes but the distance was too great for her to take up the pursuit again with any chance of success, and the trader continued her course to acre without seeing more of her. as soon as the trader entered the port, the egyptian captain went onshore, taking with him a copy of the safe-conduct and the letter from the grand master to the pasha. going to the residence of the governor, he handed these to him, saying that he had on board aga suleiman ali, and a knight who was charged to deliver him up on payment of the ransom. "i have been expecting you," the governor said. "i have received a letter from the pasha, stating that he had writ- ten to the grand master respecting the ransom of the aga, and sending me the amount which suleiman's son had offered. the young man was not of age when his father was captured, but he is so now, and was therefore able to raise the sum re- quired. i will go down to the port with you myself, hand over the ransom, and welcome suleiman, whom i knew well, back from his captivity." , the transfer was speedily made; a heavy purse was handed . to gervaise, and suleiman was a free man. "send me word, if you can, when you return to rhodes," the latter said, as he bade farewell to the young knight. "i shall be anxious until i hear. fortune was with us as we sailed hither, but it may desert you on your return. should aught befall you, tell your captors that if they bring you to me i will pay any ransom that they could, in fairness, require. should they refuse to do this, send, if possible, a messenger to me, and on receipt of your message, i will send a trusty man to purchase your freedom. you have treated me as a friend and an equal, and a friend i shall always remain." the vessel was to remain four days in port, to discharge her cargo and take in another, and suleiman had talked of remain- ing at acre until she sailed, but gervaise protested strongly against this. "you have your family, from whom you have been so long an evening at rhodes "i am glad that your first command has turned out so well. i will see that you do not lack employment; and the fact that you are able to act as interpreter will ensure you a welcome on any galley. at present, however, it is not my intention to send out many cruisers. every life now is precious, and no amount of spoil that can be brought in will counter-balance the loss of those who fall. however, i may find some mission on which you can be employed. i know that you love an active life; and as, for nine months, you have put a rein on your in- clinations, and have devoted yourself wholly to study, so that you might be of greater use to the order, you have a good right to any employment in which your knowledge can be utilised." on his arrival at the auberge, gervaise was very heartily greeted by the younger knights. "i told you you were born lucky, gervaise," ralph har- court said. "there has been more than one wager made that you would be captured; but i, for my part, was confident that your good fortune would not desert you. still, though not surprised, we are delighted to see you again. now tell us about your voyage.'' gervaise gave a brief account of the adventure with the pi- rate, and then described the visit of the governor to the ship. "did he say anything to you?" "he was courteous and solemn; just the sort of man you would fancy a turkish governor should be. he looked a little surprised when i accosted him in turkish, but asked no ques- tions at the time, though i daresay he inquired afterwards of suleiman how i came to speak the language. the only time he actually said anything was when he requested that i would not wear the mantle of the order while in port, as sailors were a turbulent race, and it might lead to an attack upon me; and as he was responsible to the pasha that his safe-conduct should be respected, it would be necessary, if i declined to follow his advice, to keep a strong body of soldiers on board. as this would have been a horrible nuisance, especially as i wanted to a knight of the white cross enjoy in quiet the view of the city, with its castle and walls, i acceded at once to his request, which seemed to me a reason- able one. he did send two soldiers on board, but they re- mained down in the waist, and did not interfere with my pleasure in any way." "next to jerusalem, how i should like to see acre!" ralph harcourt exclaimed. "it is, of all other cities, the most closely connected with our order. we helped to win it, and we were the last to defend it. we have heard so much about the fortress, and it has been so often described to me, that i know the situation of every bastion—at least, as it was when we left it, though i know not what changes the turks may since have made." "that i know not, ralph. of course, i only saw the sea- front, and it was upon the land side that the attack was made. we know that the breaches were all repaired long ago, and it is said that the place is stronger than ever. from the port all was solid and massive. it is indeed a grand and stately for- tress. here we have done all that was possible to make rhodes impregnable, but nature did nothing for us; there nature has done everything, and the castle looks as if it could defy the assaults of an army, however large. and indeed, it was not wrested from us by force. the knights, when the city walls were stormed and the town filled with their foes fought their way down to the water's edge and embarked there, tor they were reduced to a mere handful; and however strong a castle may be, it needs hands to defend it. still, it well-nigh moved me to tears to see the turkish banner waving over it, and to think how many tens of thousands of christian soldiers had died in the effort to retain the holy places, and had died in vain." "i wonder whether the turks will ever be forced to relin- quish their hold of the holy places?" "who can tell, sir giles? " the bailiff, who had come up to the group unobserved, said quietly. "certainly not in our time—not until the moslem power, which threatens not only an evening at rhodes us, but all europe, has crumbled to dust. so long as acre remains in their power there is no hope. i say not but that by a mighty effort of all christendom, palestine might be wrested from the infidels, as it was wrested before; but the past shows us that while men or nations can be stirred to en- thusiasm for a time, the fire does not last long, and once again the faithful few would be overwhelmed by the odds that would be brought against them, while europe looked on impassive, if not indifferent. no, knights; the utmost that can be hoped for, is that the tide of moslem invasion westward may be stayed. at present we are the bulwark, and as long as the standard of our order waves over rhodes so long is europe safe by sea. but i foresee that this cannot last: the strongest defences, the stoutest hearts, and the bravest of hearts, cannot in the long run prevail against overpowering numbers. as at acre, we may repel assault after assault, we may cause army after army to betake themselves again to their ships; but, as a rock is overwhelmed by the rising tide, so must rhodes succumb at last, if left by europe to bear alone the brunt of mos- lem invasion. all that men can do we shall do. as long as it is possible to resist, we shall resist. when further resistance be- comes impossible, we shall, i trust, act as we did before. "we were driven from palestine, only to fortify ourselves at rhodes. if we are driven from rhodes, we shall, i feel assured, find a home elsewhere, and again commence our labours. the nearer we are to europe the more hope there is that christendom will aid us, for they will more generally understand that our defeat would mean the laying open of the shores of the medi- terranean, from turkey to gibraltar, to the invasion of the moslems. however, comrades, this is all in the future. our share is but in the present, and i trust the flag of the order will float over rhodes as long, at least, as the lifetime of the youngest of us, and that we may bequeath the duty of up- holding the cross untarnished to those who come after us; and we can then leave the issue in god's hands." i:s a knight <,!•' the white cross all listened respectfully to the words of their leader, although his opinion fell like cold water upon the fiery zeal and high hopes of his hearers. the possibility of their losing rhodes had never once entered into the minds of the majority of them. it was likely that ere long they might be called upon to stand a siege, but, acquainted as they were with the strength of the place—its deep and seemingly impassable moat, its massive walls, and protecting towers and bastions—it had seemed to them that rhodes was capable of withstanding all assaults, how- ever numerous the foe, however oft-repeated the invasion. the bailiff was, as all knew, a man of dauntless courage, of wide experience and great judgment, and that he should believe that rhodes would, although not in their time, inevitably fall, brought home to them for the first time the fact that their for- tress was but an outpost of europe, and one placed so distant from it that christendom, in the hour of peril, might be unable to furnish them with aid. as the bailiff walked away, there was silence for a short time, and then sir giles trevor said cheerfully,— "well, if it lasts our time we need not trouble our heads as to what will take place afterwards. as the bailiff says, our duty is with the present, and as we all mean to drive the turks back when they come, i do not see that there is any occasion for us to take it to heart, even if it be fated that the moslems shall one day walk over our tombs. if christendom chooses to be supine, let christendom suffer, say i. at any rate, i am not going to weep for what may take place after i am turned into dust." "that sounds all very well, sir giles," ralph harcourt said, "and i have no argument to advance against it, though i am sure there is much to be said; but if the bailiff, or the chap- lain, or indeed'any of the elders, had heard you say so, i have no doubt you would have had a fitting reply." sir giles tossed his head mockingly. "i shall fight neither better nor worse, friend harcourt, because it may be that some an evening at rhodes day the moslems are, as the bailiff seems to think, destined to lord it here. i have only promised and vowed to do my best against the moslems, and that vow only holds good as long as i am in the flesh; beyond that i have no concern. but what are we staying here for, wasting our time? it is the hour for those of us who are going, to be starting for the ball given by signor succhi; as he is one of the richest merchants in the town, it will be a gay one, and there is no lack of fair faces in rhodes. it is a grievous pity that our elders all set their will against even the younger members of the community joining in a dance. it was not one of the things i swore to give up. however, here in rhodes there is no flying in the face of rules." three or four of the other young knights were also going. "what are you thinking of doing, gervaise?" harcourt asked. "i have nothing particular to do, ralph, except that, first of all, i must write a letter to suleiman ali and hand it to the bailiff, praying him to send it off by the first vessel that may put in here on her way to acre. if i do not do it now it may be neglected, and i promised to write directly i got here. i will not be half an hour, and after that i shall be ready to do anything you like." in less than that time, indeed, he rejoined ralph. "now what shall we do with ourselves? what do you say to a stroll through the streets? i am never tired of that.'' "i like better to go by way of the roofs, gervaise. the streets are badly lit, and although they are busy enough in some quarters, they are so narrow that one gets jostled and pushed. on the terraces everything is quiet. you have plenty of light and music, and it is pleasant to see families sitting together and enjoying themselves; and if one is disposed for a cup of wine or of cool sherbet, they are delighted to give it, for they all are pleased when one of us joins a group. i have quite a number of acquaintances i have made in this way while you have been working away at your turkish." a knight of the white cross "very well," gervaise said. "if such is your fancy, ralph, let us take one of the paths across the roofs. i might walk there twenty years by myself without making an ac- quaintance, and i do not pledge myself to join in these inti- macies of yours. however, i shall be quite content to amuse myself by looking on at the scene in general, while you are paying your visits and drinking your sherbet." "there are plenty of fair girls among the rhodians," ralph said, with a smile; "and though we are pledged to celibacy we are in no way bound to abstain from admiration." gervaise laughed. "admire as much as you like, ralph, but do not expect me to do so. i have scarcely as much as spoken to a woman since i entered the house in london, and i should have no idea what to say to a young girl." "but it is part of the education of a true knight to be courteous to women. it is one of the great duties of chivalry. and you must remember that we are secular knights, as well as knights of the order." "the work of the order is quite sufficient for me at pres- ent, ralph. in time i may come to like the society of women, to admire their beauty, and possibly even to wear the colour of some one, for that seems to be the fashion; though why we, who are bound to celibacy, should admire one woman more than another i cannot understand." they had by this time descended from the castle, and were taking their way along one of the broad paths that led over the flat roofs of the houses by means of the bridges thrown across the streets. "these are some acquaintances of mine," ralph said, stopping at one of the walls, some three feet high, that bor- dered the path. beyond was an enclosure of some fifty feet square. clumps of shrubs and flowers, surrounded by stonework some eight or ten inches high enclosing the earth in which they grew, were a girl was playing a lute, and another singing to her accompaniment. an evening at rhodes scattered here and there. lamps were hung to cords stretched above it, while others were arranged among the flowers. in the centre a large carpet was spread, and on this some eight or ten persons were seated on cushions. a girl was playing a lute, and another singing to her accompaniment. she stopped abruptly when her eye fell upon the figures of the two young knights. "there is sir ralph harcourt, father!" she exclaimed in italian, which was the language most used on the island, and was spoken with more or less fluency by all the knights, among whom it served as a general medium of communication. "are you waiting to be invited in, sir knight?" she went on saucily. "i thought that by this time you would know you were welcome.'' "your tongue runs too fast, child," her father said, as he rose and walked across to ralph. "you are welcome, sir ralph, very welcome. i pray you enter and join us." "i will do so with pleasure, signor vrados, if you will also extend your hospitality to my friend sir gervaise tresham." "mostgladly," the merchant said. "i pray him to enter." the two knights passed through the gate in the wall. all rose to their feet as they went up to the carpet, and greeted ralph with a warmth which showed that he was a favourite. he introduced gervaise to them. "i wonder that i do not know your face, sir knight," the merchant's wife said. "i thought i knew all the knights of the order by sight, from seeing them either at the public cere- monies, or observing them pass in the streets." "for the last nine months sir gervaise has been an ancho- rite. he has been learning turkish, and has so devoted him- self to the study that even i have scarce caught sight of him, save at meals. as for walking in the streets, it is the last thing he would think of doing. i consider myself a good and con- scientious young knight, but i am as nothing in that respect to my friend. i used to look upon him as my little brother, i'm a knight of the white cross for we were at the house of the order in london together. he is four years younger than i am, and you know four years between boys makes an immense difference. now the tables are turned, and i quite look up to him." "you will believe as much as you like, signora, of what sir ralph says," gervaise laughed. "as you have, he says, known him for some time, you must by this time have learnt that his word is not to be taken literally." "we learned that quite early in our acquaintance," the girl who had first noticed them said, with an affectation of grav- ity. "i always tell him that i cannot believe anything he says, and i am grateful to you, sir knight, for having thus borne evidence to the quickness of my perception." by this time the servants had brought some more cushions, and on these ralph and gervaise seated themselves. wine, sherbet, and cakes, were then handed round. the master of the house placed gervaise on his right hand, as a stranger. "you have been among our islands, sir gervaise? but indeed, i need not ask that, since i know that you and sir ralph were knighted together for your valour in that affair with the ships of hassan ali. we come from lesbos. it is now eighty years since my family settled in rhodes, and we have seen it grow from a small place to a great fortress." "'tis a wonderful place," gervaise said. "i know noth- ing of the fortresses of europe, but it seems to me that no other can well be stronger than this—that is, among places with no natural advantages." "the knights have always had an abundance of slaves," the merchant said; "so many that they have not only had sufficient for their work here, but have been able to sell num- bers to european potentates. yes, rhodes is wonderfully strong. that great fosse would seem as if it could defy the efforts of an army to cross; and yet the past has shown that even the strongest defences, held with the greatest bravery, can be carried by generals with immense armies, and careless how an evening at rhodes they sacrifice them so that they do but succeed. look at acre, for example." "i was looking at it five days ago," gervaise said, "and thinking that it was beyond the might of man to take." "do you mean that you were at acre?" the merchant asked, with surprise. "yes. i went there to hand over a captive who had been ransomed. of course i had a safe-conduct, and i was glad indeed of the opportunity of seeing so famous a fortress." "you were fortunate indeed, sir knight, and it was, if you will pardon my saying so, singular that so young a knight should have been chosen. assuredly, even the senior knights of the order would rejoice at the opportunity of beholding a fortress so intimately connected with the past history of the order." "it was due entirely to my being able to speak turkish," gervaise said. "as my friend sir ralph was mentioning, i have been studying hard, and can now speak the language flu- ently; and as this was a necessity on such a mission, and the few knights who can so speak it are all in high office, and could hardly be asked to undertake so unimportant a service, i was selected." "and you really speak turkish well? it is an accomplish- ment that few, save greeks subject to turkey, possess. do you intend, may i ask, to make rhodes your home? i ask because i suppose you would not have taken this labour had you intended shortly to return to england." "yes; i hope to remain here permanently. i know that the first step towards promotion here is generally a commandery at home, but i did not enter the order with any idea of gaining office or dignity. i desire simply to be a knight of the cross, and to spend my life in doing faithful service to the order." "a worthy ambition indeed, and one that, so far as my experience goes, very few knights entertain. i see yearly scores of young knights depart, no small proportion of whom never place foot on rhodes again, although doubtless many of an evening at rhodes after they had left, with the promise that it would not be long before they repeated their visit, ralph bantered gervaiseon preferring the society of the merchant to that of his daughters. "i found him a pleasant and very well-informed man, ralph, and enjoyed my talk with him just as you enjoyed talking nonsense to his daughters and listening to their songs. who was the man sitting next to the eldest daughter?" "he doesn't belong to rhodes, but is a greek from one of the islands, though i did not catch from which. i don't know whether he is a relative of the family, or a business connection of the merchant's, or a stranger who has brought a letter of introduction to him. nothing was said on that head; why do you ask?" "i don't like the man's face; he is a handsome fellow, but has a crafty expression. he did not say much, but it seemed to me that at times, when he appeared to be sitting carelessly sipping his sherbet, he was really trying to listen to what vrados was saying to me. he could not do so, for we were on the other side of the circle, and were speaking in somewhat low tones, while the rest of you were chatting and laughing." '• what should he want to listen for, most sapient knight?" "that i can't tell, ralph; but i am certain that he was trying to listen." "well, as you were no doubt both talking more sensibly than most of us," ralph laughed, "he certainly showed his discernment." "i daresay i am wrong," gervaise said quietly; "but you know we have our spies at constantinople, and probably the sultan has his spies here; and the idea occurred to me that perhaps this man might be one of them." "well, i am bound to say, gervaise," ralph said, a little irritably, " i have never heard so grave an accusation brought on such insufficient evidence—or rather, as far as i can see, without a shadow of evidence of any kind. we drop in upon a man who is one of our most respected merchants, whose a knight of the white cross family has been established here many years, whose interests must be the same as those of the order; and because a guest of his does not care to take any active part in my joking with the girls, and because you imagine that there is a cunning expression on his face, you must straightway take it into your head that he must be a spy." "excuse me, ralph, i simply said that the idea occurred to me that he might be a spy, which is a very different thing to my accusing him of being one. i am ready to admit that the chances are infinitely greater that he is an honest trader or a relation of the merchant, and that his presence here is perfectly legitimate and natural, than that he should be a spy. still, there is a chance, if it be but one out of a thousand, that he may be the latter. i don't think that i am at all of a suspicious nature, but i really should like to learn a little about this man. i do not mean that i am going to try to do so. it would be an unworthy action to pry into another's business, when it is no concern of one's own. still, i should like to know why he is here." ralph shrugged his shoulders. "this comes of living the life of a hermit, gervaise. other people meet and talk, and enjoy what society there is in the city, without troubling their heads for a moment as to where people come from or what their business is here, still less whether they are spies. such ideas do not so much as occur to them, and i must say that i think the sooner you fall into the ways of other people the better." "there is no harm done," gervaise said composedly. "i am not thinking of asking our bailiff to order him to be arrested on suspicion. i only remarked that i did not like the man's face, nor the way in which, while he pretended to be thinking of nothing, he was trying to overhear what we were saying, i am quite willing to admit that i have made a mistake, not in devoting myself to turkish, but in going to the merchant's with you this evening. i have had no experi- an evening at rhodes ence whatever of what you call society, and, so far from it giving me pleasure to talk to strangers, especially to women, it seems to me that such talk is annoying to me, at any rate at present. when i get to your age, possibly my ideas may change. i don't for a moment wish to judge you or others; you apparently enjoy it, and it is a distraction from our seri- ous work. i say simply that it is an amusement which i do not understand. you must remember that i entered the order in consequence of a solemn vow of my dead father, that i regard the profession we make as a very serious one, and that my present intention is to devote my life entirely to the order and to an active fulfilment of its vows." "that is all right, gervaise," ralph said good-ternperedly. "only i think it would be a pity if you were to turn out a fanatic. jerusalem and palestine are lost, and you admit that there is really very little chance of our ever regaining them. our duties, therefore, are changed, and we are now an army of knights, pledged to war against the infidels, in the same way as knights and nobles at home are ever ready to engage in a war with france. the vow of poverty is long since obsolete. many of our chief officials are men of great wealth, and indeed, a grand master, or the bailiff of a langue, is expected to spend, and does spend, a sum vastly exceeding his allowance from the order. the great body of knights are equally lax as to some of their other vows, and carry this to a length that, as you know, has caused grave scandal. but i see not that it is in any way incumbent on us to give up all the pleasures of life. we are a military order, and are all ready to fight in defence of rhodes, as in bygone days we were ready to fight in defence of the holy sepulchre. kings and great nobles have endowed us with a large number of estates, in order to maintain us as an army against islam; and as such we do our duty. but to affect asceticism is out of date and ridiculous." "i have certainly no wish to be an ascetic, ralph. i should a knight of the white cross have no objection to hold estates, if i had them to hold. but i think that at present, with the great danger hanging over us, it would be better if, in the first place, we were all to spend less time in idleness or amusement, and to devote all our energies to the cause. i mean not only by fighting when the time comes for fighting, but by endeavouring in every way to ward off danger.'' "when i see danger, i will do my best to ward it off, ger- vaise; but i cannot go about with my nose in the air, snuffing danger like a hunting dog in pursuit of game. at any rate, i will not bother you to accompany me on my visits in future." chapter ix with the galley-slaves (^ervaise, on consideration, was obliged to own to him- i self that ralph was right in saying that he had no ground whatever for suspicion against the greek he had met at signor vrados's; and he could see no means of following the matter up. it would not, he felt, be honourable to go again to the merchant's house, and to avail himself of his hospitality, while watching his guest. he determined to dismiss the matter from his mind, and had, indeed, altogether done so when, a week later, it suddenly recurred to his memory. a party of slaves, under the escort of overseers and in charge of a knight who had been with them at their work on the for- tifications, were passing along the street on their way back to barracks. it was already dusk, and as gervaise was going the same way as they were, he stood aside in a doorway to let them pass. he was on the point of stepping out to follow them, when he saw a man, who had been standing in the shadow of the wall, fall in with their ranks, and, as he walked, with the galley-slaves engage in an earnest conversation with one of the slaves. he kept beside him for a hundred yards or so, then passed some- thing into the slave's hand, and turned abruptly down a side opening. there were but few people about, and in the grow- ing darkness the action of the man passed unobserved by the overseers. gervaise, thinking the occurrence a strange one, turned down the same lane as the man. he slackened his pace until the latter was fifty yards ahead, so that he would not, had he looked round, have been able to perceive that it was a knight who was behind him. after passing through several streets, the man turned into a refresh- ment house. the door stood open, and as the place was brightly lit up, gervaise, pausing outside, was able to see what was going on inside. the man he had followed was on the point of seating himself at one of the tables, and as he did so gervaise recognised him as the greek he had met at the mer- chant's house. he at once walked on a short distance, and then paused to think. the vague suspicions he had before entertained as to the man now recurred with double force; he was certainly in communication with one or more of the slaves, and such com- munication, so secretly effected, could be for no good purpose. so far, however, there was nothing he could tax the man with. he would probably deny altogether that he had spoken to any of the slaves, and gervaise could not point out the one he had conversed with. at any rate, nothing could be done now, and he required time to think what steps he could take to fol- low up the matter. he resolved, however, to wait and follow the greek when he came out. after a few minutes he again re-passed the door, and saw that the man was engaged in ear- nest conversation with another. after considering for a time, gervaise thought that it would be best for him to follow this other man when he left, and ascertain who he was, rather than to keep a watch on the movements of the greek, who, as likely as not, would now return to the merchant's. a knight of the white cross he walked several times up and down the street, until at last he saw the two men issue out together. they stopped for a moment outside, and then, after exchanging a few words, separated, the greek going in the direction of the quarter in which lay the house of vrados, while the other walked towards gervaise. the latter passed him carelessly, but when the man had gone nearly to the end of the street, he turned and fol- lowed him. he could see at once that he was a lay brother of the order. this class consisted of men of an inferior social position to the knights; they filled many of the minor offices, but were not eligible for promotion. following for ten minutes, gervaise saw him approach one of the barracks, or prisons, occupied by the slaves. he knocked at the door, and, upon its being opened, at once entered. the matter had now assumed a much more serious aspect. this young greek, a stranger to rhodes, was in communica- tion not only with some of the slaves, but with a prison offi- cial, and the matter appeared so grave to gervaise that, after some deliberation, he thought it was too important for him to endeavour to follow out alone, and that it was necessary to lay it before the bailiff. accordingly, after the evening meal he went up to sir john kendall, and asked if he could confer with him alone on a matter over which he was somewhat troubled. the bailiff assented at once, and gervaise followed him to his private apartment. "now, what is this matter, sir gervaise?" he asked pleasantly. "nothing serious, i trust?" "i don't know, sir john. that is a matter for your con- sideration; but it seems to me of such importance that it ought to be brought to your knowledge." the face of the bailiff grew more grave, and, seating him- self in a chair, he motioned to gervaise to do the same. "now, let me hear what it is," he said. gervaise told his story simply. a slight smile passed across the bailiff's face as he mentioned that he had met the greek with the galley-slaves on the roof of the house of signor vrados, and had not liked the expression of his face. "vrados has some fair daughters, has he not?" he asked. "yes, sir; but i know little of them. that is the only visit that i ever paid there, or, indeed, to the house of any one in the town." sir john's face grew grave again as gervaise recounted how he had seen the man enter into communication with a slave; and he frowned heavily when he heard of his meeting after- wards with one of the prison officers. "in truth, sir gervaise," he said, after a pause, "this seems to be a right serious matter, and you have done wisely in informing me of what you have seen. assuredly there is mischief of some sort in the wind. the question is how to get to the bottom of it. of course, the grand master might order the arrest of this greek and of the prison officer, but you may be sure that neither would commit himself unless torture were applied; and i, for one, have no belief in what any man says under such circumstances. the most honest man may own himself a traitor when racked with torture, and may denounce innocent men. it is at best a clumsy device. what think you of the matter?" "i have hardly thought it over yet, sir john; and cer- tainly no plan has yet occurred to me." "well, think it over, sir gervaise. it is not likely that a few days will make any difference. but i will take measures to see that this greek does not sail away from the island at present, and will speak to the port-master about it, i will myself give the matter consideration, but as you have shown yourself so quick-witted in following up the matter so far, i rely upon you more than myself to carry it farther. there may possibly be some simple explanation of the matter. he may come from an island where the turks are masters, and has, perhaps, brought a message from some relatives of a slave; as to the talk with the prison officer, it may be wholly a kntomt of the white cross innocent. if we should find that it is so we will keep this matter to ourselves, if possible, or we shall get finely laughed at by our comrades for having run upon a false scent. if, on the other hand, the matter should turn out to be serious, you will assuredly get great credit for having discovered it. there- fore, turn it over in your mind to-night, and see if you can arrive at some scheme for seeing further into it before we take any steps." in the morning gervaise again called upon sir john kendall. "well, sir gervaise, i hope that you have hit upon some scheme for getting to the bottom of this matter. i confess that i myself, though i have had a sleepless night over it, have not been able to see any method of getting to the root of the affair, save by the application of torture." "i do not know whether the plan i have thought of will commend itself to your opinion, sir, but i have worked out a scheme which will, i think, enable us to get to the bottom of the matter. i believe that a galley is expected back from a cruise to-day or to-morrow. now, sir, my idea is that i should go on board a small craft, under the command of a knight upon whose discretion and silence you can rely, such as, for example, sir john boswell, and that we should intercept the galley. before we board her i should disguise myself as a turkish slave, and as such sir john should hand me over to the officer in command of the galley, giving him a letter of private instructions from you as to my disposal. if they have other slaves on board i would ask that i should be kept apart from them, as well as from the rowers of the galley. on being landed i should be sent to the prison where i saw the officer enter last night, and the slaves and rowers should be distributed among the other prisons. thus, then, the slaves i should be placed with would only know that i had arrived in the galley with other slaves captured by it. i have no doubt, i should be able to maintain my assumed character, and should in a short time be taken into the confidence of the others, and a knight of the white c'koss it will, of course, be necessary for you to shave a portion of your head in turkish fashion. i will also see sir john bos- well, and ask him to arrange for a craft to be ready to start at noon. the galley is not expected in until evening, but of course she may arrive at any moment now. come here again in an hour's time, and i will have the clothes ready for you." "may i suggest, sir, that they should be those appropriate to a small merchant? this might seem to account for my not being placed with the other slaves who may be on board the galley, as it would be supposed that i was set apart in order that i should be sent to one of the auberges as a servant; and my afterwards being herded with the others would be explained by its being found that there was no opening for me in such a capacity. i should think there would be no difficulty in obtaining such a suit, as garments of all kinds are brought here in prizes, and are bought up by some of the greek merchants, who afterwards find opportunities of despatching them by craft trading among the islands." just before noon gervaise walked down to the port with sir john bos well, a servant following with a bundle. "it seems to me a hair-brained scheme, lad," sir john, who had just joined him, said, as they issued from the auberge; "though i own, from what the bailiff tells me, that there must be some treacherous plot on hand, and when that is the case it is necessary that it should be probed to the bottom. but for a knight to go in the disguise of an infidel slave seems to me to be beyond all bounds." "if one is ready to give one's life for the order, sir john, surely one need not mind a few weeks' inconvenience. i shall, at any rate, be no worse off than you were when serving as a turkish slave." "well, no, i don't know that you will," sir john replied doubtfully. "but that was from necessity, and not from choice; and it is, moreover, an accident we are all exposed to." with the galley-slaves "it is surely better to do a thing of one's own free will than because one is forced to do it, sir john?" the knight was silent. he was a stout fighting man, but unused to argument. "well," he said, after a long pause, " i can only hope that it will turn out all right, and promise that if you are strangled in prison, i will see that every slave who had a hand in it shall be strung up. i have told kendall frankly that if i were in his place i would not permit you to try such a venture. however, as i could think of no other plan by which there would be a chance of getting to the bottom of this matter, my words had no effect with him. i should not have so much cared if the officers of the gaol knew who you were; but i can see that if there is treachery at work this would defeat your object altogether. what do you suppose this rascal greek can be intending?" "that i cannot say, sir john. he may be trying to get an exact plan of the fortifications, or he may be arranging some plan of communication by which, in case of siege, news of our condition and of the state of our defences may be con- veyed to the turkish commander." by this time they had reached the port, and embarked at once on a trading vessel belonging to one of the merchants, from whom sir john had readily obtained her use for a day or two. her sails were hoisted at once, and she rowed out from the port. having proceeded some three or four miles, they lowered her sails, and lay to in the course a galley making for the port would take. a sailor was sent up to the masthead to keep a look-out. late in the afternoon he called down that he could make out a black speck some twelve miles away. she carried no sails, and he judged her to be a galley. "it will be dark before she comes along," sir john boswell said. "you can hoist your sails, captain, and return to within half a mile of the port, or she may pass us beyond hailing dis- tance. '' a knight of the white cross gervaise at once retired to the cabin that had been set aside for their use, and proceeded to disguise himself. an hour later sir john came down. he looked at gervaise critically. "you are all right as far as appearances go. i should take you anywhere for a young turk. your clothes are not too new, and are in accordance with the tale you are going to tell, which is that you are the son of a syrian trader. if, as sulei- man says, you speak turkish well enough to pose as a native, i think you ought to be able to pass muster. how long will that dye last? because if it begins to fade they will soon sus- pect you." "it will last a fortnight; at least, so sir john kendall says. but he has arranged that if at the end of ten days i have not succeeded in finding out anything, he will send down to the prison, and under the pretence that he wants to ask me some questions about what ransom my father would be likely to pay for me, he will have me up to the auberge, and there i can dye myself afresh." "how are you to communicate with him in case of need?" "his servant ahmet, who got the things for me, is to come down every morning, and to be near the door of the prison at the hour when the slaves are taken out to work. if i have aught to communicate i am to nod twice, and sir john ken- dall will send down that evening to fetch me, instead of wait- ing until it is time for me to renew my dye." "what is going to be said to harcourt and the others to account for your absence ?'' "the bailiff will merely say that he has suddenly sent me away by ship, on a private mission. they may wonder, per- haps, but none of them will venture to ask him its nature." "well, i must say that you seem to have made all your arrangements carefully, tresham, and i hope it will turn out well. i was against the scheme at first, but i own that i do not see now why it should not succeed; and if there is any plot really on hand, you may be able to get to the bottom of it." with the galley-slaves it was an hour after darkness had completely fallen when the regular beat of oars was heard. the ship's boat was al- ready in the water, and gervaise, wrapped up in his mantle, followed sir john out of his cabin and descended with him into the boat, which was at once rowed towards the approach- ing galley. sir john hailed it as it came along. "who is it calls?" a voice said. "it is i—sir john eoswell. pray take me on board, sir almeric. it is a somewhat special matter." the order was given, the galley-slaves ceased rowing, and the boat ran alongside. gervaise unclasped his mantle and gave it to sir john, and then followed him on board. "i congratulate you on your return, and on your good fort- une in having, as your letter stated, made a prosperous voy- age," sir john said, as he shook hands with the commander of the galley. "i would speak a word with you aside," he added in a low voice. sir almeric moved with him a few paces from the other knights. "iam sent here by our bailiff, sir almeric. i have a turkish prisoner here with me who is to be landed with those you have taken. there are special reasons for this, which i need not now enter into. will you let him sit down here by the helm? my instructions are that he is not to mingle with the other slaves; and as there are reasons why it is wished that his coming on board in this manner shall not be known to them, i myself am to take him up to one of the prisons, or at least to hand him over to the officer sent down from that prison to take up the captives allotted to it. the matter is of more importance than it seems to be, or, as you may imagine, i should not be charged to intercept you on such an errand." "of course, i don't understand anything about it, sir john, but will do as you ask me." he went to where gervaise had crouched down by the bul- wark, beckoned him to follow, and, walking alt, motioned to a knight of the white cross him to sit down there. then he returned to sir john, and joined the other knights, who were all too anxious to learn the latest news—who had left the island, and who had come to it since they sailed—to interest themselves in any way with the figure who had gone aft, supposing him, indeed, to be sir john's servant, the lantern suspended over the poop giving too feeble a light for his costume to be noted. a quarter of an hour later they anchored in the harbour. some of the knights at once went ashore to their respective auberges, but sir almeric and a few others remained on board until relieved of their charge in the morning, an account being sent on shore of the number of captives that had been brought in. no thought was given to gervaise, who slept curled upon the poop. sir john boswell passed the night on board. in the morning an officer came off with a list of the prisons to which the slaves were to be sent. sir john kendall had seen the officer charged with the distribution, who had, at his request, not included the prison of st. pelagius in the list. a message, however, had been sent to that prison, as well as to the others, for an officer to attend at the landing-stage. in the morning sir john went ashore in one of the boats con- veying the slaves, of whom some forty had been captured. gervaise followed him into the boat, and took his seat by the others, who were too dispirited at the fate which had befallen them to pay any attention to him. when he landed, sir john asked which was the officer from st. pelagius. one stepped forward, "this is the only slave for you," he said, pointing to ger- vaise. "he is of a better class than the rest, and in the fut- ure may be he will do for a servitor at one of the auberges, but none have at present occasion for one, and so he is to go to you. he says that his father is a merchant, and will be ready to pay a ransom for him; but they all say that, and we must not heed it overmuch. as he seems a smart young fellow, it may be that he will be sent to one of the auberges later on; with the galley-slaves but at present, at any rate, you can put him with the rest, and send him out with the gangs." "he is a well-built young fellow, sir john," the officer re- marked, "and should make a good rower in a galley. i will put him in the crew of the st. elmo. follow me," he said, in turkish, to gervaise, and then led the way up to the prison. on entering he crossed a courtyard to a door which was stand- ing open. within was a vaulted room, some forty feet long by twenty wide; along each side there were rushes strewn thickly. "the others have just started to their work," he said, "so that for to-day you can sleep.'' after he had left, gervaise looked with some disgust at the rushes, that had evidently been for weeks unchanged. "i would rather have the bare stones, if they were clean," he muttered to himself. "however, it can't be helped." he presently strolled out into the courtyard, where some other slaves, disabled by illness or injuries, were seated in the sun. gervaise walked across to them, and they looked list- lessly up at him as he approached. "you are a new-comer," one said, as he came up. "i saw you brought in, but it didn't need that. by the time you have been here a week or two, your clothes will be like ours," and he pointed to his ragged garments. "when did you arrive? are there no others coming up here?" "the galley came in last night," gervaise said, "but they did not land us until this morning. i wish they had killed me rather than that i should have been brought here to work as a slave.'' "one always thinks so at first." the man said. "but some- how one clings to life. we shall die when allah wills it, and not before." "what is the matter with your foot?" gervaise asked. "i was with the gang quarrying stones, and a mass of rock fell upon it. i have been in the infirmary for weeks, and i own that the christian dogs treated me well. a slave has his a knight of the white cross value, you see. i am nearly cured now, but i shall never walk well again. i expect they will put me in one of their accursed galleys." "how long have you been here?" "seven years; it seems a lifetime. however, there is hope yet. they don't tell us much, but we hear things sometimes, and they say that the sultan is going to sweep them out of rhodes as they were swept out of acre. when will it be?" "i know not. i am from syria, but even there they are making preparations. the sultan has had troubles in the east, and that has delayed him, but he will be here before long, and then we shall see. it will be our turn then." "it will, indeed !" one of the others exclaimed. "oh, to see these dogs brought down, and suffering as we have suffered, toiling at oars in one of our galleys, or at the fortifications of one of our castles! it will make amends for all our suffering. had you a hard fight with them?" "no. we were but a small craft, and it was vain to attempt resistance. i would gladly have fought, but the sailors said it would only throw away their lives. there was but little on board, and they allowed the vessel to go free with those of the sailors who were too old to be made useful for hard work." no further questions were asked. the men seemed to have no interest save in their own misery, and gervaise soon left them, and, sitting down in a shady corner, presently dropped off to sleep. in the evening all came in from their various work. the officer man who had brought gervaise in went up to the over- seer of the galley-slaves and informed him that he had told off the new slave—pointing to gervaise—to his gang. "he was brought in by the galley that arrived last night," he said; "he was the only slave sent up here. i hear that he had been set aside to be appointed a servitor, but there are no vacancies, so they sent him here till one should occur; and i was ordered to make him useful in other ways in the meantime." sir gervaise in prison answers the questions of the galley' slaves. with the gali.ey-slavf.s "i am two or three hands short," the overseer said. "i wish now i had sent in an application yesterday, for if i had done so, no doubt they would have sent me some more men. however, this fellow will make up an even number, and he is strong and active, though at present he looks sulky enough under his bad fortune." a few of the slaves spoke to gervaise as they were waiting for food to be brought them, but the majority dropped upon the rushes, too exhausted with toil and heat to feel an interest in anything. the food consisted of rye bread, with thin broth, brought in a great iron vessel. each slave had a horn, which was used for soup or water, and which, when done with, he had, by the rule enforced among themselves, to take out to the fountain in the courtyard and wash, before it was added to the pile in the corner of the room. the cool of the evening aided the meal in restoring the en- ergies of the slaves. several gathered round gervaise, and asked questions as to what he knew of the prospects of an early invasion of rhodes; but as soon as the officer left the room, closing and locking the door after him, the slaves became for the most part silent. a few men sat in groups together, talk- ing in undertones, but the greater number threw themselves down on the rushes, either to sleep or to think alone. ger- vaise was struck by the manner in which most of them lay, without making the slightest movement, so long as there was light to enable him to make out their figures. he himself ad- dressed two or three of them, as they lay with their eyes wide open, asking questions with reference to the work; but in no case did he receive any reply. the men seemed altogether unconscious of being addressed, being absorbed in the thought of their far-distant homes and families which they might never see again. gervaise walked a few times up and down the room, and as he approached a silence fell each time upon the groups of men talking together. more than once a figure rose soon afterwards a knight of the white cross from the ground, and, as he came along again, asked him a few questions about himself. as soon as it was dark, he lay down in a vacant space on the rushes. shortly afterwards talking ceased altogether, and there was quiet in the vaulted room. with the first gleam of daylight they were astir, and, when the doors were opened, poured out into the courtyard, where all had a wash at the fountain. half an hour later, a meal, precisely similar to that of the previous evening, was served out; then the overseers called over the muster roll, the gangs were made up, and each, under its officer, started for its work. gervaise, with the men of his room, proceeded down to the port, and at once took their seats on the benches of the galley, one foot being chained to a ring in the deck, the other to that of a companion at the oar. the slaves were more cheerful now. as there was no work to do at present, they were al- lowed to talk, and an occasional laugh was heard, for the sun and the brightness of the day cheered them. many, after years of captivity, had grown altogether reckless, and it was among these that there was most talking; the younger men seemed, for the most part, silent and moody. "you will get accustomed to it," the man next to gervaise said cheeringly. "when i first came here, it seemed to me that i could not support the life for a month—that the fate was too dreadful to be borne, and that death would be most wel- come; but, like the rest, i became accustomed to it in time. after all, the work is no harder than one would do at home. there is no stint of food, and it is no worse than one would have, were one labouring in the fields. were it not for the loss of those we love, it would be nothing; and in time one gets over even that. i have long ago told myself that if they are not dead, at least they are dead to me. they have their liv- ings to get, and cannot be always mourning, and i have tried to forget them, as they must have forgotten me." "do you work hard?" gervaise asked. with the gallia'-slaves "no. we who are in the galleys are regarded by the oth- ers with envy. sometimes—often, indeed—we have naught to do all day. we bask in the sun, we talk, we sleep, we forget that we are slaves. but, generally, we go out for an hour or two's exercise; that is well enough, and keeps us strong and in health. only when we are away on voyages is the work hard. sometimes we row from morning to night; but it is only when they are in chase of another craft that we have really to exert ourselves greatly. then it is terrible. we may be doing our best, our very best, and yet to the im- patient knights it seems that we might do more. then they shout to the overseer, and he lays his whip on our backs with- out mercy. then we row until sometimes we drop, senseless, off the benches. but this, you understand, is not very often; and though the work on a cruise is long, it is not beyond our strength. besides, when we are away in the galley there is always hope. the galley may meet with four or five of our ships, and be captured, or a storm may arise and dash her upon the shore; and though many would lose their lives, some might escape, and each man, in thinking of it, believes that he will be one of the fortunate ones. "take my advice: always look cheerful if you can; always put your hand on the oar when the order is given, and row as if you were glad to be at work again ; and always make a show, as if you were working your hardest. never complain when you are struck unjustly, and always speak respectfully to the over- seer. in that way you will find your life much easier than you would think. you will be chosen for small boat service; and that is a great thing, as we are not chained in the small boats. some men are foolish and obstinate, but, so far from doing any good, this only brings trouble on themselves; they come in for punishment daily, they are closely watched, and their lives made hells for them. even as a help to escape it pays best to be cheerful and alert. we all think of escape, you know, though it is seldom indeed that a chance ever comes a knight of the white cross to any of us. it is the one thing except death to look forward to, and there is not a man among us who does not think of it scores of times a day; but, small as the chance is, it is greatest for those who behave best. for instance, it is they only who man small boats; and when a small boat rows ashore, it is always possible that the guard may be careless—that he will keep the boat at the landing-place, instead of pushing off at once into deep water, as he ought to do—and that in this way a chance will, sooner or later, come for springing ashore and making a dash for liberty." chapter x a plot discovered the conversation between gervaise and his fellow-slave was interrupted by the arrival at the side of the quay of a party of knights. silence instantly fell upon the slaves; all straightened themselves up to the oars, and prepared for a start. among the knights who took their places on the poop ger- vaise saw with amusement his friend ralph. he had no fear of a recognition, for the darkly-stained skin and the black hair had so completely altered him that when he had looked at him- self in a mirror, after the application of the dye, he was sur- prised to find that he would not have known it to be his own face. ralph was in command of the party, which consisted of young knights who had but recently arrived at rhodes; and as it was the first time he had been appointed as instructor, gervaise saw that he was greatly pleased at what he rightly re- garded as promotion. the galley at once pushed off from the wharf, and rowed out of the port. the work was hard; but as the slaves were not pressed to any extraordinary exertions, gervaise did not a plot discovered find it excessive. he congratulated himself, however, that the stain was, as he had been assured, indelible, save by time, for after a few minutes' exercise he was bathed in perspiration. as the galley had been taken out only that instruction might be given to the young knights, the work was frequently broken. sometimes they went ahead at full speed for a few hundred yards, as if to chase an adversary; then they would swerve aside, the slaves on one side rowing, while those on the other backed, so as to make a rapid turn. then she lay for a minute or two immovable, and then backed water, or turned to avoid the attack of an imaginary foe. then for an hour she lay quiet, while the knights, divesting themselves of their mantles and armour, worked one of the guns on the poop, aiming at a floating barrel moored for the purpose a mile out at sea. at eleven o'clock they returned to the port. bread and water were served out to the slaves, and they were then permitted to lie down and sleep, the galley being moored under the shadow of the wall. at four o'clock another party of knights came down, and the work was similar to that which had been performed in the morning. at seven o'clock the slaves were taken back to their barracks. "well, what do you think of your work?" one of the slaves asked gervaise, as they ate their evening meal. "it would not be so bad if it was all like that." "no. but i can tell you that when you have to row from sunrise to sunset, with perhaps but one or two pauses for a few minutes, it is a different thing altogether, especially if the galley is carrying despatches, and speed is necessary. then you get so worn out and exhausted, that you can scarce move an oar through the water, until you are wakened up by a smart as if a red-hot iron had been laid across your shoulders. it is terrible work then. the whip cracks every minute across some one's back; you are blinded by exhaustion and rage, and you feel that you would give the world if you could but burst a knight of the white cross your chain, rush on your taskmasters, and strike, if only one blow, before you are killed." "it must be terrible," gervaise said. "and do you never get loose, and fall upon them ?'' the man shook his head. "the chains are too strong, and the watch too vigilant," he said. "since i came here i have heard tales of crews hav ing freed themselves in the night, and fallen upon the christians, but for my part i do not believe in them. i have thought, as i suppose every one of us has thought, how such a thing could be done; but as far as i know no one has hit on a plan yet. now and then men have managed to become possessed of a file, and have, by long and patient work, sawn through a chain, and have, when a galley has been lying near our own shore, sprung overboard and escaped; but for every attempt that succeeds there must be twenty failures, for the chains are frequently ex- amined, and woe be to the man who is found to have been tampering with his. but as to a whole gang getting free at once, it is altogether impossible, unless the key of the pad- locks could be stolen from an overseer, or the man bribed into aiding us." "and that, i suppose, is impossible?" gervaise said. "certainly, impossible for us who have no money to bribe them with, but easy enough if any one outside, with ample means, were to set about it. these overseers are, many of them, sons of turkish mothers, and have no sympathy, save that caused by interest, with one parent more than another. of course, they are brought up christians, and taught to hold moslems in abhorrence, but i think many of them, if they had their free choice, would cross to the mainland. here they have no chance of ever being aught but what they are—over- seers of slaves, or small prison officials. they are despised by these haughty knights, and hated by us, while were they to reach the mainland and adopt their mothers' religion, every- thing would be open to them. all followers of the prophet a plot discovered have an equal chance, and one may be a soldier to-day, a bey to-morrow, and a pasha a year hence, if he be brave, or astute, or capable in any way beyond his fellows. men like these warders would be sure to make their way. "they cannot have gathered much during their service, therefore the offer of a large sum of money would find plenty among them eager to earn it. but, you see, they are but the inferiors. on our voyages on board the galley, the knights inspect our fetters twice a day, and the keys are kept in the commander's cabin. for an hour or two, when we are not on a long passage, the padlocks are unfastened, in order that we may jump over and bathe, and exercise our limbs ; but at this time the knights are always on guard, and as we are without arms we are altogether powerless. it is the same thing here. the senior warders, who all belong to the order, although of an inferior grade, come round, as you have seen, to examine our fetters, and themselves lock and bar the doors. if one or two of these could be corrupted, escape would be easy enough." "but is it impossible to do this?" gervaise asked eagerly. "my father has money, and would i know be ready, if i could communicate with him, to pay a handsome sum, if sure that it would result in my obtaining my freedom." the man nodded significantly. "there may be other means of doing it," he said. "per- haps it will not be long before you hear of it. you seem a stout fellow, and full of spirit, but, as yet, anything that may be going on is known but to a few, and will go no further un- til the time comes that all may be told. i think not so badly of men of our faith as to believe that any one would betray the secret for the sake of obtaining his own freedom and a big re- ward; but secrets, when known by many, are apt to leak out. a muttered word or two in sleep, or the ravings of one down with fever, might afford ground for suspicion, and torture would soon do the rest. i myself know nothing of the secret, but i do know that there is something going on which, if sue- a knight of the white cross cessful, will give us our freedom. i am content to know no more until the time comes; but there are few, save those en- gaged in the matter, that know as much as this, and you can see that it is better it should be so. look at that man oppo- site; he has been here fifteen years; he seldom speaks; he does his work, but it is as a brute beast—despair has well-nigh turned him into one. think you that ifsuchaman as that were to know that there is hope, he would not so changed that even the dullest would observe it. i see you are a brisk young fellow, and i say to you, keep up your courage. the time is nearer than you think when you will be free from these accursed shackles.'' each morning, as he went out to work with his gang, ger- vaise saw the servant from the auberge standing near; but he made no sign. he was satisfied that his suspicions had been justified, and that he was not leading this life in vain, but he thought it better to wait until the week passed, and he was taken away to have his colour renewed, than to make a sign that might possibly rouse the suspicions of his comrades. on the eighth morning, when the door of the room was unlocked, the overseer said,— "number , you will remain here. you are wanted for other work." after the gang had left the prison, the overseer returned. "i am to take you up to the english auberge. the knight who handed you over to me when you landed, told me that you might be wanted as a servitor; and as it is he who has sent down, it may be that a vacancy has occurred. if so, you are in luck, for the servitors have a vastly better time of it than the galley-slaves, and the english auberge has the best reputa- tion in that respect. come along with me." the english auberge was one of the most handsome of the buildings standing in the great street of the knights. its archi- tecture was gothic in its character, and, although the langue was one of the smallest of those represented at rhodes, it vied a plot discovered g with any of them in the splendour of its appointments. sir john boswell was standing in the interior courtyard. "wait here for a few minutes," he said to the overseer. "the bailiff will himself question the slave as to his accom- plishments; but i fancy he will not be considered of sufficient age for the post that is vacant. however, if this should not be so, i shall no doubt find a post to fit him ere long, for he seems a smart young fellow, and, what is better, a willing one, and bears himself well under his misfortunes.'' then he motioned to gervaise to follow him to the bailiffs apartments. "well, sir gervaise," sir john kendall exclaimed, as the door closed behind him, " have you found aught to justify this cruel penance you have undertaken?" "as to the penance, sir john, it has been nothing unsup- portable. the exercise is hard enough, but none too hard for one in good health and strength, and, save for the filth of the chamber in which we are shut up at night, and the foul state of the rushes on which we lie, i should have naught to com- plain of. no, i have as yet heard nothing of a surety—and yet enough to show me that my suspicions were justified, and that there is a plot of some sort on foot," and he related to the two knights the conversation he had had with the galley-slave. "by st. george !" the bailiff said, " you have indeed been justified in your surmises, and i am glad that i attached suffi- cient importance to your suspicions to let you undertake this strange enterprise. what think you, sir john boswell?" "i think with you, that sir gervaise has fully justified his insistance in this matter, which i own i considered to be hare- brained folly. what is to be done next, sir gervaise?" "that is what i have been turning over in my mind. you' see, i may have little warning of what is going to take place. i may not hear of it until we are locked up for the night and the affair is on the point of taking place, and it will, of course, be most needful that i shall be able to communicate with you speedily." a knight of the white cross "that, of course, is of vital importance," the bailiff said. "but how is it to be managed?" "that is what i cannot exactly see, sir john. an armed guard remains in our room all night. but, in the first place, he might be himself in the plot, and if not, the slaves would almost certainly overpower him and kill him, as a preliminary to the work of knocking off their chains." "is there a window to the room? at least,—of course there is a window, but is it within your reach?" ' there are six small loop-holes—one on each side of the door, and two in each of the side walls; they are but four inches across and three feet in length, and there are two cross- bars to each; they are four feet from the floor." "at any rate, they are large enough for your arm to pass through, sir gervaise, and you might drop a strip of cloth out." "certainly i could, sir john. i could easily hide a piece of white cotton a yard or so long in my clothes, scanty as these are, and could certainly manage, unobserved, to drop it out- side the window." "then the rest is for us to contrive, boswell. we must have some one posted in the yard of the prison, with instruc- tions to go every ten minutes throughout the night to see if a strip of white cotton has been dropped out. when he finds it he must go at once to william neave, the governor. he is a sturdy englishman, and there is no fear of his having been bribed to turn traitor; but it were well to take no one into our confidence. i think we cannot do better than employ ahmet on this business, as he already knows that sir gervaise is masquerading there. we will have william neave up here presently. tell him that for certain reasons we wish ahmet to pass the night for the present in the prison, and arrange with him on what excuse we can best bestow him there without ex- citing suspicion. at any rate, sir gervaise, that is our affair." he went to a closet and took out a white mantle, tore a strip off the bottom, and gave it to gervaise. a plot discovered "it would be best not to keep you here any longer," he said, "so renew your stain while i speak. as soon as you learn the details of the plot, you will drop this out from the loop-hole on the right-hand side of the door; that is to say, the one on your right, standing inside. if the affair is not to come off at once, it were best for you to proceed as before. ahmet will be out- side when you go out with your gang, and on your nodding to him we will make some excuse to take you away on your re- turn. i say this because if you see that the affair, whatever it is, is not imminent, you might think it better to remain with them longer, so as to learn their plans more fully, instead of having the thing put a stop to at once." "i understand, sir john; but, as i have said, i do not think we should all be told until the blow is ready to be struck, as they would be afraid that some one might inform against them, if time and opportunity were granted them." "i think so too, sir gervaise. this afternoon we will call uiion the grand master, for we have no means of knowing how serious or how extended this plot may be; it may include only the crew of a single galley, and, on the other hand, the whole of the slaves may be implicated in it. it is evident, therefore, that the matter is too serious to be kept any longer from his knowledge." three more days passed. on the third evening, after the allowance of broth and bread had been consumed, and the door was closed and locked upon them for the night, three or four of the galley-slaves, after talking eagerly together, beckoned to the others to gather round them at the end of the room farthest from the door. two of them took up arms-full of the bedding, and stuffed it into the side windows. gervaise saw, in the dim light, a look of intense excitement on the faces of the slaves. it had been vaguely known among them that a plot was in hand, although but few had been admitted into the confidence of the leaders. hitherto all had feared that it concerned only a small number, but the preparations now «« a knight of the white cross made to insure that they should not be overheard, showed that, whatever the plan might be, all were to share in it. "thanks be to allah, the all-powerful," one of the men began, "my lips are unsealed, and i can tell you the great news that our hour for escape from bondage is at hand! we need not fear the warder there," he went on, as several eyes were turned apprehensively towards the guard, who, with his spear beside him, was leaning carelessly against the wall at the farther end, looking through the window into the courtyard; "he is with us. you must know that for the last two months an agent from constantinople has been on the island, and has been engaged in arranging this affair. two of our taskmasters belonging to the order have been bribed by large sums of money, and several of the overseers, who are half of our blood, have eagerly embraced the prospect of returning to their mothers' country, and of avowing openly their belief in our religion. these, again, have bought over many of the guards, ours included, and to-night all will be ready for action. those not of our party will be killed without ceremony. duplicate keys have been made of all the padlocks of the fetters; the guards who are with us have each one of them, the others will have been slipped into the hands of one man in each gang as they returned to-night from work. the overseers who are in the plot will, at midnight, go quietly round and unlock the doors, and remove the bars from the outside. we have, there- fore, only to overcome the eight or ten men who patrol the prison; and as we shall have the arms of the guards, some thirty in number, we shall make quick work of them. "the two guards at the outside gates must, of course, be killed. duplicates of the keys have been made, and will be hidden in a spot known to some of our party, close to the gate. thus we have but to issue out and rush down, in a body, to the port. i and another are to take the arms of our guard, and two others are told off in each room to do the same. that will give us sixty armed men. we shall make a plot discovered very short work of the guards at the gate leading into the port. then twenty of us are to run along the mole to fort st. nich- olas, twenty to the tower of st. michael, and twenty to that of st. john. there will be, at the most, but three or four men keeping watch at each fort, and thus we shall have in our possession the three forts commanding the entrance to the harbour. there are, as you know, six galleys manned by crews from our prison there. the crew of each galley will embark upon it, and man the oars; the rest will divide them- selves among the galleys. before starting, we shall seize and set fire to all other galleys and ships in the port. the gangs in four of the rooms have been told off specially for this duty. before firing them, they are to take out such provisions as they may find, and transport them to the galleys. we who take the forts are provided with hammers and long nails, to drive down the vent-holes of the cannon; when we have done this, we are to wait until one of the galleys fetches us off. ten minutes should be ample time for all there is to be done, and even if the alarm is given at once, we shall be away long be- fore the knights can be aroused from sleep, buckle on their armour, and get down to the port." exclamations of delight and approbation burst from his hearers. "then it is only we of this prison who are in the plot?" one said. '' yes. in the first place, it would have been too dangerous to attempt to free all. in the second, the galleys would not carry them; we shall be closely packed as it is, for there are over a thousand here. i hear that there was a talk of freeing all, and that we, instead of embarking at first, should make for the other prisons, burst open the doors, and rescue the others; but by the time we could do so the knights would be all in arms, and our enterprise would fail altogether, for as but a small proportion of us can obtain weapons, we could not hope to overcome them. were it not for the strong wall that g a knight of the white cross separates their quarter from the town, we might make straight for their houses and slay them before the alarm could be given. as it is, that would be impossible, and therefore the plan will be carried out as i have told you. the loss of all their galleys and of over one thousand slaves will be a heavy blow for them. great pains have been taken to prevent confusion when we reach the port. the men in each room have been instructed as to the galleys on which they are to embark. as for you, you know precisely what is to be done; you will simply take your places, and then wait until all are on board. no galley is to push out from the wharf until the last man of those em- ployed in burning the ships has returned, with the provisions found in them. then the order will be given by the man who has arranged all this, and the six galleys will put out together. one is to row to each of the forts to carry off the party that will have been engaged in silencing its cannon. our galley is to row to st. nicholas, and take off the twenty men i shall lead there. there is no possibility of failure. everything has, you see, been arranged. one of the overseers who is in the plot walked by my side as we returned from the port, and gave me the instructions, and all the others will have been told in the same way, or else by the guards in charge of them." the gang now broke up into little groups, talking excitedly over the unlooked-for news, and exulting over the speedy advent of liberty. gervaise strolled carelessly to the window, and dropped out the white strip of stuff. it was now quite dark, and there was no fear of any one observing the move- ment. then he joined the others. after an hour and a half had passed he heard footsteps approaching the door. there was a pause; then the outside bars were taken down, and a key turned in the lock. a deep silence fell on the slaves. then a voice called,— "number !" "what is it?" replied gervaise, without raising himself a plot discovered from his seat on the bedding. "i have done my share of work to-day, and earned my night's sleep." "it is a knight from the english auberge; he has come to fetch you. it seems that you are to go there as a servitor." "what a cursed fortune," gervaise muttered, in turkish, "just when a road to freedom is open! i have a good mind to say i am ill, and cannot go till the morning." "no, no!" one of the others exclaimed. "they would only drag you out, and when they saw that there was naught the matter with you, would suspect that there must be some reason why you did not want to go, when, as every one knows, the position of the servitors is in every way preferable to ours." "now then, why are you delaying?" a voice said sharply, and a warder entered with a lighted torch. "get up, you lazy hound! it will be worse for you if i have to speak again." "i am coming," gervaise grumbled. "i was just asleep." he rose, as if reluctantly, and went forward. the warder gave him an angry push, followed him out, and locked and barred the door after him. "i suppose this is the right man?" sir john boswell said. "this is number , sir knight, the same who was taken over to your auberge the other day," and he held the light close to gervaise's face. "yes, that is the man. follow me," he added, in turk- ish. the gate of the courtyard was unbarred, and they passed out unquestioned. sir john strolled on ahead. ger- vaise followed him a pace or two behind. not until they had passed through the gate of the castle did sir john turn. "i have not spoken to you," he said, "as we may have been watched. keep your news until we reach the auberge." upon entering it they went up at once to sir john ken- dall's apartments. "well, sir gervaise, the strip of cotton was brought to us safely. what is your news ?'' a knight of the white cross "it is very serious, sir john, and i have been in terrible anxiety since i dropped it out, lest it should not come to hand in time. as it is, you have till midnight to make your preparations.'' he then repeated the statement made by the galley-slave. "by my faith," sir john kendall exclaimed, "this is a pretty plot indeed! and had it succeeded, as it certainly would have done but for your vigilance, it would have been a heavy blow to us. the burning of all our galleys would have crippled us sorely, and the loss of over a thousand slaves would have been a serious one indeed, when we so urgently require them for completing our defences. get rid of those clothes at once, sir gervaise, and don your own. we must go straight to the grand master. you will find your clothes and armour in the next room. i had them taken there as soon as your token was brought me." in a few minute? gervaise returned in his usual attire, and with his armour buckled on. the two knights were already in their coats-of-mail, and leaving the auberge they went to the grand master's palace. a servitor had already been sent to d'aubusson to inform him that they were coming, and he advanced to meet them as they entered. "welcome, sir gervaise !" he said. "whether your news be good or bad, whether you have found that it is a general rising of the slaves that is intended, or a plot by which a handful of slaves may seize a boat and escape, the gratitude of the order is no less due to you for the hardships and humilia- tions you have undergone on its behalf." "it concerns but one prison: that of st. pelagius." "the largest of them," the grand master put in. "the whole of the slaves there are to be liberated at twelve o'clock to-night, are to seize the three water towers and to spike the guns, to burn all the shipping in the harbour, to make off with six galleys, and destroy the rest." "by st. john!" d'aubusson exclaimed, " this is indeed a plot discovered a serious matter. but tell me all about it. there must l,e treachery indeed at work for such a scheme to be carried out." gervaise now told him all the details he had learned. "so two of the order, though but of the inferior grade, are in the plot?" the grand master said; "and several of the overseers? one of the villains is, of course, the man you saw this greek talking with. we must get hold of the other if we can. as to the slaves, now that we have warning, there is an end of the matter, though without such warning they would surely have succeeded, for the plans are well laid, and they would have been at sea before we could have gathered in any force at the port. if it were not that it would cost the lives of many of the warders and of the prison guards, i should say we ought to take post outside the gate, for we should then catch the traitors who are to accompany them. as it is, we must be beforehand with them. a hundred men will be more than ample for our purpose. do you take fifty of your knights, sir john kendall, and i will draw fifty of those of auvergne. at eleven o'clock we will meet at the gate leading down into the town, and will march to the private entrance of the gov- ernor's house. i will go in first with a few of you, tell him what we have discovered, and post guards to prevent any one from leaving his house. then, having admitted the others, we will go quietly out and place a party at each door of the overseers' house, with orders to seize any who may come out. the rest, in small parties, will then go round the prison, and, entering each room, show the slaves that their plot has been discovered. this we must do to save the lives of the guards who may be faithful to their trust. as to the higher officials engaged in the affair, we must obtain their names from the overseers or slaves. it is not likely that the two traitors will quit their houses, as they will leave the matter in the hands of the overseers, who, as you say, intend to first open the doors, and then to accompany the slaves in their escape. do not warn the knights until it is nearly time to start, sir john. a knight of the white cross the less stir made the better, for no one can say whether they may not have suborned some of the servitors to send instant news of any unusual movements in any of the auberges." at half-past ten sir john kendall went round among the knights and bade fifty of them arm themselves quietly, and proceed, one by one, down to the gate, and there await orders. up to this time gervaise had remained in the bailiff's room, so as to avoid the questioning that would take place, and he went down to the gate with the bailiff and sir john boswell. the knights assembled rapidly. none were aware of the reason for which they had been called out at such an hour, and there was a buzz of talk and conjecture until sir john kendall arrived. he was followed by four of the servants, who at once lighted the torches they carried, when he proceeded to go through the roll, and found that the muster was complete. many of the knights had gazed in some surprise at gervaise, whose dark complexion altogether concealed his identity, and it was supposed that he must be some newly arrived knight, though none had heard that any ship had entered the harbour that day. two or three minutes later fifty knights of the langue of auvergne came down, headed by the grand master himself, whose appearance greatly heightened the surprise of the eng- lish knights. the torches were now extinguished, the gate thrown open, and the party descended into the town. ger- vaise had purposely fallen in by the side of harcourt. "you are but newly arrived, sir knight?" the latter said, as they moved off. "not so very newly, ralph," gervaise replied. "what! is it you, gervaise?" harcourt exclaimed, with a start of surprise. "why, i did not know you, though i looked hard at you in the torch-light. what have you done with yourself? where have you been? do you know what all this is about ?'' "i cannot tell you now, ralph. you must be content to a plot discovered know that i have been in prison, and working in the gal- leys." "the saints defend us! why, what on earth had you done to entail such punishment as that. it is an outrage. the grand master and the council have the right to expel a knight from the order after due trial and investigation, but not to condemn him to such penalties as the galleys. it is an outrage upon the whole order, and i would say so to the grand master himself." "there was no outrage in it, ralph. wait until you hear the whole story. that i have not disgraced you, you may judge from the fact that i am in the armour and mantle of the order, and that, as you saw, i came down with sir john kendall himself." there were no people about in the streets, though the lights still burned on a few of the roofs. for a short distance the knights marched down towards the port, and then turned down a street to the right. after a few minutes' marching they halted under a high wall which all knew to be that of the prison of st. pelagius. six knights were posted at the main entrance, with orders that none should be allowed to leave the prison, and that any persons who came up to the gate were to be at once seized and made prisoners. the rest marched on to a small door leading into the governor's house. here they were halted, and told to wait till called in; six knights of england, and as many of auvergne, being told off to accom- pany the grand master and sir john kendall. a note had been sent to the governor, informing him that the grand master intended to visit the prison at eleven o'clock, but that the matter was to be kept an absolute secret; and that the governor himself was to be down at the gate to admit him. a knight of the white cross chapter xi in command of a galley william neave, the governor of the prison, looked astonished indeed when, upon his opening the door, the grand master and the bailiff of the english langue, with the twelve knights behind them, entered. he had been puzzled when, four days before, he had received an order from the grand master that ahmet, a servitor in the auberge of the english langue, should be permitted to pass the night in his house, with authority to move freely and without question, at any hour, in the courtyard of the gaol, and to depart at any hour, secretly and without observation, by the private gate. still more had he been surprised when he received the message that the grand master would pay him a secret visit at eleven o'clock at night. "let no word be spoken until we are in your apartments," d'aubusson said in a low voice, as he entered. "but first lead four of these knights and post them so that none can enter the gaol from the house. if there are more than four doors or windows on that side, you must post a larger number. it is imperative that there shall be no communication whatever be- tween your servants and the gaol." as soon as this was done, the rest of the party were taken to the governor's rooms. "i can now explain to you all," the grand master said, "the reason of our presence here. i have learned that at twelve to-night there will be a general rising of the slaves in this prison, and that, aided by treachery, they will free them- selves from their fetters, overpower and slay such of the guards in their rooms as have not been bribed, throw open the gates, in command of a galley make their way down to the port, burn all the shipping there, and make off in the six galleys manned by them, having first overpowered the sentries in the three forts commanding the entrance, and spiked the guns." exclamations of astonishment burst from the knights, who now, for the first time, learnt the reason of their being called out. the governor listened with an expression of stupefaction. "with all deference to your highness," he said hesitat- ingly, " it seems to me that some one must have been deceiv- ing you with this tale. it is altogether incredible that such a plot should have been hatched without a whisper of the mat- ter coming to my ears. it could only be possible were there, not one but many, traitors among the officials; if this is so, then indeed am i a dull ass, and unfit for my duty here, of which i shall pray you to relieve me, and to order such punish- ment as the council may deem just to be allotted to me for having so signally been hoodwinked." "my news is sure," the grand master said; "but i deem not that you are in any way to blame in the matter. the plot has been matured, not as a consequence of any laxity of discipline in the prison, but from deliberate treachery, against which no mortal being can guard. the traitors are two of the officials who, being members of the order, none would suspect of connivance in such a deed. with them are several—i know not how many—under-officials, warders, and guards; all these have been bribed by an emissary from constantinople, now in the town, and who is doubtless furnished with large means. it is well, indeed, for the order, that this terrible act of treach- ery has been discovered in time to prevent the plot from com- ing to a head, for the loss of all our galleys, to say nothing of the disgrace of having been thus bearded by slaves, would be a very heavy blow to it. "now that the house is safely guarded, william neave, you can admit the rest of the knights, who are waiting outside. then you will, in the first place, conduct a party, and post g a knight of the white cross them so that they may arrest, as they come out to perform their share of the work, all officials, warders, and guards, of whatever rank. when you have posted knights to carry out this—and i need not say that the operation must be performed as silently as possible, for it is above all things necessary that the men concerned shall have no suspicion that their plot has been discovered—you will conduct other parties to the various rooms occupied by the slaves. the guards on duty inside will be made prisoners. the doors will then be locked and barred as before. the appearance of the knights and the arrest of the guards will be sufficient to show the slaves that their plot has been discovered, and there will be no fear of their making any attempt to carry it into execution. i will myself post the main body of the knights in the courtyard. the arrest of the guards is to be carried out at once, as all those not concerned in the plot would be killed when the hour comes for the rising. therefore this part of the business must be carried out imme- diately. i should not, however, lead the guards away to a cell, for the less tramping of feet the better. therefore i shall place two knights in each room, and beg them to remain in- side in charge until the traitors outside are secured." the knights outside were now marched up. the grand master ordered half those of auvergne to go round to the main gate, which would be opened for them by the governor; they were to enter quietly, and remain in a body close to it until they received further orders. sir john kendall told off the rest of the knights to the various duties of watching the houses occupied by the officials and warders, and of entering the prison rooms and remaining in them on guard. the gov- ernor, with his private servants, bearing a supply of torches, was to lead them to the various cells, and unlock the doors. the knights were enjoined to move as noiselessly as possible, and to avoid all clashing of arms against armour. the governor produced a number of cloths intended to be serv ed out to the slaves. strips of these were cut off and in command of a galtev ? wrapped round the feet of the english knights, so as to deaden the sound of their boots on the stone pavement. then, ac- companied by the grand master and sir john kendall, he went the round of the cells. in some of these the slaves were found standing up in an at- titude of eager expectation, which, as the door opened, and the light of the torches showed a party of knights, changed into one of terror and consternation. scarce a word was spoken. the guard was ordered to lay down his arms, and to take one of the torches. two knights placed themselves, one on each side of him, with drawn swords. the door was again locked and barred, and the party proceeded to the next cell. in less than a quarter of an hour this part of the work was finished, and d'aubusson, sir john kendall, and the governor, then took up their station with a party of knights who, concealed behind a buttress, were watching the doors of the officials' houses. ten minutes later one of these doors was heard to open, and five dark figures came noiselessly out. they were allowed to go a short distance, in order to see if any others followed; but as no others came out, the governor stepped forward. "whither are you going, at this time of night?" he asked. there was a momentary pause, a few hasty words were ex- changed, then the five men rushed towards him with bared swords or knives; but before they reached him the knights poured out from their hiding place. "we are betrayed," one of the men shouted in turkish. "fight to the last. better be killed than tortured and exe- cuted." with a yell of fury and despair, they rushed upon the knights. so desperate was their attack that the latter were forced to use their swords, which indeed, burning with rage at the treachery of these men, they were not backward in doing, and in less than a minute the five traitors lay, with cloven heads, dead on the pavement. "it is as well so," d'aubusson said, looking sternly down upon them; "perhaps better so, since it has saved us the scan- a knight of the white cross dal of their trial. we might have learned more from them, but we have learnt enough, since, doubtless, they have no accom- plices among the warders, or they would have been with them. now we will deal with the arch-traitors. there is no need for further concealment; the noise of this fray will assuredly have been heard by them, for they will be listening for the sounds that would tell them the slaves had been liberated." followed by the knights, he went to the door of the house occupied by the overseers, all of whom were members of the lower branch of the order. it was indeed evident that an alarm had been given there, for lights appeared at the win- dows. as they opened the door and entered the hall, several half-dressed men rushed down the stairs with drawn swords, two of them carrying torches in their left hands. as the light fell upon the figures of the grand master and the knights, they paused in astonishment. "there is treachery at work in the prison," d'aubusson said quietly. "i pray you to collect your comrades and to assemble here at once.'' in a minute or two some twenty officials were gathered in the hall. "are all here?" d'aubusson asked the governor. the latter counted the men. "there are two short," he said,—" pietro romano and karl schumann. they occupy the same room. go and fetch them down, four of you." the four men nearest to the stairs at once went up with two torches. they returned in a minute. "the door is fastened on the inside, and we can obtain no response.'' "fetch an axe and break it in," the grand master ordered. "sir john boswell, do you, with some other knights, take post without; they may attempt to escape by the window, though, as we hold the gates, it would avail them little. sir gervaise tresham, do you follow us." in command of a galley gervaise, who had been placed with the party watching the house, followed the grand master and governor upstairs. a few blows with an axe splintered the door; its fastenings gave way, and they entered the room. the window was open, and two figures lay prostrate on the ground near it. "i half expected this," the grand master said. "they were listening there. the conflict in the yard told them that the plot had been discovered, and as they saw us approaching the house, they dared not meet the punishment of their crimes, and have fallen by their own daggers. put a torch close to their faces. sir gervaise, do you recognise in either of these men the official you saw in conversation with the greek?" gervaise stepped forward and examined the men's faces. "this is the man," he said, pointing to one of them. "i marked him so closely that i cannot be mistaken." "that is pietro romano," the governor said; "he was an able officer, but discontented with his position and given to quarrelling with his comrades." _ "have a hole dug and bury thwi in the prison," d'au- busson said; "they have been false ti\j^heir vows, and false to their religion. they have chosen their ^own mode of death; let them be buried like dogs, as they are. but let a careful search be made of their garments and of this room. it may be that they have some documents concealed which may be of use to us." , the grand master then descended to the hall. "members of the order," he said to the overseers, "your guilty companions have met death by their own hands, as the others concerned in this plot have met theirs by the swords of the knights. it were well that this matter were not spoken of outside the prison. the attempt has been detected, and has failed; but were it talked of, it might incite others to repeat the attempt, and possibly with better success. now," he went on, turning to the governor, "our work is done here. call up the other warders. let them take the men now pris- a knight of the white cross oners in the rooms, and place them in a dungeon. let fresh men be placed on guard, and let all the knights gather in the courtyard." when this was done, and all the knights again assembled, d'aubusson said,— "our work is nearly done, brothers. the traitors are all dead, and the revolt is at an end. it remains but to capture the author of this attempt; but i believe he is already in our hands. i have given an accurate description of him to de veschi, who has taken four knights with him, and they prob- ably will catch him down at the port; if not, he will be ar- rested the first thing in the morning. as to the slaves, they will be so utterly cowed by the discovery, that there will be no fear of their repeating the attempt. i have ordered the officials of the prison to say naught in the town of what has taken place. there can, however, be no concealment among ourselves. i shall, of course, lay the whole matter before the council. the fact that a strong body of knights has, at so late an hour, started on some unknown mission is, of course, already known in the auberges of auvergne and england. no concealment of the facts is therefore possible. it is the most serious attempt at a revolt of the slaves that has ever taken place, and will be a warning to us that more vigilance must be exer- cised. as it is, we have only been saved from the loss of our galleys and slaves by the acuteness of one of the youngest of our knights, who, in the first place, noted a suspicious occur- rence which would have been passed by without attracting a moment's thought by ninety-nine out of a hundred men. he laid the matter before his bailiff, sir john kendall, who ac- cepted his offer to disguise himself as a slave, to enter the prison under circumstances that would excite no suspicions among the others, and to live and work among them in order to ascertain whether there was any plot on hand. this task —a painful one, as you may imagine—he carried out, and for two weeks he rowed as a galley-slave. his lot was as hard as in command of a galley that of the others, for, as he had reason to believe that some of the officials were concerned in the plot, it was necessary that all should be kept in ignorance that he was other than he seemed to be. thanks to his perfect knowledge of turkish, he was able to carry his mission through with complete suc- cess, and to obtain full particulars of the plot we have to-night crushed. the knight who has performed this inestimable ser- vice is sir gervaise tresham, of the english langue. the action he has performed will be noted in the annals of the order as an example of intelligence and of the extreme of self- sacrifice, as well as of courage; for his life would have been as- suredly forfeited had the slaves entertained the slightest sus- picion of his real character." there was a murmur of acclamation among the knights. not one of them but would have freely risked his life in the service of the order, but there were few who would not have shrunk from the idea of living as a slave among the slaves, sharing their tasks, and subject to the orders of men of inferior rank and often brutal manners. the knights now returned to their auberges. it was past midnight, but at the english house the lamps and flambeaux were lighted in the great hall. the servitors were called up, wine placed on the table, and the knights discussed the inci- dents of the evening. when the meal had concluded, sir john kendall said, "brother knights,—when the grand master bestowed the honour of secular knighthood upon this young comrade of ours, he predicted that he would rise to high distinction in the or- der. i think you will all agree with me that the prediction is already in a fair way of being fulfilled, and that the services he has rendered to the order justify us, his comrades of the eng- lish langue, in feeling proud of him. i drink, brothers, to his health." a loud shout rose from the assembled knights, for upon the return of the party who had been away, the rest of those at a knight of the white cross the auberge had hastily robed themselves and descended to the hall to gather the news. when the shout had died away, and the wine-cups were emptied, gervaise, who was sitting on sir john kendall's right hand, would gladly have retained his seat, but the bailiff told him that he must say a few words, and after standing in embarrassed silence for a minute he said,— "sir john kendall, and brother knights,—i can only say that i am very sensible of the kindness with which you have been pleased to regard what seems to me after all to have been a very ordinary affair. i saw a man, whom i knew to be a stranger in the island, speaking surreptitiously to a slave, and afterwards saw him conversing with a prison officer. that naturally struck me as curious, and i followed the officer, to see to which prison he belonged. any one would have thought, as i did, that such a thing was strange, if not suspicious, and the only way to find out whether there was anything in it was to mix with the slaves; as i spoke turkish well enough to do so i asked sir john kendall's permission to disguise myself. he gave me every assistance, and i shared their lot for a fort- night. there was no very great hardship in that—certainly nothing to merit the praise that sir john kendall has been kind enough to bestow on me. nevertheless, i am very glad to have gained your good opinion, and very grateful to him and to you for drinking to my health." then he sat down abruptly. sir john kendall now rose, and the knights, following his example, betook themselves to their dormitories. the next morning notices were sent by the grand master to the bailiffs of the auberges, and the knights of the grand cross who happened to be in the island, to assemble in council. messages were also sent to gervaise, requesting him to repair at the same hour to the palace, as the council would probably require his attendance. "oh dear! i wish this was all over," he said to ralph, as the latter assisted him to buckle on his armour. in command of a galley "i don't see anything to sigh about," ralph said. "i think that you are the most fortunate fellow in the world. i do not say that you have not well deserved it, because it is the tremendous way you worked at turkish and gave up every- thing else that has enabled you to do this. still, there was luck in your noticing that villain talking to the galley-slaves, and then to one of the officers of the prison. of course, as the grand master said last night, it isn't one in a thousand who would have thought anything more about it, and i am sure i shouldn't; so that, and all the rest, is entirely your own doing. still, it was a piece of luck that you noticed him talking with a slave. don't think i envy you, gervaise; i don't a bit, and i feel as much as any one that you have well deserved the honour you have obtained. still, you know, it is a sort of consolation to me that luck had a little—just a little—to do with it." "in my opinion luck had everything to do with it," ger- vaise said heartily, "and i feel downright ashamed at there being such a fuss made over it. it was badenough before, merely because i had hit on a plan for our escape from those pirates, but this is worse, and i feel horribly nervous at the thought of having to appear before the grand master and the council." "well, that brown dye will hide your blushes, gervaise. i can only say i wish that i was in your place. by-the-bye, have you heard that they caught that rascal greek last night?" "no, i have not heard anything about it." "yes. the knights hid themselves behind a pile of goods on the wharf. there was no one about, so far as they could see, but soon after twelve they saw a figure come up on to the deck of a fishing-boat moored by the quay. it was the greek; he stood there for a minute or two listening, and then went down again; he did this five or six times, and at one o'clock they saw him throw up his arms, as if in despair; he stepped ashore, and was about to make his way up into the town when they rushed out and seized him. there is no doubt as to a knight of the white cross what his fate will be. i am sorry to say that i hear my friend vrados has been arrested; but there can be no doubt about his loyalty, and he will assuredly be able to explain to the satisfaction of the council how this man became a resident at his house.'' "i am sorry i met him there, ralph. it is a very unpleas- ant thing to have gone to a house, to have been received kindly, and then to be the means of bringing trouble upon it." "yes. i feel that a little myself, because i took you there; and yet i cannot regret it, for if you had not seen him and taken an objection to him, you might not have noticed him particularly when he spoke to one of the galley-slaves. it is certainly curious that you should have doubted the man, for i have met him there several times, and even after your visit with me i could see nothing in him to justify your dislike." gervaise went up to the palace, and while waiting in the great hall until summoned before the council he was warmly accosted by several knights,—some of whom were quite strangers to him,—who all joined in congratulating him on the immense service he had done to the order. it was upwards of an hour before he was called in. "the council have received, sir gervaise tresham," the grand master said, "full details from sir john kendall of the manner in which you first discovered, and have since followed up the daring plot by which the slaves at st. pelagius were to have risen, slain the guards who were faithful, spiked the can- non in the three water forts, burnt the merchant shipping, carried off six galleys and burnt the rest, and in their name i thank you for having saved the order from a great calamity. the members of the council agree with me that you have shown an amount of discernment of the highest kind, and that you are worthy of exceptional favour and reward for your con- duct. i therefore in my own name appoint you to the com- mandery of our manor of maltby in lincolnshire, which, having fallen vacant, is in my gift; and i release it from the in command of a galley usual payment of the first year's revenue. knowing that you desire to establish yourself here, the council have, at my re- quest, decided to make an exception to the general rule that a knight, on promotion to a commandery, must return and take charge of it in two years from the time the grant is made to him. the commandery will therefore be administered by the senior of the knights attached to it. "the council, on their part, have requested the bailiff of auvergne, as grand master of the fleet, to appoint you to the command of the galley now building, and approaching comple- tion. this he has consented to do, feeling, as we all feel, that although such an appointment is unprecedented for a young knight, yet in the present case such an exception may well be made. i may add that the admiral has—in order that no knight greatly your senior should be placed under your com- mand—determined that he will appoint to it only young knights, who will, we are assured, gladly serve under one who has so distinguished himself, feeling certain that, under his command, they will have ample opportunities against the in- fidels to prove themselves worthy of the order. i may add, also, that the bailiffs of all the langues promise that they will select from among the young knights such as may seem best fitted for such service, by their skill in warlike exercises, by their ready obedience to orders, and good conduct. and i foresee that the spirit of emulation, and the desire to show that, though still but professed knights, they are capable of per- forming as valiant deeds as their elders, will make the galley under your command one of the most successful in the order. "as you are aware, it is a stringent rule, which even in so exceptional a case we should not be justified in breaking, that a knight must reside in the island for five years previous to being promoted to a commandery. it is now two months more than that time since you were received as page to the late grand master, and in promoting you to a commandery i have not, therefore, broken the rule. you may retire, sir gervaise." g a knight of the white cross gervaisc, overwhelmed by the unlooked-for honours thus bestowed upon him, bowed deeply to the grand master and the members of the council, and then retired from the chamber. he passed out of the palace by a side door, so as to avoid being accosted by the knights in the great hall, and took his way out on to the ramparts, where he walked up and down for a considerable time before returning to the auberge. he felt no hilarity at his promotion. he had never entertained any am- bition for rising to high office in the order, but had hoped only to perform his duty as a true knight, to fight against the infidels, and some day, if need be, to die for the order. the commandery was, he knew, a rich one, and as its chief he would draw a considerable revenue from the estate. this afforded him no pleasure whatever, except inasmuch as it would enable him, in his new command of the galley, to keep a handsome table, and to entertain well the knights who served under him. it seemed to him, however, that the reward and honours were so far beyond his deserts that he felt almost humiliated by their bestowal. the responsibility, too, was great. would these young knights, the youngest of whom could be but a year his junior, serve willingly under his orders? and, above all, would they be able to emulate the deeds of experienced warriors, and would the galley worthily maintain the fame of the order? at the end of two hours he was joined by ralph harcourt. "i have been looking for you everywhere, gervaise. you seemed to have disappeared mysteriously. none had marked you leave the council chamber, or knew where you had gone; and after searching everywhere i remembered your fondness for walks upon the walls, so i climbed to the top of st. john's tower and thence espied you. well, i congratulate you most heartily on the honours that have fallen to your share, espe- cially that of the command of a new galley." "it is too much altogether, ralph. i feel ashamed at being thus thrust into a post that ought to be given to a knight of age and experience. how can i expect a number of young in command of a (iai.i.ey knights, of whom well-nigh all must be my seniors in age, to obey me as they would an older man?" "what has age to do with it?" ralph said. "you have shown that you have a head to think, and, as you before proved, you have an arm to strike. why, every young knight in the order must feel proud that one of their own age has gained such honour. it raises them all in their own esteem, and you will see that you will get the pick among all the pro- fessed knights, and of a good many who have finished their profession, and are serving here in the hope of some day get- ting promotion to a commandery. not such an one as you have got; that, in the ordinary course of things, does not fall to a knight until he is well on in years, and has served in many commanderies of smaller value. i can tell you, directly sir john kendall came back and told us that you had been ap- pointed commander of the new galley, and that it was to be manned wholly by young knights, there was not one of those serving their profession in the .auberge who did not beg sir john to put down his name for it; and ten or twelve others, myself among them, who have obtained full knighthood also." "you don't mean to say that you have put down your name to serve under me, ralph? it would be monstrous." "i see nothing monstrous in it, gervaise. as i said just now, years have nothing to do with it, and, putting aside our friendship, i would rather serve under you than under many knights old enough to be your father. i don't know whether i shall have the luck to be one of the chosen, as sir john said that there were to be only seven from each langue, which will make forty-nine—with yourself fifty. if i am chosen—and, knowing our friendship, i hope that the bailiff will let me go with you—it is likely enough i may be named your lieutenant, as i shall be the only one beside yourself who is a secular knight, and am, therefore, superior in rank to the rest." "that would be pleasant indeed, ralph, though i would rather that you had been made commander and i lieutenant; a knight of the white cross but at any rate, with you to support me, i shall feel less op- pressed by the thought of my responsibility." as ralph had declared would be the case, the young knights in the other auberges were as anxious as those of england to be enrolled among the crew of the new galley, and the bailiffs had some trouble in choosing among the aspirants. very few were selected outside the rank of professed knights, and as great pains were taken to comply with the grand master's wishes that only young knights of good conduct and disposi- tion, and distinguished by their proficiency in warlike exer- cises, should be chosen, the crew was in every way a picked one. most of them had made one or two of the three months' voyages in the galleys, though comparatively few had had the good fortune to be absolutely engaged with the moslem pirates. to the great satisfaction of himself and gervaise, ralph harcourt was nominated lieutenant of the galley. the fact that so many had volunteered impressed all those who were chosen with the sense that it was at once an honour and a piece of good fortune to be selected, and all were determined that the boy-galley, as the elder knights laughingly termed it, should do honour to the order. it was a fortnight before she was launched. gervaise had heard, with great satisfaction, that it had been decided by the council that no punishment should be inflicted upon the slaves for their share in the intended rising at st. pelagius. all were guilty, and there was no means of saying who had taken prom- inent parts in the plot. the council felt that it was but nat- ural that they should grasp at the prospect of freedom, for they themselves would have done the same had they been captives of the infidels. even the warders and guards were allowed to go unpunished, although their offence was a much more serious one. those who could have named the men who had accepted bribes were dead, and the lesson had been so severe a one that there was no probability of any again turning traitors. the author of the rising had been publicly executed. seeing the the boy-galley hopelessness of denial, he had boldly avowed his share in the matter, and had acknowledged that he was acting as agent for the sultan, and had been supplied with ample funds before leaving constantinople. he declared that he was absolutely unable to give any names whatever of those concerned in the plot, save those of the two overseers, as these had undertaken the work of suborn- ing the warders and guards, though he admitted that he had on several occasions spoken to slaves as the gangs were on their way back to the prison, and had told them to be prepared to take part in a plan that was on foot for their rescue from slavery. the torture had not been, as was then the usual custom, ap- plied to extort information; partly because his story was prob- able, still more because the grand master and council did not wish that more publicity should be given to the affair, and were glad that it should be allowed to drop without any fur- ther trial of the delinquents. in the city generally it was only known that a plot had been discovered for the liberation and escape of some of the slaves; and, outside the members of the order, none were aware of its extent and dangerous char- acter. to the satisfaction of gervaise and ralph, vrados was able to produce letters and documents that satisfied the coun- cil that he had been deceived as to the character of the greek, and was wholly innocent in the matter. chapter xii the boy-galley among those most pleased at the appointment of gervaise to the command of the galley was sir john boswell. ever since the adventure with the pirates, the knight had ex- hibited an almost fatherly interest in him; had encouraged him the boy-galley that afterwards they should ever be ready to obey the sum- mons to arms, on occasions when the safety of rhodes, or the invasion of any christian country by the moslems, rendered their services needful, when they would come out just as the knights of richard the lion-heart went out as crusaders. i have spent half my life since i joined the order in commanderies at home, and a dull life it was, and i was glad enough to resign my last command and come out here. had i been able to marry, i might now have had a son of your age, whose career • i could watch and feel a pride in. my life would have been far happier in england, and in all respects i should be a better man than i am now. methinks it would strengthen rather than weaken the order. as a fighting body we should be in no way inferior to what we are now, and we should be more liked and more respected throughout europe, for naturally the sight of so many men leading a luxurious life in commanderies causes a feeling against them." "but i suppose, sir john, that there is no great difficulty in obtaining a dispensation from our vows?" "in this, as in all other matters, everything depends upon interest or money. of course, dispensations are not common; but doubtless any knight when he had served his term of ac- tive service could, especially if his request were backed by the grand master, obtain from the pope a dispensation of his vows. if he had a commandery it would make a vacancy, and give the grand prior, or the grand master, or the council, in whoso- ever's gift it might be, an opportunity of rewarding services or of gratifying some powerful family." "i agree with you that it would have been much better, sir john. i can understand that monks, ever living a quiet life apart from the world, should be content so to continue; but among a body of warlike knights there must be many who, in time, must come to regret the vows they took when boys. the cadet of a noble family might, by the death of elder brothers, come to be the head of a great family, the ruler over w ide do- the boy-galley we must be content to observe our vows as well as may be, so long as we are willing to remain monks and try to obtain dis- pensation from our vows should we desire to alter our mode of life. we ought either to have remained monks pure and simple, spending our lives in deeds of charity, a life which suits many men, and against which i should be the last to say anything, or else soldiers pure and simple, as were the crusaders, who wrested the holy sepulchre from the hands of the infidels. at present, gervaise, your vocation lies wholly in the way of fighting, but it may be that the time will come when you may have other aims and ambitions, and when the vows of the order will gall you." "i hope not, sir john," gervaise said earnestly. "you are young yet," the knight replied, with an indulgent smile. "some day you may think differently. now," he went on, changing the subject abruptly, "when will your galley be ready ?'' "this is my last ride, sir john. the shipwrights will have finished to-morrow, and the next day we shall take possession of her, and begin to practise, so that each man shall know his duties, and the galley-slaves learn to row well, before we have orders to sail. i wish you were going with us, sir john." "i should like it, lad, in many respects. it does one good to see the enthusiasm of young men, and doubtless you will be a merry party. but, on the other hand, unless i mistake, you will be undertaking wild adventures, and my time for these is well-nigh passed. when the turk comes here, if he ever comes—and of that i have little doubt—i shall be ready to take my full share of the fighting; but i shall seek adventures no longer, and shall go no more to sea. next only to the bailiff, i am the senior of our auberge, and—but this is between our- selves, lad—am like to succeed to the grand priory of england when it becomes vacant, and if not i shall, as the grand master has told me, have the offer of the next high office vacant in the palace." two days later gervaise and his company of young knights a knight of the white cross went down to the port to take part in the launch of the new galley. this was the occasion of a solemn ceremony, the grand master and a large number of knights being present. a religious service first took place on her poop, and she was named by the grand master the "santa barbara." when the ceremony was over, gervaise was solemnly invested with the command of the galley by the grand marshal of the navy; then the shores were struck away, and the galley glided into the water, amid the firing of guns, the blowing of trumpets, and the cheers of the spectators who had gathered at the port to witness the ceremony. the next morning a gang of galley-slaves were marched down. a third of these had been drawn from the crews of other gal- leys, their places being supplied by new hands. the remain- der were taken from the men employed on the fortifications. three weeks were occupied in teaching the rowers their work, and getting them well together. they were a fine crew, for the governor of st. pelagius, grateful to gervaise for the discovery of the plot, had ordered the overseers to pick out from the vari- ous gangs men specially suited by age and strength for the work. the dye by this time had entirely worn off his face, and al- though his hair was still several shades darker than of old, it differed even more widely from the ebon hue that it had been when he was in prison. thus, although he recognised three or four men upon the benches who had been fellow-occupants of his cell, he had no fear whatever of their detecting in the commander of the galley their late companion in misfortune. only a portion of the knights had been out each day while the crew were learning to row, as there was but little for them to learn. the galley carried no sails, and the knights were soldiers rather than sailors, and fought on the deck of their ship, as if defending a breach, or storming one held by the enemy. moreover, as all of them had already made one or more voyages, they were accustomed to such duties as they would have to discharge on board. the boy-calley all were glad when an order was published for the galley to sail. on the eve of departure gervaise was sent for by the grand master. the general of the galleys was with him when gervaise entered the room. the bailiff of auvergne always held the position of grand marshal, and the bailiff of italy that of second in command, with the title of grand admiral. these officials, however, as heads of their respective langues, had many other duties to perform, and it was only on great occa- sions that they took any practical share in the work of which they were nominally heads. the real control in all naval ques- tions rested with the general of the galleys, who was elected by the council, but on the nomination of the grand master. his power when at sea with the fleet was absolute. he could suspend any officer from duty, and had unquestioned power of life and death over the crews. he had been fre- quently on board the galley since she had been launched, and had been pleased with the attention paid by gervaise to his duties, and with the ready manner in which the young knights carried out his orders. "sir gervaise tresham," he said, " it is usual, as you know, to appoint each galley to a certain cruising ground, to which it is confined during its three months' absence. at present there is a galley on each of these stations, and as the last re- lief took place but a month since, it is better that they should remain at the stations allotted to them. i have therefore, after consultation with his highness the grand master, decided to give you a free hand. you are as likely to meet with pirates in one quarter as in another, and you will pick up from ves- sels you may overhaul news of their doings, which will enable you to direct your course to the point where you will be most useful." "in the first place, however, you will proceed to the coast of tunis. visconti's galley is already there, but the coast swarms with corsairs, and we have had many complaints as to their depredations. the court of spain has twice represented li)g a knight of the white cross to us lately that the pirates have grown so bold that vessels have been carried off, even when coasting from one spanish port to another. visconti is specially watching the coast near tunis, and you will therefore perhaps do better to proceed far- ther west, for every village from tunis to tangier is little bet- ter than a nest of pirates. i should imagine that you will find ample employment there during your three months' cruise. when i say that you are free to choose your own cruising ground, i do not mean that you should go up the levant, or to the east of the mediterranean, but that you are not bound to keep close along the african coast, but may, should you ob- tain any information to warrant your doing so, seek the pirates along the shores of spain, sardinia, corsica, or sicily. "i need not warn you to act with prudence as well as cour- age, for you have proved that you possess both qualities. do not allow yourself to be carried away by the impetuosity of your knights; it is more often the duty of a commander to restrain than to encourage his crew, and with such young blood as you have under your command the necessity will be greater than usual. be kind to your slaves, but be ever watchful; yet this i need not tell you. maintain a strict but not over-severe discipline. you are all knights and comrades of the order, and equals when on shore, but on board you are the captain and they are your soldiers. i have this afternoon had a meeting of your knights, and have urged upon them very strongly that, having volunteered to serve under you, they must obey your orders as promptly and willingly as if you were the senior knight of the order, and that it behoves them specially upon the present occasion, when the crew is com- posed entirely of young knights, to show themselves worthy of the honour that has been done to them by entrusting a galley of the order to their charge. i told them i should regard your report of their individual conduct with the same attention and respect with which i should that of any other commander, and that they might greatly make or mar their future prospects in the boy-galley the order by their conduct during the cruise. i am convinced, from what i know of you, that you will exercise no undue harsh- ness, but will act with tact and discretion, as well as firmness." "i will try to do so, your excellency. i feel that it is a heavy responsibility and will spare no pains to justify the un- merited honour that has been bestowed upon me." "you have seen that the taking in of stores is complete, and that nothing is wanting for the voyage?" "yes, sir. i stood by while the overseer of stores checked off every sack and barrel as it came on board. the water is to be brought off this evening, and as i was unable to be present, sir ralph harcourt is there to count the barrels and see that all are full." "good-bye, sir gervaise," the grand master said, as the interview terminated. "hitherto you have given me, from the time you reached the island, naught but reason for satis- faction at my nomination of you as page, and i have no fear that you will fail this time. remember that valour, however great, cannot prevail against overpowering odds. you had a lesson of that when you served under ricord, though finally the affair turned out well. i do not say, don't attempt des' perate undertakings, but don't attempt impossible ones. be careful of the lives of your knights. remember that ere long every sword may be of the utmost consequence in the defence of rhodes, and that even the capture of pirates may be too dearly purchased; but that, at the same time, the honour of the flag of the order must be upheld at all hazards. ah!" he broke off, seeing a slight smile on the young knight's face, "you think my orders contradictory? it may be so; but you know what i mean, and i fear not that you will blunder in carrying them out. be prudent, and yet not over-prudent. i mean, be not rash, unless there are such benefits to be ob- tained as would justify great risk in obtaining them." on returning to the auberge, gervaise had a long chat with ralph. a knight of the white cross "i think the admiral's talk with us this afternoon had an excellent effect, gervaise. i do not say that every one was not before disposed to obey you in all things, willingly and cheerfully; but he put it so strongly to them that they had volunteered specially for service in this galley, knowing well who was to be its commander, and the circumstance that the crew was to consist solely of young knights, and had therefore specially pledged their honour so to act that the enterprise should be in all respects a successful one. to render it so, obedience was even a greater necessity than valour. this was the most important of all the vows taken by the knights of the order, and it was only by the strictest and most unquestion- ing obedience on the part of all to the orders of their supe- riors, that the work of a vast community could be carried on. passing over the fact that you were their superior in rank, both as being a secular knight and a knight commander of the order, you had been specially appointed by the grand master and council, as well as by himself, and that they bestowed upon you while at sea, and in the absence of any officers of superior rank, their full powers and authority. you were, in fact, their representative and agent, and therefore to be re- garded with the same deference and respect that would be due to the oldest knight similarly placed. 'lastly,' he said, in a less serious tone, 'you must remember that this is an experi- ment, and, as some think, a somewhat rash one. never be- fore did a galley, manned entirely from among the youngest of our knights, put to sea; and you may be sure that, unless successful, the experiment is not likely to be ever repeated. you have been selected from among many other candidates, and you have not only to justify the choice, but to uphold the reputation and honour of the young knights of your order, by all of whom your doings will be regarded with special interest, as reflecting credit not only upon yourselves individually, but as representatives and champions of them all.' "i could see that his words had a great effect. he had a knight of the white cross and, when he arrived, were drawn up in military order to re- ceive him. every knight was in full armour, and as, at a word from ralph, they drew their swords and saluted the young com- mander, gervaise felt with a thrill of pleasure and of confi- dence that with such a following he need not fear any encoun- ter with a pirate force, unless in overwhelming numbers. the young knights were all, with the exception only of ralph harcourt, between the ages of seventeen and nineteen, and their young faces, free in most cases even from the sus- picion of a moustache, looked almost those of boys. but there was no mistaking the ardour and enthusiasm in their faces, and the lack of breadth and weight, that years alone could give to them, was compensated by skill in their weapons, acquired by long and severe training, and by the activity and tireless energy of youth. "knights and comrades," gervaise said as, after walking through the double line to the end of the poop he turned and faced them, "i am proud indeed to command so gallant a body of knights. the success of our expedition depends upon you rather than upon me, and as i feel assured of your warm co-operation i have no fear as to what the result will be, if dame fortune will but favour us by throwing in our way some of those scourges of the sea in search of whom we are about to set out. many of us have already encountered them, and, fighting side by side with older knights, have borne our share of the work, while those who have not done so will, i am sure, do equally well when the opportunity arrives. we shall not this voyage have the encouragement and confidence inspired by the presence of those who have long and valiantly borne the standard of the order; but, on the other hand, we have to show that we are worthy of the confidence reposed in us, and that the young knights of the order can be trusted to emulate the deeds of those who have rendered the name of the hospitallers a terror to the infidel." the boy-galley a shout of approbation greeted the close of his address. gervaise then walked forward to the end of the poop, and looked down upon the slaves, who, with their oars out, were awaiting the order to row. "men," he said in turkish, "it is my desire that, while it is necessary that you should do your work, your lot shall be no heavier than can be avoided. you will not be taxed beyond your powers, save when the enemy is in sight, or there is su- preme need for haste, but then you must be called upon for your utmost exertions. i wish your work to be willing, i abhor the use of the lash, and so long as each man does his fair quota of work, i have given the strictest orders that it shall never be used. i have, at my own cost, made provision that your daily rations shall be improved while under my command. meat will be served out to you daily, when it can be obtained, and for those of you who hold that the strict tenets of your religion may be relaxed while engaged in such severe labour, a ration of wine will also be served out; and such other indul- gences as are compatible with the discipline and safety of the ship, will also be granted to you." there was a murmur of gratitude among the slaves, ger- vaise then gave the order to row, and the galley started on her voyage. the knights had now fallen out from their ranks, and were soon laughing and talking gaily. being all of noble families and knightly rank, there was, except when on actual duty, a tone of perfect equality and good fellowship prevailing among them. french was the common language, for as the order was of french foundation, and three of the seven langues belonged to that country, most of the high dignitaries being chosen from their ranks, it was natural that the french lan- guage should be the general medium of communication be- tween them. until noon the slaves rowed steadily and well. work was then stopped, for there was scarce a breath of wind stirring the water. even under the awning that had, as the sun gained a knight of the white cross power, been erected over the poop, the heat was oppressive. the knights had all divested themselves of their armour, and most of them retired below for a siesta. as soon as the slaves stopped rowing, an awning, which gervaise had purchased, and which was rolled up under the break of the poop, was, to their astonishment, drawn over them. "don't you think you are spoiling your slaves, sir ger- vaise?" one of the spanish knights asked doubtfully. "on the contrary, sir pedro, i hope that i am improving them. you have not worked as a galley-slave, but i have, and i can assure you that i used to feel the hours when we were lying broiling in the sun, doing nothing, much more trying than those during which i was at work. i used to be quite giddy and sick with the heat, and on getting out the oars again had scarce strength to work them. but this is not the most important point. in port the slaves always sleep in the prison, but at sea they must rest on their benches; and to do so with clothes soaked with the heavy dew must be a severe trial, and most prejudicial to the health. the awning cost but a few ducats, and i reckon that, putting aside the comfort to the slaves, it will be very speedily repaid by their better health and capac- ity for labour. when away in the galley with sir louis ri- cord, i used to feel the greatest pity for the unfortunate wretches when at daybreak, in their drenched clothes, and shivering with cold and wet, they rose to commence their work. i then took a vow that if ever i should come to com- mand a galley i would provide an awning for the slaves." two or three of the knights standing by expressed their warm approval of what gervaise said. there was, in those days, but little of that sentiment of humanity that is now preva- lent, and slaves were everywhere regarded as mere beasts of burden rather than as human beings. when, however, they had the question put to them, as gervaise had done, they were ready to give a hearty agreement, although it was the utili- tarian rather than the humanitarian side of the question that the boy-galley ! recommended it to them. after three hours' rest the journey was renewed, and just at nightfall the galley anchored off an islet lying to the north of carpathos. while the servants were laying the tables along the poop for the evening meal, gervaise went down to see that his orders were carried out regarding the food for the slaves. they were already eating their bread and meat with an air of satisfaction that showed how warmly they appreciated the unusual indul- gence, while there were few indeed who did not hold up their drinking horns as a servant passed along between the benches with a skin of wine. gervaise spoke to many of them. "ah, my lord," one of them said, "if we were always treated like this, slavery would be endurable. for ten years have i rowed in christian galleys, but never before has an awn- ing been spread to keep off the sun or the dew. we shall not forget your kindness, my lord, and will row our hardest right cheerfully when you call upon us for an effort." there was a murmur of assent from the galley-slaves around. "may allah be merciful to you, as you are merciful to us!" another slave exclaimed. "the blessing of those whom you regard as infidels can at least do you no harm." "on the contrary, it can do me good," gervaise said. "the god you moslems and we christians worship is, i be- lieve, the same, though under another name." gervaise had, indeed, during his long conversations with suleiman ali, often discussed with him the matter of his faith, and had come, in consequence, to regard it in a very different light to that in which it was viewed by his companions. there was faith in one god at the bottom of both mohammedanism and christianity. the mohammedans held in reverence the lawgivers and prophets of the old testament, and even re- garded christ himself as being a prophet. they had been grievously led away by mahomet, whom gervaise regarded as a false teacher; but as he had seen innumerable instances of the fidelity of the moslems to their creed, and the punctuality a knight of the white cross and devotion with which the slaves said their daily prayers, ex- posed though they were to the scorn and even the anger of their taskmasters, he had quite lost, during his nine months of constant association with suleiman ali, the bigoted hatred of mohammedanism so universal at the time. he regarded mos- lems as foes to be opposed to the death; but he felt that it was unfair to hate them for being hostile to christianity, of which they knew nothing. chapter xiii the first prizes after leaving the slaves, gervaise joined his companions on the poop. they were engaged in an animated dis- cussion as to whether it was advisable to grant indulgences to slaves. the majority approved of the steps gervaise had taken, but some asserted that these concessions would only lead them to look for more, and would create discontent among the crews of other galleys not so favoured. "well, comrades," said gervaise, " i think that so far i am better qualified than any of you to give an opinion; but it may be that it will fall to the lot of some of you to be a slave in turkish hands. in that case, i can affirm with certainty, that you will keenly appreciate any alleviation, however small, of your lot. you must remember that the one feeling of the slave is dull despair. death is the only relief he has to look forward to. do you think that a man so feeling can do his best, either at an oar or at any other kind of work? i am sure it would not be so in my case. but if you brighten his life a little, and show him that he is not regarded as merely a brute beast, and that you take some interest in him, he will work in a different spirit. even viewed from a merely mone the first prizes tary point of view it must pay well to render him as content as possible with his lot. you know how great is the mortality among the slaves—how they pine away and die from no ma- terial malady that can be detected, but simply from hopeless- ness and weariness of life, aided, undoubtedly, in the case of the galley-slaves, by sleeping in the damp night air after an expos- ure all day to the full heat of the sun. this brings an answer to your second objection. undoubtedly it might cause dis- content among the slaves of other galleys when they hear that others are treated better than themselves. but i hope that if, on our return, we bring back all our slaves in good condition and health, the contrast between their appearance and that of the slaves in most other galleys will be so marked that the ad- miral may consider it would be well to order awnings to be fixed to all the vessels of the order, and even to grant to all slaves, when away on voyages, the little indulgences i have given them here. the expense would be very trifling, and it would certainly add a great deal to the average life of a slave, and would render him capable of better work. there is an- other advantage. if the turks learn that their countrymen in our hands are treated with a certain amount of kindness and consideration, it might lead them to act similarly to those of our order who may be unfortunate enough to fall into their hands." "there is a great deal in what you say, sir gervaise," one of the knights, who had before taken the opposite point of view, said. "there is no reason why our galley should not be a model one, and though, like enough, the seniors will laugh at our making innovations, d'aubusson is a reformer, and will certainly support anything that he sees to be bene- ficial, from whatever quarter it comes." supper was now served, and the young knights were well pleased with the entertainment provided for them. it was the principal meal of the day. their fast was broken by a glass of wine, a manchet of bread, and fruit soon after rising. at "you have been attacked by pirates," gervaise said. - the first prizes "it is a ship of some sort," ralph said; "but her masts have gone. it may be that she is a merchantman that has been captured and sacked by the moorish pirates." orders were given to the rowers to quicken their pace, and in little over an hour they were alongside the hull. as soon as the vessels were close enough for those on the poop of the galley to look down on to the deck of the other craft, it was seen that ralph's suppositions were correct. two bodies lay stretched upon it. one was crushed under the fallen mast; the other lay huddled up in a heap, a cannon-ball having almost torn him asunder. the knights leapt on to the deck as soon as the galley ran alongside. gervaise made first for the man lying beneath the mast; as he came up to him, the sailor opened his eyes and murmured, " water!" gervaise called out to one of the servants to bring water from the galley, and, as soon as it came, poured some between the man's lips, and the knights by their united efforts lifted the mast from across his body. it was evident, however, that he had but a short time to live, and the dew of death was on his face. after a few minutes he rallied a little, and looked gratefully at his rescuers. "you have been attacked by pirates," gervaise said. "was there one galley, or two ?'' "three galleys," the man replied in a faint whisper. '' do you know where they were from ?'' "tripoli." '' how long ago ?'' "it was about three hours after sunrise when we saw them coming up," the man said, his voice gaining in strength, as some wine they gave him took effect. "it was useless to fight, and i hauled down our flag, but in spite of that one of the pirates fired a broadside, and one of the shot hit the mast and brought it down, and i was crushed under it. they boarded us, took off all the crew as captives, and emptied the hold; i knew that i was done for, and begged them to kill me; but they paid no attention. i know a little of their language, ns a knight of the white cross and as i lay there i caught something of what they were say- ing; they are bound for the island of sardinia, where they have a rendezvous, and are to join a great gathering of their consorts. i don't know the name of the place, but it is on the east coast. more water!" gervaise knelt to pour some water between his lips, when he gave a sudden cry, a shudder ran through his frame, and he was dead. "let us return on board, gentlemen," gervaise said, rising to his feet. "we can do nothing here." as soon as he regained the deck of the galley, he signed to ralph to follow him below. "now, ralph," he said, "this is one of those cases in which we have to decide whether we ought or ought not to be prudent. from what that poor fellow said, the pirates have about five hours' start of us, and as they can have no idea that they are pursued, we can doubtless overtake them before they reach sardinia. the question is, ought we to pursue them at- once, or ought we to coast along until we find vis- conti's galley? three of these tripoli pirates, crowded as they always are with men, would prove serious opponents, yet we might engage them with a fair hope of victory. but we may be seriously disabled in the fight, and should be, perhaps, unable to carry the news to genoa that there are many pirate ships gathering on the coast of sardinia to prey upon their commerce.'' "we might be days, or even weeks, before we light upon visconti's galley, gervaise, and even when we found it, he might not consider himself justified in leaving the coast where he is stationed. besides, while w:e are spending our time looking for him, the pirates will be committing terrible depre- dations. it must be a big expedition, under some notorious pirate, or they would never venture so far north." "then you think that i should be justified in pursuing them alone. it is a fearful responsibility to have to decide." the first prizes "i think so, gervaise. there is no saying what misfort- unes might happen if we did not venture to do so." "very well then, so be it. but before deciding finally on so grave a matter, i will lay it before the company." "there is no doubt as to what their decision will be," ralph said, with a smile. "perhaps not, ralph; but as they will be called upon to risk their lives in a dangerous enterprise, it is as well that they should have a say in the matter." when they returned on to the poop, there was an expres- sion of eagerness and excitement on the faces of the young knights which showed how anxiously they had been awaiting the result of the conference below. gervaise stepped on to a bench, and motioned to them to close up round him. "comrades," he said, "although the responsibility of what- ever course may be taken must rest upon my shoulders, yet i think it but right that, as a general before a battle often calls a council of war to assist him with its advice, so i should lay before you the two courses open to us, and ask your opinion upon them. sir ralph harcourt and i are of one mind in the matter, but as the decision is a grave one we should be loth to act upon it without your concurrence." he then re- peated the alternatives as he had laid them before ralph. "now," he went on, "as you see, there is grave danger, and much risk in the one course; but if successful its advantages are obvious. on the other hand, the second plan is more sure, more prudent, and more in accordance with the instruc- tions i have received. i ask you to let me know frankly your opinion on the subject. if your view agrees with ours, al- though it will not relieve me from the responsibility of decid ing, it will at least, in the event of things turning out badly, be a satisfaction to know that the course had your approval, and that it was your desire, as well as ours, that we should undertake it. first, then, let all who are in favo-.ir of follow- ing the pirates go to the starboard side of the deck, while a knight of the white cross those who are in favour of joining visconti, and laying this serious matter we have discovered before him, move to the larboard side." there was a rush of the knights to the right, and not one moved to the other side. "your decision is the same as ours," gervaise said. "to the north, then! if there is great peril in the adventure, there is also great honour to be gained." the knights gave a shout of satisfaction at finding that their choice was also that of the officers. "lay her head to the north," gervaise said to the pilot. then he went to the end of the poop, and ordered the slaves to row on. "row a long, steady stroke, such as you can maintain for many hours. we have a long journey before us, and there is need for haste. now is the time for willing work." the oars dipped into the water, and the galley was soon moving along at a much faster pace than that at which they had performed the journey from rhodes. the slaves had not, from their benches, been able to see what had passed on board the dismantled vessel, but from the order and the change of course, they had no doubt that the knights had obtained some clue to the direction taken by the corsairs who had captured and sacked the ship. "there is but little wind," gervaise said to ralph, "and their sails will be of slight use to them; therefore we shall go fully three feet to their two. it is quite possible that we may not catch sight of them, for we cannot tell exactly the course they will take. we shall steer for cape carbonara, which is some hundred and thirty miles distant. if we do not see them by the time we get there, we shall be sure that we have passed them on the way, unless, indeed, a strong wind should spring up from the south. however, i hope that we shall catch sight of them before that, for we shall be able from our look- out to discover their masts and sails some eight or ten miles away, while they will not be able to see us until we are with- the first prizes in half that distance. they cannot be more than twenty miles away now, for the light breeze will aid them but little, and as they will see no occasion for haste, they will not be row- ing at their full power, with so long a passage before them." already, indeed, one of the knights had perched himself on the seat at the top of a low mast some fifteen feet above the poop, that served as a look-out. "you can see nothing yet, i suppose, cairoli?" "no; the line of sea is clear all round." it was indeed some four hours before the knight on the look- out cried that he could make out three dark specks on the horizon. gervaise at once ascended to the look-out, by the ladder that was fixed against the post. "they are making to the left of the course we are taking. turn her head rather more to the west. that will do. they are directly ahead now." he then came down to the deck again. "i would that we had seven or eight more hours of daylight, ralph, instead of but three at the outside. how- ever, as we know the course they are taking, we are not likely to miss them, for as we shall not be near enough for them to make us out before the sun sets, there will be no chance of their changing it. do you think they will row all night?" "i should not think so. if the land were nearer they might keep on until they make it, but as they have had no wind since daylight, they will lie on their oars until morning. you see, at sunset they will still be some eighty miles from cape carbonara, and the slaves could not possibly row that distance without rest; so that if we keep on we may take them by surprise." "that is what i have been thinking, ralph, but it would be well not to attack them until nearly daybreak. we should capture one galley easily enough; but the others, being igno- rant of our force, might make off in different directions, and we might lose both of them. if, on the other hand, we could fall upon them a short time before daylight, we should be able to keep them in sight, and, even if they separated, they a knic.h ' or' l'rie wrfirlt cross would soon come together and continue their course, or, as i hope, when they see that we are alone, bear up and fight us. i think that our best plan will be to row on until it is dark, then give the slaves six hours' rest, and after that go on quietly. if we can make them out, which we may do if they have lights on board, we will stop, and wait until it is the hour to attack them. if we miss them, we will row on to sardinia and lie up, as we proposed, until they come along." "i think that will be a very good plan, gervaise." before sunset the three pirate ships could be clearly made out from the deck, but the pilot judged them to be fully ten miles away. half an hour later the slaves were told to cease rowing. gervaise had ordered the cooks to prepare them a good meal, and this was at once served, together with a full ration of wine. as soon as they had consumed it, they were told to lie down and sleep, as at one o'clock the galley would be again under way. the knights' supper was served below, as lights on the poop might be made out, should a look-out be placed by the cor- sairs in their tops. "we had better follow the example of the galley-slaves," gervaise said, rising as soon as the meal was finished, "and, with the exception of spain, who is on watch, turn in to sleep till we are off again. all of you will, of course, don your armour on rising." at the appointed hour the galley was again under way. there was not a breath of air, and before starting, pieces of cloth were wrapped round the oars at the rowlocks to deaden the sound, which might otherwise have been heard at a consid- erable distance on so still a night. after an hour and a half's rowing, the knight on the look-out said that he could see a light some distance ahead. the pilot, an experienced old sailor, joined him, and speedily descended to the poop again. "it is a ship's light," he said. "i should say that it was a lantern on board the ship of the captain of the expedition, the first prizes and is shown to enable the other two to keep near him. i can- not say how far it is away, for i do not know at what height it hangs above the water; but i should imagine, from the fee- bleness of the light, that it must be some two miles distant." as soon as the light had been noticed, the slaves had been ordered to cease rowing, and they were now told that they would not be required again for fully two hours. when the first gleam of dawn appeared in the east they were called to their work again. the lantern was still burning, and, in a quarter of an hour, the knights on the poop were able, in the broadening light, to make out three shadowy forms some two miles ahead of them. they decreased this distance by more than half before they could discern any signs of life or motion on board. then a sudden stir was apparent; they could hear shouts from one vessel to another, oars were thrust out, and an effort made to get the heads of the ships in the same direction, so as to catch the light breeze that had just sprung up. the moment he saw that the galley was discovered, gervaise shouted down to the slaves to row their hardest, and told the pilot to steer for the ship farthest to the east. she was some four or five hundred yards from her nearest consort, and the same distance separated that vessel from the third craft. "we shall have time to carry her, ralph, before the others come to her assistance, and they will only arrive one at a time. if we were to lie alongside the middle craft, which is probably that of the chief, as it is she that has the light burning, we might have the other two upon us before we had done with her, for she is evidently the largest, and most likely the strongest- handed, of them." the leader of the pirates evidently saw that there was no chance of evading the fight. a flag was run up to the mast- head of his ship, and the three vessels began to endeavour to turn, so as to meet the galley. the operation, however, took some time. in the confusion, orders were misunderstood, and instead of all the slaves on one side rowing whilst those on the a knight of the white cross other side backed, all order was lost, and long before the craft for which the galley was making had got round, the latter was upon her. "shall i ram her, sir gervaise?" the pilot asked. "no; we might damage ourselves; besides, i do not want to sink her. sheer away the oars on one side!" the galley carried eight guns—three on each side of the poop, and two forward; and these had been loaded with small pieces of iron. a few shots had been fired by the pirates, but, owing to the confusion that prevailed on board, the guns were discharged so hurriedly that the shot either flew overhead or passed wide of the galley. excited as the young knights were, and eager for the fray, a general laugh broke out as the galley swept along by the pirate-ship, breaking many of her oars, and hurling all the slaves who manned them backwards off their benches. a moment later the guns poured their iron contents among the pirates who clustered thickly on the forecastle and poop, and as the vessels grated together the knights sprang on board the corsair. the members of the english langue had each been provided with short pieces of rope, and before joining their companions in the fray they lashed the vessels together, side by side. the fight was a very short one. france and auvergne, led by ralph harcourt, boarded at the bow, the other five langues at the poop; and so impetuous was their onset that the pirates, who had still scarce recovered from their surprise at being has- tily aroused from sleep to repel the attack of the foe who had so suddenly sprung out from the darkness upon them, offered but a feeble resistance. many threw themselves over- board, and swam to the ship nearest to them; others were cut down ; and the rest flung away their arms, and cried for quarter. all who did so were, without the loss of a minute's time, thrown down into the hold of their ship, and the hatches se- cured over them. it had before been arranged that ralph should take the command of the corsair, having with him the first prizes france, auvergne, and germany. as soon, therefore, as the captives were fastened below, gervaise called the knights of the other four langues back to the deck of the galley. the lash- ings were cast off, she was pushed from the side of the prize, and the oars were got out. there was no time to be lost, for the largest of the three pirate-ships, which had, directly it was seen that her consort was captured, poured two heavy broad- sides into the prize, was now approaching—rowing but slowly, however, for the third vessel to come up. she was but a hundred yards away when the galley swept round the bow of the prize and advanced to meet her. as she did so, ralph discharged the eight guns of the prize, which he had at once re-loaded, into the bow of the corsair, the shot raking the crowded deck from end to end. when but a few yards distant, the two bow guns of the galley poured in a shower of missiles, and a moment later she ran alongside the pirate, the poop guns, as before, preparing the way for the boarders. but no sooner had they leapt on deck than they were met by the pirates, headed by their captain. gervaise had specially charged the knights not to allow themselves to be carried away by their ardour. "we are sure to be greatly outnumbered, and, when we first spring on board, we must cut our way across the deck, and then form ourselves in a double or treble line across it, and, so fighting, gradually force them before us." this, in spite of the efforts of the pirates, was accomplished, and, once formed, the corsairs strove in vain to break through the wall of steel. for a time, however, no forward movement could be made, so furious were the attacks upon them, led by the pirate chief. several times breaches were made in the front rank, but the knights behind each time bore back the assault, and restored the line. the knights had won their way half along the poop when a yell of exultation rose from the corsairs as the third of their vessels rowed up on the other side of the galley, and her crew sprang on board it. gervaise g a knight of the white cross called the knights of the second line from their places, and ranged them along the bulwark, to prevent the moors from boarding from the poop of the galley. then for a moment he looked round. the prize was creep- ing up, and was a length or two away, coming up alongside. its approach was also noticed by the pirates, who, with wild shouts, flung themselves upon their opponents. gervaise sprang forward to take the place of a young italian knight, who staggered back, with his helmet cleft by a heavy blow from the keen yataghan of the pirate captain. the corsair, shouting his war-cry of " allah !" sprang with the bound of a wild cat upon gervaise; his weapon descended on his uplifted guard, and shore right through the stout blade. with a shout of triumph, the corsair raised his arm to repeat the blow; but gervaise in turn sprang forward, and struck with all his force with the pummel of his sword on the forehead of his opponent. the latter fell as if shot, his weapon dropping from his hand beside him. dismayed at the fall of their leader, his followers recoiled for a moment. another tall pirate sprang forward to take his place, and, shouting to them to follow, was about to throw himself upon gervaise, when a gun crashed out close along- side. a storm of iron swept away the front line of moors, and the shout of " st. john !" "st. john !" rose above the din. it was one of the bow guns of the prize, and as she swept along gun after gun poured its contents among the pirates. "do you clear the galley, ralph. we can manage here now," gervaise said, as ralph leapt on board. the latter, followed by his party of knights, rushed across the poop, and sprang on to the galley among the pirates, who had been striv- ing in vain to break through the line of defenders. gervaise called to his party to follow him, and, taking the offensive, fell upon the remnant of the corsairs who still held the for- ward end of the poop. the discharge of the cannon at such close quarters had the first prizes • wrought terrible havoc among them, and the pirates, with but slight resistance, turned, and either ran down the ladder or leapt into the water. the knights followed them forward among the benches of the rowers, who cheered loudly in many tongues as they passed them. at the forecastle the moors made another stand, but the knights forced their way up, and in two minutes all was over. "now to the aid of our comrades!" gervaise shouted, as the last of the corsairs was struck down. ralph's party had indeed cleared the poop of the galley, but they in vain endeavoured to climb up on to that of the third pirate-ship, whose superior height gave a great advantage to its defenders. gervaise leapt down on to the bow of the galley, followed by the knights, and then ran aft until he could climb into the waist of the pirate. so intent were the corsairs upon defending the poop that they did not see what was going on elsewhere, and gervaise had obtained a fair footing before he was noticed. then a number of men ran down and attacked his party. but it was too late, for the whole of the knights had, by this time, leaped on board. their assailants were forced back, and, pressing close upon them, the knights gained the poop before the main body of the pirates were aware of their coming. warned by the shouts and shrieks of their comrades that they had been taken in the rear, the moslems who were de- fending the side of the poop wavered for a moment. ralph took advantage of their hesitation, and sprang on board, his companions pouring in after him. there was a stern and des- perate fight. the moslems fought with the fury of despair, disdaining to ask or accept quarter. a few'leapt overboard, preferring death by drowning to that by the swords of the christians; but the great majority died fighting to the last. a shout of triumph rose from the knights as the last of the moslems fell. the first impulse of all of them was to take off their helmets a knight of the white cross in order to breathe the fresh air, and for a while they all stood panting from their exertions. "nobly and gallantly done, comrades!" gervaise exclaimed. "this is indeed a victory of which we have all a right to be proud. now, the first thing is to free the slaves of their shackles; there are many white faces among them. let our langue look after the wounded, while the released captives clear the decks of the bodies of the fallen pirates." it took an hour's hard work to knock off the chains of the slaves. the greater portion of them were christians—greeks, italians, spaniards, and french, who had been captured in various raids by the corsairs; and among them were the crew of the ship that had been overhauled by the galley on the pre- vious day. besides these, there were a few moslems who had been sentenced to labour in the galleys for various crimes. among the christians, the joy at their liberation was intense. some laughed, some cried, others were too overcome to speak coherently. among the rest were found, to the intense pleas- ure of their rescuers, three knights of the order who had for years been missing. they had been taken prisoners on an isl- and at which the galley to which they belonged had touched. many of the knights had landed, and three of them, all be- longing to the langue of italy, had wandered away from the rest, and had not returned. a search had been made for them, and it was discovered that a struggle had taken place. as there were no marks of blood, it was supposed that they were suddenly pounced upon by a party of hidden marauders, who had been watching them from some hiding-place, and had thrown themselves upon the knights before they had had time to draw their swords. following the trail by bushes broken down, and plants crushed under foot, it was found to lead to a creek on the other side of the island. here there were signs that a craft had been anchored, as there were the ashes of fires, fragments of food, and other matters, scattered about on the shore. hours had passed before the knights had been missed, the three knights of the cross give thanks for their release. a knight of the white cross "i am fabricius caretto," one said; •' this is giacomo da vinci; this pietro forzi: all knight commanders of the order, and now for six years prisoners in the hands of these corsairs. assuredly no one would know us, so changed are we." he looked round inquiringly for a familiar face. "your com- mander must surely be a comrade of ours?" "we know all your names," gervaisesaid, coming forward, "though none of us reached the convent until after your capt- ure. i have the honour to command this galley. my name is gervaise tresham, and i have for my lieutenant sir ralph harcourt. all of us, glad as we are at the capture we have effected of these three corsairs, are still more pleased that we should have been the means of rescuing three noble knights of our order from captivity. now, i pray you first of all to accom- pany me on board the galley, where we will do all we can to make you forget the sufferings you have gone through. after you have bathed, and re-clad yourselves, i will present to you the knights my comrades, amongst whom are seven of your own langue. three of these i will tell off to see to your com- fort, for, as you will understand, i have my hands full indeed at present." "first, before all things, sir knight, let me express to you all our deep gratitude and our admiration of the gallant deed that you have accomplished in thus, single-handed, capturing three vessels belonging to the fiercest and most dreaded of the corsairs of tripoli. god bless you all, sirs"—and his voice broke again—" for the deed you have done, and for bringing us out of this living hell!" gervaise called to three of the italian knights, and, followed by them and the released captives, led the way to the galley. here he left them in charge of their countrymen. "give them each a draught of old cyprus, and something to eat," he said aside to one of the knights; "they sorely need refreshment before aught else, for, as you see, they are well-nigh dazed with this unlooked-for change. i will put out clothes enough for the first prizes l one of them; the others you must supply for the present from your stores. now i must be off.'' there was indeed much to be done. four of the knights were told off to attend upon the most urgent cases among their own wounded. only two of their number had been killed outright, but there were four serious cases among the wounded, while eight or ten others had received wounds that required bandaging and attending to. as fast as the slaves' fetters were struck off, food and wine were given to them, together with such garments as could be found at the moment. then the bodies of the fallen pirates were thrown overboard, while the wounded were attended to, and the released christians were divided equally between the three prizes. to each of these the knights of one of the langues were told off, the seniors being appointed to the command. there were in all some ninety christian captives on board the three ships. thus each vessel had a complement of seven knights and thirty christians, and to these were added ten of the thirty moslems found at the oars, and fifteen of the pirates to whom quarter had been given. it was past noon before all these arrangements had been made, and during the time so occupied, the ships lay idly side by side, drifting slowly before the wind, the sails having been lowered as soon as the struggle was over. up to this time, the knights had been too busily engaged to think of food, but they were right glad when they were summoned to a meal on board the galley. gervaise found the three knights in the cabin, dressed in the usual attire of the order. they presented a very different ap- pearance, indeed, to that which they wore when he had first seen them. they had bathed, and combed their matted hair, which was alone sufficient to transform them, but the feeling that they were once more free men, and knights of an honoured order, had done even more to effect the change; and although they looked thin and worn, the martial bearing had come back naturally as they donned their knightly robes and buckled on swords. a knight of the white cross say that i shall be glad indeed to have the company and aid of three such well-known knights of the order, and would, could i do so, gladly resign my command into your experienced hands. but this i cannot do, and, anticipating that you would . be willing to join us in this expedition, i have been thinking how i could best utilise your aid. i have thought that, if you would accept the positions, i would appoint one of you to each of the prizes, to act, not as its commander, but as the leader of the band of released captives. most of them are sailors, of course, and with them you could work the guns and give ef- fective aid to the little party of knights in any actual fight." the three knights all exclaimed that they would gladly accept the posts he offered them. "the idea is a capital one, sir gervaise; and, as long as it does not come to close fighting, the three ships should be able to render efficient aid to your galley in any encounter. they will be, at any rate, a match for their own number of pirate ships," caretto said. as soon as the meal concluded, the moslem captives were questioned one by one as to the rendezvous at which the pirate fleet was to assemble; all, however, protested that the place was known only to the three commanders, all of whom had fallen in the fight. ii langues of france, germany, and spain went on board their, respective ships, as did the three parties of released cap- tives, with the knights who were to command them, while the rowers took their seats on the benches, shackled with the chains that had recently held the christians. the wind was from the chapter xiv the corsair fleet the knights of the the corsair fleet south, and with sails and oars the prizes were able to keep fairly abreast of the galley. with a few short intervals of rest, the slaves continued their work all night, until, shortly before daybreak, land was seen ahead, and the pilot at once pro- nounced it to be cape carbonara. "a good landfall, gervaise," ralph said. "the pilot has done right well. i suppose you mean to anchor when you get there?" "certainly, ralph. the slaves will have rowed nearly eighteen hours, with only two hours' rest. they must have some hours, at least, of sleep before we go on. as you and i have been up all night, we will turn in also. we will send a boat ashore to try and find out from the natives they may come across whether any vessels, bearing the appearance of moorish corsairs, have been seen passing up the coast, and also to find out what bays and inlets there are where they would be likely to anchor. some of the italian knights had best go with the boat, for though i believe these people speak a different dialect to those of the mainland, they would have more chance of un- derstanding them than any of the others." the sun had risen when the little fleet came to an anchor close to the cape. a boat was at once prepared to go ashore, and gervaise begged fabricius caretto, the senior of the rescued italian knights, to endeavour to find out whether a swift-sailing craft of some kind could be hired. if so, he was to secure her on any terms, and come off in her at once to the galley. gervaise had already talked the matter over with ralph, and they agreed that a strongly-manned craft of this kind would go faster than any of those they had taken, and that, moreover, it would be a pity to weaken their force by sending one of the prizes away. having seen them off, gervaise retired to the cabin and threw himself down for a short sleep, leaving the knights who had been off watch during the night, to see that all went well. in two hours he was roused. a native craft had come alongside with sir fabricius caretto. g a knight of the white cross "i think she is just the craft for us," the knight said, as gervaise came on deck. "she belongs to a large fishing vil- lage just round the point to the left. there were several boats there, but the villagers all said that this was the speediest vessel anywhere along the coast. she belongs to two broth- ers, who, with four men, constitute her regular crew; but i have arranged for twelve others to go in her, in order that they may row her along at a good pace if the wind falls light.'' "are your companions come off yet?" "no; but we can hoist a flag for their recall." "do so. i shall be greatly obliged if you will undertake this mission to the seaports. it needs one of name and rank to speak with the nobles and officials authoritatively." "i will gladly do so, sir gervaise. give me your instruc- tions, and you can rely upon my carrying them out." "i thank you greatly, sir fabricius, and shall be glad if you will take with you any two of the knights you may select. i have to write letters for you to deliver to the authorities at naples, pisa, and genoa. i shall write but briefly, and leave you to explain matters more fully. i shall merely say that i have intelligence of the arrival here of a fleet of moorish cor- sairs, of whose strength i am ignorant, but that assuredly their intention is to make a raid on the commerce of the coast, and perhaps to land at unprotected places. at ostia, after warn- ing the authorities to send orders along the coast for the in- habitants to be on their guard, pray them to carry word at once to rome, and request his holiness the pope to order some armed galleys to put to sea as soon as possible. beg them at naples and pisa to do the same thing. but of course it is from genoa that we must hope for the most assistance. "in each place you will, if possible, see the syndic himself, and such of his council as can be got quickly together. the moment you have done all you can at genoa sail for the isl- and of madalena, which lies off the north-eastern point of the island. there you will either find us, or a boat with a mes- the corsair fleet sage where to direct your course. i think perhaps it will be best to omit naples—it will save you fully a day, if not two, to do so. pray them at ostia to send off news down the coast, or to request the papal authorities to despatch mounted messengers. 'tis likely that, at first, at any rate, the corsairs will try the narrower waters to the north. from here to ostia is nigh two hundred miles, and if the wind is brisk you may arrive there to-morrow afternoon, and start again at night, arriving at pisa before noon on the following day; while, allowing for four or five hours to ascend the river there, you may be at genoa next morning. "three hours should suffice to gather from the authorities what force they can despatch, and as soon as you have learned this, embark again and sail south. you may reach madalena in two days. thus, at the earliest, it must be from six to seven days before you can bring us the news there; if you meet with calms or foul winds you may be well-nigh double that time. if at ostia you can get a faster craft than this, hire it, or take a relay of fresh rowers. i will furnish you with means when i give you the letters." in less than half an hourgervaise was on deck again. the boat had returned with the other italian knights. an ample store of provisions had been placed on board the speromkrii, i>othfor the crew and for the three knights, and, without a minute's delay, these took their places on board, the great sails were hoisted, and the craft glided rapidly away. "the villagers spoke truly as to her speed," ralph said, as they looked after her. "even with this light wind, she is running fully six miles an hour, and as, by the look of the sky, there will be more of it soon, she will make the run to ostia well within the time, we calculated." gervaise now questioned the other italian knights as to what information they had gained. they said the peasants had told them that several strange craft, using both oars and sails, had been noticed passing the corsair fleet position in which they are anchored, and bring us back news.'' "shall i go myself, gervaise?" "i could not spare you, ralph. the risk of capture does not seem to me to be great, but there certainly is a risk, and i dare not part with you. it had better be an italian, because there will doubtless be an opportunity of landing at villages and questioning the inhabitants, therefore we will send fosco. if there are some eight or ten corsairs gathered in any of these bays the news is sure to travel along the shore, and we may get some tidings in that way. the first thing is to send off to the village again to fetch two young fishermen; they must be active fellows, strong, and possessed of some courage. i will ask da vinci to go himself and select them. while he is away we will paint our boat black, and make ready for her to start at once; the sooner she is off the better." the italian knight at once undertook the mission, and started for the shore. fosco, who had been chosen principal- ly because he was light of frame, as well as very shrewd and in- telligent, was then called up, and his mission explained to him. he was delighted at having been selected. gervaise took him down to the cabin, and they consulted the maps with which the galley was furnished. "you will row on to muravera; it is some twenty miles from here. you see, the village lies at the mouth of a river. as soon as you arrive there, you will land and find out whether there is any report of moorish pirates having been seen along the coast. we shall be there this evening, and you will come on board and report. next day you will get to lunasei, which is about five miles on this side of cape bellavista, and they will certainly know there if the pirates are lying behind the cape. if they are so, you will row back to meet us; if they are not, you will remain there until we come up in the even- ing. remember that, should you on either day be seen and chased, and you find they are overtaking you, you will make : a knight of the white cross for the shore, land, and conceal yourselves. we shall keep along near the coast, and as we pass you can come down to the water's edge and signal to us to take you off. now you had better disguise yourself, so as to be in readiness to start as soon as da vinci comes off with the men. you will only need to take a small stock of provisions, as each night you can re- plenish them here." an hour later da vinci came off with two stalwart young fishermen. the little boat had already been painted, and it was lowered at once; p'osco stepped into it, and started. two hours later the prizes got up sail, and, accompanied by the galley, coasted quietly along the shore, arriving, late in the afternoon, at muravera. fosco at once came on board. "there is no news here beyond that which we gained this morning, sir gervaise," he said. "strange ships have cer- tainly been seen sailing north, but they did not approach the coast." a similar report was given at lunasei; there were certainly no corsairs lying behind cape bellavista, or news would assur- edly have reached the village. at orosei, next day, the report was the same; there were no strange ships at cape comino. they had been warned overnight that the coast beyond the cape was so precipitous, that there would be no villages at which to make inquiries, and arranged with fosco that the ships should anchor north of the cape, and that he should go on at once to inspect the next bay. if he found ships there, he was to return at once; if not, he was, at daybreak, to land at one of the vil- lages in the bay, and to make inquiries. no news was brought in by him during the night. "it is evident the pirates are not in the bay, gervaise," ralph said, as they came on deck at daybreak. "yes; and i am glad of it. it is a large bay, and if the genoese send half-a-dozen galleys, some of the pirates might still escape, while the next bays are deeper and narrower, and it would be more easy to entrap them all. i have all along the corsair fleet thought it most probable that they would rendezvous there. the maps show no villages for many miles round, and they might lie there for weeks without so much as a shepherd getting sight of them from the cliffs. moreover, it is the nearest point for cutting off ships coming down between corsica and the mainland, and they can, besides, snap up those proceeding from the south to marseilles, as these, for the most part, pass between sardinia and corsica." at eight o'clock the boat was seen coming round the point. "any news, fosco?" gervaise asked, as it approached the galley. '' none, sir gervaise. they have heard nothing of pirates, nor seen anything of them.'' exclamations of disappointment broke from the knights. "that makes it all the more likely," gervaise said, " that they are lying in one of the inlets to the north. you see, lower down they kept comparatively close to the shore, being careless who might notice them; but as they approached their rendezvous, they would be more careful, and might either pass along at night, or keep far out. if they had not been anxious to conceal their near presence, they would have been likely to put into this bay in search of plunder and captives; for tempe, one of the largest of the sardinian towns, lies but a short dis- tance away, and there must be a considerable amount of traffic." "there are four or five small craft lying there," fosco, who had by this time stepped on board, put in, "and a con- siderable number of fishing boats. when i came upon the ships in the dark, i thought at first that i had lighted on the pirates, but on letting the boat drift closely by them i soon saw they were not corsair galleys." "shall we get up anchor and go into the bay?" ralph asked. "it were safer not to do so, ralph. possibly one of the craft lying there might be presently captured by them, and a knight of the white cross they might learn from her crew of the presence of a galley of the order there. therefore i think it best to remain where we are till nightfall, and then to proceed and anchor on the north side of the island of madalena, if we can find a sheltered cove where we could not be seen either from the land or by passing ships." during the day there was a good deal of discussion among the knights as to whether the corsairs might not already have sailed away. it was evident that if all their ships had arrived, there would be no motive for delay. three ships they knew would never join them, and others might have been detained, from some cause or another. there could be no doubt that the pirates had already ample force for capturing as many merchant vessels as they might come across. but it might be intended to carry out some more daring project—to sack and burn towns along the coast, carry off the leading people for ransom, and fill the vessels with slaves—the attack being made simul- taneously on several unprotected towns. a vast amount of plunder could thus be reaped, together with captives of even greater money value. were this their plan, they would doubtless delay until all those who had promised to join in the expedition had arrived. the balance of opinion, then, was that the corsairs were still in hiding. by daybreak next morning they were moored in a sheltered little bay to the north of madalena, the galley lying inside the prizes, so as to be concealed as much as possible from view of any craft that might happen to pass the mouth of the bay. fosco started as soon as darkness fell in the evening, and re- turned early in the morning. "they are there," he shouted, as he neared the galley, "hidden in a deep inlet that runs into one of the narrow bays." "how many are there of them?" "seventeen or eighteen, i could not say which. they are all moored side by side." by this time fosco's boat had reached the galley. the corsair fleet "you have done well indeed," gervaise said, as the young knight ascended to the poop. "now give us a full account of what you have seen." "as you know, sir gervaise, the bay opposite this island splits up into two, running a long way inland, like the fangs of a great tooth. i had, of course, no difficulty in finding the entrance to the bay itself, as it is but a short distance across the strait. i steered first for the left-hand shore, and kept close along under the shadow of the cliffs, which, in many cases, rise almost straight out from the water. we rowed very quietly, fearing to run against a rock; for although it was light enough to see across the water, and to make out any craft that might be anchored there, it was very dark along the foot of the cliffs. there was no need for haste, as i knew i had plenty of time to explore both arms of the bay, and to be back here before day began to break. "we rowed up to the end of the inlet, and then, having assured ourselves that it was empty, came down the other side, and turned up the western arm. we had got some distance along when i fancied i heard voices, and so let the boat drift along, only dipping the oars in the water occasionally. i could make out no signs whatever of the corsairs, when sud- denly we came upon a break in the cliffs. it was only some fifty yards across, and here a creek came in at right angles to the shore. i could have given a shout of pleasure as i looked up it, for there a score of lights were burning above a dark mass, and we could hear the sound of talking and laughter. it was but a glimpse i caught, for the men at once backed water, and we were soon round the corner again. "up till then the fishermen had been ready enough to go where i wanted, but the sight of that clump of galleys regu- larly scared them, and they wanted to row straight away; but of course i pointed out to them that they had taken pay to do this thing, and that they had to do it. they said that if caught they would be either killed or made slaves of, and i u a knight of the white cross could not contradict them, but said that, in the first place, as i was ready to run the risk, there was no reason why they shouldn't do so, and in the second, there was no chance what- ever of their being taken, as, if discovered, we should get so long a start that we could either escape them altogether or run the boat ashore at some point where the trees came down to the water's edge, carry the boat up and hide it, and then move up into the hills until the corsairs had gone. "we waited there three or four hours, looking round the point occasionally. at the end of that time all was quiet. two or three of the lanterns still burned, but there was no sign of life or movement on their decks. after waiting another half-hour to ensure the crews being asleep, we rowed quietly up the creek, keeping within an oar's length of the rocks. there was not much to see; the galleys lay two abreast, and as there was no space between them, i supposed the whole were lashed together. there were eight of them on the side we went along, but i think there were only seven on the other side. as i thought it did not much matter whether there were fifteen or sixteen, and as the men were in a state of horrible fright, we turned and went back again, and i own i felt very glad myself when we got round the point without an alarm being given. we came quiet- ly out, and it was fortunate we did so, for we had not gone a quarter of a mile when we heard the sound of oars, and, lying silently under the cliff, we saw two large galleys row past us." "it is a strong force, gervaise," ralph said, as they paced up and down the poop together. "probably in each of those galleys are eighty or a hundred men. in addition to the row- ers. it is evident that unless genoa sends us help we shall not be able to interfere with their plans" "i don't know, ralph. i think we may injure them sorely, though we might not be able to defeat them altogether. i want you to-night to take one of the prizes, and row round to the bay we passed, and there to buy three coasting vessels and six or eight fishing-boats. get as much pitch, oil, and other the corsair fleet combustibles, as you can purchase in the villages on the shore. if you can engage a score of fishermen to man them, all the better. my idea is that if caretto returns with news that the genoese have no galleys ready for sea, we must do what we can to injure these corsairs. if we smear these craft you are going to fetch with pitch and oil, and fill the holds with com- bustibles, and so turn them into fire-ships, we may at least do the pirates a tremendous lot of harm. when we get to the mouth of this inlet, we could have the fire-ships rowed in by three or four men in each, they having a boat behind in which to escape as soon as the boats are lighted. the sight of a dozen craft coming down on them in flames would cause a terrific panic, for, moored closely together, as they are, if one took fire there would be little chance of the others escaping. of course, we should add to the confusion by opening a fire with all our guns, and could hope to capture some at least of them as they tried to make their way out.'' "it is a grand idea, gervaise; a splendid idea! it would be a terrific blow to the moors, and would make the sea safe from them for a long time." "when you buy the other things, ralph, get a quantity of black cloth—it matters not how coarse, or of what material; and also some white. as soon as you come back with it, all hands shall set to work to make the stuff up into mantles of the order, with the white cross. we will put these on to the christians in the prizes, and the moors will suppose that they are attacked by four of the galleys of the order. if you can get some more arms and some iron headpieces, all the better." "i will do what i can, gervaise; the arms will certainly be wanted, for those we found on the decks were sufficient only to arm half the christians. as to the steel caps, that will not matter so much, as in the darkness and confusion the sight of the mantles will be quite enough to convince the corsairs that we are all knights of the order. by the way, gervaise, we have not yet looked into the holds of the prizes." the corsair fleet "i have done my best," the knight said angrily. "but i am in a rage with my ill success. all i have accomplished is that no merchant vessels will put to sea at present. at ostia they would only send off a message to rome, to ask for or- ders. at pisa the authorities at first treated my story as a fiction, and, i believe, took me for an impostor; but on the news spreading, some knights came forward and recognised me. then we had a meeting of the council. all talked, wrangled, and protested. they said that it was absurd to suppose that they could, at a moment's notice, fit out ships to cope with a fleet of corsairs; and their sole idea was to man the forts, and to repel an attack. however, mounted messen- gers were sent off at once, up and down the coast, to give warning to the inhabitants of the towns to put themselves into a posture of defence, and to the villagers to fly with their wives and families into the interior as soon as they saw galleys of doubtful appearance approaching. i was there but four hours, and then started for genoa." "there was almost a panic there too, as the members of the council were mostly merchants, and were filled with dismay for the safety of their ships and goods at sea. of course, there was no thought that the corsairs, however strong, would vent- ure an attack upon genoa itself. i told them that you had captured three of the corsairs with a single galley, and that if they could send you ten others you would probably be able to make head against the pirates; but, as i have told you, genoa is at peace with all the world; her war-galleys are laid up, and most of them would need repair and recaulking before they would be fit to send to sea. although they maintained that no more than a week should elapse before they would be ready to sail i am right sure that it will be double that time before they are fitted out. "of course, in genoa i was well known, though my family estates lie near mantua, and my acquaintances flocked round me and urged me to stay until the galleys were ready for sea. a knight of the white cross this i would not hear of, and, six hours after my arrival, started again. we made the voyage to corsica at a good speed, but since then we have had the oars constantly out to help the sails. the men have well earned their pay, i can as- sure you. it is enough to make one mad with rage to think that these pirates will be able to harry the coast of italy at their pleasure; for there can be little chance that they will abide quiet much longer at this rendezvous." "it is annoying, indeed," gervaise agreed; and a murmur of disappointment ran round the assembled knights. "how- ever, we have the consolation that we have done all we could, and i am sure that we shall do so in the future." gervaise had charged ralph to say nothing about the object of his mission, and the general supposition was that he had sailed to endeavour to purchase some bullocks, as the supply of meat was nearly exhausted. ralph himself had let drop a few words to this effect, and had indeed been charged by gervaise to bring off a few oxen if they could be obtained without loss of time. gervaise was on deck at midnight, and soon afterwards the beat of oars was heard. it was a still night, and one of the knights on watch remarked to him,— "it seems to me, sir gervaise, that the sound is a confused one, and that there must be several vessels rowing. shall i call up our companions? it may be that it is the pirate fleet coming out." "you need not do that," gervaise replied. "i am expect- ing sir ralph to bring back with him some fishing-boats, for which i think i can find a use. we should have heard before this if the corsairs had been putting out. fosco is in his boat watching the mouth of the inlet, and would have started with the news had there been any stir on board their galleys." it was a quarter of an hour before a number of dark objects entered the little bay. as soon as they did so, they ceased rowing, and the splashes of the anchors as they fell into the the corsair fleet water were heard. then came the sound of a boat's oars, and ralph was soon alongside. "i see that you have succeeded, ralph." "there is no fear of failing when one is ready to pay the full value of what one wants to get. i have bought three coasters and eight fishing-boats, and have a sufficient store of pitch and oil, with plenty of straw and faggots. there was no difficulty in getting men to come with me. as soon as they heard that a fleet of eighteen moorish galleys was in the next bay, they were ready enough to aid in any plan for their de- struction, for they knew well enough that some of them would be sure to make raids all along the coast, sacking and burning, and carrying off men, women, and children, as slaves. i said i only wanted two men for each craft, but so many were will- ing to come that i have some thirty more than the number i asked for, and we can divide these among us. they are strong, active-looking fellows." "we will keep them here then, ralph. you see, there are one-and-twenty of our knights in the three prizes, and as we lost two in the capture, and four others are not fit to put on armour, we have but six-and-twenty, and the addition will be very welcome. what are they armed with?" "they have bows and arrows, and long pikes and axes." "good. have you managed to collect any more arms?" "yes. the people are all charcoal burners and woodmen in winter, and i was therefore able to get together some thirty or forty axes and hatchets, which will be ample, with the arms we took from the moors, to equip the ninety christians." "i think we can depend upon these for fighting, ralph." "i don't think there is any doubt about that. a few of them are pretty well worn out with labour and suffering, but all have gained strength and spirits greatly in the past week, and you may be sure that they will fight to the death rather than run the risk of another turn in the galleys." "and have you got the stuff to make the mantles?" a knight of the white cross "yes. there was plenty of the coarse black cloth which they wear in summer—in winter, of course, they are clad in sheepskins; and i have sufficient white cotton cloth to make the crosses.'' "we have only one thing to wish for now, ralph, and that is, that the corsairs may not take it into their heads to sail to- morrow. fosco will bring me news at daybreak, and we will at once send another boat off to watch the mouth of the bay when he leaves it. if they sail, we cannot venture to attack them as long as they keep together, the odds are far too heavy, and our only plan will be to follow them at a distance, when we can just keep their upper sails in sight, and then to attack any detachment that may separate from the main body." "i hope it will not come to that, gervaise. it would be hard indeed, when you have devised such a splendid plan, and we have got everything ready to carry it out, if they were to give us the slip. do the others know anything about it yet?" "no. i thought it better to keep silence till to-morrow. no doubt some of the galley-slaves understand enough of one or other of our languages to gather what is on foot. besides, their late captives might, in their satisfaction at the thought of revenge, say enough to them to let them know that an attack on their fleet was intended, and one of them might, in some way, free himself from his irons and swim ashore. we know there is a small fishing village across the island, and there would be no difficulty in stealing a boat and making off with the news. i do not say that the risk is great; still, it were better not to throw away even a chance. the knights have all turned in in a very gloomy mood, for caretto has returned with news that there is no hope of assistance from genoa for a fortnight, and it seemed, therefore, that all our pains had been thrown away. and now we may as well turn in until daylight.'' a splendid exploit addressed them, they crowded round him with exclamations of enthusiasm and devotion. "now," he said, as soon as silence was a little restored, " the knights of the langues on board the prizes will send at once to the coaster on the left of the other two. sir ralph will go there now, and supply each with materials for making the man- tles for the christians; he has brought thread, and fishlxme needles. you will see that the stuff is cut up into suitable lengths, and handed over to your crews, and that each man makes up his mantle. there can be but little sewing required for these sleeveless gowns, nor need it be carefully done. the great thing is that the white crosses shall be conspicuous. as soon as you have set them to work, you will examine the state of the arms, see how many more are needed to complete the list, and then send off to sir ralph, who will furnish as many as are required : the fishermen have brought their own weapons. see that the slaves are all well fed to-day, and, before evening, inspect well their fetters, so that you may be free from all anxi- ety as to an attempt by them to escape during the conflict. "the rest of you will go on board these native craft, and see that the combustibles are fairly distributed among them, the wood and straw soaked with pitch and oil, as also the sails and ropes, and that the decks are well coated: this is a most im- portant duty. get some torches made also, so that there shall be two on board each craft; these are to be lighted the last thing before we get to the point, and will be thrown down into the straw and faggots in the hold, by the fishermen when they get close to the corsairs. all this can be prepared before our morning meal, and when you assemble here i hope to re- ceive your reports that everything is in readiness. one of the other coasters has some bullocks on board. sir ralph will send one to each of the prizes, and one to us. they had better be killed and cut up at once, in order that the crews may have two good meals to-day of fresh meat. see that the galley- slaves have their share." a knight of the white cross no time was lost in carrying out the orders. ralph, as soon as the cloth, arms, and meat were distributed, went round in a boat to see that the combustibles were properly laid for firing, and everything done to insure that the flames should spread rapidly. the sards shared in the work, and rations and wine were distributed to them; and when the knights sat down to their meal on board the galley, they were able to re- port that everything was in perfect readiness, and that the work of sewing the mantles was making good progress. the day passed slowly to the young knights, all of whom were burning with excitement at the thought of the coming fray. the released christians were no less exultant at the pros- pect of taking vengeance for the sufferings they had so long en- dured, and the scene on board all four ships was most animated. after talking it over with ralph, gervaise told off three more of the knights to each of the prizes, so that there should be ten on board each. this reduced the strength on board the galley to seventeen; but as they would have the assistance of a strong band of sards they considered this to be ample, under the circumstances. it was arranged that the galley, with one of the prizes, should close with the first corsair that came out, and that the other two prizes should attack the second. after capturing these, they were to assist each other as circumstances might dictate. gervaise strongly impressed upon the knights in command of each prize that they were not, single-handed, to attack a corsair unless one of their consorts was near, and free to give assistance. "we must run no risk of a reverse," he said. "we are certain of destroying many of their vessels and of breaking up their fleet, and it is far better that a few should escape than that we should run the risk of losing ten of our number, to say nothing of those we have rescued from captivity. in the ex- citement of the fight this order must be strictly borne in mind. our victory must be marred by no misfortune brought on by headstrong rashness. the corsairs are bound to be very a knight of the white cross tumult of alarm as on ralph's order, "throw your torches into the straw!" a flash of flame leapt up from each boat. five more strokes, and they were alongside the two outside ships. as they crashed heavily into them, the men leapt from their seats and sprang over into the small boats, threw off the painters, and rowed astern, opening on either hand to allow the second line of fire-ships to pass. these, by ger- vaise's directions, divided, and three bore along on either side of the corsairs, and then ran in among them, throwing grapnels to fasten the fire-ships alongside. then, as the flames sprang up from the holds, the crews betook themselves to their boats, and rowed out of the inlet. by the time they reached the galley and prizes, the eleven fire-ships were a mass of flame, which was spreading to the corsairs. lying packed together as these were, the confusion was terrible. numbers of men endeavoured to push off the fire-ships, but it was too late; others tried to extricate their galleys from the mass, throwing off the hawsers, and striving with hand and oar to push their vessels out of the line. as soon as the boats were alongside the galley, the guns of the four vessels opened fire with grape into the crowded ships, now lit up by the flames as clearly as at noontide, while the battle-cry of the order sounded high above the din. "nothing can save the ships near this end of the line," ralph said, "but some of those behind may make their way out between the others and the rocks. i can see that some of them there are lowering their yards and sails to prevent their catching fire as they pass." the knights distributed among the guns worked them in- cessantly, directing their fire chiefly against the outside ships, so as to hinder the crews in their endeavours to arrest the progress of the flames; but they were soon able to fire impar- tially into,the mass. as the heat of the flames drove the pirates back, scores of men leapt overboard, and made for the shore. presently, two or three ships were seen making their a splendid exploit way along the narrow line of water on either side of the flam- ing group in front. as the first advanced, the galley and one of the prizes rowed a short distance forward to meet it. its deck was crowded with men, among whom a discharge of the cannon from both ships created terrible slaughter. a moment afterwards they closed with it, one on either side, and the knights, the released captives, and the sards, sprang down on to its deck. the fight lasted but a minute. appalled by the disaster that had befallen them, by the ter- rible effect of the broadsides, poured in at a few yards' dis- tance, and by the sight of so many of the dreaded warriors of the cross, some of the corsairs threw down their arms and flung themselves on the deck or into the hold, crying for quar- ter; those who resisted fell either under the swords of the knights, the vengeful axes of the late captives, or the pikes of the sards; but the great bulk, leaping from the bow or stern, swam ashore. "back to your ships!" gervaise shouted, the moment re- sistance ceased. "leave her floating here; she will help to block the way." six vessels alone managed to make their escape from the blazing mass of ships, and all of these were captured almost as easily as the first had been. as soon as it seemed that all the remainder were involved in the flames, boats were lowered and sent on board the prizes to take possession. save for the wounded on the decks, they were entirely deserted by their crews, as those who had run below, as soon as they found that their captors had left the vessels, dropped into the water, and made their way, either by swimming or with the assist- ance of oars, to the shore. there remained only the slaves, chained to their benches. a few of these had been killed by the broadsides; but the guns had been aimed at the poops and forecastles, where the corsairs were clustered together, and consequently the number of galley-slaves who had fallen was comparatively small. a splendid exploit !) the commanders had, instead of trying to escape, rowed quietly to the head of the inlet, the movement being covered by the flame and smoke, and had there landed, having laden them- selves with stores for their support on shore. this was a great satisfaction to the knights, for not only did it swell the list of prizes, but it reduced by over thirty the number of christian slaves who had perished in the flames. taking the galleys in tow, they rowed out of the inlet, whose banks were strewn with half-charred timbers, oars, and relics of the fight. as soon as they had anchored by the side of their first prizes, a council was held on board the santa barbara. it was clearly impossible to take thirteen prizes to rhodes, for there would be but three or four knights to each, and were they to fall in with but one moorish pirate, they might suffer great disaster, while, should they meet with a storm, they would fare badly indeed, as they could not depend upon the rescued christians for the management of the sails and oars in heavy weather. at the same time, all were most anxious that the prizes should be carried to rhodes. never, save as the re- sult of some great battle, had such a fleet of captured galleys been brought in, and the knights were prepared to endure all dangers rather than part with one of them. finally, after much discussion, it was determined that they should make for genoa. from thence the rescued captives would be able to find their way to their homes. the great majority were italians and spaniards; the former could proceed by land or sea to their respective homes, while the spaniards would have no long time to wait before a vessel of their own nationality entered the port, even if one were not lying there when they arrived. moreover, in any case it would be necessary to despatch a ves- sel to genoa, in order that it might be known that the danger was averted, and that there was no longer any necessity for getting the galleys ready for sea. the chief ostensible reason, however, for going to genoa was that there would be no difficulty in engaging ;s many a knight of the white cross sailors as might be necessary to take the prizes to rhodes. underlying all the arguments was another reason which ralph laughingly stated. "it is all very well to bring forward one argument after another, but not one of you has the courage to say what i am sure all of you have at the bottom of your hearts. you know very well that you want to go to genoa to enjoy a triumph. the rhodians are all very well, but there are very many more fair faces at genoa. fie, sir knights! such a spirit is little - in accordance with the vows of the order. are we not bound to humility? and here you are all longing for the plaudits of the nobles and ladies of genoa !'' some of the young knights laughed, others coloured hotly. "they need not be ashamed of the feeling," caretto said. "is it not the ardent desire of all true knights to do gallant deeds, and do they not value above all things the guerdon of applause from the fair eyes of ladies. your comrades have performed the gallant deeds, and well deserve the reward. now, sir gervaise, if not for this reason, at any rate for the others that have been brought forward, i suppose we are all agreed that we sail for genoa. for our part we are heartily glad that such is your decision. we, and the young knights of our langue, have many friends there, and in their name i am sure i can promise you a reception as hearty and sincere as that which we shall ourselves receive." it was settled that the rescued captives should be divided equally among the thirteen prizes, and that three knights should go in each. the moorish captives were also divided equally among them, to aid with the sails, and to row a few oars, in case of a dead calm setting in. the commands were distributed according to seniority, the three rescued italian knights remaining on board the santa barbara with gervaise. the sards were anxious to return to their villages, in order to carry the news that several hundreds of moorish pirates had landed. a splendid expi.oit "we shall have great trouble with them," one of the young fishermen, who spoke a little italian, said to gervaise. "there are always a great number of swine, and herds of goats, up among the forests on the hills. we must send up and drive in as many of these as possible, and of course we shall send mes- sengers to tempe; but it will need a very large force to com- bat these pirates, who will be able to come down and plunder and destroy, and then retire to the hills, whence it will be hard to dislodge them." "i am sorry indeed that such trouble should have been caused to you," gervaise replied; "but i am afraid that i can give you no assistance." "we shall hunt them down in time," the sard said confi- dently. "there are many villages scattered about tempe, and what with us fishermen, and the woodmen and charcoal- burners, we shall soon get a strong body together. besides, we know the mountains, and they do not." "i should say that you had best avoid a pitched battle with them, but keep on harassing them by night and day, cutting off all who separate themselves from the main body, until at last they are completely worn out." "we shall deal with them, sir knight. we are all hunters, for there are wild boars and stags in the forest, and wolves too, and wild sheep on the higher mountains. every man among us can use his bow skilfully, and wield pike and hatchet. the hunt will not be unprofitable, either, for we can get a good price for all we take alive, to work in the mines." an hour later one of the galleys started with the sards for their villages in the bay of tempe. after landing them, she was to rejoin the rest of the fleet at their former anchorage at madalena. by nightfall all were gathered there, and the next morning they set out for genoa. the wind was light; but in their anxiety to return home as soon as possible the released captives all volunteered to take their former places on the benches, and the vessels were kept going at a fair rate of speed a knight of the white cross two days' rowing took them to bastia, where their approach created unbounded excitement until the banner of the order was seen floating from the stern of the santa barbara, while smaller flags, that had been hastily manufactured, flew from the mastheads of the thirteen prizes. even then the inhabi- tants feared to put out, believing that the flags were but a ruse, and numbers of them fled at once, with their families and valuables, to the mountains. it was not until a boat was lowered, and ralph, accompanied by three or four other knights, rowed ashore, that the panic was allayed. as soon as it was understood that the galley of the knights had not only captured the thirteen corsairs, but had destroyed eleven others, and had thus annihilated a fleet that was in- tended to prey upon the commerce of italy, and ravage the western coast, the alarm was succeeded by the wildest enthu- siasm. by the time ralph had obtained the fresh meat and stores he came ashore to purchase, the greater part of the popu- lation were gathered on the shore, and a flotilla of boats put out with him, filled with picturesquely-dressed men and wom- en. some carried flags, others green boughs, while the ladies had bouquets and baskets of fruit. the galley was the first attraction, and, mounting her sides, the ladies presented their offerings of fruit, while the men cheered, and waved their hats; many musicians came out in the boats, and these played on bagpipes and three-reeded flutes a succession of airs peculiar to the island. gervaise received his visitors on the poop. these were at first altogether incredulous when told that it was the lad be- fore them who had commanded the galley, had performed such a remarkable feat, and had freed them from a terrible danger. the youth of the knights of the order no less sur- prised them, and had not gervaise assured them that it was altogether contrary to the rules of the order for a knight to allow himself to be embraced, many of the ladies would have taken this form of showing their enthusiasm and gratitude. a splemdid exploif the next morning the fleet started for genoa. the wind was much stronger than it had been on the previous day, and it was therefore unnecessary for the oars to be put out, except, indeed, on board the galley. there, at nightfall, the chris- tians relieved the slaves for some hours at their benches, and the next morning the circle of hills round genoa, with the city nestling at their feet on the water's edge, and climbing for some distance up their slopes, was in view. caretto at once suggested that it would be well to signal to the fleet to lie to. "if we do not do so," he said, "they will assuredly think that it is the corsair fleet advancing to attack and burn the vessels in port, and you may be saluted as you approach by a shower of cannon-balls. if you will permit me, sir gervaise, i will go forward in one of the prizes and explain matters, and will return here in a short time.'' "thank you, sir fabricius. as such mischance as you mention might indeed very well occur, we will lower sail and lie here until you return." while caretto was away, the knights and crews breakfasted, and the former put on their armour and gayest attire, in readi- ness for the landing. gervaise, although with much inward vexation, considered it necessary to do the same. "i do wish," he said to ralph, who was smiling at his rue- ful face, " that you could for to-day take my place, and let me pass as lieutenant." "i should not mind at all, gervaise. but you must put up with the disagreeables as well as the advantages of being commander, and must submit to be honoured and feted here, as well as getting no end of credit at rhodes. you will have the satisfaction of well deserving it, for i am sure the plan of attacking them with fire-ships would never have occurred to any one else, and if it had not been for that, we should have had the mortification of seeing them sail off without being able to move a finger to interfere with them." "if one were fighting for fame and honour, all that would a knight of the white cross be true enough; but members of an order, whose sole object is to defend christendom from the moslems, should strive only to do their duty, and care nothing for such things as honour and glory." "human nature is human nature, and i don't see any rea- son why one should despise honour and glory when they come to one in the course of duty. i fancy you will think so too, gervaise, in course of time. i am quite sure that among the fifty knights, there is not one who does not feel well content that he has not only done his duty to the order, but has gained a share in the credit and honour that will certainly be given to all who have taken a part in so crushing a defeat of the corsairs. as for myself, i do not for a moment pretend that i am not sensible of the fact that, as second in command of the galley, my chances of obtaining promotion in the order are very greatly improved." it was nearly two hours before caretto returned. "it was well indeed that i went in," he said to gervaise, "for i found the city in an uproar. the alarm bells of the churches were calling all citizens to arms, and troops were be- ing hurried down to the forts and batteries. rumour had of course exaggerated the strength of the fleet, and half the pop- ulation believed that the safety of the city itself was menaced by the approach of a mighty squadron. as soon as my news was bruited abroad, and they learned that the fleet consisted solely of prizes captured from the moors by a galley of the order, alarm quickly changed into delight, the sharp, angry clang of the bells was succeeded by peals of gladness, and the joy of the citizens at being relieved from the cloud of anxiety that had hung over the city since my last visit, was unbound- ed. i went at once to the council-chamber, where i found many of the leading citizens already assembled, having been summoned in hot haste as soon as our approach was made out. at first they were almost incredulous when i told them that every ship of the pirate fleet had been either destroyed or capt- a knight of the white cross ralph gave orders for the oars to be laid in, and the barge was soon alongside. the knights were already ranged along the poop, and, accompanied by ralph and caretto, gervaise moved to the gangway to receive the visitors. at their head was battista fragoso, the doge, in his robe of state, and follow- ing him were a body of the highest nobles of genoa, all brill- iant in gala costume. "this, my lord duke," caretto said, " is sir gervaise tresh- am, a knight commander of our order, and the commander of this, their galley. he has before, as you may well believe from his appointment to so honourable a post, highly distinguished himself, but what he has before accomplished is far surpassed by the brilliant action that he has now achieved. he has won a victory that not only reflects the highest honour upon the order, but is an inestimable service to italy, and has freed her from a corsair fleet that would have been a scourge to her, both at sea and to the towns and villages along the coast. not only has he, with the brave knights under his orders, annihilated the corsair fleet, burning eleven of their galleys, and capturing thirteen others, but he has restored to freedom no less than two hundred christian captives, among them the cavaliers giacomo da vinci, pietro forzi, and myself." "in the name of the republic, sir gervaise tresham, and i may say in that of all italy, i thank you most heartily for the splendid service that you have rendered us. it would have seemed to me well-nigh incredible that a single galley, even if commanded and manned by the most famous knights of your great order, should have accomplished so extraordinary a feat. still more strange is it that it should have been performed by so young a knight, with a crew composed, as sir fabricius caretto has told us, of knights chosen from among the young- est of the order." "you give far more credit to us, your highness, than we deserve," gervaise replied. "three of the ships were indeed captured in fair fight, but we caught the rest asleep and so festivities massed together as to be incapable of successful resistance, and they fell easy victims to the fire-shil*. we launched against them. any credit that is due to me is shared equally by my sub-commander here, sir ralph harcourt, and indeed by every knight of my company." "this, doubtless, may be so, sir gervaise," the doge said, with a slight smile, "but it is to the head that plans, rather than to the hand that strikes, that such success as you have achieved is due; and the credit of this night attack is, as the cavalier caretto tells me, wholly yours, for until you issued your final orders it seemed to him, and to the two good knights his companions, that there was naught to do but to remain in port and watch this corsair fleet sail away to carry out its work of destruction." by this time they had reached the poop of the galley. gervaise now called forward the knights one by one, and pre- sented them to the doge, who expressed to them all the grati- tude felt by himself and the whole of the citizens of genoa for the service they had rendered to the republic. this cere- mony being over, the knights broke up their ranks and con- versed for a few minutes with those who had come on board with the doge. the latter then took his place in the barge with his companions, inviting gervaise and ralph to accom- pany him. as the barge left the side of the galley, which followed closely behind her, the guns again thundered out their welcome, and a roar of greeting rose from the inhabitants. on landing, the party waited until the knights had joined them, and then proceeded up the street to the ducal palace, amidst enthusiastic cheering from the crowd that lined the road, oc- cupied the windows and balconies, and even scrambled on the house-tops, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs and scarves. at the palace were assembled all the municipal authorities, and the congratulations given on board were here repeated. after this there was a great banquet, at which gervaise was placed on the right hand of the doge, who, at the conclusion a knight of the white cross of the feast, called upon the assembled guests to drink to the health of the knights of st. john, who had saved the commerce and sea-coast of italy from the greatest danger that had men- aced them since the days when the northern rovers had deso- lated the shores of the mediterranean. the toast was drunk with enthusiasm, and gervaise then replied with a few words of thanks for the honour done to himself and his comrades. the party then left the banqueting-hall for the great recep- tion-rooms, where the wives and daughters of all the nobles and principal citizens of genoa were assembled. most of the young knights, belonging as they did to noble families, and accustomed from childhood to courtly ceremonies and festivi- ties, were quite at home here. caretto, his two companions, and their six italian comrades, speedily introduced them, and each was soon surrounded by a group of ladies, anxious to hear from his lips the details of the exploits of the galley. "but how is it that you are all so young, sir ralph?" one of the ladies, to whom harcourt had been introduced as the second in command, asked him, when he had finished his account of the capture of the galleys. "we heard from those who met you on landing, that all your comrades were young, but we were filled with surprise when you entered the room, for many of them are but lads." "you may say that all of us are but lads, countess. i am the oldest of the party, and am but little over twenty-two, but few of the others are over nineteen; they are all professed knights of the order, who, as you doubtless know, come out to rhodes when only sixteen. some, of course, do not join until later, but i think that all here entered at the earliest age per- mitted, and almost all had served in two or three voyages in the galleys before they were appointed to the santa barbara. the reason why so young a crew was chosen was that our com- mander was also young. he had done such exceptional ser- vice to the order that he was appointed to the command of a galley, and he has, as all will allow, well justified the choice. i;o a knight of the white cross "how can we choose?" the countess said laughingly, "when none of them resemble our ideal hero? most of them are pleasant and courtly-looking youths, but as yet there is scarce a vestige of hair on their faces, and one could not fancy any of them as the destroyer of the fleet of corsairs." "do you see the one speaking to the elderly lady in the recess ?'' "yes; she is the wife of fragoso. you do not mean to say that that lad is the commander of the galley? why, he looks the youngest of you all." "he is between seventeen and eighteen, and there are several others who are no older. yes, that is sir gervaise, knight commander of the order of st. john." "but how can he possibly have served his time as a pro- fessed knight?" "he was one of the grand master's pages, and his time in that service counted just as it would have done had he entered as a professed knight; and at fifteen, therefore, he stood in the same position as those three or four years older than himself. he speaks turkish as well as our own tongue, and, as i told you, we received the accolade at the hands of the grand master, a year and a half ago. he is now a knight commander, and will assuredly one day occupy one of the highest posts in the order." "you do not speak as if you were jealous, sir ralph; and yet methinks it cannot be pleasant for you all to have one younger than yourselves placed at your head." "i do not think there is one of us whoso feels," ralph said earnestly. "in the first place, he has performed excellent service; in the next place, even those who did not know him before, have felt, since we started, that he is a born leader. then, too, we regard with pride one who has brought credit upon the younger members of the order. moreover, we all owe our posts in the galley to the fact that he was chosen for its command. it is a difficult position for him to fill, but festivities g he has managed so that, while all obey his orders as cheer- fully and willingly as if he were a veteran, when off duty we regard him as one of ourselves." "you are a staunch friend, sir ralph." "i am a staunch friend of sir gervaise, countess, for the more i know of him the more i care for him. he well deserves the promotion and honour that have fallen to his share." "will you bring him across here to us, sir ralph? i want to talk to this hero of yours, and i am sure that my daughter is longing to be introduced to him." ralph waited until gervaise was disengaged, and then brought him across, and, after introducing him, moved away at once, leaving gervaise to be interrogated by the ladies. "you must be accustomed to festivities, sir gervaise, for we have just heard that you were one of the grand master's pages ?'' "i am accustomed to them, signora; but that is not at all the same thing as liking them." the reply was given so earnestly that all the ladies smiled. "your taste is quite exceptional. do you mean to say that you would rather be on board your galley than here?" "it would not be polite," gervaise said, with a laugh, " if i were to say that i would infinitely rather be on board; but indeed i have not, like most of my comrades, been brought up in court or castle. until the day i joined the order, we led the lives of exiles. my father belonged to the defeated party in england, and, save for a few months when the cause to which he was attached was triumphant, we lived quietly on the estates he had recovered, our life being one of care and anxiety. so, you see, i had no training in gaiety and pleasure. at rhodes there are state receptions and religious pageants, but a meeting such as this, is, of course, impossible in a con- vent; and since i was eleven years old i think i have only once spoken to a woman. so you can well understand, sig- nora, that i feel awkward in speech, and i pray you to make allowance for my ignorance of the language of courtesy, such (j a knight of the white cross as would naturally be expected in a knight, even though be- longing to a religious order." "there is naught to make allowance for," the countess said gently. "women can appreciate simple truth, and are not, as men seem to think, always yearning for compliments. those who are most proficient in turning phrases are not often among those foremost in battle, or wisest in council, and i can tell you that we women value deeds far higher than words. sir fabricius caretto is a cousin of mine, and has this afternoon been speaking so highly of you to me and my young daughter here, that i am glad indeed to make your acquaintance. how long do you intend to stay in genoa?" "no longer than it will take me to engage men to carry the prizes to rhodes. i am afraid that sounds rude," he broke off, as he noticed a smile on the faces of the ladies. "not rude," said the countess; "though most knights would have put it differently, and said that their duty com- pelled them to leave as soon as the prizes could be manned. but it comes to the same thing. of course, you will remain the guest of the doge as long as you are here; otherwise, it would have given us the greatest pleasure to have entertained you. my cousin is, of course, staying with us, and you see we all feel a very deep obligation to you. he has been so long a slave among the moors, that we had almost come to hope death had freed him from his fetters; so you may imagine our pleasure when he arrived here so suddenly ten days ago. we were expecting that he would remain with us for some time, but he says that he must first go back to rhodes, after which he will ask for leave, and return here. we have a banquet to- morrow evening to celebrate his return, and earnestly hoped that you would be present, but, since you say that you do not care for such gaieties, we shall, if you prefer it, be glad if you will come to join us at our family meal at twelve." "thank you, countess, i should very greatly prefer it, and it will give me real pleasure to come." festivities "your friend, sir ralph harcourt, has been telling us how you have destroyed the corsair fleet that has been so alarming us. he, too, is an englishman, though he speaks italian well." "yes, he speaks it a great deal better than i do," gervaise said. "he is a dear friend of mine, and it is, indeed, chiefly owing to his support and influence that i have been able to manage so pleasantly and well in the command of a body of young knights, most of whom are my seniors." '' he tells us that you speak turkish ?'' "yes; i thought that it would be very useful, and spent nearly a year in acquiring it, the bailiff of my langue being kind enough to relieve me of all other duties. i was fortunate enough to find in one of the servants of the auberge a well- educated and widely-informed turk, who was a very pleasant companion, as well as an excellent instructor, and i learnt much from him besides his language. the knowledge of turkish has already proved to me most useful, and was indeed the means by which i obtained both my commandery and my appointment as captain of the galley." "perhaps you will tell us the story to-morrow; that is, if it is too long to tell us now ?'' "it is indeed much too long; but if it will interest you i shall be glad to recount it to-morrow.'' the next day gervaise went to the palace of the countess da forli. she was a widow with no children, except claudia, the young daughter who had accompanied her to the file the evening before. caretto, and four or five relations of the family, were the only guests beside himself. it was a quiet and sociable meal, and served with less ceremony than usual, as the countess wished to place gervaise as much as possible at his ease. during the meal but little was said about the affair with the pirates, caretto telling them some of his experiences as a captive. "it is well, claudia," he said, laughing, " that you did not see me at the time i was rescued, for i was such a scarecrow a knight of the white cross that you would never have been able to regard me with due and proper respect afterwards. i was so thin that my bones almost came through my skin." "you are thin enough now, cousin," the girl said. "i have gained so much weight during the last ten days that i begin to fear that i shall, ere long, get too fat to buckle on my armour. but, bad as the thinness was, it was nothing to the dirt. moreover, i was coming near to losing my voice. there was nothing for us to talk about in our misery, and often days passed without a word being exchanged between da vinci, forzi, and myself. do you know i felt almost more thankful for the bath and perfumes than i did for my liberty. i was able at once to enjoy the comfort of the one, while it was some time before i could really assure myself that my slavery was over, and that i was a free man again." "and now, sir gervaise," the countess said, when the meal was over, "it is your turn. claudia is longing to hear your story, and to know how you came to be in command of a galley.'' "and i am almost as anxious," caretto said. "i did not like to ask the question on board the galley, and have been looking forward to learning it when i got to rhodes. i did, indeed, ask the two knights who accompanied me on my mis- sion here, but they would only tell me that every one knew you had performed some very great service to the order, and that it concerned some intended rising among the slaves, the details being known to only a few, who had been, they un- « derstood, told that it was not to be repeated." "it was a very simple matter," gervaise said, " and although the grand master and council were pleased to take a very favourable view of it, it was, in fact, a question of luck, just as was the surprise of the corsairs. there is really no secret about it—at least, except in rhodes: there it was thought best not to speak of it, because the fact that the attempt among the slaves was almost successful, might, if generally known, encourage others to try to escape, and perhaps with greater festivities success. i told you last night, countess, that i had only once before in the last six or seven years spoken to a woman, and it was on that occasion that the adventure, so far as i was concerned, had its commencement." he then, beginning at his visit with ralph harcourt to the greek merchant and his family on the roof of the house, recounted the suspicions he had entertained, the manner in which they were confirmed, and the method by which he had discovered the plot for the rising. he was interrupted several times when he attempted to abbreviate the story, or to omit some of the details, and there were exclamations of surprise at his proposal to personate a turkish prisoner, and to share the lot of the slaves in their prison, and on the benches of the galley. "i had no idea, sir gervaise," caretto said, when he had concluded, " that you too had been a galley-slave, and i un- derstand now the care you showed to render the lot of the rowers as easy as possible. it was a splendid scheme, and well carried out. indeed, i no longer wonder that you were appointed to the command of a galley, and received a rich commandery in england at the hands of the grand master himself. what think you, countess; did i speak too highly in his favour?" "not one jot, cousin. why, sir gervaise, it seems to me that you have been born two centuries too late, and that you should have been a knight errant, instead of being sworn to obey orders, and bound to celibacy. do you wear no lady's favour in your helm? i know that not a few of your order do so." "as i have said, countess, i know no ladies who would bestow favours upon me; in the second place, i am but eighteen, and it would be ridiculous for me to think of such matters; lastly, it seems to me that, being vowed to the or- der, i can desire no other mistress." claudia, who had listened with rapt attention to the story, whispered in her mother's ear. the latter smiled. "it seems to me, sir gervaise," she went on, "that after ww a knight of the white cross what you have done for italy there are many fair maidens who would feel it an honour that their colours should be borne by one who has shown himself so valiant a knight. you see, a gage of this kind does not necessarily mean that there is any deep feeling between the knight who bears it and the lady who bestows it; it shows only that she, on her part, feels it an honour that her gage should be worn by a distinguished knight, and, on his part, that he considers it as somewhat more than a compliment, and wears it as a proof of regard on the part of one whose good opinion at least he values. it is true that among secular knights it may mean even more than this, but it ought not to mean more among knights of an order like yours, pledged to devote their lives to a lofty and holy aim. my daughter claudia whispers to me that she would deem it an honour indeed if you would wear her token, accepting it in the spirit in which i have spoken. she is fourteen now, and, as you know, a maid of fourteen here is as old as one of sixteen or seventeen in your country.'' gervaise turned to the girl, who was standing by her mother's chair, looking earnestly at him. he had noticed her the even- ing before ; she had asked no questions, but had listened so in- tently that he had felt almost embarrassed. claudia's was a very bright face, and yet marked by firmness and strength. he turned his eyes again to the countess. "i never thought of wearing a woman's favour," he said; "but if your daughter will bestow one upon me, i shall be proud to wear it, and trust that i may carry it unstained. i shall feel honoured indeed that one so fair, and, as i am sure by her face, so deserving of all the devotion that a knight of our order can give, has thought me worthy of being one of those on whom she could bestow so high a favour, with the confidence that it would be ever borne with credit and honour." "what shall i give him, mother?" claudia asked the countess, without a shadow of the embarrassment with which gervaise had spoken. claudia gives sir gervaise a chain of gold to wear as her favour. g a knight of the white cross spirit in which you bestow it. so long as i live i shall prize and value it beyond any honour i may gain, and as i feel it next to my heart, it will ever recall to me that you gave it me as a pledge of your esteem and trust, and i will strive to the utmost so to bear myself that i may be worthy of the gift." none of the others spoke while the little ceremony was being performed. caretto glanced at the countess with an amused smile, but the latter looked grave, and somewhat vexed. however, she made an effort to dispel the cloud on her face, and, when gervaise ceased speaking, said,— "this has been a somewhat more serious business than i in- tended, sir gervaise. but do not think that i regret in any way the course it has taken: 'tis well for a maiden on the threshold of womanhood that she should place before herself a lofty ideal, and that she should entertain a warm feeling of friendship for one worthy of it. so also it is good for a young knight to know that he has the trust and confidence of a pure and innocent maiden; such a knowledge will aid him to be in all ways true to the vows he has taken, and to remember always that he is bound to be not only a valiant knight of his order, but a sincere soldier of the cross." then she went on more lightly. "have you heard, sir gervaise, that there is a question of making you a noble of genoa?" "no, indeed," gervaise replied, in great surprise; "such an idea never entered into my thoughts." "nevertheless, i know that it was spoken of last night, and although it has not yet been finally settled, and will not be until the council meet this afternoon, i should not tell you if i did not think that it was as good as agreed upon; and i am pleased to be the first to whisper to you that it is intended to bestow upon you an honour that is jealously guarded and sel- dom granted, even to crowned heads, unless as a token of gratitude for some signal service done to the republic." "i should feel most honoured and most grateful, countess, for so extraordinary a favour, did i feel that i had done any a knight of the white cross career; but when it is not once, but several times, that a knight gains special credit for deeds he has performed, we may be sure that fortune has less to do with the matter than his personal merits. three times have you earned special credit; upon the first occasion, the grand master—no mean judge of conduct and character—deemed you worthy of secular knight- hood, an honour which has not, in my memory, been be- stowed at rhodes upon any young knight; on the second, you were promoted to the command of a galley, though never be- fore has such a command been given to any, save knights of long experience; and now, for the third time, the councillors of one of the greatest of italian cities are about to do you hon- our. it is good to be modest, sir gervaise, and it is better to under-estimate than to overrate one's own merits, but it is not well to carry the feeling to an extreme. i am quite sure that in your case your disclaimer is wholly sincere and unaffected; but take my advice, accept the honours the world may pay you as not undeserved, determining only in your mind that if you deem them excessive, you will at least do all in your power to show that they are not ill-bestowed. you will not, i trust, take my counsel amiss." "on the contrary, sir fabricius," gervaise said warmly. "i am really but a boy yet, though by good fortune pushed strangely forward, and i am glad indeed to receive council from a knight of vastly greater experience than myself; and, in future, however much i may be conscious in my own mind that anything i have done is greatly overrated, i will at least abstain from protest. and now, countess, i must pray you to excuse me. i know that sir ralph harcourt is, before this, down at the dockyard waiting my coming to engage sailors." "you will come to-morrow at the same time, i hope, sir gervaise. as claudia's sworn knight we have now a claim upon you, and for the short time that you remain here you must regard this as your home, although you must necessarily remain the guest of the doge." festivities "he is a fine young fellow, indeed," caretto said, after gervaise had left. "there is no affectation about his modesty, and he really considers that this success he has gained is solely a stroke of good fortune. of course, i have been asking many questions about him of the young knights of his own langue, harcourt among them. they tell me that he is always in earnest in everything he undertakes. he is without a rival among the younger knights of the convent in his skill in arms, and for strength and activity in all exercises; he seems to care nothing for the ordinary amusements in which they join at rhodes, and for nine months was scarcely ever seen by those in the auberge, save when they gathered for meals, so con- tinuously did he work to acquire a perfect command of turk- ish. how thoroughly he succeeded is evident from the fact that he was able to live among the galley-slaves without excit- ing any suspicions in their minds that he was other than he pretended to be, a syrian captive. that he is brave goes without saying, though perhaps no braver than the majority of his companions. the extraordinary thing about him is that although, as he himself says, little more than a boy, he has the coolness to plan, and the head to carry out, schemes that would do credit to the most experienced captain. he is already a credit to the order, and, should he live, will assuredly rise to the highest offices in it, and may even die its grand master. in the stormy times that are coming on, there will be ample opportunities for him still further to distinguish himself, and to fulfil the singular promise of his youth. that he possesses great tact, as well as other qualities, is shown by the enthusiasm with which his companions regard him. in no case, among those to whom i have spoken, have i discerned the smallest jealousy of him. the tact that is needed to stand thus among fifty young knights, almost all his seniors in age, will assuredly enable him later on to command the confidence and affection ,' of older men." when the other guests had left, and caretto only remained, a knight of the white cross the countess turned to claudia. "you went too far, claudia. i was willing enough, when you asked me, that you should be- stow a favour upon him. most young knights wear such a favour, which may be a sign of devotion, but which far more frequently is a piece of gallantry. in the case of a knight hospitaller it can only be the latter; it is in his case merely a sign that he has so distinguished himself that some maiden feels a pride that her gift should be carried into battle by him, and, on his part, that he too is proud of the gift so bestowed by one whose goodwill he prizes. in that way i was willing that you should grant him your favour. but the manner in which you gave it was far more serious than the occasion warranted, and your promise to grant no similar favour to another as long as he lived, .surprised, and, i may almost say, shocked me. you are, according to our custom here, considered almost a woman, and had not sir gervaise belonged to a religious order, and were he of a presuming disposition, he might well have gathered a meaning from your words far beyond what "you intended, and have even enter- tained a presumptuous hope that you were not indifferent to his merits. in the present case, of course, no harm is done; still, methinks that it would be far better had the words been unspoken. your cousin here will, i am sure, agree with me." carettodid not speak, but stood playing with his moustache, waiting for claudia's reply. the girl had stood with down- cast eyes while her mother was speaking. "i only expressed what i felt, mother," she said, after a pause, "and i do not think that sir gervaise tresham is like- ly to misunderstand me. it seems to me that never among those whom i have met have i seen one so worthy. no praises can be higher than those with which my cousin has spoken of him. he has rescued him, whom we dearly love, from slav- ery; he has saved genoa from great disaster, and many towns and villages from plunder and ruin. i do indeed feel proud that such a knight should wear my gage, and, were there no festivities other reason, i should be unwilling that, so long as he carried it, another should possess a similar one from me. i am sure that sir gervaise will have felt that this was the meaning of my words; i wished him to see that it was not a favour light- ly given by a girl who might, a few weeks hence, bestow a similar one upon another, but was a gage seriously given of the honour in which i held him." "very well said, claudia," caretto broke in, before the countess could reply. "i warrant me the young knight will not misunderstand your gift, and that he will prize it highly and carry it nobly. he is not one of those who will boast of a favour and display it all times, and, except perhaps to his friend sir ralph harcourt, i will wager he never tells a soul who was its donor." when claudia shortly afterwards left the room, he said to the countess,— "excuse me for breaking in, agatha, but i felt that it was much better to agree with her, and not to make overmuch of the matter; she is just of an age to make some one a hero, and she could hardly have chosen a better subject for her worship. in the first place, he is a knight of st. john; in the second, he is going away in a few days, perhaps to-morrow, and may never cross her path again. the thought of him will prevent her fancy from straying for a time, and keep her heart-whole until you decide on a suitor for her hand." "nevertheless, i would rather that it had not been so. claudia is not given to change, and this may last long enough to cause trouble when i bring forward the suitor you sl>eakof." "well, in any case it might be worse," caretto said philo- sophically. and then, with a smile in answer to her look of inquiry, "knights of the order have, ere now, obtained re- lease from their vows." "fabricius!" the countess exclaimed, in a shocked voice. "yes, i know, agatha, that the child is one of the richest heiresses in italy, but for that very reason it needs not that a knight of the white cross her husband should have wide possessions. in all other respects you could wish for no better. he will assuredly be a famous knight; he is the sort of man to make her perfectly happy; and, lastly, you know i cannot forget that i owe my liberation from slavery to him. at any rate, agatha, as i said before, he may never cross her path again, and you may, a year or two hence, find her perfectly amenable to your wishes.'' chapter xvii - captured upon the following day the doge requested gervaise to accompany him to a meeting of the council. upon en- tering the grand hall he found not only the members of the council assembled in their robes of office, but a large gather- ing of the nobles and principal citizens of genoa, together with the knights of the galley whom, under ralph harcourt's orders, gervaise found, to his surprise, drawn up in order across the hall. here, in the name of the republic, battista fragoso announced to him that, by the unanimous decision of the council, he had been elected a noble of genoa; an honour, he added, on only one or two previous occasions in the history of the republic bestowed upon any but of prince- ly rank, but which he had nobly earned by the great service he had rendered to the state. his name was then inscribed in the book containing the names and titles of the nobles of genoa. next, battista fragoso presented him with a superb suit of milanese armour, as his own personal gift, and then with a casket of very valuable jewels, as the gift of the city of genoa. each presentation was accompanied by the plau- dits of the assembly, and by the no less warm acclamations of the knights. ralph was then called forward, and presented captured with a suit of armour but little inferior to that given to ger- vaise, and each knight received a heavy gold chain of the finest workmanship of genoa. two days later the preparations for departure were com- plete, and a sufficient number of men were engaged to man the prizes. this charge, also, genoa took upon itself, and put on board much stronger crews than gervaise deemed necessary for the navigation of the ships. the weather was fine and the wind favourable, and a quick passage was made to rhodes. when the harbour was in sight, the ships were ordered to proceed in single file, the galley leading the way with a huge banner of the order floating from her stern, and smaller flags on staffs at .each side. it was not until they passed by the two forts guarding the entrance that the flags fluttering at the mast-heads of the prizes afforded to those on shore an intimation of the event that had taken place, and even then none supposed that this fleet of prizes had been taken by the one galley that headed them. as the santa barbara slowly rowed up the harbour, the state barge of the grand master put off to meet it, and d'au- busson, with a party of knights, soon stepped on board. "welcome back, sir gervaise! although i little expected to see you return so soon. what is the meaning of this pro- cession that follows you? by their rig and appearance they are moors, but how they come to be thus sailing in your wake is a mystery to us all." "they are moors, your excellency; they form part of an expedition fitted out by the corsairs of algiers, tripoli, tunis, and other piratical strongholds, for the purpose of destroying the commerce and ravaging the coasts of western italy. fortunately, we fell in with a ship that had been plundered by three of them on their way north, and learned from the dying captain, who was the only one of her crew left with life on board, the direction they were taking, and something of the nature of the expedition. we pursued the three gal- a knight of the white cross "sir gervaise tresham, sir ralph harcourt, and knights of the seven languagesof the order—as yet i can hardly appre- ciate the full extent of the service that you have rendered. i thanked you but now for the capture of three corsairs; but what can i say when i learn that you have destroyed or taker a whole fleet? i invite you all to a banquet that i shall hold to-night, where the cavalier caretto will relate to us all the details of this marvellous exploit." within a few minutes after the return of the grand master and his party ashore, the flags of the order were run up to the flagstaffs of every fort and bastion: the bells of the churches chimed out. a triumphant peal, and a salute was fired from the guns of the three water forts, while along the wall facing the port, the townspeople waved numberless gay flags as a welcome to the galley. most of the knights went ashore at once, but gervaise, under the excuse that he wished to see that every- thing was in order before landing, remained on board until it was time to go to the banquet, being sure that by that time the knights would have fully told the story at their respective aubergrs, and that there would be no more questions to an- swer. the banquet differed but little from that at genoa, and gervaise was heartily glad when it was over. the next day the grand master sent for him. "if i judge rightly, sir gervaise, the thing that will best please you at present, is an order to put to sea again at once, to conclude the usual period of service of the galley." "it is indeed," gervaise replied earnestly. "but i should be glad, sir, if you will allow that the time should begin to count afresh from our present start. we have really had but a short period of service, for we wasted a week at genoa, and ten days on our journey back here, so that we have had really no more than a month's active service." "yes, if you count only by time," d'aubusson said, with a smile. "reckoning by results, you have done a good five years' cruise. however, so small a request can certainly be captured granted. the places of the two knights who were killed, and of four others whose wounds are reported to me as being too severe for them to be fit for service for some time, shall be filled up at once from the langues to which each belonged. you will cruise among the western islands, whence complaints have reached us of a corsair who" has been plundering and burning. sometimes he is heard of as far north as negropont, at others he is off the south of the morea; then, again, we hear of him among the cyclades. we have been unwilling to despatch another galley, for there is ample employment for every one here. after the blow you have struck on the moor- ish corsairs, they are likely to be quiet for a little. you had best, therefore, try for a time if you cannot come across this pirate. you must let me know how much you paid for the vessels you used as fire-ships, and to the sards; this is an ex- pense chargeable to the general service. i may tell you that to me it is due that no recognition of your exploits, such as that which genoa bestowed upon you, will be made. at the coun- cil this morning it was urged that some signal mark of honour should be granted; but i interposed, saying that you had al- ready received exceptional promotion, and that it would not be for your good, or that of the order, for so young a knight to be raised to an official position of a character usually held by seniors, and that i was perfectly sure you would prefer re- maining in command of your galley to any promotion what- ever that would retain you on the island." "indeed i should, your highness. i wish to gain experience and to do service to the order, and so far from pleasing me, pro- motion would trouble and distress me, and, could it have been done, i would most gladly have sent home the prizes, instead of going to genoa, and would myself have continued the cruise." "so the cavalier caretto told me," the grand master re- plied. "very well, then. in three days you shall set out again. the admiral tells me that never before has a galley re- turned with the slaves in such good health and condition, and a knight of the white cross that un(iucstionably your plan of erecting an awning to shel- ter them from the midday heat and the night dews has had a most beneficial effect on their health; he has recommended its general adoption." three days later the santa barbara again left port, and was soon upon her station. for some weeks she cruised back- wards and forwards along the coast and among the islands. they often heard of the pirate ship, but all their efforts to find her were unavailing. one evening there were signs of a change of weather, and by morning it was blowing a furious gale from the north; in spite of the efforts of the rowers, the galley narrowly escaped being driven ashore; but she at last gained the shelter of an island, and anchored under its lee, the slaves being utterly worn out by continuous exertion. as soon as the gale abated they again put to sea, and, after proceeding for some miles, saw a ship cast up on shore. some people could be made out on board of her, and a white flag was raised. "she must have been driven ashore during the gale," ger- vaise said. "we will row in to within a quarter of a mile of her and see what we can do for them." as soon as the anchor was dropped a boat was lowered. "i will go myself, ralph, for i shall be glad to set my foot on shore again. there must be people on the island; i won- der none of them have come to the aid of those poor fellows. i suppose the villages are on the other side of the island, and they have not yet heard of the wreck." gervaise asked three of the knights to accompany him, and the boat, rowed by galley-slaves, was soon on its way. all were glad at the change afforded to the monotony of their life on board, and at the prospect of a scamper on shore. there were but five or six men to be seen on the deck of the wreck, and these had, as the boat approached, come down to the rocks as if to meet those who came to their aid; but as the knights leapt out, they threw themselves suddenly upon a knight of the white cross evident to the captain of the corsair that under such circum- stances he could out-sail the galley that had long been search- ing for him; when, therefore, the santa barbara came in sight, just as he and his crew had finished stripping the wreck of its contents, the idea had occurred to him to attempt to en- tice some of the knights to land. as soon as the vessel was under way he abused his followers hotly for not having obeyed his orders to capture the knights without bloodshed; but they pleaded that it was as much as they had been able to do to capture gervaise in that way, and that they could never have overcome the four together, before the boats would have had time to come from the ship. gervaise had been told to sit down with his back to a mast and in this position he could, when the vessel heeled over to the breeze, obtain a view of the sea. it was with a feeling of bitter mortification and rage that he saw the galley lying but half a mile away, as the corsair issued from the inlet. a mo- ment later he heard a gun fired, and saw the signal hoisted to recall the boats. "if the wind had been favourable," the captain said to his mate, "we would have borne down upon her, and could have reached and captured her before the boats got back, for you may be sure that they have landed almost all their men. how- ever, we can't get there against the wind, and we will now say good-bye to them." gervaise knew well that at the pace they were running through the water the galley would have no chance whatever of overtaking her, and that, ere the knights came on board again, she would be already two or three miles away. a point of land soon concealed the galley from view, and when he caught sight of her, as she rounded the point, she was but a speck in the distance. they passed several islands in the course of the day, chang- ing their direction to a right angle to that which they had at first pursued, as soon as they were hidden from the sight of the captured galley by an intervening island. as night came on they anch- ored in a little bay on the coast of the morea. the sails being furled, the sailors made a division of the booty they had captured on the island, and of the portable property found on board the wreck. a gourd full of water was placed to ger- vaise's lips by one of the men of a kinder disposition than the rest. he drank it thankfully, for he was parched with thirst excited by the pain caused by the tightness with which he had been bound. he slept where he sat. all night four men remained on guard, although from what he heard they had no fear what- ever of being overtaken. in the morning his arms were un- bound, and they stripped off his tunic and shirt. they had evidently respect for his strength, for before loosing his arms they tightly fastened his ankles together. the removal of his shirt exposed claudia's gift to view. "take that from him and give it to me," the captain said. as the two men approached, gervaise seized one in each hand, dashed them against each other, and hurled them on the deck. but the exertion upset his equilibrium, and after making a vain effort to recover it, he fell heavily across them. the captain stooped over him, and, before he could recover himself, snatched the chain from his neck. "you are a stout fellow," he said, laughing, "and will make a fine slave. what have you got here that you are ready to risk your life for?" he looked at the little chain and its pendant with an air of disappointment. "'tis worth but little," he said, showing it to his mate. "i would not give five ducats for it in the market. it must be a charm, or a knight would never carry it about with him and prize it so highly. it may be to things like this the christians owe their luck." "it has not brought him luck this time," the mate observed with a laugh. "even a charm cannot always bring good luck, but at any rate i will try it;" and he put it round his neck just as ger captured fancy price. i know a dozen rich moors in tripoli or tunis who would be glad to have him; and we agreed that we would run down to the african coast for awhile, for that galley has been altogether too busy of late for our comfort, and will be all the more active after this little affair; besides, people in these islands have got so scared that one can't get within ten miles of any of them now without seeing their signal smokes rising on the hills, and finding, when they land, the villages deserted and stripped of everything worth carrying away." this news was a disappointment to gervaise. he had cal- culated that he would be sold at one of the levant ports, and had thought that with his knowledge of turkish he should have no great difficulty in escaping from any master into whose hands he might fall, and taking his chance of either seizing a fishing-boat, or of making his way in a trading ship to some district where the population was a mixed one, and where trade was winked at between the merchants there, and those at some of the greek towns. to escape from tunis or tripoli would be far more difficult; there, too, he would be beyond the reach of the good offices of suleiman ali, who would, he was sure, have done all in his power to bring about his re- lease. of one thing he was determined: he would not return to rhodes without making every possible effort to recover claudia's gage, as he considered it absolutely incumbent on him as a knight to guard, as something sacred, a gift so be- stowed. the fancy of the corsair to retain the jewel as a charm he regarded as a piece of the greatest good fortune. had it been thrown among the common spoil, he would never have known to which of the crew it had fallen at the division, still less have traced what became of it afterwards; whereas now, for some time, at any rate, it was likely to remain in the captain's possession. had it not been for that, he would have attempted to es- cape at the first opportunity, and such an opportunity could not fail to present itself ere long, for he had but to manage to a knight of the white cross possess himself of moslem garments to be able to move about unquestioned in any turkish town. when it became dark he was shut up in the hold, which was, he found, crowded with captives, as, in addition to the crew of the wreck, between forty and fifty greeks, for the most part boys and young girls, had been carried off from the villages plundered. it was pitch dark below, although the scuttle had been left open in order to allow a certain amount of air to reach the captives; gervaise, therefore, felt his way about cautiously, and lay down as soon as he found a clear space. save an occasional moan or curse, and the panting of those suffering from the heat and closeness of the crowded hold, all was still the majority of the" captives had been some time in their floating prison, and their first poignant grief had settled down into a dull and despairing acceptance of their fate; the sailors, newly captured, had for hours raved and cursed, but, worn out by their strug- gle with the elements, and their rage and grief, they had now fallen asleep. it was long before gervaise dozed off. he was furious with himself for having fallen into the trap; if he had, as he said to himself, lain off the beach in the boat, and questioned the supposed shipwrecked sailors, their inability to reply to him would have at once put him on his guard; as it was, he had walked into the snare as carelessly and confidently as a child might have done. even more than his own captivity, he re- gretted the death of his three comrades, which he attributed to his own want of care. the next morning he was again allowed on deck. the ves- sel was under way, and her head was pointing south. to his surprise some of the crew gave him a friendly greeting; he was unable to understand a manner so at variance with their hatred to the christians, until one of them said to him in a mixture of greek and italian,— "we have heard from our countrymen who were in the boat with you, that they received much kindness at your hands, captured and that of all the christians they had served under, you were the kindest master. therefore, it is but right now allah has decreed that you in turn should be a slave to the true believ- ers, that you should receive the same mercy you gave to mos- lems when they were in your power." the captain came up as the man was speaking. he talked for a time to the sailor, who then turned again to gervaise. "the captain says that he is told you were the commander of that galley; he has questioned the eight men separately, and they all tell the same story: and yet he cannot understand how so young a man should command a galley manned by warriors famous for their deeds of arms, even among us who are their foes." "this galley was an exception," gervaise replied; "the knights on board were all young, as they could be hetter spared than those more experienced, at a time when your sultan is known to be preparing for an attack on rhodes." the captain was silent for a minute when this was inter- preted to him; he had at the time noticed and wondered at the youth of the four knights, and the explanation seemed to him a reasonable one. "i wish i had known it," he said after a pause; "for had i done so, i would have fought and captured her yesterday; i have half a mind to go back and seek her now." he called up one of the ex-slaves who was a native of trip- oli, and who had now taken his place as a member of the crew, and asked him a number of questions. gervaise felt uncom- fortable while the man was answering. fortunately, his row- ers had agreed to say nothing whatever of the destruction of the corsair fleet, of which no word had as yet reached the pirates, deeming that, in their anger at the news, the pirates might turn upon them for the part that they had, however in- voluntarily, borne in it. as soon as he perceived that the captain entertained the idea of returning to engage the galley, the man felt that if he captured the gangway, he happened to push against one of the captives, a greek girl of some ten years of age. with an angry ex- clamation he struck her to the deck. gervaise sprang forward. "you brute !" he exclaimed in english. "i have a good mind to throw you overboard, and will do so the next time you strike one of these children without cause." infuriated by gervaise's interference and threatening atti- tude, the corsair drew his long knife; but before he could strike, gervaise caught his wrist; the knife fell from his hand, and gervaise kicked it through the open gangway into the sea. the captain shouted to his men to seize the christian, but the young knight's blood was up now. the first man who came at him he seized by the sash round his waist, and threw over- board; the two next he stretched on the deck with blows from his clenched fist. some of the others now drew their weapons, but the captain shouted to them to sheath them. "fools !" he yelled. "is it not enough that your coward- ice has already cost us the lives of three knights, whose capture would have brought us a big sum? throw him down and bind him. what! are fifty of you afraid of one unarmed man? no wonder these christians capture our ships, if this is the mettle of our crews !'' goaded by his words, the men made a general rush upon gervaise, and, in spite of his desperate efforts, threw him on to the deck and bound him; then the captain, seizing a heavy stick in his left hand, his right being still powerless, showered blows upon him until gervaise almost lost consciousness. "throw some water over the dog," the corsair said, as he threw down the stick, panting with his exertions; and then, without waiting to see if his order was obeyed, he took his place in the boat, and was rowed ashore. as soon as he had left, three or four of the ex-galley-slaves carried gervaise into the shade of the sail. the sailors, several of whom bore signs of the late struggle, looked on sullenly, but offered no opposition when the men took off the ropes and a knight of the white cross raised him into a sitting posture against the mast. he had not entirely lost consciousness, and was now fast recovering himself. "is there anything we can do for you?" one of the men asked in italian. "no; i shall soon be all right again, although i am bruised all over, and shall be stiff for a day or two. you had best leave me now, or you will incur the enmity of these fellows." gervaise was indeed bruised from his neck to his heels. even in his passion the pirate had avoided striking him on the head, as a disfiguring mark on the face would diminish his value. sitting there, he congratulated himself that he had been beaten with a stick and not with a whip; a stick is a weapon, and he did not feel the same sense of dishonour that he would haveexperienced had he been beaten with a whip. that such might be his lot in slavery he recognised. the backs of caretto and his two companions were seamed with the marks inflicted by the gang-master's whip, and he could scarce hope to escape the same treatment; but at present he hardly felt a slave. there was another reflection that to some extent mitigated the pain of his bruises; the pirate captain held his treasured gage, and it was his fixed determination to recover it. the man had at first in a rough way treated him fairly, and had allowed him more liberty than the other captives, and he would have felt reluctant to take extreme measure against him to recover the gage. now he was not only free from any sense of obligation, but had a heavy score to settle with him. after a time he got up and walked stiffly and painfully up and down the deck, knowing that this was the best plan to prevent the limbs from stiffening. the corsair did not return until night set in; he was accompanied by an arab, whose dress and ap- pearance showed that he was a person of importance. the other slaves had all been sent below, but gervaise still remained on deck, as the mate had not cared to risk another conflict by giving him orders in the absence of the captain. as the pirate stepped on deck he ordered some torches to be brought. captured "this is the christian i spoke of," he said to the arab, pointing to gervaise, who was leaning carelessly against the bulwark. "he is, as you see, capable of hard work of any kind; his strength is prodigious, for it took ten of my best men to bind him this morning." "why did you wish to bind him?" the arab asked cold- ly; "you told me that although so strong he was of a quiet disposition, and would make a good household slave." "i struck a slave girl who stood in my way," the captain said, " and he came at me so suddenly that i had to call upon the men to bind him. he threw one of them overboard, and with his naked hands knocked down two others; and, as i have told you, it took all the efforts of eight or ten more before they could overcome him." the arab took a torch from one of the sailors, walked across to gervaise, who was naked from the waist upwards, his upper garments having been torn into shreds in the struggle, and ex- amined him closely. "and then you beat him," he said, turning to the captain. "certainly i beat him. do you think that a slave is to mutiny on board my ship, and escape unpunished?" the arab, without replying, again inspected gervaise. "you ask a large sum for him," he said. "i should ask twice as much," the captain replied, " if it were not for the regulation that one slave from each cargo brought in belongs to the sultan, and his officers would as a matter of course choose this fellow, for the others are merely such as are sold in the market every day. this man is one of the accursed order of rhodes, and would fetch a ransom many times greater than the sum i ask for him, only i have not the time to wait for months until the affair could be arranged." "and, moreover, hassan," the arab said grimly, "it has doubtless not escaped you that as the sultan of turkey is fit- ting out an expedition to destroy the community of rhodes, the chance of their ransoming their comrade is a very slight one." a knight of the white cross "threatened men live long," the captain said. "the sul- tan has been talking of attacking them for years, and some- thing has always happened to prevent his carrying out his in- tention. it may be the same again." "i will take him," the arabsaid shortly. "here is a purse with the sum you named; count it, and see that it is right." as he stood apart while the pirate counted out the money, the eight released slaves came up in a body, and one of them, bowing low before the merchant, said,— "my lord, we have long been slaves of the christian knights at rhodes, and have worked in their galleys. we were res- cued the other day when this knight was taken prisoner. our life has been a hard one. we have borne toil, and hardship, and blows, the heat of the sun by day, and the damp by night, but we would humbly represent to you that since we were placed in the galley commanded by this knight our lot has been made bearable by his humanity and kindness. he erected an awning to shade us from the sun's rays, and to shelter us from the night dews. he provided good food for us. he saw that we were not worked beyond our strength, and he forbade us being struck, unless for good cause. therefore, my lord, now that misfortune has fallen upon him, we venture to represent to you the kindness with which he has treated us, in the hope that it may please you to show him such mercy as he showed to us." "you have done well," the arab said, "and your words shall not be forgotten. when you land to-morrow, inquire for the house of isaac ben ibyn. you are doubtless penniless, and i may be able to obtain employment for those of you who may stop at tripoli, and to assist those who desire to take passage to their homes elsewhere. we are commanded to be grateful to those who befriend us, and as you have shown yourselves to be so, it is right that i, an humble servant of the great one, should in his name reward you." motioning to gervaise to follow him, the arab stepped into his boat. gervaise turned to the men, and said in italian,— a knight of the white cross from no fault of his own, but only because he opposed the man's brutality to a child slave. if any of his wounds need ointment, see that he has it. when all is ready, bring him to the door of my apartments, in order that i may show to my wife that i have gratified her whim." then he motioned to gervaise to follow muley, who was the head of his household. gervaise resisted the impulse to thank his new master, and followed in silence. he was first taken to a bath-room, furnished with an abun- dance of hot and cold water. muley uttered an exclamation as, on gervaise throwing off his bernouse, he saw that his flesh was a mass of bruises. after filling the bath with hot water, he motioned to gervaise to get in, and lie there until he re- turned. it was some time before he came back, bringing a pot of ointment and some bandages. it was only on the body that the wounds needed dressing, for here the blows had fallen on the naked skin. when he had dressed them, muley went out and returned with some turkish garments, consisting of a pair of baggy trousers of yellow cotton, a white shirt of the same material, and a sleeveless jacket of blue cloth embroidered with yellow trimming; a pair of yellow slippers completed the costume. muley now took him into another room, where he set before him a dish of rice with a meat gravy, a large piece of bread, and a wooden spoon. gervaise ate the food with a deep feeling of thankfulness for the fate that had thrown him into such good hands. then, after taking a long draught of water, he rose to his feet and followed muley into the entrance hall. the latter stopped at a door on the opposite side, knocked at it, and then motioned to gervaise to take off his slippers. the door was opened by the arab himself. "enter," he said courteously, and led gervaise into an apartment where a lady and two girls were sitting on a divan. they were slightly veiled; but, as gervaise afterwards learnt, ben ibyn was not a moor, but a berber, a people who do not a kind master 'j keep their women in close confinement as do the moors, but al- low them to go abroad freely without being entirely muffled up. "khadja," the merchant said, " this is the christian slave i purchased to-day. you have for a long time desired one, but not until now have i found one who would, i thought, satisfy your expectations. what think you of him?" "he is a noble-looking youth truly, isaac, with his fair, wavy hair, his grey eyes, and white skin; truly, all my neigh- bours will envy me such a possession. i have often seen chris- tian slaves before, but they have always been broken-down and dejected-looking creatures; this one bears himself like a warrior rather than a slave.'' "he is a warrior; he is one of those terrible knights of rhodes whose very name is a terror to the turks, and whose galleys are feared even by our boldest corsairs. he must be of approved valour, for he was commander of one of these galleys.'' the girls looked with amazement at gervaise. they had often heard tales of the capture of ships that had sailed from tripoli, by the galleys of the christian knights, and had pict- ured those fierce warriors as of almost supernatural strength and valour. that this youth, whose upper lip was but shaded with a slight moustache, should be one of them, struck them as being almost incredible. "he does not look ferocious, father," one of them said. "he looks pleasant and good-tempered, as if he could injure no one.'' "and yet this morning, daughter, he braved, unarmed, the anger of hassan the corsair, on the deck of his own ship; and when the pirate called upon his men to seize him he threw one overboard, struck two more on to the deck, and it needed eight men to overpower him." "i hope he won't get angry with us !" the younger girl exclaimed. gervaise could not suppress a laugh, and then, turning to the merchant, said in turkish,— "i must ask your pardon for having concealed from you my a knight of the white cross knowledge of your tongue. i kept the secret from all on board the corsair, and meant to have done the same here, deeming that if none knew that i spoke the language it would greatly aid me should i ever see an opportunity of making my escape; but, ben ibyn, you have behaved so kindly to me that i feel it would not be honourable to keep it a secret from you, and to allow you and the ladies to talk freely before me, thinking that i was altogether ignorant of what you were saying." "you have acted well and honourably," ben ibyn said, putting a hand on his shoulder kindly. "we have heard much of the character of the order, and that though valiant in battle, your knights are courteous and chivalrous, deeming a deceit- ful action to be unworthy of them, and binding themselves by their vows to succour the distressed and to be pitiful to the weak. we have heard that our wounded are tended by them in your hospitals with as much care as men of their own race and relig- ion, and that in many things, the knights were to be admired even by those who were their foes. i see now that these reports were true, and that although, as you say, it might be of advantage to you that none should know you speak arabic, yet it is from a spirit of honourable courtesy you have now told us that you do so. "i did not tell you, wife," he went on, turning to her, '' that the reason why he bearded hassan to-day was because the corsair brutally struck a little female captive; thus, you see, he, at the risk of his life, and when himself a captive, carried out his vows to protect the defenceless. and now, wife, there is one thing you must know. for some time, at any rate, you must abandon the idea of exciting the envy of your friends by exhibiting your christian captive to them. as you are aware, the sultan has the choice of any one slave he may select from each batch brought in, and assuredly he would choose this one, did it come to his ears, or to the ears of one of his officers, that a christian knight had been landed. for this reason hassan sold him to me for a less sum than he would otherwise have demanded, and we must for some time keep his presence here a kind master a secret. my idea is that he shall remain indoors until we move next week into our country house, where he will be comparatively free from observation." "certainly, isaac. i would not on any account that he should be handed over to the sultan, for he would either be put into the galleys or have to labour in the streets." "i will tell muley to order the other slaves to say nothing outside of the fresh arrival, so for the present there is no fear of its being talked about in the town. hassan will, for his own sake, keep silent on the matter. i have not yet asked your name," he went on, turning to gervaise. "my name is gervaise tresham; but it will be easier for you to call me by my first name only.'' "then, gervaise, it were well that you retired to rest at once, for i am sure that you sorely need it.'' he touched a bell on the table, and told muley, when he appeared, to conduct gervaise to the place where he was to sleep, which was, he had already ordered, apart from the quarters of the other slaves. "the young fellow is a mass of bruises," ben ibyn said to his wife, when the door closed behind gervaise. "hassan beat him so savagely, after they had overpowered and bound him, that he well-nigh killed him." an exclamation of indignation burst from the wife and daughters. "muley has seen to his wounds," he went on, "and he will doubtless be cured in a few days. and now, wife, that your wish is gratified, and i have purchased a christian slave for you, may i ask what you are going to do with him?" "i amsure i do not know," she said in a tone of perplexity. "i had thought of having him to hand round coffee when my friends call, and perhaps to work in the garden, but i did not think that he would be anything like this." "that is no reason why he should not do so," ben ibyn said. "these christians, i hear, treat their women as if they were superior beings, and feel it no dishonour to wait upon them; a knight of the white cross i think you cannot do better than carry out your plan. it is certain there is no sort of work that he would prefer to it; therefore, let it be understood that he is to be your own per- sonal attendant, and that when you have no occasion for his services, he will work in the garden. only do not for the present let any of your friends see him; they would spread the news like wildfire, and in a week every soul in the town would know that you had a good-looking christian slave, and the sultan's officer would be sending for me to ask how i ob- tained him. we must put a turban on him. any one who caught a glimpse of that hair of his, however far distant, would know that he was a frank." "we might stain his face and hands with walnut juice," khadja said, "he would pass as a nubian. some of them are tall and strong." "a very good thought, wife; it would bean excellent disguise. so shall it be." he touched the bell again. "tell muley i would speak with him. muley," he went on, when the steward appeared, " have you said aught to any of the ser- vants touching the christian?" "no, my lord; you gave me no instructions about it, and i thought it better to wait until the morning, when i could ask you." "you did well. we have determined to stain his skin, and at present he will pass as a nubian. this will avoid all questions and talk." "but, my lord, they will wonder that he cannot speak their tongue.'' "he must pass among them as a mute; but indeed he speaks arabic as well as we do, muley." the man uttered an exclamation of surprise. "he had intended to conceal his knowledge," ben ibyn went on, " which would have been politic; but when he found that my intentions were kind, he told us that he knew our tongue, and now revealed his knowledge, as he thought it a kind master would be dishonourable to listen to our talk, leaving us under the impression that he could not understand us.'' "truly these christians are strange men," muley said. "this youth, who has not yet grown the hair on his face, is nevertheless commander of a war-galley. he is ready to risk his life on behalf of a slave, and can strike down men with his unarmed hand; he is as gentle in his manner as a woman; and now it seems he can talk arabic, and although it was in his power to keep this secret he tells it rather than overhear words that are not meant for his ear. truly they are strange people, the franks. i will prepare some stain in the morning, my lord, and complete his disguise before any of the others see him." the next morning muley told gervaise that his master thought that it would be safer and more convenient for him to pass as a dumb nubian slave. gervaise thought the plan an excellent one; and he was soon transformed, muley shaving that part of the hair that would have shown below the turban, and then staining him a deep brownish-black, from the waist upwards, together with his feet and his legs up to his knee, and darkening his eyebrows, eyelashes, and moustache. "save that your lips lack the thickness, and your nose is straighter than those of nubians, no one would doubt but that you were one of that race; and this is of little consequence, as many of them are of mixed blood, and, though retaining their dark colour, have features that in their outline resemble those of the arabs. now i will take you to ben ibyn, so that he may judge whether any further change is required before the servants and slaves see you." "that is excellent," the merchant said, when he had care- fully inspected gervaise, " i should pass you myself without recognizing you. now you can take him into the servants' quarters, muley, and tell them that he is a new slave whom i have purchased, and that henceforth it will be his duty to wait upon my wife, to whom i have presented him as her special attendant, and that he will accompany her and my daughters a knight of the white cross when they go abroad to make their purchases or visit their friends. give some reason, if you can think of one, why you have bestowed him in a chamber separate from the rest." gervaise at once took up his new duties, and an hour later, carrying a basket, followed them into the town. it was strange to him thus to be walking among the fanatical moors, who, had they known the damage that he had inflicted upon their galleys, would have torn him in pieces. none gave him, however, more than a passing look. nubian slaves were no uncommon sight in the town, and in wealthy moorish families were commonly employed in places of trust, and especially as attendants in the harems. the ladies were now as closely veiled as the moorish women, it being only in the house that ' they followed the berber customs. gervaise had learnt from i muley that ben ibyn was one of the richest merchants in tripoli, trading direct with egypt, syria, and constantinople, besides carrying on a large trade with the berber tribes in the interior. he returned to the house with his basket full of provisions, and having handed these over to the cook, he went to the private apartments, as khadja had requested him to do here she and her daughters asked him innumerable questions as to his country and its customs, and then about rhodes and the order to which he belonged. their surprise was great when they heard that the knights were bound to celibacy. "but why should they not marry if they like?—why should they not have wives, children, and homes like other people?" khadja asked. "it is that they may devote their whole lives to their work. their home is the convent at rhodes, or at one of the com- manderies scattered over . europe, where they take charge of the estates of the order.'' "but why should they not marry then, gervaise? at rhodes there might be danger for women and children, but when they return to europe to take charge of the estates, surely they would do their duty no worse for having wives?" a kind master gervaise smiled. "i did not make the rules of the order, lady, but i have thought myself that although, so long as they are doing mili- tary work at the convent, it is well that they should not marry, yet there is no good reason why, when established in commanderies at home, they should not, like other knights and nobles, marry if it so pleases them." in the evening the merchant returned from his stores, which were situated down by the port. soon after he came in he sent for gervaise. "there is a question i had intended to ask you last night," he said, "but it escaped me. more than two months since there sailed from this port and others many vessels—not the ships of the state, but corsairs. in all, more than twenty ships started, with the intention of making a great raid upon the coast of italy. no word has since been received of them, and their friends here are becoming very un- easy, the more so as we hear that neither at tunis nor al- giers has any news been received. have you heard at rhodes of a moorish fleet having been ravaging the coast of italy?" "have you any friends on board the ships that sailed from here, or any interest in the venture, ben ibyn?" the merchant shook his head. "we berbers," he said, "are not like the moors, and have but little to do with the sea, save by the way of trade. for myself, i regret that these corsair ships are constantly putting out. were it not for them and their doings we might trade with the ports of france, of spain, and italy, and be on good terms with all. there is no reason why, because our faiths are different, we should be constantly fighting. it is true that the turks threaten europe, and are even now preparing to capture rhodes; but this is no question of religion. the turks are warlike and ambitious; they have conquered syria, and war with egypt and persia; but the moorish states are small, they have no thought of conquest, and might live peaceably with europe were it not for the hatred excited against them by the corsairs." a knight of the white cross "in that case i can tell you the truth. thirteen of those ships were taken into rhodes as prizes; the other eleven were burnt. not one of the fleet escaped." exclamations of surprise broke from ben ibyn, his wife, and daughters. "i am astonished, indeed," the merchant said. "it was reported here that the genoese galleys were all laid up, and it was thought that they would be able to sweep the seas with- out opposition, and to bring home vast spoil and many cap- tives, both from the ships they took and from many of the villages and small towns of the coast. how came such a mis- fortune to happen to them? it will create consternation here when it is known, for although it was not a state enterprise, the sultan himself and almost all the rich moors embarked money in the fitting out of the ships, and were to have shares in the spoil taken. how happened it that so strong a fleet was all taken or destroyed, without even one vessel being able to get away to carry home the news of the dis- aster?" "fortune was against them," gervaisesaid. "threeships on their way up were captured by a galley of our order, and her commander having obtained news of the whereabouts of the spot where the corsairs were to rendezvous, found them all lying together in a small inlet, and launched against them a number of fishing-boats fitted out as fire ,ships. the corsairs, packed closely together, were unable to avoid them, and, as i told you, eleven of their ships were burnt, four were run ashore to avoid the flames, while six, trying to make their way out, were capt- ured by the galley, aided by the three prizes that were taken and which the knights had caused to be manned by sards." "the ways of allah the all-seeing are wonderful," the merchant said. "it was indeed a marvellous feat for one galley thus to destroy a great fleet." "it was the result of good fortune rather than skill and valour," gervaisesaid. a knight of the white cross gervaise saw that ben ibyn was seriously annoyed at what he deemed his unaccountable obstinacy. "i will tell you, ben ibyn, rather than excite your dis- pleasure, though i would much have preferred not to do so, for you speak so much more highly of the affair than it merits. i had myself the honour of being in command of that galley." the ladies broke into exclamations of surprise, while the merchant regarded him with grave displeasure. "i had thought you truthful," he said; "but this passes all belief. dost tell me that a beardless youth could with one galley overcome a great fleet, commanded by the most noted captains on our coast?" "i thought that you would not believe me," gervaise said quietly; "and, therefore, would have much preferred to keep silence, knowing that i had no means of supporting my claim. that was not the only reason; the other was, that already a great deal too much has been said about an affair in which, as i have told you, i owed everything to good fortune, and am heartily sick of receiving what i consider altogether undue praise. ah !" he exclaimed suddenly, " the thought has just occurred to me of a way by which you can obtain confirmation of my story; and, as i value your good opinion and would not be regarded as a boaster and a liar, i entreat you to take it. i heard you tell the eight men who were rowers in my boat when i was captured, to call upon you to-day, that you might do something for them." "they came this morning to my store," the merchant said. "they told me their wishes. i promised them that i would make inquiry about ships sailing east; and they are to come to me again to-morrow." "then, sir, i beseech you to suffer me to go down with you to your stores and meet them there. the galley of which i was in command at the time i was captured is the same as that in which a few weeks before i fought the corsairs, and these eight men were with me at that time. i begged them a kind master for my sake to maintain an absolute silence as to that affair, and i have no doubt that they have done so, for in the fury the news would excite, they might fall victims to the first out- burst, though, of course, wholly innocent of any share in the misfortune. did you question them without my being pres- ent, they might still keep silent, fearing to injure me. but if, before you begin to do so, i tell them that they can speak the truth with reference to me, they will, i am sure, confirm my story, incredible as it may now appear to you." "that is a fair offer," the merchant said gravely, "and i accept it, for it may be that i have been too hasty, and i trust it may prove so. i would rather find myself to be in fault than that the esteem with which you have inspired me should prove to be misplaced. 'we will speak no further on the sub- ject now. i have not yet asked you how it is that you come to speak our language so well." gervaise related how he had studied with suleiman ali, and had escorted him to syria and received his ransom. "i had hoped," he said, "that the corsair would have taken me to syria, for there i could have communicated with suleiman, who would, i am sure, have given me such shelter and aid as he was able, in the event of my making my escape from slavery and finding myself unable to leave by sea." the next day gervaise went with ben ibyn to his stores. the eight men arrived shortly afterwards, and the merchant, in the presence of gervaise, questioned them as to whether they knew anything of a misfortune that was said to have be- fallen some ships that had sailed for the coast of italy. the men, surprised at the question, glanced at gervaise, who said,— "tell ben ibyn the truth ; it will do neither you nor me any harm, and will be mentioned by him to no one else." accordingly the story was told. ben ibyn listened gravely. "it was the will of allah," he said, when it was concluded. "i have wronged you, gervaise, but your tale seemed too marvellous to be true. do not speak of this to others," he a kind master "i am at the sultan's orders," gervaise said, bowing his head. "my master has been akind one, and i am grateful to him for his treatment of me." gervaise, although taken aback by this sudden change in his fortunes, was not so cast down as he might otherwise have been; he would now be free to carry out any plan for escape that he might devise, and by his being addressed in italian it was evident to him that his knowledge of turkish was unsus- pected. when among the other slaves he had always main- tained his character of a mute; and it was only when alone in his master's family that he had spoken at all. he had no doubt that his betrayal was due to one of the gardeners, who had several times shown him signs of ill-will, being doubtless jealous of the immunity he enjoyed from hard labour, and who must, he thought, have crept up and overheard some conversa- tion; but in that case it was singular that the fact of his knowl- edge of turkish had not been mentioned. gervaise afterwards learned that ben ibyn had been fined a heavy sum for his breach of the regulations. he was now placed between the soldiers, and marched down to the town, without being allowed to exchange a word with the merchant. on his arrival there he was taken to the slaves' quarter; here his clothes were stripped from him, and he was given in their place a ragged shirt and trousers, and then turned into a room where some fifty slaves were lying. of these about half were europeans, the rest malefactors who had been con- demned to labour. the appearance of all was miserable in the extreme ; they were clothed in rags, and the faces of the europeans had a dull, hope- less look that told alike of their misery and of their despair of any escape from it. they looked up listlessly as he entered, and then an italian said, " cospetto, comrade; but i know not whether your place is with us, or with the moslems across there. as far as colour goes i should put you down as a nubian; but your hair is of a hue that consorts but badly with that of your flesh." a knight of the white cross "i am an englishman," gervaise replied; "but i have been passing under a disguise which has unfortunately been detected, so you see here i am.'' the mystery explained, his questioner had no further interest in the matter, and gervaise, picking out a vacant place on the stone floor, sat down and looked round him. the room, although large, was roughly built, and had doubtless been erected with a view to its present purpose. there were only a few windows; and these were small, strongly barred, and twelve feet above the floor. "not easy to get out of them," gervaise said to himself; "at least, not easy without aid; and with these moslems here it is clear that nothing can be done." they were roused at daybreak next morning, and were taken out to their work under the guard of six armed moors, two overseers, provided with long whips, accompanied them. the work consisted of cleaning the streets and working on the roads, and at times of carrying stones for the use of the masons em- ployed in building an addition to the palace of the sultan. this was the work to which the gang was set that morning, and it was not long before the vigour with which gervaise worked, and the strength he displayed in moving the heavy stones, attracted the attention of the overseers and of the head of the masons. '' that is a rare good fellow you have got there, that black with the curious hair," the latter said. "what is the man? i never saw one like him." "he is a christian," one of the overseers said. "he was smuggled into the town and sold to ben ibyn the berber, who, to conceal the matter, dyed him black ; but it got to the ears of the sultan, and he had him taken from the berber, and brought here; i have no doubt the merchant has been squeezed rarely.'' "well, that is a good fellow to work," the other said. "he has just moved a stone, single-handed, that it would have taken half a dozen of the others to lift. i wish you would put him regularly on this job; any one will do to sweep the streets; a kind master but a fellow like that will be of real use here, especially when the wall rises a bit higher." "it makes no difference to me," the overseer said. "i will give orders when i go down that he shall be always sent up with whichever gang comes here." the head mason, who was the chief official of the work, soon saw that gervaise not only possessed strength, but knowl- edge of the manner in which the work should be done. ac- customed as he had been to direct the slaves at work on the fortifications at rhodes, he had learned the best methods of moving massive stones, and setting them in the places that they were to occupy. at the end of the day the head mason told one of the slaves who spoke italian to inquire of gervaise whether he had ever been employed on such work before. gervaise replied that he had been engaged in the construction of large buildings. "i thought so," the officer said to the overseer; "the way he uses his lever shows that he knows what he is doing. most of the slaves are worth nothing; but i can see that this fellow will prove a treasure to us." gervaise returned to the prison well satisfied with his day's work. the labour, hard though it was, was an absolute pleas- ure to him. there was, moreover, nothing degrading in it, and while the overseers had plied their whips freely on the backs of many of his companions, he had not only escaped, but had, he felt, succeeded in pleasing his masters. the next morning when the gangs were drawn up in the yard before starting for work, he was surprised at being ordered to leave the one to which he belonged and to fall in with another, and was greatly pleased when he found that this took its way to the spot at which they were at work on the previous day. at the end of the week, when the work of the day was fin- ished, the head mason came down to the prison and spoke to the governor; a few minutes afterwards gervaise was called out. the governor was standing in the courtyard with an interpreter. a knight of the white cross "this officer tells me that you are skilled in masonry," the governor said, "and has desired that you shall be appointed overseer of the gang whose duty it is to move the stones, saying he is sure that with half the slaves now employed you would get as much work done as at present. have you anything to say ?'' "i thank you, my lord, and this officer," gervaise replied. "i will do my best; but i would submit to you that it would be better if i could have the same slaves always with me, instead of their being changed every day; i could then instruct them in their work. i would also submit that it were well to pick men with some strength for this labour, for many are so weak that they are well-nigh useless in the moving of heavy weights; and lastly, i would humbly submit to you that if men are to do good work they must be fed. this work is as heavy as that in the galleys, and the men there employed receive extra ra- tions to strengthen them; and i could assuredly obtain far better results if the gang employed upon this labour were to receive a somewhat larger supply of food." "the fellow speaks boldly," the governor said to the head mason, when the reply was translated. "there is reason in what he says, my lord. many of the slaves, though fit for the light labour of cleaning the streets, are of very little use to us, and even the whip of the drivers can- not get more than a momentary effort from them. if you can save twenty-five men's labour for other work, it will pay to give more food to the other twenty-five. i should let this man pick out his gang. he has worked in turn with all of them, and must know what each can do; besides, it is necessary that he should have men who can understand his orders." gervaise accordingly was allowed to pick out his gang; and he chose those whom he had observed to be the strongest and most handy at the work. "you will be responsible," the governor said to him, "for the masons being supplied with stone, and if you fail you will be punished and put to other labour." a kind master so far from there being any falling off in the work, the head mason found that, even though the walls began to rise and the labour of transporting the stones into their positions became greater, the masons were never kept standing. the men, finding their position improved, both in the matter of food and in the immunity they enjoyed from blows, worked cheerfully and well. gervaise did not content himself with giving or- ders, but worked at the heaviest jobs, and, little by little, intro- duced many of the appliances used by the skilled masons of rhodes in transporting and lifting heavy stones. gradually his own position improved: he was treated as an overseer, and was permitted to sleep under an arcade that ran along one side of the yard, instead of being confined in the close and stifling cell. his dye had long since worn off. one day as he was going up with his gang under charge of the usual guards to the building, he saw hassan, who grinned maliciously. "ah, ah, christian dog!" he said; "you threatened me, and i have not forgotten it. the last time i was here i made it known to an officer of the sultan that ben ibyn had a chris- tian slave who had been smuggled in; and here you are. i hope you like the change. look, i have still got your amulet, and it has brought me better luck than it did you. i have been fortunate ever since, and no money could buy it from me." he had been walking close to gervaise as he spoke, and one of the guards pushed him roughly aside. time passed on. one day on his return from work a well- dressed moor met him as the gang broke up in the courtyard. "i have permission to speak to you," he said to gervaise, and drew him aside. "know, o christian, that i have re- ceived a letter from suleiman ali, of syria. he tells me that he has heard from ben ibyn, the berber, that you are a slave, and has asked me to inquire of the sultan the price that he will take for your ransom, expressing his willingness to pay what- ever may be demanded, and charging me to defray the sum a knight of the white cross and to make arrangements by which you may return to europe. this i am willing to do, knowing suleiman ali by report as a wealthy man and an honourable one. i saw the sultan yesterday. he told me that i should have an answer this morning as to the ransom that he would take. when i went to him again to-day, he said that he had learnt from the governor of the prison and from the head mason that you were almost beyond price, that you had been raised to the position of superintendent of the slaves employed in the building of his palace, and that you were a man of such skill that he would not part with you at any price until the work was finished. after that he would sell you; but he named a price threefold that at which the very best white slave in tripoli would be valued. however, from the way in which suleiman ali wrote, i doubt not that he would pay it, great as it is, for he speaks of you in terms of affection, and i would pay the money could you be released at once. as it is, however, i shall write to him, and there will be ample time for an answer to be received from him before the building is finished." "truly i am deeply thankful to my good friend, suleiman ali; but for reasons of my own i am not desirous of being ransomed at present, especially at such a cost, which i should feel bound in honour to repay to him; therefore, i pray you to write to him, saying that while i thank him from my heart for his kindness, i am not able to avail myself of it. in the first place, i am well treated here, and my position is not an unpleasant one; secondly, the sum required for ransom is al- together preposterous; thirdly, i am not without hopes that i may some day find other means of freeing myself without so great a sacrifice; and lastly, that i have a reason which i can- not mention, why, at present, i would not quit tripoli, even were i free to-morrow. you can tell him that this is the reason which, most of all, weighs with me. do not, however, i pray you, let the sultan know that i have refused to be ransomed, for he might think i was meditating an escape, and would escape order extra precautions to be taken to prevent my doing so. will you also see ben ibyn, and thank him from me for hav- ing written to suleiman ali on my behalf?" chapter xix escape (gradually a greater amount of liberty was given to j gervaise. escape from tripoli was deemed impossible, especially as he was supposed to be entirely ignorant of arabic. he was, indeed, scarcely regarded now as a slave by the head mason, and instead of being clad in rags was dressed like other overseers. he was no longer obliged to walk with the gang to and from the palace, and was at last granted permission to go into the town for an hour or two after his work was over, instead of returning direct to the prison. the first time this permission was given to him he placed himself on the road by which ben ibyn would leave the town, choosing a quiet spot where the meeting would not be observed. gervaise had for some time taken to staining his face, hands, and legs with walnut juice, beginning with a weak solution, and very gradually increasing the strength until he had reached a shade approximating to that of the lighter- coloured portion of the population. the head mason had on one occasion noticed it, and said,— "the sun is darkening your skin, gervaise, until you might verily pass as a moor." gervaise detected an expression of doubt in the tone the officer had spoken to the interpreter, and replied at once,— "it is not altogether the sun. since i have obtained per- mission to come to my work alone, i have taken to slightly darkening my skin, in order to go to and fro unmolested, and a knight of the white cross overtaken. i shall therefore go along the coast for some distance and get a boat at one of the villages, choosing my time when there is a brisk wind, and when i may be able to get well beyond any risk of being overtaken. now, ben ibyn, i will leave you; it were better that we should not meet again, lest some suspicion might fall upon you of having aided in my escape. i cannot thank you too much for all your past kind- ness, and shall ever bear a grateful remembrance of yourself and your family." "perhaps it were better so," ben ibyn said; "for if the moors can find any excuse for plundering us, they do so. have you heard the news that the sultan of turkey's expedi- tion for the capture of rhodes is all but complete, and will assuredly sail before many weeks have passed?" "i have not heard it," gervaise replied; "and trust that i may be in time to bear my share in the defence. however, the blow has been so often threatened that it may be some time before it falls." "may allah bless you, my son, and take you safely back to your friends! be assured that you shall have notice as soon as i know that hassan has returned, and you shall have the bundle with all that is needful, behind my gate." another two months passed. gervaise looked in vain for ben ibyn's messenger as he went to and from the palace, and chafed terribly at the delay, when, for aught he knew, the turkish fleet might already have brought mahomet's army to rhodes. at last, as he came back from work, he saw with in- tense satisfaction one of the men, whose face he recognised, leaning carelessly against the wall. the man gave no sign of recognition, but looked at him earnestly for a minute, and then sauntered off up the street. gervaise went up into the town as usual, walked about until it became quite dark, and then went to the gate that led into the merchant's garden. he found that it was unfastened, and, opening it, he went in and closed it behind him. as he did so he started, for a voice close by said,— fcscape ' "master, it is i, the messenger whom you saw two hours since. ben ibyn bade me say that he thought you might re- quire some service, and, knowing that i could be trusted, bade me wait for you here. he thought that you might possibly need a messenger to hassan." "the very thing," gervaise exclaimed. "i have been puzzling myself in vain as to how i could get speech with him in some quiet place; but with your assistance that will be easy; but first let me put on this disguise." this was easily effected, even in the dark. a loose flowing robe of white cotton, girt in at the waist, a long bernouse with hood to cover the head, a sash with a dagger, and a scimitar, completed the disguise. "here is a pouch," the man said, "with money for your journey, and a long sword, which he says you can hang at your back beneath your bernouse." gervaise gave an exclamation of pleasure. by its length and weight he was sure that the weapon must have been the prop- erty of a christian knight. "shall i carry the message this evening?" the man asked. "it is early still, and it were best that you should not linger in the city, where there is sure to be a strict search for you in the morning." "but perhaps he may recognise your face?" "it is blackened, my lord, and i am dressed as you were when with ben ibyn." "let us settle our plans, then, before we sally out from here; we could not find a safer place for talking. what mes- sage, think you, would be the most likely to tempt hassan to come ashore? you do not know what spoil he has brought?" "no; besides, if a merchant wanted to buy he would goon board to inspect hassan's wares. we must have something to sell. it must be something tempting, and something that must be disposed of secretly. i might tell him that my employer— and i would mention some merchant whose name would carry a knight of the white cross weight with him—has received from the interior a large con- signment of slaves, among whom are three or four girls, who would fetch high prices in egypt, and as he believes they have been captured from a tribe within the limits of the sultan's ter- ritory, he is anxious to get rid of them, and will either dispose of them all cheaply in a lot, or will hand them over to him to take to egypt to sell, giving him a large commission for carry- ing them there and disposing of them." "i do not like tempting even an enemy by stories that are untrue," gervaise said doubtfully. "i have no scruples that way," the man said, with a laugh; "and it is i who shall tell the story, and not you." gervaise shook his head. "could you not say that you came from one who owes him a heavy debt and desires to pay him?" "i do not think that would bring him ashore. hassan doubtless trades for ready money, and must be well aware that no one here can be greatly in his debt. no, my lord; leave the matter in my hands. i will think of some story before i go on board that will fetch him ashore. but first we must set- tle where i am to bring him; there are some deserted spots near the wall on the east side of the town." "i know where you mean," gervaise agreed; "let us go in that direction at once, for the sooner you are off the better." in half an hour a spot was fixed on, near some huts that had fallen into ruin. here gervaise seated himself on a sand heap, while the man hurried away. the moon had just risen, it being but three days since it was at its full. the night was quiet; sounds of music, laughter, and occasional shouts came faintly from the town. seated where he was, gervaise could see the port and the ships lying there. half an hour later he saw a boat row off to one of them, which he had already singled out, from its size and general appearance, as being that of hassan; ten minutes later he saw it returning. at that distance separate figures could not be made out, but escape it seemed to him that it loomed larger than before, and he thought that certainly one, if not more, persons, were returning with his messenger. presently he heard men approaching; then hassan's voice came distinctly to his ears. "how much farther are you going to take me? remember, i warned you that unless i found that my journey repaid me, it would be bad for you." "it is but a few yards farther, my lord. there is my master the sheik of the beni kalis awaiting you." gervaise rose to his feet as hassan and two of his crew came up. "now," the former said roughly, " where have you bestowed these captives you want to sell me?" "will you please to follow me into this courtyard?" ger- vaise said. he had, while waiting, reconnoitred the neighbourhood, and found an enclosure with the walls still perfect, and had determined to bring hassan there, in order to prevent him from taking to flight. hassan entered it unsuspectingly, fol- lowed by his two men. gervaise fell back a little, so as to place himself between them and the entrance. then he threw back the hood of his bernouse. "do you recognise me, hassan?" he said sternly. "i am the captive whom you beat almost to death. i told you that some day i would kill you; but even now i am willing to forgive you and to allow you to depart in peace, if you will restore the amulet you took from me." the corsair gave a howl of rage. "christian dog " he exclaimed. "you thought to lead me into a trap, but you have fallen into one yourself. you reckoned that i should come alone; but i suspected there was something hidden behind the story of that black, and so brought two of my crew with me. upon him, men! cut him down!" so saying, he drew his scimitar, and sprang furiously upon gervaise. the latter stepped back into the centre of the a knight of the white cross gateway, so as to prevent the men, who had also drawn their swords, passing to attack him from behind. he had undone the clasp of his bernouse, and allowed it to fall to the ground as he addressed hassan, and his long sword flashed in the moonlight as the corsair sprang forward. hassan was a good swordsman, and his ferocious bravery had rendered him one of the most dreaded of the moorish rovers. inferior in strength to gervaise, he was as active as a cat, and he leapt back with the spring of a panther, avoiding the sweeping blow with which gervaise had hoped to finish the conflict at once; the latter found himself therefore engaged in a desperate fight with his three assailants. so furiously did they attack him that, foot by foot, he was forced to give ground. as he stepped through the gateway one of the pirates sprang past him, but as he did so, a figure leapt out from be- yond the wall, and plunged a dagger into his back, while at the same moment, by cutting down another pirate, gervaise rid himself of one of his assailants in front; but as he did so, he himself received a severe wound on the left shoulder from hassan, who, before he could again raise his weapon, sprang upon him, and tried to hurl him to the ground. gervaise's superior weight saved him from falling, though he staggered back some paces; then his heel caught against a stone, and he fell, dragging hassan to the ground with him. tightly clasped in each other's arms, they rolled over and over. gervaise succeeded at last in getting the upper hand, but as he did so hassan twisted his right arm free, snatched the dagger from gervaise's girdle, and struck furiously at him. gervaise, who had half risen to his knees, was unable to avoid the blow, but threw himself forward, his weight partly pinning the corsair's shoulders to the ground, and the blow passed behind him, inflicting but a slight wound in the back; then, with his right hand, which was now free, he grasped hassan by the throat with a grip of iron. the pirate struggled con- vulsively for a moment, then his left hand released his grasp escape of his opponent's wrist. a minute later gervaise rose to his feet: the pirate was dead. gervaise stooped and raised the fallen man's head from the ground, felt for the chain, pulled up claudia's gage, and placed it round his own neck; then he turned to his guide. "i have to thank you for my life," he said, holding out his hand to him. "it would have gone hard with me if that fel- low had attacked me from behind. i had not bargained for three of them." "i could not help it, my lord. it was not until hassan had stepped down into the boat that i knew he was going to take any one with him; then he suddenly told two of his men to take their places by him, saying to me, as he did so, 'i know not whether this message is a snare; but mind, if i see any signs of treachery, your life at any rate will pay the for- feit.' i knew not what to do, and indeed could do nothing; but, knowing my lord's valour, i thought that, even against these odds, you might conquer with such poor aid as i could give you." "it was not poor aid at all," gervaise said heartily. "greatly am i indebted to you, and sorry indeed am i, that i am unable to reward you now for the great service that you have rendered me." "do not trouble about that, my lord. i am greatly mis- taken if i do not find in the sashes of these three villains suffi- cient to repay me amply for my share in this evening's work. and now, my lord, i pray you to linger not a moment. the gates of the town shut at ten o'clock, and it cannot be long from that hour now. but first, i pray you, let me bind up your shoulder; your garment is soaked with blood." "fortunately my bernouse will hide that; but it were cer- tainly best to staunch the blood before i start, for it would be hard for me to get at the wound myself." the man took one of the sashes of the corsairs, tore it into strips, and bandaged the wound; then with another he made m a knight of the white cross a sling for the arm. as he took off the sashes a leather bag dropped from each, and there was a chink of metal. he placed them in his girdle, saying, "i shall have time to count them when i get back." gervaise sheathed his sword, and put on the bernouse, pull- ing the hood well over his head; then, with a few more words of thanks, started for the gate, leaving the man to search has- san's girdle. the gate was a quarter of a mile distant. gervaise passed through with the usual arabic salutation to the sentry, and with difficulty repressed a shout of exultation as he left tripoli behind him. following the coast road he walked till daylight; then he left it and lay down among the sand-hills for five or six hours. he calculated that no pursuit would be begun until midday. his absence was not likely to be noticed until the gangs be- gan work in the morning, when an alarm would be given. the sentries at the gates on the previous evening would be questioned, and when it was found that no one answering to his description had passed out before these were closed, there would be a rigid search throughout the city and port. the vessels would all be examined, and the boatmen questioned as to whether any craft was missing. not until the search proved absolutely fruitless would it be seriously suspected that he had, either by passing through the gates in disguise, or by scaling the walls, made for the interior. none knew that he could speak arabic, and it would be so hopeless an undertaking for any one unacquainted with the language to traverse the coun- try without being detected, that the moors would be slow to believe that he had embarked upon such adventure. how- ever, when all search for him in the town and in the vessels in the port proved fruitless, doubtless mounted men would be de- spatched in all directions; some would take the coast roads, while others would ride into the interior to warn the head men of the villages to be on the look-out for an escaped slave. escape after a sleep of five hours, gervaise pursued his journey. he had walked for eight hours, and calculated that he must be fully thirty miles from tripoli, and that not until evening would searchers overtake him. after walking four miles he came to a large village. there he purchased a bag of dates, sat down on a stone bench by the roadside to eat them, and entered into conversation with two or three moors who saun- tered up. to these he represented that he belonged to a party of his tribe who had encamped for the day at a short distance from the village in order to rest their horses before riding into tripoli, whither they were proceeding to exchange skins of animals taken in the chase, and some young horses, for cotton clothes, knives, and other articles of barter with the tribes be- yond them. after quenching his thirst at a well in front of the mosque, he retraced his steps until beyond the village, then struck out into the country, made a detour,came down into the road again, and continued his journey eastward. he walked until nightfall, and then again lay down. he was now fully fifty miles from tripoli, and hoped that he was beyond the point to which horsemen from that town would think of pursuing their search. it was likely that they would not have gone beyond the village at which he had halt- ed on the previous day; for when they learned from the in- habitants that no stranger, save an arab, had entered it, they would content themselves with warning the head man to be on the watch for any stranger unable to speak their tongue, and would not consider it necessary to push their steps farther. for four days gervaise continued his journey. at each vil- lage through which he passed he added to his stock of dates, until he had as many as he could carry under his bernouse without attracting observation. he also purchased a large water-bottle, which he slung round his neck. all this time the sea lay to his left like a sheet of glass, and he knew that until a change of weather occurred, it was use- escape until the craft was nearly over the anchor. he then loosened the line that brailed up the sail, got the stone that served as an anchor on board, hauled the sheet aft, and took his place at the tiller. the wind had dropped a good deal with the sun, but there was still sufficient air to send the light craft fast through the water. he steered out for a time, and then, when he thought himself a good mile from the shore, headed east. by the appearance of the water as it glanced past, he thought that he must be making from five to six miles an'hour, and when the sun rose at five o'clock, believed that he was nearly forty miles on his way. he now fastened the tiller with a rope and proceeded to overhaul the craft. it was decked over forward only, and he crept into the cabin, which was little more than three feet high. the first thing his eye lit on was a bulky object hanging against the side, and covered with a thick black blanket of arab manu- facture. lifting this, he saw, as he expected, that the object beneath it was a large waterskin well filled; the blanket had evidently been placed over it to keep it cool when the sun streamed down on the deck above it. there was also a large bag of dates, and another of flat cakes, and he guessed that these had all been put on board the evening before, in readi- ness for a start in the morning. this relieved him of his chief anxiety, for he had been unable to think of any plan for replenishing his supply, or to concoct a likely tale that, were he obliged to go on shore, would account for his being alone in a craft of that size. the wind increased again after sunrise, and being unable to reef the sail single-handed he managed partially to brail it up. all day the craft flew along with the wind on the quarter, making six or seven miles an hour; and he felt that by morn- ing he would be well beyond pursuit. on the run he passed several craft engaged in fishing, but these gave him no uneasi- ness. he had in the morning, with some old sails he found, constructed three rough imitations of human figures, covering a knight of the white cross one with the arab dress and another with the bernouse, and had placed them against the bulwarks, so that at a short dis- tance it would appear that there were three men on board. feeling confident that the deception would not be noticed, he kept his course without swerving, and passed some of the fishing boats within hailing distance, waving his hand and shouting the usual arab salutation to their crews. during the day he contented himself with eating some dates and an oatmeal cake or two; but at sunset he added to this two or three fish that he had split open and hung up to dry in the sun and wind. there was charcoal on board, and a flat stone served as a hearth in the bottom of the boat, but he had no means of lighting a fire, for this the fishermen would have brought off when they came on board in the morning. after he had finished his meal and taken his place again at the tiller he altered his course. hitherto he had been steering to the south of east, following the line of coast, but he now saw be- fore him the projecting promontory of cape mezurata, which marks the western entrance of the great gulfofsydra; and he now directed his course two points north of east, so as to strike the opposite promontory, known as grenna, more than a hundred miles away. the wind fell much lighter, and he shook out the sail to its full extent. all night he kept at his post, but finding the wind perfectly steady he lashed the tiller so as to keep the boat's head in the direction in which he was steering, and dozed for some hours, waking up occasionally to assure himself that she was keeping her course. at sunrise he indulged in a wash in sea water, and felt freshened and revived. he now kept a sharp look-out for distant sails, for he was out of the ordinary course a coaster would take, and would have attracted the attention of any corsair coming out from the land; the sea, however, remained clear of ships. all day the felucca made rapid progress, for although the wind freshened, gervaise did not lessen sail as before, being now accustomed to the boat and confident of a knight of the white cross felucca to sway uneasily. gervaise had sufficient experience of the levant to know that these signs were ominous of a change, and he at once set to work to prepare for it. al- though he saw that it would be difficult for him unaided to hoist the long spar back into its place, he decided to lower it. this was not difficult, as its weight brought it down on to the deck as soon as he slackened the halliards; he unhooked it from the block, and then lashed the sail securely to it. when he had done this he looked round. a bank of dark clouds lay across the horizon to the north-west, and in a short time he could see that this was rising rapidly. before taking down the spar and sail, he had deliberated as to whether it would be better to run before the coming gale or to lie to, and had decided on the latter alternative, as, were it to continue to blow long, he might be driven on to the egyptian coast. moreover, the felucca's bow was much higher out of water than the stern, and he thought that she would ride over the waves with greater safety than she would did they sweep down upon her stern. he had heard that the greeks, when caught in a sudden gale in small boats, often lashed the oars together, threw them overboard with a rope attached, and rode to them safely through a sea that would otherwise have overwhelmed them. after much consideration as to what had best be done, he took the anchor rope, which was some sixty yards in length, fastened one end to each end of the spar, and then lashed the middle of the rope to the bow of the felucca; then, using an oar as a lever, he with great labour managed to launch the spar over the bow, with the sail still attached to it. when he had completed this, he looked round at the state of the weather. the clouds had risen so fast that their edge was nearly overhead, spanning the sky like a great arch. ahead of him it seemed almost as black as night. he had not been out in many of the gales that at times sweep the eastern waters of the mediterranean with terrible violence, but had seen enough of them to know that it was no ordinary one that he escape was about to encounter. he looked over the bow; the spar at present was lying in contact with the stem. with an oar he pushed it across so as to be at right angles with the craft, and then, there being nothing else to do, sat down and waited for the storm to burst. in a short time he heard a dull moaning sound, a puff of wind struck the boat, but in a few seconds died out; it was sufficient to give the light craft stern way, and she drifted backwards, the rope tightening, until the 'spar lay across her bows, and some twenty yards away. the dull moaning had grown louder; and now ahead of him he saw a white line. it approached with extraordinary rapid- ity. knowing the fury with which it would burst upon him, he leapt down, and stood at the entrance to the cabin, with his head just above the deck. with a deafening roar the wind struck the boat, which staggered as if she had on her full course struck on a rock, while a shower of spray flew over her. half blinded and deafened, gervaise crawled into the cabin, closed the door, and lay down there; whatever happened, there was nothing he could do. he was soon conscious that the spar and sail were doing their work, for the boat still lay head to wind. the noise overhead and around was deafening; above the howl of the wind could be heard the creaking of the timbers, and the boat seemed to shiver as each fresh gust struck her. in half an hour he looked out again. there was, as yet, but little sea; the force of the wind seemed to flatten the water, and the instant a wave lifted its head it was cut off as if by a knife, and carried away in spray. the boat herself was mov- ing rapidly through the water, dragging the spar behind her, and gervaise almost trembled at the thought of the speed at which she would have flown along had it not been for the re- straint of the floating anchor. gradually the sea got up, but the light craft rode easily over it, and gervaise, after com- mending his safety to god, lay down, and was soon fast asleep. in spite of the motion of the vessel, he slept soundly for many hours. when he awoke he opened the cabin door and looked a knight of the white cross out. a tremendous sea was running, but he thought the wind, although so strong that he could scarce lift his head above the shelter of the bulwark, was less violent than it had been when it first broke upon him. he saw to his satisfaction that the felucca breasted the waves lightly, and that although envel- oped in spray she took no green water over the bows. the spar and sail acted not only as a floating anchor, but as a breakwater, and the white-crested waves, which came on as if they would break upon the boat, seemed robbed of half their violence by the obstruction to their course, and passed under the felucca without breaking. for forty-eight hours the gale continued; at the end of that time it ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun. the sun shone brightly out, the clouds cleared entirely away. it was some hours before the sea went down sufficiently for gervaise to attempt to get the spar on deck again. it was a heavy task, taxing his strength to the utmost, but after a deal of labour it was got on board, and then raised to its position at the mast-head; the sail was shaken out, and the felucca again put on her course. chapter xx beleaguered one morning towards the end of may, , sir john bos- well was standing with some other knights on st. stephen's hill, near the city, having hurried up as soon as a column of smoke from a bonfire lighted by the look-out there, gave the news that the turkish fleet was at last in sight. a similar warning had been given a month previously, but the fleet had sailed past the island, being bound for phineka, which was the rendezvous where mahomet's great armament was to assemble. there could be but little doubt that the long-expected storm beleaguered was this time about to burst. the fleet now seen approaching numbered a hundred and sixty large ships, besides a great number of small craft, conveying a force variously estimated at from seventy to a hundred thousand men. "'tis a mighty fleet," sir john said; "and the worst of it is that we know there are more to follow; still, i doubt not we shall send them back defeated. o ir defences are all com- plete; our recent peace with egypt has enabled us to fill up our magazines with provisions of all kinds; the inhabitants of the island have had ample warning to move into the town, carrying with them everything of value; so the turks will ob- tain but little plunder, and will be able to gather no means of subsistence on the island, as every animal has been driven within the walls, and even the unripe corn has been reaped and brought in. however long the siege lasts, we need be in no fear of being reduced to sore straits for food. look over there. there is a small craft under sail, and it comes not from the direction of phineka. see! one of the turkish gal- leys has separated from the rest and is making off in that direc- tion. it may be that the little craft contains one or two of our comrades who are late in coming to join us." "it may well be so, sir john, for they have been straggling in by twos and threes for the last month." "i will get the grand master's leave to put out in one of the galleys," sir john said, " for, by the way they are bearing, the turks will cut the little craft off before she can gain the port." he hurried to d'aubusson, who was standing a short dis- tance apart from the others, gazing at the turkish fleet. a minute later he was running down the hill to the town, accom- panied by three or four other knights; they made direct for the outer port, where two galleys were lying in readiness, leapt on board one of them, which already contained its quota of knights, and at once rowed out of the port. just as they did so the turkish galley fired a gun. "i fear we shall be too late," sir john said; "the turk is a knight of the white cross gaining fast on the other craft, whatever she may be. there goes another gun. row your hardest!" he shouted down to the slaves. the turkish ship did not fire again; the wind was light, and they were going two feet through the water to every one sailed by the other craft. the galley from rhodes was still half a mile away when the turk was close to the boat that was trying to escape. sir john and the knights chafed as they saw they would be too late. "i can't make out why the boat did not use her oars," the former said. "of course, she could not have kept away from the galley, but if she had rowed it would have made some dif- ference, and we might have been nearly up." "i can only see one man on board of her, sir john," one of the younger knights said; and two or three others mur- mured that they were of the same opinion. "the others must be lying down; she cannot have less than from fifteen to twenty men. the turk is close along- side. they still hold on. there! she has gone about and escaped the attempt to run her down. now she is heading for us again! brave fellows! brave fellows!" sir john ex- claimed, while a cheer broke from those around him; "but they have done for themselves. they must have seen us com- ing out, and if they had surrendered might have hoped to have been re-taken. their chance of getting quarter was truly not great, for expecting—as the turks do—to carry off both us and all the inhabitants of the island, a dozen fishermen would have seemed to them scarcely worth keeping. however, by holding on they have thrown away any chance they may have had. the turks are alongside; they are leaping down into the little craft. ah! two more galleys have just left their fleet, and are heading here." "see, sir john," one of the knights exclaimed, "there is a single man standing in the bow of that craft: he is facing the moors alone. see how they crowd there; you can see the a knight of the white cross ter could we have gone much further in this direction. and now let us have your adventures and escape." "'tis a long story, sir john, and i must pray you to let me defer it for a time. in the first place, i have two or three wounds that i shall be glad to have bandaged." "why did you not say so at once?" sir john exclaimed. "in those dark clothes, soaked with water as they are, i did not see the blood-stains; but i ought to have looked for them, for surely no one could have gone through that fight—alto- gether unprotected with armour too—without being wounded. come below, and we will attend to them." "also order me some wine and food, sir john; i have touched nothing save water for twenty-four hours, and before that fasted somewhat strictly." by the time gervaise's wounds, which were not severe, had been bandaged, and he had eaten a hasty meal, the galley was alongside the mole, between the two harbours. he was pro- vided with some clothes, and went with sir john straight to the english auberge, where the knight insisted that he should at once lie down. "i will report your return to d'aubusson, and will tell him it is by my orders that you are resting. your wounds are not very deep, but you must have lost a good deal of blood, and were you to exert yourself now, and be pestered with questions, it would probably bring on an attack of fever. there is nothing to do at present, for it must be some days before they can land and bring up their guns.'' gervaise obeyed the orders not unwillingly, for he felt that he was really weak, and was greatly worn out by want of sleep. sir john kendall, at boswell's request, issued orders that he was on no account whatever to be disturbed, and that no one was to enter his room unless he sounded the bell placed by the bedside. gervaise indeed, falling off to sleep a few minutes after he had lain down, did not awake until the following morning. having no idea that he had slept more than two or a knight of the white cross "i am sorry that fellow has returned, ralph. has he got a commandery yet?" "no; i believe that sir john kendall sent home so bad a report of him, that even the great influence of his family has not sufficed to obtain his appointment, and that he has been merely the assistant at one of the smaller manors. sir john boswell told me in confidence that he understood that rivers did not at first volunteer to come out in response to the appeal of the grand master, but that the grand prior informed him that unless he took this opportunity of retrieving his character, he might give up all hope of ever obtaining advancement. ah, here is your breakfast." an hour later gervaise presented himself at the palace, clothed in the suit of armour that had been given to him by genoa. although he was engaged with several members of the council at the time, the grand master ordered him to be at once admitted as soon as he heard that he was in attendance. "welcome back, sir gervaise tresham," he said warmly, as he entered. '' we all rejoice greatly at your return, and i consider it a happy omen for the success of our defence that so brave and distinguished a knight should at the last moment have arrived to take a share in it." the others present all shook gervaise cordially by the hand, and congratulated him on his return. "you must dine with me this evening," d'aubusson went on, "and tell us the story of your captivity and escape. at present, as you may suppose, we have too many matters on hand to spare time for aught that is not pressing and important. you will need a few days' rest before you are fit for active ser- vice, and by that time we will settle as to what post will best suit you." twice that day had gervaise to recount his adventures, the first time to sir john kendall and the knights of his auberge, the second to the grand master. most of the leading members of the order were assembled at the palace, and, among others, a knight of the white cross offensive against the turks, and that they were to be permitted to advance against the city without interference. many of the more fiery spirits among the knights chafed at this prohibi- tion. the records of the past showed that armies as large as that of mahomet had suffered defeat at the hands of bodies of knights no stronger than that gathered for the defence of rhodes. d'aubusson, however, knew that between the un- disciplined hordes that gathered in countless numbers to op- pose the crusaders, and the troops of mahomet, well-trained in warfare, who had borne his standard victoriously in numer- ous battles, there was but little comparison. they were com- manded, too, by paleologus, a general of great capacity. under such circumstances, although victory might be possible, the chances of defeat would be far greater, and while victory could be only won at a great sacrifice of life, defeat would mean annihilation to the garrison, and the loss of the city upon whose fortifications such an enormous amount of money and labour had been expanded. on the other hand, he felt perfectly confident that the city could be successfully defended, and that at a cost of life far less than would be attained by a victory in the open field, while the blow that would be inflicted upon the prestige and power of the enemy, by being ignominiously compelled to re- tire to their ships, after the failure of all their attacks, would be as great as if their army had been defeated in the field. therefore the grand master, with the full assent of his leaders, turned a deaf ear to the entreaties of the younger knights, that they might be allowed to make a sortie. he calmly waited behind the formidable defences he had for the past ten years been occupied in perfecting, in anticipation of the assault of the moslem host. accordingly, after disembarking at their leisure, the turkish army moved forward, and took their post upon st. stephen's hill. from this eminence they commanded a full view of the town, the hills sloping gently down to the foot of the walls. in later times the first care of beleaguered a general commanding the defence would have been to con- struct formidable works upon this commanding position. but the cannon of that period were so cumbrous and slowly worked, and so inaccurate in their aim, that the advantage of occupy- ing a position that would prevent an enemy from firing down into a town was considered to be more than counterbalanced by the weakening of the garrison by the abstraction of the force required to man the detached work, and by the risk of their being surrounded and cut off without the garrison of the town being able to aid them. that the defence of st. stephen's hill was considered un- necessary for the safety of rhodes is shown by the fact that no attempt had been made to fortify it when, forty years later, the moslems again besieged the city. there was no shadow of apprehension felt by the garrison of rhodes as the great array of their foes was seen moving on to the hill, and preparing to pitch its camp. on the summit was the great tent of the pasha; round this were the marquees of the other commanders, while the encampments of the troops stretched far away along the upper slopes of the hill. previous to the despatch of the expedition, the sultan had made preparations for aiding his arms by treachery. the agent he had sent to propose a temporary truce had, during his stay on the island, made himself thoroughly acquainted with the outline of the works. a very accurate plan of them had also been obtained from an inhabitant of rhodes, who had aban- doned christianity and taken service with the turks. in addition to this he had arranged with a renegade german, known as maitre georges, a man of very great ability as an ar- tilleryman and engineer, to desert to the city, and there do all in his power to assist the besiegers, both by affording them in- formation and by giving bad advice to the besieged. on the day after paleologus, who was himself a renegade greek, had established his camp, he sent in a herald to summon the city to surrender, at the same time making lavish promises that the a knight of the white cross lives and property of the native population should be respected, and that they should be allowed to continue to reside there, to enjoy the full exercise of their religion and of all other rights they possessed. the pasha had no real hope that the knights would obey the summons, but he thought that he might excite a spirit of disaffection among the townspeople that would, when the crisis came, greatly hamper the efforts of the defenders. the rhodians, however, were well satisfied with the rule of the order. the knights, although belonging to the catholic church, had allowed the natives of the island, who were of the greek faith, perfect freedom in the exercise of their religion, and their rule, generally, had been fair and just. the wealth and prosperity of the island had increased enormously since their establishment there, and the population had no inclina- tion whatever to change their rule for that of the turks. the summons to surrender being refused, the enemy made a recon- naissance towards the walls. d'aubusson had no longer any reason for checking the ardour of the knights, and a strong body of horsemen, under the command of de monteuil, sal- lied out and drove the turks back to their camp. maitre georges, who was acting as the military adviser of the pasha, saw at once that the weakest point of the defence was fort st. nicholas, at the extremity of the mole along the neck of land dividing the outer from the inner port. at a short distance away, on the opposite side of the port, stood the church of st. anthony, and in the gardens of the church a bat- tery was at once erected. the garden was but three hundred yards from st. nicholas, and the danger that would arise from the construction of the battery was at once perceived, and an incessant fire opened upon it from the guns on the wall round the grand master's palace. numbers of the workmen were killed, but the erection of the battery was pushed on night and day, and ere long three of the immense cannon that had been brought from constantinople,—where sixteen of them had been cast under the direction of maitre georges—were placed in beleaguered position. these cannon were eighteen feet in length, and car- ried stone balls of some twenty-six inches in diameter. before these were ready to open fire, gervaise had entirely regained his health and strength. the grand master, being unwilling to appoint him to a separate command over the heads of knights many years his senior, had attached him to his person in the capacity of what would now be called an aide-de-eamp. "i know, gervaise, that i can rely upon your coolness and discretion. i cannot be everywhere myself, and i want you to act as my eyes in places where i cannot be. i know that the knights, so far as bravery and devotion are concerned, will each and every one do his best, and will die at their posts before yielding a foot; but while fighting like paladins they will think of naught else, and, however hardly pressed, will omit to send to me to ask for reinforcements. nay, even did they think of it, they probably would not send, deeming that to do so would be derogatory, and might be taken as an act of cowardice. now, it is this service that i shall specially look for from you. when a post is attacked, i shall, when my presence is required elsewhere, send you to represent me. i do not, of course, wish you to interfere in any way in the conduct of the defence, in which you will take such share as you can; but you are spe- cially to observe how matters go, and if you see that the knights are pressed and in sore need of assistance to enable them to hold the post, you will at once bring the news to me, and i will hurry there with reinforcements." no post could have been more in accordance with the desire of gervaise. for the portion of the wall defended by the eng- lish langue was far removed from the point selected by the turks for their first attack, the sea front being defended half by the langue of italy, and half by that of castile. fort st. nicholas was under the command of the cavalier caretto, and as soon as the turkish battery was completed, gervaise went down there with an order from the grand master that he was for the present to consider himself as forming part of the gar- beleaguered his being too busy in the heat of the fray to think of aught but resisting an attack, that i should exercise my own judgment in the matter.'' caretto nodded. "it is a good thought of d'aubusson's. when one is in the thick of a fight in a breach, with the moslems swarming round, it does not occur to one to draw out of the fray to send off messages. for myself, i shall be glad indeed to have that matter off my mind, though it is not every one i should care to trust with such a responsibility. some might send off for aid when it was not needed, others might delay so long that help might come too late; but with one so cool-headed as yourself i should not fear any contingency. and now, as i am not busy at present, let us have a comfortable talk as to what has happened since we met last. i was at the banquet at the grand master's on the night when you related your adventures. you had certainly much to tell, but it seems to me for some reason or other you cut short certain details, and i could not see why, as there seemed no prospect of escape open to you, you did not accept the offer of suleiman ali to ransom you." "i saw no chance of escape at the moment, but i did not doubt that i could get away from the town whenever i chose, although it was not clear how i should proceed afterwards. it was for this opportunity i was waiting, and i felt sure that, with my knowledge of the language, it would come sooner or later. in the next place, my captors had fixed an exorbitant sum for my ransom, and i did not wish to impose upon the generosity of suleiman. there was another reason—a private one." "you don't mean to say that you had fallen in love with a moorish damsel, sir gervaise?" caretto laughed. "for shame, cavalier! as if a christian knight would care for a moslem maiden, even were she as fair as the houris of their creed!" "christian knights have done so before now," caretto a knight of the white cross laughed, greatly amused at the young knight's indignation, "and doubtless will do so again. well, i suppose i must not ask what the private matter was, though it must have been something grave indeed to lead you, a slave, to reject the offer of freedom. i know that when i was rowing in their galleys, no matter of private business "that lean conceive would have stood in my way for a single moment, had a chance of freedom presented itself." "it was a matter of honour," gervaise said gravely, "and one of which i should speak to no one else; but as you were present at the time, there can, i think, be no harm in doing so. at the time that i was captured, i was stripped of everything that i had upon me, and, of course, with the rest, of the gage which the lady claudia had given me, and which hung round my neck where she had placed it. it was taken pos- session of by the captain of the pirates, who, seeing that it bore no christian emblem, looked upon it as a sort of amulet. i understood what he was saying, but, as i was desirous that my knowledge of turkish should not be suspected, i said nothing. i was very glad that he so regarded it, for had he taken it to be an ordinary trinket, he might have parted with it, and i should never have been able to obtain a clue as to the person to whom he sold it. as it was, he put it round his neck, with the remark that it might bring him better luck than had befallen me. he told me jeeringly months after- wards that it had done so, and that he would never part with it. given me as it was, i felt that my honour was concerned in its recovery, and that, should i ever meet lady claudia again, i should feel disgraced indeed, if, when she asked whether i still bore her gage, i had to confess that it was lost." "but lost from no fault of your own," caretto put in. "the losing was not indeed from any fault of my own, and had the pirate thrown it into the sea i should have held my- self free from disgrace; but as it was still in existence, and i knew its possessor, i was bound in honour to recover it. at the fort of st. nicholas the time suleiman ali's messenger arrived the corsair was away, and there was no saying when his ship would return; therefore, i decided at once not to accept the offer of freedom. had it not been for that, i own that i should have done so, for i knew that i could repay suleiman from the revenues of my commandery, which would have accumulated in my ab- sence; but if i had had to wait ten years longer to regain the gage, i felt that i was in honour bound to do so. it was, in fact, some six months before the corsair put into that port again. the moment he did so i carried out the plans i had long before determined upon. i obtained a disguise from ben ibyn, and by a ruse succeeded in inducing the pirate to meet me outside the town, believing that i was an arab chief who wished to dispose of some valuable slave-girls he had brought in. i had with me one of my old galley - slaves,- who had been taken into ben ibyn's employment; and when the pirate came up with two of his crew, and furiously attacked me as soon as i threw off my disguise, it would have gone hard with me had he not stood by me, and killed one of them who was about to attack me in the rear. i slew the other and has- san, and the gage is in its place again." chapter xxi the fort of st. nicholas "\i ell, you have proved indeed," caretto said, when * » gervaise finished his story, " that you are worthy of the bestowal of a gage by a fair damsel. i do not think that many knights, however true they might be to the donor, would have suffered months of slavery in order to regain a token, lost by no fault or carelessness of their own ; and no lady could have blamed or held them in any way dishonoured by the loss." a knight of the white cross "i had a message by the viscount de monteuil from lady claudia the other day, saying that she trusted i had kept her gage. i can assure you that the six months of slavery were cheaply purchased by the pleasure i felt that i still possessed it; and i was glad, too, to learn that i had not been forgotten by her." "of that you may well assure yourself, tresham; my com- mandery is not far from genoa, and i was frequently with her, but never without her drawing me aside and asking me if i had heard any news of you, and talking over with me the chances there might be of your escape. i can tell you that there are not a few young nobles of genoa who would give much to be allowed as you are to carry her gage, or wear her colours. you should see her now; you would scarce know her again, so altered and improved is she; there is no fairer face in all italy.'' "i hope some day to meet her again," gervaise replied; "although i own to knowing it were better that i should not do so. until she gave me her gage i had scarcely noticed her. i have, as you know, no experience of women, and had so much on my mind at the time, what with the fuss they were making about us, and the question of getting the prizes here, that in truth i paid but slight attention to the fair faces of the dames of genoa. but the gracious and earnest way in which, though scarce more than a child, she gave me her gage, and vowed that no other knight should possess one so long as i lived, struck me so greatly that i own i gave the matter much more thought than was right or becoming in one of our order. the incident was much more gratifying to me than all the honour paid me by the republic, and during the long months of my captivity it has recurred to me so frequently that i have in vain endeavoured to chase it from my thoughts, as sinful thus to allow myself constantly to think of any woman. do not mistake me, sir fabricius. i am speaking to you as to a confessor, and just as i have kept her amulet hidden from all, so is the thought of her a secret i would not part with for a knight of. the white cross but it will soon crumble under the blows of such enormous missiles. never have i seen or heard in europe of cannon of such size; but indeed, in this matter the turks are far ahead of us, and have, ever since cannon were first cast, made them of much larger size than we in europe have done. however, there is one comfort; they may destroy this fort, but they have still to cross the water, and this under the fire of the guns on the palace walls; when they once land, their great battery must cease firing, and we shall be able to meet them on equal terms in the breach. fight as hard as they may, i think we can hold our own, especially as reinforcements can come down to us more quickly than they can be brought across the water.'' the next morning, at daybreak, the deep boom of a gun an- nounced to the city that the great battering cannon had begun their work. in the fort the sleeping knights sprang to their feet at the concussion that seemed to shake it to its centre. they would have rushed to the walls, but caretto at once is- sued orders that no one should show himself on the battlements unless under special orders. "there is nothing whatever to be done until the turks have breached the wall, and are ready to advance to attack us. every sword will be needed when that hour comes, and each man owes it to the order to run no useless risk, until the hour when he is required to do his share of the fighting." the time required to reload the great cannon was consider- able, but at regular intervals they hurled their heavy missiles against the wall, the distance being so short that every ball struck it. after some twenty shots had been fired, caretto, accompanied by gervaise, went out by a small gate on the eastern side of the tower, and made their way round by the foot of the wall to see what effect the shots had produced on the solid masonry. caretto shook his head. "it is as i feared," he said. "no stones ever quarried by man could long resist such tremendous blows. in some places, the fort of st. nicholas you see, the stones are starred and cracked, in others the shock seems to have pulverised the spot where it struck; but, worse still, the whole face of the wall is shaken. there are cracks between the stones, and some of these are partly bulged out and partly driven in. it may take some time before a breach is effected, but sooner or later the wall will surely be demol- ished." "i will go up and make my report to the grand master." "do so, gervaise. i almost wonder that he has not him- self come down to see how the wall is resisting." gervaise, on reaching the palace, heard that d' aubusson was at present engaged in examining no less a person than maitre georges, the right hand of paleologus, who had soon after day- break presented himself before the wall on the other side of the town, declaring that he had left the turkish service, and crav- ing to be admitted. news had been sent at once to d'aubus- son, who despatched two of the senior knights, with orders to admit him and receive him with all honour. this had been done, and the grand master, with some of his council, were now closeted with the new-comer. several of the knights were gathered in the courtyard, discussing the event. there was no question that if the renegade came in good faith, his defection would be a serious blow to the assailants, and that his well- known skill and experience would greatly benefit the defenders. "for my part," sir john boswell, who formed one of the detachment which the english langue, as well as all the others, contributed to form the garrison of the palace said, "i would have hung the fellow up by the neck over the gateway, and he should never have set foot within the walls. think you that a man who has denied his faith and taken service with his enemies is to be trusted, whatever oaths he may take?" "you must remember, boswell," another said, "that hith- erto georges has not fought against christians, but has served mahomet in his wars with other infidels. i am not saying a word in defence of his having become a renegade; yet even a a knight of the white cross renegade may have some sort of heart, and now that he has been called upon to fight against christians he may well have repented of his faults, and determined to sacrifice his position and prospects rather than aid in the attack on the city." '' we shall see. as for me, i regard a renegade as the most contemptible of wretches, and have no belief that they have either a heart or conscience." when maitre georges came out from the palace, laughing and talking with the two knights who had entered with him, it was evident that he was well pleased with his reception by the grand master, who had assigned to him a suite of apart- ments in the guest-house. in reality, however, d'aubusson had no doubt that his object was a treacherous one, and that, like demetrius, who had come under the pretence of bringing about a truce, his object was to find out the weak points and to supply the turks with information. georges had, in his conversation with him, laid great stress on the strength of the 'turkish army, the excellent quality of the troops, and the enormous battering train that had been prepared. but every word he spoke but added to the grand master's suspicions; for if the man considered that the capture of the city was morally certain, it would be simply throwing away his life to enter it as a deserter. the grand master was, however, too politic to betray any doubt of george's sincerity. were he treated as a traitor, paleologus might find another agent to do the work. it was, therefore, better to feign a belief in his story, to obtain all the information possible from him, and at the same time to prevent his gaining any knowledge of affairs that would be of the slight- est use to the turks. instructions were therefore given to the two knights that, while georges was to be treated with all courtesy, he was to be strictly watched, though in such a man- ner that he should be in ignorance of it, and that, whenever he turned his steps in the direction of those parts of the defences where fresh works had been recently added and preparations the fort of st. nicholas made of which it was desirable the turks should be kept in ignorance, he was to be met, as if by accident, by one of the knights told off for the purpose, and his steps diverted in an- other direction. georges soon made himself popular among many of the knights, who had no suspicions of his real character. he was a man of exceptional figure, tall, strong, splendidly propor- tioned, with a handsome face and gallant bearing. he was extremely well informed on all subjects, had travelled widely, had seen many adventures, was full of anecdote, and among the younger knights, therefore, he was soon regarded as a charm- ing companion. his very popularity among them aided d'au- busson's plans, as georges was generally the centre of a group of listeners, and so had but few opportunities of getting away quietly to obtain the information he sought. gervaise delivered his report to the grand master. "i am free now," d'aubusson said, "and will accompany you to st. nicholas. i have been detained by the coming of this man georges. he is a clever knave, and, i doubt not, has come as a spy. however, i have taken measures that he shall learn nothing that can harm us. no lives have been lost at the tower, i hope?" "no, sir; caretto has forbidden any to show themselves on the walls.'' "he has done well. this is no time for rash exposure, and where there is naught to be gained, it is a grave fault to run risks." on arriving at the end of the mole, d'aubusson, accom- panied by caretto, made an investigation of the effect of the turks' fire. "'tis worse than i expected," he said, "when we laid out our fortifications the thought that such guns as these would be used against them never entered our minds. against or- dinary artillery the walls would stand a long battering; but it is clear that we shall have to depend more upon our swords with wild shouts the turks swarmed up the ruined masonry. the fort of st. nicholas ress of those who might attempt to swim or wade across. for the time, therefore, the functions of gervaise were in abeyance, and he laboured with the rest of the garrison at the defences. at daybreak on the th of june, a great number of vessels and boats, crowded with soldiers, bore down on st. nicholas. as they approached, every gun on the fortifications that could be brought to bear upon them opened fire; but in a dense mass they advanced. some made their way to the rocks and . landed the soldiers there; others got alongside the mole; but the majority grounded in the shallow water of the harbour, and the troops, leaping out, waded to the foot of the breach. on its crest d'aubusson himself had taken up his station. beside him stood caretto, and around them the most distinguished knights of the order. with wild shouts the turks rushed up the breach, and swarmed thickly up the ruined masonry un- til, at its summit, they encountered the steel-clad line of the defenders. for hours the terrible struggle continued. as fast as the head of the turkish column broke and melted away against the obstacle they tried in vain to penetrate, fresh re- inforcements took the place of those who had fallen, and in point of valour and devotion the moslem showed himself a worthy antagonist of the christian. it was not only at the breach that the conflict raged. at other points the turks, well provided with ladders, fixed them against the walls, and desperately strove to obtain a footing there. from the breach clouds of dust rose from under the feet of the combatants, mingling with the smoke of the cannon on the ramparts, the fort, and turkish ships, and at times entirely hid from the sight of the anxious spectators on the walls of the town and fortress, and of the still more numerous throng of turks on st. stephen's hill, the terrible struggle that continued without a moment's intermission. the combatants now fought in comparative silence. the knights, exhausted and worn out by their long efforts beneath a knight of the white cross the blazing sun, still showed an unbroken front; but it was only occasionally that the battle-cry of the order rose in the air, as a fresh body of assailants c limbed up the corpse-strewn breach. the yell of the moslems rose less frequently; they sacrificed their lives as freely and devotedly as those who led the first onset had done; but as the hours wore on, the assurance of victory died out, and a doubt as to whether it was possible to break through the line of their terrible foes gained ground. d'aubusson himself, although, in spite of the remon- strances of the knights, always in the thickest of the fray, was yet ever watchful, and quickly perceived where the defenders were hotly pressed, and where support was most needed. ger- vaise fought by his side, so that, when necessary, he could carry his orders to a little body of knights, drawn up in re- serve, and despatch them to any point where aid was needed. the cannon still continued their fire on both sides. a frag- ment of one of the stone balls from a basilisk struck off d'aubusson's helmet. he selected another from among the fallen knights, and resumed his place in the line. still the contest showed no signs of terminating. the turkish galleys ever brought up reinforcements, while the defenders grew fewer, and more exhausted. during a momentary pause, while a fresh body of turks were landing, gervaise said to the grand master,—. "if you will give me leave, sir, i will go out at the water- gate, swim up the inner harbour, and in a very short time turn a few of the craft lying there into fire-ships, and tow them out with a couple of galleys. at any rate, we can fire all these craft that have grounded, and create a panic among the others." "well thought of, gervaise! i will write an order on one of my tablets. do you take my place for a minute." withdrawing behind the line, the grand master sat down on a fragment of stone, and, drawing a tablet from a pouch in his girdle, he wrote on it,— "in all things carry out the instructions of sir gervaise <, a knight of the white cross nicholas, re-animated by the sight of the discomfiture of the turkish fleet, with a loud shout rushed down from the spot which they had held for so many hours, drove their assailants before them, and flung themselves upon the crowd assembled at the foot of the breach. these had already suffered terribly from the fire of the bat- teries. again and again they had striven to storm the mound of rubbish, and had each time been repulsed, with the loss of their bravest leaders. seeing themselves abandoned by the ships, a panic seized them, and as the knights rushed down upon them they relinquished all thoughts of resistance, and dashed into the shallow water. many were drowned in the attempt to swim across the deep channel in the middle, some succeeded, while others made their escape in the boats in which they had been brought ashore from the ships. the struggle was over. the two galleys made for the breach, and the knights leapt out as soon as the boats grounded, and, wading ashore, joined the group that had so long and gallantly sustained the unequal fight. fatigue, exhaustion, and wounds, were forgotten in the triumph of the moment, and they crowded round the grand master and caretto, to whose joint exertions the success of the defence was so largely due. '' do not thank me, comrades,'' d' aubusson said. '' no man has to-day fought better than the rest. every knight has shown himself worthy of the fame of our order. the meed of praise for our success is first due to sir gervaise tresham. at the moment when i began to doubt whether we could much longer withstand the swarms of fresh foes who continued to pour against us, while we were overcome by heat and labour, sir gervaise, who had throughout been fighting at my side, of- fered to swim into the port, to fit out a dozen of the merchant craft there as fire-ships, and to tow them round into the midst of the turkish vessels behind the two galleys that were lying ready for serv ice. i remembered how he had before destroyed the corsair fleet at sardinia with fire-ships, and the proposal g( a knight of the white cross performed such feats of valour that their name is still used by turkish mothers as a bugbear to frighten their children. but the stories have always seemed to me incredible; now i per- ceive they were true, and that the present members of the or- der in no way fall short of the valour of their predecessors." the knights remained with the turkish commander and some of his officers while the work of collecting and carrying away the dead was performed, the conversation on their side being supported by caretto and gervaise. no less than seven hundred bodies were carried down to the boats, besides a great many wounded by the artillery fire. none were, however, found breathing among the great pile of dead at the upper part of the breach, for the axes and double-handed swords of the knights had, in most of the cases, cleft through turban and skull. "this represents but part of our loss," the turkish com- mander said sadly, as the last party came down with their bur- dens to the boats. "at least as- many more must have per- ished in the sea, either in their endeavours to escape when all was lost, in the destruction of their vessels by fire, by the shot from your batteries, or by being run down by your galleys. ah, sir knight, if it had not been for the appearance of your fire-ships, methinks the matter might have ended differently." "in that i altogether agree with you," caretto said. "we were indeed, well-nigh spent, and must have soon succumbed had it not been that the fire-ships arrived to our rescue. you have a fair right to claim that the victory would have remained in your hands, had not those craft gone out and snatched it from you." then, with salutes on both sides, the turks took their places in the boats, and the knights returned to the fort. as soon as darkness came on, a large body of slaves were marched down from the town, and, under the direction of the knights, laboured all night at the mound, removing great quantities of the fallen stones and rubbish in a line halfway up' it, and piling them the struggle at the breach bombs, and whenever one of them was seen to fall, they hur- ried from their look-out to the spot, with a gang of slaves carrying baskets of earth and buckets of water, and quenched the flames before they had made any great headway. the roar of the bombardment was almost continuous, and was heard at islands distant from rhodes, telling the inhabi- tants how the battle between the christians and the moslems was raging. it was not long before the wall in the front of the jews' quarter began to crumble, and it was soon evident that it must, ere many days, succumb to the storm of missiles hurled against it. d'aubusson lost no time in making preparations to avert the danger. he ordered all the houses in rear of the wall to be levelled; a deep semi-circular ditch was then dug, and behind this a new wall, constructed of the stones and bricks from the houses destroyed, was built, and backed with an earthen rampart of great thickness and solidity. the work was carried on with extraordinary rapidity. the grand master himself set the example, and, throwing aside his robes and armour, laboured with pick and shovel like the com- monest labourer. this excited the people to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and all classes threw themselves into the task. knights and slaves, men, women, and children, and even the inmates of the convents and nunneries, aided in the work, and when at last the outer wall fell, and the turks thought that success was at hand, the pasha saw with astonishment and dis- may that entry to the city was still barred by a work as for- midable as that which he had destroyed at an enormous ex- penditure of ammunition. there was now a short breathing time for the besieged; but the depression which the failure of their efforts excited among the turks, was shortly dispelled by the arrival of a ship, with a despatch from constantinople, in which the pasha was informed that the sultan himself was about to proceed to rhodes with a reinforcement of a hundred thou- sand men, and a fresh park of artillery. :? a knight of the white ,cross paleologus had some doubts as to whether the report was true or was merely intended to stimulate him to new efforts for the speedy capture of the place. knowing well that the grand master was the heart and soul of the defence, and that the failure of the assault was mainly due to his energy and ability, he determined to resort to the weapon so frequently in use in eastern warfare—that of assassination. to this end he employed two men, one a dalmatian, the other an albanian; these presented themselves before the walls as deserters, and as there was no reason for suspecting their tale, they were ad- mitted within the gates, and welcomed as having escaped from enforced service. they soon spread the tale of the speedy coming of the sultan with vast reinforcements, and as the pasha had on the previous day caused salutes to be fired, and other demonstrations to be made, the news was readily credited, and caused the greatest dismay among the defenders. some of the knights of the italian and spanish leaguesbelieved the prospect of a successful defence agai nst so enormous a force was absolutely hopeless, and determined to put pressure upon d'aubusson to treat for surrender before it became too late. they opened negotiations with an italian named filelfo, one of d'aubusson's secretaries, who undertook to lay their opinion before the grand master. d'aubusson at once sum- moned the knights concerned in the matter before him. they found him with several members of the council. "sir knights," he said, " i have heard from my secretary your opinions in the matter of a surrender, and since you are in such terror of the moslem sultan, you have my full permis- sion to leave the town; and, more than that, i will myself secure your safe departure, which might be imperilled if your comrades or even the inhabitants of the town came to learn that you had advocated surrender; but," he went on, changing his tone from that of sarcasm to sternness, "if you remain with us, see that the word surrender never again passes your lips, and be assured that, should you continue your intrigues a knight of the white cross fire-ships were several men belonging to an english trader in the port. all who had done so had been handsomely rewarded for their conduct, and five of the englishmen had afterwards gone to the english auberge and had asked to be enrolled for service against the turks, as they were weary of remaining on board in idleness when there was work to be done. their offer had been accepted, and they had, in common with all the sailors in the port, laboured at the construction of the inner wall. when that was completed, sir john boswell, under whose special charge they had been placed, said to ger- vaise,— "i think that i cannot do better than send these men down to st. nicholas. it is probable that now the turks see that they can do nothing at the new breach, they may try again there. sailors are accustomed to night-watches, and there are many of our knights who are not used to such work, and can be better trusted to defend a breach than to keep a vigilant watch at night. will you take these men down to caretto, and tell him that he can sleep soundly if he has a couple of them on watch? one of them, roger jervis, who is the mate of their ship, can speak some italian, and as he is in command of them, caretto will find no trouble in making them under- stand him." st. nicholas had now been put into a fair state of defence, as a party had been kept steadily at work there. gervaise had not been to the tower since the morning after the assault, and saw with satisfaction how much had been done to render it secure. he found that caretto was fast recovering from his wounds. "as it seems probable, sir fabricius," he said, after the first greetings to the knight, "that the turks will favour you with another visit, i have brought you five watch-dogs. they are countrymen of mine, and were among those who navigated the fire-ships the other day. sir john boswell has sent them down; they are, of course, accustomed to keep watch at night. the struggle at the breach one of them is mate of their vessel, and will be in command of them; he speaks a little italian, and so will understand any orders you may give him. i have been speaking to him as we came down; he will divide his men into two watches, and will himself be on guard all night. will you assign them some quiet place where they can sleep in the daytime? they can erect a shelter with a piece of sail-cloth and a few bits of board, and they will, of course, be furnished with food.'' "i shall be very glad to have them, for i am always restless at night, lest those on watch should close their eyes. you see, they have quite made up their minds that this fort will not be attacked again, and so are less inclined to be vigilant than they would be, did they think that an attack was impending." now that there was reason to believe that st. nicholas might again be attacked, gervaise was frequently there with orders or inquiries from the grand master. a number of ves- sels in the harbour were fitted up as fire-ships, so as to be in readiness when the attack came. he was about to start early one morning when he saw roger jervis coming up with a heavy anchor on his shoulder. "why, what are you bringing that up here for?" he asked. "have you been diving; for i see your clothes are dripping with water?" "ay, ay, sir, i have been in the water, and that italian commander told me to come straight up here to tell the grand master all about the story; and right glad am i to have met you, for i should have made but a poor fist of it alone; i don't know more of their lingo than just to talk a few words of it." '' then you had better tell me the story before i take you in." "well, it was like this, sir knight: i had hudson and jeffreys posted upon the wall, and i thought i would take a turn down on the rocks, for it was a dark night, and you can see much farther when you are by the edge of the water than you can when you are at the mast-head. i sat there for an the struggle at the iiueach : nothing; so i waited for a bit till he had got out of sight, and over to the other side of the port. "then i got up and felt about, and, chancing to get my foot under the rope, went right over into the water. after that you may guess i was not long in finding the anchor. i unknotted the rope from it and carried it ashore; then it struck me that the turks might take it into their heads to give a pull on it in the morning, and if they did, they would find out that their game, whatever it was, had been found out; so i got hold of a stone of about twenty pound weight, and fast- ened the rope's end round it. that was enough to prevent the rope getting slack and make them think that it was still fast to the anchor; but, of course, if they pulled hard on it it would come home directly. i went and reported the matter the first thing this morning to the governor. he seemed to think that it was important, and told me to bring the anchor up to the grand master, who would get one of the english knights to find out all about it; for he could not make out much of what i said." "it is very important," gervaise said, "and you behaved very wisely in the matter, and have rendered a great service by your discovery. i will take you in at once to the grand master.'' still bearing the anchor, the sailor followed gervaise into an apartment where d'aubusson was taking council with some of the senior knights. "pardon my interrupting your highness," gervaise said; "but the matter is so important that i knew you would listen to it, however occupied you were." and, he then repeated the narrative of the sailor's discovery. "this is indeed of the highest importance," d'aubusson said, "and the knowledge that it gives us may enable us to de- feat an attempt, that might otherwise have proved our ruin. you see, knights, it solves the question that we were just dis- cussing. we agreed that this long floating bridge that they g a knight of the white cross have been constructing, was intended to enable them to cross the outer port and again attack st. nicholas; and yet it seemed to us that even by night our batteries would be able to keep up such a fire on the boats, towing the head of the bridge across, as to render it well-nigh impossible for them to get it over. now you see what their plan is. with the aid of this rope, the end of which they think is firmly fixed on our side, they mean to haul the bridge across, and that so silently that they hope to be upon us almost before we have time to don our armour. we shall now be fully prepared, and need have no fear of the result." there could now be little doubt that the attack would be made without loss of time, especially as the turks believed that they could get their bridge across unseen. the fire-ships —which were altogether more formidable than those gervaise had improvised—were ordered to be made ready for action. this being arranged, the admiral left the council at once, that no time should be lost in getting them in readiness. d'aubus- son then turned to the english sailor. "you have rendered us a great service indeed by your vigilance, and showed great prudence by allowing the turk to believe that he had accomplished his mission unsuspected. had he thought he had been observed, some other plan would have been adopted. for so great a service it is meet that a great reward should be given." he then took a bag from the hands of one of his secretaries, whom he had sent to fetch it, while they were discussing the matter of the fire-ships. "here are two hundred golden crowns," he added, hand- ing the bag to the seaman. "with these you can either settle on shore, or can build a stout ship and pursue your calling. should you do so, call her the st. nicholas, in remembrance of the gratitude of the order of st. john for your having saved that fort from the turks.'' astonished and delighted at the reward, which represented a knight of the white cross but, believing that the attack he had arranged would still be irresistible, he ordered a number of boats to take the bridge in tow, while a still larger force was to make a direct attack upon the breach. the movement was to be conducted as silently as possible until it was discovered, and then a dash forward was to be made. it was two o'clock before the fresh arrangements were com- pleted and the boats put out. they had gone but a short dis- tance when the anxious watchers in st. nicholas learnt by the dull, confused sound that came across the water, that the at- tack was, in spite of the failure of the plan to take the bridge silently across, to be persevered in. a cannon was at once fired to give notice to the other batteries to be in readiness, and as soon as the dark mass of boats was made out the guns of the fort opened a destructive fire upon them, and a moment later were seconded by those from the fortress; these, how- ever, were at present being fired almost at random, as the turk- ish boats could not be made out at that distance. now that all need for concealment was at an end, the turkish war-cry rose shrilly in the air, and the boatmen bent to their oars. the great cannon at st. anthony's church hurled their tre- mendous missiles at the tower, seconded by the fire of a num- ber of other pieces that had in the darkness been brought down almost to the water's edge. as before, the boats swept up to the foot of the breach, the turks leaped out, and, undismayed by the storm of shot, climbed up to the assault. the short ladders that they had brought with them enabled them to surmount the escarpments so laboriously made, and with loud shouts of " allah !" they flung themselves upon the defenders on the crest of the breach. here they were met by a line even more difficult to break through than before. the knights were ranged three deep; those in the front were armed with swords and battle-axes, while those in the other two lines thrust their spears out be- tween the swordsmen, covering them with a hedge of steel a knight of the white cross the wall in vast numbers. the suddenness of the attack, the complete surprise, the sound of battle at various points around the walls, caused for a time confusion and dismay among the knights charged with the defence of the wall facing the breach. roused by the uproar, the inhabitants of the town rushed up to their roofs to ascertain what was happening, and their cries of wild terror and alarm at seeing the turkish banner on the walls added to the confusion. d'aubusson sprang up from the couch, on which he had thrown himself in full armour, at the first sound of the alarm, and, sending off messages to all the auberges to summon every man to the defence, ran down into the town, followed by a small party of knights. rushing through the streets, now filled with half-dressed people wild with terror, he reached the foot of the wall, whose summit was crowded with the enemy, and saw in an instant that all was lost unless they could be driven thence without delay. the effect of his presence was instantaneous. the knights, hitherto confused and dismayed, rallied at once, and prepared for the desperate undertaking. the bank on the inside was almost perpendicular, and those charged with its defence had used two or three ladders for ascending to the rampart. these were at once seized and planted against the wall. the position of the contending parties was now reversed; the christians were the assailants, the turks the defenders. d'aubusson himself was the first to ascend. covering his head with his shield, he mounted the rampart; but ere he could gain a footing on the top he was severely wounded and hurled backwards. again he made the attempt, but was again wounded and thrown down. once more he mounted, and this time made good his footing. a moment later, gervaise, who had accompanied him from the palace, stood beside him. ani- mated with the same spirit as his leader, he threw himself reck- lessly against the turks, using a short, heavy mace, which in a melee was far more useful than the long sword. scimitars clashed upon his helmet and armour; but at every blow he g a knight of the white cross but still fought on. gervaise, while in the act of cutting down an assailant, heard a shout of triumph from behind, and, looking round, he saw the grand master sinking to the ground from another wound. with a cry of grief and fury gervaise sprang to him, receiving as he did so several blows on his ar- mour and shield intended for the fallen knight, and, standing across him, showered his blows with such strength and swift- ness that the janissaries shrank back before the sweep of the flashing steel. more than one who tried to spring into close quarters fell cleft to the chin, and, ere his assailants could combine for a general rush, a body of knights, who had just beaten off their assailants, fell upon the ranks of the janissaries with a force and fury there was no withstanding, and the chosen troops of the sultan for the first time broke and fled. excited almost to madness by the sight of their beloved master stretched bleeding on the ground, the knights dashed down the breach in eager pursuit. this action was decisive of the fate of the struggle. the panic among the janissaries at once spread, and the main body of troops, who had hitherto valiantly striven to regain the advantage snatched from them, now lost heart and fled in confusion. but their escape was barred by the great body of reinforcements pressing forward across the heap of rubbish that formed the breach over the deep ditch. maddened by fear, the fugitives strove to cut a way through their friends. the whole of the defenders of the breach now fell upon the rear of the struggling mass, hewing them down almost without resistance, while the cannon from the walls and towers kept up an unceasing fire until the last survivors of what had become a massacre, succeeded in gaining their works be- yond the ditch, and fled to their camp. from every gateway and postern the knights now poured out, and, gathering together, advanced to the attack of st. stephen's hill. they met with but a faint resistance. the greater portion of the disorganised troops had made no pause at their camp, but had continued their headlong flight to the the reward of valour appear in the list of those who died in the defence of rhodes." "may god assoil his soul!" gervaise said earnestly. "'tis strange that one of gentle blood should have proved a coward. had he remained at home, and turned courtier, in- stead of entering the order, he might have died honoured, without any one ever coming to doubt his courage." "he would have turned out bad whatever he was," ralph said contemptuously; "for my part, i never saw a single good quality in him." long before gervaise was out of hospital, the glad tidings that d'aubusson would recover, in spite of the prognostica- tions of the leech, spread joy through the city, and at about the same time that gervaise left the hospital the grand master was able to sit up. two or three days afterwards he sent for gervaise. "i owe my life to you, sir gervaise," he said, stretching out his thin, white hand to him as he entered. "you stood by me nobly till i fell, for, though unable to stand, i was not unconscious, and saw how you stood above me and kept the swarming moslems at bay. no knight throughout the siege has rendered such great service as you have done. since i have been lying unable to move, i have thought of many things; among them, that i had forgotten to give you the letters and presents that came for you after you sailed away. they are in that cabinet; please bring them to me. there," he said, as gervaise brought a bulky parcel which the grand master opened, "this letter is from the holy father himself. that, as you may see from the arms on the seal, is from florence. the others are from pisa, leghorn, and naples. rarely, sir gervaise, has any potentate or knight earned the thanks of so many great cities. these caskets accompanied them. sit down and read your letters. they must be copied in our records." gervaise first opened the one from the pope. it was written :r.>o a knight of the white cross by his own hand, and expressed his thanks as a temporal sov- ereign for the great benefit to the commerce of his subjects by the destruction of the corsair fleet, and as the head of the christian church for the blow struck at the moslems. the other three letters were alike in character, expressing the grati- tude of the cities for their deliverance from the danger, and of their admiration for the action by which a fleet was destroyed with a single galley. along with the letter from pisa was a casket containing a heavy gold chain set with gems. florence sent a casket containing a document bestowing upon him the freedom of the city, and an order upon the treasury for five thousand ducats that had been voted to him by the grand council of the republic; while ferdinand, king of naples, bestowed on him the grand cross of the order of st. michael. "the armour i had hung up in the armoury, where it has been carefully kept clean. i guessed what it was by the weight of the case when it came, and thought it best to open it, as it might have got spoilt by rust. it is a timely gift, sir gervaise, for the siege has played havoc with the suit genoa gave you; it is sorely battered, dinted, and broken, and, although you can doubtless get it repaired, if i were you i would keep it in its present state as a memorial—and there could be no prouder one—of the part you bore in the siege. i have seen caretto this morning. he sails for genoa to-morrow, where he will, i hope, soon recover his strength, for the wounds he received at st. nicholas have healed but slowly. he said,"—and a mo- mentary smile crossed the grand master's face—'' that he thought a change might benefit you also, for he was sure that the air here had scarce recovered from the taint of blood. therefore, here is a paper granting you three months' leave. his com- mandery is a pleasant one, and well situated on the slopes of the hills; and the fresh air will, doubtless, speedily set you up. i should like nothing better than a stay there myself, but there is much to do to repair the damages caused by the siege, and to place the city in a state of defence should the turks again the reward of vai.oik ) lay siege to it; and methinks mahomet will not sit down quietly under the heavy reverse his troops have met with." "but i should be glad to stay here to assist in the work, your highness." "there are plenty of knights to see to that," d'aubusson replied, "and it will be long before you are fit for such work. no, i give my orders for you to proceed with caretto to genoa —unless, indeed, you would prefer to go to some other locality to recruit your strength." "i would much rather go with sir fabricius, your highness, than to any place where i have no acquaintances. i have a great esteem and respect for him." "he is worthy of it; there is no nobler knight in the order, and, had i fallen, none who could more confidently have been selected to fill my place. he has an equally high opinion of you, and spoke long and earnestly concerning you." a fortnight later the ship carrying the two knights arrived at genoa. "i will go ashore at once, gervaise," caretto said. "i know not whether my cousin is in the city or on her estate; if the former, i will stay with her for a day or two before going off to my commandery, and of course you will also be her guest. i hope she will be here, for methinks we shall both need to re- fit our wardrobes before we are fit to appear in society." "certainly i shall," gervaise agreed; "for, indeed, i find that my gala costume suffered a good deal during my long ab- sence ; and, moreover, although i have not increased in height, i have broadened out a good deal since i was here two years ago." "yes; you were a youth then, gervaise, and now you are a man, and one of no ordinary strength and size. the sun of tripoli, and your labours during the siege, have added some years to your appearance. you are, i think, little over twenty, but you look two or three years older. the change is even greater in your manner than in your appearance ; you were then new to command, doubtful as to your own powers, and the reward of valour he had ever seen. the countess greeted him with great cor- diality; but claudia came forward with a timidity that con- trasted strangely with the outspoken frankness he remembered in the girl. for a time they all chatted together of the events of the siege, and of his captivity. 'b the news that you had been captured threw quite a gloom over us, sir gervaise," the countess said. "we at first con- soled ourselves with the thought that you would speedily be ransomed; but when months passed by, and we heard that all the efforts of the grand master had failed to discover where you had been taken, i should have lost all hope had it not been that my cousin had returned after an even longer captiv- ity among the moors. i am glad to hear that you did not suffer so many hardships as he did." "i am in no way to be pitied, countess," gervaise said lightly. "i had a kind master for some months, and was treated as a friend rather than as a slave; afterw ards, i had the good fortune to be made the head of the labourers at the buildings in the sultan's palace, and although i certainly worked with them, the labour was not greater than one could perform without distress, and i had naught to complain of as to my condition." after talking for upwards of an hour, the countess told caretto that she had several matters on which she needed his counsel, and retired with him to the next room of the suite opening from the apartment in which they had been sitting. for a minute or two the others sat silent, and then claudia said,— "you have changed much since i saw you last, sir ger- vaise. then it seemed to me scarcely possible that you could have performed the feat of destroying the corsair fleet; now it is not so difficult to understand." "i have widened out a bit, lady claudia. my moustache is really a moustache, and not a pretence at one; otherwise i don't feel that i have changed. the alteration in yourself is infinitely greater." the reward of valour gave favours freely, but as a pledge of friendship and as a guerdon for what i had done, and therefore, more to be hon- oured than the gifts of a republic freed from a passing danger. had you then been what you are now, i might have been foolish enough to think of it in another light, regardless of the fact that you are a rich heiress of one of the noblest families in italy, and i a knight with no possessions save my sword." "say not so, sir gervaise," she said impetuously. "are you not a knight on whom genoa and florence have bestowed their citizenship, whom the holy father himself has thanked, who has been honoured by pisa, and whom ferdinand of naples has created a knight of the grand cross of st. michael, whom the grand master has singled out for praise among all the valiant knights of the order of st. john, who, as my cousin tells me, saved him and the fort he commanded from capture, and who stood alone over the fallen grand master, surrounded by a crowd of foes. how can you speak of yourself as a sim- ple knight?" then she stopped, and sat silent for a minute, while a flush of colour mounted to her cheeks. "give me my gage again, sir gervaise." she said gently. in silence gervaise removed it from his neck, wondering greatly what could be her intention. she turned it over and over in her hand. "sir knight," she said, "this was of no great value in my eyes when i bestowed it upon you; it was a gage, and not a gift. now it is to me of value beyond the richest gem on earth; it is a proof of the faith and loyalty of the knight i most esteem and honour, and so in giving it to you again, i part with it with a pang, for i have far greater reason to prize it than you can have. i gave it you before as a girl, proud that a knight who had gained such honour and applause should wear her favour, and without the thought that the trinket was a heart. i give it to you now as a woman, far prouder than be- st. bartholomew's eve. a tale of the huguenot wars. crown vo. with full-page illustrations and a map. $ . . "exciting enough to interest even the dullest of readers." — boston transcript. through the sikh war. a tale of the conquest of the i'unjaub. crown vo. with full-page illustrations and a map. si. . 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"this book is said to be founded on the experiences of a young english friend of the author, and though it is full of hair-breadth escapes, none of the incidents are improbable. it is needless to say that the lad's adventures are well told." — san francisco chronicle. the dash for khartoum. a tale of the nile expe- dition. crown vo. illustrated. $ . . "the author has provided a stirring book for young readers, and the episodes of battle, capture, rescue, deeds of daring, and other exciting features in which boys delight, are in great abundance." -- boston saturday evening gazette. held fast for england. a tale of the siege of gib- raltar. crown vo. i uustrated. $ . . "it is an historical novel, the siege of gibraltar by the combined forces of france and spain, in the latter part of the eighteenth century, being the foundation on which mr. henty's clever fiction cats. it is a story of pluck and adventure on sea and land." — newark advertiser. g. a. henty's storiesforboys. the lion of st. mark. a tale of venice in the fourteenth century. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges $ . . "everybody should read ' the lion of st. mark.' mr. hcnty has never produced any story more delightful, mare wholesome, or mure vivacious. from first to last it will be read with keen enjoyment."—. saturday review. the lion of the north. a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wars of religion. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john schonberg. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "as we might expect from mr. henty the tale is a clever and instructive piece of history, and as boys may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to be profited as well as pleased." — the times. for the temple. a tale of the fall of jerusalem. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by s. j. solomon, and a colored map. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, s . . "mr. henry's graphic prose pictures of the hopeless jewish resistance to roman sway add another leaf to his record of the famous wars of the world."— graphic. with clive in india: or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. hsnty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne, in black and tint. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, si. . "he has taken a period of indian history of the most vital importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story which of itself is deeply interesting. young people assuredly will be delighted with the volume." — scotsman. through the fray. a story of the luddite riots. bv g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h. m. paget, in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, £ . . the story is laid in yorkshire at the commencement of the present century, when the high price of food induced by the war and the introduction of machinery drove the working-classes to desperation, and caused them to band themselves in that wide-spread organization known as the luddite society. true to the old flag. a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, si. . "it does justice to the pluck and determination of the british soldiers during the unfortunate struggle against american emancipation. the son of an american loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the hostile redskins in that very huron country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of hawk-eye and chingachgook." — the times. s books for boys. uniform with the henty books. by gordon stables. under the bonnie blue flag. a story of the war for the union. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . a spirited story, embracing the scenes of the american civil war, which the author depicts with much skill and with unflagging interest for the reader. to greenland and the pole. a story of adventures in the arctic regions. crown vo, with numerous full-page illustra- tions, $ . . an attractive story of adventure in the northern seas, full of striking incidents and vivid descriptions. mr. stables has made the most of the opportunities the subject affords, combining much valuable information with a vigorous and interesting narrative. westward with columbus. with full-page illustra- tions by alfred pearse. crown vo, olivine edges, s . . "the whole story of columbus' career is embraced within the limits of the book, but the main interest, of course, is focused on the westward voyage and the romantic incidents of the discovery. the book is admirably written and is well illustrated." — boston beacon. 'twixt school and college. a tale of self-reliance. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a story, the attractiveness of which lies in the incidents of home life which fill up the interval between the school life and college life of fred hallam. by robert leighton. olaf the glorious. a story of olaf triggvison, king of norway, a.d. - . crown vo, with numerous full-page illus- trations, $ . . in mr. leighton's well-known, fascinating style the interesting story of olaf is here narrated, from his romantic youth, through his career as a viking, his victorious battle with the english, his conversion to christianity, and his reign as a christian king. it is an absorbing story never flagging in interest. the wreck of the golden fleece. the story of a north sea fisher-boy. with full-page illustrations by frank brangvvyn. crown vo, olivine edges, sr. . "the story is one of desperate mischances, breezy adventure, with a wholesome flavor of the sea to sweeten it. mr. leighton as a writer for boys needs no praise, as bi> books place him in the front rank."—new york observer. the pilots of pomona. a story of the orkney islands. with full-page illustrations by john leighton. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . (copyrighted.) "a story which is quite as good in its way as ' treasure island,' and is full of adven- ture of a stirring, yet most natural kind."— glasgow times. the thirsty sword. a story of the norse invasion of scotland ( - ). with full-page illustrations. crown svo, $ . . (copyrighted.) in this story of " the thirsty sword " and of the vengeance which it accomplishes, there is much found of the simple directness and tragic strength of the old scand navian sagas. the period of the story is the heroic one which appeals so strongly to the youth- ful imagination, and the historical picture of the times is vivid and truthful. popular books for young people. popular books for young people. including new works by well-known authors. imported by charles scribner'ssons. the "fenn" books. brownsmith's boy. by george manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne, in black and tint crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . " brownsmith's boy' must rank among the few undeniably good boys' books. he will be a very dull boy indeed who lays it down without wishing that it had gone on for at least too pages more." — north british mail. quicksilver: or, a boy with no skid to his wheel. by george manville ffnn. with full-page illustrations by frank oadd. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "mr. fenn possesses the true secret of producing real and serviceable boys' books. every word he writes is informed with full knowledge and, even more important, quick sympathy with all the phases of youthful life. in ' quicksilver' he displays these quali- ties in a high degree." — dundee advertiser. devon boys. a tale of the north shore. by george manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "an admirable story, as remarkable for the individuality of its young heroes as for the excellent descriptions of coast scenery and life in north devon. it is one of the best books we have seen this season." — atkenaum. the golden magnet. a tale of the land of the incas. by g. manville fenn. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . the tale of a romantic lad, who leaves home to seek his fortune in south america by endeavoring to discover some of that treasure which legends declare was ages ago hidden by the peruvian rulers and priests, to preserve it from the spanish invaders. in the king's name: or, the cruise of the kestrel. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "in the king's name " is a spirited story of the jacobite times, concerning the adven- tures of a young naval off cer in the preventive service off the coast of sussex. menhardoc. a story of cornish nets and mines. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by c. j. stani- land, r.i. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, £ . . the scene of this story is laid among the granite piles and tors of cornwall. adven- tures are pretty plentiful, but the story has for its strong base the development of charac- ter of the three boys. popular books for young people. the "collingwood" books. the log of the "flying fish." a story of aerial and submarine peril and adventure. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, si. . "the ' flying fish,' that marvellous achievement of science, actually surpasses all jules verne's creations; with incredible speed she flies through the air, skims over the surface of the water, and darts along the ocean bed. we strongly recommend our school-boy friends to possess themselves of her log." — athenwum. the missing merchantman. by harry collino wood. with full-page pictures by w. h. overend. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, si. . "mr. collingwood is facile princeps as a teller of sea stories for boys, and the present is one of the best productions of his pen." — standard. the rover's secret: a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry collingwood. with full-page illus- trations by w. c. symons. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "a book that will rejoice the hearts of most lads. we doubt whether, since the days of captain marryat, there has arisen a writer who combined fertility of invention in stirring episodes, with practical knowledge of seafaring life, in the degree to which mr. collingwood attains in this volume." — scottishleader. the pirate island: a story of the south pacific. by harry collingwood. illustrated by full page pictures by c. j. staniland and j. r. wells, in black and tint. crown vo, hand- somely bound, $ . . "a capital story of the sea; indeed, in our opinion, the author is superior, in some respects, as a marine novelist, to the better known m . clarke russell." — the times. the congo rovers: a tale of the slave squadron. by harry collingwood. with full-page il.ustratiuns by j. schon- berg, in black and tint. crown vo, handsomely bound, s . . "mr. collingwood carries us off for another cruise at sea. in 'the congo rovers,' and boys will need no pressing to join the daring crew, which seeks adventures and meets with any number of them." — hit times. popular books for young people. books for boys. $ . series. a champion of the faith. a tale of prince hal and the lollards. by j. m. caldwell. with page illustrations by herbert j. draper. crown vo, si. . "a capital specimen of a historical tale, and a well-told chapter in english life and manners in the days of henry of bolingbroke." — the spectator. sou'wester and sword. by hugh st. leger. with page illustrations by hal hurst. crown vo, $ . . "as racy a tale of life at sea and war adventure as we have met with for some time. it is from first to last a plain-sailing, straightforward narrative, alive with incident and character, and stamped with a veracity that suggests actual experience hy the author of the things he describes. . . . altogether it seems the sort of book that boys will revel in." — a t h ena u m. with the sea kings. a story of the days of lord nelson. by f. h. winder. with page illustrations by w. s. stacey. crown vo, s . . "just the book to put into a boy's hands. every chapter contains boardings, cut- tings out, fighting pirates, escapes of thrilling audacity, and captures by corsairs, sufficient to turn the quietest boy's head. the story culminates in a vigorous account of the battle of trafalgar, as seen from the victory. happy boys ! "— the academy. grettir the outlaw. a story of iceland. by s. bar- ing-gould. with full-page illustrations by m. zeno diemer, and a colored map. crown vo, olivine edges, s . . "is the boy's book of its year. it is told in simple, straightforward english, as all stories should be, and it has a freshness, a freedom, a sense of sun and wind and the open air which make it irresistible." - national observer. two thousand years ago: or, the adventures of a roman boy. by professor a. j. church. with full-page illus- trations by adrien marie. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . "the book is extremely entertaining as well as useful; there is a wonderful freshness in the roman scenes and characters."— times. hussein the hostage: or, a boy's adventures in' persia. by g. norway. with full-page illustrations by john schonberg. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the loss of john humble. what led to it, and what came of it. by g. norway. with full-page illustrations by john schonberc crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . under hatches: or, ned woodthorpe's adventures. by f. frankfort moore. with full-page illustrations by a. forestier. crown vo, olivine edges, s . . highways and high seas. cyril harley's adventures on both. by f. frankfort moore. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, olivine edges, sr. . at agincourtgeorge alfred henty, walter paget at agincourt ■ ■ \ - kw ." in ll. k-t; i. t,l j v chari.) - .'li. ■ . . : m».v at agincourt a tale of the white hoods of paris kv g. a. henty author of" beric the briton," " st. bartholomew's eve," "in the reign of terror," "st. george for england,fhe tiger of mysore," etc. with twelve illustratioxs hi' wal. paget new york charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons trow direct out punting and bookbinding company new york preface the long and bloody feud between the houses of orleans and burgundy—which for many years devastated france, caused a prodigious destruction of life and property, and was not even relaxed in the presence of a common enemy—is very fully recorded in the pages of monstrellet and other contem- porary historians. i have here only attempted to relate the events of the early portion of the struggle—from its commence- ment up to the astonishing victory of agincourt, won by a handful of englishmen over the chivalry of france. here the two factions, with the exception of the duke of bur- gundy himself, laid aside their differences for the moment, only to renew them while france still lay prostrate at the feet of the english conqueror. at this distance of time, even with all the records at one's disposal, it is difficult to say which party was most to blame in this disastrous civil war, a war which did more to cripple the power of france than was ever accomplished by eng- lish arms. unquestionably burgundy was the first to enter upon the struggle, but the terrible vengeance taken by the armagnacs,—as the orleanists came to be called,—for the murders committed by the mob of paris in alliance with him, preface was of almost unexampled atrocity in civil war, and was mainly responsible for the terrible acts of cruelty afterwards perpetrated upon each other by both parties. i hope some day to devote another volume to the story of this desperate and unnatural struggle. g. a. henty. contents chap. page i. a feudal castle i ii. troubles in france iii. a siege, & iv. a fatal accident, v. hostages vi. in paris vii. in the streets of paris, viii. a riot i ix. a stout defence x. after the fray xi. danger threatened xii. in hiding xiii. the masters of paris, xiv. planning massacre, xv. a rescue xvi. the escape xvii. a long pause, xviii. katarina xix. agincourt xx. penshurst, illustrations page guy aylmer saves the king's life at the battle of agincourt, frontispiece, guy has his head bound up after a bout at quarter- staff "the two men who lit the alarm fires rode into the castle," "sir eustace gave a loud cry, for lying at the bottom of the stair was the form of his son," . . . the lady margaret makes her oreisance to the duke of burgundy, . . . go guy and long tom come to the rescue of count charles, "tom's row twanged, and the arrow struck the horse- man under the arm-pit," "the king extended his hand to guy, who went on one knee to kiss it,' "well, comrade," said simon, "i suppose you are the man i was tol.d would come to-night?" . . . "guy delivered a slashing rlow on the rutcher's cheek, and dashed past him," guy welcomes the count of montepone and his daugh- ter to villeroy, "katarina swept a deep curtsey, and went off with a merry laugh," at agincourt chapter i a feudal castle |nd is it true that our lord and lady sail next week for their estate in france?" "ay, it is true enough, and more is the pity; it was a sad day for us all when the king gave the hand of his ward, our lady, to this baron of artois.'' "they say she was willing enough, peter." "ay, ay, all say she loved him, and, being a favourite with the queen, she got her to ask the king to accede to the knight's suit; and no wonder, he is as proper a man as eyes can want to look on—tall and stately, and they say brave. his father and grandfather both were edward's men, and held their castle for us; his father was a great friend of the black prince, and he, too, took a wife from england. since then things have not gone well with us in france, and they say that our lord has had difficulty in keeping clear of the quarrels that are always going on out there between the great french lords; and, seeing that we have but little power in artois, he has to hold himself discreetly, and to keep aloof as far as he at ag ncourt can from the strife there, and bide his time until the king sends an army to win back his own again. but i doubt not that, although our lady's wishes and the queen's favour may have gone some way with him, the king thought more of the advantage of keeping this french noble,—whose fathers have always been faithful vassals of the crown, and who was him- self english on his mother's side,—faithful to us, ready lor the time when the royal banner will flutter in the wind again, and blood will flow as it did at cressy and poitiers. "the example of a good knight like sir eustace taking the field for us with his retainers might lead others to follow his example; besides, there were several suitors for our lady's hand, and, by giving her to this french baron, there would be less offence and heart-burning than if he had chosen one among her english suitors. and, indeed, i know not that we have suffered much from its being so; it is true that our lord and lady live much on their estates abroad, but at least they are here part of their time, and their castellan does not press us more heavily during their absence than does our lord when at home." "he is a goodly knight, is sir aylmer, a just man and kindly, and, being a cousin of our lady's, they do wisely and well in placing all things in his hands during their absence." "ay, we have nought to grumble at, for we might have done worse if we had had an english lord for our master, who might have called us into the field when he chose, and have pressed us to the utmost of his rights whenever he needed money." the speakers were a man and woman, who were standing looking on at a party of men practising at the butts on the village green at summerley, one of the hamlets on the estates of sir eustace de villeroy, in hampshire. "well shot! " the man exclaimed, as an archer pierced a feudal castle a white wand at a distance of eighty yards. "they are good shots all, and if our lord and lady have fears of troubles in france, they do right well in taking a band of rare archers with them. there are but five-and-twenty of them, but they are all of the best. when they offered prizes here a month since for the bowmen of hants and sussex and dorset, methought they had some good reason why they should give such high prizes as to bring hither the best men from all three counties, and we were all proud that four of our own men should have held their own so well in such company, and especially that tom, the miller's son, should have beaten the best of them. he is captain of the band, you know, but almost all the others shoot nigh as well; there is not one of them who cannot send an arrow straight into the face of a foe at a hundred and twenty yards. there were some others as good who would fain have been of the party, but our lady said she would take no married men, and she was right. they go for five years certain, and methinks a man fights all the better when he knows there is.no one in england praying for his return, and that if he falls, there is no widow or children to bewail his loss. there are as many stout men-at- arms going too; so the castle of villeroy will be a hard nut for anyone to crack, for i hear they can put a hundred and fifty of their vassals there in the field." "we shall miss sir aylmer's son guy," the woman said; "he is ever down at the village green when there are sports going on. there is not one of his age who can send an arrow so straight to the mark, and not many of the men; and he can hold his own with a quarter-staff too." "ay, dame; iie is a stout lad, and a hearty one. they say that at the castle he is ever practising with arms, and that though scarce sixteen he can wield a sword and heavy battle- axe as well as any man-at-arms there." at agincocrt "he is gentle too," the woman said. "since his mother's death he often comes down with wine and other goodies if anyone is ill, and he speaks as softly as a girl. there is not one on the estate but has a good word for him, nor doubts that he will grow up as worthy a knight as his father, though gentler perhaps in his manner, and less grave in face, for he was ever a merry lad. since the death of his lady mother two years ago he has gone about sadly, still of late he has gotten over his loss somewhat, and he can laugh heartily again. i wonder his father can bear to part with him." "sir eustace knows well enough that he cannot always keep the boy by his side, dame; and that if a falcon is to soar well, he must try his wings early. he goes as page, does he not?" "ay, but more, methinks, as companion to young henry, who has, they say, been sickly from a child, and, though better now, has scarce the making of a stalwart knight in him. his young brother charles is a sturdy little chap, and bids fair to take after his father; and little lady agnes, who comes between them, is full of fire and spirit. "yes; methinks guy will have a pleasant time of it out there; that is, if there are no fresh troubles. i doubt not that in two or three years he will be one of our lord's es- quires, and if he has a chance of displaying his courage and skill, may be back among us a dubbed knight before many years have passed over our heads. france is a rare place for gaining honours, and so it may well be, for i see not that we gain much else by our king's possessions there." "there was plenty of spoil brought over, dame, after cressy and poitiers." "ay, but it soon goes; easy come, easy go, you know; and though they say that each man that fought there brought a feudal castle home a goodly share of spoil, i will warrant me the best part went down their throats ere many months had passed." "'tis ever so, dame; but i agree with you, and deem that it would be better for england if we did not hold a foot of ground in france, and if english kings and nobles were content to live quietly among their people. we have spent more money than ever we made in these wars, and even were our kings to become indeed, as they claim, kings of france as well as england, the ill would be much greater, as far as i can see, for us all. still there may be things, dame, that we country folks don't understand, and i suppose that it must be so, else parliament would not be so willing to vote money always when the kings want it for wars with france. the wars in france don't affect us as much as those with scotland and wales. when our kings go to france to fight they take with them only such as are willing to go, men-at-arms and archers; but when we have troubles such as took place but five or six years ago, when douglas and percy and the welsh all joined against us, then the lords call out their vassals and the sheriffs the militia of the county, and we have to go to fight willy-nilly. our lord had a hundred of us with him to fight for the king at shrewsbury. nigh thirty never came back again. that is worse than the french wars, dame." "don't i know it, for wasn't my second boy one of those who never came back. ay, ay, they had better be fighting in france, perhaps, for that lets out the hot blood that might otherwise bring on fighting at home." "that is so, dame, things are all for the best, though one does not always see it." a week later all the tenantry gathered in front of the castle to wish god-speed to their lord and lady, and to watch the following by which they were accompanied. first there passed half a dozen mounted men-at-arms, who were to . at agincourt accompany the party but half a day's march and then to re- turn with sir aylmer. next to these rode sir eustace and lady margaret, still a beautiful woman, a worthy mate of her noble - looking husband. on her other side rode sir aylmer; then came john harpen, sir eustace's esquire; be- side whom trotted agnes, a bright, merry - faced girl of twelve. guy rode with the two boys; then came twenty- four men-at-arms, many of whom had fought well and stoutly at shrewsbury; while tom, the miller's son, or, as he was generally called, long tom, strode along at the head of twenty-four bowmen, each of whom carried the long english bow and quiver full of cloth-yard arrows, and, in addition, a heavy axe at his leathern girdle. behind these were some servitors leading horses carrying provisions for the journey, and valises with the clothes of sir eustace, his wife, and children, and a heavy cart drawn by four strong horses with the bundles of extra garments for the men-at-arms and archers, and several large sheaves of spare arrows. the men-at-arms wore iron caps, as also breast and back pieces. on the shoulders and arms of their leathern jerkins iron rings were sewn thickly, forming a sort of chain armour, while permitting perfect freedom of the limbs. the archers also wore steel caps, which, like those of the men-at- arms, came low down on the neck and temples. they had on tough leathern frocks, girded in at the waist, and falling to the knee; some of them had also iron rings sewn on the shoulders. english archers were often clad in green cloth, but sir eustace had furnished the garments, and had chosen leather, both as being far more durable, and as offering a certain amount of defence. the frocks were sleeveless, and each man wore cloth sleeves of a colour according to his fancy. the band was in all respects a well-appointed one. as sir eustace wished to a feudal castle avoid exciting comment among his neighbours, he had ab- stained from taking a larger body of men; and it was partly for this reason that he had decided not to dress the archers in green. but every man had been carefully picked; the men- at-arms were all powerful fellows who had seen service; the archers were little inferior in physique, for strength as well as skill was required in archery, and in choosing the men sir eustace had, when there was no great difference in point of skill, selected the most powerful among those who were will- ing to take service with him. guy enjoyed the two days' ride to southampton greatly. it was the first time that he had been away from home, and his spirits were high at thus starting on a career that would, he hoped, bring him fame and honour. henry and his brother and sister were also in good glee, although the jour- ney was no novelty to them, for they had made it twice pre- viously. beyond liking change, as was natural at their age, they cared not whether they were at their english or at their french home, as they spoke both languages with equal fluency, and their life at one castle differed but little from that at the other. embarking at portsmouth in a ship that was carrying military stores to calais, they coasted along the shores of sussex and of kent as far as dungeness, and then made across to calais. it was early in april, the weather was ex- ceptionally favourable, and they encountered no rough seas whatever. on the way sir eustace related to guy and his sons the events that had taken place in france, and had led up to the civil war that was raging so furiously there. "in , the king of france being seized with madness, the dukes of burgundy and orleans in a very short time wrested the power of the state from the hands of his faithful councillors, the constable de clisson, la riviere, and others. at agincourt be clisson retired to his estate and castle at montelhery, the two others were seized and thrown into prison. de clisson was prosecuted before parliament as a false and wicked traitor; but the king, acting on the advice of orleans, who had not then broken with the dukes of burgundy and berri, had, after la riviere and another had been in prison for a year, stopped the prosecution, and restored their estates to them. until the dukes of burgundy and berri were all-power- ful, and in a great number of knights and nobles, led by john, count of nevers, the eldest son of the duke of bur- gundy, went to the assistance of the king of hungary, which country was being invaded by the turks. they were, however, on the th of september, utterly defeated. the greater portion of them were killed; nevers and the rest were ransomed and brought home. "in the king, influenced by his wife, isobel, and his brother, the duke of orleans, who were on terms of the closest alliance, placed the entire government in the hands of the latter, who at once began to abuse it to such an extent, by imposing enormous taxes upon the clergy and the people, that he paved the way for the return of his uncle of bur- gundy to power. on the th of april, , philip the bold of burgundy died. he was undoubtedly ambitious, but he was also valiant and able, and he had the good of france at heart. he was succeeded by his son john, called the fearless, from the bravery that he had displayed in the unfort- unate hungarian campaign. the change was disastrous for france. john was violent and utterly unscrupulous, and capable of any deed to gratify either his passions, jealousies, or hatreds. at first he cloaked his designs against orleans by an appearance of friendship, paid him a visit at his castle near vincennes, where he was at the time lying ill. when he re- covered, the two princes went to mass together, dined at a feudal castle their uncle's, the duke of berri, and together entered paris; and the parisians fondly hoped that there was an end of the rivalry that had done so much harm. it was, however, but a very short time afterwards that, on the d of november, , as the duke of orleans was returning from having dined with the queen, and was riding with only two esquires and four or five men on foot carrying torches, twenty armed men sprang out from behind a house and rushed upon him. "' i am the duke of orleans,' the prince cried; but they hurled him from his mule, and as he tried to rise to his feet one blow struck off the hand he raised to protect his head, other blows rained down upon him from axe and sword, and in less than a minute the duke lay dead. the duke of bur- gundy at first affected grief and indignation, but at the coun- cil the next day he boldly avowed that orleans had been killed by his orders. he at once took horse and rode to the frontier of flanders, which he reached safely, though hotly chased by a party of the duke of orleans' knights. the duke's widow, who was in the country at the time, hastened up to paris with her children, and appealed for justice to the king, who declared that he regarded the deed done to his brother as done to himself. the dukes of berri and bour- bon, the constable and chancellor, all assured her that she should have justice; but there was no force that could hope to cope with that which burgundy could bring into the field, and when, two months later, burgundy entered paris at the head of a thousand men-at-arms, no attempt was made at resistance, and the murderer was received with acclamations by the fickle populace. "the king at the time was suffering from one of his terri- ble fits of insanity, but a great assembly was held, at which princes, councillors, lords, doctors of law, and prominent citi- zens were present. a monk of the cordeliers, named john at agincourt petit, then spoke for five hours in justification of the duke, and the result was that the poor insane king was induced to sign letters cancelling the penalty of the crime. for four months the duke remained absolute master of paris, disposing of all posts and honours, and sparing no efforts to render him- self popular with the burghers. a serious rebellion breaking out at liege, and the troops sent against the town being re- pulsed, he was obliged to leave paris to put down the re- volt. as soon as he had left, the queen and the partisans of orleans prepared to take advantage of his absence, and two months later queen isobel marched with the dauphin, now some thirteen years old, from melun with three thousand men. "the parisians received her with applause, and as soon as she had taken up her quarters at the louvre, the dukes of berri, bourbon, and brittany, the constable, and all the great officers of the court rallied round her. two days later the duchess of orleans arrived with a long train of mourning coaches. a great assembly was held, and the king's advocate announced to them the intention of the king to confer the government upon the queen during his illness, and produced a document signed by the king to that effect. the duchess of orleans then came forward, and kneeling before the dau- phin, begged for justice for the death of her husband, and that she might be granted an opportunity of refuting the calumnies that john petit had heaped on the memory of her husband. a week later another great assembly was held, and the justi- fication of the duke was read, refuting all these imputations, and the duchess's advocate demanded that the duke should be forced to make public reparation, and then to be exiled for twenty years. the dauphin replied that he and all the princes of blood royal present held that the charges against the duke of orleans had been amply refuted, and that the demands a feudal castle with reference to the duke of burgundy should be provided for in course of justice. "scarcely had the assembly broken up when it became known that burgundy and his army was on the way back to paris. resistance was out of the question; therefore, taking the young dauphin with her, and accompanied by all the members of the royal family, the queen retired to tours. burgundy, unscrupulous as he was, finding that although he might remain master of paris, he could not hope to rule france, except when acting under the pretence of the king's authority, soon sent an embassy to tours to endeavour to ar- range matters. he was able to effect this with the less diffi- culty, that the duchess of orleans had just died from grief at her husband's death, and at the hopelessness of obtaining ven- geance on his murderer. the queen was won to the cause of burgundy by secret proposals submitted to her for a close league between them, and in march a treaty was concluded, and a meeting took place at chartres, at which the duke, the king, the queen, the royal princes, and the young duke of orleans and his adherents were present. "the king declared that he pardoned the duke, and the princes of orleans consented to obey his orders and to lay aside all hatred and thoughts of vengeance, and shortly after- wards paris welcomed with shouts of joy the return of the king and queen and the apparent reconciliation of all parties. but the truce was a brief one; for the princes and adherents of orleans might bend before circumstances at the moment, but their feelings were unchanged. "a head of the party was needed, and the young duke married the daughter of count bernard d'armagnac, one of the most powerful and ambitious nobles of the south of france, who at once,—in concert with the dukes of berri and brittany and other lords,—put himself at the head of the at agincourt orleans party. on the ioth of july, , the three princes of orleans sent a long letter to the king, complaining that no reparation whatever had been made for the murder of their father, and begging him that, as what was done at chartres was contrary to every principle of law, equity, reason, and justice, the case should be reopened again. they also made complaints against the duke of burgundy for his conduct and abuse of power. "as the king was surrounded by burgundy's creatures no favourable reply was returned, and a formal challenge or dec- laration of war was, on the th of july, sent by the princes to the duke of burgundy, and both parties began at once to make preparation for war. "now for my own view of this quarrel. king henry sent for me a year since, and asked for whom i should hold my castle if orleans and burgundy came to blows, adding that burgundy would be viewed by him with most favour. "' my father and grandfather ever fought faithfully in the service of england,' i said; 'but for years past now, the line betwixt your majesty's possessions and those of france has been drawn in, and my estates and castle of villeroy now lie beyond the line, and i am therefore a vassal of france as well as of your majesty. it being known to all men that even before i became lord of summerley, on my marriage with your majesty's ward, mistress margaret, i, like my father, held myself to be the liege man of the king of england. i am therefore viewed with much hostility by my neighbours, and right gladly would they seize upon any excuse to lay com- plaint against me before the king, in order that i might be deprived of my fief and castle. "' this i would fain hold always for your majesty; and, seeing how it is situated but a few miles across the frontier, it is, i would humbly submit to you, of importance to your a feudal castle majesty that it should be held by one faithful to you—since its possession in the hands of an enemy would greatly hinder any english army marching out from calais to the invasion of france. it is a place of some strength now; but were it in french hands it might be made very much stronger, and would cost much time and loss of men to besiege. at present your majesty is in alliance with burgundy, but none can say how the war will go, or what changes will take place; and should the orleanists gain the upper hand, they will be quick to take advantage of my having fought for burgundy, and would confiscate my estates and hand them over to one who might be hostile to england, and pledged to make the castle a stronghold that would greatly hinder and bar the advance of an english army upon paris. therefore, sire, i would, not for my own sake but for the sake of your majesty's self and your successors, pray you to let me for a while remain quietly at summerley until the course of events in france is deter- mined.' "the king was pleased to see the force of what i urged. as far as i had inclinations in the case, they were towards the cause, not of burgundy himself, whose murder of orleans was alike treacherous and indefensible, but of his cause, seeing that flanders is wholly under his authority, and that in artois he is well-nigh paramount at present. on the other hand, amiens and ponthieu, which lie but a short distance to the south of me, are strongly orleanist, and i have therefore every motive for standing aloof. so far the fortune of war has been so changeable that one cannot say that the chances incline towards one faction more than the other. even the church has failed to bring about the end of the troubles. the or- leanists have been formally placed under interdicts, and cursed by book, bell, and candle. the king's commands have been laid upon all to put aside their quarrels, but both the ban of at agincourt the church and the king's commands have been ineffectual. i am as anxious as ever to abstain from taking any part in the trouble, the more so as the alliance between our king and burgundy has cooled somewhat. but have received such urgent prayers from my vassals at villeroy to come among them, since they are now being plundered by both parties, that i feel it is time for me to take up my abode there. when the king stayed at winchester, a month since, i laid the mat- ter before him. he was pleased to say that what had urged a year ago had turned out to be as foretold, and that he would give me leave to go over and establish myself at ville- roy, and to hold myself aloof from both parties until the mat- ter should further ripen. what will come of it i cannot say. the english king seemed to me to be ailing, and i fear that it may not be long before young henry comes to the throne. he is a wild young prince, but has already shown himself in the northern war to be fidl of spirit and courage, and methinks that when he comes to the throne he will not long observe the peaceful policy of his father, but that we shall see the royal standard once again spread to the winds of france." "but, sir eustace," guy said, when he had concluded, "how do these matters affect you? i thought that by the treaty the west part of artois was english." "ay, lad, it was so settled; but at that time the strength of france had been broken at poitiers, and the black prince and his army were so feared that his terms were willingly ac- cepted in order to secure peace. much has happened since then: war has been constantly going on, sometimes hotly, sometimes sluggishly; france has had her own troubles, and as the english kings have been more pacific, and england has become weary of bearing the heavy expenses of the war, the treaty has become a dead letter. gascony, in which prov- ince armagnac is the greatest lord, is altogether lost to eng- l a feudal castle land, as is the greater part of guienne. a great proportion of the people there were always bitterly opposed to the change, and, as you know, even in the time of the black prince him- self there were great rebellions and troubles; since then town after town and castle after castle has declared for france, and no real efforts have ever been made by the english to win them back again. , who in england am an english baron, and—so long as things go on as at present—a french noble while in france, am in a perilous position between my two suzerains. were an english army to land, i should join them, for i still hold myself to be a vassal of the king of eng- land, as we have been for three generations. as to the french disputes, i fear that sooner or later i shall have to declare in favour of one party or the other, for it will be difficult to stand altogether aloof from these conflicts, because all men, at least all men of condition, are well-nigh forced to take one side or the other. the plea that am a baron of england will be of no avail, for both sides would turn against me and be glad of an excuse for pillaging and confiscating my estate. at pres- ent, then, i must regard myself solely as a french noble, for villeroy has passed into the hands of france, just as for a while it passed into the hands of england, and if this war goes on we shall have to take a side.'' "and to which side do your thoughts incline, sir eustace, if i may ask you?" "i love not either side, guy, and would fain, if it could be so, that my sword should remain in its sheath. fear that i shall have to go with burgundy, for he is all-powerful in artois; but had i been altogether free to choose, i should have sided with orleans. in the first place, it is certain that the last duke was foully murdered by burgundy, who thereby laid the foundation for the present troubles. there were jeal- ousies before, as there have always been between the great no- at agincourt bles, but that act forced almost all to take sides. the dukes of berri and brittany, who had been of the party of the late duke of burgundy, were driven by this foul act of his son to range themselves with orleans. armagnac is very powerful in the south, berri's dukedom is in the north, that of orleans to the north-east. burgundy's strength lies in his own duke- dom,—which has ever been all but independent of france,— in flanders, in artois, and in paris; thus, generally, it is the north and east of france against the south and west. this is broadly the case, but in a civil war provinces and countships, neighbours, ay, and families, become split up into factions, as interest, or family ties, or the desire to increase an estate by annexing another next to it, may influence the minds of men. "so long as it is but a war between the great dukes and princes of france we smaller men may hope to hold aloof, but, as it goes on, and evil deeds are done on both sides, men's passions become heated, the spirit spreads until every man's hand is against his neighbour, and he who joins not against one or the other finds both ready to oppress and rob him. i should not have cared to bring out an english following with me had we been forced to march any distance through france; but as villeroy is but a few miles from the frontier, and of that distance well-nigh half is through my own estates, we can reach the castle almost unnoticed. once there, the fact that i have strengthened my garrison will keep me from attack, for either party would be chary in attacking one who can de- fend himself stoutly. i was minded to leave your lady and the two younger children in england, but in truth she begged so hard to accompany me that i could not say her nay." the castle of villeroy was somewhat larger than the one in which guy had been born and brought up. the plan, however, was very similar: there was the central keep, but, whereas at home this was the dwelling-house of the family, a feudal castle it was here used as a storehouse, and the apartments of the count and countess were in the range of buildings that formed an inner court round, the keep. in point of luxury the french were in advance of the english, and they had already begun to combine comfort with strength in their buildings. the apartments struck guy as being wonderfully spacious in comparison to those with which he was accustomed. on the ground floor of one side of the square was the banqueting-hall. its walls were decorated with arms and armour, the joists that supported the floor above were carved, the windows large and spacious, for, looking as they did into the inner court, there was no occasion for their being mere loopholes. above the banqueting-hall was a room where lady margaret sat with her maids engaged in working at tapestry; here the priest gave such slight instruction as was then considered necessary to agnes and charles; henry had already passed out of his hands. next to this room was the knight's sleeping apartment, or closet as it was then called, a room which would now be con- sidered of ridiculously straitened dimensions; and close to it were the still smaller closets of the children. beyond were a series of guest-chambers. another side of the court-yard contained the apartments of the castellan, jean bouvard, a sturdy soldier of long experience, and those of the other offi- cers of the household; the other two sides were occupied by the chapel, the kitchens, and the offices of the servants and retainers. all these rooms were loopholed on the side look- ing into the outer court. this was considerably wider and more extensive than the one surrounding the keep. here were the stables, storehouses for grain and forage, and a build- ing, just erected, for the lodging of the english garrison. all these buildings stood against the outer wall, so that they would afford no shelter to an enemy who had obtained pos- at agincourt session of the first defences and was making an attack against the second line. the outer wall was twelve feet in thick- ness, and thirty feet above the court; outside the height was considerably greater, as there was a moat faced with stone fifteen feet deep entirely surrounding it, and containing seven or eight feet of water. walls ran half across the outer court, and, from the end of these, light wooden bridges formed a communication with the wall of the inner court, so that in the event of the outer wall being stormed or the gates being carried by assault, the defenders could retire to the inner defences. the ends of these bridges rested upon irons projecting from the wall, and so arranged that they could be instantly withdrawn when the last of the defenders had crossed over, when the bridges would at once fall into the court-yard below. the inner wall was twelve feet higher than the outer one, and, like it, was pro- vided with a crenellated battlement four feet high; there were projecting turrets at each corner, and one in the middle of each side. the keep rose twenty feet higher than the wall of the inner court. the lower portions of the cross walls of the outer, court were carried on as far as the inner wall, thereby divid- ing the space into four; strong gates gave communication from one to the other. into these could be driven the cattle of the tenantry, and one of them contained a number of huts in which the tenants themselves would be lodged. the court-yard facing the entrance was the largest of the areas into which the .space between the outer and inner walls was divided, extending the whole width between the outer walls. here the military exercises were carried on. along the wall, at each side of the gate, were a range of stables for the use of the horses of guests, with rooms over them for the use of their retainers. there was a strong exterior work defending the troubles in france approach to the drawbridge on the other side of the moat, and in all respects the castle was well appointed, and to guy it seemed almost impossible that it could be carried by as- sault, however numerous the foe. chapter ii troubles in france as soon as it was heard that the lord and lady had returned, the vassals of villeroy came in to pay their respects, and presents of fowls, game, and provisions of all kinds poured in. the table in the banqueting-hall was bountifully spread, casks of wine broached, and all who came received entertainment. as french was still spoken a good deal at the english court and among the nobles and barons, and was considered part of the necessary education of all persons of gentle blood, guy, who had always used it in his conversa- tion with his father, had no difficulty in performing his duty of seeing that the wants of all who came were well attended to. in a few days guests of higher degree came in, the knights and barons of that part of the province; a few of these expressed surprise at the height of the sturdy men-at- arms and archers loitering about the court-yard. sir eus- tace always answered any remarks made on the subject by saying, "yes, dame margaret and i thought that instead of keeping all our retainers doing nothing in our castle in eng- land, where there is at present no use whatever for their ser- vices, we might as well bring a couple of score of them over here. i have no wish to take part in any of the troubles that at agincourt seem likely to disturb france, but there is never any saying what may happen, and at any rate it costs no more to feed these men here than in england.'' the english archers and men-at-arms were well satisfied with their quarters and food, and were soon on good terms with their french associates. the garrison, before their arrival, had consisted of fifty men-at-arms, and although these had no means of communicating verbally with the new'ar- rivals, they were not long in striking up such acquaintance as could be gained by friendly gestures and the clinking of wine-cups. their quarters were beside those of the english, and the whole of the men-at-arms daily performed their exer- cises in the court-yard together, under the command of the castellan, while the archers marched out across the draw- bridge and practised shooting at some butts pitched there. to the french men-at-arms their performances appeared as- tounding. the french had never taken to archery, but the cross-bow was in use among them, and half of the french men-at-arms had been trained in the use of this weapon, which was considered more valuable in the case of sieges than of warfare in the field. while they were able to send their bolts as far as the bowmen could shoot their arrows, there was no comparison whatever in point of accuracy, and the archers could discharge a score of arrows while the cross - bow- men were winding up their weapons. "pardicu, master page," jean bouvard said one day as he stood with guy watching the shooting of the archers, " i no longer wonder at the way in which you english defeated us at cressy and poitiers. i have heard from my father, who fought at poitiers, how terrible was the rain of arrows that was poured upon our knights when they charged up the hill against the english, but i had never thought that men could shoot with such skill and strength. it was but yesterday that troubles in france i set my men-at-arms to try and bend one of these english bows, and not one of them could draw an arrow anywhere near the head with all their efforts; while these men seem to do so with the greatest ease, and the speed with which they can shoot off arrow after arrow well-nigh passes belief. that tall fellow, who is their chief, but now sent twenty arrows into a space no greater than a hand's-breadth, at a hundred and twenty yards, and that so quickly that he scarce seemed to take time to aim at all, and the others are well-nigh as skilful. yesterday i put up a breastplate such as is worn by our men-at-arms and asked them to shoot at it at eighty yards. they fired a volley together at it. it was riddled like a col- ander; not one of the five-and-twenty arrows had failed to pierce it." '"ay, at that distance, captain, an english archer of fair skill could not miss it, and it needs milan armour, and that of the best, to keep out their arrows." "by our lady," the captain remarked, "i should be sorry to attack a castle defended by them, and our lord has done well indeed to bring them over with him. your men-at- arms are stalwart fellows. my own men feel well-nigh abashed when they see how these men take up a stone that they them- selves can with difficulty lift from the ground, and hurl it twenty yards away; and they whirl their heavy axes round their heads as if they were reeds.'' "they are all picked men," guy said with a laugh. "you must not take it that all englishmen are of equal strength, though no doubt sir eustace could have gathered five hun- dred as strong had he wished it.'' "if that be so," the captain said, " i can well believe that if france and england meet again on a field of battle france shall be beaten as she was before. however, there is one comfort, we shall not be among the defeated; for our lord, at aoincourt and his father and his grandfather before him, have ever been with england, and sir eustace, having an english wife and mother, and being a vassal of the english crown for his estates in england, will assuredly take their part in case of a quarrel. of course, at present we hold ourselves to be neutrals, and though our lord's leanings towards england give some umbrage to his neighbours, their enmity finds no expression, since for years now there has been no fighting to speak of between the two nations. how it will be if orleans and burgundy come to blows i know not; but if they do so, methinks our lord will have to declare for one or the other, or he may have both upon him. a man with broad estates, on which many cast covetous eyes, can scarce stand altogether aloof. however, if villeroy is attacked, methinks that with the following sir eustace has brought with him across the sea even burgundy himself will find that it would cost him so dearly to capture the castle that it were best left alone.'' "how about the vassals?" "they will fight for their lord," jean bouvard answered confidently. "you see their fathers and grandfathers fought under the black prince, and it is natural that their leanings should be on that side. then they know that there is no better lord in all artois than sir eustace, and his dame has made herself much beloved among them all. there is no fear that they will disol>ey our lord's orders whatever they be, and will fight as he bids them, for orleans or burgundy, england or france. he has never exercised to the full his rights of seigneur; he has never called upon them for their full quota of work; no man has even been hung on his estate for two generations save for crime committed; no vassal's daughter has ever been carried into the castle. i tell you there is not a man for over fifty miles round who does not envy the vassals troubles in france of villeroy, and this would be a happy land indeed were all lords like ours. were we to hoist the flag on the keep and fire a gun, every man on the estate would muster here before sun- set, and would march against the king of france himself did sir eustace order them to do so." "in that case what force could we put on the walls, captain?" "two hundred men besides the garrison, and we have provisions stored away in the keep sufficient for thern and their women and children for a three months' siege. sir eustace gave me orders yesterday to procure wood of the kind used for arrows, and to lay in a great store of it; also to set the smiths to work to make arrow-heads. i asked him how many, and he said, 'let them go on at it until further orders. i should like a store sufficient at least for a hundred rounds for each of these english archers, and if we had double that it would be all the better. they can make their own arrows if they have suitable wood.' it seemed to me that two hundred rounds was l>eyond all necessity, but now when i see that these men can shoot nigh twenty rounds a minute, i can well understand that a great supply for them is needful." the time passed very pleasantly at villeroy. sometimes guy rode with his lord and lady when they went out hawk- ing or paid visits to neighbouring castles. regularly every day they practised for two hours in arms, and although well instructed before, guy gained much additional skill from the teaching of jean bouvard, who was a famous swordsman. the latter was surprised at finding that the page was able to draw the english bows as well as the archers, and that, al- though inferior to long tom and three or four of the best shots, he was quite as good a marksman as the majority. moreover, though of gentle blood he would join with the at agincourt men in their bouts of quarter-staff, and took no more heed of a broken head than they did. "pardieu, master page," he said one day when guy came in from the court-yard to have his head, which was stream- ing with blood, bound up, "our french pages would marvel indeed if they saw you. they all practise in arms as you do, save with the shooting; but they would consider it would demean them sorely to join in such rough sports with their inferiors, or to run the risk of getting their beauty spoiled by a rough blow. no wonder your knights strike so mightily in battle when they are accustomed to strike so heavily in sport. i saw one of your men-at-arms yesterday bury his axe to the very head in a block of oak; he wagered a stoup of wine that no two of my men-at-arms would get the axe out, and he won fairly, for indeed it took four of the knaves at the handle to tug it out, and then indeed it needed all their strength. no armour ever forged could have withstood such a blow; it would have cracked both the casque and the skull inside like egg-shells. it seemed to me that a thousand such men, with as many archers, could march through france from end to end, if they kept well together, and were well supplied with meat and drink by the way—they would need that, for they are as good trenchermen as they are fighters, and indeed each man amongst them eats as much as three of my fellows." "yes, they want to be well fed," guy laughed, "and they are rarely pleased with the provision that you make for them; surely not one of them ever fed so well before." "food does not cost much," the captain said; "we have herds of our own which run half wild on the low ground near the river, which our lords always keep in hand for their own uses, and they multiply so fast that they are all the better for thinning; we sell a few occasionally, but they are so wild that it scarce pays the trouble of driving them guy has his head bound up after a bout at quarterstaff. troubles in france to the nearest market, and we are always ready to grant permission to any of the vassals, whose cattle have not done as well as usual, to go out and kill one or two for meat." "i hear from the governor of calais," sir eustace said, when he returned from a visit to that town, " that a truce has been agreed upon between england and france for a year; it is france who asked for it, i suppose. both parties here wanted to be able to fight it out without interference. here, in artois, where the burgundians are most numerous, they will profit, as they will have no fear of england trying to regain some of her lost territory, while in the south it will leave armagnac and his friends equally free from english incursions from guienne." "and how will it affect us, eustace?" his wife asked. "that i have not been able fully to determine. at any rate they will have no excuse for attacking us upon the ground that we are partly english, and wholly so in feeling; but upon the other hand, if we are attacked either by bur- gundians or orleanists, we cannot hope, as we should have done before, for aid from calais, lying as we do some fifteen miles beyond the frontier. amiens has already declared for burgundy, in spite of the fact that a royal proclamation has been issued, and sent to every town and bailiwick through france, strictly commanding all persons whatsoever not to interfere, or in any manner to assist the dukes of orleans or burgundy in their quarrels with each other. i hear that the duke of burgundy has seized roye, nesle, and ham. and a number of other places, and that both parties are forti- fying all their towns. they say, too, that there is news that the king has again been seized with one of his fits of mad- ness. however, that matters little. he has of late been a tool in the hands of burgundy, and the royal signature has no weight one way or the other. however, now that hos- at agincourt tilities have begun, we must lose no time, for at any moment one party or the other may make a sudden attack upon us. burgundy and orleans may quarrel, but it is not for love of one or the other that most of the nobles will join in the fray, but merely because it offers them an opportunity for pillaging and plundering, and for paying off old scores against neighbours. guy, bid john harpen come hither." when the esquire entered, sir eustace went on: "take two men-at-arms, john, and ride round to all the tenants. warn them that there are plundering bands about, and that either the burgundians or the orleanists may swoop down upon us any day. tell them that they had better send in here all their valuables, and at any rate the best of their cattle and horses, and to have everything pre- pared for bringing in their wives and families and the rest of their herds at a moment's notice. you can say that if they like they can at once send their wives and families in, with such store of grain- and forage as they can transport; the more the better. if the plunderers come, so much the more is saved from destruction; if wc are besieged, so much the more food have we here. those who do not send in their families would do well to keep a cart with two strong horses ready day and night, so that no time would be lost when they get the signal. we shall fire a gun, hoist the flag, and light a bonfire on the keep, so that they may see the smoke by day or the fire by night. tell jean bouvard to come to me." "there is trouble afoot, jean, and at any moment we may be attacked. place two men-at-arms on each of the roads to st. omer, st. pol, and bethune. post them your- self at the highest points you can find near our boundary. by each have a pile of faggots, well smeared with pitch, and have another pile ready on the keep, and a watch always troubles in france stationed there. he is to light it at once when he sees smoke or fire from either of the three points. let the men at the outposts be relieved every four hours. they must, of course, be mounted. let one of the two remain by the fag- gots, and let the other ride three or four miles in advance, and so post himself as to see a long distance down the road. "if he sees a force advancing he must gallop back at full speed to his comrade, and light the fire. have a gun always loaded on the keep, and have a brazier burning hard by, with an iron in it, so that the piece may be fired the instant smoke is seen. it might be two or three minutes before the beacon would give out smoke enough to be noticed, and every minute may be of the greatest importance to the vassals. as soon as you return from setting the posts see that everything is in readiness here. i myself will make sure that the drawbridge works easily and the portcullis runs freely in its groove. i have already sent off john harpen to warn the tenants, and doubtless many of them will be in this afternoon. send pierre with four men, and tell them to drive up a number of the cattle from the marshes. they need not trouble to hunt them all up to- day. let them bring the principal herd, the others we will fetch in to-morrow, or let them range where they are until we have further news." in a few minutes the castle resounded with the din of preparations under the superintendence of sir eustace. the men-at-arms and archers carried up stones from the great pile that had been collected in the court-yard in readiness, to the various points on the walls that would be most exposed to assault. others were employed in fixing barri- cades in the court - yard at the rear for the reception of the herd of half-wild cattle. the water was turned from the little rivulet running down to the somme into the troubles in france ',) vice and of the giving and taking of blows made their blood course more rapidly through their veins. it was the prospect of fighting rather than of pay that had attracted them to the service of sir eustace. then, as for a century previous and until quite modern days, frenchmen were regarded as the natural foes of england, and however large a force an english king wished to collect for service in france, he had never any difficulty whatever in obtaining the number he asked for, and they were ready cheerfully to give battle whatever the odds against them. the english archer's confidence in him- self and his skill was indeed supreme. before the shafts of his forefathers the flower of the french chivalry had gone down like rushes before a scythe, and from being a mere ac- cessory to a battle the english archers had become the back- bone of the force. their skill, in fact, had revolutionized warfare, had broken the power of cavalry, and had added to the dignity and value of infantry, who had become, as they have ever since continued to be, the prime factor in warfare. consequently the english archers and men-at-arms went about their work of preparation with a zest and cheerfulness that showed their satisfaction in it. "why, tom," guy said to the tall leader of the archers, "you look as pleased as if it were a feast rather than a fray for which you were preparing." "and so i feel, master guy. for what have i been practising with the bow since i was eight years old but that i might, when the time came, send an arrow straight through the bars of a french vizor? in faith, i began to think that i should never have an opportunity of exercising my skill on anything more worthy than a target or peeled wand. since our kings have given up leading armies across the sea, there was no way but to take service with our lord when i heard that he wanted a small company of archers for the defence of at agincourt his castle over here, and since we have come it has seemed to us all that we were taking pay and food under false pretences, and that we might as well have stopped at home where, at least, we can compete in all honour and good temper against men as good as ourselves, and with the certainty of winning a few silver pennies, to say nothing of plaudits from the on- lookers. 'tis with our people as with the knights of old; if they win in a tournament they take the armour of the van- quished, the prize from the queen of beauty, and many a glance of admiration from bright eyes. it is the same with us; for there is not an english maid but would choose an archer who stands straight and firm, and can carry off a prize when in good company, to a hind who thinks of naught but delving the soil and tending the herd." guy laughed. "i suppose it is the same, when you put it so, long tom; but there will be none of your english maids to watch your prowess here." "no, master guy; but here we shall fight for our own satisfaction, and prove to ourselves that we are as good men as our fathers were. i know naught of this quarrel. had sir eustace taken us into the field to fight for one or other of these factions concerning which we know nothing, we should doubtless have done our duty and fought manfully. but we are all glad that here we are doing what we came for; we are going to defend the castle against frenchmen of some sort or other who_ would do ill to our lord and lady, and we shall fight right heartily and joyfully, and should still do so were it the mad king of france himself who marched against us. besides, master, we should be less than men if we did not feel for the frightened women and children who, having done no wrong, and caring naught for these factions, are forced to flee from their homes for their lives; so we shall strike in just as we should strike in were we to come upon a troubles in france band of robbers ill - treating a woman at home. think you that they will come, master?" he added eagerly. "that i cannot say surely, tom; but sir eustace has news that the burgundians have already seized several towns and placed garrisons there, and that armed bands are travers- ing the country, burning and pillaging. whether they will feel strong enough to make an attack on this castle i know not, but belike they will do so, for sir eustace, belonging as he does, and as his fathers have done before him, to the english party, neither of the others will feel any good-will towards him, and some of his neighbours may well be glad to take advantage of this troubled time to endeavour to despoil him of his castle and possessions." "they will want to have good teeth to crack this nut, master guy—good teeth and strong; and methinks that those who come to pluck the feathers may well go back without their own. we have a rare store of shafts ready, and they will find that their cross - bowmen are of little use against picked english archers, even though there be but twenty-five of us in all." "you know very well, long tom, that you would have come over here whether there was any chance of your draw- ing your bow on a frenchman or not." "that is true enough, master guy. our lady wanted some bowmen, and i, who have been born and bred on the estate, was of course bound to go with her. then you see, master guy, haven't i taught you to use the bow and the quarter-staff, and carried you on my shoulder many a score of times when you were a little lad and i was a big boy? it would not have been natural for you to have gone out with a chance of getting into a fight without my being there to draw a shaft when you needed it. why, ruth gregory, whose sworn bachelor you know i am, would have cried shame at ag ncourt on me if i had lingered behind. i told her that if i stayed it would be for her sake, and you should have seen how she flouted me, saying that she would have no tall lout hiding be- hind her petticoats, and that if i stayed, it should not be as her man. and now i must be off to my supper, or i shall find that there is not a morsel left for me.'' the gates of the castle were closed that night, but it was not considered necessary to lower the drawbridge. two sentries were posted at the work beyond the moat, and one above the gate, besides the watcher at the top of the keep. the next day things were got into better order. more bar- ricades were erected for the separation of the cattle; a por- tion was set aside for horses. the provisions brought in from the farms were stored away in the magazines. the women and children began to settle down more comfortably in their sheds. the best of the horses and cattle were re- moved into the inner court-yard. the boys were set draw- ing water and filling the troughs, while some of the farm men were told off to carry the fodder to the animals, most of which, however, were for the time turned out to graze near the castle. many of the men who had come in had re- turned to their work on the farms. during the day wag- gons continued to arrive with stores of grain and forage; boys and girls drove in flocks of geese and turkeys and large numbers of ducks and hens, until the yard in which the sheds were was crowded with them. by nightfall every preparation was complete, and even jean bouvard himself could find nothing further to suggest. "if they are coming," he said to sir eustace, "the sooner they come the better, my lord; we have done all that we can do, and had best get it over without more ado." "i still hope that no one will come, bouvard, but i agree with you, that if it is to come the sooner the better. but troubles in france there is no saying, it may be to-morrow, it may be months before we are disturbed. still, in a war like this, it is likely that all will try and get as much as they can as quickly as pos- sible, for at any moment it may suit burgundy and orleans to patch up their quarrel again. burgundy is astute and cun- ning, and if he sees that the orleans princes with armagnac and the duke of bourbon are likely to get the best of it, he will use the king and queen to intervene and stop the fight- ing. seeing that this may be so, the rogues who have their eye on their neighbours' goods and possessions will, you may be sure, lose no time in stretching out their hands for them." a week later came the news that sir clugnet de brabant, who styled himself admiral of france, had gathered two thousand men from the orleanist garrisons and, with scaling- ladders and other warlike machines, had attacked the town of rethel. the inhabitants had, however, notice of their coming, and resisted so stoutly that the orleanists had been forced to retreat, and had then divided into two parties, each of whom had scoured the country, making prisoners all whom they met, firing the villages and driving off the cattle, and then returned to the town of ham and to the various gar- risons from which they had been drawn. some of the tenants had returned to their farms, but when the news spread they again took refuge in the castle. it was probable that artois, where almost all the towns were held by the burgundian party, would be the next object of attack. the orleanists remained quiet for eight days only, then the news came that they had moved out again from ham eight thou- sand strong, and were marching west. two days later several fugitives from the country round arrived at the castle with news that the orleanists were advancing against bapaume, and the next morning they heard that they had, after a fierce fight, won their way to the gate at aginc urt of the town. the burgundian garrison had then sallied out and at first met with success, but had been obliged to retreat within the walls again. the orleanists, however, consider- ing the place too strong to be captured without a long siege, which might be interrupted by a burgundian force from flanders, had drawn off from the place, but were still march- ing north burning and plundering. "it is likely enough that they will come this way," sir eustace said as he and jean bouvard talked the matter over. "assuredly arras will be too strong for them to attempt. the straight line would take them to st. pol, but the castle there is a very strong one also. they may sack and burn avesne and auvigni, and then, avoiding both st. pol and arras, march between them to femes, which is large enough to give them much plunder, but has no force that could resist them. as pernes is but four miles away, their next call may be here." "but why should they attack us, sir eustace? for here, too, they might reckon upon more hard blows than plunder." "it will depend upon whom they have with them," sir eustace replied. "they say that our neighbour hugh de fruges went south ten days ago to join the duke of bourbon; his castle is but a small place, and as most of artois is bur- gundian he might be afraid he might be captured. he has never borne me good-will, and might well persuade the duke that were my castle and estates in his possession he might do good service to the cause; and that, moreover, standing as we do within twelve miles of the english frontier, its pos- session might be very valuable to him should the orleanists ever have occasion to call in the aid of england, or to op- pose their advance should the burgundians take that step." "surely neither of these factions will do that, sir eustace." "why not, bouvard? every time that english armies troubles in france have passed into france they have done it at the invitation of french nobles who have embroiled themselves with their kings. burgundy and orleans, bourbon and brittany, each fights for his own hand, and cares little for france as a whole. they may be vassals of the valois, but they regard them- selves as being nearly, if not altogether, their equals, and are always ready to league themselves with each other, or if it needs be with the english, against the throne." at nine o'clock on the following evening sir eustace and his family were startled by the relx,rt of the gun on the keep, and, running out, saw the signal-fire beginning to blaze up. "above there!" sir eustace shouted, "where is the alarm?" "a fire has just blazed up on the road to st. pol," the warder replied. "blow your horn, then, loudly and urgently." the news that the orleanists were marching north from bapaume had caused the greater portion of the farmers to come in on the previous day, and in a short time those who were nearest to the castle, and who had consequently de- layed as long as possible, began to arrive. the garrison were already under arms, and had taken the places assigned to them on the walls. all the tenants had brought their arms in with them, and were now drawn up in the court yard, where a large bonfire, that had been for some days in readiness, was now blazing. the new-comers, after turning their horses into the inclosure with those already there, joined them. all had been acquainted with the share they were to bear should the place be besieged. they were to be divided into two parties, one of which was to be on duty on the wails with the garrison, the other to be held in reserve, and was—every six hours when matters were quiet—to relieve the party on the walls, or, when an attack took place, to be under arms and at aoincourt ready to hasten to any spot where its aid was required. the men were now inspected by sir eustace, additional arms were served out from the armoury to those whose equipment was insufficient, and they were then dismissed to join their wives and families until called to the walls. chapter iii a siege the two men who had lit the alarm fires had already ridden in. they reported that they had, just as it be- came dark, seen flames rising from a village three miles from them, and that the man in advance had ridden forward until near enough to see that a great body of men were issuing from the village in the direction of the castle. ten of the english men-at-arms, and as many french, were now posted in the outwork at the head of the drawbridge under the command of jean bouvard. sir eustace placed himself with his squire on the wall above the gate, and four men were stationed at the chains of the drawbridge in readi- ness to hoist it should the order be given. the english archers were on the wall beside sir eustace, as their arrows commanded the ground beyond the outwork. half an hour after the first alarm was given the tale of the tenants was found to be complete, and the guards on the other two roads had also ridden in. guy, to his great satisfaction, had been or- dered by sir eustace to don his armour and to take his place beside him. a siege it was upwards of an hour before a body of horsemen could be heard approaching. they came at a leisurely pace, for the bonfire on the road and that on the keep had apprised them that their hope of taking the castle by surprise had been frustrated by the disobedience of some of their men, who, in defiance of the strictest orders to the contrary, had set fire to several houses in the village after having plundered them. sir eustace, accompanied by his esquire and guy, descended from the wall and crossed the drawbridge to the outwork. as soon as the horsemen came within bow-shot of the castle they lighted some torches, and three knights, preceded by a trooper carrying a white flag, and two others with torches, came tow- ards the work. when within fifty yards of the postern they halted. "is sieur eustace de villeroy present?" "i am here," sir eustace replied, and at his order two men with torches took their place one on each side of him. "who are you that approach my castle in armed force?" "i am sir clugnet de brabant, admiral of france. these are sir manessier guieret and sir hugh de fruges, and we come in the name of the duke of orleans to summon you to admit a garrison of his highness's troops." "i am neither for orleans nor for burgundy," sir eustace replied. "i am a simple knight, holding my castle and es- tate as a vassal of the crown, and am ready to obey the orders of the king,—and of him only when he is in a condition of mind to give such orders. until then i shall hold my castle, and will admit no garrison whether of orleans or of bur- gundy." "we hold you to be but a false vassal of the crown, and we are told that at heart you are an enemy to france and de- voted to england." "i am a vassal of england for the estates of my wife in that at agincoukt country," sir eustace said; "and as at present there is a truce between the two nations, i can serve here the king of france as faithfully as if, in england, i should serve the king of england." "nevertheless, sir eustace, you will have to receive a gar- rison of orleans. i have at my back eight thousand men, and if you compel me to storm this hold of yours i warn you that all within its walls will be put to the sword." "thanks for your warning. sir knight; and i on my part warn you that, eight thousand though you be, i shall resist you to the death, and that you will not carry eight thousand away. as for sir hugh de fruges, i give him my open de- fiance. i know it is to him that i owe this raid; and if he be man enough, i challenge him to meet me in the morning on fair ground outside this postern, with lance and battle-axe, to fight to the death. if he conquers, my castle shall be sur- rendered to him, upon promise of good treatment and a safe- conduct to depart where they will for all within it; but if i slay him, you must give me your knightly oath that you and your following will depart forthwith." "the conditions would be hardly fair, sir eustace," sir clugnet said; "and though i doubt not that sir hugh would gladly accept them, i cannot permit him to do so. i have brought some eight thousand men here to capture this castle, and hold it for the duke of orleans, and i see not why i should march away with them because you may perchance prove a better fighter than sir hugh. i am ready, however, to give a safe-conduct to all within the walls if you will surrender." "that will i not do, sir clugnet. i hold this castle neither for burgundy nor orleans, and am ready to give pledge that i will not draw sword for either of these princes; but if that will not content you, you must even take my castle if you can, and i give you fair warning that it will cost you dear." a siege "then adieu, sir knight, until to-morrow morning, when we will talk in other fashion." "so be it," sir eustace replied, "you will not find me backward in returning any courtesies you may pay me." the knights turned away with their torch-bearers. "keep a close watch to-nijht, bouvard," sir eustace said. "mark you what the knight said,—adieu till the morning. had i to deal with a loyal gentleman i could have slept soundly, but with these adventurers it is different. it may be that he truly does not intend to attack till morning, but it is more likely that he used the words in order to throw us off our guard." "we will keep close ward, sir eustace. all the men-at- arms have their cross-bows, and though i say not that they can shoot like these english archers, they can shoot straight enough to do good work should those fellows attempt in force to cross the small moat and attack the gate. but if they come, me- thinks it will be but to try if we are wakeful; 'tis no light thing to attack even an outwork like this, with this loop from the moat surrounding it, without previous examination of the ground and reconnoitring of the castle." "they would not attempt to attack the fortress itself," sir eustace said; "but if they could seize this outwork by sur- prise it would mightily aid them in their attack on the fortress; at any rate i will send down five archers, and if any of the enemy crawl up to see how wide the water is here, and how the attempt had best be made, i warrant that they will not re- turn if the archers can but get a sight of them. post half your men on the wall, and let the others sleep; change them every two hours—we want no sleepy heads in the morning." by this time the confused sound of a large number of men marching could be made out, and a quarter of an hour later three or four cottages, some five hundred yards away, were at aotncourt fired, and an angry murmur broke from the men as the flames shot up. after sending down the five archers, sir eustace re- turned to his post over the main gate. "get cressets and torches in readiness to light if they at- tack the postern," sir eustace said; "we must have light to sec how things go, so that we may hoist the drawbridge as soon as our men are upon it, should the enemy get the better of them. be sure that one is not left behind; it were better that half a dozen of the enemy set foot on the drawbridge than that one of our brave fellows should be sacrificed." "i should think that there is no fear of their attacking until those flames have burnt down; we should see them against the light," john harpen said. "no, there is no fear of their attacking; but the fire would be of advantage if any men were crawling up to spy. of course they would not cross the slope in a line with the fire, but would work along on either side, reckoning, and with reason, that as our men would have the light in their eyes they would be all the less likely to make out objects crawling along in the shade by the side of the moat. plant half a dozen bowmen at intervals on the wall, tom, and tell them to keep a shrewd eye on the ground near the moat, and if they see aught moving there to try it with an arrow." there was shouting and noise up by the burning cottages, where the enemy were feasting on the spoils they had taken, and drinking from the wine-barrels that had been brought with them in carts from the last village that they had plun- dered. "i wish we were somewhat stronger, or they somewhat weaker," sir eustace said; "were it so, we would make a sally, and give the knaves a sharp lesson, but with only two hundred men against their eight thousand it would be mad- ness to try it; we might slay a good many, but might lose a siege a score before we were back in the castle, and it would be a heavy loss to us." "i was thinking that myself, sir eustace," his esquire said. "that is the worst of being on the defence; one sees such chances but cannot avail one's self of them." in the castle everything was quiet, and all those not on duty were already asleep. along the wall watchers stood at short intervals peering into the darkness, but the main body there were also stretched on the wall with their arms by their side until required to be up and doing. now that sir eustace was himself at the gate his esquire went round the walls at short intervals to be sure that the men on watch were vigilant. presently a loud cry was heard from the corner of the moat away to the right. "go and see what is doing, guy," sir eustace said, " and bring me news.'' guy ran along to the angle of the wall. here one of the archers was posted. "what is it, dickon?" "a man crept up to that corner opposite, master guy. i could not have sworn to him, it is so pesky dark, but i thought there was something moving there and shot almost at a venture, for i could scarce see the end of my arrow; but it hit there or thereabouts, for i heard him shout. a moment later he was on his feet and running. i could see him more plainly then, so i shot again, and over he went. i fancy that in the morning you will see my arrow sticking up somewhere between his shoulder-blades, though there is no saying pre- cisely, for a nicety of shooting is not to be looked for in the dark." "you have done very well, dickon. keep your eyes open; we may be sure there are more than one of these fel- lows about." at agincourt guy hurried back with the news. "that is good," said sir eustace, "and it was just as well that the archer did not kill him outright with his first arrow, the cry will show any of his comrades who may be about that they had best keep their distance from the walls." a minute's silence followed, and then long tom said, "there is another has had his lesson, sir eustace. i heard a bow twang across there, and as there was no cry you may be sure that the shaft sped straight, and that the man had no time to utter one." "he may have been missed altogether, tom." "missed altogether! no indeed, sir eustace, there is no fear of that. there is not one of the men on the wall who would miss a man whose figure he could make out at fifty yards' distance, and they would scarce see them until they were as close as that. no, my lord, would wager a month's pay that when morning dawns there is a dead man lying somewhere in front of the outwork." "now, guy, you had best go up to your room and lie down until daylight," sir eustace said. "there will be naught doing to-night, and unless i am mistaken, we shall be busy from sunrise till sunset. i shall myself lie down for a couple of hours presently, and then send john harpen to rest till daylight. long tom, see that you yourself and all your men take a short sleep by turns; we shall need your eyes to be open above all others to-morrow." guy promptly obeyed the order. dame margaret was still up. "is everything quiet, guy?" she asked as she entered. "so quiet, my lady, that sir eustace has ordered me to bed, and he said that he himself should comedown for a short sleep presently. two spies who crawled up have been slain by the archers. sir eustace is sure that no attack will be made before morning." a siege . » then he went into his little room and threw himself onto his pallet. during the first few minutes he lifted his head several times fancying that he heard noises; then he fell into a sound sleep and did not awake until the day dawned. in a few minutes guy was on the wall. the night had passed quietly; so far as was known no fresh attempt at re- connoitring the works had been made, and as the moon had risen soon after he had gone to bed there was reason to believe that the fact that the two spies had not returned was so strong a proof of the vigilance of the garrison, that the enemy had been content to wait until morning. just as the sun rose the three knights who had summoned the castle on the preceding evening appeared on the brow of the opposite slope, accom- panied by a body of men-at-arms, and rode slowly round the castle. from time to time they halted, and were evidently engaged in a discussion as to the point at which it could be best attacked. "shall i shoot, my lord?" long tom asked. "they are some two hundred and fifty yards away, but from this height methinks that i could reach them." "it would be useless," sir eustace said; "you could hit them, i doubt not, but you would not pierce their armour at this distance, and it is as well that they should not know how far our bows will carry until we are sure of doing execution when we shoot; besides i would rather that they began the fight. the quarrel is not one of my seeking, and i will leave it to them to open the ball. it is true that they did so last night by sending their spies here, but we have balanced that account. moreover, if they are to attack, the sooner the better. they may have gained news from sir hugh of the coming here of the english archers and the men-at-arms, but if they have not done so we shall have a rare surprise in store for them." after the knights had made a circuit of the castle they re- a siege and throats were for the most part unprotected. man after man fell, and the cross-bow bolts also told heavily upon the crowd. they had come down but a short distance farther when long tom, and the archers with him on the wall, began to send their arrows thick and fast, and the machines hurled heavy stones with tremendous force among them. a moment later the french broke and fled up the slope again, leaving some fifty of their number stretched on the ground. the knights followed more slowly. when they reached the crest a group of them gathered around sir clugnet de brabant. "by my faith," the latter said bitterly, "we have reckoned without our host, sir knights. we came to shear, but in good sooth we seem more likely to go back shorn. truly those knaves shoot marvellously; scarce an arrow went astray." "as i mentioned to you, sir clugnet," sir hugh de fruges said, " sir eustace brought with him from england five-and-twenty bowmen, and i heard tell from men who had seen them trying their skill at targets that they were in no wise inferior to those with whom we have before had to deal to our cost.'' "truly ye did so, sir hugh; but the matter made no impression upon my mind, except as a proof that the knight's inclinations were still with england, and that it were well that his castle were placed in better keeping; but in truth these fellows shoot marvellously, both for strength and trueness of aim. i marked as we came back that of the men we passed lying there, nigh all those who had been struck with arrows were hit in the face or throat, and yet the distance must have been over a hundred and fifty yards." "i can answer for the force," one of the others said, "for u at agincourt a shaft struck me fairly on the chest, and hurled me to the ground as if it had been the shock of a lance, and it is well my mail was of the best work of milan; but nevertheless the arrow broke two of the links; if the distance had been shorter, i doubt not that it would have slain me. well, what shall we do next, gentlemen? for very shame we cannot with eight thousand men march away having accom- plished nothing. the question is, where shall our next attack be delivered?" "methinks," another knight said, "we delivered our attack too rashly. had i known that there were english archers there i should have advised waiting until nightfall, and i think that it would be best to do so now. if we take our fellows up while there is light they will suffer so much from the stings of these wasps that they will soon lose heart. the knaves shoot not only straight and strong, but they shoot so fast that though, as you say, there may be but twenty-five of them, the air seemed full of arrows, and had you told us that there were two hundred archers shooting, i should have thought the estimate a reasonable one." they stood for some time discussing the best method of attack, and as soon as they had settled upon it the men were told to scatter. some were to go to the farmhouses and bring up any hides that might be stored there, and to fetch all the hurdles they could lay hands upon; a portion were to go to the woods and cut timber for making mantlets and cover, while two thousand were to remain under arms in case the garrison should make a sortie. within the castle all were in high spirits at the easy repulse of the first attack. "sir clugnet must have learned from sir hugh of my having english archers and men-at-arms here," sir eustace said to his lieutenant, "and yet he advanced as carelessly a siege and confidently as if he had been attacking a place defended only by fat flemish burghers; however, he has had his lesson, and as it is said he is a good knight, he will doubtless profit by it, and we shall hear no more of him till after the sun has set. run up to the top of the keep, guy, and bring me back news what they are doing." in a few minutes the lad returned. "there are two or three thousand of them, my lord, drawn up in a body beyond the crest; the rest of them are scattering in various direc- tions." "that is as i expected," sir eustace remarked; "they have gone to prepare materials for a regular attack. it may be delivered to-night, or may be delayed for a day or two; however, we shall be ready for them. jean bouvard, do you go round the walls and tell all, save a few as sentries, to retire until the watchman blows his horn to warn us if they seem to be gathering for an attack; and do you, long tom, give the same orders to your archers. there is no use wasting the men's strength till the work begins in earnest. if sir clugnet is wise he will march away at once. he would need heavy machines and cannon to make a breach in our walls, and even had he an abundance of them it would take him some time to do so. if he tries again, you may be sure that it will be the work of sir hugh de fruges, who has no doubt a lively interest in the matter. he is a clever fellow, and will no doubt do his best to work on the feelings of the other knights by representing that it would be disgraceful for so large a force to abandon the enterprise merely because a first hasty attack, delivered without preparation, had been repulsed. the fact that they have made so careful an examination of the castle would seem in itself to show that they intended to renew the attempt in another form if the first onset failed, and, more- •is at agincourt over, the scattering of the force afterwards while the knights still remained with a large body here points in the same direction." guy on descending from the keep joined sir eustace and his wife in their apartments. "the lad has borne himself bravely," sir eustace said approvingly to his wife; "he was standing beside me when their shot was bringing down the dust round our ears, and he neither started nor flinched, though in truth it was far from pleasant, especially as we had nothing to do but to look on. it may be next time we shall have sterner fighting, and i doubt not that he will bear himself well." "could i not come up and carry your messages, father?" henry asked; "i am not strong like guy, but i could do that." "he is too young for it yet, eustace," dame margaret broke in. "nay, wife," the knight said gently, "the lad is not too young for such service. there will be little danger in it, for his head will not show over the battlements, and it is well that he should learn to hear without fear the whizz of an arrow or the shock of a great stone from a ballista, the clash of arms, and the shouting of men. as he says, he is not yet strong enough to bear arms, but he will learn to brace his nerves and show a bold front in danger; that is a lesson that cannot be learned too young. yes, henry, you shall be my messenger. if they try an assault to-night, you shall put on for the first time the steel cap and breastpiece i had made for you in england; there will be no danger of your being hit by cross- bow bolt or arrow, but there may be splinters of stone flying when a missile hits the battlement. take no arms with you, only your dagger; they would be useless to you, and would hamper your movements in getting past the men on the wall, a siege or in running up and down the steps leading to it. now you had better lie down; both guy and myself are going to do so. at sunset, if no alarm comes before, you will be called." "we must not coddle the boy, margaret," he said as guy and henry went off. "i know that he is not physically strong as yet, and sorry i am that it should be so, but he might exert himself more than he does, and he is apt to think too much of his ailments. i was glad when he volunteered to do something, for it is at least as well that he should be able to stand fire even if he cannot learn the use of arms; moreover, it may be that after once bearing a part in a fray he may incline more warmly to warlike exercises than he has hitherto done; it may rouse in him a spirit which has so far been wanting. i have often thought that it would have been better if agnes had been the boy and he the girl; she has far more courage and fire than he has. you remember when that savage bull chased them, how she saw him first over the stile and got tossed over after him for her pains?" dame margaret nodded. "i am not likely to forget it, eustace, seeing that her arm was broken and i had to nurse her for six weeks. do you know that she was up on the top of the keep while the fighting was going on? of course i was there myself, and she begged so hard to be allowed to re- main with me that i had not the heart to say her nay.'' "was henry there too?" "oh, yes; and shouted with the best of them when the enemy fled over the hill. even charlie was there, and as excited as either of them. of course, i had to hold him up sometimes for him to be able to see what was going on; and he looked rather pale at first, when they opened fire, but he soon plucked up when he saw that their shot did no damage near us. you see he is a strong healthy boy; while henry at agincourt has always been weak, although i do not think that he lacks courage.'' "he ought not, wife; he comes from a fighting stock on either side. but i fear that unless he changes greatly he is cut out rather for a monk than a man-at-arms. and now i will lie down, for you may be sure that i shall not close an eye to-night. did you note the banner of hugh de fruges with the others?" "yes, and i felt more uncomfortable after seeing it. he is a crafty man, eustace." "he is not a brave one," the knight said scornfully. "i challenged him to meet me outside in a fair field, and the craven did not answer me, and sir clugnet had to make speech for him and decline the offer." "you will need all your vigilance, eustace. i trust that every man within the walls is faithful to us; but if there be a traitor, be sure that sir hugh will endeavour to plot with him, nay, he may already have done so." "they would have no chance of making communication with him were there a dozen of them, wife. eong tom and his comrades will take good care that none come near enough for speech." the day passed away in perfect quiet. from time to time word came down from the look-out that the scattered soldiers were returning laden with a great quantity of young trees, wattles, and doors. dame margaret kept watch in her room, and allowed no messengers to enter her husband's apartments. "if there be need, i will wake him," she said; "but he knows well enough what the french have gone for, and there is naught to do until they advance to the attack." guy slept but a short time, and as he frequently started up under the impression that the horn was sounding an alarm, in the afternoon he got up and went down into the court- a siege yard. for some time he wandered about in the quarters occupied by the tenants. these had now settled down; the children were playing about as unconcernedly as if they had been on their fathers' farms; women were washing clothes or preparing the evening meal over little charcoal fires. a cer- tain quantity of meat had been served out to each family, and they were therefore doing better than in their own houses, for meat was a luxury seldom touched by the french peasantry. almost all who had entered the castle had brought with them a supply of herbs and vegetables; these, with a hand- ful or two of coarsely-ground meal boiled into broth, consti- tuted their usual fare, and the addition of a portion of meat afforded them great satisfaction. some of the men were still asleep, in preparation for a long night's work; others were standing about talking in little groups; some were on the walls watching with gloomy faces the smoke wreaths that still rose from what had been their homes. ducks, geese, and hens walked about unconcernedly looking for any stray grains that had passed unnoticed when they had last been fed, and a chorus of dissatisfied grunting arose from the pigs that had a large pen in the yard next to the huts. these were still smarting under a sense of injury excited not only by their re- moval from their familiar haunts, but by the fact that most of them had been hastily marked by a clipping of some kind in the ear in order to enable their owners to distinguish them from the others. boys were carrying buckets of water from a well in the court-yard to the troughs for the cattle and horses, and the men-at-arms were cleaning their armour and polishing their steel caps. "well, tom, i hope we shall get on as well to-night as we did this morning," guy said to the leader of the archers. "i hope so, master guy, but i would rather fight by day than by night; it is random work when you can neither see at agincourt your mark nor look straight along your arrow. if we had a moon we should do well enough, but on these dark nights skill does not go for much; still, i doubt not that we shall give a good account of ourselves, for at any rate we shall be able to make them out before they come to close work. the women have l>een making a great store of torches to-day, and that will help us a bit, though i would that they could be planted fifty yards beyond the moat instead of on the walls, for although they will be of some use to us they will be of even more to the enemy. what think you that their plan will be?" "i should say that they are intending to march forward covered by mantlets of wattles and hides. they will plant them near the edge of the moat, and throw up some earth- works to shelter them and their machines; no doubt they will use the doors they have fetched from all the farmhouses for the same purpose." "the doors will be more to the point, certainly," the bowman said. "as to their hides and wattles, at fifty yards i will warrant our arrows go through them as if they were paper; but i cannot say as much about stout oaken doors— that is a target that i have never shot against; i fear that the shock would shiver the shafts. the mantlets too would serve them to some purpose, for we should not know exactly where they were standing behind them. as for their machines, they cannot have many of them." "they had something like a score of waggons with them, tom; these would carry the beams for half a dozen big ballistas; besides, they have their cannon." "i don't make much account of the cannon," the archer said; "they take pretty nearly an hour to load and fire them, and at that rate, however hard a shot may hit, it would be some time before they wrought much damage on a siege the walls. it is the sound more than the danger that makes men afraid of the things, and, for my part, i would not take the trouble of dragging them about. they are all very well on the walls of a castle, though i see not that even there they are of great advantage over the old machines. it is true that they shoot further, but that is of no great use. it is when the enemy come to attack that you want to kill them, and at fifty yards i would kill more men with my shafts in ten minutes than a cannon would do with a week's firing. i wonder they trouble to carry them about with them, save that folks are not accustomed to their noise yet, and might open their gates when they see them, while they would make a stout defence if they had only ballistas and mangonels to deal with. i suppose when they have got the shelters close to the moat they will bring up planks to throw across." "yes, no doubt they will try that, tom; but the moat is over wide for planks, and i think it more likely that they will have provided themselves with sacks, and filled them with earth, so as to make a passage across with them." "as to the planks not being long enough, master guy, they could get over that easy enough. they would only have to send three or four swimmers across the moat, then thrust long beams over for those who had crossed to fix firmly, and then lay short planks across them." "so they would, tom; i did not think of that. well, at any rate, i expect they will manage to get across the moat somehow and plant ladders against the wall." "and we shall chuck them down again," tom said. "they won't care much for that. but as long as they cannot knock a breach in the walls i warrant that we can hold them." at agincourt chapter iv a fatal accident s soon as the sun had set, the defenders gathered on the il walls. fires had already been lighted there and cauldrons of water and pitch suspended over them, and sacks of quick- lime placed in readiness to be emptied; great piles of stone were placed at short intervals. "as long as they attack at only one or two places," sir eustace said to his wife, "lam quite confident that we shall repulse them. if they attack at a dozen they may suc- ceed, as we should only have a couple of archers and six or seven men-at-arms at each point, besides a score or so of the vassals. i have no doubt that these will fight stoutly, for the sight of their burning homes has roused them, and each man is longing to get a blow at those who have wrought them so much damage. still, thirty men are but a small party to beat back an assault by hundreds. however, if they carry the outside wall they will have the second to deal with, and there we shall stand much thicker together, and they cannot attack from many points, while if we are driven into the keep, we shall be stronger still. have you seen that the women and children are ready to retire into the keep as soon as the assault begins?" "i have been round myself and given orders," dame margaret said. "i have told them that the inner gate will be closed as soon as fighting begins, and that those who do not come in before that must remain outside, or else mount to the walls and cross the bridges, for that on no account will the gates be opened again." a fatal accident "that is well, margaret. i am now about to station two men-at-arms on the inner wall at the end of each of the three bridges, so that they may be ready on the instant to turn the catches and let the bridges fall behind our men as they rush across. the tenants have already driven as many more of their best horses and cattle into the inner court as can find standing room, so that their loss may be as small as possible. if the outer wall is carried, i have no great fear that the second wall will be taken; the plunderers who form the mass of sir clugnet's force will have had enough and more than enough of fighting by the time that they capture the outer one. whatever happens, do not show yourself on the walls to-night, and see that the children do not leave their beds; you can do naught, and will see but little in the dark. to-morrow morning, wife, will leave you free to go among the soldiers and give them encouragement as may be needed, but for to-night, i pray you stir not out. i will send henry from time to time to let you know how matters go." rapidly the men gathered on the walls; each had had his post assigned to him, and when sir eustace made a tour of ins),ection he was glad to see how confidently each man bore himself, and how well prepared to give the enemy a warm reception. as soon as it became dark, the outwork on the other side of the moat was abandoned, the defenders called into the castle, and the drawbridge raised, for it was evident to sir eustace that although it might be maintained in day- light, by the aid of the archers on the wall, it could not resist an attack by overwhelming numbers when deprived of that assistance. sir eustace, after inspecting the men's arms, ordered all those on the walls, with the exception of a few who were to remain on watch, to sit down with their backs against the battlement, and to maintain an absolute silence. "it is by sound rather than sight that we shall be able to at agincourt judge of their movements," he said. "all sitting down may sleep, if it so pleases them, till they are roused." the sentries were ten in number, and were all taken from among the archers. most of these men had been accustomed to the chase, were skilled in woodcraft, and accustomed to listen to the slightest noises that might tell of the movement of a stag and enable them to judge his position. sir eustace, for the present, posted himself in his old position over the gate. jean bouvard and guy were with him, while long tom moved round and round the walls to gather news from his sentries. sometimes guy accompanied him. "they are moving," tom the archer said as he stood listening intently on the wall at the rear of the castle. "it is an hour past sundown, and about the time the knaves will be mustering if they intend to make a regular attack on us. if it had been only an escalade there would have been no sound until nearly morning. i thought i heard them on the other side, but i am sure of it now." "i can hear singing up at their camp," guy said, "but i don't hear anything else." "they are keeping that up to deceive us, i expect. but besides the singing there is a sort of rustle. i don't think that they are coming this way at present, or we should hear it plainer. it seems to me that it is spreading all round." "i will go back and tell sir eustace what you think, tom." guy hurried back to the other side of the castle. "long tom thinks, sir eustace, that he can hear a stir all round." "we have noticed it too—at least, all round this side. tell him not to call the men to their feet until the enemy approaches more closely. i believe that it is the march of a large number of men, and that they are probably moving to a fatal accident the positions assigned to them, but it may be another hour or two before they close in." in a short time the sound became more distinct; from a rustle it rose to a deep confused murmur, then an occasional clink as of arms striking armour became audible. most of the men on the walls were now on their feet gazing into the darkness. presently the sound ceased, first on one side and then on another. "i fancy they are all at their stations now, jean bouvard; we shall soon hear more of them. do not let your archers shoot, tom, until they can make them out very distinctly. we may be sure that they will come up with their mantlets, and it would be a waste of arrows to loose at them until they are close to the moat; but of course if separate figures can be distinguished your men will draw on them." in a quarter of an hour messengers came from various points on the wall saying that there was something moving within sight, and to those at the post over the gate a dark confused mass like a shadow seemed to be slowly coming down towards their outwork. "touch off the guns, jean," sir eustace said; "we shall get no further chance of catching them in a body." the captain stooped, lit two touchfires at the lantern stand- ing in readiness, gave one to a man-at-arms, and went with the other to a cannon. both the guns had been filled to the muzzle with bits of iron and nails, and had been laid to bear on the slope beyond the outwork. they were fired almost simultaneously, and the sound was followed by yells of pain and dismay. the besiegers, seeing that there was nothing further to gain by concealment, burst into a shout that ran all round the castle, and were answered by one of defiance from the walls. the sound was succeeded by loud orders from the leaders of the various assaulting parties, and r. at aoincourt the objects before but dimly seen, now approached tne walls rapidly. jean bouvard hurried away to superintend the defence at other parts. "you may as well go the other way, guy, and let me know from time to time how things are getting on. henry, run down to your mother and tell her that the enemy are moving up to the moat, and that it will be some time before there is any hard fighting; then come back here again." it was easier to see from the side walls than it had been in front, for in front there was a glow in the sky from the num- ber of fires burning beyond the crest of the slope, and guy was able to make out what seemed to him a wall extending some fifteen yards, near the edge of the moat. the archers and crossbow-men gathered opposite to it had just begun to shoot. behind this wall there were other dark masses irreg- ularly placed, and extending back as far as he could see. an occasional cry told that the arrows were doing execution upon the unseen assailants behind the mantlets, and soon the blows of cross-bow bolts against the wall and the sharp tap of arrows told that the enemy had also betaken themselves to their arms. a number of giant torches had been prepared, consisting of sheafs of straw soaked with pitch, and one of these was now lighted and elevated on a pole some fifteen feet above the battlement. its light was sufficient to enable the scene beyond to be clearly made out. a row of mantlets some eight feet high had been placed by the moat, and others of the same height, and seven or eight feet long, elevated at short intervals behind these, were so placed as to afford shelter to the men coming down to the mantlets in front. they stood in two lines; they were some twenty feet apart, but those in one line alternated with those in the other. guy soon saw the object of this arrangement. men were darting to and fro across the interval some six feet wide between the a fatal accident two lines. thus they had but ten feet to run from the shelter on one side to that on the other, and exposed them- selves but for an instant to the aim of the archers. some of the men carried great bundles of faggots, others had sacks on their shoulders. "do not heed the mantlets in front," said dickon, who was in command of the six archers near guy, "but pick off those fellows as they come down. shoot in turn; it is no use wasting two arrows on one man. don't loose your shaft until a man is within three mantlets from the end ; then if one misses, the next can take him when he runs across next time. that is right, hal," he broke off, as an arrow sped and a man with a sack on his shoulder rolled over. "now, lads, we ought not to miss them by this light." eleven men fell, out of the next twelve who attempted to carry their burdens down. guy went back to sir eustace with the news of the manner in which the attack was being carried on, and of the effect of the archers' defence. "i have just heard the same from the other side; there is one attack on each side and two behind; jean bouvard has posted himself there. i am going round myself now; i do not think there will be any attack made in front. i have sent the archers here to the rear, where they will be more useful; the fellows in the outwork across there have enough to do to shelter themselves." this guy could well understand, for although the guns could not be depressed sufficiently to fire down into the tete du pont, the mangonels were hurling stones into it, and the men-at-arms shooting cross-bow quarrels whenever a man showed himself. the rear of the outwork was open and afforded no shelter to those who had taken possession of it, and already the greater portion had retired to the other side of the small moat surrounding it, where they lay sheltered by at agincourt the outwork itself. it was not long before the assailants at the other points, finding that the plan they had formed was defeated by the skill of the archers, poured down in a mass between the two lines of mantlets, each man carrying his burden before him, thus sheltering him to a great extent. against this method of attack the archers could do little, and now confmed themselves to shooting at the men who, having thrown down the fascines or sacks by the edge of the moat, stood for a moment and hesitated before running back to the shelter of the mantlets, and not one in three got off scot- free. guy on going round the wall found the same state of things at each of the other three points of assault. numbers of the enemy were falling, but great piles of materials were accumulating at the edge of the moat. after a time a num- ber of knights and men-at-arms, fully protected by armour, came down and began to hurl the sacks and bags into the moat, their operations being covered as much as possible by a storm of missiles shot through holes in the mantlets. in a short time sir eustace ordered the archers to desist shooting, for they were obliged, in order to aim at those so much below them, to expose a considerable portion of their bodies, and three were killed by the enemy's missiles. "we can't prevent them from filling up the moat," he said, "and it is but throwing away life to try to do so." the archers were accordingly placed in the projecting turrets, where, without being themselves exposed, they could shoot through the loopholes at any point on the face of the walls. it was not long before the moat was bridged at all four points of attack. ladders were then brought down. this the assailants were able to accomplish without loss, as, instead of carrying them, they were pushed backwards and forwards by men stationed behind the mantlets, and were so zigzagged down to the moat without the defenders being able a fatal accident (il to offer any opposition. then rushes were made by parties of knights, the ladders were placed, and the fight began in earnest. in the great court-yard the leader of the english men-at- arms was placed with twelve of his men as a reserve. they were to be summoned by one, two, three, or four blasts of a horn to the point at which their services were most required. the assaults were obstinate, but the walls were as stoutly de- fended. sometimes the ladders were hurled back by poles with an iron fork at the end; buckets of boiling water and tar were poured over on to the assailants as they clambered up, and lime cast over on those waiting to take their turns to ascend; while with spear, axe, and mace the men-at-arms and tenants met the assailants as they endeavoured to get a footing on the wall. guy had placed himself with the party to which he had first gone, and, taking a pike from a fallen man, was fighting stoutly. the archers from their turrets kept up a constant flight of arrows on the crowd below. only once was the horn sounded for the aid of the reserve. sir eustace had taken the command at the rear, while jean bouvard headed the defence on the side opposite to that at which guy was fighting. the defenders under sir eustace had the hardest work to hold their own, being assaulted at two points. this was evidently the main place of attack, for here sir clugnet himself and several of his knights led the assault, and at one time succeeded in gaining a footing on the wall at one point, while sir eustace was at the other. then the knight blew his horn, and at the same time called the archers from the turret nearest to him, while some of the other party on the wall rushed to aid him of their own accord and, pressing through the tenants, opposed themselves to the knights and men-at-arms who had obtained a footing on the wall. at agincourt their strength, and the power with which they wielded their heavy axes, so held the assailants in check that they could not gain space sufficient tor others to join them, and when the reserve ran up, so fierce an attack was made upon the knights that several were beaten down and the rest forced to spring over the wall at the risk of life and limb. sir clugnet himself was the last to do this, and was carried away insensible. two or three of his companions were killed by the fall, but the rest, leaping far enough out to alight beyond the solid ground at the foot of the walls, had their fall broken by the yielding mass of materials by which they had crossed the moat. a loud shout of triumph rose from the defenders, and was re-echoed by shouts from the other walls. as soon as the news of the repulse at the rear reached the other parties, and that sir clugnet was badly hurt, while several of the knights were killed, the assault ceased at once, and the orleanists withdrew, followed by derisive cries from the de- fenders. "thanks be to the saints that it is all over," sir eustace said, as he opened his vizor; "it was a close thing here, and for a time i feared that the outer wall was lost. however, i think that there is an end of it now, and by the morning we shall find that they have moved off. they must have suf- fered very heavily; certainly three or four hundred must have fallen, for we must admit that they fought stoutly. you have all done well, my friends, and i thank you heartily. now, the first thing is to fetch the wounded down to the hall pre- pared for them. father gregory has all in readiness for them there. guy, go round and find who have fallen, and see them carried reverently down to the court-yard, send me a list of their names, and place two men-at-arms at each point where the assault took place. tom, do you similarly dispose eight of your archers so that should they a fatal accident send a spy up to see if we sleep, a message can be sent back in the shape of a cloth-yard shaft. bid all the tenants and retainers leave the wall; a horn will recall them should there be need. i will myself visit them shortly, and thank them for their stout defence. i will send round a cup of spiced wine to each man on the wall as soon as it can be prepared, so that all may slake their thirst after their efforts." sir eustace then made his way down from the wall to his apartments, where dame margaret was awaiting him. she hurried to meet him. "wait, wife, till i have removed my helmet, and even then you must be careful how you embrace me, for methinks there is more than one blood - stain on my armour, though happily not of mine own. all has gone well, love, and me- thinks that we shall hear no more of them; but they fought more stoutly than i had given them credit for, seeing that they were but a mixed rabble, with a small proportion of real men-at-arms among them. i suppose henry brought you my message to close the inner gates, as they had gained a footing on the walls." "no, i received no message since the one he brought me half an hour ago, saying that all was going well, and i thought that he was with you. where can he be, eustace?" she asked anxiously. "i know not indeed, margaret, but will search at once. while i do so will you go to the hall that you have prepared for the wounded, and give what aid you can there? do not fear for the boy; he turned and ran off when i spoke to him, and as his head reaches not to the top of the battlements no harm can have befallen him, though in truth i cannot think what can have delayed him." he called to two or three of the men below to take torches, and to accompany him at once, and sent others to the sheds i; at aglncourt to ask if he had been seen there, then went up to the top of the inner wall and crossed the bridge at the back. "have any of you seen aught of my son henry?" he asked the men there. "no, my lord," one said in reply. "i marked him by our side just before the french got a footing at the other end of the wall, but i saw him not afterwards." "he ran towards the steps at the corner there," sir eus- tace said, " with a message from me that the inner doors were to be closed. come along, men," he said to those with torches, and going to the corner of the wall descended the steps, which were steep and narrow. he took a torch from one of the men and held it over his head. as he neared the bottom he gave a low cry and ran down the last few steps, where, lying at the bottom, was the form of his son. he was stretched at full length, and there was a terrible gash on his forehead. the knight knelt beside him and raised his head, from which the steel cap had fallen; there was a deep stain of blood on the pavement beneath. he placed his hand on the boy's heart and his ear to his lips, and the men with the torches stood silently round. it was but too evident what had hap- pened. in his haste to carry the message henry's foot had slipped, and he had fallen headforemost down the steep steps, his head coming in contact with the edge of one of them. without a word sir eustace raised the boy gently in his arms. his face was sufficient to tell the men the news; their young lord was dead. sir eustace carried him through the inner gate and up to the boy's own room, and laid him down on his bed, then si- lently he went out again and crossed the court to the keep. dame margaret was seeing to the wounded being laid on the straw in the lower room, and did not notice him until he touched her. she turned sharply round, his face was sufficient "sir eustace gave a i.oud cry, for lying at the bottom of the stair was the form of his son." a fatal accident to tell her the truth. she gave a low cry and stepped back a pace, and he moved forwards and drew her to him. "love," he said tenderly, "god has taken him. he was fitter for heaven than any of us; he was too gentle for this rough world of ours. we shall mourn for him, but with him it is well." dame margaret laid her head on his shoulder, and burst into a passion of tears. sir eustace let her weep for a time, then he whispered: "you must be brave, my love. there will be other mourn- ers here for their dear ones who have died fighting for us; they will need your comfort. a villeroy could not die bet- ter than doing his duty. it was not by man's hand that he fell, but god took him. his foot slipped in running down the stair from the wall, and he must assuredly have died with- out a pang. take the priest with you; i will see to the wounded here. father gregory," he went on, raising his voice, " dame margaret has more need of you at the present moment than have these brave fellows. a grievous misfortune has befallen us. my son is dead; he fell while doing his duty. do you take her to his room; i give her to your charge for the present. i have my work to do, and will see that your patients are well cared for." there was a murmur of surprise and regret from the wounded and those who had brought them in. the poor lad had been a general favourite in the castle for his gentle and pleasant ways with all, though many a time the rough soldiers had said among themselves, "'tis a pity that he was not a girl, and the lady agnes a boy. he is more fit for a priest than for a baron in times like these, for assuredly he will never grow into a stout man-at-arms like his father." that a soldier should have been killed in such a fight was to be expected, but that a gentle boy like this should have fallen seemed strange and at agincourt unnatural, and all sorrowed for him as well as for their lord and lady, and the men forgot for a time the smart of their wounds in their regret at his untimely death. sir eustace went about his work quietly and earnestly, bound up the soldiers' wounds, and saw as far as might be to their comfort. their number was not large, as it was only in the fight on the wall that aught save their heads had been ex- posed, and those struck by cross-bow bolts had for the most part fallen as they stood. the eight men brought in had with- out exception received wounds from the swords of the french knights, and though some of the gashes were broad and deep, none of them were likely to prove fatal. just as the knight had fmished, guy entered. he had heard the news, which had spread like wildfire through the castle. the lad's eyes were red, for he had been greatly attached to henry, whose constant companion he had been whenever the family had been at their english home. "it is a strange fate, lad," sir eustace said, laying his hand upon guy's shoulder. "you who have exposed your- self freely—for i marked you in the light—have come through scatheless, while henry, whom thought to keep out of dan- ger, has fallen. and what is your news?" "there have been seventeen killed, my lord, besides jean bouvard, who was struck in the face by one of the last cross- bow bolts shot before they drew off." "this is bad news indeed. i wondered why he came not to me as soon as we had beaten them off, but i thought not of this. he was a good and trustworthy fellow, and i shall miss him sorely. seventeen, say you? it is too many; and yet there might have been more. who are they?" "four of our archers, sir eustace, one of our english men- at-arms, and six of your french men-at-arms. these were all killed by cross-bow bolts and arrows. two of your ten- a fatal accident ants, pierre leroix and jules beaune, and four of their men fell on the wall when the french gained a footing there; three were, i hear, unmarried men, the other has left a wife and three children." "they shall be my care," the knight said. "the wives of leroix and beaune shall hold their farms free of dues until their eldest sons come of age. does all seem quiet without?" "all is quiet, my lord; but as i left the wall but now a knight with a white flag and four torch-bearers was coming down the slope towards the outwork." "i will go there myself," sir eustace said; "'tis likely they do but come to ask for leave to carry off the dead and wo mded, which we will gladly let them do, for it will save us much trouble to-morrow." it was as the knight had supposed, and he at once gave the permission asked for, and in a short time a great number of men with torches came down the slope and for the next two hours were occupied in carrying off their dead and wounded comrades. a close watch was maintained all night, though there was small fear of a renewal of the attack. at daybreak the rear-guard of the enemy could be seen retiring, and a party of men-at-arms, under sir eustace himself, on going out to reconnoitre, found that none had remained behind. a mound marked the place where their dead had been buried in one great grave. many of the mantlets had been removed, and they doubted not that these had been used as litters for the conveyance of the wounded. they afterwards heard that some four hundred and fifty men had been killed, and that over a hundred, too sorely wounded to be able to walk, had been carried away. in the afternoon henry was buried beneath the chapel in the castle, while the men-at-arms and others were laid in the inner court-yard. having learned that the orleanists, greatly at agincoitrt disheartened at their heavy repulse, had marched away to the south, the gates of the castle were opened. a small number of the garrison were retained in the castle, and the rest were sent out to aid the tenants in felling trees and getting up tem- porary shelters near their former homes until these could be rebuilt as before. for the time their wives and families were to remain in the castle. all fear of another attack by the orleanists speedily passed away. artois was, upon the whole, strongly burgundian, and an army marching from flanders speedily brought the whole province over to that side. nothing was done towards com- mencing the work of rebuilding the farmhouses, for it was evi- dent that the castle might at any moment be again belea- guered. two months passed quietly. sir eustace busied himself in seeing that the tenants were comfortably re-established in their temporary homes. the burgundians had again obtained sev- eral advantages, and as sir clugnet was known to have marched away with his following to the assistance of the or- leanists, who had of late fared badly, there was no fear of any fresh attack being made upon the castle. one day a messen- ger rode in from the governor of calais, who was personally known to sir eustace. the letter that he carried was an im- portant one. after the usual greeting it read :— for the love i bear you, sir eustace, i write to let you know that there is a change in affairs. it seems that the duke of burgundy has but been playing with our king henry, and that the offer of a marriage was made only in order to obtain assist- ance and the countenance of the king. being now, as it would seem, powerful enough to hold his cnun against his enemies with- out such aid, the matter has fallen through. i have received a royal order, which has also been sent to the governors of other a fatal accident co english towns, and it has been proclaimed everywhere by sound of trumpets, that none of henry s subjects of whatever rank should in any way interfere between the two factions in france, nor go into france to serve either of them by arms or otherwise under pain of death and confiscation of fortune. but i would tell you for your private ear, that i have news that our king is in correspondence with the dukes of berri, orleans, and bourbon, and that it is like that he will shortly declare for that party, being grievously offended at the treatment that he has received at the hands of the duke of burgundy after having given him loyal help and assistance which had, in no slight degree, assisted him in making good his cause against his ene- mies. in a short time, indeed, the english from calais, and from other places held by them in france, began to make sorties and to carry off much plunder from the country round, and especially took by storm the castle of banelinghen near ardres, notwithstanding the truce that prevailed. the intentions of the king of england were made still more manifest by his writing a letter to the flemish towns, saying that, having heard that the duke of burgundy was gathering an army of flemings to march into aquitaine to wage war upon and de- stroy his subjects, and particularly his very dear and well-be- loved cousins the dukes of berri, orleans, and bourbon, and the counts of alencon and armagnac, and the lord d'albreth, he therefore begged them to inform him whether they were willing to conform to the truce concluded between them and england without in any way assisting their lord in his wicked purpose. the flemish towns replied that they desired in no way to infringe the truce between the two countries, but that they would serve and assist the king of france, their sovereign lord, to at agincourt and their count the duke of burgundy, as heretofore, to the utmost of their power. in a short time, indeed, it became known that a solemn treaty had been concluded between the king of england and the orleanist nobles, they engaging to aid him to recover guienne and the parts of aquitaine he had lost, while he promised to put an army in the field to assist them. the position of sir eustace was now very difficult. it was uncertain when the english would move, and it was likely enough that if an army set sail it would land in guienne, and that calais would be able to render no assistance, so that he would be exposed to the attacks of the burgundiaas. nor was his position improved when he learned that on the th of july the two french factions, urged by the count of savoy, the grand master of rhodes, and many others, had agreed to terms of peace between them, and that the orleanists had for- mally renounced the english alliance. at the meeting of the leaders of the party, the duke of aquitaine, the king's son, presided. for a time all the differ- ences were patched up. the news, however, came too late to arrest the embarkation of the english. eight thousand men landed at la hogue, under the duke of clarence, overran a wide extent of country, being reinforced by gascons, who had, according to the agreement with the orleanists, been raised to join them. they advanced towards paris, declaring, however, that they would retire if the duke of berri and his party kept their engagement with them, and paid them the two hundred thousand crowns he had agreed to do. the duke had not, however, the means to pay this amount, and the english therefore continued to ravage the country, while a large force from calais, under the earl of warwick, capt- ured the town of saumer-au-bois and the castle of ruissault. this, however, was scarcely an invasion, and sir eustace, be- a fatal accident ing doubtful whether henry meditated operations upon a large scale now that he had no longer allies in france, took no part in the matter, but remained quietly in his castle. towards the end of march, , a royal herald appeared before the gate. he was at once admitted, and was received with all honour in the great hall by sir eustace. "sir eustace de villeroy." he said, "i come to you in the name of the king of france, your lord and suzerain. he bids me to say that he has heard with satisfaction that you re- fused entry to your castle to those who demanded it altogether without authority from him; but that, seeing the importance of the castle in case of trouble with england, and that you are a vassal of england for estates in that country, he deems it necessary that its safety should be assured, and therefore calls upon you to send, in proof of your loyalty to and affection for him, your wife and children to paris, where they shall be cared for in all honour and as becomes their condition; or to receive a garrison of royal troops of such strength as to defend it from any fresh assault that may be made upon it, either on the part of those who before attacked it, or of england. he charges you on your fealty to accept one or other of these conditions, or to be deemed a false vassal, which he cannot believe you are, knowing you to be a brave and worthy knight. here is a document with the king's signature and seal to the effect which i have delivered to you." "his majesty's demands come upon me as a surprise," the knight said gravely, "and i pray you to abide with me till to-morrow, by which time i shall have had leisure to con- sider the alternative and be ready to give you answer." "your request is a reasonable one, sir eustace," the her- ald replied, "and i will await the answer for twenty-four hours.'' the herald was then conducted to the guest-chamber, and at agincourt sir eustace went out into the court-yard and for some time busied himself with the usual affairs of his estate and talked to the tenants as to their plans; then he went up on to the wall and there paced moodily backwards and forwards think- ing over the summons that he had received. he knew that margaret had been in the gallery in the hall and had heard the message the herald had delivered, and he wished to think it well over before seeing her. his position was, he felt, a perilous one. the last treaty of peace between france and england had drawn the frontier line more straitly in. after cressy was fought, but a few miles away, villeroy had stood within the english line as far as it now stood without it. that henry, who although now old and averse to war, must yet ere long again renew the war that had so long languished he had little doubt; but he had no hope of succour at present, and felt that though able to withstand any sudden attack like that he had recently repulsed, he could not hope to make a successful defence against a great force provided with batter- ing machines. the message from the king was indeed but a message from burgundy, but if burgundy was all-powerful just at present it had the same effect as if it were the king and not he who had sent the summons. he could see no way of temporizing save that margaret and the children should go as hostages, and the idea of this was wholly repugnant to him. were he to admit a french garrison the castle would be virtually lost to him; for once powerless, he could easily be set aside in favour of one of burgundy's followers. the only alternative then seemed to be that he should altogether forsake the castle and estate so long held by his ancestors, and retire to england, until maybe some day henry might again place him in pos- session of it. he regretted now that he had not told mar- garet that she had best keep her chamber, for she then would hostages have known nothing of the alternative that she should go as a hostage—an alternative, he foresaw, that she was likely to favour, as by so doing the necessity for making an absolute decision and choosing between france and england would be i,ostponed. at length, still undecided in his mind, he de- scended from the wall and went up to his wife's apartments. chapter v hostages margaret rose to meet her husband when he entered. she had looked pale in her dress of deep mourning be- fore, but he thought that she looked paler now. she, too, had evidently been thinking over the summons that he had received, and there was an expression of firmness and resolu- tion in her face that seemed to say that she had arrived at a more definite conclusion than he had done. "'tis a knotty question, wife," sir eustace said. "in the first place, it is clear we cannot hope to defend the castle successfully against an attack by burgundy. the last was but of the character of a raid, the next would be a serious siege by experienced soldiers provided with all proper means and appliances. before, it was certain that sir clugnet would, if he tarried here, be shortly attacked by the burgundians, whereas now there would be no prospect of assistance. there is no hope of help from england, for there is no force in calais that could contend with that which would probably be sent against me; therefore i take it that if attacked the castle must in the end fall, in which case probably its defend- at ac.incourt ers would all be put to the sword. i myself should most likely be killed, the estates forfeited, and you and the chil- dren taken prisoners to paris. now it seems to me that that is not to be thought of. it remains to decide, therefore, whether we shall abandon the castle and journey to england, or whether we will admit a burgundian garrison, which will in fact, we may be sure, be the first step towards losing the castle and estate altogether. it seems to me that the first will be the best plan. i see no chance of it at present, but in time henry may invade france; and as we lie only some seven or eight miles from the frontier he would doubtless re- capture villeroy, and we should again become its masters." "you have not mentioned the other alternative, eustace, namely, that i and the children should go to paris as hos- tages; and this, it seems to me, is the best of the three to fol- low. if there were indeed a chance of an english invasion i should not say so, but i think not that there is any such pros- pect. it is many years since england has done aught in earnest, and during all that timeher power in france has been waning. i would not that our children should lose this fair estate when it can well be preserved by some slight sacrifice on my part. were i and the children to go to paris it would put an end to all doubts as to your loyalty, and you would hold the castle and estates. the peace now patched up between the parties will not last, and as soon as they are engaged with each other, and have no time to spare to think of attacking you here, i will endeavour to escape with the children and rejoin you. i shall assuredly have no cause for complaint. i shall, of course, have honourable treatment, and apartments fitting to our rank assigned to me. it would be no great hardship, and even were it so it would be worth enduring in order that our son charles should inherit his father's estate." "i could not part from you, love." hostages "nay, eustace, as i have said, it cannot be for long; and you must remember that twice when the children were in- fants i remained in england with them while you were some months here. it would be no worse now. i would take guy with me; the lad has sense and courage, the children are both fond of him, and i myself could, if occasion arose, take counsel with him. then i could have two or three stout men-at-arms who might ride in my train in peaceful garb as retainers. as to a maid i can, if i need one, hire her in paris. surely, husband, it would be far better so than that we should lose castle and land. there could be little danger to one in paris at any time, still less to the wife of a vassal of the crown, least of all to a hostage. i shall be but staying at the court. if you peril life and limb, eustace, in defence of your castle, surely it is not much that i should put myself to the slight inconvenience of a stay in paris for a while." "i like it not," the knight said moodily. "i see well enough that what you say is true, and that you should be safe at charles's court, indeed safer than here. the citizens of paris are indeed turbulent, whether they shout for orleans or burgundy, but what if henry of england should again lead an army here ?'' "but why imagine what is not likely to happen? long ere henry comes i may have joined you again; should it be otherwise i might perhaps escape, or at the very worst of all they could but keep me in duress in my chamber. who ever heard of a woman being ill-treated for the disobedience of her lord? all that they could do would be to make you pay ransom for my return." "i would rather go as a hostage myself." "nay, husband, that could hardly be. who would then take care of your castle? it is not a hard thing that the king asks, merely that i and the children shall for a time live at agincourt at his court as a proof that you, his vassal, hold your castle for him. even if the worst comes to the worst we can but lose castle and land, as we must lose it now if i do not go. nay, my dear lord, do not wrinkle your brow, we cannot strive against the might of france; and at present we must bow our heads and wait until the storm has passed, and hope for better times. there may be an english war; ere long henry may again extend his frontiers, and you might again become a vassal of england for these possessions of yours even as your fathers were." "i see that reason is on your side, margaret, and yet i cannot bring myself to like the plan." "nor do i like it, husband; yet i feel that it were a thou- sand times better that i should be separated from you for a time than that we should risk another siege. the last has cost us dear enough, another might take you from me." "well, well, dear, i suppose you must have your way; in- deed i do not see that harm can possibly come to you, and it will at any rate ensure peace for a time and enable us to re- pair our tenants' losses. i shall send over a message at once to sir aylmer, and beg him to choose and send me another fifty archers — with that reinforcement i could make head against any attack save in the greatest force—for there is no saying how things may go. the five-and-twenty did wonders, and with thrice that force i should feel confident that villeroy could withstand any attack save by an army with an abun- dance of great machines. "well, margaret, since you have decided for me that you are to go—and indeed i myself plainly see that that alterna- tive is really the best—let us talk over who you had best take with you. i quite approve of your choice of guy; he is a good lad, and will make a brave knight some day. i shall now make him one of my esquires, and as such he will always hostages be in attendance on you; and assuredly agnes and charlie will, as well as yourself, benefit by his presence. he will be able to take them out and look after them, and as he talks french as well as english the lad will be useful to you in many ways. have you any preference as to the four men-at- arms ?' "could you spare tom, the leader of the archers? i should like to have another englishman with me, and he is very good-tempered and obliging. he is shrewd too, and with his strength and courage i should feci that i could wholly rely upon him in any strait, though indeed i see not that there is any probability of such occurring." "certainly you can have him, margaret, and i shall be glad to know that he is with you. dickon, who is next under him, can act as captain of the archers while he is away. i have noticed that tom is picking up the language fast. he is always ready to do little kindnesses to the women and chil- dren, and i have often heard him talking with them. he will soon get to speak the language fairly. as to the others have you any choice?" "no, i think you had better choose them for me, eus- tace. '' "they had better be french," he said; "it would not do for you to surround yourself entirely by english, although of course it is natural enough that you should have an english squire and servant. think that you could not do better than take jules varey and albert bongarde. they are both stout men-at-arms, prudent fellows, and not given to the wine-cup. as a fourth i would say jean picard's son; he is a stout fel- low too, and i know that, but for his father's hopes that he will one day succeed him as butler, he would have taken ser- vice regularly as a man-at-arms. he fought stoutly when the french gained the wall, and i marked him exchanging blows at agincourt with sir clugnet himself, and bearing himself as well as any man there. you could choose no better." "so be it," she said. "i think, eustace, that with four such defenders, to say nothing of young guy, you need not feel uneasy about us." "i don't think that i shall feel uneasy, margaret; but i know that i can ill spare you. you have ever been at my side since we were married, save when, after the birth of agnes and charles, you were forced to stay in england when i came over here. i felt it a dreary time then, and shall feel it so now; but i doubt not that all will go well with you, though it will be a very different life to that to which you have been accustomed." "i shall do well enough," margaret said cheerfully, "and maybe i shall get so fond of court that you will have to take me to that of henry when we return to england." "now you had best begin to make your preparations. i will speak to guy and the others myself." sir eustace went into the court yard, where guy was super- intending the issue of provisions for the women. "this can go on without you," he said; "gervaise will see to it. i would speak to you. you were at the meeting this morning, guy, and you heard what the herald of france said. the position is a hard one. i cannot hold the castle against the strength of france, while if we take a burgundian garrison i should cease to be its master, and it would doubt- less soon pass into other hands. again, if i go to england, it would equally be lost to us. therefore my wife has re- solved, in order to gain time until these disorders are over, to go to paris with the children as a hostage for me. in no case, as it seems to me, are dame margaret and the children likely to be in danger; nevertheless, i am greatly loth for them to go. however, seeing no other way out of the business, i have hostages consented, and we have arranged that you shall accompany her. you will go as my esquire, and i sball install you as such this afternoon. you will take long tom, two of the men-at-arms, and robert picard, all good men and true; but at the same time the burden and responsibility must rest upon your shoulders. you are young yet for so grave a charge, and yet i feel that i can confide it to you. you will have to be the stay and support of your mistress, you will have to be the companion and friend of my children, and i shall charge the four men-at-arms to take orders from you as from me. tom will be a valuable fellow. in the first place, he is, i know, much attached to you, besides being shrewd, and a very giant in strength. the other three are all honest varlets, and you can rely upon them in any pinch." "i will do my best, my lord," guy said quietly; "and i am grateful to you indeed for the confidence that you show in me, and i shall, i hope, prove worthy of it, and of my father.'' the news soon spread through the castle that dame mar- garet was going to paris. the maids wept at the thought, as did many of the tenants' wives, for since the siege began, her kindness and the pains that she had taken to make them com- fortable had endeared her greatly to them. on her previous visits they had seen comparatively little of her; she had been to them simply their lord's english wife, now they knew her as a friend. nevertheless, their regret at her leaving was softened by the thought that her going to be near the king insured peace for them, and that they would now be able to venture out to the houses that were fast rising on the ruins of their former homes, and to take up their life again as they had left it. early next morning the little cortege mustered in the court-yard in readiness for a start. sir eustace and his wife had said good-bye to each other in their chamber, and she so at agincourt looked calm and tranquil as she mounted her horse; for, hav- ing been accustomed from a child to ride with her father hunting and hawking, she could sit a horse well, and scorned to ride, as did so many ladies, on a pillion. guy rode by her side, with agnes on a pillion behind him. long tom, with charlie perched in front of him, followed them, and the three men-at-arms brought up the rear. charlie was in high spirits; he regarded the trip as a sort of holiday, and had been talking, ever since he got up, of the wonders that he should see in paris. agnes better understood the situation, and nothing but the feeling that she ought to emulate the calm- ness of her mother restrained her from bursting into tears when her father lifted her on to her seat. the herald led the way, followed by his two pursuivants. dame margaret checked her horse in the middle of the court-yard, and said in a loud clear voice to the tenants and men-at-arms round: '' adieu, good friends; i trust that i shall not be long away from you. i go to stay for a time at the court in paris, and i leave you with the surety that you will have peace and rest until i return, and be able to repair the damages you suffered from the attack made upon us by men who regard not the law." she turned and waved her hand to sir eustace, who was standing immovable on the steps, and then, touching the horse with her heel, they moved on after the herald. "do not fear to speak, tom," dame margaret said, after they had left the castle behind them; "the journey is a long one, and it will go all the quicker for honest talk. what think you of this expedition to paris?" "i would as lief go there as anywhere else, my lady. indeed, men say that it is a fine city, and as i have never seen a bigger town than southampton, i doubt not that i shall find plenty to interest me at times when you may not require our services.'' hostages "i see that you have brought your bow with you." "ay, my lady, i could not bring myself to part with it. sir eustace told me that i could not carry it, as its length would be a matter of remark, and point me out at once as being an englishman, seeing that the french archers carry no bows of such length; so i have, even as you see, wrapped it round with straw, and fastened it to the saddle beneath my leg. i have also put fourscore arrows among the valises on the pack-horses.'' "there is no chance of your needing them, tom." "i trust that it is so," the archer replied; "but, indeed, there is never any saying, and an archer without his bow is but a poor creature,—though, indeed, i trust that i can swing an axe as well as another." "and much better than most, tom; still, i hope that neither axe nor bow will be required." "to that i say amen also; for, although a fray may some- times be to my taste, i have no desire to be mixed up in a melee without some of my own stout comrades with me." "shall we get to paris to-night, lady mother?" charlie asked. "no, indeed; it will be five days, if not six, for i see by the way that we are travelling we are bearing east, and shall sleep at lille or may be at tournay; then, doubtless, we shall bear south, and may stop the next night at cambrai, and make to noyon on the following day, and thence to compiegne or to senlis, and the next day will take us to paris. it all depends how far and how fast we ride each day. but these matters will be arranged by the herald. were we to go by the shortest route we should get there more quickly; but amiens is held by the party to whom the men who at- tacked our castle belong, and by the way we are travelling we at agincourt shall keep for some time in artois, and so escape all risk of trouble on the road." "i don't care for trouble," charlie said stoutly; "we have got long tom and robert picard and the other two, and guy can fight also." "that would be all very well, my son," his mother said smiling, "if we were only attacked by half a dozen vagrants, but brave as they all are they could do naught if a large body surprised us; but be assured that there is no fear of that— by the way we are travelling we shall meet with none but friends.'' "i should like to be attacked by the vagrants, mother. the last time you made us stay with you when there was fighting going on, except just at the first, but here we should see it all." "well, i don't want to see it, charlie, and i am glad that we are not likely to do so; and you must remember that you and i and agnes would sorely hamper our friends." nevertheless whenever a party of peasants was met upon the road charlie looked out hopefully and heaved a sigh of dis- appointment when, after doffing their caps in respect, they passed on quietly. several times they encountered bodies of knights and men-at-arms, but the presence of the royal herald saved them from all question. at each halting-place dame margaret, her children and maid, were lodged in the house of one of the principal citizens, while guy and the men-at-arms lay at an inn. the troubled state of the times was only manifest by the number of men-at-arms in the streets, and the strict watch kept at the gates of the towns. many of these were kept shut, and were only opened once an hour to let peo- ple pass in and out. this, however, did not affect the trav- ellers, for the gates were opened the moment the emblazon- ings on the surcoat of the herald could be made out. hostages "we have assuredly nothing to complain of so far, guy," dame margaret said, as they set out on their last day's jour- ney; "had we been the king's special guests we could not have been more honourably treated, and i have no doubt that although we shall be much less important personages at paris than as travellers under the royal protection, we shall yet be made comfortable enough, and shall have naught to grieve over save the separation from our lord." "i cannot doubt that it will be so, lady," guy replied; "and that at any rate there will be no trouble, unless the armagnacs lay siege to paris or there are riots in the city. i heard last night at the inn from some travellers who had just left it, that although the majority of the people there are in favour of burgundy, yet that much discontent exists on account of the harsh measures of the officers he has appointed, and especially of the conduct of the guild of butchers, who, as it seems, are high in favour with the duke, and rule the city as if it belonged to them." "it matters little to us, guy, though it seems strange that the nobles of france and the respectable citizens of paris should allow themselves to be ruled over by such a scum as that; but it was the same in flanders, where von artevelde, our ally, a great man and the chief among them, was murdered by the butchers who at the time held sway in ghent, and who were conspicuous for many years in all the tumults in the great towns there." "i hear, madam, that the king is ill, and can see no one." "yes, i have heard the same from the herald. it will be john of burgundy who will, for the time, be our master." "i could desire a better," guy said bluntly; "but we shall at any rate know that his fair words are not to be trusted. for my part, however, i wonder that after the s at agincourt murder of the duke of orleans, with whom he had sworn a solemn peace, any man should hold converse with him." "unfortunately, guy, men's interests count for more than their feelings, and a great noble, who has it in his power to grant favours and dispense honours, will find ad- herents though he has waded through blood. burgundy, too, as i hear, has winning manners and a soft tongue, and can, when it pleases him, play the part of a frank and honest man. at least it must be owned that the title of 'fearless' does not misbecome him, for, had it been otherwise, he would have denied all part in the murder of orleans, in- stead of openly avowing that it was done by his orders." they had started at an earlier hour than usual that morning, as the herald had pointed out to dame margaret, that it were best to arrive in paris as early as possible, in order that the question of their lodging might be settled at once. accordingly, they had been up at daybreak, and arrived in paris at noon. "how long will it be, i wonder," dame margaret said, as they rode through the gates, "before we shall pass through here again?" "not very long i hope, my lady," guy said; "but be sure that if at any time you wish to leave we shall be able to procure disguises for you all, and to make our way out without difficulty." "nay, guy, you forget that it is only so long as we are here that villeroy is safe from attack. whatever happens, nothing, save the news that an english army has landed at calais, and is about to invade france, would leave me free to attempt an escape. if not released before that, i must then, at all hazards, try to escape, for sir eustace, knowing that i am here, would be placed in a sore strait indeed; both by his own inclinations and as a vassal of england, for hostages he would want to join the english as soon as they advanced, and yet would be hindered by the knowledge that i was a hostage here. it would be for me to relieve him of that fear; and the same feeling that induced me to come hither would then take me back to villeroy." "then, madam, i fear that our stay here will be a long one, for henry has never pushed on the war with france vigorously, and though plenty of cause has been given by the capture of his castles in guienne, he has never drawn sword either to regain them or to avenge the insults put upon the english flag." "king henry is old, guy; and they say that his son is as full of spirit and as fiery as his father is peaceful and indisposed for war. when the king dies, my lord thinks that it will be but a short time before the english banner will be unfurled in france; and this is one of the reasons why he consented to my becoming an hostage, thinking that no long time is likely to elapse before he will have english backing, and will be able to disregard the threats of france.' "how narrow and sombre are these streets !" guy said, after a pause, "one seems to draw one's very breath with difficulty." "they are well-nigh as narrow in london," his mistress replied; "but they are gay enough below. see how crowded they are, and how brilliant are some of the costumes!" "some of them indeed, madam, but more are poor and miserable; and as to the faces, they are so scowling and sombre, truly were we not on horseback i should keep my hand tight upon my pouch, though in truth there is nothing in it worth stealing.'' "ay, ay, master guy," long tom broke in, "methinks that there are a good many heads among these scowling hostages court for the last ten years, for i could hardly have for- gotten her face." dame margaret took the hands of her two children and followed the herald up the stei*. she had made a motion of her head to guy to attend her, and he accordingly fol- lowed behind. "a haughty lady as well as a fair one," the young knight laughed. "she did not so much as glance at us, but held her head as high as if she were going in to rate burgundy himself. i think that she must be english by her looks, though what an english woman can be doing here in paris is beyond my understanding, unless it be that she is the wife of a knight of guienne; in that case she would more likely be with orleans than here." "yes, but you see the herald has brought her. it may be her lord's castle has been captured, and she has come under the safe-conduct of a herald to lay a complaint; but i think with you that she is english. the girl was fair too, though not so fair as her mother, and that curly - headed young esquire is of english stock too." "he is a stout-looking fellow, de maupas, and will make a powerful man; he looks as if he could strike a shrewd blow even now. let us question their knaves, one of whom, by the way, is a veritable giant in point of height." he beckoned to the four men, and robert picard came forward. "who is your lady, young man?" "dame margaret de villeroy, may it please you, sir. she is the wife of sir eustace de villeroy." "then we were right, de maupas, for de villeroy is, i know, a vassal of england for his wife's estates, and his peo- ple have always counted themselves english, because for over a hundred years their castle stood inside the english line." ss at agincoukt "he is a stout knight. we heard a month ago how bravely he held his castle against sir clugnet de brabant with orleanists, and beat him off with a loss of five knights and men. sir clugnet himself was sorely wounded. we all ought to feel mightily obliged to him for the check, which sent them back post-haste out of artois, where they had already done damage enough, and might have done more had they not been so roughly handled. i wonder what the lady is here for?" "it may be that he would have fought the burgundians as stoutly as he fought the armagnacs," the other said, "and that the duke does not care about having so strong a castle held by so stout a knight within a few miles of the english line." the other shrugged his shoulders. "the english are sleeping dogs," he said; "there is no edward and no black prince to lead them now." "no, but you must remember that sleeping dogs wake up sometimes, and even try to bite when they do so; moreover we know of old that these particular dogs can bite hard." "the sooner they wake up the better, i say, de maupas. we have a long grudge to wipe off against them, and our men are not likely to repeat the mistakes that cost us so dearly ixffore. besides, the english have had no real fighting for years, and it seems to me that they have altogether given up any hope of extending their possessions in france." "one can never tell, de revelle. for my part i own that i care not that they should again spread their banner on this side of the sea. there can be no doubt that they are stout fighting-men, and seeing how france is divided they might do sore damage did they throw their weight into one side of the scale.'' "methinks that there is no fear of that. the dukes both hostages s!) know well enough that their own followers would not fight side by side with the english; and though they might pro- pose an alliance with the islanders, it would only be for the purpose of bringing the war to a close by uniting both parties against our old enemy." in the meantime dame margaret had followed her con- ductor to the great chamber, where john of burgundy held audience in almost royal state. several nobles were gathered round him, but at the entrance of the herald these fell back, leaving him standing by himself. an eminently politic man, the duke saw at once by the upright figure and the fearless air with which dame margaret entered the hall, that this was a case where courtesy and deference were far more likely to bring about the desired end of winning her husband over to his interests, than any menaces or rough speaking; he there- fore advanced two or three steps to meet her. "my lord duke," the herald said, "this lady, dame mar- garet of villeroy, has journeyed hither with me in accordance with the wish expressed by his majesty the king." "as the king's representative in paris, lady," the duke said to margaret, "i thank you for your promptness in thus conceding to his wish." "his majesty's wish was naturally a command to me, sir duke," margaret said with quiet dignity. "we, my hus- band and i, understood that some enemy had been influenc- ing his majesty's mind against my lord, and in order to assure him of my lord's loyalty as a faithful vassal for the land he holds, i have willingly journeyed here with my children, although in much grief for the loss of my eldest son, who died in the attack lately made upon our castle by a large body of men, of whom we knew naught, save that they did not come in the name of our lord the king." "i have heard of the attack, lady, and of the gallant and !, at agincourt successful defence made by sir eustace, and the king was greatly pleased to hear of the heavy check thus inflicted upon the men who had raised the banner of revolt, and were harass- ing his majesty's faithful subjects." "that being so, my lord duke," margaret said, "'tis strange, after my lord had shown how ready and well pre- pared he was to protect his castle against ill-doers, that he should have been asked to admit a garrison of strangers to aid him to hold it. sir eustace has no desire to meddle with the troubles of the times; he holds his castle as a fief directly from the crown, as his ancestors have held it for two hundred years; he wishes only to dwell in peace and in loyal service to the king." "such we have always understood, madam, and gladly would the king have seen sir eustace himself at his court. the king will, i trust, shortly be recovered from his malady; until he is so i have—for i was made acquainted with your coming by messenger sent forward by monjoie—arranged for you to be lodged in all honour at the house of master leroux, one of the most worshipful of the citizens of paris, and pro- vost of the guild of silversmiths. my chamberlain will at once conduct you thither." "i thank you, my lord duke," margaret said with a stately reverence, "and trust that when am received by my lord the king shall be able to prove to him that sir eus- tace is his faithful vassal, and can be trusted to hold his castle for him against all comers." "i doubt it not, lady," the duke said courteously. "sir victor pierrepoint, i pray you to see this lady to the en- trance. sir hugo will already be waiting her there." the lady margaret makes her obeisance to the duke of burgundy. in paris chapter vi in paris "a bold dame and a fair one," john of burgundy said jt\ to the gentlemen round him when margaret left the chamber. "methinks that she would be able to hold ville- roy even should sir eustace be away." "that would she," one of the knights said with a laugh. "i doubt not that she would buckle on armour if need were. but we must make some allowance for her heat; it is no pleasant thing to be taken away from her castle and brought hither as a hostage, to be held for how long a time she knows not." "it was the safest way of securing the castle," the duke said. "can one doubt that, with her by his side, her hus- band would open his gates to the english, should they appear before it? he himself is a vassal both of england and france, and should the balance be placed before him, there can be little doubt that her weight would incline him to england. how well these english women keep their youth! one might believe her to be but a few years past twenty, and yet she is the mother of that girl, who is well-nigh as tall as her- self." "and who bids to be as fair, my lord duke." "and as english, de porcelet. she would be a difficult eaglet to tame, if i mistake not; and had she been the spokeswoman, methinks she would have answered as haughtily as did her mother. but it might be no bad plan to mate her to a frenchman. it is true that there is the boy, but the fief might well be bestowed upon her if so mated, on the ground at agincourt that the boy would likely take after his father and mother and hold villeroy for england rather than for france. how- ever, she is young yet; in a couple of years, de porcelet, it will be time for you to urge your suit, if so inclined." there was a general smile from the circle standing round, but the young knight said gravely, " when the time comes, my lord duke, i may remind you of what you have said. tis a fair young face, honest and good, though at present she must naturally feel with her mother at being thus haled away from her home." sir victor escorted margaret to the court-yard. as they appeared at the entrance a knight came up and saluted her. "i am intrusted by the duke with the honour of escorting you to your lodgings," he said; "i am hugo de chamfort, the duke's chamberlain." after assisting her into the saddle he mounted a horse which an attendant brought up and placed himself by her side. two men-at-arms with their surtouts embroidered with the cognizance of burgundy led the way, and the rest of the party followed in the same order in which they had come. the distance was short, and beyond a few questions by the knight as to the journey and how she had been cared for on the way, and margaret's replies, little was said until they reached the house of the provost of the silversmiths. as they rode up to the door maitre leroux himself came out from the house. "welcome, lady," he said, "to my abode. my wife will do all that she can to make you comfortable." "i am sorry indeed, good sir," margaret said, "to be thus forced upon your hospitality, and regret the trouble that my stay will impose upon you." "say not so, lady," he said, "we deem it an honour that his grace the duke of burgundy should have selected us for in paris the honour of entertaining you. the house is large, and we have no family. chambers are already prepared for yourself, your daughter, and son, while there are others at your dis- posal for your following." "i would not trespass too much upon you," she said. "my daughter can sleep with me, and i am sure that my esquire here, master guy aylmer, will gladly share a room with my boy. i can obtain lodgings for my four followers without." "you will grieve me much if you propose it, lady. there is a large room upstairs unoccupied, and i will place pallets for them there; and as for their meals they can have them apart." by this time they had mounted a fine flight of stairs, at the top of which dame leroux was standing to receive her guests. she was a kindly-looking woman between thirty and forty years of age. "welcome, lady margaret," she said with a cordiality that made margaret feel at once that her visit was not re- • garded as an infliction. "we are quiet people, but will do our best to render your stay here a pleasant one." "thanks indeed, mistress!" margaret replied. "i feared much that my presence would be felt as a burden, and had hardly hoped for so kind a welcome. this is my daughter agnes, and my son charles." then she turned to sir hugo: "i pray you to give my thanks to his grace the duke of burgundy, and to thank him for having so well bestowed me. i thank you also for your courtesy for having conducted me here." "i will convey your message to the duke," he said, "who will, i am sure, be pleased to hear of your contentment." maitre leroux accompanied the knight downstairs again, and when he had mounted and ridden off he called two at aoincourt servitors, and bade one carry the luggage upstairs, and the other conduct the men to the stables he had taken for the horses. "after you have seen to their comfort," he said to robert picard, "you will return hither; you will find a meal pre- pared for you, and will be bestowed together in a chamber upstairs.'' in the meantime his wife had ushered dame margaret into a very handsomely furnished apartment. "this is at your entire service, lady margaret," she said. "the bed- room behind it is for yourself, the one next to it for your daughter, unless you would prefer that she should sleep with you." "i thank you. i was telling your husband that i should prefer that; and my son and esquire can therefore occupy the second room. but i fear greatly that i am disturbing yourself and your husband." "no, indeed; our sitting-room and bedroom are on the other side of the landing. these are our regular guest- chambers, and your being here will make no change what- ever in our arrangements. i only regret that the apartments are not larger." "do not apologize, i beg of you, madam. i can assure you that the room is far handsomer than that to which i have been accustomed. you citizens of paris are far in advance of us in your ideas of comfort and luxury, and the apartments both at villeroy and in my english home cannot compare with these, except in point of size. i never dreamt that my prison would be so comfortable.'' "say not prison, i pray you, lady. i heard, indeed, that your visit to the court was not altogether one of your own choice; but, believe me, here at least you will be but a guest, and an honoured and welcome one. i will leave you in paris now. if there is aught that you desire, i pray you to ring that bell on the table; refreshments will be quickly served. had i known the precise hour at which you would come we should have been in readiness for you, but i thought not that you would arrive till evening." "i hope that you will give me much of your company, mistress," margaret said warmly. "we know no one in this great city, and shall be glad indeed if, when you can spare time, you will sit with us." "well, children, what do you think of this?" she asked when their hostess had left the room. "it is lovely, mother," agnes said. "look at the inlaid cabinets, and the couches and tables, and this great warm rug that covers all the floor, how snug and comfortable it all is. why, mother, i never saw anything like this." "you might have seen something like it had you ever been in the house of one of our rich london traders, agnes; at least so i have heard, though in truth i have never myself been in so luxuriously furnished a room. i only hope that we may stay here for some time. the best of it is that these good people evidently do not regard us as a burden. no doubt they are pleased to oblige the duke of burgundy, but, beyond that, their welcome seemed really sincere. now let us see our bedroom. i suppose that is yours, charlie, through the door in the corner." the valises had already been brought to the rooms by an- other entrance, and margaret and her daughter were charmed with their bedroom. a large ewer and basin of silver stood on a table which was covered with a white cloth, snowy towels hung beside it; the .hangings of the bed were of dam- ask silk, and the floor was almost covered by an eastern carpet. an exquisitely carved wardrobe stood in one corner. "it is all lovely!" agnes said, clapping her hands. •><; at agincourt "you ought to have your room at home fitted up like this, mother.'' "it would take a large slice out of a year's revenue, agnes," her mother said with a smile, "to furnish a room in this fashion. that wardrobe alone is worth a knight's ransom, and the ewer and basin are fit for a king. i would that your father could see us here; it would ease his anxiety about us. i must ask how i can best despatch a messenger to him." when they returned to the other apartment they found the table already laid, and in a short time a dainty repast was served. to this guy sat down with them, for except when there were guests, when his place was behind his lord's chair, he had always been treated as one of the family, and as the son of sir aylmer rather than as a page. "well, master guy, what think you of affairs?" '' they seem well to the eye, mistress, but i would not trust that duke of burgundy for an hour. with that long face of his and the hooked nose and his crafty look he re- sembles little a noble of france. he has an evil face, and one which accords well with the foul murder of the king's brother. however, as i see not that he has aught to gain by holding you here,—save that he thinks it will ensure our lord's keeping his castle for him,—there is no reason why he should not continue to treat you honourably and courteously. we have yet to learn whether master leroux is one of his party, or whether he is in favour of annagnac." "i should think that he cannot be for armagnac," she said, "or duke john would hardly have quartered us upon him. no doubt it was done under the semblance of good- will, but most men would have considered it a heavy tax, even though, as i expect, we shall not remain here long. doubt- less, however, the trader considers that his complaisance in in paris the matter would be taken by the duke as a sign of his de- sire to show that at least he is not hostile to him." when they rose from the table guy, at his mistress's sug- gestion, went below and found the four men sitting in the great kitchen, where they had just fmished an ample meal. "you have seen to the horses, robert?" "yes, master guy, they are comfortably bestowed, with an abundance of provender.'' "i am going out to see how matters stand in the town. our lady says that at all times two of you must remain here, as it may be necessary to send messages, or should she wish to go out, to escort her, but the other two can be out and about as they please, after first inquiring of me whether there is aught for them to do. you can arrange among yourselves which shall stay in, taking turns off duty. tom, you had better not go out till after dark. there is something in the cut of your garments which tells that you are not french. robert will go out with me now, and find a clothier, and bid him send garments here for you to choose from, or if he has none to fit, which may likely enough be, send him to meas- ure you. it might lead to broils and troubles were any of the rabble to notice that you were a stranger." "that is right enough, master guy; and in sooth i have no desire to go out at present, for after riding for the last six days i am well content to sit quiet and take my ease here." guy then started with robert picard. except in the streets where the principal merchants dwelt, the town struck him as gloomy and sombre. the palaces of the nobles were veritable fortresses, the streets were ill-paved and evil-smell- ing, and the people m the poorer quarters had a sinister aspect. "i should not care to wander about in this district after nightfall, robert," guy said to the man-at-arms, who kept close to his elbow. os at agincourt "nor i," the man growled. "it is as much as i can do to keep my hands off my dagger now, for methinks that nine out often of the fellows loitering about would cut our throats willingly, if they thought that we had but a crown in our pockets." presently they found themselves on the quays, and, hailing a boat, rowed up the river a little beyond the walls. hear- ing the sound of music they landed, and on seeing a number of people gather round some booths they discharged the boat and went on. they found that it was a sort of fair. here were sword-players and mountebanks, pedlars who vended their wares at a lower price than those at which they were sold within the limits of the city, booths at which wine and re- freshments could be obtained. here many soldiers were sit- ting drinking, watching the passers-by, and exchanging ribald jests with each other, and sometimes addressing observations to the wives and daughters of the citizens, amid fits of laugh- ter at the looks of indignation on the part of their husbands or fathers. "it is evidently a holiday of some sort," guy remarked, as they found that the fair extended for a considerable dis- tance, and that the crowd was everywhere large. they stopped for a minute or two in front of a booth of more pre- tensions than the generality. in front of it a man was beat- ing a drum, and a negro walking up and down attired in showy garments. the drum ceased and the latter shouted: "those of you who wish to see my master, the famous elminestres, the most learned doctor in europe, who can read the stars, cast your horoscope, foretell your future, and cure your ailments, should not lose this opportunity." the curtains opened behind, and a man dressed in dark garments with a long black cloak spotted with silver stars came forward. in paris "you have heard, good people, what my slave has said. he speaks with knowledge. i saved his life in the deserts of africa when he was all but dead with fever, by administering to him one of my wonderful potions; he at once recovered and devoted himself to my service. have infallible reme- dies for every disease, therefore do you who are sick come to me and be cured; while for you who do not suffer i can do as much or more, by telling you of your future, what evils to avoid and what chances to grasp." he stood for a minute silent, his eyes wandering keenly over the spectators. "i see," he said, "one among you who loves a fair maiden standing beside him. at present her parents are unfavourable to his suit, but if he will take my advice he will be able to overcome their objections and to win the damsel. another i see who has come to paris with the intention of enlisting in the service of our good duke, and who, i foresee, will attain rank and honour and become a distinguished soldier if he does but act prudently at the critical moment, while if he takes a wrong turn misfortune and death will befall him. i see a youth of gentle blood who will become a brave knight, and will better his condition by marriage. he has many dangers to go through l>efore that, and has at present a serious charge for one so young; but as he has circumspection as well as courage he may pass through them unharmed. to him too i could give advice that may be valuable, more especially as he is a stranger to the land, as are those of whom he is in charge.' "it is wonderful, master guy!" robert picard whispered in guy's ear in a tone of astonished awe. "the knave doubtless saw us ride in this morning, and recognized me again. there is naught of magic in it, but the fellow must be shrewd, or he would not have so quickly at afmncourt drawn his conclusions. i will go in and speak to him pres- ently, for though i believe not his prophecies one jot, a fellow of this sort may be useful. let us be moving on at present.'' they passed two monks, who were scowling angrily at the man, who was just exciting the laughter of the crowd by asserting that there was a holy man present who usually preferred a flask of good wine to saying his vespers. "rogues like this should be whipped and branded, brother anselmo.'' "ay, ay," the other agreed: "and yet," he added slyly, "it may be that he has not altogether missed his mark this time. we are not the only two monks here," he went on as the other turned upon him angrily, "and it may well be that among them is one who answers to the fellow's lewd description." on the outskirts of the fair were many people of higher degree. knights and ladies strolled on the turf exchanging greetings, looking for a minute or two at the gambols of a troupe of performing dogs, or at a bout of cudgel play— where two stout fellows belaboured each other heartily, and showed sufficient skill to earn from the crowd a shower of small pieces of money, when at last they ceased from pure exhaustion. half an hour later guy returned to the booth of the doctor, and went in by a side entrance, to which those who wished to consult the learned man had been directed by the negro. the latter was at the entrance, and, observing that guy's condition was above that of the majority of his master's clients, at once took him into an inner apartment divided from the rest of the tent by a hang- ing. over the top of this was stretched a black cloth spotted with silver stars, and similar hangings surrounded it; thus all light was cut off, and the room was dimly illuminated in paris by two lamps. a table with a black cloth stood at the back. on this stood a number of phials and small boxes, together with several retorts and alembics. the doctor was seated on a tripod stool. he rose and was about to address guy in his usual style, when the latter said: "so you saw us ride in this morning, master doctor, and guessed shrewdly as to our condition and nationality. as to the latter, indeed, it needed no sorcery, for it must have been plain to the dullest that my mistress and her daughter were not of french blood, and though i am much less fair, it was a pretty safe guess to suppose that i also was of their country. i need not tell you that i have not come here either for charms or nostrums, but it seemed to me that being, as you said, strangers here, we might benefit by the advice of one who like yourself notes things quickly, and can form his own conclusions." the doctor removed his tall conical cap, and placed it on the table. "you guess rightly," he said with a smile. "i was in the crowd and marked you enter, and a soldier standing next to me observed to a comrade that he had heard that bur- gundy had sent the herald to demand the surrender of a castle held by one sir eustace, a knight who was known to have friendly leanings towards the english, lxiing a vassal of their king for estates that had come to him with an english wife, and that doubtless this was the lady. when my eye fell on you in the crowd i said: here is a youth of shrewd- ness and parts, he is alone and is a foreigner, and maybe can be of service to him; therefore i shot my shaft, and, as you see, with success. i said to myself: this youth, being a stranger, will know of no one to whom he can turn for in- formation, and i can furnish him with almost any that he may require. i come in contact with the highest and the at agincourt lowest, for the parisians are credulous, and after dark there are some of rank and station who come to my doors for nitres and nostrums, or to have their horoscope cast and their futures predicted. you will ask why one who has such clients should condescend to stand at a booth and talk to this rabble; but it has its purpose. were i known only as one whom men and women visit in secret, i should soon become suspected of black arts, the priests would raise an outcry against me, and one of these days i might be burned. here, however, ostensibly earn my living as a mountebank vendor of drugs and nostrums, and therefore no one troubles his head about me." "there is one thing that you have not told me," guy said when he ceased speaking. "having, as you say, good clients besides your gains here, why should you trouble to interest yourself in our affairs?" "shrewdly put, young sir. i will be frank with you. i too am a stranger, and sooner or later i may fall into dis- credit, and the power of the church be too much for me. when i saw your mistress to-day i said to myself: here is an english lady of rank, with a castle and estate in england; should i have to fly—and i have one very dear to me, for whose sake i value my life—it might be well for me that i should have one friend in england who would act as pro- tectress to her should aught befall me. your mistress is a stranger here, and in the hands of enemies. i may be of use to her. i know this population of paris, and can perhaps give her better information of what is going on both at the court and in the gutter than any other man, and may be able to render her assistance when she most needs it; and would ask but in payment that, should i come to england, she will extend her protection to my daughter until i can find a home and place her there. you see i am playing an open game with you.'' in paris "i will reply as frankly," guy said. "when i came in here it was, as i told the man-at-arms my companion, with the thought that one who had noticed us so shrewdly, and had recognized me so quickly in the crowd, was no ordinary mountebank, but a keen, shrewd man who had some motive for thus addressing me, and i see that my view was a right one. as to your proposal i can say naught before i have laid it before my mistress, but for myself i may say at once that it recommends itself to me as excellent. we are, as you say, strangers here, and know of no one from whom we might obtain information as to what is going on. my mistress, if not an actual prisoner, is practically so, being held with her children as hostages for my lord's loyalty to france. she is the kindest of ladies, and should she authorize me to enter into further communication with you, you may be sure that she would execute to the full the undertaking you ask for on behalf of your daughter. where can i see you again? this is scarce a place could often resort to without my visits being noticed, if, as is likely enough, the duke of burgundy may occasionally set spies to inform him as to what we are doing, and whether my mistress is in communication with any who are regarded as either doubtful or hostile to his faction." "if you will be in front of notre dame this evening at nine o'clock, i will meet you there and conduct you to my abode, where you can visit me free of any fear of observa- tion." "what name shall i call you?" guy asked. "my name is montepone. i belong to a noble family of mantua, but mixing myself up with the factions there, i was on the losing side, and unfortunately it happened that in a fray i killed a noble connected with all the ruling families; sentence of death was passed upon me in my absence, my property was confiscated. nowhere in italy should i have at aoincourt been safe from the dagger of the assassin, therefore i fled to france, and for ten years have maintained myself by the two arts which so often go together, astrology and buffoonery. i had always been fond of knowledge, and had learned all that could be taught in the grand science of astrology, so that however much i may gull fools here, i have obtained the con- fidence of many powerful personages by the accuracy of my forecasts. had orleans but believed my solemn assurance he would not have ridden through the streets of paris to his death that night, and in other cases where i have been more trusted i have rendered valuable assistance.'' the belief in astrology had never gained much hold upon the mass of the english people, many as were the superstitions that prevailed among them. guy had never even given the matter a thought. montepone, however, evidently believed in his powers of foreseeing the future, and such powers did not in themselves seem altogether impossible to the lad; he there- fore made no direct reply, but saying that he would not fail to be at the appointed place at nine that evening, took his leave. "truly, master guy, i began to be uneasy about you," robert l'icard said when he rejoined him, "and was medi- tating whether i had best enter the tent, and demand what had become of you. it was only the thought that there might have been others before you, and that you had to wait your turn before seeing him, that restrained me. you have not been taking his nostrums, i trust; for they say that some of those men sell powders by which a man can be changed into a wolf." guy laughed. "i have taken nothing, robert, and if i had i should have no fear of such a change happening to me. i have but talked to the man as to how he came to know me, and it is as i thought,—he saw us as we entered. he is a shrewd fellow, and may well be of some use to us." in paris "i like not chaffering with men who have intercourse with the devil," picard said, shaking his head gravely; "nothing good comes of it. my mother knew a man who bought a powder that was to cure his wife of jealousy; and indeed it did, for it straightway killed her, and he was hung. i think that i can stand up against mortal man as well as another, but my blood ran cold when i saw you enter yon tent, and i fell into a sweat at your long absence." "the man is not of that kind, robert, so you can reassure yourself. i doubt not that the nostrums he sells are perfectly harmless, and that though they may not cure they will cer- tainly not kill." they made their way back to the house of the provost of the silversmiths. "well, what do you think of paris, guy?" dame mar- garet asked when he entered. "it is a fine city, no doubt, lady, but in truth i would rather be in the country than in this wilderness of narrow streets. but indeed i have had somewhat of an adventure, and one which i think may prove of advantage;" and he then related to his mistress his visit to the booth of the supposed doctor. "do you think that he is honest, guy? " she asked when he concluded. "i think so, madam. he spoke honestly enough, and there was a ring of truth in what he said; nor do i see that he could have had any motive for making my acquaintance save what he stated. his story seemed to me to be a natural one; but i shall be able to judge better when i see him in his own house and with this daughter he speaks of; that is, if your ladyship is willing that i should meet him." "i am willing enough," she said, " for even if he is a spy of burgundy's there is nothing that we wish to conceal. i at agincoitrt have come here willingly, and have no thought of making my escape, or of mixing myself up in any of the intrigues of the court. therefore there is no harm that he can do us, while on the other hand you may learn much from him, and will gather in a short time whether he can be trusted. then by all means go and meet him this evening. but it would be as well to take tom with you. it does not seem to me at all likely that any plot can be intended, but at any rate it will be well that you should have one with you whom you can thoroughly trust, in case there is any snare set, and to guard you against any lurking cut-throats." "i will tell him to be in readiness to go with me. it will be his turn to go out with one of the others this evening, and he might not be back in time if i did not warn him." "what arms shall i take with me? " long tom said, when guy told him of their expedition. "nothing but your sword and quarter-staff. i see that many of the beggars and others that one meets in the streets carry long staffs, and yours is not much longer than the gen- erality. you brought it tied up with your bow, so you would do well to carry it, for in a street broil, where there is room to swing it, you could desire no better weapon, in such strong hands as yours, tom. besides, you can knock down and dis- able with it and no great harm is done, whereas if you used your sword there would be dead men; and although by all i hear these are not uncommon objects in the streets of paris, there might i>e trouble if the town watch came up, as we are strangers. i shall carry a stout cudgel myself, as well as my sword." accordingly at half-past eight they set out. guy put on a long cloak and a cap such as was worn by the citizens, but strengthened inside by a few bands of steel forming sufficient protection to the head against any ordinary blow. this he in paris had purchased at a stall on his way home. tom had put on the garments that had been bought for him that afternoon, consisting of a doublet of tanned leather that could be worn under armour or for ordinary use, and was thick enough to afford considerable protection. the streets were already al- most deserted; those who were abroad hurried along looking with suspicion at all whom they met, and walking in the mid- dle of the road so as to avoid being taken by surprise by any- one lurking in the doorways or at the corners of alleys. once or twice men came out and stared at guy and his companion by the light of the lanterns suspended across the streets, but there was nothing about their appearance to encourage an at- tack, and the stalwart figure of the archer promised hard blows rather than plunder. arriving at the square in front of notre dame they waited awhile. here there were still people about, for it was a rendezvous both for roistering young gallants, thieves, and others starting on midnight adventures. after walking backwards and forwards two or three times guy said, "you had best stand here in the shadow of this buttress while i go and place myself beneath that hanging lamp; seeing that we are together, and he, looking perhaps only for one, may not recognize me." on reaching the lamp, guy took off his hat, so that the light should fall on his face, waited for a minute, and then replaced it. as soon as he did so a slightly-built lad came up to him. "were you not at the fair by the river to-day, sir, and are you not expecting some one to meet you here?" "that is so, lad. if you will tell me whom i am expecting i shall know that he has sent you, though, indeed, i looked to meet himself and not a messenger." "montepone," the lad said. "that is right. why is he not here himself?" "he received a message before starting that one whose at agincourt orders he could not neglect would call upon him this evening, and he therefore sent me to the rendezvous. i have been look- ing anxiously for you, but until now had not seen you." "i have a companion with me; being a stranger here in paris, i did not care to be wandering through the streets alone. he is a countryman of mine, and can be trusted." "it is indeed dangerous to be out alone. it is seldom that i am in the streets after dark, but the doctor came with me and placed me in a corner of the porch, and then returned by himself, telling me to stir not until i saw you; and that should you not come, or should i not be able to make you out, i was to remain until he came for me even if i waited until morn- ing." "i will fetch my follower," guy said, "and am ready to accompany you." the lad was evidently unwilling to be left there for a mo- ment alone, and he walked back with guy to the buttress where the archer was standing. "this is our guide, tom," guy said, as the archer stepped out to join him; "the person i expected was unable to come himself. now, lad, i am ready; you see we are well guarded." the boy nodded, evidently reassured by the bulk of the archer, and was about to step on ahead of them, when guy said, "you had best walk with us. if you keep in front, it will seem as if you were guiding us, and that would point us out at once as strangers. is it far to the place you are taking us to?" "a short quarter of an hour's walk, sir." in the streets of paris chapter vii in the streets of paris they crossed the bridge to the right bank of the river, and followed the stream down for some distance. pass- ing through some narrow lanes, they presently emerged into a street of higher pretensions, and stopped at the door of a small house wedged in between two of much larger size. the boy took a key from his girdle, opened the door, and entered. "stand here a moment, i pray you," he said; "i will fetch a light." in a few seconds he appeared with a lantern. he shut and barred the door, and then led the way upstairs and showed them into a small but well-furnished room, which was lighted by a hanging lamp. he then went to a buffet, brought out a flask of wine and two goblets, and said: "will it please you to be seated and to help yourselves to the wine; my mas- ter may possibly l>e detained for some little time before he is able to see you." then he went out and closed the door be- hind him. "it is evident, tom," guy said, as he took off his hat and cloak, and seated himself, "that the doctor has a good idea of making himself comfortable. sit down, we may have to wait some time." "do you think that it will be safe to touch the wine, mas- ter guy? perchance it may be drugged." "why should it be?" guy asked. "we are not such im- portant personages that anyone can desire to make away with ns. i am convinced that the doctor was in earnest when he told me that story that i repeated to you this evening. it is at aoincxhtrt possible that he may not be able to give us as much informa- tion as he said, but that he means well by us i am certain; and i think we may be sure that his wine is as good as his apartments are comfortable." this turned out to be the case; the wine was excellent, and the archer soon laid aside any doubt he might have entertained. from time to time steps could be heard in the apartment above, and it was evident that it was here that the interview between the doctor and his visitor was taking place. pres- ently a ring was heard below. "another visitor," guy said. (letting up, he slightly drew aside a thick curtain that hung before a casement, a moment later he let it fall again. "there are two men-at- arms standing on the other side of the street and one at the door." he heard the door opened, then the boy's step was heard on the stairs, two or three minutes later there was a movement above and the sound of the footsteps of two men coming down. presently the outside door closed, two or three minutes elapsed; then the door opened and the italian entered. "i regret that i have kept you so long," he said courte- ously, "but my visitor was not to be got rid of hastily. it was a lady, and there is no hurrying ladies. when a man comes in, i have already ascertained what he desires to know; he listens to my answer and takes his departure. a woman, on the contrary, has a thousand things to ask, and for the most part they are questions quite beyond my power to an- swer." "i have, as you see, signor montepone, brought my tall countryman with me; as you noticed me, i doubt not for a moment that you also marked him when we entered the city. knowing nothing of the ways of paris, but having heard that the streets were very unsafe after dark, i thought it best to in the streets of paris bring him with me; and i am indeed glad that i did so, for we met with several very rough looking characters on our way to notre dame, and had i been alone i might have had trouble." "you did quite right," the italian said; "i regretted afterwards that i did not myself advise you to bring some one with you, for indeed it is not safe for one man to go abroad alone after dark. and now, will you accompany me upstairs; this tall fellow will doubtless be able to pass the time with that flask of wine until you return." "he should be able to do so," guy said with a smile, " for indeed it is the best wine i have tasted, so far as my judgment goes, since i crossed the channel, and indeed the best i have ever tasted." "'tis good wine. i received a cask of it from the grower, a burgundian noble, who had, as he believed, gained some advantage from following my advice." the man led the way upstairs. the room he entered there was much larger than that which they had left, extending over the whole floor. it was draped similarly to that in the booth, but was far more handsomely and elaborately got up. the hangings were of heavy cloth sprinkled with stars, the ceiling was blue with gold stars, a planisphere and astrolabe stood in the centre of the room, and a charcoal fire burned in a brazier l>eside them. a pair of huge bats with outstretched wings hung by wires from the ceiling, their white teeth glis- tening in the light of four lamps on stands, some six feet high, one in each corner of the room. the floor was covered with a dark eastern carpet, a large chair with a footstool in front stood at a short distance from the planisphere; at one end was a massive table on which were retorts, glass globes, and a variety of apparatus new to guy. at the other end of the room there was a frame some eight feet square on which a white sheet was stretched tightly. at agincourt "now, master guy," the italian said, "firstly, i beg you to give me the date of your birth and if possible the hour, for i would for my own information if not for yours, cast your horoscope. i like to know for my own satisfaction, as far as may be, the future of those with whom i have to deal. if i perceive that misfortunes and perhaps death threaten them, it is clearly of no use my entering into relations with them. in your case, of course, it is with your mistress that i am chiefly concerned; still as your fortunes are at present so closely mixed up with hers, i may learn something of much utility to me from your horoscope." "i was born on the th of december, , and shall be therefore seventeen in a fortnight's time. i was born a few minutes after midnight, for i have heard my mother say that the castle bell had sounded but a few minutes before i was born. she said that she had been anxious about it, because an old woman had predicted that if she ever had a child born on the th day of the month, it would be in every way unfort- unate; so my mother was greatly pleased that i had escaped the consequences predicted." "and now," the italian went on, having made a note in his tablets, "what said your lady?" "she bid me say, sir, that she was very sensible of the ad- vantage that it would be to her to receive news or warning from one so well informed as yourself; and that she on her part promises that she will befriend and protect your daughter should you at any time bring her to her castle in england, or should she come alone with such tokens from you as that she might be known; and this promise my lady vows on the sac- raments to keep." "then we are in agreement," the italian said; "and right glad am i to know that should aught l>efall me, my daughter will be in such good hands. as far as worldly means are con- in the streets of paris cerned her future is assured, for i have laid out much of the money i have received in jewels of value, which will produce a sum that will be an ample dowry for her. now i can give you some news. the duke of berri with the queen came two days since from melun to corbeil, and louis of bavaria came on here yesterday to the duke of aquitaine with a message to burgundy and to the butchers, asking that they would allow him to attend the queen to paris, and that she might reside in his house of nasle. burgundy was minded to grant her leave, but at a meeting of the chiefs of the guild of butchers this afternoon they resolved to refuse the request; and this evening they have broken every door and window of the duke of berri's house, and committed great damages there, so that it should not be habitable; they resolved that berri should not enter paris, but that the queen might come. i hear that it has been determined that the king shall be placed in the louvre, where the citizens of paris can keep guard over him and prevent any attempt by the orleanists to carry him away. "all this will make no difference to your mistress directly; the point of it is that the power of these butchers, with whom go the guild of skinners and others, is so increasing that even the duke of burgundy is forced to give in to them. some of the other guilds and the greater part of the respectable traders are wholly opposed to these men. they themselves may care little whether orleans or burgundy sways the court and the king, but this usurpation of the butchers, who have behind them the scum of paris, is regarded as a danger to the whole city, and the feeling may grow into so hot a rage that there may be serious rioting in the streets. i tell you this that you may be prepared. assuredly the butchers are not likely to in- terfere with any save such of the townspeople as they may deem hostile to them, and no harm would intentionally be done to her or to any other hostage of burgundy. but the at agincoukt provost of the silversmiths is one of those who withstands them to the best of his power, and should matters come to serious rioting his house might be attacked. the leaders of the butchers' guild would be glad to see him killed, and their followers would still more like to have the sacking of his rich magazine of silver goods and the spoiling of his furniture. "i say not that things are likely to come to that yet, but there is no telling bow far they may be carried. it is but a dark cloud in the distance at present, but it may in time burst into a storm that will deluge the streets of paris with blood. i may tell you that, against you as english there is no strong feeling at present among the burgundians, for i am informed that the duke has taken several bodies of english archers into his pay, and that at soissons and other towns he has enlisted a score or two of these men. however, i am sure to gain in- formation long before matters come to any serious point, ex- cept a sudden outbreak arise from a street broil. i may tell you that one result of the violence of the butchers to-day may be to cause some breach between them and the hurgimdian nobles, who are, i am told, greatly incensed at their refusing to give permission to the duke of berri to come here alter burgundy had acceded to his request, and that these fellows should venture to damage the hotel of one of the royal dukes seemed to them to be still more intolerable. the duke of bur- gundy may truckle to these fellows, but his nobles will strongly resent their interference and their arrogant insolence, and the duke may find that if he is to retain their support he will have to throw over that of these turbulent citizens. moreover, their conduct adds daily to the strength of the orleanists among the citizens, and if a strong armagnac force approaches paris they will be hailed by no small portion of the citizens as deliv- erers. '' "in truth i can well understand, signor montepone, that in the streets ok paris the nobles should revolt against this association with butchers and skinners; 'tis past all bearing that fellows like these should thus meddle in public affairs." "the populace of paris has ever been turbulent," the italian replied. "in this it resembles the cities of flanders, and the butchers are ever at the bottom of all tumults. now i will introduce my daughter to you; it is well that you should know her, for in case of need she may serve as a messenger, and it may be that i may some day ask you to present her to your lady." he opened the door. "katarina!" he said without rais- ing his voice, and at once a girl came running up from the floor below. "this is my daughter, master aylmer; you have seen her before." katarina was a girl of some fourteen years of age. she was dressed in black, and was tall and slight. her com- plexion was fairer than that of her father, and she already gave promise of considerable beauty. guy bowed to her as she made her reverence, while her face lit up with an amused smile. "your father says i have seen you before, signora, but in sooth i know not where or how, since it was but this morn- ing that i arrived in paris." "we parted but half an hour since, monsieur." "parted?" guy repeated with a puzzled expression on his face. "surely you are jesting with me." "do you not recognize my messenger?" the italian said with a smile. "my daughter is my assistant. in a business like mine one cannot trust a stranger to do one service, and as a ln>y she could come and go unmarked when she carries a message to persons of quality. she looks a saucy page in the daytime when she goes on the business, but after nightfall at agincourt she is dressed as you saw her this evening. as a girl she could not traverse the streets unattended, and i am far too busy to bear her company; but as a lx>y she can go where she likes, and indeed it is only when we are alone, and there is little chance of my having visitors, that she appears in her proper character." "you must be very courageous, signora," guy said ; " but, indeed, i can well imagine that you can pass where you will without anyone suspecting you to be a girl, for the thought that this was so never entered my head." "i am so accustomed to the disguise," she said, " that i feel more comfortable in it than dressed as i now am, and it is much more amusing to be able to go about as i like than to remain all day cooped up here when my father is abroad.'' "and now, master aylmer, that you have made my daughter's acquaintance, and i have told you what news i have gathered, it needs not that i should detain you longer; the hour is getting late already, and your lady may well be getting anxious at your absence. can you read?" "yes, signor; the priest at my lady's castle in england, of which my father is castellan during my lord's absences, in- structed me." "it is well; for sometimes a note can be slipped into a hand when it would not be safe to deliver a message by word of mouth. from time to time if there be anything new you shall hear from me, but there will be no occasion for you to come hither again unless there is something of importance on which i may desire to have speech with you, or you with me. remain here, katarina, until my return; i will see monsieur out, and bar the door after him." passing downstairs guy looked in at the room where he guv and long tom comb to the rescue of count charles. in the streets of paris had left the archer. the latter sprung to his feet as he entered with a somewhat dazed expression on his face, for indeed, he had fallen off into a sound sleep. "we are going now, tom," guy said. "i have con- cluded my business with this gentleman. we will not go back the way we came," he went on, as they issued into the street, "for i am sure we should never find our way through those alleys. let us keep along here until we come to a broader street leading the way we wish to go; fortunately, with the river to our left, we cannot go very far wrong." they presently came to a street leading in the desired direction. they had scarcely entered it when they heard ahead of them the sound of a fray. a loud cry arose, and there was a clashing of sword-blades. "come on, tom!" guy said; "it may be that some gentleman is attacked by these ruffians of the streets." starting off at a run, they soon arrived at the scene of combat, the features of which they were able to see by the light of the lamp that hung in the centre of the street. a man was standing in a narrow doorway, which prevented his being attacked except in front, and the step on which he stood gave him a slight advantage over his adversaries. these were nearly a dozen in number, and were evidently, as guy had supposed, street ruffians of the lowest class. without hesitation guy and the archer fell upon them, with a shout of encouragement to the defender of the doorway, who was evidently sorely pressed. tom's quarter-staff sent two of the men rolling on the ground almost before they realized that they were attacked, while guy ran another through the body. for a moment the assailants scattered, but then, seeing that they were attacked by only two men, they fell upon them with fury. guy defended himself stoutly, but he would have fared at agincourt badly had it not been for the efforts of long tom, whose staff descended with such tremendous force upon the heads of his assailants that it broke down their guard, and sent man after man on to the pavement. guy himself received a sharp wound in the shoulder, but cut down another of his assail- ants; and the defender of the door, leaving his post of van- tage, now joined them, and in a couple of minutes but four of the assailants remained on their feet, and these, with a shout of dismay, turned and took to their heels. guy had now opportunely arrived. as the latter took off his hat he saw time to look at the gentleman to whose assistance he had so that the stranger was but a year or two older than himself. "by our lady, sir," the young man said, " you arrived at a lucky moment, for i could not much longer have kept these ruffians at bay. i have to thank you for my life, which, assuredly, they would have taken, especially as i had disposed of two of their comrades before you came up. may i ask to whom i am so indebted? i am count charles d'estournel." "my name is guy aylmer, sir; i am the son of sir james aylmer, an english knight, and am here as the esquire of dame margaret de villeroy, who arrived but this morning in paris." "and who is this stalwart fellow whose staff has done more execution than both our sword-blades?" the young count asked; "verily it rose and fell like a flail on a thrash- ing-floor." "he is one of dame margaret's retainers, and the captain of a band of archers in her service, but is at present here as one of her men-at-arms." "in truth i envy her so stout a retainer. good fellow, i have to thank you much, as well as monsieur guy aylmer, for your assistance.'' in the streets of paris "one is always glad of an opportunity to stretch one's arms a bit when there is but a good excuse for doing so," the archer said; "and one needs no better chance than when one sees a gentleman attacked by such scum as these ruf- fians," and he motioned to the men lying stretched on the ground. "ah, you are english !" d'estournel said with a slight smile at tom's very broken french. "i know all about you now," he went on, turning to guy. "i was not present to- day when your lady had audience with burgundy, but i heard that an english dame had arrived, and that the duke came but badly out of the encounter in words with her. but we had best be moving on or we^nay have the watch on us, and we should be called upon to account for these ten fellows lying here. i doubt not but half of them are only stunned and will soon make off, the other six will have to be carried away. we have a good account to give of ourselves, but the watch would probably not trouble themselves to ask any questions, and have no fancy for spending a night locked up in the cage with perhaps a dozen unsavoury malefactors. which way does your course lie, sir?" "we are lodged at the house of maitre leroux, provost of the silversmiths." "then you are going in the wrong direction. you return up this street, then turn to your right; his house is in the third street to the left. i shall do myself the honour of call- ing in the morning to thank you more fully for the service you have rendered me, which, should it ever fall into my power, you can count on my returning. my way now lies in the opposite direction." after mutual salutes they parted, and guy followed the di- rections given to them. "that was a sharp skirmish, master guy," long tom at ag ncourt said contentedly; "the odds were just enough to make it in- teresting. did you escape scatheless?" "not altogether, tom, i had a sword - thrust in my shoulder; but i can do with it until get back, when i will get you to bandage it for me." "that will i; i did not get so much as a scratch. a quarter-staff is a rare weapon in a fight like that, for you can keep well out of the reach of their swords. in faith i have not had so pleasant an exercise since that fight dickon and had in the market-place at winchester last lammas fair." "lam afraid dame margaret will scold us for getting into a fray." '' had it not been for your wound we need have said noth- ing about it; but you may be sure that you will have to carry your arm in a sling for a day or two, and she will want to know the ins and outs of the matter." "i think the affair has been a fortunate one, for it has ob- tained for me the friendship of a young burgundian noble. friendless as we are here, this is no slight matter, and i by no means grudge the amount of blood i have lost for such a gain. there is a light in dame margaret's casement; she said that she should sit up till my return, and would herself let me in, for the household would be asleep two hours ago; and as maitre leroux and his wife have shown themselves so kindly disposed towards us, she should not like the household disturbed at such an hour. i was to whistle a note or two of richardmon roi, and she would know that we were without." he whistled a bar or two of the air, they saw a shadow cross the casement, then the light disappeared, and in a minute they heard the bolts undrawn and the door opened. "you are late, guy," she said; "i have been expecting you this hour past. why, what has happened to you ?'' she broke off as she saw his face. in the streets of paris "it is but a trifle, lady," he said; "a sword-thrust in the shoulder, and a little blood. long tom will bind it up. our delay was caused partly by the fact that the italian was engaged, and it was half-an-hour before i could see him. moreover, we had been kept at the trysting-place, as the guide did not recognize me owing to tom being with me; and lastly, we were somewhat delayed by the matter that cost me this sword-thrust, which i in no way grudge, since it has gained for us a friend who may be useful." tom had by this time barred the door and had gone up- stairs. "iam disappointed in you, guy," dame margaret said severely when they entered the room. "i told you to keep yourself free from frays of all kinds, and here you have been engaged in one before we have been twelve hours in paris." "i crave your pardon, madam, but it is not in human nat- ure to stand by without drawing a sword on behalf of a young gentleman defending himself against a dozen cut-throats. i am sure that in such a case your ladyship would be the first to bid me draw and strike in. the matter did not last three minutes. tom disposed of six of them with his quarter-staff, the gentleman had killed two before we arrived, and i man- aged to dispose of two others, the rest took to their heels. the young gentleman was count charles d'estournel; he is, as it seems, in the duke of burgundy's train; and as we un- doubtedly saved his life, he may turn out a good and useful friend." "you are right, guy; i spoke perhaps too hastily. and now about the other matter." guy told her all that had taken place. "and what is this man like?" she asked when he had concluded. "now that i saw him without the astrologer's robe and in at aoincourt his ordinary costume he seemed to me a very proper gentle- man," guy replied. "he is my height or thereabouts, grave in face and of good presence. i have no doubt that he is to be trusted, and he has evidently resolved to do all in his power to aid you, should it be necessary to do so. he would scarce have introduced his daughter to me had it not been so." "he must be a strange man," dame margaret said thoughtfully. "he is certainly no common man, lady. as i have told you, he believes thoroughly in his science, and but adopts the costume in which i first saw him and the role of a quack vendor of nostrums in order that his real profession may not be known to the public, and so bring him in collision with the church." "it seems to me, guy," dame margaret said the next morning, " that as you have already made the acquaintance of a young french noble, and may probably meet with others, 'twill be best that, when we have fmished our breakfast, you should lose no time in sallying out and providing yourself with suitable attire. spare not money, for my purse is very full. get yourself a suit in which you can accompany me fitly if i again see the duke, or, as is possible, have an interview with the queen. get two others, the one a quiet one, and not likely to attract notice, for your ordinary wear; the other a more handsome one, to wear when you go into the company of the young men of station like this burgundian noble whom you succoured last night. your father being a knight, you may well, as the esquire of my lord, hold your head as high as other young esquires of good family in the train of french nobles." on agnes and charlie coming into the room, the latter ex- claimed, "why have you got your arm in a scarf, guy?" "he was in a fray last night, charlie. he and tom came at agincourt an hour, followed by a boy carrying a wooden case with the clothes that he had bought. he had been fortunate in getting two suits which fitted him perfectly. they had been made for a young knight who had been despatched by the duke to flan- ders just after he had been measured for them, and the tailor said that he was glad to sell them, as for aught he knew it might be weeks or even months before the knight returned, and he could make other suits for him at his leisure. thus he was provided at once with his two best suits; for the other be had been measured, and it was to be sent in a couple of days. on his return he went straight to his room, and attired himself in readiness to receive the visit of count charles d'estournel. the suit consisted of an orange-coloured doublet coming down to the hips, with puce sleeves; the trousers were blue, and fitting closely to the legs; the shoes were of the great length then in fashion, being some eighteen inches from the heel to the pointed toe. the court suit was similar in make, but more handsome—the doublet, which was of crimson, be- ing embroidered with gold; the closely-fitting trousers were striped with light blue and black; the cap with the suit in which he was now dressed was yellow, that with the court suit crimson, and both were high and conical, resembling a sugar- loaf in shape. from his sword-belt he carried a light straight sword, instead of the heavier one that would be carried in act- ual warfare, and on the right side was a long dagger. charlie clapped his hands as he entered the sitting-room. "that will do very well, master esquire," dame mar- garet said with a smile; "truly you look as well fitted as if they had been made for you, and the colours are well chosen." guy told her how he had obtained them. "you are very fortunate," she said, "and this afternoon, a riot when i mean to take a walk to see the city, i shall feel that i am well escorted with you by my side." "shall you take us, mother?" charlie asked anxiously. "i intend to do so. you are so accustomed to be in the open air that you would soon pine if confined here, though indeed the air outside is but close and heavy compared with that at home. i have been speaking to master leroux while you have been away, and he tells me that a post goes once a week to lille, and that he will send a letter for me to sir eustace under cover to a worthy trader of that town, who will forward it thence to villeroy by a messenger. therefore i shall write this morning; my lord will be pleased indeed to learn that we are so comfortably bestowed here, and that there is no cause for any uneasiness on his part." chapter viii a riot while dame margaret was speaking to guy, one of the servitors came up with word that count charles d'es- tournel was l>elow desiring to speak with master guy aylmer. "show the count up. or no, you had best go down your- self to receive him, guy. pray him to come up with you; it will be more fitting." guy at once went down. "so this is my saviour of last night," the count said gaily as guy joined him. "i could scarce get a view of your face then, as the lamps give such a poor light, and i should hardly have known you again. besides, you were wrapped up in at aginc urt your cloak. but you told me that you were an esquire, and i see that you carry a sword. i want to take you out to intro- duce you to some of my friends. can you accompany me now?" "i shall do so willingly, count; but first will you allow me to present you to my lady mistress? she prayed me to bring you up to her apartments." "that shall i right willingly; those who were present yes- terday speak of her as a noble lady." they went upstairs together. "my lady, this is count charles d'estournel, who desires me to present him to you." "i am glad to meet you, sir count," dame margaret said, holding out her hand, which he raised to his lips, "seeing that my esquire, master guy aylmer, was able to render you some slight service last night. this is my daughter agnes, and my son charles." "the service was by no means a slight one," the young count said, returning a deep salute that agnes and charlie made to him, "unless indeed you consider that my life is a valueless one, for assuredly without his aiil and that of your tall retainer, my father would have been childless this morn- ing. i was indeed in sore plight when they arrived; my arm was tiring, and i could not have defended myself very much longer against such odds, and as had exasperated them by killing two of their comrades, i should have received no mercy at their hands. in my surprise at being so suddenly attacked i even forgot to raise a shout for the watch, though it is hardly likely that they would have heard me had i done so; the lazy knaves are never on the spot when they are wanted. however, we gave the ruffians a lesson that those of them who escaped are not likely to forget readily, for out of the fourteen who attacked me we accounted for ten, of a riot whom your retainer levelled no less than six with that staff of his, and "i doubt whether any of the other four came off scatheless. i imagine that those levelled by your retainer got up and made off,—that is, if they recovered their senses before the watch came,—but i am sure that the other four will never steal pouch or cut throat in future. 'tis a shame that these rascals are suffered to interfere with honest men, and it would be far better if the city authorities would turn their attention to ridding the streets of these pests instead of meddling with things that in no way concern them." "it would no doubt be much wiser," dame margaret re- plied; "but since their betters are ever quarrelling among themselves, we can hardly wonder that the citizens do not attend to their own business." "no doubt you are right," the young count said with a smile; "but it is the highest who set the bad example, and we their vassals cannot but follow them, though i myself would far rather draw my sword against the enemies of france than against my countrymen. but methinks," and here he laughed, " the example of the wars that england has so often waged with scotland might well cause you to take a lenient view of our misdoings." "i cannot gainsay you there, sir count, and truly those quarrels have caused more damage to england than your dis- putes between burgundy and orleans have, so far, inflicted on france; but you see i am a sufferer in the one case and not in the other. even now i am ignorant why i have been brought here. there is a truce at present between england and france, and assuredly there are more english in the service of nobles of burgundy than in those of orleans, and at any rate i have seen no reason why there can at present be any doubt at all of the conduct of my lord, who has but lately de- fended his castle against the followers of orleans." at agincourt "so i have heard, madame, and i know that there are some of my friends who think that duke john has behaved hardly in the matter; but he seldom acts without reason, though it may not be always that one which he assigns for any action." then, changing the subject, he went on. "i have come to take master guy for a walk with me, and to introduce him to some of my friends. my father is absent at present, but on his return he will, i know, hasten to express his gratitude. i trust that you can spare your esquire to go out with me." "certainly, so that he does but return in time to escort me for a walk through the streets this afternoon." "i will be sure to come back, madam," guy said. "you have but to say the hour at which you will start; but indeed i think that i shall probably be in to dinner at one." "i cannot see," guy said, when he had sallied out with the young count, "why they should have called upon sir eustace to furnish hostages. as the duke of burgundy has english archers in his pay, and france is at truce with eng- land, there seems less reason than at other times to demand sureties of his loyalty, especially as he has shown that he is in no way well disposed to the armagnacs.'' "between ourselves, guy, i think that the duke in no way expected that hostages would be given, and that he was by no means well pleased when a messenger arrived from the herald to say that he was returning with your lady and her children. what was his intention i know not, but in times like these it is necessary sometimes to reward faithful followers or to secure doubtful ones, and it may be that he would have been glad to have had the opportunity of fmding so fair a castle and estate at his disposal. you know the fable of the wolf and the lamb; a poor excuse is deemed sufficient at all times in france when there is a great noble on one side and a simple a riot knight on the other, and i reckon that the duke did not cal- culate upon the willingness of your sir eustace to permit his wife and children to come here, or upon the dame's willing- ness to do so, and in no way expected matters to turn out as they have done, for there is now no shadow of excuse for him to meddle with villeroy. indeed, i question whether the condition about hostages was of his devising; but it may well be that the king or the queen wished it inserted, and he, thinking that there was no chance of that alternative being accepted, yielded to the wish. mind, all this is not spoken from my own knowledge, but i did hear that duke john was much put out when he found that the hostages were coming, and there was some laughter among us at the duke being for once outwitted." "then you do not love him overmuch, count?" "he is our lord, guy, and we are bound to fight in his cause, but our vows of fealty do not include the word- love. the duke his father was a noble prince, just and honourable, and he was loved as well as honoured. duke john is a dif- ferent man altogether. he is brave, as he proved in hun- gary, and it may be said that he is wise, but his wisdom is not of the kind that burgundian nobles love. it might have been wise to remove orleans from his path, although i doubt it, but it was a dastardly murder all the same; and although we are bound to support him, it alienated not a few. then he condescends to consort with these sorry knaves the butch- ers, and others of low estate, to take them into his counsels, and to thrust them ul»n us, at which, i may tell you, there is grievous discontent. all this is rank treason to the duke, i have no doubt, but it is true nevertheless. here we are at our first stopping-place. this is a salle if amies; it is kept by a burgundian master, who has with him two or three of the best swordsmen in france, and here a number of us meet at ag in court every morning to learn tricks of fence, and to keep our- selves in good exercise, which indeed one sorely needs in this city of paris, where there is neither hawking nor hunting nor jousting nor any other kind of knightly sport, everyone be- ing too busily in earnest to think of amusement. several of my best friends are sure to be here, and i want to in- troduce you to them." when they entered the salon they found some thirty young knights and nobles gathered. two or three pairs in helmet and body-armour were fighting with blunted swords, others were vaulting on to a saddle placed on a framework roughly representing a high war-horse; one or two were swinging heavy maces, whirling them round their heads and bringing them down occasionally upon great sand-bags six feet high, while others were seated on benches resting themselves after their exercises. d'estournel's arrival was greeted with a shout, and several of those disengaged at once came over to him. "laggard! one exclaimed, " what excuse have you to make for coming so late? i noted not that de jouvaux's wine had mounted into your head last night, and surely the duke cannot have had need of your valuable services this morning?" "neither one nor the other befell, d'estelle. but first let me introduce to you all my friend guy aylmer, an english gentleman, the son of a knight of that country, and himself an esquire of sir eustace de villeroy. i am sure you will welcome him when i tell you that he saved my life last night when attacked by a band of cut-throats. guy, these are my friends count pierre d'estelle, count walter de vesotil, the sieur john de perron, and the knights louis de lactre, sir reginald poupart, sir james regnier, sir thomas d'autre, and sir philip de noisies." a riot "i can assure you of our friendship," the first-named of these gentlemen said cordially to guy, "for indeed you have rendered us all a service in thus saving to us our friend d'estournel. tell us how the matter occurred, charles; in sooth, we shall have to take these ruffians of paris in hand. so long as they cut each other's throats no great harm is done, but if they take to cutting ours it is time to give them a lesson." "the matter was simple enough," d'estournel said. "as you know, it was late before we broke up at de jouvaux's last night, for i heard it strike half-past ten by the bell of st. germain as i sallied out. i was making my way home like a peaceful citizen, when two men came out from a narrow lane and stumbled roughly across me. deeming that they were drunk, i struck one a buffet on the side of his head and stretched him in the gutter." "that was not like a peaceful citizen, charles," one of the others broke in. "well, hardly, perhaps; but i forgot my character at the moment. however, an instant later there was a shout, and a dozen or so armed men poured out from the lane and fell upon me. i saw at once that i had been taken in a trap. luckily there was a deep doorway close by, so i sprang into it, and, drawing my sword, put myself in a posture of de- fence before they were upon me. i ran the first through the body, and that seemed to teach the others some caution. fortunately the doorway was so deep that only two could assail me at once, and i held my ground for some time pretty fairly, only receiving a few scratches. presently i saw another opening, and, parrying a thrust, ran my sword through the fellow's throat. he fell with a loud outcry, which was fortunate, for it came to the ears of my friend here, and brought him and a stout retainer—a at agincourt prodigiously tall fellow, with a staff longer than himself— to my aid. they were but just in time, for the ruffians, furious at the fall of another of their companions, were pressing me hotly, and slashing so furiously with their swords that it was as much as i could do to parry them, and had no time to thrust back in reply. my friend here ran two of them through, his tall companion levelled six to the ground with his staff, while i did what i could to aid them, and at last the four that remained still on their legs ran off. i believe they thought that the man with the staff was the evil one himself, who had got tired of aiding them in their villainous enterprises." "it was a narrow escape indeed, charles," count walter de vesoul said gravely, "and it was well for you that there was that doorway hard by, or your brave friend would have found but your body when he came along. it is evident, gentlemen, that when we indulge in drinking parties we must go home in couples. of course, charles, you must lay a complaint before the duke, and he must let the parisians know that if they do not keep their cut-throats within bounds we will take to sallying out at night in parties and will cut down every man we find about the streets." "i will lay my complaint, but i doubt if much good will come of it. the duke will speak to the provost of the butchers, and nothing will be done." "then we will take them in hand," the other said angrily. "if the parisians won't keep order in their streets we will keep it for them. such doings are intolerable, and we will make up parties to scour the streets at night. men passing peaceably along we shall not of course molest, but any parties of armed men we find about we will cut down without hesita- tion." "i shall be heartily glad to join one of the parties when- a riot ever you are disposed, de vesoul," d'estournel said. "per- chance i may light on one or more of the four fellows who got away last night. now i am ready to have a bout with swords.' "we have all had our turn, charles," the other said. "then i must work with the mace," the count said. "my friend here, you see, did not come off as scatheless last night as i did, or else i would have asked him to have a bout with me. he held his own so well against two of them who fell on him together that i doubt not i should find him a sturdy adversary." "i fear not, count," guy said smiling. "i can use my sword, it is true, in english fashion, but i know little of feints and tricks with the sword such as i am told are taught in your schools." "a little practice here will amend that," d'estournel said. "these things are well enough in a salle tfarmes, and are useful when one man is opposed to another in a duel, but in a battle or melee i fancy that they are of but little use, though indeed i have never yet had the chance of trying. we will introduce you to the master, and i hope that you will come here regularly; it will give real pleasure to all. this salon is kept up by the duke for our benefit, and as you are one of his most pressingly invited guests you are certainly free of it." they went up in a body to the master. "maitre baudin," count charles said, " i have to introduce to you a gentle- man who is our mutual friend, and who last night saved my life in a street brawl. he is at present an esquire of sir eustace de villeroy, and has travelled hither with the knight's dame, who has come at the invitation of the duke. i lis father is an english knight, and as the friend of us all we trust that you will put him upon the list of your pupils." at agincourt "i shall be pleased to do so, count charles, the more so since he has done you such service." "i am afraid that you will find me a very backward pupil," guy said. "i have been well taught in english fashion, but as you know, maitre, we were more famed for downright hard hitting than for subtlety and skill in arms." "downright hard hitting is not to be despised," the master said, " and in a battle it is the chief thing of all; yet science is not to be regarded as useless, since it not only makes sword-play a noble pastime, but in a single combat it enables one who is physically weak to hold his own against a far stronger antagonist." "that i feel greatly, maitre. i shall be glad indeed of lessons in the art, and as soon as my shoulder is healed i shall take great pleasure in attending your school regularly, whenever my lady has no need of my presence. i am now in the position of the weak antagonist you speak of, and am therefore the more anxious to acquire the skill that will en- able me to take my part in a conflict with full-grown men." "you showed last night that you could do that," count charles said with a smile. "nay, men of that sort do not count," guy said. "they arc but rough swordsmen, and it was only their number that rendered them dangerous. there is little credit in holding one's own against ruffians of that kind." "well, i will be lazy this morning," the young count said, "and do without my practice. will you all come round to my rooms, gentlemen, and drink a glass or two of wine and make the better acquaintance of my friend? he is bound to be back at his lodgings by one, and therefore you need not be afraid that i am leading you into a carouse." guy passed an hour in the count's lodgings and then re- turned to the provost's. the count accompanied him, saying a riot that he had not yet seen his tall friend of the night before, and must personally thank him. long tom was called down, he being one of the two who had remained in for the morn- ing. "i must thank you again for the service that you rendered me last night," the count said frankly, holding out his hand to the archer. "i hope that you will accept this ring in token of my gratitude; i have had it enlarged this morning so that it may fit one of your strong fmgers. it may be useful some day to turn into money should you fmd yourself in a pinch." "i thank you, sir," tom said. "i will wear it round my neck, for in truth rings are not for the use of men in my con- dition. as to gratitude, i feel that it is rather the other way, for my arms were beginning to get stiff for want of use. i only wish that the fray had lasted a bit longer, for i had scarce time to warm to it, and i ho[,e that the next time your lordship gets into trouble i may have the good luck to be near at hand again." "i hope you may, my friend; assuredly i could want no better helper." after the count had taken his leave guy went upstairs and told lady margaret how he had spent the morning. "i am very glad to hear what you say about the fencing school, guy; it will be good for you to have such training. and indeed 'tis well that you should have some employment, for time would hang but wearily on your hands were you to remain long caged up here. i shall be very glad for you to go. it will make no difference to us whether we take our walk in the morning or in the afternoon." after dinner they went out. guy escorted dame mar- garet, agnes and charlie followed, long tom and jules varoy bringing up the rear, both armed with swords and car- rying in addition heavy cudgels. first of all they visited the at agincourt cathedral, where dame margaret and her daughter knelt for some time in prayer before one of the shrines; then crossing the bridge again they followed along the broad pavement be- tween the foot of the walls and the river, which served as a market, where hucksters of all sorts plied their trade; then entering the next gate on the wall they walked down the street to the place de la bastille, which had been finished but a few years. "'tis a gloomy place and a strong one," dame margaret said with a shiver as she looked at its frowning towers; "the poor wretches who are once entombed there can have but little hope of escape. surely there cannot be so many state prisoners as to need for their keeping, a building so large as that. still, with so turbulent a population as this of paris, it doubtless needs a strong castle to hold them." "it seems to me, madame, that, though useful doubtless as a prison, the castle was never really built for that purpose, but as a stronghold to overawe paris." "that may be so, guy; at any rate i am glad that they did not use it as our place of detention instead of the house of maitre leroux." "they see well enough, madame, that you are more se- curely held than bolts and bars could detain you. i imagine that they would like nothing better than for you to get away back to villeroy, since it would give them an excuse for an attack on the castle." "doubtless that is so, guy; i came freely, and i must stay freely until some change takes place that will leave it open to us to fly. but in sooth it seems to me that nothing short of the arrival of an english army could do that. were the armagnacs to get the better of the burgundians our position would be even worse than it is now." "that is true enough, madame, for the burgundians have a riot no cause of hostility whatever to sir eustace and you, while we have given the armagnacs good reasons for ill-will against us. still, were they to come here it would be open to you to fly, for all artois is burgundian; and though the duke might not be able to hold his position here, artois and flanders would long be able to sustain themselves, and you would therefore be safe at villeroy, for they would have other mat- ters to attend to without meddling with those who only ask to be let alone.'' on their way back from the bastille they saw a crowd in the street and heard loud shouts. "we had best turn off by this side street, madame," guy said; "doubtless it is a body of the scoundrel butchers at their work of slaying some enemy under the pretext of his being an orleanist. do you hear their shouts of 'paris and burgundy!'?" turning down a side street they made a circuit round the scene of the tumult, and then coming up into the main street again resumed their way. after walking a considerable dis- tance they came to a large building. "what place is this, guy?" "it is the louvre, madame. it should be the abode of the king of france, but he is only sometimes lodged there; but often stays at one of the hotels of the great lords. these palaces are all fortified buildings. our country castles are strong, but there is no air of gloom about them; these narrow streets and high houses seem to crush one down." "we will go back again, guy; i do not think that i shall often go out in future." "you can take a boat on the river, madame, and row up or down into the country. they say it is pretty; once fairly away from paris, there are hills and woods and villages." "that may be pleasant. if they would but let me go and at aginc urt live in one of those quiet spots i should be as contented as it is possible for me to be away from my husband. "nothing can be kinder than are maitre leroux and his wife, but one cannot but feel that one is a burden upon them. my hope is that when the king comes to his senses i may be able to obtain an interview with him, and even if i cannot have leave to return to villeroy i may be allowed to take up my abode outside the walls, or at any rate to obtain a quiet lodging for ourselves." for the next three weeks the time passed quietly. guy went every morning to the salle ifamics, for his wound lx>ing on his left shoulder he was able to use his sword arm as soon as it began to heal. "you underrated your skill," the fencing - master said when he had given him his first lesson. "it is true that you do not know the niceties of sword-playing, but indeed you are so quick of eye and wrist that you can afford to do without them. still, doubtless after a couple of months' practice here you will be so far improved that he will need to be a good swordsman who holds his own with you." guy paid only one visit during this time to the lodgings of the italian. "you have not heard from me, master aylmer," the latter said, " because indeed there has been nothing of im- portance to tell you. the armagnacs are, i hear, collecting a great army, and are likely ere long to inarch in this direc- tion. the butchers are becoming more and more unpopular and more and more violent; not a day passes but many citizens are killed by them under the pretence that they are armagnacs, but really because they had expressed themselves a.s hostile to the doings of these tyrants. i have cast your horoscope, and i find that the conjunction of the planets at your birth was eminently favourable. it seems to me that a riot about this time you will pass through many perilous advent- ures, but you are destined to escape any dangers that threaten you. you will gain honour and renown, and come to fortune through a marriage. there are other things in your career that are uncertain, since i cannot tell at what date they are likely to occur and whether the planets that were favourable at your birth may again be in the ascendant; but, for as much as i have told you, i have no doubt whatever." "i thank you for the trouble that you have taken, count montepone," for guy had now learned the rank that the italian held in his own country," and can only trust that your predictions will be verified. i would rather win fort- une by my own hand than by marriage, though it will not come amiss.'' "whatever way it may happen, you will be knighted," the astrologist said gravely, "after a great battle, and by the hand of a sovereign; though by whom the battle will be fought and who the sovereign may !,e i cannot say, but [re- thinks that it will be the english king." "that i can wish more than anything," guy said warmly. "fortune is good, but to be knighted by a royal hand would be an honour greater than any other that could befall me." "bear your destiny in mind," the italian said earnestly, "remember that in many cases predictions bring about their own fulfilment; and truly i am rejoiced that i have found that the stars point out so prosperous a future for you." guy was not free from the superstition of the time, and although in his knglish home he had seldom heard astrology mentioned, he had found since he had been in france that many even of the highest rank had an implicit belief in it, and he was convinced that at any rate the count himself be- lieved in the power of the stars. he was gratified, therefore, to be told that his future would be prosperous; and, indeed, at agincourt the predictions were not so improbable as to excite doubt in themselves. he was already an esquire, and unless he fell in combat or otherwise, it was probable that he would attain the honour of knighthood before many years had passed. the fact, however, that it was to be bestowed by royal hand added greatly to the value of the honour. knighthood was common in those days; it was bestowed almost as a matter of course upon young men of good birth, especially if they took up the profession of arms. every noble had some, while not a few had many knights in their service, discharging what would now be the duties of officers when their levies were called out, and they could themselves bestow the rank upon any man possessing a certain amount of land; but to be knighted by a distinguished leader, or by a sovereign, was a distinction greatly prized, and placed its recipient in quite another category to the knights by service. it was a testi- mony alike of valour and of birth, and was a proof that its bearer was a warrior of distinction. the prophecy that he would better his fortune by marriage weighed little with him; marriage was a matter that appeared to him at present to be a very remote contingency; at the same time it was pleasant to him to be told that his wife would be an heiress, because this would place him above the need of earning his living by his sword, and would enable him to follow his sovereign, not as one of the train of a powerful noble, but as a free knight. a stout defence chapter ix a stout defence the duke of burgundy had left paris upon the day after he had received dame margaret, and as the king had a lucid interval, the duke of aquitaine, his son, was also absent with the army. in paris there existed a general sense of un- easiness and alarm. the butchers, feeling that their doings had excited a strong reaction against them, and that several of the other guilds, notably that of the carpenters, were com- bining against them, determined to strike terror into their opponents by attacking some of their leaders. several of these were openly murdered in the streets, and the houses of others were burnt and sacked. one evening when guy had returned at nine o'clock from a supper at count charles's lodgings, it being the first time he had been out after dark since his first adventure, he had but just gone up to his room, when he heard a loud knocking at the door below. going to the front window he looked out of the casement. "who is it that knocks?" he asked. "it is i—the lad of notre dame." he recognized the voice and ran down and opened the door. "what is it, signora?" "my father bids me tell you, sir, that he but learned the instant before he despatched me that the butchers are going to attack this house this evening, under the pretext that there are english spies here, but really to slay the provost of the silversmiths, and to gratify their followers by the sack of his house. i fear that i am too late, for they were to march from at agincourt the abattoirs at nine, and it is already nearly half-past. look! i see torches coming up the street." "it is too late, indeed, to fly, even if we wished to," guy said. "dame margaret and the children retired to bed an hour ago. will you take this ring," and he took off from his fmger one that d'estournel had given him, "and carry it at once to the lodgings of count charles d'estournel? they are in the house on this side of the hotel of st. pol. he is still up, and has some of his friends with him. tell him from me that this house is being attacked, and beg him to gather a party, if he can, and come to our assistance. say that we shall defend it until the last." the girl took the ring and ran off at the top of her speed. the roar of the distant crowd could now be distinctly heard. guy put up the strong bars of the door and then rushed up- stairs. first he knocked at the door of maitre leroux. "the butchers are coming to attack your house!" he shouted. "call up your servants; bid them take to their arms." then he ran up to the room where his men slept. long tom, who had met him at d'estournel's door and accompanied him home, sprang to his feet from his pal- let as guy entered. "the butchers are about to attack the house, tom; up all of you and arm yourselves; bring down your bow and arrows. where do the men - servants sleep ?'' "there are five of them in the next room, and the two who serve in the shop are in the chamber beyond," the archer replied, as he hastily buckled on his armour. guy rushed to the door and awoke the inmates of the rooms, telling them to arm and hasten down to defend the house, which was about to be attacked. a moment later maitre leroux himself appeared and repeated the order. "art sure of what you say, master guy?" he asked. a stout defence "look from the window and you will see them approach- ing," guy replied, and going to the casement window which was at the front of the house he threw it open. some four hundred yards away a dense throng was coming along; a score of torches lighted up the scene. "resistance is vain," the silversmith said. "it is my life they seek; i will go down to them." "resistance will not be in vain," guy said firmly. "i have already sent for aid, and we shall have a body of bur- gundian men - at - arms here to our assistance before long. your life will not satisfy them; it is the plunder of your shop and house that they long for, and you may be sure that they will put all to the sword if they once break in. now let us run down and see what we can do to strengthen our defences." "the shutters and doors are all strong," the provost said as they hurried downstairs, followed by the four men-at- arms and the servants — for in those days men removed but few of their garments as they lay down on their rough pallets. "in the first place," guy said, "we must pile everything that we can find below against these doors, so that when they yield we can still make a defence here, before we re- tire. are there other stairs than these?" "no." "so much the better. as soon as we have blocked the door we will barricade the first landing and defend our- selves there. jean bart, do you take the command below for the present. seize everything that you can lay hands on, logs from the wood-store, sacks of charcoal, cases, every- thing heavy that you can fmd, and pile them up against the door. tom, do you come with us; an arrow or two will check their ardour, and it is not likely they have at ag in court brought bows or cross-bows with them. try to parley with them as long as you can, maitre leroux, every minute is of value." "what is all this, guy? " dame margaret asked as she entered the apartment. having been aroused by the noise she had hastily attired hers :lf, and had just come into the front room. '' the butchers are about to attack the house, lady; we are going to defend it. have sent to u'estournel, and we may hope for aid before long.'' at this moment there was a loud knocking at the door and a hoarse roar of voices from the street. the silver- smith went to the casement and opened it, and he and guy looked out. a shout of fury arose from the street, with cries of "death to the english spies!" "death to the armagnac provost!" leroux in vain endeavoured to make his voice heard, and so tell the crowd that his guests were not spies, but had been lodged at his house by the duke of burgundy himself. a tall man on horseback, one of several who were evidently leaders of the mob, pressed his way through the crowd to the door and evidently gave some orders, and a din of heavy sledge-hammers and axes beating against it at once mingled with the shouts of the crowd. the horseman crossed again to the other side of the street and shook his fist threateningly at leroux. "that is jacques legoix," the silversmith said, as he retired from the window; "one of the great leaders of the butchers; his family, and the st. yons and taiberts rule the market." "tom," guy said to the archer, who was standing behind him. "begin by picking off that fellow on horseback opposite.' a stout defence tom had already bent his bow and had an arrow in readiness, a moment later the shaft flew and struck the butcher between the eyes, and he fell dead from his horse. a yell of consternation and rage rose from the crowd. "now you can distribute a few arrows among those fellows at the door," guy said. the archer leant far out of the low casement. "it is awkward shooting, master guy," he said quietly, "but i daresay i can make a shift to manage it." disregarding the furious yells of the crowd, he sent arrow after arrow among the men using the sledges and axes. many of them had steel caps with projecting rims which sheltered the neck, but as they raised their weapons with both hands over their heads they exposed their chests to the marksman above, and not an arrow that was shot failed to bring down a man. when six had fallen no fresh volunteers came forward to take their places, although another horseman made his way up to them and endeavoured by persuasions and threats to induce them to continue the work. this man was clad in armour, and wore a steel cap in the place of the knightly helmet. "who is that fellow?" guy asked the merchant. "he is the son of caboche, the head of the flayers, one of the most pestilent villains in the city." "keep your eye on him, tom, and when you see a chance send an arrow home." "that armour of his is but common stuff, master guy; as soon as i get a chance i will send a shaft through it." the man with a gesture of anger turned and gave in- structions to a number of men, who pushed their way through the crowd, first picking up some of the fallen hammers and axes. the fate of his associate had evidently taught the horseman prudence, for as he moved away he xo at aoincourt kept his head bent down so as not to expose his face to the aim of the terrible marksman at the window. he halted a short distance away and was evidently haranguing the crowd round him, and in his vehemence raised his arm. the moment he did so tom's bow twanged. the arrow struck him at the unprotected part under the arm-pit, and he fell headlong from his horse. maddened with rage the crowd no longer hesitated, and again attacked the door. just as they did so there was a roar of exultation down the street as twelve men brought up a solid gate that they had beaten in and wrenched from its hinges from a house beyond. "you can shoot as you like now, tom. i will go down and see how the men are getting on below; the mob will have the door in sooner or later." guy found that the men below had not wasted their time. a great pile of logs, sacks, and other materials was piled against the door, and a short distance behind stood a number of bar- rels of wine and heavy cases ready to be placed in position. "get them upstairs, jean," guy said; "they will make a better barricade than the furniture, which we may as well save if possible." the nine men set to work, and in a very short time a strong barricade was formed across the top of the wide staircase. "have you all the cases out of the shop?" "yes, we have not left one there, master guy. if they are all full of silver there must be enough for a royal banqueting- table." some, indeed, of the massive chests were so heavy that it required the efforts of six men to carry them upstairs. "how do matters go, guy?" dame margaret asked quietly as he re-entered the apartment. "very well," he replied. "i don't think the door will a stout defence hold out much longer; but there is a strong barricade behind it which it will take them some time to force, and another on the landing here that we ought to be able to hold for an hour at least, and before that yields we will have another ready on the landing above." "i will see to that," she said. "i will take agnes and charlie up with me, and then, with the women, i will move out the clothes' and linen chests and build them up there." "thank you, madame; i trust long before the barricade here is carried we shall have d'estournel and his friends to our assistance. indeed, i doubt whether they will be able to carry it at all; it is as solid and almost as strong as a stone wall, and as there are thirteen or fourteen of us to defend it, it seems to me that nothing short of battering the cases to pieces will enable them to force a way." "i wish i could do something," agnes broke in; "it is hard not to be able to help while you are all fighting for us. i wish i had brought my bow with me, you know i can shoot fairly." "i think that it is just as well that you have not," guy said with a smile. "i do not doubt your courage for a mo- ment, but if you were placing yourself in danger we should all be anxious about you, and i would much rather know that you were safe with your mother upstairs." guy now went to the window. maitre leroux had been directing his servants in the formation of the barricades. "i can do nothing to protect the door," the archer said; "they have propped up that gate so as to cover the men who are hammering at it. i have been distributing my arrows among the crowd, and in faith there will be a good many vacancies among the butchers and flayers in the market to- morrow morning. i am just going up to fill my quiver again and bring down a spare armful of arrows." at agincourt "leave those on the landing here, tom, and bring your full quiver down below. the door will not hold many min- utes longer: i could see that it was yielding when i was down there just now. i don't think that we shall be able to make a long defence below, for with their hooked halberts they will be able to pull out the logs, do what we will." one of the servants now ran in. "they have broken the door down, sir. it is only kept in place by the things behind it." guy ran out, climbed the barricade—which on the landing was four feet high, but as it was built on the edge of the top stair it was nine inches higher on that face—let himself drop on to the stairs, and ran down into the passage. "i think, maitre leroux," he said, " that you and your men had better go up at once and station yourselves at the barricade. there is no room here for more than five of us to use our arms, and when we retire we shall have to do so quickly. will you please fasten a chair on the top step in such a way that we can use it to climb over the barricade without delay? we are like to be hard pressed, and it is no easy matter to get over a five-foot wall speedily with a crowd of armed men pressing hotly on your heels." the provost told two of his men to pick out a square block of firewood, as nearly as possible the thickness of the height of one of the steps. after trying several they found one that would do, and on placing it on the stair next to the top it formed with the step above it a level platform. on this the chair was placed, a strong rope being attached to it so that it could be pulled up over the barricade when the last of the de- fenders had entered. by the time this was finished the battle below began in earnest. the infuriated assailants had pulled the doors outwards and were making desperate efforts to climb the pile of logs. this they soon found to be impossible, and a stout defence began with their halberts to pull them down, and it was not long before they had dislodged sufficient to make a slope up which they could climb. their work had not been carried on with impunity, for the archer had stationed himself on the top and sent his arrows thick and fast among them. "in faith, master," he said to guy, who stood close be- hind, "methinks that i am doing almost as much harm as good, for i am aiding them mightily in making their slope, which will presently contain as many dead men as logs." as soon as they deemed the slope climbable the furious assailants charged up. they were met by guy and the four men-at-arms. tom had now slung his bow behind him and had betaken himself to his heavy axe, which crashed through the iron caps of the assailants as though they had been egg- shells. but in such numbers did they press on that guy saw that this barricade could not be much longer held. "get ready to retire when i give the word!" he shouted to his companions. "tom, you and jules varoy and robert picard run first upstairs. when you have climbed the barri- cade, do you, tom, take your place on the top. jean bart and i will come up last, and you can cover us with your ar- rows. tell maitre leroux to remove the light into the room, so that they will not be able to see what there is to encounter, while these torches here and those held by the crowd will enable you to see well enough to take aim. now!" he shouted, "fall back!" tom and the two men-at-arms sprang up the stairs, guy and jean bart followed more slowly, and halted a few steps from the top. "all up, master!" tom shouted, and jean and guy were able to cross the barricade before the foremost of their pursu- ers reached them. there had indeed been confusion below, for several of those who had first climbed the barricade had, at agincourt instead of pressing hotly in pursuit, run along the hall and through the door into the shop, in their eagerness to be the first to seize upon the plunder. they expected the others to follow their example, but one of their leaders placed himself in their way and threatened to cut them down if they did not first assault the stairs. "fools!" he shouted, "do you think that the old fox has wasted the time we have given him? you may be sure that the richest prizes have been carried alx,ve." there was an angry altercation, which was continued until those who had first run into the shop returned with the news that it had been completely stripped of its contents. there was now no longer any hesitation in obeying their leader, and the men poured up the stairs in a mass. suddenly some torches appeared above, and those in front saw with conster- nation the obstacle that stood between them and their prey. they had little time for consideration, however, for the ar- rows from the archer now smote them, and that with a force and rapidity that bewildered them. five or six of those in front fell shot through the brain. "heads down !" a voice shouted. there was no retreat for those in front, for the mass behind pressed them forward, and, instinctively olwying the order, they ran up. but neither helm nor breast-plate availed to keep out the terrible english arrows, which clove their way through the iron as if it had been pasteboard. stumbling over the bodies of those who had fallen, the front rank of the assailants at last reached the barricade, but here their progress was arrested. a line of men stood behind the smooth wall of massive cases, and those who strove to climb it were smitten with axe or sword, while they themselves could not reach the defenders above them. they could but thrust blindly with pike or halbert, for if a face was raised to direct the aim one of the deadly arrows struck it in- a stout defence stantly. in vain they strove by the aid of the halberts to haul down a case from its position, the weight was too great for one man's strength to move, and before several could grasp the handle of the halbert to aid them, the shaft was cut in two by the blow of an axe. hol>eless as the attempt seemed, it was persevered in, for the crowd below, ignorant of the nature of the obstacle, maddened with fury and with the wine which had been freely served out before starting, still pressed forward, each fearing that the sil- versmith's treasures would be appropriated before he could ob- tain his share. for half an hour the fight continued, then there was a roar in the street, and dame margaret, who, after seeing the barricade above completed, had come down to her room and was gazing along the street, ran out on to the landing. "help is at hand !" she cried, "the knights are com- ing!" then came the loud tramp of horses, mingled with shouts of " burgundy!" the crowd at the entrance at once turned and ran out, and as the alarm reached those within, they too rushed down, until the stairs were untenanted save by the dead. bidding the others hold their places lest the assailants should return, guy ran in and joined lady margaret at the window. a fierce conflict was going on in the street, with shouts of "burgundy!" "a rescue!" "a rescue!" the knights, who were followed by some fifty men-at-arms, rode into the mob, hewing them down with their swords. the humiliations that they had received from the arrogance and insolence of the butchers had long rankled in their minds, and they now took a heavy vengeance. the windows of all the houses opposite, from which men and women had teen peering timidly out, were now crowded; women waving their handkerchiefs to the knights, and men loudly shouting greet- at ag ncourt ings and encouragements. the whole of the traders of paris were bitterly opposed to the domination of the market guilds, and while they cared but little for the quarrel between the rival dukes, the alliance between burgundy and the butchers naturally drove them to sympathize with the opposite party. the proof afforded by the charge of the knights upon the mob delighted them, as showing that, allied with them though they might be, the burgundians were determined no longer to allow the rioting and excesses of the men of the market guilds to continue. in two or three minutes all was over. the resistance, though fierce, was short, and the mob was driven down the side streets and chased until the trading quarter was cleared of them. as the knights returned guy went down to the door, to which maitre leroux had already descended to thank his rescuers for their timely aid. "i thank you, my lords and knights," the silversmith said, "for the timely succour you have rendered me. i would pray you to enter and to allow me to thank you in more worthy fashion, but indeed the stairs and passage are encumbered with dead." "dame margaret of villeroy prays me to say that she also desires greatly to thank you," guy said. "i feared that we should have been too late," count charles replied. "we lost no time when your messenger came, guy, but it took some time to rouse the men-at-arms and to saddle our horses. you must have made a stout defence indeed, judging by the pile of dead that encumber your passage." "there are many more inside," guy said, "and methinks that we could have held out for another hour yet if it had been needed. indeed, the only thing that i feared was that they might set fire to the lower part of the house." "i should like to see your defences, maitre leroux," count a stout defence walter de vesoul said. "what say you, my friends, shall we mount and see the scene of this battle? methinks we might well gain something by it, for 'tis no slight thing that an unfortified house should for over an hour defend itself against a mob full a couple of thousand strong. i doubt not, too, that master leroux will serve us with a flagon of wine; and, moreover, we should surely pay our respects to this eng- lish lady,—who while a hostage of the duke has been thus sorely ill-treated by the scum of paris,—if she will please re- ceive us at this hour of the evening." the other knights, of whom there were ten in number, at once dismounted. the silversmith's servants brought torches, and after ordering two of them to broach a cask of wine and to regale the men-at-arms, the provost led the way upstairs. "wait a moment, good provost," the count de vesoul said, " let us understand the thing from the beginning. i see that the knaves lying here and many of those in the road are pierced by arrows, which, as i note, have in some cases gone through iron cap or breast - pi ece; how comes that?" "that is the work of one of my lady's retainers. he is an english archer, and one of the most skilful. he comes from her english estate, and when she chose him as one of the four men-at-arms to accompany her, he begged leave to bring his bow and arrows, and has in truth, as you see, made good use of them." "that is the same tall fellow who, as i told you, walter, did me such good service in that fray," said d'estournel. "by saint anne, guy, i would that i had a dozen such men among my varlets. why, there are a round dozen lying outside the door." "there would have been more," guy said, " had they not brought up that great gate and used it as a screen while they battered in the door here." at agincourt "then you built the barricade behind it?" count walter said as he climbed over the heap of logs. "yes, count, it was built against the door, but when that gave way they pulled it down with halberts until they could climb over it. but, as you see, no small portion of slope on the outside is composed of their bodies. the archer's arrows did good execution as they worked at it, and when they made the assault we—that is to say, dame margaret's four retainers and i—held it for some time, then we retired up the stairs and defended that barricade we had built across the top." the knights picked their way among the bodies that en- cumbered the stairs. "by saint denis, charles, this is a strong work indeed!" the count said to d'estournel, as they reached the top; "no wonder the knaves found it too much for them. what are all these massive cases?" "they contain the goods from my shop," maitre leroux said. "master aylmer had them carried here while the archer was defending the door, and by so doing not only made, as you see, a stout breast-work, but saved them from being plundered." "they were well fitted for it," guy said, "for they are very weighty, and though the fellows tried hard they could not move them with their hooks, and as fast as they strove to do so the provost's men and ours struck off the heads of the halberts with axes; and the work was all the more difficult as our archer had always a shaft fitted to let fly whenever they lifted their heads." "but how did you manage to get over safely when they won the barricade below?" d'estournel asked; "it was not an easy feat to climb this wall with a crowd of foemen behind." guy explained how they had arranged a chair to form a step. "there was, however," he went on, "no great need a stout defence for haste. the archer and two others went first, and he took his stand on the top of the chests in readiness to cover the retreat of the fourth man-at-arms and myself. but happily many of the knaves wanted to sack the shop more than to follow us, and there was such confusion below, that we had time to climb over and pull up the chair before they had mustered to the attack." while they were talking long tom and the others had removed one of the chests and made a passage by which they could pass through, and maitre leroux led them into his private apartments, which were similar to, although larger than, dame margaret's. a number of candles had already been lighted, and in a minute mistress leroux entered, fol- lowed by two of her maids carrying trays with great beakers of wine and a number of silver goblets, and she and the pro- vost then poured out the wine and offered it with further ex- pressions of thanks to the knights. "say naught about it, madame," count walter said; "it was high time that a check was put on these rough fellows who lord it over paris and deem themselves its masters. i doubt not that they will raise some outcry and lay their com- plaint before the duke; but you, i trust, and other worthy citizens, will be beforehand with them, and send off a mes- senger to him laying complaints against these fellows for attacking, plundering, and burning at their will the houses of those of better repute than themselves. we have come to your help not as officers of the duke, but as knights and gentlemen who feel it a foid wrong that such things should be done. moreover, as dame margaret of villeroy, a hostage of the duke, was lodged here at his request, it was a matter that nearly touched his honour that her life should be placed in danger by these scurvy knaves, and we shall so represent the matter to the duke." at agincourt just as the knights had drunk their wine, guy, who had left them on the landing, entered, escorting dame margaret and her two children. count charles d'estournel, after saluting her, presented his companions to her, and she thanked each very heartily for the succour they had brought so opportunely. "in truth, lady," the count de vesoul said, "methinks from what we saw that you might even have managed without us, so stoutly were you defended by your esquire and your retainers, aided as they were by those of the provost, though in the end it may be that these must have succumbed to num- bers; for i can well imagine that your assailants, after the loss that they have suffered, would have spared no effort to avenge themselves, and might indeed, as a last resource, have fired the house. this they would no doubt have done long before had it not been that by so doing they would have lost all the plunder that they counted on. this stout defence will no doubt teach these fellows some moderation, for they will see that citizens' houses are not to be plundered without hard fighting and much loss. as for ourselves, we shall see the duke of burgundy's lieutenant to-morrow morning and lay the matter before him, praying him to issue a proclama- tion saying that in order to suppress the shameful disorders that have taken place, he gives notice that all who attack the houses of peaceful citizens will henceforth be treated as evil- doers and punished accordingly." after some further conversation the knights prepared to leave. "i shall do myself the honour, sirs," maitre leroux said, "of sending to your lodgings to-morrow the cups that you have used, as a small testimony of my gratitude to you, and as a memorial of the events of this evening." while they were upstairs the men-at-arms and servants ha j a stout defence been employed in clearing the stairs, throwing the bodies that had encumbered it out into the street. the men at-arms of the knights had, after drinking the wine that had been sent out to them, aided in clearing the passage; buckets of water had been thrown down on the stairs, and the servitors by a vigorous use of brooms had removed most of the traces of the fray. the work had just been finished, and dame margaret's men had, by guy's orders, stationed themselves on the landing to do honour to the knights as they set out. "ah, my tall friend," d'estournel said to the archer, "so you have been at work again, and i can see that you are even more doughty with the bow than with that long staff of yours. well, this time there must have been enough fighting to please even you." "it has been an indifferent good fight, my lord," tom said; "but in truth, save for the stand on that pile of logs below, when things were for a time brisk, it has been alto- gether too one-sided to please me." "most people would think that the one-sidedness was all the other way," d'estournel laughed. "well, men, you have all done your duty to your lady right well this night, and there is not one of us here who would not gladly have such brave fellows in his service. i see that you are all four wounded." "they are scarce to be called wounds, sir count, seeing that they are but flesh cuts from their halberts which we got in the fray l>elow. these slaughterers can doubtless strike a good blow with a pole-axe, but they are but clumsy varlets with other weapons. but to give them their due, they fought stoutly if with but little skill or discretion." several of the others also said a few words of commenda- tion to the men. the provost and guy escorted the knights to the door below. the latter had ordered twenty of their at agincourt men-at-arms to remain in the house until morning, after which "en were to stay there until the doors had been re- paired and refixed. as soon as the knights had ridden off the silversmith ordered several bundles of rushes to be strewn in the shop for the guard, and a meal of cold meat to be set for their supper. two of them were posted as sentinels at the door. "i shall not open the shop to-morrow," he said as he as- cended the stairs with guy, "nor indeed shall i do so until things have settled down. there will be for some time a mighty animosity on the part of these butchers and skinners against me, and it is only reasonable that after such an attack i should close my shop. those who have dealings with me will know that they can do their business with me in private. and now methinks we will retire to bed; 'tis past midnight, and there is no fear of our being disturbed again. if they send anyone to spy out whether we are on the watch, the sight of the burgnndian soldiers below will suffice to tell them that there is nothing to be done. the first thing to- morrow i will set the carpenters to work to make me an even stronger pair of doors than those that have been spoilt.'' ,n going into dame margaret's apartments guy found that \j she had again retired to rest, and at once threw himself on his bed without disrobing himself further than taking off his armour, for he felt that it was possible the assailants might return after finding that the burgundian knights and men-at- chafter x after the fray after the fray arms had ridden away. he had told the men-at-arms to keep watch by turns at the top of the stairs, where the barri- cade still remained, and to run in to wake him should they hear any disturbance whatever at the door below. he slept but lightly, and several times went out to see that the watch was being well kept, and to look up and down the street to assure himself that all was quiet. "you did nobly last night, guy," dame margaret said as she met him in the morning; "sir eustace himself could have done no better had he been here. when i next write to my lord i shall tell him how well you have protected us, and pray him to send word of it to your father." "i did my best, lady; but it is to long tom that it is chiefly due that our defence was made good. it was his shooting that caused the long delay in breaking open the door, and that enabled us to hold the barricade below, and he also stoutly aided in the defence of the landing." "nevertheless, guy, it was under your direction that all things were done. it is to the leader who directs that the first praise is due rather than to the strongest and bravest of his men-at-arms. it was, too, owing to your interference on behalf of count charles d'estournel that we owe it that succour came to us; it was his friendship for you that prompted him to gather his friends to come to our aid ; and it was the warning, short though it was, sent us by that strange italian that enabled you to send to the count for aid. i must see his daughter and thank her personally for the part she played in the matter. no, guy, had it not been for you this house would now have been an empty shell, and all of us would have been lying under its ruins. i have been thinking during the night that you must be most careful when you go abroad; you know that the son of that monster caboche, the leader of the skinners, and doubtless many leaders of the at agincourt butchers, among them legoix, were killed, and their friends are certain to endeavour to take vengeance on you. they saw you at the window, they will know that you are my esquire, and will doubtless put down their defeat entirely to you. you cannot be too careful, and, above all, you must not venture out at night save on grave occasion. agnes," she broke off as the girl entered the room, "you too must thank our brave esquire for having so stoutly defended us." "i do thank you most heartily, guy," the girl said, "though i felt it very hard that i could do nothing to help you. it was terrible sitting here and hearing the fight so close to us, and the dreadful shouts and screams of those people, and to have nothing to do but to wait. not that i was frightened, i felt quite confident that you would beat them, but it was so hard to sit quiet. i should not have minded so much if i could have been standing there to see the brave deeds that were being done." "like the queen of a tournament, agnes," her mother said with a smile. "yes, indeed, it is one of the hardships of us women. it is only when a castle is besieged and her lord is away that a woman may buckle on armour and set an example to her retainers by showing herself on the wall and risking the enemies' bolts, or even, if necessary, taking her place with her retainers on the breach; at other times she must be passive and wait while men fight." "if i had only had my bow," agnes said regretfully, "i could really have done something. you would have let me go out then, mother, would you not?" "i don't know, dear; no, i don't think i should. it was anxious work enough for me as it was. if you had gone out i must have done so, and then charlie would have wanted to go too. no; it was much better that we all sat together as after the fray we did, waiting quietly for what might come, and praying for those who were fighting for us." "i was glad that madame leroux stayed upstairs with her maid instead of coming down here as you asked her, mother; she looked so scared and white that i do think it would have been worse than listening to the fighting to have had to sit and look at her." dame margaret smiled. "yes, agnes, but i think that she was more frightened for her husband than for herself, and don't suppose that she had ever been in danger before. in- deed, must say that to look out at that crowd of horrible creatures below, brandishing their weapons, shouting and yelling, was enough to terrify any quiet and peaceable woman. as a knight's wife and daughter it was our duty to be calm and composed and to set an example, but a citizen's wife would not feel the same obligation, and might show her alarm without feeling that she disgraced herself or her husband." on going out guy found their host already engaged in a conference with a master carpenter as to the construction of the new doors. they were to be very strong and heavy, made of the best oak, and protected by thick sheets of iron; the hinges were to be of great strength to bear the weight. a smith had also arrived to receive instructions for making and setting very strong iron bars before the shop, the front of which would require to be altered to allow of massive shutters being erected on the inside. iron gates were also to be fixed before the door. "that will make something like a fortress of it, master aylmer," the silversmith said, "and it will then need heavy battering-rams to break into it. several others of my craft similarly protect their shops; and certainly no one can blame me, after the attack of last night, for taking every means to defend myself. i intend to enlist a party of ten ii at agincourt fighting men to act as a garrison until these troubles are all over.'' "i think that you will act wisely in doing so," guy said. "your servants all bore themselves bravely last night, but they had no defensive armour and were unaccustomed to the use of weapons. only i would advise you to be very careful as to the men that you engage, or you may find your guard within as dangerous as the mob without." "i will take every pains as to that, you may be sure, and will engage none save after a careful inquiry into their char- acters." the streets had already been cleared of the slain. all through the night little parties had searched for and carried off their dead, and when at early morning the authorities sent a party down to clear the street there remained but some twenty-five bodies, evidently by their attire belonging to the lowest class, and presumably without friends. that day pe- titions and complaints were sent to the king by the provosts of the merchants, the gold and silver smiths, the cloth mer- chants, the carpenters and others, complaining of the tumults caused by the butchers and their allies, and especially of the attack without cause or reason upon the house of maitre le- roux, the worshipful provost of the silversmiths. several skirmishes occurred in the evening between the two parties, but an order was issued in the name of the king to the maire and syndics of paris rebuking them for allowing such disturb- ances and tumults, and ordering them to keep a portion of the burgher guard always under arms, and to repress such dis- turbances, and severely punish those taking part in them. maitre leroux and his wife paid a formal visit to dame margaret early in the day to thank her for the assistance that her retainers had given in defending the house. "you were good enough to say, madame," the silversmith after the fray said, " that you regretted the trouble that your stay here gave us. we assured you then, and truly, that the trouble was as nothing, and that we felt your presence as an honour; now you see it has turned out more. little did we think when you came here but a few days since that your coming would be the means of preserving our lives and property, yet so it has been, for assuredly if it had not been for your esquire and brave retainers we should have been murdered last night. as it is we have not only saved our lives but our property, and save for the renewal of the doors we shall not have been the losers even in the value of a crown piece. thus, from being our guests you have become our benefactors; and one good result of what has passed is, that henceforth you will feel that, however long your stay here, and however much we may try to do for you, it will be but a trifle towards the discharge of the heavy obligation under which we feel to you." after a meeting of the city council that afternoon, a guard of ten men was sent to the silversmith's to relieve the burgun- dian men-at-arms. five of these were to be on duty night and day until the house was made secure by the new doors and iron grill erected in front of the shop. guy proposed to dame margaret that he should give up his visit to the salle d'amies, but this she would not hear of. "i myself and the children will go no more abroad until matters become more settled, but it is on all accounts well that you should go to the school of arms. already the friends that you have made have been the means of saving our lives, and it is well to keep them. we know not what is before us, but assuredly we need friends. maitre leroux was telling me this morning that the armagnacs are fast approaching, and that in a few days they will be within a short distance of paris. their approach will assuredly embitter the hostility between the factions here, and should they threaten the town at agincourt there may be fierce fighting within the walls as well as with- out. at present, at any rate, there are likely to be no more disturbances such as that of last night, and therefore no occa- sion for you to remain indoors. even these butchers, arro- gant as they are, will not venture to excite the indignation that would be caused by another attack on this house. that, however, will make it all the more likely that they will seek revenge in other ways, and that the house will be watched at night and any that go out followed and murdered. '' you and tom the archer are no doubt safe enough from the attack of ordinary street ruffians, but no two men, how- ever strong and valiant, can hope to defend themselves suc- cessfully against a score of cut throats. but i pray you on your way to the school go round and thank, in my name, this italian and his daughter, and say that i desire much to thank the young lady personally for the immense service she has rendered me and my children. take the archer with you, for even in the daytime there are street brawls in which a single man who had rendered himself obnoxious could read- ily be despatched." "in faith, master guy," long tom said as they sallied out, "it seems to me that if our stay in paris is a prolonged one i shall return home rich enough to buy me an estate, for never did money so flow into my pocket. we have been here but a short time, and i have gained as much and more than i should do in a year of hard service. first there was that young french count, the very next morning when he called here he gave me a purse with thirty crowns, telling me pleas- antly that it was at the rate of five crowns for each skull i cracked on his behalf. then this morning maitre leroux came to me and said, 'good fellow, it is greatly to your skill and valour that i owe my life, and that of my wife; this will help you to set up housekeeping when you return home,' after the fray and he gave me a purse with a hundred crowns in it; what think you of that, master? the other three also got purses of fifty crowns each. if that is the rate of pay in paris for a couple of hours' fighting, i do not care how often i take a share in a fray." "you are doing well indeed, tom, but you must remem- ber that sooner or later you might go into a fray and lose your life, and with it the chance of buying that estate you speak of." "we must all take our chances, master, and there is no winning a battle without the risk of the breaking of casques. are we going to the house we went to the first night we came here, master guy? methinks that this is the street we stopped at." "yes, tom. it was the man who lives here who sent me word that the butchers were going to attack the provost's house, by the same messenger who met us before notre dame, and who last night, after warning me, carried my message to count charles, praying him to come to our aid." "then he did us yeoman service," the archer said warmly. "though i think not that they would have carried the barri- cade had they fought till morning." "perhaps not, though i would not say so for certain, for they might have devised some plan such as they did for cov- ering themselves while they assaulted the door. but even had they not done so they would have been sure before they retired to have fired the house." "that is what i thought of when they were attacking us," the archer said, "and wondered why they should waste men so freely when a torch would have done their business just as well for them." "that would have been so, tom, had they only wished to kill us; but though, no doubt, the leaders desired chiefly the life of the provost, the mob simply fought for plunder. if ti at agincourt they had found all the jeweller's store in his shop, they would have fired the house very quickly when they discovered that they could not get at us. but it was the plunder that they wanted, and it was the sight of those chests full of silver-ware that made them venture their lives so freely, in order to have the handling of it. i do not think that i shall be long here, tom. do not wait for me at the door, but stroll up and down, keeping a short distance away, so that can see you when i come out." a decrepit old woman opened the door, and on guy giving his name she said that she had orders to admit him if he called. the girl came out dressed in her female attire as he went upstairs. "ah, signor," she said, "i am glad indeed to see that you are safe.'' "thanks to you," he said warmly; "we are all your debtors indeed." "i had but to run a mile or two," she said; "but what was there in that? but indeed had an anxious time, i so feared that i should be too late. when i had seen the count d'estournel and delivered your message to him and had shown him your ring, and he and his friends had declared that they would call up their men and come at once to your aid, i could not go back and wait until this morning to learn if they arrived in time, so i ran to your street again and hid in a doorway and looked out. just as i got there they broke in the door and i saw some of them rush in. but there was a pause, though they were all pressing to enter. they went in very slowly, and i knew that you must be defending the entrance. at last there was a sudden rush, and i almost cried out. i thought that it was all over. a great many entered and then there was a pause again. the crowd outside became more and more furious; it was dreadful after the fray to hear their shouts and to see the waving of torches and weapons. '•' they seemed to be almost mad to get in. the crush round the door was terrible, and it was only when two or three horsemen rode in among them shouting, that the press ceased a little. one horseman obtained silence for a moment by holding up his hand. he told them that their friends inside were attacking a barricade, and would soon carry it, and then there would be silver enough for all; but that by pressing forward they did but hamper the efforts of their com- rades. it seemed, oh, such a long, long time before i saw the burgundians coming along, and i could not help throwing my cap up and shouting when they charged into the crowd. i waited until it was all over, and then i ran back home and had a rare scolding for being out so late; but i did not mind that much, after knowing that you were all safe." at this moment a voice from the landing above said: "are you going to keep master aylmer there all day with your chat- tering, katarina?" the girl made a little face and nodded to guy to go upstairs. "katarina is becoming a madcap," the astrologer said, as he led guy into the room. "i cannot blame her altogether; i have made a boy of her, and i ought not to be shocked at her acting like one. but she gave me a rare fright last night when she did not return until close on midnight. still, it was natural for her to wish to see how her mission had turned out." "her quickness saved all our lives," guy said. "had it not been for her carrying my message to the count d'estour- nel we should have been burnt alive before morning." "it was unfortunate that i sent you the message so late, master aylmer. i was busy when a medical student who sometimes gathers news for me in the butchers' quarter came at agincourt here, and left a missive for me. had he sent up a message to me that it was urgent, i would have begged the personage i had with me to wait a moment while i read the letter. as it was, it lay downstairs till my visitor departed. when i learned the news i sent off katarina at once. she had but a short time before come in, and was fortunately still in her boy's dress, so there was no time lost. i went out myself at ten o'clock to see what was going on, and must have been close to her without either of us knowing it. i looked on for a short time; but seeing that nothing could be done, and feeling sure that the house must l>e taken,—knowing nothing of the chance of the burgundians coming to the rescue,—i returned here and was surprised to fmd that katarina had not returned. "i did not think that she could have reached the shop and warned you before the mob arrived, and therefore i became greatly alarmed as the time went by without her appearing. indeed, my only hope was that she must have been looking on at the fight and would return when it was all over, as indeed it turned out; and i should have rated her much more soundly than i did had she not told me how she had fetched the bur- gundians and that they had arrived in time. i hear that there is a great stir this morning. the number of men they have lost, and specially the deaths of legoix and of the young caboche, have infuriated the butchers and skinners. they have already sent off two of their number to lay their com- plaint before the duke of burgundy of the conduct of some of his knights in attacking them when they were assailing the house of a noted armagnac. but they feel that they them- selves for the moment must remain quiet, as the royal order has emboldened the maire, supported by the traders' guilds, and notably by the carpenters, who are a very strong body, to call out a portion of the city guard, and to issue an order after the fray that all making disturbances, whomsoever they may be and under whatsoever pretext they are acting, will be summarily hung if captured when so engaged. "in spite of this there will no doubt be troubles; but they will not venture again to attack the house of the silversmith, at any rate until an order comes from the duke of burgundy to forbid his knights from interfering in any way with their doings." "which i trust he will not send," guy said; "and i doubt if the knights will obey it if it comes. they are already much enraged at the insolence of the butchers, and the royal proclamation this morning will justify them in aiding to put down disturbances whatsoever may be the duke's orders. and now, sir count, i have come hither this morning on behalf of my lady mistress to thank you for sending the news, and still more for the service your daughter rendered in sum- moning the knights to her assistance. she desires much to return thanks herself to your daughter, and will either call here to see her or would gladly receive her at her lodging should you prefer that." "i should prefer it, master aylmer. your lady can scarce pass through the streets unnoticed, for her english appearance marks her at once; and as all know she lodges at the silver- smith's, she will be more particularly noticed after the events of last night, and her coming here will attract more attention to me than i care for. therefore i will myself bring katarina round and will do myself the honour of calling upon your lady. i can wrap the girl up in a cloak so that she shall not attract any observation, for no one knows, save the old woman below, that i have a daughter here; and with so many calling at the house, and among them some reckless young court gallants, i care not that it should be known, if for no other reason than, were it so, it would be soon suspected that the lad who goes so after the fray in under the arm, while if you have mail under your coat they will strike at you fair between the shoulders, and it is only by striking high up on the neck that they have any chance with you. a good coat of mail is money well laid out, and will last a lifetime; and even if it cost me all the silversmith's crowns i will have a right good one." guy nodded. he was wondering in his own mind how he should be able to procure one. his father had given him a purse on starting, but the money might be needed for emer- gencies. he certainly could not ask his mistress for such a sum, for she too might have need of the money that she had brought with her. he was still turning it over in his mind when they reached the fencing-school. he was greeted with acclamations as he entered by the young count and his friends. "here is our defender of houses," the former exclaimed. "truly, guy, you have given a lesson to the butchers that they sorely needed. they say that the king himself, who is in one of his good moods to-day, has interested himself mightily in the fray last night, and that he has expressed a wish to hear of it from the esquire who he has been told com- manded the defence. so it is not unlikely that there will be a royal message for you to attend at the palace. fortunately we had the first say in the matter this morning. my father returned last night, and as he is rather a favourite of his majesty, we got him to go to the king and obtain audience as soon as he arose, to complain of the conduct of the butchers in attack- ing the house of the provost of the silversmiths, and where, moreover, dame villeroy, who had arrived here in obedience to his majesty's own commands, was lodged. the king when he heard it was mightily offended. he said he had not been told of her coming, and that this insult to her touched his honour. he sent at once for the maire and syndics, and at agincourt upbraided them bitterly for allowing such tumults to take place, and commanded them to put a stop to them under pain of his severe displeasure. "that accounts, you see, for the maire's proclamation this morning. the king desired my father to thank me and the other knights and gentlemen for having put down the riot, and said that he would at once send off a message to the duke of burgundy commanding him to pay no attention to any re- ports the butchers might send to him, but to give them a stern answer that the king was greatly displeased with their con- duct, and that if any fresh complaint about them was made he would straightway have all their leaders hung. "it is one thing to threaten, and another to do, guy; but at any rate, so long as the duke is away they will see that they had best keep quiet; for when the king is in his right senses and is not swayed by others, he is not to be trifled with. "you can imagine what an excitement there was last night when that boy you sent arrived. the ring was sent up first, and when i gave orders that he should be admitted he came in well-nigh breathless. there were six or eight of us, and all were on the point of leaving. thinking that it might be something private, they had taken up their hats and cloaks. the boy, as he came in, said, 'which of you is count charles d'estournel?' 'i am,' i said. 'you are the bearer of a message from guy aylmer?' 'i am, my lord. he prays you hasten to his assistance, for the butchers and skinners are attacking maitre leroux's house, and had begun to hammer on the door when i was still in the street. if they make their way in, they will surely kill all they find in there. they are shouting, 'death to the armagnacs! death to the english spies!' "i called upon my comrades to join me, and all were eager after the fray to do so. we had long been smarting under the conduct of these ruffians, and moreover i was glad to discharge a part of my debt to you. so each ran to his lodgings and despatched servitors to summon their men-at-arms, and to order the horses to be saddled, and to gather in front of my lodging with all speed. two or three of my friends who had left earlier were also summoned; but though we used all the speed we could it was more than an hour before all were assembled. the men-at-arms were scattered, and had to be roused; then there was the work of getting the stables open, and we had to force the doors in some places to do it. i was on thorns, as you may well imagine, and had little hope when we started that we should find any of you alive. delighted indeed we were when, on getting near enough, we could see the crowd were stationary, and guessed at once that you were still hold- ing out—though how you could have kept so large a number at bay was beyond us. we struck heartily and heavily, you may be sure, and chased the wolves back to their dens with a will. i hear that, what with those you slew in the house and street and those we cut down, it is reckoned that a couple of hundred were killed; though as to this none can speak with certainty, seeing that so many bodies were carried away be- fore morning." " trust that none of you received wounds, count charles?" "none of us; though several of the men-at-arms had gashes from the rascals' weapons, but naught, i think, that will matter." at this moment one of the attendants of the salon came in. "an usher from the palace is here, my lords and gentle- men. he has been to the lodging of master guy aylmer, and has learned that he will most likely be here. if so, he at agincourt has the king's command to conduct him to the palace, as his majesty desires to have speech with him." "i told you so, guy; my father's story lias excited the king's curiosity, and he would fain hear all about it. make the most of it, for his majesty loves to be entertained and amused." "had i better ask the usher to allow me to go back to my lodging to put on a gayer suit than this?" guy asked. "certainly not; the king loves not to be kept waiting. fortunately no time has been wasted so far, as this is on the road from the silversmith's to the palace." the louvre at that time bore no resemblance to the present building. it was a fortress surrounded by a strong embattled wall, having a lofty tower at each corner and others flanking its gates. on the water-face the towers rose from the edge of the river, so that there was no passage along the quays. the building itself was in the castellated form, though with larger windows than were common in such edifices. eight turret- shaped buildings rose far above it, each surmounted with very high steeple-like roofs, while in the centre rose another large and almost perpendicular roof, terminating in a square open gallery. the building was further protected by four em- battled towers on each side, so that if the outer wall were carried it could still defend itself. in the court-yard be- tween the outer wall and the palace were rows of low bar- racks, where troops were lodged. two regiments of the best soldiers of burgundy were quartered here, as the duke feared that some sudden rising of the armagnac party might put them in possession of the king's person, in which case the orleanists would easily persuade him to issue proclamations as hostile to burgundy as those which were now published in his name against the orleanists. the louvre, indeed, differed but slightly from palaces of several of the great nobles within danger threatened the walls of paris, as all of these were to some extent fortified, and stood as separate fortresses capable of offering a stout re- sistance to any attack by the populace. " would rather face those villains of last night for another hour than go before the king," guy said, as he prepared to follow the attendant; "but i trust that good may come of my interview, and that i can interest the king in the case of my mistress." joining the usher, who was waiting at the entrance, and who saluted him courteously—for the manner in which the message had been communicated to the usher showed him that the young squire was in no disgrace with the king—■ guy walked with him to the louvre, which was a short half- mile distant. accompanied as he was by a royal officer, the guard at the gate offered no interruption to his passage, and proceeding across the court-yard he entered the great door- way to the palace, and, preceded by the usher, ascended the grand staircase and followed him along a corridor to the apartments occupied by the king. n being ushered into the royal apartment guy was led up \j to the king, who was seated in a large arm-chair. he was stroking the head of a greyhound, and two or three other dogs lay at his feet. except two attendants, who stood a short distance behind his chair, no one else was present. the king was pale and fragile - looking; there was an ex- chapter xi danger threatened at agincourt pression of weariness on his face, for in the intervals between his mad fits he had but little rest. he was naturally a kind- hearted man, and the troubles that reigned in france, the constant contention among the great lords, and even among the members of his own family, were a constant source of dis- tress to him. between the duke of burgundy, the queen, his nephew of orleans, and the other royal dukes he had no peace, and the sense of his inability to remedy matters, and of his position of tutelage in the hands of whoever chanced for the moment to be in the ascendant, in no slight degree contributed to the terrible attacks to which he was subject. at the present moment the duke of burgundy was away, and therefore, feeling now comparatively free, he looked up with interest when the usher announced guy aylmer. "you are young, indeed, sir," he said, as guy made a deep bow, "to be the hero of the story that i heard this morning. i hear that you have been slaying many of the good citizens of paris!" "some have certainly been slain, sire; but i think not that any of them could be considered as good citizens, being engaged, as they were, in attacking the house of the worship- ful provost of the silversmiths, maitre leroux." "i know him," the king said, "and have bought many rare articles of his handiwork, and more than once when i have needed it have had monies from him on usance. 'tis a grave scandal that so good a citizen should thus be attacked in my city, but i will see that such doings shall not take place again. and now i would hear from your own lips how you and a few men defended the house so long, and, as i hear, with very heavy loss to those attacking it. i am told that you are english." "yes, sire, i have the honour to be an esquire to sir eustace de villeroy, and am here in attendance upon his danger threatened dame, who, with her two children, have been brought as hostages to paris under your royal order.'' a look of pain passed across the king's face. "your lord is our vassal for his castle at villeroy ?'' "he is, sire, and is also a vassal of england for the estates of his wife." "since england and france are not at present on ill terms," the king said, "he may well discharge both duties without treason to either henry or myself; but they told me that his vassalage to me has sat but lightly upon him." "his father and grandfather, sire, were vassals of england, as villeroy was then within the english bounds, but he is, i am assured, ready faithfully to render any service that your majesty might demand of him, and is willing to submit him- self, in all respects, to your will. but since he wishes not to take any part in the troubles between the princes, it seems that both regard him with hostility. two months since his castle was attacked by some eight thousand men from ham, led by sir clugnet de brabant. these he repulsed with heavy loss, and deemed that in so doing he was acting in accordance with your majesty's proclamation, and was rendering faithful service to you in holding the castle against your enemies, and he had hoped for your majesty's approbation. he was then deeply grieved when your royal herald summoned him, in your name, either to receive a garrison or to send his wife and children hither as hostages." "i will see into the matter," the king said earnestly. "and so your mistress was bestowed at the house of maitre leroux?" "she was, sire, and is most hospitably entertained by him." "now let us hear of this defence. tell me all that took place; withhold nothing." guy related the details of the defence. at agincourt "truly it was well done, young sir, and i owe you thanks for having given so shrewd a lesson to these brawlers. maitre leroux has good reasons for being thankful to the duke for lodging your lady in his house, for he would doubtless have lost his life had you and your four men not been there. when the duke of burgundy returns i will take council with him touching this matter of your mistress. i know that he gave me good reasons at the time for the bringing of her hither, but in the press of matters i do not recall what they were. at any rate, as she is here as my hostage her safety must be ensured, and for the present i will give orders that a guard be placed at the house." he extended his hand to guy, who went on one knee to kiss it and then retired. he took the news back to dame margaret. "i knew well enough that the poor king had nothing to do with the matter," she said. "were it otherwise i would myself have asked for an audience with him; but i knew that it would be useless, he would but have replied to me as he has to you, that he must consult the duke." in the afternoon the italian called with his daughter upon dame margaret. the former was now dressed in accordance with his rank as an italian noble, and the girl, on laying aside her cloak, was also in the costume of a young lady of posi- tion. guy presented the count to his mistress. "i am greatly indebted to you, count montepone," she said, " for the timely warning that you sent us, and still more for the service rendered to us by your daughter in summon- ing the burgundian knights to our aid. "truly," she added with a smile, "it is difficult to believe that it was this young lady who was so busy on our behalf. i thank you, maiden, most heartily. and, believe me, should the time ever come when _you require a friend, which i hope may never be the "the king extended his hand to guy, who went o.n one knee to kiss it." danger threatened case, you will fmd one in me on whom you can confidently rely. "this is my daughter agnes. she is, methinks, but a year or so younger than yourself, though she is as tall or taller, and she will gladly be your friend also." katarina replied quietly and composedly, and guy, as he watched her and agnes talking together, was surprised at the way in which she adapted herself to circumstances. as a boy she assumed the character so perfectly that no one would suspect her of being aught else. she was a french gamin, with all the shrewdness, impudence, and self-confidence of the class. as he saw her at her father's in female attire something of the boy's nature seemed still to influence her. there was still a touch of sauciness in her manner, and some- thing of defiance, as if she resented his knowledge of her in her other character. now she had the quiet composure of a young lady of rank. as dame margaret had said, she was but little older than agnes; but though less tall than the english girl, she looked a woman beside her. guy stood talking with them while dame margaret and the count con- versed apart. gradually as they chatted katarina's manner, which had at first been somewhat stiff, thawed, and guy left her and agnes together and went to look through the window. he could vaguely understand that katarina at first, know- ing that dame margaret and agnes must be aware of her go- ing about as a boy, was standing a little on her dignity. the simple straightforwardness of agnes and her admiration of the other's boldness and cleverness had disarmed katarina, and it was not long l>efore they were chatting and laughing in girlish fashion. there was a difference in their laughter, the result of the dissimilar lives they had led. one had ever been a happy, careless child, allowed to roam about in the castle or beyond it almost unattended, and had only to hold at agincourt herself as became the position of a maiden of rank on social occasions, as when guests were staying in the castle; the other had l>een for years her father's assistant, engaged in work requiring shrewdness and quickness and not unattended at times with danger. she had been brought into contact with persons of all ranks and conditions, and at times almost forgot her own identity, and was in thought as well as manner the quick-witted messenger of her father. after the latter had chatted for some time with dame margaret he beckoned her to him. '• dame margaret has promised me to be your protector should aught befall me, child," he said, "and i charge you now in her hearing should anything happen to me to go at once to her castle at villeroy, and should she not be there to her castle at summerley, which lies but twelve miles from the english port of southampton, and there to place yourself under her guardianship, and to submit yourself to her will and guidance wholly and entirely. it would be well indeed for you to have a quiet english home after our troubled life. to italy you cannot go, our estates are long since confiscated; and did you return there you would find powerful enemies and but lukewarm friends. besides, there would be but one mode of life open to you, namely, to enter a convent, which would, methinks, be of all others the least suited to your in- clinations." "i can promise you a hearty welcome," dame margaret said kindly. "i trust that you may never apply for it; but should, as your father says, aught happen to him, come to me fearlessly, and be assured that you will be treated as one of my own family. we shall ever be mindful of the fact that you saved our lives last night, and that nothing that we can do for you will cancel that obligation." "i trust that i may never be called upon to ask your hos- danoer threatened pitality, lady margaret," the girl said quietly, "but i thank you with all my heart for proffering it, and i feci assured that i should find a happy home in england." "'tis strange how it has all come about," her father said. "'tis scarce a month since i saw dame margaret enter paris with her children, and the thought occurred to me that it would be well indeed for you were you in the charge of such a lady. then, as if in answer to my thoughts, i saw her young esquire in the crowd listening to me, and was moved at once to say words that would induce him to call upon me afterwards, when i saw that i might possibly in these troublous times be of use to his mistress. and thus in but a short time what was at first but a passing thought has been realized. it is true that there are among my clients those whose protection i could obtain for you; but france is at present as much torn by factions as is our native italy, and none can say but, how- ever highly placed and powerful a man may be to-day, he might be in disgrace to-morrow." carefully wrapping his daughter up in her cloak again, the italian took his leave, refusing the offer of dame margaret for two of her men-at-arms to accompany them. "there is no fear of trouble of any sort to-day," he said. "the loss that was suffered last night was so severe that the people will be quiet for a few days, especially as the king, as well as the city authorities, are evidently determined to put a stop to rioting. moreover, the fact that the bur- gundian nobles have, now that the duke is away, taken a strong part against the butchers' faction has for the moment completely cowed them. but, apart from this, it is my special desire to return to my house unnoticed. it is seldom that i am seen going in and out, for i leave home as a rule before my neighbours are about, and do not return till after night- fall. i make no secret of my being a vendor of drugs at at agincourt the fairs, and there are few can suspect that i have visitors after dark." "i like your astrologer, guy," dame margaret said when they had left. "before i saw him i own that i had no great faith in his countship. any man away from his native country can assume a title without anyone questioning his right to use it, so long as he is content to live in olscurity, and to alstain from attracting the attention of those who would be likely to make inquiries. but i have no doubt that our friend is, as he represents himself, the count of montepone, and i believe him to be sincere in the matter of his dealings with us. me tells me that he has received more than one hint that the reports that he deals with the stars and exercises divinations have come to the ears of the church, and it is likely ere long he may be forced to leave paris, and indeed that he would have done so before now had it not been that some of those who have had dealings with him have exercised their influence to prevent things being pushed further. "no doubt it is true that, as he asserts, he in no way dabbles in what is called ' black art,' but confmes himself to reading the stars; and he owned to me that the success he has obtained in this way is to some extent based upon the information that he obtains from persons of all classes. he is evidently a man whose nature it is to conspire, not so much for the sake of any prospect of gain or advantage, but for the pleasure of conspiring. he has dealings with men of both factions. among the butchers he is believed to be an agent of the duke, who has assumed the character of a vendor of nostrums simply as a disguise, while among the armagnacs he is regarded as an agent of orleans. it is doubtless a dangerous game to play, but it both helps him in his profession of astrologer and gives him influence and danger threatened power. i asked him why he thus mingled in public affairs. he smiled and said: 'we are always conspiring in italy; we all belong to factions. i have been brought up in an atmos- phere of conspiracy, and it is so natural to me that i could scarce live without it. i am rich: men who trade upon the credulity of fools have plenty of clients. my business of a quack doctor brings me in an income that many a poor nobleman would envy. i travel when i like; i visit alter- nately all the great towns of france, though paris has al- ways been my head-quarters. "* as an astrologer i have a wide reputation. the name of the count smarondi—for it is under that title that i practise — is known throughout france, though few know me personally or where am to be found. those who desire to consult me can only obtain access to me through some of those whose fortunes i have rightly foretold, and who have absolute faith in me, and even these must first obtain my consent before introducing anyone to me. all this mystery adds both to my reputation and to my fees. could anyone knock at my door and ask me to calculate his horoscope he would prize it but little; when it is so difficult to obtain an introduction to me, and it is regarded as a matter of favour to be allowed to consult me, people are ready to pay extravagant sums for my advice. and,' he said with a smile, 'the fact that ten days or a fortnight always elapses between the time i am asked to receive a new client and his or her first interview with me, enables me to make such minute inquiries that can not only gain their complete confidence by my knowledge of certain events in their past, but it will aid me in my divination of their future. "' i l,elieve in the stars, madame, wholly and implicitly, but the knowledge to be gained from them is general and dan(;kr threatened that their paymaster is the head of the secret police, or the agent of some powerful minister.' "you see, guy, the count spoke with perfect frankness to me. his object naturally was to gain my confidence by showing himself as he is, and to explain why he wished to secure a home for his daughter. he took up his strange profession in the first place as a means of obtaining his living, and perhaps to secure himself from the search of private enemies who would have had him assassinated could be have been found; but he follows it now from his love for an atmosphere of intrigue, and for the power it gives him, because, as he told me, he has already amassed a consider- able fortune, and could well retire and live in luxury did he choose. he said frankly that if he did not so interest him- self his existence would be simply intolerable to him. "'i may take my daughter to england,' he said; 'i may stay there until i see her established in life, but when i had done so i should have to return here. paris is always the centre of intrigues; i would rather live on a crust here than be a prince elsewhere.' "he certainly succeeded in convincing me wholly of his sincerity, as far as we are concerned. devoted to intrigue himself, he would fain that his daughter should live her life in peace and tranquillity, and that the money for which he has no use himself should be enjoyed by her. 'i have lost my rank,' he said, 'forfeited it, if you will; but she is the count- ess katarina of montepone, and i should like to know that she and my descendants after her should live the life that my ancestors lived. it is a weakness, a folly, i know; but we have all our weak points and our follies. at any rate i see that that fancy could not well be carried out in france or in italy, but it may be in england.' at any rate, after all he has told me i feel that he has it in his power to be a very use- at ag ncoukt ful friend and ally to us here; i am convinced that he is truly desirous of being so." "and how did you like the girl, agnes?" she said, rais- ing her voice. agnes had fetched charlie in, and they were looking together down into the street while their mother was talking to guy. " hardly know, mother; she seemed to be so much older than i am. sometimes when she talked and laughed, i thought i liked her very much, and then a minute later it seemed to me that i did not understand her one bit. but i do think that she would be very nice when one came to know her thoroughly." "she has lived so different a life to yourself, agnes, that it is no wonder that you should feel at first that you have noth- ing in common with her. that she is very clever i have no doubt, and that she is brave and fearless we know. can you tell us anything more, guy?" "not very much more, lady margaret. i should say that she was very true and loyal. i think that at present she enters into what she has to do in something of the same spirit as her father, and that she thoroughly likes it. think that she is naturally full of fun and has high spirits, and that she enjoys performing these missions with which she is entrusted as a child enjoys a game, and that the tact that there is a certain amount of danger connected with them is in itself attractive to her. i am glad that you have told me what he said to you about himself, for i could not understand him before. i think i can now, and understanding him one can understand his daughter." at eight o'clock all retired to bed. they had had little sleep the night before, and the day had been full of events. guy's last thought as that he was sorry for the king, who seemed to wish to do what was right, but who was a mere at agincourt had come to hate those of the other; and although neither party had dared to put itself ir. the wrong by refusing to listen to the mediators, it was certain that the reconciliation was a farce, and that it was but a short truce rather than a peace that had been concluded. nevertheless paris rejoiced out- wardly, and hailed with enthusiasm the entry of the queen, the dukes of aquitaine, burgundy, berri, and bourbon. the duke of aquitaine was now acting as regent, though without the title, for the king was again insane. he had mar- ried burgundy's daughter, but it was rumoured that he was by no means disposed to submit himself blindly to the advice of her father. the only effect of the truce between the parties was to add to the power of the burgundian faction in paris. but few of the armagnac party cared to trust themselves in the city that had shown itself so hostile, but most of them re- tired to their estates, and the great procession that entered the town had been for the most part composed of adherents of burgundy. three days after their arrival in the town guy, on leaving the salle d'amies, found katarina in her boy's at- tire waiting for him at the corner of the street. "my father would speak with you, master guy,"shesaidshy- ly, for in the past two months she had always been in her girl's dress when he had met her. "pray go at once," she said ; "i will not accompany you, for i have other matters to attend to." "things are not going well," the count said when guy entered the room; "the orleanists are discouraged and the butchers triumphant. at a meeting last night they determined that a body of them should wait upon the dukes of aquitaine and burgundy to complain of the conduct of the knights who fell upon them when attacking the silversmith's, and demand in the name of paris their execution." "they would never dare do that!" guy exclaimed in- dignantly. at agincourt in the first place, you have to warn your burgundian friends; that done, you must see to the safety of your four men. the three frenchmen may, if they disguise themselves, perchance be able to hide in paris, but your tall archer must leave the city without delay, his height and appearance would betray him in whatever disguise he were clad. "now as to your lady and the children, remain where they are they cannot. doubtless were she to appeal to the duke of burgundy for protection he would place her in the louvre, or in one of the other castles—that is, if she could persuade him of the intentions of the parisians, which indeed it would be difficult for her to do; but even could she do so she would not be safe, for if he is forced to surrender some of his own knights and ladies of the court to these miscreants, he could not refuse to hand over lady margaret. they might, it is true, possibly escape from paris in disguise, but i know that there is already a watch set at the gates. the only resource that i can see is that she should with her children come hither for a time. this is but a poor place for her, but i think that if anywhere she might be safe with me. no one knows that i have had any dealings whatever with you, and no one connects me in any way with politics. what should a vendor of nos- trums have to do with such affairs? thus, then, they might remain here without their presence being in the slightest degree suspected. at any rate i have as good means as any for learn- ing what is being done at their councils, and should receive the earliest information were it decided that a search should be made here; and should this be done, which i think is most unlikely, i shall have time to remove them to some other place of concealment. "lastly, as to yourself, i take it that nothing would induce you to fly with your burgundian friends while your lady is in hiding in paris?" in hiding "assuredly not!" guy said. "my lord appointed me to take charge of her and watch over her, and as long as i have life i will do so." "you will not be able to aid her, and your presence may even add to her danger. still, i will not say that your reso- lution is not honourable and right. but, at least, you must not stay here, for your detection would almost certainly lead to hers. you, however, can be disguised; i can darken your skin and hair, and, in some soiled garb you may hope to pass without recognition. where to bestow you i will talk over with my daughter. as soon as it becomes dusk this evening she will present herself at the house-door of maitre leroux. she will bring with her disguises for your lady, the children, and yourself—i have many of them here—and as soon as it is quite dark she will guide here dame margaret with her daugh- ter and son. you had best not sally out with them, but can follow a minute or two later and join them as soon as they turn down a side street. as to the men, you must arrange with them what they had best do. my advice is that they should this afternoon saunter out as if merely going for a walk. they ought to go separately; you can decide what they had best do when outside." chapter xii in hiding he news of this terrible danger was so wholly unexpected that guy for a moment felt almost paralyzed. "it seems almost incredible that such wickedness could take place!" he exclaimed. "my information is certain," the count replied. "i do l'.ci at aginc'ourt not say that i think your burgundian friends are in so much danger as some of those of the king's party, as burgundy's influence with these parisians goes for something; still, he might not be able to save them if they waited till the demand was made, although he might warn them if he learned that they were to be among those demanded." "does the duke, then, know what is intended?" the count smiled. "we know what followed the last reconciliation," he said, "and can guess pretty shrewdly at what will happen now. then the duke murdered orleans, now he may take measures against the supporters of the present duke. it was certain that the struggle would begin again as soon as the kiss of peace had been exchanged. last time he boldly avowed his share in the murder; this time, most con- veniently for him, the parisians are ready and eager to do his work for him. dismiss from your mind all doubt; you can rely upon everything that i have told you as being true. whether you can convince these young knights is a matter that concerns me not; but remember that if you fail to con- vince your mistress, her life and those of her children are for- feited; and that, so far as i can see, her only hope of safety is in taking refuge here." "i thank you with all my heart," guy said, "and will now set about carrying out your advice. first, i will return to my lady and consult with her, and see what we had best do with the men. as to count charles d'estoumel and his friends, will see them as soon as i have arranged the other matter. their case is not so pressing, for, at least, when once beyond the gates they will be safe. i will see that my lady and the children shall be ready to accompany your daughter when she comes for them." "look well up and down the street before you sally out," the count said; "see that there are but few people about. it in hiding is a matter of life and death that no one who knows you shall see you leave this house." guy followed his advice, and waited until there was no one within fifty yards of the door, then he went out, crossed the street, took the first turning he came to, and then made his way back to the silversmith's as fast as he could. "what ails you, guy? " dame margaret said as he entered the room, "you look sorely disturbed, and as pale as if you had received some injury." "would that that were all, my lady. i have had news from the count of montepone of so strange and grave a nature that i would not tell you it, were it not that he is so much in earn- est, and so well convinced of its truth that i cannot doubt it." he then related what the count had told him, and repeated the offer of shelter he had made. "this is, indeed, beyond all bounds," she said. "what, is it credible that the duke of burgundy and the king's son, the duke of aquitaine, can hand over to this murderous mob of paris noble gentlemen and ladies?" "as to burgundy, madame, it seems to me from what the count said that he himself is at the bottom of the affair, though he may not know that the parisians demand the lives of some of his own knights as well as those of his opponents. as he did not of old hesitate to murder orleans, the king's own brother, we need credit him with no scruples as to how he would rid himself of others he considers to stand in his way. as to aquitaine, he is a young man and powerless. there are no orleanist nobles in the town to whom he might look for aid; and if a king's brother was slain, why not a king's son? it seems to me that he is powerless." "that may be; but i cannot consent to what the count proposes. what! disguise myself! and hide from this base mob of paris! it would be an unworthy action." t at agincourt "it is one that i knew you would shrink from, madame; but pardon me for saying that it is not your own life only, but those of your children that are at stake. when royal princes and dukes are unable to oppose these scoundrel parisians, women and children may well bend before the storm." dame margaret sat for some time with knitted brows. at last she said: "if it must be, guy, it must. it goes sorely against the grain; but for the sake of the children i will demean myself, and will take your advice. now you had best summon the four men-at-arms and talk over their case with them." guy went upstairs and fetched the four men down. "we have sure news, my friends," dame margaret said calmly, "that to-night we and many others shall be seized by the mob and slain." an exclamation of rage broke from the four men. "there will be many others slain before that comes about," long tom said. "that i doubt not, tom, but the end would be the same. an offer of refuge has been made to me and the children, and for their sake, unwilling as i am to hide myself from this base mob, i have brought myself to accept it. my brave esquire will stay in paris in disguise, and do what may be to protect us. i have now called you to talk about your- selves. the gates will speedily be guarded and none allowed to sally out, therefore what is to be done must be done quickly." "we will all stay and share your fate, madame. you could not think that we should leave you," robert picard said, and the others murmured their agreement. "you would add to my danger without being able to benefit me," she said, " and my anxiety would be all the in hiding greater. no, you must obey ray commands, which are that you forthwith quit paris. beyond that i must leave you to judge your own course. as french men-at-arms none would question you when you were once beyond the gate. you may find it difficult to travel in this disturbed time, but you are shrewd enough to make up some story that will account for your movements, and so may work your way back to villeroy. the difficulty is greater in the case of your english comrade — his height and that light hair of his and ruddy face would mark him anywhere, and if he goes with you would add to your danger, especially as his tongue would be- tray him as being english the first time he spoke. however, beyond ordering you to quit paris, i must leave this matter in your hands and his, and he will doubtless take counsel with my esquire and see if any disguise can be contrived to suit him. i will see you again presently. you had best go with them, guy, and talk the matter over." "this thing cannot ik■ done, master guy," the archer said doggedly when they reached their apartments; "it is not in reason. what should i say when i got home and told them at summerley that i saved my own skin and left our dear lady and the children to be murdered without striking a blow on their behalf? the thing is beyond all reason, and i will maintain it to be so." "i can understand what you say, tom, for i feel exactly as you do. the question is, how is the matter to be ar- ranged?" then he broke into french, which the archer by this time understood well enough, though he could speak it but poorly. "tom is saying that he will not go, men," he said, "and i doubt not that you feel as he does. at the same time our lady's orders must be carried out in the first place, and you must leave paris. but say not that you need travel to any at agincourt distance; on the contrary, i should say that, if it can be ar- ranged, you must return here in a few days, having so changed your attire and aspect that there is no fear of your being re- cognized, and bestow yourself in some lodging where i may fmd you if there be need of your services." "that is what will be best, master guy," robert picard said. "we have but to get steel caps of another fashion to pass well enough, and if need be we can alter the fashion of our hair. there are few here who have noticed us, and i consider that there is no chance whatever of our being recog- nized. there are plenty of men among the cut-throats here who have served for a while, and we can easily enough get up some tale that will pass muster for us three. that matter is simple enough, the question is, what are we to do with tom? we cannot shorten his stature, nor give his tongue a french twist.'' "no, that is really the difficulty. we might dye that hair of his and darken his face, as i am going to do myself. there are tall men in france, and even his inches would not matter so much; the danger lies in his speech." "i would never open my mouth, master guy; if need were i would sooner cut out my tongue with a dagger." "you might bleed to death in the doing of it, tom. no; we must think of something better than that. you might perhaps pass as a fleming, if we cannot devise any other dis- guise." "leave that to me, master guy, i shall think of some- thing. i will at any rate hide somewhere near paris, and the lads here will let me know where they are to be found, and i shall not be long before i join them in some such guise as will pass muster. but it will be necessary that we should know where you will be, so that you can communicate with us." in hiding "that i don't know myself yet; but i will be every evening in front of notre dame when the bell strikes nine, and one of you can meet me there and tell me where you are bestowed, so that i can always send for you in case of need. now i think that you had better lose no time, for we know not at what hour a guard will be placed on the gate. you had better go out in pairs as if merely going for a walk. if you are stopped, as may well happen, return here; but as you come purchase a length of strong rope, so that you may let yourselves down from the wall. now that peace has been made, there will be but slight watch save at the gates, and you should have no difficulty in evading the sight of any who may be on guard." "that will be easy enough," robert picard said confi- dently. "we had best not come back here, for there may be a watch set upon the house and they may follow us." "the only thing that troubles me," tom said, "is that i must leave my bow behind me." "you can get another when you get back tovilleroy; there are spare ones there.'' "yes, yes, but that is not the same thing, master guy; a man knows his own bow, and when he takes to a fresh one his shooting is spoilt until he gets to know it well. every bow has its niceties; for rough shooting it makes but little matter, but when it comes to aiming at the slit in a knight's vizor at eighty yards one makes poor shooting with a strange bow." "well, you must practise with your new one, that is all, tom; and if you hide yours here it may be that you will be able to recover it before we start for villeroy. you must leave your bundles behind, it would look suspicious if you were to attempt to take them with you. i should advise you to put on one suit over the other, it will not add greatly to your at agincourt bulk. when you are ready to start, come below and our lady will say good-bye to you. do not give her a hint that you are thinking of staying near paris; if she asks any questions say that you intend to disguise tom, and he will travel with you." a few minutes later there was a tapping at dame margaret's door; guy opened it and the four men entered. "i wish you good fortunes, my friends," dame margaret said. "here is a letter, robert, that i have written to my lord telling him that you have all served me faithfully and well, and that i commend you to him. i have told him that you are leaving me by my special orders, and that you would willingly have stopped and shared my danger, but that, as i feel that force would avail nothing and your presence might lead to the discovery of my hiding-place, i bid you go. here are four purses to pay the expenses of your journey and of any disguises you may find it necessary to adopt. and now farewell. tarry not an instant, my heart will be lighter when i know that you are beyond the walls." she held out her hand to them; each in turn knelt and kissed it, the three frenchmen in silence but with tears run- ning down their cheeks. tom was the last, and said as he rose: "i am obeying your orders, lady margaret, but never be- fore have i felt, as i feel now, that am doing a mean and cowardly action. i would rather stay by your side, though i knew that i should be cut in pieces this very night, than leave you thus." "i doubt it not, tom. i know well how your inclinations lie, and yet i feel that it is necessary that you should go. if the great nobles cannot withstand this cruel mob of paris, the arm of a single man can avail nothing, and your presence would bring danger rather than safety to me." in hiding "i feel that, my lady; did i not do so i would not go even at your command. you are my liege lady, and i have a right to give my life for you, and would do it were it not that see that, as you say, my staying here would bring danger upon you." as soon as they had gone dame margaret said: "now, guy, i will detain you no longer; hasten and warn your friends." guy hurried away; he found that count charles was on the point of mounting to go for a ride with some of his friends. "stay a moment i beg of you, count," guy said as he hurried up, " i have a matter of most serious import to tell you.'' "wait, my friends," the young count said to sir pierre es- telle, count walter de vesoul, and the sieur john de perron, who were already mounted; "i shall not detain you many minutes." "well, what is it, friend guy?" he asked as he entered his room. •' i have come to warn you of a great danger, count. this evening a mob of parisians, i know not how numerous, but at least of great strength, will demand from burgundy and the duke of aquitaine the surrender to them of you and the others who took part in defeating them the other night, be- sides other gentlemen, and, as i hear, ladies." "pardieu i if it be so the duke will give the impudent knaves their answer." "ten thousand armed men are not apt to take an answer, count. you know that many times already the duke of burgundy has been overborne by the leaders of these parisians and forced to do things that must have displeased him, as they displeased you all, therefore i implore you to ride off while at agincourt you may. even now it is possible that the gates may be closed, but if so, they are not likely to be strongly guarded. it is evident that your going would at any rate save the duke from grave embarrassment." "are you sure that this news is true?" the count asked. "absolutely certain. if you would save yourself and your friends i pray you to call upon them at once to mount and ride in a body to one of the gates. you may bid some of your retainers mount and follow you at a short distance, and if you find the gates closed and the fellows will not let you out, call them up and fight your way out. you can stay for to-night at sevres, and if you find in the morning that i have not spoken truly you can return and upbraid me as you will. if, however, you find that strange events have happened here, then you had best ride away to burgundy and stay there un- til you find that these villainous knaves here have been re- duced to order, which methinks it will need an army to undertake." the count went to the window, opened it, and called his friends below to come up. "no, no," d'estelle said laughing; "if we once come up we shall stay there. if you cannot come now, join us at the lion d'or at sevres, where you will find us eating the dinner that we have sent on to order." "the matter is urgent," d'estournel said. "i am not joking with you, but pray you to come up at once." seeing that the matter was serious the three knights dis- mounted and went up. they were at first absolutely incred- ulous when they heard from count charles what guy had told them. "that the knaves owe us no good-will i know well enough," count walter said, " for they have over and over again laid their complaint against us before the duke; but it in hiding is hard to believe that they would dare to demand what bur- gundy would never grant." guy repeated the arguments that he had used with d'es- tournel. "there is no limit," he said, " to the arrogance of these knaves, and in truth it cannot be denied that they are masters here, and that even the duke cannot altogether withstand them; and you know, moreover, how essential is their good- will to him. but even should he ever so obstinately refuse their demands they might well take their way without his leave. what can he, with a handful of knights and a few hundred armed men, do against the mob of paris? i earn- estly pray you, gentlemen, to treat the matter as serious. warn your eight friends without delay; bid your retainers mount and ride to the gate. if it is open, all the better, it is but a party of pleasure bound for sevres, and if you learn to-morrow morning that all is quiet here you can return. if it seems better to you, and this may save you much argument, merely ask your friends to mount and ride with you to dine there; if any refuse, say you have a motive that they will learn when they get there, and almost compel them to go with you. i pledge you my honour that you will have no reason to regret having taken my advice." "well, what do you say, gentlemen?" count walter asked. "as master aylmer says, it will at worst be but a carouse, which i hope he will share with us." "that i would rightgladly do," guy replied, " but i have the safety of my lady and her children to look after, for she too, as well as our four men-at-arms, have incurred the enmity of these butchers. i have sent the men out of the town, and a place of safety has been prepared for her and the children. i shall see them safely bestowed there at night- fall." •m at ag in court "since you have thought such preparations necessary we will at any rate act on the information that you have given us, and will promise not to blame you unduly should it turn out that the affair you speak of does not come off. let us lose no time, gentlemen; let us each go to two of our friends and take no denial from them to our invitation to dine with us at sevres. let us say nothing to them about bringing their men-at-arms and grooms with them. we can ourselves mus- ter some thirty fighting men, and that should be enough with our own swords to bring these knaves to reason if they keep their gates shut against us." "as my arrangements are all made," guy said, "and i have an hour to spare, i shall walk down towards the gate and see what comes of it." the four gentlemen at once mounted and rode off,—after giving directions to their grooms to order their men-at-arms to mount at once and to wait for them at a spot a quarter of a mile from the gate,—and guy strolled off in the same direc- tion. in half an hour he had the satisfaction of seeing the men-at-arms ride up and halt as ordered. walking a little further on he saw that something unusual had happened. groups of people were standing about talking, and each man who came up from the gate was questioned. joining one of the groups he soon learned that the excitement was caused by the unusual closing of the gates, no one being allowed either to enter or pass out. none could account for this proceeding. it was certain that it had not been done by the orders either of the dukes of aquitaine or burgundy,—for there were no royal guards or men-at-arms with the duke's cognizance,— but by men of the city, who, as all agreed, must be acting under the orders of the butchers. "it is a bold deed," one said, " for which they will have to account. it is a usurpation of authority, and one the duke in hiding of aquitaine, who is now king in all but name, will surely re- sent hotly." "how strong is the party?" one of the bystanders asked, putting the question that guy had on his lips. "some forty or fifty, all stout fellows with steel caps and breast-pieces, and well armed." guy turned and walked back to the spot where the bur- gundian men-at-arms were drawn up. in ten minutes d'es- tournel and his party rode up. guy was glad to see that he had with him the whole of his companions. he at once went up to them. "the gates are closed, count, and held by forty or fifty of the townsmen in arms, so you see that my information was correct. had you not better tell your friends of the truth now, for otherwise they might hesitate to take so grave a step as to attack them ?'' d'estournel nodded, and, riding to the others, said in a low voice: "gentlemen, we had not intended to let you into this little mystery until we had left paris, but i find it neces- sary to do so now. i have learned surely that the rabble of paris have resolved upon massacring us to-night for the share we took in that little affair at the provost of the silversmiths. to that end they have shut the gates, and hold it with some fifty armed men. it is as well that some of us have brought our men-at-arms here. i can hardly fancy that these rascals will try to prevent us from passing out, seeing that they have no warrant but their own for closing the gates against us, but if they do there is nothing for it but to open them ourselves. let us ride forward at once, gentlemen, for these fellows may receive a reinforcement at any time." so saying, he put spurs to his horse, calling upon the men- at-arms to follow. his three companions, who were already in the secret, joined him at once; and the others, after a at aoincourt pause of astonishment and almost incredulity, followed, in no way loath at the chance of another fight with the followers of the butchers. as they approached the gate the townsmen hastily drew up in front of it. "what means this?" count walter de vesoul said haugh- tily, as he reined up his horse a few paces from the line. "by what authority do you dare close the gates and thus stand armed before them ?'' "by the authority of the city of paris," the leader of the party said insolently. "i recognize no such authority while the king and the duke of aquitaine, who holds his full powers, are resident here. clear the way, my man, and open the gates, or i will ride over you." the butcher answered him with a derisive laugh. "it will cost you your lives if you attempt it," he said. "gentlemen, draw your swords and give these rough fel- lows the lesson they need ;" and, setting the example, he rode at the butcher and cut him down. the idea that the burgundian knights would venture to force a passage in the teeth of the prohibition of the master of the butchers had ap- parently not so much as entered the minds of the guard, and as soon as the knights and their followers fell upon them, the greater portion of them flung down their arms and fled, a few only fighting stoutly until overpowered. as soon as the skir- mish was over the keys were brought out from the guard-room, and the gate unlocked and the massive bars taken down. in the meantime some of the men-at-arms had run up on to the wall, hoisted the portcullis, and lowered the drawbridge across the fosse. as soon as they returned and mounted the party rode through. as they did so, four men ran out from a lane near the wall and followed them; and guy at once recognized in them the archer and his three companions. greatly in hiding pleased, he returned to the city and informed dame margaret of what had taken place. "no doubt," he said, " when they found the gates shut they remembered what i had said, that i was going to warn count charles and his friends, and went back to observe what these were doing; and the sight of their retainers going tow- ards the gate must have told them which way they intended to leave; and they, no doubt, went down and hid up near the gate to watch the conflict, and to take advantage of it, if a chance offered, to get off themselves." "that is indeed a satisfaction, guy; and i am glad, too, that your friends got away. there can be no doubt now that the count's information was accurate; the gates having been closed, as he said they would be, vouches for this. katarina has been here; she was dressed this time as an apprentice in the service of some trader, and brought a large box containing our disguises and yours. for you there is a bottle of dye for your hair, a mixture for darkening your skin, and clothes—the latter such as would be worn by a workman. charlie is to wear a girl's dress, at which he is mightily offended; nor is agnes better pleased, for a boy's suit has been sent for her. my disguise is simply a long cloak with a hood, such as is worn by the wives of small traders. katarina explained that it had been thought better to change the sex of agnes and charlie, so that, when a hue and cry is raised for a missing woman, with a girl of fourteen, and a boy of ten, no one should asso- ciate the woman with two lads and a little girl, whom they passed in the street, as being the party for which search is be- ing made. and now, guy, do you not think that we should warn our good host of the danger that threatens, for, doubt- less, he also has been marked out as a victim?" "i will see him at once, and will tell him as much as it is necessary for him to know. assuredly it is now too late at agincourt for him to escape beyond the walls, unless he were to take his wife with him, and bring his serving-men to let them down from the walls; but this, i should think, he will not do, he would rather take refuge in the house of some of his friends." the silversmith listened gravely when guy told him that he had received sure information that the butchers would that evening make a slaughter of some of their opponents, that they would be in such force that resistance would be hopeless, and that the few royal troops and the followers of burgundy would be insufficient to make head against them. "your news does not surprise me, and though i know not how you came by it, i fear that it is true. the news that the city gates have been all shut and are being guarded by strong parties of the butchers' rabble, shows but too surely that there is danger in the air. in the first place, there is your lady to be thought of; i must endeavour to obtain for her also shelter among my friends." "we have already arranged for a hiding-place for her and the children, maitre leroux. i may not name where it is to anyone, but suffice that it is a quiet house where there is little fear of any suspicions resting upon them, and where they will be able to remain until order is restored." "i fear that that will be a long time," the silversmith said. "the butchers boast that they can place , men under arms, and indeed the terror excited by them is so great, that very many who hate their doings as much as i do myself have been forced to make a semblance of joining them. next about your men-at-arms, they are brave fellows and i owe them much." "they are all safe outside the walls. some burgundian knights, indignant that this rabble should dare stop them, cut their way out through the port st. denis, and our men took advantage of the gates being open to follow them." in hiding "and as to yourself, master aylmer?" "i have dyes to blacken my hair and a tincture for darken- ing my face. i have also a disguise by which i may pass as an apprentice to a trader. i shall at all hazards remain in paris, but what i shall yet do i know not. and now about yourself and madame leroux—you will not, i hope, think of defending the house as you did before." "certainly not; it would not avail to save our lives, and would assuredly cost those of my servitors and most likely of the women. i have friends, who will, i hope, gladly take us in. maitre lepelletiere, the master carpenter, who has been doing my doors, is an old friend of mine, and after the last attack, urged me to withdraw for a time from the attention of the mob, and offered me refuge in his place. he lives in the rue des fosses; which is close to the old inner wall that is now for the most part in ruins. you pass along by the hospital, and when beyond the old wall turn to the right; 'tis the third doorway. there are no houses facing it, but it looks straight upon the wall, the ground between being some thirty or forty yards wide ; and doubtless when the house was built, it was before the present wall was erected, and stood on the outer side of the fosse round the old one. there are many others of the same trade who live in that quarter, and as they are for the most part opposed to the butchers, i doubt not that my friend will have no difficulty in obtaining a lodg- ing for you among them should no other have been settled upon." "thank you indeed," guy replied; "the arrangement has been made by others, and i know not for certain what has yet been decided upon, but should not a suitable place have been chosen i will gladly accept your offer." "and now i must set to work," the silversmith said. "in what way?" guy asked in surprise. ■ at agincourt "in hiding my wares. in a city like paris, with its sieges and its tumults, a prudent man having goods of great value will assuredly prepare a place of safety for them. i will set my men to work at once; the business must },e finished be- fore it becomes dark, for as soon as it does so we must leave the house and close it." "i have nothing to do at present, and shall be glad to help your men," guy said. he followed the silversmith downstairs. maitre leroux called his head man. "we must move, jacques, and that quickly; you have heard that the gates are shut." "yes, master, people are talking of nothing else." "i have news that there will be trouble to-night, so we must set to work at once to place the chests in safety. first let them clear out the wood-cellar." this was done in a few minutes by the seven men, then jacques told the others to go back into the shop and pack up all the silver goods in the chests. as soon as they were gone jacques looked inquiringly at his master, who nodded. then he touched a brick in the wall some seven feet above the floor; it sprung back. "will you lift me up?" the man said to guy. the lad did as he was asked, and the man thrust his arm into the orifice. a moment later he asked guy to set him down. "go to the doorway," he said, and hurried across to where maitre leroux was standing; then kneeling down he pushed his hand under the sill of the doorway and then stood up. "do you hear that ?" the silversmith said. "i hear a dull rumbling somewhere," guy replied. as he spoke he saw half the floor, which was apparently of solid flags, beginning to rise. in hiding "this was done in my father's time," maitre leroux said, "and it was made for him by maitre lepelletiere's father with the aid of two or three good smiths, who put the machinery together at his house and were in ignorance where it was intended to be placed." the trap-door was now raised, and guy to his astonish- ment saw a stream of running water three feet below the opening. "whence comes this?" he asked in astonishment. "no wonder you are surprised," the silversmith said; "it was a piece of rare good-luck that my father hit ul,on it. a map that he had showed him that in the old days, before there were any houses on this side of the river, a narrow branch left the stream some hundred yards above the position of his house, made a circuit and came into it again as much below. he inquired among some old men, and learned that they had heard their grandfathers say that they knew that at some time or other this stream had been built over when paris began to grow in this direction. after he had con- trived this apparatus that you see, which is worked by a heavy counterpoise in the wall, he began to dig, and a foot below the surface came upon an arch of brickwork, so my father concluded that his house was exactly over the old stream. "on breaking through the crown he discovered, as you see, that the water still flowed through this tunnel, which is some three and a half yards wide and eight feet deep. my men, all of whom are trusty fellows, know of the existence of this hiding-place, but jacques is the only one besides myself who knows the secret of the opening. now, jacques, fetch the chests along as fast as they are ready." the chests were soon brought up and one by one lowered. chains were attached from the handle of each to that of the « at agincourt one that followed; they were almost the weight of the water and sank until within an inch or two of the surface. each was floated down as it was lowered, until twenty great chests had been taken down. then one more heavy and ponderous than the rest was attached to the train, and a sloping board being placed from the cellar floor to the bottom of the stream, the case was allowed to slide down this until it rested on the bottom several feet beyond the trap-door. "there you see," the silversmith said, "even if they dis- covered the trap-door and broke up the floor with sledge- hammers, which would be no easy matter, and probed the stream with lances, they would find nothing. as you saw, there is a chain to the end of the last box, which is, as it were, an anchor to the rest; this chain jacques will now at- tach to a strong wire, and fasten that to a ring below the water's edge, and a foot beyond the trap-door, so that when danger is past we shall haul up the chain and recover the cases one by one in the order in which they have been sent down." as soon as jacques had fastened the wire to the ring he touched another heavy spring under the sill, then pulled hard on the trap - door; this gradually began to sink, and in a minute was in its place again. at the same time the brick that had been pushed in above came out into its place again, dust was then swept into the crack at the edge of the trap- door, and no one who had not seen the latter raised would have dreamt of its existence. the masters of paris chapter xiii the masters of paris ''phe trap-door closed, the firewood was carried back again, and guy went upstairs, where he found that dame margaret, agnes, and charlie had already put on their dis- guises. their faces had been slightly darkened; agnes had coiled her hair up under a cap, while dame margaret's would l,e completely hidden under the hood. she and charlie could have passed very well even in daylight, but agnes by no means looked her character. her mother had darkened the skin at the back of her neck as well as on her face, but the girl's evident discomfort and shyness were so unboylike that they would at once be noticed. guy fetched a short cloak reaching only to his hips from his room and brought it in to her. "i think that you will be more comfortable in this," he said. "yes, indeed," she exclaimed gratefully, as she put it over her shoulders; " i shall not mind now." it reached nearly down to her knees, and the high collar concealed the back of her head effectually. "i did not expect that you would be ready so soon," he said, turning to dame margaret; "it will not be dark for two hours yet." "no; but i thought it much better to be prepared to leave at any moment. mistress i.eroux has shown me a door opening from the yard into a very narrow lane behind. she says that it has not been used for years, but she has been down herself with the key and has unlocked it, so that we at agincourt have only to let a bar down to open it, and if there should be an attack on the front of the house we can escape that way." "it would be best to leave that way in any case," guy said, "and thereby you will avoid observation by anyone who may be watching. it is evident that the citizens of this quarter are very anxious and alarmed; looking from the window i have seen them standing in groups, or going in and out of each other's houses. they cannot know what is going to take place, but the closing of the gates by the butchers without any warrant has, of course, shown them that something serious is going to occur." "you had better disguise yourself at once, guy." "i will do so, mistress, but i do not think that there is any fear of disturbance until evening; men who are engaged in work, that may some day bring punishment upon those con- cerned in it, prefer darkness. besides, at that time all care- ful men will be in their houses, and will not dare to come out whatever sounds they may hear.'' maitre leroux presently came up. "i have been out and trying to gather news. there are all sorts of rumours abroad, but none know aught with cer- tainty. they say that the butchers have stationed guards at the end of all the streets leading to the market quarter, and they allow none to pass in or out. it is reported that aqui- taine has sent an officer to the butchers to demand under what warrant they have closed the gates of the city, and to order them to open them forthwith, and to withdraw the men sta- tioned there. it is said that their answer was that they had acted for the good of the state, and for the safety of the king's person, and that they would presently call upon his highness and explain matters to him. this may be true or merely rumour, but it is generally believed. everyone is talking of the fight at the gate of st. denis. some say that the masters of paris it was forced open by order of the duke of burgundy, while others affirm that caboche, and that mischievous varlet john de troyes, went in great haste to the duke when they received the news, that he declared to them that he knew nothing whatever of the affair, and that whatever was done was certainly done without his orders. most of my men have already left; it were better that they should go off one by one than that they should move off together. 'tis well that my wife bethought her of that back entrance. it has never been used in my time, for the lane is but three feet wide, and the houses beyond are of no very good repute. talked at one time of having it bricked up, and only refrained from doing so from the thought that it might be useful on some such oc- casion as this. your esquire has not gone out, i suppose, lady margaret ?'' "no, he is putting on his disguise—at least, he is colour- ing his hair and face, and so altering himself that he would not be known; but he will not put on his full disguise until later." guy soon came out. he was in his ordinary garments, but having put on his best suit beneath them he looked broader and bulkier than usual, while his blackened hair and darkened face had made so great a change in his appearance that both agnes and her mother agreed that they would not have known him. "you could certainly go anywhere, guy, and mix with any crowd, and no one would have a suspicion that you were the young englishman for whom the whole town was searching." half an hour l>efore it became dark, guy went down to the front door. standing there listening attentively, he presently heard three little knocks given, as by a hand on the door. he opened it a little, katarina slipped in, and he again fast- ened it and put up the bar. at agincourt "i brought the disguises early," she said, "as i thought thev might be required in haste, but my father has learned that it will be eight o'clock before the butchers sally out with their forces from the markets." "all here are ready and prepared to start at a moment's notice, and have arranged to go out by a door behind, that leads into a narrow lane." •• that is good!" the girl said. "i have been near for the last half-hour and have noticed two or three men hanging about, and by their furtive glances in the direction of the house i have no doubt that they are watching it. i had to wait until there happened to be a group of people before the door, and then slipped in behind them, and got in without, i am sure, their having seen me. have been uneasy as to how we should leave, for if they saw a party of three or four issu- ing out together, one of them would be sure to follow." they were now upstairs. the fact that agnes was in the same disguise as herself freed katarina from the shame-faced- ness that she would otherwise have felt at being seen by dame margaret in her present attire. "you are well disguised," the latter said as she entered. " no longer wonder that you are able to go about as a boy without suspicion; you look one to the life, while agnes is so awkward that she would be detected in a moment." "she has not had the practice that i have had," katarina said with a laugh; "the awkwardness will soon wear off if she has to dress like this for a short time. as for me, i have learnt all a boy's tricks and ways. can whistle and shout with any of them, can quarrel, and bluster, be saucy on oc- casion, and have only once been in trouble." "how was that, katarina?" "a boy who was a bit taller than i ran against me and declared that it was my fault, and gave me a cuff on the head. the masters ok paris l might have run away, and of course ought to have done so, but i was angry, for he really hurt me; so i had to do what any boy would have done, and i flew at him so fiercely, and cuffed and scratched and kicked so savagely that at last he turned and ran. he had hit me too, but i did not feel it at the time, and next morning i was all sorts of colours round the eyes. father was very angry, but when i asked what else he would have done if he had been cuffed, he could not tell me. i had a very important message to carry that morning for him. at first he said i could not go out in that state; but, as i told him, i had never looked so much like a boy before." all were glad when it became dark enough for them to make a start. the men and maids had all been sent away, and none remained save maitre leroux and his wife. they were not in any disguise, but were wrapped up in cloaks, and in the badly-lighted streets could pass unrecognized. "do you go out first, master aylmer," the silversmith said. "i have no fear of anyone watching behind, for it is not likely that any of them know of this entrance to my house; still, it is as well to make certain. when you get out of the lane you had best stay there until the others have passed on, then you can follow them. we will wait for a few minutes after they have gone, and lock the door behind us. you have not forgotten where you are to fmd us." "no, i have the name and house right. shall i ask for you as maitre leroux ?'' "i have not thought of that. no, it will be better, per- haps, to ask for philip sampson; it were just as well that none should know my name there except lepelletiere and his wife." as arranged guy went out first; there was still light enough for him to make his way along the narrow lane without falling over piles of dirt and rubbish that at some points almost at acincoi rt blocked it. the street into which it opened was also a very narrow one, and no one was about. in a minute dame mar- garet, walking with katarina, and with agnes close behind, holding charlie's hand, passed him. "it is all quite clear," he said. keeping some fifteen yards behind he followed them until they entered a broader street. there were a good many people about here. the nearest way would have been to have crossed the road and passed by an- other small street facing that from which they had come, but somewhat to his surprise they turned and went along the broader street. he soon acknowledged to himself that this was the wiser course, for there were so many people about that their passage would be unnoticed, while in the narrow lanes some rough fellow might have accosted them. keeping al- ways in frequented streets they made a long detour before they reached that in which the count resided, and it was with a feeling of great relief that guy saw them enter the house. he himself, as arranged, did not approach it for another quar- ter of an hour, then he went and knocked on the door with his hand, which was at once opened by katarina. "all is well," she said; "your lady is in the room where you first waited—my father is with her." as guy entered the count was just saying: "yes, it would certainly be best, madame, that your daughter should continue at present in that disguise. in the first place, she will get accustomed to it, and should she have occasion to move again she would be able to do so without attracting notice; in the second place, it would be desirable that, even accidentally, no one should know that there is a young lady of her age here. i have no visitors save on business, but possibly either she or your boy might come out on to the stairs when one is going up or down. it would be unfortunate that he should see them at all, but if it were but a boy he caught sight of he the masters ok pakis l? would not at any rate associate them with your party. these precautions may seem to you absurd, but it is often by little accidents that things are discovered when as it seemed every- thing had been provided against." "i shall not mind," agnes said. "when first went out it seemed dreadful, but when i found that nobody noticed me i began to be accustomed to it, and as your daughter is dressed as a boy too i shall not mind it." •• i shall not like being dressed as a girl," charlie said sturdily. the count smiled. "well, we will see what we can do in your case; anyhow, you must keep on that dress for a day or two. and now, guy, about yourself. have arranged for you to lodge with a man who gets news for me; it is in the butchers' quarter, which is the last place where any- one would think of looking for you. besides, there you will see all that is going on. i have two other disguises in addition to that i sent you; one is that of a young butcher, another is that of one of the lads who live in misery, who sleep at the market where they can earn a few sous by doing odd jobs, and beg or steal when they can do nothing else. i hear that you have also arranged for a shelter in the quarter between the walls; that too may be very use- * ful, and it will be well for you to go thither to-morrow and arrange so that you can have a place to go to when you choose; it will doubtless be much more pleasant for you there than in the market quarter. lastly, have got you a white hood, which may be most useful of all." guy looked surprised. "henceforth," the count went on, " white is to be the butchers' colour. all who march this evening are to be so clad, and as soon as it is known to-morrow, you will find three-fourths of the people wearing it, for not to do so will be taken as a sign of hostility to their faction. they at ac.inlwrt will have started by this time, and if it pleases you to put on the butcher's dress and the white hood over it you can mingle in safety with them and see all that is done; then when they return to their quarter, you can go with them. the house to which you are to go is the third on the left - hand side of the rue des couteaux. my man lodges at the top of the house, the room to the left when you mount the stair—his name is simon boucher. the lane is at the back of the butchers' market. the man has no idea who you are. i have simply told him that i will send a young man to help gather news for me of what is going on, that you would work separately, but that he was to do all in his power to aid you, and that at any time if he wanted to send a message to me and could not himself come, he was to intrust it to you, and similarly he was to bring any message that you might want to send to the spot where he meets my messenger. the man works for one of the thiberts. he does not know w■ho i am, but i think he believes me to be an agent of burgundy's, and that i collect the information so that he may be privately in- formed of what is doing. i have encouraged that idea, be- cause it is more likely to keep him truthful to me, since he would think that were he to play me false the duke would see that some harm or other befell him. therefore, it is as well that you should drop a word as if by accident that will confirm that notion, and will lead him to believe that you too are working under the orders of the duke. this will lull any suspicion that he might feel on seeing, as he must do, that you live in a position far higher than would appear from your garb. and now, if you would see to-night's doings, you had best put on that disguise and the white hood, and be off with- out delay; you will find the things in the room above." in a few minutes guy was ready to start. he could not help looking with disfavour at the greasy and stained gar- the masters of paris merits, and he put them on with an expression of strong dis- gust. the two suits that he had taken off he made up into a bundle, placed the disguise he had brought with him with them, putting up separately that of which the count had spoken, and which was so ragged and dirty that he inwardly hoped he might never be obliged to assume it; then he went downstairs again. he had strapped round his waist a heavy sword placed beside the clothes, and carried in his hand a short pike. dame margaret smiled when he entered, and katarina laughed aloud at the expression of his face. "truly, guy," the former said, " you might go anywhere in that garb without a soul suspecting you. this journey with me is leading you into strange disguises and adventures which will give you much matter for talk when we are safely back at summerley." "i have left my other disguises above," he said to the count. "the decent one of an apprentice i have placed with my own clothes, and will take them with me to any lodging that i may get among the carpenters, but that beggar suit i will take to simon boucher's the next time i come. i suppose you would not wish me to come here during the day." "no, unless it is very important; and to that end i think you had better carry the apprentice's disguise also to your lodging in the market. you would not gain favour among the carpenters were you to go among them in the dress you now wear, and your calling upon me here in your apprentice's dress would excite no attention; therefore, if you have need to come here during the day, you had best come as an ap- prentice." guy now went down into the street through which the butchers' force would pass. in a short time he heard a deep dull sound, and soon they came along, a host of armed men. ■.' at agincol'rt he fell in unnoticed near the head of the column. soon after he had joined them they halted, and three or four knights came up and entered into conversation with their leaders. guy recognized among them sir robert de mailly, sir charles de lens, and several others of the household of the duke of burgundy. these talked for some time with the sieur de jacqueville, governor of paris, who had joined the butchers' faction and was now riding at the head of the column, whereiipon the force went no farther, but turned and retraced its steps. guy wondered greatly where the butchers could be going, but soon found that they were making for the bastille. after much parley between de jacqueville and the governor, the latter consented, on the order of the duke of burgundy's friends, to hand over to them sir peter des kssars and his brother sir anthony, who were iwth sup- porters of the orleanists and had come to paris secretly, and had by the orders of the duke of aquitaine been ad- mitted as guests to the bastille. these were marched back to the louvre, the gates of which were opened by the orders of burgundy's friends, and the two knights were thrown into the prison of the palace. on the way back the houses of a very rich upholsterer and of a cannon-founder of great repute, both of whom had with- stood the butchers, were broken into and their owners both murdered. after this the mob marched to the house of maitre leroux. no reply being given to their summons to open, an attack was made upon the door. while they were engaged in doing this, screens of wattles covered, with two or three thicknesses of hides were placed so as to shelter the assailants from the arrows that had proved so deadly on the occasion of their last attack. it was thus evident that the outrage was a planned one. guy looked on with some amusement until the door gave way under the action of the masters of paris some very heavy sledge-hammers wielded by a party of brawny smiths; the moment it did so the crowd made a tremendous rush. so great was the pressure that many were thrown down and trampled to death in the doorway. it was not long be- fore several of the windows were thrown open and voices shouted down that the house was deserted. a yell of fury• burst from the crowd below, but the pressure at the door was even greater than before. the loss incurred during the first attack had caused all but the bravest and most determined to hang back somewhat; now, however, that it seemed that the silversmith's stores could be ransacked without danger, all were anxious to have a hand in it. presently one of the leaders appeared at a casement on the first floor and waved his arms for silence. the roar of voices ceased and the man cried: "citizens, 'tis of no use to press forward into the house, not only has the traitor and those with him fled from the just vengeance of the people, but he has taken away with him the whole of his silverware." a yell of disappointment and rage rose, then as it ceased for a moment a voice shouted out: "they are trying to cheat us, my friends; those who got in first have divided up the spoil and wish us to have no share in it." this caused a fresh outburst of commotion. at a signal from the leader above a number of well-armed men, who were evidently a sort of body-guard, pressed forward to the door and drove back the crowd with blows from the staves of their pikes. presently those who had entered began to pour out, and in a quarter of an hour the house was cleared. as soon as it was so the windows were lit up by a lurid light which showed that it had been fired on each floor, and the flame* -i at ag nc urt very soon burst out through the casements. satisfied with having done this the butchers returned to their quarter, and guy mounted to the chamber of simon bouclier. the man had evidently just returned, as he too wore a white hood. he had been carrying a torch in the procession, and this was stuck into a ring on the wall. "well, comrade," he said as guy entered, "i suppose you are the man i was told would come here to-night." "i am so," guy said. "i should have been here before, but i joined the procession, as i guessed that you would be there also." "yes," the man said; "though i should not have gone had i not thought that more would come of it. what have we done? captured two knights and killed two bourgeois! pooh, it did not need five thousand men for that." "no, but it was just as important as if we had killed a hundred." "how so?" the other asked. "because it has shown the armagnacs that paris and bur- gundy are as united as ever, and that they will stand no in- trigues by the court party." '' that is true. we are all sound here; there were but five thousand out to-night, because that was enough for the work, but there will be four times as many next time we go to the louvre. to-morrow morning, you know, we are going to pay a visit to the duke of aquitaine at his hotel, to teach that young man that he has to do as we and bur- gundy order him, or that it will be worse for him." "so i understand," guy said carelessly. "as long as all hold together in this quarter everything will go right. my duty principally is to find out if there are any signs of waver- ing; there are no signs, of course, among the butchers, but some of the others are thought to be but half-hearted." the masters of paris "the butchers and skinners are all right, never fear," the man said; "and if there are others in the quarter who may not be quite so hot in the matter as we are, they know better than to open their mouths. of course, in the other quarters there may be a strong party who would thwart us; the smiths and the carpenters and masons are ever jealous of us of the markets, but they have no leaders, and hold not together as we do. besides, they know that we have burgundy with us, so whatever they think they are not likely to say much, for if it came to a battle we could sweep them out of the city." "yes, yes, i know that there is no fear of that, the great thing is to make sure that some of those who seem to be hottest in the matter, are not taking money from the other party; there are one or two i am specially to observe." "i understand you, comrade. i myself have never had much confidence in john de troyes nor his medical students. he is good at talking, no one will deny that; but for myself i would rather that we kept among ourselves and had nothing to do with such cattle, who have no interest in the privileges of the guilds, and who take part with us no one knows why. but i am sleepy; that bundle of fresh rushes in the corner is yours, i got them in the hay-market to-day when i heard that you were coming. you can keep beside me to-morrow morn- ing and i will get you a good place in the ranks. from whence shall i say that you come, as many will ask the ques- tion, seeing that your face is strange?" "you can say i am from nancy." "yes, that will be good enough; that is the right quarter of france for a man to have come from just at present." guy was thoroughly fatigued with the long excitement of the day. at eleven in the morning everything had been going on as usual, now dame margaret and the two children at agincourt were in hiding, her four men-at-arms fugitives, and paris was virtually in a state of insurrection against the royal authority, stirred up thereto by the duke of burgundy, who had thus openly leagued himself with the scum of paris. that what he had seen that evening was but the beginning of a series of crimes, guy could not doubt; and although this man had ex- pressed his confidence in the power of the market-men to sweep the craftsmen out of paris, he felt sure from what he had heard, that this could not be done until a fierce and doubtful battle had been fought in the streets. at eight next morning he went out with his companion. "it is well not to go into a place where we shall meet many till your face is better known," the latter said; and he led the way to a small trattoir a quarter of a mile away. here they sat down and breakfasted, then they returned to the market where the white hoods were mustering. simon, who was evidently well known to most of the butchers, took his place near the head of the column, and at nine o'clock it got into motion. when it issued from its own quarters it was evident that its approach excited general apprehension. the streets were deserted as it passed along. none of the case- ments were opened, and although the traders dared not put up their shutters, none of them appeared at the doors, where their apprentices and workmen gathered to look at the proces- sion. passing along steadily and in good order, and headed as before by the knights of the duke of burgundy's household, they drew up before the palace of the duke of aquitaine. caboche, john de troyes, and one of the butchers entered the house. the guards having no orders, and seeing how strong was the force that was at their back, did not venture to oppose their entrance, and they pushed on into the private apart- ments of the duke and informed him that they, on behalf of the good town of paris and for the welfare of his father and ( at agincourt the kingdom. the mad king was made to sign this after the dukes of aquitaine, berri, and lorraine, and other nobles of the council had put their names to it. at nine o'clock that evening guy went to the square be- fore notre dame. here many groups of people were talking over the events of the day. guy had, as soon as he left the market quarter, taken off his white hood, and before starting he put on his dress as an apprentice. there was no doubt that the opinion of the great majority of those in the square was hostile to the authors of the events of the day, and that the consternation among the citizens was very great. after thus forcing the great nobles to obey their will and outraging the palace of the duke of aquitaine, there was no saying to what length they would go, and fears were expressed that ere long they might sack the whole of the better quarters of paris. it was so evident, however, that they had the suplk,rt of the duke of burgundy that no one saw any way out of their trouble, and that nothing but the arrival of a powerful army of orleanists could relieve them from their peril. as guy had no real expectation of seeing any of his followers,—although the gates had been opened that afternoon after the seizure of the knights,—he attended more to the conversations going on about him than to the matter on which he had come. pres- ently, however, he saw a rough-looking fellow watching him attentively. he walked close to him, but not recognizing him would have passed on, had not the man taken a step for- ward and said in a low voice: "villeroy!" "is it you, robert? in faith i did not recognize you in that attire." "and i was not sure that it was you, master guy; i should certainly not have known you by your face. your figure and walk, when a short distance away, attracted my the masters ok paris attention, and knowing your disguise was that of an ap- prentice i made sure it was you. then as you came closer i doubted, and though i ventured upon saying the name of our lord, i scarce thought that you would reply." "where are the others, robert?" "they are walking about separately seeking for you. we are to meet on the steps of the cathedral at half-past nine." "what has become of tom?" the man laughed. "if you will come along this way, master, you will see." they went to a quiet corner of the square. as they approached it they heard angry voices, and standing under a lamp guy saw a tall man of wild and un- kempt appearance, with black hair and a begrimed face, and a basket of vegetables strapped to his shoulders, threatening angrily with a staff three or four gamins who were making fun of him. he spoke in a wild, incoherent way, and seemed to be half-witted. "what are you worrying this poor fellow for?" robert said angrily to the boys. "if you do not be off, and that quickly, i will lay my cudgel about your shoulders." this threat was much more efficacious than those of the half-witted man had been, and the boys at once took to their heels. the tall man shuffled towards the new-comers. "is it really you, tom?" guy said in a low tone. "it is me, sure enough, master guy. i should not know myself, and am not surprised that you do not know me; in faith, my back aches with walking with a stoop, and my legs with shuffling along as if i had scarce the use of them, instead of stepping out manfully. is all well? we have heard of strange doings—that the butchers have, with the countenance of burgundy, bearded the duke of aquitaine, and even carried off some of his friends from before his face; also that the houses of three of those who had withstood them had been at auincoik i burned, among them that of maitre leroux; also that two traders had been killed, though which two they were we have not been able to learn." "all is well, torn: our lady and her children were safely bestowed, as was also the silversmith and his wife." "i am right glad of that; they were a worthy couple. and so his house is burned and sacked ?'' burned, but not sacked, tom; for he had, before they came, stowed away in a hiding-place where they could not be found all those chests of his, and not a single piece of silver fell into the hands of the butchers." "that was well done." the archer said, rubbing his hands. "i should like to have seen the dogs' faces when they burst in and found nothing. and my bow, master guy?" "i fear that the flames will not have spared it. i went past the house to-day. and naught but the bare walls are standing." at this moment the bell of the cathedral struck the half- hour, and robert picard said: "will you stay here, master guy? i must go and meet the others, and forthwith bring them to you here." chapter xiv p .ann nc. massacrf. in a short time robert picard returned with his two com- panions, and leaving the square, they all went along the quays to a quiet spot. "we cannot be overheard here," guy said, "and now, in the first place, let me know how you have fared. i knew that you had got safely away, for planning massackk i was near the gate of st. denis when the burgundians fought their way out. and saw you follow." "we had no difficulty," robert pi card said. "we went into the wood, and thence went across to st. cloud and bought these garments that you see us in, and we hid away our steel caps and harness in some bushes in the heart of the wood, where they are not likely to be found. then after a long talk with tom we agreed that he had best go as a half- witted man with a basket of vegetables for sale, and i went into st. cloud again, dressed as i now am, and found a little shop where they sold rags and old garments, and got his outfit for a couple of francs, and dear at that. we thought in that way he would not have to say much, and that any confusion of speech would be set down to the fact that his brain was weak. hearing that the gates were open this afternoon, we came in just before they were closed for the night. we have got a room in a lane which honest folk would not care to pass through even in daylight; 'tis a vile hole, but consorts well with our appearance." "i will try and find you a better place to-morrow, robert. am going to see the people with whom maitre leroux is in hiding. i hear that they have no sympathy with these butchers, and when i tell them that you are stout fellows and good fighters methinks they will find quarters for you; and you may be able to put on safer disguises than those you wear at present, except that of tom's, which think we cannot better. besides, he can lie there quietly, and need not, ex- cept when he chooses, sally out. i myself am lodging at present among the butchers. i hear that caboche and the legoix are furious at our having slipped through their fmgers, and they declare that, as we cannot have escaped from paris, they will lay hands on us very soon." "i should like to lay hands on a few of them myself, planning massacre against the butchers. i will ask him to come up here. you already know him, as you have spoken with him several times when he was looking after his men putting up the new doors.'' the master carpenter soon came in. "i will gladly get a lodging for your men," he said, when guy had explained the matter to him. "we may come to blows with these market people, and four stout fellows are not to be despised. there will be a meeting of the council of our guild this afternoon, and on my recommendation they will give me the necessary documents, saying that the men—you can give me their names —have received permission to work as carpenters in paris. they can then put on dresses suitable for craftsmen, and the pa- pers will suffice to satisfy anyone who may inquire as to their business. i think that your tall archer may safely lay aside the disguise you say he has assumed, it might be likely to get him into trouble; the change in the colour of the hair and the darkening of his eyebrows should be quite sufficient dis- guise, and if he is always when abroad with one of his com- rades, he has but to keep his mouth shut, and if questioned the man with him can say that he is dumb." "that would be excellent," guy said, "and i am greatly obliged to you. doubtless, too, they will soon make ac- quaintance with some of the other workmen, and by mixing with these there will be less suspicion excited than if they always went about together." "i will tell my foreman to present them to the men who work for me, and they will soon get known in the quarter. five or six of my men lodge in the house where i took the room for you. it might be useful, too, were i to give you a paper of apprenticeship, and if you were similarly introduced. in that case it might be convenient to exchange the small room that i have taken for you for a larger one; as an ap- at aoincourt prentice you would ordinarily lodge with your master, and if you did not you would scarce have a room to yourself, but were you to lodge with your four men it would seem natural enough." "that would be a capital plan, maitre lepelletiere." "you see, in that way, too," the carpenter went on, " you would only have to place a plank on your shoulder and then go where you will without exciting the least attention. i will furnish you with a list of the houses where i have men at work, and this again would be an assistance to you. it is my foreman who took the lodging for you; i am expect- ing him here shortly for orders, and he shall go round with you. as you say that your fellows are dressed at present in rough fashion it will be as well that they should provide them- selves with their new disguises before they come here, as, if they were seen in their present guise, it would prejudice them with the others in the house, for craftsmen look down greatly upon the rough element of the street." "they shall do so," guy said, "and i will come with them myself this evening." guy presently went in with the foreman and arranged for a large attic with a dormer window, at the top of the house. at midday he met robert picard and told him the arrange- ments that had been made, supplying him with money for the purchase of the four dresses. "as soon as it becomes dark," he said, "you had best go to some quiet spot and change them. bring the clothes you now have on in a bundle, for they may yet prove useful, and meet me at eight o'clock at the corner of the rue des fosses." guy then went to the italian's and told dame margaret of the arrangements he had made. "since you have managed it all so well, guy, i am glad to hear that the men are all back in paris. i before wished planning massacre that they should make straight for villeroy, but since they are so safely bestowed it were best perhaps that they should be within reach. long tom is the only one i shall feel anxious about, for of course he is less easy to disguise than the others." "he has plenty of shrewdness, my lady, and will, i have no doubt, play his part well. i know that i myself feel very glad that there are four true men upon whom we can rely if any difficulty should arise." "some evening, mother," agnes said, "when i have grown more accustomed to this boy's dress i will go with katarina to this house so that i can carry a message there, should she happen to be away when there is need for sending one." lady margaret hesitated, but guy said: "by your leave, my lady, i think that the idea is a very good one, saving that i myself will escort the two ladies there as soon as mistress agnes feels confident enough to go." "in that case i should have no objection, guy. under your charge i have no doubt agnes would be perfectly safe, but i could hardly bring myself to let her go out without escort in so wild a city as this is at present." the italian and his daughter presently joined them, and heard with satisfaction where guy and the four men had ob- tained a safe lodging. - "still," he said, " i should advise you sometimes to sleep at your lodging by the market-place. simon is not the sort of companion you would choose. i have only seen him once, and i was then so disguised that he would not recognize me again—for none of those with whom i have dealings know who i am or where i live—but that once was sufficient to show me that the fellow might be trusted to serve me well as long as he was paid well, especially as he believed that i was at ag incourt an agent of the duke's; still, he is a rough and very un- savoury rascal, and had i been able to think at the moment of anywhere else where you could for the time safely shelter i should not have placed you with him." "i do not mind," guy said; "and at any rate with him i have opportunities of seeing what is going on, as, for ex- ample, when they insulted the duke of aquitaine, and it is certainly well to be able to learn what the intentions of the fellows are. as an englishman i care naught for one party or the other, but as one of gentle blood it fills me with anger and disgust to see this rabble of butchers and skinners lording it over nobles and dragging knights and gentlemen away to prison; and if it were in my power i would gladly upset their design, were it not that i know that, for my lady's sake, it were well to hold myself altogether aloof from med- dling in it." "you are right," the italian said gravely. "i myself am careful not to meddle in any way with these affairs. i try to learn what is doing, because such knowledge is useful to me and gains me credit as well as money with those who consult me, and may possibly be the means of saving their lives if they do but take my warning. thus, having learned what was proposed to be done yesterday morning, i was able to warn a certain knight who visited me the evening before that it might cost him his life were he to remain in paris twelve hours. he was incredulous at first, for i would give him no clue as to the nature of the danger; however, by a little trick i succeeded in impressing him sufficiently for him to resolve to leave at daybreak. this he did; at least they searched for him in vain at the duke of aquitaine's, and therefore i have no doubt that he took my advice, engaged a boat, and made his escape by the river. it was his first visit to me, and i doubt not that henceforth he will be a valuable client, planning massacre and that he will bring many of his friends to me. if i mistake not, i shall have more opportunities of doing such services and of so increasing my reputation ere long." for a time things went on quietly. tom and his com- panions were on friendly terms with the other men in the house, who all believed them to be carpenters who had come to paris in search of employment. long tom was supposed by them to be dumb, and never opened his lips save when alone with his companions, and seldom left the house. the room was altogether unfurnished, but furniture was regarded as by no means a necessity in those days. five bundles of rushes formed their beds, and guy, as there was little to learn in the markets, generally slept there. an earthenware pan, in which burned a charcoal fire over which they did what cooking was necessary, a rough gridiron, and a cooking pot were the only purchases that it was necessary to make. slices of bread formed their platters, and saved them all trouble in the matter of washing up. washing was roughly performed at a well in the court-yard of the house. things had now quieted down so much that a considerable number of great nobles resorted to paris, for the king had now a lucid interval. among them were the dukes of berri, burgundy, and lorraine, with duke louis of bavaria, the queen's brother, with the counts de nevers, de cha- rolais, de st. pol, the constable of france, and many other great lords and prelates. the queen was also with her husband. "there will shortly be trouble again," the italian said one day to guy. "simon told my daughter yesterday evening that the butchers were only biding their time to get as many fish into their net as possible, and that when they would draw it they would obtain a great haul. you have not been down there for some time; it were best that you put on at agincourt your butcher's garb again and endeavour to find out what is intended." "i was expecting you," simon said, when that evening guy entered his room. "there will be a meeting at mid- night in the butchers' hall, and i cannot take you in with me, but i will tell you what happens." "that will do as well as if i went myself," guy said, "though in truth i should like well to see one of these councils." "no one is admitted save those known to be, like my- self, thoroughly devoted to the cause.'' "that i can well understand, simon; a traitor might mar all their plans." "some time i may take you," simon said, "for doubt- less i could smuggle you in; but to-night—" and he hesi- tated, "to - night it will be specially important, and they have to be more particular than usual as to who are ad- mitted." guy noticed the hesitation, and replied carelessly that one occasion would be as good as another for him, and presently lay down in his corner. he wondered to himself what the business could be that his companion was evidently anxious that he should hear nothing of. he might wish that he should alone have the merit of reporting it, or it might be something that it was deemed the duke of bur- gundy himself, the butchers' friend and ally, would not ap- prove of. at any rate he was determined, if possible, to find it all out; he therefore feigned sleep. at eleven o'clock simon got up and went down; guy waited for two or three minutes and then rose and followed. as soon as he was out of the door he made direct for the hall of the butchers' guild. he knew that simon was not going straight there, as the meeting was not, he said, for an hour, and that he planning massacre would be stopping to drink at some cabaret with his asso- ciates. the hall was but a short distance away. when guy approached it he saw that as yet it was not lighted up. on three sides it was surrounded by a garden with high trees; near the front entrance some twenty men were gathered talking together. he, therefore, went round to the back; several trees grew near the wall, and the branches of one of these extended over it. with consider- able difficulty guy succeeded in climbing it, and made his way along the branch and got upon the top of the wall. this was about fourteen feet high, and, lowering himself by his arms, he dropped into the garden and crossed to the building. he took off his white hood and thrust it into his doublet. the windows were six feet from the ground, and were, as usual at this time, closed by wooden shutters on the inside. putting his fingers on the sill he raised himself up. there was plenty of room for him to stand, and, holding on by the iron bars, he took out his dagger and began to cut a hole in the shutter. the wood was old, and after half an hour's hard work he succeeded in making a hole three inches long and an inch wide. by the time this was finished the hall had been lighted up with torches, and men were pouring in through the doors at the other end. across the end next to him was a plat- form on which was a table. for a time no one came up there, for the members as they entered gathered in groups on the floor and talked earnestly together. after a few minutes ten men came up on to the platform; by this time the body of the hall was full, and the doors at the other end were closed. a man, whom guy recognized as john de troyes, stepped forward from the others on the platform and, stand- ing in front of the table, addressed his comrades. "my friends," he said, "it is time that we were at work at agincourt again. paris is becoming infested by enemies of the people, and we must rid ourselves of them. the nobles are assem- bled for the purpose, as they say, of being present at the mar- riage of louis of bavaria with the widow of peter de na- varre, but we know well enough that this is but a pretext; they have come to consult how best they can overthrow the power of our duke of burgundy and suppress the liberty of this great city. the question is, are we tamely to submit to this?" a deep shout of " no !" ran through the multitude. "you are right, we will not submit. were we to do so we know that it would cost the lives of all those who have made themselves prominent in the defence of the liberties of paris; they might even go so far as to suppress all our privileges and to dissolve our guilds. in this matter the duke of burgundy hesitates and is not inclined to go with us to the full, but we parisians must judge for ourselves what is necessary to be done. the duke has furnished us with a list of twelve names; these men are all dangerous and obnoxious to the safety of paris. but there must be a longer list, we must strike at our own enemies as well as at those of the duke, and the council has therefore prepared a list of sixty names, which i will read to you." then, taking out a roll of paper, he read a list of lords and gentlemen, and also, to guy's indignation, the names of several ladies of rank. "these people," he said when he had finished, " are all obnoxious, and must be cast into prison. they must be tried and condemned." even among the greater portion of those present the boldness of a proposal that would array so many powerful families against them created a feeling of doubt and hesita- tion. the bolder spirits, however, burst into loud applause, planning massacre and in this the others speedily joined, none liking to appear more lukewarm than the rest. then up rose caboche, a big, burly man with a coarse and brutal expression of face. "i say we want no trials," he cried, striking one hand on the palm of the other. "as to the number, it is well enough as a beginning, but i would it were six hundred instead of sixty. i would that at one blow we could destroy all the nobles, who live upon the people of france. it needs but a good example to be set in paris for all the great towns in france to follow it. still, paltry as the number is, it will, as i said, do as a beginning. but there must be no mistake; if trials they must have, it must be by good men and true, who will know what is necessary and do it; and who will not stand upon legal tricks, but will take as evidence the fact that is known to all, that those people are dangerous to paris and are the enemies of the king and the duke of bur- gundy. last time we went, we marched with five thousand men; this time we must go with twenty thousand. they must see what force we have at our command, and that paris is more powerful than any lord or noble even of the highest rank, and that our alliance must be courted and our orders obeyed. the duke of burgundy may pretend to frown, but at heart he will know that we are acting in his interest as well as our own; and even if we risk his dis- pleasure, well, let us risk it. he needs us more than we need him. do what he will, he cannot do without us. he knows well enough that the orleanists will never either trust or forgive him, and he committed himself so far with us last time that, say what he will, none will believe that he is not with us now. for myself, i am glad that de jacqueville and his knights will not this time, as last, ride at our head; 'tis best to show them that paris is independent even of burgundy, and that what we will we can do." at agincourt the hall rang with the loud acclamations, then john de troyes got up again. "i agree, we all agree, with every word that our good friend has spoken, and can warrant me that the judges shall be men in whom we can absolutely trust, and that those who enter the prisons will not leave them alive. the day after to-morrow, thursday, the nth of may, we shall hold a great assembly, of which we shall give notice to the king and the royal dukes, and shall make our proposals to the duke of aquitaine. now, my friends, let each come forward with a list of the number of his friends who he will engage shall be present on thursday." at this point, guy, seeing that the main business of the meeting had been declared, and that there now remained but to settle the details, got down from his post. with the aid of some ivy he climbed the wall and dropped down be- yond it, and made his way back to his lodging. when simon returned an hour later, guy was apparently as fast asleep as before. when sleeping at the butchers' quarter he always rose at a very early hour, so that none who might have noticed him in his butcher's attire should see him go out in that of an apprentice, and he was obliged to walk about for some time before he could call at the count's. as soon as he thought that they would be likely to be stirring he knocked at the door. the old woman opened it. "is your master up yet?" he asked. she nodded, and without further question he made his way upstairs to the italian's chamber. "you are early, master aylmer," the latter said in sur- prise as he entered. '' have you news of importance ?'' "i have indeed, count," and he at once related all that he had heard through the hole in the shutter. "the insolence of these people surpasses all bounds," the planning massacre count said angrily as he walked up and down the room. "were there any force in the town that could resist them i would warn the duke of aquitaine what was intended, but as it is, nothing would be gained by it. you can only remember the eight or ten names that you have given me?" "that is all; they were names that i was familiar with, while the others were strange to me. ' "two or three of them i can at least save from the grasp of these rascals," he said, "but i will take them all down on my tablets. what need was there for you," he went on after he had done this, " to run such risk as you did—for you would assuredly have been killed without mercy had they caught you spying upon-them—when simon, who you say was present, could have sent me full particulars of all that passed ?'' guy stated his reasons for fancying that upon this occasion simon did not intend to send a full account. "i thought so before i started," he said, "but i was well assured of it when i heard that, although burgundy had given the names of twelve persons whom he desired to be arrested, he would go no further in the matter, and that he had no knowledge of their further pretensions. it seems to me, count, that, believing as he does that you are an agent of the duke's, he was unwilling to say anything about this matter, as burgundy might thwart the intentions of the butchers. the man is heart and soul with them, and though he is willing to sell you information that can do no harm to their plans, he will say nothing that might enable burgundy to thwart them." "if i thought that burgundy could, or would do so, i would inform him as well as aquitaine what is doing; but in the first place he has not the power, and in the second he would at agincourt not have the will. what are a few score of lives to him, and those mostly of men of the orleanist faction, in comparison with the support of paris? i am vexed, too, at this failure of simon, that is to say, if it be a failure. that we shall know by mid-day. my daughter will meet him in the place de greve at eleven, and we shall hear when she comes back how much he has tolil her. i am going after breakfast to my booth outside the walls, where you first saw me. i must send notes to the three gentlemen whom i know, begging them to see me there.'' "can i take them for you? i have nothing to do, and shall be glad of anything to occupy me." "i shall be obliged if you will; you are sure to find them in at this hour." he sat down and wrote three short communications. the wording was identical, but the times fixed for the interview were an hour apart. they ran as follows: "my lord,— consulting the stars last night ifind that danger menaces you. it may be averted if you quit j}aris when you receive this, for it seems to me that it is here only that your safety is menaced. should you wish to consult me before doing so, come, i pray you, to my booth in the fair at two, but come mounted.'' instead of a signature a cabalistic figure was drawn below it, and then the words were added: the bearer can be trusted. the slips of parchment were then rolled up and sealed; no addresses were put on. "if they question you," he said, "say nothing, save that i told you that the matter contained in the letter was sure and certain, and that a great risk of life would assuredly be run unless my advice was taken. deliver them into the hands of planning massacre those they concern, and trust them to no others, master ayl- mer. if you cannot obtain access to them, say to the varlets that they are to inform their lords that one from the man in the rue des essarts desires urgently to see them, and that should be sufficient if the message is given. if they refuse to take it, then i pray you wait outside for a while on the chance of the gentlemen issuing out. this, on which you see i have made one dot, is for the count de rennes, who is at present at the hotel of st. pol, being in the company of the duke of berri; this is for sir john rembault, who is at the louvre, where he is lodging with the governor, who is a relation of his; the third is for the lord of roubaix, who is also lodged at the louvre." "they shall have them," guy said as he placed them in his doublet, "if i have to stop till midnight to get speech with them; the matter of waiting a few hours is but a trifle in comparison with the life of a man. i would that i could warn others." the italian shook his head. "it could not be done with- out great danger," he said. "were you to carry an anony- mous letter to others you might be seized and questioned. the three to whom you now carry notes have all reason for knowing that my predictions are not to be despised, but the others would not accept any warning from an unknown person. they might take it for a plot, and you might be interrogated and even put to torture to discover who you are and whence you obtained this information. things must go on as they are; assuredly this is no time for meddling in other people's affairs. we are only at the beginning of troubles yet, and know not how great they may grow. moreover, you have no right to run a risk for strangers when your life may be of vital service to your mistress. should you succeed in handing these three letters to the gentlemen to whom they are written by noon, i at agincourt shall be glad if you will bring the news to me at my booth, and i shall then be able to tell you how much information the butcher has sent of the proceedings last night." guy went first to the louvre. as many people were go- ing in and out, no question was asked him, and on reaching the entrance he inquired of some varlets standing there for the lodgings of the lord de roubaix and sir john rembault. "i am in the service of the lord de roubaix; what would you with him?" "i am charged with a message for him; i was told to de- liver it only to himself." "from whom do you come? i cannot disturb him with such a message from i know not who." "that is reasonable," guy replied, "but if you tell him that come from the man in the rue des essarts i warrant that he will see me. you don't suppose that i am joking with you," he went on as the varlet looked at him suspiciously, "when i should likely be whipped for my pains. if you will give the message to your lord i doubt not that he will give me audience." "follow me," the varlet said, and led the way upstairs and through several corridors, then he motioned to him to wait, and entered a room. he returned in a minute. "my lord will see you," he said, and led the way into the room. "this is the person, my lord," he said, and then re- tired. the lord of roubaix was a tall man of some forty years of age. guy bowed deeply and handed to him the roll of parch- ment. the count broke the seal and read it, and when he had finished looked fixedly at guy. "the writer tells me that you are to be trusted?" "i hope so, my lord." "do you know the contents of this letter?" planning massacre "i know so much, my lord, that the writer told me to as- sure you that the matter was urgent, and that he could not be mistaken as to what was written in the letter." the count stood irresolute for a minute or two; then he said: "tell him that i will act upon his advice. he has before now proved to me that his warnings are not to be neglected. you seem by your attire to be an apprentice, young sir, and yet your manner is one of higher degree." "disguises are convenient in times like these, my lord," guy said. "you are right, lad." he put his hand to his pouch, but guy drew back with a smile. "no, my lord, had you offered me gold before you re- marked that i was but playing a part, i should have taken it in order to keep up that part; as it is i can refuse it without your considering it strange that i should do so." the count smiled. "whoever you are, you are shrewd and bold, young sir. i shall doubtless see you when i return to paris." guy then left, and delivered the other two missives. in each case those who received them simply returned an answer that they would beat the place at the hour named, and he then went beyond the walls, observing as he passed out through the gates that a party of white hoods had stationed them- selves there. however, they interfered with no one passing in or out on reaching the booth he informed the count of the success of his visits. "i doubt, however," he said, "whether either of the three gentlemen will be here at the time appointed, for the white hoods are watching at the gate." "i think that they will not stop anyone to-day, master aylmer. they intend to make a great haul to-morrow, and would not wish to excite suspicion by seizing anyone to-day. at aoincourt were it known that they had done so, many others who have reason to believe they are obnoxious to burgundy or to the parisians, might conceal themselves or make their escape in various disguises. i hear that a request has been made that a deputation of the citizens of paris shall be received by the duke of aquitaine to-morrow morning, and that the great lords may be present to hear the request and complaints of the city." uy had found his mornings hang heavy on his hands, as vj of course he had been obliged to give up attending the fencing-school. going down to the river now, he sat there watching the passing boats until nearly one o'clock, and then returned to the fair. before reaching the booth katarina joined him. "i have been watching for you, monsieur guy. father said it was as well that you should not, twice in a day, be seen entering his place. he bade me tell you that the three gen- tlemen have been to him and will not re-enter paris." "did you see simon this morning?" "yes, he only told me that the market men would have an interview with the duke of aquitaine to-morrow, and would demand the arrest of those whom the duke of bur- gundy had pointed out as his enemies. he said that they would go in such force that the duke would be unable to refuse their request. although it was so early, i think that the man had been drinking. my father, when i told him, said i should go no more to meet him." chapter xv a rescue a rescue "i am very glad to hear it," guy said. "he is a low scoundrel, and though i say not but that the information ob- tained from him may have been of some advantage, for indeed it was the means of my being enabled to save our lives and those of my burgundian friends, i like not the thought of your going to meet him; and i am sure that if he were to take the idea into his thick head that it was not for the advan- tage of the duke of burgundy that the information he had given was being used, he is capable of denouncing you." "i did not mind meeting him," the girl said. "i never went into the rough quarters, but always met him in one of the better squares or streets. still, i am glad that i have not to go again. i think that he had been drinking all night, and with his unwashed face and his bloodshot eyes and his foul attire i was ashamed even in my present dress to speak with him." "i hope that i have done with him too," guy said. "of course, for my mistress's sake, i shall go again if there be aught to be learnt by it, but as it seems he is now no longer to be trusted it is not likely that any advantage is to be gained by visiting him. however, i shall hear what your father thinks this evening." upon talking over the matter with the astrologer the latter at once said that he thought that it would be better for him not to go to simon's again. "when he finds that my daughter meets him no more he will feel aggrieved. i myself shall go in disguise to-morrow to meet him in the place de grfive, and tell him that for the present there will be no occasion for him to come to the ren- dezvous, as the events of the meeting which will have taken place before i see him show that there can be no doubt that the butchers are ready to go all lengths against the orleanist party; but that if any change should occur, and private infor- at agincoukt mation be required, you would go to his lodging again. i shall make no allusion to his having given me none of the names save those furnished by the duke, or remark on the strangeness that, having been at the meeting, he should have heard nothing of the measures proposed against the others; his own conscience will no doubt tell him that his failure is one of the causes of my no longer desiring any messages from him. i have other means of gaining information, as i have one of the medical students who follow that cracked-brained fellow, john de troyes, in my pay. hitherto i have not employed him largely, but shall now, if need be, avail myself of his services. but i do not think that i shall have any oc- casion to do so. after the demand by the parisians for so many nobles and gentlemen to be arrested, it will be clear to all adhering to orleans that paris is no longer a place for them, and even the followers of burgundy will see that those the duke regarded as his servants have become his masters, and there will be but few persons of quality remaining in paris, and therefore, save when some citizen wishes to consult me, i shall have little to do here save to carry on my work as a quack outside the gates. even this i can drop for a time, for the people of paris will not be inclined for pleasure when at any moment there may be fierce fighting in the streets. i shall be well content to look on for a time. i have been almost too busy of late. and it was but yesterday that i received news from a carthusian monk,—whom i thought it as well to engage to let me know what is passing,—that there have been debates among some of the higher clergy upon re- ports received that persons, evidently disguised, call upon me at late hours, and that i practise diabolic arts. a determina- tion has been arrived at that an inquisition shall be made into my doings, my house is to be searched, and myself ar- rested and tried by the judge for having dealings with the a rescue devil. this news much disturbed me; however, when you told me that the archbishop of bourges was among those on the list of accused, and also boisratier, confessor to the queen, it is evident that these good ecclesiastics will have ample mat- ter of another sort to attend to, and are not likely to trouble themselves about sorcery at present." on the following morning some twelve thousand white hoods marched to the hotel de st. pol, and the leaders, on being admitted, found all the great lords assembled. after making various propositions they presented a roll to the duke of aquitaine containing the names of those they charged with being traitors. he at first refused to take it; but so many of their followers at once poured into the great hall that he was obliged to do so, and to read out the names. twenty of those mentioned in the list were at once, in spite of the pro- test of the duke, arrested and carried off; a proclamation was made by sound of trumpet in all the squares of paris summon- ing the other forty named to appear within a few days, under penalty of having their property confiscated. a week later the king, having recovered his health, went to the church of notre dame, he and all the nobles with him wearing white hoods. four days later the parisians rose again, seized the gates, drew up the bridges, placed strong guards at each point, and a cordon of armed men outside the walls all round the city, to prevent any from escaping by letting themselves down from the walls. parties of ten armed men were placed in every street, and the sheriffs and other leaders marched a large body of men to the hotel de st. pol and surrounded it by a line three deep. they then entered and found the king, dukes, and nobles all assembled in the great hall. they then ordered a carmelite friar, named eustace, to preach to the king. he took for his text, "except the lord at agincourt keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain," and upon this discoursed on the bad state of the government of the kingdom, and of the crimes committed. the chancellor of france demanded of the friar when he had concluded who were those who had incited him thus tu speak, and the leaders at once said they had done so, and called up a number of other leaders, who on bended knees declared to the king that father kustace had spoken their sentiments; that they had the sincerest love for the king and his family, and that what they had done had been for the welfare of himself and the king- dom. while this was going on, the duke of burgundy, at once indignant and alarmed at this insolence of the parisians, had gone out, and, fmding the lines of armed men surround- ing the hotel, had earnestly entreated them to retire, saying that it was neither decent nor expedient that the king, who had but just recovered from his illness, should thus see them drawn up in battle array round his abode. those he addressed replied like the leaders within, that they were there for the good of the kingdom, and then gave him a roll, saying that they should not depart until those written on it were deliv- ered up to them. with the names of louis of bavaria, five knights, an arch- bishop and priest, were those of nine ladies of high rank, in- cluding the eldest daughter of the constable. the duke found that neither his authority nor powers were of the slight- est avail, and returning to the queen, showed her the list. she was greatly troubled, and begged him to go with the duke of aquitaine and beg the parisians in her name to wait for eight days, and that she would at the end of that time allow them to arrest her brother. the two dukes went out to the parisians, but they positively refused to grant the request, and declared that they would go up to the queen's apartments and take those named by force, even in her or the king's pres- at agincourt university might lead some day to an inquiry into their con- duct, and therefore obtained from the king an edict declaring that all that had been done was done by his approval and for the security of his person and the state, and that the arrests and imprisonments were therefore to be considered and re- garded as having been done for the true honour and profit of the crown, and that he accordingly commanded all his coun- cillors, judges, and officers to proclaim that this was so in all public places. this was signed by the king in council, the dukes of berri and burgundy, and several other nobles and ecclesiastics, by the chancellor of burgundy, and other knights attached to the duke. many nobles quitted paris at once, either openly or in dis- guise, including many of the burgundian party, who were to the last degree indignant at what was going on; for the mock trials were at once commenced, and many of the prisoners, without regard to sex, were daily either put to death in prison or drowned in the seine. some of the bodies were exhibited on gibbets, the heads of others were fixed on lances, and some of them were beheaded in the market-place. during this time paris remained in a state of terror, bands of armed butchers parading the streets were loud in their threats as to what would l>e done to all who did not join heartily with them. none of the better class ventured from their houses, and the mob were absolute masters of the city. the leaders, however, maintained for the time a certain degree of order. for the time they were anxious to appear in the light of earnest friends of the king, and as carrying out in his name the punishment of his enemies. but many tumults, murders, and conflagrations occurred in the city, and the country in general soon perceived the real nature of their doings. it was known that the orlean- ist forces were marching against the city. the count d'eu had left paris and returned to his estates, where he raised two a rescue thousand men-at-arms and marched to verneuil, where the dukes of orleans, brittany, and bourbon were assembled, with a number of great lords, among whom were the counts of vettus and d'alencon, the king's sons. the former had made his escape from paris, and brought letters from the duke of aquitaine declaring that he himself, with the king and queen, were prisoners in the hands of the parisians. all these nobles met in a great assembly, and letters were written to the king, his great council, and to the parisians, ordering them to allow the duke of aquitaine to go wherever he pleased, and to set at liberty the dukes of bar and bavaria and all other prisoners. should they refuse to comply, they declared war against the town of paris, which they declared they would destroy, with all within it except the king and the princes of royal blood. the parisians compelled the king to send a friendly answer, putting them off with excuses, and in the meantime to despatch commissaries to all the towns and baronies of france assuring them that the trials and executions of the traitors had been fairly conducted and their guilt proved, and calling upon the country to take up arms to aid paris against various nobles who were traitorously advancing against it. during this time guy remained quietly in his lodging with the four retainers, seldom stirring abroad. the men were now regarded by all their neighbours as honest carpenters, and they shared the indignation of the great body of the traft at this usurpation by the market men of the government of france, and at the murders of knights and ladies that were daily tak- ing place. at present, however, the opponents of the butchers dared not resort to arms. so great had been the fear that they excited that most men, however much at heart opposed to them, had been constrained to appear to side with and agree with them, and as there was no means of knowing how at agincourt many could be counted upon to join the carpenters were these to take up arms, the latter could not venture alone to enter the lists against the armed host of the other party. one evening guy, who had not been near the italian's for over a fortnight, received a message from dame margaret to say that she wished to speak to him, for that she had deter- mined, if any way of escape could be decided on, to quit paris, and to endeavour to make her way to villeroy. he was greatly pleased at the news. he had himself ventured to urge this step on the day after the duke of bar and his com- panions were seized, pointing out that it was evident that the duke of burgundy had neither the power nor the inclination to thwart the parisians, and that although both parties were now nominally hostile to the english, neither were likely, at so critical a time, to give so much as a thought to villeroy. dame margaret had agreed to this, but considered the diffi- culties of getting out of paris and traversing the intervening country were so great that she preferred to wait until some change took place in the situation of paris. but it was now too evident that the changes were entirely for the worse, and that if discovered the butchers would undoubtedly add her and her children to their long list of victims. his companions were equally glad when guy told them the news. "the sooner the better, master guy," long tom said. "i own that i should like to have a tussle with these rascals be- fore i go; their doings are so wicked that every honest man must want to get one fair blow at them. still, i don't see any chance of that, for although the good fellows round here grumble under their breath, there does not seem any chance of their doing anything. there is not an hour passes that my heart is not in my mouth if i hear a step on the stairs,thinking that they may have found out where my lady is hidden." a rescue guy had just turned into the street where the astrologer dwelt when he heard loud voices from a little group in front of him. four armed men, whose white hoods showed that they were one of the butchers' patrols, were standing round a slight figure. "it is well you stopped him, comrade," a voice said, that guy recognized at once as being that of simon boucher. "i know the young fellow; he has been to me many a time on the part of a knave who professed to be an agent of bur- gundy's, making inquiries of me as to the doings in our quar- ter. i have found out since that the duke employed no such agent, and this matter must be inquired into. we will take him with us to the market; they will soon find means of learning all about him and his employer." guy felt at once that if katarina were carried to the butch- ers, not only would the consequences to herself be terrible, but that she would be forced to make such disclosures as would lead to the arrest of the count, and to the discovery of dame margaret. he determined at all hazards to get her out of these men's hands. the girl made a sudden attempt to free herself, slipped from the grasp that one of the men had of her shoulder, dived between two others, and would have been off had not simon seized her by the arm. guy sprung forward and threw himself on the butcher, and with such force that simon rolled over in the gutter. "run, run!" he shouted at the same moment to katarina, who darted down a lane to the left, while he himself ran for- ward and turned down the first lane to the right with the three men in hot pursuit of him. young, active, and unencum- bered by armour, he gained on them rapidly; but when he neared the end of the lane he saw some five or six white hoods, whose attention had been called by the shouts of his pursuers, running to meet him. he turned and ran back till at aginc urt close to those who had been following him, and then suddenly sprung into a doorway when they were but three or four paces from him. they were unable to check their speed, and as they passed he brought his sword down on the neck of the one nearest, and as he fell to the ground guy leapt out and ran up the street again. he had gone but ten paces when he met simon, who rushed at him furiously with an uplifted axe. springing aside as the blow descended he delivered a slashing cut on the butcher's cheek, dashed past him, and kept on his way. he took the first turning, and then another, leading, like that in which he had been intercepted, towards the river. his pursuers were fifty yards behind him, but he feared that at any moment their shouts would attract the attention of an- other patrol. more than once, indeed, he had to alter his direction as he heard sounds of shouts in front of him, but at last, after ten minutes' running, he came down on to the main thoroughfare at the point where the street leading to the bridge across to the island issued from it. his pursuers were still but a short distance away, for fresh parties who had joined them had taken up the chase, and guy was no longer running at the speed at which he had started. his great fear was that he should be stopped at the gate at the end of the bridge; but as there was no fear of attack this had been left open, so as not to interfere with the traffic between that quarter of the city on the island and those on the oppo- site banks. guy was now again running his hardest, in order to get across far enough ahead of his pursuers to enable him to hide himself, when a strong patrol of some twenty white hoods issued from the gate at the other side of the bridge. without a moment's hesitation he climbed the parapet and threw himself over. it would, he knew, be as bad for his mistress were he captured as if katarina had fallen into their hands, for if caught he felt sure that tortures would be applied 'guy delivered a slashing lilow on the butcher's cheek, and dashed past him." a rescue to discover who he was and where his mistress was hidden, and he had made up his mind that if he was overtaken he would fight until killed rather than be captured. when he came to the surface of the water guy turned on his back and suffered himself to float down until he recovered his breath. when he did so he raised his head and, treading the water, listened attentively. he was now nearly a quarter of a mile below the bridge. there was no sound of shouting behind him, but he felt sure that the pursuit was in no way abandoned. already torches were flashing on the quay be- tween the wall and the river, and in a short time others ap- peared on his left. on both sides there were dark spaces where the walls of the great chateaux of the nobles extended down to the water's side, and obliged those pursuing him along the quays to make a detour round them to come down again to the bank. he could hardly succeed in reaching one of these buildings without being seen, for the light of the torches on the opposite shore would be almost certain to be- tray his movements as soon as he began to swim, and even if he did reach the shore unseen he might at once be handed over to the white hoods by those in the hotel. he therefore remained floating on his back, and in twenty minutes was be- yond the line of the city wall. he could now swim without fear of being discovered, and made for the southern shore. it was now the middle of june, and the water was fairly warm, but he was glad to be out of it. so far as guy had heard he had not been caught sight of from the moment that he had sprung from the bridge. it might well be supposed that he had been drowned. climbing up the bank he gained, after walking a quarter of a mile, the forest that surrounded paris on all sides. going some distance into it he threw him- self down, after first taking off his doublet and hanging it on a bush to dry. he had escaped the first pressing danger, that » at agincourt of being taken and tortured into confession, and the rest was now comparatively easy. he had but to obtain another dis- guise of some sort and to re-enter paris; he would then be in no greater danger than before, for in the sudden attack on simon, and in the subsequent flight through the ill-lighted streets, he was certain that beyond the fact that he was young and active, and that he was evidently not a noble, no one could have noted any details of his dress, and certainly no one could have had as much as a glance at his face. he started at daybreak, walked through the woods up to meudon, and thence to versailles, which was then little more than a village. by the time that he reached it his clothes had thoroughly dried on him, and being of a dark colour they looked little the worse, save that his tight pantaloons had shrunk considerably. the stalls were just opening when he arrived there, and he presently came upon one where gar- ments of all sorts were hanging. the proprietor's wife, a cheery-looking woman, was standing at the door. "i have need of some garments, madame," he said. "you look as if you did," she said with a smile, glancing at his ankles. "i see that you are an apprentice, and for that sort of gear you will have to go to paris; we deal in country garments." "that will suit me well enough, madame. the fact is that, as you see, i am an apprentice; but having been badly treated, and having in truth no stomach for the frays and alarms in paris (where the first man one meets will strike one down, and if he slays you it matters not if he but shout loud enough that he has killed an orleanist), i have left my master, and have no intention of returning as an apprentice. but i might be stopped and questioned at every place i pass through on my way home did i travel in this 'prentice dress, and i would, therefore, fain buy the attire of a young peasant." a rescue the woman glanced up and down the street. "come in," she said. "you know that it is against the law to give shelter to a runaway apprentice, but there are such wild doings in paris that for my part i can see no harm in assisting anyone to escape, whether he be a noble or an apprentice, and methinks from your speech that you are as like to be the former as the latter. but," she went on, seeing that guy was about to speak, "tell me naught about it. my husband, who ought to be here, is snoring upstairs, and i can sell what i will; therefore, look round and take your choice of garments, and go into the parlour behind the shop and don them quickly before anyone comes in. as to your own i will pay you what they are worth, for although those pantaloons arc all too tight for those strong limbs of yours they may do for a slighter figure." guy was soon suited, and in a few minutes left the shop in a peasant's dress, and made his way along the village until be- yond the houses. then he left the road, made a long detour, and returned to sevres. here he first purchased a basket, which he took outside the place and hid in a bush. then he went down into the market and bargained for vegetables, mak- ing three journeys backwards and forwards, and buying each time of different women, until his basket was piled up. then he got a piece of old rope for two or three sous, slung the basket on his shoulders, crossed the ferry, and made for paris. he felt strange without his sword, which he had dropped into the water on landing; for although in paris every one now went armed, a sword would have been out of character with his dress, in the country, and still more so in the disguise in which he had determined to re-enter the town. he passed without question through the gate, and made his way to his lodgings. as he entered long tom leapt up with a cry of joy. at agincourt "thank god that you are safe, master guy! we have been grievously disturbed for your safety, for the count came here early this morning in disguise to ask if we had heard aught of you. he said that his daughter had returned last night saying that you had rescued her from the hands of the white hoods, and that beyond the fact that they had fol- lowed you in hot pursuit she had no news of you, and that the countess was greatly alarmed as to your safety. the other three men-at-arms started at once to find out if aught could be learned of you. i would fain have gone also, but the count said that i must bide here in case you should come, and that there was trouble enough at present without my run- ning the risk of being discovered. an hour since robert picard returned; he had been listening to the talk of the white hoods, and had learned that one of their number had been killed and another sorely wounded by a man who had rescued a prisoner from the hands of a patrol. he had been chased by a number of them, and finally threw himself off the bridge into the seine to avoid falling into their hands. the general idea was that he was one of the nobles in disguise, of whom they were in search, and that the capture would have been a very important one. "all agreed that he could never have come up alive, for there were bands of men with torches along both banks, and no sign of him had been perceived. however, they are searching the river dowrn, and hope to come upon his body either floating or cast ashore. robert went out again to try and gather more news, leaving me well-nigh distraught here." "the story is true as far as it goes, tom. i did catch one of them a back-handed blow just under his helmet as he ran past me, and i doubt not that it finished him; as to the other, i laid his cheek open. it was a hot pursuit, but i should have got away had it not been that a strong patrol came out a rescue through the gate at the other end of the bridge just as i was in the middle, and there was no course but to jump for it. i thrust my sword into the sheath, and went over. it added somewhat to my weight in the water, and it sunk my body below the surface, but with the aid of my hands paddling i floated so that only my nose and mouth were above the water; so that it is little wonder that they could not make me out. i landed on the other bank a quarter of a mile be- yond the walls, slept in the forest, started this morning from versailles, where i got rid of my other clothes and bought these. i purchased this basket and the vegetables at sevres, then walked boldly in. no one could have seen my face in the darkness, and therefore i am safe from detection, perhaps safer than was before." "well done, master guy; they would have killed you as- suredly if they had caught you." "it was not that that i was afraid of—it was of being taken prisoner. you see, if they had captured me and carried me before the butchers in order to inquire who i was before cut- ting my throat, they might have put me to the torture and forced me to say who i was, and where my mistress was in hiding. i hope if they had, that i should have stood out; but none can say what he will do when he has red-hot pin- cers taking bits out of his flesh, and his nails, perhaps, being torn out at the roots. so even if i could not have swam a stroke i should have jumped off the bridge." "you did well, master guy," the archer said admiringly; "for indeed they say that the strongest man cannot hold out against these devilish tortures." at this moment a step was heard on the stairs, and jules varoy entered. "the saints be praised!" he exclaimed as he recognized guy. "i thought that you were drowned like a rat, master the escape chapter xvi the escape maltre leroux came in shortly after jules varoy had left. he had not, until the man told him, heard of the events of the night before, and guy had to tell him all about it before anything else was said. "it was a lucky escape, master aylmer, if one can call luck what is due to thought and quickness. is there anything i can do for you?" "this black hue that i gave my hair has been of good ser- vice to me hitherto, but as it is a youth with black hair that they are now looking for, i would fain change its hue again." '' what dye did you use ?'' "it was bought for me at a perfumer's in the rue cabot. as you see, it is fading now, and the ducking last night has greatly assisted to wash it out. the shopman said that it was used by court ladies and would last for a long time, but i have already had to renew it four or five times. i would now colour my hair a red or a reddish-brown; if i cannot do that i must crop it quite short. it matters nothing in this disguise whether it is altogether out of the fashion or not. what think you?" '' doubtless you could get dyes of any shade at the per- fumer's you speak of, for he supplies most of the court ladies with dyes and perfumes; and i should say that reddish-brown dye would suit you well, since that differs a good deal from your hair's original colour and still more from what it is at present. i will ask one of lepelletiere's daughters to fetch it for you. it would be better than cutting it short, though at ag nc urt that might not go badly with your present disguise, but should you need to adopt any other it would look strange, since in our days there is scarce anyone but wears his hair down to his shoulders. in the meantime i would have you wash your hair several times with a ley of potash, but not too strong, or it will damage it. i warrant me that will take out the dye altogether; but be sure that you wash it well in pure water afterwards, so as to get rid of the potash, for that might greatly aftect the new dye. i will send a boy up with some potash to you at once, so that you may be ready to apply the dye as soon as you get it." late in the afternoon guy sallied out in the disguise in which he had arrived. his hair was a tawny brown. he had left his basket behind him, and carried a heavy cudgel in his hand. he sauntered quietly along, stopping often to stare at the goods on the stalls, and at nobles who rode past followed generally by two or three esquires. no one would doubt that he was a young countryman freshly arrived in paris. he had sent a message to the count by jules varoy that he would pass along the street in the disguise of a young peasant as the clock struck seven, and that if he saw no white hoods about he would look up at the casement, return a minute or two afterwards, and then try if the door was unfastened. if so he would come in, while if it were fastened he should con- sider that it was judged unsafe for him to enter. he caught sight of katarina's face at the window as he glanced up. there was a patrol of the white hoods in sight, but it was far dow n the street, and after going a few yards past the house he crossed the road, and as he returned he pushed at the door. it yielded at once, and with a glance round to see that no one was watching he entered quickly and closed it behind him. the escape "the madonna be thanked that you are safe!" katarina, now in her girl's dress, exclaimed as she seized his hand. "oh, monsieur guy, how i have suffered! it was not until two o'clock that my father returned and told us that you were safe; i should never have forgiven myself if harm had come to you from your noble effort to save me. i heard their shouts as they ran in pursuit of you, and scarce thought it possible that you could escape when there was so many of their patrols about in the street. i cried all night at the thought that you should have thrown away your life to try to save mine, for i knew well enough what would have happened had that evil butcher dragged me to his quarter. after my father had been out early and brought back the news that you had leapt into the seine we had some little hope, for dame margaret declared that she knew that you could swim well. we had no one we could send out, for the old woman is too stupid, and my father now strictly forbids me to stir outside the door. so here we all sat worn with anxiety until my father returned from the booth with the news. he could not come back earlier, and he had no one to send, for the black man must keep outside amusing the people as long as my father is there." all this was poured out so rapidly that it was said by the time they reached the door upstairs. dame margaret silently held out her hands to guy as he entered, and agnes kissed him with sisterly affection, while charlie danced round and round him with boisterous delight. "i hardly knew how much you were to me and how much i depended upon you, guy," dame margaret said presently, "until i feared that i had lost you. when, as i thought must be the case from what katarina said, i believed you were killed or a prisoner in the hands of those terrible people, it seemed to me that we were quite left alone, although there the escape for her sake that i have continued to amass money, though i say not that my own fancy for meddling in such intrigues may not take some part in the matter. after this i am resolved of one thing, namely, that she shall take no further part in the business. for the last year i had often told myself that the time had come when i must find another to act as my messen- ger and agent. it was difficult, however, to find one i could absolutely trust, and i have put the matter off. i shall do so no longer; and indeed there is now the less occasion for it, since, as i have just learned, fresh negotiations have been opened for peace. that it will be a lasting one i have no hope, but the orleanists are advancing in such force that bur- gundy may well feel that the issue of a battle at present may go against him. but even though it last but a short time, there will come so many of the orleanist nobles here with doubtless strong retinues that paris will be overawed, and we shall have an end of these riots here. i shall, therefore, have no need to trouble as to what is going on at the markets. as to other matters i can keep myself well informed. i have done services to knights and nobles of one party as well as the other, and shall be able to learn what is being done in both camps. the important point at present is, lady mar- garet, that there is like to be a truce, at any rate for a time. as soon as this is made and the duke of aquitaine has gained power to act you may be sure that the leaders of the white hoods will be punished, and there will be no more closing of gates and examination of those who pass in and out. there- fore, madame, you will then be able to do what is now well- nigh impossible, namely, quit the town. at present the orders are more stringent than ever, none are allowed to leave save with orders signed by john de troyes, who calls himself keeper of the palace, caboche, or other leaders; and even peasants who come in with market goods must henceforth produce the escape your charges have passed through these evil times un- harmed." "we have all been in hiding, and save for an adventure or two have passed the time quietly. now that the gates are open we are going to make our escape, for you see everything points to the probability that the orleanists will very shortly be supreme here, and after the defeat sir eustace gave sir clugnet de brabant they might be glad still to retain our lady as hostage, though methinks they would treat her more honourably than the duke of bur- gundy has done.'' "possibly they might, but i would not count upon it, for indeed wherever they have taken a town they have treated those who fell into their hands most barba- rously. 'tis true that they have some excuse for it in the treatment of so many knights and ladies here. indeed it seems to me that france has been seized with madness, and that heaven's vengeance will fall upon her for the evil things that are being done. and now, can we aid you in any way? the duke was extremely civil when i saw him on my arrival here yesterday. he said that i and my friends were wrong in not having trusted in him to protect us from the demands of the butchers. i told him frankly that as he had in other matters been so overborne by them, and had been unable to save noble knights and ladies from being murdered by them under the pretence of a trial that all men knew was a mockery, it was just as well that we had taken the matter into our own hands without adding it to his other burdens; and that i and my friends felt that we had no reason to regret the step we had taken, and we knew that our feelings were shared by many other nobles and knights in burgundy. "he looked darkly at me, but at the present pass he did at agincourt not care to say anything that would give offence, not only to me, but to my friends, who with their connections are too powerful to be alienated at a time when he may need every lance. i could not, however, well ask from him a free conduct for your people without naming them, but i might get such a pass from his chancellor, and if your former host, maitre leroux, be still alive, he might doubtless get you one from the municipality. as an additional protec- tion i myself shall certainly ride with you. it is for that that i have returned to paris. i shall simply say to the chancellor that i am riding to arras on my own business, and that though in most places i should be known to bur- gundians, yet that it would be as well that i should have a pass lest i be met by any rude body of citizens or others who might not know me, and i shall request him to make it out for me personally and for all persons travelling in my train. so that, as far as flanders at any rate, there should be no difficulty. i only propose that you should also get a document from the city in case of anything befalling us on the way. "i see not indeed what can befall us; but it is always well in such times as these, when such strange things occur, to pro- vide for all emergencies. i may tell you that louis de lactre and reginald poupart have arrived with me in paris bent on the same errand, and anxious like myself to testify their grati- tude to you; so that we shall be a strong body, and could if necessary ride through france without any pass at all, since one or other of us is sure to find a friend in every town which we may traverse." "truly, i am thankful indeed to you and to your friends, count. i own that it has been a sore trouble to me as to how we should be able, however we might disguise ourselves, to travel through the country in these disturbed times, without the escape papers of any kind, when bodies of armed men are moving to and fro in all directions, and travellers, whoever they may be, are questioned at every place on the road where they stop.'' "do not speak of thanks, guy; i twice owe you my life, and assuredly 'tis little enough to furnish you in return with an escort to artois. now, tell me all that you have been doing since we left." guy gave a short account of all that had happened. "it has been fortunate for us both," the count charles said when he had finished, "that this astrologer should have made your acquaintance; it was his warning that enabled you to save us as well as your lady. i have heard several times of him as one who had wondrous powers of reading the stars, but now i see that it is not only the stars that assist him." "i can assure you that he himself believes thoroughly in the stars, count; he says that by them he can read the danger that is threatening any person whose horoscope he has cast. i had not heard much of such things in england, but i cannot doubt that he has great skill in them. to my knowledge he has saved several lives thereby." "he certainly saved ours, guy, and should he like to join your party and ride with us he will be heartily welcomed." "i will return at once," guy said, "and give my lady the good news. i will not ask you to go with me now, for if the count—for he is really a nobleman though an exile—decides to stay here he would not care to attract the attention of his neighbours by the coming of a noble to his house in daylight. though i cannot without his permission take you there, i will return here this evening at eight o'clock, if you will be at home at that hour." "i will be here, and de lactre and poupart will be here to meet you. i will go now direct to the chancellor and obtain the pass both in their names and mine, then we shall at agincourt be ready to start whenever your lady is prepared. we have all brought some spare horses, so that you will have no trouble on that score. your men-at-arms will, of course, ride with ours. we have brought eight horses, knowing the number of your company; if your italian and his daughter go with us lady agnes and charles can ride behind some of us." dame margaret, agnes, and charlie were delighted indeed when they heard from guy of his meeting with the young count d'estournel, and of the latter's offer to escort them to artois. "the saints be praised!" his lady said. "i have spoken little about it, guy, but i have dreaded this journey far more than any of the dangers here. in times so disturbed i have perceived that we should run innumerable risks, and eager as i am to return to my lord i have doubted whether, with agnes with me, i should be right in adventuring on such a journey. now there can be no risk in it, saving only that of falling in with any of the bands of robbers who, as they say, infest the country, and even these would scarce venture to attack so strong a party. we shall be ready to start to-mor- row, if count d'estournel is prepared to go so soon. we will be veiled as we ride out. it is most unlikely that any- one will recognize us, but 'tis as well for his sake that there should be no risk whatever of this being known. the count is out and will not return until six, therefore it will be best that you should go at once and warn the others that we start to-morrow." the pleasure of long tom and his companions at the news was scarcely less than had been that of dame margaret, and they started at once to recover their steel caps and armour from the place where they had been hidden, saying that it would take them all night to clean them up and make them fit for service. then guy went in to maitre lepelletiere and at agincourt house of the astrologer, whose address guy had given the provost that day. "we could not let you leave, lady margaret," his wife said, " without coming to wish you god speed. our troubles, like yours, are over for the present, and i trust that the butchers will never become masters of paris again, whatever may happen." "maitre lepelletiere," said the silversmith, "is going to organize the whole of his craft, the workmen and appren- tices, into an armed body, and the master of the smiths will do the same. i shall endeavour to prevail upon all the traders of my own guild and others to raise such a body among their servitors; and while we have no wish whatever to interfere in the political affairs of state, we shall at least see that the market people of paris shall not become our masters again. master aylmer, i have brought hither for you a slight token of my regard and gratitude for the manner in which you saved not only our property but our lives. within this package are two suits of armour and arms. one is a serviceable one suitable to your present condition of an esquire; the other is a knightly suit, which i hope you will wear in remembrance of us as soon as you obtain that honour, which i cannot but feel assured will not be far distant. had you been obliged to leave paris in disguise i should have made an endeavour to send them to you in england by way of flanders; but as you will issue out in good company, and without examination or question asked, you can wear the one suit and have the other carried for you." guy thanked the silversmith most heartily, for, having lost his armour at the burning of the house, he had felt some un- easiness at the thought of the figure that he would cut riding in the train of the three burgundian knights. but at the same time his own purse had been exhausted in the purchase the escape of the disguises for himself and the men-at-arms, and that of his mistress greatly reduced by the expenses of the keep of the men, and he had determined not to draw upon her re- sources for the purchase of armour. his thanks were re- peated when, on the package being opened, the beauty of the knightly armour was seen. it was indeed a suit of which any knight might be proud. it was less ornate in its inlaying and chasing than some of the suits worn by nobles, but it was of the fmest steel and best make, with every part and accessory complete, and of the highest workmanship and finish. "it is a princely gift, sir," guy said as he examined it, "and altogether beyond my poor deserts." •" that is not what i think, master aylmer. you have shown all through this business a coolness and courage alto- gether beyond your years, and which would have done honour to an experienced knight. my store of silver-ware that was saved by your exertions, to say nothing of our lives, was worth very many times the value of this armour, and i am sure that your lady will agree with me that this gift of ours has been well and honourably earned." "i do indeed, maitre leroux," dame margaret said warmly; "and assure you that i am as pleased as guy him- self at the noble gift you have made him. i myself have said but little to him as to the service that he has rendered here, leaving that until we reach our castle in safety, when sir eustace, on hearing from me the story of our doings, will better speak in both our names than i can do." in the morning dame margaret and her children set out for the lodging of d'estournel, escorted by the count and guy, followed by a porter carrying the latter's second suit of armour and the valises of dame margaret. guy himself had charge of a casket which the count de montepone had that morning handed to dame margaret. at agincourt "these are gems of value," he said. "in the course of my business i more often receive gifts of jewels than of money. the latter, as i receive it, i hand to a firm here having dealings with a banker of bruges, who holds it at my disposal. the gems i have hitherto kept; but as it is possible that we may, when we leave paris, have to travel in disguise, i would fain that they were safely bestowed. i pray you, therefore, to take them with yon to your castle in eng- land, and to hold them for us until we come.' dame margaret willingly took charge of the casket, which was of steel, strongly bound, and some nine inches square. "its weight is not so great as you would think by its ap- pearance," the italian said, " for it is of the finest steel, and the gems have been taken from their settings. it will, there- fore, i hope, be no great inconvenience to you." at parting, katarina, who was greatly affected, had given guy a small box. "do not open it until you reach villeroy," she said ; "it is a little remembrance of the girl you saved from deadly peril, and who will never forget what she owes to you." on reaching the count's lodgings they found the other two knights in readiness. dame margaret's four men-at-arms were holding the horses. " am glad to see you all again," she said as she came up. "this is a far better ending than our fortunes seemed likely to have at one time, and i thank you all for your faithful service." " am only sorry, my lady, that we have had no oppor- tunity of doing aught since we were cooped up," tom re- plied; "nothing would have pleased us better than to have had the chance again of striking a stout blow in your de- fence. '' "we may as well mount at once, if it is your pleasure, a long pause dame margaret," count d'estournel said, "for the other men-at-arms are waiting for us outside the gates." the packages were at once fastened on the two pack-horses that were to accompany them; all then mounted. the three knights with dame margaret rode first, then guy rode with agnes by his side, and the four men-at-arms came next, charlie riding before jules varoy, who was the lightest of the men-at-arms, while two of the count's servants brought up the rear, leading the sumpter horses. quarter of a mile beyond the gate the party was l\ joined by eighteen men-at-arms, all fully armed and ready for any encounter; eight of them fell in behind dame margaret's retainers, the other ten took post in rear of the sumpter horses. with such a train as this there was little fear of any trouble with bands of marauders, and as the road lay through a country devoted to burgundy there was small chance of their encountering an orleanist force. they travelled by almost the same route by which dame margaret had been escorted to paris. at all the towns through which they passed the burgundian knights and their following were well entertained, none doubting that they were riding on the business of their duke. one or other of the knights generally rode beside guy, and except that the heat in the middle of the day was somewhat excessive, the journey was altogether a very pleasant one. from arras they rode direct to villeroy. as soon as their coming was observed from the keep the draw- chapter xvii a long pause at agincoukt bridge was raised, and as they approached sir eustace him- self appeared on the wall above it to hear any message the new-comers might have brought him. as they came near, the knights reined back their horses, and dame margaret and agnes rode forward, followed by guy having charlie in front of him. as he recognized them sir eustace gave a shout of joy, and a moment later the drawbridge began to descend, and as it touched the opposite side sir eustace ran across to the outwork, threw open the gate, and fondly embraced his wife and children, who had already dismounted. "ah, my love !" he exclaimed, " you cannot tell how i have suffered, and how i have blamed myself for permitting you and the children to leave me. i received your first letter, saying that you were comfortably lodged at paris, but since then no word has reached me. i of course heard of the dreadful doings there, of the ascendency of the butchers, of the massacres in the streets, and the murders of the knights and ladies. a score of times i have resolved to go myself in search of you, but i knew not how to set about it when there, and i should assuredly have been seized by burgundy and thrown into prison with others hostile to his plans. but who are these with you?" "they are three burgundian knights, who from love and courtesy, and in requital of a service done them by your brave esquire here, have safely brought us out of paris and escorted ns on our way. they are count charles d'estournel, sir john poupart, and sir louis de lactre." holding his hand she advanced to meet them and intro- duced them to him. "gentlemen," sir eustace said, "no words of mine can express the gratitude that i feel to you for the service that you have rendered to my wife and children. henceforth you may command me to the extent of my life." a long pause "the service was requited before it was rendered, sir eustace," count charles said; "it has been service for service. in the first place your esquire, with that tall archer of yours, saved my life when attacked by a band of cut- throats in paris. this to some small extent i repaid when, with my two good friends here and some others, we charged a mob that was besieging the house in which your dame lodged. then master aylmer laid a fresh obligation on us by warning us that the butchers demanded our lives for interfering in that business, whereby we were enabled to cut our way out by the port st. denis and so save our skins. we could not rest thus, matters being so uneven, and therefore as soon as the king's party arrived in a sufficient force to put down the tyranny of the butchers, we returned to paris, with the in- tention we have carried out—of finding dame margaret in her hiding-place, if happily she should have escaped all these perils, and of conducting her to you. and now, having de- livered her into your hands, we will take our leave." "i pray you not to do so, count," the knight said; "it would mar the pleasure of this day to me, were you, who are its authors, thus to leave me. i pray you, therefore, to enter and accept my hospitality, if only for a day or two." the knights had previously agreed among themselves that they would return that night to arras ; but they could not re- sist the earnestness of the invitation, and the whole party crossed the drawbridge and entered the castle, amid the tumultuous greeting of the retainers. "you have been away but a few months," sir eustace said to his wife, as they were crossing the bridge, "though it seems an age to me. you are but little changed by what you have passed through, but agnes seems to have grown more womanly. charlie has grown somewhat also, but is scarcely looking so strong." at agincourt "it has been from want of air and exercise; but he has picked up a great deal while we have been on the road, and i, too, feel a different woman. agnes has shared my anxiety, and has been a great companion for me." '' you have brought all the men back, as well as guy ?'' "you should rather say that guy has brought us all back, eustace, for 'tis assuredly wholly due to him that we have escaped the dangers that threatened us.'' the knights and men-at-arms dismounted in the court- yard, and sir eustace and dame margaret devoted themselves at once to making them welcome with all honour. the maids hurried to prepare the guest-chambers, the servitors to get ready a banquet. guy and his men-at-arms saw to the comfort of the knights' retainers and their horses, and the castle rang with sounds of merriment and laughter to which it had been a stranger for months. after the cup of welcome had been handed round sir eustace showed the knights over the castle. "we heard the details of the siege, sir eustace, from your esquire, and it is of interest to us to inspect the defences that sir clugnet de brabant failed to capture, for, foe though he is to burgundy, it must be owned that he is a very valiant knight, and has captured many towns and strong places. yes, it is assuredly a strong castle, and with a sufficient garrison might well have defeated all attempts to storm it by foes who did not possess means of battering the walls, but the force you had was quite insufficient when the enemy were strong enough to attack at many points at the same time, and i am surprised that you should have made good your defence against so large a force as that which assailed you. "but it was doubtless in no slight degree due to your english archers. we saw in paris what even one of these men could do." a long pause "i am all anxiety to know what took place there," sir eustace said, "and shall pray you after supper to give me an account of what occurred." "we will tell you as far as we know of the matter, sir eustace; but in truth we took but little share in it, there was just one charge on our part and the mob were in flight. anv i can tell you that we did it with thorough good will, for in truth we were all heartily sick of the arrogance of these butchers, who lorded over all paris; even our lord of bur- gundy was constrained to put up with their insolence, since their aid was essential to him. but to us, who take no very great heed of politics and leave these matters to the great lords, the thing was well-nigh intolerable; and i can tell you that it was with hearty good-will we seized the opportunity of giving the knaves a lesson." as soon as the visitors had arrived, mounted men had ridden off to the tenants, and speedily returned with a store of ducks and geese, poultry, wild-fowl, brawn, and fish; the banquet therefore was both abundant and varied. while the guests supped at the upper table, the men-at-arms were no less amply provided for at the lower end of the hall, where all the retainers at the castle feasted royally in honour of the return of their lady and her children. the bowmen were delighted at the return of long tom, whom few had expected ever to see again, while the return of robert picard and his compan- ions was no less heartily welcomed by their comrades. after the meal was concluded dame margaret went round the tables with her husband, saying a few words here and there to the men, who received her with loud shouts as she passed along. then the party from the upper table retired to the private apartment of sir eustace, leaving the men to sing and carouse unchecked by their presence. when they were com- fortably seated and flagons of wine had been placed on the at agincourt for me in the first place the friendship of count charles, and then that of his friends. he was instrumental in securing for us the assistance of the italian who warned and afterwards sheltered us—one of the adventures that i have not yet told, because i did not think that i could do so without saying more than that person would like known; but guy rendered him a service that in his opinion far more than repaid him for his kindness to us. the messenger he employed was a near relation of his." and she then related how guy had rescued this relation from the hands of the butchers, how he had himself been chased, and had killed one and wounded another of his assail- ants; and how at last he escaped from falling into their hands by leaping from the bridge into the seine. "you will understand," she said, "that not only our host but we all should have been sacrificed had not the messenger been rescued. he would have been compelled by threats, and if thes? failed by tortures, to reveal who his employer was and where he lived, and in that case a search would have been made, we should have been discovered, and our lives as well as that of our host would have paid the penalty." "it is impossible to speak too highly of the young esquire," sir john poupart said warmly. "for a short time we all saw a good deal of him at the fencing-school, to which d'estournel introduced him. he made great progress, and wonderfully improved his swordsmanship even during the short time he was there, and the best of us found a match in him. he was quiet and modest, and even apart from the service he had rendered to d'estournel, we all came to like him greatly. he is a fine character, and i trust that ere long he may have an opportunity of winning his spurs, for the courage he has shown in the defence of his charges would assuredly have gained them for him had it been displayed in battle." at agincourt applied himself to his studies for a time and learnt to read and write well, for methinks that every knight should at least know this much. i shall take john harpen back with me. such of the men-at-arms and archers as may wish to return home must wait here until i send you others to take their places, for i propose to leave you here during my absence, as my castellan. it is a post of honour, guy, but i feel that the castle will be in good hands; and there is, moreover, an advantage in thus leaving you, as, should any message be sent by burgundian or orleanist, you will be able to reply that, having been placed here by me to hold the castle in my absence, you can surrender it to no one, and can admit no one to garrison it, until you have sent to me and received my orders on the subject. thus considerable delay may be obtained. "should i receive such a message from you, i shall pass across at once to calais with such force as i can gather. i trust that no such summons will arrive, for it is clear that the truce now made between the two french factions will be a very short one, and that ere long the trouble will recom- mence, and, as i think, this time burgundy will be worsted. the orleanists are now masters of paris and of the king's person, while assuredly they have the support of the duke of aquitaine, who must long to revenge the indignities that were put upon him by burgundy and the mob of paris. they should therefore be much the stronger party, and can, moreover, issue what proclamations they choose in the king's name, as burgundy has hitherto been doing in his own interest. the duke will therefore be too busy to think of meddling with us. upon the other hand, if the orleanists gain the mastery they are the less likely to interfere with us, as i hear that negotiations have just been set on foot again for the marriage of king henry with katherine of a long pause france. the english raids will therefore be stopped, and the french will be loath to risk the breaking off of the negotia- tions which might be caused by an assault without reason upon the castle of one who is an english as well as a french vassal, and who might, therefore, obtain aid from the garrison of calais, by which both nations might be again embroiled." "if you think well, my lord, to leave me here in com- mand i will assuredly do the best in my power to prove myself worthy of your confidence; but it is a heavy trust for one so young." "i have thought that over, guy, but i have no fear that you will fail in any way. were the garrison wholly a french one i might hesitate, but half the defenders of the castle are englishmen; and in tom, the captain of the archers, you have one of whose support at all times you will be confident, while the french garrison will have learned from the three men who went with you that they would as readily follow you as they would a knight of experience. moreover, good fighters as the english are, they are far more independent and inclined to insubordination than the french, who have never been brought up in the same freedom of thought. therefore, although i have no doubt that they will respect your authority, i doubt whether, were i to put a frenchman in command, they would prove so docile, while with the french there will be no difficulty. i might, of course, appoint john harpen, who is ten years your senior, to the command; but john, though a good esquire, is bluff and rough in his ways, and as obstinate as a mule, and were i to leave him in command he would, i am sure, soon set the garrison by the ears. as an esquire he is wholly trustworthy, but he is altogether unfitted for command, therefore i feel that the choice i have made of you is altogether for the best, and i shall go away confident !i at agincourt that the castle is in good hands, and that if attacked it will be as staunchly defended as if i myself were here to direct the operations." two days later sir eustace with his family started, under the guard of ten english and ten french men-at-arms, for calais. before starting he formally appointed guy as castellan in his absence, and charged the garrison to obey his orders in all things, as if they had been given by him- self. he also called in the principal tenants and delivered a similar charge to them. the english men-at-arms were well pleased to be commanded by one whom they had known from childhood, and whose father they had been accustomed to regard as their master during the absences of sir eustace and dame margaret. the archers had not, like the men-at-arms, been drawn from the summerley estate, but the devotion of their leader to guy, and the tales he had told them of what had taken place in paris rendered them equally satisfied at his choice as their leader. as for the french men-at-arms, bred up in alsolute obedience to the will of their lord, they accepted his orders in this as they would have done on any other point. sir eustace left guy instructions that he might make any further addition to the defences that he thought fit, pointing out to him several that he had himself intended to carry out. "i should have set about these at once," he had said, "but it is only now that the vassals have completed the work of rebuilding their houses, and i would not call upon them for any service until that was completed. i have told them now that such works must be taken in hand, and that, as they saw upon the occasion of the last siege, their safety depends upon the power of the castle to defend itself, i shall expect their services to be readily and loyally rendered, especially as they have been remitted for over six months. a long pause it would be well also to employ the garrison on the works —in the first place, because they have long been idle, and idleness is bad for them; and in the second place because the vassals will all work, more readily seeing that the garri- son are also employed. while so engaged an extra measure of wine can be served to each man, and a small addition of pay. here are the plans that i have roughly prepared. beyond the moat i would erect at the centre of each of the three sides a strong work, similar to that across the draw- bridge, and the latter i would also have strengthened. "these works, you see, are open on the side of the moat, so that if carried they would offer the assailants no shelter from arrows from the walls, while being triangular in shape they would be flanked by our fire. each of these three forts should have a light drawbridge running across the moat to the foot of the wall, thence a ladder should lead to an entrance to be pierced through the wall, some fifteen feet above the level of the moat; by this means the garrison could, if assailed by an overwhelming force, withdraw into the castle. these outposts would render it—so long as they were held—impossible for storming-parties to cross the moat and place ladders, as they did on the last occasion. the first ta.ik will, of course, be to quarry stones. as soon as sufficient are prepared for one of these outworks you should proceed to erect it, as it would render one side at least unas- sailable and diminish the circuit to be defended. as soon as one is finished, with its drawbridge, ladder, and entrance, proceed with the next. i would build the one at the rear first. as you see from this plan, the two walls are to be twenty feet high and each ten yards long, so that they could be defended by some twenty men. after they are built i would further strengthen them by leading ditches from the moat, six feet deep and ten feet wide, round them. the at agincourt earth from these ditches should be thrown inside the walls, so as to strengthen these and form a platform for the defenders to stand on. if the earth is insufficient for that purpose the moat can be widened somewhat." "i will see that your wishes are carried out, sir eustace: assuredly these little outworks will add greatly to the strength of the castle. are the bridges to be made to draw up?" "no; that will hardly be necessary. let them consist of two beams with planks laid crosswise. they need not be more than four feet wide, and the planks can therefore be easily pulled up as the garrison falls back. i have told the tenants that during the winter, when there is but little for their men to do, they can keep them employed on this work, and that i will pay regular wages to them and for the carts used in bringing in the stones." guy was very glad that there was something specific to be done that would give him occupation and keep the men em- ployed. sir eustace had informed the garrison of the work that would be required of them, and of the ration of wine and extra pay that would be given, and all were well satisfied with the prospect. for the english especially, having no friends outside, found the time hang very heavy on their hands, and their experience during the last siege had taught them that the additional fortifications, of the nature of which they were ignorant, however, would add to their safety. as soon, therefore, as sir eustace had left, guy com- menced operations. a few men only were kept on guard, and the rest went out daily to prepare the stones under the direction of a master mason, who had been brought from arras by sir eustace. some fifty of the tenants were also employed on the work, and as the winter closed in this num- ber was doubled. the quarry lay at a distance of half a mile from the castle, a long pause and as fast as the stones were squared and roughly dressed they were taken in carts to the spot where they were to be used. guy had the foundations for the walls dug in the first place, to a depth below that of the bottom of the moats, and filled up with cement and rubble. the trenches were then dug at a distance of five feet from the foot of the walls. with so many hands the work proceeded briskly, and before spring- time the three works were all completed, with their bridges and ladders, passages pierced through the castle wall, and stone steps built inside by which those who passed through could either descend into the court yard or mount to the battlements. at the end of september fifteen archers and men-at-arms arrived from england to take the place of those who had desired to return home, and who on their coming marched away to calais. from time to time reports were received of the events hap- pening in paris. paris had been strongly occupied by the orleanists, and a proclamation had at once been issued in the name of the king condemning all that had been done in the city, and denouncing by name all the ringleaders of the late tumults, and such of these as were found in paris were arrested. another proclamation was then issued en- joining all parties to keep the peace, to refrain from gather- ing in armed bodies, and to abstain from the use of expres- sions against each other that might lead to a breach of the peace. on the th of november, the year being , fresh and more stringent orders were issued by the king against any assemblies of men-in-arms, and at the end of this month the duke of burgundy sent to the king a letter of complaint and accusation against his enemies. those surrounding charles persuaded him to send no answer whatever to what they considered his insolent letter. some of the burgundian at ac.incourt knights had still remained in paris, and on the advice of the dukes of berri and orleans and other princes, the queen caused four knights of the suite of the duke of aquitaine to be carried away from the louvre. this so much enraged the duke that he at first intended to sally out and call upon the populace of paris to aid him to rescue the prisoners. the princes of the blood, however, restrained him from doing this; but although he pretended to be appeased he sent secret letters to the duke of burgundy begging him to come to his assistance. this served as an excuse for burgundy to gather all his adherents and to march towards paris, and as he collected the force he sent letters to all the principal towns saying that at the invitation of his son-in-law, the duke of aquitaine, and in consequence of the breach of the peace committed by his enemies, he was forced to take up arms to rescue his beloved daughter and the duke from the hands of those who constrained them. upon the other hand, letters were written in the king's name to the various towns on the line by which burgundy would advance from artois, begging them not to open their gates to him. the burgundian army advanced and occupied st. denis, thence the duke sent detachments to the various gates of paris in hopes that the populace would rise in his favour. however, the citizens remained quiet, and the duke, being unprovided with the engines and machines necessary for a siege, fell back again, placing strong garrisons in compiegne and soissons. then the orleanists took the offensive, be- sieged and captured town after town, and revenged the murder of their friends in paris by wholesale massacres and atrocities of the worst description. the burgundians in vain attempted to raise an army of suf- ficient strength to meet that of the king, who himself accom- a long pause panied the orleanist fort es in the field. the fact that he was present with them had a powerful influence in preventing many lords who would otherwise have done so from joining burgundy, for although all knew that the king was but a pup- pet who could be swayed by those who happened to be round him, even the shadow of the royal authority had great weight, and both parties carried on their operations in the king's name, protesting that any decrees hostile to themselves were not the true expression of his opinion, but the work of ambi- tious and traitorous persons who surrounded him. after oc- cupying laon, peronne, and other places, the king's army entered artois, captured bapaume, and advanced against arras, where sir john of luxemburg, who commanded a bur- gundian garrison, prepared for the siege by sending away the greater part of the women and children, and destroying all the buildings and suburbs outside the walls. as soon as it was evident that the orleanist army was marching against artois, guy despatched one of the english soldiers to summerley to inform his lord that if, as it seemed, the orleanists intended to subdue all the bnrgundian towns and fortresses in the province, it was probable that yilleroy would be besieged. the messenger returned with twenty more archers, and brought a letter from sir eustace to guy saying that dame margaret had been ill ever since her return from france, and that she was at present in so dangerous a state that he could not leave her. "i trust," he said, " that as the negotiations for the mar- riage of the king with the french princess are still going on, you will not be disturbed. the main body of the french army will likely be engaged on more important enterprises, and if you are attacked it will probably be only by strong plundering detachments; these you need not fear. should you be besieged strongly, hold out as long as you can. i shall at agincol'kt be sure to receive news of it from calais, and will go at once to the king and pray for his protection, and beg him to write to the king of france declaring that, to his knowledge, i have ever been as loyal a vassal of france as of england. should you find that the pressure upon you is too great, and that the castle is like to be taken, i authorize you to make surrender on condition that all within the castle are permitted to march away free and unmolested whithersoever they will." chapter xviii katarina as soon as the king's army approached anas, guy repeated all the precautions that had before been taken, but as this time there had been long warning, these were carried out more effectually. a considerable number of the cattle and sheep of the tenants were driven to calais and there sold, the rest, with the horses, were taken into the castle. the crops were hastily got in, for it was near july, and these were thrashed and the grain brought in, with the household furni- ture and all belongings. a great store of arrows had been long before prepared, and guy felt confident that he could hold out for a long time. the women and children took up their abode in the castle, and the former were all set to work to make a great number of sacks. a hundred cart-loads of earth were brought in, and this was stored in a corner of the court-yard. the earth was to be employed in filling the sacks, which were to be lowered from the walls so as to form a pro- tection against heavy missiles, should an attempt be made to effect a breach. guy welcomes the count of moni'epone and his daughter to viixeroy. katarina a few days after the king's army sat down before arras, the look-out informed guy that a horseman, together with a lady and two attendants, were riding towards the castle. wonder- ing who these visitors could be, guy crossed the drawbridge to the outwork, where a small party were now stationed. as they rode up, he saw, to his surprise and pleasure, that they were the count of montepone and his daughter. he ran out to meet them. "i am delighted to see you, count, and you also mistress katarina. i regret that sir eustace and dame margaret are not here to receive you properly." "we were aware that she was absent," the count said as he dismounted, while guy assisted katarina from her saddle. "i received a letter three months since; it came by way of flanders from sir eustace, expressing his thanks for what slight services i had rendered to his wife. he told me that they had crossed over to england, and that you were his cas- tellan here. but i thought that ere this he might have re- turned." "i heard from him but a few days ago," guy said. "he is detained in england by the illness of dame margaret, or he would have hastened hither on hearing that the french army was moving north. i need scarcely ask how you are, mistress katarina, for you have changed much, and if i may say it without offence, for the better." the girl flushed a little and laughed, and her father said: "it is nigh three months since we left paris; the country air has done her good. since we left she has till now been in dis- guise again, and has ridden as my page, for i could not leave her behind, nor could i in an army, with so many wild and reckless spirits, take her in the dress of a girl." by this time they had crossed the drawbridge, the servants leading their horses after them. :ioo at agincoi rt "my stay must be a short one," the count said as they en- tered the banqueting-hall, and guy gave orders for a repast to be served. "i hoped that you were come to stay for a time, count; i would do all in my power to make your visit a pleasant one." the italian shook his head. "no, i must ride back to- night. i have come here for a double purpose. in the first place i must send katarina to england; she is almost a woman now, and can no longer wander about with me in times like these. in the second place, i have come to tell you that i think you need have no fear of an attack upon the castle. that news you gave me, which enabled me to save those three orleanist nobles, has, added to what i had before done in that way, helped me vastly. one of them is a great favourite with aquitaine, and the latter took me under his special protection; and he and many other great lords, and i may tell you even the queen herself, consult me frequently. shortly after you left i moved to a larger house, and as there was no longer any need for me to assume the character of a vendor of medicines i abandoned that altogether, and took handsome apartments, with my negro from the booth to open the door, and two other lackeys. "my knowledge of the stars has enabled me with some success to predict the events that have taken place, and aquitaine and the queen have both implicit confidence in me and undertake nothing without my advice. the duke of orleans, too, has frequently consulted me. i have used my influence to protect this castle. i have told them that success will attend all their efforts, which it was easy enough to fore- see, as burgundy has no army in the field that can oppose them. but i said that i had described a certain point of danger. it was some time before i revealed what this was, at agincourt the woman and the two maids at once. mistress katarina can occupy dame margaret's chamber, and the woman and the maids can sleep in those adjoining it." "that will do well," the count said cordially. "we have ridden twenty miles already, and she could hardly go on to-day, while if she starts at daybreak they may reach calais to-morrow.' "i will give picard a letter to the governor, asking him in my lord's name to give honourable entertainment to the young lady, who is under dame margaret's protection, and to forward her upon her journey to join them by the first vessel sailing to southampton, or if there be none sailing thither, to send her at once by ship to dover, whence they can travel by land. one of the four men-at-arms shall be an englishman, and he can act as her spokesman by the way.'' "that will do most excellently." the count said, "and i thank you heartily. as soon as i have finished my meal i must ride for the camp again. i started early this morning in order not to be observed; in the first place because i did not wish my daughter to be seen in her female dress, and in the second because i would not that any should notice my coming in this direction, and indeed we rode for the first mile backwards along the road to bapaume. and i shall return by the same way." "what will the end of these troubles be, count?" "as i read the stars there will be peace shortly, and in- deed it is clear to me that the duke of burgundy must by this time see that if the war goes on he will lose all artois and perhaps flanders, and that therefore he must make peace, and perhaps keep it until the royal army has marched away and dispersed; after that we may be sure that the crafty duke will not long remain quiet. i have a trusty emissary in bur- katarina gundy's household, and as soon as the duke comes to the con- clusion that he must beg for peace i shall have intelligence of it, and shall give early news to the queen and to aquitaine, who would hail it with gladness; for, seeing that the latter's wife is burgundy's daughter, he does not wish to press him hard, and would gladly see peace concluded." an hour later the count rode off with his two followers, after taking an affectionate leave of his daughter-, and telling her that it would not be long before he joined her—if only for a time—in england. before he went guy had chosen the woman who, with her two daughters, was to accompany katarina, and had installed them in the private apartments. "what shall we do with ourselves for the day?" he asked the girl, who was, he saw, shy and ill at ease, now that her father had left. if you are not tired we might take a ride. we have some hawks here, and now that the harvest has been gathered we shall doubtless find sport with the game- birds." "i am not at all tired," she said eagerly, "and should like it much." calling upon long tom and another to accompany them, horses were brought up, and they started and remained out until supper-time, bringing home with them some seven or eight partridges that had been killed by the hawks. guy suggested that perhaps she would prefer to have the meal served in her own apartments and to retire to bed early. she accepted the offer, and at once went to her room, which she did not leave again that evening. guy, as he ate alone, won- dered to himself at the change that some nine or ten months had made in her. "i suppose she feels strange and lonely," he said to him- self. "she was merry enough when we were out hawking; but directly we got back again she seemed quite unlike her- at agincourt self. i suppose it is be cause i always used to treat her as if she were a boy, and now that she has grown up into a woman she wants to forget that time." the town of arras resisted sturdily. the garrison made frequent sorties, took a good many prisoners, and inflicted heavy loss upon the besiegers before these could gather in sufficient numbers to drive them in again, and all assaults were repulsed with loss. the castle of belle moote, near arras, also repulsed all the efforts of the king's army to take it. foraging parties of orleanists committed terrible devas- tations in the country round, but gained no advantage in their rttacks on any fortified place. on the th of august the duke of brabant arrived with some deputies from flanders to negotiate a peace between burgundy and the king. they were well received, and an armistice was at once arranged. the french troops were suffering severely from disease, and the failure of all their at- tempts to capture arras made them ready to agree willingly upon a peace. this was accordingly concluded on the th of september, and the next day the royal army marched away. three weeks after katarina had gone to england, sir eustace himself, to guy's great joy, arrived at the castle, bringing with him his esquire and eight men-at-arms, as well as the three serving-women and their escort. as soon as his pennon was seen guy leapt on a horse that was standing sad- dled in the court-yard, and rode to meet them. as he came up he checked his horse in surprise, for his father was riding by the side of sir eustace. recovering himself, however, he doffed his cap to his lord. "welcome back, my lord!" he said. "i trust that our dear lady is better." "much better, guy. you see i have brought your father over with me." katarina if, as i gathered from some of my friends at his court, he is eager for fighting, it may be that his ambassadors will demand conditions which he is«sure beforehand the king of france will not grant. at any rate i shall ride with dorset to paris; whatever the sentiments of the burgundians or orleanists may be towards me will matter nothing, riding as i shall do in the train of the earl. i am going to take you with me, as well as john harpen, for i must do as well as others, and have had to lay out a goodly sum in garments fit for the occasion, for the king is bent upon his embassy making a brave show. your father will be castellan here in my absence. i shall also take with me long tom and four of his archers, and five french men-at-arms. i have brought some lincoln-green cloth to make fresh suits for the archers, and also material for those for the men-at-arms." both sir eustace and sir john aylmer expressed great satisfaction at the manner in which the new outworks had been erected. "assuredly it is a strong castle now, sir eustace," sir john said, "and would stand a long siege even by a great army." '•what is all that earth for in the corner, guy?" sir eustace asked as they re - entered the castle after having made a survey of the new works. "i had that brought in, my lord, to fill sacks, of which i had three hundred made, so that if guns and battering machines were brought against us, we might cover the wall at the place they aimed at with sacks hanging closely to- gether, and so break the force of the stones or the cannon balls." "excellently well arranged, guy. you thought,. sir john, that i was somewhat rash to leave the defence solely to the charge of this son of yours, but you see the lad was :{()« at agincourt ready at all points, and i will warrant me that the castle would have held out under him as long a time as if you and i both had been in command of it." it was not until january, the year being , that the earl of dorset and a great company arrived at calais. as they passed not far from the castle they were joined by sir eustace and his retinue. the king's wishes had been carried out, and the knights and nobles were so grandly attired and their retinues so handsomely appointed that when they rode into paris the people were astonished at the splendour of the spectacle. a few days after they reached the capital the king gave a great festival in honour of the visitors, and there was a grand tournament at which the king and all the princes of the blood tilted. the english ambassadors were splendidly entertained, but their proposals were considered inadmissible by the french court, for henry demanded with katherine the duchy of nor- mandy, the county of pontieu, and the duchy of aquitaine. no direct refusal was given, but the king said that he would shortly send over an embassy to discuss the condi- tions. many handsome presents were made to all the knights and noblemen, and the embassy returned to eng- land. sir eustace left them near villeroy with his party, and stayed two days at the castle. sir john aylmer said that he would prefer that guy should return home with sir eustace and that he himself should remain as castellan, for he thought that there was little doubt that war would soon be declared; he said that he himself was too old to take the field on active service, and preferred greatly that guy should ride with sir eustace. tong tom made a petition to his lord that he too should go to england for a time. "if there was any immediate chance of fighting here, my lord," he said, "i would most willingly remain, but seeing katarina that at present all is quiet, i would fain return, were it but for a month; for i have a maid waiting for me, and have, methinks, kept her long enough, and would gladly go home and fetch her over here." the request was at once granted, and sir eustace, his two esquires, and the archer rode to calais, and crossed with the company of the earl of dorset. for some months guy remained quietly at summerley. agnes, though nearly sixteen, was still but a young girl, while katarina had grown still more womanly during the last six months. the former always treated him as a brother, but the latter was changeable and capricious. occasion- ally she would laugh and chat when the three were alone, as she had done of old in paris, but more often she would tease and laugh at him, while sometimes she would be shy and silent. "i cannot make out the young countess, my lady," he said to dame margaret when katarina had been teasing him even more than usual. "she was never like this in paris, and i know not that i have done aught to offend her that she should so often pick up my words, and berate me for a meaning they never had." "you see, things have changed since then," dame margaret said with a smile; "'tis two years since you were in paris, and katarina, although but little older than agnes, is already a young woman. you were then still under seventeen, now you are nineteen, and in growth and stature well-nigh a man. you can hardly expect her to be the same with you as when she was running about paris in boy's attire, for then you regarded her rather as a comrade than as a girl. i think, lierhaps, it is that she a little re- sents the fact that you knew her in that guise, and therefore feels all the less at her ease with you. do not trouble about l at ag ncouki it, the thing will right itself in time; and besides, you will shortly be going off to the war." in fact, preparations were being already made for it. a french embassy of nobles and knights, with three hundred and fifty horsemen, had come over, and, after passing through london, had gone to winchester, and there met the king and his great lords. t^e archbishop of bourges, who was their spokesman, at once set forth that the king could not hand over so large a potion of his kingdom, but that he would give with "his daughter large estates in france, to- gether with a great sum in ready money. this offer was re- fused, and preparations for war went on in .both countries. france was, indeed, but in poor condition to defend itself, tor the duke of aquitaine had seriously angered both parties. he had made a pretext to get the great lords to ride out from paris, he being with them; but he had secretly re- turned, and had ordered the gates to be closed, had called the citizens to arms, and had resumed the supreme authority of the realm. having done this, he sent his wife, burgundy's daughter, to a castle at a distance, and surrounding himself with young nobles as reckless and dissipated as himself, led a life of disorder, squandering money on his pleasures, and heavily taxing the city for his wants. the duke of burgundy, in- dignant at the treatment of his daughter, sent an ambassador to demand that she should be taken back, and that all the persons, five hundred in number, who had been exempted from the terms of the treaty, should be allowed to return to paris. both requests were refused, and the consequence was that the duke of burgundy, with his partisans, returned to his own country in deep anger; he would take no part in the war against the english, although he permitted his vassals to do so. in july the english levies gathered at southampton. the at agixcoi rt "you have begun well." the king said graciously; "and hereby request your lord that in the day of battle he will permit you to fight near me, and if you bear yourself as well when fighting for your king as you did when looking after your lady mistress, you shall have your share of honours as well as of blows." the king then rode on, and sir eustace and guy took their places in a boat where the men had already em- barked. "this is something like, master guy," said long tom, who was in command of the archers. "it was well indeed that i asked to come home to england when did, else had i been now mewed up at villeroy while my lord was fighting the french in the open field. crecy was the last time an english king commanded an army in battle against france; think you that we shall do as well this time?" "i trust so, tom; methinks we ought assuredly not to do worse. it is true that the french have been having more fighting of late than we have, but the nobles are less united now than they were then, and are likely to be just as head- strong and incautious as they were at crecy. doubt not that we shall be greatly outnumbered, but numbers go for lit- tle unless they are well handled. the constable d'albrett is a good soldier, but the nobles, who are his equals in rank, will heed his orders but little when their blood is up and they see us facing them. we may be sure, at any rate, that we shall be well led, for the king has had much experience against the scotch and welsh, and has shown himself a good leader as well as a brave fighter. hope, tom, that you have by this time come to be well accustomed to your new bow." "that have i. i have shot fourscore arrows a day with it from the time i reached home, not even omitting my wed- kaiar na l ding day, and i think that now i make as good shooting with it as i did with my old one. 'tis a pity we are not going to calais; if we had been joined by thirty archers there we should have made a brave show, and more than that, they would have done good service, for they are picked men. a few here may be as good, but not many. you see when we last sailed with our lord the times were peaceful, and we were able to gather the best shots for fifty miles round, but now that the king and so many of the nobles are all calling for archers we could not be so particular, and have had to take what we could get; still, i would enlist none who were not lair marksmen." this conversation took place as they were dropping down southampton waters. their destination was known to be harfleur, which, as it was strongly fortified and garrisoned, was like to offer a sturdy resistance. the lleet was a great one, consisting of from twelve to fourteen hundred sail, which the king had collected from all the ports of england and ireland, or hired from holland and friesland. the army consisted of six thousand five hundred horsemen and twenty- lour thousand footmen of all kinds. on the th of august the fleet anchored in the mouth of the seine, three miles from harfleur. the operation of landing the great army and their horses occupied three days, the french, to the surprise of all, permitting the operation to be carried on without let or hin- drance, although the ground was favourable for their attacks. as soon as the landing was effected the army took up its posi- tion so as to prevent any supplies from entering the town. they had with them an abundance of machines for battering the walls, and these were speedily planted, and they began their work. the garrison had been reinforced by four hundred knights and picked men-at-arms, and fought with great determination and at agixcol'rt valour, making several sorties from the two gates of the town. there were, however, strong bodies of troops always stationed near to guard the engines from such attacks, and the french sorties were not only repulsed, but their knights had much difficulty in winning their way back to the town. the enemy were unable to use their cannon to much effect, for a large supply of gunpowder sent by the french king was, on the day after the english landed, captured on its way into the town. the besiegers lost, however, a good many men from the cross- bowmen who manned the walls, although the english archers endeavoured to keep down their shooting by a storm of ar- rows. the most formidable enemy, however, that the eng- lish had to contend with was dysentery, brought on by the damp and unhealthy nature of the ground upon which they were encamped. no less than two thousand men died, and a vastly larger number were so reduced by the malady that they were useless for fighting. the siege, however, was car- ried on uninterruptedly. the miners who had been brought over drove two galleries under the walls, and the gates were so shattered by stones and cannon-balls that they scarce hung together. the garrison surrendered after having by the permission of the english king sent a messenger to the king of france, who was at vernon, to say that unless they were succoured within three days they must surrender, as the town was al- ready at the mercy of the english, and received for answer that no army was as yet gathered that could relieve them. in addition to the ravages of dysentery the english army had suffered much from want of food. large bodies of french troops were gathered at rouen and other places, and when knights and men-at-arms went out to forage, they fell upon them and drove them back. still a large amount of booty was gathered, together with enough provisions to at aoincourt duke of exeter, he set out on the th of october on his adventurous journey. accounts differ as to the number that started with him, some french historians put it as high as , , but it is certain that it could not have exceeded nine thousand men, of whom two thousand were men-at-arms and the rest archers. now, while the siege of harfleur had been going on, the arrangements for the embarkation of the troops and stores carried out, and the town put in a state of defence, troops had been marching from all points of france at the command of the french king to join him at rouen, so that here and in picardy two great armies were already assembled, the latter under the command of the constable. the english force marched by the sea-shore until it ar- rived at the river somme. no great resistance was en- countered, but large bodies of the enemy's horse hovered near and cut off all stragglers, and rendered it difficult to obtain food, so that sickness again broke out among the troops. on reaching the somme henry followed its left bank up, intending to cross at the ford of la blanche-tache, across which edward the third had carried his army before fighting at crecy. the french, as on the previous occasion, held the ford; but they this time had erected defences on each of the banks, and had strong posts driven into the bed of the river. still ascending along the river bank the english found every bridge broken and every ford fortified, while a great body of troops marched parallel with them on the right bank of the river. at pont st. remy, ponteau de mer, and several other points they tried in vain to force a passage. seven days were spent in these attempts; the troops, suffering terrible hardships, were disheartened at their failure to cross the river, and at finding themselves getting farther and farther from the sea. aginx'ourt on the morning of the th, however, a ford was discovered which had not been staked. the english vanguard at once made a dash across it, repulsed its defenders on the other bank, and the whole army with its baggage, which was of scanty dimensions, swarmed across the river. sir eustace, with his little force, now reduced to half its number, was, as it happened, in front of the army when the ford was discovered, and, followed by his two esquires and ten mounted men-at-arms, dashed into the river, while the archers, slinging their bows behind them, drew their axes and followed. for a short time there was a desperate conflict, but as reinforcements hurried across, the fight became more even and the french speedily gave way. when the king had crossed he thanked sir eustace for his prompt action. •• had you waited to send back for orders," he said, " the french would have come up in such numbers that the ford would not have been won without heavy loss, whereas by dashing across the moment it was discovered, you took the defenders by surprise and enabled us to get over without the loss of a single man." the constable, disconcerted at finding that all his plans for keeping the english on the left bank of the river were foiled, fell back to st. pol in artois. henry followed, but without haste. his small force was greatly reduced by sickness, while by this time the whole of the royal army had marched round and joined that of the constable. on the day after the pas- sage had been effected three heralds arrived in the english , camp to acquaint the king with the resolution of the con- stable and of the dukes of orleans and brabant to give his army battle before he reached calais. henry replied that fear of them would not induce him to move out of his way or to change the order of his march; he intended to go on straight by the road to calais, and if the french attempted to stop at ag ncourt him it would be at their peril; he accordingly continued to advance at the same rate as before. the constable fell back from st. pol and took up his post between the villages of ruissanville and agincourt, where, having received all the reinforcements he expected, he deter- mined to give battle. on the th the english crossed the ternois at blangi, and soon afterwards came in sight of the enemy's columns. these fell back as he advanced, and to- wards evening he halted at the village of maisoncelles, within half a mile of the enemy's position. fortunately provisions had been obtained during the day's march; these were cooked and served out, and the english lay down to sleep. the king sent for sir eustace. "you know this ground well, i suppose, sir eustace," he said, " for your castle of villeroy is not many miles distant?" "'tis but six miles away," the knight replied. "it is a good ground to fight on, for facing it are fields, and on either flank of these are large woods, so that there will be little space for the enemy to move." "that is just what i would have," the king said. "were they but half as strong as they are i should feel less confident that we should defeat them; their numbers will hinder them, and the deep wet ground will hamper their movements. as for ourselves, i would not have a man more with me if i could; the fewer we are the greater the glory if we conquer, while if we are defeated the less the loss to england. does your young esquire also know the ground, sir eustace?" "yes, sire; he has, i know, often ridden here when hawk- ing." "then let him go with four of my officers, who are about to reconnoitre the ground and see where we had best fight.'' guy was accordingly called up and started with the officers. he first took them up to the wood on the right of the french aoincourt division, then they moved across its front at a distance of fifty yards only from the french line. the contrast between it and the english camp was great. in the latter all was quiet. the men after a hearty meal had lain down to sleep, heeding little the wet ground and falling rain, exhausted by their long marching, and in good spirits,—desperate though the odds seemed against them,—that they were next day to meet their foes. in the french camp all was noise and confusion. each body of troops had come on the ground under its own com- mander, and shouts, orders, and inquiries sounded from all quarters. many of the frenchmen never dismounted all the night, thinking it better to remain on horseback than to lie down on wet ground. great fires were lighted and the sol- diers gathered round these, warming themselves and drinking, and calculating the ransoms to be gained by the capture of the king and the great nobles of england. knights and men-at- arms rode about in search of their divisions, their horses slip- ping and floundering in the deep clay. passing along the line of the french army guy and the offi- cers proceeded to the wood on the left, and satisfied them- selves that neither there nor on the other flank had any large body of men been posted. they then returned and made their report to the king. guy wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down and slept until the moon rose at three o'clock, when the whole army awoke and prepared for the day's work. the english king ordered the trumpeters and other musicians who had been brought with the army to play merry tunes, and these during the three hours of darkness cheered the spirits of the men and helped them to resist the depressing influence of the cold night air following upon their sleep on the wet ground. the french, on the other hand, had no manner of musical in- struments with their army, and all were fatigued and depressed by their long vigil. at afuncourt the horses had suffered as much as the men from damp, sleeplessness, and want of forage. there was, however, no wain of confidence in the french army—all regarded victory as absolutely certain. as the english had lost by sickness since they left harfleur fully a thousand men out of the , , and as against these were arrayed at least a hundred thousand—some french historians estimate them at , —comprising most of the chivalry of france, the latter might well regard victory as certain. there were, however, some who were not so confident; among these was the old duke of herri, who had fought at poitiers sixty years before, and remembered how confident the french were on that occasion, and how disastrous was the defeat. his counsel that the english should be allowed to march on unmolested to calais, had been scouted by the french leaders, but he had so far prevailed that the intention that charles should place himself at the head of the army was abandoned. "it would be better," the duke had urged, " to lose the battle than to lose the king and the battle together." as soon as day broke the english were mustered and formed up, and three masses were celebrated at different points in order that all might hear. when this was done the force was formed up into three central divisions and two wings, but the divisions were placed so close together that they practically formed but one. the whole of the archers were placed in ad- vance of the men-at-arms. every archer, in addition to his arms, carried a long stake sharpened at both ends, that which was to project above the ground being armed with a sharp tip of iron. when the archers had taken up their positions these stakes were driven obliquely into the ground, each being firmly thrust in with the strength of two or three men. as the arch- ers stood many lines deep, placed in open order and so that each could shoot between the heads of the men in front of at agincourt the constable was equally determined not to move; the french therefore also sat down, and for some hours the two armies watched each other. the constable had, however, some difficulty in maintaining his resolution. the duke of orleans and numbers of the hot-headed young nobles clam- oured to be allowed to charge the english. he himself would gladly have waited until joined by large reinforcements under the duke of brittany and the marshal de loigny, who were both expected to arrive in the course of the day. as an excuse for the delay, rather than from any wish that his overtures should be accepted, he sent heralds to the english camp to offer henry a free passage if he would restore har- fleur, with all the prisoners that he had made there and on his march, and resign his claims to the throne of france. henry replied that he maintained the conditions he had laid down by his ambassadors, and that he would accept none others. he had, in fact, no wish to negotiate, for he, too, knew that the french would very shortly be largely reinforced, and that were he to delay his march, even for a day or two, his army would be starved. perceiving at last that the constable was determined not to begin the battle, he sent off two detachments from the rear of his army, so that their movements should be concealed from the sight of the french. one of these, composed of archers, was to take post in the wood on the left hand of the french, the other was to move on through the wood, to come down in their rear, and to set on fire some barns and houses there, and so create a panic. he waited until noon, by which time he thought that both detachments would have reached the posts assigned to them, and then gave the orders for the ad- vance. the archers were delighted when their commander. sir thomas erpingham, repeated the order. none of them had put on his armour, and many had thrown off their jerkins at agixcourt when at length sir (."lugnet and the loaders reached the line of stakes in front of the archers, only about a hundred and fifty of the twelve hundred men were behind them. the horses drew up on reaching the hedge of stakes. their riders could give them no guidance, for without deign- ing to move from their order the archers continued to keep up their storm of arrows, which at such close quarters pierced all but the very finest armour, while it was certain death to the knights to raise their heads to get a glance at the situation. the horses, maddened with the pain of the arrows, soon set- tled the matter. some turned and rushed off madly, carrying confusion into the ranks of the first division, others galloped off to the right or left, and of the twelve hundred men who charged, three only broke through the line of stakes, and these were instantly killed by the bill-hooks and axes of the archers. the second line of battle was now in disorder, broken by the fugitive men and horses of sir clugnet's party, smitten with the arrows to which they had been exposed as that party melted away, and by those of the english archers in the wood on their flank. the confusion heightened every moment as wounded knights tried to withdraw from the fight, and others from behind struggled to take their places in front. soon the disorder became terrible. the archers plucked up their stakes and ran forward; the french line recoiled at their approach in order to get into fairer order; and the archers, with loud shouts of victory, slung their bows behind them, dropped the stakes, and with axe and bill-hook rushed at the horsemen. these were too tightly wedged together to use their lances, and as they had retired they had come into newly-ploughed ground, which had been so soaked by the heavy rain that the horses sank in the deep mud to their knees, rnany almost to their bellies. into the midst of this helpless crowd of armed ac, in" court men the english archers burst. embarrassed by their strug- gling horses, scarcely able to wield their arms in the press, see- ing but scantily, and that only in front through the narrow slits of their vizors, the chivalry of france died almost unre- sistingly. the constable of france and many of the highest nobles and most distinguished knights fell, and but few of the first line made their escape; these, passing through the second di- vision, in order to draw up behind, threw this also into some confusion. the duke de brabant, who had just arrived on the field, charged down upon the flank of the archers. these met him fearlessly, and he and most of those with him were killed. this fight had, however, given time to the second division to close up their ranks. the archers would have attacked them, but the king caused the signal for them to halt to be sounded, and riding up formed them in order again. the french were unable to take advantage of the moment to try and recover their lost ground, for the horses were knee- deep in the ground, upon which they had all night been trampling, and into which the weight of their own and their riders' armour sunk them deeply. "now, my lords," the king said, turning to those around him, "our brave archers have done their share; it is our turn ;" and then, as arranged, all dismounted and marched forward against the enemy. in accordance with his orders, sir eustace de villeroy and guy were posted close to the king, while john harpen led the men-at-arms from summerley. for a time the battle raged fiercely. in the centre fought the king with his nobles and knights; while the archers, who had most of them thrown off their shoes and were able to move lightly over the treacherous ground, threw themselves upon the enemy's flanks, and did dreadful execution there. in the centre, however, the prog- at agincol'rt ress of the english was slower. the french knights made the most desperate efforts to attack the king himself, and pressed forward to reach the royal banner. his brother, the duke of clarence, was wounded, and would have been killed had not the king himself, with a few of his knights, taken post around him, and kept off the attacks of his foes until he recovered his feet. almost immediately afterwards a band of eighteen knights, under the banner of the lord of croye, who had bound themselves by an oath to take or kill the king, charged down upon him. one of them struck him so heavy a blow on the head with a mace that the king was beaten to his knee, but his knights closed in round him, and every one of his assailants was killed. the duke of alencon next charged down with a strong following; he cut his way to the royal standard, and struck the duke of york dead with a blow of his battle-axe. henry sprung forward, but alencon's weapon again fell, and striking him on the head clipped off a portion of the crown which henry wore round his helmet. but before the french knight could repeat the stroke guy aylmer sprung forward and struck so heavy a blow full on the duke's vizor that he fell from his horse dead. his fall completed the confusion and dismay among the french, and the second division of their army, which had hitherto fought gallantly, now gave way. many were taken prisoners. the third division, although alone vastly superior in numbers to the english, seeing the destruction of the others, began to draw off. they had moved but a short distance when loud shouts were heard in the english rear. two or three french knights, with a body of several hundred armed peasants, had suddenly fallen upon the english baggage and horses which had been left at maison- celles. many of the guard had gone off to join in the battle, so that the attack was successful, a portion of the baggage, at agincourt and many of the victors lay down supperless around the village of maisoncelles. the knights who had led the peasants to the attack of the baggage-train, instead of joining in the fight, and had thereby caused the unfortunate massacre of so many prisoners, fell into great disgrace among the french for their conduct, and were imprisoned for some years by the duke of burgundy. that evening the english king knighted many esquires and aspirants of noble families, among them guy aylmer, who was indeed the first to receive the honour. "no one fought more bravely than you did, young knight," he said, as guy rose to his feet after receiving the accolade; "i will see that you have lands to support your new dignity. twice you were at my side when i was in the greatest danger, and none have won their spurs more fairly." john harpen would also have been among those knighted, but he declined the honour, saying that he was not come of gentle blood, and wished for nothing better than to remain his lord's esquire so long as he had strength to follow him in the field. the next morning the army marched to calais. the king turned aside with sir eustace, and with a strong party rode to villeroy. guy had gone on with the men-at-arms at daybreak, and a banquet had been prepared, and twenty cart- loads of grain and a hundred bullocks sent off to meet the army on its march. "'tis a fine castle, sir eustace," the king said as he rode in, "but truly it is perilously situated. if after this i can make good terms with france i will see that the border shall run outside your estates; but if not, methinks that it were best for you to treat with some french noble for its sale, and i will see that you are equally well bestowed in ag nc urt england, for in truth, after fighting for us at agincourt, you are like to have but little peace here." "i would gladly do so, my lord king," sir eustace replied. "during the last three years it has been a loss rather than a gain to me. i have had to keep a large garrison here; the estate has been wasted, and the houses and barns burned. had it not been that there was for most of the time a truce between england and france i should have fared worse. and now i may well be attacked as soon as your majesty and the army cross to england." "you will have a little breathing time," the king said; "they will have enough to do for a while to mourn their losses. i will not leave behind any of your brave fellows who have fought so hard here, but when i arrive at calais will order two hundred men of the garrison to come over to reinforce you until you can make arrangements to get rid of the castle, if it is not to remain within my territory." sir eustace introduced sir john aylmer as the father of the newly-made knight. "you have a gallant son, sir john," the king said, " and one who is like to make his way to high distinction. i doubt not that before we have done with the french he will have fresh opportunities of proving his valour." after the meal was over the king went round the walls. "'tis a strong place," he said, "and yet unless aid reached you, you could not resist an army with cannon and machines." "i have long seen that, your majesty, and have felt that i should have to choose between england and france, for that, when war broke out again, i could not remain a vassal of both countries." "it shall be my duty to show you that you have not chosen wrongly, sir eustace. i cannot promise to maintain you here, for you might be attacked when i have no army at ac.incotrt with which i could succour you. as soon as i return home and learn which of those who have fallen have left no heirs, and whose lands therefore have come into my gift, i will then make choice of a new estate for you." the army marched slowly to calais. it was weakened by sickness and hunger, and every man was borne down by the weight of the booty he carried. on arriving there the king held a council, and it was fmally determined to return to england. the force under his command was now but the skeleton of an army. fresh men and money were required to continue the war, and he accordingly set sail, carrying with him his long train of royal and noble prisoners, the news of the victory created the greatest enthusiasm in eng- land. at dover the people rushed into the sea and carried the king to shore on their shoulders. at canterbury and the other towns through which he passed he received an enthu- siastic welcome, while his entry into london was a triumph. every house was decorated, the conduits ran with wine in- stead of water, and the people were wild with joy and en- thusiasm. great subsidies were granted him by parliament, and the people in their joy would have submitted to any taxation. however, throughout his reign henry always showed the greatest moderation; he kept well within con- stitutional usages, and his pleasant, affable manner secured for him throughout his reign the love and devotion of his subjects. on his arrival at calais guy discovered that among the prisoners was his friend count charles d'estournel. "i am grieved indeed to see you in this plight," he ex- claimed as he met him. "'tis unfortunate truly, aylmer, but it might have been worse; better a prisoner than among the dead at agincourt," the light-hearted young count said; "but truly it has been at agincourt "i should think that that could be managed," the count said thoughtfully. "i will speak to my lather. i am, as you know, his second son, but through my mother, who is a german, i have an estate on the other side of the rhine. this i would gladly exchange—that is to say, would part with to some german baron—if i could obtain the fief of villeroy. i have no doubt that burgundy would not only consent, but would help, for, as you know by the manner in which your lady was made a hostage, he looked with great jealousy on this frontier fortress, which not only gives a way for the english into artois, but which would, in the hands ot an orleanist, greatly aid an invasion of the prov- ince from pontoise and the west. and, although the court would just at present object to give the fief to a burgundian, it is powerless to interfere, and when the troubles are over, the duke would doubtless be able to manage it." guy had no difficulty in arranging the matter with d'estournel's captor, to whom sir eustace and he both gave their surety that his ransom should be paid; and, be- fore sailing, guy had the satisfaction of seeing his friend mount and ride for st. omar with a pass through the eng- lish territory from the governor. chapter xx penshurst after accompanying the king to london sir eustace and guy rode to summerley, where long tom and his com- panions had already arrived, having marched thither direct from dover. there were great rejoicings at the castle. not 'katar na sweit a deep curtsey, and went off with a merry laugh." at agincourt guy remained for some months quietly at summerley. the emperor sigismund had paid a visit to england, and then to paris, to endeavour to reconcile the two countries. his mediation failed. henry offered, as a final settle- ment, to accept the execution, on the part of france, of the treaty of trepigny. nothing, however, came of it, for there was no government in france capable of making a binding treaty. in spite of the disgrace and the slaughter of the nobles at agincourt there was no abatement of the in- ternal dissensions, and the civil war between burgundy and armagnac was still raging, the only change in affairs being that the vicious and incapable duke of aquitaine had died, and the queen had once again gone over to the burgundian faction. count charles d'estournel had carried into effect the mission with which he had charged himself. burgundy had eagerly embraced the opportunity of attaching to his side the castle and estates of villeroy, and he and the count d'estournel between them raised a sum of money which was paid to sir eustace for the relinquishment to burgundy of the fief, which was then bestowed upon count charles. the sum in no way represented what would now be con- sidered the value of the estate, but in those days, when fiefs reverted to the crown or other feudal superior upon the death of an owner without heirs, or were confiscated upon but slight pretence, the money value was far under the real value of the estate. sir eustace was well satisfied, however, with the sum paid him. had his son henry lived he had in- tended that the anomalous position of the lord of villeroy. being also a vassal of england, should have been got rid of by one of his sons becoming its owner, and a vassal of france, while the other would inherit summerley, and grow up a vassal of england only. henry's death had put an end to the possibility of this arrangement, and charlie would now at agincourt dorset, its governor, sent to england for aid. the king sent hasty orders to his vassals of kent, surrey, and hamp- shire, to march with their retainers to rye, where a fleet was to gather for their conveyance. a body of archers and men- at-arms were also sent thither by the king, and the duke of bedford, his brother, appointed to the command of the ex- pedition. sir eustace was suffering somewhat from the effects of a fever, the seeds of which he had contracted in france, and he accordingly sent his contingent, thirty archers and as many men-at-arms, under the command of guy. "i had hoped that we had done with harfleur," long tom said as they started on their march to the seaport. "i don't mind fighting, that comes in the way of business, but to see men rotting away like sheep with disease is not to my fancy." "we shall have no fighting on land, tom," guy replied. "at least i expect not. when the french see that the garri- son is reinforced they will probably give up the siege, though we may have a fight at sea with the french ships that are blockading the town and preventing provisions from reaching the garrison. doubtless we shall take a good store of food with us, and the french will know well enough that as we had such hard work in capturing the town, they can have no chance whatever of taking it by assault when defended by us." guy and his party had a small ship to themselves, with which he was well content, as, being but a newly-made knight, he would, had he been in a large ship, have been under the orders of any others who chanced to be with him; while he was now free to act as he chose. the voyage was favourable, but when the fleet arrived off the mouth of the seine they found that the work before them was far more serious than they had expected. in addition to their own fleet, which was itself considerably stronger than the english, the besiegers had hired the aid of some great genoese vessels, and a number of at agincourt crowded mass on her deck. two grapnels, to each of which were attached twenty feet of chain, were thrown into the shrouds of the french vessel, and guy shouted to the men-at- arms in the waist to keep the enemy from boarding by holding the vessels apart by thrusting out light spars and using their spears. the french had a few cross-bowmen on board, but guy, running up on to the castle at the bow, where long tom him- self was posted, bade him direct the fire of his men solely against them, and in a very short time the discharge of mis- siles from the french ship ceased. in vain the french at- tempted to bring the ships alongside each other by throwing grapnels; the ropes of these were cut directly they fell, and although many of the english spears were hacked in two, others were at once thrust out, and the spars, being inclined so as to meet the hull of the enemy below the water-line, could not be reached by their axes. the wind was light, and there was no great difference in point of sailing. the english sail- ors were vigilant, and when the frenchman brailed up his great sail, so as to fall behind, they at once followed his example. at the end of a quarter of an hour the effect of the arrows of the thirty archers was so great that there was much confusion on board the enemy, and guy thought that, comparatively small as his force was, an attack might be made. so the spars were suddenly drawn in and the chains hauled upon. the archers caught up their axes and joined the men-at-arms, and as the vessels came together they all leapt with a great shout upon the enemy's deck. the french knights, whose armour had protected them to some extent from the slaughter that the arrows had effected among the soldiers, fought bravely and rallied their men to resistance; but with shouts of "agincourt!" the men-at- arms and archers, led by guy,—-who now for the first time at agincourt of the smallest in our fleet. their crew must have been three or four times as strong as yours, which was, as i know, but sixty strong. has the count de valles fallen?" "no, my lord duke, he is. with six of his knights, a prisoner in the cabin." "i will see him later," the duke said ; "we are now going to attack the genoese and spaniards. is there aught that i can do for you ?'' "some twenty of my men are dead or disabled," guy said, "and i must leave ten in charge of this prize. i have suffered the french soldiers, after disarming them and the sailors, to leave in their boats, and ten men will therefore be sufficient to hold her. if your grace can spare me thirty men- at-arms i will go on in my own ship to attack the genoese." "i will do so," the duke replied. "i will send ten to keep this ship, and twenty to fill the places of those of your men who have fallen. i can spare ten from my own ship and will borrow twenty from such of the others as can best spare them." in a few minutes the thirty men came on board, with a sub- officer to take charge of the prize. guy returned with his own men and twenty new-comers to his vessel, and sailed in with the fleet to attack the great ships of the genoese and spaniards at their moorings. as they approached they were received with a heavy cannonade from the enemy's ships and shore batteries, but without replying they sailed on and ranged themselves alongside the enemy, their numbers per- mitting them to lay a vessel on each side of most of the great caravels. their task was by no means an easy one, for the sides of these ships were fifteen feet above those of the low english vessels, and they were all crowded with men. never- theless, the english succeeded in boarding, forcing their way in through port-holes and windows, clambering up the bows penshurst by the carved work, or running out on their yards and swing- ing themselves by ropes on to the enemy's deck, while the cannon plied them with shot close to the water-line. most of the ships were taken by boarding, some were sunk with all on board, a few only escaped by cutting their cables and running up the seine into shallow water. the loss of life on the part of the french and their allies in this brilliant british victory was enormous. with the exception of those on board the few ships which escaped, and the men sent off in the boats by guy, the whole of the crews of the french, genoese, and spaniards, save only the nobles and knights put to ransom, were killed, drowned, or taken prisoners, and during the three weeks that the english fleet remained off harfleur, the sailors were horrified by the immense number of dead bodies that were carried up and down by the tide. harfleur was revictualled and put into a state of defence, and the duke of bedford then sailed with his fleet to england, hav- ing achieved the greatest naval victory that england had ever won save when edward the third, with the black prince, completely defeated a great spanish fleet off the coast of sus- sex, with a squadron composed of ships vastly inferior both in size and number to those of the spaniards, which contained fully ten times the number of fighting men carried by the english vessels. this great naval victory excited unbounded enthusiasm in england. the king gave a great banquet to the duke of bedford and his principal officers, and by the duke's orders guy attended. before they sat down to the table the duke presented his officers individually to the king. guy, as the youngest knight, was the last to be introduced. "the duke has already spoken to me of the right valiant deeds that you accomplished, sir guy aylmer," the king said as he bowed before him, •" and that with but a small craft penshurst armagnac knights. up to that time my predictions had wrought me much profit and no harm. i had told aquitaine and other lords who consulted me that disaster would happen when the french army met the english. that much i read in the stars. and though, when henry marched north from harfleur with so small a following, it seemed to me that victory could scarce attend him against the host of france, i went over my calculations many times and could not find that i had made an error. it was owing greatly to my predic- tions that the duke readily gave way when the great lords persuaded him not to risk his life in the battle. "others whom i had warned went to their death, in some cases because they disbelieved me, in others because they preferred death to the dishonour of drawing back. one of the latter, on the eve of the battle, confided to a hot-headed knight in his following that i had foretold his death; and in- stead of quarrelling with the stars, the fool seemed to think that i had controlled them, and was responsible for his lord's death. so when in paris some months since, he publicly in- sulted me, and being an italian noble as well as an astrologer, i fought him the next day. i killed him, but not before i re- ceived a wound that laid me up for months, and from which have not yet fairly recovered. while lying in paris i de- cided upon taking a step that i had for some time been medi- tating. i could, when katarina left paris with your lady, have well gone with her, with ample means to live in comfort and to furnish her with a fortune not unfitted to her rank as my daughter. "during the past three years the reputation i gained by my success in saving the lives of several persons of rank, increased so rapidly that money has flowed into my coffers beyond all belief. there was scarcely a noble of the king's party who had not consulted me, and since agincourt the duke of aqui- at aoincourt taine and many others took no step whatever without coming to me. but i am weary of the everlasting troubles of which i can see no end, and assuredly the aspect of the stars affords no ground for hope that they will terminate for years; there- fore, i have determined to leave france, and to practise my art henceforth solely for my own pleasure. i shall open ne- gotiations with friends in mantua, to see whether, now that twelve years have elapsed since i had to fly, matters cannot be arranged with my enemies; much can often be done when there are plenty of funds wherewith to smooth away difficul- ties. still, that is in the future. my first object in coming to england was to see how my daughter was faring, and to enjoy a period of rest and quiet while my wound was healing, which it has begun to do since i came here. i doubted on my journey, which has been wholly performed in a litter, whether i should arrive here alive." "and now, father," katarina said, " let us hear what sir guy has been doing since he left; we have been all full of impatience since the news came four days ago that the duke of bedford had destroyed a great fleet of french, spanish, and genoese ships.'' "guy has had his share of fighting, at any rate," lord eastacesaid, as he entered the room while the girl was shak- ing, " for fifteen of our men have fallen; and, as long tom tells me, they had hot work of it, and gained much credit by capturing single-handed a great french ship." "yes, we were fortunate," guy said, " in falling across the ship of the french admiral, count de valles. our men all fought stoutly, and the archers having cleared the way for us and slain many of their crew, we captured them, and i hold the count and five french knights to ransom." "that will fill your purse rarely, guy. but let us hear more of this fighting. l)e yalles's ship must have been a great penshurit on hearing of the honours and estates that had been bestowed on guy, rode with two of his comrades in the rear of the party. penshurst was a strong castle, though scarcely equal in size to summerley; it was, however, a more comfortable habi- tation, having been altered by the late owner's father, who had travelled in italy, with a view rather to the accommoda- tion of its inmates than its defence, and had been furnished with many articles of luxury rare in england. "a comfortable abode truly, guy!" his father said. "it was well enough two hundred years since, when the country was unsettled, for us to pen ourselves up within walls, but there is little need of it now in england, although in france, where factions are constantly fighting against each other, it is well that every man should hold himself secure from attack. but now that cannon are getting to so great a point of perfec- tion, walls are only useful to repel sudden attacks, and soon crumble when cannon can be brought against them. methinks the time will come when walls will be given up altogther, es- pecially in england, where the royal power is so strong that nobles can no longer war with each other." "however, guy," lord eustace said, " 'tis as well at pres- ent to have walls, and strong ones ; and though i say not that this place is as strong as villeroy, it is yet strong enough to stand a siege." guy spent an hour with the steward, who had been in charge of the castle since the death of sir richard fulk, and who had the day before heard from a royal messenger that sir guy had been appointed lord of the estates. the new owner learned from him much about the extent of the feu, the number of tenants, the strength that he would be called upon to furnish in case of war, and the terms on which the vassals held their tenure. "your force will be well-nigh doubled," the steward said at agincourt in conclusion, "since you tell me that the manors of stone- ham and piverley have also fallen to you." "'tis a fair country," guy said as the talk ended, "and one could wish for no better. "i shall return to summerley to-day, but next monday i will come over here and take pos- session, and you can bid the tenants, and those also of the two manors, to come hither and meet me at two o'clock." "well, daughter," the count of montepone said to kata- rina as she was sitting by his couch in the evening, "so you think that penshurst is a comfortable abode?" '• yes, father, the rooms are brighter and lighter than these and the walls are all hung with arras and furnished far more comfortably." "wouldst thou like to be its mistress, child?" a bright flush of colour flooded the girl's face. "dost mean it, father?" she asked in a voice hardly above a whisper. "why not, child? you have seen much of this brave young knight, whom, methinks, any maiden might fall in love with. art thou not more sensible to his merits than was mistress agnes ?'' "he saved my life, father." "that did he, child, and at no small risk to his own. then do i understand that such a marriage would be to your liking?" "yes, father," she said frankly, "but i know not that it would be to sir guy's." "that is for me to find out," he said. "i asked lady margaret a few days ago what she thought of the young knight's inclinations, and she told me that she thought indeed he had a great liking for you, but that in truth you were so wayward that you gave him but little chance of showing it." "how could i let him see that i cared for him, father, penshurst when i knew not for certain that he thought aught of me, and moreover, i could not guess what your intentions for me might be." "i should not have sent you where you would often be in his company, katarina, unless i had thought the matter over deeply. it was easy to foresee that after the service he had rendered you you would think well of him, and that, thrown together as you would be, it was like enough that you should come to love each other. i had cast your horoscope and his and found that you would both be married about the same time, though i could not say that it would be to each other. i saw enough of him during that time in paris to see that he was not only brave, but prudent and discreet. i saw, too, from his affection to his mistress, that he would be loyal and honest in all he undertook, that it was likely that he would rise to honour, and that above all i could assuredly trust your happiness to him. he was but a youth and you a girl, but he was bordering upon manhood and you upon womanhood. i marked his manner with his lady's daughter and saw that she would be no rival to you. had it been otherwise i should have yielded to your prayers, and have kept you with me in france. matters have turned out according to my expecta- tion. i can give you a dowry that any english noble would think an ample one with his bride; and though guy is now himself well endowed he will doubtless not object to such an addition as may enable him, if need be, to place in the field a following as large as that which many of the great nobles are bound to furnish to their sovereign. i will speak to him on the subject to-morrow, katarina." accordingly, the next morning at breakfast the count told guy that there was a matter on which he wished to consult him, and the young knight remained behind when the other mem- bers of the family left the room to carry out their avocations. at agincourt borne with my humours? i will answer your question as frankly as my father bade me." she rose now. "take my hand, guy, for it is yours. i love and honour you, and could wish for no better or happier lot than to be your wife. had you asked me six months ago i should have said the same, save that i could not have given you my hand until had my father's consent." during the next month guy spent most of his time at penshurst getting everything in readiness for its mistress. lord eustace advanced him the monies that he was to re- ceive for the ransoms of count de valles and the five knights, and the week before the wedding he went up with the count of montepone to london, and under his advice bought many rich hangings and pieces of rare furniture to beautify the private apartments. the count laid out a still larger sum of money on eastern carpets and other luxuries, as well as on dresses and other matters for his daughter. on jewels he spent nothing, having already, he said, " a sufficient store for the wife of a royal duke." on his return guy called upon the king at his palace at winchester, and henry declared that he himself would ride to summerley to be present at the wedding. "you stood by me," he said, "in the day of battle, it is but right that i should stand by you on your wedding-day. her father will, of course, give her away, and it is right that he should do so, seeing that she is no ward of mine; but i will be your best man. i will bring with me but a small train, for i would not inconvenience the baron of summerley and his wife, and i will not sleep at the castle; though i do not say that i will not stay to tread a measure with your fair bride." two days later a train of waggons was seen approaching summerley; they were escorted by a body of men-at-arms with two officers of the king. lord eustace, in some sur- at aginc urt fain settle down here, guy, if you will give me a chamber for myself, and one for my instruments. i shall need them but little henceforth, but they have become a part of myself, and, though no longer for gain, i love to watch the stars, and to ponder on their lessons; and when you ride to the wars i shall be company for katarina, who has long been used to my society alone, and i promise you that i will no longer employ her as my messenger.'' once established at penshurst the count employed much of his time in beautifying the castle, spending money freely in adding to the private apartments, and decorating and furnish- ing them in the italian style, until they became the wonder and admiration of all who visited them. in time he took upon himself much of the education of katarina's children, and throughout a long life guy never ceased to bless the day when he and dame margaret were in danger of their lives at the hands of the white hoods of paris. the end. books for rouxg people by g. a. henty "auk for uenty, and see that you get him."—punch. the dash for khartoum a talo of the nile expedition. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john schonrerg and j. nash. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in the record of recent british history there is no more captivating page for boys tban the story of the nile campaign, and the attempt to rescue general gordon. for, in the difficulties which the expedition encount- ered, in the perils which it overpassed, and in its final tiagic disappoint- ments, are found all the excitements of romance, as well as the fascination which belongs to real events. bonnie prince charlie a tale of fontenoy and culloden. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the adventures of the son of a scotch offioer in french service. the boy, brought up by a glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a jacobite agent, escapes, is wrecked on the french coast, reaches paris, and serves with the frenoh army at dettmgen. he kills his father's foe in a duel, and escaping to the coast, shares the adventures of prince charlie, but finally settles happily in scotland. under drake's flag a tale of the spanish main. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a story of the days when england and spain struggled for the suprem- acy of the sea. tne heroes sail as lads with drake in the pacific expe- dition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. the historical portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this will perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which the young heroes pass in the course of their voyages. with wolfe in canada or, the winning of a continent. by g. a henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . mr. henty here gives an acconnt of the struggle between bri'ain and france for supremacy in the no^th american con'inent the fall of quebec decided that the an^lo-saxnn race rhonld predominate in the new world; and that english and american commerce, the english language, and english literature, should spiead right round the globe. hooks for rotrxo people by o. a. henty "no living writer of books for boys writes to better purpose than mr. g. a. henty."—philadelphia press. true to the old flag a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, - . a graphic and vigorous story of the american revolution, which paints the scenes with great power, and does full justice to the pluck and de- termination of the soldiers during the unfortunate struggle. the lion of st. mark a tale of venice in the fourteenth century. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a story of venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put to the severest tests. the hero displays a fine sense and manliness which carry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and blood- shed. he contributes largely to the victories of the venetians at porto d'anzo and chioggia. and finally wins the hand of the daughter of one of the chief men of venice. the lion of the north a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wars of beligion. by g. a. henty. with full page illustrations by john schonrehg. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in this story mr. henty gives the history of the first part of the thirty years' war. the issue had its importance, which has extended to the present day, as it estab'ished religious freedom in germany. the army of the chivalrous king of sweden was largely composed of scotchmen, and among these waa the hero of the story. in greek waters a story of the grecian war of independence ( - ). by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. s. stacey, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . deals with the revolt of the creeks in against turkish oppression. mr. beveridge and his son horace fit out a privateer, load it with military stores, and set sail for greece. they rescue the christians, relieve the captive greeks, and fight the turkish war vessels. books for yottsa pboi'ls by g. a. henty "mr. henty's books never (all to interest boy readers."—academy. with clive in india or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. hentt. with fall-page illustrations by gordon browne, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the period between the landing of clive in india and the close of his oareer was eventful in the extreme. at its commencement the english were traders existing on sufferance of the native princes; at its close they were masters of bengal and of the greater part of southern india. the author has given a full account of the events of that stirring time, while he combines with his narrative a thrilling tale of daring and adventure. the young carthaginian a story of the times of hannibal. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. grown vo, olivine edges, $ . . there is no better field for romance-writers in the whole of history than the momentous struggle between the romans and carthaginians for the empire of the world. mr. henty has had the full advantage of mu< h un- exhausted picturesque and impressive material, and has thus been enabled to form a striking historic background to as exciting a story of adventure as the keenest appetite could wish. for the temple a tale of the fall of jerusalem. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by s. j. solomon, and a colored map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . mr. henty here weaves into the record of josephus an admirable and attractive story. the troubles in the district of tiberias, the march of the legions, the sieges of jotapata, of gamala, and of jerunalem, form the impressive setting to the figure of the lad who becomes the leader of a i guerrilla band of patriots, lights bravely for the temple, and after a brief term of slavery at alexandria, returns to his galilean home. through the fray a story of the luddite riots. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the story is laid in yorkshire at the commencement of the present cen- tury, when the high price of food induced by the war and the introduction of machinery drove the working-classes to desperation, and caused them to band themselves in that wide-spread organization known as the luddite society. there is an abundance of adventure in the tale, but its chief interest lies in the char*cfcr of the he^o, and the manner in which he is put on trial for his life, but at last comes victorious "through the fray." if. rooks for rotrxa people by robert leighton "mr. lelghton's place is in the front rank of writers of boys' books." —standard. olaf the glorious by rorekt leighton. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story of olaf the glorious, king of norway, opens with the incident of his being found by hi a uncle living as a bond-slave in esthonia, and it follows him through his romantic youth in the court of king val- demar of russia. then come his adventures as a viking and his raids upon the coasts of scotland and england, his victorious battle against the english at maldon in essex, his being bought off by ethelred the unready, and his conversion to christianity. he then returns to pagan norway, is accepted as king, and converts his people to the christian faith. wreck of "the golden fleece" the story of a north sea fisher-boy. by rorert leighton. with full-page illustrations by frank brangwyn. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . a description of life on the wild noith sea—the hero being a parson's son who is apprenticed on board a lowestoft fishing lugger. the lad has to suffer many buffets from his shipmates, while the storms and dan- gers which he braved on board the north star are set forth with minute knowledge and intense power. the wreck of the golden fleece forms the climax to a thrilling series of desperate mischances. the thirsty sword a story of the norse invasion of scotland ( - ). by rorert leighton. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story tells how roderic maoalpin, the sea-rover, came to the isle of bute; how he slew his brother earl hamishin rothesay castle; bow alpin, the carl's eldest son, challenged his nncle to ordeal by battle, and was likewise slain; how young kenric now became kingof bute, and vowed vengeance against the slayer of his brother and father; and finally, it tells bow this vow was kept, when kenric and the murderous sea rover met at midnight on garroch head, and ended their feud in one last great fight. the pilots of pomona a story of the orkney islands. by rorert leighton. with full-page illustrations by john leighton, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . halcro ericson, the hero, tells ms story with great simplicity and directness, and happens upon many exciting adventures and hardy ex- periences, through which he carries himself with quiet courage. the story gives a vivid presentation of the fisher-folk in these far northern islands. • > books for touxg peoplk by ceorce manville fenn "mr. fcnn is in the front rank of writers for boys."—liverpool mercury. dick o' the fens a romance of the great east swamp. by george manttlle fenn. with vi full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, olivine edges, . . dick o' the fens and tom o'grimsey arc the sons of a squire and a fanner living on the edge of one of the vast fen wastes, and their adven- tures are unusual interest. shootiugand fishing experienccs are intro- duced in a manner which should stimulate the faculty of observation, and give a healthy love for country life; while the record of the fen-men's stealthy resistance to the great draining scheme is full ot the keenest in- terest. the ambushes and shots in the mist and dark, the incendiary fires, and the bursting o the sea-wall, are described with mr. fenn's wonted skill in the management of mystery. "we have not of late come across an historical fiction which deserves to he so heartily and unreservedly praised as regards plot, incidents, and spirit as 'dick o' the fens.' it is its autho.'s masterpieoe as yet." —spectator. brownsmith's boy by george manvilm: fenn. with j,age illustrations. crown vo, $ . . the career of "browusmith's boy" embraces the home adventures of an orphan, who, having formed the acquaintance of an eccentric old gar- dener, accepts his offer of a home and finds that there is plenty of romance in a gardeu, and much excitement even iu a journev now and then to town. in a half-savage lad he finds a friend who shows his love and fidelity principally by pretending to be an enemy. in "brownsmith's boy" there is abundance of excitement aud trouble within four walls. "'brownsmith's boy' excels all the numerous juvenile books that the present season has yet produced."—the academy. "mr. fenn's books are among the best. if not altogether the best, of the stories for boys. mr. fenn is at his best in this story." —pictorial world. yussuf the guide being the strange story of travels in asia minor. by george manville fenn. "with full-page illustrations by john schonrerg. crown vo, $ . . deals with the stirring incidents in the career of a lad who has been almost given over by the doctors, but who rapidly reooveis health and strength in a journey through asia minor. the adventures are many, and culminate in the travelers being snowed up for the winter in the mountains, from which they escape while their captors are waiting for the ransom that does not come. "scenes that will have great novelty and attraction, and the experien- ces with the brigands will be especially delightful to hoys."—scoliman. rooks for rouxa people i by george manville fenn •' our t>oys know mr. fenn well, his stories having won for him a foremost place in their estimation."—pall mall gazette. the golden magnet a tale of the land of the incas. by george manvtlle fenn. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, s . . the tale of a romantic lad, who leaves home to seek his fortune in south america by endeavoring to discover some of that treasure which legends declare was ages ago hidden by the peruvian rulers and priest, to preserve it from the spanish invaders. he is accompanied by a faith- ful companion, who does true service, and shows the dogged courage of the british lad during the strange and exciting adventures which befall them. "there could be no more welcome present for a boy. the book will be read with breathless interest."—journal oj education. in the king's name or, the cruise of the kestrel. by george manthm: fenn. illustrated by full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . "in the king's name" is a spirited story of the jacobite times, concern- ing the adventures of hilary leigh, a young naval officer in the pre- ventive service off the coast of sussex, on board the krttrel. leigh is taken prisoner by the adherents of the pretender, amongst whom is an early friend and patron who desires to spare the lad's life, but will not release him. the narrative is full of exciting and often humorous incident. "told with the freshness and verve which characterize all mr. penn's writings and put him in the front rank of writers for boys."—standard. menhardoc a story of cornish nets and mines. by george manvrx.t,e fenn. with full-page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. crown vo, $ . . the scene of this story is laid among the granite piles and tors of corn- wall. adventures are pretty plentiful, but the story has for its strong base the development of character of the three boys. the sketches of cornish life and local coloring are based upon experience in the bay, whose fishing village is called here mcnhardoc. this is a thoroughly english story of phases of life but little touched upon in boy's literature np to the present time. "mr. fenn has written many books in his time; he has not often written one which for geuuiue merit as a story for young people exceeds this."—scotsman. m books for tousg people things will take a turn by beatrice harraden, author of "ships that pass in the night." illustrated. mo, . . the charm of this tale is its delicate, wistful sympathy. it is the story of a sunny-hearted child. rosebud, who assists her grandfather in his dusty, second-hand bookshop. one cannot help being fascinated by the sweet little heroine, she is so engaging, so natural; and to love rose- bud is to love all her friends and enter sympathetically into the good fortune she brought them. two thousand years ago or, the adventures of a roman boy. by professor a. j. church. with full-page illustrations by adrien marie. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero is a young roman who has a very chequered career, being now a captive in the hands of spartacus, again an officer on board a vessel detailed for the suppression of the pirates, and anon a oaptive once more, on a pirate ship. he escapes to tarsus, is taken prisoner in the war with mithradates, and detained by the latter in pontus for a number of years. "the book is extremely entertaining as well as useful; there is a wonderful freshness in the roman scenes and characters."—time*. a champion of the faith a tale of prince hal and the lollards. by j. m. caliatkli,. with full-page illustrations by herrert j. draper. crown vo, $ . . the earlier part of this story deals with the merry escapades of prince hal and his favorite, sir john oldcastle. then the narrative deepens in its interest when the prince ascends the throne as hmry v., while his old comrade becomes a lollard and a champion of the new faith. as such, sir john oldcastle endures many hardships, and escapes from the tower, but finally is captured by treachery and burnt at the stake. "a capital specimen of a historical tale, and a well told chapter in english life and manners in the days of henry of bolingbroke." —the spectator. the wigwam and the war-path stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. illustrated by gordon browse. crown vo, $ . . 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"sarah doudney has no ruperior as a writer of high-toned stories; pure in style, original in conception, and with skillfully wrought-out plots."—chrmian leader. under false colors a story from two girls' lives. by sarah doudney. with full-page illustrations by g.g. kilrurne. cr. vo, $ . . a story whioh has in it so strong a dramatic element that it will attract readers of all ages and of either sex. the incidents of the plot, arising from the thoughtless indulgence of a deceptive freak, are exceedingly natural, and the keen interest of the narrative is sustained from be- ginning to end. thorndyke manor a tale of jacobite times. by mary c. rowsell. with full-page illustrations by l. leslie brooke. cr. vo, $ . . is an old house near the mouth of the thames which is convenient on account of its secret vaults and situation as the basis of operation in the jacobite conspiracy. in consequence its owner finds himself suddenly involved by a treacherous steward in the closest meshes of the plot. he is conveyed to the tower, but all difficulties arc finally overcome and his innocence triumphantly proved by his sister. traitor or patriot a tale of the rye-house plot. by mary c. rowsell. with full-page pictures. crown vo, $ . . "a romantic love episode, whose true characters are life-like beings, not dry sticks as in many historical tales."—graphic. hal hungerford or, the strange adventures of a boy emigrant. by j. r. hutchinson. with full-page illustrations by stanley berkeley. crown vo, $ . . there is no question whatever as to the spirited manner in which the story is told; the death of the mate of the smuggler by the teeth of the dog is especially effective. 'hal hungerford is a distinct literary success."—spectator. girl neighbors or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with full-page illustrations by c. t. garland. cr. vo, $ . . "one of the most effective and quietly humorous of miss tytler's s'orirs. 'girl neighbors' is a pleasant comedy, not so much of errors as of prejudices got rid of, very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."—spectator. books for youxg people some stories of adventure "hallowe'en " ahoy or, lost on the crozet is- lands. by hugh st. lfxjee. with page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . an exciting story of shipwreck and adventure in the south atlan- tic. the h•illowe'tn is found a derelict with only a girl on board, and after many experiences it is sailed to england. reefer and rifleman a tale of the two services. by j. percy groves. illus- trated. crown vo, $ . . the search for the talisman a tale of labrador. by henry frith. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . famous discoveries by sea and land illustrated. crown vo, $ . . stories of the sea in former days narratives of wreck and res- cue. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . from the clyde to the jordan by hoah callan. with illustrations and a map. crown vo, $ . . an interesting story of a bioycle trip through europe and palestine. under the black eagle by andrew hilmard. illus- trated. crown vo, $ . . the adventures of a young eng- lish lad who was imprisoned in russia and sent to siberia, from which he escaped across asia. jack o'lanthorn a tale of adventure. by henry frith. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . the war of the axe or, adventures in south af- rica. by j. percy groves. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . tales of captivity and exile by w. b. fortescue. illus- trated. crown vo, $ . . l stories a thane of wessex being a story of the great viking raids into somerset. by charles w. whistler. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . brothers in arms a story of the crusades. by f. bayford harrison. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . two gallant rebels a story of the great struggle of la vendee. by edgar pickering. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . stories ofold renown tales of knights and heroes. by asoott r. hope. illus- trated. crown vo, $ . . stirring events of history illustrated. crown vo, $ . . books for tottsg peoplb some books for girls the whispering winds and the tales that they told. by mary h. derejtham. with illustrations by paul hardy. crown vo, $ . . "we wish the winds would tell u* stories like thcse. it would be worth while to climb primrose hill, or even to the giddy heights of hampstead heath in a bitter east wind, if we could only be sure of hear- ing such a sweet, sad, tender, and stirring story as that of hilda brave heart, or even one that was half so good."—academy. by m. corbet-seymour dulcle king: a story for girls. illustrated. crown by mrs. r. h. read dora: or, a girl without a home. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . "it is no slight thing to get a story so pure and healthy as this." —academy. by amy walton white lilac: or, the queen of the may. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . u every parish ought to add 'white lilac' to its library." —academy. by julia goddard the golden weathercock. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . "a cleverly conceived, quaint story."—saturday review. by margaret parker for the sake of a friend. a story of school life. il- lustrated. crown vo,$l. . a bright story of two good girl friends. by clara mulholland naughty miss bunny: her tricks and troubles. illus- trated. cr. vo, cents. "this naughty child is posi- tively delightful." —/.and and water. vo, $ . . "an extremely graceful, well- told tale." by rosa mulholland banshee castle. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . the story of three bright and livelv young girls who fall heir to an old castle in the west of ireland. their struggles to live in it on lit- tle money, and their strange ex- periences, are deeply interesting. four little mischiefs. il- lustrated. cr. vo, cents. "a charming bright story about real children."— watchman. uiannetta. a girl's story of herself. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . "extremely well-told and full of interest."—academy. hetty dray: or, nobody's bairn. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . "hetty is a delightful oreature, piquant, tender, and true." —london world. the late hiss hollingford. illustrated. crown vo, cents. this story was a special favorite of charles dickens, and the title was chosen by him. charles scribner's sons -j fifth avenue, new york > i i ! i bonnie prince charlie a tale of fontenoy and culloden g. a. henty attthoh of "by pike and dyke," "with cuvb in india," "the dragon and the raven," "the young carthaginian," etc., etc. new york the mershon company publishers * " no- tua- preface. mt deab lads: i suppose most of us, while listening to the jaeohite songs of scotland, songs sometimes martial and stirring, sometimes plaintive and pathetic, have felt that our sym- pathies were all with prince charlie and his devoted fol- lowers. it must be admitted, however, that common sense and the logic of hard facts preponderate on the other side of the male, and we may well congratulate ourselves that the attempt of the young pretender to win back the inher- itance of his fathers was a complete and irremediable fail- ure, like most of his race, prince charlie possessed in a very high degree the art of winning the hearts of those with whom he came in contact. he was young, handsome, and brave, courteous in manner, and with a fund of animal spirits, which enabled him to support the hardships he underwent with cheerfulness and good temper. but, though well adapted for the leader of an adventurous ex- pedition, he had but few qualifications which would have fitted him to rule. he was almost uneducated; his ideas of royal prerogative were even more extreme than those of his ancestor charles the first; and as years went on he lost the characteristics of his youth, and became a slovenly sot, whose manners disgusted all who came in contact with him. it would have been far better for prince charlie's vi prbfaob. memory had ha had his wish and died at the head of his gallant highlanders of culloden. it was well indeed for britain that the enterprise failed. had it succeeded it wonld have inevitably been followed in time by another revolution, another expulsion of the stuarts, and the country would have been thrown back a century in the path of civilization. but, although unsuc- cessful, there are few episodes in history so romantic as the attempt on the part of prince charles to wrest the throne of britain from the house of hanover, and the adventures which befell him from the time he landed in scotland with half a dozen followers to the day when a hunted fugitive he again gained the shelter of a frenoh ship read like a chapter of fiction. for this reason i have chosen the subjeot as the framework of my story. yours sinoerely, q. a. hbnct. contents. chapter l saob. fke return of a prodigal chaptbb il the jacobite agent chapter iii. free chapter nr. in france. •••••• chapter v. dettingen. to chapter vx the convent of oar lady. • ? chapter vil mother! »•••• h chapter vffl. hidden foes «... chapter ix. fontenoy chapter x. a perilous journey.,...., iw* t| contents. chapter xl page. free. chapter xil the end of the quarrel chapter xiii. prince charles chapter xiv. preetonpans chapter xv. a mission s chapter xvi. the march to derby chapter xvu. a baffled plot chapter xviii. cuuoden chapter xix. fugitives. , .tt»t chapter xx. happy days • bonnie prince charlie. chapter i. the return of a prodigal. il was a dnll evening in the month of september, . the apprentices had closed and barred the shutters and the day's work was over. sapper was laid in the long room over the shop, the viands were on the table, and round it were standing bailie anderson and his wife, his foreman john gillespie, and his two apprentices. the latter were furtively eying the eatables, and wondering how much longer the grace which their master was deliv- ering would be. suddenly there was a knock at the door below. no one stirred until the bailie had finished his grace, before which time the knock had been twice repeated. "elspeth, woman," the bailie said when he had brought the grace to an end, "go down below and see who knocks so impatiently; look through the grille before you open the door; these are not times when one opens to the first stranger who knocks." the old servant who had been standing behind her mis- tress, went downstairs. the door was opened, and they heard an exclamation of surprise at the answer to her question, "who is it that's knocking as if the house be- longed to him?" those gathered upstairs heard the bolts withdrawn. there was a confused sound of talking and then a heavy step was heard ascending the stairs, and without introduo- bonnie prince gharlib. tion a tall man, 'wrapped in a cloak and carrying a child of some two years old, strode into the room. he threw his hat on to a settle and advanced straight toward the bailie, who looked in surprise at this nnceremonions entry. "don't yon know me, andrew?" "heaven preserve us," the bailie exclaimed, "why, it's malcolm!" "malcolm himself," the visitor repeated, "sound in wind and limb." "the lord be praised!" the bailie exclaimed as he grasped the other's hand and wrung it warmly. "i had thought you dead years and years ago. janet, this is my brother malcolm of whom yon have often heard me speak." "and of whom you can have heard little good, mistress, if my brother has spoken the truth concerning me. i was ever a ne'er-do-well, while andrew stuck hard and fast to onr father's trade." "my husband has ever spoken with affeotion of you," janet anderson said. "the bailie is not given to speak ill of any, much less of his own flesh and blood." "and now sit down, malcolm. supper is waiting, and yon are, i donbt not, ready for it. it is ill talking to a fasting man. when you have done you shall tell me what you have been doing for the last fifteen years, and how it comes that yon thus suddenly come back among us with your boy." "he is no boy of mine," malcolm said; "but i will tell you all about it presently. first let me lay him down on that settle, for the poor little chap is fast asleep and dead tired out. elspeth, roll up my cloak and make a pillow for him. that's right, he will do nicely now. yen are changed less than any of us, elspeth. jnst as hard to look at, and, i doubt not, just as soft at heart as you used to be when you tried to shield me when i got into scrapes. and now to supper," bonnie prince charlie little was said during the meal; fortunately the table was bounteously spread, for the newcomer's appetite was prodigious; but at last he was satisfied, and after a long drink at the horn beside him, which elspeth had kept filled with ale, he said: "there's nothing like a scottish meal after all, andrew. french living is well enough for a time, but one tires of it; and many a time when i have been lying down supper- less on the sod, after marching and fighting the whole day, i have longed for a howl of porridge and a platter well filled with oatmeal cakes." supper over, john and the apprentices retired. elspeth went off to prepare the guest's chamber and to make up a little bed for the child. "now, brother, let us hear your story; but, first of all, perhaps you want to light your pipe?" "that do i," malcolm replied, "if mistress janet has no objection thereto." "she is accustomed to it," the bailie said, answering for her. "i smoke myself; i deem that tobacco, like other things, was given for our use, and methinks that with a pipe between the lips men's brains work more easily and that it leadeth to pleasant converse." janet went to a cupboard, brought ont two long pipes and a jar of tobacco, placed two tumblers, a flat bottle, and a jug of water on the table. "that is right," the bailie said. "i do not often touch strong waters. the habit, as i see too plainly, is a harm- ful one, and in this good city of glasgow there are many, even of those so placed that they should be an example to their fellows, who are given nightly to drink more than is good for them; but on an occasion like the present i deem it no harm to take a glass." "i shonld think not," malcolm said heartily; "it is long since i tasted a glass of real scotch spirit, and i never need bonnie prince charlie. an excuse for taking a glass of whatever it be that comet in my way. not, mistress janet, that i am a toper. i don't say that at the sack of a town, or at times when liquor is running, so to speak, to waste, i am more back- ward than the rest; but my hand wouldn't be as steady as it is if i had been one of those who are never so happy as when they are filling themselves with liquor. and now, andrew, to my story. you know that when i saw you last—just when the troubles in ' began—in spite of all your warnings to the contrary, i must needs throw myself into the thick of them. you, like a wise man, stuck to your shop, and here you are now a bailie of glasgow; while i, who have been wandering over the face of the earth fighting for the cause of france and risking my life a thousand times in a matter which concerned me in no way, have retnrned just as penniless as i set out." "it is said, brother malcolm," janet said mildly, "that a rolling stone gathers no moss." "that is true enough," malcolm assented; "and yet do yon know there are few rolling stones who, if their time were to come over again, would remain fixed in their bed. of course we have not the pleasures of home, of wives and children; but the life of adventure has its own joys, which i, for one, would not change for the others. however, brother, as yon know, i threw myself heart and soul into that business. "the last time saw yon was just as i was starting with a score of others to make our way to join the earl of mar's army at perth. i have seen many an army since, but never did i see sixteen thousand finer fighting men than were there assembled. the laird of mackintosh brought five hundred clansmen from inverness-shire, the marquis of huntly had five hundred horse and two thousand ioot, and the earl marischal had a thousand men. the laird of glenlyon brought fire hundred campbells, and the bonnie prinob oharlib. marquis of tullibardine fourteen hundred, and a score of other chiefs of less power were there with their clansmen. there were enough men there to hare done anything had they been properly armed and led; but though arms and ammunition had been promised from france, none came, and the earl of mar had so little decision that ho would have wrecked the finest army that ever marched. "the army lay doing nothing for weeks, and just before we were expecting a movement, the company belonged to was sent with a force of highlanders under mackintosh to join the army under the lords derwentwater, ken- mure, and nithsdale. lord derwentwater had risen with a number of other gentlemen, and with their attendants and friends had marched against newcastle. they had done nothing there, but remained idle near hexham, till, joined by a force raised in the lowlands of scotland by the earls of nithsdale, carnwath, and wintoun, the united army marched north again to kelso, where we joined them. "we scots soon saw that we had gained nothing by the change of oommanders. lord derwentwater was ignorant of military affairs, and he was greatly swayed by a mr. forster, who was bomehow at the head of the business, and who was not only incompetent, but proved to be a coward, if not, as most folks believed, a traitor. so dissension soon broke out, and four hundred highlanders marched away north. after a long delay it was resolved to move south, where, it was said, we should be joined by great numbers in lancashire; but by this time all had greatly lost spirit and hope in the enterprise. we crossed the border and marched down through penrith, appleby, and kendal to lancaster, and then on to preston. tti was little more than a lad, andrew, but even to me it seemed madness thus to march into england with only two thousand men. of these twelve hundred were foot, commanded by brigadier mackintosh; the others were bonnik prince charlie. horse. there were two troops of stanhope's dragoons quartered in preston, but these retired when we neared the town, and we entered without opposition. next day, which was, i remember, the th of november, the chev- alier was proclaimed king, and some country gentlemen with their tenants came in and joined us. "i suppose it would have come to the same thing in the end, but never were things so badly managed as they were by mr. forster. "preston was a strong natural position; an enemy com- ing from the south could only reach it by crossing a narrow hridge over the river ribble a mile and a half away, and this could have been held by a company against an army. from the bridge to the town the road was so narrow that in several places two men could not ride abreast. it ran between two high and steep banks, and it was here that cromwell was nearly killed when he attacked charles' troops. "well, all these places, where we might certainly have defended ourselves, were neglected, and we were all kept in the town, where we formed four main posts. one was in the churchyard, and this was commanded by brigadier mackintosh. in support of this was the volunteer horse under derwentwater and the three other lords. lord charles murray was in command at a barricade at a little distance from the churchyard. colonel mackintosh had charge of a post at a windmill; and the fourth was in the center of the town. "lord derwentwater was a poor general, but he was a brave man. he and his two brothers, the ratcliffs, rode about everywhere, setting an example of coolness, animat- ing the soldiers, and seeing to the work on the barriers. two days after we reached the town we heard that general wilde was approaching. colonel farquharson was sent forward with a portion of mackintosh's battalion to hold bonnie prince charlie. the bridge and the pass; but mr. forster, who went out on horseback, no sooner saw the enemy approaching than he gave orders to farquharson and his men to retreat to the town. if i had been in farquharson's place i would have put a bullet through the coward's head, and would have . defended the bridge till the last. "after that everything was confusion; the highlanders came back into the town furious and disheartened. the garrison prepared to receive the enemy. mr. forster was seen no more, and in fact he went straight back to the house where he was lodging and took to his bed, where he remained till all was over. the enemy came on slowly. they could not understand why strong posts should be left undefended, and feared falling in an ambuscade. i was at the post commanded by brigadier mackintosh. i had joined a company commanded by leslie of glenlyon, who had brought with him some twenty men, and had made up his company with men who, like myself, came up with- out a leader. his company was attached to mackintosh's regiment. "presently the english came in sight, and as soon as they ascertained that we were still there, which they had begun to doubt, they attacked us. we beat them back handsomely, and derwentwater with his cavalry charged their dragoons so fiercely that he drove them out of the town. it was late in the afternoon when the fight began, and all night the struggle went on. at each of our posts we beat them back over and over again. the town was on fire in half a dozen places, but luckily the night was still and the flames did not spread. we knew that it was a hopeless fight we were makiug; for, from some prisoners, we learned that three regiments of dragoons were also coming up against us, and had already arrived at clitheroe. from some inhabitants, i suppose, the enemy learned that the street leading to wigan had not been barricaded, and bonnie prince charlie. lord forrester brought up preston's regiment by this way, and anddenly fell on the flank of onr barrier. it was a tongh fight, but we held onr own till the news came that forster had agreed to capitulate. "i don't say that our case wasn't hopeless. we were outnumbered and had no leader; sooner or later we must have been overpowered. still, no capitulation should have been made except on the terms of mercy to all concerned. but forster no doubt felt safe about himself, and that waa all he cared for; and the end showed that he knew what he was about, for while all the bravo young noblemen, and numbers of others, were either executed or punished in other ways, forster, who had been the leading spirit who had persuaded them to rise, and led them into this strait, was after a short imprisonment suffered to go free. i tell yon, brother andrew, if i were to meet him now, even if it were in a church, i would drive my dagger into his heart. "however, there we were. so furious were we that it was with difficulty the officers could prevent us from sally- ing out sword in hand and trying to cut our way through the enemy. as to forster, if he had appeared in the streets he would have been hewn to pieces. however, it was useless to resist now; the english troops marched in and we laid down our arms, and onr battalions marched into a church and were guarded as prisoners. it was not a great army they had taken, for there were but one thou- sand four hundred and ninety captured, including noble- men, gentlemen, and officers. "many of us were wounded more or less. i had got a slice on the shoulder from a dragoon's sword. this i gained when rushing out to rescue leslie, who had been knocked down, and would have been slain by three dra- goons had i not stood over him till some more of our men rushed out and carried him in. he was not badly hurt, bonnie prince charlie. the sword having turned as it cut through his bonnet. my action won his regard, and from that time until a month since we have never been separated. under a strong escort of soldiers we were marched south. in most places the country people mocked us as we passed; but here and there we saw among the crowds who gathered in the streets of the towns through which we passed, faces which expressed pity and sympathy. "we were not badly treated on the march by our guard, and had little to complain of. when we roached barnet we fell out as usual when the march was over, and i went up to the door of a house and asked a woman, who looked pityingly at us, for a drink of water. she brought me some, and while i drank she said: "'we are catholics and well-wishers of the chevalier; if yon can manage to slip in here after it is dark we will furnish you with a disguise, and will direct you to friends who will pass you on until you can escape.' "'can yon give me disguises for two?' i asked. 'i will not go without my captain.' "'yes,' she said, 'for two, but no more.' * i will steal away after dark,' i said as i gave her back the jug. "i told leslie what had happened, and he agreed to join me in time to escape, for there was no saying what fate might befall us in london; and, indeed, the very next morning severities commenced, the whole of the troops being obliged to suffer the indignity of having their arms tied behind them, and so being marched into london. "after it was dark leslie and i managed to steal away from our guards, who were not very watchful, for our uniform would at once have betrayed us, and the country people would have seized and handed us over. the woman was on the watch, and as soon as we neared the door she opened it. her husband was with her and received us bonnie prince charlie. kindly. he at once famished ns with the attire of two countrymen, and, letting ns out by a back way, started with ns across the country. "after walking twenty miles he brought ns to the house of another adherent of the chevalier, where we remained all day. so we were passed on until we reached the coast, where we lay hid for some days until an arrangement was made with the captain of a fishing-boat to take ns to sea, and either to land us at calais or to put us on board a french fishing-boat. so we got over without trouble. * long before that, as you know, the business had virtu- ally come to an end here. the earl of mar's army lay week after week at perth, till at last it met the enemy under argyle at sheriffmuir. "you know how that went. the highland clans in the right and center carried all before them, and drove the enemy from the field, but on the left they beat uf badly. so both parties claimed the victory. but, victory or de- feat, it was fatal to the cause of the chevalier. half the highland clans went off to their homes that night, and mar had to fall back to perth. "well, that was really the end of it. the chevalier landed, and for awhile our hopes rose. he did nothing, and our hopes fell. at last he took ship and went away, and the affair was over, except for the hangings and slaughterings. "leslie, like most of the scottish gentlemen who suc- ceeded in reaching france, took service with the french king, and, of course, i did the same. it would have done your heart good to see how the scottish regiments fought on many a field; the very best troops of france were never before us, and many a tongh field was decided by our charge. leslie was a cornet. he was about my age; and you know i was but twenty when sheriffmuir was fought. he rose to be a colonel, and would have given me a pair bonnie prince charlie. of colors over and over again if i would have taken them; but i felt more comfortable among onr troopers than i should have done among the officers, who were almost all men of good highland family; so i remained leslie's right hand. "a braver soldier never swung a leg over saddle; but he was always in some love affair or another. why he didn't marry i couldn't make out. i suppose he could never stick long enough to one woman. however, some four years ago he got into an affair more serious than any he had been in before, and this time he stuck to it in right earnest. of course she was precisely one of the women he oughtn't to have fallen in love with, though i for one couldn't blame him, for a prettier creature was not to be found in france. unfortunately she was the only daugh- ter of the marquis de recambours, one of the wealthiest and most powerful of french nobles, and there was no more chance of his giving his consent to her throwing her- self away upon a scottish soldier of fortune than to her going into a nunnery; less, in fact. however, she was as much in love with leslie as he was with her, and so they got secretly married. two years ago this child was born, but she managed somehow to keep it from her father, who was all this time urging her to marry the duke de cha< teaurouge. "at last, as ill luck would have it, he shut her up in a convent just a week before she had arranged to fly with leslie to germany, where he intended to take service until her father came round. leslie would have got her out somehow; but his regiment was ordered to the frontier, and it was eighteen months before we returned to paris, where the child had been in keeping with some people with whom he had placed it. the very evening of his re- turn i was cleaning his arms when he rushed into the room. is ronnie prince charlie. "'all is discovered,' he said; 'here is my signet-ring, go at once and get the child, and make your way with it to scotland; take all the money in the escritoire, qnick!' "i heard feet approaching, and dashed to the bureau, and transferred the bag of louis there to my pocket. an official with two followers entered. "'colonel leslie,' he said, 'it is my dnty to arrest yon by order of his gracious majesty;' and he held out an order signed by the king. "'i am unconscious of having done any wrong, sir, to his majesty, whom i have served for the last sixteen years. however it is not for me to dispute his orders;' thereupon he unbuckled his sword and handed it to the officers. 'you will look after the things till i return, malcolm. as i am sure i can clear myself of any charge that may be brought against me, i trust to be speedily back again.' "'your trooper need not trouble himself,'the offioer said; 'the official with me will take charge of everything, and will at once affix my seal to all your effects.' "i went downstairs and saw the colonel enter a carriage with the two officials, then i went straight to the major. 'colonel leslie has been arrested, sir, on what charge i know not. he has intrusted a commission to me. there- fore, if you find i am absent from parade in the morning you will understand i am carrying out his orders.' "the major was thunderstruck at the news, but told me to do as the colonel had ordered me, whatever it might be. i mounted the colonel's horse at once and rode to the house where the child was in keeping. the people knew me well, as i had often been there with messages from the colonel. when i showed them the signet-ring, and told them that i had orders to take the child to his father, they made no opposition. i said i would return for him as soon as it was dusk. i then went and purchased a suit of bonnie prince charlie. civilian clothes, and returning to the house attired myself in these, and taking the child on the saddle before me, rode for the frontier. "following unfrequented roads, traveling only at night, and passing a day in a wood, i passed the frontier unmo- lested, and made my way to ostend, where i sold the horse and took passage in the first ship sailing for leith. i ar- rived there two days ago, and have walked here, with an occasional lift in a cart; and here i am, brother andrew, to ask yon for hospitality for awhile for myself and leslie's boy. i have a hundred louis, but these, of course, belong to the child. as for myself, i confess i have nothing; saving has never been in my line." "yon are heartily welcome, malcolm, as long as you choose to stop; but i trust that ere long you will hear of colonel leslie." "i trust se," malcolm said; "but if you knew the court of france as well as i do yon would not feel very sanguine about it. it* is easier to get into a prison than out of one." "but the colonel has committed no crime!" the bailie said. "his chance would be a great deal better if he had," malcolm laughed. "a colonel of one of his majesty's scottish regiments can do a good deal in the way of crime without much harm befalling him; but when it comes to marrying the daughter of a nobleman who is a great per- sonage at court, without his consent, it is a different affair altogether, i can tell yon. leslie has powerful friends, and his brother officers will do what they can for him; but i can tell you services at the court of france go for very little. influence is everything, and as the nobleman the marquis intended to be the husband of his daughter is also a great personage at court and a friend of louis', there is no saying how serious a matter they may make of it. men have been kept prisoners for life for a far less serious busi- ness than this." i go bonnie prince charlie. "but supposing he is released, does he know where to communicate with yon?" "i am afraid he doesn't," malcolm said rnefully. "he knows that i come from glasgow, but that is all. still, when he is freed, no doubt he will come over himself to look for his son, and i am sure to hear of his being here." "you might do, and you might not," the bailie said. "still, we must hope for the best, malcolm. at any rate i am in no haste for the colonel to come. now i have got you home again after all these years, i do not wish to lose you again in a hurry." malcolm only remained for a few weeks at his brother's house. the restraint of life at the bailie's was too much for him. andrew's was a well-ordered household. the bailie was methodical and regular, a leading figure in the kirk, far stricter than were most men of his time as to undue consumption of liquor, strong in exhortation in season and out of season. his wife was kindly but precise, and as outspoken as andrew himself. for the first day or two the real affection which andrew had for his younger brother, and the pleasure he felt at his return, shielded malcolm from commen,t or rebuke; but after the very first day the bailie's wife had declared to herself that it was impossible that malcolm could long remain an inmate of the house. she was not inhospitable, and would have made great sacrifices in some directions for the long-missing brother of her husband; but his conduct outraged all the best feelings of a good scotch housewife. even on that first day he did not come punctually to his meals. he was away about the town looking up old acquaintance, came in at dinner and again at supper after the meal had already been begun, and dropped into hia plaoe and began to eat without saying a word of grace. he stamped about the house as if he had cavalry spurs still on his heels; talked in a voice that could be heard from attio bonnie pr n f charlie. to basement; used french and flemish oaths which horri- fied the good lady, although she did not understand them; smoked at all hours of the day, whereas andrew always confined himself to his after-supper pipe, and, in spite of his assertions on the previous evening, consumed an amount of liquor which horrified the good woman. at his meals he talked loudly, kept the two apprentices in a titter with his stories of campaigning, spoke slightingly of the city authorities, and joked the bailie with a freedom and roughness which scandalized her. andrew was slow to notioe the incongruity of his brother's demeanor and bearing with the atmosphere of the house, although he soon became dimly conscious that there was a jarring ele- ment in the air. at the end of a week malcolm broached the subjeot to him. "andrew," he said, "you are a good fellow, though yon are a bailie and an elder of the kirk, and i thank you for the hearty welcome you have given me, and for your invi- tation to stay for a long time with you; but it will not do. janet is a good woman and a kindly, but i can see that i keep her perpetually on thorns. in good truth, fifteen years of campaigning are but an indifferent preparation for a man as an inmate of a respectable household. i did not quite know myself how thoroughly i had become a devil- may-care trooper until i came back to my old life here. the ways of your house would soon be as intolerable to me as my ways are to your good wife, and therefore it is better by far that before any words have passed between yon and me, and while we are as good friends as on the evening when i returned, i should get out of this. i met an old friend to-day, one of the lads who went with me from glasgow to join the earl of mar at perth. he is well-to-do now, and trades in cattle, taking them in droves down into england. for the sake of old times he has offered me employment, and methinks it will suit me as well as any other." bonnie prince charlie. "but yon cannot surely be going as a drover, malcolm!" "why not? the life is as good as any other. i could not sit down, after all these years of roving, to an indoor life. i must either do that or cross the water again and take service abroad. i am only six-and-thirty yet, and am good for another fifteen years of soldiering, and right gladly would i go back if leslie were again at the head of his regiment, but i have been spoiled by him. he ever treated me as a companion and as a friend rather than as a trooper in his regiment, and should miss him sorely did i enter any other service. then, too, i would fain be here to be ready to join him again if he sends for me or comes, and i should wish to keep an eye always on his boy. you will oontinue to take charge of him, won't yon, andrew? he is still a little strange, but he takes to elspeth, and will give little trouble when he once learns the language." "i don't like it at all, malcolm," the bailie said. "no, andrew, but you must feel it is best. i doubt not that ere this your wife has told you her troubles con- cerning me." as the bailie on the preceding night had listened to a long string of complaints and remonstrances on the part of his wife as to his brother's general conduct he could not deny the truth of malcolm's supposition. "just so, andrew," malcolm went on; "i knew that it must be so. mistress janet has kept her lips closed firm to me, but i could see how difficult it was for her some- times to do so. it could not be otherwise. i am as much out of place here as a wolf in a sheepfold. as to the droving, i shall not mention to all i meet that i am brother to one of the bailies of glasgow. i shall like the life. the rough pony i shall ride will differ in his paces from my old charger, but at least it will be life in the saddle. i shall be earning an honest living; if i take more than is good for me i may get a broken bead and bonnie prince charlie. none be the wiser, whereas if i remain here and fall foul of the city watch it would be grief and pain for yon." the bailie was silenced. he had already begun to per- ceive that malcolm's ways and manners were incompatible with the peace and quiet of a respectable household, and that janet's complaints were not altogether nnreasonable. he had seen many of his acquaintances lift their eyebrows in disapprobation at the roystering talk of his brother, and had foreseen that it was probable trouble would come. at the same time he felt a repugnance to the thought that after so many years of absence his brother should so soon quit his house. it seemed a reflection alike on his affec- tion and hospitality. "you will take charge of the child, won't you?" mal- colm pleaded. "there is the purse of a hundred louis, which will, i should say, pay for any expense to which ho may put you for some years." "as if i would take the bairn's money!" andrew ex- olaimed angrily, "what-do you take me for, malcolm? assuredly i will take the child. janet and i have no bairn of our own, and it's good for a house to have a child in it. i look upon it as if it were yours, for it is like enough you will never hear of its father again. it will have a hearty welcome. it is a bright little fellow, and in time i doubt not that janet will take greatly to it. the charge of a child is a serious matter, and we cannot hope that we shall not have trouble with it, but there is trouble in all things. at any rate, malcolm, we will do our best, and if at the end of a year i find that janet has not taken to it we will see about some other arrangement. and, malcolm, i do trust that you will stay with us for another week or two. it would seem to me as if i had turned you out of my house were you to leave me so soon." so malcolm made a three-weeks' stay at his brother's, and then started upon iiis new occupation of driving bonnie pitlnce charlie. highland cattle down into lancashire. once every two or three months he came to glasgow for a week or two between his trips. in spite of andrew's entreaties he re- fused on these occasions to take tip his ahode with him, but took a lodging not far off, coming in in the evening for an hour to smoke a pipe with his brother, and never failing of a morning to come in and take the child for a long walk with him, carrying him upon his shoulder, and keeping up a steady talk with him in his native french, which he was anxious that the boy should not forget, as at some time or other he might again return to france. some weeks after malcolm's return to scotland, he wrote to colonel leslie, briefly giving his address at glas- gow; but making no allusion to the child, as, if the colonel were still in prison, the letter would be sure to be opened by the authorities. he also wrote to the major, giving him his address, and begging him to communicate it to colonel leslie whenever he should see him; that done, there was nothing for it but to wait quietly. the post was so uncertain in those days that he had but slight hope that either of his letters would ever reach their destina- tion. it was, however, the only means he had to adopt. no answer came to either of his letters. four years later malcolm went over to paris, and cau- tiously made inquiries; but no one had heard anything of colonel leslie from the day he had been arrested. the regiment was away fighting in the low countries, and the only thing malcolm could do was to call upon the people who had had charge of the child, to give them his address in case the colonel should ever appear to inquire of them. he found, however, the house tenanted by other people. he learned that the last occupants had left years before. the neighbors remembered that one morning early some officers of the law had come to the house, and the man had been seised and carried away. he had been released bonnie prince charfilb. some months later, only to find that his wife had died of grief and anxiety, and he had then sold off his goods and gone no one knew whither. malcolm, therefore, returned to glasgow, with the feeling that he had gained nothing by his journey. bonnie prince cmaul & chapter ii. the jacobite agekt. so twelve years passed. ronald leslie grew up a sturdy lad, full of fun and mischief in spite of the sober atmos- phere of the bailie's house; and neither floggidg at school nor lecturing at home appeared to have the slightest effect in reducing him to that state of sober tranquillity which was in mrs. anderson's eyes the thing to be most desired in boys. andrew was less deeply shocked than his wife at the discovery of ronald's various delinquencies, but his sense of order and punctuality was constantly outraged. he was, however, really fond of the lad; and even mrs. anderson, greatly as the boy's ways constantly disturbed and ruffled her, was at heart as fond of him as was her husband. she considered, and not altogether wrongly, that his wildness, as she called it, was in no slight degree due to his association with her husband's brother. ronald looked forward to the periodical visits of the drover with intense longing. he was sure of a sympa- thetic listener in malcolm, who listened with approval to the tales of the various scrapes into which he had got since his last visit; of how, instead of going to school, he had played truant and with another boy his own age had em- barked in a fisherman's boat and gone down the river and had not been able to get back until next day; how he had played tricks upon his dominie and had conquered in single combat the son of councillor duff, the butcher, who had bonnie prince charlie. spoken scoffing words at the stuarts. malcolm was, in fact, delighted to find that in spite of repression and lec- tures his young charge was growing up a lad of spirit. he still hoped that some day leslie might return, and he knew how horrified he would be were he to find that his son was becoming a smug and well-conducted citizen. no small portion of his time on each of his visits to glasgow malcolm spent in training the boy in the nse of arms. "your father was a gentleman," he would say to him, "and it is fitting that you should know how to handle a gentleman's arms. clubs are well enough for citizens' apprentices, but i would have you handle rapier and broadsword as well as any of the young lairds. when you get old enough, ronald, you and i will cross the seas, and together we will try and get to the bottom of the mystery of your father's fate, and if we find that the worst has come to the worst, we will seek out your mother. she will most likely have married again. they will be sure to have forced her into it; but even if she dare not acknowl- edge you as her son, her influence may obtain for you a commission in one of the king's regiments, and even if they think i'm too old for a trooper will go as your fol- lower. there are plenty of occasions at the court of france when a sharp sword and a stout arm, even if it be somewhat stiffened by age, can do good service." the lessons began as soon as ronald was old enough to hold a light blade, and as between the pauses of exercise malcolm was always ready to tell stories of his adventures in the wars of france, the days were full of delight to ronald. when the latter reached the age of fourteen malcolm was not satisfied with the amount of proficiency which the lad was able to gain during his occasional visits, and therefore took him for further instruction to a com- rade who had, like himself, served in france, and had returned and settled down in glasgow, where he opened a bonnih pr nck charl r fenoing-school, having been a maitre ctarmes among the scotch regiments. the arrangement was, however, kept a profound secret from andrew and his wife; bnt on half-holidays, and on any other days when he could manage to slip away for an hour, ronald went to his instructor and worked hard and steadily with the rapier. had mrs. anderson had an idea of the manner in which he spent his time she would have been horrified, and would certainly have spared her en- comiums on his improved conduct and the absence of the unsatisfactory reports which had before been so common. the cloud of uncertainty which hung over his father's fate could not but have an influence upon the boy's char- acter, and the happy carelessness and gayety which were its natural characteristics were modified by the thought that his father might be languishing in a dungeon. some- times he would refuse to accompany his schoolfellows on their rambles or fishing expeditions, and would sit for hours thinking over all sorts of wild plans by which he might penetrate to him and aid him to escape. he was never tired of questioning malcolm anderson as to the prisons in which, if still alive, his father would be likely to be confined. he would ask as to their appearance, the height of their walls, whether they were moated or not, and whether other houses abutted closely upon them. one day malcolm asked him the reason of these questions, and he replied, "of course i want to see how it will be possible to get my father out." and although malcolm tried to impress upon him that it would be an almost impossible task even to discover in which prison his father was kept, he would not allow himself to be discouraged. "there must be some way of finding out, malcolm. you tell me that prisoners are not even known by their name to the warders, but only under a number. still some one roust know—there must be lists kept of those in prison, bonnie prince charlie and i shall trust to my mother to find out for me. a great lady as she is must be able to get at people if she sets about it, and as certainly she must have loved my father very much, or she never would have married him secretly, and got into such trouble for it. i am sure she will do her best when she finds that you and i have come over to get him out. when we know that, i think we ought to be able to manage. you could get employment as a warder, or i could go disguised as a woman, or as a priest, or somehow. i feel sure we shall succeed if we do hut find out that he is alive and where he is." malcolm knew too much about the strong and well- guarded prisons of france to share in the hoy's sanguine hopes, hut he did not try to discourage him. he thought that with such an object in life before him the boy would devote himself all the more eagerly to exercises which would strengthen his arm, increase his skill with weapons, and render him a brave and gallant officer, and in this he was right. as the time went on ronald became more and more serious. he took no part whatever in the schoolboy games and frolics in which he had been once a leader. he worked hard at his school tasks the sooner to be done with them, and above all devoted himself to acquiring a mastery of the sword with a perseverance and enthusiasm which quite surprised his instructor. "i tell you, malcolm, man," he said one day to his old comrade, after ronald had been for upward of two years his pupil, "if i had known, when you first asked me to teach the lad to handle a sword, how much of my time he was going to occupy, i should have laughed in your face, for ten times the sum you agreed to pay me would not have been enough; but, having begun it for your sake, i have gone on for the lad's. it has been a pleasure to teach him, so eager was he to learn—so ready to work heart and sonl to improve. the boy's wrist is as strong as mine and bonnie prinoe charlie. his eye as quick. i have long since taught him all i know, and it is practice now, and not teaching, that we have every day. i tell you i have hard work to hold my own with him; he knows every trick and turn as well as i do, and is quicker with his innge and reposte. were it not that i have my extra length of arm in my favor i could not hold my own. as you know, i have many of the officers of the garrison among my pupils, and some of them have learned in good schools, hut there is not one of them could defend himself for a minute against that boy. if it were not that the matter has to be kept secret i would set him in front of some of them, and you would see what short work he would make of them. have yon heard the ru- mors, malcolm, that the young chevalier is likely to follow the example of his father, thirty years back, and to make a landing in scotland?" "i have heard some such rumors," malcolm replied, "though whether there be aught in them i know not. i hope that if he does so he will at any rate follow the ex- ample of his father no further. as you know, i hold to the stuarts, but i must own they are but poor hands at fighting. charles the first ruined his cause; james the second threw away the crown of ireland by galloping away from the battle of the boyne; the chevalier showed here in ' that he was no leader of men; and unless this lad is made of very different stuff to his forefathers he had best etay in france." "but if he should come, malcolm, i suppose you will join him? i am afraid i shall be fool enough to do so, even with my fifty years on my head. and you?" "i suppose i shall be a fool too," malcolm said. "the stuarts are scotch, you see, and with all their faults i would rather a thousand times have a scottish king than these germans who govern us from london. if the eng- lish like them let them keep them, and let us have a king bonnie prince charlie. of onr own. however, naught may come of it; it may bo but a rumor. it is a card which louis has threatened to play a score of times, whenever he wishes to annoy eng- land. it is more than likely that it will come to naught, as it has so often done before." "but they tell me that there are agents traveling about among the highland clans, and that this time something is really to be done." "they have said so over and over again, and nothing has come of it. for my part, i don't care which way it goes. after the muddle that was made of it thirty years ago it does not seem to me more likely that we shall get rid of the hanoverians now. besides, the hangings* and slaughterings then, would, i should think, make the nobles and the heads of clans think twice ere they risked every- thing again." "that is true, but when men's blood is up they do not count the cost; besides, the highland clans are always ready to fight. if prince charles comes you will see there will not be much hanging back whatever the consequences may be. well, yon and i have not much to lose, except onr lives." "that is true enough, old friend; and i would rather die that way than any other. still, to tell you the truth, i would rather keep my head on my shoulders for a few years if i can." "well, nothing may come of it; but if it does i shall strike a blow again for the old cause." at home ronald heard nothing but expressions of loy- alty to the crown. the mere fact that the highlanders espoused the cause of the stuarts was sufficient in itself to make the lowlanders take the opposite side. the religious feeling, which had always counted for so much in the lowlands, and had caused scotland to side with the par- liament against king charles, had not lost its force. the b nn b prince charlib. arts and was an exile in their cause, and that the hano- verians had handed over the estate of which he himself would now be the heir to one of their adherents. "it is no use talking of these matters to andrew," mal- colm impressed upon him; "it would do no good. when he was a young man he took the side of the hanoverians, and he won't change now; while, did mistress janet guess that your heart was with the stuarts, she would say that i was ruining you, and should bring you to a gallows. she is not fond of me now, though she does her best to be civil to her husband's brother; but did she know that you had become a jacobite, like enough she would move andrew to put a stop to your being with me, and there would be all sorts of trouble." "but they could not prevent my being with you," ron- ald said indignantly. "my father gave me into your oharge, not into theirs." "that's true enough, laddie; but it is they who have cared for you and brought you up. when you are a man you can no doubt go which way it pleases you; but till then you owe your duty and respect to them, and not to me, who have done naught for you but just carry you over here in my cloak." "i know they have done everything for me," ronald said penitently. "they have been very good and kind, and i love them both; but for all that it is only natural that my father should be first, and that my heart should be in the cause that he fought for." "that is right enough, ronald, and i would not have it otherwise, and i have striven to do my best to make you as he would like to see you. did he never come back again i should be sorry indeed to see colonel leslie's son growing up a glasgow tradesman, as my brother no doubt intends you to be, for i know he has long since given up any thought of hearing from your father; bat in that you and ' bonnie plilnce charlie. i will have a say when the time comes. until then yon must treat andrew as your natural guardian, and there is no need to anger him by letting him know that your heart is with the king over the water, any more than that you can wield a sword like a gentleman. let ns have peace as long as we can. you are getting on for sixteen now; another two years and we will think about going to paris together. i am off again to-morrow, ronald; it will not be a long trip this time, but maybe before i get back we shall have news from france which will set the laud on lire." a short time after this conversation, as ronald on his return from college (for he was now entered at the uni- versity) passed through the shop, the bailie was in conver- sation with one of the city magistrates, and ronald caught the words: "he is somewhere in the city. he came down from the highlands, where he has been going to and fro, two days since. have a warrant out against him, and the consta- bles are on the lookout. i hope to have him in jail before to-night. these pestilent rogues are a curse to the land, though i cannot think the clans would be fools enough to rise again, even though charles stuart did come." ronald went straight up to his room, and for a few minutes sat in thought. the man of whom they spoke was doubtless an emissary of prince charles, and his arrest might have serious consequences, perhaps bring ruin on all with whom he had been in communication. who he was or what he was like ronald knew not; but he deter- mined at any rate to endeavor to defeat the intentions of the magistrate to lay hands on him. accordingly a few minutes later, while the magistrate was still talking with andrew, he again went out. ronald waited about outside the door till he left, and then followed him at a short distance. the magistrate bonnie prince charlif. spoke to several acquaintances on the way, and then went to the council chamber. waiting outside, ronald saw two or three of the magistrates enter. an hour later the magistrate he was watching came out; but he had gone but a few paces when a man hurrying up approached him. they talked earnestly for a minute or two. the magis- trate then re-entered the building, remained there a few minutes, and then joined the man who was waiting out- side. ronald had stolen up and taken his stand close by. "it is all arranged," the magistrate said; "as soon as night has fallen a party will go down, surround the house, and arrest him. it is better not to do it in daylight. i shall lead the party, which will come round to my house, so if the men you have left on watch bring you news that he has changed his hiding-place, let me know at once." the magistrate walked on. ronald stood irresolute. he had obtained no clew as to the residence of the person of whom they were in search, and after a moment's thought he determined to keep an eye upon the constable, who would most likely join his comrade on the watch. this, however, he did not do immediately. he had probably been for some time at work, and now took the opportunity of going home for a meal, for he at once made his way to a quiet part of the city, and entered a small house. it was half an hour before he came out again, and ronald fidgeted with impatience, for it was already grow- ing dusk. when he issued out ronald saw that he was armed with a heavy cudgel. he walked quickly now, and ronald, following at a distance, passed nearly across the town, and down a quiet street which terminated against the old wall running from the castle port to a small tower. when he got near the bottom of the street a man came out from an archway, and the two spoke together. from their gestures ronald felt sure that it was the last house on the left-hand side of the street that was being watched. - bonnie prince charlie. he had not ventured to follow far down the street, for as there was no thoroughfare he would at once be regarded with suspicion. the question now was how to warn the man of his danger. he knew several men were on the watch, and as only one was in the street, doubtless the others were behind the house. if anything was to be done there was no time to be lost, for the darkness was fast closing in. after a minute's thought he went quickly up the street and then started at a run, and then came down upon a place where he could ascend the wall, which was at many points in bad repair. with some difficulty he climbed up, and found that he was exactly opposite tho house he wished to reach. it was dark now. even in the princi- pal streets the town was only lit by oil lamps here and there, and there was no attempt at illumination in the quiet quarters, persons who went abroad after nightfall always carrying a lantern with them. there was still sufficient light to show ronald that the house stood at a distance of some fourteen feet from the wall. the roof sloped too steeply for him to maintain his holding upon it; but halfway along the house was a dormer-window about three feet above the gutter. it was unglazed, and doubt- less gave light to a granary or storeroom. ronald saw that his only chance was to alight on the roof close enough to this window to be able to grasp the woodwork. at any other moment he would have hesitated before attempting such a leap. the wall was only a few feet wide, and he could therefore get but little run for a spring. his blood was, however, up, and having taken his resolution he did not hesitate. drawing back as far as he could he took three steps, and then sprang for the win- dow. its sill was some three feet higher than the edge of the wall from which he sprang. the leap was successful; his feet struck just upon the gutter, and the impetus threw forward his body, and bis bohtnik prince charlie. bands grasped the woodwork of the window. in a moment he had dragged himself inside. it was quite dark within the room. he moved carefully, for the floor was piled with disused furniture, boxes, sacking, and rubbish. he was some time finding the door, but although he moved as carefully as he could he knocked over a heavy chest which was placed on a rickety chair, the two falling with a crash on the floor. at last he found the door and opened it. as he did so a light met his eyes, and he saw ascending the staircase a man with a drawn sword, and a woman holding a light above her head following closely. the man uttered an exclamation on seeing ronald appear. "a thief!" he said. "surrender, or i will run you through at once." "i am no thief," ronald replied. "my name is ronald leslie, and i am a student at the university. i have come here to warn some one whom i know not, in this house, that it is watched, and that in a few minutes at the out- side a band of the city watch will be here to capture him." the man dropped the point of his sword, and taking the light from the woman held it closer to ronald's face. "how came you here?" he asked. "how did you learn this news?" "the house is watched both sides below," ronald said, "and i leaped from the wall through the dormer-window. i heard a magistrate arranging with one of the constables for a capture, and gathered that he of whom they were in search was a jacobite, and as i come of a stock which has always been faithful to the stuarts, i hastened to warn him." the woman uttered a cry of alarm. "i thank you with all my heart, young sir. i am he for whom they are in search, and if i get free you will render a service indeed to our cause; but there is no time to talk now, if what you tell me be true. you say the house is watched from both sides?" s bonnie prinue cualillb. "yes; there are two men in the lane below, one or more, i know not how many, behind." "there is no escape behind," the man said; "the walls are high, and other houses abut upon them. i will sally out and fight through the men in front." "i can handle the sword," ronald put in; "and if yon will provide me with a weapon i will do my best by yonr side." "you are a brave lad," the man said, "and i accept your aid." he led the way downstairs and entered a room, took down a sword from over the fireplace, and gave it to ronald. as he took it in his hand there was a lond knocking at the door. "too late!" the man exclaimed. "quick, the light, mary! at any rate i must burn my papers." he drew some letters from his pocket, lit them at the lamp, and threw them on the hearth; then opening a cab- inet he drew forth a number of other papers and crumpling them up added them to the blaze. "thank god that is safe!" he said, "the worst evil is averted." "can yon not escape by the way by which i came hither?" ronald said. "the distance is too great to leap; but if yon have got a plank, or can pnll up a board from the floor, you could pnt it across to the wall and make your escape that way. i will try to hold the stairs till yon are away." "i will try at least," the man said. "mary, bring the light, and aid me while our brave friend does his best to give us time." so saying he sprang upstairs, while ronald made his way down to the door. "who is making such a noise at the door of a quiet house at this time of night?" he shouted. bonnie prince ceabl & "open in the king's name," was the reply; "we have a warrant to arrest one who ia concealed here." "there is no one concealed here," ronald replied, "and i donbt that you are, as you say, officers of the peace; but if so, pass your warrant through the grille, and if it be signed and in due form i will open to yon." "i will show my warrant when needs be," the voice an- swered. "once more, open the door or we will break it in." "do it at your peril," ronald replied. "how can i tell yon are not thieves who seek to ransaok the house, and that your warrant is a pretense. i warn you that the first who enters i will run him through the body." the reply was a shower of blows on the door, and a similar attack was begun by a party behind the house. the door was strong, and after a minute or two the ham- mering ceased, and then there was a creaking, straining noise, and ronald knew they were applying a crowbar to foroe it open. he retreated to a landing halfway up the stairs, placed a lamp behind him so that it would show its light fnll on the faces of those ascending the stairs, and waited. a minute later there was a crash; the lock had yielded, but the bar still held the door in its place. then the blows redoubled, mingled with the crashing of wood; then there was the sound of a heavy fall, and a body of men burst in. there was a rush at the stairs but the foremost halted at the sight of ronald with his drawn sword. "keep back," he shouted, "or beware! the watch will be here in a few minutes, and then you will all be laid by the heels." "fool! we are the watch," one of the men exclaimed, and, dashing up the ^tairs, aimed a blow at ronald. he guarded it and ran the man through the shoulder. he dropped his sword and fell back with a curse. bonnie prince charlie. at this moment the woman ran downstairs from above and nodded to ronald to signify that the fugitive had escaped. "yon see i hold to my word," ronald said in a loud voice. "if ye be the watch, which i donbt, show me the warrant, or if ye have one in authority with yon let him proclaim himself." "here is the warrant, and here am i, james m'whirtle, a magistrate of this city." "why did yon not say so before?" ronald exclaimed, lowering his sword. "if it be truly the worshipful mr. m'whirtle let him show himself, for surely i know him well, having seen him often in the house of my guardian, bailie anderson." mr. m'whirtle, who had been keeping well in the rear, now came forward. "it is himself," ronald said. "why did yon not say yon were here at once, mr. m'whirtle, instead of setting yonr men to break down the door, as if they were high- land caterans on a foray?" "we bade yon open in the king's name," the magistrate said, "and yon withstood ns, and it will be a hanging matter for yon, for you have aided the king's enemies." "the king's enemies!" ronald said in a tone of surprise. "how can there be any enemies of the king here, seeing there are only myself and the good woman upstairs? yon will find no others." "search the house," the magistrate said furiously, "and take this malapert lad into custody on the charge of assist- ing the king's enemies, of impeding the course of justice, of withstanding by force of arms the issue of a lawful writf and with grievously wounding one of the city watch." ronald laughed. "it is a grievous list, worshipful sir; but mark you, as boon as you showed yonr warrant and declared yourself i bonnie prince charlie. gave way to you. i only resisted so long as it seemed to me you were evildoers breaking into a peaceful house." two of the watch remained as guard over ronald; one of the others searched the house from top to bottom. no signs of the fugitive were discovered. "he must bo here somewhere," the magistrate said, "since he was seen to enter, and the house has been closely watched ever since. see, there are a pile of ashes on the hearth as if papers had been recently burned. sound the floors and the walls." the investigation was particularly sharp in the attic, for a board was here found to be loose, and there were signs of its being recently wrenched out of its place, bnt as the room below was unceiled this discovery led to noth- ing. at last the magistrate was convinced that the fugi- tive was not concealed in the house, and, after placing his seals on the doors of all the rooms and leaving four men in charge, he left the place, ronald, under the charge of four men, accompanying him. on the arrival at the city tolbooth ronald was thrust into a cell and there left until morning. he was then brought before mr. m'whirtle and two other of the city magistrates. andrew anderson was in attendance, having been notified the night before of what had befallen ronald. the bailie and his wife had at first been unable to credit the news, and were convinced that some mistake had been made. andrew had tried to obtain his release on his promise to bring him up in the morning, but mr. m'whirtle and his colleagues, who had been hastily sum- moned together, would not hear of it. "it's a case of treason, man. treason against his gra- cious majesty; aiding and abetting one of the king's ene- mies, to say naught of brawling and assaulting the city watoh." the woman found in the house had also been brought bonnie prince charlie. up, but no precise charge was made against her. the court was crowded, for andrew, in hia wrath at being un- able to obtain ronald's release, had not been backward in publishing his grievance, and many of his neighbors were present to hear this strange charge against ronald leslie. the wounded constable and another, first gave their evidence. "i myself can confirm what has been said," mr. m'whirtle remarked, "seeing that i was present with the watch to see to the arrest of a person against whom a war- rant had been issued." "who is that person?" ronald asked. "seeing that i am charged with aiding and abetting his escape it seems to me that i have a right to know who he is." the magistrates looked astounded at the effrontery of the question, but after a moment's consultation together mr. m'whirtle said that in the interest of justice it was nnadvisable at the present moment to state the name of the person concerned. "what have you to say, prisoner, to the charge made against yon? in consideration of our good friend bailie anderson, known to be a worthy citizen and loyal subject of his majesty, we would be glad to hear what you have to say anent this charge." "i have nothing to say," ronald replied quietly. "be- ing in the house when it was attacked, with as much noise as if a band of border ruffians were at the gate, i stood on the defense. i demanded to see what warrant they had for forcing an entry, and as they would show me none, i did my best to protect the house; but the moment mr. m'whirtle proclaimed who he was i lowered my sword and gave them passage." there was a smile in the court at the boy's coolness. "but how came ye there, young sir? how came ye to be in the house at all, if ye were there for a good motive?" bonnie prince chablie. "that i decline to say," ronald answered. "it seems to me that any one may be in a house by the consent of its owners, without having to give his reasons therefor." "it will be the worse for yon if yon defy the conrt. i ask you again how came you there?" "i have no objection to tell you how i came there," ronald said. "i was walking on the old wall, which, as you know, runs close by the house, when i saw an ill- looking loon hiding himself as if watching the house, looking behind i saw another ruffianly-looking man there." two gasps of indignation were heard from the porch at the back of the court. "thinking that there was mis- chief on hand i leaped from the wall to the dormer-window to warn the people of the house that there were ill-doers who had designs upon the place, and then remained to see what came of it. that is the simple fact." there was an exclamation of incredulity from the magistrates. "if you doubt me," ronald said, "you can send a man to the wall. i felt my feet loosen a tile and it slid down into the gutter." one of the magistrates gave an order, and two of the watch left the court. "and who did you find in the house?" "i found this good woman, and sorely frightened she was when i told her what kind of folk were lurking outside." "and was there any one else there?" "there was a man there," ronald said quietly, "and he seemed alarmed too." "what became of him?" "i cannot say for certain," ronald replied; "but if you ask my opinion i should say, that having no stomach for meeting the people outside, he just went out the way i came in, especially as i heard the worshipful magistrate say that a board in the attic had been lifted." bonnie prince charlie. the magistrates looked at each other in astonishment; the mode of escape had not occurred to any, and the dis- appearance of the fugitive was now explained. "i never heard such a tale," one of the magistrates said after a pause. "it passes belief that a lad, belonging to the family of a worthy and respectable citizen, a bailie of the city and one who stands well with his fellow townsmen, should take a desperate leap from the wall through a win- dow of a house where a traitor was in hiding, warn him that the house was watched, and give him time to escape while he defended the stairs. such a tale, sure, was never told in a court. what say you, bailie?" "i can say naught," andrew said. ••the boy is a good boy and a quiet one; given to mischief like other boys of his age, doubtless, but always amenable. what can have possessed him to behave in such a wild manner i cannot conceive, but it seems to me that it was but a boy's freak." "it was no freak when he ran his sword through peter muir's shoulder," mr. m'whirtle said. "ye will allow that, neighbor anderson." "the man must have run against the sword," the bailie said, "seeing the boy scarce knows one end of a weapon from another." "yon are wrong there, bailie," one of the constables said; "for i have seen him many a time going into the school of james macklewain, and i have heard a comrade say, who knows james, that the lad can handle a sword with the best of them." "i will admit at once," ronald said, "that i have gone to macklewain's school and learned fencing of him. my father, colonel leslie of glenlyon, was a gentleman, and it was right that i should know how to wield a sword, and james macklewain, who had fought in the french wars and knew my father, was good enough to teach me. i may say that my guardian knew nothing of this." bonnie prince charlie. "no, indeed," andrew said. "i never so much as dreamed of it. if i bad done so he and i would have talked together to a purpose." "leslie of glenlyon was concerned in the ' , was he not?" mr. m'whirtle said; "and had to fly the country; and his son seems to be treading in his steps, bailie. i doubt ye have been nourishing a viper in your bosom." at this moment the two constables returned, and re- ported that certainly a tile was loose as the prisoner had described, and there were scratches as if of the feet of some one entering the window, but the leap was one that very few men would undertake. "your storv is so far confirmed, prisoner; but it does not seem to us that even had you seen two men watching a house it would be reasonable that you would risk your neck in this way without cause. clearly you have aided and abetted a traitor to escape justice, and you will be re- manded. i hope, before you are brought before ns again, yon will make up your mind to make a clean breast of it, and throw yourself on the king's mercy." ronald was accordingly led back to the cell, the bailie being too much overwhelmed with surprise at what he had heard to utter any remonstrance. bonnie prince charlie. chapter iii. feee. after ronald had been removed from the court the woman was questioned. she asserted that her master was away, and was, she believed, in france, and that in his absence she often let lodgings to strangers. that two days before, a man whom she knew not came and hired a room for a few days. that on the evening before, hearing a noise in the attic, she went up with him, and met ronald coming downstairs. that when ronald said there were strange men outside the house, and when immediately afterward there was a great knocking at the door, the man drew his sword and ordered her to come upstairs with him. that he then made her assist him to pull up a plank, and thrust it from the attic to the wall, and ordered her to replace it when he had gone. she supposed he was a thief flying from justice, but was afraid to refuse to do his bidding. "and why did you not tell us all this, woman, when we came in?" mr. m'whirtle asked sternly. "had ye told us we might have overtaken him." "i was too much frightened," the woman answered. "there were swords out and blood running, and men using words contrary both to the law and scripture. i was frightened enough before, and i just put my apron over my head and sat down till the hubbub was over. and then as no one asked me any questions, and i feared i bonnie prince chatilik. might have done wrong in aiding a thief to escape, i just held my tongue." no cros -questioning could elicit anything further from the woman, who indeed seemed frightened almost out of her senses, and the magistrate at last ordered her to return to the house and remain there under the supervision of the constable until again sent for. andrew anderson returned home sorely disturbed in his mind. hitherto he had told none, even of his intimates, that the boy living in his house was the son of colonel leslie, but had spoken of him as the child of an old ac- quaintance, who had left him to his care. the open an- nouncement of ronald that he was the son of one of the leaders in the last rebellion, coming just as it did when the air was thick with rumors of another rising, troubled him greatly; and there was the fact that the boy had, unknown to him, been learning fencing; and lastly this interference, which had enabled a notorious emissary of the pretender to escape arrest. "the boy's story may be true as far as it goes," he said to his wife when relating to her the circumstances, "for i have never known him to tell a lie; but i cannot think it was all the truth. a boy does not take such a dreadful leap as that, and risk breaking his neck, simply because he sees two men near the house. he must somehow have known that man was there, and went to give him warning. now i think of it, he passed through the shop when peter m'whirtle was talking to me about it, though, indeed, he did not know then where the loon was in hiding. the boy went out soon afterward, and must somehow have learned, if indeed he did not know before. janet, i fear that you and i have been like two blind owls with regard to the boy, and'i dread sorely that my brother malcolm is at the bottom of all this mischief." this mrs. anderson was ready enough to credit, but bonnie prince charlir. she was too much bewildered and horrified to do more than to shake her head and weep. "will they cut off his head, andrew?" she asked at last. "no, there's no fear of that; but they may imprison him for a bit, and perhaps give him a good flogging—the young rascal. but there, don't fret over it, janet. i will do all i can for him. and in truth i think malcolm is more to blame than he is; and we have been to blame too for letting the lad be so much with him, seeing that we might be sure he would put all sorts of notions in the boy's head." "but what is to be done, andrew? we cannot let the poor lad remain in prison." "we have no choice in the matter, janet. in prison he is, and in prison he has to remain until he is let out, and i see no chance of that. if it had only been a brawl with the watch it could have been got over easily enough; but this is an affair of high treason—aiding and abetting the king's enemies, and the rest of it. if it were in the old times they would put the thumb-screws on him to find out all he knew about it, for they will never believe he risked his life making that fool's jump from the wall unless he had been in the plot; and the fact that his father before him was in arms for the chevalier tells that way. i should not be surprised if an order comes for him to be sent to london to be examined by the king's councilors; but i will go round now and ask the justices what they think of the matter."- his tidings when he returned were not encouraging; the general opinion of the magistrates being that ronald was certainly mixed up in the jacobite plot, that the matter was altogether too serious to be disposed of by them, being of the nature of high treason, and that nothing could be done until instrncticns were received from london. no clew had been obtained as to the whereabouts of the man bonnie prinvk charlie. who bad escaped, and it was thought probable that he had at once dropped beyond the walls and made for the west. malcolm arrived ten days later from a journey in lan- cashire, and there was a serious quarrel between him and andrew on his presenting himself at the house. "it is not only that you led the lad into mischief, mal- colm, but that you taught him to do it behind my back." "you may look at it in that way if you will, andrew, and it's natural enough from your point of view; but i take no blame to myself. you treated the boy as if he had been your own son, and i thank you with all my heart for your kindness to him; but i could not forget that he was the son of my old friend and colonel, leslie of glen- lyon, and i do not blame myself that i have kept the same alive in his mind also. it was my duty to see that the young eagle was not turned into a barndoor fowl; but i never thought he was going to use his beak and his claws so soon." "a nice thing yon will have to tell his father, that owing to your teachings his son is a prisoner in the tower, maybe for life. but there—there's no fear of that. you will never have to render that account, for there's no more chance of your ever hearing more of him than there is of my becoming king of scotland. it's bad enough that yon have always been a ne'er-do-well yourself without training that unfortunate boy to his ruin." "well, well, andrew, i will not argue with you, and i don't blame you at being sore and angry over the matter; nor do i deny what you have said about myself; it's true enough, and you might say worse things against me with- out my quarreling with ye over it. however, the lees said the better. i will take myself off and think over what's to be done." "you had better come up and have your supper with us," andrew said, mollified by his brother's humility. co bonnie prince charlie. "not for twenty golden guineas, andrew, would i face mistress janet. she has borne with me well, though i know in her heart she disapproves of me altogether; but after this scrape into which i have got the boy i daren't face her. she might not say much, but to eat with her eye upon me would choke me." malcolm proceeded at once to the establishment of his friend macklewain. "this is a nice kettle of fish, malcolm, about young leslie. i have had the justices down here, asking me all sorts of questions, and they have got into their minds that i taught him not only sword play but treason, and they have been threatening to put me in the stocks as a vaga- bond; but i snapped my fingers in their faces, saying i earned my money as honestly as they did, and that i con- cern myself in no way in politics, but teach english officers and the sons of glasgow tradesmen as well as those of highland gentlemen. they were nicely put out, i can tell you; but i didn't care for that, for i knew i was in the right of it. but what on earth made the young cock meddle in this matter? how came he to be mixed up in a jacobite plot? have you got your finger in it?" "not i, james; and how it happens that he is concerned in it is more than i can guess. i know, of course, his heart is with the king over the water; but how he came to get his hand into the pie is altogether beyond me." "the people here are well-nigh mad about it. i know not who the gallant who has escaped is; but it is certain that his capture was considered a very important one, and that the justices here expected to have gained no small credit by his arrest, whereas now they will be regarded as fools for letting him slip through their fingers." "i cannot for the life of me make out how he came to be mixed up in such a matter. no one but you and i could have known that he was a lad of mettle, who might bonnie prince charlie. be trusted in snch a business. it can hardly be that they would have confided any secrets to him; still, the fact that he was in the house with the man they are in search of, and that he drew and risked his life and certain impris- onment to secare his escape, shows that he must have been heart and soul in the plot." "and what do you think of doing, malcolm?" "i shall get him out somehow. i can lay hands on a score or two or more of onr old comrades here in glasgow, and i doubt not that they will all strike a blow with me for leslie's son, to say nothing of his being a follower of the stuarts." "you are not thinking, man, of attacking the jail! that would be a serious matter. the doors are strong, and you would have the soldiers, to say naught of the town-guard and the citizens, upon you before you had reached him." "no, no, james, i am thinking of no suoh foolishness. i guess that they will not be trying him for withstanding the watch, that's but a small matter; they will be sending him south for the king's ministers to get out of him what he knows about the jacobite plot and the names of all concerned, and it's upon the road that we must get him out of their hands. like enough they will only send four troopers with him, and we can easily master them some- where in the dales." "it's more like, malcolm, they will send him by ship. they will know well enough that if the lad knows aught there will be plenty whose interest it is to get him out of their hands. i think they will take the safer way of put- ting him on board ship." "like enough they will," malcolm agreed, "and in that case it will be a harder job than i deemed it. but at any rate i mean to try. ronald's not the lad to turn traitor; he will say nothing whatever they do to him, you may be bonnie prince charlie. bare, and he may lie for years in an english prison if w« do not get him out of their hands before he gets there. at any rate what we have got to do now is to mark every ship in the port sailing for london, and to find ont whether passages are taken for a prisoner and his guard in any of them. i will make that my business, and between times get a score of trusty fellows together in readiness to start if they should send him by land; but i donht not that you are right, and that he will be taken off by ship." the days of waiting passed slowly to ronald, and an- drew anderson once or twice obtained permission to see him. the bailie wisely abstained from any reproaches, and sought only to persuade him to make a clean breast of the business, and to tell all he knew about a plot which could but end in failure and ruin to all concerned. al- though his belief in ronald's truthfulness was great he could not credit that the story which ho had told contained all the facts of the matter. to the bailie it seemed in- credible that merely from an abstract feeling in favor of the stuarts ronald would have risked his life and liberty in aiding the escape of a jacobite agent, nnless he was in some way deeply involved in the plot; and he regarded ronald's assurances to the contrary as the outcome of what he considered an entirely mistaken sense of loyalty to the stnart cause. "its all very well, ronald," he said, shaking his head sadly; "but when they get you to london they will find means to make you open your mouth. they have done away with the thumb-screws and the rack, but there are other ways of making a prisoner speak, and it would be far better for yon to make a clean breast of it at once. janet is grieving for you as if you were her own son, and i cannot myself attend to my business. who would have thought that so young a lad should have got himself mixed up in such sair trouble!" bonnie prince charlie. "i have really told yon all, bailie, though yon will not believe me, and i am sorry indeed for the trouble i have brought upon you and my aunt"—for ronald had from the first been taught to address the bailie and his wife as if malcolm anderson had been his real father; "anyhow i wish they would settle it. i would rather know the worst than go on from day to day expecting something that never happens." "yon have to wait, ronald, till word comes from lon- don. if they write from there that your case can be dealt with merely for the assault upon the watch i can promise you that a few weeks in jail are all that yon are like to have; but i fear that there is little chance of that. they are sure to send for you to london, and whether you will ever oome back alive the gnde lord only knows. we know what came of treason thirty years ago, and like enough they will be even more severe now, seeing that they will hold that folks have all the less right to try and disturb matters so long settled." "have you seen malcolm?" ronald asked, to change ttie conversation. "ay, lad, i have seen him, and the meeting was not altogether a pleasant one for either of us." "i hope you have not quarreled with him on my ac- count!" ronald said eagerly. "we have not exactly quarreled, but we have had words. i could not but tell him my opinion as to his learning you to take to such course, but we parted friends; but i doubt it will be long before janet can see him with patience." the jailer, who was present at the interview, here noti- fied that the bailie's time was up. "i shall see you again, ronald, before they take yon south. i would that i could do more to help you besides just coming to see you." "i know you cannot, uncle. i have got into the scrape bonnie pltlncr cnarlib, and must take the consequences; but if i were placed in the same position i should do it again." a few days afterward, as he was eating his ration of prison bread, ronald found in it a small pellet of paper, and on opening it read the words: "keep up your courage, friends are at work for you. you will hear more yet of m. a." ronald was glad to know that his old friend was think- ing of him, but, knowing how strong was the prison, he had little hopes that malcolm would be able to effect any- thing to help him. still the note gave him comfort. three days later andrew called again to bid him good- by, telling him that orders had been received from london that he was to be sent thither by ship. "i should like to have seen malcolm before i went, if i could," eonald said. "i have not seen him for several days," the bailie said. "i have sent down several times to the house where he lodges, but he is always away; but, whether or no, there would be no chance of your seeing him. i myself had difficulty in getting leave to see you, though a bailie and known to be a loyal citizen. but malcolm knows that there would be no chance of one with such a character as his getting to see you, and that it would draw attention to him even to ask such a thing, which, if he has a hand in this mad-brain plot, he would not wish." "malcolm would not mind a straw whether they kept a watch on him or not," ronald said. "will you tell him, when you see him next, that i got his message." "what message? i have given you no message that i know of." "he will know what i mean. tell him, whether aught comes of it or not i thank him, and for all his kindness to me, as i do you and aunt janet." at the same time with the order that bonald should be bonnie pr nue charlie. sent to london the authorities of glasgow received an in- timation that the ministers felt groat surprise at the luke- warmness which had been shown in allowing so notorions and important an enemy of his majesty to escape, and that the king himself had expressed marked displeasure at the conduct of the city authorities in the matter. greatly mortified at the upshot of an affair from which they had hoped to obtain much credit from government, and believ- ing it certain that there were many greatly interested in getting ronald out of the hands of his captors, the authori- ties took every precaution to prevent it. he was taken down to the riverside under a strong escort, and in ad- dition to the four warders who were to be in charge of the prisoner as far as london, they put on board twelve men of the city guard. these were to remain with the ship until she was well out at sea, and then to return in a boat which the vessel was to tow behind her. ronald could not but smile when he saw all these for- midable preparations for his safety. at the same time he felt that any hope he had entertained that malcolm might, as the message hinted, make an attempt at rescue were blighted. the vessel dropped down with the tide. the orders of the justices had been so strict and urgent that the whole of the men placed on board kept a vigilant watch. just as they were abreast of dumbarton the sound of oars was heard, and presently a boat was seen approaching. as it got nearer two men were seen to be rowing, and two others seated in the stern; but as the craft was a large one there was room for others to be lying in the bottom. the constable in charge shonted to the boat to keep off. "stop rowing," he cried, "and come no nearer. if yon do we fire, and as i don't want to shed your blood i warn you that i have sixteen armed men here." as bis words were emphasized by the row of men, who bonnie prince obaiilie. -with leveled muskets ranged themselves along at the side of the ship, the boat ceased rowing. "what are you afraid of?" one of the men in the stern shouted. "cannot a fisherman's boat row out without being threatened with shooting? what are you and your sixteen armed men doing on board? are you expecting a french fleet off the coast? and do you think you will beat them off if they board you? how long have the glasgow traders taken to man their ships with fighting men?" bonald was in the cabin under the poop; it opened on to the waist, and received its light from an opening in the door, at which two armed men had stationed themselves when the boat was heard approaching. had the cabin possessed a porthole through which he could have squeezed himself he would long before have jumped overboard and tried to make his escape by swimming under cover of the darkness. he now strove to force the door open for he recognized malcolm's voice, and doubted not that his friend had spoken in order to let him know that he was there, that he might if possible leap over and swim to the boat; hut it was fastened strongly without, and the guards outside shouted that they would fire unless he remained quiet. no reply was made to the taunts of the man in the boat, and slowly, for the wind was but just filling her sails, the vessel dropped down the river, and the boat was presently lost sight of. in the morning the breeze freshened. it was not till the ship was eight miles beyond the mouth of the river that the boat was pulled up alongside, and the guard, taking their places on board, hoisted sail and started on their return to glasgow. once fairly at sea ronald was allowed to leave his cabin. now that he was enjoying the fresh air his spirits soon recovered the tone which they had lost somewhat during bonnie pring a charlie. his three weeks' confinement in prison, and he thoroughly enjoyed his voyage. the man who was in charge of the gnard had at first wished to place some restriction on his going about on board as he chose; bnt the crew sided with the yonng prisoner, and threw snch ridicule on the idea that four warders and a head constable were afraid, even for a moment, to lose sight of a boy on board a ship at sea, that he gave way, and allowed ronald free liberty of action, although he warned his subordinates that they must not relax their caution for a moment. "the crew are all with him. they think it a shame that a lad like this should be hauled to london as a pris- oner charged with treasonable practices; and sailors, when they once get an idea into their heads, are as obstinate as highland cattle. i have told them that he drew a sword and held the staircase against ns all while a noted traitor made his escape, and that he ran one of ns through the shoulder, and they only shouted with laughter, and said he was a brave young cock. like as not, if they had a chance, these men would aid him to escape, and then we should have to answer for it, and heavily too; loss of place and imprisonment would be the least of what we might ex- pect; so though, while when at sea and in full daylight he can do as he pleases, we must be doubly vigilant at night, or in port if the vessel should have to put in." accordingly, to the great disgust of the sailors the watoh by turns stood sentry outside ronald's door at night, thereby defeating a plan which the sailors had formed of lowering a boat the first night they passed near land, and letting ronald make his escape to shore. the wind was favorable until the vessel rounded the land's end. after that it became baffling and fickle, and it was more than three weeks after the date of her sailing from glasgow that the vessel entered the mouth of the thames. by this time ronald's boyish spirits had bonn ik piunge chai l r. allayed all suspicion on the part of his guards. he joked with the sailors, climbed about the rigging like a cat, and was so little affected by his position that the guards were convinced that he was free from the burden of any state secret, and that no apprehension of any serious consequence to himself was weighing upon him. "poor lad!" the head warder said; "he will need all his spirits. he will have hard work to make the king's coun- cil believe that he interfered in such a matter as this from a pure love of adventure. he will have many a weary month to pass in prison before they free him, i reckon. it goes against my heart to hand over such a mere laddie as a pris- oner; still it is no matter of mine. i have my duty to do, and it's not for me to question the orders i have received, or to argue whether a prisoner is innocent or guilty." as the vessel anchored off gravesend to wait for the turn of the tide to take her up, a boat rowed by a water- man, and with a man sitting in the stern, passed close by the ship. the head warder had now redoubled his vigi- lance, and one of the guards with loaded musket was standing on the deck not far from ronald, who was sitting on the taffrail. as the boat passed some twenty yards astern of the ship the man who was not rowing turned round for a moment and looked up at ronald. it was but a momentary glance that the lad caught of his face, and he suppressed with difficulty a cry of surprise, for he rec- ognized malcolm anderson. the rower continued stead- ily to ply his oars, and continued his course toward another ship anchored lower down the river. ronald stood watch- ing the boat, and saw that after making a wide sweep it was rowed back again to gravesend. ronald had no doubt that malcolm had come south in hopes of effecting his escape, and guessed that he had taken up his post at gravesend with the intention of ex- amining every ship as she passed up until the one in which so bonnie prince charlie. aahore with ronald, and handed the latter a long coat which would reach to his heels and conceal the drenched state of his clothing from notice. "we have tricked them nicely, dear boy," he said; "we are safe now. long before they can lower a boat and get here we shall be safe in shelter, and our five glasgow bodies will have something to do to look for ns here." , moderating his pace so as to avoid attracting attention, malcolm proceeded along several streets and lanes, and presently stopped at the door of a little shop. "i am lodging here," he said, "and have told the people of the house that i am expecting a nephew back from a cruise in the mediterranean." as he passed through the shop he said to the woman behind the counter: "here he is safe and sound. he's been some days longer than i expected, but i was not so very far wrong in my calculations. the yonng scamp has had enough of the sea, and has agreed to go back again with me to his own people." "that's right," the woman said. "my own boy ran away two years ago, and i hope he will have come to his senses by the time he gets back again." when they were together in their room upstairs maloolm threw his arms ronnd ronald's neck. "thank god, my dear boy, i have got yon out of the clutches of the law! you do not know how i have been fretting since i heard you were caught, and thought that if ill came to you it would be all my fault. and now tell me how you got into this scrape, for it has been puzzling me ever since i heard it. surely when i saw yon last yon knew nothing about any jacobite goings-on?" ronald related the whole particulars of his adventure, and said that even now he was absolutely ignorant who was the man whom he had aided to escape. "i know no more than you do, ronald, but they mast bonnie prince charlie. have thought his capture an important one by the fnaa they made over bis escape. and now, to think that you have slipped out of their hands too!" and malcolm broke into a loud langh. "i would give a month's earnings to see the faces of the gnard as they make their report that they have arrived empty-handed. i was right glad when i saw you. i was afraid yon might have given them the slip on the way, and then there would have been no saying when we might have fonnd each other again." "the sailors would have lowered a boat at night and let me make for the land," ronald said, "but there was a good guard kept over me. the door was locked and a sentry always on watch, and i had quite given up all hope until i saw yon at gravesend. and now, what do you intend to do? make our way back to scotland?" "no, no, lad, that would never do. there will be a hue and cry after you, and all the northern routes will be watched. no, i shall make a bargain with some dutch skipper to take us across the water, and then we will make our way to paris." "but have you got money, malcolm?" "i have got your purse, lad. i went to andrew and said that i wanted it for yon, but that he was to ask no questions, so that whatever came of it he could say that he knew nothing. he gave it me at once, saying only: "'remember, malcolm, you have done the boy some harm already with your teaching, see that yon do him no further harm. i gness you are bent on some hare-brained plan, bnt whatever it be i wish yon success.' * bonnie puinos charlie, chapter iv. in france. thb next day malcolm went out alone, and on hia re- turn told ronald that there were placards on the walls offering a reward of a hundred pounds for his apprehension. "you don't think the people below have any suspicion, malcolm?" "not they," malcolm replied. "i was telling them last night after you had gone to bed all about the places you have been voyaging to, and how anxious your father, a snug farmer near newcastle, was to have you back again. i had spoken to them before so as to prepare" them for your coming, and the old woman takes quite an interest in you, because her son at sea is a lad just about your age. i have brought you in a suit of sailor clothes; we will go down and have a chat with them after the shop is closed of a night. you will remember newcastle and the farm, and can tell them of your escape from greek pirates, and how nearly you wore taken by a french frigate near the straits." the consternation of the watch at ronald's escape was extreme. the shot which the man on guard had fired was their first intimation of the event, and seizing their muskets they had hastily discharged them in the direction of the fugitive, and had then shouted for a boat to be low- ered. but never was a boat longer getting into the water than was that of the glasgow lass upon this occasion. the captain gave his orders in a leisurely way, and the bownib prwce charlie. erew were even slower in executing them. then somwow the fall stuck and the boat wouldn't lower. when at last she was in the water it was found that the thole-pins were missing; these being found she was rowed across the river, the five constables undergoing a running fire of jokes and hilarity from the sailors of the ships they passed near. in answer to their inquiries where the fugitives lauded, some of the sailors shouted that she had pulled up the river behind the tier of vessels, others declared that she had rowed down the river, while others insisted that she had sunk with all hands close by. completely bewildered, the chief of the party told the sailors to put them ashore at the first landing. when the party gained the streets they inquired eagerly of all they met whether they had seen aught of the fugitives. few of those they questioned understood the broad scotch in which the question was asked, others laughed in their faces and asked how they were to know the man and boy they wanted from any others; and after vainly looking about for some time they returned to tha stairs, only to find that the boat had returned to the ship. a waterman's boat was now hired, and the rower, who had heard what had happened, demanded a sum for put- ting them on board which horrified them; but at last, after much bargaining, they were conveyed back to the ship. an hour later the chief of the party went ashore, and repairing to the tower, where he had been ordered to conduct the prisoner, reported his escape. he was at once taken into custody on the charge of permitting the escape of his prisoner, and it was not until three days later, upon the evidence of his men and of the captain and officers of the ship, that he was released. his four men were put on board a ship returning to glasgow next day, while he himself was kept to identify the fugitive should he be caught. bonnie prince charlie. a week later malcolm told ronald that he had made arrangements with the captain of a dutch vessel to take them over to holland. "we are to go on board at gravesend," he said, "for they are searching all ships bound for foreign ports. it is not for you especially, but there are supposed to be many jacobites going to and fro, and they will lay hands on any one who cannot give a satisfactory account of himself. so it is just as well for us to avoid questioning." accordingly the next day they walked down to graves- end, and taking boat there boarded the dutch vessel when she came along on the following day. the dutch captain received them civilly; he had been told by malcolm that they wished to leave the country privately, and guessed that they were in some way fugitives from the law, but as he was to be well paid this gave him no concern. there were no other passengers, and a roomy cabin was placed at their disposal. they passed down the river without im- pediment, and anchored that night off sheerness. "these dutch traders are but slow craft," malcolm said as he walked impatiently up and down the deck next morning, watching the slow progress which they made past the shore. "j wish we could have got a passage direct to france, but of course that is impossible now the two nations are at war." "what is the war about, malcolm? i heard at home that they were fighting, but yet that somehow the two countries were not at war." "no, i don't know how that comes about," malcolm said. "england has a minister still at paris; but for all that king george is at the head of a number of british troops in germany fighting against the french there." "but what is it about, malcolm?" "well, it is a matter which concerns hanover more than england; in fact england has no interest in the matter at bonnie pr n f charlie. all as far as i can see, except that as france takes one side she takes the other, beoause she is afraid of france get- ting too strong. however, it is a german business, and england is mixed up in it only because her present king is a hanoverian and not an englishman. this is the matter as far as i can make it out. charles vi., emperor ol germany, died in october, . it had been arranged by a sort of general agreement called the pragmatic sanc- tion" "what an extraordinary name, malcolm! what does it mean?" "i have not the least idea in the world, lad. however, that is what it is called. it was signed by a lot of powers, of whom england was one, and by it all parties agreed that charles' daughter maria theresa was to become em- press of austria. however, when the emperor was dead the elector of bavaria claimed to be emperor, and he was supported by france, by spain, and by frederick of prussia, and they marched to vienna, enthroned the elector aa duke of austria, and drove maria theresa to take refuge in hungary, where she was warmly supported. "the english parliament voted a large sum to enable the empress to carry on the war, and last year sixteen thousand men under the earl of stair crossed the seas to co-operate with the dutch, who were warm supporters of the empress, and were joined by six thousand hessians and sixteen thousand hanoverians in british pay; but after all nothing was done last year, for as in the last war the dutch were not ready to begin, and the english army were in consequence kept idle." "then it seems that every one was against the empress except england and these three little states." "that is pretty nearly so," malcolm said; "but at pres- ent the empress has bought off the prussians, whose king joined in the affair solely for his own advantage, by giving bonnie prince charlie. him the province of silesia, so that in fact at present it is england and hanover, whioh is all the same thing, with the dutch and hessians, against france and bavaria, for i don't think that at present spain has sent any troops." "well, it seems to me a downright shame," ronald said indignantly; "and though i have no great love for the english, and hate their hanoverian george and his people, i shouldn't like to fight with one of the scotch regiments in the french service in such a quarrel." malcolm laughed. "my dear lad, if every soldier were to discuss the merits of the quarrel in which he is ordered to fight there would be an end of all discipline." "yes, i see that," ronald agreed; "if one is once a sol- dier he has only to obey orders. but one need not become a soldier just at the time when he would be called upon to fight for a cause which he considers unjust." "that is so, ronald, and it's fortunate, if your feelings are in favor of maria theresa, that we are not thinking of enlisting just at present, for you would be puzzled which side to take. if you fought for her you would have to fight under the hanoverian; if you fight against the han- overian you are fighting against maria theresa." "well, we don't want to fight at all," ronald said. "what we want to do is to find out something about my father. i wish the voyage was at an end, and that we had our faces toward paris." "it will not be so easy to cross from holland into france," malcolm said. "i wish our voyage was at an end for another reason, for unless i mistake there is a storm brewing up." malcolm's prediction as to the weather was speedily verified. the wind rose rapidly, ragged clouds hurried across the sky, and the waves got up fast, and by nightfall the sea had become really heavy, dashing in sheets high ia bonnib pbinc charlie. the air every time the bluff-bowed craft plunged into it. long before this ronald had gone below prostrate with sea-sickness. "it's just like the obstinacy of these dutchmen," mal- colm muttered to himself as he held on by a shroud and watched the laboring ship. "it must have been clear to any one before we were well out of the river that we were going to have a gale, and as the wind then was nearly due south, we could have run back again and anchored in shel- ter till it was over. now it has backed round nearly into our teeth, with every sign of its getting into the north, and then we shall have the french coast on our lee. it's not very serious yet, but if the wind goes on rising as it has done for the last four or five hours we shall have a gale to remember before the morning." before daylight, indeed, a tremendous sea was runuing, and the wind was blowing with terrible force from the north. although under but a rag of canvas the brig was pressed down gunwale deep, and each wave as it struck her broadside seemed to heave her bodily to leeward. malcolm on coming on deck made his way aft and glanced at the compass, and then took a long look over the foam- ing water toward where he knew the french coast must lie. the wind was two or three points east of north, and as the clumsy craft would not sail within several points of the wind she was heading nearly east. "she is making a foot to leeward for every one she forges ahead," he said to himself. "if she has been at this work all night we cannot be far from the coast." so the dutch skipper appeared to think, for a few minutes afterward he gave orders to bring her about on the other tack. three times they tried and failed; each time the vessel slowly came up into the wind, but the heavy waves forced her head off again before the head-sails filled. then the skipper gave orders to wear her. her bonnie prince charlie. head payed off to the wind until she was nearly before it two or three great seas struck her stern and buried her head deeply, but at last the boom swung over and her head came up on the other tack. during the course of these maneuvers she had made fully two miles leeway, and when she was fairly under sail with her head to the west malcolm took another long look toward the south. "just as i thought," he said. "there is white water there and a dark line behind it. that is the french coast, sure enough." it would have been useless to speak, but he touched the arm of the skipper and pointed to leeward. the skipper looked in this direction for a minute and then gave the order lor more sail to be put on the ship, to endeavor to beat out in the teeth of the gale. but even when pressed to the utmost it was evident to malcolm that the force of the waves was driving her faster toward the coast than she could make off it, and he went below and told ronald to come on deck. "i would rather lie here," ronald said. "nonsense, lad! the wind and spray will soon knock the sickness out of you; and you will want all your wits about you, for it won't be many hours before we are bumping on the sands, and stoutly built as the craft is she won't hold together long in such a sea as this." "do you really mean it, malcolm, or are you only trying to get me on deck?" "i mean it, lad. we are drifting fast upon the french coast, and there is no hope of her clawing off in the teeth of such a gale as this." the news aroused ronald effectually. he had not suf- fered at all on the voyage down from glasgow, and he was already beginning to feel better when malcolm went down to call him. he was soon on deck holding on by the bulwark. bonnie prince charlie. "there it is, that long low black line; it looks a long way off because the air is full of spray and the coast is low, bat it's not more than three or four miles; look at that broad belt of foam." for some hours the dutch skipper did his best to beat to windward, but in vain, the vessel drove nearer and nearer toward the shore; the anchors were got in readiness, and when within a quarter of a mile of the line of breakers the vessel's head was brought up into the wind, and the lashings of the two anchors cut simultaneously. "will they hold her, do you think?" ronald asked. "not a chance of it, ronald. of course the captain is right to try; but no cables were ever made that would hold such a bluff-bowed craft as this in the teeth of such a wind and sea." the cables ran out to the bitts. just as they tightened a great sea rolled in on the bow. two dull reports were heard, and then her head payed off. the jib was run up instantly to help her round, and under this sail the brig was headed directly toward the shore. the sea was break- ing round them now; but the brig was almost flat-bottomed and drew but little water. all on board hung on to the shroud and bulwarks, momentarily expecting a crash, but she drove on through the surf until within a hundred yards of the shore. then as she went down in the trough of a wave there was a mighty crash. the next wave swept her forward her own length. then there \yas another crash even more tremendous than the first, and her masts simultaneously went over the side. the next wave moved her but a few feet; the one which followed, finding her immovable, piled itself higher over her, and swept in a cataract down her sloping deck. her stern had swung round after the first shot, and she now lay broadside to the waves. the dutch skipper and his crew behaved with the greatest calmness; the ship lay bonnie prince charlie. over at such an angle that it was impossible to stand on the deck; but the captain managed to got on the upper rail, and although frequently almost washed off by the seas, contrived to cut the shrouds and ropes that still at- tached the masts to the ship there. then he joined the crew, who were standing breast-high in the water on the lee side, the floating masts were pulled in until within a few yards of the vessel, and such of the crew as could swim made toward them. the skipper cut the last rope that bound them, and then plunged in and joined his men. the distance was little over fifty yards to the shore, and the wreck formed a partial shelter. a crowd of people were assembled at the edge of the beach with ropes in readiness to give any assist- ance in their power. malcolm and ronald were among those who had swam to the masts, but when within a short distance of the shore the former shouted in the letter's ear: "swim off, lad, the masts might crush us." as soon as they neared the shore a number of ropes were thrown. most of the sailors, seeing the danger of being crashed, followed the example of malcolm, and left the masts. malcolm and ronald swam just outside the point where the waves broke until a line fell in the water close to them. they grasped it at once. "give it a twist round your arm," malcolm shouted, "or the back-wash will tear you from it." the sailors on shore watched their opportunity, and the instant a wave passed beneath the two swimmers ran up the beach at full speed with the rope. there was a crash. ronald felt himself shot forward with great rapidity, then as he touched the ground with his feet they were swept from^fftider him, and so great was the strain that he felt as if his arm was being pulled from the socket. a few seconds later he was lying at full length upon the sands, and before the next wave reached him a dozen men had bonnie prince charlie. roshed down and seized him and malcolm, and carried them beyond its influence. for a minute or two ronald felt too bruised and out of breath to move. then he heard malcolm's voice: > "are you hurt, ronald?" "no; i think not, malcolm," he replied, making an effort to sit up. "are you?" "no, lad; bruised a bit, but no worse." one by one the sailors were brought ashore, one with both legs broken from the force with which he was dashed down by the surf, and one man who stuck to the mast was crushed to death as it was rolled over and over on to the beach. the captain and three sailors were, like malcolm and ronald, unhurt. there still remained four men on the wreck. fortunately she had struck just at high-tide, and so stoutly was she built that she held together in spite of the tremendous seas, and in an hour the four sailors were able to wade breast-high to the shore. they found that the spot where the vessel had struck was half a mile west of gravelines. they were taken to the town, and were hospitably entertained. a small body of soldiers were quartered there, and the officer in com- mand told the dutch skipper that as the two nations were at war he and his crew must be detained until he received orders respecting them. on learning from malcolm that he and ronald were passengers, and were scotsmen making their way from england to escape imprisonment as friends of the stuarts, and that he had for twelve years served in one of the scotch regiments of louis, and was now bound for paris, the officer said that they were free to continue their journey at once. it was two or three days before they started, for they found the next morning that they were both too severely bruised to set out at once on the journey. as malcolm had taken care to keep the purse containing ronald'a % bonnie prince charlie. money securely fastened to a belt under his clothes they had no lack of funds; but as time was no object they started for paris on foot. ronald greatly enjoyed the journey. bright weather had set in after the storm. it was now the middle of may, all nature was bright and cheerful, the dresses of the peasantry, the style of archi- tecture so different to that to which he was accustomed in scotland, and everything else were new and strange to him. malcolm spoke french as fluently as his own lan- guage, and they had therefore no difficulty or trouble on the way. they arrived at paris without any adventure. malcolm went to a oabaret which had at the time when he was in the french service been much frequented by scotch sol- diers, being kept by a oountryman of their own, an ex- sergeant in one of the scottish regiments. "ah! sandy macgregor," malcolm exclaimed as the proprietor of the place approached to take their order. "so yon are still in the flesh, man t right glad am i to see you again." "i know your face," sandy replied; "but i canna just say what your name might be." "malcolm anderson, of leslie's scotch regiment. it's fourteen years since i left them now; but i was here again four years later, if you can remember, when i came over to try and find out if aught had been heard of the colonel." "ay, ay," sandy said, grasping malcolm's outstretched hand warmly. "it all comes back to me now. right glad am i to see you. and who is the lad ye have brought with you? a scot by his face and bearing, i will be bound, but young yet for the service if that be what he is thinking of." "he is the colonel's son, sandy. you will remember i told you i had carried him back to scotland with me; but i need not tell ye that this is betwixt ourselves, for those bonnie prince charlie. who have so badly treated his father might well have a grudge against the son, and all the more that he is the rightfnl heir to many a broad acre here in france." "i give yon a hearty welcome, young sir," sandy said. "many a time i have seen your brave father riding at the head of his regiment, and have spoken to him too, for he and his officers would drop in here and crack a cup together in a room i keep upstairs for the quality. well, well, and to think that you are his son! but what malcolm said is true, and it were best that none knew who ye are, for they have an nnoo quick way here of putting inconvenient peo- ple out of the way." "have you ever heard aught of my father since?" konald asked eagerly. "not a word," sandy replied. "i have heard it talked over scores of times by men who were in the regiment that was once his, and none doubted that if he were still alive he was lying in the bastile, or yincennes, or one of the other cages where they keep those whose presence the king or his favorites find inconvenient. it's jnst a stroke of the pen, without question or trial, and they are gone, and even their best friends darena ask a question concerning them. in most cases none know why they have been put away; but there is no doubt why leslie was seized. three or four of his fellow officers were in the secret of his mar- riage, and when he had disappeared these talked loudly about it, and there was sair grief and anger among the scottish regiment at leslie's seizure. but what was to be done? it was just the king's pleasure, and that is enough in france. leslie had committed the grave offense of thwarting the wishes of two of the king's favorites, great nobles, too, with broad lands and grand connections. what were the likings of a scottish soldier of fortune and a headstrong girl in comparison! in scotland in the old times a gallant who had carried off a daughter of a douglas bonnie prince charlie. or one of our powerful nobles wonld have made his wife a widow ere mady weeks were over, and it is the same thing here now. it wonldna have been an easy thing for his enemies to kill leslie with his regiment at his back, and so they got an order from the king, and as surely got rid of him as if they had taken his life." "you have never heard whether my mother has married again?" ronald asked. "i have never heard her name mentioned. her father is still at court, but his daughter has never been seen since, or i should have heard of it; but more than that i cannot say." "that gives me hopes that my father is still alive," ronald said. "had he been dead they might have forced her into some other marriage." "they might so; but she was plainly a lassie who had a will of her own and may have held out." "but why did they not kill him instead of pntting him in prison if he was in their way?" "they might, as i said, have done it at once; bnt once in prison he was beyond their reach. the king may grant a lettre do cachet, as these orders are called, to a favorite; but even in france men are not pnt to death without some sort of a trial, and even chateauronge and de recamboura conld not ask louis to have a man murdered in prison to gratify their private spite, especially when that man was a brave scottish officer whose fate had already excited mnch discontent among his compatriots in the king's service. then again mnch would depend upon who was the governor of the prison. these men differ like others. some of them are honorable gentlemen, to whom even louis him- self would not venture to hint that he wanted a prisoner pufout of the way; but there are others who, to gratify a powerful nobleman, would think nothing of telling a jailer to forget for a fortnight to give food to a prisoner. so bonnie prince charlie. yon see we cannot judge from this. and now what are jon thinking of doing, malcolm, and why are yon over here?" "in the first place we are over here because young leslie took after his father and aided a jacobite, whom george's men were in search of, to escape, and drew his sword on a worshipful justice of glasgow and the city watch." "he has begun early," sandy said, laughing; "and how did he get away?" "they brought him down a prisoner to london, to in- terrogate him as to the plot. i had a boat in the thames and he jumped over and swam for it; so here we are. there are rumors in scotland that king louis is helping prince charlie, and that an army is soon going to sail for scotland." "it is talked of here, but so far nothing is settled; but as king george is interfering in louis' affairs, and is fighting him in germany, i think it more than likely that king louis is going to stir up a coil in scotland to give george something to do at home." "then if there's nothing to be done here i shall find ont the old regiment. there will be many officers in it still who have fought under leslie, and some of them may know more about him than you do, and will surely be able to tell me what has become of the lad's mither." "that may well be so; but keep a quiet tongue, mal- colm, as to leslie's son, save to those on whose discretion yon can rely. i tell you, if it were known that he is alive and in france his life would not be worth a week's pur- chase. they would not take the trouble to get a leitre de cachet for him as they did for his father; it would be just a pistol bullet or a stab on a dark night or in a lonely place. there would be no question asked about the fate of an unknown scotch laddie." "i will be careful, sandy, and silent. the first thing ?.s to find out where the old regiment is lying." bonnie prince charlie. "that i can tell yon at once. it is on the frontier with the dno de noailles, and they say that there is like to be a great battle with english qeorge and his army." "well, as we have nothing else to do we will set out and find them," malcolm said; "bnt as time is not press- ing we will stop a few days here in paris and i will show the lad the sights. i suppose yon can pnt ns up." "that can i. times are dull at present. after' paris swarmed with scotsmen who had fled to save their heads; but of late years but few have come over, and the scotch regiments have difficulty in keeping up their num- bers. since the last of them marched for the frontier i have been looking after empty benches, and it will be good news for me when i hear that the war is over and they are on their way back." for some days malcolm and ronald wandered about the narrow streets of paris. ronald was somewhat disap- pointed in the city of which he had heard so much. the streets were ill-paved and worse lighted, and were narrow and winding. in the neighborhood of the louvre there were signs of wealth and opulence. the rich dresses of the nobles contrasted strongly indeed with the somber attire of the glasgow citizens, and the appearance and uniform of the royal guards filled him with admiration; but beyond the fashionable quarter it did not appear to him that paris possessed many advantages over gasgow, and the poorer class were squalid and poverty-stricken to a far greater degree than anything he had seen in scotland. but the chief points of attraction to him were the prisons. the bastile, the chatelet, and the temple were points to which he was continually turning; the two former espe- cially, since, if he were in paris, it was in one of these that his father was most probably lying. the various plans he had so often thought over, by which, in some way or other, he might communicate with bonnie fringe chablie. bis father and aid his escape, were roughly shattered at the sight of these buildings. he had reckoned on their resembling in some respect the prison in'glasgow, and at the sight of these formidable fortresses with their lofty walls and flanking towers, their moats and vigilant sen- tries, his hopes fell to zero. it would, he saw at once, be absolutely impossible to open communication with a pris- oner of whose whereabouts he was wholly ignorant and of whose very existence he was doubtful. the narrow slits which lighted the cell in which he was confined might look into an inner court, or the cell itself might be below the surface of the soil. the legend of the troubadour who discovered king richard of england's place of cap- tivity by singing without the walls had always been present in his mind, but no such plan would be practicable here. he knew no song which his father, and his father only, would recognize; and even did he know such a song, the appearance of any one loitering in the open space outside the moat ronnd the bastile singing at intervals at different points would have instantly attracted the attention of the sentries on the walls. nor, even did he discover that his father was lying a prisoner in one of the cells facing out- ward in the fortress, did he see any possibility of compass- ing his escape. the slits were wide enough only for the passage of a ray of light or the flight of an arrow. no human being could squeeze himself through them, and even if he could do so he would need a long rope to descend into the moat. one day ronald talked over his ideas with malcolm, who declared at once that they were impossible of execution. "there is scarcely a case on record," he said, "of an escape from either the bastile or the chatelet, and yet there have been scores of prisoners confined in them with friends of great influence and abundant means. if these have been unable, by bribing jailers or by other strategy, w bonnie prince charlie. to free their friends, how conld a stranger, without either connection, influence, or wealth, hope to effect the escape of a captive were he certain that he was within the walls. do not waste your thought on such fancies, ronald. if your father is still in prison it is by influence only, and influence exerted upon the king and- exceeding that of your father's enemies, that his release can be obtained. "suoh influence there is no possibility of our exerting. tour father's comrades and countrymen, his position and services, availed nothing when he was first imprisoned; and in the time which has elapsed the number of those who know him and would venture to risk the king's dis- pleasure by pleading his cause must have lessened consid- erably. the only possibility, mind i say possibility, for in my belief there is not a shadow of probability, of success lies in your mother. "so far it is clear that she has been powerless; but we know not under what circumstances she has been placed. she may all this time have been shut up a prisoner in a convent; she may be dead; but it is possible that, if she is free, she may have powerful connections on her mother's side, who might be induced to take up her cause and to plead with the king for your father's liberty. she may have been told that your father is dead. she is, no doubt, in ignorance of what has become of you, or whether you are still alive. if she believes you are both dead she would have had no motive for exerting any family influ- ence she may have, and may be living a broken-hearted woman, firm only in the resolution to accept no other husband." "yes, that is possible," ronald agreed. "at any rate, malcolm, let us lose no further time, hut set out to-morrow for the frontier and try to find out from my father's old comrades what has become of my mother." bonnie prince cearli& chapter v. dettingen. aptbb walking two or three miles malcolm and ronald came upon the rear of a train of wagons which had set out from paris an hour earlier. entering into conversation with one of the drivers they found that the convoy was hound for the frontier with ammunition and supplies for the army. "this is fortunate," malcolm said; "for to tell you the truth, ronald, i have looked forward to our meeting with a good many difficulties by the way. we have no passes or permits to travel, and should be suspected of being either deserters or thieves. we came down from the north easy enough; but there- they are more accustomed to the passage of travelers to or from the coast. going east our appearance if alone would be sure to incite comment and suspicion. it is hard if among the soldiers with the con- voy i do not know some one who has friends in the old regiment. at any rate we can offer to make ourselves useful in case of any of the drivers falling ill or deserting by the way." as they walked along toward the head of the long line of wagons malcolm closely scrutinized the troopers who formed the escort, but most of them were young soldiers, and he therefore went on without accosting them until he reached the head of the column. here two officers were bonnie prince charlie. riding together, a captain and a yonng lieutenant. mal- colm salnted the former. "i am an old soldier of the d regiment of scottish cavalry, and am going with my young friend here, who has relations in the regiment, to join them. will yon permit us, sir, to journey with your convoy? we are ready, if needs he, to make ourselves useful in case any of your drivers are missing, no uncommon thing, as i know, on a long journey." the officer asked a few questions abont his services, and said: "what have you been doing since yon left, as you say, fourteen years ago?" "i have been in scotland, sir. i took this lad, who was then an infant, home to my people, having had enough of soldiering, while my brother, his father, remained with the regiment. we do not know whether he is alive or dead, but if the former the lad wants to join as a trum- peter, and when old enough to fight in the ranks." "very well," the officer said. "you can march along with us, and if any of these fellows desert you shall take their places, and of course draw their pay." it was a short time indeed before malcolm's services were called into requisition, for the very first night several of the drivers, who had been pressed into the service, managed to elude the vigilance of the guard and slipped away. the next morning malcolm, with ronald as his assist- ant, took charge of one of the heavy wagons, loaded with ammunition, and drawn by twelve horses. "this is better than walking after all, ronald. in the first place it saves the legs, and in the second one is partly out of the dust." "but i think we should get on faster walking, malcolm." * yes, if we had no stoppages. but then, you see as w bonnie prince ghablib. have no papers we might be detained for weeks by some pig-headed official in a little country town; besides, we are sure to push on as fast as we can, for they will want the ammunition before a battle is fought. and after all a few days won't make much difference to us; the weather ia fine, and the journey will not be uupleasant." in fact ronald enjoyed the next three weeks greatly as the train 'of wagons made its way across the plains of champagne, and then on through the valleys of lorraine and alsace until it reached strasbourg. malcolm had speedily made friends with some of the soldiers of the es- cort, and of an evening when the day's work was over he and ronald sat with them by the fires they made by the roadside, and malcolm told tales of the campaigns in which he had been engaged, and the soldiers sang songs or chatted over the probabilities of the events of the war. none of them had served before, having been but a few months taken from their homes in various parts of france. but although, donbtless, many had at first regretted bitterly being dragged away to the wars, they were now all recon- ciled to their lot, and looked forward eagerly to joining their regiment, which was at the front, when the duty of looking after the convoy would be at an end. little was known in paris as to the position of the con- tending armies beyond the fact that lord stair, who com- manded the english army, sixteen thousand strong, which had for the last year been lying inactive in flanders, had marched down with his hanoverian allies toward the maine, and that the due de noailles with sixty thousand men was lying beyond the rhine. but at strasbourg they learned that the french army had marched north to give battle to lord stair, who had at present with him but twenty-eight thousand men, and was waiting to be joined by twelve thousand hanoverians ani hessians who were on their way. c bonnie prince charlie. the convoy continued its journey, pushing forward with all speed, and on the th of july joined the army of de noailles. the french were on the south side of the river, hut having arrived on its banks before the english they had possession of the bridges. as soon as the wagons had joined the army malcolm obtained from the officer com- manding the escort a discharge, saying that he and ronald had fulfilled their engagement as drivers with the wagons to the front, and were now at liberty to return to france. "now we are our own masters again, ronald," malcolm said. w i have taken part in a good many battles, but have never yet had the opportunity of looking on at one comfort- ably. de noailles should lose no time in attacking, so as to destroy the english before they receive their reinforce- ments. as he holds the bridges he can bring on the battle when he likes, and i think that to-morrow or next day the fight will take place." it was known in the camp that evening that the english had established their chief magazines at hanau, and were marching up the river toward aschaffenburg. in the early morning a portion of the french troops crossed the river at that town, and took up a strong position there. ronald and malcolm climbed a hill looking down upon the river from the south side, and thence commanded the view of the ground across which the english were march- ing. on the eastern side of the river spurs of the spessart mountains came down close to its bank, inclosing a narrow flat between aschaffenburg and dettingen. at the latter place the heights approached so closely to the river as to render it difficult for an army to pass between them. while posting a strong force at aschaffenburg to hold the passage across a stream running into the maine there, de noailles marched his main force down the river; these movements were hidden by the nature of the ground from the english, who were advancing unconscious of their danger toward dettingen. bonnie prince charlie. "de noailles will have them in a trap," malcolm said, for from their position on the hill they could see the whole ground on the further bank, hanau lying some seven miles beyond dettingen, which was itself less than seven miles from aschaffenburg. "i am afraid so," ron ald said. "afraid!" malcolm repeated. "why, you should re- joice, ronald." "i can't do that," ronald replied. "i should like to see the stuarts instead of the hanoverians reigning over us; but after all, malcolm, england and scotland are one nation." "but there are scotch regiments with the french army, and a brigade of irish." "that may be," ronald said. "scotchmen who have got into political trouble at home may enter the service of france, and may fight heartily against the germans or the flemings, or other enemies of france; but i know that i should feel very reluctant to fight against the english army, except, of course, at home for the stuarts." "it will benefit the stuarts' cause if the english are defeated here," malcolm said. "that may be or it may not," ronald replied. "yon yourself told me that louis cared nothing for the stuarts, and would only aid them in order to cripple the english strength at home. therefore, if he destroys the english army here he will have less cause to fear england and so less motive for helping the chevalier." "that is true enough," malcolm agreed. "you are fast hecoming a politician, ronald. well, i will look on as a neutral then, because, although the english are certainly more nearly my countrymen than are the french, you must remember that for twelve years i fought under the french flag. however, there can be no doubt what is going to take place. see, the dark mass of the english bonnie plllnce charlie. army are passing through the defile of dettingen, and the french have begun to cross at seligenstadt in their rear. see, they are throwing three or four bridges across the river there." in utter ignorance of their danger the english marched on along the narrow plain by the river bank toward aschaffenburg. "look at their cavalry scouting ahead of them," mal- colm said. "there, the french are opening fire!" and as he spoke puffs of musketry rose up from the line of the stream held by the french. the english cavalry galloped back, but the columns of infantry still advanced until within half a mile of the french position, and were there halted, while some guns from the french lines opened fire. the bridges at selig- enstadt were now completed, and masses of troops could be seen pouring over. king george and the duke of cumberland had joined the earl of stair just as the army passed through dettingen, and were riding at the head of the column when the french fire opened. a short time was spent in reconnoitering the position of the enemy in front. the english believed that the entire french army was there opposed to them, and that the advance of the army into franconia, which was its main objective, was therefore barred. after a short consultation it was re- solved to fall back at once upon the magazines at hanan, which, from their ignorance of the near proximity of the french, had been left but weakly guarded. believing that as they fell back they would be hotly pursued by the french army, the king took the command of the rear as the post of danger, and the columns, facing about, marched toward dettingen. but the french had been beforehand with them. de noailles had sent , men under his nephew the duke de grammont across the river to occupy dettingen. he bonnie prinok ohaulib. himself with his main army remained on the south side, with his artillery placed so as to fire across the river upon the flank of the english as they approached dettingen; while he could march up and cross at aschaffenburg should the english, after being beaten back at dettingen, try to retreat up the river. de grammont's position was a very strong one behind a swamp and a deep ravine hollowed out by a stream from the hill. there seemed no possibility of escape for the english army, who were as yet absolutely in ignorance of the position of the french. as the head of the column approaohed dettingen, grammont's artillery opened upon them in front, while that of de noailles smote them in flank. as soon as the king found that his retreat was out off he galloped from the rear of the column to its head. his horse, alarmed by the fire of the artillery and whistling of balls, ran away with him, and was with difficulty stop- ped just as he reached the head of the column. he at once dismounted and announced his intention of leading his troops on foot. there was a hasty counoil held between him, lord stair, and the duke of oumberland, and it was agreed that the only escape from entire destruction was by fighting their way through the force now in front of them. this would indeed have been impossible had de grammont held his position; but when that officer saw the english troops halt he believed that he had only the advanced guard in front of him, and resolving to overwhelm these before their main body arrived, he abandoned his strong position, led his troops across the swamp, and charged the english in front. de noailles, from the opposite bank seeing the error his nephew had made, hurried his troops toward the bridges in order to cross the river and render him assistance; bat it was too late. * <f' bonnie prince charlie. the english infantry, headed by the king in person, hurled themselves upon the troops of de grammont. every man felt that the only hope of escape from this trap into which they had fallen lay in cutting their way through the enemy, and so furiously did they fight that de grammont's troops were utterly overthrown, and were soon in full flight toward the bridges in the rear, hotly pursued by the english. before they could reach the bridges they left behind them on the field six thousand killed and wounded. king george, satisfied with his suc- cess and knowing that the french army was still greatly superior to his own, wisely determined to get out of his dangerous position as soon as possible, and pushed on that night to hanau. although malcolm and ronald were too far off to wit- ness the incidents of the battle, they made out the tide of war rolling away from them, and saw the black masses of troops pressing on through dettingen in spite of the french artillery which thundered from the opposite bank of the river. "they have won!" ronald said, throwing up his cap. "hurrah, malcolm! where is the utter destruction of the english now? see, the plain beyond dettingen is covered by a confused mass of flying men. the english have broken out of the trap, and instead of being crushed have won a great victory." "it looks like it certainly," malcolm said. "i would not have believed it if i had not seen it; their destruction seemed certain. and now let us go round to the camp again." on their way down malcolm said: "i think, on the whole, ronald, that you are perhaps right, and the french defeat will do good rather than iiarm to the stuart cause. had they conquered, louis vould have been too intent on pushing forward his own bonnie prince charlie schemes to care much for the stuarts. he has no real in- terest in them, and only uses them as cat's-paws to injure england. if he had beaten the english and hanoverians he would not have needed their aid. as it is, it seems likely enough that he will try to create a diversion, and keep the english busy at home by aiding the stuarts with men and money to make a landing in scotland." "in that case, malcolm, we need not grieve over the defeat to-day. you know my sympathies are with the brave empress of austria rather than with her enemies, and this defeat should go far toward seating her securely on the throne. now, what will you do, malcolm? shall we try and find my father's friends at once?" "not for another few days," malcolm said. "just after a defeat men are not in the best mood to discuss bygone matters. let us wait and see what is done next." the next morning a portion of the french army which) had not been engaged crossed the river and collected the french and english wounded, for the latter had also been left behind. they were treated by the french with the same care and kindness that was bestowed upon their own wounded. de noailles was about to advance against the english at hanau, when he received the news that the french army in bavaria had been beaten back by prince charle , and had crossed the rhine into alsace. as he would now be exposed to the whole brunt of the attack of the allies he decided to retreat at once. the next day the retreat recommenced. many of the drivers had fled at the first news of the defeat, and mal- colm without question assumed the post of driver of one of the abandoned teams. for another week the army re- tired, and then crossing the ehine near worms were safe from pursuit. "now, ronald, i will look up the old regiment, and we rill see what is to be done." £ bonnie prince charlie. the d scotch dragoons were posted in a littl* tillage a mile distant from the main camp which had now been formed. malcolm did not make any formal transfer of the wagon to the authorities, thinking it by no means im- probable that they would insist upon his continuing his self-adopted avocation as driver; but after seeing to the horses, which were picketed with a long line of transport animals, he and ronald walked quietly away without any ceremony of adieu. "we must not come back again here," he said, "for some of the teamsters would recognize me as having been driving lately, and i should have hard work to prove thai i was not a deserter; we must take to the old regiment now as long as we are here." on reaching the village they fonnd the street full of troopers who were busily engaged in cleaning their arms, grooming their horses, and removing all signs of weather and battle. ronald felt a thrill of pleasure at hearing his native language spoken. he had now so far improved the knowledge of french as to be able to converse without difficulty, for malcolm had from his childhood tried to keep up his french, and had lately always spoken in that language to him, unless it was necessary to speak in eng- lish in order to make him understand. these occasions had become more and more rare, and two months of constant conversation with malcolm and others had enabled ronald by this time to speak with some fluency in the french tongue. none of the soldiers paid any attention to the newcomers, whose dress differed in no way from that of frenchmen, as after the shipwreck they had, of course, been obliged to rig themselves out afresh. malcolm stopped before an old sergeant who was diligently polishing his sword hilt. "and how fares it with you all these years, angus greme?" bonnie prince charlie. the sergeant almost dropped his sword in his surprise at being so addressed in his own tongne by one whose appearance betokened him a frenchman. "yon don't know me, angus," malcolm went on with a smile; "and yet you ought to, for if it hadn't been for ""me the sword of the german hussar who carved that ugly scar across your cheek would have followed it up by put- ting an end to your soldiering altogether." "heart alive, but it's malcolm anderson! eh, man, but i am glad to see you! i thought you were dead years ago, for i have heard nae mair of you sinoe the day when yon disappeared from among us like a spook, the same day that puir colonel leslie was hauled off to the bastile. a sair day was that for ns a'! and where ha' ye been all the time?" "back at home, angus, at least in body, for my heart's been with the old regiment. and who, think you, is. this? but you must keep a close mouth, man, for it must not be talked of. this is leslie's son. by his father's last order i took him off to scotland with me to be out of reaoh of his foes, and now i have brought him back again to try if between ns we oan gain any news of his father." m yon don't say so, malcolm! i never as much as heard that the colonel had a son, though there was some talk in the regiment that he had married a great lady, and that it was for that that he had been hid away in prison. and this ia leslie's boy! only to think, now! well, young sir, there isn't a man in the regiment but wad do his best for your father's son, for those who have joined us since, and in truth that's the great part of us, have heard many a tale of colonel leslie, though they may not have served under him, and not a tale but was to his honor, for a braver officer nor a kinder one never stepped the earth. bnt oome inside, malcolm. i have got a room to myself and a stoup of good wine; let's talk over things fair and gentle, bonnie prinob charlie. and when i know what it is that yon want yen may be sure that i will do all i can, for the sake baith of the colo- nel and of yon, auld comrade." the trio were soon seated in the cottage, and malcolm then gare a short sketch of all that had taken place since he had left the regiment. "well, well!" the sergeant said when he had ended; "and so the lad, young as he is, has already drawn his sword for the stnarts, and takes after his father in loyalty as well as in looks, for now that i know who he is i can see his father's face in his plain enough; and now for your plans, malcolm." "our plans must be left to chance, angus. we came hither to see whether any of the colonel's friends are still in the regiment, and to learn from them whether they have any news whatever of him; and secondly, whether they can tell us aught of his mother." "ay, there are six or eight officers still in the regiment who served with him. hnme is onr colonel now; you will remember him, malcolm, well, for he was captain of our troop; and major macpherson was a captain too. then there are oliphant, and munroe, and campbell, and gra- ham, all of whom were young lientenants in your time, and are now old captains of troops." "i will see the colonel and macpherson," malcolm said; "if they do not know, the younger men are not likely to. will you go along with ns, angus, and introduce me, though hume is like enough to remember me, seeing that i was so much with leslie?" "they will be dining in half an hour," the sergeant said; "we'll go after they have done the meal. it's always a good time to talk with men when they are full, and the colonel will have no business to disturb him then. our own dinner will be ready directly; i can smell a goose that j picked up, as it might be by accident, at the place where bonnie prince charlie. vie halted last night. there are four or five of ns old sol- diers who always mess together when we are not on duty with our troops, and if i mistake not, you will know every one of them, and right glad they will be to see you; but of course i shall say no word as to who the lad is, save that he is a friend of yours." a few minutes later four other sergeants dropped in, and there was a joyful greeting between them and malcolm as soon as they recognized his identity. the meal was a jovial one, as old jokes and old reminiscences were recalled. after an hour's sitting angas said: "pass round the wine, lads, till we come back again. i am taking anderson to the colonel, who was captain of his troop. we are not likely to be long, and when we come back we will make a night of it in honor of old times, or i am mistaken." on leaving the cottage they waited for awhile until they saw the colonel and major rise from beside the fire round which, with the other officers, they had been taking their meal, and walk to the cottage which they shared between them. angus went up and saluted. "what is it, graeme?" the colonel asked. "there's one here who would fain have a talk with yon. it is malcolm anderson, whom you may remember as pair colonel leslie's servant, and as being in your own troop, and he has brought one with him concerning whom he will speak to you himself." "of course i remember anderson," the colonel said,. "he was devoted to leslie. bring him in at once. what can have brought him out here again after so many years? been getting into some trouble at home, i suppose? he was always in some scrape or other when he was in the regiment, for, though he was a good soldier, he was as wild and reckless a blade as any in the regiment. yon remember him, macpherson?" bonnie prince charlie. "yes, i remember him well," the major said. "the colonel was very fond of him and regarded him almost as a brother." a minnte later angus ushered malcolm and ronald into the presence of the two officers, who had now taken seats in the room which served as kitohen and sitting-room to the cottage, which was much the largest in the village. "well, anderson, i am glad to see you again," colonel hume said, rising and holding out his hand. "we have often spoken of you since the day you disappeared, saying that you were going on a mission for the colonel, and have wondered what the mission was, and how it was that we never heard of you again." "i came over to paris four years later, colonel, but the regiment was away in flanders, and as i found out from others what i had come to learn, there was no use in my following you. as to the colonel's mission, it was this;" and he pnt his hand on ronald's shoulder. "what do yon mean, anderson?" the colonel asked in surprise. * this is colonel leslie's son, sir. he bade me fetch him straight away from the folk with whom he was living and take him off to scotland so as to be ont of reach of his foes, who would doubtless have made even shorter work with him than they did with the colonel.* "good heavens!" the colonel exclaimed; "this is news indeed. so poor leslie left a child and this is he! my lad," he said, taking ronald's hand, "believe me that any- thing that i can do for you, whatever it be, shall be done, for the sake of your dear father whom i loved as an elder brother." "and i too," the major said. "there was not one of us but would have fought to the death for leslie. and now sit down, my lad, while anderson tells us your story." malcolm began at the account of the charge which bonnie prince charlie. colonel leslie had committed to him, and the manner in which he had fulfilled it. he told them how he had placed the child in the care of his brother, he himself having no fixed home of his own, and how the lad had received a solid education, while he had seen to his learn- ing the use of his sword so that he might be able to follow his father's career. he then told them the episode of the jacobite agent, and the escape which had been effected in the thames. "you have done well, anderson," the colonel said when he had concluded; "and if ever leslie should come to see his son he will have cause to thank you, indeed, for the way in which you have carried out the charge he committed to yon, and he may well be pleased at seeing him grown such a manly young fellow. as to leslie himself, we know not whether he be alive or dead. every interest was made at the time to assuage his majesty's hostility, but the influ- ence of the marquis of recambours was too strong, and the king at last peremptorily forbade leslie's name being mentioned before him. you see, although the girl's father was, of course, at liberty to bestow her hand on whomso- ever he pleased, he had, with the toadyism of a courtier, asked the king's approval of the match with chateaurouge, which, as a matter of course, he received. his majesty, therefore, chose to consider it as a personal offense against himself that this scottish soldier of fortune should carry off one of the richest heiresses of france, whose hand he had himself granted to one of his peers. at the same time i cannot but think that leslie still lives, for had he been dead we should assuredly have heard of the marriage of his widow with some one else. the duke has, of course, long since married, and report says that the pair are ill- matched; but another husband would speedily have been found for the widow." "since the duke has married," eonald said, "he should bonnie fringe charlie. no longer be so bitter against my father, and perhaps after eo long an imprisonment the king might be moved to grant his release." • "as the dnke's marriage is an unhappy one, i fear that yon cannot count upon his hostility to your father being in any way lessened, as he would all the more regret the interference with his former plans." "have you any idea where my mother is, sir?" "none," the colonel said. "but that i might find out for you. i will give you a letter to the count de noyes, who is on intimate terms with the archbishop of paris, who would, no doubt, be able to tell him in which convent the lady is residing. you must not be too sanguine, my poor boy, of seeing her, for it is possible that she has already taken the veil. indeed, if your father has died, and she has still refused to accept any suitor whom the marquis may have found for her, you may be snre that she has been compelled to take the veil, as her estates would then revert to the nearest kinsman. this may, for aught we know, have happened years ago, without a word of it being bruited abroad, and the affair only known to those most concerned. however, we must look at the best side. we shall be able, doubtless, to learn through the archbishop whether she is still merely detained in the convent or has taken the veil, and you can then judge accordingly whether your father is likely to be alive or dead. but as to your obtaining an interview with your mother, i regard it as impossible in the one case as the other. "at any rate, it is of the highest importance that it should not be known that you are in france. if it is proved that your father is dead and your mother is secluded for life, we must then introduce you to her family, and try and get them to bring all their influence to bear to have you acknowledged openly as the legitimate heir of bonnie prince charlie. toe marquis, and to obtain for yon the succession to at least a portion of his estates—say to that of those which she brought him as her dowry. in this you may be sure that i and every scottish gentleman in the army will give you all the aid and influence we can bring to bear." eonald warmly thanked colonel hume for his kindness, and the next day, having received the letter to the count de noyes, set out for paris with malcolm. on his arrival there he lost no time in calling upon the count, and pre- senting his letter of introduction. the count read it throngh twice without speaking. "my friend colonel hume,"-he said at last, "tells me that you are the son, born in lawful wedlock, of colonel leslie and amelie de recambours. i am aware of the cir- cumstances of the case, being distantly related to the lady's family, and will do that which colonel hume asks me, namely, disoover the convent in which she is living. but i warn you, young man, that your position here is a dan- gerous one, and that were it known that colonel leslie's son is alive and in france, i consider your life would not be worth a day's purchase. when powerful people are interested in the removal of any one not favored with powerful protection the matter is easily arranged. there are hundreds of knives in paris whose use can be purchased for a few crowns, or if seclusion be deemed better, than removal, a king's favorite can always obtain a mt^e-de- cachet, and a man may linger a lifetime in prison without a soul outside the walls knowing of his existence there. "you are an obstacle to the plans of a great noble, and that is in france a fatal offense. your wisest course, young man, would be to efface yourself, to get your friend colonel hume to obtain for you a commission in his regi- ment, and to forget forever that you are the son of colonel leslie and amelie de recambonrs. however, in that you 'will doubtless choose for yourself; but believe me my ad- bonnie prinott charlie. vice is good. at any rate i will do what my friend colonel home asks me, and will obtain for yon the name of the convent where your mother is living. i do not see that yon will beany the better off when you have it, for assured- ly yon will not be able to obtain permission to see her. however, that again is your affair. if yon will give me the address where you are staying in paris i will write to you as soon as i obtain the information. do not be impa- tient, the archbishop himself may be in ignorance on the point; but i doubt not, that to oblige me, he will obtain the information from the right quarter." a week later, ronald, on returning one day to le soldat ecossais, found a note awaiting him. it contained only the words: "she has not taken the veil; she is at the convent of our lady at tours." the next morning ronald and maloolm set out on their journey to tours. bonnie prinoe chablik' chapter vi. the convent of our lady. aebived at tours, malcolm took a qniet lodging in a retired street. colonel hume had furnished him with a regular discharge, testifying that the bearer, malcolm anderson, had served his time in the d scotch dragoons, and was now discharged as being past service, and that he recommended him as a steady man for any employment for which he might be suited. malcolm showed this doc- ument to his landlord in order that the latter might, as required by law, duly give notice to the police of the name and occupation of his lodger, and at the same time men- tioned that the relations of his wife lived near tours, and that he hoped through them to be able to obtain some sort of employment. as soon as they were settled in their lodgings they went out, and after a few inquiries found themselves in front of the convent of our lady. it was a massive building, in a narrow street near the -river, to which its grounds, sur- rounded by a high wall, extended. none of the windows of the building looked toward the street, upon which the massive gate, with a small wicket entrance, opened. "what building is this?" malcolm, in a careless tone, asked a woman who was sitting knitting at her door nearly opposite the entrance. "lama stranger in tours." "that needs no telling," the woman replied, "or you "would have known that that is the convent of our lady, bonnie prince charlie. ene of the richest in touraine, and they say in all france. though what they do with their riches is more than i can tell, seeing that the rules are of the strictest, and that'no one ever comes beyond the gates. they have thoir own grounds down to the river, and there is a walk along the * wall there where they take the air of an evening when the weather is fine. poor things, i pity them from my sonl." "but i suppose they all came willingly," malcolm said; "so there is no need for pity." "i don't know about willingly," the woman said. "i expect most of them took the veil rather than marry the men their fathers provided for them, or because they were in the way of some one who wanted their lands, or because their lovers had been killed in the war, just as if grief for a lover was going to last all one's life. besides, they are not all sisters. they say there's many a lady of good family shut up there till she will do her father's will. 'well, well,' i often say to myself, 'they may have all the riches of france inside those walls, but i would rather sit knitting at my door here than have a share of them.'" "you are a wise woman," malcolm said. "there is nothing like freedom. give me a crust, and a sod for my pillow, rather than gold plates inside a prison. i have been a soldier all my life, and have had my share of hard knocks; but i never grumbled so long as i was on a cam- paign, though i often found it dull work enough when in garrison." "oh, you have been a soldier! i have a brother in the regiment of touraine. perhaps you know him?" "i know the regiment of touraine," malcolm said; "and there are no braver set of men in the king's service. what is his name?" "pierre pitou. i have not heard of him for the last two years. he is a tall man, and broad, with a scar over the left eye." bonnie prince charlie. "to be sure, to be sure!" malcolm said. "of course. pierre pi ton is one of my best friends; and now i think of it, madam, i onght to know without asking, so great is his resemblance to you. why, his last words to me were, 'if you go to tours, seek out my sister, who lives in a house nearly opposite the entrance to the convent of our lady;' and to think i should have forgotten all about it till i saw yon!" malcolm remained for a quarter of an hour chatting with the woman about her brother, and then, promising to call again the next day in the evening to be introduced to her husband, he rejoined ronald, who had been waiting at the oorner of the lane, and had been fidgeting with impatience at the long interview between malcolm and the woman. "what have yon been talking abont all this time, mal- colm, and what could you have to say to a stranger?" "i have been telling her all about her brother, pierre piton of the touraine regiment, and how he distinguished himself at dettingen, and will surely be made a sergeant, with a hope some day of getting to be a captain. i have quite won her heart." "but who is pierre piton, and when did yon know him?" ronald asked, surprised. "he is a tall man with broad shoulders and a scar over his left eye," malcolm said, laughing, and he then related the whole conversation. "but why did you pretend to this poor woman that you knew her brother?" "because she may be very useful to us, ronald; and if you can't find a friend in court, it's just as well to have one near court. she is a gossiping woman, and like enough she may know some of the lay sisters, who are, in fact, the servants of the convent, and come out to buy supplies of food and other things, and who distribute the bonnie frince charlie. alms nmong the poor. i don't know what advantage will come of it yet, ronald; but i can see i have done a great stroke of business, and feel quite an affection for my friend pierre pitou." malcolm followed up the acquaintance he had made, and soon established himself as a friend of the family. ronald did not accompany him on any of his visits, for as the plan of proceeding was still undecided, he and malcolm agreed that it was better that he should not show himself until some favorable opportunity offered. sometimes toward evening he and malcolm would take a boat and float down the stream past the convent walls, and ronald would wonder which of the figures whose heads he could perceive as they walked upon the terrace, was that of his mother. it was not until malcolm had become quite at home with madam vipon that he again turned, the conversation toward the convent. he learned that she had often been inside the walls, for before her marriage she had worked at a farm whence the convent drew a portion of its supplies, milk, butter, and eggs, and she had often carried baskets to the convent. "of course i never went beyond the outer court," she said; "but farmer miron's daughter—it was he owned the farm—is a lay sister there. she was crossed in love, poor girl. she liked andre, the son of a neighboring farmer, but it was but a small place by the sida of that of miron, and her father would not hear of it, but wanted her to marry jacques dubois, the rich miller, who was old enough to be her father. andre went to the wars and was killed; and instead of changing when the news came, as her father expected, and taking up with the miller, she hated him worse than ever, and said that he was the cause of andre's death; so the long and short of it was, she came as a lay sister to the convent here. of course she never thought of taking the vows, for to do that here one bonnie prince charlie. canst be noble and be able to pay a heavy dowry to the convent. "so she is just a lay sister, a sort of servant, yon know, but she is a favorite and often goes to market for them, and when she does she generally drops in here for a few minntes for a talk; for though she was only a child when i was at the farm we were great friends, and she hears from me how all the people she nsed to know are getting on." "i suppose she knows all the ladies who reside in the convent as well as the sisters?" "oh, yes, and much better than the sisters! it is on them she waits. she does not see mnch of the sisters, who keep to their own side of the house, and have very little to do with the visitors, or as one might call them the prisoners, for that is what most of them really are." "now i think of it," malcolm said, "one of the officers i served nnder had a relation, a lady, whom i have heard him say, when he was talking to another officer, is shut np here, either because she wouldn't marry some one her father wanted her to, or she wanted to marry some one her father didn't want her to, i forget exactly what it was now. let me see what was her name. elise—no, that wasn't it. amelie—amelie de recambours— yes, that was it." "oh, yes, i know the name! i have heard jeanne speak of her. jeanne said it was whispered among them that she had really married somebody against her father's will. at any rate she has been there ever so many years, and they have not made her take the veil, as they do most of them if they are obstinate and won't give way. poor thing! jeanne says she is very pretty still, though she must be nearly forty now." "that is very interesting," malcolm said; "and if you will not mind, madam vipon, i will write to the officer of whom i spoke and tell him his cousin is alive and well. i bonnie plilncb uhattllh was his servant in the regiment, and i know, from what have heard him say, ho was very muoh attached to her. there can be no harm in that, yon know," he said, as madam vipon looked donbtful; "but if yon wonld prefer it, of course i will not say how i have heard." "yes, that will be better," she agreed. "there is never any saying how things come round; and though there's no harm in what i have told yon, still it's ill gossiping about what takes place inside convent walls." "i quite agree with yon, my dear madam vipon, and admire yonr discretion. it is singular how you take after your brother. pierre pitou had the reputation of being the most discreet man in the regiment of touraine." ronald was very excited when he heard from malcolm that he had actually obtained news at second hand as to his mother, and it was with difficulty that his friend per- suaded him to allow matters to go on as he proposed. "it will never do to hurry things now, ronald; every- thing is turning ont beyond our expectations. a fortnight ago it seemed absolutely hopeless that you should commu- nicate with your mother; now things are in a good train for it." accordingly malcolm made no farther allusion to the subject to madam vipon nntil a fortnight had passed; then he said, on calling on her one day: "do yon know, my dear madam vipon, i have had a letter from the gentleman of whom i was speaking to yon. he is full of gratitude at the news i sent him. i did not tell him from whom i had heard the news, save that it was from one of the kindest of women, the sister of an old comrade of mine. he has sent me this"—and he took ont a small box which he opened, and showed a pretty gold brooch, with earrings to match—"and bid me to give it in his name to the person who had sent him this good news." bonnie prince charlie. ioa "that is beautiful," madam vipon said, clapping her bands; "and i have so often wished for a real gold brooch! won't my husband open his eyes when he sees them!" "i think, if i might advise, my dear madam," malcolm said, "i should not give him the exact history of them. he might take it into his head that yon had been gossip- ing, although there is no woman in the world less given to gossiping than you are. still you know what husbands are. therefore, if i were you i would tell him that your brother pierre had sent them to you through me, knowing, you see, that you could not have read a letter even if he could have written one." "yes, perhaps that would be the best," madam vipon said; "but you had better write to pierre and tell him. otherwise, when he comes home, and my husband thanks him for them, he might say he had never sent them, and there would be a nice affair." "i will do so," malcolm said; "but in any case i am sure your wit would have come to the rescue, and you would have said that you had in fact bought them from your savings; but that thinking your husband might grumble at your little economies you had thought it best to say that they came from your brother." "oh, fie, monsieur; i am afraid you are teaching me to tell stories." "that is a very hard word, my dear madam. you know as well as i do that without a little management on both sides husbands an wives would never get on well together; but now i want to tell you more. not only does my old master write to say how glad he is to hear of his cousin's welfare, but he has told me a great deal more about the poor lady, and knowing your kindness of heart i do not hesitate to communicate the contents of his letter to you. the countess amelie de recambours was secretly married to a young officer, a great friend of my late master^ bonnie pr n f! charlie. jeanne waits upon her, you see, and i know your quick "wit will already have perceived that jeanne might deliver a message. i am sure that she would never be your friend had she not a warm heart like your own, and it will need very little persuasion on your part, when you have told her this sad story, to induce her to bring gladness to this nnfortunate lady." "yes; but think of the consequences, monsieur ander- son; think what would happen if it were found out." "yes, if there were any talk of the countess running away from the convent i would not on any condition ask yon to assist in such a matter; but what is this—merely to give a message, a few harmless words." "but yon said an interview, monsieur anderson." "an interview only if it is possible, my dear madam, that is quite another matter, and yon know yon said that it was quite impossible. all that we want now is just a little message, a message by word of mouth, which not even the keenest eye can discover or prevent; there can be no harm in that." "no, i don't think there can be much harm in that," madam vipon agreed; "at any rate i will talk to jeanne. it will be her day for going to market to-morrow; i will tell her the story of the poor lady, and i think i can answer beforehand that she will do everything she can." the following afternoon malcolm again saw madam vipon, who told him that although she had not actually promised she had no doubt jeanne would deliver the message. "she will be out again on saturday, monsieur, at nine in the morning, and if you will be here with the boy, if he has arrived by that time, yon shall speak to her." at the time appointed malcolm, with eonald, attired now as a young french gentleman, arrived at the house of madam vipon, who was warmly thanked by bonald for the interest she had taken in him. j. bonnie prince charlie. "my friend here has spoken to me in the highest terms of yon, madam vipon, and i am sure that all that he has said is no more than the troth." "i am sure i will do all i can," replied madam vipon, who was greatly taken by ronald's appearance and manner; "it's a cruel thing separating a mother from a son so many years, and after all what i am doing is no hanging matter any way." a few minutes later jeanne entered; she was a pleasant- looking young woman of five or six and twenty, and even her somber attire as a lay sister failed to give a formal look to her merry face. "so these are the gentlemen who want me to become a conspirator," she said, "and to run the risk of all sorts of punishment and penalties for meddling in their business?" "not so much my business as the business of my mother," ronald said. "you who have such a true heart of your own, for madam has told us something of your story, will, i am sure, feel for that poor lady shut up for fifteen years, and knowing not whether her child is dead or alive. if we could but see each other for five minutes, think what joy it would be to her, what courage her poor heart would take." "see each other!" jeanne repeated, surprised. "you said nothing about that, francoise; yon only said take a message. how can they possibly see each other? that's a different thing altogether." "i want you to take a message first," ronald said. "if nothing more can be done that will be very much; but i cannot think but that you and my mother, between you, will be able to hit upon some plan by which we might meet." "but how," jeanne asked in perplexity, "how could it possibly be?" "for example," ronald suggested; "could i not come bonnie prince charlie. in as a lay sister? i am not much taller than yon, and could pass very well as a girl." jeanne burst out laughing. "you do not know what yon are saying, monsieur; it would be altogether impossible. people do not get taken on as lay sisters in the convent of our lady unless they are known; besides, in other ways it would be altogether impossible, and even if it were not it might be years before you could get to speak to the countess, for there are only two or three of ns who ever enter the visitors' rooms; and lastly, if you were found out i don't know what would not be done to both of ns. no, that would never do at all." "well, in the next place, i could climb on to the river terrace at night, and perhaps she could come and speak to me there." "that is more possible," jeanne said thoughtfully; "but all the doors are locked up at night." "but she might get out of a window," ronald urged; "with a rope-ladder she could get down, and then return again, and none be the wiser." jeanne sat silent for a minute, and then she asked suddenly: "are you telling me all, monsieur, or are you intending that the countess shall escape with youp" "no, indeed, on my honor!" ronald exclaimed. " have nowhere where i could take my mother. she would be pursued and brought back, and her position would be far worse than it is now. no; i swear to you that i only want to see her and to speak to her, and i have nothing else whatever in my mind." "i believe you, monsieur," jeanne said gravely. "had it been otherwise i dare not have helped, for my punish- ment if i was discovered to have aided in an escape from the convent would be terrible—terrible!" she repeated bonnie prince charlie. with a shudder. "as to the other, i will risk it; for a gentler and kinder lady i have never met. and yet i am sure she must be very, very brave to have remained firm for so many years. at any rate i will give her your message." ronald took from a small leather bag, which he wore ronnd his neck, a tiny gold chain with a little cross. "i had this ronnd my neck when i was taken away as a child to scotland. no doubt she put it there, and will recognize it. say to her only: 'he whom you have not seen since he was an infant is in tours, longing above all things to speak to you;' that is all my message. after- ward, if you will, you can tell her what we have said, and how i long to see her. how high is her room from the ground? because if it is high it will be better that i should climb to her window, than that she should descend and ascend again." jeanne shook her head. "that could not be," she said. "the visitors have all separate cells, but the partitions do not go up to the ceil- ing; and even if you entered, not a word could be spoken without being overheard. but fortunately she is on the first floor, and i am sure she is not one to shrink from so little a matter as the descent of a ladder in order to have an interview with her son." that same afternoon as am ie de recambours was pro- ceeding from the refectory to her cell, following several of her fellow captives, her attendant jeanne came out from one of the cells. glancing behind to see that no one was following, she put her finger on her lips and then whis- pered: "make some excuse not to go into the garden with the others this evening. it is most important." then she glided back into the room from which she had come. the countess followed the others in a state of almost bewilderment. for sixteen years nothing had occurred to bonnie prince charlie. break the monotony of her existence. at first occasional angry messages reached her from her father, with orders to join an application to the pope for a divorce; but when it had been found impossible to overcome her steady refu- sals the messages had at last ceased, and for years no word from the outer world had reached her, although she had learned from those who from time to time came to share her captivity what was passing outside. whether her husband was alive or dead she knew not. they had told her over and over again that he was dead; but the fact that she had never had the option given her of accepting another husband or taking the final vows kept hope alive. for she was convinced that if he was really dead, efforts would be made to compel her to marry again. what, then, she wondered to herself, could this commu- nication so secretly given mean? she regarded the lay sister who attended upon her as a happy-looking young woman whose face was in strong contrast to most of those within the walls of the convent; but she had exchanged but few words with her, knowing that she would be but a short time about her. for the policy of the abbess was to change the attendants upon the ladies in their charge fre- quently, in order to prevent them from being tampered with, or persuaded into conveying communications with- out the walls. "you look pale, amelie," one of the other ladies said as they gathered in a group for a moment before proceed- ing to their respective apartments, where they were sup- posed to pass the afternoon in working, reading, and meditation. "it is the heat," the countess said. "i have a head- ache." "you look it," the latter said. "it is not of ten that yon have anything the matter with you. you know we all say that you must have a constitution of iron and the bonnie prtnce charlie. ©onrage of a roland to be sixteen years here and yet to have no wrinkle on your forehead, no marks of weeping round yonr eyes." the countess smiled sadly. "i wept the first six months almost without ceasing, and then i told myself that if i would be strong and resist i must weep no more. if a bird in a cage once takes to pining he is snre not to live long. there are few of us here the news of whose death would not give pleasure to those who shut us up, and i for one resolved that i would live in spite of all." "well, you must not get ill now, amelie. we should miss you terribly in the one hour of the day when we really live, the hour when we walk and talk, and laugh if we can, on the river terrace." "i don't think i shall be able to come this evening," the countess said. "i shall lie down and keep myself quiet. to-morrow i hope to be myself again. it is a mere passing indisposition." the hours passed slowly as amslie lay on her couch and wondered over the coming interview. there were so many things which she might hear—that her father was dead; that her family had hopes at last of obtaining her restoration to the world. that it could be a message from her husband she had no hope, for so long as her father lived she was sure that his release would never be granted. as to the child, she scarce gave it a thought. that it had somehow been removed and had escaped the search that had been made for it she was aware; for at- tempts had been made to obtain from her some clew as to where it would most likely have been taken. she was convinced that it had never been found, for if it had she would have heard of it. it would have been used as a lever to work upon her. at last the hour when she was accustomed to go into bonnie prince charlie. ill the garden arrived, and as the convent bell struck seven she heard the doors of the other cells open, the sonnd of feet in the corridor, and then all became still. in a few minutes a step approached, and one of the sisters entered to inquire why she was not in the garden with the others. she repeated that her head ached. ■ you look pale," the sister said, "and your hand is hot and feverish. i will send you up some tisane. it is the heat, no doubt. i. think that we are going to have thunder." in a few minutes a step was again heard approaching, and jeanne entered with the medicament. as she closed the door the countess started into a sitting position. "what is it, jeanne? what is it that you have to say to me?" "calm yourself, i pray you, countess," jeanne said. "for both our sakes i pray you to hear what i have to say calmly. i expect sister felicia will be here directly. when she heard you were unwell she said she would come up and see what you needed. and now, i will begin my message. in the first place- was to hand you this." and she placed in amelie's hand the little necklet and cross. for a moment the countess looked at them wonderingly, and then there flashed across her memory a sturdy child in its nurse's arms, and a tall man looking on with a loving smile as she fastened a tiny gold chain round the child's neok. a low cry burst from her lips as she started to her feet. "hush, lady, hush!" jeanne exclaimed. "this is my message: 'he whom you have not seen since he was an infant is in tours, longing above all things to speak to you.'" "my ohild! my child!" the countess cried. "alive and here! my god! i thank thee that thou hast remembered bonnie fringe charlie. a friendless mother at last. have yon seen him, jeanne? what is he like? oh, tell me everything!" "he is a right proper young gentleman, madam. straight and comely and tall, with brown waving hair and a bright pleasant face. a son such as any mother might be proud of." the countess suddenly threw her arms round jeanne's neck and burst into tears. "yon have made me so happy, jeanne; happy as i never thought to be again. how can i thank you?" w the best way at present, madam," jeanne said with a smile, "will be by drinking up that tisane, and lying down quietly. sister felicia moves about as noiselessly as a cat, and she may pop in at any moment. do yon lie down again and i will stand a little way off talking. then if she comes upon us suddenly she will suspect nothing." the countess seized the bowl of tisane and drank it off, and then threw herself on the couch. "go on, jeanne, go on. have pity on my impatience. think how i am longing to hear of him. did the message say he was longing to see me? but that is not possible." "it is not quite impossible, madam; though it would be dangerous, very dangerous. still it is not quite impos- sible." "how then could it be done, jeanne? yon know what our life is here. how can i possibly see my boy?" "what he proposes, madam, is this: that he should some night scale the river wall, and await yon on the ter- race, and that you should descend from your window by a rope-ladder, and so return after seeing him." "oh, yes, that is possible!" the countess exclaimed; "i could knot my bedclothes and slide down. it matters not about getting back again, since we have no ladder." "i can manage to bring in two light ropes," jeanne said. "it would not do for you to be found in the garden, bonnie prince charlie. for it would excite suspicion, and you would never have a chance of doing it again. but it is not an easy thing to climb up a rope-ladder with no one to help you, and you know i shall be at the other end of the house." "that is nothing," the countess said. "had i to climb ten times the height, do you think i should hesitate for a moment when it was to see my son. oh, jeanne, how good you are! and when will it be?" "i will bring in the ropes nest time i go out. mind and place them in your bed. you will know that that night at eleven o'clock your son will be on the terrace awaiting you." as jeanne finished speaking she placed her linger on her lips, for she thought she heard a slight noise without. the countess closed her eyes and then lay down on her pillow, while jeanne stood as if watching her. the next instant the door opened noiselessly and sister felicia en- tered. she moved with a noiseless step up to jeanne. "is she asleep?" she whispered. "oh, no!" jeanne answered in a louder voice, guessing that the sister would have heard the murmur of voices. "she has only just closed her eyes." the countess looked up. "ah! is it you, sister? i have taken the tisane sister angela sent up, but my hands are burning and my head aches. the heat in chapel was so great i thought i should have fainted." "your hands are indeed burning," the sister said, con- vinced as soon as she touched them that the countess was really indisposed. "yes; and your pulse is beating quicker than i can count. yes, you have a touch of fever. i will mix you a draught and bring it up to you at once. hark! that is the first peal of thunder; we are going to have a storm. it will cloar the air, and do you even more good than my medicine. i will leave you here for to-night; if bonnie prince charlie. yon are not better to-morrow we will move yon into the infirmary." the next morning sister felicia found her patient much better, though she still seemed languid and weak, and was ordered to remain quietly in her apartment for a day or so, which was just what she desired, for she was so filled with her new-horn happiness that she feared that if she went abont her daily tasks as usual she should not be able to oonoeal from the sharp eyes of the sisters the joyousness which was brimming over in her, while had she laughed she would have astonished the inmates of the gloomy convent. bonnie prince charlie. chapter vil mothbe! when jeanne, after accomplishing her errands the next time she went out, entered madam vipon's, she found eonald and malcolm awaiting her. "yon have told my mother?" the former asked eagerly as she entered. "yes, i have told her, and if i had been an angel from heaven, with a special message to her, the poor lady could not have looked more happy." "and yon have been like an angel to us!" ronald ex- elaimed, taking her hand. "how can i thank you for your goodness?" "for shame, sir!" jeanne said, smiling and coloring as eonald, in his delight, threw his arms round her and kissed her; "remember i am a lay sister." "i could not have helped it," ronald said, "if you had been the lady superior. and now," he went on eagerly, "is all arranged? see, i have brought a ladder of silk rope, light and thin, but quite strong enough to bear her." "you take all for granted then, sir. you know i said i would take your message, but that i would not engage to meddle further in it." "i kuow you said so; but i was sure that having gone so far you would do the rest. you will, won't you, jeanne?" "i suppose i must," jeanne said; "for what with the bonnie prince charlie countess on one side and yon the other, i should get no peace if i said no. well, then, it is all arranged. at eleven o'clock to-night yon are to be on the terrace, and you can expect her there. if she does not come yon will know that something has occurred to prevent her, and she will come the following night at the same hour." jeanne took the silken cords and wound them round her, under her lay sister's robe, and then, with a kindly nod at ronald, and an injunction to be as noiseless as a mouse in climbing the terrace, and above all not to raise his voice in speaking to his mother, she tripped away across the street to the convent. malcolm and ronald sallied out from tours before the city gates were closed at sunset, and sat down on the slope which rises from the other side of the river and waited till it was time to carry the plan into operation. gradually the lights disappeared from the various windows and the sounds which came across the water ceased, and by ten o'clock everything was profoundly still. they had, in the course of the afternoon, hired a boat, saying they were going out for a night's fishing. this they had moored a short distance below the town, on the side of the river where they now were. they now made their way to it and rowed quietly across the stream; then they left it and waded through the water, which flowed knee-deep at the foot of the walls. although tours was still a walled town the habit of keeping sentry in time of peace had long since died out, and they had no fear, at that hour, of discovery. there was no moon, but the night was bright and clear, and they had no difficulty in finding that part of the wall which now formed the terrace of the convent. they were provided with a rope knotted at every foot, and with a grapnel attached to one end. at the second attempt this caught on the parapet of the wall, and ronald ronald seeks bis mother in the convent.—page . —bonnie prince charlie. bonnie prince oharli& at ortoe climbed it and stood on the terrace, where, a min- ute later, he was joined by malcolm. the convent itself conld not be seen, for a screen of trees at the foot of the wall shut it off from the view of people on the opposite bank of the river. they waited quietly until a sudden peal of the bells of the numerous churches announced that it was the hour. then they moved toward the steps lead- ing down into the garden. a minute later a figure was seen approaching. malcolm fell back, and ronald ad- vanced toward it. as the countess approached she held out her arms, exclaiming: "my boy, my boy!" and with a cry of "mother!" ron- ald sprang forward into her embrace. for a short time not a word was spoken, and then the countess murmured. "my god, i thank thee for this great happiness. and now, my son," she said, recovering herself, "tell me every- thing. first, have you news of your father?" "alas, no!" ronald said; "nothing has been heard of him since the fatal day when he was seized; but i am con- vinced that he is still alive, and since i have found you, surely i shall be able to find him." "who is that with you, ronald?" "that is malcolm anderson; it is to him i owe every- thing. he carried me off and took me away with him to scotland the day my father was arrested. he has been my best friend ever since, and it is he who brought me here to you." the countess advanced to malcolm. "my son has told me that we owe everything to you, my brave malcolm!" she said, holding out her hand. "i guessed that it was to you that my husband had confided the care of the child when i learned that it had disap- peared. i remember what confidence he had in your devotion, and how he confided everything to you." bonnie prince gha rlib. "he was like a brother to me, madam," malcolm replied; "and glad indeed am i that i have been able to befriend his son and to bring him back to yon a gentleman who will be an honor even to his father's name and yours." "and now let ns sit down here," the countess said, taking a seat upon a bench. "it gets light very early, and yon must not stay after two o'clock, and there is so much for me to hear." for the next two hours ronald sat holding his mother's hand, while he told her the story of his life. "and now, mother," he said, when he had concluded, "we have bnt an hour left, for it has just struck one, and we have not said a word yet about the principal thing of all. how are we to obtain your freedom? cannot you arrange to escape with us? i do not, of course, mean to-night, for we have nothing prepared, and, moreover, i promised jeanne that there should be no attempt at escape; but we can come again when everything is ready. we shall of course, need a disguise for you, for there will be a hot pursuit when your escape is known. but we might manage to reach the coast and cross over to england, and so make our way north." "no, my son," the countess said. "i have thought it over in every way since i knew you were here, and i am resolved to remain here. were i to fly, the last hope that your father might ever be freed would be lost. my father would be more than ever incensed against him and me; and, moreover, although that is but a minor con- sideration, there would be no hope whatever of your ever recovering the rank and estate to which you are entitled. no, i am resolved to wait here, at any rate so long as my father lives. at his death doubtless there will be some change, for as heiress to his estates my existence must be in some way recognized, and my family may be enabled to obtain ray release when his powerful opposition is removed; bonnie prince charlie. if not, it will be time to take the idea of flight into consid- eration; till then i remain here. now that i have seen yon, now that i know that you are alive and well, now that i can think of you as you are, for i can just make out your face by the light of the stars, i shall be as near con- tentment and happiness as i can be till i meet your father again. in the meantime your good friend here can advise you far better than i can as to what your course had better be. if yon can obtain any high influence, use it for ob- taining your father's release. if it be accompanied by a sentence of exile from france it matters not, so that he is freed. yon can then return here, and will gladly fly with you to join him in scotland." malcolm now rose from his seat and left mother and son half an hour together. when two o'clock struck he re- turned to them. "there is the signal," the countess said, rising, "and now we must part." she had already refused to accede to ronald's entreaty that she would meet him there again. "no, my son, we have been permitted to meet this once, but we must not tempt fortune again. sooner or later something would be sure to occur which would lead to dis- covery, and bring ruin upon all our plans. it is hard to say no and to refuse the chance of seeing you again now that we have once come together, but i am fully resolved that i will not risk it." "we will see you safe up the ladder, mother," ronald said. "it is no easy matter to climb up a rope-ladder swinging loosely." "no, i discovered that in descending," the countess said; "but if yon come with me you must takeoff your boots—the print of a man's footstep in the garden would ruin us all; and mind, not a word must be spoken when we have once left the terrace." taking off their boots they accompanied her through bonnie prince charlie. the garden. there was a last passionate embraoe at the foot of the ladder, then the countess mounted it while they held it steady. directly she entered the window she nndid the fastening of the rope inside and let the ladder drop down to them. five minutes later ronald descended the rope into the river. malcolm shifted the grapnel so that it oaught only on the edge of the parapet and could be shaken off from below when the strain on the rope was removed, then he slid down to ronald's side. a sharp jerk brought down the grapnel, and they returned along . the edge of the river as they had come, crossed in the boat, and waited for morning. they waited two days longer in tours in order that they might receive, through jeanne from the countess, a list of the noble families to which she was related, with notes as to those persons of whom she had seen most before her marriage, and who she believed would be most disposed to exert their influence on her behalf. "jeanne," ronald said, "lam troubled that i do not know what i can do to show you how grateful i am. i should so like to give you some souvenir, but what can i do—you could not wear brooches, or earrings, or trinkets." "that i could not, monsieur," jeanne broke in with a smile; "and if i conld would not accept them from you. i have done what i have done because i pitied your mother and yon, and i am content that if i have broken the rules i have done it with a good purpose." "well, jeanne," ronald said, "you may not be a lay sister all your life; you have taken no vows that will bind you forever, and i have no doubt that the lady superior can absolve you from your engagements should you at any time wish to go back to the world; if so, and if i am still in prance, i will come to dance at your wedding, and will promise you as pretty a necklace and earrings as are to ba found in touraine." bonnie prince charlie. "very well, that is a bargain," jeanne said, laughing; "and it is not impossible, yonng sir, that some day i may hold you to your promise, for only last market-day i met my father, and he spoke more kindly to me than he used to, and even said that he missed me; and i hear that the miller has found some one who will put up with him for the sake of his money. i shouldn't be surprised if, when that comes off, father wants me home again; but i sha'n't go directly he asks me, you may be sure, but shall bargain that if there be again any question of a husband it will be for me to decide and not him." the next day ronald and his companion started for paris. they were highly gratified with the success which had attended them, and ronald felt his whole life bright- ened now that he had found the mother who had been so long lost to him. on arriving at paris they found that colonel hume's regiment had returned to the capital. it was not expected that there would at present be any further fighting on the frontier, and two or three of the scotch regiments had been brought back. ronald at once called on colonel hume and related to him the success which had attended the first portion of his undertaking. "i congratulate you indeed," colonel hume said. "i own that i thought your enterprise was a hopeless one, for it seemed to me impossible that you should be able to ob- tain an interview with a lady closely imprisoned in a con- vent. why, anderson, it is plain now that your talents have been lost, and that you ought to have been a diplo- matist instead of wasting your time as a soldier. the way you carried out your plan was indeed admirable, and i shall really begin to think that ronald will yet succeed; and now, my young friend, what do you mean to do next?" "would it be possible, sir, to ascertain where my father is confined?" "i think not, my lad," the colonel said gravely. "in bonnie plllncu charlie. addition to the fonr or five prisons in paris there are a score of others in different parts of france. the names of the prisoners in each are known only to the governors; to all others within the walls they exist as numbers only. the governors themselves are sworn to secrecy, and even if we coulf" get at one or two of them, which would be difficult enough, we could hope for no more. nor would it be much satisfaction to you merely to know in which prison your father is lying, for it is a very different matter to communicate with a prisoner in one of the royal for- tresses to passing a message to a lady detained in a convent. i oan see nothing for you but to follow the example of your mother and to practice patience, so conducting your- self as to gain friends and make a name and influence, so that at your grandfather's death we may bring as strong a pressure as possible to bear upon the king." "how old is my grandfather?" ronald asked. "he is a man about sixty." "why, he may live twenty years yet!" ronald exclaimed bitterly. "do not look at the worst side of the question," colonel hnme replied with a smile. "but he may live some years," he went on more gravely, "and in the meantime you mnst think what you had better do. i will tell you as a great secret, that it has been finally resolved that an expedition shall sail this winter for scotland, and fifteen thousand troops will assemble at dunkirk under marshal saxe. nothing could be more opportune. we are to form part of the expedition, with several other scottish regiments. you are too young as yet for me to ask for a commission for you, but if you like i will enroll you as a gentleman volunteer; in this way you may have an oppor- tunity of distinguishing yourself. i will introduce you to the chevalier, and it may be that if he succeeds in gaining the crown of scotland, if not of england, he will himself bonnie prince charlie. s ask king louis as a personal favor to release and restore to him colonel leslie of glenlyon, who fought bravely with him in ' . if the expedition fails, and we get back alive to france, i will then obtain for you a commission in the regiment, and we can carry out our plan as we arranged. what do you say to that?" "i thank you greatly, sir, and accept your offer most gratefully. i see that i am powerless to do anything for my father now, and your plan gives at least a prospect of success. in any case nothingwill give me so much delight as to serve with the regiment he formerly commanded, and under so kind a friend as yourself." "that is settled then," colonel hume said; "and now about outfit. a gentleman volunteer wears the uniform of the officers of the regiment, and indeed is one in all respects except that he draws no pay. my purse will be at your disposal. do not show any false modesty, my lad, about accepting help from me. your father would have shared his last penny with me had i needed it." "i thank you heartily, colonel, for your offer, and should it be necessary i will avail myself of it, but at present i have ample funds. malcolm carried off with me a bag with a hundred louis, and up to the day when i landed in france these had never been touched. i have eighty of them still remaining, which will provide my outfit and my maintenance for a long time to come." "there is another advantage in your being a volunteer, rather than on the list of officers, ronald; in that if it is necessary at any time, you can, after a word with me, lay aside your uniform and go about your affairs as long as you choose without question, which would be hard to do if you belonged regularly to the regiment." at the end of a week ronald had procured his uniform, and was presented by the colonel to the officers of the reg- iment as ronald leslie, the son of an old friend of his, bonnie prince charlie. who was joining the regiment as a gentleman volunteer. malcolm joined only in the capacity of ronald's servant. it was painful to the lad that his old friend and protector should assume such a relation toward him, but malcolm laughed at his scruples. "my dear ronald," he said, "i was your father's serv- ant, and yet his friend. why should i not act in the same capacity to you? as to the duties, they are so light that, now i do not belong to the regiment, my only difficulty will be to kill time. there is nothing to do save to polish up your arms and your equipment. your horse will be looked after by a trooper so long as you are with the regi- ment. i shall call you in the morning, get your cup of chocolate, and prepare your dinner when you do not dine abroad, carry your messages when you have any messages to send, and escort you when you go about any business in which it is possible that a second sword would be of use to you. as i have said, the only trouble will be to know what to do with myself when you do not want me." it was now the end of august, and for the next four months ronald worked hard at drill. he soon became a general favorite with the officers. the fact that his name was leslie, and that he was accompanied by malcolm, who was known to many of the old soldiers as being devoted to their former colonel, and as having in some strange way disappeared from the regiment at the same time, gave ground to a general surmise that leslie was the colonel's son. malcolm himself, when questioned, neither denied nor acknowledged the fact, but turned it off with a joke and a laugh. he was soon as much at home in his old regiment as if he formed a part in it, and when not required by ronald passed the greater part of his time with his former comrades. as was natural, the opinion entertained by the men as to leslie's identity was shared by the officers. bonnie prinvr charlie. the avoidance by ronald of any allusion to his family, hia declining when he first came among them to say to which branch of the leslies he belonged, and the decided manner in which colonel home, the first time the question was broached in his hearing in ronald's absence, said that he begged no inquiries would be made on that score; all he could assure them was that leslie's father was a gentleman of good family, and a personal friend of his own—put a stop to all further questioning, but strengthened the idea that had got abroad that the young volunteer was the son of colonel leslie. early in january the d scottish dragoons marched for dunkirk, where twenty thousand men assembled, while a large number of men-of-war and transports were gathered in the port. one day, when ronald was walking in the street with malcolm at his heels, the latter stepped up to him and touohed him. "do you see that officer in the uniform of a colonel of the black musketeers, in that group at the opposite corner; look at him well, for he is your father's greatest enemy, and would be yours if he knew who you are; that is the duke de chateaurouge." ronald gazed at the man who had exercised so evil an influence upon the fate of his parents. he was a tall dark man with a pointed mustache, and of from forty to forty- five years of age. his features were regular and handsome; but in his thin straight eyebrows, the curl of his lips, and a certain supercilious drooping of the eyelids, ronald read the evil passions which rendered him so dangerous and implacable an enemy. "so that is the duke!" ronald said when he had passed on. "i did not know he was a soldier." "he is an honorary colonel of the regiment, and only does duty with it when it is called on active service; but he served in it for some years as a young man, and had bonnie prince charlie. the reputation of being a good soldier, though i know that he was considered a harsh and unfeeling officer by the men who ser/ed under him. that is the man, ronald, and if you could get six inches of your sword between his ribs it would go a good long way toward obtaining your father's release; but i warn you he is said to be one of the best swordsmen iu france." "i care not how good a swordsman he is," ronald said hotly, "if i do but get a fair chance." "don't do anything rash, ronald; i have no fear about your swordsmanship, for i know in the last four months you have practiced hard, and that francois says that young as you are you could give a point to any officer in the regi- ment. but at present it were madness to quarrel with the duke; you have everything to lose and nothing to gain. if he killed you there would be an end of you and of your plans; if you killed him you would have to fly the country, for a court favorite is not to be slain with as much impu- nity as a bourgeoise, and equally would there be an end of all hope of obtaining your father's release. "no, for the present you must be content to bide your time. still it is as well for you to know your foe when you see him, and in the meantime go on frequenting the various schools of arms and learn every trick of the sword that is to be taught. look!" he went on, as a group of mounted officers rode down the street; "that is marshal saxe, one of the best soldiers in france, if not the best, and just as wild and reckless in private life as he is calm and prudent as a general." ronald looked with some surprise at the great general. he had expected to see a dashing and energetic-looking man, the beau ideal of a soldier. he saw a man who looked worn and bent with disease, and as if scarce strong enough to sit on his horse; but there was still a fire in his eye, and as he uttered a joke to an officer riding next to bonnie fringe charlie. him and joined merrily in the laugh, it was evident that his spirit was untouched by the disease which had made a wreck of his body. a few days later a messenger arrived with the news that the french fleet from brest had sailed, and had met the english fleet which had gone off in pursuit of it, and that the coast of kent was in consequence unguarded. orders were instantly given that the troops should embark on board the transports, and as fast as these were filled they set sail. the embarkation of the cavalry naturally took longer time than that of the infantry, and before the scot- tish dragoons had got their horses on board a portion of the fleet was already out of sight. "was there ever such luck!" malcolm exclaimed, after assisting in getting the horses on board, a by no means easy task, as the vessel was rolling heavily at her mooring; "the wind is rising every moment, and blowing straight into the harbor; unless i mistake not, there will be no sailing to-night." this was soon evident to all. signals were made from ship to ship, fresh anchors were let down, and the top- mast housed. by midnight it was blowing a tremendous gale, which continued for three days. several of th» transports dragged their anchors and were washed ashore, and messages arrived from different parts of the coast tell- ing of the wreck of many of those which had sailed before the storm set in. the portion of the fleet which had sailed had indeed been utterly dispersed by the gale. many ships were lost, and the rest, shattered and dismantled, arrived at intervals at the various french ports. the blow was too heavy to be repaired. the english fleet had again returned to the coast, and were on the lookout to intercept the expedi- tion, and as this was now reduced to a little more than half of its original strength no surprise was felt when the plan was abandoned altogether. bonnie prince charlie. marshal saxe with a portion of the troops marched to join the army in flanders, and the scotch dragoons were ordered to return to paris for the present. for a year ronald remained with the regiment in paris. he had during that time been introduced by colonel hnme to several members of his mother's family. by some of these who had known her before her marriage he was kindly received; but all told him that it would be hopeless to make any efforts for the release of his father as long as the marquis de recambours remained alive and high in favor at conrt, and that any movement in that direction would be likely to do harm rather than good. some of the others clearly intimated to him that they considered that the countess had, by making a secret marriage and defying her father's authority, forfeited all right to the assistance or sympathy of her mother's family. twice ronald traveled to tours and sent messages to his mother through jeanne, and received answers from the countess. she had, however, refused to meet him again on the terrace, saying that in spite of the love she had for him, and her desire to see him again, she was firmly re- solved not to run the risk of danger to him and the failure of all their hopes, by any rash step. at the end of the summer campaign in flanders marshal saxe returned to paris, and colonel hume one day took ronald and introduced him to him, having previously interested the marshal by relating his history to him. the marshal asked ronald many questions, and was much pleased with his frank manner and bearing. "yon shall have any protection i can give you," the marshal said. "no man has loved adventures more than i, nor had a fairer share of them, and my sympathies are altogether with you; besides, i remember your father well, and many a carouse have we had together in flanders. but am a soldier, you know, and though the king is glad bonnie pllincf charlie. enough to employ our swords in fighting his enemies we have but little influence at court. i promise you, how- ever, that after the first great victory i win i will ask the release of your father as a personal favor from the king, on the ground that he was an old comrade of mine. i can only hope, for your sake, that the marquis, your grand- father, may have departed this world before that takes place, for he is one of the king's prime favorites, and even the request of a victorious general would go for little as opposed to his influence the other way. and now, if yon like, i will give you a commission in colonel hume's regi- ment. you have served for a year as a volunteer now, and yonnger men than yon have received commissions." ronald thanked the marshal most heartily for his kind promise, hut said that at present he would rather remain as a volunteer, because it gave him greater freedom of action. "perhaps yon are right," the marshal said. "but at any rate you had better abstain from attempting any steps such as colonel hume tells me yon once thought of for obtaining the release of yonr father. success will be all but impossible, and a failure would destroy altogether any hopes you may have of obtaining his release from the king." it seemed that some of his mother's family with whom he had communicated must have desired to gain the favor of the favorite of the king by relating the circumstanoes to him, for a short time after ronald's interview with the marshal the marquis came up to colonel hume when he was on duty in the king's antechamber, and, in the pres- ence of a number of courtiers, said to him: "so, colonel hume, i find that i have to thank you for harboring in your regiment an impostor, who claims to be my grandson. i shall know, sir, how to repay the obliga- tion." "the gentleman in question is no impostor, marquis, as bonnie prince charlie. i have taken the pains to inform myself. and i am not aware of any reason why i should not admit the son of a scottish gentleman into my regiment, even though he happen to be a grandson of yours. as to your threat, sir, as long as i do my duty to his majesty i fear the displeas- ure of no man." two nights later, as honald was returning from dining with colonel hume and some of his officers, he was sud- denly attacked in a narrow street by six men. malcolm was with him, for colonel hume had at once related to him the conversation he had had with the marquis, and had warned him to take the greatest precautious. "he is perfectly capable of having you suddenly put out of his way by a stab in the back, .ronald. and if there were anywhere for you to go i should advise you to leave paris at once; but nowhere in france would you be safe from him, and it would upset all your plans to return to scotland at present. however, you cannot be too careful." ronald had related what had passed to malcolm, who determined to watch more carefully than ever over his safety and never left his side when he was outside the barracks. the instant the six men rushed out from a lane, at whose entrance a lantern was dimly burning, malcolm's sword was out, and before the assailants had time to strike a blow he had run the foremost through the body. ronald instantly recovered from his surprise and also drew. he was now nearly eighteen, and although he had not yet gained his full height he was a match for most men in strength, while his constant exercise in the school of arms had strengthened the muscle of his sword-arm, until in strength as well as in skill he could hold his own against the best swordsman in the regiment. the men were for a moment checked by the fall of their leader; but then see- ing that they had opposed to them only one man, and another whom they regarded as a lad, scarcely to be taken bonnie prince charlie. into consideration, they rushed upon them. they were quickly undeceived. ronald parried the first blow aimed at him, and with his reposte stretched his opponent on the pavement, and then springing forward, after a few rapid thrusts and parries ran the next through the shoul- der almost at the same moment that malcolm stretched another opponent on the ground. terrified at the downfall of three of their number, while a fourth leaned against a door-post disabled, the two remaining ruffians took to their heels and fled at the top of their speed, the whole affair having lasted scarce a minute. "tell your employer," ronald said to the wounded man, "that i am not to be disposed of so easily as he imagined. i should be only giving you what you deserve if i were to pass my sword through your body; but i dis- dain to kill such pitiful assassins except in self-defense." the next morning ronald communicated to colonel hume what had happened. "it's just as well, my young friend, that you are going to leave paris. i received orders half an hour ago for the regiment to march to the frontier at once. that is the marquis' doing, no doubt. he thought to get rid of you last night and to punish me this morning; but he haa failed both ways. you have defeated his cutthroats; shall be heartily glad to be at the front again, for i am sick of this idle life in paris." buhiuu riilnqe cealilus. " \ chapter viil hidden foes. «i am heartily glad to be out of paris," ronald said to malcolm on their first halt after leaving the capital. "it is not pleasant to regard every man one meets after dark as a possible enemy, and although i escaped scot-free from the gang who attacked us the other night, one cannot always expect such good fortune as that. it was a con- stant weight on one's mind, and i feel like a new man now that we are beyond the city walls." "nevertheless, ronald, we must not omit any precau- tions. your enemy has a long purse, and can reach right across france. that last affair is proof of his bitterness against you, and it would be rash indeed were we to act as if, having made one attempt and failed, he would abandon his plans altogether. he is clearly a man who nourishes a grudge for years, and his first failure is only likely to add to his vindictive feeling. i do not say that your danger is as great as it was in paris, but that is simply because the opportunities of attacking you are fewer. i should advise you to be as careful as before and to be on your guard against ambushes and surprises." "well, it may be so, malcolm, and of course i will be careful; but till i have proof to the contrary i shall prefer to think that the marquis will trust to my being knocked on the head during the war, and will make no further move against me until the regiment returns to paris." "think what yen like, lad," malcolm said, "so that you bonnie'prince charlie. ars cautious and guarded. i shall sleep with one eye open, i can tell you, till we are fairly beyond the frontier." two days later the regiment encamped outside the town of st. quentin. they were usually quartered on the in- habitants; but the town was already filled with troops, and as the weather was fine colonel hume ordered his men to bivouac a short distance outside the walls. ronald was seeing that his troop got their breakfast next morning, when a sergeant came up with two men with a horse. "this is monsieur leslie," he said to them. "these men were asking for you, sir." "what do you want with me?" ronald said, surprised. "we heard, sir," one of the peasants said, "that yon wanted to buy a horse. we have a fine animal here, and cheap." "but i do not want to buy one," ronald replied. "i am very well supplied with horses. what made you think i wanted one?" "we asked one of the officers, sir, if any one in the regiment would be likely to buy, and he said that monsieur leslie wanted one, he believed." "no," ronald said decidedly. "whoever told you was mistaken. i have my full complement, and though your horse looks a nice animal i could not take him if yon offered him to me for nothing. i don't think you will get any one to buy him in the regiment. believe that every officer has his full complement of chargers." in the evening ronald happened to mention to malcolm the offer he had had in the morning. "it was a nice-looking beast," he said "and i had half a mind to ask them what they would take to exchange him with my roan, but i did not want to dip further into my purse." "i wish i had been beside you at tha time," malcolm bonnie pllljwe charlie. loo c*you have two very good horses, leslie; why should any one suppose that you wanted another?" the colonel asked. "i don't know," ronald said. "i only know that two men did come up with a horse to me this morning, and said that one of the officers had told them that i wanted to buy one." "it must have been one of the men," the colonel said carelessly, "though i don't know why any one should suppose that you wanted another charger. still, some one, knowing that you are the last-joined officer, might think you had need for a second horse." the subject dropped, and malcolm shook his head ominously when ronald acknowledged to him that his sus- picions were so far right that none of the officers had sent the men to him. the next day, as the regiment was pass- ing through a thick wood, and eonald was riding with captain campbell behind his troop, which happened to be in the rear in the regiment, two shots were fired from among the trees. the first struck ronald's horse in the neck, causing him to swerve sharply round, a movement which saved his rider's life, for the second shot, which was fired almost instantly after the first, grazed his body and passed between him and captain campbell. "are you hit, leslie?" the latter exclaimed, for the sudden movement of his horse had almost unseated ronald. "nothing serious, i think. the bullet has cut my coat and grazed my skin, i think, but nothing more." the captain shouted orders to his men, and with a score of troopers dashed into the wood. the trees grew thickly and there was a dense undergrowth, and they had difficulty in making their way through them. for half an hour they continued their search without success, and then rejoined the regiment on its march. "this is a curious afeair," colonel hume said when bonnie prince charlie. captain campbell reported, at the next halt, that an at- tempt at assassination had taken place. "it looks like a premeditated attempt upon one or other of yon. yon haven't been getting into any scrape, have yon?" he asked with a smile; "kissing some peasant's wife or offering to run away with his daughter? but seri- ously this is a strange affair. why should two men lie in wait for the regiment and fire at two of its officers. the men have been behaving well, as far as i have heard, on the line of march, and nothing has occurred which could explain such an outrage as this." "it may be fancy on my part, colonel," ronald said, "but i cannot help thinking that it is a sequence of that affair i told you about in paris, just before we started. the first shot struck my horse and the second would cer- tainly have killed me had it not been for the horse's sud- den swerve, therefore it looks as if the shots were aimed at me. i have some reason, too, for supposing that i have been followed. if you remember my question last night at supper about the men who wanted to sell me a horse. malcolm anderson is convinced that the whole thing was only a rnse to enable them to become acquainted with my face. they wanted to be able to recognize me, and so got tip this story in order to have me pointed out to them, and to have a talk with me. none of the officers did send them to me, as they said, and they could hardly have hit npon a better excuse for speaking to me." "it certainly looks like it," colonel hnme said gravely. "i would give a good deal if we had caught those two men in the wood. if we had i would have given them the ohoioe of being hung at once or telling me what was their motive in firing at yon and who paid them to do it. this is monstrous. if we could get but a shadow of proof against your enemies i would lay a formal complaint be- fore the king. marquis or no marquis, i am not going to bonnie prince charlie. fiave my officers assassinated with impunity. however, till we have something definite to go upon, we can do nothing, and until then, leslie, you had best keep yonr suspicion to yourself. it were best to say nothing of what you think; in this country it is dangerous even to whisper against a king's favorite. let it be supposed that this attack in the woods was only the work of some malicious scoundrels who must have fired out of pure hatred of the king's troops." captain campbell and ronald quite agreed with the view taken by the colonel, and answered all questions as to the affair, that they had not the least idea who were the men who fired on them, and that no one obtained as much as a glimpse of them. with most of the officers of the regiment, indeed with all except one, ronald was on excellent terms. the ex- ception was a lieutenant named crawford; he was first on the list of his company, and had, indeed, been twice passed over in consequence of his quarrelsome and domineering disposition. he was a man of seven or eight and twenty; he stood about the same height as ronald and was of much the same figure, indeed the general resemblance between them had often been remarked. his dislike to ronald had arisen from the fact that pre- vious to the latter joining the regiment crawford had been considered the best swordsman among the officers, and ronald's superiority, which had been proved over and over again in the fencing-room, had annoyed him greatly. knowing that he would have no chance whatever with ronald in a duel, he had carefully abstained from open war, showing his dislike only by sneering remarks and sar- castic comments which frequently tried ronald's patience to the utmost, and more than once called down a sharp rebuke from colonel hume or one or other of the majors. he did not lose the opportunity afforded by the shots fired bonnie prince charlie. in the wood, and was continually suggesting all sorts of motives which might have inspired the would-be assassins. ronald, who was the reverse of quarrelsome by disposi- tion, laughed good-temperedly at the various suggestions; but one or two of the senior officers remonstrated sharply with crawford as to the extent to which he carried his gibes. "you are presuming too much on leslie's good-nature, crawford," captain campbell said one day. "if he were not one of the best-tempered young fellows going he would resent your constant attacks upon him; and you know well that, good swordsman as you are, you would have no chance whatever if he did so." "i am quite capable of managing my own affairs," crawford said sullenly, "and i do not want any advice from you or any other man." "i am speaking to you as the captain of leslie's troop," captain campbell said sharply, "and i do not mean to quarrel with you. you have had more quarrels than enough in the regiment already, and you know colonel hume said on the last occasion that your next quarrel should be your last in the regiment. i tell you frankly, that if you continue your course of annoyance to young leslie i shall report the matter to the colonel. i have noticed that you hafe the good sense to abstain from your remarks when he ia present." three days later the regiment joined the army before namur. that evening, having drunk more deeply than usual, lieutenant crawford, after the colonel had retired from the circle round the fire and gone to his tent, recommenced his provocation to ronald, and pushed matters so far that the latter felt that he could no longer treat it as a jest. "mr. crawford," he said, "i warn you that you are pushing your remarks too far. on many previous occa- bonnie pr n e charlie. dons yon have chosen to make observations which i could, if i had chosen, have resented as insulting. i did not choose, for i hate brawling, and consider that for me, who have but lately joined the regiment, to be engaged in a quarrel with an officer senior to myself would be in the highest degree unbecoming; but i am sure that my fellow- officers will bear me out in saying that i have shown folly as much patience as is becoming. i, therefore, have to tell you that i will no longer be your butt, and that i shall treat any further remark of the nature of those you have just made as a deliberate insult, and shall take measures accordingly." a murmur of approval rose among the officers sitting round, and those sitting near crawford endeavored to quiet him. the wine which he had taken had, however, excited his quarrelsome instinct too far for either counsel or prudence to prevail. "i shall say what i choose," he said, rising to his feet. "i am not going to be dictated to by any one, much less a boy who has just joined the regiment, and who calls him- self leslie, though no one knows whether he has any right to the name." "very well, sir," leslie said in a quiet tone, which was, however, heard distinctly throughout the circle, for at this last outhurst on the part of crawford a dead silence had fallen on the circle, for only one termination could follow such an insult. "captain campbell will, i hope, act for me?" "certainly," captain campbell said in a loud voice; "and will call upon any friend lieutenant crawford may name and make arrangements to settle this matter in the morning." "macleod, will you act for me?" crawford said to a lieutenant sitting next to him. ( "i will act," the young officer said coldly, "as your sec- bonnie prince charlie. ond in the matter; but all here will understand that i do so solely because it is necessary that some one should do so, and that i disapprove absolutely and wholly of your conduct." "well, make what arrangements you like," crawford said with an oath, and rising he left the circle and walked away. when he had left there was an immediate discussion. several of the officers were of opinion that the duel should not be allowed to proceed, but that crawford's conduct should be reported to the colonel. "i am entirely in your hands, gentlemen," ronald said. " have no desire whatever to fight. this affair has been forced upon me, and i have no alternative but to take it up. i am not boasting when i say that i am afar better swordsman than he, and i have no need to shrink from meeting him; but i have certainly no desire whatever to take his life. he has drunk more than he ought to do, and if this matter can be arranged, and he can be persuaded in the morning to express his regret for what he has said, i shall be very glad to accept his apology. if it can be settled in this way without either fighting or reporting his conduct to the colonel, which would probably result in his having to leave the regiment, i should be truly glad— what is that?" he broke off, as a loud cry rang through the air. the whole party sprang to their feet, and snatching up their swords ran in the direction from which the cry had come. the tents were at some little distance, and just as they reached them they saw a man lying on the ground. "good heavens, it is crawford!" captain campbell said, stooping over him. "see, he has been stabbed in the back. it is all over with him. who can have done it?" he questioned several of the soldiers, who had now gathered round, attracted like the officers by the cry. bonnie prince charlie. none of them had seen the act or had noticed any one running away; but in so large a camp there were so many people about that an assassin could well have walked qui- etly away without attracting any attention. the colonel was speedily on the spot, and instituted a rigid inquiry, but entirely without success. the attack had evidently been sudden and entirely unsuspected, for crawford had not drawn his sword. "it is singular," he said, as with the officers he walked slowly back to the fire. "crawford was not a popular man, but i cannot gness at any reason for this murder. strange that this should be the second attack made on my officers since we left paris." captain campbell now related what had taken place after he had left the circle. "the matter should have been reported to me at once," he said; "although, as it has turned out, it would have made no difference. perhaps, after all, it is best as it is, for a duel between two officers of the regiment would have done ns no good, and the man was no credit to the regi- ment. bnt it is a very serious matter that we should be dogged by assassins. leslie, come up with me to my tent. i am not going to blame you, lad," he said when they were together, "for you could not have acted otherwise than yon have done. indeed, i have myself noticed several times that crawford's bearing toward you was the reverse of courteous. have you any idea as to how he came by his death?" "i, sir!" ronald said in surprise. "no, i know no more than the others." "it strikes me, leslie, that this is only the sequel of that attack in the wood, and that your enemies have un- wittingly done you a service. crawford was very much yonr height and build, and might easily have been mis* bonnie prince crarlik. all the household troops were there, and a large contin- gent of the nobles of the court. the english army was known to be approaching, and was expected to fight a hattle to relieve namnr, which the french were besieging vigorously. the french confidently hoped that in the approaching hattle they would wipe out the reverse which bad befallen them at dettingen. bonnie prinoe charlie. chapter ix. fontenoy. a fortnight after the scottish dragoons joined the army the king was present at an inspection of their regi- ment. as the brilliant cortege passed along the line ronald saw among the gayly-dressed throng of officers riding behind the king and marshal saze the marquis de recambours and the dnke de chateau rouge side by side. ronald with two other gentlemen volunteers were in their places in the rear of the regiment. it was drawn up in double line, and as the royal party rode along for the sec- ond time, ronald saw that the two noblemen were looking scrutinizingly through the line of troopers at himself and his two companions. that evening colonel hume on his return from a visit to marshal saze told ronald that the general had inquired after him, and had sent him word that if he won the battle he would not forget the promise he had made him. he had requested colonel hume to place ronald at his disposal on the day of battle. "'i shall want active officers to carry my messages,' he said, 'and your young friend may have a greater opportu- nity of distinguishing himself than he would with the regiment. i should in that case find it all the easier to bring his business before the king.' "the marshal is terribly ill," colonel hume said as he reported the conversation to ronald, "so ill that he can only occasionally sit on his horse. nothing but his indom- bonnib prince charlie. it able courage sustains him. he is drawn about in a light carriage made of basket-work, and this serves him also for his bed." on the th of may the enemy were known to be close at hand, and the french selected the position on which they would fight. the village of fontenoy had already been occupied by a strong body of troops under marshal noailles and the rest of the army now moved forward to the posts allotted to them. the english army were close at hand, and it was certain that the battle would be fought on the morrow. in the evening the king held a grand reception at which all the officers of rank were present. when colonel hume returned to his camp his officers were still sitting round the fire. "have you any news for us, sir?" "no; i believe everything stands as was arranged. the king is in the highest spirits, though i must say his maj- esty did not choose reminiscences of a nature to encourage those who heard him. he remarked, for instance, that since the days of st. louis the french had never gained a decisive success over the english, and a few minutes later he observed that the last time a king of france with his son had fought at the head of the french army was at the battle of poitiers." there was a general laugh. "certainly the king was not happy with his reminis- cences,*' major munro remarked; "but i think this time the tables are going to be turned. in the first place we considerably outnumber the enemy, even after leaving , men to continue the siege. in the second place, the position we have chosen is almost impregnable. the scheldt covers our right, with the fortified bridge securing our communication, and the village of antoin resting on the river. along our front from antoin to fontenoy is a narrow and difficult valley. oar left is covered by the bonnie prince charlb e. "wood of barr , where a strong redoubt has been constructed and the whole of the position is fortified with breastworks and abattis as far as fontenoy. between that village and barre the natural difficulties are so great that field-works are unnecessary. i cannot believe myself that they will attack ns in such a position, especially as nearly half their army are dutch, who will count for little. the english are the only troops which we shall find formidable." before daybreak the camp was astir, and the troops took the positions assigned to them. even now it was hardly believed that an attack would be made by the enemy so long as the french remained in their all but impregnable position; but presently the columns of the enemy were seen advancing. ronald had ridden up to the litter on which marshal saxe was placed, and after saluting, had taken up his position with a number of other officers, in readiness to carry orders to different parts of the field. at a short distance from the marshal the king of france with the dauphin and the brilliant cortege of nobles bad taken up his post. from the position in which the mar- shal had caused himself to be placed a complete view of the enemy's approaching ranks was obtained. it could soon be seen that the dutch troops, who on the english right were advancing to the attack, were moving against the villages of antoin and fontenoy. a strong force, headed, as was known afterward, by general ingoldsby, moved toward the wood of barre; while a solid column of english and hanoverians, ten thousand strong, marched forward to the attack across the broken ground between fontenoy and the wood of barr . it was as yet but five o'clock in the morning when the cannon broke out into a roar on both sides. the dutch, who were commanded by the prince of waldeck, soon hes- itated, and in a short time fell back out of range of fire. on the english right general ingoldsby penetrated some bonnie prince charlie. distance into the wood of barre, and then fell back again as the dutch had done. in an hour after the fighting had commenced the right and left of the allied army had ceased their attack. there remained only the center, but this was advancing. under the command of the duke of cumberland the column crossed the ravine in front of fontenoy. the ground was so broken that the troops were unable to de- ploy, but moved forward in a solid mass with a front of only forty men. the french batteries from the right and left mowed them down in lines, but as steadily as if on parade the places were filled up, and unshaken and calm the great column moved forward. the caanon which they dragged along by hand opened against fontenoy and the redoubts, and as, in spite of the hail of fire, they pressed steadily on, the french gunners were obliged to abandon their cannon and fly. the regiment of french guards, officered almost entirely by the highest nobles, met the english guards, who com- posed the front lines of the column. a tremendous volley flashed along the english line, shattering the ranks of the french guard. there was a moment's fierce fighting, and then the english column swept from before it the remains of the french guard, and cleared the ravine which defended fontenoy. ronald felt his heart beat with excitement and a feeling of pride and admiration as he saw the english advancing unmoved through the storm of fire. they advanced in the most perfect order. the sergeants calmly raised or depressed the soldiers' muskets to direct the fire; each vacant place was filled quietly and regularly without hesi- tation or hurry; and exclamations of surprise and admira- tion broke even from the french officers. regiment after regiment was brought up and hurled bonnie prince charlie. against the head of the column, but with no mora offset than waves against a rock, each being dashed aside shat- tered and broken by the steady volleys and regular lines of bayonets. ronald and other officers were sent off to bring np the cavalry, but in vain did these strive to break the serried column. one regiment after another charged down npon it, but the english, retaining their fire until they were within a few yards of their muzzles, received them with such tremendous volleys that they recoiled in disorder. the french regiment of vaisseaux next advanced to the attack, and fought with greater gallantry than any which had preceded it; but at last, when almost annihilated, its survivors fell back. and now it seemed as if this ten thousand men were to be victorious over the whole french army. marshal saxe begged the king to retire with the dau- phin across the bridge of calonne while he did what he could to retrieve the battle, but the king refused to leave the field. there was a hurried council held round louis, and it was agreed to make a great effort by calling up the whole of the troops between fontenoy and antoin, as the positions they held were no longer threatened by the dutch. had the latter now advanced nothing oould have saved the french army from utter defeat; but they remained immovable at a distance from the field of battle. the english had now won the crown of the position, had cut through the french center, and were moving forward toward the bridge of calonne, when the whole of the french artillery, which had, by the advice of the duke of eichelieu, been brought up, opened fire on the english column. at the same moment the french regiments from antoin fell upon it; while marshal saxe, who had, when the danger became imminent, mounted his horse, himself brought up the irish brigade, who, with a wild yell of hatred, flung itself furiously upon the flank of the english. attacked thus on all sides, mown down by a heavy fire bonnie fringe charlie, of artillery, unsupported amid an army of foes the column conld do no more. ten thousand men could not withstand fifty thousand. their ranks were twice broken by the irish, but twice their officers rallied them; until at last, when it became evident that no more conld be done, the column fell slowly back in an order as perfect and regular as that in which it had advanced. french historians have done ample justice to the ex- traordinary valor shown by the english troops on this occasion, a valor never surpassed in the long annals of the british army. had they received the slightest assistance from their cowardly allies the victory must have been theirs. as it was, although unsuccessful, the glory and honor of the day rested with them, rather than with the victorious army of france. more than half the column had fallen in the desperate engagement, but the loss of the victors was even greater, and comprised many belonging to the noblest families of france. ronald had won the warm approval of marshal saxe for the manner in which he carried his orders across ground swept by a heavy fire, and brought up the regiments to within close quarters of the english; and after the battle was over marshal saxe presented to the king several of hia staff who had most distinguished themselves, and calling up ronald, who was standing near, for his horse had been shot under him as he rode by the side of the marshal with the irish brigade to the attack, the marshal said: "allow me to present to your majesty ronald leslie, a young scottish gentleman of good family, who is a volun- teer in the scottish dragoons, and has rendered great service to-day by the manner in which he has borne my orders through the thickest of the fire." "i will bear you in mind, young gentleman," the king said graciously, "and i charge the marshal to bring your name before me on a future day." bonnie prtnoe charlie. his duty as aide-de-camp over ronald rejoined his regi- ment. they had lost nearly a third of their number in their charges upon the english column. major munro had been killed, the colonel severely wounded, and a num- ber of officers had fallen. ronald went about among the men assisting to bind up wounds, and supplying those who needed it with wine and other refreshments. presently he was joined by malcolm. "thank god you are safe, ronald. i tell you you have given me many a fright to-day as i watched you galloping along through the line of the english fire." "where were you, malcolm? i did not see yon." "i had nothing to do," malcolm said, "and so i climbed a tree not fifty yards from the marshal's litter, and keep- ing the trunk in front of me to protect me from a stray bullet i had a good view of the whole proceedings. at one time was on the point of slipping down and making a bolt for it, for thought it was all over with us. how that column did fight! i have been in many a battle, but i never saw anything like it, it was grand; and if it hadn't been for the irish brigade, i think that they would have beaten the whole french army. but if you go into a battle again i sha'n't come to see you. i have done my share of fighting, and can take hard knocks as well as another; but i would not go through the anxiety i have suffered to-day about you on any condition. however, this has been a great day for you." "you mean about the marshal presenting me to the king? yes, that ought to help us." "no, i didn't mean that, for i had not heard of it. i mean about that old rascal your grandfather, the marquis de recambours." "what about him? i have not heard." "no!" malcolm exclaimed; "then i have good news for yon. a ball from one of the english field pieces struok bonnik prince charlie. nim full in the chest, and of course slew him instantly. he was not thirty yards from the tree when i saw him knocked over. he is quite dead i can assure you, for when the others moved oft i took the trouble to clamber down to assure myself. so now the greatest obstacle to the release of your father and mother is out of the way." "thank god for that!" ronald said. "i have no rea-, son for feeling one spark of regret at what has befallen him. he was the cruel persecutor of my parents, and did his best to get me removed. there is but one obstacle now to obtaining my father's release, and as he is neither a relation nor an old man i shall be able to deal with him myself." "yes, but you must be careful, bonald; remember the decree against dueling. we must not make a false step now, when fortune is at last favoring us. there will be no more fighting, i fancy. the english will certainly not attack us again, and tournay must fall, and i don't think that on our part there will be any desire whatever to go out of our way to seek another engagement with them. the king is sure to go back to paris at once, where he will be received with enthusiasm. marshal saxe will probably follow as soon as tournay has fallen. i should advise you, therefore, to get leave from the colonel to be absent from the regiment for a time, and we will make our way down to tours and let your mother know that the marquis is dead, and get her to write a memorial to the king requesting permission to leave the convent, and then when the marshal arrives in paris we will get him to present it." bonald agreed to malcolm's proposal, and the next morning, having obtained leave of absence from the colo- nel, he and malcolm mounted and rode for tours. the message was duly conveyed to the countess by jeanne, together with ronald's earnest request that his bonnie prince orarlie. mother would again meet him. she sent hack by jeanne the memorial he had asked her to write to the king, beg- ging that she might be allowed to leave the convent; but she refused to agree to his wishes to meet her, bidding jeanne say that now it seemed there was really a hope of her release shortly, she would less than ever risk any step which if discovered might prejudice their plans. although disappointed, ronald could not deny that her decision was a wise one and therefore contented himself by sending word that he had obtained one very powerful friend and that he hoped that she would ere long receive good tidings. after a short stay at tours ronald and malcolm returned to paris, where a series of brilliant fetes in honor of the victory of fontenoy were in preparation. tournay had surrendered a few days after the battle, the governor of that town having accepted a heavy bribe to open the gates, for the place could have resisted for months, and the allied army were ready to recommence hostilities in order to relieve it. after its surrender they fell back and resumed a defen- sive attitude. the king therefore returned at once to paris, and marshal saxe, handing over the command of the army to marshal de noailles, followed him by easy stages. delighted above all things at a success gained over the english, who had for centuries been victorious in every battle in which england and france had met as enemies, the citizens of paris organized a succession of brilliant fetes, which were responded to by entertainments of all kinds at versailles. the scottish dragoons were still at the front; but colonel hume had been brought to paris, as it would be some time ere he would be able again to take the command of the regiment. ronald called at the house where the colonel lodged, upon the day after his return from tours, and found that he had arrived upon the previous day. ronald was at onoe shown np on send* bonnie prince ouarme. rag in bis name. the colonel was lying on the couch when he entered. "how are yon, colonel?" "i am going on as well as possible, ronald; they found the ball and got it ont the day before i left the regiment, and i shall do well now. i have been carried on a litter all the way by eight of our troopers, and the good fellows were as gentle with me as if i had been a child, and i scarce felt a jar the whole distance. what i have got to do now is to lie quiet, and the doctor promises me that in six weeks' time i shall be fit to mount a horse again. marshal saxe sent yesterday evening to inquire after me, and i will send you to him to thank him for so sending, and to inquire on my part how he himself is going on. my message will be a good excuse for your presenting yourself." ronald found the antechamber of the marshal crowded with nobles and officers who had come to pay their respectt to the victorious general, who was, next to the king him- self, at that moment the most popular man in france. hitherto, as a protestant and a foreigner, maurice of sax- ony had been regarded by many with jealousy and dislike; but the victory which he had won for the french arms had for the time obliterated every feeling save admiration and gratitude. presently the marshal came ont from the inner room with the dauphin, who had called on the part of the king to inquire after his health. he was now able to walk, the excitement of the battle and the satisfaction of the victory having enabled him partially to shake off the disease which afflicted him. after the dauphin had left the marshal made the tour of the apartment, exchanging a few words with all present. "ah! you are there, my young leslie," he said famil- iarly when he came to ronald. "where have you been? bonnie prince charlie. i have not seen you since the day when yon galloped about with my messages through the english fire as if you had a charmed life." "colonel hume gave me leave, sir, to travel on private business. i am now the bearer of a message from him, thanking you for your kind inquiries as to his wound; he bids me say that he trusts that your own health is rapidly recovering." "as you see, leslie, fontenoy hab done wonders for me as well as for france; but wait here, i will speak with yoa again." in half an hour most of the callers took their departure, then the marshal called ronald into an inner room. "to-morrow," he said, "i am going to pay my respects to the king at versailles. i will take you with me. have you your mother's memorial? that is right. as her father was killed at fontenoy there will, i hope, be the less difficulty over the matter; but we must not be too sanguine, for there will be a host of hungry competitors for the estates of the marquis, and all these will unite against you. however, i do not think the king will be able to refuse my first request, and when your mother is out we must put our heads together and see about getting your father's release." ronald expressed his deep gratitade at the marshal's kindness. "say nothing about it, my lad. fortunately i want nothing for myself, and it is no use being a victorious general if one cannot utilize it in some way; so i am quite glad to have something to ask the king." the next day ronald presented himself at the hotel of marshal saxe and rode by the side of his carriage out to versailles. the king, surrounded by a brilliant train of courtiers, received the marshal with the greatest warmth, and after talking to him for some time retired with him b nn b princb charlie. into his private closet.. a few minutes later one of the royal pages came out into the audience-chamber and said in a loud voice that the king desired the presence of mon- sieur ronald leslie. greatly embarrassed at finding himself the center of observation not unmingled with envy at the summons, ronald followed the page into the presence of the king, who was alone with marshal saxe. louis, who was in high good humor, gave ronald his hand to kiss, saying: "i told the marshal to recall your name to me, and he has done so now. he says that you have a boon to ask of me." "yes, sire," the marshal said; "and please consider graciously that it is i who ask it as well as he. yonr majesty has always been gracious to me, and if you think me deserving of any mark of your favor after this success whioh your majesty*and i have gained together, i wonld now crave that you grant it." "it is granted before you name it, marshal," the king said. "i give you my royal word that whatever be your boon, provided that it be within the bounds of possibility, it is yours." "then, sire, i ask that an old comrade and fellow soldier of mine, who fought bravely for your majesty, but who fell under your majesty's displeasure many years ago on account of a marriage which he made contrary to your pleasure, may be released. he has now been over sixteen years in prison, and has therefore paid dearly for thwarting your will, and his wife has all this time been confined in a convent. they are the father and mother of this brave lad—colonel leslie, who commanded your majesty's regi- ment of scotch dragoons, and his wife, the countess am ie of recambours. i ask your majesty, as my boon, that you will order this officer to be released and the lady to be allowed to leave the convent." bonnie prince charlie. the king touched a bell and bade the page who entered order his secretary to attend at once. "search the register of the state prisons," he said, "and tell me where colonel leslie, who was arrested by our orders sixteen years ago, is confined, and then make ont an order to the governor of his prison for his release; also draw up an order upon the lady superior of—" and he paused. "the convent of onr lady at tours," ronald ventured to put in. "oh! you have discovered that, eh?" the king said with a smile; and then turned again to the secretary—"bidding her suffer the countess amelie de recambours to leave the convent and to proceed where she will." the secretary bowed and retired. ronald, seeing that his own presence was no longer required, said a few words of deep gratitude to the king and retired to the audience- room, where he remained until, ten minutes later, the door of the king's closet opened, and the king and marshal saze again appeared. the audience lasted for another half-hour, and then the marshal, accompanied by many of the nobles, made his way down to his carriage. ronald again mounted, and as soon as the carriage had left the great courtyard of the palace, rode up alongside and poured out his gratitude to the marshal. "it has been another fontenoy," the marshal said, smil- ing. "here are the two orders, the one for tours, the other for the governor of the royal castle at blois. the king made light of it; but i know his manner so well that i could see he would rather that i had asked for a duke- dom for you. it is not often that kings are thwarted, and he regards your parents as being rebels against his author- ity. however, he was bound by his promise, and there are the papers. now, only one word, leslie. do not indulge in any hopes that yon will see your father more bonnib prinob cbarl b. than a shadow of the stalwart soldier that he was siiteen years ago. there are few men, indeed, whose constitutions enable them to live through sixteen years' confinement in a state prison. therefore prepare yourself to find him a mere wreck. i trust that freedom and your mother's care may do much for him, but don't expect too much at first. if you take my advice yon will go first and fetch your mother, in order that she may be at hand to receive your father when he leaves the fortress. by the way, thought it just as well not to produce your mother's memorial, as it seemed that we should be able to do without it, for it might have struck the king to ask how you obtained it, and he would probably have considered that your commu- nication with your mother was a fresh act of defiance against his authority." malcolm was wild with joy when ronald returned with the account of his interview with the king and it success- ful result, and had his not been a seasoned head the num- ber of bumpers which he drank that night in honor of marshal saxe would have rendered him unfit for travel in the morning. ronald had, after acquainting him with the news, gone to colonel hume, whose pleasure at hear- ing that his former colonel and comrade was to regain bis freedom was unbounded. every preparation was made for an early start. "be sure yon look well to the priming of your pistols before you put them in your holsters to-morrow," malcolm said. "do yon think it will be necessary?" "i am sure of it, ronald. news travels fast; and yon may be sure that by this time the fact that the king has granted an order for the release of your father and mother is known to the duke of chateaurouge. if he did not hear it from the king himself, which he would be most likely to do, as louis would probably lose no time in ex- bonnie puinoe oraulte. plaining to him that he had only gone against his wishes because tinder the circumstances it was impossible for him to refnse the marshal's request, the secretary who drew out the document would, no doubt, let the duke know of it. there are no secrets at court." "but now that the orders for release have been granted," ronald said, "the duke can have no motive in preventing them being delivered, for fresh ones could, of course, be obtained." "in the first place, ronald, tho duke will be so furious at your success that he will stick at nothing to have his revenge; in the second place, he and the others, for there are many interested in preventing your mother from com- ing into her father's possessions, will consider that the gain of time goes for a good deal. you are the mover in the matter. were you out of the way, and the documents destroyed, the matter might rest as it is for a long time. the marshal is busy from morning till night, and would be long before he missed you, and would naturally suppose that you had, after obtaining the release of your parents, retired with them to some country retreat, or even left the kingdom. "this would give ample time for working upon louis. besides, the king might never inquire whether the pris- oners had been released. then the marshal might die or be sent away to the frontier. therefore, as you see, time is everything. i tell you, ronald, i oonsider the journey you are going to undertake to-morrow an affair of greater danger than going into a pitched battle. you will have to doubt every one you meet on the road, the people at the inns you stop at—you may be attacked anywhere and everywhere. as to- our traveling by the direct road, i feok upon it as impossible. our only chance is to throw aem off the sctnt, and as they know our destination that /till be no easj matter." bonnie puingb charlib. they were astir by daylight, and malcolm soon brought the horses round to the door. "it's a oomfort to know," he said, "that the horses have passed the night in the barracks, and that therefore they have not been tampered with. look well to the buckles of your girths, ronald. see that everything is strong and in good order." "that is not your own horse, malcolm, is it?" "no, it is one of the trooper's. it is one of the best in the regiment, and i persuaded the man to change with me for a week. no one is likely to notice the difference, as they are as nearly as possible the same color. your horse is good enough for anything; but if i could not keep up with you its speed would be useless. now, i think, we can keep together if we have to ride for it." "what have you got in that valise, malcolm? one would think that yon were going upon a campaign." "i have got four bottles of good wine, and bread and meat enough to last us for two days. i do not mean, if i can help it, to enter a shop or stop at an inn till we arrive at tours. we can make a shift to sleep for to-night in a wood. it would be safer a thousand times than an inn, for i will bet fifty to one that if we ventured to enter one we should find one or both of our horses lame on starting again." "oh come, malcolm, that's too much! the duke of ghateaurouge is not ubiquitous. he has not an army to scatter over all france." "no, he has not," malcolm agreed; "but from what i know of him i doubt not that he can lay his hands on a nnmber of men who will stick at nothing to carry out his orders and earn his money. paris swarms with discharged soldiers and ruffians of all kinds, and with plenty of gold to set the machine in motion there is no limit to the num- ber of men who might be hired for any desperate deed." . bonnie prince charlie. as they were talking they were making their way toward one of the southern gates; they arrived there before it was opened, and had to wait a few minutes. several other pas- sengers on horseback and foot were gathered there. "i could bet a crown piece," malcolm said, "that some one among this crowd is on the watch for ns, and that before another half-hour the duke of ghateanrouge will imm that we have started." bonnie p on b ohablo. chapter x. a perilous joubnby. a number of peasants with market carts were waiting outside the gates, and for the first few miles of their ride the road was dotted with people making their way to the city. as they rode, malcolm discussed the question of the best road to be taken. ronald himself was still in favor of pushing straight forward, for he was not so con- vinced as his follower that a serious attempt would be made to interrupt their journey. he pointed out that the road, as far as orleans at least, was one of the most- frequented in france, and that in that city even the most reckless wonld hardly venture to assault them. "i agree with you, ronald, that the road offers less opportunities for ambushes than most others, for the country is flat and well cultivated; but after all a dozen men with muskets conld lie in ambush in a cornfield as well as a wood, and the fact that people are going along the road counts for little one way or the other, for not one in fifty would venture to interfere if they saw a fray going on. but granting that so far as orleans the country is open and cultivated, beyond that it is for the most part forest; but above all—although they may regard it as pos- sible that we may be on our guard, and may travel by other roads—it is upon this direct line that they are sure to make the most preparations for us. beyond that it can only be chance work. we may go by one road or by bonnie prince charlie. another. there may be one trap set on each road; but onoe past that and we are safe." after riding for upward of an honr they came, at the tarn of the road, upon two carts. one had apparently broken down, and the other had stopped that those with it might give assistance in repairing it. one cart was turned across the road, and the other filled the rest of the spaoo. "stop!" malcolm exclaimed, checking his horse sud- denly. "what is it?" ronald asked in surprise. "turn hack!" malcolm said sharply as he wheeled his horse round. ronald, without a word, did the flame, and they galloped a hundred yards down the road. "we were nearly caught there," malcolm said. "why, how do you mean?" "never mind now, ronald. turn sharp to the right here, and make a detour through the fields. you will soon see whether i was right." "it is a shame riding through this ripe corn," bonald said, as without any further comment he leaped his horse over the bank and dashed off among the golden grain, which stretched far and wide on both sides of the road. they had not gone fifty yards before they heard loud shouts, and as they came abreast of where the carts were standing several shots were fired, and ten or twelve men were seen running through the corn as if to cut them off. but although they heard the whiz of the bullets they were too far off to be in much danger, and the men on foot had no chance of cutting them off, a fact which they speedily perceived, as one by one they halted and fired. a few hundred yards farther the two horsemen came round into the road again and pursued their journey. - "well, what do you think of that, ronaldp" bonnie prwof charlie. have gone out by one of the other gates at the south side of the town, and they will have watched all the roads. now i propose that we take the next lane which branches off to the right, and travel by by-roads in future. do not press your horse too fast. we have a long journey before us, and must always have something in hand in case it is necessary to press them to full speed." two miles further a road branched to the right. as they approached it ronald was about to touch his horse's rein, when malcolm said shortly, "ride straight on." although surprised at this sudden change of plan, ronald obeyed without question. "what was that for?" he asked when he had passed the turning. "did yon not see that man lying down by the heap of stones at the corner?" "yes, i saw him; but what of that?" "i have no doubt he was on the lookout for ns. yes, i thought so," he went on, as he stood up in his stirrups and looked back; "there, do yon see that horse's head in that little thicket, just this side of where the road sepa- rates? i expected as much. if we had turned off in another two minutes that fellow would have been gallop- ing along this road to take the news to those ahead, and they would have ridden to cut ns off further along. i have no doubt we shall find some one on watch at every turning between this and orleans." "but this is a regular campaign, malcolm." "it is a campaign, ronald. the ruffians and thieves of paris form a sort of army. they have heads whom they implicitly obey, and those who have money enough to set this machine in motion can command the services of any number of men. sharp fellows, too, many of them are, and when they received orders to arrest our journey to tours at any cost, they would not omit a single precantion bonnie prince chahltb. which could ensure sucoess. their former attack upon you, and its result, will have showed them that we are not children, and that the enterprise was one which demanded all their efforts." "what is our next move now, malcolm?" "we will turn off before we get to the next road. they can see a long way across these level plains; so we will dis- mount and lead our horses. the corn is well-nigh shoulder deep, and if we choose a spot where the ground lies rather low neither that scoundrel behind nor the one at the next road is likely to see us." half a mile further there was a slight dip in the ground. "this is a good spot," malcolm said. "this depression extends far away on our right, and although it is very slight, and would not conceal us if the ground were bare, it will do so now, so let us take advantage of it." so saying he dismounted, and leading his horse, turned into the cornfield. ronald followed him, and for two miles they kept straight on through the corn; then they came upon a narrow road connecting two villages. they mounted and turned their horses' heads to the south. "it is as well that none of the peasants saw us making through their corn," ronald said, "or we should have had them upon us with stone and flail like a swarm of angry bees." "it could not be helped," malcolm replied, "and we could easily have ridden away from them. however, it is just as well that we have had no bother with them. now we will quicken our pace. "we are fairly between two of the main roads south, and if we can contrive to make our way by these village tracks we shall at any rate for some time be free from all risk of molestation." "i should think we should be free altogether," ronald said. "when they find we do not come along the road they will suppose we have been killed at the first ambush." bonnie prince charlie. malcolm shook his head. "do not build upon that, ronald. no doubt as soon as we had passed, some of those fellows mounted the horses we saw in the carts, and. rode off in accordance with an agreed plan to give notice that we had passed them safely, and were proceeding by that road. in the next place the fellow we saw on watch would most likely after a time mount and follow us, and when he got to the watcher at the next crossroad and found that we had not come along there he would know that we must have turned off either to the right or left. one of them is doubtless before this on his way to the next party with the news, while the other has set to work to find out where we turned off, which will be easy enough to discover. still, we have gained something, and may fairly reckon that if we ride briskly there is no fear of those who were posted along the road we have left cutting us off." they rode all day at a steady pace, stopping occasionally for a short time to allow the horses a rest and a feed. the people in the quiet little villages looked in surprise at the young officer and his follower as they rode through their street or stopped for a quarter of an hour while the horses were fed, for even malcolm agreed that such pauses were unattended by danger. it was rarely, indeed, that a stranger passed along these by-paths, and the peasants wondered among themselves what could induce them to travel by country by-ways instead of following the main roads. as they left the rich plains of the beauce, the country was less carefully cultivated. the fields of corn were no longer continuous, and presently they came to tracts of on- cultivated land with patches of wood. they now left the little road they had been following, and rode straight across the country, avoiding all villages. they crossed several hills, and late in the afternoon drew rein in a wide- bonnie prince charlie. "i have been a fool, ronald," malcolm said bitterly; "i ought to have kept watch." "it was not your fault, malcolm. one could never have guessed that they would have found us in this forest. somebody must have followed us at a distance and marked us down, and brought the rest upon us; but even had you kept watch it would have been no good, for they would have shot us down before we could make any resistance." "i wonder they didn't cut our throats at once," malcolm said. "i don't know what they are troubling to make us prisoners for." presently they saw a light in the forest ahead of them, and soon arrived at a spot where a number of men were sitting round a fire. "you had no trouble with them, pierre, i suppose?" "no, captain, they slept as soundly as moles. they have been speaking some strange language as we came along." "thank god!" malcolm exclaimed fervently. "i think, after all, ronald, we have only fallen in with a band of robbers, and not with our enemies." "unbind their hands," the captain of the band said, "but first take away their swords and pistols. gentlemen, may i ask you to be seated; and then, perhaps, you will inform us what you, an officer in the scotch dragoons, as i perceive by your uniform, are doing here in the forest?" ronald, to whom the question was principally addressed, replied frankly: "we took to this forest, i fancy, for the same reason for which you use it, namely, for safety. we are on our way to tours, and there are some people who have interest in preventing our arriving there. they made one attempt to stop us near paris; fortunately that failed, or we should not be now enjoying your society; but as it was likely that another attempt would be made upon the road, we thought bonnie prince charlie. it better to leave it altogether and take to the forest for the night." "what interest conld any one have in preventing an officer of the king from arriving at tours?" the man asked doubtfully. "it is rather a long story," ronald said, "but if it is of interest to you i shall be happy to relate it; and i may mention that there are three bottles of good wine in the valise of one of the saddles, and a story is none the worse for such an accompaniment." a laugh went round the circle at ronald's coolness, and a man stepped forward with the two saddles which be had carried from the spot when the captives bad been seized. the wine was taken out and opened. "yes," the captain of the band said, after tasting it, "the wine is good; now let us have your story." ronald gave them an outline of his history, told them how his father and mother had been for many years im- prisoned for marrying contrary to the king's pleasure, and how he had at last obtained the royal order for their release, and how the enemies of his parents were now trying to prevent him from having those orders carried out. "there are the orders," ronald said as he concluded, taking them from the inner pocket where he carried them. "you see they are addressed to the abbess of the convent of our lady at tours, and to the governor of blois." "the story you tell us is a singular one," the captain replied, "and i doubt not its truth. what was the name of your father?" "he was colonel leslie, and commanded the same regi- ment to which i belong." "i remember him," one of the band said. "our regi- ments were quartered together, nigh twenty years ago, at flanders, and i was in paris at the time when he was im- prisoned. we were in the next barracks to the scotchmen, bonnie prince charlie. and i remember what a stir it made. the regiment was very nigh mutinying." "and i remember yon too, though i cannot recall your name," malcolm said, rising and looking hard at the speaker; "and if i mistake not we have cracked many a flask together, and made many a raid on the henroosts of the flemish farmers. my name is malcolm anderson." "i remember you well," the other said, rising and giving him his hand. "of course i met you scores of times, for the regiments were generally brigaded together." "that confirms your story altogether, monsieur," the captain of the band said. "from this moment do not consider yourself a prisoner any longer. i may say that we had no expectation of booty in your case, and you were captured rather from curiosity than from any other reason. one of my men, this afternoon, happened to see you ride into the wood and then dismount and make prep- arations for passing the night there. he reported the matter to me. i know that gentlemen of your cloth—i may say of mine, for i was once an officer of his majesty, though i left the service somewhat hastily," and he smiled, "on account of an unfortunate deficiency in the funds of the regiment in which i happened at the time to be acting as paymaster—are seldom burdened with spare cash, but the incident seemed so strange that i determined to cap- tare and question you. if you happen to have more cash on you than you care about carrying we shall be glad to purchase a few bottles of wine equal to that which you have given us. if not, i can assure you that i do not press the matter." "i am obliged to you for your courtesy," ronald said; "and as at present i really happen to be somewhat flush of cash i am happy to contribute ten louis for the laudable purpose you mention." so saying he took out his purse, counted out ten pieces, and handed them to the captain. bonnie prince charlie. the action was received with a round of applause, for the robbers had not, from the tirst, anticipated obtaining any booty worth speaking of, and the turn affairs had taken had altogether driven any idea of gain from their minds. "i thank you warmly, sir," the captain said, "and promise you that i will to-morrow despatch a messenger to orleans, which is but ten miles away, and will lay out the money in liquor, with which we will, to-morrow night, drink your health and success in the enterprise. nay, more, if you like, a dozen of my men shall accompany you on your road to tours. they have, for various reasons, which i need not enter into, a marked objection to passing through towns, but as far as blois they are at your service." "i thank you for your offer," ronald replied, "but will not accept it, as we intend to ride to-morrow morning to le mans, and then to enter tours from the south side, by which we shall throw our enemies completely off the scent." "but why do you not go to blois first?" the man asked. "it is on your way to tours." "i wish my mother to be present at the release of my father. so long a confinement may well have broken him down. now that i see how obstinately bent our enemies are upon our destruction, i will take with me two or three stout fellows from tours, to act as an escort." "what day will you be leaving there?" the man asked. "to-day is tuesday," ronald said; "on thursday we shall be at tours, on friday morning we shall leave." "very well," the man replied, "we will be on the road. it is no difference to us where we are, and as well there as here. i will have men scattered all along in the forest between blois and amboise, and if i find that there are any suspicious parties along the road we will watch them, and if you are attacked you will find that we are close at hand to help you. you are a generous fellow, and your bonnie prince charlie. to her the king's order. tbe abbess opened and read it "his majesty's commands shall be obeyed," she said; "in an hour the countess will be in readiness to depart." "a carriage shall be in waiting at the gate to receive her," ronald said, bowing, and then, without another word, retired. malcolm was awaiting him outside, and they at once went to the office of the royal post and engaged a carriage and posthorses to take them to blois. the carriage was at the door at the appointed time, and a few minutes later the gate opeued, and the countess, in traveling attire, issued out, and in a moment was clasped in her son's arms. he at once handed her into the car- riage and took his place beside her. malcolm closed the door and leaped up on the box, the postilion cracked his whip and the carriage moved off. "can it be true, ronald, or am i dreaming? it is but a week since yon were here last, and the news of my release came upon me with such a surprise that, do you know, i fainted. am i really free? is it possible that i have seen the last of those hateful walls? it seems like a dream. where are we going?" « we are going to blois." "to a prison?" the countess exclaimed. "but no, there are no guards or escorts. are we going, oh, ronald, are we going to see my husband?" "yes, mother, we are going, not only to see him but to release him. i have the king's order in my pocket." for some time the countess was unable to speak, her joy was too great for words. then tears came to her re- lief, and she sobbed out exclamations of joy and gratitude. bonald said nothing until she bad somewhat recovered her calmness, and then he told ber the manner in which mar- shal saxe had obtained tbe two orders of release. b nn b prince charlie. "i will pray for him night and morning to the last day of my life," the countess said. "god is indeed good to me. i had hoped, from what yon said, that my term of imprisonment was drawing to an end; but i had looked forward to a long struggle, to endless efforts and petitions before i could obtain your father's release, with, perhaps, failure in the end. not for one moment did i dream that snoh happiness as this awaited me." ronald now thought it wise to repeat the warning whioh the marshal had given him. "mother, dear," he said, "you must be prepared to find that a total ohange will have taken plaoe in my father. his imprisonment has been a very different one to yours. you have had companions and a certain amount of freedom and comfort. you have had people to speak to, and have known what is going on in the world. he has been cut off altogether from mankind. he cannot even know whether you are alive, or whether yon may not have yielded to the pressure that would be sure to be brought upon you, and acquiesced in a divoroe being obtained. he has, doubtless, been kept in a narrow cell, deprived almost of the air and light of heaven. he will be greatly changed, mother. he will not be like yon; for it does not seem to me that you can have changed much from what you were. i could not see yon much that night on the terrace; but now i see you i can hardly believe that yon are my mother, so young do yon look." "i am nearly forty," the countess said, smiling. "i was past twenty-one when i married. had i not been of age they could have pronounced the marriage null and void. but you are right, ronald, and i will prepare myself to find your father greatly changed. it cannot be otherwise after all he has gone through; but so that i have him again it is enough for me, no matter how great the change that may have taken plaoe in him. but who are these bonnie pbingt! charlie. men?" the countess exclaimed, as, a quarter of a mile out- side the town, four men on horsebaok took up their places, two on each side of the carriage. "do not be alarmed, mother, they are our escort. mal- colm hired them at le mans. they are all old soldiers, and can be relied on in case of necessity." "but what need can there be for them, ronald? i have heard that bands of discharged soldiers and others make traveling insecure; bnt i had no idea that it was necessary to have an armed escort." "not absolutely necessary, mother, but a useful measure of precaution. we heard of them as we came through from paris, and malcolm and i agreed, that as you would have with you any jewels and valuables that you took to the convent, it would be just as well to be in a position to beat off any who might be disposed to trouble us. as you see, they have brought with them malcolm's horse and mine, and we shall now mount. the less weight the horses have to draw the better. i will get in and have a talk from time to time where the road happens to be good; but, to tell yon the truth, the jolting and shaking are neither pleasant nor good for talking." "you are expecting to be attacked, ronald," the countess said. "i am sure you would not be wanting to get out and leave me so soon after we have met did you not antici- pate some danger." "frankly, mother, then, i do think it is probable that an attempt may be made to stop us, and that not by regu- lar robbors, but by your old enemies. they did their best to prevent me from reaching tours, and will now most likely try to prevent our arriving at blois. i will tell you all about it when we get there to-night. here is the order for my father's release. will you hide it in your dress? i had rather not have it about me. and, mother, if we should be attacked do not be alarmed, for i have reason to bonnie prinoe oharlie. it? telieve that if we should be ontnnmbered and hard pressed help will speedily be forthcoming." "i am not in the least afraid for myself," the countess said; "but be careful, ronald. remember i have only just found you, and for my sake do not expose yourself unnecessarily." " will take care of myself, mother," he said. * you know i have always had to do so." malcolm had already mounted his horse, and bonald was really glad when he took his place beside him a few yards ahead of the carriage. the art both of road-making and carriage-building was still in its infancy. when the weather was fine and the ground hard a fair rate of prog- ress could be maintained; but in wet weather the vehicles often sank almost up to their axles in mud holes and quag- mfces, and the bumping and jolting were terrible. "now we take up our work of looking out for ambushes again, malcolm." "it will not be quite the same thing now," malcolm said. "before, two or three men with guns behind a wall might do the business, now they will have to make a regu- lar attack. i have no doubt that we were watched from the time we entered the town, and that the news that we are traveling with the countess in a carriage, and with an escort of four armed men, has been carried on ahead already. it is by horsemen that we shall be attacked to-day if we are attacked at all, and they will probably fall upon us in the forest beyond amboise. they will know that with a vehicle we must keep the road, and that as we cannot travel more than six miles an hour at the outside, we cannot attempt to escape by our speed." "do you think we had better wait at amboise for the night and go on to orleans to-morrow?" "no, i think we had better push straight on, especially £ we told our friends in the forest that we should come bon nib prince charlie. assembled a mile or two away. i bad men watching them all night, and this morning we followed them here, and saw them take up their position on both sides of the road. we crept up as closely as we dare without being observed, but you had for a couple of minutes to bear the brnnt of it alone." "i thank yon most heartily," ronald said. "my mother will thank yon for herself." so saying, he led him to the door of the carriage, which he opened. "mother, i told you that if we were attacked i relied upon help being near at hand. we owe our lives, for i have no doubt that yours as well as mine would have been taken, to this brave man and his followers." "i thank you most sincerely, sir," the conntess said. "at present i feel like one in a dream; for i have been so long ont of the world that such a scene as this has well- nigh bewildered me." "iam only too glad to have been of service," the man said as he stood bareheaded. "i am not a good man, ma- dam. i am one of those whom the necessities of the times have driven to earn their living as they can without much regard to the law; but i trust that i have not quite lost my instincts as a gentleman, and i am only too glad to have been able to be of some slight assistance to a per- secuted lady; for your son, the other night, related to us something of the treatment which yon have bad to endure." with a bow he now stepped back. his followers were engaged in searching the pockets of the fallen and found in them a store of money which spoke well for the liber- ality of their employer, and well satisfied the robbers for the work they had undertaken. after a few words with her son the countess opened a small bag she carried with her, and taking from it a valuable diamond broooh, called the leader of the band np and presented it to him. bonnie prince charlie. isi ronald and his party then remonnted their horses—the rohbers had already overtaken and caught those of the fallen assailants—the driver mounted the box, and after a cordial farewell to their rescuers the party proceeded on their way to bloia. £ bonnie pltlnce charlie, chapter xi. free. it was late at night before blois was reached, and hav- ing alighted at the aigle d'or they engaged a private room. "even the duke of chateaurouge will be satisfied," eon ald said, "that his schemes have failed, and that no more can be done just at present. it will be a bitter blow to him when those scoundrels, on their return to paris, report their ntter failure, for he must have considered it impossible that we could escape from the toils he had laid for ns. i only wish that we had clear evidence that he is the author of these attempts. if so, i would go straight with marshal saxe and lay an aocusation against him before the king; but however certain we may feel about it, we have really nothing to conneot him with the affair, and it would be madness to accuse a king's favorite nnless one could prove absolutely the trnth of what one says. however, i hope some day that i shall get even with him. it will not be my fault if i do not." that night ronald and his mother debated what would b<» the best way to proceed in the morning, and finally they agreed that malcolm should present himself at the prison with the order of release, and that they should remain at the hotel to which malcolm should bring colonel leslie, after breaking to him the news that his wife and son were both awaiting him. the shock, in any case, of sudden liberty, would be a severe one, and the meeting bonnie prinoe oharlir with his attached comrade would act as a preparation for that with his wife. mother and son sat hand in hand after hearing the car- riage drive off with malcolm next morning. in the hours they had now spent together they had come to know each other, and the relationship had become a real one. they had scarce been able to make ont each other's features at their midnight meeting on the terrace, and at that meet- ing, rejoiced as they both were, there was still a feeling of strangeness between them. now they knew each other as they were, and both were well satisfied. the countess was less strange to ronald than he was to her. malcolm had already described her to him as he knew her eighteen y<jara before, and the reality agreed closely with the ideal that ronald had pictured to himself, except that she was younger and brighter. for in thinking of her he had told himself over and over again that she would have grown much older, that her hair might have turned gray with grief and trouble and her spirit been altogether broken. she on her part had been able to form no idea as to what the infant she had last seen would have grown up, and was not even sure that he was in existence. she had hoped that if he had lived he would have grown up like his father, and although she now saw but slight resem- blance between them, she was indeed well satisfied with her son. he was not, she- thought, as handsome as his father, but he bade fair to surpass him in strength and stature. she was delighted with his manly bearing; and when he laughed he reminded her of her husband, and she thought that she read in his gray eye and firm month a steadfast- ness and depth of character equal to his. they spoke but little now. both were too anxious, ronald for his mother's sake rather than his own. he was prepared to find this :..u bonnie prinob charlie. unknown father a man broken down by bis years of cap- tivity; but although his mother said that she too was pre- pared for great ohanges, he could not but think that the reality would be a sad shock to her. in little over an hour the carriage drove into the courtyard. "bo brave, mother," ronald said, as he felt the hand he held in his own tremble violently. ■ you must be calm for his sake." steps were heard approaching. the door opened, and malcolm entered with a man leaning on his arm. the countess with a cry of joy sprang forward, and the next moment was clasped in her husband's arms. "at last, my love, at last!" she said. ronald drew aside to the window to leave his father and mother to enjoy the first rapture of their meeting undis- turbed, while malcolm slipped quietly from the room again. "why, amelie," leslie said at last, holding her at arms'-length that he might look the better at her, "you are scarce changed. it does not seem to me that you are five years older than when i saw you last, and yet malcolm tells me that you too have been a prisoner. how much my love has cost you, dear! no, you are scarce changed, while i have become an old man—my hair is as white as snow, and i am so crippled with rheumatism i can scarce move my limbs." "you are not so much changed, angus. your hair is white and your face is very pale; but you are not so much changed. if i have suffered for your love, dear, what have you suffered for mine i i have been a prisoner in a way, but i had a certain amount of freedom in my cage, while you—" and she stopped. "yes, it has been hard," he said; "but i kept up my spirits, amelie. i never lost the hope that some day we should be reunited." bonnie prince charlie. "and now, angus, here is our boy to whom we owe our liberty and the joy of this meeting. you may well be proud of such a son." "i am proud," leslie said as konald advanced, and he took him in his arms. "god bless you, my boy. you have performed well-nigh a miracle. malcolm has been telling me of you. call him in again. it is right that he to whom you owe so much should share in our happiness." ronald at once fetched malcolm, and nntil late at night they talked of all that had happened during so many years. colonel leslie had passed the first three years of his con- finement in the chatelet. "it was well it was no longer," he said; "for even i, hard as i was with years of soldiering, could not have stood that much longer. my cell there was below the level of the river. the walls were damp, and it was there i got the rheumatism which has crippled me ever since. then they moved me to blois, and there my cell was in one of the turrets, and the sun shone in through the window slit for half an hour a day; besides for an hour once a week i was allowed to take what they called exercise on the wall between my turret and the next. the gov- ernor was not a bad fellow, and did not try to pocket the best part of the money allowed for the keep of the pris- oners. fortunately i never lost hope. had i done so i would have thrown myself over the parapet and ended it at once. i felt sure that you too were shut up, am ie, and i pictured to myself how they would try to make you give me up; but i never thought they would succeed, dear. i knew you too well for that. sometimes for months i lay as if paralyzed by rheumatism, and i think i should have died if i had not known how my enemies would have rejoiced at the news of my death. so i held on stoutly, and i have got my reward." but the hardships had told their tale. although but the same age as malcolm anderson, golonel leslie looked bonnib prince char lis. fully ten years older. his long confinement bad taken every tinge of color out of his face, and left it almost ghastly in its whiteness. he conld with difficulty lift his hands to his head, and he walked as stiffly as if his legs had been jointless. his voice only had not lost the cheery ring his wife remembered. "no, amelie," he said when she remarked this. "i kept my tongue in practice; it was the one member that was free. after i had been confined a few months it struck me that i was rapidly losing the power of speech, and i determined that if i could not talk for want of some one to answer me, i could at least sing, and having a good store of songs, scottish and french, i sang for hours to- gether, at first somewhat to the uneasiness of the prison authorities, who thought that i could not be so merry unless i had had some communication from without, or was planning an escape; but at last they grew accustomed to it, and as my voice could not travel through the thick walls of my cells, it annoyed no one." "and did yon never think of escaping, father?" "the first few years of my confinement i was always thinking of it, ronald, but nothing ever came of my thought. i had no tools to burrow through a four-foot wall, and if i could have done so i should have been no nearer to freedom; but i do think i should have tried if it had only been to give me something to dc, had it not been that i hoped some day to obtain my release, and that any attempt at escape would, if discovered, as it was almost certain to be, decrease my chances." not a word was said that evening as to their future plans, all their thoughts being in the past; but the next morning colonel leslie said at breakfast: "and now what are we going to do next? how do we btand?" "i know no more than you do, angus. i do not know bonnie prince ohablib. "i should think, aligns, that the proper thing would he for me to write to the king thanking him for our re- lease, asking his commands, and petitioning him that my mother's estates may be restored to me. i will also ask permission to retire to some southern town where there are waters which may do good to your rheumatism." colonel leslie frowned. "i suppose that is the right thing to do, amelie; though, for my part, i cannot thank a sovereign whom i have served well after such treatment as i have received. i would rather beg my bread from door to door." "no, i would not ask yon, angus, and of course you are differently placed; but i have my rights as a peeress of france; besides i have on my own account no complaint against the king. it was my father who shut me up in the convent, not the king." "by the way, amelie," her hnsband said, "you are not yet in mourning." "nor do i intend to be," she said firmly; "unless i have to go to court no thread of mourning do i put on. my father behaved like a tyrant to me, and still more to you; his death has released us both, and i will not feign a grief at an event which has brought us happiness. well, ronald, what do you think had best be done? you and malcolm have managed so well that we had best leave it for you to decide." "i think what you propose, mother, is best. i think you had better travel down to some place near where your mother's estates lay, and then write your petition to the king. i will leave you there and return with it to paris, and will there consult colonel hume and marshal saxe as to how it should be delivered to the king." this plan was carried out. the party journeyed to- gether to poitiers, and there having seen his parents comfortably settled in a small house near the town, and bonnie prince charlie. remained with them a few days, ronald with malcolm re- turned to paris, bearing with him his mother's memorial to the king. ronald was glad to find that colonel hume was now recovered from his wound. marshal saxe too was better; the latter at once took charge of the petition, and said that he would hand it to the king on the first opportunity. ronald acoompanied the marquis several times to ver- sailles, but the latter had no private audience with the king, and thought it better not to present the memorial in public one day, however, he was called into the king's closet. when he emerged with the king, ronald thought from his expression of countenance that things had not gone well. on leaving the palace he mounted his horse—for he was now well enough to ride—and as he set out he called ronald, who with other gentlemen had acoompanied him to ride beside him. "things have not gone well," he said. "your father's enemies have evidently been at work, and have been poi- soning the king's mind. he read the memorial, and then said harshly, 'the countess of recambours has forfeited all rights to her mother's estates by marrying an alien. the lands of prance are for the king of france's subjects, not for soldiers of fortune.' this touched me, and i said, your majesty may recollect that i am an alien and a sol- dier of fortune, and methinks that in time of war the swords of our soldiers of fortune have done such things for prance that they have earned some right to gratitude. in a hundred battles our scottish troops have fought in the front ranks, and had it not been for the irish erigade we should not have had to write fontenoy down among the list of prench victories.' "'you are bold, marshal,' the king said angrily, i "'i am bold, sire,' i replied, 'because i am in the right: bonnie pit inch ciia it lie. and i humbly submit that a brave soldier like colonel leslie deserves better treatment than he has received at the hands of france.' "the king rose at once. "'an answer to the petition will be sent to yon to- morrow, marshal.' "i bowed, and without another word the king left his closet and entered the room of audience. however, lad, you must not look so downcast. we conld perhaps expect no more the first time. of course every man who has a hope, or who has a relation who has a hope, of obtaining the grant of yonr mother's estates is interested in exciting the king's displeasure against her; besides which there is, as you have told me, the due de ghateaurouge, who may be regarded as a personal enemy of your father, and who has the king's ear as much as any ono about him. how- ever, we moat have courage. i consider my personal honor is touched in the matter now, and i will not let the matter drop till justice is done." at the appointed time ronald again called at marshal saxe's hotel, and watched the gay crowd of officers and nobles who were gathered in his reception-rooms. an hour later a royal attendant entered and handed a document to the marshal. the latter glanced at it and looked around. as soon as his eye fell upon ronald he nodded to him. "here is the judgment," he said in alow tone, as he handed him the paper. "you see it is directed to tho countess, to my care. i suppose you will start with it at once." "yes, marshal; the horses are saddled and, we shall leave immediately." "don't hnrry your horses," the marshal said with a slight smile; "from the king's manner i think that the contents are such that a few hours' delay in the delivery will cause the countess no pain. however, i do not an- bonnie prince charlie. tioipate anything very harsh. in the first place, although the king is swayed by favorites who work on his preju- dices, his intention is always to be just; and in the second place, after granting the release of your parents as a boon to me he can scarcely annul the boon by any severe sen- tence. will you tell the countess from me that i am wholly at her service, and that, should any opportunity offer, she may be sure that i will do what i can to incline the king favorably toward her. lastly, leslie, take care of yourself. the change in the king's manner shows that you have powerful enemies, and now that you have suc- ceeded in obtaining your parents' freedom you have become dangerous. remember the attack that was made upon you before, when there seemed but little chance that you would ever succeed in obtaining their release or in seriously threatening the interests of those who were looking forward to the reversion of the family estates. their enmity now, when it only needs a change in the king's mood to do jus- tice to your parents, will be far greater than before. "bid your father, too, to have a care for himself and your mother. remember that violence is«common enough, and there are few inquiries made. an attack upon a lonely house and the murder of those within it is naturally put down as the act of some party of discharged soldiers or other ruffians. tell him therefore he had best get a few trusty men around him, and be on guard night and day against a treacherous attack. those who stand in the way of powerful men in france^eldom live long, so he can- not be too careful." a quarter of an hour later ronald was on horseback. he had already provided himself with a pass to leave the city after the usual hour of closing the gates, and he and malcolm were soon in the open country. as they rodo along ronald repeated the warning that the marshal had given him. ltt bonnie prince charlie. "he ia^nite right, ronald, and yon cannot be too cart- ful. we have against ns, first, this vindictive due d« chateauronge, who, no doubt, has poisoned the king's mind. in all france there is no one whom i would not rather have as a foe. he is powerful, unscrupulous, and vindictive; he would hesitate at nothing to carry out any- thing on which he had set his mind, and would think no more of obtaining the removal of one whom he considered to stand in his way than of crushing a worm. even as a young man he had a villainous reputation, and was regarded as one of the most dangerous men about the court. to do him justice, he is brave and a fine swordsman, and for choice he would rather slay with his own hands those who offend him than by other means. though he was but three-and-twenty at the time i first left france he had fought half-a-dozen duels and killed as many men, and several others who were known to have offended him died suddenly. some were killed in street brawls, returning home atdight, one or two were suspected of having been poisoned. altogether the man was feared and hated in those days, although, of course, none spoke their suspicions openly. u from what i have heard those suspicions have stuck to him ever since. he has not been engaged in many duels, because in the first place edicts against dueling are very strict, and in the second because his reputation as a bwordsman is so great that few would risk their lives against him. still all who stood in his way have somehow or other come to a sudden end. we must therefore be on our guard night and day. he is, of course, your most dangerous foe; but besides him must be numbered all those who hope to obtain your mother's estates. the heirs of the marquis doubtless feel perfectly safe from interference. there is no chance ~ whatever of the king bonnie prince charlie. dispossessing them in favor of a foreigner, so we need not count them among your foes. "it is just as well, ronald, that we started to-night instead of waiting till to-morrow. the duke is pretty cer- tain to learn that the king's answer will be sent this even- ing, and may possibly have made preparations for you on the road; but he will hardly expeot that you will start before the morning. however, in order to be on the safe side i propose that we shall presently turn off from the main road and avoid all large towns on our way down to poitiers." "do you think the danger is as great as that, malcolm?" "i do not think there is much danger, ronald, just at present, though i do in the future." traveling by by-ways ronald and malcolm arrived at poitiers without adventure. "i have brought you the king's answer, mother," ronald said as he alighted; "but before you open it i may tell you that it is unfavorable, though i am ignorant of the precise nature of its contents. but you must not be dis- appointed. marshal saxe bade me tell you that he con- siders his honor engaged in seeing you righted, and that whenever an opportunity occurs ho will endeavor to move the king's mind in your favor. how is my father?" "he suffers grievously from rheumatism, ronald, and can scarce move from his couch." as soon as they joined the colonel the countess opened the king's letter. it was brief. "the countess amelia de recambours is hereby ordered to withdraw at once to her estate of la grenouille and there to await the king's pleasure concerning her." the king's signature was affixed. "well, that is not so very bad," the countess said. "at any rate my right to one of my mother's estates is recog- nized. la grenouille is the smallest of them, and contains bonnie prince charlie. but three or fonr farms. still that will suffice for out wants, and as it lies bnt twenty miles from bordeaux the air will be warm and soft for you, angus." "is there a chateau on it, mother?" "yes, there is a small chateau. i was there once as a girl. it has never been modernized, but is still a castle such as it was two hundred years ago." "all the better," ronald said; and he then gave mal- colm's reasons for their being on the watch against any sudden attack. "he is quite right, ronald," colonel leslie said. "the duke is capable of anything. however, we will be on our guard, and if, as your mother says, it is a fortified house, we need have no fear of any sudden attack." "i would suggest, colonel, that i should ride to tours," malcolm said, "and hire two of the men who escorted madam's carriage. they have served in the wars and can be relied upon. they would not need high wages, for most of the discharged soldiers have trouble enough to keep body and soul together. with a couple of men of this kind, and two or three of the men on the estate, i think, colonel, you need fear no sudden attack." the colonel approved of the suggestion, and a week later, malcolm having returned with the two men, a car- riage was hired to convey the colonel and his wife, and so they journeyed quietly down to la grenouille. on arriv- ing there they found that they were expected, the old steward in charge having received a letter from the royal chancellor, saying that he was to receive the countess as the owner of the estate. the old man, who had known her mother well and re- membered her visits as a child, received the countess with respectful joy. the chateau was, as amelie had said, really a castle. it was surrounded by a moat filled with water, from which the walls rose abruptly, with no win- bonnie prince gbabl b. mother, who once resided here for a year, is very dear to all of us, and there is not a man on the estate bnt would take up arms in yonr defense. the sound of the alarm bell would bring thirty stout fellows, at least, to your aid." "then we need not trouble on that score, am ie," the oolonel said cheerf nlly« "malcolm will see to the draw- bridge to-morrow; probably it has not been raised for years." "i have already been examining it," malcolm—who had just entered the room—said. "it only needs a little oil and a bolt or two. i will have it raised to-night. things look better than i expected, colonel, and i shall be able to return to paris without having any anxiety upon your ecore." "but you are not thinking of going back, ronald?" the countess asked anxiously. "if there is danger here for us, there must be surely danger for you in paris. and i want you here with us." "i will stop for a few days, mother, and then maloolm and i will be off. as i have marshal saxe's protection i need fear no open enmity from any one, and as i shall be with the regiment i shall be safe from secret attacks; besides, my sword can guard my head." "you have taught him to defend himself—eh, mal- oolm?" colonel leslie said. "i," malcolm repeated—"i can use my sword in a melee, colonel, as you know, and hold my own against dutchman or german when i meet them on the field; bnt ronald is a different blade altogether. he was well tanght in glas- gow, and has practiced under the best maitres-d'aimes in paris since, and i am proud to say that i do not think there are ten men in france against whom he could not hold his own." "that is good, that is good, indeed," the col*nel said, delighted. "malcolm, i feel my obligations to you mora bonnie prince charlie. f «nd more every day. truly i had never even hoped that if my son were ever to be restored to me, i shonld have snch cause to be proud of him." "but why do you think you had better return to paris, eonald?" his mother inquired. "because, mother, it will not do to let your enemies have entirely their own way now that you have been so far restored. doubtless your family will be the more in- clined to aid you with their influence, but there must be somebody to urge them to do so." "besides, amelie," the colonel put in, "we must not cage the lad here at your apron-strings. he has already won saxe's regard and protection by his conduct in the field, and can now accept a commission in the old regi- ment. he has begun well, and may yet live to command it. no, no, my love. i should like to keep him here as much as you would, but in every way it is better that he should go out and take his place in the world. to you and me, after our long imprisonment, this place is life, freedom, and happiness, and we are together; but for him it is a dreary little country chateau, and he would soon long for a life among men." and so, after three weeks' stay at the chateau, ronald and malcolm rode back to paris, and the former received a week later a commission through marshal saxe in the scottish dragoons. that regiment had returned from the frontier, and ronald at once took his place in its ranks, and was heartily received by all the officers, to whom he was formally introduced by colonel hume as the son of their former commanding officer. a short time afterward it became the turn of duty of the scottish dragoons to furnish guards for a week at versailles, and colonel hume took down two troops for that purpose. that to which bonald belonged was one of them. ronald, knowing that for the present he was not bon nib p ringe charms. in favor with the king, begged the colonel to put him on duty as often as possible, so that he might avoid the neces- sity of being present at the king's audiences with the other officers. he was one day walking with the colonel and several other officers in the grounds at a distance from the palace, when they came, at the turn of the walk, upon the dno de chateaurouge and three other gentlemen of the court. the former stopped abruptly before colonel hume. "i had the honor, colonel hume, to speak to you some time since of a volunteer in your regiment who chose to call himself by the name of leslie. i understand he is now an officer. i see by the lists in the courtyard that a cornet leslie is now on duty here. where does he hide himself, for i have been seeking in vain to meet him?" "cornet leslie is not one to balk any man's desire that way," colonel hume said gravely. "this is cornet leslie." ronald stepped forward and looked the duke calmly in the face. "so this is the young cockerel," the duke said con- temptuously. "a worthy son of a worthy father, i doubt not." "at any rate, my lord duke," ronald said quietly, "i do not rid myself of my foes by getting those i am afraid to meet as man to man thrown into prison, nor by setting midnight assassins upon them. nor do i rely upon my skill as a swordsman to be a bully and a coward." the duke started as if struck. "i had made up my mind to kill you, young sir," he said, "sooner or later; but you have brought it on your- self now. draw, sir!" and the duke drew his sword. colonel hume and several others threw themselves before ronald. "put up your sword, sir. dueling is forbidden, and bonnie prince charlie. yon know the consequence of drawing within the precincts of the palace." "what care i for ordinances!" the dnke said furiously. "stand aside, gentlemen, lest i do you harm!" "harm or no harm," colonel hume said sternly, "my young friend shall not fight in the palace grounds. i pro- test against his being forced into a duel at all; but at any rate he shall not fight here." the duke looked for a moment as if he was about to spring upon colonel hume, but he saw by their faces that his companions also were against him. for the conse- quences of drawing a sword within the precincts of a palace were so serious that even the most powerful noblea shrank from braving them. "very well," he said at last, thrusting his sword back into its scabbard. "it is but ten minutes' walk to the boundary wall, i will let him live till then." so saying he started off with rapid strides down the walk, followed at a slower pace by the rest. bonnie prince oeablib. chapter xii. the end of the quabrel. this is a serious business, leslie," the colonel said in a low voice. "if it had beon any one but you i should have ordered him to the barracks at once under pain of arrest, t and have laid the matter before the king, for it would have - been nothing short of murder. but i can trust you to hold your own even against the duke of ohateaurouge. and, in truth, after what has been said, i do not see that yon can do other but meet him." "i would not avoid it if i could," ronald said. "his insults to me do not disturb me; but i have my father's wrongs to avenge." "forbes," the colonel said to one of the other officers, "do you go straight to the barracks, bid leslie's man sad- dle his own horse and his master's instantly, and bring them round outside the wall of the park. if leslie wounda or kills his man he will have to ride for it." the officer at once hurried away. "ronald, i will tell you a piece of news i heard this morning. the young chevalier left paris secretly five days ago, and i have received certain private information this morning that he has gone to nantes, and that he is on the point of sailing for scotland on his own account. i am told that this plan of his is known to but five or six persons. if you get safely through this business mount and ride thither at all speed. they are more likely to bonnie prince charlie. pursue yon toward the frontier or the northern ports, and will not think yoa have made for nante . if you get there before the prince has sailed, present yourself to him and join his expedition. the king will he furious at first, both at the loss of his favorite and the breaking of the edicts; but he must come round. the gentlemen here with the duke are all honorable men, and were, i could see, shocked at the insult which the duke passed on yoa. therefore i can rely upon them to join me in representing the matter in its true light to the king. before yon re- turn the matter will have blown over, and it may be that the removal of your father's most powerful enemy may facilitate an arrangement. in any case, my dear boy, yon can rely npon the marshal and myself to look after your interests." they had now reached a .wicket-gate in the wall of the park. the duke was standing a few paces distant, having already removed his coat and turned up the shirt sleeve of the sword-arm. "you will act as my second, marquis?" he said to one of the gentlemen. the latter bowed coldly. "i act as second to my friend leslie," colonel hume said. "and i call upon you all, gentlemen, to bear wit- ness in the future, that this encounter has been wantonly forced upon him by the due de chateaurouge, and that cornet leslie, as a man of honor, has no alternative what* ever but to accept the challenge forced upon him." ronald had by this time stripped to his shirt sleeves. the seconds took the two swords and compared their length. they were found to be as nearly as possible the same. they were then returned to their owners. a piece of even turf was selected, and a position chosen in which the light was equally favorable to both parties. then both fell into position on guard, and as the rapiers crossed colonel hume said solemnly: bonnie prince charlie. ronald leaped into his saddle and with a word of thanks and adieu to the colonel dashed off at full speed. colonel hume then rejoined the group gathered ronnd the duke. the scottish officers were looking very grave, the courtiers even more so. they had from the first rec- ognized fully that the duel had been provoked by the duke, and had accompanied him reluctantly, for they regarded the approaching conflict as so unfair that it would excite a strong amount of feeling against all who had a hand in the matter. as to the edict against dueling, it had not concerned them greatly, as they felt sure that with the duke's influence the breach of the law would be passed over with only a show of displeasure on the part of the king, and an order to absent themselves for a short time from court. the contingency that this young scot- tish officer, who had scarcely yet attained the age of man- hood, should kill one of the best swordsmen in france had not occurred to them; but this had happened, and there conld be no doubt that the king's anger, alike at the loss of his favorite and at the breach of the law, would fall heavily on all concerned, and that a prolonged exile from oourt was the least evil they could expect. not a word had been spoken after they had, on stooping over the duke, found that death had been instantaneous, until colo- nel hume joined them. "well, gentlemen," he said; "this is a bad business, and means trouble for us all. his majesty will be vastly angry. however, the duke brought it upon himself, and is the only person to blame. his character is pretty well known, and it will be manifest that if he had made up his mind to fight no remonstrance on your part would have availed to induce him to abstain from doing so. at the same time the king will not, in the first burst of his anger, take that into consideration, and for awhile we shall no doubt all of us suffer from his displeasure; but i do not £ bonnie prince charlie. think that it will be lasting. tho duke forced on the duel, and would have fought within the royal park had we not interfered, and we were in a way forced to be present. i propose that we return to the palace and give notice of what has occurred. captain forbes, as you were not present at the affair, and will not therefore be called upon to give any acoount of it, will you remain here until they send down to fetch the body? "we will, if you please, gentlemen, walk slowly, for every mile that leslie can put between him and versailles is very important. the news will reach the king's ears very shortly after we have made it public. you and i, marquis, as the seconds in the affair, are sure to be sent for first. as, fortunately, we were both present at the quarrel we are both in a position to testify that the duke brought his fate upon himself, that there was no prevent- ing the duel, and that had we refused to act he was in a frame of mind which would have driven him to fight without seconds if none had been forthcoming; lastly, we can testify that the combat was a fair one, and that the duke fell in consequence of the rashness of his attack and his contempt for his adversary, although in point of fact i can tell you that young leslie is so good a swordsman that i am confident the result would in any case have been the same." "i suppose there's nothing else for it," the marquis grumbled. "i must prepare myself for a prolonged visit to my country estates." "and i shall no doubt be placed under arrest for some time," colonel hume said; "and the regiment will prob- ably be packed off to the.frontier again. however, these things don't make much difference in the long run. what i am most anxious about, marquis, is that his majesty should thoroughly comprehend that leslie was not to llame, and that this affair was so foroed upon him that it bonnie fringe ohaelie. v;as impossible for him to avoid it. there is much mora than the lad's own safety dependent on this." "you may be sure, colonel, that i will do him justice." at a slow pace the party proceeded until they neared the palace, when they quickened their steps. the.mar- quis proceeded immediately to the apartments occupied by the duke, and told his domestics that their master had been killed in a duel, and directed them to obtain assist- ance and proceed at once to the spot where his body would be found. the colonel went to the king's surgeon, and told him of what had taken place. "his death was instantaneous," he said; "the sword passed right through him, and i believe touched the heart. however, it will be as well that you should go and see the body, as the king will be sure to ask particulars as to the wound." the rest of the party joined their acquaintances, and told them what had happened and the news spread quickly through the palace. it created a great sensation. breaches of the edict were not unfrequent; but the death of so powerful a noble, a chief favorite, too, of the king, took it altogether out of the ordinary category of such events. the more so since the duke's reputation as a swordsman and a duelist was so great chat men could scarce believe that he had been killed by a young officer who had but just joined his regiment. it seemed like the story of david and goliath over again. a quarter of an hour later a court official approached colonel hume and the marquis de vallecourt, who were standing together surrounded by a number of courtiers and officers. "monsieur le marquis and colonel hume," he said, saluting them; "i regret to say that i am the bearer of the orders of his majesty that you shall deliver me your swords, and that you will then accompany me to the king's presence." bonnie plllnoe charl b. the two gentlemen handed over their swords to the official, and followed him to the king's presence. louis was pacing angrily up and down his apartment. "what is this i hear, gentlemen?" he exclaimed as they entered. "a breach of the edicts here at versailles, almost in the boundaries of the park; and that the due de cha- teau rouge, one of my most valued officers and friends, has been killed; they tell me that you acted as seconds in the affair." "they have told your majesty the truth," the marquis said; "but i think that, much as we regret what has hap- pened, we could scarcely have acted otherwise than we did. the duke drew in the first place within the limits of the park, and would have fought out his quarrel there had we not, i may almost say forcibly, intervened. then he strode away toward the boundary of the park, calling upon his antagonist to follow him; and had we not gone the encounter would have taken place without seconds or witnesses, and might then have been called a murder instead of a duel." "you should have arrested him, sir," the king exclaimed, "for drawing in the park." "perhaps we should have done so, sire; but you must please to remember that the duke of chateanrouge was of a temper not to be crossed, and i believe that bloodshed would have taken place had we endeavored to thwart him. he enjoyed your majesty's favor, and a forcible arrest, with perhaps the shedding of blood, in the royal demesne would have been a scandal as grave as that of this duel." "how did it come about?" the king asked abruptly. "the duke was walking with de lisle, st. aignan, and myself, when we suddenly came upon colonel hume with three of the officers of his regiment. the duke at once walked up to them and addressed colonel hume, and finding which of his companions was monsieur leslie, ad- bonnie plilnob charlie. dressed hiw in terms of so insulting a nature that they showed that he had been waiting for the meeting to pro- voke a quarrel. the young officer replied perfectly calmly, but with what i must call admirable spirit and courage., which so infuriated the duke, that, as i have already had the honor of telling your majesty, he drew at once, and when we interfered he called upon him to proceed forth- with outside the park, and there settle the quarrel. we most reluctantly accompanied him, and determined to in- terfere at the first blood drawn; but the affair scarcely lasted for a second. the duke threw himself furiously and rashly upon the lad, for, as your majesty is aware, he is but little more. the latter, standing firm, parried with admirable coolness, and in an instant ran the duke right through the body." "but i have always heard," the king said, "that the duke was one of the best swordsmen in the army." "your majesty has heard correctly," colonel hume re- plied; "but young leslie is one of the best swordsmen in france. the duke's passion and rashness led to the speedy termination of the duel; but had he fought with his ac- customed coolness i believe that leslie would have turned out his conqueror." "but what was the cause of the quarrel? why should the due de chateaurouge fix a dispute, as you tell me he did, upon this officer of yours?" "i believe, sire, that it was a long-standing quarrel. the duke's words showed that he bore an enmity against the lad's father, and that it was on this account that he insulted the son." "leslie!" the king exclaimed, with a sudden recollec- tion. "is that the youth whom marshal saxe presented to me?" "the same, sire; the lad who distinguished himself at ?ontenoy, and whom tho marshal afterward appointed to bonnie prince charlie. a commission in my regiment, in which he had served as a gentleman volunteer for nearly a year." "these leslies are always causing trouble," th« king said angrily. "i have already given orders that he shall be arrested wherever he is found, and he shall be punished as he deserves." "in punishing him," colonel hume said with grave deference, "i am sure that your majesty will not forget that this quarrel was forced upon him, and that, had he accepted the insults of the duke of chateaurouge, he would have been unworthy to remain an officer of your majesty." "silence, sir!" the king said angrily. "you will return immediately to paris, under arrest, until my pleasure in your case is notified to you. i shall at once give orders that your troops here are replaced by those of a regiment whose officers will abstain from brawling and breaking the edicts in our very palace. marquis, you will retire at once to your estates." the two gentlemen bowed and left the royal presence. "not worse than i expected," the marquis said, after the door had closed behind them. "now he will send for st. aignan and de lisle, and will hear their account, and as it cannot but tally with ours the king must see that the duke brought his fate upon himself. louis is not unjust when his temper cools down, and in a few weeks we shall meet again here." "i expect to be on the frontier with my regiment before that," colonel hume replied; "but as i would rather be there than in paris that will be no hardship." colonel hume at once mounted and rode back to paris and proceeded straight to the hotel of marshal saxe, to whom he communicated what had occurred. "if leslie gets safely away it will, perhaps, all turn out the best," the marshal said. "as soon as the king's bonnie prince charlie. s» anger dies out i will begin to plead the canse of the loy'a parents; and now that the influence of chateaurouge the other way is withdrawn, i may hope for a more favorable hearing. as to the lad himself, we will make his peace in a few months. the king is brave himself, as he showed when under fire at fontenoy, and he admires bravery in others, and when he has once got over the loss of chateau- rouge he will appreciate the skill and courage which the lad showed in an encounter with one of the most noted duelists in france. now, too, that the duke has gone, some of the stories to his disadvantage, of which there are so many current, are likely to meet the king's ears. hitherto no one has ventured to speak a word against so powerful a favorite; but the king's eyes will soon be open now, and he will become ashamed of so long having given his countenance to a man who is generally regarded aa having not only killed half-a-dozen men in duels, but aa having procured the removal, by unfair means, of a score of others. when he knows the truth the king is likely to do justice, not only to young leslie, but to his parents. i only hope that they will not manage to overtake the lad before he reaches the frontier, for although i can rely on the king's justice when he is cool i would not answer for it just at present." / as ronald rode off at full speed with malcolm he related to him the whole circumstances of the quarrel and subse* quent duel. "it was well done, ronald. i made sure that sooner or later you and the duke would get to blows, that is if he did not adopt other means to get you removed from his path; anyhow i am heartily glad it's over, and that the most dangerous enemy of your father and yourself is out of the way. and now we must hope that we sha'n't be overtaken before we get to the frontier. the danger is that orders for your arrest will be passed by signal." bonnie prince charlie. t "we are not going to the frontier, malcolm; i am only riding this way to throw them off the scent. we are going to nantes. "well, that's not a bad plan," malcolm said. "they are not so likely to send orders there as to the northern ports. but it will not be easy to get a vessel to cross, for yon see, now that we are at war with england, there is little communication. however, we shall no doubt be able to arrange with a smuggler to take ns across." "we are not going to england, malcolm; we are going direct to scotland. colonel hume has told me a secret; prince charles has gone down to nantes and is going to cross at once to scotland." "what! alone and without an army!" malcolm ex- claimed in astonishment. "i suppose he despairs of getting assistance from louis. now that fontenoy has put an end to danger on the fron- tier the king of france is no longer interested in raising tronble for george at home." "but it is a mad scheme of the prince's," malcolm said gravely. "if his father did not succeed in ' how can h& expect to succeed now?" "the country has had all the longer time to get sick of the hanoverians, and the gallantry of the enterprise will appeal to the people. besides, malcolm, i am not so sure that he will not do better coming alone than if he brought the fifteen thousand men he had at dunkirk last year with him. fifteen thousand men would not win him a king- dom, and many who would join him if he came alone would not do so if he came hacked by an army of for- eigners. it was the french, you will remember, who ruined his grandfather's cause in ireland. their arro- gance and interference disgusted the irish, and their troops never did any fighting to speak of. for myself, i would a thousand times rather follow prince charles fight- bonnie prince charlie. h ing with an army of scotsmen for the crown of scotland than fight for him with a french army against english- men." "well, perhaps yon are right, ronald; it went against the grain at fontenoy; for after all, as you said, we are closely akin in blood and language to the english, and although scotland and france have always been allies it is very little good france has ever done us. she has always been glad enough to get our kings to make war on england whenever she wanted a diversion made, but she has never put herself out of the way to return the favor. it has been a one-sided alliance all along. scotland has for cen- turies been sending some of her best blood to fight as sol- diers in france, but with a few exceptions no frenchman has ever drawn his sword for scotland. "no, i am inclined to think you are right, ronald, and especially after what we saw at fontenoy i have no wish ever to draw sword again against the english, and am willing to be the best friends in the world with them if they will but let us scots have our own king and go away peacefully. i don't want to force prince charles upon them if they will but let us have him for ourselves. if they won't, you know, it is they who are responsible for the quarrel, not us." "that is one way of putting it, certainly," eonald laughed. "i am afraid, after having been one kingdom since king james went to london, they won't let us go our own way without making an effort to keep us; but here is a crossroad, we will strike off here and make for the west." they avoided the towns on their routes, for although they felt oertain that they were ahead of any messengers who might be sent out with orders for their arrest, they knew that they might be detained for some little time at ifantes, and were therefore anxious to leave no clew of bonnie prince charlie. their passage in that direction. on the evening of the third day after starting they approached their destination. on the first morning after leaving versailles they had halted in a wood a short distance from ghartres, and mal- oolm had ridden in alone and had purchased a suit of citi- zen's clothes for ronald as the latter's nniform as an officer of the scotch dragoons would at once have attracted notice. henceforward, whenever they stopped, malcolm had taken an opportunity to mention to the stable-boy that he was accompanying his master, the son of an advocate of paris, on a visit to some relatives in la vendee. this story he repeated at the inn where they put up at nantes. the next morning malcolm went round to all the inna in the town, but could hear nothing of the duke of athole, so he returned at noon with the news of his want of success. "they may have hired a private lodging to avoid obser- vation," ronald said, "or, not improbably, may have taken another name. the best thing we can do is to go down to the river side, inquire what vessels are likely to leave port soon, and then, if we see any one going off to them, to accost them. we may hear of them in that way." accordingly they made their way down to the river. there were several vessels lying in the stream, in readiness to sail when the wind served, and the month of the river was reported to be clear of any english cruisers. they made inquiries as to the destination of the vessels. all the large ones were sailing for bordeaux or the mediterra- nean ports of france. "what is that little vessel lying apart from the rest?" malcolm asked. "she looks a saucy little craft." "that is the privateer la doutelle, one of the fastest littla vessels on the coast. she has brought in more than one english merchantman as a prize." as they were speaking a boat was seen to leave her side bonnie prince charlie. m& make for the shore. with a glance at malcolm to break off his conversation with the sailor and follow him, ronald strode along the bank toward the spot where the boat would land. two gentlemen got out and advanced along the quay. as they passed ronald said to malcolm: "i know one of those men's faces." "do you, ronald? i cannot recall having seen them." ronald stood for a moment in thought. "i know now!" he exclaimed. "and he is one of oui men, sure enough." so saying he hurried after the gentlemen. "i think, sir," he said as he came up to them, "that i have had the honor of meeting you before." a look of displeasure came across the gentleman's face. "i think yon are mistaken, sir," he said coldly. "yon must take me for some one else. my name is verbois— monsieur verbois of le mans." "i have not the pleasure of knowing monsieur verbois,'* ronald said with a slight smile; "but i hardly think, sir, that that is the name that you went by when i had the honor of meeting yon in glasgow more than two yeara ago?" "in glasgow!" the gentleman said, looking earnestly at ronald. "in glasgow! i do not remember you." "i had the pleasure of doing you some slight service, nevertheless," ronald said quietly, "when i brought you news that your enemies were upon you, and managed to detain them while you made your escape through the attio window." "a thousand pardons!" the gentleman exclaimed, speak- ing in english. "how could i have forgotten you? but i saw yon for such a short time, and two years have changed you greatly. this is the young gentleman, mar- quis, to whom i am indebted for my escape when i was so nearly captured at glasgow, as you have heard me say. it bonnie prince charlie. wa to his kindly warning in the first place, and to his conrage in the second, that i owed my liberty. it is won- derful that yon should remember me." "two years have not changed yon as much as they have changed me," ronald said; "besides, you were busy in destroying papers, while i had nothing to do but to watch you." "that is so," the gentleman agreed. "at any rate i am heartily glad of the happy chance which has thrown us together, and has given me an opportunity of expressing to you the deep gratitude which i have felt for your warn- ing and assistance. had it not been for that, not only should i myself have been taken, but they would have got possession of those papers, which might have brought the heads of a score of the best blood of scotland to the scaf- fold. i took a boat that was lying in readiness, and making down the river got on board a ship which was cruising there awaiting me, and got off. it has always been a matter of bitter regret to me that i never learned so much as the name of the brave young gentleman to whom i owed so much, or what had happened to him for his share in that night's work." "my name is ronald leslie, sir. i am the son of leslie of glenlyon, who fought with the chevalier in ' , and afterward entered the service of the king of france, and was colonel of the d scotch dragoons." "of course i knew him well," the gentleman said, "and with others endeavored to obtain his pardon when he fell under the king's displeasure some fifteen years ago, al- though i regret to say without success. believe me, if prince charles—" he stopped suddenly as his companion touched him. "you would say, sir," ronald said with a smile, "if prince charles succeeds in his present enterprise, and re- gains his throne, you will get him to exert his influence to obtain my father's release." bonnie prince oharlib. the two gentlemen gave an exclamation of astonishment. "how do you know of any enterprise that is meditated?" "i was told of it as a secret by a scotch officer in paris, and am the bearer of a message from him to the duke of athole, to ask him to allow me to join the prince." "i am the duke," the other gentleman said. "since it is yon, sir, i may tell yon that the officer i spoke of is colonel hnme, and that he bade me show you this ring, which he said yon would know, as a token that my story was a correct one." "hnme is my greatest friend," the duke exclaimed, "and his introduction would be sufficient, even if you had not already proved your devotion to the cause of the stu- arts. i will take you at once to the prince. "but," he said, "before i do so, i must tell you that the enterprise upon which we are about to embark is a desperate one. the prince has but five companions with him, and we embark on board that little privateer lying in the stream. it is true that we shall be escorted by a man-of-war, which will convey the arms which prince charles has purchased for the enterprise; but not a man goes with us, and the prince is about to trust wholly to the loyalty of scotland." "i shall be ready to accompany him in any case, sir," ronald said, "and i beg to introduce to you a faithful friend of my father and myself. his name is malcolm anderson. he fought for the chevalier in ' , and ac- companied my father in his flight to france, and served under him in the french service. upon the occasion of my father's arrest he carried me to scotland, and has been my faithful friend ever since." so saying he called malcolm up and presented him to the duke, and the party then proceeded to the lodging where prince charles was staying. "i have the misfortune to be still ignorant of your name, sir," ronald said to his acquaintance of glasgow. bonnie prinoe cffarltb. "what!" the gentleman said in surprise. "yon do not know my name, after doing so mnch for me! i thought, as a matter of course, that when you were captured for aiding my escape you would have heard it, hence my re- missness in not introducing myself. i am colonel mac- donald. when you met me i was engaged in a tour through the highland clans, sounding the chiefs and obtaining additions to the seven who had signed a declara- tion in favor of the prince three years before. the eng- lish government had obtained, through one of their spies about the person of the chevalier, news of my mission, and had set a vigilant watch for me." "but is it possible that there can be spies among those near the chevalier!" ronald exclaimed in astonishment. "ay, there are spies everywhere," maodonald said bit- terly. "all sorts of people come and go round the chev- alier and round prince charles. every scotch or irish vagabond who has made his native country too hot to hold him, come to them and pretend that they are martyrs to their loyalty to the stuarts; and the worst of it is their story is believed. they flatter and fawn, they say just what they are wanted to say, and have no opinion of their own, and the consequence is that the chevalier looks upon these fellows as his friends, and often turns his back upon scottish gentlemen who have risked and lost all in his service, but who are too honest to flatter him or to descend to the arts of courtiers. look at the men who are here with the prince now * "macdonald! macdonald!" the duke said warmly. "well, well." the other broke off impatiently; "no doubt it is better to hold one's tongue. but it is.mon- strous, that when there are a score, ay, a hundred of scot- tish gentlemen of family, many of them officers with a high knowledge of war, who would gladly have accom- panied him at the first whisper of his-intentions, the prince bonnie pringe charlie. bhould be starting on such a venture as this with yourself only, duke, as a representative of the soottish nobles and chiefs, and six or eight mongrels—irish, english, and scotch—the sort of men who haunt the pot-houses of manders, and spend their time in telling what they have suffered in the stuart cause to any who will pay for their liquor." "not quite so bad as that, macdonald," the duke said. "still i admit that i could have wished that prince charles bhould have landed in scotland surrounded by men with names known and honored there, rather than by those he has selected to accompany him." "but you are going, are you not, sir?" ronald asked golonel macdonald. "no, i do not acoompany the prince; but i hope to fol- low shortly. as soon as the prince has sailed it is my mission to see all his friends and followers in france, and urge them to join him in scotland; while we bring all the influence we have to bear upon louis, to induce- him to famish arms and assistance for the expedition. * gig bonnie prince charlie. chapter xiii. pbikce charles. on abbiving at the prince's lodgings macdonald re- mained without, the duke of a thole entering, accompanied only by ronald. "the prince is in disguise," he said, "and but one or two of us visit him here in order that no suspicion may be incited among the people of the house that he is anything beyond what he appears to be—a young student of the scotch college at paris." - they ascended the stairs to the upper story, and on the marquis knocking a door was opened. the duke entered, followed by ronald. "well, duke, what is the news?" the question was asked by a young man, who was pacing restlessly up and down the room, of which he was, with the exception of his valet de chambre, an italian named miohel, the person who had opened the door, the only occupant. "ah! whom have you here?" "allow me to present to your royal highness lieutenant leslie. he is the son of leslie of glenlyon, who fought by my side in your father's cause in ' , and has, like myself, been an exile ever since. this is the young gen- tleman who, two years since, saved macdonald from arrest in glasgow." , "ah! i remember the adventure," the prince said cour- bonnie pr n e oharlie. teously, "and a right gallant action it was; bat how did you hear that i was here, sir?" "i was told by my good friend and commanding officer, colonel hume of the d scottish dragoons, your royal highness." "i revealed it to hume before leaving paris," the duke said, "he being a great friend of mine and as staunch as steel, and i knew that he could be trusted to keep a secret." "it seems that in the last particular you were wrong," the prince remarked with a slight smile. £s colonel hume only revealed it to me, sir," eonald . said, anxious to save bis friend from the suspicion of hav- ing betrayed a secret confided to him, "for very special reasons. i had the misfortune to kill in a duel the duke of chateaurouge, and as we fought just outside the park of versailles, and the duke was a favorite of the king's, i had to ride for it; then colonel hume, knowing my devo- tion to the cause of your highness, whispered to me the secret of your intention, and gave me a message to his friend the duke of athole." "do you say that you have killed the duke of chateau rouge in a duel?" the duke exclaimed in astonishment. "why, he has the reputation of being one of the best swordsmen in france, and has a most evil name as a dan- gerous and unscrupulous man. i met him constantly at court, and his arrogance and haughtiness were well-nigh insufferable. and you have killed him?" "i knew him well too," the prince said, "and his repu- tation. we do not doubt what you say, young gentleman," he added quickly, seeing a flush mount into ronald's face; "but in truth it seems strange that such should have been the case." "colonel hume did me the honor to be my second," eonald said quietly, "and the marquis de vallecourt was eecond to the duke-- some other officers of the scottish bonnie prince charlie. lady's obstinacy in refusing to obey her father's orders caused her to be shut up in a convent. somehow the truth came out. leslie was arrested and thrown into the bastile, and he has never been heard of since. what became of the child which was said to have been born no one ever heard; but it was generally supposed that it had been put out of the way. we in vain endeavored to soften the king's anger against leslie, but the influence of re- cambours and chateaurouge was too great for us. hume told me some time since that leslie's son had been carried off to scotland by one of his troopers, and had returned, and was riding as a gentleman volunteer in his regiment; but we have had no further talk on the subject." "yon will be glad to hear, sir," ronald said, "that my father and mother have within the last few weeks been released, and are now living on a small estate of my mother's in the south. they were ordered to retire there by the king." "i am glad, indeed," the dnke said cordially; „"and how is your father?" "he is sadly crippled by rheumatism, and can scarce walk," ronald said, "and i fear that his health is alto- gether shaken with what he has had to go through." "how did you obtain their release, leslie?" the prince asked. "marshal saxe obtained it for me," ronald answered. "colonel hume first introduced me to him, and as he too had known my father he promised that should he obtain a victory he would ask as a boon from the king the release of my father, and he did so after fontenoy, where the marquis de recambours was killed, and the king thereby freed from his influence. the duke of chateaurouge, whose hostility against my father had always been bitter, was doubtless greatly irritated at his release, and took the first opportunity, on meeting me, of grossly insulting rue. bonnie prince charlie. on my replying in terms in accordance with the insult, h« drew, and would have fought me in the palace grounds had not colonel hume and his friends interfered; then we adjourned outside the park. the duke doubtless thought that he would kill me without difficulty, and so rushed in so carelessly that at the very first thrust i ran him through." "and served him right," the prinoe said heartily. "now since both your father's enemies are gone, it may be hoped that his troubles are over, and that your mother will recover the estates to which she is «ntitled. and now, duke, what is your news? when are we going to sail?" "the doutelle is already by this time on her way down the river, and it is proposed that we shall start this even- ing and board her there. the stores and arms are all safely on board the elizabeth, and she is lying off belleisle; so far as mr. walsh has heard, no suspicion has been ex- cited as to their purpose or destination, so that we may hope in twenty-four hours to be fairly on bcard." "that is the best news i have heard for months," the prince said; "thank goodness the time for action is at last at hand!" "i have, i trust, your royal highness' permission to ac- company you," ronald said; "together with my follower, anderson. he is the trooper who carried me over to scotland as a child, and has been my faithful friend ever since." "certainly, leslie. i shall be glad indeed to have a member of a family who have proved so faithful to my father's cause with me in the adventure upon which i am embarking." ronald with a few words of thanks bowed and took his leave, after receiving instructions from the dnke to start shortly and to ride down the river toward lorient. bonnie prince charlie. "you can halt for a few hours on the road, and then ride on again; we shall overtake you before you reach the port. we shall all leave singly or in pairs, to avoid at- tracting any attention." ronald left, delighted with the kindness of the prince's manner. prince charles was indeed possessed of all the attributes which win men's hearts and devotion. in figure he was tall and well formed, and endowed! both with strength and activity. he excelled in all manly exercises, and was an excellent walker, having applied himself ardently to field-sports during his residence in italy. he was strikingly handsome, his face was of a perfect oval, his features high and noble, his complexion was fair, his eyes light blue, and, contrary to the custom of the time, when wigs were almost universally worn, he allowed his fair hair to fall in long ringlets on his neck. his manner was graceful, and although he always bore himself with a tort of royal dignity he had the peculiar talent of pleasing and attracting all with whom he came in contact, and had the art of adapting his conversation to the tastes or station of those whom he addressed. his education had been intrusted to sir thomas sheri- dan, an irish soman catholic, who had grossly neglected his duties, and who indeed has been more than suspected of acting as an agent in the pay of the british government. the weakness in the prince's character was that he was a bad judge of men, and inclined on all occasions to take the advice of designing knaves who flattered and paid def- erence to him, rather than that of the scottish nobles who were risking their lives for his cause, but who at times gave their advice with a bluntness and warmth which were displeasing to him. it was this weakness which brought an enterprise, which at one time had the fairest prospect of success, to destruction and ruin. on leaving the house ronald was joined by malcolm, bonnie prince charlie. and half an hour later they mounted their horses and rodo for the month of the loire. the whole party arrived on the following day at st. nazaire, embarking separately on board the doutelle, where prince charles, who had come down from nantes in a fishing-boat, was received by mr. walsh, the owner of the vessel. ronald now saw gathered together the various persons who were to accompany prince charles on this adventurous expedition. these were sheridan, the former tutor of the prince; kelly, a non- juring clergyman, and sullivan—both, like sheridan, irishmen; strickland, a personage so unimportant that while some writers call him an englishman, others assert that he was irish; ^eneaa macdonald, a scotchman; sir john macdonald, an officer in the spanish service; the prince's valet, michel; and the duke of athole, or, as he is more generally oalled, the marquis of tnllibardine, the last-named being the only man of high standing or repu- tation. never did a prince start to fight for a kingdom with such a following. the doutelle weighed anchor as soon as the last of the party arrived on deck, and under easy sail proceeded to belleisle. here she lay for some days awaiting the arrival of the elizabeth. mr. eutledge, a merchant at nantes, had obtained an order from the french court that thia man-of-war should proceed to cruise on the coast of scot- land, and had then arranged with the captain of the ship to take on board the arms that had been purchased by the prince with the proceeds of the sale of some of the family jewels. these consisted of fifteen hundred muskets, eighteen hundred broadswords, twenty small field-pieces, and some ammunition. the captain had also agreed that the dou- telle, which only mounted eighteen small guns, should sail in company with the elizabeth to scotland. as soon as the elisabeth was seen the doutelle spread her sails, and bonnie prince charlie. keeping a short distance from each other the two vessels sailed north. so great was the necessity for prudence that the prince still maintained his disguise as a scottish stu- dent, and, with the exception of mr. walsh, none of the officers and crew of the doutelle were acquainted with his real rank, and the various members of his party treated him and each other as strangers. four days after leaving belleisle a british man-of-war of fifty-eight guns hove in sight, and crowding on all sail rapidly came up. the elizabeth at once prepared to en- gage her, signaling to the doutelle to do the same. the prince urged mr. walsh to aid the elizabeth, but the latter steadily refused. he had undertaken, he said, to carry the prince to scot- land, and would do nothing to endanger the success of the enterprise. the two vessels were well matched, and he would not allow the doutelle to engage in the affair. the prince continued to urge the point, until at last mr. walsh said that unless he abstained from interference he should be forced to order him below. the doutelle, therefore, stood aloof from the engage- ment, which lasted for five or six hours, and sailed quietly on her course, in order to be beyond the risk of capture should the english ship prove victorious; neither of the vessels, however, obtained any decided advantage. both were so crippled in the encounter that the elizabeth re- turned to france, the lion to plymouth to refit. thus the small supply of arms and artillery which the prince had with such great trouble got together was lost. "well, ronald," malcolm said that evening as they leaned over the taffrail together, "i do think that such a mad-headed expedition as this was never undertaken. an exiled prince, an outlawed duke, six adventurers, a valet, and our two selves. one could laugh if one was not almost ready to cry at the folly of invading a oountry like england in such a fashion." bonnie prince- charlie. arms, without men, and without even promises of support by france, they will refuse to risk liberty and life and to bring ruin upon their people by joining in such a mad- brained adventure." ui hope not, malcolm," ronald said, as he looked at the prince as he was pacing up and down the deck with the duke of athole, talking rapidly, his face flushed with enthusiasm, his clustering hair blown backward by the wind. "he is a noble young prince. he is fighting for his own. he has justice and right on his side, and god grant that he may succeed!" "amen to that, ronald, with all my heart! but so far as my experience goes, strength and discipline and general- ship and resources go a great deal further than right in deciding the issue of a war." two days later another english man-of-war came in sight and gave chase to the dontelle, but the latter was a fast sailer and soon left her pursuer behind, and without further adventure arrived among the western isles, and dropped anchor near the little islet of erisca, between barra and south tjist. as they approached the island an eagle sailed ou t from the rocky shore and hovered over the vessel, and the duke of athole pointed it out as a favora- ble augury to the prince. charles and his companions landed at erisca and passed the night on shore. they found on inquiry that this cluster of islands belonged to macdonald of clanranald, a young chief who was known to be attached to the jacobite cause. he was at present absent on the mainland, but his uncle and principal adviser, macdonald of boisdale, was in south uist. the prince sent off one of his followers in a boat to summon him, and he came aboard the doutelle the next morning; but when he heard from the prince that he had come alone and unattended he refused to have anything to do with the enterprise, which he asserted was bonn ik prince charlie. rash to the point of insanity, and would bring rain and destruction on all who took part in it. the prince employed all his efforts to persuade the old chief, but in vain, and the latter returned to his isle in a boat, while the doutelle pursued her voyage to the main- land and entered the bay of lochuanuagh, in inverness- ehire, and immediately sent a messenger to clanrauald, who came on board shortly with macdonald of kinloch- moidart, and several other macdonalds. they received the prince with the greatest respect, but, like macdonald of boisdale, the two chiefs refused to take np arms in an enterprise which they believed to be abso- lutely hopeless. in vain prince charles argued and implored. the two chiefs remained firm, until the prince suddenly turned to a younger brother of moidart, who stood listening to the conversation, and with his fingers clutching the hilt of his broadsword as he heard the young prince, whom he regarded as his future king, in vain im- ploring the assistance of his brother and kinsmen. "will you at least not assist me?" the prince exclaimed. "i will, i will!" ranald macdonald exclaimed. "though no other man in the highlands shall draw a sword, i am ready to die for yon." the enthusiasm of the young man was catching, and throwing to the winds their own convictions and forebod- ings the two macdonalds declared that they also would join, and use every exertion to engage their countrymen. the clansmen who had come on board the ship without knowing the object of the visit were now told who the prince was, and they expressed their readiness to follow to the death. two or three days later, on the th of july, prince charles landed and was conducted to borodale, a farmhouse belonging to clanranald. charles at once sent off letters to the highland chiefs whom he knew to be favorable to the stuart cause. among bonnie prince charlie. these the principal were cameron of lochiel, sir alexander macdonald, and macleod. locheil immediately obeyed the summons, but being convinced of the madness of the enterprise«he came, not to join the prince, but to dissnade him from embarking in it. on his way he called upon his brother, cameron of fassefern, who agreed with his opinion as to the hopelessness of success, and urged him to write to the prince instead of going to see him. " know yon better than you know yourself," he said. "if the prince once sets eyes upon you, he will make yon do whatever he pleases." lochiel, however, persisted in going, convinced that the prince would, on his representation, abandon the design. for a long time he stood firm, until the prince exclaimed: "i am resolved to put all to the hazard. in a few days i will erect the royal standard and proclaim to the people of britain that charles stuart is come over to claim the crown of his ancestors or perish in the attempt. lochiel, who my father has often told me was our firmest friend, may stay at home and learn from the newspapers the fate of his prince." lochiel's resolution melted at once at these words, and he said: "not so. i will share the fate of my prince whatsoever it be, and so shall every man over whom nature or fortune hath given me power." the conversion of lochiel was the turning point of the enterprise. upon the news of the prince's landing spreading most of the other chiefs had agreed that if lochiel stood aloof they would not move; and had he remained firm not a man would have joined the prince's standard, and he would have been forced to abandon the enterprise. sir alexander macdonald and macleod, in- stead of going to see the prince, had gone off together, on the receipt of his letter, to the isle of skye, so as to avoid bonnie pr nce oharllb. an interview. clanranald was dispatched by prince charles to see them, but they declined to join, urging with truth that the promises which they had given to join in a rising were contingent upon the prince arriving at the head of a strong french force with arms and supplies. they therefore refused at present to move. others, how- ever, were not so cautious. fired by the example of lochiel, and by their own traditions of loyalty to the stuarts' cause, many of the lesser chiefs at cnce summoned their followers to the field. with the majority the absence of french troops had the exactly opposite effect that it had had with sir alexander macdonald and macleod. had the prince landed with a french army they might have stood aloof and suffered him to fight out his quarrel unaided; but his arrival alone and unattended, trusting solely and wholly to the loyalty of the scottish people, made an irresistible appeal to their generous feelings, and although there were probably but few who did not foresee that failure, ruin, and death would be the result of the enterprise, they embarked in the cause with as much ardor as if their success had been certain. from borodale, after disembarking the scanty treasure of four thousand louis-d'or which he had brought with him and a few stands of arms from the doutelle, charles proceeded by water to kinloch-moidart. mr. walsh sailed in the doutelle, after receiving the prince's warmest thanks, and a letter to his father in borne begging him to grant mr. walsh an irish earldom as a reward for the services he had rendered, a recommen- dation which was complied with. the chiefs soon began to assemble at moidart, and the house became the center of a picturesque gathering. bonald had now put aside the remembrance of malcolm's forebodings, and entered heart and soul into the enterprise. he had in glasgow frequently seen highlanders in their bonnie pllinge charlie. native dress, but he had not before witnessed any large gathering, and he was delighted with the aspect of the sturdy mountaineers in their picturesque garb. the prince had at once laid aside the attire in which he had landed and had assumed highland costume, and by the charm and geniality of his manner he completely won the hearts of all who came in contact with him. among those who joined him at moidart was murray of brough- ton, a man who was destined to exercise as destructive an influence on the prince's fortune as had mr. forster over that of his father. murray had hurried from his seat in the south, having first had a large number of manifestoes for future distribution printed. he was at once appointed by charles his secretary of state. while the gathering at moidart was daily growing, the english remained in ignorance of. the storm which was preparing. it was not until the th of july that the fact that the prince had sailed from nantes was known in london, and as late as the th of august, nearly three weeks after charles first appeared on the coast, the fact of his landing was unknown to the authorities in edinburgh. on the th of august the english governor at fort augustus, alarmed at the vague reports which reached him, and the sudden news that bodies of t»rmed highlanders were hurrying west, sent a detachment of two companies under captain scott to reinforce the advance post of fort william. after marching twenty miles the troops entered the narrow ravine of spean bridge, when they were suddenly attacked by a party of keppoch's clansmen who were on their way to join the prince when they saw the engjish troops on their march. they were joined by some of lochiel's clansmen, and so heavy a fire was kept up from the heights that the english, after having five or six men killed and many more wounded, among them their com- manding officer, were forced to lay down their arms. bonnie fringe charlie. three thousand men. with these he proposed to march at once to the west, and crush the rebellion before it gained strength. the english government approved of his pro- posal, and sent him a proclamation offering a reward of thirty thousand pounds to any person who should seize and secure fhe pretended priuce of wales. on the day of the raising of the standard cope set out from edinburgh for stirling and th" «ext day commenced his march at the head of fifteen hundred infantry, leaving the dragoons behind him, as these could be of but little service among the mountains, where they would have found it next to impossible to obtain forage for their horses. he took with him a large quantity of baggage, a drove of black catle for food, and a thousand stand of arms to distribute among the volunteers who he expected would join him. as, however, none of these came in he bent back seven hundred muskets to crieff. the first object of the march was fort augustus, which be intended to make his central post. as he advanced he was met by captain swetenham, who informed him of the raising of the standard and the gathering he had witnessed. as, however, only lochiel's clansmen had arrived before swetenham left, cope considered his force ample for the purpose, and continued bis mat^h. in order to reach fort augustus, however, he had to pass over corry arrack, a lofty and precipitous mountain which was ascended by a military road with fifteen zigzags, known to the country as the devil's staircase. prince charles, who had received early news of the ad- vance from stirling, had recognized the importance of the position, and having burned and destroyed all baggage that would impede his progress made a forced march and reached corry arrack on the th, before sir john cope had com- menced his ascent. as sir john saw that the formidable position was in the hands of the enemy he felt that it bonnie prinoe charlie. would be in vain to endeavor to force it. each zigzag would have to be carried in turn, and the enterprise would be a desperate one. success would be of no great advan- tage, as the highlanders, lightly-clad and active, would make off and defy pursuit; defeat would be disastrous. he, therefore, called a council of war and asked his officers to decide whether it would be best to remain at dalwhinnie at the foot of the mountain, to return to stirling, or to march to inverness, where they would be joined by the well-affected clans. he himself strongly urged the last course, believing that the prince would not venture to de- scend into the lowlands while he remained in his rear. the council of war adopted his opinion. no officer advo- cated remaining inactive at dalwhinnie, one only supported the alternative of the retreat to stirling, the rest agreed upon an advance to inverness. when it was found that cope's army had moved away without fighting, the exultation of the highlanders was great. most of the chiefs wished to follow at once and give battle, urging that it would be hazardous to advance south and leave the enemy to cut off their retreat; but the prince himself saw the supreme importance of a descent into the lowlands, and that plan of action was decided upon. bonnie prince ghamlie. chapter xiv. pbestonpans. advancing in high spirits through the mountains of badenoch prince charles with his army came down into the vale of athole, and visited, with tnllibardine, the castle of blair-athole, the noble property of which the marquis had so long been deprived, owing to his constancy to the cause of the stuarts, but which would again be his own were this great enterprise successful. from blair-athole the little army moved on to perth. here they were joined by powerful friends, of whom the principal were the young duke of perth, lord nairn, and lord george murray, the younger brother of the marquis of tnllibardine. lord george murray was but ten years of age when the events of had taken place, but four years later he came over with the marquis with a handful of spaniards and was wounded at the battle of glenshiels. the influence of the family obtained his pardon on the plea of his extreme youth, but he remained at heart a jac- obite, and, going on the continent, entered the.service of sardinia, then a portion of the possessions of the duke of savoy. for many years he served abroad, and acquired a considerable reputation as an excellent officer and a most gallant soldier. he had, indeed, a natural genius for military operations, and had he not been thwarted at every turn by the jeal- ousy of murray of broughton it is by no means improbable bonnie prince charlie, the army. the secretary's purpose was even more easily carried out with prince charles. the latter was no judge of character, and fell readily nnder the influence of the wily and unscrupulous murray, who flattered his weak- nesses and assumed an air of deference to his opinions. lord george murray, on the other hand, was but too prone to give offense. he was haughty and overbearing in manner, expressed his opinions with a directness and bluntness which were very displeasing to the prince, and, consoions of his own military genius and experience, pnt aside with open contempt the suggestions of those who were in trnth ignorant of military matters. loyal, straightforward, and upright, he scorned to descend to the arts of the courtier, and while devoting his whole time to his military work, suffered his enemies to obtain the entire command of the ear of the prince. ronald was introduced to him as soon as he joined at perth, and finding that young leslie had had some mili- tary experience, lord george at once appointed him one of his aides-de-camp, and soon took a warm liking to the active and energetic young officer, whose whole soul was in his work, and who cared nothing for the courtly gath- erings around the person of the prince. malcolm rode as ronald's orderly, and during the few days of their stay in perth ronald wds at work from morn- ing till night riding through the country with messages from lord george, and in the intervals of such duty in trying to inculcate some idea of discipline into the wild highland levies. at this time charles was using all his efforts to persuade lord lovat, one of the most powerful of the northern noblemen, to join him, offering him hia patent as duke of fraser and the lord lieutenancy of the northern counties. lovat, however, an utterly unscrupulous man, refused openly to join, although he sent repeatedly assurances of bonnlhl prince charlie. his devotion. throughout the struggle he continued to act a double part, trying to keep friends with both parties, but declaring for the prince at the moment when his fortunes were at their highest. the result was that while be afforded the prince but little real assistance, his conduct cost him his head. sir john cope, finding that his march to inverness had failed to draw the prince after him, and had left the low- lands and the capital open to the insurgents, directed his march to aberdeen, and sent to edinburgh for transports to bring down his army to cover that city. but prince charles determined to forestall him, and on the th of september commenced his march south. the age and infirmities of the marquis of tullibardine prevented his accompanying prince charles during active operations. it was impossible for the army to march direct against edinburgh, as the magistrates of that town had taken the precaution to withdraw every ship and boat from the northern side of the forth, and the prince was conse- quently obliged to make a detour and to cross the river at the fords eight miles above stirling, and then marching rapidly toward edinburgh, arrived on the evening of the th within three miles of that town. so long as the coming of the prince was doubtfnl the citizens of edinburgh had declared their willingness to defend the town to the last. volunteer regiments had been formed and guns placed on the walls; but when the volunteers were ordered to march out with hamilton's regiment of dragoons, to oppose the advance of the insur- gents, the men quitted their ranks and stole away to their houses, leaving the dragoons to march out alone. the latter, however, showed no greater courage than that of their citizen allies, when on the following day they came in contact with a party of mounted gentlemen from the prince's army, who fired their pistols at their pickets. bonnie prince charlie. rood, being met by a crowd of enthusiastic supporters from the city, who received him with loyal shouts and tears of joy- in the evening a grand ball was held in the palace, in spite of the fact that it was within range of the guns of edinburgh castle, which still held out. but one day was spent in edinburgh. this was occupied in serving out about a thousand muskets found in the magazines to the highlanders, and in obtaining tents, shoes, and cooking vessels, which the town was ordered to supply. they were joined during the day by many gentlemen, and on the night of the th the army, two thousand five hundred strong, of whom only fifty were mounted, moved out to the village of duddingston. there the prince that even- ing called a council of war, and proposed to march next morning to meet the enemy halfway, and declared that he would himself lead his troops and charge in the first ranks. the chiefs, however, exclaimed against this, urging that if any accident happened to him ruin must fall upon the whole, whether they gained or lost the battle; and upon the prince persisting they declared that they would return home and make the best terms they could for themselves. he was therefore obliged to give way, declaring, however, that he wonld lead the second line. the next morning the army commenced its march. they had with them only one cannon, so old that it was quite useless, and it was only taken forward as an encouragement to the highlanders, who had the greatest respect for artillery. sir john cope, who had received intelligence of all that had happened at edinburgh, had also moved forward on the th, and on the th the two armies came in sight of each other. the highlanders, after passing the bridge of musselburgh, left the road, and turning to the right took up their position on the brow of carberry hill, and there awaited the attack. the english forces were marching bonnie prince charlie. - seized with a fresh panic they galloped on again at full speed as far as coldstream, and the next morning continued their flight in a state of disgraceful disorder as far as berwick. the contents of the treasure-chest, consisting of two thousand five hundred pounds, with the standards and other trophies, were brought to prince charles. the rest of the spoil was divided among the highlanders, of whom a great number immediately set off toward their homes to place the articles they had gathered in safety. so greatly was the highland army weakened by the number of men who thus left the ranks that the prince was unable to carry out his wish for an instant advance into england. his advisers, indeed, were opposed to this measure, urging that in a short time his force would be swelled by thousands from all parts of scotland; but un- questionably his own view was the correct one, and had he marched south he would probably have met with no resist- ance whatever on his march to london. there were but few troops in england. a requisition had been sent to the dutch by king george for the six thousand auxiliaries they were bound to furnish, and a resolution was taken to recall ten english regiments home from flanders. marshal wade was directed to collect as many troops as he could at newcastle, and the militia of several counties was called out; but the people in no degree responded to the efforts of the government. they looked on coldly, not indeed apparently favoring the rebellion, but as little disposed to take part against it. the state of public feel- ing was described at the time by a member of the adminis- tration, henry fox, in a private letter. "england," wade says, and i believe, "is for the first comer, and if you can tell me whether these six thousand dutch and the ten battalions of england, or five thousand french or spaniards, will be here first, you know our fate. bonnie prtnoe charlie. the french are not come, god be thanked; but had five thousand landed in any part of this island a week ago, i verily believe the entire conquest would not have cost a battle." the prince indeed was doing his best to obtain assistance from france, conscious how much his final success depended upon french succor. king louis for a time appeared favorable. the prince's brother, henry of york, had arrived from rorne, and the king proposed to place him at the head of the irish regi- ments in the king's service and several others to enable him to effect a landing in england; but with his usual insincerity the french king continued to raise difficulties and cause delays until it was too late, and he thus lost for- ever the chance of placing the family who had always been warm friends of france, and who would in the event of success have been his natural friends and allies, on the throne of england. in the meantime prince charles had taken up his abode in edinburgh, where he was joined by most of the gentry of scotland. he was proclaimed king in almost every town north of the tweed, and was master of all scotland, save some districts beyond inverness, the highland forts, and the castles of edinburgh and stirling. prince charles behaved with the greatest moderation. he forbade all public rejoicing for victory, saying that he could not re- joice over the loss which his father's misguided subjects had sustained. he abstained from any attempt to cap- ture edinburgh castle, or even to cut oft its supplies, because the general of the castle threatened that unless he were allowed to obtain provisions he would fire upon the city and lay it in ruins, and he even refused to interfere with a scotch minister who continued from his pulpit to pray for king george. in one respect he carried his generosity so far as to ex- bonnie fringe chaulie. cite discontent among his followers. it was proposed to send one of the prisoners taken at preston to london with a demand for the exchange of prisoners taken or to be taken in the war, and with the declaration that if this were refused, and if the prince's friends who fell into the enemy's hand were put to death as rebels, the prince would be compelled to treat his captives in the same way. it was evident that this step would be of great utility, as many of the prince's adherents hesitated to take up arms, not from fear of death in battle, but of execution if taken prisoners. the prince, however, steadily refused, saying, "it is beneath me to make empty threats, and i will never put such as this into execution. i cannot in cold blood take away lives which i have saved in the heat of action." six weeks after the victory the prince's army mustered nearly six thousand men; but macleod, macdonald, and lovat, who could have brought a further force of four thousand men, still held aloof. had these three powerful chiefs joined at once after the battle of prestonpans, prince charles could have marched to london, and would prob- ably have succeeded in placing his father on the throne, without having occasion to strike another blow; but they came not, and the delay caused during the fruitless nego- tiations enabled the euglish troops to be brought over from flanders, while prince charles on his side only received a few small consignments of arms and money from france. but in the meantime edinburgh was as gay as if the stuart cause had been already won. receptions and balls followed each other in close succession, and prince charles won the hearts of all alike by his courtesy and kindness, and by the care which he showed for the comfort of his troops. at the commencement of the campaign lord george murray had but one aide-de-camp besides ronald. this bonnie pr n b charlie. bonald sallied out. it was now dark, but they wrapped themselves up in their cloaks so as not to be noticed, as in the hostile state of the town they might have been insulted and a quarrel forced upon them, had they been recognized as two of the new arrivals. the night, however, was dark, and they passed without recognition through the ill-lighted streets to the house of andrew anderson. they rang at the bell. a minute later the grille was opened, and a voice, which they recognized as that of elspeth, asked who was there, and what was their business. "we come to arrest one elspeth dow, as one who trou- bles the state and is a traitor to his majesty." there was an exclamation from within and the door suddenly opened. "i know your voice, bairn. the lord be praised that you have come back home again!" and she was about to run forward, when she checked herself. "is it yourself, bonald?" "it is no one else, elspeth," he replied, giving the old woman a hearty kiss. "and such a man as you have grown!" she exclaimed in surprise. for the two years had added several inches to ronald's stature, and he now stood over six feet in height. "and have you no welcome for me, elspeth?" malcolm asked, coming forward. "the lord preserve us!" elspeth exclaimed. "why, it's my boy, malcolm!" "turned up again like a bad penny, you see, elspeth." "what is it, elspeth?" andrew's voice called from above. "who are these men you are talking to, and what do they want at this time of night?" "they want some supper, andrew," malcolm called back, "and that badly." in a moment andrew ran down and clasped his brother's bonnie prince charlie. hand. in the darkness he did not notice malcolm's com- panion, and after the first greeting with his brother led the way upstairs. "it is my brother malcolm," he said to his wife as he entered the room. ronald followed malcolm forward. as the light fell on his face andrew started, and, as ronald smiled, ran for- ward and clasped him in his arms. "it is ronald, wife! ah, my boy, have yon come back to ns again?" mrs. anderson received ronald with motherly kindness. "we had heard of your escape before your letter came to us from paris. our city constables brought back the news of how you had jumped overboard, and had been pulled into a boat and disappeared. and finely they were laughed at when they told their tale. then came your letter saying that it was malcolm who had met you with the boat, and how you had sailed away and been wrecked on the coast of france; but since then we have heard nothing." "i wrote twice," ronald said; "but owing to the war there have been no regular communications, and i suppose my letters got lost." "and i suppose you have both come over to have a hand in this mad enterprise?" "i don't know whether it is mad or not, andrew; but we have certainly come over to have a hand in it," mal- colm said. "and now, before we have a regular talk, let me tell you that we are famishing. i know your supper is long since over, brtt doubtless elspeth has still something to eat in her cupboard. oh, here she comes!" elspeth soon placed a joint of cold meat upon the table, and ronald and malcolm set to at once to satisfy their hunger. then a jar of whisky and glasses were set upon the table, and pipes lighted, and ronald began a detailed bonntk prince charlie. narration of all that had taken place since they had last met. "had my father and mother known that i was coming to scotland, and should have an opportunity of seeing you both, they would have sent you their warmest thanks and gratitude for your kindness to me," he concluded. "for over and over again have i heard them say how deeply they felt indebted to yon for your care of me during bo many years, and how they wished that they could see yon and thank you in person." "what we did was done, in the first place, for my brother malcolm, and afterward for love of you, ronald; and right glad am i to hear that yon obtained the freedom of your parents and a commission as an officer in the serv- ice of the king of france. i would be glad that yon had come over here on any other errand than that which brings yon. things have gone on well with yon so far; but how will they end? i hear that the jacobites of england are not stirring, and you do not think that with a few thou- sand highland clansmen you are going to conquer the english army that beat the french at dettingen, and well- nigh overcame them at fontenoy. ah, lad, it will prove a sore day for scotland when charles stuart set foot on <rar soil!" "we won't talk about that now, andrew," malcolm said good-temperedly. "the matter has got to be fought out with the sword, and if our tongues were to wag all night they could make no difference one way or another. so let us not touch upon politics. but i must say, that as far as ronald and i are concerned, we did not embark on this expedition because we thought that it was going to be successful, or because we had at the moment any great intention of turning hanoverian george off his throne; but simply because ronald had made france too hot to hold him, and this was the simplest way that pre* bonnie plilncb cbaiilie. sented itself of getting out of the country. as long at there are blows to be struck we shall do our best. when there is no more righting to be done, either because king james is seated on his throne in london, or because the clans are scattered and broken, we shall make for france again, where by that time i hope the king will have got over the breaoh of his edict and the killing of his favorite, and where ronald's father and mother will be longing for his presenoe." "eh, but it's awful, sirs," elspeth, who as an old and favorite servant had remained in the room after laying the snpper and listened to the conversation, put in, "to think that a young gallant like our ronald should have slain a man! he who ought not yet to have done with his learning, to be going abont into wars and battles, and to have stood up against a great french noble and slain him. eh, but it's awful to think of!" "it wonld be much more awful, elspeth, if the french noble had killed me, at least from the light in which i look at it." "that's true enough," elspeth said. "and if he wanted to kill yon, and it does seem from what you say that he did want, of course i cannot blame you for killing him; but to us quiet bodies here in glasgow it seems an awful affair; though, after you got in a broil here and drew on the city watch, i ought not to be surprised at anything." "and now we mnst go," ronald said, rising. "it is well-nigh midnight, and time for ail decent people to bo in bed." bonnie phinge charlie. "that is more than i had expected. and now, leslie, i have an important mission for you. the prince this morning asked me whom i could recommend, as a sure and careful person likely to do the business well, to go down into lancashire to visit the leading jacobites there, and urge them to take np arms. i said that i knew of none who would be more likely to succeed than yourself. your residence of two years in france has rubbed off any scotch dialect you may have had, and at any rate yon oould pass for a northern englishman. in the next place, your youth would enable you to pass unsuspected where an older man might be questioned. the prince agreed at once, and took shame to himself that he had not before given promotion to one who was his companion on his voyage to scotland, the more so as he had made johnstone a captain. your claims are far greater than his, and moreover you have served as an officer in the french army. but, in truth, the fault is in some degree yonr own, for yon spend all your time in carrying out yonr duties, and do not show yourself at any of the levees or festivities. and you know, with princes, as with ether people, out of sight is out of mind. however, the prince at once took steps to repair the omission, and has signed your commission as captain. here it is. yon will under- stand, of course, that it is for past services, and that yon are perfectly free to decline this mission to the south if you would rather not undertake it. it is nnquestionably a dangerous one." "i will undertake it readily, sir," ronald said, "and i thank you sincerely for bringing my name before the prince, and the prince himself for his kindness in granting me his commission, which so far i have done but little to win. i shall be able, i trust, to carry out this mission to his satisfaction; and although i am ignorant of the coun- try i shall have the advantage of taking with me my brave bonnie prince charlie. d follower, malcolm anderson, who for years was in the habit of going with droves of cattle down into lancashire, and will not only know the country but have acquaint- ances there, and being known as a drover wonld pass with- out suspicion of his being engaged with politics." "that will do well," lord george said. "i will get the list of persons on whom you should call prepared to- morrow. you had best go to sir thomas sheridan and francis strickland, who came over with you, and get them to present you to secretary murray and recommend you to him. if he hears that your mission is of my recommenda- tion he will do all he can to set the prince against you. everything that i do is wrong in his eyes, and i do believe that he would ruin the cause in order to injure me, did he see no other way to accomplish that end. therefore, if he mentions my name, as he is like to do, knowing that you have been my aide-de-camp, be sure that you say nought in my favor, or it will ruin you with him. you will, of course, attend the prince's levee to-morrow, and had best make preparation to start at nightfall." the next day, accordingly, ronald called upon sir thomas sheridan and strickland, and telling them that the prince had determined to send him on a mission into lancashire, asked them to present him to secretary mur- ray, from whom he would receive orders for his guidance and instruction as to the persons whom he was to visit. the two gentlemen proceeded with him to the house in which secretary murray had taken up his abode, and in- troduced him, with much warmth, as a fellow-passenger on board the don telle. "you have been serving since as lord murray's aide-de- camp?" "yes, sir, the prince recommended me to him at perth, and i have since had the honor to carry his orders." "captain leslie, for so the prince has granted him a bonnie prince cha lib. commission," sir thomas said, "has served two years ia the french army, and was present at dettingen and fontenoy. he mentioned to me on the voyage that ha had the honor of being presented by marshal saxe to the king of france, and that he received his commission from the marshal, to whom he had acted as aide-de-camp at fontenoy." "yon have begnn well, indeed, young sir," murray said, "to have received at your age, for i judge that you are not yet twenty, commissions in the french army and ours." ronald bowed. "he has another claim upon all you scottish gentlemen," sir thomas said, "for colonel macdonald told us, when he introduced him to us at nantes, that it was through, his interference and aid alone that he escaped safely from glasgow, and that all his papers, with the names of the king's friends in scotland, did not fall into george's hands. he was taken prisoner for his share in that affair, but escaped from the ship in the thames, and succeeded in crossing to france. so yon see, young as he is, he hat rendered good service to the cause." the expression of the secretary's face, which had before been cold and distant, changed at once. he had been aware that eonald had been chosen for this business on the recommendation of lord george murray, and his jeal- ousy of that nobleman had at once set him against ronald, of whose antecedents he was entirely ignorant; but what he now heard entirely altered the case, and disposed him most favorably toward him, especially as his own name would have been one of the most prominent in the list, he having been in constant communication with colonel mac- donald dnring the stay of the latter in scotland. "i had no idea it was to you that we are all so indebted," he said warmly. "i heard from colonel macdonald, after his return to france, that he owed his escape entirely to bonnie prince charlie. have to buy freah horses, yon may want it to bribe some one to conceal you. money is always useful, my young friend. by the way, what family of leslies do you belong to? i heard that one of your name had accompanied the prince, but no more." "my father was leslie of glenlyon." "indeed!" the secretary exclaimed. "of course, i know the name well. the lands were confiscated; but we shall soon set that right, and i will see that they are added to when the time comes to reward the king's friends and punish his foes." konald now took his leave and returned to malcolm, who was making preparation for the enterprise. he had already purohased two suits of clothes, such as would be worn by lowland drovers, and was in high spirits, being more elated than was ronald himself at the letter's pro- motion. in the course of the day he bought two rough ponies, as being more suitable for the position they were to assume than the horses with which they had been fur- nished at perth. ronald attended the levee, and thanked the prince for the favor which he bestowed upon him. "you are a young gentleman after my own heart," prince charles said, "and i promised myself on shipboard that we should be great friends; but i have been so busy since i landed, and you have been so occupied in my serv- ice, that i have seen but little of you. on your return i hope that i shall be able to have you near my person. i am half jealous of you, for while you are younger than am you have seen good service and taken part in great battles, but hitherto i have led a life almost of idleness." ronald bowed deeply at the prince's gracious speech. on his return to his tent he found a messenger from the secretary with a purse which, on counting its contents, they found to amount to a hundred guineas. they started immediately, and traveled twenty milea before stopping for the night at a small wayside inn. bonnie prince charlie. "this seems like old times to me," malcolm said as, after eating supper, they sat hy a turf fire, "except that on my way down i had the herd to look after. there is no fear of onr being questioned or suspected till we reach the border, for there is not an english soldier between the forth and the tweed; nor is it likely that we shall meet with any difficulty whatever till we get to carlisle. cope's forces, or what remain of them are at newcastle, and it will be there that the english will gather, and the western road is likely to be open until, at any rate, prince charles moves south. george's troops have plenty to think about without interfering with the lowland drovers. at the same time, after we have once crossed the tweed, we may as well leave the highroad. i know every by-path over the fells." on the third day after starting they crossed the border and were among the hills of cumberland. they found that among the villages great apprehension existed. the tales of the rapine and destruction wrought in the old times by the scottish forays had been handed down from father to son, and nothing less than the destruction of their homes and the loss of their flocks and herds was looked for. malcolm was welcomed warmly at the little village inn where they put up for the night. "why, it's well-nigh three years since i saw you last," the host said, "and before that it was seldom two months without our seeing you. what have you been doing with yourself?" "i have been gathering the herds in the highlands," malcolm said, "while others have driven them down for sale; but at present my occupation is gone. the high- landers are swarming like angry bees whose hive has been disturbed, and even if we could collect a herd it would not be safe to drive it south; it would be seized and dispatched to edinburgh for the use of the clans there." ogo bonnie piunce cba ulib. "is it true that there are fifty thousand of them, and that they have sworn to kill every english man, woman, and child?" "no, they are not so strong as that," malcolm said. "from what i hear i shonld say they were not more than half; and i do not think there is any occasion for peaceful people to be afraid, for they say that the prince has treated all the prisoners who fell into his hands in the kindest manner, and that he said that the english are his father's subjects as well as the scots, and that he will see that harm is done to no man." "i am right glad to hear it," the innkeeper said. "i don't know that i am much afraid myself; but my wife and daughter are in a terrible fright, and wanted me to quit the house and go south till it is all over." "there is no occasion for that, man," malcolm said; "you will have no reason for fear were the whole of the clans to march through your village, unless you took it into your head to stand at the door and shout, 'god bless king george.'" "i care not a fig about king george or king james," the man said. "it's naught to me who is king at london, and as far as i know that's the way with all here. let them fight it out together, and leave ns hard-working folk to ourselves." "i don't suppose either james or george would care for that," malcolm said, laughing; "but from what i have heard of prince charles i should say that there is nothing in the world that he would like better than to stand with broadsword or dagger against the duke of cumberland, and so settle the dispute."' "that would be the most sensible thing to my mind," the innkeeper said; "but what brings you here, anderson, bince you have no herd with you?" "i am just getting out of it all," maloolm said. "i have bonnie prince charlie. iiad my share of hard knocks, and want no more of them. i don't want to quarrel with highlanders or lowlanders, and as trade is at a standstill at present, and there's nothing for me to do in the highlands, i thought i would come south till it was all over. there is money to collect and things to look after, and i have to notify to our regnlar customers that the herds will come down again as soon as the tempest is over; and between ourselves," he said in a lower voioe, "i wanted to get my nephew out of harm's way. he has a hankering to join the prince's army, and i don't want to let him get his brains knocked out in a quarrel whioh isn't his, so i have brought him along with me." "he is a good-looking young fellow, i can see, and a strong one. i don't wonder that he wanted to mount the white oookade; lads are always wanting to run their heads into danger. ton have had your share of it, as you say; still yon are wise to keep the lad out of it. i don't hold with soldiering, or fighting in quarrels that don't concern you." malcolm and ronald traveled through cumberland and westmoreland, calling upon many of the gentlemen to whom the latter had been charged to deliver prinoe charles' messages. they could not, however, flatter themselves that their mission was a success, for from few of those on whom they called did they receive assurances that they were prepared to take action; all the gentlemen professed affection for the stuarts, but deprecated a de- scent into england unless the prince were accompanied by a strong body of french troops. the rising of ' had been disastrous for the jacobites of the north of england, and though all declared that they were ready again to take up arms and risk all for the cause of the stuarts, if the prince was at the head of a force which rendered success probable, they were unani- mously of opinion that it would be nothing short of mad- bonnie pringe charlie. the highlands, and as for fifteen years i was engaged in journeying backward and forward, and had many friends and acquaintances, i came down partly, as i have said, to avoid being mixed up in the trouble, partly to call upon old acquaintances, and partly to introduce to them my nephew, who is new to the work, and will shortly be en- gaged in bringing down cattle here. i thought the present was a good opportunity to show him all the roads and. halting-places in order that he might the better carry out the business." "your story has been well got up," one of the magis- trates said, "though i doubt whether there be a single word of truth in it. however, you will be at present searched, and detained until we get to the bottom of the matter. this is not a time when men can travel to and fro through the country without exciting a suspicion that they are engaged upon other than lawful business. at present i tell you that in our eyes your conduct appears to be extremely suspicions." the prisoners were then taken to a cell and searched with the utmost rigor. their clothes were examined with scrupulous eare, many of the seams being cut open and the linings slit, to see if any documents were concealed there. their shoes were also carefully examined; but the mud had dried over the opening where the quill was con- cealed, and the officials failed to discover it. even their sticks were carefully examined to see if they contained any hollow place; but at last, convinced that had they been the bearers of any documents these mnst have been discov- ered, the officials permitted them to resnme their clothes, and then paying no heed to the angry complaints of mal- colm at the state to which the garments had been reduced, they left the prisoners to themselves. "be careful what you say," malcolm whispered to eonald. "many of these plaoes have cracks or peepholes, bonnie fringe chaulltt. bo that the prisoners can be watched and their conversa- tion overheard." having said this majcolm indulged in a long and violent tirade on the hardship of peaceful men being arrested and maltreated in this way, and at the gross stupidity of mag- istrates in taking an honest drover known to half the countryside for a jacobite spy. .ronald replied in similar strains, and any listeners there might have been would certainly have gained nothing from the conversation they overheard. "i should not be surprised," malcolm said in low tones when night had come and all was quiet, "if some of our friends outside try to help us. the news will speedily spread that two men of the appearance of drovers have been taken on suspicion of being emissaries from scotland, and it will cause no little uneasiness among all those on whom we have called. they cannot tell whether any papers have been found upon us, nor what we may reveal to save ourselves, so they will have a strong interest in getting us free if possible." "if we do get free, malcolm, the sooner we return to scotland the better. we have seen almost all those whom we were charged to call upon, and we are certainly in a position to assure the prince that he need hope for no rising in his favor here before he ccaues, and that it is very doubtful that any numbers will join him if he marches south." the next morning they were removed from the cell in which they had been placed to the city jail, and on the following day were again brought before the magistrates. "you say that you have been calling on people who know you," one of the magistrates began; "and as i told you the other day we know that yon have been wandering about the country in a strange way, i now require that you shall tell us the names of all the persons with whom you have had communication." bonnie prince charlie. the question was addressed to malcolm as the oldest of the prisoners. ronald looked round the court, which was crowded with people, and thought that in several places he could detect an expression of anxiety rather than curiosity. "it will be a long story," malcolm said in a drawling voice, "and i would not say for sure but that i may forget one or two, seeing that i have spoken with so many. we came across the hills, and the first person we spoke to was master fenwick, who keeps the collie dog at appleswade. i don't know whether your worship knows the village. i greeted him as usual, and asked him how the wife and children had been faring since i saw him last. he said they were doing brawly, save that the eldest boy had twisted his ankle sorely among the fells." "we don't want to hear all this nonsense," the magis- trate said angrily. "we want a list of persons, not what you said to them." "it will be a hard task," malcolm said simply; "but i will do the best i can, your worship, and i can do no more. let me think, there was joseph repton and nat somner—at least i think it was nat, but i won't be sure to his christian name—and john dykes, and a chap they called pitman, but i don't know his right name." "who were all these people?" the magistrate asked. "joe repton, he is a wheelwright by trade, and nat somner he keeps the village shop. i think the others are both laboring men. anyhow they were all sitting at the tap of the collie dog when i went in." "but what have we to do with these fellows?" the magistrate exclaimed angrily. "i don't know no more than a child," malcolm said; "but your worship ordered me to tell you just the names of the persons i met, and i am doing so to the best of my ability." g bonnie prinob charlie. "take oare, prisoner," the magistrate said sternly; "you are trifling with the conrt. yon know what i want yon to tell me. you have been to these villages," and he read out some fifteen names. "what did yon go there for, and whom did you see?" "that is just what i was trying to tell yonr worship in regular order, bnt directly i begin yon stop me. i have been going through this district for fifteen years, and i am known in pretty well every village in cumberland, west- moreland, and lancashire. having been away for three years, and my trade being stopped by the war, as your worship well knows, i have been going round having a crack with the people i know. such as were butchers i promised some fine animals next time i came south; such as were innkeepers i stayed a night with and talked of old times. if your worship will have patience with me i can tell yon all the names and what i said to each of them, and what they said to me, and all about it." "i don't want to know about these things. i am asking yon whether yon have not been calling on some of the gentry." "indeed, now," malcolm said with an air of astonish- ment, "and this is the first time that i have heard a word about the gentry since i came into the court. well, let me think now, i did meet squire ringwood, and he stop- ped his horse and said to me: 'is that yon, malcolm an- derson, yon rascal;' and i said, 'it's me, sure enough, squire;' and he said, 'you rascal, that last score of beasts i bought of you '" "silence!" shouted the magistrate as a titter ran through the court. "all this fooling will do you no good, i can tell yon. we believe that yon are a traitor to the king and an emissary of the pretender. if yon make a clean breast of it, and tell me the names of those with whom you have been having dealings, there may be a hope of bonnie prince charlie. mercy for you; but if not, we shall get at the truth other ways, and then your meanness of condition will not save you from punishment." "your worship must do as you like," malcolm said dog- gedly. "i have done my best to answer your questions, and you jump down my throat as soon as i open my mouth. what should a man of my condition have to do with kings or pretenders? they have ruined my trade between them, and i care not whether king george or king james get the best of it, so that they do but make an end of it as soon as possible, and let me bring down my herds again. there's half a dozen butchers in the town who know me, and can speak for me. i have sold thou- sands of beasts to master tredgold; but if this is the treatment an honest man meets with i ain't likely to sell them any more, for as soon as i am let free and get the money the constables have taken from me i am off to glas- gow, and if i ever come south of the border again, may i be hung and quartered." finding that nothing was to be made out of the prison- ers, the magistrates ordered them to be taken back to jail bonnie prince chaelib. few words: "keep up your courage. yon have frienda without working for you. destroy this." malcolm at once again rolled up the pellet, put it into his mouth and swallowed it, and then whispered to eonald what he had just read. "i thought," he whispered, "that we should soon get a message of some sort. the news of our arrest will have bet the hearts of a score of people quaking, and they would do anything now to get us out from this prison. they have already, you see, succeeded in bribing our warder." at his evening visit the warder passed into ronald's hand a small parcel and then, as before, went out without speaking. "i am confirmed in the belief that we can be overheard," malcolm said. "had the man not been afraid of listeners he would have spoken to us. now let us see what he has brought us this time." the parcel contained a small file, a saw made of watch- spring, and a tiny phial of oil. "so far so good," malcolm said quietly. "our way through these bars is clear enough now. but that is only the beginning of our difficulties. this window looks into the prison yard, and there is a drop of some forty feet to begin with. however, i have no doubt our friends will send us the means of overcoming these difficulties in due course. all we have to concern ourselves about now is the sawing through of these bars." as soon as it was-dark they began the work, relieving each other in turns. the oil prevented much sound being made, but to deaden it still further they wrapped a hand- kerchief over the file. the bars had been but a short time in position and the iron was new and strong. it was consequently some hours before they completed their work. when they had done, the grating was left in the position it before occupied, the outs being concealed from bonnie prince oharlib. their meal that ronald moved to the grating and unrolled the little ball of paper; it contained only the words: "yon will receive a rope this evening. with this lower yourselves from yonr window into the courtyard. start when you hear the church-bells strike midnight, cross the court and stand against the wall near the right-hand corner of the opposite side. the third window on the second floor will be opened, and a rope lowered to you. attach yourselves to this, and yon will be pulled up from above." after reading the note ronald passed it on to malcolm who, as before, swallowed it, but had this time to tear it into several pieces before doing so. the warder was later bringing their supper than usual that evening, and it was dark when he came in. as he entered the room he let the lamp fall which he carried. "confound the thing!" he said roughly. "here, take hold of this bread, and let me feel for the lamp. i can't be bothered with going down to get another light. you can eat your supper in the dark just as well, i have no doubt." as he handed ronald the bread he also pushed into his hand the end of a rope, and while he pretended to search for the lamp he turned round and round rapidly, and so unwound the rope, which was twisted many times round his body. as soon as this was done he picked up the lamp, and with a rough "good-night," left them. "it is just as i suspected," malcolm said in ronald's ear. "there is a peep-hole somewhere, otherwise thera oould be no occasion for him to have dropped the lamp. it is well that we have always been on our guard." they ate their bread in silence, and then after a short talk on the stupidity of the english in taking two drovers for messengers of prince charles, they lay down on their rough pallets to pass with what patience they could the long hours before midnight, for it was late in october, and bonnie prince charlie. and feet, ad< was especially careful as he passed the win- dow on the first floor. in a minute he was pulled into the room on the second floor by the men who had hoisted him up. a low "hush!" warned him that there was still a necessity for silence. the rope was lowered again, and ronald lent his aid to hoist malcolm up to the window. as soon as he was in, it was as slowly and carefully closed. "you are mighty heavy, both of you," a voice whispered. "i should not have thought it would have been such hard work to lift a man up this height. now, follow us, and be sure you make no noise." two flights of stairs were descended, and then they stood before a small but heavy door; some bolts were drawn and a key turned in the lock, this being done so noiselessly that ronald was sure they must have been care- fully oiled. the two men passed through with them, locking the door behind them. "thank god we are out!" malcolm said fervently. "i have been in a watch-house more than once in my young days, but i can't say i like it better as i grow older." they walked for some minutes, and then their guides opened a door and they entered a small house. "stir up those peats, jack," one of the men said, "and blow them a bit, while i feel for a candle." in a minute or two a light was obtained. "that's very neatly done, i think, gentlemen," laughed the man addressed as jack, and who they now saw was the warder who had attended upon them. "we had rare trouble in hitting upon that plan. the cell you were in opened upon a corridor, the doors to which are always locked by the chief-constable himself; and even if we could have got at his key, and opened one of them, we should have been no nearer escape, for two of the warders sleep in the lodge, and there would be no getting out with- out waking them, and they could not be got at. they bonnie prinob charlie. the morning when they find that their helmets hare disap- peared; as to the swords and belts, i don't know that they are quite right; they were bought at an old shop, and i believe they are yeomanry swords, but i expect they are near enough. i was to give yon this letter to take with yon; it is, as yon see, directed to general wade at new- castle, and purports to come from the colonel of your regi- ment here, so that if by any chance yon are questioned on the way, that will serve as a reason for yonr journeying north. here is a purse of twenty guineas; i think that's about all." "bnt are we not to see those who have done us snch service," ronald asked, "in order that we may thank them in person?" ki don't know who it is any more than the man in the moon," the warder replied. "it was a woman dressed as a serving wench, though i donbt it was only a disguise, who came to me. she met me in the street and asked me if i should like to earn fifty pounds. i said i had no objection, and then after a good deal of beating about the bush it came out that what was wanted was that i should aid in your escape. i didn't see my way to working it alone, and told her so. she said she was authorized to offer the same sum to another, so i said i would talk it over with nat. he agreed to stand in, and between ns we thought the matter out. i have seen her several times about the arrangements; but i never got to know any more about her. it was nothing to me whom the money came from, as long as it was all right. we have had half down, and are to have the other half when we get to the cart with you. and now if you are ready we will be start- ing. the further we get away from here before morning the better." they made their way quietly along the streets. the town was in total darkness, and they did not meet a single » bonnie prince harl b. person abroad, and in a quarter of an hour they were in the open country. another ten minutes and they came upon the cart and horses. three men were standing be- side them, and the impatient stamp of a horse's hoof showed that the horses were tied up closely. a lantern was held up as the party came up. "all safe?" "all safe," ronald replied. "thanks, many thanks to you for our freedom." the man holding the lantern was masked, so they could not see his face. he first turned to the two warders, and placed a bag of money in their hands. "you have done your work well," he said; "the cart will take you thirty miles on your road, and then drop you. i wish you a safe journey. you had best hide your money in your boots, unless you wish it to fall into the hands of highwaymen. the london road is infested with them." with a word of farewell to ronald and malcolm the two warders climbed into the cart, one of the men mounted beside them and took the reins, and in another minute the cart drove away in the darkness. as soon as it had started the man with the lantern removed his mask. "mr. ratcliff!" ronald exclaimed in surprise. "yes, it is myself. there are half a dozen of us engaged in the matter. as soon as we heard of your arrest we determined to get you out. i was only afraid you would have been taken up to london before we could get all our plans arranged, for i knew they had sent up for instruc- tions. it was well that we were ready to act to-night, for orders were received this afternoon that you should be sent up under an escort to-morrow. you puzzled them rarely at your examination, and they could make nothing of you. our greatest fear was that you might betray yourselves in the prison when you fancied you were alone, for wo learned bonnie prince charlie. over the news, for the north was all excitement. orders had been issued for all the militia to turn out, but there was little response, for although few had any desire to risk their lives in the cause of the stuarts, fewer still had any intention of fighting for the hanoverians. when they arrived within a few miles of newcastle they left the main road and struck across country, their object being to come down upon the road running north from carlisle, for they thought it likely that parties of general wade's troops would be scattered far over the country north of newcastle. at a farmhouse they succeeded in buying some civilian clothes, giving out that they were deserters, and as they were willing to pay well, the farmer, who had no good-will toward the hanoverians, had no difficulty in parting with two of his best suits. they were now in a country perfectly well known to malcolm, and traveling by by-ways across the hills they crossed the cheviots a few miles south of carter fell, and then rode down the wild valleys to castletown and thenoe to canobie on the esk. as they entered the little town they found the wildest excitement prevailing. an officer with two orderlies had just ridden in to say that quarters were to be prepared for prince charles, and a quantity of bullocks and meal got in readiness for the use of the army, which would arrive late that evening. eonald soon found the officer who had brought the order and recog- nized him as one of lord perth's aides-de-camp. he did not know ronald in his present dress, but greeted him heartily as soon as he discovered who he was. "how is it the troops are coming this way?" ronald asked. "they are marching through liddesdale from kelso. we halted there for two days, and orders were sent for- ward to wooler to prepare quarters. this was to throw wade ofl the scent and induce him to march north from bonnie prince charlie newcastle to oppose us on that road, while, as yon see, w« have tamed west and shall cross into cumberland and make a dash at carlisle." a few hours later the prince arrived with his army, and as soon as he entered the quarters prepared for him ronald proceeded there and made his report. "i could wish it had been better, captain leslie," the prince said; "but the die is cast now, and i cannot think that our friends in the north, who proved so loyal to our cause in ' , will hang back when we are among them. when they see that charles ratcliff and other gentlemen whom you have visited range themselves under our banner i believe the common people will join us also. now give me a full account of your mission." ronald gave the list of the gentry he had visited, and described his arrest and imprisonment in manchester and the manner in which mr. ratcliff had contrived his escape. "you have done all that is possible, sir," the prince said, "and at an early opportunity i will show you i appreciate your services." on the next day, the th of november, the corps crossed the border; on the th they were joined by another col- umn, which had marched from edinburgh by the western road, and the united force marched to carlisle and sat down before it. the walls of the city were old and in bad condition, the garrison was ill prepared for a siege. it consisted of a company of invalids in tho castle, under the command of colonel durand, and a considerable body of cumberland militia. the walls, however, old as they were, could for some time have resisted the battery of four-pounder guns which formed the prince's sole artillery. the mayor returned no answer to the prince's summons and orders were issued to begin to throw up trench-works, but scarcely had the operations begun when news arrived that marshal wade was marching from newcastle to re- bonnie prince charlie. lieve the city. the siege was at once abandoned, and the prince marched ont with the army to brampton and took np a favorable position there to give battle. the news proved incorrect, and the duke of perth with several reg- iments were sent back to resume the siege. on the th the duke began to raise a battery on the east side of the town, but after a few shots had been fired from the walls the courage of the besieged failed them. the white flag was hung out, and the town and castle surrendered on the condition that the soldiers and militia might march away, leaving their arms and horses behind and engaging not to serve again for a year. on the th the prince made a triumphal entry into the place, but was received with but little show of warmth on the part of the inhabitants. a halt was made at carlisle and a council was held to determine npon the next step to be taken. the news which had been received from scotland was very unfavora- ble. lord strathallan, who had been appointed by the prince as commander-in-chief, and directed to raise as many troops as possible, had collected between two and three thonsand men at perth, and lord lewis gordon had raised three battalions in aberdeenshire; but on the other hand a considerable force had been collected at in- verness for king george. the towns of glasgow, paisley, and dumfries had turned out their militia for the house of hanover. the officers of the crown had re-entered edinburgh and two regiments of cavalry had been sent forward by marshal wade to their support. while even scotland was thus wavering it seemed almost madness for the little army to advance into england. the greater portion of the highlanders had from the first objected strongly to leave their country, and upward of a thousand had deserted and gone home on the march down from edinburgh. they had started less than six thousand bonnie prince charlie. strong, and after leaving a garrison of two hundred men in carlisle, but four thousand five hundred were available for the advance south, while wade, with his ten thousand men, would be in their rear and two english armies of nearly equal strength be waiting to receive them. at the council the opinions of the leaders were almost unanimous against an advance, but upon lord george murray saying that if prince charles decided upon advancing the army would follow him, he determined upon pressing forward. the army began its advance on the th of november, and halted a day at penrith upon the news that marshal wade was moving to attack them; but the english general had not made any move, and the scotch again pushed on through shap, eendal, and lancaster, to preston. dur- ing the march prince charles marched with his troops, clad in highland garb, and with his target thrown across his shoulder. he seldom stopped for dinner, but ate his food as he walked, chatting gayly with the highlanders, and by his cheerfulness and example kept up their spirits. the strictest discipline was enforced, and everything re- quired by the troops was paid for. at preston the prince on his entry was cheered by the mob, and a few men enlisted. from preston the army marched to wigan, and thenoe to manchester. the road was thronged with people, who expressed the warmest wishes for the prince's success; but when asked to enlist, they all hung back, saying they knew nothing about fighting. still the feeling in favor of the prince's cause became stronger as he advanced south, and at manchester he was received with the acclamationa of the inhabitants, the ringing of the bells, and an illumi- nation of the city in the evening. the people mounted white cockades, and the next day about two hundred men enlisted and were enrolled under the name of the man- chester regiment, the command of whioh was given to bonnie prinob charlies. of one division, forded the mersey near stockport, where the "water was waist-deep. the other division, with the baggage and artillery, crossed lower down, at cheadle, on a hastily-constructed bridge, and the two columns joined that evening at macclesfield. here lord george murray succeeded in misleading the duke of cumberland as to his intentions by a dexterous maneuver. advancing with a portion of his force he dislodged and drove before him the duke of kingston and a small party of english horse posted at gongleton, and pursued them some distance along the road toward newcastle-under-lyne. the duke of cumberland, supposing that the prince's army were on their march either to give him battle or to make their way into wales, where the jacobite party were extremely strong, pushed forward with his main body to stone. lord george murray, however, having gained his object, turned sharp off to the left, and after a long march arrived at ashbourne, where the prince, with the other division of the army, had marched direct. the next afternoon they arrived at derby, having thus altogether evaded the duke of cumberland, and being nearly three days' march nearer london than was his army. the prince that night was in high spirits at the fact that he was now within a hundred and thirty miles of london, and that neither wade's nor cumberland's forces interposed between him and the capital. but his delight was by no means shared by his followers, and early next morning he was waited upon by lord george murray and all the commanders of battalions and squadrons, and a council being held, they laid before the prince their earn- est and unanimous opinion that an immediate retreat to scotland was necessary. they had marched, they said, so far on the promise either of an english rising or a french descent upon eng- land. neither had yet occurred. their five thousand bonnie fringe charlie. fighting men were insufficient to give battle to even one of the three armies that surrounded them—scarcely adequate, indeed, to take possession of london, were there no army at finchley to protect it. even did they gain london, how could they hold it against the united armies of wade and cumberland? defeat so far from home would mean destruction, and not a man would ever regain scotland. in vain the prince replied to their arguments, in vain expostulated, and even implored them to yield to his wishes. after several hours of stormy debate the council broke up without having arrived at any decision. the prinoe at one time thought of calling upon the soldiers to follow him without regard to their officers; for the high- landers, reluctant as they had been to march into england, were now burning for a fight, and were longing for noth- ing so much as to meet one or other of the hostile armies opposed to them. the prince's private advisers, however, sheridan and secretary murray, urged him to yield to the opinion of his officers, since they were sure that the clans- men would never fight well if they knew that their chiefs were unanimously opposed to their giving battle. accord- ingly the prince, heart-broken at the destruction of hia hopes, agreed to yield to the wishes of his officers, and at a council in the evening gave his formal consent to * jsetreat. sa uumme p&mox uuaulxm* chapter xvil a baffled plot. uttbrlt disheartened and dispirited the army oom- menced its march north. the prince himself was even more disappointed than his soldiers, and showed by his manner how bitterly he resented the decision at which his officers had arrived. it had seemed to him that success was within his grasp, and that he had but to march to london to overthrow the hanoverian dynasty. and it is by no means improbable that his instincts were more cor- rect than the calculations of his advisers. the news of his rapid march sonth had sent a thrill through the coun- try; and although so far the number of those who had joined him was exceedingly small, at that moment num- bers of gentlemen in wales and other parts of the country were arming their tenants and preparing to take the field. there was no hostile force between himself and london, for the force at finchley was not yet organized, and could have offered no effectual opposition. a panic reigned in the metropolis, and the king was preparing to take ship and leave the country. had the little army marched for- ward there is small doubt that james would have been proclaimed king in london. but it may be doubted whether prince charles could have maintained the advan- tage he had gained. two armies, both superior to his own, were pressing on his rear, and would have arrived in london but a few diiys after himself; and although the londoners might have accepted him, they would hardly bonnie prince charlie. whom ha mounted on horses supplied by the neighboring gentry, he set out in pursuit. at preston he was joined by another body of horse sent across the country from the army of marshal wade; but it was not until he entered westmoreland that he came up with the rear guard of the insurgents, which was oomroanded by lord george murray. defeating some local volunteers who molested him, lord george learned from the prisoners that the duke with four thousand men was close at hand, and he sent on the news to the prince, who dispatched two regiments, the stuarts of appin and the maophersons of cluny, to reinforce him. it was nearly dark when by the light of the moon lord george saw the english infantry, who had now dismounted, advancing. he at once charged them at the head of the maophersons and stuarts, and in a few minutes the eng- lish were completely defeated, their commander, colonel honeywood, being left severely wounded on the field, with a hundred killed or disabled men, while the loss of the scotch was but twelve. it was with great difficulty that the highlanders could be recalled from the pursuit, and lord george himself sent an urgent message to the prince begging for a further reinforcement, in order that he might maintain his ground and defeat the whole force of the duke. as usual hia wishes were disregarded, and he was ordered to fall back and join the main body at penrith. the check, however, was so effective that the duke made no further attempt to harass the retreat of the highlanders. passing through carlisle, some men of a lowland regi- ment, and colonel townley with hie regiment raised at manchester, were left there as a garrison, so that the road should be kept open for another and, as the prince hoped, not far distant invasion. the step was, however, a cruel one, for the dnke of cumberland at once laid siege to the place, battered a breaofa in its ancient wall, and the garri- bonnie prince charlie. con were forced to surrender. many of them were after- ward executed and imprisoned, and rnin fell upon all. charles with his army marohed north to glasgow, where they remained eight days, requisitioning supplies from the town. during their stay ronald and malcolm put up at the house of andrew anderson. "what think you of the chances now, malcolm?" an- drew asked his brother, after hearing what had taken place since he had last seen him. "i think no better and no worse of it than i did before, brother. they have had more success than i looked for. i did not think they would ever have got as far south as derby. who would have thought that a few thousand highlanders could have marched half through england? but i see no prospeot of success. the prince is badly advised. he has but one really good soldier with him, and he is set against him by the intrigues and spite of secretary murray and his friends, and partly, it may be, by lord george's own frankness of speech. he has at his back but half the highlands, for the other portion stand aloof from him. in the lowlands he has found scarce an adherent, and but a handful in england. the highlanders are brave; but it is surely beyond human expectation that five or six thousand highlanders can vanquish a kingdom with a brave and well-trained army with abundant artillery. ronald and i mean to fight it out to the end; but i do not think the end will be very far off." "i am sorry for the young prince," andrew said. "he is a fine fellow, certainly—handsome and brave and cour- teous, and assuredly clement. for three times his life has been attempted, and each time he has released those who did it without punishment. i could not but think, as i saw him ride down the street to-day, that it was sad that bo fine a young man should be doomed either to the block or to a lifelong imprisonment, and that for fighting for bonnie prince charlie, what he has been doubtless taught to consider his right. there are many here who are bitter against him; but i am not one of them, and i am sorry for him, sorry for all these brave gentlemen and clansmen, for i fear that there will be a terrible vengeance for all that has been done. they have frightened the english king and his ministers too sorely to be ever forgiven, and we shall have sad times in scotland when this is all over." two evenings later hon ald noticed that andrew, who had been absent for some time, and had only returned jnst in time for supper, looked worried and abstracted, and replied almost at random to any questions put to him. "it is of no use," he said suddenly, when his wife had left the room after the conclusion of the meal. "i am a loyal subject of king george, and i wish him every suc- cess in battle, and am confident that he will crush out this rebellion without difficulty, but i cannot go as far as some. i cannot stand by and see murder done on a poor lad who, whatever his faults, is merciful and generous to his ene- mies. malcolm, i will tell you all i know, only bidding you keep secret as to how you got the news, for it would cost me my life were it known that the matter had leaked out through me. "this evening five of the council, knowing that i am a staunch king's man, took me aside after the meeting was over, and told me that there was a plan on foot to put an end to all the trouble by the carrying off or slaying of prince charles. i was about to protest against it, when i saw that by so doing i should, in the first place, do no good; in the second, be looked upon as a jacobite; and in the third, be unable to learn the details of what they were proposing. so i said that doubtless it was a good thing to lay by the heels the author of all these troubles, and that the life of one man was as naught in the balance compared to the prosperity of the whole country. whereupon they bonnie prinur charlie. revealed to me their plan, asking me for a subscription of a hundred pounds to carry it out, and saying truly that i should get back the money and great honor from the king when he learned i had done him such service. after some bargaining i agreed for fifty pounds." "but what is the plot, andrew?" malcolm said anx- iously. "it is just this. the prince, as you know, goes about with scant attendance, and though there are guards in front of his house, there are but two or three beside him- self who sleep there. there is a back entrance to which no attention is paid, and it will be easy for those who know the house to enter by that door, to make their way silently to his chamber, and either to kill or carry him off. i threw my voice in against killing, pointing out that the king would rather have him alive than dead, so that he might be tried and executed in due form. this was also their opinion, for they had already hired a vessel which is lying in the stream. the plan is to seize and gag him and tie his arms. there will be no difficulty in getting him along through the streets. there are few folks abroad after ten o'clock, and should they meet any one he will conclude that it is but a drunken highlander being carried home. you see, malcolm, there is not only honor to be gained from the king, but the thirty thousand pounds offered for the prince's person. i pretended to fall in with the plan, and gave them the fifty pounds which they lacked for the hire of the vessel, the captain refusing to let them have it save for money paid down. now, mal- colm, i_have told you and bonald all i know about the matter, and it is for you to see how a stop may be put to it." "the scoundrels!" malcolm said. "their loyalty to the king is but a veil to hide their covetousuess for the reward. when is it to take place, and how many men are likely to be engaged in it-?" bonnie prince charlie "six trusty men of the city watch and their five selves. i said i would subscribe the money, but would have no active share in the business. they might have all the honor, i would be content with my share of the reward offered. two of them with four of the guards will enter the house and carry off the prince. the rest will wait outside and follow closely on the way down to the port ready to give aid if the others should meet with any ob- struction. the whole will embark and sail to london with him." "and when is this plot to be carried out?" malcolm asked. "to-morrow at midnight. tide will be high half an hour later; they will drop down the river as soon as it turns, and will be well out to sea by the morning. and now i have told you all, i will only ask you to act so that as little trouble as possible may arise. do not bring my name into the matter if you can avoid doing so; but in any case i would rather run the risk of the ruin and death which would alight upon me when this rebellion is over than have such a foul deed of treachery carried out. there is not a scotchman but to this day curses the name of the traitor menteith, who betrayed wallace. my name is a humble one, but i would not have it go down to all ages as that of a man who betrayed charles stuart for english gold." "make yourself easy, brother; ronald and i will see to that. when once treachery is known it is easy to defeat, and ronald and i will see that your name does not appear in the matter." "thank god that is off my mind!" andrew said; "and i will off to bed, or janet will wonder what i am talking about so long. i will leave you two to settle how you can best manage the affair, which you can do without my help, for matters of this kind are far more in your way than in mine." bonnie prinoe charlie. "this is a villainous business, ronald," malcolm said when they were alone; "and yet i am not surprised. thirty thousand pounds would not tempt a highlander who has naught in the world save the plaid in which he stands up; but these money-grubbing citizens of glasgow would sell their souls for gain. and now what do yon think had best be done in the matter, so that the plot may be put a stop to, and that without suspicion falling upon andrew. it would be easy to have a dozen men hiding in the yard behind the house and cut down the fellows aa they enter." "i do not think that would do, malcolm; it would cause a tumult, and the fact could not be hidden. and besides, you know what these highlanders are; they already loathe and despise the citizens of glasgow, and did they know that there had been a plot on foot to capture and slay the prince, nothing could prevent their laying the town in ashes." "that is true enough. what do yon propose then, bonald?" *i think it best that if there shonld be any fighting it should be on board the ship, but possibly we may avoid even that. i should say that with eight or ten men we can easily seize the vessel, and then when the boat comes alongside capture the fellows as they step on to the deck without trouble, and leave it to the prince to settle what is to be done with them." "that is certainly the best plan, ronald. i will get together to-morrow half a dozen trusty lads who will ask no questions as to what i want them to do, and will be silent about the matter afterward. we must get from andrew to-morrow morning the name of the vessel, and see where she is lying in the stream, and where the boat will be waiting for the prince." the next night ronald and malcolm with six men made bonnili princtt charlie. their way one by one through the streets so as not to attract the attention of the watch, and assembled near the strand. wot until the clock struck twelve did they approach the stairs at the foot of which the boat was lying. there were two men in it. "you are earlier than we expected," one said as they descended the steps. "the captain said a quarter past twelve." "yes, we are a little early," malcolm replied as he stepped into the boat; "we were ready earlier than we expected." a moment later malcolm suddenly seized one of the sailors by the throat and dragged him down to the bottom of the boat, a handkerchief was stuffed into his mouth, and his hands and feet tied. the other was at the same time similarly secured. so sudden and unexpected had been the attack that the sailors had had no time to cry out or offer any resistance, and their capture was effected without the slightest sound being heard. the oars were at once got out and the boat was rowed out toward the vessel lying out in the middle of the stream with a light burning at her peak. as they approached the side the captain appeared at the gangway. "all is well, i hope?" he asked. "could not be better," malcolm replied as he seized the rope and mounted the gangway, the others closely follow- ing him. as he sprang upon the deck he presented a pistol at the captain's head. "speak a word and you die," he said sternly. taken by surprise the captain offered no resistance, but suffered himself to be bound. two or three sailors on deck were similarly seized and secured, the hatchway waa fastened to prevent the rest of the crew from coming on deck, and the ship being thus in their possession two of the men at once took their places in the boat and rowed, back to the stairs. bonnie prince charlie. a quarter of an hour later those on board heard a mur- mur of voices on shore, and two or three minutes later the splash of oars as the boat rowed back to the ship. eonald put on the captain's cap and stood at the gangway with a lantern. "all right, i hope?" he asked as the boat came along- side. "all right, oaptain! you can get up your anchor as soon as you like." two men mounted on to the deck, and then fonr others carried up a figure and were followed by the rest. as the last one touched the deck ronald lifted the lantern above his head, and, to the astonishment of the newcomers, they saw themselves confronted by eight armed men. the six men of the watch, furious at the prospect of losing the reward upon which they had reckoned, drew their swords and rushed forward; but they were struck down with handspikes and swords, for ronald had im- pressed upon his men the importance of not using their pistols, save in the last extremity. in two minutes the fight was over. the five citizens had taken little part in it, save as the recipients of blows; for malcolm, furious at their treachery, had bade the men make no distinction between them and the watch, and had himself dealt them one or two heavy blows with his handspike after he had seen that the guard was overpowered. the whole of them were then bound, and warned that their throats would be cut if they made the least noise. the prince was released from his bonds, and he was at once conducted by malcolm and eonald to the cabin, where a light was burning. the prince was so much bewildered by the events that had occurred that he did not yet understand the state of the case. he had been awoke by a gag being roughly forced into his mouth, while at the same moment his hands bonnie prince charlie. •were tightly bound. then he was lifted from his bed, come olothes were thrown on to him, a man took his place on either side, and, thrusting their arms into his, threat- ened him with instant death if he did not come along with them without resistance. then he had been hurried down stairs and along the streets, two men keeping a little ahead and others following behind. they had met no one until they reached the shore. he had been forced into a boat and rowed up to a ship, and on reaching the deck a des- perate combat had suddenly commenced all round him. then the gag had been removed and the bonds cut. be- wildered and amazed he gazed at the two men who had accompanied him to the cabin. "why, captain leslie!" he exclaimed. "is it you? what means all this scene through which have passed?" "it means, your royal highness," ronald said respect- fully, "that i and my friend maloolm obtained informa- tion of a plot on the part of some of the citizens to carry you off and sell you to the english. we could have stop- ped it by attacking them as they entered the house to seize you; but had we done so an alarm must have been raised, and we feared that the highlanders, when they knew of the treachery that had been attempted against you, might have fallen upon the citizens, and that a terrible uproar would have taken place. therefore we carried out another plan. we first of all obtained possession of the ship in which yon were to have been taken away, and then over- came your captors as they brought yon on board. all this has been done without any alarm having been given, and it now rests with you to determine what shall be done with these wretches." "you have done well, indeed, captain leslie, and i thank yon and your friend not only for the great service you have rendered me, but for the manner in which yon have done it. i ought to have foreseen this. did not bonnie prince charlie. the lowlanders sell king charles to the english. i might have expected that some at least would be tempted by the reward offered for me. as for punishment for these men, they are beneath me. and, moreover, if i can trust my eyes and my ears, the knocks which yon gave them will be punishment enough even did i wish to punish them, which i do not. i could not do so without the story of the attempt being known, and in that case there would be no keeping my highlanders within bounds. as it is they are continually reproaching me with what they call my mis- taken clemency, and there would be no restraining them did they know of this. no, we had best leave them to themselves. we will order the captain to put to sea with them at once, and tell him he had best not return to glas- gow until i have left it. they will have time to reflect there at leisure, and as, doubtless, they have each of them' given reasons at home for an absence of some duration there will be no anxiety respecting them. and now, gen- tlemen, will you fetch in those who have aided you in my rescue. i would thank every one of them for the service they have rendered, and impress upon them my urgent desire that they should say nothing to any one of this night's work." while the prince was speaking to the men malcolm went out, and having unbound the captain, ordered him to deliver up the sum which he had reoeived for the con- veyance of the prince and his captors to england. the captain did as he was ordered. "how much is there here?" malcolm asked, i "three hundred pounds." malcolm counted out fifty of it and placed them in his pocket, saying to ronald: "there is no reason andrew should be a loser by the transaction. that will leave two hundred and fifty, which i will divide among our men when we get ashore." eoo bonnw plilncr charlie. malcolm then gave the prince's orders to the captain; that he must, immediately they left the ship, get np his anchor as before intended, and make out to sea; and that under pain of being tried and executed for his share in this treacherous business, he was not to return to glasgow with his eleven passengers for the space of a week. the prince and his rescuers then entered the boats and rowed to shore, and the prince regained his apartment without any one in the house being aware that he had been absent from it. the next day the prinoe sent for ronald and malcolm, and in a private interview again expressed to them his gratitude for his rescue from the hands of his enemies. "i have none but empty honor to bestow now," he said; "but believe me, if i ever mount the throne of england you shall see that charles edward stuart is not ungrate- ful." the incident was kept a close secret, only two or three of the prince's most intimate advisers ever being informed of it. these were unanimous in urging that an absolute silence should be maintained on the subject, for the fact that the attempt would have certainly been crowned with success had it not been for the measures ronald had taken might encourage others to attempt a repetition of it. having rested his army by a stay of eight days at glas- gow, prince charles set out on the d of january, , for stirling, where he was joined by lords john drum- mond, lewis gordon, and strathallan, the first-named of whom had brought some battering guns and engineers from france. their following raised the force to nearly nine thousand men—the largest army that charles mus- tered during the course of the campaign. the siege of stirling was at once commenced; but the castle was strong and well defended, and the siege made but little progress. in the meantime the duke of cumberland had been * bonnie prince oharlib. off on horseback at once to gallendar house, and the gen- eral presently galloped up in breathless haste, and putting himself at the head of his three regiments of dragoons, started for falkirk mnir, which he hoped to gain before the highlanders could take possession of it. he ordered the infantry to follow as fast as possible. a storm of wind and rain beat in the face of the soldiers, and before they could gain the crest of the muir the highlanders had ob- tained possession. the english then halted and drew up on somewhat lower ground. between them was a ravine which formed bnt a small depression opposite the center of the english line, but deepened toward the plain on their right. the english artillery, in the hurry of their advance, had stuck fast in a morass, but as the highlanders had brought no guns with them the forces were equal in this respect. lord john drnmmond had from a distance been watching the movements of the english, and as soon as he saw that they had taken the alarm and were advancing against the prince, he made a detonr, and, riding round the english, joined the highland infantry. the prince's army was divided into two lines: its right was commanded by lord george murray, the left by lord john drummond; the prince, as at preston, took up his station in the center of the sec- ond line on a conspicuous mound, still known by the name of charlie's hill. the english infantry were also drawn up in two lines, with the argyle militia and the glasgow regiment in re- serve behind the second line. the cavalry were in front under colonel ligonier, who, at the death of colonel gar- diner, had succeeded to the command of his regiment. general hawley commanded the center and general huske the right. the battle commenced by a charge of ligonier with his cavalry upon the highland right. here the macdonald bonnie prince charlie. clansmen were posted, and these, at lord george murray'* order, reserved their fire nntil the dragoons were within ten yards, and then poured in a scathing volley, under which numbers of the horsemen went down. the tw» dragoon regiments, which had fled so shamefully at pres- ton and colthridge, turned and galloped at once from the field; but cobham's regiment fought well, and when com- pelled to retreat rallied behind the right of the line. lord george murray endeavored to get the victoriout macdonalds into line again; but these were beyond control, and rushing forward fell upon the flank of hawley's two lines of foot, which were at the same moment furiously assailed in front; the highlanders, after pouring in their fire, dropped their muskets and charged broadsword in band. the english, nearly blinded by the wind and rain, were unable to withstand this combined assault. general haw- ley, who at least possessed the virtue of courage, rode hither and thither in their front, trying to encourage them, bnt in vain, the whole center gave way and fled in confu- sion. on the right, however, the english were defending themselves successfully. the three regiments placed there, on the edge of the ravine, maintained so steady a fire that the highlanders were unable to cross it, and cobham's dragoons charged down upon the scattered and victorious highlanders in the center and effectually checked their pursuit. prince charles, seeing the danger, put himself at the head of the second line and advanced against the three english regiments who still stood firm. unable to withstand so overwhelming a force these fell back from the ground they had held, but did so in steady order, their drums beating, and covering, in their retreat, the mingled mass of fugitives. had the highlanders, at this critical moment, flung themselves with their whole force upon these regiments the english army would have bonnie prince charlie. q$ ohapteb xviii. oullodbir. the victory of falkirk brought but little advantage to prince charles, and dissensions arose among the officers; lord george murray being furious with lord john drum- mond for preventing the complete destruction of the eng- lish army, while lord john drummond severely criticised lord george for the confusion which had taken place among his troops after their success. great numbers of the highlanders, who had spent the night after the battle in plundering the english camp and stripping the slain, made off with their booty to the moun- tains, and the number of desertions was increased by the withdrawal of the greater part of glengarry's clansmen. on the day after the battle the musket of one of the glan- ranald clansmen went off by accident and killed the son of glengarry. his clansmen loudly demanded life for life, and clanranald having reluctantly consented to surrender his follower, the poor fellow was immediately led out and shot; but even this savage act of vengeance was insufficient to satisfy the glengarry men, the greater part of whom at once left the army and returned to their homes. after the battle the siege of stirling was renewed; but owing to the gross incompetence of a french engineer, who had come over with lord john drummond, the bat- teries were so badly placed that their fire was easily silenced by that of the castle guns. the prinoe, in spite of the bonnie prince charlie. bardine, who knew the stuarts on the throne, to fight to put them back again; but to your generation, ronald, the stuarts are after all only a tradition, and it is a sort of generous madness for you to risk your life to set them again on the throne of england. it cannot matter a brass pin to you whether james or george rules at st. james'. it is not, as in the case of the royalists in england in charles' time or of the covenanters of scotland, that a great principle is involved—a principle for which men may well risk their lives and all they hold dear. it is a ques- tion of persons only, and although i may hold that by right of descent charles edward is prince of wales and rightful heir to the throne of england, that is no reason why i should risk my life to place him there; and after all it seems to me that if the majority in these islands determine that they will be ruled by the house of hanover instead of the house of stuart they have some right to make their own choice." "you argue like a philosopher, malcolm," ronald said, laughing, "and do not remind me in the slightest degree of the malcolm who used to chat with me in glasgow." "you are right there, lad. you see i was bronght up a jacobite, and i have been a soldier all my life, accustomed to charge when i was told to charge and to kill those i was told to kill; but i own that since i have been out now i have got to look at matters differently. the sight of all these poor highland bodies blindly following their chiefs and risking life and all for a cause in which they have no shadow of interest has made me think. a soldier is a soldier, and if he were to sit down to argue about the justice of every cause in which he is ordered to fight there would be an end to all discipline. but these poor fellows are not soldiers, and so i say to myself, what concern have they in this matter? their chiefs would gain honors and rewards, patents of high nobility, and additions to bonnie prince charlie called up his army, and the next day advanced against inverness. lord london did not await his coming. the panic of his soldiers two days before showed him that no reliance oonld be placed upon them, and embarking with them in boats he crossed the moray frith to cromarty, where the troops shortly afterward disbanded upon hearing that the earl of cromarty was marching against them with some highland regiments. the town of inverness was occupied at once, and the citadel surrendered in a few days. the army, now in a barren and mountainous region, were deprived of all re- sources. many ships with supplies were sent off from france, but few of them reached their destination; several being captured by british cruisers, and others compelled to go back to french ports. the supply of money in the treasury was reduced to the lowest ebb, and charles was obliged to pay his troops in meal, and even this was frequently deficient, and the men suffered severely from hunger. many deserted, and others scattered over the country in search of subsistence. in the meantime the duke of cumberland's army was receiving powerful reinforcements. in february prince frederick of hesse-cassel, with five thousand of his troops, who had been hired by the british government, landed at leith. these troops were placed in garrison in all the towns in the south of scotland, thus enabling the dnke of cumberland to draw together the whole of the english forces for his advance into the highlands. on the th of april he set out from aberdeen with eight thousand foot and nine hundred horse. he marched along the coast accompanied by the fleet, which landed supplies as needed. at the spey lord john drummond had prepared to defend the fords, and some works had been thrown up to protect them; but the english cannon were brought up in such numbers that lord john, consid- bonnie prince charlie. ©ring the position untenable, retired to inverness, while the english army forded the spey, and on the th entered nairn, where some skirmishing took place between their advance guard and the highland rear. prince charles and his principal officers rested that night at cnlloden house and the troops lay upon the adjacent moor. on the morning of the th they drew up in order of battle. the english, however, rested for the day at nairn, and there celebrated the duke of cum- berland's birthday with much feasting, abundant supplies being landed from the fleet. the highlanders, on the other hand, fasted, only one biscuit per man being issued during the day. consequently many straggled away to inverness and other places in search of food. lord cromarty, with the regiments under his command, were absent, so that barely five thousand men were mustered in the ranks. at a council of war lord george murray suggested that a night surprise should be made on the duke's camp at nairn, and as this was the prince's own plan it was unanimously agreed to. before, however, the straggling troops could be collected it was eight o'clock at night. nairn was twelve miles dis- tant, and the men, weakened by privation and hunger, marched so slowly across the marshy ground that it was two o'clock in the morning before the head of the columns arrived within four miles of the british camp, while the rear was still far away, and many had dropped out of the ranks from fatigue. it was now too late to hope that a surprise could be effected before daylight, and the army retraced its steps to cnlloden moor. worn out and exhausted as they were, and wholly without supplies of provisions, lord george murray and the other military officers felt that the troops could not hope to contend successfully against a vastly superior army, fresh, well fed, and supported by a strong bonnie prince charlie. force of artillery, on the open ground, and he proposed that the army should retire beyond the river nairn, and take up a position thereon broken ground inaccessible to cavalry. the prince, however, supported by sir thomas sheridan and his other evil advisers, overruled the opinion of the military leaders, and decided to fight on level ground. the highlanders were now drawn up in order of battle in two lines. on the right were the athole brigade, the camerons, the stuarts, and some other clans under lord george murray; on the left the macdonald regiments under lord john drummond. this arrangement, unfor- tunately, caused great discontent among the macdonalds, just as their being given the post of honor at falkirk had given umbrage to the other clans. at eleven o'clock the english army was seen approach- ing. it was formed in three lines, with cavalry on each wing, and two pieces of cannon between every two regi- ments of the first line. the battle began with an artillery duel, but in this the advantage was all on the side of the english, the number of their pieces and the skill of their gunners being greatly superior. prince charles rode along the front line to animate his men, and as he did so several of his escort were killed by the english cannonade. a storm of snow and hail had set in, blowing full in the face of the highlanders. at length lord george murray, finding that he was suffering heavily from the enemy's artillery fire, while his own guns inflicted but little damage upon them, sent to prince charles for permission to charge. on receiving it he placed himself at the head of his men, and with the whole of the right wing and center charged the enemy. they were received with a tremen- dous musketry fire, while the english artillery swept the ranks with grape; but so furious was their onslaught that bonnie prince charlie. they broke through munro and barrel's regiments in the first line and captured two pieces of cannon. but behind "were the second line drawn up three deep, with the front rank kneeling, and these, reserving their fire until the highlanders were close at hand, opened a rolling fire so sustained and heavy that the highlanders were thrown into complete disorder. before they could recover themselves they were charged by horse and foot on both flanks, and driven together till they became a confused mass. in vain did their chiefs attempt to rally them. exhausted and weakened in body, swept by the continuous fire of the english, they could do no more, and at last broke and fled. in the meantime the macdonalds on the left remained inactive. in vain lord john drummond and the duke of perth called upon them to charge, in vain their chief, keppooh, rushed for- ward with a few of his clansmen and died in front of them. nothing would induce them to fight, and when the right and center were defeated they fell back in good order, and, joining the remnants of the second line, retired from the field unbroken. charles, from the heights on which he stood with a squadron of horse, could scarce believe the evidence of his eyes when he saw the hitherto victorious highlanders broken and defeated, and would have ridden down himself to share their fate had not o'sullivan and sheridan seized his horse by the bridle and forced him from the field. being pressed by the english, the retreating force broko into two divisions. the smaller retreated to inverness, where they next day laid down their arms to the duke of cumberland; the other, still preserving some sort of order, marched by way of ruthven to badenoch. fourteen colors, two thousand three hundred muskets, and all their cannon fell into the hands of the english. the loss of the victors in killed and wounded amounted to bonnie prince ceabl b. the san was setting when he awoke. malcolm stood beside him. "here is supper, lad. not a very grand one, but there's enough of it, which is more than has been the case for some weeks." so saying he laid down by ronald's side a large loaf of black bread, a cheese made of sheep's milk, and a bottle of spirits. "the village is five miles away, which is farther than i expected. however, i came back quicker than i went, for i had had a bowl of milk and as much bread as i could eat. i found the place in a state of wild excitement, for two or three of the men had just come in from the battle- field, and brought the news with them. they are all for the stuarts there, and you would be well entertained, but there is sure to be a search high and how, and you would not be safe in any village. however, a lad has promised to be here in the morning, and he will guide us to a lonely hut in the heart of the hills, used by the shepherds in summer. you will be perfectly safe there. "it ib about three miles from the village, he said. so i can go down two or three times a week and get food, and learn how things are going on. the highlanders may rally again and make another fight of it; but i hardly expect they will. they are not like regular troops, whose home is naturally with their colors, and who, after the first rout, try to rejoin their regiments. there is no dis- cipline among these highlanders. each man does as he likes, and their first impulse after a battle is to make for their homes—if it is a victory, to carry home their spoil; if they are defeated, for rest and shelter. at any rate, whether they gather again or not, you will have to keep perfectly quiet for a time. when your shoulder is perfectly healed we can act according to circumstances, and make for the army if there be an army, oi^for the sea- coast if there is not." bonnie prince charlie. although he had eaten but a short time before, malcolm was quite ready for another meal, and sitting down beside bonald he joined him in his assault upon the black bread and cheese. then he collected some more of the bracken, mixed himself a strong horn of whisky and water, and a much weaker one for ronald, after which the two lay down and were soon fast asleep. they were awake at sunrise, and shortly afterward the lad whom malcolm had engaged to act as guide made his appearance. the horse was saddled, ronald mounted, and they started at once for their destination among the hills. they followed the path which malcolm had taken the afternoon before for some three miles, and then struck off to the left. half an hour took them out of the forest, and they journeyed for an hour along bare hillsides, until, lying in a sheltered hollow, they saw the hut which was their destination. "they are not likely to find as here," malcolm said cheerfully, "even were they to scour the mountains. they might ride within fifty yards of this hollow without sus- pecting its existence. where are we to get water?" he asked the lad in gaelic. "a quarter of a mile away over that brow is the head of a stream," the lad replied. "you cannot well miss it." "that is all right," malcolm said. "i don't mind car- rying up provisions or a bottle of spirits now and then; but to drag all the water we want three miles would be serious." the door of the hut was only fastened by a latch, and they entered without ceremony. it consisted of hut a single room. there were two or three rough wooden stools, and a heap of bracken in one corner. not a large amount of furniture, but, in the opinion of a highlander, amply sufficient. "we shall do here capitally," malcolm said. "now, bonnie prince charlie. as they have done elsewhere, and we had better get out of the neighborhood." there was no packing to be done, and taking with them what remained of the food malcolm had last brought, they started on their way. they made first for the spring from which they had drawn their water, and then followed the little stream on its way down the hill, as it flowed in the opposite direction to the village. an hour's walking took them into the forest. "before we go further let us have a consultation," mal- colm said. "we are safe now from pursuit, and had better settle upon what course we intend to adopt. shall we make for glasgow, and lie hid there until things blow over a little; or make for the isles, and stay there until we get a chance of being taken off by some french ship? that is what they say the prince has done; and indeed as there would be no chance of his getting a ship on the east coast, and all the lowlands are against them, he is certain to have made for the isles. the clanranalds and most of the other islesmen are loyal to him, and would receive and shelter him. skye is hostile, but elsewhere he will be safe, and would move from island to island or get across to the mainland by night if the pursuit became too hot. what do yon say, ronald?" "i would not try glasgow unless as a last resource, malcolm; you are known to many there, and as i was there as one of the prince's officers on two occasions i might easily be recognized. you may be sure that there is a very strict lookout for fugitives, and every stranger who enters a town will be closely examined. after some time, when prince charles and the principal chiefs and the leaders will either have escaped across the water or been hunted down, things will calm down; but at present we must not try to pass through the lowlands." "at any rate we cannot try to do so till your shoulder bonnie pit inge charlie. with them and a little oatmeal and a bottle or two of whisky we can live like lords." they walked for some hours, and stopped for the night in the hut of a shepherd, who received them hospitably, but could give them but little food, his scanty supplies being almost exhausted, for, as he told them, "the hills are full of fugitives, and those who come all cry for meal; as for meat, there is no want of it. men won't starve as long as there are sheep and cattle to be had for lifting them, and at present there are more of these than usual in the hills, for they have all been driven up from the villages lest they should fall into the hands of the troopers; but meal is scarce, for men dare not go down to the vil- lages to buy, and we only get it when the women bring it up as they have a chance." in the morning the shepherd gave them directions as to the way they should take, and a few hours later they came down upon the head of one of the many deep inlets on the western ooast. a small fishing-boat stood on the shore, but they dare not descend into this, but made their way to the point where, as the shepherd had told them, a stream which flowed from a mountain tarn some miles inland made its way down into the sea. the banks were thickly wooded for some two miles from its outlet; beyond that was a moorland covered with heather. they determined to encamp near the upper edge of the wood, and at once set to with their swords to cut down branches and construct a hut. this was com- pleted before dusk, and malcolm then started for the vil- lage on the seashore. bonald besought him to be most careful. "there is likely," he said, "to be a party of soldiers in every village round the coast, for they will know that all the chiefs and officers would be making for the sea. the clansmen have only to remain in the hills until this perse- bonnie prince charlie. for three weeks they remained at this spot. they were not always alone, being sometimes joined for a day or two by other fugitives, who, like themselves, were wandering near the seacoast seeking escape. these seldom stayed long, for it was felt unsafe to keep in parties of more than two or three at the utmost. some of the fugitives were in wretohed condition, having been wandering among the moors and forests for weeks, and as the fishing was very successful, ronald and malcolm were able to give them at parting a good supply of smoked salmon, and a portion of meal, of which malcolm from time to time brought a fresh supply up from the village. the people there knew little of what was passing in the onter world; but from the conversation of the soldiers they were sure that prince charles had so far escaped capture, and an opinion began to prevail that he had suc- ceeded in making his escape by sea, in spite of the vigilance of the english cruisers. by the end of the three weeks even malcolm admitted that ronald's wound was completely cured. two large blue scars showed where the bullet had passed through, and beneath this conld be felt a lump where the broken bone had knitted together, and this wonld in time become as strong as the rest of the shoulder. malcolm's splints had done their duty, and the eye could detect no difference between the level or width of the two shoulders. ronald could move his arm freely in all directions, and except that he could not at present venture to put any strain upon the arm, he might be considered as perfectly cured. they determined, therefore, to continue their way. in the first place, however, it was neoessary to procure other clothes, for ronald was still in uniform, and although malcolm's attire was not wholly military, it yet differed materially from that of a countryman. "we shall have to get other clothes when we get south," bonnie prince charlie. is the feeling that were the prince to appear now with a handful of followers i believe the whole country would rise in his favor. so deep is the wrath and grief at the red slaughter among the highlands there would not be many scotchmen found who would betray a fellow scot into the hands of these butchers. i will make inquiry to-morrow as to what ships are sailing and will get yon a passage in the first. there may be some little difficulty about the permit; bnt if i can't get over it we must smuggle you on hcard as sailors. however, i don't think the provost will ask me any questions when i lay the permit before him for his signature. he is heart and soul for the king, but, like us all, he is sick at heart at the news from the north, and would, i think, shut an eye if he saw a jacobite mak- ing his escape. and now, lad, i must be going back, for the hour is getting late and janet does not know why i am away. come to ns to-morrow evening as soon as the shop closes. janet and elspeth will be delighted to see yon, and we will have a long talk over all that you have gone through." on the following evening ronald and malcolm presented themselves at andrew's and were received with delight by elspeth and mrs. anderson. the latter had, while the rebellion appeared to have a chance of success, been its bitter opponent, and had spoken often and wrathfully against her husband's brother and eonald embarking in such an enterprise; but with its overthrow all her enmity had expired, and she would have been ready to give assist- ance not only to them, but to any other fugitive trying to escape. "i have good news for you," andrew said, when the first greetings were over. "a vessel sails in the morning, and i have taken passages for yon in it; and what is more, have brought your permits. i went to the provost and said to him, 'provost, i want yon to sign these permits bonnie prince charlilt. ? for two friends of mine who are wanting to go up to london.' "'who are they?' said he. "'they are just two drover hodies,' i said. he looked at me hard. "' one question, andrew. i know how yon feel just at present. you are a loyal man like myself, but we all feel the same. i will sign your permit for any save one. give me your word that neither of these men is charles stuart. i care not who they may be beside, but as a loyal snbjeot of king george i cannot aid his arch-enemy to escape.' "'i give you my word, provost,' i said. 'one is' "'i don't want to know who they are,' he interrupted. 'i had rather not know. it is enough for me that you give me your word that neither of them is charles stuart,' and he took the pen and signed the permit. 'between ourselves,' he went on, 'i shall be glad to hear that the misguided young man is safe across the water, but as pro- vost of glasgow could lend him no help to go.' "'they say he has got safe away already,' i said. "'i think not, andrew; the coast has been too closely watched for that. the young man is hiding somewhere among the isles, among the clanranalds or macdonalds. i fear they will have him yet. i dread every day to get the news; but i hope beyond all things, that if they do lay hand on him it will be through the treachery of no scot.' "'i hope not, provost,' i said. 'they haven't got over throwing it in our teeth that we sold king charles to cromwell.' so we just shook hands and said good-by, and here is the permit." they spent a long evening talking over the past. "i wonder if i shall ever see you again, ronald!" mrs. anderson said, with tears in her eyes as they rose to say good-by. "you need not fear about that, janet, woman," her hu*> bonnie prince charlie. band said. "ronald and malcolm aye fall on their legs, and we shall see them back again like two bad pennies. besides," he went on more seriously, "there will be an end of these savage doings in the north before long. loyal men in scotland are crying out everywhere against them, and the feeling in england will be just as strong when the truth is known there, and you will see that before long there will be a general pardon granted to all except the leaders. fortunately ronald and malcolm are not likely to be in the list of exceptions, and before a year is up they will be able to come back, if they will, without fear of being tapped on the shoulder by a king's officer." "i shall come back again if i can, you may be sure," ronald said. "of course i do not know yet what my father and mother's plans may be; but for myself i shall always look upon scotland as my home, and come back to it as soon as i have an opportunity." "you do not intend to stay in the frenoh army?" "certainly not. after the treatment my father has received i have no inclination to serve france. the chief reason why scotchmen have entered her service has been that they were driven from home, and that they looked to france for aid to place the stuarts on the throne again. now that the time has come, france has done nothing to aid, and has seen the stuart cause go down without strik- ing a blow to assist it. i consider that cause is lost for- ever, and shall never again draw my sword against the house of hanover. nor have i had any reason for loving franoe. after living in a free country like scotland who could wish to live in a country where one man's will is all- powerful—where the people are still no better than serfs— where the nobles treat the law as made only for them— where, as in my father's case, a man may not even marry according to his own will without incurring the risk of a life's imprisonment. no, i have had enough of france; bonnie prince charlie. and if ever i get the opportunity i shall return to soot- land to live." the next morning early eon ald and malcolm embarked on board a ship. their permits were closely scrutinized before the vessel started, and a thorough search was made before she was allowed to sail. when the officers were satisfied that no fugitives were concealed on board they returned to shore, and the vessel started on her voyage for london. .... bonnie prince charlie. chapter xx. happy days. • ok arriving in london, after ten days' voyage, ronald and malcolm obtained garments of the ordinary cut. the one attired himself as an english gentleman, the other in a garb suitable to a confidential attendant or steward, and after a stay of two or three days they made their way by coach down to southampton. here they remained for a week, and then effected a bar- gain with the captain of a fishing lugger to set them on shore in france. as the two countries were at war this could only be done by landing them at night at some quiet spot on the french coast. the lugger cruised about a couple of days, and then, choosing a quiet night when there was a mist on the water, she ran in as closely as she dared, then the boat was lowered, and malcolm and ronald were rowed to shore and landed a few miles south of boulogne* when it was light they made their way to a village; here but few questions were asked them, for many refugees from scotland and england were crossing to france. as they had been well provided with funds by andrew they posted to paris, and on arriving there put up at the inn where they had stopped on the ocoasion of their first visit. "we must be careful," malcolm said, "how we stir out until we know how things stand. the first thing to do is to find out whether the regiment is still in paris." donnie prince charlie. he had, eight days after culloden, embarked for the cluster of islets to which the common name of long island is applied. after wandering from place to place and suf- fering greatly from hnnger, he gained south uist, where his wants were relieved by clanranald. the english, sus- pecting or learning that he was there, landed two thousand men on the island, and commenced an active search for him. he mnst have been detected had not flora mac- donald—stepdaughter of a captain in a militia regiment which formed part of the troops who had landed—upon being appealed to by lady clanranald, nobly undertaken to save him. she obtained from her stepfather a passport to proceed to skye with a man-servant and a maid. charles was dressed in female clothes, and passed as betty bourk, while a faithful highlander, neil m'eachan, acted as her servant. they started at night in an open boat, and dis- embarked in skye. skye was ever a hostile country, as its chief, sir alexander macdonald, who had at first wavered, was now a warm supporter of the hanoverians, and was with the duke of cumberland. nevertheless, flora appealed to his wife, lady margaret, a daughter of the earl of eglinton, and informed her that her attendant was prince charles in disguise. lady margaret nobly re- sponded to her appeal. her own house was full of militia officers, and she intrusted charles to the charge of mac- donald of eingsbnrgh, her husband's kinsman and factor, who took the party to his house. the next day charles took leave of flora macdonald with warm expressions of gratitude, and passed over to the isle of rasay, in the disguise of a male servant. thence he made his way to the mainland, where on land- ing he was compelled to lie in concealment for two' days cooped up within a line of sentries. after many dangers he took refuge in a mountain cave inhabited by seven rob* bonnie prinvr charlie, ben, who treated him with the greatest kindness, and supplied his wants for the three weeks he remained with them; after many other adventures he joined his faithful adherents, olnny and lochiel, who were in hiding in a re- treat on the side of mount benalder, and here he lived in comparative comfort nntil he heard that two french ves- sels under the direction of colonel warren of dillon's regiment had anchored in lochnanuagh. traveling by night he made his way to that place, and embarked on the th of september, attended by lochiel, colonel roy stuart, and about a hundred other fugitives who had learned of the arrival of the french vessels. it was almost precisely the spot at which he had disembarked fourteen months before. a fog concealed the vessel as she passed through the british fleet lying to intercept her, and they reached roscoff after a nine days' voyage. such was the tale which prince charles told to ronald. he had after culloden entirely recovered his high spirits, and had borne all his fatigues and hardships with the greatest cheerfulness and good humor, making light of hunger, fatigue, and danger. ronald only remained two days in paris, and then returned home. in october the campaign of flanders ended with the complete defeat of prince charles of lorraine at rancaui, and marshal saxe returned to paris, where he was received with enthusiasm by the population. the royal residence of chambord was granted him for life, and he was pro- claimed marshal-general of the king's armies. a fortnight later colonel leslie received a letter from him saying that he had received his majesty's command that he with the conntess and his son should present themselves in paris, and that he was happy to say that the king's disposition was most favorable. they set off at once. on their arrival there they called npon marshal saxe, who greeted the colonel as an old friend, and refused to listen to bonnie prince charlie. the warm expression of gratitude of leslie and the countess. "say nothing about it, madam," he exclaimed. "your son won my heart, and i was only too glad to be of service to him and my old comrade here. what is the use of a man winning victories if he cannot lend a helping hand to his friends!" the next day they went down to versailles, where mar- shal saxe presented them to the king in a private audience. louis received them graciously. "i fear, countess, that you and your husband have been treated with some harshness; but our royal ear was de- ceived by one in whom we had confidence. your husband and yourself were wrong in marrying without the consent and against the will of your father, and such mairiages cannot be permitted; but at the request of marshal saxe, who has done so much for france that i cannot refuse anything he asks, i have now consented to pardon and overlook the past, and have ordered my chancellor to pre- pare an order reinstating you in all the possessions and estates of the countess, your mother. i hope that i shall often see you together with your husband and son, both of whom have done good service as soldiers of france, at my court; and now that i see you," he said with a gracious smile, "i cannot but fecl how great a loss our court has suffered by your long absence from it." upon leaving the king's private chamber and entering the great audience-hall colonel hume came up and grasped the hand of his old friend, and was introduced by him to his wife; while many of the courtiers, who were either connections or friends of the family of the countess, also gathered round them, for the news that she was restored to royal favor had spread quickly. the countess knew how small was the real value of such advances, but she felt that it was best for her husband and son's sake to receive bonnie prince charlie. them amicably. for a few weeks they remained in paris, taking part in the brilliant fetes which celebrated the suc- cess of the french arms, and they then retired to the handsome chateau which was now the property of the countess. here they lived quietly for two years, making occasional visits to paris. at the end of that time ronald received a letter from andrew anderson, to whom he had written several times since his return to france. be told him that he had just heard that glenlyon and the rest of the property which had been confiscated after the rising of was for sale. it had been bestowed upon a neigh- boring chief, who had been active in the hanoverian cause. he was now dead without leaving issue, and his wife, an english lady, was anxious to dispose of the property and return to england. "i do not know whether your father is disposed to buy back his estates," andrew wrote, "but i hear that a general amnesty will very shortly be issued to all who took part in the insurrection, saving only certain notorious persons. the public are sick of bloodshed. there have been up- ward of eighty trials and executions, besides the hundreds who were slaughtered in the highlands. besides this, thousands have been transported. but public opinion is now so strong, and persons of all shades of politics are so disgusted with the brutal ferocity which has been shown, that it is certain government will ere long be compelled to pass an act of amnesty. in the meantime, if it should be your father's wish to purchase the property, i can buy it in my name. the price asked is very low. the income arising from it is stated to be about four hundred a year, and four thousand pounds will be accepted for it. i un- derstand that as the late owner took no part in the insur- rection, and joined the duke of cumberland when he came north, the property is in good condition and the bonnie pr n e charlie. besides, i suppose we should get as many comforts in scotland as here in france. of course our estates here will fetch a sum many times larger than that which would purchase glenlyon, and we need not live all our time among the mountains you tell me of, hut can go sometimes to edinburgh or even to london. even if you did not wish it, i should say it would be far better to do so for ronald's sake. you have lived so long in france that you may have become almost a frenchman; but it is not so with bonald." it was not until two or three days later that the discus- sion came to an end and the countess had her way. colo- nel leslie had resisted stoutly, but his heart beat at the thought of returning to the home of his youth and ending his days among the clansmen who had followed him and his fathers before him. ronald had taken no part what- ever in the debate, but his mother read in his eyes the delight which the thought of returning to scotland occa- sioned him. as soon as this was settled they went to paris, and as the countess had foreseen, the king was pleased at once to give his consent to her disposing of her lands on his approval of the purchaser. no difficulty was experienced on this score, as a noble whose lands adjoined her own offered at once to purchase them. as soon as this was arranged instructions were sent to andrew to purchase not only the glenlyon property, but the other estates of its late owner. in due time a letter was received from andrew saying that he had arranged for the purchase of the whole for the sum of thirteen thousand pounds, and the money was at once sent over through a dutch banking-house. very shortly afterward, at the end of , the act of general amnesty was passed, and as ronald's name was not among those excluded from its benefits they at once prepared to return to scotland. the journey was facilitated by the s bonnie prince charlib. fact that shortly after the passing of the act peace was concluded between england and france. accompanied by malcolm, colonel leslie, the countess, and ronald sailed for scotland. the colonel and his wife remained in edinburgh while ronald and malcolm went to glasgow, where andrew had in readiness all the papers transferring the estates purchased in his name to colonel leslie, who shortly afterward journeyed north with his wife and son and took possession of his ancestral home amid the enthusiastio delight of the clansmen, who had never ceased to regret the absenoe of him whom they con- sidered as their rightful chief. there is little more to tell. colonel leslie lived but a few years after returning home, and ronald then succeeded him as leslie of qlenlyon. he had before this married the daughter of a neighboring gentleman, and passed his time between qlenlyon and edinburgh, varied by an occa- sional visit to london. the oonntess never regretted her native land, but, happy in the affection of her son and danghter-in-law and their children, lived happily with them until nearly the end of the century. malcolm remained the faithful and trusty friend of the family; and his brother and his wife were occasionally persuaded to pay a visit to qlenlyon, where their kindness to ronald as a ohild was never for- gotten. happily the rising of ' was the last effort on behalf of the stuarts. scotland accepted the decision as final, and the union between the two countries became close and complete. henceforth scotchmen went no longer to fight in the armies of france, but took service in that of their own country, and more than one of ron- ald's grandsons fought stoutly in spain under wellington. the end. flag of freedom series by captain ralph bonehill volumes illustrated, bound in cloth, with a very attractive cover, price $ . per volume, or set of five in box for $ . boys of the foet; or, a young captain's pluck captain bonehill is at his best when relating a tale of military adventure, and this story of stirring doings at one of our well-known forts in the wild west is of more than ordinary interest. the young captain had a difficult task to accomplish, but he had been drilled to do his duty, and he did it thoroughly. gives a good insight into army life of to-day. the yottko baxbhasteb; or, concert stage and battlefield in this tale captain bonehill touches upon a new field. the hero is a youth with a passion for music, who, compelled to make his own way in the world, becomes a cor- net ist in an orchestra, and works his way up, first, to the position of a soloist, and then to that of leader of a brass band. he is carried off to sea and falls in with a secret- service cutter bound for cuba, and while in that island joins a military band which ac- companies our soldiers in the never-to-be-forgotten attack on santiago. a mystery connected with the hero's inheritance adds to the interest of the tale. off fob hawaii; or, the mystery of a great volcano here we have fact and romance cleverly interwoven. several boys start on a tour of the hawaiian islands. they have heard that there is a treasure located in the vicinity of khauea, the largest active volcano in the world, and go in search of it. their numerous adventures wilt be followed with much interest. a ail k boy with dewey; or, afloat in the philippines the story of dewey's victory in manila bay will never grow old, but here we have it told in a new form—not as those in command witnessed the contest, but as it ap- peared to a real, live american youth who was in the navy at the time. many ad- ventures in man ha and in the interior follow, giving true-to-life scenes from this remote portion of the globe. a book that should be in every boy's library. when santiago fell; or, the war adventures of two chums captain bonehill has never penned a better tale than this stirring story of adventures in cuba. two boys, an american and his cuban chum, leave new york to join their parents in the interior of cuba. the war between spain and the cubans is on,_ar.d the boys are detained at santiago de cuba, but escape by crossing the bay at night. many adventures between the lines follow, and a good pen-picture of general garcia is given. the american lad, with others, is captured and cast into a dungeon in santiago ; and then follows the never-to-be-forgotten campaign in cuba under general shatter. how the hero finally escapes makes reading no wide-awake boy will want to miss. press opinions of captain bonehill's books for boys "captain bonehill's stories will always be popular with our boys, for the reason that they are thoroughly up-to-date and true to life. as a writer of outdoor tales he has no rival."—bright days. "the story is by captain ralph bonehill, and that is all that need be said about it, for all of our readers know that the captain is one of america's best story-tellers, so far as stories for young people go."—young ptome cf america. ** we understand that captain bonehill will soon be turning from sporting stories to tales of the war. this field is one in which he should feel thoroughly at home. we are certain that the boys will look eagerly for the bonehill war tales. '— weekly messenger. « the mershon company fifth ave., new york rahway, n.j. mrs. l t. meade's famous books for girls mo, cloth price . s there are few more favorite authors with american girls than mrs. l. t. meade, whose copyright works can only be had from us. essentially a writer for the home, with the loftiest aims and purest sentiments, mrs. meade's books possess the merit of utility as well as the means of amusement. they are girls' books—written for girls, and fitted for every home. here will be found no maudlin nonsense as to the affections. there are no counts in disguise nor castles in spain. it is pure and wholesome literature of a high order with a lofty ideal. the volumes are all copyright, excellently printed with clear, open type, uniformly bound in best cloth, with ink and gold stamp. the following are the titles the children of wilton chase bashful fifteen betty: a schoolgirl four on an island girls new and old oat of the fashion the palace beautiful folly, a new-fashioned girl bed bose and tiger lily temptation of olive latimer a bing of babies a sweet girl graduate a world of girls good lack a girl in ten thousand a young mutineer wild kitty the children's pilgrimage the girls of st. wode's light o' the horning bad little hannah rebellion of lill carrington a little mother to the others merry girls of england the mershon company fifth ave., new york rahway, n. j. the rover boys series for young americans by arthur m. winfield each volume handsomely illustrated and bound in cloth price . per volume set of five in box, $ . the rover boys on the great lakes; or, the secret of the island cave the action of this story takes place on lake erie and lake huron. the rover boys are off on an outing, when some old enemies turn up and make it decidely lively for them. a lonely island is visited, and the secret of the cave is such as is calculated to hold the majority of youthful readers spellbound. the rover boys out west ; or, the search for a hissing mine in this tale the rover boys are first taken back to dear old putnam hall school, and then transported to the mountainous districts of colorado. a valuable mining property cannot be located, and the missing mine is claimed by both the rovers and their enemies. many adventures are encountered, including one with a landslide which is realistic in the extreme ; and the tale is one which is bound to please both boys and girls. the rover boys in the jungle ; or, stirring adventures in africa the father of the rover boys had gone to africa and had not been heard of for a long time. at last, unable to stand the suspense, the boys, accompanied by some older heads, start on a search for the missing parent. the hunt leads them into the very heart of the dark continent, where they become lost and fall in with many strange and savage natives. how all escape makes reading that nobody would care to miss. the rover boys on the ocean; or, a chase for a fortune this is a complete story in itself, but forms the second volume of the series. dur- ing a vacation at the school a fortune is stolen and carried off to sea, and sam, tom, and dick lose no time in following up the missing treasure. on the ocean they fall in with numerous adventures, as thrilling as they are absorbing. the rover boys at school; or, the cadets of putnam hall arthur m. winfield has written many tales for boys, but he has penned nothing better than this story of life and adventure at an american military school, introducing as he does all sorts and conditions of boys, as well as several girls, and a plot that is bound to hold the reader's attention from start to finish. anybody who loves an out- and-out boy's book should read this volume. other volumes of this series in preparation. press notices of arthur m. winfield's books for young people "he knows how to tell a story that will take possession of the reader from the first page."—rochester (at. v.) post-express. fi his school stories cannot be surpassed. they are true to life, and his boys are real, live, flesh-and-blood fellows."—bright days, * a new story by mr. winfield is always hailed with delight, for the boys know they are going to get just what they are looking for—something bright and wholesome, without being either too sensational or too wishy-washy."—young people / america, m> the mershon company fifth ave., new york rahway, n.j. / by england's aid george alfred henty, alfred pearse artes s'cientria veritas by england's aid: or, the freeing of the netherlands. mr. henty's histokical tales. crown vo, cloth elegant. olivine edges. each book is beautifully illustrated. the cat of burastrs: a story of ancient egypt. s. the young carthaginian: a story of the times of hannibal. s. for the temple: a tale of the fall of jerusalem. s. the lion of st. mark: a story of venice in the th century. ». the lion of the north: a tale of gustavus adolphus and the wui of religion. gs. in the reion of terror: the adventures of a westminster boy during tho french revolution. s. the draqon and the raven : or, the days of king alfred. s. in freedom's cause: a story of wallace and bruce. s. st. george for england: a tale of creasy and poitiers, is. under drake's flag: a tale of the .spanish main. s. orange and green: a tale of the boyne and limerick. s. bonnie prince charlie: a tale of fontenoy and culloden. s the bravest of the brave: or, with peterborough in spain. s. with wolfe in canada: or, the winning of a continent. s. with clive in india: or, the beginnings of an empire. s. true to the old flag: a tale of the american war of inde- pendence. s. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. s. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashantl war. s. for name and fame: or, through afghan passes. s. blackie & son, limited: london, glasgow, & edinrurgh. geoffrey and lionel save francis vere's life. by england's aid: on, the freeing of the netherlands. ( - ). by g: a.l henty, author o( "by pike and dyke;" "the*lion of st. mark;" "maori and settler." "bonnie prince charlie;" "for the temple;" ac. with tex page illustrations by alfred pearsk, axd pour maps. blackie & son, limited, london, glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. . (til preface. my dear lads, in my preface to by pike and dyke i promised in a future story to deal with the closing events of the war of independence in holland. the period over which that war extended was so long, and the incidents were so numerous and varied, that it was impossible to include the whole within the limit of a single book. the former volume brought the story of ^ the struggle down to the death of the prince of orange and the capture of antwerp; the present gives the second phase of the war, when england, who had long unofficially assisted holland, threw herself openly into the struggle, and by her aid mainly contributed to the successful issue of the war. in the first part of the struggle the scene lay wholly among the low lands and cities of holland and zeeland, and the war was strictly a defen- sive one, waged against overpowering odds. after england threw herself into the strife it assumed far wider proportions, and the independence of the netherlands was mainly secured by the defeat and destruction of the great armada, by the capture of cadiz and the fatal blow thereby struck at the mercantile prosperity of spain, and by the defeat of the holy league by henry of navarre, aided by english soldiers and english gold. for the facts connected with the doings of sir francis vere and the british contingent in holland, i have depended much upon the excellent work by mr. clement markham entitled the fighting veres. in this full justice is done to the great english general and his followers, and it vi preface. is conclusively shown that some statements to the disparage- ment of sir francis vere by mr. motley are founded upon a misconception of the facts. sir francis vere was, in the general opinion of the time, one of the greatest commanders of the age, and more, perhaps, than any other man—with the ex- ception of the prince of orange—contributed to the successful issue of the struggle of holland to throw off the yoke of spaia yours sincerely, g. a. henty. contents. chap. . p»«e i. an excursion, h ii. a meeting in chepe iii. in the low country iv. the siege of sluys, v. an heroic defence, vi. the loss of the "susan," vii. a popish plot, viii. the spanish armada ix. the rout of the armada, * x. the war in holland, xi. in spain xii. recruiting their funds, xiii. the festa at seville, xiv. the surprise of breda, xv. a slave in barrary xvi. the escape xvii. a spanish merchant, xviii. ivry xix. steenwyk xx. cadiz xxi. the battle of nieuport, xxii. old friends xxiii. the siege of ostend, illustrations. page geoffrey and lionel save francis vere's life, . fremiti. the london apprentices make fun of lionel and geoffrey, the four pages carry down the wounded soldier, ... "the next few minutes it was a wild struggle for life," geoffrey carried overroard ry the falling mast, . . . geoffrey gives inez her lover's note geoffrey falls into the hands of the corsairs, . . . the spaniard and his daughter thank geoffrey for their rescue, crossing the bridge of boats over the haven vere's horse shot under him at the fight before ostend, plan of sluys and the castle, to illustrate the siege of , . . plan of breda and its defences, illustrating its surprise and cap- ture in , map of cadiz and harbour at the time of its capture in , showing the position of the english and spanish ships, . . plan of ostend and ita defences, showing the lines of the attack- ing forces during the siege of - , by england's aid: or, the freeing of the netherlands. chapter l an excursion. nd we beseech thee, lord, to give help and succour to thy servants the people of holland, and to deliver them from the cruelties and persecutions of their wicked oppressors; and grant thy blessing, we pray thee, upon the arms of our soldiers now embarking to aid them in their extremity." these were the words with which the rev. john vickars, rector of hedingham, concluded the family prayers on the morning of december th, . for twenty years the first portion of this prayer had been repeated daily by him, as it had been in tens of thousands of english households; for since the people of the netherlands first rose against the spanish yoke the hearts of the protestants of england had beat warmly in their cause, and they had by turns been moved to admiration at the indomitable courage with which the dutch struggled for independence against the might of the greatest power in europe, and to horror and indignation at the pitiless cruelty and wholesale massacres by which the spaniards had striven to stamp out resistance. from the first the people of england would gladly have england openly joins holland. and as far as she could, without openly joining them, gave them her aid. spain remonstrated continually against these breaches of neutrality, while the dutch on their part constantly implored her to join them openly; but she continued to give evasive answers to both parties until the assassination of william of orange on th july, , sent a thrill of horror through england, and determined the queen and her advisers to take a more decisive part in the struggle. in the following june envoys from the states arrived in london, and were received with great honour, and a treaty between the two countries was agreed upon. three months later the queen published a de- claration to her people and to europe at large, setting forth the terrible persecutions and cruelties to which "our next neigh- bours, the people of the low countries," the special allies and friends of england, had been exposed, and stating her determi- nation to aid them to recover their liberty. the proclamation concluded: "we mean not hereby to make particular profit to ourself and our people, only desiring to obtain, by god's favour, for the countries, a deliverance of them from war by the spaniards and foreigners, with a restitution of their ancient liberties and government." sir thomas cecil was sent out at once as governor of brill, and sir philip sidney as governor of flushing, these towns being handed over to england as guarantees by the dutch. these two officers, with bodies of troops to serve as garrisons, took charge of their respective fortresses in november. orders were issued for the raising of an army for service in the low countries, and dudley, earl of leicester, was appointed by the queen to its command. the decision of the queen was received with enthusiasm in england as well as in holland, and although the earl of leicester was not personally popular, volunteers flocked to his standard. reception of leicester at colchester. breakfast at hedingham rectory had been set at an earlier hour than usual on the th of december, . there was an unusual stir and excitement in the village, for young mr. francis vere, cousin of the earl of oxford, lord of heding- ham and of all the surrounding country, was to start that morning to ride to colchester, there to join the earl of leices- ter and his following as a volunteer. as soon as breakfast was over young geoffrey and lionel vickars, boys of fourteen and thirteen years old, proceeded to the castle close by, and there mounted the horses provided for them, and rode with francis vere to colchester. francis, who was at this time twenty-five years old, was accompanied by his elder brother, john, and his two younger brothers, robert and horace, and by many other friends; and it was a gay train that cantered down the valley of the colne to colchester. that ancient town was all astir. gentlemen had ridden in from all the country seats and manors for many miles round, and the quiet streets were alive with people. at two o'clock in the afternoon news arrived that the earl was approaching, and, headed by the bailiffs of the town in scarlet gowns, the multitude moved out to meet the earl on the lex- den road. presently a long train was seen approaching; for with leicester were the earl of essex, lords north and audley, sir william russell, sir thomas shirley, and other volunteers, to the number of five hundred horse. all were gaily attired and caparisoned, and the cortege presented a most bril- liant appearance. the multitude cheered lustily, the bailiffs presented an address, and followed by his own train and by the gentlemen who had assembled to meet him, the earl rode into the town. he himself took up his abode at the house of sir thomas lucas, while his followers were distributed among the houses of the townsfolk. two hours after the arrival of the earl, the party from hedingham took leave of mr. francis vere. the english in holland. "good-bye, lads," he said to the young vickars. "i will keep my promise, never fear; and if the struggle goes on till you are old enough to carry arms, i will, if i am still alive, take you under my leading and teach you the art of war." upon the following day the earl of leicester and his follow- ing rode to manningtree, and took boat down the stour to harwich, where the fleet, under admiral william borough, was lying. here they embarked, and on the th of december sailed for flushing, where they were joined by another fleet of sixty ships from the thames. more than a year passed. the english had fought sturdily in holland. mr. francis vere had been with his cousin, lord willoughby, who was in command of bergen-op-zoom, and had taken part in the first brush with the enemy, when a party of the garrison marched out and attacked a great convoy of four hundred and fifty waggons going to antwerp, killed three hundred of the enemy, took eighty prisoners, and de- stroyed all their waggons except twenty-seven, which they carried into the town. leicester provisioned the town of grave, which was besieged by the duke of parma, the spanish com- mander-in-chief. axel was captured by surprise, the volunteers swimming across the moat at night, and throwing open the gates. doesburg was captured, and zutphen besieged. parma marched to its relief, and, under cover of a thick fog, succeeded in getting close at hand before it was known that he was near. then the english knights and volunteers, in number, mounted in hot haste and charged a groat spanish column of horse and foot. they were led by sir william russell, under whom were lords essex, north, audley, and willoughby, behind the last of whom rode francis vere. for two hours this little band of horse fought desperately in the midst of the spanish cavalry, and forced them at last to fall back, but were themselves obliged to retreat when the spanish successes and reverses. infantry came up and opened fire upon them. the english loss was killed and wounded, while of the spaniards were slain, and three of their colours captured. among the wounded on the english side was the very noble knight sir philip sidney, who was shot by a musket-ball, and died three weeks afterwards. the successes of the english during these two years were counterbalanced by the cowardly surrender of grave by its governor, and by the treachery of sir william stanley, gover- nor of deventer, and of roland yorke, who commanded the garrisons of the two forts known as the zutphen sconces. both these officers turned traitors and delivered up the posts they commanded to the spaniards. their conduct not only caused great material loss to the allies, but it gave rise to much bad feeling between the english and dutch, the latter complaining that they received but half-hearted assistance from the english. it was not surprising, however, that leicester was unable to effect more with the little force under his command, for it was necessary not only to raise soldiers, but to invent regulations and discipline. the spanish system was adopted, and this, the first english regular army, was trained and appointed pre- cisely upon the system of the foe with whom they were fighting. it was no easy task to convert a body of brave knights and gentlemen and sturdy country men into regular troops, and to give them the advantages conferred by discipline and order. but the work was rendered the less difficult by the admixture of the volunteers who had been bravely fighting for ten years under morgan, rowland williams, john norris, and others. these had had a similar experience on their first arrival in holland. several times in their early encounters with the spaniards the undisciplined young troops had behaved badly; but they had gained experience from their reverses, and had ( ) the castle of the veres. proved themselves fully capable of standing in line even against the splendid pikemen of spain. while the english had been drilling and fighting in holland things had gone on quietly at hedingham. the village stands near the head waters of the colne and stour, in a rich and beautiful country. on a rising ground behind it stood the castle of the veres, which was approached from the village by a drawbridge across the moat. there were few more stately piles in england than the seat of the earl of oxford . on one side of the great quadrangle was the gate-house and a lofty tower, on another the great hall and chapel and the kitchens, on a third the suites of apartments of the officials and retinue. in rear were the stables and granaries, the butts and tennis- court, beyond which was the court of the tournaments. in the centre of the quadrangle rose the great keep, which still stands, the finest relic of norman civil architecture in england. it possessed great strength, and at the same time was richly ornamented with carving. the windows, arches, and fireplaces were decorated with chevron carvings. a beautiful spiral pattern enriched the doorway and pillars of the staircase leading to galleries cut in the thickness of the wall, with arched openings looking into the hall below. the outlook from the keep extended over the parishes of castle hedingham, sybil hedingham, kirby, and tilbury, all belonging to the veres— whose property extended far down the pretty valley of the stour—with the stately hall of long melford, the priory of clare, and the little town of lavenham; indeed the whole country was dotted with the farmhouses and manors of the veres. seven miles down the valley of the colne lies the village of earl's colne, with the priory, where ten of the earls of oxford lie buried with their wives. the parish church of castle hedingham stood at the end of the little village street, and the rectory of mr. vickars was <" ( ) life at hedingham. close by. the party gathered at morning prayers consisted of mr. vickars and his wife, their two sons, geoffrey and lionel, and the maid-servants, ruth and alice. the boys, now fourteen and fifteen years old respectively, were strong-grown and sturdy lads, and their father had long since owned with a sigh that neither of them was likely to follow his profession and fill the pulpit at hedingham church when he was gone. nor was this to be wondered at, for lying as it did at the entrance to the great castle of the veres, the street of the little village was constantly full of armed men, and resounded with the tramp of the horses of richly-dressed knights and gay ladies. here came great politicians, who sought the friendship and support of the powerful earls of oxford, nobles and knights, their kinsmen and allies, gentlemen from the wide-spreading manors of the family, stout fighting-men who wished to enlist under their banner. at night the sound of music from the castle told of gay entertainments and festive dances, while by day parties of knights and ladies with dogs and falcons sallied out to seek sport over the wide domains. it could hardly be ex- pected, then, that lads of spirit, brought up in the midst of sights and sounds like these, should entertain a thought of settling down to the tranquil life of the church. as long as they could remember, their minds had been fixed upon being soldiers, and fighting some day under the banner of the veres. they had been a good deal in the castle; for mr. vickars had assisted arthur golding, the learned instructor to young edward vere, the th earl, who was born in , and had succeeded to the title at the age of twelve, and he had after- wards been tutor to the earl's cousins, john, francis, robert, and horace, the sons of geoffrey, fourth son of the th earl. these boys were born in , , , and , and lived with their mother at kirby hall, a mile from the castle of hedingham, the boys. the earl was much attached to his old instructor, and when he was at the castle there was scarce a day but an invitation came down for mr. vickars and his wife to be present either at banquet or entertainment. the boys were free to come and go as they chose, and the earl's men-at-arms had orders to afford them all necessary teaching in the use of weapons. mr. vickars considered it his duty to accept the invitations of his friend and patron, but he sorely grudged the time so abstracted from his favourite books. it was, indeed, a relief to him when the earl, whose love of profusion and luxury made serious inroads even into the splendid possessions of the veres, went up to court, and peace and quietness reigned in the castle. the rector was fonder of going to kirby, where john, geoffrey's eldest son, lived quietly and soberly, his three younger brothers having, when mere boys, embraced the profession of arms, placing themselves under the care of the good soldier sir william browne, who had served for many years in the low countries. they occasionally returned home for a time, and were pleased to take notice of the sons of their old tutor, although geoffrey was six years junior to horace, the youngest of the brothers. the young vickars had much time to themselves, much more indeed than their mother considered to be good for them . after their breakfast, which was finished by eight o'clock, their father took them for an hour and heard the lessons they had prepared the day before, and gave them instruction in the latin tongue. then they were supposed to study till the bell rang for dinner at twelve; but there was no one to see that they did so, for their father seldom came outside his library door, and their mother was busy with her domestic duties and in dispensing simples to the poor people, who, now that the monasteries were closed, had no medical aid save that which they got from the wives of the gentry or ministers, or from the amusements and expeditions. wise women, of whom there was generally one in every village. therefore, after half an hour, or at most an hour, spent in getting up their tasks, the books would be thrown aside, and the boys be off, either to the river or up to the castle to prac- tise sword-play with the men-at-arms, or to the butts with their bows, or to the rabbit-warren, where they had leave from the earl to go with their dogs whenever they pleased. their long excursions were, however, generally deferred until after dinner, as they were then free until supper-time, and even if they did not return after that hour mrs. vickars did not chide them unduly, being an easy-going woman, and always ready to make excuses for them. there were plenty of fish in the river; and the boys knew the pools they loved best, and often returned with their baskets well filled. there were otters on its banks, too; but, though they sometimes chased these pretty creatures, tan and turk, their two dogs, knew as well as their masters that they had but small chance of catching them. sometimes they would take a boat at the bridge and drop down the stream for miles, and once or twice had even gone down to bricklesey at the mouth of the river. this, however, was an expedition that they never performed alone, making it each time in charge of master lirriper, who owned a flat barge, and took produce down to bricklesey, there to be transhipped into coasters bound for london. he had a married daughter there, and it was at her house the boys had slept when they went there; for the journey down and up again was too long to be performed in a single day. but this was not the only distant expedition they had made, for they had once gone down the stour as far as harwich with their father when he was called thither on business. to them now brightlingaea. "what would parson say about it?" harwich with its old walls and the houses crowded up within them, and its busy port with vessels coming in and going out, was most delightful, and they always talked about that expe- dition as one of the most pleasant recollections of their lives. after breakfast was over on st of may, , and they had done their lessons with their father, and had worked for an hour by themselves, the boys put by their books and strolled down the village to the bridge. there as usual stood their friend master lirriper with his hands deep in his pockets, a place and position in which he was sure to be found when not away in his barge . "good-morning, master lirriper." "good-morning, master geoffrey and master lionel." "so you are not down the river to-day?" "no, sir. i am going to-morrow, and this time i shall be away four or five days—maybe even a week." "shall you?" the boys exclaimed in surprise. "why, what are you going to do?" "i am going round to london in my nephew joe chambers' craft." "are you really?" geoffrey exclaimed. "i wish we were going with you. don't you think you could take us, master lirriper?" the bargeman looked down into the water and frowned. he was slow of speech, but as the minutes went on and he did not absolutely refuse the boys exchanged glances of excitement and hope. "i dunno how that might be, young sirs," john lirriper said slowly, after long cogitation. "i dus-say my nephew would have no objection, but what would parson say about it?" "oh, i don't think he would object," geoffrey said. "if you go up and ask him, master lirriper, and say that you will take . care of us, you know, i don't see why he should say no." master lirriper is persuaded. "like enough you would be ill," john lirriper said after another long pause. "it's pretty rough sometimes." "oh, we shouldn't mind that," lionel protested. "we should like to see the waves and to be in a real ship." "it's nothing much of a ship," the boatman said. "she is a ketch of about ten tons and carries three hands." "oh, we don't care how small she is if we can only go in her; and you would be able to show us london, and we might even see the queen. oh, do come up with us and ask father, master lirriper." "perhaps parson wouldn't be pleased, young sirs, and might say i was putting wandering thoughts into your heads; and mistress vickars might think it a great liberty on my part." "oh, no, she wouldn't, master lirriper. besides, we will say we asked you." "but suppose any harm comes to you, what would they say to me then?" "oh, there's no fear of any harm coming to us. besides, in another year or two we mean to go over to the low countries and fight the spaniards, and what's a voyage to london to that?" "well, i will think about it," john lirriper baid cautiously. "no no, master lirriper; if you get thinking about it it will never be done. do come up with us at once," and each of them got hold of one of the boatman's arms. "well, the parson can but say no," he said, as he suffered himself to be dragged away. "and i don't say as it isn't reason- able that you should like to see something of the world, young sirs; but i don't know how the parson will take it." mr. vickars looked up irritably from his books when the servant came in and said that master lirriper wished to see him. "what does he want at this hour?" he said. "you know, "it will be glorious, father." ruth, i never see people before dinner. any time between that and supper i am at their service, but it's too bad being disturbed now." "i told him so, sir; but master geoffrey and master lionel were with him, and they said he wanted particular to see you, and they wanted particular too." the clergyman sighed as he put his book down. "if geoffrey and lionel have concerned themselves in the matter, ruth, i suppose i must see the man; but it's very hard being disturbed like this. well, master lirriper, what is it?" he asked, as the boatman accompanied by geoffrey and lionel entered the room. master lirriper twirled his hat in his hand. words did not come easily to him at the best of times, and this was a business that demanded thought and care. long before he had time to fix upon an appropriate form of words geoffrey broke in: "this is what it is, father. master lirriper is going down the river to bricklesey to-morrow, and then he is going on board his nephew's ship. she is a ketch, and she carries ten tons, though i don't know what it is she carries; and she's going to london, and he is going in her, and he says if you will let him he will take us with him, and will show us london, and take great care of us. it will be glorious, father, if you will only let us go." mr. vickars looked blankly as geoffrey poured out his torrent of words. his mind was still full of the book he had been reading, and he hardly took in the meaning of geoffrey's words. "going in a ketch!" he repeated. "going to catch some- thing, i suppose you mean? do you mean he is going fishing " "no, father,—going in a ketch. a ketch is a sort of ship, father, though i don't quite know what sort of ship. what sort of ship is a ketch, master lirriper?" "she always does, you know." "a ketch is a two-masted craft, master geoffrey," john lirriper said. "she carries a big mizzen sail." "there, you see, father," geoffrey said triumphantly; "she carries a big mizzen sail. that's what she is, you see; and he is going to show us london, and will take great care of us if you will let us go with him." "do you mean, master lirriper," mr. vickars asked slowly, "that you are going to london in some sort of ship, and want to take my sons with you?" "well, sir, i am going to london, and the young masters seemed to think that they would like to go with me, if so be you would have no objection." "i don't know," mr. vicars said. "it is a long passage, master lirriper; and, as i have heard, often a stormy one. i don't think my wife—" "oh, yes, father," lionel broke in. "if you say yes, mother is sure to say yes; she always does, you know. and, you see, it will be a great thing for us to see london. every one else seems to have seen london, and i am sure that it would do us good. and we might even see the queen." "i think that they would be comfortable, sir," john lirriper put in. "you see, my nephew's wife is daughter of a citizen, one master swindon, a ship's chandler, and he said there would be a room there for me, and they would make me heartily welcome. now, you see, sir, the young masters could have that room, and i could very well sleep on board the ketch; and they would be out of all sort of mischief there." "that would be a very good plan certainly, master lirriper. well, well, i don't know what to say." "say yes, father," geoffrey said as he saw mr. vickars glance anxiously at the book he had left open. "if you say yes, you see it will be a grand thing for you, our being away for a week with nothing to disturb you." "not as a rule, master geoffrey." "well, well," mr. vickars said, "you must ask your mother. if she makes no objection, then i suppose you can go," and mr. vickars hastily took up his book again. the boys ran off to the kitchen, where their mother was superintending the brewing of some broth for a sick woman down the village. "mother " geoffrey exclaimed, "master lirriper's going to london in a ketch—a ship with a big mizzen sail, you know— and he has offered to take us with him and show us london. and father has said yes, and it's all settled if you have no ob- jection; and of course you haven't." "going to london, geoffrey!" mrs. vicars exclaimed aghast. "i never heard of such a thing. why, like enough you will be drowned on the way and never come back again. your father must be mad to think of such a thing." "oh, no, mother; i am sure it will do us a lot of good. and we may see the queen, mother. and as for drowning, why, we can both swim ever so far. besides, people don't get drowned going to london. do they master lirripeh" john was standing bashfully at the door of the kitchen. "well, not as a rule, master geoffrey," he replied. "they comes and they goes, them that are used to it, maybe a hundred times without anything happening to them." "therel you hear that, mother? they come and go hundreds of times. oh, i am sure you are not going to say no. that would be too bad when father has agreed to it. now, mother, please tell ruth to run away at once and get a wallet packed with our things. of course we shall want our best clothes; because people dress finely in london, and it would never do if we saw the queen and we hadn't our best doublets on, for she would think that we didn't know what was seemly down at hedingham." "well, my dears, of course if it is all settled—" "it is all settled." "oh, yes, mother, it is quite all settled." "then it's no use my saying anything more about it, but i think your father might have consulted me before he gave his consent to your going on such a hazardous journey as this. "he did want to consult you, mother. but then, you see, he wanted to consult his books even more, and he knew very well that you would agree with him; and you know you would too. so please don't say anything more about it, but let ruth run upstairs and see to our things at once. there, you see, master lirriper, it is all settled. and what time do you start to-morrow? we will be there half an hour before, anyhow." "i shall go at seven from the bridge. then i shall just catch the turn of the tide and get to bricklcsey in good time." "i never did see such boys," mrs. vickars said when john lirriper had gone on his way. "as for your father, i am surprised at him in countenancing you. you will be running all sorts of risks. you may be drowned on the way, or killed in a street brawl, or get mixed up in a plot. there is no say- ing what may not happen. and here it is all settled before i have even time to think about it, which is most inconsiderate of your father." "oh, we shall get back again without any harm, mother. and as to getting killed in a street brawl, lionel and i can use our hangers as well as most of them. besides, nothing of that sort is going to happen to us. now, mother, please let ruth go at once, and tell her to put up our puce doublets that we had for the jousting at the castle, and our red hose and our dark green cloth slashed trunks." "there is plenty of time for that, geoffrey, as you are not going until to-morrow. besides, i can't spare ruth now, but she shall see about it after dinner." there was little sleep for the boys that night. a visit to london had long been one of their wildest ambitions, and they the start. could scarcely believe that thus suddenly and without prepara- tion it was about to take place. their father had some time before promised that he would some day make request to one or other of the young veres to allow them to ride to london in his suite, but the present seemed to them an even more delightful plan. there would be the pleasure of the voyage, and moreover it would be much more lively for them to be able to see london under the charge of john lirriper than to be subject to the ceremonial and restraint that would be en- forced in the household of the veres. they were then at the appointed place a full hour before the time named, with wallets containing their clothes, and a basket of provisions that their mother had prepared for them. having stowed these away in the little cabin, they walked up and down impatiently until master lirriper himself appeared. "you are up betimes, my young masters," the boatman said. "the church has not yet struck seven o'clock." "we have been here ever so long, master lirriper. we could not sleep much last night, and got up when it chimed five, being afraid that we might drop off to sleep and be late." "well, we shall not be long before we are off. here comes my man dick, and the tide is just on the turn. the sky looks bright, and the weather promises well . i will just go round to the cottage and fetch up my things, and then we shall be ready." in ten minutes they pushed off from the shore. john and his man got out long poles shod with iron, and with these set to work to punt the barge along. now that they were fairly on their way the boys quieted down, and took their seats on the sacks of flour with which the boat was laden, and watched the objects on the bank as the boat made her way quietly along. halstead was the first place passed. this was the largest at bricklesey. town near hedingham, and was a place of much importance in their eyes. then they passed stanstead hall and earl's colne on their right, colne wake on their left, and chapel parish on their right. then there was a long stretch without any large villages, until they came in sight of the bridge above colchester. a few miles below the town the river began to widen. the banks were low and flat, and they were now entering an arm of the sea half an hour later the houses and church of bricklesey came in sight. tide was almost low when they ran on to the mud abreast of the village, but john put on a pair of high boots and carried the boys ashore one after the other on his back, and then went up with them to the house where they were to stop for the night. here, although not expected, they were heartily welcomed by john's daughter. "if father had told me that you had been coming, masters vickars, i would have had a proper dinner for you; but though he sent word yesterday morning that he should be over to- day, he did not say a word about your coming with them." "he did not know himself," geoffrey said; "it was only settled at ten o'clock yesterday. but do not trouble yourself about the dinner. in the first place, we are so pleased at going that we don't care a bit what we eat, and in the second place wo had breakfast on board the boat, and we were both so hungry that i am sure we could go till supper-time without eating if necessary." "where are you going, father?" the young woman asked. "i am going to set about unloading the flour." "why, it's only a quarter to twelve, and dinner just ready. the fish went into the frying-pan as you came up from the boat. you know we generally dine at half-past eleven, but we saw you coming at a distance and put it off. it's no use your starting now." the "susan." "well, i suppose it isn't. and i don't know what the young masters' appetite may be, but mine is pretty good, i can tell you." "i never knew it otherwise, father," the woman laughed . "ah, here is my sam. sam, here's father brought these two young gentlemen. they are the sons of mr. vickars, the parson at hedingham. they are going to stop here to-night, and are going with him in the susan to-morrow to london." "glad to see you, young masters," sam said. "i have often heard ann talk of your good father. i have just been on board the susan, for i am sending up a couple of score sides of bacon in her, and have been giving joe chambers, her master, a list of things he is to get there and bring down for me. now then, girl, bustle about and get dinner on as soon as you can. we are half an hour late. i am sure the young gentlemen here must be hungry. there's nothing like being on the water for getting an appetite." a few minutes later a great dish of fish, a loaf of bread and some wooden platters, were placed on the table, and all set to at once. forks had not yet come into use, and table-cloths were unknown, except among the upper classes. the boys found that in spite of their hearty breakfast their appetites were excellent. the fish were delicious, the bread was home- baked, and the beer from colchester, which was already famous for its brewing. when they had finished, john lirriper asked them if they would rather see what there was to be seen in the village, or go off to the ketch. they at once chose the latter alternative. on going down to the water's edge they found that the tide had risen sufficiently to enable dick to bring the barge alongside the jetty. they were soon on board . "which is the susan, master lirriper?" "that's her lying out there with two others. she is the one lowest down the stream. we shall just fetch her comfortably." chapter ii. a meeting in chepe. row of ten minuses took the boat with master lirriper and the two boys alongside the ketch. "how are you, joe chambers?" master lirriper hailed the skipper as he appeared on the deck of the susan. "i have brought you two more passengers for london. they are going there under my charge." "the more the merrier, uncle john," the young skipper replied. "there are none others going this journey, so though our accommodation is not very extensive, we can put them up comfortably enough if they don't mind roughing it." "oh, we don't mind that," geoffrey said, as they climbed on board; "besides, there seems lots of room." "not so much as you think," the skipper replied. "she is a roomy craft is the susan; but she is pretty nigh all hold, and we are cramped a little in the fo'castle. still we can sleep six, and that's just the number we shall have, for we carry a man and a boy besides myself. i think your flour will about fill her up, master lirriper. we have a pretty full cargo this time." "well, we shall soon see," john lirriper said. "are you ready to take the flour on board at once? because, if so, we will begin to discharge." "yes, i am quite ready. you told me you were going to bring forty sacks, and i have left the middle part of the a trading ketch. hold empty for them. sam hunter's bacon will stow in on the top of your sacks, and just fill her up to the beams there, as i reckon. i'll go below and stow them away as you hand them across." in an hour the sacks of flour were transferred from the barge to the hold of the susan, and the sides of bacon then placed upon them. "it's a pity we haven't all the rest of the things on board," the skipper said, "and then we could have started by this evening's tide instead of waiting till the morning. the wind is fair, and i hate throwing away a fair wind. there is no saying where it may blow to-morrow, but i shouldn't be at all surprised if it isn't round to the south, and that will be foul for us till we get pretty nigh up into the mouth of the river. however, i gave them till to-night for getting all their things on board, and must therefore wait." to the boys the susan appeared quite a large craft, for there was not water up at hedingham for vessels of her size; and though they had seen ships at harwich, they had never before put foot on anything larger than master lirriper's barge. the susan was about forty feet long by twelve feet beam, and drew, as her skipper informed them, near five feet of water. she was entirely decked. the cabin in the bows occupied some fourteen feet in length. the rest was devoted to cargo. they descended into the cabin, which seemed to them very dark, there being no light save what came down through the small hatchway. still it looked snug and comfortable. there was a fireplace on one side of the ladder by which they had descended, and on this side there were two bunks, one above the other. on the other side there were lockers running along the entire length of the cabin. two could sleep on these and two on the bunks above them. "now, young masters, you will take those two bunks on the arranging for a start. top them john lirriper and i will sleep on the lockers under- neath you. the man and the boy have the two on the other side. i put you on the top because there is a side board, and you can't fall out if she rolls, and besides the bunks are rather wider than the lockers below. if the wind is fair you won't have much of our company, because we shall hold on till we moor alongside the wharves of london; but if it's foul, or there is not enough of it to take us against tide, we have to anchor on the ebb, and then of course we turn in." "how long do you take getting from here to london?" "ah, that i can tell you more about when i see what the weather is like in the morning. with a strong fair wind i have done it in twenty-four hours, and again with the wind foul it has taken me nigh a week. taking one trip with another should put it at three days." "well, now, we will be going ashore," john lirriper said . "i will leave my barge alongside till tide turns, for i could not get her back again to the jetty so long as it is running in strong, so i will be off again in a couple of hours." so saying he hauled up the dingy that was towing behind the barge, and he and dick rowed the two boys ashore. then he walked along with them to a spot where several craft were hauled up, pointing out to them the differences in their rig and build, and explained their purpose, and gave them the names of the principal ropes and stays. "now," he said, "it's getting on for supper-time, and it won't do to keep them waiting, for ann is sure to have got some cakes made, and there's nothing puts a woman out more than people not being in to meals when they have got some- thing special ready. after that i shall go out with dick and bring the barge ashore. he will load her up to-morrow, and take her back single-handed; which can be done easy enough in such weather as this, but it is too much for one man if under sail there is a strong wind blowing and driving her oyer to the one side or other of the river." as john lirriper had expected, his daughter had prepared a pile of hot cakes for supper, and her face brightened up when she saw the party return punctually. the boys had been up early, and had slept but little the night before, and were not sorry at eight o'clock to lie down on the bed of freshly-cut rushes covered with home-spun sheets, for regular beds of feathers were still but little used in england. at five o'clock they were astir again, and their hostess insisted on their eating a manchet of bread with some cheese, washed down by a stoup of ale before starting. dick had the boat at the jetty ready to row them off, and as soon as they were on board the susan pre- parations were made for a start. the mainsail was first hoisted, its size greatly surprising the boys; then the foresail and jib were got up, and lastly the mizzen. then the capstan was manned, and the anchor slowly brought on board, and the sails being sheeted home, the craft began to steal through the water. the tide was still draining up, and she had not as yet swung. the wind was light, and, as the skipper had predicted, was nearly due south. as the ketch made its way out from the mouth of the river, and the wide expanse of water opened before them, the boys were filled with delight. they had taken their seats, one on each side of the skipper, who was at the tiller. "i suppose you steer by the compass, master chambers?" geoffrey said. "which is the compass ] i have heard about it, always pointing to the north." "it's down below, young sir; i will show it you presently. we steer by that at night, or when it's foggy; but on a fine day like this there is no need for it . there are marks put up on all the sands, and we steer by them. you see, the way the wind is now we can lay our course for the whittaker. that's a ( ) c the dangers of the thames. cruel sand, that is, and stretches out a long way from a point lying away on the right there. once past that we bear away to the south-west, for we are then, so to speak, fairly in the course of the river. there is many a ship has been cast away on the whittaker. not that it is worse than other sands. there are scores of them lying in the mouth of the river, and if it wasn't for the marks there would be no sailing in or out." "who put up the marks?" lionel asked. "they are put up by men who make a business of it. there is one boat of them sails backwards and forwards where the river begins to narrow above sheerness, and every ship that goes up or down pays them something according to her size. others cruise about with long poles, putting them in the sands wherever one gets washed away. they have got dif- ferent marks on them. a single cross-piece, or two cross- pieces, or a circle, or a diamond; so that each sand has got its own particular mark. these are known to the masters of all ships that go up and down the river, and so they can tell exactly where they are, and what course to take. at night they anchor, for there would be no possibility of finding the way up or down in the dark . i have heard tell from mariners who have sailed abroad that there ain't a place anywhere with such dangerous sands as those we have got here at the mouth of the thames." in the first three or four hours' sail geoffrey and lionel acquired much nautical knowledge. they learned the difference between the mainmast and the mizzen, found that all the strong ropes that kept the masts erect and stiff were called stays, that the ropes that hoist sails are called halliards, and that sheets is the name given to the ropes that restrain the sails at the lower corner, and are used to haul them in more tightly when sail- ing close to the wind, or to ease them off when the wind is favourable. they also learned that the yards at the head of the channels. the main and mizzen sails are called gaffe, and those at the bottom, booms. "i think that's about enough for you to remember in one day, young masters," john lirriper said. "you bear all that in your mind, and remember that each halliard and sheet has the name of the sail to which it is attached, and you will have learnt enough to make yourself useful, and can lend a hand when the skipper calls out, 'haul in the jib-sheet,' or 'let go the fore-halliards.' now sit yourselves down again and see what is doing. that beacon you can just see right ahead marks the end of the whittaker spit . when we get there we shall drop anchor till the tide turns. you see we are going across it now; but when we round that beacon we shall have it dead against us, and the wind would be too light to take us against it even if it were not from the quarter it is. you see there are two or three other craft brought up there." "where have they come from do you think, master lirriper v' "well, they may have come out from burnham, or they may have come down from london and be going up to burn- ham or to bricklesey when the tide turns. there is a large ship anchored in the channel beyond the whittaker. of course she is going up when tide begins to flow. and there are the masts of two vessels right over there. they are in another channel. between us and them there is a line of sands that you will see will show above the water when it gets a bit lower. that is the main channel, that is; and vessels coming from the south with a large draught of water generally use that, while this is the one that is handiest for ships from the north. small vessels from the south come in by a channel a good bit beyond those ships. that is the narrowest of the three; and even light draught vessels don't use it much unless the wind is favourable, for there is not much room for them to beat up if the wind is against them." beating up. "what is to beat up, master lirriper?" "well, you will see about that presently. i don't think we shall be able to lay our course beyond the whittaker. to lay our course means to steer the way we want to go; and if we can't do that we shall have to beat, and that is tedious work with a light wind like this." they dropped anchor off the beacon, and the captain said that this was the time to take breakfast . the lads already smelt an agreeable odour arising from the cabin forward, where the boy had been for some time busily engaged, and soon the whole party were seated on the lockers in the cabin devouring fried fish. "master chambers," geoffrey said, "we have got two boiled pullets in our basket. had we not better have them for dinner they were cooked the evening before we came away, and i should think they had better be eaten now." "you had better keep them for yourselves, master geoffrey," the skipper said. "we are accustomed to living on fish, but like enough you would get tired of it before we got to london." but this the boys would not hear of, and it was accordingly arranged that the dinner should be furnished from the contents' of the basket . as soon as tide turned the anchor was hove up and the susan got under way again. the boys soon learnt the meaning of the word beating, and found that it meant sailing backwards and forwards across the channel, with the wind sometimes on one side of the boat and sometimes on the other. geoffrey wanted very much to learn why, when the wind was so nearly ahead, the boat advanced instead of drifting backwards or sideways. but this was altogether beyond the power of either master lirriper or joe chambers to explain. they said every one knew that when the sails were full a vessel went in the direction in which her head pointed. "it's just the same way with your- boats differ. self, master geoffrey. you see, when you look one way that's the way you go. when you turn your head and point another way, of course you go off that way; and it's just the same thing with the ship." "i don't think it's the same thing, master lirriper," geoffrey said puzzled. "in one case the power that makes one go comes from the inside, and so one can go in any direction one likes; in the other it comes from outside, and you would think the ship would have to go any way the wind pushes her. if you stand up and i give you a push, i push you straight away from me. you don't go sideways or come forward in the direction of my shoulder, which is what the ship does." john lirriper took off his cap and scratched his head. "i suppose it is as you say, master geoffrey, though i never thought of it before. there is some reason, no doubt, why the craft moves up against the wind so long as the sails are full, instead of drifting away to leeward; though i never heard tell of it, and never heard anyone ask before. i daresay a learned man could tell why it is; and if you ask your good father when you go back i would wager he can explain it. it always seems to me as if a boat have got some sort of sense, just like a human being or a horse, and when she knows which way you wants her to go she goes. that's how it seems to me—ain't it, joe?" "something like that, uncle. every one knows that a boat's got her humours, and sometimes she sails better than she does others; and each boat's got her own fancies. some does their best when they are beating, and some are lively in a heavy sea, and seem as if they enjoy it; and others get sulky, and don't seem to take the trouble to lift their bows up when a wave meets them; and they groans and complains if the wind is too hard for them, just like a human being. when you goes to a new vessel you have got to learn her tricks and her ways and what she will do, and what she won't do, and just to humour "she knows it." her as you would a child . i don't say as i think she is actually alive; but every sailor will tell you that there is something about her that her builders never put there." "that's so," john lirriper agreed. "look at a boat that is hove up when her work's done and going to be broken up. why, anyone can tell her with half an eye. she looks that forlorn and melancholy that one's inclined to blubber at the sight of her. she don't look like that at any other time. when she is hove up she is going to die, and she knows it." "but perhaps that's because the paint's off her sides and the ropes all worn and loose," geoffrey suggested. but master lirriper waved the suggestion aside as unworthy even of an answer, and repeated, "she knows it . anyone can see that with half an eye." geoffrey and lionel talked the matter over when they were sitting together on deck apart from the others. it was an age when there were still many superstitions current in the land. even the upper classes believed in witches and warlocks, in charms and spells, in lucky and unlucky days, in the arts of magic, in the power of the evil eye; and although to the boys it seemed absurd that a vessel should have life, they were not prepared altogether to discredit an idea that was evidently thoroughly believed by those who had been on board ships all their lives. after talking it over for some time they deter- mined to submit the question to their father on their return. it took them two more tides before they were off sheerness. the wind was now more favourable, and having increased some- what in strength, the susan made her way briskly along, heel- ing over till the water ran along her scuppers. there was plenty to see now, for there were many fishing-boats at work, some belonging, as master chambers told them, to the medway, others to the little village of leigh, whose church they saw at waiting for the tide. the top of the hill to their right. they met, too, several large craft coming down the river, and passed more than one, for the susan, was a fast boat. "they would beat us," the skipper said when the boys expressed their surprise at their passing such large vessels, "if the wind were stronger or the water rough. we are doing our best, and if the wind rises i shall have to take in sail; while they could carry all theirs if it blew twice as hard. then in a sea, weight and power tell; a wave that would knock the way almost out of us would hardly affect them at all." so well did the susan go along, that before the tide was much more than half done they passed the little village of gravesend on their left, with the strong fort of tilbury on the opposite shore, with its guns pointing on the river, and ready to give a good account of any spaniard who should venture to sail up the thames. then at the end of the next reach the hamlet of grays was passed on the right; a mile further greenhithe on the left. tide was getting slack now, but the susan managed to get as far as purfleet, and then dropped her anchor. "this is our last stopping - place," joe chambers said . "the morning tide will carry us up to london bridge." "then you will not go on with to-night's tide?" geoffrey asked. "no; the river gets narrower every mile, and i do not care to take the risk of navigating it after dark, especially as there is always a great deal of shipping moored above greenwich. tide will begin to run up at about five o'clock, and by ten we ought to be safely moored alongside near london bridge. so we should not gain a great deal by going on this evening instead of to-morrow morning, and i don't suppose you are in a particular hurry." "oh, no," lionel said. "we would much rather go on in the morning, otherwise we should miss everything by the way; in the pool. and there is the queen's palace at greenwich that i want to see above all things." within a few minutes of the hour the skipper had named for their arrival, the susan was moored alongside some vessels lying off one of the wharves above the tower. the boys' astonishment had risen with every mile of their approach to the city, and they were perfectly astounded at the amount of shipping that they now beheld. the great proportion were of course coasters, like themselves, but there were many large vessels among them, and of these fully half were flying foreign colours. here were traders from the netherlands, with the flag that the spaniards had in vain endeavoured to lower, flying at their mast-heads. here were caravels from venice and genoa, laden with goods from the east . among the rest master chambers pointed out to the lads the ship in which sir francis drake had circumnavigated the world, and that in which cap- tain stevens had sailed to india, round the cape of good hope. there were many french vessels also in the pool, and indeed almost every flag save that of spain was represented. innumer- able wherries darted about among the shipping, and heavier cargo boats dropped along in more leisurely fashion. across the river, a quarter of a mile above the point at which they were lying, stretched london bridge, with its narrow arches and the houses projecting beyond it on their supports of stout timbers. beyond, on the right, rising high above the crowded roofs, was the lofty spire of st. paul's. the boys were almost awed by this vast assemblage of buildings. that london was a great city they had known, but they were not prepared for so immense a difference between it and the place where they had lived all their lives. only with the tower were they somewhat disappointed. it was very grand and very extensive, but not so much grander than the stately abode of the veres as they had looked for. "i wouldn't change, if i were the earl, with the queen's a busy scene. majesty," geoffrey said. "of course it is larger than heding- ham, but not so beautiful, and it is crowded in by the houses, and has not like our castle a fair look-out on all sides. why, there can be no hunting or hawking near here, and i can't think what the nobles can find to do all day." "now, young sirs," master lirriper said, "if you will get your wallets we will go ashore at once." the boys were quite bewildered as they stepped ashore by the bustle and confusion. brawny porters carrying heavy packages on their backs pushed along unceremoniously, saying from time to time in a mechanical sort of way, "by your leave, sir i" but pushing on and shouldering passers-by into the gutter without the smallest compunction. the narrowness and dingi- ness of the streets greatly surprised and disappointed the boys, who found that in these respects even harwich compared favour- ably with the region they were traversing. presently, however, after passing through several lanes and alleys, they emerged into a much broader street, alive with shops. the people who were walking here were for the most part well dressed and of quiet demeanour, and there was none of the rough bustle that had prevailed in the river-side lanes. "this is eastchepe," their conductor said; "we have not far to go now. the street in which my friend dwells lies to the right, between this and tower street. i could have taken you a shorter way there, but i thought that your impressions of london would not be favourable did i take you all the way through those ill-smelling lanes." in a quarter of an hour they arrived at their destination, and entered the shop, which smelt strongly of tar; coils of rope of all sizes were piled up one upon another by the walls, while on shelves above them were blocks, lanterns, compasses, and a great variety of gear of whose use the boys were ignorant. the chandler was standing at his door. a hearty welcome. "i am right glad to see you, master lirriper," he said, "and have been expecting you for the last two or three days. my wife would have it that some evil must have befallen you; but you know what women are. they make little allowance for time or tide or distance, but expect that every one can so arrange his journeys as to arrive at the very moment when they begin to expect him. but who have you here with you?" "these are the sons of the worshipful mr. vickars, the rector of our parish, and tutor to the earl of oxford and several of the young veres, his cousins—a wise gentleman and a kind one, and much loved among us. he has entrusted his two sons to me that i might show them somewhat of this city of yours. i said that i was right sure that you and your good dame would let them occupy the chamber you intended for me, while i can make good shift on board the susan." "nay, nay, master lirriper; our house is big enough to take in you and these two young masters, and dorothy would deem it a slight indeed upon her hospitality were you not to take up your abode here too. you will be heartily welcome, young sirs, and though such accommodation as we can give you will not be equal to that which you are accustomed to, i warrant me that you will find it a pleasant change after that poky little cabin on board the susan. i know it well, for i supply her with stores, and have often wondered how men could accustom themselves to pass their lives in places where there is scarce room to turn, to say nothing of the smell of fish that always hp.ngs about it. but if you will follow me i will take you up to my good dame, to whose care i must commit you for the present, as my foreman, john watkins, is down by the river- side seeing to the proper delivery of divers stores on board a ship which sails with the next tide for holland. my appren- tices, too, are both out, as i must own is their wont . they always make excuses to slip down to the river-side when there "that would i not." is aught doing, and i am far too easy with the varlets. so at present, you see, i cannot long leave my shop." so saying the chandler preceded them up a wide staircase that led from a passage behind the shop, and the boys perceived that the house was far more roomy and comfortable than they had judged from its outward appearance. turning to the left when he reached the top of the stairs the chandler opened a door. "dorothy," he said, "here is your kinsman, master lirriper, who has suffered none of the misadventures you have been picturing to yourself for the last two days, and he has brought with him these young gentlemen, sons of the rector of heding- ham, to show them something of london." "you are welcome, young gentlemen," dame dorothy said, "though why anyone should come to london when he can stay away from it i know not." "why, dorothy, you are always running down our city, though i know right well that were i to move down with you to your native essex again you would very soon cry out for the pleasures of the town." "that would i not," she said. "i would be well contented to live in fresh country air all the rest of my life, though i do not say that london has not its share of pleasures also, though i care but little for them." "ah, master lirriper," her husband said laughing, "you would not think, to hear her talk, that there is not a feast or a show that dorothy would stay away from. she never misses an opportunity, i warrant you, of showing herself off in her last new kirtle and gown. but i must be going down; there is no one below, and if a customer comes and finds the shop empty he will have but a poor idea of me, and will think that i am away gossiping instead of attending to my business." "are you hungry, young sirs?" the dame asked. "because master lirriper's advice. if so the maid shall bring up a manchet of bread and a cup of sack; if not, our evening meal will be served in the course of an hour." the boys both said that they were perfectly able to wait until the meal came; and geoffrey added, "if you will allow us, mistress, as doubtless you have private matters to talk of with master lirriper, my brother and i will walk out for an hour to see something of the town." "mind that you lose not your way," master lirriper said. "do not go beyond eastchepe, i beg you. there are the shops to look at there, and the fashions of dress and other matters that will occupy your attention well enough for that short time. to-morrow morning i will myself go with you, and we can then wander further abroad. i have promised your good father to look after you, you know; and it will be but a bad beginning if you meet with any untoward adventure upon this the first day of your arrival here." "we will not go beyond the limits of eastchepe; and as to adventures, i can't see very well how any can befall us." "oh, there are plenty of adventures to be met with in lon- don, young sir; and i shall be well content if on the day when we again embark on board the susan none of them have fallen to your share." the two lads accordingly sallied out and amused themselves greatly by staring at the goods exhibited in the open shops. they were less surprised at the richness and variety of the silver work, at the silks from the east, the costly satins, and other stuffs, than most boys from the country would have been, for they were accustomed to the splendour and magnificence dis- played by the various noble guests at the castle, and saw nothing here that surpassed the brilliant shows made at the jousting and entertainments at hedingham. it was the scene that was novel to them: the shouts of the the london apprentices make fun of lionel and geoffrey. the boy's patience tried. apprentices inviting attention to their employers' wares, the crowd that filled the street, consisting for the most part of the citizens themselves, but varied by nobles and knights of the court, by foreigners from many lands, by soldiers and men-at- arms from the tower, by countrymen and sailors. their amuse- ment was sometimes turned into anger by the flippant remarks of the apprentices; these varlets, perceiving easily enough by the manner of their attire that they were from the country, were not slow, if their master happened for the moment to be absent, in indulging in remarks that set geoffrey and lionel into a fever to commit a breach of the peace. the "what do you lack, masters?" with which they generally addressed passers-by would be exchanged for remarks such as, "do not trouble the young gentlemen, nat. do you not see they are up in the town looking for some of their master's calves?" or, "look you, philip, here are two rustics who have come up to town to learn manners." "i quite see, geoffrey," lionel said, taking his brother by the arm and half dragging him away as he saw that he was clenching his fist and preparing to avenge summarily one of these insults even more pointed than usual, "that master lir- riper was not very far out, and there is no difficulty in meeting with adventures in the streets of london. however, we must not give him occasion on this our first stroll in the streets to say that we cannot be trusted out of his sight . if we were to try to punish these insolent varlets we should have them upon us like a swarm of bees, and should doubtless get worsted in the encounter, and might even find ourselves hauled off to the lock-up, and that would be a nice tale for master lirriper to carry back to hedingham." "that is true enough, lionel; but it is not easy to keep one's temper when one is thus tried. i know not how it is they see so readily that we are strangers, for surely we have mixed the london apprentices. enough with the earl's family and friends to have rubbed off the awkwardness that they say is common to country folk; and as to our dress, i do not see much difference between its fashion and that of other people. i suppose it is because we look in- terested in what is going on, instead of strolling along like those two youths opposite with our noses in the air, as if we regarded the city and its belongings as infinitely below our regard. well, i think we had best be turning back to master swindon's; it will not do to be late for our meal." "well, young sirs, what do you think of our shops?" dame swindon asked as they entered. "the shops are well enough," geoffrey replied; "but your apprentices seem to me to be an insolent set of jackanapes, who take strange liberties with passers-by, and who would be all the better for chastisement. if it hadn't been that lionel and i did not wish to become engaged in a brawl, we should have given some of them lessons in manners." "they are free in speech," dame swindon said, "and are an impudent set of varlets. they have quick eyes and ready i tongues, and are no respecters of persons save of their masters and of citizens in a position to lay complaints against them and v * to secure them punishment. they hold together greatly, and it is as well that you should not become engaged in a quarrel with them. at times they have raised serious tumults, and have even set not only the watch but the citizens at large at defiance. strong measures have been several times taken against them; but they are a powerful body, seeing that in every shop there are one or more of them, and they can turn out with their clubs many thousand strong. they have what they call their privileges, and are as ready to defend them as are the citizens of london to uphold their liberties. ordinances have been passed many times by the fathers of the city, re- gulating their conduct and the hours at which they may be the decline of archery. abroad and the carrying of clubs and matters of this kind, but the apprentices seldom regard them, and if the watch arrest one for a breach of regulations, he raises a cry, and in two or three minutes a swarm of them collect and rescue the offender from his hands. therefore it is seldom that the watch interferes with them." "it would almost seem then that the apprentices are in fact the masters," geoffrey said. "not quite as bad as that," master swindon replied. "there are the rules which they have to obey when at home, and if not they get a whipping; but it is difficult to keep a hand over them when they are abroad. after the shops are closed and the supper over they have from time immemorial the right to go out for two hours' exercise. they are supposed to go and shoot at the butts; but archery, i grieve to say, is falling into disrepute, and although many still go to the butts the practice is no longer universal. but here is supper." few words were spoken during the meal. the foreman and the two apprentices came up and sat down with the family, and it was not until these had retired that the conversation was again resumed. "where are you going to take them to-morrow, master lirriper?" "to-morrow we will see the city, the shops in chepe, the guildhall, and st. paul's, then we shall issue out from temple bar and walk along the strand through the country to west- minster and see the great abbey, then perhaps take a boat back. the next day, if the weather be fine, we will row up to richmond and see the palace there, and i hope you will go with us, mistress dorothy; it is a pleasant promenade and a fashionable, and methinks the river with its boats is after all the prettiest sight in london," "ah, you think there can be nothing pretty without water. a meeting. that is all very well for one who is ever afloat, master lirriper; but give me chepe at high noon with all its bravery of dross, and the bright shops, and the gallants of the court, and our own citizens too, who if not quite so gay in colour are proper men, better looking to my mind than some of the fops with their silver and satins." "that's right, dorothy," her husband said; "spoken like the wife of a citizen." all these plans were destined to be frustrated. as soon as breakfast was over the next morning master lirriper started with the two boys, and they had but just entered chepe- side when they saw two young men approaching. "why, lionel, here is francis verel" geoffrey exclaimed. "i thought he was across in holland with the earl of lei- cester." they doffed their caps. captain vere, for such was now his rank, looked at them in surprise. "why!" he exclaimed, "here are mr. vickars' two sons. how came you here, lads? have you run away from home to see the wonders of london, or to list as volunteers for the campaigns against the dons?" "i wish we were, mr. francis," geoffrey said. "you promised when you were at hedingham a year and a half since that you would some day take us to the wars with you, and our father, seeing that neither of us have a mind to enter the church, has quite consented that we shall become soldiers, the more so as there is a prospect of fighting for the persecuted protestants of holland. and oh, mr. francis, could it be now? you know we daily exercise with arms at the castle, and we are both strong and sturdy for our age, and believe me you should not see us flinch before the spaniards however many of them there were." "tut, tut!" captain vere laughed. "here are young cockerels, allen; what think you of these for soldiers to stand against the spanish pikemen?" the boy's petition. "there are many of the volunteers who are not very much older than they are," captain allen replied. "there are two in my company who must be between seventeen and eighteen." "ah! but these boys are three years younger than that." "would you not take us as your pages, mr. francis?" lionel urged. "we would do faithful service, and then when we come to the age that you could enter us as volunteers we should al- ready have learnt a little of war." "well, well, i cannot stop to talk to you now, for i am on my way to the tower on business. i am only over from hol- land for a day or two with despatches from the earl to her majesty's council, and am lodging at westminster in a house that faces the abbey. it is one of my cousin edward's houses, and you will see the vere cognizance over the door. call there atone hour after noon, and i will have a talk with you; but do not buoy yourselves up with hopes as to your going with me." so saying, with a friendly nod of his head francis vere con- tinued his way eastward. "what think you, allen?" he asked his comrade as they went along. "i should like to take the lads with me if i could. their father, who is the rector of hedingham, taught my cousin edward as well as my brothers and myself. i saw a good deal of the boys when i was at home. they are sturdy young fellows, and used to practise daily, as we did at their age, with the men-at-arms at the castle, and can use their weapons. a couple of years of apprenticeship would be good schooling for them. one cannot begin to learn the art of war too young, and it is because we have all been so ignorant of it that our volunteers in holland have not done better." "i think, vere, that they are too young yet to be enlisted as volunteers, although in another two years, perhaps, you might admit the elder of the two. but i see no reason why, if you are so inclined, you should not take them with you as pages. ( ) d the pages of a company. each company has its pages and boys, and you might take these two for the special service of yourself and your officers. they would then be on pretty well the same footing as the five gentlemen volunteers you have already with you, and would be distinct from the lads who have entered as pages to the company. i suppose that you have not yet your full num- ber of boys " "no; there are fifteen boys allowed, one to each ten men, and i am several short of this number, and have already written my brother john to get six sturdy lads from among our own tenantry and to send them over in the first ship from harwich . yes, i will take these lads with me. i like their spirit, and we are all fond of their father, who is a very kindly as well as learned man." "i don't suppose he will thank you greatly, francis," captain allen laughed. "his goodwife is more likely to be vexed than he is," captain vere said, "for it will give him all the more time for the studies in which he is wrapped up. besides, it will be a real service to the boys. it will shorten their probation as volun- teers, and they may get commissions much earlier than they otherwise would do. we are all mere children in the art of war; for truly before roger morgan first took out his volunteers to fight for the dutch there was scarce a man in england who knew how to range a company in order. you and i learned somewhat of our business in poland, and some of our leaders have also had a few lessons in the art of war in foreign countries, but most of our officers are altogether new to the work. however, we have good masters, and i trust these spaniards may teach us how to beat them in time; but at present, as i said, we are all going to school, and the earlier one begins at school the sooner one learns its lessons. besides, we must have pages, and it will be more pleasant for me having lads who belong in a sort of "they are high-spirited and full of fun." way to our family, and to whom, if i am disposed, i can talk of people at home. they are high-spirited and full of fun, and i should like to have them about me. but here we are at the tower. we shall not be long, i hope, over the list of arms and munitions that the earl has sent for. when we have done we will take boat back to westminster. half an hour will take us there, as the tide will be with us." chapter iii. in the low country. aster lirriper had stood apart while the boys were conversing with francis vere. "what do you think, master lirriper?" geoffrey exclaimed as they joined him. "we have asked mr. vere to take us with him as pages to the war in the low country, and though he said we were not to be hopeful about his reply, i do think he will take us. we are to go round to westminster at one o'clock to see him again. what do you think of that?" "i don't know what to think, master geoffrey. it takes me all by surprise, and i don't know how i stand in the matter. you see, your father gave you into my charge, and what could i say to him if i went back empty-handed?" "but, you see, it is with francis vere," geoffrey said. "if it had been with anyone else it would be different. but the veres are his patrons, and he looks upon the earl, and mr. francis and his brothers, almost as he does on us; and, you know, he has already consented to our entering the army some day. besides, he can't blame you; because, of course, mr. vere will write to him himself and say that he has taken us, and so you can't be blamed in the matter. my father would know well enough that you could not withstand the wishes of one of the veres, who are lords of hedingham and all the country round." "she will kate me soundly." "i should withstand them if i thought they were wrong," tho boatman said sturdily, "and if i were sure that your father would object to your going; but that is what i am not sure. he may think it the best thing for you to begin early under the protection of master francis, and again he may think you a great deal too young for such wild work. he has certainly always let you have pretty much your own way, and has allowed you to come and go as you like, but this is a different business altogether. i am sorely bested as to what i ought to do." "well, nothing is settled yet, master lirriper; and, besides, i don't see that you can help yourself in the matter, and if mr. vere says he will take us i suppose you can't carry us off by force." "it is mistress vickars that i am thinking of more than your father. the vicar is an easy-going gentleman, but mistress vickars speaks her mind, and i expect she will be in a terrible taking over it, and will rate me soundly; though, as you say, i do not see how i can help myself in the matter. well now, let us look at the shops and at the guildhall, and then we will make our way down to westminster as we had proposed to do and see the abbey; by that time it will be near the hour at which you are to call upon mr. vere." but the sights that the boys had been so longing to see had for the time lost their interest in their eyes. the idea that it was possible that mr. vere would take them with him to fight against the cruel oppressors of the low country was so absorbing that they could think of nothing else. even the wonders of the guildhall and st. paul's received but scant attention, and the armourers' shops, in which they had a new and lively interest, alone sufficed to detain them. even the gibes of the apprentices fell dead upon their ears. these varlets might laugh, but what would they say if they knew that they master lirriper's reflections. were going to fight the spaniards. the thought so altered them that they felt almost a feeling of pity for these lads, condemned to stay at home and mind their masters' shops. as to john lirriper, he was sorely troubled in his mind, and divided between what he considered his duty to the vicar and his life-long respect and reverence towards the lords of hedingham. the feudal system was extinct, but feudal ideas still lingered among the people. their lords could no longer summon them to take the field, had no longer power almost of life and death over them, but they were still their lords, and regarded with the highest respect and reverence. the earls of oxford were, in the eyes of the people of those parts of essex where their estates lay, personages of greater importance than the queen herself, of whose power and attri- butes they had but a very dim notion. it was not so very long since people had risen in rebellion against the queen, but such an idea as that of rising against their lords had never entered the mind of a single inhabitant of hedingham. however, master lirriper came to the conclusion that he was, as geoffrey had said, powerless to interfere. if mr. francis vere decided to take the boys with him, what could he do to prevent it? he could hardly take them forcibly down to the boat against their will, and even could he do so their father might not ap- prove, and doubtless the earl, when he came to hear of it, would be seriously angry at this act of defiance of his kinsman. still, he was sure that he should have a very unpleasant time with mistress vickars. but, as he reassured himself, it was, after all, better to put up with a woman's scolding than to bear the displeasure of the earl of oxford, who could turn him out of his house, ruin his business, and drive him from hedingham. after all, it was natural that these lads should like to embark on this adventure with mr. francis vere, and it would doubt- less be to their interest to be thus closely connected with him. the earl's mansion. at any rate, if it was to be it was, and he, john lirriper, could do nothing to prevent it. having arrived at this conclusion he decided to make the best of it, and began to chat cheerfully with the boys. precisely at the appointed hour john lirriper arrived with the two lads at the entrance to the house facing the abbey. two or three servitors, whose doublets were embroidered with the cognizance of the veres, were standing in front of the door. "why, it is master lirriper!" one of them said. "why, what has brought you here? i did not know that your trips often extended to london." "nor do they," john lirriper said. "it was the wind and my nephew's craft the susan that brought me to london, and it is the will of mr. francis that these two young gentlemen should meet him here at one o'clock that has brought me to this door." "captain francis is in; for, you know, he is a captain now, having been lately appointed to a company in the earl of leicester's army. he returned an hour since, and has but now finished his meal. do you wish to go up with these young masters, or shall i conduct them to him?" "you had best do that," john lirriper answered. "i will remain here below if captain francis desires to see me or has any missive to intrust to me." the boys followed the servant upstairs, and were shown into a room where francis vere, his cousin the earl of oxford, and captain allen were seated at table. "well, lads," the earl said, "so you want to follow my cousin francis to the wars?" "that is our wish, my lord, if captain francis will be so good as to take us with him." "and what will my good tutor your father say to it?" the earl asked smiling. "i think, my lord," geoffrey said boldly, "that if you your- the point is settled. self will tell my father you think it is for our good, he will say naught against it." "oh, you want to throw the responsibility upon me, and to embroil me with your father and mistress vickars as an abettor of my cousin francis in the kidnapping of children? well, francis, you had better explain to them what their duties will be if they go with you." "you will be my pages," francis vere said, "and will per- form the usual duties of pages in good families when in the field. it is the duty of pages to aid in collecting firewood and forage, and in all other ways to make themselves useful. you will bear the same sort of relation to the gentlemen volunteers as they do towards the officers. they are aspirants for commissions as officers as you will be to become gentlemen volunteers. you must not think that your duties will be light, for they will not, and you will have to bear many discomforts and hardships. but you will be in an altogether different position from that of the boys who are the pages of the company. you will, apart from your duties, and bearing in mind the difference of your age, associate with the officers and the gentlemen volun- teers on terms of equality when not engaged upon duty. on duty you will have to render the same strict and unquestionable obedience that all soldiers pay to those of superior rank . what say you? are you still anxious to go? because, if so, i have decided to take you." geoffrey and lionel both expressed their thanks in proper terms, and their earnest desire to accompany captain vere, and to behave in all ways conformably to his orders and instructions. "very well, that is settled," francis vere said. "the earl is journeying down to hedingham to-morrow, and has kindly promised to take charge of a letter from me to your father, and personally to assure him that this early embarkation upon military life would prove greatly to your advantage." final arrangements. "supposing that you are not killed by the spaniards or carried off by fever," the earl put in; "for although possibly that might be an advantage to humanity in general, it could scarcely be considered one to you personally." "we are ready to take our risk of that, my lord," geof- frey said; "and are indeed greatly beholden both to captain francis for his goodness in taking us with him, and to yourself in kindly undertaking the mission of reconciling our father to our departure." "you have not told me yet how it is that i find you in london?" francis vere said. "we only came up for a week, sir, to see the town. we are in charge of master lirriper, who owns a barge on the river, and plies between hedingham and bricklesey, but who was coming up to london in a craft belonging to his nephew, and who took charge of us. we are staying at the house of master swindon, a citizen and ship-chandler." "is master lirriper below?" "he is, sir." "then in that case he had better go back to the house and bring your mails here. i shall sail from deptford the day after to-morrow with the turn of tide. you had best remain here now. there will be many things necessary for you to get before you start. i will give instructions to one of my men-at- arms to go with you to purchase them." "i will take their outfit upon myself, francis," the earl said. "my steward shall go out with them and see to it. it is the least i can do when i am abetting you in depriving my old tutor of his sons." he touched a bell and a servitor entered. "see that these young gentlemen are fed and attended to. they will remain here for the night. tell master dotterell to come hither to me." the boys bowed deeply and retired. "that is a comfort indeed." "it is all settled, master lirriper," they said when they reached the hall below. "we are to sail with captain francis the day after to-morrow, and you will be pleased to hear that the earl himself has taken charge of the matter, and will see our father and communicate the news to him." "that is a comfort indeed," john lirriper said fervently; "for i would most as soon have had to tell him that the susan had gone down and that you were both drowned, as that i had let you both slip away to the wars when he had given you into my charge. but if the earl takes the matter in hand i do not think that even your lady mother can bear very heavily on me. and now, what is going to be done?" "we are to remain here in order that suitable clothes may be obtained for us by the time we sail. will you bring down to-morrow morning our wallets from master swindon's, and thank him and his good dame for their hospitality, and say that we are sorry to leave them thus suddenly without having an opportunity of thanking them ourselves? we will write letters to-night to our father and mother, and give them to you to take with you when you return." john lirriper at once took his departure, greatly relieved in mind to find that the earl himself had taken the responsibility upon his shoulders, and would break the news long before he himself reached hedingham. a few minutes later a servitor conducted the boys to an apartment where a meal was laid for them; and as soon as this was over they were joined by the steward, who requested them to set out with him at once, as there were many things to be done and but short time for doing them. no difficulty in the way of time was, however, thrown in the way by the various tradesmen they visited, these being all perfectly ready to put themselves to inconvenience to do pleasure to so valuable a patron as the powerful earl of oxford. three suits of clothes were ordered for each of them: the one down the river. such as that worn by pages in noble families upon ordinary occasions, another of a much richer kind for special ceremonies and gaieties, the third a strong, serviceable suit for use when actually in the field. then they were taken to an armourer's where each was provided with a light morion or headpiece, breast-plate and backpiece, sword and dagger. a sufficient supply of under garments, boots, and other necessaries were also purchased; and when all was complete they returned highly delighted to the house. it was still scarce five o'clock, and they went across to the abbey and wandered for some time through its aisles, greatly impressed with its dignity and beauty now that their own affairs were off their mind. they returned to the house again, and after supper wrote their letters to their father and mother, saying that they hoped they would not be displeased at the step they had taken, and which they would not have ventured upon had they not already obtained their father's consent to their entering the army. they knew, of course, that he had not contemplated their doing so for some little time; but as so excellent an oppor- tunity had offered, and above all, as they were going out to fight against the spaniards for the oppressed people of the low countries, they hoped their parents would approve of the steps they had taken, not having had time or opportunity to consult them. at noon two days later francis vere with captain allen and the two boys took their seats in the stern of a skiff manned by six rowers. in the bow were the servitors of the two officers, and the luggage was stowed in the extreme stern. "the tide is getting slack, is it not?" captain vere asked the boatmen. "yes, sir; it will not run up much longer. it will be pretty well slack-water by the time we get to the bridge." keeping close to the bank the boat proceeded at a rapid pace. on board the "dover castle." several times the two young officers stood up and exchanged salutations with ladies or gentlemen of their acquaintance. as the boatman had anticipated, tide was slack by the time they arrived at london bridge, and they now steered out into the middle of the river. "give way, lads," captain allen said. "we told the cap- tain we would not keep him waiting long after high-water, and he will be getting impatient if he does not see us before long." as they shot past the susan the boys waved their hands to master lirriper, who, after coming down in the morning and receiving their letters for their parents, had returned at once to the city and had taken his place on board the susan, so as to be able to tell their father that he had seen the last of them. the distance between london bridge and deptford was tra- versed in a very short time. a vessel with her flags flying and her canvas already loosened was hanging to a buoy some distance out in the stream, and as the boat came near enough for the cap- tain to distinguish those on board, the mooring-rope was slipped, the head sails flattened in, and the vessel began to swing round. before her head was down stream the boat was along- side. the two officers followed by the boys ascended the ladder by the side. the luggage was quickly handed up, and the servitors followed . the sails were sheeted home, and the vessel began to move rapidly through the water. the boys had thought the susan an imposing craft, but they were surprised, indeed, at the space on board the dover castle. "in the stern there was a lofty poop with spacious cabins. six guns were ranged along on each side of the deck, and when the sails were got up thoy seemed so vast to the boys that they felt a sense of littleness on board the great craft . they had been relieved to find that captain vere had his own servitor with him; for in talking it over they had mutually expressed their holland. doubt as to their ability to render such service as captain vere would bo accustomed to. the wind was from the south-west, and the vessel was off sheerness before the tide turned. there was, however, no occasion to anchor, for the wind was strong enough to take them against the flood. during the voyage they had no duties to perform. the ship's cook prepared the meals, and the officers' servants waited on them, the lads taking their meals with the two officers. their destination was bergen-op-zoom, a town at the mouth of the scheldt, of the garrison of which the companies of both francis vere and captain allen formed part. as soon as the low coasts of holland came in sight the boys watched them with the most lively interest . "we are passing sluys now," captain vere said. "the land almost ahead of us is walcheren; and that spire belongs to flushing. we could go outside and up the channel between the island and beveland, and then up the eastern scheldt to bergen-op-zoom; but instead of that we shall follow the western channel, which is more direct." "it is as flat as our essex coast," geoffrey remarked. "aye, and flatter; for the greater part of the land lies below the level of the sea, which is only kept out by great dams and dykes. at times when the rivers are high and the wind keeps back their waters they burst the dams and spread over a vast extent of country. the zuider-zee was so formed in and , and covers a tract as large as the whole county of essex. twenty-six years later the river maas broke its banks and flooded a wide district . seventy-two villages were destroyed and , people lost their life. the lands have nover been recovered; and where a fertile country once stood is now a mere swamp." "i shouldn't like living there," lionel said. "it would be a sturdy people. terrible, every time the rivers are full and the wind blows, to think that at any moment the banks may burst and the flood come rushing over you." "it is all habit," captain vere replied; "i don't suppose they trouble themselves about it . but they are very particular in keeping their dykes in good repair. the water is one of the great defences of their country. in the first place there are innumerable streams to be crossed by an invader, and in the second, they can as a last resource cut the dykes and flood the country. these dutchmen, as far as i have seen of them, are hard-working and industrious people, steady and patient, and resolved to defend their independence to the last. this they have indeed proved by the wonderful resistance they have made against the power of spain. there, you see the ship's head has been turned and we shall before long be in the channel. sluys lies up that channel on the right. it is an important place. large vessels can go no further, but are unloaded there and the cargoes taken to bruges and thence distributed to many other towns. they say that in as many as a hundred and fifty ships a day arrived at sluys. that gives you an idea of the trade that the netherlands carry on. the commerce of this one town was as great as is that of london at the present time. but since the troubles the trade of sluys has fallen off a good deal." the ship had to anchor here for two or three hours until the tide turned, for the wind had fallen very light and they could not make head against the ebb. as soon as it turned they again proceeded on their way, dropping quietly up with the tide. the boys climbed up into the tops, and thence could see a wide extent of country dotted with villages stretching beyond the banks, which restricted their view from the decks. in five hours bergen-op-zoom came in sight, and they presently dropped anchor opposite the town. the boat was lowered, and. the two at bergen-op-zoom. officers with the lads were rowed ashore. they were met as they landed by several young officers. "welcome back, vere; welcome, allen. you have been lucky indeed in having a few days in england, and getting a view of something besides this dreary flat country and its sluggish rivers. what is the last news from london?" "there is little news enough," vere replied. "we were only four days in london, and were busy all the time. and how are things here? now that summer is at hand and the country drying the dons ought to be bestirring themselves." "they say that they are doing so," the officer replied. "we have news that the duke of parma is assembling his army at bruges, where he is collecting the pick of the spanish infantry with a number of italian regiments which have joined him. he sent off the marquess del vasto with the sieur de haute- penne towards bois-le-duc general count hohenlohe, who, as you know, we english always call count holland, went off with a large force to meet him, and we heard only this morning that a battle has been fought, hautepenne killed, and the fort of crevecceur on the maas captured. from what i hear, some of our leaders think that it was a mistake so to scatter our forces, and if parma moves forward from bruges against sluys, which is likely enough, we shall be sorely put to it to save the place." as they were talking they proceeded into the town, and presently reached the house where francis vere had his quar- ters. the officers and gentlemen volunteers of his company soon assembled, and captain vere introduced the two boys to them. "they are young gentlemen of good family," he said, "who will act as my pages until they are old enough to be enrolled as gentlemen volunteers. i commend them to your good offices. their father is a learned and reverend gentleman who was my settling in new quarters. tutor, and also tutor to my cousin, the earl of oxford, by whom he is greatly valued. they are lads of spirit, and have been instructed in the use of arms at hedingham as if they had been members of our family. i am sure, gentlemen volun- teers, that you will receive them as friends. i propose that they shall take their meals with you, but of course they will lodge here with me and my officers; but as you are in the next house this will cause no inconvenience. i trust that we shall not remain here long, but shall soon be on the move. we have now been here seven months, and it is high time we were doing something. we didn't bargain to come over here and settle down for life in a dull dutch town." in a few hours the boys found themselves quite at home in their new quarters. the gentlemen volunteers received them cordially, and they found that for the present their duties would be extremely light, consisting chiefly in carrying messages and orders; for as the officers had all servants of their own, captain vere dispensed with their attendance at meals. there was much to amuse and interest them in bergen-op-zoom. it re- minded them to some extent of harwich, with its narrow streets and quaint houses; but the fortifications were far stronger, and the number of churches struck them as prodigioua the popu- lation differed in no very large degree in dress from that of england, but the people struck them as being slower and more deliberate in their motions. the women's costumes differed much more widely from those to which they were accustomed, and their strange and varied head-dresses, their bright-coloured handkerchiefs, and the amount of gold necklaces and bracelets that they wore, struck them with surprise. their stay in bergen-op-zoom was even shorter than they had anticipated, for three days after their arrival a boat came with a letter from sir william russell, the governor at flush- ing. he said that he had just received an urgent letter from stirring news. the dutch governor of sluys, saying that parma's army was advancing from bruges towards the city, and had seized and garrisoned the fort of blankenburg on the sea-coast to prevent reinforcements arriving from ostend; he therefore prayed the governor of flushing to send off troops and provisions with all haste to enable him to resist the attack. sir william requested that the governor of bergen-op-zoom would at once embark the greater portion of his force on board ship and send them to sluys. he himself was having a vessel filled with grain for the use of the inhabitants, and was also sending every man-he could spare from flushing. in a few minutes all was bustle in the town. the trumpets of the various companies called the soldiers to arms, and in a very short time the troops were on their way towards the river. here several ships had been requisitioned for the service; and as the companies marched down they were conducted to the ships to which they were allotted by the quarter-masters. geoffrey and lionel felt no small pride as they marched down with their troop. they had for the first time donned their steel-caps, breast and back pieces; but this was rather for con- venience of carriage than for any present utility. they had at captain vere's orders left their ordinary clothes behind them, and were now attired in thick serviceable jerkins, with skirts coming down nearly to the knee, like those worn by the troops. they marched at the rear of the company, the other pages, similarly attired, following them. as soon as the troops were on board ship, sail was made, and the vessels dropped down the stream. the wind was very light, and it was not until thirty hours after starting that the little fleet arrived off sluys. the town, which was nearly egg- shaped, lay close to the river, which was called the zwin. at the eastern end, in the centre of a detached piece of water, stood the castle, connected with the town by a bridge of boats. ( ) e sluys. the zwin formed the defence on the north side, while the south and west were covered by a very wide moat, along the centre of which ran a dyke, dividing it into two channels. on the west side this moat extended to the zwin, and was crossed at the point of junction by the bridge leading to the west gate. preparing for a siege. the walls inclosed a considerable space, containing fields and gardens. seven windmills stood on the ramparts. the tower of the town-hall, and those of the churches of our lady, st. john, and the grey friars rose high above the town. the ships from flushing and bergen-op-zoom sailed up together, and the men who landed were received with im- mense enthusiasm by the inhabitants, who were protestants, and devoted to the cause of independence. the english were under the command of sir roger williams, who had already seen so many years of service in the low countries; and under him were morgan, thomas baskerville, and huntley, who had long served with him. roger williams was an admirable man for service of this kind. he had distinguished himself by many deeds of reckless bravery. he possessed an inexhaustible fund of confidence and high spirits, and in his company it was impossible to feel despondent, however desperate the situation. the citizens placed their houses at the disposal of their new allies, handsome quarters were allotted to the officers, and the soldiers were all housed in private dwellings or the warehouses of the merchants. the inhabitants had already for some days been working hard at their defences, and the english at once joined them in their labours, strengthening the weak portions of the walls, mounting cannon upon the towers, and preparing in all ways to give a warm reception to the spaniards. captain vere, his lieutenant and ensign and his two pages, were quartered in the house of a wealthy merchant, whose family did all in their power to make them comfortable. it was a grand old house, and the boys, accustomed as they were to the splendours of hedingham castle, agreed that the simple merchants of the low countries were far in advance of english nobles in the comforts and conveniences of their dwellings. the walls of the rooms were all heavily panelled; rich curtains - a dutch household. hung before the casements. the furniture was not only richly carved, but comfortable. heavy hangings before the doors ex- cluded draughts, and in the principal apartments eastern car- pets covered the floors. the meals were served on spotless white linen. rich plate stood on the sideboard, and gold and silver vessels of rare carved work from italy glittered in the armoires. above all, from top to bottom, the house was scrupulously clean. not a particle of dust dimmed the brightness of the furniture, and even now, when the city was threatened with siege, the merchant's wife never relaxed her vigilance over the doings of her maids, who seemed to the boys to be perpetually engaged in scrubbing, dusting, and polishing. "our mother prides herself on the neatness of her house," geoffrey said; "but what would she say, i wonder, were she to see one of these dutch households? i fear that the maids would have a hard time of it afterwards, and our father would be fairly driven out of his library." "it is all very well to be clean," lionel said; "but i think they carry it too far here. peace and quietness count for something, and it doesn't seem to me that dutchmen, fond of it as they say they are, know even the meaning of the words as far as their homes are concerned. why, it always seems to be cleaning day, and they must be afraid of going into their own houses with their boots on!" "yes, i felt quite like a criminal to-day," geoffrey laughed, "when i came in muddy up to the waist, after working down there by the sluices. i believe when the spaniards open fire these people will be more distracted by the dust caused by falling tiles and chimneys than by any danger of their lives." great difficulties beset the duke of parma at the commence- ment of the siege. sluys was built upon the only piece of solid ground in the district, and it was surrounded by such a laby- a mystery. rinth of canals, ditches, and swamps, that it was said that it was almost as difficult to find slays as it was to capture it . consequently, it was impossible to find ground solid enough for a camp to be pitched upon, and the first labour was the erection of wooden huts for the troops upon piles driven into the ground. these huts were protected from the fire of the defenders by bags of earth brought in boats from a long dis- tance. the main point selected for the attack was the western gate; but batteries were also placed to play upon the castle and the bridge of boats connecting it with the town. "there is one advantage in their determining to attack us at the western extremity of the town," john menyn, the merchant at whose house captain vere and his party were lodging, remarked when his guest informed him there was no longer any doubt as to the point at which the spaniards in- tended to attack, "for they will not be able to blow up our walls with mines in that quarter." "how is that?" francis vere asked. "if you can spare half an hour of your time i will show you," the merchant said. "i can spare it now, von menyn," vere replied; "for the information is important, whatever it may be." "i will conduct you there at once. there is no time like the present." "shall we follow you, sir?" geoffrey asked his captain. "yes, come along," vere replied. "the matter is of interest, and for the life of me i cannot make out what this obstacle can be of which our host speaks." they at once set out. john menyn led them to a warehouse close to the western wall, and spoke a few words to its owner, who at once took three lanterns from the wall and lighted them, handing one to vere, another to john menyn, and taking the other himself; underground magazines. he then unlocked a massive door. a flight of steps leading apparently to a cellar were visible. he led the way down, the two men following, and the boys bringing up the rear. the descent was far deeper than they had expected, and when they reached the bottom they found themselves in a vast arched cellar filled with barrels. from this they proceeded into an- other, and again into a third. "what are these great magazines?" francis vere asked in surprise. "they are wine-cellars, and there are scores similar to those you see. sluys is the centre of the wine trade of flanders and holland, and cellars like these extend right under the wall. all the warehouses along here have similar cellars. this end of the town was the driest, and the soil most easily excavated. that is why the magazines for wines are all clustered here. there is not a foot of ground behind and under the walls at this end that is not similarly occupied, and if the spaniards try to drive mines to blow up the walls, they will simply break their way into these cellars, where we can meet them and drive them back again." "excellent!" francis vere said . "this will relieve us of the work of countermining, which is always tiresome and dan- gerous, and would be specially so here, where we should have to dive under that deep moat outside your walls. now we shall only have to keep a few men on watch in these cellars. they would hear the sound of the spanish approaching, and we shall be ready to give them a warm reception by the time they break in. are there communications between these cellars?" "yes, for the most part," the wine merchant said. "the cellars are not entirely the property of us dealers in wine. they are constructed by men who let them, just as they would let houses. a merchant in a small way would need but one important information. cellar, while some of us occupy twenty or more; therefore, there are for the most part communications, with doors, between the various cellars, so that they can be let off in accordance with the needs of the hirers." "well, i am much obliged to you for telling me of this," captain vere said. "williams and morgan will be glad enough to hear that there is no fear of their being blown sud- denly into the air while defending the walls, and they will see the importance of keeping a few trusty men on watch in the cellars nearest to the spaniards. i shall report the matter to them at once. the difficulty," he added smiling, "will be to keep the men wakeful, for it seems to me that the very air is heavy with the fumes of wine." chapter iv. the siege of sluys. ntil the spaniards had established their camp, and planted some of their batteries, there was but little firing. occasionally the wall-pieces opened upon parties of officers reconnoitring, and a few shots were fired from time to time to harass the workmen in the enemy's batteries; but this was done rather to animate the townsmen, and as a signal to distant friends that so far matters were going on quietly, than with any hopes of arrest- ing the progress of the enemy's works. many sorties were made by the garrison, and fierce fighting took place, but only a score or two of men from each company were taken upon these occasions, and the boys were compelled to remain inactive spectators of the fight . in these sorties the spanish works were frequently held for a few minutes, gabions thrown down, and guns overturned, but after doing as much damage as they could the assailants had to fall back again to the town, being unable to resist the masses of pikemen brought up against them. the boldness of these sorties, and the bravery displayed by their english allies, greatly raised the spirits of the townsfolk, who now organized themselves into companies, and undertook the work of guarding the less exposed portion of the wall, thus enabling the garrison to keep their whole strength at the points attacked. amazons. the townsmen also laboured steadily in adding to the defences; and two companies of women were formed, under female cap- tains, who took the names of may in the heart and catherine the rose. these did good service by building a strong fort at one of the threatened points, and this work was in their honour christened fort venus. "it is scarcely a compliment to venus," geoffrey laughed to his brother. "these square-shouldered and heavily-built women do not at all correspond with my idea of the goddess of love." "they are strong enough for men," lionel said. "i shouldn't like one of those big fat arms to come down upon my head. no, they are not pretty; but they look jolly and good-tempered, and if they were to fight as hard as they work they ought to do good service." "there is a good deal of difference between them," geoffrey said. "look at those three dark-haired women with neat trim figures. they do not look as if they belonged to the same race as the others." "they are not of the same race, lad," captain vere, who was standing close by, said. "the big heavy women are flemish, the others come, no doubt, from the walloon provinces bor- dering on france. the walloons broke off from the rest of the states and joined the spanish almost from the first. they were for the most part catholics, and had little in common with the people of the low country; but there were, of course, many protestants among them, and these were forced to emi- grate, for the spanish allow no protestants in the country under their rule. alva adopted the short and easy plan of murdering all the protestants in the towns he took; but the war is now conducted on rather more humane principles, and the protes- tants have the option given them of changing their faith or leaving the country. under fire. "in this way, without intending it, the spaniards have done good service to holland, for hundreds of thousands of indus- trious people have nocked there for shelter from antwerp, ghent, bruges, and other cities that have fallen into the hands of the spaniards, thus greatly raising the population of holland, and adding to its power of defence. besides this, the presence of these exiles, and the knowledge that a similar fate awaits themselves if they fall again under the yoke of spain, nerves the people to resist to the utmost. had it not been for the bigotry of the spanish, and the abominable cruelties practised by the inquisition, the states would never have rebelled; and even after they did so, terms might easily have been made with them had they not been maddened by the wholesale mas- sacres perpetrated by alva. there, do you hear those women speaking? their language is french rather than flemish." just as they were speaking a heavy roar of cannon broke out from the eastern end of the town. "they have opened fire on the castle!" vere exclaimed. "run, lads, quick! and summon the company to form in the market-place in front of our house. we are told off to rein- force the garrison of the castle in case of attack." the boys hurried away at the top of their speed. they had the list of all the houses in which the men of the company were quartered; and as the heavy roar of cannon had brought every one to their doors to hear what was going on, the com- pany were in a very short time assembled. francis vere placed himself at their head, and marched them through the long streets of the town and out through the wall on to the bridge of boats. it was the first time the boys had been under fire; and although they kept a good countenance, they acknowledged to each other afterwards that they had felt extremely uncomfortable as they traversed the bridge with the balls whistling over their heads, and sometimes striking the four pages carry down the wounded soldier. the attack on the castle. the water close by and sending a shower of spray over the troops. they felt easier when they entered the castle and were pro- tected by its walls. upon these the men took their station. those with guns discharged their pieces against the spanish artillerymen, the pikemen assisted the bombardiers to work the cannon, and the officers went to and fro encouraging the men. the pages of the company had little to do beyond from time to time carrying cans of wine and water to the men en- gaged. geoffrey and lionel, finding that their services were not required by captain vere, mounted on to the wall, and sheltering themselves as well as they could behind the battle- ments, looked out at what was going on. "it doesn't seem to me," geoffrey said, "that these walls will long withstand the balls of the spanish. the battlements are already knocked down in several places, and i can hear after each shot strikes the walls the splashing of the brickwork as it falls into the water. see! there is tom carroll struck down with a ball. it's our duty to carry him away." they ran along the wall to the fallen soldier. two other pages came up, and the four carried him to the top of the steps and then down into the court-yard, where a dutch surgeon took charge of him. his shoulder had been struck by the ball, and the arm hung only by a shred of flesh. the surgeon shook his head. "i can do nothing for him," he said. "he cannot live many hours." lionel had done his share in carrying the man down, but he now turned sick and faint. geoffrey caught him by the arm. "steady, old boy," he said; "it is trying at first, but we shall soon get accustomed to it. here, take a draught of wine from this flask." "i am better now," lionel said, after taking a draught of good advice. wine. "i felt as if i was going to faint, geoffrey. i don't know why i should, for i did not feel frightened when we were on the wall." "oh, it has nothing to do with fear; it is just the sight of that poor fellow's blood. there is nothing to be ashamed of in that. why, i saw will atkins, who was one of the best fighters and single-stick players in hedingham, go off in a dead swoon because a man he was working with crushed his thumb between two heavy stones. look, lionel, what cracks there are in the wall here. i don't think it will stand long. we had better run up and tell captain vere, for it may come toppling down with some of the men on it." captain yere on hearing the news ran down and examined the wall. "yes," he said, "it is evidently going. a good earthwork is worth a dozen of these walls. they will soon have the castle about our ears. however, it is of no great importance to us. i saw you lads just now on the wall; i did not care about ordering you down at the time; but don't go up again except to help to carry down the wounded. make it a rule, my boys, never to shirk your duty, however great the risk to life may be; but, on the other hand, never risk your lives un- less it is your duty to do so. what is gallantry in the one case is foolishness in the other. although you are but pages, yet it may well be that in such a siege as this you will have many opportunities of showing that you are of good english stock; but while i would have you shrink from no danger when there is a need for you to expose yourselves, i say also that you should in no way run into danger wantonly." several times in the course of the afternoon the boys took their turn in going up and helping to bring down wounded men. as the time went on several yawning gaps appeared in the walls. the court-yard was strewn with fragments of evacuation decided upon. masonry, and the pages were ordered to keep under shelter of the wall of the castle unless summoned on duty. indeed, the court-yard had now become a more dangerous station than the wall itself; for not only did the cannon-shot fly through the breaches, but fragments of bricks, mortar, and rubbish flew along with a force that would have been fatal to anything struck. some of the pages were big fellows of seventeen or eighteen years old, who had been serving for some years under morgan and williams, and would soon be transferred into the ranks. "i like not this sort of fighting," one of them said. "it is all very well when it comes to push of pike with the spaniards, but to remain here like chickens in a coop while they batter away at us is a game for which i have no fancy. what say you, master vickars?" "well, it is my first experience, somers, and i cannot say that it is agreeable. i do not know whether i should like hand- to-hand fighting better; but it seems to me at present that it would be certainly more agreeable to be doing something than to be sitting here and listening to the falls of the pieces of masonry and the whistling of the balls. i don't see that they will be any nearer when they have knocked this place to pieces. they have no boats, and if they had, the guns on the city wall would prevent their using them; besides, when the bridge of boats is removed they could do nothing if they got here." towards evening a council was held, all the principal officers being present, and it was decided to evacuate the castle. it could indeed have been held for some days longer, but it was plain it would at length become untenable; the bridge of boats had already been struck in several places, and some of the barges composing it had sunk level with the water. were it destroyed, the garrison of the castle would be completely cut overwhelming odds. off; and as no great advantage was to be gained by holding the position, for it was evident that it was upon the other end of the town the main attack was to be made, it was decided to evacuate it under cover of night. as soon as it became dark this decision was carried into effect, and for hours the troops worked steadily, transporting the guns, ammunition, and stores of all kinds across from the castle to the town. already communication with their friends outside had almost ceased, for the first operation of the enemy had been to block the approach to sluys from the sea. boats had been moored head and stern right across zwin, and a battery erected upon each shore to protect them; but captains hart and allen twice swam down to communicate with friendly vessels below the obstacle, carrying despatches with them from the governor to the states-general, and from roger williams to the english commanders, urging that no time should be lost in assembling an army to march to the relief of the town. both contained assurances that the garrison would defend the place to the last extremity, but pointed out that it was only a question of time, and that the town must fall unless relieved. the dutch garrison were strong, and had been joined by as many english. parma had at first marched with but men against the city, but had very speedily drawn much larger bodies of men towards him, and had, as roger williams states in a letter to the queen sent from sluys at an early period of the siege, four regiments of walloons, four of germans, one of italians, one of burgundians, fifty-two com- panies of spaniards, twenty-four troops of horse, and forty- eight guns. this would give a total of at least , men, and further reinforcements afterwards arrived. against so overwhelming a force as this, it could not be hoped that the garrison, outnumbered by more than ten to one, could long maintain themselves, and the duke of parma the siege begins in earnest. looked for an easy conquest of the place. by both parties the possession of sluys was regarded as a matter of importance out of all proportion to the size and population of the town; for at that time it was known in england that the king of spain was preparing a vast fleet for the invasion of britain, and sluys was the nearest point to our shores at which a fleet could gather and the forces of parma embark to join those coming direct from spain. the english, therefore, were de- termined to maintain the place to the last extremity; and while parma had considered its capture as an affair of a few days only, the little garrison were determined that for weeks at any rate they would be able to prolong the resistance, feel- ing sure that before that time could elapse both the states and england, knowing the importance of the struggle, would send forces to their relief. the view taken as to the uselessness of defending the castle was fully justified, as the spaniards on the following day removed the guns that they had employed in battering it, to their works facing the western gate, and fire was opened next morning. under cover of this the spanish engineers pushed their trenches up to the very edge of the moat, in spite of several desperate sorties by the garrison. the boys had been forbidden by captain vere to take their place with the company on the walls. "in time," he said, "as our force decreases, we shall want every one capable of handling arms to man the breaches, but at present we are not in any extremity; and none save those whom duty compels to be there must come under the fire of the spaniards, for to do so would be risking life without gain." they had, however, made friends with the wine merchant whose cellars they had visited, and obtained permission from him to visit the upper storey of his warehouse whenever they chose. from a window here they were enabled to watch all a struggle on the dyke. that was taking place, for the warehouse was much higher than the walls. it was not in the direct line of fire of the spanish batteries, for these were chiefly concentrated against the wall a little to their right . after heavy fighting the spaniards one night, by means of boats from the zwin, landed upon the dyke which divided the moat into two channels, and thus established themselves so close under the ramparts that the guns could not be brought to bear upon them. they pro- ceeded to intrench themselves at once, .upon the dyke. the governor, arnold groenvelt, consulted with the english leaders, and decided that the enemy must be driven off this dyke immediately, or that the safety of the city would be gravely imperilled. they therefore assembled a force of four hundred men, sallied out of the south gate, where two bastions were erected on the dyke itself, and then advanced along it to the assault of the spaniards. the battle was a desperate one, the english and dutch were aided by their comrades on the wall, who shot with guns and arquebuses against the spaniards, while the latter were similarly assisted by their friends along the outer edge of the moat, and received constant reinforce- ments by boats from their ships. the odds were too great for the assailants, who were forced at last to fall back along the dyke to the south gate and to re-enter the town. it was already five weeks since the english had arrived to take part in the defence, and the struggle now began upon a great scale—thirty cannon and eight culverins opening fire upon the walls. the heaviest fire was on st. james' day, the th of july, when shots were fired between three in the morning and five in the afternoon. while this tre- mendous cannonade was going on, the boys could not but admire the calmness shown by the population. many of the shots, flying over the top of the walls, struck the houses in the city, and the chimneys, tiles, and masses of masonry fell in the a shot with a cross-bow. streets. nevertheless the people continued their usual avoca- tions. the shops were all open, though the men employed served their customers with breast and back pieces buckled on, and their arms close at hand, so that they could run to the walls at once to take part in their defence did the spaniards attempt an assault upon them. the women stood knitting at their doors, frau menyn looked as sharply after her maids as ever, and washing and scouring went on without interruption. "i believe that woman^will keep those girls at work after the spaniards have entered the city, and until they are thun- dering at the door," lionel said. "who but a dutch woman would give a thought to a few particles of dust on her furni- ture when an enemy was cannonading the town?" "i think she acts wisely after all, lionel. the fact that everything goes on as usual here and in other houses takes people's thoughts off the dangers of the position, and prevents anything like panic being felt." the lads spent the greater part of the day at their look-out, and could see that the wall against which the spanish fire was directed was fast crumbling. looking down upon it, it seemed deserted of troops, for it would be needlessly exposing the soldiers to death to place them there while the cannonade continued; but behind the wall, and in the street leading to it, companies of english and dutch soldiers could be seen seated or lying on the ground. they were leaning out of the dormer-window in the high roof watching the spanish soldiers in the batteries working their guns, when, happening to look round, they saw a cross- bow protruded from a window of the warehouse to their right, and a moment afterwards the sharp twang of the bow was heard. there was nothing unusual in this; for although firearms were now generally in use the long-bow and the cross-bow had not been entirely abandoned, and there were ( ) f a suspicious incident. still archers in the english army, and many still held that the bow was a far better weapon than the arquebus, sending its shafts well nigh as far and with a truer aim. "if that fellow is noticed," geoffrey said, "we shall have the spanish musketeers sending their balls in this direction. the governor has, i heard captain vere say, forbidden shoot- ing from the warehouses, because he does not wish to attract the spanish fire against them. of course when the wall yields and the breach has to be defended the warehouses will be held, and as the windows will command the breach they will be great aids to us then, and it would be a great disadvantage to us if the spaniards now were to throw shells and fire-balls into these houses, and so to destroy them before they make their attack. nor can much good be gained, for at this dis- tance a cross-bow would scarce carry its bolts beyond the moat." "most likely the man is using the cross-bow on purpose to avoid attracting the attention of the spaniards, geoffrey. at this distance they could not see the cross-bow, while a puff of smoke would be sure to catch their eye." "there, he has shot again. i did not see the quarrell fall in the moat. see, one of the spanish soldiers from that battery is coming forward. there, he has stooped and picked some- thing up. hallo! do you see that? he has just raised his arm; that is a signal, surely." "it certainly looked like it," lionel agreed. "it was a sort of half wave of the hand. that is very strange!" "very, lionel; it looks to me very suspicious. it is quite possible that a piece of paper may have been tied round the bolt, and that someone is sending information to the enemy. this ought to be looked to." "but what are we to do, geoffrey? merely seeing a spanish soldier wave his arm is scarcely reason enough for bringing an making inquiries. accusation against anyone. we are not even sure that he picked up the bolt; and even if he did, the action might have been a sort of mocking wave of the hand at the failure of the shooter to send it as far as the battery." "it might be, of course, lionel. no, we have certainly nothing to go upon that would justify our making a report on the subject, but quite enough to induce us to keep a watch on this fellow, whoever he may be. let us see, to begin with, if he shoots again." they waited for an hour, but the head of the cross-bow was not again thrust out of the window. "he may have ceased shooting for either of two reasons," geoffrey said. "if he is a true man, because he sees that his bolts do not carry far enough to be of any use. if he is a traitor, because he has gained his object, and knows that his communication has reached his friends outside. we will go down now and inquire who is the occupier of the next ware- house." the merchant himself was not below, for as he did business with other towns he had had nothing to do since sluys was cut off from the surrounded country; but one of his clerks was at work, making out bills and accounts in his office as if the thunder of the guns outside was unheard by him. the boys had often spoken to him as they passed in and out . "who occupies the warehouse on the right?" geoffrey asked him carelessly. "william arnig," he replied. "he is a leading citizen, and one of the greatest merchants in our trade. his cellars are the most extensive we have, and he does a great trade in times of peace with bruges, ghent, antwerp, and other towns." "i suppose he is a protestant like most of the towns-people?" geoffrey remarked. "no, he is a catholic; but he is not one who pushes his suspicions confirmed. opinions strongly, and he is well disposed to the cause, and a captain in one of the city bands. the catholics and protestants always dwell quietly together throughout the low countries, and would have no animosities against each other were it not for the spaniards. formerly, at least, this was the case; but since the persecutions we have protestant towns and catholic towns, the one holding to the states cause, the other siding with the spaniards. why do you ask t" "oh, i hadn't heard the name of your next neighbour, and was wondering who he might be." the boys had now been nearly two months in holland, and were beginning to understand the language, which is not difficult to acquire, and differed then even less than now from the dialect spoken in the eastern counties of england, between whom and holland there had been for many generations much trade and intimate relations. "what had we better do next, geoffrey?" lionel asked as they left the warehouse. "i think that in the first place, lionel, we will take our post at the window to-morrow, and keep a close watch all day to see whether this shooting is repeated. if it is, we had better report the matter to captain vere, and leave him to decide what should be done. i do not see that we could undertake anything alone, and in any case, you see, it would be a serious matter to lay an accusation against a prominent citizen who is actually a captain of one of the bands." upon the following day they took their post again at the window, and after some hours watching saw three bolts fired from the next window. watching intently, they saw the two first fall into the moat . they could not see where the other fell; but as there was no splash in the water, they concluded that it had fallen beyond it, and in a minute they saw a soldier again advance from the battery, pick up something at the edge "we must act cautiously." of the water, raise his arm, and retire. that evening when captain vere returned from the ramparts they informed him of what they had observed. "doubtless it is an act of treachery," he said, "and this merchant is communicating with the enemy. at the same time what you have seen, although convincing evidence to me, is scarce enough for me to denounce him. doubtless he does not write these letters until he is ready to fire them off, and were he arrested in his house or on his way to the warehouse we might fail to find proofs of his guilt, and naught but ill-feel- ing would be caused among his friends. no, whatever we do we must do cautiously. have you thought of any plan by which we might catch him in the act?" "if two or three men could be introduced into his warehouse, and concealed in the room from which he fires, they might succeed in catching him in the act, captain vere; but the room may be an empty one without any place whatever where they could be hidden, and unless they were actually in the room they would be of little good, for he would have time, if he heard footsteps, to thrust any letter he may have written into his mouth, and so destroy it before it could be seized." "that is so," captain vere agreed. "the matter seems a difficult one, and yet it is of the greatest importance to hinder communications with the spaniards. to-night all the soldiers who can be spared, aided by all the citizens able to use mat- lock and pick, are to set to work to begin to raise a half-moon round the windmill behind the point they are attacking, so as to have a second line to fall back upon when the wall gives way, which it will do ere long, for it is sorely shaken and battered . it is most important to keep this from the know- ledge of the spaniards. now, lads, you have shown your keeness by taking notice of what is going on, see if you cannot go further, and hit upon some plan of catching this traitor at s the boys' plan. his work. if before night we can think of no scheme, i must go to the governor and tell him frankly that we have suspicions of treachery, though we cannot prove them, and ask him, in order to prevent the possibility of our plans being communi- cated to the enemy, to place some troops in all the ware- houses along that line, so that none can shoot therefrom any message to the spaniards." just as captain vere finished his supper, the boys came into the room again. "we have thought of a plan, sir, that might succeed, although it would be somewhat difficult. the dormer-window from which these bolts have been fired lies thirty or forty feet away from that from which we were looking. the roof is so steep that no one could hold a footing upon it for a moment, nor could a plank be placed upon which he could walk . the window is about twelve feet from the top of the roof. we think that one standing on the ledge of our window might climb on to its top, and once there swing a rope with a stout grapnel attached to catch on the ridge of the roof; then two or three men might climb up there and work themselves along, and then lower themselves down with a rope on to the top of the next window. they would need to have ropes fastened round their bodies, for the height is great, and a slip would mean death. "the one farthest out on the window could lean over when he hears a noise below him, and when he saw the cross-bow thrust from the window, could by a sudden blow knock it from the fellow's hand, when it would slide down the roof and fall into the narrow yard between the warehouse and the walls. of course some men would be placed there in readiness to seize it, and others at the door of the warehouse to arrest the traitor if he ran down." "i think the plan is a good one, though somewhat difficult > the enterprise is begun. of execution," captain vere said. "but this enterprise on the roof would be a difficult one and dangerous, since as you say a slip would mean death." "lionel and myself, sir, would undertake that with the aid of two active men to hold the ropes for us. we have both done plenty of bird-nesting in the woods of hedingham, and are not likely to turn giddy." "i don't think it is necessary for more than one to get down on to that window," captain vere said. "only one could so place himself as to look down upon the cross-bow. however, you shall divide the honour of the enterprise between you. you, as the eldest and strongest, geoffrey, shall carry out your plan on the roof, while you, lionel, shall take post at the door with four men to arrest the traitor when he leaves. i will select two strong and active men to accompany you, geoffrey, and aid you in your attempt; but mind, before you try to get out of the window and to climb on to its roof, have a strong rope fastened round your body and held by the others; then in case of a slip, they can haul you in again. i will see that the ropes and grapnels are in readiness." the next morning early geoffrey proceeded with the two men who had been selected to accompany him to his usual look-out . both were active, wiry men, and entered fully into the spirit of the undertaking when geoffrey explained its nature to them. they looked out of the dormer-window at the sharp roof slanting away in front of them and up to the ridge above. "i think, master vickars," one of them, roger browne by name, said, "that i had best go up first. i served for some years at sea, and am used to climbing about in dizzy places. it is no easy matter to get from this window-sill astride the roof above us, and moreover i am more like to heave the grapnel so that it will hook firmly on to the ridge than you are." on the roof. "very well, roger. i should be willing to try, but doubt- less you would manage it far better than i should. but before you start we will fasten the other rope round your body, as captain vere directed me to do. then in case you slip, or any- thing gives way with your weight, we can check you before you slide far down below us." a rope was accordingly tied round the man's body under his arma taking the grapnel, to which the other rope was attached, he got out on to the sill . it was not an easy task to climb up on to the ridge of the dormer-window, and it needed all his strength and activity to accomplish the feat. once astride of the ridge the rest was easy. at the first cast he threw the grapnel so that it caught securely on the top of the roof. after testing it with two or three pulls he clambered up, leaving the lower end of the rope hanging by the side of the window. as soon as he had gained this position geoffrey, who was to follow him, prepared to start . according to the instructions browne had given him he fastened the end of the rope which was round browne's body under his own shoulders, then leaning over and taking a firm hold of the rope to which the grapnel was attached, he let himself out of the window. browne hauled from above at the rope round his body, and he pulled himself with his hands by that attached to the grapnel, and presently reached the top. "i am glad you came first, roger," he said. "i do not think i could have ever pulled myself up if you had not assisted me." he unfastened the rope, and the end was thrown down to the window, and job tredgold, the other man, fastened it round him and was hauled up as geoffrey had been. "we will move along now to that stack of chimneys coming through the roof four feet below the ridge on the town side," geoffrey said. "we can stand down there out of sight of the spaniards. we shall be sure to attract attention sitting up final arrangements. here, and might have some bullets flying round our ears, besides which this fellow's friends might suspect our object and signal to him in some way. it is two hours yet to the time when we have twice seen him send his bolts across the moat." this was accordingly done, and for an hour and a half they sat down on the roof with their feet against the stack of chimneys. "it is time to be moving now," geoffrey said at last. "i think the best way will be for me to get by the side of the dormer-window instead of above it . it would be very awkward leaning over there, and i should not have strength to strike a blow; whereas with the rope under my arms and my foot on the edge of the sill, which projects a few inches beyond the side of the window, i could stand upright and strike a downright blow on the cross-bow." "that would be the best way, i think," roger browne agreed; "and i will come down on to the top of the window and lean over. in the first place your foot might slip, and as you dangle there by the rope he might cut it and let you shoot over, or he might lean out and shoot you as you climb up the roof again; but if i am above with my pistol in readiness there will be no fear of accidents." chapter v. an heroic defence. he plan roger browne suggested was carried out. oeoffrey was first lowered to his place by the side of the window, and bracing himself against its side with a foot on the sill he managed to stand upright, leaning against the rope that job tredgold held from above. job had instructions when geoffrey lifted his arm to ease the rope a few inches so as to enable the lad to lean forward. after two or three attempts geoffrey got the rope to the exact length which would enable him to look round the corner and to strike a blow with his right hand, in which he held a stout club. roger browne then descended by the aid of the other rope, and fastening it round his body lay down astride of the roof of the window with his head and shoulders over the end, and his pistol held in readiness. it seemed an age to geoffrey before he heard the sound of a footstep in the loft beside him. he grasped his cudgel firmly and leaned slightly forward. for ten minutes there was quiet within, and geoffrey guessed that the traitor was writing the missive he was about to send to the enemy; then the footstep approached the window, and a moment later a cross-bow was thrust out. a glance at it sufficed to show that the bolt was enveloped in a piece of paper wound round it and secured with a string. steadying himself as well as he could geoffrey struck success of the scheme. with all his force down upon the cross-bow. the weapon, loosely held, went clattering down the tiles. there was an exclamation of surprise and fury from within the window, and at the same moment job tredgold, seeing that geoffrey's attempt had been successful, hauled away at the rope and began to drag him backward up the tiles. the lad saw a man lean out of the window and look up at him, then a pistol was levelled; but the report came from above the window, and not from the threatening weapon. a sharp cry of pain was heard, as the pistol fell from the man's hand and followed the cross-bow down the roof. a few seconds later geoffrey was hauled up to the ridge, where he was at once joined by roger browne. shifting the ropes they moved along till above the window from which they had issued. geoffrey was first lowered down. as soon as he had got in at the window he undid the rope and job tredgold followed him, while roger browne slid down by the rope attached to the grapnel; then they ran downstairs. as soon as they sallied out below they saw that lionel and the men with him had captured a prisoner; and just as they joined the party the guard came round from the other side of the warehouse, bringing with them the cross-bow, its bolt, and the pistol. the prisoner, whose shoulder was broken by roger browne's shot, was at once taken to captain vere's quarters. that officer had just arrived from the walls, knowing the time at which the capture would probably be made. "so you have succeeded," he said. "well done, lads; you have earned the thanks of all. we will take this man at once to the governor, who is at present at the town-hall." by the time they issued out quite a crowd had assembled, for the news that william von arnig had been brought a prisoner and wounded to captain vere's quarters had spread rapidly. the crowd increased as they went along, and captain vere and at the town-hall. his party had difficulty in making their way to the town-hall, many of the people exclaiming loudly against this treatment of one of the leading citizens. the governor was, when they entered, holding council with the english leader, sir roger williams. "why, what is this, captain vere?" he asked in surprise as that officer, accompanied by the two boys and followed by roger browne and job tredgold guarding the prisoner, entered. "i have to accuse this man of treacherously communicating with the enemy," francis vere said . "what?" arnold de groenvelt exclaimed in surprise. "why, this is mynheer von arnig, one of our most worshipful citizens! surely, captain vere, there must be some error here?" "i will place my evidence before you," captain vere said; "and it will be for you to decide upon it. master geoffrey vickars, please to inform the governor what you know about this matter." geoffrey then stated how he and his brother, being at the upper window of the warehouse, had on two days in succession seen a cross-bow discharged from a neighbouring window, and had noticed a spanish soldier come out of a battery and pick up something which they believed to be the bolt, and how he and his brother had reported the circumstances to captain vere. that officer then took up the story, and stated that seeing the evidence was not conclusive, and it was probable that if an attempt was made to arrest the person, whomsoever he might be, who had used the cross-bow, any evidence of treasonable design might be destroyed before he was seized, he had accepted the offer of master vickars to climb the roof, lower him- self to the window from which the bolt would be shot, and, if possible, strike it from the man's hands, so that it would fall down the roof to the court-yard below, where men were placed to seize it. trial of the traitor. geoffrey then related how he, with the two soldiers guarding the prisoner, had scaled the roof and taken a position by the window; how he had seen the cross-bow thrust out, and had struck it from the hands of the man holding it; how the latter had leaned out, and would have shot him had not roger browne from his post above the window shot him in the shoulder. "here are the cross-bow and pistol," captain vere said; "and this is the bolt as it was picked up by my men. you see, sir, there is a paper fastened round it . i know not its contents, for i judged it best to leave it as it was found until i placed it in your hands." the governor cut the string, unrolled the paper and examined it. it contained a statement as to the state of the wall, with remarks where it was yielding, and where the enemy had best shoot against it. it said that the defenders had in the night begun to form a half-moon behind it, and contained a sketch showing the exact position of the new work. "gentlemen, what think you of this?" the governor asked the english officers. "there can be no doubt that it is a foul act of treachery," williams said, "and the traitor merits death." "we will not decide upon it ourselves," the governor said. "i will summon six of the leading citizens, who shall sit as a jury with us. this is a grave matter, and touches the honour of the citizens as well as the safety of the town." in a few minutes the six citizens summoned arrived. the evidence was again given, and then the prisoner was asked what he had to say in his defence. "it is useless for me to deny it," he replied. "i am caught in the act, and must suffer for it. i have done my duty to the king of spain, my sovereign; and i warn you he will take ven- geance for my blood." "that we must risk," the governor said. "now, gentlemen, the sentence of death. you citizens of this town now attacked by the spaniards, and you, sir, who are in command of the soldiers of the queen of england, have heard the evidence and the answer the prisoner has made. what is your opinion thereon? do you, sir roger williams, being highest in rank and authority, first give your opinion." "i find that he is guilty of an act of gross treason and treachery. for such there is but one punishment—death." and the six citizens all gave the same decision. "you are found guilty of this foul crime," the governor said, "and are sentenced to death. in half an hour you will be hung in the market-place, as a punishment to yourself and a warning to other traitors, if such there be in this town of sluys. as to you, young sirs, you have rendered a great service to the town, and have shown a discernment beyond your years. i thank you in the name of the city and of its garrison, and also in that of the states, whose servant i am." a guard of armed citizens were now called in, the prisoner was handed to them, and orders given to their officer to carry the sentence into effect. a statement of the crime of the pris- oner, with the names of those who had acted as his judges, and the sentence, was then drawn out, signed by the governor, and ordered by him to be affixed to the door of the town-hall. the two lads, finding that they were no longer required, hastened back to their quarters, having no wish to be present at the exe- cution of the unhappy wretch whose crime they had been the means of detecting. a few days later considerable portions of the battered wall fell, and shortly afterwards a breach of two hundred and fifty paces long was effected, and a bridge of large boats constructed by the enemy from the dyke to the foot of the rampart. this was not effected without terrible loss. hundreds of the bravest spanish soldiers and sailors were killed, and three officers "you have done me brave service" were able constantly to bring up fresh troops, but the defenders had no relief. they were reduced in numbers from to men, and yet for eighteen days they maintained the struggle, never once leaving the breach. the pages brought their food to them, and when the attacks were fiercest joined in the defence, fighting as boldly and man- fully as the soldiers themselves. geoffrey and lionel kept in close attendance upon francis vere, only leaving him to run back to their quarters and bring up the meals cooked for him and his two officers by frau menyn and her handmaids. both kept close to him during the fighting. they knew that they were no match in strength for the spanish pikemen; but they had obtained pistols from the armoury, and with these they did good service, several times freeing him from some of his assailants when he was sorely pressed. on one occasion when francis vere was smitten down by a blow from an axe, the boys rushed forward and kept back his assailants until some of the men of the company came to his aid. "you have done me brave service indeed," captain vere said to them when he recovered; for his helmet had defended him from serious injury, though the force of the blow had felled him. "it was a happy thought of mine when i decided to bring you with me. this is not the first time that you have rendered me good service, and i am sure you will turn out brave and valiant soldiers of the queen." when each assault ceased the weary soldiers threw themselves down behind the earthen embankment, and obtained such sleep as they could before the spaniards mustered for fresh attack . when, after eighteen days' terrible fighting, the duke of parma saw that even his best troops were unable to break through the wall of steel, he desisted from the assault and began the slower process of mining. the garrison from their look-out beheld the soldiers crossing the bridge with picks and shovels, and prepared "a magazine!" to meet them in this new stylo of warfare. captain uvedale was appointed to command the men told off for this duty, and galleries were run from several of the cellars to meet those of the enemy. as every man was employed either on the rampart or in mining, many of the pages were told off to act as watchers in the cellars, and to listen for the faint sounds that told of the approach of the enemy's miners. as the young vickars were in attendance on the officers, they were exempted from this work; but they frequently went down into the cellars, both to watch the process of mining by their own men and to listen to the faint sounds made by the enemy's workmen. one day they were sitting on two wine-kegs, watching four soldiers at work at the end of a short gallery that had been driven towards the spaniards. suddenly there was an explosion, the miners were blown backwards, the end of the gallery disappeared, and a crowd of walloon soldiers almost immediately afterwards rushed in. the boys sprang to their feet and were about to fly, when an idea occurred to geoffrey. he seized a torch, and, standing by the side of a barrel placed on end by a large tier, shouted in dutch, "another step forward and i fire the magazine!" the men in front paused. through the fumes of smoke they saw dimly the pile of barrels and a figure standing with a lighted torch close to one of them. a panic seized them, and believing they had made their way into a powder-magazine, and that in another instant there would be a terrible explosion, they turned with shouts of "a magazine! a magazine! fly, or we are all dead men!" "run, lionel, and get help," geoffrey said, and in two or three minutes a number of soldiers ran down into the cellar. the walloons were not long before they recovered from their panic. their officers knew that the wine-cellars of the city ( ) o well-deserved praise. were in front of them, and reassured them as to the character of the barrels they had seen. they were, however, too late, and a furious conflict took place at the entrance into the cellar, but the enemy, able only to advance two or three abreast, failed to force their way in. captain uvedale and francis vere were soon on the spot, and when at last the enemy, unable to force an entrance, fell back, the former said, "this is just as i feared. you see, the spaniards drove this gallery, and ceased to work immediately they heard us approaching them. we had no idea that they were in front of us, and so they only had to put a barrel of powder there and fire it as soon as there was but a foot or two of earth between us and them." "but how was it," francis vere asked, "that when they fired it they did not at once rush forward? they could have captured the whole building before we knew what had hap- pened." "that i cannot tell," captain uvedale replied. "the four men at work must have been either killed or knocked senseless. wo shall know better another time, and will have a strong guard in each cellar from which our mines are being driven." "if it please you, captain uvedale," lionel said, "it was my brother geoffrey who prevented them from advancing; for indeed several of them had already entered the cellar, and the gallery behind was full of them." "but how did he do that?" captain uvedale asked in sur- prise. lionel related the ruse by which geoffrey had created a panic in the minds of the spaniards. "that was well thought of indeed, and promptly carried out!" captain uvedale exclaimed. "francis, these pages of yours are truly promising young fellows. they detected that rascally dutchman who was betraying us. i noticed thein a fight below ground. several times in the thick of the fray at the breach; and now they have saved the city by their quickness and presence of mind; for had these spaniards once got possession of this ware- house they would have speedily broken a way along through the whole tier, and could then have poured in upon us with all their strength." "that is so, indeed," francis vere agreed. "they have assuredly saved the town, and there is the greatest credit due to them. i shall be glad, uvedale, if you will report the matter to our leader. you are in command of the mining works, and it will come better from you than from me who am their captain." captain uvedale made his report, and both sir roger williams and the governor thanked the boys, and especially geoffrey, for the great service they had rendered. very shortly the galleries were broken into in several other places, and the battle became now as fierce and continuous down in the cellars as it had before been on the breach. by the light of torches, in an atmosphere heavy with the fumes of gunpowder, surrounded by piled-up barrels of wine, the defenders and assailants maintained a terrible conflict, men staggering up exhausted by their exertion and by the stifling atmosphere while others took their places below, and so, night and day, the desperate struggle continued. all these weeks no serious effort had been made for the relief of the hardly beleaguered town. captains hall and allen had several times swum down at night through the bridge of boats with letters from the governor entreating a speedy succour. the states had sent a fleet which sailed some distance up the zwin, but returned without making the slightest effort to break through the bridge of boats. the earl of leicester had ad- vanced with a considerable force from ostend against the fortress of blankenburg, but bail retreated hastily as soon as the surrender. parma despatched a portion of his army against him; and so the town was left to its fate. the last letter that the governor despatched said that longer resistance was impossible. the garrison were reduced to a mere remnant, and these utterly worn out by constant fighting and the want of rest. he should ask for fair and hon- ourable terms, but if these were refused the garrison and the whole male inhabitants in the city, putting the women and children in the centre, would sally out and cut their way through, or die fighting in the midst of the spaniards. the swimmer who took the letter was drowned, but his body was washed ashore and the letter taken to the duke of parma. three days afterwards a fresh force of the enemy embarked in forty large boats, and were about to land on an unprotected wharf by the river-side when arnold de groenvelt hung out the white flag. his powder was exhausted and his guns disabled, and the garrison so reduced that the greater portion of the walls were left wholly undefended. the duke of parma, who was full of admiration at the extraordinary gallantry of the defenders, and was doubtless also influenced by the resolu- tion expressed in his letter by the governor, granted them most honourable terms. the garrison were to march out with all their baggage and arms, with matches lighted and colours dis- played. they were to proceed to breskans, and there to embark for flushing. the life and property of the inhabitants wero to bo respected, and all who did not choose to embrace the catholic faith were to be allowed to leave the town peaceably, taking with them their belongings, and to go wheresoever they pleased. when the gates were opened the garrison sallied out. the duke of parma had an interview with several of the leaders, and expressed his high admiration of the valour with which they had fought, and said that the siege of sluys had cost him geoffrey wounded. more men than he had lost in the four principal sieges he had undertaken in the low country put together. on the th of august the duke entered sluys in triumph, and at once began to make preparations to take part in the great invasion of england for which spain was preparing. after their arrival at flushing captains vere, uvedale, and others, who had brought their companies from bergen-op-zoom to aid in the defence of sluys, returned to that town. the earl of leicester shortly afterwards resigned his appoint- ment as general of the army. he had got on but badly with the states-general, and there was from the first no cordial co- operation between the two armies. the force at his disposal was never strong enough to do anything against the vastly superior armies of the duke of parma, who was one of the most brilliant generals of his age, while he was hampered and thwarted by the intrigues and duplicity of elizabeth, who was constantly engaged in half-hearted negotiations now with france and now with spain, and whose capricious temper was continually overthrowing the best-laid plans of her councillors and paralysing the actions of her commanders. it was not until she saw her kingdom threatened by invasion that she placed herself fairly at the head of the national movement, and inspired her subjects with her energy and determination. geoffrey vickars had been somewhat severely wounded upon the last day of the struggle in the cellar, a spanish officer having beaten down his guard and cleft through his morion. lionel was unwounded, but the fatigue and excitement had told upon him greatly, and soon after they arrived at bergen captain vere advised both of them to return home for a few months. "there is nothing likely to be doing here until the spring. parma has more serious matter in hand. they talk, you know, of invading england, and after his experience at sluys i do not on sick leave. think he will be wasting his force by knocking their heads against stone walla i should be glad if i could return too, but i have my company to look after and must remain where i am ordered; but as you are but volunteers and giving your service at your pleasure, and are not regularly upon the list of the pages of the company, i can undertake to grant you leave, and indeed i can see that you both greatly need rest. you have begun well and have both done good service, and have been twice thanked by the governor of sluys and sir roger williams. "you will do yourselves no good by being shut up through the winter in this dull town, and as there is a vessel lying by the quay which is to set sail to-morrow, i think you cannot do better than go in her. i will give you letters to my cousin and your father saying how well you have borne yourselves, and how mightily sir roger williams was pleased with you. in the spring you can rejoin, unless indeed the spaniards should land in england, which heaven forfend, in which case you will probably prefer to ride under my cousin's banner at home." the boys gladly accepted francis vere's proposal. it was but three months since they had set foot in holland, but they had gone through a tremendous experience, and the thought of being shut up for eight or nine months at bergen-op-zoom was by no means a pleasant one. both felt worn-out and exhausted, and longed for the fresh keen air of the eastern coast. there- fore the next morning they embarked on board ship. captain vere presented them each with a handsome brace of pistols in token of his regard, and captains uvedale, baskerville, and other officers who were intimate friends of vere's, and had met them at his quarters, gave them handsome presents in recogni- tion of the services they had rendered at sluys. the ship was bound for harwich, which was the nearest english port. landing there, they took passage by boat to home. manningtree and thence by horse home, where they astounded their father and mother by their sudden appearance. "and this is what comes of your soldiering," mrs. vickars said when the first greeting was over. "here is geoffrey with plasters all over the side of his head, and you, lionel, looking as pale and thin as if you had gone through a long illness. i told your father when we heard of your going that you ought to be brought back and whipped; but the earl talked him over into writing to captain francis to tell him that he approved of this mad-brained business, and a nice affair it has turned out." "you will not have to complain of our looks, mother, at the end of a week or two," geoffrey said. "my wound is healing fast, and lionel only needs an extra amount of sleep for a time. you see, for nearly a month we were never in bed, but just lay down to sleep by the side of captain vere on the top of the ramparts, where we had been fighting all day." "it was a gallant defence," mr. vickars said, "and all eng- land is talking of it. it was wonderful that english and as many dutchmen should hold a weak place for two months against full twelve times their number of spaniards, led by the duke of parma himself, and there is great honour for all who took part in the defence. the governor and sir roger wil- liams especially mentioned francis vere as among the bravest and best of their captains, and although you as pages can have had nought to do with the fighting, you will have credit as serving under his banner." "i think, father," geoffrey said, touching the plasters on his head, "this looks somewhat as if we had had something to do with the fighting, and here is a letter for you from captain vere which will give you some information about it." mr. vickars adjusted his horn spectacles on his face and opened the letter. it began: dinner first. master vere's own hand it cannot be doubted . and now tell us all about it, boys." "we will tell you when we have had dinner, mother. this brisk essex air has given us both an appetite, and until that is satisfied you must excuse us telling a long story. is the earl at the castle, father? because we have two letters to him from captain francis—one, i believe, touching our affairs, and the other on private matters. we have also letters from him to his mother and his brother john, and these we had better send off at once by a messenger, as also the private letters to the earl." "that i will take myself," mr. vickars said. "i was just going up to him to speak about my parish affairs when you arrived." "you had better have your dinner first," mrs. vickars said decidedly. "when you once get with the earl and begin talk- ing you lose all account of the time, and only last week kept dinner waiting for two hours. it is half-past eleven now, and i will hurry it on so that it will be ready a few minutes before noon." "very well, my dear; but i will go out into the village at once and find a messenger to despatch to crepping hall with the letters to dame elizabeth and john vere." the boys' story was not told until after supper, for as soon as dinner was over mr. vickars went up to the castle with the letters for the earl. the latter, after reading them, told him that his cousin spoke most highly of his two sons, and said they had been of great service, even as far as the saving of his life. the earl told mr. vickars to bring the boys up next day to see him in order that he might learn a full account of the fighting at sluys, and that he hoped they would very often come in, and would, while they were at home, practise daily with his master of arms at the castle. "i know, mr. vickars, that you had hoped that one of them would enter the church; but you a promise. see that their tastes lie not in that direction, and it is evident that, as in the case of my cousin francis, they are cut out for soldiers." "i am afraid so," mr. vickars said; "and i must let them have their own way, for i hold that none should be forced to follow the ministry save those whose natural bent lies that way." "i don't think they have chosen badly," the earl said. "my cousin francis bids fair to make a great soldier, and as they start in life as his pages they will have every chance of getting on, and i warrant me that francis will push their for- tunes. perhaps i may be able to aid them somewhat myself. if aught comes of this vapouring of the spaniards, before the boys return to holland, they shall ride with me. i am already arming all the tenantry and having them practised in warlike exercises, and in the spring i shall fit out two ships at harwich to join the fleet that will put to sea should the spaniards carry out their threats of invading us." chapter vi. the loss of the "susan." here were few people in hedingham more pleased to see the two lads on their return than john lirriper, to whom they paid a visit on the first day they went out. "i am glad to see you back, young masters; though, to say the truth, you are not looking nigh so strong and well as you did when i last parted from you." "we shall soon be all right again, john. we have had rather a rough time of it over there in sluys." "ah, so i have heard tell, master geoffrey. your father read out from the pulpit a letter the earl had received from captain francis telling about the fighting, and it mentioned that you were both alive and well and had done good service; but it was only a short letter sent off in haste the day after he and the others had got out of the town. i was right glad when i heard it, i can tell you, for there had been nought talked of here but the siege; and though your lady mother has not said much to me, i always held myself ready to slip round the corner or into a house when i saw her come down the street, for i knew well enough what was in her mind. she was just saying to herself, 'john lirriper, if it hadn't been for you my two boys would not be in peril now. if aught comes to them, it will be your doing.' and though it was not my fault, as far mr. vickars and john lirriper. as i could see, for captain francis took you off my hands, as it were, and i had no more to say in the matter than a child, still, there it was, and right glad was i when i heard that the siege was over and you were both alive. "i had a bad time of it, i can tell you, when i first got back, young sirs, for your mother rated me finely; and though your father said it was not my fault in any way, she would not listen to him, but said she had given you into my charge, and that i had no right to hand you over to any others save with your father's permission—not if it were to the earl himself,—and for a long time after she would make as if she didn't see me if she met me in the street . when my wife was ill about that time she sent down broths and simples to her, but she sent them by one of the maids, and never came herself save when she knew i was away in my boat . "however, the day after the reading of that letter she came in and said she was sorry she had treated me hardly, and that she had known at heart all along that it was not altogether my fault, and asked my pardon as nice as if i had been the earl . of course i said there was nothing to ask pardon for, and indeed that i thought it was only natural she should have blamed me, for that i had often blamed myself, though not seeing how i could have done otherwise. however, i was right glad when the matter was made up, for it is not pleasant for a man when the parson's wife sets herself against him." "it was certainly|hard upon you, john," geoffrey said; "but i am sure our mother does not in any way blame you now. you see, we brought home letters from captain vere, or rather sir francis, for he has been knighted now, and he was good enough to speak very kindly of what we were able to do in the siege. mother did not say much, but i am sure that at heart she is very grateful, for the earl himself came down to the rectory and spoke warmly about us, and said that he should out of leading-strings. always be our fast friend, because we had given his cousin some help when he was roughly pressed by the spaniards. i hope we shall have another sail with you in a short time, for we are not going back to the netherlands at present, as things are likely to be quiet there now. although he did not say so, i think sir francis thought that we were over-young for such rough work, and would be more useful in a year's time; for, you see, in these sieges even pages have to take their share in the fighting, and when it comes to push of pike with the spaniards more strength and vigour are needed than we possess at present. so we are to continue our practice at arms at the castle, and to take part in the drilling of the companies the earl is raising in case the spaniards carry out their threat of invading england." mrs. vickars offered no objection whatever the first time geoffrey asked permission to go down to bricklesey with john lirriper. "i have no objection, geoffrey; and, indeed, now that you have chosen your own lives and are pages to sir francis vere, it seems to me that in matters of this kind you can judge for yourself. now that you have taken to soldiering and have borne your part in a great siege, and have even yourselves fought with the spaniards, i deem it that you have got beyond my wing, and must now act in all small matters as it pleases you; and that since you have already run great danger of your lives, and may do so again ere long, it would be folly of me to try to keep you at my apron-strings and to treat you as if you were still children." so the two lads often accompanied john lirriper to brickle- sey, and twice sailed up the river to london and back in joe chambers' smack, these jaunts furnishing a pleasant change to their work of practising with pike and sword with the men-at- arms at the castle, or learning the words of command and the work of officers in drilling the newly-raised corps. one day a trip to rochester. john lirriper told them that his nephew was this time going to sail up the medway to rochester, and would be glad to take them with him if they liked it; for they were by this time prime favourites with the master of the susan. although their mother had told them that they were at liberty to go as they pleased, they nevertheless always made a point of asking per- mission before they went away. "if the wind is fair we shall not be long away on this trip, mother. two days will take us up to rochester; we shall be a day loading there, and shall therefore be back on saturday if the wind serves, and may even be sooner if the weather is fine and we sail with the night tides, as likely enough we shall, for the moon is nearly full, and there will be plenty of light to keep our course free of the sands." the permission was readily given. mrs. vickars had come to see that it was useless to worry over small matters, and therefore nodded cheerfully,-and said she would give orders at once for a couple of chickens to be killed and other provision prepared for their voyage. "i doubt you are going to have a rougher voyage than usual this time, young masters," john lirriper said when the boat was approaching bricklesey. "the sky looks wild, and i think there is going to be a break in the weather. however, the susan is a stout boat, and my nephew a careful navigator." "i should like a rough voyage for a change, john," geoffrey said. "we have always had still water and light winds on our trips, and i should like a good blow." "well, i think you will have one; though may be it will only come on thick and wet. still i think there is wind in those clouds, and that if it does come it will be from the south-east, in which case you will have a sharp buffeting. but you will make good passage enough down to the nore once you are fairly round the whittaker." a calm. ill "glad to see you, young masters," joe chambers said as the boat came alongside his craft. "you often grumbled at the light winds, but unless i am mistaken we shall be carrying double reefs this journey. what do you think, uncle john?" "i have been saying the same, lad; still there is no saying. you will know more about it in a few hours' time." it was evening when the boys went on board the susan, and as soon as supper was over they lay down, as she was to start at daybreak the next morning. as soon as they were roused by the creaking of the blocks and the sound of trampling of feet overhead they went up on deck. day had just broken; the sky was overspread by dark clouds. "there is not much wind after all," geoffrey said as he looked round. "no, it has fallen light during the last two hours," the skip- per replied, "but i expect we shall have plenty before long. however, we could do with a little more now." tide was half out when they started. joe chambers had said the night before that he intended to drop down to the edge of the sands and there anchor, and to make across them past the whittaker beacon into the channel as soon as there was sufficient water to enable him to do so. the wind was light, sometimes scarcely sufficient to belly out the sails and give the boat steerage way, at others coming in short puffs which heeled her over and made her spring forward merrily. before long the wind fell lighter and lighter, and at last joe chambers ordered the oars to be got out. "we must get down to the edge of the buxey," he said, "before the tide turns, or we shall have it against us, and with this wind we should never be able to stem it, but should be swept up the crouch. at present it is helping us, and with a couple of hours' rowing we may save it to the buxey." the boys helped at the sweeps, and for two hours the creaking a heavy squall. splashes as of ink on the surface of the oily-looking water. another half minute it was pouring with such a mighty roar on the deck that the boys below needed to shout to make each other heard. it lasted but five minutes, and then stopped as suddenly as it began. the lads at once returned to the deck . "so it is all over, master chambers." "well the first part is over, but that is only a sort of a beginning. look at that light under the clouds away to the south of east. that is where it is coming from, unless i am mistaken. turn to and get the mainsail down, lads," for although after dropping anchor the head sails had been lowered, the main and mizzen were still on her. the men set to work, and the boys helped to stow the sail and fasten it with the tiers. suddenly there was a sharp puff of wind. it lasted a few seconds only, then joe chambers pointed towards the spot whence a hazy light seemed to come. "here it comes," he said. "do you see that line of white water. that is a squall and no mistake. i am glad we are not under sail." there was a sharp, hissing sound as the line of white water approached them, and then the squall struck them with such force and fury that the lads instinctively grasped at the shrouds. the mizzen had brought the craft in a moment head- to-wind, and joe chambers and the two sailors at once lowered it and stowed it away. "only put a couple of tiers on," the skipper shouted. "we may have to upsail again if this goes on." the sea got up with great rapidity, and a few minutes after the squall had struck them the susan was beginning to pitch heavily. the wind increased in force, and seemed to scream rather than whistle in the rigging. "the sea is getting up fast!" geoffrey shouted in the skipper's ear as he took his place close to him. ( ) h "we are dragging our anchors." "it won't be very heavy yet," joe chambers replied; "the sands break its force. but the tide has turned now, and as it makes over the sand there will be a tremendous sea here in no time; that is if this wind holds, and it seems to me that it is going to be an unusual gale altogether." "how long will it be before we can cross the spit?" "we are not going to cross to-day, that's certain," the skipper said. "there will be a sea over those sands that would knock the life out of the strongest craft that ever floated. no, i shall wait here for another hour or two if i can, and then slip my cable and run for the crouch. it is a narrow channel, and i never care about going into it after dark until there is water enough for a craft of our draught over the sands. it ain't night now, but it is well nigh as dark. there is no making out the bearings of the land, and we have got to trust to the perches the fishermen put up at the bends of the channel. however, we have got to try it. our anchors would never hold here when the sea gets over the sands, and if they did they would pull her head under water." in half an hour a sea had got up that seemed to the boys tremendous. dark as it was they could see in various direc- tions tracts of white water where the waves broke wildly over the sands. the second anchor had been let go some time before. the two cables were as taut as iron bars, and the boat was pulling her bows under every sea. joe chambers dropped a lead-line overboard and watched it closely. "we are dragging our anchors," he said. "there is nothing for it but to run." he went to the bow, fastened two logs of wood by long lines to the cables outside the bow, so that he could find and recover the anchors on his return, then a very small jib was hoisted, and as it filled two blows with an axe severed the cables inboard. the logs attached to them were thrown over, and the skipper a critical moment. ran aft and put up the helm as the boat's head payed off before the wind. as she did so a wave struck her and threw tons of water on board, filling her deck nearly up to the rails. it was well joe had shouted to the boys to hold on, for had they not done so they would have been swept overboard. another wave struck them before they were fairly round, smashing in the bulwark and sweeping everything before it, and the boys both thought that the susan was sinking under their feet. however she recovered herself. the water poured out through the broken bulwark, and the boat rose again on the waves as they swept one after another down upon her stern. the channel was well marked now, for the sands on either side were covered with breaking water. joe chambers shouted to the sailors to close-reef the mizzen and hoist it, so that he might have the boat better under control. the wind was not directly astern but somewhat on the quarter; and small as was the amount of sail shown, the boat lay over till her lee-rail was at times under water; the following waves yawing her about so much that it needed the most careful steering to prevent her from broaching to. "it seems to me as the wind is northering!" one of the men shouted. the skipper nodded and slackened out the sheet a bit as the wind came more astern. he kept his eyes fixed ahead of him, and the men kept gazing through the gloom. "there is the perch," one of them shouted presently, "just on her weather-bow!" the skipper nodded and held on the same course until abreast of the perch, which was only a forked stick. the men came aft and hauled in the mizzen sheet . chambers put up the helm. the mizzen came across with a jerk, and the sheet was again allowed to run out. the jib came over with a report like the shotof a cannon, and at the same moment split into streamers. "the susan had struck on the sands." "hoist the foresail!" the skipper shouted, and the men sprang forward and seized the halliards; but at this moment the wind seemed to blow with a double fury, and the moment the sail was set it too split into ribbons. "get up another jib!" joe chambers shouted, and one of the men sprang below. in half a minute he reappeared with another sail. "up with it quick, bill. we are drifting bodily down on the sand." bill hurried forward. the other hand had hauled in the traveller, to which the bolt-rope of the jib was still attached, and hauling on this had got the block down and in readiness for fastening on the new jib. the sheets were hooked on, and then while one hand ran the sail out with the out-haul to the bowsprit end, the other hoisted with the halliards. by this time the boat was close to the broken water. as the sail filled her head payed off towards it. the wind lay her right over, and before she could gather way there was a tremendous crash. the susan had struck on the sands. the next wave lifted her, but as it passed on she came down with a crash that seemed to shake her in pieces. joe chambers relaxed his grasp of the now useless tiller. "it is all over," he said to the boys. "nothing can save her now. if she had been her own length farther off the sands she would have gathered way in time. as it is another ten minutes and she will be in splinters." she was now lying over until her masthead was but a few feet above water. the seas were striking her with tremendous force, pouring a deluge of water over her. "there is but one chance for you," he went on. "the wind is dead on the shore, and foulness lies scarce three miles to leeward." he went into the cabin and fetched out a small axe fastened "the next few minutes it was a wild struggle kor like." breathing time. geoffrey loosed his hold of the spar and tried to get to his feet . he was knocked down several times before he succeeded, but when he did so found that the water was little more than two feet deep, although the waves rose to his shoulders. the soft mud under his feet rendered it extremely difficult to stand, and the rope which attached him to the spar, which was driving before him, added to the difficulty. he could not overtake the mast, and threw himself down again and swam to it. "get up, lionel!" he shouted; "we can stand here." but lionel was too exhausted to be capable of making the effort. with the greatest difficulty geoffrey raised him to his feet and supported him with his back to the wind. "get your breath again!" he shouted. "we are over the worse now and shall soon be in calmer water. get your feet well out in front of you, if you can, and dig your heels into the mud, then you will act as a buttress to me and help me to keep my feet." it was two or three minutes before lionel was able to speak. even during this short time they had been carried some dis- tance forward, for the ground on which they stood seemed to be moving, and the force of the waves carried them constantly forward. "feel better, old fellow?" geoffrey asked, as he felt lionel making an effort to resist the pressure of the water. "yes, i am better now," lionel said. "well, we will go on as we are as long as we can; let us just try to keep our feet and give way to the sea as it takes us along. the quicker we go the sooner we shall be in shal- lower water; but the tide is rising fast, and unless we go on it will speedily be as bad here as it was where we started.'' as soon as lionel had sufficiently recovered they again took to the spar; but now, instead of clasping it with their arms and legs, they lay with their chest upon it, and used their efforts reaching shore. only to keep it going before the wind and tide. once they came to a point where the sand was but a few inches under water. here they stood up for some minutes, and then again proceeded on foot until the water deepened to their waists. their progress was now much more easy, for the high bank had broken the run of the surf. the water beyond it was much smoother, and they were able to swim, pushing the spar before them. "we are in deep water," geoffrey said presently, dropping his feet. "it is out of my depth. chambers said there was a deep channel across the sands not far from the island; so in that case the shore cannot be far away." in another quarter of an hour the water was again waist-deep. geoffrey stood up. "i think i see a dark line ahead, lionel; we shall soon be there." another ten minutes and the water was not above their knees. they could see the low shore now at a distance of but a few hundred yards ahead, and untying the ropes under their arms they let the spar drift on, and waded forward until they reached the land. there was a long mud bank yet to cross, and exhausted as they were it took them a long time to do this; but at last they came to a sandy bank rising sharply some ten feet above the flat. they threw themselves down on this and lay for half an hour without a word being spoken. "now, lionel," geoffrey said at last, raising himself to a sitting position, "we must make an effort to get on and find a shelter. there are people living in the island. i have heard that they are a wild set, making their living by the wrecks on these sands and by smuggling goods without paying dues to the queen. still, they will not refuse us shelter and food, and assuredly there is nothing on us to tempt them to plunder us." he rose to his feet and helped lionel up. once on the top scant hospitality. of the bank a level country stretched before them. the wind aided their footsteps, sweeping along with such tremendous force that at times they had difficulty in keeping their feet. as they went on they came upon patches of cultivated land, with hedgerows and deep ditches. half a mile further they perceived a house. on approaching it they saw that it was a low structure of some size with several out-buildings. they made their way to it and knocked at the door. they knocked twice before it was opened, then some bolts were withdrawn. the door was opened a few inches. a man looked out, and seeing two lads opened it widely. "well, who are you, and what do you want?" he asked roughly. "we have been wrecked in a storm on the sands. we were sailing from bricklesey for sheerness when the storm caught us." the man looked at them closely. their pale faces and evi- dently exhausted condition vouched for the truth of their story. "the house is full," he said gruffly, "and i cannot take in strangers. you will find some dry hay in that out-house, and i will bring you some food there. when you have eaten and drunk you had best journey on." so saying he shut the door in their faces. "this is strange treatment," geoffrey said. "i should not have thought a man would have refused shelter to a dog such a day as this. what do you say, lionel, shall we go on?" "i don't think i can go any further until i have rested, geoffrey," lionel replied faintly. "let us lie down in shelter if it is only for half an hour. after that, if the man brings us some food as he says, we can go on again." they went into the shed the man had pointed out. it was half full of hay. welcome refreshment. "let us take our things off and wring them, lionel, and give ourselves a roll in the hay to dry ourselves. we shall soon get warm after that." they stripped, wrung the water from their clothes, rolled themselves in the hay until they felt a glow of returning warmth, and then put on their clothes again. scarcely had they done so when the man came in with a large tankard and two hunks of bread. "here," he said, "drink this and then be off. we want no strangers hanging round here." at any other time the boys would have refused hospitality so cheerlessly offered, but they were too weak to resist the temptation. the tankard contained hot-spiced ale, and a sen- sation of warmth and comfort stole over them as soon as they had drunk its contents and eaten a few mouthfuls of bread. the man stood by them while they ate. "are you the only ones saved from the wreck?" he asked. "i trust that we are not," geoffrey replied. "the master of the boat tied us to a mast as soon as she struck, and he and the two men with him were going to try to get to shore in the same way." as soon as they had finished they stood up and handed the tankard to the man. "i am sorry i must turn you out," he said, as if somewhat ashamed of his want of courtesy. "any other day it would be different, but to-day i cannot take anyone in." "i thank you for what you have given us," geoffrey said. "can you tell us which is the way to the ferry?" "follow the road and it will take you there. about a couple of miles. you cannot mistake the way." feeling greatly strengthened and refreshed the lads again started . "this is a curious affair," geoffrey said, "and i cannot make "what on earth can they be doing " out why they should not let us in. however, it does not matter much. i feel warm all over now, in spite of my wet clothes." "so do i," lionel agreed. "perhaps there were smugglers inside, or some fugitives from justice hiding there. anyhow, i am thankful for that warm ale; it seems to have given me new life altogether." they had walked a quarter of a mile, when they saw four horsemen coming on the road. they were closely wrapped up in cloaks, and as they passed, with their heads bent down to meet the force of the gale and their broad-brimmed hats pulled low down over their eyes, the boys did not get even a glimpse of their features. "i wonder who they can be," geoffrey said, looking after them. "they are very well mounted, and look like persons of some degree. what on earth can they be doing in such a wretched place as this? they must be going to that house we left, for i noticed the road stopped there." "it is curious, geoffrey, but it is no business of ours." "i don't know that, lionel. you know there are all sorts of rumours about of papist plots, and conspirators could hardly choose a more out-of-the way spot than this to hold their meet- ings. i should not be at all surprised if there is some mischief on foot." half a mile further three men on foot met them, and these, like the others, were closely wrapped up to the eyes. "they have ridden here," geoffrey said after they had passed. "they have all high riding-boots on; they must have left their horses on the other side of the ferry. see, there is a village a short distance ahead. we will go in there and dry our clothes, and have a substantial meal if we can get it. then we will talk this business over." the village consisted of a dozen houses only, but among them warmth and food. was a small public-house. several men were sitting by the fire with pots of ale before them. "we have been wrecked on the coast, landlord, and have barely escaped with our lives. we want to dry our clothes and to have what food you can give us." "i have plenty of eggs," the landlord said, "and my wife will fry them for you; but we have no meat in the house. fish and eggs are the chief food here. you are lucky in getting ashore, for it is a terrible gale. it is years since we have had one like it . as to drying your clothes, that can be managed easy enough. you can go up into my room and take them off, and i will lend you a couple of blankets to wrap yourselves in, and you can sit by the fire here until your things are dry." a hearty meal of fried eggs and another drink of hot ale com- pleted the restoration of the boys. their clothes were speedily dried, for the landlady had just finished baking her week's batch of bread, and half an hour in the oven completely dried the clothes. they were ready almost as soon as the meal was finished. many questions were asked them as to the wreck, and the point at which they had been cast ashore. "it was but a short distance from a house at the end of this road," geoffrey said. "we went there for shelter, but they would not take us in, though they gave us some bread and hot ale." exclamations of indignation were heard among the men sit- ting round. "ralph hawker has the name of being a surly man," one said, "but i should not have thought that he would have turned a shipwrecked man from his door on such a day as this. they say he is a papist, though whether he be or not i cannot say; but he has strange ways, and there is many a stranger passes the ferry and asks for his house. however, that is no affair of mine, though i hold there is no good in secret ways." a discovery. "that is so," another said; "but it goes beyond all reason for a man to refuse shelter to those the sea has cast ashore such a day as this." as soon as they had finished their meal and again dressed themselves, the lads paid their reckoning and went out. scarcely had they done so when two horsemen rode up, and, drawing rein, inquired if they were going right for the house of one ralph hawker. "it lies about a mile on," geoffrey said. "you cannot miss the way; the road ends there." as he spoke a gust of wind of extra fury blew off one of the riders' hats. it was stopped by the wall of a house a few yards away. geoffrey caught it and handed it to the horseman. with a word of thanks he pressed it firmly on his head, and the two men rode on. "did you notice that?" geoffrey asked his brother. "he has a shaven spot on the top of his head. the man is a papist priest in disguise. there is something afoot, lionel. i vote that we try and get to the bottom of it." "i am ready if you think so, geoffrey. but it is a hazardous business, you know; for we are unarmed, and there are, we know, seven or eight of them at any rate." "we must risk that," geoffrey said; "besides, we can run if we cannot fight. let us have a try whatever comes of it." chapter vii. a popish plot. here was no one about, for the wind was blowing with such fury that few cared to venture out of doors, and the boys therefore started back along the road by which they had come, without being observed. "we had better strike off from the road," geoffrey said, "for some more of these men may be coming along. like enough someone will be on the watch at the house, so we had best make a long detour, and when we get near it come down on it from the other side. you know we saw no windows there." "that is all well enough," lionel agreed; "but the ques- tion is, how are we to hear what they are saying inside'? we are obliged to shout to catch each others' words now, and there is not the least chance of our hearing anything through the closed shutters." "we must wait till we get there, and then see what is to be done, lionel. we managed to detect a plot at sluys, and we may have the same luck here." after half an hour's brisk walking they again approached the house from the side at which they had before come upon it, and where, as geoffrey observed, there were no windows; they made their way cautiously up to it, and then moved quietly round to the side. here there were two windows on in the loft. the ground floor. the shutters were closed, for glass was un- known except in the houses of the comparatively wealthy. its place was taken by oiled paper, and this in bad weather was protected by outer shutters. geoffrey stole out a few paces to look at the window above. "it is evidently a loft," he said as he rejoined lionel. "you can see by the roof that the rooms they live in are entirely upon the ground floor. if we can get in there we might pos- sibly hear what is going on below. the rooms are not likely to be ceiled, and there are sure to be cracks between the planks through which we can see what is going on below. the noise of the wind is so great there is little chance of their hearing us. now, let us look about for something to help us to climb up." lying by an out-house close by they found a rough ladder, composed of a single pole with bits of wood nailed .on to it a foot apart. this they placed up against the door of the loft . they could see that this was fastened only by a hasp, with a piece of wood put through the staple. it had been arranged that geoffrey only should go up, lionel removing the pole when he entered, and keeping watch behind the out-house lest anyone should come round the house. both had cut heavy sticks as they came along to give them some means of defence. lionel stood at the pole, while geoffrey climbed up, removed the piece of wood from the staple, and then holding the hasp to prevent the wind blowing in the door with a crash, entered the loft. a glance showed him that it extended over the whole of the house, and that it was entirely empty. he closed the door behind him, and jammed it with a couple of wedges of wood he had cut before mounting; then he lay down on the rough planks and began to crawl along. he saw a gleam of light at the further end, and felt sure that it pro- ceeded from the room in which the party were assembled. a dangerous conspiracy. although he had little fear of being heard owing to the din kept up by the wind, he moved along with extreme care until he reached the spot whence the light proceeded. as he had anticipated, it was caused by lights in a room below streaming through the cracks between the rough planking. rising on to his knees he looked round, and then crawled to a crack that appeared much wider than the rest, the boards being more than half an inch apart. lying down over it, he was able to obtain a view of a portion of the room below. he could see a part of a long table, and looked down upon the heads of five men sitting on one side of it. he now applied his ear to the crevice. a man was speaking, and in the in- tervals between the gusts of wind which shook the house to its foundation, he could hear what was said. "it is no use hesitating any longer, the time for action has arrived—jezebel must be removed—interests of our holy re- ligion—little danger in carrying out the plan that has been proposed . next time—windsor—road passes through wood near datchet—a weak guard overpowered—two told off to execute — free england from tyranny — glory and honour throughout catholic world. england disorganized and with- out a head could offer no resistance—as soon as day fixed— meet at staines at house of—final details and share each man is to—done, scatter through country, readiness for rising— philip of spain—" this was the last sentence geoffrey caught, for when the speaker ceased a confused and general talk took place, and he could only catch a word here and there without meaning or connection. he therefore drew quietly back to the door of the loft and opened it. he thought first of jumping straight down, but in that case he could not have fastened the door behind him. he therefore made a sign to lionel, who was anxiously peering round the corner of the out-house. the pole was "what are we to do next?" placed into position, and pulling the door after him and re- fastening the latch he made his way down to the ground, replaced the pole at the place from which they had taken it, and then retired in the direction from which they had come. "well, what have you heard, geoffrey?" lionel asked. "was it worth the risk you have run?" « "well worth it, lionel. i could only hear a little of what was said, but that was quite enough to show that a plot is on foot to attack and kill the queen the next time she journeys to windsor. the conspirators are to hide in a wood near datchet." "you don't say so, geoffrey. that is important news in- deed. what are we to do next?" "i have not thought yet," geoffrey replied. "i should say, though, our best plan would be to make our way back as quickly as we can by burnham and maldon round to heding- ham. the earl was going up to london one day this week, we may catch him before he starts; if not, we must, of course, follow him. but at any rate it is best to go home, for they will be in a terrible fright, especially if joe chambers or one of the men take the news to bricklesey of the loss of the susan, for it would be quickly carried up to hedingham by john lirriper or one or other of the boatmen. no day seems to be fixed, and the queen may not be going to windsor for some little time, so the loss of a day will not make any difference. as we have money in our pockets we can hire horses at burnham to take us to maldon, and get others there to carry us home." an hour's walking took them to the ferry. it was now getting dusk, and they had come to the conclusion as they walked that it would be too late to attempt to get on that night beyond burnham. the storm was as wild as ever, and although the passage was a narrow one it was as much as the ferryman could do to row the boat across. at criksey fekry. "how far is it from here to burnham?" "about four miles; but you won't get to burnham to-night." "how is that?" geoffrey asked. "you may get as far as the ferry, but you won't get taken over. there will be a big sea in the crouch, for the wind is pretty nigh straight up it; but you will be able to sleep at the inn this side. in the morning, if the wind has gone down, you can cross; if not, you will have to go round by the bridge, nigh ten miles higher up." this was unpleasant news. not that it made any difference to them whether they slept on one side of the river or the other, but if the wind was too strong to admit of a passage in the morning, the necessity for making a detour would cost them many hours of valuable time. there was, however, no help for it, and they walked to criksey ferry. the little inn was crowded, for the ferry had been stopped all day, and many like themselves had been compelled to stop for a lull in the wind . scarcely had they entered when their names were joyously shouted out. "ah, masters vickars, right glad am i to see you. we feared that surf had put an end to you we asked at the ferry, but the man declared that no strange lads had crossed that day, and we were fearing we should have a sad tale to send to hedingham by john lirriper." "we are truly glad to see you, joe," geoffrey said, as they warmly shook joe chambers and the two sailors by the hand. "how did you get ashore?" "on the mainmast, and pretty nigh drowned we were before we got there. i suppose the tide must have taken us a bit further up than it did you. we got here well nigh two hours ago, though we got a good meal and dried our clothes at a farmhouse." "we got a meal, too, soon after we landed," geoffrey said; ( ) i crossing the crouch. "but we did not dry our clothes till we got to a little village. i did not ask its name. i am awfully sorry, joe, about the susan." "it is a bad job, but it cannot be helped, master geoffrey. i owned a third of her, and two traders at bricklesey own the other shares. still i have no cause to grumble. i have laid by more than enough in the last four years to buy a share in another boat as good as she waa you see, a trader ain't like a smack. a trader's got only hull and sails, while a smack has got her nets beside, and they cost well nigh as much as the boat. thankful enough we are that we have all escaped with our lives; and now i find you are safe my mind feels at rest over it." "do you think it will be calm enough to cross in the morn- ing, joe!" "like enough," the sailor replied; "a gale like this is like to blow itself out in twenty-four hours. it has been the worst i ever saw. it is not blowing now quite so hard as it did, and by the morning i reckon, though there may be a fresh wind, the gale will be over." the number of travellers were far too great for the accommo- dation of the inn; and with the exception of two or three of the first arrivals all slept on some hay in one of the barns. the next morning, although the wind was still strong, the fury of the gale had abated . the ferryman, however, said the water was so rough he must wait for a time before they crossed. but when geoffrey offered him a reward to put their party on shore at once, he consented to do so, joe chambers and the two sailors-assisting $rith the oars; and as the ferry-boat was large and strongly built, they crossed without further incon- venience than the wetting of their jackets. joe chambers, who knew the town perfectly, at once took them to a place where they were able to hire a couple of horses, "there is no mistake, father." and on these rode to maldon, some nine miles away. here they procured other horses, and it was not long after midday when they arrived at hedingham. mrs. vickars held up her hands in astonishment at their shrunken garments; but her relief from the anxiety she had felt concerning what had befallen them during the gale was so great that she was unable to scold . "we will tell you all about it, mother, afterwards," geoffrey said, as he released himself from her embrace. "we have had a great adventure, and the susan has been wrecked. but this is not the most important matter. father, has the earl started yeti" "he was to have gone this morning, geoffrey, but the floods are likely to be out, and the roads will be in such a state that i have no doubt he has put off his journey." "it is important that we should see him at once, father. we have overheard some people plotting against the queen's life, and measures must be taken at once for her safety. we will run up and change our things if you will go with us to see him. if you are there he will see you whatever he is doing, while if we go alone there might be delay." without waiting for an answer the boys ran upstairs and quickly returned in fresh clothes. mr. vickars was waiting for them with his hat on. "you are quite sure of what you are saying, geoffrey?" he observed as they walked towards the castle. "remember, that if it should turn out an error, you are likely to come to sore disgrace instead of receiving commendation for your in- terference. every one has been talking ^of plots against the queen for some time, and you may well have mistaken the pur- port of what you have heard." "there is no mistake, father, it is a real conspiracy, though who aro those concerned in it i know not. lionel and i are the eakl hears the story. not likely to raise a false alarm about nothing, as you will say yourself when you hear the story i have to tell the earl." they had by this time entered the gates of the castle. "the earl has just finished dinner," one of the attendants replied in answer to the question of mr. vickars. "will you tell him that i wish to see him on urgent business?" in two or three minutes the servant returned and asked the clergyman to follow him. the earl received him in his private chamber, for the castle was full with guests. "well, dominie, what is it?" he asked. "you want some help, i will be bound, for somebody ill or in distress. i know pretty well by this time the meaning of your urgent business." "it is nothing of that kind to-day," the clergyman replied; "it is, in fact, my sons who wish to see your lordship. i do not myself know the full purport of their story, save that it is something which touches the safety of the queen." the earl's expression at once changed. "is that so, young sirs? this is a serious matter, you know; it is a grave thing to bring an accusation against anyone in matters touching the state." "i am aware that it is, my lord, and assuredly my brother and i would not lightly meddle with such matters; but i think that you will say this is a business that should be attended to. it happened thus, sir." he then briefly told how, that being out in a ketch that traded from bricklesey, they were caught in the gale; that the vessel was driven on the sands, and they were cast ashore on a mast. he then related the inhospitable reception they had met with. "it seemed strange to us, sir, and contrary to nature, that anyone should refuse to allow two shipwrecked lads to enter the house for shelter on such a day; and it seemed well- nigh impossible that his tale of the place being too full to hold us could be true. however, wo started to walk. on our way "faith, this is a serious matter." we met four horsemen going towards the house, closely muffled up in cloaks." "there was nothing very strange in that," the earl observed, 'in such weather as we had yesterday." "nothing at all, sir; we should not have given the matter one thought had it not been that the four men were very well mounted, and, apparently, gentlemen; and it was strange that such should have business in an out-of-the-way house in foul- ness island. a little further we met three men on foot. they were also wrapped up in cloaks; but they wore high riding- boots, and had probably left their horses on the other side of the ferry so as not to attract attention. a short time after- wards we met two more horsemen, one of whom asked us if he was going right for the house we had been at . as he was speaking a gust of wind blew off his hat. i fetched it and gave it to him, and as he stooped to put it on i saw that a tonsure was shaven on the top of his head. the matter had already seemed strange to us; but the fact that one of this number of men, all going to a lonely house, was a priest in disguise, seemed so suspicious that my brother and myself determined to try and get to the bottom of it." geoffrey then related how they had gone back to the house and effected an entrance into the loft extending over it; how he had through the cracks in the boards seen a party of men gathered in one of the lower rooms, and then repeated word for word the scraps of conversation that he had overheard. the earl had listened with an expression of amused doubt to the early portion of the narrative; but when geoffrey came to the part where accident had shown to him that one of these men proceeding towards this house was a disguised priest, his face became serious, and he listened with deep attention to the rest of the narrative. "faith," he said, "this is a serious matter, and you have a swift ride. done right well in following up your suspicions, and in risking your lives, for they would assuredly have killed you had they discovered you. mr. vickars, your sons must ride with me to london at once. the matter is too grave for a moment's delay. i must lay it before burleigh at once. a day's delay might be fatal." he rang a bell standing on the table. as soon as an atten- dant answered it he said, "order three horses to be saddled at once; i must ride to london with these young gentlemen without delay. order parsons and nichols to be ready in half an hour to set out with us. have you had food, young sirs for it seems you came hither directly you arrived." finding that the boys had eaten nothing since they had left maldon, he ordered food to be brought them, and begged them eat it while he explained to the countess and guests that sudden business that could not be delayed called him away to london. half an hour later he started with the boys, the two servants following behind. late that evening they arrived in london. it was too late to call on lord burleigh that night; but early the next morning the earl took the boys with him to the house of the great statesman. leaving them in the ante-chamber he went in to the inner apartment, where the minister was at breakfast. ten minutes later he came out, and called the boys in. "the earl of oxford has told me your story," lord burleigh said. "tell it me again, and omit nothing; for things that seem small are often of consequence in a matter like this." geoffrey again repeated his story, giving full details of all that had taken place from the time of their first reaching the house. lord burleigh then questioned him closely as to whether they had seen any of the faces of the men, and would recog- nize them again. the queen's life is saved. "i saw none from my spying-place above, my lord," geoffrey said. "i could see only the tops of their heads, and most of them still kept their hats on; nor did we see them as they passed, with the exception only of the man i supposed to be a priest. his face i saw plainly. it was smooth shaven; his complexion was dark, his eyebrows were thin and straight, his face narrow. i should take him for a foreigner—either a spaniard or italian." lord burleigh made a note of this description. "thanks, young sirs," he said. "i shall, of course, take measures to prevent this plot being carried out, and shall in- form her majesty how bravely you both risked your lives to discover this conspiracy against her person. the earl of oxford informs me that you are pages of his cousin, captain francis vere, a very brave and valiant gentleman; and that you bore your part bravely in the siege of sluys, but are at present at home to rest after your labours there, and have permission of captain vere to take part in any trouble that may arise here owing to the action of the spaniards. i have now no further occasion for your services, and you can return with the earl to hedingham, but your attendance in london will be needed when we lay hands upon these conspirators." the same day they rode back to hedingham, but ten days later were again summoned to london. the queen had the day before journeyed to windsor. half an hour before she arrived at the wood near datchet a strong party of her guard had suddenly surrounded it, and had found twelve armed men lurking there. these had been arrested and lodged in the tower. three of them were foreigners, the rest members of catholic families known to be favourable to the spanish cause . their trial was conducted privately, as it was deemed advisable that as little should be made as possible of this and other similar plots against the queen's life that were discovered about this time. honours for the boys. geoffrey and lionel gave their evidence before the council. as the only man they could have identified was not of the party captured, their evidence only went to show the motive of this gathering in the wood near datchet. the prisoners stoutly maintained that geoffrey had misunderstood the conversation he had partly overheard, and that their design was simply to make the queen a prisoner and force her to abdicate. three of the prisoners, who had before been banished from the coun- try and who had secretly returned, were sentenced to death; two of the others to imprisonment for a long term of years, the rest to banishment from england. after the trial was over lord burleigh sent for the boys, and gave them a very gracious message in the queen's name, to- gether with two rings in token of her majesty's gratitude. highly delighted with these honours they returned to heding- ham, and devoted themselves even more assiduously than before to exercises in arms, in order that they might some day prove themselves valiant soldiers of the queen. chapter viii. the spanish armada. tie struggle that was at hand between spain and england had long been foreseen as inevitable. the one power was the champion of roman catho- licism, the other of protestantism; and yet, al- though so much hung upon the result of the encounter, and all europe looked on with the most intense interest, both parties entered upon the struggle without allies, and this entirely from the personal fault of the sovereigns of the two nations. queen elizabeth, by her constant intrigues, her underhand dealings with france and spain, her grasping policy in the netherlands, her meanness and parsimony, and the fact that she was ready at any moment to sacrifice the netherlands to her own policy, had wholly alienated the people of the low country; for while their own efforts for defence were paralysed by the constant interference of elizabeth, no benefit was ob- tained from the english army, whose orders were to stand always on the defensive—the queen's only anxiety appearing to be to keep her grasp upon the towns that had been handed over to her as the price of her alliance. her own counsellors were driven to their wits' end by her constant changes of purpose. her troops were starving and in rags from her parsimony, the fleet lay dismantled and useless from want of funds, and except such arming and drilling as took england and spain. place at the expense of the nobles, counties, and cities, no pre- paration whatever was made to meet the coming storm. upon the other hand, philip of spain, who might have been at the head of a great catholic league against england, had isolated himself by his personal ambitions. had he declared himself ready, in the event of his conquest of england, to place james of scotland upon the throne, he would have had scotland with him, together with the catholics of england, still a powerful and important body. france, too, would have joined him, and the combination against elizabeth and the protestants of england would have been well-nigh irresistible. but this he could not bring him- self to do. his dream was the annexation of england to spain; and smarting as the english catholics were under the execu- tion of mary of scotland, their english spirit revolted against the idea of the rule of spain, and the great catholic nobles hastened, when the moment of danger arrived, to join in the defence of their country, while scotland, seeing no advantage to be gained in the struggle, stood sullenly aloof, and france gave no aid to a project which was to result, if successful, in the aggrandizement of her already dangerously formidable neighbour. thus england and spain stood alone—philip slowly but steadily preparing for the great expedition for the conquest of england, elizabeth hesitating, doubtful; at one moment gathering seamen and arming her fleet, a month or two later discharging the sailors and laying up the ships. in the spring of drake, with six vessels belonging to the crown and twenty-four equipped by merchants of london and other places, had seized a moment when elizabeth's fickle mind had inclined to warlike measures, and knowing that the mood might last but a day, had slipped out of plymouth and sailed for spain a few hours before a messenger arrived with a drake's raid against spain. peremptory order from elizabeth against entering any spanish port or offering violence to any spanish town or ships. although caught in a gale in the channel, drake held on, and, reaching gibraltar on the th april, ascertained that cadiz was crowded with transports and store-ships. vice-admiral burroughs, controller of the navy, who had been specially appointed to thwart drake's plans, opposed any action being taken; but drake insisted upon attack, and on the th the fleet stood in to cadiz harbour. passing through the fire of the batteries, they sank the only great ship of war in the roads, drove off the spanish galleys, and seized the vast fleet of store-ships loaded with wine, corn, and provisions of all sorts for the use of the armada. everything of value that could be conveniently moved was transferred to the english ships, then the spanish vessels were set on fire, their cables cut, and they were left to drift an entangled mass of flame. drake took a number of prisoners, and sent a messenger on shore proposing to exchange them for such english seamen as were prisoners in spain. the reply was there were no english prisoners in spain; and as this was notoriously untrue, it was agreed in the fleet that all the spaniards they might take in the future should be sold to the moors, and the money reserved for the redeeming of such englishmen as might be in captivity there or elsewhere. the english fleet then sailed for cape st . vincent, picking up on their way large convoys of store-ships all bound for the tagus, where the armada was collecting. these were all burned, and drake brought up at cape st. vincent, hoping to meet there a portion of the armada expected from the mediter- ranean. as a harbour was necessary, he landed, stormed the fort at faro, and took possession of the harbour there. the expected enemy did not appear, and drake sailed up to the mouth of the tagus, intending to go into lisbon and attack the great spanish fleet lying there under its admiral, santa cruz. elizabeth negotiates. that the force gathered there was enormous drake well knew, but relying as much on the goodness of his cause as on the valour of his sailors, and upon the fact that the enemy would be too crowded together to fight with advantage, he would have carried out his plan had not a ship arrived from england with orders forbidding him to enter the tagus. however, he lay for some time at the mouth of the river, destroying every ship that entered its mouth, and sending in a challenge to santa cruz to come out and fight. the spanish admiral did not accept it, and drake then sailed to corunna, and there, as at cadiz, destroyed all the ships collected in the harbour and then returned to england, having in the course of a few months inflicted an enormous amount of damage upon spain, and having taken the first step to prove that england was the mistress of the sea. but while the little band of english had been defending sluys against the army of the duke of parma, philip had been con- tinuing his preparations, filling up the void made by the de- struction wrought by drake, and preparing an armada which he might well have considered to be invincible. elizabeth was still continuing her negotiations. she was quite ready to aban- don the netherlands to spain if she could but keep the towns she held there, but she could not bring herself to hand these over either to the netherlands or to spain. she urged the states to make peace, to which they replied that they did not wish for peace on such terms as spain would alone grant; they could defend themselves for ten years longer if left alone; they did not ask for further help, and only wanted their towns re- stored to them. had the armada started as philip intended in september, it would have found england entirely unprepared, for eliza- beth still obstinately refused to believe in danger, and the few ships that had been held in commission after drake's return fortunate delays. had been so long neglected that they could hardly keep the sea without repair; the rest lay unrigged in the medway. but the delay gave england fresh time for preparation. parma's army was lying in readiness for the invasion under canvas at dunkirk, and their commander had received no information from spain that the sailing of the armada was delayed. the cold, wet, and exposure told terribly upon them, and of the , who were ready to embark in september not , were fit for service at the commencement of the year. the expenses of this army and of the armada were so great that philip was at last driven to give orders to the armada to start. but fortune again favoured england . had the fleet sailed as ordered on the th of january they would again have found the channel undefended, for elizabeth, in one of her fits of economy, had again dismantled half the fleet that had been got ready for sea, and sent the sailors to their homes. but the execution of philip's orders was prevented by the sudden death of santa cruz. the duke of medina-sidonia was appointed his successor, but as he knew nothing of the state of the armada fresh delays became necessary, and the time was occupied by elizabeth, not in preparing for the de- fence of the country, but in fresh negotiations for peace. she was ready to make any concessions to spain, but philip was now only amusing himself by deceiving her. everything was now prepared for the expedition, and just as the fleet was ready to start, the negotiations were broken off. but though eliza- beth's government had made no preparations for the defence of the country, england herself had not been idle. throughout the whole country men had been mustered, officered, and armed, and , were ready to move as soon as the danger became imminent . the musters of the midland counties, , strong, were to form a separate army, and [were to march at once to a spot tarma's opinion. between windsor and harrow. the rest were to gather at the point of danger. the coast companies were to fall back wherever the enemy landed, burning the corn and driving off the cattle, and avoiding a battle until the force of the neigh- bouring counties joined them. should the landing take place as was expected in suffolk, kent, or sussex, it was calculated that between , and , men would bar the way to the invaders before they reached london, while , men of the western counties would remain to encounter the duke of guise, who had engaged to bring across an army of french- men to aid the spaniards. spain, although well aware of the strength of england on the sea, believed that she would have no difficulty with the raw english levies; but parma, who had met the english at sluys, had learnt to respect their fighting qualities, and in a letter to philip gave the opinion that even if the armada brought him a reinforcement of men he would still have an insuffi- cient force for the conquest of england. he said, "when i shall have landed i must fight battle after battle. i shall lose men by wounds and disease, i must leave detachments behind me to keep open my communications, and in a short time the body of my army will become so weak that not only i may be unable to advance in the face of the enemy, and time may be given to the heretics and your majesty's other enemies to inter- fere, but there may fall out some notable inconvenience, with the loss of everything, and i be unable to remedy it." unfortunately, the english fleet was far less prepared than the land forces. the militia had been easily and cheaply ex- temporized, but a fleet can only be prepared by long and pain- ful sacrifices. the entire english navy contained but thirteen ships of over four hundred tons, and including small cutters and pinnaces there were but thirty-eight vessels of all sorts and sizes carrying the queen's flag. fortunately, sir john despair of sir john hawkins. hawkins was at the head of the naval administration, and in spite of the parsimony of elizabeth had kept the fleet in a good state of repair and equipment. the merchant navy, although numerous, was equally deficient in vessels of any size. philip had encouraged ship-building in spain by grants from the crown, allowing four ducats a ton for every ship built of above three hundred tons burden, and six ducats a ton for every one above five hundred tons. thus he had a large supply of great ships to draw upon in addition to those of the royal navy, while in england the largest vessels belonging to private owners did not exceed four hundred tons, and there were not more than two or three vessels of that size sailing from any port of the country. the total allowance by the queen for the repair of the whole of the royal navy, wages of shipwrights, clerks, carpenters, watchmen, cost of timber, and all other necessary dockyard expenses, was but £ a-year. in december the fleet was ready for sea, together with the contingent furnished by the liberality and patriotism of the merchants and citizens of the great ports. but as soon as it was got together half the crews collected and engaged at so great an expense were dismissed, the merchant ships released, and england open to invasion, and had parma started in the vessels he had prepared, lord howard, who commanded the english navy, could not have fired a shot to have prevented his crossing. well might sir john hawkins in his despair at elizabeth's caprices exclaim: "wo are wasting money, wasting strength, dishonouring and discrediting ourselves by our uncertain dally- ing." but though daily reports came from spain of the readi- ness of the armada to set sail, elizabeth, even when she again permitted the navy to be manned, fettered it by allowing it to be provided with rations for only a month at a time, and shameful neglect of the fleet. permitting no reserves to be provided in the victualling stores; while the largest vessels were supplied with ammunition for only a day and a half's service, and the rest of the fleet with but enough for one day's service. the council could do no- thing, and lord howard's letters prove that the queen, and she only, was responsible for the miserable state of things that prevailed. at last, in may, lord howard sailed with the fleet down channel, leaving lord henry seymour with three men-of-war and a squadron of privateers to watch dunkirk. at plymouth the admiral found drake with forty ships, all except one raised and sent to sea at the expense of himself and the gentry and merchants of the west counties. the weather was wild, as it had been all the winter. howard with the great ships lay at anchor in the sound, rolling heavily, while the smaller craft went for shelter into the mouth of the river. there were but eighteen days' provisions on board; fresh supplies promised did not arrive, and the crews were put on half rations, and eked these out by catching fish. at last, when the supplies were just exhausted, the victualling ships arrived with one month's fresh rations,, and a message that no more would be sent. so villainous was the quality of the stores that fever broke out in the fleet . it was not untirthe end of the month that elizabeth would even permit any further preparations to be made, and the sup- plies took some time collecting. the crews would have been starved had not the officers so divided the rations as to make them last six weeks. the men died in scores from dysentery brought on by the sour and poisonous beer issued to them, and howard and drake ordered wine and arrow-root from the town for the use of the sick, and had to pay for it from their own pockets. but at last the armada was ready for starting. contingents the spanish fleet. of spanish, italians, and portuguese were gathered together with the faithful from all countries—jesuits from france; exiled priests, irish and english; and many catholic scotch, english, and irish noblemen and gentlemen. the six squad- rons into which the fleet was divided contained sixty-five large war ships, the smallest of which was seven hundred tons. seven were over one thousand, and the largest, an italian ship, la re- gazona, was thirteen hundred. all were built high like castles, their upper works musket-proof, their main timbers four or five feet thick, and of a strength it was supposed no english can- non could pierce. next to the big ships, or galleons as they were called, were four galleasses, each carrying fifty guns and soldiers and sailors, and rowed by slaves. besides these were four galleys, fifty-six great armed merchant ships, the finest spain possessed, and twenty caravels or small vessels. thus the fighting fleet amounted to vessels, carrying in all cannon. on board was stored an enormous quantity of provi- sions for the use of the army after it landed in england, there being sufficient to feed , men for six months. there were on board sailors, , soldiers, gentlemen volunteers, priests, servants, and miscellaneous officers, and galley slaves. this was indeed a tremendous array to meet the fleet lying off plymoufc, consisting of queen's ships of all sizes, small vessels belonging to lord howard and members of his family, and privateers between and tons under drake, the united crews amounting to something over men. the winter had passed pleasantly to geoffrey and lionel vickars; the earl had taken a great fancy to them, and they had stayed for some time in london as members of his suite. when the spring came they had spoken about rejoining francis vere in holland, but the earl had said that there was little ( ) k further leave of absence. doing there. the enmity excited by the conduct of elizabeth prevented any co-operation between the dutch and english; and indeed the english force was reduced to such straits by the refusal of the queen to furnish money for their pay, or to provide funds for even absolute necessaries, that it was wholly incapable of taking the field, and large numbers of the men returned to england. had this treatment of her soldiers and sailors at the time when such peril threatened their country been occasioned by want of funds, some excuse would have been possible for the conduct of elizabeth; but at the time there were large sums lying in the treasury, and it was parsimony and not incapacity to pay that actuated elizabeth in the course she pursued. as the boys were still uneasy as to the opinion francis vere might form of their continued stay in england, they wrote to him, their letter being inclosed in one from the earl; but the reply set their minds at rest—"by all means stay in england," captain vere wrote, "since there is nothing doing here of any note or consequence, nor likely to be. we are simply idling out time in bergen-op-zoom, and not one of us but is longing to be at home to bear his part in the events pending there. it is hard, indeed, to bo confined in this miserable dutch town while england is n danger. unfortunately we are soldiers and must obey orders; but as you are as yet only volunteers, free to act as you choose, it would be foolish in the extreme for you to come over to this dull place while there is so much going on in england. i have written to my cousin, asking him to intro- duce you to some of the country gentlemen who have fitted out a ship for service against the spaniards, so that you may have a hand in what is going on." this the earl had done, and early in may they had journeyed down to plymouth on horseback with a party of other gentle- the state of the fleet. men who were going on board the active, a vessel of two hundred and fifty tons belonging to a gentleman of devonshire, one master audrey drake, a relation of sir francis drake. the earl himself was with the party. he did not intend to go on board, for he was a bad sailor; and though ready, as he said, to do his share of fighting upon land, would be only an encum- brance on board a ship. he went down principally at the request of cecil and other members of the council, who, knowing that he was a favourite of the queen, thought that his representations as to the state of the fleet might do more than they could do to influence her to send supplies to the distressed sailors. the earl visited the ships lying in the mouth of the tamar, and three times started in a boat to go out to those in the sound; but the sea was so rough, and he was so completely prostrated by sickness, that he had each time to put back. what he saw, however, on board the ships he visited, and heard from lord howard as to the state of those at sea, was quite sufficient . he at once expended a considerable amount of money in buying wine and fresh meat for the sick, and then hurried away to london to lay before the queen the result of his personal observations, and to implore her to order provisions to be immediately despatched to the fleet. but even the description given by one of her favourites of the sufferings of the seamen was insufficient to induce the queen to open her purse-strings, and the earl left her in great dudgeon; and although his private finances had been much straitened by his extravagance and love of display, he at once chartered a ship, filled her with provisions, and despatched her to plymouth. mr. drake and the gentlemen with him took up their abode in the town until there should be need for them to go on board the active, where the accommodation was much cramped, and the armada in sight. life by no means agreeable; and the vickars therefore escaped sharing the sufferings of those on board ship. at the end of may came the news that the armada had sailed on the th, and high hopes were entertained that the period of waiting had terminated. a storm, however, scat- tered the great fleet, and it was not until the th of july that they sailed from the bay of ferrol, where they had collected after the storm. never was there known a season so boisterous as the summer of , and when off ushant, in a south-west gale, four galleys were wrecked on the french coast, and the santa anna, a galleon of tons, went down, carrying with her ninety sea- men, three hundred soldiers, and , ducats in gold. after two days the storm abated, and the fleet again pro- ceeded. at daybreak on the th the lizard was in sight, and an english fishing-boat was seen running along their line. chase was given, but she soon out-sailed her pursuers, and carried the news to plymouth. the armada had already been made out from the coast the night before, and beacon lights had flashed the news all over england. in every village and town men were arming and saddling and marching away to the rendezvous of the various corps. in plymouth the news was received with the greatest rejoic- ing. thanks to the care with which the provisions had been husbanded, and to the manner in which the officers and volun- teers had from their private means supplemented the scanty stores, there was still a week's provisions on board, and this, it was hoped, would suffice for their needs. the scanty supply of ammunition was a greater source of anxiety; but they hoped that fresh supplies would be forthcoming, now that even the queen could no longer close her eyes to the urgent neces- sity of the case. as soon as the news arrived all the gentlemen in the town sailing out to give battle. flocked on board the ships, and on the night of the th the queen's ships and some of the privateers went to moorings behind rarn head, so that they could make clear to sea; and on the morning when the spaniards sighted the lizard, forty sail were lying ready for action under the headland. at three o'clock in the afternoon the look-out men on the hill reported a line of sails on the western horizon. two wings were at first visible, which were gradually united as the top- sails of those in the centre rose above the line of sea. as they arose it could be seen that the great fleet was sailing, in the form of a huge crescent, before a gentle wind . a hundred and fifty ships, large and small, were counted, as a few store-ships bound for flanders had joined the armada for protection. the active was one of the privateers that had late the evening before gone out to ram head, and just as it was growing dusk the anchors were got up, and the little fleet sailed out from the shelter of the land as the armada swept along. the spanish admiral at once ordered the fleet to lie-to for the night, and to prepare for a general action at daybreak, as he knew from a fisherman he had captured that the english fleet were at plymouth. the wind was on shore, but all through the night howard's and drake's ships beat out from the sound until they took their places behind the spanish fleet, whose position they could perfectly make out by the light of the half- moon that rose at two in the morning. on board the english fleet all was confidence and hilarity. the sufferings of the last three months were forgotten. the numbers and magnitude of the spanish ships counted as nothing. the sailors of the west country had met the spaniards on the indian seas and proved their masters, and doubted not for a moment that they should do so again. there was scarce a breath of air when day broke, but at eight o'clock a breeze sprang up from the west, and the harassing the foe. armada made sail and attempted to close with the euglish; but the low, sharp english ships sailed two feet to the one of the floating castles of spain, and could sail close to the wind, while the spanish ships, if they attempted to close-haul their sails, drifted bodily to leeward. howard's flagship, the ark- raleigh, with three other english ships, opened the engage- ment by running down along their rear-line, firing into each galleon as they passed, then wearing round and repeating the manoeuvre. the great san matteo luffed out from the rest of the fleet and challenged them to board, but they simply poured their second broadside into her and passed on. the excellence of the manoeuvring of the english ships, and the rapidity and accuracy of their fire, astonished the spaniards. throughout the whole forenoon the action continued; the spaniards making efforts to close, but in vain, the english ships keeping the weather-gage and sailing continually back- wards and forwards, pouring in their broadsides. the height and size of the spanish ships were against them; and being to leeward they heeled over directly they came up to the wind to fire a broadside, and their shots for the most part went far over their assailants, while they themselves suffered severely from the english fire. miquel de oquendo, who commanded one of the six spanish squadrons, distinguished himself by his attempts to close with the english, and by maintaining his position in the rear of the fleet engaged in constant conflict with them. he was a young nobleman of great promise, distinguished alike for his bravery and chivalrous disposition; but he could do little while the wind remained in the west and the english held the weather-gage. so far only the ships that had been anchored out under ram head had taken part in the fight, those lying higher up in the sound being unable to make their way out. at noon the exertions of their crews, who had from the preceding evening worked incessantly, prevailed, and they captain of the "capitana." wore now seen coming out from behind the headland to take part in the struggle. medina-sidonia signalled to his fleet to make sail up channel, martinez de ricaldo covering the rear with the squadron of biscay. he was vice-admiral of the fleet, and considered to be the best seaman spain possessed now that santa cruz was dead. the wind was now rising. lord howard sent off a fast boat with letters to lord henry seymour, telling him how things had gone so far, and bidding him be prepared for the arrival of the spanish fleet in the downs. as the afternoon went on the wind rose, and a rolling sea came in from the west. howard still hung upon the spanish rear, firing but seldom in order to save his powder. as evening fell, the spanish vessels, huddled closely together, frequently came into collision with one another, and in one of these the capitana, the flagship of the andalusian division, commanded by admiral pedro de valdez, had her bowsprit carried away, the foremast fell overboard, and the ship dropped out of her placo. two of the galleasses came to her assistance and tried to take her in tow, but the waves were running so high that the cable broke. pedro de valdez had been commander of the spanish fleet on the coast of holland, and knew the english channel and the northern shores of france and holland well. the duke therefore despatched boats to bring him off with his crew, but he refused to leave his charge. howard, as with his ships he passed her, believed her to be deserted and went on after the fleet; but a london vessel kept close to her and ex- changed shots with her all night, until drake, who had turned aside to chase what he believed to be a portion of the spanish fleet that had separated itself from the rest, but which turned out to be the merchant ships that had joined it for protection, came up, and the capitana struck her flag. drake took her into torbay, and there left her in the care of the brixham a ship blown up. fishermen, and taking with him valdez and the other officers sailed away to join lord howard. the fishermen, on search- ing the ship, found some tons of gunpowder on board her. knowing the scarcity of ammunition in the fleet they placed this on board the jioebuck, the fastest trawler in the harbour, and she started at once in pursuit of the fleet . the misfortune to the capitana was not the only one that befell the spaniards. while oquendo was absent from his galleon a quarrel arose among the officers, who were furious at the ill result of the day's fighting. the captain struck the master-gunner with a stick; the latter, a german, rushed below in a rage, thrust a burning fuse into a powder barrel, and sprang through a port-hole into the sea. the whole of the deck was blown up, with two hundred sailors and soldiers; but the ship was so strongly built that she survived the shock, and her mast still stood. the duke sent boats to learn what had happened . these carried off the few who remained unhurt, but there was no means of taking off the wounded. these, however, were treated kindly and sent on shore when the ship was picked up at daylight by the english, who, on rifling her, found to their delight that there were still many powder barrels on board that had escaped the explosion. the morning broke calm, and the wind, when it came, was from the east, which gave the spaniards the advantago of position. the two fleets lay idle all day three or four miles apart, and the next morning, as the wind was still from the east, the spaniards bore down upon howard to offer battle. the english, however, headed out to sea. encouraged by seeing their assailants avoid a pitched battle the spaniards gave chase. the san marcos, the fastest sailer in the fleet, left the rest behind, and when the breeze headed round at noon she was several miles to windward of her consorts, and the english off portland. at once set upon her. she fought with extreme courage, and defended herself single-handed for an hour and a half, when oquendo came up to the rescue, and as the action off ply- mouth had almost exhausted his stock of powder, and the brixham sloop had not yet come up, howard was obliged to draw off. the action of this day was fought off portland. during the three days the british fleet had been to sea they had received almost hourly reinforcements. from every harbour and fishing port along the coast from plymouth to the isle of wight vessels of all sizes, smacks, and boats put off, crowded with noblemen and gentlemen anxious to take part in the action, and their enthusiasm added to that of the weary and ill-fed sailors. at the end of the third day the english fleet had increased to a hundred sail, many of which, however, were of very small burden. chapter ix. the rout of the armada. he fight between the fleets had begun on sunday morning, and at the end of the third day the strength of the armada remained unbroken. the moral effect had no doubt been great, but the loss of two or three ships was a trifle to so large a force, and the spirit of the spaniards had been raised by the gallant and successful defence the san marcos had made on the tues- day afternoon. wednesday was again calm. the magazines of the english ships were empty. though express after express had been sent off praying that ammunition might be sent, none had arrived, and the two fleets lay six miles apart without action, save that the galleasses came out and skirmished for a while with the english ships. that evening, however, a supply of ammunition sufficient for another day's fighting arrived, and soon after daybreak the english fleet moved down towards the armada, and for the first time engaged them at close quarters. the ark-raleigh, the bear, the elizabeth jones, the lion, and the victory bore on straight into the centre of the spanish galleons, exchanging broadsides with each as they passed. oquendo with his vessel was right in the course of the english flagship, and a collision took place, in which the ark-raleigh's rudder was unshipped, and she became unmanageable. speed against weight. the enemy's vessels closed round her, but she lowered her boats, and these, in spite of the fire of the enemy, brought her head round before the wind, and she made her way through her antagonists and got clear. for several hours the battle continued. the spanish fire was so slow, and their ships so un- wieldy, that it was rarely they succeeded in firing a shot into their active foes, while the english shot tore their way through the massive timbers of the spanish vessels, scattering the splinters thickly among the soldiers, who had been sent below to be out of harm's way; but beyond this, and inflicting much damage upon masts and spars, the day's fighting had no actual results. no captures were made by the english. the spaniards suffered, but made no sign; nevertheless their confidence in their powers was shaken. their ammunition was also running short, and they had no hope of refilling their magazines until they effected a junction with parma. their admiral that night wrote to him asking that two shiploads of shot and powder might be sent to him immediately. "the enemy pursue me," he said; "they fire upon me most days from morning till nightfall, but they will not close and grapple. i have given them every opportunity. i have purposely left ships exposed to tempt them to board, but they decline to do it; and there is no remedy, for they are swift and we are slow. they have men and ammunition in abundance." the spanish admiral was unaware that the english magazines were even more empty than his own. on friday morning howard sailed for dover to take in the supplies that were so sorely needed. the earl of sussex, who was in command of the castle, gave him all that he had, and the stores taken from the prizes came up in light vessels and were divided among the fleet, and in the evening the english fleet again sailed out and took up its place in the rear of the armada. a critical position. on saturday morning the weather changed. after six days of calm and sunshine it began to blow hard from the west, with driving showers. the spaniards, having no pilots who knew the coasts, anchored off calais. the english fleet, closely watching their movements, brought up two miles astern. the spanish admiral sent off another urgent letter to parma at dunkirk, begging him to send immediately thirty or forty fast gunboats to keep the english at bay. parma had received the admiral's letters, and was perfectly ready to embark his troops, but could not do this as the admiral expected he would, until the fleet came up to protect him. the lighters and barges he had constructed for the passage were only fit to keep the sea in calm weather, and would have been wholly at the mercy of even a single english ship of war. he could not, therefore, embark his troops until the duke arrived. as to the gunboats asked for, he had none with him. but while the spanish admiral had grave cause for uneasi- ness in the situation in which he found himself, lord howard had no greater reason for satisfaction. in spite of his efforts the enemy's fleet had arrived at their destination with their strength still unimpaired, and were in communication with the duke of parma's army. lord seymour had come up with a squadron from the mouth of the thames, but his ships had but one day's provisions on board, while drake and howard's divisions had all but exhausted their supplies. the previous day's fighting had used up the ammunition obtained at dover. starvation would drive every english ship from the sea in an- other week at latest. the channel would then be open for the passage of parma's army. at five o'clock on sunday evening a council of war was held in lord howard's cabin, and it was determined, that as it was impossible to attack the spanish fleet where they lay at the edge of shallow water, an attempt must be made to the fire-ships. drive them out into the channel with fire-ships. eight of the private vessels were accordingly taken, and such combustibles as could be found—pitch, tar, old sails, empty casks, and other materials—were piled into them . at midnight the tide set directly from the english fleet towards the spaniards, and the fire-ships, manned by their respective crews, hoisted sail and drove down towards them. when near the armada the crews set fire to the combus- tibles, and taking to their boats rowed back to the fleet. at the sight of the flames bursting up from the eight ships bear- ing down upon them, the spaniards were seized with a panic. the admiral fired a gun as a signal, and all cut their cables and hoisted sail, and succeeded in getting out to sea before the fire-ships arrived. they lay-to six miles from shore, intend" ing to return in the morning and recover their anchors; but drake with his division of the fleet, and seymour with the squadron from the thames, weighed their anchors and stood off after them, while howard with his division remained off calais, where, in the morning, the largest of the four galleasses was seen aground on calais bar. lord howard wasted many precious hours in capturing her before he set off to join drake and seymour, who were thundering against the spanish fleet . the wind had got up during the night, and the spaniards had drifted farther than they expected, and when morning dawned were scattered over the sea off gravelines. signals were made for them to collect, but before they could do so drake and seymour came up and opened fire within pistol-shot. the eng- lish admiral saw at once that, with the wind rising from the south, if he could drive the unwieldy galleons north they would be cut off from dunkirk, and would not be able to beat back again until there was a change of wind. all through the morning the english ships poured a con- tinuous shower of shot into the spanish vessels, which, huddled a long day's struggle. together in a confused mass, were unable to make any return whatever. the duke and oquendo, with some of the best sailors among the fleet, tried to bear out from the crowd and get room to manoeuvre, but drake's ships were too weatherly and too well handled to permit of this, and they were driven back again into the confused mass, which was being slowly forced towards the shoals and banks of the coasts. howard came up at noon with his division, and until sun- set the fire was maintained, by which time almost the last cartridge was spent, and the crews worn out by their incessant labour. they took no prizes, for they never attempted to board. they saw three great galleons go down, and three more drift away towards the sands of ostend, where they were cap- tured either by the english garrisoned there or by three vessels sent by lord willoughby from flushing, under the command of francis vere. had the english ammunition lasted but a few more hours the whole of the armada would have been either driven ashore or sunk; but when the last cartridge had been burned the assailants drew off to take on board the storeb which had, while the fighting was going on, been brought up by some provision ships from the thames. but the spaniards were in no condition to benefit by the cessation of the attack. in spite of the terrible disadvantages under which they laboured, they had fought with splendid courage. the sides of the galleons had been riddled with shot, and the splinters caused by the rending of the massive timbers had done even greater execution than the iron hail. being always to leeward, and heeling over with the wind, the ships had been struck again and again below the water-line, and many were only kept from sinking by nailing sheets of lead over the shot-holes. their guns were, for the most part, dismounted or knocked to pieces. several had lost masts, the carnage among the after the battle. crews was frightful, and yet not a single ship hauled down her colours. the san matteo, which was one of those that grounded between ostend and sluys, fought to the last, and kept francis vere's three ships at bay for two hours, until she was at last earned by boarding. left to themselves at the end of the day, the spaniards gathered in what order they could, and made sail for the north. on counting the losses they found that four thousand men had been killed or drowned, and the number of wounded must have been far greater. the crews were utterly worn-out and ex- hausted. they had the day before been kept at work cleaning and refitting, and the fire-ships had disturbed them early in the night . during the engagement there had been no time to servo out food, and the labours of the long struggle had completely exhausted them. worst of all, they were utterly disheartened by the day's fighting. they had been pounded by their active foes, who fired five shots to their one, and whose vessels sailed round and round them, while they themselves had inflicted no damage that they could perceive upon their assailants. the english admirals had no idea of the extent of the victory they had won. howard, who had only come up in the middle of the fight, believed that they "were still wonderful great and strong," while even drake, who saw more clearly how much they had suffered, only ventured to hope that some days at least would elapse before they could join hands with parma. in spite of the small store of ammunition that had arrived the night before, the english magazines were almost empty; but they determined to show a good front, and "give chase as though they wanted nothing." when the morning dawned the english fleet were still to windward of the armada, while to leeward were lines of white foam, where the sea was breaking on the shoals of hol- land . it seemed that the armada was lost. at this critical the spaniards sail north. moment toe wind suddenly shifted to the east. this threw the english fleet to leeward, and enabled the spaniards to head out from the coast and make for the north sea. the spanish admiral held a council. the sea had gone down, and they had now a fair wind for calais; and the question was put to the sailing-masters and captains whether they should return into the channel or sail north round scotland and ireland, and so return to spain. the former was the courage- ous course, but the spirit of the spaniards was broken, and the vote was in favour of what appeared a way of escape. therefore, the shattered fleet bore on its way north. on board the english fleet a similar council was being held, and it was determined that lord seymour's squadron should return to guard the channel . lest parma should take advantage of the absence of the fleet to cross from dunkirk to england, and that howard and drake with their ninety ships should pursue the spaniards; for it was not for a moment supposed that the latter had entirely abandoned their enterprise, and intended to return to spain without making another effort to rejoin parma. during the week's fighting geoffrey and lionel vickars had taken such part as they could in the contest; but as there had been no hand-to-hand fighting, the position of the volunteers on board the fleet had been little more than that of spectators. the crews worked the guns and manoeuvred the sails, and the most the lads could do was to relieve the ship-boys in carry- ing up powder and shot, and to take round drink to men serv- ing the guns. when not otherwise engaged they had watched with intense excitement the manoeuvres of their own ship and of those near them, as they swept down towards the great hulls, delivered their broadsides, and then shot off again before the spaniards had had time to discharge more than a gun or two. the sails had been pierced in several places, but not a single geoffrey carried overuoari) by the falling mast. geoffrey knocked overboard. shot had struck the hull of the vessel. in the last day's fighting, however, the active became entangled among several of the spanish galleons, and being almost becalmed by their lofty hulls, one of them ran full at her, and rolling heavily in the sea, seemed as if she would overwhelm her puny antagonist . geoffrey was standing at the end of the poop when the mizzen rigging became entangled in the stern gallery of the spaniard, and a moment later the mast snapped off, and as it fell carried him overboard. for a moment he was half-stunned, but caught hold of a piece of timber shot away from one of the enemy's ships, and clung to it mechanically. when he recovered and looked round, the active had drawn out from between the spaniards, and the great galleon which had so nearly sunk her was close beside him. the sea was in a turmoil; the waves as they set in from the west being broken up by the rolling of the great ships, and torn by the hail of shot. the noise was prodigious, from the incessant cannonade kept up by the english ships and the return of the artillery on board the armada, the rending of timber, the heavy crashes as the great galleons rolled against one another, the shouting on board the spanish ships, the creaking of the masts and yards, and the flapping of the sails. on trying to strike out, geoffrey found that as he had been knocked overboard he had struck his right knee severely against the rail of the vessel, and was at present unable to use that leg. fearful of being run down by one of the great ships, and still more of being caught between two of them as they rolled, he looked round to try to get sight of an english ship in the throng. then, seeing that he was entirely surrounded by spaniards, he left the spar and swam as well as he could to the bow of a great ship close beside him, and grasping a rope trailing from the bowsprit, managed by its aid to climb up until he reached the bobstay, across which he seated him- ( ) l g on board a spaniard. self with his back to the stem. the position was a pre- carious ono, and after a timo he gained the wooden carved work above, and obtained a seat there just below the bowsprit, and hidden from the sight of those on deck a few feet above him. as he knew the vessels were drifting to leeward towards the shoals, he hoped to remain hidden until the vessel struck, and then to gain the shore. presently the shifting of the positions of the ships brought the vessel on which he was into the outside line. the shots now flew thickly about, and he could from time to time feel a jar as the vessel was struck. so an hour went on. at the end of that time he heard a great shouting on deck, and the sound of men running to and fro. happening to look down he saw that the sea was but a few feet below him, and knew that the great galleon was sink- ing. another quarter of an hour she was so much lower that he was suro she could not swim many minutes longer; and to avoid being drawn down with her he dropped into the water and swam off. he was but a short distance away when he heard a loud cry, and glancing over his shoulder saw the ship disap- pearing. he swam desperately, but was caught in the suck and carried under; but there was no great depth of water, and he soon came to the surface again. the sea was dotted with struggling men and pieces of wreckage. he swam to one of the latter, and held on until he saw some boats, which the next spanish ship had lowered when she saw her consort disap- pearing, rowing towards them, and was soon afterwards hauled into one of them. he had closed his eyes as it came up, and assumed the appearance of insensibility, and he lay in the bottom of the boat immovable, until after a time he heard voices above, and then felt himself being carried up the ladder and laid down on the deck. he remained quiet for some time, thinking over what he geoffrey" s stratagem. had best do. he was certain that were it known he was english he would at once be stabbed and thrown overboard, for there was no hope of quarter; but he was for some time unable to devise any plan by which, even for a short time, to conceal his nationality. he only knew a few words of spanish, and would be detected the moment he opened his lips. he thought of leaping up suddenly and jumping over- board; but his chance of reaching the english ships to wind- ward would be slight indeed. at last an idea struck him, and sitting up he opened his eyes and looked round. several other spaniards who had been picked up lay exhausted on the deck near him. a party of soldiers and sailors close by were working a cannon. the bulwarks were shot away in many places, dead and dying men lay scattered about, the decks were everywhere stained with blood, and no one paid any attention to him until presently the fire began to slacken. shortly afterwards a spanish officer came up and spoke to him . geoffrey rose to his feet, rubbed his eyes, yawned, and burst into an idiotic laugh. the officer spoke again but he paid no attention, and the spaniard turned away, believing that the lad had lost his senses from fear and the horrors of the day. as night came on he was several times addressed, but always with the same result . when after dark food and wine were served out, he seized the portion offered to him, and hurrying away crouched under the shelter of a gun, and devoured it as if fearing it would be taken from him again. when he saw that the sailors were beginning to repair some of the most necessary ropes and stays that had been shot away, he pushed his way through them and took his share of the work, laughing idiotically from time to time. he had, when he saw that the galleon was sinking, taken off his doublet, the better to be able to swim, and in his shirt and trunks there was nothing to distinguish him from a spaniard, and none sus- a grateful sovereign i board, and the vessels dropped behind crippled, to be picked up by the pursuing fleet . lord howard followed as far as the mouth of the forth; and seeing that the spaniards made no effort to enter the estuary, and his provisions being now well-nigh exhausted, he hove the fleet about and made back for the channel, leaving two small vessels only to follow the armada and watch its course, believing that it would make for denmark, refit there, and then return to rejoin parma. it was a grievous disappointment to the english to be thus forced by want of provisions to relinquish the pursuit. had they been properly supplied with provisions and ammunition they could have made an end of the armada; whereas, they believed that by allowing them now to escape the whole work would have to be done over again. they had sore trouble to get back again off the norfolk coast. the wind became so furious that the fleet was scattered. a few of the largest ships reached margate; others were driven into harwich, others with difficulty kept the sea until the storm broke. it might have been thought that after such service as the fleet had rendered even elizabeth might have been generous; but now that the danger was over, she became more niggardly than ever. no fresh provisions were supplied for the sick men, and though in the fight off the dutch coast only some fifty or sixty had been killed, in the course of a very short time the crews were so weakened by deaths and disease that scarce a ship could have put to sea, however urgent the necessity. drake and howard spent every penny they could raise in buying fresh meat and vegetables, and in procuring some sort of shelter on shore for the sick. had the men received the wages due to them they could have made a shift to have purchased what they so urgently required; but though the treasury was full of money, not a penny was forthcoming until every item of the accounts terrible weather. had been investigated and squabbled over. howard was com- pelled to pay from his private purse for everything that had been purchased at plymouth, sir john hawkins was absolutely ruined by the demands made on him to pay for necessaries supplied to the fleet, and had the admirals and sailors of the fleet that saved england behaved like ignominious cowards, their treatment could not have been worse than that which they received at the hands of their sovereign. but while the english seamen were dying like sheep from disease and neglect, their conquered foes were faring no better. they had breathed freely for the first time when they saw the english fleet bear up; an examination was made of the pro- visions that were left, and the crews were placed on rations of eight ounces of bread, half a pint of wine, and a pint of water a day. the fleet was still a great one, for of the hundred and fifty ships which had sailed from corunna, a hundred and twenty still held together. the weather now turned bitterly cold, with fog and mist, squalls and driving showers; and the vessels, when they reached the north coast of scotland, lost sight of each other, and each struggled for herself in the tempestuous sea. a week later the weather cleared, and on the th of august geoffrey looking round at daybreak saw fifteen other ships in sight. among these were the galleons of calderon and ricaldo, the rita, san marcos, and eleven other vessels. signals were flying from all of them, but the sea was so high that it was scarce possible to lower a boat. that night it again blew hard and the fog closed in, and in the morning geoffrey found that the ship he was on, and all the others, with the exception of that of calderon, were steering north; the in- tention of ricaldo and de leyva being to make for the ork- neys and refit there. calderon had stood south, and had come upon sidonia with fifty ships; and these, bearing well wreck and disaster. away to the west of ireland, finally succeeded for the most part in reaching spain, their crews reduced by sickness and want to a mero shadow of their original strength. the cold became bitter as de leyva's ships made their way towards the orkneys. the storm was furious, and the sailors, unaccustomed to the cold and weakened by disease and famine, could no longer work their ships, and de leyva was obliged at last to abandon his intention and make south. one galleon was driven on the faroe islands, a second on the orkneys, and a third on the isle of mull, where it was attacked by the natives and burned with almost every one on board. the rest managed to make the west coast of ireland, and the hope that they would find shelter in galway bay, or the mouth of the shannon, began to spring up in the breasts of the exhausted crews. the irish were their co-religionists and allies, and had only been waiting for news of the success of the armada to rise in arms against the english, who had but few troops there. rumours of disaster had arrived, and a small frigate had been driven into tralee bay. the fears of the garrison at tralee castle over- came their feelings of humanity, and all on board were put to death. two galleons put into dingle, and landing begged for water; but the natives, deciding that the spanish cause was a lost one, refused to give them a drop, seized the men who had landed in the boats, and the galleons had to put to sea again. another ship of a thousand tons, our lady of the rosary, was driven into the furious straits between the blasket islands and the coast of kerry. of her crew of seven hundred, five hun- dred had died. before she got half-way through she struck among the breakers, and all the survivors perished save the son of the pilot, who was washed ashore lashed to a plank. six others who had reached the mouth of the shannon sent their boats ashore for water; but although there were no eng- lish there the irish feared to supply them, even though the an inhospitable shore. spaniards offered any sum of money for a few casks. one of the ships was abandoned and the others put to sea, only to be dashed ashore in the same gale that wrecked our lady of hie rosary, and of all their crews only one hundred and fifty men were cast ashore alive. along the coast of conuemara, mayo, and sligo many other ships were wrecked. in almost every case the crews who reached the shore were at once murdered by the native savages for the sake of their clothes and jewellery. geoffrey had suffered as much as the rest of the crew on board the galleon in which he sailed. all were so absorbed by their own suffering and misery that none paid any attention to the idiot boy in their midst. he worked at such work as there was to do: assisted to haul on the ropes, to throw the dead overboard, and to do what could be done for the sick and wounded. like all on board he was reduced almost to a skeleton, and was scarce able to stand. as the surviving ships passed galway bay, one of them, which was leaking so badly that she could only have been kept afloat a few hours in any case, entered it, and brought up opposite the town. don lewis of cordova, who com- manded, sent a party on shore, believing that in galway, between which town and spain there had always been close connections, they would be well received. they were, how- ever, at once taken prisoners. an attempt was made to get up the anchors again, but the crow were too feeble to be able to do so, and the natives coming out in their boats, all were taken prisoners and sent on shore. sir richard bingham, the governor of connaught, arrived in a few hours, and at once despatched search parties through clare and connemara to bring all spaniards cast ashore alive to the town, and sent his son to mayo to fetch down all who landed there. but young bingham's mission proved useless; every spaniard who had the fate of the survivors. landed had been murdered by the natives, well-nigh three thou- sand having been slain by the axes and knives of the savages who professed to be their co-religionists. sir richard bingham was regarded as a humane man, but he feared the consequences should the eleven hundred prisoners collected at galway be restored to health and strength. he had but a handful of troops under him, and had had the greatest difficulty in keeping down the irish alone. with eleven hundred spanish soldiers to aid them the task would be impossible, and accordingly he gave orders that all, with the exception of don lewis himself, and three or four other nobles, should be executed. the order was carried out; don lewis, with those spared, was sent under an escort to dublin, but the others being too feeble to walk were killed or died on the way, and don lewis himself was the sole survivor out of the crews of a dozen ships. de leyva, the most popular officer in the armada, had with him in his ship two hundred and fifty young nobles of the oldest families in spain. he was twice wrecked. the first time all reached the shore in safety, and were protected by o'niel, who was virtually the sovereign of the north of ulster. he treated them kindly for a time. they then took to sea again, but were finally wrecked off dunluce, and all on board save five perished miserably. over eight thousand spaniards died on the irish coast. eleven hundred were put to death by bingham, three thousand murdered by the irish, the rest drowned; and of the whole armada but fifty-four vessels, carrying between nine and ten thousand worn-out men, reached spain, and of the survivors a large proportion after- wards died from the effects of the sufferings they had endured. chapter x. the war in holland. the confusion caused by the collision of the active with the spanish galleon no one had noticed the accident which had befallen geoffrey vickars, and his brother's distress was great when, on the ship getting free from among the spaniards, he discovered that geoffrey was missing. he had been by his side on the poop but a minute before the mast fell, and had no doubt that he had been carried overboard by its wreck. that he had sur- vived he had not the least hope, and when a week later the active on her way back towards the thames was driven into harwich, he at once landed and carried the sad news to his parents. england was wild with joy at its deliverance, but the household at hedingham was plunged into deep sorrow. weeks passed and then lionel received a letter from francis vere saying that parma's army was advancing into holland, and that as active work was at hand he had best, if his inten- tions remained unchanged, join him without delay. he started two days later for harwich, and thence took ship for bergen-op-zoom. anchoring at flushing, he learned that the duke of parma had already sat down in front of bergen- op-zoom, and had on the th attempted to capture tholen on the opposite side of the channel, but had been repulsed by the regiment of count solms, with a loss of men. he had at bergen-op-zoom. then thrown up works against the water forts, and hot fighting had gone on, the garrison making frequent sallies upon the be- siegers. the water forts still held out, and the captain therefore determined to continue his voyage into the town. the ship was fired at by the spanish batteries, but passed safely between the water forts and dropped anchor in the port on the last day of september, lionel having been absent from holland just a year. he landed at once and made his way to the lodgings of francis vere, by whom he was received with great cor- diality. "i was greatly grieved," he said after the first greetings, "to hear of your brother's death. i felt it as if he had been a near relative of my own. i had hoped to see you both; and that affair concerning which my cousin wrote to me, telling me how cleverly you had discovered a plot against the queen's life, showed me that you would both be sure to make your way. your father and mother must have felt the blow terribly?" "they have indeed," lionel said. "i do not think, how- ever, that they altogether give up hope. they cling to the idea that he may have been picked up by some spanish ship and may now be a prisoner in spain." francis vere shook his head. "of course, i know," lionel went on, "their hope is alto- gether without foundation; for even had geoffrey gained one of their ships, he would at once have been thrown overboard. still i rather encouraged the idea, for it is better that hope should die out gradually than be extinguished at a blow; and slight though it was it enabled my father and mother to bear up better than they otherwise would have done. had it not been for that i believe that my mother would have well-nigh sunk beneath it. i was very glad when i got your letter, for active service will be a distraction to my sorrow. we have ever been together, geoffrey and i, and i feel like one lost with- a quiet time out him. you have not had much fighting here, i think, since i have been away?" "no, indeed; you have been far more lucky than i have," francis vere said. "with the exception of the fight with the san matteo i have been idle ever since i saw you, for not a shot has been fired here, while you have been taking part in the great fight for the very existence of our country. it is well that parma has been wasting nine months at dunkirk, for it would have gone hard with us had he marched hither instead of waiting there for the arrival of the armada. our force here has fallen away to well-nigh nothing. the soldiers could get no pay, and were almost starved; their clothes were so ragged that it was pitiful to see them. great numbers have died, and more gone back to england. as to the dutch, they are more occupied in quarrelling with us than in preparing for defence, and they would right willingly see us go so that we did but deliver flushing and brill and this town back again to them. i was truly glad when i heard that parma had broken up his camp at dunkirk when the armada sailed away, and was marching hither. now that he has come, it may be that these ■wretched disputes will come to an end, and that something like peace and harmony will prevail in our councils. he could not have done better, as far as we are concerned, than in coming to knock his head against these walls; for bergen is far too strong for him to take, and he will assuredly meet with no suc- cess here such as would counterbalance in any way the blow that spanish pride has suffered in the defeat of the armada. i think, lionel, that you have outgrown your pageship, and since you have been fighting as a gentleman volunteer in drake's fleet you had best take the same rank here." the siege went on but slowly. vigorous sorties were made, and the cavalry sometimes sallied out from the gates and made excursions as far as wouw, a village three miles away, and took a treacherous knave. many prisoners. among these were two commissaries of ord- nance, who were intrusted to the safe keeping of the deputy- provost redhead. they werenot strictly kept, and were allowed to converse with the provost's friends. one of these, william grimeston, suspected that one of the commissaries, who pre- tended to be an italian, was really an english deserter who had gone over with the traitor stanley; and in order to see if his suspicions were correct, pretended that he was dissatisfied with his position and would far rather be fighting on the other side. the man at once fell into the trap, acknowledged that he was an englishman, and said that if grimeston and redhead would but follow his advice they would soon become rich men, for that if they could arrange to give up one of the forts to parma they would be magnificently rewarded . redhead and grimeston pretended to agree, but at once in- formed lord willoughby, who was in command, of the offer that had been made to them . they were ordered to continue their negotiations with the traitor. the latter furnished them with letters to stanley and parma, and with these they made their way out of the town at night to the spanish camp. they had an interview with the duke, and promised to deliver the north water fort ovor to him, for which service redhead was to receive crowns and grimeston crowns, and a com- mission in stanley's regiment of traitors. stanley himself entertained them in his tent, and parma presented them with two gold chains. they then returned to bergen and related all that had taken place to lord willoughby. the matter was kept a profound secret in the town, francis vere, who was in command of the north fort, and a few others only being made acquainted with what was going on. on the appointed night, d of october, grimeston went out alone, redhead's supposed share of the business being to open the gates of the fort. when grimeston arrived at parma's caught in a trap. camp he found that the spaniards had become suspicious. he was bound and placed in charge of a spanish captain, who was ordered to stab him at once if there was any sign of treachery. it was a dark night; the tide was out, for the land over which the spaniards had to advance was flooded at other times. the attacking column consisted of three thousand men, including stanley's regiment; and a number of knights and nobles accompanied it as volunteers. as they approached the forts—grimeston in front closely guarded by the spanish captain—it was seen by the assailants that redhead had kept his word: the drawbridge across the moat was down and the portcullis was up. within the fort lord willoughby, vere, and two thousand men were waiting them. when about fifty had crossed the drawbridge the port cullis was suddenly let fall and the drawbridge hauled up. as the portcullis thundered down grimeston tripped up the sur- prised spaniard, and, leaping into the water, managed to make his way to the foot of the walls. a discharge of musketry and artillery from the fort killed a hundred and fifty of the attack- ing party, while those who had crossed the drawbridge were all either killed or taken prisoners. but the water in the moat was low. the spaniards gallantly waded across and attacked the palisades, but were repulsed in their endeavour to climb them. while the fight was going on the water in the moat was rising, and scores were washed away and drowned as they attempted to return. parma continued the siege for some little time, but made no real attempt to take the place after having been repulsed at the north fort; and on the th of november broke up his camp and returned to brussels. after the siege was over lord willoughby knighted twelve of his principal officers, foremost among whom was francis vere, who was now sent home with despatches by his general, and a mutinous garrison. remained in england until the end of january, when he was appointed sergeant-major-general of the forces, a post of great responsibility and much honour, by lord willoughby, with the full approval of the queen's government. he was accompanied on his return by his brother robert . a month after sir francis vere's return lord willoughby left for england, and the whole burden of operations in the field fell upon vere. his first trouble arose from the mutin- ous conduct of the garrison of gertruydenberg. this was an important town on the banks of the old maas, and was strongly fortified, one side being protected by the maas while the river douge swept round two other sides of its walls. its governor, count hohenlohe, had been unpopular, the troops had received no pay, and there had been a partial mutiny before the siege of bergen-op-zoom began. this was appeased by the appointment of sir john wingfield, lord willoughby's brother- in-law, as its governor. in the winter the discontent broke out again. the soldiers had been most unjustly treated by the states, and there were long arrears of pay, and at first sir john wingfield espoused the cause of the men. sir francis vere tried in vain to arrange matters. the dutch authorities would not pay up the arrears, the men would not return to their duty until they did so, and at last became so exasperated that they ceased to obey their governor and opened communications with the enemy. prince maurice, who was now three and twenty years old, and devoted to martial pursuits and the cause of his countrymen, after consultation with sir francis vere, laid siege to the town and made a furious assault upon it on the water side. but the dutch troops, although led by count solms and count philip of nassau, were repulsed with great loss. the prince then promised not only a pardon, but that the demands of the gar- rison should be complied with; but it was too late, and four sir francis vere in command. days later gertruydenberg was delivered up by the mutineers to the duke of parma, the soldiers being received into the spanish service, while wingfield and the officers were permitted to retire. the states were furious, as this was the third city commanded by englishmen that had been handed over to the enemy. the bad feeling excited by the treachery of sir william stanley and roland yorke at deventer and zutphen had died out after the gallant defence of the english at sluys, but now broke out again afresh, and charges of treachery were brought not only against wingfield but against many other english officers, including sir francis vere. the queen, however, wrote so indig- nantly to the states that they had to withdraw their charges against most of the english officers. in may lord willoughby, who was still in london, resigned his command. a number of old officers of distinction who might have laid claims to succeed him, among them sir john norris, sir roger williams, sir thomas wilford, sir william drury, sir thomas baskerville, and sir john burrough, were withdrawn from the netherlands to serve in france or ireland, and no general-in-chief or lieutenant-general was appointed, sir francis vere as sergeant-major receiving authority to com- mand all soldiers already in the field or to be sent out during the absence of the general and lieutenant-general. his official title was her majesty's sergeant-major in the field. the gar- risons in the towns were under the command of their own gov- ernors, and those could supply troops for service in the field according to their discretion. the appointment of so young a man as sir francis vere to a post demanding not only military ability but great tact and diplomatic power, was abundant proof of the high esti- mate formed of him by the queen and her counsellors. the position was one of extreme difficulty. he had to keep on the relief of rheinberg. good terms with the queen and her government, with the government of the states, the english agent at the hague, prince maurice in command of the army of the netherlands, the english governors of the towns, and the officers or men of the force under his own command. fortunately barneveldt, who at that time was the most prominent man in the states, had a high opinion of vere. sir thomas bodley, the queen's agent, had much confidence in him, and acted with him most cordially, and prince maurice entertained a great respect for him, consulted him habitually in all military matters, and placed him in the position of marshal of the camp of the army of the netherlands, in addition to his own command of the english portion of that army. vere's first undertaking was to lead a force of , men, of whom half were english, to prevent count mansfelt from crossing the maas with an army of equal strength. prince maurice was present in person as general-in-chief. intrench- ments were thrown up and artillery planted; but just as mans felt was preparing to cross his troops mutinied, and he was obliged to fall back. in october, with of his own troops and twelve companies of dutch horse, sir francis vere succeeded in throwing a con- voy of provisions into the town of rheinberg, which was be- sieged by a large force of the enemy. as soon as he returned the states requested him to endeavour to throw in another convoy, as count mansfelt was marching to swell the force of the besiegers, and; after his arrival it would be well-nigh im- possible to send further aid into the town. vere took with him english and dutch infantry, and dutch cavalry. the enemy had possession of a fortified country house called loo, close to which lay a thick wood traversed only by a narrow path, with close undergrowth and swampy ground on either side. the enemy were in great force around ( ) m a sharp fight. loo, and came out to attack the expedition as it passed through the wood. sending the dutch troops on first, vere attacked the enemy vigorously with his infantry and drove them back to the inclosure of loo. as soon as his whole force had crossed the wood, he halted them and ordered them to form in line of battle facing the wood through which they had just passed, and from which the enemy were now pouring out in great force. . in order to give time to his troops to prepare for the action vere took half his english infantry and advanced against them. they moved forward, and a stubborn fight took place between the pikemen. vere's horse was killed, and fell on him so that he could not rise; but the english closed round him, and he was rescued with no other harm than a bruised leg and several pike-thrusts through his clothes. while the con- flict between the pikemen was going on the english arque- busiers opened fire on the flank of the enemy, and they began to fall back. four times they rallied and charged the english, but were at last broken and scattered through the wood. the cavalry stationed there left their horses and fled through the undergrowth. pressing forward the little english force next fell upon twenty-four companies of neapolitan infantry, who were defeated without difficulty. the four hundred and fifty englishmen then joined the main force, which marched trium- phantly with their convoy of provisions into rheinberg, and the next morning fortunately turning thick and foggy the force made its way back without interruption by the enemy. chapter xi. in spain. lone among the survivors of the great spanish armada, geoffrey vickars saw the coast of ire- land fade away from sight without a feeling of satisfaction or relief. his hope had been that the ship would be wrecked on her progress down the coast. he knew not that the wild irish were slaying all whom the sea spared, and that ignorant as they were of the english tongue, he would undoubtedly have shared the fate of his spanish companions. he thought only of the risk of being drowned, and would have preferred taking this to the certainty of a captivity perhaps for life in the spanish prisons. the part that he had played since he had been picked up off gravelines could not be sustained indefinitely. he might as well spend his life in prison, where at least there would be some faint hope of being exchanged, as wander about spain all his life as an imbecile beggar. as soon, therefore, as he saw that the perils of the coast of ireland were passed, and that the vessel was likely to reach spain in safety, he determined that he would on reaching a port disclose his real identity. there were on board several scotch and irish volunteers, and he decided to throw himself upon the pity of one of these rather than on that of the spaniards. he did not think that in any case his life was in danger. had gerald burke is surprised. he been detected when first picked up, or during the early part of the voyage, he would doubtless have been thrown over- board without mercy; but now that the passions of the com- batants had subsided, and that he had been so long among them, and had, as he believed, won the good-will of many by the assistance he had rendered to the sick and wounded, he thought that there was little fear of his life being taken in cold blood. one of the irish volunteers, gerald burke by name, had for a long time been seriously ill, and geoffrey had in many small ways shown him kindness as he lay helpless on the deck, and he determined finally to confide in him. although still very weak, burke was now convalescent, and was sitting alone by the poop-rail gazing upon the coast of spain with eager eyes, when geoffrey, under the pretext of coiling down a rope, ap- proached him. the young man nodded kindly to him. "our voyage is nearly over, my poor lad," he said in spanish, "and your troubles now will be worse than mine. you have given me many a drink of water from your scanty supply, and i wish that i could do something for you in return; but i know that you do not even understand what i say to you." "would you give me an opportunity of speaking to you after nightfall, mr. burke," geoffrey said in english, "when no one will notice us speaking?" the irishman gave a start of astonishment at hearing him- self addressed in english. "my life is in your hands, sir; pray, do not betray me," geoffrey said rapidly as he went on coiling down the rope. "i will be at this place an hour after nightfall," the young irishman replied when he recovered from his surprise. "your secret will be safe with me." at the appointed time geoffrey returned to the spot. the decks were now deserted, for a drizzling rain was falling, and gerald promises his aid. all save those on duty had retired below, happy in the thought that on the following morning they would be in port. "now, tell me who you are," the young irishman began. "i thought you were a spanish sailor, one of those we picked up when the spanish galleon next to us foundered." geoffrey then told him how he had been knocked off an english ship by the fall of a mast, had swum to the galleon and taken refuge beneath her bowsprit until she sank, and how, when picked up and carried on to the spanish ship, he feigned to have lost his senses in order to conceal his ignorance of spanish. "i knew," he said, "that were i recognized as english at the time i should at once be killed, but i thought that if i could conceal who i was for a time i should simply be sent to the galleys, where i have heard that there are many english prisoners working." "i think death would have been preferable to that lot," mr. burke said. "yes, sir; but there is always the hope of escape or of ex- change. when you spoke kindly to me this afternoon i partly understood what you said, for in this long time i have been on board i have come to understand a little spanish, and i thought that maybe you would assist me in some way." "i would gladly do so, though i regard englishmen as the enemies of my country; but in what way can i help you? i could furnish you with a disguise, but your ignorance of spanish would lead to your detection immediately." "i have been thinking it over, sir, and it seemed to me that as there will be no objection to my landing to-morrow, think- ing as they do that i have lost my senses, i might join you after you once got out of the town. i have some money in my waistbelt, and if you would purchase some clothes for me i might then join you as your servant as you ride along. at the the plan arranged. next town you come to none would know but that i had been in your service during the voyage, and there would be nothing strange in you, an irish gentleman, being accompanied by an irish servant who spoke but little spanish. i would serve you faithfully, sir, until perhaps some opportunity might occur for my making my escape to england." "yes, i think that might be managed," the young irishman said. "when i land to-morrow i will buy some clothes suit- able for a serving-man. i do not know the names of the hotels on shore, so you must watch me when i land and see where i put up. come there in the evening at nine o'clock. i will issue out and give you the bundle of clothes, and tell you at what hour in the morning i have arranged to start. i will hire two horses; when they come round to the door, join me in front of the hotel and busy yourself in packing my trunks on the baggage mules. when you have done that, mount the second horse and ride after me; the people who will go with us with the horses will naturally suppose that you have landed with me. should any of our shipmates here see us start, it is not likely that they will recognize you. if they do so, i need simply say that as you had shown me such kindness on board ship i had resolved to take you with me to madrid in order to see if anything could be done to restore you to reason. however, it is better that you should keep in the background as much as possible. i will arrange to start at so early an hour in the morning that none of those who may land with me from the ship, and may put up at the same inn, are likely to be about." the next morning the vessel entered port. they were soon surrounded by boats full of people inquiring anxiously for news of other ships, and for friends and acquaintances on board. presently large boats were sent off by the authorities, and the disembarkation of the sick and the helpless began. landed. this indeed included the greater portion of the survivors, for there were but two or three score on board who were capable of dragging themselves about, the rest being completely pro- strate by disease, exhaustion, hunger, and thirst. geoffrey was about to descend into one of the boats, when the officer in command said roughly: "remain on board and do your work, there is no need for your going into the hospital." one of the ship's officers, however, explained that the lad had altogether lost his senses, and was unable either to understand when spoken to or to reply to questions. consequently he was per- mitted to take his place in the boat. as soon as he stepped ashore he wandered away among the crowd of spectators. a woman, observing his wan face and feeble walk, called him into her house, and set food and wine before him. he made a hearty meal, but only shook his head when she addressed him, and laughed childishly and muttered his thanks in spanish when she bestowed a dollar upon him as he left. he watched at the port while boat-load after boat- load of sick came ashore, until at last one containing the sur- viving officers and gentlemen with their baggage reached the land. then he kept gerald burke in sight until he entered an inn, followed by two men carrying his baggage. several times during the day food and money were offered him, the inhabi- tants being full of horror and pity at the sight of the famishing survivors of the crew of the galleon. at nine o'clock in the evening geoffrey took up his station near the door of the inn. a few minutes later gerald burke came out with a bundle. "here are the clothes," he said. "i have hired horses for our journey to madrid. they will bo at the door at six o'clock in the morning. i have arranged to travel by very short stages, for at first neither you nor i could sit very long upon a horse; however, i hope we shall soon gain strength as we go." in madrid. the first time to try his tongue at spanish. he got on better than he had expected; and as mr. burke spoke with a good deal of foreign accent, it did not seem in any way singular to the people of the inn that his servant should speak but little of the language. quietly they journeyed on, doing but short distances for the first three or four days, but as they gained strength pushing on faster, and by the time they reached madrid both were completely recovered from the effects of their voyage. madrid was in mourning, for there was scarce a family but had lost relations in the armada. mr. burke at once took lodgings and installed geoffrey as his servant. he had many friends and acquaintances in the city, where he had been residing for upwards of a year previous to the sailing of the armada. for some weeks geoffrey went out but little, spending his time in reading spanish books and mastering the language as much as possible. he always conversed in that language with mr. burke, and at the end of six weeks was able to talk spanish with some fluency. he now generally accom- panied mr. burke if he went out, following him in the streets and standing behind his chair when he dined abroad. he was much amused at all he saw, making many acquaintances among the lackeys of mr. burke's friends, dining with them downstairs after the banquets were over, and often meeting them of an evening when he had nothing to do, and going with them to places of entertainment . in this way his knowledge of spanish improved rapidly, and although he still spoke with an accent he could pass well as one who had been for some years in the country. he was now perfectly at ease with the spanish gentlemen of mr. burke's acquaintance. it was only when irish and scotch friends called upon his master that he feared awkward questions, and upon these occasions he showed himself as little as possible. "what is to be done?" when alone with gerald burke the latter always addressed geoffrey as a friend rather than as a servant, and made no secret with him as to his position and means. he had been concerned in a rising in ireland, and had fled the country, bringing with him a fair amount of resources. believing that the armada was certain to be crowned with success, and that he should ere long be restored to his estates in ireland, he had, upon his first coming to spain, spent his money freely. his outfit for the expedition had made a large inroad upon his store, and his resources were now nearly at an end. "what is one to do, geoffrey? i don't want to take a com- mission in philip's army, though my friends could obtain one for me at once; but i have no desire to spend the rest of my life in the netherlands storming the towns of the dutch burghers." "or rather trying to storm them," geoffrey said, smiling; "there have not been many towns taken of late years." "nor should i greatly prefer to be campaigning in france," gerald went on, paying no attention to the interruption. "i have no love either for dutch calvinists or french huguenots; but i have no desire either to be cutting their throats or for them to be cutting mine. i should like a snug berth under the crown here or at cadiz, or at seville; but i see no chance whatever of my obtaining one. i cannot take up the trade of a footpad, though disbanded soldiers turned robbers are com- mon enough in spain. what is to be done?" "if i am not mistaken," geoffrey said with a smile, "your mind is already made up. it is not quite by accident that you are in the gardens of the retiro every evening, and that a few words are always exchanged with a certain young lady as she passes with her duenna." "oh! you have observed that," gerald burke replied with a laugh. "your eyes are sharper than i gave you credit for, sage advice. master geoffrey. yes, that would set me on my legs without doubt, for donna inez is the only daughter and heiress of the marquis of ribaldo; but you see there is a father in the case, and if that father had the slightest idea that plain gerald burke was lifting his eyes to his daughter it would not be many hours before gerald burke had several inches of steel in his body." "that i can imagine," geoffrey said, "since it is, as i learn from my acquaintances among the lackeys, a matter of common talk that the marquis intends to marry her to the son of the duke of sottomayor." "inez hates him," gerald burke said. "it is just like my ill-luck, that instead of being drowned as most of the others were, he has had the luck to get safely back again. however, he is still ill, and likely to be so for some time. he was not so accustomed to starving as some of us, and he suffered accord- ingly. he is down at his estates near seville." "but what do you think of doing?" geoffrey asked. "that is just what i am asking you." "it seems to me, certainly," geoffrey went on, "that unless you really mean to run off with the young lady—for i suppose there is no chance in the world of your marrying her in any other way—it will be better both for you and her that you should avoid for the future these meetings in the gardens or elsewhere, and cast your thoughts in some other direction for the bettering of your fortunes." "that is most sage advice, geoffrey," the young irishman laughed, "and worthy of my father-confessor; but it is not so easy to follow. in the first place, i must tell you that i do not regard inez as in any way a step to fortune, but rather as a step towards a dungeon. it would be vastly better for us both if she were the daughter of some poor hidalgo like myself. i could settle down then with her, and plant vines and make wine, and sell what i don't drink myself. as it is, i have the gerald's intentions. chance of being put out of the way if it is discovered that inez and i are fond of each other; and in the next place, if we do marry i shall have to get her safely out of the kingdom, or else she will have to pass the rest of her life in a convent, and i the rest of mine in a prison or in the galleys; that is if i am not killed as soon as caught, which is by far the most likely result. obnoxious sons-in-law do not live long in spain. so you see, geoffrey, the prospect is a bad one altogether; and if it were not that i dearly love inez, and that i am sure she will be unhappy with philip of sottomayor, i would give the whole thing up, and make love to the daughter of some comfortable citizen who would give me a corner of his house and a seat at his table for the rest of my days." "but, seriously—" geoffrey began. "well, seriously, geoffrey, my intention is to run away with inez if it can be managed; but how it is to be managed at pre- sent i have not the faintest idea. to begin with, the daughter of a spanish grandee is always kept in a very strong cage closely guarded, and it needs a very large golden key to open it . now, as you are aware, gold is a very scarce commodity with me. then, after getting her out, a lavish expenditure would be needed for our flight. we should have to make our way to the sea-coast, to do all sorts of things to throw dust into the eyes of our pursuers, and to get a passage to some place beyond the domains of philip, which means either to france, england, or the netherlands. beyond all this will be the question of future subsistence until, if ever, the marquis makes up his mind to forgive his daughter and take her to his heart again, a con- tingency, in my opinion, likely to be extremely remote." "and what does the lady inez say to it all?" geoffrey asked. "the lady inez has had small opportunity of saying any- thing on the subject, geoffrey. here in spain there are mighty few opportunities for courtship. with us at home the duenna managed. these matters are easy enough, and there is no lack of oppor- tunity for pleading your suit and winning a girl's heart if it is to be won; but here in spain matters are altogether different, and an unmarried girl is looked after as sharply as if she was certain to get into some mischief or other the instant she had an opportunity. she is never suffered to be for a moment alone with a man; out of doors or in she has always a duenna by her side; and as to a private chat, the thing is simply im- possible." "then how do you manage to make love?" geoffrey asked. "well, a very little goes a long way in spain. the manner of a bow, the wave of a fan, the dropping of a glove or flower, the touch of a hand in a crowded room—each of these things go as far as a month's open love-making in ireland." "then how did you manage with the duenna so as to be able to speak to her in the gardens?" "well, in the first place, i made myself very attentive to the duenna; in the second place, the old lady is devout, and you know ireland is the land of saints, and i presented her with an amulet containing a paring of the nail of st. patrick." geoffrey burst into a laugh, in which the irishman joined. "well, if it was not really st . patrick's," the latter went on, "it came from ireland anyhow, which is the next best thing. then in the third place, the old lady is very fond of inez; and although she is as strict as a dragon, inez coaxed her into the belief that there could not be any harm in our exchanging a few words when she was close by all the time to hear what was said. now, i think you know as much as i do about the matter, geoffrey. you will understand that a few notes have been exchanged, and that inez loves me. beyond that every- thing is vague and uncertain, and i have not the slightest idea what will come of it." some weeks passed and nothing was done. the meet- ways and means. ings between gerald burke and inez in the gardens of the retiro had ceased a day or two afterwards, the duenna having positively refused to allow them to continue, threatening inez to inform her father of them unless she gave them up. gerald burke's- funds dwindled rapidly, although ho and geoffrey lived in the very closest way. "what in the world is to be done, geoffrey? i have only got twenty dollars left, which at the outside will pay for our lodgings and food for another month. for the life of me i cannot see what is to be done when that is gone, unless we take to the road." geoffrey shook his head. "as far as i am concerned," he said, "as we are at war with spain, it would be fair if i met a spanish ship at sea to capture and plunder it, but i am afraid the laws of war do not justify private plunder. i should be perfectly ready to go out and take service in a vineyard, or to earn my living in any way if it could be managed." "i would rob a cardinal if i had the chance," gerald burke said, "and if i ever got rich would restore his money four-fold and so obtain absolution; only, unfortunately, i do not see my way to robbing a cardinal. as to digging in the fields, geoffrey, i would rather hang myself at once. i am constitutionally averse to labour, and if one once took to that sort of thing there would be an end to everything." "it is still open to you," geoffrey said, "to get your friends to obtain a commission for you." "i could do that," gerald said moodily, "but of all things that is what i should most hate." "you might make your peace with the english government and get some of your estates back again." "that i will not do to feed myself," gerald burke said firmly. "i have thought that if i ever carry off inez i might for her sake do so, for i own that now all hope of help from geoffrey's store spain is at an end, our cause in ireland is lost, and it is no use going on struggling against the inevitable; but i am not going to sue the english government as a beggar for myself. no doubt i could borrow small sums from irishmen and scotch- men here, and hold on for a few months; but most of them are well-nigh as poor as i am myself, and i would not ask them. besides, there would be no chance of my repaying them; and, if i am to rob anyone, i would rather plunder these rich dons than my own countrymen." "of one thing i am resolved," geoffrey said, "i will not live at your expense any longer, gerald. i can speak spanish very fairly now, and can either take service in some spanish family or, as i said, get work in the field." gerald laughed. "my dear geoffrey, the extra expenses caused by you last week were, as far as i can calculate, one penny for bread and as much for fruit; the rest of your living was obtained at the expense of my friends." "at any rate," geoffrey said smiling, "i insist that my money be now thrown into the common fund. i have offered it several times before, but you always said we had best keep it for emergency. i think the emergency has come now, and these ten english pounds in my belt will enable us to take some step or other. tho question is, what step? they might last us, living as we do, for some three or four months, but at the end of that time we should be absolutely penniless; there- fore now is the time, while we have still a small stock in hand, to decide upon something." "but what are we to decide upon?" gerald burke asked helplessly. "i have been thinking it over a great deal," geoffrey said, "and my idea is that wo had best go to cadiz or some other large port. although spain is at war both with england and the netherlands, trade still goes on in private ships, and both "i mean to give inez the chance." dutch and english vessels carry on commerce with spain; there- fore it seems to me that there must be merchants in cadiz who would be ready to give employment to men capable of speaking and writing both in spanish and english, and in my case to a certain extent in dutch. from there, too, there might be a chance of getting a passage to england or holland. if we found that impossible owing to the vessels being too carefully searched before sailing, we might at the worst take passage as sailors on board a spanish ship bound for the indies, and take our chance of escape or capture there or on the voyage. that, at least, is what i planned for myself." "i think your idea is a good one, geoffrey. at any rate to cadiz we will go. i don't know about the mercantile business or going as a sailor, but i could get a commission from the gover- nor there as well as here in madrid; but at any rate i will go. donna inez was taken last week by her father to some estates he has somewhere between seville and cadiz, in order, i sup- pose, that he may be nearer don philip, who is, i hear, at last recovering from his long illness. i do not know that there is the slightest use in seeing her again, but i will do so if it be possible; and if by a miracle i could succeed in carrying her off, cadiz would be a more likely place to escape from than anywhere. "yes, i know. you think the idea is a mad one, but you have never been in love yet . when you are you will know that lovers do not believe in the word 'impossible.' at any rate, i mean to give inez the chance of determining her own fate. if she is ready to risk everything rather than marry don philip, i am ready to share the risk whatever it may be." accordingly on the following day gerald burke disposed of the greater part of his wardrobe and belongings, purchased two ponies for a few crowns, and he and geoffrey, with a solitary suit of clothes in a wallet fastened behind the saddle, started travelling by road. for their journey to cadiz. they mounted outside the city, for gerald shrank from meeting any acquaintances upon such a sorry steed as he had purchased; but once on their way his spirits rose. he laughed and chatted gaily, and spoke of the future as if all difficulties were cleared away. the ponies, although rough animals, were strong and sturdy, and carried their riders at a good pace. sometimes they travelled alone, sometimes jogged along with parties whom they overtook by the way, or who had slept in the same posadas or inns at which they had put up for the night. most of these inns were very rough, and, to geoffrey, aston- ishingly dirty. the food consisted generally of bread and a miscellaneous olio or stew from a great pot constantly sim- mering over the fire, the flavour, whatever it might bo, being entirely overpowered by that of the oil and garlic that were the most marked of its constituents. beds were wholly un- known at these places, the guests simply wrapping themselves in their cloaks and lying down on the floor, although in a few exceptional cases bundles of rushes were strewn about to form a common bed. but the travelling was delightful. it was now late in the autumn, and when they were once past the dreary district of la mancha, and had descended to the rich plains of cordova, the vintage was in full progress and the harvest everywhere being garnered in. their mid-day meal consisted of bread and fruit, costing but the smallest coin, and eaten by the wayside in the shade of a clump of trees. they heard many tales on their way down of the bands of robbers who infested the road, but having taken the precaution of having the doubloons for which they had exchanged geoffrey's english gold sewn up in their boots, they had no fear of encountering these gentry, having nothing to lose save their wallets and the few dollars they had kept out for the expenses of their journey. the few ( ) n joining a party. jewels that gerald burke retained were sewn up in the stuff- ing of his saddle. after ten days' travel they reached seville, where they stayed a couple of days, and where the wealth and splendour of the buildings surprised geoffrey, who had not visited antwerp or any of the great commercial centres of the netherlands. "it is a strange taste of the spanish kings," he observed to gerald burke, "to plant their capital at madrid in the centre of a barren country, when they might make such a splendid city as this their capital. i could see no charms whatever in madrid. the climate was detestable, with its hot sun and bitter cold winds. here the temperature is delightful; the air is soft and balmy, the country round is a garden, and there is a cathe- dral worthy of a capital." "it seems a strange taste," gerald agreed; "but i believe that when madrid was first planted it stood in the midst of extensive forests, and that it was merely a hunting residence for the king." "then, when the forests went i would have gone too," geoffrey said. "madrid has not even a river worthy of the name, and has no single point to recommend it, as far as i can see, for the capital of a great empire. if i were a spaniard i should certainly take up my residence in seville." upon the following morning they again started, joining, before they had ridden many miles, a party of three merchants travelling with their servants to cadiz. the merchants looked a little suspiciously at first at the two young men upon their rough steeds; but as soon as they discovered from their first salutations that they were foreigners, they became more cordial, and welcomed this accession of strength to their party, for the carrying of weapons was universal, and the portion of the road between seville and cadiz particularly unsafe, as it was traversed by so many merchants and wealthy people. the gerald frightens the traders. conversation speedfly turned to the disturbed state of the roads. "i do not think," one of the merchants said, "that any ordinary band of robbers would dare attack us," and he looked round. with satisfaction at the six armed servants who rode behind them. "it all depends," gerald burke said, with a sly wink at geoffrey, "upon what value the robbers may place upon the valour of your servants. as a rule serving-men are very chary of their skins, and i should imagine that the robbers must be pretty well aware of that fact. most of them are disbanded soldiers or deserters, and i should say that four of them are more than a match for your six servants. i would wager that your men would make but a very poor show of it if it came to fighting." "but there are our three selves and you two gentlemen," the merchant said in a tone of disquiet. "well," gerald rejoined, "i own that from your appearance i should not think, worshipful sir, that fighting was altogether in your line. now, my servant, young as he is, has taken part in much fighting in the netherlands, and i myself have had some experience with my sword; but if we were attacked by robbers we should naturally stand neutral. having nothing to defend, and having no inclination whatever to get our throats cut in protecting the property of others, i think that you will see for yourselves that that is reasonable. we are soldiers of fortune, ready to venture our lives in a good service, and for good pay, but mightily disinclined to throw them away for the mere love of fighting." chapter xii. recruiting their funds. s soon as gerald burke began conversing with the merchants, geoffrey fell back and took his place among their servants, with whom he at once en- tered into conversation. to amuse himself he continued in the same strain that he had heard gerald adopt towards the merchants, and spoke in terms of apprehension of the dangers of the journey, and of the rough treatment that had befallen those who had ventured to offer opposition to the robbers. he was not long in discovering, by the anxious glances they cast round them, and by the manner of their questions, that some at least of the party were not to be relied upon in case of an encounter. he was rather surprised at gerald remaining so long in com- pany with the merchants, for their pace was a slow one, as they were followed by eight heavily-laden mules, driven by two muleteers, and it would have been much pleasanter, he thought, to have trotted on at their usual pace. about mid- day, as they were passing along the edge of a thick wood, a party of men suddenly sprang out and ordered them to halt. geoffrey shouted to the men with him to come on, and draw- ing his sword dashed forward. two of the men only followed him. the others hesitated, until a shot from a musket knocked off one of their hats, a fight with robders. whereupon the man and his comrades turned their horses' heads and rode off at full speed. the merchants had drawn their swords, and stood on the defensive, and geoffrey on reaching them was surprised to find that gerald burke was sitting quietly on his horse without any apparent intention of taking part in the fight. "put up your sword, geoffrey," he said calmly; "this affair is no business of ours. we have nothing to lose, and it is no business of ours to defend the money-bags of these gentlemen." the robbers, eight in number, now rushed up. one of the merchants, glancing round, saw that two of their men only had come up to their assistance. the muleteers, who were probably in league with the robbers, had fled, leaving their animals standing in the road. the prospect seemed desperate. one of the merchants was an elderly man, the others were well on middle age. the mules were laden with valuable goods, and they had with them a considerable sum of money for making purchases at cadiz. it was no time for hesitation. "we will give you five hundred crowns if you will both aid us to beat off these robbers." "it is a bargain," gerald replied. "now, geoffrey, have at these fellows!" leaping from their ponies they ranged themselves by the merchants just as the robbers attacked them. had it not been for their aid the combat would have been a short one; for although determined to defend their property to the last, the traders had neither strength nor skill at arms. one was un- horsed at the first blow, and another wounded; but the two servants, who had also dismounted, fought sturdily, and gerald and geoffrey each disposed of a man before the robbers, who had not reckoned upon their interference, were prepared to resist their attack. the fight did not last many minutes. the traders did their best, and although by no means for- obtaining a confession. midable opponents, distracted the attention of the robbers, who were startled by the fall of two of their party. geoffrey received a sharp cut on the head, but at the same moment ran his opponent through the body, while gerald burke cut down the man opposed td him. the other four robbers, seeing they were now outnumbered, at once took to their heels. "by st. jagol" one of the traders said, "you are stout .f fighters, youdg men, and have won your fee well. methought we should have lost our lives as well as our goods, and i doubt not we should have done so had you not ranged your- selves with us. now, let us bandage up our wounds, for we have all received more or less hurt." when the wounds, some of which were serious, were at- tended to, the fallen robbers were examined. three of them were dead; but the man last cut down by gerald burke seemed likely to recover. "shall we hang him upon a tree as a warning to these knaves, or shall we take him with us to the next town and give him in charge of the authorities there?" one of the traders asked. "if i were you i would do neither," gerald said, "but would let him go free if he will tell you the truth about this attack. it will be just as well for you to get to the bottom of this affair, and find out whether it is a chance meeting, or whether any of your own people have been in league with him." "that is a good idea," the trader agreed, "and i will carry it out," and going up to the man, who had now recovered his senses, he said to him sternly: "we have made up our minds to hang you; but you may save your life if you will tell us how you came to set upon us. speak the truth and you shall go free, otherwise we will finish with you without delay." the robber, seeing an unexpected chance of escape from punishment, at once said that the captain of their band, who was the man geoffrey had last run through, came out from hiked for the journey. seville the evening before, and told him that one juan campos, with whom he had long had intimate relations, and who was clerk to a rich trader, had, upon promise that he should receive one-fifth of the booty taken, informed him that his master with two other merchants was starting on the following morning for cadiz with a very valuable lot of goods, and twenty-five thousand crowns, which they intended to lay out in the pur- chase of goods brought by some galleons that had just arrived from the indies. he had arranged to bribe his master's two servants to ride away when they attacked the gang, and also to settle with the muleteers so that they should take no part in the affair. they had reckoned that the flight of two of the servants would probably affect the others, and had therefore expected the rich booty to fall into their hands without the trouble of striking a blow for it. "it is well we followed your suggestion," one of the traders said to gerald. "i had no suspicion of the honesty of my clerk, and had we not made this discovery he would doubtless have played me a similar trick upon some other occasion. i will ride back at once, friends, for if he hears of the failure of the attack he may take the alarm and make off with all he can lay his hands upon. our venture was to be in common. i will leave it to you to carry it out, and return and dismiss campos and the two rascally servants." the three traders went apart and consulted together. presently the eldest of the party returned to the young men. "we have another five days' journey before us," he said, "and but two servants upon whom we can place any reliance. we have evidence of the unsafety of the roads, and, as you have heard, we have a large sum of money with us. you have already more than earned the reward i offered you, and my friends have agreed with me that if you will continue to journey with us as far as cadiz, and to give us the aid of your "law is a luxury." valour should we be again attacked, we will make the five hundred crowns a thousand. it is a large sum, but we have well-nigh all our fortunes at stake, and we feel that we owe you our lives as well as the saving of our money." "we could desire nothing better," gerald replied, "and will answer with our lives that your goods and money shall arrive safely at cadiz." the traders then called up their two serving-men, and told them that on their arrival at cadiz they would present them each with a hundred crowns for having so stoutly done their duty. the employer of the treacherous clerk then turned his horse's head and rode back towards seville, while the others prepared to proceed on their way. the two muleteers had now como out from among the bushes, and were busy refastening the bales on the mules, the ropes having become loosened in the struggles of the animals while the fight was going on. the merchants had decided to say nothing to the men as to the discovery that they were in league with the robbers. "half these fellows are in alliance with these bands, which are a scourge to the country," one of the traders said. "if we were to inform the authorities at the next town, we should, in the first place, be-blamed for letting the wounded man escape, and secondly we might be detained for days while investigations are going on. in this country the next worse thing to being a prisoner is to be a complainant . law is a luxury in which the wealthy and idle can alone afford to indulge." as soon, therefore, as the baggage was readjusted the party proceeded on their way. "what do you think of that, geoffrey v gerald burke asked as he rode for a short distance by the side of his supposed servant. "it is magnificent," geoffrey replied; "and it seems to me that the real road to wealth in spain is to hire yourself out as a guard to travellers." "we must talk matters over." "ah, you would not get much if you made your bargain beforehand. it is only at a moment of urgent danger that fear will open purse-strings widely. had we bargained beforehand with these traders we might have thought ourselves lucky if we had got ten crowns apiece as the price of our escort to cadiz, and indeed we should have been only too glad if last night such an offer had been made to us; but when a man sees that his property and life are really in danger he does not stop to haggle, but is content to give a handsome percentage of what is risked for aid to save the rest." "well, thank goodness, our money trouble is at an end," 'geoffrey said; "and it will be a long time before we need have any anxiety on that score." "things certainly look better," gerald said laughing; "and if inez consents to make a runaway match of it with me i sha'n't have to ask her to pay the expenses." cadiz was reached without further adventure. the merchants kept their agreement honourably, and handed over a heavy bag containing a thousand crowns to gerald on their arrival at that city. they had upon the road inquired of him the nature of his business there. he had told them that he was at present undecided whether to enter the army, in which some friends of his had offered to obtain him a commission, or to join in an adventure to the indies. they had told him they were acquainted with several merchants at cadiz who traded both with the east and west, and that they would introduce him to them as a gentleman of spirit and courage, whom they might employ with advantage upon such ventures; and this promise after their arrival there they carried out. "now, geoffrey," gerald said as they sat together that evening at a comfortable inn, "we must talk over matters here. we have five hundred crowns apiece, and need not trouble any longer as to how we are to support life. your great object, of "so be it, geoffrey." course, is to get out of this country somehow, and to make your way back to england. my first is to see inez and find out whether she will follow my fortunes or remain to become some clay marchesa of sottomayor. if she adopts the former alter- native i have to arrange some plan to carry her off and to get out of the country, an operation in which i foresee no little difficulty. of course if we are caught my life is forfeited, there is no question about that. the question for us to consider is how we are to set about to carry out our respective plans." "we need only consider your plan as far as i can see," geoffrey said. "of course i shall do what i can to assist you, and if you manage to get off safely with the young lady i shall escape at the same time." "not at all," burke said; "you have only to wait here quietly until you see an opportunity. i will go with you to-morrow to the merchants i was introduced to to-day, and say that i am going away for a time and shall be obliged if they will make you useful in any way until i return. in that way you will have a sort of established position here, and can wait until you see a chance of smuggling yourself on board some english or dutch vessel. mine is a very different affair. i may talk lightly of it, but i am perfectly aware that i run a tremendous risk, and that the chances are very strongly against me." "whatever the chances are," geoffrey said quietly, "i shall share them with you. your kindness has saved me from what at best might have been imprisonment for life, and not improbably would have been torture and death at the hands of the inquisition, and i am certainly not going to withdraw myself from you now when you are entering upon what is un- doubtedly a very dangerous adventure. if we escape from spain we escape together; if not, whatever fate befalls you i am ready to risk." "very well; so be it, geoffrey," gerald burke said, holding "what else can one do?" out his hand to him. "if your mind is made up i will not argue the question with you, and indeed i value your com- panionship and aid too highly to try to shake your deter- mination. let us then at once talk over what is now our joint enterprise. ribaldo estate lies about half-way between this and seville, and we passed within a few miles of it as we came hither. the first thing, of course, will be to procure some sort of disguise in which i can see inez and have a talk with her. now, it seems to me, for i have been thinking the matter over in every way as we rode, that the only disguise in which this would be possible would be that of a priest or monk." geoffrey laughed aloud. "you would in the first place have to shave off your moustachios, gerald, and i fear that even after you had done so there would be nothing venerable in your appearance; and whatever the mission with which you might pretend to charge yourself, your chances of obtaining a private interview with the lady would be slight." "i am afraid that i should lack the odour of sanctity, geoffrey; but what else can one do? think it over, man. the way in which you played the idiot when you were picked out of the water shows that you are quick at contriving a plan." "that was a simple business in comparison to this," geoffrey replied. "however, you are not pressed for time, and i will think it over to-night and may light upon some possible scheme, for i own that at present i have not the least idea how the matter is to be managed." as in the morning there were several other travellers taking breakfast in the same room, the conversation was not renewed until gerald burke strolled out, followed at a respectful dis- tance by geoffrey, who still passed as his servant, and reached a quiet spot on the ramparts. here geoffrey joined him, and they stood for some minutes looking over the sea. "what a magnificent position for a city!" geoffrey said at cadiz. last. "standing on this rocky tongue of land jutting out at the entrance to this splendid bay it ought to be impregnable, since it can only be attacked on the side facing that sandy isthmus. what a number of ships are lying up the bay, and what a busy scene it is with the boats passing and repassing! though they must be two miles away i fancy i can hear the shouts of the sailors." "yes, it is all very fine," gerald said; "but i have seen it several times before. still, i can make allowances for you. do you see that group of small ships a mile beyond the others? those are the english and dutchmen. they are allowed to trade, but as you see they are kept apart, and there are three war galleys lying close to them. no one is allowed to land, and every boat going off is strictly examined, and all those who go on board have to show their permits from the governor to trade; so, you see, the chance of getting on board one of them is slight indeed. higher up the bay lies puerto de santa maria, where a great trade is carried on, and much wine shipped; though more comes from jeres, which lies up the river. you know we passed through it on our way here. "yes, this is a splendid position for trade, and i suppose the commerce carried on here is larger than in any port in europe; though antwerp ranked as first until the troubles began in the netherlands. but this ought to be first. it has all the trade of the atlantic sea-board, and standing at the mouth of the mediterranean commands that also; while all the wealth of the new world pours in here. that is great already; there is no saying what it will be in the future, while some day the trade from the far east should flow in here also by vessels trading round the south of africa. "cadiz has but one fault: the space on which it stands is too small for a great city. you see how close the houses stand together, and how narrow are the streets. it cannot spread a capital idea." such a business. i cannot go up to the first beetle-browed knavo i meet in the street and say to him, are you disposed to aid me in the abduction of a lady?" "no," geoffrey laughed; "but fortunately you have an intermediary ready at hand." "how sol" gerald exclaimed in surprise. "why, how on earth can you have an acquaintance with any ruffians in cadiz?" "not a very intimate acquaintance, gerald; but if you take the trouble to go into the court-yard of the inn when we get back you will see one of those rascally muleteers who were in league with the robbers who attacked us on the way. he was in conversation when we came out with a man who break- fasted with us, and was probably bargaining for a load for his mules back to seville. i have no doubt that through him you might put yourself into communication with half the cut- throats of the town." "that is a capital idea, geoffrey, and i will have a talk with the man as soon as we get back; for if he is not still there, i am sure to be able to learn from some of the men about the stables where to find him." "you must go very carefully to work, gerald," geoffrey said. "it would never do to let any of the fellows know the exact object for which you engaged them, for they might be sure of getting a far larger sum from the marquis for divulging your plans to carry off his daughter than you could afford to pay them for their services." "i quite see that, and will be careful." on their return to the inn gerald burke at once made in- quiries as to the muleteer, and learned that he would probably return in an hour to see if a bargain could be made with a trader for the hire of his mules back to seville. gerald waited about until the man came. "i want to have a talk with you, my friend," he said. "i think you were foolish." the muleteer looked at him with a suspicious eye. "i am busy," he said in a surly tone; "i have no time to waste." "but it would not be wasting it if it were to lead to your putting a dozen crowns in your pocket." "oh, if it is to lead to that, senor, i can spare an hour, for i don't think that anything is likely to come out of the job i came here to try to arrange." "we will walk away to a quieter place," gerald said. "there are too many people about here for us to talk comfortably. the ramparts are but two or three minutes' walk; we can talk there without interruption." when they arrived upon the ramparts gerald commenced the conversation. "i think you were foolish, my friend, not to have taken us into your confidence the other day before that little affair. you could have made an opportunity well enough. we stopped to luncheon; if you had drawn me aside, and told me frankly that some friends of yours were about to make an attack upon the traders, and that you would guarantee that they would make it worth my while—" "what do you mean by saying my friends, or that i had any knowledge of the affair beforehand?" the man asked furiously. "i say so," gerald replied, "because i had it on excellent authority. the wounded robber made a clean breast of the whole affair, and of your share in it, as well as that of the rascally clerk of one of the traders. if it had not been for me the mer- chants would have handed you over to the magistrates at the place where we stopped that night; but i dissuaded them, upon the ground that they would have to attend as witnesses against you, and that it was not worth their while to loso valuable time merely for the pleasure of seeing you hung. however, all this is beside the question. what i was saying was, it is a pity you did not say to me frankly: your presence here is inop- portune; but if you will stand apart if any unexpected affair "what would you pay me?" takes place, you will get say two thousand crowns out of the twenty-five thousand my friends are going to capture. had you done that, you see, things might have turned out differently." "i did not know," the muleteer stammered. "no, you did not know for certain, of course, that i was a soldier of fortune; but if you had been sharp you might have guessed it. however, it is too late for that now. now, what i wanted to ask you was if you could get me half a dozen of your friends to take service under me in a little adventure i have to carry out. they will be well paid, and i do not sup- pose they will have much trouble over it." "and what would you pay me, cabbalero?" the muleteer asked humbly; for he had been greatly impressed with the valour displayed by the young irishman and his servant in the fray, and thought that he intended to get together a company for adventures on the road, in which caso he might be able to have some profitable dealings with him in the future. "i will give you twenty crowns," gerald replied; "and con- sidering that you owe your life to my interposition, i think that you ought not to haggle about terms." "the party who attacked us," the muleteer said, "lost their captain and several of their comrades in that fray, and would i doubt not gladly enter into your service, seeing that they have received such proof of your worship's valour." "where could i see them?" gerald asked. "i think that they will be now in jercs, if that would suit you, sefior; but if not i could doubtless find a party of men in this town equally ready for your business." "jeres will do very well for me," gerald said; "i shall bo travelling that way and will put up at the fonda where wo stopped as we came through. when are you starting?" "it depends whether i make my bargain with a man at your hotel," the muleteer replied; "and this i doubt not i shall do, for the meeting at jeres. with the twenty crowns your honour is going to give me i shall not stand out for terms. he is travelling with clothes from flanders, and if your worship thought—" "no," gerald said. "i do not wish to undertake any ad- ventures of that sort until i have a band properly organized, and have arranged hiding-places and methods of getting rid of the booty. i will go back with you to the inn, and if you strike your bargain you can tell me as you pass out of the gate what evening you will meet me at jeres." on arriving at the inn gerald lounged at the gate of the court-yard until the muleteer came out. "i will meet your worship on the fifth night from this at jeres." "very well; here are five crowns as an earnest on our bar- gain. if you carry it out well i shall very likely forget to deduct them from the twenty i promised you. do not be sur- prised if you find me somewhat changed in appearance when you meet me there." at the appointed time the muleteer with his train of animals entered the court-yards of the fonda at jeres. gerald was standing on the steps of the inn. he had altered the fashion of his hair, had fastened on large bushy eyebrows which he had obtained from a skilful perruquier in cadiz, and a mous- tache of imposing size turned up at the tips; he wore high buff leather boots, and there was an air of military swagger about him, and he was altogether so changed that at the first glance the muleteer failed to recognize him. as soon as the mules were unburdened, gerald found an opportunity of speaking with him. "i will go round at once," the man said, "to the place where i shall certainly obtain news of my friends if they are here. i told your honour that they might be here, but they may have gone away on some affair of business, and may be on the ( ) o "it is all settled, senor." road or at seville. they always work between this town and seville." "i understand that you may not meet them to-night; if not, i will meet you again in seville. how long will you be find- ing out about them?" "i shall know in half an hour, senor; if they are not here i shall be back here in less than an hour, but if i find them i shall be detained longer in order to talk over with them the offer your worship makes." "very well; in an hour you will find me in the street oppo- site the inn. i shall wait there until you come. if all is well make a sign and i will follow you. do not mention to them that i have in any way disguised myself. our acquaintance was so short that i don't fancy they had time to examine me very closely; and i have my own reasons for wishing that they should not be acquainted with my ordinary appearance, and have therefore to some extent disguised myself." "i will say nothing about it," the muleteer replied. "your worship can depend upon my discretion." "that is right," gerald said. "we may have future deal- ings together, and i can reward handsomely those i find trust- worthy and punish those who in the slightest degree disobey my orders." in an hour and a half the muleteer returned, made a signal to gerald and passed on. the latter joined him at a short dis- tance from the hotel. "it is all settled, senor. i found the men much dispirited at the loss of their captain and comrades; and when i proposed to them to take service under the cabbalero who wrought them such mischief the other day, they jumped at the idea, saying that under such a valiant leader there was no fear of the failure of any enterprise they might undertake." a quarter of an hour's walking took them to a small inn of the members of the band. villainous appearance in one of the smallest lanes of the town. gerald was wrapped from head to foot in his cloak, and only his face was visible. he had a brace of pistols in his belt, and was followed at a short distance, unnoticed by the muleteer, by geoffrey, who had arranged to keep close to the door of any house he entered, and was to be in readiness to rush in and take part in the fray if he heard the sound of firearms within. gerald himself had not at first entertained any idea of treachery; but geoffrey had pointed out that it was quite possible that the robbers and the muleteer had but feigned acquiescence in his proposals in order to get him into their power, and take revenge for the loss of their captain and comrades, and of the valuable booty which had so unexpectedly slipped through their fingers owing to his intervention. the appearance of the six ruffians gathered in the low room, lighted by a wretched lamp, was not very assuring, and gerald kept his hand on the butt of one of his pistols. the four robbers who had been engaged in the fray, how- ever, saluted him respectfully, and the other two members of the band, who had been absent on other business, followed their example. they had heard from those present of the extraordinary valour with which the two travelling companions of the trader had thrown themselves into the fray, and had alone disposed of their four comrades, and being without a leader, and greatly disheartened by their ill-luck, they were quite ready to forgive the misfortunes gerald had brought upon them, and to accept such a redoubtable swordsman as their leader. gerald began the conversation. "you have heard," he said, "from our friend here of the offer i make you. i desire a band of six men on whom i can rely for an adventure which promises large profit . don't suppose that i am going to lead gerald unfolds his plan. you to petty robberies on the road, in which, as you learned to your cost the other day, one sometimes gets more hard knocks than profit. such adventures may do for petty knaves, but they are not suited to me. the way to get wealthy is to strike at the rich. my idea is to establish some place in an out-of- the-way quarter where there is no fear of prying neighbours, and to carry off and hide there the sons and daughters of wealthy men and put them to ransom. in the first instance i am going to undertake a private affair of my own; and as you will really run no risk in the matter, for i shall separate myself from you after making my capture, i shall pay you only an earnest-money of twenty crowns each. in future affairs we shall act upon the principle of shares. i shall take three shares, a friend who works with me will take two shares, and you shall take one share apiece. the risk will really be entirely mine, for i shall take charge of the captives we make at our ren- dezvous. you, after lending a hand in the capture, will re- turn here and hold yourself in readiness to join me, and carry out another capture as soon as i have made all the necessary arrangements. thus, if by any chance we are tracked, i alone and my friend will run the risk of capture and punishment. in that way we may, in the course of a few months, amass a much larger booty than we should in a lifetime spent in these wretched adventures upon travellers. "now, it is for you to say whether these terms will suit you, and whether you are ready to follow my orders and obey me implicitly. the whole task of making the necessary ar- rangements, or finding out the habits of the families one of whose members we intend carrying off, of bribing nurses or duennas, will be all my business. you will simply have to meet when you are summoned to aid in the actual enterprise, and then, when our captive is safely housed, to return here or scatter where you will and live at ease until again summoned. the new captain. the utmost fidelity will be necessary. large rewards will in many cases be offered for the discovery of the missing persons, and one traitor would bring ruin upon us all; therefore it will be absolutely necessary that you take an oath of fidelity to me, and swear one and all to punish the traitor with death. do you agree to my proposal " there was a unanimous exclamation of assent. the plan seemed to offer probabilities of large booty with a minimum of trouble and risk. one or two suggested that they should like to join in the first capture on the same terms as the others, but gerald at once pronounced this to be impossible. "this is my own affair," he said, "and money is not now my object. as you will only be required to meet at a given hour some evening, and to carry off a captive who will not be altogether unwilling to come, there will be little or no risk in the matter, and twenty crowns will not be bad pay for an evening's work. after that you will, as i have said, share in the profits of all future captures we may undertake." the band all agreed, and at once took solemn oaths of fidelity to their new leader, and swore to punish by death any one of their number who should betray the secrets of the body. "that is well," gerald said when the oaths had been taken. "it may be a week before you receive your first summons. here are five crowns apiece for your expenses up to that time. let one of you be in front of the great church as the clock strikes eight morning and evening. do not wait above five minutes; if i am coming i shall be punctual. in the mean- time take counsel among yourselves as to the best hiding-place that can be selected . between you you no doubt know every corner and hole in the country. i want a place which will be at once lonely and far removed from other habitations, but it must be at the same time moderately comfortable, as the cap- tives we take must have no reason to complain of their treat- everything arranged. ment while in my hands. think this matter over before i again see you." gerald then joined geoffrey outside, and found that the latter was beginning to be anxious at his long absence. after a few words saying that everything had been successfully arranged, the two friends returned together to their inn. chapter xiii. the festa at seville nd now, gerald, that you have made your arrange- ments for the second half of the plan, how are you going to set about the first? because you said that you intended to give donna inez the option of flying with you or remaining with her father." "so i do still. before i make any attempt to carry her off i shall first learn whether she is willing to run the risks." "but how are you going to set about it? you may be quite sure that she never goes outside the garden without having her duenna with her. if there is a chapel close by, doubtless she will go there once a day; and it seems to me that this would be the best chance of speaking to her, for i do not see how you can possibly introduce yourself into the grounds." "that would be quite out of the question, in daylight at any rate, geoffrey. i do not suppose she ever goes beyond the terrace by the house. but if i could communicate with her she might slip out for a few minutes after dark, when the old lady happened to be taking a nap. the question is how to get a letter into her hands." "i think i might manage that, gerald. it is not likely that the duenna ever happened to notice me. i might therefore put on any sort of disguise as a beggar and take my place on the road as she goes to chapel, and somehow or other get your note disguised. into her hand. i have heard spanish girls are very quick at acting upon the smallest sign, and if i can manage to catch her eye for a moment she may probably be ingenious enough to afford me an opportunity of passing the note to her." "that might be done," gerald agreed . "we will at once get disguises. i will dress myself as an old soldier, with one arm in a sling and a patch over my eye; you dress up in some- what the same fashion as a sailor boy. it is about twelve miles from here to ribaldo's place. wo can walk that easily enough, dress ourselves up within a mile or two of the place, and then go on and reconnoitre the ground." "i should advise you to write your note before you start; it may be that some unexpected opportunity for handing it to her may present itself." "i will do that; but let us sally out first and pick up two suits at some dealer in old clothes. there will be sure to be two or three of these in the poorer quarter." the disguises were procured without difficulty, and putting them in a small wallet they started before noon on their walk . in four hours they reached the boundary of the marquis of ribaldo's estate. going into a wood they assumed the disguises, packed their own clothes in a wallet, and hid this away in a clump of bushes. then they again started—gerald burke with his arm in a sling and geoffrey limping along with the aid of a thick stick he had cut in the wood. on arriving at the village, a quarter of a mile from the gates of the mansion, they went into a small wine-shop and called for two measures of the cheapest wine and a loaf of bread. here they sat for some time, listening to the conversation of the peasants who frequented the wine-shop. sometimes a ques- tion was asked of the wayfarers. gerald replied, for his com- panion's spanish although fluent was not good enough to pass as that of a native. he replied to the question as to where inez de kibaldo. they had received their hurts that they were aurvivors of the armada, and grumbled that it was hard indeed that men who had fought in the netherlands and had done their duty to their country should be turned adrift to starve. "we have enough to pay for our supper and a night's lodg- ing," he said, "but where we are going to take our meal to- morrow is more than i can say, unless we can meet with some charitable people." "if you take your place by the roadside to-morrow morning," one of the peasants said, "you may obtain charity from donna inez de ribaldo. she comes every morning to mass here; and they say she has a kind heart, which is more than men give her father the marquis the credit of possessing. we have not many poor round here, for at this time of year all hands are employed in the vineyards, therefore there is the more chance of your obtaining a little help." "thank you; i will take your advice," gerald said . "i sup- pose she is sure to come?" "she is sure enough; she never misses when she is staying here." that night the friends slept on a bundle of straw in an out- house behind the wine-shop, and arranged everything; and upon the following morning took their seats by the roadside near the village. the bell of the chapel was already sounding, and in a few minutes they saw two ladies approaching, fol- lowed at a very short distance by a serving-man. they had agreed that the great patch over gerald's eye, aided by the false moustachios, so completely disguised his appearance that they need have no fear of his being recognized; and it was there- fore decided he should do the talking. as donna inez came up he commenced calling out: "have pity, gracious ladies, upon two broken-down soldiers. we have gone through all the dangers and hardships of the terrible voyage of the great ar- a sudden fit. mada. we served in the ship san josef, and are now broken- down, and have no means of earning our living." gerald had somewhat altered his natural voice while speak- ing, but geoffrey was watching donna inez closely, and saw her start when he began to speak; and when he said they had been on board the san josef a flush of colour came across her face. "we must relieve these poor men," she said to the duenna; "it is pitiful to see them in such a state." "we know not that their tale is true," the duenna replied sharply. "every beggar in our days pretends to be a broken- down soldier." at this moment donna inez happened to glance at geoffrey, who raised his hand to his face and permitted a corner of a letter to be momentarily seen. "an impostor!" gerald cried in a loud voice. "to think that i, suffering from my terrible wounds, should be taken as an impostor," and with a hideous yell he tumbled down as if in a fit, and rolled over and over on the ground towards the duenna. seized with alarm at his approach, she turned and ran a few paces backward. as she did so geoffrey stepped up to inez and held out the note, which she took and concealed instantly in her dress. "there is nothing to be alarmed at," she cried to the duenna. "the poor man is doubtless in a fit . here, my poor fellow, get aid for your comrade," and taking out her purse she handed a dollar to geoffrey, and then joining the duenna proceeded on her way. geoffrey knelt beside his prostrate companion and appeared to be endeavouring to restore him, until the ladies and their servant were out of sight . "that was well managed," gerald burke said, sitting up as looking for a priest. and is ready to share my fate whatever it may be. her father only two days ago had ordered her to prepare for her marriage with don philip, and she was in despair until she recognized my voice yesterday morning. she is going with her father to a grand festa at seville next wednesday. they will stop there two nights—the one before the festa and the one after. i told her that i could not say yet whether i should make the attempt to carry her off on her journey or after her return here, as that must depend upon circumstances. at any rate, that gives us plenty of time to prepare our plans. to-morrow we will hire horses and ride to seville, and i will there arrange with one of my friends at the irish college to perform the ceremony. how- ever, we will talk it all over to-morrow as we ride. i feel as sleepy as a dog now after the day's excitement." upon the road next day they agreed that if possible they would manage to get inez away in seville itself. owing to the large number of people who would be attracted there to witness the grand procession and high mass at the cathedral, the streets would be crowded, and it might be possible for inez to slip away from those with her. if this could be managed it would be greatly preferable to the employment of the men to carry her off by force. therefore they agreed that the band should be posted so that the party could be intercepted on its way back; but that this should be a last resource, and that if possible inez should be carried off in seville itself. on reaching seville they put up at an inn. gerald at once proceeded to the irish college. here he inquired for a young priest, who had been a near neighbour of his in ireland and a great friend of his boyhood. he was, he knew, about to return home. he found that he was at the moment away from seville, having gone to supply the place of a village cure who had been taken suddenly ill. this village was situated, he was told, some six miles south-east of the town. it was already "what is your planl" late in the afternoon, but time was precious; and gerald, hiring a fresh horse, rode out at once to the village. his friend was delighted to see him, for they had not met since gerald passed through seville on his way to join the armada at cadiz, and the young priest had not heard whether he had escaped the perils of the voyage. "it is lucky you have come, gerald," he said when the first greetings were over, "for i am going to return to ireland in a fortnight's time. i am already appointed to a charge near cork, and am to sail in a bristol ship which is expected in cadiz about that time. is there any chance of my meeting you there?" "an excellent chance, denis, though my route is not as clearly marked out as yours is. i wish to heaven that i could go by the same ship. and that leads to what i have come to see you about," and he then told his friend the service he wished him to render. "it is rather a serious business, gerald; and a nice scrape i should get in if it were found out that i had solemnized the marriage of a young lady under age without the consent of her father, and that father a powerful nobleman. however, i am not the man to fail you at a pinch, and if matters are well managed there is not much risk of its being found out that i had a hand in it until i am well away, and once in ire- land no one is likely to make any great fuss over my having united a runaway pair in spain. besides, if you and the young lady have made up your minds to run away, it is evidently necessary that you should be married at once; so my conscience is perfectly clear in the business. and now, what is your plan?" "the only part of my plan that is settled is to bring her here and marry her. after that i shall have horses ready, and we will ride by unfrequented roads to malaga or some other port and take a passage in a ship sailing say to italy, for there final arrangements. is no chance of getting a vessel hence to england. once in italy there will be no difficulty in getting a passage to england. i have with me a young englishman, as staunch a friend as one can need. i need not tell you all about how i became acquainted with him; but he is as anxious to get out of spain as i am, and that is saying no little." "it seems rather a vague plan, gerald. there is sure to be a great hue and cry as soon as the young lady is found to be missing. the marquis is a man of great influence, and the authorities will use every effort to enable him to discover her." "you see, denis, they will have no reason for supposing that i have had any hand in the matter, and therefore no special watch will be set at the ports. the duenna for her own sake is not likely to say a word about any passages she may have observed between us at madrid, and she is unaware that there have been any communications with her since." "i suppose you will at once put on disguises, gerald." "yes, that will of course be the first thing." "if you dress her as a young peasant woman of the better class and yourself as a small cultivator, i will mention to my servant that i am expecting my newly-married niece and her husband to stay with me for a few days. the old woman will have no idea that i, an irishman, would not have a spanish niece, and indeed i do not suppose that she has any idea that i am not a spaniard. i will open the church myself and perform the service late in the evening, so that no one will be aware of what is going on. of course i can put up your friend too. then you can stay quietly here as long as you like." "that will do admirably, denis; but i think we had best go on the next morning," gerald said, "although it will be a day or two before there is anything like an organized pursuit. it will be supposed that she is in seville, and inquiries will at first be confined to that town. if she leaves a note behind "we will leave that open." saying that she is determined even to take the veil rather than marry the man her father has chosen for her, that will cause additional delay. it will be supposed that she is concealed in the house of some friend, or that she has sought a refuge in a nunnery, and at any rate there is not likely to be any search over the country for some days, especially as her father will naturally be anxious that what he will consider an act of rebellion on the part of his daughter shall not become publicly known." "all this, of course, is if we succeed in getting her clear away during the fete. if we have to fall back on the other plan i was talking of and carry her off by force on the way home, the search will be immediate and general. in that case nothing could be better than your plan that we should stop here quietly for a few days with you. they will be searching for a band of robbers and will not dream of making inquiry for the missing girl in a quiet village like this." "well, we will leave that open, gerald . i shall let it be known that you are expected, and whenever you arrive you will be welcome." as soon as the point was arranged gerald again mounted his horse and returned to seville. there upon the following morn- ing he engaged a lodging for the three days of the festa in a quiet house in the outskirts of the town, and they then proceeded to purchase the various articles necessary for their disguise and that of inez. the next morning they started on their return to jeres. here gerald made arrangements with the band to meet him in a wood on the road to cadiz at eight in the morn- ing on the day following the termination of the festa at seville. one of the party was to proceed on that day to the house among the hills they had fixed upon as their hiding-place, and to get provisions and everything requisite for the reception of their captive. they received another five crowns each, the the day of the festa. remaining fifteen was to be paid them as soon as they arrived with their captive at the house. the party remained in ignorance as to the age and sex of the person they were to carry off, and had little curiosity as to the point, as they regarded this but a small adventure in compari- son to the lucrative schemes in which they were afterwards to be sharers. these arrangements made, gerald and geoffrey returned to seville, and reached that city on the eve of the commencement of the festa, and took up their abode at the lodging they had hired. on the following morning they posted themselves in the street by which the party they expected would arrive. both were attired in quiet citizen dress, and gerald retained his formidable moustachios and bushy eyebrows. in two or three hours a coach accompanied by four lackeys on horseback came up the street, and they saw that it contained the marquis of ribaldo, his daughter, and her duenna. they followed a short distance behind it until it entered the court- yard of a stately mansion, which they learnt on inquiry from a passer-by belonged to the duke of sottomayor. the streets were already crowded with people in holiday attire, the church bells were ringing, and flags and decorations of all kinds waved along the route that was to be followed by the great procession. the house did not stand on this line, and it was necessary therefore for its inmates to pass through the crowd either to the cathedral or to the balcony of the house from which they might intend to view the procession pass. half an hour after the arrival of the coach, the marquis and his daughter, accompanied by don philip de sottomayor, sallied out, escorted by six armed lackeys, and took their way towards the cathedral. they had, however, arrived very late, and the crowd had already gathered so densely that even the efforts of the lackeys and the angry commands of the marquis "now is the time, inez." and don philip failed to enable them to make a passage. very slowly indeed they advanced some distance into the crowd, but each moment their progress became slower. gerald and geoffrey had fallen in behind them and advanced with them as they worked themselves in the crowd. angry at what they considered the impertinence of the people for refusing to make way for them, the nobles pressed forward and engaged in an angry controversy with those in front, who urged, and truly, that it was simply impossible for them to make a way, so wedged in were they by the people on all sides. the crowd, neither knowing nor caring who were those who thus wished to take precedence of the first comers, began to jeer and laugh at the angry nobles, and when these threatened to use force threatened in return. as soon as her father had left her side, gerald, who was im- mediately behind inez, whispered in her ear, "now is the time, inez. go with my friend; i will occupy the old woman." "keep close to me, senora, and pretend that you are ill," geoffrey said to her, and without hesitation inez turned and followed him, drawing her mantilla more closely over her face. "let us pass, friends," geoffrey said as he elbowed his way through those standing behind them, "the lady needs air," and by vigorous efforts he presently arrived at the outskirts of the crowd, and struck off with his charge in the direction of their lodging. "gerald burke will follow us as soon as he can get out," he said. "everything is prepared for you, senora, and all arrangements made." "who are you, sir?" the girl asked. "i do not recall your face, and yet i seem to have seen it before." "i am english, senora, and am a friend of gerald burke's. when in madrid i was disguised as his servant; for as an eng- lishman and a heretic it would have gone hard with me had i been detected." ( ) p united. there were but few people in the streets through which they passed, the whole population having nocked either to the streets through which the procession was to pass, or to the cathedral or churches it was to visit on its way. gerald had told inez at their interview that, although he had made ar- rangements for carrying her off by force on the journey to or from seville, ho should, if possible, take advantage of the crowd at the function to draw her away from her companions. she had, therefore, put on her thickest lace mantilla, and this now completely covered her face from the view of passers-by. several times she glanced back . "do not be uneasy about him, sefiora," geoffrey said. "he will not try to extricate himself from the crowd until you are discovered to be missing, as to do so would be to attract at- tention. as soon as your loss is discovered he will make his way out, and will then come on at the top of his speed to the place whither i am conducting you, and i expect that we shall find him at the door awaiting us." a quarter of an hour's walk took them to the lodging, and inez gave a little cry of joy as the door was opened to them by gerald himself. "the people of the house are all out," he said, after their first greeting. "in that room you will find a peasant girl's dress. dress yourself as quickly as you can; we shall be ready for you in attire to match. you had best do up your own things into a bundle, which i will carry. if they were left here thoy might, when the news of your being missing gets abroad, afford a clue to the manner of your escape. i will tell you all about the arrangements we have made as we go along." "have you arranged—" and she hesitated. "yes, an irish priest, who is an old friend of mine, will per- form the ceremony this evening." fooling the duenna. a few minutes later two seeming peasants and a peasant girl issued out from the lodging. the two men carried stout sticks with bundles slung over them. "be careful of that bundle," inez said, "for there are all my jewels in it. after what you had said i concealed them all about me. they are my fortune, you know. now, tell me how you got on in the crowd." "i first pushed rather roughly against the duenna, and then made the most profuse apologies, saying that it was shame- ful people should crowd so, and that they ought at once to make way for a lady who was evidently of high rank. this mollified her, and we talked for three or four minutes; and in the meantime the row in front, caused by your father and the lackeys quarrelling with the people, grew louder and louder. the old lady became much alarmed, and indeed the crowd swayed about so that she clung to my arm. suddenly she thought of you, and turning round gave a scream when she found you were missing. 'what is the matter?' i asked anxiously. 'the young lady with me! she was here but an instant ago!' (she had forgotten you for fully five minutes.) 'what can have become of her?' "i suggested that no doubt you were close by, but had got separated from her by the pressure of the crowd. however, she began to squall so loudly that the marquis looked round. he was already in a towering rage, and he asked angrily,'what are you making all this noise about?' and then looking round exclaimed,'where is inez?' 'she was here a moment since!' the old lady exclaimed, 'and now she has got separated from me.' your father looked in vain among the crowd, and de- manded whether anyone had seen you. someone said that a lady who was fainting had made her way out five minutes before. the marquis used some strong language to the old lady, and then informed don philip what had happened, the marriage. and made his way back out of the crowd with the aid of the lackeys, and is no doubt inquiring for you in all the houses near; but, as you may imagine, i did not wait. i followed close behind them until they were out of the crowd, and then slipped away, and once round the corner took to my heels and made my way back, and got in two or three minutes before you arrived." the two young men talked almost continuously during their walk to the village in order to keep up the spirits of donna inez, and to prevent her from thinking of the strangeness of her position and the perils that lay before them before safety could be obtained. only once she spoke of the future. "is it true, gerald, that there are always storms and rain in your country, and that you never see the sun, for so some of those who were in the armada have told me?" "it rains there sometimes, inez, i am bound to admit; but it is often fine, and the sun never burns one up as it does here. i promise you you will like it, dear, when you once become accustomed to it." "i do not think i shall," she said, shaking her head; "i am accustomed to the sun, you know. but i would rather be with you even in such an island as they told me of than in spain with don philip." the village seemed absolutely deserted when they arrived there, the whole population having gone over to seville to take part in the great ffite. father denis received his fair visitor with the greatest kindness. "here, catherine," he cried to his old servant, "here are the visitors i told you i expected. it is well that we have the chambers prepared, and that we killed that capon this morning." that evening gerald burke and inez de ribaldo were married in the little church, geoffrey vickars being the only witness. the next morning there was a long consultation over their a fresh plan. plans. "i could buy you a cart in the village and a pair of oxen, and you could drive to malaga," the priest said, "but there would be a difficulty about changing your disguises after you had entered the town. i think that the boldest plan will be the safest one. i should propose that you should ride as a well-to-do trader to malaga, with your wife behind you on a pillion, and your friend here as your servant . lost as your wife was in the crowd at the fete, it will be a long time before the fact that she has fled will be realized. for a day or two the search will be con- ducted secretly, and only when the house of every friend whom she might have visited has been searched will the aid of the authorities be called in, and the poorer quarters, where she might have been carried by two or three ruffians who may have met her as she emerged in a fainting condition, as is supposed, from the crowd, be ransacked. i do not imagine that any search will be made throughout the country round for a week at least, by which time you will have reached malaga, and, if you have good fortune, be on board a ship." this plan was finally agreed to. gerald and his friend at once went over to seville and purchased the necessary dresses, together with two strong horses and equipments. it was evening before their return to the village. instead of entering it at once they rode on a mile further, and fastened the horses up in a wood. gerald would have left them there alone, but geoffrey insisted on staying with them for the night. "i care nothing about sleeping in the open air, gerald, and it would be folly to risk the success of our enterprise upon the chance of no one happening to come through the wood, and finding the animals before you return in the morning. we had a hearty meal at seville, and i shall do very well until morning." gerald and his wife took leave of the friendly priest at day- safe on board. break the next morning, with the hope that they would very shortly meet in ireland. they left the village before anyone was stirring. the peasant clothes had been left behind them. gerald carried two valises, the one containing the garments in which inez had fled, the other his own attire—geoffrey having re- sumed the dress he had formerly worn as his servant . on arriving at the wood the party mounted, and at once proceeded on their journey. four days' travel took them to malaga, where they arrived without any adventure whatever. once or twice they mot parties of rough-looking men; but tra- velling as they did without baggage animals, they did not appear promising subjects for robbery, and the determined ap- pearance of master and man, each armed with sword and pistols, deterred the fellows from an attempt which promised more hard knocks than plunder. after putting up at an inn in malaga, gerald went down at once to the port to inquire for a vessel bound for italy. there were three or four such vessels in the harbour, and he had no difficulty in arranging for a passage to naples for him- self, his wife, and servant. the vessel was to sail on the fol- lowing morning, and it was with a deep feeling of satisfaction and relief that they went on board her, and an hour later were outside the port . "it seems marvellous to me," gerald said, as he looked back upon the slowly-receding town, "that i have managed to carry off my prize with so little difficulty. i had expected to meet with all sorts of dangers, and had i been the peaceful trader i looked, our journey could not be more uneventful." "perhaps you are beginning to think that the prize is not so very valuable after all," inez said, "since you have won it so easily." "i have not begun to think so yet," gerald laughed happily. "i shall never return to spain." "at any rate i shall wait until i get you home before such ideas begin to occur to me." "directly i get to ireland," inez said, "i shall write to my father and tell him that i am married to you, and that i should never have run away had he not insisted on my marrying a man i hated. i shall, of course, beg him to forgive me; but i fear he never will." "we must hope that he will, inez, and that he will ask you to come back to spain sometimes. i do not care for myself, you know, for as i have told you my estate in ireland is amply large enough for my wants; but i shall be glad, for your sake, that you should be reconciled to him." inez shook her head. "you do not know my father, gerald. i would never go back to spain again—not if he promised to give me his whole fortune. my father never forgives; and were he to entice me back to spain, it would be only to shut me up and to obtain a dispensation from rome annulling the marriage, which he would have no difficulty in doing. no, you have got me, and will have to keep me for good. i shall never return to spain, never. possibly when my father hears from me he may send me over money to make me think he has forgiven me, and to induce me some day or other to come back to visit him, and so get me into his power again; but that, gerald, he shall never do." chapter xiv. the surprise of breda. lionel vickars had, by the beginning of , come to speak the dutch language well and fluently. including his first stay in holland he had now been there eighteen months, and as he was in constant communication with the dutch officers and with the population, he had constant occasion for speaking dutch, a language much more akin to english than any other continental tongue, and indeed so closely allied to the dialect of the eastern counties of england, that the fishermen of our eastern ports had in those days little difficulty in conversing with the hollanders. he was one day supping with sir francis vere when prince maurice and several of his officers were also there. the conversation turned upon the prospects of the campaign of the ensuing spring. lionel, of course, took no part in it, but listened attentively to what was being said, and was very pleased to find that the period of inactivity was drawing to an end, and that their commanders considered that they had now gathered a force of sufficient strength to assume the offensive. "i would," prince maurice said, "that we could gain breda. the city stands like a great sentinel against every movement towards flanders, and enables the spaniards to penetrate at all times towards the heart of our country; but i fear that it is a strong city. altogether beyond our means. it is one of the strongest cities in the netherlands, and my ancestors, who were its lords, little thought that they were fortifying and strengthening it in order that it might be a thorn in the side of their country. i would give much, indeed, to be able to wrest it from the enemy; but i fear it will bo long before we can even hope for that. it could withstand a regular siege by a well-provided army for months; and as to surprise, it is out of the question, for i hear that the utmost vigilance is unceasingly maintained." a few days after this lionel was talking with captain de heraugiere, who had also been at the supper. he had taken lionel's proposal. part in the defence of sluys, and was one of the officers with whom lionel was most intimate. "it would be a rare enterprise to surprise breda," captain de heraugiere said; "but i fear it is hopeless to think of such a thing." "i do not see why it should be," lionel said. "i was read- ing when i was last at home about our wars with the scotch, and there were several cases in which very strong places that could not have been carried by assault were captured suddenly by small parties of men who disguised themselves as waggoners, and hiding a score or two of their comrades in a waggon covered with firewood, or sacks of grain, boldly went up to the gates. when there they cut the traces of their horses so that the gates could not be closed, or the portcullis lowered, and then falling upon the guards, kept them at bay until a force, hidden near the gates, ran up and entered the town. i see not why a similar enterprise should not bo attempted at breda." "nor do i," captain heraugiere said; "the question is how to set about such a scheme." "that one could not say without seeing the place," lionel remarked. "i should say that a plan of this sort could only be successful after those who attempted it had made themselves masters of all particulars of the place and its ways. every- thing would depend upon all going smoothly and without hitches of any kind . if you really think of undertaking such an adventure, captain heraugiere, i should be very glad to act under you if sir francis vere will give me leave to do so; but i would suggest that the first step should be for us to go into breda in disguise. we might take in a waggon-load of grain for sale, or merely carry on our backs baskets with country pro- duce, or we could row up in a boat with fish." "the plan is certainly worth thinking of," captain herau- giere said. "i will turn it over in my mind for a day, and the preliminaries arranged. will then talk to you again. it would be a grand stroke, and there would be great honour to be obtained; but it will not do for me to go to prince maurice and lay it before him until we have a plan completely worked out, otherwise we are more likely to meet with ridicule than praise." the following day captain heraugiere called at lionel's lodgings. "i have lain awake all night thinking of our scheme," he said, "and have resolved to carry out at least the first part of it—to enter breda and see what are the prospects of success, and the manner in which the matter had best be set about . i propose that we two disguise ourselves as fishermen, and going down to the river between breda and willemstad bar- gain with some fishermen going up to breda with their catch for the use of their boat . while they are selling the fish we can survey the town and see what is the best method of in- troducing a force into it . when our plan is completed we will go to voorne, whither prince maurice starts to-morrow, and lay the matter before him." "i will gladly go with you to breda," lionel said, "and, as far as i can, aid you there; but i think that it would be best that you only should appear in the matter afterwards. i am but a young volunteer, and it would be well that i did not appear at all in the matter, which you had best make entirely your own. but i hope, captain heraugiere, that should the prince decide to adopt any plan you may form, and intrust the matter to you, that you will take me with you in your following." "that i will assuredly," captain heraugiere said, "and will take care that if it should turn out successful your share in the enterprise shall be known." "when do you think of setting about it?" lionel asked. "instantly. my company is at voorne, and i should return thither with the prince to-day. i will at once go to him and ask for leave to be absent on urgent affairs for a week. do you go to a week's leave. sir francis vere and ask for a similar time. do not tell him, if you can help it, the exact nature of your enterprise. but if you cannot obtain leave otherwise, of course you must do so. i will be back here in two hours' time. we can then at once get our disguises, and hire a craft to take us to willemstad." lionel at once went across to the quarters of sir francis vere. "i have come, sir francis, to ask for a week's leave of ab- sence." "that you can have, lionel . what, are you going shooting ducks on the frozen meresl" "no, sir francis. i am going on a little expedition with captain heraugiere, who has invited me to accompany him. we have an idea in our heads that may perhaps be altogether useless, but may possibly bear fruit. in the first case we would say nothing about it, in the second we will lay it before you on our return." "very well," sir francis said with a smile. "you showed that you could think at sluys, and i hope something may come of this idea of yours, whatever it may be." at the appointed time captain heraugiere returned, having obtained leave of absence from the prince. they at once went out into the town and bought the clothes necessary for their disguise. they returned with these to their lodgings, and hav- ing put them on went down to the wharf, where they had no difficulty in bargaining with the master of a small craft to take them to willemstad, as the spaniards had no ships whatever on the water between botterdam and bergen-op-zoom. the boat was to wait three days for them at that town, and to bring them back to rotterdam. as there was no reason for delay they at once went on board and cast off. the distance was but thirty miles, and just at nightfall they stepped ashore at the town of willemstad. at breda. the next morning they had no difficulty in arranging with a fisherman who was going up to breda with a cargo of fish to take the place of two of his boatmen at the oars. "we want to spend a few hours there," captain heraugiere said, "and will give you five crowns if you will leave two of your men here and let us take their places." "that is a bargain," the man said at once; "that is, if you can row, for we shall scarce take the tide up to the town, and must keep on rowing to get there before the ebb begins." "we can row, though perhaps not so well as your own men. you are, i suppose, in the habit of going there, and are known to the guards at the port? they are not likely, i should think, to notice that you haven't got the same crew as usual?" "there is no fear of that, and if they did i could easily say that two of my men were unable to accompany me to-day, and that i have hired fresh hands in their places." two of the men got out. captain heraugiere and lionel vickars took their places, and the boat proceeded up the river. the oars were heavy and clumsy, and the new-comers were by no means sorry when, after a row of twelve miles, they neared breda. "what are the regulations for entering breda?" captain heraugiere asked as they approached the town. "there are no particular regulations," the master of the boat said, "save that on entering the port the boat is searched to see that it contains nothing but fish. none are allowed to enter the gates of the town without giving their names, and satisfying the officer on guard that they have business in the place." an officer came on board as the boat ran up alongside the quay and asked a few questions. after assisting in getting the basket of fish on shore captain heraugiere and lionel saun- tered away along the quay, leaving the fishermen to dispose of a happy thought. their catch to the townspeople, who had already begun to bargain for them. the river mark flowed through the town, supplying its moats with water. where it left the town on the western side was the old castle, with a moat of its own and strong fortified lines. within was the quay, with an open place called the fish- market leading to the gates of the new castle. there were spanish infantry in the town and in the castle, and cavalry. the governor of breda, edward lanzavecchia, was absent superintending the erection of new fortifications at gertruydenberg, and in his absence the town was under the command of his son paolo. great vigilance was exercised . all vessels entering port were strictly examined, and there was a guard-house on the quay. lying by one of the wharves was a large boat laden with peat, which was being rapidly unloaded, the peat being sold as soon as landed, as fuel was very short in the city. "it seems to me," lionel said as they stood for a minute looking on, "that this would be just the thing for us. if we could make an arrangement with the captain of one of these peat-boats we might hide a number of men in the hold and cover them with peat. a place might be built large enough, i should think, to hold seventy or eighty men, and yet be room for a quantity of peat to be stowed over them." "a capital idea," captain heraugifere said. "the peat comes from above the town. we must find out where the barges are loaded, and try to get at one of the captains." after a short walk through the town they returned to the boat. the fisherman had already sold out his stock, and was glad at seeing his passengers return earlier than he expected; but as the guard was standing by he rated them severely for keeping him waiting so long, and with a muttered excuse they took their places in the boat and rowed down the river. "a good trade." "i want you to put us ashore on the left bank as soon as we are out of sight of the town," captain heraugiere said. "as it will be heavy work getting your boat back with only two of you, i will give you a couple of crowns beyond the amount i bargained with you for." "that will do well enough," the man said. "we have got the tide with us, and can drop down at our leisure." as soon as they were landed they made a wide detour to avoid the town, and coming down again upon the river above it, followed its banks for three miles, when they put up at a little inn in the small village of leur on its bank. they had scarcely sat down to a meal when a man came in and called for supper. the landlord placed another plate at the table near them, and the man at once got into conversation with them, and they learnt that he was master of a peat-boat that had that morning left breda empty. "we were in breda ourselves this morning," captain her- augiere said, "and saw a peat-boat unloading there. there seemed to be a brisk demand for the fuel." "yes; it is a good trade at present," the man said. "there are only six of us who have permits to enter the port, and it is as much as wo can do to keep the town supplied with fuel; for, you see, at any moment the river may be frozen up, so the citizens need to keep a good stock in hand. i ought not to grumble, since i reap the benefit of the spanish regulations; but all these restrictions on trade come mighty hard upon the people of breda. it was not so in the old time." after supper was over captain heraugiere ordered a couple of flasks of spirits, and presently learned from the boatman that his name was adrian van de berg, and that he had been at one time a servant in the household of william of orange. little by little captain heraugiere felt his way, and soon found that the boatman was an enthusiastic patriot. he then con- "a bold plan and a good one." fided to him that he himself was an officer in the state's service, and had come to breda to ascertain whether there was any pos- sibility of capturing the town by surprise. "we hit on a plan to-day," he said, "which promises a chance of success; but it needs the assistance of one ready to risk his life." "i am ready to risk my life in any enterprise that has a fair chance of success," the boatman said, "but i do not see how i can be of much assistance." "you can be of the greatest assistance if you will, and will render the greatest service to your country if you will join in our plan. what we propose is, that we should construct a shelter of boards four feet high in the bottom of your boat, leading from your little cabin aft right up to the bow. in this i calcu- late we could stow seventy men; then the peat could be piled over it, and if you entered the port somewhat late in the after- noon you could manage that it was not unladen so as to un- cover the roof of our shelter before work ceased for the night . then we could sally out, overpower the guard on the quay, make for one of the gates, master the guard there, and open it to our friends without." "it is a bold plan and a good one," van de berg said, "and i am ready to run my share of the risk with you. i am so well known in breda that they do not search the cargo very closely when i arrive, and i see no reason why the party hidden below should not escape observation. i will undertake my share of the business if you decide to carry it out. i served the prince for fifteen years, and am ready to serve his son. there are plenty of planks to be obtained at a place three miles above here, and it would not take many hours to construct the false deck. if you send a messenger here giving me two days' notice, it shall be built and the peat stowed on it by the time you arrive." "this is a rare enterprise." it was late at night before the conversation was concluded, and the next morning captain heraugiere and lionel started on their return, struck the river some miles below breda, ob- tained a passage over the river in a passing boat late in the afternoon, and, sleeping at willemstad, went on board their boat next morning and returned to rotterdam. it was ar- ranged that lionel should say nothing about their journey until captain heraugiere had opened the subject to prince maurice. "you are back before your time," sir francis vere said when lionel reported himself for duty. "has anything come of this project of yours, whatever it may be?" "we hope so, sir. captain heraugiere will make his report to prince maurice. he is the leader of the party, and there- fore we thought it best that he should report to prince mau- rice, who, if he thinks well of it, will of course communicate with you." the next day a message arrived from voorne requesting sir francis vere to proceed thither to discuss with the prince a matter of importance. he returned after two days' absence, and presently sent for lionel. "this is a rare enterprise that captain heraugiere has pro- posed to the prince," he said, "and promises well for success. it is to be kept a profound secret, and a few only will know aught of it until it is executed. heraugiere is of course to have command of the party which is to be hidden in the barge, and is to pick out eighty men from the garrisons of gorcum and lowesteyn. he has begged that you shall be of the party, as he says that the whole matter was in the first case suggested to him by you. the rest of the men and officers will be dutch." a fortnight later, on the nd of february, sir francis vere on his return from the hague, where prince maurice now was, told lionel that all was arranged. the message had come ( ) q in the vessel's hold. "if he does not he will deserve hanging," captain logier said; "after all the trouble he has given in getting the troops together, and after bringing the prince himself over." "it will go very near hanging if not quite," heraugiere muttered. "if he thinks that he is going to fool us with im- punity, he is mightily mistaken. if he is a wise man he will start at daybreak, and get as far away as he can before night- fall if he does not mean to come." the next day the party remained in hiding in a bam, and in the evening again went down to the river. there was a barge lying there laden high with turf. a general excla- mation of satisfaction broke from all when they saw it . there were two men on it . one landed and came to meet them. "where is van de berg?" captain heraugiere asked as he came up. "he is ill and unable to come, but has sent you this letter. my brother and myself have undertaken the business." the letter merely said that the writer was too ill to come, but had sent in his place his two nephews, one or other of whom always accompanied him, and who could be trusted thoroughly to carry out the plan. the party at once went on board the vessel, descended into the little cabin aft, and then passed through a hole made by the removal of two planks into the hold that had been prepared for them. heraugiere re- mained on deck, and from time to time descended to inform those below of the progress being made. it was slow indeed, for a strong wind laden with sleet blew directly down the river. huge blocks of ice floated down, and the two boatmen with their poles had the greatest difficulty in keeping the boat's head up the stream. at last the wind so increased that navigation became im- possible, and the barge was made fast against the bank. from monday night until thursday morning the gale continued. a terrible position. progress was impossible, and the party cramped up in the hold suffered greatly from hunger and thirst. on thursday evening they could sustain it no longer and landed. they were for a time scarce able to walk, so cramped were their limbs by their long confinement, and made their way up painfully to a fortified building called nordand, standing far from any other habita- tions. here they obtained food and drink, and remained until at eleven at night one of the boatmen came to them with news that the wind had changed, and was now blowing in from the sea. they again took their places on board, but the water was low in the river, and it was difficult work passing the shallows, and it was not until saturday afternoon that they passed the boom below the town and entered the inner harbour. an officer of the guard came off in a boat and boarded the barge. the weather was so bitterly cold that he at once went into the little cabin and there chatted with the two boatmen. those in the hold could hear every word that was said, and they almost held their breath, for the slightest noise would betray them. after a while the officer got into his boat again, saying he would send some men off to warp the vessel into the castle dock, as the fuel was required by the garrison there. as the barge was making its way towards the water-gate, it struck upon a hidden obstruction in the river and began to leak rapidly. the situation of those in the hold was now terrible, for in a few minutes the water rose to their knees, and the choice seemed to be presented to them of being drowned like rats there, or leaping overboard, in which case they would be captured and hung without mercy. the boatmen plied the pumps vigorously, and in a short time a party of italian soldiers arrived from the shore and towed the vessel into the inner harbour, and made her fast close to the guard-house of the castle. a party of labourers at once came on board and began to unload the turf; the need of fuel both in the town a*id the danger evaded. castle being great, for the weather had been for some time bitterly cold. a fresh danger now arose. the sudden immersion in the icy water in the close cabin brought on a sudden inclination to sneeze and cough. lieutenant held, finding himself unable to repress his cough, handed his dagger to lionel vickars, who happened to be sitting next to him, and implored him to stab him to the heart lest his cough might betray the whole party; but one of the boatmen who was standing close to the cabin heard the sounds, and bade his companion go on pumping with as much noise and clatter as possible, while he himself did the same, telling those standing on the wharf alongside that the boat was almost full of water. the boatmen behaved with admirable calmness and coolness, exchanging jokes with acquain- tances on the quay, keeping up a lively talk, asking high prices for their peat, and engaging in long and animated bargains so as to prevent the turf from being taken too rapidly ashore. at last, when but a few layers of turf remained over the roof of the hold, the elder brother told the men unloading that it was getting too dark, and he himself was too tired and worn- out to attend to things any longer. he therefore gave the men some money and told them to go to the nearest public-house to drink his health, and to return the first thing in the morning to finish unloading. the younger of the two brothers had already left the boat. he made his way through the town, and started at full speed to carry the news to prince maurice that the barge had arrived safely in the town, and the attempt would be made at midnight; also of the fact they had learned from those on the wharf, that the governor had heard a rumour that a force had landed somewhere on the coast, and had gone off again to gertruydenberg in all haste, believing that some design was on foot against that town. his son paolo was again in com- mand of the garrison. the surprise. a little before midnight captain heraugiere told his comrades that the hour had arrived, and that only by the most desperate bravery could they hope to succeed, while death was the cer- tain consequence of failure. the band were divided into two companies. he himself with one was to attack the main guard- house; the other, under fervet, was to seize the arsenal of the fortress. noiselessly they stole out from their hiding-place, and formed upon the wharf within the inclosure of the castle. heraugiere moved straight upon the guard-house. the sentry was secured instantly; but the slight noise was heard, and the captain of the watch ran out, but was instantly cut down. others came out with torches, but after a brief fight were driven into the guard-house; when all were shot down through the doors and windows. captain fervet and his band had done equally well. the magazine of the castle was seized, and its defenders slain. paolo lanzavecchia made a sally from the palace with a few of his adherents, but was wounded and driven back; and the rest of the garrison of the castle, ignorant of the strength of the force that had thus risen as it were from the earth upon them, fled panic-stricken, not even pausing to destroy the bridge between the castle and the town. young paolo lanzavecchia now began a parley with the as- sailants; but while the negotiations were going on hohenlohe with his cavalry came up—having been apprised by the boatman that the attempt was about to be made—battered down the palisade near the water-gate, and entered the castle. a short time afterwards prince maurice, sir francis vere, and other officers arrived with the main body of the troops. but the fight was over before even hohenlohe arrived; forty of the garrison being killed, and not a single man of the seventy assailants. the burgomaster, finding that the castle had fallen, and that a strong force had arrived, then sent a trumpeter to novel tactics. the castle to arrange for the capitulation of the town, which was settled on the following terms:—all plundering was com- muted for the payment of two months' pay to every soldier engaged in the affair. all who chose might leave the city, with full protection to life and property. those who were willing to remain were not to be molested in their consciences or households with regard to religion. the news of the capture of breda was received with immense enthusiasm throughout holland. it was the first offensive operation that had been successfully undertaken, and gave new hope to the patriots. parma was furious at the cowardice with which five com- panies of foot and one of horse—all picked troops—had fled before the attack of seventy hollanders. three captains were publicly beheaded in brussels and a fourth degraded to the ranks, while lanzavecchia was deprived of the command of gertruydenberg. for some months before the assault upon breda the army of holland had been gaining vastly in strength and organization. prince maurice, aided by his cousin lewis william, stadholder of friesland, had been hard at work getting it into a state of efficiency. lewis william, a man of great energy and military talent, saw that the use of solid masses of men in the field was no longer fitted to a state of things when the improve- ments in firearms of all sorts had entirely changed the condi- tion of war. he therefore reverted to the old roman methods, and drilled his soldiers in small bodies; teaching them to turn and wheel, advance or retreat, and perform all sorts of manoeuvres with regularity and order. prince maurice adopted the same plan in holland, and the tactics so introduced proved so effi- cient that they were sooner or later adopted by all civilized nations. at the time when william of orange tried -to relieve the a rising nation. hard-pressed city of haarlem, he could with the greatest dif- ficulty muster three or four thousand men for the purpose. the army of the netherlands was now , strong, of whom were cavalry. it was well disciplined, well equipped, and re- gularly paid, and was soon to prove that the pains bestowed upon it had not been thrown away. in the course of the eighteen years that had followed the capture of brill and the commencement of the struggle with spain, the wealth and prosperity of holland had enormously increased. the dutch were masters of the sea-coast, the ships of the zeelanders closed every avenue to the interior, and while the commerce of antwerp, ghent, bruges, and the other cities of the provinces that remained in the hands of the spaniards was for the time destroyed, and their population fell off by a half, holland benefited in proportion. from all the spanish provinces men of energy and wealth passed over in immense numbers to holland, where they could pursue their commerce and industries—free from the exactions and cruelty under which they had for so many years groaned. the result was that the cities of holland increased vastly in wealth and popidation, and the resources at the disposal of prince maurice enormously exceeded those with which his father had for so many years sustained the struggle. for a while after the capture of breda there was breathing time in holland, and maurice was busy in increasing and improving his army. parma was fettered by the imperious commands of philip, who had completely crippled him by with- drawing a considerable number of his troops for service in the war which he was waging with france. but above all, the destruction of the armada, and with it of the naval supremacy of spain, had changed the situation. holland was free to carry on her enterprises by sea, and had free communication and commerce with hor english ally, while chapter xv. a slave in barbary. he tarifa had left port but a few hours when a strong wind rose from the north, and rapidly in- creased in violence until it was blowing a gale. "inez is terribly ill," gerald said when he met geoffrey on deck the following morning. "i believe at the present moment she would face her father and risk everything if she could but be put on shore." "i can well imagine that. however, she will think otherwise to-morrow or next day. i believe these mediterranean storms do not last long. there is no fear of six weeks of bad weather such as we had when we were last afloat together." "no. i have just been speaking to the captain. he says they generally blow themselves out in two or three days; but still, even that is not a pleasant look-out. these vessels are not like your english craft, which seem to be able to sail almost in the eye of the wind. they are lubberly craft, and badly handled; and if this gale lasts for three days we shall be down on the barbary coast, and i would rather risk another journey through spain than get down so near the country of the moors." "i can understand that," geoffrey agreed. "however, i see there are some thirty soldiers forward on their way to join one of the regiments in naples, so we ought to be able to beat oft any corsair that might come near us. a barbary corsair. "yes; but if we got down on their coast we might be at- tacked by half a dozen of them," gerald said. "however, one need not begin to worry one's self at present; the gale may abate within a few hours." at the end of the second day the wind went down suddenly; and through the night the vessel rolled heavily, for the sea was still high, and there was not a breath of wind to fill her sails and steady her. by the morning the sea had gone down, but there was still an absence of wind. "we have had a horrible night," gerald remarked, "but we may think ourselves fortunate indeed," and he pointed to the south, where the land was plainly visible at a distance of nine or ten miles. "if the gale had continued to blow until now we should have been on shore long before this." "we are too near to be pleasant," geoffrey said, "for they can see us as plainly as we can see the land. it is to be hoped that a breeze may spring up from the south before long and enable us to creep off the land. unless i am greatly mistaken i can see the masts of some craft or other in a line with those white houses over there." "i don't see them," gerald replied, gazing intently in the direction in which geoffrey pointed. "let us go up to the top, gerald; we shall see her hull from there plainly enough." on reaching the top gerald saw at once that his friend's eyes had not deceived him. "yes, there is a vessel there sure enough, geoffrey. i can- not see whether she has one or two masts, for her head is in this direction." "that is not the worst of it," geoffrey said, shading his eyes and gazing intently on the distant object. "she is rowing; i can see the light flash on her oars every stroke. that is a moorish galley, and she is coming out towards us." preparations for defence." "i believe you are right," gerald replied after gazing earnestly for some time. "yes, i saw the flash of the oars then distinctly." they at once descended to the deck and informed the cap- tain of what they had seen. he hastily mounted to the top. "there is no mistake about it," he said after looking intently for a short time; "it is one of the barbary corsairs, and she is making out towards us. the holy saints preserve us from these bloodthirsty infidels." "the saints will do their work if we do ours," gerald re- marked; "and we had best do as large a share as possible . what is the number of your crew, captain?" "nineteen men altogether." "and there are thirty soldiers, and six male passengers in the cabin," gerald said; "so we muster fifty-four. that ought to be enough to beat off the corsair." on returning to the deck the captain informed the officer in charge of the troops on board that a moorish pirate was put- ting off towards them, and that unless the wind came to their aid there was no chance of escaping a conflict with her. "then we must fight her, captain," the officer, who was still a youth, said cheerfully. "i have thirty men, of whom at least half are veterans. you have four cannon on board, and there are the crew and passengers." "fifty-four in all," gerald said . "we ought to be able to make a good fight of it." orders were at once given, soldiers and crew were mustered and informed of the approaching danger. "we have got to fight, men, and to fight hard," the young officer said; "for if we are beaten you know the result—either our throats will be cut or we shall have to row in their gal- leys for the rest of our lives. so there is not much choice." in an hour the corsair was half-way between the coast and inez refuses to go below. the vessel. by this time every preparation had been made for - her reception. arms had been distributed among the crew and such of the passengers as were not already provided, the guns had been cast loose and ammunition brought up, cauldrons of pitch were ranged along the bulwarks and fires lighted on slabs of stone placed beneath them. the coppers in the galley were already boiling. "now, captain," the young officer said, "do you and your sailors work the guns and ladle out the pitch and boiling water, and be in readiness to catch up their pikes and axes and aid in the defence if the villains gain a footing on the deck. i and my men and the passengers will do our best to keep them from climbing up." the vessel was provided with sweeps, and the captain had in the first place proposed to man them; but gerald pointed out that the corsair would row three feet to their one, and that it was important that all should be fresh and vigorous when the pirates came alongside. the idea had consequently been aban- doned, and the vessel lay motionless in the water while the corsair was approaching. inez, who felt better now that the motion had subsided, came on deck as the preparations were being made. gerald told her of the danger that was approaching. she turned pale. "this is dreadful, gerald. i would rather face death a thousand times than be captured by the moors." "we shall beat them off, dear, never fear. they will not reckon upon the soldiers we have on board, and will expect an easy prize. i do not suppose that, apart from the galley-slaves, they have more men on board than we have, and fighting as we do for liberty, each of us ought to be equal to a couple of these moorish dogs. when the conflict begins' you must go below." "i shall not do that," inez said firmly. "we will share the the fight begins. same fate whatever it may be, gerald; and remember that whatever happens i will not live to be carried captive among them. i will stab myself to the heart if i see that all is lost." "you shall come on deck if you will, inez, when they get close alongside. i do not suppose there will be many shots fired—they will be in too great a hurry to board; but as long as they are shooting you must keep below. after that come up if you will. it would make a coward of me did i know that a chance shot might strike you." "very well, then, gerald, to please you i will go down until they come alongside, then come what will i shall be on deck." as the general opinion on board was that the corsairs would not greatly outnumber them, while they would be at a great disadvantage from the lowness of their vessel in the water, there was a general feeling of confidence, and the approach of the enemy was watched with calmness. when half a mile distant two puffs of smoke burst out from the corsair's bows. a mo- ment later a shot struck the ship, and another threw up the water close to her stern. the four guns of the tarifa had been brought over to the side on which the enemy was approaching, and these were now discharged. one of the shots carried away some oars on the starboard side of the galley, another struck her in the bow. there was a slight confusion on board; two or three oars were shifted over from the port to the starboard side, and she continued her way. the guns were loaded again, bags of bullets being this time inserted instead of balls. the corsairs fired once more, but their shots were unanswered; and with wild yells and shouts they approached the motionless spanish vessel. "she is crowded with men," gerald remarked to geoffrey. "she has far more on board than we reckoned on." "we have not given them a close volley yet," geoffrey replied. "if the guns are well aimed they will make matters equal." the corsairs repulsed. the corsair was little more than her own length away when the captain gave the order, and the four guns poured their con- tents upon her crowded decks. the effect was terrible. the mass of men gathered in her bow in readiness to board as soon as she touched the tarifa were literally swept away. another half minute she was alongside the spaniard, and the moors with wild shouts of vengeance tried to clamber on board. but they had not reckoned upon meeting with more than the ordinary crew of a merchant ship. the soldiers discharged their arquebuses, and then with pike and sword opposed an impenetrable barrier to the assailants, while the sailors from behind ladled over the boiling pitch and water through inter- vals purposely left in the line of the defenders. the conflict lasted but a few minutes. well-nigh half the moors had been swept away by the discharge of the cannon, and the rest, but little superior in numbers to the spaniards, were not long be- fore they lost heart, their efforts relaxed, and shouts arose to the galley-slaves to row astern. "now, it is our turn!" the young officer cried. "follow me, my men; we will teach the dogs a lesson." as he spoke he sprang from the bulwark down upon the deck of the corsair. geoffrey, who was standing next to him, followed his example, as did five or six soldiers. they were instantly en- gaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the moors. in the din and confusion they heard not the shouts of their comrades. after a minute's fierce fighting, geoffrey, finding that he and his com- panions were being pressed back, glanced round to see why support did not arrive, and saw that there were already thirty feet of water between the two vessels. he was about to spring overboard, when the moors made a desperate rush, his guard was beaten down, a blow from a moorish scimitar fell on his head, and he lost consciousness. it was a long time before he recovered. the first sound he a prisoner. was aware of was the creaking of the oars. he lay dreamily listening to this, and wondering what it meant, until the truth suddenly flashed across him. he opened his eyes and looked round. a heavy weight lay across his legs, and he saw the young spanish officer lying dead there. several other spaniards lay close by, while the deck was strewn with the corpses of the moors. he understood at once what had happened.. the vessels had drifted apart just^s he sprang on board, cutting off those who had boarded the corsair from all assistance from their friends, and as soon as they had been overpowered the galley had started on her return to the port from which she had come out. f- "at any rate," he said to himself, "gerald and inez are safe; that is a comfort, whatever comes of it." it was not until the corsair dropped anchor near the shore that the dispirited moors paid any attention to those by whom their deck was cumbered . then the spaniards were first examined. four, who were dead, were at once tossed over- board. geoffrey and two others who showed signs of life were left for the present, a bucket of water being thrown over each to revive them. the moorish wounded and the dead were then lowered into boats and taken on shore for care or burial. then geoffrey and the two spaniards were ordered to rise. all three were able to do so with some difficulty, and were rowed ashore. they were received when they landed by the curses and execrations of the people of the little town, who would have torn them to pieces had not their captors marched them to the prison occupied by the galley-slaves when on shore, and left them there. most of the galley-slaves were far too exhausted by their long row, and too indifferent to aught but their own sufferings, to pay any attention to the new-comers. two or three, however, came up to them and offered to assist an unexpected meeting. in bandaging their wounda their doublets had already been taken by their captors; but they now tore strips off their shirts, and with these staunched the bleeding of their wounds. "it was lucky for you that five or six of our number were killed by that discharge of grape you gave us," one of them said, "or they would have thrown you overboard at once. although, after all, death is almost preferable to such a life as ours." "how long have you been here?" geoffrey asked. "i hardly know," the other replied; "one almost loses count of time here. but it is somewhere about ten years. i am sturdy, you see. three years at most is the average of our life in the , galleys, though there are plenty die before as many months have passed. i come of a hardy race. i am not a spaniard. i was captured in an attack on a town in the west indies, and had three years on board one of your galleys at cadiz. then she was captured by the moors, and here i have been ever since." "then you must be an englishman!" geoffrey exclaimed in that language. the man stared at him stupidly for a minute, and then burst into tears. "i have never thought to hear my own tongue again, lad," he said, holding out his hand. "aye, i am english, and was one of hawkins' men. but how come you to be in a spanish ship? i have heard our masters say, when talking together, that there is war now between the english and spaniards; that is, war at home. there has always been war out on the spanish main, but they know nothing of that." "i was made prisoner in a fight we had with the great spanish armada off gravelines," geoffrey said. "we heard a year ago from some spaniards they captured that a great fleet was being prepared to conquer england; but no news has come to us since. we are the only galley here, ( ) k "tell me all about it." and as our benches were full, the prisoners they have taken since were sent off at once to algiers or other ports, so we have heard nothing. but i told the spaniards that if drake and hawkins were in england when their great fleet got there, they were not likely to have it all their own way. tell me all about it, lad . you do not know how hungry i am for news from home." geoffrey related to the sailor the tale of the overthrow and destruction of the armada, which threw him into an ecstasy of satisfaction. "these fellows," he said, pointing to the other galley-slaves, "have for the last year been telling me that i need not call my- self an englishman any more, for that england was only a part of spain now. i will open their eyes a bit in the morning. but i won't ask you any more questions now; it is a shame to have made you talk so much after such a clip as you have had on the head." geoffrey turned round on the sand that formed their only bed, and was soon asleep, the last sound he heard being the chuckling of his companion over the discomfiture of the ar- mada. in the morning the guard came in with a great dish filled with a sort of porridge of coarsely-ground grain, boiled with water. in a corner of the yard were a number of calabashes, each composed of half a gourd . the slaves each dipped one of these into the vessel, and so eat their breakfast. 'before be- ginning geoffrey went to a trough, into which a jet of water was constantly falling from a small pipe, bathed his head and face, and took a long drink. "we may be thankful," the sailor, who had already told him that his name was stephen boldero, said, "that someone in the old times laid on that water. if it had not been for that i do not know what we should have done, and a drink of muddy "some men die under it." stuff once or twice a day is all we should have got. that there pure water is just the saving of us." "what are we going to do now " geoffrey asked. "does the galley go out every day?" "bless you, no; sometimes not once a month; only when a sail is made out in sight, and the wind is light enough to give us the chance of capturing her. sometimes we go out on a cruise for a month at a time; but that is not often. at other times we do the work of the town, mend the roads, sweep up the filth, repair the quays; do anything, in fact, that wants doing. the work, except in the galleys, is not above a man's strength. some men die under it, because the spaniards lose heart and turn sullen, and then down comes the whip on their backs, and they break their hearts over it; but a man as does his best, and is cheerful and willing, gets on well enough ex- cept in the galleys. "that is work; that is. there is a chap walks up and down with a whip, and when they are chasing he lets it fall pro- miscuous, and even if you are rowing fit to kill yourself you do not escape it; but on shore here if you keep up your spirits things ain't altogether so bad. now i have got you here to talk to in my own lingo i feel quite a different man. for although i have been here ten years, and can jabber in spanish, i havo never got on with these fellows; as is only natural, seeing that i am an englishman and know all about their doings in the spanish main, and hate them worse than poison. well, our time is up, so i am off. i do not expect they will make you work till your wounds are healed a bit." this supposition turned out correct, and for the next week geoffrey was allowed to remain quietly in the yard when the gang went out to their work. at the end of that time his wound had closed, and being heartily sick of the monotony of his life, he voluntarily fell in by the side of boldero when the rather with moors than spaniards. gang was called to work . the overseer was apparently pleased at this evidence of willingness on the part of the young captive, and said something to him in his own tongue. this his com- panion translated as being an order that he was not to work too hard for the present . "i am bound to say, mate, that these moors are, as a rule, much better masters than the spaniards. i have tried them both, and i would rather be in a moorish galley than a spanish one by a long way, except just when they are chasing a ship, and are half wild with excitement . these moors are not half bad fellows, while it don't seem to me that a spaniard has got a heart in him. then again, i do not think they are quite so hard on englishmen as they are on spaniards; for they hate the spaniards because they drove them out of their country. once or twice i have had a talk with the overseer when he has been in a special good humour, and he knows we hate the spaniards as much as they do, and that though they call us all christian dogs, our christianity ain't a bit like that of the spaniards. i shall let him know the first chance i have that you are english too, and i shall ask him to let you always work by the side of me." as stephen boldero had foretold, geoffrey did not find his work on shore oppressively hard . he did his best, and as he and his companion always performed a far larger share of work than that done by any two of the spaniards, they gained the good-will of their overlooker, who, when a fortnight later the principal bey of the place sent down a request for two slaves to do some rough work in his garden, selected them for the work. "now we will just buckle to, lad," stephen boldero said. "this bey is the captain of the corsair, and he can make things a deal easier for us if he chooses; so we will not spare ourselves. he had one of the men up there two years ago, and kept him a change for the better. for some months, and the fellow found it so hard when he came back here again that he pined and died off in no time." a guard took them to the bey's house, which stood on high ground behind the town. the bey came out to examine the men chosen for his work. "i hear," he said, "that you are both english, and hate the spaniards as much as we do. well, if i find you work well, you will be well treated; if not, you will be sent back at once. now, come with me, and i shall show you what you have to do." the high wall at the back of the garden had been pulled down, and the bey intended to enlarge the inclosure consider- ably. "you are first," he said, "to dig a foundation for the new wall along that line marked out by stakes. when that is done you will supply the masons with stone and mortar. when the wall is finished the new ground will all have to be dug deeply and planted with shrubs, under the superintendence of my gar- dener. while you are working here you will not return to the prison, but will sleep in that out-house in the garden." "you shall have no reason to complain of our work," bol- dero said. "we englishmen are no sluggards, and we do not want a man always looking after us as those lazy spaniards do." as soon as they were supplied with tools geoffrey and his companion set to work. the trench for the foundations had to be dug three feet deep; and though the sun blazed fiercely down upon them, they worked unflinchingly. from time to time the bey's head servant came down to examine their pro- gress, and occasionally watched them from among the trees. at noon he bade them lay aside their tools and come into the shed, and a slave boy brought them out a large dish of vege- tables, with small pieces of meat in it. "this is something like food," stephen said as he sat down the bey is astonished. to it. "it is ten years since such a mess as this has passed my lips. i do not wonder that chap fell ill when he got back to prison if this is the sort of way they fed him here." that evening the moorish overseer reported to the bey that the two slaves had done in the course of the day as much work as six of the best native labourers could have performed, and that without his standing over them or paying them any atten- tion whatever. moved by the report, the bey himself went down to the end of the garden. "it is wonderful," he said, stroking his beard. "truly these englishmen are men of sinews. never have i seen so much work done by two men in a day. take care of them, mah- moud, and see that they are well fed; the willing servant should be well cared for." the work went steadily on until the wall was raised, the ground dug, and the shrubs planted. it was some months be- fore all this was done, and the two slaves continued to attract the observation and good-will of the bey by their steady and cheerful labour. their work began soon after sunrise, and continued until noon. then they had three hours to them- selves to eat their mid-day meal and dose in the shed, and then worked again until sunset . the bey often strolled down to the edge of the trees to watch them, and sometimes even took guests to admire the way in which these two englishmen, although ignorant that any eyes were upon them, performed their work. his satisfaction was evinced by the abundance of food sup- plied them, their meal being frequently supplemented by fruit and other little luxuries. severely as they laboured, geoffrey and his companion were comparatively happy. short as was the time that the former had worked with the gang, he appre- ciated the liberty he now enjoyed, and especially congratulated himself upon being spared the painful life of a galley-slave at the work concluded. g sea. as to boldero, the change from the prison with the companions he hated, its degrading work, and coarse and scanty food, made a new man of him. he had been but two-and-twenty when captured by the spaniards, and was now in the prime of life and strength. the work, which had seemed very hard to geoffrey at first, was to him but as play, while the companionship of his countryman, his freedom from constant surveillance, the absence of all care, and the abundance and excellence of his food, filled him with new life; and the ladies of the bey's household often sat and listened to the strange songs that rose from the slaves toiling in the garden. as the work approached its conclusion geoffrey and his companion had many a talk over what would next befall them. there was one reason only that weighed in favour of the life with the slave-gang. in their present position there was no possibility whatever, so far as they could discern, of effecting their escape; whereas, as slaves, should the galley in which they rowed be overpowered by any ship it attacked, they would obtain their freedom. the chance of this, however, was re- mote, as the fast-rowing galleys could almost always make their escape should the vessel they attacked prove too strong to be captured . when the last bed had been levelled and the last shrub planted the superintendent told them to follow him into the house, as the bey was desirous of speaking with them. they found him seated on a divan. "christians," he said, "i have watched you while you have been at work, and truly you have not spared yourselves in my service, but have laboured for me with all your strength, well and willingly. i see now that it is true that the people of your nation differ much from the spaniards, who are dogs. "i see that trust is to be placed in you, and were you but faithful work should have its reward. true believers i would appoint you to a position where you could win credit and honour. as it is, i cannot place you over believers in the prophet; but neither am i willing that you should return to the gang from which i took you. i will, therefore, leave you free to work for yourselves. there are many of my friends who have seen you labouring, and will give you employment . it will be known in the place that you are under my protection, and that any who insult or ill-treat you will be severely punished. should you have any complaint to make, come freely to me and i will see that justice is done you. "this evening a crier will go through the place proclaiming that the two english galley-slaves have been given their free- dom by me, and will henceforth live in the town without molestation from anyone, carrying on their work and selling their labour like true believers. the crier will inform the people that the nation to which you belong is at war with our enemies the spaniards, and that, save as to the matter of your religion, you are worthy of being regarded as friends by all good moslems. my superintendent will go down with you in the morning. i have ordered him to hire a little house for you and furnish it with what is needful, to recommend you to your neighbours, and to give you a purse of piastres with which to maintain yourselves until work comes to you." stephen boldero expressed the warmest gratitude, on the part of his companion and himself, to the bey for his kindness. "i have done but simple justice," the bey said, "and no thanks are necessary. faithful work should have its reward, and as you have done to me so i do to you." the next morning as they were leaving, a female slave pre- sented them with a purse of silver, the gift of the bey's wife and daughters, who had often derived much pleasure from the songs of the two captives. the superintendent conducted them free labourers. to a small hut facing the sea. it was furnished with the few articles that were, according to native ideas, necessary for com- fort. there were cushions on the divan of baked clay raised about a foot above the floor, which served as a sofa during the day and as a bed at night. there was a small piece of carpet on the floor and a few cooking utensils on a shelf, and some dishes of burnt clay; and nothing more was required. there was, however, a small chest, in which, after the superintendent had left, they found two sets of garments as worn by the natives. "this is a comfort indeed," geoffrey said. "my clothes are all in rags, and as for yours the less we say about them the better. i shall feel like a new man in these things." "i shall be glad myself," stephen agreed, "for the clothes they give the galley-slaves are scarce decent for a christian man to wear. my consolation has been that if they had been shocked by our appearance they would have given us more clothes; but as they did not mind it there was no reason why i should. still it would be a comfort to be cleanly and decent again." for the first few days the natives of the place looked askance at these christians in their midst, but the bey's orders had been peremptory that no insults should be offered to them. two days after their liberation one of the principal men of the place sent for them and employed them in digging the foundations for a fountain, and a deep trench of some hundred yards in length for the pipe for bringing water to it . after that they had many similar jobs, receiving always the wages paid to regular workmen, and giving great satisfaction by their steady toil. sometimes when not otherwise engaged they went out in boats with fishermen, receiving a portion of the catch in payment of their labours. so some months passed away very frequently they talked the chances of escape. over methods of escape. the only plan that seemed at all possible was to take a boat and make out to sea; but they knew that they would be pursued, and if overtaken would re- vert to their former life at the galleys, a change which would be a terrible one indeed after the present life of freedom and independence. they knew, too, that they might be days before meeting with a ship, for all traders in the mediterranean hugged the northern shores as much as possible in order to avoid the dreaded corsairs, and there would be a far greater chance of their being recaptured by one of the moorish cruisers than of lighting upon a christian trader. "it is a question of chance," stephen said, "and when the chance comes we will seize it; but it is no use our giving up a life against which there is not much to be said, unless some fair prospect of escape offers itself to us." chapter xvi. the escape. n one respect," geoffrey said, as they were talking over their chance of escape, "i am sorry that the bey has behaved so kindly to us." "what is that?" stephen boldero asked in surprise. "well, i was thinking that were it not for that we might manage to contrive some plan of escape in concert with the galley-slaves, get them down to the shore here, row off to the galley, overpower the three or four men who live on board her, and make off with her. of course we should have had to accumulate beforehand a quantity of food and some barrels of water, for i have noticed that when they go out they always take their stores on board with them, and bring on shore on their return what has not been consumed. still, i suppose that could be managed. however, it seems to me that our hands are tied in that direction by the kindness of the bey. after his conduct to us it would be ungrateful in the extreme for us to carry off his galley." "so it would, geoffrey. besides i doubt whether the plan would succeed. you may be sure the spaniards are as jealous as can be of the good fortune that we have met with, and were we to propose such a scheme to them the chances are strongly in favour of one of them trying to better "we might pass as spaniards." his own position by denouncing us. i would only trust them as far as i can see them. no, if we ever do anything it must be done by ourselves. there is no doubt that if some night when there is a strong wind blowing from the south-east we were to get on board one of these fishing-boats, hoist a sail, and run before it, we should not be far off fron the coast of spain before they started to look for us. but what better should we be there? we can both talk spanish well enough, but we could not pass as spaniards. besides, they would find out soon enough that we were not catholics, and where should we be then? either sent to row in their galleys or clapped into the dungeons of the inquisition, and like enough burnt alive at the stake. that would be out of the frying-pan into the fire with vengeance." "i think we might pass as spaniards," geoffrey said; "for there is a great deal of difference between the dialects of the different provinces, and confined as you have been for the last ten years with spanish sailors you must have caught their way of talking. still, i agree with you it will be better to wait for a bit longer for any chance that may occur rather than risk landing in spain again, where even if we passed as natives we should have as hard work to get our living as we have here, and with no greater chance of making our way home again." during the time that they had been captives some three or four vessels had been brought in by the corsair. the men composing the crews had been either sold as slaves to moors or arabs in the interior or sent to algiers, which town lay over a hundred miles to the east. they were of various nationalities, spanish, french, and italian, as the two friends learned from the talk of the natives, for they always abstained from going near the point where the prisoners were landed, as they were powerless to assist the unfortunate captives in any way, and the sight of their distress was very painful to them. fresh captives. one day, however, they learned from the people who were running down to the shore to see the captives landed from a ship that had been brought in by the corsair during the night, that there were two or three women among the captives. this was the first time that any females had been captured since their arrival at the place, for women seldom travelled far from their homes in those days, except the wives of high officials jour- neying in great ships that were safe from the attack of the moorish corsairs. "let us go down and see them," boldero said . "i have not seen the face of a white woman for nine years." "i will go if you like," geoffrey said. "they will not guess that we are europeans, for we are burnt as dark as the moors." they went down to the landing-place. eight men and two women were landed from the boat. these were the sole sur- vivors of the crew. "they are spaniards," boldero said. "i pity that poor girl. i suppose the other woman is her servant." the girl, who was about sixteen years of age, was very pale, and had evidently been crying terribly. she did not seem to heed the cries and threats with which the townspeople as usual assailed the newly-arrived captives, but kept her eyes fixed upon one of the captives who walked before her. "that is her father, no doubt," geoffrey said. "it is pro- bably her last look at him. come away, stephen; i am awfully sorry we came here. i shall not be able to get that girl's face out of my mind for i don't know how long." without a word they went back to their hut. they had no particular work that day. geoffrey went restlessly in and out, sometimes pacing along the strand, sometimes coming in and throwing himself on the divan. stephen boldero went on quietly mending a net that had been damaged the night before, saying nothing, but glancing occasionally with an amused look stephen is not surprised. at his companion's restless movements. late in the afternoon geoffrey burst out suddenly: "stephen, we must try and rescue that girl somehow from her fate." "i supposed that was what it was coming to," boldero said quietly. "well, let me hear all about it . i know you have been thinking it over ever since morning. what are your ideas?" "i do not know that i have any ideas beyond getting her and her father down to a boat and making off." "well, you certainly have not done much if you haven't got farther than that," stephen said drily. "now, if you had spent the day talking it over with me instead of wandering about like one out of his mind, we should have got a great deal further than that by this time. however, i have been thinking for you. i know what you young fellows are. as soon as i saw that girl's face and looked at you i was dead certain there was an end of peace and quietness, and that you would be bent upon some plan of getting her off. it did not need five minutes to show that i was right; and i have been spending my time thinking, while you have thrown yours away in fidgeting. "well, i think it is worth trying. of course it will be a vastly more difficult job getting the girl and her father away than just taking a boat and sailing off as we have often talked of doing. then, on the other hand, it would altogether alter our position afterwards. by his appearance and hers i have no doubt he is a well-to-do trader, perhaps a wealthy one. he walked with his head upright when the crowd were yelling and cursing, and is evidently a man of courage and determination. now, if we had reached the spanish coast by ourselves we should have been questioned right and left, and, as i have said all along, they would soon have found that we were not spaniards, for we could not have said where we came from, or given our past history, or said where our families lived . but it would be "it is a tough job." altogether different if we landed with them. every one would be interested about them. we should only be two poor devils of sailors who had escaped with them, and he would help to pass it off and get us employment; so that the difficulty that has hitherto prevented us from trying to escape is very greatly diminished. now, as to getting them away. of course she has been taken up to the bey's, and no doubt he will send her as a present to the bey of algiers. i know that is what has been done several times before when young women have been cap- tured. "i have been thinking it over, and i do not see a possibility of getting to speak to her as long as she is at the bey's. i do not see that it can be done anyhow. she will be indoors most of the time, and if she should go into the garden there would be other women with her. our only plan, as far as i can see at present, would be to carry her off from her escort on the jour- ney. i do not suppose she will have more than two, or at most three, mounted men with her, and we ought to be able to dispose of them. as to her father, the matter is comparatively easy. we know the ways of the prison, and i have no doubt we can get him out somehow; only there is the trouble of the question of time. she has got to be rescued and brought back and hidden somewhere till nightfall, he has got to be set free the same evening, and we have to embark early enough to be well out of sight before daylight; and maybe there will not be a breath of wind stirring. it is a tough job, geoffrey, look at it which way you will." "it is a tough job," geoffrey agreed. "i am afraid the escort would be stronger than you think. a present of this kind to the bey is regarded as important, and i should say half a dozen horsemen at least will be sent with her. in that caso an attempt at rescue would be hopeless. we have no arms, and if we had we could not kill six mounted men; and "we cannot accomplish impossibilities." if even one escaped, our plans would be all defeated. the question is, would they send her by land? it seems to me quite as likely that they might send her by water." "yes, that is likely enough, geoffrey. in that case every- thing would depend upon the vessel he sent her in. if it is the great galley there is an end of it; if it is one of their little coasters it might be managed. we are sure to learn that be- fore long. the bey might keep her for a fortnight or so, per- haps longer, for her to recover somewhat from her trouble and get up her good looks again, so as to add to the value of the present . if she were well and bright she would be pretty enough for anything. in the meantime we can arrange our plans for getting her father away. of course if she goes with a big escort on horseback, or if she goes in the galley, there is an end of our plans. i am ready to help you, geoffrey, if there is a chance of success; but i am not going to throw away my life if there is not, and unless she goes down in a coaster there is an end of the scheme." "i quite agree to that," geoffrey replied; "we cannot ac- complish impossibilities." they learned upon the following day that three of the newly- arrived captives were to take the places of the galley-slaves who had been killed in the capture of the spanish ship, which had defended itself stoutly, and that the others were to be sold for work in the interior. "it is pretty certain," boldero said, "that the trader will not be one of the three chosen for the galley. the work would break him down in a month. that makes that part of the business easier, for we can get him away on the journey inland, and hide him up here until his daughter is sent off." geoffrey looked round the bare room "well, i do not say as how we could hide him here," boldero said in answer to the look, "but we might hido him somewhere "it will answer our purpose." among the sand-hills outside the place, and take him food at night." "yes, we might do that," geoffrey agreed. "that could be managed easily enough, i should think, for there are clumps of bushes scattered all over the sand-hills half a mile back from the sea. the trouble will be if we get him here, and find after all that we cannot rescue his daughter." "that will make no difference," boldero said. "in that case we will make off with him alone. everything else will go on just the same. of course, i should be very sorry not to save the girl; but, as far as we are concerned, if we save the father it will answer our purpose." geoffrey made no reply. just at that moment his own future was a very secondary matter, in comparison, to the rescue of this unhappy spanish girl. geoffrey and his companion had been in the habit of going up occasionally to the prison. they had won over the guard by small presents, and were permitted to go in and out with fruit and other little luxuries for the galley-slaves. they now abstained from going near the place, in order that no suspicion might fall upon them after his escape of having had any com- munication with the spanish trader. shortly after the arrival of the captives two merchants from the interior came down, and geoffrey learned that they had visited the prison, and had made a baigain with the bey for all the captives except those transferred to the galley. the two companions had talked the matter over frequently, and had concluded it was best that only one of them should be engaged in the adventure, for the absence of both might be noticed. after some discussion it was agreed that geoffrey should under- take the task, and that boldero should go alone to the house where they were now at work, and should mention that his friend was unwell, and was obliged to remain at home for the day. ( ) the halting-place in the desert. as they knew the direction in which the captives would be taken geoffrey started before daybreak, and kept steadily along until he reached a spot where it was probable they would halt for the night . it was twenty miles away, and there was here a well of water and a grove of trees. late in the afternoon he saw the party approaching. it consisted of the merchants, two armed arabs, and the five captives, all of whom were carrying burdens. they were crawling painfully along, overpowered by the heat of the sun, by the length of the journey, and by the weight they carried. several times the arabs struck them heavily with their sticks to force them to keep up. geoffrey retired from the other side of the clump of trees, and lay down in a depression of the sand-hills until darkness came on, when he again entered the grove, and crawling cautiously forward made his way close up to the party. a fire was blazing, and a meal had been already cooked and eaten. the traders and the two arabs were sitting by the fire; the captives were lying extended on the ground. presently, at the command of one of the arabs, they rose to their feet and proceeded to collect some more pieces of wood for the fire. as they returned the light fell on the gray hair of the man upon whom geoffrey had noticed that the girl's eyes were fixed. he noted the place where he lay down, and had nothing -to do now but to wait until the party were asleep. he felt sure that no guard would be set, for any attempt on the part of the captives to escape would be nothing short of madness. there was nowhere for them to go, and they would simply wander about until they died of hunger and exhaustion, or until they were recaptured, in which case they would be almost beaten to death. in an hour's time the traders and their men lay down by the fire, and all was quiet. geoffrey crawled round until he was close to the spaniard. he waited until he felt sure on board the coaster. send him up to me with a guard. i will so treat him that it will be a lesson to my other slaves not to follow his example." every evening after dark geoffrey went out with a supply of food and water to the fugitive. for a week he had no news to give him as to his daughter; but on the eighth night he said that he and his companion had that morning been sent by the bey on board the largest of the coasting vessels in the port, with orders to paint the cabins and put them in a fit state for the reception of a personage of importance. "this is fortunate, indeed," geoffrey went on. "no doubt she is intended for the transport of your daughter. her crew consists of a captain and five men, but at present they are living ashore; and as we shall be going backwards and forwards to her, we ought to have little difficulty in getting on board and hiding away in the hold before she starts. i think everything promises well for the success of our scheme." the bey's superintendent came down the next day to see how matters were going on on board the vessel. the painting was finished that evening, and the next day two slaves brought down a quantity of hangings and cushions, which geoffrey and his companion assisted the superintendent to hang up and place in order. provisions and water had already been taken on board, and they learnt that the party who were to sail in her would come off early the next morning. at midnight geoffrey, boldero, and the spaniard came down to the little port, embarked in a fisherman's boat moored at the stairs, and noiselessly rowed off to the vessel. they mounted on to her deck barefooted. boldero was the last to leave the boat, giving her a vigorous push with his foot in the direction of the shore, from which the vessel was but some forty yards away. they descended into the hold, where they remained perfectly quiet until the first light of dawn enabled them to see what they were doing, and then moved some s long odds. baskets full of vegetables, and concealed themselves behind them. a quarter of an hour later they heard a boat come alongside, and the voices of the sailors. then they heard the creaking of cordage as the sails were let fall in readiness for a start. half an hour later another boat came alongside. there was a trampling of feet on the deck above them, and the bey's voice giving orders. a few minutes later the anchor was raised, there was more talking on deck, and then they heard a boat push off, and knew by ths rustle of water against the planks beside them that the vessel was under way. the wind was light and the sea perfectly calm, and beyond the slight murmur of the water, those below would not have known that the ship was in motion. it was very hot down in the hold, but fortunately the crew had not taken the trouble to put on the hatches, and at times a faint breath of air could be felt below. geoffrey and his companion talked occasionally in low tones; but the spaniard was so absorbed by his anxiety as to the approaching struggle, and the thought that he might soon clasp his daughter to his arms, that he seldom spoke. no plans could be formed as to the course they were to take, for they could not tell whether those of the crew off duty would retire to sleep in the little forecastle or would lie down on deck. then, too, they were ignorant as to the number of men who had come on board with the captive. the overseer had mentioned the day before that he was going, and it was probable that three or four others would accompany him. therefore they had to reckon upon ten opponents. their only weapons were three heavy iron bolts, some two feet long. these boldero had purchased in exchange for a few fish, when a prize brought in was broken up as being useless for the purposes of the moors. "what. i reckon is," he said, "that you and i ought the sleeping guard. down here; if we wait until they are all asleep we can go round and tie their legs together, or put ropes round their ankles and fasten them to ring-bolts. if we could manage that without waking them, we might capture the craft without shedding any blood, and might get them down into the hold one after the other." "i think that is a very good plan," stephen agreed. "i do not like the thought of knocking sleeping men on the head any more than you do; and if we are careful, we might get them all tied up before an alarm is given. there, the anchor has gone down. i thought very likely they would not sail at night . that is capital. you may be sure that they will be pretty close inshore, and they probably will have only one man on watch; and as likely as not not even one, for they will not dream of any possible danger." for another two hours the sound of talk on deck went on, but at last all became perfectly quiet. the party below waited for another half hour, and then noiselessly ascended the ladder to the deck, holding in one hand a cudgel, in the other a number of lengths of line cut about six feet long. each as he reached the deck lay down flat. the spaniard had been told to remain perfectly quiet while the other two went about their task. first they crawled aft, for the bey's guards would, they knew, be sleeping at that end, and working together they tied the legs of these men without rousing them. the ropes could not be tightly pulled, as this would at once have disturbed them. they were therefore fastened somewhat in the fashion of manacles, so that although the men might rise to their feet they would fall headlong the moment they tried to walk. in addition other ropes were fastened to these and taken from one man to another. then their swords were drawn from the sheaths and their knives from their sashes. the operation was a long one, as it had to be conducted with the surprise of the crew. the greatest care and caution. they then crept back to the hatchway and told the spaniard that tha most formidable ene- mies had been made safe. "hero are a sword and a knife for you, sefior; and now as we are all armed i consider the ship as good as won, for the sailors are not likely to make much resistance by themselves. however, we will secure some of them. the moon will be up in half an hour, and that will be an advantage to us." the captain and three of the sailors were soon tied up like the others. two men were standing in the bow of the vessel leaning against the bulwarks, and when the moon rose it could be seen by their attitude that both were asleep. "now, we may as well begin," geoffrey said. "let us take those two fellows in the bow by surprise. hold a knife to their throats, and tell them if they utter the least sound we will kill them. then we will make them go down into the forecastle and fasten them there." "i am ready," stephen said, and they stole forward to the two sleeping men. they grasped them suddenly by the throat and held a knife before their eyes, boldero telling them in a stern whisper that if they uttered a cry they would be stabbed to the heart. paralysed by the sudden attack they did not make the slightest struggle, but accompanied their unknown assailants to the forecastle and were there fastened in. joined now by the spaniard, geoffrey and his companion went aft and roused one of the sleepers there with a threat similar to that which had silenced the sailors. he was, however, a man of different stuff. he gave a loud shout and grappled with boldero, who struck him a heavy blow with his fist in the face, and this for a moment silenced him; but the alarm being given, the superintendent and the two men struggled to their feut, only however to fall prostrate as soon as they tried to walk. "one at a time." "lie quiet and keep silence!" boldero shouted in a threaten- ing voice. "you are unarmed and at our mercy. your feet are bound and you are perfectly helpless. we do not wish to take your lives, but unless you are quiet we shall be compelled to do so." the men had discovered by this time that their arms had gone, and were utterly disconcerted by the heavy and un- expected fall they had just had. feeling that they were indeed at the mercy of their captors, they lay quiet. "now then," boldero went on, "one at a time. keep quiet, you rascals there!" he broke off, shouting to the sailors who were rolling and tumbling on the deck forward, "or i will cut all your throats for you. now then, geoffrey, do you and the senor cut the rope that fastens that man on the port side to his comrades. march him to the hatchway and make him go down into the hold. keep your knives ready and kill him at once if he offers the slightest resistance." one by one the superintendent, the three guards, the cap- tain and sailors were all made to descend into the hold, and the hatches were put over it and fastened down. "now, senor," geoffrey said, "we can spare you." the spaniard hurried to the cabin, opened the door, and called out his daughter's name. there was a scream of delight within as dolores mendez, who had been awakened by the tumult, recognized her father's voice, and leaping up from her couch threw herself into his arms. geoffrey and his companion now opened the door of the forecastle and called the two sailors out. "now," boldero said, "if you want to save your lives you have got to obey our orders. first of all fall to work and get up the anchor, and then shake out the sails again. i will take the helm, geoffrey, and do you keep your eye on these two fellows. there is no fear of their playing any tricks now that masters of the coaster. they see they are alone on deck, but they might, if your back were turned, unfasten the hatches. however, i do not think we need fear trouble that way, as for ought they know we may have cut the throats of all the others." a few minutes later the vessel was moving slowly through the water with her head to the north-west. "we must be out of sight of land if we can by the morning," stephen said, when geoffrey two hours later came to take his place at the helm; "at any rate until we have passed the place wo started from. once beyond that it does not matter much; but it will be best either to keep out of sight of land altogether, or else to sail pretty close to it, so that they can see the boat is one of their own craft. we can choose which we will do when we see which way the breeze sets in in the morning." it came strongly from the south, and they therefore deter- mined to sail direct for carthagena. chapter xvil a spanish merchant. s soon as the sails had been set, and the vessel was under way, the spaniard came out from the cabin. "my daughter is attiring herself, sefior," he said to stephen boldero, for geoffrey was at the time at the helm. "she is longing to see you, and to thank you for the inestimable services you have rendered to us both. but for you i should now be dying or dead, my daughter a slave for life in the palace of the bey. what astonishes us both is, that such noble service should have been rendered to us by two absolute strangers, and not strangers only, but by englishmen —a people with whom spain is at war—and who assuredly can have no reason to love us. how came you first to think of interesting yourself on our behalf?" "to tell you the truth, sefior," stephen boldero said bluntly, "it was the sight of your daughter and not of yourself that made us resolve to save you if possible, or rather, i should say, made my friend geoffrey do so. after ten years in the galleys one's heart gets pretty tough, and although even i felt a deep pity for your daughter, i own it would never have entered my mind to risk my neck in order to save her. but geoffrey is younger and more easily touched, and when he saw her as she landed pale and white and grief-stricken, and yet looking as if her own fate touched her less than the parting from you, my the spaniard and his daughter. good friend geoffrey vickars was well-nigh mad, and declared that in some way or other, and at whatever risk to ourselves, you must both be saved. in this matter i have been but a passive instrument in his hands; as indeed it was only right that i should be, seeing that he is of gentle blood and an esquire serving under captain vere in the army of the queen, while i am but a rough sailor. what i have done i have done partly because his heart was in the matter, partly because the adventure promised, if successful, to restore me to freedom, and partly also, senor, for the sake of your brave young daughter." "ah, you are modest, sir," the spaniard said. "you are one of those who belittle your own good deeds. i feel indeed more grateful than i can express to you as well as to your friend." the merchant's daughter now appeared at the door of the cabin. her father took her hand and led her up to boldero. "this, dolores, is one of the two englishmen who have at the risk of their lives saved me from death and you from worse than death. thank him, my child, and to the end of your life never cease to remember him in your prayers." "i am glad to have been of assistance, senora," boldero said as the girl began to speak; "but as i have just been telling your father, i have played but a small part in the business, it is my friend don geoffrey vickars who has been the leader in the matter. he saw you as you landed at the boat, and then and there swore to save you, and all that has been done has been under his direction. it was he who followed and rescued your father, and i have really had nothing to do with the affair beyond hiding myself in the hole and helping to tie up your moors." "ah, sir," the girl said, laying her hands earnestly upon the sailor's shoulder, "it is useless for you to try to lessen the services you have rendered us. think of what i was but an hour since—a captive with the most horrible of all fates before me, and with the belief that my father was dying by inches in plans for the future. for an hour they stood talking. dolores said but little. she had felt no shyness with the stalwart sailor, but to this youth who had done her such signal service she felt unable so frankly to express her feelings of thankfulness. by morning the coast of africa was but a faint line on the horizon, and the ship was headed west. except when any alteration of the sails was required, the two moors who acted as the crew were made to retire into the forecastle, and were there fastened in, geoffrey and boldero sleeping by turns. after breakfast the little party gathered round the helm, and at the request of juan mendez, geoffrey and stephen both related how it befell that they had become slaves to the moors. "your adventures are both singular," the trader said when they had finished. "yours, don geoffrey, are extraordinary. it is marvellous that you should have been picked up in that terrible fight, and should have shared in all the perils of that awful voyage back to spain without its being ever suspected that you were english. once landed in the service as you say of senor burke, it is not so surprising that you should have gone freely about spain. but your other adventures are wonder- ful, and you and your friend were fortunate indeed in succeed- ing as you did in carrying off the lady he loved; and deeply they must have mourned your supposed death on the deck of the moorish galley. and now tell me what are your plans when you arrive in spain?" "we have no fixed plans, save that we hope some day to be able to return home," geoffrey said. "stephen here could pass well enough as a spaniard when once ashore without being ques- tioned, and his idea is, if there is no possibility of getting on board an english or dutch ship at cadiz, to ship on board a spaniard, and to take his chance of leaving her at some port at which she may touch. as for myself, although i speak spanish fluently, my accent would at once betray me to be a the captives. foreigner. but if you will take me into your house for a time until i can see a chance of escaping, my past need not be in- quired into. you could of course mention, were it asked, that i was english by birth, but had sailed in the armada with my patron, mr. burke, and it would be naturally supposed that i was an exile from england." "that can certainly be managed," the trader said. "i fear that it will be difficult to get you on board a ship either of your countrymen or of the hollanders; these are most closely watched lest fugitives from the law or from the inquisition should escape on board them. still, some opportunity may sooner or later occur; and the later the better pleased shall i be, for it will indeed be a pleasure to me to have you with me." in the afternoon geoffrey said to stephen, "i have been thinking, stephen, about the men in the hold, and i should be glad for them to return to their homes. if they go with us to spain they will be made galley-slaves, and this i should not like, especially in the case of the bey's superintendent. the bey was most kind to us, and this man himself always spoke in our favour to him, and behaved well to us. i think, there- fore, that out of gratitude to the bey we should let them go. the wind is fair, and there are, so far as i can see, no signs of any change of weather. by to-morrow night the coast of spain will be in sight. i see no reason, therefore, why we should not be able to navigate her until we get near the land, when mendez can engage the crew of some fishing-boat to take us into a port . if we put them into the boat with plenty of water and provisions, they will make the coast by morning; and as i should guess that we must at present be somewhere abreast of the port from which we started, they will not be very far from home when they land." "i have no objection whatever, geoffrey. as you say we were not treated badly, at any rate from the day when the at carthagena. bey had us up to his house; and after ten years in the galleys, i do not wish my worst enemies such a fate. we must, of coarse, be careful how we get them into the boat." "there will be three of us with swords and pistols, and they will be unarmed," geoffrey said. "we will put the two men now in the forecastle into the boat first, and let the others come up one by one and take their places. we will have a talk with the superintendent first, and give him a message to the bey, saying that we are not ungrateful for his kindness to us, but that of course we seized the opportunity that presented itself of making our escape, as he would himself have done in similar circumstances; nevertheless that as a proof of our gratitude to him, we for his sake release the whole party on" board, and give them the means of safely returning." an hour later the boat, pulled by four oars, left the side of the ship with the crew, the superintendent and guards, and the two women who had come on board to attend upon dolores upon the voyage. the next morning the vessel was within a few miles of the spanish coast. an hour later a fishing-boat was hailed, and an arrangement made with the crew to take the vessel down to carthagena, which was, they learned, some fifty miles dis- tant. the wind was now very light, and it was not until the following day that they entered the port. as it was at once perceived that the little vessel was moorish in rigging and ap- pearance, a boat immediately came alongside to inquire whence she came. juan mendez had no difficulty in satisfying the officer as to his identity, he being well known to several traders in the town- his story of the attack upon his ship by barbary pirates, its capture, and his own escape and that of his daughter by the aid of two christian captives, excited great interest as soon as it became known in the town; for it was rare, indeed, that a ( ) t again in cadiz. captive ever succeeded in making his escape from the hands of the moors. it had already been arranged that, in telling his story, the trader should make as little as possible of his com- panions' share in the business, so that public attention should not be attracted towards them. he himself with dolores at once disembarked, but his companions did not come ashore until after nightfall. stephen boldero took a spanish name, but geoffrey re- tained his own, as the story that he was travelling as a servant with mr. burke, a well-known irish gentleman who had accompanied the armada, was sufficient to account for his nationality. under the plea that he was anxious to return to cadiz as soon as possible, sefior mendez arranged for horses and mules to start the next morning. he had sent off two trunks of clothes to the ship an hour after he landed, and the two englishmen therefore escaped all observation, as they wandered about for an hour or two after landing, and did not go to the inn where mendez was staying until it was time to retire to bed. the next morning the party started. the clothes that geof- frey was wearing were those suited to an employ in a house of business, while those of boldero were such as would be worn by the captain or mate of a merchant vessel on shore. both were supplied with arms, for although the party had nothing to attract the cupidity of robbers beyond the trunks containing the clothes purchased on the preceding day, and the small amount of money necessary for their travel on the road, the country was so infested by bands of robbers that no one tra- velled unarmed. the journey to cadiz was, however, accom- plished without adventure. the house of sefior mendez was a large and comfortable one. upon the ground floor were his offices and store-rooms. he himself and his family occupied the two next floors, while in comfortable quarters. in those above his clerks and employes lived. his unexpected return caused great surprise, and in a few hours a number of acquaintances called to hear the story of the adventures through which he had passed, and to condole with him on the loss of his wife. at his own request stephen boldero had been given in charge of the principal clerk, and a room assigned to him in the upper story. "i shall be much more comfortable," he said, "among your people, don mendez. i am a rough sailor, and ten years in the galleys don't improve any manners a man may have had. if i were among your friends i would be out of place and un- comfortable, and should always have to be bowing and scraping and exchanging compliments, and besides they would soon find out that my spanish was doubtful . i talk a sailor's slang, but i doubt if i should understand pure spanish. altogether, i should be very uncomfortable, and should make you uncom- fortable, and i would very much rather take my place among the men that work for you until i can get on board a ship again." geoffrey was installed in the portion of the house occu- pied by the merchant, and was introduced by him to his friends simply as the english gentleman who had rescued him- and his daughter from the hands of the moors, it being inci- dentally mentioned that he had sailed in the armada, and that he had fallen into the hands of the corsairs in the course of a voyage made with his friend mr. burke to italy. he at once took his place as a friend and assistant of the merchant; and as the latter had many doalings with dutch and english merchants, geoffrey was able to be of considerable use to him in his written communications to the captains of the various vessels of those nationalities in the port. "i think," the merchant said to him a fortnight after his arrival in cadiz, "that, if it would not go against your con a singular trade. quay before being sent off. spanish officials were on board from the arrival to the departure of each ship, and no communica- tion whatever was allowed between the shore and these vessels, except in boats belonging to the authorities, every paper and document passing first through their hands for examination before being sent on board. the trade carried on between england, holland, and spain at the time when these nations were engaged in war was a singular one; but it was permitted by all three countries, because the products of each were urgently required by the others. it was kept within narrow limits, and there were frequent angry complaints exchanged between the english government and that of holland, when either considered the other to be going beyond that limit . geoffrey admitted to himself that he might again make the attempt to return to england, by taking passage as before in a ship bound for italy, but he knew that elizabeth was negotiat- ing with philip for peace, and thought that he might as well await the result . he was, indeed, very happy at cadiz, and shrank from the thought of leaving it. stephen boldero soon became restless, and at his urgent request juan mendez appointed him second mate on board one of his ships sailing for the west indies, his intention being to make his escape if an opportunity offered; but if not, he preferred a life of activity to wandering aimlessly about the streets of cadiz. he was greatly grieved to part from geof- frey, and promised that, should he ever reach england, he would at once journey down to hedingham, and report his safety to his father and mother. "you will do very well here, master geoffrey," he said . "you are quite at home with all the spaniards, and it will not be very long before you speak the language so well that, except for your name, none would take you for a foreigner. you have found work to do, and are really better off here than you would the merchant's offer. right to her as having saved her from the horrible fate that would have undoubtedly befallen her, and that it is not for me, to whom you have restored her, besides saving my own life, to offer any objection. as to her feelings, i have no doubt what- ever. were you of my religion and race, such a match would afford me'the greatest happiness. as it is i regret it only be- cause i feel that some day or other it will lead to a separation from me. it is natural that you should wish to return to your own country, and as this war cannot go on for ever, doubtless in time some opportunity for doing so will arrive. this i fore- see and must submit to, but if there is peace i shall be able occa- sionally to visit her in her home in england. i naturally hope that it will be long before i shall thus lose her. she is my only child, and i shall give as her dower the half of my business, and you will join me as an equal partner. when the war is over you can, if you wish, establish yourself in london, and thence carry on and enlarge the english and dutch trade of our house. i may even myself settle there. i have not thought this over at present, nor is there any occasion to do so. i am a wealthy man and there is no need for me to continue in business, and i am not sure when the time comes i shall not prefer to abandon my country rather than be separated from my daughter. at any rate for the present i offer you her hand and a share in my business." geoffrey expressed in suitable terms the gratitude and delight he felt at the offer. it was contrary to spanish notions that he should receive from dolores in private any assurance that the proposal in which she was so largely concerned was one to which she assented willingly, but her father at once fetched her in and formally presented her to geoffrey as his promised wife, and a month later the marriage was solemnized at the church of st. dominic. vry he day after the capture of breda sir francis vere sent for lionel vickars to his quarters. prince maurice and several of his principal officers were there, and the prince thanked him warmly for the share he had taken in the capture of the town. "captain heraugiere has told me," he said, "that the inven- tion of the scheme that has ended so well is due as much to you as to him, that you accompanied him on the reconnoitring expedition and shared in the dangers of the party in the barge. i trust sir francis vere will appoint you to the first ensigncy vacant in his companies, but should there be likely to be any delay in this i will gladly give you a commission in one of my own regiments." "i have forestalled your wish, prince," sir francis said, "and have this morning given orders that his appointment shall be made out as ensign in one of my companies, but at present i do not intend him to join. i have been ordered by the queen to send further aid to help the king of france against the league. i have already despatched several com- panies to brittany, and will now send two others. i would that my duties permitted me personally to take part in the enterprise, for the battle of the netherlands is at present being fought on the soil of france; but this is impossible. several an expedition to france. of my friends, however, volunteers and others, will journey with the two companies, being desirous of fighting under the banner of henry of navarre. sir ralph pimpernel, who is married to a french huguenot lady and has connections at the french court, will lead them. i have spoken to him this morn- ing, and he will gladly allow my young friend here to accompany him. i think that it is the highest reward i can give him, to afford him thus an opportunity of seeing stirring service; for i doubt not that in a very short time a great battle will be fought. we know that alva has sent eighteen hundred of the best cavalry of flanders to aid the league, and he is sure to have given orders that they are to be back again as soon as possible. how do you like the prospect, lionel?" lionel warmly expressed his thanks to sir francis vere for his kindness, and said that nothing could delight him more than to take part in such an enterprise. "i must do something at any rate to prove my gratitude for your share in the capture of this city," prince maurice said; "and will send you presently two of the best horses of those we have found in the governor's stables, together with arms and armour suitable to your rank as an officer of sir francis vere." upon the following morning a party of ten knights and gentlemen, including lionel vickars, rode to bergen-op-zoom. the two companies, which were drawn from the garrison of that town, had embarked the evening before in ships that had come from england to transport them to france. sir ralph pimpernel and his party at once went on board, and as soon as their horses were embarked the sails were hoisted. four days' voyage took them to the mouth of the seine, and they landed at honfleur on the south bank of the river. there was a large number of ships in port, for the protestant princes of germany were, as well as england, sending aid to henry of navarre, and \t the camp of king henry. numbers of gentlemen and volunteers were flocking to his ban- ners. for the moment henry iv. represented in the eyes of europe the protestant cause. he was supported by the hugue- nots of france and by some of the catholic noblemen and gentry. against him were arrayed the greater portion of the catholic nobles, the whole faction of the guises and the holy league, supported by philip of spain. the party from holland disembarked at mid-day on the th of march. hearing rumours that a battle was expected very shortly to take place, sir ralph pimpernel started at once with his mounted party for dreux, which town was being be- sieged by henry, leaving the two companies of foot to press on at their best speed behind him. the distance to be ridden was about sixty miles, and late at night on the th they rode into a village eight miles from dreux. here they heard that the duke of mayenne, who commanded the force of the league, was approaching the seine at mantes with an army of ten thou- sand foot and four thousand horse. "we must mount at daybreak, gentlemen," sir ralph pim- pernel said, "or the forces of the league will get between us and the king. it is evident that we have but just arrived in time, and it is well we did not wait for our foot-men." the next morning they mounted early and rode on to the royal camp near dreux. here sir ralph pimpernel found marshal biron, a relation of his wife, who at once took him to the king. "you have just arrived in time, sir ralph," the king said when marshal biron introduced him, "for to-morrow, or at latest the day after, we are likely to try our strength with mayenne. you will find many of your compatriots here. i can offer you but poor hospitality at present, but hope to enter- tain you rarely some day when the good city of paris opens its gates to us." the army of the league. "thanks, sire," sir ralph replied; "but we have come to fight and not to feast." "i think i can promise you plenty of that at any rate," the king said. "you have ten gentlemen with you, i hear, and also that there are two companies of foot from holland now on their way up from honfleur." "they landed at noon the day before yesterday, sire, and will probably be up to-morrow." "they will be heartily welcome, sir ralph. since parma has sent so large a force to help mayenne it is but right that holland, which is relieved of the presence of these troops, should lend me a helping hand." quarters were found for the party in a village near the camp; for the force was badly provided with tents, the king's re- sources being at a very low ebb; he maintained the war, indeed, chiefly by the loans he received from england and germany. the next day several bodies of troops were seen approaching the camp. a quarter of an hour later the trumpets blew; officers rode about, ordering the tents to be levelled and the troops to prepare to march. a messenger from mar- shal biron rode at full speed into the village, where many of the volunteers from england and germany, besides the party of sir ralph pimpernel, were lodged. "the marshal bids me tell you, gentlemen, that the army moves at once. marshal d'aumont has fallen back from ivry; mayenne is advancing. the siege will be abandoned at pre- sent, and we march towards nonancourt, where we shall give battle to-morrow if mayenne is disposed for it." the camps were struck and the waggons loaded, and the army marched to st . andr , a village situated on an elevated plain commanding a view of all the approaches from the coun- try between the seine and eure. "this is a fine field for a battle," sir ralph said, as the the forces and positions. troops halted on the ground indicated by the camp-marshals. "it is splendid ground for cavalry to act, and it is upon them the brunt of the fighting will fall. we are a little stronger in foot; for several companies from honfleur, our own among them, have come up this morning, and i hear we muster twelve thousand, which is a thousand more than they say mayenne has with him. but then he has four thousand cavalry to our three thousand; and parma's regiments of spaniards, walloons, and italian veterans are far superior troops to henry's bands of riders, who are mostly huguenot noblemen and gentlemen, with their armed retainers, tough and hardy men to fight, as they have shown themselves on many a field, but without any of the discipline of parma's troopers. "if parma himself commanded yonder army i should not feel confident of the result; but mayenne, though a skilful general, is slow and cautious, while henry of navarre is full of fire and energy, and brave almost to rashness. we are to muster under the command of the king himself. he will have eight hundred horse, formed into six squadrons, behind him, and upon these will, i fancy, come the chief shock of the battle. he will be covered on each side by the english and swiss infantry; in all four thousand strong. "marshal biron will be on the right with five troops of horse and four regiments of french infantry; while on the left will be the troops of d'aumont, montpensier, biron the younger, d'angouleme, and de givry, supported in all by two regiments of french infantry, one of swiss, and one of german. the marshal showed us the plan of battle last night in his tent . it is well balanced and devised." it was late in the evening before the whole of the force had reached the position and the tents were erected. one of those had been placed at the disposal of sir ralph's party. sir ralph and four of his companions had been followed by their the huguenot camp. mounted squires, and these collected firewood, and supplied the horses with forage from the sacks they carried slung from their saddles, while the knights and gentlemen themselves polished up their arms and armour, so as to make as brave a show as possible in the ranks of the king's cavalry. when they had eaten their supper lionel vickars strolled through the camp, and was amused at the contrast presented by the various groups. the troops of cavalry of the french nobles were gaily attired; the tents of the officers large and commodious, with rich hangings and appointments. the sound of light-hearted laughter came from the groups round the camp- fires, squires and pages moved about thickly, and it was evi- dent that comfort, and indeed luxury, were considered by the commanders as essential even upon a campaign. the encamp- ments of the german, swiss, and english infantry were of far humbler design. the tents of the officers were few in number, and of the simplest form and make. a considerable portion of the english infantry had been drawn from holland, for the little army there was still the only body of trained troops at eliza- beth's disposal. the swiss and germans were for the most part mercenaries. some had been raised at the expense of the protestant princes, others were paid from the sums supplied from england. the great proportion of the men were hardy veterans who had fought under many banners, and cared but little for the cause in which they were fighting, provided they obtained their pay regularly and that the rations were abundant and of good quality. the french infantry regiments contained men influenced by a variety of motives. some were professional soldiers who had fought in many a field during the long wars that had for so many years agitated france, others were the retainers of the nobles who had thrown in their cause with henry, while others henry of navarre. was regarded as the champion of protestantism against popery, and who combined in himself a remarkable mixture of qualities seldom found existing in one person. he was brave to excess and apparently reckless in action, and yet astute, prudent, and calculating in council. with a manner frank, open, and winning, he was yet able to match the craftiest of opponents at their own weapons of scheming and duplicity. the idol of the huguenots of france, he was ready to purchase the crown of france at the price of accepting the catholic doctrines, for he saw that it was hopeless for him in the long run to maintain himself against the hostility of almost all the great nobles of france, backed by the great proportion of the people and aided by the pope and the catholic powers, so long as he remained a protestant. but this change of creed was scarcely even foreseen by those who followed him, and it was the apparent hopelessness of his cause, and the gallantry with which he maintained it, that attracted the admiration of europe. henry's capital was at the time garrisoned by the troops of the pope and spain. the great nobles of france, who had long maintained a sort of semi-independence of the crown, were all against him, and were calculating on founding inde- pendent kingdoms. he himself was excommunicated. the league were masters of almost the whole of france, and were well supplied with funds by the pope and the catholic powers, while henry was entirely dependent for money upon what he could borrow from queen elizabeth and the states of holland. but no one who listened to the merry laugh of the king as he chatted with the little group of english gentlemen would have thought that he was engaged in a desperate and well-nigh hopeless struggle, and that the following day was to be a decisive one as to his future fortunes. "well, gentlemen," he said as he turned his horse to ride away, "i must ask you to lie down as soon as possible. as long ivry. wherever they should see it waving, in case his banner went down. artillery still played but a small part in battles on the field, and there were but twelve pieces on the ground, equally divided between the two armies. these opened the battle, and count egmont, whose cavalry had suffered from the fire of the hugue- not cannon, ordered a charge, and the splendid cavalry of par- ma swept down upon the right wing of henry. the cavalry under marshal biron were unable to withstand the shock and were swept before them, and egmont rode on right up to the guns and sabred the artillerymen. almost at the same moment the german riders under eric of brunswick, the spanish and french lancers, charged down upon the centre of the boyal army. the rout of the right wing shook the cavalry in the centre. they wavered, and the infantry on their flanks fell back, but the king and his officers rode among them, shout- ing and entreating them to stand firm. the ground in their front was soft, and checked the impetuosity of the charge of the leaguers, and by the time they reached the ranks of the huguenots they were broken and disordered, and could make no impression whatever upon them. as soon as the charge was repulsed, henry set his troops in motion, and the battalia charged down upon the disordered cavalry of the league. the lancers and cuirassiers were borne down by the impetuosity of the charge, and marshal biron, rallying his troops, followed the king's white plume into the heart of the battle. egmont brought up the cavalry of flanders to the scene, and was charging at their head when he fell dead with a musket-ball through the heart. brunswick went down in the fight, and the shattered german and walloon horse were completely overthrown and cut to pieces by the furious charges of the huguenot cavalry. at one time the victorious onset was checked by the disap ( ) u face to face. conflict. he could rely upon the troops he himself had brought, but had no confidence in those of the league; and when henry sent him a formal challenge to a general engagement, parma re- plied that it was his custom to refuse a combat when a refusal seemed advantageous for himself, and to offer battle whenever it suited his purpose to fight . for seven days the two armies, each some twenty-five thou- 'sand strong, lay within a mile or two of each other. then the splendid cavalry of parma moved out in order of battle, with banners flying, and the pennons of the lances fluttering in the wind. the king was delighted when he saw that the enemy were at last advancing to the fight. he put his troops at once under arms, but waited until the plan of the enemy's battle developed itself before making his dispositions. but while the imposing array of cavalry was attracting the king's attention, parma moved off with the main body of his army, threw a division across the river on a pontoon bridge, and attacked lagny on both sides. when lagny was first occupied some of sir ralph pimper- nel's party were appointed to take up their quarters there, half a company of the english, who had come with them from hol- land, were also stationed in the town, the garrison being alto- gether strong. lionel's horse had received a bullet wound at ivry, and although it carried him for the next day or two, it was evident that it needed rest and attention, and would be unfit to carry his rider for some time. lionel had no liking for the work of driving off the cattle of the unfortunate land- owners and peasants, however necessary it might be to keep the army supplied with food, and was glad of the excuse that his wounded horse afforded him for remaining quietly in the town when his comrades rode out with the troop of cavalry stationed there. it happened that the officer in command of the little body of in comfortable quarters. english infantry was taken ill with fever, and sir ralph pim- pernel requested lionel to take his place. this he was glad to do, as he was more at home at infantry work than with cavalry. the time went slowly, but lionel, who had comfortable quar- ters in the house of a citizen, did not find it long. the burgher's family consisted of his wife and two daughters, and these congratulated themselves greatly upon having an officer quartered upon them who not only acted as a protection to them against the insolence of the rough soldiery, but was cour- teous and pleasant in his manner, and tried in every way to show that he regarded himself as a guest and not a master. after the first week's stay he requested that instead of hav- ing his meals served to him in a room apart he might take them with the family. the girls were about lionel's age, and after the first constraint wore off he became great friends with them; and although at first he had difficulty in making himself under- stood, he rapidly picked up a little french, the girls acting as his teachers. "what do you english do here?" the eldest of them asked him when six weeks after his arrival they were able to converse fairly in a mixture of french and spanish. "why do you not leave us french people to fight out our quarrels by ourselves?" "i should put it the other way," lionel laughed. "why don't you french people fight out your quarrels among yourselves instead of calling in foreigners to help you? it is because the guises and the league have called in the spaniards to fight on the catholic side that the english and dutch have come to help the huguenots. we are fighting the battle of our own religion here, not the battle of henry of navarre." "i hate these wars of religion," the girl said. "why can we not all worship in our own way?" "ah, that is what we protestants want to know, made- moiselle claire; that is just what your people won't allow. - a battle imminent. away the dutch will take town after town, and will make themselves so strong that when parma goes back he will find the nut harder than ever to crack." "how long will paris hold out, think you, master vickars? they say that provisions are well-nigh spent." "judging from the way in which the dutch towns held on for weeks and weeks after, as it seemed, all supplies were ex- hausted, i should say that if the people of paris are as ready to suffer rather than yield as were the dutch burghers, they may hold on for a long time yet . it is certain that no provi- sions can come to them as long as we hold possession of this town, and so block the river." "but if the armies of parma and the league come they may drive you away, master vickars." "it is quite possible, mademoiselle; we do not pretend to be invincible, but i think there will be some tough fighting first." as the weeks went on lionel vickars came to be on very intimate terms with the family. the two maid-servants shared in the general liking for the young officer. he gave no more trouble than if he were one of the family, and on one or two occasions when disturbances were caused by the ill-conduct of the miscellaneous bands which constituted the garrison, he brought his half company of english soldiers at once into the house, and by his resolute attitude prevented the marauders from entering. when parma's army approached sir ralph pimpernel with the cavalry joined the king, but lionel shared in the disappoint- ment felt by all the infantry of the garrison of lagny that they could take no share in the great battle that was expected. their excitement rose high while the armies lay watching each other. from the position of the town down by the river neither army was visible from its walls, and they only learned when occasional messengers rode in how matters were going on. lag ny cut off. one morning lionel was awoke by a loud knocking at his door. "what is it?" he shouted, as he sat up in bed. "it is i—timothy short, master vickars. the sergeant has sent me to wake you in all haste. the spaniards have stolen a march upon us. they have thrown a bridge across the river somewhere in the night, and most all their army stands between us and the king, while a division are preparing to besiege the town on the other side." lionel was hastily throwing on his clothes and arming himself while the man was speaking. "tell the sergeant," he said, "to get the men under arms. i will be with him in a few minutes." when lionel went out he found that the household was already astir. "go not out fasting," his host said. "take a cup of wine and some food before you start. you may be some time before you get an opportunity of eating again if what they say is true." "thank you heartily," lionel replied as he sat down to the table, on which some food had already been placed; "it is always better to fight full than fasting." "hark you!" the bourgeois said in his ear; "if things go badly with you make your way here. i have a snug hiding- place, and i shall take refuge there with my family if the spaniards capture the town. i have heard of their doings in holland, and that when they capture a town they spare neither age nor sex, and slay catholics as well as protestants; there- fore i shall take refuge till matters have quieted down and order is restored. i shall set to work at once to carry my valuables there, and a goodly store of provisions. my warehouseman will remain in charge above. he is faithful and can be trusted, and he will tell the spaniards that i am a good catholic, and lead them to believe that i fled with my family before the huguenots entered the town." the batteries open fire. "thank you greatly," lionel replied; "should the need arise i will take advantage of your kind offer. but it should not do so. we have twelve hundred men here, and half that number of citizens have kept the spaniards at bay for months before towns no stronger than this in holland. we ought to bo able to defend ourselves here for weeks, and the king will assuredly come to our relief in two or three days at the out- side." upon lionel sallying out he found the utmost confusion and disorder reigning. the commandant was hurriedly assigning to the various companies composing the garrison their places upon the walls. many of the soldiers were exclaiming that they had been betrayed, and that it were best to make terms with the spaniards at once . the difference between the air of quiet resolution that marked the conduct of the people and troops at sluys and the excitement manifested here struck lionel unpleasantly. the citizens all remained in their houses, afraid lest the exultation they felt at the prospect of deliverance would be so marked as to enrage the soldiery. lionel's own company was standing quietly and in good order in the market-place, and as soon as he received orders as to the point that he should occupy on the walls lionel marched them away. in half an hour the spanish batteries, which had been erected during the night, opened fire upon several points of the walls. the town was ill provided with artillery, and the answer was feeble, and before evening several breaches had been effected, two of the gates blown in, and the spaniards advanced to the assault. lionel and his company, with one composed of huguenot gentlemen and their retainers and another of germans, defended the gate at which they were posted with great bravery, and succeeded in repulsing the attacks of the spaniards time after time. the latter pressed forward in heavy column, only to recoil broken and shattered the town captured. from the archway, which was filled high with their dead. the defenders had just succeeded in repulsing the last of these attacks, when some soldiers ran by shouting "all is lost, the spaniards have entered the town at three points!" the german company at once disbanded and scattered. the huguenot noble said to lionel: "i fear that the news is true; listen to the shouts and cries in the town behind us. i will march with my men and see if there is any chance of beating back the spaniards; if not it were best to lay down our arms and ask for quarter. will you try to hold this gate until i return?" "i will do so," lionel said; "but i have only about thirty men left, and if the spaniards come on again we cannot hope to repulse them." "if i am not back in ten minutes it will be because all is lost," the huguenot said; "and you had then best save your- self as you can." but long before the ten minutes passed crowds of fugitives ran past, and lionel learned that great numbers of the enemy had entered, and that they were refusing quarter and slaying all they met. "it is useless to stay here longer to be massacred," he said to his men. "i should advise you to take refuge in the churches, leaving your arms behind you as you enter. it is evident that further resistance is useless, and would only cost us our lives. the spaniards are twenty to one, and it is evident that all hope of resistance is at an end." the men were only too glad to accept the advice, and, throwing down their arms, hurried away. lionel sheathed his sword, and with the greatest difficulty made his way through the scene of wild confusion to the house where he had lodged. the doors of most of the houses were fast closed, and the inhabitants were hurling down missiles of all kinds from the upper win- a safe refuge. dows upon their late masters. the triumphant shouts of the spaniards rose loud in the air, mingled with despairing cries and the crack of firearms. lionel had several narrow escapes from the missiles thrown from the windows and roofs, but reached the house of the merchant safely. the door was half opened. "thanks be to heaven that you have come. i had well-nigh given you up, and in another minute should have closed the door. the women are all below, but i waited until the last minute for you." barring the door lionel's host led the way downstairs into a great cellar, which served as a warehouse, and extended under the whole house. he made his way through the boxes and bales to the darkest corner of the great cellar. here he pulled up a flag and showed another narrow stair, at the bottom of which a torch was burning. bidding lionel descend he fol- lowed him, lowered the flag behind him, and then led the way along a narrow passage, at the end of which was a door. open- ing it lionel found himself in an arched chamber. two torches were burning, and the merchant's wife and daughters and the two female domestics were assembled. there was a general exclamation of gladness as lionel entered. "we have been greatly alarmed," the mercer's wife said, "lest you should not be able to gain the house, master vickars; for we heard that the spaniards are broken in at several points." "it was fortunately at the other end of the town to that at which i was stationed," lionel said; "and i was just in time. you have a grand hiding-place here. it looks like the crypt of a church." "that is just what it is," the mercer said. "it was the church of a monastery that stood here a hundred years ago. the monks then moved into a grander place in paris, and the chapter xix. steenwyk. hree days passed, and then a slight noise was heard as of the trap-door being raised. lionel drew his sword. "it is my servant, no doubt," the merchant said; "he promised to come and tell me how things went as soon as he could get an opportunity to come down unobserved. we should hear more noise if it were the spaniards." taking a light he went along the passage, and returned immediately afterwards followed by his man; the latter had his head bound up, and carried his arm in a sling. an exclamation of pity broke from the ladies. "you are badly hurt, jacques. what has happened?" "it is well it is no worse, mistress," he replied. "the spaniards are fiends, and behaved as if they were sacking a city of dutch huguenots instead of entering a town inhabited by friends. for an hour or two they cut and slashed, pillaged and robbed. they came rushing into the shop, and before i could say a word one run me through the shoulder and another laid my head open. it was an hour or two before i came to my senses. i found the house turned topsy-turvy; everything worth taking had gone, and what was not taken was damaged. i tied up my head and arm as best i could, and then sat quiet in a corner till the din outside began to subside. the officers good advice. did their best, i hear, and at last got the men into order. numbers of the townsfolk have been killed, and every one of the garrison was butchered. i tell you, mistress, it is better to have ten huguenot armies in possession one after another than one spanish force, though the latter come as friends and co-religionists. well, as soon as things quieted down the soldiers were divided among the houses of the townsfolk, and we have a sergeant and ten men quartered above; but half an hour ago they were called away on some duty, and i took the opportunity to steal down here." "have you told them that we were away, jacques " "no, monsieur; no one has asked me about it. they saw by the pictures and shrines that you were good catholics, and after the first outburst they have left things alone. but if it is not too dreary for the ladies here, i should advise you to wait for a time and see how things go before you show your- selves." "that is my opinion too, jacques. we can wait here for another two months if need be. doubtless, unless the hugue- nots show signs of an intention to attack the town, only a small garrison will be left here, and it may be that those in our house will be withdrawn." "do you think it will be possible for me to make my escape, jacques?" lionel asked. "i should think so, sir. ever since the spaniards entered the town boats with provisions for paris have been coming along in great numbers. from what i hear the soldiers say there is no chance of a battle at present, for the huguenot army have drawn off to a distance, seeing that paris is revictualled and that there is no chance of taking it. they say that numbers of the french lords with the huguenot army have drawn off and are making for their homes. at any rate there is no fear of an attack here, and the gates stand open all day. numbers on the way to rejoin. of the townsfolk have been to paris to see friends there, and i should say that if you had a disguise you could pass out easily enough." the question was discussed for some time. lionel was very anxious to rejoin the army, and it was finally settled that jacques should the next night bring him down a suit of his own clothes, and the first time the soldiers were all away should fetch him out, accompany him through the gates of the town, and act as his guide as far as he could. the next night lionel received the clothes. two days later jacques came down early in the morning to say that the soldiers above had just gone out on duty. lionel at once assumed his disguise, and with the heartiest thanks for the great service they had rendered him took his leave of the kind merchant and his family. jacques was charged to accompany him as far as possible, and to set him well on his way towards the huguenot army, for lionel's small knowledge of french would be detected by the first person who accosted him. on going out into the street lionel found that there were many peasants who had come in to sell fowls, eggs, and vegetables in the town, and he and jacques passed without a question through the gates. jacques had, the evening before, ascertained from the soldiers the position of parma's army. a long detour had to be made, and it was two days before they came in sight of the tents of henry's camp. they had observed the greatest precautions on their way, and had only once fallen in with a troop of parma's cavalry. these had asked no questions, supposing that jacques and his companion were making their way from paris to visit their friends after the siege, there being nothing in their attire to attract attention, still less suspicion. the peasants they met on their way eagerly demanded news from paris, but jacques easily satisfied them by saying that they had had a terrible time, and that manv had died of hunger, but king henry out-generalled. that now that the river was open again better times had come. when within a couple of miles of the army jacques said good- bye to lionel, who would have rewarded him handsomely for his guidance, but jacques would not accept money. "you are the master's guest," he said, "and you saved his house from plunder when your people were in possession. he and my mistress would never forgive me if i took money from you. i am well content in having been able to assist so kind a young gentleman." when lionel arrived at the camp he soon found his way to sir ralph pimpernel's tent, where he was received as one from the dead. there was no difficulty in providing himself again with armour and arms, for of these there were abundance—the spoils of ivry—in the camp. when he was reclothed and rearmed sir ralph took him to the king's tent, and from him henry learned for the first time the circumstances that had attended the capture of lagny. "and so they put the whole garrison to the sword," the king said with indignation. "i will make any spaniards that fall in my hands pay dearly for it!" henry had indeed been completely out-generalled by his oppo- nent. while he had been waiting with his army for a pitched battle parma had invested lagny, and there were no means of relieving it except by crossing the river in the face of the whole army of the enemy, an enterprise impossible of execution. as soon as lagny had fallen provisions and ammunition were at once poured into paris, two thousand boat-loads arriving in a single day. king henry's army immediately fell to pieces. the cavalry having neither food nor forage rode off by hundreds every day, and in a week but two thousand out of his six thousand horse remained with him. the infantry also, seeing now no hope of receiving their arrears of pay, disbanded in large numbers, parma retires. and after an unsuccessful attempt to carry paris by a night attack, the king fell back with the remnant of his force. cor- beil was assaulted and captured by parma, and the two great rivers of paris were now opea if parma could have remained with his army in france, the cause of henry of navarre would have been lost . but sickness was making ravages among his troops. dissensions broke out between the spaniards, italians, and netherlanders of his army and their french allies, who hated the foreigners, though they had come to their assistance. lastly, his presence was urgently required in the netherlands, where his work was as far from being done as ever. therefore to the dismay of the leaguers he started early in november on his march back. no sooner did he retire than the king took the field again, recaptured lagny and corbeil, and recommenced the siege of paris, while his cavalry hung upon the rear and flanks of parma's army and harassed them continually, until they crossed the frontier, where the duke found that affairs had not improved during his absence. lionel had obtained permission to accompany the force which captured lagny, and as soon as they entered the town hurried to the mercer's house. he found jacques in possession, and learned that the family had weeks before left the crypt and reoccupied the house, but had again taken refuge there when the huguenots attacked the town. lionel at once went below, and was received with delight. he was now able to repay to some extent the obligations he had received from them, by protecting them from all interference by the new captors of the town, from whom the majority of the citizens received harsh treatment for the part they had taken in attacking the garrison when the spaniards first entered. prince maurice's visit to the camp of henry had been but a short one; and as soon as parma had effected the relief of ( ) x prince maurice takes the offensive. paris, and there was no longer a chance of a great battle being fought, he returned to holland, followed after the recapture of lagny by sir ralph pimpernel and the few survivors of his party, who were all heartily weary of the long period of inac- tion that had followed the victory at ivry. they found that during their absence there had been little doing in the netherlands, save that sir francis vere, with a small body of english infantry and cavalry, had stormed some formidable works the spaniards had thrown up to prevent relief being given to recklinghausen, which they were besieging. he effected the relief of the town and drove off the besiegers. he then attacked and captured a fort on the bank of the rhine, opposite the town of wesel . at the end of the year there were, including the garrisons, some eight thousand english infantry and cavalry in holland, and the year that followed was to see a great change in the nature of the war. the efforts of prince maurice to improve his army were to bear effect, and with the assistance of his english allies he was to commence an active offensive war, to astonish his foes by the rapidity with which he manoeuvred the new fighting machine he had created, and to commence a new departure in the tactics of war. in may he took the field, requesting vere to co-operate with him in the siege of zutphen. but sir francis determined in the first place to capture on his own account the zutphen forts on the opposite side of the river, since these had been lost by the treachery of roland yorke. he dressed up a score of soldiers, some as peasants, others as countrywomen, and pro- vided them with baskets of eggs and other provisions. at daybreak these went down by twos and threes to the zutphen ferry, as if waiting to be taken across to the town; and while waiting for the boat to come across for them, they sat down near the gate of the fort. taken by stratagem. a few minutes later a party of english cavalry were seen riding rapidly towards the fort. the pretended country people sprang to their feet, and with cries of alarm ran towards it for shelter. the gates were thrown open to allow them to enter. as they ran in they drew out the arms concealed under their clothes and overpowered the guard. the cavalry dashed up and entered the gate before the garrison could assemble, and the fort was captured. vere at once began to throw up his batteries for the attack upon the town across the river, and the prince invested the city on the other side. so diligently did the besiegers work that before a week had passed after the surprise of the fort the batteries were completed, thirty-two guns placed in position, and the garrison, seeing there was no hope of relief, sur- rendered. on the very day of taking possession of the town, the allies, leaving a garrison there, marched against deventer, seven miles down the river, and within five days had invested the place, and opened their batteries upon the weakest part of the town. a breach was effected, and a storm was ordered. a dispute arose between the english, scotch, and dutch troops as to who should have the honour of leading the assault. prince maurice decided in favour of the english, in order that they might have an opportunity of wiping out the stigma on the national honour caused by the betrayal of deventer by the traitor sir william stanley. to reach the breach it was necessary to cross a piece of water called the haven. sir francis vere led the english across the bridge of boats which had been thrown over the water; but the bridge was too short. some of the troops sprang over and pushed boldly for the breach, others were pushed over and drowned. many of those behind stripped off their armour and swam across the haven, supported by some dutch troops deventer captured. who had been told off to follow the assaulting party. but at the breach they were met by van der berg, the governor, with seven companies of soldiers, and these fought so courageously that the assailants were unable to win their way up the breach, and fell back at last with a loss of two hundred and twenty- five men killed and wounded. while the assault was going on, the artillery of the besiegers continued to play upon other parts of the town, and effected great damage. on the following night the garrison endeavoured to capture the bridge across the haven, but were repulsed with loss, and in the morning the place surrendered. the success of the patriots was due in no slight degree to the fact that parma with the greatest part of his army was again absent in france, and the besieged towns had therefore no hope of assist- ance from without . the states now determined to seize the opportunity of capturing the towns held by the spaniards in friesland. the three principal towns in the possession of the spaniards were groningen, steenwyk, and coevorden. after capturing several less important places and forts prince maurice advanced against steenwyk. but just as he was about to commence the siege he received pressing letters from the states to hurry south, as parma was marching with his whole army to capture the fort of knodsenburg, which had been raised in the previous autumn as a preparation for the siege of the important city of nymegen. the duke of parma considered that he had ample time to reduce knodsenburg before prince maurice could return to its assistance. two great rivers barred the prince's return, and he would have to traverse the dangerous district called the foul meadow, and the great quagmire known as the rou- venian morass. but prince maurice had now an opportunity of showing the excellence of the army he had raised and trained. a bold stroke. he received the news of parma's advance on the th of july; two days later he was on the march south, and in five days had thrown bridges of boats across the two rivers, had crossed morass and swamp, and appeared in front of the spanish army. one assault had already been delivered by the spaniards against knodsenburg, but this had been repulsed with heavy loss. as soon as the patriot army approached the neighbour- hood, parma's cavalry went out to drive in its skirmishers. vere at once proposed to prince maurice to inflict a sharp blow upon the enemy, and with -the approval of the prince marched with foot and horse along the dyke which ran across the low country. marching to a spot where a bridge crossed a narrow river he placed half his infantry in ambush there; the other half a quarter of a mile further back. two hundred light cavalry were sent forward to beat up the enemy's outposts, and then retreat; the rest of the cavalry were posted in the rear of the infantry. another dyke ran nearly parallel with the first, falling into it at some distance in the rear of vere's position, and here prince maurice stationed himself with a body of horse and foot to cover vere's retreat should he be obliged to fall back. about noon the light cavalry skirmished with the enemy and fell back, but were not followed. about half an hour later the scouts brought word that the spaniards were at hand. suddenly and without orders of maurice's cavalry galloped off to meet the enemy; but they soon came back again at full speed, with a strong force of spanish cavalry in pursuit . vere's infantry at once sallied out from their am- bush among the trees, poured their fire into the enemy, and charged them with their pikes. the spaniards turned to hy, when vere's cavalry charged them furiously and drove them back in headlong rout to their own camp, taking a great prompt succour. fortified, lay between two great swamps, between which there was a passage of about half a mile in width. another of the van der bergs, count frederick, commanded the garrison of a thousand veterans. verdugo sent to parma and mondragon for aid, but none could be sent to him, and the prince worked at his fortifications undisturbed. his force was weakened by the withdrawal of sir francis vere with three of the english regiments, elizabeth having sent peremptory orders that this force should follow those already withdrawn to aid henry of navarre in brittany. very unwillingly vere obeyed, and marched to doesburg on the yssel. but a fortnight after he arrived there, while he was waiting for ships to transport him to brittany the news came to him that verdugo, having gathered a large force together, was about to attack prince maurice in his camp, and vere at once started to the prince's aid. on the night of the th of september, verdugo, with foot and cavalry, wearing their shirts outside their armour to enable them to distinguish each other in the dark, fell upon maurice's camp. fortunately the prince was prepared, having intercepted a letter from verdugo to the governor of the town. a desperate battle took place, but at break of day, while its issue was still uncertain, vere, who had marched all night, came up and threw himself into the battle. his arrival was decisive. verdugo drew off with a loss of killed, and five days later coevorden surrendered, and prince maurice's army went into winter quarters. a few weeks later parma died, killed by the burden philip threw upon him, broken down by the constant disappointment of his hopes of carrying his work to a successful end, by the incessant interference of philip with his plans, and by the anxiety caused by the mutinies arising from his inability to pay his troops, although he had borrowed to the utmost on his own the siege of gektruydenberg. possessions, and pawned even his jewels to keep them from starvation. he was undoubtedly the greatest commander of his age, and had he been left to carry out his own plans would have crushed out the last ember of resistance in the netherlands and consolidated the power of spain there. he was succeeded in his post by the archduke albert, but for a time ernest mansfeldt continued to command the army, and to manage the affairs in the netherlands. in march, , prince maurice appeared with his army in front of gertruyden- berg. the city itself was an important one, and its position on the maas rendered it of the greatest use to the spaniards, as through it they were at any moment enabled to penetrate into the heart of holland. gertruydenberg and groningen, the capital of friesland, were now, indeed, the only important places in the republic that remained in possession of the span- iards. hohenlohe with a portion of the army established himself to the east of the city, maurice with its main body to the west. two bridges constructed across the river douge afforded a means of communication between two armies, and plank roads were laid across the swamps for the passage of baggage waggons. three thousand soldiers laboured incessantly at the works, which were intended not only to isolate the city, but to defend the besiegers from any attack that might be made upon them by a relieving army. the better to protect themselves, miles of country were laid under water, and palisade work erected to render the country impregnable by cavalry. ernest mansfeldt did his best to relieve the town. his son, count charles, with five thousand troops, had been sent into france, but by sweeping up all the garrisons, he moved with a considerable army towards gertruydenberg and challenged maurice to issue out from his lines to fight him. but the prince brighter prospects. surrender. thus for the first time, after years of warfare, holland, zeeland, and friesland became truly united, and free from the grasp of the hated invader. throughout the last three years of warfare sir francis vere had proved an able assistant to the prince, and the english troops had fought bravely side by side with the dutch; but their contingent had been but a small one, for the majority of vere's force had, like that of the spaniards, been withdrawn for service in france. the struggle in that country was nearly at an end. the conversion of henry of navarre for the second time to the catholic religion had ranged many catholics, who had hitherto been opposed to him, under his banner, while many had fallen away from the ranks of the league in disgust, when philip of spain at last threw off the mask of disinterested- ness, and proposed his nephew the archduke ernest as king of france. in july, , a serious misfortune befell the allied army. they had laid siege to crolle, and had made considerable pro- gress with the siege, when the spanish army, under command of mondragon, the aged governor of antwerp, marched to its relief. as the army of maurice was inferior in numbers, the states would not consent to a general action. the siege was consequently raised; and mondragon having attained his object, fell back to a position on the rhine at orsoy, above rheinberg, whence he could watch the movements of the allied army en- camped on the opposite bank at bislich, a few miles below wesel . the spanish army occupied both sides of the river, the wing on the right bank being protected from attack by the river lippe, which falls into the rhine at wesel, and by a range of moorland hills called the testerburg. the dutch cavalry saw that the slopes of this hill were occupied by the spaniards, but believed that their force consisted only of a few troops of horse. the reply to the armada. thomas howard as vice-admiral, and sir walter raleigh as rear-admiral. sir francis vere was lieutenant-general and lord-marshal. he was to be the chief adviser of the earl of essex, and to have the command of operations on shore. the ships of war con- sisted of the ark-royal, the repulse, mere-honour, war-sprite, rainbow, mary, rose, dreadnought, vanguard, nonpareil, lion, stviftsure, quittance, and tremontaine. there were also twelve ships belonging to london, and the twenty-two dutch vessels. the fleet, which was largely fitted out at the private expense of lord howard and the earl of essex, sailed from dover to plymouth. sir francis vere went by land, and set to work at the organization of the army. a month was thus spent, and on the st of june the fleet set sail . it carried soldiers and volunteers, and was manned by nearly sailors. there had been some dispute as to the relative ranks of sir francis vere and sir walter raleigh, and it was settled that sir francis should have precedence on shore, and sir walter raleigh at sea. all on board the fleet were full of enthusiasm at the enter- prise upon which they were embarked. it was eight years since the spanish armada had sailed to invade england; now an english fleet was sailing to attack spain on her own ground. things had changed indeed in that time. spain, which had been deemed invincible, had suffered many reverses; while england had made great strides in power, and was now mistress of the seas, on which spain had formerly considered herself to be supreme. a favourable wind from the north-east carried tho fleet rapidly across the bay of biscay, and it proceeded on its way, keeping well out of sight of the coast of portugal. the three fastest sailers of the fleet were sent on ahead as soon as they rounded cape st. vincent, with orders to capture all small off cadiz. vessels which might carry to cadiz the tidings of the approach of the fleet. early on the morning of the th june the fleet anchored off the spit of san sebastian on the southern side of the city. cadiz was defended by the fort of san sebastian on one side and that of san felipe on the other; while the fort of puntales, on the long spit of sand connecting the city with the mainland, the landing party. voured to run ashore, but boarding parties in boats from the ark-rayal and repulse captured two of them. the spaniards set fire to the other two. the argosies and galleons were also captured. sir francis vere at once took the command of the land operations. the boats were all lowered, and the regiments of essex, vere, blount, gerard, and clifford told off as a land- ing party. they were formed in line. the earl of essex and sir francis vere took their places in a boat in advance of the line, and were followed by smaller boats crowded with gentle- men volunteers. they landed between the fort of puntales and the town. the regiments of blount, gerard, and clifford were sent to the narrowest part of the spit to prevent reinforcements being thrown into the place; while those of essex and vere and the gentlemen volunteers turned towards cadiz. each of these parties consisted of about a thousand men. the walls of cadiz were so strong that it had been intended to land guns from the fleet, raise batteries, and make a breach in the walls. vere, however, perceiving some spanish cavalry and infantry drawn up outside the walls, suggested to essex that an attempt should be made to take the place by surprise. the earl at once agreed to the plan. vere marched the force across to the west side of the spit, his movements being concealed by the sand-hills from the spanish. sir john wingfield with two hundred men was ordered to march rapidly on against the enemy, driving in their skirmishers, and then to retreat hastily when the main body advanced against him. three hundred men under sir matthew morgan were posted as supports to wingfield, and as soon as the latter's flying force joined them the whole were to fall upon the spaniards and in turn chase them back to the walls, against which the main body under essex and vere were to advance. the orders were ably carried out. the spaniards in hot ( ) y the capture of cadiz. chase of wingfield found themselves suddenly confronted by morgan's force, who fell upon them so furiously that they fled back to the town closely followed by the english. some of the fugitives made their way in at the gates, which were hurriedly closed, while others climbed up at the bastions, which sloped sufficiently to afford foothold. vere's troops from the nether- lands, led by essex, also scaled the bastions and then an inner wall behind it . as soon as they had captured this they rushed through the streets, shooting and cutting down any who opposed them . sir francis vere, who had also scaled the ramparts, knew that cities captured by assaults had often been lost again by the soldiers scattering. he therefore directed the rest of the troops to burst open the gate. this was with some difficulty effected, and he then marched them in good order to the market-place, where the spaniards had rallied and were hotly engaged with essex. the opposition was soon beaten down, and those defending the town-hall were forced to surrender. the troops were then marched through the town, and the garrison driven either into the convent of san francisco or into the castle of felipe. the convent surrendered on the same evening and the castle on the following day. the loss upon the part of the assailants was very small, but sir john wingfield was mortally wounded. the english behaved with the greatest courtesy to their captives, their conduct presenting an extraordinary contrast to that of the spaniards under similar circumstance in the netherlands. the women were treated with the greatest courtesy, and five thousand inhabitants, including women and priests, were allowed to leave the town with their clothes. the terms were that the city should pay a ransom of , ducats, and that some of the chief citizens should remain as hostages for payment. a strange meeting. as soon as the fighting ceased, lionel vickars accom- panied sir francis vere through the streets to set guards, and see that no insult was offered to any of the inhabitants. as they passed along, the door of one of the mansions was thrown open. a gentleman hurried out; he paused for a moment, ex- claiming, "sir francis vere!" and then looking at lionel rushed forward towards him with a cry of delight. sir francis vere and lionel stared in astonishment as the former's name was called; but at the sound of his own name lionel fell back a step as if stupefied, and then with a cry of "geoffreyi" fell into his brother's arms. "it is indeed geoffrey vickars!" sir francis vere exclaimed. "why, geoffrey, what miracle is this? we have thought you dead these six years, and now we find you transmuted into a spanish don." "i may look like one, sir francis," geoffrey said as he shook his old commander's hand, "but i am english to the backbone still. but my story is too long to tell now. you will be doubt- less too busy to-night to spare time to listen to it, but i pray you to breakfast with me in the morning, when i will briefly relate to you the outline of my adventures. can you spare my brother for to-night, sir francis?" "i would do so were there ten times the work to be got through," sir francis replied. "assuredly i would not keep asunder for a minute two brothers who have so long been separated. i will breakfast with you in the morning and hear this strange story of yours; for strange it must assuredly be, since it has changed my young page of the netherlands into a spanish hidalgo." "i am no hidalgo, sir francis, but a trader of cadiz, and i own that although i have been in some way a prisoner, seeing that i could not effect my escape, i have not fared badly. now, lionel, come in. i have another surprise for you." "i cannot understand it all." lionel, still confused and wonder-stricken at this apparent resurrection of his brother from the dead, followed him upstairs. geoffrey led the way into a handsomely furnished apartment, where a young lady was sitting with a boy two years old in her lap. "dolores, this is my brother lionel, of whom you have so often heard me speak. lionel, this is my wife and my eldest boy,' who is named after you." it was some time before lionel could completely realize the position, and it was not until dolores in somewhat broken english bade him welcome that he found his tongue. "but i cannot understand it all!" he exclaimed, after re- sponding to the words of dolores. "i saw my brother in the middle of the battle with the armada. we came into collision with a great galleon, we lost one of our masts, and i never saw geoffrey afterwards; and we all thought that he had either been shot by the musketeers on the galleon, or had been knocked overboard and killed by the falling mast." "i had hoped that long before this you would have heard of my safety, lionel, for a sailor friend of mine promised if he reached england to go down at once to hedingham to tell them there. he left the ship he was in out in the west indies, and i hoped had reached home safely." "we have heard nothing, geoffrey. the man has never come with your message. but now tell me how you were saved." "i was knocked over by the mast, lionel, but as you see i was not killed. i climbed up into a passing spanish ship, and concealed myself in the chains until she was sunk, when i was, with many of the crew, picked up by the boats of other ships. i pretended to have lost my senses and my speech, and none suspected that i was english. the ship i was on board of was one of those which succeeded after terrible hardships in returning to spain. an irish gentleman on board her, to news from home. whom i confided my secret, took me as a servant. after many adventures i sailed with him for italy, where we hoped to get a ship for england. on the way we were attacked by barbary pirates. we beat them off, but i was taken prisoner. i remained a captive among them for nearly two years, and then with a fellow-prisoner escaped, together with dolores and her father, who had also been captured by the pirates. we reached spain in safety, and i have since passed as one of the many exiles from england and ireland who have taken refuge here; and senor mendez, my wife's father, was good enough to be- stow her hand upon me, partly in gratitude for the services i had rendered him in his escape, partly because he saw she would break her heart if he refused." "you know that is not true, geoffrey," dolores interrupted. "never mind, dolores, it is near enough. and with his daughter," he continued, "he gave me a share in his business. i have been a fortunate man indeed, lionel; but i have always longed for a chance to return home; until now none has ever offered itself, and i have grieved continually at the thought that my father and mother and you were mourning for me as dead. now you have the outline of my story; tell me about all at home." "our father and mother are both well, geoffrey, though your supposed loss was a great blow for them . but is it still home for you, geoffrey? do you really mean to return with us." "of course i do, lionel. at the time i married i arranged with senor mendez that whenever an opportunity occurred i was to return home, taking, of course, dolores with me. she has been learning english ever since, and although naturally she would rather that we remained here she is quite prepared to make her home in england. we have two boys, this young- ster, and a baby three months old; so, you see, you have all at renor mendez. once acquired nephews as well as a brother and sister. here is sefior mendez. this is my brother, sefior, the lionel after whom i named my boy, though i never dreamed that our next meeting would take place within the walls of cadiz." "you have astounded us, sefior," the merchant said courte- ously. "we thought that cadiz was safe from an attack; and though we were aware you had defeated our fleet we were astonished indeed when two hours since we heard by the din and firing in the streets that you had captured the city. truly you english do not suffer the grass to grow under your feet. when we woke this morning no one dreamed of danger, and now in the course of one day you have destroyed our fleet, captured our town, and have our lives and properties at your disposal." "your lives are in no danger, sefior, and all who choose are free to depart without harm or hindrance. but as to your pro- perty—i don't mean yours, of course, because as geoffrey's father- in-law i am sure that sir francis vere will inflict no fine upon you—but the city generally will have to pay, i hear, some half million ducats as ransom." "that is as nothing," the spaniard said, "to the loss the city will suffer in the loss of the forty merchant ships which you will doubtless capture or burn. right glad am i that no cargo of mine is on board any of them, for i do not trade with mexico; but i am sure the value of the ships with their cargoes cannot be less than twenty millions of ducats. this will fall upon the traders of this town and of seville. still, i own that the ransom of half-a-million for a city like cadiz seems to me to be very moderate, and the tranquillity that already prevails in the town is beyond all praise. would that such had been the behaviour of my countrymen in the netherlands!" don mendez spoke in a tone of deep depression. geoffrey made a sign to his brother to come out on to the balcony, while the merchant took a seat beside his daughter. "how have you escaped the inquisition?" great motive beyond the occupation it gives him for continuing in business. so you are a captain now, lionel! have you had a great deal of fighting?" "not a great deal. the spaniards have been too much occupied with their affairs in france to give us much work to do. in holland i took part in the adventure that led to the capture of breda, did some fighting in france with the army of henry of navarre, and have been concerned in a good many sieges and skirmishes. i do not know whether you heard of the death of robert vere. he came out just after the business of the armada, and fell in the fight the other day near wesel— a mad business of count philip of nassau. horace is serving with his troop. we have recovered all the cities in the three provinces, and holland is now virtually rid of the spaniards. "things have greatly changed since the days of sluys and bergen - op - zoom. holland has increased marvellously in strength and wealth. we have now a splendidly-organized army, and should not fear meeting the spaniards in the open field if they would but give the chance to do so in anything like equal numbers. sir francis is marshal of our army here, and is now considered the ablest of our generals; and he and prince maurice have never yet met with a serious disaster. but how have you escaped the inquisition here, geoffrey? i thought they laid hands on every heretic?" "so they do," geoffrey replied; "but you see they have never dreamed that i was a heretic. the english, irish, and scotchmen here, either serving in the army or living quietly as exiles, are, of course, all catholics, and as they suppose me to be one of them, it does not seem to have entered their minds that i was a protestant . since i have been here i have gone with my wife and father-in-law to church, and have said my prayers in my own way while they have said theirs. i cannot say i have liked it, but as there was no church of my own it senor mendez accepts the situation. vexed that the lord-admiral had not complied with the earnest request the earl of essex had sent him, as soon as he landed, to take prompt measures for the pursuit and capture of the mer- chant ships. instead of doing this, the admiral, considering the force that had landed to be dangerously weak, had sent large reinforcements on shore as soon as the boats came off, and the consequence was that at dawn that morning masses of smoke rising from the puerto real showed that the duke of mediua- sidonia had set the merchant ships on fire rather than that they should fall into the hands of the english. for a fortnight the captors of cadiz remained in possession. sefior mendez had, upon the day after their entry, discussed the future with geoffrey. to the latter's great satisfaction he took it for granted that his son-in-law would sail with dolores and the children in the english fleet, and he at once entered into arrangements with him for his undertaking the manage, ment of the business of the firm in england and holland. "had i wound up my affairs i should accompany you at once, for dolores is everything to me, and you, geoffrey, have also a large share of my affection; but this is impossible. we have at present all our fifteen ships at sea, and these on their return to port would be confiscated at once were i to leave. besides, there are large transactions open with the merchants at seville and elsewhere. therefore i must, for the present at any rate, remain here. i shall incur no odium by your de- parture. it will be supposed that you have reconciled yourself with your government, and your going home will therefore seem only natural; and it will be seen that i could not, how- ever much i were inclined, interfere to prevent the departure of dolores and the children with you. "i propose to send on board your ships the greater portion of my goods here suitable for your market. this, again, will not excite bad feelings, as i shall say that you as my partner sailing for england. insisted upon your right to take your share of our merchandise back to england with you, leaving me as my portion our fleet of vessels. therefore all will go on here as before. i shall gradually reduce my business and dispose of the ships, trans- mitting my fortune to a banker in brussels, who will be able to send it to england through merchants in antwerp, and you can purchase vessels to replace those i sell. "i calculate that it will take me a year to complete all my arrangements. after that i shall again sail for italy, and shall come to england either by sea or by travelling through ger- many, as circumstances may dictate. on arriving in london i shall know where to find you, for by that time you will be well known there; and at any rate the bankers to whom my money is sent will be able to inform me of your address." these arrangements were carried out, and at the departure of the fleet, geoffrey, with dolores and the children, sailed in sir francis vere's ship the rainbow, sir francis having in- sisted on giving up his own cabin for the use of dolores. on leaving cadiz the town was fired, and the cathedral, the church of the jesuits, the nunneries of santa maria and can- delaria, two hundred and ninety houses, and, greatest loss of all, the library of the jesuits, containing invaluable manu- scripts respecting the incas of peru, were destroyed. the destruction of the spanish fleet, and the enormous loss caused by the burning of cadiz and the loss of the rich merchant fleet, struck a terrible blow at the power and re- sources of spain. her trade never recovered from its effects, and her prestige suffered very greatly in the eyes of europe. philip never rallied from the blow to his pride inflicted by this humiliation. lionel had at first been almost shocked to find that geoffrey had married a spanish woman and a catholic; but the charm- ing manner of dolores, her evident desire to please, and the down to hedingham. deep affection with which she regarded her husband, soon won his heart. he, sir francis vere, and the other officers and volunteers on board, vied.with each other in attention to her during the voyage; and dolores, who had hitherto been con- vinced that geoffrey was a strange exception to the rule that all englishmen were rough and savage animals, and who looked forward with much secret dread to taking up her residence among them, was quite delighted, and assured geoffrey she was at last convinced that all she had heard to the disadvan- tage of his countrymen was wholly untrue. the fleet touched at plymouth, where the news of the im- mense success they had gained was received with great rejoic- ings; and after taking in fresh water and stores, they proceeded along the coast and anchored in the mouth of the thames. here the greater part of the fleet was disbanded, the rainbow and a few other vessels sailing up to greenwich, where the captains and officers were received with great honour by the queen, and were feasted and made much of by the city. the brothers, the day after the ship cast anchor, proceeded to town, and there hired horses for their journey down into essex. this was accomplished in two days, geoffrey riding with dolores on a pillion behind him with her baby in her lap, while young lionel was on the saddle before his uncle. when they approached hedingham lionel said, "i had best ride forward geoffrey to break the news to them of your coming. although our mother has always declared that she would not give up hope that you would some day be restored to us, they have now really mourned you as dead." "very well, lionel. it is but a mile or so; i will dismount and put the boy up in the saddle and walk beside him, and we shall be in a quarter of an hour after you." the delight of mr. and mrs. vickars on hearing geoffrey was alive and close at hand was so great that the fact he settled in london. brought home a spanish wife, which would under other cir- cumstances have been a great shock to them, was now scarcely felt, and when the rapturous greeting with which he was re- ceived on his arrival was over, they welcomed his pretty young wife with a degree of warmth which fully satisfied him. her welcome was, of course, in the first place as geoffrey's wife, but in a very short time his father and mother both came to love her for herself, and dolores very quickly found herself far happier at hedingham rectory than she had thought she could be away from her native spain. the announcement geoffrey made shortly after his arrival, that he had altogether abandoned the trade of soldiering, and should in future make his home in london, trading in conjunction with his father-in-law, assisted to reconcile them to his marriage. after a fortnight's stay at hedingham goffrey went up to london, and there took a house in the city, purchased several vessels, and entered upon business, being enabled to take at once a good position among the mer- chants of london, thanks to the ample funds with which he was provided. two months later he went down to essex and brought up dolores and the children, and established them in his new abode. the apprenticeship he had served in trade at cadiz enabled geoffrey to start with confidence in his business. he at once notified all the correspondents of the firm in the different ports of europe, that in future the business carried on by signor juan mendez at cadiz would have its headquarters in london, and that the firm would trade with all ports with the excep- tion of those of spain. the result was that before many months had elapsed there were few houses in london doing a larger trade with the continent than that of mendez and vickars, under which title they had traded from the time of geoffrey's marriage with dolores. chapter xxi. the battle of nieuport. | he year after the capture of cadiz, lionel vickars sailed under sir francis vere with the expedition designed to attack the fleet which philip of spain had gathered in ferrol, with the intention, it was believed, of invading ireland in retaliation for the disaster at cadiz. the expedition met with terrible weather in the bay of biscay, and put back scattered and disabled to plymouth and falmouth. in august they again sailed, but were so battered by another storm that the expedition against ferrol was aban- doned, and they sailed to the azores. there, after a skirmish with the spaniards, they scattered among the islands, but missed the great spanish fleet laden with silver from the west, and finally returned to england without having accomplished anything, while they suffered from another tempest on their waj' home, and reached plymouth with difficulty. fortunately the same storm scattered and destroyed the great spanish fleet at ferrol, and the weather thus for the second time saved england from invasion. late in the autumn, after his return from the expedition, sir francis vere went over to holland, and by his advice prince maurice prepared in december to attack a force of spanish infantry and cavalry, which, under the command of the count of varras, had gathered at the village of turnhout, twenty miles from breda. a hot pursuit. a force of foot and horse were secretly assembled at gertruydenberg. sir francis vere brought an english regiment, and personally commanded one of the two troops into which the english cavalry was divided. sir robert sid- ney came with of the english garrison at flushing, and sir alexander murray with a scotch regiment . the expedition started on the d of january, , and after marching twenty-four miles reached the village of rivels, three miles from turnhout, two hours after dark. the night was bitter cold, and after cooking supper the men wrapt themselves up in their cloaks, and lay down on the frozen ground until daybreak . the delay, although necessary, enabled the enemy to make their escape. the news that the allies had arrived close at hand reached count varras at mid- night, and a retreat was at once ordered. baggage waggons were packed and despatched, escorted by the cavalry, and before dawn the whole force was well on its road. prince maurice had set off an hour before daybreak, and on reaching turnhout found that the rear-guard of the enemy had just left the village. they had broken down the wooden bridge across the river aa, only one plank being left standing, and had stationed a party to defend it. maurice held a hasty council of war. all, with the excep- tion of sir francis vere and sir marcellus bacx, were against pursuit, but maurice took the advice of the minority. vere with two hundred dutch musketeers advanced against the bridge; his musketry fire drove off the guard, and with a few mounted officers and the two hundred musketeers he set out in pursuit. he saw that the enemy's infantry were marching but slowly, and guessed that they were delayed by the baggage waggons in front. the country was wooded, and he threw the musketeers among the trees with orders to keep up a dropping fire, while he him- self with sixteen horsemen followed closely upon the enemy a cavalry victory. along the road. their rear-guard kept up a skirmishing fire, slightly wounding vere in the leg; but all this caused delay, and it was three hours before they emerged on an open heath, three miles from the bridge. vere placed his musketeers among some woods and inclosed fields on the left of the heath, and ordered them to keep up a brisk fire and to show themselves as if advancing to the attack. he himself, rein- forced by some more horsemen who had come up, continued to follow in the open. the heath was three miles across, and vere, constantly skir- mishing with the spanish infantry, who were formed in four solid squares, kept watching for the appearance of maurice and the cavalry. at length these came in sight . vere galloped up to the prince, and urged that a charge should be made at once. the prince assented. vere, with the english cavalry, charged down upon the rear of the squares, while hohenlohe swept down with the dutch cavalry upon their flanks. the spanish musketeers fired and at once fled, and the cavalry dashed in among the squares of pikemen and broke them . several of the companies of horse galloped on in pursuit of the enemy's horse and baggage. vere saw that these would be repulsed, and formed up the english cavalry to cover their retreat. in a short time the disordered horse came back at full gallop, pursued by the spanish cavalry, but these, seeing vere's troops ready to receive them, retreated at once. count varras was slain, together with three hundred of the spanish infantry. six hundred prisoners were taken, and thirty-eight colours fell into the victor's hands. the success was gained entirely by the eight hundred allied horse, the infantry never arriving upon the field. the brilliant little victory, which was one of the first gained by the allies in the open field, was the cause of great rejoicings. not only were the spaniards no longer invincible, but they had been routed by a force but one-sixth of their own number, and the france makes peace with spain. battle showed how greatly the individual prowess of the two peoples had changed during the progress of the war. the archduke ernest had died in , and had been suc- ceeded by the archduke albert in the government of the nether- lands. he had with him no generals comparable with parma, or even with alva. his troops had lost their faith in them- selves and their contempt for their foes. holland was grown rich and prosperous, while the enormous expenses of carrying on the war both in the netherlands and in france, together with the loss of the armada, the destruction of the great fleet at ferrol, and the capture of cadiz and the ships there, had ex- hausted the resources of spain, and philip was driven to make advances for peace to france and england. henry iv., know- ing that peace with spain meant an end of the civil war that had so long exhausted france, at once accepted the terms of philip, and made a separate peace, in spite of the remonstrances of the ambassadors of england and holland, to both of which countries he owed it in no small degree that he had been enabled to support himself against the faction of the guises backed by the power of spain. a fresh treaty was made between england and the nether- lands, sir francis vere being sent out as special ambassador to negotiate. england was anxious for peace, but would not desert the netherlands if they on their part would relieve her to some extent of the heavy expenses caused by the war. this the states consented to do, and the treaty was duly signed on both sides. a few days before its conclusion lord burleigh, who had been queen elizabeth's chief adviser for forty years, died, and within a month of its signature philip of spain, whose schemes he had so long opposed, followed him to the grave. on the th of the previous may philip had formally ceded the netherlands to his daughter isabella, between whom and the archduke albert a marriage had been arranged. this took ( ) z a rash undertaking. place on the th of april following, shortly after his death . it was celebrated at valencia, and at the same time king philip iii. was united to margaret of austria. in the course of there was severe fighting on the swampy island between the rivers waal and maas, known as the bommel-waat, and a fresh attempt at invasion by the spaniards was repulsed with heavy loss, sir francis vere and the english troops taking a leading part in the operations. the success thus gained decided the states-general to under- take an offensive campaign in the following year. the plan they decided upon was opposed both by prince maurice and sir francis vere as being altogether too hazardous; but the states, who upon most occasions were averse to anything like bold action, upon the present occasion stood firm to their decision. their plan was to land an army near ostend, which was held by the english, and to besiege the town of nieuport, west of ostend, and after that to attack dunkirk. in the opinion of the two generals an offensive operation direct from holland would have been far preferable, as in case of disaster the army could fall back upon one of their fortified towns, whereas, if beaten upon the coast, they might be cut off from ostend and entirely destroyed. however, their opinions were overruled, and the expedition prepared. it consisted of , infantry, cavalry, and guns. it was formed into three divisions. the van, strong, in- cluding english veterans, was commanded by sir francis vere; the second division by count everard solms; the rear division by count ernest of nassau; while count louis gun- ther of nassau was in command of the cavalry. the army embarked at flushing, and landed at philippine, a town at the head of the braakeman inlet. there was at the time only a small body of spaniards in the neighbourhood, but as soon as the news reached the archduke albert at brussels he concentrated his army round ghent . a disastrous operation. the troops had for some time been in a mutinous state, but, as was always the case with them, they returned to their habits of military obedience the moment danger threatened. the dutch army advanced by rapid marches to the neigh- bourhood of ostend, and captured the fort and redoubts which the spaniards had raised to prevent its garrison from under- taking offensive operations. two thousand men were left to garrison these important positions, which lay on the line of march which the spaniards must take coming from bruges to nieuport. the rest of the army then made their way across the country, intersected with ditches, and upon the following day arrived before nieuport and prepared to besiege it . the dutch fleet had arrived off the town, and co-operated with the army in building a bridge across the little river, and preparing for the siege. towards the evening, however, the news arrived from ostend, nine miles away, that a large force of the enemy had appeared before one of the forts just captured. most of the officers were of opinion that the spanish force was not a large one, and that it was a mere feint to induce the dutch to abandon the siege of nieuport and return to ostend. sir francis vere maintained that it was the main body of the archduke's army, and advised maurice to march back at once with his whole force to attack the enemy before they had time to take the forts. later on in the evening, however, two of the messengers arrived with the news that the forts had surrendered. prince maurice then, in opposition to vere's advice, sent off in- fantry, horse, and guns, under the command of ernest of nassau, to prevent the enemy from crossing the low ground between ostend and the sand-hills, vere insisting that the whole army ought to move. it fell out exactly as he pre- dicted; the detachment met the whole spanish army, and broke and fled at the first fire, and thus men were lost in addi- tion to the who had been left to garrison the forts. repulse of the first assault. their cavalry led the advance, but the two guns vere had placed on west hill plied them so hotly with shot that they fell back in confusion. it was now high tide, and there were but thirty yards be: tween the sea and the sand-hills. the spaniards therefore marched their infantry into the dunes, while the cavalry pre- pared to advance between the sand-hills and the cultivated fields inland. the second and third divisions of maurice's army also moved away from the shore inland. they now numbered but three thousand men, as the four thousand five hundred who had been lost belonged entirely to these divisions, sir francis vere's division having been left intact . it was upon the first division that the whole brunt of the battle fell, they receiving some assistance from the thousand men remaining under count solms that were posted next to them; while the rear division was never engaged at all. at half-past two o'clock on the afternoon of the d of june, , the battle began. vere's plan was to hold his advanced position as long as possible, bring the reserves up as required until he had worn out the spaniards, then to send for the other two divisions and to fall upon them. the company of lionel vickars formed part of the three hundred men stationed on the east hill, where vere also had taken up his position. after an exchange of fire for some time five hundred picked spanish infantry rushed across the hollow between the two armies, and charged the hill. for half-an-hour a desperate struggle took place; the spaniards were then obliged to fall back behind some low ridges at its foot. in the meantime the enemy's cavalry had advanced along the grass-grown tract, a hundred and fifty yards wide, between the foot of the dunes and the cultivated country inland. they were received, however, by so hot a fire by the five hundred musketeers posted by vere in the sand-hills on their flank, and by the two cannon on west hill, that they fell back upon their verb's horse shot under him at the fight before ostend. the two brothers. be looked upon as one of the leading merchants in the city of london. "there can be no doubt, geoffrey," his brother said as he lay on a couch in the garden in the early days of his convales- cence, and looked at the river dotted with boats that flowed past it, "the falling of that mast was a fortunate thing for you. one never can tell how things will turn out . it would have seemed as if, were you not drowned at once, your lot would have been either a life's work in the spanish galleys, or death in the dungeons of the inquisition. instead of this, here you are a wealthy merchant in the city, with a charming wife, and a father-in-law who is, although a spaniard, one of the kindest and best men i ever met. all this time i, who was not knocked over by that mast, have been drilling recruits, making long marches, and occasionally fighting battles, and am no richer now than the day when we started together as francis vere's pages. it is true i have received the honour of knighthood, and that of course i prize much; but i have only my captain's pay to support my dignity, and as i hardly think spain will continue this useless struggle much longer, in which case our army in holland will be speedily disbanded, the prospect before me is not altogether an advantageous one." "you must marry an heiress, lionel," geoffrey laughed. "surely sir lionel vickars, one of the heroes of nieuport, and many another field, should be able to win the heart of some fair english damsel, with broad acres as her dower. but seriously, lionel," he went on, changing his tone, "if peace come, and with it lack of employment, the best thing for you will be to join me. mendez is getting on in years; and although he is working hard at present, in order, as he says, to set everything going smoothly and well here, he is looking forward to taking matters more easily, and to spending his time in tranquil pleasure with dolores and her children. there- fore, whensoever it pleases you, there is a place for you here. an old friend. we always contemplated our lines running in the same groove, and i should be glad that they should do so still. when the time comes we can discuss what share you shall have of the business; but at any rate i can promise you that it shall be sufficient to make you a rich man." "thank you, with all my heart, geoffrey. it may be that some day i will accept your offer, though i fear you will find me but a sorry assistant. it seems to me that after twelve years of campaigning i am little fitted for life as a city mer- chant." "i went through plenty of adventure for six years, lionel, but my father-in-law has from the first been well satisfied with my capacity for business. you are not seven-and-twenty yet. you have had enough rough campaigning to satisfy anyone, and should be glad now of an easier and more sober method of life. well, there is no occasion to settle anything at present, and i can well understand that you should prefer remaining in the army until the war comes to an end. when it does so, we can talk the matter over again; only be well assured that the offer will be always open to you, and that i shall be glad indeed to have you with me." a few days after lionel left him geoffrey was passing along chepe, when he stopped suddenly, stared hard at a gentleman who was approaching him, and then rushed towards him with outstretched hand. "my dear gerald!" he exclaimed, "i am glad to see you." the gentleman started back with an expression of the pro- foundest astonishment . "is it possible?" he cried. "is it really geoffrey vickars v "myself, and no other, gerald." "the saints be praised! why, i have been thinking of you all these years as either dead or labouring at an oar in the moor- ish galleys. by what good fortune did you escape? and how a suitor at court. is it i find you here, looking for all the world like a merchant of the city?" "it is too long a story to tell now, gerald. where are you staying?" "i have lodgings at westminster, being at present a suitor at court." "is your wife with you?" "she is. i have left my four children at home in ireland." "then bring her to sup with me this evening. i have a wife to introduce to yours, and as she is also a spaniard it will doubtless be a pleasure to them both." "you astound me, geoffrey. however, you shall tell me all about it this evening, for be assured that we shall come. inez has so often talked about you, and lamented the ill-fortune that befell you owing to your ardour." "at six o'clock, then," geoffrey said . "i generally dwell with my father-in-law at chelsea, but am just at present at home. my house is in st. mary axe; anyone there will tell you which it is." that evening the two friends had a long talk together. geoffrey learnt that gerald burke reached italy without fur- ther adventure, and thence took ship to bristol, and so crossed over to ireland. on his petition, and solemn promise of good behaviour in future, he was pardoned and a small portion of his estate restored to him. he was now in london endeavour- ing to obtain a remission of the forfeiture of the rest. "i may be able to help you in that," geoffrey said. "sir francis vere is high in favour at court, and he will, at my prayer, i feel sure, use his influence in your favour when i tell him how you acted my friend on my landing in spain from the armada." geoffrey then gave an account of his various adventures from the time when he was struck down from the deck of the bar- bary corsair until the present time. why gerald did not write. "how was it," he asked when he concluded, "that you did not write to my parents, gerald, on your return home? you knew where they lived." "i talked the matter over with inez," gerald replied, "and we agreed that it was kinder to them to be silent . of course they had mourned you as killed in the fight with the armada. a year had passed, and the wound must have somewhat healed. had i told them that you had escaped death at that time, had been months with me in spain, and had, on your way home, been either killed by the moors or were a prisoner in their galleys, it would have opened the wound afresh, and caused them renewed pain and sorrow." "no doubt you were right, gerald, and that it was, as you say, the kindest thing to leave them in ignorance of my fate." upon the next visit sir francis vere paid to england, geof- frey spoke to him with regard to gerald burke's affairs. sir francis took the matter up warmly, and his influence sufficed in a very short time to obtain an order for the restoration to gerald of all his estates. inez and dolores became as fast friends as were their husbands; and when the burkes came to england geoffrey's house was their home. the meeting with gerald was followed by a still greater surprise, for not many days after, when geoffrey was sitting with his wife and don mendez under the shade of a broad cypress in the garden of the merchant's house at chelsea, they saw a servant coming across towards them, followed by a man in seafaring attire. "here is a person who would speak to you, master vickars," the servant said. "i told him it was not your custom to see any here, and that if he had aught to say he should call at your house in st. mary axe; but he said that he had but just arrived from hedingham, and that your honour would excuse his intrusion when you saw him." "bring him up; he may be the bearer of a message from explanations. you from the day when the news came that you had left the ship in which you went out." "i have had a rough time of it these five years," stephen said. "but i care not now that i am home again and have found my friend geoffrey. i arrived in bristol but last week, and started for london on the day i landed, mindful of my promise to let his people know that he was safe and well, and with some faint hope that the capture of cadiz had set him at liberty. i got to hedingham last night, and if i had been a prince mr. vickars and his dame and sir lionel could not have made more of me. they were fain that i should stop with them a day or two; but when i heard that you were in london and had married senora dolores, and that senor mendez was with you—all of which in no way surprised me, for methought i saw it coming before i left cadiz—i could not rest, but was up at daylight this morning. your brother offered to procure me a horse, but i should have made bad weather on the craft, and after walking from bristol the tramp up to lon- don was nothing. i got to your house in the city at four; and, finding that you were here, took a boat at once, for i could not rest until i saw my friend again." geoffrey at once took him into the house and set him down to a meal; and when the party were gathered later on in the sitting-room, and the candles were lighted, stephen told his story. "as you will have heard, we made a good voyage to the indies. we discharged our cargo, and took in another. i learned that there were two english ships cruising near san domingo, and the dons were in great fear of them. i thought that my chance lay in joining them, so when we were at our nearest port to that island i one night borrowed one of the ship's boats without asking leave, and made off. i knew the direction in which san domingo lay, but no more. my hope was that i should either fall in with our ships at sea, or, when at san domingo. i made the island, should be able to gather such information as might guide me to them. when i made the land, after being four days out, i cruised about till the provisions and water i had put on board were exhausted, and i could hold out no longer. then i made for the island and landed. "you may be sure i did not make for a port, where i should be questioned, but ran ashore in a wooded bay that looked as if no one had ever set foot there before. i dragged the boat up beyond, as i thought, the reach of the sea, and started to hunt for food and water. i found enough berries and things to keep me alive, but not enough to stock my boat for another cruise. a week after i landed there was a tornado, and when it cleared off and i had recovered from my fright—for the trees were blown down like rushes, and i thought my last day was come—i found that the boat was washed away. i was mightily disheartened at this, and after much thinking made up my mind that there was nought for it but to keep along the shore until i arrived at a port, and then to give out that i was a shipwrecked sailor, and either try to get hold of another boat, or take passage back to spain and make a fresh start. however, the next morning, just as i was starting, a number of natives ran out of the bush and seized me, and carried me away up into the hills. "it was not pleasant at first, for they lit a big fire and were going to set me on the top of it, taking me for a spaniard. seeing their intentions, i took to arguing with them, and told them in spanish that i was no spaniard, but an englishman, and that i had been a slave to the spaniards and had escaped. most of them understood some spanish, having themselves been made to work as slaves in their plantations, and being all runaways from the tyranny of their masters. they knew, of course, that we were the enemies of the spaniards, and had heard of places being sacked and ships taken by us. but they doubted my story for a long time, till at last one of them among the natives. brought a crucifix that had somehow fallen into their hands, and held it up before me. when i struck it down, as a good protestant should do, they saw that i was not of the spanish religion, and so loosed my bonds and made much of me. "they could tell me nothing of the whereabouts of our ships, for though they had seen vessels at times sail by, the poor creatures knew nothing of the difference of rig between an english craft and a spaniard. i abode with them for two years, and aided them in their fights whenever the spaniards sent out parties, which they did many times, to capture them. they were poor, timorous creatures, their spirits being alto- gether broken by the tyranny of the dons; but when they saw that i feared them not, and was ready at any time to match myself against two or, if need be, three of the spaniards, they plucked up heart, and in time came to fight so stoutly that the spaniards thought it best to leave them alone, seeing that we had the advantage of knowing every foot of the woods, and were able to pounce down upon them when they were in straitened places and forced to fight at great disadvantage. "i was regarded as a great chief by the natives, and could have gone on living with them comfortably enough had not my thoughts been always turning homeward, and a great desire to be among my own people, from whom i had been so long separated, devoured me. at last a spanish ship was driven ashore in a gale; she went to pieces, and every soul was drowned. when the gale abated the natives went down to collect the stores driven ashore, and i found on the beach one of her boats washed up almost uninjured, so nothing would do but i must sail away in her. the natives tried their hardest to persuade me to stay with them, but finding that my mind was fixed beyond recall they gave way and did their best to aid me. the boat was well stored with provisions; we made a sail for her out of one belonging to the ship, and i set off, ( ) a cast away again. promising them that if i could not alight upon an english ship i would return to them. "i had intended to keep my promise, but things turned out otherwise. i had not been two days at sea when there was another storm, for at one time of the year they have tornadoes very frequently. i had nothing to do but to run for it, casting much of my provisions overboard to lighten the boat, and baling without ceasing to keep out the water she took in. after running for many hours i was, somewhere about midnight, cast on shore. i made a shift to save myself, and in the morning found that i was on a low key. here i lived for three weeks. fortunately there was water in some of the hollows of the rocks, and as turtles came ashore to lay their eggs i managed pretty well for a time; but the water dried up, and for the last week i had nought to drink but the blood of the turtles. one morning i saw a ship passing not far off, and making a signal with the mast of the boat that had been washed ashore with me i attracted their attention. i saw that she was a spaniard, but i could not help that, for i had no choice but to hail her. they took me to porto rico and there reported me as a shipwrecked sailor they had picked up. the governor questioned me closely as to what vessel i had been lost from, and although i made up a good story he had his doubts. fortunately it did not enter his mind that i was not a spaniard; but he said he believed i was some bad character who had been marooned by my comrades for murder or some other crime, and so put me in prison until he could learn some- thing that would verify my story. "after three months i was taken out of prison, but was set to work on the fortifications, and there for another two years i had to stop. then i managed to slip away one day, and, hiding till nightfall, made my way down through the town to the quays and swam out to a vessel at anchor. i climbed on again under the english flag. board without notice, and hid myself below, where i lay for two days until she got up sail. when i judged she was well away from the land i went on deck and told my story, that i was a shipwrecked sailor who had been forced by the governor to work at the fortifications. they did not believe me, saying that i must be some criminal who had escaped from justice, and the captain said he should give me up at the next port the ship touched. fortunately four days afterwards a sail hove in sight and gave chase, and before it was dark was near enough to fire a gun and make us heave to, and a quarter of an hour later a boat came alongside, and i again heard english spoken for the first time since i had left you at cadiz. "it was an english bucaneer, who, being short of water and fresh vegetables, had chased us, though seeing we were but a petty trader and not likely to have aught else worth taking on board. they wondered much when i discovered myself to them and told them who i was and how i had come there; and when, on their rowing me on board their ship, i told the captain my story he told me that he thought i was the greatest liar he had ever met. to be a galley-slave among the spaniards, a galley-slave among the moors, a consorter with indians for two years, and again a prisoner with the spaniards for as much more, was more than fell to the lot of any one man, and he, like the spanish governor, believed that i was some rascal who had been marooned, only he thought that it was from an english ship. however, he said that as i was a stout fellow he would give me another chance; and when, a fortnight later, we fell in with a great spanish galleon and captured her with a great store of prize-money after a hard fight for six hours, the last of which was passed on the deck of the spaniard cutting and slashing—for, being laden with silver, she had a company of troops on board in addition to her crew—the captain said, that though an astonishing liar there was no better fellow on board a ship, and, putting it to a stroke of luck at i.ast. the crew, they agreed i had well earned my share of the prize-money. when we had got the silver on board, which was a heavy job i can tell yon, though not an unpleasant one, we put what spaniards remained alive into the boats, fired the galleon, and set sail for england, where we arrived without adventure. the silver was divided on the day before we cast anchor, the owner's share being first set aside, every man his share, and the officers theirs in proportion. mine came to over a thousand pounds, and it needed two strong men to carry the chest up to the offiee of the owners, who gave me a receipt for it, which, as soon as i got, i started for london; and here, as you see, i am." "and now, what do you propose to do with yourself, stephen?" geoffrey asked. "i shall first travel down again to devonshire and see what friends i have remaining there. i do not expect to find many alive, for fifteen years make many changes. my father and mother were both dead before i started, and my uncle, with whom i lived for a time, is scarce like to be alive now. still i may find some cousins and friends i knew as a boy." "i should think you have had enough of the sea, stephen, and you have now ample to live ashore in comfort for the rest of your life." "yes, i shall go no more to sea," stephen said. "except for this last stroke of luck fortune has always been against me. what i should like, master geoffrey, most of all, would be to come up and work under you. i could be of advantage in seeing to the loading and unloading vessels and the storage of cargo. as for pay, i should not want it, having, as you say, enough to live comfortably upon. still i should like to be with you." "and i should like to have you with me, stephen. nothing would give me greater pleasure. if you are still of that mind when you return from devonshire we can again talk the chapter xxiii. the siege of ostend. n the th of july, , the archduke albert began the siege of ostend with , men and siege-guns. ostend had been completely rebuilt and fortified eighteen years previously, and was defended by ramparts, counterscarps, and two broad ditches. the sand-hills between it and the sea were cut through, and the water filled the ditches and surrounded the town. to the south the country was intersected by a network of canals. the river yper-leet came in at the back of the town, and after mingling with the salt water in the ditches found its way to the sea through the channels known as the old haven and the geule, the first on the west, the second on the east of the town. on either side of these channels the land rose slightly, en- abling the besiegers to plant their batteries in very advantageous positions. the garrison at first consisted of but men under governor vander nood. the states-general considered the defence of ostend to be of extreme importance to the cause, aud appointed sir francis vere general of the army in and about ostend, and sent with him coo dutch troops and eight companies of english under the command of his brother, sir horace. this raised the garrison to the strength of men. sir francis landed with these reinforcements on the sands opposite the old town, which stood near the sea-shore between the old haven and the geule, and was separated from the new a weak position. town by a broad channel . he was forced to land here, as the spanish guns on the sand-hills commanded the entrances of the two channels. sixteen thousand of the spanish troops under the order of the archduke were encamped to the west of the town, and had of their siege-guns in position there, whilo men were stationed on the east of the town under count. bucquoy. ten guns were in position on that side. ostend had no natural advantages for defence beyond the facility of letting the sea into the numerous channels and ditches which intersected the city, and protected it from any operations on the south side. on the east the geule was broad and deep, and an assault from defensive works. this side was very difficult . the old haven, on the west side, was fast filling up, and was fordable for four hours every tide. this, therefore, was the weak side of the town. the portion especially exposed to attack was the low sandy flat on which the old town stood, to the north of ostend. it was against this point, separated only from the enemy's position by the shallow old haven, that the spaniards concentrated their efforts. the defence here consisted of a work called the porc- espic, and a bastion in its rear called the helmond. these works lay to the north of the ditch dividing the old from the new town, while on the opposite side of this ditch was a fort called the sand-hill, from which along the sea face of the town ran strong palisades and bastions. the three principal bastions were named the schottenburg, moses' table, and the flamenburg, the last-named defending the entrance to the geule on the eastern side. there was a strong wall with three bastions, the north bulwark, the east bulwark or pekell, and the spanish bulwark at the south-east angle, with an outwork called the spanish half-moon on the other side of the geule. the south side was similarly defended by a wall with four strong bastions, while beyond these at the south-west corner lay a field called the polder, extending to the point where the yper-leet ran into the ditches. sir francis vere's first step after his arrival was to throw up three redoubts to strengthen the wall round this field, as had the enemy taken possession of it they might have set the wind- mills upon it to work and have drained out many of the ditches. having secured this point he cut a passage to the sea between the north-west bulwark and the flamenburg fort, so that shipping might enter the port without having to ascend the geule, exposed to the fire of the spanish guns. to annoy the enemy and draw them away from the vital point near the sea, he then stationed men on some rising ground surrounded by swamps and ditches at some distance to the south of the city, sham negotiations. they were unanimously of opinion that the force was too small to defend the whole, but sir horace vere and sir john ogle alone gave their advice to abandon the outlying forts rather than endanger the loss of the town. the other officers were of opinion that all the works should be held, although they acknowledged that the disposable force was incapable of doing so. some days elapsed, and vere learned that the spanish preparations were all complete, and that they were only waiting for a low tide to attack. time was everything, for a change of wind would bring speedy succour, so without taking council with anyone he sent sir john ogle with a drum- mer to the side of the old haven. don mateo serrano came forward, and ogle gave his mes- sage, which was that general vere wished to have some quali- fied person to speak to him. this was reported to the archduke, who agreed that serrano and another spanish officer should go into the town, and that ogle and a comrade should come as hostages into the spanish camp. sir john ogle took his friend sir charles fairfax with him, and serrano and colonel antonio crossed into ostend. the two englishmen were conducted to the archduke, who asked sir john ogle to tell him if there was any deceit in the matter. ogle answered if there were it was more than he knew, for vere had simply charged him to carry the message, and that he and fairfax had merely come as hostages for the safe return of the spanish officers. ogle was next asked whether he thought the general in- tended sincerely or not, and could only reply that he was altogether unacquainted with the general's purpose. the next morning serrano and antonio returned without having seen vere. the pretext on which they had been sent back was that there was some irregularity in their coming across'; but instead of their being sent back across the old haven they were sent across the geule, and had to make a long round to regain the archduke's camp. reinforcements arrive. thus a day and a night were gained. the next day, towards evening, the two spanish officers were admitted into ostend, and received very hospitably by sir francis. after supper many healths were drunk, and then sir francis informed them to their astonishment that his proposal was not that lie should surrender ostend, but that the archduke should raise the siege. but it was now far too late for them to return, and they went to bed in the general's quarters. during the two nights thus gained the defenders had worked incessantly in repairing the palisades facing the point at which the attack would take place, a work that they had hitherto been unable to perform owing to the tre- mendous fire that the spaniards kept up night and day upon it. at break of day five men-of-war from zeeland came to anchor off the town. they brought four hundred men, and provisions and materials of war of all kinds. they were immediately landed under a heavy fire from the enemy's batteries on both sides. the firing awoke the two spanish envoys, who inquired what was taking place. they were politely informed by sir francis vere that succour had arrived, and the negotiations were of course broken off; and they were accordingly sent back, while ogle and fairfax returned to ostend. vere's account of the transaction was that he had simply asked for two spanish officers to speak with him. he had offered no terms, and there was therefore no breach of faith. the com- mander of a besieged town, he insisted, is always at liberty to propose a parley, which the enemy can accept or not as he chooses. at any rate, it was not for the archduke, who had hired a traitor to corrupt the garrison, to make a complaint of treachery. twelve hundred men were employed for the next eight days in strengthening the works, sir francis being always with them at night, when the water was low, encouraging them by his presence and example. early in january he learned that the enemy were preparing for the assault, and on the th a crushing fire was kept up on a tremendous struggle. down towards the old haven, and presently returned with the news that two thousand of the enemy were wading across, and forming up in battalions on the ostend side. suddenly a gun boomed out from the archduke's camp as a signal to bucquoy, and just as the night had fairly set in the besiegers rushed to the assault from all points. they were received by a tremendous fire from the guns of the forts and the muskets of the soldiers; but, although the effect was serious, they did not hesitate a moment, but dashed forwards towards the foot of the sand-hill and the wall of the old town, halted for a moment, poured in a volley, and then rushed into the breach and against the walls. the volley had been harmless, for vere had ordered the men to lie flat until it was given. as the spaniards climbed up barrels of ashes were emptied upon them, stones and heavy timbers hurled down, and flaming hoops cast over their necks. three times they climbed to the crest of the sand-hill, and as many times gained a footing on the schottenburg; but each time they were beaten back with great slaughter. as fiercely did they attack at the other points, but were everywhere repulsed. on the east side three strong battalions of the enemy attacked the outwork across the geule, known as the spanish half-moon. vere, who was everywhere supervising the defence, ordered the weak garrison there to withdraw, and sent a soldier out to give himself up, and to tell them that the half-moon was slenderly manned, and to offer to lead them in. the offer was accepted, and the spaniards took possession of the work. the general's object was to occupy them, and prevent their supporting their comrades in the western attack. the half- moon, indeed, was quite open towards the town. tide was rising, and a heavy fire was opened upon the captors of the work from the batteries across the geule, and they were driven out with the loss of three hundred men. at length the assault was repulsed at all points, and the assailants began to retire across the old peack and prosperity. had borne his part in the repulse of the great assault against ostend. he had barely recovered from the effect of the wound he had received at the battle of nieuport, and the fatigues and anxiety of the siege, together with the damp air from the marshes, brought on a serious attack of fever, which completely prostrated him as soon as the necessity for exertion had passed. he remained some weeks at the hague, and then, being some- what recovered, returned home. while throughout all england the greatest enthusiasm had been aroused by the victory of nieuport and the repulse of the spaniards at ostend, the feeling was naturally higher in the vere's county of essex than elsewhere. as soon as lionel vickars was well enough to take any share in gaieties he received many invitations to stay at the great houses of the county, where most of the gentry were more or less closely connected with the veres; and before he had been home many months he married dorothy windhurst, one of the richest heiresses in the county, and a cousin of the veres. thus geoffrey had, after juan mendez retired from taking any active part in the business, to work alone until his sons were old enough to join him in the business. as soon as they were able to undertake its active management, geoffrey bought an estate near hedingham, and there settled down, journeying occasionally to london to see how the affairs of the house went on, and to give advice to his sons. dolores had, two or three years after her arrival in england, embraced the faith of her husband; and although she complained a little at times of the english climate, she never once regretted the step she had taken in leaving her native spain. blackie & son's catalogue of books for young people. including works by g. a. henty. g. manville fenn. george mac donald, ll.d. prof. a. j. church. s. baring-gould. harry collingwood. dr. gordon stables. g. norway. f. frankfort moore. ascott r. hope. john c. hutcheson. alice corkran. rosa mulholland. sarah doudney. mary c. rowsell. and other popular authors blackie ct son's books for tovng people. by g. a. henty. "among writers of stories of adventure for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank. "—academy. the lion of the north: a tale of gustavus adoiph us ana the wars of keligion. by g. a. henty. with page pictures by j. schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "as we might expect from mr. henty the tale is a clever and instructive piece of history, and as boys may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to be profited as well as pleased."—the times. "a praiseworthy attempt to interest british youth in the great deeds of the scotch brigade in the wars of gustavus adolphus. mackay, hepburn, aud munro live again in mr. henty's pages, as those deserve to live whose disciplined bands formed really the germ of the modern british army."—athenceum. the young carthaginian: a story of the times of hannibal. by g. a henty. with full-page illustrations by c. j. stanilamd, r.i. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, a, "the effect of an interesting story, well constructed and vividly told, is en- hanced by the picturesque quality of the scenic background. from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bears us along as on a stream, whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force."—saturday review. "ought to be popular with boys who are not too ill instructed to be affected by a graphic picture of the days and deeds of hannibal."—athenceum. with wolfe in canada: or, the winning of a continent. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "a model of what a boys' story-book should be. mr. henty has a great power of infusing into the dead facts of history new life, and as no pains are spared by him to ensure accuracy in historic details, his books supply useful aids to study as well as amusement."—school guardian. "it is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is graphically told, but also a deeply interesting and often thrilling tale of adventure and peril by flood and field. —illustrated london hews. with clive in india: or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "in this book mr. henty has contrived to exceed himself in stirring adventures and thrilling situations. the pictures add greatly to the interest of the book."— saturday review. "among writers of stories of adventure for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank. those who know something about india will be the most ready to thank mr. henty for giving them this instructive volume to place in the hands of their children."—academy. true to the old flag: a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "does justice to the pluck and determination of the british soldiers. the son of an american loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the hostile red- skins in that very huron country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of hawkeye and chingachgook."— the times. "mr. henty's extensive personal experience of adventures and moving incidents by flood and field, combined with a gift of picturesque narrative, make his books always welcome visitors in the home circle."—daily news. blackib c so its books for young pboplls. by george manville fenn. "mr. fenn la in the front rank of writers of stories for boys."—liverpool mercury. quicksilver: or, a. boy with no skid to his wheel. by george manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "quicksilver is little short of an inspiration. in it that prince of story-writers for boys—george manville fenn — has surpassed himself. it is an ideal book for boy's library."—practical teacher. "the story b capitally told, it abounds in graphic and well-described scenes, and it has an excellent and manly tone throughout."—the guardian. '' this is one of mr. fenn's happiest efforts, and deserves to be read and re-read by every school-boy in the land. we are not exaggerating when we say that quicksilver has nothing to equal it this season."—teachers aid. dick ' the fens: a romance of the great east swamp. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, >. "we conscientiously believe that boys will find it capital reading. it is full of incident and mystery, and the mystery is kept up to the last moment. it is rich in effective local colouring; and it has a historical interest."—times. "we have not of late come across a historical flction, whether intended for boys or for men, which deserves to be so heartily and unreservedly praised as regards plot, incidents, and spirit as dick o' the fens. it is its author's master- piece as yet."—spectator. devon boys: a tale of the north shore. by g. manvillk fenn. with full - page illustrations by gordon browns. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "an admirable story, as remarkable for the individuality of its young heroes rr for the excellent descriptions of coast scenery and life in north devon. it is one of the best books we have seen this season."—athenceum. "we do not know that mr. fenn has ever reached a higher level than he has in devon boys. it must be put in the very front rank of christmas books. "— spectator. brownsmith's boy: a romance in a garden. by g. man- ville fenn. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. fenn's books are among the best, if not altogether the best, of the stories for boys. mr. fenn is at his best in brownsmith's boy."—pictorial world. "brownsmith's boy must rank among the few undeniably good boys' books. he will be a very dufl hoy indeed who lays it down without wishing that it had gone on for at least pages more."—north british mail. in the king's name: or, the cruise of the kestrel. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a capital boys' story, full of incident and adventure, and told in the lively style in which mr. fenn is such an adept."—olobe. "the best of all mr. fenn's productions in this field. it has the great quality of always 'moving on,' adventure following adventure in constant succession."— daily news. blackie i- sox's books for young people. new edition of the universe. the universe: or,the infinitely great and the infinitely little. a sketch of contrasts in creation, and marvels revealed and explained by natural science. by f. a. podchet, m.d. with engravings on wood, of which are full-page size, and a coloured frontispiece. tenth edition, medium vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, s. gd.; also morocco antique, s. "we can honestly commend professor pouchet's book, which is admirably, as it is copiously illustrated. "—the times. "this book is as interesting as the most exciting romance, and a great deal more likely to be remembered to good purpose."—standard. "scarcely any book in french or in english is so likely to stimulate in the young an interest in the physical phenomena."—fortnightly review. by s. baring-gould. grettir the outlaw: a story of iceland. by s. bariso- gould, author of "john herring," "mehalah," &c. with full- page illustrations by m. zeno diemer, and a coloured map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a foremost place in the boys' fiction of the season must be given to grettir the outlaw."—globe. "is the boys' book of its year. that is, of course, as much as to say that it will do for men grown as well as juniors. it is told in simple, straightforward english, as all stories should be. and it has a freshness, a freedom, a sense of sua and wind and the open air, which make it irresistible."—scots observer. by professor a. j. church. two thousand years ago: or, the adventures of a roman boy. by professor a. j. church. with full-page illustrations by anrlen marie. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "adventures well worth the telling. the book is extremely entertaining as well as useful, and there is a wonderful freshness in the roman scenes and characters. "—the times. "we know of no book which will do more to make the romans of that day live again for the english reader."—guardian. by rosa mulholland. giannetta: a girl's story of herself. by rosa mulholland. with full-page illustrations by lockhart boole. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "giannetta is a true heroine—warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all good women nowadays arc, largely touched with the enthusiasm of humanity. one of the most attractive gift-books of the season."— the academy. "no better book could be selected for a young girl's reading, as its object is evidently to hold up a mirror, in which are seen some of the brightest and noblest traits in the female character."—schoolmistress. blackie sows books for tottno people. by g. a. henty. "the brightest of all the living writers whose office it la to enchant the boys." —christian leader. maori and settler: a story of the new zealand war. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. the renshaws lose their property by a bank failure and emigrate to new zealand during the period of the war with tho natives. wilfrid renshaw, n strong, self-reliant, courageous lad, is the main-stay of the household, his father being a dreamer whose archaeological researches have somewhat weakened his hold upon tho present and tho practical. even wilfrid, however, would have succeeded indifferently, but for the assis- tance of his older friend, mr. atherton, a botanist and naturalist, whose herculean strength and unfailing nerve and humour make him perhaps the central figure of the story. during the eventful voyage out, and in the subsequent adventures among the maoris, there are many broathloss moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they succeed in the ond in establishing themselves happily in one of tho pleasant- est of the n«w zealand valleys. one of the th: a tale of waterloo. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. h. overend, and maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "written with homeric vigour and heroic inspiration. it is graphic pictur- esque, and dramatically effective . . . shows us mr. henty at his best and brightest. the adventures will hold a boy of a winter's night enthralled as he rushes through them with breathless interest' from cover to cover.'"—observer. "contains one of the best descriptions of the various battles which raged round waterloo which it has ever been our fate to read."—daily telegraph. the cat of bubastes: a story of ancient egypt. by g. a henty. with full-page illustrations by j. r. wequelin. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the story is highly enjoyable. we have pictures of egyptian domestic life, of sport, of religious ceremonial, and of other things which may still be seen vividly portrayed by the brush of egyptian artists."—the spectator. "the story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat to the perilous exodus into asia with which it closes, is very skilfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. it is admirably illustrated."—saturday review. the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by c. j. staniland, b.i. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "we know of no popular book in which the stirring incidents of alfred's reign are made accessible to young readers as they are here."—scotsman. "a story that may justly be styled remarkable. boys, in reading it, will be surprised to find how alfred persevered, through years of bloodshed and times of peace, to rescue his people from the thraldom of the danes. we hope the book will soon be widely known in all our schools."—schoolmaster. black e a son's books fob young people. by g. a. henty. "mr. g. a. henty's fame as a writer of boys' stories is deserved and secure."— cork herald. a final reckoning: a tale of bush life in australia. by g. a henty. with full-page illustrations by w. b. wollen. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "exhibits mr. henty's talent as a story-teller at his best. . . . the drawings possess the uncommon merit of really illustrating the text."—saturday review. "all boys will read this story with eager and unflagging interest. the episodes are in mr. ilenty's very best vein—graphic, exciting, realistic; and, as in all mr. henty's books, the tendency is to the formation of an honourable, manly, and even heroic character."—birmingham post. facing death: or, the hero of the vaughan pit. a tale of the coal mines. by g. a. henty. with page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "if any father, godfather, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the look-out for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would recommend. "—standard. "the hero starts life as a 'gate-boy,' and, after years of hard work, makes a fortune and becomes a famous mining expert. the descriptions of pit life are extremely graphic. a thoroughly good book."—pali mall gazette. by f. frankfort moore. highways and high seas: cyril harley's adventures on both. by f. frankfort moore. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this is one of the best stories mr. moore has written, perhaps the very best. the exciting adventures among highwaymen and privateers are sure to attract boys."—spectator. "it is pleasant to come across such honest work as f. frankfort moore's high- ways and high seas, especially as .he breathes a vein of genuine humour, nia captain chink being a real achievement in characterization."—scots observer. under hatches: or, ned woodthorpe's adventures. by f. frankfort moore. with full-page illustrations by a fores- tier. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. moore has never shown himself so thoroughly qualified to write books for boys as he has done in under hatches."—the academy. "the story as a story is one that will just suit boys all the world over. the characters are well drawn and consistent; patsy, the irish steward, will be found especially amusing."—schoolmaster. perseverance island: or, the robinson crusoe of the th century. by douglas frazar. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this second robinson crusoe is certainly a marvellous man. his determi- nation to overcome all difficulties, and. his subsequent success, should alone make this a capital book for boys. it is altogether a worthy successor to the ancient robinson crusoe."—glasgow herald. black ie <f c sons books for voung people. by dr. gordon stables. 'twixt school and college: a tale of self-reliance. by gordon starles, cm., m.d., b.n. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. a story, the attractiveness of which lies less in the narration of startling adventures than in the incidents of home life which fill up the interval between the school life and college life of fred hallam. dr. gordon stables' interest in natural history and domestic pets is well known, and his clover animal pictures, like that of the eccentric cat in the hermit hunter of the wilds, have always added in no small degree to the charm of his works. the hero is presented by his father with an outlying cottage and garden on the farm, and the gift is turned to pleasant acoount as a place of residence for a whole menagerie of pets dear to the heart of most healthy-minded boys. by harry collingwood. the pirate island: a story of the south pacific. by harry collingwood. with full-page pictures by c. j. stani- land and j. k. wells. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a capital story of the sea; indeed in our opinion the author is superior in some respects as a marine novelist to the better known mr. clarke russell. '— the timet. "told in the most vivid and graphic language. it would be difficult to find a more thoroughly delightful gift-book."—guardian. the missing merchantman. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. collingwood is facile princeps as a teller of sea stories for boys, and the present is one of the best productions of his pen."—standard. "this is one of the author's best sea stories the hero is as heroic as any boy could desire, and the ending is extremely happy."—british weekly. the rover's secret: a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustra- tions by w. c. symons. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the rovers secret is by far the best sea story we have read for years, and is certain to give unalloyed pleasure to boys. the illustrations are fresh and vigorous."—saturday review. the congo rovers: a story of the slave squadron. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by j, schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "no better sea story has lately been written than the conge rovers. it is as original as any boy could desire. "—h^ing p * - * black e & sou's books for young people. by george mac donald. at the back of the nopth wind. by george mac donald, ll.d. with illustrations by arthur hughes. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "in at the back of the north wind we stand with one foot in fairyland and one on common earth. the story is thoroughly original, full of fancy and pathos, and underlaid with earnest but not too obtrusive teaching."—the times. ranald bannerman's boyhood. by george mac donald, lud. with illustrations by arthur hughes. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the sympathy with boy-nature in ranald bannerman's boyhood is perfect. it is a beautiful picture of childhood, teaching by its impressions and suggestions all noble things."—british quarterly review. the princess and the goblin. by george macdonald, ll.d. with illustrations by arthur hughes, and full- page pictures by h. petherick. crown vo, cloth extra, ». d. "little of what is written for children has the lightness of touch and play of fancy which are characteristic of george mac donald's fairy tales. mr. arthur hughes's illustrations are all that illustrations should bo."—manchester guardian. "a model of what a child's book ought to be—interesting, instructive, and poetical. we cordially recommend it as one of the very best gift-books we have yet come across."—elgin courant. the princess and curdie. by george mac donald, ll.d. with full-page illustrations by james allen. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "there is the finest and rarest genius in this brilliant story. ttpgrown people would do wisely occasionally to lay aside their newspapers and magazines to spend an hour with curdie and the princess."—sheffield independent. by ascott r. hope. the seven wise scholars. by ascott e. hope. with nearly one hundred illustrations by gordon browne square vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, s. "as full of fun as a volume of punch; with illustrations, more laughter- provoking than most we have seen since leech died."—sheffield independent "a capital story, full of fun and happy comic fancies. the tale would put the sourest-tempered boy into a good humour, and to an imaginative child would lie a source of keen delight."—scotsman. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "all the stories are told well, in simple spirited language and with a fulness ol detail that makes them instructive as well as interesting."—-journal oj education. blackie * son's books for young people by john . hutcheson. afloat at last: a sailor boy's log of his life at sea. by john c. hutcheson. with full-page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown vo, cloth elegant, ». d. "as healthy and breezy a book as one could wish to put into the bauds of a boy."—academy. "a tale of seafaring life told with fire and enthusiasm, full of spirited incident and well-drawn character. "—observer. picked up at sea: or, the gold miners of minturne creek. by j c. hutcheson. with full-page pictures. cloth extra, s. d. "the author's success with this book is so marked that it may well encourago him to further efforts. the description of mining life in the far-west is true and accu- rate."—standard. the white squall: a story of the sargasso sea. by john c. hutcheson. with full-page illustrations by john schonrerq. crown vo, cloth elegant, ». d. *' few writers have made such rapid improvement in the course of a few years as has the author of this capital story. . . . boys will find it difficult to lay down the book till they have got to the end."—standard. "the sketches of tropical life are so good as sometimes to remind us of tom cringle and the cruise of the midge."—times. the wreck of the nancy bell: or, cast away on ker- guelen land. by john c. hutcheson. illustrated by full-page pictures. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "a full circumstantial narrative such as boys delight in. the ship so sadly destined to wreck on kergueleu land is manned by a very lifelike party, passengers and crew. the life in the antarctic iceland is well treated."—athenaeum. sir walter's ward: a tale of the crusades. by william everard. with full-page illustrations by walter paget. crown vo, cloth extra, ». d. "this book will prove a very acceptable present either to boys or girls. both alike will take un interest in the career of dodo, in spite of his unheroic name, and follow him through his numerous and exciting adventures."—academy. stories of old renown: tales of knights and heroes. by ascott r. hope. with illustrations by gordon browne. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "a really fascinating book worthy of its telling title. there is, we venture to say, not a dull page iu the book, not a story which will uot bear a second read- ing."—guardian. brother and sister: or, the trials of the moore family. by elizareth j. lysaght. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, ». d. "a pretty story, and well told. the plot is cleverly constructed, and the moral is excellent,"—athenaum. blackie <f c son's books for youm people. by mary c. rowsell. thomdyke manor: a tale of jacobite times. by mary c. rowsrll. with full-page illustrations by l. leslie brooke. crown to, cloth elegant, s. id. "it is a good story, with plenty of 'go' in it."— timet. "miss bowsell has never written a more attractive book than thorndyke manor."—belfast is ewe-letter. traitor or patriot? a tale of the rye-house plot. by mary c. rowsell. with full-page pictures by c. o. murray and c. j. staniland, r.l crown vo, cloth elegant, s. a "here the rye-house plot serves as the groundwork for a romantic love epi- sode, whose true characters are lifelike beings, not dry sticks as in many histori- cal tales."—graphic by alice corkran. meg's friend. by alice corkran. with full-page illustrations by rorert fowler. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "another of miss corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in that simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first amongst writers for young people."—the spectator. margery merton's girlhood. by alice corkran. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. cr. vo, cloth extra, s. d. "another book for girls we can warmly commend. there is a delightful piquancy in the experiences and trials of a young english girl who studies painting in paris."—saturday review. down the snow stairs: or, from good-night to good- morning. by alice corkran. with character illustrations by gordon browne. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. d. "a fascinating wonder-book for children."—athenamm. "a gem of the first water, bearing upon every page the mark of genius. it is indeed a little pilgrim's progress."—christian leader. silver mill: a tale of the don valley. by mrs. r. h. read. with full-page illustrations by john schonrerq. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "a good girl's story-book. the plot is interesting, and the heroine, ruth, a lady by birth, though brought up in a humble station, well deserves the more elevated position in which the end of the book leaves her."—saturday re view. dora: or, a girl without a home. by mrs. r h. read. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "it is no slight thing, in an age of rubbish, to get a story so pure and healthy as this."— th* academy. blackie <f c son's books for young people. by caroline austin. cousin geoffrey and i. by caroline austin. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "miss austin's story is bright, clever, and well developed"—saturday review. "a powerfully written and realistic story of girl life. . . . the tone of the book is pure and good."—practical teacher. hugh herbert's inheritance. by caroline austin. with full-page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. <i. "will please by its simplicity, its tenderness, and its healthy interesting motive. it is admirably written."—scotsman. "well and gracefully written, full of interest, and excellent in tone."—school guardian. by e. s. brooks. storied holidays: a cycle of red-letter days. by e. s. brooks. with full-page illustrations by howard pyle. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "it is a downright good book for a senior boy, and is eminently readable from first to last. "—schoolmaster. "replete with interest from chapter i. to finis, and can be confidently recom- mended as one of the gems of messrs. blackie's collection."—teachers' aid. chivalrie days: stories of courtesy and courage in the olden times. by e. s. brooks. with illustrations by gordon browne and other artists. crown vo, cloth extra, s. o!. "we have seldom come across a prettier collection of tales. these charming stories of boys and girls of olden days are no mere fictitious or imaginary sketches, but are real and actual records of their sayings and doings. the illustrations are in gordon browne's happiest style."—literary world. historic boys: their endeavours, their achievements, and their times. by e. s. brooks. with full-page illustrations by r. b. birch and john schonrerg. crown vd, cloth extra, s. c?. "a wholesome book, manly in tone, its character sketches enlivened by brisk dialogue and high-class illustrations; altogether one that should incite boys to further acquaintance with those rulers of men whose careers are narrated. we advise teachers to put it on their list of prizes. "—knowledge. dr. jolliffe's boys: a tale of weston school. by lewis hough. with full-page pictures. crown vo, cloth extra, s. i "young people who appreciate tom brown'* schooldays will find this story a worthy companion to that fascinating book. there is the same manliness of tone, truthfulness of outline, avoidance of exaggeration and caricature, and healthy morality u characterised the masterpiece of ilr. hngl;os " - newcattle journal. blackie & son's books for young people. laugh and learn: the easiest book of nursery lessons and nursery games. by jennett humphreys. profusely illus- trated. square vo, cloth extra, . d. "laugh and learn instructs and amuses; it is the very book for a wet day in the nursery, for besides solid instruction, admirably given, it contains number- less games and contrivances, with useful and amusing illustrations. the musical drill is remarkably good."—athenaum "one of the best books of the kind imaginable, full of practical teaching in word and picture, and helping the little ones pleasantly along a right royal road to learning "—graphic. "if you want a really good book for young children, get laugh and learn." —truth. "every mother of children should have laugh and learn, and go through with them the excellent course it contains.'—journal of education. the search for the talisman: a story of labrador. by henry frwh. with full-page illustrations by j. sohonrsbo. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "mr. frith's volume will be among those most read and highest valued. the adventures nmong seals, whales, anil icebergs in labrador will delight many a young reader, and at the same time give him an opportunity to widen his know- ledge of the esquimaux, the heroes of many tales."—pall mall gazette. self-exiled: a story of the high seas and east africa. by j. a. steuart. with full-page ilhistritions by j. schonrsrg. crown vo, cloth elegant, a. d. "it is cram full of thrilling situations. the number of miraculous escapes from death in all ita shapes which the hero experiences in the course of a few months must be sufficient to satisfy the most voracious appetite. "schoolmaster. reefer and rifleman: a tale of the two services. by j. percy-groves, late th inniskillings. with full-page illustrations by john schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "a good, old-fashioned, amphibious story of our fighting with the frenchmen in the beginning of our century, with a fair sprinkling of fun aud frolic "—times. the bubbling teapot. a wonder story. by mrs. l. w. chajjpney. with full-page pictures by walteb satterlee. crown vo, cloth extra, ». d. "very literally a 'wonder story, and a wild and fanciful one. nevertheless it is made realistic enough, and there is a good deal of information to be gained from it. the steam from the magic teapot bubbles up into a girl, and the little girl, when the fancy takes her, can cry herself back into a teapot. transformed and enchanted she makes the tour of the globe. "—the timet. life's daily ministry: a story of everyday service for others. by mrs. £. r. pitman. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, ». <i. "shows exquisite touches of a master hand. she depicts in graphic outline the characteristics of the beautiful and the good in life."— christian union. my governess life: or, earning my living. by mrs. e. k. pitman. with full-page illustrations. cloth extra, ». d. "full of sound teaching and bright examples of character "—suvday-tchoot chronicle. blackie * son's books for yousg pboplb. half-crown series-continued. little lady clare. by evelyn everett-green "certainly one of the prettiest, reminding us in its quaintness and tender pathos of mrs. swing's delightful tales. this is quite one of the best stories miss green's clever pen has yet given us."—literary world. the eversley secrets. by evelyn everett-green. "is one of the best children's stories of the year."—academy. "a clever and well-told story. roy eversley is a very touching picture of high principle and unshrinking self-devotion in a good purpose."—guardian. the brig "audacious." by alan cole. 'this is a real boys' book. we have great pleasure in recommending if— english teacher. "bright and vivacious in style, and fresh and wholesome as a breath of sea air in tone."—court journal. the saucy may. by henry frith. "the book is certainly both interesting and exciting."—spectator. "mr. frith gives anew picture of life on the ocean wave which will be acceptable to all young people."—sheffield independent. jasper's conquest. by elizareth j. ly aqht. "one of the best boys' books of the season. it is full of stirring adventure and startling episodes, and yet conveys a splendid moral throughout."- schoolmaster. sturdy and strong: or, how george andrews made his way. by g. a henty. "the history of a hero of everyday life, whose love of truth, clothing of modesty, and innate pluck carry bim, naturally, from poverty to affluence. he stands as a good instance of chivalry in domestic life."—the empire. gutta-percha willie, the working genius. by george mao donald, ll.d. "had we space we would fain quote page after page. all we have room to say is, get it for your boys and girls to read for themselves, and if they can't do that read it to them. "—practical teacher. the war of the axe: or, adventures in south africa. by j. percy-groves. "the story of their final escape from the caff res is a marvellous bit of writing . . . the story is well and brilliantly told, and the illustrations are especially good and effective."—literary world. the lads of little clayton: stories of village boy life. by r. stead. "a capital book for boys. they will learn from its pages what true boy cour- age is . they will learn further to avoid all that is petty and mean if they read the tales aright. they may be read to a class with great profit."—schoolmutter. black e & sows books for toung people. half-crown series—continued. ten boys who lived on the road from long ago to now. by jane andrews. with illustrations. "the idea of this book is a very happy one, and is admirably carried out. we have followed the whole course of the work with exquisite pleasure. teachers should find it particularly interesting and suggestive. "—practical teacher. a waif of the sea: or, the lost found. by kate wood. "written with tenderness and grace, the story will appeal to mothers who have felt the pain of being parted from their children, as powerfully as to the hearts and sympathies of younger readers."—morning advertiser. winnie's secret: a story of faith and patience. by kate wood. "one of the best story-books we have read. girls will be charmed with the tale, and delighted that everything turns out so well"—schoolmaster. miss willowbupn's offer. by sarah doudney. "patience willowburn is one of miss doudney's best creations, and is the one personality in the story which can be said to give it the character of a>»-k not for young ladies but for girls. "—spectator. a garland for girls. by louisa m. alcott. "the garland will delight our girls, and show them how to make their lives fragrant with good deeds."—british weekly. "these little tales are the beau ideal of girls' stories."— christian world. hetty gray: or, nobody's bairn. by rosa mulholland. "a charming story for young folks. hetty is a delightful creature—piquant, tender, and true—and her varying fortunes are perfectly realistic."— world. brothers in arms: a story of the crusades. by f. bay- kord harrison. "full of striking incident, is very fairly illustrated, and may safely be chosen as sure to prove interesting to young people of both sexes."—guardian. the ball of fortune: or, ned somerset's inheritance. by charles peabce. "a capital story for boys. it is simply and brightly written. there is plenty of incident, and the interest is sustained throughout. "—journal of education. miss fenwick's failures: or, "peggy pepper-pot." by esme stuart. "esme stuart may lie commended for producing a girl true to real life, who will put no nonsense into young heads."—graphic. gytha's message: a tale of saxon england. by emma leslie. "this is a charmingly told story. it is the sort of book that all girls and some boys like, and can only get good from. "—journal of education. blackib * son's books for young people. half-crown series-continued. my mistress the queen: a tale of the th century. by m. a. paull. "the style ia pure and graceful, the presentation of manners and character has been well studied, and the story is full of interest."—scotsman. the stories of wasa and menzikoff: the deliverer of sweden, and the favourite of czar peter. "both are stories worth telling more than once, and it is a happy thought to have put them side by side. plutarch himself has no more suggestive com- parison. "—spectator. stories of the sea in former days. "next to an original sea-tale of sustained interest come well-sketched collec- tions of maritime peril and suffering which awaken the sympathies by the realism of fact. stories of the sea are a very good specimen of the kind."—the times. tales of captivity and exile. "it would be difficult to place in the hands of young people a book which combines interest and instruction in a higher degree."—manchester courier. famous discoveries by sea and land. "such a volume may providentially stir up some youths by the divine flre kindled by these 'great of old' to lay open other lands, and show their vast resources."—perthshire advertiser. stirring events of history. "the volume will fairly hold its place among those which make the smaller ways of history pleasant and attractive. it is a gift-book in which the interest will not be exhausted with one reading."—guardian. adventures in field, flood, and forest. "one of the series of books for young people which messrs. blackie excel in producing. the editor has beyond all question succeeded admirably. the pre- sent book cannot fail to be read with interest and advantage."—academy. jack ' lanthorn: a tale of adventure. by henry frith. "the narrative is crushed full of stirring incident, and is sure to be a prime favourite with our boys, who will be assisted by it in mastering a sufficiently exciting chapter in the history of england."— christian leader. the family failing. by darley dale. "at once an amusing and an interesting story, and a capital lesson on the value of contentedncss to young and old alike." - aberdeen journal. the joyous story of toto. by laura e. eichards. with humorous and fanciful illustrations by e. h. garrett. "an excellent book for children who are old enough to appreciate a little delicate humour. it should take its place beside lewis carroll's unique works, and flnd a special place in the affections of boy« and g rls."—birmingham gazette. black e <fc son's books for younq people. blackie's two-shilling series. illustrated by eminent artists. in crown vo, cloth elegant. new volumes. the light princess, and other fairy stories. by george mac donald. new edition. nutbrown roger and i: a bomance of the highway. by j. h. yoxall. the story of a boy who has been defrauded of his property. he is assisted in his distress by a nobleman, who for various romantic reasons has assumed the garb without adopting the practices of a highwayman. after a series of exciting adventures the two are successful, not only in rescuing the nobleman's betrothed from evil hands, but in bringing about the restoration of the lad's property. a rash promise: or, meg's secret. by cecilia selrt lowndes. frank mitchell, a boy who has spent his early years in south america, comes to england to be educated. frank is expert in the use of the lasso, and when one day a favourite dog is found nearly strangled, with the end of the lasso round its neck, he is suspected of the deod and treated as guilty. the truth becomes known to meg, the rector's daughter, and she is tortured by tho sight of an injustice which she could remedy but for a foolish promise of secrecy which she feels compelled to keep. a warrior king*. the story of a boy's adventures in africa. by j. evelyn. "the friendship formed between the african prince and adrian englefleld will remind the reader of the old story of the 'wonderful love' which existed long ago when jonathan and david made a covenant."—dundee advertiser. sam silvan's sacrifice: the story of two fatherless boys. by jesse colman. "there is a spirit of gentleness, kindliness, and tenderness manifest in every lesson, in every illustration, and we might say in every page of this little volume which will make it an influence for good."—christian union. insect ways on summer days in garden, forest, field, and stream. by jennett humphreys. with illustrations. "this book will prove not only instructive but delightful to every child whose mind is beginning to inquire and retlect upon the wonders of nature. it is capitally illustrated and very tastefully bound."—academy. susan. by amy walton. "a clever little story, written with some humour. the authoress shows a great deal of insight into children's feelings and motives."—pail mall gazette. fi blackie < t son's books for touno people. two-shilling series-continued. magna charta stories: or, struggles for freedom in the olden time. edited by arthur (in.man, a.m. "a book of special excellence, which ought to be in the hands ol all boys."— educational news. the wings of courage; and the cloud - spinner. translated from the french of george sand, by mrs. corkban. "mrs corkran has earned our gratitude by translating into readable english these two charming little stories."—junam chirp and chatter: or, lessons from field and tree. by alice banks. with illustrations by gordon browne. "we see the humbling influence of love on the haughty harvest-mouse, we are touched by the sensibility of the tender-hearted ant, and may profit by the moral of ' the disobedient maggot.' the drawings are spirited and funny."—the times. four little mischiefs. by rosa mulholland. "graphically written, and abounds in touches of genuine humour and innocent fun."—freeman. "a charming bright story about real children."—watchman. new light through old windows. a series of stories illustrating fables of yesop. by greoson gow. "the most delightfully-written little stories one can easily find in the literature of the season. well constructed and brightly told."— glasgow herald. little tottie, and two other stories. by thomas archer. "we can warmly commeud all three stories; the book is a most alluring prize for the younger ones."—schoolmaster. naughty miss bunny: her tricks and troubles. by clara mulholland. "this naughty child is positively delightful. papas should not omit naught), miss bunny from their list of juvenile presents."—land and water. adventures of mrs. wishing-to-be, and other stories. by alice corkran. "simply a charming book for little girls."—saturday review. "just in the style and spirit to win the hearts of children."— daily neics. our dolly: her words and ways. by mrs. r. h. read. "prettily told and prettily illustrated." — guardian "sure to be a great favourite with young children."—school guardian. fairy fancy: what she heard and saw. by mrs. read. "all is pleasant, nice reading, with a little knowledge of natural history and other matters gently introduced and divested of dryness."—practical teacher. black ie <fc soys books for young people. blackie's eighteenpenny series. with illustrations in colour, and black and tint. in crown vo, cloth elegant. new volumes. the seed she sowed: a tale of the great dock strike. by emma leslie. the heroine, winnie chaplin, is an invalid girl who, though confined to her room, finds a hundred opportunities of doing good and bringing happiness to those around her. the difficulties which the poor have to encounter, especially during great labour troubles, are strikingly depicted, and the lessons of mutual help and self-sacrifice strongly enforced. unlucky: a fragment of a girl's life. by caroline austin. the young daughter of an indian officer, brought up since her mother's death by native attendants, suddenly finds herself no longer the only object of her father's affection. her stepmother and herself misunder- stand each other hopelessly. in the end the child's natural goodness enables her to conquer herself, and oven to sacrifice her own life for her stepmother. everybody's business. by ismay thorn. the little heroine, lois, is tho good angol of a city court, who, when driven out of the house by harsh treatment, finds a new home under the care of an old shoemaker and his lame son. then trouble comes; the oourt is fever-stricken. happily, when all seems at its worst, they are oared for by a noble-hearted doctor, who places them in a pleasant coun- try home. tales of daring and danger. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty's heroes are brave and upright, quick and keen, and their doings make capital reading for boys."—athenceum. "' white-faced dick' is a sketch worthy of bret harte at his best . just the sort of tales to read aloud by the fireside on a winter's night."—pract. teacher yarns on the beach. by g. a. henty. "should find special favour among boys the yarns are full of romance and adventure, and are admirably calculated to foster a manly spirit."—the echo. the seven golden keys. by james b. arnold. "no bettor fairy book than this has come our way for a long time. it is written with singular grace and skill; so perfect is the illusion, no child will doubt for a moment that it is all a true story."—christian leader. the story of a queen. by mary c. eowsell. "miss rowsell is an excellent story -teller; she is especially successful in historical tales; her chronicle of marie and her trials is thrilling.''—guardian. blackie a son's books for young people. blackie's eighteenpenny series—continued. joan's adventures, at the north pole and elsewhere. by alice corkran. "this is a most delightful fairy story. the charming style and easy prose narrative makes its resemblance striking to hans andersen's. —spectator. edwy: or, was he a coward? by annette lyster. "this is a charming story, and sufficiently varied to suit children of all ages." —the academy. filled with gold. by jennie perrett. "the tale is interesting, and gracefully told. miss perrett's description of life on the quiet jersey farm will have a great cliarm."—sixctatar. the battlefield treasure. by f. bayford harrison. "jack warren is a lad of the tom brown type, and his search for treasure and the sequel are sure to prove interesting to boys. — english teacher. by order of queen maude: a story of home life. by louiba crow. "the tale is brightly and cleverly told, and forms one of the best children's books which the season has produced."—academy. out general: a story for girls. by elizabeth j. lysaoht. "a young girl of indomitable spirit, to whom all instinctively turn for guid- ance—a noble pattern for girls."—guardian. aunt hesba's charge. by elizabeth j. lysaoht. "this well-written book tells how a maiden aunt is softened by the influence of two indian children who are unexpectedly left upon her hands."—academy. into the haven. by annie s. swan. "no story more attractive, by reason of its breezy freshness, as well as for the practical lessons it conveys."—christian leader. our frank: and other stories. by amy walton. "these stories are of the sort that children of the clever kind are sure to like." —academy. the late miss holllngford. by rosa mulholland. "no book for girls published this season approaches this in the charm of its telling, which will be equally appreciated by persona of all ages. "—standard. the pedlar and his dog. by mary c. rowsell. "the opening chapter, with its description of necton fair, will forcibly remind many readers of george eliot. taken altogether it is a delightful story."— western morning news. a terrible coward. by g. manville penn. "just such a tale as boys will delight to read, and as they are certain to profit by."—aberdeen journal. blackie <s sons books for touno people. the shilling series of books for young people. square mo, neatly bound in cloth extra. each book contains pages and a coloured illustration. new volumes. freda's folly: or, the guest at dysart manor. by m. s. haycraft. philip danford: a story of school life. by julia goddard. the youngest princess: or, little means to big ends. by jennie charrell. arthur's temptation: or, a bad beginning. by emma leslie. a change for the worse: or, the lesson of a day. by harriet m. capes. our two starlings. by christian bedford. mr. llpseombe's apples. by julia goddard. gladys: or. the sister's charge. by k. obyrne. a gypsy against her will bj emma leslie. the castle on the shore. by isa- bel hoknibrook. an emigrant boy's story. by ascott r. hope. jock and his friend. by cora lanoton. john a' dale. by .mary c. rowsell. in the summer holidays. by jen- nett humphreys. how the strike began. by emma leslie. tales from the russian of madame kubalensky. byo. jenner. cinderella's cousin, and other stories. by penelope. their new home. by annie s. fish. janle's holiday. by c. redford. a boy musician: or, the young days of mozart. hatto's tower. by mary c. row- sell. fairy lovebalrn's favourites. by j. dickinson. alf jetsam: or, found afloat. by mrs. george cupples. the redfords: an emigrant story. by mrs. georoe cupples. missy. by f. bayford harrison. hidden seed: or, a year in a girl's life. by emma leslie. ursula's aunt. by annie s. fenn. jack's two sovereigns. by annie . fenn. a little adventurer: or, how tommy trent went to look for his father. by gregson gow. olive mount. by annie s. finn. three little ones: their haps and mishaps. by c. lanoton. tom watkins' mistake. by emma leslie. two little brothers. by m. har- riet m. capes. the new boy at merriton. by julia goddard. the children of haycombe. by annie s. fenn. the cruise of the "petrel." by f. m. holmes. the wise princess. by m. harriet m. capes. the blind boy of dresden and his sister. jon of iceland: a story of the far north. stories from shakespeare. every man in his place: or, a city boy and a forest boy. fireside fairies and flower fancies. stones for girls. to the sea in ships: stories of suf- fering and saving at sea. jack's victory: and other stories about dogs. story of a king, told by one of his soldiers. prince alexis, or, "beauty and the beast." little daniel: a story of a flood on the rhine. sash a the serf: and other stories of kussiau life. true stories of foreign history. black e a son's books for children. the ninepenny series of books for children. neatly bound in cloth extra. each contains pages and a coloured illustration. new volumes. cross purposes, and the shadows. by dr. georqe mac donald. patty's ideas, and what came of them. by l. e. tiddeman. daphne: a story of sell-conquest. by £. o'byrne. lily and rose in one. by cecilia selry lowndes. crowded out: or, the story of lils patience. by m. b. manwell. tom in a tangle, and other stories. by t. sparrow. things m+ take a turn. by beatrice harraden. the lost thimble. by mrs. mus- oravb. max or baby. by isxay thorn. jack-a-dandy. by & j. lvsaqht. a day of adventures. by char- lotte wyatt. the golden plums. by francis clare. the queen of squats. by isarel uornibrook. shucks: a story for boys. by emma leslie sylvia brooke. by m. harriet m. capes. the little cousin. by a. s. fenn. in cloudland. by mrs. musorave. jack and the gypsies. by kate wood. hans the painter. by mary c rowsell. little troublesome. by isarel hornibrook. my lady may: and one other story. ■ by harriet booltwood. a little hero. by mrs. mus- qkave. prince jon's pilgrimage. by jessie elehino. harold's ambition: or, a dream of fame. by jennie perrett. sepperl the drummer boy. by mary c. kowsell. aboard the mersey. by mrs. george cupples. a blind pupil. by annie s. fenn. lost and found. by mrs. carl rother. fisherman grim. by mary c rowsell. "the same good character pervades all these books. they are admirably adapted for the young. the lessons deduced are such as to mould children's minds in a good groove. we cannot too highly commend them for their excel- lence. "—schuolmuitrem. something for the very little ones. fully illustrated. pp., mo, cloth. sixpence each. tales easy and small for the youngest of all. in no word will you see more letters than three. by jennett humphreys. old dick grey and aunt kate's way. stories in little words of not more than four letters. by jennett humphreys. maud's doll and her walk. in picture and talk. in little words of not more than four letters. by jennett humphreys. in holiday time. and other stories. in little words of not more than live letters. by jennett humphreys. whisk and buzz. by mrs. a. h. garlics. a and dyke ti sumuthumb null artes scientia library veritas of the yof michigan university of mici o ttunuttumatatu tiittittiinit timmtusini farararaalalaridananntunamaitotohana tuebor sulam-amcena mtotsitominuvitavoit circumspice vo.. n latipurile muutmi htului music tanta simu the gift of miss marie rominger & mrs. mark covill untillllllll assist mummotuuduttu wind h r i aunt alice tee th a wa wujud sinnar anl ro yht jourges sabsord en p. & d. ned gives the captains his view of the matter.–page . by pike and dyke a tale of the rise of the dutch republic g, a, henty author of "with clive in india,” “the dragon and the raven," "the young carthaginian,” “with lee in virginia," "captain bayley's heir," etc. the mershon company rahway, n. j. new york gift of maris homager ;m im. hazk cqvri, preface. my deab lads: in all the pages of history there is no record of a struggle so unequal, so obstinately maintained, and so long contested as that by which the men of holland and zeeland won their right to worship god in their own way, and also—although this was but a secondary con- sideration with them—shook off the yoke of spain and achieved their independence. the incidents of the contest were of a singularly dramatic character. upon one side was the greatest power of the time, set in mo- tion by a ruthless bigot, who was determined either to force his religion upon the people of the netherlands, or to utterly exterminate them. upon the other were a scanty people, fishermen, sailors, and agriculturalists, broken up into communities with but little bond of sympathy, and no communication, standing only on the defensive, and relying solely upon the justice of their cause, their own stout hearts, their noble prince, and their one ally, the ocean. cruelty, persecution, and massacre had converted this race of peace-loving workers into heroes capable of the most sublime self-sacrifices. women and children were imbued with a spirit equal to that of the men, fought as stoutly on the walls, and died as uncomplainingly from famine in the beleaguered towns. the struggle was such a long one that i have found it impossible to recount all the leading events in preface. the space of a single volume; and, moreover, before the close, my hero, who began as a lad, would have grown into middle age, and it is an established canon in books for boys that the hero must himself be young. i have therefore terminated the story at the murder of william of orange, and hope in another volume to continue the history, and to recount the progress of the war, when england, after years of hesitation, threw herself into the fray, and joined holland in its struggle against the power that overshadowed all europe, alike by its ambi- tion and its bigotry. there has been no need to consult many authorities. motley in his great work has ex- hausted the subject, and for all the historical facts i have relied solely upon him. yours very sincerely, g. a. henty. contents. chapter l the “good venture.” .... chapter il. terrible news...... chapter til a fight with the spaniards..... chapter iv. wounded.......... ........................ chapter v. ned's resolve ......... the prince of orange.. ............ ........... a dangerous mission. chapter viii. in the hands of the blood-council......... ............ in hiding......... ......... chapter x. a dangerous encounter...... ..... contents. chapter xi. saving a victim... page chapter xii. back with the prince...... chapter xiii. the siege of haarlem..... chapter xiv. the fall of haarlem...... ....... chapter xv. ned receives promotion... .. chapter xvi. friends in trouble...... chapter xvii. a rescue........ chapter xviii. the siege of leyden.. chapter xix. in the queen's service... chapter xx. the “spanish fury"........ ... chapter xxi. the siege of antwerp.... ....... by pike and dyke. chapter i. the "good venture." rothebhithe in the year of differed very widely from the rotherhithe of to-day. it was then a scattered village, inhabited chiefly by a seafaring popu- lation. it was here that the captains of many of the ships that sailed from the port of london had their abode. snug cottages with trim gardens lay thickly along the banks of the river, where their owners could sit and watch the vessels passing up and down or moored in the stream, and discourse with each other over the heofges as to the way in which they were handled, the smartness of their equipage, whence they had come, or where they were going. for the trade of london was comparatively small in those days, and the skippers as they chatted together could form a shrewd guess from the size and appearance of each ship as to the country with which she traded, or whether she waa a coaster working the eastern or southern ports. most of the vessels, indeed, would be recognized and the captains known, and hats would be waved and wel- comes or adieus shouted as the vessels passed. there was something that savored of holland in the appear- ance of rotherhithe; for it was with the low countries by pike and dyke. that the chief trade of england was carried on; and the marines who spent their lives in journeying to and fro between london and the ports of zeeland, friesland, and flanders, who for the most part picked up the language of the country, and sometimes even brought home wives from across the sea, naturally learned something from their neighbors. nowhere, perhaps, in and about london were the houses so clean and, bright, and the gardens so trimly and neatly kept, as in the village of rotherhithe, and in all rotherhithe not one was brighter and more comfortable than the abode of captain william martin. ' it was low and solid in appearance; the wooden framework was unusually massive, and there was much quaint carving on the beams. the furniture was heavy and solid, and polished with beeswax until it shone. the fireplaces were lined with dutch tiles; the flooring was of oak, polished as brightly as the furniture. the appointments from roof to floor were dutch ; and no wonder that this was so, for every inch of wood in its framework and beams, floor and furniture, had been brought across from friesland by william martin in his ship, the good venture. it had been the dowry he received with his pretty young wife, sophie plomaert. sophie was the daughter of a well-to-do worker in wood near amsterdam. she was his only daughter, and although he had nothing to say against the english sailor who had won her heart, and who was chief owner of the ship he commanded, he grieved much that she should leave her native land ; and he and her three brothers determined that she should always bear her former home in her recollection. they therefore pre- pared as her wedding-gift a facsimile of the home in which she had been born and bred. the furniture and by pike and dyke. framework were similar in every particular, and it needed only the insertion of the brickwork and plaster when it arrived. two of her brothers made the voyage in the good venture, and themselves put the frame- work, beams and flooring together and saw to the com- pletion of the house on the strip of ground that william martin had purchased on the bank of the river. even a large summer-house that stood at the end of the garden was a reproduction of that upon the bank of the canal at home; and when all was completed and william martin brought over his bride she could almost fancy that she was still at home near amsterdam. ever since, she had once a year sailed over in her hus- band's ship, and spent a few weeks with her kinsfolk. when at home from sea the great summer-house was a general rendezvous of william martin's friends in roth- erhithe, all skippers like himself, some still on active service, others, who had retired on their savings ; not all, however, were fortunate enough to have houses on the river bank; and the summer-house was therefore useful not only as a place of meeting but as a lookout at passing ships. it was a solidly built structure, inclosed on the land side but open toward the river, where, however, there were folding shritters, so that in cold weather it could be partially closed up, though still affording a sight of the stream. a great dutch stove stood in one corner, and in this in winter a roaring fire was kept up. there were few men in rotherhithe so well endowed with this world's goods as captain martin. his father had been a trader in the city, but william's tastes lay toward the sea rather than the shop, and as he was the youngest of three brothers he had his way in the matter. when he reached the age of twenty-three his father died, and - by pike and dyke. with his portion of the savings william purchased the principal share of the good venture, which ship he had a few months before come to command. when he married he had received not only his house but a round sum of money as sophie's portion. with this he could, had he liked, have purchased the other shares of the good venture; but, being a thorough sailor, a prudent man, he did not like to put all his eggs into one basket, and accordingly bought with it a share in another ship. three childreu had been born to wil- liam and sophie martin-a boy and two girls. edward, who was the eldest, was at the time this story begins nearly sixteen. he was an active, well-built young fellow, and had for five years sailed with his father in the good venture. that vessel was now lying in the stream a quarter of a mile higher up, having returned from a trip to holland upon the previous day. the first evening there had been no callers, for it was an understood thing at rotherhithe that a captain on his return wanted the first evening at home alone with his wife and family ; but on the evening of the second day, when william martin had finished his work of seeing to the unloading of his ship, the visitors began to drop in fast, and the summer-house was well-nigh as full as it could hold. mistress martin, who was now a comely matron of six-and-thirty, busied herself in seeing that the maid and her daughters, constance and janet, supplied the visitors with horns of home-brewed beer, or other strong waters brought from holland for those who preferred them. “ you have been longer away than usual, captain martin," one of the visitors remarked. “ yes," the skipper replied. «trade is but dull, and though the good venture bears a good repute for speed by pike and dyke. and safety, and is seldom kept lying at the wharves for a cargo, we were a week before she was chartered. i know not what will be the end of it all. i verily be- lieve that no people have ever been so cruelly treated for their conscience's sake since the world began; for you know it is not against the king of spain but against the inquisition that the opposition has been made. the people of the low countries know well enough it would be madness to contend against the power of the greatest country in europe, and to this day they have borne, and are bearing, the cruelty to which they are exposed in quiet despair, and without a thought of resistance to save their lives. there may have been tumults in some of the towns, as in antwerp, where the lowest part of the mob went into the cathedrals and churches and destroyed the shrines and images; but as to armed resistance to the spaniards, there has been none. “ the first expeditions that the prince of orange made into the country were composed of german mercenaries, with a small body of exiles. they were scarce joined by any of the country-folk. though, as you know, they gained one little victory, they were nigh all killed and cut to pieces. so horrible was the slaughter perpe- trated by the soldiers of the tyrannical spanish governor alva, that when the prince of orange again marched into the country not a man joined him, and he had to seemed stunned by despair. has not the inquisition condemned the whole of the inhabitants of the nether- lands-save only a few persons specially named-to death as heretics ? and has not philip confirmed the decree, and ordered it to be carried into instant execu- tion without regard to age or sex? were three millions of men, women, and children ever before sentenced to by pike and dyke. death by one stroke of the pen, only because they refused to change their religion? every day there are hun- dreds put to death by the orders of alva's blood coun- cil, as it is called, without even the mockery of a trial." there was a general murmur of rage and horror from the assembled party. "were i her queen's majesty," an old captain said, striking his fist on the table, " i would declare war with philip of spain to-morrow, and would send every man who could bear arms to the netherlands to aid the people to free themselves from their tyrants." "ay, and there is not a protestant in the land but would go willingly. to think of such cruelty makes the blood run through my veins as if i were a lad again. why, in mary's time there were two or three score burnt for their religion here in england, and we thought that a terrible thing. but three millions of people t why, it is as many as we have got in all these islands! what think you of this, mates?" "it is past understanding," another old sailor said. "it is too awful for us to take in." "it is said," another put in, "that the king of france has leagued himself with philip of spain, and that the two have bound themselves to exterminate the protest- ants in all their dominions, and as that includes spain, france, italy, the low countries, and most of germany, it stands to reason as we who are protestants ought to help our friends; for you may be sure, neighbors, that if philip succeeds in the low countries he will never rest until he has tried to bring england under his rula also, and to plant the inquisition with its bonfires and its racks and tortures here." an angry murmur of assent ran round the circle. by pike and dyke. . we would fight them, you may be sure," captain martin said, "to the last; but spain is a mighty power, and all know that there are no soldiers in europe can stand against their pikemen. if the low countries, which number as many souls as we, cannot make a stand against them with all their advantages of rivers, and swamps, and dykes, and fortified towns, what chance should we have who have none of these things? what i say, comrades, is this: we have got to fight spain— you know the grudge philip bears us—and it is far better that we should go over and fight the spaniards in the low countries, side by side with the people th re, and with all the advantages that their rivers and dykes give, and with the comfort that our wives and children are safe here at home, than wait till spain has crushed down the netherlands and exterminated the people, and is then able, with france as her ally, to turn her whole strength against us. that's what i say." "and you say right, captain martin. if i were the queen's majesty i would send word to philip to-morrow to call off his black crew of monks and inquisitors. the people of the netherlands have no thought of resisting the rule of spain, and would be, as they have been be- fore, philip's obedient subjects, if he would but leave their religion alone. it's the doings of the inquisition that have driven them to despair. and when one hears what you are telling us, that the king has ordered the whole population to be exterminated—man, woman, and child —no wonder they are preparing to fight to the last; for it's better to die fighting a thousand times, than it is to be roasted alive with your wife and children!" "i suppose the queen and her councillors see that if she were to meddle in this business it might cost her her kingdom, and us our liberty," another captain said. by pike and dyke. "the spaniards could put, they say, seventy or eighty thousand trained soldiers in the field, while, exoept the queen's own bodyguard, there is not a soldier in eng- land; while their navy is big enough to take the fifteen or twenty ships the queen has, and to break them up to burn their galley fires." "that is all true enough," captain martin agreed; "but our english men have fought well on the plains of france before now, and i don't believe we should fight worse to-day. we beat the french when they were ten to one against us over and over, and what our fathers did we can do. what you say about the navy is true also. they have a big fleet, and we have no vessels worth speaking about, but we are as good sailors as the spaniards any day, and as good fighters; and though i am not saying we could stop their fleet if it came sailing up the thames, i believe when they landed we should show them that we were as good men as they. they might bring seventy thousand soldiers, but there would be seven hundred thousand englishmen to meet; and if we had but sticks and stones to fight with, they would not find that they would have an easy victory." "yes, that's what you think and i think, neighbor; but, you see, we have not got the responsibility of it. the queen has to think for us all. though i for one would be right glad if she gave the word for war, she may well hesitate before she takes a step that might bring ruin, and worse than ruin, upon all her subjects. we must own, too, that much as we feel for the people of the low countries in their distress, they have not alwa)'s acted wisely. that they should take up arms against these cruel tyrants, even if they had no chance of beating them, is what we all agree would be right and natural . ^nt when the mob of"antwerp broke into the by pike and dyke. you living there you would do as others-keep quiet till the executioners came to drag you away, seeing that did you, as you say you would, use a knife against a span- tering of hundreds of innocent people." the lad looked down abashed at the reproof, then he said: “ well, father, if i could not rise in arms or slay a spaniard and then be killed, i would leave my home and join the sea beggars under la marck.” there is more reason in that,” his father replied ; " though la marck is a ferocious noble, and his follow- ers make not very close inquiry whether the ships they attack are spanish or those of other people. still it is hard for a man to starve; and when time passes and they can light upon no spanish merchantmen, one cannot blame them too sorely if they take what they require out of some other passing ship. but there is reason at the bottom of what you say. did the men of the sea- coast, seeing that their lives and those of their families with those dear to them and continually harass the span- iards, they could work them great harm, and it would need a large fleet to overpower them, and that with great difficulty, seeing that they know the coast and all the rivers and channels, and could take refuge in shallows where the spaniards could not follow them. at present it seems to me the people are in such depths of despair that they have not heart for any such enterprise. but given—some more wholesale butchery than usual will goad them to madness, or the words of some patriot wake them into action, and then they will rise as one man and fight until utterly destroyed, for that they can in the by pire and dyke. end triumph over spain is more than any human being can hope.” “ then they must be speedy about it, friend martin,” another said. “ they say that eighty thousand have been put to death one way or another since alva came into his government. another ten years and there will be scarce an able-bodied man remaining in the low country. by the way, you were talking of the beggars of the sea. their fleet is lying at present at dover, and it is said that the spanish ambassador is making grave complaints to the queen on the part of his master against giving shelter to these men, whom he brands as not only enemies of spain, but as pirates and robbers of the sea.” “ i was talking with master sheepshanks,” another mariner put in, “ whose ships i sailed for thirty years, and who is an alderman and knows what is going on, and he told me that from what he hears it is like enough that the queen will yield to the spanish request. so long as she chooses to remain friends with spain openly whatever her thoughts and opinions may be, she can scarcely allow her ports to be used by the enemies of till she and her council resolve that england shall brave the whole strength of spain, she cannot disregard the remonstrances of philip. it is a bad business, neigh- bors, a bad business ; and the sooner it comes to an end the better. no one doubts that we shall have to fight spain one of these days, and i say that it were better to fight while our brethren of the low countries can fight by our side, than to wait till spain, having exter minated them, can turn the whole power against us." there was a general chorus of assent, and then the subject changed to the rate of freight to the northern by pike and dyke. ports. the grievous need for the better marking of •hallows and dangers, the rights of seamen, wages, and other matters, were discussed until the assembly broke up. ned's sisters joined him in the garden. ," i hear, constance," the boy said to the elder, "there has been no news from our grandfather and uncles since we have been away." "no word whatever, ned. our mother does not say much, but i know she is greatly troubled and anxious about it." "that she may well be, constance, seeing neither quiet conduct nor feebleness nor aught else avail to protect any from the rage of the spaniards. you who stay at home here only hear general tales of the cruel- ties done across the sea, but if you heard the tales that we do at their ports they would drive you almost to madness. not that we hear much, for we have to keep on board our ships, and may not land or mingle with the people; but we learn enough from the merchants who come on board to see about the landing of their goods to make our blood boil. they do right to prevent our landing; for so fired is the sailor's blood by these tales of massacre, that were they to go ashore they would, i am sure, be speedily embroiled with the spaniards. "you see how angered these friends of our father are who are englishmen, and have no dutch blood in their veins, and who feel only because they are touched by these eruelties, and because the people of the low country are protestants; but with u? it is different, our mother is one of these persecuted people, and we belong to them as much as to england. we have friends and relations there who may, for aught we know, have already fallen victims to the cruelty of the x by pike and dyke. spaniards. had i my will i would join the deggars of the sea, or i would ship with drake or cavendish and fight the spaniards in the indian seas. they say that there englishmen are proving themselves better men than these haughty dons." "it is very sad," constance said; "but what can be done?" "something must be done soon," ned replied gloom- ily. "things cannot go on as they are. so terrible is the state of things, so heavy the taxation, that in many towns all trade is suspended. in brussels, i hear, alva's own capital, the brewers have refused to brew, the bakers to bake, the tapsters to draw liquors. the city swarms with multitudes of men thrown out of em- ployment. the spanish soldiers themselves have long been without pay, for alva thinks of nothing but blood- shed. consequently, they are insolent to their officers, care little for order, and insult and rob the. citizens in the streets. assuredly something must come of this ere long; and the people's despair will become a mad fury. if they rise, constance, and my father does not say nay, i will assuredly join them and do my best. "i do not believe that the queen will forbid her sub- jects to give their aid to the people of the netherlands; for she allowed many to fight in france for conde" and the protestants against the guises, and she will surely do the same now, since the sufferings of our brothers in the netherlands have touched the nation far more keenly than did those of the huguenots in france. i am sixteen now, and my father says that in another year he will rate me as his second mate, and methinks that there are not many men on board who can pull more strongly a rope, or work' more stoutly at the cap- stan when we heave our anchor. besides, as wo all by pike and dyke. talk dutch as well as english, i should be of more use than men who know naught of the language of the country." constance shook her head. "i do not think, ned, that our father would give you leave, at any rate not until you have grown up into a man. he looks to having you with him, and to your succeeding him some day in the command of the good venture, while lie remains quietly at home with our mother." ned agreed with a sigh. "i fear that you are right, constance, and that i shall have to stick to my trade of sailoring; but if the people of the netherlands rise against their tyrants, it would be hard to be sailing backward and forward doing a peaceful trade between london and holland while our friends and relatives are battling for their lives." a fortnight later, the good venture filled up her hold with a cargo for brill, a port where the united rhine, waal and maas flow into the sea. on the day before she sailed a proclamation was issued by the queen forbidding any of her subjects to supply de la marck and his sailors with meat, bread or beer. the passage down the river was slow, for the winds were contrary, and it was ten days afterwards, the st of march, when they entered the broad mouth of the river and dropped anchor off the town of brill. it was late in the evening when they arrived. in the morning an officer came off to demand the usual papers and docu- ments, and it was not until nearly two o'clock that a boat came out with the necessary permission for the ship to warp up to the wharves and discharge her carjro. j'.s-'j£ as captain martin was giving the order for the eajb hire to be manned, a flee*; of some +~-">ty-four by pike and dyke. ships suddenly appeared round the seaward point of the land. "wait a moment, lads," the captain said, " half an hour will make no great difference in our landing. we may as well wait and see what is the meaning of this fleet. they do not look to me to be spaniards, nor seem to be a mere trading fleet. i should not wonder if they are the beggars of the sea, who have been forced to leave dover, starved out from the effect of the queen's proclamation, and have now come here to pick up any spaniard they may meet sailing out." the fleet dropped anchor at about half a mile from the town. just as they did so, a ferryman named koppel- btok, who was carrying passengers across from the town of maaslandluis, a town on the opposite bank a mile and a half away, was passing close by the good venture. "what think you of yon ships?" the ferryman shouted to captain martin. "i believe they must be the beggars of the sea," the captain replied. "an order had been issued before i left london that they were not to be supplied with provisions, and they would therefore have had to put out from dover. this may well enough be them." an exclamation of alarm broke from the passengers, for the sea beggars were almost as much feared by their own countrymen as by the spaniards, the latter having spared no pains in spreading tales to their disadvantage. as soon as the ferryman had landed his passengers he rowed boldly out toward the fleet, having nothing of which he could be plundered, and being secretly well disposed toward the beggars. the first ship he hailed was that commanded by william de blois, lord of treslong, who was well known at brill, where ^i-fathel had at one time been governor. by pike and dyke. his brother had been executed by the duke of alva four years before, and he had himself fougbt by the side of count louis of nassau, brother to the prince of orange, in the campaign that had terminated so disas- trously, and though covered with wounds had been one of the few who had escaped from the terrible carnage that followed the defeat at jemmingen. after that dis- aster he had taken to the sea, and was one of the most famous of the captains of de la marck, who had received a commission of admiral from the prince of orange. "we are starving, koppelstok; can you inform us how we can get some food? we have picked up two spanish traders on our way here from dover, but our larders were emptied before we sailed, and we found but scant supply on board our prizes." "there is plenty in the town of brill," the ferryman said; "but none that i know of elsewhere. that eng- lish brig lying there at anchor may have a few loaves on board." "that will not be much," william de blois replied, "among five hundred men, still it will be better than nothing. will you row and ask them if they will sell to us?" "you had best send a strongly armed crew," koppel- stok replied. "you know the english are well disposed toward us, and the captain would doubtless give you all the provisions he had to spare; but to do so would be to ruin him with the spaniards, who might confiscate his ship. it were best that you should make a show of force, so that he could plead that he did but yield to necessity." accordingly a boat with ten men rowed to the brig, koppelstok accompanying it. the latter climbed on to the deck by pike and dykts. "we mean you no harm, captain," he said; "but the men on board these ships are well-nigh starving. the sieur de treslong has given me a purse to pay for all that you can sell us, but thinking that you might be blamed for having dealings with him by the authorities of the town, he sent these armed men with me in order that if questioned you could reply that they came for- cibly on board." "i will willingly let you have all the provisions i have on board," captain martin said; "though these will go but a little way among so many, seeing that i only carry stores sufficient for consumption on board during my voyages." a cask of salt beef was hoisted up on deck, with a sack of biscuits, four cheeses, and a side of bacon. cap- tain martin refused any payment. "no," he said, " my wife comes from these parts, and my heart is with the patriots. will you tell sieur de treslong that captain martin of the good venture is happy to do the best in his power for him and his brave followers. that, ned," he observed, turning to his son as the boat rowed away, " is a stroke of good policy. the value of the goods is small, but just at this moment they are worth much to those to whom i have given them. in the first place, you see, we have given aid to the good cause, in the second we have earned the grati- tude of the beggars of the sea, and i shall be much more comfortable if i run among them in the future than i should have done in the past. the freedom to come and go without molestation by the sea beggars is cheaply purchased at the price of provisions which do not cost many crowns." on regaining the sieur de treslong's ship some of the provisions were at once served out among the men, and by pike and dyke. the rest sent off among other ships, and william de blois took koppelstok with him on hoard the admiral's vessel. "well, de blois, what dp you counsel in this extrem- ity?" de la marck asked. "i advise," the lord of treslong replied, " that we at once send a message to the town demanding its sur- render." "are j'ou joking or mad, treslong?" the admiral asked in surprise. "why we can scarce muster four hundred men, and the town is well walled and fortified." "there are no spanish troops here, admiral, and if we put a bold front on the matter we may frighten the burghers into submission. this man says he would be willing to carry the summons. he says the news as to who we are has already reached them by some passen- gers he landed before he came out, and he doubts not they are in a rare panic." "well, we can try," the admiral said, laughing; "it is clear we must eat, even if we have to fight for it; and hungry as we all are, we do not want to wait." treslong gave his ring to koppelstok to show as his authority, and the fisherman at once rowed ashore. stat- ing that the beggars of the sea were determined to take the town, lie made his way through the crowd of inhabit- ants who had assembled at the landing-place, and then pushed on to the town-hall, where the magistrates were assembled. he informed them that he had been sent by the admiral of the fleet and the lord of treslong, who was well known to them, to demand that two commis- sioners should be sent out to them on behalf of the city to confer with him. the only object of those who sent him was to free the land from the crushing taxes, and by pike and dyke. to overthrow the tyranny of alva and the spaniards. he was asked by the magistrates what force de la mai ck had at his disposal, and replied carelessly that he could not say exactly, but that there might be five thousand in all. this statement completed the dismay that had been caused at the arrival of the fleet. the magistrates agreed that it would be madness to resist, and determined to fly at once. with much difficulty two of them were per- suaded to go out to the ship as deputies, and as soon as they set off most of the leading burghers prepared in- stantly for flight. the deputies on arriving on board were assured that no injury was intended to the citizens or private property, but only the overthrow of alva's government, and two hours were given them to decide upon the surrender of the town. during this two hours almost all the inhabitants left the town, taking with them their most valuable property. at the expiration of the time, the beggars landed. a few of those remaining in the city made a faint attempt at resistance; but treslong forced an entrance by the southern gate, and de la marck made a bonfire against the northern gate and then battered it down with the end of an old mast. thus the patriots achieved the capture of the first town, and commenced the long war that was to end only with the establishment of the free republic of the netherlands. no harm was done to such of the inhabitants of the town as remained. the conquerors established themselves in the best of the de- serted houses; they then set to work to plunder the churches. the altars and images were all destroyed; the rich furniture, the sacred vessels, and the gorgeous vestments were appropriated to private use. thirteen unfortunates, among them some priests who had been by pies and dykb. unable to effect their escape, were seized and put to death by de la marck. he had received the strictest orders from the prince of orange to respect the ships of all neutral nations, and to behave courteously and kindly to all captives he might take. neither of these injunctions were obeyed. de la marck was a wild and sanguinary noble; he had taken a vow upon hearing of the death of his relative, the prince of egmont, who had been executed by alva, that he would neither cut his hair nor his beard until that murder should be revenged, and had sworn to wreak upon alva and upon popery the deep vengeance that the nobles and peoples of the netherlands owed them. this vow he kept to the letter, and his ferocious conduct to all priests and spaniards who fell into his hands deeply sullied the cause for which he fought. upon the day after the capture of the city, the good venture went into the port. the inhabitants, as soon as they learned that the beggars of the sea respected the life and property of the citizens, returned in large num- bers, and trade was soon re-established. having taken the place, and secured the plunder of the churches and monasteries, de la marck would have sailed away upon other excursions had not the sieur de treslong pointed out to him the importance of brill to the cause, and per- suaded him to hold the place until he heard from the prince of orange. by pike and dyke. chapter ii. teseible hews. a few days after brill had been so boldly captured. count bossu advanced from utrecht against it. the »ea beggars, confident as they were as to their power of meeting the spaniards on the seas, knew that on dry land they were no match for the well-trained pikemen; they therefore kept within the walls. a carpenter, however, belonging to the town, who had long been a secret partisan of the prince of orange, seized an axe, dashed into the water, and swam to the sluice and burst open the gates with a few sturdy blows. the sea poured in and speedily covered the land on the nortii side of the city. the spaniards advanced along the dyke to the south- ern gate, but the sea beggars had hastily moved most of the cannon on the wall to that point, and received the spaniards with so hot a fire that they hesitated. in the meantime the lord of treslong and another officer had rilled two boats with men and rowed out to the ships that had brought the enemy, cut some adrift, and set others on fire. the spaniards at the southern gate lost heart; they were exposed to a hot fire, which they were unable to return. on one side they saw the water rapidly rising above the level of the dyke on which they stood, on the other they perceived their only means of retreat threatened. they turned, and in desperate haste r "treated along the causeway now under water. by pike and by kb. in then. haste many slipped off the road an., were drowned, others fell and were smothered in the water, and the rest succeeded in reaching such of the vessels as were still untouched, and with all speed returned to utrecht. from the highest point of the masts to which they could climb, captain martin, ned and the crew watched the struggle. ned had begged his father to let him go along the walls to the south gate to see the conflict, but captain martin refused. "we know not what the upshot of the business may be," he said. "if the spaniards, which is likely enough, take the place, they will slaughter all they meet, and will not trouble themselves with questioning any one whether he is a combatant or a spectator. besides, when they have once taken the town, they will question all here, and it would be well that i should be able to say that not only did we hold ourselves neutral in the affair, but that none of my equipage had set foot on shore to- day. lastly, it is my purpose and hope if the spaniards capture the place, to take advantage of the fact that all will be absorbed in the work of plunder, and to slip my hawsers and make off. wind and tide are both favor- able, and doubtless the crews of their ships will, for the most part, land to take part in the sack as soon as the town is taken." however, as it turned out, there was no need of these precautions; the beggars were victorious and the span- iards in full flight, and great was the rejoicing in brill at this check which they had inflicted upon their oppressors. bossu, retiring from brill, took his way toward rot- terdam. he found its gates closed; the authorities refused r. submit to his demands or to admit a garrison. so by pike and dyke. ramparts and discharged the guns. a sudden panto seized the spaniards, and the whole fleet sailed away at once in the direction of middelburg. the governor of the island next day arrived at flush- ing and was at once admitted. he called the citizens together to the market-place and there addressed them, beseeching them to return to their allegiance, assuring them that if they did so the king, who was the best- natured prince in all christendom, would forget and forgive their offenses. the effect of the governor's oratory was sadly marred by the interruptions of de herpt and his adherents, who reminded the people of the fate that had befallen other towns that had revolted, and scoffed at such good nature as the king displayed in the scores of executions daily taking place throughout the country. the governor, finding his efforts unavailing, had left the town, and as soon as he did so the messenger was sent off to brill, saying that the inhabitants of flush- ing were willing to provide arms and ammunition if they would send them men experienced in partisan warfare. two hundred of the beggars, under the com- mand of treslong, accordingly started the next day for flushing. the good venture threw off her hawsers from the wharf at about the same time that these were starting, and for some time kept company with them. "did one ever see such a wild crew?" captain martin said, shaking his head. m never, i believe, did such a party set out upon a warlike adventure." the appearance of treslong's followers was indeed ex- traordinary. every man was attired in the gorgeous vestments of the plundered churches—in gold and em- broidered cassocks, glittering robes, or the somber cowls and garments of capuchin friars. as they sailed along by pike and dyke. their wild sea songs rose in the air, mingled with shouts for vengeance on the spaniards and the papacy. "one would not think that this ribald crew could fight," captain martin went on; "but there is no doubt they will do so. they must not be blamed altogether; they are half maddened by the miseries and cruelties endured by their friends and relations at the hands of the spaniards. i knew that when at last the people rose the combat would be a terrible one, and that they would answer cruelty by cruelty, blood by blood. the prince of orange, as all men know, is one of the most clement and gentle of rulers. all his ordinances enjoin gentle treatment of prisoners, and he has promised every one over and over again complete toleration in the exercise of religion; but though he may forgive and forget, the people will not. "it is the catholic church that has been their op- pressor. in its name tens of thousands have been murdered, and i fear that the slaughter of those priests at brill is but the first of a series of bloody reprisals that will take place wherever the people get the upper hand." a fresh instance of this was shown a few hours after the good venture put into flushing. a ship arrived in port, bringing with it pacheco, the duke of alva's chief engineer, an architect of the highest reputation. he had been despatched by the duke to take charge of the new works that the soldiers had been sent to ex- ecute, and ignorant of what had taken place he landed at the port. he was at once seized by the mob. an officer, willing to save his life, took him from their hands and conducted him to the prison; but the popu- lace were clamorous for his blood, and treslong was willing enough to satisfy them and to avenge upon by pike and dyke. alva's favorite officer the murder of his brother by alva's orders. the unfortunate officer was therefore condemned to be hung, and the sentence was carried into effect the same day. a few days later an officer named zeraerts arrived at flushing with a commission from the prince of orange as governor of the island of walcheren. he was attended by a small body of french infantry, and the force under his command speedily increased; for as soon as it was known in england that brill and flush- ing had thrown off the authority of the spaniards, vol- unteers from england began to arrive in considerable numbers to aid their fellow-protestants in the struggle before them. the good venture had stayed only a few hours in flushing. in the present condition of affairs there was no chance of obtaining a cargo there, and captain martin therefore thought it better not to waste time, but to proceed at once to england in order to learn the intention of the merchants for whom he generally worked as to what could be done under the changed state of circumstances that had arisen. every day brought news of the extension of the rising. the spanish troops lay for the most part in flanders, and effectually deterred the citizens of the flemish towns from revolting; but throughout holland, zeeland and friesland the flame of revolt spread rapidly. the news that brill and flushing had thrown off the spanish yoke fired every heart. it was the signal for which all had been so long waiting. they knew how desperately spain would strive to regain her grip upon the netherlands, how terrible would be her vengeance if she conquered; but all felt that it was better to die swopl in hand than to be murdered piecemeal. and by pike and dyke. accordingly town after town rose, expelled the author- ities appointed by spain and the small spanish garrisons, and in three months after the rising of brill the greater part of the maritime provinces were free. some towns, however, still remained faithful to spain. prominent among these was amsterdam, a great trading city, which feared the ruin that opposition to alva might bring upon it, more than the shame of standing aloof when their fellow-countrymen were fighting for freedom and the right to worship god in their own way. on the d of may, louis of nassau, with a body of troops from france, captured the important town of mons by surprise, but was at once beleaguered there by a spanish army. in june the states of holland as- sembled at dort and formally renounced the authority of the duke of alva, and declared the prince of orange, the royally-appointed stadtholder, the only legal repre- sentative of the spanish crown in their country; and in reply to an eloquent address of sainte aldegonde, the prince's representative, voted a considerable sum of money for the payment of the army the prince was raising in germany. on the th of june a serious misfortune befell the patriot cause. a reinforcement of huguenot troops, on the way to succor the garrison of mons, were met and cut to pieces by the spaniards, and count louis, who had been led by the french king to expect ample succor and assistance from him, was left to his fate. on the th of july the prince of orange crossed the rhine with fourteen thousand foot and seven thousand horse. he advanced but a short distance when the troops mutinied in consequence of their pay being in arrears, and he was detained four weeks until the cities of holland guaranteed their payment for three months. by pike and dykk a few cities opened their gates to him, but they were for the most part unimportant places, and mechlin was the only large town that admitted his troops. still he pressed on toward mons, expecting daily to be joined by twelve thousand french infantry and three thousand cavalry under the command of admiral coligny. the prince, who seldom permitted himself to be san- guine, believed that the goal of his hopes was reached, and that he should now be able to drive the spaniards from the netherlands. but as he was marching forward he received tidings that showed him that all his plans were shattered, and that the prospects were darker than they had ever before been. while the king of france had throughout been encouraging the revolted nether- lands, and had authorized his minister to march with an army to their assistance, he was preparing for a deed that would be the blackest in history, were it not that its horrors are less appalling than those inflicted upon the captured cities of the netherlands by alva. on st. bartholomew's eve there was a general massacre of the protestants in paris, followed by similar massacres throughout france, the number of victims being vari- ously estimated at from twenty-five to a hundred thousand. protestant europe was filled with horror at this terrible crime. philip of spain was filled with equal delight. not only was the danger that seemed to threaten him in the netherlands at once and forever, as he believed, at an end, but he saw in this destruction of the protestants of france a great step in the direction he had so much at heart—the entire extirpation of heretics throughout europe. he wrote letters of the warmest congratula- tion to the king of france, with whom he had formerly been at enmity; while the pope, accompanied by his by pike and dyke. so ©ardinals, went to the church of st. mark to render thanks to god for the grace thus singularly vouchsafed to the holy see and to all christendom. to the prince of orange the news came as a thunder- clap. his troops wholly lost heart, and refused to keep the field. the prince himself- almost lost his life at the hands of the mutineers, and at last, crossing the rhine, he disbanded his army and went almost alone to holland to snare the fate of the provinces that adhered to him. he went there expecting and prepared to die. "there i will make my sepulcher," was his expression in the letter in which he announced his intention to his brother. count louis of nassau had now nothing left before him but to surrender. his soldiers, almost entirely french, refused any longer to resist, now that the king had changed his intentions, and the city was surrendered, the garrison being allowed to retire with their weapons. the terms of the capitulation were so far respected; but instead of the terms respecting the townspeople be- ing adhered to, a council of blood was set up, and for many months from ten to twenty of the inhabitants were hanged, burned, or beheaded every day. the news of the massacre of st. bartholomew, of the treachery of the king of france toward the inhabitants of the nether- lands, and of the -horrible cruelties perpetrated upon the inhabitants of mechlin and other towns that had opened their gates to the prince of orange, excited the most intense indignation among the people of england. the queen put on mourning, but was no more in- clined than before to render any really efficient aid to the netherlands. she allowed volunteers to pass over, fur- nished some meager sums of money, but held aloof from any open participation in the war; for if before, when france was supposed to be favorable to the netherlands by pike and dyke. and hostile to spain, she felt unequal to a war with the latter power, still less could she hope to cope with spain when the deed of st. bartholomew had re-united the two catholic monarchs. captain martin, married to a native of the nether- lands, and mixing constantly with the people in his trade, was naturally ardent, even beyond the majority of his countrymen, in their cause, and over and^ over again declared that were he sailing by when a sea-fight was going on between the dutch and the spaniards, he would pull down his english flag, hoist that of holland, and join in the fray; and ned, as was to be expected, shared to the utmost his father's feelings on the subject. early in september the good venture started with a cargo for amsterdam, a city that almost alone in hol- land adhered to the spanish cause. sophie martin was pleased when she heard that this was the ship's destination; for she was very anxious as to the safety of her father and brothers, from whom she had not heard for a long time. postage was dear and mails irregular. few letters were written or received by people in england, still more seldom letters sent across the sea. there would, therefore, under the ordi- nary circumstances, have been no cause whatever for uneasiness had years elasped without news coming from amsterdam; and, indeed, during her whole married life sophie martin had only received one or two letters by post from her former home, although many communica- tions had been brought by friends of her husband's trad- ing there. but as many weeks seldom passed without the good venture herself going into amsterdam, for that town was one of the great trading centers of hol- land, there was small occasion for letters to pass. it happ^-'a, however, that from one cause ov another, by pike and dyke. eighteen months had passed since captain martin's business had taken him to that port, and no letter had come either by post or hand during that time. none who had friends in the netherlands could feel assured that these must, either from their station or qualities, be safe from the storm that was sweeping over the country. the poor equally with the rich, the artisan equally with the noble, was liable to become a victim of alva's council of blood. the net was drawn so as to catch all classes and conditions; and although it was upon the protestants that his fury chiefly fell, the catholics suffered too, for pretexts were always at hand upon which these could also be condemned. the netherlands swarmed with spies and informers, and a single unguarded expression of opinion was sufficient to send a man to the block. and, indeed, in a vast number of cases, private animosity was the cause of the denunciation; for any accusation could be safely made where there was no trial and the victims were often in complete ignorance as to the nature of the sup- posed crime for which they were seized and dragged away to execution. when the vessel sailed sophie martin gave her hus- band a letter to her father and brothers, begging them to follow the example of thousands of their countrymen, and to leave the land where life and property were no longer safe, and to come over to london. they would have no difficulty in procuring work there, and could establish themselves in business and do as well as they had been doing at home. they had, she knew, money laid by in london; for after the troubles began her father had sold off the houses and other .property he had purchased with his savings, and had transmitted the result to england by her hu» by pike and dyke. band, who had intrusted it for investment to a, leading tatizen with whom he did business. as this represented not only her father's accumulations but those of her brothers who worked as partners with him, it amounted to a sum that in those days was regarded as consider- able. "i feel anxious, ned," captain martin said as he sailed up the zuider-zee toward the city, "as to what has befallen your grandfather and uncles. i have always made the best of the matter to your mother, but i cannot eonceal from myself that harm may have befallen them. it is strange that no message has come to us through any of our friends trading with the town, for your uncles know many of my comrades and can see their names in the shipping lists when they arrive. they would have known how anxious your mother would be at the news of the devil's work that is going on here, and, being always tender and thoughtful for her, would surely have sent her news of them from time to time as they had a chance. i sorely fear that something must have hap- pened. your uncles are prudent men, going about their work and interfering with none; but they are men, too, who speak their mind, and would not, like many, make a false show of affection when they feel none. "well, well; we shall soon know. as soon as the ship is moored and my papers are declared in order, you and i will go over to voidwyk and see how they are faring. i think not that they will follow your mother's advice and sail over with us; for it was but the last time i saw them that they spoke bitterly against the emigrants, and said that every man who could bear arms should, however great his danger, wait and bide the time until there was a chance to strike for his religion ant! yonntt r. they are sturdy men these ^ '"hmea, by pike and dyke. •nd not readily turaed from an opinion they have taken up, and although i shall do my best to back up your mother's letter by my arguments, i have but small hope that i shall prevail with them." in the evening they were moored alongside the quays of amsterdam, at that time one of the busiest cities in europe. its trade was great, the wealth of its citizens immense. it contained a large number of monasteries, its authorities were all catholics and devoted to the cause of spain, and although there were a great many well- wishers to the cause of freedom within its walls, these were powerless to take action, and the movement which after the capture of brill and flushing, had caused al- most all the towns of holland to declare for the prince of orange, found no echo in amsterdam. the vessel anchored outside the port, and the next morning, after their papers were examined and found in order, she ranged up alongside the crowded tiers of shipping. captain martin went on shore with ned, visited the merchants to whom his cargo was consigned, and told them that he should begin to unload the next day. he then started with ned to walk to vordwyk, which lay two miles away. on reaching the village they stop, ped suddenly. the roof of the house they had so often visited was gone, its walls blackened by fire. after the first exclamation of surprise and regret they walked forward until opposite the ruin, and stood gazing at it. then captain martin stepped up to a villager, who was standing at the door of his shop, and asked him when did this happen, what had become of the old man plomaert? "you are his son-in-law, are you not ?" the man asked in reply. "i have seen you here at various times." captain martin nodded. the man looked round cau- br pike jlnd dyke. tiously to see that none were within sounct of hia voice. "you have not heard then?" he said. "it was a terrible business, though we are growing used to it now. one day, it is some eight months since, a party of soldiers came from amsterdam and hauled away my neighbor plomaert and his three sons. they were denounced as having attended the field preaching a year ago, and you know what that means." "and the villains murdered them?" captain mar- tin asked in horror-stricken tones. the man nodded. "they were hung together next day, together with gertrude, the wife of the eldest brother. johan was, as you know, unmarried. eliza- beth, the wife of louis, lay ill at the time, or doubtless she would have fared the same as the rest. she has gone with her two daughters to haarlem where her family live. all their property was, of course, seized and con- fiscated, and the house burned down; for, as you know, they all lived together. now, my friend, i will leave yu. i dare not ask you in for i know not who may be watching us, and to entertain even the brother-in-law of men who have been sent to the gallows might well cost a man his life in our days." then captain martin's grief and passion found vent in words, and he roundly cursed the spaniards and their works, regardless of who might hear him; then he en- tered the garden, visited the summer-house where he had so often talked with the old man and his sons, and then sat down and gave full vent to his grief. ned felt almost stunned by the news; being so often away at sea he had never given the fact that so long a time had elapsed since his mother had received a letter from her family much thought. it had, indeed been mentioned wiarnia wa web non us hemv hrt p. & d. captain martin learns of the death of the plomaerts - page . by pike and dyke. before him; but, knowing the disturbed state ot tlio country, it had seemed to him natural enough that his uncles should have had much to think of and trouble them, and might well have no time for writing letters. his father's words the evening before had for the first time excited a feeling of real uneasiness about them, and the shock caused by the sight of the ruined house, and the news that his grandfather, his three uncles, and one of his aunts, had been murdered by the spaniards, completely overwhelmed him. "let us be going, ned," his father said at last; "there is nothing for us to do here; let us get back to our ship. i am a peaceable man, ned, but i feel now as if i could join the beggars of the sea, and go with them in slaying every spaniard who fell into their hands. this will be terrible news for your mother, lad.'' "it will indeed," ned replied. "oh, father, i wish you would let me stay here and join the prince's bands and fight for their freedom. there were english vol- unteers coming out to brill and flushing when we sailed from the thames, and if they come to fight for holland who have no tie in blood, why should not i who am dutch by my mother's side and whose rela- tions have been murdered?" "we will talk of it later on, ned," his father said. "you are young yet for such rough work as this, and this is no common war. there is no quarter given here, it is a fight to the death. the spaniards slaughter the protestants like wild beast , and like wild beasts they will defend themselves. but if this war goes on till you have gained your full strength and sinew i will not say you nay. as you aay, our people at home are ready to embark in a war for the cause of liberty and religion, did the queen but give the word; and when others,^ by pike and dyke. tired solely by horror at the spaniards' cruelty, are ready to come over here and throw in their lot with them, it seems to me that it will be but right that you, who are half dutch and have had relatives murdered by these fiends, should come over and side with the oppressed. if there is fighting at sea, it may be that i myself will take part with them, and place the good venture at the service of the prince of orange. but of that we will talk later on, as also about yourself. when you are eighteen you will still be full young for such work." as they talked they were walking fast toward am- sterdam. "we will go straight on board, ned; and i will not put my foot ashore again before we sail. i do not think that i could trust myself to meet a spaniard now, but should draw my knife and rush upon him. i have known that these things happened, we have heard of these daily butcherings, but it has not come home to me as now, when our own friends are the victims." entering the gate of the town they made their way straight down to the port, and were soon on board the good venture where captain martin retired to his cabin. ned felt too restless and excited to go down at present; but he told the crew what had happened, and the exclamations of anger among the honest sailors were loud and deep. most of them had sailed with captain martin ever since he had commanded the good ven- ture, and had seen the plomaerts when they had come on board whenever the vessel put in at amsterdam. the fact that there was nothing to do, and no steps to take to revenge the murders, angered them all the more. "i would we had twenty ships like our own, master ned," one of them said. "that would give us four hundred men, and with those we could go ashore and st pike and dykb. hang the magistrates and the councilors and all who had a hand in this foul business, and set their public buildings in a flame, and then fight our way back again to the port." "i am afraid four hundred men would not be able to do it here as they did at brill. there was no spanish garrison there,and here they have a regiment; and though the spaniards seem to have the hearts of devils rather than men, they can fight." "well, we would take our chance," the sailor re- plied. "if there was four hundred of us, and the cap- tain gave the word, we would show them what english bailors could do, mates—wouldn't we?" "ay, that would we," the others growled in a chorus. the next morning the work of unloading began. the sailors worked hard; for, as one of them said, "this place seems to smell of blood—let's be out of it, mates, as soon as we can." at four in the afternoon a lad of about ned's age came on board. he was the son of the merchant to whom the larger part of the cargo of the good venture was consigned. "i have a letter that my father charged me to give into your hands, captain martin. he said that the matter was urgent, and begged me to give it you in your cabin. he also told me to ask when you think your hold will be empty, as he has goods for you for the return voyage." "we shall be well-nigh empty by to-morrow night," captain martin said, as he led the way to his cabin in the poop. "the men have been working faster than usual, for it generally takes us three days to unload." "i do not think my father cared about that," the lad said when he entered the cabin; "it was but an excuse for my nig down here, and he gave me the mfssage bf pike and dyke. before ail the other clerks. but methinks that the letter is the real object of my coming." captain martin opened the letter. thanks to his preparation for taking his place in his father's business, he had learned to read and write; accomplishments by no means general among sea-captains of the time. "it is important, indeed," he said, as he glanced through the letter. it ran as follows: "captain martin—a friend of mine, who is one of the council here, has just told me that at the meeting this afternoon a denunciation was laid against you for having publicly, in the street of vordwyk, cursed and abused his majesty the king of spain, the duke of alva, the spaniards, and the catholic religion. some were of opinion that you should at once be arrested on board your ship, but others thought that it were better to wait and seize you the first time you came on shore, as it might cause trouble, were you taken from under the protection of the british flag. on shore, they urged, no question could arise, especially as many english have now, although the two nations are at peace, openly taken service under the prince of orange. "i have sent to tell you this, though at no small risk to myself were it discovered that i had done so; but as we have had dealings for many years together, i think it right to warn you. i may say that the counsel of those who were for waiting prevailed; but if, after a day or two, they find that you do not come ashore, i fear they will not hesitate to arrest you on your own vessel. please to destroy this letter at once after you. have read it, and act as seems best to you under tha circumstances. i send this to you by my son's hand, for there are spies everywhere, and in these days one can trust no one." by pike and dyke. * i am much obliged to you, young sir, for bringing me this letter. will you thauk your father from me, and say that i feel deeply indebted to him, and will think over how i can best escape from this strait. give him the message from me before others, that i shall be empty and ready to receive goods by noon on the day after to-morrow." when the lad had left, captain martin called in ned and william peters, his first mate, and laid the case be- fore them. "it is an awkward business, captain martin," petera said. "you sha'n't be arrested on board the good venture, as long as there is a man on board can wield a cutlass; but i don't know whether that would help you in the long run." "not at all, peters. we might beat off the first party that came to take me, but it would not be long be- fore they brought up a force against which we should stand no chance whatever. no,' it is not by fighting that there is any chance of escape. it is evident by this that i am safe for to-morrow; they will wait at least a day to see if i go ashore, which indeed they will make certain i shall do sooner or later. as far as my own safety is concerned and that of ned here, who, as he was with me, is doubtless included in the denuncia- tion, it is easy enough. we have only to get into the boat after dark, to muffle the oars, and to row for haarlem, which lies but ten miles away, and has de- clared for the prince of orange. but i do not like to leave the ship, for if they found us gone they might seize and declare it confiscated. and although when we got back to england, we might lay a complaint be- fore tlie queen, there would be no chance of our getting the sliip or her value from the spaniards. there are so by pike and dyke. many causes of complaint between the two nations, that the seizure of a brig would make no difference one way or another. the question is, could we get her out?" "it would be no easy matter," peters said, shaking his head. "that french ship that came in this after- noon has taken up a berth outside us, and there would be no getting out until she moved out of the way. if she were not there it might be tried, though it would be difficult to do so without attracting attention. as for the spanish war vessels, of which there are four in the port, i should not fear them if we once got our sails up, for the venture can sail faster than these lubberly spaniards; but they would send row-boats after us, and unless the wind was strong these would speedily over- haul us." "well, i must think it over," captain martin said. "i should be sorry indeed to lose my ship, which would be well-nigh ruin to me, but if there is no other way we must make for haarlem by boat." the next day the work of unloading continued. in the afternoon the captain of the french ship lying out- bide them came on board. he had been in the habit of trading with holland, and addressed captain martin in dutch. "are you likely to be lying here long?" he asked. "i want to get my vessel alongside the wharf as soon as i can, for it is slow work unloading into these lighters. there are one or two ships going out in the morning, but i would rather have got in somewhere about this point if i could, for the warehouses of mynheer strous, to whom my goods are consigned, lie just opposite." "will you come down into my cabin and have a glass by pise and dyke. of wine with me," captain martin said, "and then we can talk it over?" captain martin discovered, without much trouble, that the french captain was a huguenot, and that his sympathies were all with the people of the netherlands. "now," he said, "i can speak freely to you. i was ashore the day before yesterday, and learned that my wife's father, her three brothers and one of their wives have been murdered by the spaniards. well, you can understand that in my grief and rage i cursed the spaniards and their doings. i have learned that some spy has denounced me, and that they are only waiting for me to set foot on shore to arrest me, and you know what will come after that; for at present, owing to the volunteers that have come over to brill and flushing, the spaniards are furious against the english. they would rather take me on shore than on board, but if they find that i do not land they will certainly come on board for me. they believe that i shall not be unloaded until noon to-morrow, and doubtlessly expect that as soon as the cargo is out i shall land to arrange for a freight to england. therefore, until to-morrow after- noon i am safe, but no longer. now, i am thinking of trying to get out quietly to-night; but to do so it is necessary that you should shift your berth a ship's length one way or the other. will you do this for me?" "certainly i will, with pleasure," the captain replied. "i will give orders at once." "no, that will never do," captain martin said. u they are all the more easy about me because they know that as long as your ship is there i cannot get out, but if they saw you shifting your berth it would strike them at once that i might be intending to slip away. you must wait until it gets perfectly dark, and then by pike and dyke. throw off your warps and slacken out your cable as si- lently as possible, and let her drop down so as to leave me an easy passage. as soon as it is dark i will grease all my blocks, and when everything is quiet try to get her out. what wind there is is from the southwest, which will take us well down the zuider-zee." . . ** i hope you may succeed," the french captain said. ** once under sail you would be safe from their war- ahips, for you would be two or three miles away before they could manage to get up their sails. the danger lies in their rowboats and galleys." ** well, well, we must risk it," captain martin said. ** i shall have a boat alongside, and if i find the case is desperate we will take to it and row to the shore, and make our way to haarlem, where we should be safe." ned, who had been keeping a sharp lookout all day, observed that two spanish officials had taken up their etation on the wharf, not far from the ship. they ap- peared to have nothing to do, and to be indifferent to what was going on. he told his father that he thought that they were watching. presently the merchant him- self came down to the wharf. he did not come on board, but spoke to captain martin as he stood on the deck of the vessel, so that all around could hear his words. i ** how are you getting on, captain martin?" he asked in dutch. "fairly well," captain martin replied. ** think if we push on we shall have her empty by noon to-mor- row." "i have a cargo to go back with you, you know," the merchant said, "and i shall want to see you at the office, if you will step round to-morrow after you have cleared." by pike and dyke. : “ ali right, mynheer, you may expect me about two o'clock. but you won't see me," he added to himself. the merchant waved his hand and walked away, and a few minutes later the two officials also strolled off. “ that has thrown dust into their eyes," captain martin said, “ and has made it safe for strous. he will pretend to be as surprised as any one when he hears i. have gone." by pike and dyke. chapter iii. a fight "with the spaniards. as soon as it became dark, and the wharves were de- serted, captain martin sent two sailors aloft with grease pots, with orders that every block was to be carefully greased to ensure its running without noise. a boat which rowed six oars was lowered noiselessly into the water, and flannel was bound round the oars. the men who had been aware of the danger that threatened their captain, sharpened the pikes and axes, and declared to each other that whether the captain ordered it or not no spaniards should set foot on board as long as one of them stood alive on the decks. the cook filled a great boiler with water and lighted a fire under it, and the carpenter heated a caldron of pitch without orders. "what are you doing, thompson?" the captain •sked, noticing the glow of the fire as he came out of his cabin. the sailor came aft before he replied, " i am just cook- ing up a little hot sauce for the dons, captain. we don't ask them to come, you know; but if they do, it's only right that we should entertain them." "i hope there will be no fighting, lad," the captain said. "well, your honor, that ain't exactly the wish of me and my mates. after what we have been hearing of, we' *s we sha'n't be happy until we have had a brush by pike and dyke. with them 'ere spaniards. and as to fighting, your honor; from what we have heard, captain hawkins and others out in the indian seas have been a-showing that though they may swagger on land that they ain't no match for an englishman on the sea. anyhow, your honor, we ain't going to stand by and see you and master ned carried away by these 'ere butchering spaniards. "we have all made up our minds that what happens to you happens to all of us. we have sailed together in this ship the good venture for the last seventeen or eighteen years, and we means to swim or sink together. no disrespect to you, captain; but that is the fixed in- tention of all of us. it would be a nice thing for us to sail back to the port of london and say as we stood by and saw our captain and his son carried off to be hung or burnt or what not by the spaniards, and then sailed home to tell the tale. we don't mean no disrespect, captain, i says again; but in this 'ere business we take our orders from mr. peters, seeing that you being con- earned, as it were, in the affair ain't to be considered as having, so to speak, a right judgment upon it." "well, well, we shall see if there is a chance of making a successful fight," captain martin said, unable to resist a smile from the sailor's way of putting it. the night was dark, and the tw.o or three oil lamps that hung suspended from some of the houses facing the port threw no ray of light which extended to the ship- ping. it was difficult to make out against the sky the outline of the masts of the french vessel lying some twenty yards away; but presently ned's attention wza called toward her by a slight splash of her cable. then he heard the low rumble as the ropes ran out through the' hawse-holes, and saw that the masts were slowly by pike and dyke. moving. in two or three minutes they had disappeared from his sight. he went into the cabin. "the frenchman has gone, father; and so noiselessly that i could hardly hear her. if we can get out as quietly there is but little fear of our being noticed." "we cannot be as quiet as that, ned. she has only to slack away her cables and drift with the tide that turned half an hour ago, we have got to tow out and set sail. however, the night is dark, the wind is off shore, and everything is in our favor. do you see if there be any one about on the decks of the ships above and below us." ned went first on to the stern, and then to the bow. he could hear the voices of men talking and singing in the forecastles, but could hear no movement on the deck of either ship. he went down and reported to his father. "then, i think, we may as well start at once, ned. there are still sounds and noises in the town, and any noise we may make is therefore less likely to be noticed than if we waited until everything was perfectly still." the sailors were all ready. all were barefooted so as to move as noiselessly as possible. the four small cannon that the good venture carried had been loaded to the muzzle with bullets and pieces of iron. a search had been made below and several heavy lumps of stone, a part of the ballast carried on some former occasion, brought up and placed at intervals along the bulwarks. the pikes had been fastened by a loose lashing to the mast, and the axes leaned in readiness against the cannon. "now, peters," captain martin said, "let the boat be manned. do you send a man ashore to cast off the hawser at the bow. let him take a line ashore with him by pike and dyke. to as to ease the hawser off and not let the end tall in the water. the moment he has done that let him come to the stern and get on board there, and do you and he get the plank on board as noiselessly as you can. as soon as the bow-hawser is on board i will give the men in the boat the word to row. ned will be on board her, and see that they row in the right direction. the mo- ment you have got the plank in get out your knife and cut the stern warp half through, and directly her head is out, and you feel the strain, sever it. the stern is so close to the wharf that the end will not be able to drop down into the water and make a splash." ned's orders were that as soon as the vessel's head pointed seaward he was to steer rather to the right, so as to prevent the stream, which, however, ran but feebly, from carrying her down on to the bows of the french ship. once beyond the latter he was to go straight out, bteering by the lights on shore. the men were enjoined to drop their oars as quietly as possible into the water at each stroke, and to row deeply, as having the vessel in tow they would churn up the water unless they did bo. the boat rowed off a stroke or two, and then, as the rope tightened, the men sat quiet until captain martin was heard to give the order to row in a low tone; then they bent to their oars. peters had chosen the six best rowers on board the ship for the purpose, and so quietly did they dip their oars in the water that captain martin could scarce hear the sound, and only knew by looking over the other side, and seeing that the shore was receding, that the ship was in motion. two minutes later peters came forward. "i have cut the warp, captain martin, and she is moving out. i have left watson at the helm." scarce s word was spoken for the next five minutes. it was m by pike and dyke. only by looking at the light ashore that they could judge the progress they were making. every one breathed more freely now the first danger was over. they had got out from their berth without attracting the slightest notice, either from the shore or from the ships lying next to them. their next danger was from the ships lying at anchor off the port waiting their turn to come in. were they to run against one of these, the sound of the collision, and perhaps the breaking of spars and the shouts of the crew, would certainly excite attention from the sentries on shore. so far the boat had been rowing but a short distance in advance of the end of the bowsprit, but captain martin now made his way out to the end of that spar, and told ned that he was going to give him a good deal more rope in order that he might keep well ahead, and that he was to keep a sharp lookout for craft at anchor. another quarter of an hour passed, and captain martin thought that they must now be beyond the line of the outer shipping. they felt the wind more now that they were getting beyond the shelter of the town, and its effect upon the hull and spars made the work lighter for those in the boat ahead. "now, peters, i think that we can safely spread the foresail and call them in from the boat." the sail had been already loosed and was now let fall; it bellied out at once. "haul in the sheets, lads," captain martin said, and going forward gave a low whistle. a minute later the boat was alongside. "let her drop astern, peters, the captain said, as ned and the rowers clambered on board; "we may want her presently. hullo! what's that? it's one of the guard-boats, i do believe, and coming this way." the men heard the sound of coming oara, by pike and dyke. bow and four in the stern. a minute later the boat dashed alongside. as it did so three great pieces of stone were cast into it, knocking down two of the rowers. "fire!" the officer exclaimed as he sprang up to climb the ship's side. the six muskets were discharged, and the men rose to follow their leader, when there was a cry from the rowers, " the boat is sinking! she is staved in!" at the same moment the officer fell back thrust through with a pike. two of the soldiers were cut down with axes, the other sprang back into the sinking boat, which at once drifted astern. "up with her sails, lads!" captain martin shouted; "it is a question of speed now. the alarm is spread on shore already." the sentries on the various batteries were discharging their muskets and shouting, and the roll of a drum was heard almost immediately. the crew soon had every stitch of sail set upon the brig. she was moving steadily through the water; but the wind was still light, although occasionally a stronger puff gave ground for hope that it would ere long blow harder. "they will be some time before they make out what it is all about, peters," captain martin said. "the galleys will be manned, and will row to the spot where the firing was heard. some of the men in the boat are sure to be able to swim, and will meet them as they come out and tell them what has happened. the worst of it is, the moon will be up in a few minutes. i forgot all about that. that accounts for its being lighter. however, we have got a good start. one op two guard-boats may be out here in a quarter of an hour, but it will take the galleys twice as long to gather their by pike and dyke. crews and get out. it all depends on the wind. it is lucky it is not light yet, or the batteries might open on us; i don't think now they will get sight of us until we are fairly out of range." now that there was no longer occasion for silence on board the good venture, the crew laughed and joked at the expense of the spaniards. they were in high spirits at their success, and their only regret was that the brush with their pursuers had not been a more se- rious one. it was evident from the talk that there was quite as much hope as fear in the glances that they cast astern, and that they would have been by no means sorry to see a foe of about their own strength in hot pursuit of them. a quarter of an hour after the shat- tered boat had dropped astern the moon rose on the starboard-bow. it was three quarters full, and would assuredly reveal the ship to those on shore. scarcely in- deed did it show above the horizon when there was the boom of a gun astern, followed a second or two later by a heavy splash in the water close alongside. "that was a good shot," captain martin said; "but luck rather than skill i fancy. there is little chance of their hitting us at this distance. we must be a mile and a half away; don't you think so, peters?" "quite that, captain; and they must have given their gun a lot of elevation to carry so far. i almost wonder they wasted their powder." "of course they can't tell in the least who they are firing at," the captain said. "they cannot have learned anything yet, and can have only known that there was firing off the port, and that a craft is making out. we may be one of the sea beggars' vessels for anything they know, and may have come in to carry off a prise from "nder their very noses." by pike and dyke. m that is so," the mate replied; "but the gun may have been fired as a signal as much as with any hope of hitting us." "so it may, so it may, peters; i did not think of that. certainly that is likely enough. we know they have several ships cruising in the zuider-zee keeping a lookout for the beggars. on a night like this, and with the wind astern, the sound will be heard miles away. we may have trouble yet. i was not much afraid of the galleys, for though the wind is so light we are running along famously. you see we have nothing in our hold; and that is all in our favor so long as we are dead before the wind. besides, if the galleys did come up it would probably be singly, and we should be able to beat them off, for high out of water as we are they would find it difficult to climb the sides; but if we fall in with any of their ships it is a different matter altogether." four or five more shots were fired, but they all fell astern; and as they were fully two miles and a half away when the last gun was discharged, and the can- noneers must have known that they were far out of range, captain martin felt sure that the mate's idea was a correct one, and that the cannon had been dis-' charged rather as a signal than with any hope of reach- ing them. "ned, run up into the foretop," the captain said, "and keep a sharp lookout ahead. the moon has given an advantage to those who are on our track behind, but it gives us an advantage as against any craft there may be ahead of us. we shall see them long before they can see us." peters had been looking astern when the last gun was fired, and said that by its flash he believed that he by pike and dyke. had caught sight of three craft of some kind or other outside the ships moored off the port. "then we have two miles' start if those are their galleys," the captain said. "we are stealing through the water at about the rate of four knots, and perhaps they may row six, so it will take them an hour to come up. "rather more than that, i should say, captain, for the wind at times freshens a little. it is likely to be an hour and a half before they come up." "all the better, peters. they will have learned from those they picked up from that boat that we are not a large craft, and that our crew probably does not exceed twenty men; therefore, as those galleys carry about twenty soldiers besides the twenty, rowers, they will not think it necessary to keep together, but will each do his best to overtake us, one of them is sure to be faster than the others, and if they come up singly i think we shall be able to beat them off handsomely. it is no use discussing now whether it is wise to fight or not. by sinking that first boat we have all put our heads in a noose, and there is no drawing back. we have repulsed their officers with armed force, and there will be no mercy for any of us if we fall into their hands." "we shall fight all the better for knowing that," peters said grimly. "the dutchmen are learning that, as the spaniards are finding to their cost, there is nothing like making a man fight better than the knowl- edge that there is a halter waiting for him if he is beaten." "you had better get two of the guns astern, peters, so as to fire down into them as they come up. you may - - the others, one on each side, for the resent, by pike and dtkr and run oris of them over when you see which side they are making for. ah! that's a nice little puff. if it would but hold like that we should show them our heels altogether." in two or three minutes the puff died out and the wind fell even lighter than before. "i thought that we were going to have more of it," the captain said discontentedly; "it looked like it when the sun went down." "i think we shall have more before morning," peters agreed; "but i am afraid it won't come in time to help us much." as the moon rose they were able to make out three craft astern of them. two were almost abreast of each other, the third some little distance behind. "that is just what i expected, peters; they are making a race of it. we shall have two of them on our hands at once; the other will be too far away by the time they come up to give them any assistance. they are about a mile astern now, i should say, and unless the wind freshens up" a bit they will be alongside in about twenty minutes. i will give you three men here, peters. as soon as we have fired, load again, and then slew the guns round and run them forward to the edge of the poop, and point them down into the waist. if the spaniards get on board, and we find them too strong for us, those of us who can will take to the forecastle, the others will run up here. then sweep the spaniards with your guns, and directly you have fired charge down among them with pike and axe. we will do the same, and it is hard if we do not clear the deck of them." just at this moment ned hailed them from the top. "there is a ship nearly ahead of us. sir; she is lying with her sails brailed up, evidently waiting." by pike and dyke. * how far is she off, do you think, ned?" "i should say she is four miles away," ned replied. "well, we need not trouble about her for the present; there will be time to think about her when we have fin- ished with these fellows behind. you can come down now, ned." in a few words the captain now explained his inten- tions to his men. "i hope, lads, that we shall be able to prevent their getting a footing on the deck; but if they do, and we find we can't beat them back, as soon as i give the word you are to take either to the forecastle or to the poop. mr. peters will have the two guns there ready to sweep them with bullets. the moment he has fired give a cheer and rush down upon them from both sides. we will clear them off again, never fear. ned, you will be in charge in the waist until i rejoin you. get ready to run one of the guns over the instant i tell you on which side they are coming up. depress them as much as you can. i shall take one gun and you take the other, and be sure you don't fire until you see a boat well under the muzzle of your gun. mind it's the boat you are to aim at, and not the men." captain martin again ascended to the poop and joined peters. the two boats were now but a few hundred yards astern, and they could hear the officers cheering on the rowers to exert themselves to the utmost. the third boat was fully a quarter of a mile behind the leaders. when they approached within a hundred yarda a fire of musketry was opened. "lie down under the bulwarks, men," captain mar- tin said to the three sailors. "it is no use risking your lives unnecessarily. i expect one boat will come one side ana one the other, peters. if they do we will bt pike ay i) dyke. both take the one coming up on the port side. one of us may miss, and it is better to make sure of one boat if we can. i think we can make pretty sure of beating off the other. yes, there they are separating. now work your gun round a bit, so that it bears on a point about twenty yards astern and a boat's length on the port side. i will do the same. have you done that?" * yes, i think i have about got it, sir." ** very well, then. stoop down now, or we may get bit before it is time to fire." the bulwarks round the poop were only about a foot high, but sitting back from them the captain and the mate were protected from the bullets that were now singing briskly over the stern of the ship. "they are coming up, peters," captain martin said. m now kneel up and look along your gun; get your match ready, and do not fire till you see right into the boat, then clap on j^our match whether i fire or not." the boat came racing along until when within some twenty yards of the stern, the cannons were discharged almost simultaneously. the sound was succeeded by a chorus of screams and yells; the contents of both guns had struck the boat fairly midships, and she sank almost instantly. as soon as they had fired, captain martin ran forward and joined the crew in the waist. he had already passed the word to ned to get both guns over to the starboard side, and he at once took charge of one while ned stood at the other. the spaniards had pushed straight on without waiting to pick up their drowning comrades in the other boat, and in a minute were along- side. so close did the helmsman bring the boat to the side that the guns could not be depressed so as to bear upon her, and a moment later the spaniards were climb. turan lelut kursus stres raw www tan p. & d. the spaniards are driven back into the boat.-page . by pike and dykjc. ftig up the sides of the vessel, the rowers dropping their oars and seizing axes and joining the soldiers. "never mind the gun, ned; it is useless at present. now, lads, drive them back as they come up." with pike and hatchet the sailors met the spaniards as they tried to climb up. the cook had brought his caldron of boiling water to the bulwarks, and threw pail- ful after pailful down into the boat, while the carpenter bailed over boiling pitch with the great ladle. terrible yells and screams rose from the boat, and the soldiers in vain tried to gain a footing upon the ship's deck. as they appeared above the level of the bulwarks they were met either with thrust of pike or with a crashing blow from an axe, and it was but three or four minutes from the moment that the fight began that the boat cast off and dropped behind, more than half those on board being killed or disabled. a loud cheer broke from the crew. "shall i run the guns back to the stern again," peters asked from above, "and give them a parting dose?" "no, no," captain martin said," let them go, peters; we are fighting to defend ourselves, and have done them mischief enough. see what the third boat is doing, though." "they have stopped rowing," peters said, after go- ing to the stern. "i think they are picking up some swimmers from the boat we sank. there cannot be many of them, for most of the rowers would have been killed by our discharges, and the soldiers in their armor will have sunk at once." captain martin now ascended to the poop. in a short time the boat joined that which had dropped astern, which was lying helpless in the water, no attempt hav- ing beepjmade to man the oars, as most of the unwounded by pike and dyke. men were scalded more or less severely. their report was evidently not encouraging, and the third boat made no attempt to pursue. some of her oarsmen were shifted to the other boat, and together they turned and made back for amsterdam. "now then for this vessel ahead," captain martin eaid; "that is a much more serious business than the boats," the vessel, which was some two miles ahead of them, had now set some of her sails, and was heading toward them. "they can make us out now plainly enough, peters, and the firing will of course have told them we are the vessel that they are in search of. i don't think that there is any getting away from them." "i don't see that there is," the mate agreed. "whichever way we edged off they could cut us off. the worst of it is no doubt she has got some big guns on board, and these little things of ours are of no good except at close quarters. it would be no use trying to make a running fight with her?" "not in the least, peters. we had better sail straight at her." "you don't mean to try and carry her by boarding?" peters asked doubtfully. "she looks like a large ship, and has perhaps a hundred and fifty ifaen on board; and though the spaniards are no sailors they can fight on the decks of their ships." "that is so, peters. what i think of doing is to bear straight down upon her as if i intended to board. we shall have to stand one broadside as we come up, and then we shall be past her, and with our light draught we should run right away from her with this wind. there is more of it than there was, and we are by pike and dyke. slipping away fast. unless she happens to knocfc away one of our masts we shall get away from her." when they were within half a mile of the spanish ship they saw her bows bear off. "lie down, lads," the captain ordered, " she is going to give us a broadside. when it is over start one of those sea-beggar songs you picked up at brill; that will startle them, and they will think we are crowded with men and going to board them." a minute later eight flashes of fire burst from the spanish ship, now lying broadside to them. one shot crashed through the bulwarks, two others passed through the sails, the rest went wide of their mark. as soon as it was over the crew leaped to their feet and burst into one of the wild songs sung by the sea-beggars. "keep our head straight toward her, peters," captain martin said. "they will think we mean to run her down, and it will flurry and confuse them." loading was not quick work in those days, and the distance between the vessels was decreased by half before the guns were again fired. this time it was not a broad- side; the guns went off one by one as they were loaded, and the aim was hasty and inaccurate, for close as they were not a shot struck the hull of the good venture, though two or three went through the sails. in the bright moonlight men could be seen running about and officers waving their arms and giving orders on board the spaniard, and then her head began to pay off. "we have scared them," captain martin laughed. "they thought we were going to run them down. they know the sea beggars would be quite content to sink themselves if they could sink an enemy. follow close in her wake, peters, and then bear off a little as if you. by pike and dyke. meant to pass them on their starboard side; then when you get close give her the helm sharp and sweep across her stern. we will give her the guns as we pass, then bear off again and pass her on her portside; the chances are they will not have loaded again there." the spanish ship was little more than a hundred yards ahead. when she got before the wind again captain martin saw with satisfaction that the good venture sailed three feet to her two. the poop and stern gal- leries of the spaniard were clustered with soldiers, who opened a fire with their muskets upon their pursuer. the men were all lying down now at their guns, which were loaded with musket balls to their muzzles. "elevate them as much as you can. she is much higher out of the water than we are. now, peters, you see to the guns, i will take the helm." "i will keep the helm, sir," the mate replied. "no, you won't, peters; my place is the place of danger. but if you can, lie under the bulwark there after you have fired, and be ready to take my place if you see me drop. now, lads, get ready." so saying the captain put down the tiller. the good venture swept round under the stern of the spaniard at a distance of some forty yards, and as she did so the guns loaded with bullets to the muzzle were fired one after the other. the effect was terrible, and the gal- leries and poop were swept by the leaden shower. then the captain straightened the helm again. the crew burst into the wild yells and cries the beggars raised when going into battle. the spaniards, confused by the terrible slaughter worked by the guns of their en- emies, and believing that they were about to be boarded on the port side by a crowd of desperate foemen, hastily put up the tiller, and the ship bore away as the good by pike and dyks. venture swept up, presenting her stern instead of her broadside to them. to the momentary relief of the spaniards their assail- ant instead of imitating their maneuvers kept straight upon her course before the wind, and instead of the wild cries of the beggars a hearty english cheer was raised. as captain martin had expected, the guns on the port side had not been reloaded after the last dis- charge, and the good venture was two or three hun- dred yards away before the spaniards recovered from their surprise at what seemed the incomprehensible maneuvers of their foes, and awoke to the fact that they had been tricked, and that instead of a ship crowded with beggars of the sea their supposed assailant had been an english trader that was trying to escape from them. a dozen contradictory orders were shouted as soon as the truth dawned upon them. the captain had been killed by the discharge of grape, and the first lieutenant severely wounded. the officer in command of the troops shouted to his men to load the guns, only to find when this was accomplished that the second lieu- tenant of the ship had turned her head in pursuit of the enemy, and that not a single gun would bear. there was a sharp altercation between the two authorities, but the military chief was of the highest rank. "don't you see," he said furiously, "that she is going away from us every foot. she was but a couple of hun- dred yards away when i gave the order to load, and now she is fully a quarter of a mile." "if i put the helm down to bring her broadside on." the seaman said, "she will be half a mile ahead before we can straighten up and get in her wake again; and unless you happen to cripple her she will get away to a certainty." by pike and dyke. "she will get away anyhow," the soldier roared, "if we don't cripple her. put your helm down instantly." the order was given and the ship's head swayed round. there was a flapping of sails and a rattling of blocks, and then a broadside was fired; but it is no easy matter for angry and excited men to hit a mast at the distance of nearly half a mile. one of the shots plowed up the deck within a yard of the foot of the mainmast, another splintered a boat, three others added to the holes in the sails, but no damage of importance was done. by the time the spaniard had borne round and was again in chase, the good venture was over half a mile ahead. "it is all over now, captain," peters said as he went aft. "unless we light upon another of these fellows, which is not likely, we are safe." "are any of the men hit, peters?" "the carpenter was knocked down and stunned by a splinter from the boat, sir; but i don't think it is serious." "thank god for that," the captain said. "now, will you take the helm?" there was something in the voice that startled the mate. "is anything the matter, sir? don't say you are hit." "i am hit, peters, and i fear rather badly; but that matters little now that the crew and ship are safe." peters caught the captain, for he saw that he could scarce stand, and called two men to his assistance. the captain was laid down on the deck. "where are you hit, sir?" *' halfway between the knee and the hip," captain martin replied faintly. "if it hadn't been for the tiller i should have fallen, but with the aid of that i made by pike and dyes. shift to stand on the other leg. it was just before we fired, at the moment when i put the helm down." "why didn't you call me?" peters said reproach- fully. "it was of no good getting two of us hit, peters; and as long as i could stand to steer i was better there than you." ned came running aft as the news was passed along that the captain was wounded, and threw himself on his knees by his father's side. ** bear up, ned; bear up like a man," his father said. ** i am hit hard, but i don't know that it is to death. but even if it is, it is ten thousand times better to die in battle with the spaniards than to be hung like a dog, which would have befallen me and perhaps all of us if they had taken us." by peters' directions a mattress was now brought up, and the captain carried down to his cabin. there was no thought on board now of the pursuers astern, or of possible danger lying ahead. the news that captain martin was badly wounded damped all the feelings of triumph and enthusiasm which the crew had before been feeling at the success with which they had eluded the spaniard while heavily punishing her. as soon as the captain was laid on a sofa peters examined the wound. it was right in front of the leg, some four inches above the knee. "there is nothing to be done for it," captain martin said. "it has smashed the bone, i am sure." "i am afraid it has, captain," peters said ruefully; "and it is no use my saying that it has not. i think, sir, we had best put in at enkhuizen. we are not above four or five miles from it now, and we shall find surgeons there who will do all they can for you." by pike and dyke. " i think that will be the best plan, peters. the orders were given at once, and the ship's course altered, and half an hour later the lights of enkhuizon by pike and dyks. . chapter iv. wounded. they dropped anchor a short distance off the port, and then lit some torches and waved them. "the firing is sure to have been heard," peters said, ** and they will be sending off to know what is going on, otherwise there would have been small chance of getting in to-night." as the mate anticipated, the sound of oars was soon heard, and a large boat rowed out toward them. it stopped at a distance of a hundred yards, and there was a shout of " what ship is that?" "the english brig good venture. we pray you to allow us to bring our captain, who has been sorely wounded by the spaniards, on shore." "what has been the firing we have heard? we could see the flashes across the water." "we have been twice engaged," peters shouted; "first with two spanish galleys, and then with a large ship of war, which we beat off with heavy loss." "well done, englishman!" the voice exclaimed, and the boat at once rowed out to the brig. "you cannot come in to-night," the dutch official said, " for the chain is up across the harbor, and the rule is imperative and without exception; but i will gladly take your captain on shore, and he shall have, i promise you, the best surgical aid the town can give him. is he the only one hurt?" by pike and dyke. "one of the men has been injured with a splinter, but he needs but bandaging and laying up for a few days. we have had a shot or two through our bulwarks, and the sails are riddled. the captain's son is below with him; he acts as second mate, and will tell you all about this affair into which we were forced." "very well; we will take him ashore with us then. there is quite an excitement there. the news that a sea-fight was going on brought all the citizens to the walls." the mattress upon which captain martin was lying was brought out and lowered carefully into the stern of the boat. ned took his seat beside it, and the boat pushed off. having passed the forts they entered the port and rowed to the landing-place. a number of citizens, many of them carrying torches, were assembled here. "what is the news?" a voice asked as the boat approached. "it is an english ship, burgomaster. she has been hotly engaged; first with spanish galleys, and then with a war-ship, which was doubtless the one seen beat- ing up this afternoon. she sank one of the galleys and beat off the ship." a loud cheer broke from the crowd. when it subsided the official went on: "i have the english captain and his son on board. the captain is sorely wounded, and i have promised him the best medical aid the town can give him." "that he shall have," the burgomaster said. "let him be carried to my house at once. hans leipart, do you hurry on and tell my wife to get a chamber pre- pared instantly. you have heard who it is, and why he is coming, and i warrant me she will do her best to make the brave englishman comfortable. do two others of you run to doctors zobel and harreng, and pray them by pike and dyke. to hasili, to my house. let a stretcher be letched instantly from the town hall." as soon as the stretcher was brought the mattress was placed on it, and six of the sailors carried it on shore. the crowd had by this time greatly increased, for the news had rapidly spread. every head was bared in token of sympathy and respect as the litter was brought up. the crowd fell back and formed a lane, and, led by the burgomaster, the sailors carried the wounded man into the town. he was taken upstairs to the room prepared for him, and the surgeons were speedily in attendance. medicine in those days was but a primitive science, but the surgery, though rough and rude, was far ahead of the sister art. wars were of such constant occurrence that surgeons had ample opportunity for practice; and simple operations, such as the amputation of limbs, were matters of very common occurrence. it needed but a very short examination by the two surgeons to enable them to declare that the leg must at once be amputated. "the bone appears to be completely smashed," one of them said. "doubtless the ball was fired at a very short distance." a groan burst from ned when he heard the decision. "i knew that it would be so, ned," his father said. "i never doubted it for a moment. it is well that i hawe been able to obtain aid so speedily. better a limb than life, my boy. i did not wince when i was hit, and with god's help i can stand the pain now. do you go away and tell the burgomaster how it all came about, and leave me with these gentlemen." as soon as ned had left the room, sobbing in spite of his efforts to appear manly, the captain said: "now, gentlemen, since this must be done, i pray you to do it by pike and dyke. without loss of time. i will bear it as best i can, promise you; and as three or four and twenty years at sea makes a man pretty hard and accustomed to rough usage, i expect i shall stand it as well as another." the surgeons agreed that there was no advantage in delay, and indeed that it was far better to amputate it before fever set in. they therefore returned home at once for their instruments, the knives and saws, the irons that were to be heated white-hot to stop the bleed- ing, and the other appliances in use at the time. had ned been aware that the operation would have taken place so soon, he would have been unable to satisfy the curiosity of the burgomaster and citizens to know how it had happened that an english trader had come to blows with the spaniards; but he had no idea that it would take place that night, and thought that probably some days would elapse before the surgeons finally de- cided that it was necessary to amputate it. one of the surgeons had, at the captain's request, called the burgomaster aside as he left the house, and begged him to keep the lad engaged in conversation until he heard from him that all was over. this the burgomaster willingly promised to do; and as many of the leading citizens were assembled in the parlor to hear the news, there was no chance of ned's slipping away. "before you begin to tell us your story, young sir, we should be glad to know how it is that you speak our language so well; for indeed we could not tell by your accent that you are not a native of these parts, which is of course impossible, seeing that your father is an englishman and captain of the ship lying off there." "my mother comes from near here," ned said. "she is the daughter of mynheer plomaert, who lived at by piks and dyks. vordwyk, two miles from amsterdam. she went oyer to england when she married my father, hut when he was away on his voyages she always spoke her own language to us children, so that we grew to speak it naturally as we did english." ned then related the news that met them on their arrival at his grandfather's home, and the exclamation of fury on the part of his father. "it is a common enough story with us here," the burgomaster said, " for few of us but have lost friends or relatives at the hands of these murderous tyrants of ours. but to you, living in a free land, truly it must have been a dreadful shock; and i wonder not that your father's indignation betrayed him into words which, if overheard, might well cost a man his life in this country." "they were overheard and reported," ned said; and then proceeded to relate the warning they had received, the measures they had taken to get off unperceived, the accidental meeting with the guard-boat and the way in which it had been sunk, the pursuit by the galleys and the fight with them, and then the encounter with the spanish ship of war. "and you say your father never relaxed his hold of the tiller when struck!" the burgomaster said in sur- prise. "i should have thought he must needs have fallen headlong to the ground." "he told me," ned replied, " that at the moment he was hit he was pushing over the tiller, and had his weight partly on that and partly on his other leg. had it been otherwise he would of course have gone down, for he said that for a moment he thought his leg had been shot off." when ned finished his narrative the burgomaster and d by pike and dyke. magiatrates were loud in their exclamations admira- tion at the manner in which the little trader had both fought and deceived her powerful opponent. "it was gallantly done indeed," the burgomaster said. "truly it seems marvelous that a little ship with but twenty hands should have fought and got safely away from the don pedro, for that was the ship we saw pass this afternoon. we know her well, for she has often been in port here before we declared for the prince of orange a month ago. the beggars of the sea themselves could not have done better—could they, my friends? though we dutchmen and zeelanders believe that there are no sailors that can match our own." the story had taken nearly an hour to tell, and ned now said: "with your permission, sir, i will now go up to my father again." "you had best not go for the present," the burgo- master said. "the doctor asked me to keep you with me for awhile, for that he wished his patient to be entirely undisturbed. he is by his bedside now, and will let me know at once if your father wishes to have you with him." a quarter of an hour later a servant called the burgo- master out. the surgeon was waiting outside. "it is finished," he said, " and he has borne it well. scarce a groan escaped him, even when we applied the hot irons; but he is utterly exhausted now, and we have given him an opiate and hope that he will soon drop off to sleep. my colleague will remain with him for four hours, and then i will return and take his place. you had best say nothing to the lad about it. he would naturally want to see his father; we would much rather that he should not. therefore tell him, please, that his by pike and dyks. father is dropping off to sleep, and must not on any ac- count be disturbed; and that we are sitting up with him by turns, and will let him know at once should there be any occasion for his presence." ned was glad to hear that his father was likely to get off to sleep; and although he would gladly have sat up with him, he knew that it was much better that he should have the surgeon beside him. the burgomaster's wife, a kind and motherly woman, took him aside into a little parlor, where a table was laid with a cold capon, some manchete of bread, and a flask of the burgomaster's best wine. as ned had eaten nothing since the after- noon, and it was now past midnight, he was by no means sorry to partake of some refreshment. when he had finished he was conducted to a comfortable little chamber that had been prepared for him, and in spite of his anxiety about his father it was not long before he fell asleep. the sun was high before he awoke. he dressed him- self quickly and went downstairs, for he feared to go straight to his father's room lest he might be sleeping. "you have slept well," the burgomaster's wife said with a smile; "and no wonder, after your fatigues. the surgeon has just gone, and i was about to send up to wake you, for he told me to tell you that your father had passed a good night, and that you can now sea him." ned ran upstairs, and turning the handle of the door very quietly entered his father's room. captain martin was looking very pale, but ned thought that his face had not the drawn look that had marked it the evening before. "how are you, my dear father?" hi am going on well, ned; at least so the doctors by pike and dyke. say. i feel i shall be but a battered old hulk when i get about again; but your mother will not mind that, i know." "and do the doctors still think that they must take the leg off?" ned asked hesitatingly. "that was their opinion last night, ned, and it was my opinion too; and so the matter was done off hand, and there is an end of it." "done off hand?" ned repeated. "do you mean—" and he hesitated. "do i mean that they have taken it off? certainly i do, ned. they took it off last night while you were downstairs in the burgomaster's parlor; but i thought it would be much better for you not to know anything about it until this morning. yes, my boy, thank god, it is all over! i don't say that it wasn't pretty hard to bear; but it had to be done, you know, and the sooner it was over the better. there is nothing worse than lying thinking about a thing." ned was too affected to speak; but with tears stream- ing down his cheeks, leaned over and kissed his father. the news had come as a shock to him, but it seemed to have lifted a weight from his mind. the worst was over now; and although it was terrible to think that his father had lost his leg, still this seemed a minor evil after the fear that perhaps his life might be sacrificed. knowing that his father should not be excited, or even talk more than was absolutely necessary, ned stayed but a few minutes with him, and then hurried off to the ship, where, however, he found that the news that the cap- tain's leg had been amputated, and that the doctors hoped that he would go on well, had been known some hours before; as peters had come on shore with the first dawn of daylight for news, and heard from the by pike and dyke. burgomaster's servant that the amputation had taken place the evening before, and an hour later had learned from the lips of the doctor who had been watching by the captain's bedside, that he had passed a fairly good night, and might so far be considered to be doing well. "what do you think,we had better do, master ned? of course it will be for the captain to decide; but in these matters it is always best to take counsel beforehand. for although it is, of course, what he thinks in the matter will be done, still it may be that we might direct his thoughts; and the less thinking he does in his present state the better." "what do you mean as to what is to be done, peters?" "well, your father is like to be here many weeks; indeed, if i said many months i don't suppose it would be far from the truth. things never go on quite smooth. there are sure to be inflammations, and fever keeps on coming and going; and if the doctor says three months, like enough it is six." "of course i shall stay here and nurse him, peters." "well, master ned, that will be one of the points for the captain to settle. i do not suppose he will want the good venture to be lying idle all the time he is laid np; and though i can sail the ship, the trading business is altogether out of my line. you know all the mer- chants he does business with, going ashore, as you most always do with him; i doubt not that you could fill his place and deal with them just the same as if he was here." "but i cannot leave him at present." "no, no, master ned; no one would think of it. now, what i have been turning over in my mind is, that the best thing for the captain and for yom and your good mother is that i should set sail in the venture with- • by pike and dyke. out the loss of a day and fetch her over. if the wind is reasonable, and we have good luck, we may be back in ten days or so. by that time the captain may be well enough to think where we had better go for a cargo, and what course had best be taken about things in general." "i think that would certainly be the best plan, peters; and i will suggest it to my father at once. he is much more likely to go on well if my mother is with him, and she would be worrying sadly at home were she not by his side. besides, it will be well for her to have some- thing to occupy her, for the news of what has befallen her father and brothers will be a terrible blow to her. if i put it in that way to him i doubt not that he will agree to the plan; otherwise, he might fear to bring her out here in such troubled times, for there is no saying when the spaniards will gather their army to recover the revolted cities, or against which they will first make their attempts. i will go back at once, and if he be awake i will tell him that you and i agree that it will be best for you to sail without loss of an hour to fetch my mother over, and that we can then put off talking about other matters until the ship returns." ned at once went back to his father's bedroom. he found the captain had just awoke from a short sleep. "father, i do not want to trouble you to think at present, but will tell you what master peters and i, who have been laying our heads together, concluded is best to be done. you are likely to be laid up here for some time, and it will be far the best plan for the good venture to sail over and fetch mother to nurse you." "i shall get on well enough, ned. they are kindly people here; and regarding our fight with the spaniards as a sicn of our friendship and good-will toward thsro, they viu do all in their power for me." by ptks a tv dykz. "yes, father, i hope, indeed, that you will goon well; . and i am sure that the good people here will do their best in all ways for you, and of course i will nurse you to the best of my power, though, indeed, this is new work for me; but it was not so much you as mother that we were thinking of. it will be terrible for her when the news comes that her father and brothers are all killed, and that you are lying here sorely wounded. it will be well-nigh enough to drive her distraught. but if she were to come over here at once she would, while busying about you, have less time to brood over her griefs; and, indeed, i see not why she should be told what has happened at vordwyk until she is here with you, and you can break it to her. it will come better from your lips, and for your sake she will re- strain her grief." "there is a great deal in what you say, ned, and, in- deed, i long greatly to have her with me; but holland is no place at present to bring a woman to, and i sup- pose also that she would bring the girls, for she could not well leave them in a house alone. there are plenty of friends there who would be glad to take them in; but that she could decide upon herself. however, as she is a native here she will probably consider she may well run the same risks as the rest of our countrywomen. they remain with their fathers and husbands and en- dure what perils there may be, and she will see no reason why she should not do the same." "what we propose is that the venture should set sail at once and fetch my mother over, and the girls, if she sees fit to bring them. . i shall of course stay here with you until the brig returns, and by that time you will, i hope, be strong enough to talk over what had best be done regarding the ship and business generally." by pike and dyke. , "well, have your way, ned. at present i cannot think over things and see what is best; so l will leave the matter in your hands, and truly i should be glad in- deed to have your mother here with me." well content to have obtained the permission ned hurried from the room. "has the burgomaster returned?" he asked when he reached the lower story. "he has just come in, and i was coming up to tell you that dinner is served." "is it eleven o'clock already?" ned exclaimed. "i had no idea it was so late." he entered the room and bowed to the burgomaster and his wife. "worshipful sir," he said, " i have just obtained leave from my father to send our ship off to london to fetch hither my mother to come to nurse him. i trust that by the time she arrives he will be able to be moved, and' then they will take lodgings elsewhere, so as not to tres- pass longer upon your great kindness and hospitality." "i think that it is well that your toother should come over," the burgomaster said; "for a man who has had the greater part of his leg taken off cannot be expected to get round quickly. besides, after what you told us last night about the misfortune that has befallen her family it were best that she should be busied about her husband, and so have little time to brood over the mat- ter. as to hospitality, it would be strange indeed if we should not do all that we could for a brave man who has been injured in fighting our common enemy. send word to your mother that she will be as welcome as he is, and that we shall be ready in all respects to arrange whatever she may think most convenient and comfort- able. and now you had best sit down and have your meal with us. as soon as it is over i will go d-^-n with by pike and dyke. otherwise you would have to wait your turn with th« other vessels lying here; for ballast is, as you know, a rare commodity in holland, and we do not like parting even with our sand hills. in the meantime, as you have well-nigh six hours before you get under way, i will go round among my friends and see if i cannot procure you a little cargo that may pay some of the expenses of your voyage." accordingly the burgomaster proceeded at once to visit several of the principal merchants, and, represent- ing that it was the clear duty of the townsfolk to do what they could for the men who had fought so bravely against the spaniards, he succeeded in obtaining from them a considerable quantity of freight upon good terms; and so zealously did he push the business that in a very short time drays began to arrive alongside the good venture, and a number of men were speedily at work in transferring the contents to her hold, and be- fore evening she had taken on board a goodly amount of cargo. ned wrote a letter to his mother telling her what had taken place, and saying that his father would be glad for her to come over to be with him, but that he left it to her to decide whether to bring the girls over or not. he said no word of the events at vordwyk; but merely mentioned they had learned that a spy had denounced his father to the spaniards as having used expressions hostile to the king and the religious persecutions, and that on this account he would have been arrested, had he not at once put to sea. peters was charged to say nothing as to what he had heard about the plomaerts unless she pressed him with questions. he was to re- port briefly that they were so busy with the unloading of the ship at amsterdam that captain martin had by pike and dyke. only once been ashore, and leave it to be inferred that he only landed to see the merchants to whom the cargo was consigned. "of course, peters, if my mother presses you as to ,whether any news has been received from vordwyk, you must tell the truth; but if it can be concealed from her it will be much the best. she will have anxiety enough concerning my father." "i will see," peters said," what can be done. doubt- less at first she will be so filled with the thought of your father's danger that she will not think much of anything else; but on the voyage she will have time to turn her thoughts in other directions, and she is well- nigh sure to ask about her father and brothers. i shall be guided in my answers by her condition. mistress martin is a sensible woman, and not a girl who will fly into hysterics and rave like a madwoman. "it may be too, she will feel the one blow less for being so taken up with the other; however, i will do the best i can in the matter, master ned. truly your friend the burgomaster is doing us right good service. i had looked to lose this voyage to england, and that the ten days i should be away would be fairly lost time; but now, although we shall not have a full hold, the freight will be ample to pay all expenses and to leave a good profit beside." as soon as the tide turned the hatches were put on, the vessel was warped out from her berth, and a few minutes later was under sail. ned had been busy helping to stow away the cargo as fast as it came on board, twice running up to see how his father was getting on. each time he was told by the woman whom the burgomaster had now engaged to act as nurse, that he was sleeping quietly. when he by pike and dyke. returned after seeing the good venture fairly under way he found on peeping quietly into the room that captain martin had just woka. "i have had a nice sleep, ned," he said, as the lad went up to his bedside. "i see it is already getting dark. has the brig sailed?" "she has just gone out of port, father. the wind ia light and it was no use starting until tide turned; although, indeed, the tides are of no great account in these inland waters. still, we had to take some ballast on board as our hold was empty, and they might meet with storms on their way home, so they had to wait for that. but, indeed, after all, they took in but little ballast, for the burgomaster bestirred himself so warmly in our favor that the merchants sent down goods as fast as we could get them on board, and short as the time was, the main-hold was well-nigh half full before we put on the hatches; so that her voyage home will not be without a good profit after all." "that is good news, ned; for although as far as i am concerned the money is of no great consequence one way or the other, i am but part owner, and the others might well complain at my sending the ship home empty to fetch my wife instead of attending to their interests." "i am sure they would not have done that, father, seeing how well you do for them, and what good money the venture earns. why, i have heard you say she re- turns her value every two years. so that they might well have gone without a fortnight's earnings without murmuring." "i don't suppose they would have murmured, ned, for they are all good friends of mine, and always seem well pleased with what i do for them. still, in matters of business it is always well to be strict and regular, and by pike and dyke. i should have deemed it my duty to have calculated the usual earnings of the ship for the time she was away, and to have paid my partners their share as if she had been trading as usual. it is not because the ship is half mine and that i and my partners made good profit out of her, that i have a right to divert her from her trade for my own purposes. as you say, my partners might be well content to let me do so; but that is not the question—i should not be content myself. "we should always in business work with a good con- science, being more particular about the interests of those who trust us than of our own. indeed, on the bare ground of expediency it is best to do so; for then, if misfortune happens, trade goes bad, or your vessel is cast away, they will make good allowance for you, knowing that you are a loser as well as they, and that at all times you have thought as much of them as of yourself. lay this always to heart, lad. it is unlikely that i shall go to sea much more, and ere long you will be in command of the good venture. always think more of the interests of those who trust you than of your own. ** they have put their money into the ship, relying upon their partner's skill and honesty and courage. even at a loss to yourself you should show them always that this confidence is not misplaced. do your duty and a little more, lad. most men do their duty. it is the little more that makes the difference between one man and the other. i have tried always to do a little more, and i have found my benefit from it in the confidence and trust of my partners in the ship, and of the merchants with whom i do business. however, i am right glad that the ship is not going back empty. i shall reckon how numb, we should have received for the freight that by pike and dyke. was promised me at amsterdam, then you will give me an account of what is to be paid by the merchants here. the difference i shall make up, as is only right, seeing that it is entirely from my own imprudence in express- ing my opinion upon affairs particular to myself, and in no way connected with the ship, that i was forced to leave without taking in that cargo." ned listened in silence to hia father's words, and, resolved to lay to heart the lessons they conveyed. he was proud of the high standing and estimation in which his father was held by all who knew him, and he now recognized fully for the first time how he had won that estimation. it was not only that he was a good sailor, but that in all things men were assured that his honor could be implicitly relied upon, and that he placed the interest of his employers beyond his own. after the first day or two ned could see but little change in his father's condition; he was very weak and low, and spoke but seldom. doubtless his bodily con- dition was aggravated now by the thought that must be ever present to him—that his active career was termi- nated. he might, indeed, be able when once completely cured to go to sea again, but he would no longer be the active sailor he had been; able to set an example of energy to his men when the winds blew high and the ship was in danger. and unless fully conscious that he was equal to discharging all the duties of his position, captain martin was not the man to continue to hold it. ned longed anxiously for the return of the good venture. he knew that his mother's presence would do much for his father, and that whatever her own sorrows might be she would cheer him. captain martin never expressed any impatience for her coming; but when each morning he asked ned, the first thing, whioa by pike and dyss. 'way the wind was blowing, his son knew well enough what he was thinking of. in the mean time ned had been making inquiries, and he arranged for the hire of a comfortable house, whose inhabitants being catholics* had, when enkhuizea declared for the prince of orange, removed to amsterdam. for although the prince in- sisted most earnestly and vigorously that religious toleration should be extended to the catholics, and that no one should suffer for their religion, all were not so tolerant; and when the news arrived of wholesale mas- sacres of protestants by alva's troops, the lower class were apt to rise in riot, and to retaliate by the destruc- tion of the property of the catholics in their towns. ned had therefore no difficulty in obtaining the use of the house, on extremely moderate terms, from the agent in whose hands its owner had placed his-affairs in enkhuizen. the burgomaster's wife had at his request engaged two female servants, and the nurse would of course accompany her patient. the burgomaster and his wife had both protested against any move being made; but ned, although thanking them earnestly for their hospitable offer, pointed out that it might be a long time before his father could be about, that it was good for his mother to have the occupation of seeing to the affairs of the house to divert her thoughts from the sick-bed, and, as it was by no means improbable that she would bring his sisters with her, it would be better in all respects that they should have a house of their own. the doctors having been consulted, agreed that it would be better for the wounded man to be among his own people, and that no harm would come of removing him carefully to another house. "a change, even a slight one, is often a benefit," thev agreed; "and more than counterbalai any by pike and dyke. slight risk that there may be in a patient's reinovafi from one place to another, providing that it be gently and carefully managed." therefore it was arranged that as soon as the good venture was seen approaching, captain martin should be carried to his new abode, where everything was kept prepared for him, and that bis wife should go direct to him there. by pikb and dyke. chapter v. bed's resolve. on the ninth morning after the departure of the brig ned was up as soon as daylight appeared, and made his way to the walls. the watchman there, with whom he had had several talks during the last two days, said: "there is a brig, hull down, seaward, and i should say that she is about the size of the one you are looking for. she looks, too, as if she were heading for this port." "i think that is she," ned said, gazing intently at the distant vessel. "it seems to me that i can make out that her jib is lighter in color than the rest of her eanvas. if that is so i have no doubt about its being the good venture, for we blew our jib away in a storm off ostend, and had a new one about four months ago." "that is her then, young master," the watchman said, shading his eyes and looking intently at the brig. ** her jib is surely of lighter color than the rest of her canvas." with this confirmation ned at once ran round to the louse he had taken, and told the servants to have fires lighted, and everything in readiness for the reception of the party. "my father," he said, "wiil be brought here in the course of an hour or so. my mother will arrive a little later.'' by pike and dykb. ned then went round to the doctor, who had promised that he would personally superintend the removing of his patient, and would bring four careful men and a litter for his conveyance. he said that he would be round at the burgomaster's in half an hour. ned then went back to his father. captain martin looked round eagerly as he entered. "yes, father," ned said, answering the look; "there is a brig in sight, which is, i am pretty sure, the good venture. she will be in port in the course of a couple of hours. i have just been round to doctor harreng, and he will be here in half an hour with the litter to take you over to the new house." captain martin gave an exclamation of deep thank- fulness, and then lay for some time with his eyes closed, and spoke but little until the arrival of the doctor and the men with the litter. "you must first of all drink this broth that has just been sent up for you," the surgeon said, " and then take a spoonful of cordial. it will be a fatigue, you know, however well we manage it; and you must be looking as bright and well as you can by the time your good wife arrives, else she will have a very bad opinion of the doctors of enkhuizen." captain martin did as he was ordered. the men then carefully raised the mattress with him upon it, and placed it upon the litter. "i think we will cover you up altogether," the doctor said, " as we go along through the streets. the morn- ing air is a good deal keener than the atmosphere of this room, and you won't want to look about." the litter was therefore completely covered with a blanket, and was then lifted and taken carefully down the broad staircase and through the streets. the by pike and dyke. burgomaster's wife had herself gone on before to see that everything was comfortably prepared, and when the bed was laid down on the bedstead and the blanket turned back captain martin saw a bright room with a fire burning on the hearth, and the burgomaster's wife and nurse beside him, while ned and the doctor were at the foot of the bed. "you have not suffered, i hope, in the moving, cap- tain martin?" the burgomaster's wife asked. "not at all," he said. "i felt somewhat faint at first, but the movement has been so easy that it soon passed off. i was glad my head was covered, for i do not think that i could have stood the sight of the passing objects." "now you must drink another spoonful of cordial,'* the doctor said, "and then lie quiet. i shall not let you see your wife when she arrives if your pulse is beat- ing too rapidly. so far you have been going on fairly, and we must not have you thrown back." "i shall not be excited," captain martin replied. "now that i know the vessel is in sight i am con- tented enough; but i have been fearing lest the brig might fall in with a spaniard as she came through the islands, and there would be small mercy for any on board had she been detected and captured. now that i know she is coming to port safely, i can wait quietly enough. now, ned, you can be off down to the port." the doctor went out with ned and charged him strictly to impress upon his mother the necessity for self-restraint and quiet when she saw her husband. "i am not over satisfied with his state," he said, " and much will depend on this meeting. if it passes off well and he is none the worse for it to-morrow, i shall look to see him mend rapidly; but if, on the other hand, he by pike and dyke. is agitated and excited, fever may set in at once, and in that case, weak as he is, his state will be very serious." "i understand, sir, and will impress it upon my mother; but i do not think you need fear for her. whatever she feels, she will, i am sure, carry out your instructions." ned went down to the port. he found that the brig was but a quarter of a mile away. he could make out female figures on board, and knew that, as he had rather expected would be the case, his mother had brought hia sisters with her. jumping into a boat he was rowed off to the vessel and climbing the side was at once in his mother's arms. already he had answered the question that peters had shouted before he was halfway from the shore and had replied that his father was going on as well as could be expected. thus when ned leaped on board his mother and the girls were in tears at the relief to the anxiety that had oppressed them during the voyage lest they should at its end find they had arrived too late. "and he is really better?" were mrs. martin's first words as she released ned from her embrace. "i don't know that he is better, mother, but he is no worse. he is terribly weak; but the doctor tells me that if no harm comes to him from his agitation in meet- ing you, he expects to see him mend rapidly. he has been rather fretting about your safety, and i think that the knowledge that you are at hand has already done him good. his voice was stronger when he spoke just before i started than it has been for some days. only, above all things, the doctor says you must restrain your feel- ings and be calm and quiet when you first meet him. and now, girls, how are you both?" he asked, turning to them. "not very well, i suppose; for i know yon by pike anb dyke. have always shown yourselves bad sailors when you have come over with mother." "the sea has not been very rough," janet said; "and except when we first got out to sea we have not beea ill." "what are you going to do about the girls?" mrs. martin asked. "of course i must go where your father is, but i cannot presume upon the kindness of strangers far as to quarter the girls upon them." "that is all arranged, mother. father agreed with me that it would not be pleasant for any of you being with strangers, and i have therefore taken a house; and he has just been moved there, so you will have him all to yourself." "that is indeed good news," mrs. martin said. "however kind people are, one is never so comfortable as at home. one is afraid of giving trouble, and alto- gether it is different. i have heard all the news, my boy. master peters tried his best to conceal it from me, but i was sure by his manner that there was something wrong. it was better that i should know at once," she went on, wiping her eyes. "terrible as it all is, i have scarce time to think about it now when my mind is taken up with your father's danger. and it hardly came upon me even as a surprise, for i have long felt that some evil must have befallen them or they would have assuredly managed to send me word of themselves before now." by this time the good venture had entered the port, and had drawn up close beside one of the wharves. as soon as the sails were lowered and the warps made fast, peters directed three of the seamen to bring up the boxes from the cabin, and to follow him. ned then led the way to the new house. by pike and dyke. "i will go up first, mother, and tell them that jot have come." mrs. martin quietly removed her hat and cloak, fol- lowed ned upstairs, and entered her husband's room with a calm and composed face. "well, my dear husband," she said almost cheerfully, * have come to nurse you. you see when you get into trouble it is us women that you men fallback upon after all." the doctor, who had retired into the next room when he heard that mrs. martin had arrived, nodded his head with a satisfied air. "she will do," he said. "i have not much fear for my patient now." ned, knowing that he would not be wanted upstairs for some time, went out with peters after the baggage had been set down in the lower room. "so you had a fine voyage of it, peters?" "we should have been better for a little more wind, both coming and going," the mate said; ** but there was nothing much to complain of." "you could not have been long in the river then, peters?" "we were six and thirty hours in port. we got in at the top of tide on monday morning, and went down with the ebb on tuesday evening. first, as in duty bound, i went to see our good dame and give her your letter, and answer her questions. it was a hard business that, and i would as lief have gone before the queen herself to give her an account of things as to have gone to your mother. of course i hoisted the flag as we passed up the river. i knew that some of them were sure to be on watch at botherhithe, and that they would run in and tell her that the good venture was in port again. i had vat.her hoped that our coming back so soon might by pike an jo dykb. sr lead her to think that something was wrong, for she would have known that we could scarce have gone to amsterdam and discharged, loaded up again, and then back here, especially as the wind had been light ever since she sailed. and sure enough the thought had struck her; for when i caught sight of the garden-gate one of your sisters was there on the lookout, and direct- ly she saw me she ran away in. i hurried on as fast as i could go then, for i knew that mistress martin would be sorely frightened when she heard that it was neither your father nor you. as i got there your mother was standing at the door. she was just as white as death. • cheer up, mistress,' i said as cheery as i could speak. *i have bad news for you, but it might have been a deal worse. the captain's got a hurt, and master ned is stopping to nurse him.' "she looked at me as if she would read me through. * that's the truth as i am a christian man, mistress,' i said. 'it has been a bad business, but it might have been a deal worse. the doctor said that he was doing well.' then your mother gave a deep sigh, and i thought for a moment she was going to faint, and ran forward to catch her; but she seemed to make an effort and straighten herself up, just as i have seen the brig do when a heavy sea has flooded her decks and swept all before it. "' thanks be to the good god that he is not taken from me,' she said. 'now i can bear anything. now, peters, tell me all about it.' "'i ain't good at telling a story, mistress martin,' i said; 'but here is master ned's letter. when you have read that maybe i can answer questions as to matters of which he may not have written. i will stand off and on in *he garden, ma'am, and then you can read it com' sp by pike and dyke. fortable-like indoors, and bail me when yon have got to the bottom of it.' it was not many minutes before one of yonr sisters called me in. they had all been crying, and i felt more uncomfortable than i did when those spanish rascals gave us a broadside, as i went in, for i was afraid she would so rake me with questions that she would get out of me that other sad business; and it could hardly be expected that even the stoutest ship should weather two such storms, one after the other. "'i don't understand it all, master peters,' she said, 'for my son gives no good reason why the spaniards should thus have attacked an english ship; but we can talk of that afterward. all that matters at present is, that my husband has been wounded and has lost his leg and lies in some danger; for although ned clearly makes the best of it, no man can suffer a hurt like that without great risk of life. he wishes me to go over at once. as to the girls, he says i can take them with me or leave them with a friend tere. but they wish, as is nat- ural, greatly to go; and it were better for all reasons that they did so. were they left here they would be in anxiety about their father's state, and as it may be long before he can be moved i should not like to leave them in other charge than my own. when will you be ready to sail again?" "' i shall be ready by to-morrow evening's tide, mis- tress martin,' i said. 'i have cargo on board that i must discharge, and must have carpenters and sail- makers on board to repair some of the damages we suffered in the action. i do not think i can possibly be ready to drop down the river before high water to-mor- row, which will be about six o'clock. i will send a boat to the stairs here at half-past five to take you and your trunks on board.' by pike and dyks. "•we shall be ready,' he said. 'as ned says that bry husband is well cared-for in the house of the burgo- master, and has every comfort and attention, there ia nothing i need take over for him.' i said that i was sure he had all he could require, and that she need take no trouble on that score, and then said that with her permission i would go straight back on board again, seeing there was much to do, and that it all came on my shoulders just at present. "i had left the bosun in charge, and told him to get the hatches off and begin to get up the cargo as soon as he had stowed the sails and make all tidy; for i had not waited for that, but had rowed ashore as soon as the anchor was dropped. so without going back to the brig i crossed the river and landed by the steps at the bridge, and took the letters to the merchants for whom i had goods, and prayed them to send off boats imme- diately, as it was urgent for me to discharge as soon as possible; then i went to the merchants whose names you had given me, and who ship goods with us regularly, to tell them that the venture was in port but would sail again tolftiorrow evening, and would take what eargo they could get on board for enkhuizen or any of the seaward ports, but not for amsterdam or other places still in the hands of the spaniards. "then i went to the lord mayor and swore an in- formation before him to lay before the queen and the council that the spaniards had wantonly, and without offense given, attacked the good venture and inflicted much damage upon her, and badly wounded her captain; and would have sunk her had we not stoutly defended ourselves and beat them off. i was glad when all that "was over. master ned; for, as you know, i know nought about writing. my business is to sail the ship under by pike and dyke. your father's oiders; but as to talking with merchant* who press you with questions, and seem to think that you have nought to do but to stand and gossip, this is not in my way, and i wished sorely that you had been with me, and could have taken all this business into your hands. "then i went down to the wharves, and soon got some carpenters at work to mend the bulwarks and put some fresh planks on the deck where the shot had ploughed it up. luckily enough i heard of a man who had some sails that he had bought from the owners of a ship which was cast away down near the mouth of the river. they were a little large for the venture; but i made a bargain with him in your father's name, and got them on board and set half a dozen sailmakers to work upon them, and they were ready by the next afternoon. the others will do again when they have got some new cloths in, and a few patches; but if we had gone out with a dozen holes in them the first spaniard who saw us, and who had heard of our fight with the don pedro, would have known us at once. "i was thankful, i can tell you, when i got on board again. just as i did so some lighters oame out, and we were hard at work till dusk getting out the cargo. the next morning at daylight fresh cargo began to come out to us, and things went on well, and would have gone better had not people come on board pestering me with questions about our fight, with the spaniards. and just at noon two of the queen's officers came down and must needs have the whole story from beginning to end; and they had brought a clerk with them to write it down from my lips. they had said we had done right gallantly, and that no doubt i should be wanted next day at the royal council to answer other questions touoh* by pike and dyke. big the affair. you may be sure i said no word about the faot that in six hours we should be dropping down the river; for like enough if i had they would have ordered me not to go, and as i should have gone whether they had or not—seeing that captain martin was look- ing for his wife, and that the mistress was anxious to be off—it might have led to trouble when i got back again. "by the afternoon we had got some thirty tons of goods on board, and although that is but a third of what she would carry, i was well content that we had done so much. after the new sails had come on board i had put a gang to work to bend them, and had all ready and the anchor up just as the tide turned. we had not dropped down many hundred yards when the boat with mistress martin and your sisters came alongside; and thankful i was when it came on dark and we were slipping down the river with a light southwesterly wind, for i had been on thorns all the afternoon lest some messenger might arrive from the council with orders for me to attend there. i did not speak much to your mother that evening, for it needs all a man's attention to work down the river at night. "the next morning i had my breakfast brought up on deck instead of going down, for, as you may guess, i did not want to have your mother questioning me; but presently your sister came up with a message to me that mistress martin would be glad to have a quarter of an hour's conversation with me as soon as duty would per- mit me to leave deck. so after, awhile i braced myself up and went below, but i tell you that j would rather have gone into action again with the don pedro. she began at once, without parley or courtesies, by firing a broadside right into me. by pikk and dykb. "' i don't think, master peters, that you have told me yet all there is to he told.' "that took me between wind and water, you see. however, i made a shift to bear up. "* well, mistress martin,' says i,' i don't say as i have given you all particulars. i don't know as i men- tioned to you as joe wiggins was struck down by a splinter from the long-boat, and was dazed for full two hours,hut he came round again all right, and was fit for duty next day.' "mrs. martin heard me quietly, and then she said: "'that will not do, john peters; you know well what i mean. you need not fear to tell me the news; i have long been fearing it. my husband is not one to talk loosely in the streets and to bring upon himself the anger of the spaniards. he must have had good cause before he said words that spoken there would place his life in peril. what has happened at vordwyk?" "well, master ned, i stood there as one struck stupid. what was there to say? i am a truthful man, but i would have told a lie if i had thought it would have been any good. b ut there she was, looking quietly at me, and i knew as she would see in a moment whether i was speaking truth or not. she waited quiet ever so long and at last i said: "' the matter is in this wise, mistress martin. my orders was i was to hold my tongue about all business not touching the captain or the affairs of this ship. when you sees the captain it's for you to ask him ques- tions, and for him to answer if he sees right and good to do so.' "she pnt her hand over her face and sat quiet for some time, and when she looked up again her eyes wera by pike and dyke. full of tears and her cheeks wet; then she said in a low tone: "all, petets—are they .all gone f "well, master ned, i was swabbing my own eyes; for it ain't in a man's nature to see a woman suffering like that, and so quiet and brave, without feeling some- how as if all the manliness had gone out of him. i could not say nothing. what could i say, knowing what the truth was? then she burst out a-crying and a-sobbing, and i steals off without a word, and goes on deck and sets the men a-hauling at the sheets and trim- ming the sails, till i know there was not one of them but cussed me in his heart and wished that the captain was back again. "mistress martin did not say no word about it after- ward. she came up on deck a few times, and asked me more about the captain, and how he looked, and what he was doing when he got his wound. and of course i told her all about it, full and particular, and how he had made every one else lie down, and stood there at the tiller as we went under the stern of the spaniard, and that none of us knew he was hit until it was all over; and how we had peppered them with our four carronades, and all about it. but mostly she stopped down below till we hauled our wind and head- ed up the zuider-zee toward enkhuizen." "well, now it is all over, peters," ned said, "there is no doubt that it is better she should have heard the news from you instead of my father having to tell her." "i don't deny that that may be so, master ned, now that it is all over and done; but never again will john peters undertake a job where he is got to keep hi» mouth shut when a woman wants to get something out of him. lor' bless you, lad, they just see right through by pike and dyke. you; and you feel that, twist and turn as you will, they will get it out of you sooner or later. there, i started with my mind quite made up that orders was to be obeyed, and that your mother was to be kept in the dark about it till she got here; and i had considered with myself that in such a case as this it would be no great weight upon my conscience if i had to make up some kind of a yarn that would satisfy her; and yet in three minutes after she got me into that cabin she was at the bottom of it all." "you see, she has been already very uneasy at not hearing for so long from her father and brothers, peters; and that and the fact that my father had spoken openly against the spanish authorities set her upon the track, and enabled her to put the questions straightforwardly to you." "i suppose that was it, sir. and now, has the cap- tain said anything about what is going to be done with the ship till he gets well?" "nothing whatever, peters. he has spoken very little upon any subject. i know he has been extremely anxious for my mother to arrive, though he has said but little about it. i fancy that for the last few days he has not thought that he should recover. but the doctor told me i must not be uneasy upon that ground, 'for that he was now extremely weak, and men, even the bravest and most resolute when in health, are apt to take a gloomy view when utterly weak and prostrate. his opinion was that my mother's coming would prob- ably cheer him up and enable him to rally. "i think, too, that he has been dreading having to tell her the terrible news about her father and brothers; and now he knows that she is aware of that it will be a load off his mind. besides, i know that for his sake by pike and dyke. she will be cheerful and bright, and with her and the girls with him, he will feel as if at home. the doctor told me that the mind has a great influence over the body, and that a man with cheerful surroundings had five chances to one as against one among strangers, and with no one to brighten him up. i have no doubt that as soon as he gets a little stronger he will arrange what is to be done with the brig, but i am sure it will be a long time before he can take the command again him- self." "ay, i fear it will be," peters agreed. "it is a pity you are not four or five years older, master ned. i do not say that i couldn't bring the ship into any port in holland ; for, having been sailing backward and forward here, man and boy, for over thirty years, i could do so pretty nigh blindfold. but what is the good of bringing a ship to a port if you have not got the head to see about getting a cargo for her, and cannot read the bills of lading, or as much as sign your name to a customs list. "no, master ned, i am not fit for a captain, that ia quite certain. but though i would not mind serving under another till your father is fit to take charge again i could not work on board the venture under another for good. i have got a little money saved up, and would rather buy a share in a small coaster and be my own master there. after serving under your father for nigh twenty years, i know i should not get on with another skipper nohow." "well, peters, it is no use talking it over now, be- cause i have no idea what my father's decision will be, i hope above all things that he will be able to take com- mand again, but i have great doubts in my mind wheth- er he will ever do so. if he had lost the leg below the by pike and dykx. knee it wtoid not so much have mattered ; but aa it is, with the whole leg stiff, he would have great difficulty in getting about, especially if the ship was rolling in a heavy sea." john peters shook his head gravely, for this was the very thing he had turned in his mind over and over again during the voyage to and from england. "your cargo is not all for this place, i suppose, peters?" "no, sir. only two or three tons which are down m the forehold together are for enkhuizen, the rest are for leyden and the hague. i told the merchants that if they put their goods on board i must sail past the ports and make straight on to enkhuizen ; for that first of all i must bring mistress martin to the captain, but that i would go round and discharge their goods as soon as i had brought her here. it was only on these terms i agreed to take the cargo." "that will do very well, peters. i will go on board with you at once, and see to whom your goods are con- signed here, and warn them to receive them at once. you will get them on shore by to-night, and then to- morrow i will sail with you to leyden and the hague, and aid you in getting your cargo into the right hands there. now that my mother and the girls are here my father will be able to spare me. we can be back here again in four or five days, and by that time i hope he will be so far recovered as to be able to think matters over, and come to some decision as to the future man- agement of the brig. of course if he wishes me to stay on board her i shall obey his orders, whether you or another are the captain." "why, of course you will remain on board, master ned. what else should you do?" by pikb and dyke. r m well, peters, my own mind is set upon joining the prince of orange, and fighting against the spaniards. before i sailed from home i told my sisters that was what i was longing to do, for i could scarce sleep for thinking of all the cruelties and massacres that they carried out upon the people of the netherlands, who are, by my mother's side, my kinsfolk. since then i hare scarce thought of aught else. they have mur- dered my grandfather and uncles and one of my aunts; they have shot, away my father's leg, and would have taken his life had he not escaped out of their hands; bo that what was before a longing is now a fixed idea, and if my father will but give me permission, assuredly i will carry it out. "there are many english volunteers who have already crossed the sea to fight against these murderers, although unconnected by ties of blood as i am, and who have been brought here to fight solely from pity and horror, and because, as all know, spain is the enemy of england as well as of the netherlands, and would put down our freedom and abolish our religion as she has done here. i know that my wishes, in this as in all other matters, must give way to those of my father. still i hope he may be moved to consent to them." ned thought it better to allow his father and mother to remain quietly together for some time, and did not therefore return to the house until twelve o'clock, when he knew that dinner would be prepared; for his mother was so methodical in her ways that everything would go on just as at home directly she took charge of the affairs of the house. he went up for a few minutes before dinner, and was struck with the change in the expression of his father's face. there was a peaceful and contented look in his eyes, and it almost seemed to by pike and dykr. ned that his face was less hollow and drawn than b©« fore. ned told him that it would be necessary for the brig to go round to leyden and the hague, and that peters had proposed that he should go with him to see the merchants, and arrange the business part of the affair. "that will do very well," captain martin said. "you are young, ned, to begin having dealings with the dutch merchants, but when you tell them how it comes that i am not able to call upon them myself, they will doubtless excuse your youth." "do you wish us to take any cargo there, father, if we can get any?" captain martin did not answer for some little time, then he said: "no, ned, i think you had best return here in the ship. by that time i shall, i hope, be capable of think- ing matters over, and deciding upon my arrangements for the future. when is peters thinking of sailing?" "by to-morrow morning's tide, sir. he said that he could be ready perhaps by this evening; but that unless you wished it otherwise he would not start till to- morrow's tide, as he will thereby avoid going out between the islands at night." "that will be the best way, ned. if the winds are fair he will be at the hague before nightfall." the day after his return ned took an opportunity of speaking to his mother as to his wish to take service with the prince of orange, and to aid in the efforts that the people of the netherlands were making to free themselves from their persecutors. his mother, as he feared would be the case, expressed a strong opposition to his plan. "you are altogether too young, ned, even if it were a matter that eoncerned you?" by pike and dyke. "it does concern me, mother. are you not dutch? and though i was born in england and a subject of the queen, it is natural i should feel warmly in the matter; besides we know that many english are already coming over here to help. have not the spanish killed my relations, and unless they are driven back they will altogether exterminate the protestants of the nether- lands? have they not already been doomed to death regardless of age and sex by philip's proclamation? and do not the spaniards whenever they capture a town slay well-nigh all within it?" "that is all true enough," his mother agreed; "but proves in no way that you are a fit age to meddle in the affair." "i am sixteen, mother; and a boy of sixteen who has been years at sea is as strong as one of eighteen brought up on the land. tou have told me yourself that i look two or three years older than i am, and methinks i have strength to handle pike and axe." "that may be perfectly true," said mrs. martin, * but even supposing all other things were fitting, how could we spare you now when your father will be months before he can follow his trade on the sea again, even if he is ever able to do so?" "that is the thing, mother, that weighs with me. i know not what my father's wishes may be in that respect, and of course if he holds that i can be of use to him must give up my plan; but i want you at any rate to mention it to him. and i pray you not to add your objections, but to let him decide on the matter ac- cording to his will." "there will be no occasion for me to add objections, ned. i do not think your father will listen to such a mad scheme for a moment." by pike and dyks. it was not until three or four days later that mrs. martin, seeing that her husband was stronger and better, and was taking an interest in what passed in the house, fulfilled her promise to ned by telling his father of his wishes. "you must not be angry with him," she said when she had finished; "for he spoke beautifully, and ex- pressed himself as perfectly willing to yield his wishes to yours in the matter. i told him, of course, that it was a mad-brained scheme, and not to be thought of. still, as he w»s urgent i should lay it before you, i promised to do so." captain martin did not, as his wife expected, instantly declare that such a plan was not to be thought of even for a moment, but lay for some time apparently turning it oyer in his mind. "i know not quite what to say," he said at length. "not know what to say?" his wife repeated in sur- prise. "why, husband, you surely cannot for a moment think of allowing ned to embark in so wild a business." "there are many english volunteers coming over; some of them not much older, and not so fit in bodily strength for the work as ned. he has, too, the advan- tage of speaking the language, and can pass anywhere as a native. you are surprised, sophie, at my thinking of this for a moment." "but what would you do without him?" she ex- claimed in astonishment. "that is what i have been thinking as i lay here. i have been troubled what to do with ned. he is too young yet to entrust with all the business of the ship, and the merchants here and at home would hesitate in doing business with a lad. moreover, he is too young to be first mate on board the brig. peters is a worthy by pike and dyke. ill man and a good sailor, but he can neither read nor write and knows naught of business; and, therefore, until i am able, if i ever shall be, to return to the good ven- ture, i must have a good seaman as first mate, and a supercargo to manage the business affairs of the ship. were ned four years older he could be at once first mate and supercargo. there, you see your objection that i need him falls to the ground. as to other reasons i will think them over, and speak to you another time." . st pike and dyes. chapter vi. the prince op orange. mistress martin was much troubled in her mind by what seemed to her the unaccountable favor with which her husband had received ned's proposal. she did not, however, allow any trace of this feeling to escape her, nor did she mention to ned that she had as yet spoken as to his wishes to his father. the next day captain martin himself renewed the subject. "i told you yesterday, sophia, why in my opinion ned would at present be of little aid to me in the matter of the brig, and may even go further in that respect and say that i think for a time it will be just as well that he were not on board. having no established position there would be no special duties for him to perform. now, i have made a point of telling him all about the consignments and the rates of freight, and have encour- aged him always to express his opinion freely on these matters in order that his intelligence might thereby be quickened; but if he so expressed himself to the super- cargo the latter might well take offense and difficulties arise, therefore before you spoke to me i had quite re- solved that it would be best he should sail no more in the good venture until old enough to come in and take the place of second mate and supercargo, but that i would place him with some captain of my acquaintance, tinder who*?-, he would continue to learn his duty fo^ the next th ^our years." by pike and dykb. * tha' is a good reason, doubtless, husband, why ned thould not sail in the venture, but surely no reason at all why he should carry out this mad fancy of his." "no reason, i grant you, wife; but it simply shows that it happens at this moment we can well spare him. as to the main question, it is a weighty one. other young englishmen have come out to fight for the neth- erlands with far less cause than he has to mix themselves up in its affairs. moreover, and this principally, it is borne strongly upon my mind that it may be that this boy of ours is called upon to do good service to holland. it seems to me, wife," he went on, in answer to the look of astonishment upon his wife's face, " that the hand of providence is in this matter. "i have always felt with you a hatred of the span- iards and a deep horror at the cruelties they are perpe- trating upon this unhappy people, and have thought that did the queen give the order for war against them i would gladly adventure my life and ship in such an enterprise ; further than that i have not gone. but upon that day when i heard the news of your father and brother's murder i took a solemn oath to heaven of vengeance against their slayers, and resolved that on my return to england i would buy out my partners in the good venture, and with her join the beggars of the sea and wage war to the death against the spaniards. it has been willed otherwise, wife. within twenty-four hours of my taking that oath i was struck down, and my fighting powers were gone forever. "my oath was not accepted. i was not to be an instrument of god's vengeance upon these murderers. now, our son, without word or consultation with me, feels called upon to take up the work i cannot perform. it happens strangely that he can for the next two or three by pike and dyke. years be well spared from his life at sea. that the boy will do great feats i do not suppose; but he is cool and courageous, for i marked his demeanor under fire the other day. and it may be that though he may do no great things in fighting he may be the means in saving some woman, some child, from the fury of the spaniards. if he saved but one, the next three years of his life will not have been misspent." "but he may fall—he may be killed by the span- iards!" mistress martin said in great agitation. *' if it be the will of god, wife, not otherwise. he is exposed to danger every time he goes to sea. more than once since he first came on board, the "venture has been in dire peril; who can say that her next voyage may not be her last. however, i decide nothing now; to- morrow i will speak to the boy myself and gather from his words whether this is a mere passing fancy, natural enough to his age and to the times, or a deep longing to venture his life in the cause of a persecuted people whose blood runs in his veins, and who have a faith which is his own and ours." mrs. martin said no more; her husband's will had, since she married, been in all matters of importance law to her, and was more so than ever now that he lay weak and helpless. his words and manner too had much impressed her. her whole sympathies were passionately with her countrymen, and the heavy losses she had so recently sustained had added vastly to her hatred of the spaniards. the suggestion, too, of her husband that though ned might do no great deeds as a soldier he might be the means of saving some woman or child's life, appealed to her womanly feelings. she had girls of her own, and the thought that one of like age might possibly be saved from the horror if the by pike and dyke. sack of a city by ned's assistance appealed to her with great force. she went about the house for the rest of the day subdued and quiet. ned was puzzled at her demeanor, and had he not seen for himself that his father was progressing satisfactorily he would have thought that some relapse bad taken place, some unfavorable symptom appeared. but this was clearly not the reason, and he could only fancy that now his mother's anxiety as to his father's state was in some degree abating, she was beginning to feel the loss of her father and brothers all the more. that the request she had promised to make in his name to his father had anything to do with the matter did not enter his mind. indeed, he had begun to regret that he had made it. not that his intense longing to take service against the spaniards was in any way abated, but he felt it was selfish, now that he might for the first time be of real use to his parents, for him thus to propose to embark in adventures on his own account. he had asked his mother to put the matter before his father, but he had scarce even a hope the latter would for a mo- ment listen to the proposal. the next morning after breakfast, as he was about to start for a stroll to the wharf to have a talk with peters, his mother said to him quietly: u put aside your cap, ned, your father wishes to speak to you." she spoke so gravely that ned ascended the stairs in bome perturbation of spirit. doubtless she had spoken to his father, and the latter was about to rate him se- verely for his folly in proposing to desert his duty, and to embark in so wild an adventure as that he had proposed. he was in no way reassured by the grave tone in which his father said: "place that chair by my bedside, ned, and sit down j by pike and dyke. my voice is not strong and it fatigues me to speak loud. and now," he went on, when ned with a shamefaced expression had seated himself by the bedside," this desire that your mother tells me of to fight against the span- iards for a time in the service of the prince of orange, how did it first come to you?" "ever since i heard the terrible story of the persecu- tions here," ned replied. "i said to myself then when i came to be a man i would take revenge for these horrible murders. since then the more i have heard of the persecutions that the people here have suffered in the cause of their religion, the more i have longed to be able to give them such aid as i could. i have spoken of it over and over again to my sisters; but i do not think that i should ever have ventured to put my desire into words, had it not been for the terrible news he learned at vordwyk. now, however, that they have killed my grandfather and uncles and have wounded you, i long more than ever to join the patriots here; and of course the knowledge that many young englishmen were coming out to brill and flushing as volunteers added to my desire. i said to myself if they who are english are ready to give their lives in the cause of the holland- ers, why should not i, who speak their language and am of their blood?" "you have no desire to do great deeds or to distin- guish yourself?" " captain martin asked. "no, father; i have never so much as thoughtof that. i could not imagine that i, as a boy, could be of any great service. i thought i might, perhaps, being so young, be able to be of use in passing among the spaniards and carrying messages where a man could not get through. i thought sometimes i might perhaps carry a warning in time to enable women to escape witn their children by pike and dtkm t from a town that was about to be beleaguered, and i hoped that if i did stand in the ranks to face the spani- ards i should not disgrace my nation and blood. i know, father, that, it was presumptuous for me to think that i could be of any real use; and if you are against it i will, of course, as i told my mother, submit myself cheerfully to your wishes." "i am glad to see, ned, that in this matter you are actuated by right motives, and not moved by any boyish idea of adventure or of doing feats of valor. this is no ordinary war, my boy. there is none of the chivalry of past times in the struggle here. it is one of life and death—grim, earnest, and determined. on one aide is philip with the hosts of spain, the greatest power in europe, determined to crush out the life of these poor provinces, to stamp out the religion of the country, to leave not one man, woman, or child alive who refuses to attend mass and to bow the knee before the papist images; on the other side you have a poor people tenanting a land snatched from the sea, and held by constant and enduring labor, equally determined that they will not abjure their religion, that they will not permit the inquisition to be established among them, and ready to give lives and homes and all in the cause of religious liberty. they have no thought of throwing off their allegiance to spain, if spain will but be toler- ant. the prince of orange issues his orders and proc- lamations as the stadholder and lieutenant of the king, and deolares that he is warring for philip, and designs only to repel those who, by their persecution and cruelty, are dishonoring the royal cause. "this cannot go on forever, and in time the nether- lands will be driven to entreat some other foreign mon- arch to take them under his protection. in this war by pike and dyke. whose desire to take up the work he had intended to carry out, just at this moment, seemed to him to be a special design of providence. "now ned," he concluded, "you understand the reasons that sway me in giving my consent to your desire to do what you can for the cause of religion and liberty. i do not propose that you should at present actually take up arms that i question if you are strong enough to wield. i will pray the burgomaster to give you letters of introduction to the prince, saying you are a young englishman ready find desirous of doing all that lies in your power for the cause; that you speak the language as a native, and will be ready to carry his messages wheresoever he may require them to be sent; that you can be relied upon to be absolutely faithful, and have entered the cause in no light spirit or desire for personal credit or honor, but as one who has suffered great wrong in the loss of near relatives at the bands of the spaniards, and is wishful only of giving such services as he can to the cause. "it may be that coming with such recommendation the prince will see some way in which he can turn your services to account. and now leave me, my boy. i am wearied with all this talking; and although i deem that it is not my duty to withstand your wishes, it is no slight trial to see my only son embark in so terrible and perilous an adventure as this. but the cause i regard as a sacred one, and it seems to me that i have no right to keep you from entering upon it, as your mind lies that way." ned left the room greatly impressed with his father's words. he was glad indeed that the permission he had asked for had been granted, and that he was free to devote himself to the cause so dear to most englishmen, by pike and dyke. and doubly so to him from his relations with the country. sailing backward and forward to the various ports in the netherlands, and able to hold intercourse with all he met, he had for years been listening to tales of atrocity and horror, until he had come to regard the spaniards as human monsters, and to long with all his heart and strength to be able to join the oppressed people against their tyrants. now he had got permission to do so. but he felt more than he had done before the serious nature of the step which he was taking; and although he did not for a moment regret the choice he had made, he was con- scious of its importance and of the solemn nature of the duties he took upon himself in thus engaging in the struggle between the netherlands and spain. he passed the room where his mother was sitting, went over and kissed her, and then taking his cap passed out into the street and mounted the ramparts, where he could think undisturbed. his father's words had not shaken his determination, although they had depressed his enthu- siasm; but as he paced up and down, with the fresh air from the sea blowing upon his cheek, the feeling of youth and strength soon sent the blood dancing through his veins again. his cheeks flushed, and his eyes brightened. "there is honor and glory in the struggle," he said. *' did not the people, old and young, pour out to the crusades to wrest jerusalem from the hands of the infidels? this is a more glorious task. it is to save god's followers from destruction; to succor the op- pressed; to fight for women and children as well as for men. it is a holier and nobler object than that for which the crusaders fought. they died in hundred* of thousands by heat, by famine, thirst, and the swords pike and dyke. of the enemy. few of those who fought ever returned home to reap glory for their deeds; but there was honor for those who fell. and in the same spirit in which even women and children left their homes, and went in crowds to die for the holy sepulcher, so will i venture my life for religion and freedom here." an hour later he returned home; he could see that his mother had been crying. "mother," he said, " i trust you will not grieve over this. i have been thinking how the women of the early days sent their husbands and sons and lovers to fight for the holy sepulcher. i think that this cause is an even greater and more noble one; and feel sure that though you may be anxious, you will not grudge me to do my best for our religion and country people." "truly i think it is a holy cause, my boy; and after what your father has said, i would not if i could say nay. i can only pray that heaven will bless and keep you, and one day restore you to me. but you will not be always fighting, ned. there is no saying how long the struggle may last; and if i let you go, it is with the promise that at one-and-twenty at the latest, you will return to us, and take your place again as your father's right hand and mine." "i promise you, mother, that then, or if at any time before that you write and say to me come home, i will come." "i am content with that," his mother said. that afternoon ned told peters what had been de- cided, and the following morning the latter had a long talk with captain martin, who directed him to apply to the other owners of the ship to appoint him an able first mate, and also to choose one of their clerks in whom they rr' lonfidence to sail in the vessel as su- rgo. by pike and dyke. "the doctors tell me, peters, that in two or three months i may be able to return home and to get about on crutches, but they advise me that it will be at least another four months before i can strap on a wooden leg and trust my weight to it. when i can do that, i shall see how i can get about. you heard from ned last night that he is going to enter as a sort of volunteer under the prince of orange?" "yes, he told me, captain martin. he is a lad of spirit; and if i were fifteen years younger i would go with him." "he is young for such work yet," captain martin said doubtfully. "he is a strong youth, captain martin, and can do a man's work. his training at sea has made him steady and cool; and i warrant me, if he gets into danger, he will get out again if there is a chance. i only hope, captain martin, that the brush we have had with the spaniards will not be our last, and that we too may be in the way of striking a blow at the spaniards." "i hope that we may, peters," captain martin said earnestly. "my mind is as much bent upon it as is ned's and i will tell you what must at present be known only to yourself, that i have made up my mind that if i recover, and can take command of the good venture again, i will buy up the other shares, so that i can do what i like with her without accounting to any man. i need not do so much on board as i used to do, but will get you a good second mate, and will myself only direct. then we will, as at present, trade between london and the netherlands; but if, as is likely enough, the spaniards and hollanders come to blows at sea, or the prince needs ships to cany troops to beleaguered towns, then for a time we will quit trading and will by pike and dyke. join with the good venture, and strike a blow at ■ea." "that is good hearing, captain martin," peters said, rubbing his hands. "i warrant me you will not find one of the crew backward at that work, and for my part i should like nothing better than to tackle a spaniard who does not carry more than two or three times our own strength. the last fellow was a good deal too big for us, but i believe if we had stuck to him we should have beaten him in the end, big as he was." "perhaps we might, peters; but the ship was not mine to risk then, and we had cargo on board. if, in the future, we meet a spaniard when the ship is mine to venture, and our hold is clear, the good venture shall not show him her stern i warrant you, unless he be big enough to eat us." on the following day the good venture set sail for england, and the burgomaster having received a mes- sage from captain martin, praying him to call upon him, paid him a visit. captain martin unfolded hia son's plans to him, and prayed him to furnish him with a letter to the prince recommending him as one who might be trusted, and who was willing to risk his life upon any enterprise with which he might intrust him. this the burgomaster at once consented to do. "younger lads than he," he said," have fought stoutly on the walls of some of our towns against the spaniards; and since such is his wish, i doubt not he will be able to do good service. all holland has heard how your ship beat off the don pedro; and the fact that the lad is your son, and took part in the fight, will at once commend him to the prince. all englishmen are gladly received; not only because they come to fight as volun- teers on our side, but as a pledge that the heart of by pike and dyke. england is with us, and that sooner or later she will join us in our struggle against spain. and doubtless, as you say, the fact that the lad is by his mother's side one of us, and that he can converse in both our language and yours with equal ease, is greatly in his favor. to- morrow i will furnish him with letters to the prince, and also to two or three gentlemen of my acquaintances, who are in the prince's councils." when the burgomaster had left, captain martin called ned in. "now, you are going as a volunteer, ned, and for a time, at any rate, there must be no question of pay; you are giving your services and not selling them. in the first place you must procure proper attire, in which to present yourself to the prince; you must also purchase a helmet, breast and back pieces, with sword and pistols. as for money, i shall give you a purse with sufficient for your present needs, and a letter which you can pre- sent to any of the merchants in the seaports with whom we have trade, authorizing you to draw upon me, and praying them to honor your drafts. do not stint your- self of money, and do not be extravagant. your needs will be small, and when serving in a garrison or in the field you will, of course, draw rations like others. i need not give you a list of the merchants in the various towns, since you already know them, and have been with me at many of their places of business. in regard to your actions, i say to you do not court danger, but do not avoid it. the cause is a good one, and you are risking your life for it; but remember also that you are an only son, and there are none to fill your place if you fall. therefore be not rash; keep always cool in danger, and if there is a prospect of escape seize it promptly. remember that your death can in no way by pike and dyke. ned at once made his way to the house occupied by the prince. there were no guards at the gate, or any sigu of martial pomp. the door stood open, and when ned entered a page accosted him and asked him his business. "i have letters for the prince," he said, "which i pray you to hand to him when he is at leisure." "in that case you would have to wait long," the page replied, " for the prince is at work from early morning until late at night, however, he is always open of access to those who desire to see him, therefore if you will give me the name of the writer of the letter you bear i will inform him, and you can then deliver it yourself." a minute later ned was shown into the presence of the man who was undoubtedly the foremost of his age. born of a distinguished family, william of orange had been brought up by a pious mother, and at the age of twelve had become a page in the family of the em- peror charles. so great was the boy's ability, that at fifteen he had become the intimate and almost confiden- tial friend of the emperor, who was a keen judge of merit. before he reached the age of twenty-one he waa named commander-in-chief of the army on the french frontier. when the emperor charles resigned, the prince was appointed by philip to negotiate a treaty with france, and had conducted these negotiations with extreme ability. the prince and the duke of alva remained in france as hostages for the execution of the treaty. alva was secretly engaged in arranging an agreement between philip and henry for the extirpation of protestantism, and the general destruction of all those who held that faith. the french king, believ- ing that the prince of orange was also in the secret, by p ee and dyke. spoke to him one day when out hunting freely on tha subject, and gave him all the details of the understand- ing that had been entered into for a general massacre of the protestants throughout the dominions of france and spain. the prince of orange neither by word or look indicat- ed that all this was new to him, and the king remained in ignorance of how completely he had betrayed the plans of himself and philip. it was his presence of mind and reticence, while listening to this astounding relation, that gained for the prince of orange the title of william the silent. horror-struck at the plot he had discovered, the prince from that moment threw himself into the cause of the protestants of the netherlands, and speedily became the head of the movement, devoting his whole property and his life to the object. so far it had brought him only trials and troubles. his estate and that of his brothers had been spent in the service ; he had incurred enormous debts; the armies of german mercenaries he had raised had met with defeat and ruin; the people of the netherlands, crushed down with the apathy of despair, had not lifted a finger to assist the forces that had marched to their aid. it was only when almost by an accident brill had been captured by the sea beggars that the spark he had for so many years been trying to fan burst into flame in the provinces of holland and zeeland. the prince had been sustained through his long and hitherto fruitless struggle by a deep sense of religion. he believed that god was with him and would eventually save the people of the netherlands from the fate to which philip had doomed them. and yet, though an ardent protestant, and in an age when protestants were well nigh as bigoted as catholics, and when the idea of relig* by pike and dyke. ious freedom had scarce entered into the minds of men, the prince was perfectly tolerant, and from the first insisted that in all the provinces over which he exercised authority the same perfect freedom of worship should be granted to the catholics that he claimed for the protest- ants in the catholic states of the netherlands. he had not always been a protestant. when appoint- ed by philip stadtholder of holland, friesland, utrecht, he had been a moderate catholic. but his thoughts were but little turned to religious subjects, and it was as a patriot and a man of humane nature that he had been shocked at the discovery that he had made, of the deter- mination of the kings of france and spain to extirpate the protestants. he used this knowledge first to secretly urge the people of the netherlands to agitate for the re- moval of the spanish troops from the country; and al- though he had secret instructions from philip to enforce the edicts against all heretics with vigor, he avoided doing so as much as was in his power, and sent private warnings to many whom he knew to be in danger of arrest. as governor of the netherlands at the age of twenty- six, he was rich, powerful, and of sovereign rank. he exercised a splendid hospitality, and was universally beloved by the whole community for the charm of his manner and his courtesy to people of all ranks. even at this period the property which he had inherited from his father, and that he had received with his first wife, anne of egmont, the richest heiress of the netherlands, had been seriously affected by his open-handed hospi- tality and lavish expenditure. his intellect was acknowl- edged to be of the highest class. he had extraordi- nary adroitness and capacity for conducting state affairs. his knowledge of human nature was profound. he by pike and dyke. had studied deeply, and spoke and wrote with facility. latin, french, german, flemish, and spanish. the epithet silent was in no way applicable to his general character. he could be silent when speech was dangerous, but at other times he was a most cheerful and charming companion, and in public the most eloquent orator and the most brilliant controversialist of his age. thirteen years had passed since then, thirteen years spent in incessant troubles and struggles. the brilliant governor of philip in thenetherlands had for years been an exile; the careless catholic had become an earnest and sincere protestant; the wealthy noble had been harassed with the pecuniary burdens he had undertaken in order to raise troops for the rescue of his country- men. he had seen his armies defeated, his plans overthrown, his countrymen massacred by tens of thousands, his core- ligionists burnt, hung, and tortured, and it was only now that the spirit of resistance was awakening among his countrymen. but misfortune and trial had not soured his temper: his faith that sooner or later the cause would triumph had never wavered. his patience was inexhaustible, his temper beyond proof. the in- capacity of many in whom he had trusted, the jealousies and religious differences which prevented anything like union between the various states, the narrowness and jealousy even of those most faithful to the cause, would have driven most men to despair. upon his shoulders alone rested the whole weight of the struggle. it was for him to plan and carry out, to negotiate with princes, to organize troops, to raise money to compose jealousies, to rouse the lukewarm and appeal to the waverers. every detail, great and small, had to be elaborated by him. so far it was not the netherlands by pike and dyke. it was william of orange alone who opposed himself to the might of the greatest power in europe. such was the prince to whom ned martin was now introduced, and it was with a sense of the deepest rev- erence that he entered the chamber. he saw before him a man looking ten years older than he really was: whose hair was grizzled and thin from thought and care, whose narrow face was deeply marked by the lines of anxiety and trouble, but whose smile was as kindly, whose man- ner as kind and gracious as that which had distinguished it when william was the brilliant young stadtholder of the emperor philip. es all matiz les tiili mizunun vin va varuldased p.& d. in the presence of william thb silent.–page ... by pike and.dyks. i chapter vii. a dangerous mission. **i hear you have a letter for me from my good friend the burgomaster of enkhuizen," the prince of orange said, as ned with a deep reverence approached the table at which he was sitting. "he sends me no ill news, i hope?" "no, your excellency," ned said: "it is on a matter personal to myself that he has been good enough to write to you, and i crave your pardon beforehand for occupy- ing your time for a moment with so unimportant a sub- ject." the prince glanced at him keenly as he was speaking and saw that the young fellow before him was using no mere form of words, bnt that he really felt embarrassed at the thought that he was intruding upon his labors. he opened the letter and glanced down it. "ah! you are english," he said in surprise. "i thought you a countryman of mine." "my mother is from holland, sir," ned replied; "and has brought me up to speak her language as well as my father's and to feel that holland is my country as much as england." "and you are the son of the english captain, who, lately, as i heard, being stopped in his passage down the zuider-zee by the spanish ship don pedro, defended himself so stoutly that he inflicted great loss and dam- age upon the spaniard, and brought his ship into enk- by pike and dykb. huizen without further damage than a grievous wound to himself. the burgomaster tells me that you are anxious to enter my service as a volunteer, and that you have the permission of your parents to do so. many of your brave compatriots are already coming over j and i am glad indeed of their aid, which i regard as an omen that england will some day bestir herself on our behalf. but you look young for such rough work, young sir. i should not take you for more than eighteen." "i am not yet eighteen, sir," ned said, although he did not think it necessary to mention that he still want- ed two years to that age. "but even children and women have aided in the defense of their towns." "it is somewhat strange," the prince said, "that your parents should have countenanced your thus embarking in this matter at so young an age." "the spaniards have murdered my grandfather, three of my uncles, and an aunt; and my father would, had it not been that he is disabled by the wound he received, and which has cost him the loss of a leg, have himself volunteered," ned replied. "but, sir, if you think me too young as yet to fight in the ranks, my father thought that you might perhaps make use of me in other ways. i have sailed up every river in the netherlands, having been for the last five years in my father's ship trading with these ports, and know their navigation and the depth of water. if you have letters that jrou want car- ried to your friends in flanders, and would intrust them to me, i would deliver them faithfully for you whatever the risk; and being but a boy, could pass perhaps where a man would be suspected. i only ask, sir, to be put to such use as you can make of me, whatever it may be, deeming my life but of slight account in so great and good a cause." by pike and dyke. ** no man can offer more," the prince said kindly. "i like your face, young sir, and can see at once that you can be trusted, and that you have entered upon this mat- ter in a serious spirit. your father has proved himself to be a brave fighter and a skillful sailor, and i doubt not that you are worthy of him. your youth is no drawback in my eyes, seeing that i myself, long before i reached your age, was mixed up in state affairs, and that the emperor charles, my master, did not disdain to listen to my opinions. i accept your offer of service in the name of the netherlands; and deeming that, as you say, you may be of more service in the way of which you have spoken than were i to attach you to one of the regiments i am raising, i will for the present appoint you as a volunteer attached to my own house- hold, and, trust me, i will not keep you long in idle- ness." he touched a bell and the page entered. "take this gentleman," he said, "to count nieuwenar, and tell him that he is to have rank as a gentleman volunteer, and will at present remain as a member of my house- hold, and be treated as such." with a kindly nod he dismissed ned, who was so affected by the kindness of manner of the prince that he could only murmur a word or two of thanks and assur- ances of devotion. one of the burgomaster's letters, of which ned was the bearer, was to count nieuwenar, the prince's chamberlain, and when the page introduced him to that officer with the message the prince had given him ned handed to him the burgomaster's letter. the count ran his eye down it. "my friend the burgomaster speaks highly in your praise, young sir," he said; "and although it needed not that since the prince himself has been pleased to appoint you to his household, yet i am glad to receive by pike and dyke. so good a report of you. all holland and zeeland have been talking of the gallant fight that your father's ship made against the spaniard; and though i hear that the queen of england has made remonstrances to the span- ish ambassador as to this attack upon an english ship, methinks that it is the spaniards who suffered most in the affair." "would you kindly instruct me, sir, in the duties that i have to perform." "there are no duties whatever," the count said with a smile. "there is no state or ceremony here. the prince lives like a private citizen, and all that you have to do is to behave discreetly, to present yourself at the hours of meals, and to be in readiness to perform any service with which the prince may intrust you; although for what service he destines you, i own that i am in ig- norance. but," he said more gravely, "the prince is not a man to cumber himself with persona who are use- less to him, nor to keep about his person any save those upon whose fidelity he is convinced that he can rely. therefore i doubt not that he will find work for you to do, for indeed there is but little ease and quiet for those who serve him. this afternoon i will find for you an apartment, and i may tell you that although you will have at present no duties to perform, and need not there- fore keep in close attendance, it would be better that you should never be very long absent: for when the prince wants a thing done he wants it done speedily, and values most those upon whom he can rely at all times of the night and day. return here at noon, and i will then present you to the gentlemen and officers with whom you will associate." on leaving the chamberlain ned walked for some time through the streets of rotterdam. he «-freely by pike and dyke. noticed where he went, so full were his thoughts of the reception that he had met with, and the more than real- ization of his hopes. the charm of manner, as well as the real kindness of the prince, had completely captiv- ated him, as indeed they did all who came in contact with him, and he felt that no dangers he could run, no efforts he could make would be too great if he could but win the approbation of so kind a master. he presented him- self to the chamberlain at the hour named, and the latter took him to a large hall in which many officers and gentlemen were about to sit down to dinner, and introduced ned to them as the son of the english cap- tain who had so bravely beaten off the don pedro, and whom the prince of orange had received into his house- hold in the quality of a gentleman volunteer. ned was well received, both on his own account and from the good-will that was entertained toward england. although personally the prince of orange kept up no state and lived most simply and quietly, he still main- tained an extensive household, and extended a generous hospitality more suited to his past wealth than to his present necessities. he had the habits of a great noble; and although pressed on all sides for money, and some- times driven to make what he considered great econo- mies in his establishment, his house was always open to his friends and adherents. certainly in the meal to which he sat down ned saw little signs of economy. there was but little silver plate on the table, for the prince's jewels and plate had been pledged years before for the payment of the german mer- cenaries ; but there was an abundance of food of all kinds generous wine in profusion, and the guests were served by numerous pages and attendants. on the following day the prince rode to haarlem, accompanied by his by pike and dyke. household and a hundred horsemen, for at haarlem he had summoned a meeting of the representatives of the states that still remained faithful to him. as soon as they were settled in the quarters assigned to them ned sallied out to make inquiries concerning the relatives with whom his aunt and cousins had taken refuge. as he knew her maiden name he had no great difficulty in learning the part of the town in which her father dwelt and knowing that the prince would at any rate for the rest of the day be wholly absorbed in important business, made his way thither, introducing himself to the burgher. "ah " the latter said, "i have often heard my daughter speak of her sister-in-law who had married and settled in england. so you are her son? well, you will find her house in the street that runs along by the city wall, near the watergate. it was well that she happened to be laid up with illness at the time alva's ruffians seized and murdered her husband and his family. she was well-nigh distraught for a time, and well she might be; though, indeed, her lot is but that of tens of thousands of others in this unhappy country. i would gladly have welcomed her here, but i have another married daughter who lives with me and keeps my louse for me, and as she has half a dozen children the louse is well-nigh full. and elizabeth longed for quiet in her sorrow, so i established her in the little house i tell you of. i have been going to write to your father, fcut have put it off from time to time, for one has so much to think of in these days that one has no time for private matters. she tells me that her husband and his "brothers had, foreseeing the evil times coming, sent money to england to his care, and that it has been in- vested in houses in london." "i believe that is so," ned replied; "and my father, by pike and dyke. who is at present lying sorely wounded at enkhuizen, will, i am sure, now that he knows where my aunt is, communicate with her by letter on the subject. i will give you his address at enkhuizen, and as it is but a short journey from here you might perhaps find tim'e to go over and see him, when he will be able to talk freely with you on the subject. now, with your permission i will go and see my aunt." ned had no difficulty in finding the house indicated. he knocked at the door, and it was opened by his aunt herself. she looked up for a moment inquiringly, and then exclaimed: "why, it is my nephew, edward martin! it is nearly two years since i saw you last, and so much has happened since ;" and she burst into tears. ned followed her into the house, where he was warmly welcomed by his two cousins—girls of fourteen and fifteen years old. he had first to explain how it was that he had come to haarlem, and they were grieved indeed to hear what had happened to captain martin, who was a great favorite with them. "and so you have entered the service of the prince of orange ?" his aunt said when he had finished his story. "truly i wonder that your father and mother have allowed you to embark in so hopeless an enter- prise." "not hopeless," ned said. "things look dark at present, but either england or france may come to our help. at any rate, aunt, if the spanish army again sweeps over holland and zeeland, surely you, with two girls, will not await its approach. you have friends in england. my father and mother will be only too glad to have you with them till you can make yourself a home close by. and there are the moneys sent over by pike and bykjs. that will enable you to live in comfort. it will not be like going among strangers. there is quite a colony of emigrants from the netherlands already in london. you will find plenty who can speak your language." "all my family are here," she replied; "my father, and brothers, and sisters. i could never be happy else- where." "yes, aunt, i can understand that. but if the span- iards come, how many of your family may be alive here a week afterward?" the woman threw up her hands in a gesture of de- spair. \ "well, we must hope for the best, aunt; but i would urge you most strongly if you hear that a spanish army k approaching to fly to england if there be an oppor- tunity open to you, or if not to leave the city and go to some town or village as far from here as possible." "haarlem is strong, and can stand a stout siege," the woman said confidently. "i have no doubt it can, aunt. but the spaniards are good engineers and unless the prince of orange is strong enough to march to its succor, sooner or later it must fall; and you know what happens then." "why should they come here more than elsewhere? there are many other towns that lie nearer to them." "that is so, aunt. but from the walls you can see the towns and spires of amsterdam, and that city serves them as a gathering place in the heart of the country whence they may strike blows all round; and, there- fore, as you lie so close, one of the first blows may be struck here. besides, if they take haarlem, they cut the long strip of land that almost alone remains faithful to the prince asunder. well, aunt, please think it over. if you doubt my words write to my mother at enkhui- by pike and dyke. ben. i warrant she will tell you how gladly she will receive you in england, and how well you may make yourself a home there. i do not know how long i am to be staying here, and i have to be in close attendance on the prince in case he may suddenly have occasion for my services, but i will come down every day for a talk with you; and i do hope that for the sake of my cousins, if not for your own, you will decide to leave this troubled land for a time, and to take refuge in england, where none will interfere with your religion, and where you can live free from the spaniards' cruel bigotry." ned remained for a fortnight without any particular duties. when the prince was closeted with persons of importance, and he knew that there was no chance of his being required, he spent much of his time at his aunt's. he was beginning to feel weary of hanging about the prince's antechamber doing nothing, when one day a page came up to him and told him that the prince required his presence. he followed the boy to the prince's cabinet, full of hope that he was to have an op- portunity of proving that he was in earnest in his offers of service to the cause of holland. "i dare say you began to think that i had forgotten you," the prince began when the page had retired and the curtain had fallen behind him, " but it is not so. until to-day i have had no occasion for your services, but have now a mission to intrust to you. i have letters that i wish carried to brussels and delivered to some of my friends there. you had best start at once in the disguise of a peasant-boy. you must sew up your de- spatches in your jerkin, and remember that if they are found upon you a cruel death will surely be your fate. if you safely carry out your mission in brussels return by pike and dyke. with the answers you will receive by such route as may ■eem best to you; for this must depend upon the move- ments of the spaniards. the chamberlain will furnish you with what money you may require." "thanks, your excellency, i am provided with suf- ficient means for such a journey." "i need not tell you, my lad, to be careful and prudent. remember, not only is your own life at stake, but that the interest of the country will suffer, and the lives of many will be forfeited should you fail in your mission. you will see that there are no names upon these letters; only a small private mark, differing in each case, by which you can distinguish them. here is a paper which is a key to those marks. you must, before you start, learn by heart the names of those for whom the various letters are intended. in this way, should the letters fall into the hands of the spaniards, they will have no clue as to the names of those to whom they are addressed. "this paper, on which is written, 'to the blue cap in the south comer of the market square of brussels,' is intended to inclose all the other letters, and when you have learned the marks count nieuwenar will fasten them up in it and seal it with my seal. the object of doing this is, that should you be captured, you can state that your instructions from me are to deliver the packet to a man with a blue cap, who will meet you at the south corner of the market square at brussels, and, touching you on the shoulder, ask ' how blows the wind in hol- land?' these are the instructions i now give you. h such a man comes to you you will deliver the packet to him, if not you will open it and deliver the letters. but this last does not form part of your instructions. "this device will not save your life if you are taken, but it may save you from torture and others from death. by pike and dyke. for were these unaddressed letters found upon you, you would be put to such cruel tortures that flesh and blood could not withstand them, and the names of those for whom these letters are intended would be wrung from you; but inclosed as they are to master blue cap, it may be believed that you are merely a messenger whose instructions extend no further than the handing over the parcel to a friend of mine in brussels. now, you have no time to lose. you have your disguise to get, and these signs and the names they represent to commit to heart. a horse will be ready in two hours' time to take you to rotterdam, whence you will proceed in a coast- ing vessel to sluys or axel." at the time named ned was in readiness. he was dressed now as a young flemish peasant. he had left the chest with his clothes, together with his armor and weapons, in the care of his aunt's father, for he hoped that before his return she would have left the town. he could not, however, obtain any promise that she would do so. her argument was, if other women could stay in haarlem why should she not do the same. her friends and family were there; and although, if the span- iards were to besiege the town, she might decide to quit it, she could not bring herself to go into exile, unless indeed all holland was conquered and all hope gone. ned carried a stout stick; which was a more formi- dable weapon than it looked, for the knob was loaded with lead. he hesitated about taking pistols; for if at any time he were searched and such weapons found upon him the discovery might prove fatal, for a peasant boy certainly would not be carrying weapons that were at that time costly and comparatively rare. his de- spatches were sewn up in the lining of his coat, and his money, beyond that required for the present use, hidden by piee and dyke. in his big boots. a country horse with rough tra@pi*gs, such as a small farmer might ride, was in readiness, and mounting this he rode to rotterdam, some thirty- five miles distant, and there put it up at a small inn, where he had been charged to leave it. he then walked down to the river and inquired about boats sailing for the ports of sluys or axel. he was not long in discovering one that would start the next day for the latter place, and after bargaining with the master for a passage returned to the inn. the next morning he set sail soon after daybreak. there were but three or four other passengers, and ned was not long before he established himself on friendly terms with the master and the four men that constituted tha crew. "i wonder," he said presently to the master, "that trade still goes on between the towns of holland and those in the provinces that hold to alva." "the citizens of those towns are greatly divided in their opinions," the captain said. "many would glad- ly rise if they had the chance, but they lie too close to the spanish power to venture to do so. still they are friendly enough to us; and as they have need of our goods and we of theirs, no one hinders traffic or inter- feres with those who come and go. most of these towns have but small spanish garrisons, and these concern themselves not with anything that goes on beyond maintaining the place for spain. it is the catholio magistrates appointed by alva who manage the affairs of the towns, and as these are themselves mostly mer- chants and traders, their interests lie in keeping the ports open and encouraging trade, so we come and go unquestioned. the spaniards have enough on their hands already without causing discontent by restricting by pike and dyke. eff the authority of the offioials appointed by the span- iards. ned knew that as a stranger he should be viewed with great suspicion by the frequenters of the little inn, forthe spy system was carried to such an extent that people were afraid to utter their sentiments even in the bosom of their own families. he therefore walked about until it was time to retire to rest, and in that way escaped alike the suspicions and questionings he might otherwise have encountered. he could easily have satisfied them as to the past—he had just arrived in the coasting smack the hopeful from rotterdam, and the master of the craft could, if questioned, cor- roborate his statement—but it would not be so easy to satisfy questioners as to the object of his coming. why should a lad from holland want to come to bra- bant? every one knew that work was far more plen- tiful in the place he had come from than in the states under the spaniards, where the cultivators scarce dare bow crops sufficient for their own consumption, so ex- tensive was the pillaging carried on by the spanish troops. these, always greatly in arrears of pay, did not hesi- tate to take all they required from the unfortunate inhabitants; and the latter knew that resistance or complaint was alike useless, for the soldiers were always on the verge of mutiny. the officers had little control over them; and alva himself was always short. of money, and being unable to pay his troops was obliged to allow them to maintain themselves upon the country. as soon as the gates were open in the morning ned made his way to that through which the road to brussels ran. the four or five spanish soldiers at the gate asked no questions, and ned passed on with a brisk step. by pike and dyke. he bad gone about tbree miles wben be beard sounds of horses' hoofs behind him, and presently two men came along. one was, by his appearance, a person of some importance, the other he took to be his clerk. ned doffed his hat as the horse went past. "where are you going, lad?" the elder of the two men asked. "i am going, worshipful sir, to see some friends who live at the village of deligen, near brussels." "these are evil times for traveling. your tongue shows that you come not from brabant." "no, sir, my relations lived at vordwyk, hard by am- sterdam." "amsterdam is a faithful city; although there, as elsewhere, there are men who are traitors to their king and false to their faith. you are not one of them, i hope?" "i do not know," ned said, " that i am bound to an- swer questions of any that ride by the highway, unless i know that they have right and authority to question me." "i have right and authority," the man said angrily. *' my name is philip von aert, and i am one of the council charged by the viceroy to investigate into these matters." ned again doffed his hat. "i know your name, wor- shipful sir, as that of one who is foremost in searching out heretics. there are few in the land, even ignorant country boys like myself, who have not heard it." the councilor looked gratified. "ah! you have heard me well spoken of?" he said. "i have heard you spoken of, sir, well or ill, accord- ing to the sentiments of those who spoke." "and why have you left amsterdam to journey so by pike and dyke. far trom home? this is a time when all men must bo looked upon with suspicion until they prove themselves to be good catholics and faithful subjects of the king, and even a boy like you may be engaged upon treason- able business. i ask you again why are you leaving your family at amsterdam?" "misfortunes have fallen upon them," ned replied, ** and they can no longer maintain me." "misfortunes, ah! and of what kind?" "their business no longer brings them in profit," ned replied. "they lived, as i told your worship, not in the town itself, but in a village near it, and in these troubled times trade is well-nigh at a standstill, and there is want at many a man's door." "i shall stop for the night at antwerp, where i have business to do; see when you arrive there tfiat you call upon me. i must have further talk with you, for your answers do not satisfy me." ned bowed low. "very well, see that you fail not, or it will be the worse for you." so saying von aert put spurs to his horse, which had been walking alongside ned as be conversed and rode forward at a gallop. by pike ami) dyke. chapter viii. ts the hands of the blood council. "you are an evil-looking pair of scoundrels," ned said to himself as he looked after the retreating figures of the two men. "the master i truly know by name as one of the worst instruments of the tyrant; as to the man, knave is written on his face. he is as thin as a scarecrow—he has a villainous squint and an evil smile on his face. if i had been bent on any other errand i would have given very different answers, and taken my chance of holding my own with this good stick of mine. at any rate i told them no absolute lies. the council or will not have a chance of asking me any more questions this evening, and i only hope that he will be too busy to think any more about it. i will take the road through ghent; it matters little which way i go, for the two roads seem to me to be of nearly equal distance." he therefore at once left the road he was following, and struck across the fields northward until he came upon the road to ghent, at which town he arrived soon afternoon, having walked two or three and twenty miles. fearing to be questioned he passed through the town without stopping, crossed the scheldt and continued his way for another five miles, when he stopped at the vil- lage of gontere. he entered a small inn: "i wish to stop here for the night," he said, "if you have room?" by pike and dyke, "room enough and to spare," the host replied. "there is no scarcity of room, though there is of good fare; a party of soldiers from ghent paid a visit to us yesterday, and have scarce left a thing to eat in the village. however, i suppose we ought to feel thankful that they did not take our lives also." "peter," a shrill voice cried from inside the house, *' how often have i told you not to be gossiping on public affairs with strangers? your tongue will cost you your head presently, as i have told you a score of times." "near a hundred i should say, wife," the innkeeper replied. "i am speaking no treason, but am only ex- plaining why our larder is empty, save some black bread and some pig's flesh we bought an hour ago; besides, this youth is scarce likely to be one of the duke's spies." *' there you are again," the woman cried angrily. "you want to leave me a widow, and your children fatherless, peter grantz. was a woman ever tormented with such a man?" "i am not so sure that it is not the other way," the man grumbled in an undertone. "why, wife," he went on, raising his voice, "who is there to say anything against us. don't i go regularly to mass, and send our good priest a fine fish or the best cut off the joint two or three times a week. what can i do more? any one would think to hear you talk that i was a heretic." "i think you are more fool than heretic," his wife said angrily, "and that is the best hope for us. but come in, boy, and sit down; my husband will keep you gossiping at the door for the next hour if you would listen to him." "i shall not be sorry to sit down, mistress," ned said by pike and dyke. entering the low-roofed room. "i have walked from axel since morning." "that is a good long walk truly," the woman said. "are you going on to brussels? if so, your nearest way would have been by antwerp." "i took the wrong road," ned said; "and as they told me that there was but a mile or two difference between them, i thought i might as well keep on the one i had first taken." "you are from holland are you not, by your speech?" the woman asked. "yes; i have come from holland," ned replied. "and is it true what they say, that the people there have thrown off the authority of the duke, and are going to venture themselves against all the strength of spain?" "some have risen and some have not," ned replied. "none can say what will come of it." "you had best not say much about your coming from holland," the woman said; "for they say that well-nigh all from that province are heretics, and to be even sus- pected of being a heretic in brabant is enough to cost any one his life." "i am not one to talk," ned replied; "but i thank you for your caution, mistress. i have been questioned already by philip von aert, and he said he would see me again, but in truth i have no intention of further intruding on him." "he is one of the council of blood," the woman said, dropping her voice and looking round anxiously; "and one of the most cruel of them. beware, my lad, how you fall into his hands, for be assured* he will show you no mercy, if he has reason to suspect, but in the slight- est, that you are not a good catholic and loyal to the by pike and dyke. spaniards. rich or poor, gentle or simple, woman or child, it is naught to him. there is no mercy for heretics, whomsoever they may be; and unless you can satisfy him thoroughly your best plan is to go back at once to axel, and to cross to holland. you do not know what they are. there are spies in every town and village, and were it known what i have said to you now, little though that be, it would go hard with me. women have been burned or strangled for far less." "i will be careful," ned said. "i have business which takes me to brussels, but when that is discharged i shall betake me back to holland as soon as i can." by this time the woman, who had been standing over the fire while she was talking, had roasted two or three slices of pork, and these, with a piece of black bread and a jug of ale, she placed before ned. her husband, who had been standing at the door, now came in. "you are no wiser than i am, wife, with all your scolding. i have been listening to your talk; you have scolded me whenever i open my lips, and there you yourself say things ten times as dangerous." "i say them inside the house, peter grantz," she re- torted, " and don't stand talking at the door so that all the village may hear me. the lad is honest, as i can see by his face, and if i could do aught for him i would do so." "i should be glad if you could tell me of some little place where i could put up in brussels; some place where i could stay while looking out for work, without any one troubling themselves as to whence i came or where i am going, *or what are my views as to religion or politics." "that were a difficult matter," the woman replied. by pike and dyke. * it is not that the landlords care what party those who visit their house belong to, but that for aught they know there may be spies in their own household; and in these days it is dangerous even to give shelter to one of the new religion. therefore, although landlords may care nothing who frequent their houses, they are in a way forced to do so lest they themselves should be denounced as harborers of heretics. brussels has a strong party opposed to the duke; for you know that it is not those of the new religion only who would gladly see the last of the spaniards. there are but few heretics in brabant now, the inquisition and the council of blood have made an end of most, others have fled either to france, or england, or holland, some have outwardly conformed to the rites of the church, and there are few indeed who remain openly separated from her, though in their hearts they may remain heretics as before. "still there are great numbers who long to see the old constitution restored—to see persecution abolished, the german and spanish troops sent packing, and to be ruled by oui own laws under the viceroy of the king of spain. therefore in brussels you are not likely to be very closely questioned. there are great numbers of officials, a small garrison, and a good many spies; all of these are for the duke, the rest of the population would rise to-morrow did they see a chance of success. i should say that you are more likely, being a stranger, of being suspected of being a spy than of being a heretic—that is if you are one, which i do not ask and do not want to know. the people of brussels are not given to tumults as are those of antwerp and ghent, but are a quiet people going their own way. being the capital there are more strangers resort there than to by pike and dtee. other places, and therefore people come and go without inquiry; still were i you i would, if you have any good reason for avoiding notice, prefer to lodge outside the city, entering the gates of a morning, doing what business you may have during the day, and leaving again before sunset. that way you would altogether avoid questionings, and will attract no more attention than other country people going in to sell their goods." "thank you, i will follow your advice," ned said. "i have no wish to get into trouble, and being a stranger there i should have difficulty in proving that my story is a true one were i questioned." the next morning ned set out at daybreak, and arrived at brussels early in the afternoon. he had determined to adopt the advice given him the evening before; and also that he would not endeavor to get a lodging in any of the villages. "it will not take me more than a day, or at most two days, to deliver my letters," he thought to himself, "and there will be no hardship in sleeping in the fields or under a tree for a couple of nights. in that way i shall escape all notice, for people talk in villages even more than they do in towns." he had decided that he would not that day endeavor to deliver any of the letters, but would content himself with walking about the town and learning the names of the streets, so that he could set about delivering the letters without the necessity fer asking many questions. when within half a mile of the town he left the road, and cutting open the lining of his jerkin took out the letters. then he cut up a square piece of turf with his knife, scooped out a little earth, inserted the packet of letters, and then stamped down the sod above it. in another hole close to it he buried the money hidden in his boot, and by pike and dyke. "come in," the burgher said in loud tones, bo that ha could be heard by his two assistants in the shop. "my wife will be glad to hear tidings of her old nurse, who was ill when she last heard from her. you can reassure her in that respect, i hope?" "yes, she is mending fast," ned replied, as he followed the burgher through the shop. the man led the way upstairs, and then into a small sitting-room. he closed the door behind him. "now," he asked, " what message do you bring from holland." "i bring a letter," ned replied; and taking out his knife again he cut the threads of the lining and produced the packet. the silk that bound it, and which was fastened by the prince's seal, was so arranged that it could be slipped off, and so enable the packet to be opened without breaking the seal. ned took out the letters; and after examining the marks on the corners handed one to the burgher. the latter opened and lead the contents. "i am told," he said when he had finished, "not to give you an answer in writing, but to deliver it by word of mouth. tell the prince that i have sounded many of my guild, and that certainly the greater part of the weavers will rise and join in expelling the spaniards whenever a general rising has been determined upon. and it is certain that all the other chief towns will join in the movement. unless it is general, i fear that nothing can be done. so great is the consternation that has been caused by the sack of mechlin, the slaughter of thousands of the citizens, and the horrible atrocities npon the women, that no city alone will dare to provoke 'the vengeance of alva. all must rise or none will do bo. t am convinced that brussels will do her part, if by pike and dyke. others do theirs; although, as the capital, it is upon her the first brunt of the spanish attack will fall. in regard to money, tell him that at present none can be collected. in the first place, we are all well-nigh ruined by the exactions of the spanish; and in the next, however well disposed we may be, there are few who would commit themselves by subscribing for the cause until the revolt is general and successful. then, i doubt not that the councilors would vote as large a subsidy as the city could afford to pay. four at least of the members of the council of our guild can be thoroughly relied upon, and the prince can safely communicate with them. these are gunther, barneveldt, hasselaer, and buys." "please, repeat them again," ned said, "in order that i may be sure to remember them rightly * "as to general toleration," the burgher went on, after repeating the names, "in matters of religion, although there are many differences of opinion, i think that the prince's commands on this head will be complied with, and that it would be agreed that lutherans, calvinists, and other sects will be allowed to assemble for worship without hindrance; but the catholic feeling is very strong, especially among the nobles, and the numbers of those secretly inclined to the new religion has decreased greatly in the past few years, just as they have increased in holland and zeeland, where, as i hear, the people are now well-nigh all protestants. please assure the prince of my devotion to him per- sonally, and that i shall do my best to further his plans and can promise him that the guild of weavers will be among the first to rise against the tyranny of the spaniards." ned, as he left the house, decided that the man he by pike and dyke. had visited was not one of those who would be of any great use in an emergency. he was evidently well enough disposed to the cause, but was not one to take any great risks, or to join openly in the movement unless convinced that success was assured for it. he was walking along, thinking the matter over, when he was suddenly and roughly accosted. looking up he saw the councilor von aert and his clerk; the former with an angry look on his face, the latter, who was close beside his master, and who had evidently drawn his attention to him, with a malicious grin of satisfaction. "hullo, sirrah," the councilor said angrily, "did i not tell you to call upon me at antwerp?" ned took off his hat, and said humbly, " i should of course have obeyed your worship's order had i passed through antwerp; but i afterward remembered that i had cause to pass through ghent and therefore took that road knowing well that one so insignificant as myself could have nothing to tell your worship that should occupy your valuable time." "that we will see about," the councilor said grimly. ** genet, lay your hand upon this young fellow's collar. we will lodge him in safe keeping and inquire into the matter when we have leisure. i doubt not that you were right when you told me that you suspected he was other than he seemed." ned glanced round; a group of spanish soldiers were standing close by, and he saw that an attempt at escape would be hopeless. he therefore walked quietly along by the side of the clerk's horse, determining to wrest himself from the man's hold and run for it the instant he saw an opportunity. unfortunately, however, he was unaware that they were at the moment within fifty yards of the prison. several bystanders who had heard by pike and dyke. the conversation followed to see the result; and other passers-by, seeing ned led by the collar behind the dreaded councilor, speedily gathered around with looks expressing no good will to von aert. the spanish soldiers, however, accustomed to frays with the townspeople, at once drew their weapons and closed round the clerk and his captive, and two minutes later they arrived at the door of the prison, and ned, completely taken by surprise, found himself thrust in and the door closed behind him before he had time to decide upon his best course. "you will place this prisoner in a secure place," the councilor said. "it is a case of grave suspicion; and i will myself question him later on. keep an eye upon him until i come again." ned was handed over to two warders, who conducted him to a chamber in the third story. here, to his dismay, one of his jailers took up his post, while the other retired, locking the door behind him. thus the intention ned had formed as he ascended the stairs of destroying the documents as soon as he was alone, was frustrated. the warder took his place at the window which looked into an inner court of the prison and putting his head out entered into conversation with some of his comrades in the yard below. ned regretted now that he had, before leaving the burgher, again sewn up the letters in his doublet. had he carried them loosely about him he could have chewed them up one by one and swallowed them; but he dared not attempt to get at them now as his warder might at any moment look round. the latter was relieved twice during the course of the day. none of the men paid any attention to the prisoner. the succession of victims who entered the walls of the prison only to quit them by pike and dyke. for the gallows was so rapid that they had no time ta concern themselves with their affairs. probably the boy was a heretic; but whether or not, if he had incurred the enmity of councilor von aert, his doom was sealed. it was late in the evening before a warder appeared at the door, and said that the councilor was below, and that the prisoner was to be brought before him. ned was led by the two men to a chamber on the ground floor. here von aert, with two of his colleagues, was seated at a table, the former's clerk standing behind him. "this is a prisoner i myself made this morning," von aert said to his companions. "i overtook him two miles this side of axel, and questioned him. he admitted that he came from holland; and his answers were so unsatisfactory that i ordered him strictly to call upon me at antwerp, not having time at that moment to question him further. instead of obeying, he struck off from the road and took that through ghent; and i should have heard no more of him had i not by chance encountered him this morning in the street here. has he been searched?" he asked the warder. "no, your excellency. you gave no orders that ho should be examined." "foola!" the councilor said angrily; "this is the way you do your duty. had he been the bearer of im- portant correspondence he might have destroyed it by now." "we have not left him, your excellency. he has never been alone for a moment, and had no opportunity whatever for destroying anything." "well, search that bundle first," the councilor said. the bundle was found to contain nothing suspicious. by pike and dyke. "now, take off his doublet and boots and examine them carefully. let not a seam or corner escape you.' accustomed to the work, one of the warders had scarcely taken the doublet in his hand when he pro- claimed that there was a parcel sewn up in the lining. "i thought so!" von aert exclaimed, beaming with satisfaction at his own perspicacity. "i thought there was something suspicious about the fellow. i believe i can almost smell out a heretic or a traitor." the councilor's colleagues murmured their admira- tion at his acuteness. "what have we here?" von aert went on, as he examined the packet. "a sealed parcel addressed 'to the blue cap in the south corner of the market square of brussels.' what think you of that, my friends, for mystery and treason? now, let us see the contents. ah, ten letters without addresses! but i see there are marks different from each other on the corners. ah!" he went on with growing excitement, as he tore one open and glanced at the contents, "from the arch-traitor himself to conspirators here in brussels. this is an important capture indeed. now, sirrah, what have you to say to this? for whom are these letters in- tended?" "i know nothing of the contents of the letters, worshipful sir," ned said, falling on his knees and as- suming an appearance of abject terror. "they were delivered to me at haarlem, and i was told that i should have five nobles if i carried them to brussels and delivered them safely to a man who would meet me in the south corner of the market square of brussels. i was to hold the packet in my hand and sling my bundle upon my stick, so that he might know me. he was to have a blue cap on, and was to touoh me on the shoulder br pike and dyke. and ask me ' how blows the wind in holland?' and that, worshipful sir, is all i know about it. i could not tell that there was any treason in the business, else not for fifty nobles would i have undertaken it." "you lie, you young villain i" the councilor shouted. "do you try to persuade me that the prince of orange would have intrusted documents of such importance to the first boy he met in the street? in the first place you must be a heretic." "i don't know about heretics," ned said, rising to his feet and speaking stubbornly. "i am of the religion my father taught me, and i would not pretend that i was a catholic, not to save my life." "there you are, you see," the councilor said trium- phantly to his colleagues. "look at the obstinacy and insolence of these hollanders. even this brat of a boy dares to tell us that he is not a catholic. take him away," he said to the warder, "and see that he is se- curely kept. we may want to question him again; but in any case he will go to the gallows to-morrow or next day." ned was at once led away. "what think you?" von aert asked his colleagues as the door closed behind the prisoner. "is it worth while to apply the torture to him at once to obtain from him the names of those for whom these letters were intended? it is most important for us to know. look at this letter; it is from the prince himself, and refers to preparations making for a general rising." "i should hardly think the boy would have been in- trusted with so important a secret," one of the other councilors said; "for it would be well known he would be forced by torture to reveal it if these letters were to be found upon them. i think that the story he tells us by pike and dykjt. is a true one, and that it is more likely they would be given him to deliver to some person who would possess the key to these marks on the letters." "well, at any rate no harm can be done by applying the screws," the councilor said. "if he knows they will make him speak, i warrant you. the other two agreed. "if you will allow me to suggest, your excellency," genet said humbly, " that it might be the better way to try first if any such as this blue cap exists. the boy might be promised his life if he could prove that the story was true. doubtless there is some fixed hour at which he was to meet this blue cap. we might let him go to meet him, keeping of course a strict watch over him. then if any such man appears and speaks to him we could pounce upon him at once and wring from him the key to these marks. if no such man appears we should then know that the story was but a device to deceive, and could then obtain by some means the truth from him." the suggestion met with approval. "that is a very good plan, and shall be carried out. send for the prisoner again." ned was brought down again. "we see that you are young," von aert said, "and you have doubtless been misled in this matter, and knew not that you were carrying treasonable correspondence. we therefore are disposed to treat you leniently. at what time were you to meet this blue cap in the market?" "within an hour of sunset," ned replied. "i am to be there at sunset and to wait for an hour; and was told that he would not fail to come in that time, but that if he did i was to come again the next day." by pike and dykk "it is to be hoped that he will not fail you," vom aert said grimly, " for we shall not be disposed to wait his pleasure. to-morrow evening you will go with a packet and deliver it to the man when he comes to you. beware that you do not try to trick us, for you will be closely watched, and it will be the worse for you if you attempt treachery. if the man comes those who are there will know how to deal with him." "and shall i be at liberty to depart?" ned asked doubtfully. "of course you will," von aert replied; "we should then have no further occasion for you, and you would have proved to us that your story was a true one, and that you were really in ignorance that there was any harm in carrying the packet hither. ned was perfectly well aware that the councilor was lying, and that even had he met the man in the blue cap he would be dragged back to prison and put to death, and that the promise meant absolutely nothing—the spaniards having no hesitation in breaking the most bolemn oaths made to heretics. he had, indeed, only asked the question because he thought that to assent too willingly to the proposal might arouse suspicion. it was the very thing he had been hoping for, and which offered the sole prospect of escape from a death by torture, for it would at least give him the chance of a dash for freedom. he had named an hour after sunset partly because it was the hour which would have been probably chosen by those who wished that the meeting should take place unobserved, but still more because his chances of escape would be vastly greater were the attempt made after dark. the three councilors sat for some time talking over the matter after ned had been removed. the lefe- b y pike and d ykjc. ters had all been read. they had been carefully written, ■o as to give no information if they should fall into the wrong hands, and none of them contained any allusion whatever to past letters or previous negotiations. "it is clear," von aert said, " that this is a conspir- acy, and that those to whom these letters are sent are deeply concerned in it, and yet these letters do not prove it. suppose that we either seize this blue cap or get from the boy the names of those for whom the letters are intended, they could swear on the other hand that they knew nothing whatever about them, and had been falsely accused. no doubt many of these people are nobles and citizens of good position, and if it is merely their word against the word of a boy, and that wrung from him by torture, our case would not be a strong one. "our case is not always strong," one of the other councilors said; "but that does not often make much difference." "it makes none with the lower class of the people," von aert agreed; "but when we have to deal with people who have influential friends it is always best to be able to prove a case completely. i think that if we get the names of those for whom the letters are meant we can utilize the boy again. we will send him to de- liver the letters in person, as i believe he was intend ed to do. he may receive answers to take back to holland; but even if he does not the fact that these people bhould have received such letters without at once denouncing the bearer and communicating the contents to us, will be quite sufficient proof of their guilt." "in that case," one of the others remarked, " the boy must not be crippled with the torture.'!* by pike and lykb. "there will be no occasion for that," von aert said contemptuously. "a couple of turns with the thumb- screw will suffice to get out of a boy of that age every- thing he knows. well, my friends, we will meet here to-morrow evening. i shall go round to the market square with genet to see the result of this affair, in which i own i am deeply interested; not only because it is most important, but because it is due to the fact that i myself entertained a suspicion of the boy that the discovery of the plot has been made. i will take charge of these letters, which are for the time useless to us, but which are likely to bring ten men's heads to the block." as ned sat alone in his cell during the long hours of the following day he longed for the time to come when his fate was to be settled. he was determined that if it lay with him he would not be captured alive. he would mount to the top story of a house and throw himself out of a window, or snatch a dagger from one of his guards and stab himself, if he saw no mode of escape. a thousand times better to die sb than to ex- pire on a gibbet after suffering atrocious tortures, which would, he knew, wring from him the names of those for whom the letters were intended. he could bear pain as well as another; but flesh and blood could not resist the terrible agonies inflicted by the torture, and sooner or later the truth would be wrung from the most reluctant lips. still he thought that he had a fair chance of escape. it was clear that he could not be closely surrounded by a guard, for in that case blue cap would not venture near him. he must, therefore, be allowed a considerable amount of liberty; and, however many men might be on watch a short distance off, he ought to be able by a sudden rush by pike and dyke. to make his way through them. there would at that hour be numbers of people in the street, and this would add to his chance of evading his pursuers. he eat heartily of a meal that was brought him at midday, and when just at sunset the warder entered the cell and told him to follow him, he felt equal to any exertion. when he came down into the courtyard, a dozen men were gathered there, together with von aert and his clerk. "now," the councilor said sternly, "you see these men. . they will be round you on all sides, and i warn you that if you attempt to escape or to give any warning sign to this blue cap, or to try any tricks with us of any sort, you shall be put to death with such tortures as you never dreamed of. upon the other hand, if you carry out my orders faithfully, and hand over this packet to the man who meets you, you will be at liberty to go straight away, and to return home without molestation." "i understand," ned replied; "and as i cannot help myself will do your bidding. where are my stick and bundle? he will not know me unless i have them. i am to carry them on my shoulder." "ah! i forgot," the councilor said, and giving the order to one of the warders ned's bundle and stick were brought him. "you will stroll leisurely along," von aert said, "and appear natural and unconcerned. we shall be close to you, and you will be seized in an instant if we observe anything suspicious in your movements. von aert then took a packet from his doublet and handed it to ned, who placed it in his belt. the prison door was opened; three or four of the men went out, and ned followed. it was a curious feeling to him as he walked by pike and dyke. down the street. round him were numbers of people laughing and chatting as they went, while he though apparently as free as they, was a prisoner with a dozen pair of eyes watching him, and his life in deadly peril. by pike and dyke. chapter ix. in hiding. aftek five minutes' walking ned arrived at the mar- ket-square and passed steadily on down toward the south corner. the market was long since over, and the market folk had returned to their farms and villages, hut there were a large number of people walking about. it was already growing dusk, and in another half-hour would be dark. ned turned when he got near the corner, strolled a short distance back and then turned again, pacing backward and forward some thirty or forty yards. he carefully abstained from seeming to stare about. the councilor and his clerk kept within as hort dis- tance of him, the former wrapped up in a cloak with a high collar that almost concealed his face. as to the others watching him, ned could only guess at them. four men he noticed, who turned whenever he did; the others he guessed were keeping somewhat further off, or were perhaps stationed at the streets lead- ing out of the square so as to cut him off should he es- cape from those close to him. a few oil lamps were suspended from posts at various points in the square, and at the ends of the streets leading from it. these were lighted soon after he arrived in the square. he decided that it would not do to make for the street lead- ing out of the south corner, as this was the one that he would be buspected of aiming for; and, moreover, men would surely be placed there to cut off blue cap on hia by pike and dtkjb. entry. he, therefore, determined to make for what narrow street, about halfway between the south and west corners. he had followed this on the day he entered brussels, as one of the persons to whom the letters were addressed lived in it. he knew that there were many lanes run- ning into it, and that at the lower end several streets, branching off in various directions, met in the small square in which it terminated. half an hour passed. it was now quite dark, and he felt that he had better delay no longer. he walked half along hia beat toward the south corner, then with a sudden spring darted off. the two men walking on that side of him were some ten paces distant, and he ran straight at them. taken by surprise, before they had time to throw back their cloaks and draw their rapiers, he was upon them. with a blow from his leaded stick, delivered with all his strength, he struck one man to the ground, and then turning to the other struck him on the wrist as he was in the act of drawing his sword. the man uttered a loud cry of pain and rage, and ned ran at top of his speed toward the street. he knew that he need fear no pur- suit from the two men he had encountered, that those on the other side of him were some distance behind, and that as so many people intervened his pursuers would probably soon lose sight of him. threading his way between the groups of people, who had arrested their walk at the sound of loud and sudden shouting, he ap- proached the end of the street. by the light of the lamp there he saw two men stand- ing with drawn swords. breaking suddenly into a walk he made for the house next to the street, and then turned so that he came upon the men sideways instead of from the front, at which they were expect.ins him. by pike and dyke. a casement on the ground-floor, he heard the sound of low singing in a woman's voice. he stopped at once and listened. it was the air of a lutheran hymn he had frequently heard in holland. without hesitation he knocked at the door, and lifting the latch entered. a women and girl were sitting at work inside; they looked up in surprise at seeing a stranger. "pardon me," he said, "but i am a protestant, and am hunted by alva's bloodhounds. i have evaded them and i am safe for the present; but i know not where to go, or where to obtain a disguise. as i passed the window i heard the air of a lutheran hymn, and knew that there were within those who would, if they could aid me." the woman looked reprovingly at the girl. "how imprudent of you, gertrude " she said. "not that it is your fault more than mine. i ought to have stopped you, but i did not think your voice would be heard through that thick curtain. who are you, sir, and where do you come from?" she asked, turning to ned. "i come from holland," he said, "and was the bearer of important letters from the prince of orange." the woman hesitated. "i would not doubt you," she said: "but in these days one has to be suspicious of one's shadow. however, as after what you have heard our lives are in your hands, i would fain trust you; though it seems to me strange that an important mis- sion should be intrusted to one of your age and station." "my age was all in my favor," ned replied. "as to my station, it is not quite what it seems; for i am a gen- tleman volunteer in the service of the prince, and he ac- cepted my services thinking that i might succeed when a man would be suspected." "i will give you shelter," the woman said quietly) by pike and dyke. u though i know that i risk my life and my daughter's in doing so. but the lord holds us in his hands, and unless it be his will we shall not perish." so saying, she got up and barred the door. "now, tell me more as to how you came to fall into this peril," she said. ned related his adventure, and the manner in which he had effected his escape from the hands of his captors. "you have, indeed, had an escape," the woman said. "there are few upon whom councilor von aert lays his hand who ever escape from it. you have indeed shown both skill and courage in thus freeing yourself.'' "there is no great oourage in running away when you know that if you stay torture and death are before you," ned replied. "and now, what are your plans ?" the woman asked. "my only plan is to obtain a disguise in which to es- cape from the city. my mission is unfortunately ended by the loss of my papers, and i shall have but a sorry story to tell to the prince if i succeed in making my way back to holland, of the utter failure i have made of the mission with which he was good enough to intrust me." he took from his belt the packet that von aert had given him, and was about to throw it in the fire when his eye fell upon it. he opened it hastily, and ex- claimed with delight," why, here are the letters! that scoundrel must have had them in his doublet, as well as the packet, made up for me to carry, and he has inadver- tently given me the wrong parcel. see, madam, these are the letters i told you of, and these are the marks in the corners whose meaning von aert was so anxious to discover. now, if i can but obtain a good disguise i will deliver these letters before i start on my way back." the girl, who was about fourteen years of age, spoke by pike and dyke. a few words in a low voice to her mother. the latter glanced at ned. "my daughter suggests that you should disguise your- self as a woman," she said. "and indeed in point of height you might pass well, seeing that you are but little taller than myself. but i fear that you are far too widely built across the shoulders to wear my clothes." "yes, indeed," ned agreed, smiling; "but you are tall and slight. i could pass well enough for one of these flemish peasant girls, for they are sometimes near as broad as they are long. yes, indeed, if i could get a dress such as these girls wear i could pass easily enough. i am well provided with money, but unfortunately it is hidden in the ground a mile outside the gates. i only carry with me a small sum for daily use, and that of course was taken from me by my jailers." ** be not uneasy about money," the woman said. "like yourself, we are not exactly what we look. i am the countess von harp." ned made a movement of surprise. the name was perfectly known to him, being that of a noble in fries- land who had been executed at brussels a few months before by the orders of the council of blood. "when my husband was murdered," the countess von harp went on,mi received a warning from a friend that i and my daughter, being known to be members of the reformed church, would be seized. for myself i cared little; but for my daughter's sake i resolved to endeavor to escape. i knew that i should be nowhere safe in the netherlands, and that there was little chance of a woman and girl being able to escape from the country, when upon every road we should meet with disorderly soldiery, and every town we should pass through swarmed with alva's agents. i resolved, by pike and dyke. ,\ therefore, to stay here. an old servant took tins house for me, and here i have lived ever since in the disguise you see. my servant still lives with us, and goes abroad and makes our purchases. oar neighbors are all arti- sans and attend to their own business. it is supposed among them that i am one who has been ruined in the troubles, and now support myself by embroidery; but in fact i am well supplied with money. when i came here i brought all my jewels with me; besides, i have several good friends who know my secret, and through whom, from time to time, money has been transmitted to me from my steward in friesland. our estates in brabant have of course been confiscated, and for a time those in friesland were also seized. but when the people rose four months ago they turned out the man who had seized them, and as he was a member of the council of blood he was lucky in escaping with his life. so that, you see, the cost of a peasant woman's dress is a matter that need give you no concern." there was now a knock at the door. it was repeated. "it is my servant," the countess said. ned at once unbarred and opened the door. the old woman gave an exclamation of astonishment at seeing a stranger. "come in, magdalene," the countess said; "it is a friend. you are later than i expected." "it is not my fault, madam," the old servant said. "i have been stopped four or five times, and questioned and made game of, by german soldiers posted at the ends of the streets; the quarter is full of them. i was going through the market-place when a sudden tumult arose, and they say a prisoner of great importance has made his escape. councilor von aert was there, shouting like a madman. but he had better have held his tongue; for as soon as he was recognized the crowd by pike and dyke. hustled and beat him, and went nigh killing him, when gome men with drawn swords rescued him from their hands, and with great difficulty escorted him to the town-hall. he is hated in brussels, and it was rash of him to venture out after dark." "this is the escaped prisoner, magdalene." the old woman looked with surprise at ned. "you are pleased to joke with me, madam. this is but a boy." "that is true, magdalene; but he is, nevertheless, the prisoner whose escape angered the councilor so terribly, and for whom the guard you speak of are now in search." the old servant shook her head. "ah, madam, are you not running risks enough of detection here without adding to them that of concealing a fugitive?" "you are right," ned said; "and it was selfish and wrong of me to intrude myself here." "god willed it so," the countess said. "my daughter's voice was the instrument that directed your steps here. it is strange that she should have sung that hymn just as you were passing, and that i should have heard her without checking her. the hand of god is in all these things; therefore, do not make yourself uneasy on our account. magdalene, we have settled that he shall assume the disguise of a young [peasant girl, and to-morrow you shall purohase the necessary garments." "yes, he might pass as a girl," the old servant agreed. "but, i pray you, let him not stay an instant in this garb. i do not think they will search the houses, for the artisans of brussels are tenacious of their rights, and an attempt would bring them out like a swarm of bees. stiu.y ;s better that he should not remain as is for by pike and dyke. an hour. come with me, young sir; i will furnish you with clothes at once. i am not so tall as i was, but there were few taller women in friesland than i was when i was the countess' nurse." ned could well imagine that; for magdalene, although now some sixty years old, was a tall, large-framed woman. he followed her to a chamber upstairs, and was furnished by her with all the necessary articles of dress; and in these, as soon as, having placed an oil lamp on the table, she retired, he proceeded to array himself, and presently descended the stairs, feeling very strange and awkward in this new attire. gertrude von harp burst into a fit of merry laughter, and even the countess smiled. "that will do very well, indeed," she said, "when you have got on the flemish head-dress, which conceals the hair." "i have it here, madam," magdalene said; "but it was useless to leave it up there for him, for he would have no idea how to fold it rightly. now sit down on that stool, sir, and i will put it on for you." when this was done the metamorphosis was complete' and ned could have passed anywhere without exciting suspicion that he was other than he seemed. "that will do all very well for the present," mag- dalene said; "but the first thing to-morrow i will go out and get him a gown at the clothes-mart. his face is far too young for that dress. moreover the headgear is not suited to the attire; he needs, too, a long plait of hair to hang down behind. that i can also buy for him, and a necklace or two of bright-colored beads. however, he could pass now as my niece should any one chance to come in. now i will go upstairs and fetch down his clothes and burn them. if a search should be by pike and dyke. made they will assuredly excite suspicion if found in a house occupied only by women." "you had best not do that, magdalene. hide them in a bed or up one of the chimneys. when he leaves this and gets into the country he will want them again. in these times a young woman unprotected could not walk the road by herself, and dressed as a woman it would be strange for him to be purchasing male attire." "that is true enough, madam; as you say, it will be better to hide them until he can leave, which i hope will be very shortly." "i wish we could leave too," the countess sighed. "i am weary of this long confinement here, and it is bad for gertrude never going out except for a short walk with you after dark." "it would not do to attempt it," the old woman said. "the spanish soldiers are plundering all round ghent; the germans are no better at antwerp. you know what stories are reported of their doings." "no, we could not go in that direction," the countess agreed; "but i have thought often, magdalene, that we may possibly make our way down to ostend. things are much quieter on that line." "i should be glad to give you what escort i could,. madam," ned said. "but, indeed, the times are bad for traveling and as you are safe here as it seems for the present, i would not say a word to induce you to leave and to encounter such dangers as you might meet by the way. in a short time, i believe the greater part of the spaniards and germans will march against holland, and brabant will then be free from the knaves for awhile and the journey might be undertaken with greater safety." "you are right," the countess said. "it was but a by pike and dyk& passing thought, and now we have waited here so long we may well wait a little longer. now tell us more about yourself. you speak dutch perfectly, and yet it seems to me at times that there is some slight accent in your tones." "i am only half dutch," ned replied; "my father is english." he then related the whole history of his par- entage, and of the events which led him to take service with the prince of orange. when he had concluded the countess said: "your story accounts for matters which surprised me somewhat in what you first told me. the men of our low countries are patient and somewhat slow of action, as is shown by the way in which they so long submitted to the cruel tyranny of the spaniards. now they have once taken up their arms, they will, i doubt not, defend themselves, and will fight to the death, how- ever hopeless the chances may seem against them; but they are not prompt and quick to action. therefore the manner of your escape from the hands of those who were watching you appeared to me wonderful; but now i know that you are english, and a sailor too, i can the better understand it, for i have heard that your country- men are quick in their decisions and prompt in action. "they say that many of them are coming over to fight in holland; being content to serve without pay, and venturing their lives in our cause, solely because our religion is the same and they have hatred of oppres- sion, having long been free from exactions on the part of their sovereigns. many of our people have taken refuge there, and i have more than once thought that if the spaniards continued to lord it in the netherlands i would pass across the seas with gertrude. my jewels would sell for enough to enable us to live quietly there." st pike and dyke. "if you should go to england, madam," ned said earnestly, "i pray you in the first place to inquire for mistress martin at rotherhithe, which is close dy the city. i can warrant you she will do all in her power to assist you, and that her house will be at your disposal until you can find a more suitable lodgment. she will know from me, if i should escape from these dangers, from how great a peril you have saved me, and if it should be that i do not return home, she will welcome you equally when she learns from your lips that you took me in here when i was pursued by the minions of the council of blood, and that you furnished me with a disguise to enable me to escape from them." "should i go to england," the countess replied, " i will assuredly visit your mother, were it only to learn whether you escaped from all the dangers of your jour- ney; but, indeed, i would gladly do so on my own ac- count, for it is no slight comfort on arriving as strangers in an unknown country to meet with one of one's own nation to give us advice and assistance." for another two hours they sat and talked of england, the countess being glad, for once, to think of another subject than the sad condition of her country. then when the clock sounded nine they retired, magdalene insisting upon ned ocoupying her chamber, while she lay down upon a settle in the room in which they were sitting. ned slept long and heavily; he had had but little rest during the two previous nights, and the sun was high when he awoke, as soon as he began to move about there was a knock at his door and the old servant entered. "i need not ask if you have slept well," she remarked "for the clocks have sounded nine, and i have been back an hour from market. here are all your things, by pike and hyks. and f warrant me that when you are dresaed in them you will pass anywhere as a buxom peasant girl." indeed, when ned came downstairs in the short petti- coats, trimmed bodice, and bright kerchief pinned across the bosom, and two rows of large blue beads round hia neck, his disguise was perfect, save as to his head. this magdalene again arranged for him. "yes, you will do very well now," she said, surveying him critically. "i have bought a basket, too, full of eggs; and with that on your arm you can go boldly out and fear no detection and can walk straight through the city gates." "i hope i don't look as awkward as i feel?" ned asked, smiling. "no, you do not look awkward at all. you had best join a party as you go out, and separate from them when once you are well beyond the walls." "he must return here this evening, magdalene," the countess said. "he has a mission to perform, and can- not leave until he does." "i will set about it at once, countess, and shall get it finished before the gates are closed. i will not on any account bring upon you the risk of another night's stay here." "i think there will be no risk in it," the countess said firmly; "and for to-day at least there is sure to be a vigi- lant watch kept at the gates. it were best, too, that you left before noon, for by that time most of the people from the villages round are returning. if you are not recognized in the streets there is no risk whatever while you are in here; besides, we shall be anxious to know how you have got through the day. and another rea- son why you had better stay the night is that by start- ing in the morning you will have the day before you to get well away, whereas if you go at night you may well by pike and dyke. miss your road, especially if there is no moon, and you do not know the country. therefore i pray you urgent- ly to come back here for to-night. it is a pleasure to us to have a visitor here, and does us good to have a fresh subject for our thoughts. gertrude has been doing nothing but talk about england ever since she woke." although ned saw that the old servant was very re- luctant that he should, as she considered, imperil her charges' safety by a longer stay, he could not refuse the invitation so warmly given. breakfast was now placed on the table. as soon as the meal was over he prepared to start, receiving many directions from magdalene to be sure and not take long strides, or to swing his arms too much, or to stare about, but to carry himself discreet- ly, as was becoming a young woman in a town full of rough foreign men. "how do you mean to see the people to whom you have letters?" the countess asked. "some of them, you tell me, are nobles, and it will not be easy for a peasant girl to come into their presence." . "i am told to send up the message that a person from the village of beerholt is desirous of speaking to them, countess," ned replied. "i believe there is no such vil- lage, but it is a sort of password; and i have another with which to address them when they see me." "i will start with you," the servant said, "and walk with you until you are past the guards. there are many soldiers about in the quarter this morning, and i hear they are questioning every one whether they have seen aught of a country lad." "i thank you," ned replied, "but i would rather go alone. if i am detected harm would only come to myself, but if you were with me you would assuredly all be involved in my misfortune. i would far rather by pike and dyke. go alw-j* i do not feel that there is any danger of my being suspected; and if i am alone i can bandy jokes with the soldiers if they speak to me. there is no fear that either spanish or germans will notice that i speak dutch rather than flemish. what is the price at which i ought to offer my eggs?" magdalene told him the price she generally paid to the market women. "of course you must ask a little more than that, and let people beat you down to that figure." "now i am off, then," he said, taking up the basket. "may god keep you in his hands!" the countess said solemnly. "it is not only your own life that is at stake, but the interests of our country." "turn round and let me take a last look at you," magdalene said, " and be sure that everything is right. yes, you will pass; but remember what i told you about your walk." ned walked briskly along until he came within sight of two soldiers standing at a point where the street branched. he now walked more slowly, stopping here and there and offering his eggs to women standing at their doors or going in and out. as he thought it better to effect a sale he asked rather lower prices than those magdalene had given him, and disposed of three or four dozen before he reached the soldiers. they made no remark as he passed. he felt more confident now, and began to enter into the spirit of his part; and when one of a group of soldiers in front of a wine shop made some laughing remark to him he answered him pertly, and turned the laugh of the man's comrades against him. on nearing the center of the town he began his task of delivering the letters, choosing first those who resided in comparatively quiet streets, so as to get rid of as by pike and dyke. many of them as possible before he entered the mora crowded thoroughfares, where his risk of detection would be greater. the only persons he was really afraid of meeting were von aert and his clerk. the first might not detect him, but he felt sure that if the eyes of the latter fell upon him he would recognize him. with the various burghers he had little trouble. if they were in their shops he walked boldly in, and said to them, "i * am the young woman from the village of beerholt, whom you were expecting to see;" and in each case the burgher said at once, " it is my wife who has business with you," and led the way into the interior of the house. ned's next question: "how is the wind blowing in holland?" was answered by his being taken into a quiet room. the letter was then produced, and in each case an answer more or less satisfactory was given. ned found that there were a large number of men in brussels ripe for a revolt, but that there was no great chance of the rising taking place until the prince of orange had-gained some marked success, such as would encourage hopes that the struggle might in the end be successful. in three or four cases there were favorable answers to the appeals for funds, one burgher saying that he and his friends had subscribed between them a hundred thousand gulden, which they would forward by the first opportunity to a banker at leyden. one said that he found that the prince's proclamations of absolute toleration of all religions produced a bad effect upon many of his friends, for that in brabant they were as at- tached as ever to the catholic religion, and would be loth to see lutheran and calvinist churches opened. "i know that the prince is desirous of wounding no one's conscience," ned said. "but how can it be ex- pected the protestants of holland and zealand will allow by pike and dyke. the catholics to have churches, with priests and proces- sions, in their midst, if their fellow religionists are not suffered to worship in their way in brabant? the prince has already proclaimed that every province may, as at present, make its own rules. and doubtless in the prov- inces where the catholic religion is dominant it will still remain so. only he claims that no man shall be persecuted for his religion." "it is a pity that we cannot all be of one mind," the man said doubtfully. "were there no religious ques- tions between the provinces they would be as one." "that may be," ned replied. "but in religion as in all other things, men will differ just as they do about the meats they eat and the wines they drink." "well, i shall do my best," the burgher said. "but i fear these religious differences will forever stand in the way of any united action on the part of the provinces." i fear that it will," ned agreed, "so long as people think it more important to enforce their neighbors' con- sciences than to obtain freedom for themselves." the two last letters that ned had to deliver were to nobles, whose mansions were situated in the grand square. it was not easy to obtain access here. the lackeys would probably laugh in his face did he ask them to take his message to their master. and indeed the disguise he now wore, although excellent as protec- tion from danger, was the worst possible as regarded his chance of obtaining an interview. by this time he had sold the greater part of his eggs and he sat down, as if fatigued on a doorstep at a short distance from one of the mansions, and waited in the hope that he might presently see the noble with whom he had to do, issue out. in half an hour two mounted lackeys rode ur 'o the by pike and dyke. door, one of them leading a horse. a short time after- ward a gentleman came out and mounted. he heard a bystander say to another," there is the count of sluys." ned got up, took his basket, and as the count came along crossed the road hurriedly just in front of his horse. as he did so be stumbled and fell, and a number of his eggs rolled out on the ground. there was a laugh among the bystanders, and the count reined in his horse. "what possessed you to run like that under my horse's feet, my poor girl?" he asked, as ned rose.and began to cry loudly. ned looked up in his face and rapidly said: " i am the person you expect from beerholt." the count gave a low exclamation of surprise, and ned went on, "how does the wind blow in holland?" the count deliberately felt in his pouch and drew out a coin, which he handed to ned. "be at my back-door in an hour's time. say to the servant who opens it,' i am the person expected.' he will lead you to me." then he rode forward, ned pouring out voluble thanks for the coin bestowed upon him. "you are a clever wench," a soldier standing by said to ned, laughing. "that was very artfully done, and i warrant me it is not the first time you have tried it." " wasn't going to carry my eggs all the way back," ned replied in an undertone. "i suppose there are tricks in your trade as in mine." the soldier laughed again, and ned passing quickly on mingled in the crowd, and soon moved away a consid- erable distance from the house. an hour later he went up a side street, in which was the door used by the serv- ants and trades-people of the count. a lackey was ne ed re - - care f sha cht ce ! p. & d. ned's stratagem to meet the count of sluys.–page . br pike and dyke. ft standing there. "i am the person expected," ned said quietly to him. he at once led the way into the house up some backstairs and passages, along a large corridor, then opening a door, he motioned to ned to enter. by pike and dyke. chapter x. a dangebotjs enooxtntbb. the count of sluys was sitting at a table covered with papers. "you have chosen a strange disguise," he said with a smile. "it is none of my choosing," ned replied. "i came into the city in the dress of a peasant boy, but was arrested by counoilor von aert, and had i not made my escape should probably have by this time been hung." "are you the lad for whom such a search has been made?" the count asked in surprise. "von aert is so furious he can talk about nothing else, and all the world is laughing at his having been tricked by a boy. had i known that it was the prince's messenger i should not have felt inclined to laugh; thinking that papers, that would have boded me evil if discovered, might have been found upon him." "they were found upon me," ned replied; "but happily i recovered them. as they were not addressed, no one was any the wiser. this is the one intended for you, sir." the count opened and read the document, and then gave ned a long message to deliver to the prince. it oontained particulars of his interviews with several other nobles, with details as to the number of men they could put in the field, and the funds they could dispose of in aid of the rising. ned took notes of all the figures on by pike and dyke. a slip of paper, as he had done in several other instances. the count then asked him as to his arrest and mannei of escape, and laughed heartily when he found that von aert had himself by mistake returned the letters found upon ned. "i have delivered all but one," ned said. "and that i know not how to dispose of, for it would be dan- gerous to play the same trick again. and, indeed, i want if possible to be out of this town to-morrow; not so much for my own sake, but because were i de- tected might bring destruction upon those who are sheltering me." "who is this letter for?" the count asked. ned hesitated; -the noble to whom the letter was addressed was, like many others of the prince's secret adherents, openly a strong supporter of the duke of alva. and, indeed, many were at that time playing a double game, so as to make profit whichever side was successful in the long run. "perhaps it is better not to tell me," the count said, seeing ned's hesitation, " and i am glad to see that you are so discreet. but it can be managed in this way; take a pen and go to that other table and write the address on the letter. i will call in my servant and tell him to take it from you and to deliver it at once, and ask for a reply to the person from beerholt. that is, if that is the pass-word to him also. he shall deliver the reply to you, and i will give you my promise that i will never ask him afterward to whom he took the letter." ned felt that this would be the best course he could adopt, and addressed the letter at once. the count touched a bell and the lackey again entered. "take thai letter at once," the count said, motioning by pike and dyke. to the letter ned held in his hand. "you will deliver it yourself, and ask that an answer may be given to you for the person from beerholt. wait for that answer and bring it back here." after the servant had gone the count chatted with ned as to the state of affairs in holland, and asked him many questions about himself. it was an hour and a half before the servant returned. he was advancing with the letter to the count, when the latter motioned to him to hand it to ned. "is there nothing else that i can do for you?" he asked. "how do you intend to travel back through the country? surely not in that dress?" "no, sir; i was thinking of procuring another." "it might be difficult for you to get one," the count said. *' i will manage that for you;" and he again touched the bell. "philip," he said to the lackey, "i need a suit of your clothes; a quiet plain suit, such as you would use if you rode on an errand for me. bring them here at once, and order a new suit for yourself. he is but little taller than you are, he went on when the man had retired," and his clothes will, i doubt not, fit you. you have not got a horse, i suppose?" "no, sir." "which way are you going back?" "i shall take the antwerp road." "there is a clump of trees about three miles along that road," the count said. "philip shall be there with a horse for you at any hour that you like to name." "i thank you greatly, count. i will be there at nine in the morning. i shall sally out in my present dress, leave the road a mile or so from the town, and find some quiet place where i can put on the suit you have furnished me with, and then walk on to the wood. by pike and dyke. "very well; you shall find the horse there at that hour without fail. you are a brave lad, and have carried out your task with great discretion. i hope some day to see you again by the side of the prince of orange." a minute later the lackey returned with a bundle containing the suit of clothes. ned placed it in his basket. "good-by, and a good journey," the count said. ned followed the lackey, who the count had told him had been born on his estate, and could be implicitly trusted, down the stairs, and then made his way without inter- ruption to his lodging. "welcome back," the countess exclaimed, as he en- tered. "we have prayed for you much to-day, but i began to fear that harm had befallen yon; for it is already growing dark, and i thought you would have been here two or three hours since. how have you sped?" u excellently well, madam. i have delivered all the letters, and have obtained answers, in all cases but one, by word of mouth. that one is in writing; but i shall commit it to heart, and destroy it at once. then, if i am again searched, i shall not be in so perilous a posi- tion as before." he opened the letter and read it. as he had expected, it was written with extreme caution, and in evidently a feigned hand; no names either of places or persons were mentioned. the writer simply assured "his good cousin " of his good-will, and said that owing to the losses he had had in business from the troubled times, he could not say at present how much he could venture to aid him in the new business on which he h?d env barked. by pike and dyke. after reading it through, ned threw the paper into the fire. "he did not feel sure as to whom he was writing," he said, "and feared treachery. however, as i have obtained nine answers, i need not mind if this be but a poor one. now, madam, i am ready to start at half- past seven in the morning. i have been furnished with another disguise to put on when i get beyond the walls; and a horse is to be in waiting for me at a point three miles away; so that i hope i shall be able to make my way back without much difficulty." accordingly in the morning, after many thanks to the countess von harp for her kindness, and the ex- pression of his sincerest hope that they might meet again, either in england or holland, ned started on hia way. on reaching one of the streets leading to the gate he fell in behind a group of country people, who, having early disposed of the produce they had brought to market, were making their way home. among them was a lad of about his own age; and on reaching the gate two soldiers at once stepped forward and seized him, to the surprise and consternation of himself and his friends. the soldiers paid no heed to the outcry, but shouted to some one in the guardhouse, and imme- diately a man whom ned recognized as one of the warders who had attended him in prison came out. "that is not the fellow," he said, after a brief look at the captive. "he is about the same age, but he is much fairer than our fellow, and in no way like him in face." ned did not wait to hear the result of the examina- tion, but at once passed on out of the gate with the country people unconnected with the captive. a minute or two later the latter with his friend* issued by pike and dyk . forth. ned kept about halfway between the two parties until he reached a lane branching off the road in the direction in which he wished to go. following this for a mile he came into the ghent road, and had no diffi- culty in finding the place where he had hidden his money. going behind a stack of corn, a short distance away, he changed his clothes; and pushing the female garments well into the stack, went on his way again, well pleased to be once more in male attire. the clothes fitted him well, and were of a sober color, such as a trusty retainer of a noble house would wear upon a journey. he retraced his steps until again on the road to antwerp, and followed this until he came to the clump of trees. here the count's servant was awaiting him with two horses. he smiled as ned came up. "if it had not been my own clothes you are wearing, i should not have known you again," he said. "the count bade me ask you if you had need of money? if so, i was to hand you this purse." "give my thanks to the count," ned replied, "and say that i am well furnished." "not in all respects, i think," the man said. ned thought for a minute; "no," he said. "i have no arms." the man took a brace of pistols from the holsters of his own horse and placed them in those on ned's saddle, and then unbuckled his sword-belt and handed it to ned. "it is ill traveling unarmed in the netherlands at present," he said. "what with the spaniards and the germans, and the peasants who have been driven to take to a robber's life, no man should travel without weapons. the count bade me give you these, and say by piki and dykk he was sure you would use them well if there should be need." ned leaped into the saddle, and with sincere thanks to the man galloped off toward antwerp. unless ill fortune should again throw him in the way of von aert he now felt safe; and he had no fear that this would be the case, for they would be devoting their whole energy to the search for him in brussels. he burst into a fit of hearty laughter as he rode along, at the thought of the fury the councilor must have been thrown into when, upon his return home, he discovered that he had given away the wrong packet of letters. he would have been angry enough before at the escape of the captive he was himself watching, and the loss thereby of the means upon which he had reckoned to discover the ownership of the letters, and so to swell the list of victims. still he doubtless consoled himself at the thought that he was sure before many hours to have his prisoner again in his power, and that, after all, an- noying as it was, the delay would be a short one indeed. but when he took the packet from his pocket, and discovered that he had given up the all-important docu- ments, and had retained a packet of blank paper, he must have seen at once that he was foiled. he might recapture the prisoner, torture him, and put him to death; but his first step would of course have been to destroy the precious letters, and there would be no evidence forthcoming against those for whom they were intended, and who were doubtless men of considerable standing and position, and not to be assailed upon the mere avowal extracted by torture from a boy and unsup- ported bv any written proofs. "that evil-looking clerk of his will come in for a share of his displeasure," ned thought to himself. "i by pike and dyke. believe that he is worse than his faster, and will take it sorely to heart at having feben tricked by a boy. i should have scant mercy to expect should i ever fall into their hands again." ned rode through the city of mechlin without drawing rein. it as but a month since that it had been the ■oene of the most horrible butchery, simply because it had opened its gates to the prince of orange on his forward march to attempt the relief of mons. a few of the prince's german mercenaries had been left there as a garrison. these fired a few shots when the spanish army approached, and then fled in the night, leaving the town to the vengeance of the spaniards. in the morning a procession of priests and citizens went out to beg for pardon, but the spaniards rushed into the town and began a sack and a slaughter that continued for three days. the churches, monasteries, and religious houses of every kind, as well as those of the private citizens, were sacked; and the desecration of the churches by the fanatics of antwerp, for which hundreds of heretics had been burnt to death, was now repeated a thousand-fold by the roman catholic soldiers of philip. the orna- ments of the altars, the chalices, curtains, carpets, gold embroidered robes of the priests, the repositories of the host, the precious vessels used in extreme unction, the rich clothing and jewelry of the effigies of the virgin and saints were all plundered. the property of the catholic citizens was taken as freely as that of the protestants; of whom, indeed, there were few in the city. men, women, and children were murdered whole- sale in the streets. even the ultra-catholic jean richardot, member of the grand council, in reporting upon the events, ended by pike and dyke. his narration by say.zing, “he could say no more, for his hair stood on end, not o nly at recounting, but even at remembering the scene." the survivors of the sack were moving listlessly about thổ w streets of the ruined city as ned rode through. great nun abers had died of was to be obtained, and none dare leave their houses until the spanish and german troops had departed. zutphen had suffered a vengeance even more terrible than that of mechlin. alva had ordered his son, fred- erick, who commanded the army that marched against it, to leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house to the ground; and the orders were literally obeyed. the garrison were first put to the sword, and then the citizens were attacked and slaugh- tered wholesale. some were stripped naked and turned out to freeze to death in the fields. five hundred were tied back to back and drowned in the river. some were hung up by their feet, and suffered for many hours until death came to their relief. ned put up at antwerp for the night. the news of the destruction of zutphen, and of the horrors per- petrated there, had arrived but a few hours before, and a feeling of the most intense horror and indignation filled the inhabitants ; but none dared to express what every one felt. the fate of mechlin and zutphen was, throughout the netherlands, save in holland and zeeland alone, the inhabitants were palsied by terror. had one great city set the example and risen against the spaniards, the rest would have followed; but none dared be the first to provoke so terrible a vengeance. men who would have risked their own lives shrank from exposing their wives and children to atrocities and by pike and dyke. death. it seemed that conflict was useless. van der berg, a brother-in-law of the prince of orange, who had been placed by the prince as governor of guelderland, and overyssel, fled by night and all the cities which had raised the standard of orange deserted the cause at once. friesland, too, again submitted to the spanish yoke. ned, after putting up his horse at a hotel at ant- werp, sauntered out into the streets. antwerp at that time was one of the finest and wealthiest towns in europe. its public buildings were magnificent, the town-hall a marvel of architectural beauty. he stood in the great square admiring its beauties and those of the cathedral when he was conscious of some one staring fixedly at him, and he could scarce repress a start when he saw the malicious face of genet, the clerk of councillor von aert. his first impulse was to fly, but the square was full of burghers, with many groups of spanish soldiers sauntering about; he could not hope to escape. he saw by the expression on genet's face that as yet he was not sure of his identity. he had before seen him only as a country boy, and in his present attire his appearance was naturally a good deal changed. still the fixed stare of the man showed that his suspicions were strongly aroused, and ned felt sure that it would not be long before he completely recognized him. noth- ing could be more unfortunate than that this man whom he had believed to be diligently searching for him in brussels should thus meet him in the streets of ant- werp. turning the matter over rapidly in his mind he saw but one hope of escape. he sauntered quietly up to a group of soldiers. "my friends," he said, "do you want to earn », few crowns " ft by pike and dyee. "that would we right gladly," one of them replied, "seeing that his gracious majesty has forgotten to pay us for well-nigh a year." "there is a hang-dog villain with a squint, in a russet cloak and doublet, just behind me," ned said. "i have had dealings with him, and know him and his master to be villains. he claims that i am in debt to his mas- ter, and it may be that it is true; but i have particular reasons for objecting to be laid by the heels for it just now." "that is natural enough," the soldier said. "i have experienced the same unpleasantness, and can feel for you." "see here, then," ned said. "here are ten crowns, which is two apiece for you. now, i want you to hustle against that fellow, pick a quarrel with him and charge him with assaulting you, and drag him away to the guardhouse. give him a slap on the mouth if he cries out, and throw him into a cell, and let him cool his heels there till morning. that will give me time to finish my business and be off again into the country." "that can be managed easity enough," the soldier said with a laugh. "he is an ill-favored-looking varlet; and is, i doubt not, a pestilent heretic. it would be a pleasure to cuff him even without your honor's crowns." "here is the money, then," ned said; "but above all, as i have said, do not let him talk or cry out or make a tumult. nip him tightly by the neck." "we know our business," the soldier said. "you can rely on us to manage your affair." ned sauntered quietly on. in a minute or two he heard a loud and sudden altercation, then there was the sound of blows, and looking round he saw two of the soldiei a shaking genet violently. the man endear- by pike and dyke. ored to shout to the crowd; but one of the soldiers smote him heavily on the mouth, and then surrounding him they dragged him away. "that is very satisfact- orily done," ned said to himself, "and it is by no means likely that master genet will get a hearing before to- morrow morning. he will be pushed into a cell in the guard-room on the charge of brawling and insolence, and it is not probable that any one will go near him till the morning. i certainly should like to peep in and have a look at him. his rage would be good to see; and he has been instrumental in sending such hundreds of men to prison that one would like to see how he feels now that it is his turn. still i must not count too surely upon having time. he may possibly find some officers who will listen to his tale, although i do not think he is likely to do that; but still it would be foolish to risk it, and i will mount my horse and ride on at once." the ostler was somewhat surprised when ned told him that he had changed his mind, and that, instead of remaining for the night at antwerp, he should ride for- ward at once. as ned paid him handsomely for the feed the horse had had he made no remark, and ned mounted and rode out through the town by the gate through which he had entered. then he made a wide detour round the town, and rode on along the bank of the river until he came to a ferry. here he crossed, and then rode on until he reached a village, where he resolved to stop the night, being now off the main roads, and therefore fairly safe from pursuit, even should genet be able to satisfy his captors that a mistake had been made, and that those who captured him had in fact been aiding a fugitive to escape from justice. the host of the little inn apologized for the poor fare by pike and dyke. that was set before him, on the ground of the exactions of the soldiers. "one can scarcely call one's lite one's own," he grumbled. "a body of them rode into the village yesterday and stripped it clear of everything, maltreating all who ventured even to remonstrate. they came from antwerp, i believe; but there is no baying, and even if we knew them it would be useless to make complaints." ned assured his host that he was very indifferent in the matter of food. "in these days," he said, " if one can get a piece of bread one may think one's self lucky. but you have, i hope, sufficient forage for my horse." "yes," the landlord replied; "their horses ate as much as they could, but they could not carry off my supply of corn. indeed the horses were pretty well laden as it was with ducks and geese. i let them have us much wine as they could drink, and of the best, so they did not trouble to go down into the cellar. if they had they would likely enough have broached all the casks and let the wine run. there is nothing that these fellows are not capable of; they seem to do mischief of pure devilment." ned had scarcely finished his meal when a tramping of horses was heard outside. "the saints protect us!" the landlord exclaimed. "here are either these fellows coming back again, or another set doubtless just as bad." a minute later the door opened and a party of a dozen soldiers entered. "wine, landlord! and your best!" a sergeant said. "some comrades who called here yesterday told us that your tap was good, so we have just ridden over to giva you a turn." r by pike and dyke. the landlord groaned. "gracious, sirs," he said, "i am but a poor man, and your comrades on parting forgot to settle for their wine. another two or three visits, and i am ruined." a volley of impatient oaths at once broke out, and without further hesitation the terrified landlord hurried away, and returned loaded with flasks of wine, upon which the soldiers were speedily engaged. "and who may you be, young sir?" one of them asked ned, who was sitting at a small table apart from the rest. "i am simply a traveler," ned replied, " engaged upon my master's business." "you are a likely looking young fellow too," the soldier said, " and would have made a good soldier if you had had the chance, instead of jogging about doing your lord's bidding; but i warrant me you are no better than the rest of your countrymen, and do not know one end of a sword from the other." "i am not skilled in arms," ned replied, "though my experience goes a little further than you say; but as you gentlemen protect the netherlands, and we have no army of our own, i have not the opportunity, even had i wished it, to become a soldier." "move over here," the soldier said, "and join us in a oup to the honor of philip and confusion to the prince of orange and all traitors." "i will join you in drinking to philip, for in truth he is a great monarch and a powerful, and i will also drink to the confusion of all traitors whomsoever they may be." "you are all traitors at heart," one of the spaniards who had not before spoken put in. "there is not a • by pike and dyke. native of the netherlands but would rise against ua to-morrow." "i think that is true speaking," said ned quietly. ** there are many traitors in the netherlands, i giant you, but there are others to whom your words can hardly apply." "they are all the same," the soldier said angrily. "knaves everyone of them. however, before we have done with them we will reduce their number." ned did not reply; but having drank the glass of wine, returned to his seat, and shortly afterward, when the soldiers began to quarrel among themselves, slipped from the room. the landlord was outside, pacing anx- iously up and down. "are there any more of them in the village?" ned asked. "not that i know of," he answered; "and to me it makes no difference. they will stay here swilling my wine all night, and in the morning like enough will set fire to my house before they ride away. i have just sent off my wife and daughters to be out of their reach. as for myself, i am half-minded to mix poison with their wine and finish with them." "that would only bring down vengeance upon your- self," ned said. "some would probably escape and tell the tale. at any rate, as there are so large a number there would be sure to be inquiry when they were found to be missing, and no doubt they mentioned to some of their friends before they started where they were com- ing to, and inquiry would be made. you could never get rid of all their bodies. besides, doubtless others in the village heard them ride up, and know that they have been here; so you could not esoape detection, it better to put up with them." by pike and dyke. "yes, if there were only these fellows; but you will bee that another party will come, and another, until i am entirely ruined." "if you think that, i would in the morning shut up my house and depart, and not return until these trouble* are over." "and then come back and find my house burned down," the innkeeper groaned. "better that than to see yourself gradually ruined, and perhaps lose your life," ned said. "there is nowhere to go to," the innkeeper said with a shake of his head. "you might do as many others have done," ned re- plied, "and go to holland, where at least you would be safe." "but not for long," the man said. "the army will soon be on the march in that direction, and my fate there would be worse than here. here i am only an innkeeper to be fleeced; there i should be regarded as a heretic to be burnt. listen to them. they are fight- ing now. do you hear my mugs crashing? i only hops that they will kill each other to the last man. i should advise you, sir, to be off at once. they may take it into their heads that you are some one it behooves them to slay, it matters not whom; and you would certainly get no sleep here to-night if you stay." "that is true enough," ned agreed; "and perhaps it would be the best way for me to get on horseback again, but i know not the road, and might likely enough miss it altogether, and drown myself in one of your ditches." "i will send my boy with you to put you on to the road," the landlord said. "i sent him out to sleep in the stables, so as to be out of the way of these despera* by pike and dyke. does. he will walk beside your horse until you get into the main road." ned willingly accepted the proposal, for indeed he felt that there might be danger in remaining in the house with these drunken soldiers. he accordingly paid his reckoning, and was soon on horseback again, with the landlord's son, a boy of some ten years old, walking beside him. in half an hour they came upon a broad road. "this," the lad said, "will take you to st. nicholas." ned gave the boy a crown for his trouble, and rode slowly along. he had no idea of entering st. nicholas, for it was now nigh eleven o'clock at night, and the arrival of a traveler at such an hour would be sure to attract attention. the night, too, was dark, and he could scarce see the road he was following. after thinking it over for some time he dismounted, led his horse a distance from the road, fastened the reins to a bush, and threw himself down on the ground to wait for daylight. the night was cold, and a fine rain was falling. ned got up from time to time and walked about to keep himself warm, and was heartily glad when he saw the first rays of daylight in the east. after waiting for half an hour he mounted, and after riding a few miles entered a large village. thinking that it would be safer than at st. nicholas, he halted there. it was still raining, and the drenched state of his clothes therefore excited no comment beyond the host's remark, " you must have started early to have got so wet?" "yes," he said, "i was up before daylight. i have a change of clothes in my saddle-bag, and shall be glad to put them on. will you order your man to give my by pike and dyke. horse a good rub down, and let him have a hot mash. how far am i from ghent now?" "if you have come from antwerp, sir, you have come just halfway." ned changed his clothes and had some breakfast, and then as he sat by the fire the feeling of warmth and com- fort after his long and cold night overpowered him, and he went fast to sleep. m by pike and bys.e. chapter xi. saving a victim. . ned slept for some hours. when he woke he heard the landlord talking in loud tones in the passage out- side. "i tell you, wife it is a burning shame. mynheer von bost has never done a soul harm in his life. he has always been ready to open his purse.strings in case of distress; he is a man that does not meddle in any way with politics. it is true that he does not go to mass, but that hurts no one ; and there is many a ne'er-do-well in the village who never darkens the church door. if he prefers to pray in his own house and in his own way, what matter is it to any one? his cloth-mill gives em- ployment to half the village. what we shall do if it is shut up i am sure i don't know. but what do they care for the village. mynheer von bost is a protestant and a rich man—that is quite enough for the blood council; so he and his pretty young wife are to be dragged off and executed." "what is that?" ned asked, opening the door. "can't the blood council even leave your quiet village alone?" "they can leave nothing alone," the landlord said bitterly. "an hour ago four of their officials rode up under one of the agents of the council—a squint- eyed villain. they stopped at the door and asked for the v onse of mynheer von bost, and then rode off, and hal ".our afterward one of the servants -"i down by pike and dyke. into the village with the news that her master and mis- trees had been arrested, and that they were to be taken to antwerp to be executed; for that, as it seems, they had already been tried without their knowing anything about it. ned started when he heard the landlord describe the leader of the party. this, then, accounted for genet's presence at antwerp ; he had been sent from brussels to arrest this cloth manufacturer. he had evidently succeeded in establishing his identity late in the even- ing or at early morning, and guessing that ned would have ridden on without loss of time after setting the , soldiers on to assault him, had proceeded to carry out the mission with which he was charged. "the villagers would tear the villain limb from limb if they dared," the landlord went on. "why don't they dare ?" ned asked. "why? why, because we should be having a troop of soldiers down here in twenty- four hours, and the village would be burnt, and every man in it, and woman too, put to death. no, no, sir; the people here would do a good deal for mynheer von bost and his wife, but they won't risk everything." "would they risk anything, do you think?" ned asked. "are there half a dozen men in the village, do you think who would strike a blow for their master, if they could do it without running the risk you speak of?" the landlord looked at him sharply. "this is not the time, young sir, for men to speak before strangers about matters which may put their neck in danger." "you are right," ned said; "and i do not blame you for being discreet. i know this cross-eyed man you apeak of, and know that he is the secretary of one of by pike and dyke. fit. they have got guns, so you can lie in ambush. he will bring a horse with him with a pillion. he could have got more men, but he thinks the fewer to know the secret the better, as there may be inquiries here; and in these days none can trust his own neighbor. and now farewell, young sir. i know not who you are, but you must have a good heart to venture your life in a quarrel for people of whom you know nothing." "i am a protestant myself, landlord, and i have had uncles and other relations murdered by the blood council. moreover i have a special feud with the chief of these villains." so saying ned shook the landlord's hand and rode off. he halted when he came to the point indicated. in less than half an hour he saw three men coming from the other direction. as one of them was leading a horse he at once rode on to meet them. "we have made a detour through the fields," the young man leading the horse said. "it would not have done for any one in the village to have seen us journeying this way." "quite right," ned agreed. "there are babblers everywhere, and the fewer who know aught of a matter like this the better. now, where had we best am- buscade?" "there is a little wood by the roadside half a mile on, and we had best move there at once, for they may be along at any time now." two of .the men were armed with muskets, and all three carried flails. they moved briskly forward until they got to the woods. "you had best fasten up the horse among the trees,* ned said. " and then take your station close to the road> i will ride out from the trees as i come up and engage by pike and dyk&. them in talk, so that you and your brother can take a steady aim. don't fire until you are sure of each bring- ing down a man, then rush out and engage them with your flails. i will answer for their leader myself." "we won't miss them, never fear, young sir. we have too much practice at the ducks in the winter to miss such a mark as that." after seeing the horse tied up, and the men take their stations behind trees, ned went a few yards fur- ther and then waited the coming of the party with the prisoners. he had not a shadow of compunction at the fate that was about to befall these officials. they had hauled away hundreds to the gallows, and the animos- ity that prevailed between the two parties was so in- tense that neither thought of sparing the other if they fell into their hands. as for genet, ned felt that his own life would not be safe as long as this man lived. he might, for aught he knew, have other missions of the same nature as that he had just fulfilled, and he felt sure that whatever disguise he might adopt this man would detect him did they meet, and in that case not only his own life but that of many others might be sacrificed. in about ten minutes the sound of horses' hoofs was heard. ned waited till they came within a few paces, and then suddenly rode out from the wood. genet, who was riding ahead of the others, seined in his horse suddenly. "what are you doing, fellow?" he began angrily, "riding out thus suddenly upon us?" then his voice changed as he recognized ned. "what, is it you again?" he exclaimed. "this time at least you shall not escape me." he drew a pistol and fired. ned was equally quick, by pike and dyke. plied; "and have been doing business for him at brussels. i have twice narrowly escaped with my life from the hands of the leader of that party, and was in the village when they arrived and seized you. finding how deep was the regret that so kind a master should be thus led away to execution, i determined if possible to save you, and with the aid of these three men, two of whom are workmen of yours, and the other a farmer you befriended last year when his house was burnt down, we have succeeded in doing so." the three men now came out of the wood. "my brave fellows," the manufacturer said, "i and my wife owe our lives to you and to this gentleman." "you are heartily welcome, sir," the young farmer said. "you have saved me from ruin, and one good turn deserves another. i and my brothers were only too glad to join when we heard that this gentleman was determined to try to release you. if it had not been for him it would never have entered our heads till it was too late." "may i ask your name, sir?" von bost said to ned. "my wife and i would like to know to whom we owe a lifelong debt of gratitude. i will take your advice and ride at once for sluys. i have many friends there who will conceal us and get us on board a ship. my arrangements have long been made for departure, and my capital transferred to england; but i thought i should have had sufficient notice of danger to take flight. where can i hear of you, sir?" "my name is edward martin. my.father is an eng- lish captain, who lives at rotherhithe, close by london. at present, as i said, i am in the service of the prince of orange; but my home is still in england. and now, sir, i think you had best be riding at once. i by pike and dyke. presume that there are by-roads by which you can avoid passing through any towns on your way to sluys. it is better not to delay a minute, for at any moment some party or other of soldiers may come along." the men had by this time brought out the horse. von bost mounted, and his wife was assisted on to the pillion behind him. "good-by, good friends," he said. "god grant that no harm come to you for this kind deed." the moment he had ridden off ned and his compan- ions lifted the bodies of the three men who had fallen and carried them into the wood. "we had best turn their pockets inside out," ned said, "and take away everything of value upon them." "this fellow has a well-lined purse," the young far- mer said as he examined the pocket of genet; "and here are a bundle of papers in his doublet." "give me the papers," ned said, "they may be use- ful to me, and doubtless they contain lists of other vic- tims whom i may be able to send warning to in time for them to escape." "what shall we do about the horses?" "i would take off the saddles, bridles, and accouter- ments, throw them into a ditch together with the men's aims and pile a few bushes over them, then drive the horses across the fields till they reach some grazing ground near the river; the farmers there will doubtless appropriate them in time. now, as to these two prison- ers, they are the only trouble." "you need not trouble about them," the farmer said, "we have made them safe. we are not going to risk our lives and those of our wives and families, as we should have done if we had left those fellows alive to by pike and dyke. quired by the bearer in carrying out the duties with which he was charged. then there was a long list of persons resident in st. nicholas, sluys, and axel, against whom denunciations of heresy or of suspected disloyalty to philip bad been laid. there was a note at the bottom of this list : “ in- quire into the condition of life and probable means of each of these suspected persons.” “ it is somewhat lucky for all these people," ned said to himself, “ that i happened to fall in with mynheer genet. the question now is how to warn them. i see there are three orders of arrest against people here, and ten names on the suspected list. atany rate i can warn them myself.” as soon as he had finished his meal ned inquired the addresses of the three persons ordered to be arrested. they were all, as he had expected, leading men in the place; for it was the confiscation of the goods of the victims, quite as much as any question of religion or loyalty, that was at the bottom of a large proportion of the arrests and executions. the first ned called upon was, like von bost, a cloth manufacturer. he was rather a pompous man, and when ned was shown in said: “now, young man my time is valuable, so let us have no useless talking. what is it you want?” “your time perhaps is more valuable than you think," ned said quietly, “seeing that you have not got much of it left." “ what do you mean, sir ?” the manufacturer asked angrily. “i mean simply this,” ned replied." that i am the bearer of an order of the council for your arrest, and that of your wife, your son ernest, and your daughter mary, upon the charge of having been present and taken by pike and dyke. part in a meeting of the people of this town at whioh words of a treasonable character were uttered. more- over, there is a note at the bottom of this order saying that these charges have been proved to the satisfaction of the council, and that you are accordingly to be ex- ecuted upon your arrival at antwerp, the necessary orders having been transmitted to the governor of the prison there." the manufacturer sank down in a chair the picture of terror. "i have done no harm," he stammered. "i knew not when i went to the meeting what was going to be •aid there." "what matters that?" ned asked. "you have been tried and condemned, and one or other of the council has doubtless obtained the grant of your property. well, sir, i will not frighten you longer. this is the document in question, but fortunately i am not the person charged with this execution. i met him on the way and there was a disagreement between us, and the result is that he will execute no more orders, and his papers fell into wy hands. it may be some days before he is missed, and then doubtless some one else will be charged to carry out the orders of which he was the bearer. this will give you time to make preparations for flight, and i should advise you before eight-and-forty hours are over to be on your way toward the frontier of germany, or on board a ship at one of the ports. i will hand you this document in order that you may convince your wife and family of the danger that you are all running, and of the urgent need of haste." ned left at once, before the man, who was almost stu- pefied by the misfortune that had befallen him, had time to utter his thanks. he then called on the other two by pike and dyke. men against whom he bore orders of arrest. as both received him with greater courtesy than that shown by the first he had visited, he broke the news more gently to them, and discussed with them the manner in which they had best make their escape. one he found had friends and business connections in sluys, and doubted not that he could obtain a passage there to holland or england, while the other had similar connections in axel. ned handed over to them the orders for the arrest of burghers of those towns, and these they gave him their promise to deliver, and also either to see or to send letters warning all the persons who were mentioned in the list of suspected. as he was anxious to get on as soon as possible he also gave them the list of the sus- pected at st. nicholas, and these they promised also to warn; both were profuse in their gratitude to him for having saved them from certain death. having thus concluded his business, ned again mounted his horse and rode for bergen-op-zoom, the port at which he in- tended, if possible, to embark for zeeland. bergen-op-zoom, an important town, lay half a mile distant from the scheldt, and was connected with the river by a channel guarded by two forts. there had been a strong spanish garrison here, but it had lately been weakened by the withdrawal of a large detachment to take part in the successful enterprise undertaken for the relief of tergoes in the island of beveland, which was besieged by a force from flushing. ned had fre- quently been at bergen-op-zoom in the good venture, and knew that while the magistrates and wealthier citizens were devoted to the spanish cause the greater portion of the inhabitants, especially the seafaring class, were patriots to a man. by pike and dyke. he therefore went to a small inn by the waterside, where he had several times taken meals with his father when the ship was lying off from the river. seeidg his horse put up in the stable he entered the tap-room. the sailors drinking there looked somewhat surprised at the entrance of one differing much in appearance from the ordinary customers of the place. the landlord, who was leaning against his counter, did not advance to meet him; for strangers were by no means popular; and a sus- picion that the newcomer was a spy would speedily empty his house. as ned approached him he suddenly started, and was about to speak when the lad quickly placed his finger on his lip. he feared that the landlord was about to utter his name, and there might, for aught he knew, be bome one there who would report it. "how are you, landlord?" he said. "it is some time since i was here last, and i think you had almost forgot- ten me." the landlord took the hint. "yes indeed," he said. "and how is your father? i have not seen him lately, and heard that he was not well." "no; he has been laid up for some time, but he is mending. you see i have taken service." "ah, i see," the landlord said. "well, my good wife will be glad to see you and hear about your family." so saying he led the way into a private room. "why, what means this, master martin ?" he asked. "we heard here of the brave fight your father's ship made some two months since with a spaniard in the zuider-zee, and that he was sorely wounded. but what means this masquerading? surely you have not given up the sea?" "only for the present," ned replied. "you know i am hutch by my mother's side. all her family hava by pike and dyke. been uiurdered by the spaniards, and what with that and my father being attacked and wounded, i made up my mind to give up the sea for a time, and to help the good oause as much as i could. i have been carrying a mes- sage to brussels and want now to get back to rotterdam or some other seaport town. how had i best do it?"' "it is not easy," the landlord replied. "our trade is stopped here now. the rivers swarm with craft, manned, some by the beggars of the sea, and others by fisher- men ; and the spanish ships cannot come up save in great force. we have two or three of their war-ships here which go out and skirmish with our men, and do not always get the best of it. our people did badly the other night when they let the spaniards wade across to tergoes. that was a bad business. but about your getting away. let me see how it can be managed." "i have got a horse here." "that is bad," the landlord said. "you could put on sailor's clothes, and in the morning when i send in my guest list to the magistrate, i could put down that you had gone, but the horse would betray me. is it a good beast?" "yes, it is a very good horse. it was a present to me, and i don't like parting with it. but of course i cannot take it away." "i will send round word to a man i know who deals in horses. he is one who will hold his tongue, espe- cially when he sees an advantage in it. i will tell him it belonged to a man who has been here and gone away suddenly, and ask him what he will give for it, and take it quietly away after it gets dark to his own stables, and ask no questions about it. he will guess it belonged to somebody who has left secretly. of course he won't give more than half the value of the animal; bat i by pike and dyke. suppose you will not be particular about terms. any- how, i will do the best i can for you. when he is once out of the stables they may come and question as much as they like, but they will get nothing out of me beyond the fact that a young man came here, put up his horse, stayed the night, and left in the morning. i suppose they have no special interest in you so as to lead them to make a close inquiry?" "none at all," ned replied. "that is settled then," the landlord said. "now, as to yourself. two of my sons are at sea, you know, and i can rig you up with some of their clothes so that you can stroll about on the wharves, and no one will suspect you of being anything but a fisherman. then i will try and arrange with some of the sailors to take you down in a boat at night, and either put you on board the first of our craft they come upon; or land you at flushing. now i will take you in to my wife, and she will see about getting you a meal and making you comfortable." later on the landlord came in and said that he had made a bargain for the horse. "the beast is worth thirty crowns," he said, " but he will not give more than fifteen, and it required a good deal of bargaining to raise him to that. of course he suspected that there was something out of the way about the affair, and took advantage of it." "that will do very well indeed," ned said. "i did not expect to get anything for it." "i have been having a talk too with some sailors be- longing to a small craft lying at the wharf. they are most anxious to be off, for they are idle. the order that no boats were to leave was issued just after they came in. they have been six days doing nothing, and may, for aught they see, be kept here for another six by pike and dyke. months. they have been afraid to try to get away; for there are sentries all along the wall to see that none try to put out, and some guard-boats from the spanish ships rowing backward and forward outside the port, both to see that no ships leave, and that none come up to harm the shipping. still they say they have been making up their minds that they may as well stand the risk of being shot by the spaniards as the certainty of being starved here; besides they are patriots, and know that their boats may be wanted at any time for the convey- ance of troops. so when i told them that i doubted not that you would pay them well for landing you at flushing, they agreed to make the attempt, and will try to-night. as soon as you have had your breakfast you had better join them in the tap-room, go out with them through the water-gate, and get on board their craft and lie snug there till night." "how many men are there ?" ned asked. "there are six altogether, but only two will be up here presently. here are the fifteen crowns for your horse. that will do well to pay your passage to flushing." as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, ned, now dressed as a young fisherman, went into the tap-room with the landlord. two sailors were sitting there. "this is the young fellow that i was speaking to you about," the landlord said. "he is one of us, and heart and soul in the cause, and young though he looks has done good service. he is ready to pay you fifteen crowns when you land him at flushing." "that is a bargain," one of the men said," and will pay us for the week we have lost here. i should take you for a sailor, young sir." "i am a sailor," ned said, "and can lend a band on board if need be." by pike and dyke. "u,iu you swim? because if we are overliauled by the spaniards we shall all take to the water rather than fall into their hands." "yes, i can swim," ned said ; " and agree with you that i would rather swim than be captured. but if it is only a boat-load that overhauls us i would try to beat them off before giving up a craft in which i had a share." the sailors looked rather doubtfully at the lad, and their expression showed that they thought he was talk- ing boastfully. "he means what he says," the landlord put in. "ha is the son of the english captain who beat off the great spanish ship don pedro in the zuider zee a few weeks ago." . the men's faces changed, and both got up. and shook hands cordially with ned- "that was a brave affair, young sir; and there is not a town in holland where your father's name is not spoken of in honor. we know the ship well, and have helped load her before now; and now we know who you are, recognize your face. no wonder you want to get out of bergen-op- zoom. why, if i had known it had been you we would have been glad enough to take you to flushing without charging you a penny, and will do so now—will we not, comrade ? if it presses you in any way to pay us?" "not at all," ned said. "i am well supplied with money ; and since you are risking your boat, as well as your lives, it is only fair that i should pay my share. i can afford the fifteen crowns well enough, and indeed it is but the price of a horse that was given to me." "well, if it will not hurt you we will not say any more about it," the sailor replied; "seeing that we hava ^ a bad time of it lately, and have scarce mone/ by pike and dyke. the boat was pulled up alongside, ned and four of the men got into it and rowed down the port into the old haven, and out between the two forts guarding the entrance into the scheldt, then dropping their grapnel, baited some lines and began to fish. as boats from all the other craft lying by the shore were engaged in the same work, either with line or net, this was natural enough, and they did not return until evening was falling by which time they had captured a considerable number of fish. "we have had more luck than we have had all the week," one of the men said as they rowed back. "some- times we have only got just enough for ourselves, to day when we don't want them we have caught enough to sell for two or three guilders; for fish are scarce now in the town and fetch good prices. however, they will come in handy for our voyage." when they came alongside the skipper told them that three hours before two of the city constables had come along, and had inquired of him whether he had seen aught of a tall man of some thirty years of age, dressed in sober clothes, and with the appearance of a retainer in some good family. he had assured them he had seen none at all answering that description, and, indeed, that no one beside himself and his crew had been on the wharf that day. they had nevertheless come on board and searched the cabin, but finding nothing suspicious, and hearing that the rest of the crew, four men and a boy, were engaged in fishing, they had gone off without further question. "where do the guard-boats ply?" ned asked pres- ently. "a mile or two above the forts, and as much below; for, you see, vessels can come up either passage from the by pike and dyke. sea. it is the longest round by walcheren, but far easier nnd freer from sand-banks. vessels from the west'gener- ally take the walcheren passage; but those from the east, and coasters who know every foot of the river, oorae by the eastern scheldt." "which way do you think of going?" "that by flushing, if we have the choice. we pass several towns in the possession of the spaniards, and were the beggars to come up they would probably take the other channel. and i have noticed that there are always two row-boats in the river to the east, and only one to the west. our greatest difficulty will be in pass- ing the two war-ships anchored at the mouth of the port, under the guns of the forts. once fairly out into the scheldt we may think ourselves safe, for the river is so wide that unless by grievous ill-chance we are not likely to be seen on a dark night, such as this will be, by the row-boats. our real danger is in getting through the two forts, and the ships at the mouth of this port. "there is a vigilant watch kept at the forts; but there are not likely to be any sentries placed on the walls at the entrance of this inner haven, or on that run- ning along by old haven down to the forts. we will start as soon as the tide turns, and drift down with it. we will get out a pole or two to keep our course down the center till we get near the forts, and must then let her drift as she will, for a splash in the water or the slightest sound would call the attention of the sentries there, and if the alarm were given the boats of the two ships outside would have us to a certainty. i think the night is going to be most favorable. the clouds are low and i have felt a speck or two of mist; it will come on faster presently, and it will want keen eyes to see five yards away when the night falls. luckily there is not by piki and dyle. a breath of wind at present; and i hope there will not be until we are fairly out, otherwise we should be sure to drift ashore on one side or the other as we go down the channel." .-.-, . : - ... ii. ii. n by pike and dyke. chapter xii. back with the prince. before throwing off the warps from the shore the eaptain gave each man his orders. two were to stand with fenders, in case the boat drifted against another craft or against the wall. two were to take the long poles used for punting. an old sail had been torn up into strips and wrapped round these, with a pad of old rope at the end, so that they could push off from the wall without noise. not a word was to be spoken in case of their being hailed, nor was there to be the slight- est movement on board unless the use of the fenders or poles were required. lastly, all took off their boots. it was half an hour after the turn of the tide when the warps were thrown off. the tide in the inner port was so sluggish that it was absolutely necessary to pole the boat along until she got out into what was known as the old haven, which was the cut leading down from the town to the river. the work was noiselessly done; and ned, standing at the bow beside the skipper, scarce heard the slight- est sound. the night was fortunately very dark, and looking intently he could hardly make out the outline of the shore on either side. in a quarter of an hour they emerged from the inner port. on their left hand the wall of the fortifications connecting the town with the north fort at the mouth of the haven rose high above them, but its outline could be seen against the slcv. the by pike and dyke. captain had told the men poling to take her sharp round the corner, and keep her along as close as possible to the foot of the wall, as she was far less likely to be observed by any sentry who might be there than she would be if kept out in the center of the cut. very slowly the boat drifted along her course, assist- ed occasionally by the men pushing with their poles against the foot of the wall that rose a few feet from them, while those with the fender stood in readiness to place them in position should the ship approach so close to the wall as to render contact probable. the captain was now at the tiller, the way given her by the poles being sufficient to enable him to keep her on her course close to the wall. another quarter of an hour and they were at the end of the wall, for the forts at the entrance were detached. they were now approaching the most dangerous portion of the passage; they were no longer sheltered in the shadow, but must go along openly. it was, however, improbable that there would be sentries on the face of the fort looking toward the town, and ned, accustomed as he was to keep watch on deck at night, could scarce make out the low shore a few yards away, and felt pretty confident that the eyes of the sleepy sentries would not be able to pierce the gloom. the men had ceased poling now, only giving an occa- sional push to keep her head straight and prevent her from swinging round. presently a sailor standing next to ned touched his arm and pointed to the right, and straining his eyes he could dimly make out a dark mass looming in that direction. unlike the wall they had left, the forts stood at a little distance back from the water, and ned was sure that as he could scarce make out the outline of the one dearest to them, no one upon its wall could distinguish by pike and dyke. the tracery of the masts and rigging of the boat. the mist had thickened since they had started, and coming on heavier just at this point the fort was presently en- tirely obscured. another twenty minutes passed. they must be now, ned knew, in the course of the river; and he began to think that the danger was all over, when a dark object suddenly appeared from the mist, close at hand. in an- other moment there was a shock, and then a long grind- ing motion as the boat swept along by the side of a large ship. following the shock came a sharp challenge from the darkness above, followed by other shouts. obedient to the orders they had received, no sound was heard from the smack. each man stooped low under the bul- warks. two or three shots rang out from the ship, and there was a hail in dutch—" stop, or we will sink you." ned knew that this was an idle threat. the vessel was lying head to the tide and only a small gun or two in the stern could be brought to bear, and already the ship was lost to sight in the mist. there was much shouting and noise heard astern, and then the creaking of blocks. ned made his way aft. "the game is up," the skipper said. "they will be alongside in a few minutes. dark as it is they cannot miss us. they will know that we must have drifted straight down. we must take to the boats and row for it." "i should say, captain," ned said, "we had best take to the boat and row off for a short distance, and then wait. as likely as not they may think when they board her that she has simply drifted out from the town, hav- ing been carelessly moored. in that case they may let drop her anchor and return to their ship." "that is a happy thought," the captain said i and by pike and dykb. vanning forward he told the crew to take the boat at once. "i have another idea, captain," ned said, just as they were about to push off. "as we saw when we were passing the ship we are drifting stern foremost. if we can fasten a long line to her stern we can hang on to it. they will not be able to see us if we are twenty fathoms astern. then, if they anchor, and, as is likely enough, leave two or three men on board, we can haul ourselves noiselessly up with the rope and board her." "capital!" the captain replied. "i was wondering how we should find her again in the dark. that would be the very thing." he sprang on board again, fastened a light line to the rudder, and dropped down into the boat again. "now, back her astern, lads, very gently. i can hear their oars." in a minute the captain gave orders to cease rowing, for the line had tightened. the spanish ship was show- ing a bright light in her stern. this acted as a guide to the boats, and in two or three minutes after the crew had left the smack two large boats full of soldiers came alongside. those in the little boat lying but fifty or sixty yards away, could hear every word that was spo- ken. first came a volley of angry exclamations of disappointment as the spaniards found that they had been called from their beds only to capture an empty little coaster. as ned had expected, they speedily came to the conclusion that having been carelessly fastened up alongside the wharves, without any one being left in charge, she had drifted out with the tide. "it would serve them right if we were to set her alight," one of the officers said. "we had best not to do that," another replied. "it £ by pike and dyke. mighv cause an alarm in the town; and, besiues, boats are wanted. we had better drop her anchor, and leave four men on board to take care of her. in the morning the knaves to whom she belongs will come out to claim her; and i warrant you the captain will punish them sharply for the trouble they have given us." this opinion prevailed. a minute latter a splash was heard in the water, and in a very short time the line connecting the boat with the smack tightened, and those on board knew that she had been brought up by her anchor. there was a good deal of noise and tramp- ling of feet as the spaniards took their place in the boats again, and then the heavy splashing of many oars as they started to row back against the tide to their own vessel. the captain wrung ned's hand. "you have saved the boat for us, young sir, for we should never have found her again ; and if we had, those on board would have heard us rowing up to them, and would have given the alarm. now we have only to wait for a bit, and then haul ourselves up and over- power the spaniards." "i doubt if we could do that without noise," ned re- plied. "at any rate it would be very dangerous while their ship is lying so close. i should say the best plan will be to wait, as you say, till the spaniards have settled themselves comfortably, then to haul up to her and push the boat along by her side, fending her off carefully so as to make no noise until we reach the bow, then we can cut the cable and let her drift. the tide is running strong now, and in half an hour she will be over a mil« down the river, and there will be no fear of a shout being heard on board the ship, and we can tb""^ board find tackle the spaniards." , sy pike and dyke. "that will certainly be the best way," the captain agreed. "nothing could be better. well, we will give them half an hour to settle themselves in the cabin. they will not stay on deck many minutes in the wet." the sound of voices on board the smack soon ceased. after waiting half an hour to give the spaniards time if not to go to sleep to become drowsy, the captain and one of his men began to pull upon the line. presently the dark mass could be seen ahead, and they were soon up to her. very carefully they passed the boat alongside, taking pains to prevent her touching. when they reached the bow the captain grasped the cable, and with two or three cuts with his knife severed it. then the boat was pushed off from the ship and gently paddled away to the full length of the line. another half hour and they again drew alongside, and noiselessly climbed on to the deck. the men armed themselves with belaying- pins, and ned took his pistols from the belt beneath his jacket. then they quietly approached the door. there was a light burning within. the cabin was astern, and built upon the deck, and was used by the skipper himself and by any passengers he might be carrying, the crew living in the forecastle. the doors, which opened outward, were noiselessly closed for two of the spaniards were sitting up playing cards, and there was no chance of taking the party so much by surprise as to capture them without noise. the in- stant the doors were closed a heavy coil of rope was thrown against them. there was a loud exclamation in the cabin, and a moment later a rush to the door. this, however, did not yield. then a window in the side was thrown open and a head was thrust out, and there m as a loud shout of "treachery help i" i s by pike and dyke. a moment later a heavy belaying-pin fell on the head, and it disappeared. then there was a loud ex- plosion as an arquebus was fired, the bullet crashing through the door. "it is a good thing we are well on our way," the skipper said. "we must be two miles from the span- ish ship now; and even if they hear the report they will not think it has anything to do with us. besides, if they did, they could never find us." some more ropes had now been piled against the door, and there was no fear of its being burst open. two men were posted at the windows on each side of the cabin with swords, for weapons had now been fetched from the forecastle. "now," the captain said, "let us get up the sails. there is but little wind, but i think there is enough to give us steerage-way and prevent us from drifting on to the sand-banks." "i suppose we are well beyond the guard-boats now, captain?" ned asked. "oh, yes; they are not more than half a mile below the forts. besides, i should think they have not been out; for they would know that when the tide once turned no craft could come up from below. yes, we are quite safe as far as they are concerned." sail was soon made; and though there was scarce wind enough to belly out the canvas, the boat began to move slowly through the water, as was shown by her answering her helm. the discharge of the arquebus in the cabin was continued from time to time. "you may as well cease that noise," the captain shouted to them. "your ship is miles away; and unless you want your throats cut you had better keep by pike and dyke. yourself quiet. you know the beggars are not to be trifled with." the soldiers ceased firing. they had, indeed, already concluded, from the fact that the boats did not come to their rescue, that the vessel must somehow have got far from their ship. the name of the terrible beggars filled them with alarm, for they knew that they showed no mercy. they had not the least idea as to the number of their captors, and gave themselves up for lost. an hour later the captain dropped the second anchor, and brought up in the stream. "we must wait till morning," he said. "it is no use getting away from the spaniards to be cast ashore; and there is no saying in what part of the river we may be at present, though we must certainly be six or seven miles below bergen." toward morning the mist cleared off, and the wind began to freshen. "i think it will blow hard before long," the captain said ; "and as it is from the southwest it will soon carry us out of the river. now, what had we better do with those fellows in the cabin?" "i should say the best plan, captain, would be to bring the boat alongside, and tell them that if they will leave their arms behind them, and come out one by one, they may take to it and row ashore. that if they re- fuse, we shall open the door and give them no quarter." "that would be the best plan," the captain agreed, and going to one of the windows offered these terms to the spaniards. the men had prepared for the worst, and had determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible. so convinced were they that the beggani would show no quarter that they were at first incredup lous. by pike and dykm. "it is a trick to get us to give up our arms," one said. "it is not," the capatin replied. "i swear to you on the word of a sailor that we will respect the terms and allow you to depart unarmed. we don't want to throw away three or four lives merely for the pleasure of cut- ting your throats." after a consultation between themselves the soldiers accepted the terms. ned placed himself at one of the windows to see that the arms were laid aside before the men issued out. then the coils of rope were removed, and the door opened, the sailors taking their place there in case the spaniards at the last moment should catch up their arms. this, however, they had no idea of doing, and were indeed far more afraid of treachery than were their captors. one by one they issued out, passed between the line of the sailors to the bulwark, and got into the boat. it was still dark, and they could not tell that the group of men at the cabin door were all those on board. as soon as the last was in the rope was thrown off and the boat dropped astern. "it will be light enough to see the shore in half an hour," the captain said as they drifted away," and then you can land where you like." "it would be awkward if they happen to light upon some town," ned said," and so bring out boats to cut us off." "there is no fear of that," the captain replied. "ter- goes is the only place down here in which they have a garrison, and that lies some miles away yet. besides, we shall get under way as soon as we can make out the shore. they have only two oars on board, and are not likely to know very much about rowing; besides, & d' ;:e spanish soldiers allowed to reach thb ship i . by pikb and lykx. eellency's time by talking about myself, but will deliver the various messages with which i am charged." he then went through the particulars of his interviews with each of the nine persons he had visited, and gave the contents of the letter, word for word, he had receiv- ed from the tenth, excusing himself for not having brought the message by word of mouth, owing to the difficulty of obtaining a private audience with him. he also produced the paper upon which he had jotted down all the particulars of the men and money that had been confided to him. "your news might be better, and worse," the prince said when he had concluded. "some of these men doubtless are, as they say, zealous in the cause, others are not to be largely trusted in extremities. the money they promise is less than i had hoped. promises are cheaper than gold, and even here in holland, where all is at stake, the burghers are loth to put their hands in their pockets, and haggle over their contributions as if they were to be spent for my pleasure instead of their own safety. it is pitiful to see men so fond of their money-bags. the numbers of the men who can be relied upon to rise are satisfactory, and more even than i had hoped for; for in matters, like this a man must proceed oautiously, and only sound those upon whom he feels sure beforehand he can rely. the worst of it is, they are all waiting for each other. one will move if anoth- er will move, but none will be first. they will move if i get a victory. but how can i win a victory when i have no army nor money to raise one, and when each city will fight only in its own defence, and will not put a man under arms for the common cause?" as the prince was evidently speaking to himself rather than to him, ned remained silent. "please to by pikm and dyke. write all the particulars down that you have given me," the prince went on, " that i may think it over at my leisure. and so you could not see the count of cover- don? was he more difficult of access than he of sluys?" "i do not know that he was, sir," ned replied; "but my attire was not such as to gain me an entrance into ante-chambers." "no, i did not think of that," the prince said. "you should have taken with you a suit of higher qual- ity. i forgot when i agreed that you should, for safety, travel as a country lad, that in such a dress you could hardly gain an entrance into the palace of nobles; and of course it would have excited surprise for one so at- tired to try to purchase such clothes as would have en- abled you to boldly enter." "i might possibly have managed as a peasant lad," ned replied with a smile; "but having been detected in that attire, and being eagerly sought for by von aert's agents, i was at the time dressed as a peasant woman, and could think of no possible excuse upon which might obtain an audience with the count." "no, indeed," the prince said, smiling, "i must hear your story with all its details; but as it is doubt* less somewhat long, i must put it off until later. after the evening meal you shall tell us your adventures be- fore i betake myself to my work." ned retired to his own room and resumed the attire he usually wore. after supper he was sent for by the prince, with whom he found the chamberlain and three or four of his principal officers. "now, young sir, tell us your story," the prince said. "do not fear of its being long. it is a rest to have one's mind taken off the affairs of state. i have already told these gentlemen what valuable services you have by pies and dtk* rendered to the cause we all hare at heart, and they, like myself, wish to know how you fared, and how you escaped the danger you referred to at the hands of von aert." thus requested, ned gave a full account of his journey, and of the adventures he had met with in brussels and on his way back. "what think you, sirs," the prince asked when ned had concluded his story. "it seems to me that this lad has shown a courage, a presence of mind, and a quick- ness of decision that would be an honor to older men. the manner in which he escaped from the hands of von aert, one of the craftiest as well as of the most cruel of the council of blood, was excellent; and had he then, after obtaining his disguise, escaped at once from the city, i for one should assuredly not have blamed him, and i consider he showed a rare devotion in continuing to risk his life to deliver my letters. then, again, the quickness with which he contrives to carry out his scheme for saying a word to the count of sluys was excellent; and though he takes no credit to himself, i doubt not that the escape of the boat, after falling foul of the span- ish ship, was greatly due to him. i think, sirs, you will agree avith me that he has the makings of a very able man in him, and that henceforth we can safely in- trust him with the most delicate as well as the most perilous missions." there was a general cordial agreement. "i am free to aver that you are right and that i am wrong, prince," the chamberlain said. "i know that you seldom fail in your judgment of character, and yet it seemed to me, if you will not mind my saying so, that it was not only rash but wrong to risk the lives of our friends in brussels upon the chanoes of the discretion by pike and dyke. of the lad. i now see you were right, for there are few indeed who, placed as he was, would have carried out his mission as skillfully and well as he has done." "by the way," the prince said, " i would beg you to seek out the captain of the boat in which you came here, and bid him come to me this time to-morrow evening. i would fain hear from him somewhat further details as to how you escaped from the spaniards, for i observed that in this matter you were a little reticent as to your share in it. he may be able to tell me, too, more about the strength of the spanish garrisons in bergen and its neighborhood than you can do." for the next fortnight ned was employed carrying messages from the prince to various towns and ports. alva was at amsterdam, and the army under his son, don frederick, was marching in that direction on their way from zutphen. they came down upon the little town of naarden on the coast of the zuider-zee. a troop of a hundred men was sent forward to demand its surrender. the burghers answered that they held the town for the king and the prince of orange, and a shot was fired at the troopers. having thus committed them- selves, the burghers sent for reinforcements and aid to the dutch towns, but none were sent them, and when the spaniards approached on the st of december they sent out envoys to make terms. the army marched forward and encamped a mile and a half from the town. a large deputation was sent out and was met by general romero, who informed them that he was com- missioned on the part of don frederick to treat with them. he demanded the keys, and gave them a solemn pledge that the lives and properties of all the inhabitants should be respected. the gates were thrown open, and romero with five hundred soldiers entered. a by pike and dyke. sumptuous feast was prepared for them by the inhab- itants. after this was over the citizens were summoned by the great bell to assemble in the church that was used as a town hall. as soon as they assembled the soldiers attacked them and killed them all. the town was then set on fire, and almost every man, woman, and child killed. don frederick forbade that the dead should be buried, and issued orders forbidding any one, on pain of death, to give shelter to the few fugitives who had got away. the few houses which had escaped the flames were leveled to the ground, and naarden ceased to exist. great as the horrors perpetrated at zutphen had been, they were surpassed by the atrocities committed at naar- den. the news of this horrible massacre, so far from frightening the hollanders into submission, nerved them to even more strenuous resistance. better death in whatsoever form it came than to live under the rule of these foul murderers. with the fall of naarden there remained only the long strip of land facing the sea, and connected at but a few points with the mainland, that remained faithful to the cause of freedom. the rest of the netherlands lay cowed beneath the heel of the spaniards. holland alone and a few of the islands of zeeland remained to be conquered. the inhabitants of holland felt the terrible danger; and bossu, alva's stadtholder, form ally announced that the system pursued at mechlin, zutphen, and naarden was the deliberate policy of the government, and that man, woman and child would be exterminated in every city which opposed the spanish authority. the day after the news arrived of the fall of naarden, ned re- ceived a letter from his father, saying that the good venture was again at enkhuizer and that, ah« would by pike and dyke. in two days start for haarlem with a fleet of dutch vessels; that he himself had made great progress in the last six weeks, and should return to england in her; and that if ned found that he could get away for a day or two he should be glad to see him. the prince at once gave ned permission to leave, and as he had an excellent horse at his service he started the next morning at daybreak and arrived at enkhuizen before nightfall. he was received with great joy by bis family, and was delighted to find his father look- ing quite himself again. "yes, thanks to good nursing and good food, my boy, i feel almost strong and well enough to take my post at the helm of the good ven- ture again. the doctor tells me that in another couple of months i shall be able to have a wooden leg strapped on, and to stump about again. that was a rare adven- ture you had at brussels, ned; and you must give us a full account of it presently. in the morning you must come on board the vessel, peters and the crew will be all glad to see you again." ned stayed two days with his family. on the even- ing of the second day, he said to his father: "i should like to make the trip to haarlem and back, father, in the good venture. it may be that the spaniards will sally out from amsterdam and attack it. last time we had to run away, you know, but if there is a sea-fight i should like to take my part in it." "very well, ned, i have no objection; but i hardly think that there will be a fight. the spaniards are too strong, and the fleet will start so as to pass through the strait by night." "well, at any rate i should like to be on board the good venture again, if only for the sail down and back again," ned said. "they are to sail at three o'clock to- by pike and dyke. morrow, s* that if the wind is fair they will pass the strait at night and anchor under the walls of haarlem in the morning. i suppose they will be two days dis- charging their cargo of food and grain, and one reason why i want to go is that i may if possible persuade my aunt and the two girls to return with me and to sail for england with you. all think that haarlem will be the next place besieged, and after what has taken place in the other towns it would be madness for my aunt to stop there," "i quite agree with you, ned. the duke is sure to attack haarlem next. if he captures it he will cut holland in two and strike a terrible blow at the cause. your mother shall write a letter to-night to her sister-in- law urging her to come with us, and take up her abode in england till these troubles are over. she can either dwell with us, or, if she would rather, we can find her a cottage hard by. she will be well provided with money, for i have at home a copy of your grandfather's will signed by him leaving all his property to such of his relatives as may survive him. "his three sons are dead; your mother and elizabeth are therefore his heirs, and the money he transmitted to england i§ in itself sufficient to keep two families in comfort. what proportion of it was his and what be- longed to his sons now matters not, seeing that your mother and aunt are the sole survivors of the family. as you say, it is madness for her to remain in holland with her two girls. were i a burgher of that town i would send my family away to ley den or dort and stay myself to defend the walls to the last, but i do not believe that many will do so. your countrymen are obstinate people, sophie, and i fear that few will send their families away." by pike and dyke. upon the following afternoon ned started with the little fleet. the wind was fair and light, and they reached^the mouth of the strait leading from the zuider- zee to haarlem. then suddenly the wind dropped and the vessels cast anchor. for the two or three days previous the weather had been exceedingly cold, and with the fall of the wind the frost seemed to increase in severity, and ned, who had been pacing the deck with peters, chatting over what had happened since they last met, was glad to go in to the cabin, where the new first mate and supercargo had retired as soon as the anchor was let go. they sat talking for a couple of hours until a sailor came in, and said that they were hailed by the nearest ship, they all went on deck. ned shouted to know what was the matter. "do you not see the water is freezing? by morning we shall be all frozen up hard and fast." this was startling news indeed, for they were now in full sight of amsterdam, and would, if detained thus, be open to an attack across the ice. by pike anl dyke. the operation of moving the ships. at last they were all packed closely together; much more closely than would be possible in these days, for the bowsprits, instead of running out nearly parallel with the water-line, stood up at a sharp angle, and the vessels could therefore be laid with the bow of one touching the stern of that in advance. as there was now no motive for concealment, lamps were shown and torches burned. there were thirty craft in all, and they were arranged in five lines closely touching each other. when all was done the crews retired to rest. there was no occasion to keep watch, for the ice had thickened so fast that boats could not now force their way through it, while it would not before morning be strong enough to bear the weight of armed men walking across it. "this is a curious position," ned said, as he went on deck next morning. "how long do you think we are likely to be kept here, peters?" "maybe twenty-four hours, maybe three weeks, lad. these frosts when they set in like this seldom last less than a fortnight or three weeks. what do you think of our chances of being attacked?" "i should say they are sure to attack us. the whole spanish army is lying over there in amsterdam, and as soon as the ice is strong enough to bear them you will see them coming out. how strong a force can we muster?" "there are thirty craft," petei's replied ; "and i should think they average fully fifteen men each— perhaps twenty. they carry strong crews at all times; and stronger than usual now." "that would give from five to six hundred men. i suppose all carry arms?" "oh, yes. i do not suppose that there is a man here by pike and dykk who has not weapons of some kind, and most of them have arquebuses. it will take a strong force to carrj this wooden fort." it was still freezing intensely, and the ice was strong enough to bear men scattered here and there, although it would not have sustained them gathered together. toward the afternoon the captain judged that it had thickened sufficiently to begin work, and fifty or sixty men provided with hatchets got upon the ice and proceeded to break it away round the vessels. .after a couple of hours a fresh party took their places, and by nightfall the ships were surrounded by a belt of open water, some fifteen yards wide. a meeting of the cap- tains had been held during the day, and the most ex- perienced had been chosen as leader, with five lieuten- ants under him. each lieutenant was to command the crews of six ships. when it became dark five boata were lowered. these were to row round and round the ships all night so as to keep the water from freezing again. the crews were to be relieved once an hour, so that each ship would furnish a set of rowers once in six hours. numerous anchors had been lowered when the ships were first packed together, so as to prevent the mass from drifting when tide flowed or ebbed, as this would have brought them in contact with one side or the other of the ice around them. the next morning the ice was found to be five inches thick, and the captains were of opinion that the spaniards might now attempt an attack upon them. "their first attack will certainly fail," ned said, as they sat at breakfast. "they will be baffled by this water belt round us. however, they will come next time with rafts ready to push across it, and then wf shall have fighting in earnest." by pike and dyke. the lieutenant under whom the crew of the good ven- ture were placed came down while they were at break- fast to inquire how many arquebuses there were oa board. "we have ten," the captain said. "as i suppose you have no men who skate on board, i should be glad if you will hand them over to me." "what does he say ?" the first mate asked in surprise upon this being translated to him. "what does he mean by asking if we have any men who skate and why should we give up our guns if we can use them our- selves?" ned put the question to the lieutenant. "we are going to attack them on the ice as they come out," he replied. "of course all our vessels have skates on board; in winter we always carry them, as we may be frozen up at any time. and we shall send out as many men as can be armed with arquebuses ; those who remain on board will fight the guns." "that is a capital plan," ned said; "and the spanish, who are unaccustomed to ice, will be completely puzzled. it is lucky there was not a breath of wind when it froze, and the surface is as smooth as glass. well, there will be nine arquebuses for you, sir; for i have been out here two winters and have learned to skate, so i will accom- pany the party, the other nine arquebuses with ammuni- tion we will hand over to you." a lookout at one of the mastheads now shouted that he could make out a black mass on the ice near amster- dam, and believed that it was a large body of troops. every preparation had already been made on board the ships for the fight. the good venture lay on the out- side tier facing amsterdam, having been placed there because she carried more guns than any of the other vessels, which were for the most part small, and few by pike and dyke. •arried more than four guns, while the armament of the good venture had, after her fight with the don pedro, been increased to ten guns. the guns from the vessels in the inner tiers had all been shifted on to those lying outside, and the wooden fort literally bristled with cannon. a quarter of an hour after the news that the spaniards were on their way had been given, three hundred men with arquebuses were ferried across the channel, and were disembarked on to the ice. they were divided into five companies of sixty men each, under the lieuten- ants ; the captain remained to superintend the defense of the ships. the dutch sailors were as much at home on their skates as upon dry land, and in high spirits started to meet the enemy. it was a singular sight to see the five bodies of men gliding away across ice. there was no attempt at formation or order ; all understood their business, for in winter it was one of their favorite sports to fire at a mark while skating at a rapid pace. it was two miles from the spot where the ships lay frozen up to amsterdam. the spaniards, a thousand strong, had traversed about a third of the distance when the skaters approached them. keeping their feet with the utmost difficulty upon the slippery ice, they were astonished at the rapid approach of the dutchmen. breaking up as they approached, their assailants came dashing along at a rapid pace, discharged their arque- buses into the close mass of the spaniards, and then wheeled away at the top of their speed, reloaded and again swept down to fire. against these tactics the spaniards could do little. unsteady as they were on their feet, the recoil of their heavy arquebuses frequently threw them over, and it was imposible to take anything like an accurate aim at by pike and dyke. the flying figures that passed them at the speed of a galloping horse. nevertheless they doggedly kept on their way, leaving the ice behind them dotted with killed and wounded. not a gun was discharged from on board the ships until the head of the spanish column reached the edge of the water, and discovered the impassable obstacle that lay between them and the vessels. then the order was given to fire, and the head oi the column was literally swept away by the discharge. the commander of the spaniards now gave the order for a retreat. as they fell back the guns of the ships swept their ranks, the musketeers harassed them on each flank, the ice, cracked and broken by the artillery fire, gave way under their feet, and many fell through and were drowned, and of the thousand men who left amsterdam less than half regained that city. the spaniards were astonished at this novel mode of fighting, and the dispatches of their officers gave elaborate des- criptions of the strange appendages that had enabled the hollanders to glide so rapidly over the ice. the span- iards were, however, always ready to learn from a foe. alva immediately ordered eight thousand pairs of skates, and the soldiers were kept hard at work practicing until they were able to make their way with fair rapidity over the ice. the evening after the fight a strong wind suddenly sprang up from the southwest, and the rain descended in torrents. by morning the ice was already broken up, the guns were hastily shifted to the vessels to which they belonged, the ships on the outside tiers cast off from the others, and before noon the whole were on their way back toward enkhuizen, which they reached without pursuit by the spanish vessels; for at nine in the n» —*ng the wind changed suddenly again, the frost by pike and dyke. •et in as severely as before, and the spaniards in the port of amsterdam were unable to get out. this event caused great rejoicing in holland, and was regarded as a happy omen for the coming contest. after remaining another day with his family, ned mounted his horse and rode to haarlem. the city lay at the narrowest point of the narrow strip of land facing the german ocean, and upon the shore of the shallow lake of the same name. upon the opposite side of this lake, ten miles distant, stood the town of amsterdam. the lake of haarlem was separated from the long inlet of the zuider-zee called the y by a narrow strip of land, glong which ran the causeway connecting the two cities. halfway along this neck of land there was a cut, with sluice works, by which the surrounding country could be inundated. the port of haarlem on the y was at the village of sparendara, here there was a fort for the protection of the shipping. haarlem was one of the largest cities of the nether- lands; but it was also one of the weakest. the walls were old, and had never been formidable. the extent of the defenses made a large garrison necessary; but the force available for the defense was small indeed. upon his way toward haarlem ned learned that on the night before, the th of december, sparendam had been cap- tured by the spaniards, a secret passage across the flooded and frozen meadows had been shown to them by a peasant, and they had stormed the fort, killed three hundred men, and taken possession of the works and village. thus haarlem was at once cut off from all aid coming from the zuider-zee. much disquieted by the news, ned rode on rapidly and entered the town by the gate upon the southern side; for, as he approached, he learned that +be span* by pike and dyke. lards had already appeared in great force before the city. he rode at once to his aunt's heuse, hoping to find that she had already left the town with the girls- leaping from his horse he entered the door hurriedly, and was dismayed to find his aunt seated before the fire knitting. "my dear aunt!" he exclaimed, "do you know that the spaniards are in front of the town? surely to re- main here with the two girls is madness!" "every one else is remaining, why should not i, ned?" his aunt asked calmly. "other people have their houses and their businesses, aunt, but you have nothing to keep you here. you know what has happened at zutphen and naarden. how can you expose the girls, even if you are so obsti- nate yourself, to such horrors?" "the burghers are determined to hold out until relief comes, nephew." "ay, if they ean," ned replied. "but who knows whether they can. this is madness, aunt. i beseech you come with me to your father, and let us talk over the matter with him; and in the morning, if you will not go, i will get two horses and mount the girls on them, and ride with them to leyden—that is, if by the morning it is not already too late. it would be best to proceed at once." dame plomaert reluctantly yielded to the energy of her nephew, and accompanied him to the house of he- father; but the weaver was absent on the walls, and did not return until late in the evening. upon ned's putting the case to him, he at once agreed that it would be best both for her and the girls to leave. "i have told her so twenty times already," he said; "but. elizabeth was always as obstinate as a mul - over by pike and dyke. and over again she has said she would go s and having said that has done nothing. she can do no good by stopping here ; and there are only three more mouths to feed. - by all means, lad, get them away the first thing in the morning. if it be possible i would say start to- night, dark as it is; but the spanish horse may be all round the city, and you might ride into their arms with- out seeing them." ned at once sallied out, and without much difficulty succeeded in bargaining for three horses; for few of the, inhabitants had left, and horses would not only be of no use during the siege, but it would be impossible to feed them. therefore their owners were glad to part with them for far less than their real value. when he leached the house he found that his aunt had made up three bundles with clothes and what jewelry she had, and that she was ready to start with the girls in the morning. before daybreak ned went out to the walls on the south side, but as the light broadened out discovered that it was too late. during the night heavy reinforce- ments had arrived to don frederick from amsterdam, and a large force was already facing the west side of the city. with a heavy heart he returned to his aunt's with the news that it was too late, for that all means of exit was closed. dame plomaert took the news philosophically. she was a woman of phlegmatic disposition, and ob- jected to sudden movement and changes, and to her it seemed far less terrible to await quietly the fortunes of the siege than to undergo the fatigues of a journey on horseback and the uncertainty of an unknown future. "well, nephew," she said placidly," if we cannot get away, we cannot; and it really saves a world of trouble. by pike and dyke. but what are you going to do yourself? for i suppose if we cannot get away, you cannot." "the way is open across the lake," ned replied, " and i shall travel along the ice to the upper end and then over to leyden, and obtain permission from the prince to return here by the same way; or if not, to accompany the force he is raising there, for this will doubtless march at once to the relief of the town. even now,. aunt, you might make your escape across the ice." "i have not skated since i was fifteen years old," the good woman said placidly; "and at my age and weight i am certainly not going to try now, ned. just imagine me upon skates!" ned could not help smiling, vexed as he was. his aunt was stout and portly, and he certainly could not imagine her exerting herself sufficiently to undertake a journey on skates! "but the girls can skate," he urged. "the girls are girls," she said decidedly; "and i am not going to let them run about the world by them- selves. you say yourself that reinforcements will soon start. you do not know our people, nephew. they will beat off the spaniards. whatever they do, the city will never be taken. my father says so, and every one says so. surely they must know better than a lad like you!" ned shrugged his shoulders in despair, and went out to see what were the preparations for defense. the garrison consisted only of some fifteen hundred german mercenaries and the burgher force. ripperda, the com- mandant of the garrison, was an able and energetic officer. the townspeople were animated by a deter- mination to resist to the end. a portion of the magis- tracy had, in the first place, been anxious to treat, and by pike and dyke. bad entered into secret negotiations with alva sending three of their number to treat with the duke at amster- dam. one had remained there; the other two on their return were seized, tried, and executed ; and sainte aldegonde, one of the prince's ministers, had been dis- patched by him to make a complete change in the mag* istracy. the total force available for the defense of the town was not, at the commencement of the siege, more than three thousand men, while over thirty thousand span- iards were gathering round its walls, a number equal to the entire population of the city. the germans, under count overstein, finally took hp their encampment in the extensive grove of trees that spread between the southern walls and the shore of the lake. the spaniards, under don frederick, faced the north walls, while the walloons and other regiments closed it in on the east and west. but those arrangements occu- pied some days; and the mists which favored their movements were not without advantage to the besieged. under cover of the fog supplies of provisions and am- munition were bought by men and women and even children, on their heads or in sledges, down the frozen lake, and in spite of the efforts of the besiegers intro- duced into the city. ned was away only two clays. the prince approved of his desire to take part in the siege, and furnished him with letters to the magistrates promising reinforce- ments, and to ripperda recommending ned as a young gentleman volunteer of great courage and quickness, who had already performed valuable service for the cause. his cousins were delighted to see him back. naturally they did not share in their mother's confi- by pike and dyke. and earth, bags of sand and beams of wood, and these they threw into the gaps as fast as they were made. the churches were stripped of all their stone statues, and these too were piled in .the breaches. the besiegers were greatly horrified at what they declared to be prof- anation; a complaint that came well from men who had been occupied in the wholesale murder of men, women, and children, and in the sacking of the churches of their own religion. don frederick anticipated a quick and easy success. he deemed that this weakly fortified town might well be captured in a week by an army of thirty thousand men, and that after spending a few days slaughtering its inhabitants, and pillaging and burning the houses the army would march on against the next town, until ere long the rebellion would be stamped out and holland transformed into a desert. at the end of three days' cannonade the breach, in bpite of the efforts of the besieged, was practicable, and a strong storming party led by general romero advanced against it. as the column was seen approaching, the church bells rang out the alarm, the citizens caught up their arms, and men and women hurried to the threat- ened point. as they approached the spaniards were re- ceived with a heavy fire of musketry; but with their usual gallantry the veterans of spain pressed forward and began to mount the breach. now they were exposed not only to the fire of the garrison but to the missiles thrown by the burghers and women. heavy stones, boiling oil, and live coals were hurled down upon them; small hoops smeared with pitch and set on fire were dexterously thrown over their heads, and after a vain struggle, in which many officers were killed and wound- ed, romero, who had himself lost an eye in the fight, called off his troops and fell back from the breach, leay bt pike and dykx. ing from three to four hundred dead behind him, while but a half dozen of the townsmen lost their lives. upon the retreat of the spaniards the delight in the city was immense; they had met the pikemen of spain and hurled them back discomfited, and they felt that they could now trust themselves to meet further assaults without flinching. to ned's surprise his aunt, when the alarm bells rung, had sallied out from her house accompanied by the two girls. she carried with her half a dozen balls of flax, each the size of her head. these had been soaked in oil and turpentine, and to each a stout cord about two feet long was attached. the girls had taken part in the work of the preceding day, but when she reached the breach she told them to remain in shelter while she herself joined the crowd on the walls flanking the breach, while ned took part in the front row of its defenders. frau plomaert was slow, but she was strong when she chose to exert herself, and when the conflict was at its thickest she lighted, the balls at the fires over which caldrons of oil were seething, and whirling them round her head sent them one by one into the midst of the spanish column. "three of them hit men fairly in the face," she said to one of her neighbors, "so i think i have done my share of to-day's work." she then calmly descended the wall, joined her daugh- ters and returned home, paying no attention to the din of the conflict at the breach, and contended that she had done all that could be expected of her. on reach- ing home she bade the girls take to their knitting as usual, while she set herself to work to prepare the mid- day meal. a few days later the prkice of orange sent from sags- by pike and dyke. enheim, a place on the southern extremity of the lake, where he had now taken up his headquarters, a force of two thousand men, with seven guns and a convoy of wagons with ammunition and food toward the town, under general batenburgh. this officer had replaced de la marck, whose brutal and ferocious conduct had long disgraced the dutch cause, and whom the prince, finding that he was deaf alike to his orders and to the dictates of humanity, had now deprived of his commis- sion. batenburg's expedition was no more fortunate than that of de la marck had been. on his approach to the city by night a thick mist set in, and the column completely lost its way. the citi- zens had received news of its coming, and the church bells were rung and cannon fired to guide it as to its direction; but the column was so helplessly lost, that it at last wandered in among the spaniards, who fell upon them, slew many and scattered the rest—a very „ few only succeeding in entering the town. batenburg brought oft, under cover of the mist, a remnant of his troops, but all the provisions and ammunition were lost. the second in command, de koning, was among those captured. the spaniards cut off his head and threw it over the wall into the city, with a paper fasten- ed on it bearing the words: "this is the head of cap- tain de koning, who is on his way with reinforcements for the good city of haarlem." but the people of harlem were now strung up, both by their own peril and the knowledge of the atrocities committed by the spaniards in other cities, to a point of hatred and fury equal to that of the foes, and they retorted by chopping off the heads of eleven prisoners and throwing them into the spanish camp. there was a label on the barrel with these words, "deliver these heads to duke alva by pike and dyke. in payment of his tenpenny tax, with one additional head for interest." the besieged were not content to remain shut up in the walls, but frequently sallied out and engaged in skirmishes with the enemy. prisoners were therefore often captured by one side or the other, and the gibbets on the walls and in the camp were constantly occupied. ned as a volunteer was not attached to any special body of troops, ripperda telling him to act for himself and join in whatever was going on as he chose. conse- quently he took part in many of the skirmishes outside the walls, and was surprised to find how fearlessly the burghers met the tried soldiers of spain, and especially at the valor with which the corps of women battled with the enemy. in strength and stature most of the women were fully a match for the walloon troops, and indeed for the major- ity of the spaniards; and they never feared to engage any body of troops of equal numerical strength. "look here, aunt," ned said to frau plomaert upon the day after the failure of batenburg's force to relieve the town, "you must see for yourself now that the chances are that sooner or later the town will be captured. we may beat off all the assaults of the spaniards, but we shall ere long have to fight with an even more for- midable foe within the town. you know that our stock of provisions is small, and that in the end unless help comes we must yield to famine. the prince may pos- sibly throw five thousand armed men into the town, but it is absolutely impossible that he can throw in any great store of provisions, unless he entirely defeats the span- iards; and nowhere in holland can he raise an army suf- ficient for that. "i think, aunt, that while there is time we ought to by pike and dyks. set to work to construct a hiding-place, where you and the girls can remain while the sack and atrocities that will assuredly follow the surrender of the town are tak- ing place." "i shall certainly not hide myself from the spaniards," frau plomaert said stoutly. "very well, aunt, if you choose to be killed on your own hearthstone of course i cannot prevent it; but i do say that you ought to save the girls from these horrors if you «an." "that i am ready to do," she said. "but how is it to be managed?" "well, aunt, there is your wood-cellar below. we can surely construct some place of concealment there. of course i will yio the work, though the girls might help by bringing up baskets of earth and scattering them in the streets." having received a tacit permission from his aunt, ned went down into the wood-cellar, which was some five feet wide by eight feet long. like every place about a dutch house it was whitewashed, and was half full of wood. ned climbed over the wood to the further end. "this is where it must be," he said to the girls, who had followed him. "now, the first thing to do is to pile the wood so as to leave a passage by which we can pass along. i will get a pick and get out the bricks at this corner." "we need only make a hole a foot wide, and it need not be more than a foot high," lucette, the elder, said. "that will be sufficient for us to squeeze through." "it would, lucette; but we shall want more space for working, so to begin with we will take away the bricks up to the top. we can close it up as much as we lik« afterward. there is plenty of time, for it will b* weeka ml by pike and dyke. before the oity is starved out. if we work for an hour a day we can get it done in a week." accordingly the work began, the bricks were removed, and with a pick and shovel ned dug into the ground be- yond, while the girls carried away the earth and scat- tered it in the road. in a fortnight a chamber, rive feet high, three feet wide, and six feet long had been exca- vated. slats of wood, supported by props along the sides, held up the roof. a quantity of straw was thrown in for the girls to lie on. frau plomaert came down from time to time to inspect the progress of the work, and expressed herself well pleased with it. "how are you going to close the entrance, ned? " she asked. "i propose to brick it up again three feet high, aunt. then when the girls and you have gone in—for i hope that you will change your mind at the last—i will brick op the rest of it, but using mud instead of mortar, so that the bricks can be easily removed when the time oomes, or one or two can be taken out to pass in food; and then replaced as before. after you are in i will white- wash the whole cellar, and no one would then guess the wall had ever been disturbed. i shall leave two bricks out in the bottom row of all to give air. they will be cov- ered over by the wood. however hard up we get for fuel we can leave enough to cover the floor at that end a few inches deep. if i can i will pierce a hole up under the boards in the room above this, so as to give a free pas- sage of air." "if the spaniards take away the wood, as they may well do, they will notice that the two bricks are gone," mrs. plomaert objected. "we can provide for that, aunt, by leaving two bricks inside, whitewashed like the rest, to push into the holes by pike and dyke. if you hear any one removing the wood. there is only the light that comea in at the door, and it would never be noticed that the two bricks were loose." "that will do very well," mrs. plomaert said. "i thought at first that your idea was foolish, but i see that it will save the girls if the place is taken. i suppose there will be plenty of time to brick them up after they have taken refuge in it." "plenty of time, aunt. we shall know days before if the city surrenders to hunger. i shall certainly fight much more comfortably now that i know that, whatever comes, lucette and annie are safe from the horrors of the sack." by pike and dtkx. chapter xiv. the pall op haablem. after the terrible repulse inflicted upon the storming party, don frederick perceived that the task before him was not to be accomplished with the ease and rapid- ity he had anticipated, and that these hitherto despised dutch heretics had at last been driven by despair to fight with a desperate determination that was altogether new to the spaniards. he therefore abandoned the idea of carrying the place by assault, and determined to take it by the slower and surer process of a regular siege. in a week his pioneers would be able to drive mines beneath the walls; an explosion would then open a way for his troops. accordingly the work began, but the besieged no sooner perceived what was being done than the thou- sand men who had devoted themselves to this work at once began to drive counter mines. both parties worked with energy, and it was not long before the galleries met, and a desperate struggle com- menced under ground. here the drill and discipline of the spaniards availed them but little. it was a conflict of man to man in narrow passages, with such light only as a few torches could give. here the strength and fearlessness of death of the sturdy dutch burghers and fishermen more than compensated for any superiority of the spaniards in the management of their weapons. the air was so heavy and thick with powder that the by pike and dyke. urging the citizens to persevere, and holding out hopes of relief. these promises were to some extent fulfilled on the th of january, when four hundred veteran soldiers, bringing with them one hundred and seventy sledges laden with powder and bread, crossed the frozen lake and succeeded in making their way into the city. the time was now at hand when the besieged foresaw that the ravelin of the cross gate could not much longer be defended. but they had been making preparations for this contingency. all through the long nights of jan- uary, the non-combatants, old men, women and children, aided by such of the fighting men as were not worn out by their work on the walls or underground, labored to construct a wall in the form of a half moon on the in- side of the threatened point. none who were able to work were exempt, and none wished to be exempted, for the heroic spirit burned brightly in every heart in haarlem. nightly ned went down with his aunt and cousins and worked side by side with them. the houses near the new work were all leveled in order that the mate- rials should be utilized for the construction of the wall, which was built of solid masonry. the small stones were carried by the children and younger girls in bas- kets, the heavier ones dragged on hand sledges by the men and women. although constitutionally adverse to exertion, frau plomaert worked sturdily, and ned was often surprised at her strength; for she dragged along without difficulty loaded sledges which he was unable to move, throwing her weight on to the ropes that passed over her shoulders, and toiling backward and forward to and from the wall for hours, slowly but un- flinchingly. by pike and dykb. it seemed to ned that under these exertions she visi- bly decreased in weight from day to day, and indeed the scanty supply of food upon which the work had to be done was ill calculated to support the strength of those engaged upon such fatiguing labor. for from the commencement of the siege the whole population had been rationed, all the provisions in the town had been handed over to the authorities for equal division, and every house, rich and poor, had been rigorously searched to see that none were holding back supplies for their private consumption. many of the cattle and horses had been killed and salted down, and a daily distribution of food was made to each household accord- ing to the number of mouths it contained. furious at the successful manner in which the party had entered the town on the th of january, don fred- erick kept up for the next few days a terrible cannonade against the gates of the cross and of st. john, and the wall connecting them. at the end of that time the wall was greatly shattered, part of st. john's gate was in ruins; and an assault was ordered to take place at mid- night. so certain was he of success that don frederick ordered the whole of his forces to be under arms opposite all the gates of the city, to prevent the population mak- ing their escape. a chosen body of troops were to lead the assault, and at midnight these advanced silently against the breach. the besieged had no suspicion that an attack was intended, and there were but some forty men, posted rather as sentries than guards, at the breach. these, however, when the spaniards advanced, gave the alarm, the watchers in the churches sounded the tocsins, and the sleeping citizens sprang from their beds, seized their arms, and ran toward the threatened point unawed by the overwhelming force advancing by pise and dyke. against them the sentries took their places at the top of the breach, and defended it with such desperation that they kept their assailants at bay until assistance arrived, when the struggle assumed a more equal character. the citizens defended themselves by the same means that had before proved successful, boiling oil and pitch, stones, flaming hoops, torches, and missiles of all kinds were hurled down by them upon the spaniards, while the garrison defended the breaeh with sword and pike. until daylight the struggle continued, and philip then ordered the whole of his force to advance to the assistance of the storming party. a tremendous attack was made upon the ravelin in front of the gate of the cross. it was successful, and the spaniards rushed exultingly into the work, believing that the city was now at their mercy. then, to their astonishment, they saw that they were confronted by the new wall, whose existence they had not even suspected. while they were hesitating a tre- mendous explosion took place. the citizens had under- mined the ravelin and placed a store of powder there; and this was now fired and the work flew into the air, with all the soldiers who had entered. the retreat was sounded at once, and the spaniards fell back to their camp, and thus a second time the burghers of haarlem repulsed an assault by an overwhelming force under the best generals of spain. the effect of these failures was so great that don frederick resolved not to risk another defeat, but to abandon his efforts to capture the city by sap or assault, and to resort to the blow but sure process of famine. he was well aware that the stock of food in the city was but small and the inhabitants were already suffering severely, and he thought that they could not hold out much longer. by pike and dyeb. until the town be taken, i shall no longer consider him my son. should he fall in the siege i will myself take the field to maintain it, and when we have both perished, the duchess, my wife, shall come from spain to do the aame." inflamed by this reply don frederiok recommenced active operations, to the great satisfaction of the besieged. the batteries were reopened, and daily contests took place. one night under cover of a fog, a party of the besieged marched up to the principal spanish battery and attempted to spike the guns. every one of them was killed round the battery, not one turning to fly. "the citizens," wrote don frederick, "do as much as the best soldiers in the world could do." as soon as the frost broke up count bossu, who had been building a fleet of small vessels in amsterdam, cut a breach through the dyke and entered the lake, thus entirely cutting off communications, the prince of orange on his part was building ships at the other end of the lake, and was doing all in his power for the relief of the city. he was anxiously waiting the arrival of troops from germany or france, and doing his best with such volunteers as he could raise. these, however, were not numerous, for the dutch, although ready to fight to the death for the defense of their own cities and families had not yet acquired a national spirit, and all the efforts of the prince failed to induce them to com- bine for any general object. his principal aim now was to cut the road along the dyke which connected amsterdam with the country round it. could he succeed in doing this, amsterdam would be as completely cut off as was haarlem, and that city as well as the spanish army, would speedily ba starved out. alva himself was fully aware of this danger, by pike and dyke. and wrote to the king: "since i came into this world i have never been in such anxiety. if they should succeed in cutting off communication along the dykes we should have to raise the siege of haarlem, to surrender, hands crossed, or to starve." the prince, unable to gather sufficient men for this attempt, sent orders to sonoy, who commanded the small army in the north of holland, to attack the dyke be- tween the diemar lake and the y, to open the sluices, and break through the dyke, by which means much of the country round haarlem would be flooded. sonoy crossed the y in boats, seized the dyke, opened the sluices and began the work of cutting it through. leaving his men so engaged, sonoy went to edam to fetch up reinforcements. while he was away a large force from amsterdam came up, some marching along the cause- way and some in boats. a fierce contest took place, the contending parties fighting partly in boats, partly on the slippery causeway, that was wide enough but for two men to stand abreast, partly in the water.. but the number of the assailants was too great, and the dutch, after fighting gallantly, lost heart and retired just as sonoy, whose volunteers from edam had refused to follow him, arrived alone in a little boat. he tried in vain to rally them, but was swept away by the rush of fugitives, many of whom were, however, able to gain their boats and make their retreat, thanks to the valor of john haring of horn, who took his station on the dyke, and armed with sword and shield, actually kept in check a thousand of the enemy for a time long enough to have enabled the dutch to rally had they been dis- posed to do so. but it was too late; and they had enough of fighting. however, he held his post until many had made good their retreat, and then, plunging into the sea by pike and dyke, ■wam off to the boats and effected his escape. a braver feat of arms was never accomplished. some hundreds of the dutch were killed or captured all the prisoners were taken to the gibbets in the front of harlem, and hung, some by the neck and some by the heels, in view of their countrymen, while the head of one of their officers was thrown into the city. as usual this act of ferocity excited the citizens to similar acts. two of the old board of magistrates belonging to the spanish party, with several other persons, were hung, and the wife and daughter of one of them hunted into the water and drowned. in the words of an historian, "every man within and without haarlem seemed inspired by a spirit of special and personal vengeance." many, however, of the more gentle spirits were filled with horror at these barbarities and the perpetual carnage going on. cap- tain curey, for example, one of the bravest of the garri- bon, who had been driven to take up arms by the suffer- ings of his countrymen, although he had naturally a horror of bloodshed, was subject to fits of melancholy at the contemplation of these horrors. brave in the ex- treme, he led his men in every sortie, in every desperate struggle. fighting without defensive armor he was always in the thick of the battle, and many of the span- iards fell before his sword. on his return he invariably took to his bed,land lay ill from remorse and compunc- tion till a fresh summons for action arrived, when, seized by a sort of frenzy, he rose and led his men to fresh conflicts. on the th of march a sally was made by a thousand of the besieged. they drove in all the spanish outposts, killed eight hundred of the enemy, burnt three hundred tents, and captured seven cannons, nine standards, and by pike and dyke. many wagon loads of provisions, all of which they suo- oeeded in bringing into the city. the duke of alva, who had gone through nearly sixty years of warfare, wrote to the king that "never was a place defended with such skill and bravery as haarlem," and that " it was a war such as never before was seen or heard of in any land on earth." three veteran spanish regiments now reinforced the besiegers, having been sent from italy to aid in overcoming the obstinate resist- ance of the city. but the interest of the inhabitants was now centered rather on the lake than upon the spanish camp. it was from this alone that they could expect succor, and it now swarmed with the dutch and spanish vessels, between whom there were daily contests. on the th of may the two fleets met in desperate fight. admiral bossu had a hundred ships, most of con- siderable size. martin brand, who commanded the dutch, had a hundred and fifty, but of much smaller size. the ships grappled with each other, and for hours a furious contest raged. several thousands of men were killed on both sides, but at length weight prevailed and the victory was decided in favor of the spaniards. twenty-two of the dutch vessels were captured and the rest routed. the spanish fleet now sailed toward haarlem, landed their crews, and joined by a force from the army, captured the forts the dutch had erected and had hitherto held on the shore of the lake, and through which their scanty supplies had hitherto been received. from the walls of the city the inhabitants watched the conflict, and a wail of despair rose from them as they baw its issue. they were now entirely cut off from all hope of succor, and their fate appeared to be sealed. by pike and dyke. nevertheless they managed to send a message to the prince that they would hold out for three weeks longer in hopes that he might devise some plan for their relief, and carrier pigeons brought back word that another effort should be made to save them. but by this time the magazines were empty. hitherto one pound of bread had been served out daily to each man and half a pound to each woman, and on this alone they had for many weeks subsisted ; but the flour was now exhausted, and henceforth it was a battle with starvation. every living creature that could be used as food was slain and eaten. grass and herbage of all kinds were gathered and cooked for food, and under cover of dark- ness parties sallied out from the gates to gather grass in the fields. the sufferings of the besieged were terrible. so much were they reduced by weakness that they could scarce drag themselves along the streets, and numbers died from famine. during the time that the supply of bread was served out ned had persuaded his aunt and the girls to put by a morsel of their food each day. "it will be the only resource when the city sur- renders," he said. "for four or five days at least the girls must remain concealed, and during that time they must be fed. if they take in with them a jar of water and a supply of those crusts, which they can eat soaked in the water, they can maintain life." and so each day, as long as the bread lasted, a small piece was put aside until a sufficient store was accumu- lated to last the two girls for a week. soon after the daily issue ceased frau plomaert placed the bag of crusts into ned's hands. "take it away and hide it somewhere,"she said, "and do not let me know where you have put it, or we shall by pike and dyke. assuredly break into it and use it before the time comes. i do not think now that, however great the pressure, we would touoh those crusts; but there is no saying what we may do when we are gnawed by hunger. it is better anyhow, to put ourselves out of the way of temptation." during the long weeks of june ned found it hard to keep the precious store untouched. his aunt's figure had shrunk to a shadow of her former self, and she was scarce able to cross the room. the girls' cheeks were hollow and bloodless with famine, and although none of them ever asked him to break in upon the store, their faces pleaded more powerfully than any words could have done , and yet they were better off than many, for every night ned either went out from the gates or let himself down by a rope from the wall and returned with a supply of grass and herbage. it was fortunate for the girls that there was no neces- sity to go out of doors, for the sights there would have shaken the strongest. men, women, and children fell dead by scores in the streets, and the survivors had neither strength nor heart to carry them away and bury them. on the st of july the burghers hung out flag of truce, and deputies went out to confer with don frederick. the latter, however, would grant no terms whatever, and they returned to the city. two days later a tremendous cannonade was opened upon the town, and the walls broken down in several places, but the spaniards did not advance to the assault, knowing that the town could not hold out many days longer. two more parleys were held, but without result, and the black flag was hoisted upon the cathedral tower as a signal of despair ; but soon afterward a pigeon flew into the town with a letter from the prince, begging them to hold out for two days longer, as succor was ap- by pike and dyke. proaching. the prince had indeed done all that wei possible. he assembled the citizens of delft in the market-place, and said that if any troops could be gath- red he would march in person at their head to the relief of the city. there were no soldiers to be obtained; but four thousand armed volunteers from the various dutch cities assembled, and six hundred mounted troops. the prince placed himself at their head, but the magistrates and burghers of the towns would not allow him to hazard a life so indispensable to the existence of hol- land, and the troops themselves refused to march unless he abandoned his intention. he at last reluctantly consented, and handed over the command of the expedi- tion to baron batenburg. on the th of july at dusk the expedition set out from sassenheim, taking with them four hundred wagon loads of provisions and seven cannon. they halted in the woods, and remained till midnight. then they again marched forward, hoping to be able to surprise the span iards and make their way through before these could assemble in force. the agreement had been made that signal fires should be lighted and that the citizens should sally out to assist the relieving force as it ap- proached. unfortunately two pigeons with letters giving the details of the intended expedition had been shot while passing over the spanish camp, and the be- siegers were perfectly aware of what was going to be done. opposite the point at which the besieged were to sally out the spaniards collected a great mass of green branches, pitch, and straw. five thousand troops were stationed behind it, while an overwhelming force was stationed to attack the relieving army. when night fell the pile of combustibles was lighted, and gave out so dense a smoke that the signal fires lighted by pike and dyke. by batenburg were hidden from the townspeople. as soon as the column advanced from the wood they were attacked by an overwhelming force of the enemy. baten- burg was killed and his troops utterly routed, with the loss, according to the dutch accounts, of from five to six hundred, but of many more according to spanish state- ments. the besieged, ranged under arms, heard the bound of the distant conflict, but as they had seen no sig- nal fires believed that it was only a device of the span- iards to tempt them into making a sally, and it was not until morning when don frederick sent in a prisoner with his nose and ears cut off to announce the news, that they knew that the last effort to save them had failed. the blow was a terrible one, and there was great com- motion in the town. after consultation the garrison and the able-bodied citizens resolved to issue out in a solid column, and to cut their way through the enemy or perish. it was thought that if the women, the help- less, and infirm alone remained in the city they would be treated with greater mercy after all the fighting men had been slain. but as soon as this resolution became known the women and children isued from the houses with loud cries and tears. the burghers were unable to withstand their entreaties that all should die together, and it was then resolved that the fighting men should be formed into a hollow square, in which the women, chil- dren, sick, and aged should be gathered, and so to sally out, and either win a way through the camp or die together. but the news of this resolve reached the ears of don frederick. he knew now what the burghers of haarlem were capable of, and thought that they would probably fire the city before they left, and thus leave nothing but by pike and dykk » a heap of ashes as a trophy of his victory. he therefor* sent a letter to the magistrates, in the name of count overstein, commander of the german forces in the besieg- ing army, giving a solemn assurance that if they surren- dered at discretion no punishment should be inflicted except upon those who, in the judgment of the citizens themselves, had deserved it. at the moment of sending the letter don frederick was in possession of strict orders from his father not to leave a man alive of the garrison, with the exception of the germans, and to execute a large number of the burghers. on the receipt of this letter the city formally surrendered on the th of july. the great bell was tolled, and orders were issued that all arms should be brought to the town hall, that the women should assemble in the cathedral and the men in the cloister of zyl. then don frederick with his staff rode into the city. the scene which met their eyes was a terrible one. everywhere were ruins of houses which had been set on fire by the spanish artillery, the pavement had been torn np to repair the gaps in the walls, unburied bodies of men and women were scattered about the streets, while those still alive were mere shadows scarcely able to maintain their feet. no time was lost in commencing the massacre. all the officers were at once put to death. the garrison had been reduced during the siege from four thousand to eighteen hundred. of these the germans—six hundred in number—were allowed to depart. the remaining twelve hundred were immediately butchered, with at least as many of the citizens. almost every citizen distinguished by service, station or wealth was slaugh- tered, and from day to day five executioners were kept constantly at work. the city was not sacked, the in* by pike and dykb. habitants agreeing to raise a great sum of money as a ransom. as soon as the surrender was determined upon, ned helped his cousins into the refuge prepared for them, passed in the bread and water, walled up the hole and whitewashed it, his aunt being too weak to render any assistance, before they entered he opened the bag and took out a few crusts. "you must eat something now aunt," he said. "it may be a day or two before any food is distributed, and it is no use holding on so long to die of hunger when food is almost in sight. there is plenty in the bag to last the girls for a week. you must eatsparingly, girls, —not because there is not enough food, but because after fasting so long it is necessary for you at first to take food in very small quantities." the bread taken out was soaked, and it swelled so much in the water that it made much more than he had expected. he therefore divided it in half, and a portion made an excellent meal for ned and his aunt, the re- maining being carefully put by for the following day. an hour or two after eating the meal frau plomaert felt so much stronger that she was able to obey the order to go up to the cathedral. ned went with the able-bodied men to the cloister. the spaniards soon came among them, and dragged off numbers of those whom they thought most likely to have taken a prominent part in the fighting, to execution. as they did not wish others from whom money could be wrung to escape from their hands, they presently issued some food to the remainder.' the women, after remaining for some hours in the cath- edral, were suffered to depart to their homes, for their starving condition excited the compassion even of the spaniards; and the atrocities which had taken place at by pike and dyke. oamped outside, and i ought certainly to be able to get through them at night. it will be dark in a couple of hours, and as soon as it is so i will be off." the girls burst into tears at the thought of ned's de- parture. during the seven long months the siege had lasted he had been as a brother to them—keeping up their spirits by his cheerfulness, looking after their safety and as far as possible after their comfort, and acting as the adviser and almost as the head of the house. his aunt was almost equally affected, for she had come to lean entirely upon him and to regard him as a sod. "it is best that it should be so, ned; but we shall all miss you sorely. it may be that i shall follow your advice and come over to england on a long visit. now that i know you so well it will not seem like going among strangers, as it did before; for although i met your father and mother whenever they came over to vordwyk, i had not got to know them as i know you. i. shall talk the matter over with my father. of course everything depends upon what is going to happen in holland." ned did not tell his aunt that his father had been one of the first dragged out from the cloisters for execution, and that her sister, who kept house for him, had died three days previous to the surrender. his going away was grief enough for her for one day, and he turned the conversation to other matters until night fell, when, after a sad parting he made his way to the walls, having wound round his waist the rope by which he had been accus- tomed to lower himself. the executions in haarlem continued for two days after he had left, and then the five executioners were so weary of slaying that the three hundred prisoners who still remained for execution were tied back %& back and throinto the lake- by pike and dyke. chapter xv. ned receives promotion. it was fortunate for ned that the watch round the city had relaxed greatly when he started from it. the soldiers were discontented at the arrangement that had been made for the city to pay an immense sum of money to escape a general sack. they were all many months in arrear of their pay. they had suffered during the siege and they now considered themselves to be cheated of their fair reward. the sum paid by the city would go into the hands of the duke; and although the soldiers were promised a share of the prize-money, the duke's necessities were so great that it was probable little of the money would find its way into the hands of the troops. a sack upon the other hand was looked upon as a glorious lottery. every one was sure to gain something. many would obtain most valuable prizes of money or jewelry. no sooner, therefore, had haarlem surrendered than a mutinous spirit began to show itself among the troops; they became slack in obeying the orders of their officers, refused to perform their duties and either gath- ered in bodies to discuss their wrongs or sulked in their tents. thus the work of keeping a vigilant watch round the walls by night, to prevent the escape of the victims belected to satiate the vengeance of don frederick, was greatly relaxed. after lowering himself from the walls ned proceeded by pike and dyeb. with great caution. on reaching the spot where he ex« pected to meet with a cordon of sentries, he was sur- prised at finding everything still and quiet. unaware of the state of things in the camp, and suspecting that some device had perhaps been hit upon with the view of inducing men to try to escape from the city, he redoubled his precautions, stopping every few paces to listen for the calls of the sentries, or a heavy tread or the clash of arms. all was silent, and he continued his course until close to the camps of some of the german regiments. incredible as it seemed to him, it was now evident that no sentries had been posted. he saw great fires blazing in the camps, and a large number of men standing near one of them; they were being addressed by a soldier standing upon a barrel. keeping in the shadow of the tents, ned made his way close up to the group, and the similarity of the german language to the dutch enabled him to gather without difficulty the meaning of the speaker's words. he was recounting to the soldiers the numberless toils and hard- ships through which they had passed in the service of spain, and the ingratitude with which they were treated. "they pretend they have no money!" he exclaimed, "it is not true. spain has the wealth of the indies at her back, and yet she grudges us our pay for the services we have faithfully rendered her. why should we throw away our lives for spain? what do we care whether she is mistress of this wretched country or not? let us resolve, brethren, to be moved neither by entreaties nor threats, but to remain fast to the oath we and our spanish comrades have sworn, that we will neither march a foot nor lift an arm until we have received our pay; and not only our pay, but our share of the booty they have stolen from us." p. &d nØd ovbrhears the mutinerrs.–page . by pike and dykm. the shouts of approval that greeted the speech showed that the speaker's audience was thoroughly in accord with him. ned waited to hear no further orations, he understood now the withdrawal of the sentries. it was another of the mutinies that had so frequently broken out among the spanish forces in the netherlands. mak- ing his way out through the other side of the camp he proceeded on his journey. the news was important, for if the mutiny continued it would give the prince of orange time to prepare for the forward march of the enemy. he passed several other camps, but observed everywhere the same slackness of discipline and the absence of military precaution. all night he pushed forward without stopping, and as soon as the gates of leyden were opened he entered. upon inquiring he found that the prince was at delft, and hiring a horse he at once rode there. the prince received him with real pleasure. "and so you have escaped safe and sound from the siege, master martin? truly your good fortune is won- derful. i am glad indeed to see you. tell me how goes it in haarlem. rumors reached me that there, as at other towns, they have broken their oaths, and are mas- sacring the whole population." "it is not so bad as that, sir," ned replied. "they put to death numbers of the principal citizens and all refugees they could discover in the city, but there has been no regular sack. the women have not been ill treated, and although five executioners were kept busily at work there has been nothing like a general massacre." "thank god for that," the prince said piously. "that has eased my mind. i feared that the horrors of zutphen and naarden had been re-enacted." "i have another piece of good news to give you, sir. by pike and dyke. as i passed through their camps, i learned that all the troops, german as well as spanish, are in open mutiny, and have sworn that they will neither march nor fight until they receive all arrears of pay." "that is good news indeed!" the prince exclaimed. "it will give us breathing time, of which we are sadly in need. were the spaniards to march forward now, they could sweep over holland, for i could not put a thousand men in the field to withstand them. and now, master martin, what shall i do for you? you have re- ceived as yet no reward whatever for the great service you rendered us by the successful carrying out of your mission to brussels, to say nothing of the part you have borne in the defense of haarlem. i know that you joined us from pure love of our cause and hatred of spanish tyranny, still that is no reason why i should not recognize your services. if you would like it, i would gladly appoint you to the command of a com- pany of volunteers." "i thank you greatly, your highness," replied ned; "but i am far too young to command men, and pray that you will allow me to remain near your person, and to perform such service as you may think me capable of." "if that be your wish, it shall be so for the present," the prince replied; "and it is pleasant to me in these days, when almost every noble in the netherlands puts a price on his services, and when even the cities bargain for every crown-piece they advance, to find one who wants nothing. but now you need rest. when i am more at leisure you shall furnish me with further de- tails of what took place inside haarlem during the siege." the long defense of haarlem, the enormous expendi- ture which it had cost, both in money and life, for no by pike and dyke. less than tan thousand soldiers had fallen in the assault or by disease, induced alva to make another attempt to win back the people of holland, and three days after ned's return a proclamation was sent to every town. he adopted an affectionate tone: "ye are well aware," began the address, " that the king has over and over again manifested his willingness to receive his children, in however forlorn a condition the prodigals might re- turn. his majesty assures you once more that your sins, however black they may have been, shall be for- given and forgotten in the plentitude of royal kindness, if you will repent and return in season to his majesty's embrace. notwithstanding your manifold crimes, his majesty still seeks, like a hen calling her chickens, to gather you all under the parental wing." this portion of the document, which was by the order of the magistrates affixed to the doors of the town halls, was received with shouts of laughter by the citizens, and many were the jokes as to the royal hen and the return of the prodigals. the conclusion of the document af- forded a little further insight into the affectionate dis- position of the royal bird. ** if," continued the procla- mation, "ye disregard these offers of mercy, and receive them with closed ears as heretofore, then we warn you that there is no rigor or cruelty, however great, which you are not to expect, by laying waste, starvation, and the sword, in such manner that nowhere shall remain a relic of that which at present exists, but his majesty will strip bare and utterly depopulate the land, and cause it to be inhabited again by strangers, since other- wise his majesty would not believe that the will of god and of his majesty had been accomplished." this proclamation produced no effect whatever ; for the people of holland were well aware that philip of by pike and dyke. spain would never grant that religious toleration for which they were fighting, and they knew also that no re- liance whatever could be placed in spanish promises or oaths. for a month alva was occupied in persuading the troops to return to their duty, and at last managed to raise a sufficient sum of money to pay each man a portion of the arrears due to him, and a few crowns on account of his share of the ransom paid by haarlem. during this breathing time the prince of orange was indefatigable in his endeavors to raise a force capable of undertaking the relief of such towns as the spaniards might invest. this, however, he found well-nigh impossible. the cities were all ready to defend themselves, but in spite of the danger that threatened they were chary in the extreme in contributing money for the common cause, nor would the people enlist for service in the field. nothing had occurred to shake the belief in the invinci- bility of the spanish soldiery in fair fight in the open, and the disasters which had befallen the bodies of vol- unteers who had endeavored to relieve haarlem, effect- ually deterred others from following their example. the prince's only hope, therefore, of being able to put a force into the field, rested upon his brother louis, who was raising an army of mercenaries in germany. he had little assurance, however, that relief would come from this quarter, as the two armies he had him- self raised in germany had effected absolutely nothing. his efforts to raise a fleet were more successful. the hardy mariners of zeeland were ready to fight on their own element, and asked nothing better than to meet the spaniards at sea. nevertheless money had to be raised for the purchase of vessels, stores, artillery, and ammunition. ned was frequently despatched by the by pike and dykk prince with letters to magistrates of the chief towns, to nobles and men of influence, and always performed his duties greatly to the prince's satisfaction.. as soon as the duke of alva had satisfied the troops, preparations began for a renewal of hostilities, and the prince soon learned that it was intended that don fred- erick should invade northern holland with sixteen thousand men, and that the rest of the army, which had lately received further reinforcements, should lay siege to leyden. the prince felt confident that leyden could resist for a time, but he was very anxious as to the position of things in north holland. in the cour- age and ability of sonoy, the lieutenant-governor of north holland, the prince had entire confidence; but it was evident by the tone of his letters that he had lost all hope of being able to defend the province, and al- together despaired of the success of their cause. he had written in desponding tones at the utterly insuffi- cient means at his disposal for meeting the storm that was about to burst upon the province, and had urged that unless the prince had a good prospect of help, either from france or england, it was better to give up the struggle than to bring utter destruction upon the whole people. the letter in which the prinoe answered him has been preserved, and well illustrates the lofty tone of his com- munications in this crisis of the fate of holland. he reprimanded with gentle but earnest eloquence the de- spondency and want of faith of his lieutenant and other adherents. he had not expected, he said, that they would have so soon forgotten their manly courage. they seemed to consider the whole fate of the country attached to the city of haarlem. he took god to wit- ness that he had spared no pains, and would willingly * by pike and dyke. have spared no drop of his blood to save that devoted city. "but as, notwithstanding our efforts," he continued, *' it has pleased god almighty to dispose of haarlem ac- cording to his divine will, shall we, therefore, deny and deride his holy word? has his church, therefore, come to naught? you ask if i have entered into a firm treaty with any great king or potentate, to which i an- swer that before i ever took up the cause of the oppressed christians in these provinces i had entered into a close alliance with the king of kings; and i am firmly con- vinced that all who put their trust in him shall be saved by his almighty hand. the god of armies will raise up armies for us to do battle with our ene- mies and his own." in conclusion he detailed his preparations for attack- ing the enemy by sea as well as by land, and encouraged his lieutenant and the population of the northern prov- ince to maintain a bold front before the advancing foe. that sonoy would do his best the prince was sure; but he knew how difficult it is for one who himself regards resistance as hopeless to inspire enthusiasm in others, and he determined to send a message to cheer the people of north holland, and urge them to resist to the last, and to intrust it to one who could speak personally as to the efforts that were being made for their assist- ance, and who was animated by a real enthusiasm in the cause. it was an important mission; but after considering the various persons of his household, he decided to intrust it to the lad who had showed such courage and discretion in his dangerous mission to brussels. a keen observer of character the prince felt that he could trust the young, fellow absolutely to do his best at whatever risk to him- by pike and dyke. self. he had believed when he first joined him that ned was some eighteen years of age, and the year that had since elapsed with its dangers and reponsibilitiea had added two or three years to his appearance. it was the fashion in holland to entirely shave the face, and ned's smooth cheeks were therefore no sign of youth. standing over the average height of the natives of holland, with broad shoulders and well-set figure, he might readily pass as a man of three or four and twenty. the prince accordingly sent for the lad. "i have another mission for you, master martin; and again a dangerous one. the spaniards are on the point of marching to lay siege to alkmaar, and i wish a mes- sage carried to the citizens assuring them that they may rely absolutely upon my relieving them by breaking down the dykes. i wish you on this occasion to be more than a messenger. in these despatches i have epoken of you as one captain martin, who possesses my fullest confidence. you would, as you say, be young to be a captain of a company of fighting men, but as an officer attached to my household you can bear that rank as well as another. "it will be useful, and will add to your influence and authority, and i have therefore appointed you to the grade of captain, of which by your conduct you have proved yourself to be worthy. your mission is to en- courage the inhabitants to resist to the last, to rouse them to enthusiasm if you can, to give them my solemn promise that they shall not be deserted, and to assure them that if i cannot raise a force sufficient to relieve them i will myself come round and superintend the operation of cutting the dykes and laying the whole country under water. i do not know whether you will find the lieutenant-governor in the city, but at any rata by pike and dyke. instead of seventeen. the prince has chosen me for this business, not because of my age, but because ho thought i could carry it out; and carry it out i will, if it he in my power." in the afternoon a clothier arrived with several suits of handsome material and make, cut of sober colors, such as a young man of good family would wear, and an armorer brought him a morion and breast and back pieces of steel, handsomely inlaid with gold. when ha was alone he attired himself in the quietest of his new suits, and looking at himself in the mirror burst into a fit of hearty laughter. "what in the world would my father and mother and the girls say were they to see me pranked out in such attire as this? they would scarce know me, and i shall scarce know myself for some time. however, i think i shall be able to play my part as the prince's representive better in these than i should have done in the dress i started in last time, or in that i wore on board the good venture." at five o'clock ned paid another visit to the prince, and thanked him heartily for his kindness toward him, and then received a few last instructions. on his return to his room he found a corporal and four soldiers at the door. the former saluted. "we have orders, captain martin, to place ourselves under your command for detached duty. our kits are already on board the ship; the men will carry down your mails if they are packed." "i only take that trunk with me," ned said, pointing to the one that contained his new clothes; "and there is besides my armor, and that brace of pistols." followed by the corporal and men, ned now made his way down to the port, where the captain of the little by pike and dyke. lie old officer and of the citizens, that there waa some serious difference of opinion between them. "whom have we here?" sonoy asked as ned ap- proached the table. "i am a messenger, sir, from the prince. i bear these despatches to yourself, and have also letters and mes- sages from him to the citizens of ajkmaar." "you come at a good season," the governor said shortly, taking the despatches, "and if anything you can say will soften the obstinacy of these good people here, you will do them and me a service." there was silence for a few minutes as the governor read the letter ned had brought him. "my good friends," he said at last to the citizens, "this is captain martin, an officer whom the prince tells me stands high in his confidence. he bore part in the siege of haarlem, and has otherwise done great service to the state; the prince commends him most highly to me and to you. he has sent him here in the first place to assure you fully of the prince's intentions on your behalf. he will especially represent the prince during the siege, and from his knowledge of the methods of defense at haarlem, of the arrangements for portion- ing out the food and other matters, he will be able to give you valuable advice and assistance. as you are aware, i ride in an hour to enkhuizen in order to super- intendent the general arrangement for the defence of the province, and especially for affording you aid, and i am glad to leave behind me an officer who is so com- pletely in the confidence of the prince. he will first deliver the messages with which he is charged to you, and then we will hear what he says as to this matter which is in dispute between us." the passage of ned with his escort through the street by pike and dyke. had attracted much attention, and the citizens had followed him into the hall in considerable numbers to hear the message of which he was no doubt the bearer. ned took his place by the side of the old officer, and facing the crowd began to speak. at other times he would have been diffident in addressing a crowded aud- ience, but he felt that he must justify the confidence imposed on him, and knowing the preparations that were being made by the prince, and his intense anxiety that alkmaar should resist to the end, he began without hesitation, and speedily forgot himself in the importance of the subject. "citizens of alkmaar," he began, " the prince has sent me specially to tell what there is in his mind con- cerning you, and how his thoughts, night and day, have been turned toward your city. not only the prince, but all holland are turning their eyes toward you, and none doubt that you will show yourselves as worthy, as faithful, and as steadfast as have the citizens of haar- lem. you fight not for glory, but for your liberty, for your religion, for the honor and the lives of those dear to you; and yet your glory and your honor will be great indeed if this little city of yours should prove the bulwark of holland, and should beat back from its walls the power of spain. the prince bids me tell you that he is doing all he can to collect an army and a fleet. "in the latter respect he is succeeding well. the hardiest seamen of holland and zeeland are gathering round him, and have sworn that they will clear the zuider-zee of the spaniards or die in the attempt. as to the army, it is, as you know, next to impossible to gather one capable of coping with the hosts of spain in the ': 'd: but happily you need not relv solelv upon s& by pike and dyke. "we will retire, and let you have our answer in half an hour." ned glanced at the governor, who shook his head slightly. "what! is there need of deliberation?" ned asked in a voice that was heard all over the hall. "to you, citizens at large, i appeal. of what use is it now to delib- erate? have you not already sent a defiant answer to alva? are not his troops within a day's march of you? think you that, even if you turn traitors to your country and to your prince, and throw open the gates, it would save you now? did submission save naarden? how many of you, think you, would survive the sack? and for those who did so, what would life be worth? they would live an object of reproach and scoffing among all true hollanders, as the men of the city who threatened what they dared not perform, who were bold while alva was four days' march away, but who cowered like chil- dren when they saw the standards of spain approaching their walls. i appeal to you, is this a time to hesitate or discuss? i ask you now, in the name of the prince, are you true men or false? are you for orange or alva? what is your answer?" a tremendous shout shook the hall. "we will fight to the death! no surrender! down with the council!" and there were loud and threatening shouts against some of the magistrates. the governor now rose: "my friends," he said," i rejoice to hear your decision; and now there is no time for idle talk. throw open the gates, and call in the troops whom the prince has sent to your aid, and whom your magistrates have hither- to refused to admit. choose from among yourselves six men upon whom you can rely to confer with me and by pike and dyke. with the officer commanding the troops. choose good and worshipful men, zealons in the cause. i will see before i leave to-day that your magistracy is strengthened. you need now men of heart and action at your head. captain martin, who has been through the siege of haarlem, will deliberate with twelve citizens whom i will select as to the steps to be taken for gathering the food into magazines for the public use, for issuing daily rations, for organizing the women as well as the men for such work as they are fit. there is much to be done, and but little time to do it, for to-morrow the spaniards will be in front of your walls." in an hour's time the eight hundred troops marched in from egmont castle and egmont abbey, where they had been quartered while the citizens were wavering between resistance and submission. four of the citizens, who had already been told off for the purpose, met them at the gate and alloted them quarters in the various houses. governor sonoy was already in deliberation with the six men chosen by the townspeople to represent them. he had at once removed from the magistracy an equal number of those who had been the chief opponents of resistance; for here, as in other towns, the magistrates had been appointed by the spaniards. ned was busy conferring with the committee, and ex- plaining to them the organization adopted at .haarlem. he pointed out that it was a first necessity that all the men capable of bearing arms should be divided into companies of fifty, each which should select its own cap- tain and lieutenant; that the names of the women should be inscribed, with their ages, that the active and able- bodied should be divided into companies for carrying materials to the walls, and aiding in the defense when a breach was attacked; and that the old and feeble should • by pike and dyke. be made useful in the hospitals and for such other work as their powers admitted. all children were to join the oompanies to which their mothers belonged, and to help as far as they could in their work. having set theso matters in train, ned rejoined the governor. "i congratulate you, captain martin, upon the service you have rendered to-day. your youth and enthusiasm have succeeded where my experience failed. tou be- lieve in the possibility of success, and thus your words had a ring and fervor which were wanting in mine, fear- ing as i do that the cause is a lost one. i wondered much when you first presented yourself that the prince should have given his confidence to one so young. i wonder no longer. the prince never makes a mis- take in his instruments, and he has chosen well this time. "i leave the city to-night, and shall write to the prince from enkhuizen telling him how you have brought the citizens round to a sense of their ;"uty; ant? that whereas at the moment of your arrival i believed the magistrates would throw open the gates to-morrow, i am now convinced the city vill resist till the last. in military matters the officer in command of the troops will of course take the direction of things; but in all other matters you, as the prince's special represent- ative, will act as adviser of the burghers. wish that i could stay here and share in the perils of the siege. it would be far more suitable to my disposition than argu- ing with pig-headed burghers, and trying to excite their enthusiasm when my own hopes have all but vanished." the officer commanding the garrison now entered, and the governor introduced ned to him. "you will find in captain martin, one who is in the by pike and dykk. soi prinoe's confidence, and has been sent here as his special representative, and able coadjutor. he will organize the citizens as they were organized at haarlem; and while you are defending the walls he will see that all goes on in good order in the town, that there is no undue waste in provisions, that the breaches are repaired as fast as made, that the sick and wounded are well cared for, and that the spirits of the townspeople are maintained." "that will indeed be an assistance," the officer said courteously, "these details are as necessary as the work of fighting; and it is impossible for one man to attend to them and to see to his miltiary work." "i shall look to you, sir, for your aid and assistance," ned said modestly. "the prince is pleased to have a good opinion of me; but i am young and shall find the lesponsbility a very heavy one, and can only hope to maintain my authority by the aid of your assistance." "i think that you will not require much aid, captain martin," the governor said. "i marked you when you were speaking, and doubt not that your spirit will carry you through all difficulties." that night was a busy one in alkmaar. few thought of sleeping, and before morning the lists were all pre- pared,, the companies mustered, officers chosen, posts on the walls assigned to them, and every man, woman, and child in alkmaar knew the nature of the duties they would be called upon to perform. just before mid- night the governor left. "farewell, young man," he said to ned; "i trust that we may meet again. now that i have got rid of the black sheep among the magistracy i feel more hope- ful as to the success of the defense." "but may i ask, sir, why you did not dismiss than before?" br pike and dyke. "ah! you hardly know the burghers of these towns," sonoy said, shaking his head. "they stand upon their rights and privileges, and if you touch their civic officers they are like a swarm of angry bees. governor of north holland as i am, i could not have interfered with the magistracy even of this little town. it was only because at the moment the people were roused to enthusiasm, and because they regarded you as the special represen- tative of the prince, that i was able to do so. now that the act is done they are well content with the change, especially as i have appointed the men they themselves chose to the vacant places. it was the same thing at enkhuizen—i could do nothing; and it was only when sainte aldegonde came with authority from the prince himself that we were able to get rid of alva's creatures. well, i must ride away. the spaniards are encamped about six miles away, and you may expect to see them soon after daybreak." it was indeed early in the morning that masses of smoke were seen rising from the village of egmont, tell- ing the citizens of alkmaar that the troopers of don frederick had arrived. alkmaar was but a small town, and when every man capable of bearing arms was mus- tered they numbered only about thirteen hundred, be- sides the eight hundred soldiers. it was on the st of august that don frederick with sixteen thousand veteran troops appeared before the walls of the town, and at once proceeded to invest it, and accomplished this so thoroughly that alva wrote, "it is impossible for a sparrow to enter or go out of the city." there was no doubt what the fate of the inhabitants would be if the city were captured. the duke was furious that what he considered his extraordinary clemency in having exe- cuted only some twenty-four hundred persons at the but- by pike and dyke. chapter xvi. friends in trouble. within the little town of alkmaar all went on quietly. while the spaniards constructed their lines of investment and mounted their batteries, and then labored continually at strengthening their walls, the women and children carried materials, all the food was oollected in magazines, and rations served out regularly. a carpenter named peter van der mey managed to make his way out of the city a fortnight after the in- vestment began with letters to the prince and sonoy, giving the formal consent of all within the walls for the outting of the dykes when it should be necessary; for, according to the laws of holland, a step that would lead to so enormous a destruction of property could not be undertaken, even in the most urgent circumstances, without the consent of the population. at daybreak on the th of september a heavy can- nonade was opened against the walls, and after twelve hours' fire two breaches were made. upon the follow- ing morning two of the best spanish regiments which had just arrived from italy led the way to the assault, shouting and oheering as they went, and confident of an easy victory. they were followed by heavy masses of troops. now ned was again to see what the slow and some- what apathetic dutch burghers could do when fairly aroused to action. every man capable of bearing. a by pike and dyke. weapon was upon the walls, and not even in haarlem was an attack received with more coolness and confidence. as the storming parties approached they were swept by. artillery and musketry, and as they attempted to climb the breaches, boiling water, pitch and oil, molten lead and unslacked lime were poured upon them. hundreds of tarred and blazing hoops were skillfully thrown on to their necks, and those who, in spite of these terrible missiles, mounted to the breach, found themselves con- fronted by the soldiers and burghers, armed with axe and pike, and were slain or cast back again. three times was the assault renewed, fresh troops be- ing ever brought up and pressing forward, wild with rage at their repulses by so small a number of defenders.- but each was in turn hurled back. for four hours the desperate fight continued. the women and chil- dren showed a calmness equal to that of the men, mov- ing backward and forward between the magazines and the ramparts with supplies of missiles and ammunition to the combatants. at nightfall the spaniards desisted from the attack and fell back to their camp, leaving a thousand dead behind them; while only twenty-four of the garrison and thirteen of the burghers lost their lives. a spanish officer who had mounted the breach for an instant, and, after being hurled back, almost miracu- lously escaped with his life, reported that he had seen neither helmet nor harness as he looked down into the city—only some plain-looking people, generally dressed like fishermen. the cannonade was renewed on the following morning, and after seven hundred shots had been fired and the breaches enlarged, a fresh assault was ordered. but the troops absolutely refused to advance. it seemed to them that the devil, whom they believed protestants worshiped, had protected the city, other- - by pike and dyke. ,wise how could a handful of townsmen and fishermen have defeated the invincible soldiers of spain, outnum- bering them eight-fold. in vain don frederick and his generals entreated and stormed. several of the soldiers were run through the body, but even this did not intimidate the rest into sub- mission, and the assault was in consequence postponed. already, indeed, there was considerable uneasiness in the spanish camp. governor sonoy had opened many of the dykes, and the ground in the neighborhood of the camp was already feeling soft and boggy. it needed but that two great dykes should be pierced to spread the inundation over the whole country. the carpenter who had soon after the commencement of the siege carried out the despatches had again made his way back. he was the bearer of the copy of a letter sent from the prince to sonoy, ordering him to protect the dykes and sluices with strong guards, lest the peasants, in order to save their crops, should repair the breaches. he was directed to flood the whole country at all risks rather than to allow alkmaar to fall. the prince directed the citizens to kindle four great beacon-fires as soon as it should prove necessary to resort to extreme measures, and solemnly promised that as soon as the signal was given an inundation should be created which would sweep the whole spanish army into the sea. the carpenter was informed of the exact contents of his despatches, so that in case of losing them in his passage through the spanish camp he could repeat them by word of mouth to the citizens. this was ex- actly what happened. the despatches were concealed in a hollow stick, and this stick the carpenter, in carry- ing out his perilous undertaking, lost. as it turned out it was fortunate that he did so. the stick was picked st pike and dyke. tip in the camp and discovered to be hollow. it was carried to don frederick, who read the despatches, and at once called his officers together. alarmed at the prospect before them, and already heartily sick of the siege in which the honor all fell to their opponents, they agreed that the safety of an army of the picked troops of spain most not be sacrificed merely with the hope of obtaining possession of an insignificant town. orders were therefore given for an immediate ret eat, and on the th of october the siege was raised and the troops marched back to am- sterdam. thus for the first time the spaniards had to recoil before their puny adversaries. the terrible loss of life entailed by the capture of haarlem had struck a pro- found blow at the haughty confidence of the spaniards, and had vastly encouraged the people of holland. the successful defense of alkmaar did even more. it showed the people that resistance did not necessarily lead to calamity, that the risk was greater in surrender than in defiance, and, above all, that in their dykes they pos- sessed means of defense that, if properly used, would fight for them even more effectually than they could do for themselves. ned had taken his full share in the labors and dangers of the siege. he had been indefatigable in seeing that all the arrangements worked well and smoothly, had blept on the walls with the men, encouraged the women, talked and laughed with the children, and done all in his power to keep up the spirits of the inhabitants. at the assault on the breaches he had donned his armor and fought in the front line as a volunteer under the officer in command of the garrison. on the day when the spaniards were seen to be break- by pike and dyke. ing up their camps and retiring, a meeting was held ia the town-hall, after a solemn thanksgiving had been offered in the church, and by acclamation ned was made a citizen of the town, and was presented with a gold chain as a token of the gratitude of the people of alkmaar. there was nothing more for him to do here, and as soon as the spaniards had broken up their camp he mounted a horse and rode to enkhuizen, bidding his escort follow him at once on foot. he had learned from the carpenter who had made his way in, that the fleet was collected, and that a portion of them from the northern ports under admiral dirkzoon had already set sail, and the whole were expected to arrive in a few days in the zuider-zee. as he rode through the street on his way to the burgomaster's his eye fell upon a familiar face, and he at once reined in his horse. "ah! peters," he exclaimed, " is it you? is the good venture in port?" peters looked up in astonishment. the voice was that of ned martin, but he scarce recognized in the handsomely dressed young officer the lad he had last seen a year before. "why, it is master ned, sure enough !" he exclaimed, shaking the lad's hand warmly. "though if you had not spoken i should have assuredly passed you. why, lad, you are transformed. i took you for a young noble with your brave attire and your gold chain; and you look years older than when i last saw you. you have grown into a man; but though you have added to your height and your breadth your cheeks have fallen in greatly, and your color has well-nigh faded away." "t have had two long bouts of fasting, peters, and have but .just finished the second. i am captain martia by pike and dyke. now, by the favor of the prince of orange. how are they at home? and how goes it with my father?" "he is on board, master ned. this is his first voyage, and right glad we are, as you may guess, to have him back again: and joyful will he be to see you. he had your letter safely that you wrote after the fall of haar- lem, and it would have done you good if you had heard the cheers in the summer-house when he read it out to the captains there. we had scarce thought we should ever hear of you again." "i will put up my horse at the burgomaster's, peters, and come on board with you at once. i must speak to him first for a few minutes. a messenger was sent off on horseback last night the moment the road was opened to say that the spaniards had raised the siege of alk- maar; but i must give him a few details." "so you have been there too? the guns have been firing and the bells ringing all the day, and the people have been well-nigh out of their minds with joy. they had looked to the spaniards coming here after they had finished with alkmaar, and you may guess how joyful they were when the news came that the villains were going off beaten." a quarter of an hour later ned leaped from the quay on to the deck of the good venture. his father's de- light was great as he entered the cabin, and he was no less astonished than peters had been at the change that a year had made in his appearance. "why, ned," he said, after they had talked for hall an hour, " i fear you are getting much too great a man ever to settle down again to work here." "not at all, father," ned laughed. "i have not the least idea of remaining permanently here. i love the sea, and i love england and my home, and nothing would y by pike and dyke. tempt me to give them up. i cannot leave my present work now. the prince has been so kind to me that even if i wished it i could not withdraw from his service now. but i do not wish. in another year, if all the dutch cities prove as stanch as haarlem and alkmaar have done, the spaniards will surely begin to see that their task of subduing such a people is a hopeless one. at any rate i think that i can then very well withdraw myself from the work and follow my pro- fession again. i shall be old enough then to be your second mate, and to relieve j'ou of much of your work." "i shall be glad to have you with me," captain martin said. "of course i still have the supercargo, but that is not like going ashore and seeing people one's self. how- ever, we can go on as we are for a bit. you have been striking a blow for freedom, lad, i mean to do my best to strike one to-morrow or next day." "how is that, father?" "bossu's fleet of thirty vessels are cruising off the town, and they have already had some skirmishes with dirkzoon's vessels; but nothing much has come of it yet. the spaniards, although their ships are much larger and heavily armed, and more numerous too than ours, do not seem to have any fancy for coming to close quarters ; but there is sure to be a fight in a few days. there is a vessel in port which will go out crowded with the fishermen here to take part in the fight.; and i am going to fly the dutch flag for once instead of the eng- lish, and am going to strike a blow to pay them off for the murder of your mother's relations, to say nothing of this," and he touched his wooden leg. "there are plenty of men here ready and willing to go, and i have taken down the names of eighty who will sail with us; « by pike and dyke. the men trom the craft on the other side pour in and board her than they threw down their arms. four other ships were taken, and the rest of the spanish vessels spread their sails and made for amsterdam, hotly pursued by the dutch fleet. one huge spanish vessel alone, the inquisition, a name that was in itself an insult to the dutch, and which was by far the largest and best manned vessel in the two fleets, disdained to fly. she was the admiral's vessel, and bossu, who was himself a native of the netherlands, although deserted by his fleet, refused to fly before his puny opponents. the spaniards in the ships captured had all been killed or fastened below, and under charge of small parties of the dutch sailors the prizes sailed for enkhuizen. the ship captured by the good venture had been the last to strike her flag, and when she started under her prize crew there were three smaller dutch ships besides the good venture on the scene of the late conflict. with a cheer, answered from boat to boat, the four vessels sailed to- ward the inquisition. a well-directed broadside from the spaniards cut away the masts out of one of them, and left her in a sinking condition. the other three got alongside and grappled with her. so high did she tower above them that her cannon were of no avail to her now, and locked closely together the sailors and soldiers fought as if on land. it was a life and death contest. bossu and his men, clad in coats of mail, stood with sword and shield on the deck of the inquisition to repel all attempts to board. the dutch attacked with their favorite missiles —pitch hoops, boiling oil, and molten lead. again and again they clambered up the lofty sides of the inquisition and gained a momentary footing on her deck, only to be hurled down again into their ships below. the fight by pike and dyke. began at three o'clock in the afternoon and lasted till darkness. but even this did not terminate it; and all night spaniards and dutchmen grappled in deadly con- flict. all this time the vessels . were drifting as the winds and tide took them, and at last grounded on a bhoal called the neck, near wydeness. just as morn- ing was breaking john haring of horn—the man who had kept a thousand at bay on the diemar dyke, and who now commanded one of the vessels—gained a foot- ing on the deck of the inquisition unnoticed by the spaniards, and hauled down her colors; but a moment later he fell dead, shot through the body. as soon as it was light the country people came off in boats and joined in the fight, relieving their compatriots by carry- ing their killed and wounded on shore. they brought fresh ammunition as well as men, and at eleven o'clock admiral bossu, seeing that further resistance was use- less, and that his ship was aground on a hostile shore, his fleet dispersed and three-quarters of his soldiers and crew dead or disabled, struck his flag and surrendered with three hundred prisoners. j/f- he was landed at horn, and his captors had gres&v difficulty in preventing him from being torn to pieces^, by the populace in return for the treacherous massacre at rotterdam, of which he had been the author. during the long fight ned martin behaved with great bravery. again and again he and peters had led the boarders, and it was only his morion and breast-piece that had saved him many times from death. he had been wounded several times, and was so breathless and hurt by his falls from the deck that at the end he could no longer even attempt to climb the sides of the spanish vessel. captain martin was able to take no part in the melee. he had at the beginning of the fight taken up br pike and dyke. his post on the taffrail, and, seated there, had kept up a steady fire with a musket against the spaniards as they showed themselves above. as soon as the fight was over the good venture sailed back to enkhuizen. five of her own crew and thirty-eight of the volunteers on board her had been killed, and there was scarcely a man who was not more or less severely wounded. the english were received with tremendous acclamation by the citizens on their arrival in port, and a vote of thanks was passed to them at a meeting of the burghers in the town-hall. ned sailed round in the good venture to delft and again joined the prince of orange there, and was greatly commended for his conduct at alkmaar, which had been reported upon in the most favorable terms by sonoy. on learning the share that the good venture had taken in the sea-fight, the prince went on board and warmly thanked captain martin and the crew, and distributed a handsome present among the latter. half an hour after the prince returned to the palace he sent for ned. "did you not say," he asked, "that the lady who concealed you at brussels was the countess von harp?" "yes, your highness. you have no bad news of her, i hope?" "i am sorry to say that i have," the prince replied. "i have just received a letter brought me by a messenger from a friend at maastricht. he tells me among other matters that the countess and her daughter were arrested there two days since. they were passing through in disguise, and were, it was supposed, making for ger- many, when it chanced that the countess was recognized by a man in the service of one of the magistrates. it eems he had been born on von harp's estate, and knew by pike and dyke. the countess well by sight. he at once denounced her, and she and her daughter and a woman they had with them were thrown into prison. i am truly sorry, for the count was a great friend of mine, and i met his young wife many times in the happy days before these troubles began."' ned was greatly grieved when he heard of the danger to whieh the lady who had behaved so kindly to him was exposed, and an hour later he again went into the prince's study. "i have come in to ask, sir, if you will allow me to be absent for a time?" "certainly, captain martin," the prince replied. "are you thinking of paying a visit to england?" "no, sir. i am going to try if i can do anything to get the countess von harp out of the hands of those who have captured her." "but how are you going to do that?" the prince asked in surprise. "it is one thing to slip out of the hands of alva's minions, as you did at brussels, but an- other thing altogether to get two women out of prison." "that is so," ned said; "but i rely much, sir, upon. the document which i took a year since from the body of von aert's clerk, and which i have carefully pre- served ever since. it bears the seal of the blood coun- cil, and is an order to all magistrates to assist the bearer in all ways that he may require. with the aid of that document i may succeed in unlocking the door of the prison." "it is a bold enterprise," the prince said, " and may cost you your life. still i do not say it is impossible." "i have also," ned said, "some orders for the arrest of prisoners. these are not sealed, but bear the signa- ture of the president of the council. i shall go to a by pike and dyke. scrivener and shall get him to copy one of them exactly, making only the alteration that the persons of the countess von harp, her daughter, and servant are to be handed over to my charge for conveyance to brussels. alone, this document might be suspected; but, fortified as i am by the other with the seal of the council, it may pass without much notice." "yes, but you would be liable to detection by any one who has known this man genet." "there is a certain risk of that," ned replied; "and if any one who knew him well met me i should of course be detected. but that is unlikely. the man was about my height, although somewhat thinner. his principal mark was a most evil squint that he had, and that any one who had once met him would be sure to remember. i must practice crossing my eyes in the same manner when i present my papers." the prince smiled. "sometimes you seem to me a man, martin, and then again you enter upon an under- taking with the light-heartedness of a boy. however, far be it from me to hinder your making the attempt. it is pleasant, though rare, to see people mindful of benefits bestowed upon them, and one is glad to see that gratitude is not altogether a lost virtue. go, my lad; and may god aid you in your scheme. i will my- self send for a scrivener at once and give him instruc- tions; it may well be that he would refuse to draw up such a document as that you require merely on your order. "leave the order for arrest with me, and i will bid him get a facsimile made in all respects. you will re- quire two or three trusty men with you to act as official* under your charge. i will give you a letter to my cor- respondent in maastricht begging him to provide some by pike a?.'i) dyke. men on whom he can rely for this work. it would be diffioult for you, a stranger in the town, to put your hand upon them." the next morning ned, provided with the forged order of release, started on his journey. he was dis- guised as a peasant, and carried a suit of clothes similar in cut and fashion to those worn by genet. he went first to rotterdam, and bearing west crossed the river lek, and then struck the waal at gorichen, and there hired a boat and proceeded up the river to nymegen. he then walked across to grave, and again taking boat pro- ceeded up the maas, past venlo and roermond to maas- tricht. he landed a few miles above the town, and changed his peasant clothes for the suit he carried with him. at a farmhouse he succeeded in buying ahorse, saddle, and bridle. the animal was but a poor one, but it waa sufficiently good for his purpose, as he wanted it not for speed, but only to enable him to enter the city on horse- back. maastricht was a strongly fortified city, and on entering its gates ned was requested to show his papers. he at once produced the document bearing the seal of the council. this was amply sufficient, and he soon took np his quarters at an inn. his first step was to find the person for whom he bore the letter from the prince. the gentleman, who was a wealthy merchant, after reading the missive and learning from ned the manner in which he could assist him, at once promised to do so. "you require three men, you say, dressed as officials in the employment of the council. the dress is easy enough, for they bear no special badge or cognizance, although generally they are attired in dark-green doub- lets and trunks and red hose. there will be no difficulty as to the men themselves. the majority of the towns* by pike and dyke. to me. if i should succeed i will go straight back to my inn. if you will place some one near the door there to see if i enter, which if i succeed will be about one o'clock, he can bring you the news. i will have my horse brought round at two, and at that hour your men oan ride up and join me, and i will proceed with them straight to the prison." no by pike and lyes. chapter xvii. a kescue. at twelve o'clock on the following day ned went to the town-hall, and on stating that he was the bearer of an order from the council, was at once shown into the chamber in which three of the magistrates were sitting. "i am the bearer of an order from the council for the delivery to me of the persons of the countess von harp, her daughter, and the woman arrested in company with them for conveyance to brussels, there to an- swer the charges against them. this is the order of the council with their seal, ordering all magistrates to render assistance to me as one of their servants. this is the special order for the handing over to me of the prisoners named." the magistrates took the first order, glanced at it and at the seal, and perfectly satisfied with this gave but a casual glance at that for the transferring of the prisoners. "i think you were about a year since with councilor van aert?" one of the magistrates said. ned bowed. "by the way, did i not hear that you were missing, or that some misfortune had befallen you some months bince? i have a vague recollection of doing so." "yes. i was sorely maltreated by a band of robber peasants who left me for dead, but as you mm i nm now completely recovered." by pike and dyke. "i suppose you have some men with you to escort the prisoners?" one of the magistrates asked. "assuredly," ned replied. "i have with me three men, behind whom the women will ride." the magistrates countersigned the order upon the governor of the prison to hand over the three prisoners* and gave it with the letter of the council to ned. he bowed and retired. "i should not have remembered him again," the mag- istrate who had been the chief speaker said after he had left the room, " had it not been for that villainous cast in his eyes. i remember noticing it when he was here last time, and wondered that von aert should like to have a man whose eyes were so crossways about him; otherwise i do not recall the face at all, which is not sur- prising seeing that i only saw him for a minute or two, and noticed nothing but that abominable squint of his." ned walked back to his inn, ordered his horse to be saddled at two o'clock, and partook of a hearty meal. then paying his reckoning he went out and mounted his horse. as he did so three men in green doublets and red hose rode up and took their places behind him. on arriving at the prison he dismounted, and handing his horse to one of his followers entered. "i have an order from the council, countersigned by the magistrates here, for the delivery to me of three prisoners." the warder showed him into a room. "the governor is ill," he said, "and confined to his bed; but i will take the order to him." ned was well pleased with the news, for he thought it likely that genet might have been there before on similar errands, and his person be known to the gover- nor. in ten minutes the warder returned. by pike and dyke. "the prisoners are without," he said, "anct ready to depart," pulling his bonnet well down over his eyes, ned went out into the courtyard. "you are to accompany me to brussels, countess," he said gruffly. "horses are waiting for you with- out." the countess did not even glance at the official who had thus come to convey her to what was in all proba- bility death, but followed through the gate into the street. the men backed their horses up to the block of stone used for mounting. ned assisted the females to the pillions, and when they were seated mounted his own horse and led the way down the street. many of the people as they passed along groaned or hooted, for the feeling in maastricht was strongly in favor of the patriot side, a feeling for which they were some years later to be punished by the almost total destruction of the city, and the slaughter of the greater portion of its inhabitants. ned paid no attention to these demonstrations, but quickening his horse into a trot rode along the street and out of the gate of the city. as the road was a frequented one, he maintained his place at the head of the party until they had left the city nearly two miles behind them. on arriving at a small cross-road one of the men said: "this is the way, sir; it is up this road that the cart is in waiting." ned now reined back his horse to the side of that on which the countess was riding. "countess," he said, "have you forgotten the eng- lish lad you aided a year ago in brussels?" the countess started. "i recognize you now, sir," she said coldly; "and by pike and dyke. little did i think at that time that i should next see you as an officer of the council of blood." ned smiled. "your mistake is a natural one, countess; but in point of fact i am still in the service of the prince of orange, and have only assumed this garb as a means of getting you and your daughter out of the hands of those murderers. i am happy to say that you are free to go' where you will; these good fellows are like myself, dis- guised, and are at your service. in a few minutes we shall come to a cart which will take you wheresoever you like to go, and there are disguises similar to those with which you once fitted me out in readiness for you there." the surprise of the countess for a moment kept her silent; but gertrude, who had overheard what was baid, burst into exclamations of delight. "pardon me for having doubted you," the countess exclaimed, much affected. "no pardon is required, countess. seeing that the prison authorities handed you over to me, you could not but have supposed that i was, as i seemed, in the service of the council." just at this moment they came upon a cart drawn up toy the roadside. ned assisted the countess and her daughter to alight, and while he was rendering similar assistance to the old servant, mother and daughter threw themselves into each other's arms, and wept with de- light at this unexpected delivery that had befallen them. it was some time before they were sufficiently recovered to speak. ** but how do you come here ?" the countess asked ned, "and how have you effected this miracle?" ned briefly related how he had heard of their captit- by pike and dyke. ity, and the manner in which he had been enabled to effect their escape. "and now, countess," be said, " the day is wearing on, and it is necessary that you should at once decide upon your plans. will you again try to make to the german frontier, or to the seacoast, or remain in hiding here?" "we cannot make for germany without again cross- ing the maas," the countess said, " and it is a long way - to the seacoast. what say you, magdalene?" "i think," the old woman said, "that you had best carry out the advice i gave before. it is a little more than twelve miles from here to the village where, as i told you, i have relations living. we can hire a house there, and there is no chance of your being recognized. i can send a boy thence to brussels to fetch the jewels and money you left in charge of your friend the count "von dort there." "that will certainly be the best way, magdalene. we can wait there until either there is some change in the state of affairs, or until we can find some safe way of escape. it is fortunate, indeed, that i left my jewels in brussels, instead of taking them with me as i had at first intended. it will hardly be necessary, will it," she asked ned, "to put on the disguises, for nothing in the world can be simpler than our dresses at present?" "you had certainly best put the peasant cloaks and caps on. inquiries are sure to be made all through the country when they find at maastricht how they have been tricked. three peasant women in a cart will at- tract no attention whatever, even in passing through villages; but, dressed as you are now, some one might notice you n,nd recall it if inquiries were made." the three men who had aided in the scheme had rid by pike and dtks. obtained as to the direction taken by the fugitives, or concerning those engaged in this impudent adventure.'* alva's reign of terror and cruelty was now drawing to an end. his successor was on his way out, and the last days of his administration were embittered by the failure of his plans, the retreat of his army from before alkmaar, and the naval defeat from the zuider-zee. but he continued his cruelties to the end. massacres on a grand scale were soon carried on, and a nobleman named uitenhoove, who had been taken prisoner, was condemned to be roasted to death before a slow fire, and was accordingly fastened by a chain to a stake, around which a huge fire was kindled; he suffered in slow tor- ture a long time until despatched by the executioner with a spear, a piece of humanity that greatly angered the duke. alva had contracted an enormous amount of debt, both public and private, in amsterdam, and now caused a proclamation to be issued that all persons having de- mands upon him were to present their claims on a certain day. on the previous night he and his train noiselessly took their departure. the heavy debts remained unpaid, and many opulent families were reduced to beggary. such was the result of the confidence of tha people of amsterdam in the honor of their tyrant. on the th of november don louis de requesens, grand commander of st. jago, alva's successor, ar- rived in brussels; and on the th of december the duke of alva left. he is said to have boasted, on his way home, that he had caused eighteen thousand in- habitants of the provinces to be executed during the period of his government. this was, however, a mere nothing to the number who had perished in battle, biege, starvation, and massacre. after the departure by pike and dyke. of their tyrant the people of the netherlands breathed more freely, for they hoped that under their new gov- enor, there would be a remission in the terrible agony they had suffered; and for a time his proclamations were of a conciliatory nature. but it was soon seen that there was no change in policy. peace was to be given only on the condition of all protestants recanting or leaving their country. the first military effort of the new governor was to endeavor to relieve the city of middelburg, the capital of the island*of walcheren, which had long been be- sieged by the protestants. mondragon the governor was sorely pressed by famine, and could hold out but little longer, unless rescue came. the importance of the city was felt by both parties. requesens himself went to bergen-op-zoom, where seventy-five ships were collected under the command, nominally, of admiral de glines, but really under that of julian romero, while another fleet of thirty ships was assembled at antwerp, under d'avila, and moved down toward flushing, there to await the arrival of that of romero. upon the other hand, the prince of orange collected a powerful fleet under the command of admiral boisot, and himself paid a visit to the ships, and assembling the officers roused them to enthusiasm by a stirring address. on the th of january the good venture again en- tered the port of delft and hearing that a battle was expected in a few days, captain martin determined to take part in it. as soon as he had unloaded his cargo he called the crew together and informed them of hia determination, but said as this was no quarrel of theirs, any who chose could remain on shore until his return. but englishmen that felt that the cause of holland was their own, and not a single man on board availed him- by pike ahfd dyke. •ding. a few minutes later tbs.fleets met in tne narrow channel, and the ships grappling with each other, a hand to hand struggle began. the righting was of the most desperate character; no quarter was asked or given on either side, and men fought with fury hand tc hand upon decks slippery with blood. but the combat did not last long. the span- iards had little confidence in themselves on board ship. their discipline was now of little advantage to them, and the savage fury with which the zeelanders fought bhook their courage. fifteen ships were speedily cap- tured and twelve hundred spaniards slain, and the re- mainder of the fleet, which, on account of the narrow- ness of the passage had not been able to come into action, retreated to bergen. romero himself, whose ship had grounded, sprang out of a port hole and swam ashore, and landed at the very feet of the grand commander, who had been standing all day upon the dyke in the midst of a pour- ing rain, only to be a witness of the total defeat of his fleet. mondragon now capitulated, receiving honorable conditions. the troops were allowed to leave the place with their arms, ammunition and personal property, and mondragon engaged himself to procure the release of sainte aldegonde and four other prisoners of rank, or to return and give himself up as a prisoner of war. requesens, however, neither granted the release of the prisoners, nor permitted mondragon to return. it was well for these prisoners, that bossu was in the hands of the prince. had it not been for this they would have all been put to death. with the fall of middleburgh the dutch and zee- jtmilers remained masters of the entire line of seacoast, but < 'and the situation was still perilous. levden by pike and dyke. was closely invested, and all communications by land be- tween the various cities suspended. the sole hope that remained was in the army raised by count louis. he had raised three thousand cavalry and six thou- sand infantry, and, accompanied by the princes' other two brothers, crossed the rhine in a snow-storm and marched toward maastricht. the prince of orange had on his part with the greatest difficulty raised six thousand infantry, and wrote to count louis to move to join him in the isle of bommel after he had reduced maastricht. but the expedition, like those before it, was destined to failure. a thousand men deserted, seven hundred more were killed in a night surprise, and the rest were mutinous for their pay. finally, count louis found himself confronted by a force somewhat in- ferior in numbers to his own. but the spanish infantry were well disciplined and obedient, those of louis mere mercenaries and discon- tented ; and although at first his cavalry gained an advan- tage, it was a short one, and after a fierce action his army was entirely defeated. count louis, finding that the day was lost, gathered a little band of troopers, and with his brother, count henry, and christopher, son of the elector palatine, charged into the midst of the en- emy. they were never heard of more. the battle ter. minated in a horrible butchery. at least four thousand men were either killed on the field, suffocated in the marshes, drowned in the river, or burned in the farm- houses in which they had taken refuge. count louis, his brother, and friend, probably fell on the field, but stripped of their clothing, disfigured by wounds and the trampling of horses, their bodies were never recognized. the defeat of the army and the death of his two brave brothers was a terrible blow to the prince of orange. he s by pike and dyke. their pay due either in money or goods. a great ban- quet was held by the whole mass of soldiery, and there was a scene of furious revelry. the soldiers arrayed themselves in costumes cut from the materials they had just received. broadcloths, silks, satins and gold em- broidered brocades were hung in fantastic drapery over their ragged garments, and when the banquet was fin- ished gambling began. but when they were in the midst of their revelry the sound of cannon was heard. boisot had sailed up the scheldt to attack the fleet of d'avila, which had has- tened up to antwerp for refuge after the defeat of that of romero. there was a short and sharp action, and fourteen of the spanish ships were burned or sunk. the soldiers swarmed down to the dyke and opened a fire of musketry upon the dutch. they were, however, too far off to effect any damage, and boisot, with a few parting broadsides, sailed triumphantly down the river, having again struck a heavy blow at the naval power of spain. the siege of leyden had been raised when count louis crossed the rhine, the troops being called in from all parts to oppose his progress. the prince of orange urged upon the citizens to lose no time in pre- paring themselves for a second siege, to strengthen their walls, and, above all, to lay in stores of provisions. but, as ever, the dutch burghers, although ready to fight and to suffer when the pinch came, were slow and apathetic unless in face of necessity ; and in spite of the orders and entreaties of the prince, nothing whatever was done, and the spaniards when they returned before the city on the th of may, after two months' absence, found the town as unprepared for resistance as it had been at their first coming, and that the citizens had not by pike and dyke. even taken the trouble to destroy the forts that they had raised round it. leyden stood in the midst of broad and fruitful pas- tures reclaimed from the sea; around were numerous villages, with blooming gardens and rich orchards. in- numerable canals cut up the country, and entering the city formed its streets. these canals were shaded with trees, crossed by a hundred and forty-five bridges. • upon an artificial elevation in the center of the city rose a ruined tower of great antiquity, either assigned to the saxons before they crossed to england, or with greater probability to the romans. the force which now appeared before the town con- sisted of eight thousand walloons and germans, com- manded by valdez. they lost no time in taking pos- session of the hague, and all the villages and forta round leyden. five hundred english volunteers un- der command of colonel chester abandoned the fort of valkenberg which had been intrusted to them and fled toward leyden. not as yet had the english soldiers learned to stand before the spaniards, but the time was ere long to come when, having acquired confidence in themselves, they were to prove themselves more than a match for the veterans of spain. the people of leyden refused to open their gates to the fugitives, and they surrendered to valdez. as at that moment a mission was on the point of starting from requesens to queen elizabeth, the lives of the prisoners wesa spared, and they were sent back to england. by pike and dyke. chapter xviii. the siege op leyden. the spaniards had no sooner appeared before leyden than they set to work to surround it with a cordon of redoubts. no less than sixty-two, including those left standing since the last siege, were erected and garri- soned, and the town was therefore cut off from all com- munication from without. its defenders were few in number, there being no troops in the town save a small corps composed of exiles from other cities, and five companies of burgher guard. the walls, however, were strong, and it was famine rather than the foe that the citizens feared. they trusted to the courage of the burghers to hold the walls and to the energy of the prince of orange to relieve them. the prince, although justly irritated by their folly in neglecting to carry out his orders, sent a message by a pigeon to them, encouraging them to hold out, and re- minding them that the fate of their country depended upon the issue of this siege. he implored them to hold out for at least three months, assuring them that he would within that time devise means for their deliver- ance. the citizens replied, assuring the prince of their firm confidence in their own fortitude'and his exertions. on the th of june the grand commander issued what was called a pardon, signed and sealed by the king. in it he invited all his erring and repentant subjects to return to his arms, and accept a full forgiveness for by pike and dyke. appeals and arguments prevailed, and the estates con- sented to his plan. subscriptions were opened in all the dutch towns for maintaining the inhabitants of the district that was to be submerged until it could be again restored, and a large sum was raised, the women contributing their plate and jewelry to the furtherance of the scheme. on the d of august all was ready, and the prince himself superintended the breaking down of the dykes in sixteen places, while at the same time the sluices at schiedam and rotterdam were opened and the water began to pour over the land. while waiting for the water to rise, stores of provi- sions were collected in all the principal towns, and two hundred vessels of smalf draught of water gathered in readiness. unfortunately no sooner had the work been done than the prince was attacked by a violent fever, brought on by anxiety and exertion. on the st of august a letter was received from the town saying that they had now fulfilled their original promise, for they had held out two months with food and another month without food. their bread had long been gone, and their last food, some malt cake, would last but four days. after that was gone there was nothing left but starvation. upon the same day they received a letter from the prince, assuring them that the dykes were all pierced and the water rising upon the great dyke that separated the city from the sea. the letter was read publicly in the market-place, and excited the liveliest joy among the inhabitants. bands of music played in the streets, and salvos of cannon were fired. the spaniards became uneasy at seeing the country beyond them gradually becoming covered with water, and consulted the country people mid the royalists in their camp, all a whom by pike and dyke. accomplished by surprise on the night of the tenth. the spaniards stationed there were either killed or driven off, and the dutch fortified themselves upon it. at daybreak the spaniards stationed in two large villages close by advanced to recover the important position, but the dutch, fighting desperately, drove them back with the loss of some hundreds of men. the dyke was at once cut through and the fleet sailed through the gap. the admiral had believed that the land-scheiding once cut, the water would flood the country as far as leyden, but another dyke, the green way, rose a foot above water three-quarters of a mile inside the land- scheiding. as soon as the water had risen over the land sufficiently to float the ships, the fleet advanced, seized the greenway, and cut it. but as the water ex- tended in all directions, it grew also shallower, and the admiral found that the only way by which he could ad- vance was by a deep canal leading to a large mere called the fresh water lake. this canal was crossed by a bridge, and its sides were occupied by three thousand spanish soldiers. boisot endeavored to force the way but found it impossible to do so, and was obliged to withdraw. he was now almost despairing. he had accomplished but two miles, the water was sinking rather than rising owing to a long- oontinued east wind, and many of his ships were already aground. on the th, however, the wind shifted to the northwest, and for three days blew a gale. the water rose rapidly, and at the end of the second day the ships were all afloat again. hearing from a peasant of a comparatively low dyke between two villages boisot at once sailed in that di- rection. there was a strong spanish foroe stationed sio by pikb and lykb. knew well that so long as the east wind continued to blow there could be no rise in the level of the water, and anxiously they looked from the walls and the old tower for signs of a change. they were literally starv- ing, and their misery far exceeded even that of the citizens of haarlem. a small number of cows only remained, and of these a few were killed every day, and tiny morsels of meat distributed, the hides and bones being chopped up and boiled. the green leaves were stripped from the trees, and every herb gathered and eaten. the mortality was frightful, and whole families died together in their houses from famine and plague ; for pestilence had now broken out, and from six to eight thousand people died from this alone. leyden abandoned all hope, and yet they spurned the repeated summonses of valdez to sur- render. they were fully resolved to die rather than to yield to the spaniards. from time to time, however, murmurs arose among the suffering people, and the heroic burgomaster, adrian van der werf, was once surrounded by a crowd and assailed by reproaches. he took off his hat and calmly replied to them: "i tell you i have made an oath to hold the city, and may god give me strength to keep it. i can die but once— either by your hands, the enemy's, or by the hand of god. my own fate is indifferent to me; not so that of the city intrusted to my care. i know that we shall all starve if not soon relieved; but starvation is preferable to the dishonored death which is the only alternative. your menaces move me not. my life is at your dispo- sal. here is my sword; plunge it into my breast and divide my flesh among you. take my body to appease your hunger; but expect no surrender so long as i remain alive." by pike and dyke. still the east wind continued, until stout admiral bci- eot himself almost despaired. but on the night of the st of october a violent gale burst from the northwest. the water was piled up high upon the southern coast of holland, and sweeping furiously inland poured through the ruined dykes, and in twenty-four hours the fleet was afloat again. at midnight they advanced in the midst of the storm and darkness. some spanish vessel's that had been brought up to aid the defenders were swept aside and sunk. the fleet, sweeping on past half-submerged stacks and farmhouses, made its way to the fresh water mere. some shallows checked it for a time, but the crews sprang overboard into the water, and by main strength hoisted their vessels across them. two obstacles alone stood between them and the city—the forts of zoeter- woude and lammen, the one five hundred, and the other but two hundred and fifty yards from the city. both were strong and well supplied with troops and artillery, but the panic which had seized the spaniards extended to zoeterwoude. hardly was the fleet in sight in the gray light of the morning when the span- iards poured out from the fortress, and spread along a road on the dyke leading in a westerly direction toward the hague. the waves, driven by the wind, were beating on the dyke, and it was crumbling rapidly away, and hundreds sank beneath the flood. the zeelanders drove their vessels up alongside, and pierced them with their har- poons, or, plunging into the waves, attacked them with sword and dagger. the numbers killed amounted to not less than a thousand; the rest effected their escape to the hague. zoeterwoude was captured and set on fire, but lammen still barred their path. bristling with by pike and dyke. suspicion that the city had been carried at night, and that all their labor was in vain, seized those on board. suddenly a man was seen wading out from the fort, while at the same time a boy waved his cap wildly from its summit. the mystery was solved. the spaniards had fled panic-stricken in the darkness. had they re- mained they could have frustrated the enterprise, and leyden must have fallen; but the .events of the two preceding days had shaken their courage. valdez retired from leyderdorp and ordered colonel borgia to evacuate lammen. thus they had retreated at the very moment that the fall of the walls sapped by the flood laid bare a whole side of the city for their entrance. they heard the crash in the darkness, and it but added to their fears, for they thought that the citizens were sallying out to take some measures which would further add to the height of the flood. their retreat was discovered by the boy, who, having noticed the procession of lights in the darkness, became convinced that the spaniards had retired, and persuaded the magistrates to allow him to make his way out to the fort to reconnoiter. as soon as the truth was known the fleet advanced, passed the sort, and drew up alongside the quays. these were lined by the famishing people, every man, woman and child having strength to stand having come out to greet their deliverers. bread was thrown from all the vessels among the crowd as they came up, and many died^from too eagerly devouring the food after their long fast. then the admiral stepped ashore, followed by the whole of those on board the ships. magistrates and citizens, sailors and soldiers, women and children, all repaired to the great church and returned thanks to god for the deliverance of the city. tha fif pike and dyke. with the fleet. so long as it was fighting its way tor- ward the excitement kept him up; but the long delay near the village of aa, and the deep despondency caused by the probable failure of their hopes of rescuing the starving city, again brought on an attack of the fever that had already seized him before starting, a d when the prince of orange paid his visit to the fleet boisot told him the young officer he had recommended to him was down with a fever, which was, he believed, similar to that from which the prince himself was but just recov- ering. the prince at once ordered him to be carried on board his own galley, and took him with him back to delft. here he lay for a month completely prostrated. the prince several times visited him personally, and, as soon as he became in some degree convalescent, said to him: "i think we have taxed you too severely, and have worked you in proportion to your zeal rather than to your strength. the surgeon says that you must have rest for awhile, and that it will be well for you to get away from our marshes for a time. for two years you have done good and faithful service, and even had it not been for this fever you would have a right to rest, and i think that your native air is the best for you at present. with the letters that came to me from flush- ing this morning is one from your good father, asking for news of you. his ship arrived there yesterday, and he has heard from one of those who were with boisot that you have fallen ill; therefore, if it be to your liking, i will send you in one of my galleys to flushing." "i thank your excellency much," ned said. "indeed for the last few days i have been thinking much of home and longing to be back. i fear that i shall be a long time before i shall be fit for hard work again here." v by pike and dyke. "you will feel a different man when you have been a few hours at sea," the prince said kindly. "i hope to see you with me again some day. there are many of your countrymen, who, like yourself, have volunteered in our ranks and served us well without pay or reward, but none of them have rendered better service than you have done. and now, farewell. i will order a galley to be got in readiness at once. i leave myself for ley- den in half an hour. take this, my young friend, in remembrance of the prince of orange; and i trust that you may live to hand it down to your descendants as a proof that i appreciated your good services on behalf of a people struggling to be free." so saying he took off his watch and laid it on the table by ned's bedside, pressed the lad's hand, and re- tired. he felt it really a sacrifice to allow this young englishman to depart. he had for years been a lonely man, with few confidants and no domestic pleasures. he lived in an atmosphere of trouble, doubt and suspi- cion. he had struggled alone against the might of philip, the apathy of the western provinces, the coldness and often the treachery of the nobles, the jealousies and niggardliness of the estates, representing cities each of which thought rather of itself and its privileges than of the general good; and the company of this young englishman, with his frank utterances, his readiness to work at all times, and his freedom from all ambitions or self-interested designs, had been a pleasure and relief to him, and he frequently talked to him far more freely than even to his most trusted counselors. ever since the relief of alkmaar ned had been con- stantly with him, save when despatched on missions to the various towns, or to see that the naval preparation* were being pushed on with all speed; and his illness by pike and dyke. liad made a real blank in his little circle. however, the doctors had spoken strongly as to the necessity for ned's getting away from the damp atmosphere of the half-submerged land, and he at once decided to send him back to england, and seized the opportunity directly the receipt of captain martin's letter informed him that that the ship was at flushing. an hour later four men entered with a litter; the •ervants had already packed ned's mails, and he was carried down and placed on board one of the prince's vessels. they rowed down into the maas, and then hoisting sail proceeded down the river, kept outside the island to walcheren, and then up the estuary of the scheldt to flushing. it was early morning when they arrived in port. ned was carried upon deck, and soon made out the good venture lying a quarter of a mile away. he was at once placed in the boat and rowed alongside. an exclamation from peters, as he looked over the side and saw ned lying in the stern of the boat, called captain martin out from his cabin. *' why, ned, my dear boy!" he exclaimed, as he looked over the side; "you seem in grievous state indeed." "there is not much the matter with me, father. i have had fever, but am getting over it, and it will need but a day or two at sea to put me on my feet again. i have done with the war at present, and the prince has been good enough to send me in one of his own galleys to you." "we will soon get you round again, never fear, master ned," peters said as he jumped down into the boat to aid in hoisting him on board. "no wonder the damp airs of this country have got into your bones at last. i never can keep myself warm when we are once in these canals. if it wasn't for their schiedam by pike and dyk&. he was now more than eighteen years of age and nearly six feet in heght. he had broadened out greatly, and the position he had for the last year held as an officer charged with authority by the prince had given him a manner of decision and authority altogether be- yond his years. as he could not wear his sailor dress he chose one of the handsomest of those he possessed it consisted of maroon doublet and trunks slashed with white with a short mantle of dark green, and hose of the same color; his cap was maroon in color, with small white and orange plumes, and he wore a ruff round his neck. captain martin saluted him with a bow of rever- ence as he came on deck. "why, ned, they will think that i am bringing a court gallant with me. your mother and the girls will be quite abashed at all this finery." "i felt strange in it myself at first," ned laughed; *' but of course i am accustomed to it now. the prince is not one who cares for state himself, but as one of his officers i was obliged to be well dressed; and, indeed,, this dress and the others i wear were made by his orders and presented to me. indeed i think i am very mod- erate in not decking myself out with the two gold chains i have—the one a present from his highness, the other from the city of alkmaar—to say nothing of the watch set with jewels that the prince gave me on leaving." ned's mother and the girls were on the lookout, for the good venture had been noticed as she passed. ned had at his father's suggestion kept below in order that he might give them a surprise on his arrival. «' i verily believe they won't know you," he said as they approached the gate. "you have grown four inches bince they saw you last, and your cheeks are thin and pale instead of being round and sunburnt. this, with by pike and dyke. give me much information besides that which he is abla to write." he then proceeded to question ned at length as to the state of feeling in holland, its resources and means of resistance, upon all of which points ned replied fully. the interview lasted nearly two hours, at the end of which time lord walsingham said: "when i hand the letter inclosed with my own to the queen i shall report to her majesty very favorably as to your intelligence, and it may possibly be that she may desire to speak to you herself, for she is deeply interested in this matter; and although circumstances have pre- vented her showing that warmth for the welfare of hol- land that she feels, she has no less the interest of that country at heart, and will be well pleased to find that one of her subjects has been rendering such assistance as the prince is pleased to acknowledge in his letter to me. please, therefore, to leave your address with my secretary in the next room in order that i may com- municate with you if necessary." two days later one of the royal servants brought a message that captain martin was to present himself on the following day at greenwich, as her majesty would be pleased to grant him an audience. knowing that the queen loved that those around her should be bravely at- tired, ned dressed himself in the suit that he had only worn once or twice when he had attended the prince to meetings of the estates. it was of a puce-colored satin, slashed with green, with a short mantle of the same material, with the cape embroidered in silver. the bonnet was to match, with a small white feather. he placed the chain the prince had given him round his neck, and with an ample ruff and manchets of french lace, and his rapier by his side, by pike and dyke. with the prince of orange; and from his knowledge of the people we may get surer intelligence from him of the state of feeling there with regard to the alliance they are proposing with us, and to their offers to come under our protection, than we can from our own envoy. it is advisable, too, at times to have two mouthpieces: the one to speak in the public ear, the other to deliver our private sentiments and plans." "he is young for so great a responsibility," lord walsingham said hesitatingly. "if the prince of orange did not find him too young to act in matters in which the slightest indiscretion might bring a score of heads to the block, i think that we can trust him, my lord. in some respects his youth, will be a distinct advantage. did we send a personage of age and rank to holland it might be suspected that he had a speciat mission from us, and our envoy might complain that we were treating behind his back; but a young officer like this could come and go without attract- ing observation, and without even philip's spies sus- pecting that he was dabbling in affairs of state." at this time, indeed, the queen was, as she had long been, playing a double game with the netherlands. hol- land and zeeland were begging the prince to assume ab- solute power. the prince of orange, who had no ambi- tion whatever for himself, was endeavoring to negotiate with either england or france to take the estates under their protection. elizabeth, while jealous of france, was unwilling to incur the expenditure in men and still more in money that would be necessary were she to as- sume protection of holland as its sovereign under the title offered to her of countess of holland; and yet, though unwilling to do this herself, she was still more unwilling to see france step in and occupy the position by pike and dyke. offered to her, while, above all, she shrank from engaging at present in a life-and-death struggle with spain. thus, while ever assuring the prince of orange of her good-will, she abstained from rendering any absolute assistance, although continuing to. hold out hopes that she would later on accept the sovereignty offered. for the next three weeks ned remained quietly at home. the gatherings in the summer-house were more largely attended than ever, and the old sailors were never tired of hearing from ned stories of the sieges in holland. it was a continual source of wonder to them how will martin's son, who had seemed to them a boy like other boys, should have gone through such perilous adventures should have had the honor of being in the prince of orange's confidence, and the still greater honor of being received by the queen and allowed to kiss her hand. it was little more than two years back that ned had been a boy among them, never venturing to give his opinion unless first addressed, and now he was a young man, with a quiet and assured manner, and bearing himself rather as a young noble of the court than the son of a sea-cap- tain like themselves. it was all very wonderful, and scarce seemed to them natural, especially as ned was as quiet and unaffected as he had been as a boy, and gave himself no airs whatever on the strength of the good fortune that had befallen him. much of hia time was spent in assisting his aunt to get her new house in order, and in aiding her to move into it. this had just been accomplished when he re- ceived an order to go down to greenwich and call upon lord walsingham. he received from him despatches to be delivered to the prince of orange, together with many verbal directions for the prince's private ear. he was by pike ani> dyke. charged to ascertain as far as possible the prince's inclin- ations toward a french alliance, and what ground he had for encouragement from the french king. "upon your return, captain martin, you will render me an account of all expenses you have borne, and they will, of course, be defrayed." "my expenses will be but small, my lord," ned replied; "for it chances that my father's ship sails to-morrow for rotterdam, and i shall take passage in her. while there i am sure that the prince, whose hospitality is boundless, will insist upon my staying with him, as his guest; and indeed, it seems to me that this would be best so, for having so long been a member of his household it will seem to all that i have but returned to resume my for- mer position." the public service in the days of queen elizabeth was not sought for by men for the sake of gain. it was con- sidered the highest honor to serve the queen; and those employed on embassies, missions, and even in military commands spent large sums, and sometimes almost beg- gared themselves in order to keep up a dignity worthy of their position, considering themselves amply repaid for any sacrifices by receiving an expression of the royal approval. ned martin therefore returned home greatly elated at the honorable mission that had been intrusted to him. his father, however, although also gratified at ned's reception at court and employment in the queen's service looked at it from the matter-of-fact point of view. "it is all very well, ned," he said, as they were talk- ing the matter over in family conclave in the evening | "and i do not deny that i share in the satisfaction that all these women are expressing. it is a high honor that j >u should be employed on a mission for her majesty, »nd *' 're are scores of young nobles who won:d be d» by pike and dyks. kghted to be employed in such services; but you see, ned, you are not a young noble, and although honor is a fine thing, it will buy neither bread nor cheese. if you were the heir to great estates you would naturally re- joice in rendering services which might bring you into favor at court, and win for you honor and public stand- ing; but you see you are the son of a master-mariner, happily the owner of his own ship and of other properties which are sufficient to keep him in comfort, but which will naturally at the death of your mother and myself go to the girls, while you will have the good venture and my shares in other vessels. but these are businesses that want looking after, and the income would go but a little way to support you in a position at court. you have now been two years away from the sea. that matters little; but if you were to continue in the royal service for a time you would surely become unfitted to return to the rough life of a master-mariner. fair words butter no parsnips, ned. honor and royal service empty the purse instead of filling it. it behooves you to think these matters over." "i am surprised at you, will," dame martin said. i should have thought that you would have been proud of the credit and honor that ned is winning. why, all our neighbors are talking of nothing else!" "all our neighbors will not be called upon, wife, to pay for master ned's support; to provide him with courtly garments, and enable him to maintain a position which will do credit to his royal mistress. i am proud of ned, as proud as any one can be, but that is no reason why i should be willing to see him spend his life as a needy hanger-on of the court rather than as a british sailor, bearing a good name in the city, and earning a fair living by honest trade. ned knows that i am speak- by pike and dyke. ing only for his own good. court favor is but an empty thing, and our good queen is fickle in her likings, and has never any hesitation in disavowing the proceedings of her envoys. when a man has broad lands to fall back upon he can risk the cost of court favor, and can go into retirement assured that sooner or later he will again have his turn. but such is not ned's position. i say not that i wish him at once to draw back from this course; but i would have him soberly think it over and judge whether it is one that in the long run is likely to prove success- ful." mrs. martin, her sister-in-law, and the four girls looked anxiously at ned. they had all, since the day that he was first sent for to greenwich, been in a high state of delight at the honor that had befallen him, and his father's words had fallen like a douche of cold water upon their aspirations. "i fully recognize the truth of what you say, father," he said, after a pause, "and will think it deeply over, which i shall have time to do before my return from holland. assuredly it is not a matter to be lightly decided. it may mean that this royal service may lead to some position of profit as well as honor; although now, as you have put it to me, i own that the prospect beems to me to be a slight one, and that where so many are ready to serve for honor alone, the chance of employ- ment for one requiring money as well as honor is but small. however, there can be no need for instant de- cision. i am so fond of the sea that i am sure that, even if away from it for two or three years, i should be ready and willing to return to it. i am as yet but little over eighteen, and even if i remained in the royal service until twenty-one i should still have lost but little of my life, and should not be too old to take to the sp=> again. by pike and dyks. "in time i shall see more plainly what the views of lord walsingham are concerning trie, and whether there is a prospect of advancement in the service. he will know that i cannot afford to give my life to the queen's service without pay, not being, as you say, a noble or a great landowner." "that is very well spoken, ned," his father said. "there is no need in any way for you to come to any resolution on the subject at present; i shall be well content to wait until you come of age. as you say, by that time you will see whether this is but a brief wind of royal favor, or whether my lord walsingham designs to continue you in the royal service and to advance your fortunes. i find that i am able to get on on board a ship better than i had expected, and have no wish to retire from the sea at present; therefore there will be plenty of time for you to decide when you get to the age of one-and-twenty. nevertheless this talk will not have been without advantage, for it will be far better • for you not to have set your mind altogether upon court service; and you will then, if you finally decide to re- turn to sea, not have to suffer such disappointment as you would do had you regarded it as a fixed thing that some great fortune was coming to you. so let it be an understood thing, that this matter remain entirely open until you come to the age of twenty-one." ned accordingly went backward and forward to hol- land for the next two years, bearing letters and messages between the queen and the prince of orange. there was some pause in military operations after the relief of leyden. negotiations had for a long time gone on between the king of spain, acting by royal commissioners, on the one side, and the prince and the estates on the other. the royal commissioners were by pike and dyke. willing in his name to make considerable concessions, to .withdraw the spanish troops from the country, and to permit the estates-general to assemble; but as they per- sisted that all heretics should either recant or leave the provinces, no possible agreement could be arrived at, as the question of religion was at the bottom of the whole movement. during the year the only military operation of importance was the recovery by the spaniards of the island of schouwen, which, with its chief town zierick- zee, was recovered by a most daring feat of arms—the spaniards wading for miles through water up to the neck on a wild and stormy night, and making their way across in spite of the efforts of the zeelanders in their ships. zierickzee indeed resisted for many months, and finally surrendered only to hunger ; the garrison obtaining good terms from the spaniards, who .were so anxious for its possession that to obtain it they were even willing for once to forego their vengeance for the long resistance it had offered. in march, , while the siege was still going on, requesens died suddenly of a violent fever, brought on partly by anxiety caused by another mutiny of the troops. this mutiny more than counterbalanced the advantage gained by the capture of the island of schou- wen, for after taking possession of it the soldiers en- gaged in the service at once joined the mutiny and marched away into brabant. the position of holland had gone from bad to worse, the utmost efforts of the population were needed to re- pair the broken dykes and again recover the submerged lands. so bare was the country of animals of all kinds, that it had become necessary to pass a law forbidding for a considerable period the slaughter of oxen, cows. by pike and dyke. lages, and open country. the condition of the people of brabant was worse than ever. despair led them to turn again to the provinces which had so long resisted the authority of spain, and the fifteen other states, at the invitation of the prince, sent deputies to ghent to a general congress, to arrange for a close union between the whole of the provinces of the netherlands. risings took place in all parts of the country, but they were always repressed by the spaniards ; who, though in open mutiny against their king and officers, had no idea of permitting the people of the netherlands to recover the liberty that had at the cost of so much blood been wrung from them. maastricht drove out its garrison; but the spaniards advanced against the town, seized a vast number of women, and placing these before them, advanced to the assault. the citizens dared not fire, as many of their own wives or sisters were among the women; the town was therefore taken, and a hideous massacre followed. ned martin had now been two years engaged upon, various missions to holland, and lord walsingham himself acknowledged to his mistress that her choice of the young officer had been a singularly good one. he had conducted himself with great discretion, his reports were full and minute, and he had several times had audiences with the queen, and had personally related to her matters of importance concerning the state of hol- land, and the views of the prince and the estates-gen- eral. the congress at ghent, and the agitation through- out the whole of the netherlands, had created a lively interest in england, and ned received orders to visit ghent and antwerp, and to ascertain more surely the probability of an organization of the provinces into a general confederation. br pike and dyke. will be swamped. if the attack fails, and the spaniards retire from before the city, you can if you choose return to shore, though i should say that even then it will be better by far to go to rotterdam or delft; unless you decide to do as you once talked about, to find a refuge for a time in england." "i will accept your offer gladly, sir," the countess said. ** have long been looking for some way to leave the city. but none can go on board the ships without a pass, and i have not dared to ask for one. not for worlds would i expose my daughter to the horrors of a sack. can we go at once?" "yes, madam, i have everything in readiness, and would advise no delay." "i have nothing that i need mind leaving behind. i am, as you see, more comfortable here than i was at brussels; but i am still forced to keep in concealment. in five minutes we shall be ready." by pike and dykb. chapter xx. the " spanish fuby." in a very short time the countess and her daughter returned to the room where ned was awaiting them. each carried a hand-hag. "we are ready now," the countess said. "i have my jewels and purse. as for the things we leave behind, they are scarce worth the taking by the spaniards." locking the door of the house behind them the three women accompanied ned down to the riverside. he took the first boat that came to hand and rowed them down to the fleet, which was moored a quarter of a mile below the town. he passed the first ship or two, and then rowed to one with whose captain he was acquainted. "captain enkin," he said, " i have brought on board two ladies who have long been in hiding, waiting an opportunity of being taken to holland—the countess von harp and her daughter. i fear greatly that ant- werp will fall to-day, and wish, therefore, to place them in safety before the fight begins. before sunset, unless i am mistaken, you will have a crowd of fugitives on board." "i am very pleased, madam," the captain said, bowing to the countess, " to receive you, and beg to hand over my cabin for your use. the name j'ou bear is known to all dutchmen ; and even were it not so, any one intro- duced to me by my good friend captain martin would by pike and dyke. be heartily welcome. are you going to return on shore?" he asked ned. "yes, i must do so," ned replied. "i promised the governor to stand by him to the last; and as he has scarce a soul on whom he can rely, it is clearly my duty to do so. it is not for me to shirk doing my duty as long as i can, because i fear that the day will go against us." "you will have difficulty in getting off again if the spaniards once enter the city," the captain said. "there will be such a rush to the boats that they will be swamped before they leave the shore." "i have a boat hidden away in which i hope to bring off the governor with me," ned replied. "as to my- self, i can swim like a fish." "mind and get rid of your armor before you try it. all the swimming in the world could not save you if you jumped in with all that steel mail on you." "i will bear it in mind," ned said. "good-bye, count- ess. good-bye, fraulein gertrude. i trust to see you at nightfall, if not before." "that is a very gallant young officer," captain enkin said as the two ladies sat watching ned as he rowed to the shore. .' you addressed him as captain martin?" the count- ess said. "yes, he has been a captain in the prince's service fully three years," the sailor said j "and fought nobly at alkmaar, at the naval battle on the zuider-zee, and in the sea-fight when we drove romero's fleet back in bergen. he stands very high in the confidence of the prince, but i do not think he is in our service now. ha is often with the prince, but i believe he comes and goes between england and holland, and is, men say, the by pike and dyke. messenger by whom private communications between the queen of england and the prince are chiefly carried." "he is young to have such confidence reposed in him," the countess said. , "yes, he is young," captain enkin replied. "not, i suppose, beyond seven or eight and twenty. he waa a captain and high in the prince's confidence when i first knew him three years ago, so he must surely* have been four or five and twenty then; and yet, indeed, now you speak of it, methinks he is greatly bigger now than he was then. i do not think he was much taller than i am, and now he tops me by nigh a head. but i must surely be mistaken as to that, for the prince would scarcely place his confidence in a mere lad." the countess made no reply, though she exchanged a quiet smile with her daughter. they knew that ned could not be much more than twenty. he was, he had said, about three years older than gertrude, and she had passed seventeen but by a few months. ned, on returning to shore, tied up the boat and then proceeded to the palace of the governor. a servant was holding a horse at the door. "the governor ordered this horse to be ready and saddled for you, sir, when you arrived, and begged you to join him at once in the market-place, where he ia telling off the troops to their various stations." leaping on the horse, ned rode to the market-place, and at once placed himself under orders of the governor. "there is nothing much for you to do at present," champagny said. "the troops are all in their places, and we are ready when they deliver the assault." it was not until eleven o'clock that the spaniards ad- vanced to the attack—three thousand of them, under their eletto, by the street of st. michael j the remainder by pike and dyke. the fury for slaughter and the lust for gold, there was no withstanding them. round the exchange some of the bravest defenders made a rally, and burghers and germans, mingled to- gther, fought stoutly until they were slain. there was another long struggle round the town-hall, one of the most magnificent buildings in europe; and for a time the resistance was effective, until the spanish cavalry and the germans under the traitor van eude charged down upon the defenders. then they took refuge in the buildings, and every house became a for- tress, and from window and balcony a hot fire was poured into the square. but now a large number of camp- followers who had accompanied the spaniards came up with torches, which had been specially prepared for firing the town, and in a short time the city hall and other edifices in the square were in flames. the fire spread rapidly from house to house and from street to street, until nearly a thousand buildings in the most splendid and wealthy portion of the city were in a blaze. in the street behind the town-hall a last stand was made. here the margrave of the city, the burgomasters, senators, soldiers, and citizens fought to the last, until not one remained to wield a sword. when resistance had ceased the massacre began. women, children, and old men were killed in vast numbers, or driven into the river to drown there. then the soldiers scattered on the work of plunder. the flames had already snatched treasures estimated at six millions from their grasp, but there was still abun- dance for all. the most horrible tortures were inflicted upon men, women, and children to force them to reveal the hiding-places, where they were supposed to ha^e all hwh s odels be narci futui p. & d. ned turned and faced the spaniards.--page ." by pike and ltks. graceful, her face was thoughtful and intelligent, ant? gave promise of rare beauty in another year or two. he learned that they had remained for a time in the village to which they had first gone, and had then moved to another a few miles away, and had there lived quietly in a small house placed at their disposal by one of their friends. here they had remained unmolested until two months before, when the excesses committed through- out the country by the mutinous soldiery rendered it unsafe for any one to live outside the walls of the town. they then removed to antwerp, where there was fai more religious toleration than at brussels; and the countess had resumed her own name, though still living in complete retirement in the house in which ned had so fortunately found her. "the times have altered with me for the better," the countess said. "the spaniards have retired from that part of friesland where some of my estates are situated, and those to whom alva granted them have had to fly. i have a faithful steward there, and since they have left he has collected the rents and has remitted to me such portions as i required, sending over the rest to england to the charge of a banker there. as it may be that the spaniards will again sweep over friesland, where they still hold some of the principal towns, i thought it best, instead of having my money placed in holland, where no one can foresee the future, to send it to england, where at least •«• can find a refuge and a right to exer- cise our religion.'* "i would that you would go there at once, countess; for surely at present holland is no place for two unpro- tected ladies. nothing would give my mother greater pleasure than to receive you until you can find a suita- ble honi" for yourselves. my sisters are but little older by tike and dyke. is open to as, we will not refuse it. i do not say that we will cross at once. we have many friends at rot- terdam and delft, and the prince held my husband in high esteem in the happy days before the troubles; therefore i shall tarry there for a while, but it will be for a time only. it will not be long before the span- ish again resume their war of conquest; besides, we are sick of the tales of horror that come to us daily, and long for calm and tranquillity, which we cannot hope to ob- tain in holland. had i a husband or brothers i would share their fate, whatever it was, but being alone and unable to aid the cause in any way it would be folly to continue here and endure trials and risks. you say that you come backward and forward, often, well then in two months we shall be ready to put ourselves under your protection and to sail with you for england." the next morning the admiral despatched a ship to rotterdam with the news of the fate of antwerp, and ned obtained a passage in her for himself, the ladies, and servant, and on arriving at rotterdam saw them bestowed in comfortable lodgings. he then, after an interview with the prince, went on board a ship just leav- ing for england, and upon his arrival reported to the minister, and afterward to the queen herself, the terrible massacre of which he had been a witness in antwerp. the spanish fury, as the sack of antwerp was termed, vastly enriched the soldiers, but did small bene- fit to the cause of spain. the attack was wanton and unprovoked. antwerp had not risen in rebellion against philip, but had been attacked solely for the sake of plunder; and all europe was shocked at the atrocities that had taken place, and at the slaughter, which was even greater than the massacre in paris on the eve c't. bartholomew. the queen remonst im by pike and dyke. indignant terms, the feeling among the protestants in germany was equally strong, and even in france public feeling condemned the act. in the netherlands the feeling of horror and indigna- tion was universal. the fate that had befallen ant- werp might be that of any other sister city. every- where petitions were signed in favor of the unity of all the netherlands under the prince of orange. philip's new governor, don john, had reached the netherlands on the very day of the sack of antwerp, and endeavored to allay the storm of indignation it had excited by va- rious concessions ; but the feeling of unity, and with it of strength, had grown so rapidly that the demands of the commissioners advanced in due proportion, and they insisted upon nothing less than the restoration of their ancient constitution, the right to manage their internal affairs, and the departure of all the spanish troops, from the country. don john parleyed and parried the demands, and months were spent in unprofitable discussions, while all the time he was working secretly among the nobles of bra- bant and flanders, who were little disposed to see with complacency the triumph of the democracy of the towns and the establishment of religious toleration. upon all other points don john and his master were ready to yield. the spanish troops were sent away to italy, the germans only being retained. the constitutional rights would all have been conceded, but on the question of religious tolerance philip stood firm. at last, seeing that no agreement would ever be arrived at, both par- ties prepared again for war. the queen of england had lent <£ , on the se- curity of the cities, and the pause in hostilities during the negotiations had not been altogether wasted in hoi- sesse ta in p. &d. ned receives his knighthood.—page . by pike and dykb. the service of her majesty, and i say frankly that just at present would rather that it had been otherwise. but i suppose i shall get accustomed to it in time, and assuredly none but myself will doubt for a moment that you have gained greatly by all this honor and dignity." queen elizabeth, although in some respects par- simonious in the extreme, was liberal to her favorites, and the new-made knight stood high in her liking. she loved to have good-looking men about her; and without being actually handsome, ned martin, with his height and breadth of shoulder, his easy and upright carriage, his frank, open face and sunny smile, was pleasant to look upon. he had served her excellently for two years, had asked for no rewards or favors, but had borne himself modestly, and been content to wait. therefore the queen was pleased to order her treasurer to issue a commission to sir edward martin, as her majesty's special envoy to the prince of orange, with such appointments as would enable him handsomely to support his new dignity and his position as her repre- sentative. even captain martin was now bound to confess that ned had gained profit as well as honor. he did indeed warn his son not to place too much confidence in princes; but ned replied, "i do not think the queen is fickle in her likes and dislikes, father. but i rely not upon this, but on doing my duty to the state for further employment. i have had extraordinary good fortune, too; and have, without any merit save that of always doing my best, mounted step by step from the deck of the good venture to knighthood and employment by the state. the war appears to me to be as far from coming to an end as it did six years ago ; and if i con- tinue to acquit myself to the satisfaction of the lord by pike and dyke. alexander of parma had by means of his agents cor- rupted the greater part of the nobility of flanders and brabant, had laid siege to maastricht, and, after a de- fense even more gallant and desperate than that of haarlem, and several terrible repulses of his soldiers, had captured the city and put the greater part of its inhabitants—men and women—to the sword. after vain entreaties to elizabeth to assume the sovereignty of the netherlands, this had been offered to the duke of anjou, brother of the king of prance. the choice appeared to be a politic one, for anjou was at the time the all but accepted suitor of queen eliza- beth, and it was thought that the choice would unite both powers in defense of holland. the duke, how- ever, speedily proved his incapacity. irritated at the smallness of the authority granted him, and the inde- pendent attitude of the great towns, he attempted to capture them by force. he was successful in several places; but at antwerp, where the french thought to repeat the spanish success and to sack the city, the burghers gathered so strongly and fiercely that the french troops employed were for the most part killed, those who survived being ignominiously taken prisoners. anjou retired with his army, losing a large number of men on his retreat by the bursting of a dyke and the flooding of the country. by this time the prince of orange had accepted the sovereignty of holland and zeeland, which was now completely separated from the rest of the netherlands. after the flight of anjou he received many invitations from the other provinces to accept their sovereignty; but he steadily refused, hav- ing no personal ambition, and knowing well that no reliance whatever could be placed upon the nobles of brabant and flanders. £ by pike and dyke. blood." the prince's eldest son had been kidnapped from school in leyden by philip's orders, and had been a captive in spain for seventeen years nnder the tutor- ship of the jesuits. maurice, the next son, now seven- teen years old, was appointed head of the states council. but the position of the netherlands was still well-nigh desperate. flanders and brabant lay at the feet of the spaniards. a rising which had lately taken place had been crushed. bruges had surrendered without a blow. the duke of parma, with eighteen thousand troops, besides his garrisons, was threatening ghent mechlin, brussels, and antwerp, and was freely using promisee and bribery to induce them to surrender. dendermonde and vilvoorde both opened their gates, the capitulation of the latter town cutting the communication between brussels and antwerp. ghent followed the example aud surrendered without striking a blow, and at the moment of the assassination of the prince of orange parma's army was closing round antwerp. sir edward martin was at antwerp, where he had gone by the queen's order, when he received the news of the murder of the prince, whom he had seen a few days be- fore. he was filled with grief and horror at the loss of one who had been for six years his friend, and whom he regarded with enthusiastic admiration. it seemed to him at first that with the death of the prince the cause of the netherlands was lost, and had the former attempts of philip's emissaries upon the prince's life been successful such a result would no doubt have fol- lowed ; but the successful defense of their cities, and the knowledge they had gained that the sea could be made to fight for them, had given the people of holland strength and hope. their material resources, too, wero larger than before, for great numbers of the protestant* by pike and dykx. eattle grazed upon the pastures which would, be sub- merged; and the destruction of farms, homesteads, and orchards would be terrible. as to the blocking up ai the river, the idea was absurd, and the operation far beyond the power of man. the butchers were sup- ported by the officers of the militia, who declared that were the authorities to attempt the destruction of th© dyke the municipal soldiery would oppose it by force. such was the state of things when the only man whom the democracy would listen to and obey fell by the assassin's knife and his death and the obstinate stupidity of the burghers of antwerp sealed the fate of the city. sainte aldegonde had hailed the arrival of elizabeth's envoy, and consulted with him as to the steps to be taken for the defense of the city. he himself did not believe in the possibility of the river being stopped. it was nearly half a mile in width and sixty feet in depth, with a tidal rise and fall of eleven feet. ned agreed with the governor or burgomaster—for this was saint aldegonde's title—that the work of blocking this river seemed impossible, but his reliance upon the opinion of the prince was so great that he did what he could toward persuading the populace to permit the plans to be carried out. . but elizabeth had so often disappointed the people of the netherlands that her envoy possessed no authority, and the magistrates, with whom were the ward masters, the deans of all the guilds, the presidents of chambers and heads of colleges, squabbled and quarreled among themselves, and nothing was done. the garrison consisted only of a regiment of english under colonel morgan and a scotch regiment under colo- nel balfour, but these were in a state of indiscipline, and a mutiny had shortly before broken out among them. many of the troops had deserted to parma and some had by pike and dyke. returned home, and it was not until morgan nad bo- headed captain lee and captain powell that order was restored among thein. beside these were the burgher militia, who were brave and well trained, but insubordi- nate, and ready on every occasion to refuse obedience to authority. the first result of the general confusion which pre- vailed in antwerp was that herenthals was allowed to fall without assistance. had this small but important city been succored it would have enabled antwerp to protract its own defense for some time. the veteran mondragon as he took possession re- marked, "now it is easy to see that the prince of orange is dead; " and indeed it was only under his wise supervis- ion and authority that anything like concerted action between the cities, which were really small republics, was possible. quietly but steadily the duke of parma established for- tified posts at various points on both banks of the lower scheldt, thereby rendering its navigation more difficult, and covering in some degree the spot where he intended to close the river. nine miles below the city were two forts—lillo and liefkenshoek—one on either side of the stream. the fortification of lillo were complete, but those of liefkenshoek were not finished when parma or- dered the marquis of richebourg to carry it by assault. it was taken by surprise, and the eight hundred men who composed its garrison were all killed or drowned. this first wow took place on the very day the prince of orange was killed. lillo was garrisoned by antwerp volunteers, called the young bachelors, together with a company of french under captain gascoigne, and four hundred scotch and englishmen under colonel morgan. mondragon rm by pike and dyke. to this place was brought also, by parma's orders, the shipwrights, masons, ropemakers sailors, boatmen, bakers, brewers, and butchers of flanders and brabant, and work went on unceasingly. but while the autumn wore on the river was still open; and in spite of the spanish bat- teries on the banks the daring sailors of zeeland brought up their ships laden with com to antwerp, where the price was already high. had this traffic been continued antwerp would soon have been provisioned for a year's biege; but the folly and stupidity of the municipal au- thorities put a stop to it, for theyenacted that, instead of the high prices current for grain, which had tempted the zeelanders to run the gauntlet of the spanish batteries, a price but little above that obtainable in other places should be given. the natural result was, the supply of provisions ceased at once. "did you ever see anything like the obstinacy and folly of these burghers?" sainte aldegonde said in de- spair to nedj when, in spite of his entreaties, this suicidal edict had been issued. "what possible avail is it to endeavor to defend a city which seems bent on its own destruction?" "the best thing to do," ned replied in great anger, "would be to surround the town-hall with the com- panies of morgan's regiment remaining here, and to hang every one of these thick-headed and insolent trades- men." "it would be the best way," sainte aldegonde agreed, ** if we had also a sufficient force to keep down the city. these knaves think vastly more of their own privi- leges than of the good of the state, or even of the safety of the town. here, as in ghent, the people are divided into sections and parties, who, when there is no one else to quarrel with, are every ready to fly at each other's by pike and dyke. to plunder. it happened that forty spanish lancers and thirty foot soldiers had come into the town the night before to form an escort for a convoy of provisions. they were about starting when the tumult broke out. as hohenlohe's troops thought of nothing but pillage, time was given to the burghers to seize their arms; and they, with the little body of troops, fell upon the plun- derers, who, at the sight of the spanish uniforms, were seized with a panic. hohenlohe galloped to the gate to being in the rest of the troops; but while he was away one of its guards, although desperately wounded at its capture, crawled to the ropes which held up the port- cullis and cut them with his knife. thus those within were cut off from their friends. many of them were killed, others threw themselves from the walls into the moat, and very few of those who had entered made their escape. when hohenlohe returned with two thousand fresh troops and found the gates shut in his face, he had nothing to do but to ride away, the enterprise having failed entirely through his own folly and recklessness; for it was he himself who had encouraged his followers to plunder. had he kept them together until the main force entered, no resistance could have been offered to him, or had he when he rode out to fetch reinforcements left a guard at the gate to prevent its being shut, the town could again have been taken. parma himself wrote to philip acknowledging that " had the rebels succeeded in their enterprise, i should have been com- pelled to have abandoned the siege of antwerp." but now the winter, upon which the people in ant- werp had chiefly depended for preventing the blocking of the stream, was upon the besiegers. the great river, lashed by storms into fury, and rolling huge masses r by pike and dtkb. ice up and down with the tide, beat against the pi eta, and constantly threatened to carry them away. bnt the structure was enormously strong. the plies had been driven fifty feet into the river bed, and withstood the force of the stream, and on the th of february the scheldt was closed. parma had from the first seen that it was absolutely impossible to drive piles across the deep water between the piers, and had prepared to connect them with a bridge of boats. for this purpose he had constructed thirty-two great barges, each sixty-two feet in length, and twelve in breadth. these were moored in pairs with massive chains and anchors, the distance between each pair being twenty-two feet. all were bound to- gether with chains and timbers and a roadway protected by a parapet of massive beams was formed across it. each boat was turned into a fortress by the erection of solid wooden redoubts at each end, mounting heavy. guns, and was manned by thirty-two soldiers and four sailors. the forts at the end of the bridge each mounted ten great guns, and twenty armed vessels with heavy pieces of artillery were moored in front of each fort. thus the structure was defended by one hundred and seventy great guns. as an additional protection to the bridge, two heavy rafts, each twelve hundred and fifty feet long, composed of empty barrels, heavy timbers, ships' masts, and wood- work bound solidly together, were moored at some little distance above and below the bridge of boats. these rafts were protected by projecting beams of wood tipped with iron, to catch any vessels floating down upon them. the erection of this structure was one of the most re- markable military enterprises ever carried out. now that it was too late the people of antwerp by pike and dykx. the old oort of the town. leaving an officer in charge of the position, he went back to bring up the rest of his force. in his absence the soldiers scattered to plunder. the citizens roused themselves, killed many of them, and put the rest to flight, and by the time la motte returned with the fresh troops the panic had be. come so general that the enterprise had to be abandoned. the people of antwerp now felt that unless some decisive steps were taken their fate was sealed. a number of armed vessels sailed up from zeeland, and, assisted by a detachment from fort lillo, suddenly at- tacked and carried fort liefkenshoek, which had been taken from them at the commencement of the siege, and also fort st. anthony lower down the river. in advanc- ing toward the latter fort they disobeyed sainte alde- gonde's express orders, which were that they should, after capturing liefkenshoek, at once follow the dyke up the river to the point where it was broken near the fort at the end of the bridge, and should there instantly throw up strong works. had they followed out these orders they could from this point have battered the bridge, and destroyed this barrier over the river. but the delay caused by the attack on the fort st. anthony was fatal, for at night parma sent a strong body of soldiers and sappers in boata from kalloo to the broken end of the dyke, and these before morning threw up works upon the very spot where sainte aldegonde had intended the battery for the de- struction of the bridge to be erected. nevertheless the success was a considerable one. the possession of lillo and liefkenshoek restored to the patriots the command of the river to within three miles of the bridge, and enabled the zeeland fleet to be brought up at that point another blow was now meditated. there was in by pike and dyke. antwerp an italian named gianobelli, a man of great science and inventive power. he had first gone to spain to offer his inventions to philip, but had met with such insolent neglect there that he had betaken himself in a rage to flanders, swearing that the spaniards should repent their treatment of him. he had laid his plans before the council of antwerp, and had asked from them three ships of a hundred and fifty, three hundred and fifty, and five hundred tons respectively, besides these he wanted sixty flat-bottomed scows. had his request been complied with it is certain that parma's bridge would have been utterly destroyed; but the lead- ing men were building a great ship or floating castle of their own design, from which they expected such great things that they christened it the end of the war. gianobelli had warned them that this ship would cer- tainly turn out a failure. however, they persisted, and instead of granting him the ships he wanted, only gave him two small vessels of seventy and eighty tons. although disgusted with their parsimony on so momen- tous an occasion, gianobelli set to work with the aid of two skillful artisans of antwerp to fit them up. in the hold of each vessel a solid flooring of brick and mortar a foot thick was first laid down. upon this was built a chamber of masonry forty feet long, three and a half feet wide, and as many high, and with side walls five feet thick. this chamber was covered with a roof six feet thick of tombstones placed edgeways, and was filled with a powder of gianobelli's own invention. above was piled a pyramid of millstones, cannon-balls, chain-shot, iron-hooks, and heavy missiles of all kinds, and again over these were laid heavy marble slabs. the rest of the hold was filled with paving-stones. one' was christened the fortune, and on this the by pike and by kb. nine w as to be exploded by a slow matoh, cue so m t* explode at a calculated moment. the mine on board the hope was to be started by a piece of clock-work, which at the appointed time was to strike fire from a flint. planks and woodwork were piled on the decks to give to the two vessels the appearance of simple fire-ships. thirty-two small oraft, saturated with tar and turpentine and filled with inflammable materials, were to be sent down the river in detachments of eight every half hour, to clear away if possible the raft above the bridge and to occupy the attention of the spaniards. the th of april, the day after the capture of the lief- kenshoek, was chosen for the attempt. it began badly. admiral jocobzoon, who was in command, instead of sending down the fire-boats in batches as arranged, sent them all off one after another, and started the two mine ships immediately afterward. as soon as their approach was discovered, the spaniards, who had heard grave rumors that an attack by water was meditated, at onoe got under arms and mustered upon the bridge and forts. parma himself, with all his principal officers, superin- tended the arrangements. as the fleet of small ships approached they burst into flames. the spaniards si- lently watched the approaching danger, but soon began to take heart again. many of the boats grounded on the banks of the river before reaching their destination, others burned out and sank, while the rest drifted against the raft, but were kept from touching it by the long project- ing timbers, and burned out without doing any damage. then came the two ships. the pilots as they neared the bridge escaped in boats, and the current carried them down, one on each side of the raft, toward the solid ends of the bridge. the fortune came first, but grounded near the shore without touching the bridge. .t-st as it st pike and dykm. did bo the slow match upon deck burned ou*. there was a faint explosion, but no result; and sir ronald yorke, the man who had handed over zutphen, sprang on board with a party of volunteers, extinguished the fire smoldering on deck, and thrusting their spears down into the hold, endeavored to ascertain the natrue of its contents. finding it impossible to do so they returned to the bridge. the spaniards were now shouting with laughter at the impotent attempt of the antwerpers to destroy the bridge, and were watching the hope, which was now following her consort. she passed just clear of the end of the raft, and struck the bridge close to the blockhouse at the commencement of the floating portion. a fire was smoldering on her deck, and a party of soldiers at once sprang on board to extinguish this, as their comrades had done the fire on board the fortune. the marquis of richebourg, standing on the bridge, directed the operations. the prince of parma was standing close by, when an officer named vega, moved by a sudden impulse, fell on his knees and implored him to leave the place, and not to risk a life so precious to spain. moved by the officer's entreaties parma turned and walked along the bridge. he had just reached the entrance to the fort when a terrific explosion took place. the clock-work of the hope had succeeded better than the slow match in the fortune. in an instant she disap- peared, and with her the blockhouse against which she had struck, with all of its garrison, a large portion of the bridge, and all the troops stationed upon it. the ground was shaken as if by an earthquake, houses fell miles away, and the air was filled with a rain of mighty blocks of btone, some of which were afterward found a league away. a thousand soldiers were killed in an instant, the rest by pike and dyke. this dyke. he had fringed both its margins with breast- works of stakes, and had strengthened the whole body of the dyke with timber-work and piles. where it touched the great scheldt dyke a strong fortress called the holy cross had been constructed under the com- mand of mondragon, and at the further end, in the neighborhood of mansfeldt's headquarters, was another fort called the stabroek, which commanded and raked the whole dyke. on the body of the dyke itself were three strong forts a mile apart, called st. james, st. george, and the fort of the pallisades. several attacks had been made from time to time, both upon the bridge and dyke, and at daybreak on the th of may a fleet from lillo, under hohenlohe, landed five hundred zeelanders upon it be- tween st. george's and fort palisade. but the fleet that was to have come out from antwerp to his assistance never arrived; and the zeelanders were overpowered by the fire from the two forts and the attacks of the spaniards, and retreated, leaving four of their ships behind them, and more than a fourth of their force. upon the th of the same month the grand attack, from which the people of antwerp hoped so much, took place. two hundred vessels were ready. a portion of these were to come up from zeeland, under hohenlohe; the rest to advance from antwerp, under sainte alde- gonde. at two o'clock in the morning the spanish sentinels saw four fire-ships approaching the dyke. they mustered reluctantly, fearing a repetition of the previous explosion, and retired to the fort. when the fire-ships reached the stakes protecting the dyke, they burned and exploded, but without effecting much damage. but in the meantime a swarm of vessels of various sizes were seen approaching. it was the fleet of by pike and dykx. hohenlohe, which had been sailing and rowing from ten o'clock on the previous night. guided by the light of the fire-ships they approached the dyke, and the zeelanders sprang ashore and climbed up. they were met by several hundred spanish troops, who, as soon as they saw the fire-ships burnt out harm- lessly, sallied out from their forts. the zeelanders were beginning to give way when the antwerp fleet came up on the other side, headed by sainte aldegonde. the new arrivals sprang from their boats and climbed the dyke. the spaniards were driven off, and three thousand men occupied all the space between fort george and the palisade fort. with sainte aldegonde came all the english and scotch troops in antwerp under balfour and morgan, and many volunteers, among whom was ned martin. with hohenlohe came prince maurice, william the silent's son, a lad of eighteen. with woolsacks, sand* bags, planks, and other materials the patriots now rapidly entrenohed the position they had gained, while a large body of sappers and miners set to work with picks, mat- tocks, and shovels, tearing down the dyke. the span- iards poured out from the forts ; but antwerpers, dutch- men, zeelanders, scotchmen, and englishmen met them bravely, and a tremendous conflict went on at each end of the narrow causeway. both parties fought with the greatest obstinacy, and for an hour there was no advantage on either side. at last the patriots were victorious, drove the spaniards back into their two forts, and following up their success attacked the palisade fort. its outworks were in their hands when a tremendous eheer was heard. the sappers and miners had done their work. salt water poured through the broken dyke, and a zealand barge. by pike and dyke. freighted with provisions, floated triumphantly into the water beyond, now no longer an island sea. then when the triumph seemed achieved another fatal mistake was made by the patriots. sainte aldegonde and hohen- lohe, the two commanders of the enterprise, both leaped on board, anxious to be the first to carry the news of the victory to antwerp, where they arrived in triumph, and set all the bells ringing and bonfires blazing. for three hours the party on the dyke remained un- molested. parma was at his camp four leagues away, and in ignorance of what had been done, and mansfeldt could send no word across to him. the latter held a council of war, but it seemed that nothing could be done. three thousand men were entrenched on the narrow dyke, covered by the guns of a hundred and sixty zee- land ships. some of the officers were in favor of wait- ing until nightfall; but at last the advice of a gallant officer, camillo capizucca, colonel of the italian legion, carried the day in favor of an immediate assault, and the italians and spaniards marched together from fort stabroek to the palisade fort, which was now in extremity. they came up in time, drove back the assailants, and were preparing to advance against them when a distant shoot from the other end of the dyke told that parma had arrived there. mondragon moved from the holy cross to fort george; and from that fort and from the palisade the spaniards advanced to the attack of the patriots' position. during the whole war no more des- perate encounter took place than that upon the dyke, which was but six paces wide. the fight was long and furious. three times the spaniards were repulsed with tremendous loss; and while the patriot soldiers fought, their pioneers still carried on the destruction of the dyke. by pike and dyke. wis unaware that the town was reduced to sucn an ex- tremity, and consented to give honorable terms. the treaty was signed on the th of august. there was to be a complete amnesty for the past. royalist absentees were to be reinstated in their positions. monasteries and churches to be restored to their former possessors. the inhabitants of the city were to practice the catholic religion only, while those who ref used to con- form were allowed two years for the purpose of winding up their affairs. all prisoners, with the exception of teligny, were to be released. four hundred thousand florins were to be paid by the city as a fine, and the gar- rison were to leave the town with arms and baggage, and all honors of war. the fall of antwerp brought about with it the entire submission of brabant and flanders, and henceforth the war was continued soieiy by zeeland, holland, and friesland. the death of the prince of orange, and the fall of antwerp, marked the conclusion of what may be called the first period of the struggle of the netherlands for freedom. it was henceforth to enter upon another phase. england, which had long assisted holland privately with money, and openly by the raising of volunteers for her service, was now about to enter the arena boldly and to play an important part in the struggle, which, after a long period of obstinate strife, was to end in the com- plete emancipation of the netherlands from the yoke of spain. sir edward martin married gertrude von harp soon after his return to england. he retained the favor of elizabeth to the day of her death, and there were few whose counsels had more influence with her. he long continued in the public service, although no longer compelle'* to do so as a means of livelihood; f '"s hot university of michigan y a wy unturionwid istonbuhi winiu artes scientia library veritas of the university of mich of michigan til mugh tcebor si queris ninsulam-amo ircumspice tiittiin the gift of mr. herbert gould uuiui iii s h cd for ИИ, kunaler ча, . Г Тел: ке m opna stefnu phi miten me lucia nom rua iimiimmuntur vii. pur capt. b. h. mr. wilcox introduces frank to hiram little.–page . captain bayley's heir a tale of the gold fields of california. by g. a. henty, author of "bonnie prince charlie," "with clive in india," "the dragon and the raven," "the young carthaginian," "the lion of the north," "with lee in virginia,” “by pike and dike,” “under drake's flag," "by england's aid," "in freedom's cause,” in the reign of terror," etc., etc. illustrated by h. m. paget. new york : the f. m. lupton publishing company, juvenile - stocks sift hu. herbert kould - - contents. . . . . . ....... . chapter . westminster! westminster!......... chapter ii. a cold swim....... chapter iii. a cripple boy........ chapter iv. an adopted child.... chapter v. a terrible accusation. chapter vi. at new orleans........ chapter vii. on the mississippi........ chapter viii. starting for the west....... chapter ix. on the plains.. chapter x. a buffalo story........ chapter xi. how dick lost his scalp...... - . mes ....... ...... ....... contents. page ival................................ ........ ...... ........ chapter xii. the attack on the caravan.. chapter xiii. at the gold-fields.... chapter xiv. captain bayley....... chapter xv. the missing heir.... chapter xvi. john holl, dust contractor..... chapter xvii. the lonely diggers....... chapter xviii. a dream verified........ chapter xix. striking it rich........, chapter xx. a message from abroad... chapter xxi. happy meetings...... chapter xxii. cleared at last......... ......... ........... .......... ........... captain bayley's heir. chaptek l westminster! westminster! a cripple boy was sitting in a box on four low wheels, in a little room in a small street in westminster; his age was some fifteen or sixteen years; his face was clear-cut and intelligent, and was altogether free from the expres- sion either of discontent or of shrinking sadness so often seen in the face of those afflicted. had he been sitting on a chair at a table, indeed, he would have been re- marked as a handsome and well-grown young fellow; his shoulders were broad, his arms powerful, and his head erect. he had not been born a cripple, but had been disabled for life, when a tiny child, by a cart passing over his legs above the knees. he was talking to a lad a year or so younger than himself while a strong, hearty- looking woman, somewhat past middle age, stood at a washtub. "what is all that noise about?" the cripple exclaimed, as an uproar was heard in the street at some little dis- tance from the house. "drink, as usual, i suppose," the woman said. the younger lad ran to the door. "no, mother; it's them scholars a-coming back from orioket. ain't there a fight jist!" captain bayley's heir. the cripple wheeled his box to the door, and then tak- ing a pair of crutches which rested in hooks at its side when not wanted, swung himself from the box, and propped himself in the doorway so as to command a view down the street. it was indeed a serious fight. a party of westminster boys, on their way back from their cricket-ground in st. vincent's square, had been atacked by the "skies." the quarrel was an old standing one, but had broken out afresh from a thrashing which one of the older lads had administered on the previous day to a young chimney- sweep about his own age, who had taken possession of the cricket-ball when it had been knocked into the road- way, and had, with much strong language, refused to throw it back when requested. the friends of the sweep determined to retaliate upon the following day, and gathered so threateningly round the gate that, instead of the boys coming home in twos and threes, as was their wont, when playtime expired, they returned in a body. they were some forty in num- ber, and varied in age from the little fags of the under school, ten or twelve years old, to brawny muscular young fellows of seventeen or eighteen, senior queen's scholars, or sixth form town boys. the queen's scholars were in their caps and gowns, the town boys were in ordinary attire, a few having only flannel cricketing trousers. on first leaving the field they were assailed only by volleys of abuse; but as they made their way down the street their assailants grew bolder, and from words pro- ceeded to blows, and soon a desperate fight was raging. in point of numbers the "skies" were vastly superior, and many of them were grown men; but the knowledge of boxing which almost every westminster boy in those captain bayley's heir. days possessed, and the activity and quickness of hitting of the boys, went far to equalize the odds. pride in their school, too, would have rendered it im- possible for any to show the white feather on such an oc- casion as this, and with the younger boys as far as possi- ble in their center, the seniors faced their opponents manfully. even the lads of but thirteen and fourteen years old were not idle. taking from t'he fags the bats which several of the latter were carrying, they joined in the conflict, not striking at their opponents' heads, but occasionally aiding fheir seniors, when attacked by three or four at once, by swinging blows on their assailants' shins. man after man among the crowd had gone down before the blows straight from the shoulder of the boys, and many had retired from the contest with faces which would for many days bear marks of the fight; but their places were speedily filled up, and the numbers of the assailants grew stronger every minute. , "how well they fight!" the cripple exclaimed. "splendid! isn't it, mother? but there are too many against them. eun, evan, quick, down to dean's yard; you are sure to find some of them playing at racquets in the little yard, tell them that the boys coming home from cricket have been attacked, and that unless help comes they will be terribly knocked about." evan dashed off at full speed. dean's yard was but a few minutes' run distant. he dashed through the little archway into the yard, down the side, and then in at another archway into little dean's yard, where soma elder boys were playing at racquets. a fag was picking up the balls, and two or three others were standing at the top of the steps of the two boarding-houses. "if you please, sir," evans said, running up to one of captain ba ylby's heir. the racquet-players, "there is just a row going on; they are all pitching into the scholars on their way back from vincent square, and if you don't send help they will get it nicely, though they are all fighting like bricks." "here, all of you," the lad he addressed shouted to the others; "our fellows are attacked by the 'skies' on their way back from the fields. eun up college, james; the fellows from the water have come back." then he turned to the boys on the steps, "bring all the fellows out quick; the 'skies' are attacking us on the way back from the fields. don't let them wait a moment." . it was lucky that the boys who had been on the water in the two eights, the six, and the fours, had returned, or at that hour there would have been few in the board- ing-houses or up college. ere a minute had elapsed these, with a few others who had been kept off field and water from indisposition, or other causes, came pouring out at the summons—a body some thirty strong, of whom fully half were big boys. they dashed out of the gate in a body, and made their way to the scene of the con- flict. they were but just in time; the compact group of the boys had been broken up, and everyone now was fighting for himself. they had made but little progress toward the school since evan had started, and the fight was now raging op- posite his house. the cripple was almost crying with excitement and at his own inability to join in the fight going on. his sympathies were wholly with "the boys," toward whose side he was attached by the disparity of their numbers compared to those of their opponents, and by the coolness and resolution with which they fought. "just look at those two, mother—those two fighting back to back. isn't it grand i there i there is another one down; that is the fifth i have counted. don't they captain bayley's heir. s fight cool and steady? and they almost look smiling, though the odds against them are ten to one. oh, mother, if i could but go to help them!" mrs. holl herself was not without sharing his excite- ment. several times she made sorties from her doorstep, and seized more than one hulking fellow in the act of pummeling a youngster half his size, and shook him with a vigor which showed that constant exercise at the wash- tub had strengthened her arms. "yer ought to be ashamed of yerselves, yer ought; a whole crowd of yer pitching into a handful o' boys." but her remonstrances were unheeded in the din, which, however, was raised entirely by the assailants, the boys fighting silently, save when an occasional shout of "hurrah, westminster!" was raised. presently evan dashed through the crowd up to the door. "are they coming, evan?" the cripple asked eagerly. "yes, 'arry; they will be 'ere in a jiffy." a half-minute later, and with shouts of "westminster! westminster " the reinforcement came tearing up the street. their arrival in an instant changed the face of things. the "skies" for a moment or two resisted; but the mus- cles of the eight—hardened by the training which had lately given them victory over eton in their annual race -—stood them in good stead, and the hard hitting of the "water" soon beat back the lately triumphant assailants of "cricket." the united band took the offensive, and in two or three minutes the "skies" were in full flight. "we were just in time, norris," one of the newcomers said to the tall lad in cricketing flannels whose straight hitting had particularly attracted the admiration of harry holl. "only just," the other said, smiling; "it was a hot captain ba yley's heir. thing, and a pretty sight we shall look up school to-mor- row. i shall have two thundering black eyes, and my mouth won't look pretty for a fortnight; and, by the look of them, most of the others have fared worse. it's the biggest fight we have had for years. but i don't think the 'skies' will interfere with us again for some time, for every mark we've got they've got ten. won't there be a row in school to-morrow when litter sees that half the sixth can't see.out of their eyes." . not for many years had the lessons at westminster been so badly prepared as they were upon the following morning—indeed, with the exception of the half and home-boarders, few of whom had shared in the fight, not a single boy, from the under school to the sixth, had done an exercise or prepared a lesson. study indeed had been out of the question, for all were too excited and too busy talking over the details of the battle to be able to give the slightest attention to their work. many were the tales of feats of individual prowess; but all who had taken part agreed that none had so dis- tinguished themselves as frank norris, a sixth form town boy, and captain of the eight—who, for a wonder had for once been up at fields—and fred barkley, a senior in the sixth. but, grievous and general as was the breakdown in lessons next day, no impositions were set; the board- ing-house masters, bichards and sargent, had of course heard all about it at tea-time, as had johns, who did not himself keep a boarding-house, but resided at carr's, the boarding-house down by the great gate. these, therefore, were prepared for the state of things, and contented themselves by ordering the forms under their charge to set to work with their dictionaries and write out the lessons they should have prepared. the sixth did not get off so easily. dr. litter, in his lofty captain bayley's heir. solifrude as head-master, had heard nothing of what had passed; nor was it until the sixth took their places in tha library and began to construe that his attention was called to the fact that something unusual had happened. but the sudden hesitation and blundering of the first "put on," and the inability of those next to him to cor- rect him, were too marked to be passed over, and he raised his gold-rimmed eye "lasses to his eyes and looked round. dr. litter was a man standing some six feet two in height, stately in manner, somewhat sarcastic in speech, a very prodigy in classical learning, and joint author of the great treatise "on the uses of the greek particle." searchingly he looked from face to face round the library. "i cannot," he said, with a curl of his upper lip, and the cold and somewhat nasal tone which set every nerve in a boy's body twitching when he heard it raised in reproof, "i really cannot congratulate you on your ap- pearance. i thought that the sixth form of westminster was composed of gentlemen, but it seems to me now as if it consisted of a number of singularly disreputable-look- ing prize-fighters. what does all this mean, williams?" he asked, addressing the captain; "your face appears to have met with better usage than some of the others." "it means, sir," williams said, "that as the party from fields were coming back yesterday evening, they were attacked by the 'skies'—i mean by the roughs—and got terribly knocked about. when the news came to us i was up college, and the fellows had just come back from the water, so of course we all sallied out to rescue them." "did it not occur to you, williams, that there is a body called the polico, whose duty it is to interfere ia disgraceful uproars of this sort?" "if we had waited for the police, sir," williams said, captain bayley's heir. "half the school would not have been fit to take their places in form again before the end of the term." "it does not appear to me," dr. litter said, "that a great many of them are fit to take their places at present. i can scarcely see norris' eyes; and i suppose that boy is barkley, as he sits in the place that he usually occu- pies, otherwise i should not have recognized him; and smart, kobertson, and barker and barret are nearly as bad. i suppose you feel satisfied with yourselves, boys, and consider that this sort of thing is creditable to you; to my mind it is simply disgraceful. there! i don't want to hear any more at present; i suppose the whole school is in the same state. those of you who can see had better go back to school and prepare your demos- thenes; those who cannot had best go back to their boarding-houses, or up college, and let the doctor be sent for to see if anything can be done for you." the doctor had indeed already been sent for, for some seven or eight of the younger boys had been so seriously knocked about and kicked that they were unable to leave their beds. for the rest a doctor could do nothing. fights w#e not uncommon at westminster in those days, but the number of orders for beefsteaks which the near- est butcher had received on the previous evening had fairly astonished him. indeed, had it not been for the prompt application of these to their faces very few of the party from the fields would have been able to find their way up school unless they had been led by their com- rades. at westminster there was an hour's school before breakfast, and when nine o'clock struck, and the boys poured out, dr. litter and his under-masters held coun- cil together. "this is a disgraceful business!" dr. litter said, captain bayley's heir. looking, as was his wont, at some distant object far over the heads of the others. there was a general murmur of assent. "the boys do not seem to have been much to blame," mr. eichards suggested in the cheerful tone habitual to him. "from what i can hear it seems to have been a planned thing; the people gathered round the gates be- fore they left the fields and attacked them without any provocation." \ "there must have been some provocation somewhere, mr. eichards, if not yesterday, then the day before, or the day before that," dr. litter said, twirling his eye- glass by the ribbon. "a whole host of people do not gather to assault forty or fifty boys without provocation. this sort of thing must not occur again. i do not see that i can punish one boy without punishing the whole school; but, at any rate, for the next week fields.must be stopped. i shall write to the commissioner of police, asking that when they again go to vincent square some policemen may be put on duty, not of course to accom- pany them, but to interfere at once if they see any signs of a repetition of this business. i shall request that, should there be any fighting, those not belonging to the school who commit an assault may be taken before a magistrate; my own boys i can punish myself. are any of the boys seriously injured, do you think?" "i hope not, sir," mr. eichards said; "there are three or four in my house, and there are ten at mr. sargent's, and two at carr's, who have gone on the sick list. i sent for the doctor, and he may have seen them by this time; they all seem to have been knocked down and kicked." "there are four of the juniors at college in the infirm- ary," mr. wire, who was in special charge of the queen's scholars, put in. "i had not heard about it last night, captain bay ley's heir. and was in ignorance of what had taken place until the list of those who had gone into the infirmary was put into my hands, and then i heard from williams what had taken place." "it is very unpleasant," dr. litter said, in aweary tone of voice—as if boys were a problem far more difficult to be mastered than any that the greek authors afforded him—"that one cannot trust boys to keep out of mischief for an hour. of course with small boys this sort of thing is to be expected; but that young fellows like williams and the other seniors, and the sixth town boys, who are on the eve of going up to the universities, should so far forget themselves is very surprising." "but even at the university, dr. litter," mr. eichards said, with a passing thought of his own experience, "town and gown rows take place." "all the worse," dr. litter replied, "all the worse. of course there are wild young men at the universities." dr. litter himself, it is scarcely necessary to say, had never been wild, the study of the greek particles had absorbed all his thoughts. "why," he continued, "young men should condescend to take part in disgrace- ful affrays of this kind passes my understanding. mr. wire, you will inform williams that for the rest of the week no boy is to go to fields." so saying, he strode off in the direction of his own door, next to the archway, for the conversation had taken place at the foot of the steps leading into school from little dean's yard. there was some grumbling when the head-master's decision was known; but it was, never- theless, felt that it was a wise one, and that it was better to allow the feelings to calm down before again going through westminster between dean's yard and the field, for not even the most daring would have cared for a repetition of the struggle. captain ba yley' heir. several inquiries were made as to the lad who had brought the news of the fight, and so enabled the rein- forcements to arrive in time; and had he been discovered a handsome subscription would have been got up to reward his timely service, but no one knew anything about him. the following- week, when cricket was resumed, no molestation was offered. the better part of the working- classes who inhabited the neighborhood were indeed strongly in favor of the "boys," and liked to see their bright young faces as they passed home from their cricket; the pluck, too, with which they had fought was highly appreciated, and so strong a feeling was expressed against the attack made upon them that the rough ele- ment deemed it better to abstain from further interrup- tion, especially as there were three or four extra police put upon the beat at the hours when the "boys" went to and from vincent square. it was, however, some time before the "great fight" ceased to be a subject of conversation among the boys. at five minutes to ten on the morning when dr. litter had put a stop to fields, two of the younger boys—who were as usual, just before school-time, standing in the archway leading into little dean's yard to warn the school of the issuing out of the head-master—were talk- ing of the fight of the evening before; both had been present, having been fagging out at cricket for their masters. "i wonder which would lick, norris or barkley. what a splendid fight it would be i" "you will never see that, fairlie, for they are cousins and great friends. it would be a big fight, and i expect it would be a draw. i know who i should shout for." "oh, of course, we should all be for norris, he is such captain bayley's heir. a jolly fellow; there is no one in the school i would so readily fag for. instead of saying, 'here, you fellow, come and pick up balls,' or, 'take my bat up to fields;' he says, 'i say, young fairlie, i wish you would come and pick up balls for a bit, and in a quarter of an hour you can call some other under-school boy to take your place,' just as if it were a favor, instead of his having the right to put one on if he pleased. i should-like to be his fag; and he never allows any bullying up at richards'. i wish we had him at sargent's." "yes, and barkley is quite a different sort of fellow. i don't know that he is a bully, but somehow he seems to have a disagreeable way with him, a cold, nasty, hard sort of way; he walks along as if he never noticed the existence of an under-school boy, while norris always has a pleasant nod for a fellow." "here's litter." at this moment a door in the wall under the archway opened, and the head-master appeared. as he came out the five or six small boys standing round raised a tre- mendous shout of "litter's coming." a shout so loud that it was heard not only in college and the boarding- houses in little dean's yard, but at carr's across by the archway, and even at sutcliffe's shop outside the yard, where some of the boys were purchasing sweets for con- sumption in school. a fag at the door of each of the boarding-houses took up the cry, and the boys at once came pouring out. the doctor, as if unconscious of the din raised round him, walked slowly along halfway to the door of the school; here he was joined by the other masters, and they stood chatting in a group for about two minutes, giving ample time for the boys to go up school, though those from carr's, having much further to go, had to rua captain batley s heir. for it, and not unfrequently had to rush past the masters as the latter mounted the wide stone steps leading up to the school. the school was a great hall, which gave one the idea that it was almost coeval with the abbey to which it was attached, although it was not built until some hundreds of years later. the walls were massive, and of great height, and were covered from top to bottom with the painted names of old boys, some of which had been there, as was shown by the dates under them, close upon a hundred years. the roof was supported on great beams, and both in its proportions and style the school was a copy in small of the great hall of westminster. at the furthermost end from the door was a semicircu- lar alcove, known as the "shell," which gave its name to the form sitting there. on both sides ran rows of benches and narrow desks, three deep, raised one above the other. on the left hand on entering was the under school, and, standing on the floor in front of it, was the armchair of mr.wire. next came the monitor's desk, at which the captain and two monitors sat. in an open drawer in front of the table were laid the rods, which were not unfrequently called into requisition. extend- ing up to the end were the seats of the sixth. the "upper shell" occupied the alcove; the "under shell" were next to them, on the further benches on the right- hand side. mr. eichards presided over the "shell." mr. sargent took the upper and under fifth, who came next to them, and "johnny," as mr. johns was called, looked after the two fourths, who occupied benches on the right hand of the door. by the time the masters entered the school all the boys were in their places. the doors were at once shut, then the masters knelt on one knee in a line, one behind the captain bayley's heir. other, in order of seniority, and the junior queen's scholar whose turn it was knelt in front of them, and in a loud tone read the lord's prayer in latin. then the masters proceeded to their places, and school began, the names of all who came in late being taken down to be punished with impositions. so large and lofty was the hall that the voices were lost in its space, and the forms were able to work with- out disturbing each other any more than if they had been in separate rooms. the sixth only were heard apart, retiring into the library with the doctor. his seat, when in school, was at a table in the center of the hall, near the upper end. thus westminister differed widely from the great modern schools, with their separate class-rooms and lecture-rooms. discipline was not very strict. when a master was hearing one of the forms under him the other was supposed to be preparing its next lessons, but a buzz of quiet talk went on steadily. occasionally, once or twice a week perhaps, a boy would be seen to go up from one of the lower forms with a note in his hand to the head-master; then there was an instant pause in the talking. dr. litter would rise from his seat, and a monitor at once brought him a rod. these instruments of punish- ment were about three feet six inches long; they were formed of birch twigs, very tightly bound together, and about the thickness of the handle of a bat; beyond this handle some ten or twelve twigs extended for about eigh- teen inches. the doctor seldom made any remark beyond giving the order, "hold out your hand." the unfortunate to be punished held out his arm at a level with his shoulder, back uppermost. eaising his arm so that the rod fell almost straight behind his back, captain bayley's heir. dr. litter would bring it down, stroke after stroke, with a passionless and mechanical air, but with a sweeping force which did its work thoroughly. four cuts was the normal number, but if it was the third time a boy had been sent up during the term he would get six. but four sufficed to swell the back of the hand, and cover it with narrow weals and bruises. it was of course a point of honor that no sound should be uttered during punish- ment. when it was over the doctor would throw the broken rod scornfully upon the ground and return to his seat. the junior then carried it away and placed a fresh one upon the desk. the rods were treated with a sort of reverence, for no junior queen's scholar ever went up or down school for any purpose without first going over to the monitor's table and lightly touching the rod as he passed. such was school at westminster forty years since, and it has but little changed to the present day. captain bayley's heir. ohaptee ii. a cold swim. it is winter. christmas is close at hand, and promises to be a bitterly cold one. the ice has formed smooth and black across the serpentine, and a number of ^people are walking along by its banks, looking forward to some grand skating if the frost does but hold two days longer. the sky is blue, and the sun shining brightly; the wind is fresh and keen; it is just the day when people well- clad, well-fed, and in strong health, feel their blood dancing more freely than usual through their veins, and experience an unusual exhilaration of spirits. merry laughter often rises from the groups on the bank, and the air rings with the sharp sound made by pieces of ice sent skimming by mischievous boys over the glassy sur- face, to the disgust of skaters, who foresee future falls as the result of these fragments should a slight thaw freeze them to the surface. among those walking by the edge of the ice were frank norris and fred barkley; with them was a bright- faced girl of some fourteen years old. alice hardy was cousin to both the young fellows, and was a ward of their uncle, captain bayley, an old and very wealthy retired officer of the east india company service. his fortune had not been acquired in india, but had descended to him from his father, of whom he had been the youngest son. his elder brothers had died off one by one, all un- married or childless, and soon after he obtained his com- captain bayley's heir. a mission he was recalled home to take his place as the next heir to his father's estates; then he had married. soon after he succeeded to the property his wife died, leaving him a little girl, who was called ella after her. captain bayley was hot and passionate. his daughter grew up fiery and proud. her father was passionately fond of her; but just when she reached the age of twenty, and had taken her place as one of the leading belles of worcestershire, she disappeared suddenly from the circle of her acquaintances. what had happened no one ever knew. that there had been some terrible quarrel was certain. it was understood that captain bayley wished no questions to be asked. her disappearance was a nine days' wonder in worcestershire. some said she had turned roman catholic and gone into a convent; others that she must have eloped, although with whom no one could guess. but at last the subject died out, until two years later captain bayley and his household appeared in mourning, and it was briefly announced that his daughter was dead. captain bayley went about as before, peppery, kind- hearted, perhaps a little harder and more cynical than before, but a very popular personage in worcestershire. those who knew him best thought him the most altered, and said that although he appeared to bear the blow lightly he felt deeply at heart the death of his daughter. his nearest heirs now were his two nephews, frank norris and barkley, sons of his married sisters. alice hardy bore no relation to him. for some years specula- tion had been rife as to which of his two nephews he would solect as his heir. two years before this story begins alice hardy's father and mother had both died of typhoid fever, leaving captain bayley as guardian to thrir daughter. somewhat to the surprise of his friend? captain ba yley's heir. the old officer not only accepted the trust, but had alice installed at his house, there to be educated by a governeea instead of being sent to school. but although in a short time she came to be regarded as the daughter of the house, no one thought that captain bayley would make her his heiress, as she had inherited a considerable for- tune from her father; and the two lads at westminster were still regarded as rivals for the heirship. captain bayley had never been on good terms with either of his brothers-in-law; both had been merchants in the city, and the old officer considered that his sisters had made mesalliances in marrying them. frank's father and mother had died within a few months of each other, when he was about twelve years old; captain bayley's house had since been his home. fred was often invited to stay with his uncle down in worcestershire, and his london house in eaton square was always open to him. frank had never counted on the probability of his uncle leaving him any money. certainly he never for a moment built castles in the air founded upon the chance of the inheritance. his father had been an easy- going and somewhat careless man, and would sometimes laugh with the boy in speaking of his future and pre- dicting what he would do if he were to come into old bayley's estates. none of the captain's intimates could —had they been asked—have declared a preference for the chances of either lad. fred was certainly the clever- est. he had gone into college head of his year, and would have been captain, had not one of those of the year before him, who had got into college under age, elected to stay a year longer at school, and therefore by right became captain, while fred had to be content with the honors of head monitor. frank, on the other hand, had failed to get into college at all, and had remained a town boy. captain bayley's heir. although it could not be said of fred that in any open way he laid himself out to gain his uncle's favor, he was yet decidedly more attentive than was frank, and would give up any other engagement he might have if captain bayley invited him to stay the saturday and sunday in eaton square, while frank went carelessly his own way. and while there was nothing in the smallest degree ser- vile in fred's manner—for this indeed captain bayley would have instantly noticed and resented—there was just that slight deference which a young fellow should exhibit in conversation with an elder, while frank on the other hand, carelessly expressed his own opinion and ideas, which often differed very widely from those of the old officer. captain bayley's own manner evinced no shade of par- tiality for one nephew over the other; and although alice had a sort of faint suspicion that frank, who was cer- tainly her own favorite, was also that of her uncle, she could have given no reason for her belief. in person the cousins were remarkably dissimilar. frank was two inches the tallest, and had a still greatei advantage in width. it was clear that he would grow into a big man, but his figure was at present loose and unformed; he had dark brown hair, with a slight wave, and would hardly have been called good-looking were it not for his open, fearless expression and merry smile. fred's figure, although less strongly built, was far more formed, and it was probable that years would effect but little change in it. there was a sinew and wire in his frame which would have told an athlete of great latent strength in the slight figure. his hair was light, his features clear and sharply cut, and the face a decidedly intellectual one. his manner was somewhat cold and restrained, but pleasant and courteous to men older than captain bayley's heir. himself; both young fellows carried themselves well, with a certain ease of bearing, and that nameless air of command which distinguish most young men who have passed through the upper forms of a great publio school. both lads had their circle of friends and admirers at school, but frank's was by far the largest. he was in- deed universally popular, which was far from being the case with his cousin. upon the other hand, while frank seamed to be a sort of common property of the school, it was somehow esteemed by those in barkley's set a special distinction to be admitted to his friendship. but the party of three young people have been left long enough walking by the edge of the serpentine. presently they saw a knot of people gathered ahead; the number increased as others ran up. "what's up, i wonder?" frank said. "look out there on the ice, alice. you see that hole; there is something moving—there's a dog's head, i declare. poor brute! it has run out after a stick, i suppose, and the ice has given under it." "poor little thing!" alice exclaimed pitifully, "can't it get out? do you think it will be drowned, frank? can nothing be done for it?" "the best thing you can do, alice," fred replied, as frank stood looking at the dog, who tried several times, but in vain, to scramble out, the ice each time breaking with its weight, "will be to turn and walk away; there is no use standing here harrowing your feelings by watching that poor little brute drown." "can nothing be done, frank?" alice again asked, paying no heed to fred's suggestion. "that is just what i am thinking," frank replied. "you stop here, alice, with fred. i will go on and see what they are doing." captain ba yley 's heir. %\ "can't i go with you, frank?" "you had better stop here," frank replied; "the crowd is getting thick there, and they are a roughish lot. besides, you will not be able to see over their heads, and can do no good; so just do as i bid you." the girl remained obediently with her cousin fred, while frank-went off at a run toward the group. "frank orders you about just as if you were his fag," fred said, with a smile which had in it something of a sneer. "i don't mind," the girl said stanchly, "it's frank's way, and i like it; at any rate one always knows what frank means, and he always means well." "that is as much as to say, alice, that you don't always understand what i mean, and that i don't always mean well," fred barkley said in a quiet tone, but with a little flush of anger in his usually somewhat pale cheeks. "no, i don't know that i mean that," alice said care- lessly; '"but i do not always understand what you mean, though i always understand what you say." "i should have thought that was the same thing, "fred replied. "should you?" alice rejoined. "well i shouldn't, that's all." as frank norris approached the group he began to unbutton his collar and waistcoat. "it will be a beastly cold swim," he grumbled to him- self, "but i can't see the poor little brute drowned, and drowned he certainly will be if no one goes in for him. it's no distance to swim, and i should think one could wade to within twenty yards of him; but it certainly will be horribly cold." and he gave a shiver of antici- pation as he looked at the smooth frozen surface. with some little difficulty frank pushed his way captain ba tlbt'b heir. through to the center of the group by the water's side. a little girl, poorly dressed, was standing crying bit- terly; a cripple boy in a box upon wheels was trying to pacify her, while another who had taken off his coat and waistcoat, and laid them in the lap of the cripple, was unlacing his boots. "are you going in, young un?" frank said, as he joined them. "yes, sir; i am going in for flossy. she belongs to this little girl, who is one of our neighbors." "can you swim well?" frank asked, "for the water will be bitterly cold." "yes,"the boy answered confidently, "i goes regu- larly for a swim above vauxhall bridge in the summer, and keeps on until the water gets too cold. i can do that fast enough. i suppose the ice will break right enough," and he looked up inquiringly at frank. "yes, it will break with your weight easily enough; you will have to raise yourself a little so as to break it before you. you will have to put some weight on, for it is nearly half an inch thick; i expect there is a thin place where the dog has fallen in—a spring underneath, most likely, so a mere skin has formed. "look here, young un, i was going in if you hadn't. i shall get my boots ready to kick off now, so don't you be frightened if you get numbed with the cold, or a touch of cramp; just sing out and i will be with you in a minute." the cripple looked with pleasure up into frank's face. "it is very good of you, sir, for you don't know the dog as evan does. ah! i know your face, sir," he broke off, "i saw you in the fight down by our place at west- minster, when evan ran up and fetched some more of your chaps—and just in time they were too." captain bayley s heir. ij "oh! was it your brother who brought that news?" frank said quickly; "then i owe him one, and if i go in to fetch him out we shall be only quits." evan had by this time entered the water, breaking the ice before him as he went. "my eye, ain't it cold!" he said, half-turning round; "seems to nip one's legs up regular. all right, flossy," he shouted to the dog, as he continued his way out, in answer to a pitiful whine of the struggling animal. for the first few paces evan's progress was easy enough; but when he got so deep that he could no longer break the ice with his foot his difficulties began, and it was only by flinging himself down upon it that he was able to break it. a few yards further on the water was up to his chin. he was now breaking the ice by trying to climb upon it. frank was watching him closely, and noticed that he no longer proceeded about his work deliberately, but with a hurried and jerky action, as if he felt his strength failing him. frank pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and handed them to the cripple, kicked off his boots, and stood in readiness to plunge in. the crowd had at first cheered the lad as he made his way from the shore; some still uttered shouts of encour- agement, others saw that he was getting exhausted, and called to him to return. suddenly the boy seemed to lose his power altogether, held on to the edge of the ice, and cast a despairing look toward the shore. then grad- ually his head disappeared under the water; but frank was already halfway toward him. a few strides had taken him through the shallow water, and he swam with vigorous strokes through the floating fragments to the end of the line of broken water; then he too disappeared for a moment. a dead silence reigned through tha captain ba yley'b heir. crowd; but when two heads appeared above the water together, a ringing cheer broke out. carrying his sense- less companion, frank swam back to shore. "take off his wet clothes," he said, as he handed his burden to some of the men. "wrap him up in my coat and his own, and then run with him up to the humane society's house; they will bring him round in no time; it is cold, not drowning." then he looked again across the water. the little dog was swimming feebly now, its nose scarcely above the surface. it had given a plaintive cry of despair as it saw those who had approached so near turn back, for there were but some five yards between the spot where the boy's strength had failed and the circle which it had broken in its efforts to climb out. "i can't be colder than i am," frank said to himself, "so here goes." accordingly he again dashed into the water and swam to the end of the narrow passage; a few vigorous strokes broke the intervening barrier of ice. he seized the little dog, put it on the ice, and with a push sent it sliding toward the shore, and then turned and swam back again. it was only just where the dog had fallen in tbat the ice was too weak to bear its weight, and, after lying for two or three minutes utterly exhausted, it scrambled to >ts feet and made its way to the bank, where it was soon wrapped in the apron of its delighted mistress. frank, on reaching the shore, was scarcely able to stand, so benumbed were his legs by the cold. his cousins had made their way through the crowd to the spot. "oh, frank," alice exclaimed, "what a mad thing for you to do. oh! i am so pleased you did it—but dk, you do look cold what will you do i" captain bayley's heir. "lam all right, alice," frank said, as cheerfully as his chattering teeth would allow him to speak. "you go home with fred; i shall get a hot bath and have my clothes dried at the receiving-house, and shall be as right as a trivet in half an hour. th^re, good-by!" frank walked stiffly at first, but was presently able to break into a run, which he kept up until he reached the establishment of the eoyal humane society. his first question, as he entered, was for the boy. "he will do, sir," the attendant answered, "we popped him at once into a hot bath we had ready, and he has opened his eyes, and is able to speak; we have just got him into bed between warm blankets, and now it's your turn." in another minute frank was in the bath from which the boy had just been taken, for there was no time to prepare another. for the first minute or two he felt an intense pain as the blood flowed back into his chilled limbs, then a delightful sensation of warmth and comfort stole over him; a glass of hot brandy and water com- pleted his cure, and a few minutes later he felt that he was fast going off to sleep in the warm blankets between which he was laid. before the crowd whom the incident on the serpentine had gathered broke up, one or two of those present went among the rest and collected a subscription for the lad who had gone in after the dog. nearly two pounds were collected in silver and coppers, and handed over to the cripple to give to his brother. fred barkley dropped in five shillings, and alice hardy the same sum. then after walking to to the receiving-house, and hearing that frank and the lad had both recovered from the effects of the cold, and would probably be all right after a few hours' sleep, they returned home, alice in a high state of excitement over the adventure which she had wit- nessed, fred silent and gloomy. t captain bayley's heir. he accompanied alice to eaton square, and was pres- ent when she related to her uncle the story of the lad going in to rescue the dog, and of frank going in to rescue the boy, and of ]^ afterward returning to set free the dog. upon the way home he had appeared to alice to take the matter exceedingly quietly, but he now, some- what to her surprise, appeared almost as enthusiastic as herself, and spoke in terms of high admiration of frank's conduct. captain bayley, as was usually the case with him, took a view of the matter entirely opposed to that of the speakers. "stuff and nonsense!" he said. "you call that a gal- lant action? i call it a foolish boy's trick. what right has frank to risk getting rheumatic fever, and being laid up as a cripple for life, merely to save a dog?" "but he went in to save a boy uncle," alice said in- dignantly. "pooh, pooh!" the old officer exclaimed, "the boy would never have gone in if he hadn't encouraged him. that makes the case all the worse. frank not only risked catching rheumatism himself, but he risked the life of that boy by encouraging him to do such a foolish action. it was a hare-brained business altogether, sir; and i am glad you had the wisdom, fred, to keep out of it. the idea of two lives being risked to save that of a wretched cur is too absurd; if you had offered the girl who owned it five shillings to buy another it would have been more sensible." "i don't believe you mean what you say a bit, uncle harry," alice exclaimed indignantly. "i believe if you had been there, and had heard that poor little dog's cries as we did, you would have gone in yourself. i am sure i would if i had been a man." "t always observe, my dear," captain bayley said sar- captain bayley's heir. castically, "that women would do wonderful things if they had only been born men. nature appears to be always making mistakes by putting the dauntless and heroic spirits into female bodies, and vice versa." "i don't like you when you talk like that, uncle harry —that is, i shouldn't like you if i thought you meant it; but you only talk so out of contradiction. if i had said i thought frank was very foolish for having gone into the water, you would have taken the opposite side directly." "you are an impudent puss, miss alice," her uncle retorted, "and i shall have to tell miss lancaster that unless she can keep you in better order i shall have to send you to school. you appear to have been born without the bump of veneration." "i would venerate you ever so much, uncle harry," the girl replied, laughing,"if you would always be good and resonable; but i cannot venerate you when you are contrary and disagreeable, and say things you don't mean." as fred barkley walked home, he wondered again and again to himself whether captain bayley had meant what he said, and whether this act of frank's would raise him in his opinion or the contrary; but he nattered himself that, at any rate, no harm had been done, for his own advocacy of his cousin could not but have placed him in the most favorable light. fred barkley was shrewd, but his power of reading character was, as yet, by no means perfect, and hia unole's changing moods baffled the power of analysis. he would not have been pleased had he known that at that very moment the old officer was walking up and down his library, muttering to himself: "i would give a good deal if there were a glass window at* that boy fred's ' captain bayley's heir. heart, that i could see what it is really made of. hia head is strong enough; nature has given him a fair share of brains, but, unless i am greatly mistaken, there is a very grievous deficiency in his allowance of heart. "i don't believe the boy ever spoke spontaneously from the time he learned to talk, but that every word he says is weighed before it passes through his lips, and its effect calculated; whereas frank never thinks at all, but just blurts put the words which come to hand. it is curious how much more alice takes to him than to fred, for he bullies her and orders her about as if she were one of his fags, while fred is as courteous and polite to her as if she were a young countess. i suppose it is instinct, for children's opinions about people are seldom far wrong. i thought when i brought alice here that she would help me to settle the problem." frank and evan holl woke at about the same time, after sleeping for some hours; their clothes had been dried for them, and they at once began to dress. "how do you feel now, young un?" was frank's first inquiry as they sat up in their beds. "i dunno how i feels," evan replied. "i hardly knows where i am, or how i got here, though i do seem to remember something about this-'ere place too. oh yes!" he exclaimed suddenly, "i was trying to fetch out poor little flossy, and the ice would not break, and i got colder and colder, and then i don't seem to remember any more except somehow that i was here with people standing round me, and i swallowed something hot and went off to sleep. ah yes! you were the gentleman as said you would come in after me if i sang out." "and i did come in,"frank said. smilingly, "and only just in time i was, for you did not sing out, but went right down without a word. it was lucky you did not get under the ice." captain bayley's heir. "and a nice sight i should look in it,"mrs. holl said, laughing at the thought of herself in scarlet robes. "when dad comes home we will talk over with him what's the best way of laying out this money. it's yours to do as you likes with, but i ain't a-going to have it fooled away, so don't you make any mistake about that." captain ba tley's heir. chapter iii a cripple boy. john holl returned from work a few minutes after evan oame in. john holl was a dustman. a short, broadly-built man, with his shoulders bowed somewhat from carrying heavy baskets up area steps. his looks were homely, and his attire far from clean; but john was a good husband and father, and the great proportion of the many twopences he daily received as douceurs for discharging his duties ware brought home to his wife, as was all the weekly money, instead of being exchanged for liquor at the public-house. sarah holl added to the family income by going out charring. she was a big woman, with a rough voice, and slipshod in walk; her hands were red and hard from much scrubbing and polishing, and she was considered generally by the servants in the establishments at which she worked to be a low person. but sarah's heart was in the right place; her children loved her, and her hus- band regarded her as a treasure. it was not until john holl had changed his dirt-stained clothes, and had freshened himself up with a copious wash, had put on a pair of list slippers of sarah's manu- facture in place of his heavy boots, and had seated him- self by the fire with his long pipe alight, while sarah bustled about getting the tea, that he was informed of the important events which had taken place, for john, like many more distinguished men, had his idiosyn- captain ba ylet's heir. crasies, and one of these was that he hated to be, as he called it, "hustled," before he had tidied up. john was not quick of comprehension, and could not give due weight to what was said to him while engaged in the im- portant work of changing; therefore all pieces of family news were reserved until he had taken his seat and his pipe was fully alight. then mrs. holl began: "what do you think, john, evan 'as been a-doing to- day?" john gave a grunt, to signify that he would prefer hearing the facts to wasting brain-power in random guesses. "why, he has been in the serpentine, and was nigh drowned, and had to be taken to the 'mane society and put into a hot bath, and all his clothes shrunk that much as you never seed." "i thought the ice weren't strong enough to bear," john said, taking his pipe from his mouth; "one of my mates tells me as he heard a chap going along with skates say as it weren't strong enough on the serpentine to hold a cat." "no more it ain't, john; but carrie hill's little dog run on and fell through, and nothing would do but that evan must go out and risk his life to fetch it out. and a nice business he made of it; when he got close out to the dog down he went hisself, and would have been drowned as sure as fate if a young gent as was a-stand- ing there hadn't swam out and brought him in. and i think you ought to speak to him, john, for such venture- some ways; he don't mind my speaking no more than the wind a-blowing." john holl smoked his pipe in silence for some time, looking solemnly into the fire; the number of facts and ideas presented suddenly to him were too great to be instantly taken in and grappled with. captain bayley's heir. "and how do you feel now, evan?" he said at last; "cold right through the bones?" "no, father; i am as warm as need be; and what do you think? i have got thirty-eight bob and some coppers which they 'scribed for me." "did they, now?" john holl said. then after taking in this new fact, and turning it over in different lights, he said to his wife, "well, sarah, it seems to me that if the people who saw our evan go into the water sub- scribed well-nigh upon two pounds for the boy, they must have thought that what he did warn't a thing for him to be jawed for, but a brave, good-hearted sort of action; and i ain't no manner of doubt, sarah, that that's 'just what you think it yerself, only you are a bit scared over the thought that he might have been drowned, which is natural and womanlike. it seems to me as evan has done a wery honorable kind o' action. i know as i should have liked to have done it myself, though i holds that a man can't have too much of hot water and plenty of soap in it, cold water alius giving me the shivers, and being no good for getting out dirt—not where it's ground in pretty thick. i suppose it's cos of this that i didn't larn to swim. evan, my boy, your father feels proud of yer, and so does your mother—as proud as a peacock—though she don't think it's right to say so." "whereupon mrs. holl, finding to her great inward satisfaction that the paternal sanction and approval had been given to evan's adventure, felt no longer con- strained to keep up a semblance of disapproval, but em- braced him with great heartiness, and then wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. then came the great point of the disposal of evan's fortune. his first pro- posal was to hand it over to his father as a contribution cap ain ba yley's heir. toward the general expenses, but this john holl per- emptorily refused. "it's your money, boy, to do as you like with; it's earned in a honorable way, and a way to be proud of. you are to do with it just what you likes; it were best not to spend it foolish, but if you are disposed to spend it foolish, you do so." "there are such lots of things i should like to buy," evan said. "i should like to buy mother a new sunday bonnet, and i should like to get you a pound of bacca; and winnie wants a new pair of boots and stockings, and there's lots of things i should like to get for harry, and some warm gloves for sue, and—and no end of things." "two pounds," john holl said, "is a nice little lump of money, evan; but when you gets as old as i am you will know as two pounds don't go wery far. my advice to you is this, whatever you get yer sure awhile afterward to want something else, and to wish as you had bought that instead; that's human nature, and it's the same with men, women, and boys—at least that's my 'speri- ence, and mother will tell you the same. my advice is, give that money to mother to keep for you, say for a month. well then, every day you can settle fresh what you mean to buy, and that will be most as good as buy- ing it; perhaps toward the end of the month you will have settled yer mind on to something which really seems to you better than all the others; that's my advice." "and capital good advice too, father," harry said. and thus the approval of the two authorities of the family having been obtained, the matter was considered as settled. "and who was the young gent as went in and fetched you out, evan?" john holl asked, when the important business of tea was conoluded and he again settled him - captain ba yley'b heir. self to his pipe. "he must have been a good sort; i should like to shake hands with that chap." "he told me as his name were frank norris," evan replied; "he is one of the scholars we see going along to yincent square; i knew him again directly. he was one of those chaps as fought so well the day they got attacked going back to the school. a fine-looking chap he is too, with a pleasant face, and a nice sort of way about him. no nonsense, you know; he talked just pleasant and nioe, as harry might talk to me, just as if he was a sort of pal, and not a swell nohow." "i should like to shake hands with him," john holl repeated; "he saved your life, that's sure enough"—for by this time harry had related the full details of the affair. "i think, sarah, as it would be only right and proper, come sunday, for you and i to go round to that young fellow's house and tell him how we feels about it. if it had been a chap of our own station in life i sup- pose there ain't nothing we wouldn't do for him, if we saw our way to it; and though i don't see as it's likely as we can do nothing for this young fellow, the least as we can do is to go and tell him what we thinks about it. did he tell you where he lived, evan?" "no, father. he didn't say where he lived; but he writ down in a pocket-book my name and where we lived, and said as how he would look in one of these days and see that i was none the worse for my ducking." "well, i hopes as how he will," john said, "but if he don't come soon, we must find him out. i expect his name or his father's name would be down in a 'eectory, and the name ain't so common a one, as there would be likely to be a great many on them living about here; but if there was fifty i would call on them all till i found the right one. i shan't be easy in my mind, not till i have captain ba yley's heir. shaken that young chap's hand and told him what i thinks on it. and i am sure your mother feels the same as i do. and now, harry, take out that fiddle of yours and let's have a tune; my pipe alius seems to draw better and sweeter while you are playing." one of the children—there were eight in all in the room—fetched harry's fiddle from the wall. it was a cheap, common instrument, but even far better judges of music than the holls would have been able to discern, in spite of its cracked and harsh tone, that the lad who was playing it had a genius for music. it is true that the airs which he was playing, those which the street boys of the day whistled as they walked by, were not of a nature to display his powers. harry could play other and very different kinds of music; for whenever evan earned a sixpence by holding a horse, or doing any other odd job, a penny or twopence were sure to go in the purchase of a sheet of music for harry at the cheap bookstalls. harry had learned the notes from a second-hand book of instruc- tions which john holl had bought for him one saturday night, when the weather had been particularly hot, and people in their desire to get their dust bins emptied were more liberal than usual. but of an evening, when john was at home, harry always played popular airs, as his father and family were unable to appreciate the deeper and better music. this he reserved for the time when the children were at school, and mother was either char- ring or was at the washtub. sarah used to wonder silently at the sounds which seemed to her to have no particular air, such as she could beat time to with her foot as she workedbut in her heart she appreciated them; they made her feel as if she was in church, and sometimes she would draw her apron across her eyes, wondering all the time what there was in the tones of the fiddle which should make her cry. captain ba yley's heir. three or four days later, when harry, as usual, was playing on his violin, and mrs. holl was washing, there was a knock at the door. "drat it!" mrs. holl muttered, "who's a-coming bothering now, just when i am busy?" "if no one is to come except when you are not busy," harry laughed, as mrs. holl moved toward the door, wiping the lather from her arms and hands, "we shan't have many visitors, for as far as i can see you are always busy." "ah!" he exclaimed, as mrs. holl opened the door, and he saw who was standing without, "it's the gentle- man who got evan out of the water." "mrs. holl?" frank asked interrogatively, and then, catching sight of harry, he at once walked across to him and shook him by the hand. "i hope i am not intruding, mrs. holl, but i promised your son to look in and see how he was; and as i had to come down to the school to-day for a book i wanted for my holiday task, i thought it would be a good opportu- nity to fulfill my promise." "it is no intrusion, sir, and i am sure i am heartily glad to see yer, and thank ye for coming," mrs. holl said, as she dusted an already spotless chair and placed it for her visitor. "my john does nothing every evening but talk of how he wishes he could see you, to tell you how beholden he and me feels to you for having brought our evan to land just as was being drowned." "no thanks are required indeed, mrs. holl," frank said cheerfully, "it was a sort of partnership affair. you see i was going in after the dog, only evan, who was a sort of friend of the family, had first claim; so we agreed that he should try first and do all the hard work of break- ing the ice, and then, if the cold was too much for him, i captain bayley's heir. was to go out and fetch him in and finish the job myself. so you see it was a mutual arrangement, and no particu- lar thanks due to any one. but your son is a plucky young fellow, mrs. holl, and he behaved most gallantly. i find, too, from what your son here tells me, that i owe him one for having fetched help up from the school when we were getting the worst of it just opposite your house here. well, in the first place, how is he? none the worse, i hope, for the cold." "not at all, sir. he is out to-day with a friend of ours as 'as got a barrow, and lives in the next street, but who is that hoarse with the cold that he can't speak out of a whisper; so he offered evan sixpence to go along with him to do the shouting, and a nice shouting he will make; his voice goes through and through my head when he is only a-talking with his brothers and sisters here, and if anything can bring them to the windows it will be his voice. he offered to come round here with tho barrow afore they started off this morning, but says i, no, evan; i have a good name in the street, i hope, and don't wish to be dighted as a nuisance to the neighbor- hood, nor to have my neighbors accusing me of a-being the cause of fits in their children." "i don't suppose that it would be as bad as that, mrs. holl," frank said, laughing. "however, if his voice i as loud apd clear as that, it is evident that he is not much the worse for his cold bath. i came round partly to see him, partly to know if i could do anything for him; he seems a sharp lad, and i am sure he is as honest as he i plucky. as a beginning, my uncle says he could come into the house as a sort of errand-boy, and to help the footman, until he can hear of some better position for him among his friends." "i am sure you are very good, sir," mrs. holl said captain ba yley's heir. gratefully; "i will mention it to his father, and he— but i doubt whether evan's steady enough for a place yet, he is alius getting into mischief; there never was such a boy for scrapes; if all my eight were like him i should go clean mad afore the week was out. when he is in the house, as long as he is talking or singing i can go on with my work, but the moment that he is quiet i have to drop what i am a-doing on and look arter him, for he is sure to be up to some mischief or other." "no, no, mother," harry put in, laughing; "you are giving evan a worse character than he deserves. he is up to fun, as is only natural with one who has got the free use of his limbs, but he never does anj' real harm." "no, i don't say that he does real harm, 'arry," mrs. holl replied, "but i do say as at present he is too full of boyish tricks to be of any good in a place, and we should be a-having him back here a week arter he went, and that would be a nice show of gratitude to this gentleman for his kindness." "i don't suppose he is as bad as you make out, mrs. holl; and no doubt he would tame down after a time, just as other boys do. perhaps a place in a warehouse would be more suitable for him at first. "and it was you who were playing as i came in," he went on, noticing the violin; "i was wondering who was playing so w ll. how jolly it must be to play! i wish i could, but i should never have patience to learn. who taught you?" "i picked it up myself, sir," harry replied, "from a book father bought me. you see i have plenty of time on my hands; i don't get out much, except just along the street, for i can't very well get across crossings by myself. the wheels go well enough on a level, but i cannot push them up a curb-stone. but what with read- captain bayley's hsir. ing and fiddling the days pass quickly enough, especially when mother is at home; she is out two or three days a week, and then the time seems rather long." "i should think so," frank said; "i should go mad if i were laid up entirely. i am awfully sorry for you. if you are fond of books i shall be glad to let you have some; i have got no end of them, and there they stand on my shelf unopened from year's end to year's end. what sort of books do you like best? sea stories, or indians, or what?" "i should like any story-books, sir," harry replied, his eyes brightening up with pleasure; "i have read a few which father has picked up for me at the bookstalls, and i have gone through and through them until i could almost say them by heart. and then tales of travel and history—oh, i love history to read what people did hundreds of years ago, and how nations grew up step by step, just like children, it is splendid!" "i am afraid," frank said, with a laugh, "that i don't care so much for history as you do. names are hard enough to remember, but dates are awful; i would rather do the toughest bit of construing than have a page of greek history to get up. well, i will certainly look you up some books on history and some travels, and will send you some of marryat's stories. i suppose you do not care for schoolbooks; i have got a barrow-load that i shall never want again." "oh yes, sir," harry said eagerly, "i think i should like those best of all. have you a virgil, sir? i do like virgil, and all that story about the siege of troy. i only had it for a fortnight. father bought it for me, and then one of the little ones managed somehow to take it out and lose it; she ran out with it for a bit of fun, and we suppose sat down on a doorstep and forgot it." captain ba yley's heir. "but, bless me," frank exclaimed, "you don't mean to say that you read virgil in latin i you are a rum fellow. how on earth did you learn it?" "i have taught myself, sir," harry said. "father is awfully good, and often ricks up books for me at old bookstalls. of course sometimes he gets things i can't make out. but he got twelve once for a shilling, and there was a latin grammar and dictionary among them; and when i had learned the grammar, it was very easy with the dictionary to make out the sense of some of the latin books. but of course i often come across things that i don't understand. i think sometimes if some one would explain them to me once or twice, so that i could really understand how the rules in the grammar are applied, i could get on faster." "well, you are a rum fellow!" frank exclaimed again. "i wish i liked lsarning as you do, for though i am in the sixth at westminster, i own that i look upon the classics as a nuisance. well, now, look here; i have got an hour at present with nothing special to do, so if you like we will have a go at it together. what have you got here?" and he walked across to a shelf on which were a number of books. "oh! here is a caesar; suppose we take that; it's easy enough generally, but there are some stiffish bits now and then. let's start off from the beginning, and perhaps i may be able to make things clear for you a bit." in spite of mrs. holl's protestations that harry ought not to trouble the gentleman, the two lads were soon deep in their csesar. frank found, to his surprise, that the cripple boy had a wonderful knack of grasping the sense of passages, but that never having been regularly taught to construe, he was unable to apply the rules of grammar which he had learned. frank taught him how to do captain bayley's heir. this, how to take a sentence to pieces, how to parse it word by word, and to see how each word depended upon the others, so that even if absolutely in ignorance of the meaning of any one word in a sentence, he could never- theless parse them unerringly in the order in which they would be rendered in english—could determine the value of each, and their bearing upon one another. this was quite a revelation to harry; his face flushed with eagerness and excitement, and so interested were both lads in their work, that the hour was far exceeded before the lesson came to an end by mrs. holl interfering bodily in the matter by carrying off the dictionary, and declaring that it was a shame that harry should give so much trouble. "it is no trouble at all, mrs. holl," frank said laugh- ing. "you see one is accustomed a little to teaching, as one often gives one's fag, or any other little chap who asks, a construe, or explains his lesson to him. but i can tell you that there are precious few of them who take it all in as quickly as your son does. now that i have made myself at home, i will come in sometimes when school begins again, if you will let me, for half an hour and read with harry. but i don't think he will want any help long. still, it may help to show him the regu- lar way of getting at things. and now i must hurry off. you will ask evan to think over what i have said. here is my address. i wrote it down in case i should find no one in. if he makes up his mind about it before i come again, he had better call on me there; the best time would be between nine and eleven in the morning; i have always finished breakfast by nine, and i have put off my holiday task so long that i must stick at it regu- larly two hours a day till school begins again, so he will be pretty sure to find me between nine and eleven. will captain ba yley's heir. you tell your husband not to worry about seeing me? i don't want to be thanked, for it was, as i told you, a sort of partnership business between your boy and me." "now i call that a downright nice sort of young chap," mrs. holl said, as their visitor departed, "good- hearted and good-natured, without no sort of nonsense. he just sits himself down and makes himself at home as if he was one of the family, and i was able to go on with my washing just as if he hadn't been here." for a time harry did not answer. "so, that's a gentleman," he said at last, in a low voice, as if thinking loud; "i have never spoken to a gentleman before.'' "well, lad," sarah holl said, "there ain't much differ- ence between the gentry and other sorts. i don't see very much of them myself in the houses i goes to, but i hears plenty about them from the servant's talk; and, judging from that, a great many of them 'as just as nasty and unpleasant ways as other people." "i suppose," harry said thoughtfully, "there can't be much difference in real nature between them and us; there must, of course, be good and bad among them; but there is more difference in their way of talking than i expected." "well, of course, harry; they have had education, that accounts for it; just the same as you, you have edu- cated yourself wonderful, talks different to john and me and the rest of us." "yes," harry said; "but i am not talking about mis- takes in grammar; it's the tone of voice, and the way of speaking that's so different. now why should that be, mother?" "i suppose a good deal of it," mrs. holl answered, "is because they are brought up in nurseries, and they can't captain ba yley's heir. run about the house, or halloo or shout to each other in the streets. d'ye see they are taught to speak quiet, and they hear their fathers and mothers, and people round them, speaking quiet. you don't know, harry, how still it is in some of them big houses, you seem half-afraid to speak above a whisper.'' "yes, but i don't think he spoke lower than i do, mother, or than the rest of us. oh, mother!" he went on, after awhile, "isn't he good? just to think of his spending an hour and a half sitting here, showing me how to construe. why, i see the whole thing in a different way now; he has made clear all sorts of things that i could not understand; and he said he would come again too, and i am quite sure that when he says a thing he means to do it. i don't believe he could tell a lie if he tried. and is he not good-looking too?" "he is a pleasant-looking young chap," mrs. holl replied, "but i should not call him anything out of the way. now i should call you a better-looking chap than he is, harry." "oh, mother, what an ideal" harry exclaimed, quite shocked at what seemd to him a most disrespectful com- parison to his hero. "it ain't no idea at all," mrs. holl rejoined stoutly; "any one with eyes in his head could see that if you was dressed the same as he is you would be a sight the best- looking chap of the two." "ah, mother!" harry said, laughing, "you remind me of an old saying i saw in a book the other day, 'a mother's geese are all swans.'" "tarn sure," mrs. holl said, in an aggrieved voice, "you ain't no goose, harry, and if any one else said so i should give them a bit of my mind sharp enough." harry did not attempt to argue with her, but with a captain bayley's heir. little laugh turned to his books again, and was soon deep in the mysteries of csesar. the next day a carrier's cart stopped before mrs. holl's house, to the great amazement of the neighborhood—for such an occurrence had not been known in the memory of the oldest inhabitant in the street, and quite a crowd of children collected to witness the delivery of a square heavy box of considerable weight at the door. harry was almost beside himself with delight as he took out the treasures it contained; and as fully half were story-books, his delight was shared by the rest of the young holls. it was evening when the cart arrived, and john was just enjoying his first pipe, and he once more uttered the sentiment he had expressed so often during the last four days, "i should like to shake that young chap by the hand." captain bayley's heir. chaptee iv. an adopted child. a few days after school had commenced prank norris called in again at the holla'. it was a bright day, and harry had gone out in his box, and mrs. holl was alone. "harry will be sorry he is out, sir," was her first greeting to frank; "he has been looking forward to your coming again. you don't know, sir, how much good you have done him. the boy has generally wonderful good spirits, considering his condition; still, though he don't say naught, i can see sometimes that he isn't never quite happy except when he is working away with his books or playing on that fiddle of his. "evan has been and spent all the money as was given him that day at the serpentine in buying a new fiddle for him. i don't see much in the thing myself, and it seems to me they must have cheated evan altogether, for it ain't a new un, but an old, brown, dirty-looking thing, as looks as if it had been made nigh fifty years; and they goes and charges him thirty-eight shillings for it, and pretended to make a favor of it, while'john only paid seven and sixpence for the one he had before, which was a beautiful new shiny one. "however, harry seems delighted with it, and says it's beautiful soft and mellow. but what he means i don' know, though i do allow it ain't so squeaky as the other; and sometimes when harry is playing soft on it captain bayley's heir. it does sound beautiful. still, thirty-eight shillings is a big price for an old thing like that." "old fiddles are always worth more than new ones, mrs. holl. do you know there are some fiddles two or three hundred years old which could not be bought for less than three or four hundred pounds?" "my gracious!" mrs. holl exclaimed, "three or four hundred pounds for such a thing as a fiddle. i calls it downright wicked." "he is a wonderful boy that son of yours, mrs. holl," frank said, changing the subject; "a regular genius i should call him. what a pity it is that he is a cripple!" "ay, that it is," mrs. holl agreed, "and he is a won- derful chap, is harry. but he ain't no son of mine, mr. norris, though he don't know it himself, and i shouldn't like him to be told." "then what relation is he, mrs. holl, if it is not an impertinent question?" "he ain't no sort of relation at all, sir," the woman answered. "then how came you to bring him up, mrs. holl?" frank asked in surprise. "well, sir, it was a very simple matter. but if so be as you care to hear it,i will tell you just how it happened." and, leaning against the mantelpiece, with the red light of the fire thrown up into her face, mrs. holl went on very slowly, and speaking as though she almost saw what she was relating. "well, sir, it were an evening in april—a cold bitter day. i was sitting here between light and dark, drink- ing my tea with john, who was just come home from work—john is my husband, you see, sir—when we heard a noise outside in the street. we went out to see what was the matter, and we found a poor young creature, with a baby in her arms, had fallen down in a faint like. captain bayley's heir. "she was a pretty young thing, sir; and though her dress was poor and torn, she looked as if she had not been always so. some one says, 'take them to the work- house.' 'no!' says i—for my heart yearned toward the poor young thing—'bring her in here; mayn't we, john?' says i. well, sir, john did not say nothing, but he took the baby out of her arms and gave it to me, and then he upped and took the poor young creature—she were no great weight, sir—and carried her into the house, and laid her on the bed, as it might be by the window there. "well, sir, that bed she never left; she came round a little, and lived some days, but her mind were never rightly itself again. she would lay there, with her baby beside her, and sing songs to herself; i don't know what about, for it were some foreign language. she were very gentle and quiet like, but i don't think she ever knew where she was, or anything about it. she were very fond of baby, and would take it in her arms, and hush it, and talk to it. she faded and faded away, and the doctor said nothing could be done for her; it made my heart ache, sir, and if you will believe me, i would go upstairs and cry by the hour. "the thought of the little baby troubled me too. i had lost my first little one, sir, and i could not a-bear the thought of the little thing going to the workhouse. so one day i says to john, 'john, when that poor mother dies, for god's sake don't 'ee send the little baby to the workhouse; he has taken away our own little one, and maybe he has sent this one for us to love in his place. let us take him as our own.' john he did not say nothing, but he up and gived me a great kiss, and said, 'sairey, you're a good woman!' which of course, sir," mrs. holl put in apologetically, "is neither here nor captain baylet's heir. there, for any mother would have done the same; butit'a john's way when he's pleased. that very same night the baby's mother died." standing with her rough honest face lit up by the bright fire-glow she related it, simply, and as a matter of course, all unconscious of the good part she had taken in it, assuming no credit to herself, or seeing that she deserved any. when she had finished there was a little silence. prank passed his hand furtively across his eyes, and then shook mrs. holl warmly by the hand, saying, "your hus- band was right, mrs. holl, you are a good woman." mrs. holl looked completely amazed, and stammered out, "lor' bless you, sir! there wasn't anything out of the way in what i did, and there's scores and scores would do the like. having just lost my own little one, my heart went out to the poor little thing, and it seemed sent natural like, to fill up the place of the little angel who was gone from us. bless your heart, sir, there weren't nothing out of the way in that, nothing at all, and we have never had'cause to regret it. the boy's a good boy, and a clever boy, and he is a comfort and a help to us; a better boy never lived. but we have always grieved sorely over the accident." "then he was not originally lame, mrs. holl?" frank asked. "dear me! no, sir, not till he were six years old. it happened this way. i was laid up at the time—i was just confined of mary, she is my eldest girl—and some- how harry he went out in the street playing. i don't rightly know how it happened; but never shall i forget when they brought him in, and said that a cart had run over him. john, he was in—which was lucky, for i think i lost my head like, and went clean out of my mind captain bayley'b heir. for a bit, for i loved him just like my own. they did not think he would have lived at first, for the cart had gone over the lower part of his body and broke one of his thigh-bones, and the other leg up high. it was a light cart, i have heard tell, or it must have killed him. "he were in bed for months, and, if you will believe me, if ever there was a patient little angel on earth, it was surely harry. he never complained, and his chief trouble was for my sake. at last he got well; but the doctors said he would never walk again, for they thought there was some damage done to his spine; and sure enough he never has walked. he is always cheerful, and keeps up wonderful, considering. "he has always been given to reading. john made a shift to teach him his letters, and then the children of the neighbors, they lent him their schoolbooks, and taught him what they knew, and in a short time, bless you, sir, he knew more than them all! he would sit and read for hours together. he is wonderful clever, harry is." "well, mrs. holl," frank said, rising, "i am very much obliged to you for your story; but i must be going now, or else i shall be late for school. tell harry i am sorry i missed him, and will look in again soon. have you thought anything further of what i said about evan?" "yes, sir, and thank you most kindly; but father thinks he had better wait another year or so, till he gets a bit older and steadier. as for them books as you was kind enough to send harry, the boy must thank you his- self; except when he is playing on his fiddle he is always reading at them, and it is as much as i can do to get him outside the doors. he was never very fond of it, for ha thinks people look at him; but since those books has captain bayley's heir. come i have regular to take them away from him, put his cap on his head, and push him outside the door. he will be in a taking that he has missed you to-day." "well, good-by, mrs. holl, i haven't a moment to lose," and frank, putting on his hat, made off at a sharp run to school, only arriving just in time to save prayers. frank norris, although a sixth town boy, was not head of eichards', as johnstone had been longer in that form, and was consequently senior to him. johnstone was, however, small and slightly built, and cared little for rowing, cricket, or football. he had gained his place in the sixth by sheer hard work rather than by talent. he was fussy and irritable, with a strong sense of the impor- tance of his position as a sixth town boy and head of eichards'. between him and frank there was no cor- diality, for it irritated him that the latter was upon all occasions appealed to, and his advice asked in everything relating to games, and all matters of dispute referred to him. frank, on the other hand, although he at all times gave way to johnstone in house matters, was constantly annoyed by his continual self-assertion and his irritation at trifles. they were the only two sixth town boys at eichards', but there were three upper "shells," harris, travers, and james, and these ranked almost with the sixth, for the great demarcation of the school was be- tween the upper and under "shells," the former having the right to fag. frank and johnstone had each a small room of their own; the three upper "shells" had a room together, but they used frank's study almost as much as their own; one or other would generally come in to work with him in the evening, and it was here that councils were held as to house matters or knotty points connected with field or water. captain bayley's heir. "i wish trafalgar square wasn't out of bounds," harris said one evening. they had finished the work for the next day, and had gathered for a chat in frank's room before turning into bed. frank was sitting in a rickety armchair by the fire, harris on the table, and the other two on the bed. ""why do you wish so, harris?" frank said. "why, i should live to go up to see those rows they have pretty nearly every day. thompson, the home boarder, told me he saw a regular fight there yesterday evening between the police and the chartists." "well, it's no use wishing, because bounds begin at the gate in dean's yard. i never could understand myself why we should be allowed to go the other way, down the slums, as far as we please, where there is every chance of getting into a row, while we are not allowed to walk quietly up parliament street; then we may go along the other way, by the new houses of parliament, to westminster bridge, and across the bridge to baths; but we may not go out from dean's yard and walk across in front of the abbey to the bridge. i expect when the rules were made there were no houses built beyond us, and there were fields extending back from the river, while the other way led up to the court. but i should certainly like to go up and see one of those chartist riots. however, i don't think it can be done; it would be setting a bad example to the young uns, and the chances are ten to one we should run against one of the masters." "hardly likely, i should think," travers said; "it would be shocking bad luck to run against one of them in a crowd like that." "well, you see, travers, we are so precisely conspicu- ous in these tail-coats; of course it's the custom, and i captain bayley's heir. stick up for old customs; still, i do think it's a ridicu- lous thing that we should be obliged to wear tail-coats. of course the jackets for the fellows under the upper 'shell' are all right, but one cannot go on wearing jackets higher than that; still, i do think they might let us wear cutaways; tail-coats were all right when everyone else wore tail-coats, but in our days it is absurd to wear a coat which nobody else wears except for an evening dress. you can tell a fellow a mile off as a westminster boy by his coat." "it has its advantages," james said. "look how johnstone would lose his importance without his tails, he would look like a plucked jay." there was a general laugh. "he is not a bad fellow," frank replied, "though he does think a good deal of himself. still, as no one else thinks anything of him, it is just as well he should fancy himself. but never mind that now. no, i don't think there is any chance of our getting to see the fun in tra- falgar square. i should like to go to one of the halls where those fellows spout, and to get up and say some- thing the other way. of course one would have to go in a strong body, else there would not be much of us left when we got into the street again. i must have a chat with perkins about it, he is sure to be up to all that kind of thing." "yes, but there would be the trouble of getting in after lock-up." "oh, i dare say we might get over that," harris re- plied; "the fags would never peach." "we won't tell them if we can help it," frank said; "if we go in for any lark of that sort only one of our fags must know it. i can trust young phillpot to hold his tongue. well, i will ohat it over with perkins, and see what can be done." captain bayley's heir. the next morning, after breakfast, frank walked down to "the black dog." he was one of perkins' best pupils, and the latter had more than once been heard to express his regret that frank had not been born in a lower class of life. "he's got the making of a champion in him," the ex- pugilist would say regretfully; "in another five years, when he has got his full height and filled out, i warrant he will fight twelve stone; look how quick he is on hie pins; and i tell you i have all my work to do now to guard my head, he hits like lightning, and once or twice has fairly knocked me off my pins. i'd back him now for fifty pounds against any novice in england; and as for pluck, i have never seen him wince; hit him as hard as you will he always comes up smiling. barkley, he is a good boxer too, but he ain't got temper, sir; he gets nasty if he has a sharp counter; and though he keeps cool enough, there is an ugly look about his face which tells its tale. he would never keep his temper, and i doubt if he's real game at bottom. i knows my cus- tomers, and have never hit him as i hit norris; i don't want to lose a pupil as pays fair and square, and i know i should mighty soon lose him if i were to let out at him sharp. no, there is bad blood in that chap some- where." "well, master norris, and what do you want at this time of the morning?" he said, as frank, after entering the saloon, rang a bell which sounded in the bar and summoned him to the saloon. "not a lesson at this time of the day, surely?" "not exactly, perkins, considering i am due at ten o'clock, and therefore have only five minutes to stay. i just dropped in to ask you about something on which you can perhaps advise us." captain bayley's heir. "fire away, master norris; anything i can do for you you knows as i will.'' "i was thinking, perkins, that it would be a great lark to go up to one of those halls where those chartist fellows meet, and to hear their speeches." "i don't see that there would be any lark in it," per- kins replied, "unless you meant getting up a row." "i don't know that i exactly meant to get up a row; but if there was a row, so much the more lark." "well, sir, if i might give my advice, i don't think, if i was you, i would do it in school-time. your hands can guard your face pretty tidy, i grant you, but the chances is as you would not get out of such a row as that would be without being marked. i knows of a place over the other side of the water, not far from the new cut, where they meet. bill lowe, him as comes here to spar twice a week, yer know, he goes there; he takes up with them chartist notions, which i don't hold with no ways. i don't see nothing in them seven pints as would do anything for the ring; and that being so, let it alone, says i. however, master norris, since you have a fancy that way i will talk the matter over with him, and then if you really makes up your mind you would like to go, i will get four or five of my lads as can use their mawleys, and we will go in a body. "then if there should be a row, i reckon we can fight our way out. there ain't much in them chaps, tailors and shoemakers, and the like; they are always great hands for jaw, them tailors and shoemakers, but i never seed one as i would put five pound on in a twelve-foot ring. poor undersized creatures, for the most part, but beggars for jaw; but there are some rough uns with 'em, and yer might get badly marked before yer got out." but frank's mind was now bent upon it. captain bayley's heir. "it will be a lark, perkins, anyhow; things have been rather slow at school lately, and three or four of us have set our minds on it. so if you let me know what even- ing will suit you, we will be here." four evenings later frank norris, with the other three boys, slipped/mt after prayers were over, and started on their expedition. frank's fag closed the door noise- lessly behind them and rebolted it; he had strict orders to take his place at an upper window at eleven o'clock and watch for their return. if when they made their appearance the house was quiet and the lights out, he was to slip down and let them in; if not, they were to go away again and return an hour later. all four boys were in thick pea-jackets, and wore rough caps which they had bought for the purpose. when they reached perkins' public-house, the prize- fighter surveyed them closely. "ye will pass in a crowd," he said; "but keep your caps well down over yer faces. now mind, young gents, if there's a row comes over this 'er business, i ain't to blame in the matter." "all right, perkins, but there will be no row." being joined by bill lowe and three other boxers, they set out together for the new cut; past the new houses of parliament—still in the hands of the builders—over westminster bridge, past the flaring lights in front of astley's, and into the new cut. here, as usual, business was brisk; the public-houses were doing a roaring trade. bows of costermongers' carts lined the road on either side, and the hoarse shouts of the venders of fruit, vegetables, and shellfish, min- gled with the babel of voices from the throng of people who loitered about the street, which was regarded as the promenade of the neighborhood. sounds of musical captain ba yley's heir. instruments and a loud chorus came from the upper win- dows of many of the public-houses and from the low music-halls known by the name of "penny gaffs." it was in front of one of these that the party stopped. unlike the others, no row of flaring lights burned over the entrance, no posters with huge letters and sensa- tional headings invited the public to enter; one solitary lamp hung over the door, which was kept closed; men were passing in, however, after exchanging a word with one of those stationed at the door. "it's a private sort of affair," perkins said; "none ain't supposed to go but those as is in the swim. they pretend to be mighty afraid of the peelers; but, lor' bless you! the police don't trouble about them. when these chaps gets to making rows in the street, and to kicking up a rumpus, then they will have something to say about it sharp enough; but as long as they merely spout and argue among themselves, the peelers lets them go on. well, young gents, here we goes." bill lowe advanced first; he was known to the door- keeper, and the words "all right, mate, friends of mine," were sufficient. he stood aside, and the party entered. passing through a passage, they were in a hall some fifty feet long by half as wide; the walls had originally been painted blue, with wreaths of flowers along the top, but these and the roof were so discolored by smoke and dirt that the whole were reduced to a dingy brown. at the end at which they entered was a gallery extending some fifteen feet into the room, at the other end was a raised platform, with a drop curtain. the latter was now raised, and displayed a table with half a dozen chairs. the chairman for the evening was seated in the center of the table. he was a young man with a pale face, eyea bloodshot from many nights spent in the reeking atmos- oaptam bayley's heir. phere of the room, and tumbled hair, which looked as if weeks had passed since it had made the acquaintance of a brush. he had just risen as the party entered; the room, which was fairly filled with men, rang with the applause which had greeted the speaker who had sat down. "fellow-workmen," said the chairman—("i wonder what you work at," frank muttered below his breath; "nothing that requires washing, anyhow.")—"fellow- workmen, your cheers are evidence how deeply you have been moved by the noble words of my friend mr. dug- gins, and how your blood boils at the hideous slavery to which we are condemned by a tyrannical aristocracy. you will now be addressed by my eloquent friend mr. simpkins, boot-closer." mr. simpkins rose. he was a short, round-shouldered man, made still shorter by the bend which he had ac- quired by the operation of boot-closing; his eyes were small, and sunken in his head; his nose wide and fiat, as if in his early youth he had fallen on the edge of a pew- ter pot, and he too had the appearance of regarding water with as deep an aversion as he viewed the aristocracy. "fellow-workmen," he began, "or rather i should say fellow-slaves"—this sentiment was received with a roar of applause, "the time is approaching when our chains will be broken, when the bloodstained power known as the british constitution will be rent and trampled under foot, when the myrmidons of power will flee before an uprisen people. they know it, these oppressors of ours; they trembled in their palaces and mansions, where they feast upon the wealth drained from the blood of the people. they know that the day is at hand, and that the millions whose labor has created the wealth of this coun- try are about to reclaim their own." captain bayley's heir. til a roar of applause went up as the speaker paused and mopped his forehead with a red handkerchief. but the applause was suddenly stilled by the sound of the em- phatic "bosh!" which frank shouted at the top of his voice. everyone turned round, and shouts arose of "who is that?" "down with him " "turn him out!" "knock him down!" the orator seized the occasion. "a spy of the tottering government has intruded upon the deliberations of this assembly, but i tell him i fear him not." "never mind, out he goes," one of the men shouted, and all began to press upon the little group standing at the back of the room, and from one of whom the objec- tionable word had evidently come. "we are in for a row, mr. norris, and no mistake," perkins said; "the sooner we gets out of this the better." but this was not so easily done; the crowd had already interposed between them and the door. "now stand back," perkins said, "and let us out. we ain't no spies, and we don't want to hurt any one. some of you may know me; i am perkins of the black dog, over at westminster, so you had best leave us alone." the greater part of those present, however, had im- bibed sufficient to render them valorous, and a rush was made upon the party. their reception was a warm one; the five prize-fighters struek out right and left, while frank and his school- fellows ably seconded them. a tall, red-haired fellow, who had singled out frank, was met by a blow which knocked him off his feet, and he fell backward as if shot. their vigorous blows drove the leading assailants back, and in spite of their numbers the crowd of angry men recoiled before their handful of opponents. captain baylby's heir. "come on," perkins said, "make for the door; they are breaking up the chairs, and we shall have it hot in a few minutes." keeping together, they fought their way, in spite of all opposition, to the door, perkins leading, while bill lowe brought up the rear. they were soon in the open bir. "now," perkins exclaimed, "you hook it, gents, as fast as you can; me and bill will keep the door for a minute." the boys dashed off, and after making at full speed into the westminster bridge road, slackened their pace, and walked quietly back to dean's yard. they were in high glee over their adventure, which all agreed had been a splendid lark, and was the more satisfactory as all had escaped without any mark which would testify against them. it was still early, and they had for two hours to walk the streets until the whistle of the fag at the window told them that all were in bed and quiet, and they might safely make their entry. this was effected without noise; the bolts were slipped into their places again, and with their shoes in their hands the party went noiselessly up to their rooms. ap ain bayley's heir. a chapter v. a terrible accusation. two days later, as frank was about to start for the ericket-field, a small boy, whom he recognized as a son of perkins, stopped him. "father wants to speak to you particular, mr. norris." "all right, young un, i will go round there at once." wondering what perkins could have to say to him, frank took his way to the public-house. "what is it, perkins?" he asked the prize-fighter, as the latter let him into his private parlor. "well, sir, there's a rumpus over this business as we had the other night." "how a rumpus, perkins?" "well, sir, there was a tall red-haired chap—leastways i hear as he's tall and red-headed, and is a tailor by trade; his name is suggs. it seems as how he got knocked down in the scrummage, and was so bad that the police, who came up after you left, took him to hospital; they brought him round all right, but it seems as how the bridge of his nose was broke, and it will be flat to his face for the rest of his life. now i fancy that's a piece of your handiwork, mr. norris; i saw jist such a chap as that go down when you hit him, and i thought to myself at the time what a onener it was." "yes, i did knock down just such a fellow," frank said, "and i am sorry i hit him so hard; i was afraid at the time that i hurt him." captain ba yley ' heir. "you should not let out from the shoulder in that sort of way, mr. norris," the pugilist said, shaking his head; "you hit like the kick of a horse, and you never know what mayn't come of them sort of blows. no, sir; half- arm hitting is the thing for a general row; it hurts just as much, and is just as good for closing up an eye, but it don't do no general damage, so to speak. now, sir, there's a row over the business. in course i holds my tongue; but they says as four of the party was young uns, and they guessed as they was gents. now they puts things together, and have found out as i gives les- sons to some of you westminster gents, and they guesses as some of you was with me. now, as i tells them, what can they do? they was the first to begin it, and we was only standing on self-defense, that's the way i puts it. no magistrate would look at the charge for a minute. it stands to reason that nine men did not attack four or five hundred. they must have been attacking us, that's clear to any one; and if it was me i should not care the snap of a finger about it—that's what i tells the red- haired tailor when he came here with two of his pals this morning. 'we has as much right to our opinions as you have; you attacks us,' says i, 'and we gives you pepper, that's all about it.' 'his beauty's spoilt for life,' says one of his mates. 'he never had no beauty to spoil,' says i, 'by the look of 'im,' so we got to words. 'they was westminster boys,' says he. 'that's all you knows about it,' says i. 'i will go to their master,' says he, 'and report the case, and show him my nose,' says he. 'you have got no case to report,' says i, 'and no nose to show.' 'we will see about that,' says he; 'i ain't going to be made an object for the rest of my life for nothing.' "so we goes on arguing; but at last he lets out that if i bring him a 'tenner' in the course of the week he will captain bayley' heir. shut up. i ain't allowed, of course, mr. norris, that any of you young gents had a hand in the fray, quite the contrary; but he has got it into his head that it is so, and he has made up his mind that he will go to the master. i don't think it likely that they could spot you, for they could hardly have got a fair look at your faces." "no," frank said, "idon't suppose they would recog- nize any of us; but the first thing litter would do would be to ask us if any of us were concerned in the affair. it's a beastly nuisance, for just now i happen to be com- pletely cleaned out, and i am sure i do not know where i could get ten pounds from." "if it had been any other time i could have helped you, mr. norris, but i paid my brewers only last night, and i ain't got two quid in the house; but i might manage to get it for you by the end of the week, if there ain't no other way. but my advice to you would be, let the red- haired man goto the master; if you keep your own coun- sel, no one can swear it out against you." "no, i won't do that, perkins," frank said, "it's known in the house; besides, if i am asked i must say it's me. thank you for your offer. i will see you again in a day or two." frank walked back to his boarding-house, moody and dejected. harris was in his room working. frank told him what had happened. "this is a bad business indeed," harris said. "by jove i if it comes out, litter would expel the four of us. "what is to be done? i am sure i don't know." "i don't see where i am to get ten pounds; i have only got fifteen shillings now." "i have only seven and sixpence," harris said. "i have paid shotten's bill for last term this week, and i know that travers and james have not much more than captain bayley's iieir. i have. we might get something on our watches; but they are all silver, and i don't suppose we could get more than a pound apiece for them. but still that's some- thing, and with our united silver would make up six pounds." "i could get a pound or two from my cousin," frank said: "fred always seems to be well supplied with money." "because he never spends any," harris said. "iam mistaken if barkley will lend you anything." "oh, he will lend it if he's got it." but harris turned out to be right. after the next school frank laid the case before his cousin, who listened in silence to the story. "i am very sorry, frank," he said when he had fin- ished, "but i am entirely out of money at present." "i thought you always had money," frank said shortly. "not always," fred replied quietly. "as you know, i am fond of books, and last week i paid my bill for that edition of shakespeare that you were admiring." fred barkley had indeed a library of books of which he was very proud, and which was worth more than all those belonging to the rest of the boys up college to- gether. frank was too proud to suggest that his cousin could, if he chose, easily raise the amount required on a few of his favorites, and left the room without saying a word. fred barkley did not continue the work upon which he was engaged after his cousin had left the room, but sat looking fixedly at the papers before him. "this is a grand opportunity," he muttered to himself, "and i should be'a fool if i let it slip. the question is, how is it best to be managed. i should be an idiot captain bayley's heir. indeed if i cannot put a spoke into master frank's wheel somehow." the next day the sixth form, as usual, went into the library to do their construing. dr. litter, according to his usual custom, walked up and down hearing them and asking questions, the form sitting at their desks, which ran round the room. the doctor was a fidgety man, add was always either twirling his watchchain or eye- glass, or rattling the keys, knife, and other articles in his trousers pockets. being perfectly conscious of the habit, he often emptied the contents of his pocket on to the table before starting to walk about the room, and this he did on the present occasion. as often happened, he was called from ihe room in the course of the lesson, and, ordering the boys to get up twenty additional lines of their greek play in his absence, he left the room and did not return for half an hour. while he was away the boys moved freely about, some to consult each other's lexicons, others to chat. when dr. litter returned the lesson was finished, and the boys went back to the great schoolroom. on the following morning frank norris received a letter. on his opening it he found, to his astonishment, that it contained only a banknote for ten pounds, with the words "from a friend." frank was simply astounded. who on earth could have sent him the exact sum of which he stood in need? he at once told his three friends what bad occurred, and they were as much aston- ished as himself. all agreed that it was a perfect god- send, though how any one could have got to know of his necessity for ten pounds at this special time none could imagine, as this was, as far as they were aware, known only to themselves and fred barkley. frank at once captain ba yley's heir. concluded that his cousin must have sent him the money, and immediately sent up college and asked him to come to his room. fred soon came up, and frank at once pro- ceeded to thank him for his gift. fred, however, ap- peared as surprised as himself, and disclaimed any knowledge whatever of the note. "i told you, frank," he said reproachfully, "that i had no money. do you think that if i had it i would not have given it to you at once, instead of sending it in that roundabout manner? do you know the handwrit- ing? that may afford you some clew." "no," frank said; "the name and address, as well as the words within, are done in printing characters, so that it is impossible to say who wrote them. well, it is an extraordinary business, and i can only say that i am ex- tremely thankful to the good fairy who has got me out of the scrape." frank felt indeed relieved. he felt sure that the head- master would consider such an escapade by boya of the sixth form an unforgivable crime, and that expulsion would follow discovery; and knowing the hot temper of his uncle, he feared that the latter would view the mat- ter in the most serious light. it was therefore with a light heart that he went across to the black dog and placed the note in the hands of perkins, merely saying that he was glad to say that he had been able to get the money to satisfy the red-haired tailor for his loss of beauty. "it goes agin my heart to give it to him, mr. norris; but in course if you decide not to face it out there's nothing for it. i am glad you have got the money together." a week later one of the monitors informed frank that the head-master wished to see him in the library. captain ba yley's heir. wondering at this unusual order, frank at once repaired there. dr. litter was sitting at his table, and he raised his eyes gravely as frank entered. "norris," he said, "i have been shocked at what has happened more than at anything which has occurred to me during my head-mastership of westminster. i may tell you that everything is discovered. now i leave it to you to make a full and frank confession." frank was thunderstruck. so in some way his break- ing out of bounda had become known to the head-master. the tailor must have turned traitor and peached after having received his money. for a minute he stood silent and confounded, while dr. litter looked at him gravely. "i acknowledge, sir," frank began, "that i broke out of bounds to go to a chartist meeting, and that i got into a row there. i am very sorry now, but i really meant no harm by it; it was a foolish lark." "and is that all you have to confess?" dr. litter said quietly. "yes, sir," frank said in surprise;"i don't know that there's anything else for me to say." "you have not come to the most serious part of it yet," the doctor said. "i don't know what you mean, sir," frank said, more and more astonished. "you hurt him, and very seriously." "yes, sir, i broke a man's nose in the fight, but i did it in self-defense." "and you paid him ten pounds to prevent his coming to me," the doctor said. "i acknowledge that i did so, but i don't see there was any harm in that." "and where did you get the ten pounds from?" tho dootor asked slowly. captain ba yley's heir. boys of my form could have taken it, and i could only suppose that i had dropped it between the school and my house. "as it happened, i had only got the note the day before from my bankers, and had therefore no difficulty in obtaining the number. i gave notice at the bank of england at once that the note had been lost, and re- quested them to obtain tho name and address of the pre- senter, should it be brought in. it was presented yester- day by a man who, after being questioned, said he was a tailor, living in bermondsey. as i was determined to follow the matter up, i saw the superintendent of police, and a policeman was sent across to him. the man said he had been seriously injured by one of my boys at a low meeting held at some place in the new cut, and that the ten pounds had been given him as compensation, he having threatened to come and complain to me. "he was ignorant of the name of the boy, but he had received the note from & prize-fighter named perkins, who keeps a low public-house down at millbank. i sent a note to the man, requesting him to be good enough to call upon me this morning early. he did so. i told him that i had heard that he had paid to that man tec pounds as compensation for an injury which he had re- ceived from one of my boys, and i asked him from whom he had received it. "he told me that nothing whatever would have induced him to tell; but as he knew the young gent would him- self confess the instant the question was put, for he hac told him he should do so did it come to my ears, there was no motive in his keeping silence, and it was mr. norris who had given it to him. on inquiry i find that the meeting in question was held between half-past nine and eleven; therefore, to have been present, norsis must have captain bayley's heir. broken out of bounds and got into the boarding-house at night. "this, in itself* would be a very grave offense, but it is as nothing by the side of the other. i am most reluc- tantly obliged to admit that i can come to but one conclu- sion: norris, having broken bounds, and got into a dis- graceful fray, was afraid that the matter would come to my ears. it was absolutely necessary for him to procure ten pounds to buy the silence of this man; my own very culpable carelessness, which i most deeply regret, *left the note on the table, and the temptation was too much for him. "i have questioned him how he got it. if he had said that he had picked it up in the yard, and, not knowing to whom it belonged, had very improperly, without making inquiry, devoted it to the purpose of silencing this man, i should have gladly believed him—for hitherto he has stood high in my estimation, and i should certainly have considered him incapable of an act of theft. but he tells me that it was sent to him in an envelope, by whom he does not know; and this absurd story is, to my mind, a plear proof that he must have stolen it from the table." the two masters had at first looked at frank with in- credulous surprise, but as the narrative continued and the proofs appeared to accumulate, their expression changed, and they ^regarded him with horror, not un- mixed with pity. for a minute there was silence, then mr. eichards said: "strong as the proofs seem to be, sir, i can hardly believe in the possibility of norris having behaved in this way. he has always been a particularly straightfor- ward, honest, and honorable jlad; there is not a boy in the house of whom i would so absolutely have disbe- lieved this tale. that he did send this note to the man captain ba yley's heir. there can, by his own confession, be no doubt, but i still cannot believe that he stole it. come now, norris, you have got into a terrible scrape, but don't make matters worse; tell us frankly the truth about it." "i have told the truth," frank said, in a low and un- natural voice. "i received the note in an envelope; here it is, sir, with, as you see, only the words 'from a friend.' i showed it when i had got it to harris, tra- vers, james, and barkley, and had not the remotest idea who it came from." "to whom had you mentioned the need you had of ten pounds?" mr. wire asked. "no one knew it except those four and perkins, not a, soul." the three masters looked even more grave. the four boys were sent for one by one, and were asked if they had mentioned to any one the need which frank had of ten pounds; but all deolared they had spoken to no one on the subject. "he showed you the envelope containing the note he received; what did you think about it?" "it seemed a curious thing, sir," harris said, "but none of us could account for it." "i am accused," frank said in a harsh voice, "of having stolen that note from dr. litter's table." for the moment the four boys stood in silent aston- ishment. "nonsense, frank," harris burst out impetuously, "we know you better than that, old fellow; if an angel from heaven came down and told me you were a thief i would not believe him," and harris seized his friend's hand and wrung it warmly, an example followed by his three companions. . hitherto frank's face had been hard and set, but he captain ba ley's heir. broke down now, and the tears streamed down his cheeks. "yon can go now," dr. litter said, and when the door closed upon them he continued: "i would give much, very much, norris, to be able to believe in your inno- cence; but i cannot see a possibility of it; the evidence to my mind is overwhelming. i acquit you of any idea of deliberate theft. you were pressed and afraid of ex- posure, and the temptation offered by the note was too strong for you; you thought you saw a way of escape, and to account to your comrades for the possession of the money you put it in an envelope and posted it, directed to yourself. even now, if you will confess the truth, i will send you home privately, and avoid publio expulsion and disgrace in consideration of the good char- acter you have always hitherto borne; if not, i must at once lay the whole facts before your uncle and guardian, and to-morrow you will be publicly expelled." "i have nothing to say, sir," frank said quietly; "overwhelming as the proof appears against me, i have spoken the simple truth, and i swear that i never saw that note until i took it from the envelope." "go to your room, sir!" dr. litter said, with indig- nation, "this continued denial is almost worse than the offense." without a word frank rose and left the library. "this is indeed a shocking business," mr. wire said, as he followed dr. litter to the schoolroom. "i cannot credit it," mr. eichards put in; "i know him so well, that, absolutely conclusive as i allow the evidence to be, i still hesitate to believe him to be guilty." after school was over fred barkley ran up to hi cousin's room. captain bayley's heir. "my dear prank," he exclaimed, "we are ordered not to communicate with you, hut i could not help running in to tell you that everyone believes you to be innocent." "i hardly know whether i believe it myself," frank said bitterly. "but you can do something for me, fred; i have written a line to my uncle, will you post it for me at once?" "certainly," fred replied; "but there is some one coming upstairs, so i must be off." he took the letter and was gone. it contained only a few words: "my dear uncle: if you believe me innocent of this hideous charge, which i swear to you i am not guilty of, send me one line by hand when you get this. as long as i know that you have faith in me i can face it out." the afternoon passed slowly to the prisoner. his unple would get the letter between three and four, and he might have an answer half an hour afterward. hour after hour passed, and, except the servant who brought up his tea, no one came near him. he reasoned to him- self that his uncle might be out. at eight o'clock he heard a noise on the stairs; a number of feet approached his room, and then the door opened, and the whole of the boys in the boarding-house poured in. "norris, old fellow," harris said, "we could stop away no longer, and in spite of orders we have come to see you. beg to tell you in the name of the whole house, and i may say the whole school, that not a boy here be- lieves you to be guilty. how the note came into your hands we don't know and we don't care, but we are cer- tain you did not take it." "no! nol" was shouted in a chorus. "so keep up your spirits, old fellow," harris said, "it will come right sooner or later." captain ba ylet's heir. "you posted the letter to my uncle, fred?" he asked. "yes, at once," he replied. frank was silent. "what do you mean to do?" fred went on. "do?" frank asked, "what do you mean?" "why, i suppose you don't mean to stop here until to- morrow?" "i don't know," frank replied, "i had not thought about it." "i shouldn't, if i were in your place. it would be a fearful business; there hasn't been a boy expelled from westminster for the last thirty years. i shouldn't stop for it if i were you.'' "but what am i to do? where am i to go?" said frank listlessly. "do?" said fred, "why, go abroad to be sure. i should go out to california, or australia, or somewhere, and in time this will be all forgotten. perhaps it will turn out who sent that money. it is not as if facing it out would do any good, for you can prove nothing. everyone who know you believes you innocent." "uncle harry doesn't," frank said bitterly, "or he would have sent an answer to my letter." "ah! well, you know what he is," fred said, "how passionate and hasty he is; but after a time he will think as we all do, never fear. look here, i thought that you would want some money, so have been round to ginger's and have sold all my books. the old beggar would not give me more than twenty pounds for them, though i have paid him more than double that, beside what i have bought from others. however, here are the twenty pounds at your service; if you like to take them you are welcome." frank remained irresolute for a moment; then the captain bayley's heir. thought of the terrible scene in the schoolroom, and oi the tones in which the doctor would pronounce his expul. sion, overcame him. "i may as well go before as after, for i could not go home after that. thank you, fred, with all my heart; i will take your money and advice, and if i get a rich man i will pay you again. are the fellows in bed?” “yes,” fred replied, “and richards is in his study, so you can go down with me and slip out easy enough.” "tell the others,” frank said, “that i went because i could not face the scene to-morrow, and that i hope some day to return and prove my innocence.” without another word he opened his drawers, packed some clothes in a small portmanteau, put on his pea- jacket and the low cap he had worn in his unfortunate expedition to the new cut; then he stole softly down- stairs with fred, and sallied out into the night air. oaptain bayley's heir ohapter vi. at new orleans. frank norris took his way eastward after leaving westminster. he slept at a small hotel in the city, and at daybreak walked on to the docks. he was careless where he went, so that it was out of england; but he was determined, if possible, to work his passage, so as to leave the sum of money in his pocket untouched until he got to his destination. he went on board a number of ships and asked the captains if they wanted hands, but on his acknowledgment that he had never been at sea, none of them would ship him for the outward voyage only. at last he paused before a fine ship, the mis- sissippi; a printed placard on the wharf beside her men- tioned that the well-known and favorite clipper would sail for new orleans on that day. he walked on board and went up to the captain, who was talking to the first mate, while the latter was superintending the getting of cargo on board. “do you want a hand, sir?" “well, that depends,” the captain said; “i am still two or three hands short, but they have promised to send me them this morning. are you a sailor?” “no, sir; but i can row and sail an open boat, and am ready to make myself useful. i want to work my passage out.” “you look an active young fellow," the captain said, "but i don't care about taking a landsman only for the captain bayley's heir. voyage out; i should have to ship another hand in your place at new orleans, and probably have to pay more wages there than i could get one for here. still, likely enough, they may send me down at the last moment two or three hands who know no more about it than you do, and may not be half so willing to learn as i should judge you to be. what do you say, ephraim; shall we take him?" "he looks a likely sort," the mate said. "very well then, it's agreed; you can take off your coat and fall to work at once; i will send down word to the office that i have shipped you." frank stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and stowed them, with his port- manteau, out of the way, and then set to work with a will, the whiteness of his shirt, and his general appear- ance, exciting some jeering comments among the other men at work; but the activity and strength which he showed soon astonished and silenced them. by one o'clock the last bale of cargo was stowed, and the hatches put on. the landsmen who had been em- ployed went on shore, and frank went forward to the fo'castle with the men to dinner. "not the sort of grub you have been accustomed to, lad," one of the men said. "i have eaten worse," frank said carelessly, "and don't care if i never eat better. how long do you sup- pose we shall be before we get to new orleans?" "it all depends upon the wind," the sailor answered, "maybe a month, maybe three. are you going to leave us there?" "yes," frank said, "i am only working my passage out." "it's a roughish place is new orleans," the sailor said; "the sort of place where you want to have a knife captain ba yley's heir. or pistol ready at hand. lor', i have seen some rum doings there; it's a word and a blow, i can tell ye." "ah! well," frank laughed, "i suppose i shall do as well as the rest." the voice of the mate was now heard calling to all hands to prepare to cast off. the men had hurried through their dinner, for they knew that the time allowed them would be short, and began casting off hawsers, coil- ing down ropes, and preparing for a start. the bell was ringing, and the friends of the passengers were saying good-by. the capstan was manned, and the vessel moved slowly away from the quay. five minutes later she was at the dock gates; these swung open, and the vessel slowly made her way through them, and was soon in the river. as the men ran aloft to loosen the sails, frank placed himself next to the sailor who had spoken to him at dinner, and followed him up the shrouds, and, imitating his actions, he was soon out on the yard hauling away with the others. when the sails were all set he returned below. "wall done, youngster," the mate said; "ireckonyou are about as spry for a green hand as any i have come across; i had my eye on you, and you'll do. you go on like that, and you will make a first-rate hand afore long." there was plenty of work to do as they went down the river. the sails had to be braced round, as the wind took them on different sides in the winding reaches; the decks were sluiced down, to get rid of the first coat of dirt which they had acquired in the docks; ropes had to be coiled and tidied up, and the many articles lying loosely about the deck to be put in their places and lashed in readiness for sea work. the tide met them just as it was getting dark, and as the wind dropped, and captain ba yley's heir. was not sufficiently strong to carry the ship against it, the anchor was dropped a few miles below gravesend. the men were divided into two watches, but all were told that, with the exception of two stationed as an anchor watch, they could turn in till tide turned. frank threw himself at once into the bunk which had been allotted to him. he had not closed an eye the night before, and was worn out by emotion and fatigue, and scarcely had he lain down than he was sound asleep. he had been placed in the starboard watch, and slept till he was roughly shaken at four o'clock in the morning. "get up, mate, your watch is called." frank leaped out and made his way on deck. the vessel had been now three hours under weigh. she had passed the nore, whose light shone brightly over the stern. "the wind is freshening a bit," one of the men said, "we shall be out round the foreland by dinner-time." the voyage was an uneventful one; frank escaped the first fight in which newcomers generally have to take part before they settle down in their new sphere. he was thoroughly good-tempered, and fully a match for any of his messmates in chaff, and he soon became a favorite in the fo'castle. he was always ready to take his share of the work, and was soon as much at home on the yards as the rest. the change and the newness of the life were very good for him; he was never alone, and had no time to think or brood over his troubles, and he was almost sorry when the end of the voyage approached. "not a lively-looking shore," the mate said to him aa he leaned against the bulwark, looking at the low banks of the river a few miles below new orleans. "no, even an american may confess that there ain't much beauty about this river. it's a great river, and a mighty useful captain bayley's heir. one, but it ain't beautiful. now, what are you thinking of doing when you get ashore?" "i was thinking to begin by getting employment on board a boat of some sort. what i shall do afterward of course i do not know; but if i can earn my living on the water for a few months, till i have time to look round and see what is best to be done, i shall be well satisfied. i have got a few pounds, but i don't want to touch them; they will come in useful if i want to move, or to buy a horse, or anything of that sort." "you will do," the mate said. "you have shown yourself a right-down sharp fellow on board this ship, and i expect you will make your way whatever you try a hand at. i have taken a fancy to you, and should be glad to do you a good turn if i can. i have been in and out of this port for some years, and know orleans pretty tidy, and i can tell you that there ain't a port on this side of the water or the other where a fellow can be put out of the way more promptly than here; there are parts of new orleans which, i tell you, are a sort of hell on earth. "there are places you couldn't go into without some one picking a quarrel with you afore you have been in there two minutes, and a quarrel here means knives out afore you have time to think. on the other hand, orleans is a place where a steady industrious fellow, with his head screwed on right, has a good chance of getting on. the trade up the river is immense, and will be far greater than it is now; and there's pretty well a continent to the west, with openings of all sorts, land and cattle, houses and mining, and trade with mexico. but i don't see as you can do better than to follow out your own idea. "i know a score of men here who own boats trading up the river, and the first time i go ashore i will take you captain ba yley's heir. with me and put you in good hands. the rate of pay ain't high, for it's looked on as easy work; still, a few months at it will open your eyes and put you into the ways of the country, and, once at home, i tell you there's money to be made on the river, heaps of it, and when it's seen that you are steady, and willing, and 'cute, you will find plenty who will give you a helping hand. there's no greater place for loafers than new orleans, and a chap who will really work will soon make his mark." prank warmly thanked the mate for his offer. the moment the ship cast anchor off the town a crowd of negroes came on board and unloaded her, and the crew had comparatively little to do; the three or four passen- gers who had come out in her went on shore at once, but it was not until the third afternoon after her arrival that the mate was able to leave the ship. "now, lad," he said to frank, "jump into the boat along with me, and i will see if i can't put you into the groove." keeping along the wharves for some distance, the mate presently entered a small wooden office, telling frank to wait outside. on entering he accosted the only occupant of the place, a man of some forty years of age, who was dressed en- tirely in white, and was sitting smoking a huge cigar, with his chair tilted back and his feet on the table. "how are you, ephraim?" he said, as the mate entered. "i saw your ship had arrived. had a good voyage?" "first-class," the mate replied; "not very fast, but quiet and comfortable," and he took a cigar from an open box on the table and lighted it. "i haven't come round for a talk with you now, i have only just come ashore for the first time; but i wanted to speak to you about a captain ba yley's heir. young chap as came out with us. he has worked his passage out, and is about the smartest young fellow i ever shipped, and has the makings of a first-class seaman in him, but he doesn't care about stopping at sea. he's of good family in the old country, as one can easily see. i expect he has got into some scrape, and has had to make a bolt of it; however, that's no business of mine. he's as strong as a horse, and as active as a squirrel; he can handle an oar and sail a boat. i didn't like the thought of his landing here and getting into bad hands, so i thought i would come straight to you. he said what he wanted to do was to work on the river, for a few months at any rate, until he got to know the place. now i know you have a dozen tugs and a score of barges, and i thought you might set him on at once. he would make a good second hand on one of your large boats. h it's but to oblige me, i wish you would put him on board one with a sober, steady chap of a decent kind; as soon as he gets to know the work and the river, i will guarantee that he will be fit to take charge himself." "that's easy enough done, ephraim," the trader replied, "all except finding the sober and steady decent man to put him under. however, i will do my best have you got him here?" "yes, he is outside," ephraim said; and rising, ha went to the door and called frank in. "this is the hand i was speaking to you about, mr. willcox." "well, young man," the trader said, "ihear you want a berth on board a tug or flat. which would you rather have?" "i would prefer to be on a flat, at any rate for a time, sir," frank said; "i am a pretty good hand at sailing or rowing, but i don't know anything about steamboats." "there's not much to learn in that," the trader said; captain ba tley's heir. "the work is simply to keep the decks clean, to help to load and unload at each landing-place, and to pole off in bh allows. however, i will put you on board a flat. the wages to begin with will be twenty dollars a month and your keep, if that will suit you." "that will do, sir, very well," frank said. "when shall i come to work?" "if you come here this time to-morrow you can go aboard at once. one of the flats will go up the first thing in the morning." "thank you, sir, i will be here. i am greatly obliged to you, mr. alderson, for your kind recommendation of me." "i am glad to have put you into a berth," the mate said. "now i should recommend you to get on board again soon." frank strolled about the wharves for an hour or two, and then went on board. before going on shore the fol- lowing day, the captain gave him a certificate, saying that he had sailed in the mississippi, and was a good, willing, and reliable hand. "you may not intend to go to sea again, but if you should, this will get you a better berth than if you had applied as a landsman. i am very pleased with your conduct on board the ship, and i am only sorry you are leaving us. i think it's a pity you don't stick to it, for it is clear that you are well educated, and would be able to pass as a mate as soon as you had been the requisite time at sea. however, you can fall back on that if you don't get on as well as you expect on shore." the mate said good-by to him warmly. "your employer is one of the very best in the place," baid he. "you must not suppose he is in a small way because you see him in that little office; he is one of the captain ba yley's heir. largest tug and flat owners in new orleans. he keeps his eye on his men, and will push you forward if he sees you deserve it. he has the name of having the best of captains on the river, and of being one of the best and most liberal of employers. but you must not expect much in flat life, you will find the men rough as well as the work." "i shan't mind that," frank said cheerfully; "our own bargemen on the thames are not the most polished of men." "and, lad," the mate added, "i should advise you to hand over any money you may have with you to mr. "will- cox; the less money you have in your pockets the better. you have no occasion for it on the river, and there are loafers hanging about at every landing who would think nothing of knocking a man on the head if they thought he had got fifty dollars in his pocket." frank promised to take his advice, and, with a hearty farewell to the mate, and a cordial one to his late ship- mates, he put his portmanteau in the boat and was rowed ashore. "oh, here you are," mr. willcox said, as he entered; "just give a call to that man you see outside." before doing so, frank handed over his twenty sover- eigns to the trader, asking him to keep them for him, and then went to the door. on a log close by a tall, gaunt man was sitting smoking a short pipe. frank asked him to step in. "hiram," the trader said, "this is the young britisher who is going as your second hand. i have good accounts of him as a sailor, so you won't have to teach him that part of the business. of course he is new to the river and its ways." "i will put him through," the man said, "and teach him as much as i knows myself if he cares to learn." captain ba yley 's heir. "there is no one knows the river better, hiram; and, as you know, i would have given you the command of a steamer long ago if you would have taken it." "no, sir," the man said emphatically, "not for hiram little. i have been on board a flat all my days, and am not going to be hurried along in one of them puffing things. they have their uses, i am ready enough to allow, when the current is swift and the wind light; i am glad enough of a cast now and then, but to be always in a bustle and flurry is more than i could stand. come along, youngster, with your sack; the boat is a quarter of a mile down." taking up his portmanteau, frank followed his con- ductor, who with long strides led the way along the wharf. not a word was spoken till they reached the side of the boat. this was not a flat such as now are in gen- eral use, but a large boat some forty feet in length by fourteen wide, almost flat-bottomed, and capable of carrying a cargo of eight or ten tons of goods. in the stern was a little cabin some eight feet long for the captain and his mate. in front was a similar structure for the four negroes who formed the crew. she carried one mast, with a large lug-sail. she had four sweeps, but these were seldom used. when the wind was fair she ran before it, when it was foul the mast was lowered; if it fell calm when they were coming down the stream they drifted with it, if when going up, they either anchored or poled her along in the back waters close in shore, or made their way up the numerous chan- nels where the stream flowed sluggishly, or tied on behind a tug if one happened to come along. their principal work was to carry up supplies to the various plantations along the banks, to trade with the vil- lages, and to bring down produce to new orleans; for captain bayley's heir. the stopping places of the steamers were at wide dis- tances apart, and the number of steamers themselves very small in comparison with those now afloat on the great river. at times they made longer journeys, going up as far as st. louis; but in that case they were generally, as frank afterward learned, towed up the whole distance. "hi! pete, shove that plank ashore," hiram shouted, and a negro at once showed his head above a scuttle in the bow of the boat, and then emerging, pushed a plank across the fifteen feet of water which intervened between the flat and the wharf. "that's your first lesson, young man," hiram said. "never on no account lay your craft close alongside; thar's river thieves at these landings as would empty half the cargo if you left the boat for ten minutes, if they could step aboard, and these niggers are always asleep the minute after you take your eyes off them. so, whether you have got anything aboard or not, stick to the rule and moor her a bit off the wharf. it's only the trouble of dropping the grapnel over on the outside in ad- dition to the hawser ashore, and then there's never no trouble when you get back and have to report as how you have lost some of the bales. it ain't as how we carry up many things as would pay for taking; soft goods for the stores up the river mostly goes by steamer, but them as ain't hurried, and likes to keep their dollars in their pockets, has their goods up by flats. i have got ten hogsheads of sugar, twenty-four crates of hardware, some barrels of molasses, and forty casks of spirits on board, eighty kegs of nails and a ton or two of rice and flour. we reokon to go up light, and i don't care to have the flat more nor half-full, for when the river's low and the wind light the less we have on board the better. now, fete, let's have tea as soon as may be." captain bayley's heir. by this time they had entered the cabin, at the stern of the boat. it was only about five feet high, but was large and roomy, and frank saw with pleasure that it was neat and clean, and was an abode infinitely prefer- able to the forecastle of the mississippi. "now, lad, that's your side, and this is mine; that's your bunk. i am given to tidy ways, having all my life lived in small places, and i hope as you will fall into my ways; i keeps the cabin tidy myself, and pete never comes aft here except to bring the food and take it away again; i can't a-bear niggers messing about a place. victuals of all sorts is provided. you can do as you like about liquor. i keeps a keg of rum on board, and i likes my glass at night; if you likes to join me at that you can pay for half the keg, it has not been broached yet. if you want to drink more nor two glasses a night, ye had best get in yer own stock; if ye don't want to touch it at all, just leave it." frank said he liked a glass of grog at night, and should be glad to join in the cask, and that he would do his best to keep his side of the cabin as tidy as the other. in a few minutes the negro brought in the meal, which con- sisted of a steak fried with onions, followed by a large bowl of oatmeal, with a jug of molasses, and the whole was washed down with tea. "the stream does not seem to run very rapidly," frank said, as he and his companion, having lit their pipes, sat down on the deck above. "it varies," hiram replied; "sometimes it's sluggish, as you see it here, sometimes it runs like a mill-stream. the art of sailing here is to know the river; for what with its back currents and its eddies, its channels behind islands and its sandbanks, one who knows it can manage to make his way up, while one who didn't know would be captain bayley's heir. drifting backw rd instead of getting forward. that's what you have got to learn. fortunately the wind gen- erally blows up the stream; when it don't it's a case of down anchor. there are places where one can hardly get along unless the wind happens to be unusually strong, and there i generally get a tow. the boss has got about twenty steamers on the river, so we don't gen- erally have to wait many hours before one comes along. the tugs is gradually doing away with sailing boats, and in time there won't be many of our kind of craft left; but they are useful, you see, for small places where the steamers don't stop, and for the rivers which run into the mississippi." the next morning at daybreak the sail was hoisted, the hawsers thrown off from the shore, and the flat made her way up the river. frank was surprised to see how fast she sailed, although the wind was but light. the work was easy, for the wind was steady and they seldom sailed at night, the wind generally dropping at sundown. they touched at numerous little settlements, and gradu- ally got rid of the cargo with which they had started. sometimes they left the main river and sailed for many miles by narrow channels, where the current, for the most part, was almost imperceptible. they were more than a month from the time they started before they reached the spot at which they were to take in the cargo for their return voyage. the flat was then loaded up with grain, which was put in in bulk and covered with tarpaulin; the boat was now laden down nearly to the water's edge. the downward voyage differed widely from that up the river; the sail was now seldom used, and instead of skirting the shores they kept in midchannel, from time to time directing the boat's course by the use of the oaptain batlby's heir. sweeps. the moon was nearly fall when they started, and they continued their voyage by night as well as day. hiram and frank took it by turns to be on watch; but the former was seldom down below, except on the rare occasions when the river was free from shoals. frank had by this time learned by the ripples on the water to detect the shallows, and could direct the course without assistance; but as soon as the splash of oars was heard on the water, hiram was sure to appear on deck, however short the time since he had retired to rest. "you are seeing the river at its best," he was saying one day. "it is about half-full now; when the water's low, the channel where we can pass loaded is often only fifty yards wide, with the water running through it like a sluice. when the water is in flood there is no fear of shoals, but you have got to look about, for it is full of floating trees and logs; when these get stuck we call them snags, and if you were to run on one of them the chances are it would knock a hole as big as a cask in her bottom, and down you would go in two or three minutes." captain bay ley's heir. chaptee vii. on the mississippi. "we are going to have a change of weather, i reckon," hiram said one afternoon as they were drifting down the stream during their second voyage. "you have been lucky since we started, but we are going to have a change at last; and i can tell you when it blows here it's a caution. they have been having a lot of rain up the country, for the river has been rising regular for the last ten days. we had best make fast for the night, and the sooner we does it the better, for the wind is get- ting up fast and the rain is just a-going to begin." in a quarter of an hour the boat was moored to a great tree at the lower end of an island. "we shall be snug here," he said, "and out of the way of the drift that will be coming down presently. you can turn in and take a long spell of sleep to-night, for sometimes these storms last for days when they come on this time of year, and you will see there will be a sea on that the boat could hardly live in. i wish we had stopped two hours ago; there was a creek where we could have run her in and been snug all through it, but i didn't think it was coming up so quick, and it's too far on to the next place to risk it; however, i expect we shall do very well here." in another half-hour the gale burst upon them furi- ously, and frank congratulated himself that the boat was snugly moored. the thick muddy water of the river was captain ba yley's heir. speedily lashed into angry waves; the rain came down in torrents, and although the left-hand bank was but a quar- ter of a mile distant it was soon lost to view. frank was glad to leave the deck and crawl into the little cabin, and sit down to a hot meal which the negro cook had pre- pared. "better here than outside, my lad," hiram said. "i can go as wet as any man if need be, but i like to keep a dry jacket when i can. the wind is just howling out- side. i reckon this is going to be a bigger storm nor ordinary, and i have seen some biggish storms on the mississippi too. i have had some narrer escapes of it, i can tell you, special in the days before there was nary a tug on the river, and we had to row or pole all the way up; besides there ain't so many trees brought down as there used to be in a flood, seeing as the country is get- ting more and more cleared every day. "i reckon the time will come when you will be able to go up either the mississippi or missouri to the upper waters without seeing a tree drifting down, and when there won't be a snag in their beds. i mind the time when the snags were ten times worse than they is now. i mind once we ran on one of the darned things in pretty nigh as wild a night as this is going to be. i had six hands along with me, and we wanted to get down, 'cause we knew the old man would have a cargo ready for us, and we wanted a run of a day or two on shore at orleans before we started up again, so we held on. the wind was higher than we reckoned on, and we was just saying we should have done better to tie up when there was a crash. i thought at first that she would have gone over with the shock, but she didn't—not that it would have made much odds, for there was a snag through her bot- tom, and the water pouring in like a sluice. it waa captain bayley's heir. darkish, but we could make out there was some trees a boat's-length or two ahead which had been caught as they rolled down by another snag, and hung there. the boat didn't float more than a minute after she struck, and then we were all in the river, those who couldn't swim grip- ping hold of the oars and poles; half a minute and we were all clinging to the boughs, and hoisting ourselves as well as might be clear of the water. "i tell you, lad, that was a night. it wasn't that we was drenched to the skin with the rain pouring down, and the wind cutting through us—that kind of thing comes natural to a boatman—but it was the oncertainty of the thing. the trees moved and swayed with the waves and current; the flood we knew was rising still, and any moment they might break away from the snag and go whirling along, over and over, down the river. even if they didn't break away of theirselves, another tree might drive down on us, and if it did the chances was strong as the hull affair would break loose. "all that night and all next day we hung on, and then the wind went down a bit, and a nigger who had made us out from the shore came off in a dugout and took us ashore in two trips. that war a close shave. the wind was northerly and bitter cold, and i don't believe as we could have hung on another night more nor that. next morning, when we turned out from the nigger's hut to have a look round, there wasn't no sign of them thar trees, they had just gone down the river in the night. yes, i have had a good many narrow shaves of it, but i do think as that war the narrowest." "well, i am heartily glad," frank said, "that we are tied safely up, out of the way of floating trees, snags, or anything of the kind. i always like hearing the wind when i am snug, and i shall sleep sound knowing that i captain bayley's lleiii. am not going to hear your shout of 'watch on deck' in my ear." in spite of the howling of the gale frank slept soundly. but he could scarcely believe that it was broad daylight when he awoke; the light was dim and leaden, and when he went out from the cabin he was startled at the aspect of the river. the waves had risen until it resembled an angry sea, the yellow masses of water being tipped with foam; the clouds hung so low-that they almost touched the top of the trees; the rain was still falling, and the drops almost hurt from the violence with which they were driven by the wind. the river had risen consider- ably during the night, and the lower end of the island was already submerged; boughs of trees and driftwood were hurrying along with the stream, and more than one great tree passed, now lifting an arm high in the air, now almost hidden in the waves, as it turned over and over in its rapid course. frank felt glad indeed that the boat lay in comparatively sheltered waters, though even here the swell caused her at times to roll violently. "what do you think of it, lad?" hiram, who had risen some time before frank, asked. "it is a wonderfully wild scene," frank said enthusi- astically, "a grand scene i i should not have had an idea that such a sea could have got up on any river. look at that great tree rolling down—it looks as if it was wrest- ling for life." "the wrestle is over, lad, there ain't no more life for that tree; it will just drift along till it either catches on a sandbank and settles down as a snag, or it will drift down to the mouth of the mississippi, and maybe help to choke up some of the shallow channels, or it may chance to strike the deep channel, and go away right out into the gulf of mexico,, and then the barnacles will get hold captain bayley's heir. of it, and it will drift and drift till at last it will get heavier than the water, and then down it will go to the bottom and lie there till there ain't no more left of it. no, lad, there ain't no more life for that tree." "maybe it will wash ashore near the city, or some plantation," frank said, "and be hauled up and cut into timber, or perhaps into firewood. after all, the useful life of a tree begins with its fall." "eight you are, lad; yes, that might happen, and i am glad you put it in my mind, for somehow i have always had a sorter pity for a tree when i see it sweeping down in a flood like this. somehow it's like looking at a drowned man; but, as you say, there's a chance of its getting through it and coming to be of use after all, and what can a tree wish better than that? but we had best be hauling the boat up to the tree and shifting the rope up the trunk a bit; it's just level with the water now, and was nigh eight feet above when we tied it yesterday. i tell you if this goes on there will be some big floods, for it will try the levees, and if they go there ain't no baying what damage may be done in the plantations." all day the wind blew with unabated fury, and when evening came on frank thought that it was increasing rather than diminishing in force. "let's have a glass of grog and tumble in, my lad," hiram said, "it gives one the dismals to listen to the wind." they had scarcely wrapped themselves in their blankets when the boat swayed as if struck by an even stronger blast than usual; then there was a sudden crash, which rose even above the howling of the gale. "what's that?" frank exclaimed, sitting np. "it's the tree," hiram began; but while the worda were in his mouth there was a shock and a crash, the roof of the little cabin was stove in, and the boat heeled over captain bayley's heir. until they thought it was going to capsize. frank was thrown on to the floor with the violence of the shock, but speedily gained his feet. "what has happened?" he exclaimed. "the tree has gone," hiram said; "i have been look- ing at it all the afternoon, but i didn't want to scare you by telling you as i thought it might go. it's lucky it didn't fall directly on us, or it would have knocked the boat into pieces. the door is jammed. get hold of that hatchet, lad, and make a shift to get your head out to look round and see what we are doing. do you hear them niggers hallooing like so many tomcats? "what good do they suppose that will do?" "i can't ae§ anything," frank said when he looked out; "it's pitch dark. i will make this hole a bit bigger, and then i will take the lantern and crawl forward and see what has become of the blacks. i am afraid the tree has stove the boat in; look at the water coming up through the float-boards." "ay, i expect she is smashed somewhere; it could hardly be otherwise; i reckon this is going to be about as bad a job as the one i was telling you about. here, lad, put this bottle of rum into your jacket and this loaf of bread; i will take this here chunk of cold beef; like enough we may want 'em afore we are done." when frank had enlarged the hole sufficiently to allow his body to pass through, he put the lantern through and then crawled out. he was in a tangle of branches and leaves. the head-rope was a long one; the tree had fal- len directly toward them, and the boat was, as far as frank could see, wedged in between the branches, which forked some forty feet above the roots; a cross branch had stove in the cabin top, and another rested across tho scuttle of the cabin used by the negroes. captain ba yley 's heir. of you, and lend a hand and unreeve the halliards from the mast and bind her as tight as you can to the branches; pass the ropes under the thwarts. make haste before she shakes herself free." for the tree, now well clear of the shelter of the land, was swaying heavily. the work was soon done, and the boat securely fas- tened to the tree. "how is it the tree lies steady without rolling over and over, hiram?" frank asked, after they had paused on the completion of the work. "i reckon it's the boat as keeps it steady, lad. as long as she lies here she is no weight, but she would be a big weight to lift out of water, and i reckon she keeps the whole affair steady. it couldn't be better if we had planned it. all these boughs break the force of the waves, and keep off a good bit of the wind too; we ain't going to do badly after all. "pete, get me that half-bottle of rum from my locker and a tin mug. that is right. now here is a good strong tot each for you to make your faces black again; you were white with fear when we got you out of that cabin, and i don't blame you; i should have been in just as bad a fright myself if i had been there, though i shouldn't have made such a noise over it. still, one can't expect men of one color to have the same ways as those of another, and i am bound to say that if the boat had gone down your boss would have lost four good pieces of property. feel more comfortable—eh?" the negroes grinned assent. easily cast down, their spirits were as easily raised, and seeing that the white men appeared to consider that there was no urgent dan- ger, they soon plucked up their courage. "i think," frank said, "the best thing will be to man- age to get the cabin door open, "we can put a tarpaulin oaptam ba yley's heik. over the hole in the roof, and we shall then have a shel- ter we can go into; the water is not over the lockers, but i shouldn't like to go in until we get the door open. if this tree did take it into its head to turn round, it would be awkward if there were two or three of us in there, with only that hole to scramble through." "you are about right, lad; it will be a sight more comfortable than sitting here, for what with the rain and the splashing up of this broken water one might as well be under a pump." the axes were called into requisition again, for the door was jammed too firmly to be moved. "chop it up, and shove the pieces under the tarpaulin, sam; they will get a bit drier there, and we may want them for a fire presently; there is no saying how long we may be in this here floating forest. that's right. now, hang one of them lanterns up in the cabin. that's not so bad. now, lad, our clothes-bags are all right on these hooks. ■ i am just going to rig myself up in a dry shirt and jacket, and advise you to do the same; we may as well have the upper half dry if we must be wet below." frank was glad to follow hiram's example, and a dry flannel shirt made him feel thoroughly warm and com- fortable. he handed a shirt to each of the negroes, and the whole party, clustered in the little cabin, were soon comparatively warm and cheerful, in spite of the water, which came up to their knees, and when the boat rose on a wave, swashed up over the locker on which they were bitting. a supply of dry tobacco and some pipes were produced by hiram, and the little cabin was soon thick with smoke. "taking it altogether," hiram said, "i regard this as about the queerest sarcumstance that ever happened to me; it was just a thousand to one that tree would have captain baylet's heir. smashed us up and sunk us then and thar. it was another thousand to one that when we were staved in we shouldn't have got fixed so that the boat couldn't sink; if any one had told it me as a yarn i should not have believed it." "it has indeed been a wonderful escape," frank said, "and i think now that we should be ungrateful indeed if everyone of us did not fervently thank god for having preserved us." "eight you are, lad; praying ain't much in my way— not regular praying; but we men as lives a life like this, and knows that any moment a snag may go through the boat's bottom, thinks of these things at times, and knows that our lives are in god's hands. it ain't in nature to go up and down this broad river, special at night, when the stars are shining overhead, and the dark woods are as quiet as death, and there ain't no sound to be heard but the lap of the water against the bow for a man not to have serious thoughts. it ain't our way to talk about it. i think we try to do our duty by our employers, and if a mate is laid up, he need never fear getting on a shoal for want of a helping hand; and when our time comes, i fancy as there ain't many of us as is afeared of death, or feels very bad about the account they say we have got to render arterward. it's different with the niggers; it's their way to be singing hymns and having prayer-meet- ings, and such like. there is some as is agin this, and says it gives 'em notions, and sets them agin their mas- ters; but i don't see it; it pleases 'em, and it hurts no one; it's just the difference of ways. i expect it comes to the same in the end; leastways, i havo seen many a wreck in this here river, when whites and blacks have been a-looking death i n the face together, and sartin the white man, even if he has been a hard man, ain't no mora captain ba yley's he k. afraid to die than the black, generally just the contrary. that's my notion of things." fraifk nodded, and for a time there was silence in the cabin. "how long are we likely to be in this fix?" frank asked presently. "thar ain't no saying; supposing we don't bring up agin a snag—which the lord forbid, or like enough, the tree would shift its position, and we should find our- selves bottom upward if we did—we may drift on for days and days. still, we shall be safe to make ourselves seen as soon as the weather clears, and there are boats out again; we have only got to light a fire of wet wood to call their attention. i don't expect this here gale will last much longer; after another day it ought to begin to blow itself out. as long as nothing happens to this tree, and the boat keeps fast where it is, there ain't nothing to make ourselves uncomfortable about. we'd best have a look at them lashings; i tell you, there is a tidy strain on them." examining the ropes carefully, they found some of them were already chafed, and, dragging out a piece of wet canvas from the lockers, they cut it into strips and lashed it round the ropes at the points where they were chafing. the strain was indeed very heavy, for the tree and the waterlogged boat rose but little with the waves, and the bow was submerged deeply every time a wave passed them, the gunwale being at no time more than a few inches out of water. additional lashings were put on, and then hiram and frank returned to the cabin, and the latter dozed away the hours till morning, as did the negroes, hiram remaining wide awake and watchful, and going out from time to time to look at the lashings. as soon as day broke frank roused himself and went out; hiram was just descending from one of the boughs. : captain batley's heir. '"i have had a look round," he said; "i don't think it's blowing quite bo hard, but thar ain't much change yet. it ain't not to say a cheerful kind of lookout." frank climbed up to take a view for himself, but he -was glad to return very quickly to the shelter of the cabin. overhead 'was a canopy of low gray cloud; around, a curtain of driving rain; below, a chaos of white-headed waves. the day passed slowly, and with little change. sam found in the fore part of the boat the iron plate on which he built his fire. they fixed this on the roof of the cabin, fastened a tarpaulin across the boughs so as to shelter it from the rain and drift, and then, with some difficulty, managed to make a fire. some hot coffee was first prepared, and a frying-pan was then put on and filled with slices of pork. the flour was wet, but sam made some flat cakes of the wet dough, and placed them in the fat to fry when the pork was done. "not a bad meal that," hiram said, when he had fin- ished, "for a floating forest." the negroes had now completely recovered from the effects of their fright and wetting, and their spirits, as usual, found vent in merry choruses. "just like children, ain't they?" hiram said, as he and frank re-entered the cabin, while the negroes con- tinued to feast overhead, "crying one moment and laugh- ing the next. but i have known some good 'uns among them too, as good mates to work with as a man could want, and as good grit as a white man." another meal, later in the afternoon, alone broke the monotony of the day. the aspect of the weather was unchanged at night- fall, but hiram asserted that the wind had certainly gone down, and that in the morning there would probably be a break in the weather. they smoked for some time, and then the negroes dozed off, with their chins on their captain batley' heir. chests; and frank was about to make an effort to do the same, when hiram, who had been going in and out beveral times, said suddenly, "i reckon we are out of the main stream; don't you feel the difference?" now that his attention was called to it, frank won- dered that he had not noticed it before. the waves were no longer washing over the fore part of the boat, and the sluggish efforts of the tree and boat to rise and fall with the water had ceased. he was still more struck, when he went outside, by the comparative silence. the wind still whistled overhead and swayed the branches, but the hiss and rustle of the water had ceased. "we are out of the main stream, that's sartin," hiram said, "though where we are is more nor i can tell till we get daylight." frank took the lantern and climbed up the bough which served as a lookout. it was pitch dark outside, and the surface of the water was no longer broken by white heads. "yes, we are certainly out of the main river, hiram, and in behind some big islands. where do you think it oould be?" "i reckon, lad, we are somewhere down near the mouth of the arkansas. the stream has been running mighty strong for the last two days, and the wind, catching all these branches, must have helped us along a good bit. i reckon we can't be far away from the arkansas. it's a bad stroke of luck drifting in here; we may expect to get hung up somewhere, and we shall be in a nice fix then, out of sight of boats going up and down, and with miles and miles of swamp stretching back from the shore. however, it will be time to think of that to-morrow. there ain't nothing for us to do; just lend us a hand, and we will get this iron plate oft the roof. the tarpau* captain baylet's heir. lin keeps off the rain, and i will fetch a couple of blankets, and we can stretch ourselves out here; i despise going to sleep sitting up." frank was sound asleep in a few minutes. he had a confused notion of feeling a slight jerking motion, and of hearing hiram say, "there, she is anchored;" but he did not suffer this to rouse him, and, dropping off, slept soundly till morning. at the first stir hiram made he was awake. "we have had a goodish spell of sleep, i reckon, lad, and i feel all the better for having had my legs stretched out straight" "so do i, ever so much; the wind seems to have gone quite down, and it has stopped raining." "we shall have the sun up soon." frank was soon up in the lookout. "i can see trees on both sides of us, but i can make out nothing more than that; there's a mist hanging over them, though it's clear enough on the water. we are not moving." "i could have told you that," hiram said, "didn't we get fast on something before we went to sleep last night?" "oh, i forgot about that; i was just off when you spoke and didn't quite take it in. we are quite out of the current; the water is moving very sluggishly past us." "so much the worse, lad; that's just what i fancied. we have got blown out of the stream, and got in behind some of the islands, and are perhaps at the mouth of one of the loops where there ain't no stream to speak of; use- ful enough they are when you are making your way up- stream, but no-account places to get stuck in. now you darkeys below there, wake up, and let's have some food; captain bayley's heir. you will soon have the sun up to warm you and dry your clothes a bit. by the time we have had our breakfast," he went on to frank, "the mist will have lifted, and we shall have some chance of seeing where we have been cast away, and can talk over what's the best thing to be done in this here business." the iron plate was replaced on the cabin, the fire was lit, and coffee and fried bacon were soon ready. the first sparkle of the sun through the leaves brought a shout of delight from the negroes, and directly the meal was over they cut away some of the small branches and let the sun stream in on to the roof of the cabin. "that's enough, boys," hiram said; "by midday we shall be glad of the shade. now, let you and i light our pipes, lad, and take a survey, and then talk this job over. ' on looking round, they found that the passage, or creek, in which they were was some eighty yards wide; ahead it seemed to narrow; behind them, a bend shut out the view a quarter of a mile away. "that's just what i expected. you see we have drove in here, and there's been just current enough to drift us on till the lower branches touched the bottom or caught in a snag; the water ain't flowing half a mile an hour now, and i reckon when the water begins to drop, which will be in a few days, if it holds fine, there won't be no current to speak of." "but we are not going to stay here a few days, are we, hiram?" "well, lad, i ain't no particular wish to stay here no time at all, if you will just pint out the way for us to be moving on." "well, we could all swim ashore," frank said; "the distanoe is nothing, and all the blacks swim." captain bayley's heir. "and how fur do you reckon the shore to be, lad?" "about forty yards," frank said. "i reckon it to be miles, lad—twenty, perhaps, or forty for aught i know." frank looked at his companion in surprise. "yes, that is about it, lad. don't you see them trees are all growing out by the water, and what looks to you like low bush ib just the top of the underwood. the river, i reckon, must have riz twenty feet, and all this low land is under water. as i told you, we are near the mouth of the arkansas, and for miles and miles the coun- try ain't much better than a swamp at the best of times. you can swim to them trees, and roost up in the branches, if the fancy takes yer, and maybe we may de- oide that's the best thing to do, when we have talked it over; but as to getting to land, you may put that notion out of your head altogether. i told you, lad, last night, i didn't like the lookout, and i don't like it a bit better this morning, except that i look to be dry and comfort- able in another hour. what's to come after that i don't quite see." frank was silent. the prospect, now that he under- stood it, was unpleasant indeed. there they were with a disabled and waterlogged boat, in the middle of a dis- trict submerged for many miles, and surrounded beyond that by fever-stricken swamps, while the prospect of any craft happening to come along was remote indeed. for some minutes he smoked his pipe in silence. "you consider it impossible for us to make our escape through the wood?" "just unpossible, lad. we might make our way from tree to tree, like a party of monkeys, but we should get to creeks where we couldn't cross; we should be half our time swimming. we could take no food to speak of captain ba tley's heir. with us; to should get lost in the swamps, if ever we got through the forest. no, lad; my present idea is it is impossible, though, if we detarmines at last there ain't ■othing else for us to do but to try for it, hiram little ain't the man to die without making a hard fight for his life; but i tell you, lad, hooks on it as unpossible. you have been on these banks with me, and you know how thick the trees and bushes grow, so that a snake could hardly make his way through them. when the river is at her level the ground ain't about a foot or two out of water, and when the river falls—and it mayn't fall to its level for weeks—it will just be a swamp of mud." "well, in that case," frank said, "it seems to me that our only chance is to repair the boat." "that's just my idea, young fellow. there is a big- gish hole on each side, the ribs are smashed in, and a lot of damage is done, but we could make a shift to mend it if we could get her ashore; but there ain't no shore to get her to, that's the mischief of it; beside, here we are stuck, and if we were to cut away the tree to loose her she would go straight to the bottom." "yes, we mustn't cut her loose before we are along- side something. my idea is that if we first of all cut off all the boughs that are above us, close to the trunk, that will make a good deal of difference in the weight, and we should float higher. then, with hatchet and saw, we must get rid of those below, taking a rope first to the trees and hauling her closer and closer alongside them as we get rid of the weight, till at last there is only the trunk and these two great arms that have nipped her. i think that way we might get alongside the trees." "i reckon we might, lad. yes, i don't see much difficulty about that. and what shall we do when we get there?" captain ba yley ' heir. "i should get under a big tree, like that one over there, with that great arm stretching over the stream. we've got plenty of ropes, and i should fasten them from ker bow and stern, and from her thwarts, tight to that arm overhead. when i got her fixed, i would chop away one of these arms that grip her, and let her float free. we have no tackle that would be of any use in hoisting her, but if we take the plug out of her bottom, she will empty as the river sinks, and hang there. once she is in the air there will be no difficulty in patching her up." "that's a capital idee, young fellow," hiram ex- claimed, giving frank a mighty ^pat on the shoulder. "i do believe it is to be done that way. i tell you, i did not see my way out of this fix nohow, but you have hit upon it, by gosh! here, you darkies, get them axes and saws out of the cabin, and clear away this forest." an hour's work cleared away all the wood above water. the sun was by this time well above the trees; tne negroes woke up to life and cheerfulness in its warmth, and worked vigorously. "before we do anything more," frank said, "i will swim with a light line to that tree, and then haul the tow-rope after me, and make it fast to it; it is possible that when we cut away some of the other boughs the whole affair may turn over and sink, but if the tow-rope is fast we may be able to drag it alongside.'' when the rope was attached to the tree, they proceeded with their work. the two great arms were chopped through just beyond the point at which the boat was wedged, thus getting rid of the whole of the upper part of the tree. "she's free now," hiram said. "stand in the middle of the boat, you boys; i can feel that a very little would sway her over now." w capt. b. h. frank renders good service during a flood on the mississippl.–page ro. oaptaw ba yley's hbib. ill the bow sank some inches, and fully half the boat was submerged. "now, you and i will get out at this end of the trunk, lad, and tow her in, stern foremost." they got within ten yards of the tree before she again stuck, and it took them some hours' work to cut away the branch which projected under water; but at last this was done and the boat was placed in position under the arm of the great tree they had pitched upon, and a num- ber of ropes fastened firmly to the arm. "now we will have some dinner," hiram said; "and while pete is cooking it we will get ashore with the saw and cut the heads off of some of these small trees, and fasten them to this trunk, so as to make a sort of raft that we can put all these tubs on. the ropes would never hold her with her cargo on board. i reckon some of the sugar is spoiled; but the boss always has good casks, and maybe there ain't much damage done. the rum is right enough, and i reckon there won't be much spoiled except them bales of calico." they worked hard, but it was late in the evening before the raft was formed and the cargo all shifted on to it. "now, we will just chop off this arm and free her," hiram said, "and then we can stretch ourselves out for the night. we have done a tidy day's work, i reckon, and have arned our sleep." the arm was chopped through, and the boat was freed from the tree which had, in the first place, so nearly destroyed it, but which, in the end, had proved their means of safety. the raft was fastened alongside by a rope, and the negroes betook themselves to it for the night, while the two white men, as before, lay down to sleep on the cabin-top. captain bayley's heir. chaptee vm. starting for the west. the next morning they found, to their satisfaction, that the river had sunk nearly a foot. the boat had risen considerably when the cargo had been removed the evening before, and the ropes overhead had been propor- tionately tightened so that she now hung so high that the rents were well out of water, and they were able at once to set about the work of repair. there were tools on board, for during their prolonged trips it was often necessary to execute repairs of one kind or other. the flooring-boards were utilized for the repairs, and by evening the holes were closed effectually. the next day the work was strengthened by additional ribs and stringers, a coat of pitch was put on outside and in, and hiram pronounced the work complete. from time to time the ropes had been loosened as the river continued to fall, although less rapidly, and it was thought well not to put too great a strain upon them. the next morning the plug was again driven into the bottom of the boat, and they set to work to pump and bale her out, and then shifted the cargo back again from the raft." this was not a long job, and at night, after a great washing-up of the cabins, to get rid of the mud that had been left there, they had the satisfaction of tak- ing possession of their old quarters. "well, lad/' hiram said, when they lighted their pipes after supper, "i never thought we were coming so captain bayley's heir. well out of that job. with plenty of rice and sugar, not to speak of rum, on board, i didn't expect we war going to starve, but i thought we might have been weeks and weeks—ay, months, maybe—before any one came along, and the thought as came into my mind was as we should have to make a raft and pole along till we got out into the river again. however, here we are, with the boat not much the worse, and everything on board ready for a start in the morning; and it's thanks to you as we have done it, for i am free to say as i don't think as i should have hit on this plan as we have carried out. you a?e a good mate to work with, lad, and no mistake. i don't wish never to get a better. it's a pity ye don't mean to stick to it for good, for i can swar that you would make one of the best hands on the mississippi, in time. the journey down the river was continued next morn- ing. at the first place they stopped at they heard reports of widespread damage, of great tracts submerged, and of danger to life; the river was still at full flood, although it had fallen two feet from its highest level, and the next ten days were spent in rescuing the unfortunate people from the tops of the houses, trees, and patches of rising ground on which they had taken refuge. then, having done all they were able, and the river having now fallen nearly to its average level, they continued their voyage down to new orleans. hiram, in his report of the voyage to his employer, spoke in high terms of frank's conduct, and ascribed to his quickness of invention their escape from what seemed likely to be an almost endless detention. "but i am afraid he has made his last v'yage with me," he said; "he is talking of striking out across the plains to californy. there was a good talk of gold thar before we started; and last night, after we came in, and went in captain ba ylet 'b heir. for a drink and to hear the news, there didn't seem nothing else to talk about. the young chap was asking all sorts of questions, and i expect he's off; and i don't know as i blames him. he's the sort of fellow to get on. he has plenty of grit; he's strong and active now, and in a couple of years he will widen out and make a very big man. he's had a first-rate edication—he don't talk about it, but one would be blind not to see that—he will make his way wherever he goes, and i don't blame him for striking out from the river. he likes the river, too; but it ain't the place for making a fortin, unless you've got money at your back, as you have, boss. but i don't know if he had money, and could go into steamers and such like, that he would stick to it. "i don't know nowt of his history, but i think things must have gone hard with him somehow, and he came out here for excitement more than for making money. but there's nothing reckless about him; he don't drink, and he don't gamble, and it says a lot for a young fellow in new orleans that he don't do one or the other. and he can fight, he can; there ain't no doubt about that. why, i saw him give the biggest kind of thrashing to the bully of a lumber camp, where we moored up along- side one night, as ever you seed. the chap was big enough to eat him, but he didn't have no kind of show. the young un just hit him where he liked, and in five minutes that chap's face was a thing to see, and the lad never got so much as a scratch. i wouldn't have thought as a man could have used his hands like that if i hadn't been thar. i shall be right-down sorry to lose him." "i knew well-nigh when i took him on that he was not likely to stay, hiram; he said as much. he wanted to get to know something about the ways of the country before he decided upon anything. if all young fellows captain ba yley 's heil would do as he did, go to work for a few months, instead of loafing about spending their money, and getting into bad ways, and among bad fellows, it would be better for them; he has only drawn a few dollars for his expenses —when he was down the last time—since he came to work, so he has got a good sum due to him. i will have a talk with him myself. there are a good many partiea starting from here and taking the santa fe route; but, taking them all in all, i don't think i should recommend him to hang on to one of them." "no, i should guess they would be a pretty hard lot who would go out from here—gamblers, and horse- thieves, and runaway sailors, and mexican fighters—nei- ther good to travel with or good to work with; he had better go up and strike from st. louis." "he had better go higher still, hiram; there's a northern route, and i hear a lot of the western men are making across that. however, i will talk to him." that afternoon frank went into mr. willcox's little office. "hiram has been speaking in very high terms of you, and i find that i am indebted to you for the saving of the boat, with what cargo she had on board, which hiram said he had altogether given up as lost. you seem to have been in a position of very great danger, and to have had an extraordinary narrow escape of your lives. how- ever, i can understand that you are not content to settle down for life on the mississippi, but i can tell you that with enterprise, judgment, and steadiness there is fort- une to be made here still. i am not surprised that the gold-seeking mania has got hold of you." "it is not so much, sir, the gold-seeking mania as the excitement attending it. i don't think i particularly care about making money, but i do want the excitement captain ba yley's heir. of such a life. i have come out for that, and not, as it is generally called, to make my fortune. the course of my life at home has been upset by circumstances into which i need not enter, and, at any rate for a time, i want action, and excitement. after that, perhaps, i may think of settling down, and what is called making my way." "i can understand your feeling, lad, and will not try to persuade you to stop at this business. and now, what route are you thinking of taking across the continent?" "i was thinking of joining a party going direct from here across to santa fe." "i don't think that will be a good plan, lad. the car- avans from here are composed, for the most part, of very hard characters, the sort of men who would shoot you for your horse if they took a fancy to it; i would by no means advise you to ally yourself with such men. i can, i think, put you in the way of a better plan than that. i find that a great number of caravans from the west are going by a northern route which crosses the missouri at a point called omaha. i have been thinking that this will become an important place, and have made up my mind to freight four or five flats with flour, bacon, and other goods of all sorts, and a frame store, and go up to there and open a business. i shall want a handy man with me at first; i shall take up a storekeeper to leave there in charge, but at first he will want help. if you like to go up in charge of one of the scows, and to stay to help put up the store and set things running, i will give you a hundred dollars, and you can have your passage up for your horse, which i should advise you to buy here. you will get one that will carry you, though of course not much to look at, for about fifty dollars; i know several horse-dealers here, and will get one for' captain ba yley's heir. mr. willcox's house was situated two miles out of the city. it was a large building, with a veranda running round it, and standing in well-kept and handsome grounds; three or four negroes ran out as the carriage drove up. "sam, take this gentleman's portmanteau upstairs, and get a bath ready for him at once, and lay out a suit of white clothes for him. "we always have a bath before dinner in this coun- try, "he said to frank; "one wants to get rid of the dust of the day. dinner will be ready in half an hour." after enjoying a luxurious bath, and attiring himself in a suit of snowy-white gear, frank descended to the dining-room. mr. willcox was a widower, without children, and they therefore dined alone. as they were sitting over their wine after dinner in the veranda, frank's host said, "i did not wish to be inquisitive, but if you don't mind telling me, i should like to know why a young fellow like yourself should embark upon a life of adventurr." frank had met with such kindness from his employer, that he frankly told him the whole history of the events which had driven him from england. "it is a singular story," the trader said, "and i own that appearances were against you. of course i don't know him, and maybe misjudge him altogether, but the only person who appears to me to have had any interest whatever in getting you into disgrace, and causing you to leave the country, is your cousin." "fred barkley!" frank exclaimed, in surprise; "i can assure you such an idea never entered my mind; he is not at all a bad fellow, though certainly he is not pop- ular at school.'' "i should prefer taking the general verdict of the captain bay ley's heir. occurred to you at first, you would only have injured yourself by stating it, for it would have been regarded as a hideous aggravation of your crime to bring such a charge against your cousin unsupported by a shadow of proof. no; now you have taken your line you must go through with it, and trust to time to right you. it is a suspicion only, but you mark my words, if the mystery is ever solved it will be found that your cousin was at the bottom of it." frank spent a very pleasant week at the charming resi- dence of mr. willcox. the latter entertained a good deal, and frank met at his house several of the leading merchants of new orleans, and acquired a good deal of knowledge of the state of the country. most of them were incredulous as to the stories of the abundance of gold in california. that gold had been discovered they did not deny; but they were of opinion that the find would be an isolated one, and that ruin would fall upon the crowds who were hastening either across the con- tinent, or by ship via paaama, to the new eldorado. several of them tried to dissuade frank from his inten- tion of going thither, and more than one offered to place him in their counting-houses, or to procure him employ- ment of other kind. frank, however, was firm, for he was going, not for the sake of making money, but of finding adventure and excitement. he went down every day to the wharf and superintended the loading of the scows, and at the end of ten days he resumed his boatman's clothes and took his place on one of the scows. hiram accompanied him, with eight negroes, two for each flat. a tug took them in tow, and they started up the river. mr. willcox was to follow by a steamer next day, and would arrive at omaha some time before them, and have time to choose captain ba yley's heir. and buy a lot of land for his store, and to have all in readiness for their arrival. frank had purchased a btrong, serviceable horse for his own riding, and a pony for his baggage, together with blankets and other neces- saries for the journey. his mining outfit he decided to get at sacramento, as, although the cost would be con- siderable, he did not wish to encumber himself with it on his journey across the plains. the rifle and revolver had been presented him by mr. willcox, and he deter- mined to practice steadily with both on his voyage up the river, as his life might depend on his proficiency with his weapons. the voyage up the mississippi and missouri was per- formed without any notable adventure, although in the little known waters of the upper river the tug ran several times aground. those on board the flats had but little to do,their duties being confined to pumping out the water when there was any leakage; and the negroes had been taken up more for the purpose of unloading the cargo, carrying it to its destination, and putting up the store, than for any service they could render on the voyage. frank, who had laid in a large store of ammunition for the purpose, amused himself by practicing with his pistol at a bottle towed behind the scow, or with his rifle at floating objects in the stream, in feeding and taking care of his horses, and in listening to many yarns from hiram. "i can tell you, lad," the latter said one day, when, after passing st. louis, they had entered the waters of the. missouri, "thar have been changes on this river since i was a youngster. i was raised at st. louis, which was not more than a frontier town in those days, and most of the work lay below; here and there was a farm on the missouri, but they got thinner as they got higher up, and long before we got to where we are going captain bayley's heir. it was all indian country. i used to go up sometimes with traders, but i never liked the job; first i didn't like selling 'fire-water,' as they called it, to the indians, for it made them mad, and brought on quarrels and wars; in the next place, it was a dangerous business. the indians used to meet the traders at some place they had appointed beforehand, and there would be big feastings; sometimes the traders would come back with the boat loaded up with buffalo robes and skins, and indian blankets, and such like; once or twice they didn't come back at all, and it was just a mercy that i didn't stay behind with them on one of the trips. "i went up with a trading party to a place somewhere near this omaha; we had three boats, with six voyagers in each. i was about twenty-five then, and was steers- man of one of them. there were four traders; they were in my boat, and they played cards and drank all the way up. one of the boats was a flat—not a fiat like this, but just a big flat-bottomed boat, for they were going, as i understood, to get some good horses from the indians and take them down to st. louis. we had pretty hard work getting her along, and a weak crew would never have got her against the stream, though of course we chose a time when the river was low and there wasn't much stream on. sometimes we rowed, sometimes we poled, keeping along the shallows and back waters; and, though the pay was good, i wasn't sorry when we got to the place appointed; not only because the work was hard, but because i didn't like the ways of them traders, with their gambling, and drinking, and quarreling. how- ever, they gave up drink the last day, and were sober enough when they landed. "i don't know why, but i didn't think things were going to turn out well. i had heard the traders say as captain ba yley's heir. {j it was some trouble about the quality of the goods, and that the indians got a notion they were being cheated, which, sure enough, they war." "was anything done to punish the indians, hiram?" "lor' bless you, who was to punish them? "why, there was scarce a settler then west of the mississippi. no; if traders went among 'em they went among 'em at thar own risk; and, i am bound to say, that if the indians were treated fair, and the men understood thar ways, thar was no great danger. the indians knew if they killed traders that others wouldn't come among them, and they wanted goods—guns and powder most of all, but other things too, such as blankets, and cloth as they calls cotton, and hatchets, beads, and other things, and they wanted to trade off thar hosses and buffalo robes, and skins of all kinds. that was the protection the traders had; and it warn't very often the indians fell foul of them, except it might be a muss got up over the fire-water. "when the news came down to st. louis there was a good deal of talk about it; but it got about that these fellows had been taking up trash, and the general verdict was that it sarved 'em right. all the traders on the frontier set their faces agin men who cheated the indians, not because they cared for the indians, mark you, but because anything that made bad blood did harm to the trade all over. however, it gave me a bad scare, and it was a good many years before i came up the upper mis- souri again. there's some men as seems to me to be downright fond of fighting; but i don't feel like that, anyway. if i get into a hard corner, and have got to fight, then i fights, but i had rather go round the other way if i could. thar are dangers enough on this river for me; what with snags, and shoals, and storms, they captain ba yley's heir. are enough for any reasonable man. then there are the river pirates; they are worse than all, though it's some years since we had much trouble with 'em." "kiver pirates, hiram? i have not heard you say anything about them before. i did not know there were any pirates on these rivers." "thar used to be, lad, years back, lots of them, and a pretty lively time we used to have on the river." "but what sort of pirates, hiram?" "well, thar war two sorts, you see, at that time. twenty-five years ago the settlements on the river war a long way apart. you might go fifty miles without seeing a village when you once got past the plantations on the lower river; you may say as this region then was like what kansas is now. chaps who had made it too hot for them in the east came out here, and just had to wrestle round for a living. new orleans is pretty bad now, but it was a sight worse then; and st. louis was a pretty hard place. then, too, thar war runaway slaves. so you see, one way or the other, a fellow who wanted to get together a band up to any mischief had not to look far for men. "well, as i said, thar war two sorts. thar war the men who lived away from the river, say in the low coun- try between the arkansas and the main stream, which was then pretty nigh all swamp and forest; perhaps they had hosses, perhaps not, but mostly they had. well, one fine morning a dozen of them would ride into one of the villages on the river. thar wasn't much to take thar, you know, onless it war fever, and they had enough of that in thar own swamps. they would wait, maybe, for a day or two, till a boat came in, and as soon as it had made fast they would cover the men with thar rifles, and just empty it of all it had got—powder, blankets, captain bayley's heir. groceries, and dry goods, and what not—and make off again. i got my cargo lifted, i should say, a dozen times that way. it war onpleasant, but thar was nothing for it; and it warn't no use making a fuss when you saw half a dozen rifles pinted at you. why, in the early days of steamers, more than once they got held up, and the fellows went through the passengers and cargo and took what they fancied. "well, that was one sort of pirate. the other was what you may call the regular water pirate. they lived on the islands, in among the back waters, or wherever thar might be a patch of raised ground among the swamps, and had boats; and they would attack you at night as you war dropping down the stream or poling up the backs. they war wuss nor the others. a sight more nor half of 'em war blacks; and good reason why, for the fevers carried off the whites as joined them be- fore they had been thar long. they was a powerful bad lot, and those who fell into thar hands hadn't much chance of thar lives. the runaway slaves war down on a white man, and he had no marcy to expect at thar hands; beside, they didn't want no tales told which might scare boats from going near the places where they war hiding. so in general they fust emptied the boats, and then scut- tled and sunk them, and cut the throats of all on board. hundreds of boats war missed in those days, and none ever knew for sartin what had become of them. "i tell you one had to keep one's eyes open in those days. we had strong crews, and every man was armed, and a pretty sharp lookout was kept; but for all that thar was places, back-waters, and cuts, and such like, whar i wouldn't have been stuck in after dark, not for all the money in orleans. even in the open river no one was safe from 'em, for they got so bold they would go out, captain ba ylby's heir four or five .boat-loads, and attack in broad daylight; things got so bad that no one dared go up or down, un- less it was ten or twelve boats together for protection. it war the steamers as broke 'em up; thar ain't no stop- ping a steamer, and everyone took to being towed up or down. then the population increased, and regular ex- peditions war got up to hunt 'em down. altogether it got made too hot for 'em, and the game didn't pay; but for some years, i can tell you, they war a terror to the river.'' "and were you never attacked, hiram?" "i was chased several times," hiram said; "but i had a fast boat and a good crew, and we generally had four white men on board then, and plenty of arms. - yes, we had some skirmishes, but it was only once i had a regu- lar set-to with 'em, and that war a pretty bad job." "how was it, hiram?" "well, you see, the river was pretty full, and the wind had been light for some time, and there warn't no way of making against the main stream; i had waited for three weeks, and me and my mates got sick of it. we had a cargo which was due up the river, and we made up our minds at last that we would push on and take our chance. we had eight negroes, all strong active fellows, armed with cutlasses and old ship muskets, and we four whites had rifles and pistols. we allowed we could make a good fight of it, so we agreed as we would go up the back-waters, so managing as to be able to get out into the stream every night and anchor thar. we shifted the cargo a bit, so as to pile it up round the sides, stowing the rice-bags so as to make a sort of breastwork; then off we started. > "for some days we got along well, the blacks poled thar best, and every evening we just hit a pint where we captain bayley's heir. could go out into the stream agin. two or three times we fancied we war watched, for we heard the snapping of twigs, and sounds in the thick swamp jungle ahead; but i reckon they thowt better of it when they saw two rifle- barrels peeping out from the sacks on each side, and saw we war ready for a tussle. but one day—it wasn't very far from the pint where we mended up that boat the other day—we war later than usual; the stream war stronger than we reckoned on, we had run aground two or three times on the mud, and it war getting dark, and we had two miles yet before we got to a place where we could get out into the river. the blacks war working thar hardest; it didn't need no words from us to keep 'em at it, for they knew as well as we did what was the danger, and the boat just flew along that narrow channel. "we war on the watch, with our eyes fixed on the bank, and our ears pretty wide open to catch any sound ahead. all of a sudden a gun was fired close alongside. the blacks gave a yell, and would have jumped down into shelter, only i shouted, 'stick to your poles, men, if you lose them we are done for; there's no danger, it's only one man.' so on we went again, for, luckily, no one was hit. 'that's a signal, bill,' says i to one of my mates. 'i reckon we shall have trouble afore we are out of this.' on we went, flying between the bushes, which warn't fifteen yards apart. not a sound was heard but the panting of the blacks, the splash of their poles in the water, and a sort of sighing noise behind, as the ripples the boat made as she glided along rustled among the boughs which dipped down into the stream. "we had got a mile further when we heard a noise. it was much as a pole might make knocked against the side of the boat. i knew thar was mischief now. 'get in your poles, lads,' i said; 'four of you get out oars -vaptain ba yley's heir. through the holes we have left for them atween the bags, and put your muskets close at hand; the other four get your muskets, and station yourselves two on each side.' "we went on slowly now; we knew they war ahead of us, and that hurrying wouldn't do no good, and that we had got to fight anyhow. it might have been five minutes when thar was a flash from the bushes on either side—- which we could scarce see in the darkness, and fully a dozen muskets poured a volley into us, buckshot and ball, as we found on looking over the boat the next morning. it was a good job as we put them rice-bags in place, for i reckon thar wouldn't have been many of us up to fight- ing if they hadn't been thar. we had agreed not to fire back if we war fired at from the wood, for they couldn't do us much harm thar, and it was best to keep our fire for the boats which they war sure to have as well. "the moment the volley was fired two boats shot out, one from each side. 'now, give it 'em,' says i. up we jumped, four on each side, and poured our fire into the boats, which warn't twelve feet away. the darkies who war rowing had been told what to do, and, to do 'em justice, they did it well. thar was a yell from the boats as we fired, for i reckon every shot told; but the way they had got brought 'em on, and their bows struck us just at the same moment. then at it we went with our pistols as they crowded forward and tried to get on board. it was over in half a minute, for the four blacks had seized their poles, and, shoving them into the boats, two on each side, pushed 'em off. "i have heard pretty tall language on the mississippi, but i never heard such volleys of cussing as came up from them boats; some of the men blazed away with thar guns, some shouted to others to row alongside, some who war hit yelled and cussed like fiends; and all this time captain ba yley's heir. we war lying behind the bags, ramming down fresh charges for the bare life. we gave 'em eight more shots before they could cast off the poles and come at us again. this time they came along more on the broadside, and five or six of 'em sprang on board; but we war ready with the butts of our rifles, and the blacks with thar cut- lasses, and we cleared them off again. the four darkies had stuck to thar poles; one boat was shoved off, and one of the blacks run his pole right through the bottom of the other, and in a minute she went down. "the other boat didn't know what had happened, and came up again; but leaivng two of the blacks to chop down any of the fellows in the water who might try to climb aboard, the other ten of us stood up and fought ''em fair. our blood was up now, and our darkies fought like demons. the pirates soon found they had the worst of it, and would have got apart from us if they could; but we jumped into thar boat and fought them thar, and they soon jumped over and made for the bank. directly it was over they began to fire agin from the shore, and we jumped back into shelter agin in our own boat and manned the four oars agin. we fastened the painter of the boat on to our stern, and towed her behind us, and in another half an hour were out in the stream. it was a toughish fight, i can tell you, while it lasted; two of the blacks and one of my mates had been hit by thar musket-balls, and the rest of us war either gashed by thar knives or had got ugly cracks. however, six of them war lying in the boat when we hauled it alongside; two war stone dead, the other four had been stunned with the butt ends of the muskets or cut down by the darkies' sabers. we took 'em down to the next place and handed 'em over to the sheriff; and as thar happened to be a lot of boats waiting thar for the wind, you may guess it warn't many hours afore they tried and hung 'em. captain ba yley's iieir. "when the chaps heard the particulars, and that we had sunk one boat, besides bringing off another, they guessed as likely enough the pirates war trapped thar; and so they got up a regular expedition, six boats, each with a dozen men. i went back to show 'em the place. they brought dogs with them, and hunted through the woods and swamps till they came to the patch of higher ground whar the pirates had got thar huts. thar were about twenty of 'em, mostly negroes, and they fought hard, for thar was no escape, the boat having drifted away after it had sunk. behind thar war some widish channels, and some of the boats had gone round thar to cut 'em off if they took to swimming. they war killed, every man jack, and that put an end to one of the very worst lots of pirates we ever had on the river." "you were lucky to have got out of it so well, hiram. i suppose that sort of thing is quite over now." "yes. in course thar are water thieves still, chaps who steal things from the boats if thar is no one with 'em, or if you are all asleep below; but thar haven't been no real pirates for years now—leastways not above new orleans. down in the great swamps, by the mouth of the river, thar's always gangs of runaway slaves, and desperate characters of all sorts, who have got to live somehow. thar are still boats sometimes missing up the river, which may have been snagged and gone down with all hands, and which maybe have come to thar end some other way. anyhow, no one thinks much about pirates now, and the river's quite as safe as the streets of new or- leans. that mayn't be saying much,perhaps,but it's good enough. of course a party might any day take to the swamp and stop up-passing boats, just as they might take to the roads and stop wagons going wost; but one doesn't trouble about things onless they get so as to be what you might call a general danger. captain ba yley's heir. "you can't go into a barroom without a risk of getting into a fight with a drunken rowdy; you can't stop at one of these landing-places but what thar's a chance of get- ting into a mess with fellows who come in from the backs for a spree, and one doesn't look to have these rivers which, one and the other, are tens of thousands of miles long, just kept as free from hard characters as a street in boston. it's as good as wo fan look for at present. set- tlement is going on wonderful fast, and, like enough, in another forty years there won't be any more pirates on the great rivers here than thar are on the seas. steam and settlements is bound to wipe 'em out at last." during the last two or three hundred miles of the jour- ney up the missouri a few settlements only were passed, little villages nestling closely together on the edge of the river, surrounded often by a stockade; for although the indians were gradually falling back before the advance of the whites, indian wars were of frequent occurrence, and then the bands of wild horsemen swept down to the missouri, carrying fire and destruction in their course. in front of every settlement lay a scow or two, used partly for the transportation of the crops, but valuable also as an ark of refuge in case of attack. the shores were low, and shallows and banks abounded in the stream, and sometimes the tug ran aground four or five times in the course of the day. in spite of his practice with his fire- arms, and hiram's talk and stories, frank began to find the days pass very slowly, and was not a little glad when hiram pointed out a cluster of huts on the left bank, and said, "there is omaha." half an hour later the tug was alongside, and mr. will- eox was on board. "i am glad to see you up," he said, as the flats were moored to the bank, and frank stepped ashore and joined captain ba yley's heir. him. "the time has gone slowly here; for though i btayed four days at st. louis, i have been here nearly a week. there is lots to do, and i am greatly pleased that i went in for it. i wish you could have made up your mind to settle here; you would have made a precious deal better thing of it than you ever will do by digging for gold. however, i know it's no use talking about that. i have got a capital location on the main street; i bought it off a fool who came up in the steamboat with me, and had made up his mind to sell out and cross the plains. i had an offer for it yesterday at five times the price i gave for it; but, bless you, i wouldn't have taken twenty times. this is going to be a big place. i am glad you have come for another reason. i am putting up at one of the shanties they call an hotel, but one might as well try to live in the tower of babel. there is an uproar day and night; every inch of the floor is taken up for sleeping on, and i have been nearly driven out of my mind. now i can live on board the tug till she goes down with the empty flats. i am glad i brought up those eight negroes, for there would be the greatest difficulty in hiring hands here; everyone seems to have gone stark mad, and to consider every hour's delay in pushing west as so much loss of a chance of making a fortune." for the next fortnight the labor was incessant. hiram, frank, and the eight negroes toiled in landing the stores and the framework of the house, and in trans- porting them to the lot which mr. willcox had pur- chased. even the engineers of the tug were induced by the high payment mr. willcox offered to aid in the work. several stretchers, or hand-barrows, had been brought up with them, and on these such bales and boxes as were too heavy for one man to carry were transported. the captain ba yley's heir. but be careful, lad, and don't get into no fights if you can keep out of 'ein." frank remained for another fortnight assisting in the store; by the end of that time things had settled down. they were already doing a very large business, and mr. willcox had sent down orders, both to st. louis and new orleans, for fresh consignments of stores very greatly exceeding those which he had brought up with him. three months previously omaha had been a tiny set- tlement of a dozen houses, but was rapidly growing into a considerable place. many stores were rising, but the distance from the inhabited settlements, and the difficulties of carriage, were enormous. the population was, for the most part, a floating one, scores of wagons and vehicles of all sorts arriving every day, while as many departed. this was the last point of civilization, and here the emigrants generally halted for a few days to rest their weary cattle, and to fill up their stores of provisions for the journey across the wilderness. all believed that a vast fortune awaited them on the other side of the continent, and the most fabulous tales of the abundance of gold were circulated and believed. in some cases the parties consisted only of men who had clubbed together and purchased a wagon, and started, leaving their wives and families behind them. in others they were composed of whole families, who had sold off farms or businesses in the east in the assurance of acquir- ing a fortune at the gold-diggings. around the little settlement the plain was dotted with the white tilts of the wagons, mingled with the tents which had been extem- porized of sail-cloth, tarpaulins, and blankets, captain bayley's heim. ohaptee ix- on the plains. '"i think now that you can spare me, mr. willcox," frank said, just a month after the day of landing. "the store has got into swing now; the two negroes know their work well, and everything is going on smoothly; therefore, if you have no objection, i shall see about making a start." "i shall be sorry to lose you," mr. willcox said; "but, as you say, the place will run itself now. i shall go down by the next steamer, and send up two more storekeepers and a clerk from my office there. this is going to be a big thing. well, lad, here's the money you gave me to take care of, and the two hundred dollars due to you. i will give orders to simpson that you are to take everything you can requiro for your journey from the store, and mind don't stint yourself; you have done right-down good service here, and i feel very much in- debted to you for the way you have stuck to me at this pinch. i wish you every luck, lad, and i hope some day that rascally affair at home will be cleared up, and that you can go back again cleared of that ugly charge. any- how, it is well for you to make your way out here. it will be a satisfaction for you, if you do go back, to have shown that you were dependent on no one, but that you could fight your own way, and make your living by the aid of your own hands and> your own brain. and now look here, if at any time you get sick of gold-digging, as captain bayley's heir. you very well may, and want to turn your hand to any- thing else—and in a country like that, mind you, with a population pouring in from all parts, there will be big opportunities—if you want capital to start you, just you send a letter to david willcox, new orleans, and tell me you have drawn on me for five thousand dollars. i am a rich man, lad, and have no children of my own; i have some nephews and nieces who will get my monej' some day, but i can do what i like with it, and you will be heartily welcome to the sum i mention. i have taken a fancy to you, and it will be a real pleasure to me to help you. if you do well you can some day send the money back, if you like; if you don't do well, there's an end of it. don't let it trouble you for a moment, for it cer- tainly won't trouble me, and be sure you don't hesitate to draw it when you want it. eemember, i shan't re- gard it as an obligation, but it will be a real genuine pleasure to me to cash that order." frank thanked mr. willcox very heartily for his kind offer, of which he promised to avail himself should an opportunity arise, and in any case to write to him occa- sionally to tell him how he was getting on. then he strolled out to examine the great gathering round the settlement, which hitherto he had had no time to do, hav- ing been at work from daybreak until late at night. as he wandered among the motley throng of emigrants, he was struck with the hopefulness which everywhere pre- vailed, and could not but feel that many of them were doomed to disappointment. many of them were store- keepers, men who had never done a day's work in their life; some were aged men, incumbered with wives and large families, and frank wondered how these would ever survive the terrible journey across the plains, even if they escaped all molestation from the marauding in- capt ai n bayley's heir. dians. he paused for a moment near four men who were seated round a fire cooking their meals. all were sturdy, sunburned men, who looked inured to hardship and work. the fact that all were animated by a common impulse rendered every one friendly and com- municative, and frank was at once invited to sit down. "of course you are going through, young fellow?" "yes," frank said, "i am going to try." "got a horse, i suppose?" "yes," frank said, "a riding horse, and a pony for my baggage." '"we calls it swag out on the plains," one said; "we don't talk of baggage here. are you with any one?" "no," frank replied, "i am alone; but i am open to join some party. i suppose there will be no difficulty about that." "none on airth," the other answered; "the stronger the better. in course you have a rifle, beside that colt in your belt?" "yes," frank replied; ' cut i suppose all this indian talk is exaggeration, and there is not much danger from them." "don't you go to think it, young man; the injins is thar, you bet, and no jmistake, and a big grist of scalps they will take. the news of this here percession across the plains will bring them down as thick as bees on the track, and i tell you there will be some tough fights afore we get across.'' "have you had much experience of the plains?" frank asked. "we are hunters," the other said briefly, "and have been out there, more or less, since we were boys. we knows what injins is, and have fought them agin and agin; but none of us have ever made this journey, indeed captain bayley's heir. there wara't five men who had ever crossed the rockies by the northern track afore the gold scare began. but i know enough of the country to know as it will be a fear- ful journey, and full half of these people as you see fool- ing about here as if they were out for a summer excursion will leave their bones by the way." "you don't really think things are as bad as that," frank said. "i does," the other replied emphatically. "what with injins, and want of food and water, and fatigue, and the journey across the plains, it will want all a man to make the journey. we four means to get through, and are bound to do it; but as for this crowd you see here, god help them!" "do you mean to go with one of the caravans, or start , alone?" "there is a lot going on to-morrow, and we shall join them. we may be of some use, for the best part of them are no better than a flock of sheep, and four good hands may keep them out of some mischief; but i expect we shall have to push on by ourselves before the journey is over." "i am intending to go on to-morrow also," frank said, "and i hope you won't mind giving me some in- structions in the ways of the wilderness, which are, i own, altogether new to me.'' "all right, young fellow; we shall see you on the road, and if you likes to chum up with us you may, for i likes yer looks, and you seems to be one of the right sort." frank said that he would gladly chum with them if they would allow him, and the next morning, at daybreak, having said adieu to mr. willcox, he saddled his horse and loaded up his pony, and moved across to the captain ba yley's heir. spot where his new acquaintances were encamped. they were preparing for a start. all had good riding horses, while two baggage animals carried the provisions for the party. the caravan which they intended to accompany was already far out on the plain. "they are off in good time," frank said; "i did not think they would manage to move till midday." "no more they would," one of the hunters said; "but the chap as is bossing the team moved them off yesterday evening and got them a mile out of camp, so they were. able to start right off the first thing this morning." in a few minutes they were on horseback, and, riding at easy pace for the sake of the baggage-horses, they overtook the caravan in two hours. it consisted of four- teen wagons, and four or five light carts with tilts over them. the wagons were all drawn by oxen, having six, eight, or ten, according to their size or weight. the men walked by the side of their cattle; the greater part of the women and children trudged along behind the wagons, while a few with babies were seated within them. from time to time one of the men or boys would set up a song, and all would join in the chorus. one of these was ringing out in the air when the hunters joined them. "poor critturs!" the eldest of the hunters, who was called abe by the others, said, "they are a slight-hearted as if they war a-going to a camp meeting; they don't know what's afore them." the party rode on to the head of the wagons, where the oxen were led by the man who was regarded as the head of the party. he had at one time been a hunter, but had married and settled down on a farm. two sons, nearly grown-up, walked by his side. he had been chosen as leader by the rest as being the only one of the captain bayley's heir. party who had any previous knowledge of the plains and their dangers and difficulties. "well, mate," abe said, "i told you two days ago that i thought that we should go on with your lot, and here we are. i don't say as how we shall go all the way with you; that will depend upon circumstances; at any rate we will stay with ye for a bit. now my proposal is this; you shall hitch our three baggage-horses on behind your wagons, and tell off one of the boys to look after them; we shall hunt as we go along, and what meat there is will be for the service of the camp, but if we supply you with meat it will only be fair that you supply us with flour and tea." "that's a bargain," the man said. "you bring us in meat, and we will supply you with everything else; and i needn't tell you how glad i am to have you wioh me. five extra rifles may make all the difference if we are attacked. we have got about twenty rifles in camp; but that ain't much, as with women and children, we count up to nigh sixty souls, and none of us here except myself have had any experience of indian ways." "that's fixed, then," abe said. "at any rate you need not be afraid of a surprise so long as we are with you." the addition to their party gave great satisfaction to the whole caravan. of flour and bacon they had ample stores to last them upon their long journey, and the pros- pect of a supply of fresh meat was exceedingly welcome; still more was the thought that the hunters would be able to warn them against any surprise by the indians, and would, in case of the worst, aid them in their defense. the hunters were equally satisfied. their supplies were quite insufficient ior the journey, and they were captain bayley's heir. now free from the necessity of accommodating their pace to that of the baggage-horses. their progress would, indeed, he slower than it would have been had they jour- neyed alone, but time was a matter of no importance to them. even in the matter of indian surprises they were better off than they would have been had they been alone. in case of meeting these marauders, they must have abandoned their baggage-animals; and their pros- pects, either of flight or defense, would have been poor had they met with a large body when alone, whereas the force with the caravan could defend the wagons against even a resolute attack of the redskins. there was no occasion for the hunters to set out in the pursuit of game for the first day or two, as a supply of fresh meat had been brought from omaha. they therefore rode with the caravan, making the acquaintance of its various members. one of the women had volunteered to cook for them; and thus, when they encamped on the bank of a small stream, they had only to attend to the watering of their animals. while the meal was preparing they walked about in the camp, and gave many hints to the women as to the best way of preparing fires. these were great- fully received, for the emigrants were wholly unaccus- tomed to cooking without the usual appliances, and their efforts, in many cases, had been very clumsy and unsuc- cessful. they were surprised to find that by digging a trench in the direction from which the wind was blowing, and covering it over with sods, they could get a draught to their fire equal to that which they could obtain in a grate; while by building a low wall of sod close to lee- ward of the fire, they prevented the flames from being driven away, and concentrated them upon their pots and kettles. captain ba ylet 's heir "it does not matter for to-night," abe said to tho leader, "nor for a good many nights to come; but if i was you i should begin to-morrow to make 'em arrange the wagons in proper form, the same as if we was in the injin country. it ain't no more trouble, and there's nothing like beginning the right way." "you are right," the man said, "to-morrow night we will pitch them in good form; but for a time there will be no occasion for the cattle to be driven in every night, the longer they have to graze the]better." "that's bo," abe said "they will want all their condi- tion for the bad country further on." the following day the hunters left the camp early. there was little chance of finding game anywhere near the line which they were following, for the wild animals would have been scared away by the constantly passing caravans. after riding for ten miles they began to keep a watchful eye over the country, which, although flat to the eye, was really slightly undulating. proceeding at an easy pace, they rode on for upward of an hour. then dick, one of the hunters, suddenly drew rein. "what is it, dick?" abe asked. "i saw a horn over there to the left, or i am mis- taken, '' the hunter said. "we will see anyhow," abe said; "fortunately we are down wind now. you had better stop behind this time, young fellow, and watch us.'' in a moment the four men dismounted and threw their reins on the horses' necks—a signal which all horses on the plains know to be an order that they are not to move away—and the animals at once began cropping the grass. for a short distance the men walked forward, and then, as they neared the brow over which dick declared he had seen the horn, they went down on all fours, and finally, when close to the brow, on their stomachs. captain ba yley's heir. very slowly they drew themselves along. frank looked on with the greatest attention and interest, and presently saw them halt, while abe proceeded alone. he lifted up his head slightly, and immediately laid it down again, while the other three crawled up close to him. there was a moment's pause, then the guns were thrust forward, and each slightly raised himself. a moment later the four rifles flashed, and the men sprang to their feet and disappeared over the brow. frank rode forward at full speed to the spot, and arrived there just in time to see a number of deer dashing at full speed far across the plain, while the four hunters were gathered round three dead stags in the hollow. the hunters' shots had all told; but two had fired at the same animal, the bullet-holes being close to each other behind the shoulder. "dick was right, you see," abe said. "it was lucky he caught sight of that horn, for we might not have come upon another herd to-day. now we will make our way on to the camping-ground; we can go easy, for we shall be there long before the teams." their horses were brought up, and the deer placed upon them. the hunters then mounted, and took their way in the direction of the spot where the caravans would encamp for the night. "i understand how you find your way now, because the sun is up," frank said, "but i cannot understand how you would do it on a cloudy day, across a flat coun- try like this, without landmarks." "it's easier to do than it is to explain it," abe said. "in the first place there's the wind; it most always blows here, and one only has to keep that in a certain quarter. if there ain't no wind, there's the grass and the bushes; if you look at these bushes you will see that they most captain bayley's heir. all turn a little from the direction in which the wind generally blows, and this grass, which is in seed, droops over the same way. then, in course, there is the gen- eral direction of the valleys, and of any little streams. all of these are things one goes by at first, but it gets to come natural, what they call by instinct; one knows, somehow, which is the way to go without looking for signs. you will get to it in time, if you are long enough on the plains; but at present you watch the forms of all the bushes and the lay of the grass, 'cause you see in hunting we might get separated, and you might miss your way. if you should do so, and ain't sure of your direction, fire your gun three times, as quick as you can load it, and if we are in hearing we will fire a gun in reply and come to you; but you will soon get to know the signs of the country if you will pay attention and keep your eyes skinned." they arrived at the stream fixed upon for the camping- ground early in the afternoon. the point at which the caravans would cross it was plain enough, for the wagons all traveled by the same line, and the trail was strongly marked by the ruts of wheels where the ground was soft, by broken bushes, and trampled herbage. the saddles were taken off the -horses, and these were allowed to graze at will; those of the hunters were too well-trained to wander far, and frank's horse was certain to keep with the others. late in the afternoon the wagons arrived; it had been a long march of more than twenty miles, and men and beasts were alike tired. the women and children had, during the latter part of the journey, ridden in the wagons. there was a general feeling of satisfaction at the sight of the hunters and their spoil, and at the blaz- ing fire, over which a portion of the meat was already captain bayley's heir. roasting. the oxen were unharnessed and watered, the wagons were ranged six on each side, and two across one end, the other end being left open for convenience; across this the light carts were to be drawn at night. the deer were skinned, cut up, and divided among the various families in proportion to their numbers. for two months the caravan moved forward without adventure. the hunters kept it well provided with game, which was now very plentiful. very disquieting rumors were afloat along the road. these were brought down by the express riders who carried the mails across the plains and for whose accommodation small stations were provided, twenty or thirty miles apart; and as these were placed where water was procurable, they were gen- erally selected as camping-grounds by the emigrants. the tales of indian forays, which had at first been little more than rumors, were now confirmed. the ex- press riders reported that the indians were out in large numbers, and that many attacks had been made upon parties of emigrants, sometimes successfully, and involv- ing the massacre of every soul in them. the caravan was still some distance from the scene of these attacks i but as the indians ranged over the whole plains, it could not be said that they were beyond the risk of assaults. acting under the hunters' advice, the caravan now moved in much closer order, the wagons advancing two abreast, so that they could be formed in position for defense at the shortest notice; and the rifles were always kept loaded, and strapped on the outsides of the wagons in readiness for instant use. frank had by this time become an adept in hunting, and though still very far behind his companions in skill with the rifle, was able to make a fair contribution toward the provisioning of the camp. the hunters now divided captain ba yley's heir. into two parties, three going out in search of game on one side of the line of march, two on the other; they thus acted as scouts on either side, and would be able to bring in word should any suspicious signs be observed. several small herds of buffalo had been met with, and a sufficient number killed to provide the party with meat for some time to come. frank had never passed a more enjoyable time than those two months of travel. the air was clear, bright, and exhilarating; the long days spent in the saddle, and the excitement of the chase, seemed to quicken his pulse and to fill him with a new feeling of strength and life. his appetite was prodigious, and he enjoyed the roughly- cooked meals round the bazing fire of an evening as he had never enjoyed food before. the country was, it is true, for the most part monotonous, with its long low undulations, and the bare sweeps, unbroken by tree or bush; but there was always something new and interest- ing to be seen, for frank was fond of natural history, and the habits and ways of the wild creatures of the prairie were full of interest for him. his companions, although taciturn when on horseback and engaged in scouting the country, or in hunting, were full of anecdote as they sat round the fire of an evening, and frank heard many a story of wild adventure with the indians or in the chase. when they returned early to the camp, there was plenty of amusement in wandering about among the wagons, watching the various groups engaged at their work as unconcernedly as if they had been still in their little farms among the settlements, instead of on the plains with months of toilsome and dangerous journey before them. some of the women cooked, while others mended their clothes and those of their husbands and children, while the men attended to the oxen, or made captain ba yley's heir. such repairs as were needed to the wagons and harness. as for the children, the life suited them admiiably; to them it was a continual picnic, without school or lessons. and yet they too had their share of the work, for as soon as the wagons halted, all save the very little ones started at once over the plain to search for the dried buffalo dung, or, as it was called, chips, which formed the staple of the fires; for wood was very scarce, and that in the neighborhood of the camping-grounds, which were always at a stream or water-hole, had long since been cleared off by the travelers who had preceded them. the chips afforded excellent fuel, burning with a fierce, steady glow, and making a fire something like that afforded by well-dried peat. another source of fuel wer the bones which lay in many places, scattered pretty thickly. sometimes these marked the spot where long before a party of indians had come upon a herd of buffalo, sometimes they were remains of the cattle of car- avans which had preceded them; these were often quite fresh, the herds of coyotes stripping off the flesh of any animals that fell by the way, and leaving nothing in the course of a day or two after their death but the bare bones. whenever the caravan came upon such a skele- ton upon the line of march, the men broke it up, and flung the bones into one of the wagons for the night's fire. sometimes, as they got well on in their journey, they came to patches of soap-weed, a vegetable of soft, pulpy nature, which grows to a considerable height, and dies from the bottom, retaining its greenness of appearance long after the stem has become brown and withered; it burns freely, with a brilliant flame. the women of the party rejoiced when a clump of soap-weed was dis- covered, and it was always the occasion of a general wash, captain batley's heir. as by immersing some of it in water it had all the prop- erties of soap, except that it did not make the lather which distinguishes the real article. but in places where the soap-weed was not to be found, and chips were scarce, the hunters did their best to supply fuel, and would generally bring home large bundles of wood upon such of the horses as were not carrying game. the children's greatest delight was when the camp happened to be pitched near a prairie-dog town, and they were never weary of watching the antics of these funny little creatures. some of these towns were of consider- able extent, the ground within their circle being quite bare of herbage from their scratching, and the constant scampering of their little feet, and covered thickly with the mounds which marked the entrances to the innumer- able holes. the prairie dogs themselves were about the size of rabbits, but seemed to frank, from their quick, jerking motions, and their habit of sitting up on their hind-legs, to resemble squirrels more than any other ani- mal. they were as much interested in the travelers as the latter were with them, almost every mound having its occupant sitting up watching them inquisitively. there were four or five dogs with the caravan, and until the novelty had passed off, and they became convinced of the utter futility of the chase, the dogs exhausted themselves in their endeavors to capture the prairie dogs. these seemed to feel an absolute enjoyment in exasperating the dogs, sitting immovable until the latter were within a few yards of them, and then suddenly disappearing like a flash of lightning down their holes, popping their heads out again and resuming their position on the tops as soon as the dogs had dashed off in another direction. but the prairie dogs were not the only "occupants of the towns; with them, apparently on terms of great friend- captain ba yley's heir. ship, lived a colony of little owls, sharing their abodes, and sitting with them on their hillocks. there were also a third species of inhabitant, and the presence of these caused strict orders to be given to the children not to wander over the ground; these were rattlesnakes, of which, on a sunny afternoon, many could be seen basking on the sand-heaps. "yes, you always find the three together," abe said, in answer to frank's question, "and how such contrary things get to be friends is more nor i can tell. sartin they must eat each other, there ain't anything else for 'em to eat. the prairie dogs air a puzzle; you never see 'em any distance beyond thar towns, and yet they must live on grass and roots. the owls, no doubt, live on little prairie dogs and the rattlesnakes may sometimes eat an old one. still, there it is; they never seem afraid of each other, and no one, as far as i knows, has ever seen a prairie dog fifty yards away from his town. the rum- mest thing about them is as every town has got its well. the prairie dogs have all got their holes, and though you may see 'em going about popping in and out of each others' houses, i fancy as they always keep to their own. but there's one hole which they all use, and that goes down to the water. no matter how deep it is, they takes it down; i fancy the whole lot digs at it by turns till they get there. you will see thar towns are always on lowish ground, so that they can get down to water all the sooner; that's why they build up those mounds round each hole." "i thought it was just the earth they had thrown out* abe." "so it is, partly; but it serves to keep the water out in the wet season too. if you watch 'em you can see 'em building the earth up and patting it down hard if it gets captain bayley's heir. injins get bit sometimes, and i never heard of thar dying. tho only thing as we are regular feered of out in these plains is a little beast they call the hydrophobia cat." "i never heard of that. what is it like, abe?" "it is a pretty little beast, marked black and white, and about the size of a big weasel. it has got a way of coming and biting you when you are asleep, and when it does it is sartin death; thar ain't no cure for it; the best plan is to put your colt to your head and finish it at once." "what horrible little beasts!" frank said; "i hope they are not common." "no, they ain't common, and there's more danger from them down south; if you sleeps in an old mexican hut that's been deserted, or places of that sort, it's best to look sharp round afore you goes to sleep." the game most commonly met with were the black- tailed and white-tailed deer. these were generally met with in parties of from six to twelve, and were usually stalked, although sometimes, by dividing and taking a wide circle, they could manage to ride them down and get within shot. this could seldom be done with the antelope, which ran in much larger herds, but were so suspicious and watchful that there was no getting within shot, while, once in motion, they could leave the horses behind with ease. the only way in which they could get them would be by acting upon their curiosity. one or two of the hunters would dismount, and crawl through the grass until within three or four hundred yards of the herd; then they would lie on their backs and wave their legs in the air, or wave a colored blanket, as they lay concealed in the grass. the herd would stop grazing and look on curiously, and gradually approach nearer captain bayley's heir. and nearer to investigate this strange phenomenon, until they came well within shot, when the hunters would leap to their feet and send their unerring bullets among them. "you would hardly believe, now," peter said, one day when he and frank had brought down two fine antelopes by this maneuver, "that the coyotes are just as much up to that trick as we are. they haven't got a chance with the deer when they are once moving, although sometimes they may pick up a fawn a few days old, or a stag that has got injured; but when they want deer-meat they just act the same game as we have been doing. over and over again have i seen them at their tricks; two of them will play them together. they will creep up through the grass till they can get to a spot where the antelope can see them, and then they will just act as if they were mad, rolling over on their backs, waving their legs about, twisting and rolling like balls, and playing the fool, till the antelope comes up to see what is the matter. they let them come on till they are only a few yards away, and then they are on one like a flash, before he has time to turn and get up his speed. one will catch him by a leg, and the other will get at his throat, and between them they soon pull him down. they will sham dead too. wonderful cute beasts is them coyotes; they are just about the sharpest beasts as lives." "do they live entirely upon deer?" "bless you, no; they will eat anything. they hang about behind the great buffalo herds, and eat them as drops; where there are such tens of thousands there is always some as is old or injured and can't keep up; beside, sometimes they get scared, and then they will run over a bluff and get piled up there dead by hun- dreds. the coyotes pick the bones of every beast as dies in the plains. the badgers helps them a bit; there are lots of those about in some places." captain baylmy's heir. chapter x a buffalo story. sometimes, instead of taking his rifle and accompany- ing the other hunters, frank would borrow a shotgun, and go out on foot and return with a good bag of prairie fowl, birds resembling grouse. occasionally in the canyons, or wooded valleys, far away from the track, the hunters came across the trail of wild turkeys; then two of them would camp out for the night, and search under the trees until they saw the birds perched on the boughs above them, and would bring into camp in the morning half a dozen dangling from each of their saddles. fre- quently, in their rides, they came across skunks, pretty black and white little animals. frank was about to shoot the first he saw, but peter, who was with him, shouted to him not to fire. "it's a skunk,"he said; "it ain't no use wasting your powder on that varmin. why, if you were to kill him, and went to take it up, you wouldn't be fit to go into camp for a week; you would stink that bad no one couldn't come near you. they are wuss than pizen, skunks. why, i have seen dogs sit up and howl with disgust after interfering with one of them. i don't say as they can't be eaten, cos the indians eat them; and, for the matter of that, i have ate them myself. but they* have to be killed plump dead, and then the stink-bag has to be cut out from them directly; but if you ain't hard pressed for food, i advise you to let skunks alone." captain ba yley's heir. the first time that they came across a large herd of buffalo was a day frank long remembered. he was out with the four hunters; they had just scampered to the top of one of the swells, when they simultaneously reined in their horses, for the valley—half a mile wide—in front of them was filled with a dark mass of moving animals, extending back for two or three miles. "there, frank," abe said, "there is meat for you—■ jnough ior an army for months." frank.was too surprised to speak for a time; the num- ber seemed countless. "what a wonderful sight!" he exclaimed at last. "ay, that it is, lad, to one who has never seen it afore; and to think that thar are scores of herds like that out on these plains. it's one of the mightiest sights of natur. but it's nothing to see 'em now, going along quiet, to what it is to see 'em when they are on the stampede, when the ground shakes with thar tread, and the air seems in a quiver with thar bellowing; thar don't seem nothing as could stop 'em, and thar ain't. if it's a river, they pours into it; if it's a bluff, they goes over it, and tens of thousands of them gets killed. the injins is mighty wasteful of thar flesh, but i doubt whether all the injins in the continent kills as many as kills them- selves in them wild stampedes. we will just wait where we are until they are past, and then we will drop down on 'em and cut three or four of 'em off. we will take one apiece; that will give us as much flesh as the wagons can load up, and i don't hold to taking life unless the meat's wanted. now, lad, all that you have got to do is, when you ride down just single out your beast, ride alongside of him, and empty your colt behind his shoulder. keep rather behind him, and have your horse well in hand to wheel if he twists round and charges you." captain ba yley's mete. a few minutes later the signal was given, and the five horsemen dashed down the slope. a deep bellow pro- claimed that the herd had become aware of the presence of their enemies. the leisurely pace at which they were proceeding changed instantly into a gallop on the part of those conscious of danger. the impulse was communi- cated to those in front, and in a few seconds the whole herd was tearing along like a mighty torrent. but they were too late to escape the hunters, who came down upon their rear, and each proceeded to single out an animal. following abe's instructions, frank ranged up alongside a fine bull, and opened fire with his revol- ver at a point just behind the shoulder. at the third shot the great beast swerved sharply round, and had not frank been on the alert he would have lost his seat, so sharply did the horse wheel to avoid the animal's horns. the buffalo at once resumed its course behind the herd; but frank was soon alongside again, and as he fired the last shot of his revolver had the satisfaction of seeing the great beast stagger and then fall prostrate. he at once reined in his horse and looked round. his companions were all some distance in the rear, having brought down their game with less expenditure of lead, knowing exactly the right spot where a wound would be fatal. "that's a fair lot of meat," abe said, as they gathered into a group. "that will last 'em a long time. now, if we had been injins, we should have gone on shooting and shooting till we had killed a score or more, and then taken just the best bits, and left the rest for the coyotes; but i call it downright wicked to waste meat. kill what you want—that's natural and right; but i am agin drawing a bead on an animal, whether he be buffalo or deer, or whatnot, onless you want his meat, or onless his hide be of value to you, if men acted on that thar rule captain ba yley's heir. there would be game on these plains for any time; it's willful destruction as is clearing 'em out, not fair hunting. "now we will ride off and stop the teams as they come along and bring 'em round here. it won't be so very far out of thar way. we can stop a couple of days to cut up and dry the meat. the rest will do the cattle good, and there's nothing like having a supply of dried meat; i don't say it's as toothsome as fresh, but it ain't ter be despised, and the time may come, in fact it's pretty sure to come, when we shan't be able to do much hunting round the wagons. we are getting nigh the country where we may expect to meet with injin troubles. it's just as well we met with this herd afore we got thar, for we should have been pretty sure to find a party of them hanging on the rear of the buffalo." three hours later the wagons arrived at the spot, the emigrants in high spirits at the news that such an abund- ant supply of meat had been procured. the hunters skinned and cut up the five buffaloes; the wagons were placed some fifteen yards apart, and several cords stretched tightly between them; upon these was hung the flesh, which was cut in strips some four inches wide and half an inch thick. by the end of the third a&y the whole of the meat was dried by the united action of the sun and wind. the skins had been pegged out in the sun, and some of the boys, under abe's instructions, roughly cured them, first scraping them inside, and then rubbing them with fat mixed with salt. "it's a rough way," abe said, "and the injin women would laugh to see it; they just rub and rub at them till they get them as soft and pliable as the leather they make gloves of east. still, they will keep as they are, and will do to chuck in the bottom of the wagons for the captain batley's heir. women and children to sit upon; besides, we shall find it cold at night as we get on, and a buffalo-robe ain't to be despised, even if it ain't dressed to perfection. when they dry and get stiff the boys can take another rub at 'em when we halts; it will give 'em something to do, and keep them out of mischief." "talking of buffalo," abe began, as the hunters were sitting round the fire on the evening of th« hunt, "that reminds me that it wasn't so very far from this har spot that me and eube was nearly wiped out by the tjtes some ten years ago. eube, he was a young chap then, and had not been long out on the plains. we war hunting with a party of cheyennes, and had been with them well- nigh all the summer. one day we war in pursuit of buffalo—they were plentiful then; you think they are plentiful now, but you would see ten herds then for ©very one you see now. but they are going, and i expect in another twenty years that a man might ride across the plains and never catch sight of a hump. if the gold turns out to be as rich as they say, there will be hun- dreds of thousands of people cross these plains, and, like enough, settlements be formed right across the continent. however, there war plenty of herds ten years ago. "we had come upon a big herd, and was chasing them. i had singled out an old bull, and had pushed right into the herd after him; eube, he was pretty close to me. well, i came up to the bull, and put a rifle-ball between his ribs. the herd had rather separated as we got among them, making way for us right and left as we rode after the bull. as he fell we reined in our horses, and looked round. not a cheyenne was to be seen; five minutes afore they had been hanging on the herd, sending their arrows in up to the feather among the buffalo; now not a soul was to be seen. you may guess this staggered me captain bayley's heir. and i says to eube, 'look out, eube, there's something up, as sure as fate.' "well, i had scarcely spoken afore i saw a big party of injins come charging down across our rear. 'utes,' says i, 'by thunder! they are after the cheyennes! fling yourself flat on your horse, eube, and get into the herd.' "the buffalo war only fifty yards away yet, and yer may be sure we spurred up pretty sharp till we got up to them. i seed at once it was our only chance. our horses war blowed, for we had had a sharp chase afore we caught the herd, and there was no chance of our getting away from the utes in the open plains. we soon caught up the herd, and charged in among them. the brutes were packed so close together that they could hardly make room for us; but we managed to wedge ourselves in. those next to us snuffed and roared, but they war too pressed by those behind to do much; but by shout- ing and waving our hats we managed to keep a clear space three or four yards on either side of us. all this time we war lying down on our horses' necks, and there war no fear that any one would see us in the midst of that sea of tossing cattle; but i war afraid they would have caught sight of us afore we got among 'em. i eussed myself for having fired that last shot; they must have heard it, and would have known that some of us hadn't seen them coming, and must be somewhere among the herd. "i raised my head a little at last, and took a look round. sure enough, there was a dozen utes coming up behind the herd. i puts spurs again into my horse, and, catching up an old bull in front of me, progged him with my bowie-knife, and eube did the same to the beast next to him. they gave a roar and plunged on ahead through captain bayley's heir. the mass, and we followed close to their heels. it was tight work, i can tell you, for the buffaloes on both sides war touching one another. we kept going about half a length behind the beasts next to us, so that the horses' shoulders war just behind the shoulders of the buffaloes; as you know, the buffaloes have got no necks to speak of, and so, although they gave savage thrusts with their horns, they couldn't get at the horses. our beasts were frightened near out of their lives, but they war well broken, and we managed to keep 'em in hand. "the thing i was most afraid of was that they would be knocked off their legs, and in that case we should be trampled to death in a minute. as i leaned forward i kept one hand fixed on the neck of the buffalo next me, and i shouted to rube to do the same, so as we could make a shift to jump on to the buffalo's back if our horses fell; but, i tell you, i was beginning to fear that we shouldn't see any way out of it. what with us in the middle, and the utes yelling behind them, the herd war fairly mad with fright; and there war no saying where they would go to, for, you know, a herd of buffaloes, when fairly stampeded, will go clean over a precipice a hundred yards high, and pile themselves up dead at the foot till there is not one left. it war a bad fix, you bet, for i war sure that the utes war after us, and not after the buffaloes, for they kept on, though they could soon have killed as many of the herd as they wanted. it was maybe four in the afternoon when the chase commenced, and so it went on till it was dark. the buffaloes war going nigh as fast as when we started, but the horses could scarce keep their legs; i was sure they couldn't run much longer, so i says to rube, 'we must get out of this, or else we shall be done for.' "so we sets to work a-probing the buffalo with our captain ba yley's heir. knives again. they started on ahead as hard as they could, bursting a way through the crowd. we followed close behind them, keeping up the scare until we finds ourselves in front of the herd; then we spurred our horses on, and dashed out in front. done as the horses were, they knew they had got to go, for, with the herd coming like thunder upon their heels, it was death to stop. we swerved away to the right, but it took us half an hour afore we war clear of the front of the herd. we went a few hundred yards further, and then drew rein. "kube's horse fell dead as he stopped, and mine wasn't worth much more. for half an hour we could hear the herd rushing along, and then it had passed. we had go out of our biggest fix, but it warn't a pleasant position. "there we war out on the plains, with only one horse between us, and he so done up that he couldn't put one foot afore the other. "where the cheyennes war there was no saying; the band might have been wiped out by the tjtes, or they might have got away. at any rate there was no counting on them. the utes who had followed the herd would be sure to be on our trail in the morning; they would follow all night, or as long as the herd ran. when the buffalo war fairly tired out they would lay down, and the utes would see then as we warn't there. then they would set out upon the back trail, skirting along each side of the line trampled by the herd until they came upon our trail; the dead horse was a sign as they could see a mile away, so it was clear that we must foot it as soon as we could. we gave the horse an hour's rest; and it did us as much good as him, for i can tell you we war pretty well used up. we drove him afore us until, after six hours' walk- ing, we came to a stream. we went up this for an hour, then we both filled our hunting-shirts with stones and fastened them on the horse, and then drove him off." apt aw bayley's heir. "what did you put the stones on his back for?" frank asked. "to make the utes think as he was carrying double. each of the loads was about the weight of a man, and the horse was so tired that he staggered as he walked; so aa they would see his tracks, and wouldn't see ours, they would naturally come to the conclusion as we war both on his back. it warn't likely as the critter would go far before he laid down, perhaps not more than half a mile; but that would do for us. we went back a few hundred yards in the stream, and then struck off across the prairie, the same side as we had come from, taking care to make as little sign as possible. "the utes would be riding along by the side of the stream and looking for a horse's print, and the chances war that they wouldn't see ours. when they came up to the horse and found out the trick, they would gallop back again; at least half of them would go up the stream and half would take the back track; but, you see, as they went up they would have trampled across our track, and they would find it mighty hard work to pick it up again. "we footed it all day, and the prospect warn't a pleas- ant one. the nearest settlement was nigh a thousand miles away, we had no horses, and we daren't fire a gun for fear of bringing utes down upon us. we had made up our minds to strike for the cheyennes' country, that being the nearest where we could expect to find friends. for two days we tramped on. the third day we war sitting by the side of a stream, eating a prairie dog as we had trapped, when rube stopped eating suddenly, and said, 'listeni' "i threw myself down and put my ear to the ground, and, sure enough, could hear the gallop of horses. 'injins,' says i, and chucks a lot of wet sand and gravel captain ba yley's heir. we should have made straight away instead of getting into the herd." "they don't seem to go as fast as a horse, abe. seemed to keep up quite easily with that bull i shot." "yes, for a burst a horse is faster than a buffalo, but when they once gets going on a downright stampede they will tire out any horse and go well-nigh as fast too. i tell you you have to be pretty spry, even if you are well- mounted, when a downright big herd, well on the stam- pede, comes on you. it's a terrible sight, and it makes one tingle, i can tell you, especially as the horse is pretty nigh mad with fear." "it must be as bad as a prairie fire." "worse, my lad; ever so much worse. you can see a prairie fire fifty miles away—more nor that at night, ever so much—and you have plenty of time to set the grass afire ahead of you, and clear the ground afore it comes up, though it does travel, when the wind is blowing, much faster than a horse can gallop. i have seen it go thirty miles an hour, the flames just leaping out ahead of it and setting grass alight a hundred yards before the main body of the fire came up. i tell you it is a terrible sight when the grass has just dried, and is breast-high; but, as i say, there ain't no cause to be afraid if you do but keep your head. you just pulls up a band of grass a couple of feet wide, and lights it ahead of you; the wind naturally takes it away from you, and you look sharp with blanket or leggings to beat it down, and pre- vent it working back agin the wind across the bit of ground you have stripped. as it goes it widens out right and left, and you have soon got a wide strip cleared in front of you. in course you don't go on to it as long as you can help it, not till you are drove by the other fire coming up; that gives it time to cool a bit. if you t> captain ba yley's heir. must go on soon, owing to being pressed, or from the fire you have lit working round agin the wind—as it will do if the grass is very dry—the best plan is to cut up your leggings or any bit of hide you have got with you, the rawer the better, and wrap them round your horse's feet and legs; but it ain't often necessary to do that, as it don't take long for the ashes to cool enough so as to stand on." fortunately a bottom with good grass had been found close at hand to the place where they encamped, and when the caravan proceeded the draft oxen were all the better for their two days' rest. "we shall have to begin to look out pretty sharp for injin signs," abe said, as they started early next morn- ing. "fresh meat is good, but we can do without it; there's enough pork and jerked meat in the wagons to last pretty nigh across the plains; but we are getting where we may expect injins in earnest. we might, in course, have met 'em anywhere, but as they know the caravans have all got to come across their ground, it don't stand to reason as they would take the trouble to travel very far east to meet 'em. i don't say as we won't knock down a stag, now and agin, if we comes across 'em, but the less firing the better. we have been hunt- ing up till now, but we must calculate that for the rest of the journey we are going to be hunted; and if we don't want our scalps taken, not to talk of all these women and children, we have got to look out pretty spry. i reckon we can beat them off in anything like a fair fight—that is, provided we have got time to get ready before they are on us, and it depends on us whether wa do have time or not." captain bayley's heir. ? chaptee xi. how diok lost his scalp. two or three days after they had moved from their last halting-place, when they were siting at the fire one even- ing, and abe had been telling a yarn of adventure, he said, when he had finished: "about the closest thing as i know was that adven- ture that dick thar had. dick, take off that thar wig of yourn." the hunter put his hand to his head and lifted at once his cap, made of skin, and the hair beneath it, showing, to frank's astonishment, a head without a vestige of hair, and presenting the appearance of a strange scar, mottled with a deep purple, as if it was the result of a terrible burn. "you see i have been scalped," the hunter said. "i don't suppose you noticed it—few people do. you see, i never takes off my fur cap night or day, so that no one can see as i wears a wig." "there's naught to be ashamed of in it," abe said, "for it is as honorable a scalp as ever a man got. do you tell the story, dick." "you know it as well as i do, "the hunter replied, "and i ain't good at talking." "-well, i will tell you it then," abe said, "seeing that i knows almost as much about it as dick does. the captain bayley's heir. affair occurred the very year after what i have been telling you about. dick was attached as hunter and ecout to fort charles, which "was, at that time, one of the furthest west of all our stations. there was fifty infantry and thirty cavalry there, and little enough too, for it war just on the edge of the dakota country. the dakotas are a powerful tribe, and are one of the most restless, troublesome lots i knows. several strong par- ties of our troops have been surprised and cut to pieces by them; and as to settlements, no one but a born fool would dream of settling within reach of them. "i never could quite make out why we wanted to put a fort down so close to them, seeing as there warn't a settlement to protect within a hundred and fifty miles; but i suppose the wiseacres at washington had some sort of an idea that the redskins would be afraid to make excursions to the settlements with this fort in their rear, just as if they couldn't make a sweep of five hundred miles if they took it into their heads, and come back into their country on the other side. "just at that time there was no trouble with them; the hatchet was buried, and they used to come into the fort and sell skins and furs to the traders there for tobacco and beads. after that affair i was telling ye of, eube and me, we went back for a spell to the settlement, and then took a fancy to hunt on another line, and, after knocking about for a time, found ourselves at fort charles. that was where we met dick for the first time. "the commander of the fort was a chap named white, a captain; he had with him his wife and daughter. a worse kind of man for the commander of a frontier sta- tion you could hardly find. he was not a bad soldier, and was well liked by his men, and i have no doubt.if he had been fighting agin other white men he would have dona captain bayley's heir. well enough; but he never seemed to have an idee what injin nature was like, and wern't never likely to learn. "first place, he despised them. now, you know, the redskins ain't to be despised. you may hate them, you may say they are a cussed lot of rascals and thieves, but there ain't no despising them, and any one as does that is sure to have cause to repent it, sooner or later. there was the less reason with the dakotas, for they had cut up stronger bodies of troops than there was at fort charles without letting a soul escape. then, partly because the captain despised them, i suppose, he was always hurting their feelings. "now, a chief is a chief, and a man who can bring three hundred horsemen into the field, whether he is red- skin or white, is a man to whom a certain respect should be paid. but captain white never seemed to see that, but just treated one redskin like another, just as if they war dirt beneath his feet. well, as i told you, he had with him his wife and daughter. his wife was too fin a a lady for a frontier fort, still she was not badly liked; but as to the daughter, there warn't a man in the fort but would have died for her. she war about fifteen year old, and as pretty as a flower. 'she war always bright and merry, with a kind word to the soldiers as she rode past them on her pretty white mustang. "dick, here, he worshiped her like the rest of us. if he got a particular good skin, or anything else, if he thought she would like it he would put it by for her, and she used, in her merry way, to call him her scout. well, one day black dog, one of the most powerful chiefs of the dakotas, rode into the fort with twenty of his braves. just as he came in, queen may, as we all called her, came galloping up on her mustang, and leaped like a bird from her saddle at the door of the commander's . captain bayley's heir. house, where her father was standing. i war standing next to him, and so i saw black dog's eye fall on her, and as long as she stood talking there to her father he never took it off; then he said something to the brave as was sitting on his horse next to him. "'cuss him!' dick said to me, and i could see his hold on his rifle tighten, 'what does he look at queen may like that for? you mark my words, abe, trouble will come of this.' "it was not long before trouble did come, for half an hour later the dakota rode out of the fort with his men in great wrath, complaining that captain white had not received him as a chief, and that his dignity was in- sulted. it war like enough that captain white was not as ceremonious as he should have been to a great chief— for, as i told you, he war short in his ways with the red- skins—but i question if harm would have come of it' if it hadn't been that black dog's eye fell on that gal. "i believe that there and then he made up his mind to carry her off. we didn't see any redskins in camp for some time; and then rumors were brought in by the scouts that there war going to be trouble with them, that a council had been held, and that it war decided the hatchet should be dug up again. captain white he made light of the affair; but he was a good soldier, and warn't to be caught napping, so extra sentries were put on. "as bube and me didn't belong to the fort, of course we war independent, and went away hunting, and would sometimes be away for weeks together. one day, when we war some forty miles from the fort, we came upon the trail of a large number of redskins going east. we guessed as there must be nigh two hundred of them. they might, in course, have been going hunting, but we captain bayley's heir. didn't think as it were so; sartainly they had no women with them, and they had been traveling fast. we guessed the trail was three days old, and we thought we had best push on straight to the fort to let them know about it. "when we got thar we found we were too late. on the morning of the day after we had started a scout had arrived with the news that a strong war party of dakotas were on their way to the settlements. captain white at once mounted half his infantry on horses, and with them and the cavalry set out in pursuit, leaving the fort in charge of a young officer with twenty-four men. just after.nightfall there was a sound of horsemen approaoh- ing, and the officer, thinking it was the captain returning, ordered the gate of the stockade to be left open. in a moment the place was full of redskins. the soldiers tried to fight, but it were no use; all war cut down, only one man making his escape in the darkness. ""at daybreak, the captain, with his troops, rode into the fort. dick, who had been with him, had, when the party was returning, gone out scouting on his own ac- count, and had come across the back track of the red- skins. the moment he had brought in the news the horses were saddled again, and the party started back; but they had gone nearly sixty miles the day before, and it was not until morning that, utterly exhausted and weary, they got within sight of the fort. then they saw as it war too late. "not a roof was to be seen above the stockade, and a light smoke rising everywhere showed as fire had done it. they rode into camp like madmen. there lay all their comrades, killed and scalped; there were the bodies of mrs. white and her servants, and the nigger laborers, and the trader and his clerks, and of all who captain bayley's heir. had been left behind in the camp, except the captain's little daughter; of her there weren't no signs. eube and me arrived half an hour later, just as the soldier who had escaped had come in and was telling how it all came about. "it war a terrible scene, i can tell you; the captain he were nigh mad with grief, and the men were boiling over with rage. if they could have got at the dakotas then they would have fought if there had been twenty to one against them. dick war nowhere to be seen; the man said that he had caught a fresh horse, which had broken its rope and stampeded through the gate while the mas- sacre was going on, and that he had ridden away on it on the indian trail. "if the horses had been fresh the captain would have started in pursuit at once, and every man was burning to go. but it was lucky as they couldn't, for if they had i have no doubt the whole lot would have been wiped out by the dakotas. however, there was no possibility of moving for at least a couple of days, for the horses war altogether used up after the march. so they had time to get cool on it. "that afternoon the captain, who was in council with the two officers who remained, sent for eube and me, and asked us our opinion as to what was best to be done. we says at once that there weren't nothing. 'you have lost nigh a third of your force,' says i, 'and have got little over forty left. if we were to go up into the dako- ta country we should get ambushed to a certainty, and should have a thousand of them, perhaps two thousand, down on us, and the odds would be too great, captain; it couldn't be done. besides, even if you licked them— and i tell you as your chance of doing so would be mighty small—they would disperse in all directions, and captain ba yley's heir. then meet and fight you agin, and ye wouldn't be no nearer getting your daughter than you war before. "'if you ask my advice, it would be that you should send back to the nearest fort for more men, and that you should at once get up the stockade where it has been burned down, for there is no saying when you will be attacked again. i tell you, captain, that to lead this party here into the dakota country would mean sartin death for them.' "mad as the captain was to go in search of his daugh- ter, he saw that i was right, and indeed i concluded he had made up his mind he could do nothing before he sent for us, only he hoped, i suppose, as we might give some sort of hope. 'i am afraid what you say is true,' says he. 'at any rate we must wait till dick, the scout, returns; he will tell us which way they have gone, and what is their strength.' "by nightfall the soldiers had buried all the dead just outside the stockade, and had built a temporary wall— for there wasn't a stick of timber within miles—across the gaps in the fence. "at nightfall eube and me, whose horses war fresh, started for the nearest fort, and four days afterward got back with forty more horse-soldiers. we found that dick had not come back, and we made up our minds as he had gone under. when we were away we had heard that the redskins had attacked the settlements in a dozen different places, and that there was no doubt a general injin war had broken out. the officer at the fort where i went to was a major; it was a bigger place than fort charles, which was a sort of outlying post. i had, in course, told him about the captain's daughter being car- ried off. "he sent up a letter with the soldiers to the captain, captain ba yley's heir. saying how sorry he was to hear of his loss, ind he sent up forty men; but he ordered that unless captain white had received some intelligence which would, in his opin- ion, justify his undertaking an expedition into the indian country with so small a force as he could command, he was at once to evacuate the place and fall back with his force on the settlement, as the position was quite unten- able, and every man was needed for the defense of the settlers. "when the captain got the order he walked up and down by hisself for four or five minutes. yer see it war a hard choice for him; as a father he was longing to go in search of his child, as a soldier in saw that he should be risking the whole force under his command if he did so, and that at a time when every man was needed at the settlements. at last the order was given that the troops should take the back track to the settlements on the fol- lowing evening. "the captain told the officers that he should wait till then to give the horses of the men who had arrived with us time to rest; but i know in his heart he wanted to wait in the hope of dick arriving with news. "the next day, at four in the afternoon, the men war beginning to saddle their horses, when the sentry sud- denly gave the cry of 'injins, injinsf "in a moment every man seized his carbine and sword, and shoved his bridle on his horse's head, buckled up, and jumped into the saddle. there was no occasion for any orders. i climbed up on to the stockade, for the country was pretty nigh a dead flat, and the lookout had been burned with the huts. "sure enough, there in the distance war some horse- men coming across the plain; but they war straggling, and not many of them. i could not make head nor tail captain ba yley's heir. of it. they war injins, sure enough, for even at that distance i could tell that by their figures. then i saw as there was more of them coming behind them; the idea suddenly struck me: 'eide, captain ' i shouted; 'ride . with your men for your life, they are chasing some one.' "there warn't any necessity for captain white to give any orders; there was a rush to the gate, and as fast as they could get through they started out at full gallop. me and rube dropped over the stockade, for our critters war picketed outside. "we didn't wait to saddle them, you may guess, but pulled up the ropes, jumped on to their backs, and galloped on; and we war soon by the side of captain white, who was riding as if he was mad. we could see them a little plainer now, and says i, sud- denly, 'captain, there is a white horse in front, by gump "a sort of hoarse cry came from the captain, and he spurred his horse agin, although the critter was going at its best speed. they war two miles from us yet, but i could soon make out as the white horse and another was a bit ahead, then came eight or ten injins in a clump, and a hundred or more straggling out behind. it seemed to me as they war all going slow, as if the horses war dead beat; but what scared me most was to see as the clump of injins war gaining on the two ahead of them, one of whom i felt sure now was the captain's daughter, and the other i guessed was dick. "the captain saw it too, for he gave a strange sort of cry. 'my god!' he said, 'they will overtake her.' we war still a mile from them, when we saw suddenly the man in front—this chap dick here—part sudden from the white horse, wheel straight round, and go right back at the injins. they separated as he came to them. we saw two fall from their horses, and the wind presently brought the sound of the cracks "of jpistols. there war captain bayley's heir. no 'colts,' in those days, but i knew that dick carried a barce of double-barreled pistols in his hosters. then the others closed round him. "there was a sort of confusion; we could see toma- hawks waving, and blows given, and when it was over there war but four injins out of the eight to be seen on their horses. but the white horse had gained a hundred yards while the fight was going on, and the injins saw that we war a-coming on like a hurricane, so they turned their horses and galloped back again. "three minutes later the captain's daughter rode up. she war as white as death, and the captain had just time to leap off and catch her as she fainted dead away. the rest of us didn't stop, you bet; we just gave a cheer and on we went, and the dakotas got a lesson that day as they will remember as long as they are a tribe. their horses were so dead beat they had scarcely a gallop in them, while ours were fresh, and i don't think ten of the var- mints got away. "we didn't draw rein till it was dark, and next morn- ing we counted two hundred and fifteen dead redskins on the plains. the first thing in the morning, eube and me rode back to where the fight began, to give dick a burial. we looked about, but couldn't find him. there was black dog, with one of his bullets through his forehead, two others shot through the body, and one with his skull stove in with a blow from dick's rifle, which was lying there with the stock broken. so we supposed the cap- tain had had him carried to the fort, and we rode on there. "when we got there we found as he was alive. it seems at the moment the captain's daughter recovered from her faint she insisted on going back with the cap- tain to see if dick was alive. they found him well-nigh capt. b. h. the escape of the captain's daughter.--page . captain bayley's heir. dead. he had got an arrow through the body, and two desperate clips with tomahawks, and had been scalped, but he was still breathing. there war no one else nigh, for every man had ridden on in pursuit; but they man- aged, somehow, between them, to get him upon the cap- tain's horse. the captain he rode in the saddle, and held him in his arms, while his daughter led her horse back to the fort. there they dressed his wounds, and put wet cloths to his head, and watched him all night. "in the morning he was quite delirious. fortunately the captain considered that after the way they had licked the redskins the day before there was no absolute neces- sity for evacuating the fort; so the troops cut turf and made huts, and parties were sent off to the nearest tim- ber to bring in boughs for roofs, and there we stopped, and in six weeks dick was about again with his wig on his head. "you will wonder whar he got his wig from, seeing as that sort of thing ain't a product of the plains; but he is wearing his own hair. among the fust of the injins we overtook and killed was a chap with dick's scalp hanging at his girdle, and when it was known as he was alive they searched and found it; and one of the soldiers who was fond of collecting bird-skins, and such like, just preserved it in the same way, and when dick was able to go out again he presented him with his own scalp. so if any one says to dick as he ain't wearing his own hair, dick can tell him he is a liar. "lor', how grateful that gal was to diok; he never was a particular good-looking young fellow, and he wasn't improved by the scrimmage, but i believe if he had axed her she would have given up everything and settled down as a hunter's wife." diok growled an angry denial. captain ba yley's heir. "well, mate, it may be not quite that, but it war very night it. it was downright pretty to see the way she hung about him, and looked after him, just for all the world as if she had been his mother, and he a sick child. the captain, too, didn't know how to make enough of dick; and as for the men, they would have done anything for him for having saved the life of queen may. i heards three or four years afterward, as she married the young officer who was in command of the horse.-soldiers at the next fort." "but tell me," frank said, "how did dick manage to get her away from the indians?" "that," abe said, "he'd better tell you himself, seeing as concerning that part of the business he knows more nor i do. now, dick, speak out." "there ain't much to tell," dick said gruffly, taking the pipe from his mouth. "directly as we got back to camp, and i found she had gone, it seemed to me as i had got to follow her; and my eye lighting on the loose horse, i soon managed to catch the critter, and, shifting my saddle to it, i started. as you may guess, there war no difficulty in following the trail. they had ridden all night, though they knew there was no chance of their being pursued. but about fifty miles from the fort i came upon their first halting-place; they had lit fires and cooked food there, and had waited some hours. "the ashes were still warm, and i guess they had left about four hours afore i arrived; so i went on more care- fully, knowing that if i threw away my life there was no chance of recovering the gal. i guess, by the direction which they were taking, they were going to black dog's village; and, after going a bit further on the trail to make sure, i turned off, and went round some miles, in case they should have left any one to see if they war fol- captain ba yley's heir. lowed. i knew where the village was, for i had been hunting near it. "i camped out on the plains for the night, and next day rode to within five miles of the village, which was among the hills. i left my horse in a wood where there was water, and taking my rifle and pistols went forward on foot to the village and arrived there after dark. as i expected, i found the hull place astir. a big fire was blazing in the center; on a pole near it hung the scalps they had taken, and they were a-dancing round it and howling and yelling. i didn't see any signs of the gal but as there were two redskins with their rifles hanging about the door of a wigwam next to that of the chief, i had no doubt she was there. "this wigwam was in the center of the village, and there were lots of old squaws and gals about, so that i could not, for the life of me, see any way of stealing her out. next night i went back to the camp and watched, but the more i thought on it, the more difficult it seemed. the second night i catched an injin boy who was wan- dering outside the camp. i choked him, so that he couldn't holler, and carried him off; and when i got far enough away i questioned him, and found that in two days there was to be a grand feast, and black dog was then going to take the white gal as his squaw. so i saw as there was no time to be lost. i strapped up the indian boy and tied him to a tree, and then went back to the village. "this time the gal was sitting at the door of the tent. i crept up behind, cut a slit in the skins, and got inside. as i expected, there was no one in there, the squaws as was watching her was outside; so i crept up close to the entrance, and i says to her, 'hush! don't move, your scout dick is here.' she gave a little tremble when i began, and then sat as still as a mouse. captain bayley's heir. "says i, 'i don't see no plan for getting you away secret, you are watched altogether too close, the only plan is to make a race for it. there ain't many horses on the plain as can beat that mustang of yours, and i know you can ride him barebacked. do you take a head of maize now, and walk across to where he is picketed, and feed and pat him; then to-morrow morning early do the same. they won't be watching very closely, for they will think you are only going to do the same as to-night. i have put an open knife down behind you. you cut his rope, jump on his back, and ride straight; i will join you at the bottom of the valley. they may overtake us, but they won't hurt you; if they do catch you, they will just bring you back here again, and you will be no worse off than you are now. will you try?' the gal nodded, and i crept away out of sight. "a few minutes afterward i saw her going along with some ears of maize to where the horses were tied up. two indians followed her at a little distance, but she walked across so natural that i don't think they had any suspicion; she fed the horse, and talked to it, and petted it, and then went back to the village. next morning be- fore daylight, i mounted my horse and rode to the mouth of the valley, a quarter of a mile from the village. "half an hour after daylight i heard a yell, and almost directly afterward the sounds of a horse's hoofs in full gallop. i rode out, and along she came as hard as the horse could go. three or four mounted indians war just coming into the other end of the valley four hundred yards away. "'all right, queen may, we have got a fine start, says i, and then we galloped along together. 'not too fast,' i told her, 'it ain't speed as will win the race. there is a long hundred miles between us and the fort captain ba yley's heir. we must keep ahead of them varmints for a mile or two, and then they will settle down.' "for the first five or six miles we had to ride fast, for the redskins tried the speed of their horses to the utmost; but none of them gained anything on us, indeed we widened the gap by a good bit. you see at first they only thought it was a wild scheme on the part of the gal, and the first as started jumped on the first horses that came to band; it wasn't till they saw me that they found it was a got-up thing. one of the first lot galloped back with the news. but by the time the alarm was spread, and the chase really taken up in earnest, we was a good mile away, and a mile is a long start. "black dog and some of his best-mounted braves rode too hard at first. ef we had only had a short start they would have catched us, perhaps; but a mile's start was too much to be made up by a rush, and so black dog should have known; but i reckon he was too mad at first to caloulate. by hard riding he and his best-mounted braves got within half a mile of us when we war about ten miles from the village. but by that time, as you may guess, the steam was out of their horses, while we had been riding at a steady gallop. "the first party that had started had now tailed away, and was as far back as the chief. it was safe to be a long ohase now, and i felt pretty sure as the gal would escape, for her mustang was a beautiful critter, and the captain had given a long price for it; besides, it was carrying no weight to speak of. i didn't feel so sure about myself, for though my horse was a first-class one, and had over and over again, when out hunting, showed herself as fast as any out, there might be as good ones or better among the redskins, for anything i knew. when we were fairly out on the plains, i could see that pretty nigh the whole tribe of redskins had joined in the chase. captain ba yley's heir. "at first i couldn't make out why; for although they are all wonderful for bottom, some of the redskins' horses ain't much for speed, and many of them could never have hoped to have come up with us. but when i thought it over, i reckoned that seeing i had joined the gal, they might have thought that i had brought her news that the captain, with all the soldiers from the fort, was coming up behind, and i expect that's why the chief and his braves rode so fast at first. "i don't know as i ever passed a longer day than that. "we went at a steady gallop, always keeping just about half a mile ahead of the redskins. sometimes i jumped off my horse and ran alongside of him with my hand on the saddle for half a mile, to ease him a bit. the gal rode splendidly; the mustang had a beautiful easy pace, and she set him as if she was in a chair. for the first fifty miles i don't think the redskins gained a yard on us; they warn't pressing their horses more than we were, for it was a question only of last now. then little by little i could see that a small party was leaving the rest and gaining slowly upon us; i darn't press my horse further, but i began to give the gal instructions as to the course she should keep. "'what does it matter, dick,' she asked, 'when you are here to guide me?' 'but i mayn't be with you all the time,'says i; 'it air quite possible that them redskins will overtake me twenty miles afore i get to the fort, but your critter can keep ahead of them easy, he is going nigh as light now as when he started; when they get a bit closer to us you must goon alone.' 'i shan't leave you,' she says. 'dick, you got into this scrape to save me, and i am not going to run away and leave you to be killed; if you are taken, i will be taken too.' "'that would be a foolish thing,' says i, 'and a cruel captain ba yley's heir. one, ef you like to put it so. i have risked my life to save you, just as i have risked it a score of times before on the plains; ef my time has come, it will be a comfort to me to know as i have saved you, but ef you were taken too i should feel that i had just chucked my life away. besides, you have got to think of the captain; now that your mother has gone you have got to be a comfort to him. so you see, miss, ef you was to get taken willful you would be doing a bad turn to yerself, and to me, and to yer father.' "it was a long time before she spoke again, and then she didn't say anything about what we had been talk- ing of, but began to ask whether i thought we were sure to find the soldiers still at the fort. in course i couldn't say for sartin, but, to cheer her up, i talked hopeful about it, though i thought it was likely enough they had fallen back on the settlements. i did some long spells of running now, and got more hopeful, for the injins didn't gain anything to speak of. "we war all going very slow now, for the horses were pretty nigh beat. we had crossed two or three streams by the way, and at each they had had a few mouthfuls of water. it wasn't till we were within ten miles of the fort that the injins really began to gain. they must have felt that there was a good chance of our slipping through their fingers, and they determined to catch us if they killed every horse in the tribe. "i tried to urge my critter forward, but he hadn't got it in him; and what frightened me more was that the mustang didn't seem much faster; he had trod in a dog- hole when we war about halfway across the plains, and must have twisted his foot. i could see now he was going a little lame with it. the redskins gained on us bit by bit, and were pressing us hard when first wa caught sight of the fort about four miles awa; captain bayley's beir. "i had begun to despair, for they warn't more than two hundred yards behind now. the gal had held on braveb', but she was nigh done. good rider as she was, it was a terrible ride for a young gal, and it was only the excitement which kept her going; but she was nigh reel- ing on the horse now. sudden i says to her, 'thank god! miss, there are the soldiers; keep up your heart, your father's coming to save you.' "the injins saw him too, for i heard the warwhoop behind, and the sound of the horses came nearer and nearer. i spurred my horse, and it was the first time i had touched him since we started, but it wasn't no good. 'eide, queen may, ride for your life!' i cried out; but i don't think she heard me. she was looking straight forward now at the sojers; her face was like death, and with a hard set look on it, and i expected every moment to see her drop from her horse. "i saw as it was all up; the redskins war but fifty yards behind, and were gainin' fast upon us. so i says, 'thar's your father, miss, ride on for his sake,' then i turns my horse, and, with a pistol in each hand, i rides back at the redskins. the gal told me afterward that she did not hear me speak, that she didn't know i had turned, and that all that time after she had first caught sight of the sojers seemed a dream to her. "i don't remember much of the scrimmage. black dog was the first redskin i met, and i hit him fair be- tween the eyes; arter that it was all confusion, i threw away my pistols, and went at them with my rifle. i felt as if a hot iron went through my body, then there was a crash on my head, and i remember nothing more until i found myself lying, as weak as a baby, in the hut in the fort, with queen may a-sitting working beside the bed, so, as you see, it ain't much of a story." captain bayley's heir. "i call it a great deal of a story," frank said; "i would give a great deal to have done such a thing." "well, shut up, and don't say no more about it," dick growled, "ef you want us to keep friends. abe's always a-lugging that old story out, and he knows as i hates it like pizen. we have had more than one quarrel about it, and this is the last time, by gosh, as ever i opens my lips about it. pass over the liquor, i am dry." captain ba ylet 's heir. chapter xti. the attack on the caeavan. although great uneasiness had been caused by the reports as to the indians, the members of the caravan were in good spirits. so far the journey had been a suc- cess. the difficulties met with in crossing streams and bad bits of ground had been considerable, but were no greater than they had looked for. the animals had pre- served their health and condition. the supply of fresh meat had been regular, and all were in excellent health. the rise of ground had been so gradual that it had scarcely been felt; but they were now at a considerable height above the sea, and the brisk clear air braced their nerves, and enabled even the feeblest to stand the fatigue without inconvenience. one day when frank was out alone with dick on the north of the line of march, they came within sight of some buffalo grazing, and frank was about to set spurs to his horse when his companion suddenly checked him. "what is is?" frank said in surprise. "they don't see us, and if we follow that hollow we shall be able to get close to them before they can catch sight of us." "that's so," dick said, "but just at present it air a question of something more serious than bufflars, it air a question of injins." "indians " frank exclaimed, gazing round in every direction. "where, dick? i see no signs of them." captain ba yley's heir. ? "no, and if you were to look round all day you wouldn't see 'em; they are at your feet." frank looked down in surprise. "i can see nothing," he said, after a minute examina- tion of the ground. "it's thar, though," dick said, throwing himself off his horse. "look at this soft piece of ground; that is a hoof print, and there is another and another." frank also dismounted and examined the ground. "yes," he said, "i can see a number of hoofprints now you point them out. but how do you know that they are indian prints?" "because the are unshod; beside, you see, instead of coming along in a crowd, as a drove of turned loose horses would do, the marks are all together, one after the other, as they came along in single file. there is no doubt they are a party of indians." "they are ahead of us," frank said. "they were," dick said, "but thar ain't no saying where they are now; maybe watching us.'' the thought was not a comfortable one, and frank grasped his rifle tightly as he looked round. "just stay where you are," dick said; "we are in a hollow, and i will have a look round." dick made his way upon his hands and knees to the top of the brow, choosing a spot where the shrubs grew thickest, and making his way with such caution that frank could scarcely keep him in sight. when he reached the brow he raised his head and looked round in all directions and then went on. it was nearly half an hour before he rejoined his companion. "they have gone straight ahead," he said. "i went over the brow, and down the next hollow, and found their trail strong there, for the ground is swampy; they captain bayley's heir. had certainly passed within an hour of the time i got there." "how did you know that?" frank asked. "because the water was still muddy where they had passed; it would have settled again in an hour after being disturbed, so they could not have been more than that time ahead. they were keeping just parallel with the line of march of the caravan." "how many of them do you think there were?" "between fifty and sixty," dick said confidently. "perhaps they were merely journeying quietly along," frank suggested. "not likely," dick replied; "they must have seen these bufflars, and would have been after them, almost to a sartinty, had they not had other business on hand. no, i expect they were watching the caravan and had made up their minds to wait till nightfall, or perhaps till it came to some place where they can get up close with- out being seen, and fall upon it by surprise. we will ride back at once with the news, and put them on their guard." an hour's riding brought them to the caravan, where their news created a great sensation. hitherto the dan- ger from indians had appeared a remote trouble, which might not, after all, befall them. the news that fifty or sixty of these dreaded foes were marching along, almost within sight, and might at any moment attack them, brought the danger close indeed. the wagons were driven in even closer order; the women and children were told to keep between the lines; the men distributed themselves among the teams, ready to unyoke the oxen at the shortest notice, and to form the wagons in order of defense. abe and his companions had not yet returned; but a quarter of an hour later they were seen galloping toward the camp. captain ba yley s heir. "you must keep close together and look spry," abe shouted as he approached; "we have come upon signs of a large body of indians, a hundred and fifty or two hun- dred strong, i reckon, out there on the plains. they have passed along this morning, and ain't up to no good, i expect." "we have found signs of a smaller party, abe, some fifty or sixty, on our left; these were marching straight along, pretty well in the line we are going." "then," abe said, "ye had best look to j'er guns, for they mean mischief; they must have been watching us this morning when we started, but concluded that the ground was too level, and that we should have time to get into position before they could get up to us, beside we had all the advantage in the stockades at the station. there ain't no station this evening." "do you think they will attack us on the road?" frank asked. "that will depend on whether they think they can take us unawares. get on yer horses again. dick, do you ride half a mile ahead of the caravan, don't keep in the hollows, but follow the line of the brow on the right. young frank and i will scout half a mile out on the right of the caravan; eube and jim, you go the same distance on the left; that way we can see them coming, and the teamsters will have plenty of time to form up the wagons. but i don't reckon as they will attack; when they sees as we are on the lookout they will guess we have come across their tracks, and will see that their chances of a surprise are gone for the day." "do you think they will attack us to-night?" frank asked his companions. "they may, and they may not. as a general thing these plains inj ins are not fond of night attacks; it's part captain bayley's heir. superstition, no doubt, and part because they are much more at home on horseback than on foot. still there's never no saying with an injin; but i should say, lad, that they ain't likely to do that yet. they will try other ways fust. they knows as how they have got plenty of time, and can choose their opportunity, if it's a month hence. they are wonderful patient, are the redskins, and time air of no account to them; but at present i think the most dangerous times will be after we have camped and before night comes on, and at daybreak before we makes our start." two more days passed quietly, and a feeling of hope pervaded the caravan that the indians had ridden on and sought for other prey. but abe assured them that they must not relax their precautions, and that the failure of the indians to attack was no proof whatever that they had abandoned their intention to do so. "an injin is always most dangerous just when you ain't thinking of him. you may be sure we have been watched, although we haven't seen no one, and that see- ing as we are on guard they are waiting for us to become careless again; or it may be they have fixed upon their place of attack, and if so, you may bet yer life it is a good one. above all things you men impress upon the women and children that in case of a sudden attack they shall each take refuge at once in the wagons, in the places allotted to them, and that they shall do it without any squealing or yelling; there's nothing bothers men and flurries them, just as they have got need to be cool and steady, as the yelping of a pack of women. just impress on them as it does no good, and adds to the chances of their getting their throats cut and their har raised." the hunter's orders were very strongly impressed upon the women and children, and even the latter were made captain bayley's heir. to feel thoroughly the importance of silence in case of an attack. upon the following day they came upon a spot where the trail crossed a deep hollow; the sides were extremely steep, the bottom flat and swampy. kough attempts had been made by preceding travelers to reduce the steepness of the bank, but it was in no way improved thereby; the upper edge was indeed more gradual, but the soil cut away there, and shoveled down, had been softened by subsequent rains, while the torn surface of the bottom, and the deep tracks left by the wheels, showed how the teams had struggled through it. they explored for some little distance up and down to see if an easier point for crossing could be discovered, but came to the conclusion that the spot at which the tracks crossed it was the easi- est, as in most places the bank had been eaten away by winter rains and was almost perpendicular. they had reached this spot late in the evening, and prepared to cross soon after daybreak. "you will have to fix up three teams to each wagon," abe had said, "and take one over at a time. we will be out early scouting—for, mind you, this is a likely place to be attacked by the redskins; they will know there is a bad spot here, and will guess as you will be in confusion and divided, some on one side of the gulch, some on the other. give particular charge to the men to have their rifles handy, and to prepare to defend the wagons to the last, and pass round word among the women and children not to be scared in case of an attack, as we shall drive the injins off handsomely if they come." at daybreak, abe, dick, and frank crossed the gulch, the other two hunters remaining behind. "we must not go far from the crossing," abe said. "we don't know which way the sarnal critters maycomet oaptam bayley's heir. and in case of attack, all our guns will be wanted. they will guess as we shall begin to cross the first thing in the morning, and that it will take three or four hours to get over. so, if they are coming, it will be in a couple of hours, so as to catch us divided." they took their station on a rise a few hundred yards from the crossing, one of them riding back from time to time to see how the operation of crossing was going on. it was one of immense difficulty. the oxen were mired almost up to their chests, and the wagons sunk axle- deep. the wagons stuck fast in spite of the efforts of all the men in the party. frank looked on for some time, and then a thought struck him. "look here, you will never get the wagons on in that way, the oxen cannot pull an ounce. the best way will be to unyoke them, take them across, and get them up on the level ground on the top; then fasten your ropes together and hitch them to the wagon. the bullocks, on firm ground, can easily pull it across." the suggestion was at once acted upon. the bottom was some fifty yards wide, and there were plenty of ropes in the wagons which had been brought for lower- ing them down difficult places, and for replacing any of the long rope traces which might be broken and worn out. two of these were attached to the wagon, and the oxen were taken over and up the further side. a team was attached to each rope, and as the whip cracked the ponderous wagon was at once set in motion, and was soon dragged through the mud and up the incline. "that's a capital plan of yourn, young fellow," john little said. "idon't know how we ever should have got across the other way, and i had just made up my mind to give it up and move down this hollow till we came to firmer ground." captain ba yley's heir. five more wagons were got across in the same man- ner. suddenly abe discharged his rifle. "what's the matter?" frank exclaimed. "injins," abe said briefly. "them's the heads of the tarnal cusses just coming over the line of that rise." the spot to where he pointed was about half a mile distant, and soon frank perceived a number of dark objects rising above it. almost at the same instant the sound of a gun was heard on the other side of the gulch. "'they are going to attack both sides at once," abe said, as they galloped back toward the crossing; "that shows they are strong. if they had any doubts about licking us they would have thrown thar whole strength on one party or the other.'' on reaching the wagons they found the men there working with all their might to get the six wagons in position, side by side across the top of the ascent. the oxen had already been taken down into the hollow. "that's right," abe shouted, as they leaped from their horses and aided in the movement. "it couldn't be better. well and steady. you have three or four minutes yet." the wagons were drawn up in two lines with their wheels touching, the inner line being on the very edge of the descent. the women and children were placed in the inner wagons, while the eight men who had come across with them, and the three hunters, took their places in the outside wagons. almost all the men had been across with the teams when the guns were fired, but the remainder had run back to aid in the defense of the wagons on the other side. these were already in a position of defense, hav- ing been so arranged before the crossing began. so well had abe's orders been carried out, that no confusion captain bayley's heir. -whatever had occurred. at the sound of the guns the women had climbed, and helped the children, into the wagons allotted to them, and the men, on arriving, quietly took up their positions. the indians were not visible until they reached a spot about three hundred yards from the wagons. as they dashed up the rise they checked their horses. instead of seeing, as they had expected, everything in confusion and dismay, not a soul was visible, and the clumps of wagons stood, one on either side, ranged as for defense. how- ever, after waiting for three days for their prey, they were not to be balked. their wild warcry rose in the air, and the two bodies of horsemen charged down on the travelers. in an instant a deadly fire broke out, the men kneeling in the bottom of the wagons and resting their rifles on the rail, the tilt being raised a few inches to enable them to see under it. every shot told among the mass of horsemen. the emigrants were all new to indian war- fare, but most of them were farmers accustomed from boyhood to the use of the rifle, and the coolness of the hunters, and their preparation for attack, steadied them, and gave them confidence. several of the indians fell at the first discharge, but the advance was not checked, and at full speed they came on. "steady, lads; don't throw away a shot," abe shouted, as the men loaded and discharged their rifles as quickly as possible; "see that every bullet tells." already the indians were checking the speed of their horses, for the position was a most difficult one to attack. it could not be surrounded, and, indeed, could only be attacked on the face of the outside wagons, from which a stream of fire was pouring. as the leaders came on frank and the two hunters, who both, like himself, car- captain bayley's heir. attack. the deadly flank fire proved too much for their courago, and soon they too were in full flight, carrying off with them their killed and wounded. a shout of tri- umph rose from the two parties of whites, and a scene of wild delight took place; the women, now that the excite- ment was over, cried and laughed alternately in hysterical joy; the children shouted, while the men grasped each other's hands in fervent congratulation. "we all owe our lives to you and your comrades," john little said to abe. "if it had not been for you we should all have gone under; and, i tell you, if ever we get across these plains we will find some way to show our gratitude. as long as john little has a crust in the world he will share it with you." when the excitement had somewhat abated, the work of crossing was recommenced, and in two hours all were over and the journey was continued. "do you think the indians will attack us again?" john little asked abe, when the caravan was set in motion. "they will, if they see a chance," abe replied. "they have lost a lot of men, and will get vengeance if they can. it depends partly whether thar big chief was killed or not; if he war they may give it up now; they sees as we are strong and well armed. if not, thar chief will do all he can to wipe us out, for he will be held responsible for the affair, and such a defeat would lower his influence in the tribe." five days later they saw some wagons in the distance. since the attack the hunters had not left the oaravan, as the emigrants all declared that they would far rather go without fresh meat than have the hunters absent from the oamp. a few deer only, which had been seen from the line of march, had been stalked and shot. "there is a caravan halting ahead,"prank said. "we captain ba yley ' heir. ? heard at the last station that one passed ten days back. i wonder what they are halting for. the next water, according to the distances the station-keeper gave us, must be ten miles away." "i don't like the look of it," abe replied. "traveling at about the same rate as we do, they should still be about ten days ahead. i am very much afraid that some- thing has happened; those varmint we thrashed, or some other, may have attacked them." for another mile not a word was spoken; then they reached a spot from which the wagons and the ground around them was clearly visible. "i see no sign of movement," abe said to john little, "and thar seems to be a lot of dark objects lying about. i will ride forward with my mates. if, as i calculate, there has been a massacre, you had better take the wagons a detour a mile round, so that the women and children may be spared the sight of it. it would be enough to make them skeery for the rest of the journey." abe and his comrades galloped forward. "have your rifles ready," the former said; "there may be some of the varmint hiding about still, though i don't think it likely. i expect the attack took place some days back." on nearing the wagons their apprehensions were veri- fied. around lay the carcasses of the oxen with bales and boxes broken open and rifled of their contents. in and near the wagons were the bodies of their defenders, mingled with those of the women and children. all had been scalped, and the bodies were mutilated with gashes of the tomahawks. no attempt had been made to put the wagons into any position of defense; they still stood in a long line, as they had been traveling when the indians fell upon them. there were twelve wagons, and they counted eighty bodies lying around them. captain bayley's heir. "it has been a regular surprise," abe said, "and i ex- pect there war very little fighting. the injins burst out on them, there war a wild panic, a few shots war fired, and it war all over; that's how i read it. hullo! what's that?" a deep growl was heard, and turning they saw under a bush a mastiff, standing over the body of a child. the animal could with difficulty keep its legs; it had been pierced by a lance, and had received a blow with a toma- hawk on the head which had nearly cut off one of its ears. it had doubtless been left for dead, but had re^ covered itself, and crawled to the side of one of the children of the family to which it belonged. its head was covered with matted blood, and its tongue hung out, black and parched with thirst; but it growled savagely, its hair bristled on its back, and it prepared to defend to the last the body of its young master. "poor fellow!" frank said, dismounting. "poor old boy, we are friends." at the kind tones of the voice the dog relaxed the fierceness of its aspect, it gave a faint whine, and lay down by the child's body. frank took off his thick felt hat, filled it with water from the skin hanging from his saddle, and carried it to the dog. the animal raised itself again with an effort, and drank eagerly; when it had finished it thrust its great nose into frank's hand and wagged its tail, then it returned to the body and gave a piteous howl. the tears stood in frank's eyes. "lend a hand with your knives," he said to his com- rades, who were looking on; "let us dig a grave for the child, then the dog will perhaps follow us; it is a grand dog, and i should like to have it." the others dismounted, and with their knives and hands they soon scraped a hole in the earth capable of cap allf bayley's heir. containing the body. the mastiff stood by watching their operations. frank doubted whether it would allow him to touch the body of the child; but the animal seemed to comprehend his intentions, and suffered him to raise the child and lay it in the ground. no sooner was the grave filled up than the mastiff laid himself down beside it. frank now offered the animal some meat from his wallet, and after this was eaten bathed its head with water and brought the edges of the wound together, and bandaged it with a strip torn from his hunting-shirt. . "come along, old fellow; come along with us, you can do no good here." he mounted his horse, and the mastiff rose to its feet and stood irresolute, and gave another piteous howl. "will you ride back to the caravan, abe, and tell them there is no danger? i will move slowly with the dog, and join them when they get abreast of us." the four men started at a gallop. frank dismounted again and patted the mastiff; then tying his handkerchief to its collar, he wadked slowly away, leading his horse. the mastiff followed at once, walking with difficulty, for its hind-legs were almost paralyzed from the spear- wound, which had passed through its body just under the spine, behind the ribs. it seemed, however, to feel that frank was its master now, and laid its great head in his hand as he walked beside it. as frank saw the line on which the caravan was now moving, he walked slowly across to it and halted until the wagons came up. the mastiff was lifted into one of them, and laid on some empty flour-sacks. some more water was given it, and the caravan proceeded on its way. the terrible fate which had befallen their predecessors cast a deep gloom over the party, who shuddered to think captain ba yley's neir. how narrowly they had escaped such a fate; there was no need now to impress upon any the necessity of avoiding straggling, and redoubled vigilance was observed during the march. frank attended assiduously to the mastiff, to whom he gave the name of turk. the spear-wound was kept poul- ticed, and that in the head was plastered. had the dog received such wounds at any other time they would have probably proved fatal; but on the plains wounds heal rapidly, and the brisk air and the life of activity and exercise render man and beast alike able to sustain seri- ous injuries without succumbing. in a week turk was able to walk with the caravan; a fortnight later it could gallop by frank's side. they were now entering the alkali plainb, a wild and desolate region, where water is extremely scarce, and, when found, brackish and bitter to the taste, and whore the very shrubs are impregnated with salt, and uneatable by most animals. in anticipation of the hardships to be endured in crossing this region, the bullocks had been allowed for some time a daily ration of grain in addition to the grass they could pick up during the halt, and were therefore in good condition. a halt was made for three days before entering this district, and the teams were fresh and full of work when they started. the marches across the salt plain were long and painful to man and beast; the dust, which rose in clouds, was so impregnated with salt that it caused an intense irritation to the lips and nostrils. everything was done as far as possible to alleviate the sufferings of the animals. casks were filled with water at each halting-place, and each time the oxen halted for rest their mouths and nostrils were sponged, and a small allowance given them to drink. as they progressed they captain bayley's heir. i had reason to congratulate themselves on the precautions they had taken, for scarce a mile was passed without their coming across signs of the misfortunes which had befallen those who had gone before, in the shape of abandoned wagons, stores cast out to lighten the loads, and skeletons of oxen and horses. but on the other hand, there was now comparatively slight danger of an indian attack, for even the horses of the redskins, hardy as they are, could not support the hardships of a prolonged stay on the alkali plains. captain ba yley's heir. chapter xirr. at the gold fields. it was with intense delight that all the caravan noticed the gradual change of herbage which showed that they were approaching the confines of this terrible region; and when, at their first halt after leaving it, they came upon flowing streams, a general bath was indulged in by man and beast, the oxen lying down in the water, and being with great difficulty induced to emerge from it. the hunters now recommenced their excursions in search of game, for all were suffering from the want of fresh meat, the children especially feeling the privation. turk accompanied the party. the dog was now com- pletely restored, and nothing could induce it to leave frank's side. it was quite young, and frank soon taught it to remain by his horse while he dismounted to stalk game; while in pursuit on horseback, turk often pursued and pulled down deer who would otherwise have escaped. one day dick and frank had gone out alone, and had been led a long distance from the line of march in pur- suit of a herd of deer. these had finally gone up a nar- row canyon in the mountains. the hunters pursued them for some distance, and then, despairing of overtaking them, turned their horses, and began to retrace their steps. suddenly turk, who was in advance, stopped, captain bayley's heir. uttered a deep growl, and its hair bristled from its head to its tail. "what is it, turk?" frank asked. the animal replied with another low, deep growl. "it must be some savage beast," frank said. "that ain't likely," dick said; "any beast in this canyon would have moved away when we passed before. i think the dog must scent inj ins. a party may have seen us entering the gap, and may be in pursuit." he threw himself off his horse, and listened, with his ear to the ground. "it's injins, sure enough!" he exclaimed; "lean hear the clattering of horses' hoofs on the hard rock. there's nothing for it but for us to make our way up the canyon." they turned their horses, and galloped forward, turk, after one more growl in the direction of the indians, fol- lowing. presently the defile divided. "shall we take the main branch, or the one to the right?" frank asked. "better keep straight on," dick said; "the other may lead into some valley from which there could be no get- ting out, and we should be caught in a trap. seel" he said, as he halted, "the deer have gone that way. do you see some of the pebbles have been thrown out of that little stream? • "jump off your horse, and cut some bits off your blankets and tie them round your horse's feet. if the indians see no marks going forward they will naturally suppose we have turned off here in pursuit of the deer." frank did what his comrade suggested; but quickly as the work was performed, they heard the sound of the horsmen in pursuit, loud and distinct, before they again set forward; then, springing on their horses, they rode up the canyon. after awhile they halted; the sounds of captain ba yley' itmir. pursuit had ceased, and they had no doubt the indiana had turned off into the other ravine. "it all depends how far that runs," dick said, "how booh they will be in pursuit again. if it comes soon to an end it will not be long before we have them after us; if it goes on for some miles we are safe." winding between perpendicular cliffs of great height, they rode forward, mounting steadily. it was impossi- ble to make rapid progress, for although in some places the bottom of the ravine was bare, smooth rock, at others it was piled with bowlders. it was three hours before they emerged from it, and upon doing so found they were upon an elevated plateau. before they moved forward, frank said, "turk, do you hear them?" the dog stood with ears erect and quiver- ing nostrils, looking down the ravine which they had just left. presently he gave a low, deep growl. "they are coming," frank said; "but they must be a good way off, for turk did not hear them at first. which way shall we go, dick?" "we had better turn to the left," dick said, "for our natural line leads to the right. however, it does not make much difference, for they will be able to track us; still, it may puzzle them. it will be dark in a couple of hours, and if we can keep ahead till then we are safe." they started at a gallop, and for an hour rode at full speed in the direction which would take them down to the plain at or near the spot where they had halted the night before. "look out, frank! rein up!" dick suddenly shouted. frank pulled his horse back on its haunches, and but just in time, for at the brow of the swell up which they had been galloping the ground fell suddenly away in a precipice two hundred feet deep, and the horse was barely a length from it when he brought it to a standstill. in serum win capt. b. a. dick and frank elude the indians.–page . captain bayley's heir. the preoipice they would make along it to the right or left, and so fall into the hands of one or other of the parties who had gone to intercept them. no sooner were they fairly out of sight than the hunters rose, and, remounting their horses, continued their way. "it's well-nigh dark," dick said, "and i doubt if they will be able to make out our back track when they get to the edge; at any rate they cannot follow it." they rode on until they found that their horses could no longer carry them, then, dismounting, led them by the bridle. they had been steering by the stars, and presently found themselves at the upper end of the ravine. "we won't enter this now," dick said, "for some of them may take it into their heads to gallop back, although that ain't very likely. anyhow the horses can't go any further, and if they could we couldn't make our way over these stones, it'll be as dark as pitch down there. so we will move away two hundred yards and let the horses feed while we get a few hours' sleep. that dog of your'n will give us notice if any of the varmints are com- ing this way." the night passed without alarm, and at the first dawn of light they were upon their feet again. the horses were given a mouthful of water from the skins, and then the hunters mounted and rode down the canyon. there would be pursuit, they knew well; but the indians would not be able to take up the trail until daylight, and would be an hour and a half following it to the top of the canyon, so that they had fully two hours' start. this being the case, they did not hurry their horses, but kept up a steady pace until they emerged at the lower end of the ravine: then they urged them forward, and two hours captain ba yley's heir. it was nearly five months from the time of their leaving omaha before the caravan approached the point where the great plateau of nevada falls abruptly down to the low lands of california many thousand feet below. here the hunters bade farewell to the emigrants, whom they had so long escorted. all danger of indians had been long since passed, and they were now within a short dis- tance of the gold regions. very deep and sincere were the thanks which were poured upon them by the emigrants, who felt that they owed their lives entirely to the vigilance and bravery of abe and his companions. they expected to meet again ere long at the gold fields, and many were the assurances that should by any chance better luck attend their search than was met with by the hunters, the latter should share in their good fortune. the change in the character of the scenery was sudden and surprising. hitherto the country had been bare and treeless, but the great slopes of the nevada moun- tains were covered from top to bottom with a luxuriant growth of timber. nowhere in the world are finer views to be obtained than on the slopes of the nevada moun- tains. the slopes arte extremely precipitous, and some- times, standing on a crag, one can look down into a valley five or six thousand feet below, clothed from top to bottom with luxuriant foliage, while far away in front, at the mouth of the valley, can be seen the low, rich flats of california. on the lower slopes of these mountains lay the gold de- posits. these were found in great beds of gravel and clay which in countless generations had become so hardened that they almost approached the state of conglomerate. the gold from these beds were carried either by streams which ran through them, or by the action of rain and captain bayley's heir. time, into the ravines and valleys, where it was found by the early explorers. these great beds of gravel have been since worked by hydraulic machinery, water being brought by small canals, or flumes, many miles, along the face of the hills, to reservoirs situated one or two hundred feet above the gravel to be operated upon. from the reservoirs extremely strong iron pipes lead down to the gravel, and to the end of these pipes are fitted movable nozzles, like those of fire-engines, but far larger. the water pours out through these nozzles with tremendous force, breaking up the gravel, and washing it away down a long series of wooden troughs, in which the gold settles, and is caught by a variety of contriv- ances. but in the early days of gold discovery the very exist- ence of these beds of gravel was unknown, and gold was obtained only in the ravines and valleys by washing the soil in the bottom. it had already been discovered that the soil was richer the further the searchers went down, by far the greater finds being made when the diggers reached the solid rock at the bottom, in the irregulari- ties of which, worn by water thousands of years before, large quantities of rough gold were often discovered. there was no difficulty in following the track through the forest, and after two days' traveling the party arrived at the first mining village. they chose a piece of ground for their camp, fastened their horses to stumps, erected a tent of blankets and placed in it the stores brought on their baggage-horses, which had remained un- touched since they started. then, leaving one of their number,in charge, they started off to visit the diggings. the whole of the bottom of the narrow valley was a scene of life and bustle. the existence of gold in the valley had been discovered but three weeks before, but a captain ba yley's heir. rush had taken place from other diggings. the ground had been allotted out, and a number of tents pitched and rough huts erected. men were working as if for bare life. the lots were small, and the ground was already perfectly honeycombed with holes. generally the dig- gers worked in batches of four or five, each member of which took up a claim, so that the space for operations was enlarged. two men labored with pick and shovel, and the baskets, as they were filled with earth and sand, were first screened in a sieve to remove the larger portion of stones and rock, and were then poured into what was known as a cradle, which was a long trough on rockers; one man brought water in buckets from the stream, and poured it into this, while another kept the cradle in constant motion. the mud and lighter portions of stone flowed away over the edge or were swept off by the hands of the men employed in working it, the particles of gold sink- ing to the bottom of the machine, where they were found at the clean-up at the end of the day's work. the newcomers looked on with great interest at the work, asking questions as to the luck which attended the operators. the majority gave but a poor acoount of their luck, the value of the finds at the end of the day being barely sufficient to pay the enormous rate charged for provisions, which had to be carried up from the coast some hundreds of miles away. the stores were brought in wagons as far as sacramento, and from that town were carried to the diggings on the backs of mules and horses. consequently it was impossible for a man to live on the poorest necessities of life for less than three or four dol- lars a day, and in the out-of-the-way valleys the cost was 'tften considerably more. some of the diggers owned that they were doing well, captain bayley's heir. but there was a general disinclination to state even the approximate amount of their daily winnings. the hunters found, however, that the general belief was that some of those who had claims in the center of the valley, where of course the gold would settle the thickest, were making from ten to twenty ounces per day. "that's something like!" dick said. "just fancy making from forty to eighty pounds per day. i vote we set to work at once. as well here as anywhere else." "yes, i suppose we may as well begin here," frank agreed; "at any rate until we hear what is being done in the other places. but you see we must be ready to move off as soon as a report comes of some fresh discovery, so as to get good places. here, of course, we must be con- tent to settle down outside the rest. we will mark out five claims at once, turn up the ground, and put our tools there; they say that's sufficient to take possession. then we will go up into the forests and cut down a pine or two, and slit it up into planks for making one of those cradles. that will take us all day to-morrow, i reckon." as they sat round the fire that evening, talking over their prospects, abe said: "i tell you what it is, mates, i have been thinking this here matter over, and when i sees what tremendous prices are being charged for grub here, i concluded there must be a big thing to be made in the way of carrying. now we have got our five riding-horses, and the three baggage-horses, that makes eight. now what i proposes is this; three of us shall work the claims, and the other two shall work the horses; we can sell the riding-saddles down at sacramento, and get pack-saddles instead. we can begin by carrying for one of the traders here. "i hear that a horse can earn from five to ten dollars a day, so our eight horses will earn forty to eighty dollars captain ba yley's heir. a day. now that's a good sartin living for us all, es- pecially as we shall bring up the provisions for ourselves, instead of paying big rates here. arterards we will see how things go, and if we like we can open a store here, and one of us mind it. anyhow the horses will keep us well. if the claim turns out well, so much the better; if it don't, we can do very well without it. i proposes as we take it by turns to drive the horses and dig." the counsel was good and prudent, but it was only adopted after some discussion, for the sums which the more fortunate diggers were earning were so large that all looked forward to making a rapid fortune, and were inclined to despise the small but steady gains offered by the plan abe suggested. however, frank sided with abe, and offered to go with him on the first trip to sacra- mento, and the others thereupon fell in with the plan. the next day the cradle was made by abe and frank, the others setting to to dig and wash out in a bucket. at the end of a day of hard work they had got about a quarter of an ounce of glittering yellow dust. this was not paying work, but they were not disappointed; they had not expected to strike upon good ground at the first attempt, and were quite satisfied by the fact that they really had met with the gold which they had come so far to seek. that evening abe made a bargain to bring up goods from sacramento for one of the storekeepers, having pre- viously found the rate which was current. at daybreak next morning he and frank started off on horseback, each with three horses tied, head and tail, behind the one he was riding, turk marching gravely by their side. the distance to sacramento was upward of seventy miles. on their road they met numerous parties making their way up the mountains. all carried a pick and captain bayley's heir. shovel, a bucket and blanket, and a small sack with flour and bacon. many of them were sailors, who had deserted from their ships at san francisco, where scores of vessels were lying unable to leave for want of hands. all, as they passed, asked the last news from the dig- gings, where the last rush was, and what was the average take at the camp, and then hurried on, eager to reach the spot where, as every man believed, fortune awaited him. two days of travel down the mountains took them to sacramento. here their saddles were disposed of, and pack-saddles bought. the horses were laden with sacks of sugar and flour, sides of bacon, and mining tools, and after a day's stay in town they started back for the camp. sacramento, but a few months before a sleepy, quiet city, mostly inhabited by spaniards, or rather people of spanish descent, was now a scene of animation and bustle. long teams of wagons, laden with stores, rolled in almost hourly across the plains from san francisco, while the wharves at the riverside were surrounded by laden barges. bands of newly arrived emigrants wan- dered through the streets, asking eager questions of any one who had time enough to talk as to the best way of getting to the diggings, and as to the camp which they had better select for their first attempt. dark-looking men, half spaniard and half indian, went along on their 'ittle ponies, or rode at the head of a string of laden animals, with an air of perfect indifference to the bustle around them. sounds of shouting and singing came through the doors of pome saloons, in which many of the fortunate diggers were busily engaged in dissipating their hard- earned gains. men sunburned almost to blackness, in red shirts and canvas trousers, walked along the streets as if the town and all in it belonged to them in virtue of the qaptain bayley's heir. store of gold-dust tied up in their -waist-belts. in these, revolvers and bowie-knives were stuck conspicuously, and the newly arrived emigrants looked with awe and envy at these men who had already reaped a harvest at the mines. shooting affrays were of frequent occurrenoe in the drinking saloons, where at night gambling was invariably carried on, the diggers being as reckless of their lives as of their money. "about ten days of that place would be enough to ruin any man," abe said, as they walked at the head of their cavalcade from the town. "i reckon as sacramento is a sort of hell on arth, and guess there's more wickedness goes on in that ere little .town than in any other place its own size on the face of creation. they tells me as san francisco is worse, but at any rate sacramento is bad enough for me." on the evening of the third day after leaving sacra- mento they arrived at the mining camp, and having de- livered the stores they had brought up to the trader, and received the amount agreed upon, they took their way to the spot where they had pitched their camp. "well, lads, what luck?" abe asked, as at the sound of their feet their comrades came out to greet them. "we have got about four ounces of dust," dick said, "and our backs are pretty nigh broken, and our hands that blistered we can hardly hold the shovel. however, we have been better the last two days. i expect there have been two or three hundred people arrived here since you left, and they are all at work now." "well, that's pretty well for a beginning," abe said, "though you wouldn't have much of your four ounces left if you had to pay for grub. however, we've brought up another half-sack of flour, twenty pounds of sugar, and five pounds of tea, and a half-side of baoon, so we captain bayley's heib. have got quite enough to go on for a long time yet. i have brought up, too, a good stout tent, which will hold us comfortable, and, after paying for all that, here's thirty pounds in money. i got five pounds a horse-load, so with your earnings and ours we haven't made a bad week's work; that's pretty nigh ten pounds a man. i don't say that's anything wonderful, as times goes here; but when we hit on a good spot for our digging, we shall pick it up quick. now let's pitch the new tent, and then we will have supper, for i can tell you walking twenty-five miles in this mountain air gives one some- thing like an appetite." captain bayley's heir. "but, captain bayley," the lawyer urged, "we must first see whether this gentleman had any reasonable cause for his belief. if the evidence is what may be considered as strong, we must accept his action as taken bond. fide." "don't tell me, sir," captain bayley exclaimed angrily. "what do i care for evidence? of course he told me a long rigmarole story, but he could not have believed it himself. no one but a fool could believe my nephew frank guilty of theft; the idea is preposterous; it was as much as i could do to restrain myself from caning him when he was speaking." the lawyer smiled inwardly, for dr. litter was a tall, stately man, six feet two in height, while captain bayley was a small, slight figure, by no means powerful when in his prime, and now fully twenty years the senior of the head-master. "well, captain bayley," he said, "in the first place it is necessary that i should know the precise accusation which this gentleman has brought against your nephew. will you be good enough to repeat to me, as nearly as you can, the statement which he made, as, of course, if we proceed to legal measures, we must be exact in the matter?" "well, this is about the story he told me," captain bayley said, more calmly. "in the first place, it seems that the lad broke bounds one night, and went with a man named perkins—who is a prize-fighter, and who i know gave him lessons in boxing, for i gave frank five pounds last half to pay for them—to a meeting of these chartist blackguards somewhere in the new cut. "well, there was a row there, as there naturally would be at such a place, and it seems frank knocked down some badical fellow—a tailor, i believe—and broke his nose. well, you know, i am not saying this was right; captain bayley's heir. still, you know, lads will be lads, and i used to be fond of getting into a row myself when i was young, for i could spar in those days pretty well, i can tell you, griffith. i would have given a five-pound note to have seen frank set to with that radical tailor. still, i dare say, if the lad had told me about it i should have got into a passion and blown him up." "i shouldn't be surprised at all," the lawyer said dryly. "no. well that would do him no harm; he knows me, and he knows that i am peppery. well, it seems this fellow found out who he was, and threatened to report the thing to the head-master, in which case this dr. litter said he should have expelled him for being out of bounds, a thing which in itself i call monstrous. now, here is where frank was wrong. he ought to have coma straight to me and told me the whole affair, and got his blowing up and his money. instead of that, he asked three or four of the other boys—among them my nephew fred—to lend him the money, but they were all out of funds. well, somebody, it seems, sent frank a ten- pound note in an envelope, with the words 'from a friend,' and no more. frank showed the envelope to tho others, and they all agreed that it was a sort of godsend and frank sent the note to the tailor. now it seems that the day before frank got the note the head-master, when he was hearing his form had put a ten-pound note with some other things on the table, and being called out, he, like a careless old fool, left them lying there. "some time afterward he missed the note, and does not remember taking it up from the table; still, he says, he - did not suspect any of the boys of his form of taking it, and thinking that he had dropped it on the way to his house, he stopped the note at the bank, happening to captain bayley's heir. have its number. a few days afterward the note was presented; it was traced to the tailor, who admitted hav- ing received it from frank; and would you believe it, sir, this man now pretends to believe that my nephew stole it from the table, and sent it to himself in an envelope. it's the most preposterous thing i ever heard." mr. griffith looked grave. "of course, captain bayley, having met your nephew at your house several times, i cannot for a moment be- lieve him guilty of taking the note; still, i must admit that the evidence is strongly circumstantial, and were it a stranger who was accused i should say at once the thing looked nasty." "pooh! nonsense, griffith," the old officer said angrily; "there's nothing in it, sir—nothing whatever. somebody found the note kicking about, i dare say, and didn't know who it belonged to; he knew frank was in a corner, and sent it to him. the thing is perfectly natural." "yes,"the lawyer assented doubtfully; "butthe ques- tion is, who did know it? was the fact of your nephew requiring the money generally known in the school?" "no," captain bayley admitted. "the doctor exam- ined the four boys before frank. they all declared that they knew nothing of the note, and that they had not mentioned the circumstance to a soul; but my opinion is that one of them is a liar." "it is certainly necessary to believe, "mr. griffith said slowly, "that one of them is either a liar or a thief. of course there may be some other solution of the matter, but the only one that i can see, just at the present moment, is this: your nephew is the sort of lad to be ex- tremely popular among his schoolmates; either one of these four boys took the note from the master's table., captain bayley's heir. with the good-natured but most mistaken idea of getting him out of a scrape, or they must have mentioned his need of money to some of their schoolfellows, one of whom finding the note, perhaps in the yard, where the head-master may have dropped it, sent it to frank to re- lieve him of the difficulty. "these are possible solutions of the mystery, at any rate. but if you will take my advice, captain bayley, you will not, in the present state of affairs, take the steps which you propose to me against dr. litter. it will be time enough to do that when your nephew's innocence is finally and incontestably proved. of course," he said, see- ing that his listener was about to break out again, "you and i knowing him, know that he is innocent; but others who do not know him might entertain some doubt upon the subject, and a jury might consider that the doctor was justified, with the evidence before him, in acting as he did, in which case an immense deal of damage might be done by making the matter a subject of general talk." with some difficulty captain bayley was pessuaded to allow his intention to rest for awhile. "it is late now," he said, "but i shall go and see frank to-morrow. i wish i had seen him this afternoon before i came to you. however, i have no doubt when i get home i shall find a letter from him—not defending himself, of course, as he would know that to be unneces- sary, but telling me the story in his own way." but no letter came that evening, to captain bayley's great irritation. he told alice hardy the whole circum- stances, and she was as indignant as himself, and warmly agreed that the head-master should be punished for his unjust suspicions. "and do you say he is really going to be expelled to- morrow?" she asked, in a tone of horror. captain ba yley's heir. "so the fellow said, my dear; but he shall smart for it, and the laws of the land shall do frank justice." at half-past nine the next morning fred barkley arrived at captain bay ley's. "well," his uncle exclaimed, as he entered, "i sup-? pose you have been sent to tell me they have got to the bottom of this rigmarole affair." "no, uncle," fred said, "i have, i am sorry to say, been sent to tell you that frank last night left his board- ing-house and is not to be found." captain bayley leaped from his seat in great wrath. "the fool i the idiot i to run away like a coward in- stead of facing it out; and not a line or a message has he sent to me. did you know, sir, that your cousin was going to run away?" fred hesitated. "yes, uncle, i knew that he was going, and did my best to dissuade him, but it was useless." captain bayley walked up and down the room with quick steps, uttering exclamations testifying his anger and annoyance. "has he got any money?" he said suddenly, halting before fred. "did he get any money from you?" fred hesitated again, and then said: "well, uncle, since you insist upon knowing, i did let him have twenty pounds which i got for the sale of my books." "i believe, sir," the old officer said furiously, "that you encouraged him in this step, a step which i con- sider fatal to him." fred hesitated again, and then said: "well, uncle, i am sorry that you should be so angry about it, but i own that i did not throw any obstacle in the way." captain bayley' heir. "you did not, sir," captain bay ley roared, "and why did you not? are you a fool too? don't you see that this running away instead of facing matters out cannot but be considered, by people who do not know frank, as a proof of his guilt, a confession that he did not dare to stay to face his accusers?" fred was silent. "answer me, sir," captain bay ley said; "don't stand there without a word to explain your conduct. do you or do you not see that this cowardly flight will look like a confession of guilt?" "i did see that, uncle," fred said, "but i thought that better than a public expulsion." "oh! you did, did you?" his uncle said sarcastically, "when you knew that if he had stopped quietly at home we should have proved his innocence in less than no time." fred made no reply. "do you think we shouldn't have proved his inno- cence?" roared his uncle. "i am sorry to say anything which is displeasing to you, uncle, but i fear that you would never have proved frank's innocence." the words seemed to have a sobering effect on captain bayley. the blood seemed to die out of his face; he put one hand on a chair, as if to steady himself, while he looked fixedly in his nephew's face. "do you mean, fred," he said, in a low voice, "do you mean that you have a doubt of frank's innocence?" "i should rather not say anything about it," fred replied. "i hope with all my heart that frank is not guilty, but" ""what do you think?" captain bayley repeated; "have you any grounds whatever for believing him guilty?" captain bayley's heir. "no, sir, and i do not wish you to be in the slightest degree influenced by what i said." he paused, but captain bayley's eyes were still fixed upon him, as if commanding a complete answer. "well, sir," he went on hesitatingly, "i must own that, sad as it is to say so, i fear frank did it." "did he confess it to you?" captain bay ley asked, in a strained, strange voice. "no, uncle, not in so many words, but he said things which seemed to me to mean that. when i tried to dis- suade him from running away, and urged him to remain till his innocence could be proved, he said angrily, 'what's the use of talking like that, when you know as well as i do that it can't be proved.' afterward he said, 'it is a bad job, and i have been an awful fool. but who could have thought that note would be traced back to litter?' and other remarks of the same kind. he may be innocent, uncle—you know how deeply i wish we could prove him so—but i fear, i greatly fear, that we shall be doing frank more service by letting the matter drop. you know the fellows in the school all believe him innocent, and though his going away has staggered some of them, the general feeling is still all in his favor; therefore they are sure to speak of him as a sort of vic- tim, and when he returns, which of course he will do in a few years' time, the matter will have died away and have been altogether forgotten." the old officer sat down at the table and hid his face in his hands. all this time alice, pale and silent, had sat and listened with her eyes fixed upon the speaker, but she now leaped up to her feet. "uncle," she said, "don't believe him, he is not speaking the truth, i am sure he is not. he hates captain bayley's heir. frank, and i have known it all along, because frank is bigger and better than he; because frank was generous and kind-hearted; because everyone liked frank and no one liked him. he is telling a lie now, and i believe every word he has said since he came into the room is false." "hushi child," the old officer said; "you must not speak so, my dear. if it was only the word of one lad against another, it would be different; but it is not so. the proof is very strong against frank. i would give all i am worth if i could still believe him innocent, and had he come to me and put his hand in mine, and said, 'uncle, lam innocent,' i would have believed him against all the evidence in the world. it is not i who condemn him, he has condemned himself. he sends me no word; he cannot look me in the face and declare himself inno- cent. he runs away at night, knowing well that there could be but one construction as td this, and that all would judge him guilty. no, alice, it breaks my heart to say so, but i can struggle no longer against these facts. the lad whom i have lovgd as a son has turned out a thief." "no, uncle, no," the girl cried passionately, "i will never believe it, not to the end of my life. i cannot prove him innocent, but i know he is so, and some day it will be proved; but till then i shall still think of him as my dear brother, as my true-hearted brother, who has been wrongfully accused and who is the victim of some wicked plot of which, perhaps, fred barkley knows more than any one else,"and, bursting into a passion of tears, she ran from the room. fred looked after her with an expression of pity and sorrow. "poor child!" he said, "it is a terrible blow for her, and she scarce knows what she is saying." captain ba yley's heir. "it is a terrible blow," captain bayley said, in a dreary voice, "a moat terrible blow to me and to her. no wonder she feels it; and i have been planning and hoping that some day, a few years hence, those two would get to like each other in a different way. i had, by my will, divided my fortune equally between you and him, but i have liked him best. of course, i brought him up, and he has been always with me; it was natural that i should do so. still i wanted to be fair, and i divided it equally. but i was pleased. at the thought that her fortune, which is, as you know, a very large one, would be his, and enable him to make a great figure in the world if he had chosen; and now it is all over. "go away now, my boy, the blow has been too much for me. i am getting an old man, and this is the second great blow i have had. do not take to heart the wild words of poor little alice. you see she scarcely knows what she is saying." without another word fred took his departure. when once out of sight of the house his steps quickened, and he walked briskly along. "splendid!" he said to himself; "a grand stroke indeed, and perfectly safe. frank is not likely to return for twenty years, if ever, and i don't think the old man is good for another five. i expect i shall have some trou- ble with that little cat, alice; but she is only a child, and will come round in time, and her fortune will be quite as useful to me as it would have been to him. i always knew he was little better than a fool, but i could hardly have hoped that he would have walked into the trap as he has done. i suppose that other blow old bayley spoke of was that affair of his daughter. that was a lucky business for me too." fred barkley was not mistaken, it was of his daughter captain bayley's heir. captain bayley had been thinking when he spoke. ha had married young when he first went out to india, and had lost his wife two years later, leaving him with a daughter six months old. he had sent her home to england, and after a twenty years' absence he had re- turned and found her grown up. she had inherited something of her father's passion- ate disposition, and possessed, in addition, an amount of sullen obstinacy which was wholly alien to his nature. but her father saw none of these defects in her character. she was very beautiful, with an air of pride and hauteur which he liked. she had a right to be proud, he thought, for she was a very wealthy heiress, for, his two elder brothers having died childless while he was in india, the fine property of their father had all descended to him. though the girl had many suitors, she would listen to none of them, having formed a strong attachment to a man in station altogether beneath her. he had given lessons in drawing at the school which had been her home as well as her place of education during her father's absence, for captain bayley had quarreled with his sis- ters, both of whom, he considered, had married beneath them. the fact that ella bayley was an only child, and that her father was a wealthy man, was known in the school, and had, in some way, come to the ears of the drawing- master, who was young, and by no means ill-looking. he had played his cards well. ella was romantic and impetuous, and, before long, returned the devotion which her teacher expressed for her. when her father returned home, and ella left school to take her place at the head of his establishment, she had hoped that she should be able to win from him a consent captain bayley's heir. self; they had moved from the place they had first lived at, and taken much smaller lodgings. here the people of the house reported their life had been very unhappy; the husband had taken to drink, and there had been fierce and frequent quarrels between them, arising—the landlady had gleaned, from the loud and angry utterance of the husband—from the wife's refusal to appeal to her father for assistance. they had left this place suddenly, and in debt; thence they had moved from lodging to lodging at short intervals, their position getting worse, until they were last lodged in a wretched garret. from this point they were traced with great trouble down to nottingham, where the husband obtained a precarious living by producing designs for embroidery and curtains. had he been steady he might have soon done fairly, but a great part of his time was spent in public-houses, and he was seldom sober. when returning home one night in a state of drunkenness, he was run over by a heavy van and killed. as his wife possessed but a few shillings in the world, he was buried at the expense of the parish and his widow at once left the town. the people where she lodged believed that she had gone to london, taking with her her six-months'-old child, and had started to tramp the way on foot. the woman said that she doubted whether she could ever have got there. she was an utterly broken woman, with a constant racking cough, which was like to tear her to pieces, and before she set out her landlady had urged upon her that the idea of her starting to carry a heavy child to london was nothing short of madness. after this all trace of ella had been lost. advertise- ments offering large rewards appeared in the papers; the books of every workhouse between nottingham and lon- captain ba yley's heir. don, and indeed of almost every workhouse in england, were carefully searched to see if there was any record of the death of a woman with a child about the time of her disappearance. a similar search was made at all the london hospitals, and at every institution where she might have crawled to die; but no trace had ever been found of her. that she was dead was not doubted; for it was found that at nottingham she had once gone to the parish doc- tor for some medicine for her child. the physician had taken particular notice of her, had asked her some ques- tions, and had made a note in his case-book that the mother of the child he had prescribed for was in an advanced stage of consumption, and had probably but a few weeks, certainly not more than a few months, to live. it was long before the search was given up as hopeless, and many hundreds of pounds were spent by captain bayley before he abandoned all hope of discovering, if not his daughter, at least her child. during the year which elapsed before he was forced to acknowledge that it was hopeless, captain bayley had suffered terribly. his self-reproaches were unceasing, and he aged many years in appearance. it was three years after this, on the death of his sister, mrs. norris, whose husband had died some years before, that he took frank into his house and adopted him as his son, stating, however, to all whom it might concern, that he did not regard him as standing nearer to him as his heir than his other nephew, fred barkley, but that his property would be divided between them as they might show themselves worthy of it. it was three years later still, that, at the death of her father, an old fellow- officer, his household was increased by the addition of alice, who had been left to his guardianship, but who had soon learned, like frank, to address him as uncle. captain bayley'b heir. chaptee xv. the missing heir, it was a long time before the house in eaton square in any way recovered its former appearance. captain bay- ley had lost much of his life and vivacity, and, as the servants remarked to each other, nothing seemed to put him out. he went for his morning ride in the park, or his afternoon visit to the club, as usual, but his thoughts seemed far away; he passed old friends without seeing them, and if stopped he greeted them no longer with a cheery ring in his voice, or a quick smile of welcome. everyone who knew him remarked that bayley was going downhill terribly fast, and was becoming a perfeot wreck. frank's name was never now mentioned in the house. its utterance had not been forbidden, but it had been dropped as a matter concerning which a hopeless dis- agreement existed. alice had changed almost as much as her uncle. her spirits were gone; her voioe was no longer heard singing about the house; she no longer ran up and down the stairs with quick, springing footsteps, and indeed seemed all at once to have changed from a young girl into a young woman. sometimes, as she sat, the tears filled her eyes and rolled fast down her cheeks; at other times she would walk about with her eyebrows knitted, and hands clinched, and lips pursed together, a little volcano of suppressed anger. although no disoussion on the subject had taken place captain bayley's heir. —'all families of distinction/ says he,' 'as got their own crest, which belongs to them and no one else.' now this 'ere crest of the guv'nor's is a hand holding a dag- ger, and the hand has only got three fingers. i said as how there was two missing, and that the chap as did it couldn't have known much of his business to go and leave out two fingers. but the butler says, 'that's your hignorance,' says he; 'the hand 'as got only three fingers because a hancestor of the captain's in the time of the crusaders'— 'and what's the crusades?' says i. 'the crusaders was a war between the english and the americans hundreds of years ago,' says he." harry burst into a shout of laughter. "mr. butler does not know anything about it, for the crusades were wars between people who went out to the holy land to recover the holy sepulcher from the turks who held it." "ah, well," evan said, "it don't make no odds whether they was turks or americans. however, the butler says as how the captain bayley what lived in those days, he saw a red injun a-crawling to stab the king, who was a-lying asleep in his tent, and just as his hand was up to stick in the knife, captain bayley he gives a cut with his sword which whips off two of the fingers, and before the injun could turn round and go at him he gives another cut, and takes off his hand at the wrist, and the next cut he takes off his head; so the hand with three fingers holding a dagger was given him to carry as a crest. i suppose after a time the hand got wore out, or got bad, so as he couldn't have carried it about no longer, and instead of that, as a kind of remembrance pf the affair, he 'as them put on his forks and spoons.'' mrs. holl had been listening with grave interest to the narrative. "does i understand you to say, evan, that no other > captain bayley's heir. the seal was fetched by mrs. holl from a pill-box, ia which it was carefully stored away in the corner of a drawer. harry examined it closely. "it looks like a hand holding a dagger," he said, "but it's too small for me to see whether it has three fingers or four. evan, will you run round with it to the little watchmaker's in the next street, and ask him to look at it with one of the glasses he sticks in his eye when he is at work, and to tell you whether it has three fingers or four." evan returned in a few minutes with the news that the watchmaker at once said that the hand had but three fingers. "well, from that, harry," mrs. holl said, "if what this man have been and told evan is right, you must be some relation to captain bayley." "a cousin, fifty times removed, perhaps," harry laughed, "but, at any rate, it is pleasant to be able to think that i come of a good family." "you knew that before, harry," mrs. holl said severely, "for i told you over and over again that your mother was a lady, though she was in bad circumstances, and i think, after charring in respectable houses for the last twenty years, i ought to know a lady when i sees one. well, there's nothing as you think i could do about it?" "i should think not," harry laughed. "how the old gent would stare if evan was to walk up to him and say, 'captain bayley, i have got a foster-brother at home who, i think, is a relation of yours.' that would be a nice piece of cheek, wouldn't it?" evan laughed. "however, mother, i votes as in future we calls harry harry bayley instead of harry holl." captain ba yley's heir. "you won't do anything of the sort, evan," the crip- ple lad answered hotly. "holl's my name, and you don't suppose i am going to drop the name of the father and mother who brought me up, and have tended me all these years, for bayley or any other name; beside, even if it should turn out that i am remotely connected with the family, there is no reason why my name should be bayley, for, of course, if my mother had been a bayley, she would have changed her name when she married." harry thought but little more of the matter, but mrs. holl turned it over frequently in her mind, and discussed it with john. john said, "he didnt' think much would come of it; still, he didn't see as how there could be any harm in asking, seeing that she had set her mind on it." so mrs. holl resolved to move in the matter. evan, on being appealed to, said that he did not see how she was to get to speak with captain bayley; the footman wouldn't be likely to show her in to his master unless she stated her business. but after much pressing, and de- claring over and over again he wished he had never said a word about the hand with three fingers, evan con- sented, if he found an opportunity, to ask captain bay- ley to see his mother. this opportunity, however, did not arrive, evan's duties never bringing him in contact with his employer. at last mrs. holl became desperate, and one morning, after breakfast, she went to captain bayley's house. the ring at the area-bell brought out the cook. "what is it?" she said sharply. "i am the mother, ma'am, of evan, as works here." "well, come down, if you want to see him." "i don't want to see him, i want to see captain bayley." "i will tell the footman," the cook said, "but i don't think it likely as you can see the captain." captain ba yley 's heir the footman soon made his appearance. fortunately he was very young, and had not yet acquired that haughtiness of manner which characterizes his class. evan had before told him that his mother wanted to see captain bayley, and had begged him to do his best, should she come, to facilitate her doing so. "good-morning," he said. "your boy told me you would be likely enough coming. so you want to see the captain; he has just finished his breakfast and gone into the study. now, what shall i say you wants to see hira for? i can't show you in, you know, without asking him first." the young footman was, indeed, curious to know what mrs. holl's object could be in wishing to see his master. evan had resisted all his attempts to find out, simply saying that it was a private affair of his mother's. "will you say to him," mrs. holl said, "that the mother of the boy as works here under you is most anxious for to see him just for two or three minutes; that it ain't nothing to do with the boy, but she wishes particu- lar to ask captain bayley a question—if he will be so good as to see her—that no one else but hisself could answer." "it's a rum sort of message," the young footman said, "but, anyhow, i will give it; the captain ain't as hot- tempered as he used to be, and he can but say he won't see you." captain bayley looked mystified when the footman delivered mrs. holl's message to him; then he remem- bered that it was frank who had introduced her son to help in the house, and he wondered whether her errand could have any connection with him. "well, show her up, james," he said; "but just tell her that my time is precious, and that i don't want to captain ba yley's heir. there ourious in my crest being on my spoons? now just wait one minute, and tell me as plainly as you can." mrs. holl waited a minute. "well, sir, it struck me all in a heap, because i've got in the house a thing with just such another hand, a-hold- ing of a knife in it." "oh!" captain bayley said, "you have got some arti- cle with my crest on it in your house. how did you come by it? it must have been stolen." "no, sir, i will take my davey as the young person as was my son harry's mother never stole nothing in her life." "the young person who was your son harry's mother," captain bayley repeated, in a somewhat puzzled tone. "are you talking of yourself?" "lor' no, sir, the young person." "but what young person do you mean? how can any young person have been your son harry's mother except yourself?" "he ain't really my son, you see, sir; he is the son of a young person who we took in, john and i, and who died at our house; harry is her son." a great change passed over captain bayley's face, the expression of impatience died out, and was succeeded by one almost of awe. he dropped the paper which he had hitherto held in his hand, and leaning forward he asked in low tones: "do you mean that a woman who had in her possession some article with my crest on it, and who had a child with her, died in your house?" "yes, sir, that's what i mean; the article is a little gold seal, with a red stone to it." "how long ago was this?" came slowly from captain bayley's lips. r captain ba yley's smb. "about seventeen years ago," mrs. holl said. "tha mother died a few days afterward; the child is our harry; and i came to ask you—but, good lawks!" an ashen grayness had been stealing across the old officer's face, and mrs. holl was terrified at seeing him suddenly fall forward across the table. she rushed to the door to ask for help. james was in the hall, having waited there, expecting momentarily to hear his master tell him to show his visitor out. he began to utter exclamations of dismay at seeing his mas- ter's senseless figure. "i will lift him up," she said. "eun and fetch the butler and the cook, and then go for the doctor as quick as you can run; he has got a stroke." the butler was first upon the scene. mrs. holl had already lifted captain bayley into a sitting position. "i have taken off his necktie and opened his oollar," she said. the butler, who was unaware of mrs. holl's pres- ence there, was astonished at the scene. "who are you?" he gasped, "and what have you been doing to the captain? h you have killed him it will be a hanging matter, you know." "don't you be a fool," retorted mrs. holl sharply, "but run for some water; he has got a stroke, though what it came from is more nor i can tell." to be called a fool by this unknown woman of coarse appearance roused the butler's faculties. he was sin- cerely attached to his master, and without reply he at once hurried away for water. in five minutes the doctor, who lived close by, entered. mrs. holl was still holding up the insensible man; alice btood crying beside her, the servants were looking on. "open the windows," he said. then he felt the captain's pulse. for some time ho stood silent; then he said: captain ba ylet's heir. "lay him down at full length on the couch." mrs. holl, without the least effort, lifted the slight figure and laid it on the sofa. "now," the doctor said, "will you all leave the room except miss hardy and you?" he nodded to mrs. holl. as the servants retired reluctantly, the butler said: "please, sir, i don't know whether you know it, but that woman was with him alone when he got insensible. i don't know what she did to him, but i should recom- mend that we should have a policeman in readiness." "nonsense," the surgeon said. "however, it will be better that she should retire; but let her wait outside, close at hand, in case he wishes to speak to her." sarah holl followed the servants into the hall. the doctor poured a few drops of cordial between captain bayley's lips, and placed some strong salts beneath his nostrils. "you think he will come round?" alice asked. "he will come round," the doctor said confidently; "his pulse is gaining power rapidly. it is not paralysis, but a sort of fainting fit, brought on, i should imagine, by some sudden shock; his heart is weak, and there was a sudden failure of its powers. i have warned him over and over again not to excite himself. however, i think there is no great harm done this time; but he must be careful in future; another such attack and it might go hard with him. see, he is coming round." in a few minutes captain bayley opened his eyes and looked round vaguely. "lie quiet for a little while, my dear sir," the doctor said cheerfully; "you have been ill, a sort of faintingfit, but you will be all right in a short time. drink this glass of cordial.'' he lifted his patient's head and held the glass to his lips. as captain bayley drank it alice placed a pillow under his head. captain ba yley's heir. "how was it?" captain bayley asked, in a low tone. "we don't know," the doctor said; "but don't think about it at present. what you have to do now is to get quite strong again; it will be time afterward for you to think what upset you. you have given miss hardy here quite a fright." captain bayley nodded to alice. "i never did such a thing before," he said. "i was reading here in the library—" then he stopped, a sudden flush came to his face. "don't agitate yourself, my dear sir," the doctor said soothingly, "agitation now would be a very serious thing. drink a little more of this." captain bayley did as he was told, and then asked: "where is the woman who was speaking to me?" "she is outside," the doctor said. "i told her to wait. but you really must not see her for a time." "i am all right now," captain bayley said, rising to his elbow, "and it will agitate me less to see her than to wait. she brought me very strange news, news which i never thought to hear. it is not bad news, my dear," he said to alice, "it is the best news i ever heard. you need not go away, doctor," he said, seeing the physi- cian was preparing to leave; "you are an old friend, and know all about it; beside, it is no secret. you know how i searched for very many years for my daughter and her child, and came at last to the conclusion that both must be dead, for she was in a dying state when last heard of. well, i have found that the boy is alive. he has been brought up by the woman who is the mother of a boy who works here." "oh! i know," alice exclaimed, "frank told me the story. she had told him about a woman who had fallen down at her door, years ago, and how she had brought up the child. but oh, uncle " she said pitifully, "i captain bayley's heir. have a sad thing to tell you. frank said that he was buch a nice boy, so clever and good. frank used to go and help him with his books and he can read latin and all sorts of things; but, uncle, he met with an accident when he was little, and he is a cripple." for a minute captain bayley was silent. "it is part of my punishment, dear," he said at last. "god's will be done. however, cripple or not, i am thankful to find that, from what you say, he is a boy whom i can own without shame, for the thought has troubled me always, that, should ella's son be alive, he might have grown up a companion of thieves, a wander- ing vagabond. thank god, indeed, it is not so! i am glad you told me, alice. now, let me see this good woman who has been a mother to him." mrs. holl was again called in, and was asked to sit down. "the question you wished to ask me," captain bayley said, "was, i suppose, whether i could give you any clew as to who was the woman you took in, and whose child you adopted? she was my daughter." "lor", sirl" mrs. holl exclaimed, "who would have thought such a thing?" "who, indeed," captain bayley repeated; "but so it was. for years i sought for her in vain, and had long since given up all hope of ever hearing of her. have you got the seal with you?" after some search mrs. holl produced from the corner of her capacious pocket the seal, carefully wrapped up in paper. "that is it," captain bayley said, with a sigh. "alice, go to my desk, open the inner compartment, and (here you will see the fellow to it." alice did as he requested. ti captain ba yley's heir. all the better friends because you love, as do i, my dear good cousin, frank." "well, harry," captain bayloy said hastily, "when will you come home to me? i don't want to press you to leave your kind friends here too suddenly, but i am longing to have you home. i have the carriage at the end of the street if you will come now." "no, grandfather, not to-day; i will come to-morrow. father took his dinner away with him, and he will not be back till this evening, and i am not going to let him come and find me gone." "quite right, my boy, quite right," captain bayley said. "then to-morrow, at eleven o'clock, i will come round in the carriage and fetch you. mrs. holl, remem- ber that harry bayley owes you a deep debt of gratitude, which he will do his best some day to repay as far as it is in his power. good-by, harry, for the present. i am glad your mother gave you my name; it seems to show she thought kindly of me at the last. perhaps she found, poor girl, that i had not been altogether wrong in my opposition to her unhappy fancy.'' the following day harry was installed in eaton square. captain bayley was delighted to find how easily and naturally he fell into the new position, how well he ex- pressed himself, and how wide was his range of knowl- edge. "he is a gentleman, every inch," he exclaimed de- lightedly to alice. "if you knew how i have thought of him you would understand how happy it makes me to see him what he is.'' captain bayley lost no time in obtaining the best pos- sible surgical advice for his grandson; their opinion was not as favorable as he had hoped. had he been properly treated at the time of his accident he might, they said,, captain bayley's heir. have made a complete recovery; but now it was too late. however, they thought that by means of surgical appli- ances, and a course of medicinal baths, he might recover the use of his legs to some extent, and be able to walk with crutches. this was something, and the captain determined at once to carry their advice into effect. between alice hardy and the lad a strong friendship speedily sprang up. the girl's bright talk, which was different from anything he had hitherto experienced, was very delightful to the lad; but the strong bond be- tween them was their mutual feeling about frank. from her harry learned the oharge under which frank labored, and his indignant repudiation of the possibility of such a thing delighted alice's heart; hitherto she had been alone in her belief, and it was delightful to her to talk with one who was of her own way of thinking. she in- fected harry with her own dislike and suspicions of fred barkley, and amused the lad greatly by telling him how, when she had heard of the discovery of his existence, she had, when mrs. holl left, gone straight up to her room and indulged in a wild dance of delight at the destruc- tion of fred's hope of being captain bayley's sole heir. "it was glorious," she said. "i knew fred hated frank, though frank, silly old boy, was always taking his part with me and scolding me because i didn't like his cousin; and i am quite, quite sure that he has had something to do with getting frank into this dreadful scrape, and it was glorious to think that just when he thought that he had got the field clear, and uncle harry all to himself, you should suddenly appear and put his nose out of joint. that's a very unladylike expression, harry, and i know i oughtn't to use it, but there's nothing else does so well. it's fred's holidays now, and he is away; i expect uncle will write and tell him all captain ba yley 's heir. his grandson had been found, and that he was all that he could wish to find him. "naturally, fred," he wrote, "this will make a con- siderable difference in your prospects. at the same time, as you have been led to believe that you would come into a considerable property at my death, and as you have done nothing to forfeit my confidence and affec- tion, having proved yourself in all ways a steady and industrious and honorable young fellow, i do not con- sider it right that you should be altogether disinherited by a discovery which has occasioned me such vast pleas- ure. i have therefore instructed my solicitor to prepare a new will. by this he will settle my property in war- wickshire, and my town house, upon my grandson; but my other house property, and a portion of my money in stocks and shares, which has been accumulating for many years, will be left to you, the value of the legacy being, i calculate, about one-half of that of the property left to my grandson. thus you will be in nearly the same posi- tion you would have occupied had not your cousin frank forfeited, by his disgraceful conduct, his place in my affections." whatever may have been the feelings of fred barkley when he received this communication, he wrote a grace- ful letter of congratulation to his uncle, expressing his pleasure at the discovery of his long-lost grandson, and with many thanks for his kind intention on his own be- half. his anger and disappointment were so great that he did not return to town until the day before he was going up to cambridge—having left westminster at the end of the preceding term—for he did not feel himself equal, before that time, to continue to play his part, and to express personally the sentiments which he had writ- ten. what rendered his disappointment even more captain ba yley 's heir. bitter was the thought that, indirectly, it was frank who had dealt him the blow, for captain bayley had men- tioned in his letter that it was through the boy whom his cousin had recommended as an assistant to the footman that the discovery had been made. the visit that he paid at eaton square was a short one. to his relief alico was not present, for he was certain that she would have watched him with malicious pleas- ure. but there had been a passage of arms between her and her guardian of a more serious nature than any which had ocourred since she had been under his care, owing to her having expressed herself with her usual frankness respecting fred's visit. her guardian had resented this warmly, and had rated her so severely as to what he called her wicked prejudice against fred, that she had retired to her room in tears. this defeat of his favorite had not predisposed harry to any more favorable opinion of his unknown cousin; but fred, relieved from the presence of alice, acted his part so well, and infused so genuine a ring into the tone of his congratulations, that he did much to dissipate the prejudice with which harry was prepared to regard him. alice was quick to observe the impression which fred had made, and quarreled hotly with harry concerning it. "i am disappointed in you altogether, harry. i have looked upon you as being a real friend of frank, and now you desert him directly his enemy says a few soft words to you. i despise such friendship, and i don't want to have anything to say to you." in vain harry protested. the girl flung herself out of the room in deep anger, and thenceforth, for a long time, harry was made to feel that although she wished to be civil to him as her guardian's grandson, yet that the bond of union between them was entirely broken. captain ba yley's heir. grandfather—mind i do not share all alice's prejudice, and have no inclination in any way to doubt the honesty of my cousin fred—but at the same time, in bare justice to frank, we must not forget that fred was really a rival of his in your affections, and that he would possibly bene- fit greatly by frank's disgrace, and we must also remem- ber that the only evidence against frank, with the excep- tion of the circumstantial proof, comes from him. "it was he who furnished frank with funds to enable him to run away, and we cannot tell whether or not he did not even urge him to fly. you must remember, grandfather, that alice asserts fred always hated frank. i know she is prejudiced and that you never noticed the feeling nor did frank; but children's perceptions are very quick. and even allowing that she liked frank much the best, fred was always, as she admits, very kind and attentive to her—more so, in some ways, than frank, and there was no reason, therefore, for her taking up such a prejudice had she not been convinced that it was true. "now, grandfather, i will tell you what has occurred to me. i know it will appear a hideously unjust sus- picion to you, but i will tell you once for all, and we will not recur to the subject again; god knows i may be wronging him cruelly, but the wrong would be no greater than that which has been done to frank if he is really innocent. "ever since you told me the whole story, i have lain awake at night thinking it over. it may be that what alice has said may have turned my thoughts that way, but i can see only two explanations of the affair. "frank is really guilty, or he is altogether innocent. if he is innocent, who was guilty? some one took the note, some one sent it to frank, and this some one must captain bayley's heir. bo a person who knew that prank was in need of it; who- ever did so can only have done it with one of two motives, either to get frank out of trouble, or to bring disgrace upon him. only four boys knew of the affair, and they all declare that they told no one else. if they spoke truly it was one of these four sent him the note—always supposing that he did not take it himself. of the other three i know nothing; but i will take the case of fred and view it as if he was a stranger to both of us. "he was a rival of frank's. alice declares he hated him. at any rate he would benefit greatly by frank's disgrace. what did he do when frank asked him to help him? he refused to do so, on the ground that he had no money; but two days later he was able to raise double the sum frank then wanted in order to assist him to fly. dreadful as the supposition is, it seems to me that the only positive alternative to supposing frank to be guilty is to believe that his cousin took this note and sent it to him in order to bring him into disgrace, and that he afterward urged and assisted him to fly in order to stamp his guilt more firmly upon him." while harry had been speaking captain bayley had paced up and down the room. "impossible, harry," he exclaimed, "impossible. for, bad as was the case of frank taking the note on the pressure of the moment to get himself out of the silly scrape into which he had got, this charge which you bring against fred would be a hundred times, ay, a thou- sand times worse. it would be a piece of hideous treach- ery, a piece of villainy of which i can scarce believe a human being capable." "i do not bring the charge, grandfather," harry said quietly, "i only state the alternative. that one of your nephews took this note seems to me to be clear; the captain ba tley's heir. crime would be infinitely greater, infinitely more unpar- donable in the one case than the other, but the incentive, too, was enormously greater. in the one case the only object for the theft would be to avoid the consequence of a foolish, but, after all, not a serious freak; in the other to obtain a large fortune, and to ruin the chances of a dangerous rival. "eemember, at that time fred did not know how you had determined to dispose of your property. frank was living with you, and was apparently your favorite, there- fore he may have deemed that it was all or nothing. there, grandfather, i have done. i need not say that i know little of the real disposition of your two nephews. frank behaved to me with the greatest kindness when i was a poor cripple without the slightest claim upon him. fred has behaved kindly and courteously, although i have come between him and you. i can only say that i believe that one of these two must be guilty; which it is, god alone knows." "i wish you had said nothing about it," captain bay- ley groaned, "it is dreadful; i don't know what to do or what to think." "there is nothing to be done," harry said, "except, grandfather, to find frank. let us find him and see him face to face; let us hear his story from beginning to end, and i think then we shall arrive at a just conclusion. i have no doubt he has gone abroad, and i should advise that you should advertise in all the colonial and ameri- can papers begging him to return to have an interview with you, and offering a handsome reward to any one who will give you information of his whereabouts. if we find where he is, and he will not come to us, we will go to him." "that's what i will do, harry. i will not lose a captain bayley's heir. moment's time, but will set about it at once; if i spend ten thousand pounds in advertising i will find him. as to fred, i cannot meet him again until i get to the bot- tom of the affair, so we will stay away from england till i get some news of frank." before starting abroad, captain bayley carried out his plan for rewarding john and sarah holl for the kindness they had shown to harry. after consultation with his grandson, he had concluded that the best plan of doing so would be to help them in their own mode of life. he accordingly called upon the dust-contractor for whom john holl worked, a man who owned twenty carts. an agreement was soon come to with him, by which captain bayley agreed to purchase his business at his own price, with the whole of the plant, carts, and horses. a fort- night after this john's master said to him one day: "john, i have sold my business, you are going to have a new master." "i am sorry for that," john said, "for we have got on very well together for the last fifteen years. besides," he added thoughtfully, "it may be a bad job for me; i am not as young as i used to be, and he may bring new hands with him." "i will speak to him about you, john," his master said; "he is a good sort, and i dare say i can manage it. the thing is going to be done well. three or four new carts are going to be put on instead of some of the old ones, and there are ten first-rate horses coming in place of some of those that are getting past work. the stables are all being done up, and the thing is going to be done tip-top. curiously enough his name is the same as yours, john holl." "is it now?" john said. "well, that will be arum go, to see my own name on the carts, 'john holl, dust captain ba yley's heir. contractor.' it don't sound bad neither. so you will speak to him, gaffer?" "ay, i will speak to him," his employer answered. three days later john received a message from his master to the effect that the new gaffer would take pos- session next day, and that he was to call at the office at eleven o'clock. he added that his new employer said that he wished mrs. holl to go round with her husband. john and sarah were greatly mystified with the latter part of this message, until the solution occurred to them that probably their late employer had mentioned that mrs. holl went out charring and cleaning, and that he might intend to engage her to keep the office tidy. accordingly, at eleven o'clock on the following day, john and sarah presented themselves at the office at chelsea. as they entered the yard they were greatly amused at seeing all the carts ranged along, in the glory of new paint, with "john holl, dust contractor," in large letters on their sides. a boy was in the office, who told them that they were to go to the house. the yard was situated near the river, and the house which adjoined it was a large, old-fashioned building, standing in a pretty, walled garden. they went to the back door, and knocked. it was opened by a bright-looking servant- girl. "is mr. holl in?" sarah asked. "you are to be shown in," the girl said, and ushered them into a large, old-fashioned parlor, comfortably fur- nished. john and sarah gave a cry of surprise, for, sitting by the fire, in his wheeled box, just as in the olden time, was harry. scarce a day had passed since he had left them with- out his coming in for a half-hour for a chat with them, but his appearance here struck them with astonishment. captain bayley's heir. "what on arth be you a-doing here, harry?" mrs. holl asked. "do you know our new gaffer?" "yes, mother, i know him. captain bayley has had some business with him, and asked me to come down here to see him. you are to sit down until he comes." "but that will never do, harry. why, what would he think of us if he comes in and finds us sitting down in his parlor just as if the pb.? belonged to us?" "it's all right, mother, i will make it right with him; he's a good fellow, is the new gaffer—a first-rate fellow." "is he, now?" john asked, interested, as he and sarah, seeing nothing else to do, sat down. "and hia name is john holl, just the same as mine?" "just the same, john, and he's not unlike you either. now, when i tell you what a kind action he did once, you will see the sort of fellow he is. once, a good many years ago, when he wasn't as well off as he is now, when he was just a hard-working man, earning his weekly pay, a poor woman with a child fell down dying at his door. well, you know, other people would have sent for a policeman and had her taken off to the workhouse, but he and his wife took her into their house and tended her till she died." "that was a right-down good thing," john said, quite oblivious of the fact that he too had done such an action. sarah did not speak, but gave a little gasping cry, and threw her apron, which she wore indoors and out, over her head, a sure sign with her that she was going to in- dulge in what she called "a good cry." john looked at her in astonishment. "and more than that, john," harry went on, "they took in the child, and brought it up as one of their own; and though afterward they had a large family, they never made him feel that he was a burden to them, though he captain bayley's heir. grew up a cripple, and was able to do nothing to repay them for all their goodness. well, at last the boy's friends were found. they had lots of money, and the time came at last when they bought a business for john holl; and when he came, there the cripple boy was, sit- ting at the fire, to welcome them and say, 'welcome, father! and -welcome, mother '" and harry held out his hands to them both. even now john holl did not understand. he was naturally dull of comprehension, and the loud sobbing of his wife so bewildered and confounded him that it divided his attention with harry's narrative. "yes, harry," he said, "it's all very nice. but what's come to you, sarah? what are you making all this fuss about? we shall be having the new master coming in and finding you sobbing and rocking yourself like a mad -woman. cheer up, old woman. what is it?" "don't you see, john," sarah sobbed out, "don't you aee harry has been telling you your own story? don't you see that is you he has been talking about, and that you are 'john holl, dust contractor?'" "me?" john said, in utter bewilderment. "yes, father," harry said, taking his hand, "you are the john holl. this house, and the business, and the carts and horses, are yours; captain bayley has bought them all for you. he would not come here himself, as i wished him, but he asked me to tell you and mother how glad he was to be able to repay, in a small way, he said, your great kindness to me, and how he hoped that you would prosper here, and be as happy as you deserve to be. you will be better off than your last gaffer, for he had to pay rent for this house and yard, but, as grand- father has bought the freehold of them all for you, you will have no rent to pay; and therefore i hope, even in captain ba tlet' heir. bad times, you will be able to get along comfortably. there, father, there, mother, dry your eyes, and look sharp, for i can hear voices in the garden. evan went to your house after you had gone to bring all the children round-here in a cab. "you will find everything in the house, mother, and you must get a grand tea as soon as possible. i have got a servant for you—for, you know, you must have a ser- vant now." the next minute the children came bounding in, wild with delight, and a happier party never assembled than those who sat round the table of "john holl, dust con- tractor," on the evening of his first taking possession of his new property. captain ba yley ' heir. chaptee xm the lonely diggebs. the camp increased rapidly, for although no extraor- dinarily rich finds were made, the valley bottom widened out at this point, and the gold was generally dissemin- ated in quantities sufficient to enable the miners to live, and every one hoped that, as they got deeper, their claims would increase in value. every day added to the number of tents and huts. three bars competed with each other for the favor of the diggers, and two large stores drove a profitable trade in food and mining tools and materials; brawls at the gambling-tables were of nightly occurrence, and no small proportion of the gold obtained by the more fortunate diggers found its way into the pockets of the gamblers. "i tell you what, abe," prank said, a short time after their arrival, when they heard that a young man had been shot down by one of the most notorious ruffians in the camp, "i think it would be a good plan if we were all to agree that we will not enter one of these saloons. i know it's a temptation, after work is over, to saunter in there; but i think such a party as we are are enough for each other. we have done well enough for months out on the plains, and i don't see why we should not do so now. we are friends, and should be awfully sorry to see any one of our number losing his share of our joint earnings at the gambling-tables, or brought home with a bullet-hole in his head. captain ba yley's heir. no one is very likely to ask any of us to get up and go off to one of the saloons." the suggestion was adopted, and all bound themselves not to enter a saloon to drink or gamble unless invited to take a drink under circumstances in which a refusal would be taken in bad part. "i am mighty glad you proposed that," abe said, afterward. "eube is all right, but peter and dick are both of 'em fond of going on a spree now and then, and this may keep them from it. i told 'em when we started that i was ready to go partners as long as they kept from drink, but i wasn't going to tie myself up with any one as was going in for that. when we dissolves partner- ship each one will have a right to do with his share what he likes; he can gamble it away, or drink it away, or fool it away as he chooses, but no man as drinks overnight will do his fair share of work next day. besides, luck may at any time go agin us, and we may have to fall back on what we have laid by when times were good; and if any one had been and spent his share he couldn't bo looking to the others to support him. beside, as i pinted out, we might want all the money we has got atween us to buy up a claim in a good place. they agreed to it, and so far they have kept to it; not, of course, as they had much chance to do otherwise on the way. still, i think this fresh agreement's likely to do good. we are working here on shares, and each man is bound to do his best for the others." after sitting by the fire for some time of an evening, frank generally got up and strolled round the camp, ac- companied by turk. there were many phases of life pre- sented to him. while the successful diggers were drink- ing and gambling in the saloons, there were many who could barely keep life together. it was true this was in captain baylky's heib. most cases their own fault, for men willing to work could earn their five dollars a day by laboring in the claims of wealthier or more successful diggers; but many would hold on to their own claims, hoping against hope, and believing always that the ground would get richer as they went down. frank chatted freely with all, and he and his great dog were soon known to everyone in camp. he was able to do many little acts of kindness to those whose luck was bad; for on arriving at the end of the journey each of the party had, at abe's suggestion, put twenty dollars into the common fund, and beyond this amount the sum he had brought with him from omaha was still un- touched; and many a man who would otherwise have gone to bed supper!ess after a hard day's work, was in- debted to him for the means of procuring a few pounds of flour and a pound or two of pork. his attention had been particularly attracted to two men who lived in a small tent a hundred yards away from any of the others, and who worked a claim by them- selves. they did not seem to have any communication with the rest of the diggers, and kept themselves entirely apart. while at work frank had heard several jeering remarks as to the absurdity of working a claim in a part of the ground which had over and over again been tried and abandoned, and frank felt sure that the men were doing badly. one day he observed that only one of the men was at work, the younger of the two; and as he continued to wield his shovel after the others had thrown down their tools for the evening, frank walked over to him. "is your partner ill?" he asked. "i see he is not working with you to-day." the man nodded, but continued his work without s' captain ba yley's heir. speaking. he was evidently indisposed for conversation. "why i ask," frank said, "was not for mere curi- osity, but because we have brought up with us from sacramento a few bottles of fever medicine, and other things likely to be wanted here, and if any of them would be of use you will be heartily welcome to them. we ought all to help each other, for no one knows whether he himself may not want a helping hand next." "thank you," the man said, somewhat gruffly; "we shall get on all right, and my mate isn't fond of strangers." "ineednot trouble him myself," frank said; "lean bring you round any medicines here, and you can give them to him without saying how you got them." "thank you; medicine wouldn't do him any good," the man said, and resumed his work as if anxious to avoid further conversation. frank, however, was not to be discouraged. the man looked thin and haggard, and frank suspected that it might be food rather than medicine of which the man's mate was in need. he therefore stood his ground. "i am afraid you haven't hit on a very good spot," he said. "i don't know much about it myself, for i have only been here about a month; but i hear everyone say that there have been several trials made here, and that none of them have found anything to speak of." "we must work where we can," the man said. "the places were pretty well all taken up when we came, and it didn't suit us to go further." "well," said frank, "i don't want to be inquisitive, mate, or to interfere in other people's affairs, but i noticed your mate looked an elderly man, and that you seemed pretty much alone. i am only just out here myself, and i and the party i am working with are doing captain bayley's heir. fairly; so i thought it would be only neighborly to come over and see if i could be of use in any way.'' "no, thank you," the man repeated; "there's nothing we want." frank saw that at present he could do nothing; but he had little doubt that the two men were really suffering severely. still he understood and respected their pride and with a friendly "good-evening" strolled oft to his own hut. the next evening he again went round to the solitary workman. "how is your mate?" he asked. the man shook his head. "he's pretty bad." the tone was softer and less repellent than that which he had used the evening before. he was a young man of not more than twenty-four, and frank saw that his lip quivered as he turned away from him and dug his shovel into the ground. "if your mate is worse," frank said, "you have no right to refuse my offer. i cannot help feeling that you are doing badly; in that case, why should you not let me lend you a hand? there's no disgrace in being unlucky. here men are unlucky one week, and make a rich strike on the week following, and then they can lend a hand to others, just as a hand may have been lent to them when they wanted it. i think by your accent that you are an englishman, and an educated one, just as i am myself. why on earth don't you let me be a friend to you?" the man did not reply; but frank could guess by the random way in which he was doing his work, that a struggle was going on. "he would not hear of it," he said at last. "then don't let him hear of it," frank said promptly. "if he has any mistaken ideas about taking help from a captain ba yley's heir. stranger, the sort of ideas one would naturally have at home, and is ill and wants something, we must help him in spite of himself. if, as i suspect, he needs other matters as well as medicine, you should provide him, even if it be necessary to carry out a little harmless deception." "i would not tell him a lie," the man said almost fiercely. "no, there's no occasion for that," frank went on. "you can tell him that you have come across that nugget in the claim," and frank tossed into the hole a nugget for which he had half an hour before given a digger ten dollars from his own store. for a moment the man stood irresolute, and then burst into a passion of tears. frank saw that he had gained the day, and saying, "i will come round for a chat to- morrow afternoon. that's my camp up there—that tent just on the ridge. i have really medicines, if you think they will be of any use," strolled away to his supper. he glanced round when he had gone a little distance, and saw the digger running at full speed toward the solitary tent. the next evening the young man dropped his shovel aa he approached him, and came to meet him. "i did not thank you last night," he began. "nonsense," frank said, interrupting; "there ia no occasion whatever for thanks. why, it's the custom here, whenever any one is taken ill, or is unfortunate, and has to move on, a few friends, or, as it often hap- pens, a few strangers, will each chip in a pinch of gold dust to help him on. it's the rule here that we stand by each other, and being both englishmen, it is natural we should lend each other a hand. how is your mate?" "he is a good deal better, thanks to the food i was captain ba yley's beir. able to get for him; for, as you guessed, we have been nearly starving the last fortnight." "but why did you keep on working at such a place as this?" frank asked. "why didn't you go on wages? there are plenty of men here who would be glad to take on an extra hand if they could get him." the young man hesitated. "i know it must eeem utter folly," he said at last, "but the fact is my partner has a fixed idea that claim will turn out well; he dreamed it." '' pooh!'' frank said; "diggers are constantly dream- ing about lucky places—and no wonder, when they are always thinking about them. i consider it madness to keep on toiling here, even if your mate is ill. it is folly to give in to him in this way, and for you both to be half- starved when you can earn, at any rate, enough to keep you both by working for others." "that is just what i knew you would say," the young man replied, "and i feel it myself, thoroughly." "then why on earth do you keep on doing it?" "i have a reason, a very particular reason, though i am not at liberty to explain it." "well, then, there's no more to be said," frank replied, vexed at what he regarded as obstinate folly. he talked for a few minutes, and then strolled away, and for the next two days did not go near the digger who seemed so bert on slaving uselessly. the third i .ay frank noticed that the man was not at work on his claim. as soon as he knocked off in the evening he walked across to the spot. the tools still lay in the hole, showing that the claim had not been aban- doned, although work had temporarily ceased. next day the claim was still unworked; the tent stood in its place, showing that the diggers had not moved wells wa igla ******** i mplu kolo doll wima wol. des vy ww s fido what k : grino : linaw w. y antes os! capt. b. h. the sick friend in the mining camp.-page . captain bayley's heir. "i can't tell, except by his pulse; but that certainly beems to me to be stronger. i gave him a few drops of laudanum a couple of hours ago, and it seems to me he has been dozing since; at any rate his eyes have been half closed. i think that it is extreme weakness more than anything else; he has overtaxed his strength, and is worn out with fatigue and starvation. i shouldn't be surprised if he gets round all right with quiet and food." the opening of the tent, and the sound of voices outside, roused the young digger, who had slept without stirring from the moment he had lain down. he joined the others outside. "how i have slept!" he said. "i can't tell you how much i am obliged to you; i was regularly done up, and now i shall be able to take a fresh start again." "my partner, abe, here, has just brought us down some tea and breakfast, and some really strong soup for your mate." for frank did not know whether the young man would wish the fact of the relationship be- tween him and his companion generally known. "thank you, heartily," the young man said, as he seated himself by the side of frank, on the stump of a feled tree, and took the tea and food from abe's hands. "i feel ready to go on again now; but last night i quite broke down. i have no one to speak to, you see, and it was awful to see him lying there, and to be able to do nothing. your friend here," and he nodded to frank, "had been so kind to us a week ago, that i felt sure he would not mind sitting up with him, though i know he thought me a fool to go on digging at that wretched hole. i think he looks"—and he motioned to the tent—"a little better this morning. of course there's not much change; but his face does not look quite as it did yester- day. i don't know what the difference is, but i am sure there is a difference." captain ba ylet's heir. "his pulse is certainly a little stronger," frank said, "and i hope we shall pull him round, though i did not think so when i saw him yesterday. i have been giving him broth every hour, and a few spoonfuls of lemonade with brandy in it between times, and i think the brandy has done him more good than the soup; if i were in your place, i would go on doing just the same to-day. this soup abe las brought down is very strong, and two or three spoonfuls at a time will be all he will want; there is another lemon in there, and i would go on giving him brandy too; i think it's just strength he wants." "strength and hope," the young man said. "he has all along made up his mind that claim would pay, and i think its failure did more to break him down than even the fatigue and want of food; that was why i kept on working as long as he was sensible. he still believed in it, and would not hear of my stopping to nurse him. he was very bad that night i went home with the nugget, almost as bad as he was last night; but when i showed it him he seemed to revive, and it was only when three days passed without my being able to show another speck of gold that he fell back again." "oh! you did find a nugget, then?" abe said. "no one thought you would strike on anything thar." "i found it because your friend put it there,*' the young man said, "and he saved both our lives, for we were starving." abe grunted. "you shouldn't have kept it so dark, lad. we ain't bad fellows, we diggers, though we are a rough lot, and no one need starve in a mining camp. but no doubt you had your reasons," he added, seeing the miner's face blush up. "but what on arth made your mate stick to that thar hole? any one could have seen with half an eye that it wasn't a likely place." gaptain ba yley's heir. "he has a sort of belief in dreams, and he dreamed three times, as he told me, of a stunted tree with gold underneath it. we have been to half the mining camps hi the country, and never had any luck; but directly he came here he saw a tree standing just where our claim is, and he declared it was the one he dreamed of. i told him then it didn't seem a likely place to work, but he would have it that it was the tree, and that there was gold under it. he was already weak and ill, and to please him i set to work there. i may tell you, as i have told your friend, that he is my father; there is no reason that there should be any mystery about it, and my only reason for wishing that it should not be generally known is that he had a sort of fancy against it." "i guessed as much, young man," abe said, "when i saw you working together three weeks ago. a young man don't tie himself to an old partner who ain't no more good than a child at work unless there's some rea- son for it, and there's many a father and son, ay, and a father and four or five sons, working together in every mining camp here. still, if the old man has a fancy agin it we will say naught on the subject. so he dreamed three times of the tree, did he? well, then, i don't blame him for sticking to the claim; i don't suppose there are a dozen miners in this camp who wouldn't have done the same. i believes there's something in dreams myself; most of us do. and he reoognized the tree directly, you say? wall, it's time for my mate and i to be off to work, but this evening i will walk round and have a look at your claim; thar may be somewhat in it, arter all." "you don't really believe in dreams, abe?" frank said, as they walked off together. "i think thar's something in 'em," abe said. " captain bayley's heir. have heard many a queer story about dreams, and i reckon thar ain't many men as has lived out all thar lives in the plains as doubts thar's something in 'em. the injins believe in 'em, and, though they ain't got no books to larn 'em, the injins ain't fools in their own way. i have known a score of cases where dreams came true." "yes, i dare say you have," frank said; "but then there are tens of thousands of cases in which dreams don't come true. a man dreams, for instance, that his wife, or his mother, or some one he cares for, is dead; when he gets home he finds her all right, and never thinks any more about the dream, or says anything about it. if in one case out of ten thousand he finds she is dead, he tells everyone about his dream, and it is quoted all about as an instance that dreams come true." "yes, perhaps there's something in that," abe agreed. "but i think there's more than that too. i know a case of a chap who was out in the plains hunting for a caravan on its way down to santa fe. there weren't, as far as he knew, any injins about, and what thar was had always shown themselves friendly and peaceable. he laid down by the fire and went to sleep, and he dreamed that a party of injins scalped him. he woke in a regu- lar sweat from fright, and he was so badly scared that he scattered the ashes of his fire and took his horse and led him into a cedar bush close by. he hadn't been thar twenty minutes when he heard tramping of horses, and along came a party of injins. they halted not twenty yards away from where his fire had been, and camped till the morning, and then rode on again. he could see by thar dress and paint they were up to mischief, and the very next day they fell upon a small caravan and killed every soul. now that man's dream saved [his life; thar warn't no doubt about that. if he hadn't had warning, captain ba tley's heir. and had time to scatter his fire, and move quiet into the bush, and get a blanket over his horse's head to prevent its snorting, it would have been all up with him; and i could tell you a dozen tales like that." "i think that could be accounted for," frank said. "the man perhaps was sleeping with his ear on the ground, and in his sleep may have heard the tramping of the indians' horses as they went over a bit of stony ground, long before he could hear them when he arose to his feet, and the noise set his brain at work, and he dreamed the dream you have told me. but i know from what i have heard that gold-miners are, almost to a man, full of fancies and superstitions, and that they will often take up claims from some idea of luck rather than fro m their experience and knowledge of ground." after the work was over abe and frank went down to the claim. "well, i am free to own," abe said, "that i don't see no chance of gold here; it's clear out of the course of the stream." frank was silent for two or three minutes, and then said: "well, abe, you know i put no faith whatever in a dream, but if you look at that sharp curve in the oppo- site bank higher up, you will see that it is quite possible that in the days when this was a river instead of being a mere stream, it struck that curve and came over by where we are standing now. as the water decreased it would naturally find its way down the middle of the valley, as it does now; but i think it likely enough that in the old times it flowed under where we are standing." "by gosh, lad, i think you are about right. what do you say to our taking up the claims next to this? we are not doing much more than paying our way where we are, and it's the horses who are really earning the money." captadt bayley's heir. went off to sleep again. to-morrow morning i will set to work again. i don't believe a bit in the dream myself, but it will make him more comfortable to know that i am at work upon it; and after all it may turn out some good." «. - "my partners have more faith in it than i have," frank said. "abe told them about the dream, and about what i had noticed of the probable course of the river in the olden times, and i have a proposal to make to you. "we will take up five claims by the side of your two, two on one side and three on the other; then three of us will help you sink your shaft. all that's found in your claims will be yours; and if it turns out rich you shall pay us just as if we had been working for you by the day. when we have cleared out your claims we are to have the right of using your shaft for working right and left along the bottom over our claims. i think that's a fair offer." "i think it's more than fair; it is most kind," the young man said. "you are risking getting nothing for your labor if it turns out poor." "yes, we are risking that," frank agreed, "but we are not doing ourselves much good now. the two who are working the horses earn enough to keep the five of us, and if by any chance your claims should turn out well, we shall be paid for our work for you, and will be able to work out our own claims very cheaply; if we sunk a shaft on our own account we should similarly lose our labor if it turned out poor, and should not get so much if it turned out rich. so i think the bargain is really a fair one; and if you do not agree, my mates have quite resolved to sink a shaft on their own account on the strength of your father's dream." "in that case i agree most heartily," james adams said, "and it will gladden my father's heart to be told that the work is now to go on really in earnest." captain ba yley's heir. "if he is better to-morrow," frank said, "it will be as well to get your father's consent to the agreement, and then we will begin on the following day." the next morning the old man woke up a good deal better. his first question, after he had taken some soup, was: "how is it you aren't an work, jim? it's broad day- light." "i have knocked off for to-day, father, i wanted to have a chat with you. a party of five miners, who have been very kind to me while you have been ill—for you have been ill now for more than a week, though you don't know it—have made me a very good offer, although i could not accept it until i consulted you. you see i cannot get on much with the claim by myself; the ground falls in and wants timbering, and i can do nothing alone. well, these miners have offered to help sink our shaft, on the conditions that they get no pay if it turns out poor, but if it turns out well they are to be paid for their daily labor, and when we have worked out our claims they are to have the right of using our shaft for working out the claims they have staked out next to ours." "no shares, jim," the old man said; "you are sure they are not to have any share in our claims, because i won't agree to that." "no, father; the agreement is just as i told you. if it turns out well they get their wages and the right to use our shaft to get at their claims." "very well, i will agree to that; we shall get down all the sooner to our gold. but mind, have it put down on paper, else they will be setting up a claim to a share in our treasure.'' "i will get it done regularly, father," jim said. "they mean very fairly. as i told you, they have shown captaw ba yley's heir. me the greatest kindness—indeed you owe your life to them, for if it had not been for them, i had, as you know, no means whatever of holding on. while you have been ill two of them have been sitting up with you at night. they have showed themselves true friends." "well, i am glad you have found some friends, jim," the old man said feebly. "but you must be careful, you know, very careful, and be sure the agreement is signed and witnessed properly.". qaptain ba ylby's heir. chapter xviii a dbeam verified. on the following morning, to the astonishment of the miners of cedar camp, frank and his companions took their tools out of their claims and shifted to the claims of the two men of the "solitary tent." everyone asked himself what could be the meaning of this move, and the general supposition was that they must have discovered that the two men had struck upon rich ground. scores of miners sauntered across during the day, looked on, and asked a question or two; but the answers they ob- tained threw no light upon the mystery. the ground looked most unpromising; it was a flat some ten feet above the level of the river bed, and the spot where they were digging was twenty yards from the edge. fifteen yards further back the ground rose abruptly to a height of thirty or forty feet; the ground around was oovered with bushes, through which a few good-sized trees rose. the two men had dug through two feet of alluvial soil, and about five feet of sand. altogether, it was a place which seemed to afford no promise whatever; and although, at the first impulse, some miners who were doing badly had marked out olaims next to those staked out by frank and his party, no steps were taken to oooupy them. the first day was spent in getting out planks and lining the proposed shaft, which was made much smaller than the hole already dug, which extended over the whole of captain bayley's heir. the two claims. the next day a windlass was put in posi- tion, and the work began in earnest. at the depth of twenty feet they came upon gravel, a result which greatly raised their spirits, as its oharacter was precisely similar to that in the bed of the stream, and showed that frank's conjecture was a correct one, and that the river had at one time flowed along the foot of the high ground beyond. when it was known in camp that the party were get- ting up gravel there was a great deal of talk. some of the older hands came and examined the place, and, notic- ing the sharp curve in the opposite bank above, con- cluded, as frank had done, that instead of being, as was generally supposed, beyond the edge of the old river bed, it was by no means improbable that the party were work- ing over what was at one time a point which was swept by the main body of water coming down. more claims were staked out, and although no one had any intention of beginning in earnest until they dis- covered what luck attended the party who were sinking the shaft, just enough was done each day to retain posses- sion of the claims. before they had gone far into the gravel they discovered specks of gold, and, washing a basinful from time to time, found that it was fairly rich, certainly as good as any that had been found a few feet below the surface of the ground at any other spot in the camp. they determined, however, not to wash at pres- ent, but to pile the stuff near the mouth of the shaft, to be washed subsequently, and to continue to sink steadily. a fortnight after the work had begun the old man had gained sufficient strength to make his way across to the shaft, and after that he spent his whole time watching the progress of the work. his tent was brought over and pitched close at hand. by this time, as their pros- captain bayley's heir. pects really looked good, jim had told him the true history of the nugget he had brought home, and how much they owed to frank; and he so far overcame his shrinking from intercourse with his neighbors as to be- come really cordial with frank, who, when supper was over, often strolled across and smoked a pipe with jim in the tent. frank often wondered what could have brought a man of some sixty years of age, and evidently well educated, and a gentleman, but, as was equally clear, wholly un- fitted by age, habits, and constitution for rough labor in such a country as that. the son had not denied that he was english, but as he had not admitted it in so many words, frank thought that his father might object to any questions on the subject, and in their many conversations the past was seldom alluded to. turk, who was frank's constant companion, took re- markably to the old man, and in the daytime, when the latter was ^sitting watching the baskets coming up from below, generally took up his position by him, sometimes lying blinking lazily in the sun, at other times sitting up and watching the operations gravely, as if he were thoroughly aware of their importance. while the ground was still unpromising, frank and his party had bought up, for a few dollars, the claims of several of the men who had staked out ground next to their own, and now held six on either side of the claim they were sinking on. beyond these, as soon as the gravel was known to contain gold, other miners began to work—for the most part in parties, as the depth at which paying ground lay beneath the surface was so great that it could only be reached by joint labor—and the flat so long neglected now became one of the busiest points in the camp. captain ba yley's heir. "the gravel is getting richer and richer every day," prank said to the elder adams, five weeks after they be- gan work. "i think now it would be as well to hire half a dozen men to carry it down to the stream and wash it there; yon could superintend them, and one of us will work at the cradle. the stuff will pay splendidly now, i am sure, and there's a big heap on the bank." "if you think , by all means let us do so," the old man said. "i should like to begin to get some gold; we are in your debt more than a hundred dollars already, bince you have been advancing money for our living as the work has gone on." "there is no hurry on that account," frank said. "ever since we washed the first pail of gravel it has been evident that there was at least sufficient gold to pay for washing out, and that my advances were perfectly safe; so there is no hurry on that account. but at present it has so improved that it would be rich enough to pay really well;' beside, we shall be getting it stolen. i fancy last night two or three bucketfuls were taken away at that edge of the bank; and as there has been a perfect rush for staking out claims to-day, i have no doubt that it was found to pan out very rich." the result of the first day's washing more than realized their anticipations, for when the cradle was cleared up over fifty ounces of gold were found at the bottom; and at the end of three days the old man paid prank and his partner their wages at four dollars a day each from tho time they had commenced working at the shaft. another fortnight and they reached the bed rock. each day the find had become heavier, but the climax was reached when they touched the rock. it was found that just where they reached the bottom, the rock which formed the bank bordering the flat came down almost per- captain ba yley's heir. pendicularly to the level rock which had formed the old bed of the stream. this was worn perfectly smooth by the action of the water, and in the bed rock was a great caldron soooped out by an eddy of the stream. this was filled up with gravel, among which nuggets of gold were lying thickly; and when its contents were taken to the surface and separated, the gold was found to weigh over three thousand ounces. the lower part of the ground was then dug out to the full size of the claim, and when all this was washed it was found that the total amount of gold obtained from the claim was over six thousand ounces. as the work went on from day to day frank observed a gradual change coming over the elder of the two men. at first he had been excited, and at times irritable; but as each day showed increased returns, and it became a moral certainty that the claim was going to turn out ex- tremely rich, the excitement seemed to pass away. he talked less, and spent less of his time in watching the work going on, sometimes not even coming down to watch the clean-up at the end of the day's work. even the discovery of the rich pocket in the rock scarcely seemed to stir him. his son, upon the contrary, made no secret of his satisfaction at the fortune which was fall- ing to them. he shook off the reserve which had at first distinguished him; a weight of care seemed to fall from his shoulders, and his spirits became at times almost ex- uberant. at first he had looked to frank almost a middle-aged man, although his face and figure showed that he could not be many years his own senior; now he looked almcit like a schoolboy, so full was he of life and spirits. the old man had taken much to frank, and although during the latter part of the time he had talked but little, ha captain ba ylby's heir. liked him to come into the tent every evening to smoke a pipe and chat with his son. he had several times en- deavored to draw from frank his reason for leaving england and coming out to california at an age when many lads are still at school; but he had obtained no reply to his hints, for frank did not care to enter upon the story of that incident at westminster. the evening when the claims had been worked out, and the last cradle washed out, the old man asked frank to bring abe and his companions to the tent after they had had their supper. the tent showed little signs of the altered circumstances of its owners; a few more arti- cles of cheap crockery and a couple of folding chairs were the only additions that had been made. some boxes had been brought in now to serve as seats, and on one in the center were placed half a dozen bottles of champagne, which the young man proceeded to open. "my friends," the elder said, "i am going away to- morrow, and i trust that your claims will turn out every bit as rich as ours has done." "even if they don't turn out as rich," frank said, "there is no fear of their not turning out well. we con- sider we have made a capital bargain with you; we havo been paid by you for our work in sinking the shaft, and now it will be easjt for us to work our claims. it was a lucky day for us when we made that contract to sink your shaft." "i am glad you think so, and very glad that you aro likely to share my luck; still, i feel greatly indebted to you. it was a bargain, of course, but it was a bargain in which you were taking all the risk. there is, as you say, every probability of your claims turning out well; but there's no certainty in gold-mining, and at any rate we cannot go away with a fortune without feeling thatj captain bayley's heir. i shall be alone, and now that it's all over i feel the reaction. it has been an exciting time the last month." "it has indeed/' frank agreed, "and i have often thought to myself what a comfort it was that they had established a regular way of sending down gold twice a week with an escort; it would have been terrible if you had had to keep all that gold by you.' "yes, i often thought so myself, and your offer to keep the gold in your tent on the days when the escort wasn't going was a great relief to me." "it was safe enough with us," frank said. "no one would venture to try a tent with a pretty strong party; but with only your son and yourself there might have been a temptation to some broken-down gambler to carry it off. beside, we have turk as a guard, and i don't fancy any one would venture to try any tricks with our tent while he is inside it." "well, i hope it will be your turn now," the old man said, "and that before another two months are over you too will be setting out on your way home with what your friend called your pile." "i shall not be doing that," frank said; "whatever we find, i have no thought of going back to england." "no? well, lad, i don't want your confidence if you would rather not give it; but i will tell you my story, and perhaps when you have heard it you may be the more inclined to tell me yours. it is a painful story to tell, but that is part of my punishment; and you, lad, have a right to hear it, for i know that it is to you i owe my life, and that it is through you that i am to-morrow going home to do all that i can to retrieve my fault, and to wipe out the stain on my name. i was a solicitor, with a good practice, iv a town of the west of england—- it does not matter what its name was. i lost my wife, captain ba yley 's seib. and then, like a fool, i took to drink. no one knew it except my bon, for i never -went out in the evening, but would sit at home drinking by myself till i could scarce stagger up to bed. "he did all that he could to persuade me to give it up, but it had got too strong a hold upon me. at last we quarreled over it, and he left the house, and henceforth we only met at the office. he was engaged to be married to the daughter of our vicar. "when the crash came—for in these cases a crash is sure to come sooner or later—the business had fallen off, and a bill was presented for pay- ment which i had altogether forgotten i had signed. then there was an investigation into my affairs. i could help but little, for there were but few hours in the day now when my brain was clear enough to attend to any business whatever. then it was found that ten thousand pounds which had been given me to invest by one of my clients had never been invested, and that it was gone with the rest. "i had not intended to do anything dishonest, that even now i can affirm. i had intended to invest it, but in my muddled state put off doing so, and had gone on paying the interest as if it had been invested as ordered. "when i knew that i had not enough in the bank to re- place it, i went into foolish speculations to regain what i had lost; but until the crash came i had never fairly realized that i had not only ruined myself but was a swindler. i shall never forget the morning when james, who had been up all night going through my papers with my head-clerk, came down and told me what he had dis- covered. i was still stupid from what i had drunk over- night, but that sobered me. i need not tell you what passed between my son and me. i swore never to touch liquor again. he sold out of consols five thousand captain ba yley's heir. pounds which he had inherited from his mother, and handed it over to the man i had defrauded, giving him his personal bond that he would repay the rest of the money, should he live; and on those terms my client agreed to abstain from prosecuting me, and to maintain an absolute silence as to the affair. "then jim broke off his engagement, and took pas- sages for us in a sailing ship for panama, and so on to san francisco. i need not tell you the struggle it was to keep to my promise; but when jim had given up everything for me, the least i could do was to fight hard for his sake. my thoughts were always fixed on califor- nia, my only hopes that i might live to see the rest of the debt repaid, and the boy's money replaced, so that he could buy a business and marry the woman he loved. i dreamed of it over and over again, and, as i told you, three times i dreamed of the exact spot where we are now sitting. "somehow, in my dreams, i knew that if i dug straight down under the old tree that formed the center of the dreams i should find gold. this became a fixed idea with me, and when we reached the gold fields i never stopped long in camp, so bent was i upon finding the tree of my dreams. jim bore with me wonderfully. i knew he did not believe in my dream, but he was always ready to go where i wanted. i think now he thought that i was going out of my mind, or feared that if he thwarted me i might take to drink again. however, at last we found the tree—at least i was positive it was the tree of my dreams. james tried to dissuade me from digging in a place which looked so unpromising; but nothing would deter me save death, and you see the result. we shall go back; the debt will be cleared off, jim will marry his sweetheart, and i shall live with him to the end of my captain baylby's heir. days. he is a grand fellow is jim, though i dare say it didn't strike you so when you first knew him." "he is a grand fellow," frank agreed heartily, "and i am truly glad, mr. adams, that all has turned out so well." "and now, can you tell me something of yourself, frank? it is to you we owe it that things have turned out well; and if, as i rather guess, you have got into some scrape at home, i can only say that my son and myself will be very glad to share our fortune with you, and to take one-third of it each." "i thank you greatly, sir, for your generous offer, but it would be of no use to me. i have, as you suspect, got into a scrape at home, but it is from no fault of my own. i have been wrongfully suspected of committing a crime; and until that charge is in some way or other cleared up, and the slur on my name wiped off, i would not return to england if i had a hundred thousand pounds." "and can nothing be done? would it be any use whatever to set to work on any line you can suggest? i would make it my own business, and follow up any clew you could give me." "thank you very much, mr. adams; thank you with all my heart; but nothing can be done, there is nothing to follow. it was not a question of a crime so committed that many outside persons would be interested in it, or that it could be explained in a variety of ways. so far as the case went it was absolutely conclusive, so conclu- sive that i myself, knowing that i was innocent, could see no flaw in the evidence against myself nor for months afterward could i perceive any possible explanation save in my own guilt. since then i have seen that there is an alternative. it is one so painful to contemplate that i do not allow myself to think of it, nor does it seem to captain bayley's heir. "i will discharge your commission," mr. adams said. "but do not be impatient for an answer; i may not find a steamer going down to panama for some time, and may have to go thence to new york, and thence take steamer to europe. i may find on my arrival that the young lady is absent from home, perhaps traveling with her father, and there may be delays." "my uncle is not her father," frank said; "she is a ward of his. but i will not be impatient; not for six months will i give up such hope as i have." "there is one more thing before i say good-night," mr. adams said. "i have been in great need, and know how hard it is to struggle when luck is against one, and i should like to give a small sum as a sort of thank-offer- ing for the success which has attended me. in a mining camp there must be many whom a little might enable to tide on until luck turns. "will you be my almoner? here is a bag with a hundred ounces of gold, the last we got to-day from our claim. will you take it, and from time to time give help in the way of half a sack of flour and other provisions to men who may be down in the world from a run of ill-luck, and not from any fault of their own?" "i will gladly do so," frank replied; "such a fund as this would enable me to gladden the hearts of scores of men. you can rely upon it, sir, that i will take care to see that it is laid out in accordance with your instruc- tions." after leaving the tent frank found james adams sit- ting down on a log a short distance away. "i would not disturb you," the latter said, "as i thought perhaps you were having a chat with my father —indeed he told me he should like to have a talk with you alone; but i want myself to tell you how conscious; captain ba yley's heir. i am that i owe my happiness to you. has my father told you how i am situated, and that i am going home to claim the dearest girl in the world, if, as i hope and believe, i shall find she has waited for me?" "your father has told me more," frank said; "he has told me how nobly you devoted your life to his, and why, and i am truly glad that so much good has come of our meeting. more than that first little help i must dis- claim, for it was abe and not i who believed in your father's dreams, which i confess i had no shadow of be- lief in, though they have, so unaccountably to me, been verified." "nothing you can say, frank, will minimize what you have done for us. you saved my father's life. if it had not been for you his dream would never have been car- ried into effect, and he would now be lying in the grave- yard on the top of the hill, and i should be working hopelessly as a day laborer. i only want to say, that if at any time you want a friend you can rely upon james adams up to the last penny he has in the world." the next morning mr. adams and his son started for san francisco, and frank and his party began to work their claims from the bottom of the shaft. although they paid well, they proved far less rich than they had ex- pected; they got good returns from the gravel, but found no pockets in the bed rock, which was perfectly smooth and even. they found that on either side of the adams' claims the wall of rock behind swept round; this, no doubt, had caused an eddy at this spot, which had worked out the hole in the bed rock, and caused the deposit of so large a quantity of gold here; and, singu- larly enough, mr. adams' dream had led him to take up the exact spot under which alone the gold had been so largely deposited. the party had taken on several captain ba yley's heir. for the next two months no marked sucoess attended the labors of frank and his comrades, they paid their expenses, and that was all. frank enjoyed the life; he was in no hurry to get rich, and it gave him great pleas- ure to be able occasionally to give a helping hand ^to miners whose luck was bad, from the fund with which mr. adams had intrusted him. the work was hard, but he scarcely felt it, for his muscles were now like steel, and his frame had widened out until he was as broad and strong as any of his companions, and few would have recognized in him the lad who had shipped on board the mississippi fifteen months before. captain bayley' heir. "and where are you now?" abe inquired. "well, i will tell you, abe, and i wouldn't tell any one else; but i said to you, 'if we ever makes a strike you are in it.' we have been prospecting up in the gulehea of the north yuba. we found as we couldn't get places worth working in the other camps, so we concluded it war best to find out a spot for ourselves; so we six have been a-grubbing and digging up among the mountains, and i tell you we have hit it hot. we three, washing with pans for four hours one morning, got out twenty- eight ounces of gold." "that was something like," abe said, in admiration. "i reckon it war. well, we covered the place up, and left our three mates to look arter it, telling them not to dig or make any sign until we came back. we sold the wagons and teams when we first got over, for they were no good to us in the mountains, and bought horses so as to keep ourselves supplied with provisions. we agreed before we began work we would come down to the town and get enough to last us, then we would move up quietly at night to our find, stake out our claims, and begin to work. now if you and your four mates likes to join us, you are welcome." "well, that's a downright friendly offer, mate, and you bet we accept it. we had one capital stroke of luck, but since that worked out we haven't done much at dig- ging, though frank here and me has done very fair, trucking goods up from sacramento. where are your women?" "well," the other said, "we had some trouble about them. you see thar ain't many women up at the camps, they are rough places, and not fit for them. so we agreed that for the present it were best they should keep out of it. so we bought a little place with ten or twelve cap ain bayley's heir. acres of ground, down at the foot of the hills, and thera our wives and the kids are stopping.' there's a big orchard, and they are raising vegetables, and when we goes down for supplies we brings up a load or two of fruit and vegetables, and rare prices they fetch, i can tell you, more nor enough to keep them all down there. but we have agreed to bring two of them up now to cook and wash and leave the others to look arter the place and the kids. simpson and jones ain't married, you know. women have a right to claims as well as men, and of course we shall take up for those we bring up, as well as for the two big lads; so that will give us ten claims, beside the extra claims for discovery. so with your five claims we can get hold of a tidy bit of ground. we aro going to take these stores up now, and leave them in charge of our friends in the gulch, who will keep them hid in the woods, and then we can go back and bring up the women and a cargo of vegetables." "well, in four days we will meet you here. i will take all the horses and load them up. we were going to bring up flour for the storekeeper, but now we will get stores for ourselves. we will bring as much as we can get along with. we can sell what we don't want, for there is sure to be a rush in a short time. frank shall go back and tell the storekeeper we ain't a-coming with the flour." this was arranged, and four days later abe and his party arrived at the spot agreed on, and an hour or two later the cavalcade, with the three men, two women, and two boys of fifteen or sixteen years old, came up, and the united party started together. it was some fifty miles to the spot where the gold had been discovered. sometimes they wound along in deep vaweys, passing several camps in full operation. at the last camp, which oaptain ba yley's heir. boys, they numbered fifteen, and could take up the five claims which, by mining law, the discoverer of a new place was entitled to, they had in all twenty claims, which gave them the whole of the little amphitheater at the foot of the fall for a distance of fifty yards down. the men all set to work with their axes, and by night- fall much had been done. frank's party had their tent, and the two small tents of the other party were allotted to the married couples. a rough hut was got up for the rest of the men; this was to act as the kitchen and gen- eral room. a storehouse was erected of stout logs, with earth piled thickly over it to keep out the wet, and here their stores were securely housed. the tents and huts were on the slope, where the rocks widened out twenty yards below the bottom of their claim. it was late in the second evening before the work was done. all were anxious to test the ground, but it was agreed not to touch it until they had housed themselves. at daybreak they were at work, and soon all were wash- ing out pans of gravel at the stream; the results fully justified their expectations, there being a residuum of glittering grains at the bottom of each pan varying in weight from a pennyweight to a quarter of an ounce. "now," abe said, "i should suggest that we makes a big cradle, fifteen feet long by three feet wide, and hang it on cross poles so as to be able to rock it easily; then we will dam up the stream at the top of the fall, and lead it down straight through a shoot into the cradle; of course the shoot will have a sluice so as to let in just as much water as we want, and that way two men will do the work of eight or ten washing." abe's plan was agreed to, and all the men set to work to construct the dam, cradle, and shoot. it took two days' hard labor before all was in readi- captain bayley's heir. ness, and then the work began in earnest. two men swayed the cradle, four others shoveled the gravel and dirt into it, three continually stirred the contents and swept off the large stones and pebbles from the top, while the other two carried them away beyond the boundaries of their claims. at the lower end of the cradle was a sheet of iron per- forated with holes, large at the top, but getting smaller lower down, and altogether closed four inches from the bottom; through these holes the sand and gravel flowed away. all day they worked vigorously and without in- termission, and great was the excitement when, at the end of the day's work, they proceeded to clear up by emptying the cradle and examining the bottom. a shout of satisfaction arose as the particles of gold were seen lying thickly in the gravel at the bottom of the cradle. very carefully this was washed out, and it was found that there were over fifty ounces of gold dust. "i believe," abe said, "that we have hit upon the richest spot in californy. ef it's like this on the sur- face, what is it going to be like when we get down to the bed rock?" the next morning two diggers arrived on the scene; they saw at once by the methodical manner in which the place was being worked that the party must have found gold in paying quantities. "is it rich, mates?" they asked eagerly. "ay," abe replied, "rich enough for anything. there are the boundaries of our claims, lads, and ye are wel- come to set to work below them." the miners threw off their coats, and at once set to work, and a shout of exultation greeted the result of the first bucket of stuff they washed out. "another week," abe said, "and every foot of ground captain bayley's heir. expected, the gravel to be richer and richer; and many nuggets, some of them weighing upward of a pound, were found. at the end of each week four of the miners, armed to the teeth, carried down the gold and deposited it at the bank of sacramento. an escort was needed, for many attacks were made on gold convoys by parties of despera- does; four men would indeed have been an insufficient guard, but at the same time other diggers in the valley sent down their find, and the escort was always made up to eight men from the general body. frank, from the first, generally formed one of the escort; he himself was perfectly ready to take his share in the more laborious work of digging, but where frank went turk went, and turk formed so valuable a member of the escort that the rest of the party begged his master always to go with the treasure. every week had added to the weight and power of the animal, and he was now a most formidable-looking beast. he was extremely quiet and good-tempered at ordinary times, except that he would not allow any stranger to touch him; but when at all excited, his hair bristled from his neck to his tail, and his low, formidable growl gave a warning which few men would have been inclined to despise—indeed, of the many rough characters in the camp, there was not one who would not rather have faced a man with a revolver in his hand than have ventured upon a conflict with turk. the dog appeared to know that the escort duty was one which demanded especial vigilance. on the road a low growl always gave notice of the approach of strangers; and at night, when they stopped, and the heavy valises were carried from the pack animals into the wayside rest- ing-places, turk always lay down with his head upon them. he seemed so thoroughly to understand that this captain bayley's heir. similar scenes took place in san francisco, for the force of the law was wholly insufficient to restrain the reckless and desperate men who congregated in the towns, and who thought no more of taking life than eat- ing a meal. to put a stop to the frightful state of things prevailing, the more peaceful of the san francisco citi- zens had also been obliged to organize a vigilance com- mittee to carry out what was called lynch law, a rough- and-ready method of justice subject to grave abuses under other circumstances, but admirably suited to such a condition of things as at that time prevailed in california. for some time frank worked between sacramento and the diggings. he enjoyed the life, riding in the pure mountain air, under the shade of the forests, at the head of the team. sometimes he wondered vaguely how long this was to last; if he was always to remain a rover, or whether he would ever return to england. sometimes he resolved that he would go home and make an effort to clear himself of this stain which rested upon his name; but he could see no method whatever of doing so, as he had nothing but his own unsupported assertion of his innocence to adduce against the circumstantial evidence against him, and there was no reason why his word should be taken now more than it was before. in many of the camps life had now become more civil- ized. in cases where the bed of gold-bearing gravel was large, and where, consequently, work would be continued for a long time, wooden towns had sprung up, with hotels, stores, drinking and gambling saloons. work was here carried on methodically; water was, in some cases, brought many miles in little canals from mountain lakes down to the diggings, and operations were carried on on a large scale. companies were being formed for buying up and working numbers of claims together. captain ba yley's eeir. the valleys were honeycombed with shafts driven down, sometimes through a hundred feet of gravel, to the bed rock, as it was found much more profitable working this way than in surface-washing. stage-coaches and teams of wagons were running regularly now along well-made roads. frank's earnings were therefore smaller than they had been at first, but they still paid his expenses, and added a few pounds each trip to his account at the bank. he took shares in many of the companies formed for bringing down water from the lakes, and these were soon found to be an exceedingly valuable property, paying in many cases a return each month equal to the capital. the life of a teamster was not without danger; bears in considerable numbers were found among the moun- tains, and these, when pressed by hunger, did not hesi- tate to attack passing teams. in times of rain the rivers rose rapidly, and the valleys were full of fierce torrents, sometimes preventing horses from crossing for many hours, and being still more dangerous if the rise com- menced when the track to be followed wound along in the foot of the valley. several times frank narrowly escaped with his life when thus surprised; but in each case he managed to reach some spot where his horses oould climb the side before the water took them off their feet. the greatest danger, however, of the roads, arose from the lawless men that frequented them. coaches were fre- quently stopped and plundered, and even the gold escorts were attacked with success. strong parties of the miners sometimes went out in pursuit of the highwaymen, but it was very seldom that success attended them, for the great forests extended so vast a distance over the hills that anything like a thorough search was impossible. captain bayley's heir. look after a fresh foe; but the field was clear, for the remaining robber had, on seeing turk, turned his horse with a cry of alarm, and ridden away at full speed. the passengers crowded round frank, thanking him for their rescue. "i am glad to have been of use," frank said, "and to have arrived just in time; and now will one of you help me off my horse, for my left arm is broken, i think." the driver of the coach had been shot through the heart by the first shot fired by the robbers. there were two armed guards, one of whom had been killed, and the other wounded, while two of the passengers who had left the coach to take part in the defense had also been killed; the wounded guard was helped down from the coach. "you have done a good night's work," he said to frank; "there are nigh ten thousand ounces of gold in the coach. no doubt those fellows got wind of the in- tention of the bank people at yuba to send it down to sacramento; it was kept very dark too, and i don't be- lieve that one of the passengers knew of it. they would have sent more than two of us to guard it if they had thought that it had been let out; there must have been some one in the secret who gave notice beforehand to these chaps. "now, gentlemen, if one of you will take the ribbons we will be moving on. i will get up beside him, and i will trouble any of you who have got colts to take your places up behind; there ain't no chance of another attack to-night, still, we may as well look out. now, sir, if you will take your place inside we will take you on until we get to some place where your arm can be looked to. you will hear from the directors of the bank as to this night's work." frank's team had now arrived on the spot, and he captain ba yley's heir. directed the men to complete their journey and deliver their stores, and then to go down to the stables where they put up at sacramento and there to wait his arrival. frank was left behind at the next town, his fellow-pas- sengers overwhelming him with thanks, many having considerable amounts of gold concealed about them, the result, in some cases, of months' work at the diggings. one of them proposed that each man should contribute one-fourth of the gold he carried to reward their rescuer, a proposition which was at once accepted. frank, how- ever, assured them that although leading a team of mules he was well off, and in no need whatever of their kind offer. seeing that he was in earnest, his fellow-passengers again thanked him cordially, and took their places in the coach. they were not to be balked in their grati- tude, and three days later a very handsome horse, with saddle and holsters with a brace of colt's revolvers, arrived up from sacramento for frank, with the best wishes of the passengers in the coach. on the same day a letter arrived saying that at a meeting of the directors of the bank it had been resolved that, as he had saved them from a lc?s of fifty thousand pounds by bis gal- lantry, a sum of two thousand pounds should be placed to his credit at the bank in token of their appreciation cf the great service he had rendered them. captain bayley's heir. chapter xx. a message from abroad. "i like this, grandfather. i think i like it better than anything i have seen. in the sunlight the cathedral is too dazzling and white, and the eye does not seem to find any rest, but in the moonlight it is perfectly lovely. and then the music of that austrian band is just right from here; it is not too loud, and yet we can hear every note. somehow, i always like better not to see the players, but just to have the benefit of the music as we do now, and to sit taking it in, and looking at that glo- rious cathedral, all silver and black, in the moonlight. it is glorious " harry murmured, "i could not have believed there was anything so lovely." "yes, yes," captain bayley said absently, "the icea are good." "i am not talking of the ices, grandfather, though no doubt they are good. i am talking about the cathedral." "are you, my boy?" captain bayley said, rousing himself. "yes, there are cathedrals which beat milan when seen in broad daylight, but in the moonlight there is no building in the world to compare with it, unless it be the taj mahal at agra. of course they differ wholly and entirely in style, and no comparison can be made between them; the only resemblance is that both are built of white marble; but of the two, i own that i prefer the taj." " am afraid i shall never see that," alice hardy said. captain bayley's heir. "but the message, sir," alice interrupted, "you can- not know how we have been longing for a word from him all this time." "i do not know yet, miss hardy, whether i have any message to deliver; it depends upon what you say in answer to what i tell you. i think i can give you his very words as we sat together the night before i left for england; 'i have a little cousin, a girl, she was like my sister; i think, i hope, that in spite of everything she may still have believed me innocent. will you see her, and tell her you have seen me? say no more until you see by her manner whether she believes me to be a rascal or not.'" "no, no," alice broke in, with a cry, "not for one moment; surely frank never doubted me. never for a single instant did i believe one word against him." "is anything the matter, my dear?" captain bayley asked, opening his door, for the sound of her raised voice had reached him. "no, uncle," she cried, hurrying to him, "it is a message from frank. go away a minute, or— no," and she turned again to mr. adams, "surely my uncle can hear too, he is as interested as i am." "my message was to you alone, miss hardy," mr. adams said gravely; "i must deliver it as it was de- livered to me. it will be for you to decide whether, after hearing it, you think it right to observe the injunction it contains for your absolute silence." "at least tell me, sir," captain bayley exclaimed, as much agitated as alice, "whether he is alive and well." "he is alive and well, sir—at least he was when i saw him last, now nearly four months ago." "thank god for that, at least," captain bayley said fervently. "do not be long, alice; you know what i captain bayley's heir. bhall be feeling." he went back into his room again, and closed the door, and mr. adams continued: "if she thinks me a rascal, give her no clew to the part of the world where you have come across me, simply say that i wished her to know that i am alive and well.' there, miss hardy, my message would have ended had you not declared your faith in his innocence; i can now go on: 'if you see that she still, in spite of everything, believes that i am innocent, then tell her that i affirm on my honor and word that i am so'—alice gave a cry of joy—'though i see no way of proving it. tell her tbat i do not wish her to tell my uncle that she has beard of me; that i do not wish her to say one word to him, for, much as i value his affection, i would not for the world seem to be trying to gain the place he thinks i have for- feited, until i can appear before him as a rich man whom nothing could induce to touch one penny of his money, and who values only his good-will and esteem.' "that is all the message, miss hardy. but now that i see you have never believed him guilty, i am at liberty to tell you that we met in california, and to give you an address to which you can write at sacramento, and i can tell you the story of our acquaintance; but as the story is a long one, and it is now late, i will, with your per- mission, call in the morning again." tears were streaming down the girl's face as she lifted her head. "thank you, sir! oh, thank you so much i you can- not tell how happy your message has made me—how happy it will make us all, for i am sure that frank will not blame me for breaking his injunction. he cannot tell the circumstances; he does not know that my uncle has fretted as much as myself he evidently thinks that he believes him guilty, though why he should do so . captain bayley's heir. don't know, for at first he was just as much convinced ag i was of frank's innocence, and it was only frank's silence and his going away without saying one word in defense of himself that made him doubt him. would you mind sitting here for a minute or two while i go-in to him? we want to hear so much, if you are not in a hurry." "i am in no hurry," mr. adams said, smiling. "after traveling for two months to deliver a message, one would not mind sitting up for a few hours to deliver it thor- oughly; and let me tell you that if my message has made you happy, your reception of it has given me almost equal satisfaction. i should have been grieved beyond expression to have had to write to him that you doubted him, for my dear friend said, 'if your commission fails, i shall lose my last pleasant thought of home.'" "poor frank!" alice murmured, as she turned to go to her uncle's room, "how could he have ever doubted us?" "uncle," she said, as she entered, "i feel quite justi- fied in telling you frank's message to me. why it was sent to me instead of to you i do not know, except that it seems as if he thought that i might believe him inno- cent, while somehow he had an idea that you thought ha was guilty." "does he say he is innocent, alice?" captain bayley broke in. "he does, uncle; he declares on his honor and word that he is innocent." "thank god!" the old officer said, dropping into a chair and covering his face with his hands. for a min- ute he sat silent, but alice could see how deeply he was affected. "don't say any more, my dear," he said, in alow, captain bayley's heir. shaken voice. "i have heard quite enough; it was only frank's assurance that i have been wanting all this time. i am content now. thank god that this burden is lifted off one's mind. go in and tell harry; i should like to be alone for a few minutes." "yes, uncle; and frank's friend is in the next room, and will tell us all about him when you are ready to hear it." harry was greatly delighted at the news, and after a few minutes alice returned with him to the sitting-room. she knocked at her uncle's door, and called out, "we are here, uncle, wnen you are ready to come in." in another minute captain bayley entered. he went up to mr. adams. "you have brought me the best news i have ever heard, sir; you cannot tell what a weight you have lifted from my shoulders, and how i feel indebted to you." "yes, uncle, and do you know that mr. adams has been traveling nearly two months to deliver the message, knowing how anxious frank will be to hear how it was received. he went to egypt after us, and finding we had left has been following us ever since." "god bless you, sir!" captain bayley said, seizing mr. adams' hand and shaking it violently, "you are a friend indeed. now in the first place, please tell me the message you have given my niece, for so far i have only heard that frank declared that he is innocent; that was quite enough for me at first. i want to know why i was to be kept in the dark." "the message will explain that," mr. adams replied, and he again repeated the message he had given alice. "yes, that explains it," captain bayley said, when he had finished; "that's just like the boy of old. i like him for that. but why on earth did he not say he was jnnocent at first?" captai n ba ylet's heir. "the young scamp," captain bayley growled, "think- ing all the time of his own feelings and not of mine. it's nothing to him that i may be fretting myself into my grave in the belief of his guilt; nothing that i may be dead years and years before he comes with this precious fortune he relies on making. oh, no i we are all to wait another twenty years in order that this jackanapes may not be suspected of being mercenary; three dozen at the triangles would do him a world of good, and if he were here i would" "you wouldn't do anything but shake his hand, and shout 'frank, my boy, i am glad to see you back again,' so it's no use pretending that you would," alice inter- rupted. "and now, sir. adams, it's past twelve, and i feel ashamed that we should have kept you so long; but i know you don't mind, and you have made us all very happy. you will come again in the morning, will you not? there is so much to ask about, and we have not yet even begun to tell you how deeply we are all obliged to you for your goodness in hurrying away from england directly you got home, and in spending weeks and weeks wandering about after us." "i shall be glad to call again in the morning, miss hardy, but i shall start for england in the evening; i am anxious to be back now that m» mission is fulfilled. my son is to be married in ten days' time, and he would like me to be present, although he said in his last letter that he quite agreed that the first thing of all was to find you and deliver the message, whether i got home or not. as i have several matters to arrange before his marriage, presents to get, or one thing or other, i shall go straight through." "that is right," captain bayley said, "we will travel together, my dear sir; for of course we shall go straight captain bayley's heir. back to england now. we have been dawdling about in thi wretched country long enough. beside, everything has to be arranged, and we have got to get at the bottom of this matter; so if you have no objection, we will travel home together. if the young people here want to dawdle about any longer they can do so; i dare say they can look after themselves, or if not, i can make an arrange- ment with some old lady or other to act as alice's chaperon." "you silly old man," alice said, kissing him, "as if we were not just as anxious to get home and to get to the bottom of the thing as you are." so the next afternoon the party started in the diligence which was to take them over the st. gothard to lucerne. alice had by this time heard, somewhat to the confu- sion of her ideas, that prank was no longer the lad she had always depicted him, but a tall, powerful young man, rough and tanned by exposure, and a fair match in strength for the wildest character in the mining camp. by the time they reached london mr. adams and cap- tain bayley had become fast friends, and the first thing the next morning captain bayley drove with alice to bond street and purchased the handsomest gold watch and chain he could find as a wedding-present for young adams, and a bracelet as handsome for alice to send to the bride; then he sent alice home in the carriage and proceeded to his lawyer's. he returned home in the worst of tempors. mr. griffith had refused to admit that the receipt of frank's message had in any way changed the position. "i understood all along, captain bayley, that your nephew, when accused by his master, had denied the theft; the mere fact that he now, three years later, re- peats the denial to you, does not, so far as i can see, alter captain ba yley's heir. anxiety all these months. you know i enjoy the sea, and you will want somebody to look after you during the voyage, and to see that you don't get into scrapes with that dreadful temper of yours. beside, you must have some one to scold; you could not get on without it, and you don't scold harry half so vigorously as you do me." and so at last it was settled, and a week later captain bayley, his grandson, and alice hardy, sailed for panama. captain ba yley's heir. "now," the spokesman of the deputation said, "let's liquor." five glasses were poured out by the bartender, and drank off solemnly; this was considered to bring the ceremony to a close. » in the evening frank was sitting around a fire with some of his acquaintances, when two persons were seen approaching. "can you tell me," one of them said, when he got up to the group, "whether frank norris is in the camp, and if so, where i can find him?" frank sprang to his feet with a cry of astonishment. "uncle, "he exclaimed, "is it you, or am i dreaming?" "my dear boy," captain baj'ley exclaimed, as he grasped frank's hand, "thank god we have found youl we have been advertising and looking for you ever since you left, nearly three years ago." for a minute or two they stood grasping each other's hand, their feelings being too full for further speech. "sit you down right here, norris," one of the miners said, rising, "no doubt you will like a talk together, and we will leave you to yourselves." the other miners rose, and with the real courtesy and kindness which lurked under the rough nature of the diggers, all left the spot. captain bayley was the first to speak. "but here is some one else wants to shake your hand, frank, an old friend too." the fire was not burning very brightly, and although frank seemed to know the young fellow who stood lean- ing lightly on two sticks, he could not recall where he had seen him before. "don't you remember me, frank," he said, "the lad whom you took so much trouble with over his homer?" captain bayley's heir. "harry holl!" frank said in astonishment. "it was as harry holl that you knew him, but we have since found out that he is my grandson, the son of my daughter ella," captain bayley explained. "then you are my cousin," prank said, advancing and shaking harry's hand; "but how on earth have you and uncle come out here?" "let us sit down by the fire, frank, for the evening is chilly, and then i will tell you all about it. but first, how about that enormous brute of a dog, who doesn't seem to have made up his mind whether the proper thing is not to devour us at once." "come, turk, good dog, these are friends of mine." finding that the intentions of the newcomers were amicable of which at first he had entertained some doubts, turk threw himself down by the side of his master. "first of all, uncle," frank said, as he sat down, "has that affair been cleared up?" "well, not exactly cleared up, frank, but we have our suspicions. harry and i never for a moment thought it was you—that is not till you ran away instead of facing it out. i don't want to scold you now, but that was a foolish business." "then if you thought me innocent, uncle, why did you not answer my letter? i should never have dreamed of running away if i had not been heartbroken at the thought that you believed me guilty." "letter!" captain bayley repeated in astonishment, "what letter? that was just the thing, if you had written me only one line to say you were innocent i should never have doubted you for a moment, and even your running away would have made no difference to me." "but i did write, uncle; i wrote to you the very first captain bayley'b heib. he admitted that the crime of stealing the note for the purpose of ruining you would be infinitely greater than the taking of money in your case. "i have nearly worried myself into a lunatio asylum over the matter. i have been away from england for upward of a year—partly for the sake of harry here, who has got rid of his box long ago, and now gets along very fairly on sticks, partly to avoid seeing fred, for as long as this thing was unsettled, it was impossible that i could give him my hand. "my heart has all along been with you, my boy, for you know i loved you as a son; but your silence and your running away were ugly weights in the scale against you. now that i find that that villain suppressed your letter— for he must have done so, else i should have got it—and that it was he who urged you to fly to get you out of the way, i have no longer a shadow of doubt in my mind. i must tell you that harry here never doubted you from the first; and as for alice, she became a veritable little fury when the possibility of your guilt was suggested. we have had some rare battles and rows over that and her absolute refusal to speak to fred, who from the first she insisted was at the bottom of it, though how she arrived at that conclusion, except by instinct, is more than i can tell. her joy when harry here was found, and of course took the position i had intended for you, and her delight in fred's discomfiture, were, as i told her several times, absolutely indecent. not that she minded a farthing; she is the most insubordinate young person i ever came across. you will hardly know her again, frank, she is growing fast into a young woman, and a very pretty one too." "but how did you find me, uncle? was it from mr. adams that you heard where i was?" captain bayley's heir. i keep one regularly here, and put on the garb of civili- zation. alice would not recognize me in this red shirt and high boots." "stuff and nonsense!" captain bayley said. "you had a wash-up when we breakfasted, and what do you want more? there, go up and see the girl at once, harry and i will join you in a minute or two; according to my experience, these sort of meetings are always bet- ter without the presence of a third party," and the old officer winked at his grandson as frank sprang up the stairs after the waiter whom captain bayley. directed to show him to miss hardy's sitting-room. although captain bayley had told him that alice had become a young woman, frank had not realized the change that three years had produced in her. he had left her a laughing girl—a dear little girl, frank had always thought —but scarcely pretty, and he stood for a moment in astonishment at the tall and very beautiful young woman of eighteen who stood before him. alice was no less astonished, and for a moment could scarcely credit that this broad muscular man was her old play- fellow, frank. the pause was but momentary on both parties, and with a cry of joy and welcome the girl ran into his arms as frankly and naturally as she had done as a child. "there, that's enough, frank," she said presently. "you mustn't do that any more, you know, because i am grown up, and you know we are not really even cousins." "cousins or not, alice," frank said, laughing, "i have kissed you from the time you were a child, and if you suppose i am going to give it up now, when there is a real pleasure in kissing you, you are mistaken, i can tell you." "we shall see about that, sir," the girl said; "we aro captain ba yley's heir. that frank had written to protest his innocence, which letter had never come to hand, and that it was fred who had urged frank to fly and had supplied him with money to do so. "i always knew he was at the bottom of it," alice said decidedly. "i always said it was fred. but i hope frank, you or uncle don't mean to take any steps to get him into trouble. i hate him, you know, and always have; still, i think he will be punished enough with the loss of the money he so wickedly tried to gain." "i think so too, alice; he has behaved like a scoun- drel of the worst kind, but, for my part, i am quite con- tent to leave him alone. still, we must if possible prove that i was innocent." "but we all know you are innocent, frank. uncle never would have doubted it if it had not been for the stories fred told." "yes, alice; but all the fellows at westminster were told i was guilty. i shall be constantly meeting them in the world, and all my life this blot will hang to me if it is not set straight. when we get home i shall go back to the school and see if i cannot hit on some clew or other. of course if fred would confess it would be all right, but, after all, we have not a shadow of real proof against him. we have only our suspicion, and the fact that the letter did not come to hand; and if he faces it out, and declares he posted it all right, who is to gainsay him? letters have gone wrong before now. i must clear myself if i can, but i promise you that i will not bring public disgrace upon him if it can possibly be avoided." "he ought to be publicly disgraced," captain bayley roared, "the mean scoundrel, with his quiet voice and his treacherous lies. not disgrace him? i would tie captain ba ylet 's heir. him up to a post in st. paul's churchyard, and hire a bellman to stand on a chair beside him and tell the story of what he has done every half-hour. why, sir, he would have taken in st. dunstan with his pretended hesitation to say anything to your disadvantage, and the affectation of pain with which he hinted that you had confessed your guilt to him. the scoundrel, the rascal, the hypocrite! when i think what his work has done, that you were disgraced at school, and sent wandering for three years—not that that has done you any harm, rather the contrary—to think that alice has been wretched, and i have been on thorns and out of temper with myself and everyone else for the same time, that for the last year we have been wandering about europe like three sentimental travelers, wasting our lives, spend- ing our money,, and making fools of ourselves, i tell you, sir, if i was sitting as president of a court-martial on him, i would give him five hundred lashes, and then order him to be drummed out of the regiment." frank was about to speak, but alice shook her head to him behind her uncle's back; she knew that his bark was much worse than his bite, and that, while contradiction would only render him obstinate, he would if left alone, cool down long before the time for action arrived, and could then be coaxed into any course they might all agree upon. the next morning the party started for san francisco. frank had already found a purchaser for his team of mules at a good prioe, had wound up all his affairs, and obtained an order from the bank on their agents in england for the amount standing to his credit, which oame to seven thousand five hundred and sixty pounds. his uncle was astounded when he heard how much frank had earned in less than two years' work. "i shall captain ba yle 's heir. look at these red-shirted ruffians with more respect in future, frank; for, for aught i know, they may have tens of thousands standing to their credit at the bank." "my luck has been exceptional, sir," frank said. "i might dig for another fifty years without making so much. of course, there are people who have made a good deal more in the same time, but then there are thousands who are no richer than when they began. we had done little more than to keep ourselves when we went to work on adams' claim. we had nearly four hundred apiece from him, besides what we made for our labor, for the horses pretty well kept us; then from the claim six hundred apiece. we had four thousand each out of the rich strike we made at the head of the gulch; the bank gave me two thousand more; the odd money represents the receipts of the rest of my digging and of my earnings with the mule team." they started for europe by the first steamer which left san francisco for panama, and reached home without adventure. the next morning captain bayley took frank to mr. griffith, and told him the story as he had learned it from frank. "there, griffith," he said triumphantly, when he had finished, "if you are not ready to admit that you are the most obstinate, pig-headed fellow that ever lived, i give you up altogether." "i was wrong, i am glad to see," the lawyer said, smiling, "but i cannot admit that i was wrong as far as the evidence that was before me went; but certainly with the light our young friend has thrown upon the matter i cannot doubt that the view you took was the correct one. still, remember there is still no actual proof such as a court of justice would go upon. morally we may be con- vinced, but unless you obtain further evidence i do not captain ba ylet 's ee b. o chapter xxii. cleared at last. the following day, after lunch, captain bayley and frank drove round to "westminster. football was going on in dean's yard, and frank recognized among the players many faces that he knew. it seemed strange to him to think that while he had gone through so much, and had grown from a boy into a man, that they hud changed so little, and had been working away regularly at the old round of euripides and homer, terence and virgil. the carriage stopped at the entrance to dean's "yard, and, alighting, they walked across to mr. eichards'. captain bayley had written a line to the master, ask- ing him if possible to remain at home, as he wished particularly to see him, and he and frank were ushered straight into the master's study. he shook hands with captain bayley, whose acquaintance he had made while frank had boarded with him, and then looked at frank; for a minute he did not recognize him, then he ex- claimed in surprise, "frank norris!" "yes, it's i, sir," frank said; "i don't ask you to take my hand, for you believe me guilty of the crime of which i was accused here. i can only say now, as i said then, that i am innocent. i know now that i was a fool to run away instead of facing it out, but i was desperate, because everyone thought me guilty." "your schoolfellows did not, norris," mr. richards said. "i don't think that i did, even at first; a few captain bayley's heir. hours afterward i almost knew you were innocent, and had you not run away i could have gone far to prove it." frank gave an exclamation of joy, and captain bayley exclaimed indignantly: "then why did you not prove it, sir? why did you allow my nephew to remain with the foul disgrace on his name?" "i did not act without consideration," mr. eichards said calmly. "norris had gone, and i resolved if he re- turned again to say what i had learned; but my proofs were not absolute. we had made, it seemed to me, a terrible mistake, and i did not wish to cause ruin to another boy unless it was absolutely necessary to do so to clear norris. now that he has returned i can no longer hesitate; but before i begin i must ask you both whether your suspicions have fallen on any one else?" "it is not suspicion, sir, it is certainty," captain bay- ley said; "we have no doubt whatever that the whole thing was the work of frank's rascally cousin, fred barkley. he was, you know, a sort of rival of frank for my favor, and he had reason to believe that i had deter- mined that frank should inherit the larger portion of my property; thus he had a motive for bringing disgrace on him. it was just as probablo that he should have stolen the money and sent it to frank as that frank should have stolen it himself; so far it seemed to me that it might lie between either of them. "what has settled the case in my mind is that i have learned that fred was intrusted with a letter by frank to me, declaring his innocence, which, as you know, i never doubted until frank left without writing to me. that letter i never received, and i believe that it was suppressed. in the seoond place it was fred who per- suaded his cousin to take that ruinous step of running ap ain bayley s heir. away, and pressed upon him money to enable him to do bo, although he had refused to lend him a halfpenny when frank required it to pay that [broken-nosed tailor to hold his tongue." "very well," mr. eichards said, "then i can speak freely; my silence was caused to some considerable ex- tent by regard for your feelings. you had lost one nephew, who had gone away with a cloud of disgrace sur- rounding him—for aught i could tell, norris, in his despair, might have committed suicide, or he might have so cut himself off from you that you might never have heard from him again—thus, then, i felt that it would be cruel indeed to prove that your other nephew was a vil- lain, unless by so doing i could restore norris to you. so, after much thought and deliberation, i determined to hold my tongue until i heard that norris had either returned or had been heard of. "on the morning when it was discovered that frank had fled, i called up one by one the whole of the boys in the house. even after his flight i could not believe that norris had done this thing, it was so absolutely contrary to all that i knew of his disposition, and i determined to sift ^the matter to the bottom. from the elder boys i learned nothing, although i questioned them most closely as to everything that had taken place in the house during the past week. i was not disappointed, for i had hardly expected to learn much from them. "it was from the four boys who were the fags of the four who had been in frank's secret that i hoped to learn something, and i was not mistaken. from the three in the house i learned nothing; but when i came to pear- son, who was barkley's junior and fag, i met with even more success than i had expected. at first, of course, the boy did not like to say anything; but i told him that captain bayley's heir. the note was sent to norris; thirdly, his suppression of the letter to yourself; fourthly, the part he took in per- suading norris to run away; lastly, the hints which you say he gave you that norris had confessed his guilt. "i shall tell him i have had this interview with you; that you are thoroughly convinced of his guilt and of norris' innocence; and that while you are determined that norris shall be vindicated, you are desirous that his act of treacherous villainy shall not be made public; if, then, he will write a confession, saying that he took it, this confession shall not be made public. "i shall of course show it to the doctor, and explain the whole circumstances to him, and ask him to make a public statement in school to the boys, to the effect that it has been found out that norris was not guilty of the act of which two years ago he was charged, and that the real thief has been discovered, but that as he is no longer at school it is unnecessary now to mention his name, and that, moreover, he has been heavily punished for the crime—which indeed is the case—by his loss of your favor and of the fortune which he looked to obtain under your will. "i shall tell barkley that if he refuses to confess it will be necessary, in order to clear norris, that the affair should be investigated in a public court, and that dr. litter will at once apply for a warrant for his apprehen- sion on the charge of theft, and that the whole matter will then be gone into in a police court. i cannot doubt but that he will accept the first alternative, for the second will be ruin to him." captain bayley cordially assented. three days later frank received a letter from dr. litter asking him to call upon him. "i am truly sorry, norris," the head-master said, as condemned as a nihilistgeorge alfred henty, walter paget i • godfrey is captured by the russian police condemned as a nihilist a story of escape from siberia by g. a. henty author of" beric the briton," " in greek waters," " a dash for khartoum," "redskin and cow-boy," " held fast for england," etc. illustrated by walter paget new york charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons. the caxton press new york. preface my dear lads, there are few difficulties that cannot be surmounted by patience, resolution, and pluck, and great as are the obstacles that nature and the russian government oppose to an escape from the prisons of siberia, such evasions have occasionally been successfully carried out, and that under far less advan- tageous circumstances than those under which the hero of this story undertook the venture. for thi account of life in the convict establishments in siberia i am indebted to the very valuable books by my friend the rev. dr. lansdell, who has made himself thoroughly acquainted with siberia, travers- ing the country from end to end and visiting all the principal prisons. he conversed not only with officials, but with many of the prisoners and convicts, and with russian and foreign residents in the country, and his testimony as to the manage- ment of the prisons and the condition of the convicts is con- firmed by other independent writers personally cognisant of the facts, and like him able to converse fluently in the lan- guage, and writing from intimate knowledge of the subject. yours sincerely, g. a. henty. contents chapter page i. a great change u ii. a catspaw iii. a hunting party iv. a prisoner v. an old acquaintance vi. an escape vii. the buriat's child viii. the mines of kara ix. prison life x. preparations for flight xi. afloat xii. • winter . xiii. hunting xiv. the break-up of winter . . . . xv. coasting xvi. a samoyede encampment .... xvii. a sea fight °s xviii. home again illustrations page godfrey is captured by the russian police . frontispiece a supper of roasted squirrels godfrey punishes kobylin in the convict prison . . spearing fish by torch-light . . godfrey brings down an elk the slaughtered wolves luka faces the bear godfrey and luka escaping from the samoyedes . . map of russian empire condemned as a nihilist chapter i a great change alf a dozen boys were gathered in one of the studies at shrewsbury. a packed portmanteau and the general state of litter on the floor was sufficient to show that it was the last day of term. "well, i am awfully sorry you are going, bullen; we shall all miss you. you would certainly have been in the football team next term; it is a nuisance altogether." "it is a nuisance; and i am beastly sorry i am leaving. of course i have known for some time that i should be going out to russia; but i did not think the governor would have sent me until after i had gone through the school. his letter a fortnight ago was a regular stumper. i thought i should have had another year and a half or two years, and, of course, that is just the jolliest part of school life. however, it can- not be helped." "you talk the language, don't you, bullen?" "well, i used to talk it, but i don't remember much about it now. you see i have been home six years. i expect i shall pick it up again fast enough. i should not mind it so much if the governor were out there still; but you see he condemned as a nihilist came home for good two years ago. still it won't be like going to a strange place altogether; and as he has been living there so long, i shall soon get to know lots of the english there. still i do wish i could have had a couple of years more at shrewsbury. i should have been content to have gone out then." "well, it is time for us to be starting. i can hear the omnibus." in a few minutes the omnibus was filled with luggage inside and out; the lads started to walk to the station. as the train drew up there were hearty good-byes, and then the train steamed out of the station, the compartment in which god- frey bullen had taken his seat being filled with boys going, like himself, straight through to town. all were in high spirits, and bullen, who had felt sorry at leaving school for the last time, was soon as merry as any of them. "you must mind what you are up to, bullen," one of his companions said. "they are terrible fellows those nihilists, they say." "they won't hurt bullen," another put in, "unless he goes into the secret police. i should say he would make a good sort of secret policeman." "no, no; he is more likely to turn a nihilist." "bosh!" bullen said, laughing. "i am not likely to turn a secret policeman; but i am more likely to do that than to turn nihilist. i hate revolutionists and assassins, and all those sort of fellows." "yes, we all know that you are a tory, bullen; but people change, you know. i hope we shall never see among the lists of nihilists tried for sedition and conspiracy, and sentenced to execution, the name of one godfrey bullen." "oh, they wouldn't execute bullen!" another said; "they would send him to siberia. bullen's always good at fighting an uphill game, and he would show off to great advantage in a chain-gang. do they crop their hair there, bullen, and put on a gray suit, as i saw them at work in portsmouth dock- yard last year?" a great change "i am more likely to see you working in a chain-gang at portsmouth, wilkinson, when i come back, than i am to form part of a convict gang in siberia—at any rate for being a nihilist. i won't say about other things, for i suppose there is no saying what a fellow may come to. i don't suppose any of the men who get penal servitude for forgery, and swindling, and so on, ever have any idea, when they are sixteen, that that is what they are coming to. at present i don't feel any incli- nation that way." "i should say you were not likely to turn forger anyhow, bullen, whatever you take to." "why is that, parker?" "because you write such a thundering bad hand that you would never be able to imitate anyone else's signature, unless he couldn't go farther than making a cross for his name, and the betting is about even that you would blot that." there was a roar of laughter, tor bullen's handwriting was a perpetual source of trouble to him, and he was continually losing marks for his exercises in consequence. he joined heartily in the laugh. "it is an awful nuisance that handwriting of mine," he said, "especially when one is going to be a merchant, you know. the governor has talked two or three times about my going to one of those fellows who teach you to write copperplate in twenty lessons. i shouldn't be surprised if he does let me have a course these holidays. i should not mind if he does, for my writing is disgusting." "never mind, bullen; bad handwriting is a sign of genius, you know. you have never shown any particular genius yet, except for rowing and boxing, and i suppose that is muscular genius; but you may blossom out into a new line some day." "i don't want to disturb the harmony of this last meeting, parker, or i should bring my muscular genius into play at your expense." "no, no, bullen," another boy said, "you keep that for russia. fancy bullen polishing off a gigantic cossack, or condemned as a nihilist defending the czar's life against half a dozen infuriated nihil- ists. that would be the thing, bullen. it would be better than trade any day. why, you would get an estate as big as an english county, with ten thousand serfs, and sacks upon sacks of roubles." "what bosh you fellows talk!" bullen laughed. "there is one thing i do expect i shall learn in russia, and that is' to skate. fancy six months of regular skating, instead of a miserable three or four days. i shall meet some of you fellows some day at the round pond, and there you will be just work- ing away at the outside edge, and i shall be joining in those skating-club figures and flying round and round like a bird." "what birds fly round and round, bullen?" "lots of them do, as you would know, jordan, if you kept your eyes open, instead of being always on the edge of going to sleep. swallows do, and eagles. never mind, you fellows will turn yellow with jealousy when you see me." and so they laughed and joked until they reached london. then there was another hearty good-bye all round, and in a couple of minutes they were speeding in hansoms to their various destinations. godfrey bullen's was eccleston square. his father was now senior partner in a firm that carried on a considerable business with the east of europe. he had, when junior partner, resided at st. petersburg, as the firm had at that time large dealings in the baltic. from various causes this trade had fallen off a good deal, and the firm had dealt more largely with odessa and the southern ports. conse- quently, when at the death of the senior partner mr. bullen returned to england to take up the principal management of the affairs of the firm, it was not deemed advisable to continue the branch at st. petersburg, and ivan petrovytch, a russian trader of good standing, had been appointed their agent there. the arrangement had not worked quite satisfactorily. petro- vytch was an excellent agent as far as he went. the business he did was sound, and he was careful and conscientious; but he lacked push and energy, had no initiative, and would do condemned as a nihilist come out; but it is not so easy to get a footing in russian families, and you might be some time before you make acquaintances that way. besides, it is much better for you to be principally in the russian set than in the english, in the first place, because of the language; and in the second, be- cause you will get a much better acquaintance with the country in general with them than among the english. "there are not many english lads of your own age out there —very few indeed; and those nearest your age would be young clerks. i have nothing whatever to say against young clerks; but, as a rule, they consort together, spend their evenings in each other's rooms or in playing billiards, or otherwise amuse themselves, and so learn very little of the language and noth- ing of the people. it is unfortunate that it should be so; but they are not altogether to blame, for, as i have said, the russians, although friendly enough with englishmen in busi- ness, in the club, and so on, do not as a rule invite them to their houses; and therefore the english, especially the class i am speaking of, are almost forced to associate entirely with each other and form a sort of colony quite apart from native society. i was fortunate enough to make some acquaintances among them soon after i went out, and your mother and i were much more in russian society than is usual with our country- men there. i found great advantage from it, and shall be glad for you to do the same. you will have one very great advantage, that you will be able to speak russian fluently in a short time." "i don't think i remember much about it now, father." "i dare say not, godfrey; that is to say, you know it, but you have lost a good deal of the facility of speaking it. you have always got on fairly enough with it when we have spoken it occasionally during your holidays since we have been in england, and in a very few weeks you will find that it has completely come back to you. you spoke it as you did eng- lish, indeed better, when you came over to school when you were ten, and in six years one does not forget a language. if a great change you had been another five or six years older, no doubt you would have lost it a good deal; but even then you would have learnt it very much more quickly than you would have done had you never spoken it. your mother and the girls have been grumbling at me a good deal for sending you away so soon." "it is horrid, father," hilda said. "we have always looked forward so to godfrey's coming home; and of course it would be better still as he got older. we could have gone about everywhere with him; and we shall miss him especially when we go away in summer." "well, you must make the most of him this time then," her father said. "have you settled where we are going?" godfrey asked. "no, we would not settle until you came home, godfrey," mrs. bullen said. "as this was to be your last holiday we thought we would give you the choice." "then i vote for some quiet sea-side place,,mother. we went to switzerland last year, and as i am going abroad for ever so long i would rather stop at home now; and, besides, i would rather be quiet with you all, instead of always travelling about and going to places. only, of course if the girls would rather go abroad, i don't mind." however, it was settled that it should be as godfrey wished. "but i do think, father," godfrey said, "that it will be a good thing if i had lessons in writing from one of those fel- lows who guarantee to teach you in a few lessons. i suppose that is all bosh; but if i got their system and worked at it, it might do me good. i really do write badly." the girls laughed. "i don't think that quite describes it, godfrey," his father said. "if anyone asked me about your accomplishments i should say that you knew a good deal of latin and greek, that you had a vague idea of english, and that you could read, but unfortunately you were quite unable to write. according to my idea it is perfectly scandalous that at the great schools condemned as a nihilist such an essential as writing is altogether neglected, while years are spent over greek, which is of no earthly use when you have once left school. i suppose the very worst writers in the world are men who have been educated in public schools. "well, i am glad you have had the good sense to suggest it, godfrey. i had thought of it myself, but i was afraid you would think it was spoiling your last holidays at home. i will see about it to-morrow. i cannot get away very well for another fortnight. if you have a dozen lessons before we go, you can practise while we are away; and mind from to-day we will talk nothing but russian when we are alone." this had been indeed a common habit in the family since they had come home two years before, as the two girls and mr. and mrs. bullen spoke russian as fluently as english, and mr. bullen thought it was just as well that they should not let it drop altogether. indeed on their travels in switzerland they had several times come across russians, and had made pleasant acquaintances from their knowledge of that language. the holidays passed pleasantly at weymouth. godfrey practised two hours a day steadily at the system of handwrit- ing: and although he was, at the end of the holidays, very far from attaining the perfection shown in the examples produced by his teachers of the marvels they had effected in many of their pupils, he did improve vastly, and wrote a fair current hand instead of the almost undecipherable scrawl that had so puzzled and annoyed a succession of masters at shrewsbury. after another month spent in london, getting his clothes and outfit, godfrey started for st. petersburg. on his last even- ing at home his father had a serious talk with him. "i have told petrovytch," he said, "that you may possibly some day take up the agency with him, but that nothing is decided as to that at present, and that it will all depend upon circumstances. however, in any case, you will learn the ins and outs of the trade there; and if, at the end of a few years, you think that you would rather work by yourself than with him, i can send out a special clerk to work with you. on a great change the other hand, it is possible that i may require you at home here. venables has no family, and is rather inclined to take it easy. possibly in a few years he may retire altogether, and i may want you at home. at five or six and twenty you should be able to undertake the management of the russian part of the business, running out there occasionally to see that everything goes on well. i hope i need not tell you to be steady. there is a good deal too much drinking goes on out there, arising, no doubt, from the fact that the young men have no family society there, and nothing particular to do when work is over. "stick to the business, lad. you will find petrovytch him- self a thoroughly good fellow. of course he has russian ways and prejudices, but he is less narrow than most of his country- men of that class. above all things, don't express any opin- ion you may feel about public affairs—at any rate outside the walls of the house. the secret police are everywhere, and a chance word might get you into a very serious scrape. as you get on you will find a good deal that you do not like. even in business there is no getting a government contract, or indeed a contract at all, without bribing right and left. it is disgusting, but business cannot be done without it. the whole system is corrupt and rotten, and you will find that every official has his price. however, you won't have any- thing to do with this for the present. if i were you i should work for an hour or two a day with a german master. there are a great many germans there, and you will find a knowl- edge of the language very useful to you. you see your rus- sian has pretty nearly come back to you during the last two months, and you will very soon speak it perfectly; so you will have no trouble about that." godfrey found the long railway journey across the flat plains of germany very dull, as he was unable to exchange a word with his fellow-passengers; but as soon as he crossed the russian frontier he felt at home again, and enjoyed the run through the thickly-wooded country lying between wilna and st. petersburg. as he stepped out at the station everything condemned as a nihilist seemed to come back vividly to his memory. it was late in october and the first snow had fallen, and round the station were a crowd of sledges drawn by rough little horses. avoid- ing the importunities of the drivers of the hotel vehicles he hailed an isvostchik in furred cap and coat lined with sheep- skin. his portmanteaus were corded at the back of the sledge; he jumped up into the seat behind the driver, pulled the fur rug over his legs, and said, "drive to the vassili ostrov, , ulitsa nicolai." the driver gave a peculiar cry, cracked his whip half a dozen times, making a noise almost as loud as the discharge of a pistol, and the horse went off at a sharp trot. "i thought your excellency was a foreigner," the driver said, "but i see you are one of us." "no, i am an englishman, but i lived here till i was ten years old. the snow has begun earlier than usual, has it not?" "it won't last," the isvostchik said. "sometimes we have a week at this time of year, but it is not till december that it sets in in earnest. we may have droskies out again to- morrow instead of the sledges." "the sledges are the pleasantest," godfrey said. "yes, your excellency, for those that travel, but not for us. at night when we are waiting we can get into the drosky and sleep, while it is terrible without shelter. there are many of us frozen to death every winter." godfrey felt a sense of keen enjoyment as the sledge glided along. there were many rough bumps and sharp swings, for the snow was not deep enough to cover thoroughly the rough- ness of the road below; but the air was brisk and the sun shone brightly, and he looked with pleasure at the people and cos- tumes, which seemed, to his surprise, perfectly familiar to him. he was quite sorry when the journey came to an end at the house of ivan petrovytch. the merchant, whose office was on the ground-floor and who occupied the floor above (the rest of the house being let off by floors to other families), came a great change out to greet him. "i am glad to see you, godfrey bullen," he said. "i should have sent to the station to meet you, but your good father did not say whether you would arrive by the morning or evening train; and as my driver did not know you, he would have missed you. i hope that all has gone well on the journey. paul," he said to a man who had fol- lowed him out, "carry these trunks upstairs." after paying the driver godfrey followed his host to the floor above. petrovytch was a portly man, with a pleasant but by no means good-looking face. "wife," he said as he entered the sitting-room, "this is godfrey bullen; i will leave him in your hands for the present, as i have some busi- ness that i must complete before we close." "my name," mrs. petrovytch said, "is catharine. you know in this country we always address each other by our names. the high-born may use titles, but simple people use the christian name and the family name unless they are very intimate, and then the christian name only. i heard you speaking to my husband as you came in, so that you have not forgotten our language. i should have thought that you would have done so. i can remember you as quite a little fellow before you went away." "i have been speaking it for the last two months at home," godfrey said, "and it has nearly come back to me." "and your father and mother and your sisters, are they all well?" "they are quite well, and my father and mother begged me to give their kind regards to you." at this moment the servant came in with the samovar, or tea-urn. "it is four o'clock now; we dine at five o'clock, when the office is closed. many dine at one, but my husband likes it when he has done his work, as then he does not need to hurry." after drinking a tumbler of tea and eating a flat-cake or two with it, godfrey went to his room to have a wash after his condemned as a nihilist long journey, and to unpack some of his things. he thought that he should like both petrovytch and his wife, but that the evenings would be dull if he had to spend them in the house. of this, however, he had but little fear, for he was sure that between his father's friends and the acquaintances he might himself make he should be out as much as he liked. in the course of the next week godfrey called at the houses of the various people to whom he had letters of introduction, and left them with the hall porter. his host told him that he thought he had better take a fortnight to go about the capital and see the sights before he settled down to work at the office; and as not only the gentlemen with whom he had left letters of introduction and his card—for in russia strangers always call first—but many others of his father's friends called or invited him to their houses, he speedily made a large number of acquaintances. at the end of the fortnight he took his place in the office. at first he was of very little use there; for although he could talk and understand russian as spoken, he had entirely forgotten the written characters, and it took him some little time before he could either read the business correspondence or make entries in the office books. ivan petrovytch did his best to assist him, and in the course of a month he began to master the mysteries of russian writing. at five o'clock the office closed. godfrey very frequently dined out, but if he had no engagement he took his meal with the merchant and his wife, and then sallied out and went either alone or with some of his acquaintances to a russian theatre. with december, winter set in in earnest. the waters were frozen, and skating began. the season at st. petersburg commenced about the same time, and as godfrey was often sent with messages or letters to other business houses he had an opportunity of seekig the streets of st. petersburg by day as well as by night. he was delighted with the scene on the nevski prospekt, the principal street of st. petersburg. the footways were crowded with people: the wealthy in high boots, coats lined with sable, and caps to match; the poorer a great change in equally ample coats, but with linings of sheep, fox, or rabbit skins, with the national russian cap of fur with velvet top, and with fur-lined hoods, which were often drawn up over the head. the shops were excellent, reminding godfrey rather of paris than london. but the chief interest of the scene lay in the roadway. there were vehicles of every description, from the heavy sledge of the peasant, piled up with logs for fuel, or carrying, perhaps, the body of an elk shot in the woods, to the splendid turn-outs of the nobles with their handsome fur wraps, their coachmen in the national costume, and horses covered with brown, blue, or violet nets almost touching the ground, to prevent the snow from being thrown up from the animals' hoofs into the faces of those in the sledge. the har- ness was in most cases more or less decorated with bells, which gaily tinkled in the still air as the sledges dashed along. most struck was godfrey with the vehicles of the nobles who adhered to old russian customs. the sledge was drawn by three horses; the one in the centre was trained to trot, while the two outside went at a canter. the heads of the latter were bent half round, so that they looked towards the side, or even almost behind them as they went. an eng- lish acquaintance to whom godfrey expressed his surprise the first time he saw one of these sledges replied, "yes, that is the old russian pattern; and, curiously enough, if you look at greek bas-reliefs and sculptures of the chariot of phoebus or at any other representations of chariots, with three or four horses, you will see that the animals outside turn their heads in a similar manner." "but it must be horribly uncomfortable for the horses to have their heads turned round like that." "it is the effect of training. they are always tied up to the stables with their heads pulled in that way until it becomes a second nature to go with them in that position." "it is a very curious idea," godfrey said, "but it certainly looks nice. what magnificent beards all the drivers in the good sledges have!" condemned as a nihilist "yes, that again is an old russian custom. a driver with a big beard is considered an absolute necessity for a well- appointed turn-out, and the longer and fuller the beard the higher the wages a man will command and the greater the pride of his employer." "it seems silly," godfrey said. "but there is no doubt those fellows do look wonderfully imposing with their fur caps and their long blue caftans and red sashes and those splendid beards. they remind me of pictures of neptune. certainly i never saw such beards in england." besides these vehicles there were crowds of public sledges, driven by the isvostchiks, long rough country sledges laden perhaps with a dozen peasant women returning from market, light well-got-up vehicles of english and other merchants, dashing turn-outs carrying an officer or two of high rank, and others filled with ladies half buried in rich furs. the air was tremulous with the music of countless bells, and broken by the loud cracking of whips, with which the faster vehicles heralded their approach. these whips had short handles, but very long heavy thongs; and godfrey observed that, however loud he might crack this weapon, it was very seldom indeed that a russian driver ever struck one of his horses with it. sometimes when ivan petrovytch told him that there was little to be done in the office, and that he need not return for an hour or two, godfrey would stroll into the isaac or kasan cathedrals, both splendid structures, and wonder at the taste that marred their effect, by the profusion of the gilding lav- ished everywhere. he was delighted by the singing, which was unaccompanied by instruments, the bass voices predomi- nating, and which certainly struck him as being much finer than anything he had ever heard in an english cathedral. there was no lack of amusement in the evening. some of his english friends at once put godfrey up as a member of the skating club. this club possessed a large garden well planted with trees. in this was an artificial lake of considerable extent, broken by wooded islets. this was always lit up of a great change an evening by coloured lights, and twice in the week was thrown open upon a small payment to the public, when a military band played, and the grounds were brilliantly illumi- nated. the scene was an exceedingly gay one, and the gardens were frequented by the rank and fashion of st. petersburg. the innumerable lights were reflected by the snow that covered the ground and by the white masses that clung to the boughs of the leafless trees. the ice was covered with skaters, male and female, the latter in gay dresses, tight-fitting jackets trimmed with fur, and dainty little fur caps. many of the former were in uniform, and the air was filled with merry laughter and the ringing sound of innumerable skates. some- times parties of acquaintances executed figures, but for the most part they moved about in couples, the gentleman holding the lady's hand, or sometimes placing his arm round her waist as if dancing. very often godfrey spent the evening at the houses of one or other of his russian or english friends, and occasionally went to the theatre. sometimes he spent a quiet evening at home. he liked catharine petrovytch. she was an excellent housewife, and devoted to the comfort of her husband; but when not engaged in household cares she seldom cared to go out, and passed her time for the most part on the sofa. she was, like most other russian ladies when at home and without visitors, very careless and untidy in her dress. among the acquaintances of whom godfrey saw most were two young students. one of them was the son of a trader in moscow, the other of a small landed proprietor. he had met them for the first time at a fair held on the surface of the neva, and had been introduced to them by a fellow-student of theirs, a member of a family with whom godfrey was intimate. having met another acquaintance he had left the party, and godfrey had spent the afternoon on the ice with akim sou- shiloff and petroff stepanoff. he found them pleasant young men. he was, they told him, the first englishman they had met, and asked many questions about his country. he met condemned as a nihilist them several times afterwards, and one day they asked him if he would come up to their room. "it is a poor place," one said laughing. "but you know most of us students are poor, and have to live as best we can." "it makes no odds to me," godfrey said. "it was a pretty bare place i had when i was at school. i shall be very glad to come up." the room which the students shared was a large one, at the top of a house in a narrow street. it was simply furnished enough, containing but two beds, a deal table, four chairs, and the indispensable stove, which kept the room warm and comfortable. "we are in funds just at present," akim said. "petroff has had a remittance, and so you find the stove well alight, which is not always the case." "but how do you manage to exist without a fire?" "we don't trouble the room much then," petroff said. "we walk about till we are dead tired out, and then come up and sleep in one bed together for warmth, and heap all the cover- ings from the other bed over us. oh, we get on very well! food is cheap here if you know where to get it; fuel costs more than food. now which will you take, tea or vodka?" godfrey declared for tea. some of the water from a great pot standing on the top of the stove was poured into the samovar. some glowing embers were taken from the stove and placed in the urn, and in a few minutes the water was boiling, and three tumblers of tea with a slice of lemon float- ing on the top were soon steaming on the table. the conver- sation first turned upon university life in russia, and then petroff began to ask questions about english schools and uni- versities, and then the subject changed to english institutions in general. "what a different life to ours!" akim said. "and the peasants, are they comfortable?" "well, their lives are pretty hard ones," godfrey acknowl- edged. "they have to work hard and for long hours, and the a great change pay is poor. but then, on the other hand, they generally have their cottages at a very low rent, with a good bit of garden and a few fruit trees. they earn a little extra money at harvest time, and though their pay is smaller, i think on the whole they are better off and happier than many of the working people in the towns." "and they are free to go where they like?" "certainly they are free, but as a rule they don't move about much." "then if they have a bad master they can leave him and go to someone else?" "oh, yes! they would go to some other farmer in the neighbourhood. but there are seldom what you may call bad masters. the wages are always about the same through a district, and the hours of work, and so on; so that one master can't be much better or worse than another, except in point of temper; and if a man were very bad tempered of course the men would leave him and work somewhere else, so he would be the loser, as he would soon only get the very worst hands in the neighbourhood to work for him." "and they are not beaten?" "beaten! i should think not," godfrey said. "nobody is beaten with us, though i think it would be a capital thing if, instead of shutting up people in prison for small crimes, they had a good flogging. it would do them a deal more good, and it would be better for their wives and families, who have to get on as best they can while they are shut up." "and nobody is beaten at all?" "no, there used to be flogging in the army and navy, but it was very rare, and is now abolished." "and not even a lord can flog his peasants?" "certainly not. if a lord struck a peasant the peasant would certainly hit him back again, and if he didn't feel strong enough to do that he would have him up before the magis- trates and he would get fined pretty heavily." "and how do they punish political prisoners?" condemned as a nihilist "there are no political prisoners. as long as a man keeps quiet and doesn't get up a row, he may have any opinions he likes; he may argue in favour of a republic, or he may be a socialist or anything he pleases; but, of course, if he tried to kick up a row, attack the police, or made a riot or anything of that sort he would be punished for breaking the law, but that would have nothing to do with his politics." the two young men looked in surprise at each other. "but if they printed a paper and attacked the government?" akim asked. "oh, they do that! there are as many papers pitch into the government as there are in favour of the government; parties are pretty equally divided, you see, and the party that is out always abuses the party which is in power." "and even that is lawful?" "certainly it is. you can abuse the government as much as you like, say that the ministers are a parcel of incompetent fools, and so on; but, of course, you cannot attack them as to their private life and character any more than you can anyone else, because then you would render yourself liable to an action for libel." "and you can travel where you like, in the country and out of the country, without official permits or passports?" "yes, there is nothing like that known in england. every man can go where he likes, and live where he likes, and do anything he likes, providing that it does not interfere with the rights of other people." "ah! shall we ever come to this in russia, akim?" petroff said. akim made no answer, but godfrey replied for him. "no doubt you will in time, petroff; but you see liberties like these do not grow up in a day. we had serfs and vassals in eng- land at one time, and feudal barons who could do pretty much what they chose, and it was only in the course of centuries that these things got done away with." at this moment there was a knock at the door. a great change "it is katia," akim said, jumping up from his seat and opening the door. a young woman entered. she was pleas- ant and intelligent looking. "katia, this is an english gentleman, a friend of ours, who has been telling us about his country. godfrey, this is my cousin katia; she teaches music in the houses of many people of good family." "i did not expect to find visitors here," the girl said smil- ing. "and how do you like our winter? it is a good deal colder than you are accustomed to." "it is a great deal more pleasant," godfrey said: "i call it glorious weather. it is infinitely better than alternate rains and winds, with just enough frost occasionally to make you think you are going to do some skating, and then a thaw." "you are extravagant," the girl said, looking round; "it is a long time since i have felt the room as warm as this. i sup- pose petroff has got his allowance?" "yes, and a grumbling letter. my father has a vague idea that in some way or other i ought to pick up my living, though he never offers a suggestion as to how i should do it." the young woman went to the cupboard, fetched another tumbler and poured herself out some tea, and then chatted gaily about st. petersburg, her pupils, and their parents. "do you live at the house of one of your pupils?" godfrey asked. "oh no!" she said. "i don't mind work, but i like to be free when work is over. i board in an honest family, and live in a little room at the top of the house which is all my own and where i can see my friends." after chatting for some time longer godfrey took his leave. as soon as he had gone the girl's manner changed. "do you think you are wise to have him here, akim?" "why not?" the student asked in turn. "he is frank and agreeable, he is respectable, and even you will allow that it would be safer walking with him than some we know; we do not talk politics with him." "for all that i am sorry, akim. you know how it will be; condemned as a nihilist we shall get him into trouble. it is our fate; we have a great end in view; we risk our own lives, and although for the good of the cause we must not hesitate even if others suffer, i do hate with all my heart that others should be involved in our fortunes." "this is not like you, katia," petroff said. "i have heard you say your maxim is 'at any cost,' and you have certainly lived up to it." "yes, and i shall live up to it," she said firmly; "but it hurts sometimes, petroff; it hurt me just now when i thought that that lad laughing and chatting with us had no idea that he had better have thrust his hand into that stove than have given it to us. i do not shrink; i should use him as i should use anyone else, as an instrument if it were needful, but don't suppose that i like it." "i don't think there is any fear of our doing him harm," akim said; "he is english, and would find no difficulty in showing that he knew nothing of us save as casual acquaint- ances; they might send him out of the country, but that would be all.' "it would all depend," she said, "upon how he fell into their hands. if you happened to be arrested only as you were walking with him down the nevski prospekt he would be questioned, of course, but as soon as they learned who he was and that he had nothing to do with you, they would let him go. but if he were with us, say here, when we were pounced upon, and you had no time to pull the trigger of the pistol pointing into that keg of powder in the cupboard, he would be hurried away with us to one of the fortresses, and the chances are that not a soul would ever know what had become of him. still it cannot be helped now; he may be useful, and as we give our own lives, so we must not shrink from giving others'. but this is not what i came here to talk to you about; have you heard of the arrest of michaelovich?" "no," they both exclaimed, leaping from their seats. "it happened at three o'clock this morning," katia said. condemned as a nihilist "well, be careful for the next few days, akim," katia said; "don't do anything in the schools, it will not be long now before all is ready to strike a blow, and it is not worth while to risk anything until after that. i have orders that we are all to keep perfectly quiet till the plans are settled and we each get our instructions. now i must go, i have two lessons to give this afternoon. it tries one a little to be talking to children about quavers and semiquavers when one's head is full of great plans, and you know that at any moment a police- man may tap you on the shoulder and take you off to the dungeons of st. nicholas, from which one will never return unless one is carried out, or is sent to siberia, which would be worse. be careful; the police have certainly got scent of something, they are very active at present," and with a nod she turned and left the room. "she is a brave girl," akim said. "i think the women make better conspirators than we do, petroff. look at her. she was a little serious to-day because of michaelovich, but generally she is in high spirits, and no one would dream that she thought of anything but her pupils and pleasure. then there is feodorina samuloff. she works all day, i believe, in a laundry, and she looks as impassive as if she had been carved out of soap. yet she is ready to go on working all night if required, and if she had orders she would walk into the winter palace and throw down a bomb (that would kill her as well as everyone else within its reach) with as much coolness as if she was merely delivering a message." a catspaw chapter ii a catspaw one evening a fortnight later godfrey went with two young englishmen to a masked ball at the opera. it was a brilliant scene. comparatively few of the men were masked or in costume, but many of the ladies were so. every other man was in uniform of some kind, and the floor of the house was filled with a gay laughing crowd, while the boxes were occupied by ladies of the highest rank, several of the imperial family being present. he speedily became separated from his companions, and after walking about for an hour he became tired of the scene, and was about to make his way towards the entrance when a hand was slipped behind his arm. as several masked figures had joked him on walking about so vaguely by himself, he thought that this was but another jest. "you are just the person i wanted," the mask said. "i think you have mistaken me for someone else, lady," he replied. "not at all. now put up your arm and look as if i belonged to you. nonsense! do as you are told, godfrey bullen." "who are you who know my name?" godfrey laughed, doing as he was ordered, for he had no doubt that the masked woman was a member of one of the families whom he had visited. "you don't know who i am?" she asked. "how should i when i can see nothing but your eyes through those holes?" "i am katia, the cousin of your friend akim." "oh, of course!" godfrey said, a little surprised at meet- ing the music mistress in such an assembly. "i fancied i condemned as a nihilist knew your voice, though i could not remember where i had heard it. and now what can i do for you?" the young woman hesitated. "we have got up a little mystification," she said after a pause, "and i am sure i can trust you; besides, you don't know the parties. there is a gentleman here who is supposed to be with his regiment at moscow; but there is a sweetheart in the case, and you know when there are sweethearts people do foolish things." "i have heard so," godfrey laughed, "though i don't know anything about it myself, for i sha'n't begin to think of such luxuries as sweethearts for years to come." "well, he is here masked," the girl went on, "and unfor- tunately the colonel of his regiment is here, and some ill- natured person—we fancy it is a rival of his—has told the colonel. he is furious about it, and declares that he will catch him and have him tried by court-martial for being absent without leave. the only thing is he is not certain as to his information." "well, what can i do?" godfrey asked. "how can i help him?" "you can help if you like, and that without much trouble to yourself. he is at present in the back of that empty box on the third tier. i was with him when i saw you down here, so i left him to say good-bye to his sweetheart alone, and ran down to fetch you, for i felt sure you would oblige me. what i thought was this: if you put his mask and cloak on—you are about the same height—it would be supposed that you are him. the colonel is waiting down by the entrance. he will come up to you and say, 'captain presnovich?' you will naturally say, 'by no means.' he will insist on your taking your mask off. this you will do, and he will, of course, make profuse apologies, and will believe that he has been altogether misinformed. in the meantime presnovich will manage to slip out, and will go down by the early train to moscow. it is not likely that the colonel will ever make any more inquiries about it, but if he a catspaw does, some of presnovich's friends will be ready to declare that he never left moscow." "but can't he manage to leave his mask and cloak in the box and to slip away without them?" "no, that would never do. it is necessary that the colonel should see for himself that the man in the cloak, with the white and red bow pinned to it, is not the captain." "very well, then, i will do it," godfrey said. "it will be fun to see the colonel's face when he finds out his mistake; but mind i am doing it to oblige you." "i feel very much obliged," the girl said; "but don't you bring my name into it though." "how could i?" he laughed. "i do not see that i am likely to be cross-questioned in any way; but never fear, i will keep your counsel." by this time they had arrived at the door of the box. "wait a moment," she said, "i will speak to him first." she was two minutes gone, and then opened the door and let him in. "i am greatly obliged to you, sir," a man said as he entered. "it is a foolish business altogether, but if you will enact my part for a few minutes you will get me out of an awkward scrape." "don't mention it," godfrey replied. "it will be a joke to laugh over afterwards." he placed the broad hat, to which the black silk mask was sewn, on his head, and katia put the cloak on his shoulders. "i trust you," she said in a low voice as she walked with him to the top of the stairs. "there, i must go now. i had better see captain presnovich safely off, and then go and tell the young lady, who is a great friend of mine—it is for her sake i am doing it, you know, not for his—how nicely we have managed to throw dust in the colonel's eyes!" regarding the matter as a capital joke, godfrey went down- stairs and made his way to the entrance, expecting every moment to be accosted by the irascible colonel. no one spoke to him, however, and he began to imagine that the condemned as a nihilist colonel must have gone to seek the captain elsewhere, and hoped that he would not meet him as he went down the stairs with katia. he walked down the steps into the street. as he stepped on to the pavement a man seized him from behind, two others grasped his wrists, and before he knew what had happened he was run forward across the pavement to a covered sledge standing there and flung into it. his three assailants leapt in after him; the door was slammed; another man jumped on to the box with the driver; and two mounted men took their places beside it as it dashed off from the door. the men had again seized godfrey's hands and held them firmly the instant they entered the carriage. "it is of no use your attempting to struggle," one of the men said, "there is an escort riding beside the sledge, and a dozen more behind it. there is no chance of a rescue, and i warn you you had best not open your lips; if you do, we will gag you." godfrey was still half bewildered with the suddenness of the transaction. what had he been seized for? who were the men who had got hold of him? and why were they grip- ping his wrists so tightly? he had heard of arbitrary treat- ment in the russian army, but that a colonel should have a captain seized in this extraordinary way merely because he was absent from his post without leave was beyond anything he thought possible. "i thought i was going to have the laugh all on my side," he said to himself, "but so far it is all the other way." in ten minutes the carriage stopped for a moment, there was a challenge, then some gates were opened. godfrey had already guessed his destination, and his feeling of discomfort had in- creaseotevery foot he went. there was no doubt he was being taken to the fortress. "it seems to me that miss katia has got me into a horrible scrape of some kind," he said to him- self. "what a fool i was to let myself be humbugged by the girl in that way!" two men with lanterns were at the door of a building, at a catspaw which the carriage, after passing into a large court-yard, drew up. still retaining their grip on his wrists, two of the men -walked beside him down a passage, while several others fol- lowed behind. an officer of high rank was sitting at the head of a table, one of inferior rank stood beside him, while at the end of the table were two others with papers and pens before them. "so you have captured him!" the general said eagerly. "yes, your excellency," the man who had spoken to god- frey in the carriage said respectfully. "has he been searched?" "no, your excellency, the distance was so short, and i feared that he might wrench one of his hands loose. more- over, i thought that you might prefer his being searched in your presence." "it is better so. take off that disguise." as the hat and mask were removed the officer sprang to his feet and ex- claimed, "why, who is this? this is not the man you were ordered to arrest; you have made some confounded blunder." "i assure you, your excellency," the official said in trem- bling accents, "this is the only man who was there in the dis- guise we were told of. there, your excellency, is the bunch of white and red ribbons on his cloak." "and who are you, sir?" the general thundered. "my name, sir, is godfrey bullen. i reside with ivan petrovytch, a merchant living in the vassili ostrov." "but how come you mixed up in this business, sir?" the general exclaimed furiously. "how is it that you are thus disguised, and that you are wearing that bunch of ribbon? beware how you answer me, sir, for this is a matter which con- cerns your life." "so far as i am concerned, sir," godfrey said, "i am absolutely ignorant of having done any harm in the matter, and have not the most remote idea why i have been arrested. i may have behaved foolishly in allowing myself to take part in what i thought was a masquerade joke, but beyond that i condemned as a nihilist have nothing co blame myself for. i went to the opera- house, never having seen a masked ball before. i was alone, and being young and evidently a stranger, i was spoken to and joked by several masked ladies. presently one of them came up to me. i had no idea who she was; she was closely masked, and i could see nothing of her face." he then repeated the request that had been made him. "do you expect me to believe this ridiculous nonsense about this captain presnovich and his colonel?" "i can only say, sir, what i am telling you is precisely what happened, and that i absolutely believed it. it seemed to me a natural thing that a young officer might come to a ball to see a lady who perhaps he had no other opportunity of meeting alone. i see now that i was very foolish to allow myself to be mixed up in the affair; but i thought that it was a harmless joke, and so i did as this woman asked me." "go on, sir," the general said in a tone of suppressed rage. "there is little more to tell, sir. i went up with this woman to the box she had pointed out, and there found this captain presnovich as i believed him to be. i put on his hat, mask, and cloak, walked down the stairs, and was leaving the opera-house when i was arrested, and am even now wholly ignorant of having committed any offence." "a likely story," the general said sarcastically. "and this woman, did you see her face?" "no, sir, she was closely masked. i could not even see if she were young or old; and she spoke in the same dis- guised, squeaking sort of voice that all the others that had spoken to me used." "and that is your entire story, sir; you have nothing to add to it?" "nothing whatever, sir. i have told you the simple truth." the general threw himself back in his chair, too exasperated to speak farther, but made a sign to the officer standing next to him to take up the interrogation. the questions were now formal. "your name is godfrey bullen?" he asked. a catspaw "it is." "your nationality?" "british." "your domicile?" godfrey gave the address. "how long have you been in russia?" "four months." "what is your business?" "a clerk to ivan petrovytch." "how comes it that you speak russian so well?" "i was born here, and lived up to the age of ten with my father, john bullen, who was a well-known merchant here, and left only two years ago." "that will do," the general said impatiently. "take him to his cell and search him thoroughly." naturally the most minute search revealed nothing of an incriminating character. at length godfrey was left alone in the cell, which contained only a- single chair and a rough pallet. "i have put my foot in it somehow," he said to him- self, "and i can't make head nor tail of it beyond the fact that i have made an ass of myself. was the whole story a lie? was the fellow's name presnovich? if not, who was he? by the rage of the general, who, i suppose, is the chief of the police, it was evident he was frightfully disappointed that i wasn't the man he was looking for. was this presnovich somebody that girl katia knew and wanted to get safely away? or was she made a fool of just as i was? she looked a bright, jolly sort of girl; but that goes for nothing in russia, all sorts of people get mixed up in plots. if she was concerned in getting him away i suppose she fixed on me because, being english and a new-comer here, it would be easy for me to prove that i had nothing to do with plots or anything of that sort, whereas if a russian had been in my place he might have got into a frightful mess over it. well, i suppose it will all come right in the end. it is lucky that the weather has got milder or i should have had a good chance of being frozen to death; it is cold enough as it is." condemned as a nihilist resuming his clothes, which had been thrown down on the pallet, godfrey drew the solitary rug over him, and in spite of the uncertainty of the position was soon fast asleep. he woke just as daylight was breaking, and was so bitterly cold that he was obliged to get up and stamp about the cell to restore circulation. two hours later the cell door was opsned and a piece of dark-coloured bread and a jug of water were handed in to him. "if this is prison fare i don't care how soon i am out of it," he said to himself as he munched the bread. "i wonder what it is made of! rye!" the day passed without anyone coming near him save the jailer, who brought a bowl of thin broth and a ration of bread for his dinner. "can't you get me another rug?" he asked the man. "if i have got to stop here for another night i shall have a good chance of being frozen to death." just as it was getting dark the man came in again with another blanket and a flat earthenware pan half full of sand, on which was burning a handful or two of sticks; he placed a bundle of wood beside it. "that is more cheerful by a long way," godfrey said to himself as the man, who had maintained absolute silence on each of his visits, left the cell. "no doubt they have been making a lot of inquiries about me, and find that i have not been in the habit of frequenting low company. i should not have had these indulgences if they hadn't. well, it will be an amusement to keep this fire up. the wood is as dry as a bone luckily, or i should be smoked out in no time, for there is not much ventilation through that narrow loophole." the warmth of the fire and the additional blanket made all the difference, and in a couple of hours godfrey was sound asleep. when he woke it was broad daylight, and although he felt cold it was nothing to what he had experienced on the previous morning. at about eleven o'clock, as near as he could guess, for his watch and everything had been removed when he was searched, the door was opened and a prison a catspaw official with two warders appeared. by these he was con- ducted to the same room where he had been first examined. neither of the officers who had then been there was present, but an elderly man sat at the centre of the table. "godfrey bullen," he said, "a careful investigation has been made into your antecedents, and with one exception, and that not, for various reasons, an important one, we have received a good report of you. ivan petrovytch tells us that you work in his office from breakfast-time till five in the afternoon, and that your evenings are at your own disposal, but that you generally dine with him. he gave us the names of the families with which you are acquainted, and where, as he understood, you spend your evenings when you are not at the skating club, where you generally go on tuesdays and fri- days at least. we learn that you did spend your evenings with these families, and we have learned at the club that you are a regular attendant there two or three times a week, and that your general associates are :" and he read out a list which included, to godfrey's surprise, the names of every one of his acquaintances there. "therefore we have been forced to come to the conclusion that your story, incredible as it appeared, is a true one. that you, a youth and a foreigner, should have had the incredible levity to act in the way you describe, and to assume the disguise of a person absolutely unknown to you, upon the persuasion of a woman also abso- lutely unknown to you, well-nigh passes belief. had you been older you would at once have been sent to the frontier; but as it is, the czar, to whom the case has been specially submitted, has graciously allowed you to continue your residence here, the testimony being unanimous as to your father's position as a merchant, and to the prudence of his behaviour while resident here. but i warn you, godfrey bullen, that escapades of this kind, which may be harmless in england, are very serious matters here. ignorantly, i admit, but none the less certainly, you have aided in the escape of a malefactor of the worst kind; and but for the proofs that have been afforded us that condemned as a nihilist you were a mere dupe, the consequences would have been most serious to you, and even the fact of your being a for- eigner would not have sufficed to save you from the hands of justice. you are now free to depart, but let this be a lesson to you, and a most serious one, never again to mix yourself up in any way with persons of whose antecedents you are ignorant, and in future to conduct yourself in all respects wisely and prudently." "it will certainly be a lesson to me, sir. i am heartily sorry that i was so foolish as to allow myself to be mixed up in such an affair, and think i can promise you that henceforth there will be no fault to be found in my conduct." in the ante-room godfrey's watch, money, and the other contents of his pocket were restored to him. a carriage was in waiting for him at the outer door, and he was driven rapidly to the house of the merchant. "this is a nice scrape into which you have got yourself, godfrey," ivan petrovytch said as he entered. "it is lucky for you that you are not a russian. but how on earth have you got mixed up in a plot; we know nothing about it beyond the fact that you had been arrested, for, although a thousand questions were asked me about you, nothing was said to me as to the charge brought against you. we have been in the greatest anxiety about you. all sorts of rumours were current in the city as to the discovery of a plot to assassinate one of the grand-dukes at the opera-house, and there are rumours that explosive bombs had been discovered in one of the boxes. it is said that the police had received information of the attempt that was to be made, and that every precaution had been taken to arrest the principal conspirator, but that in some extraordinary manner he slipped through their fingers. but surely you can never have been mixed up in that matter?" "that is what it was," godfrey said, "though i had no more idea of having anything to do with a plot than i had of flying. i see now that i behaved like an awful fool." and he told the story to petrovytch and his wife as he had told it a catspaw to the head of the police. both were shocked at the thought that a member of their household should have been engaged, even unwittingly, in such a treasonable affair. "it is a wonder that we ever saw you again," the merchant's wife exclaimed. "it is fortunate that we are known as quiet people or we might have been arrested too. i could not have believed that anyone with sense could be silly enough to put on a stranger's mantle and hat!" "but i thought," godfrey urged, "that at masked balls peo- ple did play all sorts of tricks upon each other. i am sure i have read so in books. and it did seem quite likely—didn't it now?—that an officer should have come up to meet a young lady masked whom he had no chance of meeting at any other time. it certainly seemed to me quite natural, and i believe almost any fellow, if he were asked to help anyone to get out of a scrape like that, would do it." "you may do it in england or in france, but it doesn't do to take part in anything that you don't know for certain all about here. the wonder is they made any inquiries at all. if you had been a russian the chances are that your family would never have heard of you again from the time you left to go to the opera. nothing that you could have said would have been believed. your story would have been regarded by the police as a mere invention. they would have considered it as certain that in some way or other you were mixed up in the conspiracy. they would have regarded your denials as simple obstinacy, and you would have been sent to siberia for life." "i should advise you, godfrey," ivan petrovytch said, "to keep an absolute silence about this affair. mention it to no one. everyone knows that something has happened to you, as the police have been everywhere inquiring; but there is no occasion to tell anyone the particulars. of course rumours get about as to the action of the nihilists and of the police, but as little is said as possible. it is, of course, a mere rumour that a plot was discovered at the opera-house. probably there condemned as a nihilist were an unusual number of police at all the entrances, and a very little thing gives rise to talk and conjecture. people think that the police would not have been there had they not had suspicion that something or other was going to take place, and as everything in our days is put down to the nihilists, it was naturally reported that the police had discovered some plot; and as two of the grand-dukes were there, people made sure it was in some way connected with them. "as nothing came of it, and no one was, as far as was known, arrested, it would be supposed that the culprit, who- ever he was, managed to evade the police. such rumours as these are of very common occurrence, and it is quite possible that there is not much more truth in them this time than there is generally; however, of one thing you may be sure, the police are not fonder than other people of being outwitted, and whether the man for whom they were in search was a nihilist or a criminal of some other sort you certainly aided him to escape. you are sure to be watched for some time, and it will be known to the police in a very few hours if you repeat this story to your acqaintances; if they find you keep silence about it, they will give you credit for discretion, while it would certainly do you a good deal of harm, and might even now lead to your being promptly sent across the frontier, were it known that you made a boast of having outwitted them. "there is another reason. you will find that for a time most of your friends here will be a little shy of you. people are not fond of having as their intimates persons about whom the police are inquiring, and you will certainly find for a time that you will receive very few invitations to enter the houses of any russians. it would be different, however, if it were known that the trouble was about something that had no con- nection with politics; therefore, i should advise you, when you are asked questions, to turn it off with a laugh. say you got mixed up in an affair between a young lady and her lover, and that, like many other people, you found that those who mingle in such matters often get left in the lurch. you need a catspaw not say much more than that. you might do anything here without your friends troubling much about it provided it had nothing to do with politics. rob a bank, perpetrate a big swindle, run away with a court heiress, and as long as the police don't lay hands on you nobody else will trouble their heads about the affair; but if you are suspected of being mixed up in the most remote way with politics, your best friends will shtrn you like the plague." "i will take your advice certainly," godfrey said, "and even putting aside the danger you point out, i should not be anxious to tell people that i suffered myself to be entrapped so foolishly." for some time, indeed, godfrey found that his acquaint- ance fell away from him, and that he was not asked to the houses of any of the russian merchants where he had been before made welcome. cautious questions would be asked by the younger men as to the trouble into which, he got with the police; but he turned these off with a laugh. "i am not going to tell the particulars," he said, "they concern other people. i can only tell you that i was fool enough to be humbugged by a pretty little masker, and to get mixed up in a love intrigue in which a young lady, her lover a captain in the army, and an irascible colonel were concerned, and that the young people made a cat's-paw of me. i am not going to say more than that, i don't want to be laughed at for the next six months;" and so it became understood that the young englishman had simply got into some silly scrape, and had been charged by a colonel in the army with running away with his daughter, and he was therefore restored to his former footing at most of the houses that he had before visited. two days after his release a note was slipped into godfrey's hand by a boy as he went out after dinner for a walk. it was unsigned, and ran as follows:— "dear godfrey bullen, my cousin is in a great state of dis- tress. she was deceived by a third person, and in turn deceived you. she has heard since that the story was an entire condemned as a nihilist fiction to enable a gentleman for whom the police were in search to escape. she only heard last night of your arrest and release, and is in the greatest grief that she should have been the innocent means of this trouble coming upon you. you know how things are here, and she is overwhelmed with gratitude that you did not in defence give any particulars that might have enabled them to trace her, for she would have found it much more difficult than a stranger would have done to have proved her innocence. she knows that you did say nothing, for had you done so she would have been arrested before morning; not improbably we might also have found ourselves within the walls of a prison, since you met her at our room, and the mere acquaintanceship with a suspected person is enough to condemn one here. by the way, we have moved our lodging, but will give you our new address when we meet you, that is, if you are good enough to continue our acquaintance in spite of the trouble that has been caused you by the credulity and folly of my cousin." godfrey, who had begun to learn prudence, did not open the letter until he returned home, and as soon as he had read it dropped it into the stove. he was pleased at its receipt, for he had not liked to think that he had been duped by a girl. from the first he had believed that she, like himself, had been deceived, for it had seemed to him out of the question that a young music mistress, who did not seem more than twenty years old, could have been mixed up in the doings of a desperate set of conspirators; however, he quite understood the alarm she must have felt, for though his story might have been believed owing to his being a stranger, and unconnected in any way with men who could have been concerned in a nihilist plot, it would no doubt have been vastly more difficult for her to prove her innocence, especially as it was known that there were many women in the ranks of the nihilists. it was a fortnight before he met either of the students, and he then ran against them upon the quay just at the foot of the equestrian statue of peter the great, opposite the isaac a catspaw cathedral. they hesitated for a moment, but he held out his hand cordially. "where have you been, and how is it i have not seen you before?" "we were afraid that you might not care to know us fur- ther," akim said, "after the trouble that that foolish cousin of mine involved you in." "that would have been ridiculous," godfrey said. "if we were to blame our friends for the faults of persons to whom they introduce us, there would be an end to introductions." "everyone wouldn't think as you do," akim said. "we both wished to meet you, and thank you for so nobly shield- ing her. the silly girl might be on her way to siberia now if you had given her name." "i certainly should not have done that in any case. it is not the way of englishmen to betray their friends, especially when that friend is a woman; but i thought even before i got your letter that she must in some way or other have been mis- led herself." "it was very good of you," petroff said. "katia has been in great distress over it. she thinks that you can never for- give her." "pray tell her from me, petroff, that i have blamed myself, not her. i ought not to have let myself be persuaded into taking any part in the matter. i entered into it as a joke, thinking it would be fine fun to see the old colonel's face, and also to help a pair of lovers out of a scrape. it would have been a good joke in england, but this is not a country where jokes are understood. at any rate it has been a useful lesson to me, and in future young ladies will plead in vain to get me to mix myself up in other people's affairs." "we are going to a students' party to-night," petroff said. "one of our number who has just passed the faculty of medi- cine has received an appointment at tobolsk. it is a long way off; but it is said to be a pleasant town, and the pay is good. he is an orphan, and richer than most of us, so he is condemned as a nihilist going to celebrate it with a party to-night before he starts. will you come with us?" "i should like it very much," godfrey said; "but surely your friend would not wish a stranger there on such an occa- sion." "oh, yes, he would! he would be delighted, he is very fond of the english. i will answer for it that you will be welcome. meet us here at seven o'clock this evening; he has hired a big room, and there will be two or three dozen of us there—all good fellows. most of them have passed, and you will see the army and navy, the law and medicine, all represented." godfrey willingly agreed to go. he thought he should see a new phase of russian life, and at the appointed hour he met the two students. the entertainment was held in a large room in a traktar or eating-house in a small street. the room was already full of smoke, a number of young men were seated along two tables extending the length of the room, and crossed by one at the upper end. several were in military uniform, and two or three in that of the navy. akim and petroff were greeted boisterously by name as they entered. "i will talk to you presently," akim shouted in reply to various invitations to take his seat. '" i have a friend whom i must first introduce to alexis." he and petroff took god- frey up to the table at the end of the room. "alexis," akim said, "i have brought you a gentleman whom i am sure you will welcome. he has proved himself a true friend, one worthy of friendship and honour. his name is godfrey bullen." there was general silence as akim spoke, and an evident curiosity as to the stranger their comrade had introduced. the host, who had risen to his feet, grasped godfrey's hand warmly. "i am indeed glad to meet you, godfrey bullen," he said. "my friends, greet with me the english friend of akim and petroff." a catspaw there was a general thumping of glasses on the table, and two or three of those sitting near alexis rose from their seats and shook hands with godfrey, with a warmth and cordiality which astonished him. room was made for him and his two friends at the upper end of one of the side tables, and when he had taken his seat the lad was able to survey the scene quietly. numbers of bottles were ranged down the middle of the tables, which were of bare wood without cloth. these con- tained, as petroff told him, wines from various parts of russia. there were wines similar to sherry and bordeaux, from the crimea; kahetinskoe, strongly resembling good burgundy, from the caucasus; and don skoe, a sparkling wine resembling champagne, from the don. besides these were tankards of lablochin kavas, or cider; grushevoi kavas, or perry; malovinoi, a drink prepared from raspberries; and lompopo, a favourite drink on the shores of the baltic. the conversation naturally turned on student topics, of tricks played on professors, on past festivities, amusements, and quarrels. no allusion of any kind was made to politics, or to the matters of the day. jovial songs were sung, the whole joining in chorus with great animation. at nine o'clock waiters appeared with trays containing the indispensable beginning of all russian feasts. each tray contained a large number of small dishes with fresh caviar, raw herrings, smoked salmon, dried sturgeon, slices of german sausage, smoked goose, ham, radishes, cheese, and butter. from these the guests helped themselves at will, the servants handing round small glasses of kiimmel liftofka, a spirit flavoured with the leaves of the black-currant, and vodka. then came the supper. before each guest was placed a basin of stchi, a cabbage soup, sour cream being handed round to be added to it; then came rastigai patties, composed of the flesh of the sturgeon and isinglass. this was followed by cold boiled sucking pig with horse-radish sauce. after this came roast mutton stuffed with buck-wheat, which con- condemned as a nihilist eluded the supper. when the table was cleared singing began again, but godfrey stayed no longer, excusing himself to his host on the ground that the merchant kept early hours, and that unless when he had specially mentioned that he should not be home until late, he made a point of being in between ten and eleven. he was again surprised at the warmth with which several of the guests spoke to him as he said good-night, and went away with the idea in his mind that among the younger russians, at any rate, englishmen must be much more popular than he had before supposed. one or two young officers had given him their cards, and said that they should be pleased if he would call upon them. "i have had a pleasant evening," he said to himself. "they are a jolly set of fellows, more like boys than men. it was just the sort of thing i could fancy a big breaking-up supper would be if fellows could do as they liked, only no head-master would stand the tremendous row they made with their choruses. however, i don't expect they very often have a jollification like this. i suppose our host was a good deal better off than most of them. petroff said that he was the son of a manufacturer down in the south. i wonder what he meant when he laughed in that quiet way of his when i said i wondered that as his father was well off he should take an appointment at such an out-of-the-way place as tobolsk. 'don't ask questions here,' he said, 'those fellows handing round the meat may be government spies.' i don't see, if they were, what interest they could have in the question why alexis stumpoff should go to tobolsk. "however, i suppose they make a point of never touching on private affairs where anyone can hear them, however inno- cent the matter may be. it must be hateful to be in a coun- try where, for aught you know, every other man you come across is a spy. i daresay i am watched now; that police fellow told me i should be. it would be a lark to turn r f:' down by-streets and lead the spy, if there is one, a trertk >,.. a hunting party dous dance; but jokes like that won't do here. i got off once, but if i give them the least excuse again they may send me off to the frontier. i should not care much myself, but it would annoy the governor horribly, so i will walk back as gravely as a judge." chapter iii a hunting party two days later robson, an english merchant who had been one of the most intimate of godfrey's acquaintances, and to whom he had confided the truth about his arrest, said to him: "you are not looking quite yourself, lad." "oh, i am all right!" he said; "but it is not a pleasant thing having had such a close shave of being sent to siberia; and it isn't only that. no doubt the police feel that they owe me a grudge for having been the means of this fellow, whoever he was, slipping through their fingers, and i shall be a suspected person for a long time. of course it is only fancy, but i am always thinking there is someone following me when i go out. i know it is nonsense, but i can't get rid of it." "i don't suppose they are watching you as closely as that," mr. robson said, "but i do think it is likely that they may be keeping an eye on you; but if they are they will be tired of it before long, when they see that you go your own way and have nothing to do with any suspected persons. you want a change, lad. i have an invitation to join a party who are going up to finland to shoot for a couple of days. it is more likely than not that we shall never have a chance of firing a shot, but it will be an outing for you, and will clear your brain. do you think you would like it?" condemned as a nihilist "thank you very much, mr. robson, i should like it immensely. petrovytch was saying this morning that he thought i should be all the better for a holiday, so i am sure he will spare me. i am nothing of a shot, in fact i never fired a shot at game in my life, though i have practised a bit with the rifle, but i am sure it will be very jolly whether we shoot anything or not." "very well, then, be at the station to catch the seven o'clock train in the morning. it is a four hours' railway journey." "is there anything to bring, sir?" "no, you can take a hand-bag and sleeping things, but beyond a bit of soap and a towel i don't suppose you will have need of anything, for you will most likely sleep at some farm-house, or perhaps in a woodman's hut, and there will not be any undressing. there are six of us going from here, counting you, but the party is got up by two or three men we know there. they tell me some of the officers of the regi- ment stationed there will be of the party, and they will have a hundred or so of their men to act as beaters. i have a spare gun that i will bring for you." the next morning godfrey joined mr. robson at the station. a mr. white, whom he knew well, was one of the party, and the other three were russians. they had secured a first-class compartment, and as soon as they started they rigged up a table with one of the cushions and began to play whist. "you don't play, i suppose, godfrey?" mr. robson said. "no, sir. i have played a little at my father's, but it will be a long time before i shall be good enough to play. i have heard my father say that there is better whist at st. petersburg than in any place in the world." "i think he is right, lad. the russians are first-rate players and are passionately fond of the game, and naturally we english here have had to learn to play up to their standard. the game is similar to that in england, but they score alto- gether differently." a hunting party the four hours passed rapidly. godfrey sometimes looked out of the window at the flat country they were passing through, but more often watched the play. they were met at the station by two of mr. robson's friends, and found that sledges were in readiness and they were to start at once. "we have ten miles to drive," one of them said. "the others went on early; they will have had one beat by the time we get there, and are then to assemble for luncheon." the road was good and the horses fast, so that the sledges flew along rapidly. most of the distance was through forest, but the last half-mile was open, and the sledge drew up at a large farm-house standing in the centre of the cleared space, and surrounded at a distance of half a mile on all sides by the forest. a dozen men, about half of whom were in uniform, poured out from the door as the four sledges drew up. "you are just in time," one of them said. "the soup is ready and in another minute we should have set to." the civilians all knew each other, but the new-comers were introduced to the russian colonel and his five officers. "have you had any luck, colonel?" mr. robson asked. "wonderful," the latter replied with a laugh. "a stag came along and everyone of us had a shot at it, and each and everyone is ready to take oath that he hit it, so that everyone is satisfied. don't you call that luck?" mr. robson laughed. "but where is the stag?" he asked, looking round. "that is more than anyone can tell you. he went straight on, and carried off our twelve bullets. captain fomitch here, and in fact all my officers, are ready to swear that the deer is enchanted, and they have all been crossing themselves against the evil omen. such a thing was never heard of before, for being such crack shots, all of us, of course there can be no doubt about our each having hit the stag when it was not more than a hundred yards away at the outside; but come in, the soup smells too good to wait, and the sight of that enchanted beast has sharpened my appetite wonderfully." condemned as a nihilist godfrey entered with the rest. large as the farm-house was, the greater portion of the ground-floor was occupied by the room they entered. it was entirely constructed of wood blackened with smoke and age. a great fire burned on the hearth, and the farmer's wife and two maids were occupied with several large pots, some suspended over the fire, others standing among the brands. the window was low, but extended half across one side of the room, and was filled with small lattice panes. from the roof hung hams, sides of bacon, potatoes in network bags, bunches of herbs, and sev- eral joints of meat. a table extended the length of the room covered with plates and dishes that from their appearance had evidently been brought out from the town, and differed widely from the rough earthenware standing on a great dresser of darkened wood extending down one side of the room. at one end the great pot was placed, the cloth having been pushed back for the purpose, and the colonel, seizing the ladle, began to fill the earthenware bowls which were used instead of soup plates. "each man come for his ration before he sits down," he said. "it would be better if you did not sit down at all, for i know well enough that when my countrymen sit down to a meal it is a long time before they get up again, and we have to be in the forest again in three-quarters of an hour." "quite right, colonel," one of the hosts said; "this even- ing you may sit as long as you like, but if we are to have another drive to-day we must waste no time. a basin of soup and a plate of stew are all you will get now, with a cup of coffee afterwards to arm you against the cold, and a glass of vodka or ktimmil to top up with. no, colonel, not any punch just now. punch in the evening; but if we were to begin with that now, i know that there would be no shooting this afternoon." "what are the beaters doing?" mr. robson asked as they hastily ate their dinner. "they have brought their bread with them," the colonel a hunting party said, "and our friends here have provided a deer almost as fine as that which carried off the twelve bullets. it was roast- ing over a fire in the forest when we went past, and i saw some black bottles which i guessed were vodka." "yes, colonel, i ordered that they should have a glass each with their dinner, and another glass when they had done this afternoon." "they would not mind being on fatigue duty every day through the winter on those terms," the colonel said. "it is better for them than soldiering. we must mind that we don't shoot any of them, gentlemen. the lives of the czar's soldiers are not to be lightly sacrificed, and next time, you know, the whole of the bullets may not hit the mark as they did this morning." "there really is some danger in it," mr. robson said to godfrey, who was sitting next to him; "in fact, i should say there was a good deal of danger. however, i fancy the beaters all throw themselves down flat when they hear the crack of the first rifle." "i see most of them have got a gun as well as a rifle." "yes, there is no saying what may come along, and, indeed, they are more likely to get birds than fur. i was told there are a good many elk in the forest, and the peasants have been bringing an unusual number in lately. a friend of mine shot two last week; but as our party did not get one in their first drive they are not likely to get any afterwards. occasion- ally in these big drives a good many animals are inclosed, but as a rule the noise the soldiers make as they move along to take up their places is enough to frighten every creature within a couple of miles. i told you you were not likely to have to draw a trigger. expeditions like this are rather an excuse for a couple of days' fan than anything else. the real hunting is more quiet. men who are fond of it have peasants in their pay all over the country, and if one of these hears of a bear or an elk anywhere in his neighbourhood he brings in the news at once, and then one or two men drive out to the condemned as a nihilist village, where beaters will be in readiness for them, and have the hunt to themselves. "i used to do a good deal of it the first few years i came out, but it is bitter cold work waiting for hours till a beast comes past, or trying to crawl up to him. after all, there is no great fun in putting a bullet into a creature as big as a horse at a distance of thirty or forty yards. but there, they are making a move. they are going to drink the coffee and vodka standing, which is wise, for after standing in the snow for four hours, as they have been doing, they are apt to get so sleepy after a warm meal that if we were to stop here much longer you would find half the number would not make a start at all." the sledges were brought up, and there was a three miles' drive through the forest. then the shooters were placed in a line, some forty or fifty yards apart, each taking his station behind a tree. then a small bugler sounded a note. god- frey heard a reply a long distance off. three-quarters of an hour passed without any further sound being heard, and then godfrey, who had been stamping his feet and swinging his arms to keep himself warm, heard a confused murmur. look- ing along the line he saw that the others were all on the alert, and he accordingly took up his gun and began to gaze across the snow. the right-hand barrel was loaded with shot, the left with ball. presently a shot rang out away on his right, followed almost immediately afterwards by another. after this evidence that there must be something in the forest he watched more eagerly for signs of life. presently he saw a hare com- ing loping along. from time to time it stopped and turned its head to listen, and then came on again. he soon saw that it was bearing to the left, and that it was not going to come within his range. he watched it disappear among the trees, and two minutes later heard a shot. others followed to the right and left of him, and presently a hare, which he had not noticed, dashed past at full speed, almost touching his legs. he was so startled for the moment that the hare had got a hunting party some distance before he had turned round and was ready to fire, and he was in no way surprised to see it dash on unharmed by his shot. when there was a pause in the firing the shouting recommenced, this time not far distant, and he soon saw men making their way towards him through the trees. "it is all over now," mr. robson shouted from the next tree. "if they have not done better elsewhere than we have here the bag is not a very large one." "did you shoot anything, mr. robson?" "i knocked a hare over; that is the only thing i have seen. what have you done?" "i think i succeeded in frightening a hare, but that was all," godfrey laughed. "it ran almost between my legs before i saw it, and i think it startled me quite as much as my shot alarmed it." the bugle sounded again, and the party were presently collected round the colonel. the result of the beat was five hares, and a small stag that had fallen to the gun of mr. white. "much cry and little wool," mr. robson said. "a hundred beaters, twenty guns, and six head of game." another short beat was organised, resulting in two stags and three more hares. one of the stags and the three hares were placed on a sledge to be taken back to the farm-house, and the rest of the game was given to the soldiers. a glass of vodka was served out to each of them, and, highly pleased with their day's work, the men slung the deer to poles and set out on their march of eight miles back to the town. "they will have done a tremendous day's work by the time they have finished," godfrey said. "eight miles out and eight miles back, and three beats, which must have cost them four or five miles' walking at least. they must have gone over thirty miles through the snow." "it won't be as much as that, though it will be a long day's work," the colonel said. "they came out yesterday evening and slept in a barn. another company come out to-night to take their place." condemned as a nihilist it was already dark by the time the party reached the farm-- house, and after a cup of coffee all round they began to prepare the dinner. they were like a party of school-boys, laughing, joking, and playing tricks with each other. two of them undertook the preparation of hare-soup. two others were appointed to roast a quarter of venison, keeping it turn- ing as it hung by a cord in front of the fire, and being told that should it burn from want of basting they would forfeit their share of it. the colonel undertook the mixing of punch, and the odour of lemons, rum, and other spirits soon mingled with that of the cooking. godfrey was set to whip eggs for a gigantic omelette, and most of the others had some task or other assigned to them, the farmer's wife and her assistants not being allowed to have anything to do with the matter. the dinner was a great success. after it was over a huge bowl of punch was placed on the table, and after the health of the czar and that of the queen of england had been drunk, speeches were made, songs were sung, and stories told. while this was going on, the farmer brought in a dozen trusses of straw. these his wife and the maids opened and distributed along both sides of the room, laying blankets over them. it was not long before godfrey began to feel very drowsy, the result of the day's work in the cold, a good dinner, the heated air of the room and the din, and would have gladly lain down; but his movement to leave the table was at once frustrated, and he was condemned to drink an extra tumbler of punch as a penalty. after that he had but a confused idea of the rest of the evening. he knew that many songs were sung, and that everyone seemed talking together, and as at last he managed to get away and lie down on the straw he had a vague idea that the colonel was standing on a chair making a final ora- tion, with the punch-bowl turned upside down and worn as a helmet. godfrey had not touched the wine at dinner, knowing that he would be expected to take punch afterwards, and he had only sipped this occasionally, except the glass he had been a hunting party condemned to drink; and when he heard the colonel shout in a stentorian voice "to arms!" he got up and shook himself, and felt ready for another day's work, although many of the others were sitting up yawning or abusing the colonel for hav- ing called them so early. however, it was already light. two great samovars were steaming, and the cups set in readi- ness on the table. godfrey managed to get hold of a pail of water and indulged in a good wash, as after a few minutes did all the others; while a cup or two of tea and a few slices of fried bacon set up even those who were at first least inclined to rise. a quarter of an hour later the sledges were at the door, and the party started. the hunt was even less successful than that of the previous day. no stag was seen, but some ten hares and five brace of grouse were shot. at three o'clock the party assembled again at the farm-house and had another hearty meal, terminating with one glass of punch round; then they took their places in their sledges and were driven back to the town; the party for st. petersburg started by the six- o'clock train, the rest giving them a hearty cheer as the carriage moved off from the platform. "well, have you enjoyed it, godfrey?" mr. robson asked. "immensely, sir. it has been grand fun. the colonel is a wonderful fellow." "there are no more pleasant companions than the rus- sians," mr. robson said. "they more closely resemble the irish than any people i know. they have a wonderful fund of spirits, enjoy a practical joke, are fond of sport, and have too a sympathetic, and one may almost say a melancholy vein in their disposition, just as the irish have. they have their faults, of course—all of us have; and the virtue of temperance has not as yet made much way here. society, in fact, is a good deal like that in england two or three generations back, when it was considered no disgrace for a man to sit after dinner at the table until he had to be helped up to bed by the servants. now, white, you have got the cards, i think." condemned as a nihilist godfrey watched the game for a short time, then his eyes closed, and he knew nothing more until mr. robson shook him and shouted, "pull yourself together, godfrey. here we are at st. petersburg." three days later, when ivan petrovytch came in to break- fast at eleven o'clock—for the inmates of the house had a cup of coffee or chocolate and a roll in their rooms at half-past seven, and office work commenced an hour later—godfrey saw that he and his wife were both looking very grave. nothing was said until the servant, having handed round the dishes, left the room. "has anything happened?" godfrey asked. "yes, there is bad news. another plot against the life of the czar has been discovered. the nihilists have mined under the road by which he was yesterday evening to have travelled to the railway-station. it seems that some suspicion was felt by the police. i do not know how it arose; at any rate at the last moment the route was changed. during the night all the houses in the suspected neighbourhood were searched, and in the cellar of one of them a passage was found leading under the road. a mine was heavily charged with powder, and was connected by wires to an electric battery; and there can be no doubt that had the czar passed by as intended he would have been destroyed by the explosion. it is terrible, terrible!" "did they find anyone in the cellar?" godfrey asked. "no one. the conspirators had no doubt taken the alarm when they heard that the route was changed, and the place was deserted. it seems that the shop above was taken four months ago as a store for the sale of coal' and wood, and the cellar and an adjoining one were hired at the same time. there was also a room behind the shop, where the man and woman who kept it lived. they say that arrests have been made all over the city this morning, and we shall no doubt have a renewal of the wholesale trials that followed the assas- sination of general mesentzeff, the head of the police, last a hunting party autumn. it is terrible! these misguided men hope to con- quer the empire by fear. instead of that, they will in the end only strengthen the hands of despotism. i have always been inclined to liberalism, but i have wished for gradual changes only. for large changes we are not yet fit; but as education spreads and we approach the western standard, some power and voice ought to be given to all intelligent enough to use it; that is to say, to the educated classes. i would not— no one in his senses would—give the power of voting to illiter- ate and ignorant men, who would simply be tools in the hands of the designing and ambitious; but the peoples of the great towns, st. petersburg, moskow, kieff, odessa, and others should be permitted to send representatives—men of their own choice to the provincial councils, which should be strengthened and given a real, instead of a nominal voice, in the control of affairs. "that was all i and thousands like me ever wished for in the present, but it would have been the first step towards a constitution which the empire, when the people become fit for it, might enjoy. that dream is over. these men, by their wild violence, have thrown back the reforms for half a century at least. they have driven the czar to war against them; they have strengthened the hands of the men who will use their acts as an excuse for the extremest measures of repression; they have ranged on the other side all the moderate men like myself, who, though desirous of constitutional changes, shrink with horror from a revolution heralded by deeds of bloodshed and murder." "i quite agree with you," godfrey said warmly. "men must be mad who could counsel such abominable plans. the french revolution was terrible, although it began peacefully, and was at first supported by all the best spirits of france; but at last it became a hideous butchery. but here in russia it seems to me that it would be infinitely worse, for it is only in the towiis that there are men with any education; and if it began with the murder of the czar, what would it grow to?" condemned as a nihilist "what, indeed!" ivan petrovytch repeated. "and yet, like the french revolution, the pioneers of this movement were earnest and thoughtful men, with noble dreams for the regeneration of russia." "but how did it begin?" "it may be said to have started about i . the emanci- pation of the serfs produced a sort of fever. everyone looked for change, but it was in the universities, the seminaries, and among the younger professional men that it first began. pro- hibited works of all kinds, especially those of european socialists, were, in spite of every precaution at the frontier, introduced and wildly circulated. socialistic ideas made tremendous progress among the class i speak of, and these, by writing, by the circulation of prohibited papers, and so on, carried on a sort of crusade against the government, and indeed against all governments, carrying their ideas of liberty to the most extreme point and waging war against religion as well as against society. "in the latter respect they were more successful than in the former, and i regret to say that atheism made immense strides among the educated class. they had some profound thinkers among them: tchernyshevsky, dobroluboff, mikhailoff, be- sides herzen and ogareff, the two men who brought out the kolokol in london in the russian language, and by their agents spread it broadcast over russia. the stifling of the insurrection in poland strengthened the reactionary party. more repressive edicts were issued, with the usual result, that secret societies multiplied everywhere. then came the revo- lution and commune in paris, which greatly strengthened the spread of revolutionary ideas here. another circumstance gave a fresh impetus to this. some time before, there had been a movement for what was called the emancipation of women, and a perfect furore arose among girls of all classes for education. "there were no upper schools or colleges open to them in russia, and they went in enormous numbers to switzerland, a hunting party especially to zurich. girls of the upper classes shared their means with the poorer ones, and the latter eked out their resources by work of all descriptions. zurich, as you know, is a hotbed of radicalism, and those young women who went to learn soon imbibed the wildest ideas. then came a ukase, ordering the immediate return home of all russian girls abroad. it was undoubtedly a great mistake. in switzerland they were harmless, but when they returned to russia and scattered over the towns and villages, they became so many apostles of socialism, and undoubtedly strengthened the move- ment. so it grew. men of good families left their homes, and in the disguise of workmen expounded their principles among the lower classes. among these was prince peter krapotkine, the rich cossack obuchoff, scisoko and rogaceff, both officers, and scores of others, who gave up everything and worked as workmen among workmen. "innumerable arrests were made, and at one trial a thou- sand prisoners were convicted. so wholesale were the arrests that even the most enthusiastic saw that they were simply sacrificing themselves in vain, and about they changed their tactics. the prisons were crowded, and the treatment there of the political prisoners was vastly harder than that given to those condemned for the most atrocious crimes, as you may imagine when i tell you that in the course of the trial of that one batch i spoke of, which lasted four years, seventy- five of the prisoners committed suicide, went mad, or died. then when the authorities thought nihilism was stamped out by wholesale severity the matter assumed another phase. the crusade by preaching had failed, and the nihilists began a crusade of terror. first police spies were killed in many places, then more highly placed persons, officers of the police, judges, and officials who distinguished themselves by their activity and severity. then in the spring of last year vera zasulitch shot at general trepoff, who had ordered a political prisoner to be flogged. she was tried by a jury, and the feeling throughout the country was so much in favour of the condemned as a nihilist people who had been so terribly persecuted that she was acquitted. the authorities were furious, and every effort was made to find and re-arrest vera; and a verdict of the court acquitting many of the accused in one of the trials was annulled by the czar. "well, you know, godfrey bullen, i am not one who med- dles with politics. you have never heard me speak of them before, and i consider the aims of these men would bring about anarchy. an anarchy that would deluge the land with blood seems to me detestable and wicked. but i cannot but think the government has made a terrible mistake by its sever- ity. these people are all enthusiastic fanatics. they see that things are not as they should be, and they would destroy everything to right them. hate their aims as one may, one must admit that their conduct is heroic. few have quailed in their trials. all preserve a calmness of demeanour that even their judges and executioners cannot but admire. they seem made of iron; they suffer everything, give up everything, dare everything for their faith; they die, as the christian martyrs died in rome, unflinching, unrepentant. if they have become as wild beasts, severity has made them so. their propaganda was 'at first a peaceful one. it is cruelty that has driven them to use the only weapon at their disposal, assassi- nation. "one man, for example, in , jacob stefanovic, organ- ised a conspiracy in the district of sighirino. it spread widely among the peasants. the priests, violating the secret of the confessional, informed the police, but these, although using every effort, could learn no more. hundreds of arrests were made, but nothing discovered. learning that the priests had betrayed them the peasants no longer went to confession, and to avoid betraying themselves in a state of drunkenness abstained from the use of brandy; but one man, tired and without food, took a glass. it made him drunk, and in his drunkenness he spoke to the man who had sold him spirits. he was arrested, and although he did not know all, gave enough a hunting party clue for the police to follow up, and all the leaders and over a thousand persons were arrested. two thousand others, who were affiliated to the society, were warned in time and escaped. you can guess the fate of those who were captured. "last year, three months before you came here, general mezentsoff, the head of the police, was assassinated, and since then we know that it is open war between the nihilists and the czar. the police hush matters up, but they get abroad. threatening letters reach the czar in his inmost apartments, and it is known that several attempts have been made to assassinate him, but have failed. "one of the most extraordinary things connected with the movement is that women play a large part in it. being in the thick of every conspiracy they are the life and soul of the movement, and they are of all classes. there are a score of women for whose arrest the authorities would pay any money, and yet they elude every effort. it is horrible. this is what comes of women going to switzerland and learning to look upon religion as a myth and all authority as hateful, and to have wild dreams of an impossible state of affairs such as never has existed in this world. it is horrible, but it is piti- able. the prisons in the land are full of victims; trains of prisoners set off monthly for siberia. it is enough to turn the brain to think of such things. how it is to end no one can say." but it was only in bated breath and within closed doors that the discovery of the nihilist plot was discussed in st. petersburg. elsewhere it was scarcely alluded to, although, if mentioned, those present vied with each other in the vio- lence of their denunciation of it; but when society from the highest to the lowest was permeated by secret agents of the police, and every word was liable to be reported and misin- terpreted, a subject so dangerous was shunned by common consent. it was known, though, that large numbers of arrests had been made, but even those whose dearest friends had suddenly disappeared said no word of it in public, for to be condemned as a nihilist even a distant acquaintance of such a person was dangerous. yet apparently everything went on as usual: the theatres were as well filled; the nevski as crowded and gay. chapter iv a prisoner soon after this st. petersburg was startled at the news that there had been a terrible explosion at the winter palace, and that the czar and royal family had narrowly escaped with their lives. upon the following evening godfrey was walk- ing down the nevski, where groups of people were still dis- cussing the terrible affair. he presently met akim soushiloff and petroff stepanoff. he had not seen them for some time, and as they had omitted to give him the address of the lodging into which they had moved, he was really glad to see them, for he liked them better than any of the russians of his acquaint- ance, for both had an earnest manner and seemed to be free from narrow prejudices, sincere admirers of england, and on most subjects very well informed. "it is quite an age since i have seen you both," he said. "where have you been hiding?" "we have been working harder than usual," petroff said; "our last examinations are just coming off. but you said that you would come to see us, and you have never done so." "you did not tell me where you had moved to," godfrey said, "or i should have done so long ago." "that was stupid indeed!" akim said. "have you an hour to spare now?" "yes, i have nothing to do, and shall be very glad to come round and have a talk. this is a horrible business at the winter palace." a prisoner "horrible," petroff said; "but it is just as well not to talk about it in the streets. come along, we will take you to our place; we were just thinking of going back." a quarter of an hour's walking took them to the students' room, which was, like the last, at the top of the house. a lamp was lighted, the samovar placed on the table, and a little charcoal fire lit under it. a glass of vodka was handed round to pass the time until the water was boiling, pipes were brought out from the cupboard and filled, for cigars, which are cheap and good, are generally smoked in the streets in russia by the middle and upper classes, pipes being only used there by isvostchiks, labourers, and englishmen. the conver- sation naturally for a time turned upon the explosion in the winter palace, the russians expressing an indignation fully equal to that of godfrey. then they talked of england, both regretting that they were unable to speak the language. "i would give much to be able to read shakespeare," petroff said. "i have heard his works spoken of in such high terms by some of our friends who have studied your language, and i have heard, too, from them of your dickens. they tell me it is like reading of another world—a world in which there are no officials, and no police, and no soldiers. that must be very near a paradise." "we have some soldiers," godfrey laughed, "but one does not see much of them. about half of those we have at home are in two military camps, one in england and one in ireland. there are the guards in london, but the population is so large that you might go a week without seeing one, while in very few of the provincial towns are there any garrisons at all. there are police, and plenty of them, but as their business is only to prevent crime, they naturally don't play a prominent part in novels giving a picture of everyday life. as to offi- cials, beyond rate-collectors we don't see anything of them, though there are magistrates, and government clerks, and cus- tom officers, and that sort of thing, but they certainly don't play any prominent part in our lives." condemned as a nihilist so they chatted for an hour, when at short intervals two other men came in. one was a tall handsome fellow who was introduced by petroff as the son of baron kinkoff, the other was a young advocate of moscow on a visit to st. peters- burg. both, godfrey observed, had knocked in a somewhat peculiar manner at the door, which opened, as he had noticed when they came in, only by a key. akim observed a slight expression of surprise in godfrey's face at the second knock, and said laughing: "our remittances have not come to hand of late, godfrey, and some of our creditors are getting troublesome, so we have established a signal by which we know our friends, while inconvenient visitors can knock as long as they like, and then go away thinking we are out." godfrey chatted for a short time longer, and then got up to go. akim went to the door with him. as it opened there was a sudden rush of men from outside that nearly knocked him down. of what followed he had but a vague idea. pistol shots rang out. there was a desperate struggle. he received a blow on the head which struck him to the ground, and an instant later there was a tremendous explosion. the next thing he knew was that he was being hauled from below some debris. as he looked round bewildered he saw that a considerable portion of the ceiling and of the roof above it had been blown out. several bodies lay stretched on the floor. the room was still full of smoke, but by the light of two or three lanterns he perceived that the young baron, bleeding freely from a sabre wound across the forehead, was standing bound between two policemen with drawn swords. policemen were examining the bodies on the floor, while others were searching the closets, cutting open the beds and turning out their contents. akim lay on his back dead, and across him lay the young advocate. of petroff he could see nothing; the other bodies were those of policemen. three of these near the door appeared to have been shot; the others were lying in contorted positions against the walls, as if they a prisoner had been flung there by the force of the explosion. all this he saw in a state of vague wonderment, while the two police- men kneeling at his side were passing cords tightly round him. "this one still lives," one of the policemen said, stooping over the young advocate, "but i think he is nearly done for." "never mind, bring him along with the others," a man in plain clothes said in tones of authority. "get them away at once, we shall have half st. petersburg here in a few minutes." godfrey was lifted by the policemen, one at his head, and one at his feet, carried down stairs, and flung into a vehicle at the door. dully he heard a roar of excited shouts and questions, and the sharp orders of the police ranged round the vehicle. three policemen took their places inside with him, and the vehicle drove off, slowly at first until it was free of the crowd, and then at a sharp gallop. godfrey was con- scious of but little as he went along; he had a vague idea of a warm moist feeling down the back, and wondered whether it was his own blood. gradually his impressions became more and more indistinct, and he knew nothing more until he was conscious of a sensation of cold at the back of the head, and of a murmur of voices round him. soon he was lifted up into a sitting position, and he felt that bandages were being wrapped round his head. then he was laid down again, he heard a door slam and a key turn, and then he knew nothing more. when he awoke daylight was streaming in through a loophole high up in the wall. he tried to sit up, but could not, and looked round trying to recall where he was and what had happened. he was in a dark cell with no furniture save the straw on which he was lying. "it is a prison certainly," he muttered to himself. "how did i get here?" then gradually the events of the night before came to his mind. there had been a terrible fight. akim had been killed. there had been a tremendous explosion. the police had something to do with it. was it all a dream, or was it condemned as a nihilist real? was he dreaming now? he was some time before he could persuade himself that it was all real, and indeed it was not until the door opened and two men entered that he felt quite sure that he, godfrey bullen, was really lying there in a prison cell, with a dull numbing pain at the back of his head, and too weak even to sit upright. one of the men leaned over him. godfrey tried to speak, but could not do so above a whisper. "he will do now," the man said without paying any atten- tion to his words. "he must have a thick skull or that sword- cut would have finished him. give him some wine and water now, and some soup presently. we must not let him slip through our fingers." some liquid was poured between his lips, and then he was left alone again. "certainly it is all real," he said to him- self. "akim must have been killed, and i must be a prisoner. what in the world can it be all about?" he was too weak to think, but after another visit had been paid him, and he had been lifted up and given some strong broth, he began to think more clearly. "can it have been a nihilist arrest?" he thought to himself. "akim and petroff can never be nihi- lists. the idea is absurd. i have never heard them say a word against the government or the czar." then he thought of their friend katia, and how she had got him to aid in the escape of a nihilist. "it is all non- sense," he murmured, "the idea of a girl like that being mixed up in a conspiracy." then his ideas again became more and more confused, and when the doctor visited him again in the evening he was in a state of high fever, talking incoherently to himself. for seven days he continued in that state. there was no lack of care; the doctor visited him at very short intervals, and an attendant remained night and day beside him, applying cold bandages to his head, and carefully noting down in a book every word that passed his lips. then a good constitution gradually triumphed over the sever, and on the eighth day he lay a mere shadow of himself, condemned as a nihilist "excuse me, sir," godfrey said, "i said it was a masked woman, and that i did not see her face, which was perfectly true. i admit now that i did know who she was, but natu- rally as a gentleman i endeavoured to shield her in a matter concerning which i believed that she was as innocent as i was." a murmur of incredulity ran round the circle of officers. "a few days after that," the president went on, again read- ing from his notes, "you were present with akim soushiloff and petroff stepanoff at a supper in a trakir in ossuloff street. there were present on that occasion"—and he read a list of six names—" four of whom have since been convicted and punished, and two of whom, although not yet taken, are known to have been engaged in the murderous attempt at the winter palace. you were greeted there with significant enthusiasm, which was evidently a testimony on the part of these conspirators to the part you had played in the affair of ossinsky." godfrey felt that the meshes were closing round him. he remembered that he had wondered at the time why he had been received with such great cordiality. "now," the president went on, "you are captured in the room of akim soushiloff and petroff stepanoff, who were both beyond doubt engaged in the plot at the winter palace, with two other equally guilty conspirators, and were doubtless deliberating on some fresh atrocity when interrupted by the agents of the police. you shared in the desperate resistance they made, which resulted in the death of eight police officers by pistol shot, or by the explosion of gunpowder, by which petroff stepanoff, who fired it, was also blown to pieces. what have you to say in your defence?" "i still say that i am perfectly innocent," godfrey said. "i knew nothing of these men being conspirators in any way, and i demand to be allowed to communicate with my friends, and to obtain the assistance of an advocate." "an advocate could say nothing for you," the president condemned as a nihilist to carry out their end. still, though i own it is not cowardly, i hate it. the question is, what next? petrovytch will, of course, write home to say that i am missing. i don't suppose he will have the slightest idea that i have been arrested as a nihilist. i don't see how he could think so. he is more likely to think that i have been made away with somehow. no doubt my father will come out; but, of course, he won't learn any more than petrovytch, unless they choose to tell him. i don't suppose they will tell him. i have heard that generally families of people they seize know nothing about it, unless they are arrested too. they may guess what has hap- pened, but they don't know. in my case i should fancy the police would say nothing. "they will hear from the inquiries that my father makes that he has no suspicion of what has happened to me, and they will know if they did tell him our ambassador would be making a row. but even if the governor were to learn what had become of me, and were to insist upon learning what crime i am accused of committing, i do not see that things would be much better. they would hand over the notes of the evi- dence on which i was convicted, and, taking it altogether, i am bound to say i do not see how they could help convicting me. short of catching me like a sort of guy fawkes blowing up the palace, the case is about as strong as it could be. i certainly have put my foot in it. i was acquainted with these two conspirators; through them i got acquainted with that confounded woman katia, though it seems that wasn't her name. then through her i helped this fellow ossinsky to escape. then, trying to shield her, i make matters twenty times worse; for while my answer before led them to believe that she was a perfect stranger to me, i was ass enough to let out just now that i knew her. then there was that supper. i could not make out at the time why they greeted me so heartily. now, of course, it is plain enough; and now, just after this blowing-up business, here am i caught with four notorious conspirators, and mixed up in a fight in which eight a prisoner or ten policemen are killed, and the roof blown off a house. that would be circumstantial evidence enough to condemn a man in england, let alone russia. "i don't suppose they are going to hang me, because they publish the names of the fellows they hang; but imprisonment for years in one of their ghastly dungeons is bad enough. if it is to be, it will be siberia, i hope. there must be some way of getting out of a big country like that—north, south, east, or west. well, i don't see any use bothering over it. i have got into a horrible scrape, there is no doubt about that, and i must take what comes." godfrey was essentially of a hopeful nature, and always looked at the bright side of things. he was a strong believer in the adage, "where there is a will, there is away." he had been in his full share of scrapes at school, and had always made a rule of taking things easily. he now examined the cell. "beastly place!" he said, "and horribly damp. i wonder why dungeons are always damp. cellars at home are not damp, and a dungeon is nothing but a cellar after all. well, i shall take a nap." the next day godfrey was again taken before the tribunal, and again closely questioned as to his knowledge of the nihi- lists. he again insisted that he knew nothing of them. "of course i knew akim soushiloff and petroff stepanoff; but i had only been in their rooms once before, and the only person i met there before was the young woman who called herself katia, but who you say was somebody else. this was at the lodgings they occupied before." "but you were found with alexander kinkoff and paul kousmitch." "they only arrived a short time before the police entered. i had never seen either of them before." these two prisoners had been examined before godfrey entered, and had been questioned about him. kousmitch had declared that he had never seen him before, and the condemned as a nihilist court knew that the spies who had been watching the house had seen him enter but a short time before the police force arrived. as the two statements had been made independently it was thought probable that in this respect godfrey was speak- ing the truth. not so, however, his assertions that he was unacquainted with any of the other conspirators. he was again taken back to his cell, and for the next week saw no one but the warder who brought his bread and water, and who did not reply by a single word to any questions that he asked him. godfrey did his best to keep up his spirits. he had learnt by heart at shrewsbury the first two books of the iliad, and these he daily repeated aloud, set himself equations to do, and solved them in his head, repeated the dates in greek history, and went through everything he could remember as having learned. he occasionally heard footsteps above him, and wondered whether that also was a cell, and what sort of man the prisoner was. once or twice at night, when all was quiet, he heard loud cries, and wondered whether they were the result of delirium or torture. his gruff jailer was somewhat won by his cheerfulness. every day godfrey wished him good-morn- ing as he visited the cell, inquired what the weather was like outside, expressed an earnest hope that silence didn't dis- agree with him, and generally joked and laughed as if he rather enjoyed himself than otherwise. at the end of the week an official entered the cell. "i have come to inform you, prisoner, that the sentence of death that had been passed upon you has, by the clemency of the czar, been commuted to banishment for life to siberia." "very well, sir," godfrey said. "i know, of course, that i am perfectly innocent of the crime of which i am charged; but as the czar no doubt supposes that i am guilty of taking part in a plot against his life, i acknowledge and thank him for his clemency. i have no peculiar desire to visit siberia, but at least it will be a change for the better from this place. i trust that it shall not be long before i start." a prisoner as the official was unable to make out whether godfrey spoke in mockery or not, he made no reply. "these nihilists are men of iron," he said afterwards. "they walk to the scaffold with smiling faces; they exist in dungeons that would kill a dog in twenty-four hours, and nothing can tempt them to divulge their secrets; even starva- tion does not affect them. they are dangerous enemies, but it must be owned that they are brave men and women. this boy, for he is little more, almost laughed in our faces; and, in spite of his stay in that damp cell, seemed to be in excel- lent spirits. it is the same with them all, though i own that some of them do break down sometimes; but i think that those who commit suicide do so principally because they are afraid that, under pressure, they may divulge secrets against each other. ossip, who attends that young fellow, says that he is always the same, and speaks as cheerfully to him every morning as if he were in a palace instead of in a dungeon." two days later godfrey was aroused in the night. "why, it is not light yet," he said. "what are you dis- turbing me at this time for?" "get up," the man said; "you are going to start." "thank goodness for that!" godfrey said, jumping up from his straw. "that is the best news that i have heard for a long time." in the court-yard seven prisoners were standing. they were placed at some distance from each other, and by each stood a soldier and a policeman. a similar guard took their places by the side of godfrey as he came out. an official took charge of the whole party, and, still keeping a few paces apart, they sallied out through the prison doors and marched through the sleeping city. perhaps godfrey was the only one of the party who did not feel profoundly impressed. they were going to leave behind them for ever family and friends and country, and many would have welcomed death as an escape from the dreary prospect before them. godfrey's present feeling was that of exhilaration. condemned as a nihilist he had done his best to keep his mind at work, but the damp and unwholesome air of the cell had told upon him, enfeebled as he had been by the attack of fever. as he walked along now he drew in deep breaths of the brisk night air, and looked with delight at the stars glistening overhead. as to the future, just at that moment it troubled him but little. he knew nothing of siberia beyond having heard that the prisoners there led a terrible life. that he should escape from it some time or other seemed to him a matter of course. how, he could form no idea until he got there; but as to the fact he had no misgiving, for it seemed to him ridiculous that in a country so enormous as siberia a prisoner could not make his way out sooner or later. when they reached the railway-station a train stood in readiness. each prisoner had a separate compartment, his two guards accompanying him. godfrey addressed a word to his custodians. the policeman, however, said, "you are forbidden to speak," and in a minute or two the train moved off. godfrey dozed occasionally until morning, and then looked out at the dark woods through which they passed for hours. twice the train stopped at lonely stations, and the prisoners were supplied with food. in the afternoon godfrey saw the gilded and painted domes of a great city, and knew that it must be moscow. here, however, they made no stay, but steamed straight through the station and continued their way. godfrey slept soundly after it became dark, waking up once when the train came to a standstill. at early morning he was roused and ordered to alight, and in the same order as before the prisoners were marched through the streets of nijni novgorod to the bank of the volga. few people were yet abroad in the streets, but all they met looked pityingly at the group of exiles, a sight of daily occurrence in the spring- time of the year. ordinary prisoners, of whom from fifteen to twenty thousand are sent annually to siberia, are taken down the volga in a convict barge, towed by a steamer, in a prisoner batches of six or seven hundred. political prisoners are dif- ferently treated; they are carried on board the ordinary steamer, each having a separate cabin, and during the voyage they are allowed no intercourse whatever, either with each other or with the ordinary passengers. of these there were a considerable number on board the steamer, as the season had but just begun, and merchants, traders, and officials were taking advantage of the river's being open to push forward into siberia. at present, how- ever, these were all below. the prisoners were conducted to the cabins reserved for them, and then locked in. presently godfrey heard a buzz of many voices and a general movement in the cabin outside, and the fact that he was a prisoner and cut off from the world came to him more strongly than it had hitherto done. an hour later there was a movement and shouting overhead. then he felt the paddles revolving, and knew that the steamer was under way. he could, however, see nothing. a sort of shutter was fastened outside the scut- tle, which gave him the opportunity to take a glimpse of the sky, but nothing of the shore or water. nothing could be more monotonous than the journey, and yet the air and light that came down through the port-hole rendered it far more pleasant than existence in a prison cell. he knew, too, that dull as it was in the cabin, there would be little to see on deck, for the shores of the rivers were everywhere flat and low. after twenty-four hours' travel the steamer stopped. since godfrey had been in russia he had naturally studied the geography of the empire, and knew a good deal about the routes. he guessed, therefore, that the halt was at kasan, the capital of the old tartar kingdom. it was a break to him to listen to the noises overhead, to guess at the passengers who were leaving and coming on board, to listen to scraps of conversation that could be heard through the open port-hole, and to the shouts of farewell from those on board to those on shore as the vessel steamed on again. he knew that after two condemned as a nihilist hours more steaming down the volga the vessel turned up the kama, a large river running into it and navigable for miles. up this the vessel steamed for three days and then reached perm. in the evening godfrey and his companions were disembarked and, strictly guarded as before, were marched to the railway-station, placed in a special carriage attached to a train and after twenty-four hours' travel at the rate of about twelve miles an hour reached ekaterinburg. this railway had only been open for a year, and until its completion this portion of the journey had been one of the most tiresome along the whole route, as the ural mountains intervene between perm and ekaterinburg; their height is not great here, and the railway crosses them at not more than feet above sea-level. on arriving at the station half the prisoners were at once placed in vehicles and the others were sent to the prison. godfrey was one of the party that went on at once. the vehicle, which was called a telega, was a sort of narrow wagon without springs, seats, or cover; the bottom was covered with a deep layer of straw, and there were some thick rugs for coverings at night. it was drawn by three horses. godfrey was in the last of the four vehicles that started together. his soldier guard took his place beside him, four mounted cos- sacks rode, two on each side of the procession. the driver, a peasant, to whom the horses belonged, cracked his short- handled whip and the horses sprang forward. siberian horses are wiry little animals, not taking to the eye, but possessing speed and great endurance. the post-houses are situated from twelve to twenty-five versts apart, according to the diffi- culty of the country, a verst being about two-thirds of an eng- lish mile. at these post-houses relays of horses are always kept in readiness for one or two vehicles, but word is sent on before when political prisoners are coming, and extra relays are obtained by the post-masters from the peasants. to godfrey the sensation of being whirled as fast as the horses could gallop through the air was, after his long confine- i l a prisoner ment, perfectly delightful, and he fairly shouted with joy and excitement. now that they were past ekaterinburg, god- frey's guard, a good-tempered-looking young fellow, seemed to consider that it was no longer necessary to preserve an absolute silence, which had no doubt been as irksome to him as to his companion. "we can talk now. why are you so merry?" "to be in the air again is glorious," godfrey said. "i should not mind how long the journey lasted if it were like this. how far do we travel in carriages?" "to tiumen, versts; then we take steamer again, that is if you go farther." "you don't know where we are going to then?" "not at all, it will be known at tiumen; that is where these things are settled generally, but people like you are under special orders. you don't look very wicked"; and he smiled in a friendly way as he looked at the lad beside him. "i am not wicked at all, not in the way you think," godfrey said. "do not talk about that," the soldier interrupted, "i must not know anything about you; talk about other things, but not why you are here." godfrey nodded. "if we go on beyond tiumen we go by steamer, do we not?" "yes, through tobolsk to tomsk, beyond that we shall drive. you are lucky, you people, that you drive, the others walk; it is long work, but not so long as it used to be, they say. i have been told that in the old times, when they started on foot from moscow it took them sometimes two years to reach the farthest places. now they have the railway and the steamers on the river as far as tomsk." "how do they take them in the steamers?" "they take them in great barges that are towed, we passed two on our way to perm. they hold five or six hundred, there is a great iron cage on deck, and they let half the num- ber up at a time in order to get air. they are always going condemned as a nihilist along at this time of year, for they all go early in the season so as to get to the journey's end before the frosts set in." "but surely all these men cannot be guilty of great crimes," godfrey said, "for i have heard that about twenty thousand a year are sent away?" "no, many of them are only lazy fellows who drink and will not work. we sent away three from my village the year before i was taken for a soldier. they were lazy and would not do their share of work, so the heads of the village met and decided that they should go to siberia. they drew up a paper, which was sent to be confirmed by the judge of the district, and then soldiers came and took them away." "but you don't mean to say," godfrey said, "that men are sent to prison all their lives because they are lazy." "oh no, no one would think of such a thing as that. men like these are only sent to the big towns, tiumen, or perm, or tobolsk, and then they are settled on land or work in the towns, but they are free to do as they like. the country wants labour, and men who won't work at home and expect the community to keep them have to work here or else they would starve. then there are numbers who are only guilty of some small offence. they have stolen something, or they have resisted the tax-gatherer, or something of that sort. they only go to prison for the term of their sentences, perhaps only three or four months, and then they too are free like the others, and can work in the towns, or trade if they happen to have money to set them up, or they can settle in a village and take up land and cultivate it. they can live where they like in siberia. i had many rich men pointed out to me in tobolsk who-had come out as convicts." "you have been here before then?" godfrey said. "yes, this is my second journey. i hope i shall come no more. we get a little extra pay and are better fed than we are with the regiment, and we have no drill; but then it is sad. last time i had one with me who had left his wife and family behind; he was always sad, he talked to me sometimes of a prisoner them, there was no one else to talk to. he was here for life, and he knew he should never see them again. she was young and would marry again." "but she couldn't do that as long as he lived," godfrey said. "oh yes; from the day a prisoner crosses the frontier his marriage is annulled and his wife can marry again. she may come with him if she likes, but if she does she can never go back again." '"and do many wives come?" "a good many," the soldier said, "but i only know what i have heard. i was with one of you last time, and it was only on the way back that i heard of things about the others. formerly the guards remained in siberia if they chose, it was too far to send them back to russia; but now that the journey is done so quickly, and we can get back all the way from tomsk by the rivers, except this little bit, we go back again as soon as we have handed over our charges. i did not go farther than tomsk last time, and i was back at nijni in less than three months after starting. what part of russia do you come from?" "i am an englishman." the soldier looked round in surprise. "i did not know englishmen could speak our language so well; of course i noticed that your speech was not quite like mine, but i am from the south and i thought you must come from somewhere in the north or from poland. how did—" and here he stopped. "but i must not ask that; i don't want to know anything, not even your name. look there, we are just going to pass a convoy of other prisoners." in a minute or two they overtook the party. it consisted of about a hundred and fifty prisoners escorted by a dozen mounted cossacks. the men were in prison garb of yellowish- brown stuff with a coloured patch in the back between the shoulders. they had chains fastened to rings round the ankles and tied up to their belts. they were not heavy, and inter- condemned as a nihilist fered very little with their walking. the procession in no way accorded with godfrey's preconceived idea. the men were walking along without much attempt at regular order. they were laughing and talking together or with their guards, and some of them shouted chaffing remarks to the four vehicles as they swept past them. "they do not look very unhappy," godfrey said. "why should they?" the soldier replied, "they are better off than they would be at home. lots of men break the law on purpose to be sent out; it is a good country.- they say wives get rid of their husbands by informing against them and getting them sent here. i believe there are quite as many husbands with scolding wives who get themselves sent here to be free of them. as long as they are on the road or employed in hard labour they are fed better than they ever were at home, better a great deal than we soldiers are. even in the prisons they do not work so very hard, for it is difficult to find work for them; only if they are sent to the mines their lot is bad. of that i know nothing, but i have heard. as for the rest, from what i have seen of it i should say that a convict here is better off than a peasant at home. but here we are at the post-house." chapter v an old acquaintance the stay at the post-houses was very short. as soon as the vehicles were seen coming along the straight level road, the first set of horses were brought out, and the leading tarantass was ready to proceed in two or three minutes. the other horses were changed as quickly, and in less than ten minutes from their arrival the whole were on their way again. while the horses were being changed the prisoners were permitted an old acquaintance to get out and stretch their legs, but were not allowed to exchange a word with each dther or with anyone else. at every fourth stage a bowl of soup with a hunch of bread was brought to each prisoner by one of the guards at the ostrov or prison, where the convicts were lodged as they came along. there were rugs in the vehicles to lay over them at night when the air was sharp and chilly, although in the day the sun had great power, and the dust rose in clouds under the horses' feet. there was little of interest to be seen on the journey. only round the villages was there any cultivation, and the plains stretched away unbroken save by small groups of cattle, horses, and sheep. although godfrey had not minded the shaking of the springless vehicle for the first stage or two, he felt long before he reached the journey's end as if every bone was dis- located. as a rule the road was good, but in some places, where it passed through swampy tracts, it had given in the spring thaw, and had been cut into deep ruts. here the shaking as they passed along at night was tremendous. god- frey and his companion were dashed against each other or against the sides with such force that godfrey several times thought his skull was fractured, and he was indeed thankful when, after forty hours on the road, they drove into tiumen. tiumen is a town of over r , inhabitants, and is the first town arrived at in siberia proper, the frontier between russia and that country running between ekaterinburg and that town. here the prisoners were at once placed on board a steamer, and godfrey was glad indeed to throw himself down upon the bed, where he slept without waking until the steamer got under way in the morning. he was delighted to see that the port- hole was not, as in the first boat, blocked by an outside shutter, but that he could look out over the country as they passed along. for a time the scenery was similar to that which they had been passing over, bare and desolate; but it presently assumed a different character; fields of green wheat stretched away from the river side; comfortable-looking little villages succeeded each other rapidly as the steamer passed along, and condemned as a nihilist save for the difference of architecture and the peculiar green domes and pinnacles of the little churches he might have been looking over a scene in england. the river was about two hundred yards wide here, a smooth and placid stream. the steamer did not proceed at any great pace, as it was towing behind it one of the heavy convict barges, and although the passage is ordinarily performed in a day and a half, it took them nearly a day longer to accomplish, and it was not until late in the afternoon of the third day that tobolsk came in sight. through his port-hole godfrey ob- tained a good view of the town, containing nearly , inhabitants, with large government buildings, and a great many houses built of stone. it is built in a very unhealthy position, the country round being exceedingly low and marshy. after passing tobolsk they entered the obi, one of the largest rivers in asia. the next morning the steamer again started for her sixteen-hundred-mile journey to tomsk. the journey occupied eight days, the convict barge having been left behind at tobolsk. the time passed tediously to godfrey, for the banks were low and flat, villages were very rare, and the steamer only touched at three places. herds of horses were seen from time to time roaming untended over the country. the only amuse- ment was in watching the ostjaks, the natives of the banks of the obi. these people have no towns or villages, but live in rough tents made of skins. he saw many of them fishing from their tiny canoes, but the steamer did not pass near enough to them to enable him to get a view of them, as they generally paddled away towards the shore as the steamer approached. he heard afterwards that they are wonderfully skilful in the use of the bow, which they use principally for killing squirrels and other small animals. these bows are six feet long, the arrows four feet. the head is a small iron ball, so as to kill without injuring the fur of small animals, and the feats recorded of the english archers of old times are far exceeded by the ostjaks. even at long distances they an old acquaintance seldom fail to strike a squirrel on the head, and godfrey was informed by a man who had been present that he saw an ostjak shoot an arrow high into the air, and cut it in two with another arrow as it descended, a feat that seemed to him altogether incredible, but is confirmed by the evidence of russian travellers. tomsk is situated on the river tom, an affluent of the obi. the town is about the same size as tobolsk; the climate of the district is considered the best in siberia; the land is fertile, and among the mountains are many valuable mines. although a comparatively small province in comparison to tobolsk on one side and yeneseisk on the other, it contains an area of half a million square miles, and, excluding russia, is bigger than any two countries of europe together. it con- tains a rural population of , — , natives, chiefly tartars and kalmucs, and , troops. here godfrey was landed, and marched to the prison. of these there are two, the one a permanent convict establish- ment, the other for the temporary detention of prisoners passing through. godfrey slipped a few roubles into the hand of his guard, for his watch, money, and the other things in his pockets had been restored to him before starting on his journey. after two days' stop in the prison the journey was continued as before, a soldier sitting by the driver, a police- officer taking the place of the soldier who had before accom- panied him. he began to speak to godfrey as soon as they started. "we are not so strict now," he said. "you will soon be across the line into eastern siberia, and you will no longer meet people through whom you might send messages or letters. as to escape, that would be out of the question since you left ekaterinburg, for none can travel either by steamer or post without a permit, or even enter an inn, and the document must be shown at every village." "but i suppose prisoners do escape sometimes," godfrey said. condemned as a nihilist "there have not been a dozen escapes in the last fifty years," the policeman said. "there are great numbers get away from their prisons or employments every year, but the authorities do not trouble about them, they may take to the mountains or forests, and live on game for a few months in summer, but when winter arrives they must come in and give themselves up." "what happens to them then?" godfrey asked. "perhaps nothing but solitary confinement for a bit, perhaps a beating with rods, just according to the temper of the chief official at the time. perhaps if it is a bad case they are sent to the mines for a bit; that is what certainly happens when they are political prisoners." "why can't they get right away?" "where are they to go to?" the officer said with a laugh. "to the south there are sandy deserts where they would cer- tainly die of thirst; to the north trackless forests, cold that would freeze a bullock solid in a night, great rivers miles wide to cross, and terrible morasses, to say nothing of the wolves who would make short work of you. the native tribes to the west, and the people of the desert, are all fierce and savage, and would kill anyone who came among them merely for his clothes; and, besides, they get a reward from government for every escaped prisoner they bring in alive or dead. no, we don't want bolts or bars to keep prisoners in here. the whole land is a prison-house, and the prisoners know well enough that it is better to live under a roof and to be well fed there than to starve in the forest, with the prospect of a flogging at the end of their holiday. still there are thousands take to the woods in the summer. the government does not care. why should it? it is spared the expense of feeding them, and if they starve to death or kill each other off in their quarrels (for the greater part of them would think no more of taking life than of killing a fowl) there is an end of all further trouble about them, for you understand, it is only the men who have life sentences, the murderers, and so on, that an old acquaintance attempt to run away; the short-sentence men are not such fools. "no," he went on kindly, seeing that godfrey looked depressed at what he had heard; "whatever you do don't think of running away. if you behave well, and gain the good opinion of the authorities, you won't find yourself uncomfort- able. you will be made a clerk or a store-keeper, and will have a good deal of liberty after a time. if you try to run away, you will probably be sent to the mines; and though it is not so bad there as they say, it is bad enough." but even this prospect was not very cheering to godfrey. hitherto it had seemed to him that there could be no real difficulty, although there might be many hardships and priva- tions, in making his escape from so vast a prison. he had told himself that it must be possible to evade pursuit in so vast a region; but now it seemed that nature had set so strong a wall round the country that the russians did not even trouble themselves to pursue, confident that in time the prisoners must come back again. but he was not silent long. with the buoy- ancy of youth he put the question aside for the present with the reflection, "where there is a will there is a way; anyhow some fellows have got away, and if they have done it, i can." godfrey had not as yet realised his situation; the sentence "for life " had fallen upon his ears but not upon his mind; he still viewed the matter as he might have viewed some desperate scrape at school. he had, as he would have said, put his foot in it horribly; but that he should really have to pass his whole life in these wilds, should never see england again, his father, mother, or sisters, was a thing that his mind absolutely refused to grasp. "of course i shall get away somehow." this had been the refrain that was constantly running through his mind, and even now a satisfactory reply to the assertion that not a dozen men had made their escape at once occurred to him. there was no motive to induce them to make their escape. they could not return to russia, and in any other country they would be even more in exile than here, where everyone condemned as a nihilist spoke their language, and where, as far as he had seen, the climate was as good as that of russia, and the country no more flat and ugly. "there is nothing they can want to escape for," he repeated to himself. "i have everything to escape for, and i mean to do it." having once re-established that view to his satisfac- tion, he began to chat away cheerfully again to his companion. "it is not everyone," he said, "who possesses my advan- tages, or who can travel five or six thousand miles by rail, steamer, and carriage, without ever having to put his hand in his pocket for a single kopec. the only objection to it is that they don't give me a return ticket." "that is an objection," the policeman agreed, smiling. "we are not going to travel night and day, as we did between ekaterinburg and tiumen, i hope?" "oh, no; we shall only travel while it is light." "well, that is a comfort. it was bad enough for that short distance. it would be something awful if it had to be kept up for a fortnight. how long shall we be before we get to irkoutsk?" "about a month. i know nothing as to what will be done with you beyond that. you may, for anything i know, go to the mines at nertchinsk, which are a long distance east beyond irkoutsk; or you may go to verkhoyansk, a yakout settlement miles from irkoutsk, within the arctic circle. there are lots of these penal settlements scattered over the country. they do not send the ordinary convict population there. there is no danger from them; but the theory is that the politicals are always plotting, and therefore they are for the most part sent where by no possibility can they get up trouble." godfrey set his lips hard together and asked no questions for the next half-hour. although the journey was not con- tinued by night the telega was still godfrey's constant place of abode. sometimes it was wheeled under a shed, some- times it stood in the road, but in all cases the policeman was by his side night and day. godfrey was indifferent whether an old acquaintance he slept in a bed or in the telega, which, when the straw was fresh shaken up and a couple of rugs laid upon it, was by no means uncomfortable. the nights were not cold and no rain had fallen since he left nijni. he further reflected that prob- ably there would be fleas and other vermin in the post-houses, and that altogether he was a gainer instead of a loser by the regulation. he was pleased with the appearance of atchinsk, a bright little town a day's journey from tomsk. it was, like all the siberian towns, built of wood, but the houses were all painted white or gray, picked out with bright colours. it stood in the middle of a large grass plain, with inclosed meadows of luxuriant herbage and bright flowers, among which large numbers of sheep and cattle were feeding. beyond this the country again became dull and monotonous. krasnoiarsk was the next town reached. between this town and kansk the country was again cultivated. scarce a day passed without large gangs of convicts being overtaken on the road. for some distance godfrey suffered terribly from mosquitoes, which swarmed so thickly that the peasants working in the fields were obliged to wear black veils over their faces. fortunately he had been warned by his guard at atchinsk that there would be trouble with these pests on further, and the man had, at his request, bought for him a few yards of muslin, under which they sat during the day and spread over the telega at night. it was, however, a long and dreary journey, and godfrey was heartily glad when at last they saw the domes of irkoutsk, a city of fifty thousand inhabitants. they drove rapidly through the town to the prison, where he was placed in a cell by himself. the morning after his arrival the warder entered with a man carrying a basin and shaving apparatus. "confound it! " godfrey muttered. "i have been expect- ing this ever since i saw the first gang of convicts, but i hoped they did not do it to us." condemned as a nihilist it was of course useless to remonstrate. his hair, which had grown to a great length since he left st. petersburg, was first cut short; then the barber lathered his head and set to work with a razor. godfrey wondered what his particular style of hair was going to be. he had noticed that all the convicts were partially shaved. some were left bare from the centre of the head down one side; others had the front half of the head shaved, while the hair at the back was left; some had only a ridge of hair running along the top of the head, either from the forehead to the nape of the neck or from one ear to the other. "he is shaving me like a monk," he said to himself as the work proceeded. "well, i think that is the best after all, for with a cap on it won't show." when the barber had done he stepped back and surveyed godfrey with an air of satisfaction; while the jailer, as he wrote down the particulars in a note-book, grinned. godfrey passed his hand over his head and found that, as he supposed, he had been shaved half-way down to the ears; but in the middle of this bald place the barber had left a patch of hair about the size of half-a-crown which stood up perfectly erect. he burst into a shout of laughter, in which the other two men joined. the jailer patted him approvingly on the shoulder. "bravo, young fellow!" he said, pleased at seeing how lightly godfrey took it, for many of the exiles who had stood bravely the loss of their liberty were completely broken down by the loss of a portion of their hair, which branded them wherever they went as convicts. godfrey was then taken out into a large court-yard and out- through a gate into another inclosure. this had evidently been added but a very short time to the precincts of the prison. it was of considerable size, being four or five acres in extent, and was surrounded on three sides by a palisade some fourteen feet in height, of newly-sawn timber. the wall of the prison formed the fourth side of the square. in each corner of the inclosure was placed a clump of six little an old acquaintance wooden huts. two low fences ran across the inclosure at right angles to each other, dividing the space into four equal squares. where the fences crossed each other there was an inclosure a few yards across, and in this were two sentry-boxes with soldiers, musket in hand, standing by them. a few men were listlessly moving about, while others were digging and working in small garden patches into which the inclosures were divided. the policeman who accompanied godfrey led him to one of the little huts. he opened the door and went in. a young man was sitting there. "i have brought you a companion," the policeman said. "he will share your hut with you. you can teach him what is required." with this brief introduction he closed the door behind him and left. the young man had risen, and he and godfrey looked hard at each other. "surely we have met before!" the prisoner said. "i know your face quite well." "and i know yours also," godfrey replied. "now that you speak i know you. you are the young englishman, godfrey bullen." "i am," godfrey replied; "and you?" "alexis stumpoff." "so it is!" godfrey exclaimed in surprise, and, delighted at this meeting, they shook hands cordially. "but what are you here for?" godfrey asked. "i thought that you had obtained an appointment at tobolsk." "yes, i was sent out as assistant to the doctor of one of the prisons. i suppose you understood that it was not the sort of appointment one would choose." "i was certainly surprised when i heard that you were going so far away," godfrey said, "as my friends told me that you had property. it seemed almost like going into banishment." "that was just what it was," the young doctor laughed. "i had been too outspoken in my political opinions, and one or two of our set had been arrested and sent out here; and an old acquaintance "i wonder too," godfrey said. "i suppose if i had been a year or two older they would have done so; but i can assure you i had not the slightest idea that petroff and akim were nihilists. i do think that the country is horribly misgov- erned, but as a foreigner that was no business of mine; and however strongly i felt, i would have had nothing to do with men who tried to gain their end by assassination. i was just as innocent in the affair of ossinsky. i behaved like a fool, i grant, but that was all. i had met the woman, who as i now know was sophia perovskaia, but she was only known to me then from having met her once in petroff and akim's room, and she was introduced to me as akim's cousin katia. i met her at the opera-house, and she told me a cock-and-bull story about a young officer who had come to see a lady there, and had left his regiment at moscow without leave to do so. his colonel, who was at the opera-house, had heard of his being there and was looking for him, and i was persuaded to change dominoes with him to enable him to slip off." "oh that was it!" alexis said. "i wondered how you got mixed up in the affair, and still more why they let you out after your having been caught in what they considered a seri- ous business. well, here we are, victims both, and it is a curious chance that has thrown us together again." "well, what is our life here?" godfrey asked. alexis shrugged his shoulders. "as a life it is detestable, though were it for a short time only there would be nothing to grumble about. we are fairly fed; we have each a patch of ground, where we can grow vegetables. the twelve men in these huts can visit and talk to each other. when that is said all is said. oh, by the way, we are also permitted to make anything we like! that is, we can buy the materials if we have money, and the work can be sold in the town. there is one man has made himself a turning-lathe, and he makes all sorts of pretty little things. there is another man who was an officer in the navy; he carves little models of ships out of wood and bone. another man paints. i have not or, condemned as a nihilist decided yet what i shall do. i had two or three hundred roubles when i was sent off here, and as i only spent four or five on the road, i have plenty to last me for some time for tea and tobacco." "but how do you get them?" "the warders smuggle them in. it is an understood thing, and there is no real objection to it, though they are very strict about bringing in spirits. still we can get vodka if we have a mind to; it is only a question of bribery." "how long are you here for, alexis?" "fifteen years." "i am supposed to be in for life," godfrey said. "fifteen years is as bad as life," the young doctor said. "what is the use of your life after having been shut up here for fifteen years?" "well, i don't mean to stay, that is one thing," godfrey said. "there can't be any difficulty in escaping from here." "not the least in the world," alexis said quietly. "but where do you propose to go?" "i have not settled yet. it seems to me that anyone with pluck and energy ought to be able to make his way out of this country somehow; besides, from what i hear great numbers do get away, and take to the woods." "yes, but they have to give themselves up again." "that may be; tut i hear also that if they give themselves up a long way from the prison they escape from, and refuse to give any account whatever of themselves, they are simply sent to prison again as vagabonds. in that case they are treated as ordinary convicts. now from what i hear, an ordinary convict is infinitely better off than a political one. of course you have to associate with a bad lot; still that is better than almost solitary confinement. the work they have to do is not hard, and if they are well conducted they are let out after a time, whereas there is no hope for a political prisoner. at any rate, even if i knew that if i was retaken i should be hung at once, i should try it." an old acquaintance ' "but the distance to the frontier is enormous, and even when you get there you would be arrested at the first place you come to if you have no papers; besides, how could you get through the winter?" "i should get through the winter somehow," godfrey said stoutly. "there are hundreds and thousands of people in scattered villages who live through the winter. why shouldn't i? i would make friends with the natives in the north, and live in their huts, and hunt with them. but i am not think- ing of that. the distance is, as you say, enormous, and the cold terrible. my idea is to escape by the south." "it is a desert, godfrey." "oh they call it a desert to frighten people from trying to escape that way. but i know there is a caravan route by which the teas come from china; besides, there are tribesmen who wander about there and pick up a living somehow. i don't say that i am going to succeed; i only say i am going to try. i may lose my life or i may be sent back again. very well, then, i will try again some other way. we are not far from the chinese frontier here, are we?" "no; the frontier is at kiakhta, not more than three or four hundred miles away." "what are the people like?" "they are called buriats, and are a sort of mongol tribe, living generally in tents and wandering with their flocks and herds through the country like the patriarchs of old." "if they have large flocks and herds," godfrey said, "the reward the russians offer for escaped convicts can't tempt them much. most likely they are hospitable; almost all these wandering tribes are. if one had luck one might get befriended and stick for a time to one of these tribes in their wanderings south, and then get hold of some other people, and so get passed on. there can't be anything impossible in it, alexis. we know that travellers have made their way through africa alone. mungo park did, and lots of other people have done so, and some of the negro tribes are, according to all condemned as a nihilist accounts, a deal more savage than the asiatic tribes. once among them it doesn't much matter which way one goes, whether it is east to china or west to persia." alexis sat and looked with some wonder at his companion. "by the saints, godfrey bullen, i begin to understand now how it is that your people, living in a bit of an island which could be pinched out of russia and never missed, are colonis- ing half the world; how they go in ships to explore the polar seas, have penetrated africa in all directions as travellers, go among the wildest people as missionaries. we are brought up to have everything done for us: to think as we are told to think, to have officials keep their eyes over us at every turn, to be punished if we dare to think independently, till we have come to be a nation of grown-up children. you are only a boy, if you will forgive my calling you so, and yet you talk about facing the most horrible dangers as coolly as if you were proposing going for a promenade on the nevski. we won't talk any more about it now, for you have made me feel quite restless. there, you have been here two hours, and i have forgotten all my duties as host, and have not even offered you a cup of tea; it is shameful." and alexis brought out a samovar and soon had water boiling and tea made. after they had drunk it they went out of the hut, and god- frey was introduced to the other exiles. two of them who lived together were quite old men; they had been professors at the university of kieff, and were exiled for having in their lectures taught what were considered pernicious doctrines. there were three military and two naval officers, a noble, another doctor, and two sons of merchants. all received him cordially, and godfrey saw that in any other place the society would be a pleasant one; but there was an air of settled mel- ancholy in the majority of the faces, the sentry fifty yards away, and the high prison wall behind, seemed ever in their minds. by common consent, as it seemed, no allusion was ever made to politics. they had all strong opinions, and had condemned as a nihilist little to complain of, and godfrey was surprised to find how far it differed from his own preconceived notions of the life of a political prisoner in siberia. it was only when, by an effort, he looked ahead for years and tried to fancy the possi- bility of being so cut off from the world for life, that he could appreciate the terrible nature of tne punishment. better a thousand times to be one of the murderers in the prison behind the wall. they had work to occupy their time, and constantly changing associates, with the knowledge that by good conduct they would sooner or later be released and be allowed to live outside the prison. when at eight o'clock in the evening the prisoners were locked up in their huts, he endeavoured to learn everything that alexis stumpoff knew of siberia. he found that his knowledge was much more extensive than he had expected. "as i came out nominally, godfrey, as a free man, i brought with me every book i could buy on the country, and i almost got them by heart. it seemed to me that i was likely to be kept here for years, if not for life. i might be sent from one government prison to another, from tobolsk to the eastern sea; therefore every place possessed an interest for me. besides this, although i was not actually a political prisoner myself i was virtually so, and my sympathies were wholly with the prisoners, and i thought that i might possibly be able to advise and counsel men who came under my charge: to describe to them the places where they might have relations or friends shut up, and to dissuade those who, like yourself, meditated escape, for my studies had not gone far before i became convinced that this was well-nigh hope- less. i learned how strict were the regulations on the frontier, how impossible, even if this were reached, to journey on with- out being arrested at the very first village that a fugitive entered, and that so strict were they that although numbers of the con- vict establishments were within comparatively short distances of the frontier, escapes were no more frequent from them than from those three thousand miles to the east. when i say an old acquaintance escapes i mean escapes from siberia. escapes from the prisons are of constant occurrence, since most of the work is done outside the walls. there are thousands, i might almost say tens of thousands, get away every spring, but they all have to come back again in winter. the authorities trouble them- selves little about them, for they know that they must give themselves up in a few months." "yes, my guard told me about that. he said they were not punished much when they came in." "sometimes they are flogged; but the russian peasant is accustomed to flogging and thinks but little of it. more often they are not flogged. they have, perhaps, a heavier chain, for the convicts all wear chains—we have an advantage over them there—and they are put on poorer diet for a time. they lose the remission of sentence they would obtain by good behaviour, that is all, even when they are recognised, but as a rule they take care not to give themselves up at the prison they left, but at one many hundred miles from it. in the course of the summer their hair has grown again. they assert stoutly that they are free labourers who have lost their papers, and who cannot earn their living through the winter. the authorities know, of course, that they are escaped convicts, but they have no means of identifying them. they cannot send them the rounds of a hundred convict establishments; so instead of a man being entered as alexis stumpoff, murderer, for instance, he is put down by the name he gives, and the word vagabond is added. the next year they may break out again; but in time the hardships they suffer in the woods become distasteful and they settle down to their prison life, and then, after perhaps six, perhaps ten years of good conduct, they are released and allowed to settle where they will. so you see, godfrey bullen, how hopeless is the chance of escape." "not at all," godfrey said. "these men are most of them peasants—men without education and without enterprise, incapable of forming any plan, and wholly without resources condemned as a nihilist in themselves. i feel as certain of escaping as i am of being here at present. i don't say that i shall succeed the first time, but, as you say yourself, there is no difficulty in getting away, and if i fail in one direction i will try in another." chapter vi an escape the evenings were spent principally in conversations about siberia, godfrey being eager to learn everything that he could about its geography and peoples. alexis told him all he knew as to the mountains and rivers, the various native tribes, the districts where the villages were comparatively numerous, and the mighty forests that, stretch- ing away to the arctic sea, could hardly be said to be explored. books and paper were forbidden to the political prisoners, and so strict were the regulations that the warders would not under any considerations bring them in. but godfrey wrote all the particulars that he judged might in any way be useful with a burnt piece of stick upon the table as alexis gave them, and then learned them by heart, washing them off after he had done so. but few of the details alexis could give him would be of any use in the attempt he first intended to make. the south- ern frontier was so temptingly close that it seemed absurd to turn from that and to attempt a tremendous journey north, involving the certainty of having to struggle through an arctic winter, and to face the difficulties of the passage west, either by land or sea. beyond the fact that from irkutsk he would have to make for the southern point of lake baikal, some sixty miles away, and then strike about south-east for another two hundred through a country inhabited almost entirely by buriats, the doctor could tell him little. condemned as a nihilist call their language, it would be easy sailing; but i own that it is a difficult thing to get along and explain what you want with people who cannot understand a word you say. i suppose the buriats speak russian." "i should say that a great many of them do, godfrey. i know there are missionaries and schools among them, and some of them live in settled villages, though they are so wedded to their own wandering life that they build their houses on the exact model of their tents, with a hole in the roof to let the smoke out. still, as they deal with the towns and come in to sell their cattle and sheep and herds and so on, no doubt the greater part of them, at any rate on this side of the frontier, speak a certain amount of russian. the diffi- culty will be to persuade them not to give you up." "but i can pay them more not to give me up than they can get for doing so," godfrey said. "they would kill you for what you have, godfrey. they are permitted to kill runaways, in fact encouraged to do so, and the reward is the same whether they are brought in dead or alive." "i should think, alexis, it is easier to bring in a live man than a dead one."' "i don't know," the russian laughed. "i don't think a buriat would find it very easy to take you any distance alive, but there would be no trouble in chucking you into a cart and bringing you here after the preliminary operation of knocking you on the head." godfrey smiled. "you forget there would be some prelim- inary trouble in knocking me on the head, alexis; but seri- ously, i don't think any natives who have been in contact at all with civilisation are disposed to take life without some strong motive. of course robbery would be a motive, but i should certainly have nothing about me that a tartar or a buriat—i suppose they are all something of the same thing —would covet. you were telling me yourself that many of these people have very large flocks and herds. is it likely an escape such people as these would cut a stranger's throat on the chance of rinding a few roubles in his pocket?" "well, one would think not, godfrey; but of course they are not all rich." "no; they may not be rich, but you say they are always nomads. well, people who are nomads must always have some sort of animals to carry their tents, and a certain amount, anyhow, of cattle, horses, or sheep. no, i don't at all believe in cutting throats without a motive." "but let us understand a little more about your intentions, godfrey. do you mean to climb over that fence and then to stroll away to the south with your hands in your pockets and your hat on one side of your head, and to ask the first man you come upon to direct you to the shortest road to pekin?" godfrey laughed. "no, not quite that, alexis. these clothes did very well in st. petersburg, and though they are all the worse for the journey here i daresay they would pass well enough in the streets of irkutsk. the first thing to do will be to get some clothes, for as far as i could see coming along the natives all dress a good deal like the russians. i suppose in winter they wrap up more in furs, or they may wear their furs differently, but any sort of peasant dress would do, as it would not excite attention, while this tweed suit would be singular even in the streets here." "that fur-lined great-coat would be all right, godfrey." "yes. i bought that at st. petersburg. i don't know that it would go very well with a peasant's dress, and it is cer- tainly not suitable for the time of year, though i shall take it with me if i can. if i could roll it up and carry it as a knapsack it would be first rate for sleeping in, besides it might do as something to exchange when one gets to places where money is of little use. if i can get hold of a pistol anyhow i shall be glad. a pistol will always produce civility if one meets only one or two men. the other things i should want are a box of matches for making fires, a good knife, or better still, a small axe for chopping wood, and a bottle or skin for holding water." condemned as a nihilist "you will be seized and sent back in a week, godfrey." "very well, then, there will be no harm done. i regard this as a sort of preliminary investigation. i shall ascertain the difficulties of travel in siberia, and shall learn lessons for next time. i believe myself the true way is to strike one of the great rivers, to build or steal a boat, to go down in it to the arctic sea, and then to coast along until one gets to nor- way; but that is a big affair, and besides it is a great deal too late in the year for it. when i attempt that i shall make off as early in the spring as possible." "remember you may be flogged when you are caught, godfrey." "well, i shouldn't like to be flogged, but as you say the convicts don't think much of it, i suppose i could bear it. they used to flog in our army and navy till quite lately." "it is a dishonour," alexis exclaimed passionately. godfrey shrugged his shoulders. "the dishonour lies in the crime and not in the punish- ment," he said. "at our great public schools in england fellows are flogged. well, there is no disgrace in it if it's only for breaking the rules or anything of that sort, but it would be a horrible dishonour if it were for thieving. all that sort of thing is absurd. i believe flogging is the best punishment there is. it is a lot better to give a man a couple of dozen and send him about his business, than it is to keep him for a year in prison at the public expense, and to have to maintain his wife and children also at the public expense while he is there. besides, i thought you said the other day that they did not flog political prisoners." "well, they don't, at least not at any of the large prisons; but in some of the small establishments, with perhaps a brutal drunken captain or major as governor, no doubt it may be done sometimes." "well, i will take my chance of it." "and when do you think of starting? " alexis asked after a pause. an escape "directly. i have only to decide how i am to get out after the door is locked, and to make a rope of some sort to climb the fence with. the blankets tied together will do for that. as to the getting out there is no difficulty. one only has to throw a blanket over that cross beam, get up on that, and get off one of the lining boards, displace a few tiles, crawl through." "i have half a mind to go with you, godfrey." "have you, alexis? i should be awfully glad, but at the same time i would not say a word to persuade you to do it. you know i make light of it, but i know very well that there will be some danger and a tremendous lot of hardship to be gone through." "i don't think i am afraid of that, godfrey," alexis said seriously. "it is not that i have been thinking of ever since you began to talk to me of getting away. i consider it is a hundred to one against success; but, as you say, if we fail and get brought back no great harm is done. if we get killed or die of hunger and thirst, again no harm is done, for certainly life is not a thing to cling to when one is a prisoner in siberia; but it is not that. you see i am differently situated to you. if you do succeed in getting away you go home, and you are all right; if i succeed in getting away what is to become of me? i speak russian and german, but there would be no return for me to russia unless some day when a new czar ascends the throne, or on some such occasion, when a general amnesty is granted; but even that would hardly extend to political prisoners. what am i to do? so far as i can see i might starve, and after all one might almost as well remain here as starve in pekin or in some chinese port. granted that i could work my way back to europe on board ship, what should i do if i landed at marseilles or liverpool? i could not go through the streets shouting in german 'i am a doctor, who wants to be cured? '" "no, alexis," godfrey agreed, "you could not well do that; but i will tell you what you could do. of course at the condemned as a nihilist first place i get to, where there is a telegraph to england, i will send a message to my father to cable to some firm there to let me have what money i require. very well. then, of course, you would go home with me to england, and there is one thing i could promise you, and that is a post in my father's office. you know we trade with russia, and though our correspondence is generally carried on in german, i am quite sure that my father would, after you had been my com- panion on such a journey as that we propose, make a berth for you in the office to undertake correspondence in russian and german, and that he would pay a salary quite sufficient for you to live in comfort; or if you would rather, i am sure that he would find you means for going out and settling, say in the united states, in the part where german is the general language." "then in that case, godfrey," the russian said, shaking his hand warmly, "i am your man. i think i should have gone with you anyhow; but what you have said quite decides me. now, then, what is our first proceeding?" godfrey laughed. "i should say to take an inventory of our belongings, alexis, or rather of your belongings, for mine are very briefly described. two hundred roubles in notes, a watch, a pocket- knife, the suit of clothes i stand up in, half a dozen pairs of socks, and three flannel shirts i bought on the way, one great- coat lined with fur; i think that is about all. it is a very small share. yours are much more numerous." "more numerous, but not much more useful," alexis said. "they let me bring one large portmanteau of clothes, but as i can't carry that away on my shoulders it is of very little use. all i can take in that way is a suit of clothes and a spare flannel shirt or two, and some socks. i have got two cases of surgical instruments. i will take a few of the most useful and some other things, a pair of forceps for instance. we may come across a tartar with a raging tooth, and make him our friend for ever by extracting it, and i will put a bandage or an escape two and some plaster in my pocket. they are things one ought always to carry, for one is always liable to get a hurt or a sprain. as to money, i have a hundred and twenty roubles; they are all in silver. i changed my paper at tobolsk, thinking that silver would be more handy here. unfortunately they took away my pistol, but a couple of amputating knives will make good weapons. i have got a leather waistcoat, which i will cut up and make from it a couple of sheaths. of course i have got fur cloaks, one of them a very handsome one. i will take that and another. there ought to be no difficulty whatever in getting someone to give us two peasants' dresses in exchange for that coat, for all these people know something of the value of furs." "yes, and if you can get a gun and some ammunition thrown into the bargain, alexis, it will be most useful, for we may have to depend upon what we shoot sometimes." "yes, that would be a great addition, godfrey. well, we will set about making the sheaths at once. i have got a store of needles and stout thread." "they will be useful to take with us," godfrey said, "not only for mending our clothes, if we want it, but for exchange. women have to sew all over the world, and even the most savage people can appreciate the advantage of a good needle." "that is so, godfrey. i have got a packet of capital sur- gical needles, and some silk. i will put them in with the others; they won't take up much room. well, shall we start to-morrow night?" "i think we had better wait for two or three days," godfrey said. "we must save up some of our food." "yes, we shall want some bread," alexis agreed. "we can't well get that in through the warders, it would look sus- picious, but i will get in some meat through them. we have got some of the last lot left, so we can do with very little bread." for the next two days they found plenty to occupy them, while their stock of bread was accumulating. one of the condemned as a nihilist russian's coats was cut up and made into two bags like haver- sacks, with a band to pass over the shoulder for carrying their belongings. straps were made of the cloth for fastening the great-coats knapsack fashion. they agreed that however long they might have to wait they must choose a stormy night for their flight, as otherwise they could hardly break through the roof and scale the fence without being heard by the sentries who kept watch night and day. they were eager to be off, for it was already the end of july, and the winter would be severe in the country over which they had to travel. on the fourth day a heavy rain set in, and in the evening it began to blow hard. "now is our time," godfrey said; "nothing could have been better." they had already loosened two of the lining boards of the roof, and as soon as they had been locked up for the night they removed these altogether. they packed their haver- sacks with the articles they had agreed to take, with six pounds of bread each and some meat, rolled four blankets up and knotted them tightly together, strapped up the three fur- lined cloaks, and placed the knives in their belts. then without much difficulty they prised up one of the thick planks with which the hut was roofed. godfrey got through the opening, and alexis passed out to him the haversacks and coats, and then joined him, and they slid down the roof and dropped to the ground. the paling was but twenty yards behind the huts. as soon as they reached it godfrey climbed upon his companion's shoulders, threw the loop of a doubled rope over one of the palisades and climbed on to the top. then with the rope he pulled up the coats and haversacks and dropped them outside. alexis pulled himself up by the rope; this was then dropped on the outside and he slid down by it. godfrey shifted the rope on to the point of one of the palings, so that it could be easily shaken off from below, and then slipped down it. the rope shaken off and two of the blankets opened, the haversacks an - escape hung over their shoulders, and the great-coats strapped on, each put one of th'e twisted blankets over his shoulder, scarf fashion, wrapped the other round as a cloak, and then set out on their way. fortunately the prison lay on the south side of the town and at a distance of half a mile from it; and as their course to the extremity of lake baikal lay almost due south, they were able to strike right across the country. the wind was from the north, and they had therefore only to keep their backs to it to follow the right direction. it was half-past ten when they started, for the nights were short, and had it not been that the sky was covered with clouds and the air thick with rain, it would not have been dark enough for them to make the attempt until an hour later. by three o'clock it was light again, but they knew there was little chance of their escape being discovered until the warders came to unlock the hut at six in the morning, as the planks they had removed from the roof were at the back of the hut, and therefore invisible to the sentries. "no doubt they will send a few mounted cossacks out to search for us, as we are political prisoners," alexis said; "but we may calculate it will be seven o'clock before they set out, and as this is the very last direction they will imagine we have taken we need not trouble ourselves about them; besides, we shall soon be getting into wooded country. i believe it is all wood round the lower end of the lake, and we shall be quite out of the way of traffic, for everything going east from irkutsk is taken across the lake by steamer." after twelve hours' walking, with only one halt of half an hour for refreshment, they reached the edge of the forest, and after again making a hearty meal of their bread and cold meat, and taking each a sip from a bottle containing cold tea, they lay down and slept until late in the afternoon. "well, we have accomplished so much satisfactorily," alexis said. "now we have to keep on to kaltuk, at the extreme south-western point of the lake. it is a very small place, i believe, and that is where we must get what we want. an escape coat, trousers, high boots, and caps. what do you charge for them?" "twenty roubles each suit." "very well. pick two suits the right size for us, and lay them down on the counter. now we want two pounds of brick-tea and two pounds of tobacco. we want two skins that will each hold a gallon or a gallon and a half of water, and a tin pot that will hold a quart, and two tin drinking mugs. we want a gun and ammunition; it need not be a new one. i see you have got half a dozen standing over there in the corner. what do you charge your customers for those? i see they are all old single barrels and flint-locks." "i charge fifteen roubles apiece." "well, we will take two of them, and we want two pounds of powder and six pounds of shot, and a couple of dozen bullets. now add that up and see how much it comes to." "ninety-two roubles," the man said. "well, i tell you what. i will give you this cioak and twelve paper roubles for them. i don't suppose the goods cost you fifty at the outside, and you will get at least a hun- dred for the skins alone." "i will take it," the man said. "i take it because i cannot help it." "you take it because you are making an excellent bargain," alexis said fiercely. "now, mind, if you give the alarm when we have gone it will be worse for you. they won't catch us; but you will see your house on fire over your head before the week is past." godfrey placed a ten-rouble note and two one-rouble notes on the table; they gathered up their goods and made them into a bundle, carefully loaded their guns, and put the powder and shot into their haversacks. then alexis lifted the bun- dle, and shouldering the guns they left the shop. "will he give the alarm, do you think?" godfrey asked. "not he. he is thoroughly well satisfied. i daresay he will get a hundred and fifty roubles for the coat; besides, he. condemned as a nihilist knows that escaped convicts are desperate men, and that we should be likely to execute my threat. besides, i don't sup- pose he would venture to stir out. for aught he knows we may be waiting just outside the shop to see what he does, and he will fear that he might get that hungry-looking knife into him if he came out to raise the alarm." all was quiet, and they were soon beyond the limits of the village, and struck out for the country. they held on for two or three miles, filled their water-skins at a little stream running towards the lake, and then entering a wood pushed on for some little distance, lighted a fire, and made themselves some tea. "we are fairly off now, godfrey. we have become what they call wanderers, and should be safe enough among the russian peasants, most of whom have been convicts in their time, in the villages north, for they are always willing enough to help men who have taken to the woods. well, except in the villages, of which there are few enough about here, we are not likely to come upon them. from here to the frontier are buriats, and indeed beyond the frontier. however as we have both got guns, we need not be afraid of any small party. of course some of them have guns too; but i don't suppose they will be fools enough to risk throwing their lives away for nothing. at any rate there is one comfort. there is nothing to show that we are political prisoners now. we might be honest peasants if it were not for these confounded heads of hair." "i should think," godfrey said, "we had better get rid of our hair altogether. it will be some time before it grows, but anything will be better than it is now." "we have got no scissors, godfrey, and we have no soap. if we had, those knives of ours are sharp enough to shave with." "we can singe it off," godfrey said. "not now, but in the morning when we can see. i will do it for you, and you can do it for me. i would rather be bald-headed altogether than be such a figure as i am now." an escape accordingly in the morning they singed off their hair with red-hot brands, then they changed their clothes for those they had obtained the night before, folded up their great-coats, divided the tea, tobacco, and the greater part of the powder and shot between them, put a portion in their haversacks, and rolled the rest up in the coats, then strapped these to their shoulders and started on their way. "now i feel ready for anything," alexis said as they tramped along. "we have no weight to speak of to carry, and we have means of getting a meal occasionally. now if we keep a little west of south we shall strike the selenga river, which runs through maimatchin, and then we shall be in china. we shall have to avoid the town, because i know there is a treaty between russia and china about sending back exiles who cross the frontier. still, when we get there we are at the starting-place of the caravans." "is it a desert the whole distance?" "no. the first part is a mountainous country with two or three rivers to cross. i don't think the real desert is more than eight or ten days' march across. we shall certainly have no difficulty about water for some time to come. there are plenty of squirrels in these woods; at least i expect so, for they abound in all the forests. we must knock some of them over if we can. i believe they are not bad eating, though i never tried -one. then by the streams we ought to be able to pick up some wild duck, though of course at this time of year the greater portion of them are far north. still i have great hopes we shall be able to keep ourselves in food with the assistance of what we may be able to buy occasionally. i think the only thing we have got to fear at this part of our journey is the buriats. the thing i am really afraid of is the getting into china. i don't mean the frontier here; this is mongolia, and it is only nominally chinese; but when we get across the desert and enter china itself, i tell you frankly i don't see our way. we neither of us can speak a word of the language. we have no papers, and we may be arrested condemned as a nihilist and shut up as suspicious vagabonds. there is one thing; at kalgan, which is close to the great wall, there are russian traders, and i should go boldly to them and ask their help. russians out of russia are sure to be liberal, though they may not dare to be so when they are at home, and i feel sure they would help us when we tell them our story, if we can only get at them. however we need not trouble ourselves much about that at present." once beyond the forest they were in an undulating country, the hills sometimes rising to a considerable height. occa- sionally they saw in the distance encampments of natives, with sheep, cattle, and horses in considerable numbers. they kept clear of these, although occasionally they had to make wide detours to do so. time was no object to them, and they made but short journeys, for the russian, who had never been accustomed to walk long distances, had blistered both his feet badly on the first night's journey, and the subsequent travelling had added to the inflammation. on the fourth evening they halted for the night on a little rivulet, after making only five or six miles. "it is no use, alexis," godfrey said; "we must stop here until your feet are quite well. we shall gain by it rather than lose, for when you are quite right again we could do our five- and-twenty or thirty miles a day easily, and might do forty at a push; but your feet will never get well if you go on walk- ing, and it makes your journey a perfect penance; so i vote we establish ourselves here for three or four days. there is water and wood, and i daresay i shall be able to shoot some- thing—at any rate you can't go on as you are now." "it is horribly annoying," alexis said, "to be knocked up like this just at the start." "but it makes no difference," godfrey urged. "we are not due at pekin on any given day. it is very pleasant out here, where one can enjoy one's freedom and exult that there is no policeman or cossack watching every movement. it would make no difference to me if we stopped here for a an escape month. now let me pull those boots off for you, then you can sit with your feet in this little pool." "warm water would be better, godfrey. if you will get the kettle to boil i will dip my two flannel shirts in and wrap them round and keep on at that. that will be better than cold water." "all right! i will soon get a fire alight. by jove, they are bad!" he exclaimed, as alexis pulled off his stocking. "they must have been hurting you desperately. why did you not say how bad they were two days ago? we might as well have stopped then as now." "i hoped they would have got better when i put on these big boots instead of those i started with. but i did not think they were as bad as they are. i am afraid this is going to be a troublesome business, godfrey." "well, it can't be helped," godfrey said cheerfully. "at any rate, don't worry on my account." the russian's feet were indeed greatly swollen and inflamed. the skin had been rubbed off in several places, and the wounds had an angry look, their edges being a fiery red, which ex- tended for some distance round them. "well, you have plenty of pluck, alexis, or you never could have gone on walking with such feet as those. i am sure i could not have done so." "we thought over most difficulties, godfrey, that we might possibly have to encounter, but not of this." "no, we did not think of it, though we might really have calculated upon it. after being three or four months without walking twenty yards it is only natural one's feet should go at first. we ought to have brought some soap with us—i do not mean for washing, though we ought to have brought it for that —but for soaping the inside of our stockings. that is a first- rate dodge to prevent feet from blistering. well, i must see about the fire. i will go up to those trees on the hillside. i daresay i shall be able to find some sticks there for lighting it. these bushes round here will do well enough when it is once condemned as a nihilist fairly burning, but we shall have a great trouble to get them to light to begin with." in half an hour he was back with a large faggot. "it is lucky," he said, "there is a fallen tree. so we shall have no difficulty about firewood. we ought to have brought a hatchet when we got the other things. these knives are first-rate for cutting meat and that sort of thing, but they are of no use for rough work. my old knife is better." while he was talking he was engaged in cutting some shav- ings off the sticks. then he split up another into somewhat larger pieces, and laying them over the shavings, struck a match, and applied it. the flame shot up brightly, and in five minutes there was an excellent fire, on which the kettle was placed. "we had better have our dinner first, godfrey. then i can go on steadily with these fomentations while you take your gun and look round." "perhaps that will be the best way," godfrey said. "we have nothing left but six squirrels. we finished the last piece of bread this morning and the meat last night. how had we better do these squirrels?" "i will skin them, godfrey, while you are seeing to the fire. then we will spit them on a ramrod, and i will hold them in the flame." "i think we can manage better than that," godfrey sajd, and he went to the bushes and cut two sticks of a foot long with a fork at one end. he stuck these in the ground, on the opposite sides of the fire. "there," he said, "you can lay the ramrod on these forks, and all you have got to do is to give it a turn occasionally." "how long do you suppose these things want cooking?" "not above five minutes, i should think. i know that a steak only takes about eight minutes before a good fire, and these little beggars are not half the thickness of a steak. they are beginning to frizzle already, and the water is just on the boil." the buriat's child the squirrels were pronounced very good eating. when the meal was over godfrey filled the kettle again and gave it to alexis, and then, taking his gun, started down the valley. he was away three hours, and brought back twenty birds of various sorts, but for the most part small. "no very great sport," he said as he emptied his haversack. "however, they will do for breakfast, and i may have better luck to-morrow. there are some fish in the pools, but i do not see how we are to get them. i saw one spring out of the water; it must have weighed a couple of pounds." "you might shoot them, godfrey, if you could find a place where the bank is pretty high so as to look down on the water."" "so i could; i did not think of that. i must try to- morrow." "if it hadn't been for my feet," alexis said, "we should have been down on the selinga to-morrow, and we had calcu- lated on being able to buy food at one of the villages there." "we shall be able to hold on here," godfrey said, "for a few days, and i expect that one day's good tramp, when your feet are better, will take us there. after that we ought to have no great difficulty till we get down near the desert." better that he said he should be able to make a start the next morning. godfrey, however, would not listen to the proposal. "we are getting on all right," he said. "i am not much of a shot, but at any rate i am able to bag enough birds to chapter vii the buriat s child russian's feet were so much condemned as a nihilist keep us going, and though i have only succeeded in shooting one fish as yet, it was a good big one and was a real help to us. it is no use going on till your feet get really hard, for you would only be laming yourself again. it will be quite time enough to talk about making a start in three days' time." the next morning godfrey was roughly awakened by a vio- lent kick. starting up he saw a group of six buriats stand- ing round them. three of them had guns, which were pointed at the prisoners, the others were armed with spears. resistance was evidently useless; their guns had been re- moved to a distance and the knives taken from their belts before they were roused. godfrey held out his hands to show that he surrendered, and addressed the usual russian salutation to them. the men were short, square-built figures, with large skulls, low foreheads, flat noses, and long eyes like those of the chinese. their cheek-bones were high and wide apart, the complexion a yellow-brown, and the hair jet black and worn in a platted tail down the back. they made signs to their prisoners to accompany them. alexis pulled on his boots. two of the men with guns stood guard over them while the others examined the stores, and were evidently highly pleased with the two brightly polished knives. "rather an abrupt termination to our journey, godfrey." "painfully so. i was almost afraid everything was going on too well with us, alexis. it began to look so easy that one could not understand why there should not be hundreds of prisoners every year make their way across." "i should not have minded so much," alexis said, "if we had not got such a satisfactory kit together. we had every- thing we really wanted for a journey across asia." "except food and water, alexis." "well, yes, those are important items, certainly, and if we had difficulty about it here in a decent sort of country, what might be expected on farther? well, we have had our out- ing; i only hope they won't give us up at irkutsk. i suppose it depends where their grazing-grounds are. there are the buriat's child another two months of summer; i wish we could have had our fling till then." half a mile along the valley they came upon a tent, evi- dently belonging to the men who had taken them. they talked a good deal among themselves as they approached it, but went straight on without making a stop. "i expect they are taking us down to some chief or other, if they call them chiefs," alexis said. "i expect they came out to hunt for horses or cattle that have strayed." seven or eight miles farther the valley opened on to a plain, and a short distance in front of them, on the stream, stood ten tents, one of which was considerably larger than the others. great flocks of sheep grazed on the plain, and at a distance they could see numbers of cattle, while some horses with their saddles on were hobbled near the tents. "i think we are lucky, godfrey. the owner of all this must be a rich man, and can hardly covet the roubles he would get for giving us up. besides, he is sure to talk russian." as they came up to the huts they saw that their occupants were all gathered, talking excitedly in front of a large tent. one of the men ran on and then returned; the news he gave was evidently bad. he talked excitedly, pointing to his own leg about half-way between the knee and the ankle. the men broke into exclamations of regret. "i wonder what is the matter, alexis; something has hap- pened. i should think that someone must have met with an accident." "without wishing ill to anyone, godfrey, i sincerely wish it may be so, then i might be able to win their good-will." little attention was paid to the party when they joined the group, all were too busy in discussing some event or other. three or four minutes later a man came to the door of the tent and waved his hand, and gave some order. his dress was a handsome one. the little crowd fell back, but one of the men who had brought the captives in went up and spoke condemned as a nihilist to him. he again waved his hand impatiently, and was turn- ing to enter the tent when alexis cried loudly: "i am a doc- tor, if anyone has been hurt i may be of service to him." the man stepped hastily forward. "do you say you are a doctor?" "i am." "come in then," he said abruptly, and entered the tent. "i will call you if you can be of any use," alexis said to godfrey as he followed him. the tent was a large one. some handsome koord carpets covered the ground. facing the door was another opening leading into a small tent serving as the women's apartment. there were several piles of sheep-skins round the tent, and by one of these three women were standing. two of these were richly dressed in gowns of handsome striped materials. they wore head-dresses of silver work with beads of malachite and mother-of-pearl, and had heavy silver ornaments hanging on their breasts. their hair fell down their backs in two thick braids. the other woman was evidently of inferior rank. all were leaning over a pile of skins covered with costly furs, on which a boy of seven or eight years old was lying. his father, for such the man evidently was, said some- thing in his own language, and the women turned eagerly to alexis. "you are a russian doctor!" one of the women exclaimed joyfully. "i am, lady," he said. "i graduated at st. petersburg." "can you do anything for my son? " she asked. "half an hour ago he went up incautiously behind a young horse that had been driven in from the herd only yesterday and it kicked him. see, it is terrible," and she burst into tears. alexis went forward and lifted a wet cloth that had been placed on the leg. a slight exclamation broke from his lips as he did so. the bone was evidently completely smashed, and one of the splintered ends projected through the skin. "he must die," the mother sobbed, "nothing can save him." the buriat's child the father did not speak, but looked inquiringly at alexis. the latter made a sign to him to move to the other side of the tent. "well," the buriat asked, "must he die?" "tfeere is no reason for his dying," alexis said, "but there is no possibility of saving his leg, it must be amputated." "what would be the use of living without a leg?" the buriat exclaimed. "a great deal of use," alexis said quietly. "there are hundreds, aye thousands, of men in russia who have lost a leg, some from an accident like this, or from a waggon going over them, some from a wound in battle. in some cases the leg is taken off much above the knee, but even then they are able to get about and enjoy their lives; but when it is below the knee, like this, they are able to do everything just the same as if they had both feet. they can walk and ride, and, in fact, do everything like others; besides, for such men there are people at st. petersburg who make feet of cork, and when these are on, with a boot and trousers, or with a high boot, no one could tell that the wearer had not two feet. i have met men who had lost a leg, and they walked so well that i did not know till i was told that they had not two legs." "i will speak to his mother," the buriat said, and returning to the women he spoke to them in their own language. at first they appeared shocked and even terrified at the idea, but as he went on, evidently repeating what alexis had told him, the expression of their faces changed. the buriat called alexis across. "you cannot hesitate, lady," he said, "when your child's life is at stake. no russian mother would do so for a moment. it may seem to you dreadful that he should have but one foot, but in a little time, even with so rough a limb as i could make for him, he would be running about and playing again, and, as i have been telling his father, he can obtain from st. petersburg a foot so perfect that when wear- ing a high boot no one would suspect the misfortune that has happened to him." condemned as a nihilist "can he not be cured without that?" "no, lady. if it had been a simple fracture his leg might be bandaged up so that it would heal in time, but, as yoy can see for yourself, the bone is all splintered and broken, and unless something is done mortification will set in, and in a few days he will cease to live." "but are you sure that he will live if you do it?" "i am sure, lady, that the operation will not kill him. i believe that he will live, but that is in the hands of god. you see him now, the shock has prostrated him. he has but little life in him, and if he dies he will die from that and not from the taking off of his foot. but i do not think he will die, he is young and hardy, and on my faith as a russian gentle- man i believe that he will live." "it shall be tried," the buriat said abruptly. "god has doubtless sent you here at this moment. why otherwise should a doctor be brought to my door when this has hap- pened? do as you will." alexis felt the boy's pulse. "i must wait," he said, "until he has recovered somewhat from the shock. give him some warm milk with a spoonful, not more, of vodka in it. your men have taken the knives that i and my friend carried; they were specially made for this, and we shall need them. do not fear as to the operation, it is the most simple in surgery. let him have the milk at once. let him remain quiet upon his back, and do not let him attempt to move his leg. do not tell him about this, it would frighten and agitate him. if i had medicines that we use in our hospitals i could send him to sleep so that he would know nothing about it, and when he woke up would be ignorant that his foot had been removed; but as there is none of it within a hundred miles of us we must manage it as we best can. please tell your men to release my friend, i shall need his assistance." after bidding the woman heat some milk at once the buriat went out and ordered godfrey's guards to release him at once, and to restore to them their knives and all their other posses- the buriat's child sions. alexis informed godfrey of what had taken place, and what he proposed to do. "the operation would be a very easy one if we had chloro- form and proper implements. unfortunately there is no chance of their having such a thing as a fine saw, and how in the world i am to make a clean cut through the bone i do not know. the knife that you carry is just the right thing for the job; but how about a saw? if we could have chloro- formed him, we could, after making the cuts through the flesh, have put the leg on a log of wood and have cut clean through the bone with a chopper. it would not be a good plan, for it would probably splinter the bone, but it might have been tried, but without chloroform it is not to be thought of." godfrey thought for a moment. "the knives are of a very good steel, alexis?" "oh yes, of the very best steel!" "is it hard steel like that of a razor?" "yes, very much the same." "then i should think it could be managed. i know the least thing will notch a razor. now i should think if we took the large knife, and with my pocket-knife or with the edge of a hard stone notch the edge carefully all the way down, it would make a very good saw." "i should think it might do anyhow, godfrey, and the idea is a very good one. well, let us set about it at once. i can get a piece of fresh bone to try on; no doubt they kill a sheep here every day." they set to work and in ten minutes had notched the blade of the knife all the way down. alexis had, as he expected, no trouble in obtaining a freshly-picked bone, and they found that the knife sawed through it very cleanly. then alexis went in to see the boy again. before, he had been lying with his eyes half-closed, without a vestige of colour in his cheeks; the warm milk had done its work almost instantaneously, and he was perfectly conscious and there was a slight colour in condemned as a nihilist his cheeks. his pulse had recovered strength wonderfully. alexis nodded approvingly to the buriat. he drew him out- side the tent. "if i were you," he said, "i would send away all the peo- ple from the other huts. if the poor child screams they may get excited and rush in, and it is better that everything should be perfectly quiet. i should send away also the ladies, unless of course his mother particularly wishes to be with him; but it will be trying for her, and i own that i would rather not have anyone in the tent but you and my friend." the buriat went inside; he returned in two or three minutes. "my wife will stay; my sister and the attendant will go." then he called to the men who were standing at the doors of their huts: "the doctor says there must be silence for some time; he is going to do something and he wishes that all shall retire to a distance until i wave my hand for them to return. will there be anything you want?" he asked alexis. "a large jug of warm water," he said, "a bowl, and some soft rag—that is all. by the time that is ready i shall be. you will have to hold his leg, godfrey," he went on as the buriat returned to his tent. "you must hold it just under the knee as firmly as possible, so as to prevent the slightest move- ment. but i am going to try to mesmerise him. i have seen it done with perfect success, and at any rate it is worth try- ing. in the weak state he is in i ought to be able to succeed without difficulty. now i want a couple of small flat stones with rounded edges, a strip of soft skin, and a bit of stick three or four inches long and as thick as your finger, to make a tourniquet with." by the time that these were ready a perfect stillness reigned in the camp. the whole of the natives had gone away to a distance of over a quarter of a mile, and were sitting in a group watching the tents, and, godfrey had no doubt, debat- ing hotly as to the folly of allowing a stranger to have any- thing to do with the son of their employer. he now followed the buriat's child alexis into the tent, where all was in readiness. the child's head was slightly raised by a skin folded and placed under it. his mother knelt beside him. "what do you wish me to do?" the buriat asked. "i wish you to stand beside him and aid his mother to hold him should he struggle, and i may need you to dip the rag into the warm water, squeeze it out, and give it me." "of course he will struggle," the buriat said; "we men can bear pain, but a child cannot." "i am going to try to put him to sleep," alexis replied; "a sleep so sound that he will not wake with the pain. i do not say that i shall be able to, but i will try." the buriat looked at alexis as if he doubted his sanity. that a russian doctor should be able to take off the child's leg was within his comprehension. he had once seen a man in the street of irkutsk with only one arm, but that anyone could make a child sleep so soundly that he would not wake under such an operation seemed to him beyond the bounds of possibility. "tell the child that i am going to do him good," alexis said to the mother, "and that he is to look at my eyes steadily." he placed himself at the side of the couch and gazed down steadily at the child; then he began to make passes slowly down his face. for three or four minutes the black eyes looked into his unwinkingly, then the lids closed a little. alexis continued his efforts, the lids drooped more and more until they closed completely. he continued the motions of his hand for another minute or two, then stooping he lifted an eyelid; the eye was turned upwards, so that the iris was no longer visible. "thank god, he has gone off!" he said. "now for the tourniquet. that is right; twist gradually now, godfrey, and place the stone on the main artery. now," he said to the buriat, "hold this stick firm with one hand and place the other on his chest to prevent his moving. do you lay your arm across him," this to the mother; "that is right. kneel condemned as a nihilist with your face against his. now, godfrey, grasp the leg just below the knee and hold it firmly." godfrey did so, and then shut his eyes as he saw the doctor about to use the knife, expecting to hear a piercing scream from the child. there was no sound, however, and in a very few seconds he heard alexis utter a low exclamation of satis- faction. he looked now; the flesh was already cut through and no cry had escaped the child. another moment the foot and the lower portion of the leg came away at the point where the bone was crushed; then alexis pushed the flesh upwards so as to expose another inch of the shin-bone, and then took the saw and cut through it. some strands of silk lay close to his hand; with a long needle he took up the ends of the arter- ies and tied them with the silk; then he took hold of the stick of the tourniquet and loosened it a little. the result was sat- isfactory; the arteries were securely tied. then he tightened it again and gave it to the buriat to hold, wiped the wound with the damp rag, drew down the flesh over the end of the bone, brought up the flap of flesh from behind, and with a few stitches sewed it in its place. "it is all done," he said, rising to his feet. then he passed his hand several times across the child's forehead. "tell him softly, when he opens his eyes," he said to the mother, "that he will soon be well now and that he must go to sleep." he continued the passes for some time, occasionally lifting the eyelid. "he is coming round now," he said at last. a few more passes and the child drowsily opened its eyes. its mother spoke to it softly, and with a faint smile it closed them again. alexis stood quietly for another minute or two. "he is asleep now," he said to the buriat; "you need hold him no longer." the tears were running down the man's cheeks; he seized one of the hands of alexis and pressed it to his lips, while the mother, sobbing with joy, did the same to the other. to them it seemed almost a miracle. "have some milk kept warm," alexis said, "and give it to the buriat's child him when he awakes. do not tell him anything about his foot having been taken off. keep a blanket lying over him so that he will not see it. it is well that he should not be agitated, but tell him that he must lie perfectly quiet and not move his leg, as it would hurt him if he did so. now, chief, it would be as well if you called the others back and told your servant to get some breakfast, for my friend and i have had nothing to eat since your men woke us this morning." the buriat went outside the tent and waved a blanket, and the others came running in at the signal. "tell them not to make a noise," alexis said; "the longer the child sleeps quietly the better." the buriats uttered exclamations of the most profound astonishment when the chief told them that the russian doc- tor had taken off the leg of the child without his feeling the slightest pain, and that there was every hope of his speedily recovering, whereupon they looked at alexis with a feeling of respect amounting to awe. a sheep was at once killed, skinned, cut up, and placed in a great cooking pot over a fire; but long before this was done two great bowls of hot milk were brought out by the buriat to alexis and godfrey, to enable them to hold on until the meal was prepared. at his order the men at once set about erecting a tent for them close to his own, and as soon as this was up, piles of soft skins were brought in. "that has been a lucky stroke indeed, godfrey," alexis said as they took possession of their new abode. "it is indeed, alexis. nothing could have been more providential. we are in clover as long as we choose to stop here. do you think the child will recover?" "i think there is every hope of his doing so. these natives are as hard as nails. i don't suppose the child has ever had a day's illness in his life, and in this pure dry air there is little fear of the wound doing badly. the next thing to do is to make him a pair of crutches to get about with till he can bear to have a wooden stump on. the only nuisance is condemned as a nihilist that we shall be delayed. as a doctor, i cannot very well leave my patient till he is fairly on the road towards recovery." "certainly not," godfrey agreed. "well, i daresay we shall put away the time pleasantly enough here." half an hour later two horses were brought up, and these with their saddles and bridles were presented by the buriat to his guests, and were picketed by their tent. the next three weeks passed pleasantly; they rode, hunted, and shot. the little patient made rapid progress towards recovery, and at the end of that time was able to get about on two crutches god- frey had made for him. "it is better that you should make them, godfrey, and also the wooden leg when he is ready for it," alexis had said. "it is just as well that their gratitude should be divided a little, so i will hand that part of the work over to you." the buriats were delighted indeed when they saw the child hopping about the camp with his crutches, and their gratitude knew no bounds to their guests. alexis had made no secret to the buriat of their intention of trying to make their way to pekin. he endeavoured in every way to dissuade them from it. "you will never find your way across the desert," he said, "and will die for want of water. the people are wild and savage. they are ruled by their lamas, and if they do not put you to death, which they would be likely to do for what you have, they will certainly send you back to kiakhta and hand you over to the russians there; and even if you got through the desert the chinese would seize you and send you back. it would be madness to try. it would be better than that to go south and make for thibet, although even that would be a desperate expedition. the tribes are wild and savage, the desert is terrible for those who do not know it. you would never find the wells, and would perish miserably of thirst even if you escaped being killed by the tribesmen. still your chances would be greater than they would be of reaching pekin. but you had far better make up your minds the buriat's child to live here. i will give you flocks and herds. you should be as of my family, and you, alexis, should marry my sister, who is rich as well as pretty, for she owns a third of all the flocks and herds you see." alexis warmly thanked the buriat for the offer, but said they must take time to consider it. "one might do worse," he said, laughing, to godfrey when they were alone. "'the women are certainly a great deal better-looking than the men, and the girl would be considered fair-looking even in russia. at any rate it would be vastly better being a buriat here than being inside that prison at irkutsk." "i agree with you there, alexis; but it would be horrible being cut off here from the world for life." "but one is cut off in prison, godfrey; and though i agreed to share your attempt i have never been very hopeful about its success, and i am still less hopeful now from what i hear of the difficulties ahead of us. as i said when you first talked of it, there must be some frightful difficulties here, or this would be the way by which convicts would always try to escape, and yet we have never heard of one doing so." "yes, i begin to think myself i have made a mistake, alexis, in choosing this route instead of a northern one. besides, we shall have winter upon us in a very few weeks now, which would of course add tremendously to our difficul- ties. but you are not seriously thinking of stopping here, are you?" "i don't know, godfrey. you see you have got a home and friends waiting for you if you do get away, i have nothing but exile. i do believe we shall never succeed in getting out through china, and i think we couldn't do better than stop here for a year or two. by the end of that time we may suc- ceed in establishing relations by means of this buriat with some of the tea merchants at kiakhta, and getting one of them to smuggle us through with a caravan; but, at any rate, if you still hold to going i shall go too. i have no intention of de- serting you, i can assure you." condemned as a nihilist in another fortnight godfrey had made a stump for the child. the hollow was lined with sheepskin to take off the jar, and it strapped firmly on to the limb. the wound was not quite sufficiently healed yet for the child to use it regularly, but when on first trying it he walked across the tent the joy of his father and mother knew no bounds. they had only been waiting for this to make a move, for the pasture had for some time been getting short, and on the fol- lowing day the tents were pulled down, and for three days they journeyed east, and then finding a suitable spot again pitched their tents. they were now, as the buriat told them, only some thirty miles from kiakhta. godfrey and alexis had talked matters over during the journey. they agreed that the season was now too late for them to think of attempting the journey until the following spring, and had almost con- cluded that the attempt to get through china should be alto- gether abandoned. going north there were the rigour of the climate and the enormous distances as obstacles, but the pas- sage would be chiefly by water. there was no danger from the tribes they would have to pass through, no difficulties such as they might meet with from the opposition of the chinese, and they had pretty well resolved to pass the winter with the buriats and to make a start in the spring. their host was greatly pleased when they informed him of their intention at any rate to spend the winter with them, for he hoped that before the spring alexis would have made up his mind to accept his offer, and to settle down as a member of the tribe. the day after the buriats pitched their fresh camp one of the men reported that he had seen a large bear at the edge of a forest two miles from the huts. alexis and godfrey at once took their guns, borrowed a couple of long spears and two hunting knives, and started for the wood, the native going with them to show them the exact spot where he had seen the bear. there was a good deal of undergrowth about, and they thought it probable that the animal was not far off. the the buriat's child buriat had brought a dog with him, and the animal at once began sniffing the ground. his master encouraged it, and presently it started, sniffing the ground as it went. it had gone but a few hundred yards when it stopped before a thick clump of bushes and began growling furiously. they had a short consultation, and then the two friends took up their post one at each corner of the bushes, while the buriat went round to the rear of the clump with his dog and began beating the bushes with his stick, while the dog barked and yelped. a minute later a bear broke out of the bushes within four yards of alexis. the russian levelled his gun. godfrey heard a report far louder than usual, and something flew close to his head. a moment later he saw alexis struck to the ground by the bear. godfrey rushed up, and fired when within two paces of the animal, which with a fierce growl turned upon him. he sprang aside and plunged his spear deep into its side. the bear struck at the handle and broke it in two, and then rose on its hind-legs. godfrey drew his knife and awaited its rush, but it stood stationary for half a minute, swayed to and fro, and then fell on its side. godfrey leaned over it and plunged his knife in deep behind its shoulders, pressing it until the blade disappeared. then feeling certain it was dead he ran to alexis, who lay motionless on the ground. by the side of him lay the stock of the gun and a portion of the barrel; it had exploded, completely shattering the russian's left hand. but this was not his only or even his most serious injury. the bear had struck him on the side of the head, almost tearing off a portion of the scalp and ear. the buriat had by this time come round, and godfrey bade him run to the camp at the top of his speed to fetch assist- ance. feeling in his friend's pocket he drew out the band- age which alexis always carried, and wrapped up as well as he could his shattered hand, of which the thumb and two first fingers were altogether missing; the wound on the head was, he felt, altogether beyond him. in less than half an hour condemned as a nihilist the chief buriat and four of his men dashed up on horse- back. they had brought with them two poles and a hide to form a litter. the chief was deeply concerned when he saw how serious were the russian's injuries. no time was lost in lashing the hide to the poles. alexis was lifted and laid upon the litter, and two of the buriats took the poles while the others led back the horses. as soon as he arrived in camp godfrey bathed the wounds with warm water, and poured some spirits between the lips of the wounded man, but he gave no signs of consciousness. "i am afraid," he said to the buriat, who was looking on anxiously, "that his skull is injured or there is concussion of the brain. the only thing that i can see will be for him to be carried at once to kiakhta. there is sure to be a hospital there and doctors." "that would be best," the buriat said; "but i will take a house there, and my wife and sister shall nurse him." "that will be better than going into the hospital," godfrey agreed, "for two reasons. in the first, because alexis would certainly get more careful nursing among his friends than in a hospital, and he might then avoid, if he survives his injuries, being again imprisoned." no time was lost. four buriats took the poles, godfrey walked beside the litter, and the buriat, his wife and sister, mounted and rode off to have everything ready for them when they arrived at troitzkosavsk, the suburb of kiakhta. it was late before they reached it. the buriat met them half a mile outside the town, and at once conducted them to a house that he had hired from a friend established there. as soon as alexis was laid upon a couch godfrey and the buriat went out and ascertained where one of the surgeons of the military hospital lived. on reaching the house they were shown by the cossack who acted as the doctor's servant to his room. "a friend of mine has been badly injured by a bear," the buriat said; "i wish you to come and see him at once. he is in a house i have taken near this. i will be responsible for all charges." the buriat's child the doctor looked keenly at godfrey and then said, "i will come. you are not a buriat?" he said to godfrey as they started. "i am not, doctor; though i have been living with them for some time." "and the man who is ill, is he a buriat?" "no, sir; he is a russian, and a member of your own pro- fession." "he is clever," the buriat said. "he saved the life of my child by taking off his leg, and he is running about again now. he is as a brother to me, and i would gladly give a thousand cattle rather than that he should die." no other words were spoken until they arrived at the house. the surgeon stooped over alexis, lifted one of his eyelids, and felt his pulse. "concussion of the brain," he said; "a serious case. bring me rags and hot water." he bathed the wound for some time and then carefully examined it. "there is a fracture of the skull," he said to godfrey, "and i fancy there is a piece of bone pressing on the brain. put wet cloths round his head for the present; i will go and fetch my colleague, and i will send down some ice from the hospital. his hand is band- aged up, what is the matter with that?" "his gun burst, doctor, and has mangled his hand dread- fully. that was how it was the bear got at him and struck him." the surgeon removed the bandages and examined it. "keep it bathed with warm water until i return," he said. half an hour later he came back with the other surgeon, a man older than himself, both carrying cases of instruments. the wound on the head was again examined. they then proceeded to operate, and in a few minutes removed a portion of splintered bone. then the flap of skin was carefully re- placed in its position, and a few stitches put in to hold it. the hand was then attended to. "no, i don't think it need come off," the senior surgeon condemned as a nihilist said, "we may save the third and little fingers. at any rate we will try; if it does not do we can take the whole off after- wards." the operation was performed, then ordering the ice that had just been brought to be applied to the head, the surgeons left. "we will look in again early in the morning," one of them said to godfrey, "and then we will have a chat with you." the women took it by turns to watch, and godfrey, worn out by the excitement of the day, slept until morning. alexis was restless, moving uneasily and muttering to himself. his eyes were open, but he took no notice of what was going on around him. the surgeon they had first seen came alone. "he is better," he said to the buriat, "but he is very far from being out of danger yet. it will be a long illness, but i hope that we may be able to bring him round. i will send him some medicine presently. keep cloths with cold water and ice to his head." he beckoned to godfrey to follow him out of the room. "i don't want to ask any questions," he said, "about my patient. i have been called in by this buriat to see a friend of his, and it does not concern me who or what he may be; but it is different with you. as a russian officer i cannot be seeing you daily without reporting that i have met a person who scarcely appears to be what he seems. it is painful to me to be obliged to say so. i do not give advice any way. i only say that if you do not wish to be asked questions, it would be best for you to leave here after nightfall; until then, i shall not consider it necessary to make any report. i shall be back again once or twice to-day; you had better think the matter over." godfrey had been thinking the matter over as he walked beside the litter, and had already arrived at a decision. it was evident that many weeks, if not months, must elapse before alexis would be fit to sustain the hardships that would attend an attempt to escape, and he thought it probable that more than ever he would be inclined to throw in his lot with the the buriat's child wandering buriats; he had therefore only himself to think about. he had foreseen that he would not be able to stop at kiakhta without being exposed to being questioned, and that there remained therefore only the option of living with the buriats during the winter or of giving himself up. the former plan would be the most advantageous in the event of his try- ing to reach pekin; but the difficulties in that direction appeared to him so great that he shrank from the thought of facing them, especially as he should now be alone, and he preferred the idea of trying to escape by the north. in this case a further sojourn among the buriats would be useless; in a russian prison he would be able to pick up many valuable hints from the men with whom he would work, and might find someone ready to make the attempt with him. the difficulties of escape from prison did not seem very great, and would, he thought, be even less at one of the penal settlements than if confined in an ordinary jail. when, however, the doctor spoke to him, godfrey only thanked him, and said he would speak with him again when he next called. the buriat saw that he was looking serious when he returned to the room. "what did he say to you?" he asked. "did he threaten to report you?" "he spoke very kindly," godfrey replied. "but he said that it would be his duty to do so if i remained here." the buriat shook his head. "i was thinking of that yester- day, and was afraid for you. out on the plains there would have been none to question you; but here in the town a stranger is noticed at once, for every resident is known. you must make off at once. you can take my horse, we will watch over your friend. once in my tents you will be safe." godfrey thanked him warmly, but told him that he had not quite decided as to what he should do, but would let him know later on. then, as he could do nothing for alexis, he threw himself down on a pile of skins, and thought the matter over in every light. condemned as a nihlust chapter viii the mines of kara odfrey found it a difficult matter to decide what was was quite made up. he did not stand in the same position as alexis with the buriats. it was alexis who had laid them under such an obligation by saving their child's life. he himself was simply liked as the doctor's companion, and without alexis the long months of winter would be dreary indeed. he thought that imprisonment would be preferable to living alone in a buriat hut. accordingly he rose at last, and told the buriat that his course was decided. "i shall give myself up," he said. "i know that you would make me welcome in your tents; but from what you have told me, i see that there is no prospect whatever of an escape through china, and that if i go out to the plains i shall be there for life, while if i go to a prison i may in time be re- leased, or at any rate i can again escape." "whenever you come to us you will be welcome," the buriat said. "for yourself, you know best; but we shall be all sorry to lose you. is there anything i can do for you? i know the governor here, for i have had large dealings with him for sheep and cattle for the troops." "i shall be very glad if you will go with me to him," god- frey said. "a word from you may be of great advantage to me. there are no prisons here, and i am most anxious to be sent to nertchinsk and not to irkutsk, because it was from there we escaped." the buriat's wife and sister were sorry when they heard godfrey's determination, but they were too much occupied with alexis to try and dispute it. "when will you go?" the buriat said. ".at once, if you will take me. i have no preparations hours' thinking his mind the mines of kara to make; i only cause extra trouble here, and can be of no assistance. but first, if you will procure paper, pen, and ink, i will write a letter for you to give to alexis when he recovers, telling him why i leave him." the buriat sent out one of his men, who presently returned with writing materials, and godfrey then wrote a long letter to alexis, explaining at length the reasons that actuated him in deciding to give himself up. "you are in good hands," he said, "and i could do noth- ing for you; and in any case i should have to leave you now, for did i not give myself up i must leave this evening, therefore i could do no good to you in any case. i know that you were half inclined to stay with the buriats, and you will now have even greater reasons for doing so than before. if, however, you should at any future time change your mind and try to make your escape, i need not tell you how delighted i should be to see you in england. i inclose the address of my father's office, where you will be sure either to find me or to hear of me. but even if i have not got home you will receive the heartiest welcome when you tell him of our having been together and show him this letter, and you may rely upon it that my father will be able to procure a situation for you in london, even if he cannot find a berth for you in his own house of business." when he had finished he handed the letter to the buriat to give to alexis. "here is money," the buriat said, "which my wife found upon alexis. you had better take it with you." "i cannot do that," godfrey said, "it is his; i have some of my own. i know he would gladly give it to me if he were conscious; but i cannot take it now." "very well," the buriat said, "you are doubtless right; but at any rate you can take some from me. i am rich. i have many thousands of sheep and cattle. if you do not take it i shall be offended, and shall think that in some way we have displeased you. a thousand roubles are nothing to me; condemned as a nihilist i have given as much for one suit of furs for my wife. you must take this; if you ever attempt to escape again, you will need money." after much debate godfrey accepted five hundred roubles in notes, seeing that the buriat would be really pained by his refusal, and knowing that the money would indeed be useful to him when he next tried to make his escape. being anx- ious to hear the surgeon's next report about alexis, godfrey delayed his start until after his visit. "there is no change," the doctor said, after examining his patient, "nor did i expect there would be after such seri- ous injuries as he has received. it would be strange, indeed, if he did not suffer from the shock. it may be some days before any change takes place. it is vastly better that he should be restless, or even wildly delirious than lying uncon- scious as he was when i first saw him. well, and what are you going to do, young fellow?" "i am going to give myself up," he said. "you have had enough of the plains, eh?" "yes, sir, for the present." "mind, don't be foolish enough to say that you have escaped; there is not the least occasion for that; that would make the case a great deal worse." "my friend here was going with me to the governor, doctor, to tell him that i have been living with him for some time." "yes, that is all well enough; but if you give yourself up it is a confession that you have escaped; that won't do at all. i tell you what will be the best thing: i will go with you to colonel prescoff, the governor. i shall tell him the truth, that i was attending one of the buriat's men, who had been badly injured by a bear, when i saw you there. i found that you could not give a good account of yourself, and had no papers, and that, therefore, as was my duty, i brought you to him. then you must say that you have been working here and there, and that you come from, say, tomsk. i suppose you have been there?" condemned as a nihilist through the country. we understand what that means. how- ever, our friend here," and he motioned to the buriat, "speaks well of you, and says that you have done him some service. however that cannot be taken into consideration. it is clear that having no papers and no domicile, you are a vagabond, and as such must be committed to prison. you will be taken to nertchinsk." godfrey bowed. the colonel touched the bell again, and the orderly entered. "take this man to the cells." the buriat stepped forward and shook hands with godfrey. "come again," he said in a low voice, "you will always be welcome." the doctor nodded. "i shall see you before you start," he said. godfrey saluted the colonel and followed the orderly out of the room. he was taken across a court-yard to a cell. "a good style of young fellow," the colonel said when he left. "he has either been an officer and got into some scrape with his colonel, or he is a political." "one or the other, colonel, no doubt," the doctor agreed. "well, it is no business of mine," the colonel said. "i suppose he has had four or five months in the woods and wants to get into snug quarters again before winter. well, good morning, gentlemen!" and his visitors took their leave. late in the evening the doctor came into godfrey's cell. "by the bye," he said, "i put your name down as ivan hol- stoff. it was as good as any other, and you had to be entered by some name. i feared that you might blurt out your own whatever it may be, and that might be fatal, for if you are a political prisoner your name will have been sent to every station where there are troops." "i am very much obliged to you, doctor, for your kind- ness," godfrey said. "i will take care to remain ivan holstoff. how much am i to pay for the carriage?" "your friend the buriat has seen to that, and handed the governor money for a vehicle there and back, as the soldier in charge of you will have to return." the mines ok kara "it is very good of him," godfrey said gratefully. "please tell him when you see him how much obliged i am to him for his kindness to me." "i think my patient will do," the doctor said. "he is quieter and less feverish this evening. i think he will pull round; and now good-bye! i think you have done right in giving yourself up. you are but a lad yet, and with good conduct, now that you are entered only as a vagabond, you will get leave to work outside the prison in two or three years, and get a permit to settle anywhere in siberia a couple of years later." the next morning at daybreak godfrey was placed in a vehicle. a soldier mounted by the side of the driver, the latter shouted to his horses, and started at full gallop. soon after leaving the town they passed a caravan of forty carts carrying tea. the soldier, who appeared a chatty fellow, told him they would be three months on their way to moscow. at a town named verchne udinsk they regained the main road and turned east and continued their journey through chita, a town of three thousand inhabitants, to nertchinsk, a distance of six hundred miles. the country was hilly, and for the most part wooded, but varied at times by rolling prairies on which large herds of cattle were grazing. the journey was far more pleasant than that godfrey had before made, for being no longer regarded as a political prisoner his guard chatted with him freely; and at night, instead of having to sleep in the vehicle in the open air, he was lodged in the convict stations, which, as the season was late, were for,the most part unoccupied. he was glad, however, when he arrived at nertchinsk, for the jolting of the springless vehicle was very trying. he did not see the governor of the prison, but was at once assigned to a cell there on the guard handing to the authorities the official report of the governor at kiakhta. "you are to go on again to-morrow," the warder said to him that evening. "we are full here, and there is a party going on to kara. you will go with them. the barber will condemned as a nihilist be here to shave you directly. you have not been out very long, judging by the length of your hair. here is your prison dress. you must put that on to-morrow instead of the one you have on, but you may carry yours with you if you like, it will be useful to you when your term in the prison is done." accordingly the next morning godfrey was taken into the court-yard, where some fifty other prisoners were assembled, and ten minutes later marched off under a guard of eight mounted cossacks. he carried his peasant's clothes and fur coat rolled up into a bundle on his shoulder, and had, after he changed his dress, sewn up his money in the collar of his jacket with a needle and thread he had brought with him, keeping out some twenty roubles for present purposes. the journey occupied five days, the marches averaging twenty-five miles apiece. the prisoners talked and sung by the way, picked the blackberries and raspberries that grew thickly on the bushes by the wayside, and at night slept in the stations, their food consisting of very fair broth, with cabbage in it, meat, and black bread. godfrey was asked no questions. he did not know whether this was because the convicts thought only of themselves, and had no curiosity about their companions, or whether it was a sort of etiquette observed among them. godfrey was surprised to find how much the country differed from the ideas he had formed of siberia. the forests were beautiful with a great variety of foliage. late lilies bloomed by the roadside with flowers of other kinds, of whose names he was ignorant. to the north was a chain of hills of considerable height. the forest was alive with birds, and he frequently caught sight of squirrels running about among the branches. no objection was offered by the guards to their making purchases at the villages through which they passed, except that they would not allow them to buy spirits. at the first opportunity godfrey laid out four or five roubles in tea and tobacco, some of which he presented to the guards, and divided the rest among his fellow-prisoners, who forthwith dubbed him "the count." at length kara was the mines of kara reached. it was not a town, but purely a convict settlement, the prisoners being divided among four or five prisons situ- ated two or three miles from each other. they were first marched to the most central of these. here they were in- spected by the governor, who had the details of each case reported by the authorities of the prisons they had left. they were at once divided into parties in accordance with the vacancies in the various prisons. only four were left behind. these were taken to a guard- room until allotted to the various wards. one by one they were taken out, godfrey being the last to be summoned. he was conducted to a room in which several convicts were seated writing; through this a long passage led to the governor's room. "you are known as ivan holstoff," the governor said when the warder had retired. "yes, sir." "age?" "seventeen." "charged with being a vagabond, found without papers or documents, and unable to give a satisfactory account of your- self." godfrey bowed. the colonel glanced through the paper by his side signed by the governor at kiakhta, and saying that the prisoner had been most favourably reported upon by a wealthy buriat, a government contractor with whom he had been living out on the plains. "you persist in giving no further account of yourself?" the governor asked. "i would rather say nothing further, sir," godfrey replied. "you are not a russian," the governor said sharply. "i am a russian born," the lad replied. "you speak with a slight accent." "i was away for some years from my country," godfrey replied. "i suppose you would call yourself a student?" condemned as a nihilist "yes, sir, i was a student until lately." "you are a young lad to have got yourself into trouble. how was it? do not tell me what crime you are charged with, but you can tell me anything else. it will go no far- ther, and there will be no record of what you say." godfrey liked the officer's face. it was stern, but sternness is a necessity when a man is in charge of some three thousand prisoners, the greater proportion of whom are desperate men; but there was a kindness in the half-smile with which he spoke. "i am here, sir, from pure misfortune. i have no doubt most people you question declare they are innocent, and i do not expect you to believe me. the facts against me were very strong, so strong that i believe any jury would have con- victed me upon them, but in spite of that i was innocent. i behaved like a fool, and was made the dupe of others, but beyond that i have nothing whatever to blame myself for or to regret." "it may be as you say," colonel konovovitch said. "i am not here to revise sentences, but to see them carried out. conduct yourself well, lad, and in two years you will get a permit to reside outside the prison. three years later you will be practically free, and can go where you like in siberia and earn your living in any way you choose. many of the richest men in the country have been convicts. i shall keep an eye on you, and shall make matters as easy for you as i can." he touched the bell, and the warder re-entered and led godfrey away. the colonel sat for some little time in thought. he liked the lad's face and his manner, which, although per- fectly respectful, had none of the servility with which russians generally address their superiors. "he did not say that he was a russian," he said to himself, "only that he was born in russia. i should say from his appearance and manner that he was english. what was he sent out here for, i wonder? he may have been a clerk and been condemned for forgery the mines of kara or embezzlement. he may have been a political prisoner, most likely that i should say. he may have got mixed up in some of these nihilist plots; if so, he has done well to become a vagabond. i can't help thinking he was speaking the truth when he declared he was innocent. well, perhaps in the long run it will be the best for him. a clerk's lot is not a very bright one, and i should say he is likely to make his way anywhere. he has a hard two years' time before him , among those scoundrels, but i should think he is likely to hold his own." then he dismissed the subject from his thoughts and turned to a pile of papers before him. godfrey, on leaving the presence of the governor, was taken by the warder to one of the prison blocks, and was handed over to the prison official in charge of it. he was taken to a small room and there furnished with a bag in which to keep his underclothing and other effects. "you will use this bag for a pillow at night," the official said. "what money you have you can either give to me to take charge of for you, or can hand it over to the head man of the room to lay out for you as you require it, or you can keep it yourself. if you choose to hold it yourself you had better keep a very sharp look-out; not that there are any pro- fessional thieves here, it is only for very serious offences that men are sent east of irkutsk." godfrey thanked the official, but said that what little he had he might as well keep with him. his money in paper was safely hidden in the lining of his convict jacket, and as he knew that that would be worn by night as well as by day, it was perfectly safe there. he was provided with some flannel shirts and other underclothing. "i see you have underclothing of your own," the official said; "but of course you have the regular allowance given you; if you run short of money you can sell them. now come along with me." godfrey was led into a large room, where the scene some- condemned as a nihilist what widely differed from what he had pictured to himself would be the interior of a prison at the dreaded mines of kara. the room was large and fairly lofty; the walls were clean and whitewashed; down both sides ran benches, six feet wide, similar to one he had seen in an english guard-house. there were some sixty men in the room; some of these were lying upon the bed-places smoking pipes, others were sitting on them talking together or mending their clothes, and several parties were engaged in card-playing. save for the ugly gray uniforms with the coloured patches in the centre of the back, significant of the term of imprisonment to which their wearers had been sentenced, and the strangely shaved heads of those present, he might have been in a singularly free-and-easy barrack-room. most of the men looked up as the official entered. "a new comrade," he said. "mikail stomoff, do you take him in your charge"; and having said this he at once left the room. mikail stomoff, a big powerful man, came across to god- frey. he was the starosta or head man of the ward, elected to the position by the votes of his fellow-prisoners. it was his duty to keep order and prevent quarrelling, andlto see that the ward was swept out and kept tidy. he transacted all business for the prisoners, made their purchases outside, and was generally the intermediary between them and the authori- ties. in return for all this he was free from labour at the mines. "well, my lad," he said, "you began early. how long are you in for, and what have you done?" "i am in here for being a vagabond," godfrey said, "and i believe the punishment for that is five years." "a vagabond, eh? we have not many of them here. the wanderers generally work their way west. however, i dare- say you had your reasons, and i don't know that you are not right, for most of us prefer hard work here to the dulness of the prisons in the west. now, lad," he went on, dropping the mines of kara his voice, "if you have got any money do not say a word about it. you will be robbed to a certainty if you keep it yourself. the best thing you can do is to hand it over to me, and i will take care of it for you." godfrey nodded, and putting his hand in his pocket pulled out the ten-rouble note he had set aside, and two or three smaller notes, and slipped them into the man's hand. "you can have it out as you want it," the man said; "and anything you want outside i can get for you out of it. the only thing prohibited is vodka." some of the other men came round, and godfrey thought he had never seen more villainous faces. some of them were heavy, stolid, and stupid; others were fierce and passionate. "he is a vagabond," mikail said to them. "i don't know what he has been before that, and if he is wise," and he gave a significant glance at godfrey, "he will keep that to himself." "i should say he had been a political," one of the men said in a tone of contempt, for there was a certain jealousy of the politicals among the convict class; because, although their lot was really much harder than that of ordinary convicts, they were allowed to retain their own clothes, were lodged sepa- rately, and were almost all men of education, and in many cases of noble family. the feeling was evidenced by the indifference with which the rest of the men strolled away again when they heard the suggestion. "how do they all get tobacco?" godfrey asked the starosta. "is it part of the rations? surely the money they may have when they come in here must soon be spent." "we may buy the tobacco," mikail said. "every man has something for his work. they pretend it is half the value of the work we do, but of course we know better than that. still we all get something each day, and can spend it as we like. i don't think they allow smoking in the western prisons, but they do in all those east of irkutsk. the authori- ties encourage it, indeed, for it is considered healthy and keeps away fever. there are no fevers in summer, but in condemned as a nihilist winter, from so many men being shut up together, the air gets bad and sometimes we have outbreaks of fever." "but where do you buy your tobacco?" "people come to the prison gates and sell it as we come back from work. you can buy anything except vodka, and you can buy that, though not openly; it gets smuggled in." "how many hours do you work a day?" "thirteen; but of course it is only for five months in the year. in winter the ground is too hard." "too hard!" godfrey repeated. "why, it never gets cold in mines." "you don't think you are going to work underground, do you?" the man said; "there are very few underground mines here. it is all on the surface. there are some underground, because i have worked in them. i would rather work there than here. they can't look after you so sharp, and you can take it as easily as you like." godfrey looked astonished. his ideas of the siberian mines had been taken from stories written by men who had never been within thousands of miles of them, and who drew terrible pictures of the sufferings of exiles simply for the pur- pose of exciting feeling throughout europe against the russian government. "but it is very unhealthy in the mines underground, is it not?" "no; why should it be? it is much cooler and pleasanter working underground than it is in the dust and heat, i can tell you." "but i thought all quicksilver mines were unhealthy." "quicksilver!" the man repeated; "there is not a quick- silver mine in all siberia. there is gold and silver, but don't believe there is a place where quicksilver is found. anyhow there is not one that is worked. they have been gammoning you, young fellow." "well, they have gammoned a good many other people too," godfrey said. "i know i have read frightful accounts of the sufferings of prisoners in quicksilver mines." the mines of kara "who wrote them?" mikail asked. "there are a few convicts who may years afterwards be proved innocent, and allowed to return to russia, but they are not the sort that would write lies about this place, for if they did they would soon find themselves on the road again. there are not a dozen men who have ever made their escape. some of them may have invented lies for the sake of getting pity, and make themselves out to be hard used. have you ever read any books by them?" "only one," godfrey said. "it was written by baron rosen; he was a political prisoner who was pardoned after being here a great many years. he described the life of political prisoners, of course, and even that was not very bad. many of them had their wives with them, and they seem to have lived together pretty comfortably." "ah! well, i don't think a political prisoner who came here now would say as much. they are sent to lonely settle- ments, many of them up at yakutsk; though, of course, there are some down here. it is a horribly dull life. some of them do work in the mines, but they are better off than those who have no work to do at all. i would rather be in for murder a hundred times than be a political; and what name do you go by, young fellow?" "i am entered as ivan holstoff." "that will do well enough. don't you be fool enough to tell anyone what your real name is. there are sneaks here as well as elsewhere who are glad enough to curry favour so as to get easy jobs, or to be let out sooner than they otherwise would be, by acting as spies; so you keep your real name to yourself. if it got to the ears of the governor he might find out what prison you escaped from and what you were in for, and if you were a political you would either be sent back there, or put with the politicals here, so keep it to yourself." "shall i give you my watch?" "yes, i think you had better. it would be of no good to anyone who took it as long as he was in here, but he would be condemned as a nihilist able to sell it when he went to live outside. i will take care of it for you. i have got a safe where i keep the money and things locked. "we have got to work, and pretty hard, but i tell you we are a good bit better off than they are in the prisons of russia. we have got plenty to eat, though i cannot say much for its niceness; anyhow we are a long way better fed than the sol- diers who look after us; but here comes the food." a warder brought in a huge tray upon which were placed bowls of a sort of soup, while two others brought baskets piled up with huge chunks of black bread. mikail took from a cup- board a spoon, and gave it to godfrey. "you keep this for yourself," he said; "we don't have knives and forks, and do not want them." "is this a day's allowance of bread?" godfrey asked, as he took hold of one of the lumps. "no. you get as much as that in the morning. our allow- ance is four pounds a day, two in the morning and two in the evening. the evening bread generally lasts for evening and morning soup, and we take the morning bread away with us to eat in the middle of the day." godfrey sat down on the edge of the bed bench and ate his supper. as he looked at the men more carefully he saw that there were greater differences between them than he had at first noticed. some of them he judged to have been gentle- men, and he afterwards found that there were three or four who had been officers in the army, but sentenced for grave military crimes. there were half a dozen in for forgery or embezzlement, and over thirty for murder. some among the prisoners were tartars. these were all in for murder or robbery with violence. "where am i to sleep?" he presently asked mikail. "i sleep in that corner next to the wall. put your bag next to mine. they are not so likely to play tricks with you then." godfrey was not sorry to lay himself down on the boards. there was no attempt at undressing on the part of any of the the mines of kara convicts. he would have thought the bed a very hard one a few months since; but he was now well contented with it, though he would have preferred rather more room on each side. "i suppose i ought to feel very miserable," he said to him- self. "i can't make out why i don't. here am i shut up with about a hundred as villainous-looking fellows as one could want to see—something like half of them murderers, all desperate criminals. i ought to be down in the dumps. it seems unnatural that i shouldn't be. i suppose i have a sort of mark tapley disposition, and get jolly under difficulties. of course i should feel it more if i hadn't made up my mind to escape somehow. the colonel seems a good sort of fellow, and even the prisoners speak well of him. then it is a com- fort to hear that all that talk about the quicksilver mines was a lie, and the work is going to be no worse than a gold-digger would have in california or a nawy at home. there is no great hardship about that, at any rate for a time. if it was not for the thought of how horribly anxious they must be at home about me, i should not mind. it will be something to talk about all one's life. the first thing for me to do is to learn from the others as much as possible about the country. i have learned a lot about the geography of siberia from alexis, and have got a good idea about all the rivers. i dare- say i shall learn a good deal more from some of these men. another thing is to pick up as much of their language as i can from these tartar fellows. they seem to be scattered pretty well all over the country. at least i have seen some of them all the way i have gone. i know there are other tribes. those fishing chaps they call ostjaks are the ones i should have most to do with. i expect one could get on with them if one happened to get them in the right vein. i sup- pose they speak some sort of dialect like that of these tartars. at any rate i should think it would be sure to be near enough for the natives to understand each other. i believe russian helps with all these languages, for the russians are themselves condemned as a nihilist only civilised tartars. at any rate one of the first things to be done is to learn to speak the language, and i should be able to learn a lot about the country from them too. i have got eight or nine months before one can think of making a start, for of course it must be done in the spring. it is the end of september now, though i have lost all account of the days of the month." so he lay thinking for a long time, always confidently and hopefully. soon after daylight the convicts were astir. "is there any place where we can get water to wash?" he asked mikail. "there is a tap and a trough out there in the yard," the man said, looking somewhat surprised at the request. godfrey hurried out, threw off his jacket and shirt, turned the tap on to his head, and enjoyed a thorough sluice. feel- ing vastly better for the wash, he slipped on his things again and went into the room. he was not surprised now that he had woke with something like a headache, for the air of the room was close and unwholesome. breakfast similar to the supper the night before was soon served. godfrey had plenty of bread left from the evening before, and put the piece now served out to him under his jacket. half an hour later the convicts, ranged two and two, started for the mines. the distance was five miles. the heavy tools were taken in carts drawn by horses, and a guard of soldiers with loaded muskets marched beside the line. the mine was a large open cutting, and the prisoners were employed in digging the sand and carrying it on hand-barrows to the place where it was to be washed. the work was not entirely performed by prisoners, as there were many free labourers also employed. godfrey was given a shovel, and his work consisted in loading the sand and gravel, as the pick- men got it down, on to the barrows. being unaccustomed to work, his back ached and his hands were blistered by the end of the day; but he knew, from his experience in rowing, that this would pass off before long. at any rate the labour was far the mines of kara easier than he had anticipated. he had expected to see over- seers with whips, but there was nothing of the sort. a few men directed the labour, and spoke sharply enough if they saw any of the prisoners shirking, but there was nothing to distin- guish it from any other work of the kind, save the cossack guards here and there leaning upon their muskets, and cer- tainly the men worked no harder than ordinary labourers would do. indeed, when the time was up and the prisoners started on their return towards the prison, the free labourers con- tinued their work, and would do so, he afterwards learned, for some hours, as it would take a considerable time for all the sand obtained during the day to be thoroughly washed up and the gold extracted. godfrey had at first looked narrowly at the sand as he shovelled it, for specks of gold, but had seen none; and indeed the proportion of gold at the mines of kara was so small that they would not have paid if worked by free labour; but the produce served to lessen the expenses of the prisons, and the mines afforded work to the convicts. the prisoners were not forbidden to talk, and godfrey, who had happened to be placed next to a young fellow of the better class, learned a good many particulars as to the mines. he had seen no women at them, and asked if they were not em- ployed at that labour. "i never heard of such a thing," the other said. "they have to work; they wash and mend our clothes, and scrub the floors, and help the cooks, but that is all. after working for a certain time, according to the length of their sentence, they are allowed to live out of prison, and after a still further time are at liberty to settle down anywhere in siberia they choose." "have you been here long?" godfrey asked. "i have been here three years," he said, "and i should be out by this time if i had not run away last year." "how did you get on?" "i got on well enough till the cold weather came. there are plenty of berries in the woods, and besides we occasion- ally came down and stole things from the carts waiting at condemned as a nihilist night at the post-houses. we got a chest of tea once, and that lasted us all through the summer. there were ten of us together. besides that, the people all along the road are very good to escaped prisoners. they dare not give them any- thing, because, if it were known they did so, they would be severely punished; but on the window-sill of almost every house is placed at night a plate with food on it, in case any wanderer should come along. of course when winter came i had to give myself up." "do you think escape altogether is possible?" "i don't say that it is not possible, for some have done it; but i suppose for every one who has tried it, hundreds have died. there is no living in the mountains in winter. men do get free. there are a great many private mines, and in some of these they ask no questions, but are glad enough to engage anyone who comes along. after working there as a free labourer for a couple of years it is comparatively easy to move somewhere else, and in time one may even settle down as a free labourer in a town; but there is no getting right away then, for no one can leave siberia without a passport giving particulars of all his life. "you are not thinking of trying, are you? because, if you will take my advice, you won't. it is all very well to go out for a summer holiday, but that is a very different thing from attempting an escape. i was a fool to try it, but i had such a longing to be in the woods that i could not help it. so now i shall be obliged to work here for a couple of years longer before i can live outside the prison. i am here for knocking down my colonel. we were both in love with the same girl. she liked me best, and her father liked him best. he was a tyrannical brute. one day he insulted me before her, and i knocked him down. i was tried for that, and he trumped up a lot of other charges against me; and there was no difficulty in getting plenty of hounds to swear to them. so you see here i am with a ten years' sentence. i don't know that i am not lucky." the mines of kara "how is that?" godfrey asked. "there were half a dozen fellows in the regiment—i was one of them—who ventured to think for themselves. we had secret meetings, and were in communication with men of other regiments. well, i was sent off before anything came of it. but they got hold of the names of the others when they ar- rested some nihilists at kieff, and they were all sent out here for life. i met one of them a few months back, and he told me so. so you see it was rather lucky that i knocked down the colonel when i did. besides, it is ever so much better to be a convict than a political. i don't know how it was you had the luck to get turned in with us. i can tell you there is no comparison between their lot and ours. still it is hateful, of course, living among such a gang as these fellows." "they look pretty bad," godfrey said. "bad is not the word for it," the other said. "a man i know who works as a clerk in the office told me that there are about two thousand two hundred prisoners in the six prisons of kara, but of these only about a hundred and fifty are women. they are even worse than the men, for of the hun- dred and fifty there are a hundred and twenty-five murderesses, and of the others twelve are classed as vagabonds, and i sup- pose most of these are murderesses too. out of the two thousand men there are about six hundred and seventy mur- derers. that is not such a big proportion as among the women, though, as there are nearly seven hundred classed as vagabonds, you would not be far wrong if you put down every other man as a murderer." "it is horrible," godfrey said. "well, it is not pleasant; but you must remember that a great many of these murderers may be otherwise pretty honest fellows. a great many of them have killed a man or woman when mad with vodka; some of the others have done it in a fit of jealousy; a few perhaps out of vengeance for some great wrong. the rest, i grant, are thoroughly bad. "by the way, my name is osip ivanoff. there are two or condemned as a nihilist three decent fellows in our ward. i will introduce you to them this evening. it makes it pleasanter keeping together. we have got some cards, and that helps pass away the summer evenings. in winter it is too dark to play. there is only one candle in the ward; so there is nothing for it but to lay up and go to sleep as soon as it gets dark. there is the prison. i daresay you won't be sorry when you are back. the first ihree or four days' work is always trying." chapter ix prison life godfrey found that there was no sunday break in the work at kara, but that once a fortnight the whole of the occupants of the ward had baths, and upon these days no work was done. upon a good many saints' days they also rested; so that, practically, they had a holiday about once in every ten days. for his own part he would have been glad had the work gone on without these breaks. when the men started for work at five in the morning, and returned to the prison at seven at night, the great majority, after smoking a pipe or two, turned in at once, while upon the days when there was no work quarrels were frequent; and, what was to him still more objectionable, men told stories of their early lives, and seemed proud rather than otherwise of the horrible crimes they had committed. his own time did not hang at all heavy upon his hands. one of the tartar prisoners who spoke russian was glad enough to agree, in exchange for a sufficient amount of tobacco to enable him to smoke steadily while so employed, to teach him his own dialect. godfrey found, as he had ex- pected, a sufficient similarity between the two languages to prison life assist him very greatly, and with two hours' work every even- ing, and a long bout on each holiday, he made rapid progress with it, especially as he got into the habit of going over and over again through the vocabulary of all the words he had learned, while he was at work in the mine. when not em- ployed with the tartar he spent his time in conversation with osip ivanoff and the little group of men of the same type. they spent much of their time in playing cards, whist being a very popular game in russia. they often invited godfrey to join them, but his mind was so much occupied with his own plans that he felt quite unable to give the requisite attention to the game. he soon learnt the methods by which order and discipline were maintained in the prisons. for small offences the pun- ishment was a decrease in the rations, the prohibition of smok- ing—the prisoners' one enjoyment—and confinement to the room. the last part of the sentence was that which the prisoners most disliked. so far from work being hardship, the break which it afforded to the monotony of their life ren- dered the privation of it the severest of punishments, and godfrey learned that there was the greatest difficulty in getting men to accept the position of starosta, in spite of the privi- leges and power the position gave, because he did not go out to work. for more serious offences men were punished by a flogging, more or less severe, with birch rods. for this, how- ever, they seemed to care very little, although sometimes incapacitated for doing work for some days, from the effects of the beating. lastly, for altogether exceptional crimes, or for open out- breaks of insubordination, there was the plete—flogging with a whip of twisted hide, fastened to a handle ten inches long and an inch thick. the lash is at first the same thickness as the handle, tapering for twelve inches, and then divided into three smaller lashes, each twenty-five inches long and about the thickness of the little finger. this terrible weapon is in use only at three of the siberian prisons, of which kara is condemned as a nihilist one. from twenty to twenty-five lashes are given, and the punishment is considered equivalent to a sentence to death, as in many cases the culprit survives the punishment but a short time. the prisoners were agreed that at kara the punishment of the plete was extremely rare, only being given for the mur- der of a convict or official by one of the convicts. the quarrels among the prisoners, although frequent, and attended by great shouting and gesticulation, very rarely came to blows, the russians having no idea of using their fists, and the con- tests, when it came to that, being little more than a tussle, with hair pulling and random blows. had the prisoners had knives or other weapons ready to hand, the results would have been very different. godfrey had not smoked until he arrived at kara; but he found that in the dense atmosphere of the prison room it was almost necessary, and therefore took to it. besides smoking being allowed as useful to ward off fevers and improve the health of the prisoners, it also had the effect of adding to their contentment, rendering them more easy of management, as the fear of the smoking being cut off did more to ensure ready obedience than even the fear of the stick. tea was not among the articles of prison diet; but a samovar was always kept going by mikail, and the tea sold to the prisoners at its cost price, and the small sum paid to the convicts sufficed to provide them with this and with tobacco. vodka was but seldom smuggled in, the difficulty of bring- ing it in being great, and the punishment of those detected in doing so being severe. at times, however, a supply was brought in, being carried, as godfrey found, in skins similar to those used for sausages, filled with the spirit and wound round and round the body. these were generally brought in when one or other of the prisoners had received a remittance, as most of them were allowed to receive a letter once every three months; and these letters, in the case of men who had once been in a good position, generally contained money. this privilege was only allowed to men after two years' un- broken good conduct. prison life godfrey's teacher in the tartar language had been recom- mended to him by osip as being the most companionable of the tartar prisoners. he was a young fellow of three or four and twenty, short and sturdy, like most of his race, and with a good-natured expression in his flat face. he was in for life, having in a fit of passion killed a russian officer who had struck him with a whip. he came from the neighbourhood of kasan in the far west. godfrey took a strong liking to him, and it was not long before he conceived the idea that when he made his escape he would, if possible, take luka with him. such companionship would be of immense advan- tage, and would greatly diminish the difficulties of the jour- ney. as for luka, he became greatly attached to his pupil. the tartars were looked down upon by their fellow-prisoners, and the terms of equality with which godfrey chatted with them, and his knowledge of the world, which seemed to the tartar to be prodigious, made him look up to him with un- bounded respect. the friendship was finally cemented by an occurrence that took place three months after godfrey arrived at the prison. among the convicts was a man named kobylin, a man of great strength. he boasted that he had committed ten murders, and was always bullying and tyrannising the quieter and weaker prisoners. one day he passed where luka and godfrey were sitting on the edge of the plank bed talking together. luka happened to get up just as he came along, and kobylin gave him a violent push, saying, "get out of the way, you misera- ble little tartar dog." luka fell with his head against the edge of the bench, and lay for a time half stunned. godfrey leapt to his feet, and springing forward struck the bully a right-handed blow straight from the shoulder. the man staggered back several paces, and fell over the opposite bench. then, with a shout of fury, he recovered his feet and rushed at godfrey, with his arms extended to grasp him; but the lad, who had been one of the best boxers at shrewsbury, awaited his onset calmly, and, mak- condemned as a nihilist ing a spring forward just as kobylin reached him, landed a blow, given with all his strength and the impetus of his spring, under the russian's chin, and the man went backwards as if he had been shot. a roar of applause broke from the convicts. mikail rushed forward, but godfrey said to him: "let us alone, mikail. this fellow has been a nuisance in the ward ever since i came. it is just as well that he should have a lesson. i sha'n't do him any harm. just leave us alone for a minute or two; he won't want much more." the russian rose slowly to his feet, bewildered and half stupefied by the blow and fall. he would probably have done nothing more; but, maddened by the taunts and jeers of the others, he gathered himself together and renewed the attack, but he in vain attempted to seize his active opponent. god- frey eluded his furious rushes, and before he could recover himself, always succeeded in getting in two or three straight blows, and at last met him, as in his first rush, and knocked him off his feet. . by this time kobylin had had enough of it, and sat on the floor bewildered and crestfallen. everything that a russian peasant does not understand savours to him of magic; and that he, kobylin, should have been thus vanquished by a mere lad seemed altogether beyond nature. he could not under- stand how it was that he had been unable to grasp his foe, or how that, like a stroke of lightning, these blows had shot into his face. even the jeering and laughter of his companions failed to stir him. the russian peasant is accustomed to be beaten, and is humble to those who are his masters. kobylin rose slowly to his feet. "you have beaten me," he said humbly. "i do not know how; forgive me; i was wrong. i am ignorant, and did not know." "say no more about it," godfrey replied. "we have had a quarrel, and there is an end of it. there need be no malice. we are all prisoners here together, and it is not right that one godfrey punishes kollylin in the convict prison prison life should bully others because he happens to be a little stronger. there are other things besides strength. you behaved badly, and you have been punished. let us smoke our pipes, and think no more about it." the sensation caused in the ward by the contest was prodig- ious, and the victory of this lad was as incomprehensible to the others as to kobylin himself. the rapidity with which the blows were delivered, and the ease with which godfrey had evaded the rushes of his opponent, seemed to them, as to him, almost magical, and from that moment they regarded godfrey as being possessed of some strange power, which placed him altogether apart from themselves. osip and the other men of the same stamp warmly congratulated godfrey. "what magic is this?" osip said, taking him by the shoul- ders and looking with wonder at him. "i have been thinking you but a lad, and yet that strong brute is as a child in your hands. it is the miracle of david and goliath over again." "it is simply skill against brute force, osip. i may tell you, what i have not told anyone before since i came here, that my mother was english. i did not say so, because, as you may guess, i feared that were it known and reported it might be traced who i was, and then, instead of being merely classed as a vagabond, i should be sent back to the prison i escaped from, and be put among another class of prisoners." "i understand, ivan. of course i have all along felt sure you were a political prisoner; and i thought, perhaps, you might have been a student in switzerland, which would ac- count for you having ideas different to other people." "no, i was sent for a time to a school in england, and there i learned to box." "so, that is your english boxing," osip said. "i have heard of it, but i never thought it was anything like that. why, he never once touched you." "if he had, i should have got the worst of it," godfrey laughed; "but there was nothing in it. size and weight go for very little in boxing; and a man knowing nothing about it condemned as a nihilist has not the smallest chance against a fair boxer who is active on his legs." "but you did not seem to be exerting yourself," osip said. "you were as cool and as quiet as if you had been shovelling sand. you even laughed when he rushed at you." "that is the great point of boxing, osip. one learns to keep cool, and to have one's wits about one; for anyone who loses his temper has but a poor chance indeed against another who keeps cool. moreover a man who can box well will always keep his head in all times of danger and difficulty. it gives him nerve and self-confidence, and enables him at all times to protect the weak against the strong." "just as you did now," osip said. "well, i would not have believed it if i had not seen it. i am sure we all feel obliged to you for having taken down that fellow kobylin. he and a few others have been a nuisance for some time. you may be sure there will be no more trouble with them after the lesson you have given." luka's gratitude to godfrey was unbounded, and from that , time he would have done anything on his behalf, while the respect with which he had before regarded him was redoubled. therefore when one day godfrey said to him, "when the spring comes, luka, i mean to try to escape, and i shall take you with me," the tartar considered it to be a settled thing, and was filled with a deep sense of gratitude that his com- panion should deem him worthy of sharing in his perils. winter set in in three weeks after godfrey reached kara, and the work at the mine had to be abandoned. as much employment as possible was made for the convicts. some were sent out to aid in bringing in the trees that had been felled during the previous winter for firewood, others sawed the wood up and split it into billets for the stoves, other par- ties went out into the forest to fell trees for the next winter's fires. some were set to whitewash the houses, a process that was done five times a year; but in spite of all this there was not work for half the number. the time hung very heavily on prison life the hands of those who were unemployed. godfrey was not of this number, for as soon as the work at the mine terminated he received an order to work in the office as a clerk. he warmly appreciated this act of kindness on the part of the commandant. it removed him from the constant com- panionship of the convicts, which was now more unpleasant than before, as during the long hours of idleness quarrels were frequent and the men became surly and discontented. be- sides this he received regular pay for his work, and this was of importance, as it was necessary to start upon such an under- taking as he meditated with as large a store of money as pos- sible. he had, since his arrival, refused to join in any of the proposals for obtaining luxuries from outside. the supply of food was ample, for in addition to the bread and soup there was, three or four times a week, an allowance of meat, and his daily earnings in the mines were sufficient to pay for tobacco and tea. even the ten roubles he had handed over to mikail remained untouched. one reason why he was particularly glad at being promoted to the office was that he had observed, upon the day when he first arrived, a large map of siberia hanging upon the wall; and although he had obtained from alexis and others a fair idea of the position of the towns and various convict settle- ments, he knew nothing of the wild parts of the country through which he would have to pass, and the inhabited por- tion formed but a small part indeed of the whole. during the winter months he seized every opportunity, when for a few minutes he happened to be alone in the office, to study the map and to obtain as accurate an idea as possible of the ranges of mountains. one day, when the colonel was out, and the other two clerks were engaged in taking an inventory of stores, and he knew, therefore, that he had little chance of being interrupted, he pushed a table against the wall, and with a sheet of tracing paper took the outline of the northern coast from the mouth of the lena to norway, specially marking the entrances to all rivers however small. he also took a tracing, condemned as a nihilist giving the positions of the towns and rivers across the nearest line between the head of lake baikal and the nearest point of the angara river, one of the great affluents of the yenesei. the winter passed slowly and uneventfully. the cold waa severe, but he did not feel it, the office being well warmed, and the heat in the crowded prison far greater than was agree- able to him. at christmas there were three days of festivity. the people of kara, and the peasants round, all sent in gifts for the prisoners. everyone laid by a little money to buy special food for the occasion, and vodka had been smuggled in. the convicts of the different prisons were allowed to visit each other freely, and although there was much drunkenness on christmas day there were no serious quarrels. all were on their best behaviour, but godfrey was glad when all was over and they returned to their ordinary occupations again, for the thought of the last christmas he had spent in england brought the change in his circumstances home to him more strongly than ever, and for once his buoyant spirits left him, and he was profoundly depressed, while all around him were cheerful and gay. nothing surprised godfrey more than the brutal indifference with which most of the prisoners talked of the crimes they had committed, except perhaps the indifference with which these stories were listened to. it seemed to him indeed that some of the convicts had almost a pride in their crimes, and that they even went so far as to invent atrocities for the purpose of giving themselves a supremacy in ferocity over their fellows. he noticed that those who were in for minor offences, such as robbery with violence, forgery, embezzlement, and military insubordination, were comparatively reticent as to their offences, and that it was those condemned for murder who were the most given to boasting about their exploits. "one could almost wish," he said one day to his friend osip, "that one had the strength of samson, to bring the building down and destroy the whole of them." "i am very glad you have not, if you have really a fancy of prison life that sort. i have not the least desire to be finished off in that sudden way." "but it is dreadful to listen to them," godfrey said. "i cannot understand what the motive of government can be in sending thousands of such wretches out here instead of hang- ing them. i can understand transporting people who have been convicted of minor offences, as, when their term is up, they may do well and help to colonise the country. but what can be hoped from such horrible ruffians as these? they have the trouble of keeping them for years, and even when they are let out no one can hope that they will turn out useful members of the community. they probably take to their old trade and turn brigands." "i don't think they do that. some of those who escape soon after coming out might do so, but not when they have been released. they would not care then to run the risk of either being flogged to death by the plete or kept in prison for the rest of their lives. running away is nothing. i have heard of a man, who had run away repeatedly, being chained to a barrow which he had to take with him wherever he went, indoors and out. that is the worst i ever heard of, for as for flogging with rods these fellows think very little of it. they will often walk back in the autumn to the same prison they went from, take their flogging, and go to work as if nothing had happened. they are never flogged with the plete for that sort of thing, that is kept for murder or heading a mutiny in which some of the officials have been killed. no; the brigands are chiefly composed of long-sentence men who have got away early, and who perhaps have killed a cossack or a policeman who tried to arrest them, or some peasant who will not supply them with food. after that they dare not return, and so join some band of brigands in order to be able to keep to the woods through the winter. i think that very few of the men who have once served their time and been released ever come back again." during the winter the food, although still ample, was less condemned as a nihilist than the allowance they had received while working. the allowance of bread was reduced by a pound a day, and upon wednesdays and fridays, which were fast days, no meat was issued except to those engaged in chopping up firewood or bringing in timber from the forest. leather gloves were served out to all men working in the open air, but in spite of this their hands were frequently frost-bitten. the evenings would have been long indeed to godfrey had it not been for his tartar instructor; the two would sit on the bench in the angle of the room and would talk together in tartar eked out by russian. the young fellow's face was much more intelli- gent than those of the majority of his countrymen, and there was a merry and good-tempered expression in his eyes. they chatted about his home and his life there. his mother had been an ostjak, and he had spent some years among her tribe on the banks both of the obi and yenesei, but had never been far north on either river. he took his captivity easily. his father and mother both died when he had been a child, and when he was not with the ostjaks he had lived with his father's brother, who had, he said, "droves of cattle and horses." "if they would put me to work on a river," he said, "i should not mind. here one has plenty to eat, and the work is not hard, and there is a warm room to sleep in, but i should like to be employed in cutting timber and taking it in rafts down the river to the sea. i love the river, and i can shoot. all the ostjaks can shoot, though shooting has brought me bad luck. if i had not had my bow in my hand when that russian struck me i should not be here now. it was all done in a moment. you see i was on the road when his sledge came along. the snow was fresh and soft, and i did not hear it coming. the horses swerved, nearly upsetting the sledge, and knocking me down in the snow. then i got up and swore at the driver, and then the russian, who was angry because the sledge had nearly been upset, jumped out, caught the whip from the driver and struck me across the face. it hurt me prison life badly, for my face was cold. i had been in the wood shoot- ing squirrels, and i hardly know how it was, but i fitted an arrow to the string and shot. it was all over in a moment, and there he lay on the snow with the arrow through his throat. i was so frightened that i did not even try to run away, and was stupid enough to let the driver hold me till some people came up and carried me off to prison; so you see my shooting did me harm. but it was hard to be sent here for life for a thing like that. he was a bad man that russian. he was an officer in one of the regiments there, and a soldier who was in prison with me afterwards told me that there was great joy among the soldiers when he was killed." "but it was very wrong, luka, to kill a man like that." "yes; but then you see i hadn't time to think. i was almost mad with pain, and it was all done in a minute. i think it is very hard that i should be punished as much as i am when there are many here who have killed five or six peo- ple, or more, and some of them women, and they have no worse punishment than i have. look at kobylin; he was a bandit first of all, as i have heard him say over and over again. he beat his wife to death, because she scolded him for being drunk, then he took to the woods. the first he killed was a jew pedlar, then he burnt down the house of the head-man of a village because he had put the police on his track. he killed him as he rushed out from the door, and his wife and children were burnt alive. he killed four or five others on the road, and when he was betrayed, as he was asleep in the hut, he cut down with an axe two of the policemen who came to arrest him. he is in for life, but he is a great deal worse than i am, is he not? "then there is that little koshkin, the man who is always walking about smiling to himself. he was a clerk to a notary, and he murdered his master and mistress and two servant women, and got away with the money and lived on it for a year; then he went into another family and did the same, but this time the police got on his track and caught him. nine condemned as a nihilist lives he took altogether, not in a passion or because they were cruel to him. i heard him say that he was quite a favourite, and how he used to sing to them and was trusted in every way. no, i say it isn't fair that i, who did nothing but just pay a man for a blow, should get as much as those two." "it does seem rather hard on you, but you see there cannot be a great variety of punishments. you killed a man, and so you had sentence for life. they can't give more than that, and if they were to give less there would be more murders than there are, for everyone would think that they could kill at least one person without being punished very heavily for it." "i don't call mine murder at all," luka said. "i would not kill a man for his money; but this was just a fight. whiz went his whip across my face, and then whiz went my arrow." "oh, it is not so bad, luka, i grant. if you had killed a man in cold blood i would have had nothing to do with you. i could not be friends with a man who was a cold-blooded murderer. i could never give him my hand, or travel with him, or sleep by his side. i don't feel that with you. in the eye of the law you committed a murder, and the law does not ask why it was done, or care in what way it was done. the law only says you killed the man, and the punishment for that is imprisonment for life. but i, as a man, can see that there is a great difference in the moral guilt, and that, acting as you did in a fit of passion, suddenly and without premedita- tion, and smarting under an assault, it was what we should in england call manslaughter. before i asked you to teach me, when osip first said that he should recommend me to try you, i saw by the badge on your coat that you were in for murder, and if it had not been that he knew how it came about, i would not have had anything to do with you, even if i had been obliged to give up altogether my idea of learning your language." the starosta continued a steady friend to godfrey. the condemned as a nihilist them, and by the time the soreness has passed off they will have forgotten it." godfrey did not feel so sure of that, and determined to keep his eye upon the men. he did not think they would openly assault the starosta, but at night one of them might do him an injury, relying upon the difficulty of proving under such circumstances who had been the assailant. the solitary candle that burned in the ward at night was placed well out of reach and protected by a wire frame. it could not, therefore, be extinguished, but the light it gave was so faint that, except when passing just under the beam from which it hung, it would be impossible to identify anyone even at arm's-length. two of those concerned in the attack on mikail were the men of whom luka had been speaking. kobylin the bandit muttered and scowled whenever the starosta came near him, and there could be little doubt that had he met him outside the prison walls he would have shown him no mercy. koshkin on the other hand appeared to cher- ish no enmity. "i have done wrong, mikail," he said half an hour after he had had his flogging, "and i have been punished for it. it was not your fault; it was mine. these things will happen, you know, and there is no need for malice"; and he went about the ward smiling and rubbing his hands as usual and occasionally singing softly to himself. as godfrey knew how submissive the russians are under punishment he would have thought this perfectly natural had he not heard from luka the man's history. that was how, he thought to himself, the scoundrel smiled upon the master and mistress he had resolved to murder. "of the two i think there is more to be feared from him than from that villain kobylin, who has certainly been civil enough to me since i gave him that thrashing. i will keep my eye on the little fellow." of necessity the ward became quiet very soon after night set in. the men talked and smoked for a short time, but in an hour after the candle was lit the ward was generally per- prison life £ectly quiet. godfrey, working as he did indoors, was far less inclined for sleep than either the men who had been working in the forest or those who had been listlessly passing the day in enforced idleness, and he generally lay awake for a long time, either thinking of home and school-days, or in meditating over his plans for escape as soon as spring arrived, and he now determined to keep awake still longer. "they are almost all asleep by seven o'clock," he said to himself. "if any of those fellows intend to do any harm to mikail they will probably do it by ten or eleven, there will be no motive in putting it off longer; and indeed the ward is quieter then than it is later, for some of them when they wake light a pipe and have a smoke, and many do so early in the morning so as to have their smoke before going to work." five evenings passed without anything happening and god- frey began to think that he had been needlessly anxious, and that mikail must understand the ways of his own people better than he did. the sixth evening had also passed off quietly, and when godfrey thought that it must be nearly twelve o'clock he was about to pull his blanket up over his ear and settle himself for sleep when he suddenly caught sight of a stooping figure coming along. it was passing under the candle when he caught sight of it. he did not feel quite sure that his eyes had not deceived him, for it was but a momentary glance he caught of a dark object an inch or two above the level of the feet of the sleepers. godfrey noiselessly pushed down his blanket, gathered his feet up in readiness for a spring, and grasped one of his shoes, which as usual he had placed behind the clothes-bag that served as his pillow. several of the sleepers were snoring loudly, and intently as he listened he heard no footfall. in a few seconds, however, a dark figure arose against the wall at the foot of the bench; it stood there immovable for half a minute and then leaned over mikail, placing one hand on the wall as if to enable him to stretch as far over as possible without touching the sleeper. godfrey waited no longer but brought prison life "he ran his knife pretty deep into my leg once or twice," godfrey said. "i got his arms pinned down, but i could not keep him from moving his hands. if we had lain quiet he would have hurt me seriously, i expect; but we were both struggling, so he only got a chance to give me a dig now and then." "but what is it all about, ivan, for i don't quite understand yet?" mikail asked. "i told you, mikail, that fellow would do you a mischief. you laughed at me, but i was quite sure that that smiling man- ner of his was all put on. i have lain awake for the last five nights to watch, and to-night i just caught sight of something crawling along at the edge of the bench. - he stood'up at your feet and leant over, as i thought then, and i know now, to stab you, but i flung myself on him, and you know the rest of it." "well, you have saved my life, there is no mistake about that," and mikail lifted and laid him on the bench. "now," he said to the guards, "you had better take that fellow out and put him in the guard cell, the cold air will bring him round as soon as you get him out of this room. you had bet- ter hold him tight when he does, for he is a slippery customer. when you have locked him up will one of you go round to the doctor's? this young fellow is bleeding fast, and i fancy i have lost a good deal of blood myself." as soon as the soldiers had left the ward carrying koshkin between them mikail called osip and luka. "here," he said, "get the lad's things down from under his iron belt and try and stop the bleeding till the doctor comes. i feel a bit faint myself or i would ask no one else to do it." in ten minutes the doctor arrived. godfrey had three cuts about half-way between the hip and the knee. "they are of no consequence except for the bleeding," the doctor said. "has anyone got a piece of cord?" "there is a piece in my bag," mikail replied. the doctor took it and made a rough tourniquet above the wounds, then condemned as a nihilist drew the edges together, put in two stitches in each, and then strapped them up. then he attended to mikail. "you have had a narrow escape," he said; "the knife has struck on your hip-bone and made a nasty gash, and there is another just below it. if the first wound had been two inches higher there would have been nothing to do but to bury you." "well, this is a nice business," mikail said, when the doctor had left. "to think of that little villain being so treacherous! you were right and i was wrong, ivan, though how you guessed he was up to mischief is more than i can imagine." "well, you know the fellow's history, mikail, and that he had murdered nine people he had lived among and who trusted him. what could one expect from a villain like that?" "oh, i know he is a bad one," mikail said, "but i did not think he dare take the risk." "i don't suppose he thought there was much risk, mikail. if i had been asleep he would have stabbed you to the heart, and when we found you dead in the morning who was to know what prisoner had done it?" "well, it was a lucky thought my putting you next to me, young fellow; i meant it for your good, not for my own, and now you see it has saved my life." "a kind action always gets its reward, mikail—always, sooner or later; in your case it has been sooner, you see. now i shall go off to sleep, for i feel as drowsy as if i had been up for the last three nights." preparations for flight chapter x preparations for flight 'the next morning godfrey and mikail were by the doctor's *- orders carried to the hospital and placed in a comfortable and well-arranged ward. "you won't have to be here many days," the doctor said when he came round the ward. "i only had you brought here because the air is sweeter and better than it is in that room you were in." an hour later the governor with a clerk came in. mikail was first called upon for his statement, which was written down by the clerk. "had you any reason for supposing that the man had any special enmity against you?" the governor asked. "only because of that flogging he had for the row in the ward last week, sir." "ah, yes, he was one of those who attacked you then and was flogged; that accounts for it." then godfrey gave his account of what had happened. "did you observe anything that made you specially watch- ful?" the governor asked. "i thought perhaps one of them might try to take revenge on mikail, sir. one or two of them were very sullen and surly, and would, i thought, do him harm if they had the chance; but i suspected this man more than the others because he seemed so unnaturally pleasant, and as i had heard him boasting about the things for which he is here, i thought he was more dangerous than those who grumbled and threatened." the governor nodded. "yes, he is a thorough-paced vil- lain; you have done very well, young man, and i shall not forget it." five days later there was a stir in front of the hospital, and mikail, whose bed was by the side of the window, raised him- self on his elbow and looked out. "it is a punishment parade," he said; "i expect they are condemned as a nihilist going to flog koshkin with the plete. no governor of a prison is allowed to do that until the circumstances of the case have been sent to the governor of the province, and the sentence receives his approval; that is no doubt what has caused the delay. all the prisoners are mustering." godfrey, who was in the next bed, managed to draw him- self on to mikail's, and then to sit up so as to look out. the whole of the convicts of that prison, some eight hundred in number, were drawn up forming three sides of a square; in front of them, four paces apart, were a line of soldiers with fixed bayonets, while behind was another line. then kosh- kin, stripped to the waist, was brought forward and bound to a thick board having an iron leg, so that when laid down the board inclined to an angle of about thirty degrees. on this he was so strapped as to be perfectly immovable. then a man approached with the dreaded whip and took his place on one side of the criminal. the governor then entered the square. he was attended by all the prison officials. his face was very grave and stern, and he walked along the lines, scrutinising closely each man as he passed him. then he took his place in the centre of the square and held up his hand. "this man," he said, "has attempted to murder the starosta of his ward, and is for this sentenced to fifty lashes. let this be a lesson to all here." then he signalled to the executioner, who brought down his lash with great force upon the bare back of the prisoner. a terrible cry broke from koshkin. two more blows were given, and then the executioner moved to the other side and delivered other three blows. in this way the lashes crossed each other at an angle. godfrey could look no more, but crawled back on to his own bed. mikail continued looking out until the punishment was over. "he has not bled," he said; "he will die." "how do you mean, mikail?" "well, that is how it is, ivan. it is as the executioner likes, preparations for flight or as he is ordered. he can, according to the way he strikes, cut the flesh or not each stroke. if it bleeds the man seldom dies, if it doesn't there is little chance for him. there are several ways of flogging the prisoner, and his friends gener- ally bribe the executioner; then he strikes with all his strength the first blow—that is terrible, but it seems to numb the flesh somehow, and afterwards he does not strike so hard, and the prisoner hardly feels the blows. the worst is when he hits softly at first and then harder and harder, then the man feels every blow to the end; but they are obliged to hit hard, if not they get flogged themselves. i saw a case where the executioner had been well bribed and, therefore, hit gently, and the prisoner was taken down and he was tied up in his place and got twenty lashes. years ago they used the plete at all the prisons, now they only use it at three prisons, where the worst criminals are sent, and this is one of them." a week later they were both discharged from the hospital and returned to the ward. the first thing they heard on entering it was that koshkin had died the night before. godfrey went back to his work in the office. he was doubtful how he should be received in the ward, but he found that, except by kobylin and four or five others, he was welcomed quite cordially. "you have done us all a service," osip said. "there was sure to have been trouble sooner or later, and that flogging will cow these fellows for some time. this is only the second there has been since i came here—i mean, of course, at this prison. besides, mikail is a good fellow, and we all like him, and everyone would have been sorry if he had been killed." "what is he in for? i never asked before. of course, i see that he has the murderer's badge on his back. do you know how it happened? i never heard him speak of it." "yes, he told us about it one evening, that was before he became starosta. some vodka had been smuggled in and he had more than was good for him, and that opened his lips. condemned as a nihilist he had been a charcoal-burner and having had the good fort- une to escape the conscription he married. she was a pretty girl, and it seems that the son of a rich proprietor had taken a fancy to her, and when the next year's conscription came he managed by some unfair means to get mikail's name put down again on the list. such things can be done, you know, by a man with influence. mikail ran away and took to the woods. he was hunted for two or three months in vain. then someone betrayed him, and one morning he woke up in a hut he had built for himself and saw the place was sur- rounded by soldiers. "with the officers was the man who had injured him. mikail was mad with fury, and rushing out with a big club he had cut he stretched the fellow dead on the ground—and served him right. however, of course mikail was taken, tried, and condemned. he had killed a noble s son, and three weeks later was on his way to siberia. his wife has followed him, and is living now in a village two miles away. another six months and mikail will have served his ten years, which is the least time a murderer can serve before he gets leave to live outside the prison. he is sure to get it then, his conduct has been always good, and no doubt this affair will count in his favour. his wife came out two years after he was sent here. she keeps herself by spinning and helping at a farm. it has been a good thing for mikail, for it has kept him straight. if it had not been for that he would have taken to the woods long ago." "i don't call that a murder," godfrey said indignantly. "if i had been on the jury i would never have convicted him. he was treated illegally and had the right to resist." "i don't blame him very much myself," osip said. "of course it would have been wiser to have submitted, and then to have tried to get off serving, but i don't suppose anyone would have listened to him. if it hadn't been a noble he killed i have no doubt he would have got off." "but you are noble yourself, osip." preparations for flight "yes, but that does not give me any marked advantage at present. of course it will make a difference when i get out. my friends will send me money, and i shall live at tobolsk and marry some wealthy gold-miner's daughter, and be in the best society. oh, yes, it is an advantage being noble born, even in siberia." godfrey was quite touched with the joy that luka mani- fested when, on his return from work, he found him in the ward. "ah, my master," he exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, "why did you not tell me that you were watching? i would have kept awake all night and would have thrown myself on that dog; it would have made no matter if he had killed me. it would not have hurt me so much as it did to see you bleeding." "you must not call me master," godfrey said, holding out his hand, which the tartar seized and pressed to his forehead. "you and i are friends, there are no masters here." godfrey learnt that every effort had been made by the au- thorities to discover how koshkin had obtained the knife, but without success. he must have bribed one of the guards to fetch it in for him, but there was no tracing which had been concerned in the matter. all the prisoners had been searched and their bags examined, but no other weapons had been dis- covered. godfrey did not hear a single word of pity for koshkin, or of regret at his death. indifference for others was one of the leading characteristics of the prisoners. although living so long together they seldom appeared to form a friendship of any kind; each man lived for and thought only of his own lot. godfrey observed that it was very seldom that a prisoner shared any dainty he had purchased with another, and it was only when three or four had clubbed to- gether to get in a ham, a young sucking pig, or some vodka that they were seen to partake of it together. some of the prisoners, indeed, scarcely ever exchanged a word with the rest, but moved about in moody silence paying no attention to what was going on around them. some again condemned as a nihilist were always quarrelling, and seemed to take a delight in stir- ring up others by giving them unpleasant nicknames, or by turning them into ridicule. "i am glad indeed, mikail," godfrey said, as he lay down beside the starosta that night, "that you were not seriously hurt. i only heard to-day that you had a wife waiting for you outside." "yes, it is true," mikail replied. "i never talk of her. i dare not even let myself think of her, it seems too great a happiness to be true; and something may occur, one never knows. ah, ivan, if it had not been for you what news would have been taken to her! think of it, after her long journey out here; after waiting ten years for me, to hear that it was useless. i tremble like a leaf when i think of it. that night i lay awake all night and cried like a young child, not for myself, you know, but for her. she has taken a cottage already, and is furnishing it with her savings. she is allowed to write to me, you know, once every month. at first it was every three months. what happiness it was to me when my first five years was up and she could write once a month! do you think i shall know her? she will have changed much. i tell myself that always; and i—i have changed much too, but she will know me, i am sure she will know me. i tremble now at the thought of our meeting, ivan; but i ought not to talk so, i ought not to speak to you of my happiness—you, who have no friend waiting to see you." "i like to hear you talk of your wife, mikail. my friends are a long way off indeed; but i hope that i shall see them before very long." "you think that you may be pardoned?" mikail asked. "no, i mean to escape." "ah, lad," mikail said kindly, "i don't suppose there is ever a prisoner comes here who does not say to himself, i will escape. every spring there are thousands who take to the woods, and scarce one of these but hopes never to see the in- side of a prison again, and yet they come back, every one of them." preparations for flight "but there have been escapes, mikail, therefore there is nothing impossible in it." "there are twenty thousand convicts cross the frontier every year, lad. there is not one man makes his escape in five years." "well, i mean to be the man this five years, mikail." "i would not try if i were you. were you in on a life sen- tence for murder, or still worse, as a political prisoner, i would say try if you like, for you would have nothing to lose; but you have a good prospect now. i am sure you must have been a political, but now that you have been a wanderer you are so no longer. you have won the governor's good-will, and as soon as your time is up, perhaps before, you will be allowed to live outside the prison. if you go away in the spring you will, when you return as winter comes on, forfeit all this, and have to begin again. when you come out there will be my little hut ready for you, and such a welcome from my wife and me that you will forget how small and rough it is, and there you will live with us till your five years are up, and you can go anywhere you like in siberia." "i thank you sincerely, mikail, and i should, i am sure, be as happy as an exile could be with you and your faithful wife; but if i have to try afresh every year for twenty years i will break out and strive to escape. you know that i am english by my mother's side. i can tell you now that i am altogether english, and i will gain england or die. at any rate, if it is to be done i will do it. i have health and strength and de- termination. i have learnt all that there is to be learnt as to the difficulties of the journey. i have more to gain, more to strive for than other prisoners. even if they escape they cannot return home. they must still be exiled from russia; must earn their bread among strangers as they are earning it here. i have a home awaiting me—a father, mother, and sisters—to whom i shall come back as one from the grave. why, man, the difficulties are nothing in comparison to the reward. a journey across asia is as nothing to the journeys condemned as a nihilist many of my countrymen have made across africa. here there is no fear of fever, of savage tribes, or savage beasts. it is in comparison a mere pleasure excursion. i may not succeed next time, just as i did not succeed last year, but succeed in the end i will." "i believe you," mikail said earnestly, infected by god- frey's enthusiasm. "did you not overthrow, as if he were a babe, kobylin, whom everyone else feared? yes, if anyone can do it you can." at last the long winter was over, the thaw came, and the work at the mine was renewed. godfrey was afraid that he might be still kept in the office, and he spoke to mikail on the subject; the latter spoke to one of the officials, and told him that the prisoner ivan holstoff petitioned that he might be again put to work on the mine instead of being kept in the office, as he felt his health suffering from the confinement. two days later godfrey was called into the governor's room. "i hear that you have asked to go to the mine again, lad." "yes, sir; i like active work better than sitting indoors all day." the colonel looked at him keenly. "you are doing well here, lad; it will be a pity to have to begin over again. i can guess what is in your thoughts. think it over, lad, don't do anything rash; but if—," and he hesitated, "if you are headstrong and foolish, remember you will be better off here than elsewhere, and that i am never very hard on runaways. that will do; you will go out again with the gang to-morrow." "thank you, sir," godfrey said earnestly, and with a bow returned to his work at the desk in the next room. on the following day work at the mine was resumed. god- frey at once began his preparations for his flight, and as a first step managed to conceal under a lump of rock a heavy hammer and a pick used in the work; he had already laid in a stock of a dozen boxes of matches. the next evening he said to mikail when they had lain down for the night,— "now, mikail, i want you to help me." preparations for flight "so you really mean to go?" "yes, my mind is quite made up. i want you to get me in some things from outside." "i will get you anything if you will tell me what you want." "i want most of all two long knives." "yes, knives are useful," mikail said; "but they are awk- ward things to get. i dare not ask any of the people who trade here to get such a thing. ah! i know what i will do; i am losing my head. i will steal you two from the kitchen; but that must be done the last thing, for if knives were missed there would be a great search for them. what is the next thing?" "i should like a coil of thirty or forty yards of fine rope, and some string. they are always useful things to have." "that is so," the convict assented. "then i shall want some thread and needles." "there is no difficulty about that; i can buy them for you at the gate. i don't know.what excuse to make to get you the rope, but i will think of something." "i don't think there is anything else, except that i should like these twenty roubles changed into kopecks." the man nodded. "when will you try?" "to-morrow. it is dark now by the time we leave off work; it will be easy to slip away then. luka is going with me." "that is good," mikail said, "he will be very useful; he is a good little fellow, and will be faithful to you. you had best keep steadily west, and give yourself up at irkutsk. it is a rough road working round by the north of lake baikal; but you had better take that way, it is safer than by the south. but no doubt if you are careful you might go that way too. then the summer after, if you can get away again, you can give up at tomsk. once fairly away from here there is no fear of your being overtaken; they never take the trouble to hunt the woods far, they know it is of no use. remember, as long as you don't go too far from the road, you will light upon cottages and little farmhouses where you can get something to condemned as a nihilist eat; but if you go too far into the woods you may starve. there will be no berries except strawberries yet, and straw berries are not much use to keep life together when you are travelling." "oh, by the by, there is one more thing i want you to get for me if possible, and that is fish-hooks and line." "that is difficult," mikail said; "however, a rouble or two will go a long way. but you must put off your start for another two or three days. the rope and the hooks will need time to get." it was, indeed, the fourth evening before mikail told god- frey that he had got everything except the knives. "i will manage to get these in the morning," he said, "when i go into the kitchen and see about breakfast. if i were you, i would put on those two spare shirts over the one you wear, and take your three spare pairs of stockings. of course you will wind the rope round your waist. i suppose you will buy bread from the others, there are always plenty ready to sell; you had better take enough for two or three days. cut it in slices, put them inside your upper shirt with the other things you take, your belt will keep them safe. don't try to slip away unless you see a really good opportunity; it is no use being shot at. besides, with those irons on your legs, they would soon overtake you. better put it off for another time than to run any risk." godfrey at once informed luka that they were to try to escape on the following evening, told him to put on his spare shirts at night, gave him the matches, and told him to stow away in the morning as much bread as he could carry. the young tartar made no reply beyond a pleasant nod; his con- fidence in his companion was unbounded. the next morning, while eating their breakfasts by the dim light of a candle, mikail passed close to godfrey and slipped two long knives into his hand; these he hid instantly inside his shirt. "i have got the bread," mikail said; "it was better for me to buy it than you. i have put it under your bag." preparations for flight as it was quite dark in the corner of the room godfrey had no difficulty in cutting up the hunks of bread, and concealing them without observation. mikail strolled up while he was so engaged. godfrey had already given him money for the various purchases, and he now pressed a hundred-rouble note into his hand, and said: "now, mikail, you must take this from me; it is not a present to you, but to your brave wife. when you get out you will want to do your share towards making the house she has got for you comfortable. till you get your free ticket you will still be working in the mines like the others; and though you will get the same pay as free labourers then, it will be some time before you can lay much by. when your term is over you will want to take up a piece of land and farm, and you must have money for this until your crops grow." "i will not take it," the man said huskily; "it is a hundred roubles. i would not rob you; you will want every kopeck you have. the money would be a curse to me." "i have five hundred still left, mikail, which will be ample for me. you will grieve me if you refuse to take it. it will be pleasant to me, whether i am taken again or whether i escape, to think that i have made one home happier for my stay here, and that you and your brave wife, in your comfort- able home, think sometimes of the young fellow you were kind to." "if you wish it i will take it," mikail said. "feodora and i will pray before the ikon to the saints morning and night to protect you wherever you may be." "pray for me as godfrey bullen, mikail; that is my real name. i am english, and it is to england i shall make my way." "godfrey bullen," the man repeated four or five times over. "i shall not forget it. feodora and i will teach it to our children if the good god should send us any." "i should like to let you know if i get safely home," god- frey said; "how can i write to you?" condemned as a nihilist "i can receive letters when i am out of prison," mikail said. "you know my name, mikail stomoff; put karoff, that is the name of the village my wife lives at—karoff, neat kara. if the letter does not come until my term is over, and i have left, i will leave word there where it can be forwarded to me." "i hope that you will get it long before that, mikail. the journey is too long to do in one summer. i shall winter somewhere in the north, and i hope to be in england by the following autumn; therefore, if i have got safely away, you may look for a letter before the christmas after next. if it does not come by that time, you will know that i have failed in my first attempt, and then you will, i hope, get one a year later. i shall, of course, be careful what i say; in case it should be opened and read, there will be nothing in it about your knowing that i intended to escape." "we shall look for it, godfrey bullen, we shall look for it always, and pray the good god to send it to us." the next morning when godfrey rose he wrung mikail' hand warmly. "god bless you," the starosta said with tears in his eyes. "i shall not come near you again; they would see that somethir.g was strange with me, and when you were missing, would guess that i knew you were going. may all the saints preserve you." before they formed up to march to their work, godfrey shook hands with his friend osip. "i am going to try on our way back to-night," he said. "good-bye, and good luck to you," osip replied. "i would go with you if i was in for life; but i have lost two yeais already by running away, and i dare not try again." during the day godfrey observed very carefully the spo t where he had hidden the tools, so that he might be able to find it in the dark, piling three small stones one on the top of the other by the roadside at the point nearest to it. when work was over, he managed to fall in with luka at the rear of the line. a cossack marched alongside of him. preparations for flight as well as this always i should not mind how long our journey lasted. it is glorious to be out in these woods after that close prison." the tartar nodded. the closeness of the air in the prison never troubled him, but he was quite ready to agree to any- thing that godfrey might say. "good in summer," he said, "but not very good in winter." "no, i expect not; but we shall have to make the best of it, luka, for it is quite certain that we shall have to spend the winter out somewhere." "we will make skin coats and keep ourselves warm," luka said confidently. "make a good hut." "yes, that part of the thing seems simple enough," godfrey agreed; "the difficulty will be in feeding ourselves. but we need not bother about that now. well, we had better go off to sleep, luka; we have been tramping fully eighteen hours, and i feel as tired as a dog." in a few minutes they were fast asleep, but they were on their feet again at daybreak and journeyed steadily for the next three days, always keeping near the edge of the forest. on the fourth day they saw a small farmhouse lying not far from the edge of the wood. "here is the place that we have been looking for for the last week," godfrey said. "this is where we must manage to get clothes. the question is, how many men are there there? not above two or three, i should say. but anyhow we must risk it." they waited until they saw lights in the cottage, and guessed that the family had all returned from their work. "now then, luka, come along. you must look fierce, you know, and try to frighten them a bit. but mind, if they refuse and show fight we must go away without hurting them." luka looked up in surprise. "why that? " he asked. "you could beat that pig kobylin as if he were a child, why not beat them and make them give?" "because i am not going to turn robber, luka. i know condemned as a nihilist some of the runaways do turn robbers, and murder peasants and travellers. you know some of the men in the prison boasted of what they had done, but that is not our way. we are honest men though we have been shut up in prison. i am willing to pay for what i want as long as i have money, after that we shall see about it. if these people won't sell we shall find others that will." they went quietly up to the house, lifted the latch and walked in, holding their long knives in their hands. two men were seated at table, three women and several children were near the fire. there was a general exclamation of alarm as the two convicts entered. "do not fear," godfrey said loudly; "we do not wish to rob anyone. we are not bandits, we are ready to pay for what we require, but that we must have." the men were both convicts who had long since served out their time. "what do you want?" one of them asked. "we want clothes. you need not be afraid of selling them to us. if we were captured to-morrow, which we don't mean to be, we will swear to you that we will not say where we ob- tained them. we are ready to pay the full value. why should you not make an honest deal instead of forcing us to take life?" "we will sell them to you," one of the men said after speaking a few words in a low tone to the other, and then rising to his feet. "sit down," godfrey said sternly. "we want no tricks. tell the women to fetch in the clothes." the man, seeing that godfrey was determined, abandoned his intention of seizing a club and making a fight for it, and told one of the women to fetch some clothes down. she re- turned in a minute or two with a large bundle. "pick out two suits, luka, one for you and one for me." luka was making a careful choice when godfrey said, "don't pick out the best, luka, i don't want sunday clothes, but just strong serviceable suits; they will be none the worse for a preparations for flight patch or two. now," he said to the men, "name a fair price for those clothes and i will pay you." the peasants had not in the slightest degree believed that the convicts were going to pay them, and their faces lighted up. they hesitated as to the price. "come, i will give you ten roubles. i am sure that is more than they are worth to you now." "very well," the man said, "i am contented." godfrey placed a ten-rouble note upon the table. "now," he said, "we want a couple of hats." two fairly good ones were brought down. "is there nothing else?" the man asked, ready enough to sell now that he saw that he was to be paid fair prices. "we want some meat and bread, ten pounds of each if you have got it." "we have a pig we salted down the other day," the man said. "we have no bread—we are going to bake to-morrow morning—but you can have ten pounds of flour." "that will do. we want a small frying-pan, a kettle, and two tin mugs. have you got any tea in the house?" "i have got about a pound." "we will take it all. we can't bother ourselves about sugar, luka, we must do without that; every pound tells. we have brought plenty of tobacco with us to last some time. have you got a gun?" he asked the man suddenly. "yes," he said, "we have got two. the wolves are trouble- some sometimes in winter. fetch the guns, elizabeth." the guns were brought down. one was a double-barrel of german make, the other a long single-barrel. "how much do you want for this?" he asked, taking up the former. "i don't use it much," the man said, "one will be enough for me, i will take fifty roubles." "no, no," godfrey said. "you value your goods too high; money is not as plentiful with me as all that. i can't go higher than twenty roubles," and he laid the gun down again. "i will take thirty," the man said. condemned as a nihilist after a good deal of bargaining godfrey obtained the gun, a flask of powder, and a bag of bullets and shot for twenty-five roubles. then he paid for the other goods he had purchased. luka made them into a bundle and lifted them all on to his shoulder. then saying good-bye to the peasants they again started for the forest. "we are set up now, luka." "yes indeed," the tartar replied. "we could journey any- where now; we want but two or three blankets and some furs and we could travel to moscow." "yes, if we had one more thing, luka." "what is that?" "passports." "yes, we should want those; but i daresay we could do without them." they enjoyed their suppers greatly that night, frying some pork and then some dough-cakes in the fat, and washing it down with numerous cups of tea. "the next thing will be for you to make a bow and arrows, luka. i did not buy the other gun for two reasons: in the first place because we could not afford it, and in the second because you said you liked a bow best." luka nodded. "i never shot with a gun," he said. "a bow is just as good, and makes no noise." "that is true enough, luka. well, i shall be a good deal more comfortable when we leave those convict clothes behind us. of course we shall be just as liable to be seized and shut up as vagabonds when we cannot produce papers as if we were in our convict suits, but there is something disgusting in being dressed up in clothing that tells everyone you are a murderer or a robber, and to know there is that patch between one's shoulders." luka was quite indifferent to any sentimental considera- tions. still he admitted that it was an advantage to get rid of the convict garb. in the morning they put on the peasants' clothes. as godfrey was about the same size as the man preparations for flight whose garments he had got, the things fitted him fairly. luka's were a good deal too large for him, but as the russian peasants' clothes always fit them loosely, this mattered little. the other things were divided into two bundles of equal weight. luka would willingly have carried the whole, pointing out that godfrey had the gun and ammunition, but the latter said: "if you take the frying-pan and kettle and the two tin mugs that will make matters even, luka." the two convict suits were left at the foot of the tree where they had slept. godfrey first thought of throwing them on to the fire, but changed his mind, saying: "some poor beggar whose clothes are worn out may come upon them, and be glad of them, some time during the sum- mer; we may just as well let them lie here. now, luka, we must walk in good earnest. we ought to be able to make five- and-thirty miles a day over a tolerably level country, and at that rate we shall be a long way off before winter." the forests abounded with squirrels. although luka assured him that they were excellent eating, godfrey could not bring himself to shoot at the pretty creatures. "it would be a waste of powder and shot, luka," he said. "we have plenty of meat to go on with at present, when it is gone it will be time enough to begin to think of shooting game; besides, there are numbers of mines about this country, and the sound of a gun might bring out the cossacks." condemned as a nihilist chapter xi afloat it was a pleasant journey through the forest, with its thick and varied foliage, that afforded a shade from the sun's rays, with patches of open ground here and there bright with flowers. godfrey had enjoyed it at first, but he enjoyed it still more after he had got rid of the convict badge. he had now no fear of meeting anyone in the woods except charcoal- burners or woodmen, or escaped convicts like themselves. by such they would not be suspected of being aught but what they seemed—two peasants; unless, indeed, a hat should fall off. the first night after leaving the prison godfrey had done his best to obliterate the convict brand, by singeing it off as he had done before. each day the air grew warmer, and they could pick as they walked any quantity of raspberries and whortleberries. luka always filled the kettle at each streamlet they came to, as they could never tell how long they would be before they arrived at another, and the supply rendered them independent, and enabled them to camp whenever they took a fancy to a spot. they walked steadily from sunrise to sunset, and as they went at a good pace godfrey was sure that they were doing fully the thirty-five miles a day he had calculated on. although sun- days had not been observed at the prison, and the work went on those days as on others, godfrey had not lost count, and knew that it was on a monday evening that they had broken out, and each sunday was used as a day of rest. "we are travelling at a good pace, luka," he said, "and thirty-five miles a day six days a week is quite enough, so on sundays we will always choose a good camping ground by a stream, wash our clothes, and rest." they had little trouble about provisions. at lonely houses they could always obtain them, and there they were received condemned as a nihilist of the water, with soundings of a hundred and fifty fathoms a few yards from their feet. fish abound in the lake, and stur- geon of large size are captured there. godfrey knew that there were guard-houses with cossacks on the road between the northern point of water and the steep mountains that rise almost directly from it. he had specially studied the geography of this region, and knew that after pass- ing round the head of the lake there was a track across the hills by which they would, after travelling a hundred and fifty miles, strike the main road from irkutsk to yakutsk, near the town of kirensk, on the river lena. from kirensk it would be but little more than a hundred miles to the nearest point on the angara, which is one of the principal branches of the yenesei. to gain this river would be a great point. the lena, which was even nearer to the head of lake baikal, also flowed into the arctic sea; but its course was almost due north, and it would be absolutely hopeless to endeavour to traverse the whole of the north coast of siberia. the angara and the yenesei, on the other hand, flowed northwest, and fell into the arctic sea near the western boundary of siberia, and when they reached that point they would be but a short distance from russia. it seemed to him that the only chance was by keeping by a river. in the great ranges of mountains in the north of siberia there would be no means of obtaining food, and to cross such a district would be certain death. by the rivers, on the other hand, there would at least be no fear of losing their way. the journey could be shortened by using a canoe if they could obtain one, and if not, a raft. they would often find little native villages or huts by the banks, and would be able to obtain fish from them. besides, they could them- selves catch fish, and might possibly even winter in some native village. for all these reasons he had determined on making for the angara. buying a stock of dried fish at a little fishing village on the lake they walked to within a mile of its head, there they slept afloat for the night, and started an hour before daybreak, passed the cossack guard-house unseen just as the daylight was stealing over the sky, and then went along merrily. the road was not much used, the great stream of traffic passing across lake baikal, but was in fair condition, and they made good progress along it. long before that, luka had, after several attempts, made a bow to his satisfaction. it was formed of three or four strips of tough wood firmly bound to- gether with waxed twine, they having procured the string and the wax at a farmhouse on the way. there was one advantage in taking this unfrequented route. the road between irkutsk and tomsk was, as godfrey had learned on his outward jour- ney, frequented by bands of brigands who had no hesitation in killing as well as plundering wayfarers. here they were only likely to fall in with convicts who had escaped from irkutsk or from convoys along the road, and were for the most part perfectly harmless, seeking only to spend a summer holi- day in freedom, and knowing that when winter came on they would have to surrender themselves. of such men godfrey had no fear, his gun and his com- panion's bow and arrows rendered them too formidable to be meddled with, and until they came down upon the main road there was no chance of their meeting police officers or cos- sacks. no villages were passed on the journey, and godfrey, therefore, had no longer any hesitation in shooting the squirrels that frisked about among the trees. he found them, as luka had said, excellent eating, although it required three or four of them to furnish anything like a meal. he soon, however, gave over shooting, for he found that luka was at least as certain with his bow as he was with the gun, with the advan- tage that the blunt arrow did not spoil the skins. these, as luka told him, were valuable, and they would be able to exchange them for food, the siberian squirrel furnishing a highly-prized fur. each day luka brought down at least a dozen of these little creatures, and these, with their dried fish and cakes made of condemned as a nihilist flour, afforded them excellent food on their way. after four days' walking across a lofty plateau they descended into a cultivated valley, and before them rose the cupolas of kirensk, while along the valley flowed the lena, as yet but a small river, although it would become a mighty flood before it reached the sea, nearly four thousand miles away. it would have to be crossed at kirensk, and they sat down and held a long council as to how they had best get through the town. they agreed that it must be done at night, for in the daytime they certainly would have to produce passports. "there will not be much chance of meeting a cossack or a policeman at one or two o'clock in the morning, luka, and if there were any about we ought to be able to get past them in the dark." "if one stops us i can settle him," luka said, tapping his knife. "no, no, luka, we won't have any bloodshed if we can help it, though i do not mean to be taken. if a fellow should stop us and ask any questions, and try to arrest us, i will knock him down, and then we will make a bolt for it. there is no moon now, and it will be dark as pitch, so that if we kick out his lantern he would be unable to follow us. if he does, you let fly one of your blunted arrows at him. that will hit him quite hard enough, though it won't do him any serious dam- age. of course, if there are several of them we must fight in earnest, but it is very unlikely we shall meet with even two men together at that time of night." accordingly they went in among some trees and lay down, and did not move until they heard the church bells of the distant town strike twelve. then they resumed their journey, keeping with difficulty along the road. once in the valley it became broader and better kept. at last they approached the bridge. godfrey had had some fear that there might be a sentry posted here, and was pleased to find it entirely deserted. "we will take off our shoes here, luka, tie them with a afloat piece of string, and hang them round our necks. we shall go noiselessly through the town then, while if we go clattering along in those heavy shoes, every policeman there may be in the streets will be on the look-out to see who we are." they passed, however, through the town without meeting either policeman or soldier. the streets were absolutely deserted, and the whole population seemed to be asleep. once through the town they put on their shoes again, followed the road for a short distance, and then lay down under some trees to wait for daylight. now that they were in the country they had no fear of being asked for passports, and it was not until the sun was well up that they continued their journey. four miles farther they came upon a village, and went boldly into a small shop and purchased flour, tea, and such articles as they required. just as they came out the village policeman came along. "where do you come from?" he asked. "i don't ask you where you come from," godfrey replied. "we are quiet men and hunters. we pay for what we get and harm no one who does not interfere with us. see, we have skins for sale if there is anyone in the village who will buy them." "the man at the spirit-shop at the end of the village will buy them," the policeman said; "he gives a rouble a dozen for them." "thank you," and with a russian salutation they walked on. "of course he suspects what we are," godfrey said to his companion; "but there was no fear of his being too inquisi- tive. the authorities do not really care to arrest the wan- derers during the summer months, as they know they will get them all when winter comes on; besides, in these villages all the people sympathise with us, and as we are armed, and not likely to be taken without a fight, it is not probable that one man would care to venture his life in such a matter," on arrival at the spirit-shop they went in. "the policeman tells us you buy skins at a rouble for a dozen. we have ten dozen." afloat for sleeping bags, but they are too thick for clothing unless they are very well prepared. at any rate we will get as many squirrel skins as we can, both for clothes, and to exchange for commoner skins and high boots." it was three weeks after they had left kirensk before they struck the angara, near karanchinskoe. they had traversed a distance, as the crow flies, of some eight hundred miles since leaving kara, but by the route they had travelled it was at least half as far again, and they had been little over ten weeks on the journey. luka had assured godfrey that they would have no difficulty in obtaining a boat. "everywhere there are fishing people on the rivers," he said. "there are tunguses—they are all over siberia. there are the ostjaks on all the rivers. there are my own people, but they are more to the south, near minusinsk, and from there to kasan, and seldom come far north. in summer everyone fishes or hunts. i could make you a boat with two or three skins of bullocks or horses or elk, it only needs these and a framework of wood; but we can buy one for three or four roubles—a good one. we want one strong and large and light, for the river is terribly swift. there are places where it runs nearly as fast as a horse can gallop." "certainly we will get a good-sized one, luka. if the river runs so swiftly we shall have no paddling to do, and therefore it will not matter at all about her being fast; besides, we shall want to carry a good load. we will not land of tener than we can help, and can sleep on board, and it will be much more comfortable to have a boat that one can move about in without being afraid of capsizing her. whatever it costs, let us get a good boat." "we will get one," luka said confidently. "we shall find ostjaks' huts all along the banks, and at any of these, if they have not a boat that will suit us, they will make us one in two or three days." avoiding the town, and passing through the villages at night, they kept along down the river bank for four days. the condemned as a nihilist river was as wide as the thames at greenwich, with a very rapid current. they saw in some of the quiet reaches fishing- boats at work, some with nets, others with lines, and at night saw them spearing salmon and sturgeon by torchlight. across the river they made out several of the yourts or summer tents of the ostjaks, but it was not until the fourth day that they came upon a group of seven or eight of these tents on the river bank. the men were all away fishing, but the women came out to look at the strangers. as luka spoke their dialect he had no difficulty in opening the conversation with them. he told them that he and his companion wanted to go down the river to yeneseisk, and wished to buy a boat, a good one. the women said that some of the men would be in that evening, and that the matter could be arranged. "they will be glad to sell us a boat," luka said to god- frey. "they are very poor the ostjaks; they have nothing but their tents, their boats, and their clothes. they live on the fish they catch, but fish are so plentiful they can scarce get anything for them, so thev are very glad when they can sell anything for money." the ostjak men arrived just before it became dark. they wore high flat-topped fur caps, a dress something like a long loose blouse, and trousers of fine leather tucked into boots that came up to the knee. most of them had bows and arrows in addition to their fishing gear. godfrey felt no uneasiness among these men as he would have done among the buriats in the east, for they were now at a distance from any convict settlements, and these people would know nothing about the rewards offered to the natives in the neighbourhood of the mines for the arrest of prisoners. a present of some tobacco, of which godfrey had laid in a large stock, put the ostjaks into an excellent temper. fish were broiling over the fire when they returned, and the two travellers joined them at their meal. after this was over and pipes lighted the subject of the boat was discussed. the ostjaks were perfectly ready to afloat trade. they said they would sell any of their six boats for three roubles, and that if they did not think any of these large enough they would build them a larger one in three days for six roubles. godfrey had exchanged twenty roubles for kopecks at the first village they had passed after reaching the river, as he knew that notes would be of no use among the native tribes, and without bargaining he accepted the offer they made. after passing the night stretched by the fire they went down with the men in the morning to inspect the boats. they were larger than he had expected to find them, as the fishing population often shift their quarters by the river and travel in boats, taking their family, tent, and implements with them. "what do you think, luka?" "they are large enough," luka said, "but they are not in very good condition. i should say that farthest one would do very well; but let us have a look at the state of the skins." the boat was hauled ashore and carefully examined. three or four of the skins were found to be old and rotten; the rest had evidently been renewed from time to time. "we will take this if you will put in four good skins," luka said to the owner. "it will be six roubles if we put in fresh skins," the ostjak said. "we will put in good skins and grease all the boat, and then it will be the same as new. the other skins were all new last year." "no," luka said. "you said you would build a whole boat larger than this for six roubles." the men talked together. "we will do it for five roubles," they said at last, and luka at once agreed to the terms. there was no time lost. the ostjaks ordered the women to set about it at once, and leaving the matter in their hands went off to their fishing. godfrey asked them to take him with them, leaving luka to see to the repairs of the boat. the fishing implements were of the roughest kind. the hooks were formed of fish bones, bound together by fine gut; g condemned as a nihilist the lines were twisted strips of skin, strong gut attaching the hook to these lines; the bait was small pieces of fat, varied by strips of fish with the skin on them. clumsy as the appli- ances were, jack, tench, and other fish were caught in consid- erable numbers, and among them two or three good-sized salmon. the nets were of coarse mesh, made of hemp, which grows wild in many parts of siberia. they were some ten feet in depth and some twenty yards long. the upper ends were supported by floats made of bladders, and the whole anchored across the stream by ropes at the extremities, fastened to heavy stones. in these nets a consid- erable quantity of fish were taken. the fishing was over early, for there had been a good supply taken on the previous day, and as at this time of year they would not keep, it was useless obtaining more. when they reached shore the common sorts of fish were thrown to the dogs; a dozen of the best picked out, and with these two of the men started at once for the nearest village, where they would be sold for a few kopecks; the rest were handed over to the women, while the men proceeded to throw themselves down by the fire and smoke. godfrey went to see how the women were getting on with the boat. they had already made a great deal of progress. the skins, which had been chosen by luka from a pile in the hut, were already pre- pared by having fat rubbed into them. the hair was left on them, as that would come inside. the bad skins had been taken off, the others cut to fit, and now only required sewing into their places. as a matter of course godfrey and luka took their meals with the ostjaks and greatly enjoyed the change of diet. they gladdened the hearts of their hosts by producing a packet of tea, of which a handful was poured into a pot of water boiling over the fire. the liquor was drunk with delight by the ostjak men and women, but godfrey could not touch it, for some of the fish had already been boiled in the water, which the ostjaks had not thought it necessary to change. condemned as a nihilist "i don't say that they are not sorry for us, but the real reason is they know that if they did not give we should take, and instead of being harmless wanderers, as they call us, we should be driven to become bandits." still godfrey had anticipated much greater difficulties than they had met with; in fact up to the present time it had been simply a delightful tramp through the woods. the next part of the journey would, he expected, be no less pleasant. they had a large and comfortable boat, well adapted for the navi- gation of the river. there would be no difficulty as to food, for fish could be obtained in any quantities, and grain was, he had heard from some of the tartar prisoners who knew that portion of the yenesei, abundant and extraordinarily cheap. he seated himself in the stern of the boat with a paddle. there was no occasion to steer, for it mattered in no way whether the boat drove down the river bow or stern first; but at present it was an amusement to keep her straight with an occasional stroke with the paddle. luka sat on the floor- boards at the bottom of the boat, and set himself to work to manufacture from the squirrels' skins two fur caps of the same pattern as those worn by the ostjaks. godfrey had asked him to do so in order that they might be taken for members of that tribe by anyone looking at them from the villages on the banks. as to the dress it did not signify, as many of the more settled ostjaks had adopted the russian costume. godfrey intended to fish as they drifted along, but they had at present at least as much fish on board as they could consume while it was good. luka, as he worked, sang a lugubrious native ditty, while with his knife he trimmed the skins into shape. hav- ing done this he proceeded to sew them together with great skill. "why, you are quite a tailor, luka," godfrey remarked. "everyone sews with us," luka replied. "the women do most, but in winter the boys help, and sometimes the men, to make rugs and robes of the skins of the beasts we have taken in the summer. what do you say, shall i leave these tails afloat hanging down all round, except just in front? they often wear them so in winter." "but it is not winter now, luka." "no, it is not winter; but you see the ostjaks and most of the russians wear their hair long, quite down to the neck. our hair is growing, but at present it will only just lie down flat. if i leave on these black tails round the caps, at a little distance it will look like hair. then, if you like, i can make two summer caps to put on when we land to buy anything." "very well, luka, i think the idea is a good one. the people do wear their hair long, and our close crops might excite attention. this is better than gold-digging at kara, isn't it?" luka nodded. "no good for man always to work," he said. "good to lie quiet sometimes." "i don't know that i care about lying quiet generally, luka, but it is pleasant to do so in a boat. i am keeping a look- out for wild-fowl, it would make a pleasant change to fish diet." "not so far south as this. the yenesei swarms with them in winter, but in summer they go north. just before the frost begins you can shoot as many as you like." "that will be something to look forward to. when does the weather begin to get cold and dry?" "where i lived the nights began to get cold at the end of september, but we shall be far down the yenesei by that time, and it will begin early in the month." "we shall be a long way down," godfrey said, "if we keep on at this pace. we must be going past the banks eight or nine versts an hour." "that is nothing; it will be more than twice that some- times. the angara between the lake and irkutsk runs fifteen versts. when i was taken east we saw barges, each towed up-stream by twenty horses, and it took them sometimes four days, sometimes six, to make forty-five versts." as they went along they passed several fishing-boats, but condemned as a nihilist as they were keeping in the middle of the stream, while the boats lay in the slacker water near the shore, there was no conversation. twice the ostjaks shouted to know where they were going, but luka only replied by pointing down the stream. the journey was singularly uneventful. at night they lit a torch for a short time, and generally speared suffi- cient fish for the next day, but if not, they cut a strip or two from the back of one they had caught, baited three or four hooks and dropped them overboard, and never failed in a short time to fill up their larder. sometimes they grilled the fish over the fire, sometimes fried them, sometimes cut them up in pieces that would go into the kettle, and boiled them. occasionally, when evening approached, they paddled to the shore near a village, and luka, whose tartar face was in keeping with his dress, went boldly in and purchased tobacco, tea, and flour, and a large block of salt, occasionally bringing off a joint of meat, for which the price was only four kopecks, or about a penny a pound; five kopecks being worth about three halfpence according to the rate of exchange. a hundred kopecks go to the rouble; the silver rouble being worth from two and tenpence to three shillings and twopence, the paper rouble about two shillings. at first godfrey had steered half the night and luka the other half, but after the second night they gave this up as a waste of labour, as the boat generally drifted along near the middle of the river, and even had it floated in-shore no harm would have been done. the fox skins made them a soft bed, and they spread a couple of the large skins over the boat and were perfectly warm and comfortable. godfrey thought that on an average they did a hundred and twenty miles a day. on the eighth day the river, which had been widening gradually, flowed into another and greater stream, the yenesei. hitherto they had been travelling almost due west, but the yenesei ran north. as they floated down they had had much conversation as to their plans. it was now nearly the end of august, and it would not be long before winter was upon them. another afloat month and the yenesei would be frozen, and they would be obliged to winter. the question was where should they do so? now they were on the yenesei luka was on his native river, though his home was fully a thousand miles higher up. god- frey had at first proposed that he should disembark here and make his way up the banks home, but the offer filled luka with indignation. "what are you going to do without me?" he asked. "you can talk a little tartar, quite enough to get on among my people, but how could you get on with the ostjaks? besides, even if i were to leave you, and i would rather die than do that, i could not go to my home, for in my native village i should be at once arrested and sent back to the mines. i might live among other tartars, but what good would that be? they would be strangers to me. why should i leave you, who have been more than a brother to me, to go among strangers? no, wherever you go i shall go with you, and when you get to your own land i shall be your servant. you can beat me if you like, but i will not leave you. did you not, for my sake, strike down the man in the prison? did you not take me with you, and have you not brought me hither? what could i have done alone? if you are tired of me shoot me, but as long as i live i will not leave you." godfrey hastened to assure luka that he had only spoken for his good, that he was well aware that without him he should have little chance of getting through the winter, and that nothing therefore was farther from his thoughts than to separate himself from him if he was willing to remain. ii was some time before luka was pacified, but when he at last saw that godfrey had no intention whatever of leaving him behind if he were willing to go with him, he recovered his spirits and entered into the discussion as to where they had better winter. he had never been below the town of yeneseisk, but he knew that the ostjaks were to be found fully a thousand miles below that town, especially on the le/t bank of the river, condemned as a nihilist but below that, and all along the right bank, the tunguses and yuraks were the principal tribes. it was finally agreed that they should keep on for at least eight hundred miles beyond yeneseisk, and then haul up their boat and camp at some ostjak village, and there remain through the winter. "we will get at yeneseisk whatever you think the ostjak will prize most—knives and beads for the women, and some cheap trinkets and looking-glasses. some small hatchets, too, would probably be valued." "yes," luka said, "ostjaks have told me that their kindred far down the river were more like the people to the extreme north by the sea. they are pagans there, and not like us to the south. they have reindeer which draw their sledges. they are very poor and know nothing. from them we can get furs, but we can buy goat-skins and sheep-skins at yen- eseisk." "we shall have to depend upon them for food," godfrey said. "why, we can get food for ourselves," luka said somewhat indignantly. "when the cold begins, before the river freezes, we shall get great quantities of fish. they will freeze hard, and last till spring. then, too, the river will be covered with birds. we shall shoot as many as we can of these, and freeze them too. flour we must take with us, but flour is very cheap at yeneseisk. corn will not grow there, but they bring it down in great boats from the upper river." "but how do they get the boats back, luka?" "they do not get them back; they break them up for fire- wood. firewood is dear at yeneseisk, and they get much more for the barges for fires than it cost to build them in the forests higher up." "then how do they do for fires among the ostjaks?" "i have heard they do not have wood fires; they kill seals. there are numbers of them farther down the river, and from their fat they make oil for lamps and burn these. we shall be in no hurry as we go down. we will float near the banks, and afloat may kill some seals. what are you thinking of?" for godfrey was looking rather serious. "i was thinking, luka, that these things we are thinking of buying, the things to trade with the ostjaks, you know, and the flour, and tea, and goat-skins, and so on, will take a good deal of money. we don't spend much now, but when we get into russia we shall want money. we can't beg our way right across the country." "no," luka said, "but we shall not be idle all the winter." "how do you mean we shall not be idle, luka?" "we must hunt; that is what the ostjaks and tunguses do. we must get skins of beaver, sable, ermine, and black foxes, and we must sell them at turukhansk. there are russian traders there. they do not live there in the winter, but come down in the spring to buy the skins that have been taken in the winter." "that sounds more cheerful," godfrey said. "you had better get another flask of powder, and some more bullets and shot for me, luka, stad some better arrow-heads for yourself." "yes, we shall want them more than anything. we can do without flour, but we cannot do without weapons." "well, you must do the buying, luka. they will take you for an ostjak, from some village up the river, who has come in to lay in his stock of provisions for the winter. it is of no use my trying to pass here as a native, though in russia i might be taken as a russian." condemned as a nihilist chapter xii winter afew hours after entering the yenesei they saw on the right bank of the river, which was now of great width, the domes of the town. they ran in to the shore a mile above it. "i shall not land, luka," godfrey said. "i don't want to be questioned. i shall put off, and drop our anchor a quarter of a mile out and fish. you must make two or three journeys if necessary." "the things will not be heavy, godfrey, the flour is the only thing that will weigh much. i will get someone to help me down with that." they had already gone over and over again the list of pur- chases to be made. "i shall drop down a little nearer the town, luka, when i think it is about time for you to be coming back, so you won't have so far to carry the things. don't be more than three hours whether you have got anything or not, or i shall begin to feel anxious about you." luka nodded, and went off. godfrey paddled the boat out a short distance, let down the stone, and began to fish. he was under no real uneasiness as to the young tartar, there was nothing about him to distinguish him from other natives, and as these would be about this time arriving in considerable numbers at yeneseisk to sell the skins of the animals they had taken in the chase during the summer, and to lay in stores for the winter, it was unlikely in the extreme that anyone would even question him. such indeed was the case. there were numbers of natives in the stores of the russian traders, and he made his purchases without any question whatever being asked. he bought rather more hatchets, knives, and trinkets than they had agreed upon, and two sacks of flour, although condemned as a nihilist months at least there would not be the slightest risk of meet- ing with a russian policeman or soldier. "hurrah for the north, luka, and for shooting and adventures!" luka smiled. it was rarely he laughed, but he was always ready to smile when godfrey addressed him. "the air feels brisk and cold to-day. we shall soon have winter upon us." "yes; look there!" luka said, pointing into the air ahead of them. "what is it? it looks like a long black streak." "geese," luka said. "it is a flight of wild geese from the north." as it approached godfrey saw that the tartar was right. a solitary bird led the way, two followed him closely, then came rank after rank widening out till it was a broad band of fully fifty abreast. line after line they followed in almost military array, and extending in length fully a quarter of a mile. "why, there must be thirty or forty thousand of them there," he exclaimed in amazement. "you will see bigger flocks than that," luka said. "why, all the river, from minusinsk down to turukhansk, more than miles, is well-nigh covered with birds. we shall have no lack of meat presently." during the day many flights similar to those first seen passed overhead, some larger, some containing only a score or two birds. the next day the numbers were still larger, whole battalions coming along almost incessantly. these were by no means confined to geese. there were gulls and swans, flocks of small birds of many kinds, flights of wild ducks —the latter, for the most part, flying much lower than the geese, which kept far overhead. "we had better land to-night," luka said. "they fly close after dark, and the flocks will settle on the banks. we will shoot them as they come overhead. you may not see them well, but they are so thick that you can hardly miss them." accordingly, when evening came on they landed, fastened winter the boat, took a couple of sheep-skins each to throw over their shoulders (for even in these two days the cold had sensibly increased), and lay down to await the coming of the birds. all day long the air had been full of their cries, but it had grown quieter now, though occasionally they heard a sharp cry of the leader of a flock, followed by a responsive note from the birds following him. from time to time godfrey could hear the whirring sound of a multitude of wings as the flocks passed overhead. these became louder as the time went on, and he knew that they were flying lower. he had loaded his gun with heavy shot, and once or twice was disposed to fire, but luka each time stopped him. "they are much too high yet. they will come close down presently." the stars were shining brightly, and godfrey could make out the outlines of the geese as they passed overhead. presently there was a sharp call a few hundred yards higher up the bank. "this lot-are coming low," luka whispered. "they are probably going to settle to feed. get ready now." godfrey lay with his gun pointed upwards; a minute later he heard the rustling of wings, which rose to a sound like a mighty wind, and then some forty yards overhead a dark cloud of birds swept along across the sky. godfrey fired one barrel, waited a moment and then fired again. with a loud cry of surprise and alarm the flock divided in two, and almost instantly there were several heavy thuds on the ground close by. "hurrah! we have got some of them," godfrey said, and leaping up they ran to collect the fallen birds. there were five of them. "that is grand," he exclaimed in delight. "will you shoot some more?" luka asked. "no, we have as many as we can eat, luka, for the next three days at least. it would be a waste of powder and shot to kill more, and worse still, it would be a waste of life. it is right to kill what we require as food, but to my mind there is nothing more wicked than taking life merely for amusement. i consider that we should well deserve any misfortune that winter in a very few minutes the fire was blazing, and portions of the goose frizzling over it, and in twenty minutes the meal was ready. godfrey thought he had never eaten anything nicer; and the meat being much less rich than that of tame geese, he did very well without bread. for the next three days they made no pause, floating down night and day, the stream varying in speed from five to ten miles an hour. at points where the stream was most rapid, they paddled in towards the bank to avoid the waves raised by the river in its course. the light boat always floated easily over these, but she needed to be kept with her head to them; and godfrey was afraid that a moment's carelessness might bring her broad- side on to them, and therefore preferred to glide along at a somewhat slower rate near the shore. the river was now a mile and a half wide. to the left the country was flat, but on the right they could see hills rising far above each other. one or two small trading stations were seen on the right bank, but upon the left they passed only a few clusters of ostjak yourts. on the right great pine forests came down in places to within a short distance of the river, but these were rarely seen on the left. on the fifth day after leaving yeneseisk they saw a small trading station on the right bank. this godfrey, who had got the geography of the river by heart, judged to be peslovska, because it was one of the few trading stations which was not situated at a point where a tributary stream ran into the yenesei. "we are far enough down now, luka," he said. "we are not more than two hundred miles from turukhansk. we will land at the next ostjak huts we come to, and see if they are disposed to be friendly with us." "they will be friendly," luka said confidently. "why not? they are peaceable people, and they know that did they touch strangers they would be punished. there are russian soldiers at turukhansk. the ostjaks are very poor. you have things to give them, and you want nothing of them." twenty miles further they saw a group of seven huts on the condemned as a nihilist left bank ahead of them, and paddling in landed close to them. three or four canoes much smaller than their own lay there, and as they climbed the lofty bank some of the ostjaks came out from their huts. "what do you want?" one of them asked abruptly. "i am travelling with this gentleman, who has come from a far distant country to hunt and to shoot game here in winter. we would like to live beside your village and to hunt with you. you see he has a gun. he has many things as presents, and it will be well for the village where he settles. here is some tobacco for all," and luka handed a small roll of tobacco to each of the men. "we have also some presents for the women," and he produced two or three looking- glasses, and some rows of large blue and red beads. the women, who were listening in the huts, at once came out. "it is good," an old man, who seemed to be the leader of the ostjaks, said. "why should not the stranger live here with us and hunt with us if he chooses? he will be welcome. let us help the strangers." the whole of the ostjaks at once set to work. godfrey chose a piece of level ground twenty or thirty yards lower down than the huts. he and luka, aided by some of the men, carried the various articles out of the boat. while they were doing this, the women stuck some poles in the ground round the circle godfrey had traced, and lashed them together in the middle with some strips of hide. the three large skins were placed against this on the northern side. then the women paused. "you had better buy some more large skins if they have got them, luka. say that you will give a knife for hides enough to finish the huts with." the knives were large ones with rough handles and strong blades, and when luka took one out from a bundle and said to the chief, "we will give this knife for enough skins to finish the hut," he gave an order to his wife, and she and two of the other women at once brought some elk hides from a pile lying winter by the side of his tent. a few stitches here and there with the needle made of a sharp fish-bone, with a thread of twisted gut, fastened the corners of the hides together, and in half an hour the tent was complete. the goat-skins were spread on the ground. the fox and other skins were made into two piles, one on each side of the tent, and all the goods stored inside. "this is splendid," godfrey said; "here we are as snug as if we were born ostjaks. i had no idea they would have made us so comfortable. we will give them a cup of tea all round, luka, as a reward for their labours. we don't care for sugar, but the two pounds you bought at yeneseisk will come in use- ful now. they will think a lot more of it if it is sweet. see if they have got a big kettle. that little thing of ours will only hold a couple of quarts." upon inquiry the chief produced a cauldron, which he exhibited with great pride. it had evidently been used for melting down blubber. luka carried it down to the water's edge, and then scrubbed it with sand until it was tolerably clean; then he rubbed it- with wisps of coarse grass, filled it with water, and stood it on a fire that the ostjaks had made from drift-wood picked up from the shore. in half an hour the water boiled. he put in two or three handfuls of tea and half a pound of sugar, let it boil for another minute or two, and then took the pot off the fire. then he invited the ostjaks to dip in their cups. in each of the huts they had a few tin mugs, for the expense and risk of carriage of crockery ren- dered the prices prohibitive, and even the tin mugs were prized as among their most precious possessions. luka and godfrey also dipped in their cups as an act of civility, but the latter made a wry face when it approached his lips, for the odour of the blubber was very strong, and he took an opportunity, when none of the ostjaks were looking, to pour the contents of the tin upon the ground beside him; but to the ostjaks the smell and flavour of blubber was no drawback, and men and women sat round the fire drinking the sweet condemned as a nihilist liquor with great enjoyment, and evidently highly contented at the coming of this stranger among them. while they were partaking of it godfrey heard a sound behind, and looking round saw a boy driving in several rein- deer. he was delighted at the sight, not only because it promised hunting expeditions, but because they might aid to carry them across the frozen steppes, to the obi, before the frost broke up. talking with the ostjaks luka found that, as the temperature had been below freezing-point all day, they intended to commence fishing in earnest the next morning. the position of the huts had been specially selected for that purpose. the river made a sharp bend just above them, and the point threw the current- across to the opposite bank, form- ing almost a back-water at the spot where the huts stood. it seemed strange to godfrey, as he lay down that night, to be without the gentle motion of the boat to which he had been so long accustomed, and he lay awake for some time, not for- getting before he went to sleep to thank god for the wonderful success that had so far attended him, and to pray for a con- tinuance of his protection. as soon as it was light the boats all put off, and anchoring a short distance out were soon engaged in fishing. godfrey put down four lines, each with six of the hooks mikail had purchased for him before starting from kara. these were baited with strips of fish, and he and luka were soon busy at work hauling in the fish. they were mostly jack or tench, and by the evening they had caught nearly a hundred. when they rowed to shore they found that they had been far more successful than any of the ostjaks, this being due to the superiority of their hooks over the fish-bone contrivances of the natives. following the example of the ostjaks they laid the fish in lines in front of their tent to freeze during the night. after boiling their kettle, frying a couple of fish, and taking supper, they lighted two torches and again went out, return- ing before midnight with twenty-five salmon averaging fifteen winter pounds each. by the morning the fish were all frozen as hard as pieces of wood, and were then laid in a pile. for four days this work continued with equal success, and by the end of that time they had a pile of fish six feet square and three feet high, making, godfrey calculated, nearly a ton of fish. they had observed that some of the ostjaks had each morning brought in several wild geese and swans, and luka learnt from them that there was a large marsh a mile away in which large flights of geese settled every night. accompanied by two of the ostjaks they started late in the evening for the spot. when they came near the marsh they could hear a low chattering noise as the birds fed on the aquatic grasses. sometimes they heard cries in the air, answered by calls from the feeding birds, and followed speedily by a great rustling of wings as fresh flocks alighted. godfrey and luka had brought with them some fox-skins and sat wrapped up in them, but in spite of that they felt the cold as they waited hour after hour. godfrey dozed off sev- eral times, and at last slept for three or four hours. he was awakened by a touch from luka, and a low warning to keep silence. the morning was breaking. he found that the ostjaks had built a sort of shelter of bushes, which had the effect of breaking the force of the north wind and of hiding them from the water-fowl. raising his head cautiously he saw before him a sheet of shallow water; this was absolutely covered with geese, a few swans being seen here and there. luka had warned him not to fire until the ostjaks had shot all their arrows, as the sound of his gun would at once scare the whole flock. the edge of the water was about forty yards away. the ostjaks and luka had both made holes through the bushes in front of them so as to be able to shoot without exposing their heads. moving gently godfrey found a spot where he could see through the boughs. the natives were just ready to shoot. there were three swans close to the edge of the water, and the bows twanged almost together. although he knew how marvellous was the shooting of the condemned as a nihilist ostjaks, he was nevertheless surprised at seeing that each of the birds was struck in the head, and was thus killed instantly without the slightest noise being made. again and again they shot, and each arrow brought down its bird. luka's third arrow was less successful; it wounded a bird on the neck, and with loud cries of pain and alarm it flew flapping across the pool. in an instant the whole mass of birds rose on the wing, circling round and round with loud cries. the natives, lying on their backs, shot arrow after arrow into the air, in each case transfixing a goose. each had twelve arrows, and when they were exhausted luka said, "now, godfrey, you can fire." godfrey waited until a number of birds flew in a mass over him, and then discharged both barrels. five geese fell, and then the whole vast flock flew away to the north, leaving the lagoon entirely deserted save by the floating bodies of their dead companions. "arrow better than gun," luka said as he rose. "gun kill, but frighten all away. arrow keep on killing." "that is true enough, luka; there is no doubt the bow is the best for this sort of work; but i shall manage better another time." the birds were picked up. twelve had fallen to each of the ostjaks. luka had eleven, and godfrey five. it was a heavy burden to carry back to the huts. godfrey and luka's shares of the birds were laid by the pile of fish, with the exception of one which luka proceeded to skin and hang up, while godfrey saw to the fire and put on the kettle. when they had finished breakfast godfrey said, "we will take three or four hours' sleep now, luka, and then i am going down to have a look at that marsh." they accordingly started at mid-day. godfrey made a detour round the lagoon, and a hundred yards beyond it, on the opposite side, found a clump of bushes that he thought would suit his purpose. with luka's assistance he cleared a spot in the middle large enough for them to lie down on, and then returned to camp. they winter took their next meal early, and then, taking some furs to make themselves comfortable, again started round the lagoon. it was just sunset when they got there, and spreading two or three fox-skins on the ground, and throwing two over their shoul- ders, they waited. it was scarcely dusk when the first flock of geese passed close over their heads, on their way to the lagoon. luka dis- charged two arrows, and then godfrey fired his two barrels into them. several fell, but the flock scattered with wild screams; but, after circling round and round for some time, settled in the lagoon. a quarter of an hour passed, and then another flock came along. all night the flocks continued to arrive at short intervals, and from each godfrey brought down several. luka's arrows were soon exhausted, but godfrey continued firing until morning began to break. then they got up to see the result of the night's shooting. luka, although seldom excited, gave a shout of pleasure. the ground around them was thickly strewn with geese. many were only wounded; but luka, with a short, heavy stick, soon put them out of their pain, although not without several sharp chases. then they collected and counted the birds. there were eighty-four in all. "another night's shooting, luka, and our larder will be full." each taking up six geese, which was as much as they could carry, they returned to the tents, and then set out again, ac- companied by all the boys and girls of the village; and this time the whole of the geese were carried to the hut. "it is an awful pity," godfrey said, as he looked at the great pile, "that we haven't got anything we could use for holding the feathers. well, we will have them picked anyhow. we can make a thick layer of them under the skins for the present. when it gets downright cold we can nestle in among them somehow." accordingly the children were set to work to pluck the birds, which were then left out to freeze in the same way as the fish. winter had brought down with them, with the fur inside. the trousers were of red fox-skin, with the hair outside. the upper gar- ment was a long capote of the same fur, reaching down to the ankles, and furnished with a hood covering the head and face, with the exception of an opening from the eyes down to the mouth. in addition to these, was given to each as a present a pair of ostjak boots. these were large and loose. they were made of goat-skins, rendered perfectly supple by grease and rubbing, and with the hair inside. they came up to the thighs, and had a thick sole made of layers of elk-hide. there was also for each a pair of socks of squirrel's skin, with the hair inside, and a pair of fingerless gloves of double skin, the fur being both inside and out, except in the palm, which was of single skin, with the fur inside. "well, if it is cold enough to require all that," godfrey said, "it will be cold indeed; but it will be awful walking about with it. surely one can never want all those furs!" but in time godfrey found that they were none too many, for at turukhansk the thermometer in winter sometimes sinks to degrees below zero. for a time, however, he found no occasion to use the capote, the fur shirt, trousers, and boots being amply sufficient, while the fur cap with the hanging tails kept his neck and ears perfectly warm. already the ice was thick on the still reach of the river beside which the huts stood, although, beyond the shelter of the point, the yenesei still swept along. the lagoon had been frozen over for some days, in spite of the water being kept almost perpetually in motion by the flocks of water-fowl, and the ground was as hard as iron. the ostjaks were now for some days employed in patching up their huts and preparing them to withstand the cold of winter. an immense pile of firewood had been collected on the shore, for boughs of trees and drift-wood, brought down by the river, often came into the back-water, and these were always drawn ashore, however busied the men might be at the time in fish- ing. all through the summer every scrap of wood that came condemned as a nihilist within reach had been landed, and the result was a great pile that would, they calculated, with the blubber they had stored, be sufficient to last them through the winter.- "what will they do if fuel should run short?" godfrey asked luka. "they will cross the frozen river with their sledges to the forests. they would either take their huts down and establish themselves there, or would cut wood, fill their sledges, and bring it over. i have been talking to them. on the other side there are many russian villages, for the post-road is on that side. in summer the carriages are drawn by horses; in winter they have reindeer. these people are very poor; the skins that they make their clothes with are all poor, the animals were torn by the dogs or injured—that is why they could not sell them. those red fox-skins would have been worth two roubles each if they had been good; but the merchants will give nothing for those that are injured. they say it does not pay for the carriage. so they were glad to make them up for us." "what do they do with the reindeer?" "they milk them in summer, and in winter they let them to the owners of the post-stations. of course, when they move they use them themselves." "what we want, luka," godfrey said, after sitting quiet for some time, "is more money. if we had that, we might hire sledges and reindeer as soon as the snow gets on the ground, and travel west; but of course there is no tempting these poor people to make such a journey without money to pay them well." "they will go hunting presently," luka said. "you might get some good furs and sell them." "yes; but i don't see why i should. no doubt many of the russian peasants in the villages have guns; and if they don't get skins, why should i?" "a great many skins come down every year," the tartar said. "black fox is worth money, fifteen, twenty roubles; ermine is worth money; lots of them in the woods." "well, we must hope for the best. if we can but get enough winter for them to take us across to the obi, we ought to be able to coast round in a canoe to archangel. but i don't think we could do it from this river in one season. the ice does not break up till june, and begins to form again in october. we can only rely upon three open months. i doubt whether we could get in that time from the yenesei. however, it is of no use our bothering ourselves about that now." another fortnight and the frost was so severe that the ice extended almost across the river, and a heavy fall of snow covered everything. as soon as it was deep enough godfrey and luka followed the example of the ostjaks and raised a high wall of it encircling the tent to keep off the bitter north wind. then the weather changed again. the wind set in from the south, and drenching rains fell. at the end of two or three days the ice on the river had disappeared, but it was not long before winter set in more bitterly than before. the ground became covered with the snow to a depth of upwards of three feet, and the river froze right across. the wall round the tent was rebuilt, godfrey fashioning wooden shovels from some planks he found among the drift-wood. the ostjaks took to their snow-shoes, and godfrey fashioned for himself and luka two pairs of runners, such as he had seen in use near st. petersburg. these were about five feet long, by as many inches wide, and slightly turned up at each end. a strap was nailed across, under which the foot went. the ends were turned up by damping the wood and holding it over the fire, a string being fastened tightly from end to end, so as to keep the wood bent. when they were completed they practised with them steadily, and found that as soon as the surface of the snow hardened they could get along upon them at a good pace on level ground, completely distancing the ostjaks on their broader snow-shoes. the ostjaks evidently admired them greatly, but were too much wedded to their own customs to adopt them. godfrey was so warmly clad that he felt the cold but little. his eyes, however, suffered from the glare of the snow, and he winter being crisp and hard, but it was hard work mounting the opposite bank, which was exceedingly steep. the reindeer pulled well, and at difficult points the men aided them. a short distance from the bank they crossed the post-road, and in another half-hour were in the forest. godfrey had already been told that they would travel for several days before they began to hunt, as the villagers with their guns scared the wild animals from the forests in their neighbourhoods. there was no difficulty in travelling through the forest, for the pine-trees stood generally at some distance apart, and there was but little growth of underwood. all day they kept steadily on. when evening came they cut some young poles, erected their tent, and lit a fire in the centre. by this time godfrey had become accustomed to the smoke, which escaped from the top of the tent by a hole. a couple of geese were cut up and broiled over the flame, and some cakes baked in the frying-pan, their pipes were lighted, and they lay down in a circle with their feet to the fire. for three more days the journey was continued. then, as several tracks had been seen in the snow, they halted and prepared for the hunt. the method was simple. the men scattered in several directions, and when they struck upon a recent track followed it up. each man took with him a dog, a certain amount of provisions, a box of matches from god- frey's store, and a large skin to wrap himself in at night. sometimes, as godfrey found, the track had to be followed a long distance before they came up to the animal, which always travelled in zigzag courses hunting about for white mice and other prey. sometimes it was found to have taken to a hole, and then a trap was set to catch it when it came out. the animals were principally ermine; but one or two sable, which are considerably larger, with much more valuable skins, and some martens were taken. all belong to the weasel family; the upper part of the ermine being brown in summer, but, like most animals in or near the arctic zone, changing into a pure white in winter, with the exception of the tail, which condemned as a nihilist remains black as in summer. the ermine is but little larger than the english ferret, while the sable and marten are the size of large polecats. when the ostjaks came up with them they either knocked them on the head with a club or shot them through the head. they were then carefully skinned, the bodies being thrown to the dogs for food. it had been agreed that the animals caught should be divided; but godfrey felt that he was doing but little, for he was unable to shoot them, as this would have damaged their skins. however, he aided in tracking them down, and in setting traps when he traced them to a hole; and once or twice he came up with and killed one with a club. occa- sionally he shot a squirrel—the little animals coming out from their nests in holes in the trees at the sound of footsteps, their curiosity costing them dear. after remaining four days at this spot the tent was pulled down and packed up, and they advanced another two days' journey into the forest. chapter xiii hunting at the end of a fortnight one of the ostjaks started with the large sledge for the huts, taking with him all the skins that had been collected. these had mounted up to a consid- erable number, the ostjaks considering their luck to have been extraordinary, and putting it down in a great degree to their white companion, for whom they began to have an almost superstitious respect, since the way he had supplied their village with food for the winter seemed to them almost mi- raculous. the reindeer with the light sledge would accom- plish the return journey in two days with ease, although the distance had taken them five days on their way out. it was condemned as a nihilist "i did not think of that," godfrey said. "that would be a foolish trick." however, the smoke had the desired effect, and in a minute or two, two bears burst out on the other side, growling angrily. the dogs rushed at them, barking loudly but taking care to keep at a safe distance from their paws. the bears both raised themselves on their haunches. the ostjak bows twanged and godfrey fired. one of the bears rolled over, the other charged at his assailants. godfrey fired his second barrel, then dropping his gun and grasping his spear, stood ready to meet the charge. but the bear did not reach him, for as it rose on its hind-legs the ostjaks and luka again shot their arrows, and the bear rolled over dead. the two animals were placed on the sledge, the reindeer harnessed, and, the ostjaks taking ropes to aid it with its heavy burden, they returned to the tent. they had scarcely reached it when one of the other hunters returned with news that they had come upon the track of an elk. the bears were at once dragged into the tent, the entrance securely fastened to prevent a passing wolf or ounce from tearing them; then, taking with them this time all the dogs and the three sledges, they started, and in half an hour came to where the chief and his remaining followers were awaiting them. "they came along here yesterday afternoon," the chief said to luka. "there is one big stag, and one young one, and three females." after three hours' walking they came to a spot where the snow was much trampled, and there were marks of animals having lain down. "that is where they slept," the chief said. "they are travelling south, but they will probably stop to feed before they have gone far; we may catch them then." he ordered one of the men to stop with the sledges, and the rest proceeded onwards. not a word was spoken now, and as they went they took the greatest pains not to brush against any branch or twig. godfrey brings down an elk hunting the ostjaks were now walking their fastest, and godfrey had to exert himself to keep up with them. their footfall was so light as to be scarce audible. after two hours' travel- ling they saw an opening among the trees, and here some young pines were growing thickly. the chief pointed signifi- cantly towards them, and godfrey understood that the animals would probably be feeding there. they now went slowly, and the chief whispered orders that they were to make a circle round the opening and close round on the other side as noise- lessly as possible. he himself would enter the thicket from the side on which he now was. the crackling of the pine twigs would drive them out on the other side. very quietly they worked round and took up their stations, each standing behind a fir-tree, and then waited. they could hear the stamping of heavy hoofs and the occa- sional breaking of twigs. presently there was a louder and more continuous sound of breaking bushes, and then with a sudden rush a great elk, followed by four others, burst out of the thicket. as they came along the ostjaks stepped out from their hiding-places and let fly their deadly arrows. the leading elk came close to the tree behind which godfrey was standing, and as it passed he fired both barrels, hitting it just behind the shoulder. the elk ran a few paces and then fell. three out of the other four had been brought down by the ostjak arrows; the young male escaped. the satisfaction of the ostjaks was great; for here, in addition to the value of the skins, was food for themselves and the dogs for some time to come. a man was at once sent back for the sledges. while wait- ing for these the rest set out on various tracks of ermine they had passed on the way, and three of these and a marten were killed before the sledges came up. the big elk was placed on one sledge, one of the females on each of the others. the fourth was skinned, cut up, and divided among the three sledges. lightly as the sledges ran over the snow the men were all obliged to harness themselves to ropes to assist the condemned as a nihilist or ten poles on each side, stretching from the ridge out to the side of the tent, so as to support the skin under the snow they piled over it. the bottom was covered with a thick mat of furs, the sides were lined with them, and others were hung across the en- trance, so that the cold was effectually kept out. a large fire was kept burning in front of the tent, and from this, from time to time, red embers were taken out and placed in a cook- ing-pot inside. at night two or three lamps, fed by oil melted down from the fat of the animals they killed, were kept alight, and in this way lying snugly in their sleeping-bags they felt perfectly warm and comfortable, although the temperature outside was from forty to fifty degrees below zero. the dogs slept outside, with the exception of the one of which godfrey had made a special pet, it being allowed to share the tent with them. a high bank of snow was erected on each side of the entrance to the tent. this served further to break the force of the wind and to retain and reflect back the heat of the fire. the dogs therefore, being provided with a good supply of meat from the proceeds of the chase, did very well. one afternoon the sky was very thick and overcast, and luka said he thought that they were going to have snow. "in that case, luka," godfrey said, "we will set to work to make things comfortable. if there is a heavy fall we might he almost buried here. ordinarily it is sheltered, but if there is a wind, and i can see that it is blowing now, it might drift very deep in this hollow, and we might find ourselves com- pletely snowed up. i think the tent is strong enough to stand any pressure, but it does not contain much air. we will cut down some strong poles and lay them side by side across the snow walls in front of the tent. the smoke will find its way out through them, and if a deep snow comes on it will save the dogs from being snowed up; besides, it will give us a lot of additional air, which we may want. two or three hours will do it. the time won't be thrown away anyhow, for the branches we cut off and the poles themselves will do for fire- wood." hunting the snow-flakes began to fall just as they finished the work —the result being a sort of flat-roofed shelter with snow walls ten feet long and six feet high, in front of the tent. a large quantity of firewood was piled up at the entrance to the shelter. "that is a capital idea, luka," godfrey said as they retired into the tent. "we can sit with the entrance of the tent open now if we like and get the benefit of the fire outside, for the air having to pass close by it on its way to us gets compara- tively warm." when they went out to build up the fire for the last time before lying down, snow was falling steadily, and was already deep in front of the entrance to the shelter. the dogs had been well fed and lay thickly clustered round the fire, evidently greatly contented with the unusual luxury of a roof over them. godfrey crawled into the tent again, closed the flaps, hung up a skin before them, and getting into his sleeping-bag lay there comfortably smoking his pipe and talking to luka. "we are as snug here as if we were in a palace, luka; but i should not like to be caught out in the woods to-night. have you ever heard of any of the ostjaks or samoyedes being frozen to death?" "couldn't be frozen if they had a hatchet and matches with them," he replied. "can always chop down branches and make a hut and a fire in the middle to keep it warm. then snow comes and covers it up and keeps out the wind. out on the plains a man might get frozen if stupid, but he ought never to be if he knew what to do. he should look for a hollow where the snow had drifted deep, then make a hole in the side of the drift and crawl in. he ought to be quite warm there if furs are good. but they do not often get lost; they never go very far from huts when snow in the sky. directly it comes on they would make for home. can always get along in snow-shoes." "the isvostchiks are often frozen in st. petersburg in their sledges at night," godfrey said. "they can't build huts in a town," luka remarked; "they condemned as a nihilist can't find snow deep enough to get into; town not good in winter." "are there many wolves here, luka? do they often attack people?" "no, there is plenty of game in the woods. in russia the game now, so i hear, is scarce, so the wolves must take to eating men; but here there is plenty of game, and so they do not often attack people. i have heard of hunters going out and never coming back again. then people say wolves eat them, but not often so. may be killed by elk, or hurt by a falling tree, or climb hills and fall down. i do not think it is often the wolves. wolves great cowards." "i am glad to hear it, luka; i have heard them howl some- times at night and wondered whether they would come this way." "not come here," luka said decidedly, "we keep plenty of big fire. all beasts afraid of fire. then we have got dogs and guns. much easier for wolves to attack elk; but even that they seldom do unless it is wounded or has injured itself." "well, i think i will go off to sleep; my pipe is out and the hot tea has made me sleepy." after sleeping for some hours, godfrey awoke with a strange feeling of oppression. outside he could hear the dogs whim- pering. "wake up, luka," he said, "it is very close in here. i fancy the snow must have drifted very deep and covered us up completely. let us get up and see about it." it was quite dark outside, exqept that the embers of the fire threw a dull red light on the snow. the shelter seemed but half its former dimensions. the snow had drifted in at its entrance and lay in a bank piled up to the roof. "bring your spear, luka, and mine, and shove them up between these poles. we must make a few holes up through the snow if we can to let a little air in." the spears were pushed up and then worked a little to and fro to try to enlarge the hole. they were eight feet long, but condemned as a nihilist "the entrance will fill up again by to-morrow," luka said, "and we shall have more trouble than ever to get out." "we must provide against that, luka; we must build a sort of roof over the entrance here, and then we shall only have to start from this point again. let us set to work and chop down some poles at once." after three hours' more work a cover was built over the entrance, and roofed with pine branches so as to prevent the snow from drifting in. "now, luka, there is one more job, and unfortunately a long one, but we must do that. we must get the snow that we have packed in the shelter below out of the way, for if by any chance this passage fell through, we should have nowhere to pile the snow; besides, we may have another passage as deep as the present one to dig to-morrow, for the snow is drifting down in clouds. it has deepened a couple of feet since we began to make the roof over the entrance." luka, who was always ready to work, set to cheerfully, but the short twilight had faded into deep darkness before the work was completed. "if we had had a couple of good shovels with us, luka, we should have made short work of this," godfrey said as they retired below into their tent. "we could do as much work in an hour as one can in five with these tools. it is heart-break- ing to shovel out snow with a hatchet. i am as tired as a dog. this is harder work than the gold-mines at kara by a long way." "yes," luka said, "but there is no man with a gun." "no, that makes a difference, luka, this is free work and the other isn't; not that one can call it exactly free when we have no choice but to do it." for another four days the snow continued to fall; but as the wind had dropped, and the snow no longer drifted, their work each morning was comparatively easy. "i wish it would stop," godfrey said, "for we begin to want food for the dogs; our stock of dried fish has been exhausted hunting since we were shut up. there is half a deer hanging to a branch of that tree close to the tent, but it is eight or ten feet below the snow, and as we can't calculate the exact position now it would be a big job to try to get at it." there was, however, no change in the aspect of the weather on the fol- lowing morning, and luka announced that beyond the tea and a handful or two of flour there was nothing whatever for break- fast, while the dogs had fasted on the previous day. "well, luka, there is nothing to do but to try and get at that venison. i have been thinking that it will be easiest to try from below; it is much quicker work chopping out the solid snow than it is trying to make a hole in that loose stuff at the surface. the tree was just about in a line with the front of the tent, wasn't it? and we hung the deer on a branch that stretched out nearly as far as the tent. i should say we hung it about half-way along that branch and not above twelve feet from the tent." luka agreed as to the position. "very well, then, as we know exactly the direction, and as the distance is but twelve feet, it ought not to take us very long to chop out a passage just big enough and high enough for one to crawl through. when we get near the place where we think it is, we must make the tunnel a good bit higher, for the bottom of the meat was quite five feet from the ground so that it should be well out of reach of the dogs. now, will you go first or shall i?" "i will begin," luka said. "we must make the passage wide enough to push the snow past us as we get it down." "certainly we must, luka. make it pretty wide at the bottom, and make the top arched so as to stand the pressure from above." it was easy enough work at first, but became more difficult every foot they advanced, as the one behind had to crawl backward each time with the snow that the one at work passed back to him. at last the tunnel was driven twelve feet long, and the last four feet it had been given an upward direction, condemned as a nihilist by which means less snow had to be removed than would have been the case had the bottom remained level with the ground and the height been increased. "we are a good twelve feet in now, luka, and certainly high enough. which way do you think we had better try?" luka replied by calling one of the dogs and taking it with him to the end of the tunnel. the animal at once began to snuff about eagerly, and then to scratch violently to the right. "that will do," luka said, pushing it back past him and taking its place. he had driven but a foot in the direction in which the dog was scratching when the hatchet struck some- thing hard. it required some care to dig round the meat and make a hole large enough for luka to stand up beside it and cut the cord by which it hung. the dogs yelped with joy when he dragged it back to the other end of the passage. the fire was made now in the passage under the roof they had made at the end of the first day's work, for outside the snow fell so fast that it damped the fire greatly, and as the smoke made its way out through the entrance it was no inconvenience to them below. a good-sized piece of raw meat was chopped off and given to each of the dogs. the ramrod was thrust through another large piece and held by luka over the fire, and then godfrey carried the rest of the joint outside and placed it in the fork of a tree. "it smells good, luka," he said as he returned to the fire; "i wish it would attract a bear." luka shook his head. "bears are asleep, godfrey; they are hunted in summer, and sometimes they may be found in the early part of the winter, but never when the snow is deep; they would die of hunger. there might be wolves, but we don't want them. wolf skins fetch very little, and their flesh is only good for the dogs; we don't want wolves, but we must be on our guard. in such weather as this food is very scarce. they might come and attack us. yesterday i heard howls once or twice. i think when we have done breakfast it will be better to take that meat down below." condemned as a nihilist came down, and with his knife managed to clear away the snow round it. then he went up and assisted luka to with- draw the pole, which left a hole of about three inches in diameter. "that is a capital chimney," he said. "now we will throw a few fir branches over it, to prevent the dogs treading here and shutting it up. i think the air looks rather lighter, luka, and that the storm is nearly over. there is a howl again. i am afraid that we are going to have trouble with the wolves. is there anything we can do?" luka shook his head. "we might get up into trees," he said. "we should be safe there, but then we should lose the dogs." "that would never do, luka; we should have to haul the sledge back a hundred and fifty miles. no, i'll tell you what we will do: we will cut down some young trees and block up our tunnel with beams, leaving three or four inches between each to fire through or use our spears." "that is a very good plan," luka said. "we should be quite safe then." it took them some hours' work to carry out the idea. the middle of the tunnel was closed by a row of pointed stakes, some four inches in diameter, driven deep into the snow and reaching up to the roof of the shelter. an opening of a foot wide was left in the middle, another stake being placed beside it in readiness to fill it up if required. the operation was completed by the light of the fire, as it was pitch dark by the time it was done. then another meal was cooked and eaten, and the brands carried below where, at the bottom of the descent, the fire was now kindled. the dogs had for some time been growling angrily in the upper passage, and the fire was no sooner alight below than they broke into a chorus of fierce barking. "we had better bring them down here, luka, and fill up the opening. i think the wolves must be gathering in num- bers." hunting going up again they sent the dogs down, firmly lashed two cross-bars to the others, and to these lashed the pole they had left in readiness, thus completing the grating across the tun- nel. as they worked the smoke from the fire below curled up round them. a few months before godfrey would have found it almost insupportable, but by this time he had, like the natives, become so accustomed to it that it affected him very little. still he said to luka: "you had better break off the hot ends of the sticks so as to have a red fire only for the present, the smoke makes my eyes water so that i can scarcely see. now the sooner those fellows come to get their first lesson the better." kneeling by the grating, with his gun in his hand and his spear beside him, godfrey gazed out, and could presently dis- tinguish the outline of a number of moving figures. "i can see their eyes at the entrance," he said. "shall i give them a shot, or will you send an arrow into them?" "you fire," luka replied. "bow makes no noise, gun will frighten them; besides, i have only twenty arrows and they would get broken. better keep them till there is need." godfrey levelled his gun, which was charged with buckshot, and fired both barrels. terrific yells and howls followed, and the opening was clear in a moment, though godfrey could see two or three dark figures on the snow. there was a sound of whimpering and snarling, and then of a fierce fight outside. "they are killing and eating the wounded," luka said; "when they have done that they will come again. let them get close up next time." in a few minutes the entrance to the tunnel was darkened again, and then cleared. the dead wolves had been pulled away. another quarter of an hour and the animals reap- peared. as all was silent they gradually approached. god- frey could hear their panting, and presently heard a noise against the bars. a moment later there was a rush and an outburst of snarling growls, then he and luka drove their spears again and again between the bars, yells of pain follow- condemned as a nihilist ing each stroke. the animals in front were unable to retreat, and the others behind crowded in upon them, maddened with the smell of blood, and all trying to get first at their prey. they quarrelled and fought among themselves, while their cries and growls were answered by the furious barking of the dogs in the shelter below. in two or three minutes godfrey, who had reloaded his gun, fired both barrels into the mass, and at the flash and sound the wolves again fled. this time they did not venture to re-enter the passage. occasionally one showed itself, and was instantly shot by godfrey or luka, who took turns on watch throughout the night. as soon as the dim light broke they removed the bar and issued out with the dogs. a dozen wolves lay dead outside the bars, seven were scattered round the entrance. godfrey shot two more who were lurking under the trees, while luka sent an arrow through another. "there are plenty of them about still," godfrey said. "let us get three or four of the dead ones upon a branch out of their reach as food for the dogs, drag the rest away from the entrance to the tunnel, and bring the others up from below. that will give them, with the three we have shot now, enough for a big meal. then i should think they would move off." this was accordingly done, and they went below and cooked breakfast, while the dogs feasted on a dead wolf. then they lay down for three hours' sleep. when they went up again the dead wolves had disappeared, only a few bones and the blood-marked snow showing where they had lain. godfrey fired a couple of shots to scare away any that might be linger- ing in the neighbourhood, and then replacing the bars they went out hunting, and from that time heard no farther of the wolves. they continued their hunting, shifting their camp occa- sionally until it was time to rejoin the ostjaks, and then travelled east. they struck the river some thirty miles below the camp, crossed at once and travelled up the other side until this slaughtered wolves hunting they arrived at the huts. they were heartily welcomed by the natives, and remained there for three days to rest the dogs. they were very glad of getting a supply of fish again. these the ostjaks had in abundance, as they kept their frozen piles for food when the keenness of the wind rendered the cold so bitter that, they were forced to remain in their huts. at other times they fished by torchlight at holes that they kept broken in the ice, spearing the fish, which were attracted by the light. the ostjaks were surprised at the large number of skins, some of them of the most valuable kind, that godfrey had brought back, and were impatient for a fresh start. they were this time absent for only six weeks, returning at the beginning of may. the hunt was marked by no adventure. they did fairly well, but were not fortunate in securing any skins of the black fox and but few of the sable. upon their return the furs that had been taken during the two hunts with the ostjaks were fairly divided, and godfrey added his and luka's shares to those they had themselves obtained. there were over fifty in all, including three black foxes, six sables, and ten martens, the rest being of inferior value. then a list was made of the necessaries that luka was to purchase at turukhansk. these included ten pounds of brick tea, some copper nails if he could obtain them, a store of ammunition, some more fish-hooks, the largest kettle he could buy, a frying-pan, a few pounds of sugar, ten pounds of salt, some stout sheeting, thirty yards of duck canvas, three blocks, a coil or two of rope, needles and twine, a saw, a couple of chisels, and some other tools. "you must make the best bargain you can for the skins, luka; i have no idea how much they are worth." the ostjaks were, however, able to tell them the prices the traders pay for the skins of each animal, provided that they were fine specimens and in good condition. the black foxes were worth from fifty to a hundred roubles, the sables from thirty to fifty, the martens some ten roubles less; the other skins were worth from fifteen to thirty roubles. condemned as a nihilist luka took the sledge and a reindeer and started alone, hav- ing gone over the list of things required again and again until godfrey was convinced that he was perfect. he took his sleeping-bag but no tent. he calculated that he should be away five days, as it would take him two to drive to turuk- hansk, and a day there to make his purchases. on the fifth evening he returned, with everything he had been ordered to get, and a few other things that he thought would be useful. he had obtained in all six hundred and fifty roubles as the result of their six months' hunting, and of these had expended a hundred and seventy roubles. "we are well set up for money now, luka," godfrey said, as he added the notes to those he before possessed. "i have still four hundred roubles out of what i received from the buriat, so we have now nearly nine hundred, which will be enough to pay our way to england from any point we may land at." chapter xiv the break-up of winter spring was rapidly approaching now. occasionally for a day or two southerly winds set in and rain fell in torrents, then again the arctic currents prevailed, and everything was frozen as hard as before. flocks of geese passed over, flying north, but returned again when the cold set in afresh. small birds, too, in great numbers made their appearance, crowding on patches of ground that the sun and rain had cleared of snow, fluttering round the tents in flocks, picking up scraps of food that had been thrown out, and keeping the dogs in a state of perpetual excitement. the ostjaks said that the break-up of the ice might come any day, or it might be delayed for another month; it depended less upon the weather here the break-up of winter than on that higher up. it is not the sun or the rain that breaks up the ice, but the rise of the river from the snow melting a thousand miles higher up, and all over the country drained by the rivers running into the yenesei. the women were now making a canoe under godfrey's instructions. he had often gone out in canoes on the severn and on the sea when staying at watering-places there. the craft that had done them such good service before would not do for their present undertaking. they required a boat which should be fairly fast, sea-worthy, and yet light, for it might be necessary to carry it considerable distances. it was necessary that its dimensions should exceed those of an eng- lish canoe, for it must carry a considerable amount of food, although of course he meant to depend chiefly on the fishing- lines and gun. it was made five-and-twenty feet long, and three feet wide. the central compartment was thirteen feet long. this was covered in at the sides and ends, leaving an opening for them to sit and paddle, fifteen inches wide, and five feet long. underneath the covered parts provisions, furs, cooking utensils, etc., could be stowed away on both sides, leaving room for them to lie down at full length in the centre. the two end compartments were entirely covered in, but had openings over which a cover was lashed, and could, if necessary, be used for holding stores; but godfrey did not intend to put anything here except temporarily, as it was important that the canoe should be as buoyant and light as possible. the frame of the boat was built of the tough and elastic wood of which the ostjaks made their bows. it was very light, the ribs being bound to the longitudinal pieces by fine gut. it was built, as nearly as godfrey could lay them out, on the lines of an english cruising canoe. the deck strips were similarly lashed, and when the framework was completed godfrey tested its strength by dropping it three feet to the ground, rolling it over and over, and trying it in a variety of ways. when fully satisfied with it the work of putting on the covet condemned as a nihilist commenced. this was made of very soft and well-tanned reindeer hide, stretched as tightly as possible, and then rubbed with seal oil. the keel of the boat had been made very strong, as the rigidity of the whole craft depended upon this. it had been made flat, and the skins had been taken over it. when it was finished a false keel six inches in depth in the centre, tapering away to nothing at the ends, was fixed underneath. this keel was also made of tough wood, a little more than a quarter of an inch thick, but widening suddenly to over an inch where it touched the boat, in order that it might be securely fixed with screws to the keel inside. the boat was provided with a light mast, which could be stepped or unstepped at pleasure, and there were two stays of twisted leather, one fastening to each side of the boat. an iron ring with a cord travelled up and down the mast, the hall- iard running through a small block, as luka had been able to obtain a sheave at turukhansk. the sail was a lug made of sheeting, oiled, and the boat carried beside a triangular sail of very much smaller dimensions and stouter cloth for heavy weather. she also carried a small mizzen mast and sail. in rough weather the cockpit could be completely covered with a light apron with openings where the rowers sat, with a sort of collar, which could be lashed tightly round their waists. the edges of this apron could be lashed down over the gunwale round the cockpit. when completed the canoe itself, with its masts and sails, weighed but sixty pounds, and could be carried with ease by one person on his shoulder. the ostjaks greatly admired the craft, which was entirely different from anything they had ever seen. the false keel puzzled them greatly, and godfrey's explanations, even when aided by luka, failed altogether in making them understand that it would have the effect of enabling the craft to sail near the wind without drifting to leeward. the additional draught of water was no inconvenience whatever in a craft designed for the sea, and it added materially to the strength of the canoe. on the th of may it was freezing hard. the natives condemned as a nihilist down with a mighty splash, and hasten away reeling and rock- ing on the rapid current. entranced by this mighty conflict of the forces of nature, godfrey stood there until seven or eight o'clock in the evening. it would be light for three hours yet, for the sun now only sank for a short time below the horizon. the rain was still fall- ing heavily when he returned to his hut. the river had risen another thirty feet since the evening before, and the height of the bank had decreased from a hundred feet to about thirty. for two more days it rained incessantly. the river had now risen to its high-water mark, ten feet below the bank. god- frey asked the ostjaks if there was no fear of its overflowing, but they told him that there was no cause for uneasiness, for that at its present point it overflowed at many places both above and below them, and extended over a vast tract of coun- try, and that at every additional foot it would spread so widely that it would speedily begin to fall again. the ridge had now ceased to form, although the river was still packed with float- ing masses. "in another two days," the ostjaks' chief said, "the ice will be all gone except a few blocks. much of the ice above is carried out by the floods and left to melt on the land as the water lowers, but even without that the river at its present rate would soon carry it all down." this godfrey could well imagine, for at the rate of fifteen miles an hour over three hundred and sixty miles of the river would have been emptying daily. at the end of another three days but few blocks of ice were visible, and godfrey now began to make preparations for his start. first the canoe was to be tried. she was taken down and placed in the water, and the sides under the half-decks were filled in with frozen geese and fish from the pile, which was still but little affected by the thaw. when she was thus brought down to nearly the weight she would have to carry, godfrey and luka took their places in her, dipped their paddles in the stream, shot out, and pad- the break-up of winter died about for some time in the still water behind the shelter of the point. godfrey found to his satisfaction that she pad- dled easily, quite answering to his expectations. then luka, who had already practised the manoeuvre on shore, stepped the masts, fastened the stays, and hoisted the sails. there was a light breeze from the south, and the boat ran rapidly along before it till it was again abreast of the village, then she was put about and made short tacks in the dead-water. god- frey found that she stood stiffly up to the canvas, and, as far as he could see, made little or no leeway. then he returned to the village. the ostjaks, who seldom made use of sails, and then only when dead before the wind, were perfectly as- tounded alike at the rapidity with which the boat glided through the water and at the ease with which she came about, and were astonished beyond measure at seeing her make a zigzag progress in the teeth of the wind. early the next morning the rest of the preparations were completed. the tea, tobacco, cooking utensils, and other necessaries were stowed away under the deck astern of godfrey, together with twenty pounds of fat. this had been carefully set aside for the purpose when animals were killed and cut up. it had been melted down in the chief's large pot and poured into a tin drinking-mug, in which four strands of unravelled cord had been placed to act as wicks. the tin was dipped in ice water, and in a few minutes the fat solidified, then the tin was dipped again, this time in hot water, and the short fat candle with its four wicks then came easily out, and the process was repeated. these candles weighed just about a pound each. godfrey collected fat enough to make fifty, but being afraid of overburdening the canoe he decided that twenty must suffice, believing that he would be able to pick up drift-wood as they coasted along. a store of pine-wood torches was lashed on the deck on each side of the mast forward of luka, the fishing spears, hatchets, and other articles for trade stowed away, the furs and their winter garments laid thickly at the bottom of the the break-up of winter "i think, luka," godfrey said, "that instead of letting our old boat go we may as well keep it for a time. as long as there is wind, it makes no great difference to our speed, though, of course, it would be heavy if we were paddling. if we had bad weather we could land and turn it bottom upwards, and there would be a hut ready made for us. this canoe is all right for sleeping in when the water is smooth, but with its deep keel we could not sleep in it ashore." luka was, as usual, quite of godfrey's opinion. after this they made the old boat their kitchen, for there was but little room in the canoe for cooking purposes; and it was, moreover, a relief to get into the roomy craft where they could move about as they pleased. as drift-wood was abundant they made their fires entirely of this, keeping their candles for the time when they might have to leave their store-boat behind them. on the third day the river widened out greatly. they could no longer see the right bank, and godfrey concluded that they were now in the gulf of yenesei. "the weather is going to change," luka said the next morning; "the wind will soon be coming from the north; going to blow hard." "in that case, luka, the sooner we are ashore the better. the current now is nothing like so swift as it was. i don't think we are going past the land at more than three miles an hour, but that would be quite enough if the wind comes from the north to knock up a nasty sea in no time. let us get our paddles out; there is not a breath of wind." in half an hour they reached the shore, but had to coast along for some time before they found a place free of rocks. "this will do, luka, we are not a minute too soon; those puffs just now were so strong that we made no way against them. now, then, jump out and get the canoe high and dry." they had retained their long boots, and stepped out into water up to their knees. then they lifted the canoe and car- ried it ashore. "it is heavier than it was when we put it in," luka said. condemned as a nihilist "i should think so. what with the furs and provisions, candles, and one thing and another, there must be a hundred and fifty pounds weight in her. there, put her down here, luka, and let us get the other up. we must take the things out first. quick, man, the wind is getting up fast. isn't it cold? we shall want our fur jackets on directly." the fire- wood and provisions were carried up some distance above the water's edge, and then the boat was lifted and placed beside them. a thick sleet had now set in, and the wind was blow- ing with tremendous gusts. "now, then, look about, luka, and see if you can find a sheltered nook. i will pile stones into the well of the canoe so as to anchor her safely. if she were to be rolled over and over her skin would soon be cut to pieces." before he had finished this luka returned. "good place here," he said. "good shelter." "we'll finish this job first, luka. this is much more im- portant than our getting wet." as soon as it was done they went to the large canoe, and lifting it carried it away to the place luka had found—a ridge of rock running back at a right angle from the shore, with a perpendicular face some twelve feet high. at one point there was a deep cleft in it, some eight feet wide at the mouth and narrowing gradually in. "capital, luka; we shall be as snug as possible here. now, turn her over and take her in." the cleft was so deep that the stern of the boat was, when she was laid down bow foremost, fully fifteen feet inside the entrance. "now it may blow as much as it likes," godfrey said, "it won't hurt us here. now do you go and get some of the fire- wood. i will fetch some skins from the canoe, and the sails." after getting out some provisions, the cooking utensils, and a couple of the candles, godfrey returned to the boat. then he made another journey for some more skins and the two sails. by this time the wind was blowing so fiercely that he the break-up of winter could scarcely stagger along with his load. the sea was cov- ered with white heads, and the waves were breaking noisily against the rocks. luka had already brought up plenty of firewood, and had thrown a large skin over the furs containing the frozen fish, and piled stones on it to prevent its being blown away. "now, where will you put the fire?" he asked. "if you put it inside it would burn the boat, if you put it outside it would be no use to us." "i quite see that, luka. we must make ourselves comfort- able, for this storm may last for days for anything i know. we must prop this end of the boat up so that we can sit upright under it with something to spare. we must pile up some stones a couple of feet high under each gunwale." in a quarter of an hour this was done. the sail was then laid over the boat, the ends being kept down by stones. "that is snug," godfrey said. "now we will put the miz- zen over forward so as to keep the wind out right along." there were four feet of head room at the entrance to the boat tent, and in front of this the fire was soon lit, one of the pine torches being cut up to start it with. the skins were laid upon the ground, and taking off their wet coats they put on fur jackets. "now we can see about breakfast, luka." luka had run down and filled the kettle, while godfrey was fastening down the sail. this was placed on the fire, and as soon as it began to burn clear some of the fish they had caught the day before were laid on the glowing embers, together with two legs of a goose. "the thing we are going to have most trouble about, luka, is fresh water," godfrey said as they ate their breakfast. luka looked surprised. "when we once get beyond the stream of the yenesei," he went on, "the water will be salt." "salt!" luka repeated. "yes, too salt to make tea with. we shall be all right for a time, no doubt. what with the melting snow and the rains we have had, there are sure to be lots of little streams running condemned as a nihilist into the sea; but when the land dries we shall be in a bad way." luka looked serious; this was altogether beyond his expe- rience. "of course if we can get plenty of fresh fish we shall get on fairly, as we sha'n't require much to drink. we will look about the rivers when i can get at the map. i know there is a small one called the gida running in just between the mouths of the yenesei and obi; and there is the kara on farther, and then the petchora. as far as i can remember that is all that were marked, but of course there may be lots of little streams that were not put down. there is one thing, if we find that we generally get wind, and can keep the big boat with us, we could make her carry water as well as fuel. she would hold any quantity, for half a dozen barrels would not sink her above an inch. we should certainly get out of the difficulty that way. it gave me quite a fright at first. i felt so sure that i had thought of everything, and there, i never for a moment thought about the sea being salt. how it is blowing outside! it is lucky indeed you have found such a snug corner, luka, for if we had been out in the open we could only have piled stones in the boat to prevent it blowing away, and lain at full length underneath her, which would be all well enough for one night, but would be a frightful nuisance if it had to go on for three or four days." so sheltered were they, indeed, that they scarce felt the wind that was howling above them, and were as comfortable beneath their boat as they had been in their hut by the river side. "when it is as rough as this in the gulf, luka, it will be tremendous out at sea." luka had never seen the waves higher than those in some of the rapids of the upper river, and he was astonished at the white-headed waves and at the showers of spray they sent up as they struck the rocks. "are the waves ever much bigger than this?" he asked. the break-up of winter "bigger! i should think so. out in the open sea one of the waves would make a hundred of these." "then they must break the vessels to pieces, godfrey?" "no, they are built very stout and strong, and very big. they get broken to pieces if the sea drives them against rocks, and sometimes in very great storms get so beaten by the waves that the planks open and the water runs in and they sink." "i should not like to go to sea if the waves were like that," luka said thoughtfully. "this is terrible. why, if we had not come ashore in time the boat would have sunk." "she would have made a good fight for it, luka. with the apron tied in round us we could stand a very heavy sea. so long, as we keep her head to the waves the water might wash over us, but it could not get in; and even if it did fill the space where we sleep, the compartments at the ends are quite buoyant enough to keep her up." "what would you do if you were out in what you call a great sea, godfrey?" "i should lash the mast and the sail and our paddles and the firewood together, fasten our mooring rope to them and throw them overboard, that would keep us head to sea— because these things would all float in the water, and the wind would not get hold of them. they call a contrivance like that a floating anchor. then we would both lie down in the bottom, button the flaps over the holes in the cover, and lie there as snugly as possible. you see our weight would be down quite low in the boat then, and that would keep her steady. oh, we should get on capitally if there were plenty of room for us to drift." "how far have we to go now?" "i can't exactly tell you. i wish i knew. from the long jagged cape, which is the northern point of land on the western side of the gulf of yenesei and forms the separation between it and the mouth of the gulf of obi, to waigatz straits, between the mainland and waigatz island, which lies condemned as a nihilist south of the island called nova zembla, is about two hundred and fifty miles in a straight line, but i should think it is quite three times that if we have to follow all the ins and outs of the shore. from there to archangel, if we go in to archangel, is about three hundred and fifty miles more, cutting across everything. if we had a current with us, like the stream of the yenesei, we should make very short work of it; but unfortunately there is nothing of that sort. paddling steadily we might go three miles an hour—say a hundred miles in three days. if we had wind that would help us, of course we should go a great deal faster, because we should paddle and sail too." "but if we don't go to the place you call archangel, where should we go?" "we should keep far north of it, luka, and sailing in a straight line nearly due west, should strike the northern coast of norway somewhere or other. i should say, from what i saw of it on the map, it would be five hundred miles from waigatz. but that would be madness for us to attempt. we might get caught in terrible storms; we might get into fogs, and as we have no compass there we should lie, not knowing which way to go. no, we must stick to the land till we get to the mouth of the white sea. with a favourable wind we should get across that in a day, and then go on coasting again till we.get beyond the russian frontier; then at the first vil- lage we come to we land, find out all about the distances, and arrange to get taken in reindeer sledges to some regular settle- ment." "what sort of people are they there?" luka asked. "they are the same sort of people as the samoyedes. i don't know that they are just the same. anyhow, they speak the same sort of language. well, you know the northern ostjaks we stayed with speak nearly the same as the samoy- edes. you could hardly get on with them at first, because their talk was so different to that of the southern ostjaks; but you got to speak it quite easily at last. so i have no doubt you will be able to make any natives you may meet, whether condemned as a nihilist ant was the female bear. he had heard from the ostjaks that the best plan, if attacked by an enraged bear, was to sham death, and he therefore lay without moving a muscle as he was struck down. he heard the twang of luka'sbow, and jack's sharp barking close to his ear. then with a deep angry growl the bear left him and rushed towards the tent. godfrey at once sprang to his feet. he had not brought his spear with him as he crawled out, but he sprang the fire and dragged out a brand. luka had discharged another arrow, and jack was harassing the bear by snapping at its hind-legs. in terror for the safety of the canoe rather than that of luka, who could, he knew, well defend himself, godfrey leapt for- ward and struck the bear across the nose with the brand. with a roar of fury it turned upon him, but as it did so it exposed its side to luka, who discharged another arrow behind its shoulder. it rolled over and over, but again gained its feet. the pause, however, had given luka time to emerge from under the boat with his spear in his hand, and running up he thrust it right through the body, and the bear fell over dead. then he ran to godfrey. "are you hurt?" he asked. "i am hurt a bit, luka, for i felt a sharp pain as the beast knocked me over, but i do not think it can be much. it was very lucky that we put our fur jackets on again; if it hadn't been for that, i expect he would have regularly laid open my shoulder." he took off his coat. the bear's claws had penetrated through the skin, and had scored three gashes on his shoulder. but these, luka said, were of no great depth, and beyond making his arm stiff for paddling for a day or two would mat- ter little. they at once set about skinning the two bears, put the four hams carefully aside, cut off most of the meat, gave jack another hearty meal, and then retired again to their shelter. "my heart was in my mouth when i saw him rushing at the tent; if he had struck the boat, or thrown his weight upon it, it would have been a terrible business." luka faces the bear the break-up of winter "i was afraid too," luka said. "i was just going to shoot again when you struck him on the nose, and so gave me a chance of hitting him in a vital spot. if it hadn't been for your blow i should hardly have stopped him; he was so close that even if wounded him mortally he would have come down on the boat." "well, it is fortunate it has ended so, luka; it will be a lesson to me when i shoot a bear next to look out for its mate, and also not to leave my spear behind me, or to advance towards a bear i think dead until i have loaded my gun again." for two days longer they had to remain in their shelter; but the third morning when they awoke the wind had died away, and the sun was shining brightly. as there was still some sea on, godfrey determined to stay another day and explore the coast a little. leaving luka to look after the boats and goods in case any more bears might be in the neigh- bourhood, he started with jack. he was amazed at the quan- tity of birds that he met with—thrushes, wagtails, warblers, chifchaffs, fieldfares, and red-poles rose at every step. the air quivered with the song of innumerable larks, which min- gled with those of the willow-warblers; snipe in considerable numbers sprang up and darted off with a sharp cry from almost under his feet; plovers circled round and round; ducks of various kinds passed between the shore, and, as godfrey supposed, inland swamps or lakes; martins in great numbers darted hither and thither hawking for insects. occasionally birds, which he supposed to be grouse, rose with a loud whirr. short as was the time since the snow had cleared off the ground, spring had come in with marvellous rapidity. the grass was already well-nigh knee-deep, and flowers of various kinds were in full bloom. where the ground was compara- tively bare of grass, it was studded with the yellow blossoms of wild heart's-ease, and amongst some stunted alder-trees god- frey found a dwarf rose already in bud, and wild onions and g condemned as a nihilist wild rhubarb in flower. then he came upon a broad expanse of a shrub that looked to him like a rhododendron, with a flower with a strong aromatic scent. several times he heard the call of a cuckoo. on a patch of sand there were some wild anemones in blossom. godfrey pulled a bulb of wild onion, cut off a slice and tasted it. it was similar in flavour tv tne cultivated plant, but very sharp and acrid. however he set to work, and pulled up several dozen bulbs. they were small, not exceeding the size of a radish, but they would be very valuable, as one of them chopped fine would be sufficient to give a savour to a whole goose. turning to the right and coming down upon the shore he saw that the edge of the water was fringed with sea-gulls of various kinds picking up tiny fish as the waves broke in sandy coves, or scuttling into the water and making sudden dips and dives into it. farther out flocks of black ducks were feeding, while two or three pairs of swans passed overhead going north. presently he saw three or four native huts ahead; some reindeer were grazing near them, and three boats were hauled upon the shore. these were doubtless samoyedes. as soon as he caught sight of them he turned. he had heard that the samoyedes, although more friendly than the tunguses with strangers, were much less to be depended upon than the ostjaks, and as he had no faith in being able to explain what he was doing there with his comparatively limited command of the ostjak language, he thought it better to return at once to luka. he found when he reached the tent that the tartar was beginning to feel anxious, for he had been four hours absent. as they had abundance of food, and had no occasion to trade with the natives at present, they decided not to pay a visit to them. as soon as dinner had been cooked, they set to work to get everything in readiness for a start. the stores were taken out of the canoe, and she was carried down to within a few feet of the water. the tent was dismantled, and the boat also car- ried down. then they devoted themselves for the rest of the the break-up of winter afternoon to collecting more drift-wood, for the water was again falling, and the highest level it had reached was strewn with debris. as there was now no practical distinction between night and day they lay down and slept for four or five hours, then put the large canoe into the water, and placed the firewood in her, with the stock of flour, frozen meat, and the bears' flesh; then with the kettle and frying-pan they baled eight or ten buckets of water into her, for godfrey did not know how soon the river would become brackish. they spread the bear-skin over all, then having carefully repacked the canoe, they put her also into the water, stepped the mast, took their places in her, hoisted the sail, and with the boat in tow started north again. the wind was from the south, and with the assistance of the current they went along rapidly; but, nevertheless, the paddles were got to work, as, now that they were fairly on their way again, every mile gained was of impor- tance. they kept about a mile from shore so as to take advantage of the current. in twenty minutes the native encampment was passed. they saw no one moving about there, and supposed that they must all be asleep, for the sun was low down on the horizon. godfrey's watch was still go- ing, but as he had had no opportunity of comparing it with any other timepiece for just a year, he could only consider it to be an approximate guide. once a month or so he had made a point of setting it. this he did by sticking up a pole and measuring the shadow it cast, knowing that this would be at its shortest at twelve o'clock. by this means he calcu- lated that he was never more than half an hour wrong. the shore continued very flat, and once or twice they saw sand-banks stretching out a considerable distance. sometimes both paddled, sometimes godfrey steered only and luka laid in his paddle. three times in the course of the day the big canoe was pulled up, and luka went on board and cooked a meal, the flat slab on which they lit their fire having been raised three or four inches above the bottom to keep it out of the water. hitherto godfrey had done all the steering when coasting a moment. if the sail should shift over to the other side all you have got to do is to shift this sheet to its fastening on that side. with this light wind jibing does not matter at all, but if the wind freshens wake me at once." for a quarter of an hour godfrey watched to see that luka steered steadily, then he worked himself down in the cockpit and closed his eyes. it did not seem to him that he had been asleep long when luka touched him. "i would not have woke you," luka said; "but the land seems going right away from us." godfrey sat up. "so it is, luka! i should not be surprised if that is the extreme northern point. of course it may be only a deep bay, but at any rate we must see." he looked at his watch. "why, i have been asleep nearly seven hours. now, luka, you had better haul the boat alongside, and see about cooking. we forgot to try those , onions yesterday. cut one up small and put it in the pan with the meat. by the by, you had better tie a piece of cord to those four bears' hams, and let them tow overboard for two or three hours. the water must be quite salt now, and when you take them out we will rub a little fresh salt into them. they ought to keep well then." as soon as luka had got into the boat—jack jumping in with him, as he always made a point of superintending the cooking operations—godfrey took his place in the stern, jibed the sail, which had before been on the port quarter, over to starboard, brought her head somewhat to the north of west, and hauled in the sheet. lying over till the water nearly touched her gunwale, the light little craft would have gone speedily along had it not been for the drag of the boat astern. this, however, towed lightly, for she was loaded with but a very small proportion of the weight she would carry. god- frey judged, by the objects on the shore, that they could not be going along less than three miles an hour. in six hours the land trended away due south, and he knew that they had now reached the first of the two deep bays they would have to pass condemned as a nihilist before reaching the northern extremity of the cape. he kept on his course, and an hour later, with the exception of the low coast nearly astern, no land was to be seen. luka, who was paddling steadily, looked round. he had such implicit con- fidence in his companion that he was quite sure the boat was keeping the right course, but he had a vague sense of uneasi- ness at seeing nothing but sea around him. "how do you know which way to go?" he asked. "i know that by keeping on the same way we were going past the last land, we shall strike the coast again on the other side of this bay. i think it is twenty or thirty miles across. i can tell the way by the wind in the first place, and in the second place by the position of the sun. you see it is over my right shoulder at present; there is the mark of my shadow on the side. i have got to keep it about there, making some allowance for the change in the position of the sun." luka understood this. "but suppose the wind was to change," he said. "i should know it by the position of the sun. you see at present it comes nearly due south, and is blowing almost straight towards the sun; but if it were very cloudy, or at night when i could not see the sun, i should not be able to tell. then after holding on till i felt sure that we were well past the mouth of this bay, i should put her about on the other tack, and should be sure to come upon the land sooner or later. anyhow, even in the darkest night we should know if the wind had gone round to the north, as it would be so much colder, besides there is never a great shift of wind like that without knowing it. the one wind is sure to drop, and there would be something like a dead calm before the other set in. anyhow, with a bright sun and a steady wind like this we cannot go wrong, and you will see land ahead in seven or eight hours." it was less than six hours when godfrey saw the low land ahead, and they were presently coasting along it again with the wind free, for they were now running but little to the west coasting of north. thirty miles farther there was another break in the coast. "that was a first-rate map i made the tracing from," god- frey said; "the coast-line is most accurately marked. now we have another run of about the same distance as the last, then there is about fifty miles almost due north, then we shall be round this other cape." they made the passage safely across, although it took them longer than the first, for the wind dropped lighter, and they had both to use their paddles. "we have just done it in time, luka, and that is all. if we had been half an hour later there would be nothing for it but to anchor. look at that white cloud on the water; that is a fog; we are only just in time. i am heading for that cove. paddle hard, luka, or it will be on us now before we get there." they had just entered the cove, which was forty or fifty feet wide, and ran as many yards into the land, when the fog rolled over them. "it is like a wet blanket," godfrey said; "it is thirty or forty degrees colder than it was a minute back. paddle very slowly and carefully now, luka, and dip your paddle deeply in. i want to go as far up this creek as i can; but i don't want to run ashore." very gently they paddled on until godfrey felt the ground at a depth of about three feet. "that will do nicely," he said. "now i will drop the anchor over." the anchor was one of ostjak manufacture. it consisted of a long, flat, narrow stone weighing about six pounds; to each of the flat sides were lashed two pieces of fir, about an inch and a half in diameter. they projected a few inches below the stone, and were cut off just below a branch of about an inch in diameter and eight or ten inches long. these branches, when growing, bent downwards and slanted at an angle closely resembling that of the fluke of an anchor with the upright. the whole, therefore, was an excellent imitation of an anchor condemned as a nihilist with four flukes, two on each side, the stone serving as a weight. this was thrown out of the bow of the canoe, and a couple of fathoms of line let out. then godfrey hauled up the larger boat and fastened it alongside. they could just make out the outline of the shore about fifteen feet on either side of them. "we must take to our fur jackets again, luka; my teeth are chattering, and after working as hard as we have been doing for the last three or four hours it won't do to get a chill. i am as hungry as a hunter; we had breakfast at five o'clock by my watch, and it is three now." luka soon lit the fire in the boat. the provisions in the canoe had been finished two days before, as they had been obliged to throw overboard what they had not eaten owing to its having become unfit for use. the food, however, wrapped up in furs in the boat was still solidly frozen. they cut a couple of fish out of the mass and placed them in the frying- pan; stuck a wooden skewer through some pieces of bears' meat and held them in the flame, and hung the bears' hams, as they did each time they cooked, in the smoke of the fire. "we must try to get some more fish next time we set sail, luka. i am sure we passed through several shoals of fish by the swirling of the water." it was thirty-six hours before the fog cleared off, swept away by a south-westerly wind. as they had nothing to do but to eat and sleep during this time, they got up their anchor and hoisted their sail the moment the fog cleared off, and in eighteen hours reached the sharp point of the cape. round- ing this, godfrey said: "now, luka, we are at the mouth of the gulf of obi. it is nearly two hundred miles, according to this map, to the oppo- site side, and we daren't try to make that; besides, the wind has been getting more to the west and would be right in our teeth, for you see by this tracing the opposite point of land is a good bit to the south of west. there is nothing for it but for us to keep along this shore for something like a hundred r condemned as a nihilist great rivers, they never ascend to the upper waters. jack, too, benefited greatly, for of late he had been kept on some- what short rations, as they had now been reduced to the four half-cured bears' hams and a comparatively small stock of frozen food. on the fifth day after rounding the cape the wind, which had been gradually getting lighter, dropped altogether, and for the next two days both of them worked steadily with their paddles. "we must have made a good two hundred miles," godfrey said; "and we could safely venture to strike across in such quiet weather as this, but there is a river marked on the chart as coming in somewhere here, and i want to find it if i can. there is water enough for another week, but it begins to taste horribly of skin, and besides that it has a considerable mixture of ashes. i am sure we must be very close to it; indeed, according to my calculation of two hundred miles, we ought to have passed it already. anyhow, we will keep on until we get there." godfrey was not far out, for late in the day they saw an opening of some fifty yards wide in the bank. they at once made for it, and entering it, paddled along as near the bank as they could go to avoid the current. godfrey tasted the water from time to time, and after paddling for two hours pro- nounced it perfectly sweet. "we will land here, luka. i am sure we both want to stretch our limbs a bit and have a rest. look about for a good place to land; the banks are too steep to be able to get the big canoe up, but we can carry the other—it is light enough now." they presently found a place where a portion of the bank had fallen in and left a gap. here they landed, moored the large canoe to the shore and carried the other up the bank. an exclamation of pleasure broke from godfrey at the wide expanse of bright green dotted with flowers. jack was exu- berant in his delight, circling round and round like a wild coasting thing, barking loudly and occasionally throwing himself down to roll. the two paddles were driven firmly into the ground, the sail unlaced from the yard, which was lashed to the paddles as a ridge-pole, over which the sail was thrown. the furs were taken out of the boat and spread in the tent. "we will have a cup of tea, luka, and then turn in for twelve hours' sleep. i am sure we deserve it." after a long rest they woke thoroughly refreshed; then, while luka was lighting a fire, godfrey went down to the river, stripped, and had a short swim, the water being too cold to permit his stopping more than two or three minutes in it. when they had had breakfast he said: "now, luka, do you go down to the boat, take the fire- wood out, and then sluice the boat thoroughly with water and get it perfectly clean. by the time you have done that i shall be back, and we will then lift her out of the water and turn her bottom upwards to dry thoroughly. then we will melt down some of that bear fat we saved and give her a thorough rubbing with it. but we will leave that job until to-morrow; it will take four-and-twenty hours for her to dry. i am going out with my gun to see what i can shoot. the whole place seems full of birds, though they are mostly small ones; still i might come across something better. you had better keep jack with you." godfrey's expedition was not a very successful one. he brought back four grouse and a dozen small birds, which he had killed with a single shot, firing into the thick of a flock that flew by overhead. the grouse were roasted for dinner, and godfrey found to his satisfaction that luka had baked a pile of cakes, this being the first time they had tasted bread for a fortnight, as it demanded more time and attention than they could spare to it in the boat. luka told him that several flights of black duck had passed up the river while he had been at work at the boat, and volunteered to grease the boat next day if godfrey would try to get a shot at them. "it will be of no use my trying to shoot them on the river," condemned as a nihilist godfrey said, "as i should have no means of picking them up; and i can tell you i found the water too cold this morning to care about stripping and swimming out for them. i will have another try on the plain. i saw four or five deer to-day, but only the first passed within shot, and as i had not a bullet in the gun he got off without my firing at him. i will try to- morrow if i can't stalk one." accordingly the next day godfrey set out. after an hour's walking he saw three deer. he worked round very cautiously so as to get a clump of bushes between him and them, and then crawled up to it and looked through. they were a hun- dred and fifty yards away, and he had no confidence in his gun at that distance. he stood for some time thinking, and then remembered he had read that on the american plains the deer were often decoyed into coming close up to the hunter by working upon their curiosity. he drew his ramrod out from his gun, put the cap he wore—which was the fur one with tails—on to the end of it, pushed this through the bushes, and began to wave it to and fro. the deer caught sight of it im- mediately, and stood staring at it for a minute or two, ready to bound away should the strange object seem to threaten danger. as nothing came of it, they began to move towards it slowly and with hesitation, until they gathered in a group at a distance of not more than fifty yards. godfrey, while waving the cap with one hand, was holding his gun in readiness with the other. feeling sure that he could not miss the mark now, he gently lowered the cap and raised his gun to his shoulder. slight as was the movement it startled the deer; but as they turned to fly he fired both barrels at the shoulder of the one nearest to him, and had the satis- faction of seeing it fall, while its companions dashed away over the plain. he ran up to the fallen animal and found that it was already dead, both bullets having struck it in the region of the heart. he proceeded to cut off the head and the lower part of the legs, opened and cleaned it, and was then able to lift it on to his shoulder. as he neared the tent jack came tearing along to meet him with loud barks of welcome. coasting "yes, i have got food for you for some time, jack, though it does not seem to me that you do much to earn it." luka was at work greasing the boat. godfrey called him up on to the bank. "we must try and do something to preserve the meat, luka." "shall we rub it with salt, godfrey?" "we can spare some salt, but not much. it would never do to be left without that. we can do well enough without bread, but we can't do without salt." "smoke it well," luka said. "we might try that, but i am afraid those hams are begin- ning to go." "not smoke enough, godfrey." "no, i suppose not." "they must have plenty, lots of smoke." "well, there is plenty of wood to make smoke with." "we must keep it close," luka said. "we ought to smoke it for two days." "we can keep it close enough by cutting some poles and making a circular tent with the sail. it will spoil its white- ness, but that is of no great consequence. you had better leave the boat for the present, luka, and come with me and cut poles and boughs for the fire." taking hatchets they started out and presently cut eight poles ten feet long. "now which is the best wood for smoking it with?" "pine makes the best smoke next to oak." "there are plenty of stunted pines about, and i should think some of this aromatic shrub with it would be good. i will make up two big bundles of that, and we will take them and the poles back first; then we will cut some pine boughs." as all these were obtained within a few hundred yards of the camp, they had soon materials for their fire. the poles were then stuck in a circle and lashed together at the top, the sail taken down and wrapped round it. it was not large enough, coasting fierce gusts of cold wind swept down upon them. the can- vas of the tent was fastened down by heavy stones placed upon it, the furs brought in, and everything made snug. for three days the storm raged. "it is a nuisance losing so much time," godfrey said. "it was somewhere about the middle of june when we started, and there are only three months of open weather here. every day is of importance. i sha'n't so much mind when we get to the mouth of the petchora, for i heard from one of the russians in the prison that canoes often go as far as that from archangel to trade, so i shall feel when i get there that we are getting into civilised regions. it is about four hundred miles from kara bay, so that we have a good eight hundred miles to travel before we get there. we can certainly paddle forty miles a day by sticking to it steadily; but allowing for another stoppage of four days, and we can't allow less than that, that will be a fortnight. how long have we been now, luka? there is nothing to count time from." luka shook his head. "well, it is somewhere above three weeks," godfrey went on; "so that by the time we get to the mouth of the petchora, it will be the last week in july. that will give us a couple of months; but i fancy we can't count much on the weather in september. still, if the canoes go from archangel to petchora and back, we ought to be able to do it from petchora, for the distance from there to archangel is a good deal less than from the mouth of the yenesei to the petchora. there is one thing, if the weather gets very bad on the way, or we get laid up by bad weather for a long time on the way to petchora, we can go up the river, i hear, to a place called ust zlyma, and from there go overland to archangel. it is about two hun- dred or two hundred and fifty miles across, and we could walk that in ten days. i am quite sure that we should not be sus- pected of being anything but what we look; and at archangel there is sure to be a british consul, and he would put us up to the best plan of getting out of the country. however, there will be plenty of time to see about that as we get on." condemned as a nihilist i will tie the other end to mine. that is right. it is long enough to make a good big angle. now fasten the head-rope to the middle; be sure it is put in the middle, luka. that is right. now, launch it overboard." the work was done as quickly as it is described, and in three minutes from the time the mast was lowered the canoe was riding to the floating anchor. "now then, luka, on with the apron." "shall we sit up?" "no; we will lie down, cover up the holes, and lash them carefully when we are in. it is going to be a drencher, and it is of no use our getting wet through to begin with. we could not do anything with the paddles." they had scarcely made themselves snug when, with a roar, a deluge of rain fell on the deck and cover, and a moment later even this sound was partly deadened by the howl of the wind. although their heads were close together, godfrey felt that it would be utterly useless to make any remark. he felt under no uneasiness, for, with their weight well down and anchored head to sea, he felt sure that the light canoe would ride over anything like a cork bottle. the motion of the boat rapidly increased, but she herself rode lightly over the waves. as these increased the jerking of the boat behind at her rope became more and more violent, and the canoe quivered from end to end with the shocks. "this will never do," godfrey said to himself. "the boat will pull the stern out of her. it will be an awful loss to cut her adrift, but it can't be helped." he unlashed the fastenings of the cover of the circular hole above him, reached his hand forward and got hold of luka's paddle, and passed it with his own out through the hole. then he sat up himself. confident as he felt in the canoe, he was almost frightened at the wild aspect of the sea. the wind was literally howling, driving the rain before it with a force that stung godfrey's neck as it struck it. he got out a strip of deer-skin lashing, of which there was a supply always a samoyede encampment close at hand under the deck, lashed the paddles together, and then, leaning aft, lashed them at the centre firmly to the tow- rope. then with some difficulty he got out his knife and cut the rope close to its fastening; the paddles flew overboard, and the boat drifted rapidly astern, the drag of the paddles being, as godfrey observed with satisfaction, sufficient to keep her head to wind. then he wriggled himself down under- neath the apron again and lashed down the cover of the hole. chapter xvi a samoyede encampment the action of the canoe was altogether changed as soon as it was released from the strain of the boat behind. there was no more tugging and jarring, but she rose and fell on the waves almost imperceptibly. "well, jack, old fellow, what do you think of it?" god- frey said to the dog as it nestled up close to him. "here we are now, out in a regular storm. it is lucky we have plenty of sea-room, jack. i reckon it is seventy or eighty miles across to the other side of the gulf, and i don't suppose she can drag those spars through the water much more than a mile an hour. so we have plenty of time before us. we must both put away as much time in sleep as we can. we have lost almost all our provisions, old boy, and our water, which was of still more consequence. it is very lucky i always made a rule of having the kettle filled and put on board here after each meal and of keeping a dozen pounds of meat here. i thought we might be obliged to cast the boat adrift suddenly. well, if we have luck, we may find it again. we shall both drift in the same line, and there is no reason why she shouldn't live through it. the stock of firewood has gone down, and a samovede encampment "the wind may have changed a little," he said, "though i don't think it has done so. anyhow, i will head a little more to the south, so as to be sure that we shall strike the shore to the east both of the kara river and the point she is likely to drift to." four hours later they made out land ahead of them, some six miles away as they guessed, and holding on reached it in two hours and a half's time. they stepped out as soon as they got into shallow water, carried the canoe ashore, drank a mug of cold tea and ate some raw meat, and then lay down for a long sleep. when they woke they collected some drift-wood and lighting a fire, cooked some meat. "what are you going to do, godfrey?" luka asked. "are you going to set out at once to look for the boat?" "no, we had better wait for a few hours. she may not have drifted to the shore yet, though i do not think she can be far off; still it is as well to give her plenty of time. at any rate we can shoot some birds, so the time won't be lost." having made a fair bag and been absent from the canoe for five hours they returned, and after cutting up a capercailzie and grilling it over the fire, they got the boat into the water and started. they had sailed about eight miles to the west when luka exclaimed, "there is something there by the shore close to that point. it may be the boat; it may be a rock." it was another quarter of an hour before godfrey was able to assure himself that it was really the boat. "thank god for that, luka!" he exclaimed. "we have reason to thank him for a great many things. i do so every hour, and i hope you do so too. but finding the boat again safe seems to me the greatest blessing we have had yet; i don't know what we should have done without it." another quarter of an hour brought them to the point. the boat lay just afloat, bumping on the sand as each little wave lifted and left her. they sprang out of the canoe into shallow water and threw out the anchor, and then waded to the boat. condemned as a nihilist she had about four inches of water in her, but was entirely uninjured. "hurrah!" godfrey shouted, "she is as good as ever. now, luka, get everything out of her as soon as you can, then we can turn her over and empty her, put the things in again, and be off at once. we have got no time to lose, for you must remember there is not much more than a quart of cold tea left in the kettle. i am sure the kara river can't be very far off, but i can't say whether it is three miles or thirty." in half an hour they were again afloat and working their paddles to assist the sail. two hours later luka said, "huts on that point ahead of us." "so there are," godfrey said. "six or eight of them and a lot of cattle." "reindeer!" luka corrected. "samoyede village." "why, there must be hundreds of them," godfrey said in surprise. "yes, the ostjaks told me in our old camp that many of the samoyedes had five hundred, and some of them a thousand reindeer. they keep them just as we do cattle. their wealth is counted by their reindeer. they make their clothes of its skin; its milk and flesh are their chief food. it draws their sledges, and when they want money they can sell some of them." "did you ask how much they can be sold for?" "yes, the ostjaks said that they were worth here two or three roubles each." "then if there are many of these encampments along the shore, luka, we need not trouble about food; and if anything happens to our boat we can make a couple of sledges, buy four reindeer, and start by land." "then we should have to wait until winter," luka said. "yes, that would be a nuisance; but it would not be so very long to wait. i had no idea reindeer were so cheap. if i had i think instead of spending the winter hunting i would have bought some reindeer and started to drive. still it would a samoyede encampment have been a terrible journey, and perhaps we have done better as it is. well, shall we land? what do you think?'" "we don't want anything," luka said. "the samoyedes are generally friendly. they are not like the tunguses and yuraks. but you see there are but two of us, and we have hatchets and knives and other things they value. if we wanted anything i should say let us land, but as we don't it would be better to go on." "you are right, luka. i don't suppose there would be any risk of being robbed; still it is just as well not to run even the smallest chance of trouble when everything is going on so well." on passing the point on which the encampment was situated they saw a wide opening. "the kara!" godfrey exclaimed joyously. "we will cross to the other side, and coast up on that shore till the water becomes fresh." it required four hours' sailing and paddling before they got beyond the influence of the sea, then they landed, shot and hunted for a couple of days, took in a fresh supply of water, and started again. "we have passed the line of the ural mountains now," godfrey said. "the kara rises in that range. we may almost consider ourselves in russia." one morning luka woke godfrey soon after he had lain down for his turn of sleep. "fog coming," he said. godfrey sat up and looked round. "that it is, luka. we must head for shore directly." he seized his paddle, but the fog cloud had drifted rapidly down upon them, and before they were half-way to shore drifts of white cloud floated past them on the water, and five minutes later they were sur- rounded by a dense white wall, so thick that even the canoe towing behind was invisible. they ceased paddling. "there is nothing to do but to wait," godfrey said. "get your fur coat on; it is bitterly cold. there is one comfort, what wind there is is towards the shore, and we shall drift that way." a samoyede encampment the fog did not clear off for another forty-eight hours, but when at the end of that time they looked out of their tent the sky was clear and the birds were singing gaily. the ground rose almost perpendicularly behind them to a height of from twenty to thirty feet. it was rocky, with some deep indenta- tions. "we will do some shooting, luka; but as there may be some natives near we will hide the canoe. it is no use running any risks. we will stow the tent and get everything packed before we start, and then we shall be able to set out when we return." the canoe was packed and carried some fifty yards along the shore, and then laid behind a great boulder that had fallen at the mouth of a cleft in the rock. "shall we pull up the boat?" luka asked. "no, i don't think that is worth while. there is nothing there worth stealing. the natives have got plenty of fish of their own, no doubt, and drift-wood too. now let us be off." the birds were scarcer than usual, and they wandered a long distance before they had made up anything like their usual bag. "we have been eight hours out," godfrey said, looking at his watch. "we may as well have a meal before we start back. it will take us two or three hours to get to the boat again. there will be no loss of time. it takes no longer cooking here than it would there, and we may as well carry the birds inside as out." they were engaged in eating their meal when jack suddenly gave an angry growl, and looking up they saw a party of a dozen samoyedes with bows and arrows at a distance of fifty yards behind them. they sprang to their feet. "shall i shoot?" luka asked. "no, no, luka, their intentions may be friendly. besides, though we might kill three or four of them they would riddle us with arrows. we had best meet them as friends." when the samoyedes came up luka gave them the ordinary salutation of friendship. a samoyede encampment two hours' walking brought them to a little valley, in the middle of which ran a small stream. they followed it down for half a mile, and then at a sudden turn they saw the sea in front of them, a cluster of ten samoyede yourts and a herd of reindeer feeding on the slope behind them. a number of women and children and five or six old men came out to look at them as they approached. "sit down and let us talk," the leader said as they reached the village, and set the example by seating himself by a large fire. godfrey and luka at once did the same. "the ostjak and his friend have come very far," he said. "a long distance," luka replied. "we have travelled many days and are going to the petchora." "have you reindeer? did you walk all the way?" "no, we have no reindeer; we came in a boat. you will find it along the shore." "how far?" "about an hour's walk i should say." the samoyede gave an order, and two of the men at once left the circle, got into a canoe, and paddled away. "the strangers will stay here for a day or two. we have plenty of milk and fish." luka nodded. "we are in no hurry to go on. we have plenty of time to reach the petchora before the winter sets in." the samoyede spoke to one of the women, and she set to work to clear out one of the tents. the chief got up and walked away, and the conference was evidently over. three hours later they saw the canoe reappear at the mouth of the river with the boat towing behind it. the samoyedes gath- ered on the shore to examine it, evidently surprised at its form and size, which differed entirely from their own, which were little craft capable of holding two at most. they tasted the water at the bottom of the boat and found it to be fresh. the stove for cooking spoke for itself, and as there was firewood, meat, flour, and some rough furs, there seemed all that was necessary for a journey. when they returned the chief asked luka: - condemned as a nihilist "is that ostjak canoe?" "yes; but it is built much larger than our canoes generally are, as it was for long journey." presently the women brought a large bowl of reindeer milk and some fried fish. as they were eating, four of the men who were standing behind suddenly threw themselves upon godfrey and luka, while the others closed in, and in a min- ute they were securely bound hand and foot. godfrey made no struggle, for he felt that it would be useless and might result in his being shot or stabbed. the hatchets and knives were taken'from their belts, and they were then carried to the tent and thrown down. jack had fought fiercely, biting several of the natives, until he was struck with a spear in the shoulder by the chief, when he limped off uttering piercing yells. "what do you think they mean to do with us, luka?" godfrey asked. "will they hand us over to the russians do you think? gowardly blackguards. i wish now we had fought at first." "no, won't hand us to russians; too far off. they don't think of that; they have taken us for the sake of our hatchets and knives and of your gun. perhaps they will keep us to work for them. perhaps they will cut our throats." "it is not a pleasant look-out either way. still, if they keep us, we are safe to get away before long; we must hope for the best. i wonder they haven't taken my ammunition and the other things." "not know about pockets," luka said. "they would have taken them if they had." two or three hours later the samoyedes came in and care- fully examined the captives' lashings. their hands were tied behind them with reindeer thongs, which were so tightly bound that they almost cut into the skin, and their feet were equally firmly lashed. in a few minutes the sound of talk ceased and the camp became quiet. "i suppose it is their bedtime," godfrey said. "if the fools do not set a guard over us we shall soon be free." "how is that?" luka asked. a samoyede encampment "we will gnaw through one of the thongs, of course, there can be no difficulty about that; we will give them an hour to get to sleep and then we will set to work. what is that? ah, jack, is it you?" as the dog crept in between them with low whines. "poor old chap, you did your best. i can't pat you now. roll yourself to the door and look out, luka." "there are three of them sitting by a fire, but it will be darker presently and they will not see us "—for although it could scarcely be called night the sun now dipped for an hour or two below the horizon at midnight. "well, see or not see, we will go, luka. if we are to be killed it shall be making a fight for it, and not having our throats cut like sheep. now, i think you are more accus- tomed to chewing tough food than i am, so i will roll over on my face, and do you set to work and bite through the thong." luka's sharp teeth cut through the twisted hide in five minutes. it was a quarter of an hour more before godfrey's hands recovered their usual feeling. as soon as they were efficient he unfastened the thongs round his companion's wrists and those round their feet. "now then, luka, put your head out and see if you can see my gun." "gun sure to be in chief's tent," luka said. he looked out. "can't see gun. my bow and arrows are lying on ground by chief's tent." "very well, then, you had better crawl round and fetch them first, that will be something to begin a fight with any- how. here, i will slit open the tent behind with my knife, then you can crawl along past the others till you get to the chief's tent without those fellows at the fires seeing you. i am more afraid of those beastly dogs giving the alarm than of the men." godfrey cut a slit with his pocket-knife in the reindeer- skin covering, and then luka crawled out. he lay flat on his stomach and dragged himself along, looking, as godfrey thought, in the twilight, just like the seals he had seen crawl- condemned as a nihilist ing over the rocks. he passed three of the yourts and then turned off. in four or five minutes he reappeared with his bow and quiver of arrows and two native spears. he crawled back as carefully as he had gone. "give me the knife, godfrey." godfrey handed it to him. "you are not going to kill any- one, luka? if they attack us, of course we shall shoot them down in self-defence, but i would not have anyone killed in cold blood on any account." the tartar shook his head. "i am not going to kill any- one. i looked into the tent; the gun is leaning by the side of the chief. women and children are lying all round. couldn't get in. i will cut a slit in skin and take gun." "it will be first-rate if you can manage that, luka. we can make a good fight of it if you can manage to get the gun." godfrey was able to watch luka's proceedings now. he stopped behind the fourth tent, placed his ear against the skin and listened intently. then he inserted the blade in the skin two feet above the ground and very quietly, with a sawing motion, cut downwards. then he began at the top again and made a horizontal cut four or five inches long, and then cut again down to the ground, removing the flap of skin. he peered into the tent, then he inserted his arm, a moment later he withdrew it with the gun, and then returned to godfrey. the latter's first step was to charge the gun, for he had fired two shots while luka was cooking the meal before they were surprised. "now, luka, which do you think we had better do, make for the canoes or go off on foot?" "we want big canoe," luka said. "can't well do without it. we had better go to that." "i think so too," godfrey said. "if we can once get on board we can beat them off. of course there is more risk of being discovered that way, but i think we had better chance it." they kept along for some distance on the side of the hill, a samoyede encampment and then, when about a hundred yards from the huts, crawled down to the river, crept back along the bank until they reached the boat, which was hauled up with the native canoes on shore. "how are we to get it down, luka?" godfrey whispered. "if we stand up to carry it down those fellows by the fire, who are not twenty yards away, must see us. if we try to push it down we are safe to make a noise." "wait a moment, give me knife again," luka said; and having obtained it he went along the line of canoes, cutting and slicing the skins from end to end. then he returned to godfrey. "they can't follow now," he said. "once on board we are safe." "i have been thinking, luka, our best plan will be to lie down one on each side, and to hoist her up as well as we can, and move her forward inch by inch." luka nodded, and they separated to carry out their plan, when jack decided the matter by leaping on board, and sending the paddles with a rattle to the bottom of the boat. "jump up, luka, and in with her." as they sprang up there was a shout from the three natives by the fire, which was answered by the fierce barking of two or three score of dogs. after a moment's hesitation two of the natives rushed back to their yourts for their bows, while the third, who happened to have his close at hand, fitted an arrow and discharged it hastily. as they were running the boat down it missed its mark, and before he could shoot again the boat was in the water, and they had sprang on board. the native ran down to the edge with his bow bent, but luka's bow twanged and the man fell back with an arrow- through his body. they seized the paddles and drove the boat twenty yards into the stream, when the whole of the samoyedes rushed down to the bank and began to discharge their arrows. "lie flat down, luka," godfrey said, setting the example, "the stream will take us." condemned as a nihilist there was a great jabber of voices on the bank. "the chief is telling them to take to their canoes," luka said laughing. "you will hear some shouts directly. the water won't begin to come in through the slits till they put their weight in the canoes." godfrey lifted his head for a moment and saw five or six of the natives on the bank abreast of him, standing in readi- ness to shoot. quickly as he withdrew it again two arrows struck the boat within a few inches of the point where he had looked over. "luka," he said, "we must get a little further out; i am afraid the stream might set us in towards the bank. i will put my cap upon a piece of firewood and hoist it up. they will shoot at it, and the moment they do we must both spring up and give two or three strong strokes to take her further out." lying flat on his back at the bottom of the boat, godfrey raised his cap; almost instantaneously there were three or four sharp taps on the side of the boat, and one arrow passed through it but an inch above his chest. in a moment he sat upright with a paddle in his hand, and a couple of sharp strokes sent the boat out into the centre of the current. at this moment they heard a series of yells and splashes. "lucky for them," luka laughed, "i made the slits so big. if they had got out farther they would all have been drowned: these people are not able to swim." "no, i should think not," godfrey said. "they don't look as if water had ever touched them from the day they were born. we are safe now, in ten minutes we shall be clear of the river, and have only got to paddle back and fetch our canoe." "we may have to fight yet," luka said. "sure to follow us. the meat and flour is all gone. i expect they gave it to their dogs. that is what made them sleep so sound. they will know that we shall have to land somewhere to get food, and think they will have us then. they will mend canoes very quick, and some of them will come after us." godfrey and luka escaping from the samoyedes fx a sea fight "now, luka, do you go and get the canoe in the water. be careful; if you find it heavy for you with the stores on board, take them out; there is no occasion for hurry. those fellows won't venture within range of my gun again; they will keep at a distance, and send up word to the tents that we have landed. so take your time over it; if you were to make a slip and damage the canoe it would be fatal to us." the natives stopped at a distance of a quarter of a mile, and then, as godfrey expected, one of them started at a run back towards the village. in ten minutes godfrey heard a shout from below, and looking round saw the canoe safely by the side of the boat. he ran down and took his place in her, and they paddled out towing the boat behind them. chapter xvii a sea fight as soon as they had reached a distance of two or three hundred yards from the shore godfrey ceased paddling. "now we can talk matters over, luka. there is no occasion for hurry now. if these fellows in the canoes are disposed to fight we can't prevent them. they will certainly be out of the river before we could get back there; and even if we did pass first they could easily overtake us, for those light craft of theirs would go two feet to our one unless we had wind for our sail. so we may as well take things easy, and decidedly the first thing to do is to wash and dress jack's wound, and then to get some tea and something to eat. we have had nothing since we were caught yesterday between twelve and one o'clock. "what a lucky thing it was we hid the canoe, luka!" he went on, as the tartar pulled the boat up alongside the canoe condemned as a nihilist and began to prepare to light a fire. "the chances are we should not have been able to get her off as well as the boat, and even if we had they would have taken out all our stores. the meat we might replace, but the loss of the tea and to- bacco, and above all of the matches, would have been terrible; besides, they would have got our spare hatchets and knives, the fish-hooks and lines, and all our furs. we don't want the furs for warmth now, but it would make a deal of difference to our comfort if we had to sleep on hard boards. i do not know how to feel thankful enough that we hid the canoe away." "we could not have gone without our things," luka said. "we would have fought them all and killed them rather than lose our tea and tobacco." godfrey laughed at his companion's earnestness. "i think that would have been paying too dearly for them, luka. still we should have missed them badly." just as they had finished their meal they saw some black spots ahead of them close inshore. "i should not be sur- prised if they have been picking up those fellows who fol- lowed us, luka. no doubt the man who ran back would tell them they could do nothing against our arms. but i don't think they will dare attack us in our boat even if they have got all the men there. there were only twelve at first, not count- ing the old men who were in their camp when we were brought there. you shot one of them, so there are only eleven, even if they have got on board those who followed us. i have always heard that they are plucky little fellows, but i do not think they would be fools enough to attack us on the water. i feel sure they can't have any intention of doing so. i ex- pect their original idea was to hover about us night and day, and then, when we went ashore to get food, to steal the boat and hunt us down. now they find we have got a second boat they will see that it is a longer job than they expected, for they will guess that our real valuables are on board the boat we hid, and that we may have enough provisions here to last for some time." a sea fight the canoes, as they approached them, sheered off to a dis- tance of a quarter of a mile, and then gathered together evi- dently in consultation. then they turned and paddled rapidly back again, soon leaving the canoe and boat far behind. "i wonder what they are up to now?" godfrey said; "some mischief i have no doubt." "perhaps more yourts on farther? they might send on a man with fast reindeer a long way ahead, so that they might attack us with forty or fifty canoes." "so they might, luka. that would be very awkward, and we should be afraid of landing anywhere. they may pass the news on from camp to camp for any number of miles. yes, that is a very serious business. the only thing i see for it is to make right out beyond sight of land, and then push on as fast as we can. fortunately they don't know anything about our sail, and as they left us so fast just now they will reckon that we cannot make much more than two miles an hour; while, when we get the wind, we can go six if we help with the paddles. we may as well keep on as we are at present, as if determined to keep near the land till, at any rate, we are some distance past the mouth of the river. there is not likely to be another of their camps for some distance along, for, of course, they would always be near a river, as they must have water for themselves and their reindeer." paddling quietly, they continued on their course until they had passed the mouth of the river. when they had gone half a mile they saw nine canoes, each containing one man, come out from the river and follow them. "they mean to stick to us," godfrey said uneasily. "i'm afraid we are going to have a lot of trouble with them, luka." after paddling for another two hours they turned their heads seaward. the canoes did the same. in four hours more the land had almost disappeared, but the clump of canoes still maintained their position behind them. "it is of no use going out any further, luka. we are a long way out of sight of anyone on shore now. now let us head condemned as a nihilist west again." an hour later one of the canoes left the group and paddled rapidly towards the land. "that is what their game is," godfrey said. "they have sent off to tell their friends ashore the course we are taking, and do what we will they will keep them informed of it. we may have a fleet of canoes out at any moment after us. do you think we could leave them behind if we were to cast off the boat?" luka shook his head decidedly. "no; their canoes are very small; paddle quick, much quicker than we could." * "she is very fast, luka." "yes; but too many things on board. if we threw over everything—food, and kettles, and dog, and furs—we might go as fast as they could; but even then i think they would beat us." "well, we won't try that anyhow, luka; i would rather risk a fight than that. i don't see anything to do but to wait for the wind. it is not often calm like this long, and we have had it three or four days already. if we do get a wind we can certainly beat them by cutting loose the boat." "beat them anyhow," luka said. "with wind and pad- dles they might keep up with us rowing very hard for a bit; but men tire, wind never tires. we sure to beat them at last. i think we shall have wind before very long." "i hope so, luka; and not too much of it. well, as we can't get away from them by paddling, luka, we may as well lower our lines. we have only got two or three days' provis- ions on board, and we may just as well lay in a stock while we can." the hooks were baited with pieces of meat and lowered, and the paddles laid in. scarcely were the lines out when godfrey felt a fierce tug. "hulloa!" he exclaimed, "i have got something bigger than usual." he hauled up, and gave a shout of satisfaction as he pulled a cod of fully ten pounds weight from the water. five minutes later luka caught one ©f equal size. a sea fight through the foaming water, and were but fifty yards away when he again fired. this time five or six of the natives dropped their paddles, and two of the canoes were upset. a volley of arrows fell thickly round the boat, and one or two spears skimmed along the water close to it. godfrey seized his paddle again. "head towards the shore, luka," he said; and as the boat headed round he slackened the sheet and so brought the wind nearly dead aft. the boat was on an even keel now, and they could feel by the lessened strain on the paddles that her speed was considerably increased. in two or three minutes god- frey looked round; the canoes were a hundred yards behind. "we are gaining on them, luka." another ten minutes and the interval was more than doub- led. "they are beginning to get tired," godfrey said. "we are going a good deal faster, of course, now we have got the wind astern, but i do not think they are going as fast as they did, and i expect that last dose of buck-shot took the heart out of them a good deal. they had reckoned that we should be only able to fire once or twice before they came up, and that i should use bullets; but that handful of buck-shot evi- dently peppered a good many of them, and they know if they come up they will have four more barrels at least among them. i think the fighting is all over now." another hour and the canoes were a mile astern, and the land was now but four or five miles away. godfrey thought that he could safely resume his course west, especially as the wind had distinctly freshened. "i will lay in my paddle now, luka. i must give all my attention to the sail. i expect they will give it up. they will think when they see me cease paddling that we know we can get away from them whenever we like." godfrey's surmise turned out correct; the natives did not attempt to follow, but held on their course straight for the land, paddling slowly now. they were in two divisions, five condemned as a nihilist or six'of the canoes being a good deal astern of the others, those with single rowers that had followed them so long hav- ing dropped behind to pick up the occupants of the canoes that had capsized. in several of the canoes in this division godfrey could make out that only one man was paddling, and guessed that the other was more or less disabled by the shot. "i don't think we shall be troubled any more by them," he said; "they will be a couple of hours before they reach land, by which time we shall be out of sight, and even reindeer will hardly take the news along the shore with all its deep indenta- tions as quickly as we shall sail; besides, i fancy, they will come to the conclusion that the game is not worth the candle. now lay in your paddle and let us have breakfast comfortably. it is just twelve o'clock." day after day they coasted along, passed through waigatz straits, between the island of that name and the mainland, then touched at four islands lying across the mouth of a large and deep bay, and then held on until they reached the mouth of the petchora. the distance to this point from the kara river was, godfrey calculated, about three hundred and fifty miles. it took them fifteen days to cover that distance, as they stopped and spent a day shooting several times, for they were not fortunate along here in catching many fish as they went. on passing one of the islands godfrey shot a seal, the flesh of which they found was by no means bad. the weather continued very fine, but there was so little wind that during the whole distance they did not once put up their sail, but depended entirely upon their paddles. upon one of their shooting expeditions godfrey had the good luck to shoot a very fine black fox. they had had their meal and were stretched at full length by the fire. luka had gone off to sleep. godfrey was almost dozing when he heard a slight rustle in the grass, and opening his eyes saw a black fox stand- ing at a distance of ten paces. it had evidently been attracted by the smell of some fish they had been frying, and stood with its nose in the air sniffing. godfrey's gun was lying beside a sea fight "we mustn't exert ourselves too much, luka," godfrey said after the first quarter of an hour. "a long slow stroke is the one to send her along, and we can keep that up for any time. we must do our very best till we sight the coast again. after the way she behaved in that storm i am not afraid of wind, but i am horribly afraid of fog. if we had but a compass it would not matter to us one way or other; but if a fog came down when we are a good way off the land, there would be nothing to do but to lay in our paddles and wait, even if it lasted for a fortnight. still, as long as there is no change of weather, there does not seem any reason why a fog should set in; but i shall not feel happy till we have got the land along- side of us." for three days the paddles were kept going, each taking alternately six hours' sleep, and working together for twelve. jack having nothing to do was the most uneasy of the party, sometimes lying down with his nose between his paws, some- times getting up and giving a series of short impatient barks. early on the second day they were fortunate in passing through a large shoal of herrings. godfrey laid in his paddles and attended to the lines, and in half an hour had forty-five fish. after that they paid no further attention to fishing, being now amply supplied with food. the herrings, too, required less water than the dried meat. they fried them over the candles, and whenever their mouths were parched they chewed a piece of raw herring and found great relief from it. jack was allowed two raw herrings a day; with that and a very small allowance of water he did very well. on the third day a light southerly wind sprang up, and they at once hoisted their sail and found that it eased their labour materially. "i should think we ought to see the land to-night, luka; three days at eighty miles a day is two hundred and forty miles. if we don't see it by evening, we must head a little more to the south. of course we cannot depend very accu- rately on our steering, and we may have been going a trifle north of west all this time. but it is all right, for the coast condemned as a nihilist an hour later they saw lights on their right hand. "hur- rah!" godfrey exclaimed, "there is a village there. we won't land to-night. we might find it difficult to get a place to sleep in. one night longer on board won't do us any harm. thank god we are fairly out of russia at last, and shall land as free men in the morning." they drew in towards the shore a mile or so above the lights, and paddled cautiously on until close to the land. there they dropped their anchor overboard, and, wearied out by their long row, were speedily sound asleep. it was broad daylight when they woke. godfrey, when he sat up, gave a loud cheer, which set jack off barking wildly. "look!" godfrey shouted, "it is a town, and there are two steamboats lying there. thank god, our troubles are all over. you had better get breakfast, luka. it is of no use going ashore till people are awake." breakfast over the anchor was at once pulled up, and in a quarter of an hour they were alongside a quay. their ap- pearance was so similar to that of the lapps that they them- selves would have attracted but little notice, but the canoe was so different in its appearance to those used by these people that several persons stood on the little quay watching them as they came alongside. their surprise at the boat was increased when godfrey came up on to the quay. no laplander or finn of his height had ever been seen, and moreover, his face and hands were clean. they addressed him in a language that he did not understand. he replied first in english, then in russian. apparently they recognised the latter language, and one of them motioned to godfrey to follow him. "you wait here till i come back, luka. i daresay the people are honest enough, but i don't want any of our furs or things stolen now that we have got to the end of our journey." he then followed his conductor to a large house in the prin- cipal street, where he went into a sort of office and spoke to a man sitting there. then he went out, and in a minute re- turned with a gentleman. condemned as a nihilist you would have lost her, for the season is just over, and you would then have had to travel by land and river down to tornea on the gulf of bothnia. but come up with me to my house; i am the agent here for the steamer. what are you going to do with your canoe?" "i shall take her home with me just as she stands," godfrey 'said. "and the tartar?" "yes, the tartar and the dog." "very well. stay here for ten minutes," he said to luka, "i will send a man down to help you up with the canoe. we may as well put it in my yard," he went on as he started back with godfrey. "the people are as honest as the day, but they might be pulling it about and examining it, and it is just as well to stow it away safe. well, this is a wonderful escape of yours! during the twenty years i have been here, it has never happened before." "i wonder it has not been done many times," godfrey said. "canoes go from archangel to the petchora, which is quite half-way to the mouth of the obi, and there is no more diffi- culty between the petchora and the yenesei than there is on this side. the first thing to do now is to get some clothes." "the first thing to do, i think, is to get some breakfast," the trader said. "i have already had some breakfast on board," godfrey said; "but i daresay i can eat another." "i will warrant you can. your breakfast was probably of the roughest." "it was," godfrey admitted. "i have not eaten a piece of real bread for more than a year. we haven't had much of anything made of flour since we started in the canoe in june; but one gets to do without bread very well." "i have not asked you your name yet," the trader said. "it is godfrey bullen. my father is head of a firm in london that does a good deal of trade with russia. he was living in st. petersburg a good many years. that is how it is that i speak the language." home again "i have not the most remote idea," godfrey laughed. "if he likes to return to his people i daresay my father would be able, through the russian embassy, to get a pardon for him and permission to go back; but i don't think he has any notion of that. he lost his parents when he was a child, and i never heard him express the slightest desire to go back again. he has attached himself to me heart and soul, and i think looks upon it as a settled thing that he will be always with me. i don't know in what capacity, still, i suppose, some- thing will be found for him." the steamer was to start at nine o'clock on the following morning, and by that hour godfrey, luka, and jack were on board and the canoe carefully stowed on deck. both had ob- tained a complete fit-out from the merchant's stores, and although godfrey's garments would scarcely have passed muster in london, they did very well for the voyage. luka was greatly amused at his own appearance in european garb, though godfrey thought he looked much better in his ostjak costume. "we will rig him out fresh when i get him home," he said to the merchant. "i don't know what he looks like now in that greatcoat and billycock hat." the merchant stayed on board until the last moment. as soon as he got into his boat the paddles began to revolve and the steamer started on her way. she was ten days on her voyage, ascending many of the fiords, landing or taking on board cargo or passengers. godfrey enjoyed the voyage greatly. the scenery was mag- nificent, and eagerly as he desired to be at home, he was almost sorry when the end approached. it had been so strange to have nothing to do but to sit and watch the shore, to eat and to sleep. luka had been very penitent over his little excess at vadso, and had solemnly promised godfrey to abstain from spirits in future; and he, too, enjoyed the voyage in his way, eating enormously, and drinking vast quantities of tea and coffee. godfrey had sent off one or two telegrams from the condemned as a nihilist ports at which he touched, so that his father might be able to judge when the ship was likely to arrive; and when one morn- ing early the vessel steamed up to the wharf at hamburg god- frey saw him waiting there. it was a joyful meeting indeed, and it was not until they were alone together at an hotel, luka being left down-stairs in charge of the canoe, that they were enabled to begin to talk. "did you know what had become of me, father?" "yes, my boy. petrovytch telegraphed to me that you had been missing three days, and i at once went over to st. peters- burg. he thought that you had fallen into bad hands, and had been murdered and thrown into the neva; but remembering that you had got into that silly scrape before with the police, i thought it possible that, coming, as your absence did, directly after the affair at the winter palace, suspicion had fallen on you again. i went to the head of the police; he declined to give me any information. then i set the embassy at work, and they found out that you had been arrested with some des- perate nihilists. at last they obtained a sight of the records of the court-martial before which you had been tried, and told me that the case was so strong against you that nothing could be done; indeed, had it not been for your youth, and the fact that you were a british subject, you would certainly have been executed. i tried everything, but i found it absolutely useless. the embassy recommended me to let the matter drop for the present, and in time, perhaps, when the nihilist scare passed off, it might be possible to interest some minister or other in your favour and obtain a reversion of your sentence. then a few months later came the assassination of the czar, and, of course, that rendered it more hopeless than ever, and all we could hope for was, that in the course of years we might again move in the matter. of course it has been a terrible business for us all. but we won't talk about that now. thank god it is over, and that you have returned to us. but what madness, godfrey, to mix yourself up with these people!" "indeed, father, i was perfectly innocent, though i cannot home again "i have come," the russian said. "you told me to come, and i have done so." "i am delighted to see you, alexis. i had thought of you as married and settled among the buriats." "i did marry," alexis said; "but three years afterwards i lost my wife. what was i to do? i could not remain all my life a wandering shepherd, afraid ever to enter a town or to speak with a civilised being; so i sold my flocks and herds. you know my wife owned a third of those of the buriat. he was a rich man and bought most of them, and for the rest i found other purchasers. then he negotiated for me with one of the tea merchants, and i managed to go as a driver with one of his caravans to pekin." "and what do you mean to do, alexis? i can still keep my promise, and make a berth for you here in the office." "i thank you, my friend," alexis said; "but i shall return to my profession. i am a doctor, you know, and have my russian diplomas. i shall learn your language, and study in your hospitals for a time; then i shall set up here. i believe you have many russians in your poorer districts; and as, be- sides, i speak german, i should be able to obtain a sufficient practice. moreover, i have brought with me orders on a bank here for five thousand pounds, which i paid into their branch at hong-kong. i will get you to invest that for me, and you will see that it will give me an income sufficient for all my wants." alexis carried out his plans, and has now a large although not very remunerative practice among the russian and german colony in the east end of london. he married the daughter of a clergyman there, and remains fast friends with godfrey, who has now set up an establishment of his own, of which luka is major-domo, and special guardian and playmate to godfrey's little boys. godfrey has not returned to russia, but is his father's right hand in the london business; at the same time he is free to visit st. petersburg did he wish to do so, as mr. bullen drew books for young people by capt. f. s. brereton the dragon of pekin a story of the boxer revolt. illustrated, mo, $ . . in this timely volume the author has been singularly successful in depicting the stirring scenes of the late trouble in china. his hero has an adventurous part in the exciting issue between china and the allied powers. a gallant grenadier a tale of the crimean war. illustrated, mo, $ . . captain brereton is now hailed as another " george a. henty." in this stirring story the history and the real atmosphere of this impor- tant war is strikingly conveyed in a story of really thrilling power. with rifle and bayonet a story of the boer war. illustrations by wal. paget. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . jack somerten is the first uitlander to find actual evidence that the boers are importing arms and ammunition in large quantities, but the boers soon learn that he has discovered their secret and from that time his life is in constant danger. the account of his adventures and escapes during this time and throughout the war makes one of the best war tales of many years. in the king's service a tale of cromwell's invasion of ireland. illustrations by stanley l. wood. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . when the parlimentary army crosses to ireland young dick gran- ville and his cousin join a body of royalist horse. they take part in the defense of drogheda, only escaping from the slaughter there by a miracle, and afterwards go through a series of thrilling adventures and narrow escapes. with shield and assegai a tale of the zulu war. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. crown vo, $ . . donald stewart, at school in england, is wrongfully accused of theft. he runs away, enlists in the british army, and is sent to africa. there he learns that his sister and a friend are in the hands of cetewayo. disguised as a zulu, he rescues the two girls; and after the attack upon ulundi, he hears from a dying officer a confession of the theft of which he was accused. books for young people an animal abc a humorous alphabet. by h. b. neilbon. to, $ . . "with pages of illustrations in two colors and pages in black and white. verses by "the cockiolly bird." a remarkably attractive collection of spirited and original animal pictures by an artist who excels in this line. roundabout rhymes written and pictured by mrs. percy dearmkr. beautifully printed. with full-page plates in colors. small to, $ . . this hook is unusually attractive in form, and is admirably suited to the youngest readers. the pictures, together with the delightful series of half playful rhymes accompanying them, have a quaint nur- sery air that will render them particularly dear to a child's heart. the little browns by mabel e. wolton. with illustrations by h. m. brock, and a colored frontispiece. square vo, gilt edges, $ . . the little browns are a delightful set of youngsters, more than usually individual and self-reliant. during their parents' absence they extend hospitality to a stranger, under the belief that he is their uncle from australia. the supposed uncle is really a burglar, and by their courage and childish resources they outwit him. the little browns is the work of a true child-lover. by carton moore park a book of birds profusely illustrated with full-page plates, vignettes, cover design, etc., etc. demy to ( inches by inches), $ . . no artist has caught more thoroughly the individualities of the bird world, or has reproduced them with more lifelike vivacity and charm. an alphabet of animals with full-page plates, a large number of vignettes, and cover design by carton moore park. demy to ' inches by inches), $ . . a strikingly artistic alphabet book. mr. park's drawings are marked by extraordinary boldness and vigor of treatment; but they display in addition a rare appreciation of the subtler characteristics of the animal world. of these individual traits mr: park has an intuitive perception, and his pictures may almost be said to live upon the page. books for young people stories by g. a. henty "his books have at once the solidity of history and the charm of romance. "-journal of education. to herat and cabul a story of the first afghan war. by g. a. henty. with illustrations. mo, $ . net. the greatest defeat ever experienced by the british army was that in the mountain passes of afghanistan. angus cameron, the hero of this book, having been captured by the friendly afghans, was com- pelled to be a witness of the calamity. his whole story is an intensely interesting one, from his boyhood in persia; his employment underthe government at herat; through the defense of that town against the persians; to cabul, where he shared in all the events which ended in the awful march through the passes from which but one man escaped. angus is always at the point of danger, and whether in battle or in hazardous expeditions shows how much a brave youth, full of resources, can do, even with so treacherous a foe. his dangers and adventures are thrilling, and his escapes marvellous. with roberts to pretoria a tale of the south african war. by g. a henty. with illustrations. $ . net. the boer war gives mr. henty an unexcelled opportunity for a thrilling story of present-day interest which the author could not fail to take advantage of. every boy reader will find this account of the ad- ventures of the young hero most exciting, and, at the same time a wonderfully accurate description of lord roberts's campaign to preto- ria. boys have found history in the dress mr. henty gives it anything but dull, and the present book is no exception to the rule. at the point of the bayonet a tale of the mahratta war. by g. a. henty. illustrated. mo, $ . net. one hundred years ago the rule of the british in india was only partly established. the powerful mahrattas were unsubdued, and with their bkill in intrigue, and great military power, they were exceedingly dan- gerous. the story of "at the point of the bayonet" begins with the attempt to conquer this powerful people. harry lindsay, an infant when bis father and mother were killed, was saved by his mahratta ayah, who carried him to her own people and brought him up as a native. she taught him as best she could, and, having told him his parentage, sent him to bombay to be educated. at sixteen he ob- tained a commission in the english army, and his knowledge of the mahratta tongue combined with his ability and bravery enabled him to render great service in the mahratta war, and carried him, through many frightful perils by land and sea, to high rank. books for young people by q. a. henty "mr. henty might with entire propriety be called the boys' sir walter scott "—philadelphia press. in the irish brigade a tale of war in flanders and spain. with illustrations by charles m. sheldon. mo, $ . . desmond kennedy is a young irish lad who left ireland to join the irish brigade in the service of louis xiv. of france. in paris he in- curred the deadly hatred of a powerful courtier from whom he had rescued a young girl who had been kidnapped, and his perils are of ab- sorbing interest. captured in an attempted jacobite invasion of scot- land, he escaped in a most extraordinary manner. as aid-de-camp to the duke of berwick he experienced thrilling adventures in flan- ders. transferred to the army in spain, he was nearly assassinated,but escaped to return, when peace was declared, to his native land, having received pardon and having recovered his estates. the story is filled with adventure, and the interest never abates. out with garibaldi a story of the liberation of italy. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. ralnby, r.i. mo, $ . . garibaldi himself is the central figure of this brilliant story, and the little-known history of the struggle for italian freedom is told here in the most thrilling way. from the time the hero, a young lad, son of an english father and an italian mother, joins garibaldi's band of , men in the first descent upon sicily, which was garrisoned by one of the large neapolitan armies, until the end, when all those armies are beaten, and the two sicilys are conquered, we follow with the keenest interest the exciting adventures of the lad in scouting, in battle, and in freeing those in prison for liberty's sake. with buller in natal or, a born leader. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. rainey. mo, $ . . the breaking out of the boer war compelled chris king, the hero of the story, to flee with his mother from johannesburg to the sea coast. they were with many other uitlanders, and all suffered much from the boers. reaching a place of safety for their families, chris and twenty of his friends formed an independent company of scouts. in this service they were with gen. yule at glencoe, then in ladysmith, then with buller. in each place they had many thrilling adventures. they were in great battles and in lonely fights on the veldt; were taken prisoners and escaped; and they rendered most valuable service to the english forces. the story is a most interesting picture of the war in south africa, books for young people by g. a. henty "surely mr. henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man living."—the times. won by the sword a tale of the thirty tears' war. with illustrations by charles m. sheldon, and four plans. mo, $ . . the scene of this story is laid in france, during the time of richelieu, of mazarin and anne of austria. the hero, hector campbell, is the orphaned son of a scotch officer in the french army. how he at- tracted the notice of marshal turenne and of the prince of conde; how he rose to the rank of colonel; how he finally had to leave france, pursued by the deadly hatred of the due de beaufort—all these and much more the story tells with the most absorbing interest. a roving commission or, through the black insurrection at hayti. with illus- trations by william rainey. mo, $ . . this is one of the most brilliant of mr. henty's books. a story of the sea, with all its life and action, it is also full of thrilling adven- tures on land. so it holds the keenest interest until the end. the scene is a new one to mr. henty's readers, being laid at the time of the great revolt of the blacks, by which hayti became independent. toussaint l'overture appears, and an admirable picture is given of him and of his power. no surrender the story of the revolt in la vendee. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. mo, $ . . the revolt of la vendue against the french republic at the time of the revolution forms the groundwork of this absorbing story. leigh stansfield, a young english lad, is drawn into the thickest of the con- flict. forming a company of boys as scouts for the vend( an army, he greatly aids the peasants. he rescues his sister from the guilloune, and finally, after many thrilling experiences, when the cause of la vendee is lost, he escapes to england. under wellington's command a tale of the peninsular war. with illustrations by wal paget. mo, $ . . the dashing hero of this book, terence o'connor, was the hero of mr. henty's previous book, " with moore at corunna," to which this is really a sequel. he is still at the head of the " minho" portuguese regiment. being detached on independent and guerilla duty with his regiment, he renders invaluable service in gaining information and in harassing the french. his command, being constantly on the edge of the army, is engaged in frequent skirmishes and some most important battles. books for young people by c. a. henty "boys like stirring adventures, and mr. henty is a master of this method of composition."—new york times. through russian snows a story of napoleon's retreat from moscow. with full- page illustrations by w. h. ovbrkhd and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, julian wyatt, after several adventures with smugglers, by whom he is handed over a prisoner to the french, regains his freedom and joins napoleon's army in the russian campaign. when the terrible retreat begins, julian finds himself in the rear guard of the french army, fighting desperately. ultimately he escapes out of the general disaster, and returns to england. a knight of the white cross a tale of the siege of rhodes. with full page illustra- tions by ralph peacock, and a plan. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . gervaise tresham, the hero of this story, joins the order of the knights of st. john, and proceeds to the stronghold of rhodes. sub- sequently he is appointed commander of a war-galley, and in his first voyage destroys a fleet of moorish corsairs. during one of his cruises the young knight is attacked on shore, captured after a desperate struggle, and sold into slavery in tripoli. he succeeds in escaping, and returns to rhodes in time to take part in the defense of that fortress. the tiger of mysore a story of the war with tippoo saib. with full-page illustrations by w. h. margetson, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . dick holland, whose father is supposed to be a captive of tippoo saib, goes to india to help him to escape. he joins the army under lord cornwallis, and takes part in the campaign againt tippoo. afterwards he assumes a disguise, enters seringapatam, and at last he discovers his father in the great stronghold of savandroog. the hazardous rescue is at length accomplished, and the young fellow's dangerous mission is done. in the heart of the rockies a story of adventure in colorado. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by g. c. hindley. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, tom wade, goes to seek his uncle in colorado, who is a hunter and gold-digger, and he is discovered, after many dangers, out on the plains with some comrades. going in quest of a gold mine, the little band is spied by indians, chased across the bad lands, and overwhelmed by a snowstorm in the mountains. books foe yovno people by g.a. henty "no hying writer of books for boys writes to better purpose thao mr. g. a. henty."—philadelphia press. the dash for khartoum a tale of the nile expedition. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john schonberg and j. nash. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in the record of recent british history there is no more captivating page for boys than the story of the nile campaign, and the attempt to rescue general gordon. for, in the difficulties which the expedition encountered, in the perils which it overpassed, and in its final tragic disappointments, are found all the excitements of romance, as well as the fascination which belongs to real events. redskin and cow-boy a tale of the western plains. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred peabse. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the central interest of this story is found in the many adventures of an english lad, who seeks employment as a cow-boy on a cattle ranch. his experiences during a " round-up " present in picturesque form the toilsome, exciting, adventurous life of a cow-boy; while the perils of a *»ontier settlement are vividly set forth in an indian raid. held fast for england a tale of the siege of gibraltar. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . this story deals with one of the most memorable sieges in history— the siege of gibraltar in - by the united forces of france and spain. with land forces, fleets, and floating batteries, the combined resources of two great nations, this grim fortress was vainly besieged and bombarded. the hero of the tale, an english lad resident in gibraltar, takes a brave and worthy part in the long defence, and it is through his varied experiences that we learn with what bravery, re- source, and tenacity the rock was held for england. note.—for a list of henty books at popular prices, see the following page. a list of books * * for young people • ••by • •• kirk munroe a son of satsuma or. with perry in japan by kirk munroe with twelve illustrations by harry c. edwards. $ . net. this absorbing story for boys deals with one of the most in. teresting episodes in our national history. from the beginning japan has been a land of mystery. foreigners were permitted to land only at certain points on her shores and nothing whatever was known of her civilization and history, her romance and magnificence, her wealth and art. it was commodore perry who opened her gates to the world, thus solving the mystery of the ages, and, in this thrilling story of an american boy in japan at that period, the spirit as well as the history of this great achievement is ably set forth. midshipman stuart or, the last cruise of the essex. a tale of the war of . illustrated. mo, $ . . this is an absorbing story of life in the american navy during the stirring times of our war of . the very spirit of the period is in its pages, and many of the adventures of the essex are studied from history. in pirate waters a tale of the american navy. illustrated by i. w. tabbb. mo, $ . . the hero of the story becomes a midshipman in the navy fust at the time of the war with tripoli. his own wild adventures among the turks and his love romance are thoroughly interwoven with the stri- ring history of that time. books for young people by kirk munroe the "white conquerors" series with crockett and bowie or, fighting for the lone star flag. a tale of texas. with full-page illustrations by victor perahd. crown vo, $ . . the story is of the texas revolution in , when american texans under sam houston, bowie, crockett and travis, fought for relief from the intolerable tyranny of the mexican santa ana. the hero, rex hardin, son of a texan ranchman and graduate of an american military school, takes a prominent part in the heroic defense of the alamo, and the final triumph at san jacinto. through swamp and glade a tale of the seminole war. by kirk mxtnroe. with full- page illustrations by v. perard. crown vo, $ . . coacoochee, the hero of the story, is the son of philip the chieftain of tbe seminoles. he grows up to lead his tribe in the long struggle which resulted in the indians being driven from the north of florida down to the distant southern wilderness. at war with pontiac or, the totem of the bear. a tale of redcoat and redskin. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations by j, finnemore. crown vo, $ . . a story when the shores of lake erie were held by hostile indians. the hero, donald hester, goes in search of his sister edith, who has been captured by the indians. strange and terrible are his experi- ences; for he is wounded, taken prisoner, condemned to be burned, but contrives to escape. in the end all things terminate happily. the white conquerors a tale of toltec and aztec. by kirk munroe. with full- page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . this story deals with the conquest of mexico by cortez and his spaniards, the " white conquerors," who, after mamy deeds of valor, pushed their way into the great aztec kingdom and established their power in the wondrous city where montezuma reigned in splendor. charles scribne.r's sons - fifth avenue new yorr famous battles of the nineteenth century - jºnºvº.iii. --- - \ºm º - #iff --- - h h º | i. e e e e h e. º º º - lulululululºu– º lºu t the girt or mrs. flora finley noble # ill- l ill. - --- |h| - - - - - - ºl - - - - ºr - . - - -- - t i] - | .'s, h- famous battles of the nineteenth century |----- - - ----- …，~--~ ●*** *， - _ _ _ ）， ** **** -ae， famous battles of the nineteenth century described by archibal d for bes, george a. henty major arthur griffiths, and other well-known weiters edited by charles welsh author of “a bookseller of the last century,” “the little wonder shoes,” etc., etc. – with illustrations º new york a. wessels company copyright, , by a. wessels company, new york printed april, printed april, composition and electrotyping by the plimpton press boston printed by braunworth & co. new york a . s” - --). - - zºº. • *-* - º: .* *. º : a * . . . . * - > - . v/ preface he famous battles of the nineteenth | century have changed the face of nearly every continent on the globe and have consolidated our own great nation. therefore a knowledge of them, their causes and effects, is essential to a true understanding of world- history. they have also called forth all that is patriotic, and noble, and courageous, and self-sacrificing in many of those who took part in them — in spite of the fact that war is a manifestation of the baser passion of human nature. true it is that “he who ruleth his own spirit is better than he that taketh a city,” and yet war with all its hor- rors calls for the exercise of all that self-restraint, and all that strength of character, and all that obedience to the call of duty, which we every one of us admire and which we all should emulate. moreover, the same courage and the same resourcefulness which has been evoked by the famous battles, in officer and common soldier alike, are needed always in life, and if read in the right spirit many lessons can be gained from these episodes in history-making which will be [ ] preface valuable in the more peaceful vocations and avocations of life. to present the famous battles of the nine- teenth century in their relation to the study of history, - to present the higher developments of character which they have called forth, – and at the same time to show what war is, in reality, - and thus perhaps inculcate and foster the desire to avoid it, — are the main objects of these vol- umes. the stories they contain are offered as incentives to courage and patriotism, not to ex- cite or develop the warlike spirit. there is not one of us who does not wish for the time when the war drums throb no longer, and the battle flags are furled “in the parliament of man, the federation of the world.” but we cannot ignore the fact that a large part of the history of the past hundred years is the story of its battles, and we can only hope that the same will not have to be written of the cen- tury in which we are now living. unhappily, however, the dawn of the century was shadowed by war clouds which have since grown denser and blacker. the present volume brings our account of the famous battles of the nineteenth century to an [ ] preface end, with the second war of the british against the boers still in progress. it covers a long period and its scenes are laid in every quarter of the globe. we chronicle the passing of the red man as a hostile enemy on our own continent, and the beginnings of the devel- opment of the united states as a world power by the war against spain and other events which occurred towards the close of the nineteenth century. the stirring story of the russo-turkish war — and the attack on kars, the zulu war in which the young prince imperial of france lost his life, the thrilling and dramatic story of gen- eral gordon, and the breaking of the power of the mahdi in the soudan, the comparatively easy victory of the japs over the chinese, and of the turks over the greeks, are varied enough in detail, though the grim theme is ever the same, the great and commanding personalities which figure in most of the epoch-making events described in these volumes are well worth study, and one purpose of the work will be accomplished if it incites its readers to a more intimate knowl- edge in closer detail of the lives and character of some of the men whose acquaintance they have made in it. for the most part the descriptions in this vol- ume have been written by the veteran war cor- [ ] preface respondents, who contributed to the first three. but the campaigns of the nineties are compiled by mr. a. hilliard atteridge, from descriptions of eye-witnesses, such as newspaper correspond- ents, and officers and others who took part in the battles they describe. charles "welsh. august, . r [ ] contents § the red man's last victory. angus evan abbott the stonming of kars. major arthur griffiths the battle of rorke's drift. c. stein general roberts in the afghan war. archibald forbes . the boer war of . archibald forbes the bombardment of alexandria. maa. pemberton kassassin and tel-el-kebir. charles lowe general gordon at khartoum. charles lowe the battle of ping-yang. a. hilliard atteridge . port arthur, . a. hilliard atteridge the battle of domokos. a. hilliard atteridge with kitchener in the soudan. a. hilliard at- teridge . - - - the battle of manila. a. hilliard atteridge with roosevelt on san juan hill. a. hilliard atteridge - - - the battle of magersfontfin ( ). a. hilliard atteridge - - - - the capture of cronje. a. hilliard atteridge list of illustrations + col. roosevelt at san juan . - frontispiece there was a hand-to-hand struggle saving the gun's at maiwand (from the picture by r. caton woodville, r. i.) the men struggled on through the hail of fire . - - - - - - the bombardment of alexandria carrying the bastions with the bayonet five minutes desperate and bloody hand- to-hand fighting . - - general charles gordon a corner of the battle-field, -the stand- ard-bearer's death grip . admiral george dewey . - - - famous battles of the nineteenth century i the red man's last victory: the fight of the little big horn by angus evan abbott rom the day in when samuel de f champlain and his hardy followers burst upon the iroquois at ticonderoga, and, armed with sticks that spoke with fire and spat out unseen death, he put these hitherto invincible warriors to flight, to the day when the united states was preparing to celebrate with unheard- of splendor the centennial of its independence, a ceaseless state of war existed between the chil- dren of the forest and prairie and the pale-faced usurpers. every year had its tragedy, every mile its white gravestone in history. and as a fit ending to these centuries of conflict and blood- shed came the crimson tragedy of the blotting- out of custer and his cavalrymen in the bad [ ] famous battles of the xixth century lands of the yellowstone. many notable trag- edies, dramatic in execution as appalling in effect, marked the long years, but none struck home to the hearts of the american people with such searching directness and force as the finale to the indian tragedy, in which sitting bull, chief of the sioux, and general custer, one of america's most dashing cavalry leaders, played the leading roles. surely never were such aborigines as the north american indian! surely never in the history of the world did the white man encounter' so nearly his match as when he first plunged into the forests of the new world. a mere handful in numbers were these red men at the best, and yet it can hardly be said that they were ever subdued. in turn they met and fought the spaniard, then in all his glory, the frenchman, the englishman — long and savage wars these — and when spaniard, frenchman, and eng- lishman as such disappeared and the american took their place, the indian fought him more fiercely than ever. when one thinks of the white man's countless numbers and the weapons which his ingenuity and handicraft supplied, the marvel is that the indian has not long since dis- appeared from the face of the earth. but given their numbers and weapons and all, it has been estimated that in the wars which the white man [ ] the red man's last victory waged against the indians they lost more than ten killed to the redskin's one. yet notwith- standing the skill, the craftiness, the sensible recognition of existing facts, the clever stratagem and resistless ferocity which characterizes the indian nature, the level-headed way in which he set about his wars, to kill and not be killed his motto: notwithstanding all this, the prophecy of the great orator red jacket has come true. he said, “when i am gone and my warnings are no longer heeded, the craft and avarice of the white man will prevail. my heart fails me when i think of my people so soon to be scat- tered and forgotten.” the feud which began on the atlantic coast hundreds of years before, was destined to end in the far northwest, away up in a corner of the united states then almost wholly unknown to the white man, an angle of territory bounded on the west by the rockies, and on the north by what formerly was known as rupert's land — british territory. the immediate cause of the trouble which led up to the massacre of custer and his battalion was one which had often before provoked active hostilities. it was the refusal of sundry bands of indians to settle down on the reservations placed at the disposal of the indians by the united states government. the indians resented the attempt to confine them to restricted [ ] famous battles of the xixth century districts. the red man of the prairie had been, from time immemorial, a notorious nomad. on his lean, shaggy, ungainly pony, his bow and quiver slung across his back, his buckskin breeches and shirt fringed with horsehair and painted in gaudy colors, his long, greasy black hair stuck full of the feathers of the turkey, hawk, and eagle, he had for centuries roamed the vast prairie at will: now fighting his hereditary foe, and again camping for weeks at a time on the trail of the mighty herds of buffalo in their wan- derings over the boundless prairie. for ages the chafings of restriction were un- known to him, until freedom had become almost as necessary to the savage of the plains as the air itself. this he enjoyed, until one day the ad- vance guard of civilization, a grizzly trapper, dressed in leather, and carrying a flintlock under his arm, peered out of the bushes and saw in astonishment the great rolling prairie, the home of the buffalo and the sioux. the hardy pioneer soon followed, restless, and ever pressing west- ward; and one day, the sioux, sitting astride his barebacked pony, saw in amazement the long train of white-topped wagons — the prairie schooners — drawn by oxen, trailing westward through the tall grass, and realized that his an- cient fastnesses had been invaded. immediately there began massacres on the one hand and re- [ ] the red man's last victory taliation on the other. the sioux, the bedouins of the prairie, were gradually driven back and back. during the winter of – the authorities at washington, after every peaceable means had been tried in vain, found it necessary to sanction the use of force to compel certain refractory bands of indians to cease their wanderings and outrage, to place themselves under the control of the indian officials, and to settle on the res- ervations set aside for their use. these recal- citrant savages were sioux, than whom there were none more warlike and cruel, and in their raids they wandered over an area of something like , square miles in the then territories of dakota, montana, and wyoming. there were a number of these bands of “hostiles,” each having a chief of its own; but as dissatisfac- tion spread among them, all gradually centered around two great chiefs, sitting bull and crazy horse. sitting bull, at the time hostilities com- menced, was with his band in the vicinity of the little missouri river in dakota, and crazy horse and band were camped on the banks of the powder river in wyoming. the region was a wilderness: rugged, mountainous, and deeply scarred by rapid streams and small rivers, and, as has been told, totally unknown to the united states soldiers. as guides to this un- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century familiar region and to scout by the way, the command took with it ree indians under bloody knife chief, and crows, led by chief half-yel- low face. these indians did the scouting well, but the rees took the earliest opportunity af- forded them to slip away when fighting began. the first move made against these sioux was on march , . general sheridan, a dis- tinguished leader in the civil war, was given the direction of the campaign, with headquar- ters at chicago. general terry held the active command of the troops in the disaffected coun- try. subordinate to terry were generals cus- ter and crook, at the head of mounted columns. terry ordered these leaders to move out against the “hostiles,” specifying the route each was to take. crook marched on march , and on march encountered crazy horse and his braves, and the command was so severely handled in the engagement that crook fell back to his base. custer had been unable to make a simul- taneous advance with crook, owing to the weather being so bad that it was found impos- sible to venture into the region of heavy snows and swollen rivers. the news of crook's defeat spread like wild- fire among the indian agencies. couriers sped from the camps of crazy horse and sitting bull. to every indian encampment in that part of the [ ] the red man's last victory states one or more messengers came, and squat- ting on the hardened earth of some smoky tepee, to the listening braves told of the killing of the paleface and the triumph of the red, and before he had finished his tale, wigwams were struck and loaded to the patient ponies, the squaws strapped their papooses to their backs, and the warriors, with faces painted in ghastly and fan- tastical streaks, danced the war-dance, snatched up their rifles, and, mounting their ponies, set out to take part in reaping the harvest of scalps. the defeat of crook made a long war inevita- ble. general sheridan reinforced the troops in the disaffected region, and remodeled his plan of campaign. the troops were formed into three columns instead of two; and as soon as the weather moderated, so as to admit of favorable progress, all set out to trap the indians. the three columns were commanded respectively by generals terry, crook, and gibbon. custer would have led in place of terry, had it not been that just before the setting out of the expedition he fell from the good graces of president grant. indeed, so displeased was grant with custer, that he sent definite instructions that custer was not to be allowed to accompany the expedition; and it was only after a personal appeal to grant by custer, and the intercession of sheridan, that the famous cavalry leader was allowed to take [ ] famous battles of the xixth century his place at the head of his regiment and march away, never to return. on may the column marched from fort abraham lincoln, on the missouri river, and proceeding by easy stages crossed the little missouri river on may , and camped on the banks of the powder, a tributary of the yellow- stone. the seventh cavalry was divided into two columns, commanded by major reno and captain benteen. as the indian country had now been reached, on june , general terry sent major reno with his command (six troops) to scout up the powder, and general custer, with the left wing of the seventh, marched to the mouth of the tongue and there awaited reno's return. the major reached custer's camp on the th, and reported plenty of indian “signs” leading up the banks of the rosebud. the whole command set out at once for that stream and pitched tents at its mouth on june , and made ready for immediate active operations. it was arranged that the seventh united states cavalry, commanded in person by general custer, should set out on the trail major reno had discovered, overtake the indians, corner them, and bring about a fight. this they did. with truly anglo-saxon superiority the gener- als wofully under-estimated the fighting strength of the foe. general custer, with his seven hun- [ ] the red man's last victory dred cavalrymen, believed he would be able to cope with more savages than he was likely to have the good fortune to meet, and his brother generals were under the same impression. they found out their mistake when too late. sitting bull, chief of a band of uncpapa sioux indians, was at this time forty-two years old. a great, squatty, hulking, low-browed savage, of forbidding looks and enormous strength, and in height as near as might be to five feet eight inches. he had the reputation among his own followers, as well as the warriors of other bands, of being a medicine-man of mark, a dealer in omens, a conjurer of demons, a weaver of magic, a foreteller of dire events, and a familiar of de- parted spirits. outside of his magic he was known as a coward, but this defect they over- looked in the belief that his soothsayings fully compensated for the deficiency in his personal valor. their faith in his incantations was un- bounded. in the fight of the little big horn, sitting bull divided his energies between getting as far from the scene of strife as his fat legs would carry him, and performing fanatical rites to the confounding of the white man. the actual leaders in the fight were crazy horse, gall, and crow king; and in a lesser degree, low dog, big road, hump, spotted eagle, and little horse, all chiefs of bands and men of [ ] famous battles of the xixth century ability and unflinching personal courage. these superintended the movements of the “hostiles,” and by their personal feats of daring encouraged their followers, while sitting bull looked after the fates. at noon on june custer and his men set out for the wilderness. warnings and omens do not seem to have been confined to the wigwam of the red man, for on the fatal march to the . little big horn there were many that foretold disaster to the expedition. captain godfrey, who marched with the col- umns, in his written account of the calamitous affair, mentions many incidents which were taken to point to disaster. he tells, for instance, that on the evening of the first day of their march custer sent for his officers. after a “talk,” lieutenant wallace said to godfrey, as they walked away from the general's tent, “godfrey, i believe general custer is go- ing to be killed.” asked his reasons for this belief, he simply answered: “i have never heard custer speak in that way before.” a little later in the evening captain godfrey came upon a camp-fire, around which sat bloody knife, half-yellow-face, and the interpreter bouyer. the half-breed asked the captain if he had ever fought against the sioux. answered in the affirmative, the interpreter gazed into the [ ) the red man's last victory fire for a few moments before saying emphati- cally, “i can tell you we are going to have a big fight.” then again an ominous thing happened. the general's headquarters flag was blown down and fell to the rear, and in being replanted again fell to the rear. these and many other eerie happenings seem to have sent a thrill of foreboding through the whole command as it went on its way to the un- explored valley of the little big horn. in their tents, when night had fallen and the fires were out — for on this march no fire burned and nothing was done likely to attract the eye of any indian who might happen to be roaming about in the vicinity — the men sat in the dark and told stories of scalpings and burnings at the stake. even the red scouts caught the prevail- ing current of premonition and hastened to their medicine-man to be anointed as a charm against the cruelty of the dreaded sioux. during the march up the rosebud, indian “signs” were met with at every turn. camping- place after camping-place was found. the grass had been closely cropped by herds of ponies; the ashes of a hundred camp-fires lay gray on the bare ground. on june the col- umn passed a great camping-place, the gaunt frame of a huge sundance-lodge still standing, [ ] famous battles of the xixth century and against one of the posts the scalp of a white man fluttered in the wind. soon after this the crow scouts, who had been working energetically, returned to the camp and reported to custer that although they had come across no sioux, still, from indications discov- ered, they felt sure that the command was in the neighborhood of an encampment. that night the column was divided into two, so as to raise as little dust as possible, and made a forced march; and on the morning of june , custer, in a personal reconnoitre, discovered the foe of which he was in search. although he found himself unable to locate the actual village, he saw great herds of ponies, saw the smoke curling up in the air of morning, and heard the barking of the dogs, denoting the presence of a village behind a hill that lay in front of him. it had been custer's intention to remain quietly where his command rested until night fell, when he would advance his forces, and in the gray of morning sweep down upon the sioux. but this plan miscarried. word reached the leader that a sioux indian had discovered the presence of the united states troops and had galloped off to warn the tribe. custer resolved to attack at once. the command set out for sitting bull's village shortly before noon. it was divided into three [ ] the red man's last victory battalions — major reno commanding the ad- vance, general custer following with the second, and captain benteen the third, the pack train being under the charge of lieutenant mathey. the whole command marched down a valley for some distance and then separated, intending to strike the village at different points. custer's battalion took to the right to cross the hills and ride down upon the encampment, and major reno branched off to the left andforded the little big horn — a stream that gives the battle its name — at the mouth of a stream now called benteen's creek. as they were separating, custer sent an order to reno to “move forward at as rapid gait as he thought prudent, and charge the village afterwards, and the whole outfit would support him.” after separation the only word received from custer was an order signed by the adjutant, and addressed to captain benteen, which read: “benteen, come on. big village. be quick. bring packs”; and a postscript, “bring packs.” about the time this message must have been despatched, those with reno beheld the general and his men on top of a hill two miles or more away, looking down upon the village, and saw custer take off his hat and wave it in the air, as if either beckoning the other battalions to his assistance or cheering his men. [ j famous battles of the xixth century the battalion disappeared over the brow of the hill, and after that no word or sign ever came from custer or anyone of his whole command. not a man of the hundreds that followed the general in the charge lived to tell the tale. the battalion was simply wiped out of existence. in after years, some of the indians who took part in the massacre, laying aside their inbred taci- turnity, consented to show a few united states officers over the field and explain what had hap- pened and how it had happened; but beyond these meagre reports, and the position in which the bodies of the soldiers were found after the indians had finished with their rejoicings and the mutilations of the dead, nothing is known of custer's last charge. but those acquainted with custer and with indian fighting are able to picture the scene. when custer reached the top of the hill, in- stead of a village of some eight hundred or one thousand warriors, he saw beneath him a veri- table city of wigwams spread out in the valley. the smoke from the fires clouded the sky, great herds of ponies cropped the grass as far as the eye could see, thousands of painted sioux, armed, and astride their shaggy ponies, galloped in circles, working themselves into a frenzy of fury to fight the white man. medicine-men danced and yelled their incantations, and squaws busily [ ] the red man's last victory struck the tents and hurried their papooses and swarms of dusky children out of harm's way. when this scene of angry life met his gaze, gen- eral custer, old indian fighter that he was, must have recognized that he was in for what seemed likely to be his last fight. but the mistake had been made. the time had passed for new plans of battle. he could not turn his back on the warriors to join his battalion with the others, for already the painted bucks were circling round him and firing into his ranks, and already, in all . probability, he heard the crack of rifles to his left, telling him that the indians were upon reno. hemmed in, retreat out of the question, and trusting that his other battalions would hurry to his support, he called to his men, and together they plunged into the shrieking, shouting, seeth- ing mass of painted and befeathered red men — and died. - reno acted differently. whether or no he car- ried caution to an unjustifiable length is a ques- tion that has been fiercely discussed, at least, some of the officers who were with him being his greatest denouncers. so bitter were the charges made against him that a government inquiry was instituted, and, it is only right to say, it exonerated him from blame. reno's battalion struck the indians shortly after crossing the little big horn, and the ree [ j famous battles of the xixth century scouts at once made for the rear to be out of dan- ger. when the sioux indians appeared in con- siderable force on his front, instead of charging the village as custer had ordered, reno dis- mounted his troops to fight on foot, and taking advantage of timber he remained stationary for some long time in almost absolute security. later he ordered a retreat to the bluffs, and while executing this order, and in the preceding skirmishes, lieutenants mcintosh and hodgson, dr. de wolf, and twenty-nine men and scouts were killed. soon after reaching the bluffs captain ben- teen's battalion joined reno, placing the latter in command of a larger force than custer had with him; but notwithstanding this, no active measures were adopted, the two battalions stand- ing nerveless and inactive, listening to heavy firing and much ominous noise in the direction of the village, where custer was engaged in his death-struggle. true, an advance was made to a hill — the hill from which earlier in the day custer had been seen to wave his hat. from the top of this elevation could be seen a great commotion in the valley, much riding and shout- ing and firing; but still reno and his men were not near enough to the spot to make out what it was all about. the officers with field-glasses tried their best to find out where custer and his [ ) the red man's last victory battalion were, but, of course, this was impos- sible, for by this time every man, with custer, had been slain. chief gall afterwards said that the news of the two columns of troops advancing against the village struck consternation to the heart of the indians, but when reno was seen to dismount and remain stationary, they were glad, for it al- lowed the whole indian force to be hurled against custer. him out of the way, they concentrated against reno. when this latter movement took place reno retreated again to the bluffs, where close to the river he picked upon a strong posi- tion and successfully withstood a heavy fire all the afternoon. darkness came down, and the troops spent an anxious night intrenching them- selves, and wondering what had happened to their companions with custer, but knowing nothing except that the general must have been defeated. lying under the stars, surrounded by the “hostiles,” they passed a night of restlessness and alarm. the sky was aglare with light from the bonfires; the silence of the night pierced by many strange cries of exultation and hate, by shots, and the monotonous beating of the tom- tom for the scalp-dance. at times a nervous man would spring from his bivouac on the earth [ ] famous battles of the xixth century to shout that he heard the march of approaching relief, and bugles rang out a welcome that was only answered by the echoes from the hills. when morning dawned the sioux opened fire, and the day which followed was one of fevered sorties and galling waiting. on the stronghold that day reno's men lost eighteen killed and had fifty-two wounded, and they spent a second anxious night. but on the morning of june general terry raised the siege and rode into camp. terry, in his journey, had come across more than a hundred dead, and that an awful tragedy had been enacted he knew. but he did not know the full extent of the slaughter. on the th the army marched to the battlefield of the little big horn. scattered on the slope of the hill they found dead. general custer, his brother — captain t. w. custer — cap- tains keogh and yates, lieutenants cook, crit- tenden, reily, calhoun, smith, and other officers of their men were found, each scalped and muti- lated except custer himself. he lay apparently as he had fallen, the indians refraining from wreaking vengeance on the leader, who was well known to sitting bull and others of the chiefs. the bodies of lieutenants porter, harrington, and sturgis, and dr. lord, were never found. the killed of the entire command was two [ ] the red man's last victory hundred sixty-five, and the slaying of custer and his men was the crimson spot of the first centen- nial year of the united states. it is also rendered memorable as being the last great victory the red man achieved over the white. [ ] ii the storming of kars – november, by major arthur griffiths k: has the reputation of being one of the strongest fortresses in the world. in the old crimean days it stood a six months' siege: gallant fenwick williams, an english artillery officer, with a garrison of de- voted turks, made an heroic resistance in it against superior numbers, and yielded only to famine in the end. at the peace kars reverted to turkey, who spared no pains to restore its de- fences and make it as nearly as possible impreg- nable. it was surrounded with new fortifica- tions, built for the most part on the ancient sites; they were constructed under the skilful direction of the first military engineers, and armed with powerful artillery. when, in , russia once more came to blows with her traditional foe, kars became again the scene of furious conflict; its possession was hotly contested, but it was finally won by almost unexampled bravery in the teeth of a no less stubborn defence, the early days of the winter of were at [ ] the storming of kars hand when the russians closed down on kars. the turkish arms had but recently met with serious reverses in armenia; moukhtar pacha, the turkish generalissimo, had been badly beaten in a great battle, – that of aladjh dagh, — and his army, which had hitherto covered kars, was almost destroyed: only a wretched remnant of panic-stricken fugitives took refuge in the mountains about erzeroum, where moukh- tar speedily followed to reorganize his shattered forces. another general (hussein pacha) was left with a garrison of twenty-four thousand to defend kars. it was hoped that the great for- tress would long hold out. it was so strongly fortified, so well armed, so amply provisioned, that a protracted siege seemed inevitable. the turks, moreover, were excellent soldiers, es- pecially good and brave behind fortifications. at that very moment plevna, an improvised fortress just south of the danube, was still defy- ing the most strenuous efforts of the russians to take it. kars had many superior advantages as a place of arms. the russians were, however, resolved to cap- ture kars, and soon, if they could. they wanted it badly. its fall would make the rus- sian communications safe where at present they were insecure; from kars they could best pro- ceed against erzeroum, and pave the way to [ ] famous battles of the xixth century complete mastery in armenia. but to want a thing is not necessarily to get it, especially in war. kars must be taken — granted; the point was how to do it. now, there is more than one way of reducing or getting possession of a fortress. it can be “invested” – surrounded on all sides, that is to say, cut off from outside relief or support, and starved into surrender; or it may be besieged in due form, with regular “approaches,” trenches and saps pushed up nearer and nearer, and with breaching batteries of heavy artillery, which after repeated bombardments open the road to assault; or, last of all, it may be carried by a coup-de-main — one great vigorous blow, de- livered without delay or hesitation, which, if successful, settles the matter at once and out of hand. which was it to be with kars? this was the problem which confronted the russian generals, and which could only be solved after anxious consideration of all the pros and cons. investment is a slow, often very tedious, game; in the present case it was both doubtful and dangerous, for the cold weather was at hand, and the winters are so severe in ar- menia that the besieging troops must inevitably endure great hardships and privations. nor was the process of investment certain to lead to capture. the garrison, after holding their as- [ ] the storming of kars sailants at bay for six months or more (and they had provisions for quite that time), after per- petually harassing them by sortie and counter attack, might beat them off in the end. the same objections applied to the regular siege: the turks could meet the russians with guns, heavy artillery, admirably posted, and with a garrison sufficient to man the whole length of their defenses. the siege might become a long duel, in which the advantage would not neces- sarily be with the besiegers. there remained only the boldest, the most hazardous, probably the most costly in human lives, but still the most profitable if successful — the method of immediate open assault. kars might perhaps be carried by storm, if only the enterprise was undertaken on a proper scale, if the attack was planned with judgment and at- tempted in adequate strength. this was the course which the russian generals adopted. they resolved to go in and win; to capture kars, or at least to make a bold attempt at capture by sheer force and weight of arms. to understand what follows, a brief descrip- tion of the whole fortress, as it then stood, is in- dispensable. kars was rather a series of fortified works than a single fortress. the actual city was only defended by a citadel, perched high above it on [ ] famous battles of the xixth century a tall, straight rock, and by an ancient wall built by the turks in the sixteenth century, and now half in ruins. the strength of the place was in its twelve detached forts, planted at points of vantage and surrounding it entirely. these forts may be classed in four groups, viz. – taking them according to the points of the compass — those to the northeast, southeast, west, and northwest of the town. ( ) to the northeast were forts arab and karadagh, both on the high rocky ground known as the karadagh, or black mountain, built on the bare rock, but faced with earth, which had been carried up by hand for the purpose. these forts had no ditches; the first was closed at the rear by a stone barrack, the second was to have been similarly defended, but the war broke out before the work was completed. ( ) to the southeast of the town the country was an open plain, and as such more easily ac- cessible. so it was defended by two of the strongest forts, known respectively as fort hafiz and fort kanly: the first was a square redoubt, or fort closed on all sides, that nearest the town consisting of a casemated barrack of three stories; the second consisted really of two small redoubts, also square, supporting each other, also with a barrack at the end. there were, besides, forts souvari and tchini, much simpler as [ ] the storming of kars fortifications, but adding to the strength of this side. ( ) to the westward, where the ground again rose and became mountainous (it was called the shorak mountain), there were three forts, known as tekman, tek tepasse, and laze tepasse, all placed on commanding points, and well armed with batteries. ( ) and, lastly, on the tchanak mountain, to the northwest, there were three more forts — forts mouklis, inglis, and veli pacha, the last- named being the strongest of the three. it must be obvious that kars, thus defended, was a hard nut for the russians to crack. these twelve forts were nearly all well placed: they were at such distances from each other that they could afford mutual support in case of attack, and their rocky sites forbade all idea of under- mining them. on the other hand, they were a source of weakness to the town, being so near it that its bombardment was possible by the enemy thus permitted to come within range. they were unprovided with magazines or storehouses; they were short of water, all of which had to be dragged up from the river; they had no ditches round them, and their fronts or sides were unde- fended by flanking fire, which, moreover, when damaged by the enemy's batteries, could not be quickly repaired for want of earth in the prevail- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century ing rockiness of the soil. but the crowning de- fect in the whole system of defence was that it was cut into two parts: one set of forts lay on the west side of the river, the other on the east, and the river itself, running in a deep gorge, com- pletely separated them. the actual condition of the defences of kars, the numbers of the garrison, strength of artillery, the amount of ammunition and supplies, was fully revealed to the russians by spies and de- serters; any further knowledge required was ob- tained by careful reconnaissances. by these means the best line of attack was arrived at, and it was decided to make the first principal effort against the three forts upon the plain to the southeast of the town. the approach was easiest in this direction, and hereabouts the turks kept all their depots and stores of provi- sions. at the same time, while the chief attack was in progress, demonstrations were to be made at other points, mainly to distract the enemy's attention; but these other movements were to be pushed forward and developed into real attacks if there was any promise of substantial advan- tage therefrom. hardly second in importance to the place was the time fixed for attack. if made during the day, it would undoubtedly entail enormous losses. the turkish forts and trenches covered [ ] the storming of kars a wide extent of front; the fire they could bring to bear, both with cannon and small arms, would certainly be intense and deadly. it would begin at long range — for they had excellent weapons — and, so to speak, scorch up the ground of ap- proach, which was altogether without cover or shelter for troops advancing in broad daylight. worse than this, the precise movements of the attacking columns would be betrayed. many of the turkish forts stood on such high ground that they could see and search out everything in the plains below. so feints and false attacks would be useless, and the turkish commander, having penetrated the real design, could concentrate in sufficient, perhaps in overwhelming, force to meet it at the points threatened. a night attack was the inevitable conclusion. the storming must be made in the dark, and yet not in complete darkness; for that would cer- tainly cause confusion, and probably entail disaster. there must be light enough to direct movements near at hand, and yet not so much light as to betray them from a distance. this could only be attained when the moon was at the full; so, although a prompt attack was decided upon, the actual date was governed by the almanac, and the day, or rather night, fixed was the th of november. it was delayed two nights later by cloudy weather and a [ ] the storming of kars five columns were to attack, two only to demonstrate: the two columns of demonstration were to appear to attack the most northern and the eastern forts. these movements were to be mere feints unless they made rapid and easy impression, in which case they were to be pressed home. each of the five attacking columns, except the second, was accompanied with guns; with each also marched detachments of engineers carrying scaling-ladders, dynamite cartridges to blow in gates and obstacles; gunners also accompanied the columns to spike or dismount guns. the russian cavalry was distributed in three posi- tions, to watch the various roads approaching kars from the north, the west, and erzeroum. half-past eight was the hour appointed for the assembly of the troops. it was a bright, clear, frosty night, the moon was at the full, the air bitterly cold, and very still. nothing was heard as the skirmishers crept smartly and still silently forward; only a few shots were fired by the turkish outposts, but as there was no reply silence again reigned. about nine p.m. the rus- sian guns, to draw off attention, began to salute the tekman fort considerably to the westward of the line of real attack. half an hour more, and secrecy or stratagem was no longer pos- sible. the murder was out; melikoff’s men - [ ] famous battles of the xixth century “rushed” fort souvari without firing a shot. its garrison was altogether unsuspicious of the impending danger; the russians were over the parapet, inside, bayoneting right and left, spik- ing and dismounting the guns, and after a very short fight in full possession of the place. then this, the second column of the attack, streamed out to the rear of the fort, and hurried off to as- sist in the capture of fort tchini, the nearest to them, but upon the other side of the river. this fort tchini was the point to be aimed at by general komaroff with the first attacking column. his men had advanced at about nine p.m. on hearing the noise of battle at fort sou- vari, but met with very different fortune. he had to cross very difficult, rocky ground, and an interchange of shots aroused the camp that lay under fort tekman, up above his left, and brought down a host of turks on this his left flank. colonel boutchkieff, who commanded the russian attacking column, turned at once to his left, and, postponing the movement on fort tchini, went up against this enemy. he scaled the heights successfully, and driving back the turks followed them close under the defences of fort tekman. his column was only of three battalions, but without hesitation he went in at this strong redoubt, hoping to carry it by au- - dacity. but he was met with a murderous fire, [ ] the storming of kars musketry from three tiers of trenches, shrap- nel shot, stones, and hand grenades. colonel boutchkieff was killed, his men were cruelly slaughtered, and the remnant fell back to the river, to be of no more use that night. fort tchini was still untouched, and koma- roff drew up his reserves to form a fresh column of attack; he had one regiment only, backed by four-and-twenty guns, and this handful went forward gallantly to encounter a warm reception and eventually reap disaster. they were nearly destroyed by direct and cross fire from the neigh- boring forts of tekman and veli pacha, but held their ground till long after midnight, then fell back defeated behind the river. nor had prince melikoff, coming from the fort souvari, which he carried so easily, any better luck against tchini. he had got to the rear of it, having crossed the river by fords and boats, and attack- ing it on that side had taken the turks com- pletely by surprise. but in leading on his men he was dangerously wounded, and they fell back — to wait, in the first place, for komaroff, who never appeared, and then to recross the river. their retreat was greatly facilitated, however, by the smaller attack made by komaroff's reserve, which had failed, as has just been described. so far, then, on this western side the russians [ ] famous battles of the xixth century \ had made no sort of impression upon kars. but these attacks on tekman and tchini, al- though unsuccessful, had been indirectly of the utmost service, for they occupied attention, and kept the turkish troops employed, who would otherwise have reinforced the defenders of the southern and eastern forts at the point where, in fact, the fate of kars was being decided all this time. it fell to the lot of the third, fourth, and fifth columns of assault to overcome resistance and capture the stronghold. count grabbe was entrusted with the attack of the two redoubts known as fort kanly, and about ten p.m. his men got close up to them, much harassed by the ground and the enemy's fire. the right column approached the eastern, or smaller redoubt, and, climbing the parapet, effected a lodgment, although opposed by supe- rior numbers. the left column, headed by count grabbe in person, swarmed around the western or main work, attacking it in front, flank, and rear. grabbe was killed at the crit- ical moment — shot dead by two bullets — and was succeeded by colonel belinsky, who later was also killed. after an hour's fierce engage- ment — so fierce that five hundred dead turks were found in this part of the redoubt next day — the russians effected an entrance, and drove the garrison back, but still fighting stubbornly, [ ] the storming of kars hand to hand, till they reached the stone barrack, which closed the rear of the fort. here the turks took refuge and rallied to such good pur- pose that belinsky's men could get no farther. the barrack was protected with iron gates, and the russians tried in vain to break them down; then they suffered such terrible losses that they were compelled to retire. it was at this time that their leader, belinsky, met his death. a cavalry charge made by cossacks, sent on by loris melikoff, renewed the attack, and once more compelled the turks to take refuge in the barrack. at the same time, general loris meli- koff, finding that the assailants of fort kanly had lost two leaders in succession, sent a third — colonel bulmering — to take the chief command and renew the fight. bulmering divided his forces into two portions, which were to turn both flanks of the fort. the left column he com- manded in person, and made such good progress with it that he got to the very edge of the town. by one a.m. the whole of the fort was in the hands of the russians, with the exception of the stone barrack, which still held out obstinately. col- onel bulmering now summoned it to surrender, threatening first to batter it down with artillery, then to destroy it with dynamite. this last was an irresistible argument, to which the gallant turk in command — daoud pacha — at last [ ] the storming of kars to blow down the angle tower, and all with so much spirit that the turks were driven back into the inner work, and from that right out of the fort, in great disorder. they withdrew upon fort arab, which was still intact, and from this point made several courageous attempts to retake fort karadagh, but altogether without success. the russians had got it, and held it for good and all. this was the unlooked-for prize of one-half of the fifth column. the other half, moving to the left, pursued the original purpose — that of as- saulting fort hafiz. general alkhazoff led this attack in person, and struck at both on the direct front and on the left flank of the fort. the russians went up boldly, scaling the parapet and over into the redoubt, bayoneting all they met, and forcing back the garrison into the bar- rack, which, like that of fort kanly, closed the throat or entrance of the fort. but this barrack was in no condition to resist; it had been nearly ruined by the russian bombardment, and it soon fell into the hands of the assailants. from fort hafiz, alkhazoff's men pressed forward right under the walls of kars itself. by this time — two a.m. – the whole of the forts on the right bank of the river were in the hands of the russians, for fort arab, north of fort karadagh, was captured soon after the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century russian success at the latter had come to be known. the barrack at fort kanly alone held out, but this, as has been told, was actually doomed. recapitulating, fort souvari had been carried early in the night; fort karadagh had been seized by sudden inspiration; forts hafiz and kanly had fallen to direct attack. but this victory did not extend beyond the right bank of the river. on the left, or western side, the russians had made no decided impres- sion. the forts on the mountainous heights above, known as tchanak and shorak, still held out: these were the forts tekman, tek tepasse, laze tepasse, mouklis, inglis, and veli pacha; and the turkish troops which garrisoned them numbered some fifteen thousand men, still fresh and capable of fighting, although somewhat de- moralized. hussein pacha, the turkish com- mander, determined, therefore, to make a last bid for safety, if not to reverse fate, and massing these forces on the west, struck out for the moun- tains that ranged back towards erzeroum. the daylight, which broke about five a.m., betrayed his movement, and the russian general, roop, who commanded all the troops on the left bank, set himself to intercept the turkish march and prevent escape. his cavalry took the fugitives in flank, while his infantry faced and stopped [ ] the storming of kars them. the largest part of the turks were caught, and laid down their arms, but some got through and hurried towards the mountains with the cossacks in hot pursuit. surrender was the order of the day, and nearly all the turks were overtaken and made prisoners. only a few of the principal officers, including hussein pacha, escaped, through the fleetness and en- durance of the horses they rode. early that forenoon — the th november — the russian double eagle floated from the citadel of kars. the whole place, with all it contained, was in the possession of the assailants; those who had indirectly contributed to success on the left bank now entered the town, and joined their comrades from the right bank, upon whom the brunt of the business had fallen. the result of this really audacious feat of arms was commensurate with the unflinching courage that had planned and carried it through. a fortified place of the first class had been carried in open assault, seventeen thousand prisoners were taken, three hundred and three guns (many of large calibre), twenty-five thousand stand of small arms, and a vast quantity of provisions and war material. but the cost had been heavy to both sides in this desperate struggle: twenty- five hundred turks lay dead in and about the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century defences, forty-five hundred sick and wounded filled the hospitals; and the russians lost in killed and wounded seventy-seven officers and twenty- one hundred ninety-six men. [ ] iii rorke’s drift by c. stein t the end of there stood upon a a rocky terrace on the natal side of the buffalo river two stone buildings with thatched roofs, which had formed a swedish mission station, one of them having been used as a church and the other having been the dwell- ing of the missionary. these two humble edi- fices were destined to be, on the d january, , the scene of the most brilliant feat of arms performed during the whole zulu war — a de- fence by a small determined force against the attack of vastly superior numbers, an exploit whose luster, relieving a period of disaster, main- tained the prestige of british arms, and whose success, there can be little doubt, rescued natal from invasion when failure would have laid the colony open to the advance of a savage enemy. so perfect was the conduct of the officers and men concerned in the episode, and so well con- ceived and executed were the measures adopted, that even foreign military books quote the ex- ploit as an example of the value of improvised fortifications when they are held by brave men. [ ] famous battles of the xixth century when war was declared by sir bartle frere, the high commissioner for south africa, against cetewayo, the zulu king, the conduct of opera- tions was placed in the hands of lieutenant- general lord chelmsford, k.c.b., as com- mander-in-chief. it was determined to invade zululand, and all the forces available for this purpose were moved to the frontier. they were divided into five columns, of which three were to advance into the enemy's country from different points, with the intention of finally concentrating at ulundi, the zulu capital, while the other two were in the first instance to guard the frontier against possible zulu raids. the third column, under the command of colonel glyn, c.b., the center of the three columns of invasion, was to assemble near rorke’s drift and cross the buf- falo river at that spot, within a mile of the old swedish mission station. the river at rorke’s drift was, like most african streams, an impassable torrent after rain, but the flood quickly ran off, and a passage could then be effected by the “drift,” or ford. there had also been established two ponts, or big, flat-bottomed ferry-boats, each of which could transport an african wagon or a company of infantry. colonel glyn's column crossed the river on the th of january, , and from that time [ ] rorke's drift was engaged in operations in zululand. its line of communications with pietermaritzburg, the chief city of natal, was through rorke's drift to helpmakaar, and thence by ladysmith and est- court, or by the shorter, though more difficult, route through greytown. rorke's drift, as the actual starting point of invasion, was formed into a depot of stores and a hospital. the deserted mission-station buildings were utilized for this purpose, the old church being converted into a storehouse and the missionary's dwelling form- ing the hospital. as a garrison for the impor- tant post and to secure the passage across the river, colonel glyn left b company of the sec- ond battalion of the twenty-fourth regiment, under command of lieutenant gonville brom- head. with him were also major spalding. who was in general charge of the line of com- munications, lieutenant chard, royal engi- neers, surgeon reynolds, army medical depart- ment, and other officers. this garrison was eneamped near the store and hospital. for some days after the departure of the third column, which was also accompanied by lord chelmsford and the headquarter staff, the quiet routine of duty was pursued. letters were passed to and from the front, necessary stores and supplies were sent on, and the men wounded in the first engagements were received [ ] famous battles of the xixth century into the hospital. among these last was one of the enemy, who had been shot through the thigh at sirayo's kraal, and who was treated and nursed with the same care and attention as the englishmen against whom he had fought. on the th of january, however, a large portion of the second column, under colonel durnford, royal engineers, arrived at rorke's drift and encamped. their stay was brief, for they were summoned to the fatal camp of insandhlwana on the morning of the d, colonel durnford leaving a company of the natal native con- tingent, under captain stephenson, to strengthen the little post. it became evident from various circumstances that colonel glyn's column was encountering a stronger resistance than had been anticipated, and that, as the enemy were in force within a few miles, they might make a rapid descent upon the weakly guarded line of com- munications. it was known that two compa- nies of the first battalion of the twenty-fourth were at helpmakaar, ten miles distant, and major spalding resolved to go there at once in order to bring them up as a reinforcement to lieutenant bromhead's force. in his absence, lieutenant chard became senior officer at rorke's drift, and responsible for its well-being. although on the d of january there was thus a feeling of uneasiness at the river post, [ ] rorke's drift nothing had occurred till some hours after mid- day to cause any special alarm to its garrison. we may believe that a general plan of action had been considered if an attack should be made upon it, but in the meantime all the officers and men were engaged in their usual employments. lieutenant chard was at the ponts, and lieu- tenant bromhead was in his little camp hard by the store and hospital. shortly after three p.m. two mounted men were seen galloping at head- long speed towards the ferry from zululand. there is little difficulty in recognizing messen- gers of disaster, the men who ride with the aven- ger of blood close on their horses’ track, and chard, who met them, knew that something terrible had happened. his worst anticipations were more than realized when the two fugitives — lieutenant adendorff, of the native con- tingent, and a natal volunteer — told their story: the camp at insandhlwana had been attacked and taken by the enemy, of whom a large force was now advancing on rorke's drift. the natal volunteer hurried on to give the alarm at helpmakaar; but one man was enough for this service, and adendorff — gallant fellow! — said that he would remain at rorke's drift, where every additional european would be a valuable reinforcement, and cast in his lot with its defenders. chard atoncegave orders to the guard [ ] famous battles of the xixth century at the ponts to strike their tents, put all stores on the spot into the wagon, and withdraw to the main body of the post. now occurred the first incident which testified to the spirit which ani- mated the small force on the banks of the buffalo. the ferryman–daniells—and ser- geant milne, of the third buffs (who was doing duty with the twenty-fourth), proposed that they should be allowed to moor the two ponts in the middle of the river, and offered, with the ferry-guard of six men, to defend them against attack — a brave thought, indeed, but it was put aside. chard was too good a soldier to divide his few men in any way. he saw at once that the commissariat stores and hospital would require every available rifle for their defence, and that the safety of every other place was com- paratively a very minor consideration. while he was giving his orders an urgent mes- sage came from bromhead asking him to join him at once. to bromhead also had come sev- eral mounted men fleeing from insandhlwana, bearing the same dread intelligence which aden- dorff had brought to the ferry, and the trained . officer of engineers was required to concert and decide upon measures of defence. but when the engineer joined the infantry subaltern he found that the latter, aided by assistant-com- missary dunne, had already begun the neces- [ ] rorke's drift sary work, and that there was nothing to change, if much was still left to complete. the three officers held a hurried consultation, and prompt use was made of all ordinary expedients of war, while materials never before employed in forti- fication were pressed into service. the store and hospital were loop-holed and barricaded, the windows and doors blocked with mattresses; but it was necessary to connect the defence of the two buildings by a parapet. there were no stones at hand with which to build a wall, and if there had been, there was no time to make use of them; the hard, rocky soil could not be dug and formed into ditch and breastwork; but there was a great store of bags of mealies, or the grain of indian corn, which had been collected as horse provender for the army. assistant-commissary dunne suggested that these should be used in the fashion of sand-bags for the construction of the required parapet. everybody labored with the energy of men who know that their safety depends on their exertions. chard and brom- head, surgeon reynolds and dunne not merely directed, but engaged most energetically in the work of preparation. when the alarm was first given it was intended to remove the worst cases from the hospital to a place of safety, and two wagons were prepared for the purpose; but it was found that the attempt to move the patients [ ] famous battles of the xixth century at the slow pace of ox-teams when the zulus were so close at hand would only result in offering them as easy victims to the murderous assegai. the two wagons were therefore used as part of the defences, and mealie bags were piled under- neath and upon them, so that each formed a strong post of vantage. the ferry-guard had joined the rest of the force at . p.m., and a few minutes later an officer of durnford’s natal native horse, with a hundred of his men who had been heavily en- gaged at insandhlwana, rode up and asked for orders. chard directed him to watch for the approach of the enemy, sending out vedettes, and when he was pressed, to fall back and assist in the defence of the post. so far it seemed cer- tain that when the threatened zulu attack devel- oped itself against the rorke's drift fortifica- tions they would be found, though hurriedly de- vised and executed, to be adequately defended by the company of the twenty-fourth, captain stephenson's company of the native contingent, and about a hundred basutos of the natal na- tive horse. but if the gallant english officers who had striven so hard and with so much mili- tary genius to make their position tenable looked forward to this amount of support, they were destined to grievous disappointment and mortifi- cation. at . p.m. the sound of firing was [ ] rorke's drift heard behind a hill towards the south, and told that the vedettes of the native horse were en- gaged with the enemy. their officer returned, reporting that the zulus were close at hand, and that his men would not obey orders. chard and his comrades had the sore trial of seeing them all moving off towards helpmakaar, leav- ing the garrison to its fate. nor was this all. the evil example was only too soon followed. captain stephenson's company of the native contingent also felt their hearts fail, and, ac- companied by their commander, also fled from the post of duty. - for the native horse there is some excuse to be made. they had been in the saddle since daybreak; they were the survivors of a ter- rible defeat and massacre; they had seen a large number of their comrades slain, and they were demoralized by the loss of their beloved commander, colonel durnford. if on this occa- sion their valor failed them, it is to be remem- bered that they had behaved nobly in the early part of the day, and that in later episodes of the war their gallantry and self-devotion were pro- verbial. but for the native contingent com- pany nothing can be said. they were fresh, and as yet unscathed by war; they had the best ex- ample in the calm demeanor of their english comrades, and they had many causes of feud [ ] famous battles of the xixth century and quarrel with the enemy. but, as in all other occasions of the war where natal kaffirs were employed, they gave way in time of stress, and the greatest shame of the matter was that their colonial european officer now shared their misconduct. the garrison at rorke's drift was now re- duced to bromhead's company of the twenty- fourth — about eighty strong — and some men of other corps, the total number within the post being one hundred thirty-nine, of whom thirty- five were sick or wounded men in hospital. the original scheme of defence had provided for a much larger force, and chard recognized that it would now be impossible long to occupy effect- ively the range of parapets and loopholes which had been prepared. there was nothing for it but to form an inner line of defence, to which the garrison might fall back when the outer line became untenable. he decided that, if neces- sary, the hospital must be abandoned, and that the defence must be restricted to the store and the space in front of it, including a well-built stone kraal or enclosure which abutted on it to the eastward. to carry out this plan he com- menced an inner retrenchment, forming a para- pet of biscuit-boxes across the larger enclosure. this was only about two boxes high when the expected flood of attack hurled its first waves [ ) rorke's drift against the frail solitary bulwark which stood between natal and savage invasion. about . p.m. five or six hundred of the enemy appeared, sweeping round the rocky hill to the south of the post, and advancing at the swift pace characteristic of the zulu warriors against the south wall which connected the store and hospital. but they had to deal with stern men who were braced up for the encounter by feelings of duty, patriotism, and the long habit of regimental discipline and comradeship which makes each feel assured and confident that all are striving shoulder to shoulder, and that none will blench from his appointed place. from the parapet of mealie bags and from the hospital poured forth a heavy and well-sustained fire, which was crossed by a flanking discharge from the store. no man wasted a shot, and the aim was cool and deliberate. even zulu valor and determination could not face the deadly leaden hail, and the onslaught weakened and broke within fifty yards of the british rifles. some of the assailants swerved to their left, and passed round to the west of the hospital; some sought cover where they could, and occupied banks, ditches, bushes, and the cooking place of the garrison. but this first attack was only the effort of the enemy's advanced guard. masses of warriors [ ) famous battles of the xixth century followed and flowed over the elevated south- ward ledge of rocks overlooking the build- ings. every cave and crevice was quickly filled, and from these sheltered and commanding posi- tions they opened a heavy and continuous fire. it was fortunate that the spoil in rifles and am- munition taken at insandhlwana was not yet available for use against the english, as at kam- bula and later engagements, but the enemy's firearms were still the old muskets and rifles of which they had long been in possession. even so, at the short range these were sufficiently effective, and, in the hands of better marksmen than zulus usually are, might have inflicted crushing losses. the first attack repulsed, a second desperate effort was made by the enemy against the north- west wall just below the hospital; but here again the defenders were ready to meet it, and again the assailing torrent broke and fell back. such of the sick and wounded in the hospitals as were able to rouse themselves from their beds of pain had by this time seized rifle and bayonet and joined their comrades; but though every man was now mustered, the total number was all too small for the grim task before them. the mis- fortune of the extreme hurry in the preparations for defence was now painfully apparent. in strengthening any position for defensive occu- [ ] rorke's drift pation one of the first measures taken by a com- mander is to clear as large an open space as pos- sible round the parapet or fortifications which he proposes to hold. all ditches and hollows should be filled up; all buildings, walls, and heaps of refuse should be pulled down and scat- tered; all trees, shrubs, and thick herbage should be cut and removed; so that no attack can be made under cover, no safe place may be found from which deliberate fire may be delivered, or any movement can be made by an enemy un- seen, and therefore unanticipated. at rorke's drift, not only were the buildings and parapets overlooked and commanded to the southward by a rocky hill full of caves and lurking-places, but there was a garden to the north, a thick patch of bush which was close to the parapet, a square kaffir house and large brick oven and cooking trenches, besides numerous banks, walls, and ditches, all of which offered a shelter to the enemy, which they were not slow to profit by. the post was encircled by a dense ring of the foe, and from every side came the whistle of their bullets. up till this time, though several men had been wounded, no one had been struck dead. sud- denly a whisper passed round among the twenty- fourth, “poor old king cole is killed.” private cole, who was known by this affectionate bar- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century rack-room nickname, was at the parapet when a bullet passed through his head, and he fell doing his duty — a noble end. if the zulu fire was telling, however, the steady marksmanship of the english officers and men was still more effective. private dunbar, of the twenty-fourth, laid low a mounted chief who was conspicuous in directing the enemy, and immediately afterwards shot eight warriors in as many successive shots. everywhere the officers were present with words of encouragement, ex- posing themselves fearlessly and showing that iron coolness and self-possession which rouses such confidence and emulation in soldiery on a day of battle. assistant-commissary dunne — a man of great stature and physique, with a long, flowing beard — was eontinually going along the parapet, cheering the men and using the rifle with deadly effect. there was a rush of zulus against the spot where he was, led by a huge man, whose leopard-skin kaross marked the chief. dunne called out “pot that fellow!” and himself aimed over the parapet at another, when his rifle dropped from his hand, and he spun round with suddenly pallid face, shot through the right shoulder. surgeon reynolds was by his side at once, and bound up the wound. unable any longer to use his rifle, he handed it to storekeeper byrne, but continued unmoved [ ] there was a hand-to-hand struggle a. rorke's drift to superintend the men near to him and to direct their fire. byrne took his place at the parapet, and his bullets were not wasted. in a few min- utes corporal scammel, natal native contin- gent, who was next to him, was shot through the shoulder and back. he fell, and crawling to chard, who was fighting side by side with the men, handed him the remainder of his cartridges. in his agony he asked for a drink of water. byrne at once fetched it for him, and whilst handing it to the suffering soldier was himself shot through the head, and fell prone, a dead iila il. while fighting was thus going on all round the post, a series of specially determined attacks was made against the northern side. here the zulus were able to collect under cover of the gar- den and patch of bush, and from that shelter were able to rush untouched close up to the para- pet. soon they were on one side of the barri- cade, while the defenders held the other, and across it there was a hand-to-hand struggle of the bayonet against the broad-bladed bangwan, the stabbing assegai. so close were the com- batants that the zulus seized the english bay- onets, and in two instances even succeeded in wrenching them from the rifles, though in each case the breechloader took a stern vengeance. the muzzles of the opposing firearms were al- [ ) famous battles of the xixth century most touching each other, and the discharge of a musket blew the broad “dopper” hat from the head of corporal schiess, of the natal native contingent. this man (a swiss by birth), who had been a patient in hospital, leaped on to the parapet and bayoneted the man who fired, re- gained his place, and shot another; then, repeat- ing his former exploit, again leaped on the top of the mealie bags and bayoneted a third. early in the fight he had been struck by a bullet in the instep, but, though suffering acute pain, he left not his post, and was only maddened to perform deeds of heroic daring. the struggle here was too severe and unequal to be long continued. besides the ceaseless at- tacks of their enemy in front, the defenders of the parapet were exposed to the fire which took them in reverse from the high hill to the south. five soldiers had been thus shot dead in a short space of time. at six p.m. the order was given to retire behind the retrenchment of biscuit- boxes. when the defence of the parapet was thus removed, the dark crowd of zulus surged over the mealie bags to attack the hospital; but such a heavy fire was sent from the line of the retrenchment that nearly every man who leaped into the enclosure perished in the effort. again and again they charged forward, shouting their [ ] rorke's drift war-cry “usutul usutu!” and ever the death- dealing volleys smote them to the ground. the story has now been told of the struggle during the first hour and a half about the store- house and large enclosure, till the moment came when it was no longer possible to hold the whole of the defences as they were at first organized, and chard was constrained to withdraw behind the biscuit-box retrenchment which his foresight had provided. all this time the enemy had been making fierce and constantly reiterated attempts to force their way into the hospital, which was at the west end of the enclosure. here bromhead personally superintended the resistance, and here deeds of military prowess, cool presence of mind, and glorious self-devotion were performed to be proud of. it has been said that the building had a thatched roof, and the zulus not only strove to force an ingress, but used every expedient to set the thatch on fire, and thus to destroy the poor stronghold which so long mocked at their attempts to take it. while many of the patients whose ailments were comparatively slight had risen from their pallets and taken an active part in the defence, there were several poor fellows, utterly helpless, distributed among the different wards; and it is difficult to conceive a situation more trying than theirs must have [ ] famous battles of the xixth century been, listening to the demoniac yells of the sav- ages, only separated from them by a thin wall, thirsting for their blood. at every window were one or two comrades, firing till the rifles were heated to scorching by the unceasing discharge. bullets splashed upon the walls, and the air reeked with dense, sulphurous smoke. the combatants may have been excited and carried away by the mad fury of battle; but to men de- pressed by disease, weakened and racked with pain, truly the minutes must have been long and terrible in their mental and physical suffering. shortly after five o'clock the zulus had been able so far to break down the entrance to the room at the extreme end of the hospital that they were able to charge at the opening; but bromhead was there, and drove them back time after time with the bayonet. as long as the enclosure was held, they failed in every fierce attempt. private joseph williams was firing from a small window hard by, and on the next morning fourteen war- riors were found dead beneath it, besides others along his line of fire. when his ammunition was expended, he joined his brother, private john williams, and two of the patients who also had fired their last cartridge, and with them guarded the door with their bayonets. no longer able to keep their opponents at a distance, the four stood grimly resolute, waiting till the [ ] rorke's drift door was battered in and they stood face to face with the foe. then followed a death struggle. the eng- lish bayonet crossed the broad-bladed bangwan, the stalwart warwickshire lads met the lithe and muscular tribesmen of cetewayo, and the weap- ons glinted thirsty for blood. in the mélée poor joseph williams was grappled with by two zulus, his hands were seized, and, dragged out from among his comrades, he was killed before their eyes. but now it was known that the hos- pital must be abandoned, and as the usual path was occupied by the enemy, a way had to be made through the partition walls. john wil- liams and the two patients succeeded in making a passage with an axe into the adjoining room, where they were joined by private henry hook. john williams and hook then took it in turn to guard the hole through which the little party had come, with the bayonet, and keep the foe at bay, while the others worked at cutting a further pas- sage. in this retreat from room to room, an- other brave soldier, private jenkins, met the same fate as did joseph williams, and was dragged to his death by the pursuers. the others at last arrived at a window looking into the enclosure towards the storehouse, and, leap- ing from it, ran the gauntlet of the enemy's fire till they reached their comrades behind the bis- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century cuit-box retrenchment. to the devoted bravery and cool resource of private john williams and hook, eight patients, who had been in the several wards which they had traversed, owed their lives. if it had not been for the assistance of these two gallant men, all the eight would have perished where they lay. these, however, were only some of the hairbreadth escapes from the hospital, and only some of the deeds of stubborn hardihood performed in it. a few of the sick men were half carried, half led, by chivalrous comrades across the enclosure to the retrenchment, but many had to make their own way over the space now swept by the zulu bullets, and that that space was clear was due to the steady fire maintained by chard, which prevented the zulus themselves from leaving the spots where they were under cover. trooper hunter, natal mounted police, a very tall young man, who had been a patient, essayed the rush to safety, but he was hit and fell before he reached his goal. corporal mayer, natal native contingent, who had been wounded in the knee by an assegai-thrust in one of the early engagements of the campaign, bom- bardier lewis, royal artillery, whose leg and thigh were swollen and disabled from a wagon accident, and trooper green, natal police, also a nearly helpless invalid, all got out of [ ] rorke's drift a little window looking into the enclosure. the window was at some distance from the ground, and each man fell in escaping from it. all had to crawl (for none of them could walk) through the enemy's fire, and all passed scatheless into the retrenchment ex- cept green, who was struck on the thigh. in one of the wards facing the hill on the south side of the hospital, privates william jones and robert jones had been posted. there were seven patients in the ward, and these two men defended their post till six of the seven patients had been removed. the seventh was sergeant maxfield, who, delirious with fever, resisted all attempts to move him. robert jones, with rare courage and devotion, went back a second time to try to carry him out, but found the ward al- ready full of zulus, and the poor sergeant stabbed to death on his bed. it has been mentioned that a wounded prisoner was being treated in the hospital. so much had he been impressed by the kindness which he had received, that he was anxious to assist in the de- fence. he said “he was not afraid of the zulus, but he wanted a gun.” his new-born goodwill was not, however, tested. when the ward in which he lay was forced, private hook, who was assisting the englishmen in the next room, heard the zulus talking to him. the next day his - [ ] famous battles of the xixth century charred remains were found in the ashes of the building. that communication was kept up with the hospital at all, and that it was possible to effect the removal of so many patients, was due in great part to the conduct of corporal allen and private hitch. these two soldiers together, in defiance of danger, held a most ex- posed position, raked in reverse by the fire from the hill, till both were severely wounded. their determined bravery had its result in the safety of their comrades. even after they were in- capacitated from further fighting, they never ceased, when their wounds had been dressed, to serve out ammunition from the reserve through- out the rest of the combat. when the defence of the hospital was relaxed, it had been easy for the enemy to carry out their plan of setting fire to the thatched roof, and now the whole was in a blaze, the flames rising high and casting a lurid glare over the scene of con- flict. the last men who effected their retreat from the building had as much to dread from the spreading conflagration as from the zulu assegais. we have seen that, from the want of interior communication, it had been necessary for those who did escape to cut their way from room to room. alas! to some of the patients, it had been impossible for the anxious leader and his stanch, willing followers to penetrate. de- [ ] rorke's drift feated by the flames and by the numbers of their opponents, chard records in his official despatch, “with the most heartfelt sorrow, i regret we could not save these poor fellows from their ter- rible fate.” while in the hospital the last struggle was going on, chard's unfailing resource had pro- vided another element of strength to his now re- stricted line of defence, and had formed a place of comparative security for the reception of his wounded men. in the small yard by the store- house were two large piles of mealie bags. these, with the assistance of two or three men and dunne, who, severely wounded as he was, con- tinued working with unabated energy and de- termination, he formed into an oblong and suffi- ciently high redoubt. in the hollow space in its center were laid the sick and wounded, while its crest gave a second line of fire, which swept much of the ground that could not be seen by the oc- cupiers of the lower parapets. as the intrepid men were making this redoubt, their object was quickly detected by the enemy, who poured upon them a rain of bullets; but fortunately unhurt, they completed their work. the night had fallen, and the light from the burning hospital was now of the greatest service to the defender, as it illumined every spot for hundreds of yards round, and gave [ ] famous battles of the xixth century every advantage to the trained riflemen of the twenty-fourth. the zulu losses had been tremendously heavy; but still they pressed their unremitting attack. rush after rush was made right up to the parapets so strenu- ously held, and their musketry fire never slack- ened. the outer wall of the stone kraal on the east of the store had to be abandoned, and finally the garrison was confined to the commissariat store, the enclosure just in front of it, the inner wall of the kraal, and the redoubt of mealie bags. but the steadfastness of the defenders was never impaired. still every man fired with the greatest coolness. not a shot was wasted, and rorke's drift station remained still proudly impregnable. at p.m. the hospital fire had burnt itself out, and darkness settled over de- fence and attack. it was not till midnight, how- ever, that the zulus began to lose heart, and give to the garrison some breathing space and repose. desultory firing still continued from the hill to the southward, and from the bush and garden in front; but there were no more attacks in force, and the stress of siege was practically over. the dark hours were full of anxiety, and even the stout hearts which had not quailed during the long period of trial that was past must have had some feeling of disquietude for the morrow, lest wearied, reduced in numbers, and with slender [ ] rorke's drift supply of water, they should be called upon to meet renewed efforts made by a reënforced foe. the dawn came at last, and the eyes of all were gladdened by seeing the rear of the zulu masses retiring round the shoulder of the hill from which their first attack had been made. the supreme tension of mind and body was over, and if the struggle had been long and stern the victory was for the time complete. how bitterly it had been fought out was shown by the piles of the enemy's dead lying around, and by the silence of familiar voices when the roll was called. there was yet no rest. the enemy might take heart and return, for, though many of their warriors had seen their last fight, their numbers were so overwhelming, and they must have known so well how close had been the pressure of their attack, that they might well think that, with renewed efforts, success was more than possible. patrols were sent out to collect the arms left lying on the field. the de- fences were strengthened, and, mindful of the fate of the hospital, a working party was ordered to remove the thatch from the roof of the store. the men who were not employed otherwise were kept manning the parapets, and all were ready at once to snatch up their rifles and again to hold the post which they had guarded so long. a friendly kaffir was sent to helpmakaar, saying [ ] famous battles of the xixth century that they were still safe, and asking for assist- ance. about seven a.m. a mass of the enemy was seen on the hills to the southwest, and it seemed as if another onslaught was threatened. they were advancing slowly when the remains of the third column appeared in the distance, coming from insandhlwana, and, as the english ap- proached, the threatening mass retired, and finally disappeared. lord chelmsford, colonel glyn, and that part of their force which, having been engaged else- where, had not been in the insandhlwana camp when it was attacked and taken, had passed the night in sad and anxious bivouac among the dead bodies of their comrades and the débris of a most melancholy disaster. full of disquietude about the fate of the post at rorke's drift, and the line of communications, they had pushed on with earliest dawn. their advanced guard of mounted men strained eager eyes towards rorke's drift. the british flag still waved over the storehouse, and figures in red coats could be seen moving about the place. but smoke was rising where the hospital had stood, and, remem- bering that the victorious zulus at insandhlwana had clad themselves in the uniforms of the dead, there was a moment of dread uncertainty to the officer who was leading the way. but surely that was a faint british cheer rising from the [ ] rorke's drift post! a few hundred yards more of advance, and it was known that here at least no mistake had been made; here courage and determination had not been shown in vain; and that here some- thing had been done to restore the confidence in british prowess which had just received so rude a shock elsewhere. what a sight was the spot in the bright morning sunlight! there lay hundreds of zulus either dead or gasping out the last remains of life; there was the grim and gray old warrior lying side by side with the young man who had come “to wash his assegai”; there a convulsive movement of arm or leg, the rolling of a slowly glazing eye, or the heaving of a bullet- pierced chest showed that life was not quite ex- tinct; and there were the defenders, wan, battle- stained, and weary, but with the proud light of triumph in their glance, standing by the fortifi- cations which they had so stoutly held — fortifi- cations so small, so frail, that it seemed mar- velous how they had been made to serve their purpose. the skeleton of the hospital still was there, but its roof and woodwork had fallen in, and in the still smoking pile men were searching for the remains of lost comrades. and there, in the corner of the enclosure, reverently covered and guarded, were the bodies of the dead who had given their lives for england and sealed [ ] famous battles of the xixth century their devotion to duty with their blood. well might lord chelmsford congratulate the de- fenders of rorke's drift on the brilliant stand that they had made, and well might the colony of natal look upon them as saviours from cruel invasion. in telling the story of the events of the d, it has been said that major spalding left rorke's drift to seek reinforcements at helpmakaar. there he found two companies of the twenty- fourth, under major upcher, and with them he at once commenced to march to the river post. on their way they met several fugitives who as- serted that the place had fallen, and when they arrived within three miles of their destination, a large body of zulus was found barring the way, while the flames of the burning hospital could be seen rising from the river valley. it was only too probable that if they went on they would merely sacrifice to no purpose the only regular troops remaining between the frontier and pie- termaritzburg. helpmakaar was the principal store depot for the center column, full of am- munition and supplies, and it seemed best that its safety should, at any rate, be provided for as far as possible. the two companies were there- fore ordered to return, and preparations for the defence of the stores were commenced. according to the closest estimate, the number [ ] rorke's drift of zulus who attacked rorke's drift was about four thousand, composed of cetewayo's undi and udkloko regiments, and about four hundred dead bodies were buried near the post after the attack. the wounded were all carried away from the field. the loss of the garrison was fifteen killed and twelve wounded, of whom two died almost immediately. [ ] iv maiwand and candahar. the second afghan war august–september, o by archibald forbes that the long, bitter struggle was at last on the eve of being ended. sir frederick roberts was the master of the region around cabul. sir donald stewart, having marched up from candahar and fought on the way the brilliant battle of ahmed kehl, was now at cabul in chief command. mr. griffin had announced the recognition by the viceroy of india and the government of the queen empress, of abdur- rahman khan as ameer of cabul. the date of the evacuation of cabul by the british troops had been approximately fixed, and it seemed all but certain that before the end of the month both stewart and roberts should have re-entered british india with their brave but war-worn regiments. but those arrangements were sud- denly and ominously dislocated by the tidings which reached the british headquarters at sherpur by telegraph, intimating the utter defeat i. the early days of august, , it seemed [ ] og ºgcinyaaiyw ly sndm: tahl n laws maiwand and candahar at maiwand of the force commanded by general burrows in the region between the helmund and candahar. in the early spring of sir donald stewart had quitted candahar with the bengal division of his force, leaving there the bombay division, to the command of which general primrose ac- ceded, general phayre assuming charge of the communications. it was known that ayoub khan was making hostile operations at herat. shere ali khan, who had been governor of candahar during sir donald stewart's residence there, had been nominated hereditary ruler of the province, with the title of “wali,” when it was determined to separate candahar from northeastern afghanistan. on june the wali, who had some days earlier crossed the helmund and occupied girishk with his troops, reported that ayoub was actually on the march towards the candahar frontier, and asked for the support of a british brigade to enable him to cope with the hostile advance. there was war- rant for the belief that the wali's troops were disaffected, and that he was in no condition to meet ayoub’s army with any likelihood of suiccess. after stewart's departure the strength of the british forces at candahar was dangerously low, amounting to but forty-seven hundred of all [ ) famous battles of the xixth century ranks; but it was of great importance to arrest ayoub's offensive movement, and a brigade consisting of a troop of horse artillery, six com- panies of the sixty-sixth regiment, two bombay native infantry regiments, and five hundred native troopers — in all about twenty-three hun- dred strong, under the command of brigadier burrows — reached the left bank of the hel- mund on july . on the th the wali's in- fantry, two thousand strong, mutinied en masse, and marched away up the right bank of the river, taking with them a battery of smooth-bore guns which was a present to shere ali khan from the british government. his cavalry did not be- have quite so badly, but in effect his army no longer existed, and burrows's brigade was the only force in the field to resist the advance of ayoub khan, whose regular troops were re- ported to number four thousand cavalry and from four thousand to five thousand infantry, exclusive of the two thousand deserters from the wali, with thirty guns and an irregular force of uncertain strength. burrows promptly recaptured from wali's infantry the battery they were carrying off, and punished them severely in their retreat. the mutineers had removed or destroyed the sup- plies which the wali had accumulated for the use of the british brigade, and burrows therefore [ ) maiwand and candahar could no longer remain in the vicinity of girishk. it was determined to fall back upon khushk-i- nakhud, a position distant thirty miles from girishk and forty-five from candahar — a point where several roads from the helmund con- verged, and where supplies were plentiful. at and about khushk-i-nakhud the brigade re- mained from the th until the morning of the th of july. while waiting and watching there, a despatch from army headquarters at simla was com- municated to general burrows from can- dahar, authorizing him to attack ayoub if he considered himself strong enough to beat him, and informing him that it was regarded of the greatest political importance that the force from herat should be dispersed and prevented from moving in the direction of ghuzni. spies brought in news that ayoub had reached girishk and was distributing his force along the right bank of the helmund between that place and hyderabad. cavalry patrols failed to find the enemy until the st, when a detachment was encountered in the village of sangbur on the northern road about midway between the hel- mund and khushk-i-nakhud. next day that village was found more strongly occupied, and on the d a reconnaissance in force came upon a body of ayoub’s horsemen in the plain below [ ] famous battles of the xixth century the garmac hills about midway between sang- bur and maiwand. those discoveries should have afforded toler- ably clear indications of ayoub’s intention to turn burrows's position by moving along the northern road to maiwand and thence pressing through the maiwand pass, until at singiri ayoub’s army should have interposed itself be- tween the british brigade and candahar. why, in the face of the information at his disposal and of the precautions enjoined on him to hinder ayoub from slipping by him towards ghuzni through maiwand and up the khakrez valley, general burrows should have remained so long at khushk-i-nakhud, is not intelligible. he was stirred at length on the afternoon of the th by the report that two thousand of ayoub’s cav- alry and a large body of his ghazis were in pos- session of garmad and maiwand, and were to be promptly followed by ayoub himself with the main body of his army, his reported intention being to push on through the maiwand pass and reach the urgandab valley in rear of the british brigade. later in the day colonel st. john, the political officer, reported to general burrows the intelligence which had reached him that the whole of ayoub's army was at sangbur, but credence was not given to this important information. [ ] maiwand and candahar it was on the morning of the th that at length the tardy resolution was taken to march upon maiwand. the expectation was indulged that the brigade would arrive at that place before the enemy should have occupied it in force; and that this point made good, there might occur an opportunity to drive out of garmac the body of ayoub’s cavalry in possession there. there was a further reason why maiwand should be promptly occupied: the brigade had been ob- taining its supplies from that village and there was still a quantity of grain in its vicinity, to lose which would be unfortunate. the brigade, now twenty-six hundred strong, struck camp on the morning of the th. the march to maiwand was twelve miles long, and an earlier start than . a.m. would have been judicious. the soldiers marched smartly, but halts from time to time were necessary to allow the baggage to come up: the hostile state of the country did not admit of anything being left behind, and the column was encumbered by a great quantity of stores and baggage. at karezah, eight miles from khushk-i-nakhud and four miles south- west of maiwand, information was brought in that the whole of ayoub’s army was close by on the left front of the brigade and marching towards maiwand. burrows's spies had pre- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century viously proved themselves so untrustworthy that little heed was taken of this report, but a little later a cavalry reconnaissance found large bodies of horsemen moving in the direction indicated, and inclining away towards garmac as the brigade advanced. a thick haze made it im- possible to discern what force, if any, was being covered by the hostile cavalry. about a.m. the advance guard occupied the village of mah- mudabad, about three miles southwest of mai- wand. west of mahmudabad and close to the village was a broad and deep ravine running north and south. beyond this ravine was a wide expanse of level and partially cultivated plain, across which, almost entirely concealed by the haze, ayoub’s army was marching east- ward towards maiwand village, which covers the western entrance to the pass of the same name. if general burrows's eye could have penetrated that haze, probably he would have considered it prudent to take up a defenisve posi- tion, for which mahmudabad presented not a few advantages. but he remained firm in the conviction that the enemy's guns were not yet up, notwithstanding the reports of spies to the contrary; he believed that a favorable oppor- tunity presented itself for taking the initiative, and he determined to attack with all practicable speed. [ ] maiwand and candahar lieutenant maclaine, of the horse artillery, a gallant young officer who was soon to meet a melancholy fate, precipitated events in a some- what reckless fashion. with the two guns he commanded he dashed across the ravine, gal- loped athwart the plain, and came into action against a body of afghan cavalry which had just come into view. brigadier nuttall, command- ing the cavalry and horse artillery, failing to re- call the impetuous maclaine, sent forward in support of him the four remaining guns of the battery. those approached to within eight hundred yards of the two advanced pieces, and maclaine was directed to fall back upon the bat- tery pending the arrival of the brigade, which general burrows was now sending forward. it crossed the ravine near mahmudabad, ad- vanced over the plain about a mile in a north- westerly direction, and then formed up. there ensued several changes in the preliminary dis- positions. when the engagement became warm, about noon, the formation was as follows: the sixty-sixth was on the right, its right flank thrown back to check an attempt made to turn it by a rush of ghazis springing out of the ravine in the british front; on the left of the sixty-sixth were four companies of jacob's rifles (thirtieth native infantry) and a company of sappers; the center was occupied by the horse artillery and [ ] famous battles of the xixth century smooth-bore guns, of which latter, however, two had been moved to the right flank; on the left of the guns were the first grenadiers, and on the extreme left two companies of jacob's rifles formed en potence. the cavalry was in rear, engaged in half-hearted efforts to prevent the afghans from taking the british infantry in reverse. the position of the british brigade was radically faulty, and indeed invited disaster. both flanks were en l'air in face of an enemy of greatly superior strength; almost from the first every rifle was in the fighting line, and the sole reserve consisted of the two cavalry corps. the baggage had followed the brigade across the ravine, and was halted about a thou- sand yards in rear of the right, inadequately guarded by detachments of cavalry. for half an hour no reply was made by the enemy to the british shell-fire, and it is possible that an energetic offensive movement might at this time have resulted in success. but pres- ently battery after battery was brought into action by the afghans, until half an hour after noon the fire of thirty guns was concentrated on the brigade. under cover of this artillery-fire' the ghazis from the ravine in front charged for- ward to within five hundred yards of the sixty- sixth, but the rifle-fire of the british regiment drove them back with heavy slaughter, and they [ ) maiwand and candahar recoiled as far as the ravine, whence they main- tained a desultory fire. the enemy's artillery- fire was well sustained and effective: the in- fantry found some protection from it in lying down, but the artillery and cavalry remained exposed and suffered severely. an artillery duel was carried on for two hours, greatly to the disadvantage of the brigade, which had but twelve guns in action against thirty well-served afghan pieces. the prostrate infantry had escaped serious punishment, but by p.m. the cavalry had lost fourteen per cent. of the men in the front line and one hundred and forty-nine horses; the afghan cavalry had turned both of the brit- ish flanks, and the brigade was all but sur- rounded, whilst a separate attack was being made on the baggage. heat and want of water were telling heavily upon the sepoys, who were further demoralized by the afghan artillery-fire. a little later the smooth-bore guns had to be withdrawn because of the expenditure of their ammunition. this was the signal for the gen- eral advance of the afghans. their guns were pushed forward with great boldness; their cav- alry streamed round the british left; in the right rear were masses of mounted and dismounted irregulars who had seized the villagers on the british line of retreat. swarms of ghazis soon [ ) famous battles of the xixth century showed themselves, threatening the center and left; those in front of the sixty-sixth were still held in check by the steady volleys fired by that regiment. at sight of the fanatic ghazis and cowed by the heavy artillery fire and the loss of their officers, the two companies of jacob's rifles on the left flank suddenly fell into confusion, and broke into the ranks of the grenadiers. . that regiment had behaved well, but now it caught the infection of demoralization; the whole left collapsed, and the sepoys in utter panic, sur- rounded by and intermingled with the ghazis, rolled in a great wave upon the right. the artillerymen and sappers made a gallant stand, fighting the ghazis hand-to-hand with hand- spikes and rammers, while the guns poured canister into the advancing afghan masses. slade reluctantly limbered up and took his four horse-guns out of action; maclaine remained in action until the ghazis were at the muzzles of his two guns, which fell into the enemy's hands. the torrent of mingled sepoys and ghazis broke in upon the sixty-sixth, and overwhelmed that gallant and devoted regiment. the slaughter of the sepoys was appalling: so utterly cowed were they that they scarcely attempted to de- fend themselves, and allowed themselves without resistance to be dragged out of the ranks and slaughtered. a cavalry charge was ordered in [ ) maiwand and candahar the direction of the captured guns, but it failed, and the troopers retired in disorder. the in- fantry, assailed by hordes of fierce and trium- phant fanatics, staggered away to the right, the sixty-sixth alone maintaining any show of forma- tion until the ravine was crossed, when the broken remnants of the sepoy regiments took to flight towards the east, and the general's efforts to rally them proved wholly unavailing. the sixty-sixth, with some of the sappers and grenadiers, made a gallant rally round its colors in an enclosure near the village of khig. there colonel galbraith and several of his officers were killed, and the little body of brave men, becom- ing out-flanked, continued its retreat, making stand after stand until most were slain. the afghans pursued for about four miles, but were checked by a detachment of rallied cavalry, and then desisted. the fugitive force, forming with wounded and baggage a straggling column up- wards of six miles long, crossed the waterless desert sixteen miles wide to haurs-i-madat, which was reached about midnight and where water was found. from asu khan, where cul- tivation began, to kokoran, near candahar, the retreat was harassed by armed villagers, and the troops had to fight more or less all the way. officers and men were killed, lieutenant mac- laine was taken prisoner, and five of the smooth- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century bore guns had to be abandoned because of the exhaustion of the teams. about midday of the twenty-eighth the shattered remains of the brigade reached candahar. when the casual- ties were ascertained, it became evident how disastrous to the british arms had been the com- bat of maiwand. out of a total of twenty-four hundred and seventy-six engaged, no fewer than nine hundred and sixty-four were killed. the wounded numbered one hundred and sixty- seven; three hundred and thirty-one followers and two hundred and one horses were killed, and seven followers and sixty-eight horses were wounded. since chillianwallah the british arms in asia had not suffered loss so severe. the spirit of the candahar force suffered materially from the maiwand disaster, and it was held that there was no alternative but to ac- cept a siege within the fortified city. the can- tonments were abandoned; the whole force was withdrawn into candahar, and was detailed for duty on the city walls. the effective garrison on the night of the th numbered forty-three hundred and sixty, including the survivors of the maiwand misfortune. so alert were the af- ghans that a cavalry reconnaissance made on the morning of the th found the cantonments plundered and partly burned and the vicinity of candahar swarming with armed men. the [ ) maiwand and candahar whole afghan population, amounting to about twelve thousand persons, was compelled to leave the city, and then the work of placing it in a state of defence was energetically undertaken. build- ings and enclosures affording cover too close to the enceinte were razed, communication along the walls was opened up, and gun-platforms were constructed in the more commanding posi- tions. the weak places as well as the gates were faced with abattis, the defects were made good with sandbags, and wire entanglements and other obstacles were laid down outside the walls. the covering parties were in daily collision with the enemy, and occasional sharp skirmishes occurred. on august ayoub opened fire on the citadel from piquet hill, an elevation northwestward of the city, and a few days later he brought guns into action from the villages of deh khoja and deh khati on the east and south. this fire had little effect, and the return fire gave good results. it was not easy to invest the city, since on the west and north there was no cover for the be- siegers; but in deh khoja on the east there was ample protection for batteries, and the ground on the southwest was very favorable. deh khoja was inconveniently near the cabul gate of the city, and it was always full of men. so menacing was the attitude of the afghans that a sortie was [ ] famous battles of the xixth century resorted to against the village, which was con- ducted with resolution but resulted in utter failure. the attempt was made on the morning of the th. the cavalry went out to hinder reinforcements from entering the village to the eastward. an infantry force, eight hundred strong, commanded by that gallant soldier brigadier-general brooke, moved out later cov- ered by a heavy artillery-fire from the city walls. the village was reached, but was so full of enemies in occupation of the fortress-like houses that it was found untenable. in the course of the retirement general brooke and captain cruickshank were killed. the casualties were very heavy: one hundred and six were killed, and one hundred and seventeen were wounded. the tidings of the maiwand disaster reached cabul on the th of july by telegram from simla. the intention of the military authori- ties had already been intimated that the cabul force should evacuate afghanistan in two sep- arate bodies and by two distinct routes. sir donald stewart was to march one party by the khyber route; the other, under sir frederick roberts, was to retire by the kuram valley, which watson's division had been garrisoning since roberts had crossed the shaturgardan in september, . but the maiwand news in- [ ] maiwand and candahar terfered with those dispositions. stewart and roberts concurred in the necessity of retrieving the maiwand disaster by the despatch of a divi- sion from cabul. - roberts promptly offered to command that division, and as promptly the offer was ac- cepted by stewart. by arrangement with the latter, roberts telegraphed to simla urg- ing that a force should be despatched from cabul to candahar without delay; and rec- ognizing that the authorities might hesitate to send on this errand troops already under orders to return to india, he took it on himself to guarantee that none of the soldiers would demur provided he should be authorized to give the assurance that after the work in the field was over they would not be detained in garrison at candahar. the viceroy's sanction came on august . the constitution and equipment of the force were entrusted to the two generals; and in reply to questions his excellency was in- formed that roberts would march on the th instant, and expected to reach candahar on the d of september. sir donald stewart chival- rously gave his junior full freedom to select the troops to accompany him, and placed at his dis- posal the entire resources of the army in trans- port and equipment. it cannot truly be said that it was the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century élite of the cabul field force which constituted the column led by roberts on his famous march to candahar. of the native infantry regiments of his own original force which he had mustered eleven months previously in the kuram valley, only two followed him to candahar. the second mountain-battery ad- hered to him staunchly. of his original white troops the ninth lancers, as ever, were ready for the march. his senior european infantry regiment, the sixty-seventh, would fain have gone, but the good old corps was weak from casualties and sickness, and the gallant knowles denied himself in the interests of his men. rob- erts's two highland regiments had done an infinity of marching and fighting; but both had received strong drafts, were in fine condition, and were not to be hindered from following the chief whom they swore by as one man. sir frederick roberts had already represented that it would be impolite to require the native regiments to remain absent from india and their homes for a longer period than two years. in the case of many of the regiments that term was closely approached, and the men after prolonged absence and arduous toil needed rest, and were longing to rejoin their families. it was not with eager desire that the honor of marching to can- dahar was claimed. the enthusiasm which [ ] maiwand and candahar carried roberts's force with exceptional rapidity to candahar was an aftergrowth evolved by the enterprise itself, and came as a response to the unfailing spirit which animated the leader him- self. colonel chapman, r.a., who had served in the same capacity with sir donald stewart, was now roberts's chief-of-staff. the march- ing-out strength of the column was about ten thousand men, of whom twenty-eight hundred and thirty-five were europeans. speed was an ob- ject, and since the column might have to traverse rough ground, no wheeled artillery or transport accompanied it: the guns were carried on mules, the baggage was severely cut down, the supplies were reduced to a minimum, and the transport animals, numbering eighty-five hundred and ninety, consisted of mules, ponies, and donkeys. it was known that the country could supply flour, sheep, and forage. - the time named for the departure of the marching column from sherpur was kept to the day, thanks to assiduous organization. on august the brigades moved out a short dis- tance into camp, and on the following morning the long march began in earnest. the distance from cabul to candahar is about three hundred and twenty miles, and the march naturally divided itself into three parts: — from cabul to ghuzni, ninety-eight miles; from ghuzni to khelat-i- [ ) famous battle ºf the xixth century ghilzai, one hundred and thirty-four miles; and from khelat-i-ghilzai to candahar, eighty-eight miles. ghuzni was reached on the seventh day, the daily average being fourteen miles — excellent work for troops unseasoned to long, continuous travel, tramping steadily in a tem- perature of from ° to ° in the shade. when possible the force moved on a broad front, the brigades and regiments leading in rotation, and halts were made at specified intervals. the “rouse” sounded at . a.m., and the march began at four; the troops were generally in camp by p.m., and the baggage was ordinarily re- ported all up by five; but the rear-guard had both hard work and long hours. nowhere was there any indication of opposition; not a single load of baggage was left behind, comparatively few men fell out footsore, and the troops were steadily increasing in endurance and capacity for rapid and continuous marching. at ghuzni there was no rest-day, and the steadfast, dogged march was resumed on the morning of the th. the strain of this day's long tramp of twenty miles to yarghatta was severe, but the men rallied gamely, and the gen- eral, by dint of care and expedient, was able to keep up the high pressure. the method of marching employed individual intelligence and called on all for exertion in overcoming the [ ] maiwand and candahar difficulties of the march, in bearing its extraor- dinary toil, and in aiding the accomplishment of the paramount object. on the th, a dis- tance of twenty-one miles was covered — the longest day's march made. the effort was dis- tressing owing to the heat and lack of shade, but it was enforced by the absence of water. there was no relaxation in the rate of marching, and khelat-i-ghilzai was reached on the eighth day from ghuzni, showing a daily average of nearly seventeen miles. the th was a halt-day at khelat-i-ghilzai, where sir frederick roberts received a letter from general primrose in candahar describing the unfortunate sortie on the deh khoja village and giving details of his situation. it was re- solved to evacuate khelat-i-ghilzai and carry forward its garrison with the column, which on the th resumed its march on candahar. on his arrival at tirandaz on the following day, the general found a letter from candahar in- forming him that at the news of the approach of the cabul force ayoub khan had withdrawn from his investment of candahar, and had shifted his camp to the village of mazra in the urgandab valley, nearly due north of candahar. on the morning of the th, general hugh gough was sent forward with two cavalry regi- ments a distance of thirty-four miles to robat, [ ]. famous battles of the xixth century the main column moving on to khel akhund, half-way to the earlier-named place. gough was accompanied by captain straton, the prin- cipal signalling officer of the force, who was suc- cessful in communicating with candahar; and the same afternoon colonel st. john, major leach, and major adam rode out to robat, bringing the information that ayoub khan was engaged in strengthening his position in the urgandab valley, and apparently had the inten- tion of risking the issue of a battle. on the th the whole force was concentrated at robat; and as it was desirable that the troops should reach candahar fresh and ready for prompt action, the general wisely decided to make the th a rest-day and to divide the nineteen miles from robat to candahar into two short marches. the long forced march from cabul may be re- garded as having ended at robat. the dis- tance between those two extremities, three hun- dred and three miles, had been covered in twenty days. it is customary in a long march to allow two rest-days in each week, but roberts had granted his force but a single rest-day in the twenty days of its strenuous marching. in- cluding this rest-day, the average daily march was a fraction over fifteen miles. as a feat of marching by a regular force of ten thousand men encumbered with baggage, transport, and fol- [ } maiwand and candahar lowers, this achievement is unique, and could have been accomplished only by thorough or- ganization and steady, vigorous energy. sir frederick roberts was so fortunate as to en- counter no opposition that might delay or hinder his progress. for this immunity he was in- debted mainly to the stern lessons given to the tribesmen by sir donald stewart at ahmed- kehl and urzoo while that resolute soldier was marching from candahar to cabul, and in a measure also to the good offices of the new ameer. but it must be pointed out that he had no assurance of exemption from hostile efforts to block his path, and that he marched ever ready to fight. it will long be remembered how, after roberts had started on the long, swift march, the suspense regarding its issue grew and swelled until the strain became in- tense. the safety of the garrison of candahar was in grave hazard; the british prestige, im- paired by the disaster of maiwand, was trem- bling in the balance. the days passed, and there came no news of roberts and of the ten thousand men with whom the wise, daring little chief had cut loose from any base and struck for his goal through a region of ill-repute for fanat- icism and bitter hostility. not a few pessimists held him to be marching on his ruin. but rob- [ ) famous battles of the xixth century erts marched light; he lived on what the country supplied; he gave the tribesmen no time to con- centrate against him; and so, two days in ad- vance of the time he had set himself, he reached candahar at the head of a force in full freshness of vigor and burning with ardor for immediate battle under their trusted leader. on the morning of august the force reached candahar. sir frederick roberts, who had been suffering from fever for some days, was able to leave his dhooly and mount his horse in time to meet general primrose and his officers to the eastward of deh khoja. the troops halted and breakfasted outside the shikarpur gate while the general entered the city and paid a visit to the wali, shere ali khan. on his arrival he assumed command of the troops in southern afghanistan; and he remained resting in the city while the cabul force was marching to its selected camping-ground near the de- stroyed cantonments to the northwest of can- dahar. a few shots were fired, but the ground was taken up without opposition. baker's brigade was on the right, in rear of piquet hill; in the center was macpherson's brigade, cov- ered to its front by karez hill; and on the left among orchards and enclosures was macgregor's brigade, in rear of which was the cavalry. although ayoub khan had broken off his [ ) maiwand and candahar beleaguerment of candahar, he had withdrawn from that fortified city but a short distance, and the position which he had taken up was one of considerable strength. the urgandab valley is separated on the northwest from the candahar plain by a long, precipitous spur trending south- west from the mountainous mass forming the eastern boundary of the valley farther north. where the spur quits the main range due north of the city, the murcha pass affords communi- cation between candahar and the urgandab valley. the spur, its summit serrated by alter- nate heights and depressions, is again crossed lower down by an easy pass known as the baba wali kotal. it is continued beyond this saddle for about a mile, still maintaining its southwest- erly trend, never losing its precipitous character, and steeply escarped on its eastern face; and it finally ends in the plain after a steep descent of several hundred feet. the section of it from the baba wali kotal to its southwestern termina- tion is known as the pir paimal hill, from a vil- lage of that name in the valley near its extremity. ayoub khan had made his camp near the vil- lage of mazra, behind the curtain formed by the spur just described, and about a mile higher up in the valley than the point at which the spur is crossed by the road over the baba wali kotal. he was thus, with that point artificially strength- [ ) famous battles of the xixth century. ened and defended by artillery, well protected against a direct attack from the direction of can- dahar, and was exposed only to the risk of a turning movement round the extremity of the pir paimal hill. such a movement might be made the reverse of easy. a force advancing to attempt it must do so exposed to fire from the commanding summit of the pir paimal; around the base of that rugged elevation there were several plain-villages and an expanse of enclosed orchards and gardens which, strongly held, were capable of stubborn defence. in the valley behind the pir paimal hill there was the lofty detached kharoti hill, the fire from which would meet in the teeth a force essaying the turning movement; and the interval between the two hills, through which was the access to the mazra camps, was obstructed by deep irrigation chan- nels, the banks of which afforded cover for de- fensive fire and could be swept by a cross-fire from the hills on either flank. sir frederick roberts had perceived at a glance that a direct attack on ayoub’s position by the baba wali kotal must involve very heavy loss, and he resolved on the alternative of turn- ing the afghan position. a reconnaissance was made on the afternoon of the st by general gough, accompanied by colonel chapman. they penetrated to within a short distance of [ ] maiwand and candahar the village of pir paimal, where it was ascer- tained that the enemy were strongly entrenched and where several guns were unmasked. a great deal of valuable information was obtained before the enemy began to interfere with gough's leisurely withdrawal. the escorting cavalry suffered little, but the sikh infantry covering the retirement of the reconnaissance were hard pressed by great masses of afghan regulars and irregulars. so boldly did the enemy come on that the third and part of the first brigade had to come into action, and the firing did not cease until the evening. the enemy were clearly in the belief that the reconnaissance was an ad- vance in force which they had been able to check, and indeed drive in; and they were opportunely audacious in the misapprehension that they had gained a success. the information brought in decided the general to attack on the following morning; and having matured his dispositions, he explained them personally to his commanding officers in the early morning of september . they were extremely lucid, and the plan of attack was perfectly simple. the baba wali kotal was to be plied with a brisk cannonade and threatened by demonstrations both of cav- alry and of infantry, while the first and second brigades, with the third in reserve, were to turn [ ) famous battles of the xixth century the extremity of the pir paimal hill, force the enemy's right in the interval between that hill and the kharoti eminence opposite, take in re- verse the baba wali kotal, and pressing on up the urgandab valley, carry ayoub’s principal camp at mazra. the bombay cavalry brigade was to watch the roads over the murcha and baba wali kotal, supported by infantry and artillery belonging to general primrose's com- mand, part of which was also detailed for the protection of the city, and to hold the ground from which the cabul brigades were to advance. general gough was to take the cavalry of the cabul column across the urgandab, so as to reach by a wide circuit the anticipated line of the afghan retreat. soon after a.m. on the st september the forty-pounder on the right of piquet hill began a vigorous cannonade of the baba wali kotal, which was sturdily replied to by the three field- guns which the enemy had in battery on that elevation. it had been early apparent that ayoub’s army was in great heart, and, seem- ingly meditating an offensive operation, had moved out so far into the plain as to occupy the villages of mulla sahibdad opposite the british right and of gundigan on the left front of the british left. both villages were right in the fair-way of roberts's intended line of advance; [ ] maiwand and candahar they, the adjacent enclosures, and the interval between the villages were strongly held; and manifestly the first thing to be done was to force the enemy back from those advanced positions. two batteries opened a heavy shell-fire on the sahibdad village, under cover of which mac- pherson advanced his brigade against it, the second goorkhas and ninety-second high- landers in his first line. simultaneously baker moved out to the assault of gundigan, clearing the gardens and orchards between him and that village, and keeping touch as he advanced with the first brigade. the shell-fire compelled the afghan occupants of sahibdad to lie close, and it was not until they were near the village that macpherson's two leading regiments encountered much opposition. it was carried at the bayonet-point after a very stubborn resistance; the place was swarming with ghazis who threw their lives away reck- lessly, and continued to fire on the british sol- diers from houses and cellars after the streets had been cleared. the ninety-second lost sev- eral men, but the afghans were severely pun- ished — it was reported that two hundred were killed in this village alone. while a detachment remained to clear out the village, the brigade, under a heavy fire from the slopes and crest of the pir paimal hill, moved on in the direction of [ ) famous battles of the xixth century that hill's southwestern extremity, the progress of the troops impeded by obstacles in the shape of dry water-cuts, orchards, and walled enclo- sures, every yard of which was infested by ene- mies and had to be made good by steady fighting. while macpherson was advancing on sahib- dad, baker's brigade had been pushing on through complicated lanes and walled enclosures towards the village of gundigan. the opposi- tion here was also very resolute. the afghans held their ground behind loopholed walls which had to be carried by storm, and they did not hesitate to take the offensive by making vigorous counter-rushes. baker's two leading regiments were the seventy-second and the second sikhs. the left wing of the former, supported by the fifth goorkhas, the old and tried comrades of the seventy-second, assailed and took the village. its right wing fought its way through the or- chards between it and sahibdad, in the course of which work it came under a severe enfilading fire from a loopholed wall which the sikhs on the right were attempting to turn. captain frome and several men had been struck down, and the hot fire had staggered the highlanders, when their chief, colonel brownlow, came up on foot. that gallant soldier gave the word for a rush, and immediately fell mortally wounded. after much hard fight- [ ) maiwand and candahar ing baker's brigade got forward into more open country, but was then exposed to the fire of an afghan battery near the extremity of the pir paimal spur, and to the attacks of great bodies of ghazis, which were stoutly withstood by the sikhs and driven off by a bayonet attack delivered by the highlanders. the two leading brigades had accomplished the first portion of their arduous day's work. they were now in alignment with each other; and the task before them was to accomplish the turning movement round the steep extremity of the pir paimal ridge. macpherson's brigade, hugging the face of the steep elevation, brought up the left shoulder, and having effected the turning movement, swept up the valley and car- ried the village of pir paimal by a series of rushes. here, however, major white (now commander-in-chief in india), commanding the advance of the gordons, found himself con- fronted by great masses of the enemy, who ap- peared determined to make a resolute stand about their guns in position southwest of the baba wali kotal. reinforcements were observed hurrying up from ayoub’s standing camp at mazra, and the afghan guns, on the kotal had been re- versed so that their fire should enfilade the british advance. discerning that in such cir- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century cumstances prompt action was imperative, macpherson determined to storm the position without waiting for reinforcements. the ninety- second under major white led the way, covered by the fire of a field-battery and supported by the fifth goorkhas and the twenty-third pio- neers. springing from out a watercourse at the challenge of their leader, the highlanders rushed across the open front. the afghans, sheltered by high banks, fired steadily and well; their rifle- men from the pir paimal slopes poured in a sharp cross-fire; their guns were well served. but the scottish soldiers were not to be denied. their losses were severe, but they took the af- ghan guns at the point of the bayonet, and, val- iantly supported by the goorkhas and pioneers, shattered and dispersed the mass of afghans, reckoned to have numbered some eight thousand men. no chance was given the enemy to rally. they were headed off from the pir paimal slopes by macpherson. baker hustled them out of cover in the watercourses in the basin on the left; and while one stream of fugitives poured away across the river, another was rolled back- ward into and through ayoub’s camp at mazra. while macpherson had effected his turning movement close under the ridge, baker's troops on the left had to make a wider sweep before bringing up the left shoulder and wheeling into [ ] maiwand and candahar the hollow between the pir paimal and the kharoti hill. they swept out of their path what opposition they encountered, and moved up the center of the hollow, where their commander halted them until macpherson's brigade on the right, having accomplished its more active work, should come up and restore the alignment. baker had sent colonel money with a half-bat- talion away to the left to take possession of the kharoti hill, where he found and captured three afghan guns. pressing on towards the northern edge of the hill, money, to his surprise, found himself in full view of ayoub’s camp, and in rear of which a line of cavalry was drawn up. money was not strong enough to attack single- handed, and he therefore sent to general baker for reinforcements, which, however, could not be spared him, and the gallant money had perforce to remain looking on while the ad- vance of macpherson and baker caused the evacuation of ayoub’s camp and the flight of his cavalry and infantry towards the urgandab. but the discovery and capture of five more afghan cannon near baba wali village afforded him some consolation for the enforced inaction. considerable numbers of ayoub’s troops had earlier pushed through the baba wali pass, and had moved down towards the right front of gen- eral burrows's bombay brigade in position about [ ) famous battles of the xixth century piquet hill. having assured himself that bur- rows was able to hold his own, sir frederick roberts ordered macgregor to move the third brigade forwards towards pir paimal village, whither he himself rode. on his arrival there he found that the first and second brigades were already quite a mile in advance. the battle really had already been won; but there being no open view to the front, general ross, who com- manded the whole infantry division, had no means of discerning this result; and, anticipat- ing the likelihood that ayoub’s camp at mazra would have to be taken by storm, he had halted the brigades to replenish ammunition. this delay gave opportunity for the entire evacuation of the afghan camp, which when reached without any further opposition and en- tered at p.m. was found to be deserted. the tents had been left standing. “all the rude equipage of a half-barbarous army had been hurriedly abandoned—the meat in the cooking- pots, the bread half-kneaded in the earthen vessels, the bazaar with its ghee pots, dried fruits, flour, and corn.” ayoub's great mar- quee had been precipitately abandoned, and the fine carpets covering its floor had been left. but in the hurry of their flight the afghans had found opportunity to illustrate their barbarism by the murder of their pris- [ ] maiwand and candahar oner, lieutenant maclaine, whose body was found near ayoub’s tent with the throat cut. to this bloody deed ayoub does not seem to have been privy. the sepoys who were pris- oners with maclaine testified that ayoub fled about eleven o'clock, leaving the prisoners in charge of the guard with no instructions beyond a verbal order that they were not to be killed. it was more than an hour later when the guard ordered the unfortunate young officer out of his tent and took his life. the victory was complete, and ayoub’s army was in full rout. unfortunately, no cavalry was in hand for a pursuit from the mazra camp. the scheme for intercepting the fugitive afghans by sending the cavalry brigade on a wide move- ment across the urgandab to strike the line of their probable retreat towards the khakrez val- ley may have been ingenious in conception, but in practice did not have the desired effect. ayoub khan, however, had been decisively de- feated. he had lost the whole of his artillery, numbering thirty-two pieces, his camp, an im- mense quantity of ammunition, about one thou- sand men killed; his army was dispersed, and he himself was a fugitive with a mere handful along with him of the army of twelve thousand men which he had commanded in the morning. the battle of st september having brought [ ] famous battles of the xixth century the afghan war to a close, sir frederick roberts quitted candahar on the th, and marched to quetta with part of his division. on th oc- tober at sibi he resigned his command, and, tak- ing sick leave to england, sailed from bombay on the th. his year of hard and successful service in afghanistan greatly enhanced his reputation as a prompt, skilful, and enterprising soldier. his subsequent career is familiar to all. [ ] v the boer war of by archibald forbes he boers of the transvaal are descended | from the settlers brought to the cape by the dutch east india company in the seventeenth century. in the colony was finally ceded to great britain by the king of the netherlands. the boers had been in- tolerant of the stern rule of the masters of their own nationality, and they chafed not less under the milder dominion of the later english gov- ernment. the truth was, and still is, that the boers from the first have disliked all government, especially when it clashed with their ideas re- garding their rights over the natives. a dis- turbance which occurred in led to the “great trek,” as the emigration of the boers from cape colony was called — a movement which resulted in their settlement in the trans- vaal and in the territory now known as the orange free state. up to the british government theo- retically extended up to the twenty-fifth degree of latitude. but no attempt was made to enforce this claim, and in the end even the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century shadow of suzerainty was renounced when, on the th of january, , the sand river convention was entered into between the british government and the delegates of the transvaal boers, by which great britain for- mally renounced all rights over the country north of the vaal river. originally there were four republics in the transvaal, but in they were united into one under the title of the “south african republic.” the south african republic did not prosper. from the first it was impecunious, and within a decade after its establishment it was practically insolvent. the discovery, in , of diamonds and of gold brought into the country a rush of strangers, whose energy and enterprise might have altered the condition of the transvaal but for the lethargy and obstinate isolation of the boer population. burgers, the last president before the annexation, was a man of vigor and talent, but the stolid and ignorant boers declined to be welded by him into a nation. in a war upon which they entered with sekukuni, a powerful native chief, their poltroonery was flagrant. the fighting was done for them by the warlike native tribe of amaswazis, who were so disgusted with the cowardice of their white allies that they left them in dudgeon. when the boers had to do their own work their hearts [ ] the boer war of failed them, and they fled ignominiously. bur- gers, with tears, strove to rally them, but in vain, and he begged them to shoot him rather than disgrace him. but they shrugged their shoulders, and more than two-thirds of them “trekked” home, leaving him hemmed in and powerless. the republic was encircled by native enemies all round the transvaal borders, all waiting for the impending onslaught by cetewayo, the zulu king, the master of a formidable army which lay on the frontier ready to strike, and restrained from immediate hostilities against the boers — who had provoked him by many encroachments — only by his fear of the english and the per- sonal influence of sir theophilus shepstone, the native secretary of natal. on the north- east the amaswazis brooded in sullen discon- tent; northward, within and beyond the frontier, anarchy raged; and in the west the bekhuanas were waiting for their opportunity. finan- cially the republic was hopelessly insolvent. the boers set their faces against taxation. it is a notorious fact that when shepstone annexed the transvaal there was found in the public treasury only twelve shillings and sixpence, part of which was base coin. clearly a crisis was impending which threatened to involve south africa in great peril. the annexation was no [ ) famous battles of the xixth century sudden act. the blue-books contain remon- strance on remonstrance addressed by british officials to the transvaal authorities. at length lord carnarvon's forbearance was exhausted. shepstone was sent for to england, and received a commission of date th october, , di- recting him, should the emergency render such a course necessary, to annex the transvaal to her majesty's dominions. shepstone, escorted by twenty-five mounted policemen and a few officials, reached pretoria in february, . it was an open secret that he was empowered to annex the country if he deemed it advisable, but he expressed his readiness to refrain from that step if certain reforms were carried out. the boers would have no reforms, and on april , , shepstone issued a proclamation formally annexing the transvaal to great britain. for some time the boers remained sullenly quiet. a few of them rendered good and loyal service with sir evelyn wood during the zulu war, but the main body stood aloof. sir owen lanyon succeeded shepstone as administrator of the transvaal, and from the first was unpopular with the boers. at the close of the zulu war sir garnet wolseley, who held the position of high commissioner for southeastern africa, came up into the transvaal with a considerable strength of regular and irregular troops. during [ ) the boer war of his stay no actual émeute occurred, but there were ominous demonstrations, which would probably have come to a head but for the pres- ence of the troops. the boer discontent was enhanced by the positive intimation from the colonial secretary that “under no circum- stances whatever would the transvaal inde- pendence be restored to the boers,” and by sir garnet's less prosaic but equally resolute utter- ance, that “so long as the sun shone and the vaal river flowed to the sea the transvaal would remain british territory.” he finally left the transvaal in march, , and the troops in that territory were gradually reduced until in november of the same year they consisted of but thirteen companies of infantry, two troops of mounted infantry, and four guns, distributed in detachments in some half-dozen garrisons scat- tered over the country. throughout the land there was a deceptive peace, which lulled lanyon into a sense of se- curity, and to some extent deceived wolseley. the boers were playing the waiting game. mr. gladstone became premier in march, . taking it for granted that he would act on the lines of his speeches when in opposition, the boer leaders called on him to rescind the an- nexation. the answer of the government came in the curt telegram: “under no circumstances [ ) famous battles of the xixth century can the queen's authority in the transvaal be relinquished.” there was consternation among the boers; the british inhabitants, trusting im- plicitly in an assurance so specific, rejoiced greatly and bought land without hesitation. in the matter of taxation the boers had always pre- sented a passive resistance against the british rule, but lanyon's officials considered that they might now crush this resistance by active meas- ures. a boer named bezuidenhuit was levied on, and in default of payment a seizure was made. bezuidenhuit and his friends forcibly recovered the article seized, and an attempt to arrest him was thwarted by a gathering of boers. at a mass meeting on the th of december, , it was decided that the south african re- public should be restored; it was resolved to fight for independence, and a triumvirate con- sisting of kruger, joubert, and pretorius was appointed to administer the government. on the th the republic was proclaimed at heidel- berg, which became the headquarters of the new government. a large body of boers took pos- session of that place, another went to potchef- strom, and a third “commando” was detailed to another service presently to be described. lanyon was powerless to interfere, and he and the english in pretoria had to await events, pending the expected arrival of the detachment [ ) the boer war of of the ninety-fourth regiment which had been ordered up from lydenburg, whence it was known to have moved on december . this ill-fated body was destined never to reach pre- toria. on the march colonel anstruther had frequent warnings of danger, to which he paid insufficient heed; there prevailed in the force the rooted belief that the boers did not intend serious mischief. it was scarcely to be expected that the men who had pusillanimously recoiled from before sekukuni's spear-armed natives would venture to assail a body of british regular in- fantry. but long before the end of this miser- able war the valor and constancy of the boers, not less than their moderation and humanity, had come to be acknowledged and admired. in this, their first conflict with the “red soldiers,” their unerring marksmanship was the chief surprise. the scouting duties of colonel anstruther's detachment were performed with carelessness; else, whatever might have been its fate, it would not have been taken by surprise. about noon on december th the little column, marching at ease, was approaching bronkhorst spruit. the ground traversed by the road was sparsely wooded, sloping down from either side. mili- tary precautions were neglected, and the convoy stretched to an interminable length. the band [ ] famous battles of the xixth century at the head of the column abruptly stopped play- ing when about one hundred fifty armed mounted boers suddenly became visible in skir- mishing formation on a rise on the left of the road at a distance of a few hundred yards. colonel anstruther immediately galloped back, and ordered the leading wagon to halt and the others to close up. a boer advanced midway with a flag of truce, and was met by colonel anstruther, to whom he handed a letter written in english. its terms were at once quaint and peremptory. “we don’t know,” it ran, “whether we are in a state of war or not, consequently we can't allow any movements of troops from your side, and wish you to stop where you are. we not being at war with the queen nor with the people of england, but are only recovering the independ- ence of our country, we do not wish to take to arms, and therefore inform you that any move- ments of troops from your side will be taken by us as a declaration of war.” the messenger was to take back an answer, which had to be given within five minutes. anstruther read the letter and tersely replied: “i go to pretoria; do as you like.” the mes- senger departed, and the colonel, hurrying back towards his men, ordered them to skirmish. but it was too late. the boers had closed in upon the rear and flanks of the column and [ ) - the boer war of opened fire at point-blank range. their fire was deadly — every shot told; that of the troops was scattered and ineffective. in ten minutes, out of a total of two hundred fifty-nine, there had been killed or wounded one hundred fifty-five officers and men. colonel anstruther, himself riddled with bullets, then ordered the “cease fire,” and intimated the surrender of the remains of his force. the boers then closed in, ordered all arms to be laid down, and formed a cordon round the scene of the slaughter. when the fighting was over, boers and sol- diers became very friendly. the boer com- mander, joubert, came forward and shook hands with colonel anstruther, expressing re- gret that he should be among the wounded. a hospital camp was pitched close by, and leave was given for the retention of the wagons con- taining baggage, provisions, and hospital equip- ment, tents for the wounded, and some unin- jured men as hospital nurses; the remaining un- wounded prisoners with the rest of the wagons were removed to heidelberg. two men were permitted to carry the tidings of the disaster to pretoria, whence without hindrance surgeons, hospital orderlies, and ambulances were sent out to bronkhorst spruit. the boers showed themselves most obliging, and were extremely solicitous for the comfort of the wounded in [ ) famous battles of the xixth century camp, bringing in milk, butter, eggs, bread, and fruit gratuitously. the statements regarding the boer losses in the short fight were curiously conflicting. the boers affirmed that they amounted only to two killed and five wounded. when sir garnet wolseley went home he had been succeeded, in july, as high commissioner for southeastern africa, by colonel (after- wards major-general) sir. george pomeroy colley, an officer of high character. tidings of the outbreak in the transvaal reached him at pieter maritzburg on the th of december, and were in possession of the colonial office in lon- don on the following day. reinforcements from india were promptly ordered to natal, and further instalments of troops were sent out from england as early as possible. considering the weakness of the forces at colley's immediate disposition, he would have been wise to wait until he had been reinforced; but he had a great con- tempt for the boers, and was eager to distin- guish himself before he should be superseded by officers of higher rank. he was warned by colonel bellairs (in military command of the transvaal) that there were “from six thousand to seven thousand rebels in the field, who, under good leadership, would exhibit 'courage, dis- cipline, and organization.” colley hurried up [ ] the boer war of towards the transvaal frontier the few com- panies of infantry which he had in natal. the arrival of some drafts was very opportune — a naval brigade was landed and sent up, as also a squadron of dragoons and mounted in- fantry under the command of major brownlow, and the natal mounted police. colley had early intimated his intention to enter the transvaal about the th of january, , with a column consisting of eight companies of infantry, four guns, and a mounted squadron — a miserably inadequate force. so far from accomplishing this, he was able only to quit newcastle (a border town of natal) on january , with about sixty officers and twelve hundred men. this little force was styled the “relief column,” as it was intended to raise the siege of the transvaal towns in which were scanty british garrisons be- leaguered by the boers. apart from pretoria, the besieged capital of the transvaal, there were six of those places— potchefstrom, rustenburg, marabastadt, lydenburg, standerton, and wak- kerstrom, all of which held out gallantly until the restoration of peace. before advancing from newcastle, colley sent an ultimatum to the boers, ordering them, as insurgents, to disperse. they replied, de- claring that all they wanted was the rescinding of the annexation and the restoration of the / [ ) famous battles of the xixth century south african republic under the protectorate of the queen. on the th the british force entrenched itself on an elevated position at mount prospect, about twenty miles north of newcastle, in the mountainous region forming the northern projection of natal. the camp was about a mile right of the road from new- castle to standerton, which crossed the ridge known as lang's nek — about three and a half miles further northward. in the vicinity of lang's nek a considerable number of boers were seen. on the morning of the th, colley moved out with a strength, all told, of about eleven hundred and sixty men. the pass over lang's nek crosses the ridge about the center of a rough semi-circle, on the west of which is the majuba mountain; on the east is a long spur surmounted by a rocky crest. in front of the proper left of this spur, several hundred yards to the front, is an isolated conical hill. the ground in the bottom of the enclosed basin is low, with a gradual rise towards the face of the spur, something in the nature of a glacis. about nine o'clock the british force, having moved up along a ridge out of shot, formed into position on a rise in the bottom, with the mounted squadron and the fifty-eighth on the right, the guns in the center, and the sixtieth [ ) the boer war of and naval brigade on the left, the whole facing toward the spur. the action was begun by shelling parts of the enemy's position, and by pushing forward a company of the sixtieth and the naval brigade, with their rockets, which took some effect on the boer reserves in rear of the nek. at ten o’clock the fifty-eighth advanced to the attack of the spur, covered on its right by artillery fire and by brownlow's squadron. the leading troop of mounted men swept with fine dash up the iso- lated hill, and then charged. the hill-top was held by a boer piquet of considerable strength. brownlow shot the boer leader with his revolver, but his horse was shot under him; lieutenant lermitte and sergeant-major lunny were killed; the supporting troop was checked — the leading troop, fatigued and broken by the charge, and with its leaders all down, could make no head, and the whole squadron gave way. it was no proper ground for cavalry, and the horsemen should have acted as mounted infantry. mean- time, the fifty-eighth had begun climbing the steep ascent through the long entangling grass, which retarded the men's progress. the boer piquet from the hill, having repulsed brownlow's squadron, moved down and opened fire on the now exposed right flank and rear of the fifty-eighth, while the boers on the spur [ ] famous battles of the xixth century gathered on its brow and maintained a deadly fire from behind cover. anxious to get to close quarters out of this purgatory, colonel deane gave the order to charge. the officers led nobly, and the men struggled on through the hail of fire. colonel deane's horse was shot, but he dashed forward on foot until riddled with bullets ten yards in front of the foremost man. major poole and lieutenants inman and elwes were killed in supporting colonel deane; major hingeston, and all the mounted officers of the fifty-eighth, were shot down or dismounted. the stubborn soldiers of that gallant regiment — youngsters as they were, most of them — continued to hold their ground unflinchingly for some time, notwithstanding the bitter fire. lieutenant baillie, carrying the regimental color, was mortally wounded, and when his comrade hill went to his assistance, the brave young officer said with his last breath, “never mind me; save the color!” hill, who had been carry- ing the queen's color, took the other also; when he went down, sergeant budstock took both colors, and carried them until the general re- tirement, which soon had to occur. “the fifty-eighth,” wrote colley, “having fallen back leisurely without haste or confusion, re-formed at the foot of the slope, and marched back into position in as good order, and with as [ ) the men struggled on through the hail of fire ſº a. the boer war of erect and soldierly a bearing, as when it marched out.” spite of much british bravery, the combat of lang's nek was an unquestionable and severe defeat. but many noble deeds were performed. lieutenant hill (already named) brought wounded man after man out of action, and worthily earned the v.c. trooper doogen saved the life of major brownlow; private god- frey and bandboy martin remained with major hingeston and captain lovegrove when those officers lay wounded, enduring heavy fire in doing so. the great brunt of the losses fell on the fifty-eighth. the casualties altogether amounted to one hundred and ninety-eight, of which one hundred and seventy-three belonged to that regi- ment, which had to bury seventy-five officers and men out of a total strength of four hundred and ninety-four. lang's nek caused the boers exceptionally heavy loss. their total casualties from beginning to end of the war were but one hundred and one, of which lang's nek accounted for forty-one — fourteen killed and twenty-seven wounded. the boers behaved with humanity. the moment that the “cease fire” sounded they gave permission to the english surgeons to attend the wounded lying in front of the boer position, fetched water to them, and assisted in binding up their wounds. [ ] famous battles of the xixth century \ the folly of the forward position prematurely taken up by general colley with an inadequate force was made apparent by the result of the battle of lang's nek. the comparative handful of men in the mount prospect camp could no longer be regarded by any stretch of imagination as a “relief column.” that repulse had taught the boers their ability to arrest the further ad- vance of the british force, and enabled them to turn their attention to the interception of its line of communication. the boers, in effect, were masters of the situation. their patrols pene- trated nearly to ladysmith, and threatened newcastle from the drakensberg and utrecht districts. convoys were cut off, captured, and de- stroyed; the mail service was arrested, and except for the telegraph service, which remained uninterfered with, the mount prospect camp was all but entirely isolated. an escort of mounted infantry, sent out on february to at- tempt to reach newcastle with mails, was driven back to the camp by the fire of the boers. col- ley then determined to make a more formidable effort next day to open up communications with newcastle, and to clear the boers from the road. on the morning of the th he left camp with five companies of the sixtieth rifles under colonel ashburnham, two field and two mountain guns [ ) the boer war of under captain greer, r.a., and a small detach- ment of mounted men under major brownlow. about five miles south of the mount prospect position the newcastle road is crossed by the ingogo river, which runs from west to east through a valley. the ground north of the river is broken and rugged; from the south bank there is a gentle rise to the foot of a flat-topped ridge strewn with rocks and boulders, and ir- regularly cut by rocky depressions. the general, leaving the two mountain guns and a company of infantry on a commanding crest north of the river, crossed it with the main body, which he formed on the plain beyond, and then moved it forward to the foot of the ridge bounding the valley to the southward. as the troops were ascending the rise to the ridge the boers showed themselves in considerable strength, and they at once galloped forward to dispute the ridge, and to take advantage of the cover afforded by the intersecting valleys. greer brought his two guns into action, but the boers had already taken cover, from which they di- rected a heavy and active fire on the guns and skirmishers. greer was killed early, and the command of the guns devolved on lieutenant parsons. the engagement became heavy and general about noon, when the companies of the sixtieth were pushed forward against the enemy, [ ) famous battles of the xixth century whose fire from behind cover was very deadly. the guns had to be freely exposed, and were in action with case-shot at a range of less than five hundred yards. the gunners suffered very heavily, and a company of the sixtieth, which most gallantly advanced to cover the guns, and met the boer fire at close range, had many casual- ties from the steady and accurate fire of enemies enjoying almost perfect cover. so severe was the fire of the boers that the guns had soon to be withdrawn from their exposed position, and during the rest of the affair fired only occasion- ally. it was apparent that they were being gradually reinforced, and the general sent orders to camp for three companies of the fifty-eighth to move out and occupy the ridges north of the river, and for a part, if practicable, to cross the ingogo in support of the troops already deeply engaged and reduced by severe losses. about three o'clock there was a comparative lull, although the boers maintained a very ac- curate fire, anyone on the british side being almost certainly struck if at all exposing him- self. later in the afternoon the boers received considerable reinforcements, and lieutenant parsons, wounded as he was, reopened with his guns for a short time; but darkness presently set in, and the boers gradually withdrew to their camp. it was colley's conviction that the enemy [ ] the boer war of intended renewing the engagement next morn- ing in overwhelming strength, and he acted wisely in deciding to withdraw to camp under cover of darkness. it was a gruesome night. torrents of rain were falling, and the darkness was intense, except when the lightning flashes broke the blackness of the cold and dismal night. the ambulances sent out during the fight had not been able to reach the actual scene of action, since the boers had threatened to fire on them if they advanced while the engagement was going on. they were not now available in the darkness; and the wounded, whom in many instances it had been impossible to remove from the advanced positions, had to be searched for. those who were found were collected and shel- tered for the night as well as possible with water- proof sheets, blankets, great-coats, etc.; but many lay as they had fallen throughout the long, inclement night. the guns were horsed, al- though insufficiently, by collecting all the avail- able animals, and by withdrawing the team from the ammunition wagon, which had to be abandoned. when all arrangements had been completed, the force moved off in silence, formed in hollow square, the guns in the center, the infantry in skirmishing order on the four sides. the river, swollen by the rain, was deep and rapid; and some of the first men trying to cross [ ] - famous battles of the xixth century were swept down, but found foothold on a sand- bank. the main body crossed in detachments with locked arms. the camp was reached about a.m., on the th. the soldiers had dragged the guns up the hill, the horses being unable to pull them up the steep and slippery road. the fifty-eighth companies spent the night on the northern ridges, and were not with- drawn until the following day. the casualties had been heavy. among the slain were captain macgregor, r.e., general colley's assistant secretary; captain greer, r.a.; lieutenants garrett and o’connell; and mr. stuart, a natal resident magistrate. a most promising officer, lieutenant wilkinson of the sixtieth, was drowned while crossing the ingogo, when returning to the field with assistance for the wounded, after having distinguished himself throughout the engagement by his coolness and gallantry. the total loss of this unfortunate day amounted to one hundred and thirty-nine officers and men. according to the statement of the boers, the ingogo fight cost them eight killed and six wounded. the boers returned to the scene of action on the morning of the th, ex- pecting to renew the engagement. they took away two gun limbers and the ammunition wagon abandoned over night by colley's people, and then fell back behind newcastle to join their [ ] the boer war of main force, reported as threatening to prevent the advance of the reinforcements recently ar- rived from india. their disappearance gave opportunity to succor the wounded and bury the dead without molestation, and opened the road from mount prospect to newcastle, to the hos- pital, to which latter place were promptly sent the wounded from the british camp. the com- munications in rear of mount prospect remained open from this time forward. sir george colley had sustained a second re- verse, proportionately more bloody than had been the first. by this time, one would imagine it might have begun to dawn on the home authorities that colley, to say the least, was not a successful commander. his experience of actual warfare was but slender: he had served only in the china war of and in the ashan- tee campaign. he was comparatively new to south africa, and was quite unfamiliar with the boer nature. yet the authorities had as- signed to him as second in command an officer senior to him in army rank, who had fought with distinction through the crimean and indian mutiny wars, and in the ashantee and zululand campaigns, in high and successful commands. brigadier-general sir evelyn wood, v.c., was the only officer in the latter campaign under whom boers served and died — served with a [ ) famous battles of the xixth century loyal devotion, died gallantly under his eye. he knew the strange, simple, yet stubborn nature of the boers; he was ready to fight with them, and equally ready to argue them out of a folly. wood and colley were old and fast friends; wood was quite content to serve under his junior, and had hurried out to india with a num- ber of “special service” officers. he reached durban on february , four days after the in- gogo reverse, sir g. colley's account of which was in london on the th, and, notwithstanding the unwarrantable optimism of its tone, must have been read between the lines in pall mall. then would have been the time to avert further futile waste of brave soldiers by instructing by telegraph colley and wood to exchange their relative positions. the arrangement would have been perfectly regular, and colley was the sort of man who would loyally have accepted the secondary position. picking up on his rapid journey the indian column from its camp on the biggarsberg, wood and it (consisting of the fifteenth hussars, the second battalion sixtieth rifles, and the ninety- second highlanders) reached newcastle on the th. colley met him there, and it was re- solved between the two officers that no further advance should be attempted until more rein- forcements, now on the way up, should arrive. [ ] the boer war of they parted on the st, colley moving the indian column up to mount prospect without molestation; wood returning to pieter maritz- burg to press on the advance of further rein- forcements. sir george colley's motive in making the fatal advance on the majuba mountain-top, whatever it might have been, died with him. his assurance had been given to wood that no further advance should be attempted pending the arrival of further reinforcements. he had engaged with the boer vice-president in nego- tiations which promised favorable results. a reconnaissance in force to the summit of the mountain could give no more information than a mere patrol could easily ascertain — the posi- tion of the boer laagers and an approximate es- timate of the force occupying them. a boer piquet occasionally held the hill-top during the day, and colley resolved to occupy it by making a night march. at ten o'clock on the night of february he left the mount prospect camp with a force of twenty-two officers and six hun- dred and twenty-seven men — a smaller force than he had employed at lang's nek. at the start its composition and order were as follows: two companies fifty-eighth, the naval brigade, three companies ninety-second, followed by some details; two companies of the second [ ) famous battles of the xixth century sixtieth moved out later to the piquet post close to the foot of inquela hill, with instructions to occupy its summit with some detachments. further on, upon the narrow nek between the inquela and the majuba, captain robertson's company of the ninety-second was dropped as a link, with orders to entrench itself. the nek traversed, the troops, guided by friendly kaffirs, had now to undertake in single file the actual climb up the steep and rugged side of the ma- juba, whose top is sixty-two hundred feet above sea-level and more than two thousand feet above the positions of the boer laagers. from time to time during the tedious and toilsome ascent, a halt was made to enable the men — heavy-laden with rations and extra cartridges — to regain their breath. as the troops neared the summit the obstacles increased. the steep, grassy slopes were succeeded by great boulders and deep dongas, varied by sharp crags and treacherous loose stones, over and up which the wearied and burdened men had to drag themselves. near the top the ascent had to be accomplished on hands and knees. between four and five in the morning of the th the force, much exhausted after the heavy toil, and now only about four hundred strong, gained the summit. like most of the mountains of south africa, the majuba is crowned by no peak. its top is a [ ] the boer war of plateau of saucer-like shape, dipping towards the center, across which is a rocky reef about breast-high. the circumference of the plateau is about twelve hundred yards. when the sum- mit was reached it was still dark, and the troops having got mixed during the scramble up, and being weary, lay down where they stood until dawn. with daylight they were extended round the edge of the plateau, with a small reserve in the central hollow. no instructions were given to entrench, and, indeed, the troops had no tools for such a purpose; but the men of their own accord attempted to obtain some cover by throwing up defences of turf and stones. here and there the soldiers showed on the sky line, and a few shots were fired, which for the mo- ment caused great consternation in the boer camps in the lower ground northwest of the majuba. seeing that the mountain was in british occupation, the expectation was natural that an attack would presently be made on their positions on the nek, in which case they would find themselves between two fires. their first idea, it seems, was of flight. the oxen were inspanned, and hurried preparations were made for retreat. but when it became evident that the troops on the summit were in no great strength and had neither cannon nor rockets, [ ] famous battles of the xixth century and that their nek position was unmolested, the courage of the boers revived. smijt, the fight- ing general, made a short, stirring speech, and at his summons a number of the younger men began to climb the mountain side under cover of the stones and scrub. joubert, the command- ing general, detailed a force of the older men in support of the storming party — picked shots who remained below watching the edge of the plateau, and firing at every soldier who exposed himself. as the morning passed boer detach- ments attacked and hemmed in the british posi- tion on the north, the east, and the southwest. the defenders were not in sufficient strength to hold the whole of the edge of the plateau, and detachments had to be moved hither and thither to meet and attempt to thwart the advances of the boers. slowly and steadily the hostile skir- mishers clambered upwards from cover to cover, while the supports below protected their move- ment with a steady and accurate fire. during the hours from dawn to noon the british had not suffered very heavily, notwithstanding the boer marksmanship. the first officer to fall was commander romilly, of the naval brigade, while reconnoitring with general colley. but the long strain of the boers' close shooting began to tell on the morale of the british soldiers, and when the boers at length reached the crest and [ ) the boer war of opened a deadly fire at short range the officers had to exert themselves to the utmost in the effort to avert disaster. the reserves stationed in the central dip of the plateau, out of reach until then of the enemy's fire, were ordered up in support of the fighting line. their want of promptitude in obeying this order did not augur well, and soon after reaching the front they wavered, and then gave way. the officers did temporarily succeed in rallying them, but the “bolt” had a bad effect. to use the expression of an eye-witness, “a funk became established.” it was struggled against very gallantly by the officers, who, sword and revolver in hand, en- couraged the soldiers by word and by action. a number of men, unable to confront the deadly fire of the boers, had huddled for cover behind the rocky reef crossing the plateau, and no en- treaty or upbraiding on the part of their officers would induce them to face the enemy. what then happened one does not care to tell in detail. everything connected with this disastrous en- terprise went to naught, as if there had been a curse on it. whatever may have been the ob- ject intended, the force employed was absurdly inadequate. instead of being homogeneous, it consisted of separate detachments with no link or bond of union — a disposition which noto- riously has led to more panics than any other [ ] ] famous battles of the xixth century cause that the annals of regimental history can furnish. fragments of proud and distinguished regiments fresh from victory in another continent shared in the panic of the majuba, seasoned warriors behaving no better than mere recruits. to the calm-pulsed philosopher a panic is an academic enigma. no man who has seen it — much less shared in it — can ever forget the in- fectious madness of panic-stricken soldiers. in the sad ending, with a cry of fright and despair the remnants of the hapless force turned and fled, regardless of the efforts of the officers to stem the rearward rush. sir george colley lay dead, shot through the head just before the final flight. a surgeon and two hospital at- tendants caring for the wounded at the bandag- ing place in the dip of the plateau were shot down, probably inadvertently. the elder boers promptly stopped the firing in that direction. but there was no cessation of the fire directed on the fugitives. on them the bullets rained accurately and persistently. the boers, now disdaining cover, stood boldly on the edge of the plateau, and, firing down upon the scared troops, picked off the men as if shooting game. the slaughter would have been yet heavier but for the entrenchment which had been made by the company of the ninety-second, left over night on the nek between the inquela and the majuba. [ ] famous battles of the xixth century * porary hospital was established at a farmhouse near the foot of the mountain, and throughout the cold and wet night the medical staff never ceased to search for and bring in the wounded. sir george colley's body was brought into camp on march , and buried there with full military honors. the other dead of the majuba fight rest in a cemetery on the plateau of the mountain summit – victims of a strange and almost in- credible folly. sir evelyn wood reached newcastle on march , and assumed command. on the th he met the boer leaders, when an armistice to last for eight days was agreed upon. the british garri- sons in the transvaal were revictualled for twelve days, pending the raising of their siege on the consummation of peace; and sir evelyn wood acknowledged the right of the transvaal people to complete self-government subject to the suzerainty of the queen. terms of peace were signed on march , ; and the next day general sir frederick roberts, who had been sent out with large reinforcements to suc- ceed sir george colley, reached cape town, but learning of peace being signed, immediately sailed home. the total number of transvaal boers capable of carrying arms was under eight thousand at the beginning of hostilities. the total british force [ ] the boer war of in south africa, or on the way thither, at the close of hostilities consisted of thirteen infantry regiments, five cavalry regiments, twenty-two guns, three naval brigades — in all, not far short of twenty thousand men. this total was exclusive of the british garrisons besieged in the transvaal during the war. the boer casual- ties throughout the war, as already mentioned, amounted to forty-three killed and fifty-eight wounded. the british casualties were over eight hundred killed and wounded. at majuba the boers had one man killed and five men wounded. [ ] vi the bombardment of alexandria by max pemberton o step from the boat of a yacht to the | quay at alexandria is to step from the west to the fringe of the east. all about you are porters, guides, beggars, loafers, thieves, cut-throats, and impostors. bales of cotton, barrels, hampers, trollies, lumber the wharves. the din and babble are beyond de- scription. a hundred rogues strive and push if thereby they may touch the hem of your gar- ment and claim backsheesh. pass through the customs, and so out to the native quarters and to the bazaar, and the scene is scarce to be de- scribed. men of every eastern nation seem here to congregate. turks curse greeks; greeks, in their turn, curse jews and copts, hindoos, nubians, and albanians. the blaze of color is dazzling, yet ever picturesque. dirks are sheathed in gorgeous girdles; the butts of pistols protrude upon richly embroidered vests and amazing tunics. black men and white men, brown men and yellow men, some with ) the bombardment of alexandria jackets, some with long, flowing robes, some al- most naked, urge you to the deal or throw them- selves upon your pity. donkey boys hasten to show you how well they understand your tongue, in the polite and well-meant invitation to “have a. donkey, sir.” often you step aside to avoid the lurch of the camel; your eyes follow the stately swing of the arab from the desert as he paces some narrow alley, with head bent and his long gun in his hand. priests abound — greek priests, coptic priests, roman priests. no nation seems unrepresented in this medley of sound and strange colors; of narrow, crooked, unpaved lanes and gorgeous modern enterprises. if this be a description rather of the alexan- dria of the past than of the alexandria of to-day, it is better suited to my purposes. any endeavor to make clear the sequence of events which led up to the bombardment and subsequent sack of the city must include some attempt to describe that curious coupling of west to east which has been a feature of the place since mehemet ali sought to restore its greatness, and to rear up a new fabric upon the ashes of decay which the turk had left. in the year you found many races in the seat of the ptolemies; but a broad line of demarcation between the two forces was clearly laid down. while copts and greeks and hindoos and arabs swarmed in the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century bazaars, and a first impression was one of many peoples and many creeds, a rough division was easy to make. christian and mohammedan — between these lay the egyptian question, so far as this city was concerned with it. side by side the strongholds of the two powers stood—one, the dirty, unpaved streets, the booths and kennels and bazaars; the other, the great square of mehemet ali, with the cafés and com- mercial buildings, the palais de justice, the churches, the theater, and the houses of the mer- chants. everything which tends to promote racial hatred and national instability was here to be discerned, when in the earlier months of the year the dangerous problem became ripe for partial solution. a national party strove for so-called freedom; a christian party strove for more stable guarantees. arabs hated greeks and copts; christians warred against the arab in turn, and went in fear of him. year by year the beacons of revolution were plied, until, in the last moments of arabi's power, the flicker of a crisis was sufficient to light them; and these beacons being kindled, gave the signal for the egyptian campaign of . i am not concerned with the defence of arabi pasha, nor with the discussion of those large claims made on his behalf at the beginning of the egyptian war. it is sufficient for me to re- [ ] the bombardment of alexandria member that he was war-minister to the khe- dive in the earlier months of the year , and that he was the spokesman of all those turbu- lent elements of mohammedan dominion which threatened at one time to make him the most successful dictator of the latter half of the cen- tury. patriot possibly he was; but that pure patriotism was not the ultimate goal of his am- bitions all the events of that strange year made manifest. no doubt, the antipathy to euro- pean influences, and general hatred of the euro- pean colony in egypt, helped arabi largely in his demand, in the year , for a general in- crease of the army, and for a more popular and purely egyptian ministry. but once he found the khedive pliant in his hands, the step from agitation to action was a short one. early in the next year we find the weak prince tewfik nominated by the powers, and arabi setting up practically as the dictator of the egyptian peo- ples. his cry that the foreigner should be driven out of the country brought thousands to his banner. that he had the sympathy of his countrymen there can be no question. that it was impossible for britain as a power to submit to his authority, and to the government by arms which he sought to set up, was equally apparent. thus in june of the year the english were fighting for the khedive against his own minis- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century ter of war, and engaged in an undertaking which could end only in their final expulsion from the country or their temporary occupation of it. the first sparks of war were to be observed in alexandria in the june of the last-named year. a sudden rioting and massacre of christians — principally greeks — added to an insult to the british consul, sowed the seeds of that which was to mature so quickly. for many weeks the mediterranean fleet, under the command of admiral sir beauchamp seymour, lay off the harbors of the city as a visible token of british determination to uphold the khedive against arabi, and of the intention to protect the chris- tian population. hundreds of the latter mean- while fled from alexandria — some to greece, the majority to italy. it became dangerous for a european to venture abroad alone even in the earlier hours of day. robberies were fre- quent, and assassinations common. arabi himself waxed bolder every day. he boasted that he could, with the forces at his com- mand, hold the city against the fleets of all europe. he busied himself with the training of engineers; he began at the last to strengthen the forts and to throw up new earthworks. it was an anx- ious moment for “jack” when, on the night of july , , the searchlight was turned upon [ ) the bombardment of alexandria the fortifications near the ras-el-tin palace, and two hundred of arabi's sappers were seen busy with pick and shovel. the result was the immediate demand for the cessation of all works upon the forts, and, finally, for the temporary surrender of them. arabi, seeking discreetly to temporize, neglected to furnish the necessary guarantees — met this practically with a point- blank refusal. the reply was the issue of an ultimatum on the morning of july . either the forts were to be surrendered, or the city was to be bombarded. arabi chose bombardment, and the ships were cleared for action. this was the situation in the town; let us see what was the position in the harbors before it. admiral sir beauchamp seymour was then in command of eight battleships and of eleven gun- boats; the latter principally of the smallest class. nearly all these ships would be regarded as more or less obsolete.to-day, though the flagship invincible carried four eighty-ton guns and boasted a speed of . knots an hour. of the others, the inflexible was the largest, this being the biggest ship in the engagement, and one which carried, like the flagship, four eighty-ton guns. with her were the sultan, the superb, the alexandra, the téméraire, the penelope, and the monarch. the latter ships, built in the years and respectively, were then [ ) famous battles of the xixth century comparatively old; but the superb, the inflexible, the téméraire, and the alexandra represented the then most recent naval phase. that was the day of a belief in big guns. europe had watched the building of sixty-eight, eighty, and even one hundred-ton guns, and had asked ex- pectantly, “what of the results?” the revolt of arabi promised the british that which they had speculated upon, and discussed, and weighed up for forty years — the spectacle of their fleet in action. when at last the crisis came — when the ultimatum went forth, and french, american, and italian warships steamed from the harbors of alexandria, while refugees fled from the city as from a pestilence — the excite- ment waxed strong. as for the british jack tars, they were sick with hope. for weeks they had been saying, “to-morrow, to-morrow is the day!” for weeks they had borne with disap- pointment and postponement as they lay under the shadow of the great forts, and waited for the booming of the signal gun. but now, surely, the hour was at hand. small wonder if they doubted that such a good thing could ever be. for the fuller understanding of the engage- ment of the famous july , let us take our stand upon the flagship invincible, anchored outside the harbor of the city. there are two harbors before us—an inner harbor and [ ) the bombardment of alexandria a large outer basin defended by the break- water. to the southeast there stands up the great marabout fort, forming the southern point of the bay, whereon the city is built. to the northeast is the pharos fort, boasting more than a hundred guns of all calibers, and conspicuous for its massive tower. roughly speaking, you may regard the shape of the shore of the alexandria of to-day as that of a pair of horns sticking out into the sea with the pharos light as the north tip and the ras-el-tin palace and lighthouse as the southern tip. southward of this palace, and in the curve of the southern bay, lie the famous mex forts, and from these to fort marabout the whole of the shore bristles with guns. it was against these guns that the british thirsted to try their luck, when on the night of july they turned in like excited chil- dren, and almost prayed that the morrow would find them listening to the music of the great ar- tillery. the condor was the first ship to be about on the following morning, but long before six o'clock the whole fleet was moving and active. at that hour the men were already stripped to their flannel jerseys, the great guns were charged, the decks were cleared for action. the admiral's plan was now known to all. he had determined upon three attacks — the invincible, the mon- [ ) famous battles of the xixth century arch, and the penelope to begin work from the harbor; the inflexible to attack the mex forts; the superb, the sultan, and the alexandra to operate from outside the harbor, and to center their fire first upon the forts by the ras-el-tin palace, and then, steaming to the northeast, to demolish fort ada and the pharos. as for the puny gunboats, they were to lie behind the war- ships, and to act as occasion required. that they were permitted soon to depart from this inglorious position the whole record makes manifest. six o'clock in the morning, and the men were at the stations. forbiddingly and majestically, the dark hulls of the eight ironclads stood up above the sunlit water. scores of merchant- men, which had showed their heels to the har- bors directly bombardment was threatened, now lay securely at anchor, eager to be spectators of so glorious a sight. on shore no unusual signs of activity were at first apparent. there was no ostensible signal of truce. lieutenant smith, who had been sent to report upon the truth of the story that arabi's men were busy with arma- ments near the slaughter-house, returned to tell of active work and of sappers busy. throughout the fleet, excitement was at its zenith. jack had stripped himself for the fray with the zest that a schoolboy strips for football. [ ] the bombardment of alexandria º wound up by long weeks of expectation, he scarce dared to believe that the cup was at his lips, even though the muzzles of the eighty-ton- ners showed grimly above his decks, and any moment might bring the thunders of discharge. for nearly an hour he stood at his post. half- past six came, and still the guns were silent; a quarter to seven was marked, and no note of command was heard. ten minutes later, and in a measure unexpectedly, the alexandra fired a shell at the pharos, and the bombardment had begun. the smoke of this shot had scarce floated away on the breeze when the flagship hoisted the signal “all vessels engage batteries.” such a signal was like the bell of a prompter rung to raise the curtain upon a stage play. in a moment the quiet and the expectancy had given place to the thunder of cannon and the heat of battle. an american officer who wit- nessed the action from a warship in the offing declared that a hurricane of sound seemed to rush up over the sea. instantly, clouds of smoke and leaping fire began to veil the forts. crashing reports, the sharper noise of smaller guns, even the singing of bullets, made the music of the morning. while the heavy guns were fired at long intervals, while there were pauses when you might have said that the fleet was resting, the rolling reports from the shore [ ] famous battles of the xixth century were never still. fort marabout, with its two eighteen-ton guns and its host of smaller weap- ons, emitted a continuing cloud of fire; the guns by ras-el-tin — two of them of twelve tons — pounded bravely at the superb, the sultan, and the alexandra. the heavy weapons of the pharos, joined anon to those by the ras-el-tin, belched smoke and flame unceasingly. the british attack was concentrated upon fort mara- bout, the mex forts, and the fortifications near the palace. at this time the value of fore and aft guns upon the big ships was illustrated hu- morously. the mighty inflexible, standing off the outer harbor, thundered away with her fore guns at ras-el-tin, while from her stern she pounded marabout. if the shooting of some of the ships was not particularly good, that of others was admirable. every shot from the invincible either burst in the forts or struck the parapets heavily. clouds of dust and earth, heavy lumps of stone rolling seawards, spoke eloquently of the accuracy of her gunners. a middy, named hardy, tucked up in her main- top, helped with signals whose value was be- yond praise. never did a marker at wimbledon follow the path of a bullet with keener eyes than those with which midshipman hardy watched the flight of the great shells. though a hail of shot fell all about him, and the smoke was so [ ] the bombardment of alexandria heavy over the decks that the gunners were like men walking in the dark, the accuracy of the lad’s judgment was unfailing. even the ad- miral thanked him; and as hit after hit was re- corded, the whole crew fell to cheering with voices that were heard by every sailor in the fleet. “it was eton and harrow over again,” said an observer. and that was true. if this plucky lad deserves a line of special eulogy, we must not forget that others were at the same time displaying courage worthy of the highest traditions of jack in action. the story of the condor has been written many times. it will bear writing again and yet again whereso- ever the record of the british navy is laid down. i have said that this gallant little ship, whose only armament was two small sixty-four pound- ers and one seven-inch woolwich rifled gun, had been the first to be moving on that mem- orable day. she was also the first of the gun- boats to get into action. though the instruc- tions of the admiral were that the gad-flies should be more or less spectators, acting as the occasion required, it was not many minutes be- fore lord charles beresford determined that the occasion required him to try his three small guns upon the massive fortifications of marabout. the idea, bold to the last point of courage, [ ] famous battles of the xixth century was not lacking method. it was lord charles's notion that the gatling might tickle up the gunners of marabout, and send so many of them to an honorable grave that the bigger guns would find no servants. with this in his head, he took a liberal view of the general in- structions, and bringing the condor to within twelve hundred yards of the fort — the shoal prevented him from getting nearer — he began his merry attack. never did a crew follow a daring skipper more resolutely. the men of the condor had been near to shedding tears of rage in the early morning when an order from the flagship compelled them to go to the assist- ance of the téméraire, which had floundered upon the shore. they had thought that they must do the work of a mere tug, and miss such glorious fun as was to be had in the neighbor- hood of arabi's guns. from that degradation lord charles saved them swiftly. the rattle of the gatling, the crack of his larger weapons, seemed at first like the music of a mere farce. his shot, said observers, would be as a hail of peas to the gunners in the great fort. that the gunners took the same view was proved by their action. they continued to concentrate all their fire upon the three warships which were troub- ling them. as for that toy-boat which menaced [ ] the bombardment of alexandria them, they regarded it as a fine stimulant to laughter. it is not recorded how soon these laughter- loving gentlemen changed their opinion. cer- tain is it that three of their guns were disabled, and that many of them must have paid the pen- alty of their humor when at last they awoke to the situation, and concentrated all their fire upon the wasp whose sting they had felt so sharply. shell after shell then hissed over the plucky little ship. one struck her heavily, but not in a vital line. shot seemed to rain near her decks, and still she stuck to her work, while other gunboats came to her assistance, and the bittern, the beacon, the decoy, and the cygnet were all barking merrily. soon the fire from marabout began to slacken. the telling shoot- ing from the invincible, whose huge shells went home every time, coupled to the merry attack of the gunboats, finished the work. the ad- miral signalled, “well done, condor.” cheer after cheer rang over the waters. the inflexible took up the cry. the fleet declared that a deed of surpassing bravery had been done that day. the hour of action is not the fitting hour to meditate upon individual deeds, and the atten- tion of jack was soon called from the condor to new scenes. it was plain to him that the hours of “horrible pasha” were numbered in alexan- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century dria. marabout was done with; the guns of the mex forts were so far silenced at one o’clock that a force was despatched to land and, if possible, finish the business speedily. so great was the impatience of its members to get ashore, that major tullock sprang from the launch and swam to the outworks. but the egyptian sol- diers made no reply: a fact for which no one has accounted satisfactorily to this day. while our men expected every moment to hear the hiss of their bullets, or to see them sweeping to the charge, not a sound was raised nor a uniform discerned. dexterously and quickly the two ten-inch guns were burst and the others spiked. a shot from the invincible had already destroyed the powder magazine, and half-past two had not come when mex was done with. from that hour until half-past four, when the career of “horrible pasha” in alexandria was practically closed, the account of the bombard- ment is chiefly an account of the silencing of fort ada and of the pharos. to the inflexible was given the greater part of the latter task, and right well did she acquit herself. the shells from her eighty-ton guns thundered upon the doomed town like a visitation from the heavens. earth and mortar and débris rose in blinding clouds. the neighboring buildings suffered heavily; even the english consulate was threat- [ ] the bombardment of alexandria ened. anon, a terrific explosion spoke of the wrecking of her powder magazine. two hun- dred men, an authority computed, were killed by that single discharge. the superb, the sul- tan, and the alexandra, helping the end, rained great shot upon the rapidly succumbing forts. when two bells in the first dog-watch was struck, the voice of arabi was no longer to be heard. the admiral caused the “cease fire” to be sig- nalled. the bombardment of alexandria was a victorious fact. we can well imagine in what spirits jack turned into his bunk that night. to say that he was excited is to use a commonplace where a commonplace will not suffice. few in that fleet had seen a shot fired in earnest from a great battleship. few had been permitted to witness a beaten and cowed city in the first hours of its destruction. when jack turned in, flames were still to be seen in the european quarters of the town. like beacons of the defeated, they flared up at many points, kindled as much by the loot- ers, whom arabi had left as his legacy, as by the shells which the british guns had dropped. while they burned, and after the question, “what of to-morrow?” jack fell to discussing to-day. already it was whispered that the fleet had lost only ten men. two were killed upon the sultan, which had been hit no less than [ ) famous battles of the xixth century twenty-three times. the alexandra, which had fourteen shells in her, had lost one man. the superb and the inflexible each mourned one brave fellow. of wounded there were twenty- seven: the unfortunate sultan nursing seven of these, the invincible six, the alexandra three, the inflexible two, the superb one. to the list of dead, unhappily, there was added subsequently the name of lieutenant jackson, who was struck and mortally wounded by the same shell which killed the carpenter of the inflexible. but, viewed in any light, the loss was amaz- ingly small. granted that the gunners of arabi were unworthy of the officers who led them so gallantly, none the less did it seem miraculous that the ships should face the fire of some hun- dreds of guns for ten hours, and that three of them should not have a dead man to show. the little condor had no casualty of any sort. the crews of the other gunboats were without a scratch. jack told his mates this, and his jubi- lation was unbounded. nor could he forget that rewards were ripe for plucking. the name of lord charles was upon many tongues. mid- shipman hardy was a hero of the night. major tullock's plucky swim through the surf before fort marabout, the daring of his comrades when spiking the guns, were things to tell and tell again. it was good to hear that gunner hard- [ ] - the bombardment of alexandria ing, of the alexandra, had picked up a live shell from his main deck and soused it in water with the coolness of a man rinsing a rag. none knew at that time that arabi had withdrawn his forces and retired upon rosetta. “the morning gun will be a signal for resumption,” said jack. in which hope he lay down at last upon a night to be forever memorable among the nights which he would live. - on the morning of the th an early observa- tion made it clear that the survivors of arabi’s force had not been altogether idle during the night. fort moncrieff, whose two barbette guns, mounted on the moncrieff system, had offered such a stubborn and lasting resistance to the fire of the alexandra, the superb, and the sultan, obviously had been repaired. else- where, however, there was no sign either of activity or of truce; and when this was plain, the inflexible and téméraire opened fire again, their first three shots practically laying low all that arabi's men had done in the night. with these shots the whole work of the morning ended. a white flag, displayed upon ras-el-tin, caused the admiral to signal the “cease firing” almost with the echo of the first gun. for the rest of the day the men lay idle, while in alexandria herself awful scenes of massacre and of pillage were being prepared for. nearly the last act of [ ) famous battles of the xixth century arabi had been to let loose his so-called bed- ouins — in reality cut-throats and robbers of the finest brand. when night fell on the th, these men were already busy. how many christians they slaughtered in the streets, what was the sum total of their pillage, will never be known. all that could be surmised was the story of the leaping flames which rose up in clouds of lurid fire from every quarter of the city. alexandria was burning — destroyed by those who had boasted of their desire to become a nation and to save their country. throughout the night the nameless horrors were at their zenith. the tremendous holo- caust lighted the devils at their work of murder and of pillage. how many defenceless men cried for mercy and were not answered, how many were stabbed or ripped open and shot, history will never tell us. we can only imagine the scene so full of terror and of dread. no sack of modern times is to be named with this sack of the city of the ptolemies. during two days the riot, the incendiarism, and the murder were unchecked. lack of instruction held the admiral's hand. for forty-eight hours he felt it impossible to send help to the hunted chris- tians, whose brothers' blood was running red in the alleys and in the squares. when, at last, a landing was effected, and an heroic attempt was [ ] the bombardment of alexandria made to grapple with the situation, alexandria was no more. empty, rocking shells marked the spot where houses had been; smouldering heaps of cinders stood for churches and for cafés. in the european quarter there was hardly a building which had not some scar to show. the french consulate was a heap of ruins. in the rue chérif pasha, only the anglo-egyp- tian bank stood up. so great a space had been cleared by fire around the statue of mehemet ali that those most familiar with the center could not tell where they were. ras-el-tin had been looted with a fine appreciation of finish. in the rosetta road the very pavements were littered with the broken clock-cases, the remnants of jewel-boxes, the splinters of the plunder and the loot. an early examination of the forts — one of the first tasks of the men — spoke of a success for british guns beyond any which had been looked for. jack heard with wonder that every engineer or gunner in the service of arabi had been killed. the famed pharos fort was a heap of ruins woful to see. the great tower had be- come a crumbling mass of ruins; of the hundred weapons of all sizes not one had escaped. two great twelve-ton guns had been so shelled that they stood straight up on end, their muzzles pointing to the sky. the gunners of the in- vincible had received orders to respect a tomb [ ] famous battles of the xixth century rising up in the center of marabout. when the english entered the fort they found the sar- cophagus absolutely unharmed, though shell had fallen all around it and the environing district was appalling. in fort ada there was the cus- tomary cat yawning and prowling as though inexpressibly bored by the whole thing. [ vii kassassin and tel-el-kebir by charles lowe rabi pasha and his rebellious ambi- a. tion were the cause of the british cam- paign in the battle of tel-el-kebir—a word which simply means “the large village.” arabi was of low origin, but had risen by his ability and force of character to be a very popu- lar colonel in the egyptian army of the sultan of turkey's viceroy, or khedive, tewfik. he was an ardent advocate of the policy of “egypt for the egyptians”; but in the championship of this policy he forgot that, amongst other coun- tries, england had immense interests at stake in egypt, not only as the holder of about four millions sterling of suez canal stock, but also as the mistress of india, to which the canal formed a commercial and military route. his defeat at alexandria, far from breaking the power and pride of arabi, had the effect only of deepening his hatred of the english, and he retired into the interior with the view of organ- izing further opposition. he had thrown down the gauntlet, and england could not refuse to pick it up. as the fleet could not sail up the [ ] - famous battles of the xixth century nile to cairo, it was necessary to equip and send out an army which should land in egypt, seek out arabi wherever he was to be found, and make an end, once and forever, of him and his rebellious force. this army was entrusted to the command of sir garnet (afterwards vis- count) wolseley, who had already distinguished himself in so many of “little wars” that he was facetiously termed by the british “our only general.” before leaving england he laid his hand, with remarkable foresight, upon the map, and, point- ing to tel-el-kebir, said that he would engage and beat the army of arabi there, about the th of september; and he kept his word to the very letter. to accomplish this task, england at once be- gan to bring together in egypt an army — or army corps — of about forty thousand men. some came from the garrisons in the mediter- ranean — malta, cyprus, and gibraltar — others were brought from india, and the re- mainder sent out straight from england. being gathered, as it was, from so many dif- ferent sources, this huge force could not, of course, all land at once; but the marvel was that its component parts reached the trysting-ground in egypt so soon as they did, and it was ad- mitted on all hands that no other nation in the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century well aware of the importance of this position for the british, the egyptians made several at- tempts to drive them out of it and back to ismailia before reinforcements could reach them; but each time they recoiled from the enterprise with the bitter conviction that british bullets and sabers were things on which no one could reasonably hope to whet his teeth and thrive. two main actions were fought at kassassin — though these formed the mere prelude, so to speak, to the grand spectacular drama that was presently to be enacted at tel-el-kebir. the chief of these preliminary actions, fought on the th of august, will always be memorable for the grand cavalry charge which closed it. early in the morning general graham had be- come aware that the egyptians were making preparations to attack him from a circle of sand- hills which formed a kind of amphitheater around kassassin. graham's force was by no means a large one, but it was impossible for the egyptians to make out how strong it really was, and it is always half the battle to be able to con- ceal your plans and numbers from the enemy. a few days previously arabi had sent out his second-in-command, mahmoud fehmi pasha, a great engineer and reader of military signs, to discover the strength and dispositions of gra- ham, but by a curious accident he fell into the [ ] kassassin and tel-el-kebir hands of the english and never returned to his own side. to this capture arabi himself after- wards attributed the sole blame of his not having been able to oust the audacious english from their advanced post at kassassin — and the in- cident will show how very important it must always be in warfare to seize and detain spies. graham's force at kassassin was not a large one (under two thousand). drury lowe's cav- alry brigade was stationed some miles to the rear at mehsameh, and graham heliographed to them to come and help him on his right flank in the impending battle. come they did with right good will, for they were all burning for a fight, but only to hear that the egyptians, after using their guns for some time, had apparently retired again behind their sand-hills; so back they went to mehsameh and off-saddled again. ! the heat was terrific, and water from the canal had to be poured on the heads of the english artillerymen to enable them to stick to their guns. sunstrokes were numerous, but the men bore all their sufferings with a fortitude truly heroic. the scorching heat was probably the reason why the egyptians had drawn off from their first attack on kassassin, but towards the cool of the evening they again began to push forward from their sand-hills and threaten the british position. the left of this position was well [ ] famous battles of the xixth century protected, but the right less so; and, indeed, general graham expressly made such a dis- position of his force on the latter flank as might tempt the enemy down from his sand-hills so as to essay a turning movement, when they would be caught in the trap which he was preparing for them. to this end, about . p.m., he despatched his aide-de-camp, lieutenant pirie, fourth dragoon guards, with a message to drury lowe, in the rear, at mehsameh, or wherever he should be found, “to take the cavalry round by our right, under cover of the hill, and attack the left flank of the enemy's skirmishers.” but when lieutenant pirie did at last reach lowe, after a long and fatiguing ride through the arid desert sand — in the course of which his horse fell under him from sheer exhaustion and he had to borrow another mount from a gun- team — he delivered his message in this altered form, that “general graham was only just able to hold his own, and wished general drury lowe to attack the left of the enemy's infantry skir- mishers.” the famous cavalry charge at bala- clava had been due to a similar mistake in the delivery of a verbal order, though at kassassin, as it turned out, the repetition of this mistake did not result in disaster, but in victory. so far was graham from not being able to hold his [ ] kassassin and tel-el-kebir own that, about two hours after despatching lieutenant pirie for the cavalry, he had ordered a counter-attack and a general advance of his line, which had meanwhile been reinforced by a fresh battery, for his other guns had been obliged to retire out of action, owing to want of ammuni- tion, it having been found impossible to drag the battery carts through the deep and yielding sand. it was while graham was engaged in this general advance that at last drury lowe arrived upon the scene with his cavalry. the sun had now set, but a bright moon was shining, and the flashes from the horse artillery and infantry afforded some guide for the movement of the british horsemen, which was directed towards the evening star — the only landmarks in the nocturnal desert. suddenly the cavalry came in sight of the extreme left of the egyptians, and was at once exposed to a heavy fire. “shells screamed and shrapnel bullets tore up the road on either side.” rushing to the front, the guns of the horse artillery attached to the cavalry brigade unlimbered and belched out several rounds of shell on the egyptian masses. then the front of these british guns was rapidly cleared and drury lowe gave the household cavalry the order to charge. led on by colonel ewart, away with a wild [ ] famous battles of the xixth century cheer went the three ponderous squadrons of | clanking giants straight at the egyptian bat- talions, which in a few more moments had been trampled and sabered into positive annihilation. “now we have them!” sir baker russell had cried out to the men; “trot — gallop — charge!” sir baker's own horse was shot under him, but he caught another, and was soon again in the thick of the fray. many were the feats of per- sonal adventure in connection with this glorious charge. some of the troopers were killed, some lost themselves in the darkness and were taken prisoners, happy to escape the barbarous mutila- tions that were perpetrated by the egyptians on the british dead and wounded. the cavalry charge at kassassin was a splen- did feat of arms, but it somehow or other became the subject of as curious a myth as that which gathered round the sinking of the vengeur on the “glorious st of june.” at balaclava the light brigade had ridden down upon the rus- sian guns, and nothing would content the chron- iclers of kassassin but the performance of a sim- ilar act of glory. the illustrated papers of the day which had artists in egypt gave stirring pic- tures of the life guardsmen dashing through the smoke of the egyptian batteries, slashing and thrusting at the gunners as they crouched for shelter beneath their pieces. but this was [ ] kassassin and tel-el-kebir pure imagination. if commanded to do so the life guards would have charged into the very “mouth of hell,” not to speak of egyptian guns. but what they were ordered to “go for” was the egyptian infantry, which was considerably in front of its guns, and these had limbered up and retired from action, rendering it impossible for the victorious troopers to see and capture them in the darkness. but the day had been won all the same. a few days later, on the th of september, an- other attack of the egyptians on kassassin was beaten off in the most brilliant manner, the thir- teenth bengal lancers, in their picturesque tur- bans, especially distinguishing themselves; and there were many who thought that sir garnet wolseley ought to have rushed the not far-dis- tant entrenchments of tel-el-kebir there and then. but though this might certainly have been done, there were certain weighty reasons of military policy against the step. for a com- mander must not be too much of a hotspur, but think of ulterior aims as well as of present op- portunities. it is the man who can bide his time that will ultimately win. foiled in their repeated attempts to bar the british advance, arabi and his egyptians now finally withdrew behind the entrenched lines of tel-el-kebir, there to stand on the defensive [ ] famous battles of the xixth century and await attack. these formidable lines, which ran along a ridge of rising ground, pre- sented a front of about four miles long, and had been constructed according to the most advanced principles of military engineering. the egyp- tians are great hands at the spade, being con- stantly employed in the throwing up of water- dams and the like, and many thousands of will- ing hands had been at the disposal of arabi in the task of raising his famous line of earthworks. how many men of all kinds — egyptians, nu- bians, bedouins, etc. — arabi had behind the shelter of these parapets sir garnet wolseley did not exactly know, but concluded that the number could not be far short of twenty-two thousand. on the other hand, the english commander had now with him about seventeen thousand officers and men, with sixty-seven guns, where- with to crack the nut that was presented by arabi’s entrenchments, and these sir garnet re- solved to storm at the hour when darkness was beginning to glide into dawn — for the reasons that at this cool hour his troops would naturally fight much better than under the roasting rays of the sun, that they would be less exposed to the enemy's fire in the faint light, and that they would also profit by the demoralization which invariably seizes upon soldiers when set upon [ ] kassassin and tel-el-kebir unawares. but, to make the surprise complete, it was necessary that the very utmost care should be taken to give no indication to the watchful egyptians behind the earthworks of the stealthy approach of their british foes. when ranked into line, the storming columns were to advance — not to the word of command, but by the mere guidance of the stars, like so many ships at sea. not a pipe was to be lit, not a whisper heard in the ranks. the night (september – ) was more than usually dark, and it was some time before the troops could be placed in the positions assigned them. - arabi and his men fondly believed that all this british force was sleeping the sleep of wea- ried soldiers at kassassin and other points be- tween that place and the suez canal. as a matter of fact, it was marshaling itself in line of battle array on an elevation called ninth hill, about five and a half miles from arabi's lines, from which it remained hidden by the impene- trable curtain of night. some of the regiments — notably the highlanders — had but a few hours before hurried up to the front from is- mailia; though wearied by the long and strenu- ous march, they were all eager to be led on to the fight without further delay. until the hour of starting, all the men stretched themselves on [ ] famous battles of the xixth century the sand to snatch what brief and hurried sleep they could. from previous experience it was reckoned that the actual progress over the desert, with its darkness and other difficulties, would be about one mile per hour — just think of that! — so that by starting at . a.m., sir garnet cal- culated to reach the enemy's works just before the first gleam of dawn — so nicely was every- thing planned beforehand. “the long sojourn at ninth hill,” wrote gen- eral hamley, “while waiting for the moment to advance, was of a somber kind: we sat in silence on our horses or on the sand, while comrades moving about appeared as black figures coming out of the darkness, unrecognizable except by their voices. a skirmish had taken place some days before near this spot, in which men and horses were slain, and tokens of it were wafted to us on the breeze.” once there was a false alarm on the right, and the prostrate men sprang to their feet; but it turned out to be only a body of british cavalry moving across the front of the line. at last, in the lowest undertone, word was passed along all the line to advance, and soon nothing was heard but the “swish-swish” of the battalions footing it warily across the sand as if it had been snow — silence otherwise and dark- ness around and above, with the stars shining [ ] kassassin and tel-el-kebir down as they had done in the time of the pha- raohs and the long dynasties of egyptian kings lying entombed in the pyramids. well might the british troops have been impressed with the suspense of the moment and the awful solemnity of the scene. directing poles had been pre- viously fixed in the sand by the engineers, but they proved of little or no use, the only effective finger-posts being the everlasting stars, and even these were now and then obscured by clouds. sometimes the mounted men of the head- quarters' staff, moving up to the columns with whispered instructions, were mistaken for prying bedouins; but silence and discipline were won- derfully well preserved, and forward, ever for- ward, moved the invisible and barely audible masses of fighting men. once the highland brigade lay down to rest for twenty minutes, and this was the occasion of some confusion which was like to have ended in a calamity. for the order thus given in the center of the highland line did not reach the outer flanks, by reason of its being so cautiously passed from mouth to mouth, till some time after, the con- sequence being that as the flanks continued to step out, while maintaining touch with the re- cumbent center, those flanks lost their direction and circled round in such a manner that the brigade finally halted in a crescent-shaped - [ ] famous battles of the xixth century formation, with the right and left almost con- fronting each other; and but for the intelligence and efforts of the officers, these opposing flanks, mistaking each other for enemies, might have come to actual blows. with great difficulty the proper march-direc- tion was restored, and on again swept — or, rather, crept — the whole line, like thieves in the night. weird and ghostly was the effect of the dim streaks, looking like shadows of moving clouds, but which were really lines of men steal- ing over the desert. all these men knew that they were forbidden to fire a single shot until within the egyptian lines, and that these were to be carried with a cheer and a rush at the point of the bayonet; so that they almost held their breath with eagerness, and plodded ever on like phantoms of the desert — silent, resolute, and prepared. for nearly five hours they had thus advanced, and then they knew that the supreme moment must now be near. nearer, indeed, than they fancied! for, to use again the words of general hamley, who was rid- ing behind his highlanders:“just as the paling of the stars showed dawn to be near, but while it was still as dark as ever, a few scattered shots were fired in our front, probably from some sentries, or small pickets, outside the enemy's lines. no no- tice was taken of this, though one of the shots [ ] kassassin and tel-el-kebir killed a highlander; the movement was un- changed, and then a single bugle sounded within the enemy's lines. these were most welcome sounds, assuring us that we should close with the foe before daylight, which just before seemed very doubtful. yet a minute or two of dead silence elapsed after the egyptian bugle was blown, and then the whole extent of entrench- ment in our front, hitherto unseen and unknown, poured forth a stream of rifle fire. then, for the first time that night, i could really be said to see my men, lighted by the flashes. the dim phantom lines which i had been looking on all night suddenly woke to life as our bugles sounded the charge, and, responding with lusty, continued cheers, and without a moment's pause or hesitation, the ranks sprang forward in steady array.” it was as if the footlights of the rebel pasha's long-extended stage had suddenly flashed out with blinding flame; and now the vast and sol- emn theatre of the desert, which a moment be- fore had been wrapped in the deepest silence and darkness, grew luminous with lurid jets of fire and resonant with the deafening rattle of egyptian musketry and the roar of guns — a transformation scene as sudden as it was impres- sive. never had british soldiers been actors on such a grandly picturesque stage. but do [ ] famous battles of the xixth century you suppose that these soldiers returned the volleys rained on them by the remingtons of arabi's men? not a bit of it. not a single shot was fired; but bayonets were fixed, and away like an avalanche dashed the redcoats on the foe. their distance from the blazing line of entrenchment was deemed to be about one hundred and fifty yards, and in the interval nearly two hundred men went down, the seventy-fourth (highland light infantry) on the left losing five officers and sixty men before it got to the ditch. this was six feet wide and four feet deep, and beyond was a parapet ten feet high from the bottom. the first man to mount this parapet was private donald cameron, of the cameron highlanders, a brave young soldier from the braes of athol; but he at once fell back among his struggling comrades with a bullet through his brain, dying the noblest of all deaths. little wonder that, on passing the seventy-ninth after the battle, general alison exclaimed, “well done, the cameron men! scotland will be proud of this day's work!” it so happened that in the darkness the high- land brigade, which formed the left of the at- tack, had got considerably in front of the rest of the line, so that it was the first, so to speak, to break its bayonet-teeth on arabi's entrench- ments; and the seizure of these works for the [ ] kassassin and tel-el-kebir first ten minutes to a quarter of an hour of the fight was the history of the advance of the kilted warriors from the north. they had not fought better even at fontenoy, quebec, and quatre bras; nor were their present foes to be despised, seeing they were allowed by all to have borne the charge with a discipline and a desperation worthy of the best troops. “i never saw men fight more steadily,” said sir a. alison. “five or six times we had to close on them with the bayonet, and i saw those poor men fighting hard when their officers were flying before us. all this time, too, it was a goodly sight to see the cameron and gordon highlanders — mingled together as they were in the stream of the fight, their young officers leading in front, waving their swords above their heads — their pipes playing, and the men rushing on with that proud smile on their lips which you never see in sol- diers save in the moment of successful battle.” when the black watch had reached the crest of the works, and were being re-formed to attack some other guns in the interior entrenchments, a battery of the newly formed scottish division of the royal artillery swept past them, shouting out “scotland forever!” as the greys and the highlanders had done on the ensanguined slopes of waterloo. here the black watch had to mourn the death of sergeant-major macneill, [ ] famous battles of the xixth century who fell pierced by three bullets after laying low . six of the enemy with his good claymore. the irish soldiers too did their fair share of the fight- ing. the royal irish on the extreme right, with a wild yell, and all the splendid valor of their nation, went straight as a dart at their par- ticular portion of arabi's works, carrying them with the bayonet, and turning the flank of his position. all along the line the engagement now be- came general, the men plying butt and bayonet upon the egyptians, who fell in scores — in swarms. at the bastions stormed by the high- land brigade the enemy lay in hundreds. on the other hand, the total losses of the british army at tel-el-kebir amounted to three hundred and thirty-nine, of which two hundred and forty- three occurred in the highland brigade, leaving ninety-six to represent the losses of the rest of the force. under the queen's soldier-son the guards were in the second line as a reserve, but so quickly and successfully had the works been stormed that they were not required to fire a shot. some, however, were wounded (father bellew, their roman catholic chaplain, and colonel sterling amongst others), for arabi's men shot high, sometimes over the heads of the attacking party. on the other side of the canal, [ ] carrying the bastions with the bayonet p. , viii general gordon. the tragedy of khartoum january – february , by charles lowe ernment resolved on despatching a military expedition, under lord wolseley, to relieve and rescue general charles gordon — the bay- ard of the nineteenth century — and the egyp- tian garrison of khartoum, which was besieged by the mahdi, or false prophet of the soudan, with twenty thousand of his fiercest warriors. after incredible exertions in ascending the nile and struggling with the difficulties and dan- gers of the “cataracts,” this expedition at last reached korti about the end of the year, where intelligence reached it of the pressing peril of the gallant gordon and his garrison. the expe- dition was then divided into two forces — one, under general earle, called the river column, which was detached to occupy berber, and on the way inflict condign punishment upon the monassir tribe for the treacherous murder of i. the autumn of , the gladstone gov- [ ] five minutes desperate and bloody hand-to-hand fighting a. . col and general gordon at khartoum colonel stewart and his companions, whom gordon had previously sent down to dongola; and the other, known as the desert column, under brigadier-general sir herbert stewart, to make a bold and rapid dash across the bayuda waste of sand and scrub with intent to establish a foothold at metamneh, on the nile, whence, with the aid of gordon's steamers from khar- toum, it would ascend the river and relieve the beleaguered garrison. this desert column, composed of picked men from all the élite regiments of the british army, with a superb detachment of bluejackets, yet aggregating less than two thousand combatants, mounted on camels, pushed across the parched bayuda desert, and covered itself with glory by vanquishing all its foes: hunger, thirst, sleepless- ness, and, worse than all, the fanatical spearmen of the mahdi; at abu-klea ( th of january), when marching in square fifteen hundred strong, it was suddenly set upon, as a lighthouse rock is assailed by raging seas, by a roaring flood of more than five thousand death-despising sav- ages; and after only about five minutes' desperate and bloody hand-to-hand fighting, in the course of which it lost the heroic colonel fred burnaby and one hundred sixty-eight officers and men killed and wounded — being all but submerged [ ) famous battles of the xixth century in this human deluge of the desert — it at last raised a rousing cheer in token of victory. we have not space to tell of the further diffi- culties of the march: the incidents of the zareba, or extemporized fortalice, near abu-kru, in- cluding the death of two war correspondents and the fatal wounding of the commander of the column; the final march of the fighting square for the river; the scattering of a second onset of mahdist warriors with a few well-directed vol- leys; and the final arrival of the square on the banks of the river, the sight of whose blessed waters was hailed by them with as much en- thusiasm as had been the distant euxine by the home-returning soldiers of xenophon after their perilous and toilsome march through the moun- tains of armenia. that night (monday, th of january, ) the flying column bivouacked as best it could on the bank of the river, sleeping as it had never slept before — all but the surgeons, who, though tired to death, were heroically unremitting in their attentions to the wounded. early next morning the men were again paraded to return to the zareba. on the way the village of gubat was burned, and at about eight o'clock, the enemy offering but little re- sistance, the entrenched position was reached once more. [ ] general gordon at khartoum while the square was on the march the day before there had been considerable fighting at the zareba, but ultimately the arabs had been compelled to give way before the fierce and well- directed fire from rifles and guns alike. break- fast was just ready when the flying column was seen returning, colonel talbot, commanding the life guards, walking as composedly in advance through the scrub as though he were returning from a review. on the column coming up it was received with befitting cheers, for it had done its work well, or “tastefully,” as was re- marked by an irishman of the royal sussex. an hour later the whole force moved away in columns of regiments from the zareba, taking as much of the stores as possible, and leaving be- hind a guard of fifty men. five-and-twenty wounded soldiers had to be carried on hand- stretchers, for hundreds of camels had been lost. the enemy dared not again to attack the force, which reached the river village of abu-kru by nightfall. the wounded were placed under cover in the huts, and the outlying houses were loopholed for defence, whilst the troops settled down for the night on the ground outside. hitherto the arabs had given no sign, but now their fire was drawn by the daring mr. bennett burleigh, of the daily telegraph, who had rid- den on towards a point where, with the true in- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century stinct of the war-correspondent, he had sus- pected a possible source of interest. the troops now advanced in square in case of a sudden rush of spearmen, and the enemy opened a brisk fire from loopholed walls. occasionally the square halted, and the men lay down whilst skirmishers were sent out to reply to the fire of the enemy; while sir charles tried his guns, though they produced no effect on the mud walls, the shells going as clean through them as revolver bullets through a target of cardboard. presently, however, barrow sent to say that he could see some large flags in the rear, and that he was certain they were on steamers, and the ubiquitous burleigh rode off to meet them. sir c. wilson also sent stuart-wortley to com- municate with them, and, to the exceeding joy of all, they turned out to be four vessels which gordon had sent down from khartoum to co- operate with his relievers. “the steamers,” wrote mr. burleigh, “were a curious sight. three of them were about the size of large river-steamers, and the fourth was even smaller than a thames penny-boat. the hulls of all four were of iron; the sides and the bridge were boarded up like a london street bill-boarding. in place of their pine boards however, there were heavy sunt-wood timbers, two or three inches thick, and as impervious to [ ] general gordon at khartoum rifle bullets as steel plates. in the forward part of each vessel a raised wooden fort had been built, the inside plated with old boiler iron. projecting through a port-hole, closed against bullets by an iron plate when necessary, was a short brass-rifled gun four inches in bore, such as are used by the egyptian army. on the main deck another gun was placed. gordon must have lavished hours and days of hard labor to get the material together for making these four steamers into iron or wooden-clads so strong that they could safely run the gauntlet of the rebel cannon and rifle fire.” meanwhile sir c. wilson had withdrawn his force to a village fronting the west side of me- tamneh — first north, then south, then west; and no sooner had he begun this retiring move- ment than the enemy opened on him from an advanced battery with blind shell, though luckily only one came into the square. “i heard the rush of the shot through the air,” he said, “and then a heavy thud behind me. i thought at first it had gone into the field-hospital, but on looking round found it had carried away the lower jaw of one of the artillery camels, and then buried itself in the ground. the poor brute walked on as if nothing had happened, and carried its load to the end of the day.” the sudden appearance of the steamers had [ ] famous battles of the xixth century produced quite a stage effect; and the black troops on board, hastening to disembark and eager for the fray, were lustily cheered by tommy atkins, who was not in a particularly pleasant frame of mind at having thus been made to pass the morning hours in imitation of the storied king of france and his thirty thousand men. the swarthy soudanese, who behaved like per- fect children in their joy at the prospect of their being able to show a thing or two to tommy atkins, came on as keen as possible, and ran four guns into action at once. “being sent to their guns with orders,” said lieutenant douglas dawson, of the coldstreams, “i stayed with them for half an hour, while they made some first-rate practice on the town, and though the gun-fire drew down the bullets pretty thick, they didn't appear to mind a bit. it seemed extraor- dinary what good troops the master mind of gordon had made out of such rough material. never have i seen men so pleased as they were at meeting us. gordon's name mentioned was like that of a god whom they worshiped. it was even difficult for these enthusiastic allies to re- tire, as we explained to them that we did not in- tend for the present to attack the town.” for, alas! that was the conclusion to which sir c. wilson had now been forced by a calm survey of all the circumstances of the situation. [ ] general gordon at khartoum lord cochrane, of the second life guards, pleaded very hard for leave to storm the town, and, under cover of the smoke from the wind- ward side, drive the arabs into the river, but sir charles did not think the result would justify the risk. boscawen managed the withdrawal cleverly and well, without confusion or hurry, and always giving the enemy a chance to attack if they wished. shortly before the withdrawal began, poé, of the marines, received a dreadful wound in the thigh, necessitating amputation very high up. ever since leaving korti he had worn a red coat, almost the only one in the force, and this had made him too conspicuous to the marksmen of the enemy. he was shot while standing up in the open talking to his men, who were lying down. by the time the force had returned to abu- kru its involuted line of march resembled as nearly as possible the figure eight. the in- tended attack of sir c. wilson on metamneh had resolved itself into a mere reconnaissance in force; and he himself admitted that the moral effect of this was bad, giving the enemy fresh heart. but he was not without his substantial reasons for what he had done. by death and wounds the effective force at his disposal had already been decimated, and he could therefore ill afford to risk the further diminution of his [ ] famous battles of the xixth century combative strength, the less so as he now had reason to fear that bodies of the arabs were ad- vancing against him from khartoum as well as shendy – north and south. besides, even if he had taken metamneh, he estimated that the force at his disposal, after deduction of the loss in storming, would be insufficient to hold it against all comers. for these and other rea- sons he decided not to press the attack. but, after all, he had established himself on the nile with gordon's steamers at his service, and that was the main thing. these steamers had brought down with them gordon's diaries up to the th of december (it was now the st of january), together with a note in the beleaguered hero's own handwriting, dated th of december: “khartoum — all right; can hold out for years.” where, then, was the hurry? ah, but there was another letter from gordon to a private friend, watson, dated th of december (the date of the last entry in his diary), in which he said he expected a crisis within the next ten days, or about christmas day! and now it was nearly a month after christmas! gracious heavens! was this not enough to fill the relieving force with the keenest apprehension, and rouse to the very utmost all the energies of its commander p gordon's “khartoum — all right” note was evidently a [ ] general gordon at khartoum blind: the real stress of his position was con- veyed in his private letters; and thus, rightly discerning the situation, sir c. wilson resolved “to carry out the original program and go up to khartoum.” at once no, various circumstances seemed to render this impossible, and, indeed, unneces- sary. to begin with, a rumor had reached sir c. wilson that a hostile force was approaching from the south, and it therefore behooved him — so he thought — to descend the nile in one of gordon's steamers and inquire into the truth of this report, “i would not leave the small force in its position on the nile without ascertaining whether it was likely to be attacked.” more- over, in spite of gordon's gloomy forebodings, sir c. wilson knew that, although omdurman — on the left bank of the white nile over against khartoum — had fallen, khartoum itself was still holding out; while he also calculated that the besieging pressure on the town would be re- lieved by the large number of men detached by the mahdi to meet the english, and that news of their victories would be sure to have pene- trated into khartoum and given fresh heart to gordon and his garrison. in wilson's opinion there was nothing to show — and he questioned the commanders of the steamers carefully — that the crisis at khar- [ ] general gordon at khartoum shell screaming and crashing into mud-built shendy. the bolder spirits of the party had pleaded hard with wilson for leave to land and storm the place outright; but again, as at me- tamneh, the combative impulses of these fiery hotspurs were repressed by the just and cau- tious reasonings of their sagacious commander. thus, then, passed thursday, the d. be- fore leaving the steamer by which he had gone down to shendy, wilson ordered preparations to be made for a start to khartoum next day — the d. but, alas! unexpected difficulties again cropped up, rendering it impossible for the two selected steamers to be got under weigh. for it was found that the engines had to be over- hauled, wood had to be collected as fuel, rations drawn for the crews, pilots selected for the cat- aracts; and, above all things, those crews had to be assorted in conformity with the express in- struction of general gordon, who insisted strongly on our taking actual command of the steamers, and removing from them all pashas, beys, and men of turkish or egyptian origin, whom he describes as “hens.” “so the hours slipped by,” said sir c. wilson, “and we failed to make a start” (on the d). nor was it till eight o'clock on the following morning (saturday, the th) that the two steamers at last began to churn the waters of [ ] famous battles of the xixth century the nile and head for khartoum, amid the part- ing cheers of the lads they left behind them. these vessels were the bordein and the telaha- wiyeh. on board the former were sir c. wil- son, accompanied by khashm-el-mus, captain gascoigne, ten men of the royal sussex, one petty officer, one artificer r.n., and one hundred ten soudanese troops, the “hens” having all been weeded out. the telehawiyeh carried abd-el-hamid, captain trafford, and ten men of the royal sussex, including a signaller, lieu- tenant stuart-wortley, one artificer r.n., and eighty soudanese troops; but she also had in tow a nugger laden with dhura (grain) for the fam- ished garrison of khartoum, and fifty additional soudanese soldiers. it had been originally intended to send fifty men of the royal sussex up to khartoum, but sir c. wilson did not feel justified in taking with him an escort of more than twenty. happy fellows, to be thus chosen for such an honorable and risky enterprise, and greatly envied by the war-correspondents, who, for all their hard pleading, were not allowed to share their peril. lord wolseley had particularly wished the escort to enter khartoum in red coats, and these had been sent to the front. but somehow or other they had been lost or looted; so a call had to be made for scarlet tunics, and a sufficient number [ ] general gordon at khartoum. were raised from the guards or the heavies, though these hung rather loosely on the less massive frames of the men of sussex. “now, what was it we were going to do?” wrote wilson. “we were going to fight our way up the river and into khartoum in two steamers of the size of penny-boats on the thames, which a single well-directed shell would send to the bottom; with crews and soldiers ab- solutely without discipline, with twenty english soldiers, with no surgeon — not even a dresser — and with only one interpreter, muhammed ibrahim, still suffering from a flesh wound in his side.” the filth in the steamers was something in- describable, the stench which rose up from the holds overpowering, and the rats countless and ubiquitous, no place or person being too sacred for them. with such a motley crew, moreover, the noise on board was sometimes deafening, and king kurbash had frequently to assert his sway. the top of the deck-house or saloon in either boat was assigned to the ten sussex men, with their arms and ammunition, kits and food, who were thus in a kind of citadel which could command the whole ship in case of a mutiny or anything going wrong. all kinds of botheration occurred to impede the progress of the steamers. for they were [ ] general gordon at khartoum steamers — until, on the afternoon of the th, a native on the left bank hailed the bordein, shout- ing out that a camel-man had just passed down with the news that khartoum was at last taken, and gordon killed. incredible! so much so, that “we dined together in high spirits at the prospect of running the blockade next day and at last meeting general gordon after his famous siege,”—a siege which had lasted for three hun- dred seventeen days, or only nine days less than that of sebastopol.” starting at a.m. on the th, the steamers had advanced to a point whence the towers of khartoum could at last be descried in the far distance — wortley and his signaller with the heliograph now getting ready to try and attract gordon's attention! — when another shagiyeh shouted out from the bank that khartoum had been taken, and gordon had been killed two days before. soon afterwards a heavy fire was opened on *on the th of december gordon had written in his diary: “we are only short of the duration of the siege of sebastopol fifty-seven days, and we had no respite, like the russians had during the winter of – . . . . of course, it will be looked upon as very absurd to compare the two blockades, those of sebastopol and khartoum; but, if properly weighed, one was just as good as the other. the russians had money—we had none; they had skilled officers—we had none; they had no civil population—we had forty thousand; they had their route open and had news — we had neither.” [ ] general gordon at khartoum the confluence of the blue and the white niles? wilson, always in the optimist vein, thought that the island might still be in the hands of gor- don's men, who had thus begun to co-operate with the steamers. but, alas! no. drawing near to address them and ask for news, wilson was driven back into his turret by a shower of hostile bullets. mahdist riflemen those, and no mistake. º but might not khartoum itself still be holding out? forward again, and let us see! but “no sooner did we start upwards than we got into such a fire as i hope never to pass through again in a penny-steamer.” — nothing to greet the score of english redcoats but the roar of hostile guns, the continuous roll of musketry from either bank, the loud-rushing noise of krupp shells, the grunting of a nordenfeldt or a mitrailleuse — such a devils’ concert and carnival of welcome as english redcoats had not had for many a day. no flag flying in khartoum, and not a shot fired on shore in aid of the steamers. could the most eager and optimisic of wilsons fail at last to read the true significance of all that? certainly not; seeing was now believing. “i at once,” wrote wilson, “gave the order to turn and run full speed down the river. it was hope- less to attempt a landing or to communicate with the shore under such a fire. the sight at this [ ] famous battles of the xixth century moment was very grand: the masses of the enemy with their fluttering banners near khartoum; the long rows of riflemen in the shelter-trenches at omdurman; the numerous groups of men on tuti; the bursting shells, and the water torn up by hundreds of bullets and occasional heavier shot—made an impression never to be forgotten. looking out over the stormy scene, it seemed almost impossible that we should escape.” the sussex redcoats had been very steady under all this jeu d'enfer, and done much execu- tion among the ranks of the enemy. all on board had very narrow escapes from bullets and bursting of shells — wilson's field-glass, for example, being shattered in his hand; but, for- tunately, the enemy's gunners were bad shots. some of the soudanese soldiers did things which, if they had been english, would have entitled them to the victoria cross, and the sussex drum- mer picked up and threw overboard the burning fuse of a shell which had burst overhead. when the steamers got clear of the last guns, after having been under fire more or less for four hours, it was past four o'clock; and then it was, the tension of the fight being over, that all on board realized to the full the terrible nature of the situation. as for the soudanese, they were all in the depths of despair at the thought of the ruin in [ ] general gordon at khartoum which the fall of khartoum must have involved their families; and khashm-el-mus, their chief, collapsed entirely. so would wilson, too, he said, had it not been for the thought of how he was to get his steamers down the cataracts again — a much more dan- gerous business than that of bringing them up — down to abu-kru with the awful news that khartoum had fallen, and that gordon was un- doubtedly dead. sir charles had been acting as chief of the intelligence department before the command of the desert column devolved upon him by the wounding of herbert stewart, and now here he was racing down the nile on his battered penny-steamer, the bearer of these terrible tidings. the steamers continued their down-stream course until dark — the telahawiyeh had grounded but soon got free and followed her consort — when they made fast to an island south of jebel royan. from this place messen- gers, in the mahdi's uniform, were sent to ascer- tain the fate of gordon, and on their return they stated that the town had fallen on the morning of monday, the th, through the treachery of faragh pasha, that gordon himself had been killed, and the town given over to a three days' pillage. faragh pasha had originally been a black slave, whom gordon freed and entrusted [ ] famous battles of the xixth century with the command of the soudanese troops. this ungrateful scoundrel, it was said, had opened the gates and let in the roaring flood of mahdist murderers. in what particular manner gordon himself had met his doom is still subject to some little doubt. all the best evidence tended to prove that he was killed at or near the palace, where his body was subsequently seen by several wit- nesses. the only account by a person claiming to be an eye-witness relates: “on hearing the noise i got my master's donkey and went with him to the palace. we met gordon pasha at the outer door. mohamed bey mustafa, with my master, ibrahim bey rushdi, and about twenty cavasses, then went with gordon towards the house of the austrian consul hansel, near the church, when we met some rebels in an open place near the outer gate of the palace. gordon pasha was walking in front leading the party. the rebels fired a volley, and gordon was killed at once; nine of the cavasses, ibrahim bey rushdi, and mohamed bey mustafa were killed; the rest ran away.” the massacre in the town lasted some six hours, and about four thousand persons at least were killed. major kitchener, of the intelli- gence department, who made very careful inquiries into the circumstances of the fall of [ ] general charles gordon p. general gordon at khartoum khartoum, came to the conclusion that the ac- cusations of treachery were the outcome of mere supposition. in his deliberate opinion the city fell, not through the opening of the gates by faragh pasha, but from sudden assault when the garrison were too exhausted by privations to make proper resistance. if such were the case, the fact disposes completely of the reasoning of those who argued that, even if sir charles wilson had been able to start at once from metamneh in- stead of after a delay of four days, he would not have been in time to save gordon by stiffening the courage of his garrison with the presence of his redcoats, who were but the avant-couriers of more to come. but “too late! too late! by only a couple of days!” – such were the cruel, the crushing words which ever rang in the ears of wilson and his companions as they did their downhearted best, amid their disaffected and almost mutinous crews, to steer their steamers down through cataracts, sunken rocks, and sandbanks far more treacherous than faragh pasha, back to abu- kru with the woful burden of their tidings. ( ) the battle of ping-yang seoul against the chinese, but with the object of driving them out of the country and carrying the war into manchuria. a chinese force, the numbers of which were enormously exaggerated by current report, had advanced from the yalu river to ping-yang, where it had been reënforced by troops sent across the sea from taku, and by the detach- ment that yeh had saved from the lost battle near asan. ping-yang, a walled city of about twenty thousand inhabitants, was a place famous in the history of korea. it had once been the capital of the country in the days before seoul became the residence of the court. when the japanese invaded korea at the end of the six- teenth century, they had captured ping-yang, but this had marked the farthest limit of their conquests. in they had been attacked and defeated by a mixed chinese and korean army on the hilly ground about mount mok-tan, “the hill of peonies,” just outside the northern walls of the city. ping-yang stands on the right or west bank of the tatung river, a wide and deep stream which makes a deep bend and almost encloses it on three sides. the shape of the walled city is a flattened oval, the one of the longer sides lying along the river bank. at the north end the ground rises sharply to mount mok-tan, but all [ ] famous battles of the xixth century round the country is hilly. the chinese did not rely for the defence of the city on its ancient fortifications, which consisted of a high em- battled wall, with numerous gates, each crowned by a pagoda-like ornamental structure of painted and gilded woodwork. they had erected a number of square earthwork forts on and around mount mok-tan, and on the lower ground be- tween the wall and the river at the south end of the town. there was a bridge of boats across the river, and at the farther end of this they had erected another group of forts, with two ad- vanced works to watch the high road to the south and to seoul. several krupp guns, mostly of small caliber, were mounted in these new fortifications. the best troops in the force assembled for the defence of the city were thirty-five hundred partly drilled manchus under general tso. besides these, there was another corps of fifteen hundred men from moukden city, six thousand men from the province of pe-chi-li under gen- eral wei, two thousand from port arthur, and about one thousand more whom general yeh had brought from asan. on the strength of his alleged success over the japanese, yeh was given the chief command. meanwhile, the japanese army in korea had been largely reënforced. at the beginning of [ ] the battle of ping-yang the crisis a small detachment had been landed at fusan in the extreme south of the peninsula to protect the japanese trading colony in the port. on august general nodzu arrived there with the greater part of the fifth division, and next day began to march northwards to seoul, which was held by oshima's brigade. nodzu’s force could have reached the korean capital much more quickly by going by sea to chemulpo; but at this stage of the war, while the chinese fleet was still intact, it was not con- sidered advisable to send all the transports into the yellow sea. besides, it was felt that a march through southern korea would discour- age the local adherents of the chinese faction and establish japanese influence in the district. nodzu reached seoul on the th, and took over the supreme command of the japanese forces. two other small detachments were landed at gensan on the east coast. one of these pushed on to seoul. the other marched towards ping- yang to coöperate from the eastward in the coming attack on that place. oshima had sent two of his officers with a small party of cavalry northwards to reconnoitre ping-yang. these were cut off and killed to a man by a much stronger detachment of chinese sent out from the city by general yeh, who re- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century ported the incident as a great victory over a large force of the invaders. by the end of august general nodzu was ready to begin active operations against yeh and the ping-yang garrison. two roads, or rather tracks, run through the hilly country from seoul to ping-yang, one near the sea, the other farther inland through the town of sak-riong. a column of all arms under general tachimi had already been pushed forward to sak-riong by the inner road. nodzu’s plan was that ta- chimi should continue his advance by this line, while he himself with the main body marched by the other road. a third column under col- onel sato was to advance from gensan. all three columns were to be in the neighborhood of ping-yang by september . nodzu would then leave oshima to make an attack next day on the southern defences of ping-yang, while he with the main body, having crossed the tatung below the town, would attack the place from the eastward, and sato would attack from the north, assisted by tachimi, who was to cross the river above the town. he hoped that he would thus not merely get possession of ping-yang, but also capture the whole of yeh’s army. against a better organized and better trained force than that which held ping-yang this com- bined movement of several columns converging [ ] the battle of ping-yang by widely separated roads upon the fortress would have been a risky business. if yeh had been a european commander, he would have fallen upon sato's column before nodzu and tachimi were able to give it any help. but in adopting this plan the japanese commander acted on the knowledge he possessed of his op- ponent's character, and his daring acceptance of a theoretical risk was justified by the result. yeh pushed some small detachments along the roads towards seoul to delay the japanese advance, and there were consequently some un- important skirmishes in which oshima's brigade played the chief part. it occupied chung-hua on september , nodzu with the main body turning to the left at hwang-ju, ten miles far- ther south, in order to cross the tatung river near its mouth. as oshima's men approached chung-hua they found the road strewn with the oil-paper cap-covers worn by the chinese troops in wet weather. the korean peasants ex- plained that these and other minor articles of equipment had been thrown away by a chinese force, which had just retreated towards ping- yang after a night alarm, in which the various regiments in camp had fired into each other in the dark. on the th oshima's brigade came in sight of the southern forts of ping-yang, and during [ ] famous battles of the xixth century this and the next two days it did its best to mis- lead the chinese into the belief that it had the main body behind it and was preparing to rush the southern defences and force the crossing of the river just below the town. reconnaissances were pushed close up to the enemy's works, and there was some sharp skirmishing. the artil- lery opened on the forts in order to draw their fire and ascertain how they were armed, and a party of daring volunteers swam the river under fire and brought back five large junks from the other side. thus the attention of the chinese was riveted on the immediate neighborhood of ping-yang, and they knew nothing of the pas- sage of the river near its mouth by the main body. this was a tedious operation extending over three days, for the river was one thousand yards wide, its muddy banks were not easy of access, and the number of boats available was insuffi- cient for rapid transit. . the small column, advancing from sak-riong under general tachimi, crossed the tatung river some miles above ping-yang on the th, after dispersing by long-range rifle volleys a chinese detachment that tried to hold the op- posite bank. on the th tachimi's vanguard came in sight of ping-yang, but he kept his men concealed in the hills to the north of the town. colonel sato, with the gensan column, was near [ ) the battle of ping-yang at hand on tachimi's right. during his ad- vance, sato had only encountered some small cavalry detachments of the enemy. on the evening of the th the japanese forces were thus close in to ping-yang; but the chinese sys- tem of outposts was so hopelessly bad that they were only aware of the presence of oshima's brigade, which they took to be the vanguard of the main attack, coming as they expected from the south. on the night of the th, the eve of the battle, the entire force available for the attack amounted to about fourteen thousand men with forty-two guns. but on account of the long delay in the crossing of the tatung river the greater part of general nodzu's column was so far away that it could not hope to come into action till late on the th, the day originally fixed for the attack. on the afternoon of september nodzu sent orders to oshima to continue to engage the ene- my's attention during the following day, but to postpone the real attack till the th. unfor- tunately there were no means of communicating this counter-order to sato and tachimi. though they were so close at hand, connection had not been established with them either by messengers or signalers. the commanders of the other columns only knew that they must be not far off to the northward. with a more enterprising [ ] famous battles of the xixth century enemy than the chinese this want of connection between the columns might have had fatal con- sequences. as it was, general oshima saw the obvious danger of deferring the attack, and, “in acknowledging the receipt of the order, pointed out that, in all probability, the gensan and sak-riong detachments would attack on the th as previously arranged, and that if this were the case he would feel bound to give them all the assistance he could, especially as the main col- umn would be unable to co-operate.” the night was fine and clear, the full moon shining brightly in the sky. an hour before dawn oshima, who was eager to attack at all hazards, had got his men ready to advance, and at half-past four his guns renewed the bombard- ment of the southern forts. from the hills to the northward beyond the river could be heard the booming of another cannonade. tachimi and sato were in position, and as soon as oshi- ma's guns opened fire they had brought their batteries into action, and had begun to form their infantry for the attack. oshima in his turn, on hearing their fire, ordered his brigade to advance against the chinese forts, and so in the gray dawn of september the battle of ping-yang began. as soon as the firing commenced, general yeh and his staff went to the gaily painted pagoda at [ ] the battle of ping-yang the north gate. his banner, of bright crimson cloth, twelve feet square, and bearing his name in huge characters, hung over the outer wall. close by he had a large body of manchu cavalry. ready to charge out on the japanese if they failed in their attack. he had about twenty-five hun- dred men in the works on the left bank, thirty- six hundred in the northern defences, and about six thousand of li hung chang's drilled troops holding the town wall and the southern defences near the river. oshima's attack on the forts of the left bank was intended to be a mere feint, but such was the eagerness of both men and officers that they pushed it home, and actually got possession of some of the outworks, in the first dash made before the sun rose. but for hours they made no further progress. the chinese, armed with mausers and well supplied with cartridges, kept up a heavy fire, and only for the advantage that their well-served artillery gave them they would have been driven back. as it was, they were barely able to hold their ground, and at one mo- ment the outlook was so doubtful that one of the regiments buried its colors lest they should fall into the hands of the enemy. the only portion of oshima's command that obtained any de- cided success was a detachment of two com- panies under major okuyama, which crossed [ ] famous battles of the xixth century the river below the town, in order to get in touch with nodzu and the main attack, and succeeded in setting fire to the straw-roofed houses of the southern suburbs of ping-yang. meanwhile, tachimi and sato's columns had been more successful in their attack on the north- ern forts, five in number, three in the outer line and two others nearer the city, the larger of the two crowning the mount of peonies, famous as the scene of konishi’s defeat three hundred years ago. the first fort was rushed in the twi- light; the second, after being heavily bombarded, was stormed at half-past seven, and the third was taken half an hour later. covered by their artillery, which was well placed among the pines on the ridges to the north of the city, the japan- ese now advanced against the two inner forts. the chinese abandoned the smaller of them, and the peony fort was stormed at half-past eight, the japanese, to use their own expression, swarming up three sides of the hill like ants. the guns were then brought up to the mount of peonies and opened on the city wall and the northern gate, the infantry pouring in a heavy rifle fire wherever the defenders attempted a reply. it was not till near eight o'clock that general nodzu had enough troops in hand to begin the attack on the southwest end of ping-yang. after [ ] the battle of ping-yang a brief bombardment of the outworks he de- ployed his infantry for the attack. they were gallantly charged by the manchu cavalry, who came rushing out from one of the gates, but these daring horsemen were received with such a fire that few of them escaped. of these the greater part gained the open country, and rode away northward to join the army on the yalu. one by one the outlying works were abandoned, and the chinese gradually concentrated their de- fence on the high wall of the city. the sky had become overclouded since early morning, and about noon a storm burst over ping-yang. then ensued a curious scene. “shortly after midday,” wrote the standard correspondent, “the dense fog of smoke, which had been slowly drifting eastward, was broken up by an almost tropical downpour. the chi- nese troops put up their oiled-paper umbrellas and resolved to keep their bodies dry as well as their powder. this seems almost too grotesque to be true, but it is a fact. their spacious um- brellas, sticking above the walls of their trenches, formed excellent targets for the japanese sharp- shooters. chinese soldiers are miserable, de- pressed creatures in the rain, and this unfor- tunate downpour had not a little to do with the success of the japanese attack at this period.” the forts on the high ground at the south of the [ ) famous battles of the xixth century city were captured, and then the chinese hung out white flags, and the firing ceased for awhile, and a chinese officer with a flag of truce came out in front of nodzu’s attack. to quote the standard correspondent, mr. williers, again: “some japanese officers left their lines and met him half-way. they found the chinese asked for a suspension of hostilities pending an arrangement to surrender. the japanese pointed out that this could easily be done. the chinese had simply to lay down their arms, and the japanese would march in and take possession. the chinese general sent word to say that they could not very well surrender in such rainy weather. his men would get drenched, and things would be generally uncomfortable. would they wait, say, for twelve hours? the rain might lift by then. but the japanese would not listen further to the parley, and hostilities re- commenced.” the cavalry attempted another sortie, prob- .ably in the hope of clearing a way for a general retreat. there were about five hundred of them. they rode gallantly down on nodzu's infantry, but were swept away almost to a man by the japanese rifles. on the north side of the city the fire had ceased from the wall, and the great gate seemed to be abandoned. but this might be only a trick of the wily chinese, and [ ) the battle of ping-yang after an attempt to open the gate from the out- side, which drew fire from some of the neighbor- ing loopholes, a gallant soldier, a private named hirada, volunteered to climb the wall and re- connoitre. his comrades watched him anx- iously as he scrambled up the high wall beside the pagoda-crowned gateway, from which the dragon flag still flew. he found the parapet deserted, got down and unbolted the gate, and the japanese infantry rushed in. the chinese had retired to some houses at a distance inside the gate. they had fired at hirada as he was opening it, and they now exchanged a sharp fire with the advancing japanese. beyond this point the japanese made no progress during the afternoon; and as the walls and towers on the right and left were held by the chinese, and they were rallying in the streets, tachimi decided to fall back on the peony mount, and hold on there till the main attack had made further progress. this retirement after the gate had been forced shows that the japanese had still a good deal of respect for their opponents. but the next day was to bring a surprise. , “when morning dawned,” writes the corre- spondent already quoted, “ping-yang was silent. no reveille from the chinese lines heralded the day. down by the western gate was a village smouldering. here and there a hut was strug- [ ) famous battles of the xixth century gling to burst into flame, for the rain had now ceased, and the pall of smoke still hung over the valley. the soddened turf, the fields of millet, beans, and corn, wore the imprint of a great host having passed over the country. the roads, the trails through the fields, were strewn with bright and gaudy uniforms. flags, quaint spears, curious old-time muskets, swords, pots, and pans, and several curiously carved carriage chairs were sticking in the mud. the japanese army awoke to this strange sight, rubbed its eyes and wondered, then sounded the advance, and closed upon the city. the earthworks, the re- doubts, and the city itself were empty. the chinese army had disappeared. some twelve thousand men had stolen away in the night. “he who fights and runs away lives to fight an- other day.” so runs the old adage. these are the tactics the chinese have followed since the beginning of the campaign. it was so at asan, where general yeh stole out of the clutches of the japanese with one thousand troops. these very men, after a splendid march through the roughest and most inhospitable part of korea, reached ping-yang to meet the japanese again, and, with the rest of the ping-yang garrison, succeeded in again carrying out the tactics they followed at asan.” on the japanese side six hundred and thirty- [ ] the battle of ping-yang three men had fallen in the attack. of these, eight officers and one hundred and fifty-four men were killed. oshima's brigade suffered most severely. fully three-fourths of the loss fell upon it, and the general himself was slightly wounded. the chinese loss cannot be so accurately stated. it was certainly over a thousand, besides more than six hundred prisoners. the japanese acknowledge that the chinese fought bravely. they give especial praise to the chinese general tso. during the defence of the peony hill fort he was badly wounded, but tearing off a strip of his long robe he bound up his wound and con- tinued to encourage his men. another bullet struck him down dead, and on this his men gave way. to this fall the japanese attribute their easy capture of the fort. a few of the prisoners who tried to escape were beheaded, the rest were well treated. as trophies of the fight the japan- ese had thirty-five krupp guns, about five hun- dred mauser repeating rifles, and as many good modern breech-loaders, quantities of older weap- ons, flags, cartridges and money. the collapse of the chinese defence has been explained by two facts. in the first place the defences were on such an extensive scale that not one of them were fully manned. instead of twelve or fourteen thousand men, the forts and lines of ping-yang would have needed thirty-five [ ] famous battles of the xixth century thousand. again, the chinese had expended all their energy on fortifications, and made little or no effort to clear the front of their works. trees were left standing in the dense pine woods on the ridges that came close up to the works, and thus the japanese as they marched on the place were screened almost entirely from view, and had a good deal of cover from fire. on the day of the battle marshal yamagata was approaching with a new army of ten thou- sand men that had lately landed at chemulpo. he took over the chief command on the morrow of the victory. but there was no more fighting in korea. ping-yang had cleared the north of the peninsula of the chinese. yeh rallied his twice-beaten army only behind the yalu river, the northern frontier of the country, where the chinese were now gathering an army for the defence of manchuria. ) x port arthur the chino-japanese war ( ) by a. hilliard atteridge s fter the victory of ping-yang the jap- anese army, now under marshal yama- gata, advanced to the yalu, the northern boundary of korea, forced the passage of the river and invaded manchuria. on september the japanese fleet, under admiral ito, had brought the chinese northern squadron to action and defeated it off the mouth of the yalu. this victory gave the japanese the command of the sea. they made use of it to send an army to reduce the great naval arsenal of port arthur. this second army, composed of a division under general yamaji and a brigade under hasegawa, the whole commanded by marshal oyama, and numbering about twenty-five thousand men, landed on october at hua-yuan-kon, in the liao-tung peninsula, and marching southwards, captured kin-chow on november , and ta- lien-wan on the th. kin-chow and ta-lien-wan had been captured by yamaji's division. before advancing on [ ] famous battles of the xixth century port arthur, marshal oyama brought up hase- gawa's brigade, and gave his army, now concen- trated at ta-lien-wan, and in touch with the fleet, a few days' rest, during which the doomed fortress was carefully reconnoitred, and the country between it and the japanese camp was cleared of the roving bands of chinese braves that infested it. the country round port arthur is a mass of rocky hills with steep sides, running up now into isolated pointed summits, now into narrow ridges or table lands of no great width. the harbor lies northeast and southwest in the line of its greatest length. the town and dockyard are at the north end, between two hills, the more easterly of which looks out on the sea. a rocky promontory shelters the lower part of the harbor from the sea. on this promontory, on the east- ern hill near the town, at the base of this hill, and on another hill still farther east, stand the sea forts. this eastern hill is the end of a sickle-shaped range of heights, with pointed summits running inland, and forming an outlying rampart to the town on the north and northeast. each hilltop is crowned with a fort. in the following narra- tive this range will be spoken of as the “northern ridge.” west of the town, and completing the line of its landward defences, is another hill, [ ] port arthur — steep-sided, broad-topped, a small table land, with a couple of summits rising above its general level. this is the hill of i-tzu-shan (literally, the “chair hill”). it is crowned with three forts, and as its summit is the highest land near the port, they overlook and can take in reverse the land forts on the inner part of the northern ridge. the hill of i-tzu-shan is thus the key of port arthur. once in possession of a besieger, the forts on the nearer summits of the northern ridge would be untenable, and these being taken, the rest must fall in succession, and the place would be at the mercy of the besiegers. the main road ran into the town of port arthur through a gap between the i-tzu plateau and the inland extremity of the northern ridge, crossing an open level space used as a parade ground by the garrison. the i-tzu forts com- manded the gap from the left, and on the right its approaches were covered by the guns of a strong fort built on the summit of sung-shu- shan (the pine tree hill), the western buttress of the ridge. next, running along the crest of the sickle-shaped curve of the ridge, stood seven forts on the long summits known as the erh- lung (the two dragons; in some japanese narra- tives the urlung) and the chihuan (the cock's comb). another fort looked out on the sea from the east end of the ridge, and between it [ ] famous battles of the xixth century and the isolated hill near the town there was another fort on the lower ground, also forming part of the seaward defences. the hill between the town and the sea, huang-chin-shan (the golden hill), was crowned by a fort armed with nineteen guns. seven forts were built on the promontory between the harbor and the sea known to the chinese as lan-hu-wei — i.e. the tiger's tail. the largest and highest placed of these, built on man-tou-shan (bread hill), was constructed to fire across the harbor and cover the left flank of the i-tzu plateau with its long-ranging guns. the forts had all been planned, constructed, and armed under the superintendence of euro- pean and american engineers. their heavy armament consisted of breech-loading arm- strongs and krupps. there were a few quick- firers, field-pieces, and mountain guns, and some machine-guns were used to flank the ditches. the garrison consisted of about ten thousand men. japanese writers, anxious not to minimize the success of their own army, assert that this was an adequate garrison; but, even if the troops and their officers had been of better quality, ten thousand men would be dangerously dispersed and terribly overworked in a pro- longed defence of a fortress which was protected not only by a system of sea forts, but also by a - [ ] port arthur — line of land works extending over about seven miles of ground. there were twenty-two forts in all. allowing only an average of four hun- dred men for the defence of each of them, there would be a reserve of only twelve hundred men left. thirty thousand men for the fortifications would not have been too many. considering all that had been said at the outset of the war about the “armed millions” of china, it is curious that she could only find this handful of men for the defense of the fortress that was her chief naval base; while the navy itself could lend no co-operation whatever to the land forces. on november , just before the abortive sortie of the chinese, marshal oyama had as- sembled his principal officers at his headquar- ters — not for a council of war, but to explain to them the arrangements he proposed to make for the assault of the forts next day. the troops were to form up at a.m., ready to march from their camps between shuang-tai-kow and tu- cheng-tzu, so as to be in position before port arthur by dawn. they were to march in three columns: on the right general yamaji, with main body consisting of the bulk of the first divi- sion; in the center general hasegawa's brigade; on the left a small column of all three arms, moving between hasegawa's troops and the sea, and guarding the flank of the advance against a [ ] famous battles of the xixth century possible sortie from the forts on the north ridge. at dawn the fleet would open fire on the forts nearest the sea. the artillery of the first divi- sion on the right would come into action against the forts on the i-tzu plateau, taking up its posi- tion on a ridge facing the north side of the plateau and distant about a mile from the forts. in this position the guns could also be brought to bear on the gap leading to the town. on the left of the field artillery, and a little to its rear, the heavy guns of the siege train were to come into action near the village of shui-shih-ying (“the naval camp”), firing first at the i-tzu plateau and the pine tree hill fort (sung-su-shan), and in the second stage of the fight devoting all their attention to the western forts on the ridge. hasegawa was to occupy the high ground north of shui-shih-ying, facing the ridge forts on which he was to open fire. during this bombardment general nishi, with the first brigade of yamaji's division, was to work round to the left, or southwestern flank of the i-tzu plateau. for the greater part of the way his march would be concealed from the chinese by a lower range of hills running north and south. in fact, he would be under cover until his troops moved over the crest of the range opposite their objective and deployed for the attack. all this time his movements would not [ : ] port arthur — in any way mask the fire of the japanese bat- teries. it was expected that by the time nishi was ready to advance, the guns of the i-tzu forts would have been silenced and their garrisons very much demoralized by the japanese shell fire. the forts would then be attacked by yamaji's two brigades, nishi moving against the flank and nogi against the front of the plat- eau, the artillery meanwhile concentrating its fire on the ridge, especially on sung-shu-shan and the erh-lung forts. as soon as the i-tzu forts were taken, yamaji's and hasegawa's col- umns would make a converging attack on the western forts of the ridge, and, after clearing sung-shu-shan and erh-lung of the chinese, rush down into the town. once the land de- fences were captured, it was expected that the rest of the forts would surrender rather than face the combined attack of the army and the fleet. the troops began to fall in for the march at a.m. it was very dark; the moon was in the first quarter, a horned crescent, high over the port arthur hills, and giving very little light. in the bivouacs coolies stood holding aloft blaz- ing torches, and here and there in the ranks of the regiments, and beside the gun teams, a sol- dier held a lighted lantern of painted paper, giving to the scene of preparation for battle [ ] famous battles of the xixth century rather the air of a holiday fête than of the stern business of war. at last all was ready, and the long columns tramped off in the darkness, their movement still marked by hundreds of paper lanterns, for surprise was no part of their plan. by five o'clock all the troops were in position, the guns had unlimbered, and the men were lying down waiting for the dawn, many of them snatch- ing a short sleep, after the wearying muster at midnight and the march in the darkness over the broken ground. oyama and his staff were in the center, with the reserve battalions just in rear of the long line of guns formed of yamaji's batteries and the siege train. about half-past six the sky began to whiten with the dawn over the sea, and soon the sharp outlines of the chinese forts could be made out, crowning the dark masses of the i-tzu plateau on the right front and the long ridge of the “two dragons” and the “cock's comb” to the left. word was sent to yamaji to begin the bombardment. the first gun was fired from one of yamaji's field batteries. it was the signal for all the others to open fire, and a rain of shells was soon falling on the plateau forts. the chinese re- plied in a very leisurely way, and their aim was wild and wide of the mark. the japanese fleet lay off the harbor mouth about six miles out to [ ] port arthur — sea. it had been arranged that it should not fire upon port arthur during the first stage of the attack, lest shells flying over the hills should reach the japanese lines on the other side. ito's fine cruiser squadron had now with it a flotilla of ten torpedo boats, but it was not necessary for it to take any serious part in the attack. the cannonade continued for more than an hour. by half-past seven the forts on the i-tzu tableland were all but silent, and the order was sent to nishi's infantry to advance to the attack. there were very few correspondents with the army, but amongst them was one of the most experienced english war correspondents, mr. frederic villiers. his letters give a vivid im- pression of the scenes during the advance of yamaji's division against the key of the chinese defences. “it was not until half-past seven,” he writes, “as far as i can remember, that the skirmishing lines moved up. then they swept up towards the three forts which surmounted table moun- tain. from our guns on the knoll in suishi (i.e. shui-shih-ying) valley a hail of shrapnel crowned the heights of table mountain with wreaths of smoke. shell after shell burst in these works. the great mountain, seemingly asleep, slowly awakened from its heavy slumber and began to reply in a ponderous, sleepy sort of [ ) famous battles of the xixth century way. then on our right, where yamaji stood, a mountain battery began shelling; and this was answered by two or three shells in our vicinity, which were too far off their mark to be pleasant for the sight-seers on the left of yamaji's posi- tion. nishi's columns moved up on the right to the first earthwork on table mountain, which was the western attack. nogi moved up from the left, which was the eastern attack, very slowly; so for the moment the battle formation was at an angle of about thirty-five degrees from the ridge of the fort. nishi in about fifteen minutes carried his objective, and a few minutes after nogi had swept up under a very galling fire, though of short duration, and the table mountain was in the hands of the japanese. but this was only effected with considerable loss for the short period during the rush, the japanese losing thirty-five by casualties. among those placed hors de combat were two officers.” the chinese really made no stand once they saw the long lines of the japanese attack closing on them. they abandoned all three forts one after another, on an average giving up a fort every five minutes. some of the japanese who fell in the attack were not hit by shots from the i-tzu forts, but by bursting shells fired over the town from the fort on golden hill, in order to cover the hurried retreat of the fugitives. it [ ] port arthur — was afterwards ascertained that the chinese had about sixteen hundred men in the three forts on the tableland and the fort on pine tree hill, an average of about four hundred in each work. another sixteen hundred held the two dragons and the cock comb on the north ridge; two thou- sand more, fugitives from kin-chow and ta- lien-wan, prolonged the line of defence along the ridge to the sea, and a reserve of twelve hundred men, belonging to the same unfortunate force, lay behind pine tree hill, near the parade ground. thus the chinese were hopelessly out-num- bered, the twelve hundred men who held the i-tzu tableland being rushed by at least six thousand, with as many more threatening their right; more- over, shut up in a series of separate forts, small detachments of less than five hundred had to face the rush. of course, if they had stuck to their works, fired low and steadily, and brought a cross fire of rifles and machine guns to bear on the attack, they might very well have repulsed the foe. but they were chinese troops, with very scant ideas of mutual support, and little trust either in their officers or their weapons, so it is no wonder they went. although the correspond- ent call the japanese loss serious, the capture of the tableland was surely cheaply bought with only two officers and thirty-three men killed and [ ) famous battles of the xixth century wounded out of a whole division. with any real defence the capture of the forts would have meant the fall of some hundreds of men and officers in the columns of assault. for the wounded, not only those brought down from the hill, but those also who had been hit by the shells from the chinese forts during the cannonade, prompt and ample provision had been made by the japanese medical corps. to quote again from mr. williers’ letter: “during the fight i was watching a hamlet of about half a dozen houses at the end of the neck of the ravine (near the artillery position). when the first shots were fired the red cross flag was run up, and by its side was the national flag of japan. the doctors were already preparing for casualties. about that time a sharp fusillade was going on on our right flank. the only de- cent tactics the chinese showed in this miserable business was an attempt at a flanking movement, started too late on our attack upon the table mountain. for the moment it was utter con- fusion. the chinese from the small forts on the port arthur inlet were firing shell after shell at the fort that had already been occupied, but these missed and burst in the vicinity of the red cross hamlet, and a tremendous fusillade was going on in the valley on the right of us. nogi, with two regiments, was sent out to turn this [ ] port arthur — flanking movement of the chinese, and the mountain battery which had done such execu- tion in the taking of table mountain was hurried down from the heights, thundering through the ravine down to the valley on our right to assist nogi's column. “the little red cross hamlet was beginning to fill up with casualties. the men were brought down on stretchers, dripping with their blood, and laid on straw in front of the small gardens of the houses. within one of the gardens were tables already erected, at which the doctors were busily at work. in my considerable experience of many armies in the field, i have not seen more excellent work done on the actual field of battle by surgeons. nothing was wanting. the latest improvements in antiseptic lint, in the sterilizing of the instruments, were there, right on the field of battle. the red cross boxes were filled with the latest necessaries for the treatment of the wounded. each man who was treated had his name checked, and a little tag with his name and the nature of his wound tied to one of his legs, and then he was forwarded to the field hos- pital. and all this was done under circum- stances the most trying for delicate surgical work. shells from the great eastern fort on golden mount were bursting in our vicinity, though why so much good ammunition was wasted no [ ] famous battles of the xixth century one could tell. many of the stretcher bearers had to pause from their work and seek cover be- hind the walls of the houses, but the doctors calmly went on. one horse, belonging to a doc- tor, standing just outside the little garden of which i have been speaking, had its neck broken by a fragment of shell, and lay there weltering in its blood, with the rest of the wounded lying about on the street. speaking of this red cross work to colonel taylor, who has been specially sent out by the british foreign office to report on the japanese system of ambulance, he told me that what he saw in the shui-shih walley was quite equal to anything he had ever witnessed under similar conditions.” when nogi's brigade had cleared the northern end of the table mountain of the last of the chinese, there was a brief lull in the engage- ment. the fleet now began to fire long-ranging shots at the seaward forts, and on the land ya- maji's batteries and the siege train concentrated their fire on the fort on sung-shu-shan (pine tree hill), the mountain-guns being taken up to the top of the table mountain to assist in the bombardment. these chinese abandoned the fort under this heavy artillery fire, after lighting a fuse near the magazine, in order to blow the work up. this occurred a little after eleven, [ ) port arthur — while the japanese infantry were moving to the attack of the north ridge. general hasegawa was, meanwhile, advancing across the valley in front of these forts and the cock's comb. he had only his mountain bat- teries with him, but was assisted by the fire of yamaji's guns, which were now enfilading the ridge from the first artillery position, and drop- ping shells on to it from the captured table mountain. hasegawa's infantry crossed the valley below the ridge in successive lines of skir- mishers, being exposed to a heavy fire as they traversed the open ground, and suffering a good deal of loss. as they reached the base of the ridge they were able to get cover under its steep sides. here they massed and prepared for the assault. above them the rocky hillsides rose abruptly to the forts, which stand at a height of about three hundred feet above the level of the valley. by ten o’clock the three battalions of the twenty-fourth regiment (sturdy fighting men from the southern island of kiu-shiu, which boasts that it has produced more of the heroes of japan than any other district) were massed at the base of the ridge and began to climb the slope. at first they were protected by the very steepness of the hillside, but about half-way they came under fire from the forts at a range of six [ ] famous battles of the xixth century hundred yards. there was a temporary check at this point, and then the regiment went on again. an english officer who watched this assault of the two dragons and cock's comb forts thus described the scene: “we reached a hill to which the japanese artillery were moving, just in time to watch a most magnificent attack by the japanese in- fantry from the north straight up at a fort facing them, and under the fire of guns and rifles from three others as well. it was a scene to remember forever. the japanese artillery were in a good position now for enfilading these forts, and did so with the nearest fort with the best effect. it was evacuated by the chinese at . a.m., and blew up immediately afterwards. the ar- tillery then fired at the next fort, at which the main infantry attack was directed; but the range was long, and the shooting not quite good enough to be effective for some time. meanwhile the japanese infantry were climbing the slope, tak- ing advantage of whatever slight cover could be found. the ground round them was ploughed up by the chinese projectiles, but they never stopped, and seemed quite unhurt. at last they rested for a few minutes about three hun- dred yards below the fort in a fold of the ground, which gave time for the slower ones to come up to the front. then once more on. but just as [ ) port arthur — they moved forward a row of land mines ex- ploded right in front of them. they seemed to stagger for a moment, and then rushed on. but by this time the chinese were beginning to suffer from the japanese artillery fire, and just before the japanese infantry reached the fort the chi- nese left it. this was at . a.m. that settled all the forts which faced north.” the fort blown up at . was sung-shu- shan, the chinese having fired the magazine as they left it. the fort captured at . was one of the works on the cock's comb (chi-huan- shan). the two dragons forts and the rest of the works on the ridge were rapidly evacuated by the chinese. by half-past twelve all the land defences had been abandoned except the great fort on shang-chin-shan (golden hill), whose batteries not only defended the harbor mouth, but also looked towards the land over the roofs of the town. before following further the story of the fight, an incident of the attack on the north ridge must be related here, as an illustration of the japanese code of military honor. one of the officers of the twenty-fourth regiment, captain kani, had been seriously ill for some days in hospital, and was reduced to a state of great weakness. nevertheless, on the eve of the attack on port arthur he insisted on resuming command of his [ ] famous battles of the xixth century company. it was one of those assigned for the actual attack on the two dragons and cock's comb forts. kani struggled on through the night march, climbed the steep hillside under fire with his men, but when the rush for the fort came he fell down utterly exhausted, within a hundred yards of the rampart, over which his men dashed without him. he was taken to hos- pital, but instead of taking the natural view that he had done his best to be with his men, and had indeed led them up to the point when the enemy's resistance collapsed, he thought only of his fail- ure to be with them to the last, and said he was ashamed forever, if he survived, after remaining behind. a week after the battle he managed to escape from the hospital, went back to the ridge, and on the spot where he had fallen he killed himself with his sword. a letter was found be- side him. “it was here,” he had written, “that sickness compelled me to stop and leave my men to assault the fort without me. never can i wipe out the disgrace while i live. to vin- dicate my honor i die here, and leave this letter to speak for me.” such deeds are an inherit- ance from the days of feudal japan. one may well regret that a mistaken code of honor should thus deprive his country of the services of so brave a soldier as captain kani. by half-past twelve the hills round port arthur [ .] port arthur — were in possession of the japanese army. their artillery was being dragged up to the summits in order to concentrate its fire on the golden hill. on all the forts on the ridge and the plateau except one the japanese flag was flying, and that one exception was a mass of blackened and smoking ruins. the way into the town lay across the wide open space of the parade ground below the north ridge, a space partly surrounded by low walls; beyond, the road ran over a little river by a narrow bridge, beyond which opened the main street of the town. the houses, light buildings, mostly without an upper story, were crowded along the farther side of the stream. high above them towered the golden hill, from which the chinese gunners were making good practise at any japanese that showed near the parade ground. across this open space the japanese infantry were exchanging rifle fire with two bodies of chinese, who held a couple of shelter trenches near the houses just beyond the stream and on the slope of “cairn hill” north of the suburb. the japanese staff was anxious to do as little injury as possible to the town and dockyard. to have bombarded them would have been to risk a fire that might have destroyed the very workshops, stores and machinery they hoped to secure for the use of their own navy. so the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century guns were leveled only against the hostile bat- teries on the golden hill, and to the infantry was assigned the task of clearing the town of the enemy. the second regiment, which had not yet been engaged, was ordered to attack across the parade ground. at first they made very little progress. so heavy was the fire of the chinese, who held the approaches to the bridge, that it was thought they must be armed with repeating rifles. but gradually, notwithstanding severe loss, the in- fantrymen worked their way close up to the stream, advancing under some cover which they found to left or right of the open space of the parade, here slipping behind a low wall, there crawling along a ditch. so the rifle fire directed across the stream at the chinese gradually in- creased in intensity, as more and more men came up. a little before three a battalion extended across the parade ground and crossed it in alter- nate rushes, the men kneeling to fire. as they neared the bridge they closed into a small col- umn and dashed across. the chinese did not wait for them. they fled down the lanes of the town, throwing away their weapons. about the same time the fire ceased from the golden hill, and the fort was abandoned. only the sea forts on the promontory of the “tiger's tail” still [ ] port arthur — flew the dragon flag of china, and exchanged a slow fire at long range with the fleet. port arthur, notwithstanding all its elaborate fortifications, had been taken in less than nine hours, and with a loss of life that, considering the nature of the enterprise, might be described as trifling. it was a glorious day for the japan- ese a titis. [ ] xi the greco-turkish war, the battle of domokos. by a. hilliard atteridge n the early spring of the progress of i the insurrection in crete, the landing in the island of three thousand greek troops under colonel vassos, the successes won over the turks, and the armed action of the international fleet against the insurgents, had all combined to fan to fever heat the popular excitement in greece. to the sultan's order for the partial mobilization of the turkish army king george had replied by concentrating the greek army on the frontiers of thessaly and epirus. the fleet had already been prepared for war with a view to the expedition to crete. the calling out of the reserves of the land army rapidly raised the numbers of the troops on the frontier, and these were reinforced by the bands organized by the ethnike hetaireia, which were followed by the government to form camps of their own near the border. this added considerably to the danger of war. the demonstrations in athens had now be- come almost daily events. zeto o polemos! [ ] the greco-turkish war — (“hurrah for war!”) was the popular cry. the leaders of the agitation had persuaded them- selves and their followers that war meant cer- tain and easy victory over the turk. mace- donia would rise in arms, albania would pro- claim its independence and refuse to fight for the sultan, the communications of the turkish army would be cut by the insurrection in its rear. it would be left without supplies of food or cartridges, and forced to retreat through a hostile country or surrender to the greeks in its front. it was reported that the turkish gov- ernment was so short of money that already it could not obtain supplies for the troops it was trying to mobilize; that those who had been got- ten together were starved, ragged, barefoot; and that smallpox and fever had broken out in their camps. these reports, as we shall presently see, had very little foundation in fact, but they served to increase the popular enthusiasm for war. the turkish fleet was notoriously inefficient. the navy had taken a leading part in the de- position of sultan abdul aziz in , and abdul hamid regarded it always with suspicion. he did not like the idea of his palace and capital being under the guns of a squadron that some pasha might use as the trump card in another game of revolution. the most powerful ships were ironclads of a type that was getting out of [ ] famous battles of the xixth century date twenty years before. on the eve of the war, orders were given to patch them up. but, do what they would, the turks had to confess that the greek fleet with three small modern battleships and a flotilla of torpedo craft had the undisputed command of the sea. vigorously used, this fleet might be an important factor in the war; for once hostilities began, the turks could make no use of transport by sea, and their supplies and reinforcements would have to reach their base of operations at salonika by a single line of railway which runs along the coast of roumelia in easy reach of the sea, and be de- stroyed by the greek fleet. salonika itself might not be safe from a vigorous attack. it was further hoped by the friends of greece that the other small states of the balkan penin- sula would join in the attack on the sultan. montenegro, servia, and bulgaria were all ex- pected to put their armies in the field. the turk was not merely to be defeated in mace- donia; he was to be swept, bag and baggage, out of europe. unhappily for the greeks, they were counting on insurrection to prepare the way for their victorious advance. if there was to be a fight across the border against the turk, it could not be very long de- layed. in march the snows were melting on the mountains, the streams were full of good [ ] famous battles of the xixth century lowed to obtain any territorial advantage even in the event of victory. but this waiting game could not be prolonged indefinitely, and in the first days of april the ethnike hetaireia began to use its irregular bands on the border in a way that was sure to provoke a turkish declaration of war. it cer- tainly acted with the connivance, and even the aid, of greek regular officers on the frontier. how far the headquarters staff of the royal army was a party to these proceedings, how far the cabinet at athens was involved in the policy of this powerful secret society, it is not possible to say. it was not until the greeks had raided the turkish frontier at karya that war was declared. edhem pasha reported the news of the raid to constantinople. he followed up this first message with others telling how fighting had begun now here, now there, and he had ordered up his reserves. in the afternoon he was in- formed by a telegram from the capital that war had been declared, and he was ordered to ad- vance in force against the greeks next morning. he had already sent into action all the troops who were actually at hand, and was pressing the greeks slowly back toward the frontier. the firing went on far into the night, by the bright light of the full moon. but for the official world [ ) the greco-turkish war — the war began only at dawn on the easter sunday morning. it was not to last long. begun on april , it ended on may , just thirty days later. it might be called the thirty days war. after a not very seriously contested fight for the frontier in thessaly, the greeks were forced to retire; the turks were successful in the battles of pharsala, velestino, and volo, and after the battle of pharsala there had been no attempt at a pursuit, and the turks had lost all touch of the greek main army. it was ascertained, however, that it would make another stand on the hills about domokos. finally at a.m. on the th of may, the turk- ish columns began the march. the compara- tively level ground over which the left wing moved to battle was here and there planted with corn — now standing high and green — but was mostly undulating grass land, uncultivated natural pasture. here and there rose rocky knolls, and there were a number of small villages. it was an intensely hot day, and the five columns, each formed by a brigade, moved very slowly, the ranks opening out, and the columns length- ening, so that when they were sighted from the citadel of domokos it was reported to the crown prince that not five brigades, but five divisions, were advancing against his front. the first shots were fired on the left about ten [ ) famous battles of the xixth century o'clock. hairi pasha's advanced guard was ap- proaching the village of tsiobu, when from the houses and enclosures of the little place there came a rapid discharge of musketry. the vil- lage was held only by a handful of greek cavalry, most of whom were dismounted on its northern edge, but they were using their carbines to such good effect that the cautious turkish com- mander overestimated their force, took them for at least a whole rifle battalion, and began to deploy his advanced guard in a long battle line as if he were going to fight a serious action. edhem pasha with his staff had ridden to the top of a little knoll near the high road when they heard the firing. with their field glasses they were able to see that hairi could not pos- sibly have any large force in front of him, and after 'impatiently watching the fusillade for a while a galloper was sent to hurry him on, for neshat and the second division had been di- rected not to get farther forward than the first division on the left, and the whole of that division was halted. it was nearly eleven o'clock when hairi’s vanguard at last pushed boldly forward, and the greek horsemen galloped off from the south end of the village. half an hour later the greek siege guns mounted on the heights of domokos opened fire on the heads of neshat’s columns. the [ ) famous battles of the xixth century and set him right. meanwhile neshat had to wait for him. it was some time before the ad- vance of the right wing was resumed. so far there had been mere skirmishing in the plain and a distant cannonade from the heights. the great natural rampart of the domokos ridge, now wreathed in the smoke of the greek batteries, might well seem unassail- able, and it was no part of edhem's plan to attack it in earnest on this day. the hill, crowned by the citadel, rose fifteen hundred feet above the plain; from the crest the hill descended in a series of terraces, and each had its line of shelter trenches for infantry, with here and there the more massive earthworks of a battery. looking at it, edhem realized that it was ground that might well be held by a comparatively small force, and as the sound of firing came heavier and heavier from the hills to the eastward, it occurred to him that the crown prince was probably employing a considerable part of his force to check the all-important flank movement, and, if not hard pressed at domokos, might still further reinforce his right. so neshat was ordered to advance without waiting for hairi's belated co-operation. the turkish left wing, under hamdi and memdhuk, had been making very slow progress, on account of, first, the difficulties of the ground [ ] the greco-turkish war — they had to traverse, and then the obstinate re- sistance of the small greek force opposed to them, which was under the command of colonel mastrapas. hamdi very early in the day de- cided that he could not possibly drag the greater part of his artillery over the rugged paths of mount khassiadiari. he kept with him only his mountain battery and one of the field-bat- teries. it fared even worse with memdhuk, who kept only six mountain guns, and sent all his field-batteries back to pharsala. about a.m. hamdi's advance guard was in action against the outposts of the fourth greek regi- ment. a few companies for a while held in check a whole battalion of albanian regulars. forced back by sheer weight of numbers, the greeks doggedly defended every inch of the ground, and hamdi had to use his artillery to force his way forward. memdhuk came into action somewhat later, his opponents being a battalion of euzonoi. had the crown prince reinforced his right early in the day — above all, had he sent some of his mountain batteries to the help of mastrapas — the result of the fight might have been different. as it was, the brave linesmen and rifles were very slowly, but none the less surely, forced back. so it was not till late in the afternoon that the heads of the turkish columns had reached the points as- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century signed to them in the orders for the day, and memdhuk was not able even to attempt the dash for the phurka pass, which had been suggested as the best use to make of the albanian irregu- lars attached to his division. by three o'clock the greek outposts had been withdrawn from the plain in front of domokos, and neshat's divisional artillery and some of riza's reserve batteries were in action against the greek guns on the terraced hillside. the turkish infantry began to move forward to the attack, and the battle began in grim earnest. in front of the first and lowest line of greek trenches before domokos a long firing line of turkish infantry was pressing on, the adrianople brigade on the right, another of neshat's brig- ades on the left. they slowly gained ground till they reached a little stream about six hun- dred yards from the trenches. then their fur- ther progress was checked. so heavy and rapid was the fire of the greek infantry, that one of the correspondents with the turkish army re- marks that one might well imagine that the greeks had suddenly exchanged their old gras rifles for mauser repeaters. another point is worth noting, for, though it shows a strange lack of discipline in the greek army, it says something for the warlike eager- ness of the men. hundreds of soldiers and [ .] the greco-turkish war — some of the officers of dimopulos' reserve brig- ade left their position behind the crest of the ridge and crowded the hilltops to watch the fight. it was the fiercest struggle in the whole cam- paign. battalion after battalion of the adrian- ople brigade was pushed into the firing line. they came on gallantly, reckless of the heavy loss they were suffering. but they, too, showed a woful lack of battle training. in their eager- ness, the supports fired as they moved up, heed- less of the risk of hitting their comrades in the firing line in front, and the ill-aimed, hurried fire of the mausers did comparatively little harm to the greeks in the trenches. it was now late in the afternoon. the greeks might so far claim a victory on the main battle- field, but about five o'clock disquieting news reached the crown prince at domokos from colonel mastrapas’ flanking detachments in the hills to the eastward. he reported that he was being driven back by an overwhelming force of the enemy, and he asked for reinforcements. colonel dimopulos' brigade was now divided. part of it, with a mountain battery, was sent away to the eastward to support mastrapas—all too late — and the rest of the brigade was used to reinforce the troops holding the trenches be- fore domokos. the turks had brought all their reserve bat- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century teries into action. altogether in the center they had seventy-two guns and six howitzers at work shelling the greek position. three greek guns had been dismounted, and an artillery wagon had blown up on the slope near the citadel, send- ing a great spurt of flame and smoke high over the hilltops. several of the batteries concen- trated their fire on the nearest and lowest of the greek trenches. the rifle fire from the en- trenchment gradually slackened, and at last it was rushed by the adrianople brigade. out of thirty-five hundred men, they had lost nearly seven hundred in the advance. a little later the village of welisiotae, shattered by the fire of hairi’s divisional artillery, was evacuated by the greeks, but they held the hill slopes above the place, and as the sun set, the main position was everywhere intact. edhem pasha and his staff had watched the fight from a knoll near the pharsala road, facing domokos. they prepared to bivouac for the night near its base, but before anyone could think of resting there was much to be done. the turkish marshal and his officers were not a little anxious about the situation. there was no news whatever from the two divisions in the hills to the left. arrangements for keeping up communication with that wing by signaling had broken down. all that was known was that in [ ] n the greco-turkish war — every lull of the main battle the wind had borne from the eastward the boom of hamdi's moun- tain guns. he had been fighting till nightfall, with what result could only be guessed, but it was thought that if he had been completely suc- cessful he would have found some means to get the news through to the headquarters’ staff be- fore the close of the day. then the frontal at- tack on the domokos position, though it had been more vigorously pressed than had been originally intended, had proved on the whole a costly failure. the mere outworks of the posi- tion had been taken, and the greeks might try to recover them in the night. orders were given to the troops to lose no time in entrenching themselves on the ground they occupied, and hairi was directed to move one of his brigades nearer to the main road, so as to be in position, if necessary, to support the adrianople brigade which had suffered so severely, and the men of which were exhausted by the prolonged fight in which they had been so hotly engaged. soon after dark there was the beginning of a panic in the turkish center. some of the horses of riza's reserve batteries were being marched to the rear in order to give them water, when the report spread that a re- treat had been ordered, and that the artillery was already moving off. it was with difficulty [ ] famous battles of the xixth century that a general movement back towards pharsala was prevented. about eleven o’clock a tired horseman rode in from the eastward with a despatch from hamdi pasha. he informed edhem that he had driven back the greeks and had bivouacked for the night between karatsali and virsi, and that mamdhuk was in line with him farther eastward. he was thus in a position to come down on the greek right or establish himself on their right rear as soon as next day's sunrise gave him light to advance. this news put an end to the anxieties of the turkish staff. the orders for next day were quickly written. hamdi was to advance against the greek right, signaling the moment when he marched off by a salvo from all his guns. memdhuk was to swing round towards the southeast and try to get be- tween the greeks and the 'phurka pass, or at least on the flank of their line of retreat, and within striking distance of it. the frontal attack on domokos was to be re- sumed at dawn and pushed home as soon as there were signs that hamdi's advance over the crest of the ridge was producing an effect on the greeks. the horseman who had brought the despatch said he could not possibly find his way back through the hills in the dark. it was by good luck he had reached the headquarters, [ ] the greco-turkish war — so difficult was the country. so colonel mah- mud bey, who had led the charge at velestino and had been in the saddle all day during this battle of domokos, took the orders and rode. away to pharsala, where he got a fresh horse and then made his way to hamdi's headquarters. just before sunrise the report of the guns in the hills told edhem that his left wing had received its orders, and that hamdi's division was march- ing off. but as the sun rose it was seen that the greek entrenchments were empty; the town silent. after nightfall the evening before, the crown prince had decided that with the turks established in force in the hills on his right the position was no longer tenable, and he had issued orders for a general retreat. the defenders of the main position, who felt that they had won a victory, received the news with astonishment, and there was much talk of treachery at head- quarters and of a betrayal of the last stronghold of thessaly to the invader as the price of peace. such a view of the situation was natural enough, but the history of the fight shows how unjust it was. on the hills of domokos prince constan- tine had made a brave stand and saved the honor of the greek arms. outnumbered and outgen- eraled as he was, he could do no more. so all night long in the bright moonlight the greek [ ] famous battles of the xixth century army and a crowd of fugitive countryfolk streamed over the phurka pass. it was just a month since the moonlight night that had seen the first fight along the border range of northern thessaly. the battle of domokos ended the war. nakki pasha had advanced against smolenski at hal- myros on the morning of the th. he found the village held only by a greek rearguard, which retired after a brief engagement. smo- lenski had fallen back on platanos, where he was strongly entrenched, but in the night, be- tween the th and th, he received orders from the crown prince to conform to the general re- treat of the army and join the main body at lamia. the turks had pressed closely on the crown prince's beaten army as it fell back over the phurka pass. it was found to be impossible to make a stand at lamia, and a position was therefore taken up on the range of mount ceta and in the pass of thermopylae. but on may news arrived that an armistice had been signed. under the terms of the subsequent treaty of peace greece paid a war indemnity to turkey and ceded to the sultan a strip of terri- tory on the northern frontier that gave the turks command of all the passes leading into thessaly. [ ] xii with kitchener in the soudan, by a. hilliard atteridge t was not to be supposed that the events i which led to the death of general gordon in the soudan would weaken the intention of the british to crush the power of the mahdi on the upper nile. accordingly in sir herbert kitchener with a powerful british and egyptian force set out to make his way to khar- toum and omdurman. every step of the way was fiercely contested by the mahdi and his der- vishes, but the onward march of kitchener and his forces was irresistible. he had timed his advance so as to arrive be- fore omdurman when the moon was near the full. to have bright nights was a double ad- vantage to him. it enabled some of the march- ing to be done in the cool moonlight, and it minimized the danger of attacks by the enemy. the night before the great battle was clear and bright, and, to give additional security to the riverside camp, the gunboats, moored close to the nile bank, swept its flanks and front with the broad white beams from their electric search- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century lights. to some of the wild tribesmen in the dervish bivouac on the hills it must have seemed some strange magic, this lighting up of the desert with the giant rays of dazzling brightness. and it is even said that some of them refused to re- main with the khalifa's standard, declaring that if the invaders could thus control the sun- light, allah must surely be with them. along the front of the sirdar's camp watchful sentinels were on the alert, and the friendlies had scouts out towards the dervish bivouacs, and a post on the slope of jebel surgham. these friendly scouts had been warned to move in couples when they approached the sentry line, and the sentinels were told to let men running back two and two pass in without a challenge. they were to fire on any large body and chal- lenge men approaching singly. during the night deserters from the enemy caused some alarms. once the whole of the british second brigade was on its feet for a few minutes. one of the deserters who arrived was an emir with a few of his followers. shortly before midnight some of colonel win- gate's spies got back from the mahdist lines and brought the news that the khalifa would attack before dawn, if not earlier in the night. it is certain, however, that, whatever may have been his intentions, he sent nothing more than a few [ ] with kitchener in the soudam — scouts towards the anglo-egyptian camp during the hours of darkness. one reason for his in- activity was the false impression conveyed to him of the sirdar's plans by some friendlies from the neighborhood of agaiga, whom wingate had sent out in the evening with orders to prowl round the dervish camp and spread the report that the sirdar was going to repeat the tactics of ferkeh and the atbara, marching in the dark- ness and attacking in the gray of the morning. thus the khalifa was induced to wait during the night for the expected attack. it was only when he found that the invaders were still camped on the river-bank at dawn that he moved forward. so there was a quiet night, disturbed only by some local false alarms — a shot or two fired by sentries at what they took to be moving foes in their front, and one volley from a picket just after a party of friendly scouts had rushed in, giving the impression that the dervishes were coming. curiously enough, though dervish scouts were undoubtedly prowling in the front of the camp, the moving searchlights never actually showed any of them. a little after half-past three (when it was still dark, and with nearly two hours to wait for the sunrise) the bugles of the british divisions and drum and bugle in the egyptian camp sounded the reveille, and the men rose and stood where [ ] famous battles of the xixth century they had slept, in battle array. breakfasts were hastily got ready and disposed of. pack ani- mals were loaded up ready to move off when the order was given to march, for at that moment the general idea was that the enemy would still give battle on the hilly ground between the camp and omdurman, and that the anglo-egyptian army would have to advance and attack him. as soon as the dawn began to whiten the sky away across the nile the cavalry trotted out and made for the hills, to see what the dervishes were doing. the gunboats had steam up, and were cleared for action, ready at the word to slip from their moorings and cover the flank of the army as it marched on omdurman. by five o'clock the whole force was ready to march, but before breaking up the line and moving to the attack of the dervishes the sirdar waited for news from his cavalry scouts. as they pushed into the hills a number of dervish horsemen retired before them without showing any fight. major baring's squadron of the egyptian cavalry had ridden over the low ridge that forms the shoulder of jebel surgham. here he came in sight of the khalifa's camp and saw at once signs that showed him the enemy would soon be on the move. he sent in his re- port, and then the headquarters staff suspended all further preparations for the march, and the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century the men wore the white jibba, ornamented with divers colored patches — the dervish uniform. over their heads fluttered the brightly colored pennons of their emirs. even before they came in sight many in the camp had heard, like the noise of the sea, the confused roar made by hun- dreds of war-drums and the mingled shouts of thousands of fanatic warriors, marching, as they fondly dreamed, to victory, under the eye of the khalifa himself, for soon his black banner showed in the midst of the advancing tide of armed men. here and there the foremost dervishes fired a few shots at the retiring cavalry. the lancers rode into the left of the camp and formed up between the british division and the river; the egyptian squadrons, moving rapidly across the front of the camp, rejoined the main body of broadwood's cavalry away to the north of the battle line. the gunboats had steamed up the river and had joined major elmslie's battery in the re- newed bombardment of omdurman. now that the enemy's army was in sight, they were recalled to assist in repelling his attack. the cavalry reports showed that the khalifa's first line was formed of five great masses of rifle and spear- men. from left to right it was between two and three miles long. in the rear of it there [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — was a second line, of much less strength, escort- ing a mass of camels and donkeys laden with supplies. cavalry were riding on the flanks, and here and there in the intervals of the great moving mass of infantry, but the dervishes had only brought out with them three krupp guns and one of the old nordenfeldts. these were in their right center. topping the ridges in front, the great moving multitude of dervish warriors poured out upon the sandy plain in front of the sirdar's line. some of the leading mahdists were firing as they marched, but the range — nearly two miles — was far beyond the farthest limit of what the remington rifle could do, even with better am- munition than the cartridges made in omdur- man arsenal. shouting and drumming, the main mass moved on without firing a shot. their right climbed over the jebel surgham height, and from that point to the kerreri hills the whole plain was filling with horse and foot, rifles, and spears, and waving banners, while the drum and war-horn raised a deafening din. a staff officer spurred away from the sirdar's side to the british left, where major williams's gunners of the royal artillery were waiting ready beside their long fifteen-pounders. he brought the order to open fire. precisely at . the first gun aimed at the dervish right and [ ] famous battles of the xixth century loaded with shrapnel boomed out, and the shell burst fairly in the air, just in front of the enemy's line, rolling over a good score of the foremost in the attack. then the other guns and the egyp- tian batteries joined in, and all along the der- vish front the bursting shells tore gaps in their ranks, gaps that were filled as soon as they were made. through the field-glass those who watched the bursting shells saw that many even of the wounded dervishes sprang up and regained their place in the front. a few minutes more, and another galloper carried the order to the grenadier guards to open fire with volleys from their long-ranging lee-metfords at twenty-seven hundred yards, the extreme distance for which the rifle is sighted. the guardsmen standing close to the zareba hedge opened fire with vol- leys by sections, and the other regiments of gatacre's division carried on the firing away to the left. in the huge moving mass in front of them they had a target against which even at such a distance the volleys could hardly fail to be effective. in the center and on the right the soudanese and egyptian battalions were still silently watching the enemy's advance, lying down in their shelter trenches, for the range was far too great for their martinis. under the rain of bursting shells and maxim [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — in dire straits. about sixty of them had al- ready fallen, killed or badly wounded, when rescue arrived, the melik and two other gun- boats steaming up to close quarters and sending a shower of bursting shells from their quick- firers and a hail of bullets from their maxims into the mahdist ranks. osman withdrew his force from the neighborhood of the river, leaving great heaps of dead to mark the spot where he had been caught by the gunboats. the camel corps, marching along the nile bank under the protection of the flotilla, rode into the north end of the camp and formed up behind the right flank of macdonald's brigade. while this was happening, colonel broad- wood, with the cavalry and the four guns of the horse battery, had got safely away to the north- ward, fighting all the while with a mass of der- vishes, part of osman's force. the guns were more than once brought into action; the cavalry acted sometimes with carbine fire dismounted, sometimes charged the overdaring dervish horse that ventured to press them too closely. soon the pressure on his force diminished as the main body of the pursuers fell back. then he turned, and marching along the nile, worked his way back towards the main battlefield. his troopers had behaved splendidly. they had followed their officers as readily as if they had been en- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century gaged in a field day, instead of in a fight on diffi- cult ground, with an overwhelming force of des- perately daring enemies. there were many individual deeds of heroism performed by the egyptian troopers in helping officers and men who had been wounded, or whose horses had been killed. broadwood's fight had a useful result on the general fortunes of the day, for at a critical moment it had diverted at least ten thou- sand of the khalifa's best troops from the attack on the camp. let us now turn to what was being done on the main battlefield. when the dervish right and center attacks had advanced to about eight hundred yards, their fire began to take effect here and there in the ranks of the sirdar's army, the mass of riflemen on jebel surgham, who fired over the heads of the advancing spearmen and cavalry, doing the most damage. the first man hit was corporal mackenzie, of the seaforth highlanders, wounded in the leg by a ricochet- ting bullet. he had the wound dressed, and promptly returned to his place in the firing line. the next casualty was in the lincolns, a soldier being shot dead as he fired his rifle. the zareba hedge in front of the british part of the line was never of any real use during the battle, for the dervishes never got near enough for it to serve as an obstacle. it is essentially a defence for a [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — bivouac at night, and on this occasion it would have been better if it had been pulled away in the early morning. it was so high that the men had often to stand to fire over it, thus making the aim less steady and exposing the soldiers more completely, for a zareba does not stop bul- lets. the soudanese and egyptian regiments were much better off in their shelter trenches. shallow as they were, they afforded good cover to a kneeling line and very complete protection to men lying down, and both positions mean a steadier aim for the firing line. for five or ten minutes the dervish fire was heavy. there are said to have been at least ten thousand riflemen engaged in this first on- slaught upon the camp, and the marvel is that they did so little damage. for the dervish cav- alry and spearmen there was no hope but in getting to close quarters with the defenders of the camp, and they pressed on recklessly, wave upon wave, mostly to fall as they came up to the deadly five hundred yards’ range, or to limp back disabled by metford or martini bullet. but the riflemen found some little shelter here and there behind the undulations of the desert ground, and lying down they kept up a sharp fire in comparative security. some of them established themselves within four hundred yards of the british zareba hedge, and at that [ ] famous battles of the xixth century range their remingtons were effective enough. there were some fifty or sixty casualties in the british portion of the line alone. but these were hardly noticed, for the atten- tion of all in the camp was riveted on the terrible spectacle of the dervishes marching bravely on through the storm of fire that blazed and roared from the long front of the camp. the guns on the left and the maxims had been run out till they formed almost a right angle with the south side of the zareba, so as to get them to bear better on the enemy's attack. for half an hour through the hail of bullet and shell the dervishes came on. led by their mounted emirs, they moved forward till they fell, and then others ap- peared, coming on to take their places in the front. it was noticed that many even of their rifle- men were so intent on pressing forward that they never stopped to fire, but bounded onwards among the spearmen, brandishing their rem- ingtons over their heads. few got as far as four hundred yards from the british front. the man who fell nearest the line of the british divi- sion was a splendidly built young arab, who rushed forward with his broad-bladed spear at the charge till a bullet brought him down just two hundred yards from the zareba. in front of maxwell's brigade an old white-bearded man, [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — the enemy's riflemen from the hollows, whence they still kept up a dropping fire. there was a sense of elation at the idea that the great battle was won and the way to omdurman open. but there was still a lot of hard fighting before the sirdar's army. the repulse of the dervish on- slaught proved to be only the first phase in the struggle, and many a brave life on both sides was yet to be sacrificed as part of the price of victory. by half-past eight it looked as if the battle were over. the enemy had drawn back over the slopes of the kerreri hills on one side and of jebel surgham on the other. all that was to be seen of the dervish army was the wreckage of the attack, the thousands of dead and wounded strewing the desert, their jibbas whiten- ing the ground over a space two miles long and at least half a mile wide. the british and egyptian wounded were transferred from the field hospital to the awning-covered barges on the river. cartridge pouches and the limber boxes of the artillery were refilled from the re- serve ammunition, and the order was given to prepare the march. the sirdar had deter- mined to push on at once for omdurman, about five miles distant, so as to reach it before the de- feated dervishes could rally for its defence. passing round to the southeast of the hill, the [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — more on its edges or beyond it. in this instance, however, it is very likely that the lancers would have charged even if they had known from the first the numbers and position of the dervish detachment. they had ridden out looking for something to charge, and they took the first op- portunity that offered. colonel martin decided to get between the enemy and their line of retreat landwards, so the lancers moved to the westward of the hol- low and formed up in line. though the charge had little of “the pomp and circumstance of war,” it was an exploit which, so far as the hard fighting went, any cavalry in the world might be proud of. there is no need to discuss here the question whether there was any real reason for the exploit to be performed, looking at the matter from the stand- point of the military critic. probably the enemy could have been turned out of their sheltering hollow at the cost of a few shells from the artil- lery or the gunboats, and the one british cavalry regiment on the ground kept intact for the pur- suit. but such reasonings after the event, even if they are well founded, imply no discredit to the soldier in the field, who, with only a moment in which to decide, takes the bolder course. and the cavalry leader is, above all others, apt, [ ] famous battles of the xixth century when he sees his enemy before him, to reason like the poet's hero — “there may be rules. for me, i know but one, to dash upon my enemy and win.” so the trumpets sounded the welcome notes that sent the lancers forward to their first charge. as they neared the hollow a sputter of rifle-fire began from its edge. a few troopers dropped, one or two horses fell. three hun- dred yards from the enemy the men could see that the scouts had made a mistake, and that there was no mere handful of beaten dervishes in their front, but a dense crowd of rifle and spearmen, full of fight, packed together in the shelter of the rocky khor. but even if there was any thought of a counter-order it was now too late to stop the charge, and colonel martin, riding the foremost, with his sword in its sheath, ready to use the impetus and weight of his charger as his best weapon, rode straight for the center of the enemy, where the broad soudan spears bristled most thickly. a minute more and the lancers were into the mass of the dervish infantry, dashing through a storm of bullets and leaping down a three-foot drop into the hollow. and though the enemy stood in places twenty deep, in one minute more these gallant horsemen were through them. [ ] famous battles of the xixth century poral came out from the ranks, gave molyneux his stirrup leather, and brought him safely in. surgeon-major pinches, whose horse had been shot under him, was saved by sergeant-major brennan, who, after cutting down several of his assailants, got the major behind him on his horse and rode out of the press. lieutenant robert grenfell, who was leading one of the troops in the center, was thrown by his wounded horse, but made a desperate fight on foot. he fired every shot in his revolver, and when last seen alive was facing several spearmen, sword in hand. several lances broke in the charge, and some of the swords failed at a critical moment. lieu- tenant wormald's sword bent as he struck at an emir with whom he was engaged in single fight; but he stunned him with a blow of the crooked blade. captain fair's sword snapped on the linked coat of mail of another of the enemy's leaders, and he dashed the hilt into the face of the dervish. altogether, in less than two min- utes, twenty-two of the lancers were killed and more than fifty severely wounded. of the horses, one hundred and nineteen were killed, many of them just struggling out of the hollow and falling dead as the regiment rallied close to the enemy. it was during this rally that some of the brav- [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — est deeds were done, individual officers riding back to bring off wounded or dismounted com- rades. major wyndham had lost his horse, and was trying to mount behind lieutenant smith, who had turned back to help him. he had failed in two attempts, when he was lifted up by captain kenna, who came riding back, accom- panied by lieutenant de montmorency and cor- poral swarbrick, all bent on saving young gren- fell if he still lived, and, if not, carrying off his body. grenfell was lying on the nearer slope of the hollow, and a number of dervishes were hacking at him with their swords. kenna and his comrades drove them off with their pistols, and while the corporal held two of the horses, the two officers tried to lift grenfell's body on to the third. the lieutenant was quite dead, bleed- ing from more than a dozen wounds. as they placed the body across the saddle the horse shied and bolted, throwing it to the ground. the three would-be rescuers had then to retire, keeping off the pursuing dervishes with their revolvers. hardly a man or horse in the four squadrons had escaped without some injury, uniforms and saddlery were cut and torn, and in every troop horses and men were bleeding from wounds, mostly slight, but in many cases serious, for the brave fellows were trying to keep their places [ ] famous battles of the xixth century in the ranks, and afraid only of being ordered to fall out. sergeant weysey, with the blood running down his face, called to his troop to re- form for another charge. another of the wounded lancers, trooper byrne, who had re- ceived a sword cut and a bullet, on being told to fall out and go to the surgeon, replied, “oh, sir, do let me stay and have another go at them!” lieutenant brinton, of the life guards, with his left shoulder cut open, took his place at the head of his troop as if he were unwounded. officers and men were eager to charge back through the enemy, but colonel martin wisely decided that enough had been done. another charge would have meant the destruction of the regiment. he dismounted a number of troop- ers and opened fire with carbines on the der- vishes, who, after firing a few shots in reply, tried to retreat towards the hills from the hollow which no longer protected them. as they did so they were forced to cross the front of the british division. the guns of the thirty-second battery unlimbered and poured shrapnel into them. the infantry gave them volley after volley, and only a small number of them reached the shelter of the hills. sixty dead dervishes were found in the hol- low, so that, even supposing a number of wounded men got away from it when they re- [ ) with kitchener in the soudan — tired, their loss in the charge was comparatively slight. several hundred were killed as they crossed the plain. lieutenant grenfell’s body was recovered as soon as the enemy began to retreat. it was gashed and stabbed in many places, and one spear thrust had smashed his watch, which had stopped at . . his brother was acting as staff officer to general lyttelton, and heard of his death a few minutes after. when the battle ended he buried the body under a tree, not far from the deadly hollow. he dug the grave himself, assisted by four of his com- rades. and here, before going on to the closing epi- sode of the battle, i may note an incident con- nected with the lancers' charge as related by mr. williers: “on steaming past the extreme left flank of the kerreri position,” he says, “we halted for a moment to take on board another wounded trooper, and here i saw a pathetic sight. some troopers of the twenty-first lancers, who had remained behind to bury their heroic comrades who had fallen in that famous dare-devil charge, had come down to the shore for water, leading two badly wounded chargers. one was that of poor lieutenant grenfell, which had stum- bled and thrown his rider. the poor brute was fearfully slashed about his withers and flanks, [ ) famous battles of the xixth century which were masses of raw flesh. the other charger was also badly hurt. they were both able, however, to take a long drink from the river, when they were taken up the bank and shot. the action of the trooper — who evi- dently owned the horse — was very pathetic. he stood with his revolver cocked for several moments, evidently reluctant to raise it to his charger's head, the poor beast the while sniffing at his hand and rubbing his nose against his sleeve. i could see that the man was trembling with emotion. twice did he raise the revolver before he could summon up nerve to pull the fatal trigger. after it was over the poor fellow looked intently at the inanimate body for a mo- ment to see that he had not swerved in his aim, and then hurried away.” while the lancers were desperately charging the dervishes on the other side of the jebel surg- ham ridge, the infantry brigades, british and egyptian, were moving out from the ground they had held so well, to take up the échelon formation for the advance into omdurman. the leading british brigade had marched at half-past nine, and was just topping the sandy ridge between surgham and the river, its four battalions marching abreast in column. the sirdar and his staff were riding close to it on the ridge, being anxious to see as soon as might be [ ) with kitchener in the soudan — what was out in front. the other brigades were moving into the positions assigned to them for the advance. several of the regiments were marching on ground that had been swept by our fire, and frequently wounded fanatics would spring up and fire on the men or try to close with them. they were bayoneted or shot; but, apart from this desultory shooting, all fire had ceased for some time. most of the british and egyp- tians felt fairly certain that the battle was over, and that if the dervishes were encountered again it would be farther south, on the march between the surgham ridge and the suburbs of omdur- iila il. but, screened by the hills that looked down on the battlefield, the khalifa was gathering his army for a last great effort. it was well planned, and against less thoroughly trained troops than those who met it this onset might have ended in a victory for mahdism. the warriors en- gaged in this second attack had for the most part taken no share, or only a slight one, in the earlier advance. the dervishes were massed in two huge columns, which were to make a con- verging attack on the egyptian right and right tear. macdonald's brigade was marching out to take up its position nearest the hills and furthest to the rear in the great échelon. it was for- * [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — self with sending off gallopers at the full speed of their horses to ask the sirdar for support. yakub's warriors, horse and foot mingled together, came on as bravely as ever men charged to death on a battlefield. again the great tide of jibba-clad dervishes poured into the plain, firing, shouting, brandishing their spears, and beating their war-drums. there was a mo- mentary check as the foremost ranks went down under the egyptian fire, and then the second dervish column appeared, charging from the kerreri hills on macdonald's right, led by os- man and wad helu. there is nothing more difficult even for the best-trained troops than to change front while actually engaged and under a heavy fire. the soldier's attention has become riveted on the enemy in his original front; he feels the danger is there; and yet he finds him- self suddenly told to cease fire, no longer to op- pose a threatening advance, and to execute a necessarily complex parade movement, during the course of which he feels he is doing nothing to defend himself. unless drill and discipline have become a second nature, and the men have absolute confidence in their officers and the officers in the men, the attempt begins in con- fusion and ends in disaster. but macdonald knew he could trust his brigade even to the ex- tent of this supreme test. he changed his order [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — the dervishes were retreating — some of them were even running, a sight rarely seen on a soudan battlefield. a last desperate effort was made by the dervish cavalry to save the day, but men and horses were swept down like grass before the scythe as they came under the fire of the right, now strengthened by two british battalions. the fifteenth egyptians did not secure the flag till every man of yakub's body- guard and the emir himself had fallen beside it. during this last struggle the sirdar had ridden up with his staff. an orderly took and held aloft the black flag which hickman had pre- sented to the sirdar. instantly a shell from one of the gunboats went hurtling close overhead. slatin was the first to see what it meant. “down with that flag,” he said, and the banner was lowered and furled. the gunboat had not yet realized that it was in the hands of the egyptians. the long line was now on the edge of the hills, facing westward toward the desert, where the emirs were striving to rally the wreck of their army. the sirdar ordered a general advance, and on the victorious army went, pouring long- range volleys into the flying foe, while the egyp- tian cavalry charged them on the right, and the guns from time to time unlimbered and sent a shower of shells into any formed body of der- [ ) famous battles of the xixth century vishes that still held together. by quarter past eleven it was clear that no further resistance was possible. the line halted; the battle was won. it only remained to secure the fruits of victory. once more the order was given to form up facing south for the march into omdurman. as the sirdar's army pressed on towards the northern suburbs of the mahdist capital, some thousands of the defeated dervishes could be seen moving by the desert towards the city. they were no longer marching in any military array, but plodding along in little detached groups, with here and there a mounted man walking his tired horse. clearly there would be no more show of opposition in the open, nor was any serious resistance anticipated in the streets and behind the walls of omdurman. as the gunboats came up close to the bank near the north end of the town a crowd of the townspeople, chiefly women, came down to the river's edge, holding up a white flag, and pre- senting peace-offerings of goats, chickens, cakes and fruit. it was with some difficulty that they were persuaded that there was no need of bring- ing even such poor ransom to the conquerors of the city. on the land side, too, crowds came out with white flags to meet the advancing bat- talions, and while they welcomed the sirdar, it [ ] a corner of the battlefield. the standard-bearer's death grip a. with kitchener in the soudam — was evident that there had been a lurking fear that the city would be sacked after the battle, in the old savage fashion of arab warfare. as the soudanese battalions entered the sub- urbs there was an unpleasant change from this friendly reception. desperate groups of der- vishes were holding out here and there among the houses, making a flat parapeted roof their post of vantage, or firing from windows and half- open doors. there were also ghastly signs of what the baggara horsemen had done as they galloped away through the suburbs from the battlefield. corpses lay in the deserted street, for the most part women and young girls, slaves of those barbarous masters whom they had speared or cut down as they caught them escap- ing from the houses. the soudanese cleared the suburb with bullet and bayonet, the gun- boats occasionally giving effective help by bringing their maxims to bear on a housetop, sweeping it with a jet of hot lead as a fireman sweeps a roof with a stream of water. while this desultory fighting was still going on, and the bullets were flying in the mud-walled streets, the sirdar rode in at the head of his staff. the soudanese had got round the northeast angle of the central walled enclosure of the city by wading through the water of the nile, where it ran close to the foot of the fortifications. [ ] famous battles of the xixth century they entered by the breaches which the shells had made in the wall on the river front, and once inside, met with no organized resistance, though there was some desultory skirmishing. the sirdar and his staff, with their escort, had ridden down the broad street that runs from the center of omdurman through the northern suburbs. crowds of the townsfolk waited to welcome him, some sincerely glad of the down- fall of the khalifa, others eager to make their peace with the victor. as he approached the mahdi's tomb and the central enclosure there were fewer of these more or less sincere con- gratulations, and then came the experience of being occasionally fired at from roofs and walls. guided by slatin, the sirdar entered the inner walled city by one of the large openings on the land side, and reached the neighborhood of the khalifa's half-ruined palace, while the soudan- ese were still clearing it of the last desperate remnant of abdullahi's bodyguard. the kha- lifa himself had ridden away only a few min- utes before, accompanied by a few of his chiefs, some of his wives, and a small escort. for some time it was supposed that he was still in the palace. it was at this point that a most unfortunate incident occurred. the hon. hubert howard, a son of the earl of carlisle, had accompanied [ ) with kitchener in the soudan — the expedition as war correspondent of the times and the new york herald. he had already seen some service in south africa, and had there displayed the same venturous disposition that led him, during the battle of omdurman, to ride with the twenty-first lancers in their des- perate charge. out of that danger he had come scathless. but now, when the fighting was all but over, he was to meet his death by the fire of his own friends. he had ridden with the staff close up to the enclosure of the khalifa's palace, near the mahdi's tomb. it was just sunset, and the light was rapidly decreasing, but howard, nevertheless, told a comrade who was with him that he would push on into the courtyard in the hope of taking some snapshot photographs with a hand camera which he carried. he went in, but he had hardly done so when a shell, fired by one of the british batteries, exploded in the enclosure and killed him on the spot. the battery commander had received orders to drop a shell from time to time into the neighborhood of the madhi's tomb in order to break up any rally of the dervishes there. but he had not been informed of the rapid progress of maxwell's men and the sirdar and his staff, who had reached the tomb much sooner than was antici- pated. young howard's death was the result. the death roll of war correspondents in the [ ) famous battles of the xixth century soudan is a longer one than for any other coun- try, and on this day they lost, in proportion to their small numbers, more heavily than the combatant officers or the rank and file. all resistance being now at an end, and it having been definitely ascertained that the kha- lifa had escaped from the city, the sirdar and his officers paid a brief visit to the mahdi's tomb. the evening light coming in through the great rent in the dome showed how the interior had been wrecked by the bursting lyddite shell. the tomb itself, and the gilded railings round it, were badly damaged; of the lamps that hung from the roof only one remained, and the doors, with their carved panels, had been blown open and shattered. leaving maxwell's brigade to hold the town and keep order, the sirdar directed the rest of the troops to withdraw from the suburbs and bivouac for the night in the open. omdurman was a pestilential place. slatin, in his descrip- tion of it, had in no way exaggerated the filth and horror of its mud-walled streets. from the mosque the sirdar made his way to the prison. there he found, in chains, charles neufeld, the german trader who had ventured into the soudan in , and had been a captive ever since, wearing his heavy chains for eleven years; so that when they were struck off he at [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — first found it hard to balance himself without the weight of them. there was also an italian and some greeks, and more than a hundred abyssinians taken prisoners in the battle where king johannes was defeated and killed by the dervishes. other prisoners were egyptians and soudanese who had incurred the suspicion of the khalifa. among these was ibrahim pasha fauzi, who had been staff officer to gen- eral gordon during the siege of khartoum. he had been a prisoner since the fall of the city, and had been cruelly tortured by order of the mahdi in order to force him to confess where he had hidden his money during the siege. by a cu- rious coincidence he was brought on board the melik to have his chains struck off by the ship's armorer, and he was thus restored to freedom in the presence of gordon's nephew, who com- manded the gunboat. in the darkness of the gathering night the sirdar made his way to the bivouac. there, stretched on the gravel of the river-bank, beside colonel wingate, he dictated to the latter, by the light of an inch of candle, the short tele- graphic despatch that was to tell england of the long-expected victory. it was taken down the nile by a gunboat to be put upon the wire at nasri. in the great bivouac, guarded by only a few [ ) with kitchener in the soudan — sand eight hundred and twenty-four. it was esti- mated that there were besides these about fifteen thousand wounded. this would mean that in about four hours' fighting every second man in the dervish army of fifty thousand men was killed or wounded. there were thousands of prisoners; for, when once the battle was lost, all but the fanatic few were only too ready to make their peace with the victors. seven thousand wounded were turned over to the care of the surgeons. thousands of prisoners were set at liberty as soon as they had laid down their arms. only the emirs and some of the more truculent of the baggara were detained under guard. among the captives were some of the khalifa's wives. they were set free after a short inter- rogation by the intelligence officers. another prisoner was one of slatin's former servants, who, for conniving at his escape, had been kept in chains for the last three years. on the eve of the battle his chains were struck off, and he was given a sword and buckler and forced to march with many more equally unwilling com- batants. he survived the dangers of the day, and was delighted at being restored to his former master. slatin had returned to the camp near om- durman the day after the battle and reported that the pursuit of the khalifa had been a failure. [ ) famous battles of the xixth century the egyptian cavalry were in no condition for a long pursuit. on the day of the battle they had been in the saddle from early dawn, and had repeatedly been hotly engaged with the enemy. after the repulse of the final attack they had fallen upon the retiring dervishes, then wheeling round they had swept past the north of omdurman, breaking up a large body of mahdist cavalry, and collecting and sending in nearly a thousand prisoners. a little after six o'clock, when they were preparing to bivouac near the south end of omdurman, slatin pasha arrived with orders to colonel broadwood to start at once in chase of the khalifa. there was no time to serve out rations or fresh forage. the men mounted and rode off, tired and hungry as they were. they were told that one of the steamers would tow up a barge full of supplies, and meet them in the morning at some point on the river-bank. broadwood had about five hundred men and horses with him, so many of the other horses were injured, or utterly exhausted, that it was impossible to take them out. only the wonderful endurance of the little arab and egyptian horses enabled even so many of them to take part in the pursuit. for about six miles they rode through the darkness, led by a jaalin guide. then it was found that they were in the midst of marshes, formed by [ ) with kitchener in the soudan — the recent heavy rains and the overflow of the nile; so there was a halt till the moon rose, the men resting, formed in a small square, for there were armed parties of the enemy prowling in the neighborhood. not far off the camel corps were also in biv- ouac. so far, notwithstanding the exhausted state of men and animals, there was a hope of overtaking the fugitive khalifa. during the night a number of slaves and women had come in, whom he had abandoned in his flight, or who had given him the slip. they reported that he had with him about a hundred men of his own tribe, the taaisha baggaras. when the moon rose the pursuit was continued, and from time to time stragglers were overtaken who said they had been with the khalifa. these, however, were now fewer and fewer, and it be- gan to be clear that abdullahi and his com- panions had got a good start and were making the most of it. their horses and camels had not, like the mounts of broadwood's and tud- way's men, had four days of continuous and ex- hausting work before this forced night march. by sunrise thirty miles had been covered. the horses were nearly dead beat, and there was neither food for the men nor forage for their mounts. it was, under such conditions, hope- less to press on, so the tired men and horses [ ) famous battles of the xixth century turned towards the nile. but the banks, cov- ered by the flood, were for some time inaccessible. the men had to ride for some time along the edge of a wide belt of marshes and shallows, two miles wide, till at last, along a point of higher ground, they got down to the river and received some supplies from the flotilla. then orders were reluctantly given to return to khar- toum. major stuart-wortley got his little army of friendlies across the river during the morning, and they took up the pursuit of the khalifa, but he had got such a start of them that from the first their chance of overtaking him was not very great. one of the steamers proceeded for some distance up the white nile in the hope of per- haps coming up with the fugitives somewhere on its banks. but the most trustworthy reports that could be obtained from the stragglers and the riverside folk indicated that he had not fol- lowed the usual track of caravans near the nile, but had struck off into the desert, where the rain had left large pools in the khors and hollows, so that a small party would find water in abun- dance for their camels and horses. but for the recent storms the fugitives would have been forced to follow the river-bank, and would have had much more difficulty in getting away. the escape of the khalifa was the one point [ ] famous battles of the xixth century long before the victories and defeats of mahdism made their name famous throughout the world. the sirdar had crossed the nile on saturday, and paid a brief visit to khartoum, accom- panied by his officers. the former capital of the soudan had shrunk to a riverside village, surrounded by ruins. near the nile bank, among the bushes, stood one of the movable pumping-engines which gordon had tried to introduce as an improvement on the centuries- old water-wheel system. his palace, where he spent those last anxious months of his heroic career, was a huge ruin. the roof and more lightly built upper story were gone, but the solidly built lower walls were standing, though the flooring, beams, and planks had been re- moved for the construction of newer buildings in omdurman, so that all the rooms, even on the ground floor, were open to the sky. the staircase by which gordon had come down to meet his murderers was also gone, but the natives were able to point out where it stood. the only important building that was in good repair was the large house of the catholic mis- sion, to which father ohrwalder and his fellow prisoners had once belonged. the house and its courtyard had been turned into an arsenal and storehouse by the khalifa, and a consider- able quantity of arms and ammunition was [ ] with kitchener in the soudan — found there, including seventeen guns of various calibres. but besides the military stores there was a miscellaneous collection of various articles of european manufacture, the loot of the various garrisons that had been captured in the soudan and of hicks pasha's unfortunate army. on the sunday morning there was a striking scene in khartoum. the sirdar and his staff, with the officers commanding brigades and divisions, and as many of the british officers as could be spared from duty, were ferried across the nile from shambat to the ruined city. with them went guards of honor of several of the british regiments, of gordon's own corps, the royal engineers, of the royal artillery, and of the eleventh soudanese. the band of the sou- danese and the pipers of the camerons and sea- forths were also present. the troops were formed in a hollow square, just in front of the ruined palace, close to the spot where gordon was killed. two flagstaffs had been erected on the palace wall, and by each stood a couple of officers. at a signal from the sirdar they hoisted at one staff the union jack, at the other the khedive's flag — red with a white crescent — while the two gunboats on the river fired a sa- lute, the bands playing the british national anthem and the khedive's march. then fol- lowed a brief religious service in memory of the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century hero of the spot – charles gordon. there were some few among the officers who had shared in the unsuccessful attempt to come to his rescue thirteen years before. three of the newspaper correspondents, who looked on and recorded this solemn scene, had been with the little band that fought its way across the bayuda desert, only to arrive too late. one of the four chap- lains, the veteran father brindle, had marched across the bayuda with the royal irish in that terrible campaign. here at last they were all at khartoum, too late, indeed, to save gordon, but not too late to begin again carrying on that work of bringing justice and security to the people of the soudan to which gordon devoted so much of his best energies. the chaplains in turn offered prayer, then the band played the “dead march” in saul, and the pipers a wailing highland coronach, while the steamers on the river fired nineteen minute guns. at the close of the service the sirdar called for cheers for the queen and the khedive. then the ranks were broken, and before returning across the river to omdurman half an hour was given to all, officers and men, to have an opportunity of visiting the famous spots associated with gordon's last days. when the news of the battle of omdurman and the recapture of khartoum reached eng- [ ) xiii admiral dewey and the battle of manila by a. hilliard atteridge more ominous, admiral dewey, who commanded the united states squadron in the pacific, was directed to assemble his ships at hong kong and prepare for eventualities. he put himself into close relation with the exiled rebel leaders, obtained from manila very com- plete information as to the condition of the de- fences of the bay and the spanish squadron; and when at last the cables brought him news that peace was at an end between spain and the united states, he sailed for manila to fight the first battle of the war. admiral george dewey, the hero of the ma- nila fight, comes of an old new england family. he was born in vermont in , graduated at the annapolis naval academy in , and saw his first war service, under farragut, at the forc- ing of the mississippi mouth, and in the numer- ous gunboat actions and attacks on forts along a s the cuban war crisis became more and [ ] y admiral george dewey, u.s.n. a. pro famous battles of the xixth century armored conning-tower. the raleigh and con- cord had also armored conning-towers. on the other hand, in the spanish fleet as- sembled at manila, the only ships that had even the protection of a lightly armored under-water deck were two small cruisers. all our guns were modern weapons from the washington gun foundry, of longer range, higher striking power, and (thanks to their flat trajec- tory) far more accurate than the spanish guns. these were of various types; there were arm- strongs, old muzzle-loading pallisers, krupps, and hontoria guns; so that to provide a proper variety of ammunition, and keep it sorted out in the arsenal, must have been a troublesome business. again, while the american ships were all of recent date and in good repair, several of the spanish vessels were old, with worn-out engines and boilers and leaky hulls. all this the amer- ican commodore knew, and, before he left hong kong, he must have felt quite certain that if he could bring the spanish fleet to action, he could destroy it with very little risk to his own powerful cruisers. by the terms of the british proclamation of neutrality, issued on monday, april , united states war vessels were given forty-eight hours in which to leave british ports. the proclamation [ ) admiral dewey and the battle of manila and torpedoes, but, as the subic fortifications offered no protection, i brought my ships back to manila bay. i went to subic believing it to be protected, but, seeing it would have taken more than a month to make it even passably capable of defence, i had no remedy, the amer- ican squadron being on its way to the philip- pines, but to abandon subic and rely upon the shelter of cavite. the minister of marine promised to send supplies, but they never came. i knew from the first that my squadron would be completely destroyed. i knew the amer- icans had men-of-war, whereas my ships were incapable of fighting with any chance of success. the americans had at least one hundred and fifty guns, modern, and all of superior pattern. ours were inferior in number and calibre.” no one doubts admiral montojo's personal courage and devoted sense of duty, but his very words offer sad proof of his incompetence for high command. it is curious that, although in- trusted with the naval defence of the philippines, he knew nothing of the state of affairs at subic till he took his fleet there. his desperate re- solve to fight a hopeless battle can only be ex- plained by the effect of repeated disappointments and troubles in his dealings with his govern- ment. it would have been better if he had taken his fleet out of the bay and kept it, or a portion [ ] famous battles of the xixth century of it, at sea, eluding pursuit in the labyrinth of reefs and islands formed by the northern philip- pines. he would thus have been in a position to seriously embarrass dewey in his operations against manila. or if this course was impossible (as some say) on account of leaky boilers and worn-out engines, he should have done as ad- miral korniloff did at sebastopol – landed his crews with their guns and ammunition and sunk the ships. in this way he would have consider- ably strengthened general augustin's defence of the city. manila bay is about thirty miles long and twenty-five wide at its broadest part. the mouth of the bay is about twelve miles across, but it is divided by the high rocky island of cor- regidor into two entrances — the northern, about two miles wide, and the southern or “great en- trance” (the boca grande), nearly ten miles from shore to shore. the depth of water in both entrances makes defence by submarine mines very difficult even if the material had been avail- able. montojo had mounted a few guns in a battery on corregidor island, some of them be- ing taken from one of his ships for the purpose. but although the material could have been ob- tained from the electric lighthouses of the har- bor, the steamers in port, and the arsenal and observatory, no effort seems to have been made [ ] admiral dewey and the battle of manila to equip the battery with searchlights. if these had existed they would probably have had the effect of keeping the garrison on the qui vive with the excitement of working them. as it was, a very poor lookout seems to have been kept at corregidor. saturday evening was bright and clear with some light from the moon, which was just past its first quarter. at p.m. the fleet, cleared for action, stood in towards the boca grande, keep- ing nearer the mainland side of the channel towards corregidor. the formation was “line ahead.” the flagship olympia led the way, then came in succession the baltimore, the ra- leigh, the petrel, the concord, the boston, with the despatch-boat and the two transports astern. the whole line was more than a mile and a half long. the engines were going slowly, all lights were screened, and the dark hulls glided in deep silence between the headlands. all eyes were fixed on corregidor, which rose like a black mass in the dim moonlight. every one was expecting the flash of a hostile gun as the flagship came up abreast of the island. but there was no sign of life on the shore. were the dons asleep? or was the commodore's information incorrect as to the modern guns that had been mounted to protect the boca grande now the baltimore has passed unchallenged, now the raleigh and [ ] famous battles of the xixth century the little petrel. at last the boston has the island abeam, when suddenly a long red flash leaps from the fraile battery and the report of a heavy gun booms across the sea. the shot went whistling high in air over the raleigh. bang went another gun, and this time the shot fell short. the raleigh, concord, and boston promptly replied, sending a shower of shells into corregidor and fraile, which replied until the ships were out of range, but not a single shot from the islands touched them. once past corregidor, the engines of the squadron slowed down till there was barely steerage way on the ships, and as the fleet went up the bay the men lay down to sleep beside their guns. the course taken was northeast, up the middle of the bay. in the gray of the sunday morning the fleet was off manila about five miles from the shore, heading directly for sangley point, which bore nearly due south. it was perfectly calm, without a breath of wind, and across the water came the musical chime of the church bells in the great city. the first shots were fired a little before five a.m. they came from three batteries of heavy guns at the new harbor works. all the shells flew high over the decks of the squadron. the concord replied with two shots, but was imme- diately ordered to cease firing, for it would have [ ] admiral dewey and the battle of manila been impossible to seriously engage the batteries at manila without risking the destruction of the city, and this dewey was anxious to avoid. his objective was montojo's fleet, which lay ahead of him under the guns of cavite arsenal and of the battery on sangley point. the spanish admiral does not appear to have been aware of the approach of the hostile squad- ron till he saw it steaming towards cavite on the sunday morning. his ships cleared for action, but only about half of them had steam up and were able to get under weigh. the old wooden castilla had her engines broken down, and was moored fore and aft near sangley point, to act as a floating battery. her starboard guns had been dismounted and sent to corregidor, but her port guns were trained on the approaching american squadron. the velasco and the don antonio de ulloa were anchored near the arsenal. they were in the hands of the dockyard staff, undergoing repair. montojo's flagship steamed out towards the open water of the bay, accom- panied by some of the smaller ships. they formed in line of battle across the opening of cavite bay, their left near sangley point. all was now grim silence for a few minutes, as dewey's fleet — the stars and stripes flying from every mast, the olympia leading — bore down in “line ahead” on the expectant span- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century iards. early as it was, the heat of the tropical summer day was already intense, and the men in turret and battery were stripped to the waist. the crews stood beside their guns. the com- modore was on the bridge of his flagship, with three of his officers; but gridley, the captain of the olympia, was in the conning-tower, dewey having assigned him this station, so that in case a shell burst on the bridge there would still be a senior officer ready to take command. eight knots an hour was now the speed of the leading ship. the range-finders in her fighting- tops were taking the range minute by minute, and telephoning the result to the conning-tower and bridge. a leadsman in the bow was watch- ing the depth, for it would be a serious matter to touch ground. no sound was heard but the regular throb of the powerful engines. a roar like thunder, and then another, and a vast fountain of water thrown skyward amid encircling clouds of smoke, right ahead of the olympia—two submarine mines have been fired, the only ones in the bay; but the spanish en- gineer officer who pressed down the firing-key in sangley battery has badly misjudged the posi- tion of the enemy, and fired his heavy mines too soon. dewey thinks, no doubt, of the day, years ago, when, as he steamed into mobile bay with farragut, he saw the confederate mines [ ] admiral dewey and the battle of manila bursting like under-water volcanoes. like far- ragut, he moves steadily on. there goes the first gun from sangley point. bad ranging again on the spanish side; that jet of water ahead shows it has fallen short. an- other and another, and now the guns of the span- ish fleet join in. they are getting the range, or the american fleet is drifting into their zone of fire, for now the shells are striking the water right and left of the flagship, some of them un- comfortably close. when is dewey going to open with his guns in reply? - now a shell bursts directly over the olympia's deck. no one is touched, but the men must have some relief from their pent-up excitement. the gunner in command at the heavy gun astern waves his cap and calls out, “remember the maine!” and the cry for vengeance is taken up by a hundred voices. the range was now fifty-five hundred yards, a little over three miles. it was just nineteen minutes to six. dewey decided to begin his attack. turning to the voice tube that led to the conning-tower, he said, “you may fire when ready, gridley.” the captain was only waiting for the word. he passed the order to the for- ward barbette for the heavy eight-inch guns to engage the battery on sangley point. the thunder of the olympia's cannon was the [ ] famous battles of the xixth century signal to the other ships to begin. the balti- more and the boston brought their heavy guns into action, taking for their mark the castilla and montojo's flagship, the reina cristina. the heavier guns of the american navy still use the old-fashioned powder, and the fleet was now advancing through a dense cloud of white smoke. the spaniards redoubled their fire, and as the olympia led the line, heading straight for the enemy's center, she was the mark for most of it. the spanish gunners shot fairly well, and there was a good deal of luck in the way the flagship escaped serious injury. “their ship and shore guns were making things hot for us,” wrote the new york herald correspondent, who was beside the commodore. “the piercing scream of shot was varied often by the bursting of time-fuse shells, the fragments of which would lash the water like shrapnel, or cut our hull and rigging. one large shell, that was coming straight at the olympia's forward bridge, for- tunately fell within less than a hundredfeet away, one fragment cutting the rigging exactly over the heads of lieutenants lamberton, rees, and myself. another struck the bridge gratings in line with it. a third passed just under dewey, and gouged a hole in the deck.” the range was now reduced to four thousand yards. the water was shoaling, and the flag- [ ] admiral dewey and the battle of manila ship turned to starboard, and, followed by the fleet, ran along the spanish front, dewey giving the order to open fire with all the guns. the rattle of the quick-firers mingled with the heavier note of the big turret guns, and a storm of shells burst upon the spanish ships and batteries. opposite sangley point the fleet turned and ran back again along the spanish line, bringing the guns on the other side of the ships to bear. this maneuver of running up and down the line was twice repeated. those of the spanish ships that were under steam also altered their positions, occasionally running in behind the anchored castilla, off sangley point. a shell burst against the side of the american flagship, close to one of the ports. another cut the halyards, just above the hands of the signal- ling officer on her after bridge. captain grid- ley, stepping out of the turret, received an injury which, although it was thought at the time to be a very trifling matter, led soon after to his being invalided home. the baltimore did not escape so easily. a shot passed right through her, hap- pily touching no one. then a shell ripped up her main deck, smashed the carriage of a six- inch gun, put it out of action, and exploding some of the ammunition that lay near it, seriously wounded eight men. another small shell struck the boston's foremast, just above the head of her [ ] famous battles of the xixth century captain, who stood on her forward bridge. luckily for him it failed to burst. fires were caused by shells bursting in her wardroom and hammock nettings, but these were quickly put out. but meanwhile it was going badly with the spanish fleet. the battery on the point was running short of ammunition, and its fire had almost ceased. close by, the old castilla had burst into flames under the rain of shells. her guns were silent, and her crew was abandoning her. the reina cristina, montojo's flagship, had been hit some seventy times in the first three- quarters of an hour. her steering gear was shattered by a shell, which made her unmanage- able. another burst in the engine-room and destroyed the main pipe of the condenser. on the gun deck men were lying between the guns, dead, or desperately wounded. montojo him- self had been hit by a fragment of a shell, but still stuck to his post, with a handkerchief tied round his wounded leg. the chaplain was killed as he tried to help a wounded sailor. the boatswain and chief gunner were dead. one of the doctors, the chief engineer, and three other officers were wounded. some fifty men had lost their lives, and three times as many were more or less badly injured — this out of a crew of three hundred and seventy officers and men. [ ] famous battles of the xixth century timore, and concord, the other of the raleigh. boston, and petrel. at a quarter-past eleven they opened fire on the sangley point battery and on cavite arsenal and fort at long range. the spanish reply was slow and feeble, the shells all falling short. it was for the americans more like target practice than a battle. soon a white flag was run up on cavite. fire ceased for a few minutes while a launch went in from the fleet to parley with the commandant. he said he did not want to surrender, but only to have time to get the women and children out of cavite. the american officer answered that he had no wish to cause useless bloodshed, but that he was determined to destroy the arsenal and what was left of the fleet, then for awhile cavite was left unmolested, while the larger ships engaged the sangley point battery, and the smaller ships, the petrel and concord, stood into bakor bay, and with their shells set fire to the ships that were scuttled and aground in the shallows. at half-past eleven a heavy shell burst in the bat- tery, sending up a huge column of earth and débris. after this the guns at sangley were silent. the ships in the bay were all ablaze. cavite reopened fire for a few minutes, then about twelve the last shot was fired by the span- iards, and a few minutes later dewey signalled [ ] admiral dewey and the battle of manila to cease firing. the victory was complete. the spanish pacific squadron had ceased to exist. and this great success had been cheaply bought. eight officers and men wounded represented the american injury by the spanish fire. the chief engineer of the despatch-boat mcculloch was dead. he had died of heat apoplexy during the fight. the spaniards had lost some eight hundred men. no praise could be too high for their de- voted valor. when captain boado, the chief of montojo's staff, went on board the boston with a message from the admiral after the action, lamberton, her commander, said to the spanish officer, “you have fought us with four very bad ships, not warships. there was never seen be- fore braver fighting under such unequal condi- tions. it is a great pity that you exposed your lives in vessels not fit for fighting.” and dewey sent through the british consul a message to montojo that he congratulated him on his gal- lant conduct, and would be glad to grasp his hand. [ ] xiv with roosevelt on san juan hill by a. hilliard atteridge he morning of june broke clear and | fine, with very little surf along the shore. , it was ideal weather for the landing. all along the coast for miles west and east of santiago american battleships and cruisers were bombarding every likely landing-place, while on the land side here and there the cuban bands came down and opened fire on the spanish outposts. at nine o'clock the cruisers machias, detroit, and suwanee, and the gunboat wasp, joined the new orleans, and a rain of shells was sent pouring into the wooded slopes above daiquiri and into the little village. soon flames and smoke rose from some of the houses. the spaniards had fired the village before abandon- ing it. there were only a handful of them in the place, not more than a company of infantry. they left the pier intact, no explosives were available for its destruction, and they also evacu- [ ] famous battles of the xixth century and part of general bates’ brigade, belonging to the first division, besides a portion of wheel- er's dismounted cavalry. none of the artillery could yet be got ashore, the only guns landed being a machine-gun battery. nor was much of the transport disembarked. some horses and mules were dropped overboard and made to swim ashore. altogether, by evening, general lawton had some six thousand men landed, and had besides with him about one thousand cubans under general castillo. the spanish detachments that had watched the hills and the coast villages were retiring west- ward towards santiago. linares had decided that it was useless to fritter away his small force by trying to hold the numerous blockhouses to the eastward, nor did he mean to expose his men to the fire of the american warships. on the evening of the d his outposts were at sevilla and firmeza, north of juragua and the coast village of siboney, both of them some miles west of daiquiri. before siboney was evacuated the spanish detachment there had lost heavily, and its commander, major bollini, had been killed by a bursting shell. the evacuation of the vil- lage and the hills behind it gave the americans a new landing-place, for in the bay of siboney there was a level beach, shelving regularly, so [ ] famous battles of the xixth century miles out from siboney, they might expect at any moment to meet an enemy. what really occurred we know down to the smallest detail, for there were some of the ablest correspondents of the new york press with both the columns. amongst others, mr. richard harding davis of the herald, and mr. edward marshall of the journal, were with colonel wood, and mr. caspar whitney was with gen- eral young. they not only sent long despatches to their papers at the time, but several of them have since published lengthy narratives of the fight. on these data, compared with each other and with the spanish official account of the day's work, the following story of the action of las guasimas is based. it will be seen that the day was an honorable one for all who took part in the little battle. just before dawn on friday morning general young marched out from siboney with his four hundred regulars, black and white, and his hotchkiss guns. he had expected to be joined early in his advance by three hundred of gen- eral castillo's cubans, but though he actually marched past their camps, none of them, except a few scouts, came to his help till all the fighting was ower. it was a close, hot morning. the recent rains had made the ground on the track and in the [ ] with roosevelt on san juan hill woods soft and muddy. the so-called road proved in places to be almost impassable. the bush grew down upon it, and the tangle of cac- tus, thorn trees, and palms formed such a dense mass away to the left that during the march not a glimpse was to be seen of the rough riders' column, which was following the path on the wooded spur on that side. at first the regulars tramped along the muddy tracking, chatting, and joking together, though even in this early stage of the march the advance was covered by a screen of vigilant scouts well in front. a mile and a half from siboney, as it was felt that the point of danger was being ap- proached, the order was given to “load maga- zines,” and in an instant all were silent and on the alert. then the advance was resumed. mr. whitney thus describes the anxious min- utes before the first contact with the enemy. to understand what he says as to how the column was protected it must be noted that the word “picket,” which in the british army means the body of men on an outpost line that sends out and immediately supports the sentries, in the united states means a sentry or a scout. “we moved forward,” he says, “now with one troop somewhat in advance of the others, and a strong line of pickets reconnoitring every [ ) with roosevelt on san juan hill the slope they had dug shelter trenches, and made some rough breastworks of loose stone. their left on an adjoining slope could sweep the front of the hill with a cross fire. their right was in the bush on the other side of the valley, holding the northern end of the spur by which the rough riders were advancing. all this was only gradually discovered by the americans as the fight developed. the spaniards had no intention of holding on doggedly to the very ex- tended line taken up by their small force. al- caniz was fighting a rearguard action to cover the general retirement of the outlying spanish detachments by sevilla or santiago. he had held the las guasimas ridges for forty-eight hours, and would necessarily retire if attacked in force, only showing enough fight to delay the advance of the invaders from siboney. two of the hotchkiss guns were placed in position to the left of the road near the beginning of its curve to the west. they were carefully screened in the bush, for young was anxious not to begin the action till he had given wood's column a little more time to come up on his left. the guns were ready at seven o'clock, but it was not till seven-twenty that they began to shell the spanish position on the hill. the enemy's rifles answered by a volley so accurately aimed that one of the gunners was killed beside his piece. three [ ] famous battles of the xixth century troops of the first cavalry were already working forward through the bush towards the hill in front, the fourth troop working up the hollow of a creek or stream to the left. they now opened fire, and were promptly answered by volleys of the fire of scattered sharpshooters in the bush and grass on the slopes in front, and above all rang out the rapid crackling fire of the ma- chine gun near the hill-top. several men and officers went down before this heavy fire, the leading troop of the first cavalry losing in rapid succession its captain, lieutenant, and senior sergeant. young had still in hand the four troops of the tenth cavalry — negro soldiers with useful experience of indian warfare in the far west. he sent one troop up the creek to strengthen his left, and pushed out two more to the right, where the close and heavy fire of the spaniards east of the hill made him think that they were trying to outflank him. the fourth troop he kept in reserve on the road. meanwhile the other column, composed of the rough riders, had also come in contact with the spaniards, and was hotly engaged in a close fight in the dense bush that covered the long spur to the left of the road. the column had marched at a.m., for the first part of the march was up a steep ascent, and then the track rose and fell along the ridge and was only a muddy, [ ] with roosevelt on san juan hill some of the cow-boy soldiers gave vent to their excitement in wild oaths, but roosevelt’s voice was heard sternly commanding: “stop that swearing. i don't want to hear any cursing to-day.” the men were soon perfectly in hand. it had been predicted that the cow-boys and hunters, once they were in action, would shoot according to their own independent judgment, and pay very little heed to orders; but in this las guasimas fight the men fired volleys, waiting patiently for the order to fire and not wasting ammunition wildly. they threw away all im- pedimenta, even their water bottles, keeping only their rifles and cartridge belts, and then began working forward through the bush, keep- ing a very good line. the spaniards were re- tiring slowly from the first. twice they stood for awhile and checked the american advance, and the tangle of the wood was so thick that any rapid movement was impossible. roosevelt took personal command of the left of the line, wood sending him one of the reserve companies. the other two were extended to the right towards the valley, in order to give touch with general young's column of regulars, but the fight had been more than an hour in progress before this was effected. the firing had begun in the wood long before young came into action in the val- ley, but the regulars do not seem for some time [ ) with roosevelt on san juan hill true that colonel alcaniz had never meant to do more than make a show of resistance, the per- fectly legitimate impression alike in the ranks of young's regulars and wood and roosevelt’s volunteers was that they had won a brilliant little victory. it was a most encouraging open- ing for the campaign. the losses of the victors had been heavy. among the wounded was mr. edward mar- shall, a correspondent of the new york journal. shot through the back near the spine, and partly paralyzed, he was carried to the field hospital, where he was told he had not long to live." lying on the stretcher, he dictated the story of the battle to be telegraphed to his paper. it was written down by one of the volunteers who knew shorthand, and it was only when the long telegram was completed that marshall discovered that his kindly helper had been writing with a wounded hand. mr. marshall recovered against all hope, and has since told his impressions when the spanish bullet struck him down. he seems to have felt very little pain, though this was not the impres- sion of those who saw him. mr. harding davis says: “when i saw him he was suffering the most terrible agonies and passing through a suc- cession of convulsions.” but it seems that these convulsive movements were not conscious for [ ] famous battles of the xixth century mr. marshall, according to his own account of what he felt when he was hit. “the bullet,” he says, “came diagonally from the left. i was standing in the open. “chug' came the bullet, and i fell into the long grass, as much like a lump as had the other fellows whom i had seen go down. there was no pain, no surprise. the tremendous shock so dulled my sensibilities that it did not occur to me that anything extraordi- nary had happened — that there was the least reason to be worried. i merely lay perfectly satisfied and entirely comfortable in the long grass. it was a long time before anyone came near me. the fighting passed away from me rapidly. there were only left in the neighbor- hood the dead, other wounded, and a few first- aid-for-the-injured men, who were searching for us. i heard two of these men go by calling out to the wounded to make their whereabouts known, but it did not occur to me to answer them. the sun was very hot, and i had some vague thoughts of sunstroke, but they were not specially interesting thoughts, and i gave them up. it seemed a good notion to go to sleep, but i didn’t do it. finally three soldiers found me, and putting half a shelter-tent under me carried me to the shade.”. the surgeon came along and examined his wound. “he told me,” says mr. marshall, [ ] famous battles of the xixth century tined for the attack of el caney passed the night on the edge of the woods fronting the spanish position. no fires were allowed in the bivouacs, and the soldiers were told to make as little noise as possible, for it was feared that if the enemy became aware of the preparations in progress for the attack he might abandon the little town without fighting, and the plan of operations had for its object not the mere occupation of el caney but the capture of its garrison. the americans at this period very much underestimated the fighting capacity of the spaniards, and every one in the attacking force believed that even if the spaniards did not give way before the mere menace of an attack, they would be driven out by the first rush. at sunrise the men were roused from their sleep, and while the hot mist still hung in the valleys, the columns were marshalled for the fight. general lawton's division worked up to the low ridges close to el caney without meet- ing with the least resistance, for the spaniards had no outposts or patrols in front of their posi- tion, and were awaiting the attack inside their defences. lawton had eight battalions of regu- lars and one of volunteers under his orders. only one light battery of four guns, under cap- tain allyn capron, had been assigned to his division. his right, the exposed flank, was pro- [ ] with roosevelt on san juan hill tected by the only two troops of mounted cavalry with the army. still farther away to the right were some of garcia's cubans, but already the americans had learned to set very little depen- dence on their fighting capacity. away to his left general kent's division, also of three brigades (eight battalions of regulars and one of new york volunteers), was waiting to attack san juan as soon as caney had fallen. kent had another four-gun battery, under cap- tain grimes, which was in position on the hill near el pozo farm. the dismounted cavalry and rough riders under general sumner held the right of kent's position, and there were more cubans on both sides of the ground assigned to his division. bates’ brigade was held in re- serve, and duffield's brigade of volunteers was moving along the coast railway to attack agua- dores, supported by the fleet, which stood in towards the harbor mouth, bombarded the forts, and sent its shells flying over the hills into santiago itself. the sky was overcast, and the morning was hot and sultry. but at twenty minutes to seven, when the first shot was fired on the right by capron's battery, the clouds overhead began to break, and the sun shone out brightly. “boys,” said a soldier, as the first cannon shot echoed in the wooded hills, “this is the first of july. it's - [ ] famous battles of the xixth century a pity we can't keep santiago for the fourth.” it was going to be kept a good deal longer. the chief defence of el caney was an old- fashioned stone fort on a conical hill to the south- east of the little town. the houses on each front of the place were loopholed, and there were some blockhouses on each side, linked together by shelter trenches and wire entanglements. the village church, a solid stone building, was also prepared for defence. the houses were single-storied cottages, and the few streets of the town were wide and open and planted with trees. “from the crest of the ridge,” writes captain lee, the british attaché who accompanied law- ton's staff, “we could look right down into the village, its thatched and tiled roofs half hid- den by the large shade-trees that we afterward learned to dread as the lurking-places of sharp- shooters. in the village itself profound quiet reigned, and there was no sign of life beyond a few thin wisps of smoke that curled from the cottage chimneys. beyond lay the fertile valley with a few cattle grazing, and around us on three sides arose, tier upon tier, the beautiful maestra mountains, wearing delicate pearly tints in the first rays of the rising sun. to our left stretched the rich green jungle, with its rippling bam- boo groves and clumps of royal palm. the only landmark in all this wide expanse was the [ ] with roosevelt on san juan hill great red-roofed ducoureaud house, a deserted country-seat that lay midway between el caney and santiago. three miles away in this direc- tion loomed the long, undulating ridge of san juan, streaked with spanish trenches, and be- hind it showed up clearly the faint pink buildings, with twinkling windows and innumerable red cross flags, that marked the city of santiago.” as the first shell of capron's battery burst over the fort, a group of spanish soldiers that had been lounging near its entrance disappeared into cover, and on the slope of the hill below some straw hats appeared here and there in line, showing where the infantry were lining the shel- ter trenches. but not a shot was fired in reply for a quarter of an hour, and so silent was the fort that one of lawton's staff suggested that it had been evacuated, and that the straw hats were stuck up on sticks as dummies to delude the attacking force into the idea that the trenches were held. the shells were knocking stones out of the walls of the fort, and one of them had all but demolished a blockhouse, but still the spaniards held their fire. not a shot came from the trenches till lawton's infantry began to deploy for the advance. the plan of attack was that general chaffee, with the seventh, twelfth, and seventeenth in- fantry, should work round to the north of el - [ ] famous battles of the xixth century caney; colonel miles's brigade, the first, fourth, and twenty-fifth infantry (these last negroes), was to advance against the west side of the town, and general ludlow, with the eighth and twenty-second regulars and the second mas- sachusetts volunteers, was to move against the place from the south. it was expected that in this way not merely would the town be quickly captured, but that its garrison would be made prisoners. it was expected that the business would be all over early in the day, and then law- ton's division could move against the flank of the spaniards at san juan and help kent to turn them out. miles's and ludlow's brigades were the first to come into action, opening up on el caney with volleys at about a thousand yards, from grassy ridges to the west and south. chaffee had fur- ther to march with his three regiments, and reached his ground somewhat later. at a quar- ter past seven all the infantry was moving for- ward, and the spaniards had opened fire from the little stone fort, the trenches, the block- houses on three sides of el caney, shots also coming from sharpshooters on house-roofs and in tree-tops along the edge of the town. there had been till now a very general impression that spaniards could not shoot straight, but the men who held el caney shot coolly, deliberately, and [ ) - famous battles of the xixth century some hours more, during which the attack merely held their own. the second massa- chusetts had been withdrawn before this from the firing line. the volunteers had behaved well, advancing steadily and losing several men. but while the regulars were properly armed with modern rifles using smokeless powder, the volunteers, with the exception of roosevelt’s men, had only their old springfield rifles and cartridges loaded with the old-fashioned black powder. the result was, that as the massachu- setts men advanced they were enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke, which drew the fire of the enemy's trenches, and would doubtless soon have been a mark for the artillery of the works nearer santiago. general ludlow had there- fore to reduce his brigade to the two regular regiments, sending the massachusetts men back some hundreds of yards to the rear, where he kept them in reserve. chaffee's brigade on the right had the heav- iest share of the fighting. his three fine regi- ments worked forward to a long grassy ridge that lies about three hundred yards in front of the northeast side of el caney. a sunken road be- hind the ridge affords some cover; but at the close quarters the crest where the firing line was placed was swept by a deadly rain of mauser bullets. colonel haskell, of the seventeenth [ ] with roosevelt on san juan hill infantry, had tried to lead his men forward through a gap in the middle of the ridge to line a hedge and bank nearer the town, but the attempt had to be abandoned. the colonel fell hit at once by three bullets — one in the breast, one in the knee, and one in the heel. the men lay down along a swell of the ground to open fire. the colonel had fallen some yards in front down the slope; five men went out to bring him in. they succeeded, but three of them were shot down. lieutenant dickinson, who had assisted in rescuing his wounded colonel, though already wounded himself, received three other wounds while being helped back to the rear. the wounded lay in a long line in the sunken road. there were few doctors with the army; there were none of them up at the front with chaffee's brigade. there was no help for the seriously wounded for hours. the dressing station es- tablished farther to the rear near the artillery position gave help to the more slightly wounded who were able to walk back so far; but there were no stretcher parties to bring in the seriously injured. it was a piece of scandalous misman- agement. it looked as if the washington gov- ernment seriously believed that its army, like its navy, could win battles with only half a dozen casualties. here is the description of the scene in the road where these neglected wounded lay, [ ) famous battles of the xixth century as given by captain lee, who accompanied chaffee's attack: “on reaching the spot, i found over a hun- dred killed and wounded laid out in as many yards of road, and so close were they that one could only pass by stepping over them. there was a strange silence among these men, not a whimper or a groan, but each lay quietly nursing his wound with closed eyes and set teeth, only flinching when the erratic sleet of bullets clipped the leaves off the hedge close above their heads. many looked up quietly at my strange uniform as i passed, and asked quickly and quietly, “are you a doctor, sir?' i could but shake my head, and they would instantly relapse into their strained, intense attitudes, whilst i felt sick at heart at the thought of my incompetence. some of the slightly wounded were tending those who were badly hit, and nothing could have surpassed the unskilled tenderness of these men. i was astonished, too, at their thoughtful considera- tion. ‘keep well down, sir, several said as i stopped to speak to them; ‘them mausers is flying pretty low, and there's plenty of us here already.” the heat in the little road was in- tense, there was no shade nor a breath of air, and the wounded lay sweltering in the sun till the head reeled with the rank smell of sweat and saturated flannel. right amongst the wounded [ ) famous battles of the xixth century gap in the line southeast of el caney, between the right of general ludlow's brigade and the left of general chaffee's. lawton had by this time a battery and eight battalions in action, and three in reserve, and it was just eight hours since the first shot had been fired. according to general shafter's plan, the spanish outpost on his own left at san juan hill was not to be attacked till lawton, having got to el caney, could co-operate. but events so worked that general kent, whose division fronted san juan, carried out his part of the day's work on lines not contemplated in the plan dictated by the headquarters of the army. on the previous evening his division, consist- ing, like lawton's, of three brigades of three battalions each, had tramped up the muddy trail to the edge of the woods. like his colleague, he had for all his artillery a single battery of four small guns. it was under the command of cap- tain grimes, and its position was the low hill on which stands the farm of el pozo. shortly before a.m. grimes's battery opened fire from the hill. its target was the spanish blockhouse on the top of the opposite hill of san juan, twenty-four hundred yards away. be- tween was a mass of jungle-like forest, traversed near its edge by the double stream of the san juan river, and with open ground beyond. there [ ) with roosevelt on san juan hill were some cubans in el pozo farmhouse, and behind the battery and a little to its right were two dismounted regiments of regular cavalry. general wheeler had been officially placed on the sick list, and general sumner commanded the cavalry brigade, which, however, did not prevent “fighting joe wheeler” from hurrying up to the front as soon as he heard the firing. sumner's cavalrymen were tramping up the track through the woods and forming to the right front of el pozo on the margin of the bush. to the left, packed close together on the muddy trail, the infantry regiments of kent's division were working to the front. for fully a quarter of an hour the spaniards made no answer to the fire of the american bat- tery. a crowd of correspondents, artists, and foreign naval and military attachés stood close to the guns, chatting, smoking, sketching, watching the front through their glasses, and guessing as to what was happening away to the right, whence came the distant boom of capron's battery in action against el caney. the mass of smoke from its guns could be plainly seen hanging in the still air like a white, sunny cloud. the trenches on san juan hill could be easily made out, and, beyond, the blockhouses on the edge of the city. but the spaniards made no sign of fight for awhile, and the whole scene as viewed [ ] famous battles of the xixth century from el pozo suggested peace maneuvers rather than war. but this was not to last long. though no one could see where was the battery from which it came (for the spanish guns used smokeless pow- der), a screaming roar in the air told that a shrap- nel was winging its way towards the battery. as it burst — luckily a little short — the group of distinguished spectators bolted pell-mell for cover on the reverse slope of the hill. “is this kind of thing allowed p” asked an artist corre- spondent, engaged in his first battle, of the officer who lay down beside him. “well,” was the answer, “i don't suppose either you or i could exactly stop those shells.” it was clear the spaniards had the range; the second shell burst in the farmhouse and turned out the cubans, killing and wounding several of them. another burst among the guns. another, going a little to the right, laid low several of the regular cav- alrymen, who had been so placed that any shell going wide of the battery burst among them. the cubans carried away their wounded on improvised stretchers, and one of the spectators remarked that it took about ten cubans to carry every wounded man. the spanish fire came from guns on the flank of san juan, and farther to the rear, near the margin of the city. they were so well masked [ ] famous battles of the xixth century villa, and it was dragged up the track till it got to near the point where the san juan road opened from the woods. there it was anchored about a hundred feet above the trees in easy range of the spanish guns and rifles. a mile to the rear. and at a greater height it might have done good service; here it only drew a heavy fire from the spaniards, and everything that missed the balloon did deadly execution among the infantry packed beneath and behind it on the track. there was general rejoicing among the ameri- cans when a spanish shrapnel tore a great gap in the balloon and it came slowly down, the up- per part of it gathering in the net on the top of it and forming a parachute. colonel derby of the engineers, who was in the car of the balloon, escaped unhurt. he brought down one useful item of information. he had seen another trail through the wood a little to the left, which might be used for some of the troops. one brigade was massed on this new road. the two others used the old trail. to their right the dismounted cavalry regiments worked to the front, the rough riders dragging with them a dynamite field gun, which, however, jammed almost at once, and proved useless. a battery of machine guns came into action near el pozo, and did better work than the artillery. the men were now crowded along the edge of [ ] famous battles of the xixth century to fall, and after midnight it increased to a heavy downpour. this made the night the darkest and most inclement that had been so far ex- perienced during the campaign. the troops destined for the attack were lying down in the open to the east of the camp, and officers and men were drenched to the skin. when, at last the advance began, it was found impossible to keep touch and direction unless by marching the troops in the close solid formation of mass of quarter columns; that is, the companies, each formed on its full front, followed each other at a distance of six paces, and in each brigade bat- talion followed battalion. the highland brigade, under general wau- chope, was in the center. it was to move against the big magersfontein kopje. to its right rear, and nearer the river, the guards brigade ad- vanced in support. the ninth brigade, on the left, held the camp and the railway line, and on the other side of the railway the mounted troops were to make a demonstration against the ene- my's right. before starting on the night march, general wauchope had seen lord methuen, and the two generals had gone carefully over the plan for the attack. there seems not to be any foundation whatever for the story, that found general acceptance for awhile, that wauchope [ ] the battle of magersfontein protested against the orders given to him as likely to lead to disaster. the plan of attack assigned to the highland brigade is thus ex- plained by lord methuen: “the brigade was to march in mass of quar- ter columns, the four battalions keeping touch, and, if necessary, ropes were to be used for the left guides” (that is, a rope would be held by the sergeants acting as guides on the left flank of the companies, so as to prevent them losing touch and distance). “these ropes were taken, but, i believe, used by only two battalions. the three battalions were to extend just before day- break, two companies in firing line, two com- panies in support, and four companies in reserve, all at five paces’ interval.” wauchope intended to swing round two of his companies against the left rear of the main kopje and attack it on two sides. it will thus be seen that the plan was not, as was at first supposed in england, copied from wolseley's at tel-el-kebir. on that occasion . the troops were brought close up to the arab lines in the dark and rushed them shoulder to shoulder at dawn. here lord methuen tried to get his attacking force over most of the open ground in front of cronje's lines under cover of darkness. but there was to be no sudden rush of a mass with fixed bayonets. the men were to deploy [ ] famous battles of the xixth century in the darkness into three extended lines, and then advance firing as day broke. the plan was much too elaborate for a night attack. in the pitch darkness and driving rain of the night between december and it was hopeless. it should have been put off when it was found that the conditions of weather were so unfavor- able for a prolonged movement of large bodies of men. so much for the plans. let us now see what happened. dawn was at . . at that hour the highland brigade was advancing. wau- chope was just about to give orders to deploy. apparently neither he nor any other of the lead- ers knew how close they were to the boer trenches. just at this time a couple of rifles were accidentally discharged. one wonders why even a single rifle had been loaded! it is said that there had also been some dangerous flashes of light from a badly shaded lantern, and, ac- cording to at least one account, at this critical moment the great searchlight of kimberly sent its white ray of electric light sweeping over the veldt, and it shone for a moment through a gap in the kopjes and revealed, like a ghostly army, the leading battalions of the highland brigade. but whatever it was that warned the boers that the column was so near, there is no doubt as to what next happened. the boers were on [ ] the battle of magersfontein the alert. they had manned their trenches, so as to be ready to meet an attack at dawn. the dense mass of highlanders was within two hun- dred yards of the most advanced trench. sud- denly along half a mile of front the enemy's mausers blazed and roared in rapid, independent fire, and showers of bullets tore through the dense ranks of wauchope's brigade. men and officers fell in scores. the general himself was hit in several places. he called out “extend, men — extend!” and fell to the ground, dying almost immediately. it is just possible that even then a bold rush would have carried the brigade into the trenches and given the highlanders a chance with the bayonet. but their leader was down. some tried to extend into a firing line and answer the mausers with their lee-met- fords. a few dashed forward, only to be caught by the barbed wires of a high entanglement that extended along the front of the trench about a hundred yards from it. but most of the brigade were falling back. in a few minutes it was clear that the attack had failed. but a long, determined effort was made to re- deem the day. the highlanders rallied, and deployed along the veldt a few hundred yards in the rear of the point where they had been caught by the boer fire. on their right the guards had formed the battle, and for artillery [ ] famous battles of the xixth century had opened fire upon the boer defences. from various points on the kopjes the boer guns were replying. the sun, rising over the ridges, lit up a fiercely contested battlefield. the seaforths were extended along the front of the ground over which the highlanders had advanced. the rest of the brigade had been rallied further back, and were lying down along the veldt. to the right the guards had come into action. for some hours it was a repetition of the modder river fight. the long firing line of the british poured bullets almost at random into the position held, as it was, by an unseen enemy, so that aiming was out of the question. over the heads of the infantry the artillery sent its shells into the kopjes. the big naval gun had been dragged nearer the hills, and its heavy lyd- dite shells seemed to be bursting well. towards noon lord methuen brought up the gordons from the camp, and sent them to the sup- port of the highlanders. the balloon had been sent up from a knoll near the camp, and the officer in the car reported that the enemy was also receiving reinforcements, some from the direction of spytfontein, others from jacobsdal. but the boer guns had ceased firing. even their riflemen seemed to be tiring of the pro- longed struggle to hold the trenches under the ceaseless shower of bullets and shells. from [ ] famous battles of the xixth century for some time the story of this reverse was kept back by the military censorship. the telegrams told only of the slaughter of the high- landers at dawn. they said nothing of this incident of the midday battle. even the letters of the correspondents were in some cases opened, and the story of the second attack cut out of them. but some narratives of the battle were allowed to pass through telling the plain truth. the correspondent of the morning post watched the advance from a knoll where a battery of horse artillery had taken up a position to sup- port the guards brigade. here is his impres- sion of the scene: “the sad feature of the day was yet to come. between half-past one and two the rifle fire, which for some time had been rather desultory, became suddenly louder all along the line. simultaneously the level ground on our left took a new aspect. a grenadier on the right looked across and saw the dust rising on the plain, and thought the boers were coming out of their trenches. an officer beside him, using his field- glasses, assured him that it was only our cavalry galloping across to cut off the enemy in the rear. what both saw was the highland brigade in full retreat. who gave the order i cannot tell, and in any case it is a matter of no importance. back they came in a wave that no officer could [ ] the battle of magersfontein stop. from a point of vantage on the horse artillery hill one could see them swarming like bees over the veldt, until they were almost out of range, and the guns were left out in the open with no one to support them. it was, perhaps, the most unpleasant sight that a british soldier of to-day has ever beheld — it was certainly a sight never to be forgotten. the guns, though they were left unprotected within short rifle range of the enemy's trenches, came to the rescue in magnificent fashion, pouring their shells over the trenches until the boer fire became less de- structive. sitting there on the hill by the horse artillery, one thanked providence that a few gordons re- mained in front with a solid line of coldstream guards, who never budged an inch in the gen- eral retreat; one thanked providence, too, that the boers had no artillery in action to scatter shrapnel over the highlanders' retreat. it was difficult to say what would happen next, until major ewart, the brigade major of the high- landers, rode up with an order from the com- manding officer, which was almost an entreaty, to the effect that all he asked of the highland brigade was to hold the position until dark. so riddled and shattered was the brigade that ewart had actually no other officer with him to help him give the orders to the scattered men, and [ ] famous battles of the xixth century he was glad to have the assistance of colonel dawnay, who was there not as a soldier, but as a civilian, surveying the battle from the horse artillery hill. it was only two o'clock now, so that it was no small thing to ask of the highlanders that they should again face the galling fire from the trenches for five mortal hours. still, a very fair rally was effected; the pipers played somewhat dolefully, the bugles blew the assembly, and the brigade, stiffened by the support of the scots guards, at least got back to the guns, where they had a certain amount of cover, and were not subject to the dropping fire from the top of the kopjes, where a few boers were still lying in shelter.” lord methuen, in his report, says that the heaviest losses of the day occurred during this retreat. his idea now was to hold on until dark and then try to rush the boer position. so through the afternoon the firing continued. but as the day went on it became more and more clear that the men were not capable of further effort. the boers, on the other hand, encouraged by having twice repulsed an attack and held the force opposed to them at bay during a long day, seemed to be becoming aggressive. once or twice there were reports that they were abandoning the kopjes, but these were only the [ ] the battle of magersfontein movements of bodies of men being transferred from point to point of cronje's line of battle. on the left of the magersfontein hills he tried to push forward a counter attack along the river bank, but this was repulsed by the guards and part of the ninth brigade. at half-past five the boer guns, till then silent for hours, began to heavily bombard the left and center of the british line. as the first shells burst over the highlanders the brigade again gave way and fell back as far as the field hospital. with troops thus beaten a night attack was out of the ques- tion. the firing gradually died away as darkness came on. the tired troops bivouacked where they stood, and the doctors and ambulance parties set to work to bring in the wounded. the boers had taken a few prisoners. in the early morning, some of the black watch, the leading regiment of wauchope's brigade, had dashed at the trenches, and those of them who were not shot down were cut off from their com- rades when the general retreat began, and were taken prisoners. when the second advance was made, an officer and about thirty highland- ers who had pressed well to the front found themselves alone within close range of the boer trenches. they lay down and found some shel- ter in a hollow of the ground, from which they [ ] famous battles of the xixth century was peace along the veldt by the modder river. the truce was perilously near being interrupted when, on the first day, the naval brigade by mistake opened fire. some of our doctors were talking with cronje just outside his entrench- ments. the boer general took out his watch and said that he would give them five minutes to get to a place of safety in their own lines be- fore he opened fire. “we made a record run,” wrote one of the party, “but before we were half way we met one of lord methuen's staff officers riding across to explain to commandant cronje that the guns had been fired by a mis- take of the officer in command.” the com- mandant accepted the explanation with the re- mark that he hoped it would be remembered that mistakes might happen on both sides. [ ] famous battles of the xixth century zags, which made it impossible to really enfilade them. as a further protection against enfilade fire, ground was left unbroken every five or six feet for a distance of a foot or two, and this un- broken ground formed traverses, or solid walls, across the trench, dividing it into short sections, and if a shell dropped or burst in one of these, it would only injure the two or three men in the section, without hurting those on the right or left. the trenches were dug in a stiff, stony soil, and the excavation was a little wider at the bottom than at the top, so that men crouching in the trench close to its side were very completely shel- tered. besides these trenches, the boers dug little caves and holes in both sides of the river bank. a few of these were large enough to stable horses in them. they had two british officers prisoners with them, and they dug a cave for them, where they could crouch during the bombardment, and so be sheltered from the fire of their own countrymen. after the battle on the sunday, cronje buried his dead in the dry bed of the river, but he could not thus dispose of the large number of horses, draught oxen, and mules that had been killed by the bombardment. some of these he succeeded in floating down the river; some of the oxen were cut up and cooked for food; but do what he would, there were hun- [ ] the capture of cronje dreds of carcasses rotting in the hot sun, fouling the air and the water, and making the en- trenched laager almost uninhabitable. the mar- vel is that under such conditions the boers held out so long. about four miles to the southeast de wet’s small force held a group of kopjes, and his pres- ence there prevented cronje from being com- pletely surrounded during the first four days of the attack upon him. de wet was not strong enough to bring him effectual succor, but was in hopes of being reinforced — for the news had spread through all the boer armies that cronje, the besieger of mafeking and kimberley, and the victor of krugersdorp and magersfontein, was himself besieged, and in desperate straits, at paardeberg. from colesberg, from stormberg, and from the camp before ladysmith, the free staters were trooping back into their own coun- try to co-operate with de wet in an attempt to relieve him. the boers who had besieged kim- berley and escaped to the northward had been skirmishing with methuen's outposts on the railway between kimberley and fourteen streams. but a portion even of this force was making its way into the free state, part of it across the veldt by boshof, and part of it through the transvaal. this latter force marched up the north bank of the vaal to klarksdorp, and [ ] famous battles of the xixth century was then sent on by railway to johannesburg and kroonstad. if the boer leaders had anticipated that cronje would be able to hold the river-bed for ten days, they might have arranged a combined movement of a large force for his rescue; but they thought, not unnaturally, that he might be forced to sur- render at any moment, and in their eagerness to assist him they came up in an ill-organized, frag- mentary way, and these small parties, coming into action in succession, were driven off or held at bay by the british cavalry and mounted in- fantry. meanwhile the movement had for its chief result the weakening of the resistance they could oppose to clements at arundel, to gatacre near stormberg, and to buller on the tugela. they might have hoped for better results if they had kept their army intact in natal, and used the forces that were actually moved northwards to the orange river for a march westward against the railway and the convoy route on which lord roberts depended for his supplies. beginning as soon as he reached the scene of action, lord roberts proceeded to entrench the positions held by his own troops, and to bring up every gun' and howitzer he could dispose of to bombard cronje's laager, until at last he had one hundred and twenty guns in position. day after day these poured a storm of shells into the [ ) famous battles of the xixth century battery, started after the boers at a gallop, but the horses soon tired, and then the guns unlim- bered and shelled the boer column. the only result of this fire was to disable a wagon which the enemy abandoned. it was found to be a captured british royal engineer wagon full of miscellaneous stores. after secur- ing the disabled wagon the cavalry and guns again moved forward, and five or six hundred mounted men were seen to the right front. they were thought at first to be broadwood's brigade, which was on that side, but suddenly a number of them dismounted and began to advance, firing rapidly with their rifles. the guns were or- dered to come into action against them, but the ground was encumbered with wire fences, and some of the teams got mixed up with them, so that there was an anxious moment of confusion. but as soon as the battery opened fire the enemy again retreated. gordon's brigade now came up and pursued for a while, capturing about thirty prisoners and some wagons, but his horses were so tired that it was impossible to go far. so de wet got away with his guns. neverthe- less, the morning's work had a substantial result, for the kopjes which they had held for two days were now clear of the boers, and cronje was completely surrounded. french established his headquarters at koodoosrand drift, east of [ ] the capture of cronje paardeberg, and during the remaining days of the siege his special work was to watch with patrols the country to the east and south, while two cavalry brigades and some batteries were kept ready to turn out on the briefest notice, to deal with any party of the enemy that might be coming up to the rescue. on the wednesday morning there was a brief truce, as lord roberts sent in a messenger with a white flag to inform cronje that he was willing to allow the boer women to come out of the laager. he also offered to send him doctors and a supply of medicine for the sick and wounded. cronje replied that he did not want any medical assistance, and that the women would remain in the laager. the bombardment then began again. there was some skirmishing to the east- ward between french and the boer parties that were in movement on the veldt, and about seventy prisoners were taken. altogether dur- ing the investment the cavalry captured more than four hundred of the enemy. a few more prisoners were made every night by the infantry, as in the dark some of the burghers would steal out from cronje's lines and surrender individ- ually. a few others left the laager in the same way under cover of darkness, but not to sur- render. they were more determined men, who recognized that the boer resistance in the river- [ ) famous battles of the xixth century bed must end before long, and who had resolved to escape the surrender and continue the fight under the transvaal flag. they eluded the sentries, stole in the darkness along some water- course or ravine between the camps, and suc- ceeded at last in joining one of the many parties of boers that were hovering round the lines. among those who thus escaped was the french colonel, villebois de mareuil. on the thursday afternoon there was a heavy thunderstorm, and the rain filled for a short time a great part of the river-bed and flooded some of the boer trenches. at dawn on the friday morning de wet made another attempt to suc- cor the besieged. he had about fifteen hundred men with him. he nearly succeeded in surpris- ing the outposts on the south bank, and when his first attack failed he held his own for some hours on some low ridges near the petrusburg road. during the fighting cronje tried to bring his guns into action, but they were soon silenced by the converging fire of roberts's artillery. it was not till the afternoon that de wet retreated, and about eighty of his men, who delayed their retirement too long, were made prisoners by the east kent regiment (“the buffs”). some of the prisoners said they had come from coles- berg, others that they had just arrived from the boer laagers before ladysmith. [ ) the capture of cronje when the second week of the siege began, the engineers were put to work to the east as well as to the west of the laager, their approaches having the double purpose of preparing for the storming of the boer position and preventing the enemy from escaping eastward along the great ravine of the river-bed. the situation of the boers was becoming every day more difficult to maintain. so much of their provisions had been destroyed that supplies were running short. enormous quantities of ammunition had been blown up by the bombardment; the water, and even the air, in the ravine, were becoming pestilential, and it was evident that de wet’s efforts to open a way for relief had ended in failure. even be- fore the end of the first week, several of the com- mandants were anxious to surrender, but day after day cronje refused to listen to any talk of negotiations, and his iron determination forced the rest to continue the resistance. on monday, the th, there was a council of war. the two commandants who stood next to cronje in rank — wolmarans, who acted as his chief of the staff, and de roos, one of the free state leaders — both strongly urged that further resistance had become impossible, and could only end in useless death and suffering. de roos was too ill to leave the hole dug in the river bank, in which he had been lying down for some days; [ ] famous battles of the xixth century but he set forth his views in a letter to the coun- cil of war. cronje at first maintained his “no surrender” attitude, and protested that for his part he preferred to die in the entrenchments rather than become a prisoner. but he soon saw that most of his officers would not support him, and at last a compromise was reached. the council decided that resistance should con- tinue till next day. if the relief that had been so long expected did not then arrive, the white flag would be hoisted. by a strange coincidence, the next day (tues- day, february ) was the anniversary of ma- juba, and lord roberts had decided that an attempt should be made that morning to storm the boer laager. the attack was to be made, in the darkness before the dawn, along the river- bed on the western side of the laager. on that side, the trench in the bed of the river was now only five hundred yards from the boer defences. the canadian infantry of smith-dorrien's brig- ade were to steal forward from the trench, and if possible surprise the boer defences and carry them with the bayonet. the rest of the brigade was placed in position partly on the banks on each side, to protect the canadians if they were forced to retire, partly in the river-bed to follow them up and support them if the first rush suc- ceeded. the orders to the canadians were [ ] the capture of cronje that if the surprise failed and the boers opened fire, they were at once to throw themselves on their faces and then slip back into the trench. it was a bright starlit night. the secret of the coming attempt had been so well kept that there was general surprise, even in the british lines, when, an hour before dawn, a heavy rifle fire burst out along the river on the west side of the laager, and the rumor spread that the boers were making a desperate sortie and trying to cut their way out in the darkness. what had really happened was this: the canadians, the first french company again leading, had stolen silently forward until they were about fifty yards from the nearest boer trench. then the enemy became aware of their danger, and suddenly the trench in front of the canadians blazed with mauser flashes, and the flying bullets swept the ravine, at this point only one hundred and fifty yards wide. some officers and several men of the cana- dians fell, but the rest were perfectly steady and obeyed their orders. it was no longer possible to rush the trench, so they lay down, and with- out firing a shot began to work their way back- ward along the ravine. the shropshire regi- ment, which had moved forward along the high bank of the river on their flank, protected their retreat by firing into the boer trench, and it had [ ] famous battles of the xixth century also exchanged fire with some boers in its own front. after a few minutes the heavy firing ceased, but for some time after occasional shots were fired from various parts of the boer lines, as the enemy, now thoroughly on the alert, imagined they saw signs of an attack upon them in the dark. as the twilight began this irregular firing ceased, and as the sun rose all was quiet along the lines. for the first time for many days the british guns remained silent, while it was seen that a white flag had just been hoisted on a small kopje near the drift and within the boer lines. cheer after cheer was raised by the british at this sign of surrender, and men reminded each other that it was majuba day. but it was a few hours yet ere the surrender was completed. cronje was making a last despairing attempt to obtain terms. commandant wolmarans and another boer officer rode out with a white flag to lord roberts's headquarters. it was no- ticed that both of their horses were slightly wounded, probably by shrapnel bullets during the investment. the riders looked haggard and worn, as they well might be. they suggested that cronje's army had by its honorable resist- ance deserved to be given lenient terms, and they asked that the burghers should be allowed to depart to their homes. lord roberts, while [ ] the capture of cronje expressing his admiration for the way in which the boers had kept their flag flying for so many days, told wolmarans that the surrender must be unconditional, and that cronje and his army must become prisoners of war. the officers rode back to the laager with this message, and at seven o'clock cronje himself rode out with wolmarans. lord roberts received him with chivalrous courtsey. an officer rode into the headquarters' camp with the news that the boer general was coming, and roberts at once ordered that on his arrival the headquarters' guard should turn out and present arms to the defeated boer leader. as he dismounted, roberts walked forward to meet him, shook hands with him, and warmly congratulated him on the splendid defence that he had made. cronje asked that he should be allowed to take with him, wherever he was sent, his wife, who was just then coming from the laager in a small cart, his grandson, his secretary, and one of his staff officers. lord roberts told him that his request would be granted, and that he would be sent to cape town escorted by a british general officer to insure that he should be treated with due respect upon the way. the boers had already begun streaming out of the laager in crowds and laying down their arms. it was with surprise that the british dis- [ .] famous battles of the xixth century covered that the force which had so long held its own against them was a little over four thou- sand strong. two thousand seven hundred were transvaalers; the rest men of the free state. their losses had been less than three hundred, and they had nearly one hundred severely wounded among them, and many sick. the men were of all ages, from gray-bearded veterans who had fought against the zulus in the early days of the republics, to young boys who seemed hardly big enough to handle a rifle. all looked haggard and worn, and very many were evidently ill. they had thrown away their bandoliers with their rifles, and as they wore no uniform, and moved in no military formation, they looked more like a crowd of ragged men out of work than soldiers who had fought through a campaign. it must be said, to the honor of the british, that as soon as the boers came out among them, they thought less of their success and of “ma- juba day” than of succoring the prisoners. the british were themselves on half-rations, but on all sides they were seen sharing their biscuits with the prisoners, giving them water from their bottles, and offering them tobacco from their pouches. cronje and his companions were sent off dur- ing the morning en route for the railway to cape [ ] the capture of cronje town, under the escort of the mounted infantry of the c.i.v., and accompanied by lord rob- erts's old comrade of the afghan war, general pretyman. there were very few of the foreign officers among the prisoners, and the only one of importance was colonel albrecht, the german commander of the free state artillery. four of his krupp guns were found in the laager, but their sights, breech-blocks, and elevating screws had been taken out and buried somewhere be- fore the surrender. - the boer prisoners were sent down in parties to cape town, where a number of them were soon ill with enteric fever, the result of drinking the infected water at paardeberg. as the british troops had had to use the water of the modder during the siege, the same disease soon showed itself in many of their regiments. about fifteen hundred british had been killed and wounded during the operations, mostly in kitchener's battle, and the subsequent loss, by disease contracted during the same period, was even greater. on the day of the surrender, the vic- torious army was almost as short of supplies as cronje's force, and after the victory lord rob- erts halted his army for some days to give the men a rest, obtain some more horses for the cav- alry, and accumulate a much-needed reserve of forage, provisions, and ammunition. [ ] notes the following brief résumé of the wars from to , their causes and results, will give an idea of the historic setting, so to speak, of the famous battles described in this volume. a num- ber of small expeditions in africa and india, and much revolu- tionary fighting in south america, are not included in the list. –asia.-september and : russians invade khokand and defeat the khan's troops. war begun between dutch in sumatra and sultan of achim — continues till . africa, abyssinia.-october: egyptian expedition defeated. —servian war.—servia and montenegro, assisted by russia, make war on turkey. july : war begins. july and : indecisive actions at zaitschar. july : turkish victory at novi-bazaar. july : montenegrins defeat turks at urbitza. august and : turkish victories at gurgusovatz. august–october: servians holding en- trenched camp at alexinatz, receiving reinforcements and supplies from abroad, and trying to hold on till they are strong enough to assume offensive, or till russia moves; continual fighting round alexinatz, much of it mere skir- mishing, ending with (october ) battle of alexinatz; russo-servian army defeated; armistice follows. central asia-battle of assake; decisive russian victory in khokand. america.—june: battle of the little big horn; destruction of custer's force by indians. [ ] notes –april : battle of futtehabad. october : battle of charasiab. december : fighting about cabul. zulu war.—january : british force destroyed at insandhl- wana; defence of rorke's drift. july : decisive defeat of zulus at ulundi. south america.—chili declares war against peru and bolivia. october : capture of peruvian ram huascar by the chil- ians. november : battle of dolores. —afghan war (continued).-april : stewart's victory at ahmed khel. july : ayub khan defeats burrows at maiwand. september : roberts completely defeats ayub near cabul. —transvaal war.—january : battle of laing's nek; february : ingogo river; february : majuba hill; british defeated by boers. - central asia.-january : turkoman stronghold of geok tepe taken by russians under skobeleff. south america.—war between chili and peru continued. january : battle of miraflores; peruvians defeated. june : lima taken by chilians; end of war. north africa.—french occupy tunis; fighting at sfax. —egyptian war.—july : bombardment of alexandria. august – : fighting at tel-el-mahuta and masameh. august and september : kassassin. september : battle of tel-el-kebir; defeat of arabi by wolseley. —campaigns against the mahdists.-november – : battle of kashgal; egyptian army under hicks destroyed. asia.-french expedition to tonkin; admiral courbet block- ades the coast and forces court of hué to accept french protectorate. december – : capture of son-tai. –africa.—mahdist war.—february : first battle of teb; baker's egyptian army destroyed. february : second battle of teb; and march : battle of tamai; soudanese under osman digna defeated by british under [ ] notes graham; gordon goes up to khartoum, where he is be- sieged by mahdists during latter part of year; rescue expedi- tion under wolseley is sent up the nile. september: ad- vance begins. november: second cataract passed. de- cember: desert column under stewart organized to march across desert to metemneh. french war with china.—august : french fleet destroys chinese flotilla, and bombards arsenal at foochow. – : french occupy formosa. –africa.—mahdist war (nile expedition continued).- january : battle of abu-klea; desert column defeats mahdists. january : battle of gubat; mahdist defeat. january : mahdists take khartoum; gordon killed. january : wilson with steamers arrives in sight of khar- toum; too late. february : battle of kerbekan; river column defeats mahdists; earle killed. second expedi- tion to suakim. march : battle of hasheen. march : battle of tofrek; mahdist defeats. central asia.-march : russians attack and defeat af- ghan force at ak tapa. america.—canada.—second revolt of riel.—canadians defeat rebels at fish creek (april ), battleford (may ), and batoche (may ). asia.-third burmese war.—october: ultimatum to king theebaw. november : british force under prendergast crosses burmese frontier and ascends the irrawaddy. no- vember : mandalay taken; burmah annexed. (coun- try not completely pacified for two years, during which there is desultory fighting with the dacoits.) servo-bulgarian war–november : servian troops cross bulgarian frontier. november , , : bulgarians de- feat servians in three-days' battle at slivnitza. november : bulgarians storm dragoman pass. november : they defeat servians at zaribrod, and (november ) [ ] notes enter servia. november : they take pirot. november : armistice. —africa.—battle of dogali; italian force destroyed by abyssinians. —africa.—december : mahdists defeated near suakim by anglo-egyptian force under grenfell. —africa.—soudan.-july : battle of arguin; wode- house defeats mahdists. august : battle of toski; gren- fell defeats mahdists. africa (east).-october : storming of witu, near zanzibar. —africa.—february : battle of tokar; mahdists under osman digna defeated. south america.—crvil war in chili.—august : battle of placilla; the dictator balmaceda defeated. india.—december: hunza-nagar expedition; storming of the nilt forts. —africa.—january: italians defeat mahdists at agordat in the soudan. french expedition to dahomey.—november. —africa.—french occupy timbuctoo. british invasion of matabeleland. asia.-french dispute with slam.–july : french gun- boats force entrance of the menam river. – —war betwebn china and japan.—august: war declared. september : battle of ping-yang (corea); chi- nese defeat. september : naval battle of the yalu river. november : japanese take port arthur. –february : japanese take wei-hai-wei. british expedition to chrtral.-april : storming of the malakhand pass. insurrection in cuba begins on february . french invasion of madagascar.—september. italian campaign in abyssinla. —the transvaal.—jameson's raid. january and . [ ? general index note. the names of authors of the articles are printed in capitals, the titles of the articles in italics, and the subject entries in ordinary type. a t bull run ----------------- attack on queenston heights, m 's raid ............ red 's last victory, the storming of ogdensburg. the story of laura secord, the. d abercr in egypt ......... aboukir, bay of klea .................. abu-kru ------------------- aculco, battle of ............ admiral dewey and the battle of anila.... - capitulation of............ alma, battle of the........... - the river................ alumbagh, the.............. ameers, surrender of the..... amoaful ... ---------------- ana, santa ----------------- anecdotes of sherman's march angostura, or buena vista.... anº, col., in the trans- i : . page grant at .. wol arabi pasha................. — his power broken......... arickaree fort, fight of the... army, destruction of a british - y retribution, the........ — of the potomac, the....... — of hine, the ......... ashantis, fighting with ...... atlanta campaign, the ...... - in flames ................ . -the evacuation of......... athens, demonstrations in .... aulº on queenston heights, atteridge a. hilliard admiral dewey and the bat- tle of manila............ battle of domokos, the.... battle of magersfontein, the battle of º yang, the... capture of cronje, the.... decisive battle of the franco- with kitchener in the soudan with roosevelt on san juan hill.................... auckland, lord, and dost ma- homed......-----------. augerau, general ........... . austerlitz, napoleon at ....... . austria and prussia at sadowa austrians and russians at aus- terlitz ------------------ . ayacucho, battle at .......... ayoub khan (see maiwand and kandahar) ------------- ayoub's army routed ....... b badajoz, siege and fall of.... baird, smith, engineer at delhi balaclava --- ; — the battle of - the highland . page [ ] general indea: wol. baltimore, the, at manila bay bandoola, burmese general ... baptism of fire, a prince's.... barbary states war. the ..... barksdale, gen., at fredericks- burg ------- ------------ bastion, no. .............. bates', general, brigade ..... “bººk. §: the clouds,” attanooga. ........ - of the alma........ ---- - : #: #. --- ; - . gwater, -- ---- - of domokos, the ... ---- - of inkerman, the....... --- - of magersfontein, the...... - of ligny, the......... ---- - of mars-la-tour, the ...... - of ping yang, the ....... ... - of waterloo, the..... battlefield, a revisited “battle-thinker,” moltke, the. battye, lt., quintin......... ... bavarians and tyrolese, the... "bayard of india,” the ..... bazaine, marshal........... ... bazeilles, the burning of .... beauregard, gen., and fort sumter................. - gen. and shiloh.. . beecher, lt. f. h. ........... belgian war of independence .. bell, col., at santiago........ bellairs, col., in transvaal ... bensdek, austrian general at sadowa ................ benteen, capt. beresford, lord charles andria bernadotte, general - at iéna................ ... bezuidenhuit and taxation in the transvaal ........... bººl interest in this ork ------------------ bismarck's policy of “blood and ron” ........... ------- - f bloodthirstiness of ashantis... bloody knife, chief..... ----- blücher at lign ---- er war of bolivar, gen......... bollini, gen................. b dment of alexandria, boston, the, at manila bay... bourbaki, general ........... bowie, jas., at the alamo..... “bowie knife,” inventor of the boyd, brig. gen. j. p. u. s. the fight at chrystler's farm "brabançonne,” the ........ brackenridge, h.m. qhesapeake and shannon ... fight between the constitu- b º:and the $.” --- , capt., at buena vista.. *ś and gen. morgan.... - and shiloh........... -- brave deed by a girl . bravo, general brent, spencer, - bridgwater, battle of ... brindle, father ............. brock, death of general ..... bronkhorst spruit........... brown, general, at niagara... - sir george, at inkerman... brulé, sioux indian chief .... buell, general, and shiloh, buena vista ..... ------- buford seizes ºws bull run, battle of .......... burgoyne, sir john, on the se- bastopol forts .......... burke, martin ...... -------- burleigh, mr. bennett ....... burnaby, col. fred, death of . #: fi º: in th - of moscow, ine. bush, #. death of........ butler, a. j. a famous fight for freedom byram, lt., at tiago------- Čaldwell, major at Åråpuitepec calf * &. the farmer of --------------------- cº. of the carolinas, the - of new orleans........... — of the wilderness, the..... campbell, sir colin, at bala- clava da, invasion of (see the attack on queenston heights; the story of laura secord ) canadians, the, in south africa candahar and maiwand ..... canrobert, gen., at inkerman. canrobert, marshal.......... cape coast, the...... capitulation of paris capron, capt., alwin, at san- igan, carlist war v ol : ; i i . page [ ] general indez carnarvon, lord............. carolinas, campaign of the ... cº, col., at arickaree cawnpore, surrender of ...... cetewayo, the zulu king .... chaffee, gen., at santiago .... champlain, s. de, and the iro- §º: º: on time t brigade .. hº: prince fred'k, at sa- owa ------------------ charleston evacuated erol ----------- charlier, : of .----------- . t. #: lord ... emulpo, e japanese at .. heraw captured ........... hesapeake and shannon, the heyenne, indian chief chrystler's farm, * fight at : civil war, the .............. , , , , , clarke and mcarthur's "life of nelson” cited ........... cochrane, sir a. ------------ codrington, gen., at inkerman coffee, general ............. collapse of the confederacy, the colley, sir g. pomeroy, in south frica ------------------ collingwood, admiral --- colombi º: ---------- — throws off spanish yoke... compº of the army in the co ivil yº, -------------- mrades in opposing ranks. concord, the, at manila bay.. condor, exploit of the ........ confederacy, collapse of the . . conquest of scinde by sir c. apier ----------------- constitution and guerrière, the — the, at tripoli coomassie ----------------- - copenhagen, nelson at ....... cordova, gen....... -------- - corregidor island corse, gen., at allatoona ..... corunna, the rºtreat of...... crazy horse -- crete, insurrecticr in crimean war. the ..... ----- crockett, davy.............. crook's defeat by indians.... vol. page . , *:: , . - , crow indians crown prince of germany, the cuban war, the .....-------- cuidad roderigo, siege and fall of cumberland, army of the .... custer, gen., and his men start for the wilderness – on the bad lands..... custer's disappearance the “ i; out” of the philadelphia d daiguiri bombarded danish war ............ —of ........ * ---------- dannenberg, russian general, at balaclava... ----------- davis, president, receives gen. lee's message in church . davis, richard harding, at san- - at death of sir john moore.. death of nelson decatur, s., life of — on the intrepid ---------. decisive battle of the franco- german war, the delhi----------------------- “deliverer, the” (gen. bol- ivar) ------------------- demareuil. colonel, villebors. d'erlon's corps at ligny----- de roos, gen. -------- -- dervishes, fighting ---------. destruction ºfa british army.. detroit, the, at santiago ..... de wet, general....... dewey, admiral geo. . dewey stoddard remember the alamo...... dickinson, lt., at santiago ... dickinson's widow at the alamo “diehards, the”............ dolgorouki, prince, and napo- “don’t give up the ship” dost mahomed donay, gen. downfall of an empire, the .. drummond, gen., at niagara . drunkenness of british soldiers durnford, colonel, called to isandhlwana ............ dutch, the, and the belgians. - east india company, the.. : i : [ ] general indea: wol. french and english in alliance – empire a republic frere, sir bartle, against zulus frossard, gen. .............. futtehpore, the fight at garcia's cubans ighting gladstone on the transvaal... “gle y fencibles,” the .. glyn, . in zululand godfrey, lieut. ------------- godfrey's, captain, premoni- tions about custer ------. gordon, general, the tragedy of khartoum —the death of — extracts from diaries - story of ----------------- - work in the soudan....... grant, gen., u.s.----------- - how he saved the union... - and sherman compared.... gravelotte, at gravina, admiral ........... “great trek,” of , the .. “great silent one,” moltke, jured - - - - griffiths, maj. a griffiths, ma.jor arthur the battle of the alma-...-- battle of balaclava, the.... battle of inkerman, the.... fall of vicksburg, the..... gettysburg --------------- siege of sebastopol, the.... ; storming of kars, the....... griffin, gen., before peters grimes, capt., at santiago.... grover, sharp .............. grover, abner t. .. guard, the french at waterloo gubbins, the commissioner at lucknow --------------. guerrière and constitution, the half-yellow-face............ hall, capt., of the constitution halleck, gen. ............... hamley, gent on the march to tel-el kebir ............ i vol. page e earle, general, in the soudan. easton, general, receives sher- man's famous instructions ecuador throws off spanish bºº... i ; i cromby in... # . ---------- .------... ellenborough, lord, in india... eloquence of indian warriors. el pozo.................... emeute on brussels streets.... empire, germanic confedera- tion an ---------------- —the downfall of an ....... empress of india, victoria.... “england expects,” etc. ..... england's interests in e ... english and french in alliance ethnike hetaireia, the ....... ewell, gen., at gettysburg. ... excesses of soldiers at delhi... failly, general .............. fall of chapultepec, the. – of vicksburg, the . . . . . . . . famous fight for freedom, a. farmer of calf-killer creek, the .------------------- fayetteville captured.. erry, m. jules ------------- fight of the arickaree fork, the — at chrystler’s farm, ... – between the chesapeake and the shannon ............ fighting with ashantis at am- oaful and coomassie...... -with savages in burma..... fire, a prince's baptism of... fish, sergt. hamilton, death of forbach .......... ---------- for bes, archibald the collapse of the confed- eracy -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - a prince's baptism of fire... battle of ligny, the....... boer war of $ . the ..... destruction of a british reg- iment, the ------------- maiwand and candahar. the second afghan war... a scene at mars-la-tour... sir c. napier's conquest of scinde ................. sherman's atlanta campaign - march to the sea forsyth, col. g. a. -::.. fortifying rorke’s drift - franco-prussian war ........ , , , frederick, king of prussia (see napoleon at iéna)....... {...ºf -------------- edom, a famous fight for freiligrath's “trumpeter of -la-tour".......... page [ ] general indez wol. napoleon and the tyrolese.... napoleon at austerlitz — at iena - at ligny ....::...: ........ —determines to crush england -in spain.----------------- – iii and bismarck — surrender of napoleon's retreat from moscow natal mounted police, the... nº. bay, british fleet at... nelson at copenhagen ... – trafalgar death - at ligny ... — at waterloo - niagara falls, battle of....... nicholson, brigadier at delhi. night attack on kars, the... nightingale, florence......... nodzu, general, in korea .... nott in the first afghan war. o o'brien, capt., at buena vista ogallalah, indian chief . the storming of ohio, army of the ........... ohrwalder, father ........... olympia, the, at manila bay. omdurman f oratory of indian warriors... o'shea, john augustus outram, º ------------- – and the relief of lucknow. p paget, lord edward ......... pakenham, sir e., at new or- leans................... palo alto, battle at .......... paris besieged and the last sortie -capitulation of ........... the last sortie from...... parker, admiral sir hyde..... parry, d. h. death of sir john moore and vol. page napoleon's retreat from moscow ................ patterson, gen. ............. pelham, major, at fredericks- burg ------------------- pemberton, gen., at vicksburg pemberton, max the bombardment of alex- andria peninsular war .. - —with wellington in the..... pennefather, col., in india ... - at inkerman.............. perez, general, at chapultepec petersburg, the attack on.... - evacuation of ............ petrel, the, at manila bay.... pharsala, battle of .......... philadelphia, “cutting out” of the -------------------- pickett, gen. before petersburg pietermaritzburg ............ pillow ..................... ping-yang, the battle of ..... pre # commodore at tripoli pretorius, triumvir .......... prince's baptism of fire, a... prince imperial of france, the : é privations in paris besieged... prussia and austria at sadowa - king of, at iéna .......... prussians, the, at ligny ..... polk, gen., and shiloh ....... pollock, gen., in the first afghan war ontiac --------- port arthur, – the country around ...... porter, admiral, at wicksburg. potomac, army of the ........ uatre bras----------------- uirk's scouts.... . quitman, general “queen of england's own" .. queenston heights ......... . r raglan, lord, in the crimea... -at inkerman ............. raleigh, the, at manila bay... rangoon.------------------. red jacket, indian orator.... red man's last victory, the... “red prince,” the - at sadowa....... redan, the ..... ree indians ................ regnault, henri, painter, the of ............--- relief of lucknow, the. -- the alamo” ...... “remember the maine” ..... [ ] general indez vol. remnant of an army, the.... réno, major................ republic, french empire, a -- retreat from moscow, the... reynolds, surgeon........... riall, maj. gen., at niagara.. ripley, gen., at niagara ripley, r. s. the fall of chapultepec.;..; roberts, sir frederick, at cabul - leaves candahar.......... - lord, on the vaal ........ - col. tom, and his ported "------------- robertson, w. b. breaking the spanish power in south america........ “roman nose,” chief .. roosevelt on san juan hill —to the bl rorke's drift................ rostopchin, governor, of mos- cow -------------------- **ś and ready” taylor.. – riders, the southern...... ruggles, gen., and shiloh ruperts' land russell, herbert with nelson at copenhagen ruº clarke, life of nelson cit russia attacks kars russo-austrian army at auster- t” -------------------- —swedish war -- —turkish war, the......... s saarbruck .................. ru sacking of alexandria, the... sadowa, or könni tz st arnaud, m , i crimea................. st. privat... salamanca........---------. san juan hill, roosevelt on .. - sebastian, capture of ...... sandbag battery, the ........ sand river convention, the .. jº. ” hofer, y point . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . santa ana (a. l. de santa ana) savannah evacuated savages, fighting with, in bur- ma. --------------------- —in warfare (see fighting with ashantis) ............... scarlett, gen., at balaclava... schaerbeck, fray at ......... schleswig-holstein and bis- : scotchmen in the war of scott, sir w. ........... ----- scott, sir walter the battle of waterloo..... scott, general, at chapultepec scouting scudamore boys, the .... scully's heroic deed ea, sherman's march to the, sebastopol harbor - the siege of ....... ------ secord, laura --------....... sedan, the capitulation of... - the town of ------....... sedgwick, gen., at gettysburg dria ............. — major, at chapulte - shº, general w - * ----- shannon and chesa shawnee war chief tone, sir t. ............ nnexes the transvaal to britain ----------------- shere mohammed sheridan before petersburg ... – general, at sedan......... - confidence in forsyth...... sheridan's campaign against the sioux -...----------. sherman and grant compared – assumes command – on bull run ............. —his march to the sea and through the carolinas..... sherman's atlanta campaign . “– bummers” ............. - campaign of the carolinas. — march to the sea shiloh ................. - siboney, bay of.............. sickles, gen., at gettysburg... siege of sebastopol, the signals ignored by nelso sioux indians, the........... sitting bull ...…......... — chief of the sioux slocum, gen., at gettysburg .. —maj. gen., starts for the sea smith, capt., at the alamo... – gen. c. f., and shiloh.... - sir sidney................ soimonoff, russian general at inkerman .............. soudan, gordon's work in the - war in the ............... – with kitchener in the . soult, general . – at iéna she ; marck ------------ ----- schofield, gen. ...... scinde, conquest of scotch, the, at tel-el-kebir. . ; [ ] general indea: willoughby, lt., at delhi..... with kitz in the soudan. — roosevelt on san juan hill wolmarans, gen............. wolseley, sir garnet, in ashan- tland ------------------ -in the transvaal .......... wolseley's, sir garnet, egyp- tian campaign........... wood, col., at santiago ...... worth, the crown ce at. vol. page vol. page ; y yamagata, marshal.......... “you may fire when you are are ready, gridley” ...... || “. young b.º. the,” extract from ................... young, general, at santiago .. z zelo o polemos!.............. zouaves, the, in the crimea ... l zulu war .................. [ ] |||||||||| * dd not remove dr for name and fame ; or, through afghan passes george alfred henty, gordon browne foe name and fame: or, through afghan passes. by g. a. henty, author of " true to the old flag," " st. george for england," " in freedom's giuae," "with ('live in india," " by .sheer pluck," "facing death," ac. c. with eight full-paoe illustrations by gordon browse. london: blackie & son, & old bailey, e.c.j glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. . preface. my dear lads, in following the hero of this story with the british army during the last war in afghanistan, you will be improving your acquaintance with a country which is at present, and is likely to be so for a long time, of supreme interest to englishmen. afghan- istan stands as a dividing line between the two great empires of england and russia, and is certain, sooncr or later, to become the scene of a tremendous struggle between these nations; possibly the struggle may have begun before these pages are read by you. hap- pily, at the present time the afghans are on our side. it is true that we have lately warred with and beaten them, but our retirement after victory has at least shown them that we have no desire to take their country; while, on the other hand, they know that for those upon whom russia has once laid her hand there is no escape. in these pages you will see the etrength and the weakness of these wild people of the mountains; their strength lying in their personal bravery, their determination to preserve their freedom at all costs, and the nature of their country. their iv preface. weakness consists in their want of organization, their tribal jealousies, and their impatience of regular habits, and of the restraint necessary to render them good sol- diers. but when led and organized by english officers there are no better soldiers in the world, as is proved by the splendid services which have been rendered by the frontier force, which is composed almost entirely of afghan tribesmen. their history shows that defeat has little moral effect upon them. crushed one day, they will rise again the next; scattered, it would seem hopelessly, they are ready to reassemble and renew the conflict at the first summons of their chiefs. guided by british advice, led by british officers, and, it may be, paid by british gold, afghanistan is likely to prove an invaluable ally to us when the day comes that russia believes herself strong enough to move forward towards the goal of all her hopes and efforts for the last fifty years, the conquest of india. yours sincerely, g. a. henty. contents. chap. page i. the lost child ii. the foundling iii. life on a smack iv. kcn down v. the castaways vi. the attack on the village, vii. the fight with the phahus viii. the torpedo ix. the advance into afghanistan x. the peiwab-khotal xi. a prisoner, i xii. the advance up the khyber, xiii. the massacre at cabul, xiv. the advance upon cabul, xv. the fighting round cabul, xvi. the fight in the pass xvii. at candahab, xviii. on the helmund xix. the battle of maiwand, xx. candahab, xxi. the battle of candahar, xxii. at home at last, illustrations. pago sam dickson finds little willie gale, . frontkpiece. will and hans in search of a shelter, captain herbert saved william gale in the hands ok the afghans "one of the gunpowder magazines had exploded," . letters from the general will saves colonel ripon, gundi carried by the bayonet for name and fame: a tale of the afghan war. chapter i. the lost child. v poor pets!" a lady exclaimed sorrowfully; "it is too bad. they all knew me so well, and ran to meet me when they saw me coming, and seemed really pleased to see me even when i had no food to give them." "which was not often, my dear," captain ripon, her husband, said. "however, it is, as you say, too bad, and i will bring the fellow to justice if i can. there are twelve prize fowls worth a couple of guineas apiece, not to mention the fact of their being pets of yours, stolen, probably by tramps, who will eat them, and for whom the commonest barn-door chickens would have done as well. there are marks of blood in two or three places, so they have evidently been killed for food. the house was locked up last night all right, the lost fowls. for you see they got in by breaking in a panel of the door. robson, run down to the village at once, and tell the policeman to come up here, and ask if any gypsies or tramps have been seen in the neighbour- hood." the village lay at the gate of captain ripon's park, and the gardener soon returned with the policeman. "i've heard say there are some gypsies camped on netherwood common, four miles away," that func- tionary said in answer to captain ripon. "put the gray mare in the dog-cart, sam; we will drive over at once, they will hardly expect us so soon. we will pick up another policeman at netherwood; they may show fight if we are not in strength." five minutes later captain ripon was travelling along the road at the rate of twelve miles an hour, with sam by his side, and the policeman sitting behind. at netherwood they took up another police- man, and a few minutes later drove up to the gypsy encampment. there was a slight stir when they were seen ap- proaching, and then the gypsies went on with their usual work, the women weaving baskets from osiers, the men cutting up gorse into skewers. there were four low tents, and a wagon stood near, a bony horse grazing on the common. "now," captain ripon said, "i am a magistrate, and i daresay you know what i have come for. my fowl-house has been broken open, and some valuable a gypsy camp. fowls stolen. now, policeman, look about and see it' you can find any traces of them." the gypsies rose to their feet with angry gestures. "why do you come to us?" one of the men said. "when a fowl is stolen you always suspect us, as if there were no other thieves in the world." "there are plenty of other thieves, my friend, and we shall not interfere with you if we find nothing suspicious." "there have been some fowls plucked here," one of the policemen said; "here is a little feather"—and he showed one of only half an inch in length—"and there is another on that woman's hair. they have cleaned them up nicely enough, but it ain't easy to pick up every feather. i'll be bound we find a fowl in the pot." two of the gypsies leapt forward, stick in hand; but the oldest man present said a word or two to them in their own dialect. "you may look in the pot," he said, turning to captain bipon, " and maybe you will find a fowl there with other things; we bought 'em at the market at hunston yesterday." the policeman lifted the lid off the great pot which was hanging over the fire, and stirred up the contents with a stick. "there's rabbits here, two or three of them, i should say, and a fowl, perhaps two, but they are cut up." "i cannot swear to that," captain ripon said, exam- a piece of evidence. ining the portions of fowl, " though the plumpness of the breasts and the size show that they are not ordinary fowls." he looked round again at the tents. "but i can pretty well swear to this," he said, as he stooped and picked up a feather which lay half concealed between the edge of one of the tents and the grass. "this is a breast-feather of a spangled dorking. these are not birds which would be sold for eating in hunston market, and it will be for these men to show where they got it from." a smothered oath broke from one or two of the men. the elder signed to them to be quiet. "that's not proof," he said insolently. "you can't convict five men because the feather of a fowl which you cannot swear to is found in their camp." "no," captain ripon said quietly. "i do not want to convict any one but the thief; but the proof is suf- ficient for taking you in custody, and we shall find out which was the guilty man afterwards. now, lads, it will be worse for you if you make trouble. constables, take them up to mr. bailey; he lives half a mile away. fortunately, we have means of proving which is the fellow concerned. now, sam, you and i will go up with the netherwood constable to mr. bailey; and do you," he said to the other policeman, "keep a sharp watch over these women. you say you can find nothing in the tents, but it is likely the other fowls are hid not far off, and i will put all the boys of the village to search when i come back." a footmark. the gypsies, with sullen faces, accompanied captain ripon and the policeman to the magistrate's. "is that feather the only proof you have, ripon?" mr. bailey asked when he had given his evidence. "i do not think that it will be enough to convict if unsupported; besides, you cannot bring it home to any one of them. but it is sufficient for me to have them locked up for twenty-four hours, and, in the mean- time, you may find the other fowls." "but i have means of identification," captain ripon said. "there is a footmark in some earth at the fowl- house door. it is made by a boot which has got hob- nails and a horse-shoe heel, and a piece of that heel has been broken off! now, which of these men has got such a boot on? whichever has he is the man." there was a sudden movement among the accused. "it's of no use," one of them said when the policeman approached to examine their boots. "i'm the man, i'll admit it. i can't get over the boot;" and he held up his right foot. "that is the boot, sir," the constable exclaimed; "i can swear that it will fit the impression exactly." "very well," the magistrate said. "constable, take that man to the lock-up, and bring him before the bench to-morrow for final committal for trial. there is no evidence against the other four. they can go." with surly threatening faces the men left the room, while the constable placed handcuffs on the prisoner. "constable," mr. bailey said, "you had better not a visitor. put this man in the village lock-up. the place is of no great strength, and his comrades would as likely as not get him out to-night. put him in my dog-cart; my groom shall drive you over to hunston." captain ripon returned with his groom to nether- wood, and set all the children searching the gorse, copses, and hedges near the common by the promise of ten shillings reward if they found the missing fowls. half an hour later the gypsies struck their tents, loaded the van, and went off. late that afternoon the ten missing fowls were discovered in a small copse by the wayside, half a mile from the common on the road to captain ripon's park. "i cannot bring your fowls back to life, emma," that gentleman said when he returned home, "but i have got the thief. it was one of the gypsies on nether- wood common. we found two of the fowls in their pot. no doubt they thought that they would have plenty of time to get their dinner before anyone came, even if suspicion fell on them; and they have hidden the rest away somewhere, but i expect that we shall find them. they had burnt all the feathers, as they thought; but i found a breast-feather of a spangled dorking, and that was enough for me to give them in custody. then, when it came to the question of boots, the thief found it no good to deny it any longer." that evening captain ripon was told that a woman wished to speak to him, and on going out into the hall he saw a gypsy of some thirty years of age. a threat. if) "i have come, sir, to beg you not to appear against my husband." "but, my good woman, i see no reason why i should not do so. if he had only stolen a couple of common fowls for a sick wife or child i might have been inclined to overlook it, for i am not fond of send- ing men to prison; but to steal a dozen valuable fowls for the pot is a little too much. besides, the matter has gone too far now for me to retract, even if i wished to, which i certainly do not." "he is a good husband, sir." "he may be," captain ripon said, "though that black eye you have got does not speak in his favour. but that has nothing to do with it; matters must take their course." the woman changed her tone. "i have asked you fairly, sir; and it will be better for you if you don't prosecute beubed." "oh, nonsense, my good woman! don't let me have any threats, or it will be worse for you." "i tell you," the woman exclaimed fiercely, "it will be the worse for you if you appear against my beuben." "there, go out," captain ripon said, opening the front door of the hall. "as if i cared for your ridicu- lous threats! your husband will get what he deserves —five years, if i am not mistaken." "you will repent this," the gypsy said as she passed out. captain ripon closed thedoorafter her without a word. g a nervous wiik "well, who was it?" his wife inquired when he returned to the drawing-room. "an insolent gypsy woman, wife of the man who stole the fowls. she had the impudence to threaten me if i appeared against him." "oh, robert!" the young wife exclaimed apprehen- sively, "what could she do? perhaps you had better not appear." "nonsense, my dear!" her husband laughed. "not appear because an impudent gypsy woman has threat- ened me? a nice magistrate i should be! why, half the fellows who are committed swear that they will pay off the magistrate some day, but nothing ever comes of it. here we have been married six months, and you are wanting me to neglect my duty, especially when it is your pet fowls which have been stolen. "why, at the worst, my dear," he went on, seeing that his wife still looked pale, "they could burn down a rick or two on a windy night in winter; and to satisfy you i will have an extra sharp look-out kept in that direction, and have a watch-dog chained up near them. come, my love, it is not worth giving a second thought about, and i shall not tell you about my work on the bench if you are going to take matters to heart like this." the winter came and went, and the ricks were un- touched, and captain ripon forgot all about the gypsy's threats. at the assizes a previous conviction was proved against her husband, and he got five years' ( ) a blood-mark. penal servitude, and after the trial was over the matter passed out of the minds of both husband and wife. they had indeed other matters to think about, for soon after christmas a baby boy was born and monopolized the greater portion of his mother's thoughts. when in due time he was taken out for walks the old women of the village, perhaps with an eye to presents from the park, were unanimous in declaring that he was the finest boy ever seen, and the image both of his father and mother. he certainly was a fine baby, and his mother lamented sorely over the fact that he had a dark blood-mark about the size of a threepenny piece upon his shoulder. her husband, however, consoled her by pointing out that, as it was a boy, the mark did not matter in the slightest, whereas, had it been a girl, the mark would have been a disfigurement when she at- tained to the dignified age at which low dresses are worn. "yes, of course, that would have been dreadful, robert; still, you know, it is a pity." "i really cannot see that it is even a pity, little woman; and it would have made no great difference if he had been spotted all over like a leopard, so that his face and arms were free; the only drawback would have been he would have got some nickname or other, such as ' the leopard,' or' spotty,' or something of that sort when he went to bathe with his school-fellows. but this little spot does not matter in the slightest. some clay or other tom will laugh when i tell him what a fuss you made over it." ( ) b tom ripon's progress. mrs. ripon was silenced, but although she said noth- ing more about it, she was grieved in her heart at this little blemish on her boy, and lamented that it would spoil his appearance when he began to run about in little short frocks, and she determined at once that he should wear long curls until he got into jackets. summer, autumn, and winter came and passed. in the spring tom ripon was toddling about, but he had not yet begun to talk, although his mother declared that certain incoherent sounds which he made were quite plain and distinct words; but her husband, while willing to allow that they might be perfectly intelligible to her, insisted that to the male ear they in no way resembled words. "but he ought to begin to talk, robert," his wife urged. "he is sixteen months old now, and can run about quite well. he really ought to begin to talk." "he will talk before long," her husband said care- lessly. "many children do not talk till they are eighteen months old, some not till they are two years. besides, you say he does begin already." "yes, robert, but not quite plainly." "no, indeed, not plainly at all," her husband laughed. "don't trouble, my dear, he will talk soon enough, and if he only talks as loud as he roars sometimes, you will regret the hurry you have been in about it." "oh, robert, how can you talk so? i am sure he does not cry more than other children. nurse says he is the best child she ever knew." a prodigy. "of course she does, my dear; nurses always do. but i don't say he roars more than other children. i only say he roars, and that loudly; so you need not be afraid of there being anything the matter with his tongue or his lungs. what fidgets you young mothers are, to be sure!" "and what heartless things you young fathers are, to be sure!" his wife retorted, laughing. "men don't deserve to have children, they do not appreciate them one bit." "we appreciate them in our way, little woman, but it is not a fussy way. we are content with them as they are, and are not in any hurry for them to run, or to walk, or to cut their first teeth. tom is a fine little chap, and i am very fond of him in his way, princi- pally, perhaps, because he is your tom; but i cannot see that he is a prodigy." "he is a prodigy," mrs. ripon said, with a little toss of her head, "and i shall go up to the nursery to admire him." so saying she walked off with dignity, and captain ripon went out to look at his horses, and thought to himself what a wonderful dispensation of providence it was that mothers were so fond of their babies. "i don't know what the poor little beggars would do," he muttered, "if they had only their fathers to look after them; but i suppose we should take to it, just as the old goose in the yard has taken to that brood of chickens whose mother was carried off by the tom missing. fox. by the way, i must order some wire-netting; i forgot to write for it yesterday." another two months. it was june; and now even captain ripon allowed that tom could say " pa" and "ma" with tolerable distinctness, but as yet he had got no farther. he could now run about sturdily; and as the season was warm and bright, and mrs. ripon believed in fresh air, the child spent a considerable portion of his time in the garden. one day his mother was out with him, and he had been running about for some time. mrs. ripon was picking flowers, for she had a dinner-party that evening, and she enjoyed getting her flowers and arranging her vases herself. presently she looked round, but tom was missing. there were many clumps of ornamental shrubs on the lawn, and mrs. ripon thought nothing of his disap- pearance. "tom," she called, " come to mamma, she wants you," and went on with her work. a minute or two passed. "where is that little pickle?" she said. "hiding, i suppose;" and she went off in search. nowhere was tom to be seen. she called loudly, and searched in the bushes. "he must have gone up to the house. oh, here comes nurse. nurse, have you seen master tom? he has just run away," she called. "no, ma'am, i have seen nothing of him." "he must be about the garden then, somewhere. an anxious search. look about, nurse; where can the child have hidden itself?" nurse and mother ran about, calling loudly the name of the missing child. five minutes later mrs. ripon ran into the study, where her husband was going through his farm accounts. "oh, robert," she said, "i can't find tom!" and she burst into tears. "not find tom?" her husband said, rising in sur- prise. "why, how long have you missed him?" "he was out in the garden with me; i was picking flowers for the dinner-table, and when i looked round he was gone. nurse and i have been looking every- where, and calling, but we cannot find him." "oh, he is all right," captain ripon said cheerfully; "do not alarm yourself, little woman; he must have wandered into the shrubbery; we shall hear him howl- ing directly. but i will come and look for him." no better success attended captain ripon's search than that which his wife had met with. he looked anxious now. the gardeners and servants were called, and soon every place in the garden was ransacked. "he must have got through the gate somehow into the park," captain ripon said, hurrying in that direc- tion. "he certainly is not in the garden or in any of the hothouses." some of the men had already gone in that direction. presently captain ripon met one running back. "i have been down to the gate, sir, and can see energetic measures. was required; and on no account to mention to a soul where he put it. before riding off, he ran in to his wife, who was half wild with grief, to tell her that he was going to search outside the park, and that she must keep up her spirits, for no doubt tom would turn up all right in no time. he admitted to himself, however, as he galloped away, that he was not altogether sure that tom would be so speedily recovered. the woman would never have dared to place the boot on the road, and so give a clue against herself, unless she felt very confident that she could get away or conceal herself. "she has probably some hiding-place close by the park," he said to himself, "where she will lie hid till night, and will then make across country." he paused at the village, and set the whole popula- tion at work by telling them that his child was miss- ing, and had, he believed, been carried off by a gypsy woman; and that he would give fifty pounds to any- one who would find him. she could not be far off, as it was only about half an hour since the child had been missed. then he galloped to hunston, set the police at work; and, going to a printer, told him instantly to set up and strike off placards offering five hundred pounds reward for the recovery of the child. this was to be done in an hour or two, and then taken to the police station for distribution throughout the countiy round. a cheering reflection. having now done all in his power, captain ripon rode back as rapidly as he had come, in hopes that the child might already have been found. no news had, however, been obtained of him, nor had anyone seen any strange woman in the neighbourhood. on reaching the house he found his wife prostrated with grief; and, in answer to her questions, he thought it better to tell her about the discovery of the boot. "we may be some little time before we find the boy," he said, " but we shall find him sooner or later. i have got placards out already, offering five hundred pounds reward; and this evening i will send adver- tisements to all the papers in this and the neighbour- ing counties. do not fret, darling. the woman has done it out of spite, no doubt; but she will not risk putting her neck in a noose by harming the child. it is a terrible grief, but it will only be for a time; we are sure to find him before long." later in the evening, when mrs. ripon had some- what recovered her composure, she said to her husband: "how strange are god's ways, robert; how wicked and wrong in us to grumble! i was foolish enough to fret over that mark on the darling's neck, and now the thought of it is my greatest comfort. if it should be god's will that months or years should pass over before we find him, there is a sign by which we shall always know him. no other child can be palmed off upon us as our own; when we find tom we shall know him, however changed he may be!" no news. "yes, dear," her husband said, "god is very good, and this trial may be sent us for the best. as you say, we can take comfort now from what we were disposed to think at the time a little cross. after that, dear, we may surely trust in god. that mark "was placed there that we might know our boy again; and were it not decreed that we should again see him, that mark would have been useless." the thought, for a time, greatly cheered mrs. ripon; but gradually the hope that she should ever see her boy again faded away, and captain ripon became much alarmed at the manifest change in her health. in spite of all captain ripon could do, no news was obtained of the gypsy or tom. for weeks he rode about the country asking questions in every village, or hurried away to distant parts of england, where the police thought they had a clue. it was all in vain. every gypsy encampment in the kingdom was searched, but without avail; and even the police, sharp-eyed as they are, could not guess that the decent-looking irishwoman, speaking—when she did speak, which was seldom, for she was a taciturn woman—with a strong brogue, working in a laundry in a small street in the potteries, notting hill, was the gypsy they were looking for; or that the little boy, whose father she said was at sea, was the child for whose discovery a thousand pounds was continually advertised. chapter ii. the foundling. t was a bitterly cold night in january. the wind was roaring across the flats and fens of cambridgeshire, driving tiny flakes of snow before it. but few people had been about all day, and those whose business compelled them to face the weather had hurried along muffled up to the chin. it was ten at night, and the porter and his wife at the workhouse at ely had just gone to bed, when the woman exclaimed, "sam, hear a child crying." "oh, nonsense!" the man replied, drawing the bed- clothes higher over his head; "it is the wind; it's been whistling all day." the woman was silent but not convinced. presently she sat up in bed. "i tell you, sam, it's a child; don't you hear it, man? it's a child outside the gate. on such a night as this too. get up, man, and see; if you won't i will go myself." "lie still, woman, it's all thy fancy." "you are a fool, sam dickson," his wife said sharply. "do you think i have lived to the age of forty-five, the workhouse gate. and don't know a child's cry when i hear it? now are you going to get up, or am i?" with much grumbling the porter turned out of bed, slipped on a pair of trousers and a greatcoat, took down the key from the wall, lighted a lantern, and went out. he opened the gate and looked out. there was nothing to be seen, and he was about to close the gate again with a curse on his wife's fancies, when a fresh cry broke on his ears. he hurried out now, and, directed by the voice, found lying near the gate a child wrapped in a dark-coloured shawl, which had pre- vented him from seeing it at his first glance. there was no one else in sight. the man lifted his lantern above his head and gave a shout. there was no an- swer. then he raised the child and carried it in, locked the door, and entered the lodge. "you are right for once," he said. "here is a child, and a pretty heavy one too. it has been deserted by some one; and a heartless creature she must have been, for in another half-hour it would have been frozen to death if you had not heard it." the woman was out of bed now. "it is a boy," she said, opening the shawl, "about two years old, i should say. don't cry, my boy—don't cry. it's half-frozen, sam. the best thing will be to put it into our bed, that has just got warm. i will warm it up a little milk. it's no use taking it into the ward to-night." ten minutes later the child was sound asleep, the porter, who was a good-natured man, having gone over the waif. to sleep in an empty bed in the house, leaving the child to share his wife's bed. in the morning the foundling opened its eyes and looked round. seeing everything strange it began to cry. "don't cry, dear," the woman said. "i will get you some nice breakfast directly." the kindness of tone at once pacified the child. it looked round. "where's mother?" he asked. "i don't know, dear, we shall find her soon enough, no doubt; don't you fret." the child did not seem inclined to fret; on the con- trary, he brightened up visibly. "will she beat billy when she comes back?" "no, my dear, she shan't beat you. does she often beat you?" the child nodded its head several times emphatically. "then she's a bad lot," the woman said indignantly. the child ate its breakfast contentedly, and was then carried by the porter's wife to the master, who had already heard the circumstance of its entry. "it's of no use asking such a baby whether it has any name," he said; "of course it would not know. it had better go into the infants' ward; the guardians will settle what its name shall be. we will set the police at work and try and find out something about its mother. it is a fine-looking little chap, and she must be either a thoroughly bad one, or terribly the dead tramp. pressed, to desert it like this. most likely it is a tramp, and in that case it's odds we shall never hear further about it. any distinguishing mark on its clothes?" "none at all, sir. it is poorly dressed, and seems to have been very bad treated; its skin is dirty, and its little back is black and blue with bruises; but it has a blood-mark on the neck, which will enable its mother to swear to it, if it's fifty years hence; but i don't suppose we shall ever hear of her again." that afternoon, however, the news came that the body of a tramp had been found frozen to death in a ditch near the town. she had apparently lost her way, and when she had fallen in was so numbed and cold that she was unable to rise, and so had been drowned in the shallow water. when the master heard of it he sent for the porter's wife. "mrs. dickson," he said, "you had better take that child down and let it see the tramp they have found frozen to death. the child is too young to be shocked at death, and will suppose she is asleep. but you will be able to see if he recognizes her." there was no doubt as to the recognition. the child started in terror when he saw the woman lying in the shed into which she had been carried. it checked its first impulse to cry out, but struggled to get further off. "moder asleep," he said in a whisper. "if she wake she beat billy." that was enough. the woman carried him back to the house. "she's his mother, sir, sure enough," she william gale. said to the master, " though how she should be puzzles me. she is dressed in pretty decent clothes, but she is as dark as a gypsy, with black hair. this child is fair, with a skin as white as milk, now he is washed." "i daresay he takes after his father," the master, who was a practical man, said. "i hear that there is no name on her things, no paper or other article which would identify her in her pockets; but there is £ , s. in her purse, so she was not absolutely in want . it will pay the parish for her funeral" an hour later the guardians assembled, and upon hearing the circumstances of the new-comer's admis- sion and the death of the tramp, they decided that the child should be entered in the books as "william gale," the name being chosen with a reference to the weather during which he came into the house; and against his name a note was written to the effect that his mother, a tramp, name unknown, had, after leaving him at the door of the workhouse, been found frozen to death next day. william gale grew and throve. he was a quiet and contented child; accustomed to be shut up all day alone, while his mother was out wash- ing, the companionship of other children in the work- house was a pleasant novelty, and if the food was not such as a dainty child would fancy, it was at least as good as he had been accustomed to. the porter's wife continued to be the fast friend of the child whom she had saved from death. the fact that she had done so gave her an interest in it. her own children were a warm friend. out in service or at work in the fields, and the child was a pleasure to her. scarce a day passed then that she would not go across the yard up to the infants' ward and bring billy down to the lodge, where he would play contentedly by the hour, or sit watching her and sucking at a cake while she washed or pre- pared her husband's dinner. billy was seldom heard to cry. perhaps he had wept all his stock of tears away before he entered the house; he had seldom fits of bad temper, and was a really lovable child. mrs. dickson never wavered in the opinion she had first formed, that the dead tramp was not billy's mother; but as no one else agreed with her she kept her thoughts to herself. the years passed on, and william gale was now no longer in the infants' ward, but took his place in the boys' school. here he at once showed an intelligence beyond that of the other boys of his own age. the hours which he had each day spent in the porter's lodge had not been wasted. the affection of the good woman had brightened his life, and he had none of the dull, down-cast look so common among children in workhouses. she had encouraged him to talk and play, had taught him the alphabet, and supplied him with an occasional picture-book with easy words; indeed she devoted far more time to him than many mothers in her class of life can give to their children. the guardians, as they went in and out to board- meeting, would delight her by remarking:— sa mrs. dickson's belief. "that is really a fine little fellow, mrs. dickson; he really does you credit. a fine sturdy, independent little chap." the child of course wore the regular uniform of workhouse children; but mrs. dickson, who was handy with her needle, used to cut and alter the clothes to fit him, and thus entirely changed their appearance. "he looks like a gentleman's child," one of the guardians said one day. "i believe he is a gentleman's child, sir. look at his white skin; see how upright he is, with his head far back as if he was somebody; he is different alto- gether from the run of them. i always said he came of good blood, and i shall say so to my dying day." "it may be so, mrs. dickson; but the woman who left him here, if i remember right, did not look as if she had any good blood in her." "not likely, sir. she never came by him honestly, i am sure; i couldn't have believed she was his mother, not if she had sworn to it with her dying breath." mrs. dickson's belief was not without influence upon the boy. when he was old enough to under- stand she told him the circumstances of his having been found at the workhouse door, and of the dis- covery of the woman who had brought him there; and impressed upon him her own strong conviction that this was not his mother. good advice. "i believe, billy," she said over and over again, "that your parents were gentlefolk. now, mind, it does not make one bit of difference to you, for it ain't likely you will ever hear of them. still, please god, you may do so; and it is for you to bear it in mind, and to act so as, if you were to meet them, they need not be ashamed of you. you have got to earn your living just like all the other boys here, but you can act right and straight and honourable. never tell a lie, billy, not if it's to save yourself from being thrashed ever so much; always speak out manful and straight, no matter what comes of it. don't never use no bad words, work hard at your books and try to improve yourself. keep it always before you that you mean to be a good man and a gentleman some day; and, mark my words, you will do it." "you're spoiling that child," her husband would say, "filling his head with your ridiculous notions." "no, i am not spoiling him, sam; i'm doing him good. it will help keep him straight, if he thinks that he is of gentle blood and must not shame it. why, the matron said only yesterday she could not make him out, he was so different from other boys." "mores the pity," grumbled the porter; "it mayn't do him harm now—i don't say as it does; but when he leaves the house he'll be above his work, and will be discontented, and never keep a place." "no, he won't," his wife asserted stoutly, although in her heart she feared that there was some risk of her ( ) c willy's master. teaching having that effect. so far, however, there could be no doubt that her teaching had been of great advantage to the boy, and his steadiness and diligence soon attracted the attention of the schoolmaster. schoolmasters are always ready to help pupils for- ward who promise to be a credit to them, and william gale's teacher was no exception. he was not a learned man, very far from it. he had been a grocer who had failed in business, and having no other resource had accepted the very small salary offered by the guardians of ely workhouse, as the only means which presented itself of keeping out of one of the pauper wards of that institution. however, he was not a bad reader, and wrote an excellent hand. with books of geography and history before him he could make no blunders in his teaching, and although he might have been failing in method, he was not harsh or unkind; and the boys, therefore, learned as much with him as they might have done with a more learned master of a harsher disposition. he soon recognized not only william's anxiety to learn, but the fearlessness and spirit with which he was always ready to own a fault and to beat- its punishment. on several occasions he brought the boy before the notice of the guardians when they came round the school; and when questions had to be asked before visitors, william gale was always called up as the show boy. this prominence would have made him an object of dislike among the other lads of his own age, had it not been that william was a lively good- a boy's library. tempered boy; and if, as sometimes happened on these occasions, a sixpence or shilling was slipped into his hand by some visitor who was taken by his frank open face and bright intelligent manner, it was always shared among his school-fellows. at one of the examinations, the wife of a guardian, who was present with her hus- band, said on returning home: "it must be very dull for those poor boys: i will pack up some of the boys' books and send them. now they have gone to college they will never want them again, and they would make quite a library for the workhouse boys. there must be twenty or thirty of them at least." if ladies could but know what brightness they can infuse into the lives of lads placed like these in ely workhouse, by a simple act of kindness of this kind, there would not be an institution in the kingdom with- out a well-supplied library. the gift infused a new life into the school. hitherto the world outside had been a sealed book to the boys. they knew of no world save that included within the walls of the house. their geography told them of other lands and people, but these were mere names until now. among the books were "robinson crusoe," "midship- man easy," " peter simple," three or four of cooper's indian tales, dana's " life before the mast," and several of kingston's and ballantyne's books. these opened a wonderland of life and adventure to the boys. the schoolmaster used to give them out at twelve o'clock, the choice of a trade. and they were returned at two when school re-com- menced; and only such boys as obtained full marks for their lessons were allowed to have them. in this way, instead of the "library" being a cause of idleness, as some of the guardians predicted when they heard of its presentation, it was an incentive to work. cer- tainly its perusal filled the minds of most of the boys with an intense longing to go to sea, but as there is always a demand for apprentices for the yarmouth and lowestoft smacks, the guardians did not disapprove of this bent being given to their wishes; indeed, as no premium had to be paid with apprentices to smack- owners, while in most trades a premium is required, a preference was given to the sea by the guardians. when william gale reached the age of fifteen, and was brought before the board to choose the trade to which he would be apprenticed, he at once said that he would go to sea. there were applications from several smack-masters for apprentices, and he, with the five other boys brought up with him, were all of one opinion in the matter. "mind, lads," the chairman said, "the life of an apprentice on board a north sea smack is a hard one. you will get a great many more kicks than halfpence. it will be no use grumbling when you have once made your choice. it is a rough hard life, none rougher or harder. when you have served your time it will be open to you either to continue as smacksmen or to ship as seamen in sea-going ships. sailors who hail from the last day. the eastern fishing ports are always regarded as amongst the best of our seamen. still it is a rough life and a dangerous one; the hardest life on shore is easy in com- parison. there is time to change your minds before you sign; when you have done so it will be too late. are you all determined?" none of them wavered. their signatures were at- tached to the indentures, and they were told that the porter would take them to yarmouth on the following day. william gale obtained leave to spend his last evening at the porter's lodge, and there he talked very seriously with mrs. dickson over his future prospects. "i know," he said, "from dana's book, that the life is a very rough one, but that will not matter. a sailor, when he has been four years at sea, can pass his exa- mination as a mate, and i mean to work hard and pass as soon as i can. i don't care how much i am knocked about, that's nothing; there's a good chance of getting on in the end." "you will meet a great many bad boys, bill; don't you let them lead you into their ways." "don't be afraid of that," he answered, " i won't do anything i should be ashamed of afterwards. you have taught me better." "i suppose the guardians gave you a bible to-day; they always do when boys goes out." will nodded. "be sure you read it often, my boy. you read that and stick to it, and you won't go far wrong. you know a promise. what the parson said last sunday, 'no one is strong in himself, but god gives strength.'" "i remember," will said. "i made up my mind then that i'd bear it in mind and act upon it when i could. i think the thought of god, and the thought that i may meet my parents, and they must not be ashamed of me, will help me to be honest and firm." "i hope, bill, you will come sometimes and see me when you are ashore." "i shall be sure to do that when i can," he answered. "but, of course, i shall have no money at first; and it may be a long time before i can pay my railway fare here; but you may be sure i will come. whoever may be my real mother, you are the only mother i ever knew, and no mother could have been kinder. when i grow to be a man, and go to sea in big ships, i will bring you all sorts of pretty things from abroad; and if ever you should want it, you may be sure that my wages will be quite as much yours as if i had been really your son!" sam dickson gave a snort. it was very good of the boy, but he considered it his duty to snub him in order to counteract what he considered to be the pernicious counsels and treatment of his wife. "fine talk," he said, "fine talk we shall see." "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, sam dick- son," his wife said wrathfully. "the boy means what he says, and i believe him. if anything was to happen to you, and that boy was growed-up, i believe he will starts in life. would come forward to lend me a helping hand, just as he says, as if he were my son. the gals is good gals, but gals in service have plenty to do with their wages, what with dress and one thing or another; we must never look for much help from them; but if bill is doing well, and i ever come to want, i believe as his heart would be good to help a bit." "well," the porter said dryly, " there's time enough to see about it yet. i ain't dead, you ain't a pauper, and he ain't a man, not by a long way." "well, you needn't go to be short-tempered over it, sam. the boy says as he'll be as good as a son to me if the time ever comes as how i may want it. there is no call for you to fly out as if he'd said as he'd poison me if he'd the chance. anyhow, you'll write to me regular, won't you, bill?" "that i will," the boy said. "every time i gets back to port i'll write; and you'll write sometimes, won't you? and tell me how you are, and how every one is, schoolmaster and all. they have all been very kind to me, and i have nothing to say against any of them." the next morning william gale laid aside for ever his workhouse dress, and put on a suit of rough blue cloth, fitted for his future work. then, bidding adieu to all his friends, he, with his five fellow-apprentices, started by rail under charge of sam dickson for yar- mouth. the journey itself was to them a most excit- ing event. they had in all their remembrance never at yarmouth. been a mile from the workhouse, and the swift motion of the train, the changing scenery, the villages and stations, were a source of immense interest. as they neared yarmouth their excitement increased, for now they were nearing the sea, of which they had read so much, but could form so little idea they were dis- appointed, however, inasmuch as no glimpse was obtained of it as they crossed the flat country leading to the town; but, failing the sea, yarmouth itself— the town which was henceforth to be their head- quarters — was in the highest degree interesting. presently the train reached the station, and then sam dickson, who had made many annual journeys to yar- mouth on the same errand, at once started off with them to the smack-owners who had written to the workhouse. these lived at gorleston, a large village on the south side of the river. walking down from the station, the boys caught a glimpse of the river, and were delighted at the sight of the long line of smacks and coasters lying by the wharves opposite. presently they left the road and made their way down to the river side. their guardian had great difficulty in getting them along, so interested were they in the smacks lying alongside. presently they stopped at a large wooden building, over which was the name of "james eastrey." "here we are," sam dickson said. "now stop quietly outside, i will call three of you up when i have spoken to mr. eastrey." will's master. presently the porter re-appeared at the door, and called three of the boys in. william gale was one of the number, james eastrey being the name of the owner to whom he had signed his indentures. a smell of tar pervaded the whole place. nets, sails, and cordage were piled in great heaps in the store; iron bolts and buckets, iron heads for trawls, and ship's stores of all kinds. mr. eastrey came out from a little wooden office. "so," he said, " you are the three lads who are going to be my apprentices. well, boys, it is a rough life; but if you take the ups and downs as they come, it is not a bad one. i always tell my captains to be kind to the boys; but when they are at sea they do not always act as i wish them. when you are on shore, between the voyages, i give you eight shillings a week to keep yourselves, or i put you in the smack-boys' home and pay for you there. the last is the best place for you, but some boys prefer to go their own way. i suppose you are all anxious to go to sea—boys always are for the first time. one of my boats is going out to-morrow. you," he said, pointing to william gale, "shall go in her. what is your name?" "william gale, sir." "very well, william gale, then you shall be off first. the others will only have a day or two to wait. i can only send one new hand in each smack. the others will go to the home till the smacks are ready. i will send a man with them at once. they can have a day scattered. to run about the town; i shall find plenty of work for them afterwards. you, gale, will stop on the smack. i will take you on board in half-an-hour when i have finished my letter." the three lads said good-bye to their comrades and to sam dickson. a sailor was called up and took two off to the smack-boys' home, and will gale sat down on a coil of rope to wait till his employer was ready to take him down to the craft to which he was henceforth to belong. chapter iii. life on a smack. ow come along, gale," mr. eastrey said at last, "the kitty is close by." following his master the lad went out from the store, and along the wharf, and presently stepped upon a smack on which several men and a boy were at work. "harvey," mr. eastrey said, " i have brought you a new lad. he will sail with you to-morrow. i have a very good account of him, an i think you will find him quick and ready." "so as he's not up to tricks i shall do very well with him, i don't doubt," the skipper said; "but boys are an awful trouble the first voyage or two. however, i will do my best for him. are you ready to begin work at once, young 'un? what is your name?" "william gale, and i am quite ready." "very well, bill, chuck off your jacket then, and pass those basjs along from the wharf." the boy was soon hard at work. he was a little disappointed at finding that the skipper was in dress takin in stores. and manner in no way superior to the rest of the crew. the kitty was a yawl of forty-five tons, deep in the water and broad in the beam. her deck was dirty and at present in disorder, and she did not come up to the perfection of neatness and cleanliness which william gale had read of in the pages of his favourite author. however, as he told himself, there must of course be a good deal of difference between a man-of-war, where the crew have little to do but to keep things neat and bright, and a fishing-smack. the work upon which he was at present engaged was the transferring of the provisions for the voyage from the quay to the hold. these consisted principally of barrels of salt meat and bags of biscuits, but there were a large tin of tea, a keg of sugar, a small barrel of molasses—or treacle— two or three sacks of potatoes, pepper and salt. then there was a barrel of oil for the lamps, coils of spare rope of different sizes, and a number of articles of whose use william gale had not the most remote idea. after two hours' work the skipper looked at his watch. "time to knock off work," he said, "and we've got pretty near everything on board. now be sure you are all here by six in the morning. tide will begin to run out at eight, and i don't want to lose any of it. bill, you are to come home with me for the night." it was but a hundred yards to the sailor's cottage, which stood on the edge of the sharp rise a short dis- tance back from the river. a snug home. "here, wife," he said as he entered, "i've got a new apprentice, and i expect he's pretty hungry; i am, i can tell you, and i hope tea's ready. his name's bill, and he's going to stop here to-night." "tea is quite ready, john, and there's plenty of mackerel. i thought you would not be getting them again for a spell. do you like fish ?" she asked the boy. "i don't know, ma'am—i never tasted them." "bless me!" the woman cried in astonishment; "never tasted fish! to think now!" "i've been brought up in a workhouse," william said, colouring a little as he spoke, for he knew the prejudice against the house. "ah!" she said," we have had a good many of that sort, and i can't say as i likes 'em for the most part. but you haven't got the look about you. you don't seem that sort." "i hope i shall turn out none the worse for it," the boy said; "at any rate i'll do my best." "and none can't do more," the good woman said briskly. "i like your looks, bill, and you've a nice way of talking; well, we shall see." in a few minutes tea was upon the table, and will sat down with the skipper, his wife, and two daughters, girls of ten and twelve. the lad enjoyed his meal im- mensely, and did full justice to the fish. "you will have plenty of them before you eat your next tea on shore. we pretty nigh live on them when we are on the fishing grounds." the skipper's wife. "the same kind of fish as this?" "no, mackerel are caught in small boats with a dif- ferent sort of gear altogether. we get them sometimes in the trawl, not shoals of 'em, but single fish, which we call horse-mackerel." after tea the skipper lit his pipe, and his wife, after clearing up, took some knitting and sat down and began to question the new apprentice. "it's lucky for you, you found such a good friend," she said when he had finished his story. "that's how it is you are so different from other boys who have been apprenticed from the house. i should never have thought you had come from there. and she gave you good advice as to how you should go on, i'll be bound." "yes, ma'am," will said, "and i hope i shall act up to it." "i hope so, bill; but you'll find it hard work to keep yourself as you should do among them boys. they are an awful lot, them smack-boys." "not worse nor other boys," her husband said. "not worse than might be looked for, john, but they are most of 'em pretty bad. the language they use make my blood run cold often. they seems to take a delight in it. the hands are bad enough, but the boys are dreadful. i suppose you don't swear, will; they look too sharp after you in the house; but if you take my advice, boy, don't you ever get into the way of bad language. if you once begin, it will grow beware of drink. on you. there ain't no use in it, and it's awful to hear it." "i will try not to do so," will said firmly. "mother —i always call her mother—told me how bad it was, and i said i'd try." "that's right, will, you stick to that, and make up your mind to keep from liquor, and you'll do." "what's the use of talking that way?" the skipper said. "the boy's sure to do it. they all do." "not all, john; there's some teetotalers in the fleet." "i won't say i'll never touch it," will said, "for i don't know yet how i may want it; they say when you are cold and wet through at sea it is really good; but i have made up my mind i'll never drink for the sake of drinking. half the men—ay, nineteen out of twenty in the house—would never have been there, i've heard mother say, if it hadn't been for drink; and i told her she need never fear i'd take to that." "if you can do without it on shore, you can do with- out it at sea," the skipper said. "i take it when i'm on shore, but there's not a drop goes out on the kitty. some boats carries spirits, some don't. we don't. the old man puts chocolate on board instead, and of a wet night a drink of hot chocolate's worth all the rum in the world . as for giving it up altogether, i see no call for it . there are men who can't touch liquor but they must go on till they get drunk. that sort ought to swear off and never touch it at all. it's worse than wills resolution. poison to some. but for a man who is content with his pint of beer with his dinner, and a glass of grog of an evening, i see no harm in it." "except that the money might be better spent, john." "it might be, or it might not. in my case the saving would be of no account. the beer costs threepence, and the rum as much more. that's sixpence a day. i'm only at home ten days once every two months, so it come to thirty shillings a year, and i enjoy my dinner and my evening pipe all the better for them." "the thing is this, will, you don't know, when you begin, whether you are going to be one of the men who, like my john, is content with his pint of beer 'and his glass of grog, or whether you will be one of them as can't touch liquor without wanting to make beasts of themselves. therefore the safest plan is, don't touch it at all—leastways till you've served your time. the others may laugh at you at first, but they won't like you any the worse for it." "thank you, ma'am. i will make up my mind to that—not to touch liquor till i am out of my appren- ticeship. after that, i can see for myself." "that's right, lad. when you come back from your first trip, you can join the lodge if you like. i and my girls are members." "thank you, ma'am," will said; "but i won't take any pledge. i have said i will not do it, and i don't see any use in taking an oath about it. if i am so a present. weak as to break my word, i should break my oath. i don't know why i shouldn't be able to trust myself to do as i am willed, in that way as in any other. if i'd a craving after it, it might be different; but i never have tasted it, and don't want to taste it; so i don't see why i can't trust myself." "yes, i think as how you can trust yourself, will," the woman said, looking at him; "and i've noticed often that it isn't them who say most as do most. now, i daresay, you are sleepy. there's my boy's bed for you. he is fourth hand in one of the smacks at sea." the next morning will was out of bed the instant he was called, excited at the thought that he was going really to sea. the skipper's wife had tea made and the table laid. "here," she said, " are some oilskin suits my boy has given up. they will suit you well enough for size; and although they are not as good as they were, they will keep out a good deal of water yet. you will get half-a-crown a week while you are at sea, so by the time you get back you will have enough to buy your- self a fresh suit." half an hour later will was at work getting two spare sails and the last of the stores on board. "now, bill, come below," the skipper said. "i will ;-how you your bunk." the cabin was larger than will had expected. it was about twelve feet square, and lofty enough for a tall man to stand upright. by the side of the com- ^t) 'd the "kitty." panion stairs was a grate, on which a kettle was boil- ing; and this, as he afterwards learned, was a fixture, except when cooking was going on, and the men could have tea whenever they chose. round three sides of the cabin extended lockers, the tops forming seats. above were what looked like cupboards running round the sides, but the skipper pushed open a sliding door and showed a bed-place. "that is your bunk," he said. "you see there are two at the end, and one each side, above, and as many under them—eight bunks in all. you will have to help jack, that is the other boy, in cooking, and make yourself useful generally in the day. the crew are divided into two watches, but you will not have much to do on deck. if the night is clear you can sleep, except when the trawl is being got up. of a thick or stormy night you will keep your watch. now, as the other lad is more handy on deck than you are, you can take charge here. all you have to do is to see that the kettle is kept boiling. you can come on deck and lend a hand if wanted, but you must come down some- times and see the fire is all right." after inspecting the contents of the kettle, and see- ing that it was full, will climbed up the steep ladder again, and was soon working away coiling down the ropes with the other lad, while the crew hoisted sails and got the boat under weigh. "are there only two hands under the captain?" he asked the other boy. a bad beginning. "there are two others," the boy said. "they will come on board after we get out of the river, and you'll see they will be just as drunk as they can stand." "what, drunk at this time in the morning?" "yes, they got drunk last night, and as they won't have fairly slept it off they will be beginning again this morning. the old man will look them up and get them off." "who is the old man?" "old eastrey, of course, stupid. i wish they were all on board. there's a fine breeze, and i hate wasting four or five hours off the bar waiting for the hands to come off." "i wonder the old man stands it," will said. "he can't help it," the other answered. "scarce a smack goes out of yarmouth without half the hands being drunk when she starts. they don't get much chance afterwards, you see, and they sleep it off by night, so it don't make any odds. our skipper is always sober, and that's more than many of them are. i have gone out when me and the other boy were the only two sober on board." "but isn't it very dangerous?" "dangerous! no," the boy said; "one of them is sure to be sober enough to manage to stand at the helm, and though i've bumped pretty heavy on the sands sometimes we generally strike the channel. there is no fear of anything else. we never start if a gale is blowing, and the smacks are safe in anything but a at sea. gale. they are too deep to capsize, and at sea there's no more drinking." the smack dropped down the river, and stood off and on near its entrance. will was delighted with the bright sea, dotted with ships and fishing-craft. the sun was shining, and there was just enough wind to send the smack along briskly through the water without raising any waves sufficiently high to give her a perceptible motion. at eight o'clock the captain went on shore in the boat with a man to look after the absent sailors, leaving only one hand and the two boys on board. at ten the boat was again seen coming out. "one, two, three, four," the boy said, "he has got them both. now we shall be off." the boat was soon alongside, the two drunken men were helped on board, and at once went below to sleep themselves sober. then the boat was hoisted on board, and the second hand taking the helm, the kitty started fairly on her way. "now," the captain said, " let us get her a little tidy." it took some hours' work before the deck was washed, the ropes coiled down, and everything ship-shape. by the time all was done the low coast of norfolk had sunk below the horizon, and the smack was far out at sea. there was more motion now, but the wind was still light. the skipper was pleased with the earnest- ness and alacrity which the new apprentice showed. "now, jack," he said to the other boy, "take will below with you and show him how to make tea." making tea. the process of tea-iuaking on board a smack is not a difficult one to master; the sole operation consisting in putting a few more spoonfuls of tea into the kettle boiling over the tire when it begins to get low, and tilling up with fresh water. but simple as the thing was, william gale did not learn it on that occasion. he had been feeling somewhat shaky even while on deck, and the heat of the cabin and the smell of some grease which jack had just put in the frying-pan pre- paratory to cooking some fish brought off from shore, completed the effect of the rising sea. until next morning he was not in a condition to care even had the tea remained unmade to the end ot time. he did not go below, but lay under the shelter of a tar- paulin on deck. in the morning the skipper roused - him up. "now; lad, just take off your coat and shirt; here is a bucket of water, put your head in that, and give your- self a good sluice, and then come down and have a cup of tea and a bit of biscuit, and you will find yourself all right again.'' will followed the instructions and found himself wonderfully better. "now, lad, lend a hand in tidying up on deck; there is nothing like work for keeping off" sea-sickness. jack shall cook for to-day." the boy set to work with a will, and felt so re- freshed that by one o'clock he was able to go below and take his share of the dinner. at present, while f> the fishing fleet. on their way to the fishing-grounds, their meals were taken at the same time as on shore; but once at work, there were only two meals a day: of these the first was taken when the fishing was over, the fish cleaned, picked, weighed, and packed—the hour varying be- tween nine and eleven. the second meal was taken before the trawl was lowered at six or seven o'clock in the evening. after five days' sailing the smack arrived off the fishing-ground, but another two days were spent in finding the fleet, as the fishing-grounds extend over a distance of some hundreds of miles. when they came up with it william gale was astonished at the vast number of boats that dotted the sea in the yarmouth fleet there are between four and five hundred vessels; and, were it not that the most perfect order and discipline reign, the number of acci- dents which would occur, from so many boats fishing close to each other at night, would be terrible. the fleet is commanded by one of the most experienced skippers, who is termed the admiral. his authority is absolute: he leads the fleet to the grounds he selects for fishing, and by signals by day and rockets by night issues his orders:—when the nets are to be lowered down and drawn up, the course which is to be steered, and the tack on which they are to stand. the fishing is entirely done at night. the trawls are let down about dusk, and the fleet attached to these moving anchors forge slowly ahead and to leeward life on board. until daybreak. then the trawls are got in and the fleet sail in a body to the spot where the admiral de- cides that fishing shall be continued in the evening. at o'clock at night the trawls are hauled in and the nets emptied. all hands are called up for this opera- tion; when it is concluded the trawl is again lowered and the fish cleaned and packed, by the light of a torch formed of rope dipped in tar. the watch who have hitherto been on deck, turn in, and the others remain on deck until morning, when the nets are again hauled in. there is not, indeed, much for the watch to do, as the smack needs no steering, and the attention of the men on deck is directed chiefly to see that no other smack drifts down upon them. should there appear any danger of this, a flare is lit to warn the other smacksmen. the trawl rope is slacked out or hauled in as the case may require, and generally volleys of strong language pass between the respective crews. the trawl-beam is a heavy pole, some or feet long; at each end are fitted strong iron hoops of about three feet in diameter. these keep the pole from touching the ground and keep open the mouth of the nfet, one side of which is attached to the pole while the other drags along the bottom. the net resembles in shape a long deep purse, and has various pockets and other contrivances by which, when a fish has once entered its mouth, it is prevented from returning. the contents ok the net. the trawl-rope, which is from to yards in length, according to the depth of water, is hauled in by means of a winch, and its great weight taxes the united strength of the crew to get it level with the bulwark. when it is up, the net is hauled on board, the small end is opened, and the fish tumble on to the deck; they are then separated and packed in trunks, as the wooden cases in which they are sent to market are called. soles fetch by far the highest price, and fortunate are the crew who get a good haul of this fish, for the men work upon shares, an account being kept of all the sales made during the fishing trip. the owner deducts the cost of the provisions and stores which have been put on board and takes one or more shares for the vessel. each man has one share, the skipper and mate receiving rather a larger proportion than the others; thus the men have a lively interest in each haul, and great is the satisfaction when the net comes up well filled, and there is seen to be a good proportion of soles among the contents. the coarse fish, as they are called, include brill, haddock, hake, ling, whiting, and many others. turbot are also caught. in each haul there would probably be a vast number of objects which would delight the heart of a naturalist. dog-fish, too, are sometimes taken, as are conger-eels and horse-mackerel; stones and oysters too come up in the nets, and the latter are the be'tes-noirs of the fishing. sometimes when the fleet gets over a bed of a smacksman's fare. oysters a score of nets will be lost in a single night; for when the bag becomes full of oysters, its weight is so great that the utmost power of the fishermen's exertions on the winch is insufficient to lift it from the bottom, and there is nothing to be done but to cut the rope and abandon trawl and net. upon these occasions the language applied to the admiral is scarcely of a kind for polite ears. the food of the crews, when once upon the fishing- ground, consists almost wholly of fish. with the exception of soles, each man may select any fish he fancies from the glistening mass upon the deck, and the amount which each consumed at a meal at first astonished william gale, accustomed as he was to meagre workhouse rations. he soon, however, found himself able to keep up with the rest, but the operation of frying seemed sometimes interminable, so many times had the pan to be filled and emptied. hard biscuits were eaten with the fish, and the whole washed down with copious draughts of tea with- out milk. two or three times a week the men would, as a change, have a meal of salt meat; and on sun- days a duff or pudding of flour and currants was made. a few days after joining the fleet the weather changed, the sky became gloomy and threatening. the wind blew hard and a heavy sea got up. will found that keeping watch at night, which was pleasant enough on a fine star-light night, was a very different watch at sea. thing now. it was no joke looking ahead with the wind blowing fiercely and showers of spray dashing into the eyes; and yet a vigilant watch must be kept, for if the rockets which ordered the hauling of the trawl were not noticed, some other smack moving rapidly when released from the drag of its net might at any moment come into collision with the smack. still more important was it to notice upon which side the trawl was to be lowered, after being emptied, and upon which tack the vessel was to proceed. for a mistake in this respect would be certain to bring the smack across another, in which case the trawl-ropes would become entangled, involving, in a heavy sea, the certain loss of one or the other. many of the smacks carry dogs, and it is found that these become even better watchers than their masters; for they can be relied on to call the attention of the watch, by sharp barking, to the letting up of the rocket, however distant. a rocket may seem to be an easy thing to see, but in a large fleet the sternmost smacks may be three or four miles away from the leaders, and in a dark thick night it is exceedingly difficult to make out even a rocket at that distance. the wind increased to a gale; the trawls were up now, and the fleet lay-to. it may be explained that this operation is performed by bringing a ship nearly into the eye of the wind, and then hauling the foresail across, and belaying the sheet. the aft sail or mizcn laying-to. 'j is then hauled tight, and the tiller lashed amidships. as the fore-sail pays the vessel off from the wind, the after sail brings her up again, and she is thus kept nearly head to sea, and the crew go below and wait till the storm abates. chapter iv. run down. illiam gale was astonished at the iury of the tempest and the wildness of the sea. although at the workhouse he had often heard the wind roaring round the walls, there was nothing to show him the force that was beinji exerted. there were but few trees in the neighbourhood, and william had hardly ever been without the walls except in fine summer weather. he was, therefore, almost bewildered by the force and fury of the gale, and by the noise as it shrieked through the rifrjrinir and howled across the water. the occasional flapping of the sails and the rattling of the heavy blocks added to the din, and it seemed to him that the kitty, which, like all fishing-smacks, was very deep in the water, must be completely engulfed by the great waves which swept down upon her. several times, indeed, he was obliged to leap down into the cabin to avoid being swept away by the great masses of green water which, pouring over her bows, swept aft, carrying away all before them. fine weather. gl but the yarmouth smacks are admirable sea boats, and, pounded and belaboured as she was, the kitty always shook off the water that smothered her, and rose again for the next wave. in twenty-four hours the gale abated, the scattered fleet were assembled, each flying its flag, and it was found that three were missing, having either foundered, or been driven away from their consorts. with the return of fine weather the fishing began again, and william thoroughly enjoyed his life. the skipper was kind and forbearing; he neither ill-treated the boys himself nor permitted any of the crew to do so, and everything went on regularly and comfortably. there were a few books on board, and of an evening after the trawl was lowered, and before the watch below turned into their bunks, william, who was the best reader on board, would be asked to read aloud for an hour. sometimes there were songs, and as the kitty was fortunate, and her taking of fish good, the men were all cheerful and good-tempered. once every three or four days the collecting steamer came in sight, then there was a general race in the fleet to put the trunks of fish on board her. each did his best to be in good time, for when the catch had been heavy the steamer was sometimes unable to take the whole of it, in which case the portion left behind would be wholly spoilt before the arrival of another steamer. the whole of the fleet, therefore, ran down towards the collecting steamer. the steamer as soon as she was seen; the heavy boats were tossed overboard, and the trunks lowered into them, and two hands jumped in to row them to the steamer. round her a swarm of boats would soon be collected, each striving to get alongside to deliver the fish. in calm weather the scene was simply amusing, but when the sea was high it was exciting and even dangerous; indeed, in the course of a year more lives are lost in the process of taking the fish from the smack to the steamer than in vessels foundered by gales. sometimes the fleet will be joined by dutch trading- smacks, who exchange fresh bread and meat, tobacco, and spirits, for fish. this traffic is the cause alike of loss to the owners by the fish thus parted with, and of injury to the men by the use of spirits. fortunately the skipper of the kitty, although not averse to the use of spirits on shore, was a strict man at sea, and saw that no one took more than a single glass of grog of an evening. over and over again will congratulated himself that he had the good fortune to make his first voyage under such a skipper, for he shuddered at the stories jack told him of the cruelties and barbarities with which apprentices are treated on board some of the smacks. although, however, there is no doubt many brutal skippers hail from yarmouth, the fleet from that town bears a good reputation in comparison with a collision. that of grimsby, where the number of apprentices returned as drowned each year is appalling. one night when the wind was high and the fleet traw- ling lower down the north sea than usual, will, who was on deck, was startled at seeing a great ship bearing down upon the smack. he gave a shout of terror and warning, which was joined in by the crew on deck. one ran for the hatchet to cut the trawl, and thus give steerage-way to the smack. it was too late; in another moment the great ship bore down upon them with a crash, and the kitty sunk beneath the waves. the bowsprit of the vessel projected across the deck, just at the point where william gale was standing; and in a moment he caught at the bob-stay, and quickly hauled himself on to the bowsprit. climbing along this he was soon on board. two or three sailors were leaning over the bows, peering into the darkness. they had not seen the smack, until too late to avoid it; and the collision which had proved fatal to the kitty had scarcely been felt by the ship. will was at once taken to the captain, who spoke english; the boy implored him to turn back, but the captain shook his head. "it would be useless," he said; "the sea is heavy, and in these long boots "—and he pointed to the sea- boots up to the thigh which all fishermen wear—" no man could swim for two minutes, nor would there be a chance, if they could, of our finding them on so dark a night. i am very sorry, my lad, but it cannot be on board a dutchman. helped; it would take half-an-hour to bring the ship about and go back to the spot where the smack sunk, and we might not get within half-a-mile of it. you know that as well as i do." will had been long enough at sea to recognize the truth of what the captain said. as he was led forward he burst into tears at the thought of the loss of his kind friend the captain, and the rest of his mates. the sailor who accompanied him patted him on the back, and spoke cheeringly to him in a foreign language, and he was soon between decks with the crew. several of these could speak english, and will found that he was on board a dutch merchantman, bound with troops for java. the wind got up, and in the morning it was blowing a heavy gale from the east, and the vessel with reefed topsails was running for the straits between dover and calais at twelve knots an hour. after breakfast the captain sent for william. "i am sorry, for your sake, that the state of the weather will prevent our communicating with any ship we may meet. but i promise you that if the gale breaks before we are fairly out from the channel, i will heave to and put you on board a homeward-bound ship." such a chance did not occur. for four or five days the gale continued with great severity, and before it ceased the ship was well down the coast of spain on her way south. when the captain saw that there was but small chance of his being able to tranship his involuntary passenger, he said to him: shipped as a hand. "look you, my lad. i fear that you will have to make the voyage with me, for we shall not touch at any port until we arrive at our destination. if you like, i will ship you as a hand on board as from the day of the collision. a hand, more or less, will make no difference to the owners, and the money will be useful to you when you leave the ship. of course, you can return in her if you think fit; but it is likely enough that when we reach java, we may be sent up to china for a homeward cargo, in which case i will procure you a passage in the first ship sailing for your home." will gladly accepted the offer. he was, however, by no means penniless; for upon the morning after his coming on board, the dutch officers and passengers, hearing what had happened in the night, made a col- lection among themselves, and presented the boy with a purse containing fifteen pounds. it was a long voyage, but not an unpleasant one fol william; his duties were not very heavy—he had far less to do than had been the case on board the smack. a month on board the kitty had done much towards making a sailor of him, for there are no better seamen in the world than the yarmouth smacksmen. going aloft was at first a trial, but he soon learned his duties; and being a strong and active lad, he was quickly able to do efficient work, and speedily gained the good opinion of the dutch sailors by his good temper and anxiety to please. ( ) k a storm brewing. c of dutch and english, and when words failed, they would eke out their words by gestures. the vessel had sailed but a few days from java, when there were signs of a change of weather. hitherto it had been lovely; now a slight mist seemed to hang over the sea, while overhead it was clear and bright. there was not a breath of wind, and the sails hung listlessly against the masts. will, who was leaning against the bulwarks chatting to hans, observed the captain, after looking round at the horizon, go into his cabin; he re- appeared in a minute, and spoke to the officer, who immediately shouted an order for "all hands to shorten sail." "what is that for?" will said, wonderingly; "there is not a breath of wind." "i egzpect oaptain haz looked at glass," hans said; "find him fall; i egzpect we going to have ztorm; very bad ztorms in dese zeas." will ran aloft with the sailors, and in ten minutes every inch of canvas, with the exception of a small stay-sail, was stript from the ship; still there was not a breath of wind. the sea was as smooth as glass, save for a slight ground-swell. although the mist did not seem to thicken, a strange darkness hung over the sky, as if high up a thick fog had gathered. darker and darker it grew, until there was little more than a pale twilight. the men stood in twos and threes, watching the sea and sky, and talking together in low tones. a big storm. "i don't like this, hans," will said . "there is something awful about it.'' "we have big ztorni," hans replied, "zyclone they call him." scarcely had hans spoken when the sky above seemed to open with a crash, a roar of thunder louder than ten thousand pieces of artillery pealed around them, while at the same moment a blinding flash of lightning struck the mainmast, shivering it into splin- ters, and prostrating to the deck five seamen who were standing round its foot. as if a signal had been given by the peal of thunder, a tremendous blast of wind smote the vessel, and, stripped though she was of sails, heaved her over almost to the gunwale. for a moment the crew were paralysed by the suddenness of the catastrophe, stunned by the terrible thunder, and blinded by the lightning. none seemed capable of moving. will had instinctively covered his eyes with his hands—it seemed to him for a moment that his sight was gone. then the voice of the cap- tain was heard shouting: "helm hard up; out axes and cut away the wreck at once!" those who were least stupefied by the shock sprang in a dazed and stupid way to obey the order. will drew out his knife, and, feeling rather than seeing what he was doing, tried to assist in cutting away the shrouds of the fallen mast—it had gone a few feet above the deck. presently he seemed, as he worked, to recover a near squeak. from his stupor, and the power of sight came back to him. then he saw that the vessel, taken on the broad- side by the gale, was lying far over, with several feet of her lee deck under water. so furious was the wind that he could not show his head over the weather bulwark. the sea was still smooth, as if the water was flattened by the force of the wind. the stay-sail had been blown into ribbons. in order to get the ship's head off the wind the head of the jib was hauled up a few feet. it happened to be a new and strong one; and, although it bellied and lashed as if it would tear itself into fragments, it still stood. again the captain gave an order, and the sail was hauled up to its full height. still fur- ther the vessel heaved over, and will expected every moment that she would capsize; then gradually her head paid off, and slowly she righted and flew before the gale. "that was a near squeak," will said. "what is zqueak?" hans shouted. "i mean a close shave," will replied. hans' blue eyes opened wider than usual. "a zhave!" he repeated; "what are you talking about zhaving?" "no, no," will said laughing, "i mean a narrow escape of being capsized." hans nodded. there was no time for talk, for orders were given for getting preventer stays on the foremast. the jib, having done its work, had been the cyclone. hauled down the instant the ship payed off, and a small storm-sail set in its place. the men now had time to attend to those who had been struck by light- ning: three of them were found to be dead, but the other two, who were stunned and senseless, still lived, and were lifted and carried below. serious as the disaster had been, will felt that the stroke of lightning had saved the ship. the pressure of the wind upon two masts and hull had nearly suf- ficed to capsize her; had the main-mast stood, he felt that she must have gone over. the sea got up in a very few minutes, but being now only in light ballast, the vessel rose easily over them. four men were at the helm, for the waves soon became so high that the ship yawed dangerously on her course. the gale seemed to increase rather than diminish in fury, and the sea, instead of following in regular waves, became a perfect chaos of tossing water, such as will had never before seen. he understood it, however, when half an hour after the outburst of the gale, he heard one of the men, who had just been re- lieved at the wheel, say that in that time the ship had already run twice round the compass. she was there- fore in the very centre of the cyclone, and the strangely tossed sea was accounted for. the motion of the ship was extraordinary, sometimes she was thrown on one side, sometimes on the other. mountains of water seemed to rise suddenly beside her, and tumbled in great green masses over the bulwarks. so wild and the mizen cut away. sudden were her movements, that even the oldest sailors were unable to keep their feet, and all clung on to shrouds or belaying-pins. will and hans had lashed themselves by the slack of a rope to the bulwarks close to each other, and there clung on; sometimes half drowned by the waves which poured in above them, sometimes torn from their feet by the rush of green water as the ship plunged head-foremost into a wave or shipped one over her poop. presently there was a crash that sounded even above the fury of the gale—the fore topmast had gone at the cap. the axes were again called into requisition, for a blow from the floating spar would have instantly stove in the side. while engaged upon this the cap- tain called two of the men with axes aft. these were set to work to chop through the shrouds of the mizen, and in a minute later the mast snapped asunder on the level of the deck and went over the side with a crash, carrying away several feet of the bulwark. this act was necessitated by the loss of the fore- topmast, as the pressure of the wind upon the mizen would have brought her head up and laid her broad- side to the gale. the motion of the vessel was now considerably easier, and there was no longer any difficulty in keep- ing her dead before the wind. she was now describ- ing much larger circles in her course, showing that she was farther removed from the centre of the cyclone. breakers ahead. after five or six hours the extreme violence of the wind somewhat abated, and it seemed to settle down into a heavy gale. for two days the vessel ran before it. she had made a good deal of water from the opening of the seams by straining, and the pumps were kept going. they were, they found, able to prevent the water from gaining upon them, and all felt that they should weather the tempest, provided that they were not dashed upon any of the islands in which this portion of the ocean abounds. the crew had had no regular meals since the gale began, for the caboose had been broken up and washed overboard soon after the commencement of the storm, and they had been obliged to be content with biscuits; there was little to be done on deck, and the watch over, they passed their time in their bunks. in the afternoon of the third day of the tempest the cry was raised of "breakers ahead!" will, with his comrades of the watch below, sprang from their berths and hurried on deck. far ahead, as the vessel lifted on the waves, could be seen a gleam of white water. in anticipation of such a danger, a small spar had been erected upon the stump of the mizen and steadied with strong stays. sail was now hoisted upon this, and an effort was made to bring the vessel's head to wind. watching for a favourable moment between the passage of the heavy seas, the helm was put down and slowly her head the last chance. came up into the wind. under such sail the captain had no hope of being able to reach out in the teeth of the gale; but he hoped to be able to claw off the shore until clear of the land which lay to leeward of him. that hope soon vanished. one of the mates was sent to the top of the foremast, and descended with news that as far as could be seen the line of breakers stretched away, both on her beam and quarter. as the minutes went by the anxious crew could see but too clearly that the ship was drifting down upon the land, and that she must inevitably be wrecked upon it. the outlines of the shore could now be seen—a forest of tossing trees, behind which high land could be made out through the driving clouds. orders were now given to prepare to anchor; but all knew that the chances were slight indeed. the water is, for the most part, deep close alongside the islands of the eastern archipelago; and even were the holding-ground good, hemp and iron would hardly hold the vessel head to the gale and tremendous sea. when within a quarter of a mile of the breakers the man with the lead proclaimed a depth of ten fathoms. this was better than they had expected. the jib was lowered and her head brought dead to wind. the captain shouted "cut," and in an instant the stoppers were severed and two heavy anchors dropt into the sea. one had a heavy chain-cable, the other hemp, and these were allowed to run out to the bits. the vessel brought up with less shock than could be expected. on the rocks. a wave or two passed under her and still her cable held. a gleam of hope began to reign, when a mountainous sea was seen approaching; higher and higher it rose, and just as it reached the ship it curled over and crashed down upon her deck. the cables snapped like pack-thread, and a cry of despair arose from the crew. the captain was calm and collected, and shouted orders for the jib to be again hoisted and the helm put up, so as to run her head-first on to the shore. as they neared the line of breakers they could see heads of jagged rocks rising among them, while beyond a belt of smooth water, a quarter of a mile wide, extended to the land. the ship's head was directed towards a point where no rocks appeared above the surface. everyone held their breath, and clinging to the bulwarks awaited the shock. the vessel lifted on a great wave just as she came to the line of broken water, and as she settled down struck with a tremendous crash. so great was the shock that she broke in two amidships as if she had been made of paper, the por- tion aft going instantly to pieces, and at once the sea around was covered with fragments of wreck, bales, boxes, and casks. another great sea followed, filling the now open ship, forcing up the deck, and sweeping everything before it. william gale and hans had gone as far forward as possible. "come out to the end of the bowsprit," will cast on shore. said to hans, and the two lads crawled out together and sat on the end of the spar. the sea beneath them was white as milk with the foam which poured over the reef, but will thought that they were beyond the rocks. every sea which struck the wreck added to the disaster, until a larger one than usual struck it and broke it into fragments. the lads clung to the spar as it fell; it sank deep in the water, but they retained their hold until it came to the surface, and will looked round. they were safely beyond the edge of the reef. the sea was still rough and broken, but it was quiet compared to that beyond the reef. he saw that the fore-mast was floating near, and to it several were clinging. in a quarter of an hour the spar floated to land, the boys felt the bottom with their feet, and soon scram- bled ashore. a few minutes later the fore-mast also drifted up, and several men clinging to fragments of the wreck were also cast ashore. in all eleven men, including the first mate, were saved. chapter v. the castaways. fter waiting on the shore until all hope that any more of their shipmates sur- vived was at an end, the party, by the mate's orders, detached a sail from a yard that had drifted ashore, and carried it well into the wood, where they were sheltered to some extent from the force of the gale. a stout pole was then cut and lashed between two trees; the sail was thrown over this and pegged down at both sides. a fire was lit with some difficulty; then a quantity of ferns and branches of trees were cut: these made a soft and elastic bed, and the whole party slept heavily until the morning. then they went back to the shore; it was littered thickly with fragments of wreck, casks, boxes, and other articles: here too were nearly a score of the corpses of their shipmates. the first duty was to dig a long shallow trench in the sand, beyond high- water mark, and in this the bodies of their drowned comrades were laid. the storm was now breaking, glimpses of blue sky progress of the boat. these, young trees of flexible wood were cut down and split; a keel was laid feet in length; cross-pieces feet long were pegged to this by trenails—nails formed of tough and hard wood. the cross-pieces were then bent upwards and fastened to the strips which were to form the gunwale. strengthening pieces were placed along at distances of or inches apart, and firmly lashed. when the whole was finished after three days' labour the framework of a boat feet long, feet deep, and feet in beam stood upon the beach. a barrel of oil had been thrown ashore, and with this the mate intended thoroughly to soak the canvas with which the frame was to be covered. the boat would, he calculated, carry the whole of the men with an ample store of food and water for the voyage. upon the morning of the fourth day, as on their way to work they emerged from the wood upon the open beach, the mate gave a low cry and pointed along the shore. there, between the reef and the island, was a large malay prahu. the party instantly fell back among the trees. the malays were apparently cruis- ing along the reef to see if the late storm had thrown up the wreckage, which might be useful to them; and a loud shout proclaimed their satisfaction as they saw the shore strewn with the remains of the dutch ship. the prahu was rowed to the shore, and fifty or sixty malays sprang from the bows on to the sand. scarcely had they done so when a shout from one of them called the attention of the others to the frame- chased by malays. work of the boat. there was a minute's loud and ex- cited chatter among them. then they dashed forward to the wood, the deep footsteps in the sand showing plainly enough the direction from which the builders of the boat had come and gone. the latter, as the malay boat neared the shore, had retired further into the wood, but from the screen of leaves they were able to see what was going on. as they saw the malays rush in an excited and yelling throng towards the wood, the little party took to their heels. "scatter," the mate said; "together, they are sure to overtake us; singly, we may escape." "let us keep together, hans," will said as they dashed along through the wild jungle. torn by thorns, often thrown down by projecting roots and low creepers, they kept on, their pace at times quickening as shouts and screams told them that some of their comrades had fallen into the hands of the malays. presently they came upon the little stream which flowed into the sea close to where they had been cast ashore. "let us follow this up," will said; "they can track us through the forest, but the water will set them off our scent." for a quarter of a mile they followed the course of the stream, stopping breathlessly many times as they heard voices in the wood not far off. presently will pointed to a tree rising from a clump of bushes close to the bank. "let us get through those bushes," he said; "be care- in the thicket. ful, hans, not to break a twig as you go; we can climb that tree; there are plants with stems like cords wind- ing round it. the top is so thick and bushy that i don't think they can see us there." very carefully they parted the bushes that overhung the stream, and entered the thicket; then they made their way with great difficulty to the foot of the tree. it was a very large one, with a trunk fully feet in diameter, rising some forty feet without a branch, then a number of great arms grew out at right angles; these were covered thickly with parasitic vegetation. round the trunk, like a snake embracing its victim, a great climber had wound itself; its main stem was as thick as a man's arm, and there were dozens of smaller cord-like climbers. thus the lads had no diffi- culty in climbing to the point where the branches grew out. above these was a mass of foliage completely' covered by the climbers, whose drooping sprays and clusters gave the tree the appearance of a solid mass of verdure. the boys continued to climb until they were nearly at the top of the tree. "there!" will said, wiping away the perspiration which streamed from his face, "if they do not track us through the bushes to the very foot of this tree, i defy them to find us." for some hours the wood was alive with noises; the malays were evidently beating every foot of it, and were determined that none of their victims should escape. several times parties of men came up the a snug hiding-place. stream searching the banks on both sides; but, hap- pily, even their sharp eyes did not detect the spot where the boys had entered the bushes, and gradually the noises ceased, and at night a great glare by the sea- shore told the lads that their enemies had gathered again there, and were continuing by fire-light the work of breaking open and examining the treasures which the sea had cast up for them. "what do you zay, will? zhall we get down and go furder into wood, or zhall we wait here?" "i think anyhow we had better wait till to-morrow night," will answered. "they may search again to- morrow, and might come upon our tracks. if they don't find us they may suppose that they have caught us all, or that we have escaped right into the interior. if they find no traces of us they will likely enough set sail before night." there was no difficulty in finding a place in which they could sleep, for the cord-like climbers from bough to bough formed natural cradles, in which they lay as securely as if in a hammock on board a ship. in the morning they were woke at daybreak by the cries of the many birds which throng the forests of the eastern archipelago. no one approached them during the day, and they doubted not that the malays were all hard at work on the shore. that night there was no reflection of a fire on the beach. in the morning they descended from their perches and made their way carefully, and as noise- ( ) * f • devastation. lessly as possible, through the wood, to a point upon the shore a mile distant from the point where they landed . going to the edge of the trees they were enabled to take a view along the shore. it was de- serted; the malay prahu was gone. confident that none of their enemies would have remained behind, they walked boldly along the shore to the spot where the malays had landed. every box and barrel had been broken open, and the contents carried away; planks and beams had been split asunder to obtain the copper bolts and fastenings. the frame- work of the boat had been destroyed, and every por- tion of canvas and rope carried away. the lads sat down on the shore. "what shall we do next, hans?" hans shook his head. "perhaps some of the others may have got away and may join us here to-day or to-morrow. if any are alive they would be certain to come back here when they thought the malays had left." hans grunted an assent. "anyhow, the first thing to do," will went on, "is to gather up the pieces of biscuits; they have wasted lots in breaking open the barrels, and i am famishing." hans rose with alacrity, and they soon were at work collecting pieces of biscuits. "let us gather up all the pieces carefully; there are a good lot altogether, and we may want them badly before we have done." alone. in half an hour they had collected about pounds of biscuits, and having gone to the stream and taken a drink they made for the spot where their tent had stood. as they expected, they found the canvas was gone. they set to work with their knives, and cutting a number of boughs, erected a shelter sufficient to shield them from the night air. all day they hoped, but in vain, that some of their comrades would return, and listened eagerly to every sound in the forest, but no call or footstep met their ears. they had no means of lighting a fire, the first having been lit by the mate, who, being a smoker, had had a small tin-box of matches in his pocket. this had fitted closely and kept out the water. "what had we better do if no one comes back?" will said as they sat in their little hut. "build anoder boat," hans answered. "but how are we to do that, hans? we might make the framework, but we have no canvas to cover it with; besides, even if we had, i have no idea of the direction of singapore, and i doubt if we pnnld find our way back to java." hans had no further suggestion to offer. "i suppose we could live in the forest for some time," will said . "i read a book called robinson crusoe, and a sailor there lived on a desert island for years; but then he had a gun and all sorts of things. there are plenty of birds, but even if we could make bows and arrows i suppose we should be dwindling of food. months before we could shoot straight enough to hit them." several days passed; the lads found plenty of fruit; but the season was advancing, and will said one day to hans: "what on earth are we to do when the fruit and biscuits are all finished?" wandering in the woods they found the bodies of the whole of their companions. all were headless, the malays having carried off these coveted trophies. they did not attempt to bury the bodies, for in such a climate decomposition sets in rapidly, and swarms of insects complete the work. in the grass near the hut they found one treasure—the mate's axe—which had evidently fallen from his belt in his flight, and had been overlooked by the malays. "i tell you what, hans," will said one day, "fruit is getting scarcer and scarcer, and there are not more than five or six pounds of biscuits left. i vote that we make through the forest into the interior of the island; there must be some villages scattered about. if we enter one boldly they may not kill us. i don't know whether they have any respect for the laws of hospi- tality as some savages have; but even if they did kill us it's better than being starved to death here. it's a chance anyhow. what do you say, hans?" "i don't zay noding," hans answered. "i don't have no obinion at all; if you dink zat is ze best plan let us do it." will and hans in search of a shelter. the interior. so saying hans collected the biscuit, tied it up in his handkerchief, and was ready to start at once. "there is no hurry, hans," will said laughing; "still, if we are to make a start, we may as well go at once." turning their backs upon the sea they struck into the wood. they had never before gone farther than a mile from the shore. after an hour's walking they found that the character of the forest was changing: the ground rose rapidly, the thick tangled undergrowth disappeared, and they were able to walk briskly for- ward under the shade of the large trees. the hill became steeper and steeper as they advanced, and will knew that they were ascending the hill that they had seen from the ship wthen she was coming towards the shore. three hours after leaving the coast they were upon its top. the ground was rocky here, and in some places bare of trees. inland they saw hill rising behind hill, and knew that the island must be a large one. "look, hans, there is smoke curling up at the foot of that hill over there; don't you see it? it is very faint, but it is certainly smoke. there must be a house there, and most likely a village. come on, we shall get there before the sun sets. i don't think it can be more than a mile and a half away." hans as usual assented, and in about half an hour they arrived at a malay village. the aspect was curious, each hut being built in a a malay village. tree. at the point where the lower branches started a platform was made; the tree above this was cut down, and on the platform the hut was erected, access being obtained to it by a ladder. several of the inhabitants were walking about; these, upon seeing the lads, uttered cries of warning, and instantly flying to the ladders, which were constructed of light bamboo, climbed to the huts and raised the ladders after them. then at every door men appeared with bent bows and pointed arrows threatening the invaders. will had cut a green bough, and this he waved as a token of peace, while hans threw up his hands to show that he was unarmed. then they bowed several times almost to the ground, held out their arms with outstretched hands, and finally sat down upon the ground. the malays apparently understood that their visitors came in peace. they held a long conversation among themselves, and at last the ladder of one of the huts, which appeared larger and better finished than the others, was lowered and four men descended. one of these carried a kriss in his hand, his bow was slung behind his back; the others kept their bows bent in readiness for instant action. the chief was a tall and well-built man of about forty years of age. he, like his followers, was dressed only in a loin-cloth; he had copper bracelets round his wrists. as he approached, the lads rose and bowed deeply; then will held out to him the axe, and placing it in his hand motioned to him that it was a present. kindness of the people. the chief looked pleased at the gift, placed his hands on will's shoulder and nodded, and performed the same gesture to hans; then he led them towards his hut and motioned to them to sit down at the foot of the tree. curious faces were watching from eveiy hut, and as soon as it was seen that peace was established, the ladders were lowered and a swarm of men, women, and children soon surrounded the visitors. at the chief's order a woman approached them bringing a dish of food. this was composed, the boys found, principally of birds cut up and stewed with some sort of vegetable. the dish was by no means bad, and after living for nearly a fortnight upon biscuit and fruit, they much enjoyed it. presently women brought bundles of dried fern and spread them at the foot of the tree, and soon after it was dark the boys lay down upon them. it was long, however, before they went to sleep; for the din and chatter in the village continued until far into the night. the lads guessed that the reason and manner of their coming was warmly debated, and judged by their re- ception that the prevailing opinions were favourable, and that the visit from the two white men was con- sidered to be a fortunate omen. the next day they were again amply supplied with food, and were constantly surrounded by a little group of women and children, to whom their white skins appeared a source of constant wonder. their move- a night attack. ments were entirely unchecked, and they were evi- dently considered in the light of guests rather than prisoners. the next night the village retired to rest early. the boys sat talking together for a long time, and then lay down to sleep. presently will thought that he heard a noise, and looking up saw in the moonlight a number of savages stealthily approaching. they carried with them ladders, and intended, he had no doubt, to surprise the sleeping villagers. they were already close at hand. will shook hans, who had already gone off to sleep, and pointed out to him the advancing foes. these were already in the village, and separating, fixed a ladder against each of the huts. so far the boys, who lay in the shadow of the hut, had not been noticed. the malays, who belonged to a hostile village, began to climb the ladders, when the lads, grasping the heavy sticks which they always carried, and springing to their feet with loud shouts, ran to the ladders before the malays could recover from their astonishment at the approach of the white-faced men rushing upon them. half a dozen of the ladders were upset, the men who had mounted them coming heavily to the ground. some of these as they rose at once took to their heels; others, drawing their krisses, rushed at their assailants. but the lads were no longer alone. at the first shout the doors of the huts had opened, and the inhabitants rushed out with their arms, the remaining ladders defeat of the assailants. were instantly overthrown, and a shower of arrows poured upon their assailants. will and hans knocked down the foremost of their assailants, and the whole body, foiled in their attempted surprise, discomfited at the appearance of the strange white-faced men, and exposed to the arrows of the defenders, at once darted away, several of their number having already fallen under the shafts from above. with exulting shouts the warriors of the village poured down their ladders from the huts and took up the pur- suit, and soon no one remained in the village save the white lads and the women and children. towards morning the warriors returned, several of them bring- ing with them gory heads, showing that their pursuit had not been in vain. the village was now the scene of great rejoicings; huge fires were lighted, and a feast held in honour of the victory. the chief solemnly placed the white men, one on each side of him, and made them a speech, in which, by his bowing and placing his hand on their heads, they judged he was thanking them for having preserved their village from massacre. indeed, it was clear, from the respectful manner of all towards them, that they were regarded in the light of genii who had come specially to protect the village from the assaults of its enemies. after the feast was over the chief, after a consulta- tion with the rest, pointed to a tree close to that in which his own hut was situated. the whole village snugly housed. set to work, ladders were fixed against it, and the men ascending hacked away with krisses and stone hatchets at the trunk. hans, seeing their object, made signs to the chief to lend him his axe, and ascending to the tree set to work with it, doing in five minutes more work than the whole of the natives employed could have accomplished in an hour. after working for some time he handed the axe to one of the natives, who con- tinued the work. the tree was not a large one, the trunk at this point being about inches in diameter. half an hour's work sufficed to cut it through, and the upper part of the tree fell with a crash. in the meantime the women had brought in from the forest a quantity of bamboos, and with these the men set to work and speedily formed a platform. upon this a hut was erected, the roof and sides being covered with palm- leaves laid closely together, forming a roof impervious to rain. two large bundles of fern for beds were then taken up, and the chief ascending solemnly invited the boys to come up and take possession. a woman was told off to prepare food for them and attend to their wants, and by nightfall the lads found themselves in a comfortable abode of their own. pull- ing up the ladder after the manner of the natives they sat down to chat over their altered prospects. they were now clearly regarded as adopted into the village community, and need have no further fear as to their personal security or means of living. an unpleasant prospect. "for the time we are safe," will said; "but as don't want to turn malay and live all my life with no other amusement than keeping my own head on and hunting for those of the enemies of the village, we must think of making our escape somehow, though, at present, i own i don't see how." chapter vi. the attack on the village. day or two later a malay ran at full speed into the village, and said a few words which caused a perfect hubbub of excite- ment. the men shouted, the women screamed, and, running up the ladders to their tree abodes, began gathering together the various articles of value in their eyes. the chief came up to the boys, and by signs intimated that a large number of hostile natives belonging to several villages were advancing to attack them, and that they must fly into the interior. this was very unwelcome news for the lads. once removed farther from the sea the tribe might not improbably take up their abode there, as they would fear to return to the neighbourhood of their enemies. this would be fatal to any chance of the lads being taken off by a passing ship. after a few words together they determined to oppose the movement. will, in a loud voice and with threatening gestures, intimated that he disapproved of the plan, and that he and his companion would assist preparations for defence. them in defending their village. the malays paused in their preparations. their faith in their white visitors was very great, and after a few minutes' talk among themselves they intimated to the boys that they would obey their orders. will at once signed to a few men to stand as guards round the village to warn them of the approaching enemy, and then set the whole of the rest of the population to work cutting sharp-pointed poles, boughs, and thorny bushes. with these a circle was made around the trees upon which the village was built. fortunately the hostile malays had halted in the forest two or three miles away, intending to make their attack by night; and as the news of their coming had arrived at noon, the villagers had, before they ceased work late in the evening, erected a formidable hedge round the village. some of the women had been set to work manufacturing a number of torches, similar to those used by them for lighting their dwel- lings but much larger. they were formed of the stringy bark of a tree dipped in the resinous juice obtained from another. will had one of these fastened to each of the trees nearest to the hedge. they were fixed to the trunks on the outside, so that their flame would throw a light on the whole circle beyond the hedge, while within all would be shadow and darkness. it was very late before all preparations were com- pleted. will then placed a few men as outposts some hundred yards in the forest, in the direction from awaiting the assault. which the enemy were likely to approach. they were ordered to give the alarm the moment they heard a noise, and were then to run in and enter the circle by a small gap, which had been left in the abbatis for the purpose. many of the men then took their posts, with their bows and arrows, in the trees near the hedge. the others remained on the ground ready to rush to any point assailed. for several hours no sound, save the calls of the night birds and the occasional distant howls of beasts of prey were heard in the forest; and it was not until within an hour of morning—the hour generally selected by malays for an attack, as men sleep at that time the heaviest—that a loud yell at one of the outposts told that the enemy were close at hand. two or three minutes later the scouts ran in, and the gap through which they had entered was at once filled up with bushes, which had been piled close at hand for the purpose. aware that their approach was discovered, the enemy abandoned all further con- cealment, and advanced with wild yells, intending to strike terror into the defenders of the village. as they advanced the torches were all lighted, and as the assailants came within their circle of light a shower of aitows from the malays on the ground and in the trees above was poured into them. yells and screams told that the volley had been a successful one; but, discharging their arrows in turn, the malays with demoniac yells rushed against the the attack. villaga the advance, however, was arrested suddenly when they arrived at the abbatis. from behind its shelter so deadly a rain of arrows was poured in that they soon shrank back, and bounded away beyond the circle of light, while taunting shouts rose from its defenders. for a time they contented themselves by distant shouting, and then with a wild yell charged forward again. several dropped from the fire of arrows from those in the trees and behind the abbatis; but, dis- charging their arrows in return, the assailants kept on until they again reached the impediment. here they strove furiously to break through, hacking with their krisses and endeavouring to pull up the stakes with their hands; but the defenders in the shade behind sent their arrows so fast and thick that the assailants again shrank back and darted away to shelter. throughout the night there was no renewal of the attack, and in the morning not a foe was visible. two or three scouts went out to reconnoitre, but no sooner did they enter the forest than one of them was shot down and the rest sent flying back. "i believe the scoundrels are going to try to starve us out," will said. "let us speak to the chief and ask how much provisions they have got." after much pantomime will succeeded in conveying his meaning to the chief, and the latter at once ordered all the inhabitants to produce their stock of food. this was unexpectedly large, and will thought that there no watkr. was sufficient for a fortnight's consumption. he now made signs of drinking, but the reply to this was dis- heartening in the extreme. a few gourds full of water were brought forward, and two or three of the close-woven baskets in which water is often carried in this country: there was, in fact, scarce enough to last the defenders for a day. the stream from which the village drew itd supply of water was about a couple of hundred yards away; consequently the villagers fetched up their water as they needed it, and no one thought of keeping a store. will looked in dismay at the smallness of the supply. "if they really intend to starve us out, hans, we are done for. no doubt they reckon on our water falling short. they would know that it was not likely that there would be a supply here." the natives were not slow to recognize the weak point of their defence. one or two of the men, taking water baskets, were about to go to the stream, but will made signs to the chief that they must not do this. the only hope was that the enemies would draw off; but if they saw that water was already short, they would be encouraged to continue to beleaguer the place. will was unable to explain his reasons to the chief, but the latter seeing how great was the advantage that they had already gained by following the counsel of their white visitors in the matter of the hedge, acquiesced at once in their wishes. will's plan. will then ascended to one of the huts, and carefully reconnoitred the whole ground. there was, he saw, at the end farthest from the stream a slight dip in the land extending into the forest. beckoning the chief to join him, he made signs that at night the warriors should issue silently from the village at this point, and make noiselessly through the wood; they would then take a wide circuit till they came upon the stream, and would then, working up it, fall upon the enemy in the rear. the chief was dubious, but will made an imperative gesture, and the chief in a humble manner agreed to do as he was ordered. the day passed slowly, and before nightfall the supply of water was entirely finished. once or twice scouts had gone out to see if the enemy were still round the village, but returned each time with the news that they were there. the last time, just before nightfall, will directed two or three of them to take water-buckets, and to go in the direction of the stream; signing to them, how- ever, to return the moment they saw signs of the enemy. they were soon back; and, as will had ex- pected, the sight of the water-buckets showed the enemy that the garrison of the village were badly supplied in that respect, and taunting shouts arose from the woods asking them why they did not go down to drink. will felt certain that the malays would now draw the greater part of their number down to the side of ci ) u a night sortie. the stream, and that there would therefore be the more chance of the garrison making their way out at the other end of the village. three hours after it was dark the chief mustered all las men, they were about five-and-forty in all . will signed that each should take with him a water-basket or large gourd, so that, in case they failed in defeating the enemy and breaking up the blockade, they might at least be able to bring a supply of water into the village. will then, with much difficulty, explained to the chief that the old men, boys, and women remaining in the village were, the moment they heard the sound of the attack upon the enemy's rear, to shout and yell their loudest, and to shoot arrows in the direction of the enemy. a few sticks had already been pulled up at the point of the hedge through which will intended to make a sally, and the band now passed noiselessly out. the chief himself led the way, the white boys following behind him. lying upon their stomachs they crawled noiselessly along down the little depression, and in ten minutes were well in the wood without having met with an enemy, although they had several times heard voices among the trees near them. they now rose to their feet, and, making a wide detour, came down, after a quarter of an hour's walk, upon the stream. here the gourds and baskets were filled; and then, keeping along by the waterside, they continued their march. a surprise. presently they saw a number of fires, round which many malays were sitting. they crept noiselessly up until within a few yards, and then with a yell burst upon the enemy. numbers were cut down at once, and the rest, appalled by this attack on their rear, and supposing that the inhabitants of some other village must have arrived to the assistance of those they were besieging, at once fled in all directions. those remaining in the village had seconded the attack by wild shouts, so loud and continuous that their besiegers had no reason to suppose that their number had been weak- ened. for a few minutes the pursuit was kept up; then the chief recalled his followers with a shout. the water-baskets, many of which had been thrown down in the attack, were refilled, and the party made their way up to the village, where they were received with shouts of triumph. the panic of the malays had been in no slight degree caused by the appearance of the two boys, who had purposely stripped to the waist, and had shouted at the top of their voices, as, waving the krisses which they had borrowed, they fell upon the foe. the idea that white devils were leagued with the enemies against them had excited the superstitious fear of the malays to the utmost, and when in the morning scouts again sallied from the village, they found that the enemy had entirely gone, the fact that they had not even returned to carry off the effects a terrible message. which had been abandoned in the first panic, showing that they had continued their flight, without stopping, to their distant villages. the chief, like an able politician, took advantage of the impression which his white visitors had created, and the same day sent off messengers to the villages which had combined in the attack against them, saying that the white men, his guests, were very angry; and that unless peace was made and a solemn promise given that there should be no renewal of the late attempts, they were going to lay a dreadful spell upon the vil- lages. women and children would be seized by disease and the right arms of the warriors wither up. this terrible threat carried consternation into the malay villages. the women burst into prolonged wailings, and the bravest of the men trembled. the messenger said that the white men had consented to abstain from using their magical powers until the fol- lowing day, and that the only chance to propitiate them was for deputations from the villages to come in early the next morning with promises of peace and offerings for the offended white men. it was not for some time afterwards that the lads learned enough of the language to understand what had been done, but they guessed (from the exidtation of the chief and the signs which he made that their late enemies would shortly come in, in an attitude of humiliation) that he had in some way succeeded in establishing a scare among them. a submissive deputation. on the following morning deputations consisting of six warriors, and women bearing trays with fruit, birds, and other offerings, arrived at the village. the men were unarmed. at their approach the chief made signs to the boys to take a seat at the foot of the prin- cipal tree; and then, accompanied by his leading war- riors, led the deputation with much ceremony before them. the women placed their trays at their feet, and the men addressed them in long speeches and with many signs of submission. the boys played their part well. as soon as they saw what was required of them they signified with an air of much dignity that they accepted the offerings, and then went through the ceremony of shaking hands solemnly with each of the warriors. then they made a speech, in which with much gesticulation they signified to the visitors that a terrible fate would befall them should they again ven- ture to meddle with the village. much awed and impressed the malays withdrew. the boys made a selection from the baskets of fruit for their own eating, and then signified to the chief that he should divide the rest among the inhabitants of the village. when this was done the boys ascended to their tree and passed the day there quietly, the vil- lagers indulging in feasting, singing, and rejoicing over their victory. "the worst of all this is," will said to hans, "that the more they reverence us, and the more useful they find us, the more anxious they will be to keep us native superstition. always with them. however, there is one comfort, we are safe as long as we choose to remain here, and that is more than we could have hoped for when we first landed from the wreck. it is curious that the malays, who have no hesitation in attacking english ships and murdering their crews, have yet a sort of superstitious dread of us. but i suppose it is something the same way as it was in england in the days of the persecution of old women as witches: they believed that, if left to themselves, they could cast deadly spells, and yet they had no hesitation in putting them to death. i suppose that it is something of the same feeling here." chapter vii. the fight with the prahus. ery frequently, in the days that followed, william gale and his friend hans talked over the possibility of effecting an escape, but the difficulties appeared almost invincible. the various villages which, so far as the boys could under- stand, were scattered at some distance apart, had little dealings with each other, and indeed were frequently engaged in feuds. the particular people with whom they lived had nothing whatever to do with the sea. they used—at least so the boys understood by their signs—to fish at one time; but they had been robbed of their boats and maltreated by some of the cruising tribes who lived in villages on the coast or on creeks and rivers. the possibility of escape seemed small indeed. to escape they must get on board a ship, and to do this they must first go out to sea, and this could only be done in a boat of their own or in one of the piratical prahus. the latter course could not be thought of, for the coast pirates were bloodthirsty in the extreme; plans of escape. and even could they change their residence to one of the sea-side villages, and gain the friendship of the in- habitants, they would be no nearer to their end. for as these go out to attack and not to trade with euro- pean ships, there would be no chance of escaping in that way. upon the other hand, they might build a boat of their own; but they considered it improbable that the malays would allow them to depart, for they evidently regarded their presence as a prodigy, and revered them as having miraculously arrived at the moment when a great danger threatened the village; but, even should they be allowed to build a boat and depart, they knew not whither to go. they knew nothing of navigation, and were ignorant of the geography of the archipelago, and the chances of their striking upon the one or two spots where alone they could land with safety were so small that it would be madness to under- take the voyage. for six months they lived quietly in the malay village. the people instructed them in the use of their blow-guns, in which they are wonderfully skilful, being able to bring down a bird sitting on a lofty bough of a tree with almost an unerring accuracy. they also taught them to shoot with the bow and arrow, and they found that the natives used the roots of various kinds of plants for food. the time did not pass un- pleasantly, and had they known that it would last but a few months only, they would have enjoyed it much. the first step. at last, after much deliberation, they determined that they would, as a first step towards escape, con- struct a little boat under pretence of wanting to fish. accordingly, one day when out with the chief and two or three of his men in the direction of the sea, they pointed there and signified that they wished to go there, for they had picked up a good many malay words. the chief shook his head, but they insisted in so authoritative a manner that he gave way and fol- lowed them. when they reached the shore they made signs that they wanted to construct a boat. again the chief shook his head vehemently, and enforced his meaning by pointing along shore and going through the action first of rowing, then of fighting, intimating that they would certainly be killed, if they ventured out, by the fierce coast tribes. the boys nodded to show that they understood what he wished to say; but pointing to the water a few yards from shore, went through the action of fishing; then, burdening themselves with imaginary fish, they pointed to the village and showed that they would supply it with food. the malays talked for some time among themselves. they had so vast a respect for the white men that they did not like to thwart their wishes. the thought too of a supply of fish, of which they had been long de- prived owing to their feuds with some of the coast vil- lages, also operated strongly in favour of their yielding an assent; and at last the chief made signs that he making a canoe. agreed, and pointing to the village intimated that as- sistance should be given in building a boat. the next day, accordingly, ten or twelve men came down to the shore with them. a tree was felled, the ends were pointed, and the whole formed roughly into the shape of a canoe; fires were lighted on the top, and by dint of flame and axe a hollow was dug out. the operation lasted three days, the men having brought provisions with them so as to avoid making the journey—two and a half hours long—to and from the village each day. the boat when finished was but a rough construction, and would have excited the mockery of any of the coast villagers, as they are expert boat-builders; still, it was amply sufficient for the purpose for which it was intended, namely, for fishing inside the line of reefs. it was heavy and paddled slowly, and the lads had a strong suspicion that the malays had purposely made it more clumsy and unseaworthy than need be in order that they should have no temptation to at- tempt a distant journey in it. there was no diffi- culty about lines, the malays being skilled in making string and ropes from the fibres of trees. the hooks were more difficult; but, upon searching very carefully along the shore, the lads found some fragments of one of the ship boats, and in these were several copper nails, which, hammered and bent, would serve their purpose well. the lines were ready on the day the canoe was finished, and as soon as she was launched the successful fishing. chief and one of the other malays and the boys took their seats in her. the natives paddled her out nearly to the edge of the reef; four lines, baited with pieces of raw birds'- flesh, were thrown overboard. a few minutes passed rather anxiously for the lads, who were most desirous that the fishing should be successful so as to afford them an excuse for frequently pursuing it. then there was a bite, and hans, who held the line, found that it taxed his strength to haul in the fish which tugged and strained upon it. when it was got into the boat it proved to be some fourteen pounds in weight. by this time two of the other baits had been taken, and in less than an hour they had caught upwards of thirty fish, most of them of considerable size. the natives were delighted; and, paddling to shore, the burden was distributed among the whole party, with the exception of the chief and the two whites. before starting, a young tree was cut down and chopped into lengths of a few feet each, and on these rollers the canoe was hauled high up the beach. then the party set out for the village, where their arrival with so large a supply of food occasioned great rejoicing after this the boys went down regularly every day to fish. at first three or four of the natives always accompanied them, under pretence of carrying back the fish, but really, as they thought, to keep a watch over them. to lessen their hosts' suspicions, sometimes one or other stayed in the village. as time went on lulling suspicions. the suspicion of the malays abated. the number of the guard was lessened, and finally, as the men disliked so long a tramp, some of the boys were told off to ac- company the white men and assist in bringing back their fish. they were in the habit of starting soon after daybreak, and of not returning till late in the evening, accounting for their long absence by pointing to the sun. the fishing was always performed immediately they reached the coast. when they had caught as many as they and the boys could carry, these were placed in a large covered basket, which was sunk in the water close to the shore to keep the fish in good condition until they started. then they would paddle about within the reef; or, during the extreme heat of the day, lie in the boat, shaded by bunches of palm leaves. the malay boys, who were set on shore after the fishing, were left alone, and amused themselves by bathing, or passed the time asleep under the trees. after the first day or two it had struck the boys that it was dangerous to leave the canoe high on the sand, as it would be observed even at a distance by a passing prahu. consequently, a deep trench had been dug from the sea, far enough up to allow the canoe, when floating in it, to lie below the level of the beach. before leaving her she was each day roughly covered with sea-weed, and might therefore escape observation by any craft passing at a short distance from the shore. in their expeditions along the reef the boys dis- a sail. covered a passage through it. it was of about double the width of a ship, and of amply sufficient depth to allow a vessel of any size to cross. at all other points, for a distance of a mile or two either way, which was the extent of their excursions, the reef came very near to the surface, its jagged points for the most part show- ing above it. several months passed, and still no sail which pro- mised a hope of deliverance had shown over the sur- face of the sea. scarce a day passed without their seeing the malay prahus passing up and down the coast, but these always kept some distance out, and caused no uneasiness to the fishermen. they had during this time completed the hollowing out of the boat, until her sides were extremely thin, and she was so light that she could be paddled at a high rate of speed. they were both now expert with the paddle, and felt that if in a light wind a vessel should be seen off the coast, they would be enabled to row out and reach her. it might be, they knew, months or even years before such a ship could be seen. still, as there were many vessels trading among the islands, at any moment an occurrence might arise. one afternoon they had been dozing under their leafy shade, when will, who first awoke, sat up and uttered a cry. almost abreast of them, and but a quarter of a mile outside the reef, was a large brig. the wind was light, and with every stitch of canvas chased by pirates. set she was making but slow progress through the water. hans leaped up, echoed the cry, and, seizing their paddles, they rowed with all their strengh away to the opening through the reef, passed through, and headed for the ship. they now saw what they had not at first observed . at a distance of some three miles astern were five large prahus with their sails set, and the banks of oars rising and falling rapidly. the brig was chased by the pirates. the boys rested on their paddles for a moment . "they are more than a match for her, i am afraid," will said. "what do you say, hans, shall we go on or not?" hans made no reply. he was never quick at coming to a decision. "we had better go," will went on. "we can see whether they mean to fight or not." the boys were naked to the waist, for the thorns of the forest had long since torn in pieces the shirts which they had on when they landed from the wreck, and their skins were bronzed to a deep copper colour. still they differed in hue from the natives of the island, and the men on board the brig regarded them with some surprise as they approached it. "throw us a rope!" will shouted as they neared her. there was a cry of surprise from the crew at being addressed in english, but a rope was thrown and the long odds. ill boys soon sprang on board. they saw at once that the ship was an english one. "hallo! where do you spring from?" asked the captain. "we were shipwrecked here ten months ago," will said, "and have been living with the natives." "at any other time i should have been glad to see you," the captain said; "but just at present, if you will take my advice, you will get into your canoe and row on shore again. as you see," and he pointed to the prahus, "we are chased; and although i mean to fight to the last, for there is no mercy to be expected from these bloodthirsty scoundrels, i fear the chances are small." will looked round and saw that the six cannons which the brig carried—for vessels trading in the eastern archipelago are always armed—had already been loosened ready for action, and that a group of men were at work mounting a long gun which had just been raised from the hold. knowing the number of men that the prahus carried will felt that the chance of a successful resistance was slight. there were about eighteen men on deck, a number larger than the brig would carry in other seas, but necessary in so dangerous a trading ground as this. the prahus, however, would each carry from eighty to one hundred men, and these attacking at once from opposite sides would be likely to bear down all opposi- tion. suddenly an idea occurred to him. a vantage post. "look, sir, there is a passage through the reef there, with plenty of water and width enough for your ship. i can take her through. there is no other passage for some distance. if you take her inside and lay her across the channel the prahus can only attack on one side, and you can place all your guns and strength there." the captain at once saw the advantage of this scheme. "capital!" he exclaimed. "take the helm at once, my lad. ease off the sheets, men." they were now nearly opposite the entrance, and the light wind was blowing towards the shore. the captain ordered all hands to reduce sail, only keeping on enough to give the vessel steerage-way. two boats were lowered and an anchor and cable passed into each, and as the brig passed through the opening the rest of the sail was lowered. the boats rowed to the reef, one on either side. the anchors were firmly fixed into the rock, and one being taken from the head and the other from the stern, the crews set to work at the capstan and speedily had the vessel safely moored, broadside on, across the entrance to the reef. the malay boats were now about a mile astern. they had ceased rowing when they saw the vessel headed for the land, supposing that the captain was about to run on shore. when, to their astonishment, they saw her pass the reef with safety, they again set to at their work. the guns were now all brought the attack liv thk prahus. over to the side facing the entrance and were loaded to the muzzle with bullets. a number of shots be- longing to the long gun were placed by the bulwarks in readiness to hurl down into the prafiua should they get alongside. the sailors, though determined to fight till the last, had, when the boys came on board, been making their preparations with the silence of despair. they were now in high spirits, for they felt that they could beat off any attempt of the enemy to attack them. when the malays were abreast of the ship they ceased rowing and drew close together, and evidently held a consul- tation. the brig at once opened fire with her long gun, and the first shot hulled one of the prahus close to the water's edge. "that's right, tom," the captain said, "stick to the same craft: if you can sink her there is one the less." several more shots were fired, with such effect that the malays were observed jumping overboard in great numbers and swimming towards the other boats, their own being in a sinking condition. the other four prahus at once turned their heads towards shore, and rowed with full speed towards the ship. they knew that the entrance, of whose existence they had been previously unaware, was an exceedingly narrow one; and, as they neared the shore, could see by the line of breaking surf that it could at most be wide enough for one to pass at a time. accordingly. ( ) ii a heavy cannonade. one drew ahead, and discharging the cannon which it carried in its bow, rowed at full speed for the entrance, another following so close behind that its bow almost touched the stern. "train the guns to bear on the centre of the channel," the captain said; "let the three bow-guns take the first boat, the other three the second. do you, tom, work away at the two behind." the prahus came along at a great rate, the sweeps churning up the water into foam. the leading boat dashed through the channel, the sweeps grating on the rocks on either side; her bow was but two yards dis- tant from the side of the ship when the captain gave the word. the three cannon poured their contents into her, sweeping her crowded decks and tearing out her bottom. great as was her speed, she sank below the water just as her bow touched the side of the ship. ten seconds later the command was a<rain given, and a broadside as destructive was poured into the second boat. the damage done was somewhat less, and her bow reached the side of the ship. a dozen malays sprang on board as their boat sank under their feet; but the sailors were ready, and with musket, pistol, and cutlass fell upon them, and either cut down or drove them overboard. the sea around was covered with swimmers, but the ship was too high out of the water for them to attempt to board her, and the malays at once struck out for the shore, the sailors keeping up the musketry fire upon them the defeat of the malays. until out of range. the other two boats had not fol- lowed: the mate had plumped a shot from the long gun full into the bow of the first; and, seeing the destruc- tion which had fallen upon their leaders, both turned their heads and made for sea, the mate continuing his fire until they were out of range, one shot carrying away the greater part of the oars on one side of the boat previously struck. when at a distance of upwards of a mile they ceased rowing and for some time lay close together. the men of the injured boat were observed to be stopping the yawning hole in her bows a few inches above the water level, the other started off at full speed up the coast. it was now evening, and there was scarcely a breath of wind. the men crowded round the lads and thanked them warmly for having been the means of saving them from destruction. "i am afraid you are not out of danger yet," will said, as the captain shook him by the hand. "no doubt that boat has gone off with the news, and before morn- ing you will have half a dozen fresh enemies coming down inside the reef to attack you." "if we had but a breath of wind we might do," the captain said. "i fear you will have none before morning; then it generally blows fresh for two or three hours. i don't know how far it is to the village, which is the head- quarters of the pirates. as far as i could make out from the malays with whom we have been living it is the prospect ok escape. about six hours' walking, but the boats will row twice as fast as a man would walk through the forest. in that case you may be attacked at two or three o'clock in the morning, and you won't get the breeze till after sunrise." "are there any other channels through the reef (" the captain asked. "i do not know," will replied. "we have never explored it very far either way; but as i should think from the action of the malays that they did not know of this, they might not know of any other did it exist." "then," the captain said, "i will warp the brig out through the channel again, and anchor her, stem and stern, across it outside. they will find it as hard to attack us there as they did before. then, when the breeze comes, we will slip our cable and run for it. she is a fast sailer, and can, i think, get away from the pirates even with their sails and oars; besides, by shifting the long gun and two of the others to her stern we can give it them so hot that even if they are the fastest we may sicken them." "i do not know, sir,'' will said. "they would be likely to hang about you until the breeze drops, and then to attack you on all sides at once. if we could but keep them from coming through the channel in pursuit we should be safe." "ah! but how on earth are we to do that?" the cap- tain asked. william gale was silent for a minute or tw o. will's proposal. "have you plenty of powder on board the ship, sir?" "plenty—we use it for barter." "it seems to me"—will went on—"that if, before sailing, you could sink a couple of barrels of powder in the channel, with a fuse to explode them a few minutes after we had left, the malays would be so astonished at the explosion that they would not ven- ture to pass through." "your idea is a capital one," the captain said warmly; "but how about a fuse which would burn under water? what do you think, tom; could it be managed?" "i should think so, sir," the mate answered. "suppose we take one of those empty -gallon beer casks, and fill that up with powder—it will hold ten or twelve of the little barrels; and then we might bung it up and make a hole in its head. over the hole we might fix a wine-bottle with the bottom knocked out, and so fastened with tow and oakum that the water won't get in. then we might shove down, through the mouth of the bottle and through the hole below it into the powder, a long strip of paper dipped in saltpetre to make touch-paper of it. i don't know as a regular fuse would do, as it might go out for want of air; but there would be plenty to keep touch-paper alight . we could sling three or four -pounder shots under the bottom of the cask to make it sink upright. just before we slip our cables, we might lower it down with the boats, lighting the fuse the last thing, and sticking a torpedo. in the cork. if we don't put too much saltpetre it might burn for some minutes before it reached the powder." "it's worth trying, at any rate," the captain said, "but i fear it would not burn long enough. i think that, instead of a bottle, we might jam a piece of iron tube, six or eight feet long, into the head of the cask, and cut a bung to fit it. in that way we could get a good length of fuse." this plan was carried out. a large cask was filled with powder, and an iron tube three inches in diameter and six feet long, fitted into it, and made water-tight. a long strip of paper, after being dipped in water in which gunpowder had been dissolved, was then dried, rolled tight, and lowered down the tube until it touched the powder. a bung was cut to fit the top of the tube, a piece of wash-leather being placed over it to ensure its being perfectly water-tight; the top of the fuse was then cut level with the pipe. several bits of iron were lashed to the lower end of the cask to make it sink upright, and the cask was steadily lowered into a -boat lying alongside the ship, in readiness for use. the sailors entered into the preparations with the glee of schoolboys, but the machine was not ready until long after the ship had been towed out again through the channel, and moored broadside to it just outside. chapter viii. the torpedo. t was about two o'clock in the morning when the watch awoke the crew with the news that they could hear the distant sound of oars coming along the shore. all took their places in silence. after a time the rowing ceased and all was quiet again. half an hour passed and then there was a slight sound close alongside, and in the channel they could dimly make out a small boat which was rapidly rowed away into the darkness again; several musket- shots beinji fired after it. "they have sent on ahead to find if we were lying in the same berth," the captain said "i expect they will be puzzled when they hear that we are outside and that the entrance is guarded. i should not be surprised if they did not attack before morning. they had such a lesson yesterday, that i don't think they will try to force the channel in our teeth again; but will play the waiting game, sure that they will secure us sooner or later." so it turned out. the hours passed slowly on, but the piuate fleet. no sound was heard. then in the dim morning light a pirate fleet of eight prahus was seen lying at a distance of half a mile within the reef. as the day broke, the breeze sprang up, the sails were hoisted, and the captain prepared to slip his cables. a similar preparation could, through the glasses, be observed on board the malay fleet. "that will do very well," the captain said. "those fellows will be along in about eight or ten minutes after we have started, and the fuse, according to the experiments we made as to its rate of burning, will last about seven. now, quick, lads, into the boat. tom, you take charge of the sinking." in another minute the boat was rowed to the channel and the cask lowered over the side. it was held there for a minute while the mate struck a light and applied it to the touch-paper. then he pressed the bung firmly into the top of the tube, the lashings of the cask were cut, and the boat rowed back to the ship. the anchors were already on board, and the brig was getting way on her as the boat rowed alongside. the men jumped on board, and the boat was suffered to tow behind, while all hands set the whole of the sails. the vessel was soon running briskly before the land-breeze. the pirate fleet was instantly in motion. every eye in the ship was directed towards them. "they will be there in less than ten minutes from the moment i lowered the cask," the mate said, looking at his watch. wit.t. gale's plans. no pursuit, but, so long as they could be seen, remained inactive near the scene of the sudden and, to them, inexplicable catastrophe which had befallen their consort. once fairly freed from all fear of pursuit, the captain invited the two lads into his cabin, and there heard from them an account of all the adventures through which they had passed. when they had finished he questioned them as to their plans. hans said that he intended to take the first ship bound for holland. "and you?" he asked will. "i have no particular plan," will said. "i am in no hurry to return to england, having no relatives there. after being so long absent—for it is now a year since i sailed from yarmouth—i should not care to return and take up my apprenticeship as a fisherman." "will you ship regularly on board the sea belle?" the captain asked. "thank you, sir, i think i would rather not decide upon anything until we get to calcutta. i have £ in money, £ of which were given me on board the dutch ship, and the rest i received as wages for the voyage from england to java. i carried the money in a belt round my waist, and have kept it ever since. so i need not be in any great hurry to settle upon what i shall do; but certainly, after a regular sea life, i should not like to go back to being a fisherman. i am now past sixteen, and in another three years shall be able to earn more wages." at calcutta. "i should have taken you for at least two years older," the captain said; "you are as big and strong as many lads of eighteen." "i have done a good lot of hard work in the last two years," will said; "for on board the dutch ship, although, of course, i was only rated as a boy, i used to do man's work aloft."' other people would have been deceived as well as the captain. hard work and exposure to the air had done much to age the boy. he had been tall and slight for his age when he left the workhouse, and while he had not ceased growing in height, he had widened out considerably; and, had he asserted himself to be eigh- teen years of age, few would have questioned the state- ment. the sea belle for some time kept south, touching at some of the islands where a trade was done with the papuans; then her head was turned north, and after an eventful voyage she reached calcutta, where the captain had been ordered to fill up with cotton or grain for england. the captain at once landed, and proceeded to the office of the agent of the firm who owned the sea belle. he was shown into that gentleman's private room, where at the time two gentlemen were seated chatting. the agent was personally acquainted with the captain, and asked him to sit down and smoke a cigar. "this is captain mayhew of the sea belle," he said to his friends. "he has been trading for the last the "sea belle's" adventures. three months down among the islands. these gentle- men, captain mayhew, are major harrison and captain edwards, who have just arrived from china with their regiment in the euphrates. has your voyage been a pleasant one, captain?" "pleasant enough, sir, on the whole; but we were attacked by the malay pirates, and i should certainly not be here to tell the tale at present had it not been for the quickness and shrewdness of a lad who had been shipwrecked on the coast." "how is that, mayhew? tell us all about it." captain mayhew related the whole story of the fight with the pirates, saying that, unquestionably, had it not been for will's pointing out the passage through the reef in the first place, and his idea of burying a submarine mine in the second, the sea belle would have fallen into the hands of the pirates. "but where did the boy spring from? how on earth came he to be there?" captain mayhew then related the story of william gale's adventures as he had them from his own lips. "he must be a cool and plucky young fellow, in- deed," major harrison exclaimed. "i should like to see him. what style and type is he, captain? a rough sort of chap?" "by no means," the captain answered. "he is sur- prisingly well-mannered. had i met him elsewhere, and in gentleman's clothes, i do not think that i should have suspected that he was not what he appeared. his an invitation. features, too, somehow or other, strike one as being those of a gentleman; which is all the more singular when, as a fact, he told me he had been brought up in a workhouse." "in a workhouse!" major harrison repeated. "then i suppose his parents were farm labourers." "no," the captain answered; "he was left at the door on a stormy night by a tramp who was found drowned next morning in a ditch near. he had, when found, a gold trinket of some kind round his neck; and he tells me that, from that and other circum- stances, it was generally supposed by the workhouse authorities that he did not belong to the tramp, but that he had been stolen by her, and that he belonged at least to a respectable family." "all this is very interesting," captain edwards said. "i should like much to see the boy. will you come and dine with us this evening on board the euphrates— mr. reynolds here is coming—and have the boy sent on board, say at nine o'clock, when we can have him in and'have a chat with him?" captain mayhew readily agreed. william was even then waiting outside for him, having landed with him; and the captain, when he entered the office, had told him to walk about for an hour and amuse himself with the sights of calcutta and then return and wait for him. he said nothing about his being close at hand, as he did not wish the officers to see him in the rough outfit which had been furnished him on board ship, recognition of services. intending to surprise them by his appearance in decent clothes. accordingly, on leaving mr. reynolds' office he took him to one of the numerous shops in the town where clothes of any kind can be procured. "now, will," he said, "i want you to get a suit of shore-going clothes. you can get your sea outfit to- morrow at your leisure; but i want you to show up well at the mess this evening, and a suit of good clothes will always be useful to you." captain mayhew had intended to pay for the outfit himself, but this will would not hear of, and captain mayhew was the less reluctant to let the lad have his own way, as he had in the course of the interview with the agent agreed that the lad's services deserved a handsome recognition from the firm, and that the sum of one hundred guineas should be given to him at once. the agent felt no doubt that the firm would thoroughly approve of the payment. twenty pounds were to be given to hans for his share of the services; but the two suggestions which had saved the sea belle had both originated with will. by captain mayhew's advice will purchased a suit of dark-coloured tweed, a black tie, and some white shirts and collars. at other shops he bought some boots and a panama straw-hat. having completed their purchases they walked for some hours about cal- cutta, will being delighted with the variety of the native costumes and the newness and singularity of everything which met his eye. will is "riuged out." on their return to the ghaut, as the landing-stage is called, they found their various purchases already stowed in the sea belle's boat, which had about an hour before come to shore to fetch them off. at seven o'clock captain mayhew went off to the eu- phrates, leaving orders that the boat was to bring will over at nine. at that hour the lad was dressed in his new clothes, which fortunately fitted him well. "by jingo, will," the first mate said as he entered the cabin, "you look a tip-topper, and no mistake." the mate was right; the lad with his sun-burnt face, quiet manner, and easy carriage, looked thoroughly at home in his attire. "i don't know who your parents were, but i would bet a month's pay that the old tramp you were telling us of had nothing to do with it; for you look every inch a gentleman from head to foot." will found, on gaining the deck of the euphrates, that orders had been left by the officer in command that he was to be shown into the saloon cabin upon his giving his name to the sergeant, who came up at the sentry's call. he was at once conducted below. for a moment he felt almost bewildered as he entered; the size of the cabin, the handsomeness of its fittings, the well-laid table decked with fragrant flowers, so far surpassed anything he had ever seen or thought of. he was conducted to the head of the table, where major harrison, with mr. reynolds on one hand and the mess on the troopship. captain mayhew on the other, sat, near the colonel commanding the regiment. captain mayhew, who had already told the outline of the story, smiled quietly to himself at the expres- sion of surprise which crossed the faces of the major and mr. reynolds, as well as of the other officers sit- ting near, at the appearance of the lad he introduced to them. the colonel ordered a chair to be placed next to himself, and told the servant to fill a glass of wine for will, and entered into conversation with him. "i think, gentlemen," he said after a minute or two, seeing that the lad did not touch the wine that was poured out for him, " it will be pleasanter on deck; for it is terribly hot here, and see that most of you have finished your wine." an adjournment was at once made to the deck. here cigars were lighted, and the colonel and senior officers taking their places in some of the easy-chairs which were still about, the rest gathered round to hear the story, which major harri- son had promised them would be an interesting one. captain mayhew first gave his account of the fight between the sea belle and the pirates, beginning at the point when, as he was hotly chased and despairing of making a successful defence, the canoe with the two lads in it came out to him. then will was called upon to explain how he came to be there at that moment. he told briefly how the fishing-smack was sunk, how he had saved himself by clinging to the bob-stay of the dutch indiaman, and how he had sailed in this interested auditors. vessel to java, and was on his way in her to china, when wrecked in the cyclone. here his audience in- sisted upon his giving them full details; and he ac- cordingly told them the manner in which he and a few of the crew had escaped; how, when they were build- ing a boat, they had been attacked by malays, and all —except another lad and himself, who were hiding in a tree—were massacred by the pirates; how they had gone inland to a village, where, having aided the natives when attacked by a hostile tribe, they had been most kindly received; how they had finally ob- tained a canoe and spent their time in fishing in hopes of seeing a passing sail, until the sea belle, chased by the malay pirates, had appeared off the shore. there was a genuine murmur of approval from those thickly clustered round as the lad finished his story, and the colonel warmly expressed his approval of his conduct under such exciting circumstances. "what are you going to do now?" he asked. "i have not made up my mind, sir," the lad said. "i expect that i shall ship in some vessel sailing for eng- land shortly." "major harrison," the colonel said, "will you and captain mayhew come with me to my cabin? i should like to have a few minutes' private chat with you," he went on, putting his hand on will's shoulder. a minute or two later the three gentlemen and will were seated in the private cabin. "look here, my boy," the colonel said; "i have ( ) * * i a kind offer. heard from major harrison what you had told captain mayhew concerning your birth; and certainly your appearance and manner go far to sustain the belief that the tramp who left you was not your mother, and that your parents were of gentle birth. i do not say that a man's birth makes much difference to him; still, it does go for something, and in nine cases out of ten the difference both in face and figure is unmistakable. unless i am very wrong your father was a gentleman. however, that is not to the point: it is your quickness and activity, your coolness in danger, and the adven- tures which you have gone through which interest us in you. now i think it is a pity that a lad who has shown that there is so much in him should remain a sailor before the mast. you have not been so long at sea as to become wedded to it, and to be unable to turn your hands to anything else. now, what do you say to enlisting? in the ranks are men of all sorts— gentlemen, honest men, and blackguards. the steady respectable man is sure to rise. you can, the captain tells me, read and write well. there is a chance of active service at present, and when there is active ser- vice a man who distinguishes himself gets rapid pro- motion . the regiment land to-morrow and go straight through by train to the north. there is trouble in afghanistan, and an ultimatum has just been sent to the ameer that if he does not comply with our terms it will be war, and we hope to be there in time for the beginning of it. i can only say, that if you like to join, smoothing wills way. william gale left the cabin with a new prospect of life before him. he had of late rather shrunk from the thought of again taking his place as a ship-boy; and the prospect of adventures, to say nothing of the advancement which might befall him through the in- terest taken in him by the colonel, was delightful to him. the last words the colonel had said when he left the cabin were: "say nothing about the workhouse, and as little as possible of anything which happened before you were wrecked on the island, in the barrack-room." when william and captain mayhew had left the cabin colonel shepherd sent for sergeant bingwood. "sergeant," he said, "a young fellow will come on board to-morrow at eight o'clock to join the regiment as a recruit. take him at once to the surgeon and get him passed. i know we shall be able to give him but little drill before we get to the frontier; but do all you can for liim and i will make it up to you. he is a smart young fellow, and i have a good deal of interest in him. he was on his way to china and was wrecked among the malays, and has gone through a good deal. finding himself here with nothing to do, and with a prospect of active service on the frontier, he has decided to enlist; and, as he is a gallant young fellow, i do not wish to balk his fancy." the sergeant saluted and took his leave, impressed with the idea—although the colonel had not said so— that the new recruit was a young gentleman who had a journey by train. form was served out to him, and the usual articles of kit. the sergeant saw that his belts were put on pro- perly and his knapsack packed; and half an hour after- wards he fell in, with his musket on his shoulder, among the troops paraded on the deck of the euphrates prior to embarkation. so quickly had it all been managed that will could hardly believe that he was awake, as, feeling strangely hampered by his belts and accoutrements, he descended the accommodation ladder and took his place with his new comrades on board one of the great native boats and rowed to the shore. the regiment was marched direct to the railway- station, where the heavy baggage had been sent on the previous day. the men took their places in the long train which stood in readiness, and half an hour later steamed north from calcutta. hitherto none of his comrades had spoken to will. in the bustle of landing all had enough to do to look to themselves, and it was not until he found himself with eight comrades and a corporal in the railway- carriage that he was addressed. "well, young 'un," one said, "what's yer name, and where do you come from? calcutta isn't much of a place for recruiting." "i was on my way to china," will replied, "and got wrecked among the malays; then i got picked up by a vessel, and we had some hot fighting. then i was landed at calcutta, and seeing nothing much to do, a popular character. and hearing that there was a chance of a fight with the afghans, i thought the best thing to do was to enlist. my name is william gale." "i wasn't quite sure that you were an englishman; you are pretty nigh as dark as them copper-coloured niggers here." "so would you be," will laughed, "if you had been living, as i have, for ten months among savages without even a shirt to your back." "tell us all about it," the soldier said. "this is a bit of luck, mates, our having someone who can tell us a tale when we have got such a long journey before us." will made his story as full as he could, and it lasted a long time. when it was finished the men expressed their opinion that he was a good sort; and will having handed over to the corporal a sovereign to be expended on drinks by the way, as his footing in the regiment, he became quite a popular character, and soon felt at home in his new position. chapter ix. the advance into afghanistan. here was but little talking in the middle of the day in the train, for the heat was excessive. all the men had taken off their coats and sat in their shirt-sleeves. but they were, nevertheless, bathed in perspiration. late at night the train arrived at allahabad. here there was a stop till morning. the men alighted from the train, and lay down on their folded blankets, with their knapsacks for pillows, on the platform or in the waiting-rooms. a plentiful supply of water had been prepared for their use at the station, and outside were several water- carriers, and many of the men stripped off their shirts and had water poured over their heads and bodies. will gale was among these, and, greatly refreshed, he enjoyed some fruit and cakes which he purchased from native vendors; and then lying down on a bench in the station was soon asleep. four days' travelling brought them to the end of the railway. they were ferried across the attock, and then their real work began. a hot march. although it was now late in september the heat was still intense. tents were struck an hour before day- break, and by eleven o'clock each day the column was at its halting-place. it was, however, hours before the tents and baggage arrived. many of the draft cattle were very poor, forage was scarce, and the ar- rangements far from good. the consequence was that great numbers of the oxen broke down and died, and many of the troops were often obliged to sleep in the air owing to the non-arrival of their tents. the defects of the transport were aggravated as the time went on, and the norfolk rangers fared much better than some of the troops which followed them. the regiment was destined to operate in the khuram valley under the command of general roberts. the advanced column of this division consisted of the th company of bengal sappers, the d bengal pioneers, a battery of horse artillery, one of royal artillery, and two mountain batteries, a squadron of the th hussars, and the th bengal cavalry. the first brigade of infantry comprised the d battalion of the th foot, the th bengal native infantry, and the th pun- jaub infantry. the second brigade consisted of the d highlanders, the st native infantry, the d punjaub infantry, and the oth goorkhas. the place of assembly was kohat. the norfolk rangers were to act as a reserve. it was on the d of october that the rangers ar- rived at kohat, heartily glad that their march across heavy drill. the sandy plains of the punjaub was at an end. the other regiments comprising the force poured in rapidly, and on the th the general arrived and assumed the command. the next day the punjaub regiments were sent forward to thull. it was not until the middle of november that the european regiments followed them, and the six weeks were by the rangers for the most part employed in drill; for, after their voyage and journey up the country, their commanding officer con- sidered it necessary to work them hard to get them to the highest state of discipline. william gale was worked exceptionally hard, as he had in that short time to learn the manual and "platoon exercises, and to pick up enough of drill to enable him to take his place in the ranks. fortunately he carried himself well and required far less drilling than the majority of the recruits. by the time that the regi- ment moved forward he was able to take his place in his company, and had mastered all the movements which were likely to be necessary in the campaign. the road between kohat and thull runs in a valley between mountains, those on the right being inhabited by the waziries, a fierce and independent tribe. the regiment which had first marched had exercised every precaution against an attack. the convoys of stores and provisions sent forward had always been accom- panied by strong escorts, and orders were issued that officers going forward on duty should not travel without protection. the waziries, however, contrary to expec- on the march. tation, remained quiet, probably waiting to see the turn which matters took; for had we suffered a repulse they would assuredly have taken part at once against us, and would have aided in massacring fugitives and robbing baggage-waggons. the march to thull occupied five days, which were very pleasant ones to william gale. his heavy work at drill was now over: he was no longer considered a recruit, but ranked as a soldier. the marches were not long, and for many hours in the afternoon the high hills threw the valley in shade; and the soldiers, after pitching their tents, were able to stroll about or to lie under the trees in which the valley abounded. the regiment reached thull on the th of november, and on the morning of the st the column advanced. the river, whose bed was yards wide, was for- tunately now low, being reduced to a stream of yards wide by deep. a trestle-bridge had been thrown across it for the use of the infantry. the river was distant a mile and a half from the town. no op- position was expected; but as a small afghan garrison was stationed in a fort at kapizang, a short distance beyond the river, an attempt was to be made to cap- ture it. the th punjaub infantry first crossed the river at the bridge. the th huzzars forded the river and extended in skirmishing order to cut off the retreat of the garrison. when they reached the fort, however, which was a square inclosure with round towers at the corners, it was found that the garrison, across the afghan frontier. who had doubtless received warning from spies in thull, had abandoned the place in the night. the cavalry were now sent forward to reconnoitre, the infantry following, and the advanced force halted at ahmed-i-shama for the night. not a single habi- tation was passed during the nine miles march. the road was generally a mere track, feet wide, passing through tangled brakes of dwarf palms, intersected by stony gullies except when it ran along the steep bank of the river. the following day the rest of the first brigade marched up to ahmed-i-shama, while the advanced force under colonel gordon moved on to hazir-pir. the rangers were with the first brigade, but not with the advanced party. this was composed wholly of native troops, consisting of the pioneer regiments and the sappers and miners; these had hard work, for the road, which was fifteen miles in length, was scarcely pas- sable for wheeled carriages, and the guns could not be taken along until the boulders and blocks of stone which strewed the way were removed or blasted into pieces. on the d the rangers, with the horse artillery battery and two native regiments, marched towards hazir-pir; but the difficulties of the road were so great that they had to camp for the night four miles short of that place. general roberts and the headquarters went forward the same day. as the general passed along the road the head-men the khuram valley. of all the villages near came and paid their respects, and the villagers lined the roads as the troops passed, offer- ing fowls, eggs, milk, and dried fruit for sale. as william gale had brought a supply of money with him, he was able to indulge in all those luxuries; and, indeed, as the men had had few opportunities of spending money at thull, all were well supplied with cash. the halt at hazir-pir was then a very pleasant one. sup- plies of grass, fuel, and provisions were brought in in considerable quantities there; but much difficulty arose in settling the terms of purchase, as coin was almost unknown in the valley, and therefore there was no established price; one native being ready to sell for a few coppers, articles for which another demanded as many pieces of silver. on the hills around a consider- able number of sheep were seen grazing, but the natives did not care about selling these, which indeed be- longed for the most part, not to the turis, the tribe which inhabit the valley, but to nomad ghilzais, who, like the swiss shepherds, move about with their charges among the mountains wherever fodder is to be obtained. khuram valley itself is bare and monoto- nous. with the exception of fruit-trees planted round the villages, scarce a tree is to be found; but each vil- lage is marked by a huge chunar or oriental plane, be- neath which the villagers rest during the noonday heat. but if the valley itself was bare and desolate, the scenery around was lovely. the great range of moun- tains known as the safaid-koh bound the valley on a stony valley. the east and north. this range averages , feet high, from which spurs run out at right angles, in- closing narrower valleys with broiling torrents rushing through boulders. the slopes of these valleys are covered with luxuriant vegetation till the limit of trees is reached at a height of about , feet, above which in winter the snow lies thick, while in summer it furnishes the finest pasture to the ghilzai flocks and herds. the valley lands and the lower slopes of the hills are laid out in terraces, and irrigated rice-fields extend near the rivers. valley and hill are alike covered with stones and boulders, afghanistan being probably the most stony country in the world. on the th the headquarters with the cavalry and two regiments moved forward ten miles and encamped at the south end of the darwazi pass, the road leading to open broad valleys covered with dwarf palms and wholly uncultivated. on the th the advanced force crossed the pass, which was a gentle slope and offered no great difficulty, and at night encamped at the khuram fort, which had been evacuated by the enemy. the buildings, which would have been useful for the troops, had however been wrecked by the turis, who have a deadly hate for the afghans their masters, and who were also animated in their work of destruction by a desire to obtain wood, which is exceedingly scarce there. at khuram there are two forts, the one yards reconnoitring. and the other yards square. inside these were quarters for the governor, and huts for the garrison and officers, and in the smaller forts were stables for the cavalry forces. this place was made the head- quarters of the forces in the khuram valley. the general now rode on with two squadrons of the th bengal cavalry to reconnoitre in the direction of the peiwar-khotal, towards which the enemy were sup- posed to be retreating, and where they were expected to make a stand. as they approached the village of peiwar two villages were seen in flames, and news was brought in that three afghan regiments, with twelve guns, had lately passed through. the natives reported that they were encumbered by their guns, and that forced labour was procured for the purpose of removing them. later on a rumour came that the twelve guns were stuck in the ravine at the foot of the khotal or pass. with but a small force of cavalry at his command the general could do nothing, and so returned to khuram and determined to hurry up the troops faster than he had intended so as to capture the guns re- ported—as was afterwards proved falsely—to have been left behind by the afghans. the sick and all superfluous baggage were left behind at khuram, and on the th the troops moved at daybreak, the two brigades marching in parallel columns. the cold was now severe at night although it was hot in the daytime. it had been intended to halt at the advance towards the pass. halid-kitta, four miles from the khotal; but the intel- ligence arriving that the ameer's troops had aban- doned their guns and were in disorderly retreat, de- cided the general to push forward at once to the pei- war-khotal, seven miles further, instead of waiting and giving the enemy time to strengthen their position. a mile from the foot of the actual ascent of the khotal lies the village of turrai, two miles and a half beyond peiwar. turrai is situated in a valley, the ground at whose entrance is very much broken up by the shoul- ders and spurs of the hill. the left column—the th and th punjaub in advance, with the d bat- talion of the th, and the d pioneers, the rangers, and two guns of the no. mountain battery in support —were sent to the left with instructions to turn a ridge forming the south boundary of the valley, and to seize the village of turrai. they were also to follow up closely any body of retreating afghan troops that they might come across. the light brigade were to march up the regular road to the peiwar, thus supporting the attack of the left brigade. the left brigade followed out its orders, except that the regiment in support did not go round the southern side of the spur, but kept to the north. no enemy was seen on the south side of the spur, so when a track leading across to turrai was reached the troops moved down towards the village, the regiments in support advancing at the foot of the open on the north side. the mountain path that the advanced troops were now the skirmish at turrai. filing down did not lead directly to the village, but fell into the valley ahead of it at a point where it widens out into what was known as the "punch-bowl valley" at the foot of the peiwar-khotal. as soon as the head of the column reached this spot they came in sight of the afghans, who showed them- selves in great numbers on the crest of the mountain far above their heads. as the troops had no orders to attack so formidable a position, they fell back towards turrai, which was about a quarter of a mile to the rear. at the sight of this movement the afghans swarmed down a spur of the hill and commenced an attack on the regiments that were moving towards the village. the th punjaubees climbed the hill, and a sharp skirmish ensued, the two mounted guns coming into action. while this was going on, the main body of the troops arrived at turrai. the advanced troops were recalled and the th ghoorkas were advanced to cover the move- ment. as it was now seen that the story of the aban- donment of the guns was false, orders were given to pile arms in the village and to encamp there. this step was an imprudent one, as the afghans speedily showed. while our men were sitting or lying upon the ground waiting for the baggage to arrive the afghans brought up a mountain-gun from the main ridge, about three-quarters of a mile distant, to the point of the spur overlooking the village of turrai, and opened fire at yards range. ( ) k shelled out of camp. the astonishment of the troops when the first shell fell among them was great. every one jumped to his feet and seized his rifle, and the guns of the royal horse artillery were brought at once into action. it was four o'clock in the afternoon when the afghans opened fire. had they waited for a few hours, brought up another gun or two, and made a night attack imme- diately after opening fire, it is morally certain that the imprudence of camping in such a position would have been punished by a disaster which might have vied with that of isandula. huddled together in a small village surrounded by scrub, and impeded as the troops would have been by the baggage animals and native followers rushing in terror in all directions, our men would have been taken at an immense disadvantage. fortunate was it that the enemy opened fire before the darkness set in. the troops were at once ordered to fall back a mile and a half and to pitch on fresh ground. there was much confusion in the retreat, as the road in the rear was crowded with the baggage animals. the spot chosen for the camp was a rough one, for the ground was covered with scrub and a scattered growth of hill oak and thorny bushes, and was broken by the remains of some ancient terraces, but as the jungle and broken ground extended for three and a half miles, there was nothing for it but to take up the best posi- tion possible under the circumstances. the troops bivouacked on the ridge of a ravine with steep banks which formed a line of defence in front of the camp, a wretched night. while the view in every other direction was obscured by- trees. the regiments passed a wretched night on the rough ground. most of them were unable to find their baggage, which was wandering in the scrub in the dark, and the greater part of the troops lay down on the bare ground and went supperless to sleep after their fatiguing march of twenty-one miles. in the morning both men and cattle were greatly exhausted by their long marches and almost sleepless nights, and general roberts determined to wait for a day or two to reconnoitre the formidable position of the enemy before undertaking its attack. the camp was shifted to a more secure site, the brushwood and trees were cleared away, the tents pitched, and the troops were again comfortable. a reconnaissance was made by colonel perkins, commanding the royal engineers, with two companies of the pioneers. he ascertained that a deep ravine lay between the ridge on which they were encamped and the khotal itself, and that it was impossible to direct an attack on that side. major collett also, with two companies of the d, proceeded to reconnoitre the route known as the spingawi or cow pass. this, in- stead of going straight up the hill in front, wound round its foot to the right of the valley. ascending the mountain at a point some three or four miles to the east of the peiwar-khotal, the recon- naissance reached the summit of a ridge about five miles distant from the camp and overlooking the the spingawi pass. spingawi-khotal. it was ascertained that the road up the pass seemed easy and practicable for all arms, that the top of the pass appeared to be on the same ridge as the peiwar-khotal, and that a force working from it towards the peiwar would pass over a series of dominating positions. it did not appear to major collett that the enemy held the peiwar-khotal in force, although there was a gun on a commanding knoll on the south, and there seemed to be one at the top of the pass. the road from the village of peiwar to the top of the spingawi pass seemed perfectly easy for troops of all arms. the next two days were spent in clearing the camp, and so far as possible improving its military position; but it was still surrounded by thick oak jungle, which would have afforded cover for an enemy making a sudden attack. a further reconnaisance was made of the spingawi pass, and as the examination confirmed major collett's report it was determined to attack by it. orders were issued on the st of december for a march that night. the regiments which were to form the main attack by the spingawi plateau route were the th punjaub infantry and the th ghoorkas, com- manded by colonel gordon in advance; these were to be followed by the mountain battery, a wing of the d highlanders, a company of the rangers, the d punjaubees, and the d highlanders, under brigadier- general thelwell. four guns on elephants were to proceed with the column. the th punjaub infantry, a well-kept secret. the th eegiment, two guns royal horse artillery, three guns royal artillery, and the th bengal cavalry, the whole under the command of brigadier-general cobbe, were to make an attack on the peiwar-khotal direct. the rest of the force was to remain to guard the camp, and in order to convince the enemy that a front attack upon the peiwar-khotal was intended, a party of pioneers with an engineer officer, and a covering party of the th regiment, were to construct a battery near the village of turrai. frequent reconnoitring parties had also been sent out in this direction, and so well was the secret of the general's intention to attack by the spingawi khotal kept that everyone in camp who had not been let into the secret was confident that the peiwar-khotal would be stormed on the morrow. the enemy, although those in camp were ignorant of the fact, were reinforced on the st by four regiments of infantry with a mountain battery, and on their side were meditating an attack upon the british camp. the regiments which had freshly arrived were, how- ever, fatigued by their long march, and the assault on our camp was postponed until the next day, and the chance of its coming off was therefore lost for ever. to william gale's great satisfaction a company of the rangers, that to which he had been posted, was the one selected by the colonel to accompany the column march- ing up the pass. he did not indeed know that this was the route by which they were to advance, but he the eve of the conflict. was pleased at not being left behind with the regiment in charge of the camp. "well, young 'un," a corporal said to him that even- ing, "we are going to be under fire at last, and a nice climb we shall have of it; it puts one out of breath to look at that steep road running up the hill, and when it comes to fighting one's way up it, with cannon and afghans on the top, we shall find it hard work." "i expect," william answered, " that we shan't go up it at any extraordinary pace; if we skirmish up, as i expect we shall, from rock to rock, we shall have plenty of time to get our wind at each halt. we are not to take our knapsacks, so we shall fight light, and we have not much extra weight to carry. what with the heat and what with the long marches, i should think i must have lost a stone in weight since we landed in calcutta." "i don't think you have lost weight at all," the cor- poral said; "it seems to me that you have grown and widened out in the two months; and only yesterday, when i was sizing the company, i had to move you two men higher; for a young 'un you stand the fatigues well." "i am all right," will said, "except that i have got some frightful blisters on my feet. i was not going to say anything about it, because i should have been kept in hospital and left behind at khuram, but i have hardly known how to march the last few days. i don't think i could possibly have managed it if i had a night march. and are going to work round somehow and take them in rear." "well, i hope whoever is acting as guide can see better in the darkness than i can, else we are safe to lose our way, and may find ourselves anywhere in the morning. confound it!" the exclamation was elicited by the speaker stumbling over a boulder and nearly going on to his head. "silence in the ranks there!" an officer said close by. each regiment was followed by its ammunition mules and hospital doolies, the latter being covered stretchers or palkies carried by natives; besides these were dandies or chairs slung upon mules. this greatly added to the difficulty of a night march; for, even in the daytime the presence of baggage animals in a column upon a narrow road greatly hinders the troops, and at night the delays occasioned by them are natur- ally very much greater. for the first three and a half miles the column marched away from the enemy upon the khotal, and the surprise of the soldiers increased at every step they took. at the end of that time they arrived at the village of peiwar. here they turned to the left, and after crossing several ravines and stony water-courses, ar- rived on a cultivated terrace and kept along this till they reached a very stiff nullah twenty feet deep. the night was bitterly cold, the bank of the nullah was extremely slippery, and the boulders in the water- course below coated with ice, the difficulty of getting troubles in the dark. the loaded animals across in the darkness was therefore very great. the passage of the various water-courses caused great delays, and it was difficult to keep the column together in the dark. at each passage the rear was immensely delayed while the leading troops were passing, and these again had to be halted while those behind them struggled over the difficulties. the men suffered much from cold, as the pace was so slow that they could not warm themselves, and the mounted officers specially suffered in their hands and feet. at midnight the ravine leading up to the spingawi pass was reached; but so dark was it that the d pun- jaubees, separated by a few yards from the regiment in front of them, marched straight on instead of turn- ing up it; and the d pioneers and the four artillery guns carried on elephants, being behind them, naturally went astray also. brigadier-general thelwall, who commanded the column, was at the head of his brigade, and was for some time unaware of the absence of two of his regi- ments; but, after halting and finding that they did not come up, sent back a mounted officer, who, after a two-mile ride, came up with the missing troops and guided them back to the point where they had left the route. from the foot of the ravine to the top of the pass is six miles in distance; and, dark as it was in the open, it was still more so in the ravine shadowed by the steep hills on either side. as the ascent continued treacherous shots. the road became worse, the boujders being larger, and the holes and dried-up pools deeper. the darkness and the prevailing white colour of the stones prevented the difference of level being observed, and many of the men had heavy falls, as the steep sides of these pools were often from two to four feet deep. after marching for a mile and a half up the ravine the report of a rifle was heard in the ranks of the th punjaubees, who were leading the column, fol- lowed instantly by another discharge. colonel gor- don commanding the regiment halted, and he and the general tried in vain to discover who had fired. no one could or would identify them, and this seemed clearly to prove that the rifles had been fired as a signal to the enemy, for they had not been loaded before the column started. the punjaubee regiments contained many hill tribes- men—men closely connected by ties of blood and religion with the enemy whom they were marching to attack. a non-commissioned officer and several of the men who were just about the spot where the guns had been fired were placed under arrest and sent back. it was afterwards found that two of their rifles had been discharged, and the men who fired and their non- commissioned officer were tried by court-martial for treachery, and were hung. after these men had been sent back,the thghoorkas, the company of rangers, and two companies of the d, passed the d punjaubees and took their places at a mysterious disappearance. the head of the column. in the course of the inarch a good many other men of the d left the column in the dark and made their way back to camp. it turned out afterwards that the afghan sentries at the top of the pass heard the reports and woke up the commander of the post, who, hearing no further cause of alarm, took no action in the matter. had the traitors waited until the column was within a mile of the top of the pass, the afghans would as- suredly have taken the alarm; but, firing at a distance of four and a half miles, they failed in the desired effect. the advance was resumed up the bed of the stream for another mile and a half. about three in the morning the main water-course was quitted, the road now entering a ravine to the left, up which three miles further on was the summit of the pass. the column continued its weary way up the ravine, slowly stumbling along in the dark. one incident occurred in this part of the road show- ing the necessity in night marching for the regiments to keep close to each other. in one place a fir-covered island lay in the middle of the ravine, the torrent's bed lying on either side of it. when the two com- panies of the d highlanders, who had been following close to that of the rangers, came to the spot they were surprised to find that the troops in front had suddenly vanished. no explanation could be given as to the cause of this disappearance, so the company were halted until the mystery was solved. the leading regiment in face of the foe. had taken the passage to the right of the island, while the d had gone to the left, the separation of the roads being unnoticed in the dark. had the roads diverged instead of reuniting, much inconvenience might have been caused by the delay in collecting the separated portions of the force. at last the foot of the khotal was reached, where the track left the ravine and turned up the spur. the two guides, natives of the country, who had led the head of the column to this point, refused to go any further; and as the column was now at the point where the fighting might begin, they were allowed to depart. it was about six o'clock when the ghoorkas began to climb the spur. the morning had broken, but it was still dark, and the path was almost invisible in the shadow of the trees. the ghoorkas, their rifles loaded now, made their way quietly up the hill. presently the challenge of the sentry was heard, followed by two shots. it was a relief to the men, after ten hours of weary stumbling along in the cold and darkness, to know that they were at length face to face with their foe. cold and fatigue were at once forgotten, and with eyes strained through the darkness, and rifles ready for use, every man pressed forward. fifty yards up the hill, behind the sentry who had fired, was the first stockade of the enemy, formed by several large trees, which had been felled so as to completely block up the road, pre- senting an obstacle of about eight feet high to the at- the stockades carried. tacking force. the afghan pickets lining the stockade poured a volley into the ghoorkas, who, led by major fitzhugh and captain cook, made a rush at the place. for a few minutes there was a fierce fight at the trees; but as fresh assailants momentarily poured up, the obstruction was scaled, and the afghans retired on a second stockade eighty yards back. here another stand was made, but the spur being a little wider, the ghoorkas were able to work round, and taking the defence in flank soon drove the afghans back. beyond this point the ground was clear of trees, and the road ran in short zigzags up the steep hill to the breast-work which lined the edge of the top zigzag. a mountain gun at this point swept the approacli to the position, while the hill at its back was now covered with afghans, who opened a heavy fire upon the troops as in the dim morning light they issued from the trees. by the time that the ghoorkas and the bangers had cleared the second stockade, the wing of the d highlanders, ascending by the right flank, had made their way up to the front, and the whole now advanced together. as quickly as passible they pushed up the hill under the heavy fire of the enemy. the latter fought well, and a number of them were killed before retiring. at the defence erected at the top of the zigzag so obstinately did the afghans in front hold their ground that their comrades behind were enabled to remove their mountain gun. to the right of the enemy's position was a knoll, and captain herbert saved. a hand-to-hand struggle. the d at once took possession of this, and two moun- tain guns were brought up to their assistance. the afghans were seen in great numbers in the broken ground ahead. the ghoorkas and the little body of rangers pushed on against them. presently the enemy gathered and made a rush down upon them, and a desperate hand-to-hand fight took place for a few minutes. the men were scattered among the trees and each fought for himself. william gale had just re- loaded his rifle when he saw captain herbert, who commanded his company, fall to the ground, and three afghans spring forward to finish him. with a bound will reached the side of the officer. two of the afghans had already discharged their pieces, the third levelled and fired. so close was he that the flash almost burnt the soldier's face, and he felt a sharp pain as if a hot iron had passed across his cheek. in an instant he shot his assailant dead, and then with bayonet stood at bay as the other two afghans rushed upon him. they had drawn their tulwars and slashed fiercely at him; but he kept them off with his bayonet until a ghoorka, running up, cut down one of them with his kookerie, a heavy sword-like knife which the ghoorkas carry, and which they always employ in preference to the bayonet in fighting at close quarters. the remain- ing afghan at once took to flight. the th punjaubees had now come into action, and the afghans, disheartened at the loss of their position, fell back and withdrew into the woods which cover the feeling their way. plateau. at half-past seven o'clock the whole force, except the elephant guns, had reached the plateau; and general roberts was able to flash the news of the suc- cessful capture of the enemy's first position to brigadier- general cobbe, who was in command of the force which was to operate direct against the peiwar-khotal. a rest was given the troops after their long march, and at half-past nine they again fell in for the attack upon the pine-covered slopes in the direction of the peiwar- khotal. how strong were the enemy who might be lurking there they knew not. but it was certain that he would fight obstinately, and in so dense a forest much of the advantage gained by drill and discipline is lost. a change was made in the order of the advance. the troops who had before led the advance and had done the fighting were now placed in the rear, and the d pioneers led the way, followed by the d and th punjaubees. the column crossed the plateau without opposition, and began the ascent towards the enemy's position in the woods. considerable caution was needed, as no one had any knowledge of the country, and all were ignorant of the position and numbers of the enemy, who might, for aught they knew, be mass- ing in great numbers for an attack upon the front or one of the flanks. the line of skirmishers entered the pine-wood near the rocky hillside, and a rolling fire of musketry soon told that they were engaged from end to end of the line. it was slow work, for fallen trees, a fight on the hillside. rocks, and bushes everywhere hampered the advance. still the skirmishing line, reinforced from behind, pushed forward steadily, and presently cleared the afghans off the hillside. when the troops reached the top they found a valley in front of them, and from the woods on the opposite side so heavy a musketry fire was kept up that it was evident the afghans intended to make a desperate stand here. the valley, or rather ravine, was a narrow one: fifty yards wide at its foot, and scarce three times as much from brow to brow. the enemy, hidden among the trees, could not be made out except by their con- tinual fire. they did not content themselves, how- ever, with the mere defence of their side of the hill, but from time to time large numbers charged down and tried to force their way up that held by the british. each time, however, when they attempted this the punjaubees drove them back with slaughter. it was clear that the afghans were in great numbers, for their line extended for a mile and a half along the hillside. major anderson of the d pioneers, after repulsing one of these attacks, led four companies to the assault of the afghan position, and drove the enemy back for some little distance; but major anderson fell and the party retired. colonel curry, who commanded the regiment, again led the men forward, and for a time a hand-to-hand fight took place. for two hours the rifle contest continued without cessation. the storm of bullets ( l difficult ground. the movement was accelerated by the four elephant guns, which had at length come up, opening fire into the pinewood forest. as the fire slackened, a recon- naissance of the hill was made by general roberts and his staff; but the result showed that the mountain was so covered with pines and brushwood tbat it formed an almost impenetrable barrier to the advance of troops, for the growth was so thick that it was impossible to say in which direction any movement should be made. the experience gained in the last six hours of hard fighting had shown how difficult it was to keep command over troops scattered along a front of half a mile long in the forest where nothing could be seen beyond a radius of a few yards. the general therefore determined to desist from the attempt to force his way direct to the top of the peiwar-khotal, and to march to his left, and so by menacing the afghan line of retreat to hasten the movement towards the rear which had evidently begun. the men were therefore brought back to the plateau to the east of the ravine. here they were halted for a time, and the contents of their haversacks furnished them with a meal. at two o'clock they again drew up on the spingawi plateau. the d punjaub infantry being left on the hill to op- pose the afghans should they again advance in that direction, the rest of the column entered the defile leading into the hurriab valley, far in the rear of the peiwar-khotal. a halt for the night. as soon as the enemy, who were still opposing the d punjaub infantry, saw the head of the column enter the defile they were seized with a panic lest their retreat should be cut off, and began to retreat with the greatest haste, as they had to make their way across two mountain ridges before they could pass the spot towards which our troops were moving. the advance of the column, however, was necessarily slow, as the woods and side valleys had to be carefully examined lest a flank attack should be made upon them. in two hours the head of the column emerged from the forest on to the open slopes above the highest cul- tivated point in the hurriab valley. it was now four o'clock. the short december day was drawing to a close; no enemy were in sight, for their line of retreat was hidden in the bed of the stream a couple of miles further on, and no one knew where they were to be found. the troops were much exhausted with the want of rest and with their heavy work, for they had now been marching and fighting for eighteen hours, and they were glad to receive the order to bivouac, although they had no tents or food, and the cold, as might be expected on a winter day at an elevation of over feet above the sea, began to be very severe. a number of the nearest trees were felled by the pioneers, and huge fires were soon alight. there was still some uneasiness, as no one knew where the force under general cobbe was, or whether the attack on the peiwar-khotal had been successful or not. the advance of the sth. while the th punjaub infantry had been mounting the spur half-way between the peiwar and the spingawi khotal, the th regiment had moved directly upon the pass. the afghans, who had expected an attack, had remained under arms until three in the morning, when, hearing no sounds in our camp, they had been dismissed to rest. three guns of the royal artillery and two of the royal horse artillery took up their post yards in front of our camp, where their fire at the crest of the pass would assist the advance of the th. these, after two hours' march, found themselves at seven in the morning on the last spur, which is separated from the peiwar-khotal by a deep ravine. when it became daylight a few minutes later the enemy caught sight of our artillery in the valley, and at once opened fire. although they had six field-pieces at the top of the hill, only three had been placed in position to command the valley and the ascent, and the mountain batteiy which had arrived the afternoon before was not brought to the front. the three field-pieces and the mountain gun on the spur kept up a continuous fire on our battery of five guns. these were, however, almost beyond their range, and but little damage was done. on our side the fire was chiefly directed against the mountain gun at the end of the spur, and at any bodies of men who showed themselves. the artillery duel went on for four hours, and in an afghan advance. the meantime the infantry were engaged sharply with the afghans. these had taken up their position in the woods on the other side of the ravine, and kept up a continuous fire upon the th. the distance, how- ever, was too great for much execution on either side, especially as both parties were sheltered in the woods. about ten o'clock the afghans were seen gathering in strength, as if to come down across the road leading up to the khotal to attack the th in the rear. a squadron of the th bengal cavalry charged up the valley, and the enemy retired up the hill again; and, seeing that they could not cross the road without the chance of being cut up by the cavalry, they did not try to repeat the experiment. at eleven o'clock brigadier-general cobbe was wounded in the leg, and colonel barry-drew succeeded him in the command, receiving the orders which had been given to general cobbe that the khotal was not to be attacked till there was some evidence that the flank attack had shaken the enemy's defence in front . at twelve o'clock, the guns with the d punjaub infantry alarmed the afghans by their fire upon the camp, and although the afghan guns in front kept up their fire, the musketry fire decreased considerably. seeing this, colonel drew ordered the artillery to be brought up nearer. when, after advancing yards, they came to a ravine crossing the road, the the end of the struggle. afghans, who had come down the hill to meet them, opened a heavy fire; and the road being narrow, only the leading gun could come into action. however, the two companies of the th, which were acting as an escort to the guns, advanced in skirmishing order, and drove the afghans up the hill. the panic among the afghans on the plateau having now spread to the troops at the khotal, their fire entirely ceased, and the th regiment descended the defile, and began to climb the path to the khotal. not a hostile shot was fired, and at half-past two they reached the enemy's camp, which they found deserted. chapter xl a prisoner. he panic which had seized the afghans when they found their retreat menaced had been thorough and complete, and when the th regiment entered the camp they found that the tents were standing; food had been left ready cooked, and every possession had been abandoned. in the artillery camp the gunners had left their silver-mounted brass helmets and caps, as well as their guns and carriages. a body of friendly turis had accompanied the column making a demonstration on its flank, and these arriving upon the spot plundered the afghan camp of everything of the smallest value. no one knew what had become of the main body under general roberts. the bengal cavalry scouted for some distance in advance, but found no signs of the enemy. strong pickets were set in case the afghans should rally and return. the tents were brought up from the camp below, fires were lit, and the th encamped for the night. in the morning communication was established preparations for winter between the two camps, and it having been ascertained that the enemy had fled in the greatest disorder towards the shatur-gardan pass leading down to cabul, there was no prospect of further fighting. the afghans had abandoned all their guns, and even thrown away a great quantity of muskets, in their rapid retreats. great stores of flour and other provisions were discovered in the various villages and were divided among the troops. the winter was now setting in, and the shatur- gardan pass might any moment be closed by deep snow; there was therefore no prospect of a renewal of hostilities before the spring. preparations were made for hutting a regiment on the top of the khotal. the rest of the force were to winter at khuram. general roberts, with an escort of cavalry, rode to the shatur-gardan pass, and assured himself that the whole of the afghan army had fled beyond this point. the troops were for some time kept hard at work lowering the captured guns and ammunition down to the valley. a portion of the troops advanced as far as alikheyl, the principal town of the plateau. the jajis, the inhabitants of the country, had hitherto been extremely hostile; but, cowed by the defeat of the afghans, they submitted without resistance. on the th all the preparations for the return were complete. it was known that there was another pass from alikheyl into the khuram valley by the south: this had never been explored by any european, the sappir defile but general roberts determined to return by it with a portion of his force, as the pass might be found valuable in future operations. the force detailed for the march through the sappir defile was composed of the th ghoorkas, a wing of the d highlanders, a company of the norfolk eangers, the d punjaub pioneers, and a mountain battery. the country through which the march was to be made was inhabited by the mongals, a turbulent robber tribe. the column marched at nine in the morning, and after their down march arrived at the village of sappir at mid-day. the road lay down the hurriab river till the kb.uram river was reached, and then along the right bank, passing through the village of kermana, after which it turned up a narrow road for two miles, till an open plateau was reached, at the farther end of which stood the village of sappir. it was reported here that the mongals intended to defend a defile and hill pass two miles farther on. the d pioneers were therefore pushed on to occupy the pass and bivouac there; the remainder of the troops camped in the village. no signs of the enemy were seen either by the d pioneers or in the vicinity of the camp. the troops were to march at three in the morning and the tents were struck an hour after midnight. the track up the pass was excessively steep and very difficult for the camels. the cold was bitter, and in places where water had crossed the road there were slippery sur- the manjiar pass faces of ice, which hindered the camels considerably, and it was past eight o'clock before the rear-guard arrived at the top of the pass. from a commanding position overlooking the defile and surrounding waste of rugged and barren mountains not an enemy could be seen, and it was hoped that the report of the intended attack was a false one. the troops now began to descend the defile, which was known as the manjiar pass. troublesome as the ascent had been, the descent was infinitely more so; and it was with difficulty that the camels could be made to go down the deep and slippery roads. the gorge was five miles in length. the track for the first part ran through a deep ravine of perpen- dicular walls, which narrowed in places to a few yards, overhanging the path until they seemed to meet and form a tunnel, through which it ran. had an attack been made on the column as it struggled with its difficulties through this portion of the pass the result would have been disastrous; for it would have been impossible to place troops on the heights to cover the advance. here and there side ravines broke into the road, in any of which ambushes might have been laid. it was not, however, until the difficult part of the road had been passed, and a comparatively open valley reached, that any of the natives were seen. then a few men were observed on the heights, but as they were supposed to be shepherds no notice was taken of them. believing that all danger of attack was now an attack on the column. over, the general ordered all the troops, with the ex- ception of the baggage guard, which was composed of the d ghoorkas, and a few of the d highlanders and norfolk rangers, to march forward to the camp, which was to be pitched at a village called keraiah in the open valley. this, as the result proved, was a very rash move. before the head of the column had extricated itself from the ravine numbers of the country people were seen collecting in small detached parties; by degrees they closed in, and were soon within fifty yards of the convoy. captain goad, in charge of the baggage, was close to a small guard of d highlanders, when suddenly a volley was tired by the mongals. captain goad fell, his thigh-bone broken by a bullet. sergeant green, with three privates of the d, picked him up, and having placed him under cover of a rock, turned to defend themselves. they were but four men against a large number, but they stood steady; and, firing with careful aim, and picking off their man each time, they kept the enemy at bay until help arrived. sim- ultaneousty all along the line of the baggage column the mongals attacked. from the heights on both sides a fire was kept up while the more daring swept down in parties upon the rear-guard of ghoorkas commanded by captain powell. the baggage-guard all behaved with great steadiness, defending the path on both sides, while the baggage animals continued their way along it . safe through the defile. william gale was on duty with the party, and was, like the rest, busy with his rifle; a sergeant next to him was hit in the leg, and will, laying down his rifle, stopped one of the camels, and assisted the wounded man to mount it. the attack of the mongals became more furious as they saw their anticipated prey escaping them in spite of all their efforts; but their attempts to close were in vain, and the convoy made its way down to the village with the loss of one killed, and two officers and eight men wounded. captain powell and captain goad both died from the effects of their injuries. the enemy's loss must have been considerable, as the fire of the troop was steady and accurate, and the distance small. after a halt for a day or two the column marched to khuram, where it encamped. captain herbert had reported to the colonel the manner in which private gale had defended him when wounded and attacked by three afghans; the incident, too, had been observed by many of his comrades, and as a reward the young soldier was promoted to the rank of corporal; and the colonel told him that, had not similar acts of bravery been performed in the hand-to-hand action on the spingawi-khotal, he would have been mentioned for the victoria cross. the mountain tops were now deep in snow, but in the valley the temperature was very agreeable, and the troops enjoyed their rest much. this was not, however, to be of long duration. from the lower end the khost valley. of the khuram valley, runs off another valley known as the "khost." this was an entirely unknown country to the europeans, but it was said to be ex- tremely hostile. parties had come down and carried off cattle; and at any time a formidable raid might have taken place, and our line of communication been entirely cut. the country was ruled by an afghan governor, who sent in to say that he was willing to hand it over to us. there was, therefore, no expectation that there would be any resistance; and the expedition was designed rather to overawe the country and to obtain information as to its extent and capabilities, than with any idea of permanent occupation. the column consisted of a squadron of the th hussars, the th bengal cavalry, the st and th punjaub infantry, two mountain batteries, a wing of the d highlanders, and two companies of the norfolk rangers. this force marched from hazir-pir, and halted for the night at jaji-midan at the head of the valley leading to the darwiza pass, through which the track runs into the khost valley. at eight o'clock next morning the troops moved forward. the ground was difficult, for the road ran between terraced fields on the side of the ravine, and obliged men and animals to pass in single file, it was not therefore until twelve o'clock that the rear-guard moved out of the camp. beyond this point the road up the pass was not difficult; from the summit a wide arrival at matun. view was obtained. at the end of the valley, six miles distant, the plain of the khost country was seen. it was seen that, owing to the slow progress the troops were making, the baggage-train, consisting of camels, would not be able to reach the proposed camping-ground at the lower end of the valley before dark; the general, therefore, ordered it to halt at the top of the pass, where the ground was open. the st punjaubees and a mountain battery were to stay there for its protection, and bring it on next day. the mules with the regimental baggage went on with the troops. the column met with no opposition. it halted near the village of bakh, half a mile from the foot of the hills, where the valley widened into a plain six miles long and four broad. the force en- camped here on the th, to allow the convoy to come up. the following morning the column marched to the other end of the valley, and the next day the afghan governor of matun, the chief place of the khost, rode in to welcome the general. on the th of january the force marched to matun. they found that this fort was a square-walled in- closure yards each side, with circular corner bastions. there was a central square inclosure with round towers at its angles. as the fort was ap- proached, its garrison, which consisted of local militia, were formed up in two lines at a mosque out- side the fort. the general, with his staff, rode in, and the mongal hordes. a long interview took place between him and the governor. the troops encamped outside; in the even- ing information came in from the villages in the plain that large numbers of the mongals, who inhabi- ted the hills, were meditating an attack. strong pickets were posted, and the night passed quietly. in the morning large numbers of tribesmen flocked down into the villages and gradually surrounded the camp. at one o'clock the troops fell in. the cavalry were sent out against the enemy in the north-west direction, followed by the th punjaubees and no. mounted battery. the mongals at once fell back to the hills. the squadron of the th hussars were dismounted, and ordered to skirmish up a small knoll to the west. from this they drove the enemy, who gathered again on a spur opposite. here they were charged by the th punjaub cav- alry, and fell back higher up the ridge. the mountain guns and infantry now arrived and speedily drove them over the crest. general roberts with his staff rode out to watch the skirmish; and, soon after he had left, the enemy, who occupied the village to the north-east, showed in force. two of the mountain guns opened upon them. on the south they now approached, under the cover of the old afghan cavalry lines, to within half a mile before being perceived, and also occupied a walled village there. the other two guns in camp shelled the village, and soon drove the enemy out. the attack repulsed. when the general returned to camp at half-past two he found the attack driven off in all directions, and ordered the st punjaubees, the d highlanders, and the norfolk rangers to follow up the enemy to the east and south-east with the mountain guns, and to burn the villages which had sheltered the enemy. the first village was found deserted; at another, a quarter of a mile behind, the enemy made a stand, but were shelled out, and the plain beyond the matun river was soon covered with fugitives. major stewart, with forty men of the th punjaub cavalry who accompanied the column, charged of them and cut down many, until checked by the heavy fire of match- lock men from the high bank. no more fighting took place. the combination of tribes which had attacked the camp were estimated at men. eighty prisoners were taken. these, two nights afterwards, took advantage of a night alarm to attempt to escape, and attacked the guard. the attempt, however, was frustrated, but only after several of the prisoners had been shot down. some days passed quietly. reconnaissances were made up the valley. while waiting here the news of the capture of candahar by general stewart arrived. parties of engineers surveyed the country, and all passed off quietly. on the th a portion of the force marched back to hazir-pir. on the th of january the general deter- mined to withdraw this force altogether, as no advan- ( ). m called back. tage was gained by its retention, and the garrison would be constantly exposed to the attacks of the natives, who were already threatening it. the fort was handed over to sultan jan, a man of good family, who was appointed to govern the khost temporarily. he had under him the guard of the former governor, and some fresh natives, being in all men. the head-men of the villages were called together, and these promised to obey his rule. some of the chiefs of the mongals and other neighbouring; tribes came in: sheep were given to them, and they were told that, so long as they desisted from interference in the valley, no steps would be taken against them. the troops, however, had only made one day's march when a messenger arrived from sultan jan, saying that immediately the troops had marched, the mongals had come down to attack the fort. a strong party were therefore marched back at once. after destroy- ing the stores and setting fire to the fort they drew off the governor and marched back to camp, the mongals, although in great force, not venturing to offer any resistance. on the return of the force to the khuram valley, a wing of the norfolk rangers was sent up to reinforce the troops stationed on the top of the peiwar- khotal, as the jajis and mongals had been gathering in large numbers, and threatening an attack on that post. william gale was with his company stationed at alikheyl. the enemy abstained from any open attack, a night picket. but they often harassed the sentries. one night will was corporal in charge of a picket of eight men posted at a hut half a mile from the village. the object of the picket was to prevent any sudden attack being made upon the company, who were in a small village a quarter of a mile in the rear where a large quantity of grain was stored. two men were posted as sentries some hundred yards in advance of the hut. will had visited the sentry to the right, and finding all was well here moved across to the left. "is everything quiet?" he asked the sentry. "i don't know, corporal. two or three times i have thought that i heard noises, and twice i have chal- lenged." "what sort of noise?" "once it seemed to be a crack like a dried stick when some one treads on it. the other time it was as if a stone had been dislodged." "i will wait with you," will said. "two pairs of ears are better than one." again there was a slight sound heard. "i don't like to fire," will said. "the alarm would spread and the whole camp get under arms. there is something moving, i am convinced, but it may be only a stray bullock. i will go forward and see if i can make it out, and do you stand ready to fire if" i am at- tacked. after doing so fall back on the picket at once. if the enemy are in force hold the hut to the last. in ten minutes you will have help from the village behind." an ambush. holding his rifle advanced, in readiness to fire, william gale made his way forward cautiously towards the spot whence the noise seemed to proceed. when he was some forty yards in advance of the sentry a number of figures rose suddenly from some bushes and fired. will fired, and saw the man at whom he aimed go down; but at the same instant three or four guns were discharged, and he fell to the ground shot through the leg. there was a rush of men towards him. a tulwar was waved and fell with a crushing blow on his shoulder, and he became insensible. when he re- covered consciousness he was being carried along, a man holding his arms and another his legs. the pain was excruciating, and he fainted again, after hearing, during his brief period of consciousness, a sharp fusi- lade of musketry, which told him that his comrades were defending the hut against the enemy. when again he came to his senses it was daylight. he was lying in a small room, and an old woman was applying bandages to the sword-cut on his shoulder. although he did not know it he was ten miles from the spot where the attack had been made. among those who had taken part in it was the head of a small jaji village lying behind the hills. this chief was a crafty old savage, who had been desirous of remaining neutral in the strife. the de- termination of his people to join in the attack by the tribes had forced him to consent to their so doing. a prisoner among the afghans. before starting he had, however, made them swear that any wounded men who fell into their hands should not, in accordance with the afghan custom, be in- stantly despatched, but should be brought back to the village. his intention was to have some hostages. if the english repulsed the attack and in the spring again advanced he would be able to prove his good-will to the cause by handing the soldiers whom he had pro- tected over to them. upon the other hand, should the british fall back and the afghans advance in the spring, he could hand the prisoners over to them, or send them down to cabul as a proof that his people had fought against the british. he had himself accompanied his men, and seeing after will had fallen that he was still living, had at once ordered two of his men to carry him off to the village. the attack upon the guard-house proved unsuccess- ful; the six soldiers defended themselves until the company from the village behind came up to the rescue. several other attacks at various points took place. but the british were on the alert, and the hillsmen, finding that their enemies were not to be taken by surprise, scattered again to the village. the ball had fortunately passed through william gale's leg without either break- ing a bone or cutting an artery; but the wound in the shoulder was more serious, and the effect of the strain upon it in carrying him brought on violent inflamma- tion; fever set in with delirium, and for weeks the lad lay between life and death. will sent to cabul. the old woman who nursed him was, like most of her country people, skilled in the treatment of wounds. the bandages were kept bathed with water, snow was con- stantly applied to his head, and a decoction of herbs given him to drink. his good constitution was in his favour, and at last he recovered his senses, to find him- self convalescent, but as weak as an infant. in april the snow melted, and the chief, having by this time found that the english were not likely to advance beyond alikheyl, thought that it would best benefit his interest to send his prisoner down to cabul. the ameer was reported to be about to conclude peace with the british, and the chief thought that he was more likely to receive a reward from him for the care he had bestowed upon the prisoner than from the english. moreover, it would have been difficult to send him into the english camp through the hostile villages, while no unfavourable comment would be incited by his sending his prisoner down to cabul. will gale was far too weak to perform the journey on foot, he was therefore placed on a camel. the chief himself and four of his head-men accompanied him as an escort, and a week after the pass was open they started up the valley to the shatur-gardan, and thence descended into the logan valley below on the way to cabul. chapter xii. the advance up the khybeu. othing has yet been said of the doings of the other columns, that under general browne advancing by thekhyber pass upon jellalabad, that under general stewart by the bolan pass upon candahar. general browne's force had been gathered at the frontier line at the mouth of the pass awaiting the reply of the ameer to the british ultima- tum. none having been received up to the night of the th of november, the advance took place in the morning at the same hour at which general roberts advanced from thull in the khurum valley. the principal defence of the khyber pass was the fort ali-musjid. this fort stands on a most command- ing position on a rock jutting out from the hillside far into the valley, which its guns commanded. it was flanked by batteries erected on the hillsides, and was a most formidable position to capture. it was situated about six miles up the valley. the force under general browne was divided into four brigades. the first, under general macpherson, the british columns. consisted of the th battalion of the rifle brigade, the th bengal infantry, the th ghoorkas, and a mountain battery. these were ordered to take a mountain road, and, led by a native guide, to make a long circuit, and so to come down into the pass at a village lying a mile or two beyond ali-musjid. the second brigade, under colonel tytler, consist- ing of the st battalion of the th foot, the infantry of the guides, the st sikhs, and a mountain battery, were also to take to the hills, and working along on their crests to come down upon the batteries which the afghans had erected on the hillside opposite to ali- musjid. the third brigade, consisting of the st regiment, the th sikhs, and the th native infantry; and the fourth brigade, composed of the st regiment, th native infantry, and the th sikhs, were to ad- vance straight up the valley: with them was a moun- tain battery, a battery of horse artillery, one of royal artillery, and a battery of -pounders drawn by elephants. these brigades marched forward until they reached some rising ground in the valley, whence they could see ali-musjid at a distance of a mile and a half in front of them. the enemy at once opened fire. the gunners in the fort had been practising for some weeks, and had got the range with great accuracy, and their shot and shell fell thick along the slope. the column was therefore marched back behind its crest and there a toilsome march. skirmishers advanced until they were close to the afghan entrenchments on the hillsides abreast of the fort. so far there was no sign that macpherson's brigade had reached the post assigned to it high up on the hill, or that tytler had worked round to the village in the enemy's rear. some attacks which were made upon the afghans were repulsed with loss. major birch and lieutenant fitzgerald were killed and captain maclean wounded, and between thirty and forty of the rank and file were killed or wounded. as the fort and its defences could not have been carried by direct attack without immense loss of life, it was determined to cease operations until morning in order to give the flanking columns time to reach the positions assigned to them; a wing of a regiment from each brigade was ordered to remain on the hillside facing the afghan entrenchments; the rest of the troops fell back, a short distance and lay down as they were for the night. in the meantime the brigades of macpherson and tytler had encountered enormous difficulties on the line of march. the roads they had taken were mere tracks, and there were many places where it was almost impossible to get the mountain guns along. from daybreak until late at night the troops laboured unceasingly. they knew by the dull roar echoed and re-echoed among the mountains that their comrades below were engaged; and the thought that a failure winter quarters. brought with it the entire demoralization of the afghan army, which a few hours before had been fully confi- dent in its power to repulse any attack which might be made upon it. the british continued their advance, passed through the khyber pass, and entered the broad valley near whose head stands the town of jellalabad. beyond a few shots fired at them by tribesmen high up on the mountain side they experienced no opposition whatever, and a week after the fight in the khyber entered jellalabad and encamped around it. further than this it was not intended to go for the present. winter was now close at hand. between jellalabad and cabul were a series of most difficult passes; an army advancing up them would have immense diffi- culty to encounter, and might find itself cut off from india by the snows. in the jellalabad valley the weather is mild, large stores of provisions were obtainable, and here it was determined to remain through the winter, and to re- commence the campaign in the spring with the advan- tage of the khyber pass, one of the keys of afghan- istan, being in our hands. but a day or two after reaching jellalabad, having defeated and dispersed one of the two afghan armies, the news arrived of the capture of the peiwar-khotal.the second key of afghan- istan, and the utter rout of the army defending it. thus, in little more than a week after the commence- ment of the campaign, sheer-ali, the ameer, saw the sheer-ali s position. entire overthrow of the army which he had for so many years been occupied in organizing and training. the positions which he had deemed impregnable had both been taken after a single day's fighting, and his capital lay virtually at the mercy of his conquerors. in one short week his hopes and plans had been scattered to the winds. sheer-ali was not wholly to be blamed. he had for many years received an annual present of money and arms from the british government; but upon the other hand he saw russia marching with giant steps towards his northern frontier, and contrasting the energy and enterprise of the great northern power with the inactivity which he may have supposed to prevail among the men who governed england, he became more and more anxious, and asked the english de- finitely to state whether he could rely upon them for assistance should he be attacked by the russians. he received a reply from the duke of argyle, the british minister for india, of a doubtful nature, couched in terms which seem to have aroused his resentment. from this moment there can be no doubt that the ameer's course was decided upon. he was between the hammer and the anvil, and as he could obtain no guarantee of assistance from england he determined to throw himself into the arms of russia letters were exchanged between him and general kaufmann, the russian viceroy in turkestan, and the latter gave him the wannest promises of support if he would ally himself with russia. a fatal miscalculation. although he had for years declined to accept a bri- tish resident at cabul or to allow englishmen to enter the country, he now, believing in the power and willing- ness of russia to help, received the visit of a russian general and staff at cabul. unfortunately for the ameer the government of england had now changed hands, and the ministry at once sent to sheer-ali to demand that he should receive a british resident . it was late in the year, and the ameer, acting no doubt on the advice of his russian friends, sought to gain time by evasive answers. the british government, who saw through the ruse, ordered the envoy to advance with a strong escort. this obliged the ameer to come to a final decision, and the die was cast by the escort being stopped by force on its arrival at ali-musjid. there is no doubt that the ameer and his friends calculated that it was already too late in the season for the english to gather a sufficient force on the frontier to force the passes held by the afghan army before the snows. the promptness of action of the english government, the valour of their troops, and the unusually late setting in of the winter combined to overthrow the ameer's plans. had the campaign been delayed till the spring there can be little doubt that the british in their advance would have found themselves opposed, if not by a russian army, at least by an army led and officered by russians, with russian engineers and artillerymen. the promptness of their the death of the ameer. advance, and the capture of the passes and the disper- sion of the afghan armies within a week of the open- ing of the campaign, altogether altered this position. sheer-ali found himself a king without an army. the plains of cabul were thronged with the panic- stricken fugitives from the khyber and peiwar, and sheer-ali started at night from his capital with his russian friends and made for the north, sending letter after letter ahead of him to general kaufrnann im- ploring the promised aid of russia. the rapid course of events, however, had entirely disconcerted the rus- sian plans. in the spring a russian army might have advanced and co-operated with that of the ameer, but the winter had set in, the distance was immense, and the russians unprepared for instant action. the appeals of the unfortunate prince were responded to with vague gen- eralities. he was no longer a powerful ally, but a broken instrument; and heart-broken with disappoint- ment and failure the unfortunate sheer-ali was seized by fever and died in an obscure village almost alone and wholly uncared for. his son yakoob khan, who had in his youth proved himself a brave and able soldier, but who having incurred his father's displea- sure had been for years confined as a prisoner at herat, was now liberated and took his place as his father's successor. he saw at once that with a broken and disorganized army he could not hope to resist the advance of the three british armies which, coming the signature of peace. from jellalabad, from the heights of the shatur-gardan, and from candahar, would simultaneously advance upon his capital as soon as the snows melted. he therefore opened negotiations, and early in may himself descended from cabul and had an interview with general browne at gundamuk, when the pre- liminaries of peace were arranged and signed. the terms insisted upon by the british were not onerous. yakoob was recognized as the ameer of afghanistan, the annual subsidy paid to his father was to be con- tinued. the khyber pass and the khurum valley as far as the peiwar-khotal were to remain in the hands of the british, and a british minister was to be stationed at cabul. when peace had been signed the greater portion of the british army retired to india, and the khurum column, leaving two or three regiments in that valley, also fell back. while the first and second divisions had been gain- ing victories in the khyber and khurum valleys, the column under general stewart had met with difficulties of another kind. between the indus and the foot of the range of mountains through which the bolan pass leads to the lofty plateau land above, a great waste of sand stretches. in the wet season this tract of country is overflowed by the indus, in the dry season it is a parched and bare desert with its wells few and far apart. there were great difficulties met with in cross- ing this inhospitable plain, and the losses among the candahar. irrigation properly used and a railway constructed to india, candahar and the surrounding country would again become one of the gardens of the world. the authorities of the city made their submission as the column approached it, and the army settled down to quiet occupation, broken only by isolated attacks upon individual soldiers by fanatical ghazis. when peace was concluded one of the conditions distinctly insisted upon by the british general and agreed to by the ameer was that candahar should remain in our possession. the alleged advantage thus gained, and the territory thus acquired, were after- wards abandoned by the british government succeed- ing that which had so vigorously carried out the war. the occupation of candahar by the british had been insisted on at first, on the ground that if russia should make an advance against india the british nation would have ample cause to rue the cession of candahar, for it was declared that with this city strongly fortified and surrounded by outlying works , british troops there could arrest the progress of an invading army however large, until england had had full time to put forth all her strength and to assemble an army amply sufficient to secure the safety of the most valu- able of our possessions—the empire of india. it was said that whatever allies russia might have prepared for herself by intrigues among the princes of india, these would not think of moving so long as they knew that the fortress of candahar remained as a change of policy. british bulwark against an invading force. it was re- presented that so long as this place held out england would be able to devote her whole force towards re- pelling the foreign invader, instead of being obliged simultaneously to oppose him and to put down a for- midable rising in india itself. it was, however, not the universal opinion that the best policy of england was to occupy this territory by an armed force, and subsequent events, with the change of government in england, led to a different determination. chapter xiii. the massacre at cabul. t each village through which william gale and his escort passed the inhabitants turned out and hooted and yelled at the prisoner, and it was with the greatest difficulty that the chief protected him from personal violence. william himself was scarce conscious of what was passing. the swinging action of the camel added to his great weak- ness, and he would not have been able to keep his seat on its back had not his captors fastened him with ropes to the saddle. although the snow had only just melted on the shatur-gardan pass, in the valleys below the heat of the sun was already great, and often as it poured down upon him he lapsed into a state of semi- consciousness and drowsily fancied that he was again in his canoe tossing on the tiny waves in the shelter of the reef. on the sixth day after the start a shout from his guard aroused him as they emerged from a steep ascent amongst some hills. before him an undulating ground dotted with villages stretched for three or four miles. william i;ale in the hands of t ik afghans. a faithful attendant. expectations, and he returned home well satisfied with the success of his policy. for weeks will lay between life and death, and he was a mere skeleton when, two months after his arrival, he was able for the first time to sit up at the window and look across the valley. very gradually he recovered strength. he was well supplied with food, and espe- cially enjoyed the delicious fruits for which cabul is celebrated. his attendants were an old man and his son, the latter a lad of some fifteen years of age. the father did his duty because ordered to do so, but his scowling face often showed the hatred which he felt of the kaffir. the lad, however, took kindly to his patient. he it was who for hours together would, while will was at his worst, sit by his bedside constantly changing the wet cloths wrapped round his head, and sometimes squeezing a few drops of the refreshing juice of some fruit between his parched lips; and as his patient turned the corner and became slowly con- valescent his pleasure over the life he had saved by his care was very great . like most soldiers in the expeditionary force will had picked up a few words of afghan, and had greatly increased his stock during the time he lay in the hut in the mountains. alone now all day with the boy, with nothing to do but to look out on the town below and the wide valley be rond, he made rapid progress, and was, by the time he was strong enough to walk alone across the room, able to hold some sort of con- the british mission. versation with his friend; for so he had come to regard his devoted attendant. one morning the boy came into the room in a state of great excitement. "english officers are coming," he said, "with sol- diers." "but i thought it was peace," will exclaimed de- lighted; " you told me peace had been signed at gunda- muk two months ago." "yes, it is peace," the boy said; "the officers are coming in friendship to be here with the ameer." will was greatly moved at the news. when he had heard, six weeks before, that peace was signed he had begun to hope that some day or other he should again be able to return to india, but the news that some of his countrymen were close at hand almost overcame him. the next day, which was the +th of july—although will had lost all account of time—he saw vast numbers of people out on the plain, and presently far away he beheld a large body of horsemen. these, the lad told him, were the ameer and his body-guard accompanied by the english officers. gannon were fired in salute, and the garrison of the bala-hissar stood to their arms, and presently will saw a cavalcade riding up from the gate of the for- tress. first came some afghan cavalry, then rode a tall and stately man whom the boy told him was the ameer. but will had no eyes for him; all his thoughts were centred on the white officer who rode beside him, major sir lewis cavagnari, the english envoy. behind, major cavagnari. among the chiefs of the ameer's suite.rode two or three other english officers, and then came a detachment of some twenty-five cavalry and fifty infantry of the guides, a frontier force consisting of picked men. as they passed near his window will stood up with his hand to his forehead in salute. major cavagnari looked up in surprise and spoke to the ameer. the latter said a few words in reply, and then the caval- cade rode on to the palace. ten minutes later two of the ameer's attendants entered and told will to follow them. he had that morning, for the first time since his arrival in cabul, put on his uniform. he was still very weak, but, leaning one hand upon his attendant's shoulder, he followed the messengers. he was con- ducted to a large room in the palace, where the ameer and his adviser and the british officers were sitting. "well, my lad," major cavagnari said kindly, "i hear you have had a bad time of it. the ameer tells me that you were taken prisoner near ali-kheyl, that you were badly wounded, and that after the snow melted you were brought down here. he says he gave orders that everything should be done for you, but that you have been very ill ever since." "i have been treated very kindly, sir," will said, "and i am now getting round. i owe my life chiefly to the care and attention of the lad here, who has watched over me like a brother." will's words were translated to the ameer, who ex- among friends. pressed his satisfaction, and ordered a purse of money to be given to the boy in testimony of his approval of the care he had taken of his patient. as major cava- gnari saw that the young soldier was almost too weak to stand he at once told him to retire to his room, adding kindly: "i will ask the ameer to assign you quarters in the same house with us; we will soon bring you round and make you strong and well again." the same evening will was carried over—for the fatigue he had undergone had been almost too much for him—to the large house assigned to major cava- gnari, his officers and escort. it was built of wood, surrounded by a court-yard and wall. a room was assigned to will on the same floor as that occupied by the officers. the afghan lad had received orders to accompany his patient and remain with him as long as he stayed in cabul. will's progress towards recovery was now rapid. he had no longer any cause for anxiety. he was care- fully attended to by dr. kelly, the surgeon of the guides, who had accompanied the mission as medical officer. the escort was commanded by lieut. hamil- ton, and sir lewis cavagnari was accompanied by mr. william jenkyns of the indian civil service as his secretary. the care of dr. kelly and the influence of quinine and tonics quickly added to will's strength, but his best medicine was the sound of english voices and the kindness which was shown to him. the heratee regiment. in a fortnight he was able to get about as usual, and the doctor said that in another month he would be as strong as ever. for two or three weeks after major cavagnari's arrival in cabul all went well; and it appeared as if the forebodings of those who had pre- dicted trouble and danger to the little body who had gone up, as it were, into the lion's den, were likely to be falsified. that the mission was not without clanger the authorities and major cavagnari himself were well aware; but it was important that the pro- vision in the treaty of gundamuk by which england secured the right of maintaining a resident at cabul should be put into operation; besides, the ameer had himself given the invitation to major cavagnari, and had pressed the point warmly, giving the most solemn promises of protection. at any rate for the first two weeks the soldiers of the escort moved freely in the city without molestation or insult, and it appeared as if the population of cabul were content with the terms of peace, which indeed imposed no burdens whatever upon them, and was supposed to have inflicted no humiliation on their national pride. on the th of august several regiments marched in from herat. these troops, which were considered the flower of the afghan army, had, in consequence of the distance of herat from the seat of war, taken no part whatever in the struggle. upon the very day after their arrival they scattered through the town, and were loud in their expression of hostility to the terms of coming troubles. peace. had they been there, they said, the kaffirs would have been easily defeated. why should peace have been made at the very first reverse, and before the best fighting men had come to the front? that evening will gale's young attendant came to him in his room looking very serious. "what is the matter, yossouf?" the lad shook his head. "trouble is coming," he said. "the heratee men are stirring up the people, and the budmashes are threatening that they will kill the english." "but the ameer has promised his protection," will said; "he has sworn a solemn oath to stand by them." "yakoob khan is weak," the boy said; "he was a great warrior once, but he has been in prison for many years and he is no longer firm and strong. some of the men round him are bad advisers. yakoob khan is no better than a reed to lean upon." the next day there were riots in the town. the heratee men taunted the people of cabul with cowar- dice, and the excitement spread in the city. the soldiers of the escort could no longer stroll quietly through the bazaars, but were hooted at and abused, although of the same religion and race as the people around them—for the guide regiments were recruited from pathans and other border tribes. day after day the position became more threatening. the men of the escort were ordered no longer to go down into the town, where their presence was the occasion of tumults. the danger increases. a native officer of one of our cavalry regiments who was spending his furlough at a village near cabul came into the bala-hissar and told major cavagnari that he feared, from rumours that reached him, that the heratee regiments would break into mutiny and attack the embassy. the officer, who was a man of immense courage and coolness, replied quietly: "if they do, they can but kill the three or four of us here, and our deaths will be revenged." he, however, made representations to the ameer as to the threatening behaviour of the heratee troops; but yakoob assured him that he could rely thoroughly upon his protection, and that even should the heratee troops break out in mutiny he would at once suppress the movement with the cabul regiments. yossouf became daily more anxious. going into the town to buy fruits and other necessaries he heard more of what was going on than could the members of the embassy. "things are very bad," he said over and over again. "it would be better for you all to go away. why does your officer stop here to be killed?" "it is his duty to stay at his post," will said. "he has been sent here by the commander-in-chief. he is like a soldier on outpost duty, he cannot desert his post because he sees danger approaching; but i wish with all my heart that an order would come for his recall, not only because of the danger, but because i am longing to be back again with my regiment; and although i am strong enough to ride down to the pun- will gale s tosition. jaub now, i cannot go except with sir lewis and his escort. although it is peace a single englishman could not travel down to jellalabad through the passes." will had from the first week after the arrival of the mission fallen into the position of an orderly-room sergeant. his duties were little more than nominal, but he acted as assistant to mr. jenkyns, and made copies and duplicates of reports and other documents which were from time to time sent down to jellalabad. being the only englishman there with the exception of the four officers, these greatly relaxed the usual dis- tance prevailing between an officer and a corporal, and treated him as a civilian clerk when in office, and with a pleasant cordiality at other times. except, indeed, that he messed alone and kept in his own room of an evening, he might have been one of the party. each day he reported to sir lewis the rumours which yossouf had gathered in the town. in his reports to headquarters major cavagnari stated that trouble liad arisen from the conduct of the heratee troops, but he scarcely made enough of the real danger which threatened the little party. had he done so, the embassy would probably have been recalled. "what have you got there, yossouf?" will asked one day when his follower returned with a larger bundle than usual. "i have brought the uniform of an afghan soldier," the boy replied, "which i have purchased from the bazaar; it is for you. i am sure that soon you will be a warning. "still, yossouf," will said, "we must hope that it is not coming to that. the ameer has sworn to protect us, and he can do so. the bala-hissar is strong, and he can easily hold it with one or two of his cabul regiments against the heratee men. he has three or four of these regiments here. he cannot be so false to his oath as to allow his guests to be massacred." yossouf made a gesture which expressed his utter disbelief in the ameer, and then again went about his duties. on the d of september, on his return from the town, he reported that there was great excitement among the people, and that he believed that the night would not pass off without trouble. major cavagnari, to whom will reported the news, sent in a message to the ameer, whose palace was within two or three hundred yards, and begged him to take measures to secure the bala-hissar against any attack by the heratees. the members of the escort available for the defence of the residency were but about fifty men. most of the cavalry were away; some were down the pass with despatches, the rest were stationed a short distance off in the plain, as forage was difficult to obtain in the fort. the ameer returned a curt message to major cava- gnari, saying that there was no cause for uneasiness. the latter, however, doubled the sentries at the gate of the little inclosure. just as the officers were about to retire to rest yossouf, who had a short time before gone out again. the attack on the mission. telling will that he would bring back news of what was going on, ran in. "the heratees are coming," he said. "the gates of the fort have been left open. the cabul men are all in their barracks. they are pouring in at the gates; do you not hear them?" william gale ran to the window, and could hear a loud and confused noise of yelling and shouting. he ran in to the envoy's room and warned him that the heratees were at hand. without the loss of a moment's time lieutenant hamilton got his men under arms, and posted them at the upper windows of 'the house, where their fire would command the approaches to the gate. quickly as this was done the afghans were close at hand by the time that each man was at his post, and instantly opened a scattering fire at the residency, shouting to the soldiers to come out and join them, and to bring out the kaffir officers to be killed. the pathans were, however, true to their salt, and in reply opened a steady fire upon the mass of the enemy. with wild yells the afghans rushed at the gate, but so steadily and rapidly did the defenders shoot from the upper windows and loopholes cut in the gate that the assailants were forced to fall back. "that's right, my lads," major cavagnari said cheer- fully to his men; "we can hold the place for some time, and the ameer will bring the cabul regiments down in no time and sweep away these rascals." the afghans, now some thousands strong, assisted by a desperate resistance. all the budmashes and turbulent portion of the popu- lation of cabul, surrounded the house on all sides, and kept up a heavy and incessant fire, which was coolly and steadily returned by the guides. after an hour's fighting there was a sudden roar above the rattle of musketry, followed by another and another. simul- taneously came the crash of shells. one burst in the house, the other tore through the gate. still there was no sign of the cabul regiments. eight or ten guns were brought to play on the little garrison. the gate was broken down, and nearly half the force of the house were already killed or wounded by the musketry and shell fire. still they continued the defence. over and over again the afghans swarmed up close to the gate, only to fall back again before the steady fire of the snider rifles of the guides. major cavagnari went from room to room encouraging the men, while the other officers and will gale, taking rifles which had fallen from the hands of men no longer able to use them, set an example of cool and steady firing to their men. for four hours the unequal contest continued; then a cry arose from the men that the house was on fire. it was but too true. a shell had exploded in the lower part of the house and had ignited the woodwork, and the fire had already obtained so firm a hold that it was impossible to extinguish it. a few of the men continued their fire from the windows to the last, while the rest carried their wounded comrades out into the ( ) o will gale's escape. his feet he wrapped round him a loose afghan cloak, and pressed a black sheepskin cap far down over his face. in a minute there was the sound of a fierce struggle without. the shots of the revolvers of the two english officers rang out in quick succession, mingled with the loud report of the afghan muskets. the savage yells rose high and triumphant. the last of the gallant band who had for hours defended the embassy had fallen. then there was a rush through the gate as the afghans swarmed into the court-yard, till the space around the burning house was well- nigh full. unperceived will gale and yossouf stepped from behind the gate and joined the throng, and at once made their way into the stables, where several of the budmashes were already engaged in their work of plunder. yossouf caught up three or four horse-rugs and made them into a loose bundle, and signed to will to do the same. the young soldier did so, and lifted them on his shoulder so as to partly hide his face. then he followed yossouf into the court-yard again. already there was a stream of men with saddles, rugs, muskets, and other plunder making their way out, while others were still thronging in. joining the former will and his guide were soon outside the inclo- sure. at any other time his disguise would have been noticed at once, but in the crowd his legs were hidden, and all were too intent upon plunder and too excited at their success to notice him . the disguise. once outside the wall he was comparatively safe; the light thrown over the court-yard by the blazing house made the darkness beyond all the more complete. keeping carefully in shadow yossouf led him along to a clump of bushes in a garden a hundred yards from the house. stooping here he pulled out a bundle. "here," he said, "is the uniform. put it on quickly!" it was but the work of a minute for will to attire himself in the uniform of the afghan soldier. he had still retained the musket which he had in his hand when yossouf had leapt upon him, and as he now went on with his guide he had no fear whatever of being detected. he still carried the bundle of rugs on his shoulder. as they walked round towards the lower gate of the bala-hissar they met numbers of villagers and townspeople thronging in. these had waited to hear the issue of the attack before leaving their homes; but now that the arrival of the plunderers from the residency and the cessation of the fire told of the successful termination of the assault, they nocked up to join in the rejoicings over the annihilation of the kaffirs. chapter xiv. the advance upon cabul. hroughout the long hours of the night of the d of september, while the roll of mus- ketry and the roar of cannon had gone on without a moment's pause just outside the walls of his palace, yakoob khan had made no movement whatever to protect his guests or fulfil his own solemn promises. silent and sullen he had sat in his council-chamber. the disgrace of a broken promise is not one which weighs heavily upon an afghan's mind, and it is not probable that the thought of his tarnished honour troubled him in the slightest degree; but he knew that the massacre which was being perpetrated at his door would be avenged, and that the english troops which had so easily beaten the army which his father had spent so many years in preparing would be set in move- ment against cabul the moment the news reached india he cannot but have dreaded the consequences. but he apparently feared even more to incur the hos- tility of the heratee regiment by interfering to save their victims. the plans of the fugitives. again and again during the night his wisest coun- cillors besought him to call upon the loyal cabullee regiments to act against the heratees, but in vain. it is doubtful whether yakoob was previously informed of the intended massacre, but there is strong reason to believe that he was so; the proofs, however, were not clear and definite. his conduct cost him his throne, and condemned him to remain to the end of his life a dishonoured pensioner and semi-prisoner in india. many eager questions were asked of will and his companion as they made their way down to the gate of the bala-hissar. yossouf took upon himself to an- swer them, and they passed through the gate without the slightest suspicion. "which way now?" "i think it will be safest to go into the city. we might lie hid for a few days in some deserted hut, but sooner or later our presence there would excite com- ment. it will be best, i think, to go into the city. in the quarters of the parsee merchants there are assuredly some who would give you shelter. domajee, who was the contractor for the supply of the mis- sion, would, i should think, be best to go to. there is little danger, for none will suspect your presence there; his servants are all hindoos." "that is the best place, yossouf. i have been down several times to domajee, and he is certainly devoted to the english; we can but try him." the first dawn of morning was breaking when will an asylum. and his faithful friend arrived at the door of the parsee trader in the hindoo quarter of cabul. the doors were fastened and barred, for it was impossible to say whether the attack upon the mission which had been heard going on all night might not be followed by a fanatic outbreak against the hindoo and parsee traders in the hindoo quarter, therefore there was little sleep that night. yossouf knocked gently at the door. "who is there?" a voice at once inquired from within. "i come on urgent business with domajee," yos- souf replied; "open quickly, there are but two of us here." there was a slight pause, and then the door was opened, and closed immediately the two visitors had entered. a light was burning in the large ante-room as they entered it, and several hindoos who had been lying wrapped up in cloths on the floor rose to their feet to inspect the new-comers. a moment later the trader himself came down the stairs from an apartment above. "what is it?" he asked. he did not pause for an answer. the light from the lamp he carried fell upon will's face, now white as a sheet from loss of blood. with the one word, "follow," the parsee turned on his heel and led the way upstairs. "has the mission been captured?" he asked, as they entered an empty room. "yes," will replied, "and i believe that i am the only survivor." the parsee trader. the fatigue of climbing the stairs completed the work caused by prolonged excitement and loss of blood; and as he spoke he tottered and would have fallen had not yossouf seized him, and with the assis- tance of the parsee laid him on a couch. in a few words yossouf informed the trader of what had happened, and satisfied him that no suspicion could arise of the presence of one of the british in his house. as the residency had been burnt down, and the bodies of those who had fallen within it consumed, no one would suspect that one of the five englishmen there had effected his escape, and it would be supposed that will's body, like that of dr. kelly, had been consumed in the flames. the parsee was sure that cabul would soon be reoc- cupied by the british, and putting aside his loyalty to them he felt that his concealment of an english sur- vivor of the massacre would be greatly to his advantage, and would secure for him the custom of the english upon their arrival at the town. he first descended the stairs, and warned his hindoo followers on no account whatever to breathe a word of the entry of strangers there. then he again returned to the room, where yossouf was sprinkling water on will's face, and was endeavouring to recover him to consciousness. "there is blood on the couch," the trader said; "he is wounded, and is suffering from its loss. see! the sleeve of his coat is soaked with blood, but i see no mark on the cloth." in good hands. "no," yossouf replied; " he has put on that uniform since the fight." "go down-stairs," the trader said; "my wife and daughter will see to him." as soon as yossouf left the room domajee's wife and daughter entered with many exclamations of sur- prise and alarm. they were at once silenced by the trader, who bid them cut off the wounded man's uni- form and stanch his wounds. will had been hit in two places. one ball had passed through the left arm, fortunately without injuring the bone; the other had struck him in the side, had run round his ribs and gone out behind, inflicting an ugly-looking but not serious wound—its course being marked by a blue line on the flesh behind the two holes of entry and exit. the wounds were washed and bound up, some cordial was poured between his lips, and ere long he opened his eyes and looked round in bewilderment. "you are safe and among friends," the parsee said. "drink a little more of the cordial, and then go off quietly to sleep. you need have no fear of being dis- covered, and your friends will be here ere long." four of the hindoo servants now, at the order of the trader, came upstairs, and, lifting the couch, carried will to a cool and airy chamber in the upper story of the house. here a soft bed of rugs and mattresses was prepared, and will was soon in a quiet sleep, with yossouf watching by his side. it was but twenty-four hours after the massacre preparations for vengeance. that a well-mounted native from cabul brought the news over the shatur-gardan pass into the khurum valley; thence it was telegraphed to simla, and in a few hours all india rang with it. not an instant was lost in making preparations for avenging the murder of the british mission. on the same day orders were sent to brigadier-general massy, at that time com- manding the field force in the khurum valley, to move the d punjaub pioneers, the th ghoorkas, and a mountain battery to the crest of the shatur-gardan pass, and to intrench themselves there. a day or two later the d highlanders and the th punjaub infantry ascended the peiwar-khotal to ali-kheyl, to secure the road between the khotal and the pass. the d then moved forward and joined the d pioneers and th ghoorkas on the shatur- gardan, and on the th general baker arrived there and took the command; but some time was needed be- fore the advance could commence. as is usual with the british, the great transport train which had with such pains been collected and organized for the war, had been dispersed immediately peace was signed, and the whole work had now to be recommenced . » vast numbers of animals had been used up during the campaign, and there was the greatest difficulty in obtaining the minimum number which was required before the troops could move. at last general roberts managed to collect in the punjaub mules and camels and bullocks. the tribes in the khurum valley, the ameer's messages. too, who had been kindly treated and were well satis- fied with the change of masters, furnished many animals for the transport of stores as far as the shatur- gardan. the news had thrown the gilgis and other tribes among the mountains beyond the peiwar-khotal into a state of ferment, and several determined attacks were made by them upon convoys on their way up to the head of the pass. these, however, were always suc- cessfully repulsed by the baggage guards with con- siderable loss to the assailants, and on the th sep- tember, three weeks from the date of the massacre, general roberts joined the troops at ali-kheyl and moved forward to the shatur-gardan. during this time two or three letters had been re- ceived from the ameer, who wrote to general roberts deprecating any advance of the british troops, and saying that he was trying to restore order, to put down the mutinous heratee troops, and to punish them for their conduct. as, however, the details which had been received of the massacre showed that the ameer had behaved in a most suspicious if not in a most treacherous manner at the time of the massacre, and that if he possessed any authority whatever over the troops he had not attempted to exercise it, no attention was paid to his letters. the advanced party of the invading force moved down from the shatur-gardan pass. it consisted of the advance. the th and th bengal cavalry, two guns of the royal horse artillery, two companies of the d highlanders, and the th punjaub native infantry. the road was found to be extremely steep and diffi- cult, and much labour was necessary before it could be made practicable for guns and wheeled carriages. no enemy was encountered, and the little force encamped at night in the logan valley, over which the cavalry skirmished far ahead, but found no foes awaiting them. on the following day they made another march for- ward, the brigades of generals baker and macpherson descending from the pass into the valley. the advance force halted at zerghun-shah, and soon after they had done so some of the cavalry rode in with the surpris- ing news that the ameer was close at hand. half an hour later yakoob khan, attended by some of his principal nobles, rode into camp. he was re- ceived with the honour due to his rank, but personally general roberts greeted him with great coldness. the ameer stated that he came into camp because he could not control the soldiery of cabul, and that therefore he had left the place and come in to show his friend- ship for the english. whatever may have been the motives for his coming, they were never fully explained; circumstances which afterwards occurred strongly confirmed the suspicion that he meditated treachery. he was treated honour- ably; but the guard of honour which was assigned to excitement among the tribes. him was in fact a guard over him, and from that time he was virtually a prisoner. general roberts declined altogether to discuss with him the events of the massacre of cabul, saying that this was a matter which could not now be entered into, but would be fully investigated on the arrival at the afghan capital. the following day the brigades of generals baker and hacpherson joined the advance at zerghun-shah. the amount of transport available was only suffi- cient for half the baggage of the army, and it was necessary, therefore, to move forward in two divisions —the one advancing a day's march, and then halting while the animals went back to bring up the baggage of the second division on the following day. a proclamation was now issued by the general and sent forward among the people of the valley, saying that the object of the expedition was only to punish those concerned in the massacre at cabul, and that all loyal subjects of the ameer would be well treated. on the d of october m acpherson's brigade, with the cavalry, reached suffed-sang. here they halted while the bag- gage animals went back to bring up general baker's brigade. the attitude of the people of the valley had now become very threatening. great numbers of hill-tribe- men had come down, and on this day an attack was made upon the rear-guard, but was beaten off with loss. that the natives were bitterly hostile was un- a difficult alternative. column would march straight up the valley into the defile, where they would be helplessly slaughtered by the guns and matchlock men on the heights. judging from their own tactics they had reason for the belief that their position was an impregnable one. in their hill fights the afghans never come to close quarters. posted behind rocks and huge boulders, the opposing sides keep up a distant musketry duel, last- ing sometimes for days, until one side or the other becomes disheartened with its losses or has exhausted its ammunition. then it falls back, and the other claims the victory. the idea that english soldiers would, under a heavy fire from their concealed force, steadily climb up the broken mountain-side and come to close quarters, probably never entered into their calculations. at daybreak on the th a working party were sent forward to improve the road towards the defile. but they had scarcely started when the cavalry patrol in advance rode in and announced that the enemy were in great strength on the hills, and had guns in position to command the road. general roberts had now a choice of two courses— he could either attack the whole afghan force with the one division at hand, or he could wait until joined by macpherson's brigade next morning. the feat of carrying such a position in face of an immensely superior force with only half of his little command was a very serious one; but upon the other hand every the advance against the afghans. hour added to the number of hillmen who swarmed upon the flanks of the army just beyond musket range. a delay of twenty-four hours would bring the whole fighting force of the tribesmen into the valley, and while attacking the enemy's position in the front he would be liable to an assault upon his rear by them. confident in the valour of his soldiers he chose the first alternative, and at eleven o'clock his little force marched out from the camp to attack the afghan army. by this time the enemy's position had been recon- noitred, and it was found to be too strong for a direct attack. it was therefore resolved to ascend the hills on both flanks and so to drive their defenders back beyond the defile. this in any case would have been the best mode of assault, but against semi-savage ene- mies flank attacks are peculiarly effective. having prepared for an assault in one direction, they are dis- concerted and disheartened by finding themselves at- tacked in a different manner, and the fear of a flank being turned and the line of retreat thereby menaced will generally suffice to cause a rapid retreat. general baker himself took the command of the left attack. his force consisted of four guns of no. mountain battery, two gatling guns, the th com- pany of sappers and miners, a wing of the d high- landers, six companies of the th ghoorkas, men of the th punjaub infantry, and of the d pioneers. this was the main column of attack. the left column, under the command of major white the battle of charasia. of the d highlanders, consisted of a wing of that regiment, men of the d pioneers, three guns of the royal artillery, and two squadrons of cavalry. this attack was intended only as a feint, and to dis- tract the attention of the afghans from the main at- tack. a strong reserve was left in chaurasia to guard the baggage and to overhaul the tribesmen. as general baker's column reached the foot of the hills, the d, who led the advance, thrown out in skirmishing line, began to climb the ascent. the enemy were armed with sniders and enfields, and their fire was rapid and continuous; fortunately it was by no means accurate, and our losses were small. the afghans in their hill fighting are accustomed to fire very slowly and deliberately, taking steady aim with their guns resting on the rocks, and so fighting they are excellent shots. it is probable, however, that the steady advance of our men towards them flurried and disconcerted them, and that they thought more of firing quickly than of taking a correct aim. the d pressing up the hill were assisted by the fire of the mountain guns and gatlings, and by that of the pun- jaubees in their rear. gradually the upper slopes of the hills were gained, and the british troops pressing forward drove the afghans back along the crest. several times they made obstinate stands, holding their ground until the d were close to them. these, however, would not be denied. the massacre of the mission at cabul had infuriated the soldiers, and ( ) p the capture of the defile each man was animated with a stern determination to avenge our murdered countrymen. for an hour and a half the fight continued, and then the afghans aban- doned the ridge and fled in confusion. they rallied upon some low hills yards from the rear, but the mountain guns and gatlings opened upon them, and the whole line advancing to the attack, the enemy fell back. major white's column had been doing ex- cellent service on the right. although the attack had been intended only as a feint it was pushed forward so vigorously that it met with a success equal to that which had attended the main column on the left. the enemy were driven off the hills on the right of the defile. twenty guns were captured, and the direct road cleared of the enemy. unfortunately our cavalry was in the rear. the road through the pass was difficult, and before they could get through into the plain on the other side the masses of afghans had fallen back into the strong villages scattered over it, and could not be attacked by cavalry alone. the enemy had from to , men upon the ridge, including thirteen regiments of regular troops. they left dead upon the field, and besides these carried off large numbers of killed and wounded during the fight. upon our side only were killed and wounded. had general roberts had his whole force with him, he could after capturing the hills have at once pushed forward and have attacked the enemy on the plain, and dispersal of the afghan army. the afghans, disheartened and panic-stricken, would have been completely crushed. with so small a force in hand, and the possibility of a serious attack by the tribes on his rear, general roberts did not think it prudent to advance farther, and the regiments which had taken the principal part in the massacre of cabul marched away unmolested. enormously superior as they still were in numbers they had no thought of further resistance. the cap- ture of positions which they deemed impregnable by a force so inferior in number to their own had utterly disheartened them, and the heratee regiments, which but the day before had been so proudly confident of their ability to exterminate the kaffirs, were now ut- terly demoralized and panic-stricken. in the night the whole of the afghan troops scattered and fled. our cavalry, under general massy, swept along the plain of cabul, and, skirting the town, kept on as far as the ameer's great intrenched camp at sherpur, three miles further along the valley. here guns were captured. in the morning macpherson arrived. general ro- berts now advanced with his whole force of infantry and found that he had no longer a foe before him. the afghan army had disappeared. there was no longer any occasion for haste, and the column halted until all the baggage had been brought up through the difficult defile. the total defeat of the afghan army had overawed the tribesmen, and these at once retired to their hills again. the entry into cabul. the villagers, however, were bitterly hostile, and seized every opportunity of firing at small bodies of troops on cavalry patrols. this continued for some time, and general roberts at last was obliged to punish it with severity, and in such cases all found with arms in their hands were at once shot. on the th of oc- tober sir frederick roberts and his staff with a cavalry escort rode into the bala-hissar, and the next morning the british troops marched into the fort. the gates of cabul stood open, and a column was marched through the town and formal possession taken of it. during the first five weeks which elapsed after the massacre of the mission william gale remained almost prostrate in the house of the friendly parsee trader. he had barely recovered his strength after his prolonged illness when the attack was made, and the events of that night, and the great loss of blood which he had suffered, had reduced his strength to that of an infant. under the care of the parsee and his family, however, he slowly but steadily regained strength. for the first month but little news from without reached him; then a report came that the british had assembled in con- siderable force on the crest of the shatur-gardan, and were going to move on cabul from that direction . then day by day the tidings came in of the advance of the force. it was reported generally that the ameer had gone out to meet them, with the intention of leaving them when the decisive moment arrived and taking com- chapter xv. the fighting round cabul. ll day long on the th of october william gale sat at an open window in the upper story of the parsee's house facing west, and listened to the distant roar of the battle, while all cabul was in a state of wild excitement in the sure anticipa- tion of victory. will felt equally confident as to the result of the battle. he knew that, well led, a british force could be trusted to carry any position held by the afghans, and he felt sure that even should he fail to carry it by direct attack the english general would sooner or later succeed in turning it by flank movements. about two o'clock in the afternoon william noticed a change in the character of the sounds in the town. in the hindoo quarter all had been quiet, for the inhabi- tants greatly feared that, in a burst of fanaticism fol- lowing a victory achieved over the british, the afghans might sack the hindoo quarter and murder its inha- bitants. yossouf, however, had been all the morning out in the town, and had from time to time brought in a report of the rumours current there. conflicting emotions. at first it was said that the british were being ut- terly routed, that they were being exterminated by the afghan fire, that the hill-tribes were sweeping down upon their rear, and that not a man would escape. presently the reports became more contradictory. the firing was still heard, but it was no longer one con- tinuous roll. some said that the british were anni- hilated; others that, repulsed in their attack, they had fallen back to their camp; but soon after two o'clock yossouf rushed up to william's room with the news that the afghans had been driven from the heights, and that the british were in possession of these and of the defile through them. yossouf had throughout the morning been swayed by conflicting emotions and wishes. at one moment he hoped that his countrymen might conquer; then the fear that after victory the hindoo quarter might be sacked and his english friend discovered and killed, overpowered his feeling of pa- triotism. it must be remembered that afghanistan has for centuries been rather a geographical expression than a country. its population is composed of a great number of tribes without any common feelings or in- terest, and often engaged in desperate wars and con- flicts with each other. the two leading tribes, the ghilzais and duranees, had long struggled for ascen- dency in the cultivated portion of the country. for a long period the ghilzais had had the supremacy, but the duranees were now lords of the country. the afghan tribe. the mountain tribes for the most part held them- selves entirely independent, and although in time they gave a nominal allegiance to the ameer of cabul, yet> as had been shown in the khurum valley, they hated their native masters with an animosity far exceeding that which they felt towards the british. that throughout the war the tribesmen were ready when they saw an opportunity to attack english convoys and small columns is true, but they were animated by a love of plunder rather than of country; and over a considerable area of afghanistan, notably at candahar, the people in general would have infinitely preferred the mild and just rule of the english to the military tyranny of cabul. thus yossouf had grown up without understanding the meaning of the feeling which we call patriotism. he had, it is true, been taught to hate the unbelievers, but this feeling had disappeared on his acquaintance with will gale, and he now ranked the safety and happiness of his friend far before any national consideration. how weak is the feeling of patriotism among the afghans is shown by the fact that most of the british frontier troops consist of afghan hillmen, who are always ready, when called upon, to fight desperately against their countrymen and co-religionists. examples of treachery, such as that exhibited by the two pathans who fired their guns to warn their country- men of the british advance up the spingwai pass, are almost unknown. will rejoins the troops. it was then with a feeling of joy that yossouf related to his english friends the news of the defeat of the afghan army. throughout the hindoo quarter there was deep but suppressed gladness at the news of the british victory, and this increased when, as the night went on, it was known that the afghan army was totally dispersed, that the troops remaining in cabul had fled, and that the city was virtually open for the entrance of the english. when, on the th, with bands playing and colours displayed, the british troops marched through cabul, will would fain have gone out and joined his coun- trymen. but the parsee pointed out to him that this would draw the attention of the afghans to the fact that he had been concealed by him, and that in case at any time the british should evacuate cabul and return to india he would be a marked man for the vengeance of the afghans. will, therefore, wrapped up in a long cloak and accompanied by yossouf and the parsee, left the house after dark, and proceeding to the gate walked out to the bala-hissar. explaining who he was will was soon passed through the sentries which had been set at nightfall, and was conducted to the quarters of the general. the latter was greatly surprised when he was told that an eng- lish soldier who had been present at the attack upon the mission wished to speak to him, and at once ordered will to be brought before him. great was his surprise when he learned from the young soldier that surprise of the general. he had fought under him at the taking of peiwar- khotal, and having been made prisoner near ali-kheyl had been brought to cabul, and had joined the party of sir lewis gavagnari on its arrival at that city. still more that, having been in the residency when the attack upon it was commenced by the heratee soldiery, he had managed to escape from the massacre of that night. after having first heard a complete outline of will's story the general called in several of his staff, who had just finished dinner, and then requested will to give a full and detailed description of his adventures. after he had concluded, yossouf and the parsee were called in, and the general warmly expressed his grati- fication at the kindness that they had shown to a wounded english soldier at the risk of their lives. he ordered that a handsome present should be made to yossouf, and told the parsee to call again in the morning, when the quartermaster-general would be told to arrange with him for the supply of such articles as the country afforded for the use of the troops. "your regiment," he said to will, "is at present at jellalabad; whether it will come up here i do not yet know, but in the meantime you will be promoted to the rank of sergeant, which is the least we can do after what you have gone through, and you will take your place with my staff orderly sergeants." he then sent for one of the sergeants and gave will into his charge, telling him he would speak further yossouf follows will. with him when he had arranged the pressing business which the occupation of cabul entailed upon him. yossouf remained with will, being at his urgent request placed upon the roll as a native follower, of whom a considerable number accompany each regiment in india. his duties were but nominal, for when will's story was well known yossouf became a most popular character among the sergeants of the staff. the money which he had received, in the first place from the ameer and now from general roberts, would secure his future. in afghanistan animals are cheap, and the owner of a small herd of oxen, sheep, or even goats, is regarded by his neighbours as a wealthy man. there- fore yossouf would, on the departure of the british, be able to settle down in a position of comparative affluence. two days later general roberts being one evening disengaged sent for william gala he had been much struck with the bearing and manner of the young soldier, and now requested him to give him a full history of his antecedents. "you have had a curious and eventful history," he said when the young sergeant had finished, "and appear to have conducted yourself with great discre- tion, readiness, and courage. from what you tell me of your conversation with colonel shepherd i have no doubt that he formed the same impression that i do from your manner and appearance, that you are of a respectable if not of good family, and i trust that you will some day discover a clue to your parents. it a commission promised. seems to me that had the authorities of the place where you were left properly bestirred themselves they ought to have been able to find out who you are. however, that is not to the point now. it is sufficient for me that from your manner and address you would not be out of place in any position. i shall, of course, report the fact of your having fought by major cava- gnari's side in the attack upon him here, and shall strongly recommend that a commission be granted you. i am sure that from your conduct hitherto you will never do discredit to any position in which you may find yourself. say nothing to your fellow sergeants of what i have told you. it is possible, although not probable, that my recommendation may not be acted upon, and at anyrate some months must elapse before an answer can be received." william gale returned to his quarters in a state of extreme delight. the communication which general roberts had made to him was altogether beyond his hopes. he had indeed from the very day that he enlisted often hoped that some time or other he might win for himself a commission, and take his place in the rank to which he had from his childhood believed that he was by birth entitled. the words and manner of his colonel had encouraged this hope, but he had never dreamed that his promotion might be attained so soon. it was but a year since he had enlisted, and five was the very earliest at which he had even dreamed that a commission might possibly be gained. "one ok the gunpowder magazines had exploded." a terrible explosion. the next day he had been sent from the orderly- room with a note to the colonel of the th, which was the regiment now in quarters in the bala-hissar, the rest of the force being encamped in the plain below. as he was walking across the open he was suddenly hurled to the ground with tremendous violence, and at the same moment a roar as loud as that of thunder sounded in his ears. bewildered and half stunned he rose to his feet, while showers of stones, beams, and other debris fell around him. one of the gunpowder magazines had exploded. it had been known that very large quantities of powder were stored in various buildings at the bala-hissar, and at the moment of the explosion a body of engineers under captain shafto were examining the buildings in which it was stored, and making preparation for the removal of the powder. singularly enough no soldiers of the th were killed, but of the ghoorkas who were on guard at the arsenal at the time twelve were killed and seven wounded. shafto was unfor- tunately killed. the th were at once called out and set to work to extinguish the flames which had been kindled by the explosion, great damage being done. the southern wall of the arsenal had been blown down and several buildings set on fire. ex- plosion followed explosion, and the work of extin- guishing the flames was an extremely dangerous one. in the afternoon another magazine blew up; fortunately no troops were in its neighbourhood at the time, but a beleaguered garrison. four afghans were killed and several soldiers hurt at a distance of three or four hundred yards from the spot. although it was never proved, it was strongly be- lieved that these explosions were caused by the afghans, and as large quantities of powder still remained in the bala-hissar it was determined that for the present the place should be evacuated. the general therefore with his staff and the regiment in garrison left the place and joined the camp in the plain. the little force at cabul was now isolated. troops were slowly coming up the khyber pass to jellalabad, where a division was to be formed, destined in the spring to join the force at cabul should it be necessary to carry on further operations. between cabul and the shatur-gardan the natives were in a restless and excited state. two attacks by men had been made on the garrison holding the crest of the latter position, in number. these bravely sallied out, attacked the enemy in the open, and killed large numbers of them. still great num- bers of the tribesmen were gathered round, and general gough with the th punjaubee cavalry, the th pun- jaubee infantry, and four guns, was therefore sent from cabul to bring down from the shatur-gardan the gar- rison and all the stores accumulated there. the pass, which would shortly be closed by snow, was then to be deserted. several executions now took place at cabul of men who were proved to have shared in the attack on the abdication of the ameer. embassy. some of the leading men of the place, who had instigated the troops to the attack, were among those executed. many of the villagers were also hung for shooting at detached bodies of our troops. a proclama- tion had been issued by the general on his first arrival, warning the people that any attempt against our authority would be severely punished, forbidding the carrying of weapons within the streets of cabul or within a distance of five miles of the city gates, and offering a reward for all arms belonging to the afghan troops, which should be given up, and for the surrender of any person, whether soldier or civilian, concerned in the attack on the embassy. the position of the british force at cabul was that of a body holding only the ground they occupied in the midst of a bitterly hostile country. the ameer was powerless, and indeed his good-will was more than doubtful. he had from his arrival in the camp been regarded as a prisoner, although treated with courtesy; and after the battle of charasia, feeling his own impotence, and being viewed with hostility by both parties, he resigned his position as ameer, and asked to be sent to india, which was done. the abdication of the ameer really took place on the day the troops entered cabul, but it was not publicly known until the end of the month, as nothing could be done on the subject until his desire was communi- cated to the indian authorities and their views concer- ning it ascertained. the sherpur barracks. from the moment of his arrival at cabul general roberts had set to work to prepare for the winter. he would for four or five months be entirely cut off, and would have to rely upon himself alone. he had before him the terrible catastrophe which had on the same ground befallen general elphinstone's army, and knew that it was possible, and indeed probable, that, with the memory of that success before them, the afghans would unite in another great effort to anni- hilate the little force shut up in the heart of their country. fortunately he had in the ameer's barracks at sherpur a position which he was confident he could hold against any attacks that could be made upon him. these extensive barracks had been erected by sheer- ali for the use of his cavalry, but had never been used. they consisted of a large square, three sides of which were surrounded by a lofty wall, an isolated and rocky steep hill rising at the back and closing the fourth side. the buildings were amply large enough to con- tain the whole of general roberts' force, and there was abundant room for the stores, baggage animals, and waggons; the only fault was, indeed, that the extent of wall to be defended was too long for the force at his disposal. round two sides the outer wall was complete, but on the third it had not been taken to its full height, nor had it been continued so as to join the hill behind it. great efforts were made to bring in sufficient provi- preparing for winter. sions and forage for the winter, and expeditions were made up the logan, maidan, and other valleys for the purpose. winter was fast setting in. snow had begun to fall upon the hills, and ice formed on the pools every night. the natives of the valleys near were ready enough to sell their grain, straw, and fuel, but few supplies came in from a distance, as armed bands stopped all supplies on their way. however, a suffi- cient amount of food and fuel was obtained and stored in sherpur. grain, too, was procured for the winter, and the only article of which the supply was insuffi- cient was chopped straw, of which a very large quantity was required. the attitude of the natives grew daily more hostile. their priests were preaching a revolt to the death, and recalling to the people how their fathers had annihi- lated a british force thirty years before. urged alike by fanaticism and a desire for plunder, the natives over the whole country were seething with excitement, and general roberts saw that a crisis was approaching. the afghans could assemble at least , men, and among these would be included all the troops of the ameer's disbanded armies, armed with weapons equal to our own, and burning to revenge the defeats which had been inflicted upon them. to oppose them the english general had less than men. but though prepared for trouble, the storm, when it came, burst suddenly upon the english. the enemy were known to be collecting in great numbers in the maidan ( ) q the afghan outbreak. valley, and two columns were sent out to attack them. one was commanded by macpherson, the other by baker. although they were to strike simultaneously at the enemy their route of march lay up different valleys, with a lofty mountain range between them, so they could in no way co-operate with each other. after they had started, general massy was directed to move out with a small force of cavalry and a battery of horse artillery, and co-operate with general macpherson. an hour after the cavalry had started general roberts himself rode out. he was accompanied by his usual escort, and by two mounted orderly sergeants. one of these was william gale. they had only pro- ceeded a short distance when they heard some distance ahead of them the guns of the royal horse artillery with massy at work, and the general at once rode forward at a gallop. general macpherson had found mahomed jan, one of the principal leaders of the afghans, with , men near chardeh. a fight ensued. the guns shelled the enemy, but the water-courses prevented the cavalry with mac- pherson acting, and mahomed jan, moving across the hills, placed himself between macpherson and cabul. shortly afterwards general massy, who had with him three troops of the th lancers and forty-four men of the th bengal lancers, with four guns under major smith-wyndham, came in sight of a portion of ma- homed jan's force. general massy's action. it was clear that these had in some way interposed themselves between the little force and macpherson's column, and massy supposed that they were a party of fugitives flying before the force of macpherson or baker. as they came streaming down the hill he got his guns into action. after a few shells had been fired, the enemy advanced in full force. four thousand men were extended in the shape of a crescent, advanc- ing in fairly good order, while behind was an irregular mob of some six thousand men. the ground upon which general massy found him- self at this time was singularly unfitted for the action of artillery. it was cut up by deep water-courses, and anything like rapidity of movement was impossible. it would have been prudent had massy, when he saw how large was the force opposed to him, at once retired until he came to ground where his guns could be rapidly manoeuvred; but relying upon the effect of the shell, he remained in the position in which he had first discovered the enemy. the shell pitched rapidly into the thick of the afghans, but no effect was pro- duced in checking their advance. they did not waver for a moment, but came steadily on. the enemy's bullets were now dropping fast among the cavalry and guns. thirty of the th lancers were dismounted and opened fire with their martini carbines, but the enemy were too numerous to be checked by so small a body of men. at this moment sir frederick roberts arrived upon a splendid charge. the spot. the position was serious, and to retire the guns in safety it was absolutely necessary to check the advance of the enemy. general roberts therefore ordered massy to send his cavalry at the enemy. colonel cleland led a squadron of the th full at the advancing mass, the bengal lancers following, while captain gough with his troop of the th charged the enemy's left flank; but even the charge of bala- clava was scarcely more desperate than this. two hundred and twenty men, however gallant, could not be expected to conquer , . the three bodies of cavalry charged at full speed into the midst of the enemy's infantry, who received them with a terrible fire which killed many horses and men. the impetus of the charge bore down the leading ranks of the afghans, and the cavalry tore their way through the mass until their progress was blocked by sheer weight of numbers. a desperate melee took place, the troopers fighting with their sabres, the afghans with knives and clubbed muskets. many of the soldiers were struck from their horses, some were dragged to their feet again by their comrades, others were killed upon the ground. the chaplain of the force, the rev. mr. adams, had ac- companied the troopers in the charge, and seeing a man jammed under a fallen horse he leaped from his saddle and extricated him, and brought him off in spite of the attack of several afghans. for this act of bravery he received the victoria cross, being the first the guns abandoned. chaplain in the army who had ever obtained that de- coration. when the dust raised by the charging squadrons had subsided it was seen that the enemy were still ad- vancing. the lancers had fallen back, and as the men galloped in they rallieji behind captain gough's troop, which had kept best together, and had formed up again between the guns and the enemy. lieutenants hersee and ricardo and sixteen of their men had been left dead upon the ground. colonel cleland, lieu- tenant mackenzie, and seven of the troopers were wounded. a second charge was ordered, but this time it was not pushed home, as a wide water-course checked the advance. under cover of the first cavalry charge major smith-wyndham had ordered two of the guns to be taken oft', and as he now fell back with the other two one of them stuck in the water-course. the greatest efforts were made with the horses which still remained uninjured to get the gun out, but the enemy were pressing close on. lieutenant hardy was killed by a shot through the head, and the gun was aban- doned. the other three guns were retired or yards farther, but here they became hopelessly bogged in a channel deeper than any that had hitherto been met with. they were spiked and left in the water, and the drivers and gunners moved off with the cavalry just as the enemy poured down upon them. seeing the danger of the situation and the large a call for aid. force of the enemy, general roberts had, on his first arrival, sent off a trooper at full gallop to general gough, who commanded at sherpur, ordering him to send out two hundred men of the d highlanders at the double to hold the gorge leading direct from the scene of conflict to cabul. there was but a very small garrison of british troops in the city, and had the enemy made their way there the townspeople would have risen and a serious disaster taken place. after leaving the guns behind them the cavalry retired steadily towards the village at the head of the gorge, keeping up a hot fire with their carbines on the enemy who pressed upon them. '"ride back, sergeant gale," the general said, "and meet the d. hurry them up at full speed—every minute is precious." william gale rode back at full speed. until a fort- night before he had never been on a horse, but the animal which he rode was well trained and steady, and hitherto he had had no difficulty in keeping his seat as he trotted along with the escort. it was a different thing now, for the ground was rough and the horse going at a full gallop, and he clung on to the pummel of the saddle to steady himself. as he passed through the village he saw the highlanders coming along at a trot half a mile further on, and was soon beside colonel brownlow, who commanded them. "the enemy are pressing the cavalry back, sir," he said as with difficulty he pulled up his horse. "the just in time. general desires you to use the greatest possible speed, as every moment is precious." panting and out of breath as the highlanders were they responded to colonel brownlow's shout, and rush- ing forward almost at racing speed reached the village while the afghans were still yards beyond it. they instantly opened such a fire upon the enemy that the latter ceased their advance and soon fell back, and cabul was for the moment safe. chapter xvi. the fight in the pass. he afghan force, after half an hour's effort to carry the village held by the high- landers, moved off to their left, and work- ing along the hills took post on the heights beyond bala-hissar. in the meantime general macpherson, having dispersed a strong body of the enemy up the valley, marched back towards cabul, and coming across the scene of the late action brought in the bodies of the dead officers. the guns had already been carried off, for as the enemy advanced colonel mac- gregor, collecting a handful of lancers and artillery- men, worked round to their rear, and, dispersing a small body of the enemy who had lingered at a village near the guns, succeeded in extricating the cannon from the swamp and carried them off to sherpur. from the signal-post established above bala-hissar an order was flashed to general baker, who was many miles away, to inform him of what had occurred, and to order him to march back with all speed. late that evening he arrived with his column, and the british storming the heigiit. force was again united. the next day men of macpherson's brigade, composed of portions of the th, the d, the d sikhs, and th ghoorkas, were sent out to attack the enemy, who had established themselves upon a lofty peak south of cabul. the afghans occupied the crest in strength, and hidden behind the hill had or men lying in wait to attack the assailing party in the rear as they pressed upwards. the position was, however, too strong to be carried. after several hours of fighting the little british force had driven the afghans from the lower part of the hill, but were unable to mount towards the crest, for ammunition was running short, and the enemy were too strongly posted. general roberts therefore ordered macpherson to hold the ground which he had gained until next morning, when more troops would be sent. at eight o'clock in the morning, accordingly, general baker moved out from sherpur with a strong force and attacked the enemy's position in flank, while macpher- son continued his advance in front. the afghans fought desperately, and clung to their position until the british were close up, when a desperate hand-to- hand struggle took place, and the british became mas- ters of the position. while the fighting had been going on great masses of the enemy had come down from the end of the valley and threatened the road between sherpur and cabul. the th lancers made a magnificent charge among them, broke them, and drove them back. the enemy reinforced. several other brilliant charges were made, and the plain was kept clear of the enemy. captain butson, however, who commanded, was killed, and two other officers wounded. with each hour that passed the position grew more serious, as immense bodies of the enemy were seen advancing from all sides. the city was now in open revolt, and the small garrison there with difficulty held their own. one more effort was made to drive the enemy off the hills. early on the loth general baker, with infantry and eight guns, left the cantonment. after very severe fighting the enemy were driven from their lowest posi- tions, but as baker advanced a body of from , to , of the enemy marched out across the plain towards the position just captured. steadily they ad- vanced, and the shells which our mountain guns sent among them, and the volleys poured down from the face of the hill, did not suffice to check them in the slightest . reassured by their own enormous numbers, and feeling that success was in their grasp, they pressed forward and desperate fighting took place. a position held by the th punjaub infantry was carried by their attack and two guns were lost, but the rest of the positions were maintained. seeing that it was impossible to hold the bala-hissar and cabul in the face of the hordes opposed to him, which were estimated by the general himself as numbering , men, but which the afghans themselves after- wards acknowledged were between , and , , safe in the cantonments. general roberts determined to concentrate his troops at sherpur. baker was ordered to maintain the posi- tion he held at all costs until the troops from the bala- hissar were withdrawn. this he did; and although as he fell back the afghan hordes swarmed round him, he fought his way back to sherpur, and by nightfall all the british force were safely gathered in the canton- ments there. two days previously general roberts had tele- graphed for the regiments most advanced in the passes below to come forward; they arrived on the morning of the icth, and the general had no longer any anxiety as to his ability to hold the cantonments for months, if necessary, against the attacks of the afghans. had these attacked on the morning following what was vir- tually a victory, whilst still flushed with triumph and excitement, it would have needed all the efforts of the english to hold their position against so formidable an attack. the afghans, however, contented them- selves with occupying several walled villages near the cantonment and keeping up an incessant fire upon it. meanwhile their main body indulged in wild excesses in cabul, sacking the hindoo quarter and plundering all the shops without much distinction of nationality. thus three days elapsed, the british making the most of the time afforded them by strengthening the weak points of their defences. lines of waggons were placed in the gap between the unfinished wall and the foot the afghan assault. of the hill. wires were stretched in all directions and chevaux-de-frise erected beyond. on the th the enemy came down in force, and for some hours a tremendous musketry fire was kept up at the position; but the fire of the musketry and guns from the walls was so hot that they did not venture upon an attack. the following day general baker sallied out and attacked a fortified post a few hundred yards from the wall. from this place the enemy had greatly annoyed the garrison. after some severe fighting the afghans were driven out and the place blown up. on the evening of the d the general received news that the afghans, having prepared a great number of ladders for the assault, intended to attack that night. there had been several similar warnings, but this time the news proved correct. a signal fire was lit upon one of the heights at four in the morning, and at five o'clock the plain was covered with the enemy. quietly they crept up in the darkness towards the walls, and at six o'clock a prodigious shouting was heard, and from the villages, orchards, and inclosed ground upon all sides the enemy dashed forward to the as- sault. as they approached they opened fire on all sides, pressing chiefly towards the weak point near the foot of the hills. but tremendous as was the roar of the afghan fire it was drowned by the roll of musketry which broke from the whole circuit of the walls where dispersal of the tribes. cavalry swept backward and forward, cutting them up in all directions, while the fire of our infantry and of the guns on the walls searched them through and through whenever they attempted to gather in a knot and make a stand. by nightfall the whole of the afghans had either fled to the hills or were driven into cabul . upon the following day general gough's force marched in; but before their arrival it was found that the enemy had again evacuated the city, and the british were, as before, masters of the position. after the decisive defeat which had been inflicted upon them, and the dispersion of the great force which had gathered confident of victory, there was little fear of any further attempt on the part of the enemy. they had brought their whole force into the field, and as this was defeated and dispersed before the arrival of general gough with his reinforcements it was evident that success could not be hoped for against the united strength of the english. the time passed quietly now. the bala-hissar and cabul were reoccupied, and as the natives were cowed by the crushing defeat they had experienced, there was no longer any repetition of the insolent and defiant manner which they had before manifested. on the d of january a message was brought to the orderly-room that the general wished to see ser- geant gale. upon his presenting himself at the general's quarters sir frederick roberts, to his sur- the commission. prise, at once advanced and shook him warmly by the hand. "mr. gale," he said, "i am very happy to inform you that the horse guards have acted upon my recom- mendation, seconded by that which was sent in by your colonel, who wrote at once upon receiving a noti- fication from me of the step i had taken, saying that you had distinguished yourself very highly in the attack upon the peivvar-khotal, and that he was con- vinced that you would make in all respects an excellent officer. with my despatches that have just come in i have received a notification that my request has been attended to, together with a copy of the gazette, in which you are appointed to the th regiment. i have to congratulate you, sir; you are now an officer, and will, i am quite sure, do every credit to my recom- mendation." the young soldier was for a moment too moved at the tidings to speak coherently, but he murmured his thanks to the general for his kindness. "do not say anything about that," the general said heartily; "it is a pleasure to me to have been able to advance a promising young soldier. i am only sorry that you are not gazetted to a regiment in my own division. the th are at candahar, and unfor- tunately they will not, i understand, form part of a column with which general stuart will advance in the spring up the valley through ghuzni to this place. had it been so it would have been best for you to wait down the pass. civilian clothes and under linen of all descriptions. an- other £ bought him a horse and saddlery; while for£ he obtained a rough pony for the use of yossouf, who steadily refused to leave him, although will pointed out to him that, glad as he should be to have him with him, it would be far more to his advantage to remain among his people at cabul, where he had means of settling comfortably. upon the following day, having obtained his new uniform, which he found required no alteration to fit him fairly, william gale dined with general roberts, who had kindly invited him in order to introduce him in his new position to the officers of his staff. he was obliged to remain three or four days longer at sherpur until a strong escort with sick was going down through the passes to jellalabad. his baggage was stowed upon a camel, and after a kind adieu from general roberts, and a very cordial one from the staff sergeants, among whom he had worked for three months, he started with the convoy for the lower valleys. the escort con- sisted of a hundred men of the infantry of the guides. the way down the pass was difficult, but no snow had fallen for three weeks, and the roads were fairly beaten down by passing parties. still their progress was slow, and late on the afternoon of the second day after starting they were still four miles from the fort of jugdulluk, which was held by a british force, and where they were to halt for the night. the guides were on the alert . a party of four men ( ) r the attack on the convoy were yards ahead of the little column, which was commanded by captain edwards. presently a shot rang out from the front followed by a scattered dis- charge. william gale was at the moment riding by the side of captain edwards; he had already placed himself under that officer's orders in case of any emergency. "mr. gale," captain edwards said, "will you ride forward at once with six men to the advanced party. when you get there take such measures as you may think fit, and send me back word as to the strength and position of the enemy." with six of the guides will at once rode forward, while captain edwards halted until the little column was gathered closely together, the camels and dhoolies with sick men in the centre, the soldiers in readiness for action around them . a soldier now ran up with a slip of paper upon which will had scribbled in pencil: "the enemy are apparently in considerable force. the defile opens here. they are disposed among rocks and boulders on either side." will on arriving at the advanced party had found at once that the force of the enemy was too strong for him to attempt to move forward at present. he had posted the men behind boulders by the wayside, order- ing them to pick off any man that showed himself, and they were soon engaged in a sharp musketry skirmish with the enemy. one of their number had fallen at the first discharge, and will, taking his rifle, used it with effect until the head of the convoy arrived. the fight in the defile. it was now fast becoming dark, and the flashes of the enemy's fire from behind the rocks showed how numerous were the assailants. "there must be a couple of thousands of the scoundrels," will said to captain edwards as the latter came up to ascertain the state of affairs. "hampered with the convoy, the position is an awkward one. it is fortunate they attacked where they did, for we can hold our own here; while, if they had waited till we got fairly down into this comparatively open valley and then attacked us' on both flanks, it would have been very awkward. we must try and clear them out; we cannot stop here all night. it is freezing very sharp now, and the cold will be intense in an hour or two." "i will take thirty men," captain edwards said, "and skirmish along among the rocks on the left. do you take as many more, and move along the right of the path. the remaining forty shall stay here under my sergeant to guard the convoy from an attack in rear in case any of the enemy should come down the defile behind us." the fight soon became exceedingly hot. making their way along the rocks on either side of the path, the guides slowly drove the enemy before them. it was hard work, however, for the tribesmen fought steadily, and as those in front fell back upon those lower down the valley their resistance became every moment more obstinate. eight of will's party had already fallen; but although, sword in hand, he was leading them, hemmed in. encouraging them with voice and gesture, not a bullet had as yet struck him. presently captain edwards, having crossed the valley, stood by his side. "we are at a standstill," he said. "nine of my men are killed or wounded already, and the fellows are as thick as peas. i am afraid we shall never be able to force our way through. there," he exclaimed, as a sound of firing was heard in the rear, "they have come down on the convoy from behind. we had better, i think, fall back a bit, and take post near the mouth of the defile. we must defend ourselves as best we can till morning." the movement was steadily executed, the wounded men being carried with them as they retired. the tribes- men advanced as they fell back, not venturing to press them, however, for the rear-guard kept their faces to- wards them, and any who ventured to show themselves instantly paid the penalty of their rashness. for an hour the fight went on. it was night now, and dark as pitch in the deep valley in which the fight was going on, the position of the combatants being only indicated by the flickering flashes of the muskets. the afghans were gradually creeping nearer, as the guides could see by the flashes. "if the fellows only make a determined rush at us," captain edwards said to will, "it will go hard with us. fortunately they are as much in the dark as we are, and will find it difficult to gather for a rush." "i think we may hold out till morning, but by that will gale's offer. time news that we are blockaded here will spread throughout the hills, and we may have , of them down on us. i think, if you will give me leave, the best plan will be for me to try and make my way down to jugdulluk to bring up help from there." "you would never get through," captain edwards advised. "it is a brave offer, gale, but could not be done." "i think it might be done," will said. "it is as dark as pitch. i will take my lad with me, and will borrow a native cap and cloak from one of the bearers —there are some afghans among them. i will take off my patrol jacket and leave it behind me, and my boots. we will crawl along in the dark. if, as is likely enough, we stumble against some of them, we will say we are wounded and are making our way to the rear. they cannot see us in the dark, and my afghan will pass muster, and yossouf will certainly not be suspected. if i am discovered and killed he will go forward and deliver the message." the plan seemed to offer every possibility of success, and captain edwards, seeing how serious the position was, consented to allow will to attempt it. a few words to yossouf sufficed to inform him of the task will was about to undertake, and he at once agreed to share the danger. a rough sheepskin cap was obtained for will from one of the camel men. his tunic was thrown off, and a posteen or afghan sheepskin coat was put on in its place. he took a a desperate mission. long matchlock which the camel man carried slung over his shoulders, took off his boots, and thrust a pair of loose afghan shoes into his belt. yossouf needed no preparations beyond borrowing a matchlock. wring- ing captain edwards' hand, will stooped on his hands and knees, and, with yossouf a pace or two ahead, began to crawl down the path. before starting the orders had been sent round to the soldiers to fire at the rocks on either side of the path, but on no account to fire down the road itself. as he expected, will found this clear of afghans for a considerable distance. a heavy fire had, previous to their starting, been directed down this path to prevent the afghans from gathering there in the darkness pre- paratory to making a rush. they came across several dead bodies, but the enemy were all behind rocks on one side or other of the road. when they had crawled a hundred yards they were past the front line, from which the afghans were keeping up a heavy fire; but will knew that from their numbers they must extend far back down the valley, and indeed from almost every rock the flashes of the matchlocks blazed out as the lurking tribesmen fired in the direction of the mouth of the defile. they were nearly a quarter of a mile down when an afghan, who had been crouching behind a rock close to the path, advanced into the road to fire, when he stumbled against yossouf. "what are you doing?" he exclaimed. a relieving party. despatch a force to their rescue. were the tribesmen attacked in their rear now they might be scattered easily enough, but they are assembling very fast, and in the morning it will be a difficult matter to reach them." "we have fancied," the officer said, "for the last two hours that we heard distant firing, but we could not be sure, for any noise echoes so in these mountains. i will set out at once with you with as many men as i can spare." the convoy relieved. afghan they found among them. it was not long before they came upon the enemy. then the rifles cracked out, and the wild shouts of the afghans be- tokened their astonishment at being thus unexpectedly assailed in rear. numerous as they were they offered but a slight resistance. their one thought was to effect their escape; and they hurried rapidly away as the relief advanced, climbing the steep sides of the valley by paths only known to themselves, and then from the hillside far above opening a scattered fire at random down into the valley. in five minutes all resistance had ceased. the flank- ing parties were ordered to shelter themselves behind the rocks and to return the fire of the natives on the hillsides, to retain the position until the convoy passed through, and then to close behind it as a rear- guard. with the fifty men in ths road the officer then pushed forward, and was soon greeted by a shout of welcome from the defenders of the defile. there was not a minute to be lost, for the afghans, when they recovered from their first scare, would renew the attack; and the party pressing down the defile on their rear, ignorant of what had taken place below, were still keeping up an incessant fire. twenty-eight of the guides were already killed or wounded. several of the sick men in the dhoolies volunteered to walk down to the fort and to give up their places to safe in the fort. those of the wounded men who were unable to walk, and in a few minutes the convoy moved forward. the fifty men of the relieving party placed them- selves in their rear; and as the tribesmen who had been attacking them from behind rushed down through the defile with exulting shouts, believing that they were now secure of their victims, the sikhs opened so heavy a fire on them that they fell back up the defile in disorder. as the convoy wound down the valley the enemy again assembled on the hills and pursued them hotly. but the sikhs and guides kept up so steady a fire that they did not venture to approach to close quarters, and with a loss of eighteen more men the convoy reached the shelter of the fort. conscious of their inability to attack this position the afghans drew off. on returning to his friends will had resumed his uniform, and now on reaching the fort captain ed- wards expressed to him his warmest thanks for the hazardous adventure that he had undertaken. "i shall, of course," he concluded, "furnish a full report of the affair to the general, and i should think he would recommend you for the victoria cross. if any fellow ever deserved it you do so, for it seemed to me almost certain death to venture through the pass. i never expected to see you again, and i was never more glad in my life than i was when the firing began down below in the valley, and knew that help was at hand; for had you failed it would have been all up a hearty reception. mission, and i was only too glad to back up his recom- mendation to the best of my power. we all thought you were gone when you were reported as missing at ali-kheyl, and we heard from the sentry that, having gone forward to investigate the origin of a noise he had reported to you, you were suddenly fired upon, and that he saw no more of you as he ran back to the picket. i was glad indeed when the report was received from poor cavagnari that upon his arrival at cabul he had found you there just recovering from your wounds. then, of course, we gave you up again when we heard of the massacre of the mission; and it seemed like a resurrection from the dead when i got a letter from roberts saying you were found again, and that he was recommending you for a commission. i see by the gazette you are appointed to the th, and we were expecting to see you on your way down. had you any difficulty in getting through the passes?" "the convoy was attacked, sir, by the tribesmen when near jugdulluk, but the garrison came out to our rescue and we got through safely. but we had thirty men killed or wounded." "a smart affair!" the colonel said. "and now of course you will take up your quarters with us for a day or two before you go on. the officers will all be glad to see you, and you will be able to tell us all about the attack on the mission and the recent fighting. roberts has been having some hot work there. we have been grumbling horribly at our bad luck. we thought at an invitation. the time we were fortunate at being sent back to india when peace was signed, instead of being kept in the khurum valley. but the consequence has been that we have been out of it all. however, we must look upon you as our representative." will hesitated about staying, but the colonel over- ruled his objection, saying that as there would be no fighting until the spring there could be no particular hurry for him to join his regiment. a spare room was placed at his disposal in the colonel's quarters, and will was soon made at home. the officers nocked in upon hearing of his arrival, and all congratulated him most warmly upon his promotion. an hour later a mounted orderly rode up to the colonel's quarters. "is lieutenant gale here?" he asked. will went forward. "a note from the general," the orderly said, and handing it to him; "also one for colonel shepherd." will's note was simply an invitation to dine that evening with the general. the colonel's letter was as follows:— "dear colonel shepherd,—as lieutenant gale was promoted from your regiment i think it is likely that he has found his way to you. i have written to ask him to dinner; please spare him to me. i hope you will do me the pleasure of accompanying him. he has performed a most gallant action, and i have just had the pleasure of writing a despatch recommending him for the v.c." letters from the general. on the way to candahar. were cowed into submission many attacks were made by the mountaineers upon small parties going up or down the passes, and stringent orders had been issued that no officer should go down except when accom- panied by an escort. after a week's travelling will arrived with yossouf at peshawur, then he rode by easy stages until he reached the indus, where, taking his place on a steamer, he travelled down the river to sukkur, where he dis- embarked and started for the weary march across the desert to the foot of the bolan. along the road large numbers of coolies were at work constructing a line of railway which was now almost complete to the foot of the pass. it did not ascend this, but turning to the right wound up the hills to the plateau. it was intended to be taken on to candahar, and its completion would have been an immense boon both to that city and to india, as it would have opened a great trade to the north, and have enabled the inhabitants of the fertile plain around candahar to send their corn, fruit, and other products down to india. unhappily, with the subsequent aban- donment of candahar the formation of the railway was stopped, and the whole allowed to go to ruin. the work has, however, been recently taken in hand again. will and his follower ascended the bolan, stopped a day or two at quettah to rest their horses, and then proceeded on through the fertile plains of pisheen and over the kojak pass, and thence on to candahar. here ( ) s will's new position. will joined his new regiment and was well received by its officers. in every regiment in the service an officer risen from the ranks is invariably received with special courtesy and kindness. every endeavour is made to place him at his ease in his new position. this is specially so when, as in will's case, the promotion has been earned by distinguished services in the field. in most instances officers promoted from the rank of sergeant are a good deal older than the young lieutenants among whom they find themselves. being often married men, and having nothing but their pay to depend upon, they find themselves, therefore, un- able to take much part in the pleasures and gaieties of the regiment. in india, however, as the rate of pay is much higher, an unmarried officer can live very comfortably on his pay; and as in the field the expenses are far less than when a regiment is in cantonments at a large station, where there is much gaiety, will found that he was able to live very comfortably on his pay in the same style as that of his comrades. they on their part were pleased to find in will a young fellow of the same age as the other junior lieutenants, and withal a pleasant gentlemanly young man. the fact, too, that he had seen so much service, had gone through stirring adven- tures, and had fought by the side of cavagnari in the bala-hissar, made him quite a hero among them, and will was soon thoroughly one of themselves. when will improves his mind. jt was known that the regiment was likely to remain at candahar for some time many luxuries had been brought up from india, together with means of passing away the time, such as the necessary appliances for cricket, racket, and other games. among these too were several boxes of books, and will, who had at first a little amused his comrades by his absolute ignorance of cricket, but who soon became a promising recruit at that game, steadily devoted three hours a day to reading in order to improve his mind, and to obtain a knowledge of the various matters which were topics of conversation among his comrades. above all he diligently studied the newspapers, great parcels of which arrived every week, in order to obtain some knowledge of the political state of affairs in eng- land, the position of parties, and the various matters occupying public attention. he had at first found his ignorance of these matters a great drawback to him in general conversation; but he discovered that newspapers rather than books are useful in enabling a man to mix with his fellows in social talk, and that the current events of the day form ninety-nine hundredths of the subjects of conversation. the fact that all his mess-mates had been thoroughly posted in the history of rome and greece, that they could read these languages almost as well as english, that they had been coached in high mathematics, and had a knowledge of french and german.gave them, will found, very little advantage in general conversation; general stewart's column has at least the advantage of forming the mind for the after work of acquiring the special branches of know- ledge required by us in the careers we may adopt. if you ask my advice i should not at your time of life dream of setting to to learn the dead languages or to study mathematics. read the histories of rome and greece, and study that of your own country. read books of travel and the biographies of great men, and keep yourself well posted, as you are doing, in current public events. you will then find yourself able to take part on equal terms in any conversation which may be going on. you will indeed be considered by strangers an exceptionally well-informed young fellow, and you may pass through life without any person having a suspicion that latin, greek, and mathematics, the car- dinal points of an ordinary education, are wholly un- known to you." will was cheered by the advice, and henceforth directed his studies only in the direction which cap- tain fletcher had indicated. at the beginning of april a large diminution had taken place in the force sta- tioned at candahar, as general sir donald stewart marched with the greater portion of the force for cabul. the route led through a country which was the strong- hold of the fanatical party, the important town of ghuzni containing the most fanatical population in all afghanistan. this had been the centre whence the attacks on general roberts had been organized, and it was deemed necessary to march a strong force through the battle of ahmed-khel. the country to overawe the tribesmen and break up their organization. the march was uneventful as far as shahjui, the limit of the candahar province. at this point the taraki country begins. the mollahs here had been actively preaching a holy war, and several thousand men were reported as having collected. the villages were found to be deserted, and everything betokened an active opposition to the advance. when the head of the column arrived at ahmed- khel a body of the enemy, estimated at from , to o.ooo, were seen clustered on a semicircle of hills beyond the village. the baggage of the column stretched far along the road, and it was all-important to prevent the enemy from falling upon this long line. general stewart therefore determined to attack them. the two batteries of artillery opened fire upon the enemy, who at once in reply rushed down to the assault. the charge was led by some or ghazis, as they were called, fanatics who had sworn to give their lives in carrying out their object of exterminating the hated infidel. some of these men were armed with rifles and matchlocks, some with heavy swords, knives, and pistols; others again with pikes made of bayonets or pieces of sharpened iron fastened upon long sticks. some were on foot and some on horseback. with wild yells the mass rushed down upon our troops, and so sudden and unexpected was the attack, the fight at ghalez. the bodies which had been carried off. their wounded of course, were far more numerous. ghuzni surrendered without opposition when the column reached it, the fighting men having been engaged in the battle of ahmed-khel, and having had enough of hostilities. on the d of april a force under brigadier-general palliser advanced against a large body of natives who had assembled near the vil- lage of ghalez, again led by the ghazis. these rushed to the attack with a courage and desperation equal to that shown by the fanatics in the previous battle. our men, however, were this time prepared, and were able to inflict very heavy losses upon the enemy without allowing them to get to close quarters. this was the end of the afghan resistance. general stewart moved on to cabul without further fighting, and effected a junction there with the force under general roberts. an attack by ghazis. jahar: the country was peaceful, cricket-matches were got up between the various regiments, and horse-races established. candahar was governed by a protege" of the british named wali shere ali. he had organ- ized a native army to support his authority upon our withdrawal. the only circumstances which occurred to mar the pleasing time were isolated attacks upon british officers and men by ghazis. these attacks were sometimes made in broad day- light in the streets of candahar, where the escape of those who perpetrated them was impossible; these fanatics regarding their own life with indifference, so that they could but kill one or more of the british before being cut down. one day as william gale was walking in the prin- cipal street of candahar at a short distance behind colonel ripon, an indian official of very long standing and experience who had come up on a special mission to arrange with the wali the details of the civil government of the province, he saw three afghans who were loitering in the road draw their long tulwars and dash upon that officer. the first who reached him delivered a sweeping blow, which the colonel, taken by surprise, partly received on his uplifted arm, but was struck to the ground. another of the ghazis raised his sword; but before it could fall will gale, who saw at once that he was too far behind to inter- pose between the assailant and the victim, drew his revolver from his belt, and, taking a hasty aim, fired. will saves colonel ripon. pleasant quarters. "oh, no!" will answered; "it is only a flesh wound from my shoulder to my elbow. luckily my sword partly caught the blow. i was aiming at the other fellow, and had not time to parry fairly. i shall be none the worse for it in a week's time. my wound is less severe than yours, sir." "we are both bleeding pretty freely," the colonel said. "my quarters are close at hand, and as the principal medical officer lives in the same house, you cannot do better than come in with me." in a few minutes their wounds were bandaged, the doctor saying that no serious harm had been done in either case, but that care and quiet lest fever should supervene would be necessary for a week or two. as the house was much more airy and commodious than that in which will was quartered, the colonel begged him so strongly to move his quarters thither until able to return to duty that will agreed to do so, and was soon installed, with yossouf in attendance, in the colonel's quarters. he was greatly pleased with the old officer, whose manner was most kind and courteous, and who from his long experience in india was full of anecdotes and information concerning the country. ten days after the struggle the doctor told them that there was no longer any occasion for his services. their wounds were healing favourably and all fear of fever had passed. at the same time it would still be some time before either could take their arms from a singular likeness. their slings. the following day, in honour of his con- valescence, colonel ripon invited several friends to dinner, among them general burrows and colonel galbraith of the th. all had of course heard the details of the attack on colonel ripon, and will was congratulated warmly upon the promptness that he had showed. "do you know, colonel," general burrows said as they were smoking their cigars after dinner, "there is a wonderful likeness between you and lieutenant gale. i should have taken you for father and son any- where." the other officers agreed with the remark. the likeness was certainly strong. both were men of six feet in height. the colonel's hair and moustache were grizzled, and his face bronzed with the sun of many indian summers; he was thin and spare of habit, but his shoulders were broad, and it was evident that in his youth he must have possessed much of the muscular strength which was apparent in will's more rounded limbs. but it was in their eyes that there was the greatest similarity. both were gray and of nearly the same shade; both had a simple, straightforward, and kindly expression; both were shaded by straight and rather heavy eyebrows. the men looked at each other. "i suppose he is like me," colonel ripon said; "still more like, i fancy, what i remember myself at his age; but curiously enough he has ever since i met him been ayoub khan. recalling some one else to my mind;" and a shade passed over his face. seeing that colonel ripon was not disposed to talk further on the subject a fresh topic of conversation was started. there was news that ayoub khan, the brother of yakoob, who was governor at herat, was inarching south at the head of a large force with the intention of opposing abdul-rahman and again reseat- ing yakoob on the throne. he had also preached a holy war against the british. "i fear that the trouble is serious," general burrows said. "the troops ayoub is bringing with him have not yet met us in the field. the population on the road is wild and fanatical in the extreme, and will no doubt join him to a man. on the other hand, the troops of the wali are not to be depended upon, and the brunt of the fighting is sure to fall upon us." three days later the order was issued by general primrose that the cth regiment, the bombay grena- diers, and jacob's rifles, together with the d scinde horse and d bombay cavalry with a battery of artil- lery, were to move out with the wali's army towards girishk on the river helmund, which formed the boundary between the province of candahar and that of herat after the long period of inactivity at candahar, will was delighted at the thought of taking part in an expedition with his regiment; but when they reached the helmund, life was for some time exceedingly mono- on the helmund. tonous. the news of ayoub's advance greatly excited the population, who had been further worked up by agents widely distributed through the country, and by the exhortations of the mollahs and ghazis; conse- quently rambling at any distance from the camp was forbidden, and the shooting parties, which had been one of the great resources of their life at candahar, were peremptorily put an end to. colonel ripon had accompanied the force as the wali's adviser. both he and will had recovered com- pletely from their wounds. when the regiment first marched, indeed, the surgeon had strongly recom- mended will to remain behind until his wound had completely healed, but the young officer had so strongly begged to be allowed to accompany the regiment that the surgeon had consented. his colonel had for a time relieved him from all duty and he rode in rear of the regiment, but within a fortnight of their arrival at the helmund he was able to lay aside his sling and to take his turn of regu- lar duty. the officers did all that they could to make existence tolerable on the sandy shores of the helmund; they got up foot-races and athletic sports for the men, played cricket on the sands, and indulged in a bath twice a day in the river. will often spent the evening in colonel ripon's tent . a warm friendship had arisen between the two officers, and each day seemed to bring them closer together. all this time ayoub's army was known to be approach- chapter xix. the battle of maiwand. he servants were squatting in a circle near their masters and enjoying their share of the breakfast. the two syces were be- loochees, the others were men from the deccan, the regiment having been stationed at poona before going up into afghanistan. of these the syces alone under- stood the afghan language. after the men had finished their meal yossouf strolled away by himself into the village. when he returned will saw that he wished to speak to him, so rising carelessly from the ground he walked to the ponies, which were tied up near, and called yossouf as if to give him some instructions respecting them. "well, yossouf, what is it? have you learned any- thing?" "no, sir, nothing. but the people no longer speak to me freely. they must have guessed when they saw me speaking to you that i was warning you; but i don't think things are right. the children are all in the houses instead of playing about in the street . an unpleasant position. a few of the women are standing at their doors, but most of them are inside too." "but if the men are thinking of attacking us why shouldn't they do so at once?" "there are not above twenty or thirty men here, sahib. they may not think they are strong enough. perhaps they have sent to some of the villages for help." "likely enough, yossouf, i did not think of that. do you go up above the village and have a good look round. i will try and persuade my friends to be moving." yossouf moved off at once, and will stood for a minute or two thinking what was the best to do. the position was not pleasant. yossouf's suspicions might be altogether unfounded, but will had found him to be so uniformly right on former occasions that he did not like to neglect his advice now. after a little further thought he joined his companions. "come," he said, " we had really better be moving. i believe we are in real danger." the earnestness with which he spoke roused the others, who were all lying at full length on the ground. "but as we said before, gale," fortescue urged,"why shouldn't they now attack us if they wanted to? we have been here more than an hour." "perhaps they may think we shall all take a nap after our tiffin," will replied; "perhaps, as yossouf thinks, they have sent off to some other villages for assistance. he has gone up the hillside to look out. precautionary steps. "yes, that would be a good plan," fortescue said, for they were all sobered now by will's gravity, and convinced that there must be good grounds for his belief in danger. "look here, gale, we are all senior to you in the date of our commissions, but you have seen no end of service and adventure, therefore i vote that you shall be commanding officer until we get back to camp." the others willingly agreed. "very well," will said; "i will do my best. ham- mond, will you tell your servant to get ready for a start at once. speak to him quietly and carelessly. then as the men move up more towards the ponies, tell them in hindustanee to go about their work quietly, but in case of any trouble with the afghans to out with their swords and join us in a rush at the chief's house." hammond carried out his instructions. the two beloochees were not taken by surprise, for they as well as yossouf had been feeling uneasy at the dis- appearance of all women and children from the scene. the other men looked startled, but they were stout fellows, and as all the native servants were armed with swords to enable them to resist sudden attacks by the country people, and as they had unbounded faith in their masters, they went about the work of packing up the plates and dishes, and preparing for a start quietly enough. as the syces began to put the saddles on the tats fortescue killed. ■upstairs, and keep guard at the door. see that none of them leave the room, for they might steal down and open the door to admit their friends while we are busy. what! fortescue, are you hit?" "i am done for!" the young officer replied faintly; "one of their bullets has gone through my body; but never mind me now." as he spoke he tottered, and would have fallen had not the others supported him and gently laid him down on a heap of skins which served as an afghan bed. then leaving his servant to attend to him for a minute, the others ran upstairs to see what was going on without. "be careful!" will exclaimed; "don't show a head above the roof or at a loophole or you will get a bullet in your brain to a certainty. stand well back so that they can't see you." already a pattering fire of musketry had broken out round the house, but not an afghan was to be seen, every man having taken his position in shelter. "there is nothing to do at present," will said. "when the other parties arrive they may make an attack, but i don't think they will do so till night. hammond, you had better go down to fortescue at present. one of the syces can take yossouf's place on guard over the women, and he can help you. the lad is a good nurse; but i fear there is nothing to be done for the poor fellow." a few minutes later a wild outburst of shouts and yells, and a great firing of guns, announced that the will s plan. the situation was gloomy enough; but there was no lack of good spirits among the young officers, the danger causing their blood to course rapidly through their veins. will sat on the floor apart from the others. they had made him their commanding officer, and the re- sponsibility of thinking for them devolved upon his shoulders. suddenly a thought struck him, and he leapt to his feet with a shout . "i've got it!" "you will get it if you don't mind," hammond said dryly, as a bullet passed through one of the loopholes and struck the wall an inch or two from will's head. "but what is it?" "when it gets quite dusk we will call a parley and tell them we don't want to keep the women here, they are only in our way and eat up the food, so we will open the door and let them go." "but what will you do that for, gale? you were saying a short time ago that the women could be kept as hostages." "so they might, hammond; but it will be more useful to us to let them go. there are seven women here. six of them shall go out, and with them, in the clothes of the seventh, yossouf." "capital! capital!" the others exclaimed. "don't you think they will notice him?" "no," will said; "we won't do it till dusk, and some of these women are as tall as he is. they will hurry them away as quickly as possible so as to re- a truce called for. commence the attack, and wrapped up as these afghan women are no one could see the difference. once fairly away we can trust yossouf for finding an oppor- tunity of slipping away and bringing us help." will now laid the plan before yossouf, who at once agreed to attempt it. the day passed slowly, the fire of the enemy being kept up without intermission. "now," will said at last, "it is getting dark enough, let us put the plan into operation. in the first place the women must be separated, and taken into separate rooms, the one yossouf has fixed upon as nearest his height into a room by herself. then yossouf must tell the old mother of the chief that they are to be released, and that she must show herself on the roof and make them stop.firing till they have gone out . while she is doing that he can slip down and dress himself in the robes of the woman. she must be gagged to prevent her screaming or making a row as her com- panions go out." greatly surprised was the old woman at being told that she was to be released. these kaffirs must be mad, she thought, to give up their hostages. how- ever, she at once proceeded to carry the orders into effect. before raising her head above the roof she uttered a loud quavering cry, the cry of welcome of the afghan women. the firing without instantly ceased. again raising the cry she stepped out on to the roof and the women released. shouted that the english did not want to keep the women, and that the door would be open for them to come out, providing the afghans promised that no at- tempt to enter should be made, and that none should move from their present places until the women had fairly left. there was a shout of surprise and satisfaction, and one of the chiefs rose to his feet and gave the promise in the name of his companions. "how many are there of you?" he asked. "seven," the woman answered. "are the children to come?" "we may take away the babies, but the three boys are to remain behind." five minutes later the door of the fort opened, and seven figures came out. not a shot was heard until they had passed down the street of the village, and had entered a house at the further end; then the rapid fire commenced again. twice during the evening did the afghans attempt to storm the little fort, but were each time repulsed with loss, the fire of the five double- barrelled guns, loaded with shot and bullets, and of the revolvers, proving too much for them. the second attack was made about eleven. a quarter of an hour later wild shouts were heard outside; there was an instant cessation of the enemy's fire, and then in the silence the deep thundering sound of galloping horses was heard. "hurrah!" will shouted; "here they are." the party rescued. a minute later the third bombay cavalry dashed up to the fort. the door was thrown open and the little garrison ran out. "all safe?" the officer in command asked. "all safe, except fortescue, who was killed at the first attack." "so we heard from your boy," the officer said; "he has ridden back with us as guide. now, lads, dis- mount and clear the village. shoot every man you find, turn the women out of the houses, and then set them on fire. don't waste any time over it, for the rascals are swarming round the place. captain lawson, you take your troop and dismount it as skirmishers round the place, and keep them off till we have done here. here, you four men who brought the powder kegs, carry them inside this fort. we are going to blow it up to give them a lesson." ten minutes later the cavalry were again in their saddles. spare horses had been brought for the four officers, and the servants mounted the tats, which would be able to keep up with the cavalry. the flames were already bursting out brightly from the houses. the yells of the afghans rose high, and their bullets flew thickly over the village, but they kept at a re- spectful distance. the officer in command gave the word and the party set off at a trot. before they had left the village a deep roar was heard, and they knew that the afghan fort was de- stroyed. two hours later they arrived safely in camp, ( ) ' u ayoub's advance. upon arriving near maiwand, however, news was brought in by spies that the whole of the enemy were at hand. the force was at once halted in a position singularly ill adapted for a fighting ground. deep ravines ran both to the right and to the left of the ground occupied by the british. by these the enemy could advance under shelter until within a short dis- tance. on either side were ranges of hills completely commanding the position. it is difficult to imagine a more unsuitable position than that which general burrows prepared to hold with a mere handful of troops against an enormously superior force. what was the total strength of ayoub's army was never exactly known, as it was swollen by enojmous numbers of ghazis and tribesmen from the villages. these were in fact far more formidable oppo- nents than the regular afghan troops, as their tre- mendous rushes, and indifference to the loss inflicted upon them, were trying in the extreme for even the best-trained troops to withstand. the morning was thick and but little could be seen of ayoub's army. his cavalry, indeed, were found to be moving about in large masses, but these fell back at our advance. lieutenant maclean, with two horse- artillery guns and a small cavalry escort, galloped out on the extreme left and opened fire on the afghan cavalry. his infantry at once appeared in force swarming down towards the guns, and these mtere withdrawn to a position nearer to our line. an overwhelming attack. the british infantry were formed in the following order:—the th were on the right, the bombay grena- diers in the centre, and jacob's ilitles on the left. two guns were placed in position to support the gth on the right; the remaining four british guns, and the six smooth-bore guns captured from the wali's mu- tineers, were placed between the grenadiers and jacob's rifles. the d scinde horse and d bombay light cavalry were formed in the rear of the line. as the enemy advanced, our guns opened a heavy fire upon them, but it was fully an hour before their artillery replied. then thirty guns were unmasked and opened fire upon the british line. under cover of this heavy fire swarms of the enemy's irregulars advanced towards our position. when within or yards of the th the british opened with their martini rifles, and the shower of lead at such an unex- pected distance checked the advance of the enemy. for some time the artillery duel continued, but the enemy's guns were then moved on to the hills on either side of the british position and a terrible cross-fire was opened from both flanks. at about two o'clock the smooth-bore guns began to get short of ammunition. gnly sixty rounds had been captured with them, and there being no reserve of ammunition fitting them they ceased fire. the position now became most seri- oua from the ravines on either side the ghazis swarmed up in vast numbers. the artillery thundered from the heights upon our troops. some of their bat- the rush of the ghazis. teries were brought up to within very short distances; and great numbers of the enemy, keeping along the ravines sheltered from oar iire, came up in the rear and seized the villages there. the companies of jacob's rifles on the left, after resisting for some time the furious attacks of the ghazis, began to waver. the enemy's cavalry swept down in heavy masses, while our cavalry, for some reason which has never been explained, remained inactive. the general has stated that he ordered them to charge, but that they would not do so; the cavalry affirm that they never received orders. anyhow, at this critical moment the d scinde horse and the d bombay cavalry remained inactive. the confusion amid jacob's rifles rapidly grew in spite of the efforts of the officers to rally them. the ghazis swept down upon them and the rifles broke in con- fusion and rushed among the bombay grenadiers, who, hitherto fighting steadily, also fell into confusion, as the rifles and ghazis burst into their ranks. "this is hot work," "will gale said to his captain when the enemy's guns on the heights on either side began to play on the line of the th with their flank fire. "it is, indeed," the officer answered, " and the fire of the enemy from the edge of that ravine is very trying. i wish to heaven the general would move us farther back; he has made a hideous mistake in fighting on such ground as this." "it would be difficult to withdraw now," will said. "it would shake the confidence of the men i think * a bad look-out. myself that we ought to advance and drive the enemy before us till we take up some really defensible posi- tion; but i doubt if the afghans would wait for that. in all our history a british charge against an indian enemy has always been successful, no matter how great the odds." "it is a bad look-out," the captain said as a shell burst close by him, killing and wounding five or six men. "it is quite evident that if we stay where we are we must in time be annihilated. our fellows will stand, no doubt; they are english soldiers and well officered. but how can one expect the two indian regiments, with only three or four white officers each, to remain steady under such a fire as this and with these desperate charges of ghazis upon them?" very steadily the th held their ground in spite of a flanking fire of artillery and musketry. every time the enemy gathered at the edge of the ravine for a rush the heavy fire of the company on the flank, which was wheeled back at a right angle to the line so as to face them, drove them back to shelter again. the regiment had suffered very heavily, still the officers felt that they could endure till nightfall. of victory there was now no idea; for to conquer, men must act, and here they were only called upon to suffer. pre- sently a wild tumult was heard to the left, and then the men of the scattered native regiments burst in a tumultuous mass into the ranks of the th. "steady, men, steady!" shouted the officers. the retreat. fallen. so long and stoutly was the village defended that the great majority of the broken fugitives had time to pass out behind. general burrows, who had done his best to stem the rout, drew off the shattered remains and fell back with them in fair order. will gale's company was in the right flank of the regiment, and therefore farthest from the point where the line was broken by the rush of the native troops. seeing what was taking place the captain formed his men into company square and fell back to the village in fair order. the company then threw itself into a house with a walled garden to the right of the village, and its steady fire in no slight degree helped to keep back the afghans and cover the retreat. this they did until general burrows himself rode up and ordered them to fall in. "your company has done good service, sir," he said to captain fletcher, "and it is for you now to cover the retreat." slowly and in good order the company fell back, and joining the troops who still retained their forma- tion retired slowly, facing about and pouring volley after volley into the afghans as they came out through the village. for two miles the enemy pressed closely upon them; but their loss had already been immense and all desired to join in the plundering of the british camp, therefore the pursuit slackened, and three miles from the village the rear-guard were ordered to the main body at quick march. the rear-guard. "i am glad to see that you are safe, sir," will answered. ' this has been a terrible day." "it has, indeed," the colonel said mournfully, "ter- rible! there has been nothing like it since the retreat from cabul in . and how many of these poor fellows will reach candahar god only knows! the water-bottles were emptied hours ago. the men are already exhausted with the long day's work and parched with thirst, and we have fifty miles' tramp be- fore us. have you any wounded men here with you?" "several, sir, some of them badly hurt." "put one of the worst on my horse," colonel ripon .said, dismounting; "and push on briskly, lads. there are some carts ahead. we will turn out the stores and put the wounded in. you had better let the men throw away their knapsacks and all useless encum- brances," he said to captain fletcher. "you will have to march and perhaps fight all night, and must husband your strength." steadily the rear-guard followed the broken column. it consisted of men of the th and grenadiers mingled together, and well did they carry out their arduous duties. a portion were thrown out on each hank, while the rest kept to the road. this was strewn with arms and accoutrements of all kinds. the men's hearts were wrung to the core by the sight of the number of wounded who had dropped by the road- side, and who implored them as they passed not to leave them to be murdered by the enemy. many of them thirst. were lifted and placed in carts, everything else being turned out to make way for them, but many had to be left behind, for it would be impossible to carry them on.such a march. slowly the long night passed. all along the line ahead a scattered fire of musketry could be heard as the villagers shot down the fugitives who in hopes of finding water straggled from the road. sometimes sharp volleys rang out as the troops stood at bay and drove back the natives when they pressed upon them. several times the rear-guard were hotly engaged as the afghans, furious at seeing their prey slipping from their fingers, mustered and fell upon them; but each time they were repulsed and the column held on its way. will was in command of a mixed band of some forty men which moved to the right of the road. colonel ripon kept by his side, but few words were spoken through the long night. the men were half mad with thirst, and had there been water near nothing could have restrained them from rushing to it; but they knew that none could be obtained until they reached candahar. many, in utter despair at the distance before them, threw themselves down on the ground to die. but the others kept on, stumbling and staggering as they marched stupid and half-blind, rallying only when the order came to turn and repulse the enemy. two or three times in the night the reai'-guard halted for a few minutes and the men threw themselves down on the sand, where they picked the scattered herbage a halt. within their reach and chewed it to quench their burning thirst. daylight was a welcome relief. they knew indeed that with the rising of the sun their tor- ments would grow still greater; but the change from the long dreary darkness cheered them, and they could now see from the nature of the country that they were within fifteen miles of candahar. they marched on for two more hours, and then .the officer in command of the little body saw that they could do no more. he therefore led them to a village on rising ground a short distance from the road and halted them there. the exhausted men threw themselves down in the shade of the houses. they had the long day yet to pass and their thirst seemed unendurable; still the halt was welcome, for there was not a man but felt that his strength was at an end and that it would have been an impossibility to reach the city. captain fletcher picked out a few of the least ex- hausted men and placed them in the outskirts of the village to call the rest to arms in case the afghans, numbers of whom were hovering round, should venture upon an attack. for the first hour after reaching the village not a man moved from the spot where he had thrown himself down. the officers had searched the houses and found some jars of water. these they carried round and doled out a few mouthfuls to each man. small though the amount was, the relief afforded was immense; and as soon as their first exhaustion had subsided the men scattered through the gardens pluck- yossouf rejoins his master. for the expected attack. the defences were streng- thened; the lower portion of the populace, who would be likely to declare against them, were turned out of the town, and provisions were collected from the country round. fortunately ample time was afforded them for these preparations. ayoub's army had been to a great extent demoralized by the tremendous losses which it had sustained. in the defeat of this handful of british troops, and some days elapsed before it moved forward from maiwand . then by easy marches it approached candahar, and took up its position in the plain to the north of the city. just as the rear-guard of general burrows' force were starting from their halting-place for their last march into the city, will gale was delighted at see- ing yossouf approaching. he had not seen him since the regiment marched out from kusk-i-nakhud. the young afghan had remained with the other fol- lowers in the village behind maiwand during the battle, when, while the resistance of the british was still continuing, the afghans had worked round by the ravines and entered the village. yossouf had been obliged to join in the retreat, which was at once commenced by the baggage train. full of anxiety for the fate of his master, he had hur- ried forward at his best speed to candahar, reaching the city only an hour or two after the arrival of the cavalry. in spite of the distance he had already per- formed he did not delay for an instant, but set out the news reaches india. again with some provisions, and a bottle of wine and one of water hidden away in his dress. he had re- solved to push forward at all hazards until he had either joined his master, whether on his retreat or as a prisoner in ayoub's army, or had discovered his body on the field of battle, and given him burial. passing through the throng of fugitives, and ques- tioning any of the men of the th he met, he made his way forward. he had learned that will's company had withdrawn in a body from the battle-field to the village, but further than this none of the fugitives could tell him; and his delight was exuberant when he saw will marching along with his company. the little supply which he had brought was at once served out among the men who most needed it, and will, who had been in a state of great uneasiness con- cerning the safety of his faithful follower, was greatly cheered by finding him alive and unhurt. the news of the defeat of maiwand produced an immense sensation in india, and measures were at once taken for the relief of candahar. a strong division was ordered to march from cabul through ghuzni, while general phayre, who commanded the force at quettah, was also ordered to advance to the assistance of the garrison. general phayre, however, although comparatively close to candahar, was unable to advance for some time. the same miserable economy which had dispersed the transport train after the signa- ture of the treaty of gundamuk, and had so delayed general roberts' column. from one village, situate half a mile from the eastern gate of the city, so constant and harassing a fire was maintained by the enemy that general primrose re- solved to make a sortie to capture it. the affair was, however, badly planned, and resulted in failure. the afghans, sheltered in the strongly-built houses, kept up so severe a fire upon the assailants that these were obliged to fall back with a considerable loss. after that no further sorties were attempted, and the city remained in quiet until the relieving columns were close at hand. the force selected to march from cabul to the relief of candahar under the command of general roberts consisted of the d highlanders, d pioneers, th and th punjaub infantry, the d, th, and th « ghoorkas, the d highlanders, d battalion of the th, the norfolk rangers, the d, d, and th sikhs. there were three batteries of artillery and four cavalry regiments, the th lancers, the d bengal cavalry, the d punjaub cavalry, and the central india horse. this gave a total of about , fighting men. there were, in addition, followers to feed, horses, and some transport and artillery mules and ponies. the ameer did his best to assist the force, which was indeed going to fight his battle as well as their own. the question was whether so large a force would be able to subsist on the road, and in order to assist them to do so he sent orders to all the tribes along from cabul to candahar. the line of march to aid the column in every way. in consequence, no difficulties were met with, and scarce a shot was fired on the way down. in seven days after starting ghuzni was reached, and in fifteen khelat-i-ghilzai, where colonel tanner with a small garrison had been besieged by the local tribes since the advance of ayoub. khelat-i-ghilzai stood near the lower end of the valley down which the column was advancing, and was but three days' march from candahar. from the day of their leaving cabul to their arrival at khelat-i-ghilzai the troops had marched a distance of fifteen miles a day—not an extraordinary distance for a single regiment to perform, but a wonderful feat for a force containing some , persons and baggage animals marching through mountains and valleys. as the relieving force approached candahar ayoub drew off his troops from around the city, and took up a strong position on some hills a few miles to the north. on the th of august roberts' cavalry were near enough to establish heliographic communi- cation with the town, and on the st the column entered candahar. during the siege the duties of the garrison had been heavy. a strong force was always held ready to get under arms instantly in case of an attack by the enemy. the number of sentries on the walls, magazines, and lower important points was large. the town had to be kept in order and the inhabitants strictly watched. afghan thieves. yossouf and two native followers had been quartered in the house of a wealthy silk merchant. one night he was aroused from sleep by yossouf. "sahib!" the latter whispered, "i hear people moving below, i think there are thieves in the house." will rose noiselessly, slipped on his trousers and shoes, and taking up a revolver in one hand and a sword in another stole down-stairs, followed by yos- souf with his long afghan knife in his hand the door of the warehouse was open, and within it will saw, by the faint light of a lamp which one of them carried, four afghan ruffians engaged in making up silks into large bundles in readiness to carry off. his ap- proach was unnoticed, and on reaching the door he levelled his pistol and shouted to the afghans to sur- render as his prisoners. in reply they dropped the lamp, and made a sudden rush at him. he fired his pistol hastily in the darkness, but in an instant the afghans were upon him. the first man he cut down, but he was knocked over by the rush of the others. two fell upon him, but yossouf bounded upon them like a tiger and buried his knife to the hilt in their backs in quick succession. the last of the party, without staying to see what was the fate of his friends, at once took to his heels, and rushing to the door lead- ing to the street made his escape. yossouf raised will to his feet . "are you hurt?" he asked anxiously. "nothing to speak of," will replied. "i am a bit a narrow escape. shaken and bruised by the fall. those fellows in the darkness were upon me before i could see them. thanks to you, i have escaped without hurt, yossouf, and had it not been for your aid they would as- suredly have made an end of me. my pistol had fallen from my hand as they knocked me down, and on the ground i could not have defended myself with my sword for an instant. once more, yossouf, i owe my life to you." so many attempts similar to that made upon the house occupied by will gale took place that sentries were posted at ten o'clock at night at the entrances to the various streets in which the houses left deserted by the native traders were situated, and orders were given that no natives should be out of their houses after that hour unless provided with a pass signed by the commandant of the city. several messengers were from time to time sent out to endeavour to get through the enemy's lines and to carry to general phayre the news of what was going on in the city. a few of these suc- ceeded in getting through, but none returned, so that until the signal-lights were seen flashing from the dis- tant hills in the direction of khelat-i-ghilzai the garrison were unaware of the steps which were being taken for their rescue. even had unforeseen obstacles prevented the advent of either of the relieving columns it is probable that the garrison of candahar would finally have freed itself. colonel primrose had at his dis- posal a force more than double that which had fought chapter xxi. the battle of candahar. |§at| he plan of action upon which general ro- jfijjrfl berts determined was simple. the st and 'ju^ i d brigade were to advance abreast, the d to follow in support. as the th were to take no part in the fight, will gale obtained leave to ride out with general weatherby with the d division. the enemy were well aware of the weak point of the position which they occupied, and they had mustered thickly in the plain, in which were several villages, with canals cutting up the ground in all directions, and abounding with hedges, ditches, and inclosures; altogether a very strongly defensible position . it was at o'clock on the st of september that the british force advanced. the first division on the right advanced against the large walled village of gundi, which was strongly held by the enemy. against this general macpherson sent the d and the d ghoorkas, and stubbornly as the enemy fought the place was carried by the bayonet. on the line taken by the d division under general baker, three the defeat of the afghans. villages had successively to be carried, abasabad, kaghanary, and gundigan. the d highlanders and the d sikhs advanced to the attack of these. the resistance of the afghans was stubborn in the extreme, but they were driven out. the fighting line of the two divisions kept abreast, and for two miles had to fight every inch of their way from wall to wall, from garden to garden, and here and there from house to house, and from lane to lane. once or twice the attack was checked for a few minutes by the desperate resistance of the afghans at the crossing places of canals and in walled inclosures; and again and again the ghazis rushed down upon the troops. the d sikhs and the th ghoorkas joined the fighting line, and step by step the ground was won until the base of the hill was turned and the attacking force saw in front of them the great camp of ayoub's troops. up to this point the enemy had fought with the greatest bravery, but a sudden panic seized them now they saw that their line of retreat was threatened by our cavalry, for an afghan always loses heart under such circumstances. as if by magic the defence ceased, and the enemy, horse and foot, abandoning their guns and throwing away their arms, fled up the argandab valley. everything was aban- doned. there was nothing more for the infantry to do but to sack ayoub's camp and to park the captive guns, thirty in number. the amount of stores and miscel- the end of the war. our main attack to be made, a delusion which was kept up by our heavy fire from early morning upon the afghan guns on the summit of the pass. when our troops appeared round the corner of the spur upon their flank they lost heart at once, and for the most part, throwing away their arms, joined the body of fugitives. "it would have been hard work, sir," will gale said to colonel ripon as they rode forward in rear of the fighting brigade," to have taken this position with the candahar force alone." "it could not have been done," colonel ripon replied; "but no one would have dreamed of attempting it. the afghans say that the force which roberts brought down from cabul was so large that they stood on the defensive, but they would have ventured to attack us had we sallied out and offered battle on the level plain round the city. then i have no doubt we could have beaten them. however, all is well that ends well. roberts has come up in time, and has completely de- feated the enemy; still it would have been more satis- factory had we retrieved maiwand by thrashing him single-handed. well, i suppose this is the end of the afghan war. we have beaten ayoub, i hope so effec- tually that abdul-rahman will have no difficulty ,in dealing with him in future; and if he really means the professions of friendship which he has made us, we may hope for peace for some time. probably the next time wo have to fight in this country it will be against rapid promotion. the russians and afghans united. there are men in england who persist in shutting their eyes to the cer- tain consequences of the russian advance towards the northern frontier of afghanistan; but the time will come when england will have to rue bitterly the in- fatuation and folly of her rulers. when that day ar- rives, she will have to make such an effort to hold her own as she has never had to do since the days when she stood alone in arms against europe." upon the following day will paid a visit to his friends in the rangers. "so you got through maiwand safely!" the colonel said. "upon my word i begin to think that you have a charmed life. i hear one of your captains died last night. that gives you your step, does it not?" "yes, sir." "you are the luckiest young dog i ever heard of. you got your commission within a year of enlisting; and now by an extraordinary fatality your regiment is almost annihilated, and you mount up by death steps to a captain's rank nine months after the date of your gazette. in any other regiment in the service you would have been lucky if you had got three or four steps by this time." "i am fortunate indeed, sir," will said. "i can scarcely believe it myself." "ah! whom do i see here?" the colonel exclaimed as a mounted officer rode through the camp. "my old friend ripon! ah! ripon, how are you?" two old friends. the colonel reined in his horse, and the two officers, who had not met for some years, entered into a warm conversation, while will strolled away to talk to some of the younger officers, who congratulated him most heartily on the luck which had in a few months taken him over their heads. in the afternoon will received a note from colonel ripon asking him to dine with him, as colonel shep- herd was going to do so. will replied that he would gladly dine, but must be excused for a time afterwards, as he was on duty and would have to go the rounds in the evening. there were three or four other officers at dinner, as colonel ripon had many friends in the relieving column. when dinner was over, will made his excuses and left, promising to look in again in a couple of hours when he had finished his rounda soon afterwards the other young officers left, colonel shep- herd only remained. "that is a singularly fine young fellow—young gale, i mean," colonel shepherd said, "and a singu- larly fortunate one. i feel quite proud of him. it was upon my advice that he enlisted; but if any one had told me at the time that he would be a captain in two years i should have said that it was absolutely impossible." "yes," colonel ripon replied, "his luck has been marvellous; but if ever a fellow deserved it, he did. i have a very warm liking, i may say an affection, for him. he saved my life when i was attacked by some will's history. ghazis here, and must have been killed had it not been for his promptness and coolness. he was wounded too, and we were nursed together here. since then i have seen a great deal of him, and the more i see him the more i like him. do you know anything of him previous to the time of his enlisting? you told me he joined your regiment on the day when it arrived at calcutta. i know nothing of his history before that. the subject never happened to occur in conversation, and it was one upon which i naturally should have felt a delicacy in asking any questions, though i have sometimes wondered in my own mind how he came to be penniless in calcutta, as i suppose he must have been to have enlisted. did you happen to hear anything about it?" "yes, indeed," colonel shepherd answered. "curi- ously enough he was by no means penniless, as he had just received £ reward for the services he had rendered in preventing a ship from being captured by the malays. i happened to meet its captain on shore the day i landed, and heard from him the story of the affair, which was as follows, as nearly as i can recol- lect." colonel shepherd then related to his friend the story of the manner in which the brig, when chased by malays, was saved by being brought into the reef by will. "naturally," he went on," i was greatly interested in the story, and expressing a wish to see the young fellow, he was brought off that evening after a momentous conversation. "you astound me," colonel ilipon said, "absolutely astound me. i could have sworn that he was a gentle- man by birth. not, mind you, that i like or esteem him one iota the less for what you tell me. indeed, on the contrary, for there is all the more merit in his having made his way alone. still you astonish rue. they tell me," he said with a smile, "that he is won- derfully like me; but strangely enough he reminds me rather of my wife. you remember her, shepherd, for you were stationed at meerut at the time i mar- ried her there?" colonel shepherd nodded, and for a few minutes the two friends sat silent, thinking over the memories which the words had evoked. "strange, is it not," colonel ripon went on, arous- ing himself, "that the child of some pauper parents should have a resemblance, however distant, to me and my wife?" "curiously enough," colonel shepherd said, "the boy was not born of pauper parents; he was left at the door of the workhouse at ely by a tramp, whose body was found next morning in one of the ditches. it was a stormy night, and she had no doubt lost her way after leaving the child. that was why they called him william gale. why, what is the matter, ripon? good heavens, are you ill?" colonel shepherd's surprise was natural. the old officer sat rigid in his chair with his eyes open and staring at his friend, and yet apparently without sue- a startling idea. ing him. the colour in his face had faded away, and even through the deep bronze of the indian sun its pallor was visible. colonel shepherd rose in great alarm, and was about to call for assistance when his friend, with a slight motion of his hand, motioned to him to abstain. "how old is he?" came presently in a strange tone from his lips. "how old is who?" colonel shepherd asked in sur- prise—"oh, you mean gale! he is not nineteen yet, though he looks four or five years older. he was under seventeen when he enlisted, and i rather strained a point to get him in by hinting, that, when he was asked his age, he had better say under nineteen. so he was entered as eighteen, but i know he was more than a year younger than that. but what has that to do with it, my dear old friend? what is the matter with you?" "i believe, shepherd," colonel ripon said solemnly, "that he is my son." "your son!" his comrade exclaimed, astonished. "yes, i believe he is my son." "but how on earth can that be?" his friend asked. "are you sure that you know what you are saying? is your head quite clear, old friend?" "my head is clear enough," the colonel replied, "although i felt stunned at first . did you never hear of my having lost my child?" "no, indeed," colonel shepherd replied, more and colonel ripon's story. more surprised . for he had at first supposed that some sudden access of fever or delirium had seized his friend. "you will remember that a week or two after you were married my regiment was moved up to the north, and we remained three years longer in india. when i got back to england i heard that you had lost your wife a short time before and had returned. i remember our ships crossed on the way. when we met again the conversation never turned on the past." "i will tell you the story," the colonel said, "and you will see that at any rate the boy may be my son, and that being so the double likeness proves to me incontestably that he is. i had, as you know, been ill before i left india. i had not been home for fifteen years, and got two years' leave. as you may know, i had a good fortune irrespective of the service, and i took a place called holmwood park,near dawlish,and as i had thought of retiring at the end of my leave i was put on the commission of the peace. my boy was born a few months after i got home. soon after i took the place some gipsy fellows broke into the poultry- yard and stole some valuable chickens which were great pets of my wife. i chased them, and finally brought home the guilt of the theft to one of the men in whose tent a lot of their feathers were found. he had been previously convicted, and was sentenced to a term of penal servitude. before the trial his wife, also a gipsy, called upon me and begged me not to ap- pear against her husband. this of course was out a broken-hearted mother. of the question, as he had already been sent to trial. when she found that her entreaties were useless, she in the most vindictive tone told me that i should repent it, and she certainly spoke as if she meant it. i heard nothing more of the matter until the boy was sixteen months old; then he disappeared; he was stolen from the garden. a clue was left, evidently that i might know from whom the blow came. the gipsy had been convicted partly on the evidence of the feathers, but principally from the fact that the boot which he had on had half the iron on the heel broken off, and this tallied exactly with some marks in my fowl-house. an hour after the child was gone we found in the centre of the drive in the park a boot, conspicuously placed there to catch the eye, and this boot i recognized by the broken iron as that which had transported the gipsy. that the woman had stolen the child i had not the least doubt; but neither of her nor it could i ever gain the slightest clue. i advertised in every paper in the kingdom. i offered a reward of £ , and i believe the police searched every gipsy encampment in england, but without success. my wife had never been strong, and from that day she gradually sank. as long as there was hope she kept up for a time. i hoped all would go well, but three months afterwards she faded rapidly, and ere six months had passed from the loss of the child i buried her and came straight out to india. i went home once for two or three months upon business con- the means of recognition. nected with my property there some seven years since. that was when we last met, you know, at the club. with that exception i have remained here ever since." "the trouble will be, i fear," colonel shepherd said, "for you to identify him. that vindictive gipsy woman who stole your child is not likely to have left any marks on its clothing by which it might be iden- tified at any future time and her revenge on you frustrated." "thank god!" the colonel said earnestly, "if it be my son he bears a mark by which i shall know him. that was one of his poor mother's greatest comforts. the child was born with an ugly blood mark on its neck. it used to bother my wife a good deal, and she consulted several surgeons whether it could not be re- moved, but they all said no, not without completely cutting out the flesh; and this, of course, was not to be thought of. after the child was lost i remember as well as if it had been spoken to-day, my wife say- ing, 'how strange are god's ways! i was foolish enough to fret over that mark on the darling's neck, and now the thought of it is my greatest comfort; and if it shall be god's will that years shall pass away before we find him, there is a sign by which we shall always know him. no other child can be palmed off upon us as our own. when we find tom we shall know him, however changed he may be.' listen, shepherd! that is his step on the stairs. may god grant that he prove to be my son!" deep happiness. gentleman, a most promising young officer, the man, indeed, to whom he had been so specially attracted— was a joy altogether unhoped and unlooked for. morn- ing had broken before the newly united father and son had done their long, and happy talk, and they separated only to take a bath to prepare them for the day's work. the astonishment of everyone was unbounded when colonel ripon announced on the following morning that in captain gale of the ggth, who it was known had risen from the ranks, he had discovered a son that had been stolen from him as a child. no one enter- tained a doubt for an instant that any mistake had arisen, for the likeness between the two men as they strode down the street together on their way to general roberts' quarters was so marked that—now that men knew the relationship—none doubted for a moment that they were indeed father and son. the warmest congratulations poured in upon them from all sides, and from none more heartily than from the general, who was more than ever pleased that he had been the means of will's obtaining his commission from the ranks. the same day colonel ripon sent off, by a mounted messenger carrying despatches, a telegram to be sent from the nearest station of the flying line, which the engineers advancing with colonel phayre's force had already carried as far as the kojak pass, to the government of india, asking leave to go home at once on the most urgent and pressing family business. yossouf's determination. yossouf's grief when he heard that his master was going to leave for england was very great. at first he begged that he might accompany him; but tom pointed out that, much as he should like to have him with him, his position in england would be an uncom- fortable one. he would meet with no one with whom he could converse, and would after a time long for his own country again. yossouf yielded to his reasoning, and the picture which will drew of his own loneliness when in cabul separated from all his own people aided greatly in enforcing his arguments on his mind. he said, however, that at any rate he would not return to afghanistan at present. "it will be long," he said, "before things settle down there, and it will be useless for me to put my money into a herd which might be driven off by plun- derers the next week. besides, at present the feeling against the english will be strong, so many have lost men of their family in the fighting. if i returned i should be a marked man. it is known that i threw in my lot with the english, and it will be cast in my teeth even if no worse came of it. no, i will enlist in the guides; i shall be at home with them, for most of them belong to the afghan tribes. i am young yet, not fully a man, and i have my life before me. some day, perhaps, if things are quiet and prosperous at home, i will go back and end my days there." so it was arranged. one of the officers of the guides had accompanied general roberts as interpreter, and enrolled in the guides. will handed over yossonf to him, tellin'* him how well the lad had served him. the ofecer promised to enroll him in the corps as soon as he rejoined it, and also that he would not fail to report his conduct to the colonel and to obtain his promotion to the rank of a native officer as soon as possible. from will yossouf would accept nothing except his revolver as a keepsake, but colonel ripon insisted upon his taking from him a present which would make him a rich man when ho chose to return to his native country. chapter xxil at home at last. he next day colonel ripon started with the th, and at the end of the first day's march met a messenger, who, among other de- spatches, carried a telegram granting him at once the leave he asked for, and which indeed had been due had he asked for it many years before. his intention was to accompany the th to kurrachee and to sail with it to england. this intention was carried out, and the remnant of the regiment safely reached england. one of colonel ripon's first steps was to accompany will, or, as he ought now to be called, tom, to the horse guards, and to procure an insertion in the gazette stating that captain william gale of the th would henceforth be known by his true and proper name of thomas ripon. the colonel purchased a fine estate in somersetshire, and retiring from the service settled down there. there was a considerable discus- sion between father and son as to whether the latter should remain in the army. colonel ripon was un- willing that his son should relinquish a profession of ;io sam's astonishment. "why, you did not think so badly of me," he said, "as to think that i should forget the woman who was a mother to me. father," he said—" for i have found my real father, mrs. dickson, as you always said i should some day—it is to this good woman that i owe what i am. but for her i might now be a labouring man; but it is to her kindness, to her good advice, to her lessons, that i owe everything. it was she who taught me that i should so behave that if my parents ever found me they should have no cause to be ashamed of me. she was indeed as a mother to me, and this lodge was my home rather than the work- house inside. ah! and here is sam!" sam dickson, coming out at this moment, stood in open-mouthed astonishment at seeing his wife stand- ing with her hand in that of a gentleman. "oh, sam! who do you think this is?" sam made no reply, but stared at tom with all his eyes. "if it warn't that he be drowned and dead long ago," he said at last, "i should say it was will gale growed up and got to be a gentleman. i shouldn't ha' knowed him at first, but when he smiles i don't think as how i can be far wrong." "you are right, sam. i am the boy you and your wife were so kind to from the time you picked him up just where we are standing, and whom you last handed over to go aboard a smack at yarmouth. she was, as you have heard, run down in the north sen, but i was saved in the ship which ran over her and was taken appointments for life. out to the east. there, after being wrecked again, and going through lots of adventures, i went to india, enlisted there, and fought through the afghan war. i am a captain now, and my name is no longer will gale, but torn ripon, for i have found my real father, this gentleman, colonel ripon." "who feels," colonel ripon went on, "how much he and his son owe to your kindness and that of your good wife here, and who, as you will tind, is not un- grateful. i have just bought an estate down in somer- setshire, and i mean to install you and your wife in a pretty lodge at the gates, with enough to live upon comfortably to the end of your lives." mrs. dickson cried with joy as colonel ripon entered into details of what he intended to do for them, and sam, although, as was his way, much less demonstrative in his gladness, was yet greatly delighted. there was a good garden to the lodge; they were to have the keep of a cow, and thirty shillings per week as long as they lived. before the colonel left, sam dickson's resignation of his post was handed in to the master. the colonel told them that at the end of the month, when sam's notice would expire, they were to sell off what furniture they had, as it would cost more to con- vey it so long a distance than it was worth, and he would take care that they should find everything com- fortable and ready for occupation at the lodge upon their arrival. tom called upon the master and matron and schoolmaster, and thanked all for the kindness that conclusion. they had shown him when a boy; and colonel ripon left a cheque with the master to be expended in tobacco, tea, and sugar for the aged inmates of the house. no words can express the delight of sam dickson and his wife when, a month later, they arrived at their new home. tom had spared no trouble in seeing that it was comfortably and cosily furnished. the garden had been thoroughly dug up and planted, and mrs. dickson could scarcely believe that she was the mis- tress of so pleasant a home. tom was forgetful of none of his old friends, and he wrote to an address which hans, his companion among the malays, had given him when they separated, and forwarded to him a handsome watch as a souvenir of his comrade. there is no more to be told. captain ripon, still a very young man, is living with his father the colonel. he is one of the most popular men in his county, and there is some talk of his standing for one of its boroughs at the next election, and it is rumoured that he is likely, ere long, to bring home a lady who will be the future mistress of burnham park. he is quite content that he has left the army, though he fidgetted a little, while the p^gyptian war was going on, and could not help feeling a little regret that he did not take part in the storming of tel-el-kebir. blacki e & son's new publications. by harry collingwood. the congo rovers: a tale op the slave squadron br henry frith. the search for the talisman: a story op labrador. by mrs. r. h. read. silver mill: a tale op the don valley. br emma leslie. gytha's message: a tale op saxon enoland. by miss m. a. paull. my mistress the queen. by mrs. austin. marie's home: or, a glimpse op the past. by j. c. hutcheson. the penano pirate and the lost pinnace. by thomas archer. little tottie, and two other stories. famous discoveries by sea and land. stirring events in history. blackie & sun's new publications. the universe: or the infinitely great and the infinitely little. a sketch of contrasts in creation, and marvels revealed and explained by natural science. by f. a. pouchet, m.d. illustrated by engravings on wood. th edition, medium vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, "s. sd.; morocco antique, >. "we can honestly commend this work, which is admirably, as it is copiously ill ustrated."—times. "as interesting as the most exciting romance, and a great deal more likely to be remembered to good purpose."—standard. "scareely any book in french or in english is bo likely to stimulate in the young an interest in the physical phenomena."—fortnightly review. cheep and chatter: or, lessons from field and tkee. by alice banks. with character illustrations by gordon browne. small to, cloth, handsome design on cover, *. d.; gilt edges, *. about a dozen highly dramatic sketches or little stories, the actors in which are birds, beasts, and insects. they are instructive, suited to the capacities of young people, and very amusing. the character drawings, with which the book is profusely illustrated, are delightfully funny. "the real charm of the volume lies in the illustrations. every one is a success. with mrds and mice and insects the artist is equally at home; but his birds above all are inimitable."—academy. "this is a very pleasing book for the young. the morals of the stories are very sound, and by no means obtrusive."—daily news. blacki e & son's new publications. by g. a. henty. surely mr. henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man living." —the timet. the lion of the north: a tale of gustavua adolphus and the wars of religion. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john schonbsrg, in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. in this story mr. henty gives the history of the first part of the thirty years' war, a struggle unprecedented in length, in the fury with which it was carried on, and in the terrible destruction and ruin which it caused. the issue had its importance, which has extended to the present day, as it established religious freedom in germany. the army of the chivalrous king of sweden, the prop and maintenance of the protestant cause, was largely composod of scotchmen, and among these was the hero of the story. in such a time of war and turmoil there was an opportunity for unlimited adventure. but the chief interest of the tale turns on the great struggle between gustavus and his chief opponents wallenstein, tilly, and pappenheim. the story terminates shortly after the murder of wallenstein. with clive in india: or the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. henty, author of "facing death," "under drake's flag," "by sheer pluck," &c. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. the period between the landing of give as a young- writer in india and the close of his career was critical and eventful in the extreme. at its commencement the english were traders existing on sufferance of the native princes. at its close they were masters of bengal and of the greater part of southern india. the author has given a full and accurate account of the historical events of that stirring time, and battles and sieges follow each other in rapid succession, while he combines with his narrative a tale of daring and adventure which gives a lifelike interest to the volume. "in this book mr. henty has contrived to exceed himself in stirring adventures and thrilling situations, while the realities are preserved. the pictures are by mr. gordon browne, who may be congratulated on their success in adding to the interest of the book."—saturday review. "among writers of stories of adventure for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank, and mr. gordon browne occupies a similar place with his pencil . . . those who know something about india will be the most ready to thank mr. henty for giving them this instructive volnme to place in the hands of their children. "—acadeiny. "he has taken a period of indian history of the most vital importance, and he has shown by what means the work was accomplished. he has embroidered on the historical facta a story which of itself is deeply interesting. young people assuredly will be delighted with the volume as a whole."— scotsman. a blackie & son's new publications. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty as a boy's story-teller stands in the tery foremost rank."—glasgote herald. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. by g. a. henty. with full- page illustrations by h. m. paget, in blank and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. the author in this story has followed tho lines which he worked out so successfully in "facing death." as in that story he shows that there are victories to bo won in peaceful fields, and that steadfastness and tenacity are virtues which tell in the long run. the story is laid in yorkshire at the commencement of tho present century, when the high price of food caused by the war and the introduction of machinery drove the working-classes to desperation and caused them to band themselves in that wide-spread organization known as the luddite society. there is an abundance of adventure in the tale, but its chief interest lies in the character of the hero, and the manner in which by a combination of circumstances he is put on trial for his life, but at last comes victorious "through the fray." true to the old flag: a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. owing to the unsuccessful termination of tho war between great britain and her american colonies, the subject is one which english writers have for the most part avoided. in the present volume the author has gone to the accounts of english officers who took part in the conflict, and lads will find that in no war in which british soldiers have been engaged did they behave with greater courage and good conduct. the historical portion of the book being accompanied with numerous thrilling adventures with the redskins on the shores of lake huron, a story of exciting interest is interwoven with the general narrative and carried tlirough the book. "mr. henty undoubtedly possesses the secret of writing eminently successful historical tales; and those older than the lads whom the author addresses in his preface, may read with pleasure a story which combines with the personal adventures of the youthful hero, an accurate and interesting account of the american war of independence "—academy. "mr, g. a. henty's extensive personal experience of adventures and moving incidents by flood and field, combined with a gift of picturesque narrative, make his books always welcome visitors in the home cirele."— daily news. "very superior in every way. the book is almost unique in its class in having illustrative maps."—saturday rtvitw. blackie & son's new publications. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty's books nerer fail to interest boy readers.*'—academy. in freedom's cause: a story of wallace and bruce. by g. a. hbntt. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne in black and tint . crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, >. in this story the author relates the stirring tale of the scottish war of independence and of the exploits of wallace and bruce. the extraordinary valour and personal prowess of these historical characters rival the deeds of the mythical heroes of chivalry roland and arthur, and indeed at one time wallace was ranked with these legendary personages. the researches of modern historians have shewn, however, that he was a living, breathing man—and a valiant champion. the hero of the tale fought under both wullaco and bruce, and while the strictest historical accuracy has been maintained with respect to public events, the work is full of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild adventure. "mr. henty has broken new ground as an historical novelist. his tale of the da; s of wallace and bruce is full of stirring action, and will commend itself to boys."— autenctum. "it is written in the author's best style. full of the wildest and most remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put on one side."—the sch»nlmaster. "scareely anywhere have we seen in prose a more lucid and spirit-stirring descrip- tion of bannockburn than the one with which the author fittingly closes his volume." -ihtmfria standard. under drake's flag. a tale of the spanish main. by g. a. henty. illustrated by full-page pictures by gordon browne in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. a story of the days when england and spain straggled for the supre- macy of the sea, and england carried off the palm. the heroes sail as fads with drake in the expedition in which the pacific ocean was rst seen by an englishman from a tree-top on the isthmus of panama, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. the historical portion of the story is abso- lutely to be relied upon, but this, altheugh very useful to lads, will perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which the young adventurors pass in the course of their voyages. "a stirring look of drake's time, find just such a book as the youth of this mari- time country lire likely to prize highly."— daily tilet/raph. "ned in the coils of the boa-constrictor is a wonderful picture. a boy must be hard to please if he wishes for anything more exciting."—pail mull gazette. "it is wtill illustrated, and is a real good story really well told."—punch. "a book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience enough one would think to turn his hair gray."—tlarixr's monthly magazine. blackie & son's new publications. by g. a. henty. "among writers of stories of adventure for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank."—academy. for name and fame: or, through afghan passes. by g. a. henty. with full- page illustrations by gordon browne, in black and tint. crown ro, cloth elegant, bs. at a moment when afghanistan is again the centre of interest, this story of the last war in that country is especially appropriate. the hero is apprenticed to a yarmouth smacksman whose boat is run down in the north sea by a ship bound for the east. after being wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among the malays, ho finds his way to calcutta, and enlists there in a regiment on tho point of going north to join the army forming at the mouths of the afghan passes. he accom- panies the force under general roberts to the pei'var kotal, is wounded, taken prisoner and carried to cabul, he is present at the massacre of the mission, and at the subsequent fights round cabul. ho is then transferred to candahar, and takes part in the battle of maiwand, and the final defeat of the army of ayoub khan. the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. by g. a. henty. with full- page illustrations by c. j. staniland, e.i., in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, bs. in this story the author gives an account of the desperate struggle between saxon and dane for supremacy in england, and presents a vivid picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was roduced by tho ravages of the sea-wolves. the historical incidents of the struggle, as related by contemporary writers, are faithfully adhered to. the hero of the story, a young saxon thane, takes part in all the battles fought by king alfred, and the incidents in his career are unusually varied and exciting. he is driven from his home, takes to tho soa and resists the danes in their own element, and being pursued by them up the seine, is present at tho long and desperate siege of paris. yarns on the beach. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, *. d. these "yams" of manly prowess and bold adventuro are attractive because of their liveliness, and the change from one tale of adventure to another provides something to suit different moods or varying tastes. it is a capital book for a young reader, or a render who retains a youthful fancy and a fresh appreciation, and seeks diversion from study or work. blackie & son's new publications. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is one of the best of story tellers for young people."—sptetator st. george for england: a tale of creasy and poitiers. by g. a. henty. with full- pnge illustrations by gordon browne in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. no portion of english history is more crowded with great events than that of the reign of edward iii. creasy and poitiers laid france prostrate at tho feet of england; the spanish fleet was dispersed and destroyed. europe w;is ravaged by the dreadful plague known as the black death, and franco was the scene of tho terrible peasant rising called the jacquerie. all these stirring events are treated by the author in st. george for england. the hero of the story, although of good family, begins lifo as a london ap- prentice, but after countless adventures ami penis, becomes by valour and good conduct the squire, and at lost the trusted friend of the black prince. "mr. henty. as a boy's story teller stands in the very foremost rank. with plenty of scope to work ulujn he has done his work well, producing a strong story at onoe in- structive and entertaining."—olatgow herald. "a story of very great interest for boys. in his own foreible style the author has endeavoured to show that determination and enthusiasm can accomplish marvellous results; that courage is generally accompanied by magnanimity and gentleness, and that if nut in itself the highest of virtues, it is the parent of nearly all the others, since hut few of them can be practised without it."—pall mall gazette. "mr. henty has developed for himself a type of historical novel for boys which bids fair to supplement, on their behalf, the historical labours of sir waiter scott in the land of fiction."—standard. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne in black and tint crown vo, cloth elegant, *. the ashanti campaign seems but an event of yesterday, but it happened when tho generation now rising up were too young to have made them- selves acquainted with its incidents. tho author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of the campaign, of which he was himself h witness. his hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, finds himself at coomassie just before the outbreak of the war, is detained a prisoner by the king, is sent down with the army which invaded the british protectorate, escapes, and accompanies tho english expedition on their march to coomassie. "mr. henty keens up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories. 'by sheer pluck' will be eagerly read '— a th' no?um. "no one could have done the work better than he has done it. the lad must be very difficult to satisfy who is not satisfied with this."—scotsman. "the book is one which will not only sustain, but add to mr. henty'* reputation. the illustrations are particularly good."—standard. "written with a simple directness, foree, and purity of style worthy of defoe. morally, the book is everything that could be desired setting before the boys a bright and bracing ideal of the english gentleman."—christian leader, blacki e & son's ncic publications. by g. a. henty. ''the brightest of all the living writers whese office it is to enchant the boys."— christian leader, facing death: or the hero of the vaughan pit. a tale of the coal mines. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. "facing death " is a story with a purpose. it is intended to show that n lad who makes up his mind firmly and resolutely that he will rise in life, and who is prepared to face toil and ridicule and hardship to carry out his determination, is suro to succeed. the hero of the story, though only a colliery lad, is a character that boys will delight in. he is a typical british boy, dogged, earnest, generous, and though " shamefaced " to a degree, is ready to face death in the discharge of duty. his is a character for imita- tion by boys in every station. "the tale is well written and woll illustrated, and there is much reality in the diameters."—a thmaum. "if any father, godfather, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the look-out fur a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this ia the book «e would recommend."—standard. by george manville fenn. nat the naturalist: or a boy's adventures in the eastern seas. by g. manville fenn, author of "the golden magnet," 'iu the kings name," &c. illustrated by full-page pictures by gordon browne in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, bs. this is a pleasant story of a lad who, though he is brought up in a strictly quiet fashion by an aunt, has a great desire to go abroad to seek speci- mens in natural history, and has that desire gratified by an uncle who comes heme from distant lands, whence he brings a beautiful collection. the boy nat and his uncle dick go on a voyage to the remoter islands of the eastern sen**, and their adventures there are told in a truthful and vastly interesting fashion, which will at once attract and maintain the earnest attention of young readers. the descriptions of mr. ebony, their black comrade, and of the scenes of savage life, are full of genuine humour. "mr. fenn has hit npou a capital idea. this is among the best of the boys' books of the season."— the time$. "we cnu conceive of no more attractive present fur a young naturalist."—land a,id water. "this sort of hook encourages independence of character, develops resouree, and teaches a boy to keep his eyes open."—isaturtlay rtitw. "the late lord pa liners ton used to say that one use of war was to teach geography: such books as this teach it in a more harmless and cheaper way."—^ (a mo-urn. "one of the best issues, if not absolutely the beat, of defoe's work which haa ever appeared."— the standard. the life and surprising adventures of robinson crusoe. by daniel defoe. beautifully printed, and illustrated by above pictures designed by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. there have been count- less editions of robin- son crusoe," and they have mostly been imper- fect, inasmuch as they have been so largely al- tered from the original text that tho languago in many instances has not been that of dofoo but of his revisers. the present volumo has been carefully printed from tho original edition, and all obsolete or little known termsand obscure phrases are explained in brief foot-notes. the "editing"is not a cor- ruption or pretended im- provement of defoe's great work. "the best edition i have come across for years. if you know a boy who has not a robinson crusoe.' just glance at any one of the hwn.hr.i illustrations in this edition and you will go no further afield in seareh of a present for that fortunate youth."—truth. "of the many editions of defoe's immortal story that have passed through our hands in recent years, wo are inclined to rank this the most desirable as a present for a good boy. gordon browne's illustrations satisfy the high expectation we had formed from his work of last year."—the academy. "one may be pardoned for growing enthusiastic over the ideal edition which messrs. hlackie have published this season. well printed, handsomely bound, and beautifully illnstrated, the volume may well become the standard edition of defoe's evergreen *otk."—£dinburgk couruiu. blackk & son's new publications. gulliver's travels. a new edition, beautifully printed, and illustrated by more than pictures from designs by gordon browne. in crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. the wonderful travels of gulliver " into several remote regions of the world " are still as fresh and entertaining as when they were first presented to the public moro than a hundred and fifty years ago. in this edition the text has been judiciously curtailed by the omission of several passages quite unsuited for tho perusal of the young or for family reading; and foot-notes to the text havo been added to explain and throw light on those allusions, references, obsolete words, &c, which a young reader would not understand. the numerous vivacious and amusing illustrations by gordon browne greatly add to the attractions of the narrative. blackie <jk son's new i'uhlicathins. by george manville fenn. "mr. mauville femt may be regarded as the successor in boyhood's affections of captain mayne reid."— academy. brownsmith's boy. by george manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne, in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. the career of grant denison (" brownsmith's boy") embraces for the most part the home adventures of an orphan, who, having formed the acquaintance of an eccentric old gardener, accepts his offer of a home and finds that there is plenty of romance in a garden, and much excitement even in a journey now and then to town. in a half-savage lad he finds a friend who shows his lovo and fidolity principally by pretending to be an enemy. this boy, however, is always staunch, and saves his companion from many a peril, and in more than one fierce fight aids him against the cruel oppression of older lads. in " brownsmith's boy" there is abundance of excitement and trouble within four walls. bunyip land: the story of a wild journey in new guinea. by g. man- ville fenn. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. *' runyip land" is the story of joseph carstairs, son of an eminent botanist, who, in his seareh for new plants for the london nurserymen, ventures into the interior of new guinea. years pass away, and professor carstairs does not return ; and though he is supposed to be dead, his young wife and son, who live at a station in australia, refuse to believe this to bo the case; and as soon as he is old enough young,joe goes in search of his father, accompanied by jimmy, a native black. they journey into the interior, which jimmy believes to be full of the native demons or buuyips, as he calls them, hence the title bunyip land. their adventures arc many and exciting, but after numerous perils they discover the professor a prisoner among the blacks, and bring him home in triumph. "mr. fenn deserves the thanks of everybody for the two books ' bunyip land.' and 'menhardoc," that be contributes for the gratification of ' our boys' during the coming holidays, and we may venture to promise that a quiet week may be reckoned on whilst the youngs ters have such fascinating literature provided for their evenings' amusement."— sptctator. "' bunyip land' and 'the golden magnet.' are two of the best tales of adventure produced by any living writer, combining, as they do, the inventiveness of jules verne, and the solidity of character and earnestness of spirit which have made the english victorious in so many fields of labour and researeh."—daily chronicle. blaekie & son's new publications. by george manville fenn. there is a freshness, a buoyancy, a heartiness about mr. fenn's writings."—standard. the golden magnet: a tale of the land of the incas. by g. manville fenn. with full-page pictures by gordon browne, in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. 'hie tale is of a romantic lad, who leaves home to seek his fortune in south america by endeavouring to discover some of that treasure which legends declare was ages ago hidden to preserve it from the spanish in- vaders. he is accompanied by a faithful companion, who, in the capacity both of comrade and henchman, does true service, and shows the dogged courage of tho english lad during the strange adventures which bofall thorn. "told with admirable foree and strength. few men other than mr. fenn have the ealiacity for telling such stories as this, and we do not remember to have seen one of his productions which has exceeded it in merit."—scotsman. "there could be no more welcome present for a boy. there is not a dull pago in the book, and many will be read with breathless interest."—journal of education. in the king's name: or the cruise of the kestrel. by g. manville fenn. illus- trated by full-page pictures by gordon browne, in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "in the king's name" is a spirited story of the jacobite times, con- ccrning tho adventures of hilary leigh, a young naval officer in the preventive service off the coast of sussex, on board the kestrel. leigh in taken prisoner by the adherents of the pretender, amongst whom is an early friend and patron who desires to spare' the lad's life, but will not release him. the narrative is full of pxciting and often humorous incident. "mr manville fenn has already won a foremost place among writers of stories for buys 'in the king's name,' is, we are inclined to think, the best of all his pro- ductions in this field."—daily news. "told with the freshness and verve which characterize all mr. fenn's writings and put him in the front rank of writers for boys."—standard. a terrible coward. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations in black and tint. crown vo, cloth extra, *. d. the tale of a lad who never bounced, bragged, or bullied, and who, from his unwillingness to risk his lifo in foolhardy tricks and dangerous frolics, won for himself the distinction in the cornish village where he lived of being called a "terrible coward." when the timo came, hewever, that put the most venturesome to the test, the coward was found to be tho one who went to tho front, and distanced all by his cool unflinching english courage. blackie & sun's new publications. by george manville fenn. "no one can find his way to the hearts of lads more readily than mr. fenn."— nottingham guardian. patience wins: or, war in the works. by g. manville fenn. with full- page illustrations by gordon browne, in black aud tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. this is a graphic narrative of factory life in the black country. the hero, cob, and his three uncles, engineers, machinists, and inventors, go down to arrowfield to set up "a works." they find, however, that the workmen, through prcjudico and ignorance, are determined to have no new-fangled machinery. but cob and his uncles are of the genuine kind that never know defeat, and war is declared. the workmen attack and the masters defend tho works by night and by day, in spite of which the machinery is destroyed, the workshops almost blown up, and endless at- tempts made to do injury. after a series of narrow escapes and stirring encounters, in which both, sides get worsted in turn, the workmen by de- grees find that no malice is borne against them, and at last admiration takes the placo of hatred. a great business is built up, and its foundation is laid on the good-will of the men. menhardoc: a story of cornish nets aud mines. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by c. j. staniland, rl. in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. the scene of this story of boyish aspiration and adventure is laid among the granite piles and tors of cornwall. hero amongst the hardy, honest fishermen and miners the two sons of mr. temple meet with will marion, the nephew of a retired purser of the royal navy and owner of several fishing-boats. the london boys are inducted into the secrets of fishing in the great bay, they learn hew to catch mackerel, pollack, and conger with the line, and are present at the hauling of the nets, although not with- out incurring many serious risks. there is a good deal of quaint character throughout, and the sketches of cornish life and local colouring are based upon experience in the bay, whese fishing village is called here menhardoc. tnis is a thoroughly english story of phases of life but little touched upon in boys' literature up to the present time *' they are real living boys, with the virtues and faults which generally characterize the transition stage between boyhood and manhood. the cornish fishermen are drawn from life, they are racy of the soil, emit with the sea water, and they stand out from the pages in their jerseys and sea-boots all sprinkled with silvery pilchard scales. . . . . those who buy it as a christmas gift for their juvenile relatives will find it a pleasant companion for their own idle hours when the boys have done with it." —spictator, "mr. fenn has written many books in his time; he has not often written one which for genuine merit as a story for young pvople will exceed this."—srattman. "a description of will marion's iiescent into a flooded mine is excellent. josh is a delightfully amusing character. we may cordially praise the illustrations."—satur- day review. blackie & stm's new publications. by asoott r. hope. stories of old renown. tales of knights and heroes. by ascott r. hope. with nearly kx) illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, clotli elegant, olivine edges, s. "the stories are admirably chosen. it is a book to be coveted by all young readers."—scotsman "one of the best, if dot the best, boys' book of the season."— truth. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. with full-page pictures by gordon browne, in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. "tho wigwam and the war-path" consists of stories of red indians which are none tho less romantic for being true. they are taken from tho actual records of those who have boon made prisoners by the red men or havo lived among them, joining in their expeditions and taking part in their semi-savage but often picturesque and adventurous life. m mr. hope's volume is notably good: it gives a very vivid picture of life among the i m. ii.itn."—spectator. "all the stories are told well, in simple spirited language and with a fulness of detail that makes them instructive as well as interesting."— journal of education, blacme & son's new publications. by henry frith. the search for the talisman: a story of labrador. by henry frith. with full-page illustrations by john schonberg, in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, a. d. a stirring tale of adventure in labrador. four youths and two elder relatives proceed in search of a "talisman" left by the father of two of the young explorers when an officer in the hudson's bay company's service. they get blown out of their course, and are obliged to anchor in an almost ico-locked bay. on an exploring expedition they aro separated, and various adventures result until they unito again and land amongst the esquimaux. after suffering many vicissitudes they succeed in recovering the talisman, with which they return to england. jack ' lanthorn. a tale of adventure. by henry frith. with full-page illus- trations in black aud tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. this is a story of tho days when george the third was king, and when "jack the painter" was trying to set fire to the shipping in government dockyards. tho hero gets into certain scrapes, and at the sea-coast makes the acquaintance of jack o' lanthorn, the keeper of a light-ship. the lad and a companion drifting out to sea in an open boat, discover in a singular manner the approach of the spanish fleet, and jack accompanies the hero of the talo to report what they have seen. seized by a press-gang they are taken off to sea, and eventually take part in the defence of gibraltar. "'jack o' lanthern ' will hold its own with the beat works of mr. henty and mr. manville fenn,"—morning advertise): ''the narrative is crushed full of stirring incident, and is sure to be a prime favourite with our boys."—christian leader. by lewis hough. dr. jolliffe's boys: a tale of weston school. by lewis hough. with full-page pictures in black and tint. crown vo, cloth extra, *. d. a story of school life which will bo read with genuine interest, especially as it exposes some of the dangers which may beset lads who are ill in- structed at homo or have been thrown among unscrupulous companions. tho descriptions of the characters of the boys at dr. jolliffe's are vivid and truthful. the narrative throughout is bright, easy, and lighted by touches of humour. "young people who appreciate 'tom brown's school-days' will find this story a worthy companion to that fascinating lunik. there is tho same manline** of tone, truthfulness of outline, avoidance of exaggeration ami caricature, and healthy mor- ality as characterized the masterpiece of mr. hughes."— netccastie journal. blacki e & son's new publications. by john c. hutcheson. "mr. hutoheson bids fair to take a prominent place among our beet writers of boys' books."—the academy. the wreck of the nancy bell; or, cast away on kerguelen land. by john c. hutcheson. illustrated by full-page pictures in black and tint. crown vo, cloth extra, *. d. this is a book after a boy's own heart. the story narrates the eventful voyage of a vessel on her way from the port of london to new zealand, and the haps and mishaps that befell her, culminating in the wreck of the ill-fated nancy bell on kerguelen land. there is no lack of incident. from the opening chapter, with the cowardly steward's alarm of "a ghost in the cabin" to the end of the story, which details the rescue of the shipwrecked passengers, one engrossing narrative holds the attention of the reader, until he reaches the final page. "a fall cireumstantial narrative such as boys delight in. the ship so sadly destined to wreck on kerguelen land is manned by a very life-like party, passengers and crew. the life in the antaretic iceland is well treated."—athenaum. picked up at sea: or the gold miners of minturne creek, and other stories. by john c. hutcheson. with full-page pictures in tints. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. the story of a young english lad, rescued in mid atlantic from a watery grave, and taken out west by a party of gold-diggers to the wild regions of the black hills in dakota. here, after warring with the elements during months of unceasing toil in their search for the riches of the earth, and having the result of their indefatigable labour well-nigh torn from their grasp when on the verge of victory, success at last rewards the efforts of the adventurous band. "this is the first appearance of the author as a writer of books for boys, and the success is so marked that it may well encourage bim to further efforts. the descrip- tion of raining life in the far-west is true and accurate."—standard. "a capital book; full of startling incident, clever dialogue, admirable descriptions of sky and water in all their as^iects, and plenty of fun."—shejjuld independent. tom finch's monkey, and other yarns. by john c. hutcheson. with full-page illustrations in black and tint. crown vo, cloth extra, is. c/. this is a collection of sea-stories. "tom finch's monkey" is about a gallant lieutenant and his pet chimpanzee, and will make many boys iaagh; while the escape of "the cranky jane" will excite their deepest interest; and as for "jim newman's yarn," the real story of the great sea-serpent, it will fairly enchant them. grave and gay alike, these yarns are suited to almost any taste. blackie & son's new publications. by thomas archer. little tottie, and two other stories. by thomas archer. with full-page illustrations by j. j. proctor. crown vo, cloth extra, s. a thrilling littlo drams of real life, of child life, of the life of a poor neighbourhood with sordid surroundings, and perhaps fuller of suggestion than many more pretentious tales. it stirs the emotions by representing actual scenes and possible people, with the peculiarities and habits that be- long to them and make them easily recognized. miss grantleys girls, and the stories she told them. by thomas archer. with illustrations by gordon browne. cr. vo, cloth ex., is. d. the stories that miss grantley tells to her girls, during pleasant even- ings after school, arc such as are likely to provo attractive to the girls in other schools. they are small romances of real life with a good deal of genuine pathos and exciting incident in them, and arc eminently suited for family reading or for talos to tell out of school as miss grantley told them. by rosa mulholland. hetty gray; or nobody's bairn. by rosa mulholland. with full-page illustrations in black and tint. cr. vo, cloth extra, s. d. "hetty gray " is tho story of a girl who, having been found as an infant by a villager, is brought up by his wife, and is a kind of general pet, till an accident causes a rich widow to adopt her. on the death of her adoptive mother hetty, who is left unprovided for, is taken by the widow's relatives to be educated with a view to her gaining her livelihood as a governess, an event which is prevented by a rather remarkable discovery. "a pleasantly told story for girls, with a happy ending."—athenmim. "a charming story for young folks. hetty is a delightful creature—piquant, tender, and true—and her varying fortunes are perfectly realistic."— world. four little mischiefs. by rosa mulholland. with full-page pictures in colours. crown vo, cloth extra, s. the history of kitty, jock, bunko, and ba, whe, aftor successfully weathering the mumps in their london nursery, are sent to the country to recruit. the book is full of innocent fun, and abounds in attractive and instructive incident. "will be read with absorbing interest by the youngsters."—land a-ml water. "a charming bright story about real children."— w'ntehman. b blackie & son's new publications. the shilling series of books for young people. square mo, neatly bound in cloth extra. each book contains pages and a coloured illustration. "the whole of the set will be found admirably adapted for the use of the young. the books, well printed and elegantly bound in cloth, aro a marvel of cheapness."—journal of education. "they are unusually good, and are calculated to produce sound, whelo- somo, moral effects."—glasgow herald. olive mount. by annie s. fenn. a bright and sparkling story about a family of boys and girls left, through the death of both parents, to the charge of their eldest brother. for a time the children fairly run riot in the pleasant country-side at olive mount; till the wholesome discipline of sorrow and the gentle influence of miss orpeu their governess, lead them to find enjoyment in doing what is right. a little adventurer. by gregson gow. tells how little tommy treffit started off to search for his father in australia. how he hid himself on board a vessel bound for madeira, and how, after many adventures, he at last found his father, not in australia, but safo at home. tom watkins' mistake. by emma leslie. tom watkins, having given way to the temptation to commit acts of petty pilfering in the carpenter's shop where he is apprenticed, ultimately suffers the consequences of his wrong-doing, and not only learns that honesty is the best policy, but comes to see the sinfulness of his conduct. two little brothers. by harriet m. capes. this is a pleasant account of some of the incidents which befol two little brothers, whose home was in a seaside village. it tells of their adventures on the shore and of the wonderful sights they saw during a trip to london, and how a kind father taught them to practise at all times self-control and courtesy. blackie & son's new publications. the shilling series of books for young people—continued. three little ones: their haps and mishaps. by cora langton. a simple tale of home life. children are sure to love and admire bright mabel, affectionate eddie, and sad little lucy, while the story of mabel's sin and lucy's sorrow will teach them truthfulness and obedience. the new boy at merriton. by julia goddard. "a story of english school life. it is an attempt to teach a somewhat higher codu of honour than that which prevails among the general run of scheolboys, and the lesson makes a very good story."—school board chronicle. the blind boy of dresden. "this is a family story of great lwithos. it does not obtrusively dictate its lesson, but it quietly introduces, and leaves it within the heart."—aberdeen journal. jon of iceland: a true story. '"jon of iceland' in a sturdy, well-educated young icelander, who becomes a suc- cessful teacher. it gives children a clear idea of the chief physical features of the island, and of the simple and manly character of its iuhabitaut*."—sd, u»l gaardian. stories from shakespeare. "the stories are told in such a way that young people baving read them will desire to study the works of shakespeare in their original form."— the school mint ress. every man in his place. the story of a city boy and a forest boy. "this is the history of the son (if a wealthy hamburg merehant, who wished to futlow in the steps of robinson crusoe. he was put to the test, and became con- vinced in the end that it is better to live the lite of a wealthy merehant in a great city than to endure hardship by choice."—school board chronicle. fireside fairies and flower fancies: stories for girls. "nine stories are included, all for girl*, encouraging them to try and do their duty. young servants would find this book very interesting."—tv schoolmistress. blackie & son's new publications. the shilling series—continued. to the sea in ships: stories of suffering and saving at sea. "to the sea in ships records several noted disasters at sea, such as the foundering of the lowlon and the wreck of the atlantic. it also oontains narratives of success- ful rescues. this is a capital boon for boys."—school guardian. jack's victory: and other stories about dogs. "every boy, and some girls, take great delight in reading about dogs. well. jack was a dug; a famous and wonderful oue, too. he became leader of a team in green- land, and some rare exploits he took part in. besides 'jack's victory' there an ten other stories about dogs in this volume."—the schootmistrtu. the story of a king, told by one of his soldiers. "this book recounts the boyhood and reign of charles xii. of sweden. the ware in which he was engaged and the extraordinary victories he won are well described, and equally so are the misfortunes which latterly came on him and his kingdom through his uncontrollable wilfulness."—aberdeen journal. little daniel: a story of a flood on the rhine. a simple and touching story of a flood on the rhine, told as well as george eliot so graphically wrote of the mitt on the flou."—goxtmeu. prince alexis: a tale of old russia. this is a legend wrought into a story, rendering a fiction of life in russia, something more than a hundred years ago; a state of things which, as the author says, "is now impossible, and will soon become incredible" sasha the serf: and other stories of russian life. the stories in the volume comprise:—the lifo of sosha, a poor boy whe saved the lifo of his lord, and finally rose to wealth and gained his free- dom,—incidents of remarkable personal bravery in the russian army, &c. &c. true stories of foreign history. a series of interesting tales. the book contains stories—how quentin matsys the antwerp smith beesmo a great painter,—the rise and fall of jean ango the fisherman of dieppe,—the heroism of casabianca the little french midshipman, jto. ke. blackie & son's new puhlkulions. veee foster's drawing-books—continued. studies of trees, in pencil and in water-colors. eighteen examples in colon pencil. with descriptions o for drawing and painting. second series, cloth elegant. "charmingly printed and illustrated hy chroino-lithography—in which the art of drawing foliage is very pithily but neatly set forth. the letterpress de- scriptions are remarkably well written." —f'icti/rial world, by j. needham. a series of rs, and thirty-three drawings in f the trees, and full instructions first series, cloth elegant, s. "we commend them most heartily to all persons of taste who may bo wanting to cultivate the great accomplishment of water-color drawing, or who want a gift-book for a lail or girl taking up the study."—sehoohuasu r. advanced studies in flower painting. by ada hanbury. a series of twelve beautifully finished examples in colors, and numerous outlines in pencil. with full instructions for painting, and a description of each plant by blanche hanbury. to, cloth elegant, $. d. "apart from iu educational value in art training this is a lovely book: we have seen nothing to equal the coloured plutes.'-—sh'jftdu imleirtncuut, "the handsomest and most instruc- tive volume of the series yet produced." —daily chronicle. "coloured sketches of flowers which it is literally no exaggeration to term ex- qui site.''—a* nowledi/e. illuminating. nine examples in colors and gold of ancient illuminating of the best periods, with numerous illustrations in outline, historical notes and full descriptions and instructions by rev. w. j. loftie, b.a., f.s.a. in four parts to, is. each; or one volume, cloth elegant, s. easy studies in water-color painting. by r. p. leitch and j. callow. a series of nine pictures executed in neutral tints. with full instructions for draw- ing each subject, and for sketching from nature. to, cloth elegant, s. sketches in water-colors. by t. m. richardson, r. p. leitch, j. a. houston, t. l. row- botham, e. duncan, and j. needham. a series of nine pictures executed iu colors. witli full instructions for draw- ing each subject, by an experienced teacher. to, cl. eleg., '*. "to those who wish to become proficient i ter instructoreould be recommended than in the art of water color painting no bet- [ these two series."—stucastl e chroniclt. place du st. vi cour d'honneur greek lines and other architectural essays henry van brunt architectural library <: greek lines \ and other architectural essays by henry van brunt fellow of the american institute of architects boston and new york houghton, miffltn and company to william robert ware, this book, an inadequate result op many fruitful years of personal and professional relations with him, is affectionately inscribed by the author. preface. this little book contains a selection of archi- tectural essays which have been written at intervals during an active professional career of more than thirty years. the kindly indul- gence with which they have been received by my brethren in the craft, and the friendly cu- riosity with which they have beeu regarded by the laity, may be attributed perhaps mainly to the fact that, unlike most literary expositions of the subject, they have been developed rather from practice than from theory, and that they had the advantage of that sort of sincerity which is the natural product of conviction rather than sentiment. i have been encour- aged to believe that it might be possible so to collate a few of these papers as to form a sequence, in which, from first to last, there should be evident a more or less orderly devel- opment of thought. to this end the earlier vi preface. essays in especial have been largely rewritten, and all have been, so far as practicable, brought to date. the essay on blois is the only one of the series which now makes its first appeal to the public. perhaps, in their present con- secutive form, these papers may have enough of symmetrical unity to secure for the archi- tectural matters of which they treat a more intelligent popular interest than could be obtained by any sort of disconnected publica- tion. h. v. b. kansas city, mo., july, . contents / page greek lines and their influence on modern architecture ./ the growth of conscience in modern decora- tive art historical architecture, and the influence of the personal element upon it . . the royal chateau of blois .... the present state of architecture . . . architecture and poetry list of illustrations page the egyptian lotus the three typical lines greek doric capitals the ionic capital of the erectheum . . the greek and roman cyma .... the roman ionic capital the chateau of blois. general plan ....... pavilion of louis xii., exterior facade . . pavilion of louis xii., detail of exterior facade pavilion of louis xii., interior facade . . pavilion of francis i., interior facade . . pavilion of francis i., grand staircase . . pavilion of francis i., exterior facade . . doorway of st. tropheme at arles . . . greek lines and other architectural essays. greek lines and their influence on modern architecture. i. the material beauty of the world, as exhib- ited in the manifold forms, colors, sounds, perfumes, motions of nature, is created for a nobler purpose than only to delight the senses and please the aesthetic faculties. when, ac- cording to the suggestions of our merely human passions and instincts, we ease our hearts of love by heaping treasures and the choicest gifts of fancy in the laps of those whom we most dearly cherish, we take no credit to ourselves for such precious prodi- galities; for they are the inevitable and dis- interested outpourings of affection. they are received as such. when, therefore, we see that all the beneficent energies of nature are greek lines. expressed with a profusion of beauty which is not necessary to their efficient operation, we accept the manifestation, are made happy in the consciousness of being beloved, and, con- stituted as we are in the image and likeness of god, express our instinctive gratitude in those fine human sympathies which impress the seal of truth on the primary idea of our creation. but if our "little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love" are a reflection of the divine spirit within us, and if our capacity for enthusiasm, in the primary etymological use of the word — that is, our ability to be possessed or inspired by the spirit of a god, — is one more proof that we are created in the image of deity, there is still another and more significant mark of re- lationship. the human heart, in its best estate, forever yearns to create, to give in some form expres- sion and life to those evasive ideals of love- liness which are planted within our conscious- ness by the aspects of nature. our instinctive longing to embody these illusive phantoms of beauty is godlike. but the immortal songs which remain unsung, the exquisite idyls which gasp for words, the bewildering and greek lines. s restless imagery which seeks in vain the eter- nal repose of marble or of canvas, — while these reveal the affectionate and divine desires of humanity, they prove, also, how few there are to whom it is given to learn the great lesson of creation. when one arises among us who, like pygmalion, makes no useless appeal to the goddess of beauty for the gift of life for his ideal, and who creates as he was created, we cherish him as a great in- terpreter of human love. we call him poet, composer, artist, and speak of him reverently as master. we say that his lips have been wet with dews of hybla; that, like the sage of crotona, he has heard the music of the spheres; that he comes to us, another numa, radiant and inspired from the kisses of egeria. thus, as infinite love begets infinite beauty, so does infinite beauty reflect into finite perceptions that image of its divine parentage, which the antique world worshiped under the personification of astarte, aphro- dite, venus, and recognized as the great creative principle lying at the root of all high art. there is a curious passage in boehme, which relates how satan, when asked the cause of the enmity of god and his own con- greek lines. searches after the imaginary good. we, poor underlings, have been taught in the school of sad experience the mortal agony of love with- out skill, the power of perception without the power of utterance. we know how dumb are the sweet melodies of our souls, how fleeting their opulent and dreamy pageantries. but we have not fully learned the utter emptiness and desolation of skill without love. we accept its sounding brass and tin- kling cymbals for immortal harmonies. we look reverently upon its tortured marbles, its architectural affectations, its canvases stained with academic knowledge, as revelations of higher intelligence; unaware that if we go down to the quiet places of our own souls, we shall find there the universe reflected, like a microcosm, in the dark wellsprings, and that out of these wellsprings in the deep silence rises the beautiful ideal, anadyomene, to com- pensate and comfort us for the vacancy of life. if we know ourselves, it is not to the dogmas of critics, the artificial rules of aesthet- ics, that we most wisely resort for judgments concerning works of art. though technical externals, though conventionalities, sophisti- cated by the complications of modern life, and the address of manipulation naturally take greek lines. possession of our senses and warp our opinions, there are depths of immortal truth within us, rarely sounded, indeed, but which, when dimly revealed in some rare moment of insight, seem to show that we possess a standard and a cri- terion far nobler than the schools can give us. the broken statues and columns and tradi- tions and fragmentary classics, which greece has left us, are so still and tranquil to the eye and ear, that we search in vain for the delphic wisdom they contain, till we find it echoed in the sympathetic depths of our souls, and repeated in the half-impalpable ideals there. it is in this favored land of art that we must seek for the earliest, the clearest, and the purest external expressions of these ideals, whose existence we but half suspect within us. it is not pleasant, perhaps, to think that we were nearly unconscious of some of the high- est capacities of our humanity till we recog- nized their full expression in the ashes of a distant and dead pagan civilization; that we did not know ourselves till "the airy tongues that syllable men's names in pathless wildernesses" uttered knowledge to us among the ruins of hellas. it is good for us to lend a spiritual ear to these ancient whisperings, and hear greek lines. nymph calling to nymph and faun to faun, as they caper merrily with the god pan through the silence. it is good for us to listen to that "inextinguishable laughter " of the happy im- mortals of olympus, ever mingling with all the voices of nature and setting them to the still sweet music of humanity, — good, because so we are reminded how close we are to the outward world, and how all the developments of visible beauty are figurative expressions of our own humanity. thus it is that the poetic truths of old religions exquisitely vindicate themselves; thus we find, even we moderns, with our downward eyes and our wrinkled brows, that we still worship at the mythologi- cal altars of childlike divinities; and when we can get away from the distracting bedlam of steam-shrieks and machinery, we behold the secrets of our own hearts, the lares and pe- nates of our own households, reflected in the "white ideals" on antique vases and medal- lions. abstract lines are the most concentrated expressions of human ideas, and as such are peculiarly sensitive to the critical tests of all theories of the beautiful. distinguished from the more usual and direct means by which greek lines. artists express their inspirations and appeal to the sympathies of men; distinct from the com- mon language of art, which contents itself with conveying merely local and individual ideas by imitations or translations of natural forms, abstract lines are recognized as the grand hieroglyphic symbolism of the aggregate of human thought, the artistic manifestations of the great human cosmos. ^the natural world, passing through the mind of man, is immedi- ately interpreted and humanized by his creative power, and assumes the colors, forms, and har- monies of painting, sculpture, and music. but abstract lines as we find them in archi- tecture and in the ceramic arts are the inde- pendent developments of this creative power, coming directly from humanity itself, and ob- taining from the outward world only the most distant motives of composition. thus it is an inevitable deduction that architecture is the most human of all arts, and its lines the most human of all lines. "a thing of beauty is a joy forever ;" and the affectionate devotion with which this gift is received by finite intelligences from the hand of god is expressed in art, when its in- finite depth can be so expressed at all, in a greek lines. twofold language, — the one objective, the other subjective; the one recalling the im- mediate source of the emotion, and presenting it palpably to the senses, but more or less in- fused with the thought or mood of the artist; the other portraying rather the emotion than the cause of it, and, by an instinctive and universal symbolism, reflecting the character of the impression made by it upon the creative instinct and inner consciousness of mankind. hence come those lines which aesthetic writers term "lines of beauty," suggesting rather than expressing meanings, — simple and ele- mentary, but of far-reaching and various sig- nificance; animated with life and thought and musical motion, and yet still and serene and spiritual. the mysteries of orb and cycle, with which old astrologers girded human life, and sought to define -from celestial phenomena the horo- scope of man, have been brought down to modern applications by learned philosophers and mathematicians, who have labored with ingenuity and skill to trace the interior rela- tionships existing between the recondite rev- elations of their geometry, their wonderful laws of mathematical harmonies and unities, and those lines which are creations of art, as greek lines. distinguished from imitations of nature, and which, because their various characteristics emanated from the inborn genius, or spirit of the races of mankind, have become symbols of humanity. no wehvorganized intellect can fail to perceive that some sublime and im- mortal truth underlies these speculations. undoubtedly, in the straight line, in the conic sections, in the innumerable composite curves of the mathematician, lie the germs of all these symbolic expressions. but the architect, whose lines of beauty vary continually with the emotions which produce them, who feels in his own human heart the irresistible impulse which gives to them their exquisite balance, their sensitive poise, their delicate significance and value, cannot allow that the spirit and motive of these lines are governed by the exact and rigid formulas of the mathematician to any greater extent or in any other manner^han as the numbers of the poet are ruled by the grammar of his language. these formulas may be applied as a curious test to as^pain what strange sympathies there may be between such lines and the organic harmonies of nature and the universe; but these formulas do not enter into the soul of their creation any more than the limitations of counterpoint and rhythm greek lines. laid their incubus on the lyre of apollo. the porches where callicrates, hermogenes, and callimachus walked were guarded by no such cerberus as the disciples of plato en- countered at the entrance of the groves of the academy, — "let no one ignorant of geometry enter here;" but the divine aphrodite welcomed all man- kind to the tender teachings of the lotus, the acanthus, the honeysuckle, and the sea- shell, and all the sweet relationships of nature to the heart of man. the tendency of many modern writers to account for the lines of greek mouldings and vases by considering them developments of strict scientific laws, results of mathematical proportions, and by endeavoring to restrict their freedom to the narrow limitations of geometric lines and curves, nicely adapted from the frigidities of euclid, is dispiriting to the artist. "the melancholy days have come" for art when the meditative student finds his early footsteps loud among these dry, withered, and sapless leaves, instead of brushing away the dews by the fountains of perpetual youth. now it is capable of distinct proof that abstract lines of beauty, as in all their infinite greek lines. was used by nearly all the early peoples to express the creative spirit which gives life and vegetation to matter. lacshmi, the beautifid hindu goddess of abundance, corresponding to the venus aphrodite of the greeks, was called "the lotus-born," as having ascended from the ocean in this flower. here, again, is the inevitable intermingling of the eternal principles of beauty, love, and the creative power in that pure triune medallion image which the ancients so tenderly cherished and so exquisitely worshiped with vestal fires and continual sacrifices of art. old father nile, reflecting in his deep, mysterious breast the monstrous temples of nubia and pylae, bears eloquent witness to the earnestness and sin- cerity of the old votive homage to isis, "the lotus-crowned" venus of egypt. for the symbolic water-lily, recreated by human art, blooms forever in bud or flower in the capitals of karnac and thebes, and wherever columns were reared and lintels laid throughout the length and breadth of the " land of bondage." it is the keynote of all that architecture and the basis of its decorative character. a brief examination into the principles of this new birth of the lotus, of the monumental straightening and stiffening of its graceful greek lines. and easy lines, will afford some insight into the strange processes of the human mind, when by divine instinct it creates out of the material beauties of nature a work of art. it is well known that the religion of the old egyptians led them to regard this life as a mere temporary incident, an unimportant phase of their progress toward that larger and grander state imaged to them with mys- terious sublimity in the idea of death or eternity. in accordance with this belief, they expressed in their dwellings the sentiment of transitoriness and vicissitude, and in their tombs an immortality of calm repose. and so their houses have crumbled into dust ages ago, but their tombs are eternal. in all the relations of life the sentiment of death was present in some form or other. the hallowed mummies of their ancestors were the most sa- cred mortgages of their debts, and to redeem them speedily was a point of the highest honor. they had corpses at their feasts to remind them how transitory were the glory and happi- ness of the world, how eternal the tranquillity of death. now, how was this prevailing idea expressed in their art? they looked around them and saw that all organic life was full of movement greek lines. and wavy lines; their much-loved lotus un- dulated and bent playfully to the solemn flow of the great nile; the ibis fluttered with con- tinual motion; their own bodies were full of ever-changing curves; and their whole vis- ible existence was unsteady, like the waves of the sea. but when the temporary life was changed, and "this mortal put on im- mortality," when the mummy was swathed in its everlasting cerements for its long sleep, their eyes and souls were filled with the utter stillness and repose of its external aspects; its features became rigid and fixed, and were settled to an everlasting and immutable calm; the vibrating grace of its lines departed, and their ever-varying complexity became simpli- fied, and assumed the straightness and stiff- ness of death. in this manner the straight line, the natural expression of eternal repose, in contradistinction to the wavy line, which represents the animal and vegetable move- ments of life, became the motive and spirit of their art. the anomaly of death in life was present in every development of the creative faculty, and no architectural or decorative feature could be so slight and unimportant as not to be thoroughly permeated with this sentiment. the tender and graceful lines greek lines. of the lotus became sublime and monumen- tal under the religious loyalty of egyptian chisels. whether used in construction or dec- oration, these lines, so stiffened and formal- ized, seem to bring us into the presence of a strange phase of human life and thought, long since passed away from any other con- tact with living creatures. when applied to the rendering of the human figure, especially in the heroic forms of egyptian art, — in the statues and portraits of kings, in the sphinxes, in the colossi of memnon, and the royal tombs, — these solemn and fateful lines appear in effect to overwhelm the idea of human mutability and movement in the aw- ful repose of immortality. it seems suffi- ciently evident that this process of formaliz- ing the lines of the human figure in egyptian art was not the result of a limitation of the powers of the artist to express movement and life, but rather of a consecration of his art to the service of a fundamental religious dogma. "solid-set, and moulded in colossal calm," all the lines of this lost art thus recall the sentiment of endless repose, and even the necessary curves of its mouldings are dead with straightness. the love which produced greek lines. greek lines. these lines was not the passionate love which we understand and feel; they were not the result of a sensuous impulse; but the egyptian artist seemed ever to be standing alone in the midst of a trackless and limitless desert, — around him earth and sky meeting with no kiss of affection, no palpitating embrace of mutual sympathy; he felt himself encircled by a calm and pitiless destiny, the cold expres- sion of a fate from which he could not flee, and in himself the centre and soul of it all. oppressed thus with a vast sense of spiritual loneliness, when he uttered the inspirations of art, the memories of playful palms and float- ing lilies and fluttering wings, though they came warm to the love of his heart, were attuned in the outward expression to the deep, solemn, prevailing monotone of his humanity. his love for the lotus and the ibis, more pro- found than the passion of the senses, dwelt se- rene in the bottom of his soul, and thence came forth transfigured and dedicated to the very noblest uses of life. this is the art of egypt. but among all the old nations which have perished with their gods, greece appeals to our closest sympathies. she looks upon us with the smile of childhood, free, contented, and happy, with no ascetic self-denials to check greek lines. her wild-flower growth, no stern religion to bind the liberty of her actions. all her ex- ternal aspects are in harmony with the weak- ness and the strength of human nature. we recognize ourselves in her, and find all the characteristics of our own finite nature there developed into a theism so human, clothed with a personification so exquisite and po- etical, that the hellenic mythology seems still to live in our hearts a silent and shadowy re- ligion without ceremonies or altars or sacrifices. the festive gods of the iliad made man a deity to himself, and his soul the dwelling-place of ideal beauty. in this ideal they lived and moved and had their being, and came forth thence, bronze, marble, chryselephantine, a stat- uesque and naked humanity, chaste in uncom- prehended sin and glorified in antique virtue. the beauty of this natural life, and the love of it, was the soul of the greek ideal; and the nation continually cherished and culti- vated and refined this ideal with impulses from groves of arcadia, vales of tempe, and flowery slopes of attica, from the man- liness of olympic games and the loveli- ness of spartan helens. they cherished and cultivated and refined it, because here they set up their altars to known gods and greek lines. growths of wanton and luxurious curves, wild, spontaneous utterances of superabundant life. the finely studied perception of the greek artist admitted no unimaginative, pre-raphael- ite imitations of what nature was ever giving him with a liberal hand in the whorls of shells, the veins of leaves, the life of flames, the convolutions of serpents, the curly tresses of woman, the lazy grace of clouds, the easy sway of tendrils, flowers, and human motion. he was no literal interpreter of her whispered secrets. but the grace of his art was a deliberate grace, — a grace of thought and study. his lines were creations, and not instincts or imitations. it was his religion so to nurture and educate his sensitiveness to beauty and his power to love and create it, that his works of art should be deeds of wor- ship and expressions of a godlike humanity. unlike the egyptian's, there was nothing in his creed to check the sweet excess of life, and no grim shadow, "feared of man," scared him in his walks, or preached to him sermons of mortality in the stones and violets of the wayside. life was hallowed and dear to him for its own sake. he saw it was lov- able, and he made it the theme of his noblest poems, his subtlest philosophies, and his high- greek lines. est art. hence the infinite joy and endless laughter on olympus, the day-long feasting of the gods, the silver stir of strings in the hol- low shell of the exquisite phoebus, "the soft song of the muse with voices sweetly re- plying." i believe that all true lines of grace and beauty, though they are necessarily infinite in variety and meaning, are capable of division into three distinct classes, according to the respective spirit or genius of the three civili- zations out of which they grew, and that each class, as it expresses a unity of great signifi- cance in the history of the human race, is capable of concentrating its distinguishing characteristics in one representative line, which may stand as the symbol, the gesture, as it were, of an era in this history. = if this is possible, these three symbols would represent not only the arts of three great eras, but the essential quality of their life and thought, of which these arts are themselves the symbol and the record. these lines, from the nature of the case, are not precise or exact, like a formula of mathematics, to which the neophyte can refer for deductions of grace to suit any premises or conditions. this, of course, is contrary to the spirit of beautiful design; and greek lines. the ingenious hay, who maintained that his "composite ellipse" is capable of universal application in the arts of ornamental compo- sition, and that by its use any desirable lines in mouldings or vases can be mechanically produced, especially greek lines, fell into the grave error of endeavoring to materialize and fix that animula vagula, blandula, that coy and evasive spirit of art, which is its peculiar characteristic, and gives to its works inspira- tion, harmony, and poetic sentiment. ideal beauty can be hatched from no geometrical eggs. of these lines one expresses the most subtle grace yet conceived by the mind or exe- cuted by the hand of man. this line pretends to be merely a type of that large language of forms, with which the most refined intellects of antiquity uttered their joyful worship of aphrodite in greek art. the three great distinctive eras of art, in a purely psychological sense, were the egyp- tian, the grecian, and the romanesque, — including in the latter term both roman art itself and all subsequent art, whether derived directly or indirectly from rome, as the byzantine, the mahometan, the me- diaeval, and the renaissance. selecting the most characteristic works to which these great greek lines. eras respectively gave birth, it is not difficult by comparison to ascertain the master-spirit, or type, to which each of these three families may be reduced. if we place these types side by side, the result will be as in the diagram, egyptian. roman. presenting to the eye, at one view, the con- centration of three civilizations, destiny, love, and life ; — destiny, finding utterance in the stern and inflexible simplicity of the tombs and obelisks of egypt; love, expressing itself in the statuesque and thoughtful grace of grecian temples, statues, and urns; life, in the sensuous and impulsive change, evident in all the developments of art, since greece be- greek lines. came achaia, a province of the roman empire. in the central type, as exhibited in the dia- gram, we see a happy mingling of the essen- tial qualities of the other two. the genius of greece, on the one hand, tempers the rigid repose of egypt with the passion of life, and, on the other, restrains the passion of life with a spirit of intellectual tranquillity. humanly speaking, it seems to stand for a condition of perfect art, representing the highest develop- ment of creation by man. at one point in the history of the race the secret of perpetual youth seemed to have been disclosed, at once grave with memory and jocund with hope. this intermediate line is the essence of the age of pericles; and in it "the capable eye" may discover the pose of the cnidian venus of praxiteles, of the jupiter olympus of phidias, and the other lost wonders of ancient chisels, and, more directly, the tender severity of doric capitals and the secret grace of the shafts of the parthenon. according to pliny, apelles, when he visited the great painter protogenes, at rhodes, and found him not at home, inscribed a line upon a board, assuring the slave that this line would signify to the master who had been to see him. whatever the line was, protogenes, we hear, , greek lines. recognized in it the hand of the greatest lim- ner of greece. it was the signature of that ideal, known to the antique world by its wider developments in the famous pictures of the venus anadyomene, and alexander with the thunderbolt, hung in the temple of diana at ephesus. the gravity with which this apparently trifling anecdote is given us from antiquity evidently proves that it was one of the house- hold tales of old greece. it did not seem ab- surd in those times, when art was recognized as a great unity, an elaborate and copious language, founded on the simplest elements of life, and, in its grandest and widest sowings, bearing ever in its bosom, like a great river, the memory of the little weeping naiad far up among the mountains with her "impoverished urn. thus every great national art, growing up naturally out of the necessities of an earnest people, expressing the grand motives of their life, as that of the greeks and the egyptians and the mediaeval nations of europe, is founded on the simplest laws. so long as these laws are obeyed without affectations or sophistications, art is good and true; so long as it remembers the purity and earnestness of its childhood, greek lines. the strength that is ordained out of the mouth of tabes is present in all its expressions; but when it spreads itself abroad in the fens and marshes of humanity, when it becomes remi- niscent and imitative, when it is governed by archaeology and pretends to be what it is not, it loses the purity of its aim, the singleness and unity of its action, — it becomes stag- nant, and sleeps in the death of idleness. when one studies greek art, the whole mo- tive of it seems so childlike and so simple that the impulse to seek for that little naiad which is the fountain and source of it all is irresisti- ble. i have endeavored, in the representative line which i have traced, to embody the char- acteristic grace of the delicate and elegant lines in the profiles of greek mouldings and vases, and to present a type of the restrained and carefully balanced rhythmic movement, the aristocratic poise, which distinguish the composition of greek ornament. it is impos- sible to produce this line with a wanton flour- ish of the pencil, as i have done in that easy and thoughtless curve which hogarth, in his quaint " analysis of beauty," assumed as the line of true grace; nor yet are its motions governed by any cold mathematical laws. in it is the earnest and deliberate labor of love. greek lines. there are thought and tenderness in every in- stant of it; but this thought is grave and al- most solemn, and this tenderness is chastened and purified by wise reserve. measure it by time, and you will find it no momentary de- light, no voluptuous excess which comes and goes in a breath; but there is a whole cycle of deep human feeling in it. it is the serene joy of a nation, and not the passionate impulse of a man. observe, from beginning to end, its in- tention is to give expression by the serpentine line to that sentiment of beautiful life which was the worship of the greeks; but they did not toss it off, like a wine-cup at a feast. they prolonged it through all the varied emo- tions of a lifetime with exquisite art, making it the path of their education in childhood and of their wider experience as men. all the impulses of humanity they bent to a kindly parallelism with it. this is that fa- mous principle of variety in unity which st. augustine and hosts of other philosophers considered the true ideal of beauty. start with this line from the top upon its journeying: look at the hesitation of it ere it launches into action; how it cherishes its resources, and gathers up its strength ! — with a confidence in its beautiful destiny, and yet with a chaste greek lines. / shrinking from the full enjoyment of it, how inevitably, but how purely it yields itself to the sudden curve! it does not embrace this curve with a sensuous sweep, nor does it, like sap- pho, throw itself with quick passion into the tide. it enters with maidenly and dignified re- serve into a new life which, as you glance at it, seems almost ascetic, and reminds you of the rigid fatalism of egypt. its grace is almost strangled, as those other serpents were in the grasp of the child hercules. but if you watch it attentively, you will find it ever changing, though with subtlest refinement, ever human, and true to the great laws of emotion. there is no straight line here, no death in life, but the composure of "maiden meditation" moving with serious pleasure along the grooves of happy change. it cer- tainly does not seem to be merely fanciful to attribute the character of this line to a habit of chastity in thought and of elegant reserve in expression. follow it still farther, and you will find it grateful to the sight, neither fa- tiguing with excess of monotony nor cloying the appetite with change. and when the round hour is full and the end comes, this end is met by a fate, which does not clip with the shears of atropos and leave an aching void, greek lines. but fulfills itself in gentleness and peace. the line bends quietly and unconsciously to- wards the beautiful consummation, and then dies, because its work is done. when we examine the innumerable lines of greek architecture, we find that the artists never for an instant lost sight of this ideal. its deliberate and carefully studied grace was everywhere present, and mingled not only with such grand and heroic lines as those of the sloping pediments, the long-drawn entablatures, and massive stylobates of the parthenon and theseion, bending them into curves so subtly modulated that our coarse perceptions did not perceive the variations from the dead straight lines till the careful admeasurements of pen- rose and cockerel and their confreres of france assured us of the fact, still further confirmed by the skillful photographs of stillman; not only did it make these enormous harp-strings vibrate with deep human soul-music, but there is not an abstract line in moulding, column, or vase, belonging to old greece or the islands of the iegean or ionia or the greek colonies of italy, which does not have the same deep meaning, the same statuesque and thoughtful pose. besides, i very much doubt if the same line, in all its parts and proportions, is greek lines. ever repeated twice, — certainly not with any emphasis; and this is following out the great law of our existence, which varies the emotion infinitely with the occasion which produced it. let us suppose, for example, that a moulding was needed to crown a column with fitting glory and grace. now the capital of a column may fairly be called the throne of ideal ex- pression; it is the cour d'honneur of art. the architect in this emergency did not set himself at "the antique," and seek for au- thorities, and reproduce and copy; for he de- sired not to present with pedantic accuracy and historical respect some effect of beautiful design which he had seen in the capitals of assyria, or persia, or egypt, and which had been developed from some condition of struc- ture, or use, or habit of mind different from his own, but to devise a feature which physically and aesthetically should answer all the require- ments of its peculiar position, a feature whose lines should have essential relationships with the other lines around it, those of shaft, archi- trave, frieze, and cornice, — should swell its fitting melody into the great fugue. and so, between the summit of the long shaft and that square block, the abacus, on which reposes the dead weight of the lintel of greece, the greek lines. doric echinus was fashioned, crowning the serene atlas-labor of the column with exqui- site completion, and uniting the upright and horizontal masses of the order with a marriage ring, whose beauty is its perfect fitness. the profile of this moulding may be rudely likened to the upper and middle parts of the line assumed as the representative of the greek ideal. but it varied ever with the exigency of circumstances. over the short and solid shafts of paestum it assumed the shape of a crushed cushion; that of the acropolis at seli- nus (shown in diagram at a) had a similar character. the conditions in these early ex- amples of the style seemed to the artist, as the shaft had an abundance of reserved strength, to require at this point a moulding of softened grace, while the parthenon (shown at b) and the temple of ceres at eleusis (shown at c) exhibited in their echini more energetic profiles, as if their service of support could not be performed satisfactorily to the eye with- out an expression of effort, somewhat like that of a muscle in strong tension. the com- paratively slender grace of the shafts in these two latter and later examples — a grace em- phasized by the almost imperceptible vertical curves with which these shafts diminish, in the greek lines. the greek doric carital. greek lines. entasis, from base to summit — demanded at the bearing point a demonstration of power to justify their delicacy of proportion. the es- pecial profile of the echinus in these cases seemed to be preordained from the base of the shaft, like a flower from the root. it was created as with "the dorian mood of soft re- corders." between these two extremes there is an infinity of change, everywhere modified and governed by " the study of imagination." the same characteristics of nervous grace and severe intellectual restraint are found wherever the greek architect put his hand and his heart to work. every moulding bears an impress of refinement, and modulates the light which falls upon it with exquisite and har- monious gradations of shade. the sun, as it touches the mouldings of the entablature, makes visible music there, as if it were the harp of memnon, — presenting a series of horizontal and parallel shade and shadow lines, delicately contrasting in melodious suc- cession, according to the profiles of the mould- ings which produced them ; the cymas, ovolos, and beads, creating fine graduated pencilings of shade, whose upper and lower boundaries die away with soft modulations; the fillets, throwing sharp and thin shadows along the greek lines. illuminated marble surfaces; the overhanging corona making a broad, defined shadow, broken by reflected lights playing on the supporting bed-mouldings. all the phenom- ena of reflected lights, half lights, and broken lights are brought in and attuned to the great daedal melody of the edifice. the antiquities of attica afford nothing frivolous or capricious or merely fanciful, no playful extravagances or wanton meanderings of line; nor did they ever submit to the tyranny of conventional formulas; but, ever loyal to the purity of a high ideal, they give us, even in their ruins, a wonderful and very evident unity of expres- sion, pervading and governing every possible mood and manner of thought. no phase of art that ever existed gives us a line so very human and simple in itself as this greek type, and so pliable to all the uses of monumental language. if this type were a mere mathematical type, its applicability to the expression of human emotions would be limited to a formalism absolutely fatal to the freedom of thought in art. but because it has its birth in love, as distinguished from pedantry, from scholastic or archaeological conformity; because it indicates a refined appreciation of all the movements of life and greek lines. all the utterances of creation; because it is the humanized essence of these motions and developments, it becomes a prolific unity, con- taining within itself the germs of a new world of ever new delight. when this type in greek art was brought to bear on the interpretation of natural forms into architectural language, we shall curiously discover that the creative instinct of the artist and his reverence for the integrity of his ideal were so great, that he not only subjected these forms to a rigid subservience to the abstract line till nature was nearly lost in art, but the adoption of these forms under any circum- stances was limited to some two or three of the most ordinary vegetable productions of greece and to one seashell. this wise re- serve and self-restraint present to us the best proof of the fastidious purity of his thought. nature poured out at the feet of the greek artist a most plenteous offering, and the lap of flora overflowed for him with tempting gar- lands of beauty; but he did not gather these up with any greedy and indiscriminate hand, he did not intoxicate himself at the harvest of the vineyard. if he adorned his festivals mr. goodyear, as we have seen, argues that they were all derived from one, the egyptian lotus. greek lines. profusely with garlands and wreaths of flow- ers, he decorated his works of art with serious and reverential reserve, contenting himself with two or three simple types, which he varied with an invention at once chaste and elegant. intent upon the nobler aim of cre- ating a pure work of art, he considered what expression or character of line or movement was required in the surface which he was to decorate, whether frieze, soffite, necking, border, moulding, capital, or vase, and taking two or three of the most familiar products of the soil, he studied their principles of growth, their creative sentiment, and ad- justed them to his decorative purpose, in fact re-created them. the design was not bent to accommodate them, but they were trans- lated and lifted up into the sphere of art. it is not impossible that the greek artist, in this process of secondary creation, may have been influenced more or less by certain crude traditionary forms, which had reached him from the nile and the euphrates; for the ar- tistic instinct quickly appreciates and absorbs any motive of design which may pass under his observation. but the greek work was developed so far beyond all these precedents that, if possibly his initiative may be ques- greek lines. tioned, his supreme creative power cannot for a moment be disputed. if we examine the magnificent ionic capi- tals of the porch of athene polias in the erechtheum, we may see that the greek could be profuse without being redundant. greek ionic. whether the main idea of this lovely and elaborate creation came from some archaic type of ionia or persia or assyria, or whether it was drawn from the convolutions of a sea- shell, he made "old things new" with his perfect art, and remodeled whatever they may have given him of suggestion into a composition of exquisite harmony and order. examine the volute: this is the nearest ap- proach to a mathematical result that can be greek lines. found in greek architecture; yet this very approximation is one of the greatest triumphs of art. no geometrical rule has been dis- covered which can exactly produce the spirals of the erechtheum, nor can they be found in shells. in avoiding the exuberance of the lat- ter and the rigid formalism of the former, a work of human thought and love has been evolved. follow one of these volutes with your eye from its centre outwards, taking all its congeries of lines into companionship; you find your sympathies at once strangely en- gaged. there is an intoxication in the grad- ual and melodious expansion of these curves. they seem to be full of destiny, bearing you along, as upon an inevitable tide, towards some larger sphere of action. ere you have grown weary with the monotony of the spiral, you find that the system of lines which com- pose it gradually leave their obedience to the centrifugal forces of the volutes, and, assum- ing new relationships of parts, sweep grace- fully across the summit of the shaft, and become presently involved in the reversed motion of the other volute, at whose centre ariadne seems to stand, gathering together all the clues of this labyrinth of beauty. this may seem fanciful to one who regards greek lines. these things as matters of convention. but inasmuch as, to the studious eye of affection, they suggest human action and human sympa- thies, this perhaps may be accepted as a proof that they had their birth in some correspond- ing affection. it is the inanimate body of geometry made spiritual and living by the creative power in the human heart. and when a later generation reduced the ionic volutes to rule, and endeavored to inscribe them with the gyrations of the compass, they have no further interest for us, save as a mathematical problem with an unknown value equal to a mysterious symbol x, in which the soul takes no comfort. when we reasonably regard the printed words of an author, we not only behold an ingenious collection of alpha- betical symbols, but are placed by them in direct contact with the mind which brought them together, and, for the moment, our train of thought so entirely coincides with that of the writer, that, though perhaps he died cen- turies ago, he may be said to live again in us. the capitals of the erechtheum have the same renaissance in every heart capable of being touched by a work of art, which, though con - ventional in form, is inspired by the breath of imagination. the spirit of the ancient artist greek lines. "and he, with many feelings, many thoughts, made up a meditative joy, and found religious meanings in the forms of nature." like faustus, he was permitted to look into her deep bosom, as into the bosom of a friend; to find his brothers in the still wood, in the air, and in the water; to see himself and the mysterious wonders of his own breast in the movements of the elements. and so he took nature as a figurative exponent of humanity, and extracted the symbolic truths from her productions and used them nobly in his art. garbett, an english aesthetical writer, as- sures us that the anthemion bears not the slightest resemblance to the honeysuckle or any other plant, " being no representation of anything in nature, but simply the necessary result of the complete and systematic attempt to combine unity and variety by the principle of gradation." but here he speaks like a geometer, and not like an artist. he seeks rather for the resemblance of form than the resemblance of spirit, and, failing to realize the object of his search, he endeavors to find a cause for this exquisite effect in pure reason. with equal perversity, poe endeavored to per- suade the public that his "raven " was the result of mere sesthetical deductions! greek lines. if, in brief, we would know the secret of the greek ideal we must first learn what vir- tues are hidden in simplicity and truth, and love with the wisdom and chastity of old hel- lenic passion. we must sacrifice, not only undisciplined invention, but cold academic formulas, the precepts of pedants, the dogmas of precise archaeologists, of architectural geo- meters and botanists, whose specious superfi- cialities are embodied in the errors of modern art, — we must sacrifice these at the shrine of the true aphrodite; else the modern pro- crustes will continue to stretch and torture greek lines on geometrical beds, and the aes- thetic pharisees around us will still crucify the greek ideal. greek lines. n. "as when a ship, by skillful steersman wrought nigh river's mouth or foreland, where the wind veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail, — so varied he, and of his tortuous train curl'd many a wanton wreath in sight of eve, to lure her eye." and eve, alas! yielded to the blandishments of the wily serpent, as we moderns, in our art, have yielded to the roman ideal of beauty, symbolized in the easy flowing and licentious curve which we have ventured to call an ex- pression of life, as contrasted with those se- verer lines which were created by love in the ideal of greece, and by destiny in that of egypt. this is the line made familiar to us by the thoughtless flourish of hogarth's pen- cil, and, in a far wider sense, it is the line which has controlled all the demonstrations of modern art since the time of the roman em- pire, because this art has been rather imitative than creative and has held a too faithful mir- ror up to nature. at all events it has been content to let the purer ideal remain petrified in the marbles of greece for nearly nineteen centuries. greek lines. i have endeavored to show how the greek ideal may be concentrated in a certain ab- stract line, not only of sensuous, but of intel- lectual beauty. i have endeavored to prove how this line, the gesture of attic eloquence, expresses the civilization of pericles and plato, of euripedes and apelles. it is now pro- posed briefly to relate how this line was lost, when the politeness and philosophy, the liter- ature and the art of greece were chained to the triumphal cars of roman conquerors, — and how it seems to have been found again in our own day, after slumbering so long in ruined temples, broken statues, and cinerary urns. the scholar who studies the history of greek art has a melancholy interest, like a surgeon, in watching its slow but inevitable atrophy under the incubus of rome. the wise but childlike serenity and cheerfulness of soul, so tenderly pictured in the white stones from the quarries of pentelicus, had, it is true, a certain sickly, exoteric life in magna graecia, as pompeii and herculaneum have proved to us. but the brutal manhood of rome overshadowed and tainted the gen- tle exotic like a upas-tree. the imported greek, indeed, was permitted by his roman greek lines. we cannot but be impressed by the fact that, in decorating their enormous fabrics with the greek orders, they used them as barbaric con- querors used the spoils of war. the delicate greek lines were at once bent to answer uses of ostentation and not of art. in fact, a comparison of the architectural details of a greek with those of a roman monument reveals the contrasts between the genius of the two races more clearly than is shown in any other visible demonstration. to narrow a broad subject down to an illustration, let us look at a single feature, the cyma reversa, or the lesbian cyma, as it was understood in greece and rome. this is a supporting moulding of very frequent occurrence in classic entablatures, a curved surface with a double flexure. perhaps the type of greek lines, as represented in the previous paper on this subject, may be safely accepted as a fair example of the greek interpretation of this feature. the romans, on the other hand, not being able to understand and appreciate the delicacy and deep propriety of this line, seized their compasses, and, without thought or love, mechanically produced a gross likeness to it by the union of two quarter-circles, thus: — greek lines. greek. roman. look upon this picture, and on this! — the one, refined, delicate, fastidious, sensitive as a facial outline, and varying its character ac- cording to its especial function in the group of mouldings to which it belongs; the other, thoughtless, mathematical, sensuous, reappear- ing ever with a stolid monotony. roman architecture was ever bold, ingenious, and al- together admirable in its structure and in its adaptation to practical and political uses; and in respect to the decoration of its architecture, it was magnificently redundant and prodigal. but though it respected the art of greece, from which it borrowed all its finer qualities of detail, it accepted the letter for the spirit, and converted greek mouldings into inflexible formulas. but even this letter, when they greek lines. transcribed it, writhed and was choked beneath hands which knew better the iron caestus of the gladiator than the subtle and spiritual touch of the artist. we can have no stronger and more con- vincing proof that architecture is the truest record of the various phases of civilization than we find in this. subjected to the im- perial power and prodigal wealth of rome, the greek slaves were ready to teach their masters the literature, the philosophy, and art of their native country, — to conquer their conquerors with the refinements of a higher civilization. but rome had her own ideas to enunciate; and so possessed was she by the impulse to give form to these ideas, to her ostentation, her pride, her sensuous magnificence, that she could not pause to learn calm and serious les- sons from the greeks who crowded her forums, but, seizing their fair sanctuaries, she stretched them out to fit her standard. she took the pure greek orders to embellish her endless arcades; she piled these orders one above the other; she bent them around her gigantic cir- cuses, she decorated every moulding of them lavishly with leaves, ovolos, or strings of pearls, and loaded every frieze with pompous inscrip- tions or with crowded undulations of wreathed greek lines. foliage; she constructed their shafts with precious oriental marbles and crowned them with capitals of gilded bronze; she applied them as decorations to her triumphal arches and to the immense vaulted halls in her baths and basilicas; till at last they had become ac- climated and lost all their peculiar refinement, all their intellectual and dignified humanity. every moulding, every capital, every detail, was formulated so as to be capable of ready reproduction. out of the suggestions con- tained in the little delicate capitals of the choragic monument of lysicrates and the temple of the winds at athens, she devel- oped that peculiarly roman institution, the sumptuous corinthian order; and added to it a variation if possible still more gorgeous, known as the composite. these she estab- lished as official standards of her luxury and power, and with them she overawed the bar- barians in the remotest colonies of her empire. the romans had neither time nor inclina- tion to bestow any love or thought on the expressiveness and especial significance of sub- ordinate parts. but out of the suggestions and reminiscences of greek lines they made a rigid and inflexible grammar of their own, — greek lines. a grammar to suit the mailed clang of roman speech, which, in its cruel martial strength, sought no refinements, no delicate inflections from a distant acropolis. the result was the insolent splendor of the empire. how utterly the still greek ideal was forgotten in this noisy ostentation, how entirely the chaste roman ionic. spirituality of the greek line was lost in the round and lusty curves which are the inevi- table footprints of sensual life, scarcely needs further amplification. i have referred to the ionic capital of the erechtheum as containing a microcosm of attic art, as presenting a fair epitome of the thought and love which hellenic artists offered in the worship of their gods. turn now to the roman ionic, as developed in any one of greek lines. the clear atmosphere of greece, should make such graduated effects of shadows and shades in contrast with light as, in combination with those produced by the other members, should create a result of fine but complicated harmony. in this way he played delicately with sunlight, as a musician plays with sounds. his horizon- tal fines of light and dark were broken, where necessary for the sake of punctuation, by the regular interruptions of mutules, triglyphs, metopes, and dentils, each being scaled so as to have its due part in the whole design. he re- fined his lines and mouldings to such a point of sensitive delicacy that the least variation in them would produce to his fastidious eye an effect of discord. the profiles of his mould- ings became as sensitive as the lines of the brows, the nose, or the mouth on the face of apollo. these lines could not be altered by a hair's breadth without affecting the sentiment of the god-like ideal. greek structure became in fact a highly organized unity, in which there was no mere perfunctory or conven- tional element, each detail being essential to the whole. the romans were prompt to imitate, but they could not assimilate an organism so fine. their intensely practical and energetic greek lines. spirit was too impatient to worship at a shrine requiring a service of constancy and love. the expression of unity was lost. their structure was one thing and their decoration was another, and the decorative element was converted into a system of convention, as shown by the exact precepts of their own vitruvius. this arrangement enabled the conqueror, without waste of time in that long contemplative stillness out of which alone the beauty of the true ideal arises, out of which alone man can create like a god, to avail him- self at once of the greek orders, not as a sen- sitive and delicate means of fine aesthetic ex- pression, but as a mechanical language of con- trasts of form to be used according to the exigencies of duty. the service of greek art was perfect freedom; enslaved at rome, it be- came academic. thus systematized, it is true, it awes us by the superb redundancy and sump- tuousness of its use in the temples and forums reared by that omnipresent power from bri- tannia to baalbec. but the art which is sys- tematized is degraded. emerson somewhere remarks that man descends to meet his fellows, — meaning, i suppose, that he has to sacrifice some of the higher instincts of his individuality when he desires to become social, and to meet greek lines. his fellows on that low level of society which, made up as it is of many individualities, has none of those secret aspirations which arise out of his own isolation. society is a system- atic aggregation for the benefit of the mul- titude, but great men lift themselves above it into a purer atmosphere. as longfellow says, "they rise like towers in the city of god." so with art, — when we systematize it we degrade it, and deprive it of life and the power of progression. a singular proof of this is found in the fact that the roman orders never have anything in them reserved from the common ken. they are reduced to rule, and therefore superficial. they were not based upon principles, like the greek orders, and consequently the necessary modifications to which they, like all other formulas of fine art, must be subjected in use have been modi- fications of caprice rather than of structural development. indeed, the greek orders, in the hands of the romans, gradually assumed char- acteristic forms which they never would have taken upon themselves if they had continued to be expressions of building as a practical art. virtually, the roman orders died in the first" century of the christian era. we all know how, when the authority of the pagan greek lines. schools was gone and the stern vitruvian laws had become lost in the mists of antiquity, these orders gradually fell from their strict allegiance, and art was made free again by the enfranchised greeks of byzantium, under an entirely new religious impulse from palestine. structure and the decoration of structure were once more united, but in a fresh, progressive system, full of animation, power, and color, looking not backward to the con- templative ideal of the pagan greeks, but for- ward eagerly to a triumphant demonstration of the new faith by art. the new spirit was rude and vigorous, but sincere and aspiring. its typical line was one of robust and vig- orous life, exuberant, because of the final safe establishment of christianity after the persecutions of aurelian and diocletian. in the romanesque of the west this line did not vary essentially in its character; but it de- veloped and enlarged in its expressions, and, with the establishment and organization of the faith, it gradually assumed a characteristic of serious purpose. but, in after gothic times, the spirit of the forgotten aphrodite, ideal beauty, sometimes seemed to lurk furtively in the image of the virgin mary, and to inspire the cathedral builders with somewhat of the greek lines. old creative impulse of love. but the work- ings of this impulse are singularly contrasted in the productions of the pagan greek and the mediaeval artists. nature, we have seen, offered to the former mysterious and oracular sibylline leaves, profoundly significant of an indwelling humanity diffused through all her woods and fields and mountains, all her foun- tains, streams, and seas. those meditative creators sat at her feet, earnest disciples, but gathering rather the spirit and motive of her gifts than the gifts themselves, making an ideal and worshiping it as a deity. but for the cathedral builder, dryads and hamadry- ads, oreads, fauns, and naiads did not exist, — the oak of dodona uttered no oracles. "a primrose by the river's brim a yellow primrose was to him, and it was nothing more." to him nature was an open book, from which he continually quoted with a loving freedom, not to illustrate his own deep relationships with her, but to give greater glory to that vast power which stood behind her beautiful text and was revealed to him in the new reli- gion from palestine. he loved fruits and flowers and leaves because they were mani- festations of the love of god; and he used greek lines. them in his art, not as motives out of which to create abstract forms, out of which to de- velop an ideal humanity, but to show his in- tense appreciation of the divine love which gave them. had he been a pantheist, as or- pheus was, it is probable he would have ideal- ized these things and created greek lines. but believing in a distinct god, the supreme originator of all things, he was led to a wor- ship of self-sacrifice and offerings, and needed no intellectual ideal, studiously celebrating and illustrating his own humanity; his service cultivated his moral rather than his sesthetical faculties. so, with a lavish hand, he appro- priated the abundant beauty of nature, some- times imitating its external expressions with his careful chisel, but generally conventional- izing them to suit the structural conditions of his capitals, spandrels, and panels, his crockets, belts, corbels, and the bosses of his soaring groins. the life of gothic lines was in their sensuous liberty, though they were sometimes drawn with marvelous delicacy and refinement of feeling; the life of greek lines was in their intellectual reserve. those arose out of a religion of emotional ardor; these, out of a religion of philosophical reflection. hence, while the former were free and picturesque, greek lines. the latter were serious, chaste, and very hu- man. therefore the line typical of the gothic or lay spirit of the middle ages, like that of roman, byzantine, and romanesque art, is still the full and sensuous line of life, as con- trasted with the restrained and delicate line of greek art. and yet when the noble artistic spirit of the thirteenth century interpreted in form the mysticism, the asceticism, the spirit- ual aspiration of the time, it sometimes seemed to confer upon this symbol a certain purity of movement which we do not find in the others. but it was not a greek line; for the mediaeval craft-spirit, however inspired, could never en- ter into that region of calm study and deep reflection from which alone could proceed the shafts of the parthenon and the capitals of athene polias. and so the greek lines slept in patient marble through the long dark ages, and no one came to awaken them into beautiful life again. no one, consecrated prince by the chrism of nature, wandered into the old land to kiss the sleeping beauty into life, and break the deep spell which was around her kingdom. architecture promptly and exactly fulfilled its great function as a recorder of history, greek lines. til when, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, it expressed in classic terms the revival of the literature and learning of rome, the joyous emancipation of the mind from the gloom and doubt of the middle ages, and its new birth into a larger and fuller life. but when bru- nelleschi and alberti made the first attempts to utter this sentiment in italian palaces and churches, archaeology had not measured and restored the ruins of rome, and aesthetics had not estimated their true value in the history of art. the pantheon, the colosseum, a few shattered remains of columns and entabla- tures, neglected, insulted, misunderstood, alone remained to testify to the magnificence of rome. the first expressions of the renais- sance, at florence, in the dome of the cathe- dral, in san lorenzo, san spirito, and the pitti palace; at mantua, in san andrea; at rimini, in san francisco, all following the impulse of classic rome, as then imper- fectly comprehended, committed the new movement irrevocably to architectural mani- festations based on that line of life which had made the order of jupiter stator different from that of the parthenon, and the portico of the temple of concord different from that of the erechtheum. so wanton were the wreaths greek lines. it curled in the sight of the great masters of that period, that they all yielded to its subtle fascinations and sinned like their mother eve. had such men as bramante, michel an- gelo, san gallo, palladio, scamozzi, vignola, san michele, bernini, been inspired by the thoughtful lines of greece, so catholic to all human moods, and so wisely adapted to the true spirit of reform, it is not too much to say that all subsequent art would have felt the noble impulse; that structure and the decora- tion of structure would have been once more reconciled, as they were in the temples of greece and in the cathedrals of the middle ages. pedantic formalism and academic rules would not have converted architecture into a series of elegant but conventional quotations from the classics, thus removing it from the sympathy of the people; and the refining in- fluence of these great masters would have worked to far more profitable and various re- sults. if the knowledge and ingenuity of modern times had beeij so directed, modern architecture would have been kept in a path of consistent development, adjusted to all the varying conditions of civilization. the gothic architecture of the early part of the fifteenth century was ripe for the spirit greek lines. of healthy reform. it had been actively ac- cumulating, during the progress of the age of christianity, a boundless wealth of forms, a vast amount of constructive resources, and ma- terial fit for innumerable architectural expres- sions of human power. but in the last two centuries of this era the love which, here and there in the earlier period, as in the west fronts of rheims and chartres, had almost succeeded in giving a character of intellectual beauty to this sensitive art was gradually de- praved and vulgarized by the pride of the workman; and a luscious and abandoned lux- ury of line led it farther and farther astray from the true path, till at last it became like an unweeded garden run to seed, and there was no health in it. in the year , at beauvais, the masonic workmen uttered their last cry of defiance against the old things made new in italy. jean wast and frangois marechal of that town, two cathedral builders, said that they "had heard of the church of st. peter at rome, and would maintain that their gothic could be built as high and on as grand a scale as the antique orders of this michel angelo." and with this spirit they built a wonderful pyramid over the cross of their cathedral. but it fell in the fifth greek lines. year of its arrogant pride, and this is the last we hear of gothic architecture in those times. over the picturesque ruins the spirits of the old conquerors of gaul once more strode with measured tread, and began to set up their pre- vailing standards in the very strongholds of gothic supremacy. these conquerors tram- pled down the true as well as the false in the mediaeval regime, and the broad daylight of the renaissance utterly extinguished that sole lamp of knowledge, which had given light to the ages of darkness and had kindled into life and beauty the cathedrals of europe. an architecture of mystic symbolism, of severe asceticism, of spiritual aspiration, of su- perstitious adoration and fear, could not live in this daylight of awakened intelligence. whatever may have been its capacities for ex- pansion, it could not have been continued in the new era without losing its character of truth as an exposition of history. the apos- tles of the renaissance followed an impulse far more powerful than their own individual fancies when they rooted it out bodily, and planted instead an exotic of pagan rome. it was the rebirth of an art system, which in its former existence had developed in an atmosphere of conquest. it taught them to greek lines. kill, burn, and destroy all that opposed the progress of its triumph. it was eminently revolutionary in its character; and its reign, to all those multitudinous expressions of life and thought which had arisen under the gothic era, was one of terror. truly, it was a fierce and desolating instrument of reform. it is a tempting theme of speculation to follow in the imagination the probable pro- gress of a greek instead of a roman renais- sance, into such active, intelligent, and imagi- native schools as those of rouen and tours in the latter part of the fifteenth century, — of rouen, with its roger arge, its brothers leroux, who built there the picturesque hotel bourgtheroulde, its pierre de saulbeaux, and all that legion of architects and builders who were employed by the cardinal amboise on his castle of gaillon, — of tours, with its pierre valence, its francois marchant, its viart and colin byart, out of whose rich and playful craft-spirit arose the quaint fancies expressed in the older parts of the chateaux of amboise and blois, in which the old gothic spirit seemed to have been refined and rejuvenated for a new and brighter career, which it was destined never to see. such a renaissance would not have come among these venial sins greek lines. yet when we examine the works of the re- naissance, after the system had become more manageable and acclimated under later italian and french hands, we cannot but admire the skill with which the lightest fancies and the most various expressions of human contrivance were reconciled to the formal rules and pro- portions of the roman orders. the renais- sance palaces and civil buildings of france, especially before the scholasticism and ped- antry of the seventeenth century had quite overwhelmed the native spirit of romance, are. so full of ingenuity, and the irrepressible in- ventive power of the artist moves with so much freedom and grace among the stubborn lines of that revived architecture, that we cannot but regard the results as a proof that the high creative power still lies dormant in the race, awaiting only for the opportunity or the ini- tial force to express itself in a manner worthy of our civilization. we cannot but ask our- selves, if the spirit of those architects could obtain so much liberty under the restrictions of such an unnatural and unnecessary despotism, what would have been the result if they had been put in possession of the very principles of hellenic art, instead of the dangerous and complex models of rome, which were so far greek lines. removed from the purity and simplicity of their origin? up to a late day the great aim of the renaissance has heen to interpret an advanced civilization with the sensuous line; and, so far as this line is capable of such expression, the result has been satisfactory. thus four more centuries were added to the fruitless slumbers of ideal beauty among the temples of greece. meanwhile, in turn, the byzantine, the northman, the prank, the turk, and finally the bombarding venetian, left their rude invading footprints among her most cherished haunts, and defiled her very sanctuary with the brutal touch of barbarous conquest. but the kiss which was to dissolve this enchantment was one of love; and not love, but cold indifference, or even scorn, was in the hearts of the rude warriors. so she slept on undisturbed in spirit, though broken and shat- tered in the external type, and it was reserved for a distant future to be made beautiful by her disenchantment and awakening. in a pupil of the artist lebrun, jacques carrey, accompanied the marquis ollier de nointee, ambassador of louis xiv., to constantinople. on his way he spent two months at athens, making drawings of the parthenon, then in an excellent state of pre- greek lines. servation. these drawings, more useful in an archaeological than an artistic point of view, are now preserved in the bibliotheque nationale of paris. in , two distin- guished travelers, one a frenchman, dr. spon, the other an englishman, sir george wheler, tarried at athens, and gave valuable testi- mony, in terms of boundless admiration, to the beauty and splendor of the temples of the acropolis and its neighborhood, then quite unknown to the world. other travelers fol- lowed these pioneers in the traces of that old civilization. but in , konigsmark and his venetian forces threw their hideous bomb- shells among the exquisite temples of the acropolis, and, igniting thereby the powder magazine with which the turks had dese- crated the parthenon, tore into ruins that love- liest of the lovely creations of hellas. it was not until the publishing of the famous work of stuart and revett on "the antiquities of athens," in , that the world was made familiar with the external expressions of greek architecture. this publication at once created a curious revolution in the practice of archi- tecture, — a revolution extending in its effects throughout europe. a fever arose to repro- duce greek temples; and to such an extent greek lines. was this unintelligent revival carried out that at one time it bid fair to supplant the older renaissance. the spirit of the new renais- sance, however, was one of mere imitation, and had not the elements of life and power to insure its ultimate success. it was a revival of formulas and not of principles. nobody thought of applying the refining influences of the greek lines to any structural forms save those known and used by the greeks in their temples and stoas. the roman arch, which had become indispensable, was not purified by the greek spirit of truth, and the modern facade, without columns or pilasters, was not affected by it. no attempt was made to accli- mate the exotic to suit the new conditions it was thus suddenly called upon to fulfill; for the sentiment which actuated it, and the love by which it was created, were not understood. it was the mere setting up of old forms in new places; and the grecian porticoes and pediments and columns, which were multi- plied everywhere from the models supplied by stuart and revett, and found their way profusely even into this new world, still stare upon us gravely with strange alien looks. the impetuous current of modern life beats impatiently against that cumbrous solidity of greek lines. peristyle which sheltered well in its day the serene philosophers of the agora, but which is the merest impediment in the way of modern traffic and modern necessities. the spirit of formalism, engendered by the old renaissance, took hold of the revived greek lines, and stiffened them into acquiescence with a base mathematical system, which effec- tually deprived them of that life and repro- ductive power which belongs only to a state of artistic freedom. they were reduced to rule and deadened in the very process of their revival. the "carpenters' guides" in the opening of the nineteenth century explained to the builders the details of this system, and everywhere throughout our country the public buildings and private mansions of that period reproduced the forms of the greek orders with unimaginative reiteration. the retired merchants of our atlantic coast and the wealthy planters of louisiana and mississippi were housed behind stately porticoes of wood or stucco carefully imitated from the marble antiquities of attica. the greek ideal, though strangely trans- planted thus into the noise of modern streets, was not awakened from its long repose by the clatter and roaring of our new civilization. greek lines. as regarded the uses of life it still slept in petrifactions .of pentelic marble. and when those petrifactions were repeated in mod- ern quarries, it was merely the shell they gave; the spirit within had not yet broken through. greek lines, therefore, owed their earliest revival to the vagaries of a capricious taste, and the desire to give zest to the architecture of the day by their novelty; it was not for the sake of the new life there was in them, nor of that refining spirit, by the application of which alone to modern design a wise re- birth of ancient love in art could be procured, without a sacrifice of everything else which has been inherited from the past. these lines are not an intolerant power, but a creative princi- ple, by which all that is valuable of this inheri- tance may be preserved and adjusted to the complicated conditions of modern lif e. it is not surprising that some of the more mod- ern masters of the roman renaissance, with whom that system had become venerable, from its universal use as the vehicle by which the greatest artists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had expressed their thoughts and inspirations, regarded with pe- culiar distrust these outlandish innovations on greek lines. the exclusive walks of their own architecture. for they saw only a few external forms which the beautiful principles of hellenic art had developed to fit an old civilization; the appli- cability of these primary principles to the re- finement of the architectural expressions of a modern state of society they could not of course comprehend. about the year we find sir william chambers, the leading ar- chitect of his day in england, in his famous treatise on "the decorative part of civil architecture," giving elaborate and emphatic expression to his contempt of that greek art which had presented itself to him in a guise well suited to cause misapprehension and er- ror. "it must candidly be confessed," he says, "that the grecians have been far ex- celled by other nations, not only in the mag- nitude and grandeur of their structures, but likewise in point of fancy, ingenuity, variety, and elegant selection." two distinguished german artists — the one, schinkel of berlin, born in , — the other, klenze of munich, born in — were children when chambers ut- tered these treasonable sentiments concern- ing greek art. later, at separate times, these artists visited greece, and so filled them- greek lines. selves with the feeling and sentiment of the art there, so consecrated their souls by the ap- preciative study of its divine love, that the patient ideal at last awoke from its long slum- bers, entered into the breathing human tem- ples thus prepared for it by the pure rites of aphrodite, and once more lived. thus in the opening years of the nineteenth century was a new and reasonable renaissance, not of an antique type, but of a spirit which had the gift of immortal youth, and uttered oracles of prophecy to these chosen pythians of art. through schinkel, the pure hellenic style, only hinted at previously in the attempts of less inspired germans, such as langhaus, who embodied his crude conceptions in the once celebrated brandenburg gate, was fairly and grandly revived in the hauptwache theatre and the beautiful museum and the bauschule and observatory of berlin. he competed with klenze in a series of designs for the new pal- ace at athens, rich with a truly royal array of courts, corridors, saloons, and colonnades. but the evil fate which ever hangs over the com- petitions of genius was baleful even here, and the barrack-like edifice of giitner was pre- ferred. his latest conception was a design of a summer palace at orianda, in the crimea, greek lines. for the empress of kussia, where the purity of the old greek lines was developed into the poetry of terraces and hanging-gardens and towers, far-looking over the black sea. schin- kel was called the luther of architecture; and the spiritual serenity which he breathed into the pomp and ceremonious luxury of the art of his day seems to give him some title to this distinction. yet, with all the freedom and originality with which he wrought out the new advent, he was perhaps rather too timid than too bold in his reforms, — adhering too strictly to the original letter of greek exam- ples, especially with regard to the orders. he could not entirely shake off the old incubus of rome. and so, though in a less degree, with klenze. when, in , louis of bavaria came to the throne, he was appointed govern- ment architect, and in this capacity gave shape to the noble dreams of that monarch, in the famous glyptothek, the pinakothek, the palace, and those civil and ecclesiastical buildings which render munich one of the most monumental cities of europe. it was his confessed aim to take up the work of the renaissance artists, having regard to our in- creased knowledge of that antique civilization greek lines. of which the masters of the sixteenth century could study only the most complex develop- ments, and those models of rome which were farthest removed from the pure fountain-head of greece. "to-day," he said, "put in pos- session of the very principles of hellenic art, we can apply them to all our actual needs, — learning from the greeks themselves to preserve our independence, and at the same time to be duly novel and unrestrained ac- cording to circumstances." these are cer- tainly noble sentiments; and one cannot but wish that when, in , klenze was called upon to prepare plans for the grand walhalla of bavaria, he had remembered his sublime theory and worked up to its spirit, instead of recalling the parthenon in his exterior and the olympian temple of agrigentum in his in- terior. the last effort of this distinguished artist was the building of three superb palaces for the museum of the emperor at st. peters- burg, finished in . the seed thus planted fell upon good ground and brought forth a hundred-fold. this revival of hellenic principles is still in- fusing life into modern german designs; and so well are these principles understood that architects do not content themselves with the greek lines. mere reproduction of that narrow range of motives which was uttered in the temples of heroic greece. by the very necessity of the greek line, they are rendered catholic and un- excluding in their choice of forms, but fas- tidious and hesitating in expressing them in this new language of art. this wholesome re- straint is recognizable in much of their recent work, and it undoubtedly is a result of their greek studies. but inasmuch as these are pursued with the true german spirit of scien- tific precision and system, it cannot be denied that modern german art has still a character of pedantry. the national genius aims at cor- rectness in art and archaeology, as well as in science and philosophy. it is not discursive or imaginative, but essentially scholastic; it respects the authority of formulas and the dis- cipline of dogmas. it is not original but ex- act. within these limitations the best work of the nation is admirable, but not often in- teresting. it nearly always bears the stamp of conscientious study; but it is rarely brilliant. for its best qualities it is clearly indebted to those two illustrious pilgrims who brought back from the land of epics, not only the scallop-shells upon their shoulders, but in their hearts the consecration of ideal beauty. greek lines. according to the usual custom, in the year a scholar of the ecole des beaux arts in paris, having achieved the distinguished honor of being named grand pensionnaire of architecture for that year, was sent to the aca- demie francaise in the villa medici at rome, to pursue his studies there for five years at the expense of the government. this scholar was henri labrouste. while in italy his at- tention was directed to the greek temples of paestum. trained, as he had been, in the strictest academic architecture of the renais- sance, he was struck by many points of dif- ference between these temples and the palla- dian formulas which had hitherto held despotic sway over his studies. in grand and minor proportions, in the disposition of triglyphs in the frieze, in mouldings and general senti- ment, he perceived a remarkable freedom from the restraints of his school,— a freedom which, so far from detracting from the grandeur of the architecture, gave to it a degree of life and refinement which his appreciative eye now sought for in vain among the approved models of the academy. studying these new revela- tions with love and veneration, it was not long before the pure hellenic spirit, confined in the severe peristyles and cellas of the paestum tern- greek lines. pies, entered into his heart with all its elastic capacities, all its secret and mysterious sympa- thies for the new life which had sprung up during its long imprisonment in those stained and shattered marbles. labrouste, on his re- turn to paris in , surprised the grave professors of the academy, le bas, baltard, and the rest, by presenting to them, as the re- sult of his studies, carefully elaborated draw- ings of the temples at paestum. witnessing, with pious horror, the grave departures from their rules contained in the drawings of their former favorite, they charged him with error, . even as a copyist. true to their prejudices, their eyes did not penetrate beyond the out- ward type, and they at once began to find technical objections. they told him, never did such an absurdity occur in classic archi- tecture as a triglyph on a corner! palladio and the italian masters never committed such an obvious crime against propriety, nor could an instance of it be found in all roman an- tiquities. it was in vain that poor labrouste upheld the accuracy of his work, and re- minded the academy that among the roman models no instance had been found of a doric corner, — that this order occurred only so ruined that no corner was left for exam- greek lines. ination, or in the grand circumferences of the colosseum and the theatre of marcellus, where, from the nature of the case, no corner could be. the professors still maintained the integrity of their long-established ordi- nances, and, to disprove the assertions of the young pretender, even sent a commission to examine the temples in question. the result was a confirmation of the fact, the ridicule of paris, the consequent branding of the young artist as an architectural heretic, and a con- tinued persecution of him by the ecole des beaux arts. undaunted, however, labrouste established an atelier in paris, to which flocked many intelligent students, sympathiz- ing with the courage which could be so strong in the conviction of truth as to brave in its defense the displeasure of the powerful hierarchy of the school. thus was founded a new renaissance in france at a time when the genius and inge- nuity of the nation was beginning to chafe un- der the severe restrictions of the old academic formulas; and in this genial atmosphere greek lines began to exercise an influence far more thorough and healthy than had hitherto been experienced in the whole history of mod- ern art. to the lithe and elegant fancy of greek lines. the french this revelation was especially grate- ful. it seemed in a measure to restore to them the freedom of which they made such magni- ficent use in the time of francis l, before the renaissance had been academically formalized by the mansarts and their successors. for the youth of this nation soon learned that in these newly opened paths their invention and senti- ment, so long straitened and confined within the severe limits of the old system, could move without irksome restraint, and at the same time be preserved from licentious excess by the delicate spirit of the new lines. thus nat- ural fervor, grace, and fecundity of thought found here a most welcome outlet. for some time the designs of the new school were not recognized in the competitions of the ecole des beaux arts ; but when, in the course of nature, some two or three of the more strenuous and bigoted professors of palladio's golden rules were removed from the scene of contest, the new cult was received at length into the bosom of the architectural church, and now it may be justly deemed a distinctive architectural expression of french art. labrouste was not alone in his efforts; but duban and constant dufeux seconded him with genius and energy. most of the impor- greek lines. tant buildings which have been erected in france within the last fifty years have either been unreservedly and frankly affected in their general architectural character by the greek lines, or have been refined by more lim- ited applications of hellenic principles. even the revived mediaeval school, which, under the distinguished leadership of m. viollet le due and the lamented m. j. b. a. lassus, was strengthened to a remarkable degree in france, and which shared with the greek idea the dis- pleasure of the academy, — even this tacitly acknowledged the power of greek fines, and instinctively suffered them to purify, to a cer- tain degree, the old grotesque gothic license. one of the most remarkable peculiarities of this school was, that it seemed to encourage the expression of individual traits in the architects; to give fluency and ease to archi- tecture, and to free the spirit of the design- ers from the impediments of conventionalism. indeed, when greek lines were first revived in the paris ateliers, the architects were so much impressed by the freedom which the use of these lines gave to all the processes of de- sign, when compared with the restrictions of practice under the roman academic system, that the new dispensation of art was called a greek lines. style, and christened romantique, to distin- guish it from what was conventionally called classic. of course this freedom, in insincere hands, was frequently abused, and this abuse made it all the more evident that the only ac- ceptable service of greek lines is one of love, and not of affectation or imitation. the ordi- nary decorations of windows and doors were not confined to conventional shapes, as of yore, but were idiosyncratic, according to the degree in which they were influenced by the greek spirit. if the designer had a thought to ex- press, his greek lines enabled him to put it in architectural form, just as a poet attunes his thought to the harmony and rhythm of verse. antique prejudices, bent into rigid conformity with antique rubrics, were often shocked at the strange innovations of these new dissenters from the faith of palladio and philibert de- lorme, — shocked at the naked humanity in the new works, and would cover it with the conventional fig-leaves prescribed in the hom- ilies of vignola. laymen, accustomed to the cold architectural proprieties of the old re- naissance, and habituated to the formalities of the five orders, the prudish decorum of italian window-dressings and pediments and pilasters and scrolls, were surprised to see ideas at greek lines. length so clearly set forth in architectural forms that the intention of the building in which they occurred was at once patent to the most casual observer, and the story of its destination told with the eloquence of a poeti- cal and monumental language. all revolutions have proved how hard it is to break through the crust of custom, and this was no ex- ception to the rule; yet in justice it must be said that every intelligent mind, every eye possessing the " gifted simplicity of vision," to use a happy phrase of hawthorne's, re- cognizes the emancipation and enlargement effected by the application of the true greek spirit to the arts of design, and sees in it a clarifying and renovating influence, clearing away the dust and cobwebs which ages of pre- judice have spread thickly around the magnifi- cent art of architecture. unlike the unwieldy and ponderous classic or italian systems, whose pride cannot stoop to anything beneath the haughtiest uses of life without being broken into the whims of the grotesque and rococo, the greek renaissance has already proved that it may be applied with graceful ease to the most playful as well as the most serious employ- ments of art. it has decorated the perfumer's greek lines. shop on the boulevards with the most deli- cate fancies woven out of the odor of flowers and the finest fabrics of nature, and, in the * hands of labrouste, has built the great biblio- theque ste. genevieve, the most important work with pure greek lines, and perhaps the most exquisite, while it is one of the most serious, of modern buildings. the learning exhibited in this composition does not make it pedantic, its careful simplicity of motif does not weaken its interest, nor does its re- finement and purity destroy its power. the neo-grec has also been used with especial suc- cess in funereal monuments. structures of this character, demanding earnestly in their composition the expression of human senti- ment, have hitherto been in most cases un- satisfactory, as they have been built out of a narrow range of renaissance, egyptian, and gothic motives, originally invented for far different purposes, and since then classified, as it were, for use, and reduced to that in- flexible system out of which have come the formal restrictions of modern architecture. hence these formulas have never come near enough to human life, in its individual characteristics, to be plastic for the expres- sion of those emotions to which we desire to greek lines. and though taken frankly, in its general form, from a common gothic type, its chaste and graceful freedom from gothic conventions of detail gives it a life and poetic expressive- ness which must be exceedingly grateful to the love which commanded its erection. paris thus affords us, in some of its modern architecture, a happy proof of the inevitable reforming and refining tendencies of the ab- stract lines of greece, when properly under- stood and fairly applied. under their in- fluence old things have been made new, and the coldness and hardness of academic art have been warmed and softened into life. through the agency of the greek school, per- haps more new and directly symbolic archi- tectural expressions have been uttered within the last forty years than previously since the beginning of the seventeenth century. like the gestures of pantomime, which constitute an instinctive and universal language, these abstract lines, coming out of our humanity and rendered elegant by the idealization of study, are, it is hoped, restoring to architec- ture its highest capacity of conveying thought in a monumental manner. one of the most dangerous results of that eclecticism which the advanced state of our greek lines. archaeological knowledge has made the prin- cipal characteristic of modern design consists in the fatal facility thus afforded us of avail- ing ourselves of vast historical resources of forms and .combinations ready made to suit almost all the exigencies of composition, as we have understood it. the public has thus been made so familiar with the set variations of classic orders and palladian windows and cor- nices, with venetian balconies and arcades, with all sorts of spanish, italian, english, french, and dutch interpretations of the classic theme, with all manner of gothic chamfers and cuspidations and foliations, and the other conventional symbols of architec- ture, which undeniably have more of know- ledge than love in them, — so accustomed have the people become to these things, that the great art of which these have been the only language now almost invariably fails to strike any responsive chord in the human heart, or to do any of that work which it is the peculiar province of the fine arts to accomplish. instead of leading the age, it seems to lag behind it, and to content itself with reflecting into our eyes the splendor of the sun which has set, instead of facing the east and foretelling the glory which is coming. greek lines. architecture, properly conceived, should al- ways contain within itself a direct appeal to the sense of fitness and propriety, the com- mon-sense of mankind, which is ever ready to recognize reason, whether conveyed by the natural motions of the mute, or the no less natural motions of lines. now history has proved to us, as has been shown, how, when the eloquence of these simple, instinctive lines has been used as the primary element of design, great eras of art have arisen, full of the sympathies of humanity, immortal records of their age. it cannot be denied, on the other hand, that our eclectic architecture, popularly speaking, is not comprehended, even by the most intelligent of cultivated people; and that, so long as it is contented to be merely reminiscent and archaeological, the inevitable rapid development of structural science and new materials, and the changes in our social conditions, which necessarily must impose new forms upon buildings, cannot be properly and adequately recognized in art. when architects, instructed by the past, and guided by principles, and not by the preju- dices of schools, seek to give these new forms a consistent decorative character, they are ac- tually creating an architecture belonging to our times and to our people. greek lines. the french of to-day are apparently not so loyal to the greek revival as they were a few years ago; possibly they have been discouraged by the results of one or more false starts. yet i think it may be safely said that the characteristics of the best con- temporary art of paris are controlled by a greek spirit, though it still has to struggle against academical influences, long estab- lished, and inhospitable to any innovation which does not recognize the venerable for- mulas of vignola. let our artists turn to greece, and learn how, in the meditative repose of that anti- quity, these ideals arose to life beneficent with the baptism of grace, and became visible in the loveliness of a hundred temples. let them there learn how in our own humanity is the essence of form as a language, and that to create, as true artists, we must know our- selves and our own distinctive capacities for the utterance of monumental history. after this sublime knowledge comes the necessity of the knowledge of precedent. the great past supplies us with the raw material, with orders, colonnades and arcades, pediments, consoles, cornices, friezes and architraves, buttresses, battlements, vaults, pinnacles, arches, lintels, greek lines. rustications, balustrades, piers, pilasters, tre- foils, and all the innumerable conventionalities of architecture. it is plainly our duty not to revive and combine these in those cold and weary changes which constitute much of mod- ern design, but to make them live and speak intelligibly to the people through the eloquent modifications of our own instinctive lines of life and beauty. the riddle of the modern sphinx is, how to create a new architecture? and we find the (edipus who shall solve it concealed in our own hearts. the growth of conscience in modern decorative art. self-examination has become one of the characteristic instincts of modern civilization. it was not long ago that carlyle described this instinct as a sort of moral dyspepsia, prevail- ing more or less absolutely in all the grades of society. however this may be, it is true that, unlike our forefathers, we take nothing for granted. the religious beliefs, the social traits, the manners and customs, which we have inherited from them are subjected to analysis and discussion. a new electric search- light reveals the errors of conservatism. the result of this study is the establishment of certain reasonable but not unchanging types, with which, in the conduct of life, according to our several lights, we seek to establish a conscientious conformity. concerning art, however, for various reasons which we shall presently consider, there has been until lately a reluctance to bring to bear upon it any such reorganizing and revolutionary tendencies. conscience in architecture. this vacillation of the type which has prevented modern architecture from devel- oping a style, in the accepted sense of the word, is the natural result of the increase of our knowledge of form, as developed in his- torical architecture, and the growth of the archaeological spirit. unlike any of our pre- decessors in art, we have been seriously embarrassed by the unbounded range and variety of precedent at our command. there is no phase of historical art which we have not studied; wheresoever and howsoever human- ity has expressed itself in forms of art, these forms are at our fingers' ends, and are ready to seduce us this way or that, according to our mood. the mind of the designer is preoccu- pied by innumerable favorite motifs derived from every side and every era, each associated with some phase of ancient life, and sanctified or sweetened by ancient traditions; each with a value aside from intrinsic picturesqueness, beauty, or quaintness, and all contending for new expression. whether he has been en- gaged upon a composition of architecture or upon a composition of decoration, — which also is architecture, or the completion and fulfillment of it, — his energy has been con- cerned first, perhaps, with the choice of types conscience in architecture. agreeably to the caprice or fashion of the moment; next, with the degree of precision with which he is to follow them when chosen; and, finally, — with such reserve of force as might be at his disposal after these exhausting processes, — with the adjustment of his chosen forms to his needs according to his best inge- nuity and skill. under these circumstances, the modern process of design, whether this exact order of proceeding has been followed or not, must be a complicated one, and must differ fundamentally from all which have pre- ceded it. the exact character of this differ- ence it is important for us to understand at the outset, to the end that we may the better comprehend the new and strange conditions under which art is developed in these modern days. the greek architect of the time of pericles had before him a fixed and sacred standard of form. there were probably dim traditions from his pelasgic ancestors, and from syria and egypt. these were the only styles or forms that he knew, and his own had been developed from them into a hieratic system. he had no choice; his strength was not wasted among various ideals; that which he had inherited was a religion to him. the simple cella with conscience in architecture. development of any one particular set of forms, as gothic, or romanesque, or renaissance, and voluntarily to shut themselves off from the rest of their inheritance of beautiful things; and wherever any such exist their neighbors aje not so confined. in this particular we do not work together with any characteristic unity of sentiment. all the decorative arts are subjected to the same dissipation of forces. at the same moment we are designing and painting greek vases; decorating japanese screens; constructing furniture according to our reminiscences of the gothic of the ed- wards, or of the renaissance of the jameses, of queen anne, or of the georges; covering our walls with designs suggested by the stuffs of florence and of the exhaustible east, by the brocades of france, by the stamped leather of venice, with arabesques and conceits from all the styles; and with these we decorate the interiors of houses which on the outside have been inspired originally from traditions of every era of art, as set forth in books, prints, and photographs innumerable. it is therefore a common reproach against the arts of to-day that they are discursive, without convictions or enthusiasm; that our depth is shallowed in many channels; that conscience in architecture. we produce many and not great things; that in painting we have no masterpieces like those of italy in the fifteenth century, or of flanders in the sixteenth; that in sculp- ture the ideal of the greek marbles, though shattered and defiled, is to us absolutely un- approachable, not in execution only, but in comprehension; that in architecture we can- not reproduce the perfection, the purity, and perfect fitness of the greek forms, the grandeur and extent of those of the ro- man empire, the idealism, the enthusiasm, the consistent and powerful development, of the religious works of the thirteenth century, the elegance and refinement and self-control of the italian masters of the fifteenth cen- tury, or the innocent exuberance of the french builders in the sixteenth; that in the fictile arts we cannot approach the french and italian potters of that era; that in fab- rics we are still far excelled by the orientals, and by the products of mediaeval looms; that in furniture, for fertility of design, for perfec- tion of execution, for richness of carving, we are surpassed by the philibert de l'ormes, the le pautres, the boules, of france, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, by the gib- bons and the chippendales of england in the conscience in architecture. began to be felt when the necessity of making choice among several types or styles was first imposed upon the artist; this choice implying the idea of self-justification, and giving an added sense of personal responsibility, which has naturally grown with the increase of our knowledge. during the existence of a pre- vailing or exclusive style, as in any time previous to the middle of the last century, there was far less scope for individuality of expression than now, when the necessity of making choice among many styles and among innumerable motifs constantly com- pels the designer to a review of his own re- sources and acquisitions, and to a special adjustment of them to new conditions of structure, use, and material. the new labors thus imposed upon him of selecting or reject- ing with discretion, of combining and mod- ifying, necessarily result in an expression of his own peculiarities of thought and habits of mind, which would have been impossible to a greek of the time of pericles, or to a frenchman of the time of st. bernard. hermogenes and callicrates, apollodorus and vitruvius, viellard de honcourt, robert de luzarches, and william of wyckham, each of these concerned himself with the de- conscience in architecture. velopment of a type of form, and carried it on one step further towards perfection. in this type their individuality was lost. they and their brethren are therefore but the shad- ows of names. erostratus the fool, who burnt the temple of diana at ephesus, is far better remembered in history than ctesiphon, the architect who built it. ctesiphon, though a great artist, was but the agent of a process of development in style; his work was rather a growth than a creation. but sir charles barry, alfred waterhouse, charles gamier, karl friedrich schinkel, of our time, built their monuments in the houses of parliament at london, the law courts at manchester, the new opera at paris, and the royal thea- tre at berlin; these buildings, and all other conspicuous monuments of modern times, are full of the personality of their authors, be- cause they are rather creations than growths. even so late as the sixteenth century the re- naissance palaces of italy, built by vignola, scamozzi, serlio, and palladio, who knew no models but those of rome, do not betray the personal characteristics of their designs to the same extent and in the same manner as do the neo-greek works of henri labrouste in paris, the modern gothic of scott, burgess, conscience in architecture. and street respectively, the modern greek of the scotch thompson in edinburgh, the "queen anne" revival of norman shaw, the romanesque revival of our own richardson, and so on through a host of more or less illus- trious contemporaries, most of them changing their styles from time to time according to their moods. confused amongst a multiplicity of types, we impress upon our work a certain effect of archaeological pedantry or breathless effort; we are either affected and coldly precise, or we overcrowd our designs with detail; our greatest and most difficult virtues, therefore, are sincerity, reserve of force, self-denial, sim- plicity, repose. the artists of antiquity found simplicity and repose in mere fidelity to a rigid standard, — a fidelity untempted by the dis- coveries of archaeology, and easy because of the purity and perfection of the type. their ideal was a divinity; their service to this di- vinity was worship and obedience. our ideal is a museum of heterogeneous and beautiful forms, and our service to it is selection, re- jection, adaptation, analysis, discussion, classi- fication. indeed, the modern artist is not the servant of his ideal; he properly seeks to be its master. whenever, like a mediaeval artist, conscience in architecture. he tries to render obedience to the ideal, the very perfection of his knowledge betrays him. however faithful he would be to his selected type of forms, he must needs breathe into it a spirit quite his own. if he would repro- duce in his modern work the strong gothic of the early cistercian abbeys, he remembers also the refinements of giotto in the campa- nile of florence. if he would imitate the ele- gant exuberance of the roman ionic, he can- not forget the fine chastisement of invention in the ionic of the portico of minerva polias on the acropolis of athens. thus his work is sophisticated by his knowledge. he is like an actor playing a part. he cannot conceal his effort. he is self-conscious. in this way the modern spirit of self-ex- amination, of which i have spoken, is grad- ually applied to art. the application of a rule of morality to the arts of design follows naturally, and is in exact harmony with the modern spirit of culture. i desire to treat of this growth of conscientiousness as the qual- ity most characteristic of the art of to-day, — a quality which until now has never made its appearance in the decorative arts, and from which the most happy results may be reason- ably anticipated; without which, in fact, these conscience in architecture. arts will become mere antiquarianism, desti- tute of soul or inspiration. conscientiousness, as applied to architec- ture, corrects and supplements feeling; it does not take the place of feeling. it re- gards this art, not as a business, or an amuse- ment, or as a service of grace and poetry merely, but as a duty, carrying with it cer- tain moral responsibilities like any other duty. this is a modern idea; it consists in the de- sire to establish some constant and conscious standard, by the observance of which, in the midst of the enormous and complicated de- mands made upon the decorative arts in our day, in the midst of the embarrassing accumu- lation of available and conflicting precedents, in the midst of the new materials, new inven- tions, new creeds, new manners and customs, constantly presenting themselves, a new art made up of many arts may be formed and kept from anarchy and confusion. now how is this newly awakened conscience of the architect or decorative designer applied to his work? in what way does it correct his taste or affect his artistic instincts? it has been discovered that, in every great era of art, material has been used according to its natural capacities: by the consistent conscience in architecture. use of such natural capacities the arts have approached perfection; by their abuse they have inevitably declined. thus, as regards architecture, in a district which produced granite alone, the prevailing style would sub- mit to certain modifications to suit the con- ditions of the material: the mouldings would be few and large, the sculpture broad and simple, depending rather upon outline than upon detail for its effect. in places where the stone was easily worked, the mouldings and carvings would be more frequent. where fine marbles were available, the architecture would be delicately detailed, and affect a quality of refinement impracticable under other conditions. where colored marbles abounded, the wall surfaces would be ve- neered with them in patterns, and designs in tarsia would become frequent. where clay only prevailed, there would arise an architec- ture distinctly of brick and terra cotta. if the stone of the district was coarse and friable, it would be used in rough walls, covered with a finish of cement or plaster, which in its turn would create a modification of style priding itself upon its smoothness of surface, its dec- oration by incisions and fine moulding and applied color. thus, egyptian art was, in conscience in architecture. some of its most characteristic expressions, an art of granite; the mediaeval arts of france and england were mostly arts of limestones and sandstones of various qualities; the art of greece was an art of fine marble; that of north italy was an art of baked clay; that of venice and florence was distinguished for its inlays of semi-precious marble; that of rome, as her monuments were a part of her political system, and were erected all over the roman world as invariable types of her dominion, was an art of coarse masonry, in whatever material, or of concrete, covered with moulded plaster or with thin veneers of marble. in like manner, forms executed in lead were different from forms executed in forged iron. forms cast in moulds were dif- ferent from forms forged or wrought with the chisel. forms suggested by the functions and capacity of wood were quite different from any other. h it is no less true, however, as is well known, that in their origins the greek styles bore reminiscences of the primitive arts. the pylons of egypt recalled the structures of mud and reeds which preceded them; the marble temples of greece remembered the wooden frames of the primeval buildings; conscience in architecture. such doctrines as this have been so often preached in the literature of the times that they have become commonplace. they suffi- ciently indicate the conscientious tone of pub- he sentiment as regards art, and the designers silently but diligently endeavor to meet the demand for a moral art with all the accepted devices of truthful work. about the middle of the nineteenth century, when the idea of morality in art was new, and its first disciples were flushed by the consciousness of their own piety, the dogma brought about results in practice which clearly indicated the super- sensitive condition of the artistic mind at that time. we had an era of moral furniture, of which mr. eastlake was fortunate enough to be the prophet; but as the conclusions of the dogma were too rigid, its requirements too exacting, its illustrations of the principle of truth of material and truth of construction too literal and narrow, its productive power was speedily exhausted. there were doctri- naires, precisionists, petits maitres, formalists, in this conscientious movement in the arts, as in every other new intellectual activity; they were ready to push the newly discovered prin- ciples to conclusions too absolute and mechan- ical, and to expose our arts to the danger of conscience in architecture. a recoil. thus the "eastlake furniture," which excluded curved lines on principle; which made the manner of construction — the joiners' part of it — more important than the designers'; which elevated the mortise and tenon to the dignity of a principle of art, by very reason of its great show of hon- esty, like any other ostentation of morality, soon palled upon the senses. with our inex- haustible inheritance of forms in which curved lines do appear, in which the idea of the de- signer is of more importance than the device of the cabinet-maker, we cannot remain long content with such pious exclusions. but with all this, the conscientious spirit once aroused in art is not likely to be put to sleep again until a great work has been done. the designer would not quiet it if he could, for it gives to his work a new sig- nificance and power; it enables him to defend it by saying, "this composition of lines or of colors i am satisfied with, not merely be- cause it gives me a sensuous gratification ; not merely because it recalls this or that motif in some of the chefs-d'oeuvre of art; nor because it reminds me of certain historic forms ren- dered precious by traditions and long use; not because it copies nature exactly; nor be- conscience in architecture. ill cause it follows a certain accepted fashion of the day, — but because i know it is right. and why? i have reasoned about it, and can explain it by an appeal to your intellect. it belongs in its place, and accomplishes its object with a directness which could not be reached by mere intuition. it is not a mere matter of taste, concerning which there is no disputing. i cannot do otherwise than i have done and remain true to the conditions of my art. my forms are developed out of the ne- cessities of my problem; they are not chosen because they are beautiful only, but because they are fit. indeed, they would not be beautiful for my use if they were not fit. i have been taught by experience to distrust my own intuitive fancies and predilections for this or that form, for this or that style; they seduce me from the truth. i have been taught to discipline my resources; to sub- ject them to critical analysis and discussion within my own mind before using them; to lop off what is irrelevant to my theme; to give greater emphasis here; to distract atten- tion there; to harmonize the whole with the especial demands of my subject. i find that these conscientious processes, so far from weakening my fancy, so far from diminish- conscience in architecture. ing the interest of my work, in reality make my resources of design more available for my use, and render my compositions far more beautiful than any that i did before i had taught myself to reason. i have learned the artistic value of sincerity, simplicity, and self- denial. i not only feel, but i understand." before the latter half of the nineteenth century such language as this would have been impossible, but now it simply illustrates a common thought of the modern designer undertaking to create works of art; it illus- trates a growing spirit in all the decorative arts. the masters of the great historical styles were constrained to concentrate their attention on the purification and development of a sin- gle type; we, among innumerable conflicting types, instead of vacillating, are beginning to reason, to extract from them principles of de- sign, to apply rules of aesthetics. it is evident that no one can invent a new set of forms, conceived on new principles, which shall ob- literate the memory of all that archaeology has given us, and therefore that, whatever style may succeed in obtaining recognition as mod- ern, it must have its roots somewhere in the past. with its vast inheritance, architecture must be more dependent on derivation than conscience in architecture. invention. it is equally evident that our re- sources of precedent will increase with the pro- gress of time. where, then, are we to look for a remedy for the increasing embarrassment of our knowledge? what can relieve us from an anarchy of forms on the one hand, or from the ignoble domination of a series of unreasonable, capricious fashions or revivals on the other? it seems logical to infer that, as in the sci- ences the accumulation of knowledge never has been regarded as an affliction, so in art the accumulation of precedents from greece, rome, and byzantium, from egypt and syria, from the orientals and spanish moors, from medi- aeval christendom, from the masters of the fifteenth century, from the chateaux and pal- aces of the renaissance, from the revivals and rehabilitation of all those forms by our many- sided contemporaries, — this abounding wealth should hardly prove an embarrassment to us unless we are unfit to use so precious a heritage. with this heritage we have tried all sorts of experiments. we have, for example, tried the effect of arbitrary exclusions. the time is not far distant when the world of art was divided into hostile camps, some holding to one set of precedents and regarding all others as mislead- ing and pernicious, the rest considering that conscience in architecture. safety resided only in the very forms rejected by their competitors, — some for gothic and some for classic. fifty years ago, two archi- tects could not meet without a quarrel. it was the " battle of the styles." we have tried this in architecture and in the other decorative arts, but have found that under such divisions we have made no progress. we have also, in turn, tried indifference as to the quality of the precedent, and masqueraded now in one dress and now in another, curious only in the perfection and accuracy of our copying; in other words, we have tried pure archaeology, and found that it could not satisfy the cravings of the artist to create. we are now at last beginning to learn that this great inheritance of forms is in fact the legitimate language of our art, copious, rich, suggestive, sufficient to all our moods; valu- able to us, not for the sake of its own words and expressions and phrases, but because of its usefulness in enabling us the more fully and elegantly to express our own thoughts and the ideas which belong to our time. to obtain success in the decorative arts, according to this new light, there must now be added to the qualification of the artist a new and hitherto unknown element, that of conscience in architecture. research and learning. the artists of classic and romantic times expressed themselves with ease in their own vernaculars, without know- ledge of any other mediums of expression. we of modern times can hardly be said to have vernacular tongues, but must say what we have to say in a composite of many and various elements. we cannot use this composite with- out a process of reasoning. in expressing our thoughts, we must take heed that we do not misuse an old language; that we do not narrow our art by becoming specialists in this or that dialect; that we do not lose our proper inde- pendence by imitating the peculiar idioms or tricks of expression of any other author or set of authors; and more especially, that we do not waste our strength in futile efforts to in- vent a new tongue. we must have a care not only as to what we say, but as to how we say it. the individual can no longer be lost in his art. modern architecture thus allies itself more closely with humanity than ever; it must ap- peal, not to the senses alone, but to the mind and heart. indeed, so saturated is it with hu- manity that we apply to it moral terms: we say that it is sincere or insincere, true or false, self- denying or self-indulgent, proud or debased. or we speak of it as a thing of the intellect: it conscience in architecture. is learned or ignorant, profound or superficial, closely-reasoned and logical or shallow and discursive. such should be the modern deco- rative arts, according to the high standard set up by the new culture. in this way, apparently, we are to create an art of the twentieth century. it is evidently not to continue a mere art of correct revivals, now of this or now of that school, according to an inexplicable fashion. beneath these superficial excitements there is growing this new sense of responsibility as to the real duties of art. thus, in building a modern church, the problem is not satisfied by accommodating a given number of worshipers for a given cost, with due regard for the decent setting forth of given rites in an edifice which is merely an accurate quotation from a given style, a correct reproduction of forms recognized by antiqua- rians as peculiar to a certain distinctive era of art. it is no longer sufficient that it is good romanesque or good gothic of any age or place. this is practical archaeology, perhaps, but not architecture. the matter of accom- modation, cost, and rites being the same, the question is, first, as to the most suitable structure according to modern methods, and, second, as to the most available material; then, conscience in architecture. what forms are best suited to give this structure and material the most honest and elegant expression possible under the circumstances, adapting these forms to the local conditions of fenestration, exit and entrance, aspect and surroundings. the artist seeks not to invent new forms to meet these conditions ; they will come soon enough if needed. there is a venerable and inexhaustible language of old forms; there are innumerable traditionary details, developed out of the experience of man- kind in former ages; there are devices of construction developed into shapes associated with the triumphs and trials of christianity everywhere. with the fullness of this lan- guage he utters his thought completely, having in mind only the fairest and aptest expres- sion of his idea. to these processes there are essential, as we have discovered, not learning and research merely, not inventive skill and genius merely, not poetic feeling and fine sym- pathies merely,but all these combined, together with the usual technical qualities which must form a necessary part of the equipment of the architect. the result must inevitably be, according to the genius, intelligence, and inspiration of the designer, a work of art, — not a correct historical reproduction, but essen- conscience in architecture. tially a thing unknown before, a veritable contribution to the pleasure and profit of mankind, a step onward. it is of course de- pendent upon the learning or skill of the artist whether, in using the old forms of expression, he avoids incongruities; and, while it is not of the least consequence whether he commits anachronisms or not, he must see to it that they are not offensive. he may put greek and gothic together if he can, or inform his gothic with greek principles, which is better, but it is necessary to the perfection of his expression that all the details shall be recon- ciled one to another and made one whole. the decorative arts, from the highest to the lowest, are decorative in that they are fitted for a fixed place, and in that place re- lated, in either subordination or command, to the effect of other pieces of art. "all the greatest art in the world," says ruskin, "is fitted for a place and subordinated to a purpose. there is no existing highest-order art but is decorative. the best sculpture yet produced has been the decoration of a temple front; the best painting, the decoration of a room. raphael's best doing is merely the wall-coloring of a suite of apartments in the vatican, and his cartoons were made for tap- conscience in architecture. affected by the miserable caprices of any combination of upholsterers. it can only be secured by a study of the peculiar needs and uses of the room, its aspect, its shape, and its. surroundings; by the discovery of the key of color necessary to the case; by the survey of available precedents for motifs and sug- gestions of form; by the conscientious and intelligent rejection of every fancy which, however dear to us, however fashionable, however picturesque or original or graceful, is not essential to the realization of this ideal. we know of innumerable rooms, decorated in innumerable ways, by innumerable devices, under all degrees and varieties of civiliza- tions, ancient and modern, and according to all conditions of living. these are importu- nate in suggesting ideas to the modern designer. without the exercise of the virtue of self-denial he is at the mercy of these thronging fancies, and becomes a mere super- ficial eclectic. this virtue must be a leading characteristic of the new discipline which we are approaching, both in the greater and lesser arts of decoration. the obvious necessity of exercising it, if we would create works of art, is another proof of the intense self-conscious- ness which we must inject into our work. conscience in architecture. we cannot decorate a simple panel in these modern days in any spirit but that of self-consciousness. if this takes the form of complacency in our own skill or knack, confidence in tricks of color or form which we have picked up, imitations of what has con- stituted other people's success, we can have no real success of our own. if the self- consciousness is conscientious; if it rejects the temptations of its own genius and know- ledge; if it considers first the function of this especial panel, its position and surround- ings, treating it according to the natural ca- pacity of the material, — if of metal, adjust- ing the form of the decoration so that it may be beaten, chiseled, engraved, or cast into shape; if of clay or plaster, so that the form may be developed by modeling; if of wood, so that it may be carved or painted, — and whether the composition is executed in form or color according to these conditions, if this form or color is kept properly subordinate to the rest of the composition, and is content simply to illustrate or decorate the function of the panel as an essential part of a greater whole, we may hope to create a work of art. but we do not undertake to decorate this panel without an unconscious survey of the conscience in architecture. whole historical field; how have similar con- ditions been met in previous conditions of life? an egyptian would have formulated his work according to his religion, and filled his panel with a vertical composition of reeds and lotus flowers, dead with straightness, rigid, precise, hieratic. a greek would have contented himself with a wild honeysuckle, but would have extracted from it the very essence of beauty, grave, sweet, corrected, and chastened to the last limit of refined expres- sion. a roman would have chosen the acanthus and the olive, and would have given to them exuberance, vigor, sensuousness, abundance of life and motion, pride, and vain- glory. a monastic designer of the twelfth century, taking up the dim traditions of the or- namentation of the later roman empire, would have conventionalized the common leaves and flowers of the wayside, and forced them to grow with formal symmetry within the boun- daries of the panel. a lay architect of the fourteenth century would have given a consum- mate image of what such leaves and flowers should be if they had been created for the sake of his panel; their shapes and their mo- tions would have been adjusted to the form of his panel, conventionalized and crowded. conscience in architecture. a century later, he would have crumpled, twisted, and undercut the leaves with danger- ous perfection of craftsmanship, and they would have wandered wanton outside the lim- its of the panel; strange animals would have been seen chasing one another among the leafage. an architect of the renaissance would have remembered the roman work; but the roman acanthus and olive, under his hands, would have been quickened and re- fined with new detail, new motion, finer in- spiration and invention. they would have received a new impulse of life, a new creation, a finer and more delicate spirit. but the art would still have been pagan art; not exuber- ant and ostentatious, but subdued to a strict relationship with the borders of the panel, observant of the centre line, illustrated with conceits of vases, medallions, birds, masks, an- imals, boys, garlands, and pendants, all obedi- ent to laws of absolute symmetry. for it was the era of the renaissance of learning, the era of concetti in literature as well as art. the decorator of the elizabethan era would have frankly left nature, and covered his panel with armorial bearings and grotesque emblazonments, with accessories of strap work curled and slashed capriciously. the saracen conscience in architecture. would have filled it with his arabesque tangles and pious texts. the japanese, following immemorial traditions of art, perfected by successive generations working loyally, con- summate interpreters of natural forms, would have disregarded any considerations of sym- metry, and projected into the field of the panel a spray of natural leafage from some accidental point in the boundary, cutting across a background of irregular horizontal or zigzag bars; a quick flight of birds would stretch their wings across the disk of a white moon, or a stork would stand contemplative upon one leg in the midst of his water reeds, with the sacred fusiyama in the distance, barred with its conventional clouds; and yet the composition would be suited to no other shape or size than that of the long panel for which it was composed. in the presence of all these crowding im- ages, the modern designer stands asking, "which shall i choose, what shall i reject, and why?" they are all his; they are his rightful inheritance, the legitimate language of his art. he not only has all the beautiful things in nature at his command, but he also knows how they have been used by his prede- cessors; how they have been interpreted and conscience in architecture. part of the history of mankind, conventional- ized it, in fact, for the uses of art, — this is no less important. the artists who practice design and the theorists who dream of it naturally disagree. what! cry the latter, must we go to art when we have infinite nature all around us? when the clover and the daisy grow in the clod beneath our feet; when the sagittaria, with its pointed leaves, the water-cress, and the long reeds wave by the river's brim, and the white lily floats upon its bosom; when the oak leaf and the acorn help to form the shade in which we repose, — must we go afar to learn how these things were carved by forgotten hands upon the capitals and corbels, in the spandrels and panels and friezes, of sacred buildings, six hundred years ago; or to dis- cover in what way they made beautiful the oaken screens and cabinets in the chateaux of the sixteenth century; or how they were beaten and twisted out of ductile iron in the balconies of venice, or moulded, baked, and col- ored in the potteries of palissy and of sevres; how they were painted upon the fans or cast on the bronze vases of japan? on the other hand, the artist says, what are we to do with our heritage of forms? are we to leave them to the antiquaries to label and classify conscience in architecture. and set up in museums, or are we to abandon them to quacks and pretenders, the spend- thrifts of art, to be worn by them as savages wear the costumes of civilization? in any event, they cannot be forgotten. every day they are made more accessible. the instinct of mankind is to use them, and we must see to it that they are used in a manner consist- ent with the dignity of art, with far-reaching research, but with self-control, self-denial, and conscience. thus there are two great books of reference for the artist: the book of nature and the book of art, that is, the book of the interpretation of nature by mankind. if we could close the latter and forget it, and if nature were our only resource, the best of us would perhaps be- come pre-raphaelite, and we should peep and botanize in a manner commendable to this great prophet. much of a certain class of errors might be obliterated from modern art; but our imagination, untrained, undisciplined, without food of immemorial experience, would run into unreasonable excesses. the opportunity and the desire to ornament would not be less, but the available resources would be infinitely impoverished. our observation of nature would doubtless become quickened, but theory conscience in architecture. would begin its work of transformation or caricature, and the element of conscience in art, as there would be less occasion to exercise it, would be deadened, if not destroyed. the decorator would soon perceive that the natural form could not be sculptured upon his capital, or painted upon his ceiling, or woven in his fabric, or burned into his porcelain, for a thou- sand obvious reasons, without undergoing some process of transformation. the work of con- ventionalizing these forms would at once begin; but, in the absence of instruction and inspiration from all precedent art, it would develop slowly, painfully, with barbarous imperfections and childish crudities. our art would be a strange mixture: there would be, on the one hand, an absolute fidelity to natural forms, interpreted with the skill which would result from concentra- tion of thought; and, on the other, a more prevalent element of barbarous and illiterate invention, covering the surfaces of things with thoughtless repetitions of detail, as on an indian paddle. we should be relieved from our embarrassments of precedent, in- deed, but we should suffer from a new and greater embarrassment of poverty. the em- barrassments of our wealth we are now learning conscience in architecture. to correct by cultivating the ennobling qualities of self-denial and conscientiousness. the em- barrassments of poverty could only engender an overworking, and consequently a debasement, of the powers of imagination. man, with an in- finity of thought to express,—for no fate but death could stop the activity of the mind, — would have no competent language with which to express it. he could only utter inarticulate cries, like a child. therefore to say that nature is the only fountain of art is incorrect. ruskin, illustrat- ing this principle, said: "if the designer of furniture, of cups and vases, of dress patterns and the like, exercises himself continually in the imitation of natural form in some leading division of his work, then, holding by this stem of life, he may pass down into all kinds of merely geometrical or formal design with per- fect safety and with noble results. . . . but once quit hold of this living stem, and set yourself to the designing of ornamentation, either in the ignorant play of your own heart- less fancy, as the indian does, or according to received application of heartless laws, as the modern european does, and there is but one word for you, — death; death of every healthy faculty and of every noble intelligence; conscience in architecture. incapacity of understanding one great work that man has ever done, or of doing anything that it shall be helpful for him to behold." there is much more of this very beautiful language, but when we get away from its spell and return to facts it seems as if we had been listening to a sort of pantheistic hymn. to go to nature for refreshment and inspiration is always wise; but there is refreshment and in- spiration also in the works of man. after god had made the green things of earth and all the animals, the creeping, the flying and swimming creatures, he made man, and endowed him with faculties to appreciate, enjoy, and com- mand the rest of the creation. the result was that man immediately began a creation of his own, — a creation of the second order. his materials were not chaos and darkness, but light and nature. the result of this second- ary creation is art. to us of the nineteenth century, for whom have been preserved most of the productions of this secondary creation, not by dim tradition but by scientific re- searches above and beneath the ground far and near, accurately collated, analyzed, and published, — to us, richly endowed as none of our predecessors have been (for literature has iruskin, the two paths, pp. , . conscience in architecture. only discovered the true art of greece and syria, of japan and india, for example, with- in the last forty years), this secondary creation stands as the image of the primary creation in the human mind; and the human mind, doubt- less, is the masterpiece of the supreme creator. by this agency nature has undergone wonder- ful transformations; and although the water- lily of egypt, the acanthus and honeysuckle of attica, the olive and laurel of rome, the trefoil, the ivy, the oak, of the chris- tian builders, the inexhaustible flora of later times, and all the animal creation, from man to insects, by the processes of art have taken new shapes, — although they have been often modeled in " the light that never was on sea or land," — it is not wise to stigmatize these "old things made new" as the product of heartless laws, and as a conspiracy against na- ture. there is, in fact, as much nature in the minds, which have thus idealized, conventional- ized, and changed natural forms, as there is in the natural forms themselves; and these minds and all the forms of art in which their thoughts have been embodied can no more be neglected by the modern designer than can the primary creation itself. when the gentle perdita declines to offer conscience in architecture. to her father's guests carnations and streaked gillyflowers, because they are "nature's bas- tards," — the products of ..." an art which, in their piedness, shares with great creating nature," — the wise polixines replies: — "yet nature is made better by no mean, but nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art, which, as you say, adds to nature, is an art that nature makes. this is an art which does mend nature, — change it rather: but the art itself is nature." this is the thought which i would enforce: our present conditions of life must give to art in all its forms certain distinctive character- istics. these conditions require the establish- ment of principles, and not forms, as standards of excellent work. they make forms the language and not the end of art; and they inculcate the enlargement and enrichment of this language by the study of nature and of all the antecedent arts, to the end that we may express our thought in art, as we would in literature, with an elegance, precision, and completeness commensurate with our larger opportunities, our richer inheritance, and our greater resources. modern design, especially conscience in architecture. in architecture, has hitherto concerned itself with the parts of speech, and given us exer- cises in grammar. now we are prepared to give to art its larger and truer function; to appeal to the sympathies, not only of gram- marians and archaeologists, of pedants and architects, but of all the people, by speak- ing to them, not with a dead language, but with a living language of form, which should interest, instruct, and delight them; by ap- pealing not only to their taste, but to their intellect and heart in terms which belong to our reminiscent but progressive civilization, and which therefore those who choose can understand. the supreme difficulty which confronts the modern architect is, with the knowledge at his command, to avoid sophistications, pedantries, technicalities. the very finest result of high culture, in architecture as in literature, is to utter thought with simplicity. the personal equa tion. the science of building, and, second, the es- tablishment of principles instead of formulas, aesthetics instead of archaeology; and we have learned that chief among these influences is the discovery, in the latter half of the nineteenth century, of greek lines, which represent the highest point of culture ever reached by man in art. by the revival and application of the principles involved in these lines, it is hoped that the great body of precedents by which we are now embarrassed will be elevated, refined, purified, and cor- rected for our use in modern work, so that our civilization, at once reminiscent and eagerly advancing, may be adequately expressed in our architecture. i am persuaded that the curious differences between the conditions under which ancient and modern architecture was and is devel- oped cannot be properly understood until the relation of the architect to architecture, until the effect of his personal equation upon the style of his time, shall have been made clear. i cannot but think that a comparative study of these conditions would not only be historically interesting, but would throw some light upon the nature of the responsibilities of the modern architect in regard to his art. the personal equation. because it was deliberately intended to express the history of the times in which it was built, but because it is a work of art, unconsciously expressing that civilization in terms the most exalted and beautiful within the scope of the builders. we may affirm, therefore, in general, that the qualities of the gothic or romantic and of the renaissance or classic civilizations are graphically expressed in their respective arts, and that the characteristic differences between these two arts constitute the most suggestive evidence of the corresponding differences in the conditions of the societies out of which they grew. referring to architecture in es- pecial, i ask you to consider with me some of these differences, not from a technical point of view, but to ascertain, if possible, what sort of men they were who were more imme- diately concerned in producing these two forms of art, and what were their relative functions in respect to their work. when diocletian laid aside the cares of em- pire, at the end of the second century, while christianity was struggling for existence, he retired to spalatro, on the eastern coast of the adriatic, where he built a fortified pal- ace covering nine and one half acres. this the personal equation. immense pile of buildings was the most impor- tant architectural expression of the decline of the roman empire. if archaeology had made a true analysis of this monument before gib- bon's time, that historian would have been furnished with a chronicle even more signifi- cant of the true spirit and genius of the later empire than he was able to deduce from any or all of the voluminous documents which form the basis of his history. but it is more germane to our present purpose to note that the first christian builders, as the late mr. free- man pointed out, discovered in the remains of this vast edifice a principle of construction which gave direction and character to the whole body of byzantine and early christian art, and had its final and most unexpected development in the art of the middle ages. this principle of construction was simply the starting of the arch directly from the capitals of the columns without the interpo- sition of the horizontal entablature. at this point in history the horizontal members of the architectural scheme, which all through the history of classic art had formed its most conspicuous and characteristic feature, were practically abandoned, and the way was opened for the growth of the vertical and the personal equation. of engineers; it appears in the steady and admirable progress of achievement in works of severe utility, — bridges, aqueducts, sewers, canals, embankments, factories. but this is not art, because, unlike the gothic evolu- tion, it is not in the hands of artists. the functions of the modern engineer and that of the lay builder of the middle ages differ in this important respect: the one develops a theory of construction with a view to ob- taining perfect mechanical fitness and stabil- ity in the most direct and economic way pos- sible, and with a complete disregard, if not contempt, for aesthetic conditions; the other, in like manner, aims at fitness and stability by the use of scientific and technical methods, but he confers upon his work beauty as well as fitness, grace as well as stability; he aims to charm the eye as well as to satisfy the mind with harmony of proportions and elegance of detail, following in this respect the evident system of the great creator, who never made anything ugly while making it strong. a cistercian abbey, produced under the rule of that most rigid of mediaeval reformers, st. bernard, in its austere, unornamented construction, shows how a severe work of engineering may be made a work of art. the personal equation. a clunisian abbey, resulting from the more generous discipline of the older order, is no more a work of art because of its super- added luxury of sculpture and splendor of color. the modern engineer gives us prose, the mediaeval builder gives us poetry. if painting and sculpture, and to a certain extent music, are imitations of nature in- fused with the spirit of man, architecture, which is not an imitation of nature, is a di- rect growth from the spirit of man; indeed, it is a creation of the second order, and con- sequently, as i claim, an expression of human character so accurate that all the phases of the essential development of that character in the history of civilization should be read in the successive manifestations of this peculiarly human art. in the beginning of the period of the renaissance, the gothic tree having exhausted itself with blossoms, there was grafted into its enfeebled stock a new shoot, which, with the advancement of learning and the growth of the human mind, gradually but surely changed the character of mediaeval forms, until at length they disappeared entirely. indeed, so completely did this new influence take possession of the human mind that, after the personal equation. hardly a century of transition, the vast poetic monuments of mediaeval art became, in the midst of the new civilization, not only barbaric enigmas, but objects of insult and contumely. the complete neglect or fundamental mis- understanding of the principles of gothic art — a neglect which prevailed from the fifteenth to the middle of the eighteenth centuries, while literature seemed to have hardly a consciousness of the existence of this form of art — constitutes in itself a revelation in the history of the intellect not to be obtained from any other source. meanwhile the great functions of the church were celebrated in the cathedrals, and genera- tion after generation worshiped within, leav- ing no trace except in the removal of the delicate tabernacle-work of altar, reredos, screen, and chantry, and the substitution of correct work in the classic taste, without a suspicion of incongruity. secular buildings were constructed against their solemn walls without a thought of sacrilege. every market- place in europe was overshadowed by the as- piring front of a gothic facade with its rich traceries, its fretted gables, its buttresses, pin- nacles, galleries, niches, statues, and spires; but these great piles for three centuries were the personal equation. as strange and uncouth to those who lived in these hallowed precincts as the aztec monu- ments or the buddhist topes and temples of india are to us. they apparently uttered no word and furnished no thought or pleasure in all this time to prince, priest, or peasant; and so they waited in silence and patience until the slow antiquary of modern times began to discover in them the symbols and handwriting of an earlier civilization, the types of a con- sistent art, not entirely barbaric or without meaning. now what was the nature of the new prin- ciple of art which meanwhile was powerful enough to so completely preoccupy the minds of the builders? it was based upon an archi- tectural formula, the classic orders. this formula was the standard by which archi- tecture henceforth was to be measured and corrected. if mediaeval architecture was a system based upon the free and unobstructed de- velopment of structural forms, that of the renaissance was based upon authority and discipline. the classic formula was recog- nized as the embodiment of the spirit of the antique world, by the revival of which alone, it was thought, redemption from mediaeval the personal equation. barbarism and the new birth of civilization were possible. the essence of this formula was an arbitrary system of proportion, com- posed of isolated columns or attached pilasters supporting horizontal entablatures. the ver- tical members were composed of bases, shafts, and capitals; the horizontal members, of architraves, friezes, and cornices. each of these divisions was further subdivided into mouldings; and as all these parts had de- veloped together, and got their shape by mutual adjustment after many trials, as, with the advancement of refinement, artists became curious in respect to the shape and relative disposition of these subordinate parts, the result was finally the highest expression of architectural style known to mankind. though this delicate and precise mutual ad- justment might have been reached in other styles, as in gothic, it has only been reached in the classic, and the examples of it are the so-called orders of architecture. it is their advantage that they were developed in actual use, — not by theory but by practice, — and that they grew into shape, embodying in their modifications the experience and feeling of successive generations of greek and roman architects, concentrated upon the work of the personal equation. was an art of construction more or less or- namental. now ornament is the product of sentiment and imagination, but the invention of ornament in such a service as gothic art did not call for the highest artistic effort in this domain. the grouping of pinnacles upon buttresses, the filling of apertures with rich tracery, the fretting of sky-lines with crockets and finials, the enrichment of mouldings by conventional billets, beads, chevrons, ropes, and leafage, the decoration of wall surfaces with an embroidery of carved diapers, cusped arches, and canopied niches, — this sort of work was not the labor of illustrious masters, but of nameless trained craftsmen ; nay, even the iconography and symbolism which crowded the porches were part of a hieratic system, to which the men who produced it were in the position rather of humble catechumens or neo- phytes than of independent artists. their labors were in no small part didactic, like the labors of writers and printers. in the ab- sence of books and of the ability to read them, the carvers disseminated the doctrines of the church, told stories, imparted ideas, religious and secular, by the works of their hands, in a conventional and childlike language of images, pictures, and symbols, which even the un- the personal equation. learned could understand. gothic ornament was thus, to a great extent, intended not only to decorate, but to teach. on the other hand, the composition of or- nament for its own sake did not become a leading principle until after the revival of learning, when a new style arose, based upon a rigid formula which was itself perfection, and therefore, as i have intimated, incapable of progression. under these circumstances, the variety demanded of art by the newly awakened civilization was only obtainable either by distorting or degrading the formula itself, as was actually done in the eras of the baroque in france, the rococo in italy, the chirrugueresque in spain, or, when the formula was respected, by overlaying it with ornament not necessarily suggested by the formula, ornament invented and adjusted by the creative spirit of man. this formula also, as, according to the roman system, it was not materially affected by structure, but applied to it, and, as it was to a large degree inflexible for the expression of special ideas, or of the pur- pose of the building to which it was applied, depended mainly upon its ornament, which therefore had to be of a character sufficiently imaginative to convey these ideas by emblem, the personal equation. attribute, or allegory, like simile and metaphor in poetry. thus, unlike the nameless gothic craftsmen, the famous ornamentists of the re- naissance, not having occasion to teach, were only concerned to beautify and illustrate. it is evident that this process of decorating without degrading the unalterable classic type could not have been effected by traditions, or by any such anonymous body of trained artisans as kept the gothic evolution in a workmanlike track. the contingency called into existence the modern architect, with his books and prints and his archaeological equip- ment. the composition and application of ornament demanded a new and higher quality of invention and imagination, because orna- mentation had become a far more important function in architecture. the energy and en- thusiasm of the intellectual life, newly awak- ened after the sleep of the dark ages, found its natural expression in a finer and more imaginative quality of invention than was possible to the pious craftsmen who, in the service of the church, built their best thoughts into the crockets and gargoyles of the cathe- drals, and were blest in their humble self- sacrifice. in short, the gothic method resulted in an impersonal art; the renaissance method necessarily led to a personal art. the personal equation. if gothic art was the development of prin- ciples of construction applied to meet simi- lar requirements, each experimental abbey or cathedral differed from its predecessor in ex- act proportion to the progress in the art of building vaults with small stones, not in pro- portion to the genius of the master-builder. the decoration of these structures was not an essential incident in this scheme of gen- eral development. no single monastic or lay builder could impress his individuality upon this mighty advancing tide. its progress was made up of forces far too great to be turned this way or that at his bidding. he was the servant of evolution, and not its master; he made the evolution consistent, grammatical, and beautiful, and in this disinterested service his name and character were lost. brunelleschi and alberti were the first italian artists who, in the beginning of the fifteenth century, studied the ruins of ancient rome; they made the earliest essays in the renaissance of classic architecure. now, if these artists had discovered in these ruins (as the first christian builders did at spalatro) a new principle of construction, capable of in- definite expansion in the wider fields of the new civilization, instead of an order of architecture, the personal equation. a more or less inflexible dogma of proportion, and if francis i. had carried that principle back to france with the spoils of his first italian conquest, instead of taking with him a crowd of italian artists, the guardians of the ancient formula, we might have witnessed the phenomenon of another impersonal art, like that of the mediaeval period, to the development of which, in the course of time, the genius of the great french renaissance masters, phili- bert de lorme, pierre lescot, and the mansarts would hardly have been necessary. if, on the other hand, at the end of the romanesque period in the twelfth century, a certain form and proportion of vaulting and abutment had been invested with such peculiar sanctity that it would have been impious to vary from it henceforth in any essential particular, deco- ration would have at once assumed the first instead of the subordinate place in the archi- tecture of the thirteenth and fourteenth cen- turies; and, instead of a series of nameless masons and master-builders, we should have had a catalogue of individualities as illustrious and specific as that which confers its peculiar personal interest on the history of the renais- sance. now as to the evidences of the personal the personal equation. character of renaissance art, although the classic formula was set up and accepted as absolute authority in the fifteenth century, although it has been used with veneration for nearly five centuries up to the present time, and although every architect since palladio, designing in the style of the renaissance, has intended above all things to be correct in his use of this simple type, and to build according to the italian taste, the result has been, not monotony, not cold and colorless uniformity, but a variety of expression elsewhere unknown in architecture. in studying these variations as they are exhibited in the buildings of the renaissance up to the present day, we shall find that they are not capricious or accidental; there was one class of variations in france, one in england, one in germany, one in spain, one in holland, one in italy. these distinctions of class are easily recognizable: they follow natural laws, they interpret na- tional temperament or genius by a visible demonstration. thus the french renaissance abounds in elegant variety; it is nearly always refined, delicate in detail, and full of feeling and animation. the english renaissance is for the most part unimaginative and heavy, feeble in invention, prosaic and cold; but it the personal equation. was not without its single era of great and original development at the hands of wren and his followers after the london fire. the german follows the french at a great distance; where it has not been merely imitative, its principal characteristic has been hard correct- ness and pedantry, purified and enlightened, however, in the beginning of the nineteenth century, by the greek revival of schinkel and klenze. the spaniard handled the orders with great freedom, and overlaid them with a sort of barbaric and ungrammatical splen- dor, which is almost oriental in its profusion and color. the dutch variation was homely and honest, like the people. but in italy, the natural birthplace of the renaissance, vignola, seilio, palladio, bramanti, scamozzi, first taught the world how true artists, hold- ing alike to a rigid formula, could invest it with purity and delicacy; how they could be correct without dullness, precise without ped- antry, poetic without license. these were the earlier italian developments; the later masters, betrayed by the contortions of borromini, the undisciplined inventions of bernini, the coarse magnificence of michael angelo, lost their purity in profusion, and vulgarized the type in their passion for grandeur. still the ital- the personal equation. ians were always the true masters of the renaissance, and the rest of europe went to school to them. but we have seen that though the architects of france, england, and germany tried to imitate the italian manner, they were always french, english, and german; the national spirit betrayed them. all the forces of art were united in the desire to make the revised classic forms cosmopolitan. they studied the same authorities, learned by heart the same formulas of proportion, copied the same monuments, but failed in their efforts to make a universal architecture. indeed, there was not only a national impress left upon their works, but no two architects of the same nation could produce similar work. each interpretation had a character of individual- ity ; the phenomenon remains true to this day. a late writer very happily said that "archi- tecture tells us as much of greece as homer did, and of the middle ages more than has been expressed in literature. yet," he adds, "it has been silent since the thirteenth cen- tury." this latter proposition is after the dogmatic fashion prevalent in modern english criticism, following mr. ruskin, the most elo- quent, the most fascinating, the most illogical, of all writers upon architecture. it is equiva- the personal equation. lent to saying that the personal equation in modern architecture, rendered necessary by the adoption of a formula as the basis of design, has prevented the art from exercising its nat- ural function as an evidence of contemporary history, as it did when design was confined to the development of a theory of construction, in the series of greek temples and mediaeval cathedrals. the fact is that architecture, whether personal or impersonal, cannot be forced away from this function, even by the most determined exercise of the modern priv- ilege of masquerading in the trappings of old forms of art. indeed, it is sufficiently evident that this very personal character imposed upon architecture by the conditions of the renais- sance, in rendering it more sensitive to impres- sions of environment, has made it a more accurate exponent of the quality of the civilization which produced it than has been the case with any form of impersonal art, the characteristics of which must be largely due to its own internal forces and structural con- ditions. while the development of structure depends upon science, that of ornament is poetic, and, like all poetry, must be an ex- pression of contemporaneous civilization, as the poetry of homer, of virgil, of horace, of the personal equation. dante, of chaucer or milton, of moliere or beranger, of byron, wordsworth, tennyson or whitman, indicates respectively a condition in the progress of our race. each is a pro- duct of its own especial era, and would have been impossible in any other. . '-'it is therefore not so much its structural as its decorative element which makes the metropolitan cathe- dral a reflection of the mediaeval life which swarmed about the market-place under its shadows, or entered its porches with banners. but if we survey the progress of mediaeval french architecture from the time of philip augustus in to that of charles vii. in , — from st. bernard of clairvaux to joan of arc, though in this era more than sixty cathedrals of the first class were built, involv- ing an expenditure of more than $ , , in our money (an activity in building oper- ations hardly surpassed in history), — we shall find that no monarch and no court was able to impress upon it any characteristic which would enable us to distinguish any one phase of its progress as the style of louis viii. the lion, of louis ix. the saint, of philip iii. the hardy, of philip iv. the fair, of charles v., vi., or vii. there are no such styles; the art of these reigns was an evolution of the personal equation. forces, and, as such, it was an impersonal art. no phase of this evolution is identified by the name of a sovereign, even as a matter of convenience in nomenclature, for by its nature it could not submit to the caprices of any court. on the other hand, when architecture had ceased to be a structural evolution, and was based upon a formula of pilasters and entab- latures, enclosing imposts and arches, decora- tion or ornament assumed a function until then unknown, and there was a distinctive style corresponding to the character of each reign, often contrasting with curious abruptness. thus we recognize a style of francis l, free, elastic, poetic, romantic; of henry iv., bold, coarse, grotesque; of louis xiv., full of grandeur without, of pomp and splendor within (viollet-le-duc has called it "the new renaissance "); of louis xv., frivolous, licen- tious, ostentatious, rococo; of louis xvi., decent, orderly, pure to prudishness; of the first empire, a theatrical display of imperial " strip a chapel of the fifteenth century of its orna- mental adjuncts," says symonds in his renaissance in italy, "and an uninteresting shell is left. what, for instance, would the facades of the certosa and the cappella colleoni he without their sculptured and inlaid marbles?" the fine arts, p. . the personal equation. roman properties, meagre and tarnished; of the second empire, elegant hut profuse and luxurious, drawing its motifs from every historical source, but harmonizing them with a fastidious, academical spirit, not unconscious of the purifying and ennobling influence of the newly discovered greek principles of art, — a style of to-day, too near to us to be recog- nized now in just perspective, but for which our french contemporaries will be held re- sponsible in the next century. so there is a style of elizabeth, of the stuarts and tudors, of mary, of anne, of the georges, and of victoria. so, also, in spain, the enthu- siasm, the efflorescent splendor and pride, of ferdinand and isabella and of charles i. are clearly expressed in the joyous and sunny exuberance of the architecture of their times. but in the time of philip ii. there was promptly substituted for this brilliant mani- festation a cold, academical formalism, in full sympathy with his iron rule. this astonishing display of sympathy is rendered possible by the fact that the archi- tecture of these eras must necessarily be sat- urated with the subjective personality of the architects, in order to its proper adjustment to the spirit of the times. in fact, the compo- the personal equation. sition of ornament, like the composition of poetry, cannot be evolved from theory alone; neither can exist in definite shape save by virtue of the individual character, attributes, and mental equipment of the author, as they are affected by the era in which he lives. it is his genius which confers upon it all its specific quality. it is his knowledge, his train- ing, his convictions, his taste, which so adjust ornament to a formula of proportion as to confer upon it especial character and interest. it is true that a large part of renaissance ornament, as of all architectural ornament, is conventional. the enrichment of the orders is obtained not only by the imaginative arts of sculpture and painting, which must neces- sarily be infused with personal genius like a poem, but by ornament of convention, which is common property, i. e. certain types of or- nament applied by general acceptance to the decoration of the mouldings and other details of the orders; but it is also obtained by a cer- tain hardihood in varying their proportions. but the use of conventional ornament im- plies choice, discretion on the part of the architect, and these are only personal quali- ties; and the variation of the proportions is an appeal to his powers of invention, corrected the personal equation. by his academic training, by his knowledge of precedent, and by his artistic feeling. if an ignorant man plays with proportions, the result is inevitably disgrace and vulgarity. without technical training, he can produce successful results only by an abnegation of himself, and is only acceptable when he fol- lows the classic formula with unimaginative fidelity. it is only the scholar who can handle his orders with freedom. the advancement of archaeological learning, the accumulation and accessibility of architectural precedent, in making it impracticable to the modern architect to build better than he knows, have inevitably forced him into an increasing de- gree of self-consciousness in his work, and, in depriving it of the grace of innocence and naivete, have made it a more sensitive index of his individuality. it is evident, therefore, that the present and future architecture of all civilized na- tions must, unlike that of all primitive peoples, express, not so much the natural man as the artificial or conscious man,— the man of learning and of resources which have been gathered together out of the past, and distilled in the alembic of his own per- sonality. the picturesque and romantic days the personal equation. of an impersonal architecture will return no more; but the art, in the future as in the past, whether personal or impersonal, must continue to embody the essential parts of the history of the human intellect. j i the royal chateau of blois, an example of architectural evidence in the history of civilization. in the chateau of blois, as it exists to-day, are brought together three clear and brilliant architectural expressions, each developed from a distinct era in the history of mankind. these expressions are so characteristic and so connected as to invite a comparative study of them, with a view to showing, by an analysis of this monument, how architecture may be used as an evidence of civilization. in mak- ing this attempt, i am not without hope that, though confined within limits too brief for an entirely adequate exposition, i may be able to illustrate the intimate and inevitable con- nection which must exist between any genu- ine and unaffected demonstration of archi- tecture and the especial conditions of that phase of the history of humanity which pro- duced it, and of which it must be an expouent. i hope to be able in this way to show that architecture, instead of being an art of pure the chateau of blois. convention, the full appreciation of which can- not be obtained without a comprehension of certain technical qualities inaccessible to any but trained intelligences, has really taken shape and style coincidently with the pro- gress of mankind; that it is an essential part of that progress, and has been closely de- pendent on it for all those qualities which give it value in art. it is therefore an art of humanity, and may be read like an open book. the traditions of this stronghold go back to the time of the romans. but all construc- tions previous to the thirteenth century have either been entirely obliterated, or. have been buried in the mass of the more modern walls. of the work of the thirteenth century there remain, on the north corner of the quadrangle, the great mediaeval hall of the castle of the counts of blois, divided in two by a central range of arches, each half of the hall having a barrel vault; and, in the west corner of the pile, the lower parts of the round tower, called du moulin. all other work of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries has been destroyed, or imbedded in the foundations and converted into crypts and dungeons. this early mediaeval work has no value the chateau of blois. from an architectural point of view. but it contains sufficient evidence that the lives spent by the immediate predecessors of louis xii. in these rude chambers, with their nar- row stairs and tortuous communications, and in these dark groined galleries, must have been coarse, gloomy, and meagre, full of lurk- ing suspicions and baleful secrets, when com- pared with those led by the later households of royalty, upon whom the bright influence of the revival of learning had been shed through open windows, and whose intelligence had been quickened by the tales of boccaccio, and refined by the poems of dante, petrarch, and ariosto. it will be observed, on examining the gen- eral plan of the chateau in its present condi- tion, that it consists of three wings, so dis- posed with their subordinate pavilions as nearly to inclose a cour d'honneur in the form of a distorted quadrangle, this irregular- ity being the most conspicuous and character- istic bequest left to the new structures by the old mediaeval castle. the northeast side of this court was built by louis xii. at the end of the fifteenth century; the northwest side, by francis i. in the middle of the sixteenth century; and the southwest side, by francois the chateau of blois. mansart, who in began to build this wing as the palace of gaston d'orleans, after having overthrown the buildings of the fifteenth century which had occupied that part of the site. the southeast side is par- tially formed by the chapel of st. calais, which is a part of the wing of louis xii.; the constructions which formerly completed the inclosure on this side, and which be- longed partly to louis xii. and partly to gaston d'orleans, having been lately swept away. the whole castle, having been nearly ruined by neglect, pillage, and revolutions, has been restored in the interest of monumental history for the french government by m. duban, who seems to have performed his difficult and ex- acting task with prudence and archaeological exactness. at all events this learned architect has left here three distinct masses of building, in which the capable eye may read much of the history of the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. we present herewith illustrations of the two fagades of the wing of louis xii., the one facing outward on the place du chateau, and the other inward on the court. ^ the earliest experiments elsewhere in france the chateau of blois. then for the first time felt in france, and of acclimatizing in that country a style associated with the more advanced civilization of italy. the building is in black and red brick, arranged in faint patterns, combined with light stone. it has a high purple slate roof, conspicuous chimneys, beautifully studied dor- mers, both large and small, and much lead flashing about the dormers and chimneys and on the crests, this metal work being richly decorated in gold and colors with the insig- nia of louis and ann, — the porcupine, the knotted cord, the fleur-de-lis, and the ermine. the details of this building bear all the evidences of a late development of a style long practiced by a highly gifted race of na- tive builders, — a style which, though it owed its existence and its essential characteristics to ecclesiastical conditions, was clearly under- going an interesting and highly picturesque process of secularization. the fenestration is adjusted less to satisfy considerations of sym- metry than to the most convenient service of the apartments. the general disposition of the mass is stately, formal, temperate, and composed; but in detail it is picturesque and ornate to a very high degree, and very intelli- gently and thoroughly studied. the moral the chateau of blois. influence of the renaissance of learning must have been most powerful in being able to supplant with its architectural formulas a na- tive style so rich, so highly organized, and so full of capacity for expression. the wing of louis xii. represents, indeed, the very high- est point reached by the pure domestic archi- tecture of the gothic period, and indicates that even in those troubled times there existed a clear ideal of tranquil security for private life. possibly this architecture is its last expression; for it is evident that the style has been enriched, and perhaps to a certain extent sophisticated, by accumulations of ingenious precedents developed from its own conditions. yet, even in an example so late as this, there is a sufficiency of daring and original design, which is indulged in without straining the resources of the style in the least degree. the great gateway entrance to the cour d'hon- neur, flanked by its rich engaged shafts sup- porting the conventional gothic framework and canopy of the famous niche, wherein, against a rich background sown with fleur-de- lis, rides in state the king upon his charger; the little sally-port beside the gate, to provide for which with such naivete and grace classic art might be challenged in vain; the stone chateau of blois: the wing of lobis xii. main entrance of exterior facade • • • • • the chateau of blois. it would be evident to him, in the first place, that this architectural demonstration, as it gives every indication of fluency and ease of expression and has none of the crudeness of ex- periment, must be the unaffected language of a people inspired by a native aptitude and fondness for art; that this architecture had gradually assumed new qualities and capacities in sympathy with improved conditions of life; that, as it is fundamentally different from any other contemporaneous style, it was essentially a native and not a foreign growth, was thoroughly imbued with the national spirit, and that it was therefore a free art, intelligible to all, and not to the learned only. the student sees before him a work which cannot possibly be sporadic, exceptional, or accidental, but one which could only exist as the latest expression of a living art, indicating by its open and hospitable treatment, and by the delicacy of its detail, that a gentler and more domestic life had begun to take the place of those feudal conditions, out of which an archi- tecture of defense and defiance had been de- veloped, — an architecture of vast frowning and windowless walls, of battlements, barbican towers, and deep moats. the native grace of expression, which in the earlier stages of its the chateau of blois. growth in profane architecture had a tendency to a certain grimness of humor, to an unre- strained play of grotesquerie, often coarse, but full of life and power, had here begun to submit to a sentiment of decent reserve and order, in harmony with the manners and customs of a higher civilization. a national architecture of this sort, an unaffected growth from local conditions, is not one to yield promptly to the suggestions of passing fash- ions or tastes; it is too happily adjusted to the conditions of contemporary life to be made the plaything of fortune. if the court, at the time of the building of the wing of louis xii., found itself more or less preoccupied by italian classic literature, pictures, statues, and furni- ture, it was hardly yet prepared to quote the revived classic upon the walls of the king's palace. though the mediaeval style had been ex- clusively used for three centuries and a half and was hampered by the limitations of feudal life or preoccupied by religious emotions, the ingenuity and inborn artistic spirit of the french builders had, up to the close of the fifteenth century, when domestic life was be- coming more secure, succeeded in developing, out of these mediaeval elements, a secular the chateau of blots. architectural system, which, though it had begun perhaps to show some signs of fatigue, though it had been somewhat strained, per- haps, in the efforts to meet the exactions of a larger and more complicated ideal of living, and, like all styles, in their later stages of development, had lapsed into an over- refinement and effeminacy of lace-like de- tail, was still very beautiful, instinct with flamboyant life, and capable of reasonable ex- pansion on certain lines. certainly this work of louis xii. of blois was neither moribund nor decrepit. the student turns to the wing of francis i., and finds that, though there is a strong con- sanguinity between the two masses of struc- ture, they are differentiated most emphatically by the prevalence of classic feeling in the latter, while in the wing of louis xii. there is absolutely no trace of this feeling. no one, he thinks, can study the wing of louis xii. without seeing that there was no crying need for reform. some other impulse, therefore, than mere architectural necessity must have caused this sudden divergence of style. between the completion of the wing of louis xii. and the beginning of that of francis i. (really less than fifty years), there the chateau of blois. which came out of the immemorial east. the best fruits of the first discovery were hardly ready to be gathered until nearly three centuries had elapsed ; the fruits of the second were even then ripening. in analyzing the wing of francis i. at blois, we shall discover one of its most prolific and most beautiful manifestations. this consummate building seemed to belong to a period in history when the forces of civi- lization were undergoing an evolution, lead- ing mankind from darkness to light, from childhood to maturity, from mystery, romance and chivalry to science and investigation, to letters and commerce, if not finally toward the ideal condition of universal peace and the established happiness of the race. architec- ture was becoming conscious of itself; it was beginning to lose its old grace of innocence, and to assume a new grace of knowledge. this building expressed a phase of this development. to study it as an example of a new fashion in art is to disregard its far more potent function as an exponent of the history of humanity at the moment of its most important transition. when the skeptic, inquisitive light of the renaissance began to penetrate with fuller the chateau of blois. effulgence into the dark recesses of the six- teenth century, the secular life of the times experienced a very marked enlargement; it was in fact, more than an emancipation from the bonds of mediaevalism, it was a re-birth of the mind, and the revised classic forms from italy at length presented themselves to the awakened intelligences of these children of art, not as representing an ancient style of architecture, to be quoted with respect and fidelity, but as an essential part of an intel- lectual revelation, and as a means of express- ing their glad consciousness of enfranchise- ment with a far more adequate and copious vocabulary than had been furnished them by the cramped traditions of the cloisters. if this new life, this sudden dawn of the modern era of civilization, needs a clearer evi- dence than is supplied by the general history of this bright period of transition, this evi- dence may be discovered at the chateau of blois in the characteristic contrasts between the work of louis xii. and that of francis i. the dates, as we have seen, are less than fifty years apart, but these fifty years were far better than "a cycle of cathay." we can see here, not merely a change of fashion, dic- tated by the desire for novelty for its own the chateau of blois. sake, but an architectural demonstration of a great mental revolution, affecting all the springs of human action. it is, in fact, the most astonishing symbol of emancipation ever presented in the language of art, — first, because it was unconscious, unaffected and sincere; and second, because it was no mere perfunctory repetition of the established and venerable formulas of the classic orders of architecture, but a translation of them, with- out any hesitation of doubt, into a new archi- tectural system, precisely reflecting the spirited and intelligent independence of the french artists. nothing could be more insubordi- nate, and at the same time more joyous and triumphant. the architecture of francis i. had but little in common with the work of the contemporaneous italian masters, but its insubordination was not the insubordination of ignorance or barbaric license; for, though it disregarded the established types, its ex- uberance was not disorderly, and its brilliancy was refined and consistent. it was gothic in its freedom from classic symmetry and re- straint ; it was classic in its quick and intuitive comprehension of the true spirit of the deco- rative architecture of the romans. these audacious artists of the sixteenth the chateau of blois. century, whose names even are unknown to us, hurried along, as it were, by the swift current of those wonderful fifty years of intellectual regeneration, seemed by some instinct of sympathy to understand, better than any of their successors up to the present time, that the romans had used the greek orders, not as an expression of con- struction, as the greeks did, but of decoration, having no essential relation to construction; that the development which the classic orders had enjoyed from augustus to diocletian had been a development in an entirely different direction from that which they would have experienced if the romans had continued to use the greek post and lintel as the basis of their system of building, instead of the arch and concrete vault, to which the orders had been applied as a mere decorative envelope. they seemed by intuition to comprehend that the orders had therefore gradually changed from the virginal purity and fastidious deli- cacy of the greeks to the magnificent sensual redundance and ostentation of the romans, reflecting in this way the character of the conquering race; and that as this system of architectural forms, unlike any other system before or since, had indefinitely expanded and the chateau of blois. sions of the wing of louis xii., and formed a part of the accommodation provided for the court of that monarch. the part lying on the other side of this wall, toward the cour- d'honneur, belongs to francis i., by whom the old part of the wing was remodelled and furnished with a new outside facade. the fagade on the interior court shows that the lessons in the classic styles given by the great italian masters, who were enter- tained by the court like princes and am- bassadors of art, were received by the native artists with intelligence and respect, but were not learned by rote. these lessons were assim- ilated, but not accepted as laws. - we have here a truly gothic irregularity of fenestra- tion. the windows of the basement have but little vertical coincidence with those of the two superimposed . stories. the former are each flanked by short pilasters, supporting a string course, which is a line of demarkation between the inferior order and that of the important system of pilasters which decorate the two stories above, and which have no essential relation with those standing beneath them. the greater order of pilasters is irreg- ularly spaced so as to have a constant relation with the windows ; for the intelligent builders the chateau of blois. immediately understood that these features, as used by the romans, had a decorative and not a structural function. there is an entablature or string course between the two principal stories, dividing the pilasters belonging to each into two superimposed orders. the wall face is crowned by a great cornice and balustrade of excessive richness; in this balustrade, for the conventional cuspidated gothic open work of the corresponding bal- ustrade in the wing of louis xii., is substi- tuted an open work composed of the royal initials f (crowned), and c for claude, the queen, entangled with the knotted cord. above, half hidden, is a range of lucarnes strangely contrasting with their gothic neigh- bors, and, though uttered in a pagan tongue, as it were, quite as rich and poetic as those which were expressed in the vernacular. each is crowned by a cupid in a canopied niche, which is flanked by flying consoles, ramping from highly embellished pinnacles, and the whole is relieved against an enormous slate roof with massive grouped chimneys. the blank panels of the wall contain each the king's salamander, crowned. the general effect is as studied and refined, and essentially as classic, as any contempora- the chateau of blois. neous work in italy; indeed, much of the decoration in the panels of the pilasters is identical with that t italy. the differences are not differences of caprice, of ignorance, or carelessness ; there is nothing savage, raw, or grotesque in them, such as occurred in the earlier attempts at gaillon, ecouen, or even in the tuileries, and such as distinguish the con- temporary attempts at classic by henry viii. and those of his immediate successors in eng- land. the correct orders, brilliantly set forth by the scrupulous and finely pointed pencils of the trained italian gentlemen, finished with the regular formulated details of architraves, frieze, and cornice, and exquisitely embellished with all the delicate resources of their art, instructed but did not dazzle the^french masters. the alertness of their minds, the independence of their genius, their instinctive impatience of scholastic restraints, their facility in the invention of ornament, developed from the absolute models set before them a new art, never seen before. they converted the old cornice of defense into a cornice of most delicate beauty. the coarse corbels which supported it were replaced by elegant classic modillions, and the black machicolations be- tween them, through which the defenders of the chateau of blois. the castle poured missiles and boiling oil upon the besiegers below, beca ne a series of deli- cately moulded arches, and each enshrined a shell; beneath was a rich bed of dentils and minor mouldings; above was a powerful gothic overhanging and undercut moulding, interrupted by gargoyles. "peace hath her victories, no less renown'd than war," and architecture crowns the triumphs of the gentler dispensation with beauty. but yesterday these builders had found in the freedom of their old gothifcht language as copious as they needed, in which to express the spirit of the times; %ut when the italians presented them with a new set of motifs and a new theory of design, belonging to the new learning, and a part of the brilliant "mani- festations of the revived classic art, these unknown and unnamed masters of living style received the pilasters, architraves, friezes, cor- nices, pediments, and consoles of the renais- sance, and treated them with the same joyous and ingenious liberty as they had been accus- tomed to use when their language was a language of moulded chamfers, carved labels, and cuspidated tracery. they sang their old songs in the new tongue, but with a grace of the chateau of blots. ation of this cornice is entirely justified here; nothing less would have been sufficent. this feature of the fagade, which might have chal- lenged criticism under other circumstances, thus seems to be quite condoned. the ver- tical mass of these piers, which, in plan, radiate like buttresses from a common central point, is divided into two sections by horizon- tal mouldings, marking the line of the third story floor; they are furnished with bases and sculptured capitals. in a niche upon the lower part of the face of each of these piers stands a beautifully executed female figure upon a corbel and beneath a pinnacled canopy, en- riched with the most playful fancies of gothic imagination, expressed in the terms of a new art. all these features are set on lines paral- lel with the cornice and base. with these the horizontal elements of the design cease. every other feature ramps with the gentle ascent of the stairs, thus encased. richly carved bal- conies, arranged on these sloping lines, are carried from pier to pier, coincident with the sweep of the stairs, stopping against the re- turns of the piers and near their face. deeply recessed between each pair of piers, and be- neath each of these balconies, is a raking beam supported by richly carved pilasters. the chateau of blois. above the cornice line, this unprecedented composition finishes with an attic order, bear- ing a decorated entablature, of which the vertical elements are strongly emphasized, and a balustrade. every panel, large and small, bears the royal insignia, the crowned f and the crowned salamander. a design so bold as this, so beautiful in its detail, so original, handling the classic formu- las with such easy confidence, is certainly an astonishing piece of work to be executed by the children of the carvers who achieved the gothic building of louis xii. only fifty years before; but the latter constructed the great vaulted staircase in the corner of the interior court. the skill required to do that, when applied to this new and much more difficult problem, needed to be supplemented by a rare quality of artistic inspiration, sympathy, and excitement to make such an achievement possible. by some purists this staircase has been called "a plaything." in fact it is a useless chef-d'oeuvre, which never could have been built in a settled and serious age; but the joyous new birth and enfranchisement of the mind, which were then filling all the cor- ners of christendom with inspiration and light, could not have their due record in architecture with any less ebullient demonstration. the chateau of blois. turning now to the renowned outer fagade of this wing, we recall that it is a mere superficial facing, upon a construction of the previous century, and that the whole composi- tion started from the necessity of establishing a communication, around the outside of the round mediaeval tour du moulin, between the great mass of buildings forming the south- west wing and that of the northwest wing. this gallery of communication took the form of an envelope of arches in two stories, with a projecting bay, all the arches being separated by engaged columns, whose circular form and vertical lines are carried upward from bottom to top without interruption, after the ro- manesque manner. subsequently these orders were extended for six bays northward, pilas- ters being substituted for engaged columns, and wide three-centred arches taking the place of the narrow round arches. at a still later pe- riod the orders were extended six bays further toward the north, segmental arches taking the place of the three-centred ones, used in the previous section. in this way the whole of the fagade was at length enveloped. the roof is supported in the italian manner by columns free-standing above the pilasters underneath, thus furnishing a continuous pro- the chateau of blois. tected passage-way connecting the apartments in the roof. near the centre this continuity is interrupted by a stone dormer in two stories with gable and tall finials. one great secret of the successful effect of this noble composition lies in the fact that the french builders had not yet quite thrown off their mediaeval disregard of absolute symmetries and repetitions. the two orders of the loggia are not arranged according to any mathematical and geometric system of correspondence and contrasts. they are not academical in their dispositions. they have never been set down in text-books as examples for study. the old gothic spirit of liberty, restrained from license by the instinct of art, prevails from one end to the other of this facade. the loggias grew into place subject in their details to accidents and to adjustments of new forms to old conditions. it would be unprofitable and inartistic to explain these differences of treatment, or to attempt to give a reason for them. this is the business of the archaeologist. it is sufficient to say here that these variations of treatment do not result in an effect of careless picturesqueness. the composition is essentially an expression of unity of the highest quality. its variety does the chateau of blois. nation to a noble architectural motif, would be an affectation which would inevitably be- tray its author. the vast basement of the old mediaeval structure develops at the northern end a series of round arched coupled windows, each pair collected under a single arch. the an- cient substructure is a massive battering wall, growing out of the steep natural slopes of the hill, upon which the mighty fabric stands. out of this battering surface a series of ver- tical piers or buttresses is gradually disen- gaged, each sustaining a pilaster of the super- structure; each pilaster breaking through the horizontal lines of entablature, creates, from foundation to roof, a system of vertical lines, relieving the composition from that predomi- nance of the horizontal motif which would have robbed it of its movement, and given to it a ponderous majesty, like that of the great amphitheatres at rome or verona. indeed, the contrast in character between the antique arcades and those of this sixteenth century movement is full of significance when consid- ered in their relations to the history of the mind. the first and second stories of loggias are connected, the former with the apartments of the chateau of blois. the queen, and the latter with those of the king. to provide for the proper lodgment of the royal pair, the splendid equipment of the interior chambers must have an adequate pala- tial expression on the exterior. to this end the series of loggias is broken in four places, unequally distributed, by the projection of two octagonal oriels, near the north end, cor- belled out from diagonally placed piers of the root-like substructure, and finishing with carved balconies on the level of the first loggias; the other two are in the form, one of a rich corbelled balcony, and the other, developed from the queen's chamber, in the form of a delicate oriel with a domical roof, thus reaching a higher level than the others. in short, the succession of deep bays is broken by numerous accidental irregularities of detail, not only without affecting the majestic unity and repose of the whole, but conferring upon it a charm of picturesqueness, which relieves it from the evil of monotonous and mechani- cal uniformity. the mellowed tones of the masonry on the front are offset by the rich colors bestowed upon the decorations of the deep jambs of the loggias, and the outside world is thus per- mitted to have an exterior suggestion of the the chateau of blots. spiration was the genius of the times in which they lived. they were not engaged in an amusing experiment of self-culture with a new set of architectural forms; they were not con- sciously practicing with a new theory of es- thetics; but they were, as artists, sensitive to all the strange movements in the world around them — movements such as never before had stirred the minds and hearts of the nation. this complete development of a new style within less than half a century could not have arisen merely from the creative power or flex- ible intelligence of the artists, who were the agents in the quick transition, but must have been due to the fact that they were sharing in a new impulse of great moment pervading a whole people, and awakening it into a condi- tion of extraordinary intellectual excitement. classic art, under these circumstances, re- vealed capacities of jubilant expression such as the italian masters appear never to have suspected. their renowned certosa of pavia, with its boundless opulence of beautiful de- tail, is perhaps the nearest approach they ever made to such an expression; but it conveys to the mind an idea rather of elegant prod- igality, of refined and highly accomplished artifice, kept strictly within the bounds of the chateau of blois. cannot be intelligently followed without re- vealing altthe essential processes and charac- teristics of this evolution. no lesson is so impressive as an object-lesson. the narrow and gross restrictions of the intellectual life of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; its aspirations and its growth in capacity for refinement and elevation in the fifteenth; its sudden and triumphant expansion and libera- tion in the sixteenth; its firm establishment on the basis of law and order in the seven- teenth; all these vital and progressive move- ments of humanity are recorded on the walls of blois in characters which can be easily read by any mind open to the appeals of art. if written history is distracted by episodes and accidents, if it substitutes personalities for principles, and is subjected to the moods and prejudices of chroniclers, these uncon- scious architectural evidences can always be depended upon to correct and to simplify the record, and to reveal the true spirit of the times. beneath the surface of the detestable politics of the sixteenth century, beneath the treacheries and assassinations with which the pages of the historian are preoccupied, be- neath the gossip and scandals of the court, set forth by the inimitable brantome, were the the chateau of blots. great fact of the renaissance, and the glad beginnings of modern civilization. the mon- uments do not tell anecdotes of the eras when they were built, or concern themselves with personalities; but they were inspired by the fundamental principles which were directing the progress of mankind. the peesent state of archi- tecture. in a recent number of the london " athe- naeum" there appeared a review of a new translation of arabian poetry. a passage in this review is worth quoting, because, in com- menting on the conditions of civilization which affect that form of art called poetry, it uses language equally applicable to that other form of art called architecture, and is thus uncon- sciously significant of the close analogy ex- isting between the various forms of art in which man has expressed his higher emotions. the passage, with a few verbal changes, mainly in substituting the word " architecture" and its derivatives for the word " poetry " and its derivatives, is as follows : — "the architecture of a people, who have preserved their natural character and simpli- city, and have so far learnt nothing from other civilizations, must always possess a strong fascination. as soon as the period of study and learning arrives we obtain, indeed, forms present state of architecture. of architecture and poetry beautiful in them- selves, and full of the thoughts and inventions, the spirit and characteristics, of the best works of many nations, but we lose the simplicity, the unaffected naturalness, the fresh outlook upon life and nature, which belong to prim- itive races. the freshness and sincerity which are exhibited in the architectural works of such races arise from the fact that they formed their style for themselves, with no assistance from other nations, and developed form naturally and out of necessity, with no admixture of preconception derived from books and study. they did not suffer from the difficulties which beset the modern architect; they had no models in other styles to teach them to affect impressions which they did not feel; there was no searching after origi- nality with them, since the native and instinc- tive ideas and forms of art had not been ex- hausted in their time; and though they spared no pains to attain the utmost degree of artistic finish in their work, they were not ever striving after the discovery of new motifs, or rare combinations and tricks of design, to render their work original and interesting." this quotation may fairly introduce what i have to say on the present conditions of archi- present state of architecture. tecture. it is impossible justly to study this theme without constant comparison of the attitude, functions, and methods of the archi- tects who produced what we now recognize as the historical styles, with those of the modern architects, who, far more learned and versatile, far better equipped, are contending with pro- jects of building far more complex, in an atmosphere infinitely less favorable to purely artistic achievement. the profession of architecture is now re- proached because it has failed to establish "a style," because it has not agreed upon a system, because its followers do not move in parallel lines onward towards a consummation of art commensurate with our civilization, in the same way that contemporaneous science has moved towards the development of the electric telegraph, of electric lighting, of the telephone; because at our annual conventions the president of the british or american in- stitute of architects is not able, like the president of the national or international academy of sciences, to report in his address a definite and orderly progress of achievement. but architecture is a fine art upon a basis of science ; if it were a pure science we could emulate the electrician, the geologist, the politi- present state of architecture. byzantium; in a political conquest, perhaps, like that of the normans in england; in a moral reform, like that of st. bernard in france; in an intellectual revival, like that of the renaissance in italy ; or by the influence of a brilliant court, like that of elizabeth or louis xiv., demanding an especial expression of splendor or triumph. and these new forms, in their turn, were developed to completion by the same processes of consecutive experiment in a narrow field of enterprise, and consti- tuted in each case a style, an exponent of manners and customs, with a beginning, a middle, and an end, between two brief eras of doubt, called, in the history of art, eras of transition. it is important to note that these old styles disappeared and these new styles arose, not in the modern manner by caprices of fashion or by theories of aesthetics, but because they followed unconsciously and in- evitably corresponding changes in the historic conditions of our race, and were a part of the development of civilization. now in the modern architectural chaos there appears to be a notable exception in the work of the french people. in paris, archaeology and the theory of architecture are taught in an official school of fine arts, which present state of architecture. correct, brilliancy, as in the hotel de ville, of paris, and the new opera. if the archi- tectural conventionalism which it fosters is sometimes commonplace and monotonous, it is always correct, never illiterate, and often scholarly. if it disciplines individuality of thought, so that the style, in the hands of in- ferior artists, becomes unduly uniform and un- interesting, it protects common work from the dangerous vagaries of invention, and keeps it pure. originality is not sought after with the feverish eagerness which must be the prevail- ing characteristic of work done under a con- dition of liberty. the school, in fact, is a propaganda of faith in an arbitrary type of art. while it narrows the range of expres- sion, it encourages academic precision, fosters beautiful invention in detail, and leads to a study of ornament far more delicate and pre- cious in its results than is elsewhere possible. as a school for practice and education, it therefore maintains a conspicuous advantage. viollet-le-duc, with all his knowledge and all his convictions, eloquently urged in favor of a return to greek and mediaeval methods in design, was unable to create a successful revolt from the national styles as established under this official system. on the whole, present state of architecture. greater degree than that of any other nation. it abounds in episodes of ingenuous and gallant effort, now in one shape and now in another, sometimes merely for the sake of change, and sometimes for the sake of prin- ciple. not long ago, as has already been noted in a previous essay, it became neces- sary, in the interest of peace and quiet, to exclude by formal by-laws the discussion of the relative merits of classic and of gothic art in the societies. the profession in eng- land was divided into hostile camps by an irrepressible conflict of architectural princi- ples. the gothicists, by the chance of war, gained the day, and held the field undis- puted for some forty years. this warfare, however grotesque it may now appear to us, who, by conviction and not by indifference, have become catholic, bears witness to a sin- cerity and zeal on pure questions of principle in art, which are unparalleled in history. indeed, these are among the best fruits of liberty. the main characteristic of modern english architecture consists in its series of revivals. in the absence of academic taste, guided by official schools, the architect is under the do- minion of a prevailing fashion, which, while it present state of architecture. lasts, is as powerful as if promulgated by an edict of government. he aims less to please with old forms than to astonish with new. any strong mind or hand in the profession fortunate enough to make a happy revival of a style or phase of architecture, which had until then been laid aside and forgot- ten, establishes a starting-point for a host of young imitators, who at length constitute a school, numerously and enthusiastically fol- lowed; and thus a fashion in design takes possession of contemporary art and has its run through a course of years, until some other guiding spirit awakens a new revival and makes a new fashion, which succeeds until its capacity for producing novelty has been exhausted. the movements which have had the most enduring effect are the greek revival, the modern italian revival, the gothic revival, the queen anne revival, the free classic revival; and now we are awaiting the manifestation of some master spirit who will turn the development of english thought, fatigued by these fruitless experiments, into some new and unexpected channel of archae- ology, or, perhaps, by a new theory of es- thetics as applied to structure, direct it at last into some really modern and more intelligent field of effort in art. present state of architecture. it is a peculiarity of these successive experi- ments that they are revivals of completed sys- tems, of forms incapable of further progres- sion. viollet-le-duc, as i have once before noted, wisely remarked that a prosperous ca- reer in art can start only from primitive types, of which the powers of development are un- exhausted by use. the practical effect of the revival of a style which has had its era of glory and its associations of history is to give to the architect an opportunity to exhibit his ingenuity in adapting old forms to new uses, and to display a facility of quotation which is often mistaken for genius, but which is really little more than memory, cultivated and effective indeed, leading him "to affect impressions which he does not feel," but not touching the springs of life in art. mean- while, the public are interested in it simply as they are interested in any other new fashion, not because it has in it the healthy breath of life, but because it is in vogue, and has been made reputable by architectural usage. few architects have courage or force enough not to follow this usage. they are bound by it hand and foot while it lasts, and its powers are tested and strained to the uttermost limits by being forced into service often unconge- nial to its natural capacity. present state of architecture. it is very noteworthy that the greatest of the english revivals, that of medieval art, had its basis in an awakened conscience. pugin and ruskin preached the gospel of this revival; they asked for a return to the era of truth in art; they asked that architectural expression should be controlled by structure, and that decoration should follow the methods of nature. the gothic revival is the only in- stance in history of a moral revolution in art. it is but fair to observe, however, that its long continuance in english practice may be partly attributed to that antiquarian spirit which has kept the architects busy in preserving and re- storing the historic monuments of mediaeval england. on the other hand, the revival of the style, called of queen anne, was a revo- lution effected largely under the influence of a literary sentiment. if the genius of norman shaw struck the first blow, the genius of thackeray gave the movement inspiration and character. both revivals were patriotic, and would have been impossible if not associated with phases of english history. but neither conscience, nor historic sentiment, nor patriot- ism, can make art; they can give character and variety, they can supply mo tifs, they can min- ister to emotions and inspire poetry, but they present state of architecture. cannot make a style. hence these english fashions, which have had loud and sometimes effective imitations in the practice of american architects, have apparently had no permanent influence in improving the practice of archi- tecture either in england or here. they have made dilettanti among the public and virtuosi among the architects, but they have not cre- ated artists. there is plenty of archaeology, but no inspiration, in an architectural fashion which is hampered by the necessity of strict conformity. "creation and preservation," said sergeant troy, "don't do well together, and a million antiquarians can't invent a style." the gothic revival gave opportunity for innumerable experiments; for many years it preoccupied the minds of the anglo-saxon people, and was ingeniously and sedulously adapted to every possible habit of modern life which could be ministered to by architectural forms. but this adaptation, though the writers have called its results "victorian gothic," did not advance gothic art one step towards the creation of a modern english style, because it did not develop any capacity for expansion in this new service. its potency for new expressions was speedily exhausted without satisfying the requirements of com- r present state of architecture. mon sense or meeting the practical conditions to which it was applied. it was replaced — not, it is important to note, through any pro- cess of logical succession, — by the accident of the jacobean, or queen anne, or free clas- sic revival, which at every point was an offense to the architectural morality engen- dered by the preachments of pugin and ruskin, and possibly a result of them, as the license of charles ii. naturally followed the rigid puritanism of the commonwealth. this revival also is proving unsuccessful, be- cause the capacities of the type had been al- ready exhausted before the revivalist made his first quotation. neither of these types permitted expansion or progress; and the re- habilitations of them have proved to be merely sterile incidents in the history of modern architecture. they have not, so far as we can see, furnished to the english civili- zation of the nineteenth century any fitting and adequate architectural expositions. these revivals, as i have said, found a large and by no means an unintelligent expression in the united states. but the national genius of our architects and their freedom from the tyranny of historic precedent encouraged them to a far wider range of experiment in archi- present state of architecture. tectural forms. out of these experiments hitherto there have as yet come no definite promises for art. but the higher education of the architect and the more exacting de- mand for studied and grammatical expression have in these latter days, especially in those parts of the country where the higher civili- zation obtains, already practically supplanted the illiterate products of our earlier conditions with better work. they have succeeded in establishing a higher technical standard of performance without loss of that quality of intelligent liberty in which lie our greatest hopes and our largest promise. the service of our architectural schools is already amply justified by its results. their graduates have spread abroad in western as well as eastern states, and wherever they have had opportu- nity of practice they have sown good seed, and are steadily rendering obsolete the nor- mal american types of raw and undisciplined invention, of audacious exaggeration and caprice. this is the first and most whole- some step towards rational reform. we have had good practice and experience in following the english fashions, but here their reign has never been undisputed. by the entire absence of local traditions; by the entire absence of present state of architecture. nation, a nation of builders. no part of the history of civilization is so various in its archi- tectural expressions, good, bad, and indifferent, as that of the american people. in quan- tity, certainly, we have in a given time accom- plished more in this field than any other peo- ple. our distinctive practical necessities, our mechanical genius in the matter of building- appliances, the nature of our building-mate- rials, the exigencies of climate, the charac- teristics of social life, and the invention of new systems of structure, like the braced and riveted steel frame, enveloped by terra cotta or by masonry of brick or stone as a fire-proof, have created certain corresponding distinctive qualities in our architecture; but they have not established as yet anything approaching that coherent body of architectural forms which constitutes a style. the architect, in the course of his career, is called upon to erect buildings for every conceivable purpose, most of them adapted to requirements which have never before arisen in history. practical considerations of struc- ture, economy, and convenience preoccupy his mind, and his purely and conventionally architectural acquirements are subject to fre- quent eclipse in practice. his great architec- present state of architecture. tural models often give him no hint, and stand too far apart from modern sympathies and use to serve him for inspiration and guidance. railway buildings of all sorts; churches with parlors, kitchens, and society-rooms; hotels on a scale never before dreamt of; public libraries, the service of which is fundamentally different from any of their predecessors ; office and mer- cantile structures, such as no preexisting condi- tions of professional and commercial life have ever required; school-houses and college build- ings, whose necessary equipment removes them far from the venerable examples of oxford and cambridge; skating-rinks, theatres, ex- hibition buildings of vast extent, casinos, jails, prisons, municipal buildings, music balls, apartment houses, and all the other structures which must be accommodated to the compli- cated conditions of modern society, — these force the architect to branches of study, to which his books, photographs, and sketches give him little direct aid. out of these emi- nently practical considerations of planning must grow elevations of which the essential character, if they are honestly composed, can have no precedent in architectural history. on the other hand, in the days when defi- nite historical styles may be recognized, archi- present state of architecture. tecture was displayed in a comparatively limited class of structures; thus, in the thir- teenth century there were ecclesiastical build- ings, a few town halls, and feudal castles built for defence. this limitation kept prac- tice within manageable boundaries and pre- served the style from aberrations and perilous experiment. even though a prevailing fashion or revival may give a color of unity to contemporary buildings erected under the conditions which i have described, what wonder if there is the most perplexing variety of architectural ex- pression? what wonder if the superficial critic, seeking for a characteristic type and finding none, cries out that art is dead, that there is no american style? what wonder if he decries the american architect as a creature withoutconvictions? in fact, the canons of criticism, which guided the opinions of our forefathers under narrower conditions, and which led them to pronounce judgment with the formulas "correct," or " not correct," are no longer applicable. the art which of all the fine arts is the only one dependent on practical considerations must be a free art, from the nature of the case. it cannot be confined within the bounds of any historic present state of 'architecture. styles and remain true to its functions; it can- not meet the requirements of modern life in a strait-jacket of antiquarian knowledge and archaeological forms. the functions of the critic have become far more difficult, and re- quire a far more catholic, unprejudiced, and judicial mind, a far wider range of knowledge and sympathy, than could possibly grow up under the teachings or examples of vitruvius or palladio, philibert de lorme or sir william chambers, sir christopher wren or the broth- ers adam, pugin or ruskin, or any other prophet or expounder of ancient principles, with their rigid doctrines of exclusions and their exact formulas of practice in design. it is an era of experiment and invention, of boldness and courage. conscientious fidelity to style in the merely archaeological sense no longer leads to great and successful achieve- ments, because the requirements of modern buildings are far beyond its capacity. the narrow city facade, crowded with necessary windows, elbowed by uncongenial neighbors, restricted by municipal regulations, with story piled upon story, and the whole hanging over a void filled with enormous sheets of glass, the bete noir of architectural composition, is a de- fiance to all rule and precedent in art. iron present state of architecture. new work in architecture shows in some de- gree the influence of this vigorous style. it has the advantage of being an early, unfinished and uncorrupted type, and it will be interest- ing to see in what direction and to what end its apparently unexhausted capacities will lead us, by the course of constant and intelligent experiment to which it is now subjected. but these experiments are often open to the charge of an affectation of barbarism and heaviness inconsistent with our civilization. they have, however, in the best hands, fairly broken loose from the bonds of archaic prece- dent in the style, and have already acquired new elements with a tendency to that delicacy and refinement which are necessary to satisfy modern culture, and to that elasticity which is essential to modern requirements. this revi- val will cease to be a masquerade, and will be in the healthy path of natural development, as soon as it begins to show a capacity for a more perfect adjustment to our material and moral conditions. whether it will succeed in reaching this stage, or whether it will pres- ently begin to fatigue by monotony and so fall into disuse, there is no question that the ex- periment is based upon sounder principles than that of any other now under study. present state of architecture. this essay began with a quotation explain- ing how the necessary equipment of the mod- ern architect, his organized business appli- ances, his library, his prints, his photographs, his familiarity with the historic styles in all their phases of development, glory, and de- cline, his conscious aesthetics, — his study, in short, has predisposed him to insincerity and affectation, and prevented him from com- peting on equal terms with the creators of the great styles. there is another element of difficulty which it is important to note. our predecessors, before the era of learning, had the good fortune to be sustained by public sympathy. criticism they felt to be an active, incessant, and intelligent force. there could be no such thing among them as pedantry. the language of art was a common language which all understood; it was therefore used with force, correctness, and discretion, and broke naturally into poetry and song. the result was that the builder designed, not bet- ter than he knew, but under correction, and with the knowledge that his efforts would be appreciated at their full value; he was en- couraged, surrounded, sustained, admonished, and taught by public opinion. if, in this atmosphere, he was a leader, it was solely by present state of architecture. force of genius working in common paths. the people were all handiworkers. fingers, brains, and heart wrought together at the forge, in the stone-cutter's yard, with the weaver's shuttle, at the jeweler's bench, with the carver's chisel, in the armorer's shop. the mind of every artisan was prompt to conceive, and his hand was quick to execute variations of form in his own craft, to give new interest and individuality to his work, however humble. it was natural dass er im innern herzen spiiret was er erschafft mit seiner hand. this constant exercise of intelligent inven- tion made him sensitive to every expression of art, and he was not indifferent when his breth- ren, the masons or stone-carvers or painters or workers in wood or metal or glass, united their best individual handiwork in an archi- tectural symphony. under this pressure, with this powerful correlation of forces behind, the growth of definite architectural styles was in- evitable. it was no less inevitable, in the progress of civilization, that labor-saving machinery should take the place of handiwork; that artisans should become mechanics or tenders of machinery, in the products of which their present state of architecture. best qualities of mind and heart could have no concern whatever. thus the common artistic instinct, which, in the aggregate, constituted intelligent public sympathy in athens, in ravenna, in the isle de france, does not exist in manchester and new york. the archi- tect is left to work out his problems alone, "with difficulty and labor hard," unsustained by appreciative recognition and criticism, buried in the study of ancient precedent and in the contemplation of theories of design. the fundamental motive of his work is changed, and the best results of his labors, more or less affected by the pale cast of thought, are set up in the public places in com- plete silence. criticism, if any, has become indifferent and careless. the architect is neither praised for his good points, nor blamed for his bad. few care whether they are good or bad. they are not understood. in this emergency the architects unite in societies, for the sake of professional fellow- ship and mutual encouragement. they form a caste apart; they are no longer the leaders and exponents of public sentiment and thought in questions of art; no longer agents in the development of a style. not having the correction, the stimulus, and assistance of present state of architecture. public knowledge and interest to keep them in a straight path of fruitful development, they make devious excursions in new fields, they "affect impressions which they do not feel," they masquerade in various capricious dis- guises, all with the hope of astonishing the ignorant and arousing the indifferent. under these circumstances, it is much to be feared that the advance of the profession in these modern days is, to a large extent, a pro- gress of architecture into regions inaccessible to the public. the most intelligent laymen do not pretend to appreciate its motives or to comprehend its results. but without their aid architecture cannot advance. the members of the profession have begun to say one to the other, let us cease this pro- cess of fruitless sophistication; let us study how we can excite intelligent interest. this point once gained, we shall at length have established a standard of performance which, if advanced by us in our practice with wise persistency and honest, straightforward en- deavor, may at length give us a public whose good opinion will be worth earning. we have discovered that mere caprice, mere novelty, will not answer. this may amuse the vulgar for a while, but it makes the judicious grieve. present state of architecture. when in our schools and in our practice we can succeed in cultivating a fine artistic feeling and in establishing really catholic ideals in design without falling into dilettanteism or into habits of mere imitation; when we can use our knowledge of good examples, mod- ern and ancient, so that it will not betray us into quotations for the sake of quotations, into conformity for the sake of conformity; when we can work without caprice and de- sign reasonably, so that every detail shall be capable of logical explanation and defense, without, detriment to a pervading spirit of unity; when we can be refined without weak- ness, bold without brutality, learned without pedantry; when, above all, we can content ourselves with simplicity and purity, and re- frain from affectations; we shall have con- quered the indifference of the people, and shall have accomplished more than has yet been done in modern england with all its archaeology, or in modern france with all its academical discipline, but we shall have done no more than should result from an intelligent use of our precious and unparalleled condition of liberty in art. doorway of st. tkopheme at akles architecture and poetry. poetry's various moods. and yet, with one or two possible exceptions, whenever the muse does celebrate architecture, she seems to stoop from her high career, and to be afflicted with a paralysis either of the intellect or of the im- agination, which leaves her unfit to express an intelligible idea on the subject. it is well known that no two architects who have attempted to restore, on paper, the villa laurentinum of pliny, by following the de- tailed and elaborate description of it in his famous letter to gallus, have succeeded in pro- ducing similar designs. disraeli, in his " curi- osities of literature," infers from this that it is idle to indulge in architectural descriptions, as they cannot succeed in presenting clear pic- tures, and that the pen should not intrude on the province of the pencil. but the question is not so much one of description as of inter- pretation. architectural ideas and motifs ex- cite in the minds of architects certain emotions, which are rarely shared in their fullness by the laity. but i hesitate to believe that it is impossible for the pen to convey to the public at least some part of these emotions. it seems unreasonable that certain defined capacities of delicate enjoyment should be in a condition of permanent and hopeless atrophy in the minds architecture and poetry. sansovino, of the other masters of architecture, ancient and modern, is no more a mere pedan- tic display of technique than the work of mendelssohn, beethoven or wagner. the art is not merely conventional or academic ; it is essentially an expression of humanity in its noblest and most god-like moods. under these circumstances, it is remarkable that this magnificent and inspiring art is gen- erally reduced by the poets to the subordinate function of furnishing an indispensable back- ground to the persons and movements of the poem, and is referred to with certain common- places of description which nearly always fail to suggest the really essential values of the theme, which betray either indifference or ignorance as to fact, and which often present impossibilities of form and structure. sculp- ture, painting, statues, tapestries, all often re- ceive worthy recognition in verse, but the noble shrine which incloses and protects them, for which they were made and of which they are a part, is passed by with a conventional epi- thet, conveying to the mind no recognizable image. in fact, the intrinsic qualities of architecture seem, for the most part, to be in- visible to the poets and inaccessible to their sympathies. when they refer to a monument architecture and poetry. of this art, it is generally to recall some his- torical association or incident connected with it, to draw an inference, to point a moral or adorn a tale. they do not seem to realize that its pilasters or buttresses, its base and cornice, its windows and doors, its panels and stringcourses, its columns and arches, have assumed shape and character coincidently with the progress of mankind; that these features can be interpreted as demonstrations of hu- manity and as evidences of civilization, all highly idealized and converted into visible poetry; that their ornaments of sculpture are a re-creation of the works of the great creator, reflections of nature, slowly developed in types and conventional forms by the action of the human mind through centuries. the emotions aroused in the mind of an intelligent expert by the contemplation of a work of pure architecture, in whatever style and of whatever race, are necessarily complex and difficult to describe; but i am persuaded that the quality and keenness and scope of these emotions are such as have been awak- ened by no other of the fine arts. to the "capable eye" there is, in the first place, the charm of repose, which includes almost all the virtues of design. then follow the gracious architecture and poetry. and caressing appeal of technical harmony and grace in outline and proportion, in symmetry or balance of parts, in color, texture, de- tail, and distribution of ornament; the pleasing evidences of scholarship without pedantry, if the work is modern, of the intelligent study and adaptation of historical styles to modern use, of reserved power, of the absence of affecta- tion or caprice ; the just subordination of the personality of the author to his theme; the skillful adjustment of means to ends; the per- fect agreement between construction and dec- oration : and, in certain cases, the glad recog- nition of the audacity of genius in breaking through the trammels of convention, and cre- ating a surprise which does not offend. in the second place, outside of technique, the student is moved, in the contemplation of an historical monument, by its poetic suggestions; by the effect of national or local spirit on the treatment of outline and detail, and of that unconscious but inevitable imprint made by contemporaneous political, religious, social, or commercial conditions, which differentiates an architectural achievement from any other work of fine art, and makes it an evidence in the history of civilization. he has learned that the architectural monument is saturated with architecture and poetry. that to his complete comprehension of the full meaning of an architectural monument there is needed an interpreter, who can not only feel it, as an expert, in its evident and remoter meanings, but who, if possible, can analyze and demonstrate it, thus opening to the world this most fertile and most delicate source of intellectual and emotional delight. we would first look for such an interpreter among the poets, who express their ideas with words and figures, symbols and allegories, just as the architects express theirs with a language of forms, compact of ideals and conventions, developed in the progress of mankind by a similar process of creative imagination; but apparently no poet, even in this century, the most inquisitive of all in the history of our race, has tried to comprehend the best thought which the sister art expresses, although, as we shall presently see, two or three of our own time seem to have shown that the obstacles are not insurmountable, when the spirit is willing and the mind informed. the old metrical romances, like those of lydgate, the monk of bury, or piers plowman, like the " romance of sir degrevant," or brad- shaw's quaint translation in verse of " the lyfe architecture and poetry. art in general he more than once, in passages illuminated with poetic fire, anticipated with- out an effort the labored conclusions of mod- ern aesthetics. but though his duncan and banquo, as they approached the castle of mac- beth, discoursed on its pleasant seat and on the martlets who built upon it coigns of vantage, and though, in other scenes, he managed by an accidental word or phrase to suggest archi- tectural scenery and surroundings, he never dwelt upon or interpreted a single feature of this noble art, or presented a definite image of any of its historical manifestations. ap- parently no impression was made upon his mind even by contemporary buildings. bacon, on the other hand, had a very intelligent inter- est in architecture, and wrote of it with far more sympathy than any of his contempora- ries; but shakespeare made no use of the frequent opportunities of his dramas to refer to it, save once, very indirectly, in the second part of " henry iv.:" "when we mean to build, we first survey the plot, then draw the model; and when we see the figure of the house, then must we rate the cost of the erection; which if we find outweighs ability, what do we then but draw anew the model in fewer offices; or, at least, desist to build at all?" architecture and poetry. the ionic then, with decent matron grace, her airy pillar heaved; luxuriant last, the rich corinthian spread her wanton wreath. the whole so measured true, so lessen'd off by fine proportion, that the marble pile, form'd to repel the still and stormy waste of rolling ages, light as fabrics look'd that from the magic wand aerial rise." it was from a body of pedantic vitruvian formulas, dry and inelastic as a demonstration of euclid or a rule of grammar, that all the architectural notions of the period were de- rived. it was a part of the elegant learning of the day to commit to memory the four orders as they were then understood. every demonstration outside of these orders was bar- baric. and yet we search in vain through the rhymed heroics of dryden, pope, and their imitators of the eighteenth century for an appreciative or intelligible idea even of a correct classic composition. when they at- tempted it, the result was a shapeless, dis- ordered, heterogeneous mass; set to most harmonious verse, indeed, but hopelessly in- harmonious in the image. vanbrugh, one of the numerous fashionable gentleman-poets of the time, himself the architect of blenheim and castle howard, is not inspired, in his own verse, to correct the ignorant incongruities of his contemporaries. when pope, imitating - architecture and poetry. chaucer in the scheme of his poem, and mil- ton in his architectural imagery, essays to present a poetic idea of the temple of fame, we have, in elegant and facile rhymes, an horrific intermingling of crude hints of doric, barbaric, and gothic styles, which can convey absolutely no sane impression of structure or form in outline or detail. if the poet of twickenham villa, in his insatiable greed for knowledge, had considered it worth his while to master the simplest elements of architec- ture, how readily could he have enshrined, in the elegant artificiality of his lines, a subject so much in sympathy with his poetic methods as a classic composition, with its ordered peri- style, its walls rich with color and incrusta- tions behind the open screen of marble shafts, its pilastered pavilions and sculptured pedi- ments, its decorations of statues and painting, and, over all, its storied dome! it is hard to conceive how such an imagination could be indifferent to a fact so poetic, so orderly, so easy to comprehend, so adjustable to the pur- pose of his verse. in fact, the general insensibility to effects of art in the eighteenth century is one of the most remarkable phenomena in the history of the intellect. gothic art in especial suffered architecture and poetry. from this eclipse of feeling. its most mag- nificent monuments, the great metropolitan cathedrals of the middle ages, themselves poems in stone, were not only neglected dur- ing this long period, but despised, insulted, and misunderstood. when they were referred to at all, they were stigmatized as demonstrations of barbarism. they touched no responsive chord in the human heart until the modern romantic school arose, and boisseree in ger- many, viollet-le-duc and victor hugo in france, pugin and ruskin in england, re- stored them to the admiration and affection of mankind. until then, through all those long years, to the poets as well as to the com- mon herd, they uttered absolutely no word, and gave no breath of inspiration. to the literature of this time architecture was merely a series of stiff, unpliant formulas of classic art, without principles, only half compre- hended, — a fetich to pedants, an enigma to the people. since the enlightenment fur- nished by the romanticists, since the exposi- tion by certain late writers of the theory and principles of the art, the sentiment of archi- tecture has begun to penetrate the tardy per- ceptions of the poetic instinct; yet only in two or three instances has it received anything like an intelligent recognition. architecture and poetry. towards the close of the period of sterility, one strong, clear voice broke the long silence with strains which accomplished more for the recognition of architecture in literature than all other agencies combined. among all the poets, sir walter scott seems to stand alone in his thorough appreciation of the value of real architectural background and accessories to the interest of romantic verse. he used his archaeological knowledge and his fondness for mediaeval architecture with the skill of a prac- ticed romancer and the sympathy of a poet. his example was the potent factor in the cre- ation of that particular romantic school in english literature which followed him. but none of his imitators approached this mighty minstrel in the truth with which the charac- teristic details of chapel, castle, or abbey were made essential parts of his picturesque stories. abbotsford itself, the realization in material substance of scott's architectural ideals, is but indifferent architecture ; it is at best but pinch- beck medievalism. these ideals of structure, however, found much happier expression in his verse, the plan of which did not necessitate exactness of portrayal, much less attempt to interpret the intrinsic properties of his mediae- val models. the architect is relieved to find architecture and poetry. that this one poet, at least, did not make non- sense of his buildings. whether the scene of his poem was laid in melrose abbey or nor- ham castle, or whether it took him to the saxon monastery of " st. cuthbert's holy isle," to the stronghold of crichtoun, or to the towers of tantallon, the wizard's touch was true. his poetic visions never betrayed an historical monument. the flow of his imagi- nation was corrected and held in check by the rare quality of honest loyalty to the facts of architecture as he understood them. even in his details of description, though he touched them but lightly, the architect recognizes the salient points of the style of the building which he celebrates. his archaeological know- ledge was ever sufficient to his theme, and in great part inspired it, as was the case with victor hugo in "notre dame." if the schools created by these masters had, with poetic penetration and sympathy, continued the investigations of romantic art so bril- liantly begun, literature would have been en- riched by a new light out of the past, and architecture would, in some of its phases at least, have become an open book instead of an undecipherable myth or hieroglyph, of which the interest to the world resides in its outward grace, and not in its inward meaning. architecture and poetry. forms the eye of the dome, whose vast coffered concave, itself an epic poem, appeals to him in vain. perhaps the attitude of byron towards this art is revealed in the stanza of the fourth canto wherein, with lofty disdain, he refers to the students of sculpture : — "i leave to learned fingers and wise hands, the artist and his ape, to teach and tell how well his connoisseurship understands the graceful bend and the voluptuous swell: let these describe the undescribable." but surely, to leave untouched all the deep human meanings involved in the purely archi- tectural points of the great monuments of which he sings; much more, to remain insen- sible to such points as appeals of art, betrays at least an astonishing indolence of mind. in fact, like most of his tuneful brethren, he was a mere impressionist as regards architecture. like them, he had not patience enough to study the subject, nor cared to penetrate the veil of conventionalism which shuts out from casual view its richest and most potent signifi- cations. they flattered and caressed the blurred and imperfect images made upon their minds by these objects of art, and delighted the world with their unstudied reflections. rogers is another poet who, like byron, wan- architecture and poetry. dered through the old lands of art in search of inspirations; but if byron did, at rare moments, break into irrepressible panegyric when some one of these great monuments of human intelligence and aspiration forced itself upon his reluctant apprehension, rogers ran- sacked all italy for poetic emotions, but apparently did not see a building from the beginning to the end of his metrical career. wordsworth, with less fire than byron, but with a far sweeter and more patient poetic instinct, at times seemed almost to enter the enchanted castle, and to arouse to life its sleeping beauty. no architect can read his forty-third and forty-fourth ecclesiastical son- nets, on king's college chapel at cambridge, without grateful recognition. "vex not the royal saint with vain expense, with ill-matched aims the architect who planned — albeit laboring for a scanty band of white-robed scholars only — this immense and glorious work of fine intelligence! give all thou canst; high heaven rejects the lore of nicely calculated less or more; so deemed the man who fashioned for the sense these lofty pillars, spread this branching roof, self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, where light and shade repose, where music dwells lingering, and wandering on as loath to die; like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof that they were born for immortality. architecture and poetry. "what awful perspective! while from our sight with gradual stealth the lateral windows hide their portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed in the soft cheekerings of sleepy light. martyr, or king, or sainted eremite, whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen, imbue your prison bars with solemn sheen, shine on, until ye fade with coming night! but, from the arms of silence, — list! oh list! — the music bursteth into second life; the notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed by sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife; heart-thrilling strains, that cast, before the eye of the devout, a veil of ecstasy! "they dreamt not of a perishable home who thus could build." there is another master who penetrated deeper yet behind the veil, and showed that he not only appreciated a work of architec- ture, but understood somewhat of the struc- tural form through which its sentiment found expression. no architect could ask for a clearer picture than that presented by brown- ing's half-pagan bishop when he ordered his cinque-cento tomb in st. praxed's church. the voluptuous renaissance of the episcopal cenotaph suggests a definite image in shape and color, not only of the material object, but of the idea behind it. it is but a sketch, yet it is touched with the hand of a master, whose inspiration has behind it not only feeling, but knowledge. architecture and poetry. tennyson, in his " palace of art," gives us the merest phantasm, like thomson's " castle of indolence," or like the temple in shelley's "revolt of islam." these are all cloud-capped visions in a "pleasing land of drowsyhed," without foundation or tangible substance. lowell, too, in his "cathedral," is beauti- fully vague, and, though his poem is rich with precious thought, it wanders from its theme, and misses nearly all those points of true gothic design and sentiment which present themselves with inspiring suggestion to the imagination of every architect who knows and loves his cathedral of chartres. he himself frankly says: — "i, who to chartres came to feed my eye and give to fancy one clear holiday, scarce saw the minster for the thoughts it stirred buzzing o'er past and future with vain quest." but we could not ask for a more exquisite sketch, as the work of an impressionist, than this of the exterior : — "looking up suddenly, i found mine eyes confronted with the minster's vast repose. silent and gray as forest-leaguered cliff left inland by the ocean's slow retreat, that hears afar the breeze-borne rote and longs, remembering shocks of surf that clomb and fell, spume-sliding down the baffled decuman, it rose before me, patiently remote architecture and poetry. from the great tides of life it breasted once, hearing the noise of men as in a dream. i stood before the triple northern port, where dedicated shapes of saints and kings, stern faces bleared with immemorial watch, looked down benignly grave and seemed to say, ye come and go incessant • we remain safe in the hallowed quiets of the past ■ be reverent, ye who flit and are forgot, of faith so nobly realized as this. i give thanks for a new relish, careless to inquire my pleasure's pedigree, if so it please, nobly, i mean," nor renegade to art. the grecian gluts me with its perfectness, unanswerable as euclid, self-contained, the one thing finished in this hasty world, forever finished, though the barbarous pit, fanatical on hearsay, stamp and shout as if a miracle could be encored. but ah! this other, this that never ends, still climbing, luring fancy still to climb, as full of morals half-divined as life, graceful, grotesque, with ever new surprise of hazardous caprices sure to please, heavy as nightmare, airy-light as fern, imagination's very self in stone! with one long sigh of infinite release from pedantries past, present, or to come, i looked, and owned myself a happy goth." if, with such affluence of imagination and diction, lowell had not heen, as he confessed, "careless of his pleasure's pedigree," like the rest of the impressionists in verse and in art; architecture and poetry. if he had had more of the pre-raphaelite qualities, which inspect and analyze the source of pleasure before attempting to portray, he would have interpreted this lovely mediaeval enigma like a prophet. emerson, with a delicate and almost une- qualed depth of poetic insight, touched, as it never had been touched before or since, one truthful chord in " the problem :" "the hand that rounded peter's dome and groined the aisles of christian rome wrought in a sad sincerity; himself from god he could not free; he builded better than he knew ;— the conscious stone to beauty grew." but he left his brief architectural strain too soon, and left how much unsung! longfellow's muse, it must be admitted, is indebted for some of its happiest imagery to his fine consciousness of the romantic senti- ment in gothic art. no european poet, born and bred in the shadow of cathedral or cloister, ever felt more deeply than this sweet minstrel from maine, or expressed more tenderly, the emotions which a true poet should feel under these influences. but he never wrote an ar- chitectural poem, and it is very evident that he never studied and did not really compre- hend the true gothic, which he loved so much architecture and poetry. are merely shadows cast by outward things on stone or canvas, having in themselves no separate existence. architecture, existing in itself, and not in seeming a something it is not, surpasses them as substance, shadow." the architect who completed for the duch- ess marguerite the church of brou, and the sculptor who carved the tomb within, though they aimed to appeal to such refined intelli- gence as that of matthew arnold, and to touch with their art such sensitive hearts as his, studied their careful details and created their harmonies of form in vain so far as he was concerned. his lovely lines on this church and tomb have no recognition of the fullness of the message which these objects were in- tended to convey, and present no clear picture even of their apparent form. his delicate in- stinct, when confronted by the visible poetry in these monuments of art, felt no sympathetic thrill, and saw only the effect of the tinted light from the windows as it played upon the pavement; the shafts and groined vaulting of the church appeared to him only a "foliaged marble forest; " and his poetic eye discovered only "chisell'd broideries rare" and "carved stone fretwork" on the tomb, where were sculptured the two forms, — architecture and poetry. "one, the duke in helm and armour; one, the duchess in her veil." the competent interpretation which the "fro- zen music " of one art had a right to demand from the inspired insight of the other is vainly sought for in this beautiful verse. here, as elsewhere, the sister arts remained strangers one to the other, and the real architecture of the church of brou was invisible to one who should have been its oracle. byron's haughty disdain for the study of a work of art may be something more than a personal idiosyncrasy; it may represent the characteristic attitude of all his poetic broth- ers and sisters. but a mind familiar with this noblest of the fine arts, and trained to its prac- tice, finds it difficult to condone this indolence or indifference of the tuneful choir. of course it may be said that a poet need not be a geologist or a botanist to enable him to treat a landscape in adequate poetic phrase, and that, therefore, to celebrate justly an architec- tural theme, the equipment of an architect or of an archaeologist is not necessary to him; that the " tintern abbey " of wordsworth, for instance, is a beautiful and satisfactory poem as it stands, and that it would have been no more acceptable if, instead of the exquisite architecture and poetry mapped out in cold blood, but i fancy tbat the form of the composition has forced it not only to overflow the original prudent boun- daries of the argument, but at several points to take an unexpected turn of emotion or imagination, which i dare to hope may pos- sibly be explained or condoned as the process of the evolution of prose into what may be called poetry. i am not at all sure on this point; but the process, i believe, if it has to some extent idealized the thought, or perhaps led it astray, has not betrayed the architec- ture, for the integrity of which i must be held responsible. possibly the- method of presentation which i have employed may, in skilled and practiced hands, render architecture intelligible to those who, as burke said, are ready to yield to sym- pathy what they refuse to description. at all events, if the results which mere plodding industry, under the impulse of long-cherished enthusiasm and corrected by a reasonable knowledge of the subject, has reached, may not afford a sort of pleasure to others, it may at least interest them, as, under the circum- stances of its production, a curiosity of litera- ture. if it is remembered that in this modest architecture and poetry. experiment i do not rashly pretend to com- pete with the poets, nor even to prove that the field, which i still believe to be rich in poetic thought and abounding in food for the imagination, is accessible to them, the obvious comment will not be made, that "fools rush in where angels fear to tread." i am tempted, therefore, to release this child of painful endeavor from its secret place, with the pathetic inquiry upon its hps, " have i a right to exist?" the church door. a study in romanesque. twice four hundred years have borne to this doorway, gray and worn, weary weights of grief and sin; contrite, have they entered in, and, beneath the arch of stone, laid their burdens down, and known that to faith, whate'er betide, the doors of heaven are opened wide. for, with invitation sweet, the pastoral church, her flock to greet, to fold, to comfort, and to feed, this portal beautiful decreed. the narrowing arch is deep and wide; niched in its jambs on either side, shaft beyond shaft in ordered state stand on their solid stylobate, their leafy capitals upholding archivolt and fretted moulding; architecture and poetry. in various forms their doable duty to bear with strength and crown with beauty. now, nature, with her soft caress, has stooped the carver's work to bless with the mystery and surprise of her silent sympathies. centuries, whose mellow tones sleep upon these votive stones, have smoothed the threshold with the beat of their penitential feet; and age to art a grace has lent quite beyond the art's intent, to conscious stone, to human thought, a new interpretation brought. the spirit, waked by patient art in the quarry's sleeping heart, taught to repeat its lessons clear on fretted arch and storied pier in utterance beautiful, that finds quick access to lowly minds, whispers from the graphic stone solemn secrets of its own, — runes which, heard aright, betray stories of the ancient day; tell what never scribe nor sage wrote on the historic page of arts and manners, and the place reached in the progress of the race, when builders toiled, untaught but true, and "builded better than they knew ;" tell, in some new exotic grace in turn of leaf or chisel's trace, in flower's shape or carver's thought, the sources whence the people caught the strength to rise from old to new, from dark to light, from false to true; architecture and poetry. let my new-world vision see, when these doors unfold for me, when upon this threshold-seat linger my expectant feet, and the blessing on my head from the lifted hand is shed. when, beneath far western skies, seeds of this ancient art surprise the children of a younger race with blossoms of exotic grace, while the vigorous germs retain the virtues of their primal strain; when, in sweet and virgin earth, they find a new and prosperous birth, and, in spacious, strenuous air, a growth more free, a bloom more fair. so may a strong and simple art, born in innocence of heart, unfold beyond the builder's hope in purer line and larger scope, and modern life and light fulfill, with studied aim and conscious skill, the promises which, all unknown, slept in the old prolific stone; so may a living art be freed from the pedant's narrowing creed, and the awakened age at last break its bondage to the past. in greek watersgeorge alfred henty, walter s. stacey l?? in greek waters. i in greek waters: a story of the grecian war of independence. ( - ). g: a: henty, author of "the dash for khartoum;" " in the reign of terror;" "with dire in india;" c. with twelve illustration's by w. s. stacey,and a mapof the grecian archipelago. london: 'blackie & son, limited, old bailey, e.c. glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. . -tf «+ preface. my dear lads, the struggle known as the greek war of independence lasted for six years ( - ), and had i attempted to give even an outline of the events, this would have been a history and not a story. moreover, six years is altogether beyond the length of time that can be included in a book for boys. for these reasons i have confined the story to the principal inci- dents of the first two years of the war; those of my readers who may wish to learn the whole history of the struggle i refer to finlay's well-known history of greece, which i have followed closely in my narration. as a rule in the stories of wars, especially of wars waged for national independence, the dark side of the struggle is brightened by examples of patriotism and devotion, of heroic bravery, of humanity to the wounded, of disinterestedness and self-sacrifice. the war of greek independence is an exception. the story is a dark one, with scarcely a gleam of light. never during modern times has a struggle been disgraced by such deeds of cruelty and massacre as those which prevailed on both sides. such being the case i have devoted less space than usual to the historical portion of my tale, and this plays but a sub- ordinate part in the adventures of the misericordia and her crew. yours sincerely, g. a. henty. contents. chap. pa e i. a greek student ii. a yacht, iii. the wreck, iv. a startling proposal, v. fitting out, vi. under weigh, vii. a change of name, viii. a besieged village ix. rescued . . x. a daring exploit, * xi. in the hands of the turks, xii. planning a rescue, xiii. the pasha of adalia xiv. chios xv. a white squall xvi. fire-ships xvii. rescuing the garrison of athens, xviii. a turkish defeat, xix. prisoners xx. at constantinople, xxi. the "misericordia" again xxii. all ends well, illusteations. pags captured by albanian brigands, frontis. "well, youngster, what is it?" horace suggests a rescue, their first sight op the schooner, a discussion about clothes, "give them a round," said captain martyn, the captain is wounded, the greek captives are brought on deck, the capture of the pasha, repelling the turkish boarders, the governor comes on board, the doctor tells the story map of grecian archipelago, in greek waters. chapter l a greek student. [he people of the little fishing village of seaport were agreed on one subject, however much they might differ on others, namely, that mr. beveridge was "a wonderful learned man." in this respect they were proud of him: learned men came to visit him, and his name was widely known as the author of various treatises and books which were precious to deep scholars, and were held in high respect at the universities. most of the villagers were, however, of opinion that it would have been better for seaport had mr. beveridge been a trifle less learned and a good deal more practical. naturally he would have been spoken of as the squire, for he was the owner of the whole parish, and his house was one of the finest in the county, which some of his ancestors had represented in parliament; but for all that it would have been ridiculous to call a man squire who had never been seen on horseback, and who, as was popularly believed, could not distinguish a field of potatoes from one of turnips. it was very seldom that mr. beveridge ventured outside the boundary-wall of his grounds, except, indeed, when he posted up to london to investigate some rare manuscript, or to pore over ancient books in the reading-room of the british museum. he was never seen at the meetings of magistrates, or at social gatherings of any kind, and when his name was in greek waters. mentioned at these many shrugged their shoulders and said what a pity it was that one of the finest properties in the county should be in the hands of a man who was, to say the least of it, a little cracked. mr. beveridge's father, when on a tour in the east as a young man, had fallen in love with and, to the intense indig- nation of his family, married a greek lady. upon coming into possession of the property, two years later, john beveridge settled down with his beautiful wife at the hall, and lived in perfect happiness with her until her death. she had had but one child, a boy, the present owner of the hall, who was twelve years old when she died. happy as she was with her husband, mrs. beveridge had never ceased to regret the sunny skies of her native land. she seldom spoke of it to her husband, who hunted and shot, was a regular attendant at the board of magistrates, and attended personally to the management of his estate. he was a man of little sentiment, and had but a poor opinion of the greeks in general. but to herbert she often talked of the days of her childhood, and im- bued him with her own passionate love of her native country. this led him at school to devote himself to the study of greek with such energy and ardour that he came to be considered as a prodigy, and going up to oxford he neglected all other branches of study, mixed but little with other undergraduates, made no friends, but lived the life of a recluse, and was rewarded by being the only first-class man of his year, the examiners declaring that no such papers had ever before been sent in. unfortunately for herbert his father died a few months before he took his degree. he had neither understood nor appreciated his son's devotion to study, and when others congratulated him upon the reputation he was already gaining at the university, he used to shrug his shoulders and say, "what is the good of it? he has not got to work for his living. i would rather see him back a horse over a five-barred gate than write greek like homer." he had frequently declared that directly herbert took his degree he would go with him first for a few months a greek student. is up to london, and they would then travel together for a year or two so as to make him, as he said, a bit like other people. left to his own devices at the death of his father herbert beveridge did not even go home after taking his degree, but, writing to the steward to shut up the house, started a week later for greece, where he remained for three years, by the end of which time he w as perfectly acquainted with modern as with ancient greek . then he returned home, bringing with him two greek attendants, turned the drawing-room into a library, and devoted himself to his favourite study. three years later he married, or rather his aunt, mrs. fordyce, married him. that lady, who was the wife of a neighbouring squire, came over and, as she said, took him in hand. "this cannot go on, herbert," she said; "it is plainly your duty to marry." "i have never thought of marrying, aunt." "i daresay not, herbert, but that is no reason why you shouldn't marry. you don't intend, i suppose, that this place, after being in the hands of our family for hundreds of years, is to be sold to strangers at your death. it is clearly your duty to marry and have children." "but i don't know anyone to marry." "i will find you a wife, herbert. i know half a dozen nice girls, anyone of whom would suit you. you want a thoroughly good, sensible wife, and then, perhaps, there would be some chance of your becoming like other people." "i don't want to become like other people, i only want to be let alone." "well, you see that is out of the question, herbert. you shirk all your duties as a large land-owner; but this duty, at least, you cannot shirk. let me see, to-day is monday; on wednesday our gig shall be over here at half-past twelve, and you shall come over and lunch with me . i will have miss hen- don there; she is in all respects suitable for you. she is fairly pretty, and very bright and domesticated, with plenty of common sense. she won't have any money; for although her father's in greek waters. estate is a nice one, she has four or five brothers, and i don't suppose mr. hendon lays by a penny of his income. however, that matters very little. now you must rouse yourself for a bit. this is an important business, you know, and has to be done. after it is over you will find it a great comfort, and your wife will take all sorts of little worries off your hand. of course if you don't like mary hendon when you see her, i will find somebody else." herbert beveridge resigned himself quietly, and became almost passive in this matter of his own marriage. he liked mary hendon when he had got over the shyness and discom- fort of the first visit, and three months later they were married. he then went back to his library again, and his wife took the management of the estate and house into her capable hands. during her lifetime herbert beveridge emerged to a certain extent from his shell. he became really fond of her, and occasionally accompanied her on her drives, went sometimes into society, and was generally considered to be improving fast . ten years after marriage she died, and her husband fell back into his old ways. his life, however, was no longer quite solitary, for she had left him a boy eight years of age. he had been christened horace, which was a sort of compro- mise. mr. beveridge had wished that he should have the name of some greek worthy—his favourites being either themistocles .or aristides. his mother had called in mrs. fordyce to her assistance, and the two ladies together had suc- ceeded in carrying their point. mrs. fordyce had urged that it would be a misfortune for the boy to bear either of these names. "he will have to go to school, herbert, of course, and the boys would make his life a burden to him if he had either of the names you mention. i know what boys are; we have plenty of them in our family. if he were aristides he would get the nickname of tidy, which would be hideous. the other name is worse still, they would probably shorten it into cockles, and a greek student. i am sure you would not want the boy to be spoken of as cockles beveridge." "i hate common names," mr. beveridge said, "such as jack, bob, and bill." "well, i think they are quite good enough for ordinary life, herbert, but if you must have something classical why not take the name of horace? one of mary's brothers is horace, you know, and he would no doubt take it as a compliment if you gave the boy that name." and so it was fixed for horace. as soon as the child was old enough to go out without a nurse, mr. beveridge appointed one of his greek servants to accompany him, in order that the child should pick up a knowledge of greek; while he himself interested himself so far in him as to set aside his books and have him into the library for an hour a day, when he always talked to him in greek. thus at his mother's death the boy was able to talk the language as fluently as english. in other respects he showed no signs whatever of taking after his father's tastes. he was a sturdy boy, and evinced even greater anti- pathy than usual to learning the alphabet, and was never so happy as when he could persuade marco to take him down to the beach to play with the fisher children. at his mother's death he was carried off by mrs. fordyce, and spent the next six months with her and in the houses of his mother's brothers, where there were children about his own age. at the end of that time a sort of family council was held, and mrs. fordyce went over to seaport to see her nephew. "what were you thinking about doing with the boy, her- bert?" "the boy?" he asked vaguely, being engaged on a paper throwing new light on the greek particles when she entered. "naturally, herbert, the boy, your boy; it is high time he went to school." "i was thinking the other day about getting a tutor for him." "getting fiddlesticks!" mrs. fordyce said sharply; "the boy wants companionship what do you suppose he would become, a greek student cousins to a school at exeter, some forty miles from seaport, and there remained until he was fourteen. he passed his holi- days at home, never seeing his father until dinner-time, after which he spent two hours with him, a period of the day to which the boy always looked forward with some dread. some- times his father would chat cheerfully to him, always in modern greek; at others he would sit silent and abstracted, waking up occasionally and making some abrupt remark to the boy, and then again lapsing into silence. when about the house and grounds marco was his constant companion. the greek, who was a mere lad when he had come to england, was fond of horace, and having been a fisherman as a boy, he enjoyed almost as much as his charge did the boating and fishing expe- ditions upon which he accompanied him. at this time horace had a strong desire to go to sea, but even his aunt fordyce, when he broached the subject to her, would give him no hope or encouragement . "if it had been ten years ago, horace, it would have been another matter. the sea was a stirring life then; and even had you only gone into the navy for a few years you would have seen lots of service, and might have distinguished yourself. as to staying in it, it would have been ridiculous for you as an only son. but now nothing could be more wretched than the position of a naval officer. all the world is at peace, and there does not appear to be the slightest chance of war anywhere for many years. hundreds and hundreds of ships have been paid off and laid up, and there are thousands of officers on half-pay, and without the smallest chance of ever getting employment again. you have arrived too late in the world for sailoring. besides, i do not think in any case your father would consent to such a thing. i am happy to say that i do not think he has any idea, or even desire, that you should turn out a famous scholar as he is. but to a man like him it would seem terrible that your education should cease altogether at the age at which boys go into the navy, and that you should grow up knowing nothing of what he considers the essentials of a gentle- ( ) b s in greek waters. man's education. no, no, horace, the sea is out of the question. you must go up to eton, as arranged, at the end of these holi- days, and from eton you must go through one of the univer- sities. after that you can wander about for a bit and see the world, and you will see as much of it in six months that way as in twice as many years were you in the navy in these times of peace." horace looked a little downcast. "there is another thing, horace," his aunt said; "it would not be fair for you to go into the navy, even if there was nothing else against it." "how is that, aunt?" "well, horace, when there are hundreds of officers on half- pay, who can scarcely keep life together on the few pounds a year they get, it would be hard indeed for young fellows with money and influence to step into the places and keep them out." "yes, aunt, i did not think of that," horace said, brighten- ing up. "it certainly would be a beastly shame for a fellow who can do anything with himself to take the place of a man who can do nothing else." "besides, horace," his aunt went on, "if you like the sea so much as you do now when you have done with college, there is no reason why you should not get your father to let you either hire or buy a yacht and go where you like in her, instead of travelling about by land." "that would be very jolly!" horace exclaimed. "yes, that would be really better than going to sea, because one could go where one liked." and so at the end of the holidays horace went up to eton. on his return home in the summer his father said: "your aunt was over here the other day, horace, and she was telling me about that foolish idea you have of going to sea. i was glad to hear that you gave it up at once when she pointed out to you the absurdity of it. her opinion is that as you are so fond of the water, and as marco can manage a boat well, it a greek student. would be a good thing for you to have one of your own, instead of going out always with the fishermen; the idea seemed to me a good one, so i got her to write to some one she knows at exmouth, and he has spoken to the revenue officer there. they have been bothering me about what size it should be, and as i could not tell them whether it should be ten feet long or fifty, i said the matter must remain till you came home, and then marco could go over with you to exmouth and see the officer." "oh, thank you very much, father!" "it is only right that you should be indulged in a matter like this, horace. i know that you don't care about riding alone, and i am sorry i can't be more of a companion to you, but i have always my hands full of important work, and i know that for a boy of your age it must be very dull here. choose any boat you like. i have been talking to marco, and he says that she can be hauled up on the beach and lie there perfectly safe when you are away. of course if necessary he can have a young fellow or two from the village to help while you are at home. he seems to think that in that way you could have a boat of more comfortable size. i don't know anything about it, so i have left the matter entirely to him and you. the difference of cost between a small boat and a large one is of no consequence one way or the other." accordingly, the next morning marco and horace started ». , directly after breakfast in the carriage to catch the coach, which passed along the main road four miles from seaport, and arrived at exmouth at two. they had no difficulty in finding the house of captain martyn, whose title was an honorary one, he being a lieutenant of many years' service. "is captain martyn int" horace asked the servant who opened the door. "no, sir; he is away in the cutter." horace stood aghast. it had never struck him that the officer might not be at home. "his son is in, mr. william martyn, if that will do," the servant said, seeing the boy's look of dismay. in greek waters. "i don't know," he said; "but at any rate i should like to see him." "i will tell him, sir, if you will stay here." a minute later a tall powerfully-built young fellow of two or three-and-twenty came to the door. "well, youngster, what is it?" he asked. "i have come about buying a boat, sir. my name is beveridge. i believe captain martyn was kind enough to say that he would look out for a boat for us." "oh, yes, i have heard about it; but whether it was a dinghy or a man-of-war that was wanted we couldn't find out. do you intend to manage her single-handed?" "oh, no, sir! i have done a lot of sailing with the fisher- men at seaport, but i could not manage a boat by myself, not if there was any wind. but marco was a sailor among the greek isles before he entered my father's service." "want a comfortable craft," the greek, who had learned to speak a certain amount of english, said, "can have two or three hands." "oh, you want a regular cruiser! well, you are a lucky young chap, i must say. the ideax of a young cub like you having a boat with two or three hands to knock about in! do you want a captain, because i am to let?" "no, sir, we don't want a captain, and we don't want a great big craft. something about the size of a fishing-boat, i should say. are you a sailor?" "yes, worse luck, i am a master's mate, if you know what that is. it means a passed midshipman. i have been a master's mate for four years, and am likely to be one all my life, for i have no more chance of getting a berth than i have of being appointed a post-captain to-morrow. well, i will put on my cap and go with you. i have been looking about since my father heard about a boat being wanted. the letter said nothing about your age, or what size of boat was wanted, it gave in fact no useful information whatever. it was about as much to the point as if they had said you wanted to have a greek student. a house and did not say whether it was a two-roomed cottage or a country mansion. but i think i know of a little craft that would about suit you. does your father sail himself?" horace could not help smiling at the idea. "no," he said. "my father cares for nothing but studying greek. i am at eton, but it is very slow in the holidays, and as i generally go out with the fishermen the best part of the time i am at home, he thought it would be a good thing for me to have a boat of my own." william martyn looked quietly down at the lad, then went in and got his cap, rejoined them, and sauntered down towards the river. he led-the way along the wharfs, passed above the town, and then pointed to a boat lying on the mud. "that is the craft i should choose if i were in your place," he said. "she is as sound as a bell, and i wouldn't mind crossing the bay of biscay in her." "but she is very large," horace said, looking at her with some doubt in his face. "she is about fifteen tons burthen," he said, "built of oak, and is only eight years old, though she looks battered about and rusty as she lies there. she was built from his own designs by captain burrows, as good a sailor as ever stepped. she is forty feet long and fifteen feet beam. she is fast, and a splendid sea-boat, with four foot draught of water.. he died three years after he built her, and she has been lying there ever since. her gear has been all stowed away in a dry place, and the old sailor in charge of it says it is in perfect order. the old cap- tain used to knock about on board of her with only a man and a boy, and she is as easy to handle as a cock-boat. i was out in her more than once when i was at home on leave, and she is a beauty. of course you can't judge of her as she lies there; but she has wonderfully easy lines, and sits the water like a duck. she is a dandy, you see; that is, she carries a small mizen mast. she was rigged so because a craft like that is a good deal easier to work short-handed than a cutter." she seemed as she lay there so much larger than anything in greek waters. horace had had the idea of possessing that he looked doubt- fully at marco. "i think she will do," the greek said; "just the sort of boat for us. see her when tide comes up, and can go on board. how much cost?" "they only want eighty pounds for her," william martyn said. "they asked a hundred and fifty at first; but everything is so dull, and there have been such a lot of small craft sold off from the dockyards, that she has not found a purchaser. if i had two or three hundred a year of my own there is nothing i should like better than to own that craft and knock about in her. her only fault is she wants head-room. there is only five foot under her beams, for she has a low freeboard. that prevents her from being sold as a yacht. but as one does not want to walk about much below i don't see that that matters. she has got a roomy cabin and a nice little state-room for the owner, and a fo'castle big enough for six hands." "it would be splendid," horace said. "but do you think, marco, my father meant me to have such a large boat as this the greek nodded. "master said buy a good big safe boat. no use getting a little thing mr. horace tire of in a year or two. can always get a man or two in the holidays. i think that is just the boat." "tide has nearly reached her," william martyn said, "we shall be able to get off to her in an hour. we will go and overhaul the gear now. i will get the key of the cabins." it took them a good hour to get out the sails and inspect them, and examine the ropes and gear. all were pronounced in good order. "the sails are as good for all practical purposes as the day they were turned out," martyn said. "they may not be quite as white as the fresh-water sailors about here think necessary for their pleasure craft, but they are sound and strong, and were well scrubbed before they were put away. and you may be sure burrows used none but the best rope money could buy. a greek student. now we will go on board. she will look a different craft when her decks are holy-stoned, and she gets two or three coats of paint," the young officer went on as they stepped on board. "a landsman can never judge of a boat when she is dismantled, and he can't judge much at any time. he thinks more of paint and polish than he does of a ship's lines." but horace had seen enough of boats to be able to appreciate to some extent the easy lines of her bow and her fine run, and the greek was delighted with her. below she was in good order, except that she wanted a coat of paint. the cabins were of course entirely dismantled, but horace was surprised at their roominess, accustomed as he was to the close little fo'castles of the fishing-boats. "she was fitted up in a regular man-of-war fashion," martyn said. "this was just a captain's cabin on board a frigate, but on a small scale, and so was the state-room. we did not see the furniture, but it is all upstairs in an attic of the cottage we went to." "how long would it take to get her ready?" horace asked. "about ten days. most of her ballast is out of her, but the rest ought to come out so as to give her a regular clean down, and a coat of whitewash below, before it is all put in again. if you like, young 'un, i will look after that. i have got nothing to do, and it will be an amusement to me. i am looking for a berth at present in a merchantman, but there are such a number of men out of harness that it isn't easy to get a job. look here, if you really want to learn some day to be fit to take charge of this craft yourself, you could not do better than persuade your father to let you come over here and see her fitted up, then you will know where every rope goes, and learn more than you would sitting about on deck in the course of a year. there will be no difficulty in getting a couple of rooms ready for you and your man in the town." "can we get home to-night, sir?" "yes, the coach goes through here at six o'clock." "my father will write to-morrow, at least i expect he will," in greek waters horace said. "it isn't very easy to get him to do things, but i expect i shall manage." "he will write," marco said confidently; and as the boy knew that the greek had far more opportunities of getting at his father than he had, he felt sure that he would manage it. "we are very much obliged to you, mr. martyn," he said. "all right, young sir. if your father decides to take the boat get him to write to me; or if he is bad at writing, write to me yourself after settling it with him, and i will put on men and see that she is ready for sea in a fortnight." "do you feel sure father will let me have the boat, marco?" horace said as soon as they were alone. "it is done," the greek said with a wave of his hand. "he said to me, 'go and buy a proper boat, see that everything is right about it, but don't worry me.' so when i say, 'i have bought the boat; it is just the thing we want; it will cost a hundred pounds by the time it is ready for sea,' he will say he is glad to hear it, and there will be an end of it. mr. beveridge never troubles." "and will you tell him that it would be a good thing for me to go over and see her fitted up?" "i will tell him. he will be glad to know that you have got something to do." it was half-past ten o'clock when they got home. the other greek opened the door. "is the master in bed yet, zaimes?" "he went upstairs ten minutes ago. i think he had for- gotten all about horace not being at home. he did not men- tion his name to me." "what a nuisance!" horace said. "now i shall have to wait till morning before i know about it, and i am so anxious to hear what he says." "it will be all the pleasanter when you hear," zaimes said quietly. the two men were brothers, zaimes being ten years senior. he was mr. beveridge's valet, his brother being a sort of a greek student. general assistant, waiting at meals except when horace was at home, when he was considered specially told off to him. they lived apart from the other servants, having a room of their own where they cooked their meals in their own fashion. both were extremely attached to their master, and would have given their lives for him. "marco will tell me all about it, and i will talk to the master while i am dressing him. you are making marco again a boy like yourself, horace. he is as eager about this boat as you are;" and he smiled indulgently at his brother, whom he still regarded as a boy, although he was now nearly forty. "that will be the best plan, zaimes. i shall be glad for him to know all about it before breakfast time, for i am sure i should not like to tell him that we had fixed on a boat like that." horace was a long time before he got to sleep. he had never dreamt of anything bigger than an open boat, and the thought of having a craft that he could sail anywhere along the coast, and even sleep on board, seemed almost too good to be true. he woke an hour before his time, dressed hastily, went out into the garden, and stood there looking over the sea. the fishing-boats were going out, and he pictured to himself the boat he had seen, gliding along among them, bigger and ever so much handsomer than any of them; and how he would be able to take out his cousins, and perhaps some day have a school friend to spend the holidays with him and cruise about. so deep was he in his thoughts that he was surprised when he heard the bell ring for breakfast. "now, then," he said to himself as he walked back to the house, "i shall know. of course it will be a horrible disap- pointment if he says no, but i sha'n't show it, because it is too much to expect him to do this. i should never have dreamt of such a thing if it had not been for marco. well, here goes;" and he walked into the parlour. "good morning, father!" "good morning, horace. i am glad to hear that marco has in greek waters. found just the boat that he thinks will suit the place. he tells me you want to go over and see her fitted out. i think that that will be a very good plan. when you do a thing, horace, do it well if it is worth doing at all . marco will go back with you by the coach this morning." "oh, thank you, father; it is awfully kind of you!" 'i wish you to enjoy yourself," his father said; "it is no more than the price of another horse. it is a fine sport and a healthy one, and i don't know that it is more dangerous than galloping about the country on horseback. i have told marco to make all arrangements, and not to worry me about things. at the beginning of each holiday he will say how much he will require for provisions on board, and the payment of the wages of a man and a boy, i shall give him a cheque, and there will be an end of it as far as i am concerned. i shall be much more at my ease knowing that you are enjoying yourself on board than wondering what you will do to amuse yourself from day to day." thinking that all that was necessary had been said, mr. beveridge then opened a greek book that lay as usual beside his plate, and speedily became absorbed in it. when he him- self had finished, horace slipped away. he knew that his father would be at least two hours over the meal, which he only turned to when zaimes made a movement to attract his attention, everything being kept down by the fire, which was lit specially for that purpose, even in summer. "it is all settled, marco; think of that! won't it be glorious?" "it will be very good, horace. i shall like it almost as much as you will. i love the sea, even this gray ugly sea of yours, which is so different from the blue of the ./egean. i too mope a little sometimes when you are not at home, for though i have the kindest and best of masters, one longs sometimes for change. i told you your father would agree. it is just what i told him we should want. an open boat is no use except when the weather is fine, and then one must always keep close to port in case the wind should drop, and when it a greek student. comes calm you have to break your back with rowing. oh, we will have fine sails together, and as you grow older we can go farther away, for she should be safe anywhere. when you become a man i daresay he will get for you something bigger, and then perhaps we can sail together to greece, and perhaps the master will go with you, for he loves greece as much as we do." there was a fortnight of hard work. william martyn was in command, and kept horace at work as if he had been a young midshipman under his orders; while marco turned his hand to everything, singing snatches of sailor songs he had sung as he fished when a boy, chattering in greek to horace, and in broken english to the two men. "you are going to be skipper, i hear," william martyn said to him one day. "going to skip!" marco repeated vaguely. "i know not what you mean." "going to be captain—padrone." marco shook his head. "no, sir. can sail open boat good, but not fit to take charge of boat like this. going to have man at seaport, a good fisherman. he sailed a long time in big ships. man-of-war's man. when war over, came back to fish. i shall look after young master, cook food for him, pull at rope, steer sometimes; but other man be captain and sail boat." william martyn nodded. "quite right, marco; these fisher- men know the coast, and the weather, and the ports and creeks to run into. it is all very well in fine weather, but when you get a blow, a craft like this wants a man who can handle her well." horace's pride in the craft increased every day. as she lay weather-beaten and dismantled on the mud she had seemed to him larger but not superior in appearance to the fishing craft of seaport, which were most of them boats of ten or twelve tons; but each day her appearance changed, and at the end of ten days—with all her rigging in place, her masts and spars scraped, her deck fairly white, and her sides glossy with in greek waters. black paint—she seemed to him a thing of perfect beauty. it was just the fortnight when the paint and varnish of the cabins were dry, the furniture in its place, and everything ready for sea. horace's delight culminated when the anchor was got up, sail set on her, and william martyn took the helm, as with a light wind she ran down through the craft in the harbour for a trial trip. "she is a wonderfully handy little craft," the mate said approvingly, as she began to rise and fall on the swell outside; "the old captain knew what he was doing when he laid down her lines. she is like a duck on the water. i have been out in her when big ships were putting their noses into it, and she never shipped a pailful of water, i can tell you you are in luck, youngster. how are you going to take her round?" "i was going to write to-night for tom burdett—that is the man marco spoke about—to come over by coach." "i will tell you what i will do, youngster; i will take her over for you. i shall enjoy the trip. if you like we will start to-morrow morning." "i should like that immensely," horace said; "we shall astonish them when we sail into the port." "very well, then, that is agreed; you had better get some stores on board; i mean provisions. of course if the weather holds like this we should be there in the evening; but it is a good rule at sea never to trust the weather. always have enough grub and water for a week on board; then, if you hap- pen to be blown off shore, or anything of that sort, it is of no consequence." a yacht. chapter ii a yacht. marco, who acted as banker and appeared to horace to be provided with an unlimited amount of money, was busy all the evening getting crockery, cooking-utensils, knives and forks, table-cloths, towels, and other necessaries. "why, it is like fitting out a house, marco." well, it is a little floating house," the greek said; "it is much better to have your own things, and not to have to borrow from the house every time. now we will get some provisions, two or three bottles of rum for bad weather, or when we have visitors on board, and then we shall be complete. mr. martyn said he would see to the water. now, we will go to bed soon, for we are to be down at the wharf at six o'clock; and if we are not there in time you may be sure that you will get a rating." "there is no fear of my being late, marco. i don't think i shall sleep all night." "ah! we shall see. you have been on your feet since seven this morning. i shall have to pull you by your ear to wake you in the morning." this, however, was not necessary. the boy was fast asleep in five minutes after he had laid his head on the pillow; he woke soon after daylight, dropped off to sleep several times, but turned out at five, opened the door of the greek's room, and shouted: "now, then, marco, time to get up; if you do not, it is i who will do the ear-pulling." they were down at the wharf at a quarter to six. as the clock struck the hour william martyn came down. "good-morning, youngster! you are before your time, i see. you wouldn't be so ready to turn out after you had had a in greek waters. year or two on board ship. well, it looks as if we are going to have a grand day. there is a nice little breeze, and i fancy it will freshen a good bit later on. now, then, tumble into the dinghy, i will take the sculls; the tide is running out strong, and you might run her into the yacht and damage the paint; that would be a nice beginning." as soon as they were on board, the mate said: "now, off with those shoes, youngster. you can go bare- foot if you like, or you can put on those slippers you bought; we have got the deck fairly white, and we must not spoil it you should make that a rule: everyone who comes on board takes off his boots at once." the greek made the dinghy fast, and then took off his shoes and stockings. horace put on the slippers, and the mate a pair of light shoes he had brought on board with him. "now, then, off with the sail-covers; fold them up and put them down under the seat of the cockpit. knot up the tyers loosely together, and put them there also. never begin to hoist your sails till you have got the covers and tyers snugly packed away. now, marco, get number two jib out of the sail-locker. i don't think we shall want number one to-day. now, hook on the halliards. no; don't hoist yet, run it out first by the outhaul to the end of the bowsprit. we won't hoist it till we have got the mainmast and mizen up. now, marco, you take the peak halliards, and i will take the main. now, then, up she goes; ease off the sheet a bit. horace, we must top the boom a bit; that is high enough. marco, make fast; now up with the mizen; that is right. now, horace, before you do anything else always look round, see that every- thing is right, the halliards properly coiled up and turned over so as to run freely, in case you want to lower or reef sail, the sheets ready to slacken out, the foresail and jib sheets brought aft on their proper sides. there is nothing in our way now; but when there are craft in the way, you want to have every- thing in perfect order, and ready to draw the moment the anchor is off the ground. otherwise you might run foul of a yacht. something before you got fairly off, and nothing can look more lubberly than that. now you take the helm, and marco and i will get up the anchor. the wind is nearly dead down the river; don't touch the tiller till i tell you." horace stood by the helm till the mate said: "the chain is nearly up and down; now put the tiller gently to starboard." as he spoke he ran up the jib, and as the boat's head payed off, fastened the sheet to windward. "now, marco, round with the windlass; that is right, the anchor is clear now; up with it." as he spoke he ran up the foresail. "slack off the main sheets, lad, handsomely; that is right, let them go free; slack off the mizen sheets." the wind had caught the jib now, and, aided by the tide, brought the boat's head sharply round. the jib and fore- sheets were hauled to leeward, and in less than a minute from the time the anchor had left the ground the boat was running down the river with her sheets well off before the wind. "helm a-port a little, horace, so as to give us plenty of room in passing that brig at anchor. that is enough. steady! now keep as you are. marco, i will help you get the anchor on board, and then we will get up the topsail and set it." in ten minutes the anchor was stowed, topsail set, and the ropes coiled down. then a small triangular blue flag with the word "surf" was run up to the masthead . "properly speaking, horace, flags are not shown till eight o'clock in the morning; but we will make an exception this time. gently with the tiller, lad; you are not steering a fishing- boat now; a touch is sufficient for this craft. keep your eye on the flag, and see that it flies out straight ahead. that is the easiest thing to steer by when you are dead before the wind. there is more care required for that than for steering close- hauled, for a moment's carelessness might bring the sail across with a jerk that would pretty well take the mast out of her. it is easy enough now in smooth water; but with a following in greek waters. sea it needs a careful helmsman to keep a craft from yawing about." marco had disappeared down the forecastle hatch as soon as he had finished coiling down the topsail halliard, and a wreath of.smoko now came up through the stove-pipe. "that is good," the mate said. "we shall have breakfast before long." they ran three miles straight out, so as to get well clear of the land; then the sheets were hauled in, and the surf'shead pointed east, and lying down to her gunwale she sped along parallel with the shore. "we are going along a good seven knots through the water," the mate said. "she has got just as much sail as she wants, though she would stand a good deal more wind, if there were any occasion to press her; but as a rule, horace, always err on the right side; there is never any good in carrying too much sail. you can always make more sail if the wind drops, while if it rises it is not always easy to get it in. give me the helm. now go down to marco and tell him to come up a few minutes before breakfast is ready. we will get the topsail off her before we sit down, and eat our breakfast comfortably. there is no fun in having your plate in your lap." by half-past seven the topsail was stowed and breakfast on the table. marco took the helm, while the mate and horace went down to breakfast. horace thought that it was the most delightful meal he had ever taken; and the mate said: "that greek of yours is a first-rate cook, horace. an ad- miral could not want to sit down to a better breakfast than this. there is not much here to remind me of a midshipman's mess. you would have had very different food from this, youngster, if you had had your wish and gone to sea. that father of yours must be a trump; i drink his health in coffee. if he ever gets a bigger craft, and wants a captain, i am his man if he will send your greek on board as cook. does he care for the sea himself v "i think he used to like it. i have heard him talk about a yacht. 'sailing among the greek islands; but as long as i have known him he has never been away from home except for short runs up to london. he is always in his library." "fancy a man who could afford to keep a big craft and sail about as he likes wasting his life over musty old books. it is a rum taste, youngster. i think i would rather row in a galley." "there are no such things as galleys now, are there?" "oh, yes, there are in italy; they have them still rowed by convicts, and i fancy the spanish gun-boats are rowed by prisoners too. it is worse than a dog's life, but for all that i would rather do it than be shut up all my life in a library. you seem to talk greek well, youngster." "yes; marco has always been with me since i was a child, and we have another greek servant, his brother; and father generally talks greek to me. his mother was a greek lady, and that is what made him so fond of it at first. they say he is the best greek scholar in england." "i suppose it differs a lot from the greek you learn at school?" "yes, a lot. still, of course, my knowing it helps me tre- mendously with my old greek. i get on first-rate at that, but i am very bad at everything else." "well, now we will go up and give marco a spell," the mate said. marco was relieved and went below. horace took the helm; the mate lit a pipe and seated himself on the weather bulwark. "we shall be at seaport before eleven if we go on like this," he said. "oh, do let us take a run out to sea, mr. martyn; it is no use our going in until four or five o'clock." "just as you like, lad; i am in no hurry, and it is really a glorious day for a sail. put up the helm, i will see to the sheets." as they got farther from the protection of the land the sea got up a bit, but the surf went over it lightly, and except that an occasional splash of spray flew over her bow, her decks were perfectly dry. ( ) c in greek waters. "have you heard of a ship yet, mr. martyni" "yes, i heard only yesterday of a berth as first-mate in a craft at plymouth. the first-mate got hurt coming down channel, and a friend of my father's, learning there was a vacancy, spoke to the owners. she belongs there, and i am to join the day after to-morrow. she is bound up the mediter- ranean. i shall be very glad to be off; i have had a dull time of it for the last four months except for this little job." "i am afraid you won't get any vehicle to take you back to-night," horace said. "no, i didn't expect that; the coach in the morning will do very well. i have nothing to do but just to pack my kit, and shall go on by coach next morning. i was thinking of sleep- ing on board here, if you have no objection." "i am sure my father will be very glad to see you up at the house," horace said eagerly. "thank you, lad, but i shall be much more comfortable on board. marco said he would get dinner at two, and there is sure to be plenty for me to make a cold supper of, and as there is rum in the locker i shall be as happy as a king. i can smoke my pipe as i like. if i were to go up with you i should be uncomfortable, for i have nothing but my sea-going togs. i should put your father out of his way, and he would put me out of mine. so i think, on all accounts, i had much better remain in good quarters now i have got them. how far is it to the place where i catch the coach?" "about four miles. we will send the carriage to take you there." "thank you, i would much rather walk. i have nothing to carry but myself, and a four miles' walk across the hills will be just the thing for me." at four o'clock the surf entered the little harbour of seaport; horace was delighted with the surprise of the fishermen at the arrival of the pretty craft. "you are sure you won't change your mind and come up with me to the house?" a yacht. "quite certain, thank you, lad. marco has put out every- thing i can possibly require. he offered to come down to get breakfast for me, but i prefer to manage that for myself, then i can have it at any time i fancy. i will lock up the cabin before i land. he will be there to take the key." "i shall come down with him, of course, mr. martyn, i can't tell you how much i am obliged to you for what you have done for me, and i hope that some day we may have another sail together." "if i am at home anytime when you may happen to put in at exmouth i shall be glad to take a cruise with you, horace." as the lad and marco went up the hill to the house, horace, to his surprise, met his father coming down with zaimes. "well, horace, so you have brought your yacht home. zaimes routed me out from my work to come and look at her, and she really looks a very pretty little vessel." "she is not little at all, father." "perhaps not in comparison, horace; but did you and marco bring her back by yourselves?" "no, father; william martyn, the officer who has seen to her fitting up, and who recommended her, you know, said he would come with us. so, of course, he has been in command, and marco and i have been the crew. he has been teaching me lots of things, just the same, he says, as if i had been a newly joined midshipman." "but where is he now, horace?" "he is on board. he is going home by the coach to-morrow. i said that i was sure you would be glad if he would come up to the house; but he said he should feel more comfortable on board. were you coming down to look at her, father?" "yes, horace, i was. it is quite a wonderful event my being outside the grounds, isn't it?" "it is, indeed, father. i am so glad you are coming down. i am sure you will like her, and then, perhaps, you will come sailing sometimes; i do think, father, that you would enjoy such a sail as we had to-day, it was splendid." in greek waters "well, we will see about it, horace. now i have once come out i may do so again; i am not sure that a good blow might not clear my brain sometimes." there was quite an excitement in the village when mr. bcveridge was seen coming down. occasionally during his wife's lifetime he had come down with her to look into questions of repairs or erection of new cottages in lieu of old ones, but since that time he had never entered the village. personally his tenants did not suffer from the cessation of his visits, for his steward had the strictest injunctions to deal in all respects liberally with them, to execute all necessary repairs, to accede to any reasonable request; while in case of illness or misfor- tune, such as the loss of a boat or nets, the rent was always remitted. that mr. beveridge was to a certain extent mad to shut himself up as he did the villagers firmly believed, but they admitted that no better landlord was to be found in all that part of the country. mrs. beveridge had been greatly liked, and the people were pleased at horace being down so much among them; but it was rather a sore subject that their landlord himself held so entirely aloof from them. men touched their hats, the women curtsied as he came down the street, looking almost with pity at the man who, in their opinion, so terribly wasted his life and cut himself off from the enjoyments of his position. mr. beveridge returned their salutes kindly. he was scarce conscious of the time that had passed since he was last in the village; the years had gone by altogether unmarked save by the growth of horace, and by the completion of so many works. "i suppose you know most of their names, horace?" "all of them, i think, father." "that is right, boy. a landlord ought to know all his tenants. i wish i could find time to go about among them a little more, but i think they have everything they want as far i can do for them; still, i ought to come. in your mother's time i did come sometimes. i must try to do it in future. zaimes, you must see that i do this once a fortnight. i authorize you to a yacht. bring me my hat and coat after lunch and say to me firmly, 'this is your afternoon for going out."' "very well, sir," the greek said, "i will tell you; and i hope you will not say, as you always do to me when i beg you to go out: 'i must put it off for another day, zaimes, i have some work that must be done.'" "i will try not to, zaimes, i will indeed. i think this is a duty. you remind me of that, will you?" by this time they had reached the little port, where a number of the fishermen were still lounging discussing the surf, which was lying the picture of neatness and good order among the fishing-boats, with every rope in its place, the sails in their snow-white covers, and presenting the strongest con- trast to the craft around her. "she is really a very pretty little yacht," mr. beveridge said with more animation than horace ever remembered to have heard him speak with. "she does great credit to your choice, marco, and i should think she is a good sea-boat. why, zaimes, this almost seems to take one back to the old time. she is about the size of the felucca we used to cruise about in it is a long time back, nearly eighteen years, and yet it seems but yesterday." "there is no reason why you should not sail again, master even i long to have my foot on the planks. one never loses one's love of the sea." "i am getting to be an old man now, zaimes." "no one would say so but yourself, master; you are but forty-three. sometimes, after being shut up for days, you look old—who would not when the sun never shines on them?—but now you look young, much younger than you are." a stranger indeed would have had difficulty in guessing mr. beveridge's age. his forehead was broad, his skin delicate and almost colourless, his light-brown hair was already of a silvery shade, his face clean shaven, his hands white and thin. his eyes were generally soft and dreamy, but at the present moment they were bright and alert. his figure was scarcely that in greek waters. of a student, for the frame was large, and there was at present none of the stoop habitual to those who spend their lives over books; and now that he was roused, he carried himself excep- tionally upright, and a close observer might have taken him for a vigorous man who had but lately recovered from an attack of severe illness. "we shall see, zaimes, we shall see," he said; "let us go on board. you had better hail her, horace." "surf ahoy " horace shouted, imitating as well as he could william martyn's usual hail. a minute later the mate's head appeared above the companion. "my father is coming on board, mr. martyn. will you please bring the dinghy ashore." the mate hauled up the dinghy, got into it, and in a few strokes was alongside the quay. mr. beveridge descended the steps first . "i am glad to meet you, mr. martyn, and to thank you for the kindness you have shown my son in finding this craft for him and seeing to its being fitted out." "it has been an amusement, sir," the mate said, "i was knocking about exmouth with nothing to do, and it was plea- sant to be at work on something." "get in, horace," mr. beveridge said, "the dinghy won't carry us all. you can bring it back again for the others." the party stayed for half an hour on board. mr. beveridge was warm in his approval of the arrangements. "this is a snug cabin indeed," he said. "i had no idea that such a small craft could have had such good accommodation. one could wish for nothing better except for a little more head-room, but after all that is of no great consequence, one does not want to walk about below. it is a place to eat and to sleep in, or, if it is wet, to read in. i really wonder i never thought of having a sailing-boat before. i shall certainly take a sail with you sometimes, horace." "i am very glad of that, father, it would be very jolly having you out i don't see much of you, you know, and i do think it would do you good." a yacht. william martyn was not allowed to carry out his intention of staying on board, nor did he resist very earnestly mr. beveridge's pressing invitation. his host differed widely from his preconceived notions of him, and he saw that he need not be afraid of ceremony. "you can smoke your pipe, you know, in the library after dinner, mr. martyn. i have no objection whatever to smoke; indeed, i used to smoke myself when i was in greece as a young man—everyone did go there, and i got to like it, though i gave it up afterwards. why did i give it up, zaimes?" "i think you gave it up, master, because you always let your cigar out after smoking two or three whiffs, and never thought of it again for the rest of the day." "perhaps that was it; at any rate your smoking will in no way incommode me, so i will take no denial." accordingly the cabins were locked up, and william martyn went up with the others to the house and there spent a very pleasant evening. he had in the course of his service sailed for some time in greek waters, and there was consequently much to talk about which interested both himself and his host. "i love greece," mr. beveridge said, "had it not been that she lies dead under the tyranny of the turks i doubt if i should not have settled there altogether." "i think you would have got tired of it, sir," the mate said. "there is nothing to be said against the country or the islands, except that there are precious few good harbours among them; but i can't say i took to the people." "they have their faults," mr. beveridge admitted, "but i think they are the faults of their position more than of their natural character. slaves are seldom trustworthy, and i own that they are not as a rule to be relied upon. having no honour- able career open to them, the upper classes think of nothing but money; they are selfish, greedy, and corrupt; but i believe in the bulk of the people." as william martyn had no belief whatever in any section of the greeks he held his tongue. in greek waters. "greece will rise one of these days," mr. beveridge went on, "and when she does she will astonish europe. the old spirit still lives among the descendants of leonidas and miltiades." "i should be sorry to be one of the turks who fell into their hands," william martyn said gravely as he thought of the many instances in his own experiences of the murders of sailors on leave ashore. "it is probable that there will be sad scenes of bloodshed," mr. beveridge agreed; "that is only to bo expected when you have a race of men of a naturally impetuous and passionate character enslaved by a people alien in race and in religion. yes, i fear it will be so at the commencement, but that will be all altered when they become disciplined soldiers. do you not think so " he asked, as the sailor remained silent. "i have great doubts whether they will ever submit to dis- cipline," he said bluntly. "their idea of fighting for centuries has been simply to shoot down an enemy from behind the shelter of rocks. i would as lief undertake to discipline an army of malays, who, in a good many respects, especially in the handiness with which they use their knives, are a good deal like the greeks." "there is one broad distinction," mr. beveridge said: "the malays have no past, the greeks have never lost the remem- brance of their ancient glory. they have a high standard to act up to; they reverence the names of the great men of old as if they had died but yesterday. with them it would be a resurrection, accomplished, no doubt, after vast pains and many troubles, the more so since the greeks are a composite people among whom the descendants of the veritable greek of old are in a great minority. the majority are of albanian and suliot blood, races which even the romans found untamable. when the struggle begins i fear that this section of the race will dis- play the savagery of their nature; but the fighting over, the intellectual portion will, i doubt not, regain their proper ascen- dency, and greece will become the greece of old." william martyn was wise enough not to pursue the subject. a yacht. he had a deep scar from the shoulder to the elbow of his right arm, and another on the left shoulder, both reminiscences of an attack that had been made upon him by half a dozen ruffians one night in the streets of athens, and in his private opinion the entire extirpation of the greek race would be no loss to the world in general. "i am very sorry you have to leave to-morrow morning," mr. beveridge said presently. "i should have been very glad if you could have stayed with us for a few days. it is some years since i had a visitor here, and i can assure you that i am sur- prised at the pleasure it gives me. however, i hope that when- ever you happen to be at exmouth you will run over and see us, and if at any time i can be of the slightest service to you i shall be really pleased." the next morning william martyn, still refusing the offer of a conveyance, walked across the hills to meet the coach, and as soon as he had started horace went down to the yacht . marco had gone down into the village early, had seen tom burdett, and in his master's name arranged for him to take charge of the surf, and to engage a lad to sail with him. when horace reached the wharf tom was already on board with his nephew, dick, a lad of seventeen or eighteen, who at once brought the dinghy ashore at horace's hail. "well, dick, so you are going with us?" "ay, master horace, i am shipped as crew. she be a beauty. that cabin is a wonderful lot better than the fo'castle of a fishing-lugger. she is something like a craft to go a sailing in." "good morning, tom burdett," horace said as the boat came alongside the yacht; "or i ought to say captain burdett." "no, no," the sailor laughed; "i have been too long aboard big craft to go a captaining. i don't so much mind being called a skipper, cos a master of any sort of craft may be called skipper; but i ain't going to be called captain. now, dick, run that flag up to the mast-head. that is yachting fashion, you know, master horace, to run the burgee up when the owner comes on board. we ain't got a burgee, seeing as in greek waters. we don't belong to a yacht-club; but the flag with the name does service for it at present." "but i am not the owner, tom, that is nonsense. my father got it to please me, and very good of him it was; but it is non- sense to call the boat mine." "them's the orders i got from your greek chap down below, mr. horace. says he, 'master says as how mr. horace is to be regarded as owner of this 'ere craft whenever he is aboard;' so there you are, you see. there ain't nothing to be said against that." "well, it is very jolly, isn't it, tom?" "it suits me first-rate, sir. i feel for all the world as if we had just captured a little prize, and they had put a young mid- shipmite in command and sent me along with him just to keep him straight; that is how i feel about it." "what sort of weather do you think we are going to have to-day, tom?" "i think the wind is going to shift, sir, and perhaps there will be more of it. it has gone round four points to the east since i turned out before sunrise." "and where do you think we had better go to-day, tom?" "well, as the wind is now it would be first-rate for a run to dartmouth." "yes, but we should have a dead-beat back, tom; we should never get back before dark." "no sir, but that greek chap tells me as your father said as how there were no occasion to be back to night, if so be as you liked to make a cruise of it." "did he say that? that is capital. then let us go to dart- mouth; to-morrow we can start as early as we like so as to get back here." "i don't reckon we shall have to beat back. according to my notion the wind will be somewhere round to the south by to- morrow morning; that will suit us nicely. now then, sir, we will see about getting sail on her." as soon as they began to throw the sail-covers off, marco a yacht. came on deck and lent a hand, and in the course of three minutes the sails were up, the mooring slipped, and the surf was gliding past the end of the jetty. "that was done in pretty good style, sir," tom burdett said as he took up his station by the side of horace, who was at the tiller. "i reckon when we have had a week's practice together we shall get up sail as smartly as a man-of-war captain would want to see. i do like to see things done smart if it is only on a little craft like this, and with three of us we ought to get all her lower sail on her in no time. that greek chap knows what he is about. of course he has often been out with you in the fishing-boats, but there has never been any call for him to lend a hand there, and i was quite surprised just now when he turned to at it. i only reckoned on dick and myself, and put the greek down as steward and cook." "he used to work in a fishing-boat when he was a boy, tom." "ah, that accounts for it! they are smart sailors, some of them greeks, in their own craft, though i never reckoned they were any good in a square-rigged ship; but in those feluccas of theirs they ain't easy to be beaten in anything like fine wea- ther. but they ain't dependable, none of those mediterranean chaps are, whether they are greeks or italians or spaniards, when it comes on to blow really hard, and there is land under your lee, and no port to run to. when it comes to a squeak like that they lose their nerve and begin to pray to the saints, and wring their hands, and jabber like a lot of children. they don't seem to have no sort of backbone about them. but in fine weather i allow they handle their craft as well as they could be handled. mind your helm, sir; you must always keep your attention to that, no matter what is being said." "are you going to get up the topsail, tom?" "not at present, sir; with this wind there will be more sea on as we get further out, and i don't know the craft yet; i want to see what her ways are afore we try her. she looks to me as if she would be stiff under canvas; but running as we in greek waters. are we can't judge much about that, and you have always got to be careful with these light-draft craft. when we get to know her we shall be able to calculate what she will carry in all weathers; but there is no hurry about that. i have seen spars carried away afore now, from young commanders cracking on sail on craft they knew nothing about. this boat can run, there is no mistake about that. look at that fishing-boat ahead of us; that is jaspar hill's kitty; she went out ten minutes afore you came down. we are overhauling her hand over hand, and she is reckoned one of the fastest craft in sea- port. but then, this craft is bound to run fast with her fine lines and shallow draught; we must wait to see how she will do when there is lots of wind." in a couple of hours horace was glad to hand over the tiller to the skipper as the sea had got up a good deal, and the surf yawed so much before the following waves that it needed more skill than he possessed to keep her straight. "fetch the compass up, dick," the skipper said; "we are dropping the land fast . now get the mizzen off her, she will steer easier without it, and it isn't doing her much good. do you begin to feel queer at all, mr. horace?" "not a bit," the boy laughed. "why, you don't suppose, after rolling about in those fishing-boats when they are hang- ing to their nets, that one would feel this easy motion." "no; you would think not, but it don't always follow. i have seen a man, who had been accustomed to knock about all his life in small craft, as sick as a dog on board a frigate, and i have seen the first lieutenant of a man-of-war knocked right over while lying off a bar on boat service. one gets accus- tomed to one sort of motion, and when you get another quite different it seems to take your innards all aback." the run to dartmouth was quickly made, and to horace's delight they passed several large ships on their way. "yes, she is going well," tom burdett said when he ex- pressed his satisfaction; "but if the wind was to get up a bit more it would be just the other way. we have got quite as a yacht. much as we want, while they could stand a good bit more. a small craft will generally hold her own in a light wind, be- cause why, she carries more sail in proportion to her tonnage. when the big ship has got as much as she can do with, the little one has to reef down and half her sails are taken off her. another thing is, the waves knock the way out of a small craft, while the weight of a big one takes her through them without feeling it. still i don't say the boat ain't doing well, for she is first- rate, and we shall make a very quick passage to port." running up the pretty river, they rounded to, head to wind, dropped the anchor a short distance from a ship of war, and lowered and stowed their sails smartly. then horace went below to dinner. it had been ready for some little time, but he had not liked leaving the deck, for rolling, as she sometimes did, it would have been impossible to eat comfortably. as soon as he dined, the others took their meal in the fo'castle, marco having insisted on waiting on him while at his dinner. when they had finished, marco and dick rowed horace ashore. the lad took the boat back to the yacht, while the other two strolled about the town for a couple of hours, and then went off again. the next day the surf fully satisfied her skipper as to her weatherly qualities. the wind was, as he had predicted, nearly south-east, and there was a good deal of sea on. before getting up anchor, the topmast was lowered, two reefs put in the main-sail and one in the mizzen, and a small jib substituted for that carried on the previous day. showers of spray fell on the deck as they put out from the mouth of the river; but once fairly away she took the waves easily, and though sometimes a few buckets of water tumbled over her bows and swashed along the lee channels, nothing like a green sea came on board. tom burdett was delighted with her. "she is a beauty and no mistake," he said enthusiastically. "there is many a big ship will be making bad weather of it to-day; she goes over it like a duck after this, mr. horace, i sha'n't mind what weather i am out in her. i would not have believed a craft her size would have behaved so well in a tumble in greek waters. like this. you see this is more trying for her than a big sea would be. she would take it easier if the waves were longer, and she had more time to take them one after the other. that is why you hear of boats living in a sea that has beaten the life out of a ship. a long craft does not feel a short choppy sea that a small one would be putting her head into every wave; but in a long sea the little one has the advantage. what do you think of her, sir?" "she seems to me to heel over a long way, tom." "yes, she is well over; but you see, even in the puffs she doesn't go any further. every vessel has got what you may call her bearing. it mayn't take much to get her over to that; but when she is there it takes a wonderful lot to bring her any further. you see there is a lot of sail we could take off her yet, if the wind were to freshen. we could get in another reef in the mainsail, and stow her mizzen and foresail altogether. she would stand pretty nigh a hurricane with that canvas." it was four o'clock in the afternoon before the surf entered the harbour. horace was drenched with spray, and felt almost worn out after the struggle with the wind and waves; when he landed his knees were strangely weak, but he felt an im- mense satisfaction with the trip, and believed implicitly tom burdett's assertion that the yacht could stand any weather. chapter iii. the wreck. those were glorious holidays for horace beveridge. he was seldom at home; sometimes two of his cousins, the hen- dons, accompanied him in his trips, and they were away for three or four days at a time. three times mr. beveridge with zaimes went out for a day's sail, and horace was pleased to the wreck. see that his father really enjoyed it, talking but little, but sitting among some cushions zaimes arranged for him astern, and basking in the bright sun and fresh air. that he did enjoy it was evident from the fact that, instead of having the yacht laid up at the end of the holidays, mr. beveridge decided to keep her afloat, and retained tom burdett's services permanently. "do you think, tom, we shall get any sailing in the winter holidays?" "we are sure to, sir, if your father has not laid her up by that time. there are plenty of days on this coast when the sailing is as pleasant in winter as it is in summer. the harbour is a safe one, though it is so small, and i don't see any reason why she shouldn't be kept afloat . of course we shall have to put a stove in the cabin to make it snug; but with that, a good thick pea-jacket, warm gloves, and high boots, you would be as right as a nail." and so at christmas and through the next summer holidays horace enjoyed almost constant sailing. he was now thoroughly at home in the boat, could steer without the supervision of the skipper, and was as handy with the ropes as dick himself. "this is the best job i ever fell into, mr. horace," tom burdett said at the end of the second summer. "your father pays liberal; and as for grub, when that greek is on board a post-captain could not want better. it is wonderful how that chap does cook, and he seems downright to like it . then you see i have got a first-rate crew. dick is as good as a man now; i will say for the greek, he is a good sailor, as well as a good cook; and then you see you have got a deal bigger and stronger than you were a year ago, and are just as handy either at the tiller or the sheets as a man would be, so we are regular strong-handed, and that makes a wonderful difference in the comfort on a craft." that summer they sailed up to portsmouth, and cruised for a week inside the isle of wight, and as horace had one of his school-fellows spending the holidays with him, he enjoyed him- self to the fullest of his capacity. during the holidays horace in greek waters did not see much of his father, who, quite content that the boy was enjoying himself, and gaining health and strength, went on in his own way, and only once went out with him during his stay at home, although, as marco told him, he gene- rally went out once a week at other times. the first morning after his return, at the following christmas, horace did not as usual get up as soon as it was light. the rattle of the window and the howl of the wind outside sufficed to tell him that there would be no sailing that day. being in no hurry to move, he sat over breakfast longer than usual, talking to zaimes of what had happened at home and in the village since he last went away. his father was absent, hav- ing gone up to town a week before, and horace had, on his arrival, found a letter from him, saying that he was sorry not to be there for his return, but that he found he could not get through the work on which he was engaged for another two days; he should, however, be down at any rate by christmas- eve. after breakfast horace went out and looked over the sea. the wind was almost dead on shore, blowing in such violent gusts that he could scarcely keep his feet. the sky was a dull lead colour, the low clouds hurrying past overhead. the sea was covered with white breakers, and the roar of the surf, as it broke on the shore, could be heard even above the noise of the wind. putting on his pea-jacket and high boots, he went down to the port. as it had been specially constructed as a shelter against south-westerly winds, with the western pier overlapping the other, the sea did not make a direct sweep into it; but the craft inside were all rolling heavily in the swell. "how are you, tom? it is a wild day, isn't it?" "don't want to see a worse, sir. glad to see you back again, mr. horace. quite well, i hope?" "first-rate, tom. it is a nuisance this gale the first day of coming home. i have been looking forward to a sail. i am afraid there is no chance of one to-day?" "well, sir,, i should say they would take us and send us all in greek waters. got their sails and nets rolled up as fenders, but in spite of that they have been ripping and tearing each other shocking. there will be jobs for the carpenter for some time to come. five or six of them have torn away their bulwarks already." after waiting down by the port for an hour horace returned to the house. when luncheon was over he was just about to start again for the port, when marco said to him: "dick has just been in, sir. there is going to be a wreck. there are a lot of fishermen gathered on the cliff half a mile away to the right. they say there is a ship that will come ashore somewhere along there." "come on, then, marco. did you hear whether they thought that anything could be done?" "i did not hear anything about it. i don't think they know where she will go ashore yet." in a few minutes they reached the group of fishermen stand- ing on the cliff. it was a headland beyond which the land fell away, forming a bay some three miles across. a large barque was to be seen some two miles off shore. she was wallowing heavily in the seas, and each wave seemed to smother her in' spray. tom burdett was among the group, and horace went up to him at once. "what's to prevent her from beating off, tom? she ought to be able to work out without difficulty." "so she would at ordinary times," the skipper said; "but she is evidently a heavy sailer and deep laden. she could do it now if they could put more sail on her, but i expect her canvas is all old. you see her topsails are all in ribbons. each of them sees heaves her bodily to leeward. she is a doomed ship, sir, there ain't no sort of doubt about that; the question is, where is she coming ashore?" "will it make much difference, tom?" "well, it might make a difference if her master knew the coast. the best thing he could do would be to get her round and run straight in for this point. the water is deeper here than it is in the bay, and she would get nearer ashore before the wreck. she struck, and we might save a few of them if they lashed themselves to spars and hen-coops and such like. deep as she is she would strike half a mile out if she went straight up the bay. the tide is nearly dead low, and in that case not a man will get ashore through that line of breakers. then, again, she might strike near ram's head over there, which is like enough if she holds on as she is doing at present. the head runs a long way out under water, and it is shallower half a mile out than it is nearer the point. there is a clump of rocks there." "i don't remember anything about them, tom, and we have sailed along there a score of times." "no, sir, we don't take no account of them in small craft, and there is a fathom and a half of water over them even in spring-tides. springs are on now, and there ain't much above nine foot just now; and that craft draws two fathom and a half or thereabouts, over twelve foot anyhow. but it don't make much difference; wherever she strikes she will go to pieces in this sea in a few minutes." "surely there is something to be done, tom?" "some of us are just going down to get ropes and go along the shore, mr. horace; but lor' bless you, one just does it for the sake of doing something. one knows well enough that it ain't likely we shall get a chance of saving a soul." "but couldn't some of the boats go out, tom? there would be plenty of water for them where she strikes." "the fishermen have been talking about it, sir; but they are all of one opinion; the sea is altogether too heavy for them." "but the surf could go, couldn't she, tom? you have always said she could stand any sea." "any reasonable sort of sea, mr. horace; but this is a down- right onreasonable sort of sea for a craft of her size, and it is a deal worse near shore where the water begins to shallow than it would be out in the channel." but though tom burdett spoke strongly, horace noticed that his tone was not so decided as when he said that the fishing-boats could not go out. in greek waters "look here, tom," he said, "i suppose there must be thirty hands on board that ship. we can't see them drowned with- out making a try to save them. we have got the best boat here on the coast. we have been out in some bad weather in her, and she has always behaved splendidly. i vote we try she can fetch out between the piers all right from where she is moored; and if, when we get fairly out, we find it is alto- gether too much for her, we could put back again." tom made no answer. he was standing looking at the ship. he had been already turning it over in his mind whether it would not be possible for the surf to put out . he had him- self an immense faith in her sea-going qualities, and believed that she might be able to stand even this sea. "but you wouldn't be thinking of going in her, mr. horace?" he said doubtfully at last . "of-course i should," the lad said indignantly. "you don't suppose that i would let the surf go out if i were afraid to go in her myself." "your father would never agree to that if he were at home, sir." "yes, he would," horace said. "i am sure my father would say that if the surf went out i ought to go in her, and that it would be cowardly to let other people do what one is afraid to do one's self. besides, i can swim better than either you or dick, and should have more chance of getting ashore if she went down; but i don't think she would go down. i am nearly sixteen now; and as my father isn't here i shall have my own way. if you say that you think there is no chance of the surf getting out to her there is an end of it; but if you say that you think she could live through it, we will go." "i think she might do it, mr. horace; i have been a saying so to the others. they all say that it would be just madness, but then they don't know the craft as i do." "well, look here, tom, i will put it this way: if the storm had been yesterday, and my father and i had both been away, wouldn't you have taken her out?" the wreck. "well, sir, i should; i can't say the contrary. i have always said that the boat could go anywhere, and i believe she could, and i ain't going to back down now from my opinion; but i say as it ain't right for you to go." "that is my business," horace said. "marco, i am going out in the surf to try to save some of the men on board that ship. are you disposed to come too?" "i will go if you go," the greek said slowly; "but i don't know what your father would say." "he would say, if there was a chance of saving life it ought to be tried, marco. of course there is some danger in it, but tom thinks she can do it, and so do i. we can't stand here and see thirty men drowned without making an effort to save them. i have quite made up my mind to go." "very well, sir, then i will go." horace went back to tom burdett, who was talking with dick apart from the rest. "we will take a couple of extra hands if we can get them," the skipper said. "we shall want to be strong-handed." he went to the group of fishermen and said: "we are going out in the surf to see if we can lend a hand to bring some of those poor fellows ashore. young mr. beveridge is coming, but we want a couple more hands. who will go with us?" there was silence for a minute, and then a young fisherman said: "i will go, tom. my brother nat is big enough to take my place in the boat if i don't come back again. i am willing to try it with you, though i doubt if the yacht will get twice her own length beyond the pier." "and i will go with you, tom," an older man said. "if my son dick is going, i don't see why i should hang back." "that will do, then, that makes up our crew. now we had best be starting at once. that barque will be ashore in another hour, and she will go to pieces pretty near as soon as she strikes. so if we are going to do anything, there ain't no time to be in greek waters. lost. the rest of you had better go along with stout ropes as you was talking of just now; that will give us a bit of a chance if things go wrong." the six hurried along the cliff and then down to the port, followed by the whole of the fishermen. a couple of trips with the dinghy took them on board. "now, then," tom burdett said to dick's father, "we will get the fore-sail out and rig it as a try-sail. dick, you cut the lashings and get the main-sail off the hoops. we will leave it and the spars here; do you lend him a hand, jack thompson." in five minutes the main-sail with its boom and gaff was taken off the mast and tied together. a rope was attached to them and the end flung ashore, where they were at once hauled in by the fishermen, who crowded the wharf, every soul in the village having come down at the news that the surf was going out. by this time holes had been made along the leach of the sail, and by these it was lashed to the mastrhoops. the top- mast was sent down to the deck, launched overboard, and hauled ashore; the mizzen was closely reefed, but not hoisted. "we will see how she does without it," tom said; "she may like it and she may not. now, up with the try-sail and jib, and stand by to cast off the moorings as she gets weigh on her; i will take the tiller. marco, do you and mr. horace stand by the mizzen-halliards ready to hoist if i tell you." as the surf began to move through the water a loud cheer broke from the crowd on shore, followed by a dead silence. she moved but slowly as she was under the lee of the west pier. "ben, do you and the other two kick out the lower plank of the bulwark," tom burdett said; "we shall want to get rid of the water as fast as it comes on board." the three men with their heavy sea-boots knocked out the plank with a few kicks. "now, the one on the other side," tom said; and this was done just as they reached the entrance between the piers. she was gathering way fast now. the wreck. "ease off that jib sheet, dick," the skipper cried. "stand by to haul it in as soon as the wind catches the try-sail." tom put down the helm as he reached the end of the pier, but a great wave caught her head and swept her half round. a moment later the wind in its full force struck the try-sail and she heeled far over with the blow. "up with the mizzen!" tom shouted. "give her more sheet, dick!" as the mizzen drew, its action and that of the helm told, and the surf swept up into the wind. "haul in the jib-sheet, dick. that is enough; make it fast. ease off the mizzen-sheet a little, marco. that will do. now lash yourselves with lines to the bulwark." for the first minute or two it seemed to horace that the surf, good boat as she was, could not live through those tremendous waves, each of which seemed as if it must overwhelm her; but although the water poured in torrents across her deck it went off as quickly through the hole in the lee bulwark, and but little came over her bow. "she will do, sir!" tom, close to whom he had lashed himself, shouted, "it will be better when we get a bit farther out. she is a beauty, she is, and she answers to her helm well." gradually the surf drew out from the shore. "are you going to come about, tom?" "not yet, sir; we must get more sea-room before we try. like enough she may miss stays in this sea. if she does we must wear her round." "now we will try," he said five minutes later. "get those lashings off. mr. horace, you will have to go up to the other side when she is round. get ready to go about!" he shouted, "i will put the helm down at the first lull. now!" the surf came round like a top, and had gathered way on the other tack before the next big wave struck her. "well done!" tom burdett shouted joyously, and the others echoed the shout. in ten minutes they were far enough out to get a sight of the ship as they rose on the waves. in greek waters. "just as i thought," ben muttered; "he thinks he will weather ram's head, and he will go ashore somewhere on that reef of rocks to a certainty." in another five minutes the course was again changed, and the surf bore directly for the barque. in spite of the small sail she carried the water was two feet up the lee planks of her deck, and she was deluged every time by the seas, which struck her now almost abeam. but everything was battened down, and they heeded the water but little. "what do you think of her now?" tom shouted to his brother-in-law. "didn't i tell you she would stand a sea when your fishing-boats dare not show their noses out of the port." "she is a good 'un and no mistake, tom. i did not think a craft her size could have lived in such a sea as this. you may brag about her as you like in future, and there ain't a man in seaport as will contradict you." they were going through the water four feet to the barque's one, and they were but a quarter of a mile astern of her when horace exclaimed, "she has struck!" and at the same moment her main and foremast went over the side. "she is just about on the shallowest point of the reef," ben harper said. "now, how are you going to manage this job, tom?" "there is only one way to do it," the skipper said. "there is water enough for us. tide has flowed an hour and a half, and there must be two fathoms where she is lying. we must run up under her lee close enough to chuck a rope on board. get a light rope bent on to the hawser. they must pull that on board, and we will hang to it as near as we dare." "you must go near her stern, tom, or we shall get stove in with the masts and spars." "yes, it is lucky the mizzen is standing, else we could not have gone alongside till they got rid of them all, and they would never do that afore she broke up." horace, as he watched the ship, expected to see her go to pieces every moment. each wave struck her with tremendous the wreck. force, sending cataracts of water over her weather gunwale and across her deck. many of the seas broke before they reached her, and the line of the reef could be traced far beyond her by the white and broken water. "now, then," the skipper shouted, "i shall keep the surf about twice her own length from the wreck, and then put the helm hard down and shoot right up to her." "that will be the safest plan, tom. there are two men with ropes standing ready in the mizzen-shrouds." "i shall bring her in a little beyond that, ben, if the wreck of the mainmast isn't in the way; the mizzen may come out of her any moment, and if it fell on our decks it would be good- bye to us all." a cheer broke from the men huddled up under shelter of the weather bulwark as the little craft swept past her stern, "mind the wreck!" a voice shouted. tom held up his hand, and a moment later put the helm down hard. the surf swept round towards the ship, and her way carried her on until the end of the bowsprit was but five or six yards distant. then tom shouted: "now is your time, dick;" and the rope was thrown right across the barque, where it was grasped by half a dozen hands. "haul in till you get the hawser," dick shouted; "then make it fast." at the same moment two ropes from the ship were thrown, and caught by marco and ben. tom left the tiller now and lowered the try-sail. by the time the hawser was fast on board, the surf had drifted twice her own length from the ship. "that will do, ben; make the hawser fast there." two strong hawsers were hauled in from the ship and also made fast. "now you can come as soon as you like," tom shouted. as the hawsers were fastened to the weather-side of the vessel, which was now heeled far over, it was a sharp incline down to the deck of the surf, and the crew, throwing their arms and legs round the hawsers, slid down without difficulty, the pressure of the wind on the yacht keeping the ropes perfectly taut. as in greek waters. the men came within reach, tom burdett and ben seized them by the collars and hauled them on board. "any woman on boardv he asked the first . "no, we have no passengers." "that is a comfort . how many of a crew?" "there were thirty-three all told, but four were killed by the falling mast, and three were washed overboard before we struck, so there are twenty-six now." in five minutes from the ropes being thrown the captain, who was last man, was on board the yacht . the surfs own hawser had been thrown off by him before he left, drawn in, and coiled down, and as soon as he was safe on board the other two hawsers were thrown off. "haul the jib a-weather, dick," tom burdett shouted as he took the helm again. "slack the mizzen-sheet off altogether, marco; up with the try-sail again." for a short distance the yacht drifted astern, and then, as the pressure of the jib began to make itself felt, her head gradually payed off. "haul in the try-sail and jib-sheets. let go the weather-sheet, dick, and haul in the other. that is it, now she begins to move again." "you are only just in time," the captain said to tom; "she was just beginning to part in the middle when i left. you have saved all our lives, and i thank you heartily." "this is the owner of the yacht, sir," tom said, motioning to horace. "it is his doing that we came out." "oh, that is all nonsense, tom! you would have come just the same if i hadn't been there." "well, sir, it has been a gallant rescue," the captain said. "i could hardly believe my eyes when i saw your sail coming after us, and i expected every moment to see it disappear." "now, captain," tom said, "make all your men sit down as close as they can pack under the weather bulwark; we ain't in yet." it was an anxious time as they struggled through the heavy sea on the way back, but the surf stood it bravely, and the the wreck. o'j weight to windward enabled her to stand up more stiffly to her canvas. when they were abreast of the port half the men went over to the other side, the helm was put up, and she rushed towards the shore dead before the wind. the extra weight on deck told on her now, and it needed the most careful steering on tom's part to keep her straight before the waves, several of which broke over her taffrail and swept along the deck, one of them bursting out her bulwarks at the bow. "get ready to haul in the sheets smartly," tom shouted as they neared the pier. he kept her course close to the pier-head, and as the surf came abreast of it jammed down the tiller, while ben and dick hauled in the mizzen-sheet. a moment later she was shooting along under the shelter of the wall, while a loud shout of welcome rose above the howling of the wind from those on shore. "now, sir, i will see about getting her moored," tom said, "if you will run down and get some rum bottles out of the locker; i am pretty well frozen and these poor fellows must be nigh perished, but it would never have done to open the hatch- way in that sea. "come down, men," horace cried, as he dived below. "we had no time to light -the fire before starting, but a glass of spirits will do you good all round." two or three of the fishermen rowed out as soon as the yacht was moored, and in a few minutes all were ashore. "now you had better run up to the house and change, mr. horace," tom burdett said. "we will look after the men here and get them some dry things, and put them up amongst us. we have done a big thing, sir, and the surf has been tried as i hope she will never be tried again as long as we have anything to do with her." "all right, tom! will you come up with me, captain? there is no one at home but myself, and we will manage to rig you up somehow." the captain, however, declined the invitation, saying that he the wreck. proud of. i am told very few of the fishermen thought that you would ever come back again." "they didn't know the boat as we did, zaimes. i felt sure she would go through anything; and, besides, tom kicked out the lower plank of the bulwarks on each side, so as to help her to free herself from water as it came on board, and flush- decked as she is, there was nothing to carry away; but she hasn't taken a cupful of water down below." in the evening the captain of the barque came up, and horace learned from him that she was on her way from new orleans laden with cotton. "the ship and cargo are insured," the captain said; "and, as far as that goes, it is a good thing she is knocked into match- wood. she was a dull sailer at the best of times, and when laden you could not get her to lay anywhere near the wind, she would have done better than she did, though, hadn't her rudder got damaged somehow in the night. she ought to have clawed off the shore easy enough; but, as you saw, she sagged to leeward a foot for every foot she went for'ard. i was part- owner in her, and i am not sorry she has gone. we tried to sell her last year, but they have been selling so many ships out of the navy that we could not get anything of a price for her; but as she was well insured, i shall get a handier craft next time. i was well off shore when the storm began to get heavy last night, and felt no anxiety about our position till the rudder went wrong. but when i saw the coast this morning, i felt sure that unless there was a change in the weather nothing could save her. well, if it hadn't been for the loss of those seven hands, i should, thanks to you, have nothing to com- plain of." fires had been lit on the shore as night came on; but except fragments of the wreck and a number of bales of cotton nothing was recovered. in the morning the captain and crew left sea- port, two hands remaining behind to look after the cotton and recover as much as they could. two days later mr. beveridge returned home. in greek waters. "i saw in the paper before i left town, horace, an account of your going out to the wreck and saving the lives of those on board. i am very glad i was not here, my lad. i don't think i should have let you go; but as i knew nothing about it until it was all over, i had no anxiety about it, and felt quite proud of you when i read the account. the money was well laid out on that yacht, my boy. i don't say that i didn't think so before, but i certainly think so now. however, directly i read it i wrote to the lifeboat society and told them that i would pay for a boat to be placed here. then there will be no occasion to tempt providence the next time a vessel comes ashore on this part of the coast. you succeeded once, horace, but you might not succeed another time; and knowing what a sea sets in here in a south-westerly gale, i quite tremble now at the thought of your being out in it in that little craft." the news that mr. beveridge had ordered a lifeboat for the port gave great satisfaction among the fishermen, not so much perhaps because it would enable them to go out to wrecks, as because any of their own craft approaching the harbour in bad weather, and needing assistance, could then receive it. horace became very popular in seaport after the rescue, and was spoken of affectionately as the young squire, although they were unable to associate the term with his father; but the latter's interest in the sea, and his occasionally going out in the yacht, seemed to have brought him nearer to the fishing people. there had before been absolutely nothing in common between them and the studious recluse, and even the greeks, who had before been held in marked disfavour in the village as outlandish followers, were now regarded with different eyes when it was learned that marco had been a fisherman too in his time, and his share in the adventure of the surf dissipated the last shadow of prejudice against them. the weather continued more or less broken through the whole of the holidays, and horace had but little sailing. he spent a good deal of his time over at his cousins', rode occa- sionally after the hounds with them, and did some shooting. the wreck. a week after coming home his father had again gone up to town, and remained there until after horace had returned to eton. he was, the lad observed, more abstracted even than usual, but was at the same time restless and unsettled. he looked eagerly for the post, and received and despatched a large number of letters. horace supposed that he must be engaged in some very sharp and interesting controversy as to a disputed reading, or the meaning of some obscure passage, until the evening before he went away his father said: "i suppose, horace, you are following with interest the course of events in thessaly?" "well, father, we see the papers of course. there seems to be a row going on there; they are always fighting about some- thing. from what i could understand of it, ali pasha of janina has revolted against the sultan, and the turks are be sieging him. what sort of a chap is he? he is an albanian, isn't her' "yes, with all the virtues and vices of his race—ambitious, avaricious, revengeful, and cruel, but brave and astute. he has been the instrument of the porte in breaking down the last remnants of independence in the wide districts he rules. as you know, very many of the christian and mussulman villages possessed armed guards called armatoli, who are responsible not only for the safety of the village, but for the security of the roads; the defence of the passes was committed to them, and they were able to keep the numerous bands of brigands within moderate bounds. this organization ali pasha set him- self to work to weaken as soon as he came into power. he played off one party against the other—the mussulmans against the christians, the brigands against the armatoli, one powerful chief against another. he crushed the suliots, who possessed a greater amount of independence, perhaps, than any of the other tribes, and who, it must be owned, were a scourge to all their neighbours. he took away all real power from the armatoli, crippled the mussulman communities as well as weakened the christian villages; inspired terror in the whole in greek waters. population by the massacre of such as resisted his will, and those whom he could not crush by force he removed by poison; finally, he became so strong that it was evident his design was to become altogether independent of the sultan. but he mis- calculated his power, his armies fled almost without striking a blow; his sons, who commanded them, are either fugitives or prisoners; and now we hear that he is besieged in his fortress, which is capable of withstanding a very long siege." "he must be a thorough old scoundrel, i should say, father." "yes," mr. beveridge assented somewhat unwillingly. "no doubt he is a bad man, horace; but he might have been—he may even yet be, useful to greece. when it first became evi- dent that matters would come to a struggle between him and the porte he issued proclamations calling upon the christians to assist him and make common cause against the turks, and specially invited greece to declare her independence of tur- key, and to join him." "but i should say, father, the albanians would be even worse masters than the turks." "no doubt, horace, no doubt. the turks, i may own, have not on the whole been hard masters to the christians. they are much harder upon the mussulman population than upon the christian, as the latter can complain to the russians, who, as their co-religionists, claim to exercise a special protec- tion over them. but, indeed, all the christian powers give protection, more or less, to the christian greeks, who, espe- cially in the morea, have something approaching municipal institutions, and are governed largely by men chosen by them- selves. therefore the pashas take good care not to bring trouble on themselves or the porte by interfering with them so long as they pay their taxes, which are by no means exces- sive; while the mussulman part of the population, having no protectors, are exposed to all sorts of exactions, which are limited only by the fear of driving them into insurrection. still this rebellion of ali pasha has naturally excited hopes in a startling proposal. the minds of the greeks and their friends that some results may arise from it, and no better opportunity is likely to occur for them to make an effort to shake off the yoke of the turks. you may imagine, horace, how exciting all this is to one who, like myself, is the son of a greek mother, and to whom, there- fore, the glorious traditions of greece are the story of his own people. as yet my hopes are faint, but there is a greater prospect now than there has been for the last two hundred years, and i would give all i am worth in the world to live to see greece recover her independence." chapter iv. a startling proposal. after horace returned to eton, remembering the intense interest of his father in the affairs of greece, he read up as far as he could everything relating to late events there. that he should obtain a really fair view of the situation was impos- sible. the greeks had countrymen in every commercial city in the world; they were active and intelligent, and passionately desirous of interesting europe in their cause. upon the other hand the turks were voiceless. hence europe only heard the greek version of the state of affairs; their wrongs were exaggerated and events distorted with an utter disregard for truth, while no whisper of the other side of the question was ever heard. at that time the term greek was applied to persons of greek religion rather than of greek nationality. the population of european turkey, of pure greek blood, was extremely small, while those who held the greek form of religion were very numerous, and the influence possessed by them was even greater. the christians were in point of intelligence, activity, and wealth ( ) £ in greek waters. superior to the turks. they were subservient and cringing when it suited their purpose, and were as a rule utterly un- scrupulous. the consequence was that they worked their way into posts of responsibility and emolument in great numbers, being selected by the porte in preference to the duller and less pushing turks. in some portions of european turkey they were all-powerful; in the transylvanian provinces of moldavia and wallachia every post was held by greeks, and there were but a few small and scattered turkish garrisons. yet here the population were incomparably more cruelly fleeced and ground down by their greek masters than were the christians in the more turkish provinces. in servia and parts of bulgaria the numbers were more even, but here also the greeks held most of the responsible posts. in greece proper the christians vastly predominated, while in northern thessaly the numbers of the christians and mussul- mans were about the same. the greek metropolitan of constantinople and his council exercised a large authority by means of the bishops and priests over the whole christian population, while for some time a secret society named the philike hetaireia had been at work preparing them for a rising. it was started originally among the greeks at odessa, and was secretly patronized by russia, which then, as since, had designs upon constantinople. the first outbreak had occurred in march, , when prince alexander hypsilantes, who had been an officer in the russian service, crossed the pruth, and was joined by the greek officials and tax-gatherers of the transylvanian provinces. he was a vain, empty-headed, and utterly incompetent adventurer. a small band of youths belonging to good families enrolled them- selves under the title of the sacred band, and the army also joined him, but beyond the cold-blooded massacre of a consider- able number of turks and their families he did absolutely nothing. the main body of the population, who bitterly hated their greek oppressors, remained quiescent. russia, seeing his utter incapacity, repudiated him, and after keeping alive a startling proposal. the hopes of his followers by lying proclamations hypsilantes secured his own safety by flight across the austrian frontier when the turkish army approached. the five hundred young men of the sacred battalion fought nobly and were killed almost to a man; but with the exception of a band of officers who refused to surrender, and shut themselves up in skulani and in the monastery of seko and there defended themselves bravely until the last, no resistance was offered to the turks, and the insurrection was stamped out by the beginning of june. but in the meantime greece proper was rising, and though the news came but slowly horace saw that his father's hopes were likely to be gratified, and that the greeks would probably strike a blow at least for national independence, and he more than shared the general excitement that the news caused among educated men throughout europe. the summer holidays passed uneventfully. horace took long cruises in the surf. he saw but little of his father, who was constantly absent in london. august came, and horace returned from his last trip and was feeling rather depressed at the thought of going back to school in two days' time. he met zaimes as he entered the house. "is my father back from town, zaimes?" "yes, mr. horace, and he told me to tell you as soon as you returned that he wished you to go to him at once in the library." it was so unlike his father to want to see him particularly about anything, that horace went in in some wonder as to what could be the matter. mr. beveridge was walking up and down the room. "is your mind very much set on going back to eton, hor- ace?" he asked abruptly. "i don't know, father," horace said, taken somewhat aback at the question. "well, i would very much rather go back, father, than be doing nothing here. i am very fond of sailing as an amusement, but one would not want to be at it always. of course if there is anything really to do it would be different." in greek waters. "well, i think there is something else to do, horace. you know my feeling with regard to this insurrection in greece." "yes, father," horace, who was indeed rather tired of the subject, replied. "well, you see, my boy, they have now resisted the turks for some five months and have gained rather than lost ground. that seems to show decisively that this is no mere hasty rising, but that the people are in earnest in the determination to win their liberty. now that i am thoroughly convinced of this my course is clear, and i have determined upon going out to give such assistance as i can." horace was astounded. "going out to fight, father?" "yes, if necessary to fight, but i can be of more use than in merely fighting. i have never, since i came into the property some twenty-four years ago, spent anything like a third of my income. indeed, since my return from greece my expenses here have been but a few hundreds a year. i have always hoped that i should have the opportunity of devoting the savings to help greece to regain her independence. that moment has come. at first i feared, that the movement would speedily die out; but the letters that i receive show that it is increasing daily, and indeed that the greeks have placed themselves beyond the hope of forgiveness by, i am sorry to say, the massacre of large numbers of turks. it is, of course, to be regretted that so glorious a cause should have been sullied by such conduct; but one cannot be surprised. slaves are always cruel, and after the wrongs they have suffered, it could hardly be expected that they would forego their revenge when the-opportunity at last came. however, the important point of the matter is, that there can be no drawing back now. "for better or for worse the revolution has begun. now, horace, you are but sixteen, but you are a sensible lad, and i have stood so much apart from other men from my boyhood that i am what you might call unpractical; while i take it that you from your temperament, and from being at a great public school, are eminently practical, therefore, i shall be glad to hear a. startling proposal. your opinion as to how this thing had best be set about. i take it, of course, that you are as interested in the struggle as i am." "well, not so interested perhaps, father. i feel, of course, that it is a horrible thing that a people like the greeks, to whom we all owe so much, should be kept in slavery by the turks, who have never done any good to mankind that i know of, and i should certainly be glad to do everything in my power to help; but of course it all comes so suddenly upon me that just at present i don't see what had best be done." "i heard from my friends in london that many young men are already starting to assist the greeks. what they will need most is not men, but arms and money, so at least my greek friends write me." "well, father," horace said bluntly; "i should say you had much better give them arms than money. i have been reading the thing up as much as i could since it began, and as far as i can see the upper class greeks, the men who, i suppose, will be the leaders, are a pretty bad lot—quite as bad, i should say, as the turkish pashas." "yes, i quite agree with you there, horace. you see in a country that is enslaved political and other careers are closed, and the young men devote themselves to making money. you see that in the history of the jews. all through the middle ages they were everywhere persecuted, every avenue to honour- able employment was closed to them, consequently they de- voted themselves to making money, and have been the bankers of kings for hundreds of years. no doubt it is the same thing with the greeks; but the mass of the people are uncorrupted, and with the deeds of their great forefathers always before them they will, i am sure, show themselves worthy of their name." "no doubt, father; i think so too." "you don't mind my spending this money on the cause, horace," his father asked anxiously, "because, though it is my savings, it would in the natural course of things come to you some day." in greek waters. "not at all, father; it is, as you say, your savings, and having at heart, as you have, the independence of greece, i think it can- not be better laid out than assisting it. but i should certainly like it to be laid out for that, and not to go into the pockets of a lot of fellows who think more of feathering their own nests than of the freedom of greece. so i should say the best thing would be to send out a cargo of arms and ammunition, as a be- ginning; other cargoes can go out as they are required. and you might, of course, take a certain amount of money to distri- bute yourself as you see it is required. i hope you mean to take me with you." "i think so, horace. you are young to do any fighting at present, but you will be a great support and comfort to me." horace could scarcely resist a smile, for he thought that if there was any fighting to be done he would be of considerably more use than his father. "well, i suppose the next thing, horace, will be to go up to town to inquire about arms. my greek friends there will advise me as to their purchase, and so on." "yes, father," horace said a little doubtfully; "but as it is late now i think, if you don t mind, i will get some supper and turn in. i will think it over. i think we had better talk it over quietly and quite make up our minds what is best to be done before we set about anything; a few hours won't make any difference." "quite so, horace; it is no use our beginning by making mistakes. it is a great comfort to me, my boy, to have you with me. at any rate i will write to-night to your head-master and say that circumstances will prevent your return to eton this term." horace went into the next room, had some supper, and then went thoughtfully up to bed. the idea of going out to fight for the independence of greece was one which at any other time he would have regarded with enthusiasm, but under the present circumstances he felt depressed rather than excited. he admired his father for his great learning, and loved him a startling proposal. for the kindness of his intentions towards him; but he had during the last two or three years been more and more im- pressed with the fact that in everything unconnected with his favourite subject his father was, as he said himself, utterly unpractical. he left the management of his estate to the steward, the management of the house to zaimes, both happily, as it chanced, honest and capable men; but had they been rogues they could have victimized him to any extent. that his father, who lived in his library and who was absorbed in the past, should plunge into the turmoil of an insurrection was an almost bewildering idea. he would be plundered right and left, and would believe every story told him; while as for his fighting, the thing seemed absolutely absurd. horace felt that the whole responsibility would be on his shoulders, and this seemed altogether too much for him. then the admission of his father that abominable massacres had been perpetrated by the greeks shook his enthusiasm in the cause. "i should be glad to see them free and independent, and all that," he said, "but i don't want to be fighting side by side with murderers. among such fellows as these, my father, who is a great deal more greek than any greek of the present day, i should say, would be made utterly miserable. he admits that the upper class are untrustworthy and avaricious. now he says that the lower class have massacred people in cold blood. it does not affect him much in the distance, but if he were in the middle of it all it would be such a shock to him that i believe it would kill him. besides, fancy his going long marches in the mountains, sleeping in the wet, and all that sort of thing, when he has never walked half a mile as far back as i can remember." he lay tossing about for a couple of hours, and then sat sud- denly up in bed. "that's it," he exclaimed, "that is a splendid idea. what a fool i was not to think of it before! if william martyn is but at home that would be the thing above all." then he lay down, thought the matter over for another half- hour, and then went quietly off to sleep. in greek waters. "well, horace, have you been turning the matter over in your mind ?" his father asked as soon as they sat down to break- fast. "i have, father, and i have hit upon a plan that seems to me the very best thing possible in all ways." "what is it, horace?" "well, father, it seems to me that if we take out war material to athens it will very likely get into wrong hands altogether, and when arms are really wanted by the people of the moun- tains, and i expect that it is they who will do the fighting and not the people of the towns, there won't be any to give them. the next thing is, if we go to athens, and people know that you are a rich englishman, you will get surrounded by sharks, and before you have time to know who is to be trusted, or any- thing about it, all your money will be gone. then i am sure that you could not in that way take any active part in helping to free greece, you never could stand marches in the mountains and sleeping in the open air, bad food, and all that sort of thing, after living the quiet indoor life you have for so many years. i know you would stick to it, father, as long as you could, but it seems to me you would be sure to get knocked up." "yes, i ought to have prepared for this, horace. it would have been better for me to have taken regular exercise every day, even if i did get through a little less work. still i am stronger than you think. i am only forty-four, and a man at forty-four ought to be able to do nearly as much as he ever could do." "yes, father, if he had lived an active life and exercised his muscles. i have no doubt you are just as strong in many things as other men; i never remember your being ill for a day; but i am sure you are not fit for knocking about among the mountains. what i have been thinking of is this. if you approve of it i will go over to exmouth this morning and see if william martyn is there. he is likely to be at home if his vessel is in port. if he is not, i will get his father to recom- mend some one. there must be lots of young lieutenants on half-pay who would jump at the idea. first i should engage a startling proposal. with martyn if he is there, or go to the man whom his father recommended to me at plymouth, and get him to buy for you a fast schooner or brig—one that had either been an english privateer or a captured frenchman would be about the thing— arrange with him to be the captain and engage officers and crew, and get him to arm her with as many guns as she will carry. he would be able probably to put us into the best way of buy- ing muskets. as such immense numbers of soldiers have been paid off, no doubt there have been great sales of muskets by government, and we might get them at a quarter the price we should have to pay for new ones. of course we should take in ammunition in large quantities. all these mountaineers have no doubt got guns, and ammunition will be the thing most wanted of all. we could also pick up some cannon. no doubt they are to be bought for scrap iron. the greeks will want them to arm their ships and batteries. in that way you see, father, you would have everything under your own hands. nobody would know how many muskets you have got on board, and you could serve them out when or how they were required. "the same with money. we could cruise about and pop into quiet places, and send arms and ammunition up into the hills. of course directly you got out there you would put the ship under the greek flag, and by harassing the turks at sea we might do a hundred times more good than we could by land. there would be no fatigue and no discomfort. you would always be comfortable on board, and could take zaimes and marco with you. we would take tom burdett as boatswain. he was boatswain in the navy, you know. if he goes i dare- say dick will also go with us." "that is an excellent plan, horace. it seems to meet all the difficulties, and i was really feeling uncomfortable at the thought of being mixed up in all the confusion and excitement there will, no doubt, be at athens. it is a most happy idea. we will not lose a moment about it. i like that young fellow martyn, and i hope you will be able to get hold of him. let him name his own terms. i have not the least idea whether in greek waters. the captain of a vessel of that sort is paid five pounds a week or twenty-five. of course it will be dangerous service, and should be liberally paid for. well, you had better pack up your bag directly we have finished breakfast . you may be away for a week or ten days." "i can't start to-day, father, surely." "no! why not, horace?" "because, you know, you arranged we should both go over to dine at aunt's." "of course, horace; i quite forgot that. it is very annoy- ing, but i suppose it can't be helped." horace laughed. "a day won't make much difference, father. i am sure aunt would be very vexed if we did not turn up. do you mean to tell her anything about it?" mr. beveridge was silent for a minute. "i don't think there is any occasion; do you, horace?" he said doubtfully. "she might raise objections, you know; though that, of course, would make no difference; arguments are always to be avoided, and your aunt was always a very positive woman." "i think it is just as well to say nothing about it," horace said with a slight smile, for he felt sure that his aunt would oppose the project tooth and nail if she were aware of it, and that she would be backed by the whole strength of his mother's family. he did not say this, but went on, "it is a nuisance being asked a tremendous lot of questions about things, espe- cially when you don't know much about them yourself. no, i think, father, we had better keep it quite quiet. it will be time enough to write a line to aunt and tell her that we are off, the last thing before we get up anchor." "i agree with you, horace, so we will say nothing about this trip of ours. well, as it seems you can't go to-day, you had better make your arrangements to catch the coach to-morrow morning. i will sign a dozen blank cheques, which you can fill up as required. of course whoever accepts the post of captain will know all that will be wanted for the ship, and if he doesn't know himself about the arms and ammunition he a startling proposal. may be able to introduce you to some officer who does. will you take marco with you?" "no, i don't think so, father. i don't see that he would be any use, and having a man going about with you looks as if one was being taken care of." horace caught the coach and alighted at exmouth, and hurried to the revenue officer's house. "is mr. william martyn in?" he asked the servant who opened the door. "he is not in just at present, sir; i think he went down to the river." "how long has he been home?" horace asked, delighted at the news. "he only got in last week, sir; his ship got wrecked, and mr. william turned up without any clothes, or anything except just what he stood up in." "hurrah!" horace exclaimed, to the astonishment of the woman, and then without another word ran down to the wharfs. he soon saw the figure he was in search of talking to two or three old sailors. "hullo, youngster!" martyn said in surprise, as horace came up, "where have you sprung from?" "off the top of the coach." "i suppose so. i have been having a bit of bad luck and lost my ship. we were wrecked off st. catherine's point, at the back of the isle of wight, and there were only seven of us saved among a crew of thirty-five all told." "yes, i heard from your servant you had been wrecked," horace said. "she didn't say that any lives had been lost; but i must have astonished her, now i think of it, for i said, 'hurrah!' when she told me." "what did you say hurrah for?" the mate asked gruffly. "because i wanted to find you here, and was so pleased that you were not going to sail away again directly." "no," will martyn said gloomily, "it is bad enough to have lost one's kit and everything, and now i shall have to look in greek waters. about for another berth, for i think the vessel was only partly insured, and as the owners only have one or two ships i expect it will hit them rather hard, and that they won't have another craft ready for some time, so it will be no use my waiting for that." the sailors had moved away when horace came up, so that he was able at once to open the subject of his visit to the mate. "well, that was just-what i was hoping when i heard that you were wrecked, will, for i had come over on purpose to see if you were disengaged and disposed to take a new berth." "what! is your father going in for a big yacht instead of the surf, horace?" "well, not exactly, but something of that sort. you know i told you how enthusiastic he was about greece and everything connected with it. of course he is tremendously excited about this rising out there, and he is going to send out a lot of arms and ammunition. so we have talked it over and agreed that the best thing to do would be to buy a fast schooner or brig, fit her up as a privateer, fill her with arms and ammunition, and go out, hoist the greek flag, and do what we can to help them against the turks. of course we thought at once of you to carry out the thing, and to act as captain. what do you say to it?" "the very thing i should like, horace; nothing could suit me better. mind i am not giving any opinion as to whether it is a wise thing on the part of your father; that is his busi- ness. but as far as i am concerned i am your man." "my father said you were to name your own terms. he didn't know anything about what the pay should be, but he particularly said that as it would be a service of danger it ought to be paid for liberally." "of course there will be danger," the mate said, "but that adds to the pleasure of it. if i were a married man of course i should have to look at it in a different light; but as i ain't, and have no idea of getting spliced, the danger does not trouble me. i have been getting eight pounds a month as third mate, a startling proposal and i should have got ten next voyage, as i was going second. as i shall be skipper on board this craft of yours, suppose we say twelve pounds a month." "my father expected to pay more than that a good deal," horace said; "and as everything will depend upon you it would not be at all fair to pay the same sort of pay as if you were merely sailing in a merchant's ship. however, he will write to you about it. there will be a tremendous lot to do before we start, and we want to be off as soon as possible. there is a ship to buy and fit out, and officers to get, and a crew. then we want to find out where we can buy muskets. it seemed to me that as government must have been selling great quantities, we should be able to get them pretty cheap." "i could find out all about that at the port where we fit out," will martyn said. "as for cannon, they can be had almost for taking away. there are thousands and thousands of them to be had at every port. five years ago every vessel went to sea armed. now even the biggest craft only carry a gun or two for firing signals with, unless, of course, they are going to sail in eastern waters. well, this is a big job—a different sort of order altogether to buying the surf for you. i hope it will turn out as well." "of course plymouth will be the best port to go to." "i don't know. during the war certainly either that or portsmouth would have been the best. vessels were constantly coming in with prizes; but now, i should say either london or liverpool would be the best for picking up the sort of craft we want. still, as plymouth is so much the nearest here, i should say we had best try there first. then if we can't find what we want we will take a passage by coaster to portsmouth, if the wind is favourable; if not, go by coach. but how are you off for money, because i am at dead low-water? i have got a few pounds owing to me, but i can't handle that till i get to london." "i have twenty pounds," horace said. "we didn't think, in greek waters. when i started, of going farther than plymouth; but i have some blank cheques for paying for things." "twenty pounds ought to be ample; but if we find at ply- mouth we want more i can easily get one cashed for you. i know plenty of people there." "well, when can you start, willi my father is anxious not to lose a moment." "i can start in ten minutes if my father is at home. i should want to have just a short chat with him; but i can do that while they are getting the chaise ready. our best plan would be to drive to exeter and take the evening coach going through there. there is one comes through about six o'clock, i have come down by it several times. it will take us into plymouth by twelve o'clock; so we should gain nothing if we started earlier." "well, i will go to the inn," horace said. "no; that you won't, horace. you come round with me. i expect dinner is ready by this time. we generally dine at one. my father went out in the cutter to look after a wreck four or five miles along the coast, and he said he did not expect to be back till between two and three; so we settled to dine at three. there is the cutter coming up the river now." "but you would rather be with your father alone," horace said. "not a bit of it. i have got nothing private to say to him, except to get him to let me draw twenty pounds from his agent to get a fresh rig-out with. he would like to see you again, especially as i am going to sail with you, and he may be able to put us up to a few wrinkles as to getting our powder on board, and so on. of course i have been accustomed to seeing it got in from government powder hulks. we will just walk up to the house now if you don't mind, to tell the girl to put an extra knife and fork on the table, then we will go down and meet my father when he lands." the servant looked with such strong disapprobation upon horace when she opened the door that he burst into a fit of a startling proposal. laughter. "you are thinking about my saying hurrah when i heard mr. martyn was wrecked?" he said. "well, i did not exactly mean that, only i was very glad, because i thought if he had not been wrecked he could not have shipped just at present, and i wanted him very badly." "yes, i am off again, hesba," the mate said. "going right away this afternoon. that is a bit of luck, isn't it? i have just come back to tell you to put another knife and fork upon the table, as mr. beveridge is going to dine with us; and if you have time to kill a fatted calf, or anything of that sort, do so." "lor', mr. william, you know very well there ain't no fatted calf, and if there was it would take ever so long to kill it and get some meat cooked, if it was only cutlets." "well," martyn laughed, "never mind the calf, hesba; but if dinner is short run straight down to the butcher's and get a good big tender steak, and look sharp about it, for my father will be here in a quarter of an hour." as horace had seen captain martyn (as he was by courtesy called, being in command of a revenue cutter, although only in fact a lieutenant) several times while fitting out the surf the officer knew him as he saw him standing at the top of the stairs with his son. "well, master beveridge," he said as he climbed up the stairs, "i haven't seen you since you sailed away in that little craft. i hear you did a brave deed in her, going out in that gale to rescue the crew of the caledon. it is lucky you caught will in?" he was by this time ashore and shaking hands heartily with horace. "he has come to take me away, father," will said. "mr. beveridge is going to get a fast craft to carry out arms and ammunition to the greeks, and he has offered me the com- mand." "i should not mind going myself, will. i am sorry you are off so soon; but you are likely to see some stirring scenes over there. when are you going?" so in greek waters. "we are going to start directly we have had some dinner, father. we will order a chaise as we go along. we intend to catch the six-o'clock coach at exeter, so as to get to plymouth to-night. i am going to see if we can pick up a likely craft there. if not, i shall try portsmouth and southampton, and if they won't do, london." "well, that is sharp work, will . but you have no kit to pack, so there is no difficulty about it. however, there is no time to be lost." at a quarter to four the post-chaise was at the door, and will martyn and horace started. the horses were good, and they were in plenty of time for the coach, and arrived duly in plymouth. as soon as they had breakfasted next morning they started out and went first to the shipping office of a firm known to will martyn, and there got a list of ships lying for sale in the port. "what sort of craft are you looking for, martyn?" the shipping agent said. "we have a dozen at least on our own books, and you may as well give us a turn before you look at any others." "i want a schooner or a brig—i don't much care which it is—of about a couple of hundred tons. she must be very fast and weatherly; the sort of craft that was used as a privateer in the war; or as a slaver; or something of that kind." "i have only one craft that answers to that description," the agent said; "but i should say that she was what you want. she was sent home from the west coast of africa six months ago, as a prize. of course she was sold, and was bought by a man i know. after he had got her he found she had not enough carrying power for his business. she never was built for cargo, and would be an expensive vessel to work, for she has a large sail spread, and would want so strong a crew to work her that she would never pay. he bought her cheap for that reason, and will be glad to get the price he gave for her, or if the point were pressed even to make some loss to get her off his hands. they call her a hundred and fifty, and she looks a startling proposal. a big vessel for that size. but if she had eighty tons in her hold it would be as much as she could carry with comfort." "that sounds promising," martyn said. "at any rate we will begin by having a look at her. where is she lying ]" "about three miles up the river. tide is making; so we could run up there in a sailing boat in half an hour. i will go with you myself. there is a caretaker on board. are you buying her for yourself, martyn?" the mate laughed. "as i have not captured an heiress i am not likely to become a ship-owner. no; mr. beveridge's father is fond of the sea, and has commissioned me to buy a comfortable craft that shall be at once fast and seaworthy, and i am going to command her." "well, i don't think you would find anything that would suit your purpose better than the creole. she would make a splendid yacht for a gentleman who had a fancy for long cruises." "what is her age?" the mate asked. "well, of course we can't tell exactly; but the dockyard people thought she couldn't be above four or five years old. that is what they put her down as when they sold her. at any rate she is sound, and in as good condition as if she had just come off the stocks. she had been hulled in two or three places in the fight when she was captured, but she was made all right in the dockyard before she was put up for sale. all her gear, sails, and so on are in excellent condition." "where are they?" "they are on board. as we had a caretaker, it was cheaper to leave them there and have good fires going occasionally to keep them dry than it would have been to stow them away on shore." there was a brisk breeze blowing, and in less than the half- hour mentioned by the agent he said: "that's her lying over on the farther side." "she looks like a slaver all over," martyn said as he stood ( ) f in greek waters. up to examine the long low craft. "i suppose they caught her coming out of a river, for she would show her heels, i should guess, to any cruiser that was ever built, at any rate in light winds. if she is as good as she looks she is just the thing for us." when they reached the vessel they rowed round her before going on board. "she is like a big surf" will said to horace; "finer in her lines, and lighter. she ought to sail like a witch. i see she carried four guns on each side." "yes, and a long pivot-gun. they are down in the hold now. she was sold just as she stood; but i suppose they will be of no use to you." "some of them may be," martyn said carelessly. "if we go cruising up the mediterranean it is just as well to have a gun or two on board. now let us look at her accommodation. "yes, she is a very roomy craft on deck," he went on as he stepped on board. "she has a wonderful lot of beam, much more than she looks to have when you see her on the water, owing to her lines being so fine." "she has lots of head-room here," horace said as they went below. "i thought that slavers had very low decks." "so they have," the mate said. "i expect when she took a cargo on board they rigged up a deck of planks here so as to have two tiers for the slaves; that would give them about three foot three to each tier." they spent over two hours on board. will martyn exam- ined everything most carefully, prodding the planks and tim- bers with his knife, going down into the hold and prying into the state of the timbers there, getting into the boat to examine the stern-post and rudder, and afterwards overhauling a good deal of the gear. the inspection was in all respects satisfactory. "she will do if the price will do," he said. "how much do they want for her?" "he paid fifteen hundred at the dockyard sale," the agent said; "that is ten pound a ton, with all her gear, fittings, and a startling proposal. so on, thrown in. as you see, there is the cabin furniture, and so on, all complete, except the paint. there needn't be a penny laid out on her." "well, how much will he take off!" martyn said. "fifteen hundred was anyone's price, and as she don't suit him, she won't suit many people. if he is likely to have her on his hands any time, eating her head off and losing value, he ought to be glad to take anything near what he gave for her. well, frankly, how much will he take off! business is business. i have admitted the boat will suit me; now what is the limit you are authorized to take?" "he will take two hundred less. it is a ridiculously low price." "of course it is," will agreed. "but shipping at present is a drug in the market, and this ship is practically fit for nothing but a yacht or the levant trade. i expect i could get her a couple of hundred pounds cheaper if i held off. what do you think, horace?" "i don't think it would be fair to knock down the price lower than that," horace said. "it is fair to get a thing as cheap as you can. if you try to get it for less than he will sell it for you don't get it, that is all. he is not obliged to sell, and you are not obliged to buy. still, the price is a very reasonable one, and we will take her at that. you have full authority to sell, i suppose, without reference to your principal?" "yes." "very well, then, we will go to your office. mr. beveridge will give you a cheque for thirteen hundred pounds, and you shall hand over possession." "good. it is eleven o'clock now, johnson," he said to the care-taker. "here is your money up to to-night, but from twelve o'clock to-day mr. martyn takes possession as agent for the owners, so you will take your orders from him." "you can go on as usual," will said. "we will pay you from twelve o'clock, so you will make a half-day's pay by the change." in greek waters. chapter v. fitting out. the cheque for the payment of the creole was filled up and handed over, the agent giving a formal receipt and posses- sion of the vessel, and undertaking to sign the necessary papers as soon as they could be drawn out . "you are evidently lucky about ships," william martyn said as he left the agent's office with horace. "you have got a little wonder in the surf, and there is no doubt about the creole being a bargain. when the war was going on she would have been snapped up at double the price, and would have been cheap at that. now the first thing to do is to get first and second mates. directly i have got them i can put a gang of riggers on board. i will go to the naval club, and see the list of the officers on board the ships here. i am pretty sure to know some of them, and shall find out from them whether there are any of my old messmates down here. if they don't know of any, we might hear of men to suit at the club. there are always plenty of men here and at portsmouth waiting about on the chance of meeting some officer they have served under and getting him to put in a word for them at the admiralty." "i will walk down with you to the club, but i won't go in with you; one is only in the way when people who know each other are talking. and besides, martyn, don't you think before you do anything you ought to see about your clothes?" "of course i ought; i never gave the matter a thought before. but i certainly could not put my foot on the quarter- deck of one of his majesty's ships in this turn-out. no. the first thing to do is to drop into my father's agent to draw some money. then i will go into a slop-shop and get a suit. i know a place where they keep really decent tops. a man often has to join in a hurry, and wants a fit-out at half an hour's notice. fitting out. then i can order the rest of the things at the tailor's i used to get my clothes from. ton my word, now you speak of it, i am ashamed to be going out in these things. they were an old suit that i put on when bad weather set in, and they have shrunk so that the sleeves don't come half-way down to the wrists, and the trousers are up to the ankles. as a master's mate it didn't matter so very much, for masters' mates are very often out at elbows, but as commander of the creole it is a different thing altogether." martyn was lucky in picking up the undress uniform of a lieutenant that just fitted him. "i can let you have it at that price, because i got it a bargain," the man said, "the owner came in here a few weeks ago with a man beside him. he had just come down to join his ship, which was to sail in a few hours, and as he stepped off the coach was served with a writ by a jew he had borrowed money of two or three years before. it was only a few pounds, but to make up the sum he had to sell some of his things, and this suit was among them." "and nicely you ground him down in the price, i have no doubt," martyn growled. "however, i have got the benefit of it. now, horace, i can show at the club. just take your knife out and cut this strap off the shoulder. i can't go about as a full-fledged lieutenant, though i have passed." they were walking up the main street when a voice ex- claimed: "hullo, martyn! is that you?" and a young officer shook him warmly by the hand. "why, dacent, this is luck. i am glad to see you indeed. it is three years since we ran against each other last; five since we served together in the nonpareil. what are you doing?" "i am third in the flagship here. what are you doing? i met o'connor the other day; he told me he had run across you at malta, and that you had gone into the merchant service, like so many other of our old friends." "that was so, dacent. it was of no use kicking my heels in greek waters. on shore when i hadn't the ghost of a chance of getting ap- pointed to a ship. so i had to swallow my pride and ship in a merchantman. we were wrecked at the back of the avight in the storm last week, and i have had the luck to get a fresh appointment, and that is what i am here for. i was just on my way to the club to see if i could find any of my old chums. you are just the fellow to help me. but first let me introduce mr. beveridge. he is the son of my owner. half an hour ago he completed the purchase of the craft that i am to com- mand. she is a beauty. i don't know whether you know her. she is called the creole, a schooner of a hundred and fifty tons. she is lying up the river." "i know her well enough," dacent said, as he shook hands with horace. "she was brought in here the week after i joined, i thought she was as pretty a looking craft as i ever set eyes on. i congratulate you, old fellow. there are not many things that you won't be able to show your heels to. but what line is she going to be in? she would make a fine craft for the levant trade." "that is just where we are going, dacent, but not to trade. i will tell you what we are going to do, but it must be kept dark. i don't know whether they might not look upon it as a breach of the neutrality laws. mr. beveridge is an enthusiast for the cause of greece, and we are going to take out a cargo of guns and ammunition, and then we shall hoist the greek flag, and do a little fighting on our own account with the turks as a greek privateer. "by jove, i envy you, martyn. that is it thousand times better than sticking in plymouth sound with nothing to do but to see the men holy-stone the deck, and fetching and carrying messages. now, what is it i can do for you?" "well, in the first place, i want a couple of officers; for choice, i would have one who has passed, and could take the command in case anything happened to me. i don't care whether the second is a mate or a midshipman who has pretty nearly served his time." fitting out. "i know just the man for you, for your first . there is. miller—you remember him?" "of course; i was with him in the minerva frigate in the west indies. he was a capital fellow. is he to be had?" "yes; i saw him only yesterday. he has been two years out of a berth, and no chance of getting a ship, and he was looking out for a berth on board a merchantman, but he had not heard of one when i saw him. he gave me his address; here it is—the anchor inn; it is a little place not far from the dock gates. i expect jim has no money to spare. his father is a clergyman near falmouth. i asked him why he didn't look for a ship there. he laughed, and said he didn't mind shipping into the merchant service anywhere else; but he shouldn't like to do it so near home, after swaggering about there in the king's uniform." "i will go down at once. it is just one o'clock, and we are likely to catch him in." "well, will you and your friend dine with me at the club at six o'clock, martyn we can chat there better than we can on board, and we have lots to tell each other since we last parted." the invitation was accepted, and then martyn and horace set off to find the anchor. "there is one thing i have not asked you," the former said, as they went along. "how about prize-money because you know that makes a good deal of difference. i don't suppose there will be much to be got, because there are not many craft flying the turkish flag, and the seas will be swarming with greek craft who are half-pirates even in time of peace. still we may capture a turkish man-of-war brig or something of that sort, and she may have treasure on board such as pay for the troops. i suppose we should share according to the ordi- nary privateer scale." "certainly," horace said. "my father has no idea of mak- ing money by the thing, and i can certainly promise that he will agree to the usual scale whatever it is." in greek waters. "that is right . i thought that it would be so, and, indeed, although officers might go without, you would hardly get men to risk their lives unless there was a chance of prize-money." "it would not be fair to ask them to do so," horace said. "of course that would be understood. all these sort of ar- rangements are in your hands. my father particularly said so; he really knows nothing about these matters. you must make all these arrangements just as if you were the owner, and please arrange what you consider liberal terms to every one. my father has made up his mind to spend a certain sum of money which he has long laid by for the purpose, and i am sure we are more likely to succeed in helping the greeks if everyone on board is quite contented and happy. oh, there is the inn; i won't go in with you. you had much better talk it over with him by yourself." ten minutes later martyn came out with a short square- built young fellow of about his own age, with a good-humoured merry face, which was at present beaming with satisfaction. "that is all settled," martyn said. "mr. beveridge, let me introduce to you mr. james miller, first lieutenant of your father's schooner, the creole." "it is a perfect godsend," miller said, as he shook hands with horace. "i began to despair of getting a ship here, and i am precious glad now i didn't, for i should have been mad if i had met martyn, and found i had missed this chance. it will be glorious fun, and it looked as if one were never going to have a chance of that sort of thing again." "and he knows of a young fellow who will suit us for our second," martyn said, "jack tarleton. he was with us in the minerva. i remember him only as a jolly little mid. i had just passed then, and he was the youngest; but he lives close to miller, and he says he has grown up into a fine young fellow. he is about nineteen now. he has not passed yet, for he was laid on the shelf four months before his time was up, and not having passed, of course he is even worse off than either of us. not that it matters so much to him, for his father has an fitting out. estate; but as jack is the second son, and loves his profession, he is so anxious to be afloat again that he told miller the other day he would ship before the mast if he could not get a berth before long. miller will write to him this afternoon, and he will be here to-morrow night or next morning. i have asked him to come round and have lunch with us at the falcon. mr. beveridge and his father sail with us, miller, in the double capacity, as i understand, of owners and fighting men." horace laughed. "in the first place, i am not going to be called mr. beveridge or mr. anything," he said. "i shall be regarded as a sort of third officer, and do my work regularly while we are at sea. i know a little about sailing already," he said to miller, "so i sha'n't be quite a green hand." "no, indeed," martyn said. "horace, if i am to call him so, has got a fifteen-ton yacht i picked up for him, and a first-rate little craft she is. he went out in a big gale last winter, and rescued the crew of a wreck, the celadon. "i saw it in the paper," miller said warmly, "and thought what a plucky thing it was. that is capital. then you will be like one of ourselves. well, what are you going to do first, martyn?" "first we are going to lunch . then you will write your letter to tarleton and post it. after that we will charter a boat and go up and look at the creole again. you haven't seen her yet, and we haven't seen her since the purchase was concluded, and a craft always looks different when you know she is yours. after making an overhaul we will go ashore to the nearest yard and arrange for her to be docked, and her bottom cleaned and scrubbed; i expect it wants it pretty badly. that will be enough for to-day. as soon as she is in the water again we will set a gang of riggers at work. i shall take charge of that part of the business, and i will leave it to you to hunt up a crew. we have got a boatswain. at least i have no doubt we have." "how many men are you going to take, martyn?" "she mounts four guns each side and a long tom—i don't in greek waters. know what the metal is yet—and she is heavily sparred. of course she hasn't got her topmasts in place, but her masts are very long, and i have no doubt she shows a good spread of sail; those craft always do. we shall want a strong crew, for, if we fight at all, it will be against craft a good deal bigger than ourselves. there is any amount of room on the main deck, where they carried the slaves. of course we needn't settle at present, but i should say we ought to carry from forty to fifty men." "i think we ought certainly to have a strong crew," horace said, "so as to be able to land a strong party if we wanted to; the extra expense would be of no consequence." "we must pick our men, miller—smart active fellows, and, of course, men-of-war's men for choice. if we can't get enough here, we will sail her round to portsmouth and fill up there. there ought to be plenty of prime seamen to be had. they would jump at the chance of sailing in such a craft as ours." miller was delighted with the ship, and they now especially examined the cabin arrangements. the saloon ran across the stern of the ship. it was handsomely fitted up in mahogany. leading off this, on the port side, was a large cabin that had evidently been the captain's. this, of course, would be mr. beveridge's. on the starboard side were three cabins. next to these was the steward's pantry and cabin; and facing this, on the port side, two other state-rooms. "it could not have been better if it had been built for us," miller said. "there are three cabins on the starboard side. horace will take one of the three, i suppose, and that will leave a spare cabin in case we take a passenger we are likely to want." "what are you thinking of, miller?" "i was thinking that as we are going to fight, it is not by any means impossible that some of us or the men may be wounded." "i should certainly say it was quite possible," martyn laughed. "well, you see as long as it is only a clip from a cutlass fitting out. or a flesh wound through the arm, i fancy we might patch it up between us with a bit of plaster and a bandage; but if it comes to an amputation or getting a bullet out of the body, or anything of that sort, who is going to do it?" "by jove! you are right, miller. i had not thought of that. i am afraid we shall have to take a surgeon with us. it would never do to go into action in the levant, where there is no chance of finding an english doctor, without having at least a surgeon's-mate on board." "of course not," horace agreed; "that is an absolute neces- sity. will you see about it at once, please." "there is no difficulty in getting surgeons," martyn said. "of course young fellows who have just done walking hos- pitals are as plentiful as peas; but we had better get hold of a man who has been knocking about for a few years in the navy, and who has had some experience in gunshot wounds. there must be plenty of good men about, for they have suffered just as we have by the reduction. i will speak to dacent about it this evening, and get him to ask one of the naval surgeons here if he knows a man. one or other of them is almost sure to do so. well, the spare cabin will be for him. so now we are fixed completely." "we shall have to take off a little bit from the main deck, because my father's two greeks will certainly come with us. only one can sleep in the steward's cabin, so we shall want a small cabin for the other and a place for cooking. they are first-rate cooks, both of them; and i expect they will undertake the cooking altogether for us." "that can very easily be managed," martyn said. "we can knock a door through this bulkhead, and run another bulkhead up across the deck, seven or eight feet farther forward. i have not forgotten that greek's cooking; and if we live on board this craft as you did on the surf, i can tell you, miller, we needn't envy an admiral." "well, i like a good dinner, i must own, martyn, though i can do with salt-horse if necessary." in greek waters. "but are you sure, horace," martyn said, "that your father wouldn't prefer having the cabin astern all to yourselves when we are about it we could put the bulkhead farther forward, and make a ward-room for us." "no, i am sure he would not wish that," horace said, "i will write to him when we get ashore and ask him; but i am sure he would find it more pleasant our being all together, and it would be much better for him than being by himself. my father is a great scholar," he explained to miller, "and is always poring over books, i am sure it will do him a lot of good getting away from them altogether and being with people. be- sides, that private cabin of his is a good size, and there will be plenty of room for him to have a table and an easy-chair in it whenever he is disposed to shut himself up. however, i will hear what he says." after leaving the ship a visit was paid to one of the ship- building yards, and arrangements made for the creole to be brought into dock at high-tide. on getting back to the inn horace wrote to his father on the various questions that had arisen, and then to marco, telling him to come over by coach, and to bring tom burdett with him. they then went to dine at the club with dacent, who entered with great zest into their arrangements. "i can't tell you what is your best way of setting about getting the arms; but i should say go to durncombe's. they are by far the largest ship-chandlers here, and i should say that they could supply anything from an anchor to a tallow-dip. they must have fitted out innumerable privateers, and bought up the stores of as many prizes. they may not be able to supply you with as many small-arms as you want; but if you give them an order for a thousand cannon, i have not a doubt they could execute it in twenty-four hours, and that at the price of old iron. as to the muskets, they could no doubt collect a big lot here, and get more still from portsmouth. those of course would be principally ship's muskets, no longer wanted or taken from prizes. i don't suppose they would get enough, and of fitting out. . course you would want them in fair condition; but they would put advertisements for them in the birmingham papers, or, likely enough, would know firms in birmingham who had bought up muskets sold out of the army." "what do they buy them for?" horace asked. "oh, they contract for the supply of those south american states, for trade in africa and the east, or for the supply of the armies of native princes in india. i think, if i were you, i would not go to him direct, but would get the agent you got the creole from to undertake it, and get the terms settled. he would get them a good bit cheaper than you could." "no doubt he would," martyn agreed, "especially if we agreed to pay him so much for getting it, instead of so much commission. when a man gets a commission he has no interest in keeping the price down; just the contrary. i will ask him casually, to begin with, what is the cost of muskets in fair con- dition, and at what price we could pick up guns—say six, eight, and twelve pounders—complete, with carriages." "i don't know about the carriages, martyn; but i know the guns fetch less by a good bit than their weight of old iron. they cost more to break up, in fact, than they are worth; and they are using them for posts, and things of that sort, for the sake of getting rid of them. i should say that you could get a couple of hundred guns of those sizes to-morrow for a pound apiece, and i believe that you might almost get them for the trouble of carting away, for they are simply so much lumber. powder is a glut in the market too. i should say hundreds of tons have been emptied into the sea in this port alone, for when the merchant skippers found they no longer required to carry it, it was cheaper for them to throw it overboard than to get rid of it in any other way." when they returned to the falcon that evening they found miller had shifted his quarters there from the little inn in which he had been staying, and two days later jack tarleton also arrived there. he was a good-looking young fellow, nearly six feet in height, slight at present, but likely to fill out, in greek waters. with a somewhat quiet manner, but, as horace soon found, a quick appreciation of the humorous side of things and a good deal of quiet fun. on the same day marco arrived with tom burdett, who was delighted when horace disclosed the project to him. "i should think i would like to go, mr. horace. why, bless you, i have been feeling almost as if i was rusting out at sea- port, except when you were at home. why, it will be like giving one a fresh lease of life to get at one's own work again." he was at once installed on board the creole, which on that day had been let out of the dock again with her copper scrubbed until it shone like gold. miller had as yet had no time to see about the men, and tom at once undertook this part of the business. "i know every tavern down by the waterside and the places where men are likely to be found. i will soon pick you up some prime hands. if i can't get enough of them here, i will take a run to bristol. there is a big trade there, and there will be plenty of men-of-war's-men to be had for the asking for such a job as this." "how about seaport, tom?" horace asked. "well, we will take dick; but there are not many i would care about having from there. they are good enough in their fishing-boats, but i would rather have men who are accustomed to bigger craft. besides, though fishermen are good sailors in some ways, they are not accustomed to discipline, and are al- ways slovenly in their way of doing things. besides, if i per- suaded young fellows to come from there, and any of them got killed, their fathers and mothers would look black at me when i got back. no, i don't think i will have anyone but dick." by this time a letter had come from mr. beveridge in answer to horace's letter. "i quite agree with you," he said, "that the officers should be paid fairly. i see that, as you say, it is not a thing that you could very well arrange with them. will you tell mr. martyn, from me, that the terms i propose are twenty guineas a month fitting out. for him, eighteen for the second officer, and fifteen for the third; and that, in case of any of them losing a limb or being disabled, i shall settle upon them a pension the same as that to which they would have been entitled at their rank in the navy in the same case. the ship appears to me to be wonderfully cheap. i knew nothing about it, but quite expected that it would cost three times as much. certainly i should not wish for them to have a separate cabin. it will be much more plea- sant for me, if not disagreeable to them, for us to live together. as for what you say about prize-money, tell mr. martyn to arrange as he proposes, according to the ordinary usage in priva- teers. it is a matter to which i have given no thought, but he shall give me the particulars when we meet. as you know, i have no intention of making profit out of the enterprise." two days later martyn told horace that dacent had intro- duced him to one of the surgeons, who knew a young doctor who would, he thought, suit, "his name is macfarlane; he is, of course, a scotchman—most of the naval doctors are either irish or scotch. he sailed with him as surgeon's-mate in a large frigate, where they had a good deal of experience in wounds, and he has a high idea of his skill. he is a very quiet sort of fellow, but a pleasant messmate. he has been full surgeon for some time now. his ship was paid off a fort- night ago, and the man who told me of him had a letter from him a few days since, saying that, as he had no interest he thought that he had but little chance of getting afloat again, and asking him to let him know if he heard of any opening, either ashore or in an indiaman. he thought he would suit us very well, so i said that i would speak to you about it." "i should think that will be just the thing, martyn." "very well, then, i will see the surgeon to-morrow, and get him to write and offer him the berth at the regular naval rate of pay. of course we sha'n't want him to join till we are ready to sail." some days later a reply was received, accepting the berth. for the next fortnight work proceeded rapidly. stores of all or, in greek waters. kinds for the voyage were brought on board and stowed away. sixty cannon were stowed down in the hold, with thirty car- riages for them, the latter taking up too much room to be car- ried for the whole of the guns. eight twelve-pounders, in place of the eight-pounders before carried by her, and a long eighteen- pounder were placed in the hold in readiness to mount on deck when they reached the levant. the riggers and painters had finished their work, the decks had been planed and holy- stoned until they were spotlessly white, and the tall spars and gear were all in their place. the guns had cost only about as much as miller had said, and they could have obtained any number at the same price. the agent had made a contract with the ship's chandlers for five thousand muskets complete with bayonets, in good order, and delivered on board, at ten shillings each. some five hundred of these had been collected, and—after passing muster, by an armourer sergeant martyn engaged for the purpose—put on board. the rest were to be sent by canal from birmingham to liverpool, and thence shipped round to plymouth. five tons of gunpowder in barrels, twenty tons of shot for the cannon, and two hundred thousand rounds of ammunition for the muskets were also arranged for. these were to be shipped at the last moment from magazines at the mouth of the sound. below, everything had been done to make the cabins as com- fortable as possible, and dacent declared that she was alto- gether too neat and comfortable for anything but an admiral's yacht . tom burdett had picked up at plymouth twenty-five smart sailors, all of whom had served in king's ships; and then, going to bristol, had brought as many more from there. uni- forms, closely resembling those of men-of-war sailors, had been served out to them, but instead of the straw hat they wore red woollen caps. the officers had only to exchange their navy buttons for others with an anchor to be complete; horace had donned similar attire. it was just three weeks after horace left home that he wrote to his father saying that all was now in readiness, and that fitting out. they could sail within an hour of his arrival. they were at once going out to take their powder on board, and would remain at anchor off the magazines, and that he himself should be at the falcon when it was time for the first coach to arrive after the receipt of his letter, and should remain there until his father came. mr. macfarlane, the surgeon, arrived by the coach that evening, and was put down at the falcon. martyn and horace went out when they heard the coach stop. "that is the doctor, for a guinea," martyn said, as a tall bony man climbed down from the roof, and began very care- fully to look after his luggage. "i think you must be doctor macfarlane?" he said, going up to him. "my name is martyn." "i am very glad to see you, captain martyn," the doctor said; "i take it as a sign that i shall have a pleasant time that my commander should meet me as i get off the coach." "i am captain only by courtesy, and shall hardly consider that i have got my brevet rank till we hoist the flag to-morrow. this is mr. beveridge, the owner's son, he will sail with us as third officer. i have ordered a room for you, doctor. boots will carry your things up." "thank you; i will see to them myself, and join you in the coffee-room. i am not fond of trusting to other folk;" and he followed the servant upstairs with his baggage. martyn laughed as he wept into the coffee-room with horace. "cautious you see, horace, and right enough to be so; i think we shall like him. there is a pleasant tone in his voice, and i have no doubt he will turn out a good fellow, though, perhaps, rather a character." the doctor soon came down. "eh, man," he said, "but it is weary work sitting with your legs doubled up all those hours on a coach. four-and-twenty hours it is since i got up at salisbury. and so, mr. beveridge, we are going out to fight for the greeks. i misdoubt, sir, if they will do much fighting for themselves. i was three years east of malta. there is good in them, we may take it that there ( ) o in greek waters is good in them, but it is very difficult to get at; at least that was my experience." "they have not had much chance, i think, doctor, so far." "and how large is your ship, captain martyn?" the doctor said, changing the subject suddenly. "they call her a hundred and fifty, but she has a light draught of water and would not carry that, yet she has excel- lent accommodation below, as you will say when you see her to-morrow." the conversation then turned on naval matters, and the stations and ships that both martyn and the doctor knew; and when they separated for the evening martyn and horace agreed that the doctor was likely to be a pleasant acquisition to their party. marco had been intrusted with the entire charge of laying in stores for the cabin, and these had arrived in such profusion that will martyn had demanded whether he was victualling the ship with cabin stores for a voyage round the world. it had been given out that the ship was bound for lisbon, but the news of her destination had gradually leaked out, al- though pains had been taken to get the military stores on board as quietly as possible. sympathy with greece was general, however, and although the young officers were quietly joked by their naval acquaintances as to their cargo for portugal, no official inquiries were made on the subject. "i sha'n't be sorry, horace," will martyn said, as they were rowed off in the gig for the last time before getting up anchor, "when we get some of our heavy stuff out of her. one way or another she will have a hundred and twenty tons of stuff on board when we have taken in our powder, and though i don't at all say that she will be overladen she will be a foot too low in the water to please me, and she wouldn't be able to do her best if she were chased in her present trim." "the little difference in speed won't matter much on our way out," horace said. "no, not as to time, of course, a day more or less is no fitting out. matter; still, one always likes to get all one can out of one's ship, horace, and it is a triumph to slip past other craft. if you have a slow craft you don't mind whether other things leave you behind in an hour or two hours; you jog along and you don't worry about it; you are like a man driving a heavy cart. but when you are in a crack schooner you are like a man on the road with a fast horse and a light gig, you expect to go past other things, and you like to do it in good style." "well, nothing will beat her in looks, i think, will." "no, that is quite certain. she is a picture." everything was done on board the creole in man-of-war fashion. tarleton stood at the top of the ladder to receive the captain as he came on board. he touched his cap to martyn, who touched his in return. "everything ready for getting under weigh, mr. tarleton?" "everything quite ready, sir." "then shorten the chain a bit; man the capstan." jack tarleton gave the order. tom burdett's boatswain's whistle rang out loudly; the capstan-bars were already fixed, and a dozen men ran merrily round with it till the whistle sounded again. "the anchor is short, sir," tarleton sang out to martyn. "very well, leave her so, mr. tarleton. will you make sail, mr. miller?" the orders were given, the mainsail, foresail, and fore-staysail hoisted, and the jibs run out on the bowsprit. as soon as the halliards were belayed and coiled down, the capstan-bars were manned again, and the anchor weighed. the tide had just turned to run out, there was a gentle breeze blowing, and as the two jibs were run up the creole began to steal through the water. "port your helm!" martyn said to the man at the wheel; "let her come round easy. slack off the main-sheet; that will do now. get her topsails on her, mr. miller." horace looked up with a feeling of pride and delight at the cloud of white sail and at the smart active crew, all in duck in greek waters. trousers, blue shirts, and red caps. once out of the river the sheets were hauled in, the yards of the fore-topsail were braced as much fore and aft as they would stand, and the creole turned her head seaward, looking, as martyn said, almost into the wind's eye. the red ensign was flying from the peak of the mainsail, and from the mast-head a long pennant bearing her name. "she is slipping through the water rarely, miller," will martyn said, as he looked over the side. "yes, she is going six knots through it, and that, considering how close-hauled she is and that the wind is light, is won- derful." "she would go a good knot faster," martyn said, "if she had fifty tons of that stuff" out of her. those slavers know how to build, and no mistake, and i don't think they ever turned out a better craft than this." it was not until late in the afternoon that the creole dropped anchor off the magazine, where she was to take in her powder, as martyn ran her out twenty miles to sea and back again to stretch her ropes and, as he said, let things shape down a bit . when the trip was over there was not a man on board but was in the state of the highest satisfaction with the craft. both close-hauled on the way out and free on her return they had passed several vessels almost as if these had been standing still, going three feet to their two; and although there was but little sea on, there was enough to satisfy them that she had no lack of buoyancy, even in her present trim. as soon as the anchor was down and the sails stowed marco announced that dinner was ready, for all had been too much interested in the behaviour of the schooner to think of going down for lunch. it was the first meal that they had taken on board beyond a crust of bread and cheese in the middle of the day, and as they sat down, will martyn taking the head of the table, horace, as his father's representative, facing him, and the others at the sides, miller said with a laugh, as he looked at the appointments, all of which had been sent over fitting out. from the house two days before by zaimes: "this is rather a contrast, martyn, to the cockpit of a man-of-war." "rather. i never did dine with an admiral, but this is the sort of thing that i have always fancied it would be if it had entered into the head of one to invite me. what do you think, tarloton?" "i feel shy at present, sir, and as if i oughtn't to speak till spoken to." "you will be spoken to pretty sharply if you say 'sir' down below. on deck, as we agreed, we would have things in man- of-war fashion; but we are not going to have anything of that sort when we are below together." the dinner was an excellent one, and though the expectations of miller and tarleton had been raised by martyn's encomiums of the greek's cooking they were far surpassed by the reality. "it is a dinner fit for a king," martyn said when the cloth was cleared away and a decanter of port placed on the table. "there is one misfortune in it. if this sort of thing is going to last we shall never be fit for service in an ordinary craft again, we shall become sybarites. is this the sort of dinner you always have at home, horace?" "about the same, i think," horace laughed. "my father takes no exercise and has not much appetite, and i think he likes nice things; and it is one of the greek's great aims in life to tempt him to eat. we always have a very good cook, but zaimes insists on having a few little things of his own cooking on the table, and as he is generally at war with the cook, and they leave in consequence about every three or four months, he often has the dinner altogether in his hands till a fresh one arrives, and i am amused sometimes to see how zaimes fidgets when my father, which is often the case, is so occupied with his own thoughts that he eats mechanically and does not notice what is before him. zaimes stands it for a minute or two and then asks some question or makes some observation that calls my father's attention back to what he is doing. they have both been with him for two-and-twenty years and are devoted to in greek waters him. they are hardly like english servants, and talk to him in a way english servants would not think of doing. they are always perfectly respectful, you know, but they regard them- selves, as he regards them, as friends as well as servants." "well, gentlemen, we will drink the usual toast, 'the king, god bless him;' that is duty. now fill up again, here is 'suc- cess to the creole.'" when the toast was drank martyn went on: "how did your father pick them up, horace?" "it was just after he went out to greece, which was directly after he left college. he was at samos, and got leave from the turkish governor to visit the prison. in one of the cells were zaimes and marco, who was then a boy about sixteen. they were condemned to death; they had been smuggling, and a turkish boat had overhauled them. they had resisted. four of the men with them had been killed in the fight, and several of the turks. these two had been both severely wounded and made prisoners. my father was new to that sort of thing then. after he had been a year or two in greece he knew that it would take a king's fortune to buy out all the prisoners in the turkish jails, but being only out there a month or two he was touched at the sight of the two prisoners. they were both very handsome, though, of course, pale and pulled down by their wounds and imprisonment, and zaimes, who was the spokesman, had that courteous gentle manner that my father says all the greeks have when they are not excited. "at any rate he was very much interested and went off to the governor again, and the turk was glad enough for a bribe of a hundred pounds to give him an order for the release of the two prisoners, on condition that they were to be let out after dark and at once put on board a craft that was sailing at daybreak next morning. my father went with them, and after that they absolutely refused to leave him, and travelled with him in greece for sometime and fought very pluckily when some klephts once tried to carry him away into the mountains. then he bought a small craft and established his fitting out. head - quarters at mitylene, and for a year lived there and cruised about the islands. when he came home he offered the felucca to them, but they refused to take it, and begged so hard for him to take them home with him that he agreed to do so, and they have proved invaluable to him ever since." "your father is lucky in having got hold of two such men," martyn said. "i believe the lower order of greeks are fine fellows in their way. they are quarrelsome and passionate, no doubt, and apt to whip out their knives at the smallest pro- vocation, and there is no trade they take so kindly to as that of a bandit; otherwise i believe they are honest hard-working fellows. but as for the upper class of greeks, the less i have to do with them the better. when they get a chance they grind down their countrymen a deal worse than the turks do. they are slippery customers and no mistake. i would rather take a turk's simple word than a solemn oath from a greek." "no; veracity is hardly one of their conspicuous virtues," the doctor put in quietly. "i take it that the ancients were so accustomed to swear by their gods, even after they had ceased to believe in them, that they came to consider that an oath by them was not binding, and so got into the way of lying gener- ally, and their descendants have never amended their ways in that particular since. on more than one occasion, when there was trouble between our sailors and the greeks, i attended their courts, and for good downright hard swearing i never heard them approached. i don't wonder that the turks refuse to allow christians to give evidence in their courts. we shall see when we get out, but i have grave doubts whether there has been any revolution at all, and whether it is not a got-up thing altogether, just to see what the rest of the world says to it.' the others laughed. "there is one thing, doctor," miller said; "we have heard from europeans who are out there of what has been done, it docs not come from the greeks only." "that is a confirmation, certainly, but it is well known that travellers' tales must always be received with caution. it has in greek waters. been so since the days of herodotus. when a man gets away from his own country he is apt to get a certain looseness of the tongue. we will wait until we get out there before we form any strong opinion about it." by this time they had finished their coffee, and martyn, rising, said: "mr. tarleton, i shall be glad if you will go along the main-deck and see that the men are making themselves comfortable; to-morrow we will divide them into watches and tell them off to their stations and get things into working order." accordingly, in the morning the crew were divided into two watches, and the boat's crews told off, and then the work of getting the powder and small ammunition on board began; the latter did not take long, as it was already in a flat into which it had been discharged three days before from the coaster that had brought it from liverpool. the flat had therefore only to be towed alongside and the cases swung on board and lowered into a portion of the hold that had been divided off from the rest by thick bulk-heads to form a magazine. the ammunition and powder were all on board and stowed away, the ship was washed down, and the men piped to dinner by eight bells. the officers went down and divided the men into messes, examined the food, and saw that everything was comfortable. "more room here than there was on board the surf, dick," horace said as he stopped a moment on his rounds to speak to the young sailor. "yes, sir, one can stand upright here. but the surf was a good boat too." after dinner the men were told off to their various duties and divided into crews for the guns, when these should be in place. the first lieutenant (for it was agreed that they should be called lieutenants and not mates) and horace took the starboard watch, tarleton and the boatswain the port watch. the men were formed up, inspected, and put through cutlass drill for an hour, after which the watches by turns were ex- ercised in setting sail, reefing, lowering, and furling, so that fitting out. each man should know his place and duty. then they were dismissed. "they will be a first-rate crew when they have worked to- gether for a few days," martyn said. "i could not wish for a smarter set of men. if we meet anything about our own size i shall have no fear of giving a good account of her. i have no opinion whatever of the turks as sailors; they are good soldiers, and have always proved themselves so, but more lubberly sailors never went to sea." "well, we are not likely to meet anything else," horace said. "i don't know, lad. the greeks at the best of times are pirates at heart, and just at present they are not at all likely to be particular who they lay hands on. i saw in the paper only yesterday, they had attacked and plundered an austrian craft, and it is probable that they may have done the same to a dozen others, only as a rule they scuttle any ship they may seize and nothing is ever known about her. ships can't be too careful when they are in greek waters, and a vessel wrecked on any of the islands is looked upon as a lawful prize. there is no fear of our being taken by surprise by the turks, but i shall take precious good care that we are never caught napping when we are anchored anywhere in the greek archipelago. after dinner, horace, i will go ashore with you in the gig. i don't think it likely your father will be down by the night coach, as he would only get your letter this morning, but he may come; at any rate you have got to wait now at the falcon till he turns up." in greek waters. chapter vi under weigh. after seeing to a few matters that had been left till the last moment, will martyn returned on board again. horace dined at the club, of which he had been made an honorary member, and then went back to the falcon. to his surprise zaimes was standing at the door. "why, zaimes, how on earth did you get here? why, the coach does not get in till twelve o'clock." "no, mr. horace, but we had everything ready to start this morning. of course your letter did not come in time for us to get over to the early coach, but we were expecting it after what you wrote yesterday, and your father had concluded that it would be much more comfortable to post. he does not like being crowded, and it was doubtful whether there would be room for the two of us; and there was the luggage, so we had arranged for a post-chaise to come for us anyhow, and we started half an hour after your letter came in, and have posted comfortably. your father is in the coffee-room. he would not have a private room, as he did not know whether you would be taking him on board this evening." mr. beveridge was sitting at a table by himself, and had just finished his dinner when horace came in. he looked up more briskly than usual. "i am sorry i was not here to meet you, father," horace said; "but i did not think you could be here until the night coach." "no; i did not expect to find you here, horace, so it was no disappointment . well, you look bronzed and well, my boy, you and your friends seem to have done wonders in getting everything done so soon, i am quite anxious to see the ship. are we to go on board this evening?" under weigh. "if you don't mind, father, i would much rather you didn't go oft" till morning. i said that if you came we would break- fast early and be ready for the gig at half-past eight . they won't be expecting us to-night, and i am sure martyn and the others will like to have everything in the best possible order when you go on board. we have been expecting those boxes of books you wrote about a week ago, but they haven't turned up. it will be a horrible nuisance if, after the way we have been pushing everything forward, we should be kept waiting two or three days for them." "well, horace, the fact is i changed my mind. the four boxes were packed and in the hall. they really were very large boxes, and zaimes said: 'well, master, what you are going to do with all those books i can't imagine? where are you going to put them? why, they would fill your cabin up solid. if i were you, sir, i would not take one of them. just give yourself a holiday. don't take a pen in your hand while you are away. you will have plenty to see about and to think about, and i am sure it would do you a deal of good to give it up altogether for a time, and you will take it up freshly after- wards. besides, you will have people coming on board, and your advice will be asked, and you will have to decide all sorts of things, and you know you won't be able to bring your mind out of your books if you have them on board.' he said something like it when i first began to talk of packing, but it seemed to me impossible that i could give up work altogether; but the sight of those four great boxes staggered me. then i said: 'zaimes, this is not like that little cabin on board the yacht. this is quite a large vessel in comparison.' 'yes, sir,' he replied, 'but your cabin won't be larger than the main cabin in the surf, not so large i should fancy.' this surprised me altogether, but he assured me it was so, and pressed me so much on the matter that i at last agreed to leave them all behind." "that is a capital thing, father. zaimes was quite right. your state-room is a very nice cabin, but except that it is a in greek waters good deal more lofty, it is certainly not so large by a good deal as the main cabin in the surf; besides, if you had your books you would be always shut up there, and what i thought of all along, from the time you first spoke about coming out, was what a good thing it would be for you to have a thorough holiday, and to put aside the old work altogether." "you don't think it valuable, horace?" mr. beveridge asked wistfully. "i do, father, i think it most valuable, and no one can be prouder than i am of your reputation, and that all learned men should acknowledge the immense value of your works to greek students. but, father, after all, the number of men who go into all that is very small, and i can't see why your life should be entirely given up to them. i think that at any rate it will be a first-rate thing for you, and extremely pleasant for me, that you should be like the rest of us while we are out on this expedition. as zaimes says, you will have a lot of things to*decide upon, and we are going to lead an active, stirring life, and it is new greece we shall have to think about, and not the greece of two thousand years ago. it is your aim to raise, not the greeks of the time of miltiades, but a people who in these two thousand years have become a race, not only of slaves, but of ignorant savages, for these massacres of unarmed people show that they are nothing better; and not only to free them, but to make them worthy of being a nation again. i think, father, there will be ample scope for all your thoughts and attention in the present without giving a thought to the niceties of tho language spoken by demosthenes, so i am truly and heartily glad you decided to leave your books behind you." "i think you are right, horace; i am sure you are right; but it is a wrench to me to cut myself loose altogether from the habits of a lifetime." "and now, father, what are you going to do about clothes?" horace said, looking at him closely. "about clothes!" his father repeated vaguely. "i have brought two large boxes full with me." under weigh. "yes, father, no doubt you have clothes, but i am sure that on board ship—and you will be always living there, you know —it will be much more comfortable for you to have clothes fit for the sea. frilled shirts, and ruffles, and tight breeches, and high-heeled hessian boots, and short-waisted tail-coats are all very well on shore, but the first time you are out in a good brisk gale, you would wish them anywhere. what you want is a couple of suits, at least, of blue cloth like mine, with brass buttons, and a low cloth cap like this that will keep on your head whilst it is blowing—in fact, the sort of suit that the owner of a big yacht would naturally wear. of course when you go ashore to see any of the greek leaders, you might like to go in your ordinary dress; but really for sea you want comfortable clothes, and a good thick pea-jacket for rough weather." "perhaps you are right, horace, and i did remark that my heels left marks upon the deck of the surf." "certainly they did, father; and it would be agony to will martyn to have the beautiful white deck of the creole spoiled." "but it is too late now, it is half-past eight o'clock." "oh, i can take you to a shop where they keep this sort of thing. besides, there are twelve hours before we start, and by paying for it one can get pretty nearly anything made in twelve hours." mr. beveridge suffered himself to be persuaded. fortunately the outfitter had a couple of suits ordered by one of the officers of a ship of war in harbour nearly completed. these he agreed to alter to fit mr. beveridge by the morning, and to put on extra hands to turn out fresh suits for the person for whom they were intended. the gold lace, white facings, and other distinguishing marks would be removed, and plain brass buttons substituted for the royal buttons. two or three pairs of shoes with low heels were also obtained. the clothes came home at seven in the morning, and mr. beveridge came down to breakfast looking like the smart captain of a merchantman. "i feel as if i were dressed for a masquerade, horace," he said with a smile. in greek waters. "you look first-rate, father, and a lot more comfortable than usual, i can tell you." it was at martyn's suggestion that horace had urged his father to make a change in his attire. "it would be a good thing if you could get him to put on sea-going togs," the sailor had said, "he is the owner of as smart a craft as ever sailed out of british waters, and he will look a good deal more at home on the deck of his own ship in regular yachtsman's dress than he would rigged up in his ruffles and boots." with this horace had agreed heartily, for his father's ap- pearance on occasions when he had gone out with him in the surf had struck him as being wholly incongruous with the surroundings. at half-past eight they went down to the steps, two porters carrying the luggage under the watchful eye of zaimes. as they were seen, the smart gig with its six rowers, which was lying a short distance off, rowed in to the steps. tarleton was steering. he stepped out to hand mr. beveridge into the boat . "this is mr. tarleton, father, our second lieutenant." "i am glad to meet you, sir," mr. beveridge said, shaking hands with the young officer. "i hope that we shall have a pleasant cruise together." "i feel sure we shall, sir. if one couldn't be comfortable on board the creole, one couldn't be comfortable anywhere." tarleton took his seat in the centre to steer, with mr. beveridge and horace on either side of him, zaimes and the luggage were placed in the bow. the bowman pushed the boat off with the boat-hook. the oars, which had been tossed in man-of-war fashion, fell with a splash into the water, and then with a long steady stroke the gig darted away from the steps. "this is certainly very pleasant," mr. beveridge said as they threaded through the anchored craft and made their way seaward. "i begin to wish i had taken up yachting twenty years back." under weigh. ill "well, it is not too late, father. when we have done with greece, you can go in for amusement if you like." "i should never find time, horace." "oh, you could make time, father. you could spare three months in the year and be all the better for it. when you have once had a break, you will find how pleasant it is." half an hour's row and horace said: "that is the creole, father, lying in there near the farther point." "she doesn't look as large as i expected, horace, though her masts seem a great height." "she is heavily sparred for her length," tarleton said, "but she has great beam; besides she is rather low in the water now, and of course that makes the spars look big in proportion. she will be a bit higher by the time we get out. fifty men con- sume a considerable weight of stores and water every week. you will be pleased with her, sir, when we get alongside. we all think she is as handsome a craft as we ever set eyes on. she will astonish the turks, i warrant, when it comes to sailing." another twenty minutes they were alongside. according to naval etiquette horace mounted the ladder first, then tarleton, and mr. beveridge followed. martyn and miller received him at the gangway, the former introducing the first officer and the surgeon to him. "she is a fine-looking vessel," mr. beveridge said, " and you have certainly done marvels with her, captain martyn, for my son wrote me that she had nothing but her lower masts in her when you took possession, and now she is wonderfully bright and clean, and these decks look almost too white to walk on." "i hope that we shall always keep her in equal order, sir. we have a capital crew, and no one could wish for a better craft under his feet." mr. beveridge was now conducted round the ship, and expressed himself highly gratified with everything. "is it your wish that we should make sail at once, sir?" martyn asked. "we have been expecting some heavy luggage on board, but it has not arrived." in greek waters. "i changed my mind about it, and there is nothing coming, captain martyn. i am perfectly ready to start if you have everything on board." "there is nothing to wait for, sir; we are perfectly ready." they returned to the quarter-deck, and as martyn gave the orders there was a general movement on the part of the crew. some of the men clustered round the capstan, while others prepared to make sail, and mr. beveridge felt a keen sense of pleasure as he watched the active fellows at their work. in five minutes the sails were set, the anchor at the cat-head, and the creole moving through the water under the light breeze off shore. they had favourable winds across the bay and down the coast of portugal. everything from the start had gone as smoothly as if the creole had been six months in commission —officers and men were alike pleased with the ship; the pro- visions for the sailors were of the best quality; the duties were very light, for the sails had not required altering from the time they had been set, although each day the men practised for an hour at lowering and setting them, in order to accustom them to work smartly together. there was half an hour's cutlass drill, and for the rest of the day, beyond cleaning and polishing, there was nothing to be done. mr. beveridge spent the greater part of his time in a comfortable deck-chair on the quarter-deck, for there was no poop, the deck being flush from end to end . horace attended to his duties as third officer regularly, and the nights were so warm and pleasant that the watches did not appear long to him. there was no stiffness in the cabin when they gathered to their meals, or in the evening, and mr. beveridge proved in no way a wet blanket on their fun, as the three officers had rather anticipated he would be. he talked but little, but was thoroughly amused at their yarns and jests, all of which were as strange to him as if he had lived in another world . "you will certainly have to cut off our rations a bit, mr. beveridge," will martyn said one day as they finished dinner. under weigh. "we shall be getting as fat as porpoises if we go on like this. i can feel my togs filling out daily; and as for tarleton, he will have to have all his things let out by the time we arrive in the levant. for the credit of the ship i shall have to give orders for us to be supplied with the same rations as the men, and go in for luxuries only on sundays. we are not accus- tomed to be tempted in this way at every meal. it is all very well for you who do not eat much more than a sparrow to have such nice things always put before you; but to us who have been accustomed to a steady diet of salt junk, except when we put into port and are able to get fresh meat for a change, these things are beyond our power of resistance." "i eat a great deal more than i did on shore," mr. beveridge said, "i find, indeed, a wonderful improvement in my appetite. it was quite an infliction to zaimes that i cared so little for the good things he provided me with. i can assure you i really begin to look for my meals now, and it is a pleasure for me to see you all eat with good healthy appetites, and i am sure that it must be a great gratification to the greeks to see their efforts appreciated at last." "it is tarleton i am thinking of principally, sir; as for miller, nature made him square, and it would be no disadvan- tage if he became round; while as to the doctor, food is simply wasted on him, he will never do credit to your cooks. but tarleton, with those dark eyes of his and his gentle sort of way, was what the ladies would consider an interesting youth, and he would, i am sure, forfeit the good opinion of the ladies altogether if he were to return looking like a mildly animated sausage." tarleton joined in the laugh. "i do think i have gained a lot in weight the last week," he said; "but we won't always go on in this quiet sort of way. as for what martyn says, i believe it is only jealousy on his part at seeing that my angles are filling out." on arriving at the straits they put in at ceuta and obtained a supply of fresh meat and vegetables. in the mediterranean ( ) h in greek waters. they fell in with dead calms and were a fortnight in getting to gozo, where they again replenished their stock. they abstained from putting in either at gibraltar or malta in order to avoid being questioned as to the cargo and destination of the creole. "now, sir," will martyn said when they were within two days' sail of greece, "it is quite time to decide what port we shall make for, but we can't decide that until we know how matters are going on. when we left england there were very conflicting accounts of the progress of the revolution, and whether corinth, patras, nauplia, or athens are in the hands of the greeks or turks. well, i should say, sir, that our best plan would be to put in at zante, where, as it is english, and therefore neutral ground, we shall learn all about the state of affairs, and may meet some of our own people or foreigners who have been fighting by the side of the greeks. half an hour's talk with one of them would give us a better idea how every- thing stands than a week's talk with greeks." "i think that will be a very good plan," mr. beveridge agreed. "flying the english flag we might go in or out of any of the harbours as neutrals; but if by any chance it leaked out what our cargo is the turks would probably consider them- selves justified in laying hands on us." "at any rate it is well not to run the risk, mr. beveridge, as there is no object to be served by it. i will take the bearings of zante and lay our course for it." there was, indeed, no spot where they were more likely to obtain accurate news of what was going on than zante, lying as the island does at a short distance from the mouth of the gulf of corinth, upon which were three of the most important towns in greece—patras, corinth, and missolonghi. here, too, the fugitives from the morea, of either party, would naturally make their way. it was the th of october when the creole, flying the english flag at her peak, dropped anchor in the port. as soon as she did so a custom-house officer came on board. under weigh. "what ship is this ?" he asked the first officer, who was on deck . "this is the creole, a private yacht belonging to mr. bever- idge. the owner is below if you wish to see him." "you have no merchandise on board?" "i tell you that it is a yacht," miller said. "an english gentleman doesn't bring out merchandise for sale in his yacht. the captain will show you her papers." will martyn came on deck . "this is the captain," miller said, "you had better address him." on hearing what was required martyn took the officer below and showed him the ship's papers. "i see it is mentioned here that you were bound from england to lisbon," the officer observed. "yes. we did not put in there, as mr. beveridge was anxious to get into a warmer climate." "i see you are strongly armed," the officer said when he came on to deck again, for after leaving malta the eight twelve- pounders and the pivot-gun had been got up from the hold and mounted. "yes, we are armed, as you see. i imagine you would hardly recommend anyone to be cruising about in these waters without means of defence." "no, indeed," the officer laughed. "the greeks are pirates to the core. you would be all right with the turks, although from your appearance i should not think they would ever get near enough to trouble you." half an hour later mr. beveridge and horace were rowed ashore. as, except at ceuta, horace had never set foot ashore out of england, he was much amused and interested by the varied population. mingled with the native population of the island were greeks from the mainland; albanians in their white pleated petticoats, bristling with arms, mounted in gold and silver; a few english soldiers walking about as unconcernedly as if in a garrison town at home; and sailors of several nation- alities from ships in harbour. in greek waters. "i should think, father, the proper thing would be to call upon the english officer in command here and invite him to dinner. we shall get a general idea of the state of things from him." asking a soldier, they found that the small detachment there was under the command of captain o'grady, whose house, at the entrance to the barrack, was pointed out to them. the officer was in, and on mr. beveridge sending in his card they were at once shown in. "i am the owner of a schooner-yacht, the creole, that dropped anchor an hour ago," mr. beveridge said, "i know very little about the etiquette of these things, but it seemed to me the proper thing was to call at once upon his majesty's representa- tive here." "a very right and proper thing to do, mr. beveridge. i have been wondering what that craft could be, and where she had come from? if it hadn't been for the flag and the tidiness of her i should have put her down as a greek pirate, though they don't often rig up their crafts as schooners." "she has been something like a pirate in her time," mr. beveridge said, "for she was a slaver, captured and sent home as a prize. i bought her at plymouth-and fitted her out." "and a mighty nice way of spending money too, mr. bever- idge. she is the biggest thing in the way of yachts i ever saw. i don't at all see why a gentleman shouldn't buy a big ship and cruise about the world in her if he can afford it." "well, captain o'grady, i won't occupy your time now, but shall be glad if you will come off and dine with me at six o'clock to-day. i have come straight from england, and have heard nothing as to how matters stand out here. if you will bring any of your officers off with you i shall be very glad to see them." "i have only two here. mr. lester, my lieutenant, will be on duty, and i have no doubt that plunket will be very glad to come off with me if he has no special engagement, which is not likely, for it is a mighty dull life here, i can tell you, and under weigh. it is glad i shall be when the order comes to rejoin the regiment at corfu." . mr. beveridge and horace walked about for some time, and then returned on board. they met their two greeks in the town shopping, and told them that there would be guests at dinner. they met also will martyn and tarleton, who had come ashore a short time after them, miller remaining on board in charge; a good many of the men were also ashore. "i have warned them solemnly," martyn said, "against drink and quarrels, but i am afraid that to-night and to-morrow night we shall have a good many of them coming off noisy. wine is cheap, and as they haven't set foot ashore for five weeks it is not in the nature of an english sailor to resist temptation. i don't care much as long as they don't get into rows with the greeks. i have told them the boats will be ashore at nine o'clock to fetch them, and that any who are not down there by that hour will have their allowance of grog stopped for a fortnight." • it had been arranged with captain o'grady that the boat should be at the steps for him at a quarter to six. horace went in charge of it, and brought off the two officers. "you have comfortable quarters here, indeed," captain o'grady said when mr. beveridge had introduced his officers to him and his companion. "sure i would like nothing better than to travel about in a craft like this. it is like taking a floating palace about with you." but if the officers were sur- prised at the fittings of the cabin they were still more so at the excellence of the dinner. up to the time the dessert was placed on the table they chatted as to the incidents of the voyage; but when the wine had gone round mr. beveridge began questioning them. "of course you hear everything that goes on on the main- land, captain o'grady." "everything, do you say? it is well content i would be if that was all i heard; but the thundering lies that are told by those greek rapscallions are enough to take one's breath away. in greek waters. to hear them talk you would not think that such valiant men had ever lived since the days of noah; and yet, with the excep- tion of a little skirmish, all that they have done is to starve out those unfortunate heathens the turks, and then after they have surrendered on promise of good treatment, to murder them in cold blood with their women and children." "i hope that there has not been much of that," mr. beveridge said gravely. "it depends upon what you call much of it. at the very lowest estimate there have been thirty thousand murdered in cold blood since the troubles began; and some accounts put it much higher. there has not been a single exception; no- where have they spared a mussulman. the poor beggars of farmers and villagers were killed; man, woman, and child, in hundreds of villages the whole of them were destroyed without resistance; and it has been the same in all the large towns. the greeks began the work at kalamata, which sur- rendered under a solemn promise of their lives to the turks; but every soul was slain. and so it has been all along. in the district of laconia there were fifteen thousand mussulmans, and of these two-thirds at least were slain. at missolonghi there are not twenty turks alive. "atnavarino everysoul wasmurdered. tripolitza surrendered only a week ago, and i saw by a letter from colonel raybonde, a french officer, who commanded the greek artillery during the siege, that forty-eight hours after they entered the city they collected about two thousand persons, principally women and children, and drove them up a ravine and murdered them there; and altogether eight thousand mussulmans were killed during the sack. i have heard of massacres till i am sick of listening to the stories; and though at the beginning i hoped that the greeks would drive the old turks out, faith i have come to think that if i were to hear that the whole race were utterly exterminated i should feel more comfortable in my mind than i have been for some time. not content with murdering the poor creatures, in many cases the villains tortured them under weigh. first. i have heard fellows who came over here boast of it. one albanian ruffian who told me that he had done this, told me, sir, as if it were a thing to be proud of. i had the satis- faction of taking him by the scruff of his neck and the tail of his white petticoat and chucking him off the pier into the sea. when he scrambled/jut i offered him the satisfaction of a gentleman, seeing that he was a chief who thought no small beer of himself. there was a deal of difficulty in explaining to him how the thing was managed in a civilized country, and i never felt more satisfaction in my life than i did next morn- ing when i put a bullet into the scoundrel's body." a wet blanket seemed suddenly to fall over the party in the cabin as captain o'grady was speaking. horace saw that miller, who was sitting opposite to him, was undergoing an internal convulsion in restraining himself from bursting into a laugh; and will martyn, who was facing mr. beveridge at the bottom of the table, looked so preternaturally grave that horace felt that he too was struggling to repress a smile. the doctor nodded, as if to signify that it was exactly what he had expected. mr. beveridge looked deeply concerned. "i have heard something of this in england, captain o'grady, though of course the greek agents there suppress all news that would tell against their countrymen, but i did not think it was as bad as this. yet although i do not for a moment attempt to defend such atrocities, you must remember how long the greeks have been oppressed by the turks. a people who have been in slavery for hundreds of years to strangers, aliens in blood and in religion, and themselves in a very primi- tive state of civilization, except in the cities, would be almost certain in the first rising against their oppressors to commit horrible excesses. the same thing happened, although, happily, on a much smaller scale, in your own country, captain o'grady, in ' , and that without a hundredth part of the excuse that the greeks had." "true for you, mr. beveridge," captain o'grady admitted. "there's no denying that you have turned the tables on me in greek waters. there. it is mighty difficult, as you say, to hold a savage peasantry in hand." "it was the same thing in the french revolution. that again was practically a revolt of slaves, and they behaved like fiends; and the number of persons murdered—men of their own race and religion, remember—was at least as great as that of those who have been massacred here. the revolt called the jacquerie, in the middle ages, was equally ferocious, and the number of victims would probably have been as great had not the revolt been nipped in the bud. i regret deeply the conduct of the greeks; but i think it was only what was to be expected from a people naturally fierce and revengeful under the circumstances." "maybe you are right, mr. beveridge, though i did not look at it in that light before." "and who are their leaders now?" "faith, they are all leaders. one day one hears one man's name mentioned, that is hard enough to crack one's jaw; the next day he is upset and another has taken his place. every dirty little chief of brigands sets himself up as a leader, and as they are about the only chaps who understand anything about fighting they come to the front. if they only spent a twentieth part of the time in preparing for war which they do in quarrel- ling among themselves as to their share of the spoil, it seems to me they would make a much better fight than they are likely to do. there is a fellow called odysseus, which is their way of pronouncing ulysses; he used to command the mohammedan albanians under ali pasha. now he has turned round, and fights against his old master. he is one of the chief of them. then there are kolokotronis and mavrocordatos. i should say they are the two principal men just at present. then there is a chap called prince demetrius hypsilantes. he is the brother of a fellow who got up the rising up in the north of the danube, and pretends to be the head of all the greeks. demetrius says he is invested by his brother with a sort of viceroyalty over greece, and wants to have it all his own way. then - under weigh. there are the greek bishops and priests. they are pretty well against all the rest, and want to keep the peasantry under their thumb. then there are the primates; they have got a big lot of power." "do you mean archbishops?" captain martyn asked. "not a bit of it. the primates are a sort of half-and-half officers. they are supposed to be chosen by the people of their own district, and of course they are always the big-wigs, the chaps with most power and influence. once chosen they became turkish officers, collected the taxes, and were each accountable for the money and for the doings of their district. nicely they ground the people down and feathered their own nests. naturally, when the turks went they became the local leaders. the people had no one else to look to but them and the priests. in the morea these two classes have all the power in their hands. north of that we don't hear much of the primates. i don't think they had any of them there. it's the albanians and the klephts, that is the brigands, and some of the fighting clans, such as the suliots and the bands of armatoli, which are a sort of village militia, who are the back- bone of the rising. "all the chiefs are jealous of each other, and if one follow proposes a plan all the others differ from him; or if there is one of the big leaders there, and his plan is adopted, the others either march away to their homes or do what they can to prevent it from succeeding. the great thing with all the chiefs is to get spoil. the people are different; they really want to fight the turks, and to win their freedom; and it is because they see that not one of their leaders is honest, that their jealousies keep them from any common actions, and that they will not unite to form any central government, that the people have no confidence in them, but just follow one man until they get disgusted with him, and then go off to join another. "everything is wasted. the spoil they have taken has been enormous; but the people are little the better for it; it is all divided among the chiefs, and not a penny of it has gone to in greek waters. form a fund for defence. they have captured enormous quantities of ammunition, but they have fired it away like chil- dren, just to please themselves with the noise. at one place i was told by an englishman who was there that the two million cartridges they captured were all wasted in what they called rejoicings in the course of three days. what they want is a big man—a fellow who will begin by hanging a hundred poli- ticians, as many chiefs, bishops, and primates; who would or- ganize first a government and then an army; and would insist that every halfpenny taken as spoil from the turks should be paid into the public treasury. then, sir, i believe that the greeks would polish off these sleepy turks in no time, with the advantage they have in knowing every foot of the mountains, in being as active as goats, and in possessing the idea that they are fighting for freedom. mind, i don't say that the turks will beat them even as they are. the turkish pashas are as incapable as the greek leaders. their soldiers are good, but as the greeks have no regular army, and no idea of standing up to fight fair, the turks can't get at them, and the greeks can move about quickly and fall upon them at their own time; and besides, they will bring them to a stand-still by starvation. they don't care about attacking the turkish troops, but they are down like a pack of wolves on a baggage train, and if the turks venture any distance from the sea-coast they will be harassed out of their lives." "have the turks still the command of the sea? there the greeks ought to be their match anyhow." "yes, the turks still send their store-ships escorted by their men-of-war frigates and corvettes. the greeks hover round them and among them, but they take care to keep pretty well out of range of the turkish guns, and their only idea of fight- ing seems to be to launch fire-ships at them. a man-of-war was burnt while at anchor a short time back by kanaris, who is the best sailor the greeks have got. still, at present the turks are so far masters of the sea that they take their convoys where they like and can revictual their fortresses whenever they j under weigh. have the energy to do so. on the other hand, the greeks scour the seas in all directions, and not a single merchant ship fly- ing the turkish flag dare show her nose outside the darda- nelles." "is the cruelty all on one side?" horace asked. "not a bit of it. of course the turks have not had much chance yet, but when they have had they have naturally paid the greeks in their own coin. in thessaly they have put down the rising ruthlessly. but when the troops go into a place and find that the whole of their people have been murdered it is not to be wondered at that they set to to play the same game on those who began the work of massacre. the greeks hate the turks, and their object is to root them out altogether. the turks despise the greeks, but they don't want to root them out by any means, because if they did there would be no longer any revenue to collect . the turks seem to strike more at the leaders. they have strung up a lot of greeks living in con- stantinople, and as the whole affair was got up there, and the greeks were, most of them, taking the sultan's pay while they were plotting against him, it is only just that if anyone was to suffer, they should be the men. what i am afraid of is that when the news of this horrible massacre of eight thousand people at tripolitza gets known, the turks in asia minor will everywhere retaliate upon the greeks settled among them. "they can't do much in greece, for most of the people can take to the mountains; but there are almost as many of them settled in asia minor as there are here, for they are the traders and shopkeepers in every port, and i am afraid it will go mighty hard with them everywhere when the turks come to know the atrocities that have been perpetrated over here. if the greeks had thought for a moment when they began they would have seen that it was a game two could play at, and for every turk they could murder the turks had in their hands three greeks at least that they could put an end to. to my mind it is a bad business altogether. plunket will tell you that i have not put it a bit too strongly." in greek waters. "not in the least," the young officer said. "the tales these fellows tell are ghastly. we have them over here by dozens. a man is a leader one day and a fugitive the next; and they run over here till they see a chance of landing again and getting together a fresh band, and they actually make a boast of the horrible massacres they have taken a part in. if the islanders here saw their way to it they would rise against us, and as it is, it has been as much as we can do more than once to prevent their going on board neutral vessels that put into harbour with a few wretched turkish fugitives, and murdering them. the fact is, the greeks believe that they are christians, but they are just as much pagans as they were two thousand years ago. my sympathies are altogether with them in their struggle for liberty, and i try to make every allowance for their actions; and i do believe that if what o'grady says could be carried out and all their leaders, and politicians, and bishops, and pri- mates hung, the people themselves would carry on the struggle with ten times the chances of success they have at present, for they would then be forced to form a strong central government and might find some honest man to put at its head. they re- gard it in the light of a religious war rather than one for national freedom, and i suppose that at least half the mussul- mans who have fallen are of greek blood, for, especially in the north, nearly half the tribes have changed their religion and become mohammedans since their conquest." "are there many europeans fighting with them? you mentioned a french colonel commanding the greek artillery in the siege of tripolitza." "a good many. there are some austrians, frenchmen, italians, and a few of our own people. among the last is a general gordon and a naval lieutenant; but although the greeks know nothing whatever of military matters, they are jealous in the extreme of any interference or even advice from foreigners. i believe there are altogether thirty or forty foreign officers who came over to fight for them, and only two or three of these have got employment of any sort. as to any attempt to intro- under weigh. duce military discipline, or raise anything like a body of regular soldiers, it seems impossible. they believe entirely in fighting in their own way and dispersing when they choose, just as the spanish guerilla bands did during the peninsular war. in fact it seems to me that the greek character resembles the spanish very much, the peasantry in both countries being brave and animated by a patriotic hate of their enemies, while the upper class are equally vain, cowardly, given to boasting, and absolutely faithless to their promises. if we had the duke of wellington here with a couple of hundred good officers he would make the greeks into as good soldiers as he did some of the portuguese, and would as likely as not wind up the war by driving the turks out of europe altogether." at half-past ten o'clock the officers went ashore. when they had left the ship, the others returned to the cabin. "i should not take it to heart, mr. beveridge," will martyn said cheerfully, seeing how depressed his employer looked at the news he had heard . "of course the greeks have behaved badly—horribly badly; but you see it is because the poor beggars are not much better than savages, and never will be better as long as they are kept down by the turks. all these things will right themselves in time. as you said, they are no worse than the french when they rose, or than the spanish peasantry whenever they got a chance, or the irish peasantry, and we must not look at it from our own stand-point; once they are free they will get a settled government and become a nation again, and that is what we have got to help them to do. we are not going to land and take part in massacres. all we have got to do is to look out for a turkish ship of war, and pull down her colours whenever we get a chance. but even more than that, what i want specially to do as soon as we can is to get rid of some of that cargo in our hold. that is what is bothering me at present." "thank you, martyn," mr. beveridge said, holding out his hand to him. "it is trying to hear of a glorious cause being disgraced by such horrible atrocities, but the cause remains the in greek waters. same, and the atrocities are, as you say, such as have occurred among other peoples when their blood has been heated to boil- ing point. this will not shake my determination to aid greece in her struggle for freedom." chapter vil a change of name. the next two days mr. beveridge and horace spent entirely on shore. speaking modern greek fluently, they were able to converse with people of all classes from the mainland, and they learned from their reports that captain o'grady's account of the utter confusion existing from end to end of the country was in no way exaggerated. as soon as the greeks perceived that mr. beveridge was a well-wisher to their cause, and judging him from his possession of a large yacht to be a wealthy man, innumerable schemes were proposed to him, all involving his placing himself in the hands of the proposer and advancing him a considerable sum of money. these projects mr. beveridge resolutely turned a deaf ear to, his resolution being greatly strengthened by horace, who distrusted all these plausible adventurers profoundly. "we must wait, father," he said, "until we see something like a stable government in power. when it has been at work a bit, and you find that it makes its authority respected, restores order, and unites the people in a common effort, it will be time enough for you to let them have money. to give it now would simply be to waste it, and, indeed, worse than waste it, for it would only add to the struggle for power on which the greeks are wasting their strength. from all we learn the sailors of hydra, spetzas, and psara are the only men who at present are acting with any common object. as everything a change of name. depends upon crippling the turks at sea, i should think we could not do better than get rid of some of our guns and ammunition by giving them to them. if we could get rid of twenty or thirty tons of our cargo it would put us in first-rate sailing trim, and at any rate get something off our minds. then from there we could sail to athens and get the papers we require authorizing us to act as a greek privateer. of course that would be no protection to us if we fell into the hands of the turks; but we could do nothing until we get them without acting as pirates and rendering ourselves liable to be hung by any european man-of-war that might overhaul us." this course was determined upon, to the great satisfaction of william martyn; and after a stay of three days at zante sail was again set, and the creole left the anchorage. it was well that she did so, for the next day all their greek sympathies would have been insufficient to prevent their fighting on the other side. an algerine barque that had separated from the turkish fleet, which had just captured galaxidhi and had taken possession of thirty-four greek brigs, was attacked by eighteen hydriot ships. she refused to surrender, and made such a gallant resistance that the hydriots did not venture to run alongside and carry her by boarding. the algerines, knowing that if their spars were shot away they would all be killed, ran her ashore near the southern cape of zante. the fight had been witnessed by thousands of refugee moreots and zanteot peasants, who opened fire upon the alge- rines when they landed. two english officers with twenty men had gone down from the town to enforce obedience to the quarantine regulations, which were very strict. they ordered the greeks to retire, but these refused, and continued to attack the turks. the officer commanded his men to fire over the heads of the crowd, when the zanteots at once turned their muskets against them. one soldier was killed, and the rest retired into a house with the turks and defended themselves until a stronger body of english troops came down from the town and rescued them. for firing upon the troops and killing one of them five in greek waters. zanteots were afterwards tried and executed, and the lord high-commissioner issued a proclamation forbidding the entry of any turk or greek men-of-war into any ionian port . the greek commercial navy, before the outbreak of the revolution, consisted to a large extent of the shipping of the four little islands hydra, spetzas, psara, and cazos. these islands, which were small and barren, had sprung into im- portance by the wise policy of the sultans at the beginning of the eighteenth century. seeing that the exactions of their own officials rendered it impossible for the greek and mussul- man sailors to compete with those of other nations, they had exempted from all taxes and other burdens persons settling on these islands, and had allowed to them perfect self-government. the result had answered their expectations. colonies of alba- nian sailors had established themselves at hydra and spetzas, while greek seamen had settled in psara and cazos, and all four islands became populous and flourishing, owning among them nearly three hundred craft of from sixty to four hundred tons. the contrast between the population and manners of the four islands was very marked. the two albanian islands were governed by twelve primates, elected by the wealthy, while in the greek islands the government was purely demo- cratic. the albanians were by far the more sincere and honest, while the people of the two greek islands were the more courteous. all had early thrown in their lot with the revolution. the peace of had caused a great reduction in the price of grain on the continent and a fall of freights. consequently many ships remained unemployed, the prosperity of the islands diminished, and the sailors became discontented and clamorous for employment. spetzas had been the first to declare for the revolution, and had at once sent off some ships, which had captured a turkish corvette of twenty-six guns and a brig of sixteen, which, with small crews, were waiting at milos to receive the contingent of sailors from the albanian islands. the turks, expecting no attack, were taken by sur- a change of name. prise; but the first greek naval success was dimmed by the mussulman prisoners being all carried to spetzas, where some were at once murdered and the rest put to death with horrible tortures. psara quickly followed the example of spetzas, but hydra was some time before it raised the greek flag. the people were in favour of the revolution, but the wealthy ship-owners, who possessed all the power, were averse to fitting out their vessels for unprofitable service, and opposed the revolution until a popular insurrection broke out and their authority was set aside. the united fleet of the three islands, instead of attacking the turkish fleet, which was occupied in conveying store-ships to the besieged garrisons, swept the seas of merchantmen, and attacked and plundered an austrian vessel. two hydriot brigs captured a turkish ship, with a very valuable cargo, carrying, among other passengers, a recently-deposed sheikh el-islam, or patriarch of the mussulmans, and all his family. these and all on board were murdered by their captors; but the affair in the end benefited the turks, for the captors refused to conform to the regulation that had been laid down, that all booty should be the common property of the fleet . quarrels began between the sailors of the different islands, so that the fleet broke up, and was for a long time useless for any concerted action against the turks. the creole visited the three islands in succession, handing over to the authorities in each ten guns, with a considerable amount of powder and shot, a thousand muskets, and ten thousand rounds of ammunition. there was a large amount of shipping in each of the harbours, and will martyn had the creole's guns all loaded and double-shotted before entering. "there is no saying what these fellows may be up to," he remarked to horace. "seeing us giving away so large a quan- tity of valuables, they may think that we have got a gold mine on board. i don't mean to close an eye while we are in har- bour, i can tell you." mr. beveridge, personally, was received with much honour at ( ) i in greek waters. these islands, and the guns, which will martyn had taken care should be the largest of those in the hold, were dragged up by the people and placed in the batteries. the creole then crossed to the piraeus. the acropolis of athens was still held by the turks, who were closely besieged there. will martyn landed with mr. beveridge. horace told his father that he would rather not accompany him. "you will be going about and seeing people, father," he said, "and, as you say, you may have to go to other places to find some of the nominal authorities to sign documents, and so on, authorizing us to hoist the greek flag, and giving us the usual papers carried by privateers. this may take time, for you and martyn think that as the greeks themselves have no such formalities, but fight the turks just as they find them, it may be difficult for you to persuade them that letters of marque are really required authorizing the vessel, as a greek ship, to capture, burn, and destroy all turkish vessels she may meet.' "it is a mere formality, horace." "well, father, i don't think that martyn or the others look at it at all in that light, and i know they consider it absolutely necessary that we should have papers of that sort. even with such papers they say they expect there will be a lot of diffi- culty, if they take any prizes, in disposing of them, and that, unless they have papers signed by the central government, the chances are that the moment a turkish prize is brought into port, the greeks will seize it as public property, and want to cut the throats of any turks prisoners. certainly we should not stand that, and we should be in the position of having to fight the turks at sea and the greeks in port. so i should not be surprised at all if you are ten days, or a fortnight, before you can get all the papers you want. of course martyn's sig- nature will be necessary to all sort of things, and as there is no humbugging him he will be wonderfully useful to you in all sorts of ways." "but why should you not go with us too, horace?" "i would very much rather not, father. of course i am a change of name. quite with you in wishing to see greece independent, but i am so disgusted with all these stories of the horrible atrocities they have been guilty of, and at the way in which, instead of joining together to fight the turks, they are all bent only on getting power or spoil, and of behaving more like a collection of bands of brigands than a united people, that i would rather not see any more of them at present, or i shall get regularly to hate them. in a short time, i have no doubt, we shall hear of a lot of things done by the other side. we may be sure that the turks will avenge the eight thousand mussulmans who were murdered at tripolitza. we heard at zante that they had begun it, and then one thing will balance the other and i may get enthusiastic about the greeks again; but at present, father, what i should like to see is this, that the creole should be employed as a rescue ship." "how do you mean, horacev "i mean, father, that we should try to save as many of these wretched turks, and "their women and children, from massacre as we can; and on the other hand, that we should try to save as many greeks as possible from the vengeance of the turks. there ought to be lots of opportunities both ways. if we are with the greeks when they capture a turkish vessel we can buy off the prisoners. the greeks are fonder of money than even of blood, and the money will be a deal better spent that way than if wasted among the politicians, the captains of brigands, or primates, and would do good to the cause of greece by saving it from dishonour. when the greeks make a descent upon a turkish island we could send our boats ashore and take off a lot of the inhabitants, and we could do the same thing when the turks attack a greek place or island; and if either greeks or turks interfere with us at the work, i should say let us thrash them whoever they are, i consider that would be a glorious mission, and would be a credit to the flag we fly whether it is greek or english; and if i were you i should speak out to kolokotronis, or any other leader you may meet, and tell him frankly that you have come out to help in greek waters. the greeks with arms and money, but that these massacres will turn all europe against them; and that unless you are provided with an authority to take and hold all turkish pris- oners, and to protect them both from the populace and the sailors, you will withdraw altogether, and will do your best to prevent such atrocities, even if it comes to firing upon greek vessels engaged in them." "i will do so, horace," his father said in a tone of decision. "we are a match, i fancy, for half a dozen of the greek ships. they will find us a very different vessel to deal with than those slow-sailing turks. i quite approve of what you say. for the first outburst of vengeance when they rose i am willing to make every allowance; but the revenge taken by the turks at kydonia should have reminded them that there are at least a million of their fellow-countrymen in asia minor whose lives have been endangered by their atrocities. henceforth i will, as you propose, devote myself to saving life, and part of the money that i had intended for the greeks shall go to make up to the crew for any loss they may sustain by missing the chance of taking prizes. i will hoist the greek flag as i intended, and we, at least, will keep it unsullied." horace repeated the substance of the conversation to will martyn and the other two officers, who cordially agreed; for although they had, of course, heard less at zante of the details of the massacres than their employer and his son had done, they had heard enough to fill them with indignation, and to disgust them with the cause that they had come out to defend. "that will be first-rate," martyn said, "and i can foresee we shall have lots of fun, and are likely to end by fighting both parties. there will be plenty for us to do. we will see if we can't cut off some of the turkish vessels laden with greek captives for sale as slaves in the markets of alexandria; while, as for the greeks, if we slip in and save their captives they will be like a pack of wolves after their prey. if i am to go with your father, horace, you may be sure i will take any opportunity i may get of speaking out, and i reckon i will a change of name. open the eyes of some of these greek swells by the way i will give it them. i tell you what, miller: while i am away do you get up eight of those eighteen-pounders from the hold and mount them instead of the twelves. now that she has got so much of her weight out of her she can carry them well enough, and i fancy we are likely to want as heavy metal as we can mount before we have done." at dinner that day horace said: "are you thinking of changing her name, father, when you change your nationality v "i wasn't thinking of changing her name at all, horace," mr. beveridge said in surprise. "well, i thought, father, the greeks wouldn't understand the name of the creole at all. it was a good name for a slaver and did well enough for a yacht, and if we ever take her back to england i should like her to be the creole; but i think it would be better to have some name that the greeks will understand." "what name would you propose, horace?" "well, father, i have been thinking of it, and if you have no objection i should like to call her the misericwdia, 'the pity.' we came out here because we pitied the greeks, and now we pity the unfortunate people, both turks and greeks, and you have agreed that our mission shall be to save both of them from slaughter." "i think it would be a very good name, horace. the misericordia it shall be. what do you say, captain martyn?" "i think it would be a capital name, mr. beveridge," martyn said, "and the crew will fight all the better when they know what the name means and what we intend to do. sailors have no particular love for the greeks—they always regard them as treacherous beggars; and they have no particular hostility against the turks, who fought pluckily enough on our side in egypt, and have always been friendly with us. i am sure that when our fellows understand that what we are going in for is to save women and children from being murdered, whether they happen to be greeks or turks, you will find them ready to do anything." in greek waters. the next day mr. beveridge and will martyn landed, and miller set the crew at work to mount eighteen-pounders in place of the twelves, and to get the ammunition for them into the fighting magazines in place of that of lighter calibre. zaimes had accompanied mr. beveridge. marco remained on board, but had leave every morning to go on shore the first thing after breakfast, and to remain there until late in the afternoon, when he came off in time for dinner. he brought news that it was believed the turks in the acropolis could not hold out much longer, as their provisions were running very short. after an absence of ten days the party on shore re- turned, and an hour after they did so the english flag was lowered and that of greece was hoisted, while a flag with the words misericerdia replaced that of creole at the mast-head. captain martyn called the crew together. "my lads," he said, "you all knew that when we arrived here we were going to hoist the greek flag instead of our own, and that we were going to act as a greek privateer against the turks. that, you see, is done, and we are authorized by the greek government to capture or destroy any turkish vessels we may meet. you see, we have changed her name, and i will tell you why mr. beveridge has done this. we are going to fight for greece, but at the same time, as british sailors, we are not going to stand by and see men, women, and children murdered in cold blood, whether they are turks or any one else. there has been a great deal too much of this sort of thing done on both sides, and we mean to stop it as much as we can. we are going to prevent the massacre of greeks by turks, and i hope we shall manage to lay hands on some of the turkish vessels carrying greek women and children captive to sell them as slaves; but on the other hand we intend to save as many turks as we can from being massacred by the greeks, and that is the reason why mr. beveridge has renamed his craft the misericordia, which means 'the pity' i am sure, my lads, that there is not a british sailor who would not risk his life to save those of women and children, and that is what we mean a change of name. to make our first object, although we hope to lower some tur- kish flags before we have done with them; but in any case we mean to save life whether it is greek or turk we have to fight in doing so. it is a work, my lads, in which we may all be proud to take part, and in which, whether we fight under the english flag or the greek, we shall be doing a duty dear to every british sailor. now, my lads, we will give three cheers for the misericardia." three hearty cheers rang out from the sailors. they had all been on shore at zante, arid had heard enough from the soldiers they fraternized with there to fill them with disgust and indignation at the conduct of the greeks, and this announce- ment that they would henceforth put a stop to such cruelty, even if they had to fight for it, filled them with satisfaction. "we had hard work of it," martyn said to horace, talking over his visit ashore. "in the first place they wanted us to hand over all prisoners we took, and half the plunder and value of the prizes, to their miserable government. we told them that we would see them at the bottom of the sea first . i was with your father at a meeting with the fellows they call kolokotronis and odysseus, and half a dozen other of their leaders, and you should have seen how your father spoke out . he got upon his legs and he just poured it out. i did not know, of course, what he was saying, but he told me a little about it afterwards, and i could see by their faces that it was hot and strong. "he told them that their countrymen had disgraced their cause by conduct worthy only of the lowest savages, and that if they did not give him the authority he demanded, to inter- pose to save turks from massacre, he would sail on to con- stantinople, hoist the turkish flag, and fight against the ships that behaved like bloodthirsty pirates rather than greek patriots, and that they would find his ship a very different opponent to the turks. i did not think your father had it in him. it was splendid, i can tell you, and the faces of those fellows were worth seeing. i don't expect they ever had such in greek waters. a straight talking to before. i believe altogether he spent about a thousand pounds in bribing a dozen of them; anyhow he got what he wanted. in the first place we are authorized to hoist the greek flag, and to capture and destroy turkish vessels; and in the second, to dispose as we please of all prisoners. we may take on board turkish fugitives and dispose of them at our pleasure, free from all interference from any greek authorities or greek ships. we are to pay a quarter of the value of all prizes and booty into the treasury of the central government, and are to send ashore to-morrow five thousand muskets and twenty rounds of ammunition for each. "your father has had a hard time of it . i don't believe there has been a single greek politician or leader who hasn't called upon him privately, to what they call borrow money from him. at last i had to regularly mount guard over him and set zaimes at his door to tell all comers that he was too unwell to see anyone, which was not far from the truth, for he was regularly upset at the meanness and trickery of the people he had come to spend his fortune to assist. however, thank goodness it is all over. i am precious glad that i am back, i can tell you, for i believe if i had stayed there much longer i should not have been able to have prevented myself from walking into some of them. your father has been trying to find out whether they have got any general plan of defence; but they have no snore plan than a lot of children would have if they got up a rebellion. everyone wants to be a leader; everyone complains of everyone else. they scarcely seem to give the turks a thought. all their energies are occupied by their own miserable squabbles and rivalry. well, i don't want to set foot on shore again as long as we are out here, unless it is on some real expedition." "what about the turks in the acropolis, martyn?" "they are negotiating, but the poor beggars know there is no faith to be placed in the greeks, and that so far there is not a single instance in which they have kept their promises for the safety of garrisons who have surrendered. they want the a change of name. guarantee of the european consuls for their safety, but they can't give it, as they have no force here to protect them. i told our consul that we would lend him the whole of our crew if he liked, and that i thought we could pretty well clear out the town; but he said that that would be well enough if there was no one to protect. but that as there are something like two thousand men, women, and children up in the citadel, fifty men could never protect them against the mob. however, i hope the turks will be able to hold out for some time yet. the greeks only guess that their provisions are running short, and if a man-of-war, french, or english, or austrian, comes into the harbour the consuls will ask its commander to protect the turks, and will then guarantee their safety." "when are we going to sail?" horace asked. "to-morrow. the two greeks will go ashore the first thing in the morning to lay in a fresh stock of meat and vegetables. as soon as all are on board we will get up anchor. i have heard lots of shocking stories on shore from greeks who have escaped from asia minor and the turkish islands. there have been massacres in almost every city where there were greeks; at smyrna, adrianople, salonika, cos, rhodes, in crete and cyprus, and as far as i can hear the turks have altogether massacred nearly as many men, women, and children as the greeks have done. i saw general gordon, who is a warm friend of the greeks, and he said that it was impossible to justify the ferocity of the greeks, or to deny that a comparison between them and the turks would give the latter the palm of humanity; that is, if the term humanity could be employed to either. "we went up and saw some of the troops, as they call them, active, hardy-looking fellows. they seem in earnest enough, and are ready, as a french officer said to me, to submit to any- thing but discipline. he said that the klephts and armatoli are as fine material for mountain warfare as one could wish to see; one day honest, hard-working peasants, the next engaged in partisan war, or in raids on their neighbours; frugal, hardy, in greek waters. active, and in their way brave; men who would never storm a position or stand against the attack of turkish infantry or cavalry, as the war has everywhere shown so far; but who would defend a hillside or hold a ravine against good troops, and when driven out, make another stand at the first position they came to. anyhow they are worth a lot more than the townspeople, who brag and vapour and go about armed to the teeth, but who take precious good care never to get within range of a turkish musket." early the next morning some large boats came off, and the muskets and ammunition were transferred to them, and at noon the two greeks brought off a boat-load of fresh meat, vegetables, fowls, eggs, fruit, and other stores. as soon as these were slung on board, the anchor was got up, and the misericordia, under a gentle breeze, stole out to sea. "that is better, miller," will martyn said as he looked over the side. "she has not gone like that since we shook out our sails for the first time. i should say she is just about in her right trim now, and is ready to fight or sail anything of her size afloat . how easily she goes through the water! there is scarcely a ripple in her wake. she is a beauty." "which port now, martyn?" "i was talking it over last night with mr. beveridge, and as soon as we get well off land i am going to shape a course that will take us down between cyprus and alexandria. it is of no use cruising about here. the turks only move about under a convoy of their men-of-war, and it would not be much better across on the other side, for the greek vessels are every- where on the look-out. but they don't like going far from home, and if we cruise well to the south we shall have a good chance of falling in with craft bound for alexandria from cyprus, crete, and syria, and any or all of them will be likely to be carrying greeks captives to the slave-markets at alex- andria, tunis, or tripoli." "those are the sort of craft to meet with," miller said. "i suppose they are sure to be armed. of course one would a change of name. be glad to rescue captives and save them from their horrible fate. but there will be much more satisfaction in doing it if we have a bit of a fight first." "yes, i should say they were certain to be armed. no turk would venture to sea at present unless he thought himself strong enough to beat off the attack of at least two or three of these greek vessels. after cruising about for a bit we intend to dodge about cyprus and the other turkish islands, keeping near the coast so as to give greek fugitives a chance of coming on board. we know that there have been massacres at all these islands, and may be again, and there must be thousands of unfortunate creatures who would give anything for such a chance of getting away. we can anchor in quiet bays, for we need have no fear of any boat attack; and if the turks come out in force we have always the option of running away or fighting." "that is a very good programme, martyn. we are not likely, as you say, to find any greek craft cruising about between cyprus and alexandria. turkish vessels going up towards the dardanelles, or coming down from there, are prizes worth taking, for they may have pashas and rich officials on board; but down there they would be less likely to have any- thing that would repay the greeks for the risks of a fight. as for risking anything to save their countrymen, mr. beveridge was saying he heard that at the massacre of the greeks at kydonia, although the greek fleet, under tombazes, was close at hand, and their launches went on shore and rescued four thousand of their countrymen, they compelled them all to pur- chase their passage to the nearest greek island by giving up the greater part of the property they had saved." "brutes!" martyn exclaimed with great emphasis. "how these fellows can be descendants of the old greeks beats me altogether." "the old greeks were pretty cruel," horace, who had just joined them, said. "they used to slaughter their captives wholesale, and mercy wasn't among their virtues. besides, my father says that except in the morea very few indeed are in greek waters. descendants of the greeks; the rest are bulgarian or albanian, neither of whom the greeks of old would have recognized as kinsmen." "it is a case of distance lending enchantment to the view," miller laughed; "our illusions are gone." "never mind, we must make the best of them, miller; they are not greeks, but at any rate they are all that is left of the greeks. their actions show that their christianity is a sham, but at the same time they are an intelligent race capable of some day becoming a great people again, and they are struggling to throw off the yoke of a race intellectually their inferiors and incapable of progress in any sort of way. that is what my father said to me as we were walking up and down the deck this morning. that is the light i mean to look at it in the future. it is a capable people struggling with an incapable one, and if they are savage and vindictive and debased it is the faults not of themselves but of those who have so long been their masters." "good," martyn said; "that is the most satisfactory view of the thing, and we will stick to it and shut our ears as much as possible in future against all stories to the greeks' disadvan- tage." in the afternoon a fleet of vessels were seen standing out from the land. "there is one of the greek fleets," captain martyn said. "now we will try her rate of sailing with them. stand on for a little bit longer and then haul her wind on the same tack they are sailing." the trial was perfectly satisfactory. by nightfall the greek fleet were far behind, and the misericordia again shaped her course for cyprus. for a week they cruised backwards and forwards under easy sail about midway between cyprus and alexandria, without meeting with a single craft flying the turkish flag. half a dozen vessels were overhauled, but these were all austrian, italian, or british. the appearance of the schooner evidently excited profound distrust in the minds a change of name. of the masters of all these vessels, for they all hoisted every rag of sail they could set and did their best to escape from her, but captain martyn had no difficulty in overhauling them and satisfying himself of their nationality. the astonishment of the masters when the smart gig manned by six english sailors rowed alongside was unbounded, and was only equalled by their satisfaction. "you have given us a nice fright," the master of one of the english ships said to miller, who, accompanied by horace, had boarded him. "what on earth are you flying that greek flag fori we took you for a pirate, for half these fellows are no better when they get the chance." "we are a greek privateer," miller said, "and carry letters of marque issued by the greek government. we only wanted to assure ourselves that you were not turks." "turks be jiggered !" the master said angrily. "i should have thought anyone with half an eye could have seen that we weren't one of those lubberly turks." "quite so, captain, we made that out some time ago, and we have only overhauled you to ask whether you know of a turkish ship likely to be sailing from any of the eastern ports. our object is to rescue greek women and children on their way to the slave-markets." "then give us your flipper," the master said; "that is a business an english sailor needn't be ashamed of, though, as for sailing under a greek flag, i would almost as lief sail under the skull and cross-bones, for nine cases out of ten it means pretty nearly the same thing. i have known many a ship sail in among those greek islands and never be heard of again when there had been no storm to account for her disappearance. i would as lief anchor a ship near land in the malay archipelago as among the greek islands. still the women and children ain't to blame for that. i was at broussa two months ago and the slave-market was chock-full of greek girls and children, and i thought then what a burning shame it was that europe didn't interfere to put down such villainous doings. well now, as to in greek waters. turkish ships, i don't think you are likely to meet with any hereabouts. the greeks have given them a bad scare, and i fancy that all the ships from cyprus and from aleppo and the other syrian ports will run down due south till they sight land, and will hug that as near as they dare go till they get within shelter of the batteries of alexandria. if you are after turkish vessels you must stand south and anchor as close inland as the water will let you. get down those lofty spars of yours. you don't want them. that craft of yours sails like a witch. we think the scarborough is a fast brig. you went through the water three feet to our two, so you can do without your top- sails. i can tell you the look of your craft is enough to frighten one fifteen miles away; a more rascally-looking vessel i never baw, she looks like a pirate all over." "she was a slaver at one time," miller said. "ah! that accounts for it. i thought that long low hull and those lofty spars were never put together for an honest purpose. you seem to carry mighty heavy metal," he went on, looking at the miserkordia, which lay with her head sails aback a few hundred yards away. four each side and a pivot; they look like eighteens." "they are eighteens," miller said, "you see we have got to keep a sharp eye on friends as well as foes." "i should think so. well, i have just come out from larnaca. i heard from our consul that there were bad doings in the north of the island, and that the christians were having a very rough time of it all through cyprus. i have no doubt there are a lot of christians hiding there who would give every stiver they have got in the world to be on board this craft." "and you say there were some massacres going on when you were there?" "yes, and i heard that the turks were attacking one of the christian villages on the north-western corner of the island. it was some way up on mount olympus, a few miles from the coast. morphou bay is the nearest point to it. i hear it is naturally a strong place, and christians from other villages round a besieged village. have gone in there. the people attacking it are not troops, who i fancy have nothing to do with these massacres, but the natives of the mussulman villages. some of the poor devils may have got down to the coast, and you might pick some up if you were to cruise along there." "perhaps we might," horace said; "at any rate it would be worth a try. we will go on board again at once." "will you have a glass of wine first i got hold of some good stuff at larnaca. good wine is cheap there now." "no, thank you, we will be off at once," miller said. "well, good-bye, gentlemen, and good luck to you! there is nothing i would like better than to be going for a cruise with you for a few months, for no vessel can do better work than that which you are engaged on." miller and horace dropped down into their boat, and were rowed back to the schooner. chapter viii a besieged village. as soon as they gained the deck of the misericordia miller reported the advice the skipper of the english brig had given as to their taking their station near the southern coast, to pick up vessels hugging the shore on their way to alexandria and the west. "i have no doubt he is right," will martyn said; "that accounts for our not having seen a single craft flying the turkish flag. well, mr. beveridge, i think we can't do better than take his advice." "there is something else though," horace broke in; and he then told them what the captain had said about the fighting among the villagers on mount olympus. "don't you think, father, we might go there first. with this wind we should not be much more than twenty-four hours in greek waters. getting there, and we might pick up a lot of fugitives in hiding and possibly bring off the people from that village. it would not be a great loss of time anyhow." "i think we might, horace; hearing of it in the way you did, it seems almost like a call to help them. what do you say, captain martyn?" "just as you like, sir. as horace says, it is no great loss of time anyhow, and we certainly may do some good." the order was given and the schooner was headed for cyprus with a brisk wind on her beam that heeled her well over and sent her through the water at nine and a half knots an hour. the news was soon known through the vessel that there were massacres going on in cyprus, and that there might be some work to be done, so there was an air of increased activity and animation among the crew. the wind held steadily, and next morning the mountains of cyprus could be seen lying like a cloud in the distance, and by eleven o'clock the north- westerly point of the island was but five or six miles away. rounding the point they entered the great indentation known as morphu bay. martyn now ordered the topsails to be lowered. "we will run along about a mile off shore," he said; " they can make out the flag then. we will go along as far as the other end of the bay and then come back again. if there are any people in hiding in the woods they will keep an eye on us, and as we come back will come off in boats if they have got them, or will come down to the shore and signal. we can send our boats in for them." as they were still going through the water faster than they wished the foresail was also lowered, and they then went quietly along the coast, keeping a sharp look-out with their glasses on the shore. they passed several villages and could see that their appearance created much excitement, and that the popu- lation at once deserted their houses and made off. "they are evidently all mussulman villages," mr. beveritlge said. "they are mussulman villages at present, mr. beveridge," a besieged village. martyn agreed, "but the chances are they were christian a short time ago. you see they have all got fishing boats either riding at anchor or hauled up, and i fancy that most of the fishing is done by the greek inhabitants. i expect the turks have cleared them out. what do you say, mr. beveridge, to our firing a shot or two at each of the villages as we pass? that will act as a warning to the turks to keep out of range. if there are any christians left they may take the opportunity of seizing the boats and coming off. we might lie-to for half an hour opposite each village to give them a chance of doing so." "that would be a very good plan, i think, captain martyn." as they were passing a village at the moment the miseri- ayrdia was at once brought round. two of the broadside guns were loaded, and two shots were sent over the village. then the craft was hove-to, and waited for half an hour. as there were no signs of life, she again proceeded on her way. three more villages were fired at with the same result . half a mile beyond the furthest tarleton exclaimed: "there is some one swimming off, captain martyn; he has just put off from that point! there, do you see that black spot a little way off the point?" martyn turned his glass in that direction. "i see him," he said. "lower the small gig, mr. tarleton; take four hands, row off, and pick him up. you had better go too, horace. the chances are he won't speak anything but greek." in a couple of minutes the boat left the side of the schooner and rowed in the direction of the swimmer, the vessel being again thrown up into the wind. horace stood up while tarle- ton took the tiller lines. "can you see him, horace?" he asked. "no, not yet. there is too much ripple on; but if you keep her head as it is now i shall make him out before long. three or four minutes later he exclaimed: "i see him, he is dead ahead!" five minutes later the swimmer was alongside. he was a lad of about horace's age. ( ) # k in greek waters. are you greek?" he asked in surprise and in some alarm, as ho looked at the uniforms of the crew as horace helped him on board. "we are fighting for greece," horace said, "although we are all english. we heard that there was some trouble here, and came to see if we could save any fugitives." "i saw the flag," the lad said, "and heard you fire twice at the village. my mother and sisters, and twenty or thirty others, are hidden in the wood there. the mussulmans came down from the mountain villages three days ago and killed all they could find; but we were expecting it, for they had gone to the next village first, and a man from there brought the news just before they arrived. we lived on the outskirts and had time to get away, but i think my father and brothers have been killed. do go on shore and take them off." "we must go back to the ship first," horace said. "this boat is too small to be of any use; besides, we must send a stronger crew. no doubt the turks are watching us, and will come down if they see us landing." the schooner had filled again and was following the boat, so that in two or three minutes they were on board. horace lent the young greek some of his clothes, and the schooner stood in towards the point, with a man in the chains sounding as they went. "ask him whereabouts they are, horace?" "just on the other side of the point; but they will see us coming." "i see no signs of them yet," tarleton said when, having got within three hundred yards of shore, the anchor was let go. "it is likely enough," said martyn, "that some of the turks may have been coming down through the wood, and if the poor beggars heard them they would not dare show them- selves. now, mr. miller, you take charge of the long-boat with ten men. we will cover your landing." the four broadside guns were loaded with grape, and their 
./i!* a besieged village. crews mustered to quarters, while the rest, armed with muskets, lined the side. "take the boy with you, mr. miller, he can lead you to where his friends are hiding. don't stop to fire as you make for shore. we will dispose of any turks there may be about." the boat had not rowed more than fifty yards before five or six musket shots were fired from the bushes near the edge of the water. "give them a round with the aftermost gun," captain martyn said; and in a moment the water near the bushes was torn up with a shower of grape. "give the next gun more elevation, boatswain. send the shot well into the wood. that's it. the same with the other two guns. that will clear them all out." there was no further firing at the boat. as soon as it touched the shore miller jumped ashore with eight of the men, while the other two pushed the boat off a few yards. led by the greek boy, the party ran along the shore, and were lost to view round the point. two more rounds were fired into the wood, but everything was quiet there, and in five minutes miller's party made their appearance round the point with a number of fugitives. no time was lost in getting them into the boat, which at once rowed off to the schooner. there were but three men among them, the rest were women and children. most of them were completely exhausted. horace, after asking them a question or two, said to zaimes: "you had better prepare some soup, zaimes, as quickly as you can. they have had nothing to eat for three days." while this was being done, a sip of wine and a mouthful of bread were given to each. in the meantime some sailors were rigging up a partition with sail-cloth across the main deck, and here hammocks were slung for the use of the women and chil- dren. as soon as the poor creatures had taken a basin of hot soup they revived a good deal and poured out expressions of profuse gratitude to their rescuers. they had passed a terrible three days crouching among the bushes, and expecting every in greek waters moment to be discovered. a few of the women had snatched up their jewels before taking to flight, but most of them were absolutely destitute. mr. beveridge and the two greeks per- suaded them to go below and take the sleep they so much needed. as soon as the deck was clear the anchor was got up, and the schooner, proceeded on her way. she reached the farthest headland of the bay just as night began to fall, and martyn decided to anchor there till morning. from the greek lad who had first swum off, they learned that the village among the mountains still resisted. "they say there are two or three hundred there who have taken refuge from the villages round. there are some rich men among them, and that is the reason why the mussulmans are so anxious to take the place." "how many men are besieging it?" "that i don't know," the boy replied, "i should think four or five hundred." "but you have heard nothing for the last three days? the place may have fallen since then." "no, i went last night to the village in hopes of finding bread in some of the houses, but there were too many turks about. i was near enough to hear them talking. some of them were going up to-day to join in the siege." "how far is the place from the sea?" "it is ten miles from this north shore, but it is not more than four or five from the western coast." "is there any road?" "not from that side. the roads from the mountain villages all lead down to the bay." "is it too steep to climb from the other side?" "not too steep to climb on foot . donkeys and mules could get up there." the matter was talked over in the cabin that evening, and it was agreed that if a guide could be obtained an attempt should be made to carry off the occupants of the village. during the night a boat with twelve fugitives came off from a besieged villagb. the shore, and as the misericordia sailed slowly along the coast on the following day several parties of from three to ten people came out from the trees and waved white handker- chiefs and scarfs. all these were brought off, and four or five boats full of people were picked up during the day. their occupants had seen the schooner passing on the previous day, and had at night, when the mussulmans in the village were asleep, stolen down to the beach, launched boats, and put out to sea in the hope that the schooner would return next day. all were overwhelmed with joy at finding themselves under the greek flag, although the greater portion of them had lost everything they possessed. the women and children were, like the first batch, provided for below, while the men and boys were told they must sleep on deck, which was no hard- ship in that balmy climate. among those in the last boat picked up near the west point of the bay was a young man who was a native of a village lying a short distance from the one that was besieged. he happened to be down in the coast village when the turks com- menced hostilities there, and hearing that the village to which he belonged had been destroyed, he had remained in hiding near the coast. marco and his brother, who mingled with the fugitives, had learned this, and at once took the news to the cabin. "he says he has been a goat-herd, and knows all the paths among the mountains." "then he is the very fellow we want to get hold of," will martyn said, "we had better have him in here and question him." the young greek was brought in. he knew of several paths from the village down to the western shore. "now what sort of place is this village?" captain martyn asked. "it stands at the top of rocky ground that slopes away all round it. there are vineyards and gardens among the rocks. since the trouble in greece began, the people have been frightened, and have built a wall five or six feet high round in greek waters. the village, and the christians in all the villages round decided that if there was trouble from the mussulmans they would go there to help defend it." "is there high ground round the village?" "yes, the hills rise very high on three sides, but they are too far away for guns to do much harm; besides, the houses stand thickly together. my people will fight till the last, but i don't know how long the provisions will last. i know they all made up their minds that if they were besieged and saw no hope of succour, they would at last kill all the women and children to prevent their being made slaves by the turks, and then they would march out to fight until the last man was slain." "how long would it take us to get up from the shore to the village?" "one can come down in an hour, but it takes three hours hard work to get up." "could you after dark take us close to the point where one of these paths comes down to the shore?" "oh, yes, i could do that easily." "very well, that will do for the present. now, mr. buyer- idge, it is for you to decide," martyn said. "of course the affair is a risky one; but it seems to me that forty well-armed english sailors ought to be able to make their way into the village without very much difficulty, for of course the turks will be scattered about all round it . the difficulty is not in getting in, but in getting out. we should have to bring per- haps two or three hundred women and children, and cover their retreat down to the water. of course the men would help us, but still it would be a stiff job in the face of four or five hundred of the enemy. these turks, may know nothing of soldiering, but they are mountaineers and are used to arms, and for irregular fighting like this, would be quite as for- midable as the best troops. if we knew anything about the ground we should be able to give a more decided opinion. what of course we should want, if possible, would be some post, a besieged village. either a defile or a steep eminence, that we could hold for half an hour and keep the turks back until the women and children are well on their way down the mountain. after that we could make a bolt for it, and might get down without much loss; but if there is no place where we could make a stand anywhere along the road, we should be in an awkward fix, especially if the path is a bad one, as i expect it is. you see the whole party would have to go in single file, and if there are four or five hundred of them, it would be next to impossible to guard the flanks and keep the turks off if they made a rush, while every shot they fired would tell on such a long line. you understand, mr. beveridge, i am putting the matter to you in the worst light so that we should all understand the sort of business it is likely to be." "i see that it is a very serious affair, martyn; but at the same time, when we know that there are so many lives at stake, i think that we must run the risk, however great." "very well, then, that is settled, mr. beveridge, and i am sure we are all glad that you have decided so. the next ques- tion is, who shall go, and who shall remain behind." "i shall certainly go," mr. beveridge said. "i am not going to allow others to take risks that i do not share myself." "we ought to be as strong a party as possible," martyn said. "at the same time we must leave enough to sail the schooner, if not to fight her. it is probable that yesterday morning, as soon as our flag was seen, messengers were sent off at once to limasol and larnaca to tell them that a greek vessel was in the bay; and if there are any turkish vessels of war in either of these harbours, we shall be having them coming round." "that is likely enough," miller said, "we must certainly be ready to get up our anchor and be off at a minute's notice." "well, miller, then you must remain on board with ten men. we will load all the guns before we go. ten men are enough to get up sail and to fight the pivot-gun. you had better not waste any time in getting up the anchor, but buoy and then in greek waters. slip the cable. we can recover it, if we like, afterwards. if you should be driven off the coast while we are away, lower a sail under her fore-foot so as to deaden her way and encourage the turks, with the hope that they are going to catch you. lead them a dance for seven or eight hours, then cut the drag adrift, set every stitch of sail, and run back again. you will be here in plenty of time to get us all on board before they can come up again. of course if we see that you are gone we shall choose some position where we can make a stout defence, and shall hold it until you come back to the anchorage." "all right, sir. i will obey orders. of course i would rather have gone with the expedition ashore; but someone must stay on board, and if you are going i must take the command in your absence. ten men will be quite enough for me. we can leave the main and foresail standing when we anchor, so that will be plenty of strength." "well, as that is all settled, we will bout ship and cruise east again. it will be dark in an hour, and it is well they should think on shore that we are off again to the east. i dare say they can make us out from points on the mountains not far from the village. if they see us sailing away, it will never enter their heads that we have any intention of interfering in their little game up there." accordingly the schooner was again put about, and retraced her course along the shore until it became quite dark; then she stood out to sea until well out of sight of land, when she was headed west again. the news had already got about through the ship that there was to be a landing party to rescue a number of christians besieged by the turks among the mountains, and the sailors were in the highest spirits, cutlasses were ground, pistols and muskets served out to those who were to land, and the disappointment of those who were to remain behind was mitigated by horace mentioning to them that not improbably they might have a brush with the turks on their own account. cartridges, muskets, and pistols were served out, and the a besieged village. arms carefully examined. each man was ordered to take with him a water-bottle filled with weak grog, and two pounds of bread in his haversack, and a hearty supper was served out . once round the point of the bay the schooner was kept close inshore. the greek kept a sharp look-out on the hills loom- ing high above them, and about nine o'clock announced that they were now near the place where a track from the mountain came down to the shore. the anchor was at once dropped and the headsails lowered. then the sailors took their places in three boats, two of the men who were to stop behind going in each to bring them back to the schooner when the landing had been effected. zaimes was to accompany the party, while marco remained with mr. miller on board. ten of the fugitives, active young men, had begged to be allowed to accompany the expedition, but the offer had been declined, and they were told that they might be more useful helping to work the guns of the schooner should a turkish ship- of-war come round. when the arms had been purchased a dozen good rifles had been among them, and after mr. bever- idge, zaimes, and the three officers had each armed themselves with one of these, the rest were divided among the best shots of the party. tom burdett, much to his disappointment, was left on board to assist the first lieutenant . as soon as the boats reached the shore the men were formed up. tarleton was to lead the advance party of ten men, hav- ing with him the guide. close behind these were the main body, twenty strong, led by martyn; behind them mr. bever- idge, with zaimes and the surgeon, who was also accompanying the party, had their place. horace commanded the rear-guard of ten men. although this nominal division was made, the whole party kept closely together, as the night was so dark that they might otherwise have missed each other. none of the fire-arms were loaded, lest an accident should occur by a gun being discharged by a fall, by striking against a rock, or by the trigger catching in a bush. after a few hundred yards' walk along the shore the greek in greek waters. struck upon the track and led the way up, the rest following in single file. the climb seemed interminable to horace. at times it was so steep it was difficult to scramble up, and in the darkness there were many falls. there were frequent stops, to enable the men to get their breath; but after three hours' climbing they at last reached comparatively level ground, and the guide told them they were within half a mile of the ridge from which they could look down upon the village. "well, we will move slowly forward until we come either to some bushes or a bit of a hollow where we can get some shel- ter, for it is quite sharp up here, and as soon as the men begin to cool down a bit they will feel it. i wish we had brought blankets now, but it never struck me that it would be cold. mr. tarleton, let your ten men scatter. don't let them wan- der too far, but let them search about for some place where we can get shelter. we will remain here; and if any of the men find a place, send one back to bring us up. we have got another four hours to wait before daylight." in ten minutes one of the men came back with news that they had found a patch of bush large enough for them to take shelter in. in a short time they all arrived at the spot. the bushes were sweet smelling and free from thorns, and the men soon crushed their way into them and lay down. "you will remain in charge, mr. tarleton. i shall go on and take a look down at the village. i don't suppose we shall see much, but we may be able to make out whether they are still holding out. will you go on with me, mr. beveridge, or stay here?" "i will go on with you. i find it bitterly cold here; for not being accustomed to hard work, as your men are, i found that climb almost too much for me; and hot as i have been, i should not like to stop still in this keen air, even with the shelter of the bushes." "well, we will take it easy this last bit, mr. beveridge. come along, horace." again preceded by the guide, and followed by zaimes, they a besieged village ascended the shoulder of the hill. it was a steep pull, but in a quarter of an hour they reached the crest. just as they did so they heard the report of a gun, followed at once by several others. an exclamation of satisfaction broke from them. their climb had not been in vain; the village was still holding out. fifty yards farther the ground fell away suddenly in front of them, and they stood at the edge of a deep descent. extending round the foot of the hills that formed the amphi- theatre in the centre of which the village lay, was a line of fires; some blazing brightly, others dim red spots. another chain of fires, much closer together, extended across the mouth of the valley. the village, lying in the black shadow of the hills, was invisible to them, and not even a single light indicated its position. "that is where it is," the guide said, pointing down to the centre of the hollow. as he spoke a flash of flame, followed a second or so later by a report, shot out from the spot towards which he was pointing. "they are keeping a sharp look-out," martyn said; "they are not to be caught napping. now the point is, which is our best side for going down on the village without being seen?" "the best point," the guide said, "would be from the head of the valley. orchards extend from the village to the foot of the hill, and a ravine runs some distance up there. if we could get into that, we might get some distance through the orchards before we are noticed." "could you lead us along the side of the hill to this ravine in the dark?" "i think so. i am sure i could lead you. the danger would be from setting stones in motion and so calling the attention of the enemy. the hillside is very steep, and a stone set rolling would go right down to their fires." "we must risk that," martyn said. "it would be a great thing to be able to take them by surprise. don't you think so, mr. beveridge?" a besieged village. came ashore with you in the gig. for the present you had best return with them to the bushes and wait there till day- light. then you will come back to this point. post the men where they cannot be seen from below. be sure that not a head is shown. take your own post at a point whence you can see down into the valley without being seen yourself. you will remain in hiding while we fight our way into the village. as soon as you see the sortie begun get your men ready for action, and let them lie down without showing themselves more than they can help at the edge of the brow from which they can fire down into the valley. your duty is to prevent any parties of the enemy working along the side of the hill to take the fugitives and us in flank as we come up the path. as the women and children arrive tell them to push on along the path as fast as they can, without stopping or paying attention to any fire that may be opened upon them. they will be told before they start that the schooner is in readiness to take them off. still, you may as well hurry them along. you will remain here until the last and form the rear-guard. but we shall all make a stand here as long as we can so as to give the women and children plenty of a start. do you quite understand?" "yes, sir." "shall i go with you or wait here?" macfarlane asked. "i think you might as well stay here, doctor. there won't be any time for you to be dressing wounds till we are back here again." tarleton called out the men who had landed with him, and marched off with them. "now, my lads," martyn said to the others, "we are going to work along the side of the hill so as to come down behind them. but i fancy it will be very steep in places. sling your muskets behind you so as to have both hands to hold on by. if you once begin to roll you go right down to the bottom, and then there is an end to our chance of surprising them. be careful, above all things, how you walk, for if you set a stone rolling it will put them on their guard. we have to go as in greek waters. quietly as mice. now follow me in single file, and keep as close as you can to each other, yet so far off that if you stumble you won't touch the man in front of you." the men fell in, and horace took his place at the rear. a few steps and they halted. the guide then went on in front of martyn, and mr. beveridge and zaimes fell in behind him. the hill rose so abruptly on the right that it was necessary to keep along on its slope, and very cautiously the men made their way along the hillside. each step had to be felt before they put their weight down. sometimes it was slippery grass, and so steep that they were obliged to crawl on all-fours to make their way along it. sometimes they passed patches of bare rock and sometimes slides of loose stones. they had gone but a short distance when martyn passed the word along in a whisper for them to sit down, pull off their shoes, and fasten them round their necks. indeed, had it not been for this precaution, there were places across which it would have been impossible to pass. as it was, it took them a full hour to traverse the half-mile between the point from which they had started and the head of the valley. at last a sharp fall told them that they were at the edge of the ravine. as soon as they descended into it there was a short halt to allow mr. beveridge to rest. "i am sorry i came," he said as he sat down faint and exhausted. "i did not reckon on this sort of thing, captain martyn. if i had done so i would have remained with tarleton." "it is all right now, mr. beveridge. we have done our climbing, and it is a marvel that we have done it without alarm- ing those fellows below, for some small stones rolled down once or twice. but if they noticed them, no doubt they thought that it was some sheep or goats on the hillside. now, my lads, before you go any further, you had better take a drink from your bottles. you will have to be careful in going down the ravine, for there are sure to be loose stones lying about." after a halt of five minutes they proceeded cautiously down, and at last, to their great satisfaction, stood on level ground, a. besieged village. and soon entered a grove of fruit-trees, where they halted and lay down. there was a short consultation whether their guide should try and make his way into the village to inform the besieged of the help that was near, in order that they might assist by opening a fire upon the besiegers as soon as the sailors made their attack. the idea was, however, abandoned, because, were he seen by the turks, it would put them on the alert; and because, in the second place, he might be shot by the besieged as he approached the village. it did not seem to martyn that there could be any difficulty in their getting in. it was not likely that more than fifty of the enemy at the outside could interpose between them and the village, and these, taken by surprise, and ignorant of the number of their assailants, could offer no effectual resistance, and they would be up under shelter of the guns of the defenders of the village before the turks could rally from their first surprise. another two hours and daylight began to appear. martyn waited until it was light enough to make their way through the trees without difficulty. then the men, most of whom had fallen asleep as soon as they lay down, were roused . "now, my lads, you are to keep together. keep your muskets slung, and use cutlass and pistol. i don't expect there will be any serious resistance, but, at any rate, don't struggle. of course we don't want any prisoners. shoot or cut down any one who opposes you, and follow me straight on. now, load your pistols." as soon as this was done they proceeded through the wood. the guide, as before, led the way. his instructions were that directly they were through the turks he was to run on at the top of his speed, shouting to the villagers not to fire, as those approaching were friends. martyn, mr. beveridge, horace, and zaimes, followed close behind the guide, the line of seamen extending behind them. they were nearly through the orchard when a shout was given and they saw a dozen figures leap up from the ground. "come along, lads!" martyn shouted. in greek waters the sailors gave a cheer, and at a run the party rushed forward. the turks, astounded at the appearance of this body of sailors, snatched up their muskets, one or two fired at random, and then the whole fled when their assailants were still thirty yards away. a few pistols were emptied at the fugitives, and then, paying no further attention to them, the party kept straight on. when they emerged from the trees the village was but some three hundred yards away. the greek, waving his red sash and shouting "friends, friends, do not fire!" dashed forward at full speed across the gardens that intervened between the orchard and the rocky knoll upon which the village stood. a row of heads appeared above the wall and a line of musket-barrels pointed outward. as the greek approached shouts of welcome and triumph broke from the besieged, which swelled more and more loudly as the party of sailors were seen running in a compact body towards the wall. a few straggling shots were fired by the turks, but these passed harmlessly overhead, and the party reached the wall without a single casualty, and were soon helped over. the delight of the greeks was only equalled by their astonishment at the approach of this body of foreign sailors. all hope of either escape or rescue had left them, and they had thought only of fighting to the last. as soon as they understood from the guide, zaimes, horace, and mr. beveridge that there was a ship in readiness to take them off, and that thero was a chance of fighting their way through the besiegers, the village was the scene of the wildest delight . the men shouted, screamed, danced, laughed, and wept by turns. the women seized the sailors' hands and kissed them, to the confusion of the tars, threw themselves on their knees, and poured out passionate, ejaculations of thanksgiving that a hope of rescue should be afforded them, and it was some time before anything like order was restored. by this time the alarm had spread round the circle of the besiegers, and their anger was exhibited by shots being fired into the place, many of them pressing rescued. forward so threateningly that the defenders manned the walls, and opening fire upon the turks drove them back out of range of their guns. chapter ix. rescued. as soon as the excitement subsided a little, mr. beveridge assembled the heads of the families in the village church. "you must prepare to leave at once," he said. "our landing will be shortly known, and it will be guessed that we intend to take you off in our ship. the consequence is, in addition to the enemies now round you others will gather, and it will be no longer possible to cut our way through. what we propose to do is to make a rush out, the women and children following us. as soon as we have gained that wood and driven the mussulmans out the women and children will hurry up the path, while all the fighting men will hold the wood and keep the turks at a distance. there are some more of my men at the top of the hill there; these will keep off any parties of the enemy who try to scale the hillside at other points. as soon as the women are fairly at the top the men will fall back gradually. the sailors will cover the retreat. we shall hold the top of the hill till we know that the women have got nearly down to the sea-shore, and then fall back. we are risking our lives here to save you, and we shall expect all the men to fight valiantly and to obey our orders. it is only by working well together that we can hope to beat off the turks as we retreat, and to get safely on board ship. you must not load your- selves with baggage; of course each man can take anything he can carry wrapped in his sash, and the women can take bundles such as they can carry on their heads, but they must beware not to take too great weights. any one who lags behind will have her bundle taken off and thrown away." in greek waters. "would it not be better to wait till night?" one of the elders of the village asked. "no. the captain of the ship says that in the dark we should not be able to keep off the enemy nor to travel fast. we may lose rather more in the first rush in daylight, but after that the light will be all in our favour. how many men have you armed with muskets?" "there are a hundred and forty-six men, and all have guns." "how many women?" "there are about two hundred women and girls, and a hundred and eighty children of all ages." "very well, i leave it to you to make preparations. you must tell the women that they are to keep together, and to follow about a hundred yards behind the men as they advance. as soon as the wood is taken they are to hurry through it, mount the hill by the path, and then without stopping a minute go on at the top of their speed to the sea-shore. it is just possible that some turkish ships-of-war may have driven our vessel away, but if that is so she will be back again this even- ing. if they find she has gone they must sit down under shelter of the rocks near the shore, and we will keep the turks at bay till the ship arrives. make your preparations and get your valuables together, for in an hour from the present time we shall sally out." while this was going on martyn had formed up the villagers, for the firing had now ceased. the besiegers had before shrunk from attacking the wall, relying upon famine to compel the defenders to surrender, and the addition, small as it was, to the garrison rendered any idea of assault more formidable than before. horace acted as martyn's interpreter. "now," he said, "i expect we shall have no difficulty in carrying the wood, for the enemy can have no idea that we intend to escape in that direction, or that we mean to sally out at all; therefore it is not likely that they will have more than fifty or sixty men at that point. in the first place i want forty determined men who can be trusted to obey orders." rescued. one of the leaders of the defence chose out that number of men. martyn divided them into two parties and told off five sailors to each. "horace, you will take command of one of these bands, and you, jones," he said to the coxswain of his gig, "will take command of the other. your bands will fall in behind the main body, which i shall lead. we shall go straight at the wood. you will follow us till you are half-way across the open, and will then take post, one to the right and the other to the left, fifty yards from the line we take. your work will be to check any of the turks who may come running down from the ends of the valley, and to cover the passage of the women. as soon as they have all passed along you will both ran in and join us in the wood. now, lads, i want the wall under- mined for a width of ten yards or so, so that when we push it it will all fall together and leave a wide front for us to pour out. it is not above three hundred and fifty yards or so to the wood, and we shall be half-way across before the turks can pull themselves together, and they won't have time for much more than a shot each before we are upon them." in an hour the whole of the villagers were gathered. there were five or six wounded men unable to walk. these were laid on doors, and four greeks were told off to each. the children were told off, one to each woman. twenty of the greeks were to form a special escort for the women, and martyn's order to their leader was, "see that each woman takes along the child told off to her. if she doesn't help it along, take off her bundle and throw it away; force her to look after the child. not a single child shall be lost if we can help it. life first, property next." martyn was well pleased with the bearing of the greeks. the men looked ready and eager for the fight; the women, stern and determined. all of them had knives or daggers in their sashes. some, in addition, had their husbands' or fathers' pistols. their bundles were poised on their heads, and each, with the exception of a few of the old women, had an infant in greek waters. in her arms or held a child by the hand. the twenty english sailors formed the first line; behind these came the main body of the greeks. horace and jones' parties were drawn up three or four paces in their rear, and behind these were gathered the women. "now," martyn said to the greek fighting men, "on one point my orders are distinct. not a shot is to be fired until we reach the trees. firing would be no good whatever; it would be a loss of time, and your guns would be empty just when you want them; besides, you would be as likely to shoot those in front of you as the enemy. all you have got to do is to follow me closely until you get into the olive grove, then scatter and clear it of the turks; but don't go a foot beyond them in pursuit. directly it is clear let each man take up his station behind a tree at its edge, and defend himself there until the order is given to fall back." zaimes translated the order, then the sailors advanced to the wall, from which the lower stones had been removed as far as was safe. "now put your shoulders to it, my hearties, and heave all together. one, two, three; now!" the walls shook as the sailors flung themselves against it. "it is going. now another try." there was a shout as the wall toppled over. then with a cheer the sailors sprang for- ward, led by martyn, dashed over the fragments of the wall and down the steep rock, the greeks pouring after them in a confused mass, and then the whole dashed across the flat cultivated ground towards the olive grove. as martyn had foretold, not a shot was fired until they were nearly half-way across, though loud shouts of alarm were heard, then a straggling fire was opened; but the enemy were evidently too flurried and alarmed to take aim. without a check the sailors ran on, cut- lass in hand, but the turks did not await the attack. out- numbered and surprised they had no sooner fired than they dashed away among the trees to join their companions right and left, and the olive grove was deserted when the sailors entered. "that will do, lads!" martyn shouted. "leave the greeks rescued. to hold the wood. sheath your cutlasses and unsling your rifles. come back with me to help the others; keep back the enemy in the open." there was, however, no occasion for assistance. the women, instead of waiting, had followed close behind the flanking parties, and were already coming into the wood. by the time martyn joined the flanking parties the women had all passed, while horace and jones were just beginning to fall back with their commands. by this time the valley rang with shouts and cries, and guns were being aimlessly discharged, but the sailors were back in the olive grove before the turks had mustered strongly enough to think of advancing. the sailors lay down in the intervals between the trees, and as soon as the enemy began to advance a heavy fire was opened upon them, the twelve rifles telling with deadly effect. the turks on the opposite side of the valley, instead of advancing at once to the assistance of their comrades, made a rush at the village as soon as they perceived that it was no longer defended, thinking for the moment much more of plunder than of attacking the retiring greeks, while the parties who had begun to advance towards the wood rapidly retired again before the heavy fire opened upon them. "go round and stop those greeks firing, horace; the fools are simply wasting their ammunition," martyn said savagely as the greeks continued to blaze away when the enemy were already out of range of their guns. horace hurried off one way and zaimes the other, and in a minute or two the firing ceased . as it did so the report of guns could be heard on the hill above them. "that is tarleton's party at work," martyn said to mr. beveridge. "of course the turks have seen the women mount- ing the hill, and i suppose some of them were beginning to climb up to cut them off. tarleton's fire will stagger them a bit." from the shouts in the valley it was evident that the enemy were gathering for a serious attack . horace had returned to martyn's side. in greek waters. "now, horace, do you take ten of the men and ascend the path half way up the hill. post five of them on each side of it to act as flanking parties. zaimes, do you tell your country- men it is time for us to be off. we must get well up the hillside before these fellows make their rush. mr. beveridge, will you make your way up the path at once. these greeks are as active as goats, and i should recommend you to be pushing on to get a start of them." in a couple of minutes the entire party had left the wood and were mounting the path, martyn and his sailors forming the rear-guard. the greeks sprang up the path with such speed that the sailors, active as they were, had hard work to keep near them. mr. beveridge was speedily overtaken. "jones, you take mr. beveridge's rifle; and do you, hawkins and baldock, help him along. make haste, lads! we shall have a storm of bullets coming up after us in no time;" for as soon as the fugitives appeared on the path above the level of the tree-tops a loud shout had broken from the enemy, and it was certain they would soon be upon them. so rapidly, how- ever, was the ascent made that martyn and the sailors reached the spot where horace with his party had taken up his position before a shot rang out from below. there was a slight shoulder on the hillside at this point, and lying down here the men were sheltered from the fire below. "wait here, my lads, until you get your wind. their guns will hardly carry this height, and there is no fear of their showing themselves above the trees, at any rate for the pre- sent." mr. beveridge threw himself down on the grass, and even the sailors were glad of a pause, for in the five minutes that' had elapsed since they left the wood they had climbed half- way up the hill and were fully three hundred feet above the olive grove. a roar of musketry broke out from below, and some of the mussulmans dashed out from the trees, waving their guns and calling upon the others to follow them; but as soon as they showed themselves the sailors under horace opened rescued. fire. some of the others would have joined them, but martyn forbade them. "it is no use trying to take aim, lads, just after such a run as that. you must wait until your breath comes quietly, and your hands get steady again. you would be only throwing away powder and ball, and we shall probably want all we have got before we are on board the schooner again." the firing above still continued, and looking along the hill- side men could be seen straggling up in considerable numbers on either side. "forward, lads! we must move on again. horace, you may as well bring your men straight up. there is no fear of their venturing on an attack up this path. bring your father on with you. there is no occasion for haste; we will push straight up now. forward! don't run, but go at a steady pace that you can keep up till we reach the top." horace followed with the rear-guard at a leisurely walk wherever the inequalities of the ground sheltered the path from the bullets that still came singing out from below, and stepping out briskly whenever they were exposed to fire. the coxswain was waiting with orders when they reached the top. "the captain's orders are, mr. beveridge," he said to horace, "that your party is to remain here for the present with these twenty greeks. you are to spread along the edge here for a bit and keep up a fire, if the turks try to climb the hill hereabouts. the captain is with a party away there on that high ground back on the left, and mr. tarleton with the rest back there on the right, so as to prevent the varmint working round in front of us. you are to let them know if you see any large bodies of men climbing the hill, either right or left of you." horace divided his party in two, telling jones with five sailors and ten greeks to take post a hundred yards to the left of the path, while he with the others went the same distance to the right . "don't let them waste their ammunition, jones. my father in greek waters. and zaimes will go with you, and as you three have rifles you may do something to check those fellows from climbing up away to the left . it is no use the others firing, their guns won't carry half the distance. of course if the turks try to come straight up from the wood your party will all open fire upon them." as soon as he got to his station horace lay down, and with one of the sailors with him who had a rifle, opened fire upon the stream of men ascending the hillside near the head of the valley. after firing three or four rounds he told the sailor to desist. "we are only wasting our ammunition, frost," he said. "they are seven or eight hundred yards away, and the rifles are of no real use at more than half that distance." ten minutes later he sent off sailors to martyn and tarleton, to tell them that the turks continued to climb the hill in large numbers, and that he should think that at least two hundred men must have gone up on each flank, that flames had broken out in the village, and numbers of men were pouring out from there, and would probably join in the attack . a few minutes later a message came from martyn: "the captain says, sir, that now the women have got half an hour's start we shall fall back. your party are to retire by the path. he and mr. tarleton will work down the hill on your flanks. you are to keep your eye on them, and regulate your pace by theirs, keeping about a hundred yards in their rear, unless you are pressed, when you can double on till you are in line with them. he has sent orders to mr. tarleton, sir." horace was expecting the order. a sharp fire had broken out on either side, and he knew that the turks were trying to work round to cut them off. "run on," he said to the sailor, "and tell the other party over there to join me in the path." in three minutes the united body was marching to the rear. the crackle of musketry was now incessant, and horace soon caught sight of the two flanking parties making their way down rescued. the hill at a distance of a hundred yards or so on either side of the path. they were in scattered order, loading as they retired, crouching behind rocks to take a steady aim, and then retiring again; going at a run when the ground permitted it, hanging to the rocks and bushes when they afforded shelter. on the higher ground, to the left of martyn's party, were a number of mussulmans. they were pursuing similar tactics to those of their opponents—at times crouching behind rocks, and then bounding forward with loud yells. "get ready to fire, lads," horace said. "the next time those fellows make a rush give them a volley. they are not thinking of us yet, and we shall take them by surprise. take steady aim; don't hurry. halt; drop on one knee. they will be crossing that open space in a minute." he repeated the order to the greeks, "there they come," he said a moment later. "get ready! now fire!" thirty guns rang out; several of the turks fell, and the rest, with a shout of surprise, bounded back into the bushes. "now retire briskly for a bit, and load as you go." after a hundred yards' running they again fell into a walk. horace kept his eye upon tarleton's party. they did not seem so severely pressed, and had the advantage that their foes were on somewhat lower ground than they were. presently a sailor came in from the left . "captain martyn's orders are that the two flanking parties are to fall back quickly to the path, then to double down the hill to that shoulder a mile below. you are to act as rear- guard, and to follow close behind them." in two or three minutes the two flanking parties, taking advantage of cover which concealed them from the enemy, made a rush to the path. the body under tarleton gained it first, and at once started down at the top of their speed. martyn's party were but a minute later. he himself paused till horace came up at a run. "we can go faster down this path," he said, " than they can follow over the rough ground, and there are such a lot of them in greek waters. that they will jostle each other on the path, and won't get along as fast as we shall. how are you feeling, mr. beveridge?" "i am all right now we are going downhill, martyn. it is only the climbing i can't stand. this is really very exciting work, though i don't like running away." "we will make another stand presently, but i wanted to be getting on. they will get stronger every minute, and we shall have to fight hard presently. do you see that the schooner has gone?" an exclamation broke both from mr. beveridge and horace. in the excitement of the fight neither of them had thought of the schooner. "there she is, five-and-twenty miles away to the north- west, with two turkish frigates lumbering after her." the firing had ceased; the yells of the turks rose loudly in the air, but they were fully two or three hundred yards in the rear. "we are in plenty of time," martyn said. "we will line the other side of that flat step when we reach it. we can keep them back there for some time." there was no attempt at keeping in order, the path was too steep and broken; but they went down running and leaping, each as he best could. down the path, in front, was a long straggling line of greeks, with the sailors, keeping in two dis- tinct bodies, among them. as soon as the head of the line came down on to the flat step in the hill they spread out right and left, and in less than ten minutes from the issue of the order to retreat the hundred and eighty men were lying down along the lower edge of the level ground, which was some forty yards across, the centre of the position being left vacant for the last party that arrived. the instant the rear-guard threw them- selves down they opened a heavy fire upon the turks, who were crowding down the path. horace was lying next to his father. "do keep your head lower, father," he said, as the turks left the path and bounded in among the rocks and shrubs and opened fire. rescued. "but i can't take aim if i don't see, horace." "no, father, that is right enough; but you might move a foot or two back, so as to be in shelter while you are loading. then, if you push your rifle up before you, you would only have to raise your head to look along the barrel and fire. some of these mountain fellows are good shots." the firing in front of them increased every moment as the turks poured down and took up their positions, until puffs of smoke seemed to dart out from every bush and rock. martyn now went along the line posting the men. horace's party were left lying thickly opposite the path, in case the turks should attempt a rush. the rest were disposed two yards apart, the sailors being placed at regular intervals among the greeks. fortunately the ground fell sharp away from the flat, so that even from the higher ground those lying behind it were com- pletely sheltered, except when raising their heads to fire. this, by martyn's orders, they did but seldom. "let them blaze away as much as they like," he said, "they do us no harm. the great thing is to have every musket loaded in case they make up their minds to try a rush, and i don't think they will do that. the more smoke they make the better, for it prevents them taking aim. we can stop them here for hours, as long as they don't work round our flanks." satisfied that all was going on well, martyn returned to mr. beveridge. "we have stopped them for the time effectually, sir." "yes, this is a capital position, martyn." "capital as far as it goes, sir. of course if these fellows were soldiers they would either gather and make a rush, or march away and work round our flanks; but being only pea- sants, there is no one to command, and every man fights for himself. macfarlane is at work with the wounded." "did you lose many men in your retreat, martyn?" "no; three of the greeks were killed and half a dozen of them were wounded, fortunately not severely. two of our own fellows were hit, but neither of them badly. i have sent in greek waters. them and the greeks on ahead to join the women on the shore. tarleton lost two greeks, killed, and had about as many wounded as i had. one poor fellow was so badly hit that he could not keep up with the others on the retreat. two of our men tried to carry him; but it hurt him so much that he begged them to put him down; and as soon as they did he drew his pistol and shot himself. so, altogether, we have lost six, which is little enough, considering we are more than half- way down to the shore." "if they do try to outflank us, i suppose we must fall back again?" "yes, if they succeed we must do so. of course we shall try to prevent it. directly i see any signs of their trying it on, i shall make a strong effort to drive them back; but i don't think they will try it at present, the sole object of each man seems to be to fire away his ammunition as quickly as he can. i have just been giving orders to the greeks and our fellows to shove their caps up in front of them on the ends of their ramrods, so as to encourage the turks to keep on firing, and to push a musket up and fire occasionally, without raising their heads to take aim. the smoke hanging about along the line will hide the trick of the caps, and the shots will keep the turks blazing away." for two hours the firing continued; but towards the end of that time it slackened considerably. "i expect a good many of them are running short of ammuni- tion," martyn said. "now they have done firing they will have time to talk a bit, and may arrange to march off somewhere, and come down between us and the shore; so i think it is time for us to be making a move. i will go along and tell every third man to fall back at once. i think, mr. beveridge, it would be as well that you should go with them. i shall send tarleton in command, and tell him to pick out a spot, from a hundred to three hundred yards from the shore, and place the men in position there. five minutes later you shall pick out every second man, horace, and go down and join them. we rescued. will keep up a more rapid fire now, so that they shan't have any idea we are falling back. of course, when you join tarleton, you will take up your position with him, i shall be down five minutes after you. when we are all there we can form a semicircle, with the ends resting on the sea, and there will be an end of this constant fear of being outflanked." five minutes later tarleton, with a third of the men, went off at the double down the path. those left behind renewed their fire, taking aim among the rocks and bushes, and this at once provoked a fresh outburst of firing on the part of the turks. in a short time martyn told horace to get his men together and be off, and in twenty minutes he joined tarleton, who had taken up his post at a little more than a hundred yards from the shore. the men were slashing down bushes with their cutlasses, and piling them and stones so as to make a low breastwork. the party horace had brought at once joined in the work. "it is a screen we want more than a defence," tarleton said. "you see we are commanded everywhere from the hill, but these bushes will hide us, and they will only be able to fire into them at random; besides, we want them cut down in front of us to be able to use our guns." they were soon joined by the rear-guard. "the turks must be some distance behind," martyn said. "we could hear them blazing away when we were nearly half a mile on the road. that is a good work, mr. tarleton; we shall get it finished by the time they come." so strong a party made quick work of it, and in another quarter of an hour the screen of bushes was completed down to the shore on either side, the sweep being some three hundred yards in length, and the breastwork in most places three feet high. "it won't keep out bullets," martyn said; "but from the distance they won't see how thin it is. at any rate it is a good screen." the whole of the greeks and twenty of the sailors were in greek waters. placed at intervals of about six feet apart behind the screen, and each man was told to dig up the soil with a knife or cut- lass in front of him, and with that and a few rocks to make a protection for himself against stray bullets. the other twenty sailors martyn retained under his own command to carry to the assistance of the defenders at any point against which a serious attack might be made. mr. beveridge had gone down at once to the women and children who were sitting under shelter of the bank by the sea-shore, and cheered them by assurances that the schooner would be sure to return some- time during the night . it was not until a quarter of an hour after the screen had been completed that parties of turks could be seen descending the side of the hill. they did not seem to be hurrying. "they think they have got us in a trap, horace," tarleton said, "and that they have only to wait a bit to starve us out. perhaps it is just as well the schooner made off, for it would have been hot work all getting on board under their fire, whereas now we shall be able to slip off in the dark almost without their knowing it." when the turks approached to within a distance of three or four hundred yards of the breastwork, the party with the rifles opened fire upon them, and they at once fell back some little distance. for half an hour nothing was done, and then a party of fifty or sixty men were seen reascending the hill. "they are going to make a siege of it," martyn said. "they don't like the look of this breastwork." "but what are they sending the men away for, martyn?" horace asked. "because it is just as necessary for them to eat and drink, horace, as it is for us. we have got our water-bottles and biscuits, and the greeks have all brought something with them; they were warned to do so before they started. but those gentlemen all came off in a hurry. i don't expect any of them had breakfast, and in the excitement not one in twenty is likely to have caught up as much as a gourd of water, so i have rescued. no doubt those men you see going up the hill are on their way to their villages for a supply of food and water, and perhaps to get some more ammunition if they can find any. i will warrant half those fellows in front of us have fired away their last shot . you will see they won't disturb us any more to-day." a few shots only were fired from either side during the course of the day, this apparently being done on the part of the turks from pure bravado, as they generally showed them- selves conspicuously, brandished their long guns over their heads, and shouted defiantly before firing. one of them, how- ever, having been shot by a sailor armed with a rifle, the amusement ceased, and during the afternoon all was quiet. an anxious look-out was kept seaward all day. at five in the afternoon one of the sailors sang out, "sail, ho!" "where away, baldock?" "about west-north-west i should say, sir, though i ain't sure of my bearings here." martyn went up to where the man was standing on a rock that projected eight or ten feet above the surrounding ground, a position which would have been dangerous had not the turks been almost out of range. "there, sir, do you see just under that streak of white cloud; it is a little black patch." "i see it, baldock." "i believe it is the schooner's gaff top-sail, sir; it is too narrow for a square sail." "i think you are right, baldock . it might be the peak of one of the native lateen sails, but i think it is too far away for that. it is about the direction we might expect the schooner to come from. she was more to the north-west when we saw her last, but to get round the turks she would have to bear either one way or the other, and if she ran to the south that is just about where she would be on her way back. hullo! that was a near shave; we had better get off this, baldock." "are you hit, sir?" "yes, but i don't think it is of any consequence; it is in in greek waters. the arm, but as i can move it all right, it is only through the flesh." half a dozen guns had flashed out in reply to the shot, which had been fired from a distance of less than a hundred yards, the man having crept through the bushes unseen. martyn's coat was taken off and his arm bandaged at once. "it is rather foolish to expose yourself like that, captain martyn," mr. beveridge said as he came up. "your life is too valuable to us all to be risked in that way." "it was rather foolish," martyn laughed; "but i thought the fellows were out of range, and did not give them credit for enterprise. anyhow there is no great harm done. i think we have made out the schooner, sir, and it is worth getting a ball through one's arm to know that she is on her way back." "do you feel sure it is her?" "well, i can say that it is not a square top-sail; that is certain, and it must either be her gaff top-sail or the peak of a lateen sail of one of these native craft; but i think it is the schooner. if it is, we shan't be long before we can make out her fore-top-gallant sail. no native craft carries a lateen and anything like a square sail." "if it is the schooner, how far is she off, do you think?" "five-and-twenty miles, i should say. there is not much breeze, but that is all the better, for she will be slipping along now at least two knots to the turks' one, while in a strong breeze she would not go more than five to their four. it is five o'clock now, and though we can't feel any wind here, i expect she is making five or six knots an hour. anyhow she ought to be here between ten and twelve. a quarter of an hour later baldock said: "may i take another squint from the look-out, sir?" "yes, but don't stand there long, baldock. i expect that fellow has moved off again if he was not hit by any of our shots. still it is as well not to give him another chance." baldock stood on the rock shading his eyes from the light rescued. of the western sun, which was now getting near the horizon. for a minute or two he stood uncertain, and then said: "it is the schooner, sir, sure enough. i can just make out a black line below the sail; that must be her fore-top-gallant sail just showing." a cheer broke from the sailors lying along the shelter of the screen of bushes. "that is good news, baldock," martyn said. "come down now; another half-hour will settle it anyhow, and there will be light enough till then." the next observation settled the question. it was certainly a square sail underneath the sharp peak of a gaff top-sail . the joy of the greeks was extreme when they heard that the vessel that was to carry them away was in sight. "the schooner will be in a nice mess," martyn grumbled to tarleton. "with what there are on board now, and all these, there will be something like six hundred of them; a nice cargo that." "there is one thing," horace laughed, "i expect she has carried as many before." "yes, i daresay she has taken six hundred slaves, but we can't pack these greeks as they pack slaves. there will be no moving on board, and as to fighting the guns if we fall in with a turk, it will be well-nigh impossible. "why, she will be as deep in the water as she was when we sailed out of plymouth. what is the weight of them all, horace, do you suppose?" "not very great, captain martyn. i don't suppose there are a dozen of the men weigh over ten stone. i suppose the women average seven, and the children, counting babies, say four. as there are as many children as there are men, that would make the average seven stone all round, but even if you said eight stone, which is a hundredweight, and they are certainly not that, or anything near it, that would make thirty tons, and it won't be over that if you throw in all the bundles. you calculated that you got fifty tons out of her hold." "oh, well, that is not so bad. if it comes on to blow we ( ) m in greek waters. will make shifting ballast of them, and pack them all up to windward on both decks; that ought to make her as stiff as a church. it will be a big job getting them all on board to-night . there is one thing, i don't suppose the turks have made her out. of course they don't know that we are expecting a vessel, or anything about her rig. we must make a fire down on the shore as soon as it gets dark, and keep a sharp look-out for her, putting the fire out as soon as she is near enough for the light to begin to show on her sails. then we will open fire all along the line as if we thought we heard them creeping up towards us, and that will cover the rattling of the anchor chain. i will hail miller to muffle the oars, and in that way we may manage to get most of them on board at any rate before the turks have an idea of what is going on. by firing an occasional shot we shall keep their attention fixed, and gradually with- draw from the line as we did from that place we held up there." chapter x. a daring exploit. soon after nine o'clock will martyn took his post on the shore at the northern end of the position. a dropping fire was kept up all round the semicircle, as if the defenders feared that the assailants might be trying to crawl up towards them. martyn continued to listen intently for half an hour, then he thought he heard a sound on the water. in another minute or two he could make out the sound of voices. "miller has got his head screwed on the right way," he said to himself. "he is showing no lights." another five minutes and he could dimly make out the outline of the schooner. "miseriarrdia ahoy!" he shouted. "ay, ay," came across the water. a daring exploit. "i am going to put out the fire so that the light won't show on your sails, and in a minute or two i am going to open fire heavily to cover the rattle of the chains. directly you hear us begin let go the anchor; don't answer." horace was standing by the fire, and he at once scattered the brands and threw sand over them. martyn ran up to the front of the position and shouted, "open fire!" and the rattle of musketry broke out all round the screen. the turks, sur- prised at the sudden din, and fearing that a sortie was going to be made, replied briskly, and for four or five minutes the fire was maintained. horace down on the shore heard the rattle of the anchor chain and the creaking of the blocks, followed shortly by the sound of the tackle as the boats were lowered. "please muffle the oars, mr. miller!" he shouted, and the answering hail came across the water. twelve of the sailors came down from their posts to assist with the boats, and in three or four minutes there was a slight splash of oars, and the four boats of the schooner ran gently ashore. "all well, i hope?" tom burdett asked as he jumped out . "all well, tom, with the exception of about half a dozen slightly wounded." "thank godl" the boatswain said, "i tell you we felt mighty sore at having to run away and leave you just at daybreak this morning, and you can't tell how glad we were when we caught sight of the fire first and then made out the popping of the guns. have you got the greeks out, mr. horace?" "yes, there are over five hundred of them here." "my eye!" the sailor said, "that is something like a cargo." "i have got twelve men here, tom. that will give you four and a helmsman to each boat with what you have got. has marco come ashore with you?" "yes, mr. horace. i thought i might be useful if you had got the christians with you." "yes, that is what i wanted you for, marco. now, then," he said to the women who were clustered behind him, "take in greek waters. your places in the boats. help them in, lads; there are lots of children among them. you need not be afraid of packing them closely so long as you leave yourselves room to row, for there is not a ripple on the water. father, would you mind going off with the first lot?" he said as mr. beveridge came up. "marco has come ashore to help here, and mr. miller does not talk their language. if you take zaimes with you he can help settle them down as they come on board. mind, lads, you are to make as little noise as you can. there are six hundred of those turks lying round us, and if they got a notion of what was going on they would be coming on us like a pack of wolves, and in the dark they would be among us before we knew that they were coming, and your first boat-load would be your last. impress upon the greeks, father, when they get on board, that not a word must be spoken." "mr. miller will see to that, sir, no doubt," the boatswain said. "he has got the whole lot of them down between decks, and he and bill scoons have got the deck to themselves." the women and children were crowded into the boats, which were first backed stern on shore to allow them to enter. the sailors lifted the children, and wading into the water put them in. the smaller boats pushed off as soon as they were filled, and they were back again just after the two larger ones started. the schooner was but a hundred yards away, and so quickly did the work go on that in little more than a quarter of an hour the last batch of women and children left the shore. horace directed marco to see that the wounded were carefully lifted into the next boat, and to go on board with them; he then ran up to martyn. the continuous fire had ceased now, but dropping shots were kept up all round the position. "the last batch has gone on board, captain martyn," ho reported. "thank god for that, horace! that is a load off one's mind. it is a smart piece of work to have got them on board so soon. i did not expect you for some time yet. i have been listening sharply. of course i heard sounds, but even a daring exploit. here they were faint, while the turks, being twice as far away, can hardly have heard them, and if they did would not have made them out, knowing nothing of what is going on. now do you and tarleton go off, one each way, and send every third man down to the boats; but if the third man is a sailor send the next greek to him. when you get down to the shore go along to the boats and see the men off. as soon as they are in the boats start back again, sending the rest of the greeks down to the shore. then when you join me here i shall know that there are only our own men to draw off. tell them all to keep up a pretty sharp fire when the greeks have left." in a very few minutes they were beside him again. "the boats took the first batch off in one trip, sir," tarleton reported, "and they will be back again by the time the last fellows we have sent down get to the shore." "we will give them five minutes and then be off." "mr. miller sent word by the boatswain, sir, that he had got the guns loaded with grape, and blue lights ready, so that if they should at the last moment press you he will sweep the hillside as soon as you bring the men down to the shore." "i hope we shall not want it," martyn said; "but it is well to be on the safe side. i am sure we don't want to kill any more of these poor beggars than we can help. of course they wanted to massacre the christians, but as they know their own people have been massacred in tens of thousands by the greeks, it is only human nature they should take revenge. anyhow i am glad there has not been much bloodshed. the only time we got fairly at them was when they first gathered for a charge at that olive grove, and again when they came down the path to that place where we stopped them. of course a few fell while we were falling back, but i should say that from forty to fifty would be quite the outside; and likely enough it may not have been half that . it has been a much easier business than i expected. i must say, when we first got into the village and i saw what a crowd of women and chil- dren there were there, i thought we were going to have a very in greek waters. tough job before we got on board the schooner again. now i think we can fall back. go down to the shore again, please, and start the men from that end, so that we can keep on firing from here up to the last moment." in a very few minutes the last of the defenders stepped into the boats and rowed off to the ship. "all safe, captain martyn?" miller's voice asked as the boats came alongside. "all safe, mr. miller." "then we will give a hearty cheer, sir. they will know in a few minutes that you have gone, and it will make no difference. now, lads, all together." and three hearty cheers broke from the english sailors, swelled by shouts and yells from the greeks clustered on deck. as they stepped on to the deck miller shook hands heartily with martyn, tarleton, and horace. "thank heaven you are all back safe again!" he said, "and, as i hear, without the loss of a single life. we have had an anxious time of it, as you may guess, since you have been away. i suppose we may as well get the boats up, sir?" "certainly. we shan't want to go ashore again, miller." the boatswain's whistle rang out, the falls were hooked on, and the boats run up to the davits. "don't swing them in at present," martyn said. "we want all our room on deck. what have you done about the greeks, miller?" "the cook had a big copper of soup ready, and they each had a basin as they came on board. we have given up the whole of the lower deck to the women and children. our fellows and the men sleep on deck." "i thought that was how you would manage, miller; in- deed i don't see any other way that it could be done." "i have got all the scuttles open down below," miller said, "and the hatchways off, so i think they will manage. it will be pretty close, no doubt, but none of these people are particu- larly fond of fresh air." a daring exploit. "you have got supper ready for the men, i hope, miller. they had something to eat in the village at daybreak, and they have had the biscuits they took with them; but i expect they are all ready for a regular meal. of course they will have a ration of grog all round." "i have seen to all that, sir, and marco came up just before you came alongside, to say that supper would be ready for us in five minutes. how he managed it i don't know, for he, mr. beveridge, and zaimes have been busy settling the women below ever since they came on board. how did the chief get through it?" "as well as anyone, except in the climbing. there is a lot more in him than we thought, miller. i watched him when he was loading and firing, and he was just as cool and quiet as if he was sitting here on the quarter-deck, and what was better, he always fell in with what i suggested without any talk or argument, and if i were asked i should say that he really enjoyed the whole business. i have never seen him look so bright and animated. well, i am quite ready for supper; at least i shall be when i have had a wash." in a short time the party in the cabin was seated at supper. all were in the highest spirits. their enterprise had been a complete success in every respect, and they were the more pleased that it had been accomplished without the loss of a single life on the part of the crew. the supper was not quite so varied as usual, and marco apologized for its shortcomings. "there is no occasion to say a word, marco. it is excellent," martyn said. "i don't know how on earth you have managed it." "i had most of it ready before we dropped anchor, captain martyn," he said, "but i went ashore with the boats and have been helping with the women until a few minutes ago, so i have not had time to finish the things properly; but i thought you would rather have them so than wait." "much rather, marco. now, miller, let us hear your report, i have not had time to ask you a single question since i came in greek waters on board. we made you out from the top of the hill twenty- five miles away, with two turkish frigates after you." "yes," miller said, "we were as near as possible caught in a trap. it was lucky i had had the anchor buoyed and the chain ready to slip. of course we kept a sharp watch all night; i was on deck half an hour before day began to break, for i knew that that was the dangerous time. it was very dark then." "yes, we know that," martyn put in. "we pretty nearly broke our necks scrambling along the face of a hill nearly as steep as a wall." "just as the first gleam of daylight came," miller went on, "i made out two large craft coming along about a mile and a half from shore. they were not quite abreast of us, perhaps half a mile south. you may guess we lost no time in slipping the chain and getting up our head sails. fortunately there was enough breeze even in here to fill our sails. i knew they could not make us out as yet, lying in here under the shadow of the land, and, indeed, i was half inclined for a moment to lower the sails and trust to their not making us out at all, but as it would soon be light, and no doubt they would be keeping a sharp look-out for us, i saw it wouldn't do. it was not long before i saw that, though, of course, they had a good deal more wind than we had, we were holding our own with them. "ten minutes after we got under weigh they made us out and changed their course, steering so as to cut us off before we were clear of the northern point, while i stood a little more out so as to get farther from the shelter of the land and catch a little more breeze. they closed a bit with us, and one of them began to try the distance with his bow-guns, but though we were not quite out of range, the shot went altogether wide of us. i never saw such lubberly shooting. we were better than a mile ahead when we came out beyond the point and got the true wind . as soon as i felt her beginning to walk along i got a couple of sails overboard to deaden her way and stood for the north-west the turks got out stun-sails and did their a daring exploit. best to come up to us, and as the wind was pretty fresh they walked along faster than i should have given them credit for, and i had to get one of the sails on board again to keep my distance. they fired occasionally, but as i kept them in line they could only bring a couple of bow-chasers to bear. "i don't think we altered our distance by a ship's length for six hours, by which time we were a good thirty miles away from the island, and nearly dead to leeward; so i thought it was about time to begin to have some amusement. directly we had started i had got the cook to make a tremendous fire in the galley, and had put six eighteen-pounder shot in it. i kept coal heaped on, and stuck a couple of extra lengths on to the chimney to make it draw, and by this time the balls were red-hot. we did not begin with them at first, but having got the second sail out of water we luffed a little so as to get the pivot to bear, and tom burdett sent the first shot smack into the frigate's fore-foot. she yawed a bit, and let us have four or five of her forward guns on the starboard side, and this time a couple of shot went through our sails. as i did not want to run any risks i held on till i put another half-mile between us; then i began again with the pivot. "the boatswain is a capital shot and hulled the leading frigate every time. evidently she did not like it. i expect she had no idea that a craft of this size carried such heavy metal, and she came up into the wind and gave us a broadside. i put the helm down at the same moment as she did and returned the compliment. we trained the guns high, and as good luck would have it ione of the shots struck the maintop-mast and down it came, bringing the fore and mizzen-topgallant masts down with it. we gave a cheer, and the greeks yelled like fiends. i had sent the women and children down into the hold, but the men were on deck, and they danced about like lunatics when they saw the top hamper of the turk go over her side. we wore round and gave her the other broadside, then i set the greeks to work to load the broadside guns, while our fellows went to the pivot again. in greek waters. "now was the time to try the red-hot shot while she was lying broadside on to us, and we plumped the whole six into her, one after the other; then we stood off again, for the other frigate had come up and was joining in the game. if we had had a spar knocked out of us it would have been all up, for they each carried something like forty guns. as soon as they got pretty well out of range i hauled my wind and stood south. the first frigate was still in complete confusion. with my glass i could make out the men trying to cut away the wreck, but it was not long before i saw a thin wreath of smoke rising from her forward hatchway, and presently i saw her ensign half hauled down as a signal of distress to her consort, which at once gave up the chase, which she must have already seen was useless, and bore down to her. thinking i had done enough, and being in such a stew about you all, i left them to settle matters as best they could and began to beat back to the island . when we were five miles away a pillar of smoke was rising from the frigate, and with the glass i could make out boats passing backwards and forwards between her and her consort, which was lying-to near her; and the last we could make out of her was that she was in flames from keel to truck." "capital, miller, that was splendidly donel" martyn ex- claimed, "fancy a schooner with ten men on board destroying a forty-gun frigate. that was a capital idea of yours of heating the shot." "the cook is in a great way," miller laughed, "for we pretty well melted the galley, and we shall have to get a fresh one next time we put into port. and now tell me about your share of the day's work." "well, we have done very well," martyn said; "but you have quite taken down any conceit we may have felt. i quite envy you." "you need not do that, martyn," mr. beveridge said; "one may be as proud of saving five hundred lives as of destroying a frigate, admirable as the action was. i will tell you about a daring exploit. our doings. i have no doubt martyn will be too modest to do justice to himself. ah! what is that?" he broke off as he heard the report of a gun, followed by several others. "the turks venting their dissatisfaction," martyn said. "i expected it before this. of course they heard our cheer, but at the distance they were they may not have made out it came from the water, and i expect they were some time before they crawled forward and found out that our lines were deserted. we will fire a round of grape over their heads as a hint to them that they had better clear off, and as there is no hope of either plunder or blood they will not care about risking their lives for nothing. will you go up, mr. tarleton, and just touch off one of the port guns. don't fire in the direction they are shooting from. we only want to frighten and not to hurt them." in a couple of minutes the vessel quivered as an eighteen- pounder sent its contents rattling among the rocks. tarleton soon rejoined the party, and mr. beveridge proceeded to relate to miller the events of the day. "the next time i land, mr. miller," he concluded, "i shall take good care to ascertain the nature of the ground we have to cross. i have never been accustomed to active exercise, even as a boy i never cared for it; but i could not have believed that human lungs could have failed in their action so com- pletely, or human heart bump as mine did in going up that hill. as for the scramble along it in the dark, it was a sort of nightmare. martyn and zaimes hauled me along like a helpless bundle. i was only conscious of my feet continually slipping from under me, of grasping at the grass, of having my knees bruised against rocks, and of thinking every moment that my coat collar must give way and that i must roll to the bottom of the hill. zaimes had hold of that, and martyn of my arm, and i should say that my flesh will be black and blue for weeks. i mentally registered a vow that though i was ready to fight for the greeks, i was not ready, and never would again under- take, to climb among mountains for them. there is a limit to in greek waters the endurance of human nature, and the limit was very distinctly passed upon that occasion. moreover, my dignity as a man suffered. i was humiliated at my own helplessness, and was deeply impressed with the thought that my whole life had been a mistake when it resulted in my being hauled along by zaimes, who is a year or two older than i am, i believe. i made a resolution to practise athletic exercises, but i am afraid that, like many other good resolutions, it will be dropped with the memory of that terrible hour." "where are you thinking of landing all these people, mr. beveridge?" "i have not the least idea, martyn. where do you think?" "so that we get rid of them as quickly as possible, sir, it doesn't matter in the slightest. there is one thing certain, it will be weeks before we shall get the decks white again, and i should say that a thorough fumigation of her from stem to stern will be advisable. i don't suppose the british authorities would be grateful to us if we were to dump them all down in zante or corfu, because it is certain they would have to feed the greater. portion of them for a considerable time. on the other hand, if you land them at any greek port there is a very strong risk of their all dying of starvation; the new government have other things to think about." "it is very awkward, captain martyn, very awkward," mr. beveridge said seriously. "however, it is evident that now we have rescued them they can't be allowed to starve." "there is one thing, father," horace put in. "i think that money would be much better laid out in feeding them than in enabling the politicians and the klephts to spend it in gaudy dresses and in keeping bands of armed ruffians round them." "certainly it would, horace. as to where they had better be landed, i should say that we might give them their choice of say four or five places. it would be much better that they should be divided, as they would in that way be more likely to get employment than if they were all turned out at one place. some might be landed at some of the greek islands, a daring exploit. some in the morea, others at athens, and some, perhaps, in the ionian islands, where they would be under the british flag." "i think they would be a deal better off there, father, than in greece or the greek islands, where at present everyone is thinking of war, and the fields are going out of cultivation. they certainly would do a great deal better in corfu, ccpha- lonia, and the other islands than they would elsewhere; and if they were landed in small batches they might find work . i expect most of them have got a little money, and as living is very cheap, if you were to give them a couple of pounds a head it would enable them to live a long time while they are looking for work . besides, there are committees on those islands for helping refugees; so i do think it would be better to land all those who have no friends in greece, or any particu- lar wish to go there, in our islands. i should say zaimes and marco might go round among them in the morning and ask if any of them have friends in the greek islands or the mainland, and to put it to the others, that though they can be landed in greece if they like, they will probably be better off and certainly much more free from anxiety and danger, in the ionian isles." "i think that that would be a very good plan," mr. beveridge said. "when are you going to get under sail again, captain martyn?" "as soon as i have finished this cup of coffee, mr. beveridge, we will get a boat lowered and find the buoy and pick up the anchor miller slipped this morning. i don't want to lose that, and the chain. as soon as we have got it on board we will be off. there is not much breeze here after dark, but we may as well get what benefit we can from it . i have no fear of the other turkish frigate looking in here on her way back; and if she did, now that we have got all our crew on board, i have no doubt we could give a good account of her. but i want to be under weigh. there will be no comfort on board till we have got rid of our passengers. whereabout do you think the buoy is lying, miller?" a daring exploit party, the means they possessed, and whether they had any friends in greece. most of them possessed a little money, the proceeds of their last harvest and vintage, and some eight or ten had sums varying from a hundred to four hundred pounds, besides the jewels of their females, which, in their cases, were of considerable value. some of the poorer ones had literally nothing beyond the clothes in which they stood and a few almost worthless trinkets. there were not half a dozen of the whole number who had friends or connections in greece. some thirty of the unmarried men expressed their desire to join the greek army and fight against the turks; the rest thankfully embraced the offer of being landed on islands under the protec- tion of the british flag. it took a whole day to ascertain all these particulars, and on the following day the exiles were asked to divide themselves into parties according to the villages from which they came, in order that acquaintances and relations should be landed together. when this had been done, zaimes distributed, in the name of mr. beveridge, to the head of each family a sum amounting to two pounds for each of its members, except to those whose resources were sufficient to maintain them for a considerable time. the wind was very light, and it was six days after they weighed anchor before they entered the port of zante. another week was spent in landing the fugitives among the ionian islands, each party being in proportion to the size of the island and the facilities of obtaining employment there. the grati- tude of the poor people to mr. beveridge, and indeed to all on board the schooner, was very great, but they were all much depressed on landing. at first their delight at having escaped with their lives was unbounded. but as the days went on, and the feeling that they had lost all else, were separated for ever from their birthplace and home, and were in future to live among strangers, overwhelmed them. mr. beveridge went a great deal among them, and endea- voured to cheer them with the assurance that the war could in greek waters. not last very long, and that at its termination, whenever that might be, there would certainly be a general amnesty, and that all fugitives would then be permitted to return to their homes. he therefore advised them to keep this always in mind, and to lay by every penny they could spare of their earnings, so that they would eventually be able to return to cyprus and resume their former life. when the misericordia left cyprus there remained on board only some half a dozen families who had friends in greece, and the young men who intended to join the greek army. never did a vessel undergo a more thorough washing and cleaning up than the schooner on her voyage round to athens. the deck was scrubbed and holy-stoned twice a day; the lower deck was equally cleaned, and, in addi- tion, the woodwork received two coats of fresh paint, after having been thoroughly fumigated. "the greeks may have their virtues," martyn remarked to miller, "but cleanliness on board ship is marked by its ab- sence." "there is no doubt about that," miller agreed . "i have always heard that a cargo of mohammedan pilgrims to mecca was about the most painful experience a sailor could have; but i back the greeks against them. i don't think the schooner herself liked it. she seemed to have lost all her liveliness and to be depressed at being turned into a human pig-stye. i don't believe it was worse between decks when she had a cargo of slaves on board." "mr. beveridge has just told me," martyn said, "that i am to tell the crew that at the next pay he shall give three pounds a head to each man as a reward for their work at cyprus and the inconveniences they have been since put to." "they will appreciate that," miller said, "they certainly have been put about a good deal, and they will be pleased at the recognition of it as much as with the money. besides, the same thing may happen again, and it is a good thing to keep them all in a good humour, especially as at present there hasn't been any chance whatever of prize-money." a daring exploit. "what are the next orders, sir?" martyn asked mr. bever- idge when they had finished supper. "there will be nothing particular going on for some time, i should imagine, captain martyn. the turkish army does not seem to be ready to advance, and the greeks are not troubling themselves to get up an army at all. after the last affair every man made off with the booty he had gathered to his own village; and there, i am afraid, they are all likely to stay till a turkish army invades them. athens and nauplia may hold out for some time longer—for weeks, perhaps, possibly for months. therefore, for the present i leave it entirely with you to cruise where you think best." "then, sir, we will go south. since we have come out we have not taken a prize worth having; and i think that as prize- money was certainly one of the inducements held out to the sailors when they joined, we might as well try to pick up a few turkish merchantmen. there is no doubt that the ships from smyrna and all the syrian ports, as well as from the islands, keep near land, and that even those bound for alex- andria and the african ports coast round there also. some of these no doubt carry rich cargoes, and many will be taking greek slaves to alexandria and tunis; so we shall be carrying out your object by releasing them, as well as picking up some prize-money. i think the men well deserve a little indulgence in this way. their work has not been altogether pleasant for some time. they have been turned out of their quarters, and have had to sleep under the awning forward. i have heard no grumbling among them, for i am sure they were glad to do all they could to help the poor creatures we have had on board. still, they will be glad of a chance of what they would consider legitimate business." "very well, captain martyn, let it be so, i quite agree with you as to the excellent conduct of the men. they have certainly had a good deal of hardship to put up with, for everything has been very uncomfortable since our visit to cyprus." ( ) n in greek waters in a few minutes the boatswain's whistle was heard, fol- lowed by the tramp of the men round the capstan and the stir of getting up sail . then the watch was set, and the schooner sped along under a gentle breeze towards the south. for the next two months the misericordia cruised on the coast of syria. scarce a day passed without some vessel being overhauled. many of these were small coasters laden only with grain or other cargoes of small value. these were permitted to proceed on their way without interference. of the larger vessels some contained mixed cargoes. in the cases where no greek captives were on board, the valuable portion of the cargo was transferred to the schooner, and the ship was then permitted to proceed on her voyage. where greek slaves were found on board, the captain was given the choice of having the vessel burned, or giving a bond for an amount equal to half her estimated value and that of the cargo, signed by himself, the representative of the owners, if there was one on board, and the principal passengers. • these bonds could not, perhaps, have been enforced in any court; but mr. beveridge had confidence in the honesty of the turks, and in every case the amounts were duly forwarded to the agents he named. seven ships contained valuable cargoes of silks, tobacco, and wine. these were all bound for alexan- dria and tunis, and carried a considerable number of greek women and children, the survivors of massacres in towns in asia minor. in these cases the turks were all placed in their boats within two or three miles of land, and the vessels with prize crews on board were consigned to greeks at corinth and athens, who had undertaken to act as mr. beveridge's agents, and who were to dispose of them and their cargoes to greek merchants. in the hands of the turks. chapter xi. in the hands of the turks. towards the end of the cruise, the schooner had just returned to the coast of asia minor after having run across to athens and taken on board the officers and men who had sailed the last prizes taken there. on the day after they took up their place on their cruising ground they fell in with a large polacca brig. the vessel mounted ten small guns, and fought with some obstinacy, and it was not until martyn placed the schooner so that she could rake the brig's decks, which were crowded with men, that she hauled down her flag. "lower two boats, miller. you take charge of one and tarleton the other. by the look of those fellows i don't believe they are turks at all. i believe they are from algiers or tunis; pirates at ordinary times, but who have come here to pick up slaves cheap. they are treacherous beggars, so be on your guard. there is a very strong crew. don't row alongside till i lay the schooner broadside on." in five minutes miller hailed from the deck of the prize, "you are right, sir, they are algerines, and as cut-throat a look- ing lot as ever i came across. she is crowded below with greek women and girls, and as far as i can see at present she has no cargo of any other sort . i have sent one of the boats for marco. he can speak to the women, who are making a fearful hubbub down below." "have you disarmed the crew, mr. miller?" 'mr. tarleton has just finished that. we have had to knock a good many of the scoundrels down. they are as savage as wild cats." the schooner was brought alongside the polacca and lashed there. the deck of the prize showed that the fire of the schooner had been terribly destructive. over twenty bodies lay scattered about, principally round the guns. in greek waters. "are they all dead?" martyn asked as he stepped on board. "they are all dead now, but they were not when we boarded her. but as they lay there they fired their pistols among us. two or three pretended to be dead, and then sprang up, knife in hand, and several of the men have got nasty cuts; so that was soon put a stop to. some of the fellows below made quite a fight of it, and the men had to use their cutlasses pretty freely. however, they are all disarmed and bound now. i have no doubt they are algerine pirates, and deserve to be hung to the yard-arm every man-jack of them." "have you overhauled the hold yet?" "yes, sir. it is filled with these unhappy slaves. she evidently came merely in ballast, with money to buy them." "well, no doubt these fellows have been pirates, mr. miller, but as we have no means to prove it we must let them go as we have the others; though it is a nuisance, for they only warn the people at the ports against us. we won't put them on the mainland this time, but land them on one of the little islands. they may be some time in getting a craft to take them to the mainland, and then they will find it rough work making along the coast. however, we can settle upon that later. the first thing to do is to get the decks roughly cleaned and the dead bodies thrown overboard." a dozen men were set to work with mops and buckets, while others fastened shot to the feet of the algerines and dropped them overboard. as soon as this was done marco was sent below to tell the captives that they could come on deck. as the women poured up, looking almost dazed at their sudden release, and at the bright sunlight after the stifling at- mosphere of the dark hold in which they had been confined for six days, horace saw one of them, a woman of some five-and- thirty years of age, to whose side a girl of fifteen was clinging, looking round with an air of excitement, in strong contrast to the comparative apathy of the others. she glanced round at him and the men engaged in tidying up the deck, and then with a cry sank fainting on the deck. he hurried up to her in the hands of the turks. and partly raised her, when he was struck by the cry of the girl, "oh, mother, mother " he looked at her in astonish- ment. "are you english?" he exclaimed. "yes," she cried, "we are english; but we have been seized and carried away by these horrid turks. mother said she fan- cied she heard some shouts in english, but she thought she must have been mistaken, as only a greek came down and spoke to us in the hold, and she did not think it possible that it could be english. and have you rescued us out of the hands of the turks, sir? mother said they were taking us away to sell us as slaves." "yes, we have rescued you," horace said. "you are free now. if you will hold your mother's head for a moment i will fetch the doctor; we have one on board." "if you would get a little water, sir, she will soon come round. she has fainted several times since we were captured." horace, however, caught sight of macfarlane. "doctor, here is an english lady among the captives. she has fainted. please see to her. i will run to get some water;" and he sprang over the bulwark on to the deck of the schooner. "bring some brandy with you too," macfarlane said as he hurried to the side of the fainting woman. horace rushed down to the cabin, and returned with a jug of water, a decanter of brandy, and a tumbler. the doctor sprinkled some water on the lady's face, poured a few drops of spirits between her lips, and in a minute or two she opened her eyes. "it is all right now, madam," he said as she looked round in a confused way. "you are safe among friends and british sailors." "thank god for his mercies!" she murmured, while tears fell down her cheeks. "it seems almost too great happiness to be true." in a few minutes she was well enough to be assisted down to in greek waters. the cabin of the schooner, where she was left to the care of her daughter for a time. half an hour later she was able to relate her story to mr. beveridge. she was, she said, the wife of an english merchant at smyrna. they lived a short distance out of the town, and had, since the troubles began, gone but little abroad, for although it was only the greeks who had been involved in the massacre that had taken place there some months before, there was a good deal of hostility upon the part of the lower class of the population against all christians. one even- ing she had been with her daughter in the garden, her husband being engaged till late at his business in the town. it was just getting dark, and she was about to re-enter the house, when five or six ruffians of the lowest class rushed into the garden, seized her and her daughter in spite of their shrieks, threw thick cloths over their heads, and then carried them away. they were taken for some distance, when they stopped, and she heard an animated conversation and the clink of money. then they were placed in a boat, and presently carried up on to the deck of a ship and taken below. when their mufllings were removed they found they were in the hold of a vessel with a large number of greek captives. she endeavoured in vain to make herself understood by the sailors who came below, and who, she perceived at once, were not turks. she told them that she was english, and that her husband would pay a large sum if she and her daughter were set on shore unharmed. no attention was paid to her entreaties, but on her persisting she was brutally knocked down, and in a short time a man, who was evidently an officer, came down and forced them both to take off their european dresses and put on others that some of the greek women were ordered to hand over to them. it was now evident to her that they had been seized by some of the ruffians of the town and sold to the algerines, who were in no way particular as* to the nationality of their slaves, and that they were destined to be sold in the slave-market of either tunis or algiers. a few hours after they were taken on board they heard the in the hands of the turks. anchor run up, and could soon tell by the ripple of the water against the planks that they were under weigh. all hope now left them, and they had passed a terrible six days, overcome by despair, and half suffocated by the foul air of the hold. hope had again sprung up when a gun was fired overhead, and it was soon evident that the vessel was engaged in an encounter with an enemy. at last the firing ceased, then there was a sound of shouting and the clashing of swords on the deck above their heads. presently the hatchways had been opened and a greek had come down and told them that the vessel had been captured from the turks, and that they were free. she fancied that she heard english voices, but until she had reached the deck and saw the faces and uniforms of the sailors, she thought that she must be mistaken. after that she re- membered no more until sho heard the doctor's voice. "i am rejoiced indeed that i have been enabled to save you and your daughter from the horrors of slavery," mr. beveridge said. "we have had the pleasure of rescuing many hundreds of greek women and children from the hands of the turks, but i never expected to find a countrywoman among them. this cabin will be at your disposal, except that we must, i fear, take our meals here. the cabin adjoining will be wholly yours. in the course of a week i hope to land you at corfu, thence you will be able to write to your husband and arrange either for joining him again at smyrna, or taking a passage for england, which would, i should think in the present state of things, be the wisest course. my purse will be entirely at your disposal. i am the owner of this schooner, which is called the miseriarrdia, and although we fight under the greek flag, and have come out to assist them to obtain their independence, we are principally devoting ourselves to saving the unhappy victims of this war." the lady, whose name was mrs. herbert, expressed her deep gratitude, and mr. beveridge at once took possession of miller's cabin, as the lieutenant would, he had no doubt, remain in charge of the prize. when the capture was made, the in greek waters. schooner was some eighty miles to the east of rhodes, and after talking the matter over with miller, martyn decided to land the algerines on caxo, an islet lying some fifty miles to the south-west of rhodes. miller and tarleton were for the present to continue on board the prize. the prisoners, forty- eight in number, were transferred into the schooner. the next evening they arrived off caxo, where the algerines were landed in boats. martyn then went on board the polacca. "i have been thinking, miller, that as we seem to have frightened all the turks into remaining in port for the present, i will leave you and tarleton on board the polacca, and give you twenty men and let you cruise on your own account, while we take these women and children round to the ionian isles. we will shift two of the eighteen pounders on board this craft. no one will suspect you, and you will have a good chance of picking up some more prizes, while the sight of our white sails sends everything running into port as far off as they can be seen. we can rendezvous here again this day fortnight." "i should like that very much," miller said, "and i think it is a capital plan. i must ask mr. boveridge to let me have marco, or i shall have no means of making myself understood either by turk or greek." a fortnight later the schooner returned to the island. she had had rough weather for the last three days of her voyage, but the sky had now cleared again. "there is the island," martyn said, as horace came up at six o'clock in the morning to take charge of the watch, for he had now command of the starboard watch, and tom burdett had the port. "there is the island, but there is no sign of the polacca yet. i wonder miller is not here first. if we had been having calms i should not have been the least surprised at his not turning up, but with this strong southerly wind there is no reason why he should not have been here. go up to the main-top, horace, and take a look round." but horace could see no sail in sight. in the hands of the turks. "you are not uneasy about miller surely," mr. beveridge said at breakfast, seeing that martyn was not in his usual spirits. "well, i am rather uneasy, sir. miller would be more likely to be a day too soon than too late, and with the wind from the south he could have calculated his time here from wherever he happened to be, within an hour or two. the wind has been strong with us, and for aught i know it may have been blow- ing a gale more to the east. we don't know much about the sailing qualities of the polacca, certainly she was very light in ballast, and if she has been caught off a lee shore in a heavy gale she may not have been able to claw off, especially if she happened to be embayed when it came on. of course we must give him twenty-four hours more, but if he does not come then we will shape our course north-east and cruise along the coast; as we get eastward we may pick up some fishing craft or small coaster and hear what the weather has been there, possibly even get news of the polacca. if miller gets hero after we have left, he will guess what course we have taken. very likely he will land a boat and learn that we have been here, and the course we took when we sailed away, and would then be guided by circumstances. at any rate, if nothing has hap- pened to him, we are sure to meet sooner or later." "do just as you think best, captain martyn. i most sin- cerely trust that there are no grounds for your uneasiness. hitherto everything has gone well with us, and it would be terrible indeed if anything should have happened to our two friends and so many of our brave fellows." the day passed slowly. a look-out was kept in the top, but until the sun went down no sail was seen above the hori- zon. the crew shared the anxiety of their captain, and gather- ing in groups, discussed what could have occurred to prevent their consort arriving at the rendezvous. "i don't believe as the turks have caught them," one of the sailors said. "you won't never gammon me into taking in such a yarn as that . i don't believe as there is a turk living would get the weather gauge of lieutenant miller. as in greek waters. to tempests, that is different . we don't care for tempests one way or the other on board the schooner, but then she is a craft such as you don't see twice in a v'yage round the world. if they had been in her i shouldn't have felt noways uneasy; but seeing as how they are in a outlandish brig whose ways they don't understand, it may be that if they was caught off a lee shore by a heavy gale, even the first lieutenant with our men at his back couldn't get her out of the mess." "i said all along," another sailor put in, shaking his head, "as there was bad luck coming. three days ago i dreamed of a black cat, and everyone as knows anything knows as there ain't nothin' more unlucky to dream about than a black cat." "surely, bill," another said, shaking his head gravely. "well, mates, it is my opinion," tom burdett said gruffly, "as there is something in dreams, but in nine cases out of ten it is something as has gone afore and not what comes after. i know once when i came back from a v'yage i had written a letter to tell my old woman what time i should arrive. i reckoned to be in to dinner. well, the coach broke down and i did not get in till nine o'clock. the old woman had made a plum-duff pretty nigh as big as my head, knowing as i was fond of it, and she was in such a taking at my not having been in to eat it at dinner that i sat down and i finished that there pudding cold for supper. well, i dreamt of about ten million black cats and about as many sharks mixed up together, but if you will believe me nothing came of it; and ever since that i have held to the opinion that when you have a bad dream, what you have got to think about when you wake ain't what it means in the future, but what you have been having for supper. "now, i expect if bill there was to turn his mind back he would remember that the night as he had that dream, he had been filling hisself up with fruit or such like trash afore he turned in. i don't say as nothing has happened to lieu- tenant miller and our mates, but i am cocksure as that black cat bill said he dreamt on hadn't nothing to do with it either in the hands of the turks. way. why, bless me, in my village there is hundreds of women as thinks of nothing but dreams and tokens. it is no matter what you dream of, they have got a 'terpretation of it, and if the 'terpretation happens to be a bad one they bother their husbands and brothers and sons, as the case may be, not to put to sea, and there is many a good fisherman whose cupboard is bare half the year, through listening to them. i may have my ideas as to whether harm are come to that polacca or not, but if every seaman on board the ship was to dream of a black tom-cat and his wife and family, it wouldn't make not so much as a shade of difference, in my opinion." martyn did not wait for daylight, but when the middle watch was relieved sail was made, and the schooner bore away to the north-east. land was sighted about four o'clock, and by nightfall they were coasting along at the distance of about a mile. when it became dark they stood on and off the shore, as martyn wished to examine every inlet and bay as they went on. as soon as it was daylight the schooner proceeded on her way. the sails of several craft were made out seaward during the course of the day, but none of these resembled the canvas of the polacca, and attention was concentrated upon the shore, every rock being closely scanned with glasses, and a sharp look-out kept for signals of any kind . in the evening a small fishing-boat was overhauled as it made its way into a village. the fishermen were interrogated by zaimes, who understood a little turkish. they had seen nothing of any craft answering to a description of the polacca. interrogated about the weather, they replied that the storm four days before had been an exceptionally severe one, coming on very suddenly and blowing with tremendous force for some hours. the next morning they were at the mouth of the gulf of adalia. "if miller has gone to grief anywhere," martyn said to horace, "it is as likely as not to be somewhere in this bay. he might very well have been cruising about in here to pick in greek waters. up anything coming out of adalia, which is the principal port along this part of the coast. it is a large bay, you see, and if he happened to be well up it when he was caught in that sudden gale it is probable enough that he would not be able to beat out in that craft . i see on the map there are three or four small towns between this cape and adalia. i don't want to show ourselves inside the cape, for the probability is the schooner would be recognized directly. what i think will be the best plan would be for you and zaimes to take one of the boats and coast along close in to the cape. there is a place called grambusa a mile or two around the corner, and another place called yanar a little farther on. i want you either to board a fishing-boat and find out whether they have news of a wreck between this and adalia, or have heard of any greek or euro- pean prisoners being brought there from farther east. if you can't succeed in getting hold of a fishing-boat, zaimes might land and try to pick up the news at some cottage in the out- skirts of the village. there are greeks in all these sea-side villages, for most of the fishing is in their hands, and though in the towns there were massacres i don't suppose they would be disturbed in quiet villages where they had been settled for generations." zaimes was summoned, and agreed at once to land, as both martyn and horace were of opinion that there was more probability of their getting trustworthy information that way than from fishermen, who would be scared at finding their boat suddenly overhauled. accordingly, taking a gig with six men horace and zaimes started for the shore, while the schooner turned her head west. "i shall cruise backward and forward," martyn said. "i sha'n't go more than four miles from the cape; so when you come out again you will only have to lie on your oars till i come back for you." they rowed direct to shore, crept along close to it till they saw the village half a mile ahead, and then rowed in and landed zaimes. he was absent an hour, and his walk assured horace that he had bad news even before he reached the side of the boat. "i am afraid you have bad news, zaimes." zaimes shook his head. "very bad; it could hardly be in the hands of the turks. worse. there are several christians in the village, and i learned from them that four days ago a brig that was caught in the storm was driven ashore close to adalia. it was found that she was a turkish vessel which had been captured by pirates. the people would have torn them to pieces, but the pasha, who had come down to the shore with a body of troops to try and save those on board the ship when she was seen to be driving ashore, protected them from the mob and lodged them in prison. they say that he has sent off to smyrna, where the governor of anatolia resides, to ask for instructions, and it is expected that orders will come for their execution in a day or two." "stretch to your oars, men," horace said, "the others have been wrecked and captured by the turks, and the sooner we are on board with the news, the better." the men bent to their oars and made the boat fly through the water, and when they rounded cape khelidonia they saw the schooner a quarter of a mile away in the act of going about. they were seen almost as soon as they caught sight of her, and she remained thrown up in the wind until they got alongside. martyn and mr. beveridge were both on deck, and as soon as zaimes had told his story they went down into the cabin for a consultation. "what on earth is to be done?" martyn said; "adalia is a large town. zaimes says there are troops there, likely enough a whole regiment . it would be hopeless to try to attack it with thirty men. the only thing i can see at present would be for us to sail right in, anchor off the town, and threaten to bombard it with red-hot shot if they don't give up the prisoners. the objection is that they are likely to have some batteries there, and in that case we might get the worst of it . besides, it is likely enough that they might hang miller and the rest of them at the first shot we fired." "no, that is not to be thought of," mr. beveridge said. "it seems to me that we might anchor within sight of the place, send a boat ashore with a white flag, and offer to pay any ransom they might fix for the prisoners. i would rather pay ten thousand pounds than that harm should come to them. what do you think, horace?" "if we could have got at the pasha before he sent off to in greek waters. smyrna that might have done, father; but having once referred the case to smyrna, i am afraid he might consider it too risky to let them go. but we might try that if everything else fails." "but what else is there, horace " ""well, i should say, father, the best thing would be to land zaimes and myself again. he has already made some acquaint- ances in the village here, and no doubt they could rig us both up in dresses like their own. then we could go boldly on to adalia, find out exactly how things stand, what sort of a place they are imprisoned in, how strong is the guard, and how close the barrack of the troops is to the prison. i should suggest that you sail away west, so that if, as it is likely enough, the schooner has been noticed by any of the peasants in the vil- lages scattered about among the hills and word sent to adalia, the report may also go that it has sailed right away. then you should capture a small turkish craft; a large fishing-boat would do. leave ten men on board the schooner, and sail in the prize nearly up to adalia. if you anchor, say a couple of miles this side of the town, and hoist a little flag, say a red flag over a white, to your masthead we should recognize you and come down to the beach. "if it is in the daytime you will make us out with your glasses easily enough, and send a boat ashore for us. if it is night-time we will empty out a little powder, moisten it, and flash it off; then you can send ashore for us. i should order the schooner to come every night, keeping three or four miles off shore, sailing up nearly to adalia, and then returning so as to be round the cape again before daylight. in that way we could communicate with her and go on board again when we liked. till we examine the place there is no saying whether there is a possibility of rescue or not. if we find that there is no possi- bility of anything being done in that direction we can embark on board the schooner again, and carry out the plan you sug^ gested: anchor off adalia, and send in to offer a ransom, with the alternative that if it is not accepted we will bombard the place about their ears. in that way, you see, we shall anyhow lose nothing by this expedition of zaimes and myself ashore." "i think your plan is an excellent one, horace," martyn said, and mr. beveridge equally approved of it. "i don't think there will be any great danger about it, in the hands of the turks martyn. there seems no reason why any suspicion should fall upon him and zaimes if they are dressed in the same way as the greeks in these villages." "no, i don't see why there should. of course they will only speak with other greeks. i certainly think the plan of our getting hold of a small native craft and anchoring near the town is a capital one. it will save a great deal of time, for it is somewhere about fifty miles from the cape to the town, and it would, in fact, save a whole day, as, if they come off to us in the evening we could do what there is to do that night, whereas, if they had to walk all the way down the coast to the cape and come on board there it would be too late to do anything that night, and we should have to wait until the next." zaimes was called in, and eagerly embraced the proposal when it was explained to him. he was passionately fond of his brother, from whom he had never been separated, and was ready to dare anything to attempt his rescue. it was agreed they had better wait till dark before they landed. accor- dingly the schooner sailed west for some hours and did not re- turn to the cape until after darkness had fallen. then zaimes and horace were landed, and as soon as the boat returned the schooner again sailed away. before leaving the ship horace had dressed himself as a greek, and on landing they walked to the village. "you had best remain outside for a few minutes, mr. horace," zaimes said, "while i see the man i conversed with this morning. i told him then that my brother was on board the polacca that was wrecked, and that i should endeavour to get the ear of some person of importance at adalia. he said that he was sure that i could do nothing, but anything he could do to help me he would, for his people came years ago from naxos, which, as you know, is our native place. i will just go in first to see if he is alone and to tell him that i have a friend with me. as soon as i see that he is in the same mood i will call you in." in three or four minutes the door of the cottage opened again and horace was called in. "this is the young friend who accompanies me," zaimes said to the man. "he is not a relation, but he has been with my in greek waters. brother ever since he was born, and is willing to join me in the effort to save him." "it is quite hopeless," the peasant said. "you are only risking your lives. still, that is your business. you are ready, you say, to buy of me two suits of our clothes. i have one suit belonging to my son, who is at present away in a coasting ship, and i have a suit of my own that i can let you have." zaimes and horace had both brought on shore a considerable amount of gold stowed in belts beneath their clothes, in case they should find any opportunity of bribing a prison official, and had in their pockets an ample sum for any ordinary expen- diture. as the peasant only asked about three times the amount which the clothes would cost new, they paid for them without bargaining, and at once put them on. "i have a brother at adalia," the man said, well pleased with the bargain he had made; "and if you go to him and say that you come from me, his brother alexis, of this village, i am sure he will be glad to lodge you, especially when you tell him that you too belong to naxos." after receiving instructions as to how to find the man's brother in adalia they started at once upon their journey. they lay down for three hours in the middle of the night in a wood, and entered adalia at eight o'clock in the morning. they went straight to the address the peasant had given them. it was a small house with but two rooms, and its master was a cobbler. as soon as zaimes mentioned his brother's name, and -"" said that they were ready to pay for the accommodation, the shoemaker agreed at once to receive them. he was a chatty fellow, and was very anxious to hear news about affairs in greece, when they told him that they had but lately arrived from there. "now," he said, "what is your business? of course i can see that you do not belong to us. you are from naxos, as you say; i notice a few turns of speech such as my father used to use. but what have you come here for? and why have you bought my brother's clothes from him, for i recognized them directly you came in? i like to know things, not because i am inquisitive, but because i do not want to have the pasha's exe- cutioner suddenly coming in at the door and taking off my head, without even explaining the reason why." in the hands of the turks. "i am what i told you, a greek of naxos," zaimes said; "and as i explained to your brother, i have a brother who is one of the crew of that ship that was wrecked here six days ago; and i have come to see whether, by greasing the palms of some of the officials, i can manage to get him out." "that you can't," the man said decidedly. "if he were in the civil prison it might be done; but the pasha, guessing per- haps that many of us christians would sympathize with them, or possibly having an idea that the mob might rise, handed them over to the soldiers, and they are confined in a room in the military prison in the centre of the barracks, where there are lots of sentries. the gates have been closed since they were taken there, and no civilian is allowed to enter under any pretence. so you see there is no bribing to be done. of course the sentries are changed frequently. there is no know- ing what officer has the prisoners specially under his charge. and even if he were bribed, there would be no getting them past the sentries. so you can give up the idea altogether of getting your brother out." "how long does it take for a messenger to go from here to smyrna?" zaimes asked, with a slight glance at horace to show that he was changing the conversation purposely. "by ordinary travelling some two weeks; but a mounted messenger, with relays of horses, can do it in four days." "then in another three days the answer may come from smyrna?" "that is so. i wonder myself that the pasha took the trouble of sending to the governor of anatolia, instead of hanging the prisoners at once." "i suppose he thought that the governor might like to have them sent to him, so that he could forward them to constanti- nople." "are you thinking of delaying the messenger's return? that might be done, you know." and the man drew his finger across his throat significantly. "i don't see that the delay would be of any use," zaimes replied. "if there is no chance of getting my brother out, it matters not whether the messenger arrives to-day or a fort- night hence. however, it is a matter that may be worth thinking over later. at any rate we will go out and have a ( ) planning a rescue. which was, as the shoemaker told them, now used as a military prison; and round this at some distance ran a strong wall some fifteen feet high, loopholed for musketry. the troops were lodged in huts between this wall and the castle. "there you see," the guide said, "what i said was true. you could not get a bird out of that place, much less a man." "that is so," zaimes agreed. "well, what cannot be done, cannot. however, we will talk it over this evening at your house. now let us walk about and view the city. truly it is a fine one." few towns, indeed, have a finer situation than adalia, stand- ing as it does at the head of a noble bay, a great portion of which is fringed with lofty and precipitous cliffs. the town, which at that time contained some ten thousand inhabitants, stands on ground sloping upwards from the sea in terraces rising one above another. it was surrounded by a ditch and a double wall of massive construction, with square towers every fifty yards. beyond the walls stretched gardens and groves of orange, lemon, and mulberry trees. ten mosques with their domes and minarets reared themselves above the houses, and there were several churches belonging to the christian popula- tion, which was, the guide told them, about two thousand in number, the great proportion of whom spoke only the turkish language. "i can talk equally well in both, for it is but fifty years since my father settled here, and we always talked greek in the family as long as he lived. now i always speak tur- kish; it is safer, and does not remind the turks continually that we are of greek race." "where does the pasha reside?" horace asked presently. "i will show you his place; it is at the lower corner of the north wall. his gardens stretch down to the wall by the water, and another high wall on this side separates them from the town." passing through several streets they arrived opposite the residence of the pasha of the sanjak of tekeh, of which adalia is the chief town. the residence itself stood at the angle of the two walls dividing the garden from the town. it was a massive building. some soldiers sat on benches at either side of the gate that opened into the court-yard, and townspeople and officials passed in and out. in greek waters. "the public offices are in the court-yard," the guide said. "the pasha's private dwelling and his harem lie behind it." "i suppose we can walk int" "certainly," the guide said; and they passed through the gates into the court-yard. on one side was a guard-room, stables, and other offices; on the other were the rooms of the secretaries and officials and that in which the pasha transacted business and received visitors. the portion of the house facing the gates was blank on the basement story, except that a door faced the gateway. above were a line of windows, all closed with jalousies. "that is the dwelling-house," their guide said. "i believe all the apartments of the family face the garden. those windows you see there are only those of the apartments of the servants and slaves." after leaving the pasha's they walked down to the bottom of the town, where two gates with strong flanking towers opened upon the port, which was smaller than horace had expected to find it. however, he was glad to see that there were several craft anchored in the roadstead, some near the port, some at a distance, showing that vessels did not come in unless for shelter in bad weather or to discharge heavy cargoes. whatever the craft, then, in which the crew of the schooner might arrive, it would not attract attention by anchoring out- side the port, as arranged. they returned with their guide to his house and had a meal there. zaimes was profoundly discouraged. he saw no prospect whatever of rescuing his brother or the other prisoners, and the strength of the walls and the guns that were mounted upon them—a step which, the host told him, had been taken a few months before to de- fend the town against the greek fleet, should it make its ap- pearance there—showed that there was no prospect of the turks being alarmed by the appearance or threats of a craft like the schooner. "it seems altogether hopeless," zaimes said to the greek. the latter shook his head, "i can see no possible way," he replied. "if it had been an ordinary prisoner in the jail it could be managed without difficulty. i could have got one of our countrymen of some influence to have approached the prison officers, or i myself could have worked with the warders; a small sum of money would have done it. but now it seems planning a rescue. to me hopeless, and even if we stop the messenger and gain another eight days while the pasha sends again to smyrna, we should only run some risk and gain nothing." zaimes assented mournfully. "you had better make the man a present, zaimes," horace said when they were alone for a minute after the meal was finished. "tell him that it seems to us to be hopeless, and that we shall probably go right away; but that if, thinking it over, we can hit upon any possible plan we will be back again this evening and sleep here." zaimes carried out the suggestion, gave their host a gold coin, and said that they saw no use in staying longer, but would think it over in every way and might return that even- ing. "if you go outside the town you must be back by sunset," the man said; "the gates are closed at that hour." "we will not forget, but i do not think you will see us again." "even if our people don't arrive this evening, zaimes, i think it will be just as well not to go back into the town," hor- ace said, as they issued out through the gates into the country. "i don't say for a moment that the man is not honest, but it is just as well not to put temptation in his way. he knows that we are friends of the prisoners, and he, no doubt, guesses that we belong to the craft that captured the polacca that was wrecked. no doubt he would not openly betray us; that would bring him into discredit with all the christians in the town. but a few words whispered to some turk, and an agreement to share any reward that may be given for our capture, would answer the purpose just as well . i don't say he would do it, you know, but it would be just as well not to run the risk." on issuing from the gate, horace saw that there was a narrow road running between a deep dry ditch at the foot of the city walls and the outlying gardens and orchards. "this will be our shortest way down to the water, zaimes, let us follow it." the greek turned without question. when they had gone half-way down between the gate and the bottom of the hill, horace stopped. "now, let us have a good look at this place. on the other side of that wall is the garden of the pasha's in greek waters. house. i counted the number of steps up from the house to the cross-road leading to the gateway, and i have counted them coming down again; we are about fifty yards below the upper wall of the garden." "i daresay it is so," zaimes replied listlessly. "this ditch is about ten feet deep, and from the bottom of the ditch to the top of that first wall is from five-and-twenty to thirty; between that wall and the higher one inside it is about fifteen feet; and the inner wall is about fifteen feet higher than the outer one; those square towers form junctions between the two walls. now, we may be quite sure that there are no sentries either on the wall or on the square towers. i don't suppose there are sentries anywhere except in the batteries on the water-face, but there certainly won't be here, for they would command a view down into the pasha's garden; so we may quite conclude that except for the trouble of scaling the walls there is nothing to prevent our getting over. a couple of rope-ladders and one or two twenty-foot planks with bits nailed across them to give a foothold would take us on to the inner wall; then we should need another long ladder to get down into the garden. that would be about thirty-five feet, i should say." "yes, i see all that," zaimes, whose face had again become animated as he listened, agreed; "but what would be the good of getting into the pasha's garden?" "no good at all, if we were by ourselves, zaimes, but with martyn and twenty men from the schooner a good deal of good, i should say. we have only got to make a sudden rush into the house, which will, of course, be open to the garden, seize the pasha, and carry him and some of his wives and children off to the craft that our fellows come in, and then on to the schooner. then we can send ashore to say that unless the prisoners are sent off in a boat to us by twelve o'clock in the day we shall hang the pasha. maybe when we get hold of the pasha there will be no occasion to carry him and his women off; the mere threat of it might be enough. we can tell him that it will be painful to us to have to hoist them up to the top of the wall in sacks, but that we shall be obliged to do it unless he signs an order for the prisoners' release, and sends it off at once by an officer to the jail. a handsome bribe planning a rescue. that will enable him to make his peace with his superior at smyrna may help to quicken his perception." zaimes seized horace's hand with fervour, shook it wildly, clasped his hands on his breast, raised them to heaven, and poured forth a stream of exclamations of delight. the quiet habits of many years had been thrown to the winds in a moment, and the excitable greek nature burst through all restraints. "you have given me new life," he exclaimed as soon as he had calmed down a little. "just now there did not seem even a shadow of hope. now there is a chance that once again i may clasp my brother in my arms. your plan is diffi- cult, it is dangerous, and yet we may succeed. it is a desperate undertaking, but what is that] i would give my life for my brother, and your sailors would all risk theirs for their com- rades." "let us sit down here quietly for a few minutes, zaimes, and take a good look at these walls. it is evident by the look of this road that it is very little used, and even if anyone did come up they would only think that we had been working in the orange groves behind us and were taking a quiet smoke. it is lucky that there is a moon to-night; it would be an awfully difficult job to get over those walls and into a place we know nothing of if it were a dark night. there will be no difficulty in throw- ing up a grapnel and getting on to the first wall. the greatest difficulty will be in crossing from that to the one behind it. of course with a regular gangway it would be easy enough, but we should not be able to get materials for making one. however, with a couple of stout spars put up a foot apart with ropes between them a foot from each other so as to make rulings, we could get up, though it wouldn't be a very easy job passing women down. still, i hope it won't come to that . i should think if we capture the pasha and his children, if he has any— and i suppose with half a dozen wives he will be sure to have some—we might leave the women alone, though, of course, we should threaten to take them. but i'll tell you what we shall want, and that is a man who can speak turkish well, so as to explain exactly to the pasha the fix he is in." "yes, we shall want such a man," zaimes agreed. "very well, zaimes, then i think you had better go back to our friend at once. even if he did mean treachery, he would planning a rescue. out a small brigantine anchored a quarter of a mile out, and about a mile and a half along the shore. "i expect that is her," horace said, "she has only just come in, for there are some men upon the yards stowing away the sails, and that is just the position we agreed she should take up." . when they had gone a mile farther they could see that she had small red and white flags at her mast-head. when they got opposite to her they went down to the water's edge. horace waved a white handkerchief for a moment and then sat down. a minute later the boat towing behind the brigan- tine was hauled up. two men got into her and rowed leisurely to the shore. they were dressed as turkish sailors, but horace recognized them as they came close as two of the crew. they stepped in at once, and the boat rowed out again. "have you any news of mr. miller and the others, mr. horace," one of them said, "if i might make so bold as to ask?' "certainly you may. they are in prison, and there is no possibility of getting them out with the strength we have got; it would need three or four hundred men at least. but we have another plan, which we hope will be successful." "you will find the captain down in the cabin with your father, mr. horace. every one is keeping below except three or four of our chaps, who are got up, like us, in the clothes of the crew of the craft." "come along, zaimes," horace said as he stepped on board. "you had better come with me. this man is going to help us, davidson, so make him as comfortable as you can till zaimes comes out again." horace found his father, martyn, and the doctor in the little cabin. he was heartily welcomed back, and eagerly questioned as to his news. he first told them of the impossibility of doing anything to effect the rescue of the prisoners, guarded as they were; and then explained the position of the pasha's house and garden, and his own plan. "well, it is a bold scheme, horace, but i should think it might succeed," martyn said when he concluded. "we ought certainly to be able to get hold of the pasha before an alarm is given, and if we do we might manage to make terms with him without the women knowing anything about it. that in greek waters. "nonsense, man!" zaimes said. "you will run no more risks than the others. look at them laughing and joking. they don't look like men who are about to embark on a perilous expedition. however, i promised you twenty pounds, but if you do your work well and speak out boldly and firmly what you are told, you shall have another five." "it is a big sum for a poor man," the cobbler replied. "i will do it, but i won't answer for speaking out loud and bold; my teeth chatter at the very thought of it. if he should ever recognize me again, he would chop me up into mince meat." "how can he recognize you you can either fasten a piece of black cloth over your face, or what will do just as well, get a cork and burn it, and rub it over your face till you are as black as coal. your own brother wouldn't know you then, and the pasha will have enough to think about without staring at you." "i like that better than the cloth," the man said. "if there is a scuffle the black cloth may come off." "we will rig you up in the clothes of one of the sailors here. you can put them on over your own if you like, and then you will have nothing to do but to throw them away, wash your face, and walk boldly into the town in the morning." the brigantine had two boats. these were, as soon as it became dark, lowered, and a quarter before nine the landing party mustered. the men had already torn up some blankets and old sail-cloth, and wrapped them round their cutlasses and muskets so as to deaden the sound should these strike against the wall. the guns were not loaded, but each man carried thirty rounds of ammunition and a brace of pistols, which were to be loaded as soon as they got down into the garden, martyn, however, giving the strictest orders that whatever happened not a shot was to be fired without his permission. "i do not think it is likely that we shall meet with any resistance, lads," he said before they stepped down into the boats. "if there is, knock them down with your fists; or if there is anything serious, use your cutlasses. mr. horace will place the four men told off for the doors, at their posts. these will follow him through the house regardless of anything that is going on around. everything depends upon our pre- venting anyone from leaving the house and giving the alarm. the task a of ad alia. i shall myself post men at all the lower windows before we enter. their duty will be to prevent anyone from coming out into the garden: if there is yelling or shrieking in the garden it will alarm the town. as long as they only shriek in the house there is no fear of its being heard. now you each know what you have got to do. as to scaling the wall, this must be done as quietly as if you were making sail on board a smart frigate." chapter xii. the pasha of adalia. packed closely in the two boats of the turkish craft the land- ing party rowed for the shore. as soon as they reached it the boats were drawn up on the strand, and in silence martyn led his men across the road. then he struck off into the orchard on the other side, so as to escape the notice of any of the people in the houses by the road. the cobbler and horace went first, martyn and the men followed a short distance be- hind. half an hour's walking took them to the edge of the ditch, and after a short search they found a bough that horace and zaimes had cut off and thrown down by the side of the path, to mark the spot where they were to make the ascent. two sailors were posted on the path, at fifty yards above and below them, in case anyone should come along, although the risk of this was exceedingly small. there was no difficulty in scrambling down into the ditch. as soon as they did so the sailor who carried the grapnel advanced to the foot of the wall, and at the second attempt succeeded in getting it to hold on the parapet. another, with one of the rope-ladders, went forward, fastened the rope to it, and the two of them hauled the ladder up to the block, and kept the rope taut while martyn mounted. he found, as he had expected, that there was a platform behind the wall for men to stand on while firing. taking his place on it he took hold of the ladder rope and told the men below to loosen their end. holding it partly up he fastened it at the block. then two men joined him, hauled the the pasha of adalia. bring the interpreter in to me. tell the sailors to bind the fellows and lay them down, and put a couple of guards over them." they returned to the men and told them off to their several duties. all were ordered to take their shoes off, and put them in their belts. "now, you can draw your cutlasses, lads," martyn said. "have you all loaded your pistols?" "yes, sir." "well, mind they are not to be used; a pistol-shot might destroy all our plans. i hope to manage it so that there shall not be any noise whatever." they made their way quietly up to the house. horace opened the door and led the way in, followed by his four men. they passed through the hall and a long passage, from which several rooms opened; and he was sure, by the direction in which he was going, that this must lead to the offices. at the end was a strong door; only one bolt was shot, as doubtless the officers would be leaving by this way. he put up a heavy bar that was standing beside it, stationed two of the sailors there, and then retraced his steps with the others. just as he reached the hall again a sailor came up to him. "this is the way to the big door, your honour;" and turning down another passage they arrived at a double door, which horace had no doubt was the one that he had seen in the court-yard. posting the men there he hurried back, and soon found the room where the servants had been sitting. the work had already been done. the sailors had all been pro- vided with short lengths of rope, and the turks were lying bound upon the floor. telling the cobbler to accompany him, he went into the next room. two sailors, with drawn cutlasses, were standing by the side of the pasha. the three officers had been bound, and were lying on the divan, with a sailor standing over each, while the other sailor stood over the atten- dant, who cowered on the ground in an attitude of abject terror. martyn was standing facing the pasha. "now, horace," he said, "tell your man what to say to the pasha." this had been arranged between them, and horace at once addressed the pasha. in greek waters. "do you speak greek?" the pasha shook his head. "tell him," horace said in that language to the interpreter, "that we belong to the ship to which the officers and sailors he has in his prison also belong, and that we have come here to fetch them away. we are fighting under the flag of greece; but we are englishmen by blood, and we shall do no harm to him or his family. the prisoners, however, we will have; and unless he sends at once, with an order for their delivery from the prison, and hands them over to us, we shall be obliged to carry him, the three officers here, and the ladies of his family and his children, off on board our ship as hostages; and if a hair of the prisoners' heads is touched, we shall be forced to hang him and the whole of his family to the yard-arms of the ship." the interpreter translated his words sentence by sentence. the turk had at first looked perfectly impassive; but at the threat to carry off his women and children his expression changed, the veins stood out of his forehead, and his face flushed with fury. "tell him," horace went on, "that we should deeply regret to have to take such a step, and that we sincerely trust that he will see the necessity for his yielding to our demands. there is no possibility of assistance reaching him, we are a well-armed body of determined men, his servants have been secured, and all the doors are guarded, as also the windows outside—he is completely in our power. as we came in noiselessly and un- observed, so we shall depart. if he refuses to comply with our demands, we shall, of course, be compelled to bind and gag all our captives, and to carry the ladies and children." when the last sentence had been translated, horace said to martyn, "i think, captain martyn, you had better get those officers carried into the next room, so that we can touch upon the money side of the question." martyn gave the order, and the officers and the attendant were removed. "now, pasha," horace went on, "let us look at this thing reasonably. on the one side is the certainty that you and the ladies of the household and your children will be carried away; and that unless the prisoners are given up to us in ex- the pasha of adalia. change for you, you will be all put to death. on the other hand, you have but to surrender prisoners whom you did not even capture in war, but who were wrecked on your shore. we know that you have sent to smyrna for directions concerning them. were it not for that you would have handed them over to us without difficulty; but as the pasha there, who is your superior, now knows of it, you think that he will be angry when he hears of their escape, and that you might fall into disgrace. but i don't think that the pasha of anatolia, if he were placed in the same position as you are, would hesitate a moment in giving up a score of captives of no great importance one way or the other; and that if the matter were placed by you in the proper light before him, accompanied, perhaps, by a present, nothing more would be heard about it. in any case we are ready to pay you the sum of one thousand pounds as a ransom for them. we have sent your officers out of the room that they should not hear this offer, which will be entirely between ourselves. it is not meant as a bribe to you, but as a ransom, which, if you choose to send it to smyrna, will doubt- less assist the pasha there to perceive that being, with your whole family, at our mercy, you had no resource but to comply with our commands. we will give you five minutes to make up your mind." when this was translated, the pasha asked: "how am i to know that, if the captives are restored to you, you will not still carry me and my family away?" "you have simply the word of english gentlemen," horace said when the question was translated to him. "you see we are acting as considerately as we can. your ladies upstairs are still unaware that anything unusual is going on. our men have touched nothing belonging to you. we are neither robbers nor kidnappers, but simply men who have come to save their com- rades from a cruel death." "i will write the order," the pasha said firmly. "had i been in the house by myself i would have died rather than do so. being as it is, i cannot resist." "who will you send with the order?" horace asked. "one of the officers you have taken away is the colonel of the regiment. he will take it and bring the prisoners here. he is the oldest of the three." ( ) p in greek waters. horace went into the next room and ordered the officer to be unbound and brought in by two of the sailors. "you have heard, colonel osman, the terms that these strangers have laid down, and that unless the prisoners are surrendered, you, the two bimbaches, myself, and the mem- bers of my family, will be carried off as hostages and hung if the prisoners are not delivered up." "i heard that, pasha." "what is your opinion, colonel?" "my opinion is that you have no course but to give up the prisoners. no one would expect you to sacrifice the lives of the ladies of your family and your children, to say nothing of your own and ours, merely for the sake of twenty shipwrecked sailors. it seems to me that it were madness to hesitate, pasha." "that is also my opinion," the pasha said. "therefore, colonel, i will now write you an order to fetch them from prison and bring them under an escort here. you will under- stand that it will be better that absolute silence should be observed about this affair. the less it is talked of the better. if the officer in special charge of them asks any questions you can intimate that, without knowing it, you believe that the messenger may have arrived from smyrna with instructions as to their disposal. dismiss the escort at the outer gate and bring the prisoners yourself here." the pasha wrote the order, which he handed to the colonel, who at once hurried off with it. "you are sure that he will faithfully obey the order, pasha?" horace asked through the interpreter. the pasha nodded. "one of the bimbaches here is his own brother, and he would be sure that his life would be sacrificed were there any treachery." at this moment there was a little shriek heard. "i am afraid," horace said, "that one of the ladies' attend- ants has come downstairs and has been seized. perhaps you will like to go upstairs and assure them that there is no cause for alarm. in the meantime i will hand you this bag, which contains the amount of the ransom in gold." "you englishmen act nobly," the pasha said as he took the bag. "you had us in your power, and need have paid nothing, the pasha of adalia. and you treat me as a friend rather than as an enemy. it is a pity that you fight for the greeks. when i was a young man i fought in egypt by the side of your troops." horace escorted him through the sailors in the passages to the foot of the stairs and there left him. "your scheme is turning out trumps and no mistake," martyn said as he returned to the room. "there is no fear, i hope, of that turkish colonel bringing all his men down on us." "i don't think so." and horace then repeated what the pasha had said as to one of the officers in his hands being the colonel's brother. "that is good, horace. i don't think he would venture on it anyhow. evidently the pasha has no fear. if he had he would not have sent him, because he must have known that his treachery jeopardized his own safety and that of his family." "how long do you think they will be before they are back?" "not much above half an hour, i should think. i don't think the turkish soldiers do much in the way of undressing, and certainly our fellows won't. now we will leave five men to look after the prisoners here, and we will put all the others in the offices you say look into the court-yard, so that if by any chance this fellow does bring troops down with him we can give them a hot reception." "if he does, horace, do you take the five men in the house, rush upstairs, let one man put a pistol to the pasha's head, and let the others snatch up any children they can find there and take them away over the wall—pasha and all—and march them straight down to the boat and got them on board ship. let me know when you are off with them. we will defend the place as long as we can, and then make a bolt through the garden to the ladder and follow you." the men loaded their muskets and took their places at the windows of the offices. horace and martyn stood at the door leading from the house into the court-yard. the interpreter stood with them. presently they heard the tramp of feet ap- proaching. then they heard a word of command, followed by silence, and the interpreter said: "he has ordered the soldiers to halt. the prisoners alone are to enter the court-yard. when the gates close behind them the soldiers are to march back to barracks. in greek waters. the gates that had been left ajar by the officer as he went out opened, and in the moonlight they saw him enter, followed by miller, tarleton, and the sailors. the officer himself closed and barred the gate as the last entered. then martyn and horace rushed forward and grasped the hands of their friends. these were for a time speechless with astonishment, bat the men burst into exclamations and then began to cheer. martyn checked them at once. "hush, lads! come in silently and quietly. we will talk and cheer when we get away. pass the word inside, horace. tell the men to file out at once. form up in the garden, i will wait here till you have cleared the house." the greetings were hearty indeed when the two parties met in the garden. "march to the ladder, lads," martyn said, "but don't begin to climb it till we join you. now, horace, we will say good- bye to the old pasha. bring the interpreter in with you." the pasha had returned to his room again where he had been joined by the three officers, the colonel having already liberated the other two. "tell the pasha that captain martyn wishes to thank him for the promptness with which the arrangement has been carried out, and also to express to him his very great pleasure that this incident should have terminated without unpleasant- ness. captain martyn wishes also to say, that although, in order to rescue his officers and men, he was obliged to use threats, yet that, as far as the ladies of the pasha's family were concerned, they were threats only; for that, even had he re- fused, he should have respected the privacy of his apartments; and although he would have been obliged to carry off the pasha himself, his children, and these officers as hostages, he would have retaliated for the murder of the prisoners only upon the adults. no english officer would use disrespect to ladies, and no english officer would avenge the murder even of his dearest friends upon children." when this was translated to the pasha, he replied: "the courtesy that the captain and his sailors have exhibited since they entered the house is in itself sufficient to show me that his words are true, and that the ladies of my household would have been respected. i feel myself humiliated by thus having the pasha of adalia. my prisoners carried off from the midst of the town, but i have no reason to complain. it is the will of allah, and i shall always remember these english officers as gallant gentlemen. there are not many who would risk their lives to save a few of their countrymen." a few more words were exchanged, and then martyn and his companions joined the sailors at the wall. miller and tarleton had by this time gathered from the men a short account of how their rescue had come about. "now," martyn said briskly when he reached them, "the sooner we are off the better. horace, do you lead the way with ten of the men who came with us; let the last two of that party help your interpreter over. mr. miller, you with your party will follow. i will bring up the rear with the other ten men." in five minutes all were over the walls. the last party had pulled up the ladder from the garden after them, then removed and lowered down the gangway; and after martyn, who came last, reached the ditch, the grapnel was shaken from its hold on the wall. "it wouldn't do to leave these things here," he said to horace. "there is no saying what yarn the pasha may set afloat. it is quite on the cards that if he gets an order from smyrna to execute the prisoners, he will have it given out that they were marched to the court-yard of his house and there executed. at any rate our taking away the ladders will leave it open to him to give his own account of the matter. now, my lads, you will all follow me. it is of no use forming up in order, as we are going through orchards; but keep close together, don't straggle and don't talk. you will have plenty of time to compare notes when you are once on board. "now, miller," he said as he started, "we are fairly out of it. i am delighted, indeed, to see you and tarleton again. i thought at one time it was all up with you." "so did we," miller said, "and i can hardly believe we are free even now." "it is due to horace and zaimes, miller, though it is to horace entirely that the credit of hitting upon the plan by which we have got you out belongs. however we will talk all about that when we get on board. you will have to tell your in greek waters. yarn to the chief; besides, as i have told the men not to talk, i don't want to set a bad example." horace had greeted marco warmly in the court-yard, and as soon as they started he fell behind with him, chatting with him in low tones. "zaimes couldn't come with us, marco, for he and the doctor had to stay on board with my father to look after some prisoners there, but he was here with me this morning and made all the arrangements for the escape. we landed at the mouth of the bay and walked here last night, both disguised in peasants' dresses we got hold of. i know it was a great privation to him not to be able to come himself and aid in your rescue." here martyn, catching the murmur of voices, passed the word for silence, and nothing more was said until they reached the boats, which they had drawn up on the shore. a few minutes later they were alongside the brigantine. mr. beveridge hailed them as they approached. "is that you, martyn?" "yes, sir. horace's plan has worked perfectly, and we have got them all out. the boats can only carry half. he is waiting with the rest on the beach." "thank god for that, martyn! no one hurt at all?" "no one, not even a turk has been knocked down. the only scrimmage has been with one of the pasha's wives' maids, who fought like a wild cat before two of our men could make her a prisoner." directly the rest of the party came off the anchor was weighed and sail made on the brigantine, and she was headed from the land. in half an hour a look-out in the bow called out: "i think i can make out the schooner away on our beam, sir." "i think it is her," martyn said after going forward to have a look. "light that red flare-up we brought with us, horace." as soon as the red flame broke out, a, similar signal was shown by the craft in the distance. the brigantine was headed for her, and the two vessels rapidly approached each other. presently a hail from tom burdett came across the water. "captain martyn ahoy!" "ay, ay, tom! we have got them all. every one is safe and well." the pasha of adalia. a cheer broke out from the schooner, which was answered by a louder one from the brigantine. "throw her up in the wind, tom," martyn shouted, "and we will bring this craft alongside." in two or three minutes the vessels lay side by side. before leaving the brigantine its crew were released. mr. beveridge, in his delight at the success of the plan, made them each a handsome present for the inconvenience they had suffered. the cobbler of adalia had not come aboard with the boats, horace having given him his reward of twenty-five pounds before embarking. as soon as the crew of the schooner were all on board the head-sails were filled, and she rapidly drew away from the brig. the boatswain was ordered to serve out a ration of grog all round, and the officers then assembled in the cabin, where the greeks placed some cold meat and wine on the table, to which all, especially miller and tarleton, fell to with a good appetite. when they had done, martyn told the story of the steps that had been taken for their rescue. "you see, miller, it was entirely horace's plan; he made the whole arrangements, and we had only to carry them out, which was the simplest thing in the world. now let us have your account." "we were not very lucky," miller said. "we overhauled five or six craft, but for the most part they contained little of value. one or two of them had some silk and other goods on board, and these were transferred to the polacca. the weather kept fine, and thinking that our rig would not alarm the turks we sailed in within three miles of adalia. i was intending to go right into the roads and anchor there, when we saw the clouds banking up to the south. i had no barometer on board, but it looked so bad that we headed out again for the mouth of the gulf. "we had not gone far when the gale struck us, blowing like fury right into the bay. we did everything we could, but the old tub drifted to leeward two feet for every one we worked out. the wind got higher and higher till it was blowing a hurri- cane. as soon as the water shallowed sufficiently to anchor, i let both anchors go; but the gear was all rotten, and the cables snapped like packthread. finally we drove ashore about half a mile to the east of the town. in greek waters "there was a mob there waiting us, and the pasha with a lot of troops. we tied a line to a keg and it floated on shore. they hauled on it, and then we sent a hawser and swarmed along it. the turks behaved very pluckily, joining hands and rushing into the breakers to get us ashore. as soon as they saw by our uniform who we were there was a regular hubbub, and i thought we should all have been killed then and there. however the pasha made the troops form up round us, and marched us into the town, and there we were stowed away in a room in that old castle. the prospect didn't look good, for as we went in we saw that the troops were in huts all round us, and that there was besides a high wall outside them. the window of the place we were shut' up in was about eight feet from the ground and very strongly barred, and in addition they kept four soldiers always on guard in the room. "two or three fellows came to us and spoke in different lingoes, of which we could neither make head nor tail. then a chap came who spoke italian. i don't know much of it, but enough to make out what he meant when he spoke very slowly. the upshot of it was that they had sent to smyrna for orders as to what was to be done, and that it would take five or six days for the messenger to go there and back. it did not seem to make much odds to us what the answer was. knowing how they go on on both sides it was a moral certainty that we'should be hung either here or at symrna, and it did not seem to us that there was much choice between the two places. "of course we often talked about you. we knew you would do everything you could, and that when you found we did not turn up at the rendezvous you would sail along the coast till you got news of us; but it did not seem likely that you could do anything to help us. we knew that you could not land more than twenty men, and with twenty men you could do nothing at all against about a thousand turks with that strong wall in front of them. besides, the old castle itself was ca- pable of defence, and there were lots of them stationed in it. things looked about as black as they could be. we were not starved; the turks gave us plenty of bread and a sort of thin broth. "this evening we stretched ourselves out as usual about nine o'clock. we were all asleep when the outer gates of the castle the pasha of adalia. were opened, then there was a loud trampling of feet, then our door was unlocked. when an officer came in, followed by a lot of soldiers, we thought that it was all up with us. the officer made signs that we were to go with him, and i made so certain that we were being taken out either to be shot or hung that i said a few words to the men, telling them that the end had evidently come, and that we must die as christians and british sailors. we were led out, and about a hundred turkish soldiers closed round us. we were surprised when they marched us out of the place, but as we went on through the streets of the town we supposed they were taking us to some quiet spot outside the walls. then we turned in through that gateway, and then you know the rest, martyn. i don't think that i am a coward, or that i felt afraid to die; but when you and horace rushed out to speak to us, you could have knocked me over with a feather. it was not until i got out into the garden and found your party formed up there that i was quite sure it was not all a dream." when they had talked over the rescue mr. beveridge said:> "well, we have had enough of cruising for the present; we will make for athens at once, captain martyn; by this time probably something will be going on there." it was late in february when anchor was dropped in the har- bour of the piraeus. mr. beveridge at once went on shore with martyn, and returned the next morning. "any news of importance, father?" horace asked as they came on board. "yes, hypsilantes is likely to be succeeded by his rival mavrocordatos. a samian adventurer named lykourgos has got together a fleet and has proposed a landing at chios; there can be no doubt that his intention is simply plunder, for even if he could drive the turks out of chios he could not possibly hold the island, as a large turkish fleet will very shortly be ready to sail out of the dardanelles. the worst of it is that the chiefs are utterly opposed to any movement of the kind. they are an agricultural people, and the island has always been mildly governed and lightly taxed; their municipal administra- tion is already in their own hands, and their taxes collected by themselves. when admiral tombazes appeared off chios with the greek fleet during its first cruise, the inhabitants turned a in greek waters deaf ear to his invitation to them to rise. in fact there is no doubt that the people of chios have everything to lose and nothing to gain by becoming a part of greece. "they have sent urgent remonstrances against the landing of any greek troops on the island, pointing out that there is a strong body of turkish troops there; that the citadel could not be captured, and that the attempt would only inflame the passions of the mohammedan population and end in ruin and disaster to the christian inhabitants. hypsilantes has written a mild letter to lykourgos suggesting that it would at any rate be prudent to defer the enterprise. it is feared, however, that, like greek commanders in general, the fellow will pay no attention to this, but will proceed on his own account. martyn agrees with me that it would be as well for us to cruise about the island and see how matters go on, and endeavour to rescue some of the turks from the fury of the greeks, or some of the greeks from the fury of the turks." "i should say the best thing to do, father," horace said indignantly, "would be to attack the ship of this fellow ly- kourgos and to hang him at his own yard-arm." "it would be a good action, no doubt, horace; but as he has with him a fleet of seventy or eighty vessels it is probable that if we made the attempt we should decorate the yard-arms and not lykourgos. at any rate we will stop here for two or three days, and give the men a run on shore. just at present, owing to the fact of our having destroyed that turkish frigate, they will be very popular characters, and are not likely to get into any serious row. they have still got the money i paid them for their conduct at cyprus, and when sailors have got money in their pockets they are never happy until they have got a chance of spending it." accordingly, the crew had twelve hours on shore, a third of their number going each day. on the fourth day the vessel sailed for chios. they cruised round the island for a fortnight and frequently overhauled fishing-boats and had conversations with the crews. they learned that fresh troops had lately arrived at chios, and that as these bands were principally com- posed of volunteers, vehid pasha, the governor, had great difficulty in maintaining order among them. he had per- suaded the christians to raise a monthly contribution of thirty- the pasha of adalia. four thousand piastres to give regular pay and rations to the on the d of march the schooner made out a large fleet of vessels approaching the island. they kept away until they saw them anchor, and then themselves cast anchor at a short distance from them. a boat at once put off from the ship flying the flag of lykourgos, to demand who they were and with what intentions they were there. "we fly, as you see, the flag of greece," mr. beveridge replied to the officer, "and we have the authority of the greek government to fight against its enemies. i do not, however, recognize any authority on the part of your commander, unless he is acting at the present time under the explicit orders of prince mavrocordatos, who is now president of greece, and shall therefore consult only my own feelings as to whether or not i take any part in the proceedings on shore." "our admiral will know how to make you obey orders," the officer said angrily. "is he an admiral?" mr. beveridge asked, as if for informa- tion. "i was not aware that he had received any commission that would authorize him to use that title either from the last president or from the present one. when i am well assured that this is the case it will naturally modify my views; as to compel- ling me, you can look round at the armament of this craft. three months ago we destroyed a turkish frigate, and i fancy that if we were interfered with we could give a good account of many of those vessels anchored there. if, therefore, lykourgos is really bent upon the capture of chios, i should advise him to set about it without wasting his time in meddling with us. you may mention to him that i am an english gentleman who has fitted up this vessel for the purpose of aiding greece to achieve her independence, and that in all honourable warfare i am ready to take my part. if i see that the object of your expedition is honourable warfare i shall lend all assistance in my power. if i find that it is merely plunder and destruction, i shall also do all in my power to prevent the greek flag from being disgraced by acts only worthy of pirates; and, moreover, i will take care that my countrymen and the various nations of europe shall obtain a fair account of what has been done here." the greek was completely cowed by the calmness and com in greek waters. fidence of the owner of the schooner, and returned to his boat without any of the swagger with which he had quitted it. horace translated his father's speech to martyn and the other two officers as soon as mr. beveridge had returned to his cabin. "the chief is a perfect brick," martyn said enthusiastically. "fancy sending off such a message as that from this schooner to a fellow commanding sixty or seventy sail. sir richard grenville could hardly have sent from the deck of the revenge a more defiant message to the spanish fleet." miller rubbed his hands. "shall i get the men in readiness for making sail and casting off the guns, captain martyn?" "there will be time enough," martyn said, "when we make out a movement among them. we can get up sail in half the time they can. i should not be surprised if this fellow lykourgos knuckles down. did you see how his officer came down from his stilts? if this fellow had any pluck he would be sailing to meet the turkish fleet instead of landing to pillage here, for, from what mr. beveridge said, that can be his only motive. still, we will keep a sharp look-out on them. if we see the flag-ship signalling to the others, or her boats putting off to them, we shall know what to expect. you may as well get a buoy on the anchor-chain and have everything ready to slip. we are too near them to be pleasant if they open fire. once under weigh and out of close range we can talk to them as we like.' chapter xiv. chios. aquarteii of an hour after the greek officer left the schooner miller said: "they are lowering a large boat from the greek flag-ship, sir." martyn brought his glass to bear upon it. "there is a stir on board," he said. "it looks as if the com- mander were going on shore." "yes, there is some officer of importance being handed chios. down the ladder. now she is putting off. by jove! i believe she is coming here; at any rate she is heading straight for us. perhaps lykourgos himself is coming to blow us out of the "quite as likely he is coming to pay his respects," miller said. "the betting is ten to one the fellow is a coward; and that if the officer gave the message as he got it, he is impressed with the idea that the chief is an englishman of great import- ance, possessed, perhaps, of unknown powers of destruction." "horace," martyn said, "you had better tell your father, i can make out that the fellow in the stern is got up in gorgeous uniform. i expect it is lykourgos himself." mr. beveridge came up on to the quarter-deck just as the boat came alongside. martyn went to the gangway as a greek officer came up and announced that admiral lykourgos had come to pay a visit to the english lord. lykourgos mounted to the deck. "i am the commandant of this craft, sir," martyn said. "this is mr. beveridge, the owner." lykourgos advanced with an air of great pleasure and with outstretched hand. "i am delighted to make the acquaintance of an english friend of greece," he said. mr. beveridge bowed and shook hands with the greek. "what a contrast there is between them!" miller whispered to horace. "this theatrical-looking greek with his oily manners, and your father in his quiet blue serge! ah! he is asking him to go down into the cabin." the interview lasted about ten minutes, and then the two men returned on deck. lykourgos entered his boat and rowed away. "well, sir, is it peace or war?" martyn asked, "peace, as far as we are concerned," mr. beveridge said. "the fellow made no allusion to my message to him, paid me a large number of absurd compliments, expressed boundless admira- tion at the result of miller's action with the frigate, of which he had heard, and hoped that he would have our assistance against the turks. i told him what i thought of his enterprise, and that he was bringing destruction upon the heads of the unfor- tunate christians. he assured me that i had been misin- water. in greek waters formed, that the christians would join him to a man, and that he should make short work of the turks, and should at once besiege them in their citadel. i said that i wished him success in that part of his undertaking, and that there would be no time to waste, as the turkish fleet might, i understood, appear any day. but that, if he undertook siege operations, and his own force proved inadequate, we would land a party to assist him. he hinted that money might be required to support the siege. i told him that i had arranged with the central gov- ernment that any assistance i had to give in that way should be given through them; but that, if the people of the island really did rise, i should be happy to furnish a thousand muskets and ammunition for their use. seeing that nothing was to be got out of me he took his leave. he said the landing was to take place in half an hour." "shall we send a party on shore with them, mr. beveridge?" martyn asked. "no, martyn. he says he has got two thousand five hundred fighting men ready to land, and that being the case we should be powerless to interfere in any way. besides, for the present i think it would be best to keep the men on board. i don't trust the fellow in the slightest; and if he thought the vessel was left weak-handed, he is perfectly capable of making a sudden attack on her. no doubt he thinks we have money untold below, and i should say a great proportion of his vessels are no better than pirates, who have merely joined him in the hope of booty. i know that he has none of the psara ships with him, for chios lies so near their island that they would have no wish to draw the vengeance of the turks upon themselves; and i know that they, as well as the chiots, sent to corinth to protest against the expedition. i don't think he has any of the hydriot ships with him either. they only sail under their own admirals, and do, to a certain extent, respect the orders of the central government. his ships, i fancy, all belong to the smaller islands, and are the sort of craft that are honest traders one day and pirates the next if they see a chance—the riff- raff of the islands, in fact. if they really do besiege the turks in the citadel, and i see that we can be of any assistance, we will land a party; but at any rate we will take matters quietly until we see how things go." chios. "the vessels are all lowering their boats, captain martyn," tarleton reported. "very well, mr. tarleton. let the men go to their quarters, unloose the guns and load with grape. it is quite upon the cards that these fellows may make a sudden dash upon us, thinking to catch us napping." the boatswain's whistle was heard, and then tom burdett shouted out: "all hands to quarters! cast loose the guns and load with grape!" and in a moment a scene of animated bustle succeeded the quiet that had reigned on board the schooner since her anchor had been dropped. in a few minutes, however, the crowded boats left the ships and rowed towards shore. "that will do, boatswain; you can call the men away from the guns," said martyn. "shall we take the cartridges out, sir?" "no, leave them as they are. put a fold or two of sail-cloth over the touch-holes. it is just as well to be on guard as long as we are in the neighbourhood of these slippery gentry. horace, you take my glass and go aloft, and see if you can make out any turks in the neighbourhood. it is four or five hours since the greek fleet first hove in sight, and there is ample time for the turks to have come down to oppose their landing if they thought themselves strong enough to fight in the open." horace ascended the shrouds, and sitting on the cap of the mainmast examined the shore. "there are half a dozen horsemen riding about, a short dis- tance from the shore, sir," he called down, "but i can see no signs of troops anywhere." "then it is evident they don't mean to fight," martyn said to the first lieutenant. "between ourselves, miller, i am very glad they are not here to oppose a landing; for if they had been, no doubt the chief would have wanted to fire a few shots to help cover the operations, and i should be sorry to lift even a finger to help in this wretched business. it is like a landing from one of the old buccaneer fleets on the spanish main. they used to pretend they went to attack the spaniards, while in reality they simply fought for plunder. still, those » fellows had courage—plenty of it, which is more, i fancy, than these greeks are likely to exhibit when they once get in front of the turks." in greek waters. lykourgos, with his twenty-five hundred men, marched without opposition into the town of chios, where they burnt the custom-houses, destroyed two mosques, and plundered gene- rally the houses of the inhabitants. they occupied the houses nearest the citadel, and placing riflemen in them opened fire, while a party began to throw up a battery on a commanding position known as turloti. the following morning mr. beveridge landed, and, accom- panied by miller and horace, and a party of twenty sailors armed with rifle, cutlass, and pistol, proceeded to chios. ho found the streets of the town in disorder, the troops—or rather the armed men, for they were under neither discipline nor con- trol—were wandering about, occasionally going within sight of the citadel, and discharging their muskets two or three times in that direction. they looked with surprise at the orderly little party of british sailors; but as they supposed these had come to help them, they received them with exclamations of good-will. they visited turloti, where a score or two of men were working lazily, and then went down to the port, where another battery had also been begun. "what on earth are they putting up a battery here for!" miller said. "at this distance they might as well fire potatoes at the citadel . ask that officer, horace, what they are up to?" the greek replied that they were going to run their trenches forward against the citadel from this point. "well, then, they are fonder of work than i gave them credit for," miller said when he understood the reply. "if the whole of them were to set to work in earnest, it would take them a month to run their trenches from here up to the citadel, and, at the rate at which they are working now, it would take them a couple of years." returning to the town mr. beveridge called upon lykourgos, who had taken up his quarters in the bishop's palace. the greek received him with an air of much greater pomposity than he had shown at their first meeting. he evidently believed that the work was almost accomplished, and that he was already the conqueror of the island. "i have being doing some good work this morning," he said. "i have deposed the demogeronts (the municipal council). chios. you know they were poor creatures and lukewarm, and i have appointed a revolutionary committee." "indeed!" mr. beveridge said gravely. "and what military work have you in hand? it seems to me that the men would be much better employed in working at the batteries than in idling about the streets." "the citadel will soon fall," lykonrgos said loftily. "cut off from all succour and surrounded by my army they must speedily surrender." "undoubtedly they must, if they were so situated," mr. beveridge said; "but, so far as i see, there is nothing what- ever to prevent the turks from sending reinforcements from the mainland." "i am writing to ask the government at corinth to order the fleet here to blockade the island and oppose the turkish fleet when they come in sight." "that would be excellent," mr. beveridge said; "but the central government are not famous for speed, nor are the ships of hydra and psara very apt to obey orders unless these happen to suit their own views. could you not send a few of those vessels of yours to prevent the turks from sending reinforce- ments " "that would be quite impossible," lykourgos said decidedly. "in the first place, they are mere transports, the greater pro- portion carrying no guns, and those that do have guns of such light calibre that they could not oppose the turkish cruisers that would no doubt convoy any vessels bringing turkish troops across. in the second place, i could not spare a ship, for, were the turkish fleet to arrive before the greek fleet comes to my assistance, i should have to re-embark my army at once. i shall soon be in a position to press the siege more vigorously. i have already received messages saying the peasantry among the hills are about to join me." mr. beveridge, seeing that there was no prospect of any vigorous efforts to restore discipline among the greeks, re- turned to the schooner. day after day passed and nothing whatever was done. a few soldiers, when the fancy took them, worked for an hour or two at the batteries, or fired away their ammunition in the direction of the citadel. neither lykourgos nor his committee made any attempt to introduce f o in greek waters. either discipline among the troops or order in the town. no news came from corinth as to the movements of the greek fleet, but a vessel arrived with a few heavy guns for siege pur- poses, and also brought several philhellenes—as foreigners who had come to assist the greeks were called—to direct the ser- vice of the guns. in consequence of the disorder in the town the position of the better class of christians became intolerable. mr. beveridge landed but seldom. he saw that nothing could be done, and that the expedition must certainly end in disaster, and accord- ingly preferred to remain on board and await events. two of the officers generally landed every day. some of the men were also allowed to go on shore, but were forbidden to approach the neighbourhood of the town lest they should become involved in quarrels with the greeks. one day, when horace was ashore with tarleton, he spoke sharply to a drunken greek soldier who ran against him. presently tarleton said: "there has been a greek following us since you spoke to that drunken man, horace. he looks a respectable old card. i fancy he wants to speak to you, having heard you talking greek." "why doesn't he speak then?" horace said. "perhaps he wants to talk to you in quiet, horace." "very well . let us turn down this narrow street. there is no one about, and that will give him a chance of speaking if he wants to." the greek, indeed, quickened his steps as soon as they turned down, and was soon alongside of them. "you speak greek, sir?" he said to horace. "i have been wanting to speak to some of you officers, but this is the first time i have heard one of you speaking greek." "yes, i speak the language. is there anything i can do for you, sir?" "do you belong to an english ship-of-war, may i ask?" "no; i belong to an armed ship, which is the property of my, father, who is a philhellene, and has fitted it out at his own expense for the service of greece, whose flag we now fly" "your sailors are taking no part in the siege of the citadel?" "no, sir, my father does not think the'expedition a useful chios. one, and we are only remaining here to see what takes place, and perhaps to give assistance to any who may need it." "we all need it, sir," the man said eagerly. "we have been robbed and plundered by these ruffians, who call themselves our friends, and when they run away, which they will do directly the turks come, we shall be held responsible for all their mis- deeds, and a terrible vengeance will fall upon us i was a wealthy man, sir, a fortnight ago; now i would give all i possess to save the lives of my family and myself, and there are eight or ten of my friends in the same position. we have jewels and money, and are ready to pay any sum to be taken off the island before the turks come. you have but to name a price, and if it is within our means we shall be happy to pay it. "we are not greeks," horace said angrily, "to make money out of the miseries of others." and then, seeing the depressed look of the merchant, he went on more mildly: "we do not wish to make money out of your misfortune, sir; but i will speak to my father, and i think i can answer for him that he will be ready to afford you and your friends and families shelter on board his ship. we lately took five hundred christians off from cyprus and landed them on the ionian isles. we came out to fight, but my father has since named his ship the misericordia, and his desire is to help persons in distress, whether they be turks or christians. i will speak to him when i return on board, and if you will be here to-morrow at eleven o'clock in the morning i will give you his answer." the merchant overwhelmed horace with thanks. "what is the old chap so excited about, horace ?" tarleton asked as they resumed their walk. horace repeated the conversation. "poor beggars!" tarleton said. "a nice position they are in! i wish we had the crew of a man-of-war here; we would clear out the town pretty sharply of these ruffians who call them- selves soldiers, and send these peasants who are swarming about the streets back to their mountains. i see they have got the muskets your father sent on shore yesterday. much good will they do them! the men had far better be at home looking after their vineyards and orchards." mr. beveridge agreed at once to afford shelter to the mer- chants and their families. in greek waters. "i thought it would come to this," he said, "and expected some of them would come off and ask to be taken on board before; but i suppose they did not know our real character. we shall have plenty more applying before this matter is con- cluded; but i doubt whether lykourgos and his crew will allow them to come on board so long as they have a penny left to be wrung out of them . the scoundrel ought to be hung, if it was only for being named as he is. it is downright profanation to hear such names as ulysses, lycurgus, leonidas, and miltiades applied to men who do not seem to possess one single good quality, not even that of courage. tell them, horace, that we will carry out any arrangements for getting them off that they may suggest, and that at any hour by night or day the boats shall be at the spot they appoint, and that a strong body of men shall be sent on shore to cover their embarkation." martyn himself acccompanied horace the next morning to shore, as he thought it would be better that he should hear what were the plans of the merchant, and might be able to make suggestions as to their being carried out. the christian merchant was awaiting them. when they approached he entered the house by the door of which he was standing, and invited them also to enter. "i know the owner of this house," he said, "and arranged with him to have a room where we could speak undisturbed. did any of the officers or soldiers happen to come down the lane when i was speaking to you, suspicion would be at once roused that some plot or other was on foot. well, sir, what is your father's answer?" "he cordially invites you and your friends and their families to take refuge on board his vessel, and he will land you at athens, corinth, or in the ionian isles, as you may desire." the greek clasped his hands in delight . "oh, sir, you can- not tell what a load you have taken off my mind, or what we have been suffering of late, with the certainty that ere long the turks will return." "this is captain martyn, who commands the vessel," hor- ace said; "he has come ashore to concert measures for getting you on board, that is, if you think that there will be any ob- stacle in the way of your coming off openly." "certainly there will. i am sure they would not allow us chios. to leave. three of my friends went to lykourgos yesterday and said they desired to go with their families on board the greek ships. he got into a fury and threatened to have them thrown into prison as traitors, fined them a thousand piastres each, and said that anyone leaving the island would be deemed a traitor to the cause of greece and all his property confiscated." horace translated this to martyn. "then they must get off quietly, horace; ask him if they have formed any plans. tell him that i will land thirty men and bring them up close to the town, if they can slip off and. join us." horace put the question. "we were talking it over last night," the merchant said; "it is not easy, because we all have men who call themselves officers quartered in our houses. we think that the best way will be for our daughters and servants, with the exception of one or two, to slip off as soon as it becomes dark, going in pairs and carrying with them all the valuables they can. we our- selves and our wives will remain for two or three hours, so that the men seeing us will suspect nothing. some of our servants, after escorting the ladies and children beyond the town, can return and take with them another load. it would not do to take large bundles, but the men can carry casks or barrels on their shoulders filled with valuable clothes and stuffs, and as there would be nothing unusual in a man carrying a cask of wine or a barrel of flour, they might pass without exciting sus- picion. then, at the moment agreed, we ourselves might slip away and join the rest." "that seems a likely plan," martyn said when he understood the details. "now it is for them to name some spot where we can be awaiting them." "we have arranged that," the chiot said. "one of my friends has a large farmhouse where he and his family take up their residence in summer; it stands half a mile from the town, on the brow looking down upon the sea; it is a white house with two large store-houses for wine and produce standing behind it." "i know the house," horace said; "the road passes a hun- dred yards behind it." "that is the house, sir. it will be dark by seven o'clock, and - in greek waters. "not the slightest, father," horace replied. "we were chaffed a little about our stores, but no one had the least sus- picion that they were not what they seemed." the casks were soon got on board and were slung down into the hold. "what do you suppose they contain, father?" horace asked. "well, of course all their jewels and money are in them, and no doubt all their valuable dresses. i expect that the bulk is made up of silk and brocades, most of which is extremely costly. then there will be embroidered stuffs, some of the more valuable of which are worth almost a fortune in them- selves. chios is an extremely rich island and its revenues are a special appanage of the sultan and his harem, and doubtless the merchants here supply the ladies of the court with many of their most valued robes and embroideries." while the boats had been ashore the sailors had again rigged up the screen across the main-deck for the use of the ladies and children, and had also made a smaller compartment for the use of the merchants. "there is one comfort," miller said, "as these people are swells they are not likely to turn the ship into such a pig-sty as that last lot did. how many do you suppose there will be, horace?" "i suppose they will run seven or eight to a family, that is seventy-five, and likely enough they may bring five or six men and women servants with each family; so i suppose you may calculate on a hundred and fifty, miller." "ah! well, we can manage that. i should like to see the face of that fellow lykourgos to-morrow morning when he finds that some of the men out of whom he had expected to make most money have slipped through his fingers." as soon as it became dark thirty men were landed, armed to the teeth. miller took command, and horace accompanied him with the two greeks to assist to look after the fugitives. when they reached the farmhouse they found about thirty young children with their nurses assembled there with some eight or ten older girls. they were evidently in a state of great alarm, but their spirits rose when horace and the greeks entered and ^told them that a guard of english sailors were without and that there was no longer a fear of their being dis- covered by any straggling soldiers who might chance to visit chios. the house. in a short time the servants, accompanied by young women and boys, began to arrive. most of them carried bundles, and their bulky appearance suggested that they had put on a large quantity of clothes under the plain dresses they wore. the men all carried barrels or boxes. these all re- turned to the town and came back by half-past nine with another load. some excellent wine was served out to the sailors by the man who was in charge of the house, who told horace that he had received orders from his master that the sailors were to carry away as many barrels of wine as they could take for the use of the schooner; and as it was certain that its owner would never have an opportunity of drinking it, horace did not hesitate to accept the present, and thirty barrels of wine, each containing about five gallons, were brought out and placed in readiness for the sailors to take up. "what are you going to do about your loads?" horace asked one of the servants. "we have orders, sir, to carry one of them as we go with you, and then when the others go off to the ship to return here for the second, if you will consent to our doing so." "certainly," horace said. "there can be no possible objec- tion to that, providing we all get down to the beach without any alarm being given, and of that i do not think there is any likelihood. the soldiers will have all returned to their quarters before this. the only chance is of our coming across parties of sailors returning to their ships. none of these would be strong enough to interfere with us, and even if they reported the matter when they got on board, i should say that none of the captains would feel sufficient interest in the news, to take any steps about it." soon after ten o'clock the merchants with their wives and grown-up sons began to arrive, and by half-past the last of the party were in. no further time was lost. fifteen of the sailors, each with a barrel of wine on his shoulder, led the way under lieutenant miller. the merchants and their families followed, then came the servants with horace and the rest of the sailors as rear-guard. the road was entirely deserted, and they reached the shore without encountering a single person. as soon as they did so, horace told the servant men to set down their in greek waters. burdens and start back at once. the merchants with their wives and families were first transferred to the schooner, the sailors on shore taking charge of the rest of the fugitives and the baggage. another trip conveyed the remaining chiots to the vessel. when the boats returned the casks and barrels of wine were placed on board, and the sailors then took their places and rowed off. horace found that the first party had already retired. hammocks had been slung for the women and children, the female attendants sleeping on the deck. the merchants and their sons occupied a compartment screened off for them. the men-servants coiled themselves away between the guns on deck. the two greeks had gone off in the first boat, and already prepared some supper, to which martyn and horace sat down. "i did not wait for you," mr. beveridge said, "as i knew that it must be half-past eleven by the time you reached the shore, and another good half-hour before you were off. poor people! their gratitude was quite distressing; the men considered that it was certain they would be massacred by the turks, and their women carried off as slaves. i was obliged at last in self-defence to pack them off to bed. the women all wanted to kiss my hand, which would have been well enough for you young fellows, for some of the girls are lovely. the chiots are celebrated for their good looks; but for a man my age it would have been simply embarrassing." "perhaps they will renew the demonstrations to-morrow," miller laughed. "if so, i shall get horace to explain to them delicately that our english custom is to salute on the face and not on the hand. i did not see any of the girls. i left it to horace to do the polite indoors, while i kept a look-out with the men outside. i don't know whether he came in for any kisses; if so, he kept it to himself." "no," horace laughed. "they were all too anxious about their parents' safety to think of doing the civil thing to me; but, as you say, miller, there will be time enough to-morrow when we see what they are like. i expect to-morrow we shall have lykourgos or some of his officers off here to protest." "that we sha'n't," martyn said, "for we will get up the anchor at daybreak and be off before anyone knows what has happened. your father agrees with me that the best plan will a white squall. be to get rid of this cargo at once, and then we can come back again for another." "i have asked them where they would like to be landed," mr. beveridge said, "and they had already agreed among themselves to go to corfu. in the first place they have no love for the greeks of the mainland, with whom they are furious for bringing destruction upon the island by coming here without a sufficient force to hold the citadel even if they captured it, and they would vastly rather be landed under the protection of the british flag. they will have time to settle afterwards where they will make their homes." chapter xv. a white squall. all hands were called at five o'clock, when daylight was beginning to break in the east; the anchor was got up, sail set, and the decks washed down, the usual scrubbing being for once omitted in order to avoid disturbing their passengers. "what are we going to do about feeding them, miller?" horace asked. "it was all very well for the people we had on board before to get their meals anyhow they could, but these have been accustomed to wealth and luxury, and, as the leading merchants of chios, were people of importance." "your father and the two greeks were talking it over yester- day evening before you landed, horace. of course it is out of the question that they could all take their meals in the cabin, which your father at first proposed to give up to them. marco suggested that a table should be rigged on the quarter-deck . we reckoned that there would be about fifty grown up or nearly so, that was allowing five for each family. of course the children would have their meals with their nurses below." "that would certainly be the pleasantest way, miller. there is plenty of room for two tables, and as far as length goes twelve or fourteen could sit on each side easily enough in greek waters. without the tables extending forward of the mainmast. i see tarleton is getting the awning rigged up already. but the tables will want to be cleared away after each meal, or there will be no room for anything." "oh, yes, five minutes will be enough for that. the men will bring up all their mess tables, they can be rigged and unshipped in no time. the order is that the men are all to get into their white ducks at eight bells, as your father means to show these greeks what an english yacht is. your men have rigged up another stove in their cooking place, and have borrowed a couple of the sailors, i suppose to wash and cut up vegetables, and to act as kitchen-maids." at seven o'clock the chiots began to come up. mr. beveridge was already on deck, and requested horace to assist him to set them at their ease. the men were all of the best greek type, courtly and gentle in manner, with refined faces. the older women were all more or less inclined to corpulence, while some of the young ones fully deserved the terms of praise in which mr. beveridge had spoken of them the evening before. at first they looked timid at finding themselves in scenes so strange to them, but they were soon chattering and laughing with each other. they were immensely astonished at the ex- quisite neatness and cleanliness of the vessel and her fittings. "are all english ships as white and clean as this?" one of them asked. "all ships of war and yachts. a yacht is a vessel kept by a gentleman simply for his own amusement and not for trade. this is a yacht, though we have mounted guns, and have come out prepared to fight." "it would be a great pity to fight and spoil everything," the girl said. "oh, we can fight without spoiling everything; though of course sometimes a shot may knock things about a bit, the damage would soon be repaired." "but you can't have been fighting yet," one of the younger men said, looking round. "we have only had one fight, and that was when most of us were ashore. that officer, whom you see there, was on board, and he only had ten men with him; but for all that he engaged two turkish frigates, and destroyed one of them." a white squall. there was an exclamation of astonishment, mingled with a little incredulity, from the group round horace, some of whom thought he was trying to make fun of them. "i can assure you that it is a fact," horaee said, "he first crippled her, and then set her on fire by firing red-hot balls into her." "was that near cyprus?" one of the young men asked. "yes; the rest of us were on shore there, and we brought off five hundred christians from a village that was besieged by the • turks." "yes, that is true," the young fellow said, "i was told about it by one of the officers who lodged in our house. he said it was wonderful, and so it was; and the men you have here all look so quiet too." "they are on their best behaviour now," horace laughed; "but they are all picked men, and have all served in british men-of-war." as eight bells rang out a party of sailors came along to the quarter-deck, bringing with them half a dozen mess tables, which they arranged together, according to the direction of zaimes. "but these are nothing like enough, zaimes," horace said, going over to him. "we are not going to sit down, mr. horace. we shall have two meals—one at eleven and one at six. we shall put things on the table now, and let them eat standing." the cloth was soon spread, and upon it were placed fruit, bread and butter, and eggs, a great tureen filled with coffee, and another with hot milk; the whole of the cabin tea and coffee cups, and a score of the men's mugs. "now, ladies and gentlemen," mr. beveridge said, "you must help yourselves. i am sorry to say that our breakfast service is quite insufficient for our needs, and that the gentle- men will have to put up with the sailors' mugs." everyone seemed to enjoy the meal; the women sat about on the deck in little groups, and the men waited upon them, the three officers making themselves very busy in this work. "it is disgusting, horace," miller said, "to hear you jabber- ing away with these girls, while we poor beggars can't say a word to them." in greek waters. "but you speak a little italian, don't you, miller?" "yes, i picked up a little when i was on the mediterranean station." "oh well, a little will go a long way sometimes, miller, and some of them are sure to know something of italian. i will soon find out which they are, and introduce them specially to you." five or six of the girls knew a little italian, and most of the young men could speak it, italian being the general language of commerce in the mediterranean, and miller was soon engaged in conversation with some of them. martyn had broken the ice for himself with a mixture of french and italian; but tarleton, who knew no language but his own, kept away from the quarter-deck. "what's the odds," he said, when horace tried to induce him to go aft. "if they were going to be on board for a year, i would try to get hold of a few greek words, and do what i could; but as it is, it is not worth while bothering one's self. it is no use my trying to make myself agreeable to girls when i haven't a word to say to them. on the whole i am rather glad i can't talk to them. i never had any practice at that sort of thing; and if i ever do fall in love, i hope it will be with an englishwoman. look at miller there," he laughed, "jawing away with five or six girls at once, and i don't believe one of them has the least idea of what he is saying, though they all try to look interested." "they understand he is trying to make himself agreeable, tarleton, and i have no doubt they are grateful and pleased. i dare say some of them don't understand any more italian than he does. still they are just as much amused, if not more, as if they understood him perfectly." after the meal was over some chairs and benches were brought up, but the ladies all preferred sitting on the deck, and were much pleased when a number of the men's hammocks were brought up, unrolled, and laid down for them to sit upon. mr. beveridge chatted with the merchants, the younger men smoked and lounged about, martyn and miller and horace devoting themselves to the ladies, until eleven o'clock, when two long tables were set. zaimes arranged them tastefully with flowers and silver, and a very excellent meal was served. after the a white squall. meal was finished, and the decks cleared, the men were exer- cised at cutlass drill and in getting down and setting the sails, and the chiots were astonished at their discipline and activity. "i have seen vessels get up sail at chios hundreds of times," one of the young men said to horace, "and everyone shouts and bustles about; but with all the noise they take five or six times as long to get them up as your men do, and, except when the officer gives orders, there is no more sound than there would be if they were all dumb." "captain martyn says that he will have gun drill to-morrow," horace said, "and you will see that they are just as quiet at their work then as now. you see the three officers have all served in our navy as well as the men, and we have just the same discipline as there would be in a king's ship." "one would scarcely think," horace remarked to his father that evening as they were standing together looking at the groups scattered about the deck, "that these people were fugitives who have just left their native land, probably for life." "i don't think they quite realize that at present, horace. one or two of the men have been telling me what anxiety they have suffered at chios since the revolution broke out. when the news came of some of the massacres of the greeks, they were in constant fear of a retaliation upon them by the mussul- mans, and they made sure that sooner or later, if the war went on, chios would become involved in it. of course they did not suppose that such a mad-brained expedition as that of lykour- gos would be undertaken, but supposed that a sufficient force would be sent to ensure the capture of the island, accompanied by a fleet that would protect it from that of the turks; but even that was greatly dreaded by them. "they knew that the turkish provinces governed by greek officials were much more heavily taxed and oppressed than those in which the turks collected the taxation, and knew that the change would be, for them, very much for the worse. except that they have the same religion, they have little in com- mon with the greeks in the mainland, and dreaded the thought of the albanians, who would be sure to send over armed bands, who would harass and oppress them. of course they have been for centuries under turkish rule, and the island has certainly a white squall. of years know absolutely nothing. they may regret their easy, quiet life in chios; but beyond that, i think they have little feeling in the matter." the next morning, after breakfast, the sailors were exercised at the guns, three rounds being fired from each piece. scarcely were the men dismissed from their quarters, and the guns secured, before the boatswain went up to martyn. "i beg your pardon, captain, but look over there. do you see that white cloud ?—how quick it rises. i know these seas, sir; and that is a white squall, or i am a dutchman. we sha'n't have more than three or four minutes before it is on us." "by jove, you are right, tom! all hands get off sail! look smart, my lads; there is a bit of a squall coming down on us. down topsails; in jibs! miller, take six hands and get this awning off. horace, get the ladies below at once." as martyn began to give his orders, tarleton had run forward to see them carried out; but miller and horace had continued their conversation without paying much attention to them, be- lieving that he was only giving the orders as an exercise to the crew, and to show the passengers how quickly they could get off sail. his sharp, decided tone, however, soon showed them that he was in earnest. horace looked round almost bewildered, for there was scarcely a breath of wind; the sky was a deep blue overhead. miller's experience in the mediterranean, how- ever, told him which way to look . "white squall, by jove!" he muttered, as his eye fell on the cloud that had attracted the boatswain's attention. springing forward he called six of the men, and ran aft with them again. horace, still in ignorance of the reason for the order given him, at once proceeded to carry it out. calling out in greek, "please go below at once, ladies;" and then to the men, "escort the ladies below as quickly as you can, please." then, running forward, he shouted to the greek servants, "all below, all below! take the children with you; you are in the way here. hurry down." his orders on the quarter-deck were more quickly obeyed than he had expected, for the chiots, accustomed to these sudden and tremendous squalls of the ^egean, glancing round when they heard the order, perceived the reason for it at once, and hurried the ladies below with all speed. in greek waters. "that is a good job, miller," martyn said. "the sea is getting up fast, and in another five minutes it would not have been safe to do it. it will make all the difference to us in such a short choppy sea as we shall be having." for six hours the wind blew with unabated force. a heavy sea got up, and, buoyant as she was, the schooner shipped water heavily over the bow, the seas being too short to give her time to rise and fall regularly over them. at the end of that time the wind fell almost as suddenly as it had risen, and half an hour later the schooner was on her course again, with all her lower sails set. it was not until evening that the sea had gone down sufficiently for the passengers to begin to make their appearance again on deck, looking worn out and exhausted by sea-sickness. by this time the schooner was among the islands, and was passing through the mykonos channel, between the island of that name and tenos. syra rose above the water almost ahead, while bhenea and delos lay on her beam to the south. her topsails were set now, and she was running fast through the water, her course being laid to pass between seriphos and siphnos, beyond which it was a straight course to cape malea, at the southern point of the morea. a sharp look-out was kept at night for anti-melos on the one hand, and falconera on the other. the former was made out, the land being high; but falconera, a mere rock, was passed unobserved. in the morning the schooner was running through the cervi channel, between cythera and cervi, which island almost touches the mainland. a quiet night's rest had completely restored the passengers, who came on deck early, and watched with interest the rocky shore of the morea as they coasted along it. three days later the misericordia dropped her anchor in the harbour of corfu. mr. beveridge was again overwhelmed with thanks by the grateful chiots. upon the way they had inquired of him if he had a wife or daughters, and were quite disappointed at hear- ing that he had no near female relatives, as they had intended to send a consignment of choice stull's and embroideries to them in token of their gratitude. before landing they handed to martyn a hundred pounds to be divided among the crew, and on the day after landing sent off a very handsome case of a white squall. pistols to each of the officers. as their goods were being got up from the hold they pointed out four barrels which were to remain behind. "we brought them off specially for you, mr. beveridge," they said, "they are the very choicest vintage of chios, and we do hope that though you have refused to accept any sub- stantial proof of our gratitude, you will not refuse to take those." the decks of the misericordia seemed curiously still and deserted after the departure of their guests. it had been a very pleasant week while the chiots had been on board, and martyn and miller both looked out of spirits, having tempor- arily lost their hearts to two of the greek girls. "we have the best of it now," tarleton laughed to the doctor. "what is the use of a week's flirtation? look at the parting at the end of it. the girls were pretty enough, no doubt; but what good would it be to take home a wife who did not speak your language, who was ignorant of english ways, and would be miserable in our climate, besides being of a different religion. i think it is just as well that the voyage was not longer; as it is, they will soon-get over it." the captain and first officer had indeed but little time to think over it, for on the evening of the day after their arrival sail was again set on the schooner, and she started on her return to chios, where, as mr. beveridge said, they were likely to find plenty more opportunities for doing good. the wind held steady, and they made a quick passage. scarcely had they dropped anchor when a boat came off to them bearing an angry message from lykourgos. "you have assisted deserters to escape from the island," he said, "and if any of you set foot on shore you will at once be arrested." they learned shortly afterwards from a boat that came along- side to sell fish that many of the richer inhabitants had been arrested and very heavily fined upon the accusation that they also intended to desert, and that all who had property had been compelled to pay considerable sums for protection against the excesses of the troops who had come, as they pretended, to deliver them. the officers were furious at the message from lykourgos, and proposed going ashore with a strong in greek waters. party of armed sailors. mr. beveridge, however, decided that no steps should be taken for a day or two. "we don't want to become actually embroiled with these people unless it is necessary," he said, "the turkish fleet is expected here every day now, and lykourgos and his crew will, we may be sure, take flight as soon as they appear, and we shall then have plenty of scope for our work. at any rate we will wait two or three days and see how matters turn up. if necessary we can then do as you propose, seize half a dozen of the ships, and tell the rest we will sink them if they don't put to sea; that will bring the fellow to his senses at once. i don't want to do it if i can help it, because we should after- wards be liable to attack at any of the islands we might happen to put into." a few hours later a fast greek felucca came up and anchored between the schooner and the other vessels. a boat was lowered and rowed at once towards the transports. "i fancy that fellow must have brought some news," martyn said. "horace, will you go on board of him and find out where he comes from, and whether he has heard anything of the turkish fleet?" in ten minutes horace reported: "the turks are only a few miles from the north of the island. the felucca has been watching them for the last week. they have been taking troops on board at all the ports on the mainland as they came down." already the fleet had diminished by at least two-thirds since lykourgos landed; but a small proportion of the plunder had fallen to the sailors, and as it was for this alone that the craft had taken part in the expedition, the greater portion soon became discontented and sailed away. as the turkish fleet approached the island, a turkish sloop, which had gone on ahead to ascertain the position of the greeks, ran ashore and fell into the hands of the greeks, who at once put to death every soul on board—the fate that had befallen every prisoner they had taken. having thus done their utmost to exasperate the turks, and to imperil the safety of the christian inhabitants of the island, the greeks made no effort to oppose the landing of the mussulmans, but retired precipitately on their approach, and the turks entered chios, plundering the town of everything a white squall. that had escaped the bands of lykourgos, the irregulars who formed part of the army murdering every christian they met. lykourgos had retreated to the village of st. george, whence, after a feeble attempt at defence, he escaped with his followers on board some psarian ships that had, fortunately for him, arrived. these islanders had strongly opposed the expedition to chios, and had taken no part in it, fearing to bring down the turkish fleet upon themselves, as psara lay but a short distance north of chios. they maintained their fleet in port to aid in its defence should the turks attack them. as soon, however, as they saw the turkish fleet sail past psara on its way to chios they at once put to sea with the intention of harassing the turks and rendering some assistance to the christians. the vengeance of the turks now fell upon the unfortunate chiefs, who had been perfectly innocent of all share in the pro- ceedings of lykourgos, and who had already suffered so heavily at the hands of him and his robber bands. in the city the wealthier class generally succeeded in purchasing the protection of turks in authority by paying large sums of money, but the rest were either slaughtered or seized to be sold into slavery. three thousand chiots, mostly the peasantry that had come down from the hills, retired to the monastery of aghios minas, five miles south of the city. the turks surrounded them and summoned them to surrender. they refused to surrender, and the building was carried by storm, and all within it put to death. two thousand persons were similarly slain at the capture of the monastery of nea mone; most of them were put to death by the sword, and the rest perished in the,conflagra- tion of the monastery. kara ali, the capitan-pasha, did all in his power to save the island from being laid waste, knowing that the loss of the revenue derived from the island would greatly vex the sultan and his seraglio, to whom this revenue was specially appro- priated. the regular troops were kept fairly in order, but the bashi-bazouks, that is the volunteers who had flocked to his standard, scattered over the island, plundering and slaying, but more especially carrying off women and children for sale in the slave-markets. the sultan, determined to strike terror into the hearts of the greeks of the island, executed at constanti- in greek waters. nople some chiot hostages that had been sent there, and ordered the archbishop and seventy-five other chiots to be executed by the capitan pasha. during the whole time lykourgos had been there the vessels from psara had been carrying off the chiots from small ports and quiet bays round the island, and it was estimated that some fifteen thousand had been taken off in this way either before the arrival of the turks or during the continuance of the massacres by them. the work was carried on with great vigour by the psarians who reaped a rich harvest from their operations, demanding and receiving all the valuables of the unfortunate fugitives as the price for their passage to another island. thus large numbers of wealthy chiots were reduced to the most abject poverty by the avarice and extortion of those who professed to save them. the misericerdia was very busy during the three weeks that followed the turkish reoccupation of the island. cruising round and round she carried off large numbers of fugitives, conveying them across to the nearest greek islands. after making three such trips, and carrying over some twelve hundred fugitives, she left the work of rescue to the psarians, and took up her station between the island and the mainland to cut off the craft that were, as they learned, conveying the women and children to the slave-markets of smyrna. as speed was here of the greatest utility, vessel after vessel was overhauled and compelled to bring-to by her guns. then the boats went alongside, forced the turkish sailors and bashi-bazouks to take to their boats, and then after transporting the rescued women and children to the schooner, set fire to the ships. no less than eighteen were overhauled and destroyed in the course of a week—fourteen hundred women and children being rescued, the first two batches being landed at psara as the nearest greek island, while the last batch was taken to athens. on returning from that trip they found that the destruction they caused had so alarmed the ship-owners of smyrna that the traffic by sea had almost entirely ceased, and that the slaves were now carried across in boats or small vessels to the main- land opposite the island, which was but six or seven miles away. here it was difficult to interrupt it, for the turkish fleet lay off the town of chios, and the smaller ships cruised about in the channel. a white squall. trusting to her superior sailing power, the misericordia entered by the southern, which was the broader end of the straits, and kept hovering about between the island and the mainland. she was frequently chased by the turks, and several times engaged their cruisers at a distance, the superior rapidity of her fire, and the ease with which she manoeuvred, giving her a great advantage over her clumsy opponents. two of the turkish corvettes were so severely handled that they had to retire under the shelter of the guns of the fleet. over a score of small craft were intercepted and destroyed, and two hundred and fifty more slaves rescued. at night she generally ran across and anchored in some indentation on the turkish side, going in after nightfall, knowing that the turkish cruisers always retired before dark to their anchorage off chios. one night they were at anchor in a deep bay near the narrow and northern mouth of the straits. at about three in the morning horace was on the watch with miller, and was walking up and down the quarter-deck with him, when one of the quarter-masters came aft. "it seems to me, sir," he said to the first lieutenant, "that i can hear some sort of noise out seaward." miller stopped in his walk and listened intently. "there is some sort of noise, sure enough, quarter-master." it was a quiet night, not a breath of wind was stirring, but a confused sound was audible like that of small waves breaking on a stony beach. "what do you make it out to be?" he asked the quarter-master. "it is too irregular and confused for oars." "i don't know, sir; it ain't the sound of the oars of one boat or of two, but i should say that it might be the sound of a dozen." "i think you are right," miller said after listening for a while. "i don't see what else it can be. go down and call captain martyn." in two or three minutes martyn was on deck . "you make out oars, i hear, miller?" "i am not sure that it is the sound of oars, but it may be." martyn listened attentively. "i have very little doubt it is that," he said. "it is possible some boat may have gone over from this side with the news that we are here, or they may have arranged some fire signal g in greek waters. and given notice in that way, and they have sent the boats of the fleet across to cut us out. well, if so, we have got to fight; there is not a breath of wind. call the other watch on deck, quarter-master." the men soon tumbled up. "will you see to getting the boarding nettings up, mr. miller. mr. tarleton, get a boat put in the water, ship a light anchor, and drop it a cable length off her quarter. get springs into both cables, so that we can work her round and keep her broadside on to an attack. horace, will you call up your father in the first place, and go down with the two greeks to the lower deck and get all that mob of women and children down into the hold. call the men to quarters, boatswain; open the magazine, get up canister and grape; let the men muster with muskets and boarding-pikes." the guns were run in and loaded, and when everything was in readiness a dead silence reigned fore and aft. the noise was now much louder, and there could be no doubt any longer that it was caused by the approach of a large number of boats; then martyn spoke in a clear voice that could be heard from end to end of the schooner. - "as you can hear for yourselves, men, it is evident that we are about to le attacked by a flotilla of boats. well, we have got to beat them off. you know, without my telling you, that there is no mercy to be expected at the hands of the turks if they become the masters of this ship, so we have got to beat them off; and as it is a choice between doing so and of being murdered afterwards, i am sure i need not tell you that we must fight to the last, and i for one have very little fear of what the result will be. we have done good work as british sailors in saving life up to this point, and now we have got to show them what british sailors can do when they are fighting for their own lives. don't cheer, lads, they might hear it across the water, and they may as well think they are going to take us by surprise; we will cheer when we have beaten them off." a hum of approval ran round the ship, and then the men stood to their guns with their pistols in their belts, and their muskets and boarding-pikes ready at hand. mr. beveridge with the two greeks had taken their positions, armed with rifles, near the wheel. c in greek waters. that there must be some cause for it, and the only reason i can see is that they may be towing." "by jove, so they may! i did not think of that. it will be awkward if we have got a ship to fight as well as the boats." "very awkward. send up a rocket, we may as well settle the question. pass the word round for the men to train their guns as nearly as they can in the direction in which we can hear the oars, and to fire when they get light." a minute later a rocket shot up in the air. as it burst a number of boats were seen crowded together, towing behind them two large brigs. there was a moment's pause while the men at the guns adjusted their aim, then the pivot-gun roared out, and the four on the broadside followed in quick succession. the distance was about six hundred yards, and the crashing of wood, followed by a chorus of shouts and cries, arose as the storm of grape swept down upon the boats. "load again, lads, as quick as you can!" martyn shouted. "show a couple of blue lights, quarter-master. boatswain, load the pivot with ball, and fire as fast as you can at the brigs; never mind the boats, we will attend to them." the blue lights were lit and a rocket sent up, so as to burst over the enemy, and again a broadside of grape was poured in, while a shot from the pivot-gun crashed into the bows of one of the brigs; these had apparently been lashed together, so that the boats could tow them on a broad front. a con- fused din came across the water; shouts, cries, and orders mingled together. as far as could be seen everything was in confusion. some of the boats had sunk, and the occupants were being pulled on board of the others. some had thrown off their tow-ropes and were heading for the schooner, others lay helpless in the water. "keep the rockets going, quarter-master," martyn said; "the more light we have the better. horace, tell the men at the aft and forward guns to aim at the boats rowing towards us; let the two midship guns keep on at the crowd in front of the brigs. they have sent a pretty strong force against us. there must have been fully twenty of these boats at first; there are about sixteen of them now, and they are all large ones. depress the guns on the other broadside as far as they will go, mr. tarleton, we shall have some of them round ret elling the turkish boarders. fire-ships. on that side presently. cant them down as much as you can." two more of the boats towing were disabled by the next broadside, and the rest, throwing off the ropes, rowed straight for the schooner. "aim steadily, men!" martyn shouted. "pick out your boats before you fire." two of the boats were sunk as they approached, three others fell behind crippled; but the others, with loud shouts, made straight at the vessel. as they approached her they opened a fire of musketry, which was answered by the rifles and muskets of the sailors. as they swept up alongside shot were heaved down into them, and the crashing of planks told that they had done their work . the guns on the starboard side were silent at first, as the first boats came up so close alongside that they could not reach them; but those that followed were further out, and two were instantly sunk. as the turks strove to climb up the side and cut their way through the boarding-netting, they were shot down by pistols or run through by boarding-pikes. a few managed to climb over or force their way through the netting, but these were cut down before they could obtain a footing on deck. for ten minutes the fight went on by the flare of the blue lights, and then eight turkish boats, which alone floated, rowed away, crowded with the survivors from the others. a loud cheer broke from the schooner. "never mind them, my men!" martyn shouted; "load with ball now and aim at the brigs." these had taken no part whatever in the fight. left by the boat's head on to the schooner, and almost without steerage- way, they had in vain endeavoured to get broadside on so as to bring their guns to bear. the lashings had been cut, and the rudders been put in opposite directions; they had drifted a little apart with their heads outwards, and as the boats rowed away from the schooner they opened fire with their bow-guns. the boatswain, with the men working the pivot-gun, had from the first continued steadily at their work regardless of the din around them, horace taking his place beside them, in order to call them off to aid in repelling the turks should they gain a footing anywhere on the deck. when the boarding-netting in greek waters. had been triced up, a gap had been left opposite the gun, and the fire at the brigs had been kept up without intermission, every shot raking one or other of them fore and aft . as soon as the boats were fairly away, the guns from the starboard side were run across, the spare ports being thrown open, and the eight guns all brought into play to aid the pivot-gun. as soon as the boats reached the brigs they took shelter behind them, and in a short time both craft began to swing round, their guns firing as they were brought to bear. "eight guns a side," miller said; "but it would not matter if there were twenty, if they did not aim better than that;" for not a single shot had struck the schooner. one or two passed overhead, but the rest went wide. instead of the brigs being left broadside on as they had ex- pected, their heads swept round until they were stern on to the schooner, then they began slowly to glide away. "thoy have had enough of it," miller exclaimed, and another cheer broke from the schooner. "cease firing!" martyn said, "if they leave us alone we are content to leave them alone; they must have suffered tre- mendously as it is." an examination was now made as to the casualties. four men had been killed, all were shot through the head, as they had fired over the bulwark at the boats as they came alongside; six others were wounded more or less seriously, by pistol shots that had been fired by the turks as they tried to climb on board—a small total indeed, considering the nature of the attack. when morning dawned the brigs could be made out near the opposite shore, they were still being towed by the boats; but as they were looking at them, sail was made as a light breeze sprang up. when the wind reached them, the main- mast of one was seen to go over the side, having doubtless been wounded by the raking fire, and carrying in its fall the fore top-gallant mast and topmast. a quarter of an hour later the breeze reached the schooner. the decks had been already washed down, and everything had resumed its ordinary aspect, and before getting up the anchor the four men who had fallen, and who had already been sewn up in hammocks, were com- mitted to the sea, mr. beveridge reading the funeral service fire-ships. over them. mr. macfarlane reported that the wounded were all likely to do well. as soon as the fight was over the women and children, who had been suffering agonies of terror while it had been going on, had been brought out from the hold and allowed to sleep as usual on the lower deck, which had been entirely given up to them; and when the schooner got under weigh they were permitted to come up on deck. although they had been assured by zaimes and his brother that all danger was over, their first action on coming up was to look round timidly, and they were evidently greatly relieved when they saw that the sea was clear of enemies. they looked much surprised at seeing everything going on as usual, and at the absence of any signs of the ter- rible conflict they had heard raging round them the night be- fore—the bullet marks in the bulwarks, being the only evidences of what had passed. it had already been decided to sail for greece in the course of a day or two, as they had as many fugitives on board as they could carry, and it was now determined to do so at once. as they sailed west they made out a large number of ships approaching, and were soon running through the greek fleet. "i am sorry we left now," miller said; "we shall miss a fight." "i expect we shall be back in time," macfarlane remarked; "the greeks are in no great hurry to fight. it is two months since they were sent for, when the landing was made at chios; and after taking all this time to make up their minds about it, they are likely to take a few days before they make up their minds to have a tussle with the turks. the greek mind, i observe, is full of contradictions; sometimes, especially if there is plunder to be got, their eagerness is just wonderful; but when it is a question of fighting, their caution is very remarkable." miller laughed. "i daresay you are right, doctor, and i don't feel at all confident that there will be a fight. so far the greek fleet has done nothing, and their only idea of fighting a turkish ship has been to launch a fire-ship against it." "fire-ships are no good against enemies who know what they are doing," martyn said. "a couple of boats can always tow a fire-ship clear; but the turks are lubberly sailors, and these fire-ships seem almost to paralyse them." in greek waters. "i can't make it out," miller put in, "why the turks should manoeuvre their vessels so badly, considering that their sailors are for the most part thessalians, drawn from tho mohammedan seaside villages, albanians by blood, just as the hydriots are." "they want british officers," the doctor said. "officers are always the weak point with the turks. there are no braver soldiers in the world when they are well led. but they never are well led now; their pashas seem to be chosen for stupidity and obstinacy. it is a great pity that we did not make up our minds to take turkey instead of india. eh, man! we should have made a grand country of it when we had once got it into order." "we shall make a grand country of india some day, doctor. i have never been out there; but there is no doubt that just what you say about the turks is true of the natives there, and they make very good soldiers when they have british officers to lead them." "so they say, captain martyn; but you must remember that they have only fought against other natives without british officers to lead them. we must wait till we see them fighting against european troops of some other nation before we can say that they are fine soldiers." "if we wait till then, we are likely to wait a long time, doc- tor. besides, you must remember they did fight well against the french troops under dupleix." "so they did, but not till they got the idea that our soldiers were better than the french. but, as you say, it will be a long time before they get the chance again. the french are no longer a power in india; nor are the dutch; and the distance is too long for either ever to send out an army big enough to wrest india from us; and as to marching by land—well, it could not be done." the next day they reached the port of athens, and got rid of their cargo of passengers, and then, with every sail set, hur- ried back to chios, touching at psara on the way, as, from the direction in which the greeks were steering, they thought it probable they might have made a stay there. a small fsariot vessel had just come in from the fleet, and horace, who had gone ashore with marco, learned that miaoulis, the greek admiral, had coasted along the north of chios, and that the turks had fire-ships. at once weighed anchor and gone out to engage him. the greeks, not caring to fight in the narrow waters, where their power of manoeuvring would be thrown away, had stood out, and an engagement had taken place at the mouth of the gulf of smyrna." "we fought most valiantly," the greek said, "and it was a drawn battle." "but what was done?" horace asked. "how many vessels were sunk on each side?" "oh, there were no vessels sunk. they fired at us, and we fired at them." "were there many killed and wounded?" "no; i don't think there were any killed and wounded. you see we manoeuvred round the turks. we could not go near, because their guns were much heavier than ours. we sent down a fire-ship among them; but unfortunately they evaded it, and some of our most daring captains ventured so close that their ships were struck by the turkish shot. yesterday the combat was renewed again. the cannonading was like thunder, and this morning we again fought. then we needed rest, and to get fresh meat we sailed back." horace had difficulty in restraining his expressions of disgust at the conduct of the fleet that had, after two months' delay, at last sailed to annihilate the turks; and as they walked back to their boat marco poured out, in an undertone, volumes of execrations in choice greek. as they reached the schooner the doctor looked over the side. "we are not too late, horace; there's the greek fleet rounding the point. as we can't make out with our glass a shot-hole in their sails or a splinter on their bulwarks, it is evident that i was right, and that we are in plenty of time to see the engagement." "you are mistaken, doctor," horace said as he reached the deck. "there has been a great naval battle, lasting three days. there are no killed or wounded; but one or two ships, com- manded by daring captains, ventured within gun-shot of the turks, and were struck. that is the exact history of the affair, as i learned it from one of the heroes." "is that really the story you have heard, horace?" mr. beveridge asked. ( in greek waters. "it is, father; almost in the words that it was told to me." "i really think," martyn said, seeing how depressed mr. beveridge looked at the news, "that much more could hardly be expected from the greeks. their ships are for the most part small, and their metal very light. they have not the slightest idea of discipline or of working in concert. a turkish broad- side would sink half a dozen of them if they ventured to close quarters; and of course their superior seamanship is not of the slightest avail as long as they fight at a distance." "it would avail if they had pluck," horace said bitterly. "the english ships that went out to engage the great galleons of the spanish armada were as inferior in tonnage and in weight of metal as the greeks are; but for all that they gave a good account of them." "yes, horace; but you must remember that the english sailors had been fighting and thrashing the spaniards for years before, and had come almost to despise them; while the greeks have never fought before, have no confidence in themselves, and hold the turks in high respect." "you can't expect," the doctor put in, "that bulldogs are going to be manufactured out of mongrels in one generation, horace. a fighting race grows up little by little. the greeks fought just as pluckily in the old days, against big odds, as we. ever did, and may do it again in time; but they have got to bo built up to it." "thank you, doctor," mr. beveridge said, "we keep on forgetting that the greeks have been slaves, and that slaves lose all their military virtues. it was just the same thing with the britons. their valour excited the admiration of caesar; but after being under the domination of the romans for genera- tions, they completely lost all their manhood, and fell easy vic- tims to the saxons. we must not be too hard on the greeks, horace, or expect them to behave as men whose . fathers have been free and independent." in the evening miller went ashore with mr. beveridge and had a talk with some philhellencs who had joined the expedition. they all agreed that miaoulis had manoeuvred his ships well, always keeping the weather-gauge of the turks; but there was no shadow of discipline among the ships, and their fire was as wild and inefficient as that of the turks, the men loading and firing fire-ships. as quickly as they could, quite regardless of the direction or distance of their shot, the great part of which entered the sea half-way between the combatants. "kanaris is here," they said, " and you will see that he at least will attempt something against the turks before he is done." it was not, however, until fifteen days later that any move was made. kanaris had paid a visit to the misericordia, and was greatly struck by the order and discipline that prevailed. "our men will not submit to it, mr. beveridge. it is in vain to assure them that nothing can be done unless we can intro- duce discipline such as prevails on ships of war of other nations. unfortunately they have been accustomed to another state of things. the sailors are always paid by a share in the profits of our voyages, and everyone has a say as to the ports to be visited and the course to be steered. before any change is made there is always a general council of all on board, and the matter is decided by vota such being the habit, you can understand the difficulty of getting these men to submit to any- thing like discipline. another thing is, that the ships belong to private persons, and not to the state, although they may receive pay from government. they are therefore very chary of exposing their vessels to the risk of loss, for which, more likely than not, they would never receive a penny from the central government, which has plenty of objects of much greater interest to its members to spend its money upon. until some total change takes place in the organization and manning of our fleet, i can see no hope of any improvement." on the th of june two ships got up anchor and sailed. on board the schooner their progress was watched with interest. kanaris had confided to mr. beveridge that the ships were loaded with combustibles, and that he was going to attempt to set fire to the turkish fleet. the wind was contrary, and the two craft tacked backwards and forwards off the north of chios as if intending to beat up the gulf of smyrna. four hours after they had started the schooner also got under weigh, as all were anxious to see what would take place, and mr. beveridge had told kanaris that he would go within a short distance of tho turkish fleet and burn a blue light, so that the boats on leaving the fire-ships could row off to him and be taken back to psara. in greek waters. it was the last day of the ramazan, and a number of the principal officers of the turkish fleet had been invited by the capitan pasha to dine with him on board his flag-ship to celebrate the feast of bail am. the night was a dark one, but the whole of the turkish vessels were illuminated in honour of the festival, and their outlines were clearly visible. the miscri- cordia had entered the northern passage an hour after nightfall; the two greek ships being, when last seen, about three miles ahead. the schooner lay-to a couple of miles distant from the anchorage. they had scarcely done so when they made out the sails of two vessels between them and the lines of light on the turkish war-ships. "there they go," martyn said, "steering straight in. one of them is making straight for the capitan pasha's own ship. no doubt that is kanaris himself. the other is making for that seventy-four that carries the flag of the reala bey. you can tell them by the variegated lamps along their yards. the turks evidently have not caught sight of them yet or they would open fire. on such a dark night as this i don't suppose they will make them out till they are close alongside." kanaris, a man of the greatest calmness and courage, was himself at the helm of his craft . running straight before the wind, he steered down upon the eighty-gun ship of the capitan pasha. not until he was within a ship's length was he observed, when a startled hail sounded from the deck of the turkish ship. steering straight on he ran his bowsprit through one of her port-holes. the sailors instantly threw some grapnels to retain her in her position, and then jumped into their boat lying alongside. as soon as they did so kanaris fired his pistol into the train. the fire flashed along the deck, there were a series of sharp explosions, and then the flames ran aloft, the riggings and sails being soaked with turpentine; and kanaris had scarcely stepped into his boat before the ship was in a mass of flames. lying to windward of the turk the flames were blown on to her, and pouring in at the open port-holes at once set fire to a quantity of tents stowed on the lower deck, rushed up the hatches, and, mingling with the flames from the sails which had ignited the awning extending over the deck, ran up the rigging and spars of the man-of-war. the most terrible confusion in- fire-ships. stantly prevailed throughout the ship. the few boats along- side were sunk by the crowds who leapt into them. the crews of the ships lying round at once began to haul them farther away from the blazing vessel, and the boats that were lowered feared to approach it because of the falling spars and the flames that poured from the lower port-holes. in addition to her crew, the soldiers on board, and the pasha's guests, were a great number of prisoners who had been brought off from the island to be taken to constantinople, and the shrieks and cries as they were caught by the flames, or sprang overboard to evade them, were terrible. kara ali himself sprang from the ship into a boat that approached near enough for the purpose of saving him; but before it could put off a blazing spear fell on it, and the capitan pasha was so severely wounded that he died shortly after being carried on shore. his loss was a severe one for the turks, for he was their most skilful naval officer. a few of those who leapt overboard were picked up by boats, or swam to the other ships; but with these exceptions the whole of those on board the vessel perished. the other fire-ship had been less calmly and skilfully managed. in his haste and excitement the commander, after running her alongside the ship of the reala bey, fired the train and made off without attaching her to it, consequently the fire-ship drifted away without the flames communicating to the turk, and burned out harmlessly. as soon as it was seen that kanaris had succeeded, a blue light was burned on board the schooner, and in twenty minutes the two boats rowed alongside. not a shot had been fired at either, the turks being too much occupied with the danger of fire to pay any attention to them. kanaris was .heartily con- gratulated on his success when ho reached the schooner, which at once set sail and was back at psara in the morning, where the news of the destruction of the turkish man-of-war was received with the wildest enthusiasm. the turkish vessels, leaving a strong garrison on the island, sailed north a few days later. they were pursued by the greek fleet, which, however, did not venture to interfere with them, although they stopped at two ports on the way, and finally anchored under the guns of the forts of the dardanelles. the misericm dia took no part in harassing the turkish fleet. in greek waters martyn had asked mr. beveridge's opinion upon the subject, he himself being in favour of doing so. "i think we could give the greeks a lesson or two in this sort of thing, sir, and show them what can be done, even against a fleet, by a craft that means business." "i am sure you could do all that, martyn, but i do not think we should be justified in running the slightest risk of loss of life among the men merely for that purpose. we could do no more than the greeks do unless we were willing to expose our- selves more. you could not hope either to capture or sink one of the turkish ships in the face of their whole fleet. i know you would give them a great deal of trouble, but more than that you could not do. when the greeks show themselves willing to fight we will fight by their side, but not before." they were indeed glad that they so decided, for on the even- ing before the greeks set sail a boat arrived at psara with six fugitives from chios. they reported that the destruction of the capitan pasha's ship with all on board had brought fresh misfortunes upon the christians, for that the mussulmans, in- furiated by the details of the disaster, had fallen upon the christians all over the island, even in the villages where hitherto there had been no trouble. the second massacre was indeed far more fatal than the first, the women and children being, as before, spared as slaves, many thousands being carried away. small craft from psara hovered round the island and succeeded in taking off numbers of fugi- tives, while the schooner returned to her cruising grounds - between the island and the mainland, or up the gulf of smyrna, where she captured and burnt large numbers of small craft laden with slaves. they had to make four trips to the islands to clear her crowded decks of the hapless chiots. the news of the massacre of chios, which, unlike those committed by themselves, the greeks spread sedulously over europe, excited deep and general horror and indignation. the numbers of those killed or sold into slavery were never known. the estimates varied considerably, some putting them down at twenty thousand while others maintained that those figures could be doubled without exaggeration. it is probable, how- ever, that they really exceeded thirty thousand. the details of the terrible massacres, which they learnt from fire-ships. the women they rescued, aroused among the officers and crew of the mwericordia a far deeper feeling of enthusiasm for the cause of greece than they had hitherto felt. since they came out their interest in the cause had been steadily waning. the tales of wholesale and brutal massacre, the constant violation of the terms of surrender, the cowardice of the greoks in action and their eagerness for plunder, the incessant disputes between the various parties, and the absence of any general attempt to concert measures for defence, had completely damped their sympathy for them; but the sight of these hundreds of women and children widowed and orphaned, and torn away from their native land and sold into slavery, set their blood boiling with indignation. the two greeks took care to translate the nar- ratives of the weeping women to the sailors, and these excited among them a passionate desire to punish the authors of these outrages; and had any of the craft they overhauled made an active resistance little mercy would have been shown to the turks. as it was they were bundled headlong into their boats with many a hearty kick and cuff from the sailors, and the de- struction of their vessels was effected with the alacrity and satisfaction of men performing an act of righteous retribution. "the poor creatures seemed terribly cast down," martyn said one day at dinner as they sailed with the last batch of chiots for corfu. they had transported tho three previous car- goes to the ionian islands, as the former ones had been most unwillingly received in the greek ports, the authorities saying that they had no means of affording subsistence to the fugitives who were daily arriving. in the ionian islands committees had been formed, and these distributed money sent out from england for their support, while rations were issued to them by the british authorities of the islands. "one can't wonder at that," miller said, "still, i must say that the women even at first don't seem as delighted as one would expect at getting out of the hands of the turks." "i am not so very sure, miller, that they are delighted at all," macfarlane said quietly. "you think you are doing them the greatest service possible, but in my opinion it is more than doubtful whether they see it in the same light." "what! not thankful at being rescued from being sold as slaves to the turks?" in greek waters "that sounds very terrible, and no doubt it would not be a pleasant lot for you, seeing that they would set you to work, and your life would be worse than a dog's. but you have got to put yourself in the position of these unfortunate women and girls, and then you would see that you might think differently about it . to begin with, till now there has been no animosity between them and the turks. it is admitted that the turks have been gentle masters to chios, and the people have been happy, contented, and prosperous. their misfortunes have been brought upon them, not by the turks, but by the greeks, who came to the island contrary to their entreaties, plundered and ill-used them, and then left them to the vengeance of the turks. so if they have any preference for either, it will certainly not be for the greeks. "as to their being sold as slaves, i do not suppose they view it at all in the same way we do. they are not going to be sold to work in the fields, or anything of that sort, and the turks treat their domestic slaves kindly. to one of these chiot girls there is nothing very terrible in being a slave in the household of a rich turk. you know that the georgian and circassian girls look forward to being sold to the turks. they know that the life at constantinople is vastly easier and more luxurious than that at home. i do not say for a moment that these women would not prefer a life of ease among their own people and friends. but what is the life before them now?—to have to work for their own living in the fields, or to go as servants among greek and italian families. a dark and uncertain future. i tell you, man, we think we are doing them a mighty service, but i doubt whether there is one of them that thinks so. the chiots are celebrated for their docility and intelligence, and these women and children would fetch high prices in the market, and be purchased by wealthy turks, and their lot would be an enviable one in comparison to that which awaits most of them. "the word slavery is hateful to us, but it is not so many years since we were sending people out in hundreds to work as slaves in the plantations of virginia. the word slavery in the east has not the same terror as it has with us, and i doubt if the feelings of a chiot peasant girl on her way to be sold are not a good deal like those of a girl who goes up from a scotch in greek waters. that is just the same feeling that caused the spaniards to ex- terminate the natives of the west indian islands, who declined to become christians." "oh, i say, doctor, that is too strong altogether," miller exclaimed indignantly. "well, prove it by argument," the doctor replied calmly. "i am not saying that from our point of view we are not more than justified. i am simply explaining why these chiots do not feel any extraordinary gratitude to us. we are benefiting them, if they did but know it. we are saving them, body and soul; but that is not the light in which they see it." "you are right, doctor," mr. beveridge said. "and now you put it before us, i am really not surprised that these poor creatures do not feel any very lively gratitude. they are fond of ease and comfort, and have been accustomed to it, and to them the utter uncertainty of their life among strangers is not unreasonably more terrible than the prospects of an easy life as a favoured slave in a turkish household. it is sad that it should be so; but it is human nature. still, the consideration must not weigh with us in carrying out what we know to be a good work. we have saved in all more than three thousand souls from turkish slavery, and can only trust that in the long run most of t hem will recognize the inestimable service we have rendered them." chapter xvil rescuing the garrison of athens itell you what it is, mr. beveridge," the governor said when the latter went up to call as usual upon his arrival at corfu, "i quite begin to dread the appearance of that smart schooner of yours; during the last five weeks you have added a thousand mouths to my anxieties. what we are to do with all these poor creatures i have not the slightest idea. we can't go on feeding them for ever; and wherewith the voluntary fugitives and those brought over to us, there are at present some forty in greek waters. of their action that causes england and france to look on this struggle with folded arms." "i fancy you are right, and that that will be the end of it," the governor said. "i need not say how earnestly i wish the time would come. i can assure you i have a very anxious time of it. what with providing for all these people, what with preventing breaches of neutrality by the greeks, and what with the calumnies and complaints that the greeks scatter broadcast against us, i can assure you that my task is not an enviable one." "i can quite imagine that. the greeks make it very hard for their well-wishers to assist them; indeed, if they were bent upon bringing obloquy upon their name they could hardly act othorwiso than they are doing. the one man they have hith- erto produced who goes his way regardless of intrigue and faction, fighting bravely for the country, is constantine kanaris, who has destroyed two turkish ships with his own hand. a hundred of such men as he is, and greece would have achieved her independence without foreign assistance; and yet, even in his own ship, he is unable to maintain even a shadow of what we should consider discipline. he himself acknowledged as much to me at psara." "i hear you took him off after he had burned the turkish war-vessel." "yes; we were lying off the port and saw it. i am glad we were not nearer, for it was a terrible business. it is a barbar- ous war altogether." "then why do you mix yourself up in it, mr. beveridge?" "my mother was a greek, and i have always lived in greek thought rather than in english. i desire not only the inde- pendence but the regeneration of the greeks. they have lost all the virtues of their ancestors save their intelligence; but once free they will, i hope and trust, recover their lost virtues and become, if not a great people—which they can hardly do, their numbers being comparatively so few—at least a worthy one." "i hope they may. they certainly have enthusiastic friends. only a week or two since, a young fellow named hastings, a lieutenant of our navy, came out. he has a fortune of some seven or eight thousand pounds, which he intends to devote rescuing the garrison of athens. to buying and fitting out a ship for their service. there are scores of english and french officers kicking their heels at corinth, vainly asking for employment. and i hear they are organizing a corps, composed entirely of foreign officers, who will fight as private soldiers, without pay, simply for the pur- pose of endeavouring to shame the. greeks into a feeling of patriotism. "where are you thinking of sailing now? if you have no fixed plans, i should advise you to go round to athens. they say the turkish garrison is at the last extremity. i have had a message from the consulate there, asking me to send a british ship of war round to insist upon the conditions of surrender being observed; but unfortunately the insane rage for retrench- ment at home has so diminished the strength of our fleet that we haven't a single ship in these waters at a time like this. i hear that the french consul has also sent urgently asking for ships of war. at any rate, your influence might do something." "i fear not," mr. beveridge said gravely. "however, my men and guns might have some weight, and at any rate i will go round at once and do my best. if possible, i am even more anxious to save turks from massacre by greeks, than greeks from massacre by turks." "i can understand that," the governor said cordially. "well, i wish you every good fortune, mr. beveridge; but i say honestly that i do not wish to see your saucy schooner again unless she comes in with empty decks. give them a turn at malta next time, my dear sir, and i shall feel really grateful towards you." four days after leaving corfu the schooner dropped anchor in the port of athens. learning from the first boat that put off to them that the capitulation of the turks was to be signed on the following morning, mr. beveridge determined to land at once, in order that he might see as many of the leading officials as possible, and urge upon them the necessity of preventing any repetition of the breaches of faith which had brought such disgrace to the greek name. "i shall take zaimes with me," he said to martyn, "and should i see any signs of an intention upon the part of the populace to commence a massacre of the turks i will send him off instantly. in that case, captain martyn, you will at once in greek waters. land the whole of the crew fully armed, with the exception, say, of five men, and march them to the british consulate in athens. you know where it is. take a greek flag with you, for two reasons; in the first place, if you were to go without it the greeks would spread the report that the crew of an english ship of war had landed; and in the second place, it may quieten and appease the mob if they see that we are in the service of greece." "very well, sir, i will carry out your instructions. i don't think that rascally mob will venture to interfere with us." "i hope not, martyn; but at any rate we must risk that. any other message i may have to send off to you i shall send by an ordinary messenger; but if you are wanted, i shall trust no one but zaimes." late in the evening a greek came off with a letter. all would, mr. beveridge hoped, be well . the turks had agreed to surrender their arms, and the greeks had bound themselves to convey them to asia minor in neutral ships. by the terms of capitulation the turks were to be allowed to retain one-half of their money and jewels, and one-half of their movable property. "i have every hope that the treaty will be respected," mr. beveridge wrote. "i am happy to say that the bishop of athens, who is a man of high character, and president of the areopagus, has insisted upon all the civil and military autho- rities taking a most solemn oath to observe strictly the terms of capitulation, and so far to redeem the good faith of the nation, which has been so deeply stained by the violation of so many previous treaties." the next morning the mussulmans marched out from the acropolis. out of the remaining only were men capable of bearing arms, so stoutly and obstinately had they defended the place, yielding only when the last drop of water in the cisterns was exhausted. they were housed in some extensive buildings in the town. three days passed quietly. two ephors, who had been ordered by the greek government to hasten the embarkation of the turks, took no steps what- ever to do so. on the morning of the fourth day, horace, who had been twice on shore to see his father, saw a boat rowing off to the ship. he turned a glass upon it and exclaimed: "there is zaimes on board that boat, captain martyn. i rescuing the garrison of athens. am sure my father would not send him on board unless there is trouble in the town." martyn did not wait for the boat to arrive, but instantly mustered and armed the crew, and the boats were in the water by the time zaimes arrived alongside. he handed a note to martyn; it contained only the words: "land instantly, they are murdering the turks." with a hearty execration upon the greeks, martyn ordered the men to take their places in the boats, and gave his final orders to tarleton, who was to remain in charge. "get all the guns loaded with ball, mr. tarleton. for aught i know we may have to fight our way down to the beach. fire the first shot over their heads. if that does not frighten them, plump the others into them." the three boats pushed off, the doctor taking his place by the side of horace, who was in command of one of them. "have you got your instruments, doctor?" horace asked smiling. "i have got these instrument," macfarlane said, tapping the butts of a heavy pair of pistols. "just for once i am going as a combatant. i thought there was a limit to everything, but there really doesn't seem to be any limit to the faithless- ness of the greeks. i should like very much to help to give them a little lesson as to the sanctity of an oath." the sailors marched in a compact body from the port to the town. they had been told the errand upon which they had come, and from the pace at which they marched, and the ex- pression of angry determination on their faces, it was evident that they entered thoroughly into the business. they were met at the entrance to the town by mr. beveridge. "it is of no use going to the british consulate," he said; "there are no english officials there, the place is simply in charge of a greek, who dare not, if he would, move in the matter. the turks are taking refuge in the french, austrian, and dutch consulates. it is more than doubtful whether the flags will be respected. you had better place say eight men at each, with orders to defend the places till the last if the mob attacks them; while with the rest of the men you can en- deavour to escort the fugitive turks to the consulates. don't let the men use their arms till the last extremity, martyn." rescuing the garrison of athens. when some twenty fugitives had been collected they were marched through a yelling rabble to one or other of the con- sulates, to which a large number of fugitives had made their way when the massacre began. several times the leaders of both bands had to call upon their men to present arms, the mob falling back and flying the moment they did so. after a time the two bands joined, martyn considering it imprudent to ven- ture out among the enraged populace in smaller force. the aspect of the crowd became more and more threatening, but it still confined itself to execrations and curses, being overawed by the determined attitude of the men with their muskets, cutlasses, and pistols, and with the apparent fact that the sailors were only prevented from using their arms by the exertions of the two officers, for the doctor kept close by martyn's side. at two o'clock the boom of a cannon was heard from the port; again and again it sounded at regular intervals. "that is a ship of war saluting," martyn said. the crowd fell away rapidly, many of them hurrying down to the port, and martyn, taking advantage of it, was able to bring in a good many more fugitives to the consulates, the sailors from within rushing out when they approached, and clearing the way through the crowd with the vigorous use of their elbows and sometimes of their fists. "we shall have help up soon," mr. beveridge said, the first time martyn brought in a party of fugitives after the guns fired. an hour later a strong party of french sailors and marines with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets marched up to the french consulate from two french vessels, a corvette and a schooner, which had come from syra in response to the consul's earnest appeals for assistance. they placed in their midst three hundred and twenty-five turkish fugitives who had found refuge there, escorted them down to the port, and placed them on board their ships. on the way they were surrounded by a menacing crowd of greek soldiers and by a great mob, yelling, shouting, and brandishing their arms; but their valour went no further, and the fugitives were taken off in safety. the sailors of the misericordia were now divided between the austrian and dutch consulates, and their appearance at the windows with loaded muskets intimidated the mob from ( ) t in greek waters. making an attack. during the night the bishop and some of the better class exerted themselves to the utmost in calming the passions of the mob; and they themselves in the morning accompanied the crew of the misericordia, who, guarding the fugitives, were allowed to proceed down to the port and embark on board the schooner without molestation from the people. some seven hundred and fifty persons were saved by the french and the crew of the schooner. four hundred were massacred in cold blood by the greeks. the french vessels had sailed away during the night, and the question arose what was to be done with the rescued turks. of these there were some forty soldiers, ten or twelve turks of superior rank, military and civil officials; the rest were women and children. two or three of the turks spoke italian, and four or five of them greek. mr. beveridge held a con- sultation with these, and it was finally agreed that they should be landed at the isle of tenedos close to the mouth of the dardanelles, as from thence they would have no difficulty in making their way to constantinople. "if there are no ships of war in the port we will hoist the white flag and sail straight in; but if there are, we must land you in the boats somewhere on the island. we have been in action with your ships of war and would at once be recognized, and the white flag would not be respected." "we owe you our lives, sir, and the lives of all these women and children," a bimbashi or major of the turkish garrison, a fine soldierly-looking man, "said earnestly; "for had it not been for you and your brave crew even the flags of the consulates would not have sufficed to protect us. assuredly my country- men would never fire at you when engaged in such a work of mercy." "they might not in cold blood," mr. beveridge said; "but we have just been saving chiot prisoners as cruelly treated, and for every turk who has been massacred in athens, well nigh a hundred chiefs have been murdered. i do not defend them for breaking their pledged faith to you, but one cannot be surprised at their savage thirst for vengeance." martyn had got up the anchor and set sail on the schooner directly the fugitives were on board, and as soon as he learned that tenedos was their destination her course was laid north. rescuing the garrison of athens. thon came the work, to which they were now becoming accustomed, of stowing away the unfortunate passengers. the screened partition was allotted to the women and children of the officers and officials, most of whose husbands had fallen during the siege, and the rest of the women and children were stowed down on the main-deck, while the male passen- gers stayed on deck, where the women remained for the most part during the day. those who had been rescued from the hands of the greeks had been plundered of everything; but those who had at the first alarm fled to the consulates had carried with them jewels and money. the women of the upper class were all closely veiled, but the rest made but little attempt to conceal their faces, and all evinced the deepest gratitude to the crew of the schooner; murmuring their thanks whenever an officer or sailor passed near them, and trying to seize their hands and press them to their foreheads. the fugitives of the upper class, both men and women, were more restrained, but there was no mistaking the expression with which their eyes followed their protectors. many of the women and children were worn out with the sufferings they had sustained during the last days of the siege, and some of the soldiers were so weak as to be scarce able to stand. the doctor attended to many of the children, while the greeks and the ship's cook were kept busy all day in preparing nourishing soups. the next day they were off tenedos. no turkish ship of war was lying near the town. a boat was lowered, and miller, accompanied by horace as interpreter, took his place in her with one of the turkish officers. a white flag was hoisted in her stern, and six men rowed her ashore. their movements had been watched, and a body of turkish soldiers were drawn up at the landing-place with several officials. the turkish officer mounted the steps and explained to the governor of the island, who was among those at the landing stage, the purpose for which the misericordia had arrived at the port. there was a rapid conversation as the officer, 'frequently interrupted by exclamations of indignation, and questions from the turks, narrated what had taken place. then the governor and his officers ran forward, seized miller and horace by the hand, patted them on the shoulder with the liveliest demonstrations of gratitude and friendship. the turk tit »—«r-ai ex dri jei£ -n• -"--itt one on t~-iit ir:rl_™ wxk liem a nufrrlacs wio f.i,:"^ v> iez <* zi^rir-^t iltr^i ir^jw zz lce viciii c "-itf ;riw wio w-^; in^x^eti ~ ai jerv-t;-: is a rrari .t -• coir s: rw»;i~e liiim. wult ttt. >lt- etpr-n-lri. aiec lie r:"tsr:' c xs he n.rtr.v-i li* ri-~ -"^ij tie jt t-cicc. wi..: wis a laz acd ■: tlri. e~ra:oi i>: ~jiim iis warmes; li.lrj» in lie naat :t lie s-i f .r lie rearse :f so ilitt or iis bl~ ;-j>ts rr-.m li* fzry cf lie p:cij»m of aliens. xz. £e-«-tije. limn_±. ii* in<krt;ttfr. eiiltrjei lc lie casia tiii. al:.i>:n^i li-era-ire xnial mem ia merr a^mrf; so fci-ueve ~'i~ct?o- :-.mt acii wi.s portarwi so ~ ~~ :c lieir a-ie. cct tia; as an fr. ri>i.t:.wi be rev.lled actr-.s: lie barbartty wit^. wii:" lie ww wis <airi*i en bv bcth ecctaraels: liai is ve**ri wxs bacie<i lie jj'.-'-x-'-i**. and ~'~ w- v ie iid »v*>i * m»a; t -« of cinsrlia fliilrr«s en lie cue s-ie. be wis ecially * . - ^"ji tieased a: "r^:- r ake ren-ier lis; are servio; miasi n.ui rizitites on lie cti-sr aie. - year ena£d h a ncble acd mendrd lie tcrk sail mist iife lie ace r:val of as »e_ as of lie g-xi of she cirisdans. we ha^e heard of y:-cr terrfr'e vessel, iow she destrived a frigate off cyr-rns. beat off lie beats of ocx fieet at chi-:*. and clayed hare* am-rcj lie stil:im; from smyrna. we knew her wien we saw ier. f :r we iati hear! of her white sails and tall masts: ben we had h^ari too lhat no \ rlsc-ner was injured bv too. i neter tc-x;^i to set kot on tie deck of the ship that had becoce lie dread of the trailers of smyrna and other ports, bat i am zlid to do so ance those who sail her. al:ht>i^h oar enemies in battle, have proved them- selves in-ieed our trien'is in the time of distress."' when this had been irinslated. mr. beveridg* invited the governor and his companions into the cabin, where coffee and chn>^cks were served: then they were conducted round the ship. the governor conversed for some little time with two or three of the principal turk from athens, and learned the tuii details of the surrender and the subsequent events as he watched the debarkation of the fugitives: and then, after ob- taining a promise from mr. beveridge that be and his odfcers rescuing the garrison of athens. nor with seven or eight civil and military officials came on board. they brought with them a merchant who spoke english to act as interpreter. martyn drew up the whole of the crew who were not engaged in boat service as a guard of honour to receive them, while he, with mr. beveridge, met the governor as he mounted the gangway. the governor, who was a tall and dignified turk, expressed to them his warmest thanks in the name of the sultan for the rescue of so many of his subjects from the fury of the populace of athens. mr. beveridge, through the interpreter, explained to the pasha that, although an englishman he had greek blood in his veins, and had therefore joined them in their attempt to achieve indepen- dence, and was prepared to fight on their side, but that as an englishman he revolted against the barbarity with which the war was carried on by both combatants; that his vessel was named the misericerdia, and that while he had saved a great number of christian fugitives on the one side, he was equally ready and pleased at being able to render the same service to mussulman fugitives on the other side. "your errand is a noble and merciful one," the turk said, "and must have the approval of allah as well as of the god of the christians. we have heard of your terrible vessel, how she destroyed a frigate off cyprus, beat off the boats of our fleet at chios, and played havoc among the shipping from smyrna. we knew her when we saw her, for we had heard of her white sails and tall masts; but we had heard too that no prisoner was injured by you. i never thought to set foot on the deck of the ship that had become the dread of the traders of smyrna and other ports, but i am glad to do so since those who sail her, although our enemies in battle, have proved them- selves indeed our friends in the time of distress." when this had been translated, mr. beveridge invited the governor and his companions into the cabin, where coffee and chibouks were served; then they were conducted round the ship. the governor conversed for some little time with two or three of the principal turks from athens, and learned the full details of the surrender and the subsequent events as he watched the debarkation of the fugitives; and then, after ob- taining a promise from mr. beveridge that he and his officers in greek waters. would come on shore at sunset to dine with him, he entered his boat and was rowed back. at sunset mr. beveridge and all the officers, with the excep- tion of tarleton, who remained in charge of the ship, went ashore. they were received at the landing-place by a guard of honour of turkish soldiers in charge of one of the principal officers of the governor, and were conducted to his house through a crowd of people cheering and shouting. the governor received them at his door. the dinner was served in turkish fashion, all sitting on cushions round a table raised about a foot from the floor. a band of music played without, and a great number of dishes, of most of which horace could only guess at the ingredients, were served; and after the meal, which was of great length, was concluded, slaves brought round ewers of water, in which all dipped their fingers, wiping them on embroidered towels. a variety of sweetmeats were then handed round, followed by coffee. three or four interpreters had stood behind the guests, who were all placed between turks, and thus conversation was rendered possible. at ten o'clock they took their leave with many cordial expres- sions on both sides, and were again escorted by a party of soldiers to their boats. "there is no gainsaying," macfarlane said as they rowed off, "that there seems to be a good deal livelier feeling of gratitude among the turks than there is among the greeks. we have come all the way out from england to fight for the greeks; we have sunk a turkish ship, beaten off their boats with very heavy loss, and rescued nearly three thousand women and children from their hands, and yet there isn't a greek official who has said as much as thank you. they seem to consider that it is quite sufficient reward for us to have been of service to so great a people as they are. upon the other hand, here are these turks, though we have done them a great deal of damage, putting aside all enmity and treating us like gentlemen because we have saved a ship-load of their people. he was a very fine old heathen that governor." "the turks, too, were a deal more grateful than any of the greeks have been, except that batch from cyprus," horace said. "they were in better heart for being thankful, horace," mr. beveridge replied. "we have taken them back to their rescuing the garrison of athens. native land, and they will soon rejoin their friends and families; whereas the chiots were going into exile and had lost every- thing that was dear to them, and the lot before them was, as the doctor pointed out, little if anything better than that we had saved them from. still, i will do them the justice to say that the turks were really grateful to us; and though we are not working for the purpose of obtaining gratitude, it is pleasant to see that people do feel that one has done something for them." "i suppose you won't get up sail until morning, martyn?" mr. beveridge said as they went down into the cabin. "yes, sir, if you have no objections i shall get up the anchor as soon as we are on board. you see we are not many miles from the mouth of the dardanelles, and with a good glass they could make out our colours from the mainland; and if word were sent to their admiral that a greek craft is at anchor here, he might send two or three ships out to capture us. i don't give the turks credit for such enterprise, but it is just as well not to run any risk. what is to be our course next, mr. beveridge?" "there is likely to be a regular battle in a short time between the greek army and the turks. indeed the greeks will have to fight if they really mean to gain then- independence. dramali pasha has some twenty thousand men collected on the banks of the spercheus. of these they say eight thousand are cavalry drawn from the mussulman clans of macedonia and thrace, and he may move forward any day to reconquer the morea and relieve nauplia. if he is suffered to do this there is virtually an end of the war. i have not a shadow of faith in any of the greek leaders, or in the areopagus, but i still do believe in the vast bulk of the people. the morea consists almost wholly of hilly and broken country, just the ground where an armed peasantry, knowing every pass and place of advantage, ought to be able to render the passage of a regular army with their wagons and baggage well nigh impossible. "in such a country the turkish cavalry would be of little use, and there are only the infantry to cope with. the artillery would probably have to be left behind altogether. if ever an effort is to be made by the greeks it must be made now. i propose therefore, martyn, to sail down to nauplia and to land there. the turks, of course, still command the harbour with rescuing the garrison of athens. to your importance in the eyes of the greeks, and give more weight to your counsels. in the second place, if you are going to take arms and money on shore you will certainly re- quire a guard for them, or run the risk of getting your throat cut . and lastly, if there should be a fight, and the greeks get beaten, if you have fifteen or twenty men with you your chance of getting off safely would be very largely increased, for they could beat off any small party of horsemen that happened to overtake you. what do you think, horace?" "i certainly think so too. after what we have seen of the greeks, father, i do think it would be better in every way to have a party of sailors with us. if it were known that you were going about the hills with a considerable sum of money you might be safe enough among the peasants, but i should say there were any number of these miserable primates and captains who would think nothing of cutting our throats to get it." mr. beveridge gave way at once, and it was arranged that a party of fifteen men, under the command of miller, should land from the schooner and accompany him. "don't you think, mr. beveridge," macfarlane said, "that it would be as well for you to take your medical attendant with you?" mr. beveridge smiled, "i have scarcely regarded you hitherto, doctor, in the light of my medical attendant, but as the attendant of the ship's company, and i don't think that horace or i, or any of the landing party, are likely to take any fever among the hills of the morea." "i hope not, sir, but you see there may be some preliminary skirmishes before the regular battle you expect will take place, and i don't suppose the greeks will have any surgeons accus- tomed to gunshot wounds or capable of amputations among them, and therefore, you see, i might be of some service." "in addition to which, doctor," martyn laughed, "you think you would like a ramble on shore a bit." "well, what do you think, martyn?" mr. beveridge said; "it is for you to decide. the doctor may be, as he says, use- ful on shore; but then again his services may be required on board." "we are not likely to do any fighting, sir, and if he will mix in greek waters. up a gallon or two of jalap, and such other medicines as he thinks might be useful for ordinary ailments on board, i daresay tarleton will see to their being administered as required." "oh, yes, i will see to that," tarleton said. "make them as nasty as you can, doctor, so that i sha'n't have any unneces- sary applications for them." and so it was settled that dr. macfarlane should form one of the landing party. chapter xviii. a turkish defeat. the town of nauplia stood on a projecting point at the head of the gulf which was in old times known as the gulf of argos, but was now more generally known as the gulf of nauplia, that town being the most important port in greece, carrying on a large trade in sponges, silk, oil, wax, wines, and acorns. it was the seat of government of the venetians at the time they were masters of the morea, and had been very strongly fortified by them. the acropolis, or citadel, stood on a craggy hill where the point on which the town stood joined the mainland. the venetians had taken the greatest pains in fortifying this rock, which was well nigh impregnable, and was considered the strongest position in the morea. the turks had long been besieged here. negotiations had at one time been carried on with a view to its surrender, and had the greeks acted in good faith they could have gained "possession of the place before dramali advanced to its relief. six weeks before, the turks, having entirely consumed their provisions, signed the capitulation. the turks had little" faith in the greeks observing its conditions, but were of opinion that it would be better to be massacred at once than to slowly die of hunger. by the terms of capitulation the turks were to deliver up their arms, and two-thirds of their movable pro- perty, while the greeks were to allow them to hire neutral vessels to transport them to asia minor; and bound themselves a turkish defeat. shot them down and blocked the ravine with the bodies of the horses and their riders. the pressure from behind increased, and a body of well- mounted horsemen managed to dash through and reach corinth in safety. behind them the slaughter was terrible. the turks were shot down in numbers, and fled in every direction. many were killed, but more succeeded in escaping, for the greeks directed their whole attention to plundering the great baggage-trains, consisting of mules and camels laden with the valuables of the pashas and the rich spoil that had been gathered in their advance. the news of the destruction of the first division of his army astounded dramali; but it was impossible for him to remain at argos, and the following day he moved forward by another road up the steep hill known as kleisura. dikaios opposed them in front; niketos and hyp- silantes fell on their left flank. as on the previous day, the baggage-train proved the salvation of the turkish soldiers. the greeks directed their entire atten- tion to it; and while they were occupied in cutting it off, a bril- liant charge by a chosen band of turkish horsemen cleared the road in front, and dramali, with the main body of his cavalry, was enabled to escape to corinth. his military chest, and the whole of the turkish baggage, fell into the hands of the greeks. the troops under the immediate command of kolokotronis took no part whatever in either day's fighting, the whole of which was done by the two thousand men under the command of niketos, under whom dikaios and hypsilantes acted. as kolokotronis, however, was the nominal commander, the credit of the defeat of dramali was generally ascribed to him. the moriots returned to their native villages, enriched by the spoil they had gathered. the party from the schooner had been spectators of the fight . they had scarcely expected so good a result, for the disorder, the want of plan, the neglect of any attempt to seize and occupy the roads, and, above all, the utter incapacity of kolokotronis, seemed to render success almost hopeless; and, indeed, out of the fourteen thousand greeks assembled but two thousand fired a shot. fortunately the brunt of the turkish attack fell upon the one little division that was ably commanded. had the main body aided them, not a soldier of dramali's army would have escaped. in greek waters. as it was, their loss in men was comparatively small; but the total destruction of their baggage-train, and, still more, the disorganization and depression which followed the disaster, inflicted upon them by an enemy they despised, completely paralysed them, and no forward move was again attempted. dramali himself was utterly broken down by the humiliation, and died at corinth two months later. mr. beveridge was well contented with the success, which was due partly to his efforts. he had expended upwards of five thousand pounds, and eight thousand muskets and a large quantity of ammunition had been distributed from the schooner to the peasants. the victory ought, he felt, to have been much more conclusive; but the spirit awakened among the moriots, and the confidence that would be engendered throughout greece at this victory over an army that had expected to overrun the whole country without difficulty, immensely improved the chances that greek independence would be finally established. there was, however, one unfortunate consequence of the affair. the success of these armed peasants at argos confirmed the greeks in their idea that discipline was wholly unnecessary, that regular troops were a mistake, and that all that was needed to conquer the turks was for the people to muster under their local leaders whenever danger threatened. this absurd idea was the cause of many heavy disasters which subsequently occurred. when the second day's fighting was over the eng- lish party made their way back to the schooner. "i congratulate you heartily, sir, on the success the greeks have gained," martyn said; for the news of the victory had already reached him. "thank you, martyn. it might and ought to have been a great deal better. still, i am very thankful that it is as good as it is. i can feel now that, come what may, my mission out here has not been altogether a failure. we have done much good work in the cause of humanity. my work during the last three weeks has been exactly what i pictured it would be before i left home. by my personal efforts i did a good deal to arouse the enthusiasm of the peasants. my money increased my influence, and the arms we brought out contributed largely to the success of the fight. i am pleased and gratified." "what sort of time have you had, miller?" martyn asked a turkish defeat. his comrade as they walked up and down the quarter-deck together, as mr. beveridge descended to his cabin. "it has been good enough, for we have done a lot of tramp- ing up hill and down. the chief bought a horse the day he landed, or i am sure he never could have stood it; it was pretty hard work even for us. you should have seen him, day after day, haranguing crowds of villagers. of course i could not understand a word he said; but i can tell you he worked them up into a regular frenzy; and the way they shouted and waved their hands, and, as i imagine, swore terrible oaths that they would kill and eat every turk they saw, was something tremendous. it quite electrified our fellows, who have been accustomed, i suppose, to consider the chief as a quiet, easy-going gentleman, and they cheered and shouted as loudly as the greeks. zaimcs and his brother went off on expeditions, on their own account, to villages we could not spare time to go to. we were all right as to quarters and grub. the primates and captains, or whatever the leaders call themselves, naturally made a lot of us—and no wonder, con- sidering how the chief scattered his money among them all. the mule that carried the money was pretty heavily laden when he went up, but the boxes were emptied before we returned. the food, of course, was pretty rough, though it was the best they had; but one has been spoilt for roughing it by our living here." "i found a difference, i can tell you, miller, since you went, and i am heartily glad that marco is back again. how has the doctor got on?" "i think he has found it harder than he expected," miller laughed. "he confided to me to-day that he shall not volun- teer for another expedition. but i was very glad he was with us; for horace, of course, was always in the thick of it, with his father, jawing away with the village notables, and i should have had a dull time of it if it had not been for the doctor, whose remarks upon the real enthusiasm of the peasantry and the bought enthusiasm of their leaders were very amusing. the doctor does not say much when we are all together; but he is not at all a bad companion, and there is a lot of dry humour about him. and now i sha'n't be sorry when supper is ready, for we have been on our legs since daybreak, and i have had f ^" u a. turkish defeat. volunteers, were stationed in a position in front. the greek irregulars, two thousand strong, were placed some distance in the rear, and were to cover the regulars from any attack from that direction. two leaders of the irregulars were in com- munication with the turks; when these advanced, the eight hundred men in front, who had two guns with them, repulsed them; but reshid pasha sent round six hundred albanians, who advanced against a strong position in the rear. the whole body of the greek irregulars bolted like rabbits, and then the turks in front and the albanians from the rear attacked the front division on all sides. they fought gallantly. of the hundred philhellenes, seventy-five were killed, the other twenty-five broke their way through the turkish ranks. the greek regiment and the ionians were cut up by the turkish infantry fire, followed by charges of their cavalry. half of them were killed, the others broke their way through the turks. so out of the eight hundred men over four hundred were killed. they say that not one surrendered . so i think, father, it is very well that we did not go up to see the fight, for you would naturally have been somewhere near the phil- hellenes." "this is bad news indeed, horace." "it is, father; but how the greeks could suppose that it was any use getting up a regular army, consisting of one regi- ment of six hundred men, to fight the turks, is more than i can imagine. as to their irregulars, except for fighting among the mountains, i do not see that they are of the slightest good. "i am awfully sorry for the foreign officers. after coming here, as they did, to fight for greece, and then forming themselves into a corps to encourage the natives to fight, to be deserted and left to fight a whole army is shameful. those i spoke to are terribly cut up at the loss of three-quarters of their com- rades. the turks are advancing against missolonghi. the suliots have made terms, and are to be transported to the ionian islands. the british consul at prevesa guarantees that the terms shall be honourably kept on both sides." mr. beveridge went ashore later, and returned completely disheartened by his conversation with the leading inhabitants. he learned that, so far from the defeat at petta convincing in greek waters. the greeks that it was only by submitting to discipline and forming regular regiments that they could hope to oppose the turks, they had determined, on the contrary, that there was no hope of fighting in that way, and that henceforward they must depend entirely upon the irregulars "their blindness is extraordinary," he said. "they saw that, few as the disciplined men were, they repulsed the attack of the turkish troops in front, and were only crushed when totally surrounded; while, on the other hand, two thousand five hundred irregulars were unable even to attempt to make a stand against six hundred albanians, but deserted their com- rades and fled after scarcely firing a shot; and yet in the future they intend to trust solely to these useless bands. "at present everyone is quarrelling with everyone else. while eeshid pasha is preparing to invade greece, the captains and primates, instead of uniting to oppose them, are quarrelling and fighting among themselves for their share of the national revenues. the district of agrapha is being laid waste by civil broils; the province of vlochos is being devastated by the bands of two rival leaders; kravari is pillaged alternately by the bands of two other scoundrels; gogos and half a dozen other captains have openly gone over to the turks. there is only one hope i can see," he added bitterly. "what is that, mr. beveridge?" marty n asked . "it is, that the greeks will continue their civil broils until they make their country a complete desert; and that the turks, finding that they can obtain no food whatever, will be obliged by starvation to quit the country. one thing i am resolved upon, and that is, that until the greeks fight for themselves i will do nothing further whatever in the matter. i will still try to save women and children, but i will do nothing else. i will neither interfere with turkish commerce nor fire a gun at a turkish ship of war. we will lower our long gun and four of the others down into the hold, captain martyn, and we will cruise about and enjoy ourselves for a bit." "very well, sir. it is just a year since we arrived out here, and a little peace and quiet and amusement will do us no harm. i don't know how it would be with our flag, and whether we can sail into malta or into the italian ports with it, or whether we can hoist our own again." a turkish defeat. "the papers are all right, i believe," mr. beveridge said, "you see, she was nominally sold to the agent here of a greek firm in london, and is therefore registered as the property of a greek subject. i have papers signed by them selling the vessel again to me, with blanks for the dates, which can be filled in at any time; but these, of course, i could only fill in and use in the event of my deciding to leave greece altogether and return to england. so that, at present, we are simply a greek ship, owned by natives of that country, and holding letters of marque from the greek government to act as a privateer. i do not think that the transaction would be recognized by any european power in the case of two european belligerents; but this is an exceptional case, as the sympathies of all the christian powers are with the greeks. as far as the turks are concerned, it makes no difference; whether greek or english, they would hang us if they caught us. but i don't think any very close inquiries are likely to be made in any european port . our greek papers are all correct, and as we know that the account of our having saved large numbers of fugitives from chios have been in the english papers, and doubtless our interference to save the turks at athens has also been published, i think that we should be received well by the sympathizers of either party." the next morning they sailed to corinth, where they re- mained a few days. john iskos, mr. beveridge's agent at athens, came across to see him. he informed him that he had sold but a very small portion of the goods consigned to him in the prizes, but had shipped the great bulk in neutral vessels and consigned them to the firm in london; the vessels themselves he had disposed of to hydriot merchants. he recommended mr. beveridge to hand over to him the store of silks and other valuables that had been retained on board the schooner, and he would put them at once on board an italian ship at present in the port, and consign them to a greek house in genoa, as he certainly would not obtain anything like fair prices for them in greece. the operation occupied two days, but all the most valuable goods were retained, as the prizes might have been recap- tured by turks on their way to athens. the prizes had been brought in by miller and tarleton alternately, marco or zaiines accompanying them to interpret, the crews being taken back a turkish defeat. tremendous fire of musketry against the ramparts, while the storming parties moved forward. the defenders remained in their concealment until the albanians were close at hand, and then, leaping up, poured their fire into them. expecting to take the defenders by surprise, the albanians were astounded at the sudden and heavy fire poured into them, and at once broke and fled in confusion. for some hours the turks kept up a heavy fire, but did not renew their attack in earnest. tons of ammunition were fired away on both sides, and then the turks fell back to their camps, and on the following day raised the siege. the wildness of the fire was evidenced by the fact that only four greeks were killed. the blue-jackets from the schooner joined in the fire upon the storming parties, but when it was evident that the turks had no idea of renewing the attack they returned on board ship. their remarks upon the combatants were the reverse of complimentary. "it is well nigh enough to make a man sick, tom," one man said to another in horace's hearing. "to see them both blaz- ing away good powder and lead like that, i reckon to be down- right sinful." "you are right there, mate. it is a downright waste of the gifts of providence. why, there was powder and ball enough to have killed a good five thousand englishmen and frenchmen thrown away in accounting for four or five of them yelling fellows. it is more like play-acting than fighting. why, if you was to arm a couple of girls' schools and put 'em to fire at each other they would do ever so much better than that. and to think them greeks calls themselves christians and don't know how to aim a musket no better than that; they might just as well be heathen." while missolonghi had been resisting successfully, the turkish garrison of nauplia had at last surrendered. after dramali's army had abandoned it the only hope that remained to them was that the fleet might return. the greeks retained posses- sion of a small fort that had been given up to them at the time that the first negotiations for surrender were going on. from this fort combustible missiles were fired into the town, and a brisk cannonade kept up with its defences, but without much damage being done on either side. on the th of in greek waters. september the turkish fleet appeared off the entrance to the gulf, and the greek fleet from the islands of hydra and spetzas stood out to meet them. unfortunately admiral kanaris was not present . for four days the two fleets remained in sight of each other, firing at such distances that no harm was done on either side. there was nothing to have prevented the turkish admiral relieving nauplia and landing the troops and provisions in his trans- ports; but he feared to enter the gulf, while the greeks shrank equally from an attack upon him. after thus exhibiting for four days his cowardice and incapacity, the turkish capitan- pasha abandoned nauplia to its fate. the resistance only continued because the turks could put no reliance upon the oaths of the greeks. women and children dropped dead from hunger in the streets; the soldiers were so weak from starvation that but few were able to carry their arms. the citadel was at last abandoned simply because the soldiers who went down into the town to fetch the scanty rations for its defenders were too weak to climb the hill again; and the greeks, as soon as they learned that it was abandoned, occupied the position. koloko- tronis and a number of other leaders, attracted by the prospect of booty, hurried to the spot like vultures round a carcass. negotiations were again opened, and the turks surrendered on the terms of the greeks engaging to transport them to asia minor, allowing each to retain a single suit of clothes, a quilt for bedding, and a carpet for prayer. as soon as the terms were signed, kolokotronis and the captains entered the town with their personal followers and prevented all others from entering. the soldiers assembled before the gates, declaring that they would not allow the chiefs to appropriate to them- selves everything valuable, threatening to storm the place, murder the turks, and sack the town. greece was saved from fresh dishonour by the timely arrival of the english frigate cambrian, commanded by captain hamilton. he was a strong friend of greece, and was known to many of the greek leaders. he at once held a conference with them, and in the strongest language urged upon them the necessity of taking measures for the execution of the capitulation, for that another breach of faith, another foul massacre, would render the name of greece a turkish defeat. despicable in civilized europe and ruin the cause of the country. hamilton's character was greatly respected, and his words had their effect. he insisted upon their chartering ships to embark the turks. he himself took five hundred of them on board the cambrian, and nine hundred were embarked in the greek transports. this interference of captain hamilton excited great anger in greece. the turkish fleet did not escape absolutely scatheless after its inglorious departure from nauplia. although unmolested by the greeks, it sailed north, and anchored inside the island of tenedos. kanaris persuaded the people of psara to fit out two fire ships. he took the command of one, and both sailed for the turkish fleet, which they approached at daybreak. two line- of-battle ships were anchored to windward of the rest of the fleet. kanaris undertook the destruction of the ship to lee- ward, that being the most difficult operation. he succeeded as well as he had done on two previous occasions. he ran the enemy aboard to windward, lashed the fire-ship there, and fired the train. the turk was at once enveloped in flames, and the whole of the crew, eight hundred in number, perished. but kanaris seemed to be the only greek naval officer who had the necessary courage and coolness to manoeuvre success- fully with fire-ships. the other captain ran his fire-ship along- side the man-of-war which carried the flag of the capitan pasha. the position of the fire-ship was, however, ill chosen, and after being set on fire it drifted away without doing injury to the turk. the rest of the turkish fleet cut their cables and made for the dardanelles, while one corvette ran ashore on tenedos. another was abandoned by her crew. kanaris and the crews of the two fire-ships returned safely to psara in their boats. in greek waters chapter xix. prisoners one day, after cruising along the coast inside the island of euboua or negropont, the misericerdia entered the gulf of zeitouni, the sinus maliacus of the ancients. when they were nearly at the head of the gulf horace asked captain martyn to let him go ashore to a little village at the water's edge to get some vegetables and fruit, of which the supply had run out . "just as you like, horace. a boat-load of green stuff of some sort or other would be very welcome, and if you can pick up half a dozen kids so much the better." "i am thinking i will go with you, horace," macfarlane said; "it does a man good to stretch his legs ashore once in a way." the gig was at once lowered, and on horace and the doctor taking their seats in the stern, four sailors rowed them ashore. "i sha'n't take the trouble to anchor," martyn said as they left the ship. "i expect you will be back in an hour, and i shall keep her standing off and on till i see you put out." leaving two of the men in charge of the boat, horace told the other two to take some of the baskets they ad brought ashore and follow him. some women looked out timidly at the doors of the houses, but no men were to be seen about "we are friends," horace said; "do you not see we are flying the greek flag? where are all the men?" "they have gone away with vriones. he came with an armed band and said that every man must go with him to fight." "who have they gone to fight?" "ah! that we don't know. he talked about fighting the turks, but we think it more likely that he is going to fight rhangos. they are at war with each other. oh, these are bad times! what with the war with the turks, and the war of one captain with another, and what with bands of klephts who plunder everyone, there is no peace nor quiet . they say rhangos is going to join the turks, as many other klepht leaders prisoners. have done. to us, it makes little difference who are masters, so that we know who they are. in the time of the turks we had peace; we had to pay taxes, but we knew what they were. now everybody wants taxes. these are evil days." "we want some vegetables and some fruit," horace said. "we do not wish to rob you, and are ready to pay a fair price for everything." "those we can sell you," the women said, "it is nearly all we have left. there are vegetables everywhere, and they are not worth stealing." the news soon spread, and the women and children of the village were soon engaged in gathering and tying up vegetables. the sailors made several trips backwards and forwards to the boats with laden baskets, while the doctor and horace, seated upon a low wall, watched the women at work in the gardens, and paid the sum agreed upon for each basketful that was carried off. suddenly, without the slightest warning, there was a rush of men behind them, and before they could draw their pistols they were seized, thrown down, and bound. "what is the meaning of this?" horace asked indignantly. "we are officers of that ship there, which is in the service of greece. as you are greeks, what do you mean by molesting us?" no reply was given. there was a sudden outburst of firing down by the boat, and the screams of women rose in the air. the men who had bound them moved away at the order of an officer, leaving two with muskets standing over the prisoners. "this is a nice business, doctor; i expect we have fallen into the hands of rhangos, the fellow the women were speaking about, and the men of this village have gone out with some other scoundrel to fight . i suppose he had spies about, and came down to plunder the place in their absence. she said she heard rhangos was going to join the turks; his capturing us certainly looks as if at present he was hostile to the greeks. if he takes us away and hands us over to the turks it is a bad look-out." "he will have to be quick about it," the doctor said, "they are still firing occasional shots down by the water. that looks as if the boat has got away, and you may be sure martyn won't be long before ho sends as many men as he can spare ashore in greek waters. to find us. there, do you hear " and as he spoke there was the deep boom of a gun, followed by the rush of a shot overhead. orders were shouted angrily directly afterwards. some men ran up, cut the cords that bound the prisoners' legs, and then, seizing them by the arms, hurried them away, threaten- ing them with instant death if they did not keep up with them. as they mounted the high ground behind the village horace glanced round. three boats were just leaving the schooner. a blow from one of the greeks that, bound as he was, nearly threw him down, compelled him to turn his head and hurry forward again. for hours they hastened along. when about a mile from the village a sharp fire was heard to break out in that direction. as they had only eight men with them, they doubted not that rhangos was with the main body opposing the landing. "our fellows will soon clear them out of the village," horace said to the doctor. "i only hope that, as they retire, the greeks will follow us, for you may be sure that martyn and miller will press hard on them, and may perhaps overtake us." up to nightfall, however, none of the band came up. the country had been getting more and more hilly, and at sunset they halted far up on the side of a mountain. here a fire was lit, and some portions of a kid that had evidently been part of the plunder of the village were put over it to roast. the fire was kept blazing, and the doctor and horace agreed that it was probably intended as a signal to their comrades. a lump of meat was thrown to each of the captives, their cords being loosed sufficiently to enable them to use their hands, their legs being tightly bound again as soon as they had halted. at eight o'clock a sound of voices was heard, and presently a party of greeks, fully a hundred strong, came up. they were evidently in an ill temper, and replied sulkily to the questions of the guard of the prisoners. horace gathered from their answers that they had fired a volley upon the boats as they approached; then, seeing they came on without a pause, had at once run from the village and scattered, reuniting some miles on. "we lost everything we had taken," one of the men said. "we had it all packed and ready to carry away, when those confounded sailors came. some of us did start with our prisoners. bundles, but they came so fast up to us that we had to throw everything away, and even then we had a lot of difficulty in keeping away from them. i expect they caught some. it was lucky we started off when we did; if we had waited till they landed very few would have got away." "didn't they shoot?" one of the guards asked. "no, they never fired a shot . i don't know whether they came ashore without powder, but from first to last they never fired." "they knew we had these two in our hands," the guards said, "and they were afraid if they killed any of us, we should take it out of our prisoners, and i think they were about right. ah! here comes rhangos. he had to take to a farmhouse before he had gone half a mile, and i suppose if any of them looked in they would have seen him feeding pigs or something of that sort, with his finery and arms hidden away." the klepht had now come up to the fire. he was a spare man, some fifty years old, with a keen hungry face. "are all here?" he asked briefly. "we are six short of our number," a man, who by his dress had evidently the rank of an officer among them, replied. "killed?" "no, there was no firing; i expect those sailors ran them down." "then we must march in half an hour, they will make them lead them here. now, then, who are your" he asked the doctor as the elder of the prisoners. "my friend does not speak greek," horace replied. "as you must be well aware we are officers of that schooner that was lying off the village. this is the doctor, i am third lieu- tenant. we are friends of greece, we have been in action against the turkish ships of war, we have saved great numbers of greek fugitives from the turks, now this is the treatment that we receive at the hands of the greeks." horace's reticence as to the fact that he was the son of the owner of the schooner was the result of a conversation with the doctor. "these scoundrels have no doubt carried us off either for the purpose of getting a ransom for us or of handing us over to the turks as an acceptable present. i expect the idea of in greek waters. ransom is at the bottom of it . we have heard of this fellow rhangos before. he is a noted klepht, and more albanian than greek. whatever you do, horace, don't you let out you are the owner's son. if you do there is no saying how much ransom they might ask for you. they think that an english- man who fits out a ship at his own expense to come out here must be rolling in money. as long as they think that they have only got hold of a doctor and a third lieutenant they cannot ask a high price for them, but for an owner's son there is no saying what figure they might put him at. have you got a second name?" "yes, i am horace hendon beveridge. hendon was my mother's name." "that is lucky; you can give them horace hendon. it is likely they may know your father's name, for the misericordia and her doings have been a good deal talked about. i am not in favour of anyone telling a lie, horace, but as it is no lie to give your two first names without giving your third, i cannot see that there is harm in it." "the ship belongs to the lord beveridge?" bhangos asked next . "yes, that is his name," horace replied. "what is your name and that of your companion?" horace gave his two christian names and the name of his companion. "have you paper?" the klepht said. "i have a note-book in my pocket." "that will do. now write in greek: my lord beveridge, this is to give you notice that—now write the two names"— "'donald macfarlane and horace hendon,'" horace repeated as he wrote them, "surgeon and third lieutenant of your ship, are captives in my hands, and that unless three hundred pounds in gold are paid to me as ransom for them they will be put to death. if there is any attempt to rescue the prisoners they will at once be shot. the messenger will arrange with you how and where the ransom is to be paid." the klepht added his own name in scrawling characters at the bottom of the note, then called one of the men and gave him instructions as to where and how the ransom was to be paid, and then sent him off. as soon as the band had satisfied their prisoners. hunger the march among the mountains was continued for an- other two hours. then they threw themselves down by the side of a stream in a valley surrounded on all sides with craggy hills, and two men with muskets were placed as sentries over the prisoners. "well, this is not so bad," horace said. "it is certainly very lucky you gave me that hint about my name. three hundred is not very much to pay to get out of such a scrape as this. i suppose there is no fear about their giving us up when they get the money." "i think not," the doctor replied. "they would never get ransoms if they did not keep their word. i only hope that no one may let out before the messenger who you are. if they do, there will be a very serious rise in prices." "fortunately none of them speak greek but my father, and probably he would read the note before he would ask any questions." "maybe yes, and maybe no," the doctor said. "he is as like as not to say when he sees a messenger, 'is my son alive and well?' and then the cat would be out of the bag. still, your father is a prudent man, and may keep a still tongue in his head, especially when he sees that the note is in your own handwriting. however, we will hope for the best." morning had dawned some time before there was any move- ment among the band . then their fires were lighted and breakfast cooked. "will the english lord pay the ransom for you, do you think?" rhangos asked, sauntering up to horace. horace shrugged his shoulders. "it is a large sum to pay for two officers," he said. "he is rich, it is nothing to him." "he is well off, no doubt," horace said; "but it is not every- one who is well off who is disposed to part with money for other people." "well, it will be bad for you if he doesn't pay," the klepht said significantly. three hours later the messenger was seen coming up the valley. horace looked at him anxiously as he approached, and was pleased to see that, as he spoke to iihangos, there was no expression of surprise or exultation in the latter's face. he in greek waters. had some of the brigands been killed. so far from bearing any animosity now the men chatted with them in a friendly manner, asked questions about their ship, and their encounters with the turks. "we would rather fight for the greeks than the turks," one said; "but we follow our captains. there is neither pay nor plunder to be obtained with the greeks; and as odysseus and all the other chiefs play their own game, and think only of making money, why should poor devils like us be particular? all albanian tribes have had their wars against each other as long as we or our fathers can remember. we know nothing about the greece that they talk so much of now. there were the morea and other provinces, and so there have always been so far as we know, and it is nothing to us whether they are ruled by turks or by their own captains. as to religion, many of our tribes are mussulmans, many are christians. we do not see that it makes any difference. "everyone plunders when he gets a chance. why should i want to cut a man's throat because he is a mussulman? his father was a christian before him; my son may be a mussul- man after me. what does it matter? since the fight at petta many chiefs have gone over to the turks, and if the greeks win a battle most of them will go back again. the affair is nothing to us. on the mountains we hunt where we are most likely to get game. you like to hunt for amusement, and so you have come out here on a matter which does not at all concern you. we hunt to live, and don't much care whether we take a sheep out of one flock or another." horace smiled at the man's avowal of the want of any prin ciple whatever. "i was a schoolmaster," one of the lieutenants of the band, who was stretched at full length smoking and listening to the conversation, remarked, "i know about the old time, but i don't know anything of this greece you speak of. where was it? what did it do? it was just then as it is now. there were a number of little tribes under their own captains, athens, and corinth, and sparta, and argos, and thebes, and the rest of thom always fighting against each other just as our albanian clans do; not even ready to put aside their own quarrels to fight against an invader. pooh! there never was a greece, prisoners. and i neither know nor care whether there ever will be. why should we throw away our lives for a dream?" "yes; but at any rate the greeks have a common language, which shows they are one people." "families fall out more than strangers," the man replied with a laugh. "you english and the americans have a com- mon language, and yet you have been fighting against each other, and they refuse to remain one nation with you. these things signify no more than the smoke of my pipe. a christian's money, and a christian's goods and cattle, are worth just as much to me as a turk's; and my captain, who pays me, is more to me than either mavrocordatos or the sultan. i daresay that english milord is a worthy man, though he must be a fool, and yet the wine i shall buy out of my share of his money will be just as good as if it had grown in my father's vineyard." horace laughed. he was not skilled in argument; even had he had any inclination to indulge in it at the present time; and he sauntered off and sat down by the doctor, who, not being able to talk with the greeks, found the time hang heavy on hand. horace repeated to him his conversation with the two brigands. "i own i did not know how to answer the last fellow, doctor." "there is no answer to be made, horace. to argue, men must have a common ground to start from. there is no common ground between you and him. his argument is the argument of the materialist everywhere, whether he is briton, frenchman, or greek. to a man who has neither religion nor principles there remains only self-interest, and from that point of view there is no gainsaying the arguments of that albanian scamp any more than it would have been of use for a lowland merchant carried off by highland caterans to urge upon them that their conduct was contrary to the laws both of morality and political economy. they would have said that they knew nothing about either, and cared less, and that unless his goodwife or fellow citizens put their hands in their pockets and sent the ransom they demanded, his head would be despatched to them in a hamper with small delay. he cer- tainly had you on the hip with what he said about ancient greece, for a more quarrelsome, cantankerous, waspish set of in greek waters. little communities the world never saw, unless it were the cities of italy in the middle ages, which at any rate were of a re- spectable size, which was, by the way, the only respectable thing about them. religion and principle and patriotism are the three things that keep men and nations straight, and neither the greek nor italian communities had the least glim- mering of an idea of either of them, except a love for their own petty states may be called patriotism." "a good deal like your highland clansmen, i should say, doctor," horace laughed. "the head of the clan was a much greater man in the eyes of his followers than the king of scotland." "that is so, horace; and the consequence was, that while there was peace and order and prosperity in the lowlands, the highlands scarcely made a step forward until the clans were pretty well broken up after culloden. it was a sore business at the time, but no one can doubt that it did good in the long run. and now, lad, i think that i will just take a sleep. it was not many hours we got of it last night, and you see most of these fellows have set us an example." the next morning they started at daybreak. the main body of the band had moved off hours before, leaving the lieutenant kornalis, demetri, and four of the men. three hours' walk- ing took them out of the mountains. there was little talking. the greeks would have preferred going with their leader to plunder another village, for although the booty taken was supposed to be all handed over to the chief for fair distri- bution, there were few who did not conceal some trinket or money as their own special share of the plunder. they were but a mile or two beyond the hills, when, from a wood skirting the road, four or five shots rang out . two of the greeks fell; the rest, throwing away their guns, fled at the top of their speed. before the prisoners had time to recover from their surprise a number of men rushed out, and with the butts of their muskets and pistols struck them to the ground. when they recovered their senses a group of men were standing round them, while at some little distance they could hear the sound of firing, showing that the pursuit of their late captors was being closely maintained. by this time they had become sufficiently accustomed to the various costumes to prisoners. know that they had now fallen into the hands of men of one of the albanian tribes, probably mussulmans acting as irregulars with the turkish army, engaged upon a raiding expedition. one of them asked horace a question, but the dialect was so different to that of the greeks of athens and the morea that he was unable to understand it. presently the men who had gone in pursuit returned, and the whole party set off to the north, placing their prisoners in their midst, and warning them by pointing significantly to their knives and pistols that they had better keep up with them. "eh! man," the doctor said; "but it is dreadful. just as we thought that everything was settled, and that in another couple of hours we should be with our own people, here we are in the hands of a pack of villains even worse than the others." "you said that we should not shout until we were out of the wood, doctor, and you have turned out a true prophet; but at present i am thinking more of my head than of anything else, i am sure i have got a couple of lumps on it as big as eggs." "it shows the folly of man," the doctor said philosophically. "what good could they expect to get from knocking us down. we were neither fighting nor running away. we had not our wits about us, lad, or we should have just taken to our heels." "i expect they would have caught us if we had. we have neither of us had much walking lately, and those fellows are always climbing among their mountains. do you think it is of any use trying to make them understand that if they will take us a few miles farther they will find three hundred pounds waiting for them?" "you might try, horace; but i don't think that it will be of any use. i expect they are just skirting along at the foot of the hills to see what they can pick up. there are not above thirty of them, and they would not like to go far out upon the plains; besides, i don't know that it would turn out well. if they were to go on in a body, martyn would as likely as not fire at them, and then they would think that we had led them into an ambush, and shoot us without waiting to ask any ques- tion. still, you can try if you like; we might be sorry after- wards if we didn't." in greek waters. but when horace tried to speak to the men he was threatened roughly, and he lapsed into silence. for three hours they ascended a great range of hills running east and west. when they gained the crest they could see stretched away far in front of them a flat and fertile country. "the plains of thessaly," the doctor said; "the fairest and richest portion of the greece of old. there is little chance of its forming part of the greece of the future, at least not until a complete overthrow of the turkish empire. if greece attains her independence the frontier line will be somewhere along the crest of these hills, for thessaly, although there was some slight trouble there at first, has not joined the movement. there are no mountains and fortresses where they can take refuge, and a troop of turkish cavalry could scour the whole country. there is where we are bound for, i expect;" and he pointed to a large clump of white tents far out on the plain. "i expect that is the camp of the pasha of the province. i suppose he is going to operate on this side when the main force advances to the west." it took them another four hours' walking before they ap- proached the camp. when within a short distance of it their captors turned off and entered a village where numbers of their countrymen were sitting in the shade smoking or dozing. the band went on until they reached the principal house in the village, and four of them entering took their prisoners into a room where a tall old chief was sitting on a divan. they talked for some minutes, evidently explaining the circum- stances of their capture. when they had done, the chief asked the prisoners in greek who they were. "we are englishmen," horace replied; "we belong to a ship lying off a village whose name i don't know. we had landed to buy fruit and vegetables, and then we were suddenly seized and carried away to the mountains by some greek brigands led by a fellow named iihangos. we had arranged for a ransom and were on our way under a guard to the village where the money was to be paid when your band put the greeks to flight and made us prisoners." "how much ransom was to be paid?" the albanian asked. "three hundred pounds, and if you will send us there now our friends will be glad to pay it to your people. i tried to in greek waters. "we are just laughing while we can, and there is no contempt of court intended." the pasha was in a tent considerably larger than those that surrounded it. the albanian went in, leaving the prisoners in charge of their guard. in five minutes he came out and signed to them to follow him in. the pasha was an elderly man with a snow-white beard. he looked at the prisoners with some interest . "i hear that you are englishmen," he said in greek. "that is so, sir." "and that you are in the greek service." "we were in the greek service, but after being carried off by greek brigands i do not know that we shall have any inclination to remain in it." "if you had been taken fighting against us i should have ordered you to be shot," the pasha said; "but as it is i do not know. do you belong to that schooner with white sails that has been cruising off the coast some days?" "we do," horace admitted. "i am told," the pasha went on, "that she is the ship that did us much harm at chios." "we were attacked, and we beat off the boats," horace said. "that is fair warfare. our principal object has been to rescue people in danger or distress, whether christian or turk. we rescued numbers of chiot slaves. and on the other hand we saved numbers of turks at the surrender of the acropolis at athens, and conveyed them safely to tenedos, where wo landed them; and the governor there recognized our service to his countrymen, and came off to the ship and invited us on shore to dine with him." "yes, i have heard about that," the pasha said, "we have all heard of the white schooner. she has been a dangerous enemy to us, and has done us more harm than the whole of the greeks together; but after your humanity at athens i cannot feel animosity against you. it was a noble deed and worthy of brave men. thus it is that nations should fight, but the greeks began by massacre, and have been false to the oaths they swore twenty times. how can you fight for men who have neither courage nor faith, and who are as cruel as they are cowardly?" in greek waters. being put on board ship, they might cut us off at the mouth of the dardanelles. it is little farther from the gulf of li touni than it is from the mouth of this river, and the schooner would probably sail twice as fast as any craft we are likely to be put on board. it is annoying, but it is of no use being annoyed. they don't know we are going to be embarked, and they can't learn it for four or five days at the very earliest, so don't let us worry about that . we have reasonable cause for worry in knowing that we are going to be taken to constan- tinople, for not improbably we will be executed when we get there." "you think that it is probable, doctor?" "i do, indeed. the sultan is not the man to stand on niceties. he has decided not to give quarter to foreigners who fight against him, and as a matter of policy he is perfectly right. we knew all along what our fate would be if we fell into the hands of the turks. we have done them an immense amount of mischief: we have destroyed a frigate and beaten off their boats; we have taken a lot of prizes, and delivered some two or three thousand valuable slaves from their hands. the only set-off to this is that we assisted to save some three hundred turkish women and children, as to whose fate the sultan was probably perfectly indifferent. the balance is very heavy against us." horace could not but admit that this was so, but in this beautiful valley, and with constantinople still in the distance, the idea that ere long a violent death might befall him there was not sufficiently vivid to depress his spirits greatly. after four hours' riding they came down upon the little port at the mouth of the river. two or three craft were lying there under the guns of the battery. "that is our vessel, you will see, horace. it is a man-of- war brig. i expect she is placed here on purpose to enable the pasha to communicate direct with constantinople, instead of having to send up through the passes to salonika." leaving the prisoners under charge of the guard, the officer took a boat and rowed off to the brig. in a few minutes a large boat lying beside her was manned by a dozen sailors and rowed ashore. the officer was on board of her. two of the men who had brought their valises strapped behind their saddles at constantinople. had already removed them, and stepped into the boat forward, while their comrades took charge of their horses. the officer then signed to horace and the doctor to step on board, and they were rowed out to the brig. half an hour later the anchor was got up, the sail set, and the vessel left the port. there was no attempt at restraint of the prisoners. a young lieutenant who spoke greek informed them, in the name of the captain, that the orders of the pasha were that they were to be treated as ordinary passengers, and he requested them to take their meals with him in the cabin. they would be entirely at liberty, except that they would not be allowed to land at tenedos, or at any other port at which the vessel might touch. the brig proved a fairly fast sailer; the wind was favourable, and late on the afternoon of the day after they had sailed they dropped anchor off tenedos, and the officer in charge of the captives at once went ashore with the pasha's letter to the governor. he returned late at night, after the prisoners had turned in in one of the officer's cabins that had been vacated for their use. there was not a breath of wind in the morning, and the captain accordingly did not attempt to weigh anchor. "it would be a fine thing if this calm would last for a fort- night," the doctor said as they came on deck in the morning. "yes, but there is no chance of that, doctor. we have never had a dead calm for more than three days since we came out." "well, we might do equally well with a light breeze from the north. that would help the schooner across the gulf, and at the same time would not enable the brig to work up the dardanelles; there is a strongish current there. still, i am not at all saying it is likely; i only say that i wish it could be so." when the officer came on deck he informed them, through the lieutenant, that the governor had given him a strong letter to the porte, speaking in the highest terms of the humanity they had shown towards the turks they had rescued from athens. an hour later two or three boats came off. among those on board them were several women. when these saw the doctor and horace leaning over the bulwark, they broke into loud cries of greeting. "i expect they are some of those poor creatures we brought over," horace said. "i don't remember their faces, we have at constantinople. "it does one good to hear that," macfarlane said when he had finished . "human nature is much the same whether it is in the wife of a turkish soldier or of a scottish fisherman. the poor creature and her husband are doing all they can. the bimbashi and the beys were great men in their eyes, and they doubtless think that they are quite important persons at constantinople. still, it is pleasant to think that the poor fellow, whose arm must still be very far from healed, is under- taking this journey to do what he can for us. it minds me of that grand story of effie deans tramping all the way from scot- land to london to ask for her sister's pardon. "i don't say that anything is like to come of it, but there is no saying. if these turks are as grateful as this soldier and his wife they might possibly do something for us, if it were not that the sultan himself will settle the matter. an ordinary turkish official will do almost anything for money or favour, but the sultan is not to be got round; and they say he is a strong man, and goes his own way without asking the advice of anyone. still it is, as i said, pleasant to know that there are people who have an interest in us, and who are doing all in their power to help us." an hour later a small boat was seen to put out from the port and to row away in the direction of the mainland. for three days the brig lay at her anchorage. then a gentle breeze sprang up from the south. making all sail, the brig was headed to the entrance of the dardanelles. "unless there is more wind than this," horace said, "i should hardly think she will be able to make her way up, doctor. she is not going through the water more than two knots an hour." "no, she will have to anchor again as soon as she is inside the straits unless the wind freshens, and i don't think it is likely to do that. to my mind it looks as if it would die out again at sunset." this proved to be the case, and before it became dark the brig was anchored in a bay on the asiatic side a short distance from the entrance. the next morning the breeze again blew, and somewhat fresher than before. all day the captain strove to pass up the straits. sometimes by keeping over out of the force of the at constantinople. own people. why, man, we may be a great nation, intelligent and civilized, and all that; but when it comes to an appreciation of the beautiful we are poor bodies, indeed, by the side of the turk, whom we in our mightiness are accustomed to consider a barbarian. i know what you are going to say," he went on, as horace was going to speak. "there is tyranny and oppres- sion, and evil rule, and corruption, and other bad things in that beautiful city. i grant you all that, but that has nothing to do with my argument. he may be a heathen, he may be ignorant, he may be what we call uncivilized; but the turk has a grand soul or he never would have imagined a dream of beauty like this." as the sun set half an hour after the anchor was dropped the officer sent with them by the pasha did not think it neces- sary to land until the following morning, as the offices would all be shut. at eight o'clock he was rowed ashore and did not return until late in the evening. business was not con- ducted at a rapid rate in the offices of the porte. the lieu- tenant interpreted to the prisoners that the letter of the gover- nor of tenedos had been laid before the grand vizier, who would deliver it with that of the pasha to the sultan at his audience in the evening. "did he see the grand vizier himself?" horace asked. the answer was in the affirmative. "did he gather from him whether it was likely that the sultan would regard the matter favourably?" the two turks spoke together for some time. "i am sorry to say," the lieutenant replied when they had done, "that the vizier was of opinion that the sultan would be immovable. he has sworn to spare none of those who have stirred up his sub- jects to rebellion, and who, without having any concern in the matter, have aided them against him. he regards them as pirates, and has resolved by severity to deter others from fol- lowing their example. the vizier said that he would do his best, but that when the sultan's mind was once made up nothing could move him; and that having himself received the reports of the destruction of one of his war-ships, and the very heavy loss inflicted on the boats of the fleet at chios, and having, moreover, received memorials from the merchants at smyrna as to the damage inflicted on their commerce by what was ( ib) 'y in greek waters. called the white schooner, he felt that he would be deaf to any appeal for mercy to two of her officers." at eight o'clock next morning a boat with twelve soldiers and an officer came off to the brig. the officer, mounting on the deck, handed to the captain an order for the delivery to him of the two prisoners sent from thessaly. "things look bad, i am afraid," horace said as they stepped into the boat. "i saw the officer exchange a word or two with the cavalry man who brought us here and the captain, and i am sure, by the expression of their faces, that the news was bad. i am sure, too, from the way they shook hands with us at parting." "some of these men's faces seem familiar to me," the doctor said as they were being rowed towards a landing to the east of the palace gardens. "i can't say that they were among the men we brought from athens, but i have a strong idea that two or three of them were. do you recognize them?" "i can't say that i do. you see they were only on board one day, and i thought more of the women and children than of the soldiers and sailors." "i am almost sure of them, horace; yet it is curious, that if they are the men we saved they did not make some sign of recognition when we came down the ladder. turkish discipline is not very strict. they did not seem to look up much. they were all sitting forward of the six oarsmen, and i noticed, that till we pushed off they seemed to be talking about some- thing together, and were so intent on it that they did not look up until after we had pushed off. i did notice that the oars- men looked a little surprised when the officer, as we pushed off, gave an order to the man steering, and they saw which way the boat's head was turned. "i don't suppose they knew that we were prisoners, horace, and were expecting to go back to the place they came from. i suppose the landing they are taking us to is the nearest one to the prison."' there were no boats lying at the broad steps alongside which the boat drew up. six of the soldiers took their places in front of them, the officer marched between them, and the other six soldiers followed behind. the road, which was a narrow one, ran between two very high walls, and rose steeply upward. at constantinorlk. "evidently this landing-place is not much used," the doctor said, "i suppose it leads to some quiet quarter." a hundred yards from the landing-place the officer gave the word to halt, and then another order, upon which one of the men, who carried a bag, began to open it. "quick, gentlemen!' the officer said in greek; "you must change here. quick! there is not a moment to lose." astonished at the order, the doctor and horace obeyed it. "i suppose," the former muttered, "they don't want it known they have got two european prisoners. i don't see what else they can be up to." the change was quickly made. two long baggy turkish trousers were pulled over their own, their jackets were thrown into the bag, and they were enveloped in turkish robes. their caps were thrown beside their jackets, and turbans placed on their heads, while their shoes were pulled off and their feet thrust into turkish slippers. the officer and two of the soldiers aided in the work, and in a couple of minutes the metamorphosis was complete. "allah be praised!" the officer exclaimed fervently; and the words were echoed by the soldiers. these for a moment, re- gardless of discipline, gathered round the prisoners. one after another seized their hands, and bending over them pressed them to their forehead; then the officer gave an order, and one or two at a time—the soldiers carried only their side-arms—, left the group and hurried on ahead, until the officer remained alone with the astonished englishmen. "what does this all meant" horace asked the officer in greek "it means that you are free, my friends," he said, shaking each of them cordially by the hand; "at least, so far free. now let us follow the others." still, almost thinking they were dreaming, the doctor and horace accompanied their companion up the narrow lane, and emerged into a quiet street behind a great mosque; skirting the wall of this, they entered a wider street. "be careful," the officer said in greek; "walk along care- lessly, and seem to be conversing with me." horace translated the remark to the doctor. there were not a great many people about, but as they went in greek waters. along the number increased . they crossed a busy street, turned down a lane on the other side, and then walked for upwards of half an hour, turning frequently, and as far as horace could guess, making a wide detour, and again approach- ing the busy part of the town. presently the officer stopped near the corner of a lane in a quiet street, and began to talk in an animated tone about the size of the town and other matters, until he saw that the street was for a moment empty;, then he turned sharply down the lane, which ran between the backs of two sets of houses, went for a hundred yards, and then stopped at a door in the wall; opened it with the key, hurried them in, and locked the door behind him. "allah be praised!" he again said; "you are safe thus far. now come in, they are anxiously expecting us." he entered the house, which stood in a small inclosure, and led the way into a room. they were received at the door by a turk, whom both recognized at once as osman bey, one of the principal turks they had carried from athens. he repeated the officer s pious exclamation: "allah be praised for his mercies!" and then in greek he said, "truly i am rejoiced, my friends, that allah has granted me an opportunity of showing that i am not ungrateful, and that as you saved me and mine from death, so have i been able to save you; and i am doubly glad in seeing, what i knew not before, that one of you is the son of the englishman to whom principally we owed our escape." "we are grateful, indeed," horace said; "but at present we understand nothing. this officer has told us nothing what- ever." "this officer is my son, and is only an officer for the occa sion," osman bey said, "but come into the next room; my wife and daughters are eagerly expecting you." three ladies rose from a divan on which they were sitting when the bey entered the room. they were lightly veiled, but the bey said: "lay aside your veils. these are as my sons, and you can unveil as if they were members of the family." the ladies unveiled. horace had not seen their faces before on board ship, for the women of the upper class had remained closely veiled . the mother was a stout, elderly woman, with at constantinople. a kindly face. her daughters were girls of fourteen or fifteen, with dark hair, somewhat colourless faces, and lovely eyes. the bey's wife expressed her pleasure at the arrival of the englishmen. the girls shrank rather timidly behind her, embarrassed at being thus unveiled before strangers. "now sit down," the bey said. "zuleika, do you bring in coffee and sweetmeats yourself. i do not wish your attendant to enter while these gentlemen are here." "i have sent her down the town on a message," the bey's wife said, while the younger girl rose and left the room. "she is faithful, but girls will chatter. mourad, we know, we can trust." the girl soon returned with a tray with coffee, cakes, and sweetmeats. then the bey said: "now i will tell you all about this. ahmed, the sooner you get rid of that uniform the better. give it to mourad at once, and let him take it back to its owner, he may want it." the young man left the room. "now this is how it happened," the bey began. "three days ago came the messenger from tenedos. did you know of his being sent hither?" "yes; his wife told us he was leaving—a soldier who had lost his arm." "that was the man. he went to hassan bimbashi, who brought him first to fazli bey, and then to me. we had a consultation. it was clear to us all that it would be intolerable that men who had behaved with such humanity to us should be put to death, if we could possibly save them. it took us a long time to arrange the matter, and we three sat in the next room there debating the matter all night. we took ahmed into our council at once, for he was, of course, as anxious to aid the men who had saved his parents and sisters from massacre as we were. naturally, we at first thought of getting you out of prison by bribing the guards; but though this would have been comparatively easy, it was doubtful whether there would be time to carry it out. there are several prisons here, and there was no saying which you might be sent to, or who would be the men in charge of you; therefore, time would be needed after you arrived here, and we saw that it was probable that no time would be given us. the sultan might, in greek waters of course, view your case favourably; but, on the other hand, if he ordered you to execution, there would be no delay. "when a thing has to be done, especially when foreigners are in the case, it is better to do it at once; otherwise the porte would be pestered by the foreign representatives. it was agreed, therefore, that if you were to be rescued, it must be done between the time of your arrival and your being put in prison. we divided the work into four parts. fazli, who has most interest at the porte, was to try all in his power to influ- ence the ministers, and to get the grand vizier to represent the matter favourably to the sultan. he was to give us the earliest news of whatever decision might be arrived at, and above all, he was to get some minor official there to follow the officer to whom the order for bringing you ashore should be given. "the soldier who had brought the message from tenedos was to find out a dozen of those who had been rescued with us, and to enlist them in the business. the bimbashi undertook the work of seizing the officer bearing the order. he could not very well take the command of the soldiers. their faces would not be noticed by the sailors in the dockyard boat, nor by those on board the ship; but hassan's would be fully seen by both. my son, therefore, volunteered to undertake this part of the affair, dressed in hassan's uniform. he was to meet the twelve men at some spot agreed upon, near the dockyard gate; to march in with them, produce the order, and go out in one of the dockyard boats to the vessel; bring you ashore, and lead you here. my part of the business was to conceal you as long as necessary, and to arrange for your escape from con- stantinople. thus, you see, the risk was slight in each case. fazli would be suspected, because he had urged your case at the porte; but nothing could be proved against him. his ser- vants might be examined, and his house searched. he would be able to prove that he spent the evening with several of his friends, to whom he gave an entertainment; and this morning, at the time the boat came for you, he was to be at the ministry again, trying what could be done on your behalf. "none of the soldiers would know that the bimbashi was mixed up in the affair at all. their one-armed comrade was to be furnished with money in case their gratitude required stimu- lating. my son ran no risk, because it is among the officers of at constantinople. the garrison that the search will be made for the man who com- manded the party. as for myself, there is nothing to connect me in any way with it. ahmed will take you off this evening to a small kiosk of mine ten miles away on the coast. the bimbashi's share was the most dangerous. he was to take three men of his regiment on whom he could thoroughly rely. they would be three of those he had commanded at athens and who had wives and children who had been rescued by you. he was much loved by his soldiers, for he lived and starved as they did, and did all in his power for their comfort. "it is always dangerous to trust anyone, but in this case there was the men's loyalty to him and their gratitude to you to bind them. he would learn from fazli the hour when the sultan's decision would be given, and he and the three soldiers were to be upon the spot and to watch for the coming out of an officer followed by the man fazli was to appoint. the officer was sure to go to one or other of the barracks for some soldiers to accompany him to the vessel. it would depend upon the hour and the orders he received whether to go direct on board or to do it in the morning. it was certain the hour would be late, for the conferences with the sultan are invariably in the evening. whether he went to one of the barracks or to his own lodging, he was to be followed until he got to some quiet spot, then seized, bound, and gagged, put into a large basket two of the soldiers were to carry, and taken to some quiet spot outside the walls. to-night, after it is dark, hassan will go up and loose his bonds sufficiently to enable him to work himself free after a time. "that was the arrangement at which we arrived after talking it over for hours. it was the work of the bimbashi and ahmed. i am sure that fazli and i would never have thought of it at all by ourselves. ever since then we have kept a sharp look-out for the vessel. everything had been got ready. the one-armed soldier had got the twelve men ready to go off. hassan said he had made his arrangements, and had found a ruined hut half a mile out of the town beyond the walls, where there was little chance of anyone looking in in the course of the day, and, indeed, if anyone did so after eight o'clock, it would make little matter, as you would be ashore by that hour. after the brig arrived i had messages from fazli every hour. he told us in greek waters. they had at first received. the ladies came up. to bid them farewell; but, as it had been arranged that in the course of a few days, when inquiry should have ceased, the boy, with his wife and daughters, should also proceed to their country resi- dence, they would meet again ere long. mourad was to accom- pany them, and putting a large box on his shoulders, filled with changes of clothes and other necessaries, he followed them down the street. in a short time they were in a busy thoroughfare, the number of people becoming larger and larger as they went down towards the water. janissaries in their showy uniform swag- gered along, soldiers of the line, merchants, and peasants, while hamate staggering along under enormous burdens swung from bamboo poles, made their way, keeping up a constant shout to the crowd to clear the road. state functionaries moved gravely along on their way to the offices of the porte. veiled women, with children in their arms or clinging to them, stopped to talk to each other in the streets or bargained with the traders at the little shops. military officers and turks of the upper class rode along on showy horses, prancing and curvetting and scattering the foot passengers right and left. ahmed and his companions kept straight on, paying appa- rently no attention to what was going on around them, ahmed occasionally making a remark in turkish, the others keeping silent. when they reached the water-side a number of boatmen surrounded ahmed, who soon found two men whom he had frequently employed. the caique was brought alongside. ahmed had already told horace to step in without hesitation with his companion, and to take their seats at the bottom of the boat in the stern, while he and mourad would sit between them and the boatmen. the latter took their places, and each seized a pair of the sculls. these, which were much lighter than the sculls of an english boat, were round with a long broad blade. they were not in rollocks, but in a strap of leather fastened to a single thole-pin; inside this they thick ened to a bulk of three or four inches in diameter, narrowing at the extremity for the grip of the hand. this thick bulge gave an excellent balance to the sculls, and was rendered necessary by the fact that the boats were high out of water, the miseric rd a again. and the length of the bcuiis outboard disproportionately large to that inboard. a few vigorous strokes by the rowers sent the boat out into the open water. then the forward oarsman let his sculls hang by their thongs alongside, took out four long pipes from the bottom of the caique, filled and lighted them, and passed them aft to the passengers, and then again betook himself to his sculls. bearing gradually across they reached the other side below scutari, and then kept along the shore at a distance of a hundred yards from the land. ahmed chatted to the oarsman next to him, and to mourad, occasionally making some remark to the others in turkish in reference to the pretty kiosks that fringed the shore; enforcing what he said by pointing to the objects of which he was speaking. they assumed an appearance of interest at what he was saying, and. occasionally horace, who was next to him, talked to him in low tones in greek, so that the boatman should not catch the words, ahmed each time replying in turkish in louder tones. no class of boatmen in the world row with the vigour and strength with which those of the bosphorus—who are for the most part albanians—ply their sculls, and both horace and the doctor were struck with surprise and admiration at the steady and unflagging way in which the men rowed, their breath seem- ing to come no quicker, though the perspiration stood in beads on their brown faces and muscular arms, and streamed down their swarthy chests, which were left bare by the open shirts of almost filmy material of snowy whiteness. once only in the two hours' journey did they cease rowing and indulge for five minutes in a smoke; after which they renewed their labours with as much vigour as when they first started. "that is the kiosk," ahmed said at last, pointing to one standing by itself near the water's edge on a projecting point of land, and in a few minutes the caique swept in to the stairs. ahmed had quietly passed a few small silver coins into horace's hand, whispering in greek: "give them these as you land; an extra tip is always welcome." then he paid the men as he got out, saying to them: "i expect the ladies in a few days. you had better go up each morning to the house, and then you can secure the job." . in greek waters. beside it, was placed on each bowl. a few puffs were taken to get the tobacco alight, then the pieces of charcoal were dropped into the fire again, and shaking off their slippers they took their seats on the cushions of the divan. "it is very unfortunate that your friend does not speak greek," ahmed began. "yes, it is unfortunate for him," horace said as he trans- lated the remark to macfarlane. "if i had known that my lot was going to be cast out here," the doctor said, "i would have insisted on learning modern greok instead of ancient at school—that is, if i could have got a dominie who could have taught me. it is a very serious drawback, especially when you know that people are talking of things that may or may not mean that you are going to get your throat cut in an hour or so. for the last two days i seem to have been just drifting in the dark." "but i always translate to you as much as i can, doctor." "you do all that, horace, and i will say this that you do your best; but it is unsatisfactory getting things at second hand. one likes to know precisely how things are said. however, as matters have gone there is nothing to grumble at, though where one's life is concerned it is a natural weakness that one should like to have some sort of say in the matter, instead of feeling that one is the helpless sport of fate." horace laughed, and ahmed smiled gravely, when he trans- lated the doctor's complaint. "it comes all the harder to me," the doctor went on, "be- cause i have always liked to know the why and the wherefore of a matter before i did it . i must confess that since i have been in the navy that wish has been very seldom gratified. captains are not in the habit of giving their reasons to their surgeons, overlooking the fact altogether that these are scientific men, and that their opinion on most subjects is valuable. they have too much of the spirit of the centurion of old. they say 'do this, and it has to be done,' 'you will accompany the boats, dr. macfarlane,' or ' you will not accompany the boats.' i wonder sometimes that, after an action, they don't come down into the cockpit and say, 'you will cut off this leg,' or 'this arm is not to be amputated.' the highness-and-mightiness of a captain in his majesty's navy is something that borders on the misbricordia. again. the omnipotent. there is a maxim that the king can do no wrong; but a king is a poor fallible body in comparison with a captain." "well, i don't think you have anything to complain of with martyn," horace laughed. "martyn is only an acting-captain, horace, and it is not till they get the two swabs on their shoulders that the dignity of their position makes itself felt. a first lieutenant begins, as a rule, to take the disease badly, but it is not till he gets his step that it takes entire possession of him. i have even known a first lieutenant listen to argument. it's rare, lad, very rare, but i have known such a thing; as for a captain, argument is as bad as downright open mutiny. well, this is a comfortable place that we have got into, at least in hot weather, but i should say that an ice-house would be preferable in winter. these windows don't fit anyhow, and there would be a draft through them that would be calculated to establish acute rheumatism in the system in the course of half an hour." "the house is not used at all in winter," ahmed said, when he understood the nature of the doctor's criticisms. "almost all the kiosks along here belong to people in the town, and are closed entirely for four months of the year. we are fond of warmth, and when the snow is on the ground, and there is a cold wind blowing, there would be no living here in any comfort." six days passed. ahmed went once to constantinople to learn what was going on. he brought back news that the escape of the two english prisoners had caused a great sensa- tion at the porte, that all the officers in the regiments there had been paraded in order that the boatmen and the officers of the brig might pick out the one who had brought off the order, but that naturally no one had been identified. the soldiers had also been inspected, but as none of these had been par- ticularly noticed by the boatmen, the search for those engaged had been equally unsuccessful. fazli bey had been severely interrogated, his servants questioned, and his house searched, but nothing had been found to connect him in any way with the escape. a vigilant watch had been set upon every euro- pean ship in port, and directions had been sent that every in greek waters. vessel passing down the straits was to bring-to off the castles, and to undergo a strict search. ahmed said that his father had heard from fazli bey that while the sultan was furious at the manner in which the pri- soners had been released, it was against those who had taken part in it that his anger was principally directed, and that it was thought he was at heart not altogether sorry that the two men who had befriended the turks at athens had got off, although he would not have wavered in his own expressed determination to put to death without exception all foreigners who had aided the greeks. "my father has not at present thought of any plan for getting you away," ahmed said. "the search is too rigorous, and no master of a vessel would dare to carry you off; but in a short time the matter will be forgotten, and the search in the port and in the dardanelles will be slackened. it causes a great deal of trouble and inconvenience, and the officials will soon begin to relax their efforts. it is one of our national characteristics, you know, to hate trouble. my father will be here with the others in a couple of days, and then we will hold a council over it." the next day a boat arrived with carpets and hangings for the rooms upstairs, which were entirely devoted to the females of the household; and on the following evening osman bey, with his wife and daughters, arrived in the same caique that ahmed had come in, two female servants with a quantity of luggage coming in another boat. the next few days passed very pleasantly. the ladies took their meals apart upstairs, but at other times sat in the room below, treating horace and the doctor as if they were members of the family. there were many discussions as to the best method of effecting their escape, and ahmed went twice to constantinople to ascertain whether the search for them was being relaxed. at last he and his father agreed that it would be the best plan for them to go to izmid, and to take a passage from there if some small craft could be found sailing for chios, or one of the southern ports or islands. ahmed was to accompany them, and was first to go to izmid to make the necessary arrange- ments. he knew many merchants in the port, and as some of these were intimate friends they would probably be disposed to assist those who had rendered so great a service to osman in greek waters. "it's the schooner disguised. it is easy enough, lad, to alter the rig, and to get hold of dirty sails and to dirty the paint, but you can't alter the shape. no greek, or turk either, ever turned out the hull of that brig." "it is marvellously like the schooner," horace said . "i should almost have sworn that it was her." "it is the schooner, lad . how she got there, and what she is doing, i don't know, but it is her." "what is it?" ahmed asked . "what is there curious in that brig that you are so interested in her?" "we both think it is our schooner, ahmed; the one in which we took your father and mother from athens in." "that!" ahmed exclaimed incredulously; "why, my sisters were always saying what a beautiful vessel it was, with snow- white sails." "so she had, ahmed; but if it is the schooner she is dis- guised altogether. they have taken down her top-masts and put those stumpy spars in instead; they have put up yards and turned her into a brig; they have got sails from somewhere and slackened all her ropes, and made her look dirty and untidy; still we both think that it is her. please tell the boatmen to cross to the vessel and row alongside." ahmed gave the order, and as the caique shot away from the shore said: "but how could it be your ship? do you think that she has been captured? if not, she could not have eventured up here." "she has not been captured," horace said confidently, "and if she had been her captors would not have taken the trouble to spoil her appearance. if that is the schooner they have come up to make inquiries about us, and to try to rescue us if . possible." it was fully two miles across, and as they approached the brig the doctor and horace became more and more convinced that they were not mistaken. "please tell the men to pull in behind her," horace said, "so that we can see her better. there can be no mistake about her if we can catch a sight of her fore and aft." when they fell into the brig's wake they were some three hundred yards astern of her, and the last vestige of doubt dis- appeared as they saw her great breadth and fine run. in greek waters. "i seem to be in a dream," the latter said; "how do you come here, what has happened?" "i may say the same, father; but first, where are miller, tarleton, and the crew?" "they are all down in the hold," martyn said; "they are all in hiding." "i have a friend on deck, father; he is the son of one of the turks we saved at athens. he and his friends saved our lives, and have been concealing us since they got us away. i expect he is having some difficulty with the man who calls himself captain." "come up with me then, horace, and we will fetch him down; and i will tell iskos that it is all right." as soon as they reached the deck mr. beveridge explained to the supposed captain that these were the friends he had come to find, and that all was well. martyn had also come up. "what had we better do now, martyn?" martyn looked up at the sails, and at the water, "for- tunately the wind is dying out fast," he said, "i don't think we are making way against the current now, and we shall cer- tainly not do so long. hold on a few minutes longer, iskos, and then anchor. it will seem as if we could not get up against the stream to the other shipping. if you see a boat coming off, let us know. they will probably be sending off to look at our papers; but perhaps they may not trouble about it till we get up to the regular anchorage. now, mr. beveridge, we will go down below and gladden their hearts there." the main-deck was filled with casks, bales, and merchandise of all sorts, and the hatchways of the hold covered with sacks of flour. macfarlane joined them, and aided martyn and hor- ace in removing the sacks. horace saw as he did so that what appeared a solid pile was really hollow, and that the hatchway was only partially closed so as to allow a certain amount of air to pass down below. the bags were but partly removed when there was a rush from below, miller and tarleton with their cutlasses in hand, followed by the sailors with boarding-pikes, dashed through the opening. they paused in astonishment upon seeing only martyn, mr. beveridge, and three turkish gentlemen, but as they recognized horace and the doctor, the the m seric rdia again. officers threw down their swords and with a shout of joy seized them by the hand. the sailors close behind them broke into a cheer, which swelled into a roar as the men below gathered the news that their two officers had returned. "the men can come up between decks, miller," martyn said, "let them have a stiff ration of grog all round. boat- swain, see that the sacks are piled again as before, leaving two or three out of their place to allow the men to go down again if necessary. if the word is passed that a boat is coming off, let them hurry back again and replace the sacks carefully after them as they go down." the sailors continued pouring up through the hatchway, and behind them came the two greeks, whose joy at seeing horace was excessive. "now," mr. beveridge said, "let us adjourn to the cabin and hear all about this wonderful story." on entering the main cabin horace found that its appearance, like that of the rest of the ship, had been completely altered, all the handsome fittings had been removed, and the whole of the woodwork painted with what he thought must have been a mixture of white paint and mud, so dirty and dingy did it appear. "now, father, in the first place i must properly introduce my friend ahmed to you all. he is the son of osman bey, who was one of the principal turks of the party we took to tenedos, as no doubt you remember; it is to him and his father, aided by fazli bey, and the bimbashi who was in command of the troops, and some of the soldiers, that we owe our lives." this was said in greek, and while mr. beveridge was expressing his gratitude to ahmed, horace repeated the same in english to the three officers, who warmly shook hands with the young turk. marco and his brother placed refreshments of all kinds on the table. ahmed partook of them sparingly, and then said to horace: "of course you will not be returning with me now. i think i had better be going on, it will be dark before i have done my business and get back again; and besides, the boatmen will be wondering at my long stay here." "i am afraid your father will think us horribly ungrateful if we go off without thanking him and your mother for all their in greek waters. kindness to us," horace said; "but of course we must be getting out of this as soon as we can." "my father and mother will be delighted to hear that you have so suddenly and unexpectedly got out of your difficulties," ahmed said, "and that in a manner from which no suspicion can possibly arise to us. what we have done has been but a small return for the service you rendered us." mr. beveridge added his warmest thanks to those of horace, and ahmed then went up with the others on to the deck and took his place in the caique; horace making a present of a small gold piece to each of the boatmen. ahmed said good- bye to him and the doctor in turkish, expressing the hope that when they got back to cyprus they would write to him, a message that iskos afterwards translated to horace. as soon as he had rowed away the rest of them returned to the cabin. "and now for the story," mr. beveridge said as they took their places round the table. "the doctor shall tell it," horace said. "he has had no chance of talking for the last fortnight, and it is only fair he should have his turn now." the doctor accordingly, in his slow and deliberate way, related the whole story of their adventures from the time they landed from the schooner until their return on board, a narra- tion which lasted nearly two hours. then martyn related what had happened on board since. "you know," he said, "that directly we heard the firing on shore and saw the boat rowing off we began to get ready to send a strong party off. you can imagine how horrified we were when, on the boat coming alongside, we found you were both missing. the beggars fired away at us as we rowed ashore, but they bolted before we reached it, and when we made a rush into the village, it was empty. we could find no one to ask questions of, for, as we found afterwards, they had all made off while the brigands were firing at us. however, as there were no signs of you it was evident the only thing to do was to follow the ruffians, and off we set. we chased them four miles, but they scattered directly they left the village and we only came up with two of them. unfortunately they showed fight, and the sailors cut them down before we could come up. "after searching about for some time we thought the best the misericordia again. plan was to go back to the village. there we quartered our- selves among the houses, and, as you have been telling us, the man came with a letter. we noticed how you had worded it and had underscored the names, and we saw the fellows did not know that you were the son of the owner, so your father pretended to hang back for a bit. as soon as the man had gone off with the message we thought that it was all right, and everyone was in the highest spirits. of course there was nothing to do next day, but the following morning mr. bever- ridge and miller went off with thirty men, as the time named for giving you up was one o'clock. "we began to expect them back at four, and as the hours went on i was in a regular stew. i did not like to land, and as i had only twenty men i was afraid of weakening her further, as we should have been in an awkward fix if a turkish man-of-war had come along; however, at nine o'clock i sent tarleton ashore with five men to see if he could gather some news from the villagers, who had all come back again soon after the brigands had left. it was not till after eleven o'clock that he came off, with the news that the party had returned and had heard nothing of you. "next morning one of the boats came off with mr. bever- ridge. half an hour before a greek had come in and stated that he was one of the party bringing you down to the place agreed upon when they were suddenly fired upon from a wood. two of the party fell dead and the rest ran and were hotly pursued for some distance. he was unable to say what had become of you, nor did he know who the men were who had attacked them, except that they were certainly albanians. we held a council, and then i started off with tarleton and ten men and marco. mr. beveridge wanted to go, but i persuaded him not to, for it was morally certain that we should not find you, and all we could hope for was to get some sort of clue, and if the albanians were still in the neighbourhood marco would have opened negotiations with them for a ransom. the man who had brought the news acted as guide. we found the bodies of his comrades who had been killed, but no signs of you, which was a comfort in one way. it was pretty evident that you had both been carried off. "we had taken with us a dozen men from the village to in greek waters. which you were to have been sent, and we offered what to them must have been a big reward for news as to these albanians. so after finding the bodies we sent them off in different direc- tions, and went back to their village. late in the evening they straggled in. they had done their work well, spreading all over the country and getting hold of shepherds and charcoal- burners and wood-cutters; and they were able to tell us for certain that the albanians had come over the range of hills between us and thessaly. they had been doing a good deal of plundering and some murdering, had destroyed two small villages at the foot of the mountains, and had been seen soon after the hour at which you must have been captured making their way back . they assured us that the troops of ali pasha lay in the plain beyond the hills, and that, doubtless, the albanians had taken you to him. we had a good long rest in the afternoon, and as i knew what a state of anxiety your father was in we started at once and got on board at four o'clock in the morning. we had a long talk over what was the best thing to be done, and resolved at any rate to sail out of the bay and round the cape, and then keep along the coast until we were off thessaly. "as soon as it was daylight we weighed anchor. the wind was so light that it took us two days to get there, and half that time at least, i should say, the men were in the boats towing. marco had volunteered to land and make his way to the turkish camp to try to find out what had become of you. we landed him at night; he bought from some of the villagers a suit of their clothes, and in twenty-four hours came down again to the boat we had sent ashore for him with the news that you had been sent to constantinople; that you had been taken by an escort of cavalry down to the little port at the mouth of the river that flows in between ossa and olympus; that he had seen some of the soldiers who formed your escort, who , told him that they had seen you go on board a turkish brig-of-war with their officer and two of their comrades who had accompanied you. "this was horrible news, and as the brig had got four days' start there was little chance of our catching her. for another three days we were almost becalmed. we had every stitch of canvas set and yet most of the time we had not even steerage- the m seric rdia again. way. the men behaved splendidly, and all the time, day and night, we had two boats out ahead towing; and on the fourth day we arrived off tenedos. then we got a breeze again, and soon afterwards picked up a fishing-boat. from them we learned that the brig had lain becalmed two days off the town, that some of the people that we brought from athens had gone out with little presents of fruit to you and had seen you. "we anchored that night a short distance from the town, for there were no turkish ships of war there. at night a boat came off with a woman whom we had brought from athens, and she told us that her husband, a discharged soldier, had gone to constantinople to tell some of the people whom we brought from athens that two of our officers had been captured, and to ask them to do what they could to save your lives. we did not think anything of it, though of course it was pleasant to see that some of the people were grateful, and mr. beveridge made her a handsome present, which i will do her the justice to say she refused until he almost had to force it upon her. knowing how bitter the sultan is against foreigners in the greek service, and that after the harm we had done he was not likely to be specially well disposed towards us, the thing seemed almost hopeless. the two greeks volunteered if we would put them ashore to the west of the straits to make their way to constantinople, but as it did not seem to us that they could do any good that idea was given up. "at last tarleton proposed that we should disguise the schooner and go up ourselves. he admitted that the betting was a hundred to one against our being able to help you in any way, especially as it was almost certain you would have been hung a few hours after you got there. still, if that had been put off, and you should be in a prison, there was just the possibility we might land at night, make our way to the prison, blow in the gate, get you out, and make our way across the country to some place where the boats would be waiting for us, and be on board before daylight . it was certainly a des- perate undertaking, but as none of us could think of any other plan, we agreed it would be well to try it, so we sailed at once to athens. "we had a great debate whether it would not be better to buy some turkish brig that had been brought in as a prize; all ends well. chapter xxii. all ends well. the hours passed on. it was still a dead calm, and, as martyn had thought likely, no visit was paid by the tur- kish port officials, as the brig was lying a good mile below the usual anchorage, and would no doubt move up to the wharves as soon as she got the wind. horace went to the main-deck and gave a sketch of his adventures to tom burdett, who he knew would retail them to the crew. "well, mr. horace," the boatswain said, "you are certainly a good one at getting out of scrapes." "i had nothing to do with getting out of it, tom; it was all done without any effort on my part." "it was mighty well done, sir, and i would not have given them turks credit for putting such a plan together. i always liked the chaps myself when i served with them as a young fellow in that egyptian business under abercrombie. good- natured sort of coves they was, and wonderful good-tempered considering what shocking bad grub they had; but i never looked upon them as sharp. still, there you are; you see, one never knows what a chap can do till he is pushed. well, there is one thing, mr. horace, i don't care how many turkish fugi- tives we may take on board this ship in future, they will be heartily welcome by every man-jack on board for the sake of what these fellows did for you. i wish i had known it when you first came on board. i should have liked to have given that young turk a hearty shake of the hand, and the men would have given him as good a cheer as ever you heard come from fifty british sailors." "it is just as well you didn't know, tom, for if they had given a cheer together on deck it would have been heard from shore to shore, and everyone who heard it would have known that it never came from turkish throats." as soon as it was dark the anchor was weighed, and the vessel drifted down with the current, a boat towing ahead so all ends well. "i shall get the guns up the first thing in the morning, miller. we will throw a tarpaulin over them when we get into the narrow part of the straits." "will you have the pivot-gun up too?" "yes, i think so; if we have to fight, we may as well fight as hard as we can. when we get it mounted we can put a few barrels along each side of it, cover the whole over with a sail- cloth, and stow one of the gigs at the top of all. no one would have a suspicion that there was a gun there then, and if we wanted to use it we could clear it in a minute." "the turkish custom-house officers will stare in the morning when they see the brig gone," miller said, "and will wonder what has become of her." "if they think of her at all, miller, they will think she has got up sail at daylight and gone up the bosphorus on her way to varna or one of the black sea ports." "it would require a good deal more breeze than there is now." "yes, i did not think of that. well, then, perhaps they will suppose that we made a try to go up to the anchorage as soon as the day began to break, but simply drifted back. you see another half a mile astern would take us round that point there and out of sight of them. however, we don't care much what they think. they are not likely to be interested enough in the matter to bother themselves about it one way or the other, and certainly not likely to do the only thing that would be of any consequence to us, i mean send down a messenger to gallipoli telling them to overhaul us if we came down the straits. now, then, the watch on deck; the others turn in. i am sure, mr. beveridge, you will be all the better for a quiet night's rest . you have certainly not slept much for the last month, and you have been getting thinner and thinner daily, while you have also long arrears in the way of food to make up. it has been quite pitiful to see the faces of the greeks as you sent away plate after plate untouched." "i shall soon be myself again, martyn, and even one good night's rest will, i am sure, do wonders for me." "we have been getting quite uneasy about your father," miller said as he and horace went up on deck for the middle watch. in greek waters. "yes, he looks sadly broken down, miller. directly he had taken off that beard i was quite shocked; he looks years older." "we have been really anxious about him. he would turn up three or four times during the night watches and walk the deck for an hour or two talking to one or other of us, as if he could not stop alone in his cabin. neither martyn nor i ever had the slightest idea of finding that you were alive when we got here, and still less of getting you out. but when tarleton proposed disguising the schooner and coming up, he caught at the idea so eagerly that we fell in with it at once. it seemed to us both rather a mad sort of business, but we should not have cared what it was so that it would but rouse him up; for from the time when we first got word that you had been taken to the turks, till tarleton made that proposal at tenedos, he had scarcely spoken a word. he cheered up for an hour or two when marco brought news that at any rate you had not been killed at ali pasha's camp, but had been sent on to con- stantinople; but that lasted for a very short time, for he soon saw that so far from improving your chances, it had lessened them. ali might have taken a handsome sum for your ransom, or your guards might have been bribed; anyhow, there would have been a much better chance of getting you away from his camp than from a prison in constantinople. "of course we did all we could to cheer him, and, i am afraid, told some awful crammers as to the easy job it would be to get you out. still, the plan did do him good. it gave him something to think about, as at athens we were constantly thinking of something or other that he could go ashore and see about. since we sailed from there he has been in a sort of fever, walking restlessly about the deck, going down to the cabin and coming up again twenty times every hour, worrying about the wind, and complaining at the boat's loss of speed. he took to tarleton most, because he was nearest your age, i think. he talked to him several times about you as a child, and seemed especially unhappy because he had seen so little of you up to the time when he bought you that first craft you had. the two greeks were terribly concerned about him. they are two fine fellows those. they were as gentle as women. well, it*has been an anxious time for us all. even the men have felt for him, and it was quite curious to see how all ends well. we anchored so far out because we were going on down the straits the first thing in the morning." mr. beveridge had remained in his berth all day. the reaction after the long excitement and anxiety told severely upon him. although he had got up the first thing, he had been obliged to lie down again, being too weak to stand. the doctor, however, told horace that this was only to be expected. "he will want a week's quiet and plenty of nourishment to set him on his legs again. he has been fairly worn out. but there is no fever about him, and we can trust the greeks to feed him up. it is just as well that he should keep perfectly quiet to-day and sleep as much as he can. to-morrow i hope i shall be able to get him up on deck . then chatting with you and taking an interest in things will rouse him." at nine o'clock sail was again made and the anchor weighed. the wind had gone down very much, and had veered round to the south, which enabled them to lay their course through the greater part of the straits. two men were placed in the chains with lead-lines. the lights were all extinguished, with the exception of the binnacle. the tarpaulins were removed from the guns and the barrels and gig from around the pivot- gun. the watch off duty was sent below, and two of the keenest-eyed men on board placed as look-outs at the bow. the european shore, which was comparatively high, could be made out as a dark bank, but the asiatic shore, which was low, could scarcely be seen. the chart was laid on the cabin table, the port-holes having all been carefully covered with curtains, and a tarpaulin laid over the skylight. the men in the chains kept on taking soundings, horace going backwards and forwards between them and the quarter- deck with the news as to the depth of water. miller was in charge of the deck, while martyn paid frequent visits to the cabin to determine their position on the chart according to the depth of the soundings. there was no fear of their meeting with any craft until they approached the forts; but in the darkness it was necessary to be very careful, as the water was shallow on the eastern side, and were they to run on to a shoal, going as they were with the force of the current, there would be little chance of getting off again, unless by lightening the ship. there was just wind enough to give her steerage- ( \ i a in greek waters. way. men were stationed in readiness to let go the anchor instantly, should it be necessary; while ten men,-in the long- boat, paddled gently ahead of her, just keeping a tow-rope taut in readiness to tow her instantly in any direction that might be required. none of them were acquainted with the set of the current, and martyn had only the depth of water and the dim outline of the banks to direct his course by. several times, when the water shoaled, the crew of the boat were directed to row vigorously in the direction of the right bank; and once or twice there was but a few feet under the keel, and a keen feel- ing of anxiety was experienced on board until the leads-man announced that the water was deepening. at last, according to martyn's calculations they could not be far away from the formidable forts the boat was directed to fall astern and hang on to the rope, in readiness either to come on board or to carry out any orders that might be given. the crew on deck were told to take axes and capstan-bars, so that should they drive down against one of the turkish ships they could fend the schooner off as much as possible, or cut away any rope that might catch. they were directed to stand perfectly still, and not a word was to be spoken whatever happened. the greatest danger lay in the fact that most of the ships of war were lying above the forts, and that, consequently, should an alarm be given by them, the gunners at the batteries would be in readiness to pour in their fire upon her as she passed. "the ground to our right looks much higher than it did, miller. i think we must have been drifting a good deal over towards that side." "i think so too," miller agreed, "i have been fancying that we were getting over that way ever since we stopped sounding." "at any rate we must take our chance," martyn said. "i daren't sound again; the splash would attract attention half a mile away on a quiet night like this. besides, we could not tow her the other way now; we must take our chance. it is not likely they are keeping much of a look-out on board. we might pass within twenty yards of a vessel without being noticed on such a night as this, i will stay at the helm, miller, her sails are still full, and we have got steerage-way. do you go up into in greek waters. the sleepiest look-out must have noticed it. the silence on the decks of the turkish ships was as profound as that on the schooner. rapidly the latter slid between them, the current taking her along faster than the wind. a minute more and she was beyond them; still no hail was heard. another minute and they loomed dark and indistinct behind her. "thank god for that!" miller said in a whisper as he crossed the deck to martyn. "yes, indeed; it was touch and go. i expect they have only an anchor watch. most likely they are asleep; they would know that nothing could come up the straits with this light breeze. i think, miller, those are the two eighty-gun ships we noticed as we came up. they were moored a good bit out- side the others; in which case we have a clear course before us." "yes; i have no doubt those are the two," miller agreed. "now we have only the forts; they are about a quarter of a mile further down. go forward, please, and tell the men not to move till they get orders." another quarter of an hour passed, and martyn felt sure that they were now well beyond the forts. for a few minutes longer he held on, and then passed the word along the deck that the danger was over. now that they knew their exact position there was no longer any occasion for sounding. the men in the boat were called up, and the watch off duty ordered below, and when morning broke the land was far behind them. a brisk wind had sprung up from the south-east, and the vessel was just able to lay her course for athens. the doctor had remained below during their passage through the straits. "i should only have been in the way if i had been on deck," he said when horace chaffed him for taking matters so easily. "when a man can do no good, it is always better for him to get out of the way; and after all there is no great pleasure in standing for hours afraid to move, and without any duty to perform; so i just chatted for a bit with your father, and directly i saw the sleeping draught i had given him was beginning to take effect i turned in myself, and had as com- fortable a sleep as ever i had in my life. after sleeping on sofas for three weeks, in that heathen sort of way, it was a comfort to get between sheets again." all ends well "well, but you went to bed the night before, doctor?" "that was so," the doctor agreed. "but a good thing is just as good the second time as it is the first—better, perhaps. the first time the novelty of a thing prevents you altogether enjoying it, i knew very well that if we ran into any of the turkish ships, or the forts opened fire at us, i was like to hear it plainly enough." "and would you have lain there then, doctor?" "no, lad. i would have had my duties to perform; and i would have dressed and gone into the main deck at once, with my instruments ready to do anything i could for those that required it." "have you seen my father this morning, doctor?" "yes; and i am glad to say that he is all the better for his two nights' sleep. his pulse is stronger, and i shall get him up here after breakfast. the news that we were fairly out to sea, and that all danger was over, was better for him than any medicine. well, lad, we did not think eight-and-forty hours ago that we would be racing down the ^egean again, on board the misericordia, by this time. we have had a wonderful escape of it altogether, and i would not like to go through it again for enough money to set me up for life in scotland. when we were on board that turkish brig, on our way to con- stantinople, i would not have given a bawbee for our chances." when they arrived at athens the greek sailors who had personated turks were landed. mr. beveridge was unequal to the exertion of going ashore; but day after day he was visited by politicians, military leaders, and others. after a fortnight spent there, dr. macfarlane said to him: "it is no use, sir, my giving you medicines and trying to build you up, if you are going on as you are now doing. you are losing strength, man, instead of gaining it. each morning you seem a little better; each evening you are fagged and worn out by these importunate beggars. i can see that it worries and dispirits you. it is all very good to wish well to greece, mr. beveridge; but unless you have a desire to be buried in greek soil, the sooner you are out of this the better. it is not so much change of air as change of thought that you require. go anywhere, so that it is to some place where you will never hear the name of greece." all ends well £ a head, being their share of the prize-money. the re- mainder of the crew also received their pay and prize-money and two months' leave of absence. mr. beveridge and horace had had many discussions on the subject, and it had been agreed that the misericordia (now again, since she re-hoisted the english flag, the creole), should for a time be kept up as a yacht, with a complement of two officers and twenty men. martyn having been consulted, had chatted the matter over with miller and tarleton. although both these had enjoyed their trip greatly, and had made a comfortable sum in pay and prize- money, both preferred to return to the royal navy, if they could do so, rather than remain in a yacht; and mr. beveridge promised to use his influence as soon as he returned to get them appointed to ships. this promise he was able to fulfil a few weeks after his arrival at home. for home cruising as a yacht, martyn considered that tom burdett would be sufficient for him. if she again went out to greece, there would be no difficulty in obtaining other officers and making up the crew to its full strength. portsmouth had been chosen instead of plymouth as their point of arrival, be- cause from there mr. beveridge could much more easily get up to town, dr. macfarlane insisting that he should go up to obtain the best medical advice. "but there is nothing the matter with me," mr. beveridge had urged. "that is just it, sir. if you had anything the matter with you i might have a chance of curing it . it is because i can't see any reason why you do not gain strength that i want other opinion about you." the doctor had frequently talked it over with horace during the voyage. "i can see nothing bodily the matter with your father, horace. i wish i could. there is nothing to account for his being in this feeble state. all that he says is that he feels tired. my opinion is that really this is a sort of reaction after mental excitement, just as there is reaction after great bodily fatigue. your father has lived a smooth, easy, tranquil life, and the change, the excitement, the worry, and his utter dis- appointment with the greeks themselves, have had the same sort of effect upon him as a climb up to the top of ben nevis in greek waters. spirits and health through the winter, and returned to england a more healthy and vigorous man than horace had ever before seen him. the creole had taken out with her barrels and all other appurtenances for whaling, and having been fairly suc- cessful in that way, returned with sufficient oil and seal-skins to pay the greater part of her expenses. "i feel another man, horace, to what i was when i started," mr. beveridge said as he stepped ashore at plymouth. "you look a different man, father—a different man alto- gether to what you have been since i first remember you. i don't suppose you have grown, but you are so much more up- right that you look as if you had, and you walk differently, and even your voice seems changed. now, you know, you must not go back again." "i don't mean to, my boy. it seems to me that i have thrown away twenty years of my life, and what there is remain- ing to me shall be spent differently. now we have got a long arrear of news to get up." horace felt at first uneasy when his father obtained a com- plete file of the newspapers from the time they had left england, and read up the history of affairs in greece. there was, how- ever, little to learn. two civil wars had taken place, some large loans had been raised in england, but had been entirely frittered away and wasted; and when in june, , the turk- ish fleet had at last sailed, the greeks had been as unprepared for resistance as they were when they first took up arms. kasos and psara had both been captured and their inhabitants either massacred or carried away into slavery, while the sailors of hydra and spetzas had not moved a hand to succour their countrymen. ibrahim pasha of egypt had sent an army to greece, and had: besieged navarino and pylos. the greek army had ad- vanced to relieve them, but being attacked by half their number of egyptian troops were routed without the least difficulty at krommydi. they were beaten again at sphakteria, and pylos and navarino were forced to surrender; the egyptians observing faithfully the terms they granted, and allowing the garrisons to depart in neutral ships. dikaios was defeated and killed at maniaki, having been deserted by all his troops but fifteen hundred . these fought splendidly although attacked by six all ends well. thousand men. a thousand of them died on the field after having killed four hundred of their assailants. this was by far the most gallant affair throughout the war. kolokotronis assembled ten thousand men, but was defeated with the greatest ease with the loss of over two hundred men, most of whom were killed in their flight. when the creole returned to england the siege of missolonghi had begun. reshid pasha's army, ten thousand strong, sat down before it. it was defended with extreme gallantry and resisted for many months, while the rest of greece did little to assist it . after six months' siege reshid retired, being straitened for provisions and suffering from the vigorous sorties of the besieged; but in a short time ibrahim arrived with his batteries and works against it . several times terms were offered to the garrison, but were contemptuously refused, and several attacks were beaten off with great loss. at last the provisions were absolutely exhausted. the brave defenders of the town resolved upon a step almost unexampled in history, namely, that the whole of the men should sally out, placing the women and children in their centre, and cut their way through the enemy. there were still nine thousand persons in the town, of whom only three thousand were men capable of bearing arms, two thousand men, women, and children were too weak from starvation and disease to join the movement; the rest were divided into three divisions. most of the women dressed themselves in men's clothing and carried arms, and even the children had loaded pistols. un- fortunately the turks had been informed by a deserter that the attempt was about to be made. the three divisions, in spite of the opposition of the turks, attacked with such fury that they made their way through the lines of the enemy; but the people of missolonghi itself, who were to form the fourth division and follow the others, were seized with a panic and fell back into the town. had the greeks outside fulfilled their promise, and moved forward a body of troops stationed a short distance away to receive the defenders of the place when they reached the open country, all the rest would have been saved; but instead of the fifteen hundred who were to have met them, but fifty were there. the throwing up formidable in greek waters. turkish cavalry and the albanians harassed and cut them up, and even those who gained the shelter of the hills received no assistance from the irregulars, and many perished from hunger and disease, and finally only fifteen hundred escaped. the soldiers left behind in missolonghi either by wounds or sickness intrenched themselves in stone buildings, and there defended themselves till the last, blowing up the magazines and dying in the ruins when they could no longer hold out. four thousand greeks were killed, three thousand were taken prisoners, chiefly women and children, and two, thousand altogether escaped. the acropolis of athens resisted stoutly for a long time, but at last fell. the greeks were defeated in almost every action upon which they entered, and affairs went from bad to worse, until the european governments at last determined to interfere; and their united fleets destroyed that of the turks at the battle of navarino, and forced turkey to grant the independence of greece. as these events happened mr. beveridge followed their course with interest, but it was only with the interest shown by englishmen in general. his personal feeling in the matter had entirely left him. during the last four years of the struggle there was no sign whatever that misfortune and disaster had had any effect in inducing the greeks to lay aside their per- sonal jealousies and ambitions, or to make any common effort against the enemy. the large sums they had received from the loans raised for the most part in england were spent in the most unworthy uses. they covered their uniforms with gold lace, and the dress of the men on foot often cost fifty pounds; those of horsemen ten times that amount. they affected all through to despise the turks, and yet, except the fifteen hun- dred men under dikaios and the defenders of missolonghi, they never once opposed anything like an obstinate resistance to them, and the last show of resistance was almost crushed out when the intervention of europe saved them. the creole had been laid up after her return from the arctic seas. mr. beveridge had purchased a large share in a fine east indiaman, making the proviso that martyn should be appointed to the command, he himself buying a share in her with the money he had earned during the four years' service on board the schooner. mr. beveridge had, to the immense satis- in greek waters. drawing-room. he crossed to them at once. "mother," the young lady said, "this is mr. beveridga" "you are right, ada," the lady said, rising and holding out her hand, "i recognize him at once now i see him. oh, mr. beveridge, you do not know how we have longed to see you again, and you don't know us, do you?" "no, i can't say that i do, madam," horace replied, more and more astonished. "i am the lady you saved from being sold as a slave at algiers when you captured the ship we were in off the coast of asia minor. this is my daughter. no wonder you don't remember us, for i was a strange-looking creature in that greek dress, and ada was but a child." "i remember you now, mrs. herbert," horace exclaimed. "i ought to have done so before, as we were four or five days on board together." "you must have thought us so ungrateful," mrs. herbert said; "but we were not so; we never knew where to write to when you were out in greece. then two or three years after- wards we heard from someone who had been out there that you had returned, and my husband, who left smyrna and came back to england after we got back, made all sorts of inquiries, and found out at last that you had gone away again on an arctic expedition. then he went out to malta, where we have been living for the last three years, and only returned a month ago to england. my husband had to return to smyrna; he had large business connections there that could not be broken off suddenly. nothing could induce me ever to return there, but it was an easy run for him to malta, and he was able to come and stay with us for a week or so every two or three months. for the last year he was training the son of the senior partner of the house to take his place at smyrna, and he himself has now come back altogether, as mr. hamblyn has now retired, and he is the head of the firm. he is not here to-night, but will be delighted to hear that we have found you." "we have been back three years," horace said. "of course we did not know that you were in england. it has been a great grief to us. it seemed so extraordinary that after being saved by you from the most awful of all fates, you should have disappeared out of our life as suddenly as you came blackie & son's books for young people. by g. a. henty. beric the briton: a story of the roman invasion. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. this story deals with the invasion of britain by tho roman legionaries. boric, who is a boy-chief of a british tribe, takes a prominent part in the insurrection under boadicea: and after the defeat of that heroic queen (in a.d. ) he continues the struggle in the fen-country. ultimately bcric is defeated and carried captive to rome, where he is trained in the exercise of arms in a school of gladiators. such is tho skill which he there acquires that ho succeeds in saving a christian maid by slaying a lion in the arena, and is rewarded by being made librarian in the palace, and the personal protector of nero. finally he escapes from this irksome service, organizes a band of outlaws in calabria, defies the power of rome, and at length returns to britain, where he becomes a wise ruler of his own people. in greek waters: a story of the grecian war of inde- pendence ( - ). by g. a. henty. with page illus- trations by w. s. stacey, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. a largo part of this story deals with the revolt of the greeks, in , against turkish oppression. mr. beveridge and his son horace, like most englishmen at that time, are stirred with enthusiasm for the down-trodden nation. so thoy fit out a privateer, load it with military stores, and set sail for groeco to assist the insurgents. on their arrival, however, they find that the leaders of tho insurrection are a cowardly, thieving, blood- thirsty crew. so they resolve to hold aloof from politics, and give all possible assistance to the victims of war, both greeks and turks. they rescue the christians who are beleaguered in the island of cyprus, assist the turkish garrison in athens, relieve the captive greeks who are being sent to the slave markets, destroy turkish shipping, and fight the turkish war vessels. the story is full of stirring adventure, and will delight the boy who loves the sea, and the hazards of seafaring. blackie <t son's books for young people. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is one of our most successful writers of historical tales. — scotsman. condemned as a nihilist: a story of escape from siberia. by g. a. hkntv. with page illustrations by walter paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. godfrey bullen, the hero of this story, is an english boy resident in st. petersburg. through two student friends he becomes innocently involved in various political plots, resulting in his seizure by the russian police, and his exile to siberia. he is conveyed to the most remote part of that northern wilderness, and placed in a convict settlement. after a first un- successful attempt to escape he gives himself up to the russian authorities at the mines of kara. he again escapes; walks eight hundred miles till he reaches the angara river; buys a canoe from the fisher-folk; sails down the siberian rivers for a thousand miles; coasts along the arctic shores of russia, and at last, after many exciting adventures with wolves, bears, and hostile samoyedes, he reaches norway, and thence home, after a perilous journey which lasts nearly two years. held fast for england: a tale of the siege of gibraltar. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "among them we would place first in interest and wholesome educational value the story of the siege of gibraltar. . . . there is no cessation of exciting incident throughout the story."—athenomm. one of the th: a tale of waterloo. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. h. overend, and maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "written with homeric vigour and heroic inspiration. it is graphic, pictur- esque, and dramatically effective . . . shows us mr. henty at his best and brightest. the adventures will hold the boy of a winter's night enthralled as he rushes through them with breathless interest' from cover to cover.' "—observer. the cat of bubastes: a story of ancient egypt. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by j. k. weguelin. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat to the perilous exodus into asia with which it closes, is very skilfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. it is admirably illustrated,''-- saturday review. maori and settler: a story of the new zealand war. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by alfred pearse, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "it is a book which all young people, but especially boys, will read with avidity.' '—a thenorum. "a first-rate book for boys, brimful of adventure, of humorous and interesting conversation, and of vivid pictures of colonial life."— schoolmaster. black ie <t son's books for youngpeople new edition of the universe. the universe: or the infinitely great and the infinitely little. a sketch of contrasts in creation, and marvels revealed and explained by natural science. by f. a. pouchet, m.d. with engravings on wood, of which are full-page size, and a coloured frontispiece. tenth edition, medium vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, a. rf.; also morocco antique, a. "we can honestly commend professor pouchet's book, which is admirably, as it is copiously illustrated. "- -the times. "scarcely any book in french or in english is so likely to stimulate in the young an interest in the physical phenomena."—fortnightly review. by robert leighton. the thirsty sword: a story of the norse invasion of scotland ( - ). by robert leighton. with page illus- trations by alfred pearse, and a map. crown vo, cloth ele- gant, olivine edges, a. in this story of the thirstysword, and the vengeance which it accom- plishes, there is found much of tho simple directness and tragic strength of the old scandinavian sagas. it is laid in that period of scottish history which ended with the famous battle of largs; and it tells how roderic macalpin, the sea-rover, came to the isle of bute; how he slew his brother earl hamish in rothesay castle; how alpin, the earl's eldest son, challenged his uncle to ordeal by battle, and was likewise slain; how young kenric now became king of bute, and vowed vengeance against the slayer of his brother and father; and finally, it tells how this vow was kept when kenric and the murderous sea-rover met at midnight on garroch head, and ended their feud in one last great fight. the pilots of pomona: a story of the orkney islands. by robert leighton. with page illustrations by john leigh ton, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a story which is quite as good in its way as treasure island, and is full of adventure of a stirring yet most natural kind. although it is primarily a boys' book, it is a real godsend to the elderly reader who likes something fresh—some- thing touched with the romance and magic of youth.."- glasgow evening times. "his pictures of orcadian life and nature are charming."—saturday review. robinson crusoe. by daniel defoe. illustrated by pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, a. "one ot the best issues, if not absolutely the best, of defoe's work which has ever appeared."—the standard. gulliver's travels. illustrated by more than pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. gordon browne is, to my thinking, incomparably the most artistic, spirited, and brilliant of our illustrators of books for boys, and one of the most humorous also, as his illustrations of 'gulliver' amply testify."—truth. black e a sons books for young people by george manville fenn. "no one can find his way to the hearts of lads more readily than mr. fenn."— nottingham guardian. yussuf the guide: being the strange story of travels in asia minor. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by j. schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, a. "the narrative will take its readers into scenes that will have great novelty and attraction for them, and the experiences with the brigands will be especially delightful to boys."—scotsman. menhardoc: a story of cornish nets and mines. by g. manville fknn. with page illustrations by c. j. staniland. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, a. "they are real living boys, with their virtues and faults. the cornish fisher- men are drawn from life, they are racy of the soil, salt with the sea-water, and they stand out from the pages in their jerseys and sea-boots all sprinkled with silvery pilchard scales."—spectator. nat the naturalist: a boy's adventures in the eastern seas. by g. manville fenn. with page pictures. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this sort of book encourages independence of character, develops resources, and teaches a boy to keep his eyes open."—saturday review. brownsmith's boy: a romance in a garden. by g. man- ville fenn. with page illustrations. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "mr. penn' s books are among the best, if not altogether the best, of the stories for boys. mr. fenn is at his best in brownsmith's boy."—pictorial world. by dr. gordon stables. v 'twixt school and college: a tale of self-reliance. by gordon starles, c.m., m.d., r.n. with page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, «. "one of the best of a prolific writer's books for boys, being full of practical instructions as to keeping pets, from white mice upwards, and inculcates in a way which a little recalls miss edgcworth's 'frank' the virtue of self-reliance, though the local colouring of the home of the aberdeenshire boy is a good deal more picturesque."—athenaeum. the seven wise scholars. by ascott r. hope. with nearly illustrations by gordon browne. cloth elegant, a. "as full of fun as a volume of punch; with illustrations, more laughter- provoking than most we have seen since leech died."—sheffield independent. stories of old renown: tales of knights and heroes. by ascon r. hope. with illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. gd. "a really fascinating book worthy of its telling title. there is, we venture to say, not a dull page in the book, not a story which will not bear a second read- ing."—guardian. black e <fc son'sbooks for young people. by g. norway. hussein the hostage: or, a boy's adventures in persia. by g. norway. with page illustrations by john schonrerq. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "hussein the hostage is full of originality and vigour. the characters are life- like, there is plenty of stirring incident, the interest is sustained throughout, and every boy will enjoy following the fortunes of the hero."—journal of education.the loss of john humble: what led to it, and what came of it. by g. norway. with page illustrations by john schonrekg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this story will place the author at once in the front rank. it is full of life and adventure. he is equally at home in his descriptions of life in sweden and in the more stirring passages of wreck and disaster, and the interest of the story is sustained without a break from first to last."—standard. by f. frankfort moore. highways and high seas: cyril harley's adventures on both. by f. frankfort moore. with page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this is one of the best stories mr. moore has written, perhaps the very best. the exciting adventures among highwaymen and privateers are sure to attract boys. "—spectator. under hatches: or, ned woodthorpe's adventures. by f. frankfort moore. with page illustrations by a . forestier. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the story as a story is one that will just suit boys all the world over. the characters are well drawn and consistent; patsy, the irish steward, will be found especially amusing."—schoolmaster. by alice corkran. meg's friend. by alice corkran. with page illustra- tions by robert fowler. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "one of miss corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in that simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first amongst writers for young people."— the spectator.margery merton's girlhood. by alice corkran. with page pictures by gordon browne. cr. vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "another book for girls we can warmly commend. there is a delightful piquancy in the experiences and trials of a young english girl who studied painting in paris."—saturday review. down the snow stairs: or, frem good-night to good- morning. by alice corkran. with illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. rf. "a fascinating wonder-book for children."—athenaum. "a gem of the first water, bearing upon every page the mark of genius. it is indeed a little pilgrim's progress."— christian leader. blackie a son's books for young people. the captured cruiser: or, two years from land. by c. j. hynk. with page illustrations by f. brangwyn. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. the central incidents in this realistic story of modern naval warfaro deal with the capture, during the war between chili and peru, of an armed cruiser. the heroes and their companions break from prison in the harbour of valparaiso, board this war-ship in the night, overpower the watch, escape to sea under the fire of the forts, fight two torpedo boats, and finally, after marvellous adventures, lose the cruiser among the iceborgs near cape horn. afloat at last: a sailor boy's log of his life at sea. by john c. hutchrson. with page illustrations by w. h. overend. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "as healthy and breezy a book as one could wish to put into the hands of a boy."—academy. "a tale of seafaring life told with fire and enthusiasm, full of spirited incident and well-drawn character."—observer. picked up at sea: or, the gold miners of minturne creek. by j. c. hutcheson. with page pictures cloth extra, s. <z. "the author's success with this book is so marked that it may well encourage him to further efforts. the description of mining life in the far west is true and accu- rate."—standard. sir walter's ward: a tale of the crusades. by william everard. with page illustrations by walter paget. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "this book will prove a very acceptable present either to boys or girls. both alike will take an interest in the career of dodo, in spite of his unheroic name, and follow him through his numerous and exciting adventures."—academy. the search for the talisman: a story of labrador. by henry frith. with page illustrations by j. schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "mr. frith s volume will be among those most read and highest valued. the adventures among seals, whales, and icebergs in labrador will delight many a young reader."—pall mall gazette. reefer and rifleman: a tale of the two services. by j. percy-groves, late th inniskillings. with page illustra- tions by john schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "a good, old-fashioned, amphibious story of our fighting with the frenchmen in, the beginning of our century, with a fair sprinkling of fun and frolic."—times. self-exiled: a story of the high seas and east africa. by j. a . steuart. with page hlustrations by john schonrebg. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "it is cram full of thrilling situations. the number of miraculous escapes from death in all its shapes which the hero experiences in the course of a sew months must be sufficient to satisfy the most voracious appetite.'"—schoolmaster. black ie & sons books for young people. laugh and learn: the e asiest book of nursery lessons and nursery games. by jennett humphreys. profusely illus- trated. square vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "laugh and learn instructs and amuses; it is the very book for a wet day in the nursery, for besides solid instruction, admirably given, it contains number- less games and contrivances, with useful and amusing illustrations. the musical drill is remarkably good."—athenaeum. "one of the best books of the kind imaginable, full of practical teaching in word and picture, and helping the little ones pleasantly along a right royal road to learning. "—graphic. "every mother of children should have laugh and learn, and go through with them the excellent course it contains. "—journal of education. by mary o. rowsell. ttlorndyke manor: a tale of jacobite times. by mary c. rowsell. with page illustrations by l. leslie brooke. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "it is a good story, with plenty of 'go' in it."—times. "miss rowsell has never written a more attractive book than thorndyke manor."—belfast news-letter. traitor or patriot? a tale of the rye-house plot. by mary c. rowsell. with page pictures by c. o. murray and c. j. staniland, r.i. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "here the rye-house plot serves as the groundwork for a romantic love epi- sode, whose true characters are lifelike beings, not dry sticks as in many histori- cal tales."—graphic.silver mill: a tale of the don valley. by mrs. r. h. read. with page illustrations by john schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "a good girl's story-book. the plot is interesting, and the heroine, ruth, a lady by birth, though brought up in a humble station, well deserves the more elevated position in which the end of the book leaves her."—saturday review. dora: or, a girl without a home. by mrs. r. h. read. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. <f. "it is no slight thing, in on age of rubbish, to get a story so pure and healthy as this."—the academy. life's daily ministry: a story of everyday service for others. by mrs. e. r. pitman. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "shows exquisite touches of a master hand. she depicts in graphic outline the characteristics of the beautiful and the good in life. — christian union. my governess life: or, earning my living. by mrs. e. r. pitman. with page illustrations. cloth extra, s. rf. "full of sound teaching and bright examples of character."—s.s. chronicle. is black!e i- son's books for young people. blackie's new three-shilling series. beautifully illustrated and handsomely bound. patience wins: or, war in the works. by george man- ville fenn. with page illustrations. new edition. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "mr. feon has never hit upon a happier plan than in writing this story of yorkshire factory life. the whole book is all aglow with life, the scenes varying continually with kaleidoscopic rapidity."—pallmall gazette. mother carey's chicken: her voyage to the unknown isle. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by a. fobestier. new edition. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "undoubtedly one of the best mr. fenn has written. the incidents are of thrilling interest, while the characters are drawn with a care and completeness rarely found in a boys' book. the illustrations are exceptionally good."—liter- ary world. the missing merchantman. by harry collinqwood. with page illustrations by w. h. overknd. new edition. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "one of the author's best sea stories. the hero is as heroic as any boy could desire, and the ending is extremely happy."—british weekly. the rover's secret: a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry collingwood. with page illustrations by w. c. symons. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "the rover's secret is by far the best sea story we have read for years, and is certain to give unalloyed pleasure to boys. the illustrations are fresh and vigorous."—saturday review. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. with page illustrations. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "is notably good. it gives a very vivid picture of life among the indians, which will delight the heart of many a schoolboy. "—spectator. perseverance island: or, the robinson crusoe of the th century. by douglas frazar. with page illustrations. new edition. crown vo, cloth extra, w. "this is an interesting story, written with studied simplicity of style, much in -woe's vein of apparent sincerity and scrupulous veracity; while for practical instruction it is even better than robinson crusoe."—illustrated london news. girl neighbours: or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with page illustrations by c. t. garland. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "one of the most effective and quietly humorous of miss sarah tytler's stories. girl neighbours is very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."—the spectator. blackis <fc son'sbooks for young people. blackie's half-crown series. illustrated by eminent artists in crown vo, cloth elegant. a rough road; or, how the boy made a man of himself. by mrs. g. ldinjius banks. illustrated by alfred pearse. robert wallis suffered from the old, mistaken belief that by hard flog- ging a boy could be made a scholar. his father, who was a schoolmaster, carried this severe form of discipline to such lengths that tho lad ran away, and maintained himself by selling needles from place to place. it was a rough road he had chosen, but he ultimately succeeded in making a man of himself by honesty, industry, and perseverance. the two dorothys: a tale for girls. by mrs. herbert martin. illustrated by gordon browne. in this story the shy, dreamy, unselfish dorothy heriot comes to live with her great-aunt, the other dorothy, at hampstead. this old lady is kind enough in her own way, but her discipline is unsympathetic, and she has fits of harsh temper in which she is unjust to the sensitive girl. but the younger dorothy's loving, unselfish nature wins upon the proud old lady, and tho end is happiness and mutual helpfulness. penelope and the others: a story of five country children. by amy walton, illustrated by l. leslie brooke. a pleasant narrative of the sayings, doings, and adventures of five coun- try children. it tells how the boys found buried gold in the old roman camp, and how the girls discovered hid treasure in tho person of little "kettles." it is a charming record of the everyday affairs of lovable, interesting, and well-mannored children. a cruise in cloudland. by henry frith. illustrated by w. s. stacey. the hero of this story is carried out to sea in a balloon, and after a time of strange experience and terrible anxiety he comes to earth again on an island in the atlantic. here the unfortunate lad lives with the inhabitants until he is rescued by an english yacht, the owner of which sails for con- stantinople. the lad then accompanies his benefactor to bulgaria, and takes an exciting part in tho famous siege of plevna. marian and dorothy: or, the abbey grange. by annie e. armstrong. illustrated by l. leslie brooke. "this is distinctively a book for girls. it contains a bright wholesome story, with the useful morals of industry and forgiveness of injuries. the book is decidedly to be commended. "—academy. blackie <t son'sbooks for young people. half-crown series—continued. little lady clare. by evelyn everett-green. "certainly one of the prettiest, reminding us in its quaintness and tender pathos of mrs. ewing's delightful tales. this is quite one of the best stories miss green's clever pen has yet given as."—literary world. the eversley secrets. by evelyn everett-green. "a clever and well-told story. roy eversley is a very touching picture of high principle and unshrinking self-devotion in b good purpose."—guardian. the hermit hunter of the wilds. by g. staples, r.n. •' pirates and pumas, mutiny and merriment, a castaway and a cat, furnish the materials for a tale that will gladden the heart of many a bright boy."— methodist recorder. sturdy and strong. by g. a. henty. "the history of a hero of everyday life, whose love of truth, clothing of modesty, and innate pluck carry him, naturally, from poverty to affluence. he stands as a good instance of chivalry in domestic lifej'-- the empire. gutta-percha willie, the working genius. by george mac donald. "had we space we would fain quote page after page. all we have room to say is, get it for your boys and girls to read for themselves. "—practical teacher. the war of the axe: or, adventures in south africa. by j. percy-groves. "the story of their final escape from the caffres is a marvellous bit of writing. . . . the story is well and brilliantly told."—literary world. the lads of little clayton. by r. stead. "a capital book for boys. they will learn from its pages what true boy cour- age is . they will learn further to avoid all that is petty and mean if they read the tales aright. they may be read to a class with great profit. "—schoolmaster. ten boys who lived on the road from long ago to now. by jane andrews. with illustrations. "the idea of this book is a very happy one, and is admirably carried out. we have followed the whole course of the work with exquisite pleasure. teachers should find it particularly interesting and suggestive. "—practical teacher. a waif of the sea: or, the lost found. by kate wood. "written with tenderness and grace, the story will appeal to mothers who have felt the pain of being parted from their children, as powerfully as to the hearts and sympathies of younger readers."—morning advertiser. winnie's secret: a story of faith and patience. by kate wood. *' one of the best story-books we have read. girls will be charmed with the tale, and delighted that everything turns out so well."—schoolmaster. black ie js sons books for young people. half-crown series—continued. the stories of wasa and menzikoff: the deliverer of sweden, and the favourite of czar peter. "both are stories worth telling more than once, and it is a happy thought to have put them side by aido."'—spectator. stories of the sea in former days. "next to an original sea-tale of sustained interest come well-sketched collec- tions of maritime peril and suffering which awaken the sympathies by the realism of fact. stories of the sea are a very good specimen of the kind."—the times. tales of captivity and exile. "it would be difficult to place in the hands of young people a book which combines interest and instruction in a higher degree."—manchester courier. famous discoveries by sea and land. "such a volume may providentially stir up some youths by the divine fire kindled by these 'great of old' to lay open other lands. "—perth advertiser. stirring events of history. "the volume will fairly hold its place among those which make the smaller ways of history pleasant and attractive."— guardian. adventures in field, flood, and forest. "the editor has, beyond all question succeeded admirably. the present book cannot fail to be read with interest and advantage."—academy. blackie's two-shilling series. illustrated by eminent artists. in crown vo, cloth elegant. an unexpected hero. by eliz. j. lysaght. illustra- tions by s. t. dadd. there is a boy in this story who has been sent from home in disgrace because of his troublesome practical jokes. ho is a good-hcartod lad, however, and unexpectedly proves himself a hero by rescuing his sister from a burning house. the girl who tells the story is herself a most in- teresting character. the bushranger's secret. by mrs. henry clarke, m.a. illustrated by w. s. stacey. in this story of australian life tho horo is tempted to appropriate the hidden booty of a bushranger, who has died and left the youth with the secret of its whereabouts. in searching for this buried gold retribution overtakes him, and after terrible misadventures in tho bush ho restores the booty to h» rightful owners. blaceie <fc son's books for young people.two-shilling series-continued. linda and the boys. by cecilia selry lowndes. "the book is essentially a child's book, and will be heartily appreciated by the young folk."—the academy. swiss stories for children. from the german of madam johanna spyrl by lucy wheelock. "charming stories. they are rich in local colouring, and, what is better, in genuine pathos."—the times. the squire's grandson: a devonshire story. by j. m. caldwell. "the lessons of courage, filial affection, and devotion to duty on the part of the young hero cannot fail to favourably impress all young readers."—schoolmaster. magna charta stories. edited by arthur gilman, a.m. "a book of special excellence, which ought to be in the hands of all boys"-- educational news. the wings of courage; and the cloud - spinner. translated from the french of george sand, by mrs. corkran. "mrs. corkran has earned our gratitude by translating into readable english these two charming little stories."—athenawm. chirp and chatter: or, lessons from field and tree. by alice banks. with illustrations by gordon browne. "we see the humbling influence of love on the haughty harvest-mouse, we are touched by the sensibility of the tender-hearted ant, and may profit by the moral of ' the disobedient maggot.' the drawings are spirited and funny."—the times. four little mischiefs. by rosa mulholland. "graphically written, and abounds in touches of genuine humour and innocent fun."—freeman. "a charming bright story about real children."—watchman. new light through old windows. by g reason gow. "the moat delightfully-written little stories one can easily find in the literature of the season. well constructed and brightly told."—glasgow herald. little tottie, and two other stories. by thomas archer. "we can warmly commend all three stories; the book is a most alluring prize for the younger ones."—schoolmaster. naughty miss bunny. by clara mulholland. "this naughty child is positively delightful. papas should not omit naughty miss bunny from their list of juvenile presents."—land and water. adventures of mrs. wishing-to-be. by alice corkran. "simply a charming book for little girls."—saturday review. "just in the style and spirit to win the hearts of children."—daily news. blacr e <fc son's booksfor young people. our dolly: her words and ways. by mrs. r. h. read. ». "prettily told and prettily illustrated."—guardian. fairy fancy: what she heard and saw. by mrs. read. s. "all is pleasant, nice reading, with a little knowledge of natural history and other matters gently introduced."—practical teacher. blackie's eighteenpenny series. with illustrations. in crown vo, cloth elegant . phil and his father. by ismay thorn. the father of phil is a widower, who proposes to marry a second time. the boy, however, resents this arrangement at first, but by the kindness and forbearance of his proposed stepmother all his ill-natured displeasure is dispelled, and the former comfortless home is made happy. prim's story. by l. e. tiddeman. in her story miss prim tolls what a foolish little girl she used to be. her chief fault was to insist on always having her own way, and this caused trouble with her playmates and unhappiness to herself. in the end she was cured of this fault by a sad accident which befell her little brother. littlebourne lock. by f. bayford harrison. "i would like you all, big and little, to read the story of juliet, the london waif, out of whose life poverty and want had pinched all sweetness and bright- ness, who was taken to a little lock-house by the side of our beautiful river, the thames, and turned out to be a regular 'brick of a girl.'"—pall mall budget. wild meg and wee dickie. by mary e. ropes. "a study of life in the slums, vivid, powerful, and unutterably sad, yet not without hope. meg's keen sense of humour helps hor greatly, and her indomit- able spirit enables her to raise herself and the little lad she has saved out of the depths into pleasant and honourable ways" —athenceum. grannie. a story by elizabeth j. lysaght. "the tale is prettily told, and the contrast drawn between the two girls who are thrown together is very effective. the story, pathetic though it be, is true to life."—nottingham guardian. the seed she sowed: a tale of the great dock strike. by emma leslie. "a very true picture of the life and pain and pathos of outcast london" —pall mall gazette. unlucky: a fragment of a girl's life. by caroline austin. "the heroine is a finely-drawn character. through much domestic difficulty at the hands of a stepmother, she holds on in the right path, and exhibits a self- sacrificing nature that all would do well to copy."—teachers'aid. everybody's business. by ismay thorn. "one of ismay thorn's delightful children's books. the story is simply and cleverly written, and doubly attractive by ending so happily."—saturday review. blackie & son'sbooks for youngpeople. blackie's eighteenpenny series—continued. our frank: and other stories. by amy walton. "these stories are of the sort that children of the clever kind are sure to like." —academy. the late miss hollingford. by rosa molholland. "no book for girls published this season approaches this in the charm of its telling, which will be equally appreciated by persons of all ages. "—standard. the pedlar and his dog. by maby c. rowsell. "the opening chapter, with its description of necton fair, will forcibly remind many readers of george eliot. taken altogether it is a delightful story."— western morning news. a terrible coward. by g. manville fenn. "just such a tale as boys will delight to read, and as they are certain to profit by."—aberdeen journal, tom finch's monkey: and other yarns. by j. c. hutchison. "stories of an altogether unexceptionable character, with adventures sufficient for a dozen books of its size."—u. service gazette. miss grantley's girls. by thomas archer. "for fireside reading more wholesome and highly entertaining reading for young people could not be found."—northern chronicle. down and up again. by gregson gow. ■' the story is very neatly told, with some fairly dramatic incidents, and cal- culated altogether to please young people."—scotsman. the troubles and triumphs of little tim. a city story. by gregson gow. "an undercurrent of sympathy with the struggles of the poor, and an ability to describe their feelings, eminently characteristic of dickens, are marked fea- tures in mr. gow's story."—n. b. mail. the happy lad: a story of peasant life in norway. from the norwegian of bjornson. "this pretty story has natural eloquence which seems to carry us back to some of the love stories of the bible."—aberdeen free press. the patriot martyr: and other narratives of female heroism. "it should be read with interest by every girl who loves to learn what her sex can accomplish in times of danger."—bristol times. madge's mistake. by annie e. armstrong. "we cannot speak too highly of this delightful little tale. it abounds in interesting and laughable incidents."—bristol times. box of stories. packed for young folk by horace happyman. when i was a boy in china. by yan phou lee. "has been written not only by r chinaman, but by a man of culture. his book is as interesting to adults as it is to children."—the guardian. blackie & son's books for children. the sixpenny series for children. neatly bound in cloth extra. each contains pages and a coloured cut. the tree cake, and other stories. by w. l. hooper. nurse peggy, and little dog trip. fanny's king. by darley dale. wild marsh marigolds. by d. dale. kitty's cousin. by hannah b. mackenzie. cleared at last. by julia god dard. by annie s. from over the sea. by l. e. tidde- man. the kitchen cat. by amy walton. the royal eagle. by louisa thomp- son. two little mice. by mrs. garlick. a little man of war. by l. e. tiddeman. lady daisy. by caroline stewart. dew. by h. mary wilson. chris's old violin. by j. lockhart. mischievous jack. by a. corkran. the twins. by l. e. tiddeman. pet's project. by cora langton. the chosen treat by c. wyatt. little neighbours. by a. s. fenn. jim: a story of child life. by chris- tian burke. little curiosity: or, a german christ- mas. by j. m. caldwell. sara the wool-gatherer. by w. l. hooper. fairy stories: told by penelope. a new year's tale. bym. a.currie. little mop. by mrs. charles bray. "a very praiseworthy series of prize books. most of the stories are designed to enforce some important moral lesson, such as honesty, industry, kindness, helpfulness."—school guardian. little dolly forbes. fenn. a year with nellie. by a. s. fenn. the little brown bird. the maid of domremy, and other tales. little eric: a story of honesty. uncle ben the whaler. the palace of luxury. the charcoal burner. willy black: a story of doing right the horse and his ways. the shoemaker's present. lights to walk by. the little merchant nicholina: a story about an iceberg a series of fourpenny reward books. each pages, mo, illustrated, in picture boards. a start in life. by j. lockhart. happy childhood. by aimee de venoix dawson. dorothy's clock. by do. toddy. by l. e. tiddeman. stories about mydolls. by felicia melancthon. stories about my cat timothy. delia's boots. by w. l. hooper. lost on the rocks. by r. spotter. a kitten's adventures. by caro- line stewart. climbing the hill. by annie s. swan. a year at coverley. by annie s. swan. phil foster. by j. lockhart. papa's birthday. by w. l. hooper. the charm fairy. by penelope. little tales for little children. by m. a. currie. worthy of trust. by h. b. mac- kenzie. brave and true. by greoson gow. johnnie tupper's temptation. do. maudie and bertie. do. the children and the water-lily. by julia uoddard. poor tom olliver. by do. fritz's experiment by letrria m'lintock. lucy's christmas-box. blackie & son, limited, london, glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. in the heart of the rockiesgeorge alfred henty, godfrey c. hindley in the heart of the rockies inthe heart of the rockies a story of adventure in colorado by g. a. henty author of " redskin and cow-boj;" "with lee in virginia" "by right of conquest;" c with eight pull-paqb illustrations by o. c. bwdlbf london blackie & son, limited, so old bailey, e.c. glasgow, and dublin. i p preface until comparatively lately that portion of the united states in which i have laid this story was wholly unexplored. the marvellous canons of the colorado river extend through a country absolutely bare and waterless, and save the tales told by a few hunters or gold-seekers who, pressed by indians, made the descent of some of them, but little was known re- garding this region. it was not until that a thorough exploration of the canons was made by a government expedi- tion under the command of major powell. this expedition passed through the whole of the canons, from those high up on the green river to the point where the colorado issues out on to the plains. four years were occupied by the party in making a detailed survey of the course of the main river and its tributaries. these explorations took place some eight or nine years after the date of my story. the country in which the big wind river has its source, and the mountain chains contained in it, were almost unknown until, after the completion of the railway to california, the united states government was forced to send an expedition into it to punish the indians for their raids upon settlers in the plains. for details of the geography and scenery i have relied upon the narrative of mr. baillie-grohman, who paid several visits to the country in and the following years in quest of sport, and was the first white vi preface. man to penetrate the recesses of the higher mountains. at that time the indians had almost entirely deserted the country. for the details of the dangers and difficulties of the passage through the canons i am indebted to the official report of major powell, published by the united states government. g. a. henty. contents. chap. page i. tom's choice, ii. finding friends, iii. on the plains, iv. leaping horse, v. in danger, vi. united, vii. chased viii. in safety, ix. a bad time, x. an avalanche, xi. winter xii. the snow fort xiii. a fresh start xiv. an indian attace. xv. the colorado . xvi. afloat in canoes xvii. the grand canon, xviii. race to denver xix. a fortune, illustrations. page hunting dog saves jerry prom the rapids, . frontis. carrie reads uncle harry's letter jerry gives tom a lesson in shooting, "leaping horse mounted, and rode across the stream," "a moment later the indian fell forward on his face," "there is another avalanche, eeep your faces to the wall, roys," "they went out to looe at the indian the chief had shot," "no good fight here," said leaping horse in the heart of the rockies. chapter l tom's choice. can be of no use here, carry. what am i good for? why, i could not earn money enough to pay for my own food, even if we knew anyone who would help me to get a clerkship. i am too young for it yet. i would rather go before the mast than take a place in a shop. i am too young even to enlist. i know just about as much as other boys at school, and i certainly have no talent anyway, as far as i can see at present. i can sail a boat, and i won the swimming prize a month ago, and the sergeant who gives us lessons in single-stick and boxing says that he considers me his best pupil with the gloves, but all these things put together would not bring me in sixpence a week. i don't want to go away, and nothing would induce me to do so if i could be of the slightest use to you here. but can i be of any use? what is there for me to look forward to if i stay? i am sure that you would be always worrying over me if i did get some sort of situation that you would know father and mother would not have liked to see me in, and would seem to offer no chance for the future, whereas if i went out in the heart of the rockies. there it would not matter what i did, and anything i earned i could send home to you." the speaker was a lad of sixteen. he and his sister, who was two years his senior, were both dressed in deep mourn- ing, and were sitting on a bench near southsea castle look- ing across to spithead, and the isle of wight stretching away behind. they had three days before followed their mother to the grave, and laid her beside their father, a lieu- tenant of the navy, who had died two years before. this was the first time they had left the house, where remained their four sisters—janet, who came between carry and tom; blanche, who was fourteen; lucie, twelve; and harriet, eight. tom had proposed the walk. "come out for some fresh air, carry," he had said, "you have been shut up for a month. let us two go together;" and carry had understood that he wanted a talk alone with her. there was need, indeed, that they should look the future in the face. since lieutenant wade's death their means had been very straitened. their mother had received a small pension as his widow, and on this, eked out by drafts reluctantly drawn upon the thousand pounds she had brought him on her marriage, which had been left untouched during his lifetime, they had lived since his death. two hundred pounds had been drawn from their little capital, and the balance was all that now remained. it had long been arranged that carry and janet should go out as governesses as soon as they each reached the age of eighteen, but it was now clear that carry must remain at home in charge of the young ones. that morning the two girls had had a talk together, and had settled that, as janet was too young to take even the humblest place as a governess, they would endeavour to open a little school, and so, for the present at any rate, keep the home together. carry could give music lessons, for tom's choice. she was already an excellent pianist, having been well taught by her mother, who was an accomplished performer, and janet was sufficiently advanced to teach young girls. she had communicated their decision to tom, who had heartily agreed with it. "the rent is only twenty pounds a year," he said, "and, as you say, the eight hundred pounds bring in thirty-two pounds a year, which will pay the rent and leave something over. if you don't get many pupils at first it will help, and you can draw a little from the capital till the school gets big enough to pay all your expenses. it is horrible to me that i don't seem to be able to help, but at any rate i don't intend to remain a drag upon you. if mother had only allowed me to go to sea after father's death i should be off your hands now, and i might even have been able to help a little. as it is, what is there for me to do here?" and then he pointed out how hopeless the prospect seemed at portsmouth. carry was silent for a minute or two when he ceased speaking, and sat looking out over the sea. "certainly, we should not wish you to go into a shop, tom, and what you say about going into an office is also right enough. we have no sort of interest, and the sort of clerkship you would be likely to get here would not lead to anything. i know what you are thinking about—that letter of uncle harry's; but you know that mother could not bear the thought of it, and it would be dreadful for us if you were to go away." "i would not think of going, carry, if i could see any chance of helping you here, and i don't want to go as i did when the letter first came. it seems such a cowardly thing to run away and leave all the burden upon your shoulders, yours and janet's, though i know it will be principally on yours; but what else is there to do? it was not for my in the heart of the rockies. own sake that i wanted before to go, but i did not see what there was for me to do here even when i grew up. still, as mother said it would break her heart if i went away, of course there was an end of it for the time, though i have always thought it would be something to fall back upon if, when i got to eighteen or nineteen, nothing else turned up, which seemed to me very likely would be the case. certainly, if it came to a choice between that and enlisting, i should choose that; and now it seems to me the only thing to be done." "it is such a long way off, tom," the girl said in a tone of deep pain; "and you know when people get away so far they seem to forget those at home and give up writing. we had not heard from uncle for ten years when that letter came." "there would be no fear of my forgetting you, carry. i would write to you whenever i got a chance." "but even going out there does not seem to lead to any- thing, tom. uncle has been away twenty-five years, and he does not seem to have made any money at all." "oh, but then he owned in his letter, carry, that it was principally his own fault. he said he had made a good sum several times at mining, and chucked it away; but that next time he strikes a good thing he was determined to keep what he made and to come home to live upon it. i sha'n't chuck it away if i make it, but shall send every penny home that i can spare." "but uncle will not expect you, tom, mother refused so positively to let you go. perhaps he has gone away from the part of the country he wrote from, and you may not be able to find him." "i shall be able to find him," tom said confidently. "when that letter went, i sent one of my own to him, and said that though mother would not hear of my tom's choice. going now, i might come out to him when i got older if i could get nothing to do here, and asked him to send me a few words directed to the post-office telling me how i might find him. he wrote back saying that if i called at the empire saloon at a small town called denver, in colorado, i should be likely to hear whereabouts he was, and that he would sometimes send a line there with instructions if he should be long away." "i see you have set your mind on going, tom," carry said sadly. "no, i have not set my mind on it, carry. i am per- fectly ready to stop here if you can see any way for me to earn money, but i cannot stop here idle, eating and drinking, while you girls are working for us all." "if you were but three or four years older, tom, i should not so much mind, and though it would be a terrible blow to part with you, i do not see that you could do anything better; but you are only sixteen." "yes, but i am strong and big for my age; i am quite as strong as a good many men. of course i don't mean the boatmen and the dockyard maties, but men who don't do hard work. anyhow, there are lots of men who go out to america who are no stronger than i am, and of course i shall get stronger every month. i can walk thirty miles a day easy, and i have never had a day's illness." "it is not your strength, tom; i shall have no fears about your breaking down; on the contrary, i should say that a life such as uncle wrote about, must be wonderfully healthy. but you seem so young to make such a long journey, and you may have to travel about in such rough places and among such rough men before you can find uncle harry." "i expect that i shall get on a great deal easier than a man would," tom said confidently. "fellows might play in the heart of the rockies. tricks with a grown-up fellow who they see is a stranger and not up to things, and might get into quarrels with him, but no one is likely to interfere with a boy. no, i don't think that there is anything in that, carry,—the only real diffi- culty is in going away so far from you, and perhaps being away for a long time." "well, tom," the girl said after another pause, "it seems very terrible, but i own that i can see nothing better for you. there is no way that you can earn money here, and i am sure we would rather think of you as mining and hunting with uncle, than as sitting as a sort of boy-clerk in some dark little office in london or portsmouth. it is no worse than going to sea anyhow, and after all you may, as uncle says, hit on a rich mine and come back with a fortune. let us be going home. i can hardly bear to think of it now, but i will tell janet, and will talk about it again this evening after the little ones have gone to bed." tom had the good sense to avoid any expression of satisfaction. he gave carry's hand a silent squeeze, and as they walked across the common talked over their plans for setting to work to get pupils, and said no word that would give her a hint of the excitement he felt at the thought of the life of adventure in a wild country that lay before him. he had in his blood a large share of the restless spirit of enterprise that has been the main factor in making the anglo-saxons the dominant race of the world. his father and his grandfather had both been officers in the royal navy, and a great-uncle had commanded a merchant- man that traded in the eastern seas, and had never come back from one of its voyages; there had been little doubt that all on board had been massacred and the ship burned by malay pirates. his uncle harry had gone away when little more than a boy to seek a fortune in america, and had, a few years after his landing there, crossed the plains ( ) tom's choice. with one of the first parties that started out at news of the discovery of gold in california. tom himself had longed above all things to be a sailor. his father had not sufficient interest to get him into the royal navy, but had intended to obtain for him a berth as apprentice in the merchant service; but his sudden death had cut that project short, and his mother, who had always been opposed to it, would not hear of his going to sea. but the life that now seemed open to him was in the boy's eyes even preferable to that he had longed for. the excitement of voyages to india or china and back was as nothing to that of a gold-seeker and hunter in the west, where there were bears and indians and all sorts of adventures to be encoun- tered. he soon calmed down, however, on reaching home. the empty chair, the black dresses and pale faces of the girls, brought back in its full force the sense of loss. in a short time he went up to his room, and sat there thinking it all over again, and asking himself whether it was fair of him to leave his sisters, and whether he was not act- ing selfishly in thus choosing his own life. he had gone over this ground again and again in the last few days, and he now came to the same conclusion, namely, that he could do no better for the girls by stopping at home, and that he had not decided upon accepting his uncle's invitation because the life was just what he would have chosen, but because he could see nothing that offered equal chances of his being able permanently to aid them at home. when he came downstairs again carry said: "the others have gone out, tom; you had better go round and see some of your school-follows. you look fagged and worn out . you cannot help me here, and i shall go about my work more cheerfully if i know that you are out and about." tom nodded, put on his cap and went out; but he felt far too restless to follow her advice and call on some of his in the heart of the rockies. friends, so he walked across the common and lay down on the beach and went all over it again, until at last he went off to sleep, and did not wake up until, glancing at his watch, he found that it was time to return to tea. he felt fresher and better for his rest, for indeed he had slept but little for the past fortnight, and carry nodded approvingly as she saw that his eyes were brighter, and the lines of fatigue and sleeplessness less strongly marked on his face. two hours later, when the younger girls had gone to bed, carry said: "now we will have a family council. i have told janet about our talk, tom, and she is altogether on your side, and only regrets that she is not a boy and able to go out with you. we need not go over the ground again; we are quite agreed with you that there seems no prospect here of your obtaining work such as we should like to see you at, or that would lead to anything. there are only two things open to you, the one is to go to sea, the other to go out to uncle harry. you are old to go as an apprentice, but not too old, and that plan could be carried out; still, we both think that the other is better. you would be almost as much separated from us if you went to sea as you would be if you went out to america. but before you quite de- cide i will read uncle's letter, which i have found this after- noon among some other papers." she took out the letter and opened it. "'my dear jack,—i am afraid it is a very long time since i wrote last; i don't like to think how long. i have been intending to do so a score of times, but you know i always hated writing, and i have been waiting to tell you that i had hit upon some- thing good at last. even now i can only tell you that i have been knocking about and getting older, but so far i cannot say i have been getting richer. as i told you when i wrote last i have several times made good hauls and struck it rich, but some- how the money has always slipped through my fingers. some- tom's choice. times i have put it into things that looked well enough but turned out worthless; sometimes i have chucked it away in the fool's manner men do here. i have just come back from a pros- pecting tour in the country of the utes, where i found two or three things that seemed good; one of them first-rate, the best thing, i think, i have seen since i came out here. "' unfortunately i cannot do anything with them at present, for the utes are getting troublesome, and it would be as much as one's life is worth to go back there with a small party; so that matter must rest for a bit, and i must look out in another quarter until the utes settle down again. i am going to join a hunting party that starts for the mountains next week. i have done pretty nearly as much hunting as mining since i came out, and though there is no big pile to be made at it, it is a pretty certain living. how are you all getting on? i hope some day to drop in on your quiet quarters at southsea with some big bags of gold- dust, and to end my days in a nook by your fireside; which i know you will give me, old fellow, with or without the gold bags. "' i suppose your boy is thirteen or fourteen years old by this time. that is too young for him to come out here, but if in two or three years you don't see any opening for him at home, send him out to me, and i will make a man of him; and even if he does not make a fortune in gold-seeking, there are plenty of things a young fellow can turn his hand to in this country with a good certainty of making his way, if he is but steady. you may think that my example is not likely to be of much benefit to him, but i should do for an object lesson, and seriously, would do my very best to set him in a straight path. anyhow, three or four years' knocking about with me would enable him to cut his eye-teeth, and hold his own in the world. at the end of that time he could look round and see what line he would take up, and i need not say that i would help him to the utmost of my power, and though i have not done any good for myself i might do good for him. "' in the first place, i know pretty well every one in colorado, montana, and idaho; in the next place, in my wanderings i have come across a score of bits of land in out-of-the-way places where a young fellow could set up a ranche and breed cattle and horses and make a good thing of it; or if he has a turn for in the heart of the rockies. mechanics, i could show him places where he could set up saw-mills for lumber, with water-power all the year round, and with markets not far away. of course, he is too young yet, but unless he is going to walk in your steps and turn sailor he might do worse than come out to me in three or four years' time. rough as the life is, it is a man's life, aud a week of it is worth more than a year's quill-driving in an office. it is a pity your family have run to girls, for if one boy had made up his mind for the sea you might have spared me another.' "that is all. you know mother sent an answer saying that dear father had gone, and that she should never be able to let you go so far away and take up such a rough and dangerous life. however, tom, as you wrote to uncle, her refusal would not matter, and by his sending you in- structions how to find him, it is evident that he will not be surprised at your turning up. in the first place, are you sure that you would prefer this to the sea!" "quite sure, carry; i should like it much better. but the principal thing is that i may soon be able to help you from there, while it would be years before i should get pay enough at sea to enable me to do so." "then that is settled, tom. and now, i suppose," and her voice quivered a little, "you will want to be off as soon as you can?" "i think so," tom replied. "if i am to go, it seems to me the sooner i go the better; there is nothing that i can do here, and we shall all be restless and unsettled until i am off." carry nodded. "i think you are right, tom; we shall never be able to settle to our work here when we are thinking of your going away. the first thing to do will be to draw some money from the bank. there will be your outfit to get and your passage to pay to america, and a supply of money to take you out west, and keep you until you join uncle." "that is what i hate," tom said gloomily. "it seems tom's choice. beastly that when i want to help you i must begin by taking some of your money." "that can't be helped," carry said cheerfully. "one must not grudge a sprat to catch a whale, and besides it would cost ever so much more if we had to apprentice you to the sea, and get your outfit. you will not want many clothes now. you have enough for the voyage and journey, and i should think it would be much better for you to get what you want out there, when you will have uncle to advise what is necessary. i should really think some flannel shirts and a rough suit for the voyage will be the principal things." "i should think so, certainly," tom agreed. "the less baggage one travels with the better, for when i leave the railway i shall only want what i can carry with me or pack on horses. anything else would only be a nuisance. as to a rough suit for the voyage, the clothes i had before i put these on" (and he glanced at his black suit) "will do capi- tally. of course i shall go steerage. i can get out for four or five pounds that way, and i shall be quite as well off as i should be as an apprentice. i know i must have some money, but i won't take more than is absolutely neces- sary. i am all right as far as i can see for everything, except three or four flannel shirts. i don't see that another thing will be required except a small trunk to hold them and the clothes i have on, which i don't suppose i shall ever wear again, and a few other things. you know i would only allow you to have this one black suit made. i was thinking of this, and it would have been throwing away money to have got more. of course, i don't know what i shall want out there. i know it is a long way to travel by rail, and i may have to keep myself for a month before i find uncle. i should think five-and-twenty pounds when i land would be enough for everything." in the heart of the rockies. "i shall draw fifty pounds," carry said positively. "as you say, your outfit will really cost nothing; ten pounds will pay for your journey to liverpool and your passage; that will leave you forty pounds in your pocket when you land. that is the very least you could do with, for you * may find you will have to buy a horse, and though i believe they are very cheap out there, i suppose you could not get one under ten pounds; and then there would be the saddle and bridle and food for the journey, and all sorts of things i don't think forty pounds will be enough." "i won't have a penny more, anyhow," tom said. "if i find a horse too expensive i can tramp on foot." "and you must be sure not to get robbed," janet said, breaking in for the first time. "just fancy your finding yourself without money in such a place as that. i will make you a belt to wear under your things, with pockets for the money." "i hope i should not be such a fool as that, janet, but anyhow i will be as careful as i can. i shall be very glad of the belt. one does not know what the fellows might be up to, and i would certainly rather not have my money loose in my pocket; but even if i were robbed i don't think it would be as desperate as you think. i expect a boy could always find something to do to earn his living, and i should try and work my way along somehow, but as that would not be pleasant at all i shall take good care of my money, you may be sure." for an hour they sat talking, and before the council broke up it was agreed that they should look in the news- paper in the morning for a list of vessels sailing for america, and should at once write and take a passage. there was no time lost. carry felt that it would be best for them all that the parting should be got over as soon as possible. letters were written the next morning to two tom's choice. steamship companies and to the owners of two sailing vessels asking the prices of steerage passages, agreeing that if there was not much difference it would be better to save perhaps a fortnight by taking the passage in a steamship. the replies showed that the difference was indeed trifling, and a week after their receipt tom wade started from ports- mouth to liverpool. even at the last moment he was half- inclined to change his plans, it seemed so hard to leave his sisters alone; but carry and janet had both convinced them- selves that his scheme was the best, and would not hear of his wavering now. they kept up a show of good spirits until the last, talked confidently of the success of their own plans, and how they should set about carrying them out as soon as they were free to act . the younger girls, although implored by the elders not to give way to their grief at the departure of their brother, were in a state of constant tearfulness, and were in consequence frequently got rid of by being sent on errands. tom, too, took them out for hours every day, and by telling them stories of the wild animals he should hunt, and the indians he should see, and of the stores of gold he should find hidden, generally brought them home in a more cheerful state of mind. at last the parting was over, and after making heroic efforts to be cheerful to the end, tom waved a last adieu with his handkerchief to the five weeping figures on the platform, and then threw himself back in his seat and gave free vent to his own feelings. two girls sitting beside him sniggered at the sight of the strong-built young fellow giving way to tears, but a motherly-looking woman opposite presently put her hand on his knee. "don't be ashamed of crying, my lad," she said. "i have got a son years older than you, and we always have a good cry together every time he starts on a long voyage. are you going far? i suppose those are your sistersj i in the heart of the rockies. see you are all in black. lost someone dear to you, no doubt? it comes to us all, my boy, sooner or later." "i am going to america," tom replied, "and may not be back for years. yes, those are my sisters, and what upsets me most is that i have to leave them all alone, for we have lost both our parents." "dear, dear, that is sad indeed! no wonder you are all upset. well, well, america is not so very far away—only a ten days' voyage by steamer, they tell me, and my boy is away in a sailing ship. he is in china, i reckon, now; he sailed five months ago, and did not expect to be home under a year. i worry about him sometimes, but i know it is of no use doing that. the last thing he said when i bade good-bye to him was, 'keep up your spirits, mother'; and i try to do so." the old lady went on talking about her son, and tom, listening to her kindly attempts to draw him out of his own troubles, grew interested, and by the time they reached win- chester, where she left the train, he had shaken off his first depression. it was a long journey with several changes, and he did not arrive in liverpool until six o'clock in the evening, having been nearly twelve hours on the road. carry's last injunction had been, "take a cab when you get to liver- pool, tom, and drive straight down to the docks. liverpool is a large place, and you might get directed wrong. i shall be more comfortable if i know that, at any rate, you will go straight on board." tom had thought it an unnecessary expense, but as he saw that carry would be more comfortable about him if he followed her advice, he promised to do so, and was not sorry for it as he drove through the streets; for, in spite of cutting down everything that seemed unnecessary for the voyage and subsequent journey, the portmanteau was too heavy to carry far with comfort, and although prepared to rough it tom's choice. .-> to any extent when he had once left england, he felt that he should not like to make his way along the crowded streets with his trunk on his shoulder. the cabman had no difficulty in finding the parlhia, which was still in the basin. tom was, however, only just in time to get on board, for the men were already throwing off the warps, and ten minutes later she passed out through the dock-gates, and soon anchored in the middle of the river. tom had been on board too many ships at portsmouth to feel any of that bewilderment com- mon to emigrants starting on their first voyage. he saw that at present everyone was too busy to attend to him, and so he put his portmanteau down by the bulwark forward, and leaning on the rail watched the process of warping the ship out of the docks. there were a good many steerage pas- sengers forward, but at present the after-part of the ship was entirely deserted, as the cabin passengers would not come on board until either late at night or early next morning. when the anchor had been let drop he took up his trunk and asked a sailor where he ought to go to. "show me your ticket. ah! single man's quarters, right forward." there he met a steward, who, after looking his ticket, said: "you will see the bunks down there, and can take any one that is unoccupied. i should advise you to put your trunk into it, and keep the lid shut. people come and go in the morning, and you might find that your things had gone too. ft would be just as well for you to keep it locked through the voyage. i see that you have got a cord round it. keep it corded; the more things there are to unfasten to get at the contents the less chance there is of anyone attempting it." the place was crowded with berths, mere shallow trays, each containing a straw mattress and pillow and two coloured blankets. they were in three tiers, one above the other, in the heart of the rockies. and were arranged in lines three deep, with a narrow pas- sage between. he saw by the number into which bags and packets had been thrown that the upper berths were the favourites, but he concluded that the lower tiers were prefer- able. "it will be frightfully hot and stuffy here," he said to himself, "and i should say the lower berths will be cooler than the upper." he therefore placed his trunk in one of those next to the central passage and near the door, and then went up on deck. the parthia was a cunarder, and although not equal in size to the great ships of the present day, was a very fine vessel. the fare had been somewhat higher than that for which he could have had a passage in a sailing ship, but in addition to his saving time, there was the advantage that on board the steamers, passengers were not obliged to provide their own bedding, as they had to do in sailing vessels, and also the food was cooked for them in the ship's galleys. the first meal was served soon after the anchor dropped, and consisted of a bowl of cocoa and a large piece of bread. half an hour later a tender came alongside with the last batch of steerage passengers, and tom was interested in watching the various groups as they came on board—men, women, and children. "well," he said to himself, "i do think i am better fitted to make my way out there than most of these people are, for they look as helpless and confused as a flock of sheep. i pity those women with children. it will be pretty crowded in our quarters, but there is a chance of getting a fair night's sleep, while in a place crowded with babies and children it would be awful." being a kind-hearted lad he at once set to work to help as far as he could, volunteering to carry children down below, and to help with boxes and bundles. in many cases his assistance was thankfully accepted, but in some it was tom's choice. sharply refused, the people's manner clearly showing their suspicions of his motive. he was not surprised at this after all the warnings carry had given him against putting any confidence in strangers, but was satisfied, after an hour's hard work, that he had rendered things somewhat easier for many a worried and anxious woman. it was getting dusk even on deck by the time he had finished. "thank you, lad," a man, who went up the companion- ladder with him, said as they stepped on to the deck. "you have done my missis a good turn by taking care of those three young ones while we straightened up a bit, and i saw you helping others too. you are the right sort, i can see. there ain't many young chaps as puts themselves out of the way to do a bit of kindness like that. my name is bill brown; what is yours]" "tom wade. i had nothing to do, and was glad to be of a little help. people who have never been on board ship before naturally feel confused in such a crowd." "have you been to sea " "not on a voyage, but i have lived at portsmouth and have often been on board troopships and men-of-war, so it does not seem so strange to me." "are you by yourself, or have you friends with you?" "i am alone," tom replied. "i am going out to join an uncle in the states." "i have been across before," the man said. "i am a car- penter, and have worked out there six months, and came home six weeks back to fetch the others over. i have got a place, where i was working before, to go to as soon as i land. it makes a lot of difference to a man." "it does indeed," tom agreed. "i know if i were going out without any fixed object beyond taking the first work that came to hand, i should not feel so easy and comfortable about it as i do now." in the heart of the rockies. "i have got two or three of my mates on board who are going out on my report of the place, and three families from my wife's village. she and the youngsters have been stay- ing with her old folk while i was away. so we are a biggish party, and if you want anything done on the voyage you have only got to say the word to me." chapter ii. finding friends, he weather was fine, and tom wade found the voyage more pleasant than he had expected. the port-holes were kept open all the way, and the crowded quarters were less uncomfortable than would have been the case had they encountered rough weather. there were some very rough spirits among the party forward, but the great majority were quiet men, and after the first night all talking and larking were sternly repressed after the lights were out. the food was abundant, and although some grumbled at the meat there was no real cause of complaint. a rope across the deck divided the steerage passengers from those aft, and as there were not much more than one-half the emi- grants aboard that the parthia could carry, there was plenty of room on deck. but few of the passengers suffered from sea-sickness, and the women sat and chatted and sewed in little groups while the children played about, and the men walked up and down or gathered forward and smoked, while a few who had provided themselves with newspapers or books sat in quiet corners and read. tom was one of these, for he had picked up a few books on the united states at second-hand book- finding friends. stalls at portsmouth, and this prevented him from finding the voyage monotonous. when indisposed to read he chatted with brown the carpenter and his mates, and some- times getting a party of children round him and telling them stories gathered from the books now standing on the shelves in his room at southsea. he was glad, however, when the voyage was over; not because he was tired of it, but because he was longing to be on his way west. before leaving the ship he took a very hearty farewell of his companions on the voyage, and on landing was detained but a few minutes at the custom-house, and then entering an omnibus that was in waiting at the gate, was driven straight to the station of one of the western lines of railway. from the information he had got up before sailing he had learnt that there were several of these, but that there was very little difference either in their speed or rates of fare, and that their through-rates to denver were practically the same. he had therefore fixed on the chicago and little rock line, not because its advantages were greater, but in order to be able to go straight from the steamer to the station without having to make up his mind between the competing lines. he found on arrival that the emigrant trains ran to omaha, where all the lines met, and that beyond that he must proceed by the regular trains. an emigrant train was to leave that evening at six o'clock. "the train will be made up about four," a good-natured official said to him, "and you had best be here by that time so as to get a corner seat, for i can tell you that makes all the difference on a journey like this. if you like to take your ticket at once you can register that trunk of yours straight on to denver, and then you wont have any more trouble about it." "of course we stop to take our meals on the way?" "yes; but if you take my advice you will do as most of in the heart of the rockies. them do, get a big basket and lay in a stock of bread and cooked meat, cheese, and anything you fancy, then you will only have to go out and get a cup of tea at the stopping- places. it comes a good bit cheaper, and you get done before those who take their meals, and can slip back into the cars again quick and keep your corner seat. there ain't much ceremony in emigrant trains, and it is first come first served." "how long shall we be in getting to denver?" "it will be fully a week, but there ain't any saying to a day. the emigrant trains just jog along as they can between the freight trains and the fast ones, and get shunted off a bit to let the expresses pass them." thanking the official for his advice, tom took his ticket, registered his trunk, and then went out and strolled about the streets of new york until three o'clock . he took the advice as to provisions, and getting a small hamper laid in a stock of food sufficient for three or four days. the platform from which the train was to start was already occupied by a considerable number of emigrants, but when the train came up he was able to secure a corner seat. the cars were all packed with their full complement of passen- gers. they were open from end to end, with a passage down the middle. other cars were added as the train filled up, but not until all the places were already occupied. the majority of the passengers were men, but there were a considerable number of women, and still more children; and tom congratulated himself on learning from the con- versation of those around him that a good many were not going beyond chicago, and that almost all would leave the train at stations between that place and omaha. the journey to chicago was the most unpleasant experi- ence tom had ever gone through. the heat, the dust, and the close confinement seemed to tell on the tempers of every finding friends. one. the children fidgetted perpetually, the little ones and the babies cried, the women scolded, and the men grumbled and occasionally quarrelled. it was even worse at night than during the day; the children indeed were quieter, for they lay on the floor of the passage and slept in comparative comfort, but for the men and women there was no change of position, no possibility of rest. the backs of the seats were low, and except for the fortunate ones by the windows there was no rest for the head; but all took uneasy naps with their chins, leaning forward on their chest, or sometimes with their heads resting on their neighbour's shoulder. tom did not retain his corner seat, but resigned it a few hours after starting to a weary woman with a baby in her arms, who sat next to him. he himself, strong as he was, felt utterly worn out by the fatigue and sleeplessness. beyond chicago there was somewhat more room, and it was possible to make a change of position. beyond omaha it was much better i the train was considerably faster and the number of passengers comparatively few. he now generally got a seat to himself and could put his feet up. the people were also, for the most part, acquainted with the country, and he was able to learn a good deal from their conversation. there were but few women or children among them, for except near the stations of the railway, settlements were very rare; and the men were for the most part either miners, ranchemen, or mechanics, going to the rising town of denver, or bound on the long journey across the plains to utah or california. it was on the eighth day after starting that denver was reached. before leaving the ship tom had put on his working clothes and a flannel shirt, and had disposed of his black suit, for a small sum, to a fellow-passenger who intended to remain at new york. this had somewhat lightened his portmanteau, but he was glad when he found that there in the heart of the rockies. were vehicles at the station to convey passengers up the hill to denver, which was some three miles away, and many hundred feet above it. he was too tired to set about find- ing the empire saloon, but put up at the hotel at which the omnibus stopped, took a bath and a hearty meal, and then went straight to bed. after breakfast the next morning he at once set out. he had no difficulty in finding the whereabouts of the empire saloon, which he learned from the clerk of the hotel was a small place frequented almost entirely by miners. its ap- pearance was not prepossessing. it had been built in the earliest days of denver, and was a rough erection. the saloon was low, its bare rafters were darkly coloured by smoke, a number of small tables stood on the sanded floor, and across the farther end of the room ran a bar. on shelves behind this stood a number of black bottles, and a man in his shirt sleeves was engaged in washing up glasses. two or three rough-looking men in coloured flannel shirts, with the bottoms of their trousers tucked into high boots, were seated at the tables smoking and drinking. "i am expecting a letter for me here," tom said to the man behind the bar. "my name is wade." "the boss is out now," the man said, "he will be here in an hour or so. if there is anything for you he will know about it." "thank you. i will come again in an hour," tom replied. the man nodded shortly, and went on with his work. when tom returned, the bartender said to a man who was sitting at one of the tables talking to the miners, "this is the chap i told you of as was here about the letter." "sit right down," the man said to tom, "i will talk with you presently;" and he continued his conversation in a low tone with the miners. it was nearly half an hour before finding friends. he concluded it. then he rose, walked across the room to tom, and held out his hand. "shake, young fellow," he said; "that is, if you are the chap straight harry told me might turn up here some day." "i expect i am the fellow," tom said with a smile, "my uncle's name is harry wade." "yes, that is his name; although he is always called straight harry. yes, i have got a letter for you. come along with me." he led the way into a small room behind the saloon, that served at once as his bed-room and office, and motioned to tom to sit down on the only chair; then going to a cupboard he took out a tin canister, and opening it shook out half a dozen letters on to the table. "that is yours," he said, picking one out. it was directed to tom, and contained but a few lines: "if you come i have gone west. pete iloslcirgs will tell you all he knows about me and put you on the line. your affectionate uncle." "are you mr. hoskings?" he asked the landlord. "i am pete hoskings," the man said. "there ain't been no mister to my name as ever i can remember." "my uncle tells me that you will be able to direct me to him, and will put me on the line." "it would take a darn sight cuter fellow than i am to direct you to him at present," the man said with a laugh. "straight harry went away from here three months ago, and he might be just anywhere now. he may be grubbing away in a mine, he may be hunting and trapping, or he may have been wiped out by the indians. i know where he intended to go, at least in a general sort of way. he did tell me he meant to stay about there, and it may be he has done so. he said if he moved away and got a chance he would send me word; but as there ain't nairy a post-office (ims) o finding friends. but i saw it was likely to boom, so i settled down and set up this saloon and sent for my wife to come west to me. if she had lived i should have been in a sight bigger place by this time; but she died six months after she got here, and then i did not care a continental one way or the other; and i like better to stop here, where i meet my old mates and can do as i like, than to run a big hotel. it ain't much to look at, but it suits me, and i am content to know that i could buy up the biggest place here if i had a fancy to. i don't tako much money now, but i did when the place was young; and i bought a few lots of land, and you may bet they have turned out worth having. well, don't you act rashly in this business. another three months your uncle will turn up, if he is alive; and if he don't turn up at all i dare say i can put you into a soft thing. if you go on it is about ten to one you get scalped before you find him. where are you staying?" "at the grand. the omnibus stopped there last night." "well, you stay there for a week and think it over. you have got to learn about the country west of the colorado. you had best come here to do that. you might stay a month at the grand and not find a soul who could tell you anything worth knowing, but there ain't a day when you couldn't meet men here who have either been there themselves or have heard tell of it from men who have." "are the natives friendly now?" tom asked. "in a letter he wrote two years ago to us, my uncle said that he should put off going to a part of the country he wanted to prospect until the indians were quiet." "the darned critters are never either friendly or quiet. a red-skin is pizen, take him when you will. the only difference is, that sometimes they go on the war-path and sometimes they don't; but you may bet that they are always ready to take a white man's scalp if they get a chance." in the heart of the rockies. "well, i am very much obliged to you for your advice, which i will certainly take; that is, i will not decide for a few days, and will come in here and talk to the miners and learn what i can about it." "you can hear at once," the landlord said. he stepped back into the saloon, and said to the two men with whom he had been talking: "boys, this young chap is a britisher, and he has come out all the way to join straight harry, who is an uncle of his. straight harry is with ben gulston and sam hicks, and they are prospecting somewhere west of the colorado. he wants to join them. now, what do you reckon his chances would be of finding them out and dropping in on their camp-fire !" the men looked at tom with open eyes. "waal," one of them drawled, "i should reckon you would have just about the same chance of getting to the north pole if you started off on foot, as you would of getting to straight harry with your hair on." tom laughed. "that is not cheering," he said. "it ain't. i don't say as an old hand on the plains might not manage it. he would know the sort of place harry and his mates would be likely to be prospecting, he would know the ways of the red-skins and how to travel among them without ever leaving a trail or making a smoke, but even for him it would be risky work, and not many fellows would care to take the chances even if they knew the country well. but for a tenderfoot to start out on such a job would be downright foolishness. there are about six points wanted in a man for such a journey. he has got to be as hard and tough as leather, to be able to go for days without food or drink, to know the country well, to sleep when he does sleep with his ears open, to be up to every red- skin trick, to be able to shoot straight enough to hit a man plumb centre at three hundred yards at least, and to hit a finding friends. dollar at twenty yards sartin with his six-shooter. if you feel as you have got all them qualifications you can start off as soon as you like, and the chances aren't more'n twenty to one agin your finding him." "i haven't any one of them," tom said. "waal, it is something if you know that, young chap. it is not every tenderfoot who would own up as much. you stick to it that you don't know anything, and at the same time do your best to learn something, and you will do in time. you look a clean-built young chap, and you could not have a better teacher than straight harry. what he don't know, whether it is about prospecting for gold or hunting for beasts, ain't worth knowing, you bet. what is your name, mate?" "tom wade." "waal, let us drink. it ain't like you, pete, to keep a stranger dry as long as you have been doing." "he ain't up to our customs yet," the landlord said, as he moved off towards the bar. "it is a custom everywhere," the miner said reprovingly, "for folks to stand drink to a stranger; and good bourbon hurts no man." the landlord placed a bottle and four glasses on the counter. each of the miners filled his glass for himself, and the bottle was then handed to tom, who followed their example, as did hoskings. "here is luck to you," the miner said, as he lifted his glass. three glasses were set down empty, but tom had to stop half-way with his to cough violently. "it is strong stuff," he said apologetically, "and i never drank spirits without water before. i had a glass of grog- and-water on board a ship sometimes, but it has always been at least two parts of water to one of spirits." "we mostly drink our liquor straight out here," the in the heart of the rockies. miner said. "but i am not saying it is the best way, espe- cially for one who ain't used to it, but you have got to learn to do it if you are going to live long in this country." "standing drinks round is a custom here," pete hoskings explained, seeing that tom looked a little puzzled, "and there ain't no worse insult than to refuse to drink with a man. there have been scores of men shot, ay, and hundreds, for doing so. i don't say that you may not put water in, but if you refuse to drink you had best do it with your hand on the butt of your gun, for you will want to get it out quick, i can tell you." "there is one advantage in such a custom anyhow," tom said, "it will keep anyone who does not want to drink from entering a saloon at all." "that is so, lad," pete hoskings said heartily. "i keep a saloon, and have made money by it, but for all that i say to every young fellow who hopes to make his way some time, keep out of them altogether. in country places you must go to a saloon to get a square meal, but everyone drinks tea or coffee with their food, and there is no call to stay in the place a minute after you have finished. calling for drinks round has been the ruin of many a good man; one calls first, then another calls, and no one likes to stand out of it, and though you may only have gone in for one glass, you may find you will have to drink a dozen before you get out." "why, you are a downright temperance preacher, pete," one of the miners laughed. "i don't preach to a seasoned old hoss like you, jerry, i keep my preaching for those who may benefit by it, such as the youngster here; but i say to him and to those like him, you keep out of saloons. if you don't do that, you will find yourself no forwarder when you are fifty than you are now, while there are plenty of openings all over the finding friends. country for any bright young fellow who will keep away from liquor." "thank you," tom said warmly; "i will follow your advice, which will be easy enough. beyond a glass of beer with my dinner and a tot of grog, perhaps once in three months when i have gone on board a ship, and did not like to say no, i have never touched it, and have no wish to do so." "stick to that, lad; stick to that. you will find many temptations, but you set your face hard against them, and except when you come upon a hard man bent on kicking up a muss, you will find folks will think none the worse of you when you say to them straight, 'i am much obliged to you all the same, but i never touch liquor'." tom remained four days at the hotel, spending a good deal of his time at the saloon, where he met many miners, all of whom endorsed what the first he had spoken to had said respecting the country, and the impossibility of anyone but an old hand among the mountains making his way there. on the fourth evening he said to pete hoskings: "i see that your advice was good, and that it would be madness for me to attempt to go by myself, but i don't see why i should not ride to fort bridger; not of course by myself, but with one of the caravans going west. it would be a great deal better for me to do that and to learn something of the plains and camping than to stay here for perhaps three months. at fort bridger i shall be able to learn more about the country, and might join some hunting party and gain experience that way. i might find other prospec- tors going up among the hills, and even if it were not near where my uncle is to be found, i should gain by learning something, and should not be quite a greenhorn when i join him." . in the heart of the rockies. "well, that is sensible enough," pete hoskings said, "and i don't know as i can say anything against it. you certainly would not be doing any good for yourself here, and i don't say that either an hotel or a saloon is the best place for you. i will think it over, and will let you know when you come round in the morning; maybe i can put you a little in the way of carrying it out." the next morning when tom went to the saloon, jerry curtis, one of the minors he had first met there, was sitting chatting with pete hoskings. "i had jerry in my thoughts when i spoke to you last night, tom," the latter said, "i knew he was just starting west again, and thought i would put the matter to him. he says he has no objection to your travelling with him as far as fort bridger, where maybe he will make a stay himself. there ain't no one as knows the plains much better than he does, and he can put you up to more in the course of a month than you would learn in a year just travelling with a caravan with farmers bound west." "i should be very much obliged indeed," tom said de- lightedly. "it would be awfully good of you, jerry, and i won't be more trouble than i can help." "i don't reckon you will be any trouble at all," the miner said. "i was never set much on travelling alone, as some men are. i ain't much of a talker, but i ain't fond of going two or three months without opening my mouth except to put food and drink into it. so if you think you will like it i shall be glad enough to take you. i know straight harry well, and i can see you are teachable, and not set upon your own opinions as many young fellows i have met out here are, but ready to allow that there are some things as men who have been at them all their lives may know a little more about than they do. so you may take it that it is a bargain. now, what have you got in the way of outfit?" finding friends. "i have not got anything beyond flannel shirts, and rough clothes like these." "they are good enough as far as they go. two flannel shirts, one on and one off, is enough for any man. two or three pairs of thick stockings. them as is very particular can carry an extra pair of breeches in case of getting caught in a storm, though for myself i think it is just as well to let your things dry on you. you want ll pair of high boots, a buffalo robe, and a couple of blankets, one with a hole cut in the middle to put your head through; that does as a cloak, and is like what the mexicans call a poncho. you don't want a coat or waistcoat; there ain't no good in them. all you want to carry you can put in your saddle-bag. get a pair of the best blankets you can find. i will go with you and choose them for you. you want a thing that will keep you warm when you sleep, and shoot off the rain in bad weather. common blankets are no better than a sponge. "then, of course, you must have a six-shooter and a rifle. no man in his senses would start across the plains without them. it is true there ain't much fear of red-skins between here and bridger, but there is never any saying when the varmint may be about. can you shoot v "no; i never fired off a rifle or a pistol in my life." "well, you had better take a good stock of powder and ball, and you can practice a bit as you go along. a man ain't any use out on these plains if he cannot shoot. i have got a pony; but you must buy one, and a saddle, and fixings. we will buy another between us to carry our swag. but you need not trouble about the things, i will get all that fixed." "thank you very much. how much do you suppose it will all come to?" "never you mind what it comes to," pete hoskings said roughly. "i told your uncle that if you turned up i would in the heart of the rockies. see you through. what you have got to get i shall pay for, and when straight harry turns up we shall square it. if he don't turn up at all, there is no harm done. this is my busi- ness, and you have got nothing to do with it." tom saw that he should offend hoskings if he made any demur, and the kind offer was really a relief to him. he had thirty pounds still in his belt, but he had made a mental calculation of the cost of the things jerry had considered essential, and found that the cost of a horse and saddle, of half another horse, of the rifle, six-shooter, ammunition, blankets, boots, and provisions for the journey, must cer- tainly amount up to more than that sum, and would leave him without any funds to live on till he met his uncle. he was so anxious to proceed, that he would have made no excuse, although he saw that he might find himself in a very difficult position. pete's insistence, therefore, on taking all expenses upon himself, was a considerable relief to him; for although determined to go, he had had an uneasy con- sciousness that it was a foolish step. he therefore expressed his warm thanks "there, that is enough said about it," the latter growled out. "the money is nothing to me one way or the other, and it would be hard if i couldn't do this little thing for my old mate's nephew. when are you thinking of making a start, jerry?" "the sooner the better. i have been four months here al- ready and have not struck a vein, that is, not one really worth working, and the sooner i make a fresh start, the better. to- day is wednesday. there will be plenty of time to get all the things to day and to-morrow, and we will start at daylight on friday. you may as well come with me, tom, and learn something about the prices of things. there are some in- dians camped three miles away. we will walk over there first and pick up a couple of ponies. i know they have got finding friends. a troop of them, that is what they come here to sell. they only arrived yesterday, so we shall have the pick of them." before starting there was a short conversation between jerry and the landlord, and then the former put on his broad- brimmed hat. "have you seen any red-skins yet?" "i saw a few at some of the stations the train stopped at between this and omaha." "those fellows are mostly indians who have been turned out of their tribes for theft or drunkenness, and they hang about the stations to sell moccasins and other things their squaws make, to fresh arrivals. "the fellows you are going to see are navahoes, though not good specimens of the tribe, or they would not be down here to sell ponies. still, they are a very different sort from those you have seen." an hour's walking took them to a valley, in which the indians were encamped. there were eight wigwams. some women paused in their work and looked round at the new- comers. their dogs ran up barking furiously, but were driven back by a volley of stones thrown by three or four boys, with so good an aim that they went off with sharp yelps. jerry strolled along without paying any attention to the dogs or boys towards a party of men seated round a fire. one of them rose as they approached. "my white brothers are welcome," he said courteously. "there is room by the fire for them," and he motioned to them to sit down by his side. a pipe, composed of a long flat wooden stem studded with brass nails, with a bowl cut out of red pipe-stone, was now handed round, each taking a short puff. "does my brother speak the language of the navahoes?" the chief asked in that tongue. in the heart of the rockies. "i can get along with it," jerry said, "as i can with most of your indian dialects." "it is good," the chief said. "my brother is wise; he must have wandered much." "i have been a goodish bit among your hills, chief. have you come from far?" "the moon was full when we left our village." "ah, then you have been a fortnight on the road. well, chief, i have come here to trade. i want to buy a couple of ponies." the chief said a word or two to a boy standing near, and he with four or five others at once started up the valley, and in a few minutes returned with a drove of indian ponies. "they are not a bad lot," jerry said to tom. "they don't look much, jerry." "indian ponies never look much, but one of those ponies would gallop an eastern-bred horse to a stand-still." jerry got up and inspected some of the horses closely, and presently picked out two of them; at a word from the chief two of the lads jumped on their backs and rode off on them at full speed, and then wheeling round returned to the spot from where they started. "my white brother is a judge of horses," the chief said; "he has picked out the best of the lot." "there are three or four others quite as good," jerry said carelessly. "now, chief, how many blankets, how much powder and lead, and what else do you want for those two horses!" the chief stated his demands, to which jerry replied: "you said just now, chief, that i was a wise man; but it seems that you must regard me as a fool." for half an hour an animated argument went on. two or three times jerry got up, and they started as if to quit the village, but each time the chief called them back. so animated on the plains. were their gestures and talk that tom had serious fears that they were coming to blows, but their voices soon fell and the talk became amicable again. at last jerry turned to tom. "the bargain is struck," he said; "but he has got the best of me, and has charged an outrageous sum for them." then, in his own language, he said to the chief: "at noon to-morrow you will send the ponies down to the town. i will meet them at the big rock, half a mile this side of it, with the trade goods." "they shall be there," the chief said, "though i am almost giving them to you." as they walked away, tom said: "so you have paid more than you expected, jerry?" "no, i have got them a bargain; only it would never have done to let the chief know i thought so, or the horses would not have turned up to-morrow. i expect they have all been stolen from some other tribe. the two i have got are first-rate animals, and the goods will come to about fourteen pounds, i shall ride one of them myself, and put our swag on my own pony. that has been a very good stroke of business; they would never have sold them at that price if they had been honestly come by." chapter iii. on the plains. the purchase of a buffalo robe, blankets, boots, and a x colt's revolver occupied but a short time, but the ride was a much more difficult matter. "you can always rely upon a colt," the miner said, "but rifles are different things; and as your life may often depend in the heart of the rockies. upon your shooting-iron carrying straight, you have got to be mighty careful about it. a gun that has got the name of being a good weapon will fetch four times as much as a new one." denver was but a small place; there was no regular gun- smith's shop, but rifles and pistols were sold at almost every store in the town. in this quest jerry was assisted by pete hoskings, who knew of several men who would be ready to dispose of their rifles. some of these weapons were taken out into the country and tried at marks by the two men. they made what seemed to tom wonderful shooting, but did not satisfy hoskings. "i should like the youngster to have a first-rate piece," he said, "and i mean to get him one if i can. there are two of these would do if we can't get a better, but if there is a first-rate one to be had in this township i will have it." suddenly he exclaimed, "i must have gone off my head, and be going downright foolish! why, i know the very weapon. you remember billy the scout " "in course i do, everyone knew him. i heard he had gone down just before i got back here." "that is so, jerry. you know he had a bit of a place up in the hills, four or five miles from here, where he lived with that indian wife of his when he was not away. i went out to see him a day or two afore he died. i asked him if there was anything i could do for him. he said no, his squaw would get on well enough there. she had been alone most of her time, and would wrestle on just as well when he had gone under. he had a big garden-patch which she cultivated, and brought the things down into the town here. they always fetch a good price. why more people don't grow them i can't make out; it would pay better than gold- seeking, you bet. he had a few hundred dollars laid by, and he said they might come in handy to her if she fell on the plains. sick, or if things went hard in winter. well, you remember his gun]" "in course—his gun was nigh as well known as billy himself. he used to call it plumb-centre. you don't mean to say she hasn't sold it?" "she hasn't; at least i should have been sure to hear if she had. i know several of the boys who went to the funeral wanted to buy it, and offered her long prices for it too; but she wouldn't trade. i will ride over there this evening and see what i can do about it. she will sell to me if she sells to anyone, for she knows i was a great chum of billy's, and i have done her a few good turns. she broke her leg some years back when he was away, and luckily enough i chanced to ride over there the next day. being alone and without anyone to help, she would have got on badly, i sent a surgeon up to her, and got a red- skin woman to go up to nurse her. i don't wonder she did not like to sell billy's piece, seeing he was so famous with it, and i feel sure money would not do it; but perhaps i can talk her into it." the next morning the articles agreed upon as the price of the horses were packed on jerry's pony, and they went out to the meeting-place. "it is twenty minutes early," jerry said, as tom consulted his watch, "and the red-skins won't be here till it is just twelve o'clock. a red-skin is never five minutes before or five minutes after the time he has named for a meeting. it may have been set six months before, and at a place a thousand miles away, but just at the hour, neither before nor after, he will be there. a white man will keep the appointment; but like enough he will be there the night before, will make his camp, sleep, and cook a moal or two, but he does not look for the red-skin till exactly the hour named, whether it is sunrise or sunset or noon. red-skins in t ik hkart of the rock iks. ain't got many virtues—least there ain't many of them has, though i have known some you could trust all round as ready as any white man,—but for keeping an appointment they licks creation." a few minutes before twelve o'clock three indians were seen coming down the valley on horseback. they were riding at a leisurely pace, and it was exactly the hour when they drew rein in front of tom and his companion. jerry had already unloaded his pony and had laid out the contents of the pack. first he proceeded to examine the two ponies, to make sure that they were the same he had chosen. "that is all right," he said; "they would hardly have tried to cheat us over that—they would know that it would not pay with me. there, chief, is your exchange. you will see that the blankets are of good quality. there is the keg of powder, the bar of lead, ten plugs of tobacco, the cloth for the squaws, and all the other things agreed on." the chief examined them carefully, and nodded his satis- faction. "if all the pale-faces dealt as fairly with the red man as you have done there would not be so much trouble between them," he said. "that is right enough, chief; it can't be gainsaid that a great many, ay, i might say the most part, of the traders are rogues. but they would cheat us just the same as they would you, and often do take us in. i have had worthless goods passed off on me many a time; and i don't blame you a bit if you put a bullet into the skull of a rogue who has cheated you, for i should be mightily inclined to do the same myself." no more words were wasted; the lads who had ridden the ponies down made up the goods in great bundles and went up the valley with their chief, while jerry and tom took the plaited leather lariats which were round the ponies' on the plains. necks and returned to denver. a saddle of mexican pattern, with high peak and cantle, massive wooden framework, huge straps and heavy stirrups, was next bought. jerry folded a horse-rug and tried it in different positions on the horse's back until the saddle fitted well upon it. "that is the thing that you have got to be most particular about, tom. if the saddle does not sit right the horse gets galled, and when a horse once gets galled he ain't of much use till he is well again, though the indians ride them when they are in a terrible state; but then they have got so many horses that, unless they are specially good, they don't hold them of any account . you see the saddle is so high that there is good space between it and the back- bone, and the pressure comes fair on the ribs, so the ponies don't get galled if the blankets are folded properly. the indians do not use saddles, but ride either on a pad or just a folded blanket, and their ponies are always getting galled." "the saddle is tremendously heavy." "it is heavy, but a few pounds don't make much differ- ence to the horse one way or the other, so that he is carry- ing it comfortably. the saddles would be no good if they were not made strong, for a horse may put his foot in a hole and come down head over heels, or may tumble down a precipice, and the saddle would be smashed up if it were not pretty near as strong as cast-iron. out on the plains a man thinks as much of his saddle as he does of his horse, and more. if his horse dies he will put the saddle on his head and carry it for days rather than part with it, for he knows he won't be long before he gets a horse again. he can buy one for a few charges of powder and ball from the first friendly indians he comes across, or he may get one given to him if he has nothing to exchange for it, or if he comes across a herd of wild horses he can crease one." (» ) d in the heart of the rockies. "what is creasing a horse?" tom asked. "well, it is a thing that wants a steady hand, for you have got to hit him just on the right spot—an inch higher, you will miss him; half an inch lower, you will kill him. you have got to put a bullet through his neck two or three inches behind the ears and just above the spine. of course if you hit the spine you kill him, and he is no good except to give you a meal or two if you are hard-up for food; but if the ball goes through the muscles of the neck, just above the spine, the shock knocks him ever as surely as if you had hit him in the heart. it stuns him, and you have only got to run up and put your lariat round his neck, and be ready to mount him as soon as he rises, which he will do in two or three minutes, and he will be none the worse for the shock; in fact you will be able to break him in more easily than if you had caught him by the rope." jerry then adjusted his own saddle to the other indian horse. "can you ride?" he asked. "no, i have never had any chance of learning at home." "well, you had better have a lesson at once. this is a good way for a beginner;" and he took a blanket, and having rolled it up tightly, strapped it over the peak of the saddle and down the flaps. "there," he said. "you get your knees against that, and what with the high peak and the high cantle you can hardly be chucked out anyhow, that is, if the horse does not buck; but i will try him as to that before you mount . we will lead them out beyond the town, we don't want to make a circus of ourselves in the streets; besides, if you get chucked, you will fall softer there than you would on the road. but first of all we will give them a feed of corn. you see they are skeary of us at present . indian horses are always afraid of white men at first, just as white men's horses are on the plains. afraid of indians. a feed of corn will go a long way towards making us good friends, for you may be sure they have never had a feed in their lives beyond what they could pick up for themselves." the horses snuffed the corn with some apprehension when it was held out towards them, backing away from the sieves with their ears laid back; but seeing that no harm came to them they presently investigated the food more closely, and at last took a mouthful, after which they pro- ceeded to eat greedily, their new masters patting their necks and talking to them while they did so. then their saddles and bridles were put on, and they were led out of the stable and along the streets. at first they were very fidgety and wild at the unaccustomed sights and sounds, but their fear gradually subsided, and by the time they were well in the country they went along quietly enough. "now you hold my horse, tom, and i will try yours." jerry mounted and galloped away; in ten minutes he returned. "he will do," he said as he dismounted. "he is fresh yet and wants training. i don't suppose he has been ridden half a dozen times, but with patience and training he will turn out a first-rate beast. i could see they were both fast when those boys rode them, i don't wonder the chief asked what, for an indian pony, was a mighty long price, though it was cheap enough for such good animals. he must have two or three uncommon good ones at home or he would never have parted with them, for when an indian gets hold of an extra good pony no price will tempt him to sell it, for a man's life on the plains often depends on the speed and stay of his horse. now, i will take a gallop on my own, and when i come back you can mount and we will ride on quietly together. "there is not much difference between them," he said on :> in the heart of the rockies. his return. "yours is a bit faster. pete told me to get you the best horse i could find, and i fixed upon yours, directly my eye fell upon him, as being the pick of the drove. but this is a good one too, and will suit me as well as yours, for he is rather heavier, and will carry me better than yours would do on a long journey. now climb up into your saddle." jerry laughed at the difficulty tom had in lifting his leg over the high cantle. "you will have to practise presently putting your hands on the saddle and vaulting into it . half a minute in mounting may make all the difference between getting away and being rubbed out. when you see the red-skins coming yelling down on you fifty yards away, and your horse is jumping about as scared as you are, it is not an easy matter to get on to its back if you have got to put your foot in the stirrup first. you have got to learn to chuck yourself straight into your seat whether you are standing still or both on the run . there, how do you feel now?" "i feel regularly wedged into the saddle." "that is right. i will take up the stirrups a hole, then you will get your knees firmer against the blanket. it is better to learn to ride without it, even if you do get chucked off a few times, but as we start to-morrow you have no time for that. in a few days, when you get at home in the saddle, we will take off the blanket, and you have got to learn to hold on by your knees and by the balance of your body. now we will be moving on." as soon as the reins were slackened the horses started together at an easy canter. "that is their pace," jerry said. "except on a very long journey, when he has got squaws and baggage with him, a red-skin never goes at a walk, and the horses will keep on at this lope for hours. that is right. don't sit so stiffly; you want your legs to be stiff and keeping a steady grip, but onthe plains. from your hips you want to be as slack as possible, just giving to the horse's action, the same way you give on board ship when vessels are rolling. that is better. ah! here comes pete. i took this way because i knew it was the line he would come back by-—and, by gosh, he has got the rifle, sure enough!" pete had seen them, and was waving the gun over his head. "i've got it," he said as he reined up his horse when he met them. "it was a stiff job, for she did not like to part with it. i had to talk to her a long time. i put it to her that when she died the gun would have to go to some one, and i wanted it for a nephew of straight harry, whom she knew well enough; that it was for a young fellow who was safe to turn out a great hunter and indian fighter like her husband, and that he would be sure to do credit to plumb- centre, and make the gun as famous in his hands as it had been in her husband's. that fetched her. she said i had been kind to her, and though she could not have parted with the gun for money, she would do it, partly to please me, and partly because she knew that straight harry had been a friend of her husband's, and had fought by his side, and that the young brave i spoke of, would be likely to do credit to plumb-centre. her husband, she said, would be glad to know that it was in such good hands. so she handed it over to me. she would not hear of taking money for it; indeed, i did not press it, knowing that she would feel that it was almost a part of her husband; but i will make it up to her in other ways. there, tom; there is as good a shooting-iron as there is in all the territories." "thank you very much indeed, pete. i shall value it immensely, and i only hope that some day i shall be able to do credit to it, as the poor woman said." there was nothing particular in the appearance of the in the heart of the rockies. rifle. it was a plainly-finished piece, with a small bore and heavy metal. "it don't look much," jerry said, "but it is a daisy, you bet" "we will try a shot with it, jerry. she gave me the bag of bullets and a box of patches and his powder-horn with it. we will see what it will do in our hands, we are both pretty good shots." he loaded the rifle carefully. "you see that bit of black rock cropping out of the hill- side. i guess it is about two hundred and fifty yards away, and is about the size a red-skin's head would be if he were crawling through the grass towards us. will you shoot first or shall i?" "fire away, pete." hoskings took a steady aim and fired. "you have hit it," jerry exclaimed. "just grazed it at the top." they walked across to the rock; there was a chip just on the top. "it was a good shot, pete; especially considering how you are out of practice. if it had been a red-skin it would have stunned him sure, for i doubt whether it is not too high by a quarter of an inch or so, to have finished him altogether." "it would have cut his top-knot off, jerry, and that is all. i doubt whether it would have even touched his skin." they returned to the spot where pete had fired, and jerry threw himself down on the grass and levelled his rifle. "that is not fair, jerry," pete protested. "it would not be fair if i was shooting against you, but. we are only trying the rifle, and if that rock were a red-skin you may be sure that i should be lying down." on the plains. he fired; and on going to the stone again they found that the bullet had struck it fair, within an inch of its central point. "that is something like a rifle," jerry said delighted. "now, tom, you shall have a shot." as they walked to the shooting-point, jerry showed the lad how to hold the rifle, instructed him as to the backsight, and showed him how to get the foresight exactly on the nick of the backsight. "you must just see the bead as if it were resting in the nick, and the object you aim at must just show above the top point of the bead." he showed him how to load, and then told him to lie down, as he had done, on his chest, and to steady the rifle with the left arm, the elbow being on the ground. "you must get quite com- fortable," he said; "it is of no use trying to shoot if you are in a cramped position. now, take a steady aim, and the moment you have got the two sights in a line on the rock, press the trigger steadily. press pretty hard; it is only a pull of about two pounds, but it is wonderful how stiff a trigger feels the first time you pull at it. you need not be at all afraid of the kick. if you press the butt tightly against your shoulder you will hardly feel it, for there is plenty of weight in the barr'l, and it carries but a small charge of powder. you won't want to shoot at anything much beyond this range, but sometimes you may have to try at four or five hundred yards when you are in want of a dinner. in that case you can put in a charge and a half of powder. now, are you comfortable? you need not grip so hard with your left hand, the gun only wants to rest between your thumb and fingers. that is better. now take a steady aim, and the moment you have got it press the trigger. well done! that is a good shot for a first . you hit the dust an inch or two to the right of the stone. if it had been a red-skin you would have hit him in the g in the heart of the rockies. shoulder. you will do, lad, and by the time we get to fort bridger i guess you will bring down a stag as clean as nine out of ten hunters." "don't get into the way of waiting too long before you fire, tom," pete hoskings said. "better to try to shoot too quick to begin with than to be too long about it. when you have made up your mind that you are going to shoot, get your bead on your mark and fire at once. you may want to hit a red-skin's head as he looks out from behind a tree, and to do that you must fire the instant you see him or he will be in again. one of the best shots i ever saw never used to raise his gun to his shoulder at all. he just dropped his piece into the hollow of his left hand, and would fire as he touched it. he did not seem to take any aim at all, but his bullet was starting to hit the thing he wanted to, even if it were no bigger than an orange. he could not tell himself how he did it. 'i seen the thing and i fired, pete,' he would say; 'the gun seems to point right of its own accord, i have not anything to say to it.' you see, shooting is a matter of eye. some men may shoot all their lives, and they will never be more than just respect- able, while others shoot well the first time that a gun is put in their hands. want of nerve is what spoils half men's shooting; that and taking too long an aim. well, it is time for us to be mounting and getting back. i have got to see that the dinner is all ready. i never can trust that black scoundrel, sam, to do things right while i am away." the preparations for the journey were completed by the evening. "now mind, tom," pete hoskings said the last thing before going to bed, "if you don't find your uncle, or if you hear that he has got wiped out, be sure you come right back here. whether you are cut out for a hunter or not, it will do you a world of good to stick to the life until you get on the plains. four or five years older and settle as to how you like to fix yourself, for there ain't no better training than a few years out on the plains, no matter what you do afterwards. i will find a good chum for you, and see you through it, both for the sake of my old mate, straight harry, and because i have taken a liking to you myself." "why do you call my uncle straight harry?" tom asked after thanking pete for his promise. "is he so very upright?" "no, lad, no,' it ain't nothing to do with that. there are plenty more erect men than him about. he is about the size of jerry, though, maybe a bit taller. no; he got to be called straight harry because he was a square man, a chap everyone could trust. if he said he would do a thing he would do it; there weren't no occasion for any papers to bind him. when he said a thing you could bet on it . you could buy a mine on his word: if he said it was good you need not bother to take a journey to look at it, you knew it was right there, and weren't a put-up job. once when we were working down on the yuba we got to a place where there were a fault in the rock, and the lode had slipped right away from us. everyone in camp knew that we had been doing well, and we had only got to pile up a few pieces of rock at the bottom, and no one who would have seen it would have known that the lode was gone. that is what most chaps would have done, and a third chap who was working with us was all for doing it. anyone would have given us five hundred ounces for it. well, i didn't say nothing, it was what pretty nigh any- one on the mines would have done if he had the chance, but harry turned on our partner like a mountain lion. 'you are a mean skunk, new jersey,' says he. 'do you think that i would be one to rob a man only because he would be fool enough to take a place without looking at it? we've worked in the heart of the rockies. to the edge of the claim both ways, and i don't reckon there is a dollar's worth of gold left in it, now that it has pet- tered out at the bottom, and if there was i would not work another day with a man who proposed to get up a swindle.' so as soon as he got up to the surface, he told everyone that the lode had gone out and that the claim weren't worth a red cent . he and new jersey had a big fight with fists that evening. the other was bigger than harry, and stronger, but he were no hand with his pistol, and harry is a dead shot; so he told new jersey he would fight him english fashion, and harry gave him the biggest licking i ever saw a man have. i felt pretty mean myself, you bet, for having thought of planting the thing off; but as i hadn't spoken, harry knew nothing about it. if he had, i doubt if he would ever have given me his hand again. yes, sir, he is a straight man all round, and there is no man better liked than harry. why, there are a score of men in this town who know him as i do, and, if he came to them and said, 'i have struck it rich, i will go halves with you if you will plank down twenty thousand dollars to open her up,' they would pay down the cash without another word; and, i tell you, there ain't ten men west of the missouri of whom as much could be said." the next morning at daybreak jerry and tom started. they rode due north, skirting the foot of the hills, till they i reached the emigrant route, for the railway had not been carried farther than wabash, from which point it ran south to denver. it was a journey of some miles to fort bridger, and they took a month to accomplish it, sometimes following the ordinary line of travel, sometimes branching off more to the north, where game was still abundant . "that is fort bridger, tom. it ain't much of a place to look at; but is, like all these forts, just a strong palisading, with a clump of wooden huts for the men in the middle. on the plains. well, the first stage of your journey is over, and you know a little more now than when you left denver; but though i have taught you a good bit, you will want another year's practice with that shooting-iron afore you're a downright good shot; but you have come on well, and the way you brought down that stag on a run yesterday was uncommon good. you have made the most of your opportunities, and have got a steady hand and a good eye. you are all right on your horse now, and can be trusted to keep your seat if you have a pack of red-skins at your heels. you have learnt to make a camp, and to sleep comfortable on the ground; you can frizzle a bit of deer-flesh over the fire, and can bake bread as well as a good many. six months of it and you will be a good plain's-man. i wish we had had a shot at buffalo. they are getting scarcer than they were, and do not like crossing the trail. we ain't likely to see many of them west of the colorado; the ground gets too hilly for them, and there are too many bad lands." "what are bad lands, jerry?" "they are just lands where nature, when she made them, had got plenty of rock left, but mighty little soil or grass seed. there are bad lands all over the country, but nowhere so bad as the tract on both sides of the green and colorado rivers. you may ride fifty miles any way over bare rock without seeing a blade of grass unless you get down into some of the valleys, and you may die of thirst with water under your feet." "how do you mean, jerry?" "the rivers there don't act like the rivers in other parts. instead of working round the foot of the hills they just go through them. you ride along on what seems to be a plain, and you come suddenly to a crack that ain't perhaps twenty or thirty feet across, and you look down, if you have in the heart of the rockies. got head enough to do it, and there, two thousand feet or more below you, you see a river foaming among rocks. it ain't one river or it ain't another river as does it; every little stream from the hills cuts itself its canon and makes its way along till it meets two or three others, then they go on to- gether, cutting deeper and deeper until they run into one of the arms of the green river or the colorado or the grand. "the green and the colorado are all the same river, only the upper part is called the green. for about a thousand miles it runs through great canons. no one has ever gone down them, and i don't suppose anyone ever will; and people don't know what is the course of the river from the time it begins this game till it comes out a big river on the southern plains. you see, the lands are so bad there is no travelling across them, and the rapids are so terrible that there is no going down them. even the indians never go near the canons if they can help it . i believe they think the whole thing is the work of an evil spirit." "but you said some of the valleys had grass?" "yes; i have gone down one or two myself from the mountains of utah, where the stream, instead of cutting a canon for itself, has behaved for a bit in the ordinary way and made a valley. wonderfully good places they were— plenty of grass, plenty of water, and no end of game. i have spent some months among them, and got a wonderful lot of skins, beavers principally of course, but half a dozen mountain lions and two grizzlies. i did not bring home their skins, you bet. they were too heavy, and i should not have troubled them if they had not troubled me. there was good fish, too, in the streams, and i never had a better time. the red-skins happened to be friendly, and i was with a hunter who had a red-skin wife and a dozen ponies. if it hadn't been for that i should soon have had to quit, for on the plains. gl it ain't no good hunting if you can't carry away the skins. as it was i made a good job of it, for i got nigh a thousand dollars for my skins at utah. "well, here we are at the fort. i guess we may as well make our camp outside. if you go in you have got to picket your horse here and put your baggage there and come in at gun-fire, and all sorts of things that troubles a man who is accustomed to act as he likes." the horses were soon picketed. "i will go in first and see who is here, tom. there are usually a lot of loafing indians about these forts, and though it is safe enough to leave our traps, out on the plain, it will not do here. we must stay with them, or at any rate keep them in sight; besides, these two horses would be a temptation to any red- skin who happened to want an animal." "i will wait willingly, jerry; i should know nobody inside the fort if i went in. i will see to making a fire and boiling the kettle, and i will have supper ready at seven o'clock." "i shall be sure to be back by that time; like enough i sha'n't be a quarter of an hour away." it was but half an hour, indeed, before tom saw him returning, accompanied by a tall red-skin. "this is a friend of mine, tom. he was a chief of the senecas, but his tribe are nearly wiped out, and he has been all his life a hunter, and there are few of us who have been much out on the plains who don't know him. chief, this is straight harry's nephew i was telling you of, who has come out here to join his uncle. sit down, we have got some deer-flesh. tom here knocked one over on the run at two hundred and fifty yards by as good a shot as you want to see; while it is cooking we can smoke a pipe and have a chat." the chief gravely seated himself by the fire. g in the heart of the rockies. "what have you been doing since i last saw you up near the yellowstone?" "leaping horse has been hunting," the indian said quietly, with a wave of his hand, denoting that he had been over a wide expanse of country. "i guessed so," jerry put in. "and fighting with 'rappahoes and navahoes." "then you've been north and south?" the indian nodded. "much trouble with both; they wanted our scalps. but four of the 'rappahoe lodges are without a master, and there are five navahoe widows." "then you were not alone?" "garrison was with me among the 'rappahoes; and the shoshone hunter, wind-that-blows, was with me when the navahoes came on our trail." "they had better have left you alone, chief. do you know the ute country?" "the leaping horse has been there. the utes are dogs." "they are troublesome varmint, like most of the others," jerry agreed. "i was telling you straight harry is up in their country somewhere. tom here is anxious to join him, but of course that can't be. you have not heard anything of him, i suppose?" "the leaping horse was with him a week ago." "you were, chief! why did you not tell me so when i was saying we did not know where he was?" "my white brother did not ask," the chief said quietly. "that is true enough, chief, but you might have told me without asking." the indian made no reply, but continued to smoke his hatchet pipe tranquilly, as if the remark betrayed such ignorance of indian manners that it was not worth replying to. tom took up the conversation now. on the plains. "was it far from here that you saw him j" "five days' journey, if travel quick." "was he hunting?" jerry asked. "hunting, and looking for gold." "who had he with him?" "two white men. one was ben gulston. leaping horse had met him in idaho. the other was called sam, a big man with a red beard." "yes, sam hicks; he only came back from california a few months back, so you would not be likely to have met him before. were they going to remain where you left them?" the indian shook his head. "they were going farther north." "farther north!" jerry repeated. "don't you mean farther south?" "leaping horse is not mistaken, he knows his right hand from his left." "of course, of course, chief," the miner said apologeti- cally; "i only thought that it was a slip of the tongue. then if they were going farther north they must have come back in this direction." "they were on the banks of the big wind river when leaping horse met them." "jerusalem!" the miner exclaimed. "what on earth are they doing there? why, we thought they had gone down to the west of the colorado. i told you so, chief, when i talked to you about it; and instead of that, here they are up in the country of the 'bappahoes and shoshones." "they went south," the indian said quietly, "and had trouble with the utes and had to come back again, then they went north." "ah, that accounts for it. i wonder harry didn't send word to pete hoskings that he had gone up to the big wind in the heart of the rockies. river. i ain't heard of there being any gold in that region, though some think that coming down through the big hills from yellowstone valley on the north-west, metal might be struck." "going to look for gold a little," the chief said, "hunt much; not stay there very long, mean to go down south again after a bit. leaping horse go with them." "oh, i see. the utes had come upon them, and they knew that if they stopped there they would lose their scalps sooner or later, so they came up here and made north for a bit to hunt and fossick about in the hills, and then go back when the utes had quieted down." the chief nodded. "well, well, that alters the affair altogether. where- abouts did you leave them?" "near the buffalo lake." "don't know it . where does it lie?" "on a stream that runs into the river from the west, from a valley running up near freemout's buttes. they were going up so as to follow the riviere de noir, and then either strike up across the hills to the upper yellowstone, or go out west and come down over the grosventre range on to the wyoming range, and then down through thomp- son's pass, or else skirt the foot-hills on to the green river." "waal, chief, i reckon that among all those hills and mountains, one would have just about the same chance of lighting on them as you would have of finding a chipmunk in a big pine-forest." "couldn't find," the chief said, "but might follow. if they go fast never catch them; if wait about, hunt beaver, look for gold and silver, then might come up to them easy enough, if 'rappahoes not catch and kill. very bad place. leaping horse told them so. white brother said he think on the plains. so too; but other men think they find gold somewhere, so they go on. they have got horses, of course. three horses to ride, three horses to carry beaver-traps and food. leaping horse came back here to sell his skins. he had promised to meet a friend here, or he would not have left straight harry, who is a good man and a friend of leaping horse. three men not enough in bad country." "do you think there would be any chance of my finding them?" tom asked eagerly. a slight gleam of amusement passed over the indian's face. "my brother is very young," he said. "he will be a brave warrior and a great hunter some day, but his eyes are not opened yet. were he to try he would leave his scalp to dry in the 'rappahoes' lodges." "that is just what i told him, chief. it would be sheer madness." the indian made no reply, and jerry turned the conver- sation. "you don't drink spirits, chief, or i would go and get a bottle from the fort." "leaping horse is not a madman," the indian said scorn- fully, "that he should poison his brain with fire-water." "yes; i remembered, chief, that you had fallen into our way and drink tea." "tea is good," the indian said. "it is the best thing the white man has brought out on to the plains." "that is so, chief, except tobacco. we did not bring that; but i reckon you got it from the spaniards long ago, though maybe you knew of it before they came up from the south." the meat was now cooked, and tom took it off the fire and handed the pieces on the ramrod, that had served as a spit, to the others, together with some bread, poured out the tea from the kettle, and placed a bag of sugar before them. ( ) e go in the heart of the rockies. there was little talk until after the meal was over. then the indian and jerry smoked steadily, while tom took a single pipe, having only commenced the use of tobacco since he had left denver. presently the indian arose. "in the morning i will see my white friends again," he said, and without further adieu turned and walked gravely back to the fort. chapter iv. leaping horse. he is a fine fellow," jerry said, after the indian had left him. "you must have a talk with him one of these days over his adventures among the 'rappahoes and nava- hoes, who are both as troublesome rascals as are to be found on the plains. an indian seldom talks of his adven- tures, but sometimes when you can get him in the right humour you may hear about them." "he talks very fair english," tom said. "yes; he has been ten years among us. he was employed for two or three years supplying the railway men with meat; but no indian cares to hunt long in one place, and he often goes away with parties of either hunters or gold-seekers. he knows the country well, and is a first-rate shot; and men are always glad to have him with them. there is no more trusty red-skin on the plains, and he will go through fire and water for those whom he regards as his special friends, i should say he is about the one man alive who could take you to your uncle." "do you think he would?" tom asked eagerly. "ah, that is another matter; i don't know what his plans are. if he is engaged to go with another party he s in the heart of the rockies. the indian would agree to take nie i should miss you awfully." jerry made no reply, but sat smoking his pipe and looking into the fire. as he was sometimes inclined to be taciturn, tom made no attempt to continue the conversation; and after moving out and shifting the picket-pegs so as to give the horses a fresh range of grass to munch during the night, he returned to the fire, wrapped himself in his blankets and lay down, his "good-night, jerry," meeting with no response, his companion being evidently absorbed in his own thoughts. "you are not going on to-day, jerry, are you?" tom said, as he threw off his blankets and sat up in the morning. the sun was not yet up, but jerry had already stirred up the embers, put some meat over them to cook, and put the kettle among them. "no, i shall stop here for a day or two, lad. i am in no special hurry, and have no call to push on. i have not made up my mind about things yet." they had scarcely finished breakfast when leaping horse came down from the fort. "tom here has been asking me, chief, whether there was any chance of getting you to guide him to his uncle. i said, of course, that i did not know what your plans were; but that if you had nothing special before you, possibly you might be willing to do so, as i know that you and straight harry have done some tall hunting and fighting together." the indian's face was impassive. "can my young brother ride day after day and night after night, can he go long without food and water, is he ready to run the risk of his scalp being taken by the 'rappahoes can he crawl and hide, can he leave his horse and travel on foot, can he hear the war-cry of the red-skins without fear " "i don't say that i can do all these things, chief," tom leaping horse. said; "but i can do my best . and, anyhow, i think i can promise that if we should be attacked you shall see no signs of my being afraid, whatever i may feel, i am only a boy yet, but i hope i am not a coward." "you have come a long way across the sea to find my brother, straight harry. you would not have come so far alone if your heart had been weak. leaping horse is going back to join his white brother again, and will take you to him." tom felt that any outburst of delight would be viewed with distaste by this grave indian, and he replied simply: "i thank you with all my heart, chief, and i am sure that my uncle will be grateful to you." the chief nodded his head gravely, and then, as if the matter were settled and no more need be said about it, he turned to jerry: "which way is my white friend going?" "i'm dog-goned if i know. i had reckoned to go down past utah, and to go out prospecting among the hills, say a hundred miles farther west; then while i journeyed along with tom i got mixed in my mind. i should like to have handed him over safe to harry; but if harry had gone down to the ute hills with an idea of trying a spot i have heard him speak of, where he thought he had struck it rich, he might not have cared to have had me come there, and so i concluded last night it was best the lad should wait here till harry got back. now the thing is altered; they are just hunting and prospecting, and might be glad to have me with them, and i might as well be there as anywhere else; so as you are going back there, i reckon i shall be one of the party." "that will be capital, jerry," tom said. "with you as well as the chief we shall be sure to get through; and it will be awfully jolly having you with us." "don't you make any mistake," the miner said, "i in the heart of the rockies. should not be of much more use in finding them than you would. i ain't been up among the mountains all these years without learning something, but i ain't no more than a child by the side of the chief. and don't you think this affair is going to be a circus. i tell you it is going to be a hard job. there ain't a dozen white men as have been over that country, and we shall want to be pretty spry if we are to bring back our scalps. it is a powerful rough country. there are peaks there, lots of them, ten thousand feet high, and some of them two or three thousand above that. there are rivers, torrents, and defiles. i don't say there will be much chance of running short of food, if it wasn't that half the time one will be afraid to fire for fear the 'tarnal indians should hear us. we ain't got above a month afore the first snows fall. altogether it is a risky business, look at it which way you will." "well, jerry, if it is as bad as that, i don't think it will be right for you and the chief to risk your lives merely that i should find my uncle. if he is alive he is sure to come back here sooner or later; or if he goes some other way back to denver he will hear from pete that i am here, and will either write or come for me." "it ain't entirely on your account, lad, as i am thinking of going; and i am pretty sure the chief would tell you that it is the same with him. you see, he tried to persuade your uncle to turn back. my opinion is, that though he had to come here to keep the appointment, he had it in his mind to go back again to join your uncle. haven't i about struck your thoughts, chief v the chief nodded. "my white brother harry is in dan- ger," he said. "leaping horse had to leave him; but would have started back to-day to take his place by his side. the hunting dog will go with him." "i thought so, chief; i am dog-goned if i did not think leaping horse. so. it was hunting dog you came back here to meet, i suppose." "hunting dog is of my tribe," he said; "he is my sister's son. he came across the plains to join me. he has hunted in his own country; this is the first time he has come out to take his place as a man. leaping horse will teach him to be a warrior." "that is good; the more the better, so that there ain't too many. well, what is your advice, chief? shall we take our pack pony with the outfit?" the chief shook his head decidedly. "must travel quick and be able to gallop fast. my white brothers must take nothing but what they can carry with them." "all right, chief; we will not overload ourselves. we will just take our robes and blankets, our shooting-irons, some tea and sugar, and a few pounds of flour. at what time shall we start?" "in an hour we will ride out from the fort." "we shall be ready. ten minutes would fix us, except that i must go into the fort and sell my critter and what flour and outfit we sha'n't want, to a trader there. "i ain't done badly by that deal," jerry said when he returned. "i have sold the pony for more than i gave for him; for the red-skins have been keeping away from the fort of late, and the folks going by are always wanting horses in place of those that have died on the way. the other things all sold for a good bit more than we gave for them at denver. carriage comes mighty high on these plains; besides, the trader took his chances and reckoned them in." "how do you mean, jerry?" "waal, i told him we was going up to the shoshone sierra, and intended to hunt about and to come back, may- be by the yellowstone and then by the bear rivers, and that we would take the price of the goods out in trade when we in the heart of the rockies. got back. that made it a sort of lottery for him, for if we never came back at all he would never have to pay, so he could afford to take his risks and offer me a good price. i reckon he thinks he has got them at a gift he has given two pieces of paper, one for you and one for me, saying that he owes the two of us the money; so if i should go under and you should get back, you will draw it all right." they at once proceeded to pack their ponies. divided between the saddle-bags of the two animals were four pounds of tea, eight of sugar, and thirty-six of flour. each took a good store of ammunition, an extra pair of breeches, a flannel shirt, and a pair of stockings. the rest of their clothes had been packed, and taken up by jerry to the traders to lie there until their return. "that is light enough for anything," jerry said, when the things were stowed into the saddle-bags. "four-and- twenty pounds of grub and five pounds of ammunition brings it up to nine-and-twenty pounds each, little enough for a trip that may last three months for aught we know." in addition to the ammunition in the saddle-bags, each carried a powder-horn and a bag of bullets over his shoulder. the revolvers were in their belts, and the rifles slung behind them. while jerry was away at the fort tom had made and baked three loaves, which were cut up and put in the holsters. "now we are ready, tom; the indians will be out in a minute or two. the sun is just at its highest." two minutes later the chief and his companion rode out from the gate of the fort. jerry and tom mounted their horses and cantered over to meet them. as they came up, tom looked with interest at the young indian. he judged him to be about nineteen, and he had a bright and intelligent face. he was, like his uncle, attired in buckskin; but the shirt was fringed and embroidered, as was the band that carried his leaping horse. powder-horn, a gift, doubtless, from some indian maiden at his departure from his village. no greetings were exchanged; but the chief and jerry rode at once side by side towards the north-east, and tom took his place by the side of the young indian. "how are you?" he said, holding out his hand. the young indian took it and responded to the shake, but he shook his head. "ah, you don't speak english yet?" hunting dog again shook his head. "that is a pity," tom went on; "it would have been jolly if we could have talked together." the chief said something to jerry, who turned around in his saddle. "his uncle says he can talk some. he has taught him a little when he has paid visits to the village, but he has had no practice in speaking it. he will get on after a time." all were well mounted, and they travelled fast. just before sunset they crossed the green river at a ford used by the emigrants, and some fifty miles north-east of fort bridger. they had seen a herd of deer by the way, and the two indians had dismounted and stalked them. the others lost sight of them, but when two rifle-shots were heard jerry said, "we will take the horses along to them, you may be sure they have got meat; the chief is a dead shot, and he says that his nephew has also gifts that way." as they expected, they found the indians standing beside two dead deer. hunting dog laid open the stomachs with a slash of his knife, and removed the entrails, then tying the hind legs together swung the carcasses on to his horse behind the saddle, and the journey was at once renewed. "you will make for freemont's buttes, i suppose, chief?" jerry said, as after riding up the river for three or four miles so as to be able to obtain wood for their fire—as for a considerable distance on either side of the emigrant trail in the heart of the rockies. not a shrub was to be seen—they dismounted, turned the horses loose, lit a fire, and prepared a meal. "yes. we will go over the pass and camp at one of the little lakes at the head of the north fork, thence we will ride across the plain and ford little wind river, and then follow up the sage creek and make our camp at night on buffalo lake. from there we must follow their trail." "and where shall we have to begin to look out for the 'rappahoes?" "they may be over the next rise; no one can say. the 'rappahoes are like the dead leaves drifting before the wind. they come as far south as the emigrant trail, and have attacked caravans many times. after to-night we must look out for them always, and must put out our fires before dark." tom had noticed how carefully the young indian had selected the wood for the fire; searching carefully along by the edge of the river for drift-wood, and rejecting all that contained any sap. he himself had offered to cut down some wood with the axe he carried strapped to his saddle, but hunting dog had shaken his head. "no good, no good," he said, "make heap smoke; smoke very bad." tom thought that the shrub he was about to cut would give out obnoxious smoke that would perhaps flavour the meat hanging over it, but when the indian added "heap smoke, red-skins see a long way," he understood that hunt- ing dog had been so careful in choosing the wood in order to avoid making any smoke whatever that might attract the attention of indians at a distance from them. it was his first lesson in the necessity for caution; and as darkness set in he looked round several times, half expecting to see some crouching red-skins. the careless demeanour of his com- panions, however, reassured him, for he felt certain that if there was any fear of a surprise, they would be watchful . leaping horse. after supper the indian talked over with jerry the route they would most probably have to pursue. the miner had never been in this part of the country before; indeed very few white men, with the exception of trappers who had married indian women and had been admitted into their tribes, had ever penetrated into this, the wildest portion of the rocky mountains. vague rumours existed of the abundance of game there, and of the existence of gold, but only one attempt had been made to prospect on a large scale. this had taken place three years before, when a party of twenty californian miners penetrated into the mountains. none of them returned, but reports brought down by indians to the settlements were to the effect that, while working a gold reef they had discovered, they were attacked and killed to a man by a war party of sioux. "i was mighty nigh being one of that crowd," jerry said when he told the story to tom, as they sat over the camp-fire that night. "i heard of their start when i got back to salt lake city, after being away for some time among the hills. i legged it arter them as fast as i could, but i found when i got to the last settlement that they had gone on ten days before, and as i did not know what line they had followed, and did not care to cross the pass alone, i gave it up. mighty lucky thing it was, though i did not think so at the time." "but why should my uncle's party have gone into such a dangerous country when they knew that the natives were so hostile " "it is a mighty big place, it is pretty nigh as big as all the eastern states chucked into one, and the red-skins are not thick. no one knows how many there are, but it is agreed they are not a big tribe. then it ain't like the plains, where a party travelling can be seen by an indian scout miles and miles away. it is all broken ground, canons and in the heart of the rockies. valleys and rocks. then again, when we get on the other side of the wind river they tell me there are big forests. that is so, chief, isn't it?" the chief nodded. "heap forests," he said, "higher up rocks and bad lands; all bad. in winter snow everywhere on hills. red-skins not like cold; too much cold, wigwam no good." "that's it, you see, tom. we are here a long way above the sea-level, and so in the hills you soon get above the timber-line. it's barren land there, just rock, without grass enough for horses, and in winter it is so all-fired cold that the indians can't live there in their wigwams. i reckon their villages are down in the sheltered valleys, and if we don't have the bad luck to run plump into one of these we may wander about a mighty long time before we meet with a red-skin. that is what you mean, isn't it, chief?" leaping horse grunted an assent. "what game is there in the country?" "there are wapitis, which are big stag with thundering great horns, and there are big-horns. them are mountain sheep; they are mostly up above the timber-line. wapitis and big-horns are good for food, but their skins ain't worth taking off. there is beaver, heaps of them; though i reckon there ain't as many as there were by a long way, for since the whites came out here and opened trade, and the red- skins found they could get good prices for beaver, they have brought them down by thousands every year. still, there is no doubt there is plenty left, and that trappers would do first-rate there if the red-skins were friendly. in course, there is plenty of b'ars, but unless you happen to have a thundering good chance it is just as well to leave the b'ars alone, for what with the chances of getting badly mauled, and what with the weight of the skin, it don't pay even when you come right side up out of a tussle." leaping horse. "are there any maps of the region?" "none of any account. they are all just guess-work. you may take it that this is just a heap of mountains chucked down anyhow. such maps as there are have been made from tales trappers who came in with pelts have told. well, firstly they only knew about just where the tribe they had joined lived, and in the second place you may bet they warn't such fools as to tell anything as would help other fellows to get there; so you may put down that they told very little, and what they did tell was all lies. some day or other i suppose there will be an expedition fitted out to go right through, and to punish these dog-goned red-skins and open the country; but it will be a long time after that afore it will be safe travelling, for i reckon that soldiers might march and march for years through them mountains without ever catching a sight of a red-skin if they chose to keep out of their way. and now i reckon we had best get in atween our blankets." the two indians had already lain down by the fire. tom was some time before he could get to sleep. the thought of the wild and unknown country he was about to enter, with its great game, its hidden gold treasures, its indians and its dangers, so excited his imagination that, tired as he was with the long ride, two or three hours passed before he fell off to sleep. he was awoke by being shaken somewhat roughly by jerry. "why, you are sleeping as sound as a b'ar in a hollow tree," the miner said. "you are generally pretty spry in the morning." a dip in the cold water of the river awoke tom thoroughly, and by the time he had rejoined his com- rades breakfast was ready. the ground rose rapidly as they rode forward. they were now following an indian trail, a slightly-marked path made by the indians as they travelled down with their ponies laden with beaver skins, to ex- in the heart of the rockies. change for ammunition, blankets, and tobacco at the trading station. the country was barren in the extreme, being covered only with patches of sage brush. as they proceeded it became more and more hilly, and distant ridges and peaks could be seen as they crossed over the crests. "these are the bad lands, i suppose?" "you bet they are, tom, but nothing like as bad as you will see afore you are done. sage brush will grow pretty nigh everywhere, but there are thousands of square miles of rock where even sage brush cannot live." the hills presently became broken up into fantastic shapes, while isolated rocks and pinnacles rose high above the general level. "how curiously they are coloured," tom remarked, "just regular bands of white and red and green and orange; and you see the same markings on all these crags, at the same level." "just so, tom. we reckon that this country, and it is just the same down south, was once level, and the rains and the rivers and torrents cut their way through it and wore it down, and just these buttes and crags and spires were left standing, as if to show what the nature of the ground was everywhere. though why the different kinds of rocks has such different colours is more than i can tell. i went out once with an old party as they called a scientific explorer. i have heard him say this was all under water once, and sometimes one kind of stuff settled down like mud to the bottom, some- times another, though where all the water came from is more nor i can tell. he said something about the ground being raised afterwards, and i suppose the water run oft then. i did not pay much attention to his talk, for he was so choke-full of learning, and had got such a lot of hard names on the tip of his tongue, that there were no making head or tale of what he was saying." leaping horse. tom had learnt something of the elements of geology, and could form an idea of the processes by which the strange country at which he was looking had been formed. "that's freemont's buttes," the indian said presently, pointing to a flat-topped hill that towered above the others ahead. "why, i thought you said that it was a fifty-mile ride to-day, jerry, and we can't have gone more than half that." "how far do you suppose that hill is off?" "three or four miles, i should think." "it is over twenty, lad. up here in the mountains the air is so clear you can see things plain as you couldn't make out the outlines of down below." "but it seems to me so close that i could make out people walking about on the top," tom said a little incre- dulously. "i dare say, lad. but you will see when you have ridden another hour it won't seem much closer than it does now." tom found out that the miner was not joking with him, as he at first had thought was the case. mile after mile was ridden, and the landmark seemed little nearer than before. presently hunting dog said something to the chief, pointing away to the right. leaping horse at once reined in, and motioned to his white companions to do the same. "what is it, chief?" jerry asked. "wapiti," he replied. "that is good news," the miner said. "it will be lucky if we can lay in a supply of deer flesh here. the less we shoot after we get through the pass the better. shall we go with you, chief?" "my white brothers had better ride on slowly," leaping horse said, "might scare deer. no good lose time." tom felt rather disappointed, but as he went on slowly with jerry, the miner said: "you will have plenty of l> in the heart of the rockies. chances later on, lad, and there is no time to lose in fooling about. the red-skins will do the business." looking back, tom saw the two indians gallop away till they neared the crest of a low swell. then they leapt from their horses, and stooping low went forward. in a short time they lay prone on the ground, and wriggled along until just on the crest. "i reckon the stag is just over there somewhere," jerry said, "the young red skin must have caught sight of an antler." they stopped their ponies altogether now, and sat watch- ing the indians. these were half a mile away, but every movement was as clearly visible as if they were but a hundred yards distant. the chief raised himself on his arms and then on to his knees. a moment later he lay down again, and they then crawled along parallel with the crest for a couple of hundred yards. then they paused, and with their rifles advanced they crept forward again. "now they see them," jerry exclaimed. the indians lay for half a minute motionless. then two tiny puffs of smoke darted out. the indians rose to their feet and dashed forward as the sound of their shots reached the ears of their companions. "come on," jerry said, "you may be sure they have brought down one stage anyhow. the herd could not have been far from that crest or the boy would not have seen the antler over it, and the chief is not likely to miss a wapiti at a hundred yards." looking back presently tom saw that the indian ponies had disappeared. "ay, hunting dog has come back for them. you may be sure they won't be long before they are up with us again." in a quarter of an hour the two indians rode up, each in danger. having the hind-quarters of a deer fastened across his horse behind the saddle, while the tongues hung from the peaks. "kill them both at first shot, chief?" jerry asked; "i did not hear another report." "close by," the chief said; "no could miss." "it seems a pity to lose such a quantity of meat," tom remarked. "the indians seldom carry off more than the hind- quarters of a deer, never if they think there is a chance of getting more soon. there is a lot more flesh on the hind- quarters than there is on the rest of the stag. but that they are wasteful, the red-skins are, can't be denied. even when they have got plenty of meat they will shoot a buffalo any day just for the sake of his tongue." it was still early in the afternoon when they passed under the shadow of the buttes, and, two miles farther, came upon a small lake, the water from which ran north. here they unsaddled the horses and prepared to camp. chapter v. in danger. there were no bushes that would serve their purpose near the lake, they therefore formed their camp on the leeward side of a large boulder. the greatest care was observed in gathering the fuel, and it burned with a clear flame without giving out the slightest smoke. "dead wood dries like tinder in this here air," the miner said. "in course, if there wur any red-skins within two or three miles on these hills they would make out the camp, still that ain't likely; but any loafing indian who chanced ( ) *' in the heart of the rockies. to be hunting ten or even fifteen miles away would see smoke if there was any, and when a red-skin sees smoke, if he can't account for it, he is darned sartin to set about finding out who made it." the horses fared badly, for there was nothing for them to pick up save a mouthful of stunted grass here and there. "plenty of grass to-morrow," the chief said in answer to a remark of tom as to the scantiness of their feed. "grass down by buffalo lake good." early the next morning they mounted and rode down the hills into big wind river valley. they did not go down to the river itself, but skirted the foot of the hills until they reached buffalo lake. "there," the chief said, pointing to a pile of ashes, "the fire of my white brother." alighting, he and hunting dog searched the ground care- fully round the fire. presently the younger indian lightly touched the chief and pointed to the ground. they talked together, still carefully examining the ground, and moved off in a straight line some fifty yards. then they returned. "indian here," leaping horse said, "one, two days ago. found fire, went off on trail of white men." "that is bad news, chief." "heap bad," the indian said gravely. "perhaps he won't follow far," tom suggested. the indian made no answer. he evidently considered the remark to be foolish. "you don't know much of indian nature yet, tom," the miner said. "when a red-skin comes upon the trail of whites in what he considers his country, he will follow them if it takes him weeks to do it, till he finds out all about them, and if he passes near one of his own villages he will tell the news, and a score of the varmint will take up the trail with him. it's them ashes as has done it . if the chief in danger. here had stopped with them till they started this would not have happened, for he would have seen that they swept every sign of their fire into the lake. i wonder they did not think of it themselves. it was a dog-goned foolish trick to leave such a mark as this. i expect they will be more keerful arterwards, but they reckoned that they had scarce got into the indian country. "do you think it was yesterday the red-skin was here, or the day before, chief?" "leaping horse can't say," the indian replied. "ground very hard, mark very small. no rain, trail keep fresh a long time. only find mark twice." he led them to a spot where, on the light dust among the rocks, was the slight impression of a footmark. "that is the mark of a moccasin, sure enough," jerry said; "but maybe one of the whites, if not all of them, have put on moccasins for the journey. they reckoned on climb- ing about some, and moccasins beat boots anyhow for work among the hills." "red-skin foot," the indian said quietly. "well, if you say it is, of course it is. i should know it myself if i saw three or four of them in a line, but as there is only one mark it beats me." "how would you know, jerry j" "a white man always turns out his toes, lad, an indian walks straight-footed. there are other differences that a red-skin would see at once, but which are beyond me, for i have never done any tracking work." the indian without speaking led them to another point some twenty yards away, and pointed to another impres- sion. this was so slight that it was with difficulty that tom could make out the outline. "yes, that settles it,"jerry said. "you see, lad, when there was only one mark i could not tell whether it was turned out in the heart of the rockies. or not, for that would depend on the direction the man was walking in. this one is just in a line with the other, and so the foot must have been set down straight. had it been turned out a bit, the line, carried straight through the first footprint, would have gone five or six yards away to the right." it took tom two or three minutes to reason this out to himself, but at last he understood the drift of what his companion said. as the line through one toe and heel passed along the centre of the other, the foot must each time have been put down in a straight line, while if the foot prints had been made by a person who turned out his toes they would never point straight towards those farther on. "well, what is your advice, chief?" jerry asked. "must camp and eat," the indian replied, "horses gone far enough. no fear here, red-skin gone on trail." "do you think there have been more than one, chief?" "not know," leaping horse said; "find out by and by." tom now noticed that hunting dog had disappeared. "where shall we make the fire?" the chief pointed to the ashes. "that's it," jerry said. "if any redskin came along you see, tom, there would be nothing to tell them that more than one party had been here." the chief this time undertook the collection of fuel him- self, and a bright fire was presently burning. two hours later hunting dog came back. he talked for some time earnestly with the chief, and taking out two leaves from his wampum bag opened them and showed him two tiny heaps of black dust. jerry asked no questions until the conversation was done, and then while hunting dog cut off a large chunk of deer's flesh, and placing it in the hot ashes sat himself quietly down to wait until it was cooked, he said: "well, chief, what is the news?" "the indian had a horse, hunting dog came upon the in danger spot where he had left it a hundred yards away. when he saw ashes, he came to look at them. afterwards he fol- lowed the trail quite plain on the soft ground at head of lake. over there," and he pointed to the foot of the hills, "indian stopped and fired twice." "how on earth did he know that, chief?" the chief pointed to the two leaves. the scout examined the powder. "wads," he said, "they are leather wads, tom, shrivelled and burnt . what did he fire at, chief!" "signal. half a mile farther three other mounted red- skins joined him. they stopped and had heap talk. then one rode away into hills, the others went on at gallop on trail." "that is all bad, chief. the fellow who went up the hills no doubt made for a village?" the chief nodded. "the only comfort is that harry has got a good start of them. it was a week from the time you left them before we met you, that is three days ago, so that if the red-skins took up the trail yesterday, harry has ten days' start of them." leaping horse shook his head . "long start if travel fast, little start if travel slow." "i see what you mean. if they pushed steadily on up the valley, they have gone a good distance, but if they stopped to catch beaver or prospect for gold they may not have got far away. hadn't we be better pushing on, chief?" "no good, horses make three days' journey; rest well to- day, travel right on to-morrow. if go farther to-night, little good to-morrow. good camp here, all rest." "well, no doubt you are right, chief, but it worries ono to think that while we are sitting here, those 'tarnal red-skins may be attacking our friends. my only hope is that harry, who has done a lot of indian fighting, will hide his trail as in the heart of the rockies. much as possible as he goes on, and that they will have a lot of trouble in finding it." the chief nodded. "my white brother, harry, knows indian ways. he did not think he had come to indian country here or he would not have left his ashes. but beyond this he will be sure to hide his trail, and the 'rap- pahoes will have to follow slow." "you think they are 'rappahoes, chief " "yes, this 'rappahoe country. the shoshones are further north, and are friendly; the bannacks and nez perces are in north-west, near snake river; and the sioux more on the north and east, on other side of great mountains. 'rappa- hoes here." "waal," jerry said wrathfully, "onless they catch harry asleep, some of the darned skunks will be rubbed out afore they get his scalp. it is a good country for hiding trail. there are many streams coming down from the hills into the big wind, and they can turn up or down any of them as they please, and land on rocky ground too, so it would be no easy matter to track them. by the lay of the country there does not seem much chance of gold anywheres about here, and, as i reckon, they will be thinking more of that than of beaver skins, so i think they would push straight on." "harry said he should get out of big wind river valley quick," leaping horse said, "too many indians there. get into mountains other side. go up riviere de noir, then over big mountains into sierra shoshone, and then down buffalo through jackson's hole, and then strike snake river. i told him heap bad indians in jackson's hole, bannacks and nez perces. he said not go down into valley, keep on foot-hills. i told him, too bad journey, but he and other pale-faces thought could do it, and might find much gold. no good leaping horse talk." in danger. "this is a dog-goned bad business i have brought you into, tom, i reckoned we should not get out without troubles, but i did not calkerlate on our getting into them so soon." "you did not bring me here, jerry, so you need not blame yourself for that . it was i brought you into it, for you did not make up your mind to come till i had settled to go with leaping horse." "i reckon i should have come anyhow," jerry grumbled. "directly the chief said where harry and the others had gone my mind was set on joining them. it was a new country, and there war no saying what they might strike, and though i ain't a regular indian-fighter, leaving them alone when they leave me alone, i can't say as i am averse to a scrimmage with them if the odds are anyways equal." "it is a wonderful country," tom said, looking at the almost perpendicular cliffs across the valley, with their regular coloured markings, their deep fissures, crags, and pinnacles, "and worth coming a long way to see." "i don't say as it ain't curious, but i have seen the like down on the colorado, and i don't care if i never see no more of it if we carry our scalps safe out of this. i don't say as i object to hills if they are covered with forest, for there is safe to be plenty of game there, and the wood comes in handy for timbering, but this kind of country that looks as if some chaps with paint-pots had been making lines all over it, ain't to my taste noway. here, lad; i never travel without hooks and lines; you can get a break- fast and dinner many a day when a gun would bring down on you a score of red varmints. i expect you will find fish in the lake. many of these mountain lakes just swarm with them. you had better look about and catch a few bugs, there ain't no better bait. those jumping bugs are as good as any," and he pointed to a grasshopper, somewhat in the i eaht of the rockies. to tom's relief, for the lad had just been wondering where he should look for bugs, not having seen one since he landed in the states. there were two lines and hooks in the miner's outfit, and tom and hunting dog, after catching some grasshoppers, went down to the lake, while jerry and the chief had a long and earnest conversation together. the baited hooks were scarcely thrown into the water when they were seized, and in a quarter of an hour ten fine lake trout were lying on the bank. tom was much delighted. he had fished from boats, but had never met with much success, and his pleasure at landing five fish averaging four or five pounds a piece was great. as it was evidently useless to catch more, they wound up their lines, and hunting dog split the fish open and laid them down on the rock, which was so hot that tom could scarce bear his hand on it. seeing the elder men engaged in talk tom did not return to them, but endeavoured to keep up a conversation with the young indian, whom he found to be willing enough to talk now they were alone, and who knew much more english than ho had given him credit for. as soon as the sun set the fire was extinguished, and they lay down to sleep shortly afterwards. an hour before daylight they were in the saddle. hunting dog rode ahead on the line he had followed the day before. as soon as it became light tom kept his eyes fixed upon the ground, but it was only now and then, when the indian pointed to the print of a horse's hoof in the sand between the rocks, that he could make them out. the two indians followed the track, however, without the slightest difficulty, the horses going at a hand gallop. "they don't look to me like horses' foot-prints," tom said to jerry when they had passed a spot where the marks were unusually clear. in danger. "i reckon you have never seen the track of an unshod horse before, tom. with a shod horse you see nothing but the mark of the shoe, here you get the print of the whole hoof. harry has been careful enough here, and has taken the shoes off his ponies, for among all the marks, we have not seen any made by a shod horse. the indians never shoe theirs, and the mark of an iron is enough to tell the first red-skin who passes that a white man has gone along there. the chief and i took off the shoes of the four horses yesterday afternoon when you were fishing. we put them and the nails by to use when we get out of this dog- goned country." after riding for two hours they came to the bank of a stream. the chief held up his hand for them to stop, while he dismounted and examined the foot-marks. then he mounted again and rode across the stream, which was some ten yards wide and from two to three feet deep. he went on a short distance beyond it, leapt from his saddle, threw the reins on the horse's neck, and returned to the bank on foot. he went a short distance up the stream and then as much down, stooping low and examining every inch of the ground. then he stood up and told the others to cross. "leave your horses by mine," he said as they joined him. "trail very bad, all rock." he spoke to the young indian, who, on dismounting, at once went forward, quarter- ing the ground like a spaniel in search of game, while the chief as carefully searched along the bank. "best leave them to themselves, tom; they know what they are doing." "they are hunting for the trail, jerry, i suppose?" "ay, lad. harry struck on a good place when he crossed where he did, for you see the rock here is as smooth as the top of a table, and the wind has swept it as clean of dust as if it had been done by an eastern woman's broom. in the heart of the rockies. if the horses had been shod there would have been scratches on the rock that would have been enough for the dullest indian to follow, but an unshod horse leaves no mark on ground like this. i expect the red-skins who followed them were just as much puzzled as the chief is there ain't no saying whether they crossed and went straight on, or whether they never crossed at all or kept in the stream either up or down." it was half an hour before the two indians had concluded their examination of the ground. "well, chief, what do you make of it?" jerry asked when they had spoken a few words together. "hunting dog has good eyes," the chief said, "the white men went forward, the red men could not find the trail, and thought that they had kept in the river, so they went up to search for them. come, let us go forward." the miner and tom mounted their horses, but the indians led theirs forward some three hundred yards. then hunt- ing dog pointed down, and the chief stooped low and examined the spot. "what is it, chief?" jerry asked; and he and tom both got off and knelt down. they could see nothing whatever. "that is it," leaping horse said, and pointed to a piece of rock projecting half an inch above the flat. "i am darned if i can see anything." "there is a tiny hair there," tom said, putting his face within a few inches of the ground. "it might be a cat's hair; it is about the length, but much thicker. it is brown." "good!" the chief said, putting his hand on tom's shoulder. "now let us ride." he leapt into his saddle, the others following his example, and they went on at the same pace as before. "well, chief," the miner said, "what does that hair tell you about it, for i can't make neither head nor tail of it?" in danger. "the white men killed a deer on their way up here, and they cut up the hide and made shoes for horses, so that they should leave no tracks. one of the horses trod on a little rock and a hair came out of the hide." "that may be it, chief," the miner said after thinking the matter over, "though it ain't much of a thing to go by." "good enough," leaping horse said. "we know now the line they were taking. when we get to soft ground see trail plainer." "what will the others do when they cannot find the trail anywhere along the bank?" "ride straight on," the chief said. "search banks of next river, look at mouths of valleys to make sure white men have not gone up there, meet more of tribe, search every- where closely, find trail at last." "well, that ought to give harry a good start, anyhow." "not know how long gone on," the chief said gravely, "no rainfall. six, eight—perhaps only two days' start." "but if they always hide their tr il as well as they did here i don't see how the indians can find them at all— especially as they don't know where they are making for, as we do." "find camp. men on foot may hide traces, but with horses sure to find." "that is so," jerry agreed, shaking his head. "an- indian can see with half an eye where the grass has been cropped or the leaves stripped off the bushes. yes, i am afraid that is so. there ain't no hiding a camp from indian eyes where horses have been about . it is sure to be near a stream. shall you look for them, chief?" the indian shook his head. "lose time," he said, "we go straight to riviere de noir." "you don't think, then, they are likely to turn off before that?" in danger. the trees again. he shook his head, and without a word loosened the girths of his horse and took off the bridle. "he has seen no signs of them, so we can light a fire and get something to eat. i am beginning to feel i want something badly." thus reminded tom felt at once that he was desperately hungry. they had before starting taken a few mouthfuls of meat that had been cooked the day before and purposely left over, but it was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and he felt ravenous. the indians quickly collected dried wood, and four of the fish were soon frizzling on hot ashes, while the kettle, hung in the flame, was beginning to sing. "we have done nigh forty miles, tom, and the horses must have a couple of hours' rest. we will push on as fast as we can before dark, and then wait until the moon rises; it will be up by ten. this ain't a country to ride over in the dark. we will hide up before morning, and not go on again till next night. of course we shall not go so fast as by day, but we sha'n't have any risk of being ambushed. the chief reckons from what he has heard that the indian villages are thick along that part of the valley, and that it will never do to travel by day." "then you have given up all hopes of finding harry's tracks?" "it would be just wasting our time to look for them. we will push on sharp till we are sure we are ahead of them. we may light upon them by chance, but there can be no searching for them with these red varmint round us. it would be just chucking away our lives without a chance of doing any good. i expect harry and his party are travelling at night too; but they won't travel as fast as we do, not by a sight. they have got pack-ponies with them, and they are likely to lay off a day or two if they come upon a good place for hiding." in the heart of the rockies. they travelled but a few miles after their halt, for the indians declared they could make out smoke rising in two or three places ahead; and although neither jerry nor tom could distinguish it, they knew that the indians' sight was much keener than their own in a matter of this kind. they therefore halted again behind a mass of rocks that had fallen down the mountain-side. hunting dog lay down among the highest of the boulders to keep watch, and the horses were hobbled to prevent their straying. the miner and the chief lit their pipes, and tom lay down on his back for a sleep. a short time before it became dusk the call of a deer was heard. "there are wapiti, chief. we can't take a shot at them; but it don't matter, we have meat enough for a week." the chief had already risen to his feet, rifle in hand. "it is a signal from hunting dog," he said, "he has seen something in the valley. my white brother had better get the horses together," and he made his way up the rocks. in a minute or two he called out that the horses might be left to feed, and presently came leisurely down to them. "seen indians—ten 'rappahoes." "which way were they going?" "riding from big wind eiver across valley. been away hunting among hills over there. have got meat packed on horses, ride slow. not have heard about white men's trail. going to village, where we saw smoke." tom was fast asleep when jerry roused him, and told him that the moon was rising, and that it was time to be off. they started at a walk, the chief leading, jerry followed him, while tom rode between him and hunting dog, who brought up the rear. tom had been warned that on no account was he to speak aloud. "if you have anything you want to say, and feel that you must say it or bust," jerry remarked, "just come up alongside of me and whisper it . in danger. keep your ears open and your rifle handy, we might come upon a party any minute. they might be going back to their village after following harry's trail as long as they could track it, or it might be a messenger coming back to fetch up food, or those fellows hunting dog made out going on to join those in front. anyhow we have got to travel as quiet as if there was ears all round us." as they passed the clumps of trees where the indian villages stood they could see the reflection of the fires on the foliage, and heard the frequent barking of dogs and an occasional shout. a quarter of a mile farther the chief halted and spoke to hunting dog, who at once dismounted and glided away towards the village. "gone to see how many men there," the chief said in explanation to jerry. "too much laugh, no good." "he means the men must have gone off again, tom. if there were men in the camp the boys would not be making a noise." they were but a few hundred yards from the trees, and in a very short time the indian returned. "men are gone," he said; "only squaws and boys there." "how many lodges are there?" the chief asked. hunt- ing dog held up both hands with extended fingers, and then one finger only. "eleven of them," jerry said, "i expect they are all small villages, and they move their lodges across into the forests when winter comes on." as soon as they had mounted, the chief put his horse into a canter, and at this pace they went forward for some hours, breaking into a walk occasionally for a few minutes. "i thought you said we should not go beyond a walk to-night, jerry," tom remarked on the first of these occa- sions. "that is what we kinder agreed, lad; but you may be in the heart of the rockies. sure the chief has some good reason for going on faster. i dunno what it is, and i ain't going to ask. red skins hate being questioned. if he wants to tell us he will tell us with- out being asked." a faint light was stealing over the sky, when the chief halted his horse and sat listening. no sound, however, broke the stillness of the night. "did you think you heard anything, chief?" "leaping horse heard nothing, but he stopped to listen. what does my white brother think of the 'rappahoes having gone on directly they returned from the chase?" "i thought that when they got the news that some white men had gone through, they might have started to join those following up the trail. isn't that what you think, chief?" "only three white men, plenty indians on trail; no hurry to follow; might have had feast after hunt and gone on in morning." "so they might . you think the whites have been tracked, and are to be attacked this morning?" "perhaps attacked yesterday. perhaps have got strong place, 'rappahoes want more help to take it. white rifle shoot straight, perhaps want more men to starve them out." they again went forward, at a gallop now. jerry did not think much of the chief's idea. it seemed to him natural that the indians should want to join in the hunt for scalps, and to get a share of the white men's goods, though he admitted that it was strange they should have gone on without taking a meal. presently the chief reined in his horse again, and sat with head bent forward. tom heard an angry grunt from between hunting dog's teeth. listen- ing intently also, he was conscious of a faint, far-away sound. "you hear?" the chief said to jerry. "i heard something; but it might be anything. a water- fall in the hills miles away, that is what it sounds like.' in danger. "guns," the chief said laconically. "do you think so?" jerry said doubtfully. "there don't seem to me anything of guns in it. it is just a sort of murmur that keeps on and on." "it is the mountains speaking back again," the chief said, waving his hand. "hills everywhere. they say to each other, the red men who live in our bosoms are attacking the pale-face strangers." "what do you think, hunting dog?" tom whispered to the indian. "gun-shot," he replied in a tone of absolute conviction. "waal, chief, i will not gainsay your opinion," jerry said. "how far do you think it is off?" "the horses will take us there in two hours," the chief replied. "then we can put it at twenty miles at least . let us be going; whatever the sound is, we shall know more about it before we have gone much farther." "not too fast," leaping horse said as the miner was urging his horse forward. "maybe have to fight, maybe have to run. no good tire horse too much." it was more than an hour before tom could hear any dis- tinct change in the character of the sound, but at last he was able to notice that, though seemingly continuous, the sound really pulsated; sometimes it almost died away, then suddenly swelled out again, and there were several vibra- tions close together. jerry, more accustomed to the sound of firearms in the mountains, had before this come round to the chief's opinion. "it is guns, sure enough, tom; the chief has made no mistake about it. waal, there is one comfort, they ain't been surprised. they are making a good fight of it, and we may be there in time to take a hand in the game." "shall we ride straight on and join them?'' in the heart of the rockies. "i reckon not, lad. we must wait until we see what sort of place harry is in, and how we -can best help him, before we fix on any scheme." the sound became louder and clearer. the echo was still continuous, but the sound of the shots could be distinctly heard. "it is over there, to the right," jerry said. "they must have crossed the big wind river." "and gone up the do noir valley," the chief said. "we ought to be close to it now." "yes, i reckon it can't be far off, by what you told me about the distance." "better cross big wind at once. they no see us now." "i agree with you, chief; it would not do for them to get sight of us. if they did our case would be worse than harry's. i expect he has got strongly posted, or he would have been wiped out long ago; that is what would happen to us if they were to make us out and spy our numbers afore we get to some place where we and harry's outfit can help each other." they rode rapidly down to the river. with the excep- tion of a few yards in the middle, where the horses had to swim, the depth was not great, and they were soon on the other side. they rode to the foot of the hills, and then kept along it. the sound of firing became louder and louder, and tom felt his heart beat quickly at the thought that he might soon be engaged in a desperate fight with the indians, and that with the odds greatly against his party. presently the hills fell sharply away, and they were at the entrance of the valley of the riviere de noir, which is the principal arm of the big wind river at this point. the firing had very much died out during the last few minutes, and only an occasional shot was heard. "they have beat off the attack so far," jerry said to him united. encouragingly. "now we have got to lie low a bit, while the chief sees how things stand." leaping horse dismounted at the mouth of a narrow canon running up into the cliff beside them. a little stream trickled down its centre. "could not have been better," jerry said, "here is a place we four could hold against a crowd of red-skins for hours. there is water anyway, and where there is water there is mostly a little feed for horses. i will take your horse, chief, and tom will take hunting dog's, if so be you mean him to go with you. "don't you worry yourself, lad," he went on, seeing how anxious tom looked, as they started with the horses up the canon. "if harry and his friends have beaten off the first attack you may bet your boots they are safe for some time. it is clear the red-skins have drawn off, and are holding a pow-wow as to how they are to try next. they attacked, you see, just as the day was breaking; that is their favourite hour, and i reckon harry must have been expecting them, and that he and his mates were prepared." he canon showed no sign of widening until they had i proceeded a quarter of a mile from the entrance, then it broadened suddenly for a distance of a hundred yards. "there has been a big slip here both sides," the miner said, looking round. "it must have taken place a great many years ago, for the winter floods have swept away all chapter vi. united. in the heart of the rockies. signs of it, and there are grass and trees on the slopes. the horses can find enough to keep them alive here for a day or two, and that is all we shall want, i hope." "it would be a nasty place to get out of, jerry, for the cliffs are perpendicular from half-way up." "it ain't likely as there is any place we could get out without following it to the upper end, which may be some fifty miles away. i don't know the country it runs through, but the red-skins are pretty certain to know all about it. if they were to track us here, they would never try to fight their way in, but would just set a guard at the mouth and at the upper end and starve us out. it is a good place to hide in, but a dog-goned bad one to be caught in. however, i hope it ain't coming to that. it is we who are going to attack them, and not them us, and that makes all the difference. the red-skins can't have a notion that there are any other white men in this neighbourhood, and when we open fire on them it will raise such a scare for a bit that it will give us a chance of joining the others if we choose. that of course must depend on their position." they walked back to the mouth of the canon, and had not to wait long for the return of the indians. "come," leaping horse said briefly, at once turning and going off at a swift pace. jerry asked no questions, but with tom followed close on the indians' heels. there were bushes growing among the fallen rocks and debris from the face of the cliff, and they were, therefore, able to go forward as quickly as they could leap from boulder to boulder, without fear of being seen. a quarter of an hour's run, and the chief climbed up to a ledge on the face of the cliff where a stratum harder than those above it had resisted the effects of the weather and formed a shelf some twelve feet wide. he went down on his hands and knees, and keeping close to the wall united. crawled along to a spot where some stunted bushes had made good their hold. the others followed him, and lying down behind the bushes peered through them. the valley was four or five hundred yards wide, and down its centre ran the stream. close to the water's edge rose abruptly a steep rock. it was some fifty feet in height and but four or five yards across at the top. on the north and west the rocks were too perpendicular to be climbed, but the other sides had crumbled down, the stones being covered with brushwood. from the point where they were looking they could see the six horses lying among the bushes. they were evidently tightly roped, and had probably been led up there when the attack began and thrown at the highest point to which they could be taken, a spot being chosen where the bushes concealed their exact position from those below. the rock was about two hundred and fifty yards from the spot where the party was lying, and their position was about level with its top. some twenty indians were gathered a few hundred yards higher up the valley, and about as many some distance down it. "why didn't the varmint take their places here !" jerry whispered to the chief. "they came here. see," and he pointed to a patch of blood a few feet beyond him. "indian guns not shoot far," he said, "powder weak; white man's rifles carry here, red-skin not able to shoot so far. when they found that, went away again." "what are they going to do now, do you think?" "soon attack again." half an hour passed, and then a loud yell gave the signal and the two troops galloped towards the rock. they had evidently had experience of the accuracy of the white men's fire; not an indian showed himself, each dropping over one side of his pony, with an arm resting in a rope in the heart of the rockies round the animals' necks and one leg thrown over the back. so they dashed forward until close to the foot of the rocks. another instant and they would have thrown themselves from their horses and taken to the bushes, but although hidden from the sight of the defenders of the position, they were exposed to the full view of the party on the ledge, from whom they were distant not more than two hundred yards. the chief fired first, and almost together the other threo rifles flashed out. three of the indians fell from their horses, another almost slipped off, but with an effort re- covered his hold with his leg. a yell of astonishment and fear broke from the indians. as the two bands mingled together, some of the riders were exposed to those on the top of the rock, and three shots were fired. two more of the 'rappahoes fell, and the whole band in obedience to a shout from one of their chiefs galloped at full speed down the valley. the three men sprang to their feet, waving their hats, while the party on the ledge also leapt up with a shout . "it's you, chief, i see!" one of those on the rocks shouted, "i have been hoping ever since morning to hear the crack of your rifle, and i never heard a more welcome sound. we should have been rubbed out sure. who have you got with you?" "it's jerry curtis, harry. i come up along with leaping horse, though i did not expect to find you in such a bad fix. this young indian is hunting dog, and this young chap next to me is your nephew, tom wade. you did not expect to meet him like this, i reckon?" while he had been speaking, all had reloaded their rifles. "you had best go across and talk it over with harry, chief, and consart measures with him for getting out of this fix. those red-skins have got a bad scare, but you may bet they united. ain't gone far; and they have lost six of their bucks now beside what the others shot before, and it ain't in indian natur for them to put up with such a loss as that." he had been looking at the rock as he spoke, and turning round uttered an exclamation of surprise, for the chief was no longer there. looking down they saw that he had man- aged to make his way down the face of the cliff, and in another two minutes was ascending the rock. there he stood for some time in earnest conversation with the whites, and then returned to the ledge. "trouble over horses," he said. "ay, ay, i reckoned that was what you was talking over. there ain't no going back for them now." the chief shook his head. "'rappahoes keep watch," he said, "cannot go till night to fetch horses. all lie here to- day, go across to rock when darkness comes, then white men go up valley till get to trees an hour's march away; can see them from rock. get in among trees and work up into hills. leaping horse and hunting dog cross river, go down other side past 'rappahoes, then cross back and get into canon, drive horses up. white men meet them up in mountains." "that seems a good plan enough, chief. that is, if you can get out at the other end of the canon." "canon little up high," the chief replied. "find some place to climb." "but they may find the horses to-day." the indian nodded. "may find, perhaps not." "why should we not go across to the rock at once, chief?" "indian count on fingers how many. they do not know we only four; much troubled in their mind where men come from, who can be. iied-skins not like white men. have many fancies. fire come out of bush where 'rappahoe in the heart of the rockies. had been killed; think that bad medicine, keep together and talk. think if men here, why not go across to rock." "i should not be surprised if you are right, chief. they are more likely to fancy we have come down from above than from below, for they must have reckoned for sure there were no other white men in the big wind valley, and our not showing ourselves will give them an all-fired scare." "what does the chief mean by bad medicine, jerry?" tom asked. "a red-skin is full of all sorts of ideas. anything he can't make head nor tail of, is bad medicine; they think there is some magic in it, and that old nick has had his finger in the pie. when they get an idea like that in their minds, even the bravest of them loses his pluck, and is like a child who thinks he has seen a ghost. it is a mighty good notion for us to lie low all day. the red-skins will reason it all out, and will say, if these are white men who killed our brothers why the 'tarnal don't they go and join the others, there ain't nothing to prevent them. if they ain't white men, who are they? maybe they can move without our being able to see them and will shoot from some other place. no, i reckon it is likely they will keep pretty close together and won't venture to scatter to look for tracks, and in that case the chief's plan will work out all right. in course, a good deal depends on their chief; one of them is among those we shot, you can make out his feathers from here. if he is the boss, chief it may be that they will give it up altogether; the next chief will throw the blame on to him, and may like enough persuade them to draw off altogether. if it ain't the boss chief, then they are bound to try again. he would not like to take them back to their villages with the news that a grist of them had been killed and narry a scalp taken. i expect you will see this afternoon some of them come down to palaver with harry." united. the morning passed quietly and not unpleasantly, for they were lying in the shade, but before noon the sun had climbed up over the cliff behind them and shone down with great force, and they had to lie with their heads well under the bushes to screen them from its rays. presently, leap- ing horse said: "indian chief come, no lift heads." all shifted their position so as to look down the valley. an indian chief, holding up his hands to show that he was unarmed, was advancing on foot, accompanied by another indian also without arms. "there is harry going down to meet them," jerry said. tom looked eagerly at the figure that came down from the rock and advanced to meet the indians. it seemed strange to him that after having come so far to join his uncle they should remain for hours in sight of each other without meeting. it was too far to distinguish his features, but he saw by the light walk and easy swing of the figure that his uncle was a much more active man than he had expected to sea he had known indeed that he was but forty years old, but he had somehow expected that the life of hardship he had led would have aged him, and he was surprised to see that his walk and figure were those of a young man. "is it not rather dangerous, his coming down alone to meet two of them? they may have arms hidden." "they have got arms, you may be sure," jerry replied. "they have knives for certain, and most likely toma- hawks, but i expect harry has got his six-shooter. but it don't matter whether he has or not, there are his two mates up on that rock with their rifles, and we are across here. the 'rappahoes would know well enough their lives wouldn't be worth a red cent if they were to try any of their games. they don't mean business; they will make out they have in the heart of the rockies. come to persuade harry and his mates to give up, which they know quite well they ain't fools enough to do. but what is really in their minds is to try and find out who we are, and where we have come from." the conversation lasted a few minutes. tom could see that questions were being asked about the concealed party, for the chief pointed to the ledge two or three times. when the talk was over the indians went down the valley again at a slow pace, never once looking back, and the englishman returned to the rocks. "i don't suppose they have got much from harry." "i suppose uncle talks their language?" "no, i don't reckon he knows the 'rappahoe dialect. but the tribes on the western side of the plains can mostly understand each other's talk; and as i know he can get on well with the utes, he is sure to be able to understand the 'rappahoes' talk." "leaping horse will go along the ledge," the chief said a few minutes later, after a short conversation with hunting dog. "the 'rappahoes will try to find out who are here; not like to attack the rock till find out." the two indians lay down flat on the ledge, and crawled along without raising themselves in the slightest until they reached a point where the cliffs projected somewhat. from here they could see down the valley, and they lay immov- able, with their rifles in front of them. "they are not more than fifty yards or so from those bushes where we got up on to the ledge. that is where the red-skins are likely to try crawling up, for there they would be out of sight of the rock." "surely they would never venture to come along the ledge in daylight, jerry. they would have to pass along under the fire of uncle and his mates, and would have our rifles to meet in front." united. "no, it would only be one, or at most, two scouts. they would reckon that from that point where the chief is lying they would get a view right along the ledge to here, and be able to make out what we are. it is the strangeness of tho thing that has kept them quiet all these hours, and i expect their chief will want to prove that there are only a few of us, and that we are men for certain. i reckon they have sent off to the villages already, and there will be more of the varmint here to-night. the indians are never fond of attacking in the dark; still, if they were sure about us, they might try it. they would know they could get up to the foot of that rock before being seen, and once among the bushes they would reckon they could make easy work of it." a quarter of an hour later there was the crack of a rifle, followed instantly by an indian yell. "that is the chief's piece, tom, and i reckon the lead has gone straight." the silence remained unbroken for the next two hours, and then leaping horse crawled back as quietly as he had gone. "what was it, chief!" "it was a 'rappahoe, who will scout no more," the chief said quietly. "he came up the bushes, but before he could step on to the ledge leaping horse fired, and he will take no tales back to his tribe." "they won't try again, chief?" leaping horse shook his head. "first take rock," he said, "then when they have the scalps of the white men they will watch us here. will know we cannot stay here long without water." "you are right there, chief, and no mistake; my tongue is like a piece of leather now, and as soon as it gets dark i shall make a bee-line down to the river, i want to have a talk with harry, but just at present i want a drink a blamed sight worse. if i had thought we were going to be in the heart of the rockies. stuck up here all day i would have brought my water- bottle with me." the time passed very slowly, although the air became cooler as soon as the sun had gone down behind the opposite range. as soon as the light faded a little the indian crawled farther along the ledge, and returned in a short time saying that he had found a spot where the whites could descend. two or three times jerry urged that it was dark enough, before the chief consented to move. at last, however, he stood up and gave the cry of an owl, and they were in a minute or two joined by hunting dog, who had until now remained at his post. the chief at once led the way along the ledge until he reached the spot where the rock had crumbled away somewhat. "we had better go down one at a time," jerry said. "for if there was a slip or a tumble it might let down a gun-hammer, and we want our lead for the 'rappahoes, and not for each other." when it came to tom's turn, he found it a very difficult place to get down in the semi-darkness, and two or three times he almost lost his footing. as soon as all were down they fell into indian file, and crossed the valley to the rock, the chief giving the hoot of an owl twice as he approached it. three men at once stepped out from the bushes at its foot. "i began to wonder when you were coming, and was just going to get the ponies down before it was too dark to do it without running the risk of breaking their legs. well, i am right glad to see you, jerry; and you too, tom, though it is too dark to see much of you. the chief has been telling me how he brought you along. there is no time to talk now, but i am right glad to see you, lad," and he shook tom heartily by the hand, "now, mates, let us get the horses down." united. "i must make tracks for the water first, harry, the young un and i are pretty near choking; and i expect the indians are as bad, though it ain't their natur to talk about it." "get down horses first," the chief said. "too dark soon." "waal, i suppose five minutes won't make much differ- ence," jerry grumbled, "so here goes." "i have tied some hide over their hoofs," harry said, "so as to make as little noise as possible about it." "must make no noise," the chief said urgently. "red- skin scouts soon be crawling up." one by one the horses were brought down, harry leading them, and the others pushing aside the bushes as noiselessly as possible. then their loads were carried down and packed upon them. "you get on my horse, jerry," harry wade whispered, "i will walk with tom. i have had no time to say a word to him yet, or to ask about the people at home. where is the chief v leaping horse and his companion had stolen away as soon as the loads had been adjusted. the others led the horses to the river, and allowed them to drink, while jerry and tom lay down and took a long draught of the water. the miner's bottles were filled, and they then started. "it is lucky the river makes such a roar among these rocks here," harry said, "it will drown the sound of the horses' hoofs." for half an hour they proceeded at a fast walk, then the skins were taken off the horses' feet and they went on at a trot, the two wades- taking hold of jerry's stirrup- leathers and running alongside. in half an hour they entered the belt of trees, and dismounting, at once began to ascend the hill. they were some distance up when they heard a distant yell. "you may yell as much as you like," jerry panted, "you in the heart of the rockies. won't catch us now. they have been a mighty long time finding out we were gone." "they could not make out about you," harry said. "i could see by the chief's manner, and the glances the indian with him kept giving to the place where you were lying, that they were puzzled and alarmed. they offered if we would surrender that they would allow us to return down the valley without hurt. i said, of course, that i preferred staying where i was; we had come up the valley and intended going farther; we didn't want to interfere with them, and if they had left us alone we should have left them alone; and they had only themselves to thank for the loss of some of their braves. 'we have,' i said, 'many friends who will protect us, and much harm will fall on the indians who venture to meddle with us.' "'are your friends white men?' the chief asked. 'have they wings that they have flown down here from the hills v "' they have come, that is enough,' i said. 'you see, when they were wanted they were here, and if they are wanted again you will hear of them, and your braves will die, and you will gain nothing. you had best go back to your lodges and leave us to go away in peace. whoever they are, they can shoot, as you have found out to your cost. they have no ill-will to the red-skins, providing the red-skins let us alone. they only fired four shots; if they had wished to, they could have killed many more.' when the chief saw that he could get nothing further from me he went away. as usual he spoke boastfully at last, and said that he had offered peace to us, and if war came, it would be our faults. i laughed, and said that we could take care of ourselves, and preferred doing so to trusting ourselves in the hands of the 'rappahoes, when wo had made some of their squaws widows." united. ill "would they have kept their word, uncle, do you think?" tom aaked. "not they. there are a few of the indian tribes whose word can be taken, but as a rule words mean nothing with them, and if we had put ourselves in their power they would have tomahawked us instantly, or else taken us down and tortured us at their villages, which would have been a deal worse. i have no doubt they had a long talk after the chief returned to them, and that it was some time after it became dark before they could pluck up courage enough to climb the rock, though i expect they must have got close to it very soon after we left. i reckon they have been crawling up inch by inch. of course, directly they got to where the horses had been tied they knew we had gone, and i expect that yell was a signal for a rush forward to the top. but we need not bother any more about them. they may ride as far as the foot of the forest, but when they find we have gained that safely they will give it up until morning; they will know well enough it is no good starting to search the woods in the dark. we may as well rest where we are until the moon is up, for we make so much noise crashing through this undergrowth that they could hear us down there." "now tell me, lad, about your mother and sisters, and how you came out after all." tom told his uncle of his mother's death, and the reason why he had left his sisters to come out to join him. "it is a very bad business, lad, and i take a lot of blame to myself. when i got your mother's letter telling me of poor john's death, and that she would not hear of your coming out, i said some very hard things to myself. here had i been knocking about for twenty years, and having had a fair share of luck, and yet i could not put my hand on five hundred dollars, and there was my brother's widow and children, and i, their nearest relative, could not in the heart of the rockies. help them. it made me feel a pretty mean man, i can tell you. your mother did not say much about her circum- stances, but it did not need that. i knew that john had retired from the navy with little besides his half-pay, and that her pension as his widow must be a mighty slim one. altogether i had a pretty bad time of it. however, i took a tall oath that the next rich strike i made the dollars should not be thrown away. i reckoned that you would be out before long; for it was certain that if you were a lad of spirit you would not be staying there doing nothing. your mother said that the girls all intended to take up teaching, and it was not likely that you would let them work for the family while you were loafing about at home. i know in my time it was hard enough to get anything to do there, and young fellows who have come out here to ranche tell me that it is harder than ever now. i thought you would fancy this life, and that in time you would talk your mother over into letting you come." "i should never have got her to agree to it, uncle. i wanted to go to sea, but after father's death she would not hear of it. she said i was her only boy and that she could not spare me, and i had to promise to give up the thought. she was still more against your plan, but when i wrote to you i thought that possibly in time she might agree to it. but it was not long afterwards that her health began to fail, and i saw then that i must give up all thought of leaving her, and must, when i left school, take anything that offered; and it was only after her death that i talked it over with the girls, and they agreed that to come here was the best thing for me." "and you left before my last letter arrived?" "yes; we had no letter after the one you wrote asking me to come out." "no, i suppose you could not have had it. i wrote united. before i started out three months ago from salt lake city. i had struck a ledge of pretty good stuff, i and another. we sold out for a thousand dollars, and i sent my share off to your mother, telling her that i had been having bad luck since i got her letter, but that i hoped to do better in future, and i thought, anyhow, i could promise to send her as much once a year, and if i had a real stroke of luck she and her girls would have the benefit of it." "that was good of you, uncle." "not good at all," harry wade grumbled. "i have behaved like a fool all along; it is true that when i did get letters from your father, which was not very often, he always wrote cheerfully, and said very little about how he was situated as to money. but i ought to have known—i did know, if i thought of it—that with a wife and six children it must be mighty hard to make ends meet on a lieutenant's half- pay, and there was i, often throwing away twice as much as his year's pension on a week's spree. when i heard he was gone you may pretty well guess how i felt. however, lad, if things turn out well i will make it up as far as i can. now, let us join the others." the others, however, were all sound asleep, having wrapped themselves in their blankets, and lain down as soon as the halt was decided upon. jerry, having had no sleep the previous night, and but little for four or five days, had not even thought of asking the others for food, which they doubtless had on their saddles, although he had tasted noth- ing for twenty-four hours. tom, however, less accustomed to enforced fasts, felt ravenous. "we have had nothing to eat to-day, uncle, except a crust left over from yesterday's baking, and i don't think i could get to sleep if i did not eat something." "bless me, i never thought of that, tom. if i had i would have sent food across by the chief this morning. ( ) h in the heart of the rockies. there is no bread, but there is plenty of cold meat. we cooked a lot yesterday evening, for we thought we might not get a chance of cooking to-day." "then you knew, uncle, the indians were near?" tom went on, when he had appeased his appetite and taken a drink of water, with a little whisky in it from his uncle's flask. "aye, lad; we guessed somehow we had been followed all along. we had done everything we could to throw them off the trail—travelling as much as we could in the course of streams, muffling the feet of our ponies, and picking out the hardest ground to travel on, but every morning before day- break one of us went up the hillside, and twice we made out mounted indians moving about down the valley. yesterday morning ten of them came galloping up within easy shot . i don't think they thought that we were so near. they drew up their horses suddenly, had a talk, and then came riding after us. it didn't need their yells to tell us what their intention was. we knocked three of them out of their saddles, then threw our horses down and lay behind them. "they galloped round and round us shooting, but we picked two more off, and then they rode away. we knew enough of them to be sure that they were not going to give it up, but would follow us till joined by enough of their tribe to attack us again. we made a long march, hoping to get to the timber before they could come up, but just as the sun was setting we saw them coming along, about fifteen of them; and we had just time to get up to that rock. as they rode past we opened a smart fire and dropped four of them; the others rode up the valley, so as to cut us off from going farther. we filled our water-skins and got the horses half-way up as you saw, and then lighted a fire and cooked. we kept watch all night, two down below and one at the top; but everything was quiet, and we guessed they were waiting for others to come up. united. "about an hour before daylight we heard another gang arrive below us. they halted there, and it was not long before they began crawling up from above and below, and for a bit we shot pretty brisk. the odds were too much against them, with us on the height, and they drew off. then for an hour they were pretty quiet while they were holding council, except that we did some shooting with a party who had climbed up to that ledge opposite; then we saw both bands mount, and reckoned they were going to make a dash for us. we knew if they did it in earnest we must go down, for once among the rocks and bushes there would be no keeping them from mounting up. we made up our minds that the end was not far off, though i fancy we should have accounted for a good many of them before they rubbed us out. when your four rifles spoke from the ledge we thought it was a party who had gone back there, for we felt sure that we had driven them all away, but it wasn't more than a moment before we saw it wasn't that. there was no mistaking the yell of astonishment from the indians, and as the horses swerved round we saw that three of them had fallen. you may guess we didn't stop to argue who it was, but set to work to do our share; but it seemed to us something like a miracle when the red-skins rode off. "we had been talking of leaping horse during the night, for he had promised to come back to join us, and i knew him well enough to be able to bet all creation that he would come. he had only left us to keep an appointment with his nephew, who was to join him at fort bridger. if there had only been two guns fired we should have put it down to him, but being four i don't think either of us thought of him till he stood up and shouted. now, lad, you had better take a sleep. we shall be moving on as soon as the moon is fairly up, and it won't be over that hill behind us in the heart of the rockies. till two or three. i will watch till then, but i don't think there is the least chance of their following us to-night; they have been pretty roughly handled, and i don't think they will follow until they have solved the mystery of that ledge. they searched it, no doubt, as soon as they found the rock was empty, and at daybreak they will set about tracing the trail up. that will be easy enough for them when they have once got rid of the idea that there was something uncanny about it, and then we shall have them on our heels again and on the chief's too. the first thing for us to do will be to make along the hill till we get to the edge of the canon, where leaping horse has gone for your ponies, and to follow it to its upper end." "i will watch, uncle, if you will wake me in an hour. i shall be all right after a nap, but i can scarcely keep my eyes open now." it seemed, however, to tom that he had not been asleep five minutes when his uncle shook him. the others were already on their feet . the moon was shining down through the trees, and with cautious steps, and taking the utmost trouble to avoid the branches, they started on their upward climb. not a word was spoken, for all knew how far sound travels on a still night. there was, however, a slight breeze moving among the tree tops when they started, and in an hour this had so far increased that the boughs were swaying and the leaves rustling. "i reckon there ain't no occasion to keep our mouths shut no longer," one of the men said. "now that the trees are on the move they would not hear us if they were only a hundred yards away." all were glad when daylight began to appear, tom because the climbing would be much easier when the ground could be seen, the others because they were all longing for a pipe, but had hitherto not dared to light one, for the flash chased. of a match could be seen far away. they had been bearing steadily to the right as they mounted, and shortly after daybreak they suddenly found themselves on the edge of a canon. "do you think this is the one, jerry?" one of the men asked. "that is more than i can tell, ben. i did not see an opening in the valley as we came up it, but we might very well have missed one in the dark. i should think from the distance we have gone towards the right it must be the one where we left our horses. anyhow, whether it is or not, we must follow it up to the top and wait there for a bit to see if the chief comes." "i reckon he will be there before us," harry said; "that is if he got round the red-skins all right and found the * horses. there would be no reason for him to wait, and i expect he would go straight on, and is like enough to be waiting for us by this time." chapter vii. chased. rilhk party pressed forward as rapidly as they could. the ground was rough and at times very steep, and those on foot were able to keep up with the horses without much difficulty. "you think the indians will follow, uncle?" tom asked. "they will follow, you may bet your boots, tom; by this time they have got to the bottom of the mystery. the first thing this morning some of them will go up on to the ledge where you were, follow your tracks down to the in the heart of the rockies. canon where you left the horses, and find that you came up the valley and not down it. they will have made out that there were two whites and two red-skins, and that the two red-skins have gone up the canon with the horses. directly the matter is all cleared up, they will be hotter than ever for our scalps, for there is nothing a red-skin hates worse than being fooled. of course, they will know that it is a good deal harder to wipe out seven men than three, and i don't think they will attack us openly; they know well enough that in a fair fight two red-skins, if not three, are likely to go down for each white they rub out. but they will bide their time: red-skins are a wonderful hand at that; time is nothing to them, and they would not mind hanging about us for weeks and weeks if they can but get us at last. however, we will talk it all over when the indians join us. i don't think there is any chance of fighting to-day, but whether we shall get out of these mountains without having another scrimmage is doubtful." tom noticed that in his talk with him his uncle dropped most of the western expressions which when speaking with the others he used as freely as they did. he was now able to have a fair look at him, and found that he agreed pretty closely with the ideas he had formed of him. there was a strong likeness between him and his brother. they were about the same height, but harry was broader and more strongly built. his face was deeply bronzed by long exposure to the wind and sua he had a large tawny beard, while tom's father had been clean shaved. the sailor was five years the senior, but the miner looked far younger than tom could ever remember his father looking, for the latter had never thoroughly recovered his health after having had a long bout of fever on the zanzibar station; and the long stride and free carriage of his uncle chased. was in striking contrast to the walk of his father. both had keen gray eyes, the same outline of face, the same pleasant smile. "now that i can see you fairly, tom," the miner said, when they halted once for the horses to come up to them, "i can make out that you are a good deal like your father as i can first remember him." "i was thinking you were very like him, uncle." "we used to be alike in the old days, but i reckon the different lives we led must have changed us both a great deal. he sent me once a photograph four or five years ago, and at first i should not have known it was him. i could see the likeness after a bit, but he was very much changed. no doubt i have changed still more; all this hair on my face makes a lot of difference. you see, it is a very long time since we met. i was but twenty when i left england, and i had not seen him for two or three years before that, for he was on the mediterranean station at the time. well, here are the horses again, and as the ground looks flatter ahead we shall have to push on to keep up with them." they were presently altogether beyond the forest, and a broad plateau of bare rock stretched away in front of them for miles. "there they are," jerry curtis shouted, "i was begin- ning to feel scared that the 'rappahoes had got them." it was a minute or two before tom could make out the distant figures, for his eyes were less accustomed to search for moving objects than were those of his companions. "they are riding fast," harry wade said, "i reckon they have made out some indians on their trail." the little dark mass tom had first seen soon resolved itself into two horsemen and two riderless animals. they were still three or four miles away, but in twenty minutes they reached the party advancing to meet them. the in the heart of the rockies. whites waved their hats and gave them a cheer as they rode up. "so you have managed to get through them all right, chief?" "the 'eappahoes are dogs. they are frightened at shadows; their eyes were closed. leaping horse stood near their fires and saw them go forward, and knew that his white brothers must have gained the forest before the 'rappa- hoes got to the rock. he found the horses safe, but the canon was very dark and in some places very narrow, with many rocks in the road, so that he had to stop till the moon was high. it was not until morning came that he reached the head of the canon, an hour's ride from here. half an hour back leaping horse went to the edge and looked down. there were ten 'rappahoes riding fast up the trail. has my brother heard anything of the others?" "nothing whatever," harry said. "i reckon they did not begin to move until daylight, and as we went on when the moon rose they must be a good two hours behind us. which way do you think we had better go, chief?" "where does my brother wish to go?" "it matters mighty little. i should say for a bit we had better travel along this plateau, keeping about the same distance from the timber-line. i don't think the 'rappahoes will venture to attack us in the open. if we keep on here we can cross the divide and get into the shoshones' country, and either go down the buffalo and then up the snake and so work down south, or go east and strike some of the streams running that way into the big horn." the chief shook his head. "too far, too many bad indians; will talk over fire to- night." "that is it, chief. it is a matter that wants a good deal chased. of talking over. anyhow, we had better be moving on at once." tom was glad to find himself in the saddle again, and the party rode on at a steady pace for some hours, then they halted, lit a fire, and cooked a meal. tom noticed that the indians no longer took pains to gather dry sticks, but took the first that came to hand. he remarked this to jerry. "they know it is no use trying to hide our trail here; the two bands of indians will follow, one up and one down, until they meet at the spot where the chief joined us. from there they can track us easy enough. nothing would suit us better than for them to come up to us here, for we should give them fits, sartin. this is a good place. this little stream comes down from that snow peak you see over there, and we have got everything we want, for this patch of bushes will keep us in firing for a bit. you see, there are some more big hills in front of us, and we are better here than we should be among them. i expect we shall camp here for the night." "then you don't think the indians will come up close?" "not they. they will send a spy or two to crawl up, you may be sure, but they will know better than to come within reach of our rifles." "i am mighty glad to have my teeth into some deer-flesh again," ben gulston said. "we had two or three chances as we came along, but we dare not fire, and we have just been living on bread and bacon. where did you kill these wapiti?" "at our first halt, near fremont's pass. we got two." "well, you haven't eaten much, jerry," sam hicks said. "i reckon four men ought pretty well to have finished oft two quarters by this time." "i reckon we should have finished one of the bucks, in the heart of the rockies. sam; but we caught a grist of fish the same day, dried them in the sun, and i think we mostly ate them they would not keep as well as the flesh. that is as good as the day we shot it, for up here in the dry air meat keeps a sight better than down in the plains. give me some more tea, sam." "what do you think, mates, of camping here?" harry wade said. "the chief thinks we are better here than we should be if we moved on. he feels certain the red- skins won't dare attack us." there was a cordial agreement in favour of a halt, for after the work they had gone through during the last week they were glad of a rest . no one would have thought half an hour afterwards that the little party en- gaged in washing their shirts at the stream or mending their clothes, were in the heart of a country unknown to most of them, and menaced by a savage foe. the horses cropped the scanty tufts of grass or munched the young tops of the bushes, the rifles stood stacked by the fire, near which the two indians sat smoking and talking earnestly together, hunting dog occasionally getting up and taking a long careful look over the plain. as the men finished their various jobs they came back to the fire. "now, chief," harry said, "let us hear your ideas as to what we had best do. we are all pretty old hands at mountaineering, but we reckon you know a great deal more about it than we do. you don't like the plans i proposed." "no can do it," tho chief said positively. "in a moon the snow will fall, and there will be no crossing mountains." "that is true enough," jerry said. "an old trapper who had lived among the shoshones told me that nine months in the year they were shut up in the valleys by the snow on the passes' chased. "then how can live?" the chief went on. "as long as we stay in this country the 'rappahoes will watch us. they will tell the bannacks and the nez perces, and they too would be on our trail. as long as we keep together and watch they will not come, they fear the white man's rifle; but we cannot live without hunting, and then they kill one, two, till all killed. at night must always watch, at day cannot hunt . how we live ] what good to stay j if we stop all killed sure." there was silence round the circle. every one of them felt the truth of the indian's words, and yet they hated the thought of abandoning their search for gold, or, failing that, of a return home with their horses laden with beaver skins. harry was the first to speak, "i am afraid these varmint have interfered with our plans, mates. if we had had the luck to drop into one of the upper valleys without being noticed we could have hunted and trapped there and looked for gold for months without much chance of being dis- covered, but this has upset it all. i am afraid that what the chief says is true. if we keep together we starve, if we break up and hunt we shall be ambushed and killed. i hate giving up anything i have set my mind on, but this time i don't see a way out of it, we ain't the first party that has come up here and had to go back again with empty hands, and we know what happened to that party of twenty old-time miners from california two years ago, though none of them ever got back to tell the tale. we knew when we started, it wur just a chance, and the cards have gone against us." "that is so," ben agreed; "if it had turned out well we might have made a good strike. it ain't turned out well, and as every day we stay here there will be more of those varmint swarming round us, i say the sooner we get out of this dog-goned country the better." in the heart of the rockies. he would not have a ghost of a chance of getting away, for we could ride him down sartin." "well, i reckon we may as well take a sleep," sam hicks said. "you lie down for one, anyhow, harry, for you watched last evening. we will toss up which of us keeps awake." "leaping horse will keep watch," the chief said quietly. "no fear of indians, but better to watch." knowing the power of the red-skins to keep awake for an almost unlimited time, none of the others thought of refusing the offer, and in a few minutes all were sound asleep. towards sunset they were on their feet again. another meal was cooked and eaten, then as it became dusk the horses were gathered fifty yards away, and hunting dog and tom took their places beside them. "keep your eyes open and your rifle handy, tom," his uncle said, "it is like enough that some young brave, anxious to distinguish himself, may crawl up with the in- tention of stampeding the ponies, though i don't think he would attempt it till he thought most of us were asleep. still, there is no saying." the watch was undisturbed, and soon it became so dark that objects could no longer be seen fifty yards away. tom began to feel nervous. every tuft of ground, every little bush seemed to him to take the form of a crawling indian, and he felt a great sense of relief when he saw the figures round the fire rise and walk towards him. "i am glad you have come, uncle," he said frankly; "i began to feel very uncomfortable several times. it seemed to me that some of the bushes moved." "that is just what i thought you would be feeling, tom. but it was just as well that your first watch should be a short one, without much chance of an ambush being on foot; and i knew that if your eyes deceived you, hunting dog chased. was there. next time you won't feel so nervous; that sort of thing soon passes off." a fresh armful of brush-wood had been thrown on to the fire before the men left it, and long after they had ridden away they could see the flames mounting high. after riding north for a quarter of an hour they changed their route and passed round, leaving the fire half a mile on their right. the light of the stars was quite sufficient for them to travel by, and after four hours' journey the chief who was riding ahead halted. "not far from canon now. listen." a very faint murmur came to their ears, so faint that had not his attention been drawn to it tom would not have noticed it at all. "what is that noise?" he asked. "that is the stream down in the canon," his uncle replied. "how far are we from the head, chief?" "not far, must ride slow." they proceeded at a walk, changing their course a little towards the east. hunting dog went on ahead, and in a quarter of an hour they heard his signal, the cry of an owl. it arose from a point still further east, and quickening their pace, in a few minutes they came up to the young indian, who was standing by his horse at the edge of a steep descent, at the bottom of which tom could see a stream of water. "it looks very steep," jerry said. "steep, but smooth," the indian replied. "came up here with horses this morning." all dismounted, and tom went up to his horse's head. "that won't do, tom. never go before a horse down a steep place where you can't see your way, always drive it before you." there was some trouble in getting the horses to commence the descent, but after a short time the chief's pony set the in the heart of the rockies. example; and tucking its hind legs under it until it sat down on its haunches, began to slide down, while the other animals, after staring into the darkness with ears laid back and snorting with fear, were half-persuaded, half-forced to follow its example, and the men went down after them. the descent was not so steep as in the darkness it looked, and the depth was not over fifty feet . as soon as they reached the bottom they mounted again, and the chief leading the way they rode down the canon. at first they were able to pro- ceed at a fair pace, but as the sides grew higher and more precipitous the darkness became more dense, and they were obliged to pick their way with great caution among the boulders that strewed the bottom of the ravine. several times they had to dismount in order to get the horses over heavy falls, and it was four hours from the time they entered the canon before they approached its mouth. when they entered the little wood where they had first left the horses, the chief said, "make fire, cook food here. leaping horse and hunting dog go on and scout, maybe 'rappahoes left watch in valley." "very well, chief. it is seven hours since we started; i think the horses will be all the better for an hour's rest, and am sure we shall be the better of a feed. besides, when we are once out of this hole we may have to travel fast." "you don't think it likely that the 'rappahoes are on the look-out for us at the entrance?" tom asked, as the indians moved away. "not likely at all, tom. still, as they might reckon that if we gave their searching party the slip we must come down again by the river or through this canon, they may have left a party or sent down word to some of their villages to keep a watch in the valley." it was more than an hour before the indians returned. "no 'rappahoes in valley," the chief said, as he seated chased. himself by the fire and began without loss of time to eat the meat they had cooked in readiness. "better be going soon, must cross river and get on before light comes; have seen fires, indian villages up on hillsides. when light comes and 'rappahoes find trail they come back quick." "you may bet your boots they will, chief," sam hicks said. "they will be a pretty mad crowd when they make out that we have come down again by the canon. as soon as they see which way we have headed some of them will make a bee-line down here in hopes of cutting us off at the mouth, but by the time they are here we shall be half-way up the hill." the indian made no reply, but he and hunting dog ate their meal steadily, and as soon as they had finished rose to their feet, and saying, "time to go" went out to fetch in their homes. "i don't think the chief is as confident we shall get off without a fight as sam seemed to be," tom said to his uncle. "there is never any saying what an indian thinks, tom, even when he has fallen into white man's ways, as leaping horse has done. it may be that the sight of the fires he made out on the opposite hills has troubled him. it will be light before we are far up on the side, and we may be made out by some of the varmint there. they are always restless. go into an indian village when you will, you will find some of them smoking by the fire. their ears are so 'tarnal sharp, they can hear sounds that would never catch our ears, not at half the distance. the clink of a couple of pans together, or a stone set rolling by a horse's tread, were it ever so faint, would bring them on their feet directly, especially now they know that a war-party is out." the march was again resumed. passing through the narrowest part of the canon they issued out into the valley and made for the river. some time was lost here, for sam ( ) i in the heart of the rockies. hicks, who was leading one of the pack-ponies, was carried down several hundred yards by the stream, and with diffi- culty effected his landing. the horse's load shifted and had to be repacked. as soon as this was done they followed the river down for two miles till they came upon a stream running into it from the south-west. "you think this is the stream we have to follow, chief?" "must be him, no other came in on this side for a long way; right line for peak." they turned up by the stream, and after riding a mile found themselves entering a mountain gorge. it was not a canon but a steep, narrow valley. they picked their way with the greatest caution for some time, then the two indians stopped simultaneously. "what is the matter, chief?" harry, who was riding next to them, whispered. "smell smoke."' harry sniffed the air. "i can't say i smell it, chief, but if you say you do that settles it. where do you think it comes from?" "up valley; wind light, but comes that way. indian village up here." "well, so much the worse for the indian village if it interferes with us," harry said grimly; "there is one thing certain, we have got to go through. probably most of the braves are away up in the hills." they now went on with redoubled caution. the chief gave his bridle to hunting dog and went forward on foot. a hundred yards farther the valley made a sharp turn and then widened out considerably, and the glow of a fire was visible among some trees standing on the hillside some fifty feet above the level of the stream. the chief looked at the sky; a faint light was breaking, and without pausing chased. he continued to lead the way. they passed under the indian encampment, and had got a few yards higher when the pony sam hicks was leading gave a sharp neigh. "darn its old ears!" tom heard jerry growl. harry at the same moment put his horse to a trot, and the others following clattered up the valley, knowing that con- cealment was no longer of any use; indeed, an answering neigh from above and hurried shouts were heard, followed a moment afterwards by a loud yell as an indian running through the trees caught sight of them in the moonlight . "we are in for it now, tom; that is, if there are men enough in the village to attack us." the horses broke into a gallop. they had gone but fifty yards when a rifle-shot was heard from behind, and tom felt a shock as the ball struck his saddle. almost immedi- ately another shot was fired abreast of him, and an indian yell rose loudly behind them. a moment later leaping horse with a shout of triumph bounded down the rocks and leapt on to his horse. four or five more shots were fired from behind, but none of them were hit. a hundred yards farther they were in shelter of a belt of trees that extended down to the stream. as they entered it harry looked back. he could now see the hills beyond the main valley. "look,chiefi" he exclaimed. "the varmint up there are signalling far off above the timber-line." bright tongues of fire could be seen, two close together and one a short distance to the left . "what does that mean, uncle?" tom asked, as the chief gave a short exclamation of surprise and anger. "it means, lad, that the red-skins have been sharper than we gave them credit for. when their spies brought them news that we had started they must have come down to the fire and followed our trail at once with torches, before we had got above an hour or two away. no doubt it in the heart of the rockies. was slow work, but they must have found where we changed our course, and made out that we were making for the head of the canon. i expect most of them lost no time in fol- lowing the trail farther, but rode straight for the head of the canon, and like enough they weren't half an hour behind us when we came out . the others rode to the edge of the plateau and set those fires alight." "but what do they mean, uncle?" "they are a warning to all the villages that we have headed back, you may be sure of that, though i can't say what the message is, for every tribe has its own signals, but it will have set them on the watch up and down the valley; and like enough the signal has been repeated somewhere at a point where it can be seen straight down the big wind valley. the shooting will tell them all which way we are making, and if the 'rappahoes have come out of the canon, as i reckon they have, they need lose no more time in looking for our trail. i reckon in half an hour we shall have a hun- dred or so of the varmint after us. i only hope there are no more villages upon this line. i don't so much care about the fellows who are following us, we are sure to find some place where we can make a stand, but it would be awkward if we find our way barred." "but if there is no one in front, uncle, i should think we might be able to keep ahead. our horses are as good as they are likely to have." "you and jerry might be able to, tom, for you have got hold of two first-rate ponies; but the indians' are nothing out of the way, and our ponies ain't in it with you; besides, they and the pack-horses have all been doing hard work for the last week with none too much food, and many of the 'rappahoes will be on fresh horses. i expect we have got some very tall climbing to do before we get up to the pass, and we have got to do our fighting before we get there." chased. a spot a foot on one side of it. half a minute later an indian appeared at the bush and began to run forward. tom pressed the trigger. the indian ran a few steps, and then fell forward on his face. "bravo, plumb-centre!" jerry shouted. "we said that you would do the rifle credit, tom, and billy the scout could not have done better himself." "young white man make great hunter," the chief re- marked approvingly. "got good eye and steady hand." the lesson had its effect. the indian advance was no longer rapid, but was conducted with the greatest caution, and it was only occasionally that a glimpse could be caught of a dusky figure passing from rock to rock. when they came within three hundred yards the two indians and jerry also opened fire. one fell to a shot from the chief, but neither of the others hit their marks. tom indeed did not fire again, the movements of the indians being so rapid that they were gone before he could bring his sight to bear upon any of them. "go now," the chief said. "'rappahoes fire soon; run quick." it was but a few yards to shelter. as they dashed across the intervening space two or three indian rifles rang out, but the rest of the assailants had been too much occupied in sheltering themselves and looking for the next spot to make for, to keep an eye upon the defenders, and the hastily-fired shots all missed. a moment later the party mounted their horses and rode up the ravine, the yells of the indians ringing in their ears. in the heart of the rockies. chapter viii. in safety. we have gained half an hour anyhow," jerry said, as mr they galloped up the ravine, "and i reckon by the time we overtake them we shall find them stowed away in some place where it will puzzle the red-skins to dislodge us. the varmint will fight hard if they are cornered, but they ain't good at advancing when there are a few rifle-tubes, in the hands of white men, pointing at them, and they have had a lesson now that we can shoot." the ravine continued to narrow. the stream had become a mere rivulet, and they were high up on the hillside. "i begin to be afeared there ain't no place for making a stand." here ho was interrupted by an angry growl, as a great bear suddenly rose to his feet behind a rock. "you may thank your stars that we are too busy to attend to you," jerry said, as they rode past within a few yards of it. "that is a grizzly, tom; and an awkward beast you would have found him if you had come upon him by yourself without your shooting-iron. he is a big one too, and his skin would have been worth money down in the settlements. ah, there they are." the ravine made an abrupt turn to the west, and high up on its side, they saw their three companions with the five horses climbing up the precipitous rocks. "however did they get up there " jerry exclaimed. "found indian trail," the chief said. "let my brothers keep their eyes open." they rode on slowly now, examining every foot of the steep hillside. presently hunting dog, who was ahead, uttered in safety. an exclamation. between two great boulders there was a track, evidently a good deal used. "let hunting dog go first," the chief said, "leaping horse will follow the white men." "i reckon that this is the great indian trail over the pass," jerry said to tom, who preceded him. "i have heard there ain't no way over the mountains atween that pass by fremont's buttes and the pass by this peak, which they calls union peak, and the red-skins must travel by this when they go down to hunt buffalo on the green river. it is a wonder harry struck on it." "leaping horse told him to keep his eyes open," the chief said from the rear. "he knew that indian trail led up this valley." "jee-rusalem! but it's a steep road," jerry said presently. "i am dog-goned if i can guess how the red-skins ever dis- covered it. i expect they must have tracked some game up it, and followed to see where it went to." the trail wound about in a wonderful way. sometimes it went horizontally along narrow ledges, then there was a bit of steep climbing, where they had to lead their horses; then it wound back again, and sometimes even descended for a distance to avoid a projecting crag. "ah! would ye, yer varmint?" jerry exclaimed, as a shot rang out from the valley below and a bullet flattened itself against a rock within a foot or two of his head. the shot was followed by a loud yell from below, as a crowd of mounted indians rode at full gallop round the angle of the ravine. "hurry on, hunting dog, and get round the next corner, for we are regular targets here." a few yards farther a turn of the path took them out of sight of the indians, but not before a score of bullets came whistling up from below. in the heart of the rockies. "the varmint have been riding too fast to shoot straight, i reckon. it will be our turn directly." just as he spoke the chief called upon them to dismount. they threw their bridles on their horses' necks, and de- scending to the ledge they had just left, lay down on it . "get your revolver out, tom, before you shoot," jerry said, "they will be off before you have time to load your rifle again." the indians were some four hundred feet below them, and were talking excitedly, evidently hesitating whether to follow up the trail. the four rifles cracked almost together. two indians fell, and the plunging of two horses showed that they were hit . in an instant the whole mass were on their way down the valley, followed by bullet after bullet from the revolver which leaping horse as well as the whites carried. anything like accurate aim was impossible, and no indian was seen to fall, but it was probable that some of the bullets had taken effect among the crowded horsemen. "go on quiet now," leaping horse said, rising to his feet. "'rappahoes not follow any farther. one man with this"—and he touched his revolver—" keep back whole tribe here." half an hour later they joined the party who had halted at the top of the track. "it air too bad our being out of it," ben said, "i hope you have given some of the varmint grist." "only five or six of them," jerry replied regretfully, "counting in the one leaping horse shot at the village. tom here did a big shot, and brought one down in his tracks at a good four hundred yards—as neat a shot as ever i saw fired. the chief he accounted for another; then atween us we wiped out two down below; and i reckon some of the others are carrying some of our lead away. waal, i think we have shook them off at last anyhow. in safety. i suppose there ain't no other road they can come up here by, chief v "leaping horse only heard of one trail." "you may bet your life there ain't another," harry re- marked. "they would never have used such a dog-goned road as this if there had been any other way of going up." "camp here," the chief said. "long journey over pass, too much cold. keep watch here at head of trail." "that is a very good plan. i have heard that the pass is over nine thousand feet above the sea, and it would never do to have to camp up there. besides, i have been looking at the sky, and i don't much like its appearance. look over there to the north." there were, indeed, evident signs of an approaching change in the weather. on the previous day every peak and jagged crest stood out hard and distinct in the clear air. now all the higher summits were hidden by a bank of white cloud. "snow," the indian said gravely; "winter coming." "that is just what i thought, chief. at anyrate we know where we are here, and there is brushwood to be gathered not far down the trail; and even if we are shut up here we can manage well enough for a day or two. these early snows don't lie long, but to be caught in a snow-storm higher up would be a sight worse than fighting with red-skins." from the spot where they were now standing at the edge of the ravine the ground sloped very steeply up for some hundreds of feet, and then steep crags rose in an unbroken wall; but from the view they had had of the country from the other side they knew that behind this wall rose a range of lofty summits. the indian trail ran along close to the edge of the ravine. the chief looked round earnestly. "no good place to camp," he said, "wind blow down hills, horses, not able to stand against it. heap snow in the heart of the rockies. tumble down from there," and he pointed upwards. "carry everything down below." "well, if you think we had better push on let us do so, chief." the indian shook his head and pointed to the clouds again. "see," he said; "storm come very soon." even in the last two or three minutes a change was perceptible. the upper edge of the clouds seemed to be sud- denly broken up. long streamers spread out like signal flags of danger. masses of clouds seemed to be wrenched off and to fly with great rapidity for a short distance; some of them sinking a little floated back until they again formed a part of the mountain cap, while others sped onwards towards the south. "no time," the chief repeated earnestly; "must look for camp quick." he spoke in the indian tongue to hunting dog, and the two stood on a point where the ground jutted out, and closely examined the ravine up whose side they had climbed. the chief pointed farther along, and hunting dog started at a run along the indian trail. a few hundred yards farther he paused and looked down, moved a few steps farther, and then disappeared from sight. in three or four minutes he returned and held up his arms. "come," the chief said, and taking his horse's rein led it along the path . the others followed his example, glad, indeed, to be in motion. five minutes before they had been bathed in perspiration from their climb up the cliff; now they were conscious of the extraordinary change of tem- perature that had suddenly set in, and each had snatched a blanket from behind his saddle and wrapped it round him. they soon reached the spot where hunting dog was stand- ing, and looked down. some thirty feet below there was a sort of split in the face of the cliff, a wall of rock rising to within four or five feet of the level of the edge of the ravine. in safety. at one end it touched the face of the rock, at the other it was ten or twelve feet from it, the space between being in the form of a long wedge, which was completely filled up with trees and brushwood. a ledge ran down from the point where hunting dog was standing to the mouth of the fissure. "jee-rusalem, chief!" ben exclaimed. "that air just made for us—we could not have found a better, not if we had searched for a year. but i reckon we shall have to clear the place a bit before we take the critters down." two axes were taken from one of the pack-horses. "don't cut away the bigger stuff, ben," harry said as his two mates proceeded down the ledge, "their heads will shelter us from the snow a bit; and only clear away the bushes enough to give room for the horses and us, and leave those standing across the entrance to make a screen. while you are doing it we will fetch in as much more wood and grass as we can get hold of before the snow begins to fall." the horses were left standing while the men scattered along the top of the ravine, and by the time ben shouted that they were ready, a considerable pile of brushwood and a heap of coarse grass had been collected. the horses were then led down one by one, unsaddled, and packed together in two lines, having beyond them a great pile of the bushes that had been cut away. "i am dog-goned if this ain't the best shelter i ever struck upon," jerry said, "we could not have fixed upon a better if we had had it built special," the others cordially agreed. the place they occupied was of some twelve feet square. on either side was a perpendicular wall of rock; beyond were the horses; while at the entrance the bush, from three to four feet high, had been left standing; above them stretched a canopy of foliage. enough dry wood had been collected to start a fire. "don't make it too big, jerry, we don't want to scorch in the heart of the rockies. up our roof," harry wade said, "well, i reckon we have got enough fuel here for a week, for there is what you cut down and what we brought, and all that is left standing beyond the horses; and with the leaves and the grass, the ponies should be able to hold out as long as the fuel lasts. we are short of meat, but we have plenty of flour; and as for water, we can melt snow." buffalo rugs were laid down on each side by the rock walls, and on these they took their seats and lighted their pipes. "i have been wanting a smoke pretty bad," jerry said; "i ain't had one since we halted in that there canon. hello, here it comes!" as he spoke a fierce gust of wind swayed the foliage overhead and sent the smoke, that had before risen quietly upwards, whirling round the recess; then for a moment all was quiet again; then came another and a stronger gust, rising and gathering in power and laden with fine particles of snow. a thick darkness fell, and harry threw some more wood on the fire to make a blaze. but loud as was the gale outside, the air in the shelter was hardly moved, and there was but a slight rustling of the leaves overhead. thicker and thicker flew the snow-flakes in the air outside, and yet none seemed to fall through the leaves. "i am dog-goned if i can make this out," sam hicks said. "we are as quiet here as if we were in a stone house, and one would think there was a copper-plated roof overhead. it don't seem nat'ral." the others were also looking up with an air of puzzled surprise, not unmingled with uneasiness. harry went to the entrance and looked out over the breastwork of bushes. "look here, sam," he said. "why, harry, it looks to me as if it were snowing up instead of down," the miner said as he joined him. in the heart of the rockies. sort of eddy, just as you would be if it was a river that was moving alongside of you. wind acts just the same way as water. if it had been a big river coming along the valley at the same rate as the wind, it would rush up the rocks some distance and then sweep round and race up the valley; but wind being light instead of being heavy is able to rush straight up the hill till it gets right over the crest." "waal, if you say it is all right i suppose it is. anyhow, it's a good thing for us, and i don't care how long it goes on in the same way. i reckoned that before morning we should have those branches breaking down on us with the weight of snow; now i see we are like to have a quiet night." "i won't answer for that, ben; it is early in the day yet, and there is no saying how the wind may be blowing before to-morrow morning. anyhow, now we have time we may as well get some of those bundles of bushes that we brought down, and pile them so as to thicken the shelter of these bushes and lighten it a bit. if we do that, and hang a couple of blankets inside of them, it will give us a good shelter even if the wind works round, and will help to keep us warm. for though we haven't got wind or snow in here, we have got cold." "you bet," jerry agreed; "it is a regular blizzard. and although i don't say as it is too cold sitting here by the fire, it won't cost us anything to make the place a bit warmer." accordingly the bundles of wood they had gathered were brought out, and with these the screen of bush was thickened, and raised to a height of five feet; and when this was hung inside with a couple of blankets, it was agreed that they could get through the storm comfortably even if it lasted for a month. they cooked their last chunk of deer's flesh, after having first prepared some bread and put it in the baking-pot among the embers, and made some tea from the water in in safety. the skins. when they had eaten their meal they covered themselves up in buffalo robes and blankets, and lighted their pipes. there was, however, but little talk, for the noise of the tempest was so great, that it was necessary to raise the voice almost to a shout to be heard, and it was not long before they were all asleep. for hours there was no stir in the shelter, save when a horse pawed the ground impatiently, or when hunting dog rose two or three times to put fresh sticks on the fire. it seemed to tom when he woke that it ought to be nearly morning. he took out his watch, and by the light of the fire made out to his surprise that it was but ten o'clock. the turmoil of the wind seemed to him to be as loud as before, and he pulled the blankets over his shoulder again and was soon sound asleep. when he next woke, it was with the sensation of coldness in the face, and sitting up he saw that the blankets and the ground were covered with a thick coating of fine snow. there was a faint light in addition to that given by the embers of the fire, and he knew that morning was breaking. his movement disturbed his uncle, who was lying next him. he sat up and at once aroused the others. "wake up, mates," he said; "we have had somewhere about eighteen hours' sleep, and day is breaking." in a minute all were astir. the snow was first shaken off the blankets, and then harry, taking a shovel, cleared the floor. jerry took the largest cooking-pot, and saying to tom "you bring that horse-bucket along," pushed his way out through a small gap that had been left in the screen of bushes. the wind had gone down a good deal, though it was still blowing strongly. the snow had drifted against the entrance, and formed a steep bank there; from this they filled the pot and bucket, pressing the snow down. tom was glad to get back again within the shelter, for the cold ( ) k in toe heart of the rockies. outside was intense. the fire was already burning brightly, and the pot and a frying-pan were placed over it, and kept replenished with snow as fast as their contents melted. "we must keep on at this," harry said, "there is not a drop left in the skins, and the horses must have water." as soon as enough had melted it was poured into the kettle. there was some bacon among the trappers' stores, as they had calculated that they would not be able to hunt until out of big wind valley and far up among the forests beyond. the frying-pan was now utilized for its proper work; while the pail was placed close enough to the fire to thaw its contents, without risking injury to it. within an hour of breakfast being finished enough snow had been thawed to give the horses half a bucket of water each. in each pail a couple of pounds of flour had been stirred to help out what nourishment could be obtained from the leaves, and from the small modicum of grass given to each animal. "it will be a big journey over the pass, anyhow," harry had said. "now that we are making tracks for the settle- ments we need not be sparing of the flour; indeed the lighter we are the better." the day did not pass so pleasantly as that preceding it, for the air was filled with fine snow that blew in at the entrance and found its way between the leaves over- head; while from time to time the snow accumulating there came down with a crash, calling forth much strong language from the man on whom it happened to fall, and shouts of laughter from his comrades. the party was indeed a merry one. they had failed altogether in the objects of their expedition, but they had escaped without a scratch from the indians, and had inflicted some damage upon them; and their luck in finding so snug a shelter in such a storm far more than counterbalanced their disap- pointment at their failure. in safety. "have you often been caught in the snow, uncle?" "you bet, tom; me and the chief here were mighty nigh rubbed out three years ago. i was prospecting among the ute hills, while leaping horse was doing the hunting for us both. it was in the middle of winter; the snow was deep on the ground in the valleys and on the tops of the hills, but there was plenty of bare rock on the hillside, so i was able to go on with my work. while as for hunting, the cold drove the big-horns down from the heights where they feed in summer, and the chief often got a shot at them; and they are good eating, i can tell you. "we hadn't much fear of red-skins, for they ain't fond of cold, and in winter move their lodges down to the most sheltered valleys, and live mostly on dried meat. when they want a change they can always get a bear, or maybe a deer in the woods. we were camped in a grove of pines in a valley and were snug enough. one day i had struck what i thought was the richest vein i had ever come on. i got my pockets full of bits of quartz, with the gold sticking thick in it, and you may bet i went down to the camp in high glee. a quarter of a mile before i got there i saw leaping horse coming to meet me at a lope. it didn't want telling that there was something wrong. as soon as he came up he said 'utes.' 'many of them, chief?' i asked. he held up his open hands twice. "'twenty of them,' i said; 'that is pretty bad. how far are they away?' he said he had seen them coming over a crest on the other side of the valley. 'then we have got to git,' i said, 'there ain't no doubt about that. what the 'tarnal do the varmint do here?' 'war-party,' the chief said . 'indian hunter must have come across our trail and taken word back to the lodges.' the place where he had met me was among a lot of rocks that had rolled down. there had been no snow for a fortnight, and of course the red-skins in the heart of the rockies. would see our tracks everywhere, going and coming from the camp. we were on foot that time, though we had a pack-horse to carry our outfit. of course they would get that and everything at the camp. i did not think much of the loss, the point was how were we to save our scalps'! we had sat down behind a rock as soon as he had joined me. just then a yell came from the direction of our camp, and we knew that the red-skins had found it. 'they won't be able to follow your trail here, chief, will they?' he shook his head. 'trail everywhere, not know which was the last.' we could see the grove where the camp was, and of course they could see the rocks, and it was sartin that if we had made off up the hill they would have been after us in a squirrel's jump; so there was nothing to do but to lie quiet until it was dark. we got in among the boulders, and lay down where we could watch the grove through a chink. "' i don't see a sign of them,' i said, 'you would have thought they would have been out in search of us.' "' no search,' the chief said. 'no good look for us, not know where we have gone to. hide up in grove. think we come back, and then catch us.' "so it turned out. not a sign of them was to be seen, and after that first yell everything was as quiet as death. in a couple of hours it got dark, and as soon as it did we were off. we talked matters over, you may be sure there weren't no denying we were cornered. there we were, without an ounce of flour or a bite of meat. the chief had caught up a couple of buffalo rugs as soon as he sighted the red-skins. that gave us just a chance, but it wasn't more. in the morning the red-skins would know we had either sighted them or come on their trail, and would be scat- tering all over the country in search of us. we agreed that we must travel a good way apart, though keeping each other in sight. they would have noticed that the trails were all in safety. h single, and if they came upon two together going straight away from the camp, would know for sure it was us making off. "you may think that with so many tracks as we had made in the fortnight we had been there, they would not have an idea which was made the first day and which was made the last, but that ain't so. in the first place, the snow was packed hard, and the footprints were very slight. then, even when it is always freezing there is an evapora- tion of the snow, and the footprints would gradually dis- appear; besides that, the wind on most days had been blowing a little, and though the drift does not count for much on packed snow, a fine dust is blown along, and if the prints don't get altogether covered there is enough drift in them to show which are old ones and which are fresh. we both knew that they could not make much mis- take about it, and that they would be pretty sure to hit on the trail i had made in the morning when i went out, and on that of the chief to the rocks, and following mine back to the same place would guess that we had cached there till it was dark. "i could have done that myself; one can read such a trail as that like a printed book. the worst of it was, there were no getting out of the valley without leaving sign. on the bare hillsides and among the rocks we could travel safe enough, but above them was everywhere snow, and do what we would there would be no hiding our trail. we agreed that the only thing was to cross the snow as quick as possible, to keep on the bare rock whenever we got a chance, and wherever we struck wood, and to double sometimes one way sometimes another, so as to give the red-skins plenty of work to do to follow our trail. we walked all that night, and right on the next day till early in the afternoon. then we lay down and slept till sunset, and then walked again all night . in the heart of the rockies. we did not see any game. if we had we should have shot, for we knew the redskins must be a long way be- hind. when we stopped in the morning we were not so very far from the camp we had started from, for if we had pushed straight back to the settlements, we should have been caught sure, for the utes would have been certain to have sent off a party that way to watch the valleys we should have had to pass through. we lay down among some trees and slept for a few hours and then set out to hunt, for we had been two days without food, and i was beginning to feel that i must have a meal. "we had not gone far when we came across the track of a black bear. we both felt certain that the trail was not many hours old. we followed it for two miles, and found it went up to a slide of rocks; they had come down from a cliff some years before, for there were bushes growing among them. as a rule a black bear will always leave you alone if you leave him, and hasn't much fight in him at the best; so up we went, thinking we were sure of our bear-steak without much trouble in getting it. i was ahead, and had just climbed up on to a big rock, when, from a bush in front, the bear came out at me with a growl. i expect it had cubs some- where. i had just time to take a shot from the hip and then he was on me, and gave me a blow on the shoulder that ripped the flesh down to the elbow. "but that was not the worst, for the blow sent me over the edge, and i fell seven or eight feet down among the sharp rocks. i heard the chief's rifle go off, and it was some time after that before i saw or heard anything more. when i came to i found he had carried me down to the foot of the slide and laid me there. "he was cutting up some sticks when i opened my eyes. 'have you got the bear, leaping horse v "' the bear is dead,' ho said, 'my brother is badly hurt.' in safety. "' oh, never mind the hurt,' i said, 'so that we have got him. what are you doing, chief? you are not going to make a fire here, are you?' "' my brother's leg is broken,' he said. 'i am cutting some sticks to keep it straight.' "that brought me round to my senses, as you may guess. to break one's leg up in the mountains is bad at any time, but when it is in the middle of winter, and you have got a tribe of red-skins at your heels, it means you have got to go under. i sat up and looked at my leg. sure enough, the left one was snapt like a pipe-stem, about half-way between the knee and the ankle. 'why, chief,' i said, 'it would have been a sight better if you had put a bullet through my head as i lay up there. i should have known nothing about it,' "' the utes have not got my white brother yet.' "' no,' said i, 'but it won't be long before they have me; maybe it will be this afternoon, and maybe to-morrow morning.' the chief said nothing, but went on with his work. when he had got five or six sticks about three feet long and as many about a foot, and had cut them so that they each had one flat side, he took off his buckskin shirt, and working round the bottom of it cut a thong about an inch wide and five or six yards long. then he knelt down and got the bone in the right position, and then with what help i could give him put on the splints and bandaged them tightly, a long one and a short one alternately. the long ones he bandaged above the knee as well as below, so that the whole leg was stiff. i felt pretty faint by the time it was done, and leaping horse said, 'want food; my white brother will lie quiet, leaping horse will soon get him some.' "he set to work and soon had a fire going, and then went up to the rocks and came down again with the bear's in the heart of the rockies. hams and about half his hide. it was not long before he had some slices cooked, and i can tell you i felt better by the time we had finished. we had not said much to each other, but i had been thinking all the time, and when we had done i said, 'now, chief, i know that you will be wanting to stay with me, but i ain't going to have it. you know as well as i do that the utes will be hero to-morrow at latest, and there ain't more chance of my getting away from them than there is of my flying. it would be just throwing away your scalp if you were to stop here, and it would not do me a bit of good, and would fret me con- siderable. now before you start i will get you to put me somewhere up among those stones where i can make a good fight of it. you shall light a fire by the side of me, and put a store of wood within reach and a few pounds of bear's flesh. i will keep them off as long as i can with the rifle, then there will be five shots with my colt. i will keep the last barrel for myself; i ain't going to let the utes amuse themselves by torturing me for a few hours before they finish me. then you make straight away for the settlements; they won't be so hot after you when they have once got me. the next time you go near denver you can go and tell pete hoskings how it all came about.' "'my white brother is weak with the pain,' the chief said quietly; 'he is talking foolishly. he knows that leaping horse will stay with his friend. he will go and look for a place.' without listening to what i had to say he took up his rifle and went up the valley, which was a steep one. he was away better than half an hour and then came back, 'leaping horse found a place,' he said, 'where he and his brother can make a good fight. straight harry get on his friend's back.' it was clear that there weren't no use talk- ing to him. he lifted me up on to my feet, then he got me well up on to his back, as if i had been a sack of coal, and a bad time. went off with me, striding along pretty near as quick as if i had not been there. it might have been half a mile, when he turned up a narrow ravine that was little more than a cleft in the rock that rose almost straight up from the valley. it did not go in very far, for there had been a slide, and it was blocked up by a pile of rocks and earth, forty or fifty feet high. it was a big job even for the chief to get me up to the top of them. the snow had drifted down thick into the ravine, and it was a nasty place to climb even for a man who had got nothing but his rifle on his shoulder. however, he got me up safely, and laid me down just over the crest. he had put my buffalo robe over my shoulders before starting, and he rolled me up in this and said, 'leaping horse will go and fetch rifles and bear-meat,' and he set straight off and left me there by myself." chapter ix. a bad time. evex to me," harry went on, after refilling and lighting his pipe, "it did not seem long before the chief was back. he brought a heavy load, for besides the rifles and bear's flesh he carried on his back a big faggot of brushwood. after laying that down he searched among the rocks, and presently set to work to die out the snow and earth between two bit: blocks, and was not long before he scooped out with his tomahawk a hole big enough for the two of us to lie in comfortably. he laid the bear's-skin down in this, then he carried me to it and helped me in and then put the robes over me; and a snugger place you would not want to lie in. "it was about ten feet below the level of the crest of the in the heart of the rockies. heap of rocks, and of course on the upper side, so that directly the red-skins made their appearance he could help me up to the top. that the two of us could keep the utes back i did not doubt; we had our rifles, and the chief carried a revolver as well as i did. after they had once caught a glimpse of the sort of place we were on, i did not think they would venture into the ravine, for they would have lost a dozen men before they got to the mound. i had looked round while the chief was away, and i saw that a hundred yards or so higher up, the ravine came to an end, the sides closing in, so there was no fear of our being attacked from there. what i was afraid of was that the indians might be able to get up above and shoot down on us, though whether they could or not depended on the nature of the ground above, and of course i could not see beyond the edge of the rocks. "but even if they could not get up in the daylight, they could crawl up at night and finish us, or they could camp down at the mouth of the ravine and starve us out, for there was no chance of our climbing the sides, even if my leg had been all right. i was mighty sorry for the chief. he had just thrown his life away, and it must come to the same in the end, as far as i was concerned. even now he could get away if he chose, but i knew well enough it weren't any good talking to him. so i lay there, just listening for the crack of his rifle above. he would bring down the first man that came in, sartin, and there would be plenty of time after that to get me up beside him, for they would be sure to have a long talk before they made any move. i did not expect them until late in the afternoon, and hoped it might be getting dark before they got down into the valley. there had been a big wind sweeping down it since the snow had fallen, and though it had drifted deep along the sides, the bottom was for the most part bare, i a bad time. noticed that the chief had picked his way carefully, and guessed that, as they would have no reason for thinking we were near, they might not take up the trail till morning. of course they would find our fire and the dead bear, or all that there was left of him, and they would fancy we had only stopped to take a meal and had gone on again. they would see by the fire that we had left pretty early in the day. i heard nothing of the chief until it began to get dark; then he came down to me. "'leaping horse will go out and scout,' he said. 'if utes not come soon, will come back here; if they come, will watch down at mouth of valley till he sees utes go to sleep.' 'well, chief,' i said; 'at any rate you may as well take this robe; one is enough to sleep with in this hole, and i shall be as snug as a beaver wrapped up in mine. half your hunting shirt is gone, and you will find it mighty cold standing out there.' "in an hour he came back again. 'utes come,' he said. 'have just lighted fire and going to cook. no come to-night. leaping horse has good news for his brother. there are no stars.' "' that is good news indeed,' i said, 'if it does but come on to snow to night we may carry our scalps back to the settlement yet.' "' leaping horse can feel snow in the air,' he said. 'if it snows before morning, good; if not, the utes will tell their children how many lives the scalps of the englishman and the seneca cost.' "the chief lay down beside me. i did not get much sleep, for my leg was hurting me mightily. from time to time he crawled out, and each time he returned saying, 'no snow.' i had begun to fear that when it came it would be too late. it could not have been long before daybreak when he said, as he crawled in: 'the great manitou in the heart of the rockies. has sent snow. my brother can sleep in peace.' an hour later i raised myself up a bit and looked out . it was light now. the air was full of fine snow, and the earth the chief had scraped out was already covered thickly. i could see as much as that, though the chief had, when he came in for the last time, drawn the faggot in after him. i wondered at the time why he did it, but i saw now. as soon as the snow had fallen a little more it would hide up altogether the entrance to our hole. hour after hour passed, and it became impossible to get even a peep out, for the snow had fallen so thickly on the leafy end of the brushwood, which was outward, that it had entirely shut us in. all day the snow kept on, as we could tell from the lessen- ing light, and by two o'clock only a faint twilight made its way in. "' how long do you think we shall be imprisoned here, chief?' i asked. "' must not hurry,' he replied. 'there are trees up the valley, and the utes may make their camp there and stay till the storm is over. no use to go out till my brother can walk. wait till snow is over; then stay two or three days to give time for utes to go away. got bear's flesh to eat; warm in here, melt snow.' this was true enough, for i was feeling it downright hot. just before night came on the chief pushed the end of his ramrod through the snow and looked out along the hole. "' snow very strong,' he said. 'when it is dark can go out if wish.' "there is not much to tell about the next five days. the snow kept falling steadily, and each evening after dark the chief went outside for a short time to smoke his pipe, while i sat at the entrance and smoked mine, and was glad enough to get a little fresh air. as soon as he came in again the faggot was drawn back to its place, and a bad time. we were imprisoned for another twenty-four hours. one gets pretty tired after a time of eating raw bear's flesh and drinking snow-water, and you bet i was pretty glad when the chief, after looking out through a peep-hole, said that the snow had stopped falling and the sun was shining. about the middle of that day he said suddenly: 'i hear voices' "it was some time before i heard anything, but i presently made them out, though the snow muffled them a good deal. they did not seem far off, and a minute or two later they ceased. we lay there two days longer, and then even the chief was of opinion that they would have moved off. my own idea was that they had started the first afternoon after the snow had stopped falling. '"leaping horse will go out to scout as soon as it is dark,' he said. * go to mouth of ravine. if utes are in wood he will see their fires and come back again. not likely come up here again and find his traces.' "that is what i had been saying for the last two days, for after some of them had been up, and had satisfied them- selves that there was no one in the gully, they would not be likely to come through the snow again. when the chief returned after an hour's absence, he told me that the utes had all gone. 'fire cold,' he said; 'gone many hours. leaping horse has brought some dry wood up from their hearth. can light fire now.' you may guess it was not long before we had a fire blazing in front of our den, and i never knew how good bear-steak really was till that evening. "the next morning the chief took off the splints and re- bandaged my leg, this time putting on a long strip of the bear's-skin, which he had worked until it was perfectly soft while we had been waiting there. over this he put on the splints again, and for the first time since that bear had knocked me off the rock i felt at ease. we stayed there in the heart of the rockies. another fortnight, by the end of which time the bones seemed to have knit pretty fairly. however, i had made myself a good strong crutch from a straight branch with a fork at the end that the chief had cut for me, and had lashed a wad of bear's-skin in the fork to make it easy. then we started, making short journeys at first, but getting longer every day as i became accustomed to the crutch, and at the end of a week i was able to throw it aside. "we never saw a sign of an indian trail all the way down to the settlements, and by the time we got there i was ready to start on a journey again. the chief found plenty of game on the way down, and i have never had as much as a twinge in my leg since. so you see this affair ain't a circumstance in comparison. since then the chief and i have always hunted together, and the word brother ain't only a mode of speaking with us;" and he held out his hand to the seneca, who gravely placed his own in it. "that war a tight corner, harry, and no blamed mis- take. did you ever find out whether they could have got on the top to shoot down on you?" "yes, the chief went up the day after the utes had left. it was level up there, and they could have sat on the edge and fired down upon us, and wiped us out without our having a show." "and you have never since been to that place you struck the day the utes came down, harry?" jerry asked. "i have heard you talk of a place you knew of, just at the edge of the bad lands, off the utah hills. were that itl" harry nodded. "i have never been there since. i went with a party into nevada the next spring, and last year the utes were all the time upon the war-path. i had meant to go down this fall, but the utes were too lively, so i struck up here instead; but i mean to go next spring whether they are quiet or not, and to take my chances, and find out whether a bad time. it is only good on the surface and peters out to nothing when you get in, or whether it is a real strong lode. ben and sam, and of course the chief, will go with me, and tom here, now he has come out, and if you like to come we shall be all glad." "you may count me in," jerry said, "and i thank you for the offer. i have had dog-goned bad luck for some time, and i reckon it is about time it was over. how are you going to share?" "we have settled that. the chief and i take two shares each as discoverers. you four will take one share each." "that is fair enough, harry. those are mining terms, and after your nearly getting rubbed out in finding it, if you and the chief had each taken three shares, there would have been nothing for us to grunt at. they are a 'tarnal bad lot are the utes. i reckon they are bad by nature, but the mormons have made them worse. there ain't no doubt it's they who set them on to attack the caravans. they could see from the first that if this was going to be the main route west there would be so many coming along, and a lot perhaps settle there, that the gentiles, as they call the rest of us, would get too strong for them. what they have been most afeard of is, that a lot of gold or silver should be found up in the hills, and that would soon put a stop to the mormon business. they have been wise enough to tell the red-skins that if men came in and found gold there would be such a lot come that the hunting would be all spoilt. there is no doubt that in some of the attacks made on the cara- vans there have been sham indians mixed up with the real ones. red-skins are bad enough, but they are good men by the side of scoundrels who are false to their colour, and who use indians to kill whites. that is one reason i want to see this railway go on till it jines that on the other side. it will be bad for game, and i reckon in a few years in the heart of the rockies. the last buffalo will be wiped out, but i will forgive it that, so that it does but break up the saints as they call them- selves, though i reckon there is about as little of the saint among them as you will find if you search all creation." "right you are, jerry," sam hicks said. "they pretty nigh wiped me out once, and if uncle sam ever takes to fighting them you may bet that i am in it, and won't ask for no pay." "how did it come about, sam?" jerry asked. "i dunno as i have ever heard you tell that story." "waal, i had been a good bit farther east, and had been doing some scouting with the troops, who had been giving a lesson to the red skins there, that it was best for them to let up on plundering the caravans going west. we had done the job, and i jined a caravan coming this way. it was the usual crowd, eastern farmers going to settle west, miners, and such like. among them was two waggons, which kept mostly as far apart from the others as they could. they was in charge of two fellows who dressed in store clothes, and had a sanctimonious look about them. there was an old man and a couple of old women, and two or three boys and some gals. they did not talk much with the rest, but it got about that they were not going farther than salt lake city, and we had not much difficulty in reckoning them up as mormons. there ain't no law perviding for the shooting of mormons without some sort of excuse, and as the people kept to themselves and did not interfere with no one, nothing much was said agin them. on a v'yage like that across the plains, folks has them- selves to attend to, and plenty to do both on the march and in camp, so no one troubles about any one else's business. "i hadn't no call to either, but i happened to go out near their waggons one evening, and saw two or three in the heart of the rockies. where i was sitting, and i could see one of the men in black pointing to me as he talked with the two chaps who had just joined them. with that the fellow walked across to where i was sitting. '"going to camp here?' says he. "'waal,' i says, 'i dunno, as i haven't made up my mind about it. maybe i shall, maybe i sha'n't.' "'i allow it would be better for you to move on.' "'and i allow,' says i, 'it would be better for you to attend to your own affairs.' "'look here,' says he, 'i hear as you have been a-spying about them waggons.' "'then,' says i, 'whosoever told you that, is an all fired liar, and you tell him so from me.' "i had got my hand on the butt of my colt, and the fellow weakened. "'waal,' he said, 'i have given you warning, that is all.' "'all right,' says i, 'i don't care none for your warnings; and i would rather anyhow be shot down by white skunks dressed up as red-skins, than i would have a hand in helping to fool a lot of innercent women.' "he swore pretty bad at this, but i could see as he wasn't real grit, and he went off to the waggons. there was, con- siderable talk when he got there, but as the mormons must have known as i had been a scout, and had brought a lot of meat into the camp on the way, and as the chap that came across must have seen my rifle lying handy beside me, i guess they allowed that i had better be left alone. so a bit later the waggons started, and as i expected they would, went up a side valley instead of going on by the caravan route. the fellow had riz my dander, and after sitting for a bit i made up my mind i would go arter 'em. i had no particular motive, it wur just out of cussedness. i was - in the heart of the rockies. the mormon farms to tell them to get things ready there. what i reckoned on doing, so far as i reckoned at all, was to scout up to them as soon as it got dark and listen to their talk, and try to find out for certain whether the women war goin' willing. then i thought as i would walk straight up to their fires and just bluff those four men as they tried to bluff me. waal, they went on until late in the afternoon, unhitched the cattle, and camped. i waited for a bit, and now that i war cooled down and could look at the thing reasonable, i allowed to myself that i had showed up as a blamed fool, and i had pretty well made up my mind to take back tracks and go down the valley, when i heard the sound of some horses coming down fast from the camp. "then the thought that i was a 'tarnal fool came to me pretty strong, you bet . one of those fellows had ridden on and brought down some of the regulators, as we used to call them in the mining camps, but i believe the mormons call them destroying angels, though there is mighty little of angels about them. i hoped now that they had not caught sight of me during the day, and that the band were going right down to the waggon camp; but as i had not taken any particular pains to hide myself, i reckoned they must have made me out. it war pretty nigh dark, and as i took cover behind a bush i could scarce see them as they rode along. they went down about two hundred yards and then stopped, and i could hear some of them dismount. "'you are sure we are far enough?' one said. "' yes i can swear he was higher up than this when we saw him just before we camped.' ".' if you two fellows hadn't been the worst kind of curs,' a man said angrily, 'you would have hidden up as soon as you made out he was following you and shot him as he came along.' a bad time. '"i told you,' another voice said, 'that the man is an indian fighter, and a dead shot. suppose we had missed him' "'you could not have missed him if you had waited till he was close to you before you fired; then you might have chucked him in among the bushes and there would have been an end of it, and we should have been saved a twenty-mile ride. now then, look sharp for him and search every bush. between us and johnson's party above we are sure to catch him.' "i didn't see that, though i did wish the rocks behind had not been so 'tarnal steep. i could have made my way up in the daylight, though even then it would have been a tough job, but without light enough to see the lay of the ledges and the best places for getting from one to another, it was a business i didn't care about. i was just thinking of making across to the other side of the valley when some horsemen came galloping back. "' you stop here, brother ephraim, and keep your ears well open, as well as your eyes. you stop fifty yards higher up, hiram, and the others at the same distance apart. when the men among the rocks come abreast of you ephraim, ride on and take your place at the other end of the line. you do the same, hiram, and so all in turn; i will ride up and down.' "it was clear they meant business, and i was doubting whether i would take my chance of hiding or make for the cliff, when i saw a light coming dancing down from the camp, and knew it was a chap on horseback with a torch. as he came up the man who had spoken before said: 'how many torches have you got, brother williams?' '"a dozen of them.' "'give me six, and take the other six down to the men below. that is right, i will light one from yours.' "you may guess that settled me. i had got to git at in the heart of the rockies. once, so i began to crawl off towards the foot of the cliffs. by the time i had got there, there war six torches burning a hundred yards below, and the men who carried them were searching every bush and prying under every rock. along the middle of the valley six other torches were burning fifty yards apart. there was one advantage, the torches were pitch-pine and gave a fairish light, but not so much as tarred rope would have done'; but it was enough for me to be able to make out the face of the cliff, and i saw a break by which i could get up for a good bit anyhow. it was where a torrent came down when the snows were melting, and as soon as i had got to the bottom i made straight up. there were rocks piled at its foot, and i got to the top of these without being seen. "i hadn't got a dozen feet higher when my foot set a boulder rolling, and down it went with a crash. there were shouts below, but i did not stop to listen to what they said, but put up the bed of the torrent at a two-forty gait. a shot rang out, and another and an- other, but i was getting now above the light of their torches. a hundred feet higher i came to a stand-still, for the rock rose right up in front of me, and the water had here come down from above in a fall. this made it a tight place, you bet. there war no ledge as i could see that i could get along, and i should have to go down a good bit afore i got to one. they kept on firing from below, but i felt pretty sure that they could not see me, for i could hear the bullets striking high against the face of the rock that had stopped me. "you may bet i was careful how i went down again, and i took my time, for i could see that the men with the torches had halted at the foot of the heap of rocks below, not caring much, i expect, to begin to mount, while the horsemen kept on firing, hoping to hear my body come rolling down; a bad time. besides, they must have known that with their torches, they made a pretty sure mark for me. at last i got down to the ledge. it war a narrow one, and for a few yards i had to walk with my face to the rock and my arms spread out, and that, when i knew that at any moment they might make me out, and their bullets come singing up, wasn't by no means pleasant. in a few yards the ledge got wider and there was room enough on it for me to lie down. i crawled along for a good bit, and then sat down with my back against the rock and reckoned the matter up. all the torches war gathered round where i had gone up. four more men had come down from the camp on horseback, and five or six on foot with torches were running down the valley. they had been searching for me among the bushes higher up, and when they heard the firing had started down to jine the others. the leader was shouting to the men to climb up after me, but the men didn't seem to see it. "'what's the use?' i heard one fellow say; 'he must be chock-full of bullets long ago. we will go up and find his carcase in the morning.' "'but suppose he is not dead, you fool.' "'well, if he ain't dead he would just pick us off one after another as we went up with torches' "' well, put your torches out, then. here, i will go first if you are afraid,' and he jumped from his horse. "you can bet your boots that my fingers itched to put a bullet into him. but it warn't to be done; i did not know how far the ledge went or whether there might be any way of getting off it, and now i had once got out of their sight it would have been chucking away my life to let them know whar i lay. so i got up again and walked on a bit farther. i came on a place where the rock had crumbled enough for me to be able to get up on to the next ledge, and after a lot of climbing up and down i got to the top in about two hours, in the heart of the rockies. and then struck across the hills and came down at eighto'clock next morning on to the caravan track. i hid up till evening in case they should come down after me, and next morning i came up to the caravan just as they were hitching the teams up for a start." "you got out of that better than you deserved," harry said. "i wouldn't have believed that any man would have played such a fool's trick as to go meddling with the mormons in their own country without any kind of reason. it war worse than childishness." the other two miners assented vigorously, and sam said: "waal, you can't think more meanly of me over that busi- ness than i do of myself. i have never been able to make out why i did it, and you may bet it ain't often i tells the story. it war a dog-goned piece of foolishness, and, as harry says, i didn't desarve to get out of it as i did. still, it ain't made me feel any kind of love for mormons. when about two hundred shots have been fired at a man it makes him feel kinder like as if he war going to pay some of them back when he gets the chance, and you may bet i mean to." "jee-rusalem!" the exclamation was elicited by the fall of a heavy mass of snow on to the fire, over which the kettle had just begun to boil. the tripod from which it hung was knocked over. a cloud of steam filled the place, and the party all sprung to their feet to avoid being scalded. "it might have waited a few minutes longer," jerry grumbled, "then we should have had our tea comfortable. now the fire is out and the water is spilt, and we have got to fetch in some more snow; that is the last lot there was melted." "it is all in the day's work, jerry," harry said cheerfully, "and it is just as well we should have something to do. a bad time. i will fetch the snow in if the rest of you will clear the hearth again. it is a nuisance about the snow, but we agreed that there is no help for it, and we may thank our stars it is no worse." it was not long before the fire was blazing again, but it took some time before water was boiling and tea made, still longer before the bread which had been soddened by the water from the kettle was fit to eat. by this time it was dark. when the meal was over they all turned in for the night. tom was just going off to sleep, when he was roused by leaping dog suddenly throwing off his buffalo robe and springing to his feet with his rifle in his hand. "hist!" he said in a low tone. "something comes!" the men all seized their rifles and listened intently. pre- sently they heard a soft step on the snow outside, then there was a snuffing sound. "bar!" the indian said. a moment later a great head reared itself over the bushes at the entrance. five rifles rang out, the two indians re- serving their fire; the report was followed by the dull sound of a heavy fall outside. "wait a moment," harry said sharply, as the others were preparing to rush out, "let us make sure he is dead." "he is dead enough," jerry said. "i reckon even a grizzly cannot walk off' with five bullets in his head." harry looked over the screen. "yes, he is dead enough; anyhow he looks so. waal, this is a piece of luck." they all stepped out on to the platform. "is it a grizzly, uncle?" tom asked excitedly. "he is a grizzly, sure enough. you don't want to see his colour to know that. look at his size." "why, he is as big as a cow." "ay, lad, and a big cow too. you go in and make up the fire while we cut off enough meat for supper." in the heart of the rockies. the fact that they had eaten a meal but half an hour before, went for nothing; slices of bear-meat were soon frizzling, and as hearty a meal was eaten as if no food had been tasted since the previous day. the men were in the highest spirits; the fact that they were out of meat had been the greatest drawback to the prospect of being shut up for perhaps a week, for badly-baked bread is but a poor diet to men accustomed to live almost exclusively upon meat. "what brought the bear down here?" tom asked. "curiosity at first perhaps, and then hunger," his uncle replied. "i expect he was going along on the path above when he saw the light among the leaves, and then no doubt he smelt the bread, and perhaps us and the horses, and came down to see what he could get. "curiosity is a bad fault, tom. you have had two lessons in that this evening. bear in mind that in this part of the world the safest plan is always to attend strictly to your own business." all thought of sleep was for the present dissipated; their pipes were again lighted, and it was midnight before they lay down. in the morning the bear was with some diffi- culty skinned and cut up, the joints being left outside to freeze through. the snow still fell steadily, but the wind had almost died down. salting out they cut five or six long poles, and with some difficulty fixed these from above across from the cliff to the outstanding rock, pushed the bear's-skin across them, and lashed it there, its bulk being sufficient to cover the space above the fire and a considerable portion of their dwelling room. after breakfast snow was again melted for the horses, and the work for the day thus done they seated themselves con- tentedly round the fire. an avalanche. chapter x. an avalanche. you don't think, chief," harry asked, "that there is any chance of the 'rappahoes taking it into their heads to come up to have a look round?" "indians keep in lodges, no like cold; they think we have gone on over pass. if weather gets fine perhaps they come to look for our guns and packs. they think sure we die in snow-storm when we up in pass. when snow stops falling, we make no more fire; but path from valley all shut up by snow now." "yes, i don't think anyone would try to climb it till the sun has cleared the track, it was a pretty bad place when we came up," harry said, "i don't say that men on foot could not make their way up; but as you say, the red-skins are not likely to try it until the weather has cleared a bit, though i don't say that they wouldn't if they knew we were camped here close to the top." "what noise is that?" tom asked. "i have heard it several times before, but not so loud as that." "snow-slide," leaping horse said. "snow come down from mountains; break off trees, roll rocks down. bad place all along here." "yes. i saw that you looked up at the hills behind there before you looked over the edge here, chief," ben gulston said, "and i reckoned that you had snow-slides in your mind. i thought myself that it was like enough the snow might come tumbling over the edge of that high wall and then come scooting down over where we war, and there would have been no sort of show for us if we had been camped what, the trail goes along." an avalanche. then the light returned as suddenly as it had been cut off, and a few seconds later a dead stillness succeeded the deafening roar from below. the passage of the avalanche overhead had lasted but a minute, though to the men standing below it the time had seemed vastly longer. in- stintively they had pressed themselves against the rock, almost holding their breath, and expecting momentarily that one of the boulders in its passage would strike the top of the outside wall and fall in fragments among them. the silence that followed was unbroken for some seconds, and then sam hicks stepped a pace forward. "jee-rusalem!" he said, "that was a close call. i don't know how you felt, boys, but it seemed as if all the sand had gone out of me, and i weakened so that my knees have not done shaking yet." the men, accustomed as they were to danger, were all equally affected. tom felt relieved to see that the others all looked pale and shaken, for he was conscious that he had been in a terrible fright, and that his legs would scarcely support his weight. "i am glad to hear you say so, sam, for i was in an awful funk; but i should not have said so if you hadn't spoken." "you needn't be ashamed of that, tom," his uncle put in. "you showed plenty of pluck when we were in trouble with the red-skins, but i am sure there was not one of us that did not weaken when that snow-slide shot over us; and none of us need be ashamed to say so. a man with good grit will brace up, keep his head cool and his fingers steady on the trigger to the last, though he knows that he has come to the end of his journey and has got to go down; but it is when there is nothing to do, no fight to be made, when you are as helpless as a child and have no sort of show, that the grit runs out of your boots. i have fought red-skins in the heart of the rockies. and mexicans, a score of times; i have been in a dozen shooting scrapes in saloons at the diggings; but i don't know that i ever felt so scared as i did just now. -ben, there is a jar of whisky in our outfit; we agreed we would not touch it unless one of us got hurt or ill, but i think a drop of medicine all round now wouldn't be out of place." there was a general assent. "but before we take it," he went on, " we will take off our hats and say 'thank god' for having taken us safe through this thing. if he had put this shelter here for us express, he could not have planted it better for us, and the least we can do is to thank him for having pulled us through it safe." the men all took off their hats, and stood silent for a minute or two with bent heads. when they had replaced their hats ben gulston went to the corner where the pack- saddles and packs were piled, took out a small keg, and poured out some whisky for each of the white men. the others drank it straight; tom mixed some water with his, and felt a good deal better after drinking it. ben did not offer it to the indians, neither of whom would touch spirits on any occasion. "it is a good friend and a bad enemy," harry said as he tossed off his portion. "as a rule there ain't no doubt that one is better without it; but there is no better medicine to carry about with you. i have seen many a life saved by a bottle of whisky. taken after the bite of a rattlesnake, it is as good a thing as there is. in case of fever, and when a man is just tired out after a twenty-four hours' tramp, a drop of it will put new life into him for a bit. but i don't say as it hasn't killed a sight more than it has cured. it is at the bottom of pretty nigh every shooting scrape in the camps, and has been the ruin of hundreds of good men who would have done well if they could but have kept from it." "but you ain't a temperance man yourself, harry?" an avalanche. "no, sam; but then, thank god, i am master of the liquor, and not the liquor of me. i can take a glass, or perhaps two, without wanting more. though i have made a fool of myself in many ways since i have come out here, no man can say he ever saw me drunk; if liquor were to get the better of me once, i would swear off for the rest of my life. don't you ever take to it, tom; that is, not to get so as to like to go on drinking it. in our life we often have to go for months without it, and a man has got to be very careful when he goes down to the settlements, else it would be sure to get over him." "i don't care for it at all, uncle." "see you don't get to care for it, tom. there are plenty start as you do, and before they have been out here long they do get to like it, and from that day they are never any good. it is a big temptation. a man has been hunting or trapping, or fossicking for gold in the hills for months, and he comes down to a fort or town and he meets a lot of mates. one says 'have a drink?' and another asks you, and it is mighty hard to be always saying 'no'; and there ain't much to do in these places but to drink or to gamble. a man here ain't so much to be blamed as folks who live in comfortable houses, and have got wives and families and decent places of amusement, and books and all that sort of thing, if they take to drink or gambling. i have not any right to preach, for if i don't drink i do gamble; that is, i have done; though i swore off that when i got the letter telling me that your father had gone. then i thought what a fool i had made of myself for years. why, if i had kept all the gold i had dug i could go home now and live comfortably for the rest of my life, and have a home for my nieces, as i ought to have. however, i have done with it now. and i am mighty glad it was the cards and not drink that took my dust, for it is a great an avalanche. and next morning the sky was clear and bright. prepara- tions were at once made for a start . a batch of bread had been baked on the previous evening. some buckets of hot gruel were given to the horses, a meal was hastily eaten, the horses saddled and the packs arranged, and before the sun had been up half an hour they were on their way. the usual stillness of the mountains was broken by a variety of sounds. from the valley at their feet came up sharp reports, as a limb of a tree, or sometimes the tree itself, broke beneath the weight of the snow. a dull rumbling sound, echoing from hill to hill, told of the falls of aval- anches. scarcely had the echoes of one ceased, than they began again in a fresh quarter. the journey was toilsome in the extreme, for the horses' hoofs sank deep in the freshly- fallen snow, rendering their progress exceedingly slow. "if we had been sure that this weather would hold, chief, it would have been better to have waited a few days before making our start, for by that time the snow would have been hard enough to travel on." the chief shook his head. "winter coming for good," he said, waving his hand towards the range of snowy sum- mits to the north. "clouds there still; if stop, not able to cross pass till next summer." "that is so; we agreed as to that yesterday, and that if we don't get over now the chances are we shall never get over at all. yet, it is a pity we can't wait a few days for a crust to form on the snow." twice in the course of the next hour avalanches came down from the hills above them; the first sweeping down into the valley a quarter of a mile behind them, the next but two or three hundred yards ahead of them. scarcely a word was spoken from end to end of the line, they travelled in indian file, and each horse stepped in the foot- prints of its predecessor. every few hundred yards they ( ) m in the heart of the rockies. changed places, for the labour of the first horse was very much heavier than of those following. at the end of an hour the men drew together for a consultation. there was a wide break in the line of cliffs, and a valley ran nearly due south. "what do you think, chief? this confounded snow has covered up all signs of the trail, and we have got to find our own way. there is no doubt this valley below is running a deal too much to the west, and that the trail must strike off somewhere south. it looks to me as if that were a likely valley through the cliff. there is no hiding the fact that if we take the wrong turn, we are all gone coons." "leaping horse knows no more than his brother," the chief said gravely, "he knows the pass is on the western side of the great peak. the great peak lies there," and he pointed a little to the west of the break in the hills up which they were looking. "it may be that we must cross the hills into another valley, or perhaps this will turn west presently." "i tell you what, harry," sam hicks said, "my opinion is, that our best plan by a long chalk will be to go back to our last place and to stop there for a bit. we have got b'ar's flesh enough for another fortnight, and we may kill some more game afore that is done. ef this is but a spell of snow it may melt enough in another ten days for us to make out the trail and follow it. ef, as the chief thinks, we have got winter right down on us, we must wait till the snow crust hardens ef it is a month or double. anything is better than going on like this. what with this soft snow and these 'tarnal snow-slides, there ain't no more chance of our getting over that pass in one day's journey, than there air in our flying right down to salt lake city. ef the worst comes to the worst, i tell yer i would rather go back and take our chance of following the big wind river down, and fighting an avalanche. the red-skins, than i would of crossing over these dog-goned hills." the other three men were of the same opinion. "well, what do you say, chief?" harry asked the indian. "leaping horse thinks that the trail will not be found until next summer," the chief replied quietly. "heap of hills in front and heap of snow. if snow-storm catch us in the hills no find way anywhere. leaping horse is ready to do whatever his white brother thinks." "well, i am with the others," harry said. "i don't like the look of those clouds. they are quiet enough now, but they may begin to shift any time, and, as you say, if we are caught in a snow-storm on the hills there is an end of us. i think sam is right. even if we have to rustle all through the winter in that hut there, i would rather face it than keep on." that settled it. the horses' heads were turned, and they retraced their steps until they reached the shelter. the bear's-skin had been left where it was, the fire was soon set going, and there was a general feeling of satisfaction as they laid out the robes and blankets again. "look here, boys," harry said, "this is not going to be a holiday time, you bet. we have got to make this place a sight snugger than it is now, for, i tell you, when the winter sets in in earnest, it will be cold enough here to freeze a buffalo solid in an hour. we have got to set to work to make a roof all over this place, and we have got to hunt to lay in a big stock of meat. we have got to get a big store of food for the horses, for we must be mighty careful with our flour now. we can wait a fortnight to see how things go, but if it is clear then that we have got to fight it out here through the winter, we must shoot the pack-ponies at once, and i reckon the others will all have to go later. however, we will give them a chance as long as we can." in the heart of the rockies. "take them down into the valley," the chief said. "all indian horses." "ah, i didn't think of that, chief. yes, they are accus- tomed to rustle for their living, and they may make a shift to hold on down there. i don't think there is much fear of indians coming up." "no indians," leaping horse said, "indians go away when winter set in. some go to forest, some go to lodges right down valley. no stop up here in mountains. when winter comes plenty game—big-horn, wapiti." "ah, that is a more cheerful look-out, chief. if we can get plenty of meat we can manage without flour, and can go down and give the ponies a pail of hot gruel once a week, which will help them to keep life together. the first thing, i take it, is to cut some poles for the roof. i am afraid we shall have to go down to the bottom for them." "waal, we needn't begin that till to-morrow," sam hicks said, "if we had them, we have got no skins to cover them." "cut brushwood," indian said. "first put plenty of brushwood on poles, then put skins over." "yes, that is the plan, chief. well, if we get down there we shall have to take our shovels and clear the snow off some of the narrow ledges. if we do that we can lead one of the horses down to pack the poles up here." the chief went out on to the platform. "no use clear snow now. clouds moving. in two hours snow fall again." the others joined him outside. "i reckon you are right, chief," jerry said. "it is mighty lucky we didn't go on. it can't be much worse here than it was before." at three in the afternoon it began to snow heavily again. there was less wind than there had been on the previous occasion, and the snow drifted through the entrance less than before. just as they were turning in for the night an avalanche. an ominous crack was heard above. all leapt from their blankets, and looking up they could see by the light of the fire that the poles supporting the skin were all bent in a curve downwards. "jee-rusalem!" sam hicks exclaimed, "the whole outfit will be coming down on us." "that it will, sam. you see, there is no wind as there was before, and one of our jobs will be keeping the roof clear of snow. turn out, boys; we must get rid of it some- how." they at once set to work to lash two poles, some eight feet long, to the handles of the shovels, and as soon as this was done they all turned out. on reaching the edge of the ravine above the roof, they first cleared away the snow down to the rock so as to have firm standing, and then proceeded to shovel the snow off the surface of the skin. it was easier work than they expected, for as soon as it was touched it slid down the incline, and in a very few minutes the whole was cleared off. "i think that is good until morning now," harry said. "as long as the snow lasts we shall have to do it every few hours. directly we get a spell of fine weather we must put some more poles under it to strengthen it." for six days the snow continued to fall without inter- mission. at daybreak, at mid-day, and the last thing before they turned in at night the snow was cleared off the hide. with this exception they did not stir out of the shelter. they had also each day to clear out the inner portion of the fissure, as the snow now frequently broke through the trees in masses, startling the horses, and keeping them in a state of restlessness. the sixth day it stopped snowing, and the next morning the sky was bright and clear. the whole party at once started out, two of them taking shovels, and the rest brooms that they had made during the long hours of their in the heart of the rockies. confinement. by the middle of the day they had cleared the path down into the valley, and on their way back to dinner each carried up a large bundle of faggots. the meal was cooked and eaten hastily, and the whole of the horses were then led down into the valley. here a couple of dozen stout poles for the roof were cut by the whites, the two indians at once going up the valley in search of game. in half an hour two rifle-shots were heard, and presently hunting dog ran in with the news that they had killed two wapiti. jerry and sam hicks at once went off with him, leading two horses, and presently returned with the dead deer fastened across their backs. "they are very like pictures i have seen of moose," tom said to his uncle as he examined the great stags. "new-comers often call them moose, tom; but there is a difference between them, though what the difference is i cannot tell you, for i have never hunted moose. i believe the wapiti are peculiar to the west. they often go in great herds of three or four hundreds together." "the chief says there are a great many of them up the valley," jerry put in. "they made off when he fired, but i could see their foot-tracks myself all about. he says they have been driven down here by the storm for shelter. he has gone round with the lad to head them back." "that is good news, jerry. the meat we have got already will last some time, but it is as well to lay in a good stock, and we want the skins badly to make our roof. you had better lead these horses to the foot of the path, and then we will all take our post behind trees across the valley." an hour later they heard the reports of two rifles a long way up the valley, and all stood in readiness. a few minutes later there was a dull trampling sound, and almost directly afterwards a herd of wapiti came along at a heavy trot, ploughing their way but slowly through the snow. an avalanche. "don't use your revolvers, boys," harry had said, "ex- cept to finish off a stag you have wounded with your rifle. the chance is all against your bringing them down, and the poor brutes would only get away to die." one after another the rifles rang out . tom and his uncle both had the satisfaction of seeing the stages they had aimed at, plunge forward before they had gone many yards farther, and roll over dead. the other three had each hit the animal they aimed at, but as these kept on their course they dashed out in pursuit, firing their colts, which in their hands were as deadly weapons as a rifle, and the three stags all fell, although one got nearly half a mile down the valley before he succumbed.' a carcass was hoisted on to each of the horses' backs, and the loaded animals were then led up the track. "shall i wait until the indians come back, uncle, and tell them why you have gone up?" "there is no occasion for that, tom; they would hear the shots, and will have guessed what has happened." the poles were divided among the men and carried up to the top of the path, and laid down just above the shelter. harry and sam hicks at once proceeded to cut them up into proper lengths, while the others skinned and cut up the deer. a number of thongs were cut from one of the hides for lashing cross-poles across those that were to act as ridge-poles. the bear's-skin was removed and additional poles placed at that spot, and all working together the frame- work of the roof was completed by nightfall. the indians had returned soon after the party began their work, and taking their horses down fetched up the deer they had killed. in the morning the roof was completed, hides being stretched over the framework and securely lashed to it with thongs. the whole of the trees and brushwood were then chopped down close to the ground so as to leave a level in the heart of the rockies. floor. the foliage was given to the horses, and the wood cut up and piled for fuel. the chief reported that at the upper end of the valley there was a thick pine-wood, which would give good shelter to the horses. near it were plenty of bushes, and a level tract which had been a beaver meadow, and was thickly covered with grass, as he could see where the wapiti had scratched away the snow to get at it. this was excellent news, for the question of how the horses could be fed through the winter, had troubled them much more than that of their own maintenance. the joints of venison were hung up on a pole outside what they now called their hut, one or two hams being suspended from the rafters over the fire, to be smoked. "we shall have to rig up a b'ar-trap outside," ben said, "or we shall be having them here after the meat; and a b'ars ham now and then will make a change. wapiti flesh ain't bad, but we should get dog-goned tired of it arter a bit." "you may bet we shall, ben," jerry agreed; "but i reckon that we shall be able to get a lot of game through the winter. that valley down there is just the place for them to shelter in, and i hope we shall get a big-horn now and then. it will be a difficult thing to make a b'ar-trap out- side. a grizzly wants a pretty strong pen to keep him in, and though the horses might drag up some big beams from below there ain't no fastening them in this rock." "no; i don't think we can make that sort of trap," harry said. "we must contrive something else. we need not do all our work at once, we have got plenty of time before us. we want three or four more skins to finish our hut." "you mean to fill up the entrance v "yes; we will sew them together, and make a curtain to hang from the edge of the roof to the ground. i tell you it is going to be mighty cold here, and besides, it will keep the snow from drifting in." an avalanche. "i wish to goodness we could make a chimney," tom said, "the smoke went up through the leaves all right, but my eyes are watering now, and if you fill up the end with skins it will be something awful." "you will get accustomed to it, tom; but, of course, we must make a hole at the top when we fill up the entrance. what do you think is the next thing to be done, chief?" "get wood," the chief said emphatically. "must fill all the end of hut with wood." "that will be a big job, chief, but there is no doubt we must lay in a great store of it. well, there is plenty of timber down in the valley, and with ten horses we can bring up a tidy lot every day." "let us cut quick before snow comes again." "we will begin to-morrow morning, chief. i agree with you, the sooner the better." accordingly the next morning they went down to the valley. they had but two axes, and jerry and sam hicks, who had both done a good deal of wood-cutting, under- took this portion of the work. the others took the horses up to the beaver meadow, where they at once began scraping at the snow, and were soon munching away at the rich grass. "why do you call it a beaver meadow, uncle i don't see any beavers." "they have gone long ago, perhaps a hundred years. as we know, this valley is occupied by the indians in summer, and they would soon clear out the beavers. but it is called a beaver meadow because it was made by them. they set to work and dammed up the stream, and gradually all this flat became a lake. well, in time, you know, leaves from the woods above, and soil and dead wood and other things brought down by the stream, gradually filled up the bottom. then the beavers were killed, and their dams went to ruin in the heart of the rockies. and the water drained off, and in a short time grass began to grow. there are hundreds, ay, and thousands of beaver meadows among the hills, and on the little streams that run into the big rivers, and nowhere is the grass so rich. you will often see an indian village by one of these meadows. they grow their roots and plant their corn there. the horses will do first-rate here through the winter if the snow don't get too deep for them, and, anyhow, we can help them out with a bucket of gruel occasionally." "it will be awfully cold for them, though." "it will be coldish, no doubt, but indian ponies are accustomed to it." "i should think, uncle, it would not take much trouble to make them a sort of shed up among the trees there." sam laughed, and even the chief smiled. "it would not be a bad plan, tom," his uncle said; "not so much for the sake of the warmth, though there is no doubt that the warmer they are the less they can do with to eat, but if they have a place to go to they are less likely to wander away, and we shall not have the trouble of hunting for them. well, we will think it over." following the valley up, they found that it extended some ten miles farther, for the last two of which it was but a narrow canon a few yards wide. they shot a black bear and four small deer, and returned carrying the skins, the hind-quarters of the deer, and the bear's hams. "we seem to have got meat enough for anything," tom remonstrated when they shot the deer. "seven men will get through a lot of meat, tom, when they have nothing else to go with it; and we may be weeks before we can put our heads out of our hut. besides, the skins will be useful. we shall want deerskin shirts, trousers, and socks and caps; and the skin of these deer is softer and more pliable than that of the wapiti. i don't want to an avalanche. kill more than i can help, lad, for i hate taking life without there is a necessity for it, but we can do with a lot more skins before we are stocked." when, driving the horses before them, they returned to the woodcutters, they found they had cut down and chopped into logs a number of trees; and tom was quite aston- ished at the great pile of firewood that had been got ready by them in the course of a day's work . the logs were made up into bundles, each weighing about eighty pounds. these were tied together with the horses' lariats, and then secured, one on each side of the saddle, two of the horses carrying the meat . harry took the bridle of his horse and started up the path, the others following at once. "that is a good day's work," harry said as the logs were piled at the inner end of the hut. "that is about half a ton of wood. if we have but a week of open weather we shall have a good store in our cellar." the work continued steadily for a week. the horses were each day taken to feed at the meadow, the two wood- choppers continued their work, while the rest of the party hunted. the indians had on the second day gone down the valley, and returned with the report that the indian lodges had all disappeared and that the valley was entirely de- serted. eight more wapiti were killed during the week, and fourteen smaller deer. of an evening, they occupied them- selves in sewing the skins together with thongs of leather; the holes being made with their knives; and a curtain at the mouth of the hut was completed and hung. four wide slabs of wood had been cut . these had been bound together with thongs so as to form a sort of chimney four feet high, and with a good deal of difficulty this was secured by props in its position over a hole cut through the skins above the fire. in the heart of the rockies. "the first avalanche will carry it away, tom." "yes, uncle; but we have had one avalanche here, and it seems to me the chances are strongly against our having another in exactly the same place." the skins of the smaller deer were carefully scraped with knives on the inner side, smeared with bears' fat, and then rubbed and kneaded until they were perfectly soft. ihe erection of tom's shed for the horses did not take jl long. the whole party, with the exception of the two indians—who, as usual, went hunting,—proceeded to the pine-wood above the beaver meadow. after a little search six trees were found conveniently situated with regard to each other. the axemen cut down three young firs. one was lashed by the others between the two central trees, to form a ridge-pole eight feet from the ground; the others against the other trees, at a height of three feet, to support the lower ends of the roof. they were but ten feet apart, so that the roof might have a considerable pitch. numbers of other young trees were felled and fixed, six inches apart, from the ridge down to the eaves. on these the branches of the young fir-trees were thickly laid, and light poles were lashed lengthways over them to keep them in their places. as the poles of the roof had been cut long enough to extend down to the ground, no side walls were necessary. the ends were formed of poles lashed across to the side trees, but extending down only to within four feet six of the ground, so as to allow the horses to pass under, and chapter xi. winter. winter. were, like the roof, thickly covered with boughs. the lower ends were left open for a width of four feet in the middle, uprights being driven into the ground and the sides com- pleted as before. "what do you want a doorway at both ends for]" tom asked. "it would have been easier and quicker to have shut one end up altogether, and it would be a good deal warmer." "so it would, tom; but if a grizzly were to appear at the door, what would the horses do j they would be caught in a trap." "do you think they are likely to come, uncle " "the likeliest thing in the world, tom. horses can smell bear a good distance off, and if they heard one either coming down or going up the valley, they would bolt through the opposite door. they will do firstrrate here; they will stand pretty close together, and the warmth of their bodies will heat the place up. they won't know themselves, they will be so comfortable. it has only taken us a day's work to make the shed; and though we laughed at your idea at first, i think now that the day has been well spent in getting them up such a good shelter. jerry has got the big pail boiling over his fire, and we will put in a few handfuls of the flour we brought down. bring the horses in from the meadow, and we will give them each a drink of gruel in the shed. they will soon learn that it is to be their home." for two more days the open weather continued, and the horses took up three loads of wood each afternoon, as they had done the previous week. then, as there were signs of change, they were given a good feed at their shed; the saddles were taken off and hung up on some cross-poles over their heads. the party had scarcely returned to the hut when the snow began to fall. they were, however, weather-proof, and felt the immense additional comfort of the changes they had in the heart of the rockies. made. their stock of firewood was now a very large one. at each journey the horses had brought up about fifteen hundredweight; and as the work had gone on for nine days, they had, they calculated, something like fourteen tons of firewood neatly stacked. they had also a stock of poles in case the roof should require strengthening. a certain amount of light found its way in at the edges of the curtain across the entrance, but they depended principally upon the fire-light. the smoke, however, was a serious grievance, and even the men were forced occasionally to go outside into the open air to allay the smarting of their eyes. "don't you think, uncle, we might do something to dry the wood?" "i can't see that we can do more than we are doing, tom. we always keep a dozen logs lying round the fire to dry a bit before they are put on." "i should think we might make a sort of stage about four feet above the fire and keep some logs up there. we might pile them so that the hot air and smoke could go up through them. they would dry a great deal faster there than merely lying down on the ground." "i think the idea is a very good one, tom; but we shall have to make the frame pretty strong, for if it happened to come down it might break some of our legs." the men all agreed that the idea was a capital one, and after some consultation they set to to carry it out. two strong poles were first chosen. these were cut carefully to the right length, and were jambed between the rocks at a height of seven feet above the floor and five feet apart. they were driven in and wedged so tightly that they could each bear the weight of two men swinging upon them without moving. then four upright poles were lashed to them, five feet apart, and these were connected with cross- poles. winter. "that is strong enough for anything," jerry said when the structure had been so far completed. "if a horse were to run against one of the poles he would hardly bring the thing down." four other short poles were now lashed to the uprights three feet below the upper framework, and were crossed by others so as to form a gridiron. on this, the logs were laid in tiers crossing each other, sufficient space being left be- tween them to allow for the passage of the hot air. "that is a splendid contrivance," harry said when they took their seats on the buffalo robes round the fire and looked up admiringly at their work. "the logs will get as dry as chips, and in future we shan't be bothered with the smoke. besides, it will do to stand the pail and pots full of snow there, and keep a supply of water, without putting them down into the fire and running the risk of an upset." they had occupation now in manufacturing a suit of clothes a-piece from the deer-skins. as the work required to be neater than that which sufficed for the making of the curtain, pointed sticks hardened in the fire were used for making the holes, and the thongs that served as thread were cut as finely as possible; this being done by the indians, who turned them out no thicker than pack-thread. there was no occasion for hurry, and there was much laughing and joking over the work. their hunting-shirts and breeches served as patterns from which to cut out the skins; and as each strove to outvie the others, the garments when completed were very fair specimens of work. the hunt- ing-shirts were made with hoods that, when pulled over the head, covered the whole face except the eyes, nose, and mouth. as they had plenty of skin, the hoods and shirts were made double, so that there was hair both inside and out . they were made to come down half-way to the knee, being kept close at the waists by their belts. the leggings winter. cross-pieces were added, to stiffen them and keep them in the right shape when they dried; and the wood was then trimmed up and scraped by the men. when it had dried and hardened, the work of filling up the frame with a closely-stretched network of leather was undertaken. this part of the work occupied three or four days. the straps were attached to go across the toe and round the heel, and they were then ready to set off. the weather was now intensely cold, but as there was but little wind it was not greatly felt; at the same time they were glad of their furs when they ventured outside the hut . on the first day after their snow-shoes were finished, the rest of the party started off to visit the horses, hunting dog remaining behind to give tom instructions in the use of the snow-shoes, and to help him when he fell down. tom found it difficult work at first, the toe of the shoe frequently catching in the snow, and pitching him head fore- most into it, and he would have had great difficulty in extricating himself, had not the young indian been at hand. before the day was over, however, he could get on fairly well; and after two or three more days' practice had made such progress that he was considered capable of accom- panying the rest. the wood-drying apparatus had succeeded excellently. the wood was now dried so thoroughly before being put on to the fire that there was no annoyance from the smoke inside the hut, and scarce any could be perceived coming from the chimney. upon harry's remarking upon this with satisfaction the first time they went out after using the dry wood tom said: "what does it matter? there are no indians in the valley." "that is so, tom; but as soon as the weather sets in clear, the red-skins will be hunting again. winter is their best time for laying in their stock of pelts for trading. at ( , n in the heart of the rockies. other times, the game is all high up in the mountains, and it is very difficult to get within range of it . in the winter the animals come down to the shelter of the forests and valleys, and they can be shot in numbers; especially as the indians in their snow-shoes can get along almost as quickly as the wapiti can plough through the snow. at present the red-skins think that we must have been overtaken by that first storm and have all gone under; but as soon as they begin to venture out of their lodges to hunt, a column of smoke here would be sure to catch their eyes, and then we should be having them up the valley to a certainty. the first thing they would do would be to find our horses and drive them off, and the next thing would be to set themselves to work to catch us." "but we could hold the path against them, uncle." "yes; but we should have to keep watch every day, which would be a serious trouble. besides, there must be other places they could get up. no doubt their regular trail comes up here, because it is the straightest way to the pass, and possibly there may be no other point at which loaded animals could mount anywhere about here. but there must be plenty of places where indians could climb, and even if it took them a detour of fifty miles they would manage it . as long as there is no smoke we may hope they will not discover us here, though any hunting party might come upon the horses. that is what has bothered me all along; but the chief and i have talked it over a dozen times, and can see no way of avoiding the risk. "we can't keep the horses up here because we can't feed them; and even if we were to bring ourselves to leave this comfortable place and to build a hut down in the valley, we might be surprised and rubbed out by the red-skins. of course we might bring them up here every night and take them down again in the morning, but it would be a trouble- winter. some business. we have agreed that we won't do much more shooting down in the valley, and that in coming and going to the horses we will keep along close to the foot of the cliffs this side, so that if two or three indians do come up they won't see any tracks on the snow, unless they happen to come close up to the cliff. of course if they go up as far as the beaver flat they will light upon the horses. there is no help for that; but the chief and i agreed last night that in future two of us shall always stay up here, and shall take it by turns to keep watch. it won't be necessary to stand out- side. if the curtain is pulled aside three or four inches, one can see right down the valley, and any indians coming up could be made out. if the party is a strong one a gun would be fired as a signal to those away hunting, and some damp wood thrown on the fire. they might possibly push on up the valley to have a look at the place, but the two up here with their rifles would soon stop them. after that, of course, the horses would have to be brought up here at night, and a watch kept by night as well as by day." two or three mornings later they found on going out that two joints of venison had been carried off, and foot- prints in the snow showed that it had been done by a grizzly bear. this turned their attention again to the con- struction of a trap, which had not been thought of since the day it was first mentioned. a young tree of four or five inches in diameter was cut below and brought up. the butt was cut in the shape of a wedge, and this was driven strongly into a fissure in the rock. a rope with a running noose had been fastened to the tree, and this was bent down by the united strength of four men, and fixed to a catch fastened in the ground, the noose being kept open by two sticks placed across it. a foot beyond the noose a joint of venison was hung, the rope passing over a pole and then down to the catch, so that in the heart of the rockies. upon the joint being pulled the catch would be loosened, when the tree would fly up and the noose catch anything that might be through it. a week later they were disturbed by an outburst of violent growling. seizing their rifles they rushed out. a huge bear was caught by one of his paws. the animal's weight was too great for it to be lifted from the ground, but it was standing upright with its paw above its head, making furious efforts to free itself. a volley of bullets at once put an end to its life. the tree was bent down again and the noose loosed, and they at once returned to their rugs, leaving the bear where it fell . four times during the winter did they thus capture intruders, provid- ing themselves with an ample supply of bear's flesh, while the skins would sell well down at the settlements. otherwise sport was not very good . no more wapiti came up, but black and white tail deer were occasionally shot, and five or six big-horn sheep also fell to their rifles. one day on approaching the beaver meadow the chief pointed to some deep footprints. no explanation was needed. all knew that they were made by a big grizzly, and that the animal was going up the valley. no horses were in view on the flat, and grasping their rifles they hurried towards the wood. just as they reached it the horses came galloping to meet them, whinnying and snorting. "they have been scared by the critter," jerry said. "do you see their coats are staring. gosh, look at this pack- pony—the bear has had his paw on him!" the animal's hind quarters were indeed badly torn. "i wonder how it got away," harry said, "when a grizzly once gets hold, it don't often leave go." "there is something in front of the hut," tom exclaimed. "it's the grizzly, sure enough," harry said. "it is a rum place for it to go to sleep." winter. they advanced, holding their rifles in readiness to fire, when leaping horse said: "bear dead." "what can have killed him?" harry asked doubtfully. "horses kill him," the chief replied. they hurried up to the spot. the bear was indeed dead, and there were signs of a desperate struggle. there was blood on the snow from a point near the door of the hut to where the animal was lying ten yards away. round it the snow was all trampled deeply. the bear's head was battered out of all shape; its jaw was broken, and one of its eyes driven out . the indians examined the ground closely. "well, what do you make of it, chief?" harry asked. "bear walk round hut, come in other end. horses not able to get out in time. pack-horse last, bear catch him by hind quarters. horse drag him a little way and then fall. then other horses come back, form ring round bear and kick him. look at prints of fore-feet deep in snow. that is where they kick; they break bear's jaw, break his ribs, keep on kick till he dead." "i suppose that is how it came about, chief. i should not have thought they would have done it." the seneca nodded. "when wild horses with young foals attacked by bear or mountain-lion, they form circle with colts in the middle, stand heads in and kick. bears and moun- tain-lion afraid to attack them." "waal, i should hardly have believed if i had not seen it," sam hicks said; "that horses would come back to attack a grizzly." "not come back," the chief said, "if not for friend. friend cry out loud, then horses come back, fight bear and kill him." "well it was mighty plucky of them," harry said. "i am afraid this pony won't get over it, he is terribly torn." in the heart of the rockies. the chief examined the horse's wounds again. "get over it," he said, "cold stop wounds bleeding, get some fat and put in." "i reckon you will find plenty inside the grizzly," jerry said. the chief shook his head. "bear's fat bad; other horses smell him, perhaps keep away from him, perhaps kick him leaping horse will bring fat from the big-horn he shot yesterday." the animal lay where it had fallen, a mile up the valley. they went up and tied the great sheep's feet together, and putting a pole through them brought it down to the hut. partly skinning it, they obtained some fat and melted this in a kettle over the fire. sam hicks had remained behind at the fire, the horses all standing near him, excited at the prospect of their usual meals. as soon as the fat was melted it was poured into the horse's wounds. the mess of gruel was then prepared and given to the animals. the bear was skinned and the hams cut off, then by a united effort it was dragged some distance from the hut, and the carcase of the big-horn, the bear's flesh and hide, were after- wards carried up to the hut . early in february the cold reached its extreme point, and in spite of keeping up a good fire they had long before this been compelled to build up the entrance with a wall of firewood, the interstices being stuffed with moss; the hut was lighted by lamps of bear and deer fat melted down and poured into tin drinking-cups, the wicks being composed of strips of birch bark. a watch was regularly kept all day, two always remaining in the hut, one keeping watch through a small slip cut in the curtain before the narrow orifice in the log wall, that served as a door, the other looking after the fire, keeping up a good supply of melted snow, and preparing dinner ready for the return of the hunters at sunset . of an evening they told stories, and their stock of winter. yarns of their own adventures and of those they had heard from others, seemed to tom inexhaustible. hunting dog had made rapid advances with his english, and he and tom had become great friends, always hunting together, or when their turn came, remaining together on guard. the cold was now so intense that the hunting party was seldom out for more than two or three hours. regularly twice a week the horses were given their ration of hot gruel, and although they had fallen away greatly in flesh they maintained their health, and were capable of work if called upon to do it . it was one day in the middle of february, that hunting dog, who was standing at the peep-hole, exclaimed: '"rappahoes!" tom sprang up from the side of the fire, and running to the entrance pulled aside the curtain and looked out. six indians on snow-shoes were coming up the valley. he ran out on to the platform and fired his rifle. as the sound of the report reached the indians' ears they stopped suddenly. "shall i throw some green wood on the fire, hunting dog?" "no need," the indian replied. "the others only gone an hour, not farther than horses' hut; hear gun plain enough. perhaps 'rappahoes go back." the indians remained for some time in consultation. "not know where gun fired," hunting dog said, "soon see hut, then know." after a time the red-skins continued their way up the valley, but instead of coming on carelessly in the centre they separated, and going to the other side crept along among the fallen boulders there, where they would have escaped observation had it not been for their figures showing against the white snow. "must fire now," the young indian said, "then leaping horse know 'rappahoes coming up." winter. and it would have been imprudent to have ventured out until his white allies came up. "they have gone right down," tom shouted at the top of his voice. harry waved his arm to show that he heard the words, and then the five men ran to the corner. the indians were already a quarter of a mile away, and were just entering the wood below. the whites were about to fire, when the chief stopped them. "no use fire," he said. "stand back behind rocks; no good let 'rappahoes count our rifles." "that is true enough, chief," harry said, as they all sprang among the rocks. "all they know at present is, that there are two up on the top there and one down here. if we were sure that we could wipe them all out it would be worth following and making a running fight of it, but there would be no chance of that, and it is better to let them go without learning more about us. well, i should say the first thing is to get up the horses." the chief nodded. "get up," he said, "but no fear 'rappahoes come back to-night. many hours' journey down to villages, then great council . next night scouts come up valley, look all about for sign, and then go back and tell friends." "i daresay you are right, chief. anyhow, i shall feel a great deal more comfortable when we have got the critters up." it was late in the afternoon before they reached the hut. some hours were spent in collecting tufts of grass in places sheltered from the snow, and in cutting off great bundles of young fir-branches and the heads of evergreen bushes, and the horses arrived almost hidden under the load of grass and foliage they carried. little was said until some hot tea had been drunk and the bear steaks in readiness were disposed off, for although they had worked hard and kept in the heart of the rockies. themselves comparatively warm down in the valley, they had as they moved slowly up the path with the horses become chilled to the bone. "now then, chief," harry said, when they had lighted their pipes with the mixture of tobacco and willow bark that they had taken to, as soon as they found that they were likely to be imprisoned all the winter, "we must hold a council. we have been longer than i expected without disturbance by these varmint, but it has come now, and the question is what are we to do? we have agreed all along that there is no getting over the pass till the spring comes." "too cold," the chief said, "deep drift snow. indians all say no can pass over hills in winter." "that air a fact," jerry said. "down in the valley there it is all right, but up here the cold pretty near takes one's breath away. we ain't sure about the way. we couldn't get over the pass in one day's tramp, and we should be all stiff before morning. there would be no taking the horses, and there is a hundred miles to be done over the snow before we reach the fort. it ain't to be thought of. i would a sight rather go down the valley and fight the hull tribe." "i agree with you, jerry. we might, with luck, get down the valley, but i don't think there is a possibility of our crossing the pass till the winter breaks." "no can go down valley," leaping horse said; "they find trail on snow, sure." "that is so, chief, and in that case it is evident that we have got to fight it out here." "good place to stop," the seneca said; "no good place to fight." this was self-evident. an enemy on the rock above would be able to fire down through the roof, without their having a chance of making an effectual reply. winter. "the only way i can see," harry said after a long pause, "is to build a sort of fort up above. if we put it just at the top of this pathway, we should have them whether they came up by the trail from below or climbed up any- where else and came along above. it need not be a very big place, only just big enough for us all to fire over. we might make a sort of shelter in it with a fire, and keep guard there by turns." the chief nodded, and there was a general exclamation of assent from the others. "the worst of it is," jerry said, "the ground is so 'tar- nal hard that there will be no driving posts into it . we have cut down all the trees near the bottom of the pass, and it would be a risky thing to go up higher, when we might have the red-skins come whooping up the valley at any time." "why not make a snow fort?" tom suggested. "there is four feet of snow up there, and with the shovels we could make a wall ten feet high in a very short time." "so we might, tom; that is a capital idea. the diffi- culty is, the snow does not bind in this bitter cold as it does in england." "if it was hammered down it would, i should think, uncle. you know the esquimaux make snow houses, and it is as cold there as it is here. the snow at the top is light enough, but i should think as it gets down it would be hard enough to cut out in blocks. we have plenty of water, and if we pour it over each layer of blocks it would freeze into solid ice directly. when we finish it we might pour more water down over the outside, and it would make a regular wall of ice that no one could climb up." "hooray! bully for you, tom!" jerry shouted, while similar exclamations of approval broke from all the others, while the chief said gravely, "my young brother has the head of a man, he is able to teach warriors." in the heart of the rockies. "you shall be engineer-in-chief, tom," harry said. "it is certain we may sleep quietly to night; at daybreak to- morrow we will begin the job." the first thing in the morning a semicircular line was traced out at the top of their pathway. it was thirty feet across, for, as tom said, the walls ought to be at least four feet thick; and six feet would be better, as they would want a parapet at least two feet thick to fire over. it was agreed that the whites should use the two shovels by turns. the indians were unaccustomed to the work, and were to undertake that of scouting along the hillside, and of watch- ing by turns at night. the frying-pan was brought into requisition, a wooden handle being made for it. the hard upper crust was removed with the shovels, and the layer beneath this was sufficiently soft for the instrument to be used as a shovel. below that it hardened, and could be cut out in great blocks. the loose snow was thrown inside of the line traced out . as fast as the blocks were cut out they were carried and piled regularly to form the face. tom's share of the work was to keep on melting snow, and to bring it up and pour between and over the blocks. as fast as a line of these were made the loose snow was thrown in behind it and trampled down hard. except for meals there was no rest . the chief said that as there was little chance of the 'rappahoes coming up so soon, hunting dog had better stay behind and help, and he lent his aid in carrying the blocks of snow on a rough stretcher they made for the purpose. by the time it became dark the wall had risen to a height of three feet above the general level of the snow, and was already sufficient to form an excellent breastwork. at the end farthest from the side from which the indians were likely to come, a gap was left between it and the edge of the ravine three feet wide, in order that if necessary the winter. horses could pass out. when it became dark the chief returned. he had gone many miles along towards the main valley, but had seen no sign of any indians. after supper was over he took one of the wapiti skins and his buffalo robe, went up to the "fort", as they had already called it, and laid the deer-skin down on the slope of snow behind the wall, wrapped the buffalo robe round him, and lay down upon it. hunting dog then threw another robe over him, projecting a foot beyond his head, so that he could from time to time raise it and look out over the snow. the night was a dark one, but any object moving across the unbroken white surface could be seen at a con- siderable distance. "i feel sure i should go to sleep," tom said, "if i were to lie down like that." "i have no doubt you would, tom, but there is no fear with the chief. an indian never sleeps on the watch, or if he does sleep, it is like a dog: he seems to hear as well as if he were awake, and every minute or two his eyes open and he takes a look round. i would rather have an indian sentry than half a dozen white ones, unless it is in the open, where there is no tree to lean against, and a man must keep moving." hunting dog threw himself down as soon as he returned to the hut, and was almost instantly asleep. three hours later he rose and went out, and leaping horse a minute or two later returned. "all quiet," he said; and then after smoking for a short time also lay down. in the heart of the rockies. chapter xii. the snow fort. the hut was quiet at an unusually early hour, for the men had done a very hard day's work, and felt the strain after the long weeks of inactivity. at daybreak they were up and about, but could remain out but a few minutes, for the cold was so intense that they felt unable to face it until they had taken some hot tea and eaten something. half an hour sufficed for this early breakfast. hunting dog was again left behind by the chief when he started. "two eyes enough," the latter said. "hunting dog more use here." the wall of blocks was raised three more feet during the day, as it was agreed to devote all their efforts to this, and to defer the work of thickening it until the next day, for the snow had now been cleared so far from its foot that it could no longer be thrown inside. though but six feet above the snow-level, it was at least three feet more above the level of the rock, and its face was a solid sheet of ice, tom having, during the two days, made innumerable journeys backwards and forwards with snow-water. "another couple of feet and it will be high enough for anything," harry said. "i don't believe that the indians will venture to attack us, but it is just as well to have it so high that they can't help each other up to the top. if they knew how strong it is, i am sure they would not attack, and would leave us alone altogether, but if a hundred of them creep up in the dark and make a rush, they will do their best to try to climb it. anyhow we sha'n't need to make the bank behind very high. if it goes to within four in the heart of the rockies. night was very still, except for the occasional rumble of some distant snow-slide. for a few minutes they stood looking over the wall, but keeping far back, so that only their heads were above its level. "tom go in by the fire," the indian said. "all white, no need for four eyes." "very well, i will go in first; but mind, you have got to go in afterwards. i sha'n't go in if you don't." after waiting for a few minutes in the shelter tom went out again, and hunting dog took his place. it was his first war-path, and nothing would have persuaded him to retire from the watch had he not felt sure that even white men's eyes could not fail to detect any dark object moving on the surface of the snow. but although all white the surface was not level; here and there were sudden eleva- tions marking rises in the rock beneath. still it seemed impossible to tom that anyone could approach unseen. in spite of the protection of the buffalo robe it was in- tensely cold outside, and he was glad each time when his turn came for a warm by the fire. the changes, too, made the time pass quickly, and he was quite surprised when his uncle and sam came out to relieve them. the other two men and the chief were still smoking by the fire. there was tea in the kettle, and they evidently did not mean to lie down until after their first watch. every few minutes the chief got up and went out to the platform, and stood listening there intently for a short time. just before it was time to change the guard again he said when he returned: "indian down in valley." "have you heard them, chief?" "leaping horse heard a dead stick crack." "that might have been a deer," ben suggested. the chief shook his head. "'rappahoe; heard gun strike tree." in the heart of the rockies. tively. then he touched hunting dog, and stooping low down whispered something in his ear, and then both stood again listening. tom too threw back his hood, but he could hear nothing whatever, and was soon glad to pull it forward over his ears again. he strained his eyes in the direction towards which they were listening, which was apparently towards the edge of the ravine where the indian trail came up from below. all seemed to him to be white and bare. presently the chief's rifle went up to his shoulder; there was a sharp crack, a dark figure leapt up from the snow fifty yards away and then fell headlong down again. it seemed to tom almost magical. his eyes had been fixed in that direction for the last five minutes, and he could have sworn that the surface of the snow was unbroken. a minute later the other four men came running up. "what is it, chief?" harry whispered. leaping horse pointed to the dark figure stretched out on the snow. "so you have got the varmint. good! do you think there are any more of them about?" "more there sure," the chief said, pointing to the path up from below. "perhaps more there," and he pointed to a broad black line from the foot of the cliffs to the edge of the ravine, where, three days before, an avalanche from the hills above had swept the rock clear of snow. "they must have made sure that we were all asleep, or that fellow would never have shown himself on the snow," harry said. "he did not show himself, uncle. how he got there i don't know; but i was looking at the spot when the chief fired, and i saw no signs of him whatever. how he hid himself i don't know. if it had been anywhere else i should have said he must have had a white sheet over him." "it certainly was not that whatever it was, tom. how- the snow fort. ever, we shall see in the morning. well, we may as well turn in again. will they try again, do you think, chief?" "not try to-night, too cold; if any there, will hide up till daybreak. now they know we are awake, will not venture on snow." half an hour later a great fire was lighted out of gunshot range lower down the valley, and three or four figures could be seen round it. "too cold," hunting dog said to tom. "all gone down to get warm." the watches were relieved regularly through the night, but there was no further alarm until just after daylight had broken, when sam hicks suddenly discharged his rifle. the others all turned out at once. he had fired at a bush just at the point where the trail came up from below, and he declared that he had seen a slight movement there, and that some pieces of the snow had dropped from the leaves. "we will make sure that there is no one there," harry said, "and then we will turn out and have a look. it is like enough that one of the red-skins from below came up the path to have a look at us this morning." he took a steady aim and fired. "fetch up an axe, tom; we will cut that bush away at once. it is lucky that sam caught sight of the red-skin. if he had not done so he might have got a bullet in his own head, for when the red-skin had finished taking a view of the fort he would certainly have picked off sam or my- self before he went down. it is a weak point, that from here one can't command the path. if they come in force we shall have to keep watch on the platform too. from there you can get a sight of two or three of its turnings." they went out together, and as they passed, stopped to look at the body of the indian the chief had shot . he was a young brave of two- or three-and-twenty, and the in the heart of the rockies. manner of his advance so far unperceived was now evident. favoured by a slight fall in the ground, he had crawled forward, scooping a trench wide enough for his body a foot in depth, pushing the snow always forward, so that it formed a sort of bank in front of him and screened him from the sight of those on watch. the chief's keen eye had per- ceived a slight movement of the snow, and after watching a moment had fired at the point where he judged anyone concealed by it must be. he had calculated accurately. the ball had struck on the shoulder close to the neck, and had passed down through the body. the indian had brought no rifle with him, but had knife and tomahawk in his belt . "poor young fellow," harry said. "he wanted to win a name for himself by a deed of desperate bravery. it has cost him his life, but as he would have taken ours if he had had a chance, it is of no use regretting it." they now went on to the bush. "you were right, sam," he went on, as they saw the impression on the snow made by a figure lying down behind it. "there was an indian here sure enough, and here is the mark of the stock of his rifle, and no doubt he would have picked off one of us if you had not scared him, i don't expect you hit him; there are no signs of blood. "fire too high," the chief said, pointing to a twig that had been freshly cut off two feet from the ground. "always shoot low at man behind bush. man cannot float in air." there was a general laugh at sam, who replied: "i did not suppose he could, chief. i just fired where i saw the snow fall, without thinking about it one way or the other. i was an all-fired fool, but i shall know better next time." the bush was cut down, and also two or three others that grew along by the edge of the ravine. on their way back to the hut harry stopped by the dead indian, the snow fort. "fetch me a shovel, tom," he said. "i will dig a hole in the snow; it ain't a pleasant object to be looking at any- way." tom fetched the shovel. harry dug down in the snow till he reached the rock, then he and jerry laid the body in it and filled in the snow again. the chief looked on. "bears get him," he said when they had finished. "that is like enough, chief, but we have done the best we can for him. there is no digging into the rock." "i thought the indians always scalped enemies they shot?" tom afterwards said to his uncle. "so they do, tom; but you see the chief is a sort of civilized indian. he has consorted for years with whites, and he knows that we don't like it. i don't say he wouldn't do it if he were on the war-path by himself, but with us he doesn't, at any rate not openly. i have no doubt it went against his grain to see the red-skin buried with his hair on, for the scalp would have been a creditable one, as it would not have been got without a clear eye and good judgment in shooting. i have no doubt he has got some scalps about him now, though he don't show them; but they will be hung up some day if he ever settles down in a wigwam of his own. "well, chief, and what do you think," he asked leaping horse, as, after returning to the hut, they sat down to break- fast, "will they come or won't they?" "i think they no come," the chief said. "scout behind bush will tell them fort too strong to take; must cross snow, and many fall before they get to it. very hard to climb. no like cold, leaping horse thinks they will stop in wig- wams." "no fools either," jerry agreed; "a man would be worse than a natural if he were to go fooling about in this weather, and run a pretty good big risk of getting shot and nothing much to gain by it . they know we have left their country in the heart of the rockies. now, and ain't likely to come back again either to hunt there or to dig gold, and that all we want is to get away as soon as we can. i allow that the chief is right, and that we sha'n't hear no more of them, anyhow not for some time." the chief nodded. "if come again, not come now. wait a moon, then think perhaps we sleep sound and try again; but more likely not try." "much more likely," harry assented. "unless they can do it by a surprise, indians are not fond of attacking, they know we shoot straighter than they do and have better rifles. you remember that time when you and i and jersey dick kept off a party of navahoes from sunrise till sunset down near the emigrant trail? it was lucky for us that a post-rider who was passing along heard the firing, and took the news to a fort, and that the officer there brought out fifty troopers just as the sun went down, or we should have been rubbed out that night sure." the seneca nodded. "how was it, harry?" sam hicks asked . "it was just the usual thing, sam. we had left the trail two days before, and were hunting on our own account when the navahoes came down. we had just time to throw the three horses and lie down behind them. they were within two hundred yards when i began and fetched the chief, who was leading them, out of his saddle. leaping horse brought down another one and jersey dick held his fire, and instead of keeping straight on they began to straggle round. and they kept at that all day. sometimes they would get in pretty close, but each time they did the chief brought down a horse, and when his rider, who was of course hanging on the other side of him, got up to run, i fetched him down. dick wasn't much of a shot, so we would not let him fire. it discourages red-skins mightily when they see that there is never a shot thrown away, and that it is sure death the snow fort. whenever one draws a trigger. so at last they got careful and held off, knowing as they would get us at night, when they could have crawled up on foot and made a rush when they got close to us. "the worst of it was we hadn't struck water the evening before, and it was just one of the hottest days on the plains, and we were pretty nigh mad with thirst before evening. i believe when the soldiers rode up i was about as glad to get a drink from one of their bottles as i was that the navahoes bolted when they saw them coming. no, the red-skins ain't any good for an open attack; they would have lost fewer men by riding straight at us than they did by fooling round, but they could not bring themselves to do it, and i reckon that is what it will be here. they may, as the chief says, try, say six weeks on, when the frost begins to break, in hopes that we may have given up keeping watch; but if they find us awake they will never try an open attack, for they could not reckon on taking the place without losing a score of men in doing so. if the snow was off the ground it would be different . then of a dark night they could crawl up close and make a rush." after breakfast the chief and hunting dog went out scouting. when they returned they brought news that three indians had come over the snow along the side of the hills, that three others had come up the valley, and that in a wood half a mile below where they had seen the fire, there had been a large party encamped. "i reckoned that would be about it, chief. three fellows came along over the hill, in case we should be keeping guard at the top of the path, and they had a big force some- where down below, so that if the scouts reported that there was nothing to prevent them falling on us they would come up before morning and wipe us out. i suppose they have all ridden off?" in the heart of the rockies. "all gone. leaping horse and hunting dog followed right down valley. no stop anywhere, gone back to lodges." "then in that case, harry, we had best get the critters down to their shed again. they have eaten all that stuff they brought up three days ago, i gave them the last of it this morning. the indians know that we keep a pretty sharp look-out during the day, and there ain't no fear of their coming up here when it is light." as the chief was also of opinion that there was no danger, the horses were taken down the path into the valley, where on having their bridles unbuckled they at once trotted off of their own accord towards the beaver meadow. for the next six weeks a watch was kept regularly, but by only one man at a time. the horses were driven down to the valley every morning and brought up again before sunset. there was little hunting now, for they had as many skins as they could carry comfortably, and a supply of frozen meat sufficient to last well into the spring. in march the weather became perceptibly warmer, and the snow in the valley began to melt where the full power of the sun at mid-day fell upon it. day by day the crashes of distant avalanches became more frequent, and they began to look forward to the time when they should be able to proceed on their journey. one night towards the end of the month tom was on watch, when he heard a rustling sound far up beyond the wall of cliff in front of him. it grew louder and rose to a roar, and then a white mass came pouring down over the cliff. leaping from the wall he dashed down the path to the hut . it needed no word to call the men to their feet, for a deep rumbling filled the air and the rock seemed to quiver. the horses struggled to break their head-ropes and snorted with fright. "your backs to the wall!" harry shouted, and as all the snow fort. leaped across at his order there was a crash overhead . the roof above them fell in and a mass of snow followed; a minute later a deep silence followed the deafening roar. "anyone hurt?" harry shouted, and the replies came in muffled tones. tom was jambed against the rock by the snow; he was nearest to the entrance, his uncle was next to him. "i am all right at present, uncle, but i feel half smothered." "all right, lad; i am pretty free, and i will soon clear you a bit." the snow was pushed away from before tom's face, his left arm was cleared, and then his uncle with a vigorous pull brought him back close to him. here he was com- paratively free, for a part of the roof had fallen close to the wall and had partially kept off the snow. then harry turned, and with some difficulty managed to get jerry, who was next to him, freed from the snow. "now, jerry, you work along that way and get at the others. tom and i will try to burrow a way out." it was a difficult task. once through the passage in the log wall they pushed to the left towards the edge of the platform, taking it by turns to go first until the snow became lighter; then by a vigorous effort harry rose to his feet, send- ing a mass of snow tumbling over the edge of the platform. as soon as tom had joined him they set to work with hands and knives, and soon cleared a passage back to the entrance. just as they did so jerry crawled out from within. "are they all right, jerry?" "yes, the others are coming; only about twelve feet of the roof caved in, and the two indians and sam soon got in among the horses. i had a lot of trouble with ben; he had been knocked down, and i thought that he was gone when i got him out; but he is all right now, though he can't walk in the heart of the rockies. yet . the indians and sam have got the shovels, and are working away to clear a passage along by the wall; there is no getting ben out through that rabbit-hole you have made." "thank god we are all right," harry said; "it does not matter a bit, now that we know no one is badly hurt . we will begin at this end, but we sha'n't be able to do much until we get the shovels, the snow will fall in as fast as we get it 'out." they soon found that they could do nothing in this way. "we will try to tunnel again," harry said, "it is not more than ten feet along. if we get in and hump ourselves, we shall soon get it big enough to drag ben out, then the others can follow, and we can set to work with the spades to clear the place." after a good deal of effort they succeeded in enlarging the hole, and then got ben through it, one crawling back- wards and pulling him while the other shoved at his legs. "how do you feel, ben?" harry asked him when they laid him down outside. "i dunno, harry; i am afraid my back is badly hurt . i don't seem to feel my legs at all. i expect they are numbed from the weight of snow on them." "i will crawl into our store and fetch out the keg." "i reckon a drop of whisky will do me good if anything will," ben said. "i was crushed pretty near flat, and if my head hadn't been against the wall i should have been smothered. are you all right, young tom?" "yes, i am not hurt at all. the snow squeezed me against the rock, and i could not move an inch, but uncle managed to get me a little free and then pulled me out of it." harry soon came back with the whisky, and was followed by the indians and sam, who found that they could do noth- the snow fort. ing with the snow, which fell in as fast as they cleared it. their first step was to dig out a buffalo robe to wrap ben in. his voice was stronger after he had drank some spirit, and he said that he felt better already. the others at once set to work with the shovels. they first cleared the platform along by the wall to the entrance, and then attacked the snow which filled the space between the two rock walls to the top. two of them worked with poles, loosening the snow above, and bringing it down in masses, while those with shovels cast it out on to the platform, going out occasionally to throw it over into the ravine. hunting dog made his way up over the snow to the top of the path, and called down to say that the fort was entirely swept away, and the chief told him to take up his post at once at the top of the path leading from below. "he need not have told us that the fort was gone," jerry grumbled. "if it had been made of cast-iron it would not have stood. the sooner we get our rifles out the better." this could not be done for a time, for the loosening of the snow above had caused that below to slip, and the passage along by the wall had fallen in. the indians, however, who had slept beyond the part filled by snow, had brought their pieces out with them, and could have defended the path alone. several times those at work were buried by falls of snow, and had to be dragged out by the others. by daylight a considerable gap had been made in the snow, and they were able to get into the space beyond the fall. a number of logs, and a joint of meat that had been taken in the day before to thaw, were brought out, and a fire was soon blazing on the platform. "i wonder why the show did not shoot over as it did before?" ben, who was now able to sit up, remarked. in the heart of the rockies. "i reckon it is the fort did it," harry said. "of course it went, but it may have checked the rush of the snow for a moment, and those thick walls couldn't have got the same way on as the rest of the snow had." "but the fort wasn't over the roof, uncle," tom remarked. "no, but it may have blocked the slide a little, and thrown some of it sideways; you see it is only this end that gave, while it shot right over the rest of the roof just as before." "it is mighty lucky it did not break in all along," sam hicks said, "for it would have left us without horses if it had; and it would have been mighty rough on us to have lost them, just as we are going to want them, after our taking such pains with them all through the winter." the chief took hunting dog's place as soon as he had finished his meal, and remained on watch all day. the men worked without ceasing, but it was not until sunset that the snow was completely cleared away. "i reckon that we shall have to be starting before long," jerry said as they sat round the fire in what they before called their store-room, having driven the horses as far in as possible to make room. "we could have held out before as long as wo liked, but it is different now. the rock's cleared now for a hundred yards on each side of us, our fort's gone, and there is nothing to prevent the red-skins from crawling close up the first dark night and making a rush. they are like enough to be sending scouts up the valley occasionally, and it won't be long before they hear that our fort has gone and the ground cleared of snow." leaping horse nodded. "two men must watch at top of path," he said. "that is right enough, chief; but we know three of them came along the hills before, and it is like enough they will all come that way next time. they are safe to reckon that we shall hold the path." the snow fort. "it is very unfortunate," harry said; "in another month, we should have been able to travel. anyhow, it seems to me that we have got to try now; it would never do to be caught in here by the red-skins. if we are to go, the sooner the better. all our meat has been carried over the edge. this is about the time we expected the indians back, and it would be dangerous to scatter hunting. it is a big risk, too, taking the horses down to the meadow. no, i think we can manage to get over the pass. the snow gets softer every day when the sun is on it; but it freezes at night. we have the moon too, so we shall be able to travel then; and even if we take three or four days getting over the divide we can sleep in the daytime." "we must get a little more meat anyhow before we start," jerry said. "this joint ain't more than enough for another square meal for us, and though i reckon the big-horns will be coming up to the hills again now, it won't do to risk that." "we have the pack-horses, jerry." "yes, i did not think of them. horseflesh ain't so bad on a pinch; but i don't want to lose our skins." "better our skins than our hair," sam laughed. "that is right enough, sam, but i would like to save both." "perhaps there is some of the meat under the snow," tom suggested. "it hung near the wall, and the snow must have come straight down on it from above, as it did in here." "that is so, tom; we will have a look the first thing in the morning. i am so tired now i would not dig for it if it were gold." as soon as it was light the next morning they began to clear the snow from the rest of the platform, and found to their great satisfaction four bear hams. the rest of the meat had been swept over the edge. the two indians had in the heart of the rockies. not shared in the work, having started away early without saying where they were going. they returned to breakfast, each carrying a hind quarter of venison, which they had found in the snow below. it was agreed that a start should be made that evening. by sunset the horses were loaded, and half an hour later they moved away. ben gulston had to be assisted on to his horse, for although in other respects recovered, it was found that he had so severely strained his back across the loins that he was scarcely able to walk a foot. the moon was shining brightly, and as soon as they were on the snow they could see as plainly as if it were day. all were in high spirits that they had left the spot where for six months they had been prisoners. they had difficulty in restraining themselves from shouting and singing, but the chief before starting had warned them of the necessity for travelling silently. "snow-slides very bad now; shouting might set them going." the others looked rather incredulous, but harry said: "i know he is right, boys; for i have heard that in the alps the guides always forbid talking when they are cross- ing places exposed to avalanches. at any rate we may as well give the snow as little chance as may be, of going for us." they travelled in indian file from habit rather than neces- sity, for the snow was firm and hard, and the horses made their way over it without difficulty. there had been some debate as to the way they should go; but they determined at last to take the valley through the cliff wall, and to strike to the right whenever they came upon a likely spot for cross- ing. two such attempts were made in vain, the upper slopes of snow being found too steep for the horses to climb; but at the third, which was made just after morning broke, they succeeded in getting up the hill to their right, a fresh start. and, after great difficulty, descended into another valley. this they had little doubt was the one that led to the pass, for from the hill they could see the great peak along whose foot the trail ran. it was ten o'clock before they got down into the valley. the snow was beginning to be soft on the surface, and the horses were tired out. they therefore halted, made a fire with two or three of the logs they had brought with them for the purpose, boiled water and had breakfast, and gave half a bucket of gruel to each of the animals. then wrap- ping themselves in their buffalo robes they lay down and slept till late in the afternoon. the journey was resumed at sunset, and before morning they had crossed the divide; and when the sun rose obtained a view over the country far to the south. chapter xiil a fresh start. in the evening they camped on the banks of the green river, here a stream of but small size, except when the melting snow swelled its waters into a torrent. at the spot where they halted a rivulet ran into the stream from a thickly-wooded little valley. it was frozen, but breaking the ice with their axes, they found that water was flowing underneath. they had observed that there was a marked difference in temperature on this side of the mountains, upon which the strength of the southern sun had already in many places cleared away the snow. "it is a comfort to be able to sit by a fire without the thought that red-skins may be crawling up towards you," in the heart of the rockies. sam hicks said heartily, "and to sleep without being turned out to stand watch in the cold. "you say the country ahead is bad, chief?" "bad lands both sides of green river. deep canyons and bare rock." "well, we need not follow it; it don't make any differ- ence to us whether we get down to the fort in a fortnight or six weeks." "none at all," harry said. "we have agreed that when summer fairly sets in we will try that place i hit on just as the utes came down on us. it is the richest place i have ever seen, and if the indians will but let us alone for a month we ought to bring back a big lot of dust; and if we do, we can sell our share in it for a big sum, and take down enough men to thrash the utes out of their boots if they interfere with us. by our reckoning it is the end of march now, though we don't at all agree as to the day; but at any rate, it is there or thereabouts. that gives us a good six weeks, and if we start in the middle of may it will be time enough. so i propose that we strike more to the west, or to the east, whichever you think is the best, chief, and try and pick up a few more pelts so as to lay in a fresh stock of goods for our next trip." "bad hills everywhere," the chief said; "better go west, plenty of game there." "no fear of indians?" "indians there peaceable; make good trade with whites. ten years ago fight, but lose many men and not get much plunder. trappers here good friends with them. traders bring up powder and cloth and beads. indians no give trouble." for the next six weeks, therefore, they travelled slowly, camping sometimes for two or three days on a stream, and then making a long march until they again came to water. a fresh start. the beaver traps had been left behind, but they were for- tunate enough to came upon several beaver villages, and by exercising patience they were able to shoot a good many, getting in all some fifty skins. tom used to go out in the evening and lie down to watch the beavers at work, but he would not take a gun. "i could not shoot them down in cold blood, uncle. it is almost like looking at a village of human beings at work. one can shoot a man who is wanting to shoot you, without feeling much about it, but to fire at a man labouring in the fields is murder. of course, if we wanted the flesh for food it would be different." "i did not see you refuse that beaver-tail soup we had last night, tom." "no, and it was very good, uncle; but i would very much rather have gone without it than shoot the beaver the tail belonged to." "well, tom, as we have all got guns, and as none of us have any scruples that way, there is no occasion whatever for you to draw a trigger on them. they take some shoot- ing, for if you hit them in the water they sink directly, and you have got to kill them dead when they are on land, otherwise they make for the water at once and dive into their houses and die there." they killed a good many other animals besides the beaver, including several wolverines, and by the time they got down to the fort in the middle of may they had had to give up riding and pack all the animals with the skins they had ob- tained. none of these were of any great value, but the whole brought enough to buy them a fresh outfit of clothes, a fresh stock of provisions and powder, and to give them a hundred dollars each. the evening after the sale was effected tom wrote home to his sisters, giving them a brief account of what had ( ) f in the heart of the rockies. taken place since the letter he had posted to them before starting for the mountains, but saying very little of their adventures with indians. "i am afraid you have been in a great fright about me," he said, "but you must never fidget when you don't get letters. we may often be for a long time away from any place where we can post them, or, as they call it here, mail them, though i certainly do not expect to be snowed up again for a whole winter. owing to the indians being hostile we did not do nearly so well as we expected, for we could not go down to hunt in the valleys. so after getting a fresh outfit for our next jour- ney our share is only a hundred dollars each. i did not want to take a share, for of course i was not of much use to them, though i have learnt a lot in the last six months, and can shoot now as well as any of them, except the two indians. "however, they all insisted on my having the same share as the rest . uncle wanted me to take his hundred dollars and send them home to you with mine, but i told him that i would not do so, for i know you have money enough to go on with, even if your school has turned out a failure. so i think it would be as well for us to keep our money in hand for the present . there is never any saying what may happen; we may lose our horses and kit, and it would be very awkward if we hadn't the money to replace them. as soon as we get more we will send it off, as you know i always intended to do. i have still some left of what i brought out with me, but that and the two hundred dollars would not be more than enough to buy an entirely new outfit for us both. "i hope you got the five hundred dollars uncle sent you. he told me he sent it off from denver, and it ought to have got home a few weeks after i left. t. is horrid to think that there may be letters from you lying at denver, but it in the heart of the rockies. and it took him several hours to get through. he had the room to himself, for the others were talking over their adventures with old friends they had met at the fort. his uncle returned about ten o'clock. "where are the others?" tom asked "in the saloon; but they are not drinking, that is, not drinking much. i told them that if they were to get drunk one of them would be sure to blab as to where we were going, or at any rate to say enough to excite suspicion among some of the old miners, that we knew of a good thing, and in that case we should get a lot of men following us, and it would interfere with our plans altogether. a party as small as ours may live for months without a red- skin happening to light on us, but if there were many more they would be certain to find us. there would be too much noise going on, too much shooting and driving back- ward and forward with food and necessaries. we want it kept dark till we thoroughly prove the place. so i made them all take an oath this morning that they would keep their heads cool, and i told them that if one of them got drunk, or said a word about our going after gold, i would not take him with us. i have given out that we are going on another hunting party, and of course our having brought in such a lot of skins will make them think that we have hit on a place where game is abundant and are going back there for the summer." two more pack-ponies had been added to the outfit. they might be away for five or six months, and were deter- mined to take a good supply of flour this time, for all were tired of the diet of meat only, on which they had existed for the last six months, having devoted by far the greater part of the flour to the horses. when they started next day they turned their faces north, as if they intended to hunt in the mountains where a fresh start. they had wintered. they made but a short march, camped on a stream, and long before daybreak started again, travel- ling for some hours to the west and then striking directly south. for two days they travelled rapidly, tom going out every morning with the indians hunting, while the others kept with the pack-horses. ben had now quite recovered from the strain which had crippled him for the first three weeks of their march down to fort bridger. they were now fairly among the ute hills, and at their third camping- place harry said: "we must do no more shooting now till we get to our valley. we have got a supply of deer flesh for a week at least, and we must be careful in future. we heard at the fort that several miners have been cut off and killed by the utes during the winter, and that they are more set than ever against white men entering their country. everyone says those rascally saints are at the bottom of it. we must hide our trail as much as we can. we are just at the edge of the bad lands, and will travel on them for the next two days. the red-skins don't go out that way much, there being nothing either to hunt or to plunder, so there is little fear of their coming on our trail on the bare rocks, especially as none of the horses are shod. on the third day we shall strike right up into their mountains." "are you sure that you will know the place again, harry?" "i reckon i could find it, but i should not feel quite certain about it if i had not the chief with me. there is no fear of his going wrong. when a red-skin has once been to a place he can find his way straight back to it again, even if he were a thousand miles off." "you said when we were talking of it among the hills, uncle," tom said, as he rode beside him the next morning, "that leaping horse and you each took two shares. i won- der what he will do with his if it turns out well." in the heart of the rockies "he won't do anything with it, tom. the chief and i are like brothers. he does not want gold, he has no use for it; and, besides, as a rule, indians never have anything to do with mining. he and hunting dog really come as hunters, and he has an understanding with me that when the expedition is over i shall pay them the same as they would earn from any english sportsman who might engage them as guides and hunters, and that i shall take their shares in whatever we may make. i need not say that if it turns out as well as we expect, the indians will get as many blankets and as much ammunition as will last them their lives. you can't get a red-skin to dig. even the chief, who has been with us for years, would consider it degrading to do work of that kind; and if you see an indian at mining work, you may be sure that he is one of the fellows who has left his tribe and settled down to loaf and drink in the settlements, and is just doing a spell to get himself enough fire-water to make himself drunk on. "the seneca would be just as willing to come and hunt for us for nothing. he would get his food and the skins, which would pay for his tobacco and ammunition, and, occasionally, a new suit of leggings and hunting-shirt, made by an indian woman, and with this he would be happy and contented. he doesn't mind taking money in return for skins, and he and hunting dog had their full share in the division at the fort . when i last talked to him about this business, he said, 'leaping horse doesn't want money. of what use is it to him? he has got a bagful hidden at home, which he has been paid when he was scouting with the army, and for the skins of beasts he has shot. it is enough to buy many horses and blankets, and all that a chief can want. he is going with his friend to hunt, and to fight by his side if the utes come; he wants none of the gold.' i ex- plained the matter to him, and he said carelessly: 'leaping a fresh start. horse will take the two shares, but it will be for his brother, and that he may send it to the girls, the sisters of his friend tom, of whom he spoke one night by the fire.' "hunting dog is like leaping horse, he will take no gold. i have told the three men how matters stand. of course, it makes no difference to them whether the indians keep their share or hand it over to me, but at the same time i thought they ought to know how we stood. they said it was no business of theirs; that as i was the dis- coverer i had a right to sell the whole thing if i chose, and that they thought i had done the friendly thing by them in letting them in as partners. so you see it is all right and square. it is like enough, too, that we shall find some other lodes, and of course there they will come in on even terms with us. so they are pleased with the look- out, and know well enough it is likely to be the best strike they ever made in their lives." they kept near the edge of the bad lands, as had they gone farther out they would have been obliged to make long detours to get round the head of the canons made by rivers running down into the colorado. they had filled their water-skins at the last stream where they had camped, and had taken with them enough dried wood for their fires. these they lit each night in a hollow, as from the upper slopes of the ute hills a view could be obtained for a great distance over the flat rocky plateau. tom was heartily glad when the two days' journey was over. not a living creature had met their eyes; there was no grass on which beasts could exist, no earth in which prairie-dogs could burrow; even birds shunned the bare waste of rock . "it is a desolate country," he said, as they sat round the fire; "it would be enough to give one the horrors if one were alone. it is hot now, and in the height of summer the heat and glare from the rock must be awful.' in the heart of the rockies. "it is, tom; many and many a man has died of thirst in the bad lands. and what makes it more terrible is, that they can perhaps see water a thousand feet below them and yet die from the want of it." "when we were camped on the green river, uncle, you said that no one had ever followed it down." "that is so, lad. one knows where abouts it goes, as men driven by thirst have followed canons down to it; and in some places it runs for many miles across low land before it plunges into another canon. then it cuts its way for two or three hundred miles, perhaps, through the hills, with walls two or three thousand feet high. no one, so far as i know, has gone down these big canons, but it is certain there are rapids and whirlpools and rocks in them. two or three parties have gone down through some of the shorter canons to escape indians, and most of them have never been heard of again, but orie or two have got down some distance and managed to escape. "no one has followed the course by land. they could not do so unless they carried all their provisions, and drink and food for their animals, and even then the expedition would take months, perhaps years to do; for every spring from the hills runs down a canon to the river, sometimes fifty miles, sometimes a hundred long, and each time the party came upon one of these they would have to work up to the mountains to get round it. it is over a thousand miles in a straight line from the place where the green river first enters a canon to where the colorado issues out on to the plains, and it may be quite twice that distance if one could follow all its windings. some day when the country fills up attempts will no doubt be made to find out something about it; but it will be a big job whenever it is tried, and may cost a lot of lives before the canons are all explored." a fresh start. in the morning they started westward for the hills. the greatest care was observed on the march. they took advan- tage of every depression, and when obliged to pass over level ground moved at a distance apart, as a clump or string of moving animals would be made out at a distance from which a solitary one would be unnoticed. by noon they had left the bare rock, and were travelling up a valley clothed with grass and dotted with clumps of trees. in the first of these they halted. "we will stay here until it begins to get dusk," harry said, "and then move on as fast as we can go. if we don't lose our way we shall be there before morning." there was no moon, but the stars shone brilliantly, and the mountains, with their summits still covered with snow, could be seen ahead. the chief went on in front. some- times they proceeded up valleys, sometimes crossed shoulders and spurs running down from the hills. they moved in indian file, and at times proceeded at a brisk pace, at other times more slowly; but there was no halt or sign of hesitation on the part of their leader. at last, just as morn- ing was breaking, the chief led them into a clump of trees. he moved a little distance in, and then reined in his horse and dismounted. "does my brother remember that?" he said to harry, pointing to something on the ground. "jehoshaphat!" harry exclaimed; "if that ain't my old pack-saddle! this is the very spot where we camped, boys. well, chief, you are certainly a wonder. i doubt whether i could have found my way here in the daytime. half a dozen times to-night it seemed to me that you were going in the wrong direction altogether, and yet you bring us as straight to the spot as if all the time you had been following a main road." "bully for the chief!" jerry said warmly. "i am blamed in the heart of the rockies. if that ain't a fust-rate piece of tracking. waal, here we are at our journey's end. can we make a fire?" "make small fire, but must put screen round." "very well; we will leave the fire to you, and we will unpack the critters. there is a bundle of dry wood left, so we sha'n't have the bother of looking for it now." before lighting the fire the two indians stretched some blankets some six feet above it, to prevent the light falling upon the foliage; then by their directions sam cut a dozen short poles, and fixed them in a circle round the fire. half a dozen more blankets were fastened to the poles, forming a wall round the fire, which the chief then lighted. the nights were, at that height above the sea-level, cool enough to make the heat pleasant, and there was just room for the seven men to sit between the blanket wall and the fire. "do you mean this to be our permanent camp, harry i" "what do you think, leaping horse?" "wait till me go up gold valley," the seneca said, "if can't find a good place there better stay here; if go back- wards and forwards every day make trail indian squaw would notice." "that is so, chief; but by what harry says it is a mere gully, and the horses will have to range." "horses must feed," the chief said . "if we find a place up there, make hut, take saddles and outfit there. tie up horses here, and let them loose to feed at night. no regular track then. but talk after sleep." "it will be broad daylight by the time that we have finished our meal," jerry said, "and i reckon none of us will be wanting to sleep till we have got a sight of harry's bonanza." as soon as they had finished their meal, the mining im- plements which had been carefully hidden among the rest of their goods when they started from the fort, were brought in the heart of the rockies. until at last no more than a spoonful of fine sand remained in the centre. a sideway action of the vanner caused this to slope gradually down towards the edge. at the very bottom three tiny bits of yellow metal were seen. they were no bigger than pins' heads. it seemed to tom that this was a miserably small return for five minutes' labour, but the others seemed well satisfied, and were still more pleased when, on the two pans being cleaned out, several little pieces of gold were found, one of which was nearly as large as a small pea. "that is good enough," ben said; "it will run a lot richer when we get down on to the rock." at two other places on their way up they tried the ex- periments, with increasingly good results. "there is some tall work to be done here with washing," harry said, "now come on to the vein. i only saw one of them, but there must be a lot more or you would not find so much metal in the sand. however, the one i saw is good enough for anything." they went on again to a point where the rock cropped boldly out on both sides of the valley; harry led them a few paces up the side, and pointed to some white patches in the rock. "that is where i chipped it off, lads, three years ago." the face of the lode, discoloured by age and weather, differed but little from the rock surrounding it; but where it had been broken off it was a whitish yellow, thickly studded with little bits of dull yellow metal sticking out of it. tom was not greatly impressed, but he saw from the faces of his companions that they were at once surprised and delighted. "by gosh, harry, you have done it this timel" sam hicks exclaimed. "you have struck it rich, and no mis- take, i thought from the way you talked of it it must be something out of the way, but i am blamed if i thought it was like this." "stand back, you chaps," jerry said, lifting the heavy a fresh start. sledge-hammer; "let me get a drive at it . here is a crack. put one of them wedges in, ben." the wedge was placed in the fissure, and ben held it while jerry gave a few light blows to get it firmly fixed. "that will do, ben; take away your hand and let me drive at it." swinging the hammer round his head jerry brought it down with tremendous force on the head of the wedge. again and again the heavy hammer rose and fell, with the accuracy of a machine, upon the right spot, until the wedge, which was nine inches long, was buried in the crevice. "now another one, ben. give me a longer one this time." this time ben held the wedge until it was half buried, having perfect confidence in jerry's skill. it was not until the fourth wedge had been driven in that a fragment of rock weighing four or five hundredweight suddenly broke out from the face. all bent eagerly over it, and the miners gave a shout of joy. the inner surface, which was white, but slightly stained with yellow, with blurs of slate colour here and there, was thickly studded with gold. it stuck out above the surface in thin, leafy plates with ragged edges, with here and there larger spongy masses. "i reckon that is good enough," jerry said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "ef there is but enough of it, it is the biggest thing that ever was struck. there ain't no saying how rich it is, but i will bet my boots it's over five hundred ounces to the ton. it ain't in nature that it is going to run far like that, but it is good enough for any- thing. well, what is the next thing, harry?" "we will break it up," harry said, "and carry it down with us to the camp. if the utes came down on us to morrow, and we could get off with it, that would be plenty to show if we want to make a sale." it took them a long time to break up the rock, for the in the heart of the rockies. quartz was hard, and was so bound together by the leafy gold running through it that each of the four men had several spells with the hammer before it was broken up into fragments weighing some twenty pounds apiece. as soon as this was done the men collected earth, filled up the hole in the face of the rock, and planted several large tufts of grass in it, and poured four or five tins of water over them; then they smeared with mud the patches where harry had before broken pieces off. "what is all that for, jerry?" tom asked. "it is to hide up the traces, lad. we may have to bolt away from here to-morrow morning for anything we know, and before we come back again someone else may come along, and though we shall locate our claims at the mining register, there would be a lot of trouble if anyone else had taken possession, and was working the vein when we got back." "it is not likely that anyone else would come along here, jerry." "waal, i reckon that is so, but one ain't going to trust to chance when one has struck on such a place as this." the seneca had been the only unmoved person in the party. "what do you think of that, chief?" harry asked him. "if my white brother is pleased leaping horse is glad," he replied. "but the indian does not care for gold. what can he do with it, he has a good gun, he does not want twenty. he does not want many hunting suits. if he were to buy as many horses as would fill the valley he could not ride them all, and he would soon tire of sitting in his lodge and being waited upon by many wives. he has enough for his needs now. when he is old it will be time to rest." "well, that is philosophy, chief, and i don't say you are wrong from your way of looking at it . but that gold means a fresh start. a lot to us. it means going home to our people. it means living in comfort for the rest of our lives. it means making our friends happy." "leaping horse is glad," the chief said gravely. "but he cannot forget that to him it means that the white brother, with whom he has so long hunted and camped and fought bad indians, will go away across the great salt water, and leaping horse will see him no more." "that is so, chief," harry said, grasping the indian's hand warmly, "and i was a selfish brute not to think of it before. there is one thing i will promise you. every year or so i will come out here and do a couple of months' hunting with you. the journey is long, but it is quickly made now, and i know that after knocking about for twenty years i shall never be content if i don't take a run out on the plains for a bit every summer. i will give you my word, leaping horse, that as long as i have health and strength i will come out regularly, and that you shall see your white brother's friendship is as strong as your own." the seneca's grave face lit up with pleasure. "my white brother is very good," he said. "he has taken away the thorn out of the heart of leaping horse. his indian brother is all glad now." the quartz was placed in sacks they had brought with them to carry down samples, and they at once returned to the camp, where, after smoking a pipe, they lay down to sleep; but it was some time before all went off, so excited were they at the thought of the fortune that seemed before them. in the afternoon they took one of the pieces of stone, weighing, by a spring balance, twenty pounds, and with the flat plate and the crushing-hammer went to the stream. the rock was first broken with the sledge into pieces the size of a walnut . these were pulverized on the iron plate and the in the heart of the rockies. result carefully washed, and when the work was finished the gold was weighed in the miners' scales, and turned the four- ounce weight . "that is nearly five hundred ounces to the ton," harry said, "but of course it is not going to run like that. i reckon it is a rich pocket; there may be a ton of the stuff, and there may be fifty. now let's go up and have a quiet look for the lode, and see if we can trace it. we ought to see it on the rock the other side." a careful search showed them the quartz vein on the face of the rock some fifty feet higher up the valley, and this showed them the direction of the run of the lode. it was here, however, only six inches wide instead of being two feet, as at the spot where it was first found. some pieces were broken off: there was gold embedded in it, but it was evident that it was nothing like so rich as on the other side. a piece of ten pounds was pounded up, it returned only a little over a pennyweight of gold. "about twelve ounces to the ton," harry said. "not bad, but a mighty falling off from the other. to-morrow morning we will follow the lode on the other side and see if we can strike an outcrop." the next day they found the lode cropping up through the rock some thirty yards from their great find. it was about nine inches wide. they dug it out with their picks to a depth of two feet so as to get a fair sample. this when crushed gave a return at the rate of twenty ounces. "that is rich enough again, and would pay splendidly if worked by machinery. of course the question is, how far it holds on as rich as we found it at the face, and how it keeps on in depth? but that is just what we can't find. we want drills and powder, as picks are no sort of good on this hard quartz. supposing it goes off gradu- ally from the face to this point, there would be millions of a fresh start. dollars in it, even supposing it pinched in below, which there is no reason in the world to suppose. we may as well take a few of these chunks of rock, they will show that the gold holds fairly a good way back anyhow." a few pieces were put aside and the rest thrown into the hole again, which was stamped down and filled up with dust. the party then went back to dinner, and a consulta- tion was held as to what was next to be done. "of course we must stake out our claims at once," harry said, "in the first place there are our own eight claims—. two for each of the discoverers and one each for the others. hunting dog will not have a share, but will be paid the regular rate as a hunter. then we will take twenty claims in the names of men we know. they wouldn't hold water if it were a well-known place, and everyone scrambling to get a claim on the lode; but as there is no one to cut in, and no one will know the place till we have sold it and a company sends up to take possession and work it, it ain't likely to be disputed. the question is, what shall we do now i shall we make back to the settlements, or try washing a bit?" "try washing, i should say," jerry said. "you may be some time before you can sell the place. anyone buying will know that they will have to send up a force big enough to fight the utes, and besides they will want someone to come up here to examine it before they close the bargain. i vote we stick here and work the gravel for a bit so as to take enough away to keep us till next spring. i reckon we shall find plenty of stuff in it as we go down, and if that is so we can't do better than stick to it as long as there is water in the creek." "i agree with you there, jerry; but it will never do to risk losing those first samples. i am ready to stay here through the summer, but i vote we sew them up in deer- ( ) q in the heart of the rockies. hide, and put two or three thicknesses of skin on them so as to prevent accidents. two of us had best go with them to the fort and ask the major to let us stow them away in his magazine, then, if we have to bolt, we shan't be weighted down with them. besides, we might not have time for packing them on the horses, and altogether it would be best to get them away at once, then come what might we should have proofs of the value of the mine." this proposal was cordially agreed to, and it was settled that on the following morning harry himself should, with hunting dog and two pack-horses, start for the fort, follow- ing the same route they came, while the rest should set to work to construct a cradle, and troughs for leading the water to it. couple of trees were felled in the middle of the xx clump in which they were still encamped. they were first roughly squared and then sawn into planks, the three men taking it by turns to use the saw. the question of shifting the camp up to the spot where they intended to work was discussed the night before harry started, but it was agreed at last that it would be better to remain where they were. "if utes come, sure to find traces," the chief said. "many horses in valley make tracks as plain as noonday. gold valley bad place for fight." "that is so," jerry agreed. "we should not have a show there. even if we made a log-house—and it would be a dog-goned trouble to carry up the logs,—we might be shut chapter xiv. an indian attack. an indian attack. up in it, and the red-skins would only have to lie round and shoot us down if we came out. i reckon we had best stay here after all, harry. we could keep them outside the range of our rifles anyhow by day." "i don't see that that would be much good to us, jerry; for if they came by day they would not find us here. still i don't know that it ain't best for us to stay here; it would give us a lot of trouble to build a place. i reckon two of us had better stay here all the day with the horses. if the red-skins come, they can fire a couple of shots, and we shall hear them up at the washing-place. the red-skins would be safe to draw off for a bit to talk it over before they attacked, as they would not know how many there were among the trees. that would give the rest time to come down." it took three days' hard work to saw the planks and make the cradle, and troughs sufficiently long to lead the water down into it from the stream higher up. these were roughly but strongly made, the joints being smeared with clay to prevent the water from running through. a dam was then made to keep back the water above the spot where they intended to begin, which was about fifty yards below the quartz vein, and from this dam the trough was taken along on strong trestles to the cradle. the horses were brought into the camp at daybreak every morning and tied up to the trees, and were let out again at nightfall. tom remained in camp, the chief being with him. the latter, however, was, during the time harry was away, twice absent for a day on hunting excursions lower down the valley, which was there thickly wooded. the first time, he returned with the hams and a considerable portion of the rest of the flesh of a bear. the second time, he brought up the carcass of a deer. "how far does the valley run?" tom asked. in the heart of the rockies. "valley last ten miles. sides get steep and high, then canon begin." "that will run right down to the colorado ]" the chief nodded. "leaping horse go no farther. canon must go down to the river." "how far is it before the sides of the valley get too steep to climb?" "two miles from here. men could climb another mile or two, horses not." "is there much game down there, chief]" the seneca nodded. "that is a comfort; we shan't be likely to run out of fresh meat." the chief was very careful in choosing the wood for the fire, so that in the daytime no smoke should be seen rising from the trees. when the dead wood in the clump of trees was exhausted he rode down the valley each day, and re- turned in an hour with a large faggot fastened behind him on the horse. he always started before daybreak, so as to reduce the risk of being seen from the hills. on the sixth day the men began their work at the gravel. the bottle of mercury was emptied into the cradle, the bottom of which had been made with the greatest care, so as to prevent any loss from leakage. two of the men brought up the gravel in buckets and pans, until the cradle was half full. then water was let in, and the third man rocked the machine and kept on removing the coarse stuff that worked up to the top, while the others continued bringing up fresh gravel. "well, what luck?" tom asked, when they returned in the evening. "we have not cleaned up yet; we shall let it run for three or four days before we do. we are only on the sur- face yet, and the stuff wouldn't pay for the trouble of washing out." an indian attack. on the eighth day after their departure harry and hunt- ing dog returned. "well, boys, it is all stowed away safely," he said. "i know the major well, and he let me have a big chest, which he locked up, after i had put the bags in, and had it stowed away in the magazine; so there is no fear of its being touched. any signs of the red-skins?" "nary a sign. we have none of us been up the valley beyond this, so that unless they come right down here, they would find no trail. the horses are always driven down the valley at night." "how is the work going on, jerry?" "we began washing two days ago; to-morrow night we shall clean up. we all think it is going to turn out pretty good, for we have seen gold in the sand several times as we have carried it up in the pails." the next day tom went up with the others, the indians remaining in camp. two men now worked at the cradle, while the other three brought up the sand and gravel. towards evening they began the work of cleaning up. no more stuff was brought up to the machine, but the water was still run into it. as fast as the shaking brought the rough gravel to the top it was removed, until only a foot of sand remained at the bottom. the water was now stopped and the sand dug out, and carefully washed in the pans by hand. at the bottom of each pan there remained after all the sand had been removed a certain amount of gold-dust, the quantity increasing as the bottom was approached. the last two panfuls contained a considerable amount. "it does not look much," tom said when the whole was collected together. "it is heavy stuff, lad," harry replied. "what do you think there is, jerry? about twelve ounces, i should fancy." "all that, harry; nigher fourteen, i should think." in the heart of the rockies, the pan was now put at the bottom of the cradle, a plug pulled out, and the quicksilver run into it. a portion of this was poured on wash-leather, the ends of which were held up by the men so as to form a bag. harry took the leather, and holding it over another pan twisted it round and round. as the pressure on the quicksilver increased it ran through the pores of the leather in tiny streams, until at last a lump of pasty metal remained. this was squeezed again and again, until not a single globule of quicksilver passed through the leather. the ball, which was of the con- sistency of half-dried mortar, was then taken out, and the process repeated again and again until the whole of the quicksilver had been passed through the leather. six lumps of amalgam about the size of small hens' eggs remained. "is that good, uncle?" tom asked. "very fair, lad; wonderfully good indeed, considering we have not got down far yet. i should say we shall get a pound and a half of gold out of it." "but how does the gold get into it, uncle?" "there is what is called an affinity between quicksilver and gold. the moment gold touches quicksilver it is ab- sorbed by it, just as a drop of water is taken up by a lump of salt. it thickens the quicksilver, and as it is squeezed through the leather the quicksilver is as it were strained out, and what remains behind becomes thicker and thicker, until, as you see, it is almost solid. it is no good to use more pressure, for if you do a certain amount of the gold would be squeezed through the leather. you see, as the stuff in the cradle is shaken, the gold being heavier than the sand finds its way down to the bottom, and every particle that comes in contact with the quicksilver is swallowed up by it." "and how do you get the quicksilver out of those lumps?" "we put them in one of those clay crucibles you saw, with a pinch of borax, cover them up, and put them in a heap in the heart of the rockies. i think if we make a rush we can get to the trees before they can cut us off." "we must try anyhow," sam hicks said, "else they will get the two indians and our horses and saddles and all. just let us get breath for a moment, and then we will start." "keep close together as you run," harry said, "and then if they do come up we can get back to back and make a fight of it." after a short pause they started. they had not gone twenty yards when a loud yell proclaimed that the indians had seen them. they had, however, but three hundred yards to run, while the utes were double that dis- tance from the clump. when the miners were within fifty yards of the trees, two rifle-shots rang out, and two of the utes, who were some- what ahead of the rest, fell from their horses, while the rest swerved off, seeing that there was no hope of cutting the party off. a few more yards and the miners were among the trees. "so the utes have found us out, chief," harry said as he joined leaping horse, who had just reloaded his rifle." "must have tracked us. they are a war-party," the seneca replied. "hunter must have found tracks and taken news back to the villages." "well, we have got to fight for it, that is clear enough," harry said. "anyhow, now they see there are seven of us, they are not likely to attack until it gets dark, so we have time to think over what had best be done. we had just begun our meal when we heard your shot, and the best thing we can do is to have a good feed at once. we may be too busy later on." the chief said a word to the young indian, and, leaving him on the watch, accompanied the others to the fire. they had scarcely sat down when hunting dog came up. an indian attack. "more utes," he said briefly, pointing across the valley. they at once went to the outer line of trees. on the brow of the rise opposite were a party of horsemen between twenty and thirty strong. "that shows they have learnt all about our position," harry said. "those fellows have been lying in wait some- where over the hill to cut us off if we took to our horses on seeing the main body. let us have a look the other side." crossing the clump of trees, they saw on the brow there another party of utes. "i reckon they must have crossed that valley we were working in just after we got through," jerry said, "it is mighty lucky they did not come down on us while we were washing, for they could have wiped us all out before we had time to get hold of our guns. well, harry, we are in a pretty tight fix, with fifty of them up the valley and five- and-twenty or so on each side of us. we shall have to be dog-goned smart if we are to get out of this scrape." "hand me your rifle, tom," his uncle said, "it carries farther than mine, and i will give those fellows a hint that they had best move off a bit." steadying his piece against a tree, he took a careful aim and fired. one of the indians swerved in his saddle, and then fell forward on the neck of his horse, which turned and galloped off with the rest. "now we will have our meal and take council, chief," harry said as he turned away. "if we have got to fight there is no occasion to fight hungry." the fire was made up; there was no need to be careful now. strips of deer's flesh were hung over it, and the meal was soon ready. but little was said while it was being eaten, then they all lighted their pipes and each put a pannikin of hot tea beside him. "now, chief," harry said, "have you arrived at any in the heart of the rockies. way out of this? it is worse than it was the last time we got caught in this valley." the chief shook his head. "no good fight here," he said; "when night come they creep up all round." "yes, i see that we have got to bolt, but the question is, how? if we were to ride they would ride us down, that is certain. jerry and tom might possibly get away, though that ain't likely. their critters are good, but nothing downright extraordinary, and the chances are that some of the utes have got faster horses than theirs. as for the rest of us, they would have us before we had ridden an hour." "that ain't to be thought of," jerry said. "it seems to me our best chance would be to leave the critters behind, and to crawl out the moment it gets dark, and try and get beyond them." "they will close in as soon as it gets dark, jerry. they will know well enough that that is the time we shall be moving. i reckon we should not have a chance worth a cent of getting through. what do you say, chief?" leaping horse nodded in assent. "well, then," sam hicks said, "i vote we mount our horses and go right at them. i would rather do that and get rubbed out in a fair fight than lie here until they crawl up and finish us." no one answered, and for some minutes they smoked on without a word being spoken, then harry said: "there is only one chance for us that i can see, and that is to mount now and to ride right down the valley. the chief says that in some places it is not more than fifty yards wide, with steep cliffs on each side, and we could make a much better fight there, for they could only attack us in front . there would be nothing for them then but to dis- mount and close in upon us from tree to tree, and we could make a running fight of it until we come to the mouth of the an indian attack. hint to keep off. the other four had better ride straight down the canon, and go on for a bit, to find out the best place for making a stand, and as soon as it is dark we will go forward and join them. there will be no occasion for us to hurry. i reckon the skunks will crawl up here soon after it is dark; but they won't go much farther, for we might hide up somewhere and they might miss us. in the morning they will come down on foot, sheltering behind the trees as much as they can, till at last they locate us." the chief nodded his approval of the plan, and tom and the three miners at once started, taking the pack-horses with them. on the way down they came upon a bear. ben was about to fire, but jerry said: "best leave him alone, ben; we are only three miles down, and these cliffs would echo the sound and the red-skins would hear it and know that some of us had gone down the valley, and might make a rush at once." in an hour and a half they came down to a spot where the valley, after widening out a good bit, suddenly termin'ated, and the stream entered a deep canon in the face of the wall of rock that closed it in. "i reckon all this part of the valley was a lake once," jerry said. "when it got pretty well full it began to run over where this canon is and gradually cut its way out down to the colorado. i wonder how far it is to the river." they had gone but a hundred yards down the canon when they came to a place where a recent fall of rocks blocked it up. through these the stream, which was but a small one, made its way. "there is a grist of water comes down here when the snow melts in the spring," ben remarked. "you can see that the rocks are worn fifty feet up. waal, i reckon this place is good enough for us, jerry." "i reckon so too," the latter agreed. "it will be a job to get our horses over; but we have got to do it anyhow, in the heart of the rockies. if we have to carry them." the animals, however, man- aged to scramble up the rocks that filled the cafion to the height of some thirty feet. the distance between the rock walls was not more than this in width. "we could hold this place for a year," ben said, "if they didn't take to chucking rocks down from above." "yes, that is the only danger," jerry agreed; "but the betting is they could not get nigh enough to the edge to look down. still, they might do it if the ground is level above; anyhow, we should not show much at this depth, for it is pretty dark down here, and the rocks must be seven or eight hundred feet high." it was indeed but a narrow strip of sky that they saw as they looked up, and although still broad daylight in the valley they had left, it was almost dark at the bottom of the deep gorge, and became pitch dark as soon as the light above faded. "the first job in the morning," jerry said, "will be to explore this place down below. i expect there are places where it widens out . if it does, and there are trees and anything like grass, the horses can get a bite of food; if not, they will mighty soon go under, that is if we don't come upon any game, for if we don't we shan't be able to spare them flour." "it is almost a pity we did not leave them in the valley to take their chance," tom said. "don't you make any mistake," jerry said, "in the first place they may come in useful to us yet, and even if we never get astride of them again they may come in mighty handy for food. i don't say as we mayn't get a bear if there are openings in the canon, or terraces where they can come down, but if there ain't it is just horse-meat we have got to depend on. look here, boys, it is 'tarnal dark here; i can't see my own hand. i vote we get a light. there is a an indian attack. let them fool about for a good long spell, and then when they got a bit careless sent them a ball or two to let them know we were still there. hunting dog went with the three horses half a mile down the valley soon after you had gone, so that they might not hear us ride off. "as soon as it began to get dusk we started. we had to come pretty slow, for it got so dark under the trees we could not make out the trunks, and had to let the horses pick their own way. but we knew there was no hurry, for they would not follow till morning, though of course their scouts would creep up as soon as it was dark, and wouldn't be long before they found out that we had left." "i reckon they will all come and camp in the wood and wait for daylight before they move, though i don't say two or three scouts may not crawl down to try and find out where we are. they will move pretty slow, for they will have to pick their way, and will know well enough that if a twig cracks it will bring bullets among them. i reckon they won't get here under four or five hours. it is sartin they won't try to pass that fire above. as soon as they see us they will take word back to the others, and we shall have the whole lot down here by morning." "we shall have to get the horses over, the first thing. two of us had best go down, as soon as it is light enough to ride without risking our necks, to see what the canon is like below." "yes, that is most important, jerry; there may be some break where the red-skins could get down, and so catch us between two fires." "i don't care a red cent for the utes," jerry said. "we can lick them out of their boots in this canon. what we have been thinking of, is whether there is some place where the horses can get enough to keep them alive while we are shut up here. if there is game, so much the better; if there ain't, we have got to take to horseflesh." ( ) n an indian attack. to show the utes that it is sartin death to try and crawl up here." almost immediately afterwards a head appeared above the stones, the chief's rifle cracked, and at the same instant the head disappeared. "do you think you got him, chief?" "think so, not sure. leaping horse does not often miss his mark at two hundred yards." almost directly afterwards tom fired. an indian sprang to his feet and bounded away. "what did you fire at, tom?" "i think it was his arm and shoulder," tom replied. "i was not sure about it, but i certainly saw something move." "i fancy you must have hit him, or he would not have got up. waal, now i reckon we are going to have quiet for a bit . they must have had a good look at the place while they were lying there, and must have seen that it air too strong for them. i don't say they mayn't come on again to- night—that they may do, but i think it air more likely they won't try it. they would know that we should be on the watch, and with seven rifles and colts we should account for a grist of them afore they got over. what do you say, chief?" "not come now," the indian said positively. "send men first along top see if can get down. not like come at night; the canons of the colorado very bad medicine, red-skins no like come into them. if no way where we can get up, then utes sit down to starve us." "that will be a longish job, chief. a horse a week will keep us for three months." "if no food for horse, horse die one week." "so they will, chief. we must wait till harry comes back, then we shall know what our chances are." it was six hours before harry and sam returned. in the heart of the rockies. there was a shout of satisfaction from the men when they saw that they had on their saddles the hind quarters of a bear. "waal, what is the news, harry?" "it ain't altogether good, ben. it goes down like this for about twelve miles, then it widens out sudden. it gets into a crumbly rock which has got worn away, and there is a place maybe about fifty yards wide and half a mile long, with sloping sides going up a long way, and then cliff all round. the bottom is all stones; there are a few tufts of coarse grass growing between them. on the slopes there are some bushes, and on a ledge high up we made out a bear. we had two or three shots at him, and at last brought him down. there may be more among the bushes; there was plenty of cover for them." "there was no place where there was a chance of getting up, harry?" "nary a place. i don't say as there may not be, but we couldn't see one." "but the bear must have got down." "no. he would come down here in the dry season looking for water-holes, and finding the place to his liking he must concluded to settle there. it is just the place a bear would choose, for he might reckon pretty confident that there weren't no chance of his being disturbed. well, we went on beyond that, and two miles lower the canon opened again, and five minutes took us down on to the bank of the colorado. there was no great room between the river and the cliff, but there were some good-sized trees there, and plenty of bush growing up some distance. we caught sight of another bear, but as we did not want him we left him alone." "waal, let us have some b'ar-raeat first of all," jerry said, "we finished our meat last night, and bread don't make much the colorado. of a meal, i reckon. anyhow we can all do with another, and after we have done we will have a talk. we know what to expect now, and can figure it up better than we could ell, boys," harry wade began after they had smoked yy for some time in silence, "we have got to look at this matter squarely. so far we have got out of a mighty tight place better than we expected. yesterday it seemed to us that there weren't much chance of our carrying our hair away, but now we are out of that scrape. but we are in another pretty nigh as bad, though there ain't much chance of the red-skins getting at us." "that air so, harry. we are in a pretty tight hole, you bet. they ain't likely to get our scalps for some time, but there ain't no denying that our chance of carrying them off is dog-goned small." "you bet there ain't, jerry," sam hicks said. "them pizon varmint will camp outside here; for they know they have got us in a trap. they mayn't attack us at present, but we have got to watch night and day. any dark night they may take it into their heads to come up, and there won't be nothing to prevent them, for the rustling of the stream among the rocks would cover any little noise they might make. the first we should know of it would be the yell of the varmint at the foot of this barrier, and afore we could get to the top the two on guard would be tomahawked, and they would be down on us like a pack of wolves. i would a'most as soon put down my rifle and walk straight out now and let before. chapter xv. the colorado. in the heart of the rockies. them shoot me, if i knew they would do it without any of their devilish tortures, as go on night after night, expecting to be woke up with their war-yell in my ears. "of course they will be always keeping a watch there at the mouth of the canon—a couple of boys are enough for that,—for they will know that if we ride out on our horses we must go right up the valley, and it is a nasty place to gallop through in the dark; besides, some of them will no doubt be placed higher up to cut us off, and if we got through, which ain't likely, they could ride us down in a few hours if we crept out on foot and got fairly among the trees we should be no better off, for they would take up our trail in the morning and hunt us down. i tell you fairly, boys, i don't see any way out of it . i reckon it will come to our having to ride out together, and to wipe out as many of the utes as possible afore we go down. what do you say, chief?" "leaping horse agrees with his white brother, straight harry, whose mind he knows." "waal, go on then, harry," sam said. "i thought that you had made an end of it or i wouldn't have opened out. i don't see no way out of it at present, but if you do i am ready to fall in with it whatever it is." "i see but one way out of it, boys. it is a mighty risky thing, but it can't be more risky than stopping here, and there is just a chance, i spoke to the chief last night, and he owned that it didn't seem to him there was a chance in that or any other way. however, he said that if i went he would go with me. my proposal is this, that we take to the river and try and get through the canons." there was a deep silence among the men. the proposal took them by surprise. no man had ever accomplished the journey. though two parties similarly attacked by indians had attempted to raft down some of the canons higher up; the colorado. "don't you like the plan, tom?" harry said to him, as, having packed and saddled the horses, they rode together down the canon. "i don't suppose the passage is so terrible after all." "i am not thinking of the passage at all, uncle," tom said almost indignantly, "it will be a grand piece of adventure; but i don't like—i hate—the thought of my horse being killed. it is like killing a dear friend to save one's self." "it is a wrench, lad," harry said kindly; "i can quite understand your feelings, and don't like the thought my- self. but i see that it has got to be done, and after all it will be better to kill the poor brutes than to let them fall into the hands of the indians, who don't know what mercy to their beasts means, and will ride them till they drop dead without the least compunction." "i know it is better, uncle, ever so much better—but it is horrible all the same. anyhow, don't ask me to do it, for i could not." "i will see to that, tom. you shall be one of the guards of the canon. you would not be of much use in making the canoes, and you won't have to know anything about it till you go down and get on board." tom nodded his thanks; his heart was too full for him to speak, and he felt that if he said a word he should break down altogether. they rode rapidly along, passed through the little valley where the bear had been killed, without stopping, and went down the lower canon, carefully examin- ing it to fix upon the most suitable point for defence. there had been no recent fall, and though at some points great boulders lay thickly, there was no one place that offered special facilities for defence. "look here, boys," harry said, reining up his horse at a point within two hundred yards of the lower end, "we can't in the heart of the rockies. do better than fix ourselves here. an hour's work will get up a wall that will puzzle the red-skins to get over, and there is the advantage that a shot fired here by the guard will bring our whole force up in a couple of minutes. i vote we ride the horses down to the river and let them pick up what they can, and then come back here and build the wall. it will be getting dark in an hour's time, and we may as well finish that job at once. ben and sam, you may as well pick out a couple of young fir-trees and bring them down at once, then there will be no time lost. five of us will be enough for the wall. keep your eyes open. likely enough there is a bear or two about, and it would be a great thing for us to lay in a stock of meat before we start." as soon as they issued from the gorge the horses were unsaddled and the stores taken off the pack animals. as they were doing this harry said a few words in a low tone to sam. he then carefully examined the trees, and picked out two young firs. sam and ben took their axes, and the other five went up the gorge again, and were soon hard at work collecting boulders and piling them in a wall. "there is a gun, uncle," tom exclaimed presently. "well, i hope they have got sight of a bear, we shall want a stock of meat badly." a dozen shots were fired, but tom thought no more of it as he proceeded with his work . the bottom of the canon was but fifteen feet wide, and by the time it was dark they had a solid wall across it nearly six feet high, with places for them to stand on to fire over. "now then, tom, you may as well take post here at once. i will send sam or ben up to watch with you. i don't think there is a shadow of chance of their coming to- night, but there is never any answering for red-skins. i the colorado. would leave hunting dog with you, but we shall want him to help make the framework for the canoes; the indians are a deal handier than we are in making lashings. i will send your supper up here, lad, and your buffalo robes. then you can take it by turns to watch and sleep. i reckon we shall be at work all night, we have got to get the job finished as quick as we can." a quarter of an hour later sam hicks came up. "have you got the trees down, sam?" "lor' bless you, it didn't take a minute to do that . we got them down and split them up, then lit a fire and got the meat over it and the kettle, and mixed the dough." "did you kill another bear? we heard you firing." "no; the critter was too high up, and i ain't much good at shooting. perhaps they will get sight of him to-morrow, and harry and the chief will bring him down if he is within range of their shooting-irons. it is 'tarnal dark up here." in twenty minutes two lights were seen approaching, and harry and hunting dog came up carrying pine-wood torches. each had a great faggot of wood fastened on his back, and harry also carried the frying-pan, on which were a pile of meat and two great hunks of bread, while hunting dog brought two tin pannikins of hot tea. "that will make it more cheerful for you," harry said, as he unfastened the rope that tied the faggot to his shoulders. "now, hunting dog, get a good fire as soon as you can, and then come down again to us." the fire was soon blazing merrily, and tom and sam sat down to enjoy their meal. "don't you think one of us ought to keep watch, sam?" "not a bit of it," sam said, "the red-skins will never dare to enter that canon until after dark, and if they started now and made their way straight on, they would not be in the heart of the rockies. here for another three or four hours. i would bet my boots they don't come at all to-night; even if they were not scared at us, they would be scared at coming near the river in the dark. no, we will just take our meal comfort- able and smoke a pipe, and then i will take first watch and you shall take a sleep. we ain't closed an eye since the night before last." tom, indeed, was nearly asleep before he had finished his pipe, and felt that he really must get a nap. so saying to sam, "be sure and wake me in two hours," he rolled him- self in his robe and instantly fell asleep. it seemed to him that he had only just gone off when sam roused him. he leapt to his feet, however, rifle in hand. "anything the matter, sam?" "everything quiet," the miner replied. "what did you wake me for then? i have not been asleep five minutes." "according to my reckoning, mate, you have been asleep better'n five hours. it was about half-past eight when you went off, and i reckon it is two now, and will begin to get light in another hour. i would not have waked you till daybreak, but i found myself dropping off." "i am awfully sorry," tom began. "don't you trouble, young un. by the time you have been as long in the west as i have you won't think anything of two nights' watch. now you keep a sharp look-out. i don't think there is much chance of their coming, but i don't want to be woke up with a red-skin coming right down on the top of me." "i see you have let the fire out, sam," tom said, with a little shiver. "i put it out hours ago," sam said, as he prepared to lie down. "it would never have done to keep it all night, for a the colorado. red-skin would see my head over the top of the wall, while i should not get a sight of him till he was within arm's-length." tom took up his post, and gazed earnestly into the dark- ness beyond the wall. he felt that his sense of vision would be of no use whatever, and therefore threw all his faculties into that of listening. slight as was the chance of the indians coming, he yet felt somewhat nervous, and it was a satisfaction to him to see beyond the mouth of the canon the glow of the fire, by which, as he knew, the others were hard at work. in an hour the morning began to break, and as soon as he could see well up the canon he relighted the fire, jumping up to take a look over the wall every minute or so. it was not long before he saw his uncle approaching with a kettle. "i saw your smoke, tom, and guessed that you would be glad of a mug of hot tea. you have seen no signs of indians, i suppose?" "we have heard nothing, uncle. as to seeing, up to half an hour ago there was no possibility of making out any- thing. but i have not even been listening; sam went on guard directly we had finished supper, and i asked him to call me in two hours, but he did not wake me until two o'clock." "he is a good fellow," harry said. "well, don't wake him now. i can't leave you the kettle, for we have to keep boiling water going, but you can put his tin into the ashes and warm it up when he wakes. here are a couple of pieces of bread." "why do you have to keep the kettle boiling, uncle?" "to bend the wood with. the piece we are working on is kept damp with boiling water. we hold it for a time over the fire, pouring a little water on as fast as it evapo- rates; that softens the wood, and we can bend it much more in the heart of the rockies. evenly than we could if we did it by force. besides, when it is fastened into its position it remains, when it is dry, in that shape, and throws no strain on to anything." "are you getting on well?" "capitally. we should have done both the frames by now, but we were obliged to make them very strong so as resist the bumps they are sure to get against rocks. when they are finished you might almost let them drop off the top of a house, they will be so strong and elastic. if the indians will but give us time we shall make a first-rate job of them." three hours later harry came up again with the kettle and some cooked meat. sam had just woke up, and was quite angry with tom for not rousing him before. "the others have been working all night," he said, "and here have i been asleep for five hours; a nice sort of mate they will think me." "well, but you were watching five hours, sam; and i would a deal rather work all night than stand here for two hours in the dark, wondering all the time whether'the indians are crawling up, and expecting at any moment to hear a rush against the wall." "i am going to take your place, sam, when you have finished your breakfast," harry said as he came up. "if the utes found out last night that we had gone, their scouts may be coming down before long. my rifle shoots a bit straighter than yours does." "it ain't the rifle, harry," sam said good-temperedly; "it is the eye that is wrong, not the shooting-iron. i never had much practice with these long guns, but when it comes to a six-shooter, i reckon i can do my share as well as most. but they won't give me a chance with it." "i hope they won't, sam, i am sure they won't as long as there is light, and i hope that before it gets dark they will conclude to leave us alone." the colorado. a vigilant watch was kept now. "i think i saw a head look out from that corner," tom exclaimed suddenly, two hours after sam had left them "i am quite sure i did, tom. we must wait until he shows himself a bit more, i reckon it is a good three hundred yards off, and a man's head is a precious small mark at that distance. stand a bit higher and lay your rifle on the wall. don't fire if he only puts his head out . they know we can shoot, so there is not any occasion to give them another lesson. i don't hold to killing, unless you have got to do it. let him have a good look at us. "when he goes back and tells the tribe that there is a three hundred yards' straight passage without shelter, and a strong wall across the end of it, and two white men with rifles ready to shoot, i reckon they will know a good deal better than to try to come up it, as long as there is light. besides, they won't think there is any occasion to hurry, for they won't count on our taking to the river, and will know that we shall be keeping watch at night. so it may very well be that they will reckon on wearing us out, and that we may not hear of them for a week . there is the fellow's head again!" the head remained visible round the corner of the rock for two or three minutes. "he knows all about it now, tom. you won't see any more of him to-day. i will go down and lend them a hand below." tom asked no questions about the horses; he had thought of them a score of times as he stood on guard, and the thought had occurred to him that it was possible the shots he had heard while they were building the wall on the previous afternoon, had been the death-shots of the horses. it did not occur to him when sam was telling the story about the bear, that this was a got-up tale, but when he came to think it over, he thought it probable that it was the colorado. away. when he finished, his uncle led him down to the river. two canoes were floating in the water, and the other men were standing beside them. "there, tom, what do you think of them?" "they are splendid, uncle; it seems impossible that you can have built them in two days." "five hands can do a lot of canoe-building in forty-eight hours' work, tom" the canoes were indeed models of strength if not of beauty. they were each about twenty feet long and five feet wide. two strong pieces of pine two inches square ran along the top of each side, and one of the same width but an inch deeper formed the keel. the ribs, an inch wide and three-quarters of an inch thick, were placed at intervals of eighteen inches apart. the canoes were almost flat-bottomed. the ribs lay across the keel, which was cut away to allow them to lie flush in it, a strong nail being driven in at the point of junction—these being the only nails used in the boat's construction. the ribs ran straight out to almost the full width of the canoe, and were then turned sharp up, the ends being lashed with thongs of hide to the upper stringers. outside the ribs were lashed longitudinal wattles of tough wood about an inch wide. they were placed an inch apart, extending over the bottom and half-way up the side. over all was stretched the skin, five horses' hides having been used for each boat. they were very strongly sewed together by a double row of thongs, the overlaps having, before being sewed, been smeared with melted fat. cross-pieces of wood at the top kept the upper framework in its place. the hair of the skin was outward, the inner glistened with the fat that had been rubbed into it. "they are strong indeed," tom said, "they ought to stand anything, uncle." (;> s) s in the heart of the rockies. "yes, i think they would stand a blow against any rock if it hadn't a cutting edge. they would just bound off as a basket would. of course they are very heavy for canoes; but as they won't have to carry more than the weight of four men each, they will draw little over a couple of inches or so of water. "that is why we made them so wide. we could not get strength without weight; and as there is no saying what shallows there may be, and how close in some places rocks may come up to the surface, we were obliged to build them wide to get light draught . you see we have made ten paddlesj so as to have a spare one or two in case of breakage. we have two spare hides, so that we shall have the means of repair- ing damages." tom said nothing about the horses. manufactured into a boat, as the skins were, there was not much to remind him of them; but he pressed his uncle's hand and said, "thank you very much, uncle; i don't mind so much now, but i should not like to have seen them before." "that is all right, tom; it was a case of necessity. sam and ben shot them directly we got here." the stores were all laid by the boats, being divided between them so that the cargoes were in all respects dupli- cates of each other. before tom came down some had already been placed in each boat, with a blanket thrown over them. "you have got the gold, i suppose, uncle?" "you may bet that we did not leave that behind. there is half in each boat, and the bags are lashed to the timbers, so that if there is an upset they cannot get lost." "how are we going?" "we have settled that you and i and the two indians shall go together, and the rest in the other boat. the indians know nothing of canoeing, and won't be of very much use. i the colorado. know you were accustomed to boats, and i did some row- ing when i was a young man. i wish we had a couple of canadian indians with us, or of half-breeds; they are up to this sort of work, and with one in the stern of each canoe it would be a much less risky business going down the rapids. however, no doubt we shall get handy with the paddles before long." when everything was ready harry fired his rifle, and in a couple of minutes hunting dog came running down. the others had already taken their seats. he stepped into harry's boat, and they at once pushed off. the river was running smoothly here, and harry said, "directly we get down a little way we will turn the boat's head up stream and practise for a bit. it would never do to get down into rough water before we can use the paddles fairly." tom sat in the bow of his boat, hunting dog was next to him, then came the chief, and harry sat in the stern. a paddle is a much easier implement to manage for a be- ginner than is an oar, and it was not long before they found that they could propel the boats at a fair rate. in a short time they had passed the end of the shelf at the mouth of the canon, and the cliffs on that side rose as abruptly as they did on the other. the river was some eighty yards wide. "we will turn here," harry said, "and paddle up. we sha'n't do more than keep abreast of these rocks now, for the stream runs fast though it is so smooth." they found, indeed, that they had to work hard to hold their position. "now, tom," harry sang out, "it is you and i do the steering, you know. when you want the head to go to the right you must work your paddle out from the boat, when you want to go to the left you must dip it in the water in the heart of the rockies. rather farther out and draw it towards the boat. of course when you have got the paddle the other side you must do just the contrary. you must sing out right or left according as you see rocks ahead, and i shall steer with my paddle behind. i have a good deal more power over the boat than you have, and you must depend upon me for the steering, unless there is occasion for a smart swerve." at first the two boats shot backwards and forwards across the stream in a very erratic way, but after an hour's practice the steersmen found the amount of force required. an hour later harry thought that they were competent to make a start, and turning they shot rapidly past the cliffs. in a couple of miles there was a break in the rocks to tho left. "we will land there," harry said. "there are trees near the water and bushes farther up. we will make a camp there. there is no saying how far we may have to go before we get another opportunity. we have done with the utes for good, and can get a sound night's sleep. if you, chief, will start with hunting dog as soon as we land we will get the things ashore and light the fire. maybe you will be able to get a bear for us." they did not trouble to haul up the canoes, but fastened them by the head-ropes, which were made from lariats, to trees on the shore. daylight was beginning to fade as they lighted the fire. no time was lost before mixing the dough, and it was in readiness by the time that there were sufficient glowing embers to stand the pot in. the kettle was filled and hung on a tripod over the fire. in a short time the indians returned empty-handed. "no find bear," the chief said, "getting too dark to hunt. to-morrow morning try." harry got up and went to the boats, and returned directly with a joint of meat . tom looked up in surprise. the colorado. "it is not from yours, tom," jerry said as he saw him looking at it . "we took the hind quarters of the four pack- ponies, but left the others alone. it was no use bringing more, for it would not keep." "so it is horseflesh!" tom rather shrank from the idea of eating it, and nothing would have induced him to touch it had he thought that it came from his own favourite. some steaks were cut and placed in the frying-pan, while strips were hung over the fire for those who preferred the meat in that way. tom felt strongly inclined to refuse alto- gether, but when he saw that the others took their meat as a matter of course, and proceeded to eat with a good appe- tite, he did not like to do so. he hesitated, however, before tasting it; but harry said with a laugh, "fire away, tom. you can hardly tell it from beef, and they say that in paris lots of horseflesh is sold as beef." thus encouraged, tom took a mouthful, and found it by no means bad, for from their long stay in the valley the animals were all in excellent condition, and he acknowledged to himself that he would not have known the flesh from beef. "i call it mighty good for a change," jerry said. "out on the plains, where one can get buffalo, one would not take horse for choice, but as we have been eating deer and bear meat for about a year, horse-meat ain't bad by no means. what! you won't take another bit, tom " "not to-night, jerry; next time i shall be all right. but it is my first trial, you know, and though i can't say it is not good, it gives me a queer feeling, so i will stick to the bread." "well, boys," harry said presently, " we have made a first- rate start, and have got out of a big scrape, easier than i ever looked for. we could not have got two better canoes for our work if we had had them brought special from in the heart of the rockies. canada, and it seems to me that they ought to go down pretty near anywhere without much damage. we shall get real handy with our paddles in two or three days, and i hope wo sha'n't meet with any big rapids until we have got into the way of managing them well." "you bet, harry, we have got out well," said jerry. "i toll you it looked downright ugly, and i wouldn't have given a continental for our chances. as for the rapids, i guess we shall generally find rocks one side or the other where we can make our way along, and we can let down the canoes by the ropes. anyhow, we need not get skeery over them. after getting out of that valley with our hair on, the thought of them does not trouble me a cent." chapter xvi. afloat in canoes. the two indians were off long before daylight, and just as the others were having a wash at the edge of the river they heard the crack of a rifle some distance up the cliff. "bear!" jerry exclaimed; "and i reckon they have got it, else we should have heard another shot directly afterwards. that will set us up in food for some time. get the fire made up, tom, you won't have to eat horse steak for breakfast unless you like." the indians returned half an hour later laden with as much bear-flesh as they could carry. "i vote we stop here for two days," harry said. "we have got a lot of meat now, but it won't keep for twenty- four hours in this heat, so i vote we cut it up and dry it as afloat in canoes. the indians do buffalo-meat; it will keep any time. besides, we deserve a couple of days' rest, and we can practise paddling while the meat dries. we got on very well yester- day, but i do want us to get quite at home in the boats before we get to a bad bite." the proposal was agreed to, and as soon as breakfast was over the whole of the meat was cut up into thin slices and hung up on cords fastened from tree to tree. "it ought to take three days to do it properly, and four is better," harry said. "still, as we have cut it very thin, i should think two days in this hot sun ought to be enough." "are there any fish in the river, uncle?" "i have no doubt there are, tom, grists of them, but we have got no hooks." "jerry has got some, he told me he never travelled without them, and we caught a lot of fish with them up in the mountains just after we started before. i don't know about line, but one might unravel one of the ropes." "i think you might do better than that, tom. the next small animal we shoot we might make some lines from the gut. they needn't be above five or six feet long. beyond that we could cut a strip of thirty or forty feet long from one of the hides. however, we can do nothing at present in that way. now let us get into the canoes and have a couple of hours' paddling. after dinner we will have another good spell at the work." by evening there was a marked improvement in the paddling over that of the previous day, and after having had another day's practice all felt confident that they should get on very well. by nightfall on the second day, the meat was found to be thoroughly dried, and was taken down and packed in bundles, and the next morning they started as soon as it was light. it was agreed that the boats should follow each other at a distance of a hundred yards, so that in the heart of the rockies. the leader could signal to the one behind if serious difficulties were made out ahead, and so enable it to row to the bank in time. were both drawn together into the suck of a dan- gerous rapid they might find themselves without either boats or stores, whereas if only one of the boats was broken up, there would be the other to fall back upon. harry's boat was to take the lead on the first day, and tom, as he knelt in the bows, felt his heart beat with excitement at the thought of the unknown that lay before them, and that they were about to make their way down passes probably impenetrated by man. passing between what had seemed to them the entrance to a narrow canon, they were surprised to find the river widen out. on their right a great sweep of hills bent round like a vast amphitheatre, the resem- blance being heightened by the ledges running in regular lines along it, the cliff being far from perpendicular. "i should think one could climb up there," tom said, half- turning round to his uncle. "it looks like it, tom, but there is no saying; some of those steps may be a good deal steeper than they look. however, i have no doubt one could find places where it would be possible to climb if there were any use in doing so, but as we should only find ourselves up on bad lands we should gain nothing by it." "i don't mean we should want to climb up now, uncle; but it seemed a sort of satisfaction to know that there are places where one could climb in case we got the boats smashed up." "if we had to make our way up, lad, it would be much better to go by one of the lateral canons like the one we came down by. i can see at least half a dozen of them going up there. we should certainly find water, and we might find game, but up on the plateau we should find neither one nor the other." afloat in canoes. on the left-hand bank of the river the cliffs fell still farther back in wide terraces, that rose one behind the other up to a perpendicular cliff half a mile back from the river. there was a shade of green here and there, and the chief pointed far up the hill and exclaimed "deer!" "that is good," harry said. . "there are sure to be more of these places, and i should think we are not likely to starve anyhow. we can't spare time to stop now; we want to have a long day's paddle to see what it is going to be like, and we have got meat enough for the present. if we happen to see a deer within rifle-shot, so that we can get at him without much loss of time, we will stop, for after all fresh meat is better eating than dry." "i should think it would be, uncle," tom said. "from the look of the stuff i should think it would be quite as tough as shoe leather and as tasteless." "it needs a set of sharp teeth, tom, but if you are hard set i have no doubt you will be able to get through it, and at any rate it constitutes the chief food of the indians between the missouri and the rockies." for the next three hours they paddled along on the quiet surface of the river. the other canoe had drawn up, since it was evident that here at least there was no reason why they should keep apart. "i didn't expect we should find it as quiet as this, harry," jerry curtis said, "it is a regular water-party, and i should not mind how long i was at it if it were all like this." "we shall have rough water enough presently, jerry, and i expect we shall look back on this as the pleasantest part of the trip. it seems to me that the hills close in more towards the end of this sweep. it has made a regular horso-shoe." "i reckon it depends upon the nature of the rock," ben put in. afloat in canoes. the rocks for nearly two miles. it seemed well-nigh impos- sible to tom that the boats could go down without being swamped, for the waves were eight or ten feet high, with steep sides capped with white. at last the gorge widened again, and although the cliff to the right rose perpendicularly, on the other side it became less steep, and seemed lower down to assume the same character as that above the gorge. "it looks pretty bad," harry said, speaking for almost the first time since they had started, for the roar of the water against the rocks, echoed and re-echoed by the cliffs, rendered conversation an impossibility. "it looks bad, but as far as i can see there are no rocks that come up near the surface, and the canoes ought to go through the broken water safely enough." "it is an all-fired nasty-looking place," jerry said; "but i have heard men who had been in the north talk about rapids they had gone through, and from what they said about them they must have been worse than this. we have got to keep as near the side as we can; the waves ain't as high there as they are in the middle, and we have got to keep the boat's head straight, and to paddle all we know. if we do that, i reckon the canoes will go through." they retraced their steps up the gorge. hunting dog was standing by the boat with the dead deer at his feet. jerry picked it up. "i had better take this, i reckon, harry. you have got one man more than we have;" and he and his two companions went on to their boat. "now, what do you think, tom" his uncle said. "can you trust your head to keep cool? it will need a lot of nerve, i can tell you, and if her head swerves in the slightest she will swing round, and over she will go, and it would want some tall swimming to get out of that race. you paddle as well as the chief,—better, i think,—but the chief's nerves are like iron. he has not been practising steering in the heart of the rockies. as you have, but as there seem to be no rocks about, that won't matter so much. i ought to be able to keep her straight, if you three paddle hard. it may need a turn of the paddle now and then in the bow, but that we can't tell. so it shall be just as you like, lad. if you think your nerves can stand it you take your usual place, but if you have doubts about it, it were best to let the chief go there." "i think i could stand it, uncle, for i have been out in wherries in some precious rough seas at spithead; but i think it would be best for the chief to take my place this time, and then i shall see how i feel." harry said a few words to the chief in his own language, and leaping horse without a word stepped into the bow, while tom took the seat behind him. "we sha'n't be long going down," harry said. "i reckon the stream is running ten miles an hour, and as we shall be paddling, it will take us through in ten minutes. we had all better sit farther aft, so as to take her bow right out of water. she will go through it ever so much easier so." they shifted their seats until daylight could be seen under the keel a foot from the bow. "i think that is about the right trim," harry said. "now paddle all." the boat shot off from the shore. a minute later it darted into the gorge, the indian setting a long sweeping stroke. there were two or three long heaves, and then they dashed into the race. tom held his breath at the first wall of water, but, buoyant and lightly laden as the canoe was, with fully a foot of free board, she rose like a feather over it, and darted down into the hollow beyond. tom kept his eyes fixed on the back of the chief's head, clenched his teeth tightly, and paddled away with all his strength. he felt that were he to look round he should turn giddy at the turmoil of water. once or twice he was vaguely conscious in the heart of the rockies. effort the boy took hold of his dipper, and by the time the boat was empty his nerves were gaining their steadiness, though his breath still came quickly. as he laid down his tin he looked round. "heap water," hunting dog said with a smile; "run like herd of buffalo." the other boat lay twenty yards behind them, and was also engaged in baling. "all right now, tom?" "all right, uncle; but it is lucky you put the chief in the bows. i should have made a mess of it; for from the time we got into the waves it seemed nothing but confusion, and though i heard your voice i did not seem to understand what you said." "it was a trial to the nerves, tom, but we shall all get accustomed to it before we get through. well, thank god, we have made our first run safely. now paddle on, we will stop at the first likely place and have a meal." a mile farther they saw a pile of drift-wood on the left bank, and harry at once headed the canoe to it, and draw- ing the boat carefully alongside they got out. a minute later the other canoe joined them. "jee-hoshaphat, harry " jerry exclaimed as he stepped out; "that was worse nor a cyclone. i would rather sit on the back of the worst kind of bucker than jump over those waves again. if we are going to have much of this i should say let us find our way back and ask the utes to finish us off." "it was a rough bit, jerry; but it might have been a deal worse if there had been rocks in the stream. all we had to do was to keep her straight and paddle." "and a pretty big all too," jerry grumbled. "i felt skeered pretty nigh out of my wits, and the other two allow they were just as bad. if it hadn't been for your boat ahead afloat in canoes. i reckon we should never have gone through it, but as long as you kept on straight, there didn't seem any reason why we shouldn't. i tell you i feel so shaky that if there were a grizzly twenty yards off i am blamed if i could keep the muzzle of my rifle on it." tom had been feeling a good deal ashamed of his nervous- ness, and was much relieved at hearing that these seasoned men had felt somewhat the same as he had done. "what do you say, boys," harry asked when breakfast had been cooked and eaten, "if we stop here for to-day? likely enough we may get some game, and if not it won't matter, for the deer will last us a couple of days." "you bet," ben gulston said; "i think we have had enough of the water for to-day. i don't feel quite sure now i ain't going round and round, and i don't think any of us will feel right till we have had a night's sleep. besides, all the rugs and blankets are wet and want spreading out in the sun for a bit, and the flour will want overhauling." "that settles it, ben; let us get all the outfit out of the boats at once." after the things had been laid out to dry the two indians went off in search of game; but none of the others felt any inclination to move, and they spent the rest of the day lying about smoking and dozing. the indians brought back a big-horn, and the next morning the canoes dropped down the stream again. for some miles the river flowed quietly along a wide valley. at the end of that time it made an abrupt turn and entered the heart of the moun- tains. as before, harry's canoe went in advance. the canon was here a deep gloomy chasm, with almost perpen. dicular sides, and for some distance the river ran swiftly and smoothly, then white water was seen ahead, so the two boats rowed in to the rocks at the foot of the precipice, and the occupants proceeded to explore the pass ahead. it in the heart of the rockies. harry held up his hand to show that they were ready, having before he did so chosen a stone round which to wind the lariats. the other boat was then launched. sam and ben took their places astern and began to paddle against the stream. as they were in the back-water below the ledge of rock they were able to keep her stationary while jerry took his place and got out his paddle. when all were ready, they paddled her out from the back-water. as soon as the current caught her she flew past the cliff like an arrow, although the three men were now paddling at the top of their speed. harry and the chief pulled in the rope hand over hand, while hunting dog and tom went a short way down the rocks. "don't check her too suddenly, chief," harry shouted. "let the rope run out easy at first and bring the strain on gradually." "the ropes will hold," the chief said. "one stop buffalo in gallop, two stop boat." "yes, but you would pull the head out of the canoe, chief, if you stopped her too suddenly." the chief nodded. he had not thought of that. in spite of the efforts of the oarsmen the canoe's head was swerving across the stream just as she came abreast of them. a moment later she felt the check of the rope. "easy, chief, easy!" harry shouted, as the water shot up high over the bow of the canoe. "wait till she gets a bit lower or we shall capsize her." the check of the bow had caused the stern to swerve out, and when they again checked her she was several lengths below them with her head inclined to shore. more and more strain was put on the ropes, until they were as taut as iron bars. a moment later tom and hunting dog seized two paddles held out to them, and the boat came gently in alongside. "gosh!" ben exclaimed, as he stepped ashore, "it has afloat in canoes. taken as much out of me as working a windlass for a day. i am blamed if i did not think the hull boat was coming to pieces. i thought it was all over with us for sure, harry; when she first felt the rope, the water came in right over the side." "it was touch and go, ben; but there was a rock just outside you, and if we had not checked her a bit her head would have gone across it, and if it had, i would not have given a red cent for your lives." all day they toiled on foot, and by nightfall had made but four miles. then they camped for the night among the rocks. the next four days were passed in similar labour. two or three times they had to cross the torrent in order to get on to fallen rocks on the other side to that which they were following. these passages demanded the greatest caution. in each case there were rocks showing above water in the middle of the channel. one of these was chosen as most suited to their purpose, and by means of the ropes a canoe was sheered out to it . its occupants then took their places on the rock, and in turn dropped the other boat down to the next suitable point, the process being repeated, step by step, until the opposite bank was reached. at the end of the fourth day the geological formation changed. the rock was softer, and the stream had worn a more even path for itself, and they decided to take to the boats again. there was no occasion for paddling now, it was only when a swell on the surface marked some hidden danger below that a stroke or two of the paddle was needed to sweep them clear of it. for four hours they were carried along at the rate of fully twelve miles an hour, and at the end of that time they shot out from between the overhanging walls into a comparatively broad valley. with a shout of delight they headed the boats for shore, and leapt out on to a flat rock a few inches above the water. in the heart of the rockies. "if we could go on at that pace right down we should not be long before we were out of the mountains," tom said. "we could do with a bit slower, tom; that is too fast to be pleasant. just about half that would do—six miles an hour. twelve hours a day would take us out of the canons in a fortnight or so. we might do that safely, but we could not calculate on having such good luck as we have had to-day, when going along at twelve miles an hour. the pace for the last four days has been just as much too slow as this is too fast. four miles a day working from morning till night is heart-breaking. in spite of our run to-day, we cannot have made much over a hundred miles since we started. well, there is one comfort, we are in no great hurry. we have got just the boats for the work, and so far as we can see, we are likely to find plenty of food. a job like this isn't to be reckoned child's play. so far, i consider we have had good luck; i shall be well content if it averages as well all the way down. the fear is we may get to falls where we can neither carry nor let the boats down. in that case we should have to get out of the canon somewhere, pack as much flour as we could carry, and make our way across country, though how far we might have to travel there is no knowing. i hope it mayn't come to that; but at any rate i would rather go through even worse places than that canon above than have to quit the boats." "right you are, harry," jerry agreed. "i would rather tote the canoe on my back all the way down to mexico, than have to try and make my way over the bad lands to the hills. besides, when we get a bit farther we shall be in the navahoe country, and the utes ain't a sarcumstance to them. the ute ain't much of a fighter anyway. he will kill white men he finds up in his hills, 'cause he don't want white men there, but he has to be five or six to one before he will attack him. the xavahoe kills the white afloat in canoes. man 'cause he is a white man, and 'cause he likes killing. he is a fighter, and don't you forget it. if it had been navahoes instead of utes that had caught us up in the hills, you may bet your bottom dollar our scalps would be drying in their lodges now." "that is so, jerry," ben put in. "besides, the navahoes and the apaches have got no fear of white men. they have been raiding mexico for hundreds of years, and man to man they can whip mexikins out of their boots. i don't say as they haven't a considerable respect for western hunters; they have had a good many lessons that these can out-shoot them and out-fight them; still they ain't scared of them as plain indians are. they are a bad lot, look at them which way you will, and i don't want to have to tramp across their country nowadays. it was pretty hard work carrying that boat along them rocks, but i would rather have to do so, right down to the plains, than get into a mass with the navahoes." "how far does the navahoe country come this way?" "there ain't no fence, tom, i expect . they reckon as it's their country just as far as they like to come. they don't come up as far north as this, but where they ends and where the utes begin no one knows but themselves; and i reckon it shifts according as the navahoes are busy with the mexicans in the south, or have got a quiet spell, and take it into their heads to hunt this way." for many days they continued their journey, sometimes floating quietly along a comparatively wide valley, some- times carrying their boats past dangerous rapids, sometimes rushing along at great speed on the black, deep water, occasionally meeting with falls where everything had to be taken out of the canoes, and the boats themselves allowed to shoot over the falls with long ropes attached, by which they were drawn to shore lower down. it was seldom in the heart of the rockies. that they were without meat, as several big-horns and two bears were shot by the indians. they had no doubt that they could have caught fish, but as a rule they were too tired when they arrived at their halting-place to do more than cook and eat their suppers before they lay down to rest. "i reckon it won't be very long before we come upon a mexican village," harry said one day, after they had been six weeks on their downward course. "i have heard there is one above the grand canyon." the scenery had varied greatly. in some of the valleys groves of trees bordered the river; sometimes not even a tuft of grass was to be seen. occasionally the cliffs ran in an even line for many miles, showing that the country beyond was a level plateau, at other times rugged peaks and pinnacles resembling ruined castles, lighthouses, and churches could be seen. frequently the cliffs rose three or four thousand feet in an almost unbroken line, but more often there were rounded terraces, where it would have been easy to ascend to the upper level. everywhere the various strata were of different colours: soft grays and browns, orange, vermilion, purple, green, and yellow. they soon learned that when they passed through soft strata, the river ran quietly; where the rocks were hard there were falls and rapids; where the strata lay horizontal the stream ran smoothly, though often with great rapidity; where they dipped up stream there were dangerous rapids and falls. since the start the river had been largely swollen by the junctions of other streams, and was much wider and deeper than it had been where they embarked; and even where the rapids were fiercest they generally found comparatively quiet water close to the bank on one side or the other. twice they had had upsets, both the boats having been capsized by striking upon rocks but an inch or two below afloat in canoes. the surface of the water. little harm was done, for the guns and all other valuable article were lashed to the sides of the boats, while strips of hide, zigzagged across the ends of the canoes at short distances apart, prevented the blankets and rugs and other bulky articles from dropping out when the boat capsized. since the river had become wider and the dangers less frequent, the boats always kept near each other. upsets were therefore only the occasion for a hearty laugh; for it took but a few minutes to right the canoe, bale it out, and proceed on their way. occasionally they had unpleasant visitors at their camp, and altogether they killed ten or twelve rattle-snakes. in some of the valleys they found the remains of the dwellings of a people far anterior to the present indian races. some of these ruins appeared to have been communal houses. at other points they saw cliff- dwellings in the face of the rock, with rough sculptures and hieroglyphics. the canons varied in length from ten to a hundred and fifty miles, the comparatively flat country between them varying equally in point of appearance and in the nature of the rocks. as they got lower they once or twice saw roughly-made rafts, composed of three or four logs of wood, showing where indians had crossed the river. the journey so far had been much more pleasant than they had expected, for as the river grew wider the dangers were fewer and farther apart, and more easily avoided; and they looked forward to the descent of the grand canon, from which they knew they could not be far distant, without much fear that it would prove impracticable. in the heart of the rockies. chapter xvii. the grand canon. passing from a short canon, the boats emerged into a valley with flat shores for some distance from the river. on the right was a wide side canon, which might afford a passage up into the hills. half a mile lower down there were trees and signs of cultivation; and a light smoke rose among them. at this, the first sign of human life they had seen since they took to the boats, all hands paddled rapidly. they were approaching the shore, when leaping horse said to harry: "no go close. stop in river and see, perhaps bad indians. leaping horse not like smoke." harry called to the other canoe, and they bore out into the stream again. the chief stood up in the boat, and after gazing at the shore silently for a moment said: "village burnt. burnt little time ago, post still burning." as he resumed his seat harry stood up in turn. "that is so, chief. there have only been five or six huts; whether indian or white, one can't tell now." just at this moment an indian appeared on the bank. as his eye fell on the boats he started. a moment later he raised a war-yell. "navahoe," the chief said. "navahoe war-party come down, kill people and burn village. must row hard." the yell had been answered from the wood, and in two or three minutes as many score of indians appeared on the banks. they shouted to the boats to come to shore, and as no attention was paid, some of them at once opened fire. the river was about a quarter of a mile wide, and although the shots splashed round them the boats were not long in in the heart of the rockies. was some twenty yards ahead. "the chief thinks they have gone to cut us off at the head of the canon, which is likely enough. i don't suppose it is fifty yards wide there, and they will riddle us if we try to get through in daylight. we had better stop and have a meal and talk it over." the boats were rowed ashore, and the men landed and proceeded to light a fire as unconcernedly as if no danger threatened them. ben's death had cast a heavy gloom over them, and but few words were spoken, until the meal was cooked and eaten. "it is a dog-goned bad business," jerry said. "i don't say at night as we mayn't get past them without being hit, but to go rushing into one of those canons in the dark would be as bad as standing their fire, if not wuss. the question is—could we leave the boats and strike across?" "we could not strike across this side anyhow," harry said. "there are no settlements west of the colorado. we know nothing of the country, and it is a hundred to one we should all die of thirst even if we could carry enough grub to last us. if we land at all it must be on the other side, and then we could not reckon on striking a settlement short of two hundred miles, and two hundred miles across a country like this would be almost certain death." "as the navahoes must have ridden down, harry, there must be water. i reckon they came down that canon opposite." "navahoe on track in morning," the chief said quietly. "when they see we not go down river look for boat, find where we land and take up trail. canon very plain road. some go up there straight, take all our scalps." no one spoke for a moment or two. what the seneca said was so evident to them that it was useless to argue. the grand canon. "well, chief, what do you advise yourself!" harry asked at length. "not possible go on foot, harry. country all rocks and canons; cannot get through, cannot get water. trouble with navahoes too. only chance get down in boat to-night. keep close under this bank; perhaps indians not see us, night dark." "do you think they can cross over to this side!" "yes, got canoe. two canoes in village, leaping horse saw them on bank . when it gets dark, cross over." "we will get a start of them," harry said. "directly it is dark we can be off too. the shore is everywhere higher than our heads as we sit in the canoes, and we can paddle in the shadow without being seen by them on the other side, while they won't venture to cross till it is pitch dark . as the stream runs something like three miles an hour, i reckon that they are hardly likely to catch us. as for the rapids, they don't often begin until you are some little distance in. at any rate we shall not have to go far, for the red-skins will not dare to enter the canon, so we can tie up till morning as soon as we are a short distance in. we have got to run the gauntlet of their fire, but after all that is better than taking our chances by leaving the boats. if we lie down when we get near them they may not see us at all; but if they do, a very few strokes will send us past them. at any rate there seems less risk in that plan than in any other." the others agreed. "now, boys, let us dig a grave," he went on, as soon as the point was settled. "it is a sort of clay here and we can manage it, and it is not likely we shall find any place, when we are once in the canon, where we can do it." they had neither picks nor shovels with them, for their mining tools had been left at the spot where they were at work, the grand canon. dark as fast as we are going now, and there is no fear what- ever of their catching us if we go on steadily." after an hour's rowing they could make out a dark mass rising like a wall in front of them, and harry passed the word back to the other canoe, which was just behind them, that they should now cease paddling, only giving a stroke occasionally to keep the head of the canoe straight, and to prevent the boat from drifting out from under the shelter of the bank. in the stillness of the night they could hear a low roaring, and knew that it was caused by a rapid in the canon ahead. higher and higher rose the wall of rock, blotting out the stars in front of them till the darkness seemed to spread half-way over the sky. they could see that the boat was passing the shore more rapidly, as the river accelerated its course before rushing into the gorge. suddenly there was a shout on the right, so close that tom was startled, then there was a rifle shot, and a moment later a wild outburst of yells and a dozen other shots. at the first shout the paddles dipped into the water, and at racing speed the boats shot along. eight or ten more rifle-shots were fired, each farther behind them. "anyone hurt?" harry asked. there was a general negative. "i don't believe they really saw us," harry said. "the first fellow may have caught sight of us, but i expect the others fired merely at random. now let us row in and fasten up, for judging from that roaring there must be a big rapid close ahead." the boats were soon fastened up against the rocks, and the chief stepped ashore, saying: "leaping horse and hunting dog will watch. navahoes may come down here. don't think they will be brave enough to enter canon, too dark to see. still, better watch." in the heart of the rockies. "just as you like, chief," harry said, "but i have no belief that they will come down here in the dark; it would be as much as they would dare do in broad daylight . besides, these rocks are steepish climbing anyway, and i should not like myself to try to get over them, when it is so dark that i can't see my own hand, except by putting it up between my eyes and the stars." "if it was not for that," jerry said, "i would crawl along to the mouth and see if i couldn't get a shot at them varmint on the other side." "you would not find them there, jerry. you may be sure that when they saw us go through they would know it was of no use waiting there any longer. they would flatter themselves that they had hit some of us, and even if they hadn't, it would not seem to matter a cent to them, as the evil spirit of the canon would surely swallow us up." "well, they have been wrong in their first supposition, uncle," tom said, "and i hope they will be equally wrong in the second." "i hope so, tom. now we may as well go to sleep. as soon as there is any light we must explore as far as we can go, for by the noise ahead it must be either a fall or a desperately bad rapid." when daylight broke, the whites found hunting dog sitting with his rifle across his knees on a rock above them. "where is the chief?" harry asked him. "leaping horse went up the rocks to see if navahoes have gone." "very well. tell him when he comes back we have gone down to have a look at tho rapid. tom, you may as well stay here. there is plenty of drift-wood among those rocks, and we will breakfast before we start down. i reckon we shall not have much time for anything of that sort after we are once off." in the heart of the rockies. they reached this opening, for a deep roar told of danger ahead. fortunately there were rocks where they were able to disembark, and a short way below they found that a natural dam extended across the river. "there has been an eruption of trap here," harry said, looking at the black rock on either side. there has been a fissure, i suppose, and the lava was squeezed up through it. you see the river has cut a path for itself some hundreds of feet deep. it must have taken countless ages, tom, to have done the work." over this dam the water flowed swiftly and smoothly, and then shot down in a fall six feet high. below for a distance of two or three hundred yards was a furious rapid, the water running among black rocks. with considerable difficulty they made a portage of the boats and stores to the lower end of the rapid. this transit occupied several hours, and they then proceeded on their way. five more miles were passed; several times the boats were brought to the bank in order that falls ahead might be examined. these proved to be not too high to shoot, and the boats paddled over them. when they had first taken to the river they would never have dreamt of shooting such falls, but they had now become so expert in the management of the boats, and so confident in their buoyancy, that the dangers which would then have appalled them were now faced without uneasiness. they now came to a long rapid, presenting so many dangers that they deemed it advisable to let down the boats by lines. again embarking they found that the wall of rocks closed in and they entered a narrow gorge, through which the river ran with great swiftness, touching the walls on each side. great care was needed to prevent the boats being dashed against the rock, but they succeeded in keeping them fairly in the middle of the stream. after in the heart of the rockies. down this a vast quantity of boulders had been swept, forming a dam across the river, but they managed to paddle into an eddy at the side, and to make a portage of the boats to the water below the dam, over which there was a fall of from thirty to forty feet high. three more similar dams were met with. over one the canoes were carried, but on the others there was a break in the boulder wall, and they were able to shoot the falls. after three days of incessant labour, they heard, soon after starting from their last halting-place, a roar even louder and more menacing than they had yet experienced. cautiously they got as close as possible to the side, and paddling against the stream were able to effect a landing just above the rapid. on examining it they found that it was nearly half a mile long, and in this distance the water made a fall of some eighty feet, the stream being broken everywhere with ledges and jagged rocks, among which the waves lashed themselves into a white foam. it seemed madness to attempt such a descent, and they agreed that at any rate they would halt for the day. the rocks through which the canon ran were fully a thousand feet high, but they decided that, great as the labour might be, it would be better to make a portage, if possible, rather than descend the cataract . "there is a guide here running up on to the hill," tom said. "hunting dog and i will start at once and see if it is possible to get up it, and if so how far it is to a place where we can get down again." harry assented; leaping horse without a word joined the explorers, and they set off up the gulch. it was found that the ravine was steep, but not too steep to climb. when they were nearly at the top hunting dog pointed to the hillside above them, and they saw a big-horn standing at the edge of the rock. the three fired their rifles simul- taneously, and the wild sheep made a spring into the air the grand canon. and then came tumbling down the side of the ravine. as fresh meat was beginning to run short this was a stroke of good fortune, and after reloading their guns they pro- ceeded up the ravine until they reached the crest of the hill . the soil was disintegrated granite, and tufts of short grass grew here and there. after walking about a mile, parallel to the course of the river, they found that the ground descended again, and without much difficulty made their way down until they reached the foot of a little valley; following this they were soon standing by the side of the river. above, its surface was as closely studded with rocks, as was the upper cataract; below, there was another fall that looked impracticable, except that it seemed possible to pass along on the rocks by the side. it was getting dark by the time they rejoined their comrades. "your report is not a very cheerful one," harry said, "but at any rate there seems nothing else to be done than to make the portage. the meat you have got for us will re-stock our larder, and as it is up there we sha'n't have the trouble of carrying it over." the next day was a laborious one. one by one the canoes were carried over, but the operation took them from day- break till dark. the next morning another journey was made to bring over the rugs and stores, and they were able in addition to these to carry down the carcass of the sheep, after first skinning it and cutting off the head with its great horns. nothing was done for the rest of the day beyond trying whether another portage could be made. this was found to be impracticable, and there was nothing for them but to attempt the descent. they breakfasted as soon as day broke, carried the boats down over the boulder dam with which the rapids commenced, and put them into the water. for some little distance they were able to let them down by ropes, then the rocks at the foot of the cliffs the grand canon. swept round, bringing her broadside-on to the stream, and she at once capsized. "quick!" harry exclaimed, "we must go to their rescue. keep close to the wall, chief, till we see signs of them. it is safest close in." in an instant they were in their places, and as they re- leased the canoe she shot in a moment over the fall. for a short distance they kept her close to the side, but a pro- jecting ledge threw the current sharply outwards, and the canoe shot out into the full force of the rapid. the chief knelt up in the bow paddle in hand, keeping a vigilant eye for rocks and ledges ahead, and often with a sharp stroke of the paddle, seconded by the effort of harry in the stern, sweeping her aside just when tom thought her destruction inevitable. now she went headlong down a fall, then was caught by an eddy, and was whirled round and round three or four times before the efforts of the paddlers could take her beyond its influence. suddenly a cry came to their ears. just as they approached a rocky ledge some thirty feet long, and showing a saw-like edge a foot above the water, the chief gave a shout and struck his paddle into the water "behind the rock, tom, behind the rock!" harry ex- claimed as he swept the stern round. tom paddled with all his might, and the canoe headed up stream. quickly as the movement was done, the boat was some twelve yards below the rock as she came round with her nose just in the lower edge of the eddy behind it, while from either side the current closed in on her. straining every nerve the three paddlers worked as for life. at first tom thought that the glancing waters would sweep her down, but inch by inch they gained, and drove the boat forward from the grasp of the current into the back eddy, until suddenly, as if released from a vice, she sprang forward. never in his life had tom exerted himself so greatly. his eyes were fixed the grand canon. "thanks be to god for having preserved us," harry said reverently. "we are half-full of water; another five minutes of that work and it would have been all over with us. do you see any signs of the canoe, chief?" the chief pointed to a ledge of rock extending out into the stream. "canoe there," he said. they paddled across to it. after what the young indian had said they had no hopes of finding sam with it, but harry gave a deep sigh as he stepped out on to the ledge. "another gone," he said. "how many of us will get through this place alive? let us carry jerry ashore." there was a patch of sand swept up by the eddy below the rock, and here jerry was taken out and laid down. he moaned as they lifted him. "easy with him," harry said, "steady with that arm. i think he has a shoulder broken, as well as this knock on the head that has stunned him." as soon as he was laid down harry cut open his shirt on the shoulder, "broken," he said shortly. "now, chief, i know that you are a good hand at this sort of thing. how had this better be bandaged?" "want something soft first." tom ran to the canoe, brought out the little canvas sack in which he carried his spare flannel shirt, and brought it to the chief. the latter tore off a piece of stuff and rolled it into a wad. "want two pieces of wood," he said, hold- ing his hands about a foot apart to show the length he required. harry fetched a spare paddle, and split a strip off each side of the blade. the chief nodded as he took them. "good," he said. he tore off two more strips of flannel and wrapped them round the splints, then with harry's aid he placed the shoulder in its natural position, laid the wad of flannel on the top of it, and over this put the two splints. the whole was kept in its place by flannel in the heart of the rockies. bandages, and the arm was fastened firmly across the body, so that it could not be moved. then the little keg of brandy was brought out of the canoe, a spoonful poured into the pannikin, with half as much water, and allowed to trickle between jerry's lips, while a wad of wet flannel was placed on his head. "there is nothing more we can do for him at present," harry said, "now we will right the other boat, and get all the things out to dry." three or four pounds of flour were found to be com- pletely soaked with water, but the main store was safe, as the bag was sewn up in bear-skin. this was only opened occasionally to take out two or three days' supply, and then carefully closed again. on landing, hunting dog had at once started in search of drift-wood, and by this time a fire was blazing. a piece of bear's fat was placed in the frying-pan, and the wetted flour was at once fried into thin cakes, which were tough and tasteless; but the supply was too precious to allow of an ounce being wasted. some slices of the flesh of the big-horn were cooked. "what is my white brother going to do?" the chief asked harry. "there is nothing to do that i can see, chief, but to keep on pegging away. we agreed that it would be almost impossible to find our way over these barren mountains. that is not to be thought of, now that one of our number cannot walk. there is no choice left, we have got to go on." "leaping horse understand that," the chief said. "he meant would you take both canoes? one is big enough to take five." "quite big enough, chief, but it would be deeper in the water, and the heavier it is, the harder it will bump against any rock it meets; the lighter they are the better. you see, this other canoe, which i daresay struck a dozen times the grand canon. on its way down, shows no signs of damage except the two rents in the skin, that we can mend in a few minutes. another thing is, two boats are absolutely necessary for this work of letting down by ropes, of which we may expect plenty more. if we had only one, we should be obliged to run every rapid. the only extra trouble that it will give us is at the portages. i think we had better stay here for two or three days, so as to give jerry a chance of coming round. no doubt we could carry him over the portages just as we can carry the boats, but after such a knock on the head as he has had, it is best that he should be kept quiet for a bit. if his skull is not cracked he won't be long in getting round. he is as hard as nails, and will pull round in the tenth of the time it would take a man in the towns to get over such a knock. it is a pity the halt is not in a better place. there is not a shadow of a chance of finding game among these crags and bare rocks." from time to time fresh water was applied to the wad of flannel round jerry's head. "is there any chance, do you think, of finding poor sam's body?" the chief shook his head. "no shores where it could be washed up, rocks tear it to pieces; or if it get in an eddy, might be there for weeks. no see sam any more." the fire was kept blazing all night, and they took it by turns to sit beside jerry and to pour occasionally a little brandy and water between his lips. as the men were moving about preparing breakfast the next morning jerry suddenly opened his eyes. he looked at tom, who was sitting beside him. "time to get up?" he asked, "why did you not wake me?" and he made an effort to move. tom put his hand on him. "lie still, jerry. you have had a knock on the head, but you are all right now." in the heart of the rockies. the miner lay quiet. his eyes wandered confusedly over the figures of the others, who had, when they heard his voice, gathered round him. "what in thunder is the matter with me i" he asked, "what is this thing on my head? what is the matter with my arm, i don't seem able to move it?" "it is the knock you have had, jerry," harry said cheer- fully. "you have got a bump upon your head half as big as a cocoa-nut, and you have damaged your shoulder. you have got a wet flannel on your head, and the chief has bandaged your arm. i expect your head will be all right in a day or two, but i reckon you won't be able to use your arm for a bit." jerry lay quiet without speaking for a few minutes, then he said: "oh, i remember now; we were capsized. i had hold of the canoe, and i remember seeing a rock just ahead. i suppose i knocked against it." "that was it, mate. hunting dog let go his hold and caught you, and managed to get into an eddy and cling to the rocks till we came down and took you on board." jerry held out his hand to the indian. "thankee," he said, "i owe you one, hunting dog. if i ever get the chance you can reckon on me sure, whatever it is. but where is sam? why ain't he here?" "sam has gone under, mate," harry replied. "that chute you went down was only just wide enough for the boat to go through, and no doubt he was knocked off it at the same time as you were; but as the indian was on your side, he saw nothing of sam. i reckon he sank at once, just as you would have done if hunting dog hadn't been behind you." jerry made no reply, but as he lay still, with his eyes closed, some big tears made their way through the lids and rolled down his bronzed face. the others thought it best in the heart of the rockies. half an hour later hunting dog and tom put out in one of the canoes, and paddling to the foot of the rapids let the lines drop overboard, the hooks being baited with meat. it was not many minutes before the indian felt a sharp pull. there was no occasion to play the fish, for the line was strong enough to hold a shark, and a trout of six lbs. weight was soon laid in the bottom of the boat. "my turn now," tom said; and the indian with a smile took the paddle from his hand, and kept the boat up stream while tom attended to the lines. fish after fish was brought up in rapid succession, and when about mid-day a call from below told them that it was time for dinner, they had some thirty fish averaging five pounds weight at the bottom of the boat. there was a shout of satisfaction from harry as he looked down into the canoe, and even the chief gave vent to a grant that testified his pleasure. "hand me up four of them, tom; i did not know how much i wanted a change of food till my eyes lit on those beauties. we saw you pulling them out, but i did not expect it was going to be as good as this." the fish were speedily split open, and laid on ramrods over the fire. "i reckon you will want another one for me," jerry, who had been asleep since they started, remarked. "i don't know that i am good for one as big as those, but i reckon i can pick a bit anyhow." a small fish was put on with the others, and as soon as they were grilled, all set to at what seemed to tom the best meal he had ever eaten in his life. he thought when he handed them to harry that two would have been amply sufficient for them all, but he found no difficulty whatever in disposing of a whole one single-handed. "now, tom, the chief and i will take our turn while you back to denver. and hunting dog prepare your catch. he will show you how to do it, it is simple enough. cut off the heads, split and clean them, run a skewer through to keep them flat, and then lay them on that rock in the sun to dry. or wait, i will rig up a line between two of the rocks for you to hang them on. there is not much wind, but what there is will dry them better than if they were laid flat." jerry went off to sleep again as soon as the meal was finished, and the bandages round his head re-wetted. the paddle from which the strips had been cut furnished wood for the skewers, and in the course of half an hour the fish were all hanging on a line. twenty-two more were brought in at sunset . some of these, after being treated like the others, were hung in the smoke of the fire, while the rest were suspended like the first batch. the next morning j erry was able to move about, and the fishing went on all day, and by night a quantity, considered sufficient, had been brought ashore. "there are over four hundred pounds altogether," harry said, "though by the time they are dried they won't be more than half that weight. two pounds of dried fish a man is enough to keep him going, and they will last us twenty days at that rate, and it will be hard luck if we don't find something to help it out as we go down." they stopped another day to allow the drying to be com- pleted. the fish were taken down and packed on board that evening, and at daylight they were afloat again. for the next ten days their labours were continuous. they passed several rapids as bad as the one that had cost them so dear; but as they gained experience they became more skilful in letting down the boats. some days only two or three miles were gained, on others they made as much as twelve. at last they got out of the granite; beyond this the task was much easier, and on the fifteenth day in the heart of the rockies. after leaving their fishing-ground, they emerged from the canon. by this time jerry had perfectly recovered, and was with great difficulty persuaded to keep his arm bandaged. he had chafed terribly at first at his helplessness, and at being unable to take any share in the heavy labours of the others; but after the rapids were passed he was more contented, and sat quietly at the bottom of the boat smoking, while harry and tom paddled, the two indians forming the crew of the other canoe. the diet of fish had been varied by bear's flesh, leaping horse, having shot a large brown bear soon after they got through the rapids. a shout of joy was raised by the three whites as they issued from the gorge into a quiet valley, through which the river ran, a broad tranquil stream. even the indians were stirred to wave their paddles above their heads and to give a ringing whoop as their companions cheered. the boats were headed for the shore, and the camp was formed near a large clump of bushes. their joy at their deliverance from the dangers of the canon was dashed only by the thought of the loss of their two comrades. the next day three short canons were passed through, but these presented no difficulties, and in the afternoon they reached the mouth of the rio virgen, and continuing their journey arrived five days later at fort mojave. this was a rising settlement, for it was here that the traders' route between los angelos and sante f crossed the colorado. their appearance passed almost unnoticed, for a large caravan had arrived that afternoon and was starting east the next morning. "we had best hold our tongues about it altogether," harry said, as soon as he heard that the caravan was going on the next morning. "in the first place they won't believe us, and that would be likely to lead to trouble; and in the in the heart of the rockies instead of breeches and boots. they, too, had procured mexi- can sombreros. taking their rifles and pistols, and hiding their stock of ammunition, the gold, and their buffalo-robes and blankets, they went up to the village. it was by this time quite dark; the houses were all lit up, and the drinking- shops crowded with the teamsters, who seemed bent on making a night of it, this being the last village through which they would pass until their arrival at santa fe. they slept as usual, wrapped up in their buffalo-robes by the side of the boats, as all agreed that this was preferable to a close room in a mexican house. they were all a foot as soon as daylight broke, and went up and breakfasted at a fonda, tom enjoying the mexican cookery after the simple diet he had been accustomed to. then they went to the stable where the horses, which were strong serviceable-looking animals, had been placed, and put on their saddles and bridles. the pack-horses were then laden with flour, tea, sugar, bacon, and other necessaries. by the time all was ready the caravan was just starting. harry had spoken the after- noon before to two of its leaders, and said that he and four companions would be glad to ride with them to santa fe. permission was readily granted, the traders be- ing pleased at the accession of five well-armed men; for although indian raids were comparatively rare along this trail, there was still a certain amount of danger involved in the journey. some hours were occupied in crossing the river in two heavy ferry-boats, and the process would have been still longer had not half the waggons been sent across on the previous afternoon. the long journey was made without incident, and no indians were met with. a few deer were shot, but as it was now late in the autumn the scanty herbage on the plains was all withered up, and the game had for the most back to denver. part moved away into deep valleys where they could obtain food. the tale of their passage of the canons was told more than once, but although it was listened to with interest, harry perceived that it was not really believed. that they had been hunting, had been attacked by indians, had made canoes and passed through some of the canons was credible enough, but that they should have traversed the whole of the lower course of the colorado, seemed to the traders, who were all men experienced in the country, simply incredible. the party stopped at santa fe a few days, and then started north, travelling through the mexican villages, and finally striking across to denver. at santa f they had converted the contents of their bags into money, which had been equally shared among them. the indians were not willing to accept more than the recognized monthly pay, but harry would not hear of it. "this has been no ordinary business, leaping horse," he said warmly; "we have all been as brothers together, and for weeks have looked death in the face every hour, and we must share all round alike in the gold we have brought back. gold is just as useful to an indian as it is to a white man, and when you add this to the board you spoke of, you will have enough to buy as many horses and blankets as you can use all your lifetime, and to settle down in your wigwam and take a wife to yourself whenever you choose. i fancy from what you said, hunting dog has his eye on one of the maidens of your tribe. well, he can buy her father's favour now. the time is coming, chief, when the indians of the plains will have to take to white men's ways. the buffaloes are fast dying out, and in a few years it will be impossible to live by hunting, and the indians will have to keep cattle and build houses and live as we do. with his money hunt- ing dog could buy a tidy ranch with a few hundred head ( ) x in the heart of the rockies. sanctum, but one used occasionally when a party of miners coming in from the hills wanted to have a feast by them- selves, or when customers wished to talk over private business. there was a table capable of seating some twelve people, a great stove, and some benches. a negro soon lighted a large fire; then, aided by a boy, laid the table, and it was not long before they sat down to a good meal. when it was over, pete said: "lend me a hand, jerry, to push this table aside, then we will bring the benches round the stove and hear all about it. i told the bar-tender that i am not to be dis- turbed, and that if anyone wants to see me he is to say that he has got to wait till to-morrow, for that i am engaged on important business. here are brandy and whisky, and tobacco and cigars, and coffee for the chief and his nephew." "i think you may say for all of us, pete," harry said, "after being a year without spirits, jerry, tom, and i have agreed to keep without them. we wouldn't say no to you when you asked us to take a drink, and we have not sworn off, but jerry and i have agreed that we have both been all the better without them, and mean to keep to it; and as for tom, he prefers coffee." "do as you please," pete said; "i am always glad to hear men say no. i have made a lot of money out of it, but i have seen so many fellows ruined by it that i am always pleased to see a man give up drink." "there is one thing, pete," tom said, "before we begin. we left our bundles of robes and blankets in the next room, if you don't mind i would a deal rather spread them out here—and i am sure the chief and hunting dog would— and squat down on them, instead of sitting on these benches. it is a long story uncle will have to tell you." "we will fetch ours too," harry agreed. "beaches are all well enough for sitting at the table to eat one's dinner, back to denver. but why a man should sit on them when he can sit on the ground is more than i can make out." pete nodded. "i will have my rocking-chair in," he said, "and then we shall be fixed up for the evening." the arrangements were soon made; pipes were lighted; the landlord sat in his chair at some little distance back from the front of the stove; tom and the two indians sat on their rugs on one side; harry and jerry curtis completed the semicircle on the other. "well, in the first place, pete," harry began, "you will be glad to hear that we have struck it rich—the biggest thing i have ever seen. it is up in the ute country. we have staked out a claim for you next our own. there are about five hundred pounds of samples lying at fort bridger, and a bit of the rock we crushed, panned out five hundred ounces to the ton." "you don't say!" pete exclaimed. "if there is much of that stuff, harry, you have got a bonanza." "there is a good bit of it anyhow, pete. it is a true vein, and though it is not all like that, it keeps good enough. fifty feet back we found it run twenty ounces. that is on the surface, we can't say how it goes down in depth. where we struck it on the face it was about fourteen feet high, and the lode kept its width for that depth anyhow." "that air good enough," the landlord said. "now, what do you reckon on doing?" "the place is among the hills, pete, and the utes are hostile, and went very nigh rubbing us all out. we reckon it ought to be worked by a party of thirty men at least. they ought to be well armed, and must build a sort of fort. i don't think the utes would venture to attack them if they were of that strength. there is a little stream runs close to the vein, and if it were dammed up it would drive a couple of stamps, which, with a concentrator and tables in the heart of the rockies. and blankets, would be quite enough for such stuff as that. i reckon fifteen men will be quite enough to work, and to hold the fort . the other fifteen men would include three or four hunters, and the rest would go backwards and for- wards to bridger for supplies, and to take the gold down. they would be seven or eight days away at a time; and if there should be trouble with the red-skins they would always be back before those at the fort were really pressed. but we should not be alone long, the news that a rich thing had been struck would bring scores of miners up in no time. "we have taken up our own ten claims, which will in- clude, of course, the rich part. then we have taken up the next eight or ten claims for our friends. as i said, we put yours next to ours. we have not registered them yet, but that will be the first job; and of course you and the others will each have to put a man on your claims to hold them. the lode shows on the other side of the creek, though not so rich; still plenty good enough to work . but as we shall prac- tically get all the water, the lode cannot be worked by any- one but ourselves. still the gravel is rich all down the creek, as rich as anything i have seen in california, and will be sure to be taken up by miners as soon as we are at work. so there will be no real danger of trouble from the indians then. what we propose is this. we don't want to sell out, we think it is good enough to hold, but we want to get a company to find the money for getting up the machin- ery, building a strong block-house with a palisade, laying in stores, and working the place. jerry, tom, and i would of course be in command, at any rate for the first year or so, when the rich stuff was being worked." "how much money do you think it will want, and what share do you think of giving, harry?" "well, i should say fifty thousand dollars, though i believe in the heart of the rockies. office there. we need not give the locality very precisely. indeed, we could not describe it ourselves so that any one could find it, and nobody would go looking for it before spring comes and the snow clears. besides, there are scores of wild-cat claims registered every year. until they turn out good no one thinks anything of them. when we have got that done we will go back to bridger, and fetch the rock over here. we will write to-morrow to pittsburg for the mining outfit, for all the ironwork of the stamps, the concentrator, and everything required, with axes, picks, and shovels, blasting tools and powder, to be sent as far as they have got the railway." "but they will want the money with the order, harry," pete said in a tone of surprise. "they will have the money. we washed the gravel for a couple of months before the utes lit on us, and after buy- ing horses and a fresh outfit for us all at fort mojarve, we have between us got something like five thousand dollars in gold and greenbacks." "jee-hoshaphat!" pete exclaimed; "that was good indeed for two months' work. well, look here, there is no hurry for a few days about your starting back to bridger. here we are now, nearly at the end of december. it will take you a month to get there, say another fortnight to go on to salt lake city and register your claim and get back to bridger, then it would be a month getting back here again; that would take you to the middle of march. well, you see it would be pretty nigh the end of april before you were back at bridger, then you would have to get your waggons and your men, and that would be too late altogether. "you have got to pick your miners carefully, i can tell you; and it is not a job to be done in a hurry. when they see what gold there is in the rock they will soon set to work washing the gravel, and the day they do they will back to denver. chuck up your work altogether. i will tell you what i would rather do, and that is, pick up green hands from the east. there are scores of them here now; men who have come as far as this, and can't start west till the snows melt . you need not think anything more about the money. you tell me what you crushed is a fair sample of that five hun- dred pounds, and that is quite good enough for me, and the gravel being so rich is another proof of what the lode was when the stream cut through it. i can put the twenty-five thousand dollars down, and there are plenty of men here who will take my word for the affair and plank their money down too. if there weren't i would put a mortgage on my houses, so that matter is done. to-morrow i will get the men whose names you are to give in for a claim each; it will be time in another two months to begin to look about for some steady chaps from the east, farmers' sons and such like. that is, if you think that plan is a good one. i mean to see this thing through, and i shall go with you myself, and we three can do the blasting." "we shall be wanted to look after the stamps and pans," harry said. "we had best get three or four old hands for the rock." "yes, that is best," pete said. "between us it is hard if we can't lay our hands upon men we can trust, and who will give us their word to stay with us if we offer them six dollars a day." "we might offer them ten dollars," harry said, "without hurting ourselves; but we can say six dollars to begin with, and put some more on afterwards." "there is old mat morgan," jerry put in. "i don't know whether he is about here now. i would trust him. he is getting old for prospecting among the hills now, but he is as good a miner as ever swung a sledge-hammer, and as straight as they make them." in the heart of the rockies. "yes, he is a good man," pete agreed. and after some talk they settled upon three others, all of whom, pete said, were either in the town or would be coming in shortly. "now, you stop here for a week or two, or a month if you like, harry, then you can go to salt lake city as you propose, and then go back to bridger. if as you pass through you send me five-and-twenty pounds of that rock by express, it will make it easier for me to arrange the money affair. when you get back you might crush the rest up and send me word what it has panned out, then later on you can go down again to salt lake city and buy the waggons and flour and bacon, and take them back to bridger. when march comes in, i will start from here with some waggons. we want them to take the machinery, and powder and tools, and the tea and coffee and things like that, of which we will make a list, on to bridger, with the four men we pick out, if i can get them all; if not, some others in their place, and a score of young emigrants. i shall have no difficulty in picking out sober, steady chaps, for in a place like this i can find out about their habits before i engage them. how- ever, there will be plenty of time to settle all those points. now, let us hear all about your adventures. i have not heard about you since tom left, except that he wrote me a short letter from bridger saying that you had passed the winter up among the mountains by the big wind river. that you had had troubles with the indians, and hadn't been able to do much trapping or looking for gold." "well, we will tell it between us," harry said, "for it is a long yarn." it was, indeed, past midnight before the story was all told. long before it was finished the two indians had taken up their rugs and gone up to their room, and although the other three had taken by turns to tell the tale of their adventures, they were all hoarse with speaking back to denver. by the time they got through. pete had often stopped them to ask questions at various points where the narrators had been inclined to cut the story short. "that beats all," he said, when they brought it to an end. "only to think that you have gone down the grand canyon. i would not have minded being with you when you were fighting the ttappahoes or the utes, but i would not try going down the canons for all the gold in california. well, look here, boys, i know that what you tell me is gospel truth, and all the men who know you well, will believe every word you say, but i would not tell the tale to strangers, for they would look on you as the all- firedest liars in creation." "we have learnt that already, pete," harry laughed, "and we mean to keep it to ourselves, at any rate till we have got the mine at work. people may not believe the story of a man in a red shirt, and, mind you, i have heard a good many powerful lies told round a miner's fire, but when it is known we have got a wonderfully rich gold mine, i fancy it will be different . the men would say, if fellows are sharp enough to find a bonanza, it stands to reason they may be sharp enough to find their way down a canon. now, let us be off to bed, for the heat of the stove has made me so sleepy that for the last hour i have hardly been able to keep my eyes open, and have scarcely heard a word of what jerry and tom have been saying." they only remained a few days at denver. after the life they had been leading they were very speedily tired of that of the town, and at the end of a week they started on horseback, with a light waggon drawn by a good team, to carry their stores for the journey and to serve as a sleeping-place. there had been no question about the indians accompanying them, this was regarded as a matter of course. it was by no means a pleasant journey. they in the heart of the rockies. had frequent snow-storms and biting wind, and had some- times to work for hours to get the waggon out of deep snow, which had filled up gullies and converted them into traps. after a stay of three days at fort bridger to rest the animals, they went on to utah, having forwarded the sample of quartz to pete hoskings. a fortnight was spent at salt lake city. waggons, bullocks, and stores were purchased, and harry arranged with some teamsters to bring the waggons out to fort bridger as soon as the snow cleared from the ground. chapter xix. a fortune. on their return to fort bridger harry and his companions pounded up the quartz that had been left there, and found that its average equalled that of the piece they had tried at the mine. the gold was packed in a box and sent to pete hoskings. a letter came back in return from him, saying that five of his friends had put in five thousand dollars each, and that he should start with the stores and machinery as soon as the track was clear of snow. the season was an early one, and in the middle of april he arrived with four large waggons and twenty active-looking young emigrants, and four miners, all of whom were known to harry. there was a good deal of talk at bridger about the expedition, and many offered to take service in it . but when harry said that the lode they were going to prospect was in the heart of the ute country, and that he himself had been twice attacked by the red-skins, the eager- ness to accompany him abated considerably. a fortune. however, more than satisfied with the result, for although the lode was found to pinch in as they got lower, it maintained for the first six weeks the extraordinary average of that they had first crushed. at the end of that time the indians reported that they had seen traces of the utes having visited the valley. the number of men who went down with the horses was at once doubled, one or other of the indians staying down with them, preceding them in the morning by half an hour to see that the valley was clear. a week later the horses were seen com- ing back again a quarter of an hour after they had started. the men caught up their guns, which were always placed handy for them while at work, and ran out to meet the re- , turning party. "what is it, hunting dog?" "a large war-party," the indian replied. "three hun- dred or more." the horses were driven into the inclosure, half the men took their places among the waggons, and the others, clus- tered round the hut, prepared to enter it as soon as the indians made their appearance. the partners had already arranged what course to take if the indians should come down on them, and were for all reasons most anxious that hostilities should if possible be avoided. presently the indians were seen approaching at a gallop. as soon as they caught sight of the log-house and the inclosure of waggons they reined in their horses. the men had been ordered to show themselves, and the sight of some forty white men all armed with rifles brought the indians to a dead stand-still. pete hoskings went forward a little and waved a white cloth, and then hairy and the chief, leaving their rifles (ttts) y a fortune. the two indians glanced at each other. "my white brother is wise," one said. "why did he not tell the utes so last year?" "because you never gave us time, chief. if you had done so we would have said the same to you then, and your young men would be with you now; but you came as enemies upon us, and when the rifle is speaking the voice is silent." "i will speak with my braves," the chief said gravely. and turning round they walked back to their party, while harry and the chief returned to the huts. "what do you think, chief? will it be peace?" leaping horse nodded. "too many rifles," he said, "the utes will know they could never take block-house." it was nearly two hours before the two utes advanced as before, and harry and the seneca went out to meet them. "my white brother's words are good," the chief said, "the utes are great warriors, but they do not wish to fight against the white men who come as friends. the chiefs have talked with their braves, and the hatchets will be buried. this is what the utes ask that the white men who have taken their land shall pay them." harry had arranged that the chief, who spoke the ute language more perfectly than he did, should take charge of the bargaining. on the list being given leaping horse assumed an expression of stolid indifference. "the land must be very dear in the ute country," he said, "do my brothers suppose that the white men are mad that they ask such terms? peace would be too dear if bought at such a price. they are willing to deal liberally with the utes, but not to give as much as would buy twenty hills. they will give this." and he enumerated a list of in the heart of the rockies. articles, amounting to about one quarter of the indians' demands. the bargaining now went on in earnest, and finally it was settled that a quantity of goods, amounting to about half the indians' first demand, should be accepted, and both parties returned to their friends well satisfied. a certain amount of goods had been brought out with a view to such a contingency, and half the amount claimed was handed over to the utes. they had, indeed, more than enough to satisfy the demands, but leaping horse had suggested to harry that only a portion should be given, as otherwise the indians might suppose that their wealth was boundless. it would be better to promise to deliver the rest in three months' time. a dozen of the principal men of the utes came over. the goods were examined and accepted, the calumet of peace was smoked and a solemn covenant of friendship entered into, and by the next morning the indians had disappeared. one end of the hut had been partitioned off for the use of the leaders of the party, and the gold obtained each day was carried by them there and deposited in a strong iron box, of which several had been brought by pete hoskings from denver. the day after the indians left, a waggon was sent off under the escort of eight mounted labourers to bridger, and this continued to make the journey backward and forward regularly with the boxes of gold, jerry and pete hoskings taking it by turns to command the escort . harry and pete had had a talk with the officer in command at brid- ger on the evening before they had started on the expedi- tion. "you think you are going to send in a large quantity of gold?" the officer asked a fortune. "if the mines are such as we think, major, we may be sending down two or three hundredweight a month." "of course, the gold will be perfectly safe as long as it is in the fort, but if it gets known how much there is, you will want a strong convoy to take it across to the railway, and it would not be safe even then. of course, the bulk is nothing. i should say at any rate you had better get it in here with as little fuss as possible." "if you will keep it here for a while," pete said, "we will think over afterwards how it is to be taken further." the officer nodded. "it mayn't turn out as difficult a business as you think," he said with a smile. "you are both old hands enough to know that mines very seldom turn out as rich as they are expected to do." "we both know that," pete hoskings agreed. "i dunno as i ever did hear of a mine that turned out anything nigh as good as it ought to have done from samples, but i reckon that this is going to be an exception." when within a few miles of the fort the escort always placed their rifles in the waggon and rode on some distance ahead of it, only one or two with their leader remaining by it. the boxes, which were of no great size, were covered by a sack or two thrown down in the corner of the waggon, and on its arrival in the fort it was taken first to the store, where a considerable quantity of provisions, flour, molasses, bacon, tea and sugar, currants and raisins, and other articles were purchased and placed in it. this was the ostensible purpose of the journey to the fort. late in the evening jerry or pete, whichever happened to be the leader, and one of the men, carried the boxes across to the major's quarters and stored them in a cellar beneath it. there was a real need of provisions at the mine, for the population of the valley rapidly increased as the season a fortune. on their return to denver, but begged them to send no more, as the school was flourishing and they were perfectly able to meet all their expenses. "it is very good of you, tom," carry said. "of course, we are all very pleased to know that you have been able to send the money, because it relieves our anxiety about you; but we really don't want it, and it makes us afraid that you are starting yourself. besides, even if you are not, it would be much better for you to keep the money, as you may find some opportunity of using it to your advantage, while here it would only lie in the bank and do no good. it would be different if we had nothing to fall back upon in case of anything happening, such as some of us getting ill, or our having a case of fever in the school, or anything of that sort, but as we have only used fifty pounds of mother's money we have plenty to go on with for a very long time; so that really we would very much rather you did not send us any over. now that we know your address and can write to you at fort bridger, it seems to bring you close to us. but we have had two very anxious times; especially the first, when we did not hear of you for six months. the second time was not so bad, as you had told us that it might be a long time before we should hear, and we were prepared for it, but i do hope it will never be so long again." there had been some discussion as to whether the mine should be shut down in winter, but it was soon decided that work should go on regularly. six more stamps were ordered to be sent from the east, with a steam-engine powerful enough to work the whole battery, and in september this and other machinery had reached the mine. fresh build- ings had been erected—a storehouse, a house for the officers, and a shed covering the whole of the machinery and yard. by in the heart of the rockies. the time this was all ready and in place the valley below was deserted, the gravel having been washed out to the bed-rock. no other lodes of sufficient richness to work had been dis- covered by the prospectors, and with winter at hand there was no inducement for them to stay longer there. only two or three of the men at the mine wished to leave when their engagement for the season terminated. all had been well paid, and had in addition made money at gold- washing. their food had been excellent, and their comforts attended to in all ways. accordingly, with these exceptions all were ready to renew their engagements. an arrangement was made with the major at fort bridger for an escort under a subaltern officer to proceed with two waggons with the treasure to denver. pete hoskings and jerry were to remain as managers of the mine throughout the winter. harry and tom had made up their minds togo to eng- land and to return in the spring. the ore was now very much poorer than it had been at first. the lode had pinched out below and they had worked some distance along it. the fall- ing-off, however, was only relative; the mine was still an extra- ordinarily rich one, although it contained little more than a tenth of the gold that had been extracted from the first hundred and fifty tons crushed. none but harry, pete hoskings, jerry, and tom had any idea of tho amount of gold extracted in less than six months, although the miners were well aware that the amount must be very large. it was so indeed, for after repaying the amount expended in preliminary expenses, together with the new machinery, the wages of the men, provisions, and all outgoings, they calculated the treasure sent down to be worth one hundred and twenty-eight thousand pounds, while the mine if sold would fetch at least double that sum. after a hearty farewell to pete and jerry, harry and tom with the in the heart of the rockies "no, uncle. i know it must be a lot, but i have never thought about what each share will be." "well, to begin with, a third of it goes to pete hoskings and his friends, that leaves eighty-five thousand. the remain- der is divided into seven shares; i was to have two, the indians three between them, you one, and jerry one. his share is then about twelve thousand, which leaves seventy- three thousand between you and ma of course, we shall divide equally." "no, indeed, uncle; that would be ridiculous. i have been of very little use through it all, and i certainly ought not to have as much as jerry. you and the chief dis- covered it, and it was entirely owing to you that any of the rest of us have a share of the profits, and of course your arrangement with the two indians is only because the chief is so fond of you." "partly that, tom; but chiefly because it is in accordance with red-skin customs. they are hunters, fighters, and guides, but they are not miners, and they never go in for shares in an enterprise of this sort it went very much against the grain for leaping horse to take that three or four hundred pounds that came to him at the end of the last expedition, and he would be seriously offended if i were to press upon him more than his ordinary payment now; he would say that he has been simply hunting this year, that he has run no risks, and has had nothing to do with the mine. to-morrow morning we will go out to see what there is in the way of horse-flesh in denver, and will buy him and hunting dog the two best horses in the town, whatever they may cost, with saddles, bridles, new blankets, and so on. if i can get any- thing special in the way of rifles i shall get a couple of them, and if not i shall get them in new york, and send them to him at bridger. these are presents he would value infinitely a fortune. more than all the gold we have stowed away in the bank to- day. he is going back to his tribe for the winter, and he and hunting dog will be at the mine before us next spring." in the morning harry was two hours at the bank, where he saw the gold weighed out, and received a receipt for the value, which came to within a hundred pounds of what they had calculated, as the dust had been very carefully weighed each time it was sent off. in accordance with the arrange- ment he had made with pete hoskings and jerry the amount of their respective shares was placed to their credit at the bank . drawing a thousand pounds in cash, he received a draft for the rest upon a firm at new york, where he would be able to exchange it for one on london. he then inquired at the hotel as to who was considered to possess the best horses in the town, and as money was no object to him, he succeeded in persuading the owners to sell two splendid animals; these with the saddles were sent to the hotel. he then bought two finely-finished sharpe's rifles of long range, and two brace of silver-mounted revolvers. "now, tom," he said, " i shall give one of these outfits to the chief and you give the other to hunting dog; he has been your special chum since we started, and the presents will come better from you than from me. i expect them here in half an hour; i told them i should be busy all the morning." the two indians were delighted with their presents, even the chief being moved out of his usual impassive demeanour. "my white brothers are too good. leaping horse knows that straight harry is his friend; he does not want presents to show him that; but he will value them because he loves his white brothers, even more than for themselves." as for hunting dog, he was for a long time incredulous that the splendid horse, the rifle and pistols could really be for him, in the heart of the rockies. and he was so exuberant in his delight that it was not until leaping horse frowned at him severely that he subsided into silent admiration of the gifts. "here are papers, chief, that you and hunting dog had better keep, they are the receipts for the two horses, and two forms that i have had witnessed by a lawyer, saying that we have given you the horses in token of our gratitude for the services that you have rendered; possibly you may find them useful. you may fall in with rough fellows who may make a pretence that the horses have been stolen. oh yes! i know that you can hold your own; still, it may avoid trouble." they had now no further use for their horses, so these were sold for a few pounds. they purchased a stock of clothes sufficient only for their journey to england. "you may as well put your revolver in your pocket, tom," harry said as they prepared to start the next day. "i have sewn up the draft in the lining of my coat, but sometimes a train gets held up and robbed, and as we have six hundred pounds in gold and notes in our wallets, i cer- tainly should not give it up without a fight." the indians accompanied them to the station. "now, chief, you take my advice and look out for a nice wife be- fore next spring. you are forty now, and it is high time you thought of settling down." "leaping horse will think over it," the seneca said gravely. "it may be that in the spring he will have a wig- wam in the valley." a few minutes later the train started east, and five days later they reached new york. a steamer left the next day for england, and in this they secured two first-class berths; and although tom had managed very well on his way out, he thoroughly enjoyed the vastly superior comfort of the a fortune. forward to the trip across the water, but it will certainly be better for you to stay at home. you left school early, you see, and it would be a good thing for you to get a man to come and read with you for two or three hours a day for the next year or two. we have settled that the three younger girls are to go to school; and i don't see why you, carry, and janet, should not go, in the first place, for two or three months on to the continent . they have had a dull life since you have been away, and the trip will be a treat for them, and perhaps do you some good also. it will be time enough to settle down to reading when you come back." the mine returned large profits that year, the increased amount stamped making upto some extent for the falling off in the value of the ore, and the shares of the various proprietors were more than half what they had been at the end of the first season's work. the third year it fell off considerably. there was a further decrease the year after, and the fifth year it barely paid its expenses, and it was decided to abandon it. harry wade went over every season for many years, but spent only the first at the mine. after that he went hunting expeditions with leaping horse, who, to his amusement, had met him at his first return to the mine with a pretty squaw, and hunting dog had also brought a wife with him. two wigwams were erected that year near the mine, but after that they returned to their tribe, of which leaping horse became the leading chief. tom's sisters all in due time married, each being pre- sented on her wedding-day with a cheque for ten thousand pounds, as a joint present from her uncle and brother. tom himself did not remain a bachelor, but six years after his return to england took a wife to himself, and the house at blackheath was none too large for his family. blackie & son's books for young people. by g. a. henty. wulf the saxon: a story of the norman conquest. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by ralph peacoce. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. the hero is a young than* who wins the favour of earl harold and becomes one of his retinue. when harold becomes king of england, wulf assists in the welsh wars, and takes part against the norsemen at the battle of stamford bridge. when william of normandy invades england, wulf is with the english host at hastings, and stands by his king to the last in the mighty struggle. altogether this is a noble tale. wulf himself is a rare example of saxon vigour, and the spacious back- ground of stormful history lends itself admirably to heroic romance. when london burned: a story of restoratk on times and the great fire. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by j. finnemore. crown vo( cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. the hero of this story was the son of a nobleman who had lost his estates during the troublous times of the commonwealth. instead of hanging idly about the court seeking favours, cyril shenstone determined to maintain himself by honest work, and, as a scrivener in the city, soon established a reputation for zeal and trustworthiness. he served after- wards as a volunteer in the met under prince rupert, and highly dis- tinguished himself in the dutch wars. during the great plague and the great fire sir cyril was prominent among those who brought help to the panic-stricken inhabitants. this tale has rich variety of interest, both national and personal, and in the hero you have an english lad of the noblest type—wise, humane, and unselfish. beric the briton: a story of the roman invasion. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. pareinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, .?. "we are not aware that any one has given us quite so vigorous a picture of britain in the days of the roman conquest. mr. henty has done his utmost to make an impressive picture of the haughty roman character, with its indomitable courage, sternness, and discipline. beric is good all through. "- spectator. blackib ,l- son's books for young people. by g. a. henty. mr. henty is one of the best of story-tellers for young people. '—spectator. through the sikh war: a tale of the conquest of the punjaub. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by hal hurst, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, <. "the picture of the punjaub during its last few years of independenee, the description of the battles on the sutlej, and the portraiture generally of native character, seem admirably true, ... on the whole, we have never read a more vivid and faithful narrative of military adventure in india."— the academy. with wolfe in canada: or, the winning of a continent, by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a model of what a boys' story-book should be. mr. henty has a great power of infusing into the dead facts of history new life, and as no pains are spared by him to ensure accuracy in historic details, his books supply useful aids to study as well as amusement."—school guardian. the dash for khartoum: a tale of the nile expedition. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by j. schonrerg and j. nash, and plans. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "it is literally true that the narrative never flags a moment; for the incidents which fall to be recorded after the dash for khartoum has been made and failed are quite as interesting as those which precede it."—academy. the lion of st. mark: a tale of v enice in the fourteenth century. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "every boy should read the lionof st.mark. mr. henty has never produced any story more delightful, more wholesome, or more vivacious. from first to last it will be read with keen enjoyment."—the saturday revieic. by england's aid: the freeing of the netherlands ( - ). by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by alfred pearse, and maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the story is told with great animation, and the historical material is most effectively combined with a most excellent plot."—saturday review. with lee in virginia: a story of the american civil war. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne, and maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the story is a capital one and full of variety, and presents us with many picturesque scenes of southern life. young wingfleld, who is conscientious, spirited, and 'hard as nails', would have been a man after the very heart of stonewall jackson."—times. by pike and dyke: a tale of the rise of the dutch re- public. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by maynard brown, and maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the mission of ned to deliver letters from william the silent to his adherents at brussels, the fight of the good venture with the spanish man-of-war. the battle ou the ice at amsterdam, the siege of haarlem, are all told with a vividness and skill which are worthy of mr. henty at his best."—academy. blackie * son'sbooksforyoungpeople. by g. a. henty. "surely mr. henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man living." —the times. reduved liiustratimi from "st. bartholomew's ere '. st. bartholomew's eve: a tale of the huguenot wars. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by h. j. draper, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "a really noble story, which adult readers will find to the full as satisfying as the imiys. lucky boys! to have such a caterer as mr. o. a. henty."—blackand white. with clive in india: or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "among writers of stories of adventure for boys mr. henty stands in the very first rank. those who know something ateut india will be the most ready to thank mr. henty for giving them this instructive volume to place in the hands of their children."—academy. blackie d- sows books eoli youso people. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is the king of story-tellers for boys, "swordand trowel. reduved illustration from henty's " redskin and cowboy'. redskin and cow-boy: a tale of the western plains. by u. a. henty. with page illustrations by alfred ijearse. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, o. "it has a good plot; it abounds in action; the scenes are equally spirited and realistic, and we can only say we have read it with much pleasure from first to last. the pictures of life on a cattle rauche are most graphically painted, as are the uiauuers of the reckless but jovial cow-boys."—timesin freedom's cause: a story of wallace and bruce. by g. a. ii i n . with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, off. "mr. plenty has broken new ground as an historical novelist. his tale of the days of wallace and brace is full of stirring action, and will commend itself to boys."—a theiuzuai. blackie . son'sbooks foli youso people. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is one of our most successful writers of historical tales."—scotsman. by right of conquest: or, with cortez in mexico. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. s. stacey, and _ maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "litt right of conquest is the nearest approach to a perfectly successful hiatori' cal tale that mr. henty has yet published."—acade my. in greek waters: a story of the grecian war of inde- pendence ( ' ). by g. a. henty. with page illus- trations by w. . stacey, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "there are adventures of all kinds for the hero and his friends, whose pluck and ingenuity in extricating themselves from awkward fixes re always equal to the occasion. it is an excellent story, aud if the proportion of history is smaller than usual, the whole result leaves nothing to be desired."— journal of education through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "mr. henty inspires a love and admiration for straightforwardness, truth, and courage. this is one of the best of the many good books mr henty has produced, and deserves to be classed with his facing death." — standard. captain bay ley's heir: a tale of the gold fields of cali- fornia. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ,*. "a westminster boy who makes his way in the world by hard work, good temper, and unfailing courage. the descriptions given of life are just what a healthy intelligent lad should delight in."—st. james's gazette. in the heart of the rockies: a story of ad venture in colorado. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by g. c. hindley. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. from first to last this is a story of splendid hazard. the hero, tom wade, goes out to his uncle in colorado, who is a hunter and gold-digger. going in quest of a gold mine the little band is spied by indians, chased across the bad lands, and overwhelmed by a snow-storm in the mountains, where they camp all winter. they build two canoes and paddle down the terrible gorges of the rocky mountains, with many an upset on the way and the instant danger of bloodthirsty indians shooting from the banks, after many perils they reach fort mojurve and safety, and the reader finds that the record of this most daring journey has closed all too soon. one of the th: a tale of waterloo. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. h. overend, and maps. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "written with homeric vigour and heroic inspiration. it is graphic, pictur- esque, and dramatically effective . . . shows us mr. henty at his best and brightest. the adventures will hold a boy of a winter's night enthralled as he rushes through them with breathless interest' from cover to cover '."—observer. black e ,!. sos's books l-vli yousg pkoplb. by g. a. henty. "ask for henry, and see that you get m punch. condemned as a nihilist: a story of escape from siberia. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by walter paget. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the best of this years henty. his narrative is more interesting than many of the tales with which the public is familiar, of escape from siberia. despite their superior claim to authenticity these tales are without doubt no less fic- titious than mr. henty's, and he beats them hollow in the matter of sensations." —national observer. orange and green: a tale of the boyne and limerick. by g. a . henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, k. "the narrative is free from the vice of prejudice, and ripples with life as vivacious as if what is being described were really passing before the eye. . . . should be in the bunds of every young student of irish history."—belfast news.held fast for england: a tale of the siege of gibraltar. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne, crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, a. "among them we would place first in interest and wholesome educational value the story of the siege of gibraltar. . . . there is no cessation of exciting hidden t throughout the "err"-- at he nae a m. in the reign of terror: the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by j. schlinberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, a. "hurry sand with, the westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat mr. henty's record. his adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict. the story is one of mr. henty's best."—saturday lteciew. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "morally, the book is everything that could be desired, setting before the boys a bright and bracing ideal of the english gentleman "—christian lender. the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. by g. a henty. with page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "a story that may justly be styled remarkable. boys, in reading it, will be surprised to find how alfred persevered, through years of bloodshed and times of peace, to rescue his people from the thraldom of the danes. we hope the book will soon be widely known in all our schools,''- schoolmaster. a final reckoning: a tale of bush life in australia. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. b. wollen. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "all boys will read this story with eager and unrlniiginir interest. the episodes are in mr. henty's very best vein—graphic, exciting, realistic; and, as in all mr. henty's books, the tendency is to the formation of an honourable, manly, and even heroic character."—birmingham post. blackie sos's books for youngpeople.by harry collingwood. the pirate island: a story of the south pacific. by harry collinqwood. with page pictures by c. j. staniland and j. r. wells. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, "a capital story of the sea: indeed in our opinion the author is superior in mine respects as a marine novelist to the better known m r. clark russell.the times. the log of the "flying fish": a story of aerial and submarine adventure. by harry colungwood. with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. g</. "the fliting fi#h actually surpasses all jules verne's creations; with iucred- ible speed she flies through the air. skims over the surface of the water, and darts along the ocean bed. we strongly recommend our school-buy friends to possess themselves of her log."- atheiutum. for other books by harry collingwood, see pages and . by george manvillle penn. "mr. few. stands in the foremost rank of writers in this department."—daily news.quicksilver: or, a boy with no skid to his wheel. by george manville fenn. wtith page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, . "quicktritver is little short of an inspiration in it that prince of story-writers for boys george manville fenn — has surpassed himself. it is an ideal book for a boy's library."- practicalteacher. dick o' the fens: a romance of the great east swamp. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "we conscientiously believe that boys will find it capital reading. it is full of incident and mystery, and the mystery is kept up to the last moment. it is rich in effective local colouring; and it has a historical interest."— times. devon boys: a tale of the north shore. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "an admirable story, as remarkable for the individuality of its young heroes as for the excellent descriptions of coast scenery and life in north devon. it is one of the best books we have seen this season."—athenamm. the golden magnet: a tale of the land of the incas. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, n. "there could be no more welcome present for it boy. there is not a dull page in the book, and many will be read with breathless interest. 'the golden mugnet'is, ot course, the same one that attracted raleigh and the heroes of west- ward ho "—journal of education. blackie ,t sos's books for yousg people. by george manville fenn. "no one can find his way to the hearts of lads more readily than mr. fenn."— souiiujham guardian. in the king's name: or, the c raise of the kestrel. by . manville fenn. illustrated by page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "the best of all mr fenn's productions in this field. it has the great quality of always 'moving on', adventure following adventure in constant succession."— daily news. nat the naturalist: a boy's adventures in the eastern seas. by g. manville fenn. with page pictures. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this sort of book eneourages independenee of character, develops resource, and teaches a boy to keep his eyes open."—saturday review. bunyip land: the story of a wild journey in new guinea, by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "mr. fenn deserves the thanks of everybody for bunyip land, and we may ven- ture to promise that a quiet week may be reckoned on whilst the youngsters have such fascinating literature provided for their evenings' amusement. 'spectator. bpownsmith's boy. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "mr. venn's books are amons the best, if not altogether the best, of the stories for boys. mr. fenn is at his best in brownsmith's bw/.'~—pictorial world. *»* for other books by g. manville fenn, see pages and . by ascott r. hope. young travellers' tales. by ascott r. hope, with illustrations by h. j. draper. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. these lively records of haphazard experienee are drawn from various parts of the world. there is a thrilling adventure in the austrian tirol, a mischance in norway, an exciting escapade in africa, a tale of shooting in india, a cyclist's laughable exploit in franee, a runaway experience in switzerland, an encounter with a corsican bandit, and other stories of a like entertaining character. all aro presented in a crisp and engaging style. the seven wise scholars. by ascott r. hope. with nearly illustrations by gordon browne. cloth elegant, s. "as full of fun as a volume of punch; with illustrations, more langhter- provoking than most we have seen siuce leech died."—sheffield independent. stories of old renown: tales of knights and heroes. by ascott e. hope. with illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. '' a really fascinating book worthy of its telling title. there is, we venture to say, not a dull page in the book, not a story which will not bear a second read- ing."— guardian. black e it- son'sbooks for youngpeople. the universe: or the infinitely great and the infinitely little. a sketch of contrasts in creation, and marvels revealed and explained by natural science. by f. a. pouchet, m.n. with engravings on wood, of which are full-page size, and a coloured frontispiece. eleventh edition, medium vo, cloth ele- gant, gilt edges, s. rf.; also morocco antique, s. "we can honestly commend professor pouchet's book, which is admirably, aa it is copiously illustrated."—the times. "scarcely any book in french or in english is so likely to stimulate in the young an interest in the physical phenomena."—fortnightly review. by robert leighton. olaf the glorious. by robert leighton. with page illustrations by ralph peacoce, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, bs. this story of olaf the glorious, king of norway, opens with the incident of his being found by his unele living as a bond-slavo in esthonia, and it follows him through his romantic youth in the court of king valdemar of russia. then come his adventures as a viking and his raids upon the coasts of scotland and england, his victorious battle against the english at maldon in essex, and his conversion to christianity. he then returns to pagan norway, is accepted as king, and converts his people to the christian faith. the story closes with the great battle of svold, when olaf, defeated, jumps overboard, and is last seen with the sunlight shining on the glittering cross upon his shield. the wreck of "the golden fleece": the story of a north sea fisher-boy. by rorert lliqhton. with page illustrations by frane brangwyn. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this story should add considerably to mr. leighton'a high reputation. ex- cellent in every respect, it contains every variety of incident. the plot is very cleverly devised, and the types of the north sea sailors are capital. "—the times. the pilots of pomona: a story of the orkney islands. by robert leighton. with page illustrations by john leigh ton, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a story which is quite as good in its way as treasure island, and is full of adventure of a stirring yet most natural kind. although it is primarily a boys' book, it is a real godsend to the elderly reader."—glasgow evening times. the thirsty sword: a story of the norse invasion of scotland ( - ). by robert leighton. with page illus- trations by alfred pearse, and a map. crown vo, cloth ele- gant, olivine edges, *. "this is one of the most fascinating stories for boys that it has ever been our pleasure to read. from first to last the interest never flags. boys will worship kenric. who is a hero in every sense of the word."—schoolmaster. hlackie i- sos's books for young people. by dr. gordon stables. to greenland and the pole. by gordon starles, m.d. with page illustrations by g. c. hlndley, and a map. crown vo, cloth elegant, oli- vine edges, s. the unfailing fascination of arctic venturing is pre- sented in this story with new vividness. the author is himself an old arctic voyager, and he is thus enabled to make excellent use of the recent exploits of nansen in greenland, and the splendid daring of that explorer's present expedi- tion. the story deals with *hltibning in the north of scotland, deer-hunting in norway, sealing in the arc- tic seas, bear-stalking on the ice-floes, the hardships of a journey across green- land, and a successful voyage to the back of the north pole. this is, in- deed, a real sea-yarn by a real sailor, and the tone is as bright and whole- some as the adventures are numerous. reduved illustration from "grettir the outlaw". westward with columbus. by gordon starles, m.d., cm. with page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "we must place westward with columbua among those books that all boys ought to read.*—the spectator. 'twixt school and college: a tale of self-reliance. by gordon starles, cm., m.d., r.n. with page illustrations by w. pareinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, *. "one of the best of a prolific writer's books for boys, being full of practical instructions as to keeping pets, and ineulcates in a way which a little recalls miss edgeworth's 'frank' the virtue of self-reliance"—athenamm. blackie & son'sbooks foryoungpeople by g. norway. a prisoner of war: a story of the time of napoleon bonaparte. by g. norway. with page illustrations by rort. barnes, a.r.w.s. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. when napoleon bonaparte suddenly broke the treaty of amiens and declared war against england, many peaceful englishmen who had ven- tured to reside upon the continent were made prisoners. among these was captain wynter, who was arrested at hulvoetslujs in holland, and from thence carried into france. his family escaped across the channel, but his son, a young lad, determined to return, trace out his father, and assist him to escape. disguised as a packman he searched france from fortress to fortress. after many a mischanee and many a hair-breadth escape he finds his father, contrives his escape, and brings him safely to england. it is a romantic narrative, with the additional merit of being true. a true cornish maid. by g. norway. with page illustrations by j. finnemore. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "there is some excellent reading. . . . mrs norway brings before the eyes of her readers the good cornish folk, their speech, their manners, and their ways. a true comuih maid deserves to be popular."- alheiuvum. "among girls' books the success of the year has fallen, we think, to mrs. norway, whose tnie cornuth maid is really an admirable piece of work, . . . the book is full of vivid and accurate local colour; it contains, too, some very clever character studies."— review of recieuw. hussein the hostage: or, a boy's adventures in persia. by g. norway. with page illustrations by john schonrerq. crown j vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "uiiasein the hnstatte is full of originality and vigour. the characters are life- like, there is plenty of stirring incident, the interest is sustained throughout, and every boy will enjoy following the fortunes of the hero."—journal of education. the loss of john humble: what led to it, and what came of it. by g. norway. with page illustrations by john schonrehg. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "this story will place the author at once in the front rank. it is full of life and adventure. he is equally at home in his descriptions of life in sweden and in the more stirring passages of wreck and disaster, and the interest of the story is sustained without a break from first to last."—standard. under false colours: a story from two girls' lives. by sarah i>oudney. with page illustrations by g. g. kll- rurnb. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "sarah doudney has no superior as a writer of high-toned stories—pure in style, original in conception, and with skilfully wronght-out plots; but we have seen nothing from her pen equal in dramatic energy to this book."—christian leader. blackie ,fc sos's books for yoitsg people. with the sea king's: a story of the days of lord nelson. by f. h. winder. with page illustrations by w. s. stacey. crown vo( cloth elegant, s. "just the book to put into a boy a lunula. every chapter contains boardings, cutt ings out. fighting pirates, es< apes of thrilling audacity, and captures by corsairs, sufficient to turn the quietest boy's head. the story culminates in a vigorous accouut of the battle of trafalgar. happy boys: '—the academy. grettir the outlaw: a story of iceland. by s. baring- gould. with page illustrations by m. zeno diemer, and a • coloured map. new edition. crown vc, cloth elegant, in. "is the boys' book of its year that is, of course, as much as to say that it will do for men grown as well as juniors. it is told in simple, straightforward knglish, as all stories should be, and it has a freshness, a freedom, a sense of sun and wind and the open air. which make it irresistible."— national observer gold, gold, in cariboo: a story of adventure in british columbia. by clive phillipfs-wolley. with page illustra- tions by u. c. hindley. crown vo, cloth extra, lis. hd. "it would be difficult to say too much in favour of gold, gold, in cariboo. we have seldom read a more exciting tale of wild mining adventure in a singularly inaccessible country. there is a capital plot, and the interest is sustained to the last page."— the times. a champion of the faith: a tale of prince hal and the lollards. by j. m. callwell. with page illustrations by herrert j. draper. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "will not be less enjoyed than mr. henty's books. sir john oldcastle's pathetic story, and the history of his brave young squire, will make every boy enjoy this lively story."—london quarterly. by alice corkran. meg's friend. by alice coreran. with page illustra- tions by korert fowler. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "one of miss corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in that simple and picturesque style which murks the authoress as one of the first amongst writers for young people."- the spectator. margery merton's girlhood. by alice coreran. with page pictures by gordon browne. cr. vo, cloth extra, *. i/. commend. there is a delightful young english girl who studies "another book for girls we can warmly c piquancy in the experieuces and trials of a pamting in paris "saturday lictiew. down the snow stairs: or, fi orn good-night to good- morning. by alice coreran. with illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, <. rf. . "a gem of the first water, bearing upon every page the mark of genins. it is "weed a little pilgrim's progress. '—christian leader. b is blackie «t son's books for yousg people. sou'wester and swopd. by hugh st. leger. with page illustrations by hal hurht. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. this is the book for a lad who loves a sea-yarn. the fun no less than the dangers of a sailor's life are faithfully depicted. shark fishing, mast- heading, galley-ranging, mutiny, tropical gales, death at sea, and the rinal shipwreck, are ineidents in a talc which is one continuous adventure. the hero and several of the crew are saved from the wreck, and with the harum-scarum recklessness of seamen they join the english expedition against the mahdi, taking part in the terrible hghting around suakim. by edgar pickering. in press-gang' days. by edgar piceering. with (i illustrations by w. s. stacey. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. b'rf. in this story harry waring is caught by the press-gang and carried on lniard his majesty's ship sandwirh. ho takes part in the mutiny of the nore, and shares in some hard righting on board the frigate i'itu'nix. he is with nelson, also, at the storming of santa cruz, and the battle of the nile. his career is like to end in a french prison, but he, with some companions, manage to escape, seize a french schooner, right their way out of the harbour, and so return home with a prize. an old-time yam: wherein is set forth divers desperate mischances which befell anthony ingram and his shipmates in the west indies and mexico with hawkins and drake. by edgar piceering. illustrated with g page pictures drawn by alfred pearse. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. rf. "and a very good yarn it is. with not a dull page from first to last. there is n flavour of westward ho! in this attractive book "- educational review. silas vemey: a tale of the time of charles ii. by edgar piceering. with page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. rf. "wonderful as the adventures of silas are. it must he admitted that they are very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented. altogether this is an excellent story for bo.vs."- saturdait lieview. by annie e. armstrong. three bright girls: a story of chance and mischance. by annie k. armstrong. with page illustrations by w. par- einson. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. rf. "among mnny good stories for girls this is undoubtedly one of the very best. .the three girls whose portraits are so admirably painted are girls of earnest, practical, and business-like mood. ever bright and cheerful, they influenee other lives, and at last they come out of their trials and difficulties with honour to themselves and benefits to all about them."—teachers' aid. a very odd girl: or, life at the gabled farm. by annie e. armstrong. with page illustrations by s. t. dadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. r/. "the book is one we can heartily recommend, for it is not only bright and interesting, but also pure and healthy in tone and teaching."—the lady. black ie >(' sos's books for yousg people. by c. j. hyne. the captured cruiser: or, two years from land. by c. j. hvne. with page illustrations by frane brangwyn. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. tt. "the two lads and the two skippers are admirably drawn. mr. hjme haa now secured a position in the first rank of writers of fiction for boys."—spectator. afloat at last: a sailor boy's log of his life at sea. by john c. hitcheson. with page illustrations by w. h. ovehenm. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. 'as healthy and breezy a book as one could wish to put into the hands of a hoy."—academy. picked up at sea: or, the gold miners of minturne creek. by j. c. hltcheson. with page pictures. cloth extra, a. rf. "the author's sunvw* with this book is so marked that it may well eucourage him to further efforts, 'i'he description of mining life in the far west is true and aeon- rate."—utatnlmd. cousin geoffrey and i. by caroline austin. with page illustrations by w. pareinson. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "miss austin's story is bright, clever, and well developed. "—saturday review. brother and sister: or, the trials of the moore family. by elizareth j. lysaght. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rl. "a pretty story, and well told. the plot is cleverly constructed, and the moral is excellent.''—atheiurum. the search for the talisman: a story of labrador. by henry frith. with page illustrations by j. schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "mr. frith s volume will be among those most read and highest valued. the adventures iunimg seals, whales, and icebergs in labrador will delight many a young reader."—/'rt/i mall gazette. • reefer and rifleman: a tale of the two services. by lieut.-col. percy-groves. with page illustrations by john schonrerg. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "a good, old-fashioned, amphibious story of our fighting with the frenehmen in the beginning of nur century, with a fair sprinkling of fun and frolic."—times. dora: or, a girl without a home. by mrs. r. h. read. with c page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "h ls no slight thing, in an age of rubbish, to get a story so pure and healthy as this."—the academy. life's daily ministry: a story of everyday service for others by mrs. e. r. pitman. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, *. rf. "shows exquisite tom-hes of a master hand. she depicts in graphic outline the churiu-teriatics of the beautiful and the good in life."—christian union. storied holidays: a cycle of red-letter days by e. s. buooek. with page illustrations by howard pyul crown vo, cloth elegant, s. ll. "it is a downright rood book for a senior boy, and is eminently readable from first to last."—schoolmaster. chivalrlc days: stories of courtesy and courage in the olden times. by e. s. brooms. with illustrations by gordon browne and other artists. crown vo, cloth extra, n. «/. "we have seldom come iktoss a prettier collection of tales. these charming stories of boys and girls of olden days are no mere fictitious orimhginnry sketehes, but are real and actual records of their saying s and doings."—literary world. historic boys: their endea yours, their achievements, and their times. by e. s. brooes. with page illustrations by r. b. birch and john schonreho. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "a wholesome book, manly in tone, its character sketehes enlivened hy brisk dialogue and high-class illustrations; altogether one that should incite boys to further acquaintauce with those rulers of men whose careers are narrated. we advise teachers to put it on their list of prizes- kiuncleiige. de. jolliffe's boys: a tale of weston school. by lewis hough. with page pictures. crown vo, cloth extra, s. tin . "young people who appreciate tomh.oint'* srhtii day* will find this story a worthy companion to that fascinating book. there is the same maulines* of uaie, truthtulness of outline, avoidance of exaggeration and caricature, and healthy morality uh characterized the masterpiece of mr. hughes."-- ue*ccn*ttt jom-nal. the bubbling teapot. a wonder story. by mrs. l. w. ohampney. with page pictures by walter ratterlee. crown vo, cloth ettra, s. rf. "very literally a 'wonder 'story', and a wild and fanciful one. nevertheless it is made realistic enough, and there is a good deal of information to be gained from it."—the times. by jennett humphreys. laugh and learn: the easiest book of nursery lessons and nursery games. by jennett humphreys. profusely illus- trated. square vo, cloth extra, s. (>d. "one of the best books of the kind imaginable, full of practical teaching in word and picture, and helping the little ones pleasantly along it right royal road to learning."—graphic. black iis jc sos's books for youngpboplb. thomdyke manor: a tale of jacobite times. by mary c. kowsell. with page illustrations by l. leslie brooke. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. ,f. "miss rowsell has never written a more attractive book than thomdyke manor."—belfast news-letter. traitor or patriot? a tale of the rye-house plot. by mary c. rowsell. with page pictures by c. o. murray and c. j. staniland, r.i. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. ,i. "here the rye-house plot serves as the groundwork for a romantic love epi- sode, whose true characters are lifelike beings.''—graphic. blackie's new three-shilling series. beautifully illustrated and handsomely bound. newvolumes. under hatches: or, ned woodthoi 'pe's adventures. by f. franefort moore. with page illustrations by a. foeestier. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. "the story as a story is one that will just suit boys all the world over. the characters are well drawn and consistent; patsy, the irish steward, will be found especially amusing."—schoolmaster. the congo rovers: a story of the slave squadron. by harry collinqwood. with page illustrations by j. schonrerg. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. "no better si-a story has lately been written than the congo rovers. it is as original as any boy could desire."—morning post menhardoc: a story of cornish nets and mines. by g. man"»ille fenn. with page illustrations by c. j. staniland, r.i. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "they are real living boys, with their virtues and faults. the cornish fisher- men are drawn from life, and stand out from the pages in their jerseys and sea-boots all sprinkled with silvery pilchard scales."—spectator. yussuf the guide: or, the mountain bandits. a story of strange adventure in asia minor. by g. manvii.le fenn. with page illustrations by j. schonreru. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "told with such real freshness and vigour that the reader feels he is actually one of the party, sharing in the fun and facing the dangers."—pall mall gazette. robinson crusoe. with loo illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "one of the best issues, if not absolutely the best, of defoe's work which has ever appeared.' — the standard. iilacme a sos's rooks fob youno people. three shilling series—continued. gulliver's travels. with loo illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth extra, *. "mr. gordon browne is, to my thinking, ineomparably the most artistic, spirited, and brilliant of our illustrators of books for boys, nnd one of the most humorous also, as his illustrations of 'gulliver' amply testify."—truth. patience wins: or, w ar in the works. by george man- ville fenn. with page illustrations. or. vo, cloth extra, ,«. "mr. fenn has never hit upon a happier plan than in writing this story i f yorkshire factory life. the whole book is all aglow with life "—pall mall gazette mother carey's chicken: her voyage to the unknown isle. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by a. kore tieh. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "i'ndoubtedly one of the best mr. fenn has written the ineidents are of thrilling interest, while the characters are drawn with a care and completeness rarely found in a boys' book."— literary world. the missing merchantman. by harry oollingwood. with page illustrations by w. h. overeni>. cloth extra, s. "one of the author's best sea stories. the hero is as heroic as any boy could desire, and the ending is extremely happy."—liritinh weekly. the rover's secret: a tale of the pirate cays and lagoon.s of cuba. by harry colltnowood. with page illustrations by w. c. symon . crown vo, cloth elegant, *. "the rover's secret is by far the best sea story we have read for years, and is certain to give unalloyed pleasure to boys."—saturday review. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "is notably good. it gives a very vivid picture of life among the indians, which will delight the heart of many a schoolboy."— s}*ctatur. perseverance island: or, the robinson a usoe of the t h century. by douglas frazar. with page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, s. "this is an interesting story, written with studied simplicity of style, much in defoe's vein of apparent siucerity and scrupulous veracity; while for practical instruction it is even better than robinson cnuuc."—iuustrated london scus. girl neighbours: or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with page illustrations by c. t. (jarland. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "one of the most effective and quietly humorous of miss sarah tvtler's stories. it is very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written. '- the spectator. blackie x- sos's books for tounq people. by beatrice harraden. things will take a turn. by beatrice harraden. a new edition, with illustrations by john h. bacon. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. f/. a happy creation this by the author of "ships that pass in the night". one cannot help loving the sunny-hearted child who assists her grand-dad in his dusty second-hand book-shop, she is so gay, so engaging, so natural. and to love kosebud is to love all her friends, and enter sympathetically into the good fortune she brought them. the charm of this tale, as of all miss harradon's work, is a delicate, wistful sympathy. the whispering winds, and the tales that they told. by mary h. derenham. with illustrations by paul hardy. crown vi>, cloth elegant, s. : . every wind whispered a story. the south wind came from italy and told a bright little fairy tale about baby benedetto. the north wind brought a weird story of the spiteful fairy-folk from a scottish glen: the laughing west wind from devonshire told of the king of the mist, and the delights of clotted cream; and the east wind spoke of the brave sea-king's daughter in norway over the sea. and all the tides were passing good. blackie's half-crown series. illustrated by eminent artists. in crown vo, cloth elegant. hammond's hard lines. by neelton kuppord. illus- trated by harold copping. tom hammond was a pupil at a public school, and, boy-like, was much given to grumbling and discontent with the " powers that be". he wished oh! so many things. at length in a most curious and unexpected way he received the offer of three wishes, which he joyfully accepted. the rela- tion of the adventures that ensue forms a graphically diverting narrative of the freshest interest. dulcie king: a story for girls. by m. corretseymour. illustrated by gertrude d. hammond. a bright, happy-going story in which the heroine is taken from her modest home and adopted by a rich relative. dulcie king is not dazzled, however, by her new and sumptuous surroundings, and the native goodness of her heart helps her to resist all temptations to dispossess the rightful heir. dulcie king is a girl whom one cannot help loving. hugh herbert's inheritance. by caroline austin. with page illustrations by c. t. garland. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, *. fx/. "will please by its simplicity, its tenderness, and its healthy interesting motive. it is admirably written."—scotsman. nicola: the career of a girl musician. by m. corret-sey- mour. illustrated by gertrude d. hammond. "there is a great deal of quiet force and strength aliout the story. t can thor- onghly and heartily recommend sicola as a present for girls."— wmttr's weekly black ie a son'sbooks foryoungpeople.half-crown series-continued. jack o' lanthorn: a tale of adventure. by henry frith. "the narrative is crushed full of stirring incident."- christian leader. the family failing. by darley dale. "a capital lesson on the value of contentedness." - aberdeen journal. my mistress the queen. by m. a. paull. 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aboard the mersey. by mrs. george cupples a blind pupil. by annies. fenn. lost and found. by mrs. carl bother. hlack e d. sons books for chilmies. something for the very little ones. illustrated. pp , cloth, fid. each. tales easy and small. old dick grey and aunt kate's way, maud's doll and her walk. in holiday time. whisk and buzz. little tales for little folk. by miss w. l. kooi'xr. d. each fred's run. nora's dark look. ella's fall. patty's walk. honest dolly. little queen pet the sixpenny series for children. neatly bound in cloth extra. each contains pages and an illustration. fairy stories: told by penelope r/gw rolumks. nobody's pet. by a. de v. dawson. daisy's visit to uncle jack. lady patience. by f. . hollinqs vertaand jaunette. by mrs. thorp mrs. holland's peaches. marjory's white rat grandmother's forget-me-nots. from over the sea. the kitchen cat. by amy walton the royal eagle. byl. thomson. two little mice. by airs oarlice. a little man of war. lady daisy. by caroline 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(page iii.) . .'; j r i. ": . chai in the irish brigade a tale of war in flanders and spain by g. a. henty author of "won by the sword" "for name and fame" "the young colonists" c. with twelve illustrations by charles m. sheldon new york charles scribner's sons juvenile collection pjl /' copyright igoo by charles scribner's preface the evils arising from religious persecution, sectarian ha- tred, ill-government, and oppression were never more strongly illustrated than by the fact that for a century ireland, which has since that time furnished us with a large proportion of our best soldiers, should have been among our bitterest and most formidable foes, and her sons fought in the ranks of our greatest continental enemy. it was not because they were adherents of the house of stuart that irishmen left their na- tive country to take service abroad, but because life in ire- land was rendered well-nigh intolerable for catholics on ac- count of the nature and severity of the laws against them, and the bitterness with which those laws were carried into effect. an irish catholic had no prospects of employment or ad- vancement at home. he could hold no civil appointment of any kind; he could not serve as an officer, nor even enlist as a private, in the army; he could not hold land; he was subject to imprisonment, and even death, on the most trifling and frivo- lous accusations brought against him by the satellites of the irish government. not only could he not sit in the parlia- ment of dublin, but he could not even vote at elections. it was because they believed that the return of the stuarts would mean relief from at least some of their disabilities, and liberty to carry out the offices of their religion openly, and preface to dwell in peace, free from denunciation and persecution, that the irish remained so long faithful to the jacobite cause. it was not indeed until that the catholics in ireland were admitted to qualify themselves as subjects of the crown, and not until the following year that they were permitted to enlist in the army. irish regiments had enlisted in france previous to the convention of limerick, but it was the irish army that defended that town, and having been defeated passed over to france, that raised the irish brigade to the po- sition of an important factor in the french army, which it held for nearly a hundred years, bearing a prominent part in every siege and battle in flanders, germany, italy, and spain. a long succession of french marshals and generals have testi- fied to the extraordinary bravery of these troops, and to their good conduct under all circumstances. not only in france did irishmen play a prominent part in military matters, but they were conspicuous in every continental army, and their descendants are still to be found bearing honoured names throughout europe. happily those days are past, and for over a hundred years the courage and military capacity of irishmen have been em- ployed in the service of great britain. for records of the doings of some of the regiments of the irish brigade during the years - , i am indebted to the painstaking ac- count of the irish brigade in the service of france by j. c. o'callaghan; while the accounts of the war in spain are drawn from the official report given in boyer's annals of the reign of queen anne, which contains a mine of information of the military and civil events of the time. g. a. henty. contents chap. pl*e i. fresh from ireland el a valiant band iii. a strange adventure iv. at versailles v. a new friend vi. an ambuscade vii. in paris again viii. to scotland ix. an escape prom newgate x. kidnapping a minister xi. on the frontier xii. oudenarde xiii. convalescent xtv. a mission xv. treachery xvi. captured xvii. an old friend , xviii. war xix. in search of a family xx. gerald o'carroll illustrations page "his opponent had enough to do to a card his bead" frontispiece "james felt that the words were a reproof" .... "desmond's weapon pierced his throat" "taking a diamond ring from his finger he handed it to desmond" "the english officer . . . received the swords of the french officers" "lord godolphin . . . was seized and bound" . . "the bridle fell from his left hand" "desmond . . . was able to join in a cheerful con- versation" "one of the soldiers gave an exclamation" .... "crofton's cavalry attack the portuguese infantry" "that explains it all!" he exclaimed "'tour uncle must be a thorough villain,' the dttkb said hotly" in the ieish beigade chaptee i fresh from ireland number of officers of o'brien's regiment of foot, forming a part of the irish brigade in the service of i erance, were gathered in a handsome apartment in the rue des fosses on the th of june, , when the door opened and their colonel entered with a young officer in the uniform of the regiment. "i have asked you here, gentlemen all," he said, " to present to you a new comrade, desmond kennedy, who, through the good offices of the marshal de noailles, has been appointed by his gracious majesty to a cornetcy in our regiment. now, gentlemen, i have known, and doubtless you can all of you recall, instances where the harmony of a regiment has been grievously disturbed and bad blood caused, owing to the want of a clear understanding upon matters connected with a family, which might have been avoided had proper explanations been given at the commencement. i have spoken frankly to mr. kennedy, and he has stated to me certain particulars, and has not only authorized me but requested me to repeat them to you, feeling that you had a right to know who it was that had come among you, and so to avoid questioning on matters that are of all others prone to lead to trouble among gentlemen. in the irish brigade "beyond the fact that he is a kennedy, and that his father had to fly from ireland two years after the siege of limerick owing to a participation in some plot to bring about a fresh rising in favour of king james, he is unacquainted with his family history. he has never heard from his father, and only knows that he made for france after throwing the usurper's spies off his track, and there can be little doubt that it was his intention to take service in this brigade. there have been several kennedys in the service, and i have little doubt that this young gentleman's father was the murroch kennedy who joined the third regiment about that time and was killed a few months afterwards at the battle of breda. his death would account for the fact that his son never received a letter from him. at the time when he left ireland the child was some two years old, and as communication was difficult, and the boy so young, murroch might very well have put off writing until the boy grew older, not thinking that death might intervene, as it did, to prevent his doing so. "this is all simple and straightforward enough, and you will, i am sure, have no hesitation in extending the hand of friendship to the son of a gallant irishman who died fighting in the ranks of the irish brigade, exiled, like the rest of us, for loyalty to our king. still, gentlemen, you might perhaps wonder how it is that he knows no more of his family, and it was that this question might be disposed of once for all, that i am making this statement to you on his behalf. he was not brought up, as you might expect, with some of his father's connections. whether the family were so scattered that there was no one to whom he could safely entrust the child, i know not, but in point of fact he sent him to one of the last houses where a loyal gentleman would wish his son to be brought up. we all know by name and reputation—i and your majors know him personally—the gallant james o'car- fresh from ireland roll, who died fighting bravely at the siege of limerick. he was succeeded in his estate by his brother john, one of the few irishmen of good family who turned traitor to his king, and who secured the succession to his brother's possessions by becoming an ardent supporter of the usurper and by changing his religion. "why murroch kennedy should have chosen such a man as the guardian of his son is a mystery. whether they had been great friends in earlier times when john o'carroll pro- fessed as warm an attachment to the stuart cause as did his brother james, or whether kennedy possessed such knowledge of o'carroll's traitorous dealings with the dutchman as would, if generally known, have rendered him so hateful to all loyal men that he could no longer have remained in the coun- try, and so had a hold over him, mr. kennedy can tell us noth- ing. he was brought by his nurse to castle kilkargan and was left with john o'carroll. it is clear that the latter ac- cepted the charge unwillingly, for he sent the child to a farm, where he remained until he was eight years old, and then placed him with the parish priest, who educated him. the lad visited at the houses of the neighboring gentry, shot and rowed and fished with their sons. o'carroll, however, beyond paying for his maintenance, all but ignored his existence, showing no interest whatever in him up to the time when he furnished him with a letter of introduction to de noailles, except that he made him a present of a gun as soon as he became of an age to use one. he never attempted to tamper with his loyalty to king james, and in fact, until he sent for him to ask what profession he would choose, he never exchanged ten words with him from the time that he was brought to the castle. "we can each form our own theory as to the cause of such strange conduct. he may have given a pledge to murroch in the irish brigade that the boy should be brought up a loyalist and a true son of the church. it may have been that the loyalty of the boy's father formed so unpleasant a contrast to his own disloyalty and apostasy that he disliked the sight of him. how- over, these theories can make no difference in our reception of desmond kennedy as a gentleman of a good family and as the son of a loyal adherent of the king; and as such, i think that i can from what i have already seen of him, assert that he is one who will be a good comrade, a pleasant companion and a credit to the regiment." the subject of these remarks was a tall and handsome young fellow, some sixteen years of age. he was already broad at the shoulders, and promised to become an exceedingly power- ful man. he had stood somewhat behind the colonel, watching calmly the effect of his words on those whose comrade he was to be, for he knew how punctilious were his countrymen on the subject of family, placing as much or even more value than did the scots on points of genealogy and of descent from the old families. his frank open face, his bearing and manner, did as much to smooth his way as did the speech of his colonel, who, when he had been introduced to him two days before, had questioned him very closely on the subject of his family. it had almost been a matter of satisfaction to desmond when he heard from the colonel that the officer who had fallen at breda was probably the father of whom he had no remembrance, for, from the time he attained the age of boyhood, it had been a grief and pain that he should never have heard from his father, who it now appeared had been prevented by death from ever communicating with him. the officers received him cordially; they had little doubt that he was the son of the murroch kennedy of dillon's regiment, although, after they separated, some wonder was expressed as to the reason why the latter had committed his fresh from ireland son to the care of so notorious a traitor as john o'carroll desmond had been specially introduced to two of the young lieutenants, patrick o'neil and phelim o'sullivan, and these took him off with them to their quarters. "and what is the last news from ireland? i suppose that the confiscations have ceased for the excellent reason that they have seized the estates of every loyal gentleman in the country?" "that was done long ago in the neighbourhood of kilkargan and, so far as i know, everywhere the feeling is as bitter as ever among those who have been dispossessed, and also among the tenants and peasantry, who have found themselves handed over to the mercies of dutchmen or other followers of will- iam. at kilkargan there was not that grievance; but although they had still one of the old family as their master, they could not forgive him for deserting to the side of the usurper, nor for changing his religion in order to do pleasure to william. certainly he can have derived but little satisfaction from the estates. he seldom showed himself out of doors, never with- out two or three armed servants, all of whom were strangers from the north, and he was often away for months together at dublin." "and what did you do with yourself?" "i fished, shot, and rode; i had many friends among the • gentry of the neighbourhood, who would doubtless have shown less kindness than they did had it not been for the neglect with which o'carroll treated me. his unpopularity was all in my favour. however, i have one good reason for being obliged to him, since it was through him that i ob- tained my commission. he told me that in his young days he had been at a french college with the duke. they had been great friends there, and he thought that, in memory of this, de noailles would procure me a commission." in the irish brigade "i suppose the real fact was, kennedy, that he was glad to get rid of you altogether?" "i think that is likely enough; he certainly raised no objection whatever to my going abroad, and seemed to think it natural that i should choose the irish brigade here in pre- ference to the british service. he said something unpleasant about its not being singular that i should be a rebel when i always associated with rebels, to which i replied that it seemed to me that i could hardly be blamed for that, seeing that my father had been what he called a rebel, and that i had lit- tle choice in the matter of my associates; and that if i had been educated at a school in england instead of by good fa- ther o'leary, i might have had other sentiments. he re- plied that my sentiments were nothing to him one way or the other. he was glad to wash his hands of me altogether; and, at any rate, if i went to france i could drink the health of king james every day without his being involved in my treason." "it almost looked as if he wished you to grow up a rebel, kennedy, or he would hardly have placed you in the charge of a priest. he may have reckoned that if there was another rising you might join it, and so be taken off his hands alto- gether." "whatever the reason was, i have certainly cause for satis- faction that he removed me from the care of the farmer's wife with whom he at first placed me, and arranged with the priest to take charge of me altogether. o'leary himself had been educated at st. omer, and was a splendid fellow. he was very popular on the country-side, and it was owing to my being with him that i was admitted to the houses of the gentry around, whereas had i remained in the farmhouse in which o'carroll first placed me, i should only have associated with the sons of other tenants." fresh from ireland "it loooked at any rate as if he wished to make a gentle- man of you, kennedy." "yes, i suppose my father had asked him to do so. at any rate i was infinitely better off than i should have been if he had taken me in at kilkargan, for in that case i should have had no associates whatever. as it was, i scarcely ever exchanged a word with him until that last meeting. he sent down by one of his servants the letter to the due de noailles, and a bag containing money for my outfit here, and for the purchase of a horse, together with a line saying that he had done his duty by me, and had no desire to hear from me in the future. i was inclined to send the money back to him, but father o'leary persuaded me not to do so, saying that i must be in a position to buy these things if i obtained a commission, and that no doubt the money had been given me, not for my own sake, but because he felt that he owed it to me for some service rendered to him by my father." "it was an ungracious way of doing it," o'sullivan said, "but in your circumstances i should have taken the money had it come from the old one himself. it is perhaps as well that it should have been done in such a manner that you may well feel you owe no great gratitude towards such a man." "and how did you get over here?" "there was no great difficulty about that. in spite of the activity of the english cruisers, constant communication is kept up between ireland and france, and fortunately i had, a short time before, made the acquaintance of one of your officers, who was over there in disguise gathering recruits for the brigade." "yes, there are a good many agents in ireland engaged in that work. there is no difficulty in obtaining recruits, for there is scarcely a young irishman who does not long to be m the iri h brigade with his countrymen who have won such credit out here, and many abstain from joining only because they do not know how to set about it. the work of the agents, then, is principally to arrange means for their crossing the channel. it is well that the supply is steadily kept up, for i can assure you every battle fought makes very heavy gaps in our ranks; but in spite of that, three fresh regiments have been raised in the last year, partly by fresh-comers from ireland, and partly by irish deserters from marlborough's regiments. but i am interrupting your story." "well, after leaving mr. o'carroll and making my pre- parations, i paid a visit to the cottage where the officer was staying in disguise, and told him that i wanted to cross. he gave instructions as to how to proceed. i was to go to a certain street in cork and knock at a certain door; when it was opened i was to say, 'the sea is calm and the sky is bright'. 'then', he said,' you will be taken in hand and put on board one of the craft engaged in the work of carrying our recruits across the water. you will be landed at st. malo, where there is an agent of the brigade who gives instructions to the recruits as to how they are to proceed, supplies them with money enough for the journey, and a man to accompany each party and act as interpreter on the way.' "i carried out his instructions, crossed the channel in a lugger with thirty young peasants bound also for paris, and on landing at st. malo took my place in the diligence for paris, having fortunately no need for an interpreter. on my presenting my letter to the marquis de noailles he received me with great kindness, and treated me as a guest until he had obtained me a commission in your regiment. now, when are we likely to go on active service?" "soon, i expect," o'neil said; "but whether we shall be sent to the peninsula or to flanders no one knows; in fact it fresh from ireland is likely enough that we shall for the present remain here un- til it is seen how matters go, and where reinforcements will be most required. it is but ten months since we came into garrison in paris, and we may therefore expect to be one of the last regiments ordered off. for my part, i am in no par- ticular hurry to exchange comfortable quarters and good liv- ing and such adventures as may fall to the lot of a humble subaltern for roughing it in the field, where, as has been the case ever since the brigade was formed, we get a good deal more than our fair share of hard work and fighting." "i should have thought that you would all have liked that," desmond said in some surprise. "enough is as good as a feast," the other said; "and when you have done a few weeks' work in trenches before a town you are besieging, stood knee-deep for hours in mud, soaked to the skin with rain, and with the enemy's shot coming through the parapet every half-minute or so, you will see that it is not all fun and glory. then, too, you see we have no particular interest in the quarrels between trance and ger- many. when we fight, we fight rather for the honour of the irish brigade than for the glory of france. we have a grudge against the dutch, and fight them as interested parties, see- ing that it was by his dutch troops that william conquered ireland. as to the english troops, we have no particular enmity against them. cromwell's business is an old story, and i don't suppose that the english soldier feels any par- ticular love for queen anne, or any animosity against us; and after all, we are nearer in blood to them than we are to the germans, austrians, or spaniards, for there are few even of our oldest families who have not many times since the days of strongbow intermarried with the english settlers. at any rate, there are still plenty of adherents of king james in england and scotland. we speak the same language and m the irish brigade form part of the same nation, and i own that i would rather fight against any foreign foe than against them." "so would i," desmond said heartily. "our only point of difference is that we don't agree as to who should be king. we want a catholic king, and the majority of the english want a protestant king. we have fought on the subject, and been beaten. next time we hope that we may succeed. if the king were to land in england again i would fight heart and soul in his cause; but whether the french beat the english in the present war, or the english beat the french, will not, as far as i can see, make much difference to king james, who, father o'leary tells me, is, in his opinion, sup- ported here by the french king from no great love for him- self, but because so long as james has adherents in ireland, scotland, and england, he is able to play him off against the english government." the other young men laughed. "for heaven's sake, kennedy, keep such sentiments as these to yourself. it is a matter of faith in our brigade that we are fighting in the cause of king james as against the english usurper. now that william is dead, and james's daughter on the throne, matters are complicated somewhat; and if the parliament had settled the succession after anne on her brother there might have been an end of the quarrel altogether. but now that they have settled it on sophia of hanover, granddaughter of james i., and her descendants, subject to the restriction that they shall be protestants, the quarrel does not seem likely to be healed." "this priest of yours must be a dangerous man," o'sulli- van said. "not at all. i can assure you he is devoted to the king; but as he told me, there is no use in irishmen always closing their eyes to the true state of things. he says that we must fresh from ireland rely upon ourselves and our loyal friends in scotland and england, but that he is sure the king will never be placed on his throne by french bayonets. a small auxiliary force may be sent over, but in all these years louis has made no real effort to assist him, and even if for his own purposes he sent a great army to england and placed him on the throne, he would not be able to maintain himself there for a month after the french had withdrawn, for even a rightful king would be hated by the people upon whom he had been forced by a foreign power, especially a power that had for centuries been regarded as their chief enemy. if he had been in earnest, louis would have sent over a great army instead of a few thousand men to ireland, when such a diversion would have turned the scale in our favour. as he did not do so then, he is not likely to do so in the future. the king is useful to him here by keeping up an agitation that must to some extent cripple the strength of england, but were a stuart on the throne he would have to listen to the wishes of the majority of his people, and france would gain nothing by placing him there. moreover, she would lose the services of twenty thousand of her best soldiers, for naturally the exiles would all return home, and what is now the most valuable force in the french service might then become an equally important one in the service of britain." "i am glad that this priest of yours remains quietly in kilkargan, for if he were to come here and expound his views among our regiments he might cause quite a defection among them. at any rate, kennedy, i should advise you not to take to propagating his views in the regiment. it would not add to your comfort or ours, and there are a good many hot- headed men who would take up the idea that you had been infected by o'carroll's principles." "it would not be well for anyone to say as much to my in the irish brigade face," desmond said. "father o'leary is loyal to the back- bone, although he has his own ideas as to the hopelessness of our obtaining any efficient help from louis. he thinks that it will be far better to trust to our friends at home, and that even did louis carry out his promises it would in the long run harm rather than benefit king james." "i am not saying that his view may not be correct, ken- nedy. i am only saying that the view would be a very unpopu- lar one among the brigade. we are fighting for france be- cause we believe that france in turn will aid in placing our rightful king on the throne, and if we once entertained the notion that louis was deceiving us, that he had no intention of helping us, and that if he did place james on the throne he would alienate all his sympathizers at home, we should ask ourselves of what use was it spending our blood in fighting the battles of france." "at any rate, i will take your advice, o'sullivan, and will keep my lips sealed as to father o'leary's views. as you see by my presence here, he has not convinced me, and as long as there is a hope that by the aid of a french army we may yet see our king come to his own again, i shall do my best to prove myself a faithful soldier of france. i have chosen my career with my eyes open. a loyal irishman cannot obtain employment, still less military employment, in his own country, and accordingly we are to be found fighting as soldiers of fortune in every country in europe. at least there is some chance that we may be benefiting the royal cause by fighting for the country that gave king james shelter and rendered him armed assistance in his struggle, with the usurper, and will probably give aid more or less efficient when the next attempt is made. in other countries we are but soldiers of fortune; in france we may regard ourselves as serving our own king by serving king louis." fresh from ireland "do you speak french well, kennedy?" o'neil said, changing the conversation abruptly. "yes. father o'leary took care of that, for i always said that i should take service abroad as there was clearly nothing else to do for a living, and consequently he generally talked to me in that language, and i speak it as well as i do english or irish." "you have not had much practice with the sword, i sup- pose?" "not so much as i could wish, though i never lost an opportunity of practising. there were several of the tenants who served in the regiment james o'carroll raised. i used to practise with them, but i shall lose no time in getting the best instruction i can here." "you may want it, kennedy. we are not particularly liked by the french officers, because we are generally chosen to lead an assault or for other desperate service. duelling is of course forbidden, but that in no way prevents duels from being frequent. as for fighting in action, as far as i have seen or heard, swordsmanship does not go for a great deal. if you press on hard enough, and there are men following you, the enemy give way generally before it comes to hand- to-hand fighting. if, on the other hand, they are the more numerous, and hold their position in the breach, it is the musketry that settles it. it is only when two officers happen to meet in a fierce fight that swordsmanship becomes of im- portance. "we have a good school in the regiment, and there are several famous masters of fence in the town, so i should advise you to give a couple of hours a day for a time to making yourself a first-rate swordsman. i have just left off. our maitre d'armes tells me i am too hot-headed ever to make a fine blade, but i should fancy, from the way you have been in the irish brigade arguing, that you are likely to be cooler than most of ub in a fencing bout. it is the fault with us all that we are apt to lose our tempers, and indeed maitre maupert, who is the best teacher here, declines absolutely to take any of us as pupils, saying that while we may do excellently well in battle, he can never hope to make first-class fencers of men who cannot be relied upon to keep their heads cool, and to fight with pointed weapons as calmly as they might fence with a friend in a saloon." "well, i shall work hard to become a fair swordsman," desmond said with a laugh. "i suppose there is plenty of time to spare." "plenty. we have a couple of hours' drill in the morning, and after that, except when you are officer of the day, you can spend your time as you like. the colonel and two of his officers attend at the king's levees when he is in paris, but as he spends the greater portion of his time at versailles we are seldom called upon for that duty." a few days after desmond's arrival the colonel took him with him to st. germain, where james iii, as his supporters called him, held a miniature court. the colonel presented desmond as a loyal subject of his majesty and a newly- joined cornet in his regiment. the young prince was a lad of eighteen. he was surrounded by a group of courtiers who had accompanied or followed his father into exile, and whose insistence upon treating him with the respect due to a mon- arch was in no slight degree galling to him, for as he often de- clared to the few friends he had about his own age, he had all the disadvantages of being a king without any of the advanta- ges. he was at once taken with the appearance of desmond kennedy. "ah, monsieur kennedy," he said, after the ceremony of presentation had been completed, "i wish that i had all my fresh from ireland faithful subjects of the irish brigade across the water with me, and that i could put on a uniform like yours and fight at their head for my rights." "i would that you had, sire; it would be a good day for us all; and believe me, that either in ireland or scotland you would soon find yourself at the head of an army many times more numerous than our brigade." "they all tell me that i must wait," the young prince said with a sigh, "but i have been waiting a long time now, and it seems no nearer than when i was a child. however, the king of france has promised me that it cannot be much longer, and that, when marlborough is defeated and his army driven back across the sea, he will send a fleet and an army to place me on my throne." "we shall all rejoice indeed when that time comes, sire, and i am sure there is not a man in the irish brigade who will not follow you to the death, and serve you as faithfully as many of them did your royal father." "i hope you will come here often, monsieur kennedy. i am sure that i shall like you very much, and i think that you would always say what you thought and tell me the real truth about things." "sire!" one of the older men exclaimed reproachfully. "i mean no reflection on any one, dillon. you all say what i am sure you feel, but you have grown accustomed to waiting, and all think of what is politic, and complain that i speak too frankly. monsieur kennedy comes straight from ireland, and he is not old enough yet to have learned to meas- ure his words, and will not be always afraid that anything he may say will be carried to the king. how i wish that the king would send me with marshal tallard!" "that would never do, sire. the english are your sub- jects, and they would never forgive you if you were to ap- es the irish brigade pear in the field with a french army, fighting against them." "but the irish brigade fight, dillon?" "yes, your majesty, but they are in the service of france, and by the terms of the treaty of limerick were allowed to expatriate themselves and to enter the french service. we have, in fact, renounced our nationality with the consent of the english, and if taken prisoners could only be treated as captured foes and not as traitors. of course when your majesty ascends the throne we shall again become british subjects." "i trust that that may come soon, dillon, and for your sake rather than my own. when the time comes you will not find me backward, but this weary waiting tries me sorely, and were it not for those who have remained faithful to our cause, i would gladly resign such chances as i have of succeeding to the throne of england and take a commission in the irish brigade." dillon and some of the elder men shook their heads. "can you wonder?" the young prince said passionately. "here is master kennedy, who is younger than myself, though a free life and exercise have made him a man in com- parison to me; he has his life before him, he will bear his part in many a pitched battle, and doubtless in many a private adventure. he is his own master, and as long as he does his duty there are none to say, you must not do that, you must not say that, you must preserve your dignity, you must speak softly and discreetly, you must wait patiently. i envy you, master kennedy, i envy you from the bottom of my heart! come often to see me, you will always be welcome;" and, turning abruptly away, he left the chamber hurriedly to conceal the tears which filled his eyes. his counsellors shook their heads solemnly, but colonel o'brien said warmly; fresh from ireland "what the king says is natural for a man of his age, and, for my part, it has increased my respect for him. i say it without offence, but what could be duller than the life this lad leads here? he has been brought up literally without a pleasure. his late majesty, heaven rest his soul! was absorbed in his religious exercises, and nothing could have been more trying to a boy than a court in which the priests and con- fessors were practically supreme. since his father's death things have been but little better, and now i see that at heart the young king has plenty of spirit and energy, i can feel that his life has been that of a caged hawk, and i am not surprised that he occasionally breaks out into revolt against it. it would, methinks, do him a world of good had he a few companions about his own age like ensign kennedy. i would even say that although i can quite understand that as king of england he could not well take a commission in one of our regiments, he might at least be placed with one of our most experienced and honoured colonels in order to learn miitary exercises and to mix with the officers as any other nobleman might do when attached to the regiment." murmurs of dissent arose among the counsellors. "well, gentlemen," the colonel went on, " i have no desire to interfere with your functions, but in my opinion it is good that a king should also be a general. did anyone think any the worse of dutch william that he was able to command his army personally? none of us can believe that king james will ever succeed to the inheritance of his fathers without fighting, and it would be well indeed that he should not appear as a puppet, but as one qualified to com- mand. it was the fault, or rather the misfortune, of his father that he was unfit to lead his troops in the field. had he been able to do so he would in all probability have died king of england instead of as a fugitive and a pensioner of (mm ) b in the irish brigade king louis. in one way it grieves me to see that the young king feels his position acutely, but, on the other hand, i am rejoiced to see that he is in no way lacking in spirit, and that he longs to be out of his cage and to try his wings for him- self. well, gentlemen, having had my say i will take my leave of you, as duty calls me back to my regiment. i trust that the frankness with which i have spoken will not be mis- understood." so saying, with a bow to the courtiers he left the room, followed by kennedy. "they mean well," he said, after they had mounted and ridden off at a gallop, " but it is a pity that these gentlemen, all loyal and honourable men as they are, should surround the young king. they suited well enough to the mood of his father, who was always wanting in spirit, and was broken down not only by the loss of his kingdom, but by the conduct of his daughters, and what with that and his devotion to religion he was rather a monk than a monarch. he believed —but most mistakenly—that he had a genius for politics, and was constantly intriguing with his adherents at home, nota- bly marlborough and other lords, from whom he obtained fair words and promises support, but nothing else. but though he could plan, he did not possess a spark of energy, and was one of the most undecided of men, though, like most un- decided men, he could be extremely obstinate, and unfortu- nately, the more wrong he was the more obstinately he held to his course. however, all this can make no difference in our devotion to the stuart cause; but i hail with satisfaction the prospect that in his son we may have one to whom we may feel personally loyal, for there can be no doubt that men will fight with more vigour for a person to whom they are attached than for an abstract idea." "i have heard father o'leary say the same, sir. his fresh from ireland opinion was that had the late king possessed the qualities that commanded the personal admiration and fidelity of his followers, and excited something like enthusiasm among the people at large, he would never have lost his throne, nor could he have led his armies as did gustavus or charles xii of sweden, would william of orange ever have ventured to cross to england." "it was a bad business altogether, lad. his cause was practically lost from the day that william set foot upon eng- lish soil; he had in reality no personal friends, and those who would have remained faithful to the cause were paralyzed by his indecision and feebleness. charles the martyr made many mistakes, but he had the passionate adherence of his follow- ers; his personality and his noble appearance did as much for him as the goodness of his cause, while his son james repelled rather than attracted personal devotion. i trust that his grandson will inherit some of his qualities. his outburst to- day gave me hope that he will do so. but one must not build too much on that. it may have been only the pettishness of a young man sick of the constant tutelage to which he is sub- jected and the ennui of the life he leads, rather than the earnestness of a noble spirit. of course, kennedy, i need not tell you that it would be well to make no mention to anyone of the scene that you have witnessed." "i shall certainly make no mention of it to anyone, sir. i am sorry indeed for the young king. his life must be a dread- ful one, conscious of the impossibility of breaking the bonds in which he is held, and knowing that his every word and action will be reported by spies to the king of france." for three months desmond kennedy worked hard at drill and sword exercise. he became a general favourite in the regiment owing to hh good temper, high spirits, and readiness to join in everything that was going on. he went over in the irish brigade several times to st. germain. at first the king's counsellors looked but coldly upon him, and he would have ceased to come there had it not been for the unaffected pleasure shown by the king at his visits. in time, however, two of the principal men at the little court requested him to have a conversation with them before going into the king's chamber. "you will understand, mr. kennedy," one of them said, when they had seated themselves in a quiet spot in the gar- den, " that we, standing in the position of his majesty's coun- sellors, are in a position of great responsibility. his majesty, as we admit is but natural, chafes over the inaction to which he is condemned by circumstances, and is apt at times to express his desire for action in terms which, if they came to the ears of king louis, as we have every reason to believe is sometimes the case, would do him and the cause serious injury. naturally we should be glad for him to have com- panions of his own age, but it behoves us to be most careful that such companionship should not add to our difficulties in this direction, and we should view with satisfaction a friend- ship between the young king and one who, like yoursef, is nearly of his own age and, as we can see, full of spirit and en- ergy. in these matters the king is deficient, but it would be bet- ter that he should for the present remain as he is, rather than that he should, in acquiring more manly habits, grow still more impatient and discontented with his position. "we have naturally taken some little trouble in finding out how you stand in your regiment, and we hear nothing but good of you you are much liked by your comrades, pay the greatest attention to your military exercises, and are regarded as one who will some day do much credit to the regiment, and we feel that in most respects your influence could not but be advantageous to the young king; but the good that this might do him would be more than balanced were you to render him fkesh from ireland still more impatient than he is for action. you may well suppose that we, exiles as we have been for so many years from our country, are not less impatient than he for the day of action, but we know that such action must depend upon the king of france, and not upon ourselves. we would gladly risk all in an effort to place him on the throne of england, to repair past injustices and cruel wrongs; but, were we to move without the assistance of louis, instead of achieving that object we might only bring fresh ruin, confiscations, and death upon the royalists of england, scotland, and ireland. are you of our opinion?" "completely so, sir. of course i know but little of what is passing save in the neighbourhood where i have been brought up; but i know that there, even among the king's most devoted adherents, there is a feeling that nothing can possibly be done until france lends her aid in earnest. the english army is far stronger than it was when we were last in arms and when william had to rely almost entirely upon his dutch troops and dutch generals, while the friends of the stuarts are almost without arms, without leaders, and without organization." "that is good, mr. kennedy; and if we were to sanction king james's forming an intimacy with you, can i understand that we could rely upon your not using your influence to add to his impatience for action and discontent with his present position?" "certainly, sir; being so recently from ireland i could assure him that even his most devoted adherents there are of opinion that no rising could be attended with success unless backed by french arms, and especially by the aid of the irish brigade, which has already won such renown for itself, and whose appearance would excite the greatest enthusiasm among all irishmen." in the irish brigade "in that case, mr. kennedy, so far from throwing any difficulties in the way of his majesty seeking-your companion- ship, we shall encourage him, and shall be glad to see you here as often as your military duties will permit." chapter h a valiant band rjlhe permission was not attended with the result that the young prince's counsellors had hoped. for a time james showed a lively pleasure when desmond rode over to st. ger- main, walked with him in the gardens, and talked to him alone in his private apartments, and professed a warm friendship for him; but desmond was not long in discovering that his first estimate of the prince's character had been wholly erroneous, and that his outburst at their first meeting had been the result of pique and irritation rather than any real desire to lead a more active life. upon the contrary he was constitutionally indolent and lethargic. there were horses at his command, but it was seldom indeed that he would take the trouble to cross the saddle although walking was distasteful to him. even when speaking of his hopes of ascending the throne of eng- land he spoke without enthusiasm, and said one day, " it is a pity that it cannot be managed without fuss and trouble. i hate trouble." "nothing can be done worth doing, without trouble, your majesty," desmond said sturdily. "it almost seems to me that if everything could be had without trouble it would not be worth having." "how do you mean, mr. kennedy?" "i may illustrate it by saying, sire, that no true fisherman would care about angling in a pond close to his house and so a valiant band full of fish that he had but to drop a baited hook into the water to bring up one immediately. the pleasure of fishing consists largely in the hard work that it demands; it is per- haps miles to a stream across the hills, and a long day's work may produce but a half-dozen fish, but these the angler prizes in proportion to the trouble he has had to get them. i think that were i born heir to a throne i would rather that it should cost me hardship, toil, and danger to obtain it, than walk into a cathedral a few days after my father's death and there be crowned." "i do not agree with you at all," james said, shortly; "if anything could not be had without toil, hardship, and dan- ger, as you say, i would willingly go without it." "then, sire, i can only hope that the toil and danger may be borne by your devoted followers, and that you may be spared them personally." james looked sharply up at his companion to gather whether the words were spoken sarcastically, but desmond's face, though flushed, was calm and serious. nevertheless, in- dolent as he was, james felt that the words were a reproof, that although he had at first liked him, there was in reality little in common between him and this energetic young fellow, and the next time he came he received him with much less cordial- ity than before; while desmond, who was beginning to tire of the companionship of one who lacked alike the fun and hu- mour and the restless activity of his comrades patrick and phelim, and who saw that the professions of james's friend- ship were but short-lived, came over to st. germain less fre- quently, until at last he only rode over with his colonel, or when some duty called him there. "so you have been a failure, master kennedy," the coun- sellor who had first spoken to him said one day, when the change in the king's manner became evident to them all. in the irish brigade "i am afraid bo, sir," desmond replied with a smile. "i have no doubt that it was my fault. perhaps i was not patient enough with him; but indeed my efforts to rouse him to take exercise, to practise in arms, and so on, were so ill received that i felt i was doing more harm than good." "i was afraid that it would be so," the other said regretfully. "you see, during his later years his father gave up his time almost entirely to religious observances, and consequently the lad's life was very dull and monotonous. constitutionally he undoubtedly takes after his father, who, with all his virtues, was at once indolent and undecided. we have observed with regret his disinclination to bestir himself in any way. seeing that we, who were his father's companions, are too old or too much disheartened to be lively companions for him, we had hoped that the talk of one of spirit and of his own age might have roused him to make some exertions to overcome his disinclination for anything like active exercise. i think now, however, that we were wrong, that the tonic was too strong, that he could not but feel that your abundance of spirits and life were too much for him, and that the companion he needs is one who could to some extent sympathize with him, and who could perhaps make more allowance for the manner in which he has been brought up. we do not blame you at all. i am sure that you have done your best. but it is evident that the contrast between you and himself has been too strong a one; and that, feeling he cannot hope to emulate your soldierly activity, he has come to resent it as a sort of reflec- tion upon himself." desmond was by no means sorry at being relieved of the necessity of paying frequent visits to st. germain. in the first place, he begrudged the time that was taken from his fencing lessons, at which he had worked enthusiastically; and in the next, he had felt, after two or three visits, that between a valiant band himself and the young king there was really nothing in com- mon. full of life and spirits himself, it seemed to him noth- ing short of disgraceful that one who aspired to rule should take no pains whatever to fit himself for a throne, or to culti- vate qualities that would render himself popular among a high-spirited people. and as he came to understand james more thoroughly, he had found his visits increasingly irk- some, all the more so as he felt their inutility. "thank goodness," he said to his two friends when he went home that day, "i have done with st. germain. i am as warm an adherent as ever of the cause of the stuarts, and should be perfectly ready, when the time comes, to fight my hardest for them; but i would vastly rather fight for the king than converse with him." "i suppose, by what i have seen of him, that he must be somewhat wearisome," phelim o'sullivan said with a laugh. "fortunately wit and gaiety are not essential qualities on the part of a monarch; but i must own that treasonable as it may sound, i fear his majesty is lacking in other qualities far more essential in a monarch. i should say that he is kindly and well disposed, he wishes to be fair and just, and may turn out a wise ruler; but he is altogether deficient in energy. i suppose there is no occasion for a king safely seated upon a throne to be energetic, but a prince in exile should possess the qualities that excite enthusiasm and bind men to him. possibly the qualities king james possesses would be highly valued by the scotch, but they would certainly fail to inspire our people." "yes," patrick o'neil agreed, "his father did more to ruin his cause in ireland that all william's dutch generals and troops together. it was disheartening to be risking life and possessions for a man who would do nothing for himself, whose indecision paralysed our leaders, and who, the moment in the irish brigade a reverse came, sought safety in flight instead of taking his place among the men who were devoted to his cause. i can un- derstand that in england, where the majority of those who professed to be devoted to him were betraying him, and were in secret communication with william, he should be by turns obstinate and vacillating; but in ireland, where every man who surrounded him was risking his life in his cause, he should have shown absolute confidence in them, listened to their advice, set an example of personal gallantry and courage, and at least remained among them until all was definitely lost. it was the desertion of james rather than the loss of the battle of the boyne that ruined his cause. "well, i am glad you are out of it, for it was a pity that you should be going without your work at the salle d'armes when you were making such progress that, the master re- ported, in a few months you would become one of the best swordsmen in the regiment." there were in paris many irish officers besides those be- longing to colonel o'brien's regiment. these were for the most part men who had been severely wounded in the prece- ding campaign, and who now remained in the capital with the depots of their regiments. these were constantly re- cruited by fresh arrivals from ireland, by which means the irish brigade was not only kept up to their original strength, in spite of the heavy losses they suffered in the engagements in which they had taken part, but largely increased its force, new regiments being constantly formed. naturally o'brien's corps, being the only complete regiment in paris at the time, was regarded as the head-quarters and general meeting- place of all the irish officers there, and as some of these had campaigned in flanders, in italy, and in spain, desmond learned from their talk and anecdotes far more of the doings of the brigade than he had hitherto known. from the first a valiant band they had, by their reckless bravery in almost every engage- ment that had taken place, so distinguished themselves that they received the highest commendation from the french generals, and were almost invariably selected for specially dangerous service. "i think the hottest affair i was ever engaged in," a major who had served in burke's regiment said one evening, when some ten or twelve of his companions had gathered at the room which was the general meeting-place of the officers of the corps, "was at the attack on cremona by eugene. you have all heard how our regiment and that of dillon distinguished themselves there, but you may not have heard particulars. the place was a strong one, and it was garrisoned by some men—all french with the exception of our two regiments. marshal villeroy was himself in command, an excellent officer, but, as is often the case in the french army, very badly served by his subordinates. "here, as you know, almost everything goes by influence; and the generals are surrounded by men who have been forced upon them by powerful persons whom they cannot afford to disoblige. the consequence was that, relying upon the strength of the place, no proper watch was set. there were guards, indeed, at the gates, but with no communication with each other; no soldiers on the ramparts; no patrols were sent out beyond the town, or maintained in the streets. no harm might have come of this had it not been that treachery was at work. there was a scoundrel who was brother of the priest of one of the parishes near the wall, and both were in favour of the enemy. the priest's residence was near a sewer which communicated with the moat outside the walls. the entrance was closed by an iron grating. were this removed, troops could enter by the sewer into the priest's wine-cellar. the priest, being promised a large sum of in the irish brigade money, set to work. first he laid a complaint before the gov- ernor that the sewer was choked with filth, which might be a source of disease to the town unless removed, and to do this it was necessary that the grating should be taken down. be- ing altogether unsuspicious of evil the governor granted his request. "as soon as the grating was removed eugene despatched eight miners, who crossed the moat at night, made their way up the sewer, and opened a communication between it and the priest's house. when all was ready four or five hundred picked grenadiers entered, and were concealed in the house of the priest and other adherents of the emperor. eu- gene set two strong bodies of picked troops in motion; the one was to enter by the st. margaret gate, which would be seized by the force already in the city; this column consisted of five thousand men. the second force of two thousand infantry and three thousand cavalry under the prince de vaudemont was to cross the river by a bridge of boats. we slept like stupid dogs; such watchmen as there were on the walls gave no alarm. the gate of all saints was seized, its guard being instantly overpowered, and a party of engineers broke down the gate of st. margaret, which had been walled up; and at daylight eugene rode into the town, followed by his troops and one thousand cavalry, while another mounted force watched the gate and the country round to prevent the escape of fugitives. "before any alarm was given eugene had established him- self at the hotel de ville, was master of the great street that separated half the garrison from the other half, had taken possession of the cathedral, and in fact the place was captured without a shot being fired. then the uproar began. parties of troops, led by natives of the town, seized a large number of officers at their lodgings; and as the alarm spread, the troops a valiant band seized their muskets and rushed out, only to be sabred and trodden down by the enemy's cavalry. i was asleep and dreaming when my servant rushed into my room and said: "' the germans are in possession of the town, captain.' "' you are a blathering idiot,' i said. "'it's true, your honour. get up and listen.' "very unwillingly i got out of bed and opened the window, and by the holy poker i found that pat was right. there was a sound of firing, shouting, and screaming, and i heard the gallop of a heavy body of horsemen, and directly after- wards a squadron of german cuirassiers came galloping down the street. "' it is time for us to be out of this, pat,' i said, and jumped into my clothes quicker than i had ever done before. "we went downstairs, and i borrowed two overcoats that we found hanging there, and put them on over our uniforms. then we went out by the back-door, and ran as hard as we could, keeping through narrow lanes, to the barracks. on my way i had to pass a barrier near a toll-gate. here there were thirty-six of our men under a sergeant. not knowing where the enemy were, or whether they were between me and the barracks, i thought it best to stay there, and of course took the command. just as i had done so i heard the tramp- ing of cavalry, and had the gate shut. we were just in time, for two hundred and fifty cuirassiers came galloping along. "their leader, baron de mercy, as soon as the troops began to enter st. margaret's gate, was ordered to dash round and capture the po gate, through which vaudemont's corps would, after crossing the bridge, enter the town. he shouted to me to surrender, promising us our lives. i told him that if ho wanted the place he would have to come and take it. he used language which i need not repeat, but he did not attack in the irish brigade us, waiting for the arrival of four hundred infantry who had been ordered to follow him. they were some time in coming up, having lost their way owing to the rascally native who was their guide being killed by a shot from a window. i was not sorry for the delay, for it gave us time to look at matters quietly, and prepare for defence. another six hundred cavalry now came up, and mercy placed them so as to cut off altogether the french cavalry, who were quartered away to the right; then he ordered the infantry to attack us. "our position was a good one; the barricade was formed of square piles driven into the ground with small narrow open- ings between them. i ordered the men to keep behind the timbers until the enemy came up. the germans opened a murdering fire as they approached, but though the bullets pattered like rain against the palisades, and whistled in between them, not a man was touched. i waited till they were within two paces, and then gave the word, and you may well guess that there was not a bullet thrown away, and the germans, mightily astonished, drew back, leaving nigh forty of their men behind them. then, falling back a bit, they opened fire upon us, but it was a game that two could play at. we could see them, but they could not see us; and while we loaded our muskets in shelter, they were exposed, and we picked them off by dozens. "the firing had of course given the alarm to our two regi- ments, who turned out just as they were, in their night-shirts. major o'mahony, who was in command of dillon's regiment, as lally was away on leave, luckily made his way in safety from his lodgings to the barracks, got his own men in order, while colonel wauchop, who commanded our regiment, took the command of the two battalions. fortunately a portion of the regiment had been ordered to fall in early for inspection, and this gave time for the rest to get into their uniforms; and a valiant band as soon as they were ready wauehop led them out and fell suddenly upon a portion of mercy's force, poured in a volley, and then charged them. horse and foot fell back before the attack. then they turned the cannon on the ramparts, and thus secured possession of the po gate, and, pushing on, the guns helping them, drove the austrians from the houses they occupied, and so opened communications with the french cavalry. "a brigadier now came up and ordered the battalions to barricade all the streets they had won with barrels and carts. a french regiment arrived and occupied the church of st. salvador and the battery which commanded the bridge, across which vaudemont's corps could now be seen approach- ing. the redoubt on the other side of the bridge was only held by fifty men, and they were now strengthened by a hundred of the french soldiers. the austrians approached, making sure that the town had already been taken, and look- ing out for a signal that was to be hoisted. their astonish- ment was great when a heavy musketry fire was opened upon them by the garrison of the outpost, while the guns of the battery on the wall plunged their shot in among them. "the column was at once halted. eugene had regarded the struggle as over, when news was brought to him of the de- feat of mercy's corps by the irish. everywhere else things had gone most favourably. marshal villeroy had been wounded and made prisoner; his marechal de camp shared the same fate. the chevalier d'entregues, who advanced to meet the enemy, was defeated and killed, as was lieutenant- general de trenan, and the spanish governor of the town mortally wounded. on receiving the news, eugene at once sent an officer to inspect the irish position; but his report was that they were too well placed to be driven from it. he then sent captain macdonnell, an officer in his service, to offer, if in the irish brigade the irish would leave their position, to enrol them in the aus- trian service, with higher pay than they now received. "you may guess the sort of answer he received, and he was at once arrested for bringing such a message to them. eugene then endeavoured to engage marshal villeroy to order the irish to lay down their arms, as further resistance would only end in their slaughter. villeroy simply replied that as a prisoner he could no longer give orders. during this pause the count de revel and the marquis de queslin succeeded in gathering together a considerable number of the scattered french infantry, and with these they marched to endeavour to recover the gates that had been lost, and having occupied the church of santa maria and a bastion near the gate of all saints, ordered the irish to leave a hundred men at the barricades, and with the rest to push forward to the gate of mantua. so i found myself in command of a full company. "o'mahony was now in command of the two regiments, as wauchop had been wounded. it was pretty hard work they had of it, and they suffered heavily in carrying the guard- house, held by two hundred austrians. eugene now launched a great force against our people, and attacked them on all sides, but o'mahony faced them each way, and received the charge of the cuirassiers with so heavy a fire that they fled in disorder. another corps of cuirassiers came up, and these charged with such fury that their leader, monsieur de frei- berg, pushed his way into the middle of dillon's regiment, where he was surrounded, and, refusing quarter, was killed, and his men, disheartened by the fall of their leader, fled, carrying with them the infantry who were ranged in their rear. "but our men were now exhausted by their exertions, and suffered heavily; and o'mahony, seeing that he was likely to be attacked by fresh troops, and that my post guarding a valiant band the approach of the po gate would then be left altogether unsupported, returned to it. i was glad enough when i saw them coming, for it was mighty trying work being left there and hearing the storm of battle going on all round, and know- ing that at any moment we might be attacked. they did not stop long, for orders came from revel, who had captured the gate of all saints and was preparing to attack st. margaret's, to march again to the gate of mantua. it seemed a hopeless enterprise. captain dillon of dillon's regiment marched out and, after hard fighting, drove the austrians from house to house; but on reaching a spot where the ground was open he was attacked on all sides, and for a time the enemy and our men were mixed up together in a melee." "i could hear by the sound of the firing that our men were returning, and posted my fellows so as to cover their retreat; and as they came back hotly pressed by the enemy, we opened so warm a fire that they passed in through the gate of the barrier in safety, but only half as strong as they had gone out. as soon as they were in, they aided us in strengthening the position. seeing that vaudemont's corps was on the point of attacking the redoubt, the marquis de queslin sent orders to the little garrison there to withdraw across the bridge and destroy the boats. this they effected in spite of the heavy fire kept up by the enemy. in the meantime fighting had been going on all over the town; the gate of mantua had been held by captain lynch of dillon's battalion and thirty-five men. as soon as he heard the din of battle in the town, he collected a few fugitives, entrenched his position at the guard-house, and maintained it for the whole day; not only that, but, find- ing that his position was commanded by a party of austrians who had taken post in the church of st. marie close by, he sal- lied out, drove them from the church, and maintained possession of that as well until, late in the afternoon, he was reinforced (mm ) c in the irish brigade by two companies of our regiment, who made their way this time without opposition. "the enemy fell back but not unmolested, as, sallying out, we pressed hotly upon them. there now remained only the gate of st, margaret in the hands of the austrians. here a large body of troops had been stationed, and succeeded in repulsing the repeated attacks made upon them by revel's force. the fight had now lasted for eleven hours, and the po- sition of the austrians had become critical. the desperate resistance of our men had entirely changed the position. they had repulsed every attack upon them, had given time for the scattered french to gather, and the one gate remaining in eugene's possession was seriously threatened. vaudemont's corps was helpless on the other side of the river, and could render no assistance, and eugene gave the order for his troops to retire, which they did in good order. it had been a hot day indeed for us, and we were only too glad to see them go. we had lost three hundred and fifty men out of the six hun- dred with which we began the fight; altogether the garrison had lost in killed, wounded, and in prisoners, fourteen hun- dred men and officers, while eugene's loss was between fifteen and sixteen hundred. "personally i have had hotter fighting, but taking the day altogether it was the most terrible through which i have ever passed. throughout the day we were in total ignorance of what was going on elsewhere, though we knew by the firing in other parts of the town that the french there had not been overpowered, and each time the regiments left us i was expecting every moment to be attacked by an overwhelming force; faith it was enough to make one's hair white! how- over, i have no reason to grumble. i obtained great praise for the defence of the barrier, and was given my majority; and if it had not been for the wound i received two years ago, a valiant band which incapacitated me from active service, i might now be in command of the regiment." "yes, indeed," another officer said, "it was truly a gallant affair; and although our men had fought equally as well in many another engagement, it was their conduct at cremona that attracted the greatest attention, and showed the french the value of the brigade. i would we had always been em- ployed in actions on which we could look back with the same pride and pleasure as we can upon cremona and a long list of battles where we bore the brunt of the fighting, and never failed to be specially mentioned with praise by the general. the most unpleasant work that i ever did was when under marshal de catinat. eight irish battalions were sent up in from pignerolle into the valley of la perouse to oppose the vaudois, who had always offered a vigorous resistance to the passage of our troops through their passes. they were wild mountaineers, and huguenots to a man, who had, i be- lieve, generations ago been forced to fly from france and take refuge in the mountains, and maintained themselves sturdily against various expeditions sent against them. "i own the business was not at all to my taste, and many others of our officers shared my opinions. it was too much like what we remembered so bitterly at home, when william's troopers pursued our fugitives to the hills, burning, destroy- ing, and killing, and, above all, hunting down the priests. this was the other way, but was as cruel and barbarous. the poor people had given no offence save that they held to their own religion. an irishman should be the last to blame another for that, and, seeing they had successfully opposed the efforts of the french to root them out, it was much against my will that i marched with my regiment. i hope that when it comes to fighting against regular troops, of whatever nationality, i am ready to do my work, but to carry fire and sword among in the irish brigade a quiet people in little mountain villages went against the grain. it seemed to us that it was to be a massacre rather than fighting, but there we were mistaken; it was the hardest work that i ever went through. it was impossible in such a country to move in large bodies, and we were broken up into small parties, which advanced into the hills, each under its own commander, without any fixed plans save to destroy every habitation, to capture or kill the flocks of goats, which afforded the inhabitants their chief means of subsistence, and to give no quarter wherever they resisted. "even now i shudder at the thought of the work we had to do; climbing over pathless hills, wading waist-deep through mountain torrents, clambering along on the face of precipices where a false step meant death, and always exposed to a dropping fire from invisible foes, who, when we arrived at the spot from which they had fired, had vanished and taken up a fresh position, so that the whole work had to be done over again. sometimes we were two or even more days without food, for, as you may imagine, it was impossible to transport provisions, and we had nothing save what we carried in our haversacks at starting. we had to sleep on the soaked ground in pitiless storms; many men were carried away and drowned in crossing the swollen torrents; our clothes were never dry, and the worst of it was, after six weeks of such work we felt that we were no nearer to the object for which we had been sent up than we were when we started. "it was true that we had destroyed many of their little villages, but as these generally consisted of but a few houses, only rough buildings that could be rebuilt in a few days, the gain was not a substantial one. we had, of course, killed some of the vaudois, but our loss had been much heavier than theirs, for, active as our men were, they were no match in speed for these mountaineers, who were as nimble as their a valiant band own goats, knew everything of the country, and could appear or disappear, as it seemed to us, almost by magic. it was a wretched business, and once or twice when our parties were caught in the narrow ravines they were overwhelmed by rocks thrown down from above, so that on the whole we lost almost as many men as we should have done in a pitched battle, gaining no credit, nor having the satisfaction that we were doing good service to france. "i hope i may never be employed in a business like that again. it was not only the vaudois that we had to fight, for, seeing that at first we were pushing forward steadily, the duke of savoy, under whose protection they lived, sent six hundred regular troops to assist them, and these, who were well commanded, adopted the same tactics as the peasants, avoiding all our attempts to bring on an engagement, and never fighting except when they had us to great advantage. as a rule our men were always dissatisfied when they received orders to fall back, but i think that there was not a man among us but was heartily glad when we were recalled to re- join catinat at pignerolle." the expedition, however, although altogether unsuccessful in rooting out the vaudois, created such terrible devastation in the mountains and valleys that the irish name and nation will long remain odious to the vaudois. six generations have since passed away, but neither time nor subsequent calamities have obliterated the impression made by the waste and deso- lation of this military incursion. "you were at blenheim, were you not, captain o'donovan?" "yes. a tough fight it was, and a mismanaged one. i was in the earl of clare's regiment, which, with lee and dorrington's battalions, was stationed with the force in oberglau in the centre of our position. it seemed to us and to our generals that our position was almost impregnable. it in the irish brigade lay along a ridge, at the foot of which was a rivulet and deep swampy ground. on the right of the position was the village of blenheim, held by twenty-seven battalions of good french infantry, twelve squadrons, and twenty-four pieces of cannon. strong entrenchments-had been thrown up round our posi- tion, but these were not altogether completed. blenheim, moreover, had been surrounded by very heavy and strong pali- sades altogether impassable by infantry, and as the allies could not hope to get cannon across the stream and swamps, it seemed to defy any attack. from oberglau the army of marshal de marcin and the elector stretched to the village of lutzingen. we had some five-and-twenty cannon at ober- glau. the weak point, as it afterwards turned out to be, was the crest between us and blenheim. considering that both the artillery and musketry fire from both villages swept the slope, and as in numbers we equalled the enemy, it was thought well-nigh impossible for him to cross the swamps and advance to the attack; and almost the whole of the french cavalry were massed on the crest in order to charge them should they succeed in crossing and try to ascend the slope. "at first the battle went altogether favourably. we had opposite to us the english, dutch, hanoverians, and danish troops under marlborough, while facing our left were prus- sians, imperialists, and other german troops under eugene. marlborough's danish and hanoverian cavalry first crossed, but were at once charged and driven back; then they tried again, supported by english infantry. then marlborough led up a still stronger force, drove back our light cavalry, and be- gan to ascend the hill. we were attacked by ten battalions— hanoverians, danes, and prussians, while the english bore against blenheim. the fighting at both places was desperate, and i must do the germans the justice to say that nothing could have exceeded the gallantry they showed, and that in a valiant band spite of the heavy fire we maintained they pressed up the slope. we remained in our intrenchments till it could be seen that the english were falling back from blenheim, whose palisade, manned by twenty-seven battalions of infantry, offered an obstacle that would have defied the best troops in the world to penetrate. "immediately this was seen, nine battalions, headed by our three regiments, leapt from the trenches and poured down on the germans. the enemy could not withstand our onslaught. two of their regiments were utterly destroyed, the rest suf- fered terribly, and were driven back. on the left marcin held his ground against all the attacks of eugene, and it seemed to us that the battle was won. however, it was not over yet. while the fierce fighting had been going on in front of oberglau and blenheim, marlborough had passed the whole of his cavalry and the rest of his infantry across the rivulet, and in spite of artillery and musketry fire these moved up in grand order, the infantry inclining towards the two villages as before, the cavalry bearing straight up the slope, and when they reached the crest charging furiously upon our horse stationed there. they were superior in numbers, but on this head accounts differ. at any rate they overthrew our cavalry, who fled in the greatest disorder, pur- sued by the allied horse. "the infantry poured into the gap thus made, blenheim was entirely isolated, and we were exposed to assault both in front and rear. nevertheless we repulsed all attacks until marcin sent orders for us to retire; then we sallied out, after setting fire to the village, flung ourselves upon the enemy, and succeeded in cutting our way through, our regiment forming the rear-guard. the whole of marcin's army were now in full retreat harassed by the allied cavalry, but when- ever their squadrons approached us we faced about and gave in the irish brigade them so warm a reception that they attacked less formid- able foes. as for the garrison in blenheim, you know they were at last surrounded by marlborough's whole force with artillery, and with the danube in their rear and no prospect of succour they were forced to surrender. it was a disastrous day, and i have not yet recovered from the wound i received there. had five thousand infantry been posted in a redoubt half-way between blenheim and oberglau, so as to give sup- port to our cavalry, the result of the battle would have been very different. still, i suppose that most battles are lost by some unlooked-for accident,—some mistake in posting the troops. we can only say that had the allied forces been all composed of such troops as those eugene commanded, they would have been beaten decisively, and that had, on the con- trary, eugene commanded such troops as those under marl- borough, marcin would never have held his ground." "how many british troops were there in the battle, cap- tain o'donovan?" "somewhere about twelve thousand, while the continental troops were forty-seven or forty-eight thousand. there is no doubt that they were the backbone of the force, just as we flatter ourselves that our three regiments were the backbone of the defence of oberglau." chapter eh a strange adventure tyhen the party broke up, o'neal and o'sullivan, as usual, came in for a quiet chat to desmond's room. "as we may be possibly ordered to spain," kennedy said, "i should like to know a little about what we are going to a strange adventure fight about; for although i know a good deal about the war in flanders, no news about that in spain ever reached kilkargan." "well, you know, of course," o'neil said, "that philip v. is a grandson of louis, and is naturally supported by france against the archduke charles of austria, who is competitor for the throne, and who is, of course, supported by england. six thousand english and dutch troops were sent to aid the archduke charles in his attempt to invade spain and de- throne philip. the king of portugal who is a member of the allied confederacy promised to have everything ready to co-operate with them. they found, however, on their arrival, that no preparations had been made, and they were accord- ingly distributed for a time among the garrisons on the fron- tier. philip on his part had not been so inactive, and two armies—the one commanded by the duke of berwick and the other by general villadarias—invaded portugal. berwick surprised and captured two dutch battalions, and then cap- tured portalagre, and compelled the garrison, including an english regiment of infantry, to surrender. "the allies, to make a diversion, sent general das minas into spain with fifteen thousand men, who captured one or two towns and defeated a body of french and spanish troops. the hot weather now set in and put a stop to hostilities, and the troops on both sides went into quarters. the general—i forget his name—who commanded the english and dutch contingent was so disgusted with the proceedings of the por- tuguese that he resigned his command, and the earl of gal- way was appointed in his place. the next year he crossed the frontier, captured several towns without much fighting, and invested badajos. here, however, a stern resistance was met with. galway's hand was carried off by a shot, and the french general (tesse) coming up in force to the relief of the town, in the irish brigade and the portuguese not arriving at all, the allies were obliged to fall back upon portugal. but philip was threatened from a fresh quarter. "in june the earl of peterborough sailed from portsmouth with five thousand men, and at lisbon took on board the archduke charles. at gibraltar some more troops were em- barked, and peterborough set sail for the coast of valencia. peterborough himself, one of the most daring of men, and possessed of extraordinary military talent, was in favour of a march upon madrid; but, fortunately for us,he was overruled, and commenced the siege of barcelona—a strong town garri- soned by five thousand good troops, while he himself had but a thousand more under his command. nevertheless, by a sud- den and daring attack he captured the strong castle of mont- juich which commanded the town, which was in consequence obliged to surrender four days later, and the whole of catalo- nia was then captured. st. matteo, ninety miles from barce- lona, which had declared for charles and was besieged by a large force, was relieved; and so brilliant were the exploits accomplished by peterborough with most inadequate means, that the spaniards came to the conclusion that he was pos- sessed by an evil spirit. "large reinforcements were sent from france, and king philip advanced upon barcelona and invested it by land, while a french fleet bombarded it by sea. peterborough hur- ried with a small force from valencia to aid the besieged, the matter being all the more important since charles himself was in the city. before his arrival, however, an english fleet ap- peared, and our fleet retired. philip at once raised the siege and retired to madrid. his position was indeed serious. lord galway was advancing from the frontier, and peterborough had gathered a force to co-operate with him. upon the approach of galway, philip and the duke of berwick retreated a strange adventure to the frontier. there they received great reinforcements and advanced against madrid, which was evacuated by galway, who marched away to form a junction with lord peterborough. "owing to the dilatory habits and hesitation of the aus- trian prince the junction was not effected for some time, and then in spite of the entreaties of the two english generals, he could not be persuaded to make a movement towards madrid. peterborough, whose temper was extremely fiery, at last lost all patience, abused charles openly, and then, mounting his horse, rode down to the coast, embarked upon an english ship of war, and sailed away to assist the duke of savoy. after his departure the ill feeling between the english force, the portu- guese, and the leaders of the spanish adherents of charles, increased, and they spent their time in quarrelling among themselves. they were without money, magazines, and almost without provisions. berwick was near them with a superior force, and they took the only step open, of retreating towards valencia, which they reached, after suffering great hard- ships, before berwick could overtake them. "french troops were poured into spain, while no reinforce- ments were sent from england. galway and the portuguese advanced to meet the duke of berwick, who was marching with a large army to occupy catalonia. the two forces met on the plain of almanza on the th of april. we and the spaniards were superior in number to the english, dutch, and portuguese. the battle was maintained for six hours. the portuguese infantry did little, but the english and dutch repulsed charge after charge even after the portuguese and spanish allies on both wings were defeated. but in the end victory remained with us. galway and das minas, the por- tuguese general, were both wounded, and five thousand of their men killed, and yet the dutch and english infantry held together. but on the following day, being absolutely with- in the irish brigade out supplies, some effected their escape and succeeded in reaching portugal, while the main body surrendered. va- lencia, saragossa, and other towns opened their gates to us, and for a time the cause of the archduke charles seemed lost. "our success was, however, balanced by the loss in the same year of the whole of the spanish possessions in italy. as yet, in spite of the disasters that had befallen him, the cause of charles was not altogether lost, for he received fresh promises of support from england, whose interest it was to continue the war in spain, and thus compel france to keep a considerable body of troops there instead of employing them against marlborough in flanders. galway and das minas were taken back to portugal in an english fleet after their disaster, and general stanhope, who, they say, is an officer of great military experience and talent, has been sent out to take the command; and as a portion of catalonia is still held for charles, there may yet be a good deal of hard fighting before the matter can be considered finally settled." "thank you, o'neil; i feel that i know something about it now. are there any of our regiments there?" "yes, three of them; there is also an irish regiment in the spanish service under colonel crofton;" and with this the talk ended for the night. after three months' work desmond was dismissed from drill and had obtained such a proficiency with the rapier that he felt that he could now relax his work and see something of the city, which he had been hitherto too busy to explore. he had seen the principal streets in the company of his comrades, had admired the mansions of the nobles, the richness of the goods exposed to view in the windows, and the gaiety and magnifi- cence of the dresses of the upper class. his friends had warned him that if he intended to go farther he should never do so alone, but should take with him his soldier servant, a a strange adventure trooper named mike callaghan. mike was some twenty-eight years old, strong and bony; his hair was red, and the natural colour of his face was obscured by a host of freckles; his eyes were blue, and his nose had an upward turn; his expression was merry and good-humoured, but there was a twinkle about his eyes that seemed to show that he was by no means wanting in shrewdness. "even in the daytime," o'neil said, " it is not safe for a man, if well dressed and likely to carry money in his pocket, to go into some quarters of the town. paris has always been a turbulent city, and, while it is the abode of the richest and noblest of frenchmen, it is also the resort of the rascaldom of all france. some streets are such that even the city guard would not venture to search for an ill-doer unless in consider- able force and prepared for battle. there are, of course, many streets both on this and the other side of the river where life and property are as safe as in the rue eoyal, which, by the way, is not saying much, for it was only three days ago that a man was assassinated there in broad daylight. he was a captain in the picardy regiment, and it was supposed that his murderer was a man who had been dismissed from the regi- ment with ignominy. but, whoever it was, he has got clear away, for your parisian citizen takes good care not to inter- fere in such matters, and no one thought of laying hands on the villain, although it is said he walked quietly off. "it is in the streets that i am speaking of that adventures may most easily be met with. here there are too many hotels of the nobles, with their numerous retainers, for it to be safe to commit crime, and the city guard are generally on the alert, for were harm to come to one of the gentlemen attached to the great houses, the matter would be represented to the king, and the city authorities would come in for a sharp reproof for their failure to keep order in the city; whereas anything in the irish brigade that happens among the bourgeois would pass wholly without notice. however, if you keep out of the wine-shops you are not likely to become involved in trouble. nine-tenths of the quarrels and tumults originate there. there is a dispute, perhaps, between a soldier and a citizen, or between soldiers of different regiments, and in a minute or two twenty swords are drawn, and the disturbance grows sometimes until it is necessary to call out troops from the nearest barracks to suppress it. however, i know that you are not likely to get into trouble that way, for you are a very model of moderation to the corps." "i have seen enough of the consequences of drink in ire- land," desmond said, "to cure me of any desire for liquor even if i had a love for it. faction fights involving the peo- ple of the whole barony, arising from some drunken brawl, are common enough, while among the better class, duels are common and, for the most part, are the result of some foolish quarrel between two men heated by wine. besides, even putting that aside, i should have given up the habit. when i joined the regiment i was anxious to become a good swords- man, but if one's head is overheated at night one's hand would be unsteady and one's nerves shaken in the morning. possibly," he added with a smile, " it is this, quite as much as the hotness of their temper.that prevents the best teachers from caring to undertake the tuition of the officers of the brigade." "possibly," phelim laughed, " though i never thought of it before. there is no doubt that the french, who, whatever their faults be, are far less given to exceeding a fair allowance of wine than are our countrymen, would come to their morning lessons in the saloon in a better condition to profit by the advice of the master than many of our men." "i don't think," patrick o'neil said, "that we irishmen drink from any particular love of liquor, but from good a strange adventure fellowship and joviality. one can hardly imagine a party of french nobles inflaming themselves with wine and singing, as our fellows do. frenchmen are gay in what i may call a feeble way—there is no go in it; there is no spirit in their songs, there is no real heartiness in their joviality, and the idea of one man playing a practical joke upon another, the latter taking it in good part, could never enter their heads, for they are ready to take offence at the merest trifle. as you know, there are certain cabarets told off for the use of the soldiers of the brigade. they are allowed to use no others, and no french troops are allowed to enter these wine-shops. similarly there are certain establishments which are almost exclusively patronized by officers of the brigade. there is, of course, no absolute rule here, and we can enter any cabaret we choose; but it is understood that it is at our own risk, and that if we get into trouble there, we are sure to be hauled over the coals pretty sharply, as it is considered that we must have gone there deliberately with the intention of picking a quarrel. the cabarets used by the men are all close to the barracks, so that in case of a fracas a guard is sent down to bring all concerned in it back to the barracks. fortunately, there is no need for the places we frequent being so close to the barracks, for it is understood that anyone who takes too much liquor outside his own quarters brings discredit on the regiment; and it is after we adjourn to the rooms of one or other of us that liquor begins to flow freely, and we make a night of it." "don't you ever have quarrels among yourselves?" "angry words pass sometimes, but all present interfere at once; the honour of the regiment is the first point with us all. if men want to quarrel there are plenty of french officers who would be quite ready to oblige them, but a quarrel among ourselves would be regarded as discreditable to the in the irish brigade corps. consequently a dispute is always stopped before it reaches a dangerous point, and if it goes further than usual, the parties are sent for by the colonel in the morning, both get heavily wigged, and the colonel insists upon the matter being dropped altogether. as the blood has had time to cool, both are always ready to obey his orders, especially as they know that he would report them at once to the general if the matter were carried further." "well, i shall certainly not be likely to get into a quarrel over wine," desmond said, "nor indeed in any other way, unless i am absolutely forced into it. as to adventures such as you speak of, i am still less likely to be concerned in them. i hope that when we are ordered on service i shall have a full share of adventure such as may become a soldier." o'neil smiled. "time will show," he said. "adventures come without being sought, and you may find yourself in the thick of one before you have an idea of what you are doing; but mind, if you do get into any adventure and need assist- ance, you are bound to let us help you. this is the compact we made two months ago. we agreed to stand by each other, to be good comrades, to share our last sous, and naturally to give mutual aid under all and every circumstance." desmond nodded. "at any rate, o'neil, adventures can- not be so common as you represent, since neither of you so far has called upon me for aid or assistance." "have you heard the last piece of court scandal, ken- nedy?" o'sullivan asked, as the three friends sat down to breakfast together a few days later. "no; what is it?" "well, it is said that a certain damsel—her name is at present a secret—has disappeared." "there is nothing very strange about that," o'neil laughed; "damsels do occasionally disappear; sometimes they have a strange adventure taken their fate into their own hands and gone off with some- one they like better than the man their father has chosen for them; sometimes, again, they are popped into a convent for contumacy. well, go on, o'sullivan, that cannot be all." "well, it is all that seems to be certain. you know that i went with the colonel last night to a ball at the hotel de rohan, and nothing else was talked about. several there returned from versailles in the afternoon, and came back full of it. all sorts of versions are current. that she is a rich heiress goes without saying. if she had not been, her disap- pearance would have excited no attention .whatever. so we may take it that she is an heiress of noble family. some say that her father had chosen as her husband a man she dis- liked exceedingly, and that she has probably taken refuge in a convent. some think that she has been carried off bodily by someone smitten both by her charms and her fortune. it is certain that the king has interested himself much in the matter, and expresses the greatest indignation. though, as it would not seem that she is a royal ward, it is not clear why ho should concern himself over it. some whisper that the king's anger is but feigned, and that the girl has been carried off by one of his favourites." "why should such a thing as that be supposed?" desmond asked indignantly. "well, there is something in support of the idea. if anyone else were to steal away, with or without her consent, a young lady of the court with influential friends, he would be likely to pass the first two years of his married life in one of the royal prisons; and therefore none but a desperate man, or one so secure of the king's favour as to feel certain that no evil consequences would befall him, would venture upon such a step. you must remember that there are not a few nobles of the court who have ruined themselves to keep up the lavish (m ) d in the irish brigade expenditure incumbent upon those who bask in the royal favour at versailles. it would be possible that his majesty may have endeavoured to obtain-the hand of this young lady for one of his favourites, and that her father may be a noble of sufficient consequence to hold his own and to express to his majesty his regret that he was unable to adopt his recom- mendation, as he had other views for the disposal of her hand. the real singularity of the matter is, that no one can tell with certainty who the missing lady is. early in the day half a dozen were named, but as i believe all of these put in an ap- pearance at the reception in the afternoon, it is evident that so far as they were concerned there were no foundations for the rumour. it may be taken for certain, however, that her friends are powerful people to have been able to impose silence upon those acquainted with the facts." "well, it is impossible to take very much interest in the story," desmond said carelessly," when we are in ignorance of the very name of the lady, and of the important point whether she has voluntarily gone away either with a lover or to a con- vent, or whether she has been carried off against her will. if the latter, you were talking of adventures, o'neil, and this would be just the sort of adventure that i should like, for us three to discover the maiden and rescue her from her ab- ductor." the others both laughed loudly. "and this is the young officer who the other day declared that he wished for no ad- ventures save those that came in the course of a campaign, and now he is declaring that he would like to become a very knight-errant and go about rescuing damsels in distress!" "i have no idea of carrying it into execution," desmond said; " it was merely an expression of a wish. of course if the lady in question went willingly and to avoid persecution, i would rather help than hinder her; but if she has been carried a strange adventcre off by some ruined courtier, nothing would please me better than to rescue her from him." several days had passed, and at last it was confidently believed that the missing lady was the daughter of baron pointdexter, a magnate of languedoc, who had but recently come up to court on an intimation from the king that it was a long time since he had been seen there, and that his majesty hoped that he would be accompanied by his daughter, of whose beauty reports had reached him. it was certain that neither she nor her father had attended any of the receptions or fetes at versailles since the rumour first spread, although the baron had had a private interview with the king a few hours after- wards, and had left his chamber with a frowning brow that showed that the interview had not been a pleasant one. he had not again appeared at court, whether in consequence of the royal command or not no one knew. the baron was one of the richest proprietors in the south of france. he was a specimen of the best type of the french nobles, preferring to spend his time among his own wide estates to coming up to the capital, where his visits had at all times been rare. during the daytime desmond went out but little. when the hours of drill and exercise were over, he spent some time in visiting the quarters of the men of his company, making their personal acquaintance, and chatting freely with them. they were glad to hear from him about their native country; and as some of them came from his own neighbourhood, they took a lively interest in the news—the first that had reached them for years—of families with whom they were acquainted. he spent two or three hours in the afternoons in the salle d'armes of the regiment, of the schools of one or other of the maitres d'armes most in vogue, and then paid visits with one or other of the officers of the regiment to great houses of which they had the entree. of an evening he went out, accompanied by in the irish brigade mike callaghan, and wandered about the less fashionable part of the town, which pleased him better than the more crowded and busy quarters. one evening he had gone farther than usual, had passed through the gates, and had followed the road by the banks of the river. as an officer in uniform he was able to re-enter the town after the gates were closed, the rules being by no means strict, as, during the reign of louis xiv, france, though en- gaged in frequent wars abroad, was free from domestic trou- bles. presently he passed a lonely house of some size standing back from the road and surrounded by a high wall. as he did so, he heard a scream in a female voice, followed by angry exclamations from two male voices, while loudly rose a woman's cries for help. "there is bad work of some sort going on in there," he said to mike; "we had better see what it is all about. do you go round the wall by the right and i will go round by the left, and see if there is any way by which we can climb over." they met at the back of the house; the wall was unbroken save by the gates in front. "the wall is too high for us to climb, mike," desmond said. "even if i stood on your head i could not reach the top; let us go round to the front again." they returned and closely scrutinized the gate. it was not so high as the wall itself, but was fully twelve feet. "i have got a pistol with me, your honour," mike said. "i have seen doors blown in by firing a gun through the key- hole." "that would do if we were sure that there were no bars, mike; but the chances are that it is barred as well as locked. besides, i am sure that we should not be justified in blowing in the door of a private house. it may be that they were the a strange adventure cries of a mad woman. i would rather get over as quietly as possible." "well, sir, i will stand against it, and if you will get on to my shoulders and put your foot on my head, you will reach the top. then if you lower one end of your sash to me i can pull myself up beside you." "yes, i think we can manage it that way, mike. i am convinced that there is something wrong going on here and i don't mind taking the risk of getting into a scrape by inter- fering. now do you stoop a bit so that i can get on to your shoulder; then you can raise yourself to your full height. take off your hat first; i shall certainly have to put my foot on your head." "all right, your honour; don't you be afraid of hurting me; my skull is thick enough to stand the weight of two of you." in a minute desmond had his fingers on the top of the gates, drew himself up, and, moving to the corner where he could get his back against the end of the wall, lowered his sash to mike. "you are sure i shall not pull you down?" "i am not sure, but we will try, anyhow." this was said in a whisper, for there might, for anything ho knew, be two or three men in the garden. mike took off his boots so as to avoid making a noise. desmond was sitting astride of the gate and had his end of the sash over the top of it and under his leg, thereby greatly reducing the strain that would be thrown on it, and then leaning with all his weight on it where it crossed the gate. mike was an active as well as a strong man, and speedily was by his side. "now we will drop down," desmond said, and, setting the example, lowered himself till he hung by his hands, and then dropped. mike was soon beside him. in the irisb brigade "what shall we do next?" "we will go and knock boldly at the door; but before we do that, we will unbar the gate and shoot the bolt of the lock; we have no idea how many men there may be in the house. maybe we shall have to beat a retreat." the lock was shot without difficulty, but the bolts were still fast, and were not drawn without noise. they pushed back the last of these, and then opened the gates, which creaked noisily as they did so. "they can hardly help hearing that," desmond muttered; and indeed, as he spoke, the door of the house opened suddenly, and five men came out, two of them holding torches. a man who seemed to be the leader of the party uttered an exclamation of fury as the light fell upon the figures of the two men at the open gate. "cut the villains down!" he shouted. "stop!" desmond cried in a loud voice. "i am an officer of o'brien's regiment of foot. i heard a scream and a wo- man's cry for help, and, fearing that foul play was going on, i made my entry here." the man who had drawn his sword paused. "you have done wrong, sir. the cries you heard were those of a mad woman. you had better withdraw at once. i shall report you to-morrow for having forcibly made an entrance into private premises." "that you are perfectly at liberty to do," desmond replied quietly; "but certainly i shall not withdraw until i see this lady, and ascertain from herself whether your story is a true one." "then your blood be on your own head!" the man said. "at them, men! you know your orders,—to kill anyone who attempted to interfere with us, no matter what his rank." the fivo men rushed together upon the intruders. a strange adventure "hold the gate, mike," desmond said, "and they cannot get behind us." they stepped back a pace or two and drew their swords. the position was a favourable one, for the two halves of the gate opened inwards and so protected them from any but an attack in front. the leader rushed at desmond, but the latter guarded the sweeping blow he dealt at him, and at the first pass ran him through the body; but the other four men, enraged rather than daunted by the fall of their leader, now rushed forward together, and one of them, drawing a pistol, fired at desmond when within three paces. the latter threw his head on one side as he saw the pistol levelled. the action saved his life, for it was well aimed and the bullet would have struck him full between the eyes. as it was, he felt a sharp sudden pain as it grazed his cheek deeply. he sprang for- ward, and before the man could drop the pistol and change his sword from the left hand to the right, desmond's weapon pierced his throat. at the same moment mike cut down one of his assailants with his sabre, receiving, however, a severe cut on the left shoulder from the other. paralyzed at the loss of three of their number, the remaining two of the assailants paused for a moment. it was fatal to one of them, for mike snatched his pistol from his pocket and shot the man who had wounded him, dead. the other threw down his sword and fell upon his knees crying for mercy. "shall i kill him, your honour?" "no; fasten his hands behind him with his own belt, and bind his ankles tightly together with that of one of his com- rades." he paused, while mike adroitly carried out his instructions. "now we will see what this is all about," desmond said. "i don't suppose that there are any more of them in the house; still, we may as well keep our swords in readiness." in the irish brigade picking up one of the torches that had fallen from their assailants' hands, and holding it above his head with his left hand while his right held his sword ready for action, desmond entered the house. the sitting-rooms on both sides of the hall were empty, but upon entering the kitchen he found an old woman crouching in a corner in the extremity of fear. "stand up; i am not going to hurt you," desmond said. "lead us at once to the chamber of the lady we heard call out." the old woman rose slowly, took down a key hanging from a peg, and, leading the way upstairs, opened a door. "keep a watch upon the crone," desmond said as he en- tered. as he did so his eye fell upon a girl of some seven- teen years old. she was standing at the window with her hands clasped. she turned round as he entered, and as her eye fell upon his uniform she gave a cry of delight. "ah, monsieur, you have rescued me! i heard the fight in the garden, and knew that the good god had sent someone to my aid. but you are wounded, sir; your face is streaming with blood." "'tis but the graze of a pistol ball," he said, "and needs but a bowl of water and a strip of plaster to put it right. i had well-nigh forgotten it. i am glad indeed to have been able to render you this service, mademoiselle. it was most providential that i happened to come along the road and heard your screams and cries for aid; and i determined to see if any foul business was being carried on here. what made you call out?" "i had let myself down from the window by knotting the bed-clothes together. i was blindfolded when they carried me in here, and did not know that the walls were so high all round, but had hoped to find some gate by which i might escape. there were only the great gates, and these were desmond's weapon tierced his tiiroat. a strange adventure locked, and i was trying to draw the bolts when two of the men suddenly rushed out. i suppose the old woman came up here and found the room empty. it was then that i screamed for help, but they dragged me in in spite of my struggles, and one said i might scream as much as i liked, for there was not a house within hearing, and no one would be passing any- where near. when he said that, i quite gave up hope. i had believed that i was in some lonely house in the suburbs of the city, and i little thought that my cries could not be heard. but where are the men who guarded me?" "four of them are dead, mademoiselle, and the other securely bound. now, if you will tell me who you are and where your friends live, i and my soldier servant will escort you to them." "my name is anne de pointdexter." desmond was scarcely surprised, for the care which had been taken in choosing so lonely a spot for her concealment, and the fact that an officer and four men should be placed there to guard her, showed that she must have been regarded as a prisoner of importance. "then i am glad indeed to have been the means of rescu- ing you. all paris has been talking of your disappearance for the past ten days. the question is, what would you wish done? it is too far to take you to versailles to-night, and too late to obtain means of conveyance." "there is a carriage in the stables behind the house, and there are some horses. i cannot say how many, but at night i have heard them stamping. i suppose the carriage was left here so that they could remove me to some other place in case suspicion should fall upon this house. how many are there of you, monsieur?" "only myself and the trooper you see at the door." "and did you two fight with five men and kill four of in the iri h brigade them " she exclaimed in surprise. "how brave of you, monsieur, and how good to run such risk for a person of whom you knew nothing!" "i knew that it was a woman in distress," desmond said, "and that was quite enough to induce two irishmen to step in and answer to her cry for aid. however, mademoiselle, if the carriage and horses are there, this will get us out of our difficulty. the only question is, will you start at once or wait until daylight? we may be stopped by the patrols as we approach versailles, but i have no doubt that my uniform will suffice to pass us into the town, where probably your father is still lodging." "i would much rather go at once," the girl said; " there are others who come sometimes at all hours of the night." "very well then, we will see about getting the carriage ready at once. if you will come downstairs we will lock this old woman up in your room." this was done at once, and the girl, who was so shaken by her captivity that she feared to remain for a moment by herself, accompanied her rescuers to the back of the house. here, as she had said, they found a carriage and four horses, two of which stood ready saddled, while the others were evidently carriage horses. these were speedily harnessed and put into the carriage. "now, mike, you had better drive. i will mount oue of these saddle-horses and ride alongside. i think, mademoiselle, as the drive will be a long one, it would be as well that we should put the old woman in the carriage with you. she will be a companion, though one that you would not take from choice. still, your father may wish to question her, and indeed it would be better in many respects that you should have a female with you." "thank you, monsieur kennedy,"—for she had already a strange adventure learned his name—she said gratefully, "it would certainly be much better." the old woman was therefore brought down and made to enter the carriage and seat herself facing mademoiselle pointdexter. mike took his seat on the box and desmond mounted one of the saddle-horses and led the other. they had already removed the bodies that lay in front of the gates. they had to make a considerable detour round paris before they came down upon the versailles road. the roads were bad and the carriage was heavy, and daylight was already breaking when they entered the town. they had twice been stopped by patrols, but desmond's uniform had sufficed to pass them. baron pointdexter had taken up his abode in a large house standing in a walled garden in the lower part of the town. when they reached it desmond dismounted and rung the bell. after he had done this several times a step was heard in the garden, and a voice asked roughly, "who is it that rings at this hour of the morning?" mademoiselle pointdexter, who had alighted as soon as the carriage stopped, called out, "it is i, eustace." there was an exclamation of surprise and joy, bolts were at once drawn and the gate thrown open, and an old servitor threw himself on his knees as the girl entered, and, taking the hand she held out to him, put it to his lips. "ah, mademoiselle," he said, while the tears streamed down his cheeks, "what a joyful morning it is! we have all suffered, and monsieur le baron most of all. he has spokf-n but a few words since you left, but walks up and down the garden as one distraught, muttering to himself, and some- times even drawing his sword and thrusting it at an invisi- ble enemy. he is up, mademoiselle; he has never gone to his bed since you were missing." as he spoke, the door of the house opened and the baron in the irish brigade hurried out, with the question, " what is it, eustace?" then, as his eye fell on his daughter, he gave a hoarse cry, and for a moment swayed as if he would have fallen. his daughter ran up to him and threw her arms round his neck. ''do you return to me safe and well?" he asked, as, after a long embrace, he stepped back and gazed into her face. "quite safe and well, father." "the lord be praised!" the baron exclaimed, and, drop- ping into a garden-seat by his side, he burst into a passion of sobbing. as soon as he appeared desmond had handed over the old woman to eustace. "she is a prisoner—keep a watch over her," he said; "she can tell much. we will take the carriage round to a stable, and must then return at once to paris, where i must be on duty at seven. please inform the baron that i shall do my- self the honour of calling to-morrow to enquire whether mad- emoiselle pointdexter has suffered from the effects of the fa- tigue and excitement. express my regret that i am obliged to leave at once, but i am sure he will have so much to hear from his daughter that it is best they should be alone to- gether for a time." * he at once remounted his horse, mike climbed up on to his seat, and they drove off, and, knocking up the people at some large stables, left the carriage and horses there, telling the proprietors to send to the baron pointdexter to know his wishes regarding it. then mike mounted the spare horse, and they started at full speed for paris, and arrived at the barracks in time for desmond to take his place at the early parade. at versailles chapter iv at versailles rjhe regiment was on the point of falling in on the parade ground when desmond kennedy rode up. leaping from his horse he threw the reins to his servant. "take them both round to the stables and put them in spare stalls, mike. i will get leave off parade for both of us, and ask the surgeon to dress your wounds properly." then he went up to the colonel, who was just entering the barrack-yard. "colonel o'brien," he said, "i must ask your leave off pa- rade, for, as you see, i am scarcely in a condition to take my place with my company." "so it would seem, mr. kennedy. you have been in trouble, i see. nothing serious, i hope?" "nothing at all, sir, as far as i am concerned. it is merely a graze from a pistol ball." "well, i must hear about it afterwards." "i must also ask leave off parade for callaghan, my ser- vant, sir. he is hurt a good deal more than i am, though not, i hope, seriously." the colonel nodded. "i will send the surgeon to your quarters and he will see to you both." as desmond left the colonel his two chums came up. "why, kennedy, what on earth have you been doing to yourself? this is what comes of gallivanting about after dark. when we came round yesterday evening to go out with you as usual, you were not in. there was nothing very unusual in that, for these evening walks of yours are often prolonged; but we called again on our return at eleven o'clock and found you were still absent. this looked serious. in the irish brigade we came round again at six this morning, for we were anx- ious about you, and learned you had not been in all night, and, on enquiring, heard that callaghan was also absent. that was cheering. that you might get into some scrape or other, we could reasonably believe; but, as you had your man with you, we could hardly suppose that misfortune had fallen upon both of you." "the wound is a mere graze. i will tell you after parade what i have been doing," desmond said, " but you must nurse your curiosity till you are dismissed." a few minutes after desmond reached his quarters the surgeon came in. "i do not think that i have any need of your services, doctor. i got a piece of plaster and stuck it on two hours ago, and i have no doubt that the wound will heal in a few days." "however, i will, with your permission, take it off, mr. kennedy. it is much better that the wound should be properly washed and some dressing applied to it. it will heal all the quicker, and you are less likely to have an ugly scar. "it is a pretty deep graze," he said, after he had carefully removed the plaster. "an eighth of an inch farther and it would have made your teeth rattle. you had better keep quiet to-day. to-morrow morning, if there is no sign of inflammation, i will take off the dressing and bandage and put on a plaster—one a third of the size that i took off will be sufficient; and as i will use a pink plaster, it will not be very noticeable if you go outside the barracks. where is your man? the colonel told me there were two patients. "a nasty cut," he said, after examining mike's wound. "it is lucky that it was not a little higher. if it had been, you would have bled to death in five minutes. as it is, it is not serious. you will have to keep your arm in a sling for a at versailles fortnight. you are not to attend parade or mount a horse until i give you leave." on the ride from. versailles desmond had warned mike to say no word as to the events of the night. "i do not know what course the young lady's father may take," he said, " and until i do, the matter had better be kept a secret alto- gether." "i will keep a quiet tongue in my head, and no one shall hear anything from me as to how got this slice on my shoulder. i will just say that it was a bit of a scrimmage i got into with two or three of the street rascals; and the thing is so common that no one is likely to ask any further ques- tions about it." after the parade was over, o'neil and o'sullivan came up to desmond's quarters. "now, master kennedy, we have come to receive your confession. we gave you credit for be- ing a quiet, decent boy, and now it seems that you and that man of yours have been engaged in some disreputable riot, out all night, and coming in on two strange horses, which, for aught we know, have been carried off by force of arms." desmond laughed. "as to the horses, you are not so far wrong as one might expect, o'neil. we rode them this morning from versailles." "from versailles!" o'neil repeated. "and what in the name of all the saints took you to versailles? i am afraid, desmond, that you are falling into very evil courses. well, tell us all about it. i shall be glad to be able to believe that there is some redeeming feature in this strange business." desmond laughed, and then said more seriously, "well, i have had an adventure. other people were concerned in it as well as myself. i have made up my mind to tell you both, because i know that i can depend upon your promises to keep it an absolute secret." in the irish brigade "this sounds mysterious indeed," o'sullivan said. "how- ever, you have our promises; o'neil and i will be as silent as the grave." "well, then, you know how you were chaffing me the other day about finding mademoiselle pointdexter—" "you don't mean to say that you have found her, ken- nedy?" o'neil exclaimed incredulously. "that is what i mean to say, though found is hardly the word, since i was not looking for her, or even thinking of her at the time. still, in point of fact i accidentally came across the place where she was hidden away, and after a sharp skir- mish, in which callaghan and i each had to kill two men, we carried her off and delivered her safely to her father this morn- ing." the two young officers looked hard at desmond to discover if he was speaking seriously, for his tone was so quiet and matter-of-fact that they could scarce credit that he had passed through such an exciting adventure, and the three were so accustomed to hoax each other that it struck them both as simply an invention on the part of their comrade, so abso- lutely improbable did it seem to them. "sure you are trying to hoax us, kennedy," o'sullivan said. "you could not blame me if i were," desmond said with a smile, " considering the cock-and-bull stories that you are con- stantly trying to palm off on me. however, you are wrong now. i will tell you the affair just as it happened." and he re- lated in detail the story of the rescue of mademoiselle point- dexter, and the manner in which he had conveyed her to versailles. "by st. bridget, kennedy, we were not far wrong when we called you a knight-errant. well, this is something like an adventure, though whether it will end well or ill for you i at yersailles cannot say. did you learn the name of the person who had the girl carried off?" "no; i asked no questions, and indeed had but little con- versation with her; for, as i have told you, i put her in a car- riage with the old hag who was in charge of her, and rode my- self by the side of it in case the pld woman should try to es- cape." "a truly discreet proceeding, kennedy," o'neil laughed. "i think, if i myself had been in your place, i should have taken a seat inside also, where you, of course, could at once have watched the old woman and talked with the young one." "i don't think that you would have done anything of the sort, o'neil," desmond said gravely, " but would have seen, as i did, that it was better that she should travel alone with the old woman till she reached her father's house. scandal will be busy enough with her name in any case, and it is as well that it should not be said that she arrived home in a carriage with a young officer of o'brien's irish regiment." "by my faith, kennedy, it seems to me that you are a st. anthony and a bayard rolled into one; but, seriously, you are undoubtedly right. well, it all depends on who was the man who carried her off, as to whether you were fortunate or un- fortunate in thus having thwarted his designs. if he is some adventurer your action will gain you heaps of credit. h, on the other hand, it was one of the king's favourites seeking to mend his fortunes by marrying, it is probable that you will have made a dangerous enemy,—nay, more, have drawn upon your- self the king's displeasure. i should think it likely that before attempting so desperate an action as the carrying off of the baron pointdexter's daughter, such a man would have assured himself that the king would not view the enterprise with dis- pleasure. we may assume that he would not inform his ma- de m ) a in the irish brigade jesty of any particulars, but would put it hypothetically, that as he was getting into sore straits he thought of mending his fortunes by carrying off an heiress—not, of course, one of those of whose hands the king had the disposal; and that he trusted that if he succeeded, his majesty would not view the matter as a grave offence. from what i know of louis he would reply gravely: 'i should be obliged (duke or viscount, as the case might be) to express very grave displeasure, and to order you to leave the court for a time; but as the harm would be done, and the young lady married to you, it might be that in time i should pardon the offence.' if this is how things have gone, you may be sure that the king will not view with satisfaction the man who has interfered with his favourite's plan for mending his fortunes." desmond shrugged his shoulders. "the king's dissatisfac- tion would matter very little to me," he said, " especially as he could not openly manifest it without making it apparent that he had approved of the scheme." "it is not such a trifle as you think, kennedy. lettres de cachet are not difficult to obtain by powerful members of the court, especially when the person named is a young regimen- tal officer whose disappearance would excite no comment or curiosity save among the officers of his own regiment. the man who carried off mademoiselle pointdexter must be a bold fellow, and is likely to be a vindictive one. no doubt his object was to keep the young lady a prisoner until she agreed to marry him, and the loss of a pretty bride with a splendid fortune is no trifling one, and likely to be bitterly resented. whether that resentment will take the form of obtaining an order for your confinement in the bastille or other royal pris- on, or of getting you put out ot the way by a stab in the back, i am unable to say, but in any case i should advise you strongly to give up your fancy for wandering about after at versailles dark; and when you do go out, keep in the frequented portions of the town. jack farquharson, who was at versailles with the colonel last week, was speaking of mademoiselle pointdex- ter, and said that she was charming. did you find her so?" "i thought nothing about it one way or the other," des- mond said carelessly; "i only saw her face by torch-light, and she was, of course, agitated by what had happened; and indeed, as i was busy helping mike to yoke the horses to the carriage, i had scarcely time to look at her. when we reached versailles it was barely daylight. i handed her out of the car- riage, and left her to enter by herself, as i thought it was better that she should meet her father alone. i do not think that i should recognize her were i to meet her in the street." "most insensible youth!" o'sullivan said with a laugh; "insensible and discreet to a point that, were it not assured, none would believe that you had irish blood in your veins. and so you say you are going over to versailles to-morrow?" "yes; i left a message with the servant who opened the door to that effect. of course i shall be glad to know if the baron intends to take any steps against his daughter's ab- ductor, or whether he thinks it best not to add to the scandal by stirring up matters, but to take her away at once to his es- tates." he is in a difficult position," o'neil said gravely. "the young lady has been missing for a fortnight; no one knows whether she went of her own free-will or against it. were her father to carry her off quietly it would excite the worst suspicions. better by far lodge his complaint before the king, proclaim his grievances loudly everywhere, and tell the story in all its details. whichever course he takes, evil- minded people will think the worse; but of the two evils, the latter seems to me to be the lesser." in the irish brigade "i suppose it would be," desmond agreed, " though for my part i should be heartily glad if i never heard another word about it." "you are too modest altogether, kennedy. whatever rumours may be current concerning the young lady, there can be no doubt that you come out splendidly, in that you hear a cry of a woman in distress; you scale walls to get in to her assistance; you and your servant encounter five of her guards, kill four of them and bind the other; rescue the maiden, and carry her off with flying colours in the carriage of her ab- ductor. my dear kennedy, you will become an object of ad- miration to all the ladies of the court." "that will be absolutely disgusting," desmond said angrily; "it is almost enough to make one wish that one had never interfered in the affair." "pooh, pooh, kennedy! i am sure that either o'sullivan or myself would give, i was going to say a year's pay, though how one would exist without it i don't know, to have been in your place. why, man, if you had captured a standard in battle after feats of superhuman bravery, you would not attract half the attention that will fall to you as a consequence of this adventure. life in the court of his most christian majesty is one of the most artificial possible. the women hide their faces with powder and patches, lace themselves until they are ready to faint, walk with a mincing air, and live chiefly upon scandal; but they are women after all, and every woman has a spice of romance in her nature, and such an adventure as yours is the very thing to excite their admiration." "i know nothing about women," desmond growled, "and don't want to know any of them, especially the ladies at the court of louis." "well, of course, kennedy, if the baron proclaims his wrongs, and publishes the circumstances of his daughter's ab- at versailles duction and rescue, the seal of silence will be taken from our lips, especially as you will almost to a certainty be summoned to versailles to confirm the lady's story." "i am afraid that that will be so," desmond said despond- ingly. "however, it can't be helped, and i suppose one must make the best of it." to most of the officers who dropped in in the course of the day to see desmond and to enquire how he got his wound, he abstained from giving any particu- lars. it was merely said that he and callaghan were sud- denly attacked by five ruffians, whom they managed to beat off. much surprise was expressed that such attack should be made upon an officer and a soldier, on whom little plunder could be expected, and who would be sure to defend themselves stoutly. several, indeed, expressed some incredulity. "we do not doubt for a moment, kennedy, that you were attacked by five men, as you say, and that you routed them, but there must have been some motive for the attack. these evening strolls of yours are suspicious, and i will warrant that there must have been a great deal at the bottom of it. now, «an you deny that?" "i neither admit nor deny anything," desmond said with a smile; "enough that at present i have told you all that i feel justified in telling. i acknowledge that there is more behind it, but at present my mouth is sealed on the subject." the colonel was among those who came in to see him. to him desmond said frankly that the affair was altogether out of the common, that it was likely that the whole facts would be known shortly, but that, as other persons were concerned, he could not speak of it until he had obtained their permis- sion. "then i will ask no further," colonel o'brien said. i have seen enough of you to know that you would not be con- cerned in any affair that could bring discredit upon the corps. in the irish brigade i am curious to know the whole story, but am quite content to wait until you feel at liberty to tell me." the next morning desmond took part in the usual work of the regiment, and then, mounting his horse, rode to versailles. on his ringing the bell at the house occupied by the baron de pointdexter, the old servitor whom he had before seen opened the gate. "the baron is expecting you, monsieur," he said, bowing deeply; and at his call another servant ran out and took des- mond's horse and led it away to the stable, while desmond followed the old man to the house. the door opened as they approached, and the baron, a tall man, some fifty years of age, advanced hastily, holding out both hands. "monsieur kennedy," he said, "you have rendered to me the greatest service that i have received during my life. no words can express the gratitude that i feel for one who has restored to me my only child just when i had come to believe that she was lost to me for ever. it was surely her guardian saint who sent you to the spot at that moment." "it might have happened to anyone, sir," desmond said; "surely any gentleman on hearing an appeal for help from a woman in distress would have done just what i did." "let us go in," the baron said; "my daughter has been eagerly waiting your coming, especially as she tells me that she does not think she said even a word of thanks to you, being overpowered by what she had gone through, and by her joy, at her sudden and unexpected deliverance. indeed, she says that she scarcely exchanged two words with you." "there was no opportunity, baron, for, indeed, as soon as she told me that there was a carriage and horses in the stable, i was too much occupied in getting it ready for her to depart without delay, to think of talking." at versailles they had now entered the house, and as the baron led the way into the sitting-room the girl rose from a fauteuil. "this, monsieur kennedy, is my daughter, mademoiselle anne de pointdexter. it is high time that you were formally presented to each other. this, anne, is the officer who rendered you such invaluable service." "we meet almost as strangers, mademoiselle," desmond said, bowing deeply, "for i own that i saw so little of your face the other night that i should hardly have recognized you had i met you elsewhere." "i should certainly not have recognized you, monsieur kennedy. what with my own fright, and i may say the condition of your face, i had but a faint idea of what you were really like, but i certainly did not think that you were so young. you had such a masterful way with you, and seemed to know so perfectly what ought to be done, that i took you to be much older than you now look." "i joined the regiment but little more than three months ago," desmond said, "and am its youngest ensign." "monsieur, i owe to you more than my life, for had it not been for you i should have been forced into marriage with one whom i despise." "i cannot think that, mademoiselle. from what i saw of you i should say that you would have resisted all threats and even undergone hopeless imprisonment rather than yield." "there is no saying, monsieur kennedy," the baron said; "anne is of good blood, and i know that it would have been hard to break down her will, but confinement and hopeless- ness will tell on the bravest spirit. however that may be, she and i are your debtors for life." "indeed, monsieur kennedy," the girl said, "i pray you to believe that i am more grateful to you than worda can express." in the irish brigade "i pray you to say no more about it, mademoiselle. i deem it a most fortunate circumstance that i was able to come to your assistance, and especially so when i found that the lady i had rescued was one whose disappearance had made so great a stir; but i should have been glad to render such service to one in the poorest condition." "my daughter said that you asked her no questions, monsieur kennedy, and you therefore are, i suppose, in ignorance of the name of her abductor?" "altogether." "it was the vicomte de tulle, one who stands very high in the regard of the king, and who is one of the most ex- travagant and dissipated even of the courtiers here. for some time it has been reported that he had nigh ruined him- self by his lavish expenditure, and doubtless he thought to re-establish his finances by this bold stroke. his plans were well laid: he waited until i had gone to paris on business that would keep me there for a day or two. a messenger arrived with a letter purporting to be from me, saying that i wished my daughter to join me at once, and had sent a carriage to take her to me. anne is young, and, suspecting no harm, at once threw on a montle and hood and entered the carriage. it was broad daylight, and there was nothing to disquiet her until, on approaching the town, the carriage turned off the main road. this struck her as strange, and she was just about to ask the question where she was being taken, when the carriage stopped in a lonely spot, the door was opened, and a man stepped in. "before she had even time to recognize him he threw a thick cloak over her head. she struggled in vain to free her- self, but he held her fast. again and again she tried to cry out, but her mouth was muffled by the wrapping. she had heard the blinds of the carriage drawn, and finding that her at versailles struggles to free herself were vain, and receiving no answer to her supplications to be released, she remained quiet until the carriage stopped. then she was lifted out and carried into the house where you found her. the wrapping was removed, and the man who had taken it off, and who by his attire was a gentleman in the service of some noble, said, 'do not be alarmed, mademoiselle; no harm is intended to you. my master is grieved to be obliged to adopt such means, but his passion for you is so great that he was driven to this step, and it will entirely depend upon yourself when your captivity will end.' "' your master, whoever he may be,' anne said, 'is a con- temptible villain.' "'naturally you have a poor opinion of him at present,'the fellow said; 'but i am convinced that in time you will come to excuse his fault. it is wholly due to the depth of the feeling that he entertains towards you. there is a woman here who will wait upon you; i and my men will not intrude. our duty is solely to see that you do not escape, which in- deed would be an impossibility for you, seeing that the wall that surrounds the garden is well-nigh fifteen feet high, and the gate barred and locked, and the key thereof in my pocket.' he called, and the old woman whom you brought here with anne entered, and bid her ascend to the room that had been prepared for her. "in that respect she had nothing to complain of. of course you did not notice it, as you had other things to think of, but it was handsomely furnished. there was a bed in an alcove, some flowers on the table, some books, and even a harpsichord —evidently it was intended that her imprisonment should be made as light as might be. "looking from the window, anne saw that the room was at the back of the house, and had probably been chosen because in the irish brigade some trees shut the window off from view of anyone beyond the wall. the next day the old woman announced the vicomte de tulle. he bowed profoundly, and began by excusing the step that he had taken, and crediting it solely to the passion that he had conceived for her. you may imagine the scorn and reproaches with which she answered him. he was quite unmoved by her words. 'mademoiselle,' he said calmly when she paused, 'you may be sure that i should not have undertaken this scheme unless i had fully weighed the consequences. my plans have been so laid that whatever search may be made for you will be in vain. here you are, and here you will remain until you listen to my suit. every want shall be satisfied, and every wish complied with; but whether it is one year or five, you will not leave this house until you leave it as my bride.' "' then, sir,' she said passionately, 'i shall be a prisoner for life.' "' so you may think at present, mademoiselle,' he said. 'and i expected nothing else; but with time and reflection you may come to think otherwise. union with me is not so terrible a matter. my rank you know, and standing high as i do in the favour of his most gracious majesty, your position at court will be such as might gratify the daughter of the noblest family in france. the study of my life will be to make you happy. i shall now leave you to think over the matter. i shall not pester you with my attentions, and for another month you will not see me again. at the end of that time i trust that you will have seen the futility of condemn- ing yourself to further captivity, and will be disposed to make more allowance than at present for the step to which my passion for yourself has driven me.' "it was just a month since she had been carried off, ami the very day when you rescued her the old woman had in- at versailles formed her that the vicomte would do himself the pleasure of calling upon her the next day. for the first fortnight she had held up bravely, in the hope that i should discover the place where she had been hidden. then she' began to feel the imprisonment and silence telling upon her, for the old woman only entered to bring in her meals, and never opened her lips except on the first occasion, when she told her that she was strictly forbidden to converse with her. after that she began to despair, and the news that her abductor would visit her the next day decided her to make an attempt to escape. she had no difficulty in letting herself down from the window by the aid of her bed-clothes, but she found that what had been said respecting the wall and gate was true, and that she was no nearer escape than she had been before she had left her room. she was trying in vain to unbar the gate, which, indeed, would have been useless could she have accomplished it, as it was also locked. but she was striving with the energy of desperation when the door of the house opened and the men rushed out and seized her. as they dragged her back to the house she uttered the cries that brought you to her assistance. the rest you know. "as soon as i heard her story i went to the palace and asked for a private interview with the king. the king re- ceived me graciously enough, and asked, with an appearance of great interest, if i had obtained any news of my daughter. "' i have more than obtained news, your majesty. i have my daughter back again, and i have come to demand justice at your hands.' "' i congratulate you indeed, baron,' the king said, with an appearance of warmth, but i saw his colour change, and was convinced that he knew something at least of the matter. "' and where has the damsel been hiding herself?' he went on. in the irish brigade "' she has not been hiding herself at all, sire,' i said. 'she has been abducted by one of your majesty's courtiers with the intention of forcing her into a marriage. his name, sire, is the vicomte de tulle, and i demand that justice shall be done me, and that he shall receive the punishment due to so gross an outrage.' "the king was silent for a minute, and then said: "' he has indeed, if you have been rightly informed, acted most grossly. still, it is evident that he repented the step that he took, and so suffered her to return to you.' "' not so, your majesty,' i said. 'i owe her return to no repentance on his part, but to the gallantry of a young officer who, passing the house where she was confined, heard her cries for aid, and with his soldier servant climbed the gate of the enclosure, and was there attacked by the man who had charge of her, with four others. the young gentleman and his servant killed four of them and bound the other, and then, entering the house, compelled the woman who had been appointed to act as her servant to lead the way to her chamber. fortunately, the carriage in which she had been taken there was still in the stables, with its horses. the gallant young gentleman at once got the carriage in readiness, placed my daughter in it, with the woman who had been attending on her. the servant drove, and he rode by the side of the carriage, and in that way brought her home this morning.' "in spite of his efforts to appear indifferent, it was evident that the king was greatly annoyed. however, he only said: "' you did quite right to come to me, baron. it is out- rageous indeed that a young lady of my court should be thus carried off, and i will see that justice is done. and who is this officer who has rendered your daughter such a ser- vice?' at versailles "' his name is kennedy, sire. he is an ensign in o'brien's irish regiment.' "' i will myself send for him,' he said, 'and thank him for having defeated this disgraceful plot of the vicomte de tulle. i suppose you are quite sure of all the circumstances as you have told them to me?' "' it is impossible that there can be any mistake, sire,' i said. 'in the first place, i have my daughter's account. this is entirely corroborated by the old woman she had brought with her, and whose only hope of escaping from punishment lay in telling the truth. in every respect she fully confirmed my daughter's account.' "' but the vicomte has not been absent from versailles for the past month. he has been at my morning levee, and on all other occasions at my breakfasts and dinners; he has walked with me in the gardens, and been always present at the evening receptions.' "' that is so, sire,' i said. 'my daughter happily saw him but once, namely, on the morning after she was captured. he then told her frankly that she would remain a prisoner until she consented to marry him, however long the time might be. he said he would return in a month, and hoped by that time to find that, seeing the hopelessness of her position, she would be more inclined to accept his suit. it was on the eve of his coming again that my daughter, in her despera- tion, made the attempt to escape. she was foiled in her effort, but this, nevertheless, brought about her rescue, for her cries, as her guards dragged her into the house, attracted the atten- tion of monsieur kennedy, who forthwith, as i have told you, stormed the house, killed her guards, and brought her home to me.' '' the king then sent for de tulle, and spoke to him with great sternness. the latter did not attempt to deny my in the irish brigade accusation, but endeavoured to excuse himself on the ground of the passion that he had conceived for my daughter. cer- tainly from the king's tone i thought that he would at least have sent him to the bastille, but to my great disappointment he wound up his reproof by saying, 'i can, of course, make some allowances for your passion for so charming a young lady as mademoiselle pointdexter, but the outrage you com- mitted is far too serious to be pardoned. you will at once repair to your estates, and will remain there during my plea- sure.' the vicomte bowed and withdrew, and an hour later left versailles. the king turned to me as he left the room, and said, 'i trust, monsieur le baron, that you are content that justice has been done.' "i was too angry to choose my words, and i said firmly, 'i cannot say that i am content, your majesty. such an outrage as that which has been perpetrated upon my daughter deserves a far heavier punishment than banishment from court; and methinks that an imprisonment as long as that which he in- tended to inflict upon her unless she consented to be his wife, would have much more nearly met the justice of the case.' "the king rose to his feet suddenly, and i thought that my boldness would meet with the punishment that i desired for de tulle, but he bit his lips, and then said coldly: 'you are not often at court, baron pointdexter, and are doubtless ignorant that i am not accustomed to be spoken to in the tone that you have used. however, i can make due allowance for the great anxiety that you have suffered at your daughter's disappearance. i trust that i shall see you and your daughter at my levee this evening.' "as this was a command, of course we went, and i am bound to say that the king did all in his power to show to his court that he considered her to be wholly blameless. of course the story had already got about, and it was known that at versailles the vicomte had been ordered to his estates. the king was markedly civil to anne, talked to her for some time, expressed his deep regret that she should have been subject to such an outrage while staying at his court, and said, in a tone loud enough to be heard by all standing round: 'the only redeem- ing point in the matter is, that the vicomte de tulle in no way troubled or molested you, and that you only saw him for a few minutes on the first day of your confinement.' i need not say that this royal utterance was most valuable to my daughter, and that it at once silenced any malicious scandal that might otherwise have got about. "the king stopped to speak to me immediately afterwards, and i said: 'i trust that you will pardon the words i spoke this morning. your majesty has rendered me and my daughter an inestimable service by the speech that you have just made.' thus, although dissatisfied with the punishment inflicted on the vicomte de tulle, and believing that the king had a shrewd idea who her abductor was, i am grateful to him for shielding my daughter from ill tongues by his marked kind- ness to her, and by declaring openly that de tulle had not seen her since the day of her abduction. i intended to return home to-morrow, but the king himself, when i went this morn- ing to pay my respects and state my intention of taking anne home, bade those standing round to fall back, and was good enough to say in a low voice to me: 'i think, baron, that you would do well to reconsider your decision to leave to- morrow. your sudden departure would give rise to ill-natured talk. it would be wiser to stay here for a short time till the gossip and wonder have passed away.' "i saw that his majesty was right and shall stay here for a short time longer. it would certainly have a bad effect were we to seem to run away and hide ourselves in the prov- inces." at versailles fencer, but i doubt whether he can possess such skill as that which de tulle has acquired. it is not always the injured person that comes off victorious in a duel; and should fortune go against monsieur de la vallee it would be a terrible blow to my daughter, and indeed to myself, for i am much attached to him. she is worrying about it already. of course it is impossible that the affair can be hidden from him; it is public property now, and therefore i sent off one of my grooms an hour since with a letter to him. "hitherto i had not written to him about my daughter's disappearance. knowing he would, on hearing of it, at once hasten here, where he could do no good and would only add to my trouble, i thought it best to let matters go on as they were. i had been doing everything that was possible, and to have his troubles as well as my own on my hands would have driven me to distraction. the groom is to change horses at every post-house, and to use the greatest possible speed. you may be sure that monsieur de la vallee will do the same, and that in six days he will be here. i have given him the merest out- line of the affair, and have not mentioned the name of anne's abductor. had i done so, it is probable that philip would have gone straight to de tulle and forced on an encounter at once. as it is, i trust that anne and i between us may per- suade him to take no step in the matter. it is the honour of my family, not of his, that has been attacked. had he been be- trothed to my daughter he would have been in a position to take up her quarrel; as it is, he has no status, except distant re- lationship. and now, monsieur kennedy, i have the king's order to take you to the palace. he asked me several ques- tions about you this morning. i said that i had not yet seen you, but that you were riding over here to-day, and he said: 'bring him to me when he comes, baron. i should like to see this young fire-eater who thrust himself so boldly into a mat- (m ) f in the irish brigade ter in which he had no concern, solely because he heard a wo- man's voice calling for help.'" "i am sorry to hear it," desmond said bluntly. "from what you say i imagine that, in spite of what he has done, the king is far from gratified at the failure of his favourite's plan. however, i cannot disobey his commands in the matter." chapter v a new friend rphe baron sent a servant to request his daughter to coma down. "i am going now with monsieur kennedy to the palace, anne," he said as she entered. "i do not suppose that we shall be absent very long. i have been talking matters over with him, and i think that he agrees with my view of them." "but i have hardly spoken to him yet, father!" "you will have an opportunity of doing so when we return. monsieur kennedy will, of course, dine with us. after the service that he has rendered to us we have a right to con- sider him as belonging to us." "had i had an idea of this," desmond said, as they walked up the hill towards the palace gate," i should have put on my full uniform. this undress is scarcely the attire in which one would appear before the king of france, who is, as i have heard, most particular in matters of etiquette." "he is so," the baron said. "he will know that you could not be prepared for an audience, and doubtless he will receive you in his private closet." on ascending the grand staircase the baron gave his name to one of the court chamberlains. a new friend "i have orders," the latter said, "to take you at once, on your presenting yourself, to his majesty's closet, instead of entering the audience-chamber." they were conducted along a private passage of considerable length. on arriving at a door the chamberlain asked them to wait while he went inside to ascertain whether his majesty was disengaged. "his majesty will see you in a few minutes, baron," he said when he came out; " the due d'orleans is with him, but, hearing your name announced for a private audience, he is taking his leave." in two or three minutes a hand-bell sounded in the room, and the chamberlain, who at once entered, returned in a moment and conducted the baron and desmond into the king's private apartment. "allow me to present to your majesty," the former said, "monsieur desmond kennedy, an officer in o'brien's regi- ment, and an irish gentleman of good family." the king who was now far advanced in life, looked at the young man with some surprise. "i had expected to see an older man," he said. "though you told me, baron, he was but an ensign, i looked to see a man of the same type as so many of my gallant irish officers, ready for any desperate service. so, young sir, you have begun early indeed to play havoc among my liege subjects, for i hear that you and a soldier with you slew four of them." "hardly your liege subjects, your majesty, if i may ven- ture to say so; for assuredly they were not engaged in lawful proceedings when i came upon them." a slight smile crossed the king's face. he was accustomed to adulation, and the simple frankness with which this young soldier ventured to discuss the propriety of the word he used surprised and amused him. "you are right, sir; these fellows who are ready to under- a new friend intended to adopt. but i said it would be well that he should do so, for rumours had reached me that his finances were in disorder. whether he took this as a permission to use any means that he thought fit i cannot tell; and i certainly did not suspect, when i heard of the disappearance of mademoi- selle de pointdexter, that he had any hand in it, and was shocked when the baron came here and denounced him to me. i am glad indeed that his enterprise was thwarted, for it was a most unworthy one. you are too young yet for me to grant you military promotion, but this will be a proof of my appro- bation of your conduct, and that the king of france is de- termined to suppress all irregularities at his court." and taking a diamond ring from his finger, he handed it to des- mond, who went on one knee to receive it. "you will please inform your colonel that when he comes to versailles i re- quest he will always bring you with him." the audience was evidently finished, and the baron and desmond, bowing deeply, left the king's cabinet. the baron did not speak till they left the palace. "louis has his faults," the baron then said, "but no one could play the part of a great monarch more nobly than he does. i have no doubt whatever that de tulle relied im- plicitly upon obtaining his forgiveness had he succeeded in forcing anne into marrying him, though doubtless he would have feigned displeasure for a time. he has extricated him- self most gracefully. i can quite believe that he did not im- agine his favourite intended to adopt so criminal a course to accomplish the matter of which he spoke to him, but he could not fail to have his suspicions when he heard of anne's disap- pearance. however, we can consider the affair as happily ended, except for the matter of monsieur de la vallee, of whom i spoke to you. and now, sir, that the king has ex- pressed his gratitude to you for saving his court from a grave in the irish brigade scandal, how can i fitly express my own at the inestimable service that you have rendered us?" "i should say, baron, that it will be most welcomely ex- pressed if you will abstain from saying more of the matter. it is a simple one. i went to the assistance of a woman in distress, and succeeded at the expense of this trifling wound in accomplishing her rescue. the lady happened to be your daughter, but had she been the daughter of some little bourgeois of paris carried off by a reckless noble, it would have been the same. much more has been made of the matter than there was any occasion for. it has gained for me the approbation and thanks of the king, to say nothing of this ring, which, although i am no judge of such matters, must be a very valuable one, or he would not have worn it; and i have had the pleasure of rendering a service to you and mademoi- selle de pointdexter, therefore i feel far more than duly rewarded for a service somewhat recklessly undertaken on the spur of the moment." "that may be very well as far as it interests yourself, mon- sieur kennedy, but not so far as i am concerned, and i fear i shall have to remain your debtor till the end of my life. all i can say at present is, that i hope that as soon as you can obtain leave you will come as a most honoured guest to my chateau. there you will see me under happier circumstances. the life of a country seigneur is but a poor preparation for existence in this court, where, although there is no longer the open licentiousness that prevailed in the king's younger days, there is yet, i believe, an equal amount of profligacy, though it has been sternly discountenanced since madame mainte- non obtained an absolute, and i may say a well-used, influence over his majesty." "i shall be happy indeed to pay you a visit, baron, if my military duties will permit my absenting myself for a time taking a diamond ring from his finger he handed it to desmond. a new friend from paris. all i know of france is its capital, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to have the opportunity of seeing its country life in so pleasant a manner." "our pleasure would be no less than your own, monsieur kennedy. there is one thing i must warn you about, and that is you must be careful for a time not to go out after dark. de tulle has an evil reputation, and is vindictive as well as unscrupulous. doubtless he has agents here who will, by this time, have discovered who it was that brought his daring scheme to naught; and it is to my mind more than probable that he will endeavour to be revenged." "i shall be on my guard," desmond said quietly. "you must be careful indeed," the baron said. "against open violence you can well defend yourself, but against a blow from behind with a dagger, skill and courage are of little avail. when you go out after dark, i pray you let your army servant follow closely behind you, and see that his sword is loose in its scabbard." desmond nodded. "believe me, i will take every precau- tion. it is not likely that there will long be need for it, for none can doubt that military operations will soon begin on a large scale, and we are not likely, if that is the case, to be kept in garrison in paris." when desmond arrived that evening at the barracks he found that the story of the rescue of madamoiselle de point- dexter was already known, and also that the vicomte de tulle had been the abductor, and had in consequence been banished from court. the baron had indeed related the circumstances to some of his intimate friends, but the story had varied greatly as it spread, and it had come to be reported that an officer had brought a strong body of soldiers, who had assaulted the house where she was confined, and, after a desperate conflict, had annihilated the guard that had been placed over her. in the irish brigade desmond laughed as this story was told to him when he entered the room where the officers were gathered. the nar- rator concluded, "as you have been to versailles, kennedy, doubtless you will have heard all the latest particulars. have you learnt who was the officer, what regiment he belonged to, and how he came to have a body of soldiers with him outside the town, for they say that the house where she was confined was a mile and a half beyond the walls?" there was no longer any reason for concealment. the mat- ter had become public; the baron would certainly mention his name, and indeed his visit to the palace, and the private audience given to him and the baron would assuredly have been noted. "your story is quite new to me," he said "and is swollen in the telling to undue proportions. the real facts of the case are by no means so romantic. the truth of the story by this time is generally known, as mademoiselle pointdexter and her father have many friends at court. the affair happened to myself." "to you, kennedy?" was exclaimed in astonishment by all those present. "exactly so," he said. "nothing could have been more simple. the evening before last i was, as usual, taking a walk, and the night being fine, i passed beyond the gate. presently i heard a scream and a woman's cry for help. none of you, gentlemen, could have been insensible to such an appeal. callaghan and i climbed over a pretty high gate. ■ not knowing what force there might be in the place, we occu- pied ourselves at first by unbarring and shooting the lock of the gate. the bolts were stiff, and we made some noise over it, which brought out five men. these we disposed of after a short fight, in which i got this graze on the cheek and callaghan his sword wound in the shoulder." a new friend "how did you dispose of them, kennedy?" the colonel asked. "i ran two of them through, callaghan cut down one and shot another; the fifth man cried for mercy, and we simply tied him up. we then found mademoiselle pointdexter, and learning from her that the carriage in which she had been brought there was, with its horses, still in the stable, we got it out, harnessed the horses, and put an old woman who was mademoiselle's attendant in the carriage with her. mike took the reins, i mounted a saddle-horse, and we drove her to her father's house at versailles, saw her fairly inside, and then, as you know, got back here just as the regiment was forming up on parade." "a very pretty adventure, indeed," the colonel said warmly, and loud expressions of approbation rose from the other listeners. "and why did you not tell us when you came in?" the colonel went on. "i had not seen baron pointdexter, and did not know what course he would take—whether he would think it best to hush the matter up altogether or to lay a complaint before the king; and until i knew what he was going to do, it seemed to me best that i should hold my tongue altogether. when i went to versailles to-day i found that he had laid his complaint before the king, and that the vicomte de tulle, who was thr author of the outrage, had been ordered to his estates. i may say that i had the honour of a private interview with his majesty, who graciously approved of my conduct and gave me this ring," and he held out his hand, "as a token of his approval." "well, gentlemen, you will agree with me," the colonel said, "that our young ensign has made an admirable debut, and i am sure that we are all proud of the manner in which he has in the irish brigade behaved; and our anticipations that he would prove a credit to the regiment have been verified sooner than it seemed possible." "they have, indeed, colonel," the major said. "it was in every way a risky thing for him to have attempted. i do not mean because of the odds that he might have to face, but de- cause of the trouble that he might have got into by forcing his way into a private house. the scream might have come from a mad woman, or from a serving-wench receiving a whipping for misconduct." "i never thought anything about it, major. a woman screamed for help, and it seemed to me that help should be given. i did not think of the risk either from armed men inside—for i had no reason to believe that there were such— or of civil indictment for breaking in. we heard the cry, made straight for the house, and, as it turned out, all went well." "well, indeed," the colonel said. "you have rescued a wealthy heiress from a pitiable fate, you have fleshed your maiden sword in the bodies of two villains, you have earned the gratitude of the young lady and her father, and have re- ceived the approval of his majesty—a very good night's work altogether. now tell us a little more about it." desmond was compelled to tell the story in much further detail than before. the colonel ordered in a dozen of cham- pagne, and it was late before the party broke up. "you see we were pretty nearly right in our guess," o'neil said, as he and o'sullivan walked across with desmond to their quarters. "we said that we thought it likely she might have been carried off by one of the court gallants, who felt tolerably confident that, if successful, the king would overlook the offence. this fellow, thanks to your interference, did not succeed, and the king has let him off lightly enough by only banishing him from court. if it had been any one but one of a new friend his favourites he would by this time have been a tenant of the bastille. i do not think myself that this punishment was adequate; but then i am not a courtier, and should be rather glad than not to be sent away to any estates i might have." "but," desmond remarked, "i suppose the punishment is a severe one to these men accustomed to a round of pleasure and dissipation, and who consider it the highest of earthly honours to be in favour with the king. however, no one could be kinder than his majesty has been on the subject. at the reception last night, at which he ordered the baron and his daughter to appear, he showed her the most marked favour, and particularly put a stop to all scandals by saying loudly that de" tulle had never seen her after the first mor- ning of her capture." six days later, when desmond was engaged in the fencing- room, callaghan came in and told him that a gentleman was at his quarters wishing particularly to see him. "what is his name!" "sure and i don't know, your honour. he did not mention it, and it was not for the likes of me to ask him." "ridiculous, mike! in future, when anyone comes and wishes to see me, you will say, 'what name shall i tell mr. kennedy ?'" he put on his uniform coat reluctantly, for he was engaged in an interesting bout with a professor, who was an old friend of the maitres d'armes. as he entered his room, a young man who had been staring out of the window and drumming impatiently with his fingers, turned. he was a stranger to desmond. "i am desmond kennedy, sir," the young officer said. "to what do i owe the honour of this visit?" the other did not reply, but stood looking at him in so strange and earnest a way that desmond felt almost uneasy. "sir," his visitor said at last, advancing to him and holding in the irish brigade out both hands, "when i tell you that my name is philip de la vallee you will understand what must strike you as my singular behaviour. i arrived last night at versailles and heard all that had happened. you can imagine, therefore, that my heart is almost too full for words with gratitude and thankfulness." desmond was moved by the emotion of his visitor, and their hands met in a hearty clasp. monsieur de la vallee was a young man of four-or five-and-twenty, well- proportioned, and active and sinewy from his devotion to field sports. he was about the same height as desmond himself, but the latter, who had not yet finished growing, was larger boned, and would broaden into a much bigger and more powerful man. "henceforth, monsieur kennedy," de la vallee went on, " i hope that we shall be as brothers, and more. had it not been for you my life would have been a ruined one. what agony have i been saved! it makes me mad to think that i was idling at home, ignorant that my beloved had been carried away. i do not blame the baron for not informing me, and i acknowledge that the reasons he gave me were good ones. i could have done nothing, and should but have added to his troubles by my anxiety and anger. still, he told me that in another day or two he would have felt that i ought no longer to be kept in the dark, and would have summoned me to paris. i am thankful now that he did not do so, for i believe that my impotence to do anything would have driven me almost to distraction." "i agree with you that the baron acted wisely," kennedy said. "had not chance or providence taken me past the house where she was imprisoned at the very moment when mademoiselle pointdexter cried for help, she might, for aught i can say, have remained a captive there for months or even years." a new friend "it was providence indeed, monsieur kennedy. providence not only that she should have cried at that moment, but that her cries should have reached the ears of one so ready and able to save her. and now, i pray you, call me philip and allow me to call you desmond, as a pledge of our close friend- ship." "with pleasure," kennedy replied; and the compact was sealed with another close grasp of the hand. "it is strange, desmond, that while the king, who had but little interest in the matter, could present you, as i am told he did, with a diamond ring, the baron and i, who owe you so much can do nothing to show our gratitude." desmond smiled. "i can assure you that i need no such tokens," he said; "the thanks that i have received from you both are infinitely more grateful to me than any amount of rings and jewels." "and now, my friend," philip de la vallee went on, "my own burning desire is to go to de tulle as soon as i have accompanied the baron and anne to their home, first to publicly chastise this villain noble, and, then, of course, to fight him. naturally i have said nothing of this to the baron, but i feel, after what has happened, that in you i shall find an adviser and a sympathizer." "i sympathize with you most heartily, philip, and in your place should feel the same impulse; and yet it would not be wise to give way to it. i say this on the ground that he is a notoriously good swordsman, and that instead of your taking vengeance upon him he might kill you. "i feel that that argument would not have any influence with you personally, but, taking your position with regard to mademoiselle de pointdexter, it should have great weight. you can judge from what you would have felt yourself had you been aware of her disappearance, what she would feel did in the irish brigade she hear of your death in this quarrel. were you her brother i should say that you would be right,—nay, that it would be your duty to endeavour to punish the outrage against the hon- our of your family. were you openly betrothed to her you would again have the right to punish her abductor; but, not being either her brother or her betrothed, neither reason nor public opinion would justify your doing so. moreover, did you fight with him and kill him, you would incur the gravest re- sentment of the king, for in fact you would be impugning his justice, which has considered banishment from court to be a sufficient punishment for his offence. not only was he a fa- vourite of the king's, but he belongs, i understand, to a pow- erful family who would, you may be sure, use their influence with the king to bring about your punishment for the breach of the decree against duelling, and you would be fortunate if you escaped a long imprisonment." the other was silent. "i feel that you are right," he said at last, "but indeed it is hard that i should not be able to avenge this outrage upon the lady who is to be my wife. i may tell you that as soon as we return home our formal betrothal is to take place, and ere long our marriage will be celebrated, but i shall feel lowered in my own esteem if i sit down quietly under this injury." "i do not see that," desmond said. "if you abstain from challenging de tulle, it is from no fear of the consequences, but it is, as i have shown you, because, whatever the issue of the contest, it would be bad both for you and her. if you were killed, her life would be spoilt; if you killed him, you might languish for years in one of the royal prisons. the king prides himself on his justice, and by all accounts rightly so, and i am sure that he would feel the deepest resentment were you or anyone to show by your actions that you con- sidered he has favoured the transgressor." a new friend "you are right, desmond; and at any rate for the present i will put my intention aside; but should he ever cross my path, assuredly i will have a reckoning with him. but how is it that you, who are at least eight years younger than i am, should argue as an old counsellor rather than a young ensign?" "i suppose, in the first place, it is from my bringing up. i lived with and was educated by a good priest, one not wanting in manliness and energy, but who often deplored the system of duelling, which is as strong with us as it is here, and denounced it as a relic of barbarism, and at any rate never to be put in use on account of a heated quarrel over wine, but only if some deadly injury had been inflicted, and even then better left alone. of course as an officer in one of his majesty's regiments i should be obliged to conform to the general usage, for did i decline i should be regarded as hav- ing brought dishonour on the corps, but my case differs alto- gether from yours. in the next place, knowing you were com- ing to versailles, i thought over what course you would be likely to pursue, ana considered it was probable you would lose no time in challenging de tulle. i have thought the mat- ter over in every light, and made up my mind to endeavour to dissuade you from doing so, if the opportunity offered. so you see," he added with a smile, "i had prepared my array of arguments against it, and i cannot but think that the opinion of one interested, but not vitally so, on a point, is rather to be taken than that of a person smarting under an injury." "and now to turn to other matters. in three days we start for the soutn. the baron accompanied me here, and went to see your colonel, while i came to your quarters. his object was to ask him to grant you a month's leave of absence, with the provision, of course, that you should return at once if the regiment was ordered on service." g in the irish brigade "it is kind, indeed, of him," desmond said, "but i doubt whether the colonel will assent. it is not a month since i was dismissed from drill and took my place with my company, and i doubt whether he will consider that i am sufficiently versed in my duties, or that, after being so short a time in the regi- ment i have any right to leave." "what you say is right enough under ordinary circum- stances, but these are altogether extraordinary. then, after what you have done, he will feel it but natural that we should wish to have you with us for a time. moreover, i do not con- sider that our journey will be altogether unattended by dan- ger. from what i have heard of de tulle, he is a man who never forgives, and will pursue his object with the pertinacity of a blood-hound. he has failed in his first attempt, but there is no reason why he should not renew it, confident, per- haps, that if successful the king, though he may feel it neces- sary to feign much anger for a time, will finally forgive him and take him into favour again, especially as his family would bring all their influence to bear to bring this about. doubt- less he will be kept perfectly informed of what is going on here. there are several forests to be traversed on the way, and these are for the most part the haunts of robber bands; and should the carriage be found overturned, and the baron and his daughter missing, it would be put down as their work. having the baron as well as his daughter in his power, de tulle would find it easier than before to compel anne to pur- chase her father's freedom as well as her own by consenting to his terms. therefore, you see, the aid of a sword like yours would be valuable, and no doubt your servant, who is also a sturdy fighter, will accompany us. "i can hardly think that de tulle would venture upon so bold a stroke as that, and yet he might do so. men of that kind are not accustomed to be thwarted, and it would be a satis- a new friend faction to his resentment at his former failure as well as the attainment of the wide estates of which anne is heiress." at this moment there was a knock at the door, and the baron entered. "my dear monsieur kennedy," he said, i have succeeded. colonel o'brien has been pleased to say that you have been so assiduous in learning your duties that he considers you as capable of performing them as any of his subalterns, and that you have just brought so much credit on the regiment that he is pleased to be able to grant the favour i asked. here is your furlough duly signed. now it only rests with yourself to accept or refuse my invitation." "i accept it most gladly, baron. it will give me the greatest pleasure to accompany you and mademoiselle and monsieur de la vallee, whom i now regard as a dear friend, to your home." "that is settled, then," the baron said. "we start early on thursday morning. it would be well, therefore, if you were to ride over on wednesday evening and occupy one of the many spare chambers there are in the house." "i will do so willingly; and i shall ask the colonel to allow my servant to accompany me." "that is already settled. i told colonel o'brien that i owed much to him also, and he at once acceded to my request, saying that although the wound is healing, the surgeon said that it would be a fortnight before he will be fit for serv- ice; and, moreover, that it was a custom when an officer went on leave that he should, if he wished it, take his soldier servant with him." "thank you "gain, baron. mike is a faithful fellow, and a shrewd one. i am so accustomed now to his services that i should miss them and his talk very much." "have you heard, mike," desmond asked, when his serv- (m« ) g in the iri h brigade i ant came up to his room after the baron and philip dela vallee had left, "that you are to go with me to stay for a month at pointdexter?" "i have, your honour. sure i was sent for to the colonel's quarters, and there i found a tall gentleman whom i had never seen before as far as i knew. 'this is mike calla- ghan, mr. kennedy's servant,' the colonel said, and the baron stepped forward and shook hands with me, for all the world as if i had been a noble like himself; and he said, 'my brave fellow, i have to thank you for the aid you gave your master in rescuing my daughter, in which service you received the wound which still keeps your arm in a sling. here is a token that we are not ungrateful for the service. if you will take my advice you will hand it to an agent of mine here in paris, who will keep it for you, and you may find it useful when the time comes for you to take your dis- charge.' "so saying, he put a heavy purse into my hand and said: 'you will find my agent's name and address on a card inside the purse. i shall go round to him now and tell him that you are coming, and that he is to use the money to your advantage, and to hand it over to you whenever you choose to ask for it. your master is coming down to stay for a month with me, and colonel o'brien has granted leave for you to accompany him.' i thanked him heartily, as you may believe, sir; though, as i said, i wanted no reward for obeying your orders and for the share i took in that little skirmish. after i came out i looked into the purse, which was mighty heavy, expecting to find a handful of crowns; and it fairly staggered me when i found that it was full of gold pieces, and on counting them found that there were a hundred louis. never did i dream that i should be so rich. why, your honour, when i lave the regiment, which will not be for many a long year, i hope, i a new friend shall be able to settle down comfortably for the rest of my life in a snug little shebeen, or on a bit of land with a cottage and some pigs, and maybe a cow or two; and it is all to your honour i owe it, for if you hadn't given the word it would never have entered my head to attack a gentleman's house merely because i heard a woman scream." "well, i am heartily glad, mike; and i hope that you will take it straight to the agent's, and not break in upon it by treating half the regiment to drink." "i will, your honour. it was given to me to stow away for the time that i might want it, and though i don't say that my own inclinations would not lead me to trate a few of the boys, i feel that i ought to do what the gentleman told me." "certainly you should mike. if you once began to spend it in that way, it is not one louis, but five or more, that would disappear in a few hours. ■ i am heartily glad that the baron has so handsomely rewarded you for the service, and if you like i will go round with you this afternoon to his agent and see the money safely deposited." "thank you, your honour. i shan't feel easy as long as i have got it in my pouch. i should suspict everyone who came near me, and should never dare take my hand off it lest someone else might put his in." "you are a lucky fellow, kennedy," o'neil said, when desmond told his two comrades of the arrangements that had been made. "and if you go on like this the regiment will believe that any good fortune that may fall to its lot is the result of your luck." "i really do not like having leave given to me when i have been such a short time in the regiment. it does not seem fair upon others." "no one will grudge you that," o'sullivan said. "it is not as if we were at home; then, of course, everyone would an ambuscade theirs whom i had the pleasure of meeting this afternoon, and to whom she is tenderly attached." "by the powers but that is unlucky, kennedy!" o'neil said; " and i have been thinking that your fortune was made, and that the regiment would soon lose you, as you would of course settle down as a magnate in languedoc; and now it seems that what we thought the proper sequence of your adventure is not to come off after all. well, lad, i con- gratulate you on putting a good face on it and hiding your disappointment." "what nonsense you talk!" desmond said laughing; "it is you who have been building castles, not. i, and it is your disappointment that they have fallen to pieces." chapter vi an ambuscade qn the morning arranged the cavalcade started from ver- sailles. the baron had instructed the stable-keeper where the carriage and horses had been placed, to notify the vicomte de tulle that he held them at his disposal. the woman, who had been brought to versailles, had been dismissed after having made before a magistrate a deposition stating how mademoiselle de pointdexer had been held a close pris- oner, and that, with the exception of herself, no one whatever had entered her apartment, except that the vicomte de tulle had paid her a visit of some five minutes' duration on the morning after she was brought there. a copy of this was left in the magistrate's hands for safe-keeping, while the orig- inal was kept by the baron, who regarded it as a most impor- tant document, concerning as it did the honour of his daugh- in the irish brigade ter. anne had travelled to paris in the family coach, and she again, with her maid, took her place in it. the baron, m. de la vallee, and desmond rode on horseback behind it, two armed retainers rode in front, and two others, with mike, took their places behind. the old servitor sat on the front seat by the side of the coachman. "i do not think, desmond," philip de la vallee said, as the baron fell back to talk for a while with his daughter," that he has the slightest thought of our being attacked by any of the agents of the vicomte, but i have made a good many enquiries about the fellow in the past few days, and from what i have heard i am still more convinced that before long he is likely to renew his attempt to get possession of anne. i hear that his circumstances are well-nigh desperate. he has mortgaged the income of his estates, which, of course, he is unable to sell, as they go with the title to the heir. he is pressed by many creditors, who, now that he has lost the favour of the king, will give him no further grace. in- deed, i understand that the king who is always liberal and not infrequently makes considerable gifts to the gentlemen of the court to enable them to support the necessary expenses, has already assisted him several times, and that it was only by such aid that he has been able to hold on as long as he has done. "he is, in fact, a desperate man, and his only hope is in making a wealthy alliance. therefore, putting aside his pique and anger at having failed, the temptation to again obtain possession of anne is great indeed. once married to her he could, even if the king kept him in banishment, well maintain his position as a country magnate." "but mademoiselle de pointdexter cannot come into the estates until her father's death." "not his estates, but those of her mother, who was also a an ambuscade wealthy heiress, and of which she will enter into possession either on coming of age or on marrying. so you see he can afford to disregard the enmity of her father as well as the displeasure of the king, which probably would soon abate after the marriage took place. if i had known when i left home what had happened, and that if she was found we should be returning home, i would have brought with me a dozen stout fellows from my own estate. as it is, i sent off a mes- senger yesterday with an order to my major-domo to pick out that number of active fellows from among the tenantry, and to start with the least possible delay by the route that we shall follow, of which i have given him particulars. he is to ride forward until he meets us, so that when he joins us we shall be too strong a party for any force that the vicomte is likely to gather to intercept us." "a very wise precaution, philip; but we shall be far upon our way before this reinforcement can come up." "we shall be some distance, i admit. my messenger will take fully five days in going. he will take another day to gather and arm the tenants, so that they will not start until two days afterwards. then, however, the^ will travel at least twice as fast as we shall, hampered as we are by the carriage. i should have suggested that anne should ride on a pillion behind me or her father, but i did not do so, because it would have been necessary to explain to him my reasons for suggest- ing the change; and moreover i felt sure that he would not agree to it had i done so. baron pointdexter is one of the largest land-owners in languedoc, and although one of the kindest and best of men, he has his full share of family pride, and would consider that it was derogatory to his posi- tion for his daughter to be riding about on a pillion like the wife or daughter of some small landed proprietor or tenant farmer, instead of in a carriage, as becomes her station. in the irish brigade therefore, i must accept the situation, carriage and all, and i can only hope that this villain will not attempt to interfere with us before my men join us. "fortunately, even if a courier take the vicomte word that the baron and his daughter have made their adieus to his majesty, the fellow cannot hear of it for two days, how- ever fast the messenger may travel. of course tulle is nigh a hundred miles nearer paris than pointdexter, which lies between florae and ste. afrique, both of which towns lie within the circle of the estate. i admit that, foreseeing the baron is likely to return to his estates without delay, the vicomte may have made his preparations and be ready to start as soon as he gets the news. nevertheless he will have a ride of some eighty miles to strike the road on which we shall be travelling. he may then move north until he finds some suitable place for a surprise; but even allowing for his exercising the greatest speed we should be half-way from paris before we can possibly meet him, and my men should join us by that time." "you have forgotten one contingency, which would en- tirely alter the state of things." "what is that?" m. de la vallee asked sharply. "we give this villain noble credit for resource and enter- prise. what more likely than that he has left a couple of his retainers at versailles with orders that should any messenger be sent off by a southern road from the baron his journey is to be cut short, and any paper or letter found upon him carried with all speed to tulle? in that case the chances of our being met by a reinforcement are very small." "peste i you are right, desmond. i never gave the matter a thought. now that you mention it, nothing is more probable. it was the servant who accompanied me whom i sent off, but as de tulle would have been notified of my arri- an ambuscade val and the man started from the baron's house, it would be deemed certain that he was either going to pointdexter or my own estate, and that the message he carried was a some- what urgent one. well, all we can do is to hope that the fel- low has not thought of our taking such a precaution, and that my messenger will arrive unmolested. still, i acknowledge that the idea makes me anxious, and i fear that we shall not get through without serious trouble. there are so many disbanded soldiers and other knaves in the forests that de tulle would have no difficulty in hiring any number of them and carrying his scheme out without the assistance or knowl- edge of his own tenants. the heavy taxation necessary to keep up the expenses of the court has driven numbers of people to despair, and many hitherto law-abiding folk are being forced to leave their holdings and to take to unlawful courses. however, it is of no use our telling the baron our fears. he is obstinate when he has once made up his mind to a thing, and nothing short of a royal command would induce him either to change his route or to stop at one of the towns that we shall pass through, and wait until my band arrives. he would indeed consider his honour greatly attainted by allowing himself to make a change of plans on the mere chance that our suspicions were justified." six days passed without anything occurring. impatient as philip de la vallee and desmond were to get forward, they could not hurry the slow pace at which they travelled. mad- emoiselle pointdexter was now suffering from the reaction after her month of captivity and anxiety. the baron therefore travelled with provoking slowness. obtaining as he did relays of horses at each post, they could without diffi- culty have travelled at almost double the rate at which they actually proceeded, but stoppages were made at all towns at which comfortable accommodation could be obtained. in- in the irish brigade deed in some places the roads were so bad that the carriage could not proceed at a pace beyond a walk without inflicting a terrible jolting upon those within it. "there is one comfort," philip said, when he had been bewailing the slowness of their pace, "my men should reach us at nevers at the latest, and you may take it as tolerably certain that any attempt to interfere with us will take place considerably south of that town. i should guess that it would be somewhere between moulins and thiers. if our escort does not come before we reach moulins i shall begin to think that your suggestion was correct, and that my messenger has indeed been intercepted and slain." desmond could not gainsay the truth of his friend's calcu- lation, but he said: "possibly, philip, instead of being attacked by the way, de tulle's agents might rob him of his letter at one of the inns at which he put up. did he know its contents?" "yes; i told him that it contained an order for the major- domo to ride with a troop of twelve men to meet us, and that he was to give what aid he could in getting them together as quickly as possible, so that even if robbed of the letter he might still be able to fulfil his mission; not, i own, that i thought of that at the time, for the idea that he might be stopped never once entered my mind." at nevers, desmond went round to all the inns in the town to enquire if any body of men had put up at that place, but without success. when he related his failure to obtain any news to philip, the latter said: "well, we must hope that we shall meet them before we arrive at moulins. if not, i shall no longer have any hope that my messenger got through safely, and then we shall have to consider whether it will not be necessary to inform the baron of our fears, and to get him to change his route and an ambuscade make a detour, cross the loire at bourbon, make for macon, and then journey down the other bank of the saone as far as pont st. esprit, and thence over the mountains to flo- rae." "that would certainly be the safest plan, always providing that we have not been watched ever since we left paris. the vicomte might well take this precaution in case we should deviate from the regular route." "sapristel desmond, you are always full of evil prognos- tications still, as usual, i cannot but allow that there is reason in them." "you see, philip, we have plenty of time, as we travel at a snail's pace, and in the evening when we stop, to think over the affair in every light. i always put myself in the position of the vicomte de tulle, and consider what steps i should take to ensure success in my next attempt to carry off mademoiselle de pointdexter." "then i am very glad that you are not in the position of de tulle, for, if you were, i should consider that all was lost, and that there was not a chink or crevice by which we could escape. it is monstrous that a nobleman cannot travel from paris to his estate without being obliged to take as many pre- cautions as the general of an army would have to do against the attack of an active and formidable enemy." "and will you tell the baron, philip?" "i hardly know what to do in that respect, for after all we have no solid foundation whatever for our uneasiness beyond the fact that the men i sent for have not met us. all our apprehensions are due solely to the fact that this fellow is utterly unscrupulous, and that his whole future depends on his carrying out his insolent designs successfully. if we had any solid facts to work on i would urge the baron to change his route, but i fear that he would not only scoff at in the irish brigade our views that there may be danger, but might be angry at my taking the step of sending for a party of my retainers without his being in any way consulted in the matter. at any rate i feel sure that he would refuse to change his route without some very much stronger reason than we can give him." "then we must let matters go on as they are, philip; it may be that really we have been alarming ourselves without sufficient cause. if the worst comes to the worst we can make a good fight for it." "it is certainly hard on you. you have performed one brave action for us at the risk of your life, and now you are thrust into another danger perhaps even greater than the first, and this in a quarrel in which you have no concern whatever." desmond laughed. "do you not see, philip, that the ad- venture is good training for a soldier, and that if i am on duty in command of a company i shall be all the more useful an officer for having served a sort of apprenticeship in surprises, ambuscades, and alarms. the journey has been vastly more interesting than it would have been under other circum- stances. we should have found it dull without such matter of interest as this affair has given us, and, even should noth- ing whatever come of it, it will have served its purpose by be- guiling our journey, which, in truth, riding at so slow a pace, would otherwise scarce have been amusing." "well, then, it seems that the only thing that we can do is to see that the servants all keep their pistols charged and are prepared to do their duty in case of sudden attack. of course, at present they have no idea that any special danger threatens us, but i shall tell them before i start in the morn- ing that we fear that the road is dangerous owing to a band of robbers reported to be in the forest, and that they must hold themselves in readiness for action in ease we fall in with any of them. old eustace and the coachman have both got arque- an ambuscade buses. i shall tell them that, should they be attacked, they are to fire at once, and then the coachman is to whip up his horses and drive at full speed while we endeavour to keep off the assailants." "that would be of use if the assailants should be for the most part on foot, but i think it more likely that they will be mounted, and however fast this lumbering carriage might go, they could easily keep up with it. fight as hard as we may, the carriage must be overtaken if they are in sufficient force to overpower us. i should think that it would be well that you should warn mademoiselle pointdexter that we hear the road is not very safe, and that if there is trouble she is on no account to attempt to leave the carriage. as long as she remains there she will run but little risk, for you may be sure that de tulle will have issued the strictest orders that no pis- tol is to be fired in its direction. i have also little doubt that he has ordered the baron's life to be respected, because his death would greatly add to the anger that would be excited by the attack, and would also put a barrier between him and mademoiselle, who would naturally regard him with even more hostility than before as the author of her father's death. therefore, i trust that in any case his life and hers will not be endangered, however numerous our assailants might be." "yes, i have no doubt that that is so, desmond, though i am sure that were i wounded and on the point of death i would rather know that anne had fallen by a chance shot than that she was in the power of this villain." the next morning they started very early for moulins, for the journey would be a longer one than usual, and the road through the forest would probably be so rough that the pace must necessarily be very slow. at two o'clock the men riding ahead noticed that a tree had fallen across the road, and one of them galloped back and informed the baron of it. in the irish brigade "that is strange," the latter said; "there have been no storms for the past two days. it must have fallen quite recently, for otherwise the news would have been taken to the nearest commune, whose duty it would be to see at once to its removal." philip de la vallee had, as the servant was speaking, glanced at desmond. to both it seemed that this obstacle could scarcely be the result of an accident. "i will see how large the tree is," the baron said; "whatever be its size it is hard if eight men and four horses cannot drag it off the road." so saying, he cantered forward, followed by the retainer, whose comrade also fell in as they passed him. "look to your arquebuses," philip said to the two men on the box, and at the same time called up mike and the two men from behind. "a tree has fallen across the road," he said to them, "and it is possible that this may be an ambush and that we may be attacked, so hold yourselves in readiness, look to your pistols, and see that the priming is all right in the pans." then they went to the door of the carriage. "it is just possible that we are going to have trouble, anne," philip said; "remember what i told you last night, and on no account move from your seat, whatever may take place." as he spoke there was a discharge of firearms in front, and at the same moment a score of horsemen broke from the trees and rode down upon the carriage. their leader was masked. as they came up, the coachman and eustace discharged their arquebuses, emptying two saddles; then, drawing their swords, both leapt to the ground. in the meantime philip, desmond, and the three men dashed at their assailants. philip made for their leader, who, he doubted not, was the vicomte de tulle, but the latter drew a pistol and fired when he was within a horse's length of him. the young man swayed in an ambuscade his saddle and fell heavily to the ground, while a piercing cry from the carriage rose in the air. desmond, after cutting down the first man he encountered, turned his horse and attacked the masked figure, who met him with a fury that showed he was animated by personal animosity. his skill in fencing, however, gave him but slight advantage in such an encounter, while desmond's exercise with the sabre in the regimental salle d'armes was now most useful to him. enraged at the fall of his friend, and seeing that there was but a moment to spare, for already some of the other assail- ants were coming to the assistance of their chief, he showered his blows with such vehemence and fury that his opponent had enough to do to guard his head without striking a blow in return. seeing in a moment that he would be surrounded, desmond made a last effort. the vicomte's weapon shivered at the stroke, but it somewhat diverted the direction of the blow, and instead of striking him full on the head, the sword shore down his cheek, inflicting a ghastly wound, carrying away an ear as well as the cheek from the eye to the chin. then, wheeling his horse, he dashed at two men who were riding at him. the attack was so sudden that one of their horses swerved, and desmond, touching his charger's flank with a spur, rode at him and hurled horse and rider to the ground. a back- handed blow struck his other opponent full in the throat, and then he dashed into the wood, shouting to mike to follow him. the two servitors had both fallen, and the greater part of the assailants were gathered round the carriage. mike was en- gaged in a single combat with one of the horsemen, and had just run his opponent through when desmond shouted to him; so, turning, he galloped after his master. they were not pursued. the fall of their leader had for the moment para- lysed the band, and while three or four of them remained by in the irish brigade the carriage—whose last defender had fallen—the others, dis- mounting, ran to where the vicomte was lying. "that has been a tough business, your honour," mike said, as he joined his master. "it is right you were, sir, when you told me that you were afraid that rascal would try and hinder us on our way; sure it has been a bad business altogether. monsieur philip is killed, and the baron too, i suppose, and all the others, and miss anne has fallen into the hands of that villain again." "i do not think that the baron has been hurt, mike. i expect the orders were only to take him prisoner." "where are we going, your honour?" mike asked, for they were still galloping at full speed. "i am going to get into the road again, and try to find help at moulins to recover the young lady. there is one thing, she is not likely to be molested by that fellow for some little time." "then you did not kill him, your honour?" "no. i cut through his guard, but it turned my sword. but i laid his face open, and it will be some time before he will be fit to show himself to a lady. if, as i expect, i can get no help at moulins, i shall ride on to monsieur de la vallee's place, gather some men there, and try to cut the party off before they get to tulle. if i am too late i shall see what i can do to rescue them. from la vallee i shall go to pointdexter. i have no doubt that we can get together a force there large enough to besiege de tulle's castle." after an hour's ride they arrived at moulins, and desmond rode at once to the mairie. being in uniform he was received with every respect by the mayor, who, however, on hearing his story, said that he did not see how he could interfere in the matter. it seemed to be a private quarrel between two nobles, and even if he were ready to interpose, he had no force an ambuscade available; "but at the same time he would send out four men with a cart to bring in any they might find with life in them." "very well, sir," desmond said indignantly; "you know your duty, i suppose, and i know mine, and i shall certainly report to the king your refusal to give any assistance to pun- ish these ill-doers." so saying, he left the room, and at once rode to some stables. leaving his horse and mike's there, he hired others, and then continued his journey south at full speed, and before evening rode into roanne. he knew that it was use- less endeavouring to stir up the authorities here, as they would naturally say that it was the business of the mayors at nevers and moulins, since the attack had taken place between those towns. ordering fresh horses to be got ready, he said to mike: "do you go to all the inns on the left of the main street— i will go to all those on the right—and inquire if a troop of mounted men have come in. i am afraid there is no chance of it, but it is at least worth the trial." at the first four or five places he visited, the answer was that no such party had arrived; then, seeing one of the civic guards, he asked him if he had seen or heard of a troop of men passing through the town. "such a troop arrived an hour ago, monsieur l'officier. they stopped as they passed me and asked if monsieur le baron pointdexter, accompanied by a carriage and some ser- vants, had passed through the town. they put up at the 'soleil', and i should think that they are there now, for they had evidently made a long journey, and their horses were too worn out to go farther." delighted at the unexpected news, desmond hurried to the inn. it was a second-class establishment, and evidently fre- (m ) h in the irish brigade quented by market people, as there were large stables attached to it. the landlord was standing at the door. he bowed profoundly, for it was seldom that guests of quality visited the inn. "what can i do for monsieur " he enquired. "you have a party of travellers who arrived an hour ago. i have business with them." "you will find them in this room, monsieur," the landlord said, opening a door. there were some twelve men inside; the remains of a repast were on the table; some of the men were still sitting there, others were already asleep on benches. one, who was evidently their leader, was walking up and down the room im- patiently. he looked up in surprise when desmond entered. "you are the intendant of monsieur de la vallee, are you not?" "i am, sir," the man said, still more surprised. "i am a friend of your master. we have been expecting to meet you for the past four or five days. he was travelling south with the baron de pointdexter and his daughter. we were attacked this afternoon on the other side of moulins. the baron and his daughter were, i believe, carried off; the servants all killed. i saw your master fall, but whether mortally wounded or not i cannot say. i and my servant cut our way through the assailants, who were led by the vicomte de tulle, who had before carried off mademoiselle de point- dexter. i was on my way south to la vallee, with but faint hope of meeting you on the road." "this is bad news indeed, sir," the intendant said. "i trust that my master is not killed for we all loved him. as to mademoiselle pointdexter, it was an understood thing that she one day would be our mistress. it is not our fault that we were so late. our master's messenger was attacked near an ambuscade nevers, and was left for dead on the road. the letter he bore and his purse were taken from him. the night air caused his wounds to stop bleeding, and he managed to crawl to moulins. having no money he was unable to hire a horse, and indeed could not have sat one. he went to an inn fre- quented by market people, and there succeeded in convincing an honest peasant who had come in with a cart of faggots that his story was a true one, and promised him large pay on his arrival at la vallee. the pace was, as you may imagine, a slow one, but two days ago he arrived home, and told me the story. i had the alarm-bell at the castle rung at once, and in half an hour the tenants came in, and i chose these twelve, and started an hour later. fortunately the master had told the messenger what was the purport of his letter, and we have ridden night and day since. i am at your service, monsieur." "in the first place let your men have a sleep. it is eight o'clock now. i will give them seven hours. at three in the morning we will mount. there are not beds enough here, but if you get some clean straw scattered down in one of the sheds the men can lie there. in the meantime i will go round and hire fresh horses, leaving your own in pledge for their safe return. you had better pick out two of your men to ride on to moulins. the mayor there promised to send out a cart to fetch in any wounded who might be found at the scene of the conflict. if on their arrival they find that monsieur de la vallee is not among these, they must ride on till they get there —it is some three leagues from the town—and bring in his body together with those of his servants. they must arrange to give them christian burial there, but your master's body they will, of course, take on to la vallee. his last wish, of course, would be that mademoiselle de pointdexter should be rescued from the power of the villain noble who has carried in the irish brigade her off. starting in the morning so early we shall have no difficulty in cutting him off long before he arrives at tulle. he will probably cross the alier at the ferry at st. pierre le moutier. i must look at a map and see the road that he is likely to follow, but it is probable that he will make by country tracks till he strikes the main road from moulins." "well, i should think, sir, that he would cross it near aubusson, and then pass over the mountains by the road through felletin and come down upon meimac, when he will be only two leagues from his castle near correze. there is a good road from here to aubusson, and we might take post on the road between that town and felletin. at least, sir, we can avenge the murder of our dear master, though we have arrived too late to save him and can rescue mademoiselle de point- dexter and her father." the men who had roused themselves and listened to the conversation with many ejaculations of fury and regret, now exclaimed that they were ready to ride on at once. "there is no occasion for that, my friends," desmond said; "the coach with mademoiselle can travel but slowly, es- pecially along country roads." "perhaps the vicomte may take her on the saddle behind him," the intendant suggested. "that he will not do," desmond said. "in the fight i wounded him so sorely that he will, i think, have to be caried in a litter, and he will be in no condition for fast or long travelling, so that they certainly are not at the present time many leagues from the spot where they attacked us, and cannot reach aubusson until the day after to-morrow. we might cut them off before they arrive there, but we do not know what road they may follow, and might miss them; whereas, from what you say, there can be no doubt that they would pass through felletin." an ambuscade "i think that he would be sure to come that way, sir, for if he followed the road on to limoges questions might be asked. at any rate, sir, we might post a man at aubusson, and another at pont gibaut, as he might make from that town to felletin through the village of croc. how many men has he with him?" "that i cannot tell you. some twenty mounted men under his own leading attacked the carriage. two were shot by eustace and the coachman. i disposed of two more, and my soldier servant of another. the two mounted men and the two servants probably killed two or three more at least be- fore they themselves fell, so that the vicomte would only have some twelve mounted men with him. but there was another party in ambush, and i eannot say how strong they were; but probably altogether there would be twenty. there are ten of your men after sending two off to moulins. now there is yourself, my servant, and i, so we shall be thirteen. with the advantage of surprise i think that we may calculate upon an easy victory, especially as i imagine that the men employed in the affair are not de tulle's own retainers, but some robber band that he hired for the purpose; and these, having no special interest in the matter beyond earning the pay, are not likely to make any very determined resistance." desmond now went back to the hotel where he had put up his horse. he found mike awaiting him there, and the latter was delighted when he heard the news of the arrival of the party from la vallee. desmond's purse was but lightly furnished, and as he saw that the expenses might be heavy he went to a jeweller's "i want to borrow fifty louis," he said," on this ring. it is, i imagine, worth a good deal more, since it was a present to me from the king." the jeweller examined the ring carefully. in the irish brigade "it is a valuable one indeed, sir," lie said, "and i would willingly lend you double as much upon it." "well, we will say seventy-five then," desmond said. "i think that will be ample for my purpose." having received the money, he returned to the inn, accom- panied by mike, and went around to the various stables in the town, where he hired fifteen horses. these were to be taken to the "soleil" at three in the morning, and the men who brought them were to take back the tired horses as security. at that hour the party started, and after a ride of some thirty-five miles reached clermont, where they stabled the horses for six hours. late that evening they arrived at aubusson, having accomplished a journey of some seventy miles. one of the men had been left at pont gibaut with orders to take a fresh horse and ride on to aubusson, if the party they were in search of passed through the town. at aubusson desmond took a fresh horse and rode back to pont gibaut, enquiring at all the villages along the road whether a party of twenty men had been seen to cross the road at any point. then he took four hours' sleep, and at daybreak started back again, making fresh enquiries till he arrived at aubusson. he was convinced that the band had not at that time crossed the road on its way south. at ten o'clock he started out with his party, followed the road by the side of the crorrere river—here a mere streamlet —and halted in a wood about five miles from felletin. at six o'clock in the afternoon a horseman was seen coming along and was recognized as the man who had been left at pont gibaut. desmond went out to meet him. he reported that at twelve o'clock a party of horsemen had come down on to the road a mile to the west of the town. he had followed at a distance, and they had turned off by the track leading to croc. they had with them a carriage and a horse-litter and an ambuscade were travelling slowly. desmond and his men at once shifted their position, and took up a post on the track between croc and felletin. an hour later the party of horsemen were seen approaching the wood in which they were hidden. desmond drew up the men, all of whom were armed with pistols as well as swords, in line among the trees. he waited until the carriage was abreast of them and then gave a shout, and the men at once dashed upon the escort. taken completely by surprise, these made but a poor fight of it. several were shot down at once. the vicomte, whose head was enveloped in bandages, leapt into the saddle of a horse whose rider had been shot, and, drawing his sword, rode at desmond, who was making for the door of the carriage. expecting no such attack, he would have been taken by sur- prise had not mike, who saw his danger, shouted a warning, and at the same moment discharged his pistol. the ball struck de tulle in the forehead, and he fell back dead. his fall at once put an end to the conflict. the robbers, who had lost some eight of their number, at once turned their horses' heads and rode off at full gallop. as desmond drew bridle by the carriage, the door opened and the baron leapt out. "by what miracle have you effected our rescue, my dear monsieur kennedy?" he exclaimed. "my daughter told me that she saw you and your servant break your way through these brigands and ride off. she has been suffering an agony of grief for philip, whom she saw shot. have you any news of him?" "none, sir. i, too, saw him fall, but whether he was killed or only wounded i am unable to say. i have sent two men to bring him into moulins, and i trust they will find that he is only wounded." "my daughter saw you cut down that villain with a terri- in the irish brigade ble blow. we have not seen him since, but we know that he was carried on a horse-litter behind the carriage." "at any rate, he will trouble you no more, baron. my man shot him through the head just as he was riding to attack me from behind." "thank god we are saved from further persecutions i and now tell me how you came to be here." "it was simple enough, baron. i found twelve men with monsieur de la vallee's intendant at boanne. philip, who feared that the vicomte would endeavour to make a further effort to repair his fortune by carrying your daughter off on the road sent a messenger to his intendant to ride at once with twelve men to meet us, and had all gone well they would have joined us fully two days' journey north of nevers. the messenger was attacked on the way, robbed of his letter and purse, and left for dead. he managed to crawl to nevers, and there, being too weak and ill to sit a horse, he hired a peasant's cart and made the journey slowly and painfully to la vallee. as he knew the purport of the letter, two hours after his arrival there the intendant started and rode without drawing bridle to boanne. there by great good fortune i found them, though men and horses were alike done up. knowing, however, that the vicomte in his wounded state, and embarrassed with the coach, could proceed but slowly, i let them have seven hours' sleep, and in the meantime hired fresh horses for them; and we rode that day to aubusson, and this morning moved down to within five miles of felletin. i left a man on the road to pont gibaut, and he brought us word that you had left the main road and were travelling through croc, so we moved at once to intercept you; and you know the rest." in paris again chapter vii in pabis again otj have indeed done well, monsieur kennedy," the baron said, when desmond finished his story. "now let us see to my daughter. her maid is attending on her. she fainted when the fight began. she is not of a fainting sort, but the trials of the last few weeks, and her belief that de la vallee was killed, have very much upset her." "no wonder," desmond said. "it must have been terrible indeed to lose her lover, and to know that she was again in the power of that villain. and you, baron; how did you escape the fate that befell the rest of your convoy?" "we had ridden close up to the tree, when suddenly there was a discharge of firearms. the two men with me fell at once; i was unhurt, but as i turned my horse he fell dead, three bullets having pierced his chest. before i could recover my feet the rascals were upon me; they evidently intended to take me alive for they were provided with ropes, and, binding my arms, hurried me back to the carriage. by the time we got there all was over; my faithful eustace and the coachman lay dead by the side of the carriage. they had fought stoutly, for three of the brigands lay beside them. six others were scattered near, and the brigands were gathered round a fallen man who i guessed was their leader. i found anne in a state of the wildest grief. she told me that she had seen philip shot by the vicomte just as he was attacking him, and that you in turn had cut down the villain. "for half an hour nothing was done, and then one who was evidently in authority over the others left the troop and came up to the carriage. "' monsieur le baron,' he said, 'the orders of my chief are in the irish brigade that you are to be placed in the carriage with your daughter and her maid. if you will give your word of honour that you will not attempt to escape, or to give the alarm as you go along, or to address a word to anyone whom we may encounter, your arms will be freed, and you will be treated with all respect. if, on the contrary, you decline to give this promise, my instructions are that your feet as well as your hands are to be tied, and that you are to be gagged and placed in the bottom of the carriage. you are also to answer for your daughter and her maid, that they too, neither by word nor gesture, shall attempt to attract the attention of anyone in the villages that we may pass through." "it was a hard condition, but i had no choice. the idea that i should suffer the indignity of being bound and gagged like a common malefactor made my blood boil. i should in that case no more be able to give the alarm than if i had been free; therefore i gave the promise, for at least it would be a comfort to anne that i should be with her and able to talk to her. we stopped two nights on the road, being lodged at solitary houses on the way. a guard was placed at my chamber door and another at my window, and even had i not given my word i could not have escaped. and now, monsieur kennedy, what do you propose?" "i think, sir, that it would be best that you should start at once in the carriage for pointdexter. monsieur philip's intendant and his men will ride as your escort, but i do not think that there is the slightest probability of your being interfered with, for now that the vicomte is dead, these men —who were not, i think, his retainers, but a band of robbers whom he had hired for the occasion—will have no further motive for attacking you. i myself shall return to aubusson, send back the horse on which i rode there, hire another, and make straight for moulins, where i still hope that i may find in the irish brigade the party now separated. the baron mounted one of the horses left behind by the brigands, and with the men from la vallee started for pointdexter, while desmond, with mike callaghan, rode back to aubusson. there they slept for a few hours, and then obtained fresh horses and started for moulins, where they arrived late in the evening. they alighted at the "soleil", where desmond had ordered the two men who had gone on from roanne to bring the body of monsieur de la vallee. "the gentleman is not here, sir," the landlord said as he came to the door. "he was brought into the town by the men sent out by the mayor. as by his dress he was evi- dently a gentleman of quality, they took him straight to the 'couronne v "was he alive?" "yes, sir; but, as i hear, the surgeons are unable to decide yet whether he will live. the men you sent here arrived the day after he was brought in. they told me that you would return, and put their horses here, but they are now in atten- dance on the wounded gentleman, who it seems is their lord." "thank god he is alive!" desmond exclaimed. "i have news for him that will do more than the surgeons can to re- store him to himself." leaving mike to see the horses stabled, he hurried away to the other hotel. he sent up his name, and one of the surgeons came down. "monsieur de la vallee is very ill," he said, "although his wound is not necessarily mortal. this morning we succeeded in extracting the ball, but he is in a terribly weak state. he is unable to speak above a whisper, and does not seem to care to make any effort. it would appear that he even does not wish to live." "i have news that will put fresh life into him." in paris again "then by all means go in and see him, sir. we have thought that he is fast sinking; but if the news you bring can rouse him into making an effort to live, he may yet recover. i will go in and give him a strong restorative, and tell him that you are here." in three or four minutes he came to the door of the chamber and beckoned to desmond to enter. "the sound of your name has roused him from the lethargy into which he seemed sinking," he whispered. "when i told him that i could not allow you to enter until he had taken the draught that i gave him, he swallowed it eagerly." desmond went up to the bedside and took the hand which lay on the coverlet. the pressure was slightly returned, and philip's lips moved, but he spoke so faintly that desmond had to lean over him to hear the words. "i am glad, indeed, that you are safe and sound. i have been reproaching myself bitterly that i should have brought you into this fatal busi- ness. as to the rest of it, i dare not even think of it; but i shall die all the easier for knowing that you have escaped." "i escaped for a good purpose, philip. i have good news for you. monsieur le baron and mademoiselle are on their way to pointdexter, under the guard of your men." "is it possible, desmond, or are you only saying it to rouse me?" "not at all, philip. you do not suppose that even for that purpose i would hold out false hopes to you or tell an un- truth on a matter so vital to your happiness." philip's eyes closed, but his lips moved, and desmond knew that he was returning thanks to god for this unlooked-for news. "how did it happen?" philip said, after a silence of some minutes. his voice was much stronger than before, and there was a faint touch of color in his cheeks. the surgeon nodded in the irish brigade approvingly to desmond, and murmured, "i think that he will live." "it is too long a story to tell you in full now," desmond said. "seeing that all was lost, that you were down, and that further resistance was absolutely fruitless, mike and i cut our way out, the more easily since i had struck down their leader de tulle and most of his band had crowded round him. at roanne i found your men, who had just arrived there. it matters not now why they had been detained. i got fresh horses for them and rode for correze, placed an ambush, and turned the tables upon them. mike shot the vicomte, and we easily defeated his followers and rescued the baron and his daughter. i sent them to pointdexter under charge of your intendant and followers, and rode hither, hoping against hope that i might find you still alive. your two men who came on here could have told you that i had escaped." "i did not allow them to speak to monsieur," the surgeon said ," or even to see him. they are below, greatly grieved at being refused entry; but i told them that any agitation might be fatal to their master, and that they could do nothing for him if they came up; for indeed, up to the time when we extracted the ball, he was unconscious. and now, monsieur, i think that it were best you should retire. i shall give monsieur de la vallee a soothing draught; a night's rest will be of vital importance to him. and now that you have relieved his mind of the load that has evidently weighed upon him, i think there is little doubt that he will soon fall asleep." "i will go and have supper," desmond said, "for i have ridden fifty miles since i last ate, and then it was but a piece of bread with a draught of wine. after that i will, with your permission, return here, and if you tell me that he sleeps, will take my place by his bedside till morning." "to that i have no objection," the surgeon said. "i and in paris again a colleague have one or other been with him since he was brought in; and i shall be glad of a rest myself." desmond returned to the " soleil", where he had left mike. the latter, who had just finished his supper, was delighted to hear that de la vallee was likely to recover. after satisfying his own hunger desmond returned to the " couronne ". he went upstairs, and, taking off his riding-boots, stopped at the door of his friend's chamber. it stood a little ajar, and, push- ing it open noiselessly, he entered. the surgeon who was sitting at the bedside rose at once. "he is asleep already," he whispered, "and is breathing quietly. i think it likely that he will not stir until to- morrow morning. i shall be here at six. if he wakes and there is any change, send for me at once." after he had left the room desmond took his place on the fauteuil by the bedside. for a time he thought over the singular chain of adventures that he had gone through. gradually, in spite of his efforts, his eyelids drooped. de la vallee had not moved, and, being dead tired by the exertions of the past four days, he fell into a deep sleep, from which he did not awake until daylight streamed into the room. shocked at having thus given way, he looked anxiously at de la vallee, and was relieved to find that he was lying exactly in the same position and had evidently slept without once waking. half an hour later philip opened his eyes, looked wonderingly at him, and then said: "so it was not all a good dream, desmond? you are really here and your news is true?" "certainly it is true, philip. by this time mademoiselle de pointdexter and her father are far on the way home. they were to have travelled on to argentan and then through aurillac, striking the lozere at entraigues and proceeding along its banks to mende, and thence by a road over the hills in paris again "and when shall i be fit to travel, doctor?" "ah, well, we will talk of that in another fortnight's time. you need absolute quiet, for were you to move before your wound is fairly healed inflammation might set in, and that would throw you back for a long time. you have had a very narrow escape, and you are fortunate indeed to have got off with only a trifling detention." "but i might be carried in a horse-litter?" "certainly not at present," the surgeon said decidedly. "possibly in ten days you might without danger be so carried, providing they take you in short stages and with easy-paced horses, but i should say that it would be still better were you to be carried on men's shoulders. there is never any diffi- culty in hiring men, and you could get relays every eight or ten miles, while it would be difficult to get horses accustomed to such work." "you don't think that i should be able to ride, doctor?" "certainly not in less than a month, probably not in six weeks." "then i must be carried," philip said. "i should work myself into the fever you talk of if i were to be kept here. what are your plans, desmond?" "i have not thought of them yet. at any rate i shall stay with you till you are well enough to start." "i could not think of that, desmond." "you have no say in the matter, philip. in the first place, you will get on all the faster for my being with you; in the next place, ten days of my leave are already expired, and were we to go on straight to pointdexter i should only have a few days there before starting back for paris, and i must therefore postpone my visit to some future time. i can stay here ten days, accompany you some four days on your journey, and then turn back again." (m ) i in the irish brigade "a nice way of spending a month's holiday!" philip grumbled. "it will be a holiday that i shall long look back to," desmond said quietly, " and with pleasure. i do not say that i should not have enjoyed myself at the baron's chateau, for that i should have done; but the adventures that i have gone through will remain in my mind all my life as having gained the friendship of yourself, the baron, and his daughter." "friendship seems to me too mild a word for it, desmond. you have earned a gratitude so deep that it will be a pain to us if we cannot show it in deeds." "and now, philip," desmond said, changing the subject abruptly, "i suppose that you will be at once sending off one of your men with the news that you are in a fair way towards recovery. mademoiselle de pointdexter is suffering at the thought that you were probably killed. i did my best to give her hope, but without much success. your two retainers have been fretting greatly that they were not allowed to see you, but i think that now they can be brought up, and you can choose one of them to act as your messenger. he will, of course, ride post, and can arrive at pointdexter very soon after the baron, if indeed he does not get there first. if he starts at once and changes horses at each place, he may be there by to-morrow at noon, if not earlier, for it is not more, i believe, than a hundred and twenty miles to pointdexter. if you will dictate a letter for him to take i will write it for you." "it must be a short one," the surgeon said, "just a few words. monsieur de la yallee has talked more than is good for him." half an hour later the messenger started, carrying a note with a few words from philip to anne, and a longer letter from desmond to the baron. four days later answers were in paris again received. the messenger had arrived at pointdexter two hours before the travellers reached home, and anne's joy at the news that not only was philip alive, but might in a short time be with her, was deep indeed. the baron wrote to desmond as well as to philip, again expressing the deep gratitude of him- self and his daughter, greatly regretting "that he should not have the opportunity at present of thanking him personally. with the letter the messenger brought a bag of money, con- cerning which he wrote: you have, i know, dear monsieur kennedy, expended a con- siderable sum of money in hiring relays of horses for yourself and m. de la vallee's men, and this, of course, is a debt you cannot object to my repaying. without knowing the exact sum, i have roughly calculated the probable amount, and for- ward it to you by the messenger who will bring you this letter. desmond had no hesitation in accepting the money. the baron had evidently taken considerable pains to calculate the sums that he must have laid out, in order not to hurt his feelings by sending a larger sum than he had spent, for the amount contained in the bag was but a few louis over his disbursements. he at once rode over to roanne and redeemed his ring, which had proved of more value to him than he had ever anticipated. at the end of the ten days philip was strong enough to walk across the room, and the surgeon gave permission for him to start, if, instead of being carried all the way, he would be taken to lyons, which was but twenty miles distant, and there take boat down the rhone to viviers. desmond went with him to lyons, and saw him comfortably bestowed on board a craft going down the river, and there left him in charge of his own retainers. then, accompanied by mike, whose wound was now in the irish brigade well healed, he rode back to paris by comparatively easy stages, arriving there on the day before his leave was up. he reported himself to the colonel. "so you have not been to pointdexter after all! i received a long letter a week ago from the baron, sent by special mes- senger, giving me a full account of your doings, which reads like a chapter of romance. he mentioned that he had also written to the king denouncing the conduct of the vicomte de tulle, and stating that in the fight between his own rescuers and the vicomte's band the latter was killed, and doing full justice to the part you played in the affair. i had a message from his majesty yesterday, ordering that you should as soon as you returned, go at once to versailles, in order that he might question you further on the affair. i have another piece of news for you. we have received orders to march in three days' time, which is a fortunate circumstance for you, for there can be no doubt that, however gallantly and well you have behaved in this affair, and in whatever light his majesty may view it, you have incurred the enmity of de tulle's fam- ily and connections, and the air of paris would not be healthy for you for a time. i need not say that i have read the bar- on's letter to your comrades, and that they fully shared with me the admiration i feel at your conduct." "had i better start at once for versailles, sir?" "i think so. the king is not pleased at being kept waiting. he is sure to ask you when you arrived. you had better take one of my horses; i will order it to be brought round, and shall be at your quarters by the time you have put on your full uniform." the king had just returned from hunting when desmond arrived at the palace and gave his name to one of the ushers. five minutes later he was conducted to the king's dressing- room. in the irish brigade would in no degree have mitigated—indeed it would have in- creased—our anger at his conduct, since it would have seemed as if he had relied upon it for immunity for his action. surely such a belief would have been an erroneous one; the law must be observed, and the higher placed a man is, the more is he bound to set an example of obedience to it. we thank you, sir, for having thwarted so daring and villainous a scheme. we have not yet sent an answer to the baron de pointdexter, be- cause we wished your report of the matter before doing so. we shall now cause him to be informed of our indignation at the plot against his person and that of his daughter, and our sat- isfaction that they have escaped from it. you have begun your career well indeed, young sir. your regiment is about to start for the frontier; we shall direct your colonel to report to us from time to time as to your conduct, and shall see that your promotion is in accordance with your actions, and shall request him to offer you any opportunity that may occur for distinguishing yourself." desmond rode back to paris well satisfied with the result of the interview. he had not been slow in noticing that although the king's approval of his actions had been warmly expressed in words, there was a certain coldness in the tone in which they were spoken, which showed that although the king's sense of justice constrained him to praise, he was at heart sore at the death of one who had been a favoured companion in his sports and amusements. on his return he found his two friends waiting for him at his quarters. they gave him a hearty greeting. "you are a perfect paladin, kennedy," o'neil said; "and though we are all proud of you we cannot help feeling a little envious that such adventures have all fallen to the lot of our junior ensign. it is evident that if you were not born with a silver spoon in your mouth, fortune determined to make up in paris again in other wayb by giving you such chances as do not fall to the lot of anyone else." "yes, i think i have every right to consider myself ex- ceptionally fortunate." "you may have been fortunate, kennedy," o'sullivan re- marked; "the thing is, that you took advantage of the oppor- tunities. you threw yourself into the first adventure that came your way, rescued a lovely damsel in distress, and her gratitude and that of her father attracted the king's notice and gained that ring on your finger. in the next place, after escaping from the ruffians who attacked the coach—princi- pally, as it seems, by cutting down their leader and so occupy- ing the attention of his f ollowers—you instantly took the reso- lution to attempt to rescue him and his daughter, and suc- ceeded in doing so. another man might have stopped at moulins, congratulating himself that he had escaped from the trap, and lamenting that he could do nothing towards again rescuing this damsel from her abductors. of course it was a piece of good fortune meeting de la vallee's men at roanne, but i have no doubt that if you had not done so you would still have got to pointdexter, gathered a force, and intercep- ted the vicomte's party." "it would have been a very near thing, o'sullivan. chang- ing horse at every post i might have got to pointdexter from roanne in twenty-four hours; but i doubt whether, even al- lowing that no time was lost in getting the men together, i could have got to tulle before them. they had but one hun- dred and fifty miles to travel, i should have had still farther; and as they would have had three days' start, they should have been there before me, for i heard from the baron that in ad- dition to the four horses in the coach, they had four others, ridden by troopers, fastened to it where the road was bad." "what would you have done if they had got to the vi- is the ieish brigade comte's chateau—it is, i believe, a strong place—before you could intercept them?" "i cannot say what i should have done; i thought the matter over and over again as we rode. it seemed absurd to think of attacking a chateau with only twelve men; and besides it would have been a very serious business to assault a noble in his own castle. there would almost certainly be twenty or thirty men there at the least, and the ringing of the alarm-bell would have brought all his vassals within five miles round to his aid at once. i have no doubt that i should have attempted something, but in what way i could form no idea until i saw the place." the two young men laughed. "i believe that you would have succeeded somehow, kennedy," o'neil said. "after what you have done i have an almost unlimited faith in you, and if you told me you could see no other plan than carrying off his gracious majesty, and taking him down to tulle and forcing him to order this rascal vicomte to deliver up his captives, you would accomplish it." desmond laughed. "the plan might be as good as another, though i own that it had not occurred to me; but it would certainly necessitate my having him held prisoner until i had got safely out of france, otherwise my fate would assuredly be to be broken on the wheel." "yes; i don't think his gracious majesty would have forgiven such an indignity even if put upon him for a good purpose. it is almost treason even to dream of such a thing." desmond laughed. "it was a purely imaginary case; but you see, not having been accustomed, as you are, to a country where the king is regarded almost as a god, i am afraid i have not that awe of him that is generally entertained here. i have naturally a great respect for the king whom i serve, and whose pay is a matter of the greatest importance to me; in paris again but, after all, although in his service, he is not my lawful kin*" "then you would not even imagine such a thing as to take your lawful king, james, prisoner, however much the fate of someone in whom you were interested was concerned?" desmond did not answer at once. "i don't know," he said at last, "what i should do in such a case. for king james as lawful king of my country i have the deepest respect, and would freely venture my life in his service; but for him as a man, irrespective of his crown, i own that my admiration is not extreme, and that i should not hesitate to join'in any plan for putting pressure upon him on behalf of anyone in whom i was extremely interested, as i certainly am now in mademoiselle de pointdexter and monsieur de la vallee." "you are a curious fellow, kennedy," o'neil said with a smile, "and i should be very much puzzled if i were called upon to predict what your fate is likely to be. it seems to me that you have an equal chance of becoming a french marshal or being broken on the wheel. here you are, not yet seven- teen; you have, as i doubt not, somewhat interfered with the king's plans, and caused him the loss of one of his personal friends; you have twice rescued a noble lady from the hands of her abductors; you have brought disgrace and death upon a member of one of the most powerful families in france; you have earned the gratitude and friendship of one of the leading nobles of southern france, that of the fiance of his daughter, and of the daughter herself. as soon as this affair spreads abroad you will be the object of general remark and attention. you have rendered the regiment to which you belong proud of you, its junior ensign, and made paris emphatically too hot to hold you. if all this is done before you are seventeen, what may we expect when another ten years have passed over your head?" in the irish brigade "you had better wait for the ten years to pass, o'neil," desmond laughed; "by which time perhaps you and o'sulli- van will both have learned wisdom, and will see that because a man happens to have gone through a very exciting adventure without discredit, it by no means proves him to be anything in the smallest degree out of the way." chapter vni to scotland rpwo days later the regiment was paraded, but no order had been received for their start, and their destination was still uncertain. the officers stood in a group awaiting the arrival of the colonel, who entered, accompanied by colonel wauchop and several other irish officers. as there had been no notice of an official inspection there was a general feeling of surprise at the appearance of the visitors. the colonel rode up to the group of officers. "gentlemen," he said," i must ask you all to accompany me to the common room. i have news of importance to give you." he and those with him dismounted, and, followed by the wondering officers of the regiment, went into the large room where they gathered in the evening. "the news that i am about to give you is of an important and happy nature. his most gracious majesty has decided to send an expedition to scotland, where the whole country is ready to rise in favour of our lawful king." a cheer broke from his hearers. "many scottish and irish gentlemen," the colonel went on, have been selected to accompany it. among them is my friend colonel wauchop and the officers with him. the expedition will consist of six thousand french troops. i re- to scotland gret to say that no irish regiments will accompany it." a groan of disappointment followed this announcement. "we must hope," the colonel said, "that irish troops are not em- ployed only because it is intended that another expedition will sail to ireland, in which case we may be sure that some of us will have an opportunity of fighting again on our own side of the water. moreover, between france and scotland there has long been a close connection and friendship, and the employment of french troops would therefore better suit the scots than would be the case with irishmen. another reason perhaps is, the king of france does not like to spare his best troops when he has sore need of them in flanders and spain. however, a number of irish officers will accompany the expedition for the purpose of drilling and commanding the new levies, for which work they will be far better suited by their knowledge of english than french officers would be. therefore the various irish regiments are all to furnish a certain number of lieutenants. generals hamilton, sheldon, dorrington, and lords galmoy and fitzgerald and our friend colonel wauchop will be in command of the newly-raised force, having with them many scotch officers now in the service of france. "the secret of the expedition has been well kept, but i have known it for a fortnight, and have prepared a list of the fifteen officers who are to go. i may say that, in order to avoid partiality, i have, with one exception, selected them by lot. those who are to go will doubtless consider themselves fortunate; those who are to stay are still more lucky, if, as i hope, the regiment will form part of a similar expedition sent to ireland." he then read out a list of the officers chosen. o'sullivan and o'neil were both among them, and the name of desmond kennedy was the last read out. in the irish brigade "youi will, gentlemen, start in an hour's time, taking the northern road through montvidier and arras. in each of these towns you will be joined by officers from other regi- ments. colonel wauchop will accompany you. i ■ do not name the port from which you are to sail, and no word must be said by you as to the route you are to travel, but you can no doubt judge for yourselves by the road that you are taking what port is your destination. the french troops will be already there, and the fleet is all in readiness. you all have horses. you can each take your soldier servant with you, but those who do so must either hire or purchase a horse for him. all further details you will learn from colonel wau- chop, and the paymaster will have orders to issue two months' pay to each of you in advance. the distance will be about a hundred and fifty miles, and you will perform it in five days." colonel wauchop then addressed a few words to the offi- cers, all of whom were under the rank of captain. "gentlemen," he said, "you have an honorable task before you. for years we have been waiting for the day when our swords might aid to place our king upon the throne. at last it has come. i need not say that the struggle will be a severe one, and that your courage will be taxed to the utmost, but you have proved that in a score of desperate fights. the task before you will need tact to no ordinary degree. the scotch are as peppery a race as the irish are, and it will be necessary in no way to hurt their feelings or to excite among them the smallest degree of discontent at being drilled and led by men who are not of their own race. and now, as we have much to do before starting, i will leave you to make your arrange- ments. the rendezvous for us all is in your barrack-yard, and at nine o'clock we shall be here." the colonel now left the room, and the officers eagerly and to scotland excitedly talked over the startling news that they had just heard. the greater part of those who had been selected for the service were delighted to go, while the others were equally pleased at the thought that they might shortly be fighting for king james on the soil of ireland. "sure, your honour, i wish it had been in the ould coun- try instead of scotland," mike said when he heard the news. "i cannot say that i agree with you, mike. in ireland we should find tens of thousands of brave hearts ready to join us, but they are unarmed, undrilled, and undisciplined, and would be of comparatively slight assistance to us against the english troops. defeat would bring down fresh persecutions, fresh confiscations, and greater misery upon the land." "sure we would beat them, your honour." "we might, mike; but you must remember that we failed to do so even when the people were armed. no doubt we shall take a certain amount of muskets and ammunition with us, but the power of england is more assuredly fixed in ire- land now than it was then—the influence of the old irish fam- ilies is broken, and even if we armed all who joined us, it would be but an armed rabble and not an army. in scotland it is altogether different. the scottish clans would join us under their chiefs, to whom they give absolute obedience, and they would turn out armed and ready for action. thus, then, i think that, allowing that ireland is as loyal as scotland, the choice has been a wise one." "sure, you know best, your honour; but i will warrant that as soon as scotland rises, ireland will be in a blaze from one end to the other." "that may well be, mike; but there will then be a chance of success, since the english forces will be fully occupied by our descent in the north, which will threaten london, while ireland can be left to itself until the main question is settled." in the irish brigade "it is mighty lucky, your honour, that i should have stuck to the horse we got when we rescued miss pointdexter." "i am very glad too, mike, for otherwise i should have had to buy one, and it is likely enough that i may want all the money i have before this campaign that we are starting upon is over." o'neil and o'sullivan at this moment burst into the room. "it is glorious that we three should all be going, kennedy!" the latter exclaimed. "it is just your luck, for you are the only ensign named, while the regiment will be left with only four lieutenants. of course i should be still better pleased if we were going to ireland. still for anything we know that expedition may not come off, and so that we are fighting for the king it's all one whether it is in scotland or at home." having seen that all was ready for departure, desmond went to the colonel's quarters to say good-bye. several of the officers who were going were already there, and the colonel motioned to him to stay until they had left. when they had done so he said, "perhaps you guessed, kennedy, that you were the one exception i mentioned to the rule i adopted of fixing by lot upon those who were to go." "no, indeed, sir," desmond said in surprise; "i thought it an extraordinary piece of good fortune that i should be the only ensign to go when there were so many others all senior to me. indeed i thought for a moment of saying that i would resign in favour of one who was older and more ex- perienced than myself; but then it struck me that if i did, some of the junior lieutenants might feel themselves obliged to do the same in favour of their seniors." "i should not in any case have permitted a change to be made. i had decided that, in order to avoid jealousy, chance should decide the matter. indeed, you are the only ensign going with the expedition. i informed colonel wauchop and to scotland general hamilton of the reason for which i specially in- cluded you. "so long as it was supposed that the regiment was on the point of marching to spain i considered that if you took my advice and did not leave the barracks after nightfall no harm would befall you. but the case is altered now that it may remain here for some time, for no doubt it will take part in any expedition sent to ireland. i have heard within the past forty-eight hours that the friends of de tulle have made very strong representations to the king. they have urged that your proceedings, involving what they call the murder of their kinsman, were of the nature of civil war, and that if his con- duct had been reprehensible it was for the baron de pointdex- ter to lay the matter before his majesty and ask for redress. i hear, however, that the king received their remonstrances coldly, told them that de tulle bad brought his fate upon him- self, that it was the duty of every gentleman to endeavour to rescue a lady so feloniously carried off, and that he approved of the readiness and energy with which you had taken steps to do so. on finding, then, that they have failed in their hope of having you sent to one of the royal prisons, from which you would probably never have come out alive, i have no doubt whatever that these people will endeavour to take the matter into their own hands, and that, with the means at their disposal, they will find no difficulty in procuring persons who would undertake to assassinate you. as i have said, if you had at once started for the army we might have looked after your safety until you crossed the frontier, but here in paris you would not be safe for an hour, and could scarce venture between the barracks and your lodging unless under a strong guard. under such circumstances t consider that i was justi- fied in placing you on the list of the officers who would ac- company the expedition. i explained to general hamilton in the irish brigade and colonel wauchop, who both happened to be with me, my reasons for wishing to include so young an officer in the ranks of those selected for the service. the officers heartily agreed with me, having, of course, heard the story, or, at any rate, the main facts of your rescues of mademoiselle de pointdexter." "i am indeed greatly obliged to you, colonel. i know that it is a dangerous thing to incur the enmity of one of those powerful families, and though i should certainly have taken every precaution in my power, i felt that i should be in constant danger until we fairly embarked upon a cam- paign." at nine o'clock the party started; it numbered some fifty officers, scotch and irish. the baggage had started half an hour before; it was to join the carts with the baggage of the other officers outside the northern gates, and was under an escort of dragoons whose officer had powers given him to re- quisition fresh horses at each town through which he passed, and so to push on to the port with but two halts. once off there was no longer any necessity for keeping their destina- tion a secret, and the officers were informed that, as they had already guessed, dunkirk was the harbour from which they were to sail. the journey was a pleasant one; all were in the highest spirits. a short distance behind them marched a body of infantry composed entirely of non-commissioned officers, of whom o'brien's regiment furnished thirty. all were picked men, and, marching each day as far as the party of officers rode, arrived at dunkirk on the fifth day after starting, and were at once embarked on the ships of war. colonel wauchop and the officers of o'brien's regiment were told off to the salisbury, which was a ship that had been taken from the english and was now loaded with military stores, arms, and to scotland munitions for the use of those who were expected to join them on landing. after seeing that the officers were all pro- perly accommodated the colonel went ashore, and when he returned it was at once seen by the expression of his face that something was wrong. "i have very bad news," he said. "king james, who arrived here two days ago, has been taken suddenly ill, and until he is partially recovered we cannot sail, for it is abso- lutely necessary that he should be with us. this may mean the delay of a week or ten days and may defeat all our arrangements. the english government have spies here as well as elsewhere, and their fleet has for the last week been hovering off the coast. they may not have known the purpose of the assembly of troops here, for this has been kept strictly secret, and few even of the french officers of the expedition knew, until they arrived here, for what reason the regiments had been ordered to dunkirk. but the arrival of king james of course showed what was the intention, and as soon as the news reaches london you may be sure that the english fleet will be sent to intercept us." it was indeed ten days before james was sufficiently re- covered to be embarked—a delay which probably cost him his kingdom, for there can be no doubt that on landing he would have been joined at once by all the great clans and by no small proportion of the able-bodied men of the country. the consequences were so evident to all engaged in the expedition that despondency took the place of the enthusiasm with which they had embarked. the fact that the expedition, after being so carefully and secretly prepared, should at its outset meet with so serious a misfortune was considered an omen of evil. at last, however, james embarked under a salute by the guns of the ships of war, and as the sails were hoisted and the anchors weighed, the spirits of all again rose. they (xm ) j in the irish brigade had sailed but a few miles when it became evident that the salisury was the slowest ship in the fleet, for, although she had every stitch of canvas set, she lagged behind the rest, and the other vessels were obliged to lower some of their sails in order to allow her to keep up with them." "i begin to think, kennedy," o'neil said, "that the good fortune that has hitherto attended you has spent itself. o'sullivan and i both regarded it as a good omen that you should be the one ensign selected to go with us, but this miserable delay at dunkirk, and the fact that we are on board the slowest tub in the fleet, seems to show that dame fortune is no longer going to exercise herself in your favour." "it looks like it, indeed," desmond agreed. "still, i can't hold myself responsible for either the king's illness or for our being allotted to this heavy-sailing craft, and, perhaps, even if fortune should not favour me any longer, she will do some- thing for some of the others. she has always been favourable to colonel wauchop. he has been through innumerable engagements. though many times wounded he has never been seriously so, though scores of other officers have fallen in enterprises in which he has taken part. in his case fortune has not been fickle, and as he is the chief officer on board, we must hope that she has not deserted him on this occasion. i think there is a certain amount of luck in the fact that we carry a large amount of guns and ammunition. if that had not been the case, it is likely that, rather than delay, the squadron would sail on at full speed, and have left us to follow as best we might." a constant watch was maintained at the mast-head of the ship, but no signs were seen of the english fleet, until, on the rd of march, six days after sailing, they reached the mouth of the firth of forth, and were congratulating themselves that they had brought the voyage to a successful termination, to scotland at daybreak next morning, however, just as they were about to enter the estuary, they beheld the masts of a great fleet coming out to meet them. this was the squadron of sir george byng, which had for some days been on the coast, having been despatched as soon as the news reached london of the gathering of ships and troops at dunkirk, and of the arrival of the pretender there. the french admiral at once signalled to all the ships to put about, and he lay off until the english fleet were near enough to discern its composition, which was far superior in force to his own. seeing the im- possibility of landing the troops and stores, and the slight chances of success in giving battle, he hoisted the signal for all to make their way back to dunkirk, keeping as much as possible together, in order to defend themselves if overtaken or if intercepted by another hostile fleet. in vain james begged that a few boats might be given him with which to land with his chief followers. the french admiral replied that his instructions would not justify him in doing so, and that he had been ordered to specially protect the person of the young king, whose safety was of the highest concern to his sovereign. it was with the deepest feeling of disappointment and depression that the scotch and irish officers heard that it was determined to sail for dunkirk again. had the troops on board the ships been of their own nationality, they would have ordered them to disobey the admiral's commands, and to insist upon the fleet, if it suc- ceeded in evading the pursuit of the enemy, making another effort to effect a landing. as, however, all the soldiers were french with the exception of two or three hundred non-com- missioned irish officers, they were powerless, and were half- mad with rage and grief. "this looks bad for us," o'sullivan said gravely to his two friends. "i think that the french ships will outsail the in the irish brigade english, but there is little chance that this unwieldy craft will do so; in which case, my friends, it is likely that we shall all see the inside of an english prison, and that probably not a few of us will be executed. the colonel should be safe, for he came over with the brigade after limerick, and there- fore by that treaty was allowed to enter the service of france; but it is different with the rest of us. we have all joined since those days, and are therefore not covered by the treaty, and so are liable to be tried as traitors." o'neil shrugged his shoulders. "well, we knew that when we joined," he said. "however, i hardly think they are likely to proceed to such an extremity. very many of our brigade have been taken prisoners at blenheim and other places, and they have always had the same treatment as other prisoners of war." "that may be," o'sullivan replied; "but this is a different matter. it is not a question of war on foreign soil. we were going to attack the throne of anne, to promote civil war, and to overthrow the government. the attempt once made can be made again, and you may be sure that the news of our sailing has created a tremendous scare throughout the country. however, we are in for it, and there is no use grumbling against fate. already, you see, the rest of the fleet are leav- ing us—faster, i think, than the english fleet are gaining on us—and i trust they will get safely away into dunkirk. the fact that we so nearly succeeded will perhaps act as an inducement to louis to renew the expedition, and the loss of a colonel, fifteen lieutenants, and thirty non-commissioned officers will not seriously affect anyone except ourselves." "however," desmond put in, " i think that, after all, things may not be as bad as you think. in the first place, our execution would have an extremely bad effect in scotland and ireland, and would add to the general hostility to the present govern- to scotland merit. in the next place, louis has many english prisoners in his hands, and might threaten reprisals. lastly, there is always a chance of escape." "your first two arguments are good, kennedy," o'neil said, "but i cannot say as much for the last. the chances of es- cape from an english prison must be small indeed." "nevertheless there must always be chances," desmond said. "if you will take my advice you will at once go below and conceal your money." "where are we going to conceal it?" o'sullivan said. "you may be sure that we shall be searched." "well, you took my advice in changing the silver in which you were paid into gold, though you lost pretty heavily by the transaction. we did it to prevent lugging about a heavy bag of silver. now it has its advantages. you could not hope to conceal silver, but we may at least hide a few pieces of gold. mike is a handy fellow, and i have no doubt will be able to help us. at any rate let us go below and see what can be done." mike was summoned to the cabin. "now, mike," desmond said, "i suppose in a campaign a good many of you carry what money you may have about you, and i dare say some of you hide it so that if you are taken prisoners you may have means of adding to your prison fare." "we do, your honour, and by the same token i have a score of crowns in between the soles of my boots. it does not always succeed, for if your boots happen to be good, the chances are that someone takes a fancy to them. still, on the whole, that is the best place there is, for they are sure to feel all the lining of your clothes." "well, we want to hide some gold, mike. in another hour we shall have the english within shot of us, and of course fighting is out of the question. do you think that in the irish brigade you will have time to hide a dozen gold pieces in each of our boots?" mike looked doubtful. "to do the thing properly, your honour, one should take off the lower sole, take some leather out of the upper one, put some money in, and then sew it up again; but it would take more than an hour to do one pair." he thought for a moment. the quickest way would be to get out the inside lining of the sole, then to cut out enough leather for the money to lie in, then to put in the lining again. it would not be soft walking on a twenty-mile march, but i think, if i get the lining in tight, with a few little nails to keep it from drop- ping out if anyone takes the trouble to turn the boots upside down, i might manage it." "well, let us commence at once then, mike. we have all got riding-boots, and can put them on before we are taken prisoners. do you take the linings out as you say, and then we will help to cut out some of the leather of the upper sole." they were quickly at work. mike cut out enough of the thin lining to admit of a hole being made large enough to hold ten louis in each boot, and he and the two officers then set to work to cut out a sufficient depth of leather for the coins to lie side by side. half an hour sufficed for this. the coins were put in. mike had in the meantime obtained a handful of pitch and melted it at the galley fire. this he ran in over the gold, and then replaced the pieces of lining with hot pitch. "there, your honours," he said, when he had finished; "i call that a neat job, and it would be hard indeed if the spalpeens find that there is anything amiss. and with these heavy boots the extra weight won't betray that there is any- thing hidden. don't put them on till the last moment; give the english officer received the bword of the french officers. to scotland them time to cool, for if any of it oozes out you will stick your stockings so tight to it that you won't get your foot out without laving them behind." leaving their high boots in the cabin, the three young men went on deck. the leading vessel of the british fleet was not more than a mile astern, while the french fleet was three miles ahead, having gained more than a mile since the chase began. mike had been given four louis, which he said he could hide in his mouth. five minutes later there was a puff of smoke from their pursuer's bow. the ball struck the water close to them. "shall i hold on, colonel?" the captain of the ship asked colonel wauchop. "there is no use in your doing so; that ship will be along- side in an hour, and it might only cause a useless loss of life were we to keep on. if she were alone i should say let her come alongside, and with your crew and our officers and men we might, if we had luck, take her by boarding; but with the whole fleet close behind us it would be madness to think of such a thing, as we have but twelve guns, and those of small weight." accordingly the topsails were run down, and the courses brailed up, and the ship lay motionless till the english frigate came up. signals had been exchanged between the english vessels, and as they came along six of them dropped boats, each with some twenty men in it. while these rowed towards the prize, the fleet pressed on under all canvas in pursuit of the french squadron. the english officer in command of the boats received the swords of the french officers, and the non- commissioned officers were all sent below into the hold. all sail was at once got on to the vessel again, and she followed in the wake of the fleet. the english lieutenant then took the names of the prisoners. in the irish brigade "you are all irish," he said seriously. "i am sorry, gentlemen, that this should be so, for i fear that it will go harder with you than if you were french, when, of course, you would be merely prisoners of war." "we should be prisoners of war now," colonel wauchop said; "we are in the service of the bang of france, and were but obeying his orders, along with our french com- rades." "i hope they may see it in that light in london," the officer said courteously; "but i doubt whether at the present moment they will take a calm view of the subject. however, i hope they will do so, especially as no shot has been fired by you, and they cannot charge you with resisting capture. at any rate, gentlemen, i will do my best to make you comfortable while you are under my charge. i must ask a few of you to shift your quarters so as to make room for me and the three officers with me; beyond that, you will continue as before, to use the ship as passengers." when darkness set in the pursuit was discontinued. the french fleet was fully ten miles ahead, and it was evident that there was no chance whatever of overtaking it, while there was a risk of its doubling back during the night and again making its way north. the greater part of the sails of the men-of-war were therefore furled, while the frigates and corvettes made off on either hand to establish themselves as sentries during the night, and to give warning should the french fleet be seen returning. an hour and a half after the pursuit had ceased the salisbury joined the fleet, and the officer in command went on board the admiral's ship to report the number of prisoners taken and the nature of her cargo. the officers had, at his invitation, dined with him and his officers in the cabin. all political topics had been avoided, and no one who had looked in would have supposed that to scotland the majority of those present were the prisoners of the others." the irish temperament quickly shakes off a feeling of depression, and the meal was as lively as it had been during the voyage north. the lieutenant, however, omitted no pre- caution. a dozen men kept guard over the prisoners below, and as many more with loaded muskets were always stationed on deck. the irish officers saw that among many of the sailors there was a strong feeling of sympathy with them. the fleet had been largely recruited by impressment, and by the handing over to the naval authorities of numbers of men imprisoned for comparatively slight offences, and, as was natural, these had but small feeling of kindness towards the government who had so seized them; while many shared in the feeling of loyalty towards the house of stuart, which was still so prevalent among the population. at daybreak the cruisers all returned. none had seen any signs of the french squadron, and sir george byng, leaving the majority of the fleet to maintain watch, sailed with his prize for harwich. here the prisoners were handed over to the military authori- ties, while the admiral started for london in a post-chaise to carry the news of the failure of the french to effect a landing, and of their return to dunkirk,—news that was received with exuberant delight by the supporters of government and the commercial portion of the population, who had been threatened by ruin. the run upon the banks had been unprecedented, and although the house of commons had relaxed the regula- tions of the bank of england, the panic was so great that it could not have kept its doors open another twelve hours. the treatment of the prisoners was now very different from what it had been on board ship. not only were they confined to prison, but, to their indignation, irons were placed on their in the irish brigade legs as if they had been common malefactors. the only miti- gation allowed to them was that their servants were permitted to attend upon them. their clothes had been rigorously searched and their boots taken off,but no suspicions had been entertained that coin had been hidden in those of desmond and his friends. two days later an order was received from government, and the officers were marched up to town ironed as they were, under a strong guard, and were imprisoned at newgate. callaghan and the other servants remained in prison at harwich. "things are looking bad, kennedy," o'neil said dolefully, for the three officers had, at their own request, been allotted a cell together. "they don't look very bright, but we must make allowance for the awful fright that, as we hear, has been caused by the expedition. possibly when they have got over the shock, things may be better." "i will never forgive them for putting irons on us," o'sulli- van said passionately. "if they had shot us at once it was, i suppose, what we had a right to expect, but to be treated like murderers or ruffians of the worst kind is too bad." "well, we were rid of the irons as soon as we got here. no doubt these were only put on to prevent the possibility of any of us escaping. i am sure by their looks that some of our escort would willingly have aided us, only that it was im- possible to do so; and, knowing how large a number of per- sons would sympathize with us, i cannot blame them so very much for taking steps to prevent our escape." "i never saw such a fellow as you for finding excuses for people," o'sullivan said almost angrily. "you look at things as calmly as if they concerned other people, and not our- selves." kennedy smiled. "if an opinion is to be worth anything, to scotland o'sullivan, it must be an impartial one; and it is best to look at the matter calmly, and to form our plans, whatever they may be, as if they were intended to be carried out by other people." o'sullivan laughed. "my dear fellow, if you had not gone through those adventures i should have said that you had mistaken your vocation, and were cut out for a philosopher rather than a soldier. however, although your luck did not suffice to save the salisbury from capture, we must still hope that it has not altogether deserted you; and anyhow, i am convinced that if it be possible for anyone to effect an escape from this dismal place, you are the man." newgate in those days stood across the street, and consti- tuted one of the entrances to the city. its predecessor had been burnt in the great fire of , and the new one was at this time less than forty years old, and though close and badly ventilated, had not yet arrived at the stage of dirt and foulness which afterwards brought about the death of numbers of pri- soners confined there, and in occasioned an outbreak of jail-fever which not only swept away a large proportion of the prisoners, but infected the court of the old bailey close to it, causing the death of the lord mayor, several aldermen, a judge, many of the counsel and jurymen, and of the public present at the trials. the outward appearance of the building was handsome, but the cells were for the most part small and ill- ventilated. "this place is disgraceful," o'neil said; "there is barely room for our three pallets. the air is close and unwhole- some now, but in the heat of summer it must be awful. if their food is as vile as their lodging, the look-out is bad indeed." "i fancy the cells in the french jails are no better," o'sul- livan said. "no doubt in the state prisons high-born prison- ers are made fairly comfortable, but the ordinary prisoners in the irish brigade and malefactors, i have been told, suffer horribly. thank goodness i have never entered one; but even the barrack cells can scarcely be called inviting." "you are learning philosophy from kennedy," o'neil said with a laugh. "i don't know as i shall feel philosophic if we are served with nothing but bread and water. however, the turnkey told us that until we have been tried and condemned we are at liberty to get our food from outside—certainly a mockery in most cases, considering that we all were relieved of any money found upon us when we arrived in harwich. it is a comfort that we are, as he said, to take our meals together, and the money we have in our boots will alleviate our lot for some time. probably it will last a good deal longer than we are likely to be here." when they joined their companions in the room in which they were to dine, all were astonished at seeing an excellent dinner on the table with eight bottles of wine. "is this the way they treat prisoners here?" colonel wau- chop asked one of the jailers, of whom six remained present. the man smiled. "no, indeed; it has been sent in from a tavern outside, and with a message that a like meal will be provided as long as you are here. one of us was sent across to inquire as to the person who had given the order. the landlord said that he was a stranger to him, but that he had paid him a fortnight in advance, and would call in and renew the order at the end of that time." "well, gentlemen," the colonel said, " before we begin to eat we will drink the health of our unknown benefactor. not only is the gift a generous and expensive one, but it cannot be without danger to the donor, for none but a strong adherent of king james would have thought of thus relieving our necessities." an escape from newgate it was plain that the authorities suspected that some mes- sage might have been sent in to the prisoners concealed in the viands. the bread had been cut up into small squares, the crust had been lifted from two pasties, the meat had evidently been carefully searched; and the turnkeys placed themselves round the table so that they could narrowly watch every one of the prisoners as they ate, and notice any movement that would seem to indicate that they had come across some pellet of paper or other substance. every day the servants at the tavern brought in similar fare, and this continued as long as the prisoners were in the jail; and it was a matter of deep regret to all that they were never able to discover the name of the person to whom they were so much indebted. chapter ix an escape from newgate a fter being allowed to remain an hour at the table, the prisoners were again marched off to their cells. "i wish we had mike with us," desmond said, as he and his comrades discussed the possibility of escape. "he is a shrewd fellow, and would probably be allowed greater freedom in moving about the prison than we are; but i was sure that we should see no more of him after we left harwich. of course the first question is, are we to try bribery, or to work our way out of this cell?" "i think that it would be dangerous to try bribery," o'sulli- van remarked. "our turnkey is a sour-faced rascal. i am convinced that if we were to try to bribe him he would de- nounce us at once. not from any principle, you know, but be- in the irish brigade cause he would think that it would pay him better to do so, and so obtain promotion and reward, rather than to accept our money and run the risk of being detected and hanged." "i don't blame him," o'neil said. "he is, as you say, a sour-looking rascal, but i don't think that he is a fool, and none but a fool would run that risk for the sake of the money that we could give him, for in any case we should have to retain a portion of our store in order to obtain disguises and maintain ourselves till we could find means of crossing the channel." "then let us put that idea altogether aside, o'neil, and give our whole attention to the manner in which we are to ecape." "the manner in which we are to try to make our escape!" o'neil repeated with a laugh. "well, put it that way if you like. now in the first place there is the window, in the second the door, and lastly the walls and floor." "the door would withstand a battering-ram," o'sullivan said. "i noticed as i went out that it was solid oak some four inches thick, with two bolts as well as the lock, and, moreover, if we could get through it we should be no nearer escaping than we are at present. what with the corridors and passages, and the turnkeys and the outer gate, that course seems to me impossible. let us come to the second point, the window." they looked up at it. the sill was fully six feet from the ground. the window was a little over a foot wide, with a heavy bar running down the centre, and cross bars. "the first point is to see where it looks out on," desmond said. "i will stand against the wall, and as you are the lighter of the two, o'neil, you can stand on my shoulder and have a good look out and tell us what you see. give him your hand, o'sullivan. put your foot on that, o'neil, and then step on my shoulder." an escape from newgate o'neil was soon in his place. "you need not hold me," he said; "the wall is very thick, the bars are placed in the middle, and there is just room for me to take a seat on the edge, then i can see things at my ease." he sat looking out for a minute or two before he spoke. "well, what can you see?" o'sullivan asked impatiently. "this room is on the outer side of the prison," he said. "i noticed as we came in that it was built along on both sides of the gate, and no doubt this side stands on the city wall." "then what do you see?" "i see the ground sloping steeply down to a stream that runs along the bottom of it. there are a good many small houses scattered about on the slope and along by the stream. over to the left there is a stone bridge across it; near this is a large building that looks like another prison, and a market- place with stalls in it; houses stand thickly on either side of the road, and beyond the bridge the opposite side of the slope is covered with them. among these are some large buildings. if we were once out there would not be much chance of our being detected if we had something to put over our uniforms; but of course they would betray us to the first man we met." "yes, of course," o'sullivan said; "but we might possibly obtain plain clothes at one of those small houses you speak of, though that would be risky." "we might leave our coatees behind us and go only in our shirts and breeches, and give out that we had been attacked and robbed of our money and coats by footpads," desmond said. "that is a good idea," o'neil agreed. "yes, that might do, especially as after dark they would not be likely to notice that our breeches were of a french cut." "but it seems to me that we are beginning at the wrong an escape from newgate up at this prison, and then walk off slowly as if they were filled with pity for us. now i propose that one of us shall al- ways be at the window." "oh, that is too much," o'sullivan said. "that ledge is so narrow that i could hardly sit there even holding on by the bars; and as to stopping there half an hour, i would almost as soon be on the rack." "there will be no occasion for that," desmond said. "we can easily move one of the pallets under it, pile the other straw beds upon it, and, standing on these, we could look out comfortably, for our shoulders would be well above the ledge." "i don't see that we should be nearer to it then, kennedy." "we should have gained this much, that directly we saw any person looking up with a sympathizing air, especially if of a class who could afford to do what is necessary for us, we could wave our hands and attract his attention. if disposed to help us he might give some sign; if not, no harm would be done. we might, too, tie a handkerchief to the bars, which in itself might be taken for an indication that there are followers of the stuarts here." "but supposing all this turned out as you suggest it might, how could even the best-disposed friend do anything to help us?" "that is for after-consideration; let us first find a friend, and we shall find a way to open communication with him. we have no paper, but we could write the message on a piece of linen and drop it down. as far as we can see from here, there is nothing to prevent anyone coming up to the foot of the wall below us." for the next four days nothing whatever happened. they could see that the white handkerchief at the bars attracted some attention, for people stopped and looked up at it, but (hus) k in the irish brigade continued their way without making any gesture that would seem to show that they interested themselves in any way in the matter. on the fourth day desmond, who was at the window, said in a tone of excitement, "there is a man down there who, after looking fixedly in this direction, is making his way towards us. he does not come straight, but moves about among the houses; but he continues to approach. i can't make out his face yet, but there is something about him that reminds me of mike, though how he could be here when we left him in the prison at harwich is more than i can say." o'neil and o'sullivan in turn looked through the window. not being so much accustomed as he was to mike's figure and walk, they could not recognize in the man, in the dress of a country peasant, the well-set-up soldier who attended on desmond. both admitted, however, that in point of figure it might well be the man. "h it is," desmond said, " all our difficulties are at an end, and i will wager that we shall be free in three or four days. now, how are we to communicate with him?" "i have a piece of paper in my pocket. it is only an old bill, and they threw it down contemptuously when they searched me," o'neil said. "i picked it up again. i hardly know why, except perhaps that the idea occurred to me that some day i might get a chance of paying it. but as we have no ink, nor pen, nor charcoal, i don't see how it can benefit us." he drew the bill from the pocket of his coatee. desmond took it, and stood looking at it in silence for a minute. then an idea occurred to him. "i have it!" he exclaimed presently. "o'neil, see if you can get a piece of this gold wire ori my facings. i want it an escape from newgate five or six inches long, so that when it is doubled up and twisted together so as to be an inch long, it will be stiff enough for our purpose." somewhat puzzled, o'neil did as he was requested. des- mond straightened out the fine wire wrapped round the centre thread, doubled, and again doubled it, and finally twisting it together, reduced it to the length of about an inch and the, thickness of a pin. the others looked on, wondering what was his intention. he held the paper out before him, and be- gan pricking small holes through it close together. he con- tinued to work for some time, and then held it up to the light. the others understood the nature of his work, and they could now read: come ten to-night under window. bring long thin string. whistle. we will lower thread. tie end of string to it. will give further instruction. kennedy. he tore off the portion of the bill on which the message was written, twisted off two of the buttons of his coatee, folded them in the paper, and took his place at the window again. the man who had been watching was standing some sixty feet from the foot of the wall. his back was towards them. pres- ently he turned, carelessly looked up at the window, and then, as if undecided what to do, took off his cap and scratched his head. "it is mike sure enough," desmond exclaimed. and thrusting his hand through the bars, waved it for a moment. then taking the little packet, he dropped it. mike put on his hat again, turned round, then looked cautiously to see that no one was noticing him, and strolled in an aimless and leisurely way towards the wall. desmond could no longer see him, but felt sure that he would find the missive. presently in the irish brigade he came in sight again, walking quietly away. he did not look round; but when nearly at the bottom of the hill turned, lifted one hand, and disappeared behind some houses. "he can't read," desmond said," but i have no doubt he will get someone to do it for him." a vigilant watch was kept up, but nothing was seen of mike till late in the afternoon, when he emerged into one of the open spaces. they had now taken the handkerchief down from the window, and directly they saw him desmond waved it, showing that they were watching him. he threw up his arm, turned, and disappeared again. "he has made out my message," desmond said. "we may expect him here at ten o'clock." while he had been watching, his two comrades had, under his instructions, been unraveling a portion of one of their blankets. when enough thread had been obtained the strands were tied together and doubled, and desmond had little doubt that it was sufficiently strong to draw up the string mike would bring with him. he now took another portion of the bill, and pricked upon it the words: at nine to-morrow night. bring, if possible, fine steel saw, two files, and a small bottle of oil. fasten these to string we will lower with further instructions. he then opened his coatee, took out some of the white wool with which it was padded, formed this into a loose ball in the centre of which the note was fastened, and all being in readiness, waited patiently until, just as the city clock struck ten, they heard a low whistle. the ball had already been attached to the end of the thread, and desmond at once lowered it down. presently they heard another whistle, and hauling at it again they found that the ball had gone, and attached to the end of the thread was a very light silken cord. an escape from newgate which they drew in. there was another low whistle, and all was silent. "so far, so good," desmond said. "we are fairly on our way to liberty. how long do you suppose it will take us to cut through these bars?" "it would take us a long while to file through them all," o'neil said, "but with a fine steel saw i should think that a couple of nights' work should do it. but of course that is mere guesswork, for i have not the least idea how fast even the best saw could cut through iron." "well, there is no particular hurry, for we know that no day has been fixed yet for our trial. so whether it is one night or six, it does not matter much." on the following evening at nine o'clock the whistle was heard, and another ball lowered down at the end of the string. the instructions this time were: when we are all ready we will show a handkerchief at win- dow. bring with you at nine that evening rope strong enough to bear us, and have disguises for the three ready for us at foot of wall. herewith are ten louis to purchase three disguises. the cord brought up a small packet which contained two very fine small steel saws, two files, and the oil. they did not lose a moment in setting to work, and, oiling the saws, one began to cut through the central bar just above the point where the lowest cross bars went through it, as they deter- mined to leave these to fasten the rope to. there was not room for two of them to work together, and they agreed to take it by turns, changing every quarter of an hour. to their great satisfaction they found that the saw did its work much more quickly than they had expected, and by the time in the irish brigade each had a turn the bar was cut through; and by morning the side bars had also all been cut. they did not attempt to cut the main bar higher up, as, had they done so, it would have been difficult to keep the portion cut out in its place. when it was light they filled up all the cuts with bread, which they had managed to secrete in the palms of their hands at dinner. this they kneaded into a sort of putty, rolled it in the dust of the floor until black, and then squeezed it into the inter- stices. "there is no fear of their noticing it," o'neil said when they had finished. "i cannot see the cuts myself from the floor, though i know where they are, and unless they were to climb up there and examine the place very closely they would not see anything wrong." "shall we hang out the flag to-day, kennedy?" "i think we had better wait till to-morrow. he will be hardly expecting to see it to-day, and may not be ready with the rope and disguises." the next morning the signal was hung out. they saw nothing of mike, but as he would be able to make out the handkerchief from a considerable distance they had no doubt whatever that he had observed it but thought it prudent not to show himself near the prison again. as soon as it was dark they recommenced work, and had cut through the main bar and cautiously lowered the grating to the ground before the clock struck nine. then on hearing mike's signal, they lowered the cord, and soon brought up a rope which, although small, was more than strong enough to support them. "we had better tie some knots in it," desmond said. " they will help us to avoid sliding down too rapidly. if it was a thick rope i think we could manage without them, but not being sailors i do not think that we could grasp this tightly enough." an escape from newgate "how close shall we put them, kennedy." "about two feet apart, then we can come down hand over hand, helping our arms by twisting our legs round it. now," he went on, when they had finished the knots, "who will go down first?" "you had better do so," o'sullivan said. "you are the lightest of us, and, i fancy, the strongest too." "very well. i don't think that it will make any difference, for the rope is strong enough to hold the three of us together. however, here goes. we may as well leave our coatees behind us; they might get us into difficulties if we took them." so saying, he took off his coat, fastened the end of the rope securely to the bars that had been left for the purpose, and, holding it firmly, made his way through the opening and swung himself over. with his muscles strengthened by mili- tary exercises and sword practice, he found it easier work than he had expected. the depth was some sixty feet, and in a couple of minutes his feet touched the ground. mike had been hanging on by the rope to steady it, and as desmond descended he seized him by the hand and shook it enthusias- tically, murmuring brokenly, "my dear master, thank god that you are free!" "thanks to you also, my dear fellow. now, hold on again. my friends o'neil and o'sullivan shared my cell with me, and are following me." he added his weight to that of mike, and it was not long before o'neil came down; but not so quietly as desmond had done, for his strength had failed him, and the rope had slipped rapidly through his fingers, and mike and desmond narrowly escaped being knocked down by the suddenness with which the descent was made. he stood for a minute wringing his hand, and swearing in an undertone in english, irish, and french. in the irish brigade "by the powers," he said, "it has taken the skin off the inside of my hands entirely! a red-hot poker could not have done it more nately! mike, you rascal, what are you laughing at? i have a mind to break your bones before thanking you." o'sullivan succeeded better, but was completely ex- hausted when he joined his friends. "now, mike, where are the disguises?" "here they are, your honour. they are just like my own. loose coats, rough breeches, white stockings, and buckled shoes, and soft hats with wide brims. i thought that you would pass better like that than in any other way, for if you were dressed up as citizens your tongues might betray you, for somehow they don't speak english as we do, and when- ever i open my mouth they discover that i am an irishman." desmond laughed. "there would be no difficulty about that. now, let us put on our disguises at once and be off. sometimes the turnkeys take it into their heads to look in during the night, and we had to keep one on watch while we were at work, and take to our beds when we heard a foot- step approaching. i see you have brought shoes; i forgot to mention them. our jack-boots would have attracted atten- tion, so we have left them behind us, after getting our stores of money from their hiding-places." they were soon dressed. "what are we supposed to be, mike?" "you are sedan-chair men, sir. most of the chairs are carried by irishmen, who seem to be stronger in the leg than these london folk. you will have to cut your hair short, and then you will pass without observation." "where are you taking us to?" desmond asked, as they descended the hill. "i have got a lodging in a house out in the fields. i said an escape from newgate g that i was an irishman who had come to london in search of employment, and that i expected three friends to join me, and that we intended to hire chairs and carry the gentry about, for here they seem too lazy to walk, and every one is carried, though it is small blame to them, for dirtier streets i never saw. they are just full of holes where you go in up to the knee in mud and filth of all kinds. faith there are parts of paris which we can't say much for, but the worst of them are better than any here, except just the street they call cheapside, which goes on past st. paul's, and along the strand to westminster." "what have you brought these sticks for, mike?" for he had handed to each a heavy bludgeon. "sure your honour, 'tis not safe to be in the streets after nightfall. it is like that part of paris where no dacent man could walk without being assaulted by thieyes and cut-throats. dressed as we are, it is not likely anyone would interfere with us in the hope of finding money on us, but they are not par- ticular at all, at all, and a party of these rascals might try to roll us in the mire just for fun. so it is as well to be pre- pared." however, they met with no interruption, passed out through holborn bars, and soon arrived at the house where mike had taken a lodging. they were not sorry, however, that they were armed, for several times they heard outbursts of drunken shouting and the sound of frays. mike had hired two rooms. in one of these were three straw beds for the officers; he him- self slept on a blanket on the floor of the other room, which served as kitchen and sitting-room. now for the first time they were able to talk freely. "mike, we have not said much to you yet," desmond began, "but i and these gentlemen are fully conscious that you have saved us from death, for we hear that government is deter- in the irish brigade mined to push matters to the extremity, and to have all the officers captured condemned to be hanged." "bad cess to them!" mike exclaimed indignantly. "if i had two or three of them it's mighty little they would talk of execution after i and me stick had had a few minutes' con- verse with them. as to the getting you out, i assure you, your honour, there is little i have done except to carry out your orders. when i first saw the prison and the little white flag flying from the window, i said to myself that, barring wings, there was no way of getting to you; and it was only when i got your first letter that i saw it might be managed. faith, that letter bothered me entirely. i took it to the wo- man down-stairs and asked her to read it for me, saying that i had picked it up in the street and wondered what it was about. she was no great scholar, but she made out that it was writ in a foreign language, and seemed to her to be a bit of an old bill., when i took it up to my room i looked at it every way. i knew, of course, that it was a message some- how, but devil a bit could i see where it came in. "i fingered it for an hour, looking at it in every way, and then i saw that there were some small holes pricked. well, i could not ask the woman what they meant, as i had told her i picked it up; so i went across to an irishman, whose acquaint- ance i had made the day before, and who had recommended me, if i wanted work, to hire one of these chairs and get a comrade to help me carry it. i could see that he was a man who had seen better days. i expect he had come over in the time of the troubles, and had been forced to earn his living as he could; so i went to him. "' i have got a message,' i said, 'pricked on a piece of paper. i picked it up, and am curious-like to know what it is about.' "so he held it up to the light and read out your message. an escape prom newgate "' i think,' says he, 'it is some colleen who has made an appointment with her lover. maybe she has been shut up by her father, and thought it the best way to send him a mes- sage.' "' that is it, no doubt,' says i;' and it is plain that it never came to his hand.' "the next day i went to him with the second letter. "' it's lying you have been to me,' he said. 'it is some plot you are concerned in.' "' well,' says i, 'you are not far wrong. i have some friends who have suffered for the stuarts, and who have been laid by the leg, and it's myself who is trying to get them out of the hands of their persecutors.' "' in that case i am with you,' he said,' for i have suffered for the cause myself; and if you want assistance you can depend upon me.' "' thank you kindly,' says i. 'just at present it is a one- man job, but maybe, if i get them out, you will be able to give us some advice as to how we had best manage.' so that is how it stands, your honour." "and now tell us how you got away, mike; you may guess how surprised we were when we first made you out, believing that you were safe under lock and key at harwich." 'the matter was easy enough," mike said. "it took me two or three days to get to understand the position of the place, with water all round it except on one side; and it was plain that if i were to start running it is little chance i should have if i did not hit upon the right road. luckily they were mounting some cannon the day after you were taken away. we were ordered to go out and lend a hand, so it was not long before i learnt enough to know which road i ought to take. i was always a good runner, your honour, and many a prize have i carried off at fairs in the old country before in the irish brigade troubles began. so it seemed to me that if i could have anything of a start i ought to be able to get off. there was nearly half a mile betwixt the town and the place where the narrow ground at whose end it stood widened out into the country. if i could only hold my own as far as that, i could take to the woods and lanes and save myself. "a guard of soldiers with muskets and bayonets went out with us, and at the end of the second day i managed to slip off and hide behind a pile of cannon-balls. the rest assem- bled at a spot about fifty yards away, to be counted before they marched to prison again. as soon as the others had got there, and the guards had gathered round, i went off as hard as i could tear. and a good start i should have got if it hadn't been that a sentry on a fort close by, fired his piece at me; still i had a good hundred yards' start. the guards set to to run after me, and when they got in sight of me fired their guns; but they were flurried, and the bullets flew past without one of them touching me. then i felt pretty safe; if they stopped to load their muskets i should get clean away; if, as i expected, they would not stop for that, they would not have a chance with me, carrying their muskets and cartridge- boxes and belts. i had taken off my coatee and boots while i was waiting for the start, and went up the hill like a deer. i did not look round till i got to the top; then i found that i had gained a hundred yards of them. i doubled down a lane at once, and then struck through some orchards, and ran without stopping maybe a couple of miles. "i never heard any more of the soldiers, and knew that for the present i was safe, though maybe they would send some dragoons to scour the country when the news came in. i went on at a jog-trot till it was quite dark; then i sat down to think what i should do next. i had got my four louis with me for they hadn't found them when they searched me. the an escape from newgate first thing was to get some duds, and i walked along till i saw a light in a cottage, which i entered. there were two women there. i told them at once that i wanted clothes, and was ready to pay for them; but that if they would not give them to me for money, i should take them without paying. though i could see that they doubted the payment, and re- garded me as a robber, they brought out the clothes, which belonged, one of the women said, to her husband. i took what i wanted. "' now,' i said, 'how much shall i pay you for these?" "they were still terribly frightened, and said that i was welcome. however, i put one of my louis down on the table. this was certainly more than the clothes ever cost, so i said: "' here is a gold piece, but i want a shilling in change to buy food with.' "at first they evidently hardly thought that i was in earnest; then at last, when they found that i really intended to give the money, they brightened up, and not only gave me a shilling in change, but offered me some bread and cheese, which i was glad enough to take. then i put the clothes on over my own, not wishing to lave anything behind that would show searchers that it was i who had been there. i told the woman that the coin was a french one, but that it was worth about the same as an english guinea. i advised them to put it away for the present, and not to try and change it for a few weeks, as enquiries might be made as to how they obtained it. "i had no difficulty on my way up to london. i avoided the main road till i got to colchester, and after that walked boldly on, having money to pay for victuals. when t got to town i changed another of my louis at a money-changer's. he asked me where i had got it, and when t said that it was no business of his, but that it had been paid me by a french in the irish brigade huguenot gentleman who had lately arrived, and for whom i had been doing some work, and as there are many of these huguenots in london, he was satisfied, and changed it for me. i then fell across the irish porter i told you of. he told me whereabouts i could get lodgings, and advised me to apply to one of the men who let out a number of sedan- chairs, to hire one out to me by the week. well, your honour, once i had taken the lodging, i thought no more of the chair, but went about the business for which i had come to london. i had not been an hour in the town before i made the acquaintance of half a dozen at least of my coun- trymen, and found out which was the prison in which you were kept. at first i thought of going there and giving myself up on condition that i might be employed as your servant. then i thought, perhaps they would not keep their word to me, but would send me back to harwich; and then the thought struck me that i might some way or other get your honours out of prison. "when i first saw the place it seemed to me that it was impossible. the place was mighty strong, the windows all barred, and i had no means of finding out where you were lodged. i spent a whole day in prowling round and round the jail, but sorra an idea came into my thick head though i bate it wid my fists till it was sore, for, says i to myself, there is no lock so strong but it can be picked if you do but know the right way. it was the second day when i espied a little bit of white stuff at one of the windows. it might be a signal or it might not, and even if it was there was no reason why it should be yours, except that, i said to myself, mr. kennedy is not the boy to sit quietly in prison if he can see any possible way of slipping out of it. his head is crammed full of ideas; so i will walk near and investigate the matter. as i came close i could make out that there was someone behind the in the ikish brigade would have been impossible to have communicated their plans to them; but even if they could have done so they could see no possible way in which the others could share in their escape. doubtless the doors of their cells were also strong and heavy, and could all these difficulties have been overcome there would have been passages, corridors, and staircases to traverse, with the certainty of meeting with some of the night watchmen who patrolled them, and they would finally have had to force the door into their cell. they were therefore reluctantly obliged to abandon the hope of liberating their friends, and decided that, once away, they must endeavour to cross to france with- out delay. the king would doubtless have been before now informed by his agents in london of the determination of the english government to bring all the prisoners to execution, but nevertheless it would be their duty to obtain an audience and implore him to take steps to save them. they would, therefore, on their arrival in paris, at once see general ham- ilton and other officers of rank, and beg them to accom- pany them to versailles to act as spokesmen, and to influence the king in their favour. chapter x kidnapping a minister j^n spite of the war between the countries communica- tions were frequent. smuggling boats brought over, with their cargoes of wine and brandy, huguenot fugitives, and by the same means secret agents carried back news of events in paris, to the government. having decided upon making for the coast without delay, desmond and his friends next dis- cussed the port to which they had best travel and which seemed to offer the fairest opportunities. they agreed that wey- kidnapping a minister mouth seemed to be most advantageous, as it was from there that the communications with brittany were chiefly main- tained. at the same time it was evident that considerable difficulty would be experienced in discovering the men en- gaged in such traffic and in making an arrangement with them, and it was all-important that no time should be lost, for there was no saying when the trial might come on. "if we could but get hold of godolphin," desmond said next morning, "we might get an order from him to embark in one of the boats that carry his agents." the others laughed. "yes; and if you could get hold of anne you might persuade her to sign an order for the release of our comrades." desmond did not answer, but sat thinking for a few min- utes. "it is not so impossible as you seem to imagine," he said at last. "doubtless, like everyone else, he goes in a se- dan-chair to the meeting of the council, and returns in the same manner. there are two ways in which we could man- age the matter. of course he has his own chair, with his chair-men in livery. we might either make these men drunk and assume their dress, or attack them suddenly on the way; then we should of course gag and bind them, and carry him here or to some other place that we might decide upon, and force him to give us an order for the boatmen to take us across the channel at once. of course we should have horses in readiness, and ride for the coast. we should have a twelve hours' start, for it would be that time before our landlady came in as usual with our breakfast, when godolphin would, of course, be released." the two officers looked at each other astounded at the audacity of the scheme that desmond had quietly propounded. o'sullivan was the first to speak. "are you really in earnest, kennedy?" (m ) i" kidnapping a minister first thing to be done is to arrange for horses, or, better still, for a light cart to carry the four of us. i should think that mike would, among his acquaintances, be able to hear of a man with a couple of fast horses and such a cart as we re- quire, who would agree to drive us to the coast, arranging a change of horses on the way. he could offer ten louis, which would be a sum that a man of that kind would be well satis- fied with." "i will see to that, your honour; i have no doubt that i can find such a man without difficulty. when would you want him?" "to-night, certainly, with the arrangement that if we do not come to the appointed spot we shall be there to-morrow night. recollect ten louis is all we can afford, but if he wants any more he must have it. "well, we will leave that to you." then he went on to the others: " we had better go down to st. james's. mike can go out and buy us three shock-wigs, with which we can cover our hair and look our parts better. we had better separate when we get there, and watch the entrances to the palace, gazing about like rustics; then we can get into a conversation with any servant that we see, and try and find out from which door members of the council usually issue, and about what hour. we could succeed without that, because we should notice the chairs waiting for them. still, it is as well that we should get all the information we can. there will be, doubtless, personages leaving who have been with the princess anne; they might go out by another entrance, and therefore we should miss our man." "you will have more than the two chair-men to deal with, your honour, for there are sure to be two link-men with the chair." "well, it will be as easy to dispose of four men as of two, mike." in the irish brigade "every bit, your honour, and the more of them the more divarsion." an hour later they set out, now so well disguised that no one would have dreamt that the three irishmen were officers in a french regiment, and before noon desmond succeeded in obtaining from a scullion employed in the palace the partic- ulars that he required. on saying that he had but just come to london and wanted to get a sight of the great people, the present of a shilling sufficed to extract the information from the boy; and desmond then rejoined his companions, and they at once returned to their lodgings, where they found mike awaiting them. "i have managed it, your honour, but it will cost twelve louis. went to the man from whom i got the saws, and he said at once that the affair could be managed easily, and sure enough he took me to the shop of a man who, he said, sometimes acted with cracksmen. the fellow was sharp enough to see at once that it was something special that we wanted the horses for, but after some bargaining he agreed to do it for twelve gold pieces, and, if necessary, to get a change of horses twice on the road. he will be ready with his cart at twelve o'clock a hundred yards or so outside the last houses on the south side of the old kent road. i could not tell him which port you would go to, but he said from there he could go to dover, or turn off so as to make for southampton or weymouth. it is to be twelve pounds if it is to dover or southampton; fifteen pounds if it is to weymouth." "that is satisfactory," desmond said. "now we have nothing else to do till ten o'clock to-night, when, as the boy said the council generally ends, though we will be there an hour earlier in case they should leave before. now i think we had better find out where godolphin's house is, and fix upon the best spot for the attack, and how we shall each sta- tion ourselves." kidnapping a minister this part of the business offered no difficulties. they found that the minister would probably be carried through st. james's park, and they fixed upon the spot where they would await his coming. mike was to attack the first porter; o'sullivan was to fol- low close behind him and at the same moment fell the rear- most man. o'neil and desmond, who were to conceal them- selves among trees on opposite sides of the path, were to spring out and strike down the link-bearers, and then enter the chair and bind and gag the minister. mike was sent out to buy a pot of black paint with which to efface the gildings of the chair, and to reduce its appearance to that ordinarily used by the citizens. he was ordered to get a supply of rope and some wood to make gags for the men they were to stun. the others were to post themselves at the spot agreed on, while desmond was to remain at the entrance to the palace by which ministers would issue, to note lord godolphin's chair, and when he was fairly on his way to follow it for a short distance to make sure that it was being taken through the park, and then to run on and warn the others to be in readiness. on their return to their lodging they ate the dinner that mike had got in for them, and as they drank their wine, laughed and joked over their enterprise, for now that they were fairly embarked upon the scheme the two officers were as eager as desmond in the matter, and were much more excited over the prospect than he was. before nine o'clock they and mike were posted in the park, and desmond was at the entrance to the palace. here seven or eight chairs with their bearers and link-men were assembled. as most of the porters were hired men desmond readily entered into conversation with them, and expressed his desire to see the great persons and learn which were their chairs, so that he should know them as they entered them. in the irish brigade in half an hour there was a stir, and a servant coming out, shouted: "his grace the duke of somerset's chair." this was at once brought up to the door. next came a call for the chair of mr. henry boyle, who was followed by harcourt, the attorney-general, then the chair of my lord godolphin was summoned. desmond and three or four others who had gathered to see the members of the council come out had been ordered off by the sentries as soon as the first chair was called, but remained near enough to hear the names. to his satisfaction godolphin's chair was carried off in the direction they had anticipated, and he at once ran on and joined his componions. presently the lights carried by the two link-men were seen approaching, and as the chair came abreast of him he shouted, "now!" almost simultaneously the four heavy cudgels alighted on the heads of the four men, levelling them senseless to the ground, and o'neil and desmond sprang to the chair and wrenched the door open, while o'sullivan and mike bound the four men and thrust the gags into their mouths. lord godolphin had been thrown from his seat by the sudden fall of his bearers, and was seized and bound before he was conscious of what had happened. then his captors assisted the others in carrying the fallen men to some distance from the path. a couple of minutes sufficed to cover the gliding and armorial bearings upon the chair. the torches were still burning on the ground. one of these was stamped out; desmond took the other. mike and o'sullivan went between the poles and adjusted the leathern straps over their shoulders and started. emerging from the park at charing's cross, past the old church of st. martin's in the fields, and keeping round the walls to holborn bars, they made their way to their lodging, and godolphin was carried into their room, which was on lord godolphin was seized and bound. kidnapping a minister the ground-floor. mike and o'neil then took the chair away and left it in a narrow alley, where it was not likely to attract attention until the morning. not until they returned was anything said to their prisoner. it had been agreed that o'neil, as the senior, was to be spokesman of the party. "lord godolphin," he said, "i regret that circumstances have obliged us to use force towards you, but our necessities compel us to leave the country at once, and it has appeared to us that in no way could we get away so expeditiously as with the aid of your lordship. we will now set you free. i must tell you beforehand that if you attempt to raise your voice and give the alarm we shall be constrained to blow out your brains." mike now released him from the bonds and removed the gag from his mouth, but for a time the minister was incapable of speech, being choked by anger at the treatment he had met with. "you will repent this outrage," he burst out at last. "i think not, sir," o'neil said quietly. "at any rate we are quite ready to take our chance of that. in order that you may feel at ease with us, i have no hesitation in telling you who we are. we are the three french officers who, as no doubt you have heard, yesterday escaped from newgate, and we are anxious to get out of the country as soon as possible. it will be also a guarantee to you that we have no designs on either your pockets or your person." angry as he still was, it was evident by the expression of the treasurer's face that the information was a relief to him, for indeed he had supposed that he had been carried off by political enemies and was very uncertain as to what would befall him. "what is it that you require then?" he asked after a pause. merely this, sir; that you will give us an order upon an in the irish brigade agent through whom you communicate with france to take us across the channel immediately." "well, gentlemen," godolphin said more calmly, "i must say your coolness surprises me. your escape yesterday was of course reported to us, and the manner in which you obtained that rope by which you descended is a mystery that the jail authorities are wholly unable to solve. if you obtain the order you desire, will you give me your word of honour that it shall be used in a manner in no way hostile to the interests of this country, but solely, as you say, for the pur- pose of conveying you across the channel?" "that promise we give willingly. we must ask you to' pledge your honour as a gentleman that the order you give us will be a genuine one—a matter that we cannot ascertain until we arrive at the address given. we are willing to play fairly with you, sir, but if you do not do the same we shall certainly return to london, though in some different guise, and, if so, i warn you that no guards will save you from our vengeance." "you need not threaten, sir," lord godolphin said calmly. "i will give you the order to the person to whom such com- munications are addressed, and it shall be couched in the same words as usual." desmond placed a sheet of paper, pen, and ink before him. he, dating it from the treasury, wrote: to john dawkins, mariner, high street, rye. urgent. on the receipt of this you will at once convey the hearer and three persons with him and land them in some convenient spot in france. he then added his signature. "now, gentlemen, what next," he said, looking up. o'neil looked at his companions, and then they spoke for a kidnapping a minister moment together. "we are about to start at once, my lord," he said, " and it was our intention to have left you bound and gagged until the morning, when the woman of the house would have assuredly found you and released you; but as you have acceded to our request at once, we will, if you give us your word of honour that you will raise no alarm and say no word of this business until eight o'clock to-morrow morn- ing, let you depart at once." "thank you for your courtesy, gentlemen, and for your confidence in my honour. i am, indeed, anxious to return home at once. if i do not do so, there will be a hue and cry for me, and by the time i return in the morning all london will know that i am missing. i naturally should not wish this adventure to become a matter of common talk, in the first place because the position in which you have placed me can scarcely be called a pleasant one; and secondly, because the success of your enterprise might lead others to make similar attempts on my person or that of my colleagues. even now, i fear that my servants, when sufficiently recovered, will go to my house and give the alarm." "i do not think that that is likely to be the case, my lord," o'neil said, " as we took the precaution of gagging and bind- ing them, and laid them down some distance from the road- side. if on your return home you find they have not arrived, you have but to send a couple of your servants out to release them. you can give them strict orders that no word is to be said of the affair, and make them to understand you were attacked in error, and that the ruffians who took part in the outrage at once released you upon discovering your identity." "very good, sir," godolphin said, with a grim smile. "i must really compliment you all on your fertility of resource and invention. and now, is there anything else that i can do for youf" in the irlsh brigade "there is one small favour," desmond said. "your lord- ship has doubtless twenty guineas in your possession. you would greatly oblige us if you would give us them for so many louis. these you will have no difficulty in exchanging, whereas the exhibition of french money on our part might ex- cite suspicion." lord godolphin placed his hand in his pocket, drew out a heavy purse, and, opening it, counted out twenty guineas. o'neil took these up and handed to him twenty louis pieces. "one more question, gentlemen. what has become of my sedan-chair?" "it is in an alley hard by," o'neil said, " and as we are our- selves going in your direction we will carry it to your door." "you are obliging indeed, sir. if it had been found, the escutcheon on the panels would have shown that it was mine." "i fear, my lord, that you will have to have it repainted, for before starting with you we took the precaution to put black paint over the gilding and panels; still, the lining and fit- tings would show that it belonged to some person of wealth and importance. as you have been so obliging to us we will gladly escort you with it to your door." "i shall be glad, indeed, of that, gentlemen, for i certainly should not care about travelling alone through these lanes and alleys, which have by no means a good reputation." "we are ready to start at once, my lord," o'neil said. "we have a long journey to perform, and although there is now no need for extraordinary speed we shall be glad to bo off." they were ready at once, having settled with their landlady before starting out in the evening, telling her that they had heard of a job and should start early in the morning. mike and desmond fetched the empty chair, and they then started, godolphin walking with the other officers in front. kidnapping a ministeb "this is the most surprising adventure that ever happened to me," lord godolphin said; "and it is a pity that officers who possess the wit to plan an escape from newgate, and to ensure a speedy flight from the country by carrying me off, are not in the service of her majesty." "we may yet be in the british service some day, my lord," o'sullivan laughed;" but i may tell you that my friend and myself disclaim any credit in contriving the matter of which you spoke, that being solely the work of our young com- rade, who is at present the youngest ensign in our regiment." "then he must be a shrewd fellow, indeed," godolphin said, "likely to do service in any position to which he may at- tain." they walked sharply. several times rough men came and peered at them, but godolphin was wrapped in a cloak, and the appearance of those with him showed that hard knocks rather than booty would be the result of interfering with them. on reaching lord godolphin's house they placed the sedan-chair on the steps. "good-night to you, gentlemen, and good fortune!" lord godolphin said; " the lesson has not been lost, and i shall take good care in future to have a strong escort." they then crossed westminster bridge and made rapidly for the spot where the cart was waiting for them. "you are an hour after your time," the man said. "i had begun to think that something had gone wrong with you." . "that is not the case," o'neil said; " but we have certainly been detained longer than we anticipated." "where are we going to?" "to rye." "that will suit me very well," the man said. "i have rviends along that road, and shall have no trouble about horses." in the irish brigade they started at once at a rattling pace, the animals, though but sorry-looking creatures, being speedy and accustomed to long journeys. it was evident from the man's manner that he believed his passengers were cracksmen who had just suc- cessfully carried out an enterprise of importance. he ex- pressed surprise that they had brought no luggage with them. they did not care to undeceive him. mike had brought with him a bottle of good brandy, and a drink of this soon removed the vexation the man had felt at being kept waiting for them. twice during the journey they changed horses, each time at small wayside inns, where some pass-word, given by the driver, at once roused the landlord into activity. but a few minutes were spent in the changes, and the fifty miles to rye were ac- complished in seven hours—a very unusual rate of speed along the badly-kept roads of the period. when the car drew up in the high street of rye, the four occupants were scarce able to stand, so bruised and shaken were they by their rapid passage over the rough road. they handed the twelve pounds agreed upon to the driver, adding another as a token of their satisfaction at the speed at which he had driven them, and then enquired for the house of william dawkins. it was close by and upon knocking at the door it was opened by the man him- self. "i have a message to deliver to you in private," o'neil said. the man nodded, and led the way indoors, where the letter was handed to him. "that is all right," he said. "my craft is always ready to set sail at an hour's notice, and if the wind holds fair i will land you on the french coast before nightfall. i see that your business is urgent, or you would not have put on dis- guises before leaving london. i suppose you have brought other clothes to land in?" "we have not," o'neil said. "we came away in such a kidnapping a minister hurry that we did not think of it until on the road, and then we thought that we might procure them here." "there will be no difficulty about that," the sailor said. "i will go out and warn my men that we shall sail in half an hour, and then i can get any garments that you desire; for doubtless you do not wish to attract comment by the pur- chase of clothes that would seem unfitted to your present position?" "that is so," 'sullivan said, " and we shall gladly embrace your offer. we should like three suits such as are worn by persons of fair position in france, and one proper for a serv- ing man." "i cannot get you quite french fashion, sir, but they do not differ much from our own; and with a cloak each, i have no doubt that you would pass without attracting attention— that is of course, if you speak french well." "as well as english," o'neil said. "here are seven pounds in gold, which will, i should think, be sufficient; if not, we are provided with french gold for use after landing there." "i have no doubt it will suffice, sir; if not, i will pay what is the excess and you can settle with me afterwards." in three-quarters of an hour after their arrival at rye they were dressed in their new disguises and on board the little lugger, which at once started down the river, which was at that time much more free from shoals and difficulties than it is at present. "your boat seems fast," desmond remarked, as, having cleared the mouth of the river, she put out to sea. "she is fast, sir; the fastest thing that sails out of rye. she needs be, for the gentlemen who come to me are always in a hurry." "i suppose you have no fear of english cruisers?" in the irish brigade "not at all. i have the order you brought with you, and have only to show it to any english ship of war that overhauls us, for them to let us go on at once. i am careful when i get near the french coast, for although their big craft never ven- ture out far, there are numbers of chasse-maree patrolling the coast. however, even if caught by them it would be but a temporary detention, for i am well known at etaples, which is always my port, unless specially directed to land my passen- gers elsewhere." the wind was fresh and favourable, and at six o'clock in the afternoon they entered the little port. some gendarmes came down to the wharf. "we need have no fear of them," william dawkins said. "their lieutenant is paid handsomely for keeping his eyes shut and asking no questions." "so you are back again," the officer said. "why, it is not a week since you were here!" "no, it is but six days since i sailed." "and you have four passengers?" "that's the number, sir. the irish gentlemen are desirous of entering the service of france." the officer nodded. "well, gentlemen, you will find plenty of your countrymen in paris; and, as everyone knows, there are no better or braver soldiers in his majesty's service." the friends had already enquired from william dawkins whether there was any passage-money to pay, saying that they had forgotten to ask before starting. "not at all. i am well paid by government. my boat is always retained at a price that suits me well, and i get so much extra for every voyage i make. no, sir, thank you; i will take nothing for myself; but if you like to give half a guinea to the crew to drink success to you, i will not say no." the party made no stay at etaples, but at once ordered in the irish brigade "i shall press the matter strongly upon him, and point out the deep feeling that will be excited throughout his irish and scotch troops if nothing is done to save the prisoners. louis is a politic monarch," he said, " and, knowing our worth and that of his scotch soldiers, i think that he will, on my representations, bestir himself. wauchop has many times performed brilliant services and deserves well of france. however, we shall see." when they were admitted to the audience lord galmoy introduced the three soldiers of o'brien's regiment as coming that morning to paris, having effected their escape from new- gate. as he repeated their names the king looked sharply at desmond. "ah, ah!" he said, " so our young ensign is in the thick of adventures again. these we will hear presently. well, my lord, why have they come here so hurriedly after their ar- rival?" "they came to inform your majesty that the english government have determined to execute colonel francis wauchop and the twelve officers of their regiment who were on board the salisbury captured on the coast of scotland." desmond, who was watching the king's face closely, saw that this was no news to him, and that he was annoyed by its being now brought to his notice, for doubtless the fate of a colonel and a dozen young officers was a matter that affected him little; and that, had the matter not been forced upon him, he would not have troubled about it, but, when it was too late, would have professed entire ignorance of the intentions of the english government. he only said, however, "it is incredible that there can be an intention to execute officers in our service captured upon a warlike expedition." "it is but too true, sir. against colonel wauchop they have no ground for severity. by the convention of limerick on the frontieb lie and all other officers were formally permitted to enter your majesty's service; but the young lieutenants have, of course, joined long since that time and therefore cannot benefit by the terms of the convention, and could with a show of justice be executed as english subjects, traitors serving against their country." "we are afraid that our remonstrance would have but little effect with the english government." lord galmoy smiled slightly, for it was notorious that negotiations had gone on between king james and his coun- cillors and several of the members of the english ministry, marlborough himself being more than suspected of having a secret understanding with the little court at st. germain. he only said, however, "your majesty has in your hands the power of compelling the english government to alter their determination in this matter." "how so, my lord?" the king asked in much surprise. "you have, sire, many prisoners, frenchmen of the re- formed religion who had entered the service of the protestant princes—your enemies, and who were taken in dutch and flemish towns we have captured; these stand in the same re- lation towards your majesty as the irish officers towards eng- land. you have, then, but to inform the government there that if they in any way harm the irish officers and non-com- missioned officers in their hands you will at once execute a similar number of these french protestant officers, whom you have hitherto treated as prisoners of war. then possibly an exchange might be effected. your majesty will, i think, pardon me for saying that unless steps are taken to save these officers' lives the matter is likely to have a very bad effect on the irish and scotch regiments, whose ardour will not be improved by the knowledge that in case of a reverse they will, if not killed in the field, be executed as traitors, (xms) m in the irish brigade for nearly half of the men who are now serving have joined fince the formation of the brigade and are not protected by the terms of the limerick treaty. they are devoted to your majesty's service, and are ready to lay down their lives freely for the cause of france; but it would not be fair that they should also run the risk of execution if they are by misfortune made prisoners." "there is much in what you say, lord galmoy, and you certainly point out a way by which these officers can be saved. a messenger shall start in an hour's time with a letter to the english government. it shall be delivered at their headquarters in flanders by noon to-morrow, with a request that it shall be forwarded by special messenger to the british minister; and we will have a proclamation posted in paris and in the various camps of the army saying that we have warned the english government that unless the officers and men captured off the coast of scotland are treated as prisoners of war, we shall retaliate by treating all french officers taken in foreign service in the same way, and that we have further- more offered to exchange an equal number of such officers and men in our hands for those held by the british government." "i thank your majesty most respectfully and heartily in the name of all the foreign officers in your service. even should, unfortunately, the english government refuse to pardon or exchange their prisoners, it will be seen that your majesty has done all in your power to save them, and there will be a general feeling of reprobation throughout europe at the conduct of the english ministry." "we beg these officers to wait in the ante-room while we dictate our despatch and proclamation to our secretary. we would fain question them as to how they effected their escape from their prison, and how they have made so speedy a journey here." on the frontier lord galmoy bowed and retired with the others. "we have done well," he said, "better indeed than i had hoped. now, having succeeded in saving our countrymen's lives, which i doubt not would have been otherwise sacrificed, i shall return at once to paris, for there is an inspection of my regiment this afternoon." "we have been fortunate indeed," o'neil said, when lord galmoy had left. "i have no doubt the king had heard that the english government had resolved to execute the prisoners, but i question whether he would have stirred in the matter had it not been for galmoy's representation." "i am sure by his manner that he had received the news before," desmond said," and, as you say, had not intended to interfere. it was the suggestion that he might threaten retaliation, and that the effect of his not moving in the matter would be very bad among his irish troops, that decided him to interfere. he may have felt that any mere protest made by him would have had little effect, and it is not his nature to expose himself to a rebuff; but directly he saw that he had an effective weapon in his hands he took the matter up as warmly as we could wish." in point of fact the king's threat had the desired effect, and two months later the imprisoned officers and men were ex- changed for an equal number of huguenots. in a quarter of an hour the three officers were again sum- moned to the king's presence. with him was a tall dark officer of distinguished mien whom o'neil and o'sullivan both recognized as the duke of berwick, one of the most famous generals of the time. he had been in command of the french forces in spain, from which he had been recalled suddenly two days before in order that the king, who had a great confidence in him, might consult him as to the general plan of operations in that country and in the north on the frontier was, i heard, an ensign in o'brien's regiment; but certainly i did not expect to find him so young a man. he has indeed a fertility of invention that fills me with surprise. the other officers deserve praise for having so willingly followed the leadership of their junior, and their generosity in assigning to him the whole merit of their undertaking is highly com- mendable. it is no easy thing, sire, to find in young officers— especially, if i may say so, among the cadets of good family, who form for the most part the staff of your generals—men ready to exercise their own discretion when in difficulties, and to carry out with due diligence the orders committed to them. o'brien's regiment has marched to the northern frontier; the vacancies in the ranks of its officers have been filled up from those of other regiments. i should, with your majesty's permission, be glad to take these three officers on my own staff, as, leaving spain privately in accordance with your majesty's orders, i have brought with me only captain fromart, my secretary, and one young aide-de-camp. i should be glad if you would promote mr. kennedy to the rank of lieutenant." "we quite approve of both requests," the king said gra- ciously; " and indeed," he added with a smile, "shall not be al- together sorry to see lieutenant kennedy employed outside our kingdom, for, after making war on his own account with one of our nobles, and kidnapping the first minister of eng- land, there is no saying what enterprise he might next under- take. and should he join any of those who trouble the country with their plots, we should feel compelled to double our guards in order to hold ourself secure from his designs. well, gentle- men, since the duke of berwick has appointed you his aides- de-camp, the least we can do is to see that you are properly fitted out for the expedition. you have, of course, lost your uniforms, horses, and money in our service, and it is but just in the irish brigade that we should see to your being refitted. if you will wait in the ante-room you shall each receive an order on our treasury for a hundred louis d'ors." the three officers bowed deeply in acknowledgment to the king, and, bowing also to the duke of berwick, returned to the ante-room, where presently one of the royal attendants brought to them the three orders on the treasury, and also begged them, in the name of the duke of berwick, to wait until his audience with the king should be over. they were all highly delighted with the change in their position. the posts of staff-officers were, as the duke had said, considered to belong almost of right to members of noble families, and it was seldom that officers of the line could aspire to them. "did i not tell you, kennedy, that your luck would bring good fortune to us all? and by the powers it has done sol faith, if anyone had said a month ago that i should by now be on the duke of berwick's staff i should have laughed in his face, if indeed i had not quarrelled with him for mocking at me. and now here we are, with money to buy horses and out- fit, and with no more drilling recruits and attending parades." "but not an end to work, o'sullivan," desmond kennedy said. "you won't find much idle time when you are serving with the duke." "no. he has the name of being a strict commander, spar- ing neither himself nor his soldiers; and i have heard that his staff have a very hard time of it. however, i am not afraid of hard work when it is done on horseback, and there are many more chances of promotion on the staff than there are in marching regiments. well, i don't mind being taken prisoner a dozen times if this is what comes of it, providing always that you are taken with me, kennedy, and are there to help me out of the scrape." "we should have to have mike prisoner too," desmond on the frontier laughed, "for without his help we should be in newgate at present." "i don't believe it. i am sure that even if he hadn't turned up you would have managed somehow." in a short time the duke came out. "i am likely to be detained here another week before i start for flanders. that will give you time to procure your outfit of horses and equip- ments and arms. you will require two horses each, and these should be good ones. i doubt whether, if you get proper outfits, the sum that his majesty has given you will suffice to buy two horses. i have, however, in my stables here, plenty of good animals that have been taken from the enemy, and one will be given to each of you. therefore it will be only necessary for you to purchase one. i am staying here, and should be obliged, when you have taken a lodging, if you would send me your address. i shall then let you know where and when you are to join me. is there anything else that you would ask me?" "i would ask, sir, that i might take my servant with me," desmond said. "certainly; and you can do so without further question. one man more or less will make no difference to o'brien's regiment, and it would be a pity that you should not have him with you, for it is evident that he is at once faithful, and possesses a large amount of shrewdness." after thanking the duke for the present of the horses, the three officers, having drawn their money, left the palace and rode back to paris. they went first to the barracks, and returned the horses and uniforms, with many thanks, to the officers who had lent them, had an interview with lord galmoy, and informed him of their new appointments. "you have well won them," he said, "and i wish you every good fortune. assuredly you are more likely to risa in the irish brigade under the duke of berwick than as subaltern in the irish brigade, though promotion is not slow there owing to the vacancies that battle always makes in their ranks." they went out and took a lodging together, and then went to a military tailor, who promised them their undress and full dress suits in four days. then they ordered military saddles, bridles, and equipments. on the next day, after visiting half the stables in paris, they purchased three horses for them- selves, and desmond bought, in addition, a serviceable animal for mike, with a cavalry saddle and accoutrements, and ordered a uniform for him. each provided himself with a sword and a brace of pistols. mike was greatly pleased when desmond communicated his promotion and appointment to him. "you will look grand, your honour, as a general's aide-de- camp with your handsome uniform and your horses and all that, and 'tis glad i am that we are going to flanders, for from all i have heard from men who have fought in spain, little pleasure is to be had in campaigning there. the food is vile, the roads are bad. you are choked with dust and smothered with heat. as to their making you lieutenant, if you had your dues it would be a colonel they should have made you, or at any rate a major." "there is plenty of time, mike," desmond laughed. "a nice colonel i should look, too, leading a thousand men into battle. if i obtain a majority in another fifteen years i shall consider myself lucky." desmond did not share mike's gratification that they were to campaign with the army of the north instead of with that in spain. however, as he would be fighting against english troops in either country, he concluded it would not make much difference, especially as, being an aide-de-camp, he would not himself have to enter into actual conflict with them. on the frontier his friends were heartily glad that their destination was not spain, for all had, like mike, heard much of the hardships suffered by the troops in that country. "i know from what you have said, kennedy, that if you had had your choice you would have taken spain, but, put- ting aside the heat there, it is but poor work by all accounts. you are well nigh starved, you can't get at your enemy, who knows all the mountains and the paths over them, is as diffi- cult to catch as one of their fleas, harasses you while you are on the march, and shirks fighting as the old one shirks holy water. there has only been one fight which could be called a battle since the war began; and as for the sieges, it means that you lose a lot of men, and have little credit when you take a place, especially as the moment you go out one way the enemy enter on the other side, and there is all your work to be done over again." "i admit that we shall see a great deal more of war in the north," kennedy said, "and marlborough and eugene on the other side, and the dukes of berwick and vendome on ours, are such skilful commanders that there will be far greater interest in the operations, than in carrying on what is little more than a partisan war in spain." "not only that," o'neil put in, "but there will be a possi- bility of getting decent food. while in spain there are few great towns, and these a long distance from each other; in flanders there are towns every few miles, and you are sure of decent quarters and good cooking." "why, o'neil, i did not know that you were particular as to your food," desmond laughed. "i can starve as well as another, kennedy, but when i get good food and good wine and good lodgings, i own that i prefer it vastly to the fare that our troops have to put up with in spain. i can see no reason why, because you are m the irish brigade going to risk your life in battle, you should put up with all sorts of miseries and inconveniences beforehand, if they can be avoided. as to fighting against the english, there are english both in spain and flanders, and in both armies they form but a small proportion of the force, though i grant will- ingly that they are the backbone of both armies. if you look at the thing sensibly you will see that we have gained no slight advantage by berwick's going to flanders instead of returning to spain." three days after their preparations were completed, an orderly brought a note from the duke of berwick it was brief and to the point. the rendezvous is at six o'clock to-morrow morning in front of the louvre. (signed) berwick. all were glad that the summons had come. they had dis- cussed the future from every point of view, and were already growing impatient, short as their stay had been in paris. five minutes before the hour they were at the rendezvous. as the clock struck the duke rode up with two officers and an escort of six troopers. he looked at their accoutrements and horses, and nodded his head approvingly. "you will do very well," he said. "i can tell you that the gloss of your uniforms will not last long in flanders." the other officers were captain fromart, who acted as the duke's secretary and lieutenant d'eyncourt. mike fell in with the escort, behind which also rode the body-servant of the duke and the two cavalry men who were the servants of his officers. once beyond the limits of the town, the party broke into a trot. the duke rode on ahead, evidently in deep thought, and the five officers followed in a group. on the frontier "i see, messieurs," d'eyncourt said, "that only one of you has brought a servant with him." "we only arrived in paris a week ago," o'neil said. "our own regiment had left, and we did not care to ask for two soldiers from another regiment, as these might have turned out badly. we thought it better therefore to delay until we joined the army, and wait till we could obtain a couple of good men from one of the cavalry regiments there. as it is, monsieur kennedy's servant can look after the three of us, and i have no doubt two of the soldiers of the escort will not object to earn a few livres by looking after our horses on the way." "i think you are right," the other said. "if one gets a good man, a soldier servant is invaluable. if, as is often the case, he is a bad one, well, one is far better without him. it is curious how men who have been smart soldiers when in the ranks are apt to go to the bad when they become servants. they have more time on their hands, are free from most of the parades, have no sentry duty to perform, and the con- sequence is that they become slovenly and careless, and in nine cases out of ten give way to drink at every opportunity. if mr. kennedy's servant is really a good one, you will be better off with a third of his services than you would be with the whole of that of an ordinary soldier servant. you have just returned from england, have you not? the duke told captain fromart that you were among those who were cap- tured in the salisbury, but that you had made your escape. he gave no particulars, for indeed the duke is not given to much speech. as a general he is splendid, but it would be more pleasant for his staff if he were to unbend a little." "yes, we managed to give them the slip," o'neil said, "thanks to monsieur kennedy and his servant. did you return from spain with the general, captain fromart!" k the irish brigade "yes; there was nothing doing at the moment, and he gave us the option of accompanying him or staying behind. we vastly preferred the trip, as we considered it, for of course we had no idea that the duke was about to be sent to flanders. you hear a good deal of the climate of spain; it is said to be lovely. i vow it is detestable. the heat, when it is hot, is terrible, and when it is not hot, there is a bitter wind that chills you to the bone. a great portion of the country is but half populated, and you can go a day's march without coming to a village. the roads are villainous. there is nothing to buy, and it is as much as the transport can do to get, i will not say enough bread, but a bare sufficiency to maintain the troops. moreover, the duke has been constantly thwarted in his plans by the spaniards, who are ready enough to make promises, but never take a single step towards their fulfilment. the duke's temper is of the shortest, and he has quarrelled openly with most of the leading spaniards, and has threatened four or five times to throw up his command and return to france. he did do so a year ago, but affairs went so badly without him that the cause of france was seriously imperilled by his absence, and it was at the urgent request of philip that he returned, for at that time the english general.peterborough, was striking dismay all over the country, and if the duke's advice had not been taken all our officers acknowledge that we should speedily have crossed the pyrenees." "and do the population incline towards philip or the austrian?" "as a rule they incline towards the party which seems likely to win. they would shout in madrid as loudly for the archduke charles as for philip. catalonia and valencia are the exceptions. there the balance of feeling is certainly in favour of the austrian, but this is principally because they are afraid of peterborough, whom they regard as almost su- on the fronteeb pernatural, and fear he would take vengeance upon those who deserted his cause. but there is no accounting for them; cities have held out as stoutly for one candidate as for the other without any apparent reason, so far as we can observe. we fight for philip because he is louis's grandson, and it is important in the interest of france to stand closely allied with his party. but as for the spaniards with us, i can tell you that we have but little trust in them." "but some of them are good, are they not?" "we do not consider any of them of much account. but then the spaniards on the other side are no better; they seem to have lost all their military virtues ever since their best troops were demolished at rocroi by conde. that and the destruction of their fleet by the english, and the drain of their resources both in men and money, entailed by the long war in holland, altogether deprived the people of their martial spirit. the war is to some extent between the english and us, because, of the allies england, holland, and austria, neither the austrians nor the dutch take any great share in the struggle. the dutch are wholly engrossed with the defence of their fens, the austrians are fully occupied in italy and on the rhine frontier, and it is only the english, who, fortunately, are not very numerous, who are against us, for the portuguese can scarcely be counted in the business, being, if anything, slower and more stupid than the spaniards themselves. however, at present the prospect is good. peterborough has gone; galway's army has been almost destroyed; though, to do them justice the english regiments fought magnificently, and if they had been seconded by the portuguese the result might have been altogether different." "then you found spain much less rich than france?" "there is no comparison," captain fromart said. "it ought to be fully as rich, but the plains lie almost unculti- in the irish brigade vated. the people seem wholly without energy, and the rul- ing class are always intriguing and seem to pay little atten- tion to their estates. you see but few castles and chateaux such as are dotted over france. i do not say that at the present moment france can be considered a prosperous country in material matters. the expenses of the wars have been enormous, to say nothing of the court. the people are ground down by taxation, and the misery in some parts of the country is extreme; but left to themselves the people will work, and work hard. our soil will grow anything, and after twenty years of peace france would altogether recover her- self." "and yet the alliance of spain is considered as of vital importance to france i" "of great importance certainly. spain has still soldiers who can fight well, as they have proved in italy; and were the levies at home equally well drilled and disciplined they would no doubt turn out good soldiers, but these are at pre- sent almost undrilled; they desert in numbers and return to their homes after the slightest reverse, and prefer to act as partisans under leaders of their own choosing. but with philip once firmly seated on the throne, with french advisers and officers to assist him, and a few regiments to serve as a nu- cleus to his army, spain could turn out a force which would be a very valuable addition to the strength of any european power. with spain as our ally we can, in addition to the force that she can put in the field, neglect altogether our southern frontier and employ our whole army elsewhere. with her as an ally of austria or of england, we should have to keep an army in the south to guard our borders." two days after leaving paris the party arrived at peronne, where a considerable body of troops were collected, of which, although an aide-de-camp, desmond now learned for the first on the frontier time the duke was to take the command. no movements of importance had taken place in the field, and as the force at peronne still wanted several regiments to bring it up to the intended strength, some weeks passed before it was set in motion. the four aides-de-camp, however, had a busy time of it. the main army was stationed in the neighbourhood of lille, and frequent communications passed between berwick and vendome. the allies were inactive. eugene had early in april met marlborough at the hague, and had concerted with him the plan for the campaign. he had then gone to vienna to bring up reinforcements, and until these arrived marlborough hardly felt in a position to take the offensive, as the french armies were considerably stronger than his own, and he had not yet been joined by the troops from hanover. except to receive orders, the aides-de-camp saw little of their commander. he was absorbed in the difficult problems of the war, and was occasionally absent for two or three days at the camp of vendome. he always spoke kindly to them when on duty, but at other times dispensed altogether with their attendance, and as a rule took his meals alone. "you see him at his worst/'d'eyncourt said one day to his new comrades; "he is a different man when he is in the field. then he is full of life and activity, looking into every detail himself, endeavouring to infuse some of his own energy into others, full of care for the comfort of his troops, though ready to endure any harship himself. then you see the real man; a noble character, idolized by the soldiers and loved by us all. you must not judge him in the slightest degree by what he now is. he has a great deal on his mind, and has, so it is whispered, no small trouble in keeping the peace between vendome and bungundy. the failure, too, of the expedition to scotland must have greatly disappointed him, and i have no doubt he expected to be put at the head of any french in the irish brigade army sent over to place james upon the throne. however, he may congratulate himself now that he was not with it, for no honour and no gain has been earned by any concerned in it." "that certainly is so," desmond agreed; "it was a mis- managed affair altogether. to begin with, twenty thousand men should have been sent instead of six thousand; and in the next place, the fleet should have assembled at brest or bor- deaux, for in that case, although the news of its assembling would assuredly have reached england, it would not have been known whether it was intended that the landing should be made in ireland, scotland, or on the english coast, while by gathering at dunkirk no doubt was left as to the destination. this was proved by the fact that when the english fleet watch- ing the port was driven off by a gale, and an opportunity was thus given for a start, instead of coming back again, as we had hoped, only to find that we had left, it sailed straight for the north, making absolutely certain that we were bound for edinburgh." "well, we must hope," o'sullivan said, " that next time the force will, as you say, be fully twenty thousand men, will include the irish brigade, will be led by berwick, and will land in ireland." at this moment an orderly entered. "the duke requires your attendance, lieutenant kennedy." desmond at once went to the duke's apartments. "you will start at once for lille, mr. kennedy, and will report yourself to marshal vendome. i have arranged with him that one of my aides-de-camp shall accompany the force that is about to advance, and shall keep me informed of what is being done. i have selected you because i know you to be active and shrewd. the marshal is too much occupied to send me such full reports as i should wish, and i look to you on the frontier not only to give me facts, but to convey to me your impres- sions of what you see passing around you. do not fear to speak plainly. your communications will be strictly private, and your views will be thus of far more use to me than the official expressions of the marshal and his staff. you will, of course, take your servant with you, and i have told off three troopers to accompany you for the purpose of bringing your reports to me. there is no probability of a general engage- ment at present, and until we obtain some idea of marl- borough's plans no extensive operations will be undertaken." from the manner in which he spoke desmond had no doubt that berwick himself was in favour of taking the initiative without delay, but that he had been overruled. it was indeed of importance to the french that before advancing they should secure possession of the towns of west flanders, so that the great roads would all be open to them. half an hour after leaving the duke, desmond was in the saddle, and, followed by the four soldiers, rode for vendome's camp. according to instructions he halted for the night at arras, and reached lille at ten, the next morning. he at once presented himself to the marshal, and handed to him the letter from berwick of which he was the bearer. the duke glanced through it. "i have been expecting you, lieutenant kennedy, and have arranged that you shall mess and ride with the junior officers of my staff. i will order a tent to be erected for you at once. should any portion of my force move without me, i have arranged that you shall accompany it. you will find many of your compatriots in camp, for we have five battalions of the irish brigade with us, among them that of o'brien, to which the duke of berwick informed me you belonged before you were appointed to his staff, having distinguished yourself markedly on several occasions." (vms) n in the ieish brigade the marechal-de-camp coming in, vendome placed des- mond in his charge, requesting him to introduce him to the various officers of his staff with whom he would have to mess, and to see that he was well cared for. he was well received by the young french officers, all of whom, with scarce an ex- ception, belonged to good families, and desmond was not long in discovering that they regarded their occupation rather as a pleasant and exciting diversion than as a matter of duty, and that the greater portion of their time was devoted to pleasure. they rode, practised with the pistol and rapier, made excursions into the country, dined, and spent their even- ings as if the army were non-existent. a few only, and these were men who had served as officers, took their profession se- riously, and divided among themselves what work had to be done, the young nobles gladly relinquishing it to them. chapter xn oudenarde esmond did not remain long at the marshal's camp, but accompanied expeditions that were sent to bruges, ghent, and ypres. the inhabitants of these towns had for some time been in communication with the marshal. they were hostile to the english, and had a standing feud of many years' duration with the dutch. as soon therefore as the french columns approached they opened their gates. the weak garrisons that had been placed there, finding themselves unable to at once control the population and defend the walls, evacuated the town before the french arrived. beyond writing confidential reports to berwick, desmond had had little to do, and spent most of his time with his own regiment, by whom oudenarde he was heartily welcomed, and with the other irish battalions encamped near them. he and the other officers captured in the salisbury had been given up as lost by their comrades, and the appearance of desmond in his staff uniform was the first intimation they had received of his escape, of which he had more than once to give a detailed account. in doing this he made no mention of the seizure of lord godolphin. he knew that the minister was anxious that this should not get abroad, and as he had behaved fairly to them desmond considered that he ought to remain silent on the subject, and merely said that on their arrival at eye they had made an arrangement with a man who was in the habit of conveying persons secretly to or from france to take them across the channel. "you amaze me more and more, kennedy," the colonel said. "six months ago, when you joined, you seemed to me little more than a boy, and yet you have been through adventures that demanded the brain and courage of a veteran. we missed you all much; but i hope we shall soon get the others back again, for i had news the other day from paris that arrange- ments for their exchange were going on, and no doubt they will rejoin as soon as they land. there is little chance of you, o'neil and o'sullivan, coming back to the regiment; but, at any rate, as berwick's force is sure to join ours as soon as operations begin in earnest, we shall often see you." it was the end of june before the main army advanced. desmond had returned to peronne after the capture of the three flemish towns, and was warmly praised by berwick for the manner in which he had carried out the work entrusted to him. on the th of july he received orders to accompany the duke. "there is bad news," captain fromart said, entering the room where the four aides-de-camp were together. "you in the irish brigade know the marshal had commenced the seige of oudenarde. we have news now that the enemy has suddenly advanced towards him, and he has been obliged to raise the seige and fall back across the scheldt. the troops are to go forward at once. the duke will ride on with all speed in accordance with vendome's urgent request. all four of you are to go on with him. i shall accompany the force here. there is no time to be lost; the duke's horse is to be at the door in a quarter of an hour, and it will not please him to be kept wait- ing. you had better leave your spare horses for the present. i have already warned the escort." it was a short notice, but by the time named the four aides- de-camp were in their saddles, as were their soldier servants, for by this time desmond's two friends had obtained servants from a dragoon regiment. they were but just in time, for they had scarcely mounted when the duke came out, sprang into his saddle, and went off at a canter. the distance was some fifty miles. they stopped once for two hours, to re- fresh themselves and their horses, and rode into vendome's camp soon after nightfall. a large tent had been already erected for berwick's use close to that of the marshal, and another close by for the use of the officers who might come with him. a quarter of an hour later a soldier entered the aides-de-camp tent with a large tray. "the duke of berwick bids me say, gentlemen, that he is supping with the marshal, who has sent these dishes to you from his own table." "please to give our thanke to the duke of vendome for his kindness," desmond said; but when the soldier had left the tent he went on, "i have no doubt that this is the result of a suggestion on the part of berwick, and greatly obliged to him we must feel. we had just been saying that we sup- posed we should get nothing to eat till to-morrow morning, in the irish brigade while here is a supper worthy of the marshal, and four flasks of wine, which doubt not are good." it was ten o'clock before the duke returned to his tent, when he at once sent for his aides-de-camp. "there will be nothing more for you to do to-night, gentle- men. sleep soundly, for we shall have a hard day's work to-morrow. we are to cross the scheldt again at daybreak. the enemy are on the other side of the dender, and the next day a pitched battle will probably be fought. you may be surprised that we do not wait until my forces arrive, but we have heard that eugene's reinforcements are within two days' march of marlborough, and as they are more numerous than those i command it has been decided to accept battle at once. good-night." "the general is in a good temper," d'eyncourt said as they re-entered their tent. "i expect that his views have been adopted, and that there was a warm discussion over them." this was indeed the case. the duke of burgundy, an ob- stinate man without any knowledge of war, had been in favour of pushing forward, crossing the lys as well as the scheldt, and attacking the allies as soon as they met them. vendome. on the other hand was of opinion that the army which was now collected near ghent had better advance against oude- narde, which might be carried by a coup de main before marl- borough could come to its assistance, which he might be some days in doing, seeing that he was in command of a mixed force, composed of dutch, danes, hanoverians, prussians, and brit- ish. burgundy then maintained that they should retire and fight near ypres, where they would be close to the frontier and could retire upon lille in case matters went against them. berwick, however, at last managed to persuade him to agree to vendome's plan, as the capture of oudenarde was a matter oudenarde of the utmost importance, and it would be as easy to fall back thence to lille as it would be from ypres. this burgundy had sullenly assented to, and the next morn- ing the army marched to the position fixed upon. this was on steeply rising ground, with the river norken running at its foot. beyond this were two other eminences, on each of which stood a windmill. that on the west was called the windmill of oycke, and that on the adjoining hill the windmill of royegham, the latter flanking the main position. oude- narde being found to be strongly garrisoned, it was decided, in spite of the opposition of burgundy, to cross the scheldt at gavre, and then to give battle to the allies between that river and the dender. marlborough had, however, been joined by prince eugene, who had, like berwick, hurried on in advance of his army, and the two great generals decided, instead of attacking the trench by the road from brussels, to sweep round across the scheldt at oudenarde and by other bridges across the river, and so to place themselves between vendome and france. a portion of the french army was already in movement when the news came that the allies were fast coming up. early the next morning their advance guard, composed of twelve battalions of infantry and the whole of the cavalry, reached the scheldt, and having thrown bridges over the river, crossed, and soon came in contact with the french advance guard under biron. there was some severe fighting, in which neither party gained any great advantage, the french main- taining possession of the village of eynes. while this con- flict was going on, marlborough and eugene, with the main body, had reached the river, and were engaged in crossing it; and vendome determined to attack them while carrying out the operation. he was, as usual, opposed by burgundy, who wished to continue the march to ghent. marshal vendome oudenarde ground was broken by enclosures with deep wet ditches, bridges, woods, and small villages, and the cavalry were unable to act on such ground. the infantry on both sides fought with extreme resolution, every hedge, ditch, bridge, and house being defended to the last. seldom indeed in modern warfare has so obstinate and terrible a fight taken place. frequently the combatants were mingled together, and fought with bayonets and the butt-ends of their muskets. gradually, however, the dutch and the hanoverian battalions won their way forward, and drove the french back to the village of diepenbeck, where the latter successfully main- tained themselves, marlborough then ordered general over- kirk to move round and seize the hill at oycke, which, al- though it flanked the enemy's position, was not held by them. this he did with twenty dutch and danish battalions, who had only just crossed the river. he then pressed on and seized the mill of royegham, thus cutting the communication between the french at diepenbeck and the troops that still remained on the plateau beyond the norken. eugene then swung round his right, and, pressing forward, surrounded the french on that side, so completely enveloping them that his men and those of overkirk each believed the other to be french—for darkness had now fallen—and fought for some time before the mistake was discovered. as in such a coun- try it was impossible to move troops in regular formation in the darkness, marlborough gave orders for the troops to halt in the positions they held. had the light lasted two hours longer the whole of the french army would have been slain or captured; but under cover of darkness the greater portion made their way through the intervals of the allied troops. many fled to ghent, while thousands made for the french frontier. vendome lost in killed and wounded six thousand men and nine thousand prisoners, and bis total loss exceeded in the irish brigade twenty thousand; while the allies lost five thousand, of whom the great majority were dutch, danes, and germans. the french troops on the plateau withdrew under the direction of vendome in good order, and before morning a large number of fugitives had rallied. marlborough sent forty squadrons of horse in pursuit of them, but the french showed so firm an attitude that the cavalry were unable to se- riously interfere with their retreat. berwick had remained during the day near the marshal, and had placed his aides-de- camp at his disposal, for the difficulty of the ground, and the distance from the plateau of the various points at which the troops were engaged, rendered communication much slower than it otherwise would have been, and desmond and his com- panions were frequently sent off with orders. it was the first time desmond had been under fire, and the effect of the roar of musketry, the whizzing of bullets, and the shouts of the combatants, gave him a much stronger feel- ing of discomfort than he had expected. the roar of cannon was not added to the other sounds, for the guns of the day were clumsy and difficult to move; and, owing to the rapid marches and countermarches of both armies, the greater portion of the artillery had been left behind, and only a few guns were on the field, and these, in so close and con- fined a country, were of little use. desmond felt now that he would far rather be fighting in the thick of it with o'brien's regiment than making his way alone along the lanes, im- peded constantly by columns advancing to the front, while he was met by a stream of wounded men making their way to the rear. at first all was exultation among the troops, for as the hanoverians and dutch were forced to give way before the assault of the main body of the french, shouts of victory rose, and it was confidently believed that they would this day avenge the two great victories marlborough and eugene had oudenarde gained over them. having delivered his orders to the officer in command, desmond rode back. vendome and berwick had both dismounted, and were standing together with a few of their staff at the edge of the plateau examining the field with their telescopes. "i have delivered your message, sir," he said, riding up and saluting. "the general bade me tell you all was going well, the enemy were falling back and will soon be in full flight." "very well, mr. kennedy; by this time he will have found out that he was a little too sanguine." the fire had indeed for the past few minutes broken out with augmented fury, marl- borough had arrived at the threatened point and had placed himself at the head of the dutch and hanoverians, and, ani- mated by his presence, these had not only ceased to fall back, but were in turn advancing. "the battle is not won yet, kennedy," o'sullivan, who had returned a few minutes before from the front, said, as he joined him. "on our left we are being driven back, for a large force has reinforced the enemy there, and unless our main column defeats the allied left and pushes them into oudenarde, we shall have night coming on before we have finished, and as our cavalry cannot act in these cramped fields, marlborough will be able to draw off without any great loss." for an hour there was no change. then berwick, looking round, beckoned to desmond. "mr. kennedy," he said, "a strong force of the enemy moved half an hour ago towards their left. i have lost sight of them owing to the high hedges and trees, but it does not seem to me that they can have joined in the battle. our troops are strongly posted at die- penbeck, and should be able to maintain themselves there against the whole allied army, but the enemy cannot see our dispositions, and would surely have pushed forward and made a desperate assault on the village had they been joined by the in the irish brigade strong force i saw moving in that direction. it may be that this force has been held in reserve in case our line should be reinforced and again advance. marlborough may be content to hold his own on his left, while prince eugene, who, we have heard, commands on their right, turns our flank on that side. i wish you to ascertain, if possible, what this force is doing and where it is posted. if you ride across to the mill on the eminence behind diepenbeck you may be able to get sight of them; or, if the smoke renders it impossible to discover matters from that point, ride on to the farther hill, and, de- scending there on the enemy's left, you will be able to make your way close enough to ascertain what is going on. you are well mounted and need not greatly fear capture, for they would hardly care to divert a party of cavalry in pursuit cf a single officer. still, it is as well not to push your horse too hard on your way out, for you may possibly need all his strength." a minute later, desmond was cantering his horse down the declivity to the norken. crossing by the bridge near mullen he turned to the right and rode up the hill of koyegham. here a strong brigade, composed of cavalry and infantry, un- der general grimaldi, was stationed. desmond rode up to him. "the duke of berwick has sent me to ascertain, sir, the position of a strong body of the enemy's troops whom he ob- served marching from the river towards our right. may i ask if you have noticed them?" "we saw them move away after crossing the river, but have not seen them since. i should fancy they are engaged in front of diepenbeck, but the ground is so undulating and the view so obscured by smoke that we have not caught sight of them since they issued from ouedenarde—indeed the hill be- hind diepenbeck prevents our seeing down into the low land beyond." "i will ride on there, sir," desmond said. "certainly a in the irish brigade fire that grimaldi was engaged. the sun had already set, but berwick was able to make out with his glass that the left was giving way before the attack of eugene, and that the twenty battalions under argyle, which had hitherto remained inac- tive, were advancing by the main road leading through mul- len to the plateau on which they stood. "the day is lost," berwick said bitterly. "the troops at diepenbeck are completely cut off. darkness alone can save them from annihilation. and to think that if it had not been for burgundy we could have maintained ourselves here against double the force of the allies! so long as the system of giving the command of armies to royal incapables continues we can- not hope for success." vendome lost no time in issuing orders. the troops still on the plateau were brought forward whence their fire would command its approaches; aides-de-camp were sent in all di- rections to order the generals of divisions to draw off at once and to make their way up to the plateau, and berwick's four aides-de-camp were told to make their way, if possible, by dif- ferent routes to diepenbeck and to give orders for the troops there to maintain themselves at all costs until darkness had completely fallen, and then to make their way as best they could to the plateau; if that was impossible, to march for either ghent or lille. "the service is a desperate one, gentlemen," berwick said, as he turned to give the orders to his officers, "but it is necessary, for if the force remain there until morning they are all irretrievably lost. it is getting dark already, and you may therefore hope to pass unnoticed between the intervals of the enemy. if you get there safely do not try to return at once, but, like the rest, endeavour to make off during the night." without waiting for orders mike followed his master. oudenarde going down they met the remnants of biron'a division fly- ing in disorder; they separated at the bridge of mullen, and with a word of adieu to his comrades desmond turned to the right, and rode for groenvelde. suddenly a volley of mus- ketry was fired from the hill to the right. desmond stag- gered for a moment in the saddle, and the bridle fell from his left hand. mike was by his side in a moment. "where are you hurt, master?" "in the left wrist, i fancy. by the way the hand hangs down it must have smashed both bones. however, there is no time to wait now; it is a matter of life and death to get to diepenbeck." "one moment, your honour. let me put your hand into the breast of your coatee; then if you keep your elbow tight against your body it will keep it steady." although mike carried out his suggestion as gently as he could, desmond almost fainted with pain. "take a drop of brandy from your flask, master; it won't take half a minute, and then we will be off." they continued their journey. the rattle of musketry ahead of them showed that the combat had already com- menced close by between either the advancing troops of ar- gyle or those who had crossed the hill of royegham and grim- aldi's brigade, which was probably endeavouring to hold them in check until the troops at diepenbeck came back. it was already too dark to distinguish the uniforms except at a dis- tance of a few yards. dashing on he saw a dark mass ahead —three officers rode out. "who are you, sir?" they shouted. "i am carrying a report from the general," he replied in english, and without drawing rein dashed on, passing within twenty yards of the column, and reached diepenbeck without further interruption. in the centre of the village the french in the irish brigade general was sitting on his horse surrounded by his staff. the combat beyond raged as furiously as before. desmond rode up and saluted. "i am the bearer of orders from marshal vendome, sir," he said; "he bid me tell you that a large force of the enemy has crossed the hills of oycke and royegham, and is already in your rear, the enemy's right overlapping your left, while the whole british reserve is pressing forward, and will ere long effect a junction with both these forces. your retreat, there- fore, is entirely cut off. the orders are that you shall main- tain yourself here as long as possible, as in the darkness and confusion it is unlikely that the allies can attack you from the rear before morning. the marshal himself holds the plateau, and will continue to do so. you are to make your way to- night, if possible, in battalions and in good order, through the intervals between the various divisions of the enemy; or, if that is not possible, singly. all are to endeavour to join him on the plateau; those who cannot do this are to make for ghent or lille." "your order scarcely comes as a surprise, sir," the general said bitterly; "we have heard firing in our rear for some time, and we were afraid that things had gone badly with us after all." he at once gave orders that the troops behind the vil- lage were to take up a position to resist any attack made in that direction. desmond dismounted, as did mike, and the latter took the two horses, fastened them to a tree, and then, with des- mond's scarf, bound his arm firmly against his side. "we have made a mess of it entirely, your honour," he said, "and have got a terrible bating. sure we were lucky in getting here. faith i thought we were caught when you were hailed." "it was a narrow escape, mike; and if they had waited till the bridle vkl.l fro.m his lekt ham). oudenarde i had got a little nearer and had seen ray uniform, i must have surrendered." "it seems to me that we are like rats in a trap, mr. ken- nedy." "something like it, mike; but it is hard if we can't get through them in the dark." "that we will do, sure enough," mike said confidently; "but which way should we go?" "that i can't tell you. you see, they are in strength in front, marlborough and eugene are on the left and partly behind us, and the troops you saw come across the hills are somewhere in the rear. if it were daylight not a man of us would escape, but as it is it will be hard if we cannot make our way through. what i am thinking about chiefly at present is the safety of o'sullivan, o'neil, and d'eyncourt; they ought to have been here as soon as we were. they may either have lost their way in the darkness, or fallen into the hands of the enemy. however, i shall not give them up for another half-hour." the firing was now abating, and presently died away com- pletely except for a few scattered shots, showing that the allies had been halted where they stood, and were no longer pressing forward; another hour passed, and desmond's comrades were still absent. in the meantime the general had called together the colonels of the several regiments, had ex- plained the situation to them, and repeated vendome's orders. the news came like a thunderbolt upon them, for the din of firing round the village had completely deadened all distant sound, and they were wholly unaware of what was passing in other parts of the field. "i must leave the matter to your individual discretion," the general said; "those of you who think your men can be relied on, can try to escape and join the marshal in a body, (m ) o in the irish brigade those who have not that confidence in their regiments—and indeed some of these have been almost annihilated—had best tell them to scatter; those who remain here will assuredly be made prisoners in the morning. it is possible that that may be the better plan, for it is better to surrender than to be cut to pieces. i therefore leave the matter entirely in your hands. i myself shall remain here. we have done all that men can do in the way of fighting, and as i was told to hold this place till the last i shall remain at my post." desmond was present when this conversation took place. "we will wait another hour, mike," he said, as he rejoined his follower; "we may be sure that the greater part of the enemy's troops will be asleep by that time. they must have made a tremendous march, for the news last night was that they were twenty miles away; and they have been fighting twelve hours. after such work as that the men will drop down to sleep as soon as they have halted." "shall we go on horse or on foot, your honour?" "i think the best plan will be to lead our horses, mike, across this country; it would seem natural to do so, and once through them we could gallop round and join the troops on the plateau." "i should say, sir, that if i were to steal out to where they have been fighting for the last six hours, i might get a couple of uniforms to put over our own; they will be lying thick enough there, poor chaps. if we had them on we might pass through any troops we might meet, as we both speak english." "that is a good idea, mike, if you can carry it out." "sure i can do that and without difficulty, your honour. i expect the enemy have drawn back a little, so as to be in some sort of order if we were to fall upon them in the night, and i know that all our men have been recalled. i will fas- oudenakde ten the horses to this tree, and perhaps your honour will keep an eye on them." "i will stay with them, mike." the soldier at once made off. the village was now crowded with troops, all order was at an end, and the regiments were considerably mixed up. the officers went among them saying that an attempt was going to be made to pass through the enemy and join the force on the plateau. they pointed out that there was at least as much hope in being able to do so as in making off singly. many of the soldiers, not having themselves suffered defeat, responded to the call, and several bodies, four or five hundred strong, marched out into the darkness. the majority, however, decided to shift for them- selves, and stole away in threes and fours. of those that remained some broke into the village wine and beer shops and drank to stupefaction, while others, exhausted by the efforts of the day, threw themselves down and slept. mike was away half an hour. "i have got an officer's cloak for you and a helmet with feathers. i think he must have been a staff-officer who was killed while delivering his orders. i have got a soldier's over- coat and shako for myself." "capital, mike! now i think that we can venture, and we will go the shortest way. we might very well lose ourselves among these hills if we were to try and make the circuit." having put the dutch uniforms over their own, they set out, taking the way to the left until they came to the main road by which the british reserve had advanced, then they mounted their horses. "it is no use trying to make our way through the broken ground, mike. there is another road that goes through huerne; we will strike that, and must so get round on the right of the enemy. even if we come upon them we are not in the ikish brigade likely to excite suspicion, as we shall be on a road leading from oudenarde. i was noticing that road from the height. it runs into this again near mullen, and the enemy are not likely to have posted themselves so near the river." they rode on through huerne. the village was full of wounded. no one paid them any attention, and they again went on until suddenly they were challenged with the usual "tho comes there?" "a staff-officer with despatches," desmond replied. he heard the butt of the soldier's musket drop on the ground, and rode forward. "can you tell me, my man," he said as he reached the gentinel, "where the duke of marlborough is to be found?" "i don't know, sir," the man replied; "only our regiment is here. i know there are a number of cavalry away there on the left, and i heard someone say that the duke himself was there. there is a cross-road a hundred yards farther on, which will lead you to them." thanking the man, desmond rode on. a few bivouac fires had been lighted, and these were already beginning to burn low, the troops having dropped asleep almost as soon as they halted. "i hope we shall meet no more of them, mike," desmond said, as they went on at a brisk trot. "i shan't feel quite safe till we get to mullen." they met, however, with no further interruption. as they crossed the bridge they halted, took off the borrowed uniforms, threw away the head gear and put on their own hats, which they carried under their cloaks, and then rode on up the hill after having first satisfied the officer commanding a strong guard placed at the bridge that they were friends. another ten minutes and they were on the plateau. desmond had no difficulty in finding out where the head-quarters were es- oudenarde i tablished at hayse, and, riding there, he at once went into the house occupied by berwick and reported hie return. "i am glad to see you back again, kennedy," the duke said heartily; "it is something to have recovered one friend from the wreck. now, what is your news?" desmond related what had happened to him from the time he left, and said that a large proportion of the troops at die- penbeck had already left, and, as he heard no outburst of firing, he hoped most of them had got safely away. "i see you are wounded." "i have had my wrist smashed with a musket-ball fired by a party on a hill to the right, belonging, i suppose, to the force that came up from oycke." "you had a narrow escape of your life," berwick said; "if you had been hit a little farther back the ball would have gone through your body. sit down at once. i will send for my surgeon." and he instantly gave orders for the surgeon of the staff to come to his tent, and then made desmond, who was suffering terribly from the agony of the wound, drink a tumbler of wine. "i know you are all busy, doctor," the duke said as the surgeon entered, "but you must do something for mr. ken- nedy, who is badly wounded in the arm." the surgeon examined the wound and shook his head. "both bones are fractured," he said, "and i am afraid that there is nothing for it but amputation." "then leave it till to-morrow, doctor," desmond said faintly; "there must be a number of poor fellows who want your attention much more than i do." "that would do if i could make you a cradle, but we are badly off for surgical appliances." "could you cut one out of my jack-boots?" "a capital idea, mr. kennedy; nothing could be better. m the irish brigade men, was within a couple of days' march of it. his disposi- tions were made with extreme care, and a tremendous convoy of heavy artillery, ammunition, and provisions was brought up from ostend without the french being able to interfere with its progress. marlborough, with his british contingent and the hanoverians, was to cover the operations of the siege, which was to be undertaken by prince eugene with the rest of the allied army. vendome marched at once with his army, and making a circuit, placed himself between lille and paris, deserting his recent conquests in ypres, ghent, and bruges, all of which fell into the hands of the allies. chapter xttt convalescent esmond was not present with the french army for many hours after their arrival at ghent. he suffered in- tense pain on the ride thither, and was then taken to a hospital that had been hastily formed for the reception of wounded offi- cers. here the surgeons had agreed that there was nothing for it but to amputate the arm half-way between the wrist and the elbow. the limb was already greatly swollen. "under ordinary circumstances," the surgeon said, "we should wait until we had reduced the inflammation, but this might be a matter of a week or ten days, and there is no time to spare, as the army will probably march away in a few days, and travel would increase the inflammation to such an extent that your life might be sacrificed." "i would rather have it taken off at once, doctor," des- mond said. "the operation cannot hurt very much more than tlie arm is hurting already, and the sooner it is over the better." surgery was in its infancy at that time; anaesthetics were convalescent undreamt of; but the surgeons of the french army nad large experience, and the operation was very skilfully performed for the time. the stump was then seared with a hot iron. "you have stood it well," the surgeon said, for, except when the iron was applied to the wound, no groan had issued from desmond's lips. "now, your servant must keep these dresings continually soaked with water, and in a few days we may hope that you will be able to travel in a waggon without danger." when the army marched away a week later, desmond was placed in a waggon half-filled with hay, with several other wounded officers. at arras, where there was a large military hospital, he was kept for a few days, and then sent on to amiens, only the most severe cases being retained at arras, as another engagement might take place at any moment, and the resurces of the town would be taxed to the utmost. he gained strength very slowly, and it was six weeks before the surgeons pronounced him to be sufficiently convalescent to be moved. "it would," they said, "be probably some months before he would be fit to return to active service." he was sitting looking listlessly out of the window of the chamber that he and three other officers occupied, when mike came in followed, to desmond's intense surprise, by monsieur de la vallee. "my dear desmond," the latter exclaimed, hurrying for- ward and grasping his hand, "you must have thought that we had all forgotten you." "indeed i never thought anything of the kind, philip. i did not suppose that you had ever heard of me since we parted at moulins." "news travels but slowly, but we did hear that fifteen subalterns of o'brien's regiment were captured in the salis- bury. i wrote to a friend in paris, and he told me that you in the irish brigade were among the number, but that, on making enquiries, he found you had, in some manner or other, effected your escape, and that you and the two other officers had had an audience with the king, and had then gone to the northern frontier on the staff of the duke of berwick. i wrote begging him to get, if possible, a sight of the despatches, and if your name appeared, to let us know. ten days ago i received a letter from him to say that you had been wounded at oude- narde. the duke of berwick had, in his private despatch to the king, mentioned your name with very high praise, saying that it was due to you alone that so many of the troops hemmed in at some village or other—i forget its name— managed to make their escape during the night, for although he sent off four aides-de-camp with orders, you alone managed to get through the enemy, though wounded by a bullet which had caused you the loss of your hand. he said he had written to the chief surgeon on berwick's staff, who was a personal friend of his, to ascertain, if possible, where you were. of course i set out as soon as i received his letter." "what! have you ridden all the way from the south of france to come to me, philip?" t "of course i have, and should have ridden all across eu- rope if it had been necessary. i went round by pointdexter. the baron is laid up with an attack of gout, or he would have accompanied me. he sent all sorts of messages, and so did anne, and the latter informed me that i need not show my face at the chateau again until i came accompanied by you. when i reached paris my friend had learned from the sur- geon that you were at amiens, and so here i am. i met your faithful mike at the gate of the hospital. i was glad, indeed, to see that he had come out unharmed from that terrible fight. when i told him i had come to take you away he almost cried with joy." convalescent "it will be the saving of him," he said. "he has been going down the hill for the last fortnight, and it is change and good nursing he wants." "he will get good nursing, i warrant," i said, "and the soft air of the south will soon set him up." "it is wonderfully kind of you, philip; but i am sure i am not strong enough to ride." "no one is thinking of your riding at present, desmond. i have brought down a horse-litter with me, and four of my men, with the quietest horses on the estate, and all you have to do is to lie down in it, and talk with me whenever you are disposed. you have a whole batch of adventures to tell me." "i feel better already, philip. i own that i have been downhearted of late, for it seemed to me that i should be an invalid for months, and be living in paris without a friend except mike, for all the regiments of the brigade are either with vendome or in spain. the sight of your face and the thought of your kindness so cheers me that i feel capable of anything." "well, we will start to-morrow morning, desmond. i shall go at once and see the director of the hospital and get an order for your discharge." the next morning they set out. desmond had to be as- sisted downstairs. there he was laid on a litter packed with soft rugs. this was raised and placed between two horses, ridden by two of de la vallee's men. de la vallee himself took his place by the side of the litter, mike rode on ahead leading desmond's charger, and the other two servants fell to the rear in readiness to change with those bearing the litter when half the day's journey was done. seeing that the exer- tion of being moved had exhausted his friend, de la vallee rode for some time in silence. then, when desmond opened in the irish brigade his eyes and smiled at him, he said, "i hope you are feeling comfortable?" "perfectly; i hardly feel any motion." every care had been taken to prevent jolting. the poles of the litter were unusually long, thus adding to their elas- ticity. the ends passed through leathern loops suspended from the saddle, and were at this point covered with a thick wrapping of flannel bandages, which aided in minimizing the effect of any jar. the first day's journey was performed at a walking pace, and they reached beauvais, twenty-five miles being accomplished. the fresh air and the slight easy motion were beneficial, and in the afternoon desmond was able to talk cheerfully with his friend. there was, however, no con- tinued conversation, philip saying he would ask no questions about desmond's doings until he was stronger. his story had better be told while sitting quietly in a room, where it would not be necessary, as it was on the road, for the voice to be raised. in the evening, however, after partaking of supper, desmond, without being asked, related the incidents, so far as he knew them, of the battle of oudenarde, and of the manner in which he received his wound. "the whole disaster was due entirely to the duke of bur- gundy, or rather to the king, who placed him in command over two generals of the highest skill and reputation. if he wanted to accompany the army, burgundy should have done so just as our king james did, merely as a volunteer. i am told that the king showed great courage in the battle. for my part, i think his presence was altogether a mistake. he claims that the english are his subjects, and yet he takes part with a foreign army in battle against them. his being pre- sent will certainly not add to his popularity in england." "i agree with you," de la vallee said. "it would have been much wiser for him to have abstained altogether from inter- convalescent ference in the matter. it was, of course, a different thing when he attempted to land in scotland. then he would have been leading the loyal portion of his subjects against those whom he considers rebels against his authority. that was quite a different thing from acting without cause or reason as a volunteer in the french army against those whom he re- gards as his countrymen and subjects. i am afraid, des- mond, that though it may shock you to think so, these stuart princes of yours are not wise men. legitimate monarchs of england though they may be, they do not possess the qualities that endear kings to their people. from what i have heard, james was a heavy pedant, a rank coward, essentially not a man to be popular among a spirited people. charles had a noble presence and many fine qualities. but although his ideas of kingly power would have suited us well enough in france, his arbitrary measures alienated a large proportion of his people and brought ruin upon him. "your second charles, in spite of his numerous indiscre- tions, was not unpopular, because the people were wearied of the stern repression of puritan rule, and were therefore dis- posed to look leniently upon his frailties, while they appre- ciated his good temper and wit. his fatal mistake was allying himself so closely with us—a grievous mistake indeed when we remember that for centuries the two nations had been bit- terly opposed to each other. as for his brother, he forfeited his throne by his leanings towards the catholic church, in whose communion he died. decidedly the stuart kings were not a success. as to james iii, as you call him, i know noth- ing beyond the fact that he is a protege of the king of france, and has now fought against his own people—a blunder, as it seems to me, of the worst kind, and one which is certain to alienate many of his supporters on the other side of the water. were he to mount the throne, it would be partly due to the aid in the irish brigade of french trooops and french money—men and money, mind you, of a power at war with england! he would therefore necessarily, like charles ii, be regarded as a protege of france. he would be bound in gratitude to louis, and the position of england would be altogether changed; she would become the ally of spain and france, her ancient enemies, and opponent of her present allies, holland, austria, protes- tant germany, and denmark." desmond was silent. he could not but agree with what his friend said, and had himself considered that it was a most unwise step for james to appear in the field fighting against his countrymen. "i don't think i am strong enough to argue, philip," he said with a smile, after a long pause, " and i don't mean to give you a victory when i am fighting under dis- advantages. the stuarts certainly never did any special benefit to ireland, and assuredly brought ruin and misery upon us; and at the present moment i don't seem able to explain why we should be so devoted to the cause of these scottish stuarts rather than to that of anne, who is, after all, of the same family and race. however, we will fight it out when my brain is not so dull as it is at present." they slept the next night at pontoise, having made a some- what short journey, though desmond protested that he felt quite equal to going on to paris. "you are a good deal better to-day, desmond, but there is no hurry, and we will take matters quietly. if you continue to make improvement we shall be able in another day or two to travel faster; and i hope that, before we get to the end of our journey, you will be strong enough to sit your horse for a few miles each clay" they made no stay in paris, but proceeded on their way the morning after their arrival. melun and montargis were their next halting-places. desmond was gaining strength convalescent rapidly. his good spirits were returning, and at their even- ing halt he had been able to recite the history of his escape from england. his wound had a less angry appearance, and on the day of their leaving montargis the horses, at his re- quest, occasionally broke into a trot for a mile or two. "you are looking paler. i think the motion is too much for you," philip said after one of these occasions when they again settled down to a walking pace. "i feel a bit tired, philip, but one must make a beginning, and i shall never get strong unless i begin to use my muscles. at present i acknowledge i feel as if i had been beaten all over with sticks, but i have no doubt that i shall shake this off after a bit." this was indeed the case, and on the last three days of their journey to pointderter he sat his horse for two or three hours. philip had, on the last day, sent on one of his men to inform the baron that he would arrive that evening with desmond, and as they were seen approaching, the baron and his daughter came out from the chateau and welcomed them as they alighted. "do not upset the young fellow by appearing shocked at his appearance," the former had said to anne. "it was certainly a blow this morning to hear that he had lost his left hand, and that the greater portion of the journey had had to be performed in a litter, so you must expect to find him greatly pulled down. but see, they are breaking into a trot, so he has evidently gained strength on the way." in spite of the warning, the girl's eyes filled with tears as she saw desmond's thin face and wasted figure and his left arm in a sling. "welcome to pointdexter, monsieur kennedy! many have entered here since the old chateau was built, but none who have rendered such vital service to our race. do not try in the irish brigade to speak; i see that you are shaken with your journey. we will soon put that all right." "it has been a rather longer journey than we have pre- viously made," desmond said, after dismounting and shaking hands with the baron and his daughter, "and we rode some- what faster than usual, as we were both of us anxious to be here. it was good indeed of philip to make such a journey to find and bring me to you." "if he had not done so assuredly we should. my foot was so bad with this villainous gout that i could not put it in a stirrup, but we should have had out the family coach. i had half a mind to do so as it was, and anne was most anxious to try her powers of nursing, but philip overruled us, and said that he would be with you a week earlier than we could reach you in the coach, and that, moreover, he was sure the journey in an open horse-litter would be far better for you than being jolted in a close carriage. so, as usual, he had his own way, though i must say that for once anne rebelled strongly against his authority." "you are .all very good, baron," desmond said; "but, indeed, i think that philip was right. i can assure you that the journey has done me an immense deal of good, and he will tell you that i am very different now from what i was when be found me at amiens, for i had begun to think that i should never get away alive." "do not let us stay talking here," the baron said. "anne has had some soup prepared for you under her own eyes, and that and a glass or two of good burgundy will do wonders for you." desmond, indeed, was greatly revived, and was able to join in a cheerful conversation with his hosts. "we are both dying to hear your adventures," the baron said, " and how you managed to escape from that jail in eng- desmond was able to join in a cheerful conversation. convalescent land as you did, and also how it was that we met with that dreadful disaster at oudenarde. it really seems that those terrible fellows marlborough and prince eugene are in- vincible." "they are good generals, baron. beyond troubles with the commanders of the forces of their allies, they are able to carry out their own plans. the dukes of vendome and berwick are also able commanders, but they were hampered by the presence of the duke of burgundy, who on several occasions overruled their opinions and ruined their plans. it is to him alone that the defeat at oudenarde is due. the french soldiers fought as well as ever, and it was the position in which they were placed, and not the superior fighting powers of the enemy, that caused their defeat." "but how is it," the baron asked, " that with, as i hear, one hundred and ten thousand men vendome does not raise the siege of lille? it seems incredible that, with so great a force, he should remain inactive while the enemy are carrying out their works for the siege." "that i cannot tell you, sir. we heard all sorts of rumours at amiens, but it seems that marlborough had taken up a strong position and entrenched himself there with seventy thousand men, while eugene is conducting the siege operations." "i don't understand it," the baron said irritably. "there must be more ways of marching to lille than one. if one road is barred, why not advance by another? the duke of burgundy is not with the army now, so the blame cannot be put on him." "no, sir; but berwick's army is still, as i hear, under his independent command, and the duke, excellent soldier as he is, is not one to be easily led. if his opinion differs from that of vendome he would assuredly maintain it; and as his (m ) in the irish brigade manner is not conciliatory, and his opinions arc very strongly expressed, it may well bo that there are, as was rumoured at amiens, constant dissensions between him and vendome." "well, it seems to me very strange, monsieur kennedy, after having during the last reign defeated the best infantry of spain, humbled austria, subdued bavaria, crushed the enemy in italy, and shown ourselves to be the best soldiers in europe, that we should now suffer defeat after defeat by an army containing men of half a score of nationalities, though led by the greatest general that england has ever pro- duced." "and, baron, with english troops under him who have for hundreds of years shown themselves invincible!" "yes, yes," the baron said hastily; "we know all about crecy, poitiers, and agincourt, and how well they fought in holland; but i thought, kennedy, that you were the enemy of the english, and were here with your brave countrymen to fight against them." "not in my case assuredly. baron. i came over here because there is no opening for irish gentlemen at home, and because only by the aid of france could our lawful king be placed on the throne. it is true that a section of the english people under oliver cromwell not only conquered us but divided a great portion of our land among themselves, and although we were again defeated by a usurping dutch king with the dutch troops under his command, that is no reason why i should feel any animosity to the people at large, whose qualities i admire, and the majority of whom are in their hearts attached to the cause of the stuarts, and hate those who are keeping the king from his throne. i own that i would rather that it had fallen to my lot to fight for france against spaniards, germans, and italians, than against the english." convalescent "did you lose many friends at oudenarde, monsieur kennedy?" anne asked. "i lost my two greatest friends," desmond said; "at least i fear that both are dead. they were the two who escaped with me from the english prison. they, with monsieur d'eyncourt, another of berwick's aides-de-camp, started with me to carry orders to the troops, who were all but surrounded by the enemy. we went by different roads to increase the chances of one of us getting there. i succeeded with but this comparatively trifling wound," and he pointed to his empty sleeve, "but none of the other three got through, nor did their names appear when the lists were exchanged of the prisoners captured, therefore i have no doubt that all fell in the performance of their duty. we had been great friends ever since i came out, and their loss has greatly affected me." "you are young, and will find fresh friends," the baron said briskly. "do not let us dwell on the past. you have now to apply all your energy to getting strong, and if you show as much vigour in that as in other matters, i hope that in a month's time you will be well on the road towards complete recovery." "i mean to try hard, baron," desmond said with a smile. "if i continue to gain strength as quickly as i have done during the journey, i shall certainly insist before long on being considered convalescent." day by day indeed his strength increased. at first he wandered about in the park, accompanied by philip and anne, for the baron, although somewhat recovered from his attack of gout, still walked with difficulty. in a week he again took to horse exercise, and was ere long able to join in hunting and hawking parties. the house was gay, for the baron, as soon as desmond was able to take his share in conversation, in- vited many of the neighbouring gentry to the chateau and in- in the irish brigade troduced him to them as the man who had done so much for his daughter and himself. several entertainments were given, at which the chateau was thrown open to all-comers, in honour partly of desmond and partly of the approaching marriage of the baron's daughter to monsieur de la vallee. this had been arranged to take place in september. before that time arrived desmond had completely recovered his strength, and being now fit for service, was anxious to join, but his friends would not hear of .his departure until after the marriage; and as news came that lille had been captured by the allies, and it was certain that both armies would soon go into winter quar- ters, and would fight no more that year, he allowed himself to be persuaded to stay. the siege had been one of the most terrible in history. the place was nobly defended, and its conquest cost the allies dearly, twelve thousand being killed and wounded, and over seven thousand succumbing to diseases, while of the garrison, nearly seventeen thousand strong, but four thousand five hun- dred remained alive at the time it capitulated. its fall caused general consternation throughout france, for it opened the road to paris, and during the winter louis made strenuous efforts to obtain peace; but the terms demanded by the allies were so onerous that the negotiations were broken off. in spite of the general distress throughout the country the wedding was a gay one. desmond had written to the duke of berwick, who was now in paris, saying that he was fit for duty, and would report himself at the end of the month, and on the day before he was about to leave pointdexter he received a reply from him. convalescent it ran as follows:— dear monsieur kennedy,—i am heartily glad to hear of your restoration to health. i mentioned you to his majesty to-day, who was pleased to speak very highly of you.t the cam- paign is virtually at an end for the present year. his majesty informed me that various changes will be made in the spring. marshal de villars is to replace the duke of vendome in the command of the northern army. the latter has been unfor- tunate, and misfortune on the part of a soldier is regarded as next door to a crime. certainly the defeat at oudenarde was not his fault, but had he taken my advice lille might have been saved. doubtless he was as much dissatisfied with me as i was with him, and perhaps with reason; for, as you know, i am not accustomed to mince my phrases. however, as his majesty was pleased to say, it is evident that having two generals acting together, each with an independent command, is a mistake, and one that should not be again committed. therefore next spring i am to take the command of an army in dauphiny, and to check the austrians and italians. he said, "if you can spare him, duke, i should be glad if you would let me have this young irishman for a time. i shall promote him to the rank of captain for the great service he rendered in carrying as you say, at grievous risk and with the loss of his hand, the order to the troops at diepenbeck to scatter during the night, thus saving me at least ten thousand of my soldiers. i shall also settle upon him a pension of fifty louis a year for the loss of his hand. i will send him to spain, having had several complaints from the duke of or- in the irish brigade leans" (who, as you know, is now in command there) "of the incompetence of many of his staff." i said that although i had found you a most zealous and useful officer, and had a warm regard for you, i would of course accede to his majesty's wishes in the matter. enclosed in this letter is the order for you to join the duke of orleans, and a private letter from myslf to the duke, giving a sketch of your services and exploits, which will doubtless give you at once a place in his favour. i do not think that this war will last very much longer. france is well-nigh ruined by the sacrifices she has made, and the drain upon the allies must be almost as great. therefore i trust that another campaign will bring it to an end. if not, you may be assured that when the duke no longer requires your services—and it is probable that after a year's campaigning he will be heartily tired with the difficul- ties that he, as i did, will meet with from the procrastination and general stupidity of the spanish—you will be free to re- turn to me, and i shall be glad to number you again among the members of my staff. desmond was sorry to leave the service of the duke, but consoled himself with the hope tnat it would be only tempo- rary; and the prospect of a year's campaigning in a new country was by no means displeasing to him. therefore, after writing a suitable letter to the duke, he took leave of the baron pointdexter, with many thanks for his kindness, and, attended by mike, started for spain. "it's glad i am to be on the move again, captain kennedy," the soldier said as they rode away. "sure, your honour, idleness is not good for a man, especially when he has lashings a mission of the best of food and drink. when i came to buckle on my sword-belt this morning i found it would not meet within three inches, and the coatee is so tight that i feel as if i was suffocated." "you will soon work it down again, mike. from what i hear of spain there is no fear of your getting too much food there. rough work and small rations are, i hear, the rule." "i am ready for a good spell then, your honour. i hardly know myself now, for i am flabby and short of wind. still, i am sorry to leave the chateau, for i have had the best time i ever had in my life. everyone was mighty kind, and seemed to think that i had done great things in helping to rescue miss anne, whereas i did nothing at all except to follow you." chapter xiv a mission qn arriving at madrid in the first week in december, , desmond, after putting up at an hotel and changing the uniform in which he travelled for his dress suit, proceeded to the headquarters of the duke of orleans and sent in his name together with berwick's letter of introduction. in a few minutes he was shown into his room. the duke looked at him in some surprise. "are you captain kennedy?" "i am, your royal highness." "the duke of berwick has very strongly recommended you to me, saying that you had performed excellent service under him, and that he parted with you with regret at the express wish of his majesty. he speaks of you as a young officer, but i was hardly prepared to see one so youthful. he says in the irish brigade that you are devoted to your work, active and intelligent as well as brave, and as such your arrival is very welcome to me, for although excellent in battle, i own that my officers are less devoted to the hard work and detail that are as necessary as bravery on a general's staff. by the way, i seem to have heard your name before. let me see, it was in connection, was it not, with that affair of the marquis de tulle and baron de pointdexter's daughter?" "i certainly had the good fortune to take part in that af- fair, sir." "the king himself was pleased to tell me the details of that adventure, and to speak very highly of your courage and energy in carrying it out. and so you are really the hero of that affair? he said that you were a young ensign in o'brien's irish regiment. you have risen rapidly, sir, for it is but eighteen months since it took place." "his majesty graciously promoted me to the rank of lieu- tenant when i was appointed by the duke of berwick to his staff. i obtained my next step after the battle of oudenarde, for carrying a despatch to the force cut off in the village of diepenbeck, in which service i received a wound which re- sulted in the loss of my left hand. i was several weeks in hos- pital, and then obtained sick leave and went down for two months to baron de pointdexter, which visit resulted in my complete restoration to health. at the end of that time the duke of berwick, who had also returned from the army, was good enough to recommend me to his majesty, and he there- upon promoted me and appointed me to join your staff." "if marshal berwick spoke approvingly of your conduct, captain kennedy, it is in itself a sufficient recommendation, for the duke is not easily satisfied. i am sure that i shall find you a valuable acquisition to my staff." the duke invited desmond to dine with him that evening, in the iwsh bmgade it was indeed essential for his work, as without it he could not have made his way about and safely delivered the orders of which he was the bearer. in the beginning of march the duke sent for him. "i have been greatly pleased, captain kennedy, with the activity that you have displayed, and am going to make a further call upon you. this mission is of greater importance than any on which you have hitherto been engaged, and is one which ordinarily would be entrusted to an officer of higher rank, but i feel that i cannot do better than place it in your hands. from what we learn, i believe that it is the inten- tion of the enemy to commence the campaign by crossing the frontier near badajos. by so doing they can either follow the valley of the guadiana to the sources of the river and then come down into valencia, or they could cross the sierras, come down into the valley of the tagus, and march on madrid. "in the first place i wish a report as to the state of the fortifications of badajos and the efficiency of its garrison. i am, of course, acquainted with the official reports sent by the spanish commander of the town to his government, but i have come to place no faith whatever in spanish reports, which for the most part are a tissue of falsehoods. your first duty, then, will be to give me as complete a report as possible of the state of things there, of your impressions of the ca- pacity of the governor as shown by his preparations, also of the moralqof the troops. in the next place, i shall be glad of any information you can gather of the country beyond the frontier, and the state of the roads in all that neighbourhood. here again the native reports are absolutely untrustworthy. the line of the enemy's advance would be either direct from lisbon through vicosa, or up the tagus, which offers them great facilities for carriage, and down through portalegre and alvas. a mission "during the past four years there has been a good deal of fighting near the frontier, but the reports of the officers com- manding the spanish forces there are devoid of any practical information as to the roads on our side of the boundary. as it has been resolved to give the enemy battle as soon as he crosses the frontier, it is most important that i should know the best lines by which troops can move, the state of the bridges, and the positions in which a battle on a large scale can best be fought. you see the mission is an important one, and i selected you for it as a proof of the confidence i feel in your ability. while carrying out this duty, you shall have the temporary rank of major, as it will less ruffle the suscep- tibility of the spaniards if an officer of that rank be em- ployed than if a captain be sent to institute such enquiries. "you will, of course, be provided with a letter to the gov- ernor of badajos, couched in such terms that he will not con- sider your mission has any reference to himself, its object be- ing to discover whether the magazines at badajos are suffi- ciently well supplied to admit of their being, if necessary, drawn upon for the subsistence of the army; also, whether the garrison needs strengthening in case the enemy should lay siege to the town before our army is at hand to give battle. thus you will ostensibly confine your enquiries to the amount of provisions and ammunition, and consult the gov- ernor as to whether he considers the force at his disposal suffi- cient for the defence of the fortress against a vigorous at- tack. fortunately, the spanish methods are so slow that be- fore you get these particulars you will have ample time to as- certain the points as to which i am chiefly concerned. "you will be furnished with a native guide well acquainted with the passes of the sierras between the tagus and the quadiana. this part of your journey will not be unattended with danger, for the mountains swarm with bands of parti- ik the irish brigade sans, that is to say, bandits. i shall, however, give you an order to the officer in command of the garrison at toledo to furnish you with an escort of ten troopers under an officer, to conduct you across the mountains. four of these will accompany you to badajos, and remain with you until you return tc toledo. once in the valley of the guadiana you should have little chance of falling in with any bands of guerillas, but an escort will add to your weight and impor- tance in the eyes of the spaniards." "i feel greatly honoured, your royal highness, by your selecting me for the mission, and will carry it out to the best of my ability." "in an hour the papers will be ready for you, and you can start at daybreak to-morrow." "we are going on a long trip this time, mike." "back to france, your honour?" "no; we are going to the western frontier by badajos." "it makes no difference to me, sir, where we are going; but in truth i shall be glad to go anywhere, for i am mightily sick of this town, where the people have no great love for the french, and the best part of them seem to look down upon us soldiers as if we were dirt under our feet. it is unsafe to go through the streets alone at night. a score of men have since we came here, been found lying dead with a knife be- tween thir ribs." "yes, the population here is very much divided, mike, and even those who are favourable to philip have no love for the foreign soldiers whose bayonets keep him on the throne. the duke has many times made formal complaints to the king and the city authorities. philip has given strict orders for the arrest of bad characters, but the city civil authorities pro- test that they cannot lay hands upon them, and i believe have never taken the slightest trouble to do so." a mission "how long shall we be away, your honour?" "i should say a month i am to have temporary rank as major while engaged on this business; anyone under that grade would receive but little courtesy from the spaniards." "they are a mighty haughty lot," mike grumbled. "i believe they think that when the flood came the spanish grandees had an ark all to themselves, as they could not be expected to put up with a conveyance full of animals." desmond laughed. "they haven't yet taken in the fact that spain is no longer the great power she was when she was mistress of half of europe. they were fine fighters then, mike. for my part i own that i cannot understand how it is they have fallen off in that respect, for certainly without our troops they would make but a poor stand against the portuguese, backed up by the english and dutch." "i have not seen them fighting yet, sir, but to my mind people so fond of using their knives are not likely to be of much account when it comes to manly, straightforward fight- ing. well, your honour, if you are to go as a major you will need some slight alterations in your uniform—more gold lace, and such like. so i had best see about it at once." "i did not think of that, mike; but you are right. i don't know whether, as i only hold temporary rank, i have a right to wear the uniform of a field-officer; but as the duke wishes me to be able to speak with some authority, there can be no harm in making the change, and the additions can easily be taken off upon my return." "the duke ought to have given you the full rank instead of the temporary one, sir. you have done more work since you came here than all the colonels and majors on his staff." "as far as work goes that may be so, mike; but as the work consisted in carrying despatches about on horseback, it in the irish brigade certainly affords no claim for promotion. and indeed i have no wish whatever for it. i am already the youngest captain in the service except the young nobles who got their com- missions as colonels without even serving a day in inferior rank. i feel uncomfortable now when i go to our regiments, to see men who have been years in the service, and gone through many a desperate action, still lieutenants, while i, after two years' service, and still under nineteen, am a cap- tain." "yes, sir; but you know that you saved eight or ten thou- sand men to france at oudenarde, and you lost a hand in the service of the country. that would count for a good deal." "it counts for something, no doubt, mike, but many of these officers have risked their lives a score of times, and been wounded frequently, though they may not have lost a limb." "ah well, sir!" mike said philosophically, "luck is every thing. and who would go soldiering if it was not so? when going into battle everyone knows that a lot of his comrades will be killed, but he trusts to his luck to get through safely. one man gets promoted and another doesn't, and he hopes that luck will come his way next time. i don't say that your honour's promotion has been luck, but you have had luck in being on the staff of the duke of berwick, and everyone knows that it is the staff-officers who get the credit and promotion, while the men who do most of the fighting get passed over. there would be nothing to say against that if, as in your honour's case, a man was chosen for the staff because he had done something that showed that he was fit for it. but it isn't so here. if a man belongs to a good family, and has interest, he gets a good appointment; and it is mighty seldom that a man is taken from his regiment and put on to the staff because he has done something which showed he was a good soldier." a mission "that is so, mike; there is no denying it. and i believe it is one reason why so many disasters have befallen the french army. the generals are as a rule good, and the soldiers are excellent, but the staff are generally altogether incompetent, and seem to consider that the fact that they are nobles renders it unecessary for them to give attention to details, or to be more than ornamental figures in the general's train. and when we see the authority of vendome overruled by a young prince who is grandson of the king, and nothing else, one must not be surprised that it is the same all through the army." that evening desmond received a packet containing his appointment as major while on special service, details of in- structions as to the points to be attended to, and letters from the duke to the commandant of the garrison at toledo, and from philip to the governor at badajos. the next morning he started at daybreak, accompanied by mike, and arrived that evening at toledo. here he presented his letter to the commandant. "very well, sir," the officer said when he had read it. "at what hour do you wish the escort and guide to be ready in the morning?" "i should like to start as early as possible, colonel. i my- self, being well mounted, might cross the sierra in a day; but the troopers' horses could not do that." "you would not gain anything if they could, major ken- nedy, for even if your 'horse could carry you over sixty or seventy miles of mountain roads in a day you would cer- tainly need a couple of days' rest before proceeding farther. if you get as far as enmedio, which is in the heart of the sierra, you will have done well. you will then have another long day's ride down to ciudad real, from which place the officer with six of the troopers will return. the general says nothing about a commissioned officer, but i shall take it upon in the irish brigade myself to send one to accompany you with the four men; it will take a good deal of trouble off your hands." "i am much obliged to you, colonel." "now that we have finished business," the officer said, " we can talk of other things. you will, of course, put up here. i have two or three spare rooms, and the accommodation at the inns is wretched. i am always very glad when an officer rides through, because we hear little enough of what is passing, and as there is no sort of sociability among the spaniards, life is very dull here, and one is very glad of the change." "thank you, colonel; i will gladly accept your invitation." the colonel rang a bell and ordered a servitor who an- swered to show major kennedy's servant where to put up lis master's horses and his own, to bring up the officer's va- lises, and to make the soldier comfortable below. "we shall sup in half an hour," he said to desmond when the man had left. "two of my majors are going to share the meal." as soon as the valises were brought up, desmond changed his uniform, got rid of the dust of the road, and was just ready when a servant knocked at the door and said that the supper was served. the meal was a pleasant one. the three french officers were anxious to hear the last news that had reached madrid from france. the conversation did not flag for a moment during the meal. after this was over and cigars were lighted—for the officers had all adopted the cus- tom of the country—the colonel said courteously, 'would you mind telling us, major kennedy, how it is that you, who by your name are irish, although you speak excellent french, have made your way so rapidly as to be already a major?" "not at all, colonel. i am myself as much surprised at it as you may be. but, really, my present rank is only tempo- rary. i am going down to badajos on a special mission for a mission the duke of orleans, and as he thought that i should be re- ceived better were i a field-officer instead of captain, he has given me the temporary rank of major while so em- ployed. i will briefly tell you how i obtained the other steps. the first was given me by the king on my appoint- ment as aide-de-camp to the duke of berwick; his majesty being good enough to take an interest in me owing to a little adventure in which i had become involved. it concerned, i may say, the almost accidental rescue of a lady who had been carried off by a nobleman of the court." "i remember now," the colonel said. "the lady was mademoiselle de pointdexter, and her abductor vicomte de tulle. it happened a month or so before our regiment left paris for spain, and was the chief topic of talk. i recall your name now in connection with the affair, and how warmly everyone spoke of your gallantry. well, major, how did you gain your next step?" "i had the good fortune to be the only one who survived of four aides-de-camp who were sent off by the duke of ber- wick at oudenarde to make their way through the allied lines with orders to the division cut off from the rest of the army in the village of diepenbeck, to disperse and make off across the country as best they could. my comrades were all killed, but i was lucky enough to succeed in reaching the vil- lage uninjured, with the exception of a ball in the wrist, which caused the loss of my hand, and i may say almost of my life. it was because of the favourable report which the duke was pleased to make of this service that i received my rank as captain." "it was well earned too, sir," the colonel said warmly. "i confess i thought when you arrived that, although irish by name, you must have had some very powerful influence at your back to have risen so early. unhappily promotion often (m ) q in the irish brigade bears no relation whatever to merit, and one sees young no- bles with no other recommendation than that of their birth placed over the heads of officers of five-and-twenty years' ser- vice. no one is jealous of a man who owes his rise to brill- iant deeds of courage or signal ability; but it is galling to see these young popinjays thrust forward simply by family in- fluence." in passing over the hills the next day, a large party of armed men made their appearance suddenly on a height above; but seeing that an attack was likely to meet with a stout resistance, and as little booty would be obtainable, they did not interfere with their passage. desmond congratu- lated himself on having an escort, for it would have gone hard with him had he been accompanied only by mike. on the fifth day after leaving madrid he arrived at badajos, with the sergeant, the four troopers, and mike. after some for- malities—for the town, being close to the frontier, was lia- ble at any moment to be suddenly attacked—desmond was conducted to the governor, a pompous spanish officer. "are you yourself major kennedy?" he asked, looking with some surprise at his young visitor. "my name is kennedy, sir, and i have the honour of being major and to serve on the staff of his grace the duke of orleans. i am the bearer of a letter to you from his majesty king philip." the spaniard took the letter and read it, and desmond could see by the expression of his countenance that he was by no means pleased. "i do not understand," he said coldly, "why an officer should have been specially despatched to obtain information which i have already duly furnished." "i understood from the duke of orleans, sir, that as news has been received that the enemy's plans were to cross a mission the frontier near this town, it became a matter of special im- portance to see that it was sufficiently supplied with provi- sions and munitions of war to stand a siege. it has been found more than once that owing to the culpable neglect of subordinates, fortresses when besieged were by no means so well supplied with provisions, powder and shot, as had been supposed. naturally the governor of a fortress like this, with a considerable garrison, is too much occupied to person- ally superintend all these matters, and must leave them in the hands of his subordinates, who on their part commit them to those of sergeants and store-keepers; so that, while everything is reported to be ready, there are really deficien- cies. a waste often takes place in the distribution of stores, and the matter was so important that the king requested the duke to send one of his staff to give you every assistance, and to receive your suggestions, which will be complied with to their full extent. as your last report was sent in some three months back, necessarily considerable changes have taken place in that time." "well, sir, i will obey his majesty's orders and give you every facility. my officers shall be instructed to open such magazines as you may select, and you will then be able per- sonally to judge as to the quantity and condition of the stores. it will, of course, be impossible, unless with an immense ex- penditure of labour, to go through the whole of the magazines and to reckon up their contents; but as many as you wish shall be opened, and a party of soldiers told off to count the bales and cases." "a very few will suffice, sir. of course in the event of a battle being fought and a reverse occurring, the enemy might sit down before your town. you would be exposed to a long siege, for it might be some time before the army was again in a position to advance and fight another battle or raise the en the irish brigade siege. i have little doubt that everything will be found in excellent order, but should there be any deficiencies the duke assured me that they would be at once made good." "if you will call to-morrow morning, sir," the governor said, "i will have some of the officials in whose charge these matters are, placed at your disposal; but i am convinced that you will find that my reports on the stores and ammunition in hand are fully borne out." "the governor is, as i expected, a good deal put out, mike," desmond said as he rejoined his follower, who was waiting outside with the horses. "now, let us find out the best hotel." "didn't he ask you to stay with him, your honour ?" mike asked in surprise. "no; he is much too grand a man for that, and besides, he may have his wife and children with him; and however much a spaniard may place his house and all within it at your service, it is very seldom that he invites a stranger to enter it. moreover, glad as they may be to have french help in fighting their battles, they look with suspicion and dislike upon an individual frenchman. besides, i fancy i shall find that these stores and magazines by no means tally with the report sent in by the governor. i heard the duke of berwick one day speaking about it, and he said there was corrup- tion and dishonesty among their officials from the highest to the lowest. it is probable that both the king and the duke of orleans have the same opinion, and that it was for this reason that they sent me here, in order to assure them that the fortress is as well supplied as has been stated. with the other papers i have received a copy of the governor's report, although i did not think it necessary to tell him so." the next morning, on going to the governor's, desmond found a number of officials assembled there. "these are the officers in charge of the stores and magazines," the governor in the irish brigade massively built, and covered by some five or six feet of earth. "the first of these on the right contains musketry ammuni- tion," colonel mendez said, "the next two contain cannon balls; powder is stored in the three houses at the farther end, and the three on the left side contain hand-grenades, fuses for mines, signal rockets, and other miscellanies, such as brimstone." "we will examine number one first," desmond said. "which is the officer in charge?" one of the officials stepped forward with a key. desmond saw that his face was pale, and that he had a sullen look. "i will ask you before we enter," he said, "how often do you take stock of your stores? i suppose when the governor sends in his half-yearly report?" "we do not do it that way at all," the man said. "i have a book; it was given to me by the officer i succeeded. here it is. you will see that he handed over so many barrels of cartridges. on one side of the page i put down the number of barrels issued, and on the other the number i receive, and thus at any time, without disturbing the contents of the store, i can state the number of barrels it contains." 'then how long have you held this position, sir?" "i have been in charge of this store and of those used for powder in the cellars underneath the castle for ten years." "the man whom you succeeded;—how long had he been here? "i believe he had been here for twenty years or more." "and his system of keeping accounts was the same as yours?" "precisely. he handed his books to me, and i have kept mine in the same way." "then it is a fact, if i understand you rightly, that there has been no taking of stock for the past thirty years?" a mission "it was not necessary," the officer said in a surly tone. "there can be no mistake possible considering the way in which we made our entries." they now entered the store. it was some sixty feet long and forty feet wide, with pillars of masonry along the centre to support the weight of the roof. it was lighted only by small loopholes in the thick walls. four of the soldiers carried lanterns, and they were about to enter when desmond said, "there is no loose powder lying about, i suppose?" "none," the officer replied. "the barrels were all carefully examined before being taken into the store. they are, as you can see, strongly made; a leakage is out of the question, unless by any accident one should fall off the pile and burst; but such a thing has never happened as far as i know." "i see by your book that there should be three thousand four hundred and eighty-two barrels, each containing five hundred cartridges. certainly an ample supply even for a prolonged siege." the barrels were piled in four tiers, one above another, forming a wall on each side of a central path seven feet wide. "give me your hand, mike," desmond said to his follower, and, standing upon it, he was able to scramble on to the top. "twelve barrels deep," he said as he descended. "now let us count the number in each line." the wall of barrels extended only some two-thirds of the length of the stores, and there were thirty barrels in each line. he made a rapid calculation. "that is three thousand two hundred, but i see that in addition there is a small pile on each side beyond the others which would about make up the correct total. your record is strictly accurate." the official took up the lantern as if the matter was now finished, but desmond said: "no, sir; i have but begun; and my instructions were to see how much musket ammunition one of the soldiers gave an exclamation. a mission was nowhere to be found; he had slipped away as soon as the men began to take down the barrels. some soldiere were at once sent off in search of him. "we will continue the work," desmond said, " and see how extensively this fraud has been carried on." the same result was met with in each of the openings. the first three lines consisted of barrels filled with cartridges; the seven lines behind contained nothing but earth. "you see, colonel, instead of having over three thousand two hundred barrels of cartridges, you have less than a thousand. it is almost beyond belief i it is clear that this fellow, and probably the man who was in charge before him, have been in collusion with the contractors for these car- tridges, and allowed them to send in seven barrels of earth for every three of cartridges. no doubt they calculated that there was little chance of the fraud being detected,—never indeed until there was a prolonged siege,—for they would naturally serve out the barrels from the front row as they were required, filling their places with fresh ones as supplies came in." the other store houses were now examined. the number of cannon ball alone tallied with the account. there were large deficiencies in the store of powder, and indeed among almost all the other munitions. "it is infinitely worse than i thought," the colonel said, "and i fear that the store-keepers are not the only people concerned in these frauds." "now, colonel, if you do not mind, i should like to go to one of the provision stores at once; possibly, after what we have discovered, some pretext to stop further examination may be invented if we wait till to-morrow." great as had been the fraud in the magazines, that in the supplies of provisions was even greater. there was a de- ficiency of many hundreds of sacks of flour and beans. the in the irish brigade meat stores were entirely empty, although they should have contained a large number of tierces of salted beef. this was a matter of minor importance, for in case of the approach of an enemy the people of the country round would drive their cattle, into the town, and indeed the allowance of meat to a spanish soldier was so small that he could do well without it, existing entirely upon bread and fried beans. of wine there was scarce half the amount indicated. a great number sof the barrels had been filled only with water. it was late in the afternoon when the work ceased. "i should require a fortnight," desmond said, "to get ac- curate figures. this, however, is comparatively unimportant. it is quite sufficient to know that in no case is there half the amount either of ammunition or of provisions given in the governor's last report, and that fraud on a large scale has been carried on, and i cannot but think that some men at least of higher rank than these store-keepers must have been privy to the affair." "there has certainly been something wrong in the supply of clothes, major kennedy. my men have had no new ones served out to them for the past year and a half, although i have made repeated applications during the past two months." "yes; i noticed when i walked about in the town yesterday that many of the troops were almost in rags, and i have no doubt there has been fraud in the clothing department as well as in all the others." "well, sir, as a spaniard i lament this terrible exposure. blame, however, must not be laid entirely upon the military; the supply of provisions of all kinds, of cloth for clothing, and indeed of everything but guns and ammunition, is in the hands of the junta of the province, and of the civil authority here. many of the members must be concerned in the matter, and t •** doubt that the officials here are heavily bribed treachery to shut their eyes, and to arange matters so that the frauds may escape attention. i know that once when i proposed to the governor to examine some of the barrels of cartridges as they came in, he answered me very sharply, and told me that my business was to work the guns and not to meddle with the duties of the store-keeper." "then you think, colonel?—" "i think nothing," the officer replied; "the governor is the governor, and it is not for me to discuss his conduct in any way, nor even to admit the possibility of his knowing of this only two or three of the store-keepers had been arrested, the rest had slunk away as soon as they saw how matters were going. t this moment an officer came down and said that the governor wished to see colonel mendez and major kennedy at once. as they entered the room they saw the governor walking up and down in a state of great agitation. "i hear, colonel mendez," he said, stopping before that officer, "that you have on your own authority placed several of the commissariat store-keepers under arrest. what does this mean, sir?" "it means, sir, that major kennedy has discovered enor- mous deficiencies in the stores, and there can be little doubt that a number of persons must have been concerned in the matter besides those in charge of the storehouses. wholesale bribery must have been practised by those who supplied the goods to those whose duty it was to receive them." affair." chapter xv treachery in the irish brigade "i shall order a commission of enquiry to sit at once, and beg that you, colonel hendez.will send me in a detailed report of the matter, which is, i need hardly say, one of extreme gravity." "i was right," colonel mendez said, as they left the governor's house. "i suspected that something was wrong ever since he refused to allow me access to the magazines. i have no doubt that he has been acting in collusion with the contractors, though he may not have been aware of the ex- tent of their rascality, for his subordinates may not only have accepted brides from the contractors to carry on the frauds to which the governor may have consented, but may also have taken money from these to allow of still greater ones to be perpetrated." "what will he do, do you think, colonel?" "he will endeavour by every means in his power to prevent any word of your discovery from leaking out. and if i may advise you, i should say it would be well that you should take every precaution for your own safety. his position is a des- perate one, for one cannot doubt that your report will be fol- lowed by his removal from his post, his dismissal from the army, and the confiscation of everything of which he is pos- sessed. therefore it is almost a matter of life and death to him to prevent your report from being sent to head-quarters, and to have you removed altogether. this done, the facts might not leak out. it would be supposed at madrid that you had been stabbed by some street ruffian. and although another officer might be sent down to report, it is by no means likely that he would go so rigorously into matters as you did, but would be contented merely to count barrels and bales without troubling to investigate their contents." "but your evidence would be as strong against him as mine." treachebt "yes; but that evidence is not yet given. he can, in the first place, and i have no doubt will, suppress my report to him; in the second place, he would consider it unlikely that i should venture to make the matter public, for he has powerful friends at court. he is connected with many of the leading families in the province, and might rely upon being able to hush the matter up so long as it was known only to the heads of our army, who are not unaware that, although the pay of a commander of a fortress is not more than suffi- cient to maintain his position, they, like most other of our officials, generally retire with considerable fortunes. there- fore, any interference on my part would be more disastrous to my prospects than to his. it is humiliating to say so, major kennedy, but both our civil and military systems are rotten to the core. there are, of course, honest men in both services, but as a rule corruption is almost universal. still, although he cannot fear me as he must fear you, it is possible he may endeavour to make himself safe by removing me also from his path; and for a time i shall take good care to remain in my own barracks as much as possible." "i will be careful also," desmond said, "and i thank you much for the warning, which was needed, for it would never have struck me that he would even attempt to suppress the information that i have gained; but i see that it will be neces- sary to be very careful, especially in the manner of sending off my reports." "if i were in your place i should mount my horse at once, and with the troopers of the escort ride straight for madrid." "i cannot do that, colonel, for the examination into the state of the stores here was only a part of my instructions, and i must, if possible, carry these out to the letter before leaving for madrid. i might, however, send off my despatch by two of the troopers with me." in the irish brigade "i think you may take my word for it, major, that they would never reach their destination. even while we are spaking a messenger may be sent off either to one of these bands in the mountains, or to two or three of the contractors —who are, of course, as deeply involved as the governor, for there is no doubt of their guilt, while no proof can be given to his being a party to it—telling them that it is a matter of life and death to them to prevent you or your messengers from reaching madrid." "the look-out is certainly far from comfortable," desmond admitted, "and i must to-night think it over in every way, and decide upon what course i had best pursue." when he reached the hotel he told mike what colonel mendez had said. "by the powers, your honour, it is a nasty scrape that we seem to be in, almost as bad as when you were shut up in that prison in london." "worse, mike; for then we knew that we should be tried, but hoped that louis would interfere in our favour, and by threatening reprisals obtain our liberty; whereas here we have only ourselves to depend upon, and the blow may come at any moment." "well, at any rate, your honour, we will see that none get at you unbeknown. i will lie down in your room against the door, and if the sergeant places a man on guard outside, it is hard if anyone gets at you." "i hardly think the precaution necessary; but there is no saying what this man might not do in so desperate a situa- tion, so i will tell the sergeant to place a sentry at the door, and to relieve him every two hours. i shall think the matter over, and by to-morrow morning shall decide whether i had best remain here and complete my work, or ride at once to madrid." treacheby at about two o'clock in the morning desmond, who had but just dropped off to sleep, was aroused by hearing the sentry outside his door challenge. there was no answer; all re- mained quiet. mike leapt to his feet and opened the door. "what is it?" he asked the sentry. "i saw two or three men at the end of the corridor. it was too dark to make them out clearly. they were coming this way. i levelled my carbine and cried, 'who comes there?' and at once they stole away. they could have been after no good, for their steps were noiseless, and they must have come up without boots." "keep a sharp look-out, sentry," desmond said, "and see that they don't steal up to you, for if they do, you may be stabbed before you have time to turn round. it is lucky that i carried out your suggestion, mike, and posted a sentry at the door. of course these men the sentry saw may not have been coming here, but at any rate their conduct was sus- picious." in a few minutes desmond was again asleep. he had had a long day's work, and believing that the affair was over, at least for the night, he did not even try to keep awake. as soon as mike heard by his breathing that he was asleep, he got up noislessly and seated himself near the open window with a loaded pistol. an hour passed, and then he heard a slight stir in the street. he did not look out, but grasped his pistol tightly. their room was on the first floor. presently he heard a grating sound against the window. it was very dark, and he knelt down so that he would be able to make out any figure that showed above the window-sill. he thought first of rousing his master, but as he had another pistol in his belt, and his sword leaned against the wall ready to his hand, he thought it better to let matters take their course. he had heard no further sound, but presently a round object appeared in the irish brigade in sight. stretching out his arm, he fired without a moment's hesitation. there was a sound of a heavy fall below, followed by some muttered exclamations. in a moment desmond was on his feet, a pistol which he had laid by his pillow in his grasp. "what is it, mike?" "it is only a gentleman who had a fancy for looking in at the window, your honour, and i have no doubt would have come in without saying by your leave, if i had not cut the matter short by putting a bullet into his. forehead. he had some friends down below. he came up on a ladder." he looked out of the window. "they are taking it down now, your honour. shall i give them another shot?" "no, mike; let them go, the lesson has been good enough." the sentry had also run into the room on hearing the shot. "it is all over/' desmond said. "seeing that you pre- vented them from getting in at the door they tried the window. mike has shot one of them." there was a sound of feet and loud talking in the passage, and as desmond went out, the landlord, two of the serving- men, and several of those staying at the hotel ran up. "what is it, sefior, we heard a shot." "yes; a fellow tried to enter my window by means of a ladder, but fortunately my man heard him and shot him before he came in. no doubt it was some prowling marauder, who, seeing my window open, thought there was a chance of plunder." "carrambo! " the landlord exclaimed, " then we shall have enquiries and all sorts of 'trouble." "i don't think you will," desmond said quietly. "i fancy he had some friends down below, and they will probably carry his body and the ladder away, and if you hold your tongues nothing more will be heard of it. mike, do you and the, sentry take a lantern and go down and see." treachery the landlord looked out of the window. "as far as i can see everything is quiet there," he said. "are you sure that your servant was not dreaming?" "that you will soon ascertain if you go down with him," desmond said. "i fancy that you will find some traces of the affair there." the landlord, followed by his two servants, went down with the soldiers, and then, lighting a lantern and handing it to them, went out, keeping carefully behind them. "there," mike said, when he stopped under desmond's window; "does that look like a dream?" and he pointed to a patch of blood on the pavement. "it is true enough," the landlord said. "pedro and lopez, fetch pails of water and brooms and get rid of this blood, otherwise we shall be having enquiries made in the morning." mike returned to his master, at whose door the sergeant and the other troopers were standing. "there is no occasion, sergeant," desmond had just said, "to keep a sentry at the door any longer. we can be quite sure that we shall not be disturbed again before morning, and indeed i am not likely to sleep after this." "very well, sir; but if you don't mind i will keep a sentry on watch." "just as you like, sergeant, but i feel sure there is no occa- sion for it. still, after what has happened, it may perhaps be wise to do so." "well, mike," desmond said when they were again alone, "the campaign has opened with spirit. this is something like that journey with the baron de pointdexter, when we ex- pected to be attacked every^ninute." "well, we got through that all right, your honour, and it is hard if we don't get through this." at six o'clock a volley of musketry was fired. (mm ) h in the irish brigade "they are practising early, sir," mike said. "it can't be that, mike, it is too close. they would go beyond the outer works to practise, and by the sound it is certainly much nearer than that, though possibly just outside the walls." "i will go out and enquire, your honour. when one is at war it is well to know exactly what the enemy are doing." "take one of the troopers with you, mike. pierre speaks spanish well." mike returned in an hour. "they have shot all the prisoners we took yesterday," he said. "i hear they held a sort of court-martial in the evening at the governor's. it did not sit more than ten minutes. they were all found guilty of fraud and treachery, and were shot this morning." "worse and worse, mike! evidently the governor is determined to get rid of all whose evidence might throw any light on this matter. after what has happened here, and these summary executions, i feel very uncomfortable as to colonel mendez. will you go to the artillery barracks with a message from me, that as i have my first report to write out i shall not continue the investigations to-day? take pierre with you again." when mike returned desmond saw that his news was bad. "the colonel had not been seen when i got there, and his servant went up to his room and found him lying dead, stabbed to the heart." "another witness gone," desmond said, "an honourable gentleman and a pleasant one. well, mike, the matter be- comes more and more serious. after this there is but one thing open to me, and that is to return to madrid at once. when i relate the circumstances to the duke, he will see that had i endeavoured to carry out the rest of his instructions the treachery chance of my report ever coming to hand would have been slight indeed, and it is all-important that he should get it. the question is, shall we mount and ride at once, or shall i go and take leave of the governor?" "of course, your honour, you can do as you like, but i should say that the sooner we are out of this the better. the longer we stay here the more time he will have to take care we don't get back alive. "there was another thing i did not tell you, sir. as we went to the barracks we passed some cavalry men talking. they were arguing that the enemy must be marching this way, for at two o'clock last night ten troopers were suddenly called up and sent off, the gates being opened for them by order of the governor." "just what i expected, mike; he has written to warn the various contractors that the frauds have been discovered, and no doubt telling them that all messengers from here must be stopped and searched and all reports and documents taken from them; that if i come myself i am to be put out of the way; and that if this can be done the matter can be hushed up, as he has taken measures to silence all those who know anything about the affair. well, i think you are right. we need not mind saying good-by to this scoundrel, as it would only give him time to perfect his arrangements. i have no doubt that he would pretend to be ill or to be engaged in some business that would detain him, and manage to keep me waiting some hours before he saw me. order the sergeant to saddle up at once. let the men eat a meal as quickly as possible, and let each put a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread into his valise, so that we shall be able to ride without stop- ping anywhere. say that we shall mount in twenty minutes, and they must not wait to polish up their accoutrements. tell them to put plenty of forage before the horses, and not treachery through an enemy's country. messengers were, i hear, sent off yesterday evening in various directions, and i have no doubt that these were to the various contractors concerned in the plot, urging upon them the necessity of preventing the news from reaching madrid, and perhaps to some of the robber bands in the sierra. therefore, instead of keeping the main road up the valley we will ride by country tracks and avoid all large towns. we will not put up anywhere, but will biv- ouac in the open. in this way i hope that we shall yet avoid any parties of men who may be lying in wait for us. the most dangerous part of the journey will, of course, be the passage of the mountains. we must there travel by one or other of the roads through the defiles, and it is possible all these may be watched. if we are attacked we must endeavour to ride through them. if this is impossible, we will sell our lives as dearly as we can." "you may trust us for that, major," the sergeant said. "i have no love for these spaniards, and we are all discon- tented at being kept down here to fight the king of spain's battles instead of being up in the north, where every man is wanted to prevent the enemy marching to paris." they struck off from the road when nearing merida, and followed a country track until they came upon the road be- tween that town and torre mocha. avoiding the latter place, they took the road to truxillo, and late in the afternoon ap- proached that town and halted in a wood two miles distant from it. here desmond consulted his map. there were two roads from truxillo. crossing the sierra the main and shorter road came down upon the tagus at almarez, the other passed through deleytoza and came down upon the bridge at condo. beyond deleytoza it appeared to be a mere mule track. "if there are any parties watching," he said to mike, " they will expect that my messenger or i myself will travel by the treachery reach the duke of orleans. unless he has it we may lose badajos and the cause suffer irreparable injury." "to the devil wid the cause," mike said; " the cause doesn't trouble me one way or the other. i don't care a brass farthing whether philip or charles reigns over the spaniards. it is not a nice job they will be taking on, any way, and not worth a drop of irish blood. well, if your honour should have the bad fortune to be hit i shall either carry you off, though there's not a breath in your body, or else go down with you." as there was no doubt that mike meant what he said, desmond did not press the matter further. the next day they set out at daybreak, and in two hours were mounting the slope of the sierra. there were no signs of any men being about until they reached a point where the road ran between steep hills. "there they are," desmond exclaimed, reining in his horse; "there are some thirty or forty of them on the road. now, my men, we will ride forward to those boulders you see a hun- dred yards this side of them, and then we will dismount and give them a volley. if you keep that up it will soon be too hot for them to remain on the road, while we, sheltered behind the rocks, will be safe from their shot. it is certain that your guns will carry farther and shoot straighter than theirs, as the spanish powder is so much inferior to the french." accordingly they rode forward at a canter to the heap of boulders, then suddenly left the road, dismounted, and took cover among the rocks. "take steady aim, men," desmond said, "then you can hardly miss hitting some of them, standing close together as they do." the bandits had waited undecided at the sudden disap- pearance of those whom they hnd regarded as a certain pray, and before they could form any plans five muskets treachery cracked out, but they had no seed to draw their swords, for the rush of the horses struck such a panic into the spaniards that they sprang from the road, leaving the path clear, and the party thundered past them without a check. "is anyone wounded?" desmond asked, when they had passed beyond gun-shot of their assailants. "i have a ball in my shoulder, major," one of the troopers said; the rest were silent. "well, we have been fortunate," desmond said. "i will see to your wound, my man, when we get a little farther. if those fellows had not been so scared with our sudden charge that they fired almost at random, we might have lost half our number." they stopped half a mile farther, and desmond examined the trooper's arm. the ball has gone through the flesh," he said, "without touching the bone, so you will soon have the use of it again." he bound the wound tightly up with the soldier's sash, and then made with his own a sling. "you may as well put the other arm in your jacket," he said, " and i will tie it round your neck, the air is cold upon the hills." "we did that well, sir," the sergeant said, as they rode on again. "if you had not thought of taking shelter, and shaking them up, we should all have been shot down before we reached them. is there any chance of another attack, sir?" "none at all. i should think a messenger was sent to them yesterday telling them our strength, and no doubt they thought that with sixty men they would be certain to over- power us. that is probably the whole of the band, and in any case, as they would not imagine that we could pass them, they are not likely to have set another ambush." they slept that night at almarez, made a short journey to oropesa, and a long one on the following day to toledo, in the irish brigade where desmond dismissed his escort with a handsome reward for their services, and upon the next afternoon rode with mike into madrid. the duke of orleans looked astonished when he entered the room. "what! back already, major kennedy? surely you cannot have carried out all the work that i entrusted to you?" "by no means, your royal highness; but what i did carry out was so important that i deemed it my duty to ride back at once to acquaint you with what i have discovered. there is the report, sir." the duke took it. "it is a bulky one," he said. "tell me its purport in as few words as possible." "i have discovered, sir, that the report sent by the governor of the supply of provisions and stores in badajos is altogether inaccurate, that frauds to an enormous extent have been perpetrated, that the supply of powder and cartridges is less by two-thirds than was represented, and that similar deficien- cies exist in every department." "this is indeed serious," the duke said. "the possession of badajos is essential to us. it blocks the way to an enemy's advance, and indeed they can scarce move forward until it is captured. now, tell me more about it; or no, i will read your report, and then question you concerning it." a heavy frown settled on the duke's brow as he perused the document. "infamous!" he exclaimed, when he had finished. "and you say that two attempts were made to murder you that night, and that the spanish colonel who gave you so much assistance was assassinated, and the commis- saries shot the next morning? it shows how anxious the gov- ernor was to remove from his path all those who could incul- pate him. and how did you manage to get out of the toils? for it was clearly of no use killing the minor witnesses and allowing you to ride here to report the facts." treacheey "i saw that, sir; and as i learned that eight or ten troopers had been sent off late the night before, i concluded that the road would be sure to be beset, for doubtless some of the contractors would feel it as essential as the governor did, that my mouth should be silenced and my report suppressed. i therefore started early. keeping by by-roads, we were not molested until we had nearly reached the summit of the sierra, when we found a party of some sixty men barring the road. we had a fight with them, and succeeded in getting through with no further damage than a ball through the arm of one of my escort, and that fortunately was only a flesh-wound." "but tell me how it was that so small a party escaped so easily?" desmond then recounted the incidents of the fight. "admirably contrived, sir!" the duke said warmly, excel- lent generalship! you first attack their centre and drive them off the road, then you compel them to weaken themselves by throwing out flanking parties. you keep these out of musket shot, and then charge on their weakened centre after drawing their fire. i am not surprised that with such gen- eralship you got off almost scatheless. and now, sir, i must ask you to come with me to the king; the matter is too se- rious for a moment's delay. i must lay the whole case be- fore his majesty." leaving desmond in the ante-chamber, he went in to the king, read the full report to him, and added the details he had heard from desmond. "i have met with many bad cases of spanish corruption and peculation," the king said, when he had finished, "but this is by far the worst. steps must be taken instantly to secure the governor, arrest the contractors, and fill up the magazines. what do you propose?" "t think, sir, that if we send forward at once a regiment of in the irish brigade french soldiers from toledo, accompanied by colonel crof- ton's regiment of dragoons, there is no likelihood that any resistance will be offered,—indeed i should imagine that the governor will have taken to flight as soon as he learns that his plans for the assassination of major kennedy have failed." "so i should think," the king said; "and certainly he will have warned his accomplices, the contractors, and probably by this time they are all on their way either into andalusia or to the north. any that are found shall certainly be hanged. this young officer of yours must be a wonderfully shrewd fellow. i should like to question him as to how he dis- covered these frauds." desmond was called in. "this is major kennedy, your majesty," the duke said. "that is his temporary rank, which i bestowed upon him in order to add weight to his mission." "i have noticed him before, cousin," philip said, "when i had gone to your quarters, and wondered to see so young a man in the uniform of a captain. now, sir, will you give me an account of how you discovered these frauds?" desmond then related how he had caused the piles of barrels to be opened out so that he could examine those next to the wall as well as those in front, and how he had similarly ex- amined the other stores. "very good indeed, sir," the king said. "most officers would have contented themselves with at most counting the number of barrels and sacks, and that you should have so thoroughly investigated the matter shows both zeal and shrewdness." "he has shown that on various occasions," the duke said, "as you may judge from the promotion that he has received. as you see by the loss of his hand he has suffered as well as treachery fought on behalf of france. when your majesty is at lei- sure i will some evening relate to you a story which i heard from the king himself, of the manner in which he twice res- cued a fair damsel from an evil-minded noble who carried her off." "i shall hear it with pleasure, cousin. you say he holds only temporary rank. i think that after the signal service he has rendered it should be made substantial." "i certainly intend to make it so," the duke said. "pardon, sir," desmond said, "but while thanking you for your kindness i would beg to be allowed to remain a captain. already i have obtained more promotion than others have done after many years of good service, and i should regret very much passing over the heads of so many of my old com- panions." "it is the first time that i have had promotion declined," the duke said, smiling; "however, for the present at least i" will let the matter remain so." with an expression of warm thanks desmond retired. "we must lose no time over this matter," the king said; "for aught we know this scoundrel may be in communication with the enemy, and may be prepared to open the gates of the fortress at the first summons." "i will act at once," the duke replied. "i will this evening send orders to toledo for a regiment to march at nine o'clock to-morrow morning, and if you will send a similar or- der to colonel crofton, he will overtake the infantry before they get to almarez." "i will do so, and will also send with them three field- officers with full power to arrest, try, and execute all those who have taken part in this treacherous fraud." on the duke leaving the king, desmond joined him in the ante-chamber, and as they walked towards the french head- in the irish brigade quarters, said: "i hope, sir, that you will permit me to start to-morrow with any force you may be sending, as i wish to carry out the rest of the mission with which you en- trusted me." "by all means do so if you wish it," the duke said. "col- onel crofton's regiment will start at nine o'clock to-morrow morning, and you may accompany it. on the road it will overtake one of our regiments from toledo." chapter xvi captured j have a job for you, mike." "what is it, your honour?" "i want you to take off all the marks of a field-officer from my clothes. i am going to be a captain again." mike looked with surprise at his master. "well, your honour, it is ungrateful bastes they must be. sure i thought that the least they could do was to make you a full major, though if they had made you a colonel it would be no more than you deserve." "i was offered the majority, mike, but i declined it. it would be absurd at my age to have such a rank, and i should be ashamed to look officers of our brigade, who have done nigh twenty years of good service and are still only captains, in the face. i would much rather remain as i am." "well, it may be you are right, sir, but it is disappointed i am entirely." "you will get over it, mike," desmond laughed. "that may be," mike said doubtfully, "but i should have felt mighty proud of being a colonel's servant." captured "i don't suppose you will ever be that. mike. you know that after the last war was over, several of the irish regi- ments were disbanded, and no doubt it will be the same when this war is finished, so you could not count upon seeing me a colonel, at any rate not for another twenty years." "ah, your honour, i hope we shall be back in old ireland years before that!" "i hope so too, mike. i have only been out here for two years, and yet i am beginning to feel that i should like a quieter life. no doubt the loss of my hand has something to do with that, but i would give up willingly all chance of ever becoming a colonel if i could but settle down in the old country, though i fear there is very little chance of that." "but sure there may be fighting there too, your honour," mike said; " and if king james goes across the water there is sure to be divarsion that way." "i hope not, mike. it is not that i do not feel as loyal as ever to the cause of the stuarts, but if they cannot come to their own without ireland being again deluged with blood, i would rather they would stay away. twice ireland has suf- fered for the stuarts: first, when cromwell came over, car- rying fire and sword through the land, and divided half the country among his followers; next, when dutch william did the same. i am loyal to the stuarts, as i said, but i am still more loyal to ireland, and would rather that king james remained all his life at st. germain than that those scenes should ever come again." "that's true for you, sir; and when i come to think of it, i should be just as easy and comfortable in a snug little cot in killamey, which is my county, whether king james or queen anne was ruling it in england." "quite so, mike; and if i had, as you say, a snug little cot to go to, and an income to live comfortably in it, and no in the irish brigade fear of being hauled off to prison and hanged for joining the brigade, i should not be sorry to settle down. we start back for badajos to-morrow morning." "faith, your honour, it has been so hard getting away from there that i should not have thought you wished to put your foot inside the place again. you might not be so lucky in getting off next time." "we are going in a different way, mike. colonel crofton's regiment of irish dragoons is going with us, and a french infantry regiment from toledo." "then i am well content to go back, your honour, and i hope we shall see that murthering governor hung." "i think you have a good chance of seeing that, mike, if he has not taken himself off before we arrive there, which i think he is pretty sure to do directly he hears we have got through safely, for he will know that as soon as my report is handed in he is a lost man." "bad cess to him! at any rate i hope i shall light upon him some day, sir, and pay him out for sending those fellows to kill you at night, and to hinder us in the hills. as to his cheating the spaniards, that is their business, and they can reckon with him for it; but i should like to pay our own debt myself." "i don't suppose there is much chance of your having an opportunity of doing that." "then why are we going back, your, honour?" "to carry out my original orders, mike,—survey the roads, and passes, and bridges. the duke cannot rely upon span- ish testimony in these matters, and it is most important that we should ascertain accurately how good are the roads by which he would advance with the army into portugal, or where best to oppose the enemy if they cross the guadiana." "i am glad to hear you say so, sir, for i was afraid that captured we were going to have a long stay here again, and i would rather be on horseback, riding all over the country, than walking up and down these streets till my feet fairly ache." "that is my opinion too, mike. we have had a good many rides with despatches, but between times it is stupid work hanging about the general's quarters waiting for or- ders." the next morning desmond joined colonel crofton's regi- ment as it was on the point of starting from the barracks. it was in the service of spain, and had taken a brilliant part in several engagements. desmond was acquainted with the colonel and his officers. "good-morning, kennedy!" crof ton said, as he rode up and saluted him. "i had a note from the duke of orleans last night saying 'you were going on special service, and would travel with us as far as badajos. king philip sent for me later on and himself gave me instructions, besides hand- ing me the written orders. it seems you have discovered that the governor is mixed up with a lot of contractors in swin- dling the state by supplying earth instead of powder and flour." "so far as the governor goes, colonel, there is no absolute proof. i have not the smallest doubt that he was the prime mover in the matter, and that the commissaries only re- ceived a small portion of the bribes paid to him. it is hardly possible that every one of them should have betrayed his trust unless sure of the governor's protection. i cannot prove that he had all these men shot in order to silence them, employed men to assassinate colonel mendez, or set men to murder me in my hotel and afterwards to intercept us in crossing the sierra. still, i have no shadow of doubt in my mind that it was so. "however, i do not think you will find him at badajos. (mm ) b in the irish brigade no doubt as soon as he heard i had got safely down into the valley of the tagus he made off. there is just a possibil- ity that the contractors, knowing that their lives will be for- feited by the discovery of the frauds, might at once have sent in supplies of powder, flour, and other things, to take the place of the casks and sacks of earth; in which case he would prob- ably deny the truth of my statement altogether, and declare that i had simply invented it in order to do credit to myself; but i hardly think that possible. in the first place, there are the soldiers both of my escort and of colonel mendez, who as- sisted in the work of examination, besides which more than half the commissaries escaped while this was taking place, and on an offer of pardon would no doubt gladly come forward and give evidence, especially as the execution of their com- rades will have shown them that the governor is determined to throw them over." "yes; i don't suppose we shall find the arch-scoundrel there, unless indeed he can rely upon the support of his gar- rison, in which case he may have ridden to portugal offer- ing to surrender the place at once to them, and will close his gates against us." "i don't think there is any chance of that, colonel. in the short time during which i was there i was able to see that the troops were deeply discontented. they were almost in rags, and the landlord of the inn told me that they were kept on the scantiest rations, and those of a very inferior kind. so i do not think for a moment he could trust them to act against a royal force." desmond's anticipation proved to be correct. as they descended into the valley of the guadiana they met an offi- cer of the garrison, who was bearing a despatch from the senior military officer saying that the governor and his family had suddenly left without issuing any orders, and as he had captured taken all his portable property with him it was supposed that he did not intend to return. under these circum- stances he wrote to ask for orders. colonel crofton sent him back with instructions to the colonel commanding the troops that he was coming with a regiment of dragoons and one of infantry, and had full authority from the king to take all measures that seemed to him desirable. accordingly, when they arrived at badajos they were met at the gate by the colonel commanding the troops, and a party of his officers. "i have the king's authority," colonel crofton said to him, "to act as temporary governor until another may be appointed i do not know whether you are aware of the circum- stances that led to the flight of don juan de munos?" "no, sir, we have heard nothing. rumours were current among the men that some strange discoveries were made when the stores were examined, but beyond that i know nothing. in fact, at the time, the assassination of colonel mendez of the artillery created such an excitement that nothing else was spoken of." "well, colonel, if you will accompany me to the governor's house i will enter into the matter fully with you. you may well believe that it is serious, as i have been despatched here with my regiment, and with one of french infantry, for both of whom quarters must be found at once." "there is plenty of room, sir. the barracks will contain ten thousand men, and at present we have but four thousand here." "then i beg, colonel, that instead of coming at once to my quarters, you will tell off officers to conduct the troops to the most convenient of the buildings now empty. after that i shall be glad to see you and the commanding officers of the other regiments." "you will, of course, take up your quarters at the gov- in the irish brigade ernor's house, captain kennedy," he went on, as he rode for- ward. "as you are going to be employed in surveying du- ties, you will naturally be a good deal away. but your pres- ence here will be absolutely necessary as a witness against any of these rascally contractors we can lay our hands on." when the four colonels arrived, after seeing that the troops were housed, colonel crofton obtained from them the names and addresses of the various contractors, and half an hour later parties of the cavalry regiment in garrison were despatched under officers with orders to arrest and bring them into badajos. during the meal colonel crofton ex- plained to the four colonels the discovery of the frauds, which naturally excited the greatest indignation among them. he then requested them and desmond to accompany him to the stores. this they did, after sending to the barracks for a party of fifty men for fatigue duty. the gaps made dur- ing desmond's explorations had been carefully filled up again, but upon fresh openings being made his reports were fully borne out. some hours were spent at the central mag- azine, and orders given that the other magazines should be opened and examined on the following day. desmond did not join in this search, but started early with mike to carry out his own mission. he had been furnished with reports sent in by the provincial and local juntas as to the state of the roads, but, as he had expected, he soon found these to be grossly inaccurate. the roads marked as excel- lent and fit for the passage of artillery and trains were found to be mere bridle roads; others marked as high-roads were al- most impassable lanes. the bridges across the streams were for the most part in such a bad condition as to be unsafe for a country cart and, until repaired, impossible for the pas- sage of artillery. he carefully noted all the points at which captured work was required to render them in any degree practicable for the passage of troops, and reported fully to colonel crofton. the latter, who was provided with full authority, despatched the greater portion of his troops with a large num- ber of peasants with materials to fill up the deep ruts, re- pair the bridges, and make the roads as far as possible fit for the passage of an army. in ten days desmond had sur- veyed all the roads down both the valley of the ouadiana and that of the tagus, and had sent off his report to madrid, to- gether with his observations as to the points at which a de- fensive position could, in his opinion, be best taken up. having done this, he prepared to undertake the second part of his mission, and to investigate the roads on the portu- guese side of the frontier. "now we shall have to keep our eyes open, mike," he said. "so far as we have heard there are no bodies of the enemy's troops anywhere in this neighbourhood, but there is a bitter enmity between the spanish and portuguese, and we shall be liable to be attacked by the peasants." "are we to ride in our uniforms, your honour?" "certainly we are, mike. if we are captured in uniform we should be dealt with as prisoners of war and have a right to fair treatment. if we are taken in disguise we shall be shot as spies." "faith, your honour, the alternative is not a pleasant one. if we go as civilians we may be shot as spies; if we go in uni- form we may be murdered by the peasants." "that is so, mike. but, you see, we are not likely to fall into the hands of the peasants. we are both well mounted, and the peasants will be on foot, and a great proportion of them unarmed, so that beyond the chance of being hit by a ball the risk is not great." accordingly on the following day they rode out, and for in the hush brigade nearly a week examined the lines of route across the frontier. they followed the roads between the foot of the mountains and the frontier as far as portalegre, but avoided the towns of campo mayor and arronches, crossed the hills and struck upwards by the bank of the zarina to frontiera, and thence west as far as lavre. they met with no interference by such peasants as they saw working in the fields, or by those in the small villages through which they passed, these supposing tho uniforms to be those of english or dutch officers.- they found that the roads were fully as bad as those of spain, and would present great difficulty to any army with artillery and a long train of waggons. in one of the places they heard from a peasant with whom they conversed that there was an- other pass over the mountains from elvas. of course the man spoke in portuguese, but the language sufficiently re- sembled spanish for desmond to understand its meaning. "we must investigate that road, mike, for if it is prac- ticable it would be the most direct for an army coming from lisbon. of course we shall have to make a wide circle round elvas, as there is sure to be a strong garrison there, and any soldiers riding about the country would be certain to know that our uniform was french. when we have done that road we shall have finished our work." accordingly they passed round the fortress at a distance, and presently came upon the road. it showed signs of hav- ing lately been repaired in some parts, but these were so badly clone that they increased rather than diminished the diffi- culties it presented to the passage of troops. they had rid- den some ten miles, and were already among the mountains, when they dismounted to rest their horses and to eat the food they carried with them. suddenly, looking down the road behind them, they saw a squadron of cavalry coming along. "this is awkward, mike. there is nothing for it now but to captured ride on, and when we have reached the foot of the mountains on the other side, strike across country until we come upon the road running direct to badajos. they are a good two miles behind us, so we need not blow our horses." mounting, they proceeded at a trot up the road. as far as they could see, the cavalry behind them did not quicken their pace, which showed that they were on some ordinary duty and not, as desmond at first supposed, in pursuit of them, some peasant having perhaps taken word that an officer and soldier in strange uniform had been seen riding round the town. they therefore took matters quietly, and indeed some- times the road was so steep that it would have been impossi- ble for the horses to go beyond a quick walk. suddenly on reaching the crest of the rise they saw at a distance of a hun- dred yards ahead of them a party of officers, followed by an escort of dragoons. "we are caught this time, mike!" desmond exclaimed; "escape is impossible. i will ride straight up and surrender. fortunately they are english uniforms, so we are certain to get fair treatment, which we could not be sure of had they been portuguese." so saying he rode forward at a trot. the party had drawn rein at his approach, and he rode up to one who was evidently a general officer. "sir, i surrender as a prisoner of war. my name is kennedy, and i am a captain on the staff of the duke of orleans." "and what are you doing here, sir?" "i am surveying the road, general, by which the allied army is likely to advance. our information on that score is very defective, and i believe the duke wishes to ascertain from my report the state of the roads by which the advance would most probably be made." the general's question had bern in french, and he replied c in the irish brigade in the same language. "you do not bear a french name, sir," the general said. "no, sir, i am an irishman," kennedy replied in english. "i belonged, before i received a staff appointment, to one of the regiments of the irish brigade." "you are a daring fellow thus to venture so far across the frontier." "i simply obeyed my orders, sir; and had i been ordered to reconnoitre lisbon i should have attempted to do so." "well, sir: i shall have an opportunity of talking to you later on. i, as you see, am engaged in precisely the same work as you are, namely, in ascertaining for myself the state of the roads across these mountains." "then, general," desmond said with a smile, "i should say that your investigations are hardly satisfactory." the general also smiled. "not so much so as i could wish," he said "and now, may i ask why, seeing that you are well mounted, you did not turn and ride for it when you first perceived us?" "the reason is simple, general. a squadron of cavalry were coming up behind me and there was evidently no possi- bility of escape." "ah! no doubt they were sent out to meet me. well, sir, if you will give me your word not to attempt to escape, you can retain your sword and ride with us." "i give my parole, sir, with many thanks for your courtesy." "and now, captain kennedy," the other went on, "it is probable that you have about you the result of your inves- nations along these roads, which i must request you to hand . . v e. ns it may be as useful to me as it would have been to the duke of orleans, and may save me a good deal of trouble." desmond took out the note-book in which he had each day in the irish brigade should have turned and charged the squadron behind us„ preferring very much to be killed fighting than to be hanged or shot like a dog." in a few minutes they met the squadron of cavalry, who had, as the general supposed, been sent out by the governor of elvas to meet him. half of these now took their place in front, and the remainder, drawing aside to let the party pass, fell in behind. mike had, without orders, fallen in with the earl's escort, and more than once desmond heard his laugh as he chatted with the troopers. on arriving at elvas the gen- eral directed his aides-de-camp to obtain a room for des- mond in the house in which they were quartered, and as no one attended to him, mike undertook his usual duties as his servant. the next morning one of the aides-de-camp came in and said, "the general wishes to speak to you, captain kennedy." on entering the general's apartment the earl asked him to take a seat. "i could not see you yesterday evening," he began, "as i was learning from the governor the state of the stores here. i should like to have a talk with you. may i ask you, in the first place, how you have so early attained the rank of captain? my aide-de-camp tells me that you said you had attracted the notice of the king of france. it must have been by some singular action, and as i have an hour to spare before i ride out, i shall be glad if you can tell me some particulars about yourself, unless, indeed, they are of a private nature." "not at all, sir; the story is generally known to members of the court of versailles, and indeed to all paris;" and he then related to the earl the story of his release of anne de pointdexter from her imprisonment, the journey to the south, the attack on the party by the vicomte de tulle, and her sec- ond rescue from him. captured "thank you, sir," the general said when he had concluded. "i am not surprised that, after so romantic an adventure, the xing of france took notice of an officer who had shown such courage and intelligence. you see, sir, that you and i are to a certain extent in a similar position. from motives of re- ligion principally, you irish have left your country and are fighting for a foreign monarch. i, as you are doubtless aware, belong to a french huguenot family, and, being forced to leave france by the severe edicts, entered the service of holland and followed the fortunes of king william, and am now fighting against the troops of the country of my birth. in other respects there is a similarity. we have both lost a hand in the service of our adopted countries; i at the siege of badajos, and you at—?" "oudenarde, sir." "i have been thinking it over," the general went on; "i might, of course, send you to lisbon as a prisoner, but one extra prisoner would not largely benefit my government. you have not been taken in action. your papers have saved me an immense deal of trouble, for we are no more able to rely upon the information given by the portuguese than, i should think the duke of orleans can upon that of the span- iards. therefore, sir, i think that in the present case i can make an exception to the rule. in an hour i shall mount and ride down the road to badajos, and i shall there restore your liberty to you and permit you to recross the frontier. it would be a thousand pities that so young and gallant an offi- cer should waste perhaps some years of his life in an english prison, for the number of prisoners taken in flanders is so great that it is impossible for the french to find officers to exchange for them. you will understand that, dealing with allies so jealous and susceptible as the portuguese, i can hardly take the step of releasing you, as it would be at once in the irish brigade rumoured that i had been in communication with a french officer, doubtless from some sinister motive. "i think, captain kennedy, that it would be as well," he said with a smile, "that you should withdraw your parole, and do so before we start, in the presence of the officers of my staff. of course you must be placed under a very strict guard, and although so near the frontier, you will find it very difficult to escape; still, such things are managed." "i thank you most deeply, sir," desmond said, understand- ing the tone in which the earl spoke, "and i shall ever re- tain a deep feeling of gratitude for your generosity." when the party assembled in readiness to mount, desmond walked up to the earl and said in a tone that could be heard by the officers round: "sir, i have changed my mind, and beg to be allowed to withdraw my parole." "you are at liberty to do so, captain kennedy; but never- theless i shall take you with us to-day. i shall not, of course, ask you to give any information as to matters on the other side of the frontier, but there are points on which you could inform me without detriment to your friends." "that i shall be happy to do, sir." the earl called up four troopers. "you will place this officer and his servant between you," he said, "and keep a vigilant look-out upon their movements." desmond had not even told mike of the conversation with the earl, thinking it better that he should remain in ignorance that this escape was connived at by an english general, and his follower was therefore greatly astonished when he heard that his master had withdrawn his parole, and that they were henceforth to be strictly guarded. the party rode until they reached a rise from which they could obtain a view of bada- jos and of the country extending far up the valley of the captured guadiana. the ground in front of them sloped gradually. the earl took his place with two or three officers of his staff fifty yards in front of the rest, and, dismounting, examined badajos with his telescope. then he asked one of his aides- de-camp to bring captain kennedy to him. "you may as well bring his servant too," he added; " no doubt he knows the country as well as his master does, and may not be so unwill- ing to answer questions." the order was carried out, and desmond and mike rode up with the aide-de-camp, followed closely by the four troopers. the earl at once began to question desmond as to the names of the villages visible up the valley. he had remounted now, but his staff, who had dismounted when he did, remained on their feet, as it was evident that he had no intention of mov- ing forward for some time. while they were speaking, the earl, accompanied by desmond, rode forward some twenty yards, as if to obtain a better view. mike had followed him, but the four troopers remained behind the group of officers, having no orders to follow the general so closely. "this is good ground for galloping, captain kennedy," the earl said quietly. "you are within two miles of ba- dajos." "thank you deeply, sir. now, mike, ride for it i" and spurring his horse, he dashed off at a headlong gallop. there was a shout of surprise, the officers of the staff ran to their horses, which were being held by the orderlies, and the four troopers at once galloped forward, snatching their carbines from the slings. "do not fire," the earl shouted as they passed; "take them alive." as the officers came up, the general signalled to them to stop. "don't go farther, gentlemen," he said, "the troopers will doubtless overtake them; but for aught we know, there may in the irish brigade be a spanish force in the village just on the other side of the frontier, and, instead of capturing two prisoners, you might be taken or shot yourself, and i am not disposed to lose any of my staff just as we are about to commence operations in earnest." desmond looked back. he saw that only the four dragoons were following. "they will not overtake us, mike," he said, " our horses are certainly better than theirs." indeed they had increased their lead fast; a few minutes later they heard a trumpet-call in their rear, and their pursuers at once checked their horses and rode back in answer to the recall. "tare an' ages," mike exclaimed, "but that was nately managed. who would have thought that they would have let us give them the slip so easily!" "well, mike—but this you must never mention to a soul— the earl gave us this chance of escape, i believe. he had, you know, a long talk with me, and said that they had so many french officers captured in flanders that one more or less would make little difference. he had asked about my ad- ventures, and seemed much interested in them, and remarked that our positions were somewhat similar, both being exiles on account of our religion, and so serving in foreign armies against our own countrymen. at any rate it was on his suggestion that i withdrew my parole not to attempt to escape." "then he is a rale gintleman, sir, and mighty obliged i feel to him, for i have had enough of english prisons, though indeed it was only three or four days that i stopped at harwich." the party on the hill had watched the pursuit, until the earl said, " well, gentlemen, i fancy he has slipped from our hands. t admit that i am hardly sorry, for he was a very fine young captured fellow, and it would have been a pity for him to be spending perhaps some years of the best part of his life in prison. captain chetwynde, will you order the trumpeter to sound the recall? they are leaving our men behind fast. it is no use losing four troopers as well as two prisoners." more than one quiet smile was exchanged between the english officers, for from the tone in which the earl spoke they had no doubt that he was by no means sorry at desmond's escape, and that possibly he had even taken him forward with him to afford him a chance of making it. they had indeed been a little surprised that when desmond with- drew his parole the earl had not ordered him into strict confinement, instead of taking him with him on his recon- naissance. the pursuit over, desmond rode on at a canter to badajos, and reported to colonel crofton that he had been taken prisoner but had managed to effect his escape as he was but carelessly guarded. "i shall now, sir, return to madrid. i have completed the work i was told to carry out, and shall finish writing up my report this afternoon, and start to-morrow morning." "i congratulate you on your escape. the portuguese are not very particular, and might, as likely as not, have paid small regard to the fact that you were in uniform." "fortunately, sir, it was not by them that i was captured, but by a small party of english dragoons, who were, i fancy, like myself, investigating the state of the roads." desmond had not been called upon to give evidence before the commission of enquiry, it being found that all the contractors had left their homes a week before the troops arrived at badajos, taking all portable property with them. some had apparently gone to andalusia, while others had made for catalonia. all had unquestionably made a consider- in the irish brigade able sum of money by their frauds, and would take good care not to fall into the hands of the french. "they will never be able to return here," desmond re- marked to colonel crofton. the latter smiled. "you do not know these people yet, captain kennedy, or you would not say so. some of these fellows are certainly among the richest men in the province, and we may be quite sure that in a very short time, when the affair has blown over, they will, partly by influence and more by bribery, obtain from the central junta an order that no proceedings shall be taken against them. anything can be done with money in spain. there are many upright and honourable spaniards, but very few of them take any part in public affairs, and would not associate with such men as those who are in the ascendant in all the provincial juntas and even in the central body in madrid. in france there is distress enough, and no doubt the men who farm the taxes are no more scrupulous than they are in spain, but there is not the same general corruption, and the french nobility, haughty and despotic to their tenants as they may be, are not corrupt, and would scorn to take a bribe. now that there is a french king on the throne here there may be, when matters have settled down, some improvement, hut it will be a long time indeed before the nation can be regenerated, and even the king will soon find that, if he is to reign peaceably, he must not interfere too violently with methods that are so common that they have come to be accepted as inevitable even by the people who suffer by them. i can assure you that i myself have been many times approached by men who supply forage and other things to the regiment, and when i have in- dignantly refused to entertain any proposals whatever, they have not been at all abashed, but have said boldly that it was the general custom. i do not believe tboy thought any the captured better of me for refusing even to listen to their offersl but regarded me as a sort of don quixote with ridiculously ex- aggerated ideas of honour." on the morning following his return to badajos desmond started on his way to madrid. although this time he had no apprehension whatever of a planned attack, he thought it safer and better to travel north from badajos and skirt the foot of the sierras until he reached the banks of the tagus, where there was a strong garrison in each of the towns, and the country was in consequence free from the incursions of bands from the hills. the journey passed without an inci- dent, and on reaching madrid and presenting his report he received high commendation from the duke of orleans, and spent a long day with the general's staff explaining his re- port and going into details as to the nature of the roads, the repairs necessary, and the positions which were in his opinion most suitable for battle. on the following day the members of the staff were all summoned to meet him by the duke of orleans, who informed them that he had received a sudden summons to return to paris, and that marshal de bay would in his absence be in command of the french troops. the announcement came as a great surprise to desmond, but was not unexpected by the other officers. during the winter the king of france had been engaged in efforts to bring about a general peace, and had offered terms that showed he was ready to make any sacrifices to procure it. the allies, on the contrary, were bent upon continuing the war. the victory of oudenarde, the capture of lille, namur, and other fortresses, opened the way to paris, and knowing the general distress that prevailed in france, they raised their demands higher and higher as they perceived the anxiety of louis for peace. one of the obstacles to this was the situation in spain, (hh ) t in the irish brigade and it was reported that louis was ready to yield on this point also, and not only consent to the cession of the spanish dominion in spain, but to his grandson philip sur- rendering the crown to the archduke charles, and that ere long the french troops would be withdrawn altogether. while during the month that had elapsed since desmond first left madrid these rumours had increased in strength, it was known that couriers were constantly passing to and fro be- tween madrid and versailles with private communications between louis and philip, and there was great excitement in madrid at the rumour of this desertion of their king by france. the rumours were indeed correct. the king had informed philip that, great as was the affection he bore for him, the state of france, which was necessarily his chief -care, would compel him ere long to recall his troops from spain. philip had entreated him not to desert him, and declared that in any case he would remain in spain, confiding in the support of the people who had selected him as their monarch. at present, however, the communications were proceeding, and nothing definite had been arranged. the whole of the staff was to remain with marshal de bay in the same position as they had held under the duke, and, except for the depar- ture of the prince, matters went on as before. chapter xvn an old friend rjute change of command had been effected so suddenly that desmond had not been able to make up his mind to request the duke of orleans, to whom he had been attached personally rather than to the french army in spain, to allow in the irish brigade "it was a stupid mistake of mine," the head of the staff said, "in sending you on detached duty. i forgot at the moment, when i nominated you, that your knowledge of the locality would be invaluable to us. i only thought of it yesterday when, on the marshal asking for some information on this matter, i pulled out your report. he examined it and said, 'this is very complete and valuable, colonel. whom is it made by?' "' by an officer of your staff, sir, captain kennedy.' "'where is he?' "' he is coming down with the toledo column, sir.' "' please send for him at once,' he said; 'one of the others should have been detached for that service. he is just the man we want here.' "accordingly we sent for you, and here you are." "this is an excellent report of yours, sir," the duke said, when the colonel introduced desmond to him. "as we came down, i noticed that the roads had in many cases been thoroughly repaired at the points mentioned in your report as being particularly bad, and the bridges in many places greatly strengthened. had it not been for that, i do not know how i should have got my guns along. and now, sir, i want to ask you a few questions as to the road on the other side. by your report i see that you consider the road through campo mayor to be the only one by which an army could move, and that a large body of workmen must be em- ployed to make the other road fit for the passage of cannon." he then asked a number of questions concerning this road. "i see," he said, "you have marked several places in your report where an enemy coming down that road could post themselves strongly, and others which might be defended to advantage by us." "yes, sir; but of course the suitability of those places in the irish brigade "so you were, for the other three of us were all on our backs." "but we did not hear of you as among the prisoners, of whom a list was furnished by marlborough." "no; the name of patrick o'neil did not appear. i was shot through the body, and during the night i lay insensible, but in the morning i opened my eyes and began to think. it seemed to me that the name was not one that would be likely to please. in the first place, because it was evident by my age that i was not one of the limerick men; in the next place, because of that little matter of my escape from the jail in london. i had no fear of being shot. i should be a prisoner of war, but i should not be likely to be over kindly treated, and when they exchanged prisoners i should certainly not be one of those sent back. you see, what with blenheim and ramillies and oudenarde, they had takers ten of our officers for every one of their officers captured by us, so i thought it best to pass as a french officer. "it was easy to do so, as my french was good enough to pass anywhere, and, you see, i had on a french staff uniform. luckily my horse had been shot at the same time as i was. he was lying dead beside me and within reach of my arm, so that i was able to lean over and get my flask from one of the holsters. i had a terrible thirst on me, and could have drunk a barrel. as i heard no firing i knew that the fighting was over, and in two or three hours a party came along with a stretcher, having a doctor with them. when he saw that my eyes were open and that i was alive, he examined my wound and shook his head. 'he is badly hit,' he said,' but you may as well carry him in.' so they took me into oudenarde, which had been turned into a big hospital. "' you are not to speak,' the doctor said to me before they lifted me up; 'you must keep yourself perfectly quiet.' an old friend "when they got me into the hospital they found a hole behind as well as in front, which i heard one of the doctors say was a good thing. they dressed the wounds and left me. i could see by their faces, the next time they came, that they were surprised to see me alive. one of them said to the other: 'the bullet must have passed through him without touching any vital point. he may do yet.' he bent down and asked me in french what my name was, and i said 'victor dubosc, lieutenant'; so they stuck a card with my name over my bed, and asked me no more questions. i lay there for six weeks, and then i was well enough to get up and walk about. "three weeks later i went down with some other conva- lescents to ostend, and there we were embarked, and taken to portsmouth. then we were put in boats and rowed to porchester, which is a place at the end of a sort of lake behind portsmouth. there was an old castle there with a mighty high wall, enclosing a lot of ground, where there were huts— rows of them—all filled with our prisoners. some of the huts were a little better than others, and these were for the use of officers. a regiment of soldiers was in tents outside the walls, and a hundred men were always on guard with loaded mus- kets. i said to myself often and often,' if kennedy were here he would soon hit upon some plan for getting away,' but for the life of me i could not see how it was to be managed. it was a dull time. i can tell you; the food was bad, and the cooking was worse. only a few officers were there, most of them being sent to some place a long distance inland; but as we were all wounded i suppose they thought that the loss of blood would keep us quiet. "one of the officers, having a little money hidden about him, bought a pack of cards from an english soldier, and we passed most of our time playing; but it was poor work, in the bish brigade for we had nothing to play for. at last i said to myself, 'patrick o'neil, there must be an end of this or your brain will go altogether; it is not worth much at the best of times, or it would have thought of some plan for geting out of this place before now. at last i hit on a plan; it was a dangerous one, there was no doubt of that, but as i was desperate i did not think much of the danger. the worst they could do was to shoot me, which i suppose is what they would have done. my idea was to pounce suddenly on one of the sentries, who kept guard all night, to gag him and tie him up before he could give the alarm, and then to dress up in his clothes and take his matchlock, but the difficulty was, what was i to do next. the soldiers came on duty for twelve hours, coming in at six in the morning and going out at six in the evening. "it was clear to me that it could only be done in the dark, and i had to wait for nearly two months. it was the beginning of october before it was dark enough at six in the morning for me to fall in with the others and march out without being noticed. at last the time came. i stole out of my hut an hour before the change would be made, and crept along quietly till i heard a sentry marching up and down between our huts and those of the soldiers. i had torn up a blanket into strips, and twisted them together to make ropes, and with these in one hand and a big piece ready to shove into his mouth in the other, i stole up close to him, and when he turned his back to me i jumped upon him. luckily, instead of carrying the musket on his shoulder he had it under his arm, so that i was able to seize the lock with one hand, and clutch him by the throat with the other. i gripped pretty hard, and the man in half a minute slipped to the ground. before he could recover i had stripped off his coatee and cloak; then i tied his hands and feet, fastened the gag firmly in his mouth, and dragged him in between two huts, where he could not be an old friend found till morning. then i took off my own coat and threw it over him, for the night was chilly, and put on his cloak and shako and took his place. "in half an hour i heard a tramp of men, and knew the relief had entered. then there was a bugle call, and two or three sentries passed towards the entrance. i ran on too. when they fell in i managed to get in the last section. some sergeants ran down the line counting the men, and reported that all were present; the gates were opened, and we marched out. as soon as we got among the tents we fell out, and i had no difficulty whatever in getting off without being ob- served. leaving my musket and shako behind me i went up a long lane which brought me on to the main road, crossed that, climbed a hill beyond, and came down into a wooded country. at the first cottage i came to i stopped. a man and woman came out on my knocking; they looked kindly and good-tempered, and i told them a pitiful story about how i had been unjustly accused of striking an officer, and had been sentenced to two hundred lashes, and that i had managed in the night to cut a slit in the back of the guard-tent and escape. "as i had been walking along a sudden thought had struck me. at oudenarde i was wearing the same boots i had worn when we were captured together. when we took the money out, we each left, if you remember, five pieces of gold in one of our boots, which i had never thought of till that day, and as i came along i opened the sole and took them out. it was a perfect godsend, as you may guess. the man and his wife expressed such sympathy that i did not hesitate to say: 'i want to get rid of my coatee, and of this cloak. the coatee would be of no use to you, and you had best burn it, but the cloak, if you alter it, might be useful, or if you cut it up will make a cover for your bed. i will give you that and a gold piece—it is a french one i got in the wars, but you can in the irish brigade change it easily enough when you go into the town marketing —if you will give me a suit of your clothes.' "this the man readily consented to do, and the woman set before me a large bowl of milk and some bread, which i ate as soon as i had put on a pair of breeches, smock, and broad hat. now i felt perfectly safe; they might send news all over the country of the escape of a french officer, but as i had never spoken a word of english from the time that i was taken, no one would suspect a countryman speaking english to be the man whom they were in search of. after leaving the cottage i travelled quietly to rye. i thought it best to go there, for it was likely that it would be difficult elsewhere for an unknown man to get a passage to france, and it struck me that the man who took us across before, would carry me over the first time he was going with despatches. i found him easily enough, and though i was not dressed quite in the same way as i was when we called on him before, he recognized me at once. "' another job for me?' he asked. "' not a special one,' i said. 'i am going across again, but there is no occasion for you to make a special trip, and indeed my employer forgot to give me an order upon you. i should have gone back if i had remembered it, but i thought you would not mind giving me a passage the next time you sailed across.' "as the man remembered that we had made ourselves pleasant on board, he agreed at once to take me the next time the boat should be going. i laid out a pound in getting a coat more suitable tor travelling in france that the peasant's smock. then i took a lodging in a small inn. three days later a messenger came down with an order for the man to take him across at once, and as the captain charged me nothing for my passage i had enough left to pay for my an old friend place in a diligence, and on arriving in paris duly reported myself at the barracks as having returned. my first enquiry of course was about you and o'sullivan. i found that he had never been heard of, but that vou had lost a hand and had been promoted to a captaincy, had been very ill, and had gone to the south of france on sick leave. "after i heard that, i remained for two or three months at the depot, and then learned that the duke of berwick had just arrived from dauphiny. i at once went to see him. he told me he could not put me on his staff again as his numbers were complete, but would (rive me a letter to the duke of orleans asking him to employ me in that capacity. when i got down here i found that the duke had left, and that the marshal de bay was in command. on reading berwick's letter he at once appointed me as one of his aides-de-camp. you were away, i found to my great disappointment, and i was sent off into catalonia with orders for four battalions to be sent at once to badajos. i arrived here yesterdav. in time for the shindy." "fortunately, o'neil. i do not think there is much fear of another oudenarde. there is no royal duke here to inter- fere with our general, and the portuguese are not to be com- pared with the hanoverians and dutch and the other allies that fought against us there." "i hear from the others that you have been occupied in re- connoitering the countrv." "yes, and i was captured, but was fortunately able to give them the slip." desmond did not care to tell even his friend that his escape was due to the kindness of the british eeneral. the next morning desmond was sent off to hurry up a body of troops which was still some seven or eight marches away. the news had come that the allied army was in motion, and would probably concentrate near portalegre. this seemed to in the irish brigade show that they intended to invade spain by badajos and the valley of the guadiana. for had their aim been to advance up the valley of the tagus to madrid they would have marched towards montalvao and so on by alcantara to almarez. after two days' hard riding he met the column, which, on receiving the order from the marshal to hasten forward with all speed, performed double marches until they arrived at badajos. desmond found that the allies had not wasted their time, and that their advance guard was already at campo mayor. the spanish army were posted on the caya river, a stream that flowed down from the sierra and fell into the guadiana at badajos. their position was a defensive one. the army of the allies was known to be some twenty-two thousand strong, of whom some five thousand were cavalry. the spanish had about the same strength of cavalry, but were inferior in infantry. the number of guns also was about equal, both sides having about forty cannon. on the th of may the two armies faced each other on opposite sides of the river caya. as neither party made any movement of advance, marshal de bay deter- mined to force on an engagement, and sent orders to the cavalry to cross the river and to place themselves on the road between the enemy and campo mayor. the allies suffered, as the french had done at oudenarde. by conflicting counsels. the earl of galway was in command of the british and of two or three dutch regiments. the marquis de frontiera was in command of the portuguese, who formed by far the greater portion of the force, and as soon as the movement was seen on the other side of the river, he determined to cross and attack the spaniards. the earl of galway was strongly of opinion that it would not be wise to take the offensive, but that the army should remain in its present position until the intentions of the in the irish brigade portuguese horse, wliose cannon had already opened fire. the portuguese fell into disorder as soon as they saw the. long line of horsemen charging down on them like a torrent, and when it neared them broke and fled. they were soon overtaken, great numbers were cut down, and the remainder galloped off, a panic-stricken mob, and did not draw rein until they reached campo mayor. the spaniards at once turned the five cannon the fugitives had left behind them upon the allied infantry, and then, after a few rounds had been fired, the cavalry charged the british infantry. but they had now foes of a different metal to reckon with, and al- through three times the horsemen re-formed their ranks and hurled themselves against the infantry, they were each time repulsed with heavy loss. then, swerving round, they fell on the portuguese infantry in the second line, whom they dis- persed as easily as they had defeated the cavalry. the earl of galway now brought ud the brigade of brigadier-general pierce, which consisted of the two british regiments of barrimore and stanwix and a spanish regiment which had been recently raised and named after himself. these charged the enemy with great bravery, drove back their infantry for some distance, recovered the five guns the cavalry had lost, and, still pressing forward, fought their way deep into the centre of the spanish ranks. had they been supported by the portuguese infantry on their flank the battle might still have been won. but the latter, in spite of the persuasions and orders of their officers, refused to advance, and, turning their backs, made off in confusion although not yet attacked by the enemy. orders were then sent to the portuguese horse on the left to charge to the assistance of pierce's brigade. but instead of doing this they also galloped off the field, and after defending themselves with desperate valour for some time, the little brigade, being unsupported, croftoji't- cavalry attack the portuguese infantry. in the irish brigade marshal, he was sent to ride over the field and ascertain who had fallen and what prisoners had been taken. night was already coming on, and, after fulfilling his mission as far as was possible in the confusion, he came upon two spanish soldiers with a prisoner. "whom have you there?" he asked in spanish. "i don't know, sir; we found him lying under his horse, which in its fall had so pinned down his leg that he could not escape. several others had fallen round him, and it was only when we heard a cry for help that we turned the dead horse over and found him under it, and then got him out." standing close there was light enough for desmond to dis- tinguish the prisoner's features. he gave a slight start of surprise, then he said, "you have done well, my men. here is a doubloon to get some drink with your comrades when you get into the town. i will look after the prisoner." the men saluted and went off, well pleased to have got rid of the trouble of marching their prisoner into the town. mike, rather surprised, moved up to take charge of the captive. "my lord," desmond said, "i will now endeavour to repay the kindness you showed me. do you see that little hut, mike, just at the edge of those trees. you must hide the earl there. our cavalry are still all over the country hunting down fugitives." the earl, who was scarcely able to walk, his leg having been injured by the weight of the horse upon it, murmured his thanks, but did not speak again until they had entered the shed, when desmond said: "now, general, i will first cut down your riding-boot to ease your leg. then, if you will lie down in that corner, we will pile this firewood over you. it will not be safe for an old friend you to attempt to go forward for two or three hours yet. i have a report to make to marshal de bay. when i have handed it in i will return at once. mike, do you stay near the hut, and if any searching party should come along, which is scarcely likely, for they have all gone farther afield, you can say there is no need to search the hut, as you, with an officer, have already examined it." in a few minutes the earl was completely hidden. desmond then rode into badajos and delivered his report to the mar- shal. he then went to the stables, took out his spare horse, and, leading it, rode out to the hut again. "has anyone been here?" he asked mike. "not a soul, sir." "take the horses into the wood then, and stay with them for the present. it will not be safe for the earl to move for a couple of hours." "now, general," he went on as he removed the firewood, "i fear that you have been very uncomfortable." "i can hardly say that i have been comfortable, sir, but that is of no consequence. the pain in my leg has abated since you cut the boot open. and now, how can i express my gratitude to you for thus sheltering me?" "it is but a fair return of services, sir. you gave me my liberty, and i am doing my best to restore yours to you." "it is all very well to say that. captain kennedy. i am the general in command of the british forces in portugal, and had i chosen to openly release you none could have questioned me. it was only because some magnified report of the affair might have reached the ears of the portuguese government, and given rise to rumours hostile to me, that i thought it best to let it appear to be an accidental escape. you see, i am by no means popular with the portuguese. in the first place i am a protestant, and in the next place i am constantly bringing (mm ) in the irish brigade pressure to bear upon them as to the supply of provisions, the making of roads, the proper feeding and arming of their own troops, and other matters of the same kind, and they would only be too glad to have some cause of complaint against me. but your case is altogether different, for you are risking even your life in thus aiding me to escape." "that may be, general, but it was nevertheless my duty as a matter of conscience to endeavour to return the kindness that you showed me; and as at present your army will hardly be in a state to take the field against us for a long time, i do not feel that i am seriously injuring our cause." "well, sir, i shall be your debtor for life. do you in- tend to remain always an exile, captain kennedy?' the earl of galway went on. "it seems to me little short of mad- ness that so many gallant gentlemen should cut themselves altogether adrift from their native country, and pass their lives fighting as mercenaries. i do not use the word offen- sively, but only in its proper meaning of foreigners serving in the army of a nation not their own. nor do i mean to insult irish gentlemen by even hinting that they serve simple for pay. they fight for france mainly in the hope that france will some day aid in setting james stuart on the british throne, a forlorn hope, for although louis may encourage the hopes of the stuarts and their followers by patronizing their cause, which it suits them to do because it gives him the means of striking at england by effecting a landing in scotland or ireland, it is yet a matter upon which he must be indifferent save in his own interest, and in the advantage it gives him of keeping in his service some dozen or so splendid regiments, on whose valour he can always rely." "that is true, sir," desmond replied; "and i own i have no great hope that by the means of french assistance the stuarts will regain their throne. but what could i do if i an old friend were to return to ireland? beyond the fact that my name is kennedy, i am in absolute ignorance as to what branch of that family i belong to, and have practically not a friend in the country. were i to land in ireland i have no means of earning my living, and should doubtless be denounced as one who had served in the irish brigade. i own that i should be glad to return there for a time in order to make enquiries as to my family. i was but sixteen when i left, and was kept, as it seems to me, purposely in total ignorance on the subject. it may be that i was the son of a brave officer of that name, who certainly came over to france soon after i was born, and fell fighting some years before i came out; but i have no proof that it was so, and would give a great deal to be able to ascertain it. in ireland they think a great deal of genealogy, and i am often questioned by irishmen of old descent as to my family, and find it extremely awkward to be obliged to own that i know nothing of it with any certainty. i have no desire to pass my life in battles and sieges, and, if i survive the risks and perils, to settle down as a frenchman with an irish name." "that i can well understand," the earl said. "'tis a life that no man could desire, for it would certainly be a wasted one. i can assure you that i think the chance of james stuart or his descendants gaining the throne of england is remote in the extreme. when william of orange came over there was no standing army, and as james ii had rendered himself extremely unpopular by his catholic leanings, he be- came possessed of england without opposition, and of ireland by means of his dutch troops. the matter is entirely changed now. england has a strong army, against which a gathering, however strong, of undisciplined men could have but little chance. i conceive it possible that a catholic stuart might regain the throne of ireland if backed by a french army in the irish brigade and if the people were supplied with french arms and money. but that he would retain the throne after the french were withdrawn i regard as next to impossible." "i cannot but think the same, sir. however, as i see no chance of my being able to go to ireland, even to push my enquiries as to my family, there is nothing for it but to remain a soldier of france." "in that matter i might assist you, captain kennedy. i have no doubt that my influence and that of my friends in england would without difficulty suffice to gain permission for you to visit ireland on private business, on my under- taking that you have no political object whatever in desiring to do so, and that you engage yourself to enter into no plots or schemes for a rising. furthermore, i think i can promise that if you succeed in your researches, and find that you have relations and friends there, i could, if you desire it, obtain a revocation of any pains and penalties you may have incurred, and a restoration of all your rights as an irishman. that is certainly the least i can do after the vital service that you have rendered me—a service that in itself shows you do not share in the bitter enmity so many of your countrymen un- fortunately feel against england." ) "i have no such enmity assuredly," desmond said. "the choice of coming out here to enter the service of france was not of my own making, but was made for some reason which i have never been able to understand by the gentleman who had borne the expenses of my bringing up, but who was him- self a strong supporter of the english rule, and therefore would have been expected to place every obstacle in the way of my entering the irish brigade. war two days after the fight the marquis de bay moved forward with his army with the intention of fighting another battle, but galway and frontiera had by this time reorganized their forces and occupied so strong a position near elvas that he could not venture to attack them. however, he occupied the country for a considerable distance beyond the frontier, subsisting his army upon the provisions and forage collected by his cavalry in the villages and small towns. as it was evident that, after the proof given of the inability of the portuguese to withstand any attack, there was no probability of offensive operations being renewed by the allies, and the heat becoming intense, the force was withdrawn across the frontier and went into quarters, the general returning to madrid, where he received an enthusiastic welcome from the inhabitants. by this time, however, the knowledge that the king of france was entering into negotiations which would necessitate his desertion of spain greatly excited the population against the french stationed at the capital. they were hissed and hooted when they appeared in the streets, and for a time the indignation was so great that the troops were ordered to remain in the barracks. the king himself, however, gained rather than lost popularity, as he issued a proclamation to the people, saying that, having accepted their invitation to be their king, he would remain with them until driven from his throne by force, and he confided absolutely in their affection and aid to enable him to withstand any foes who might at- tempt to dethrone him. in the autumn another change oc- curred. although, in order to obtain peace, he had granted all the demands, however exorbitant, of the allies, and had undertaken to withdraw his troops from spain, louis stood firm when to these conditions they added another, namely, that he should himself undertake by force to dethrone his grandson. in the irish brigade this monstrous demand united at once both those who wished to continue the war rather than grant such humiliating terms as those which had been insisted upon, and the party who were in favour of peace, even at that cost. the nego- tiations were abruptly broken off, and the french troops, who were already on the march towards the frontier, received or- ders to remain in spain. now that he had o'neil with him, the time in madrid passed more pleasantly for desmond than before. he was frequently away for several days carrying despatches to the commanders of the forces in valencia and barcelona. in the capital the french were again regarded as friends, and as several successes had been gained and places captured in catalonia, the hope that the civil war that had so long been waged was approaching its end, and the confidence engendered by the victory on the caya, made the people doubt whether any attempt at invasion from the west would be contemplated, and they gave themselves up to gaiety. balls and fetes were frequently organized, and at these the french were among the most honoured jruests. early in the spring preparations were made for active op- erations. lieutenant-general o'mahony had just returned from sicily, where he had rendered distinguished service. in the previous year crofton had been made a major-general, and two new regiments of irish infantry had been formed of deserters from the enemy in catalonia and portugal. these were commanded by colonel dermond m'auliffe and colonel john comerford. these two regiments, with another under colonel macdonald, marched from madrid in april. as the marquis de bay was not yet moving he offered o'ma- hony, who had the command of the force, the services of desmond and o'neil as aides-de-camp. the offer was a wel- come one, for as none of the men in the newly-raised regi- wab ments was acquainted with the language, desmond who now spoke spanish well, would be far more valuable to him than spanish officers could be. for two months the little force moved about in catalonia, the rapidity of its marches baffling the attempts of the arch- duke's forces to interfere with its operations. these were principally directed against various small fortresses held by partisans of charles. several of these were captured, thus clearing the roads they guarded, and'opening the country for the more important operations that philip himself was about to undertake. it was not until july that the royal army approached lerida, where o'mahony's force joined it. general stanhope marched with the troops under his com- mand and encamped at balaguer, where he was joined by baron de wetzel with some troops, which had been brought from italy. as stanhope's force was insufficient to give bat- tle until joined by the main army of charles, he marched, on the st of july, headed by two english and two dutch regiments of dragoons, to secure the passes near alfaro, and so check the advance of the spaniards. after performing a long and difficult march they took up a defensive position. stanhope found, however, that the river in front of him was so low that cavalry and artillery could pass easily, and even infantry could cross without difficulty. scarcely had he taken up his position when two brigades of infantry and nineteen squadrons of cavalry were seen ap- proaching, having been detached from the spanish army to occupy the position which had been secured by the rapidity of stanhope's march. they therefore waited for their main army to come up, but before it did so the whole of stanhope's force had arrived, and was prepared for battle. although it was past six o'clock in the evening, charles, on his arrival, decided to fall upon the enemy before they could encamp. in the irish brigade which they might do in a position in which it would be dif- ficult to attack them. fourteen cannon at once opened fire from an eminence, whence they commanded the position taken up by the advance force of the spaniards. this position was on low ground in front of the ridge upon which the village of almenara stood, and nothing could be seen of the force that lay behind this ridge. the advanced force of spaniards ascended this ridge as soon as the artillery opened upon them, and general stan- hope obtained leave from marshal staremberg, who com- manded the archduke's army, to charge them. with ten squadrons of horse he rode up the ascent, and there, when he gained it, saw to his surprise twenty-two squadrons facing him, flanked with infantry, and supported with another line of cavalry equally strong. he sent back at once for fourteen squadrons from his second line, and when six of these came up he advanced against the spaniards, who at the same time moved forward to meet him. the cavalry on philip's left at once gave way. the centre and right aided by the fire of the infantry, made a stout fight, but were driven back by the english and dutch cavalry. the fighting was severe, for of the six english squadrons who charged, two hundred men and twenty-one officers were killed or wounded. philip's second line of cavalry gave but feeble support, and stanhope's horse soon had them all in confusion, and, driving them from the field, pursued them hotly. the fugi- tives dashed into their own infantry, who were just arriving in force, and their panic communicated itself to them, and a total rout took place. the pursuit was kept up until it was so dark that the troopers were unable to see each other's faces, and they then halted, having defeated the spanish without the aid of their infantry, which had not come up in time to in the irish brigade of foot and six squadrons of portuguese horse. the spanish line ran obliquely from the river on their left to a steep hill on their right occupied by their cavalry and a battery of artil- lery. these, therefore, were much nearer to the attacking force than were those on the plain. the battle began at twelve o'clock, charles's force march- ing in two lines, with the exception of stanhope's cavalry and infantry. these, from their situation, were the first to come in contact with the enemy. the four battalions first pushed forward up the hill, and, driving the spanish cavalry back, allowed stanhope's horse to ascend the hill and form on its crest. the battle speedily ranged along the whole line. the spaniards, with superior numbers-, gained ground on their left. here o'mahony's corps were stationed, and they drove a portion of the allies across the ebro again; but this success was more than counterbalanced on the other flank, where stanhope's cavalry and infantry carried all before them. the latter, posted in a hollow, opened so heavy a fire upon the spanish infantry as they advanced that they fell in dis- order, and as their cavalry were driven off, hotly pursued by stanhope, they fell back upon the centre, which they threw into disorder. seeing that the battle was lost, the marquis de bay gave the order to retire. two hours after the first shot was fired the rout of the spanish centre and right was complete, but a considerable portion of the troops were rallied by de bay at alagon, three leagues above saragossa. the left wing, under generals amezaga and o'mahony, were checked in their course of victory by the disaster which befell the centre and right; but, maintaining their discipline, they fell back in good order and rejoined their defeated comrades at alagon. all the can- non and most of the colours of the regiments forming the centre and right fell into the hands of the victors. the loss .war of the allies was about two thousand men killed or wounded, and that of the spaniards and french three thousand killed and wounded and between five and six thousand prisoners. philip rode at once to madrid, and on the evening of the bat- tle the archduke entered saragossa, while de bay retired with the broken remains of his troops towardsnavarre. desmond and o'neil, who had ridden behind o'mahony, saw the spanish troops of the archduke yield before the im- petuous attacks of the irish regiments, who, as they pressed their foes backwards, burst into loud cheering, believing the victory already won. presently o'mahony stopped the ad- vance. "we must not push too far forward," he said. "it seems to me that things are not going well in other directions. our centre is being pressed back. what is going on on the right i cannot say, but the enemy seems to have gained the top of the hill, for our cannon there are silent. if the centre is driven back, those we have now beaten will rally, and we shall be taken in flank by the fire of their centre. therefore let us be content with what we have done, and wait and see how things turn out elsewhere." even before the rout of the spanish right their centre was yielding, for opposed to them were the british and dutch regiments, whose attack they were altogether unable to with- stand. it soon became clear that at all other points on the field the battle was going against the spaniards, and an aide-de- camp presently rode up hastily with orders from marshal de bay for his left to fall back and retire to alagon. deep was the rage and disappointment among the troops of o'ma- hony and amezaga as they faced about and set out on their march. they were unmolested. the troops they had beaten were in no disposition to follow them, while the allied cavalry and the infantry of their centre were in full pursuit of the in the ikish brigade rest of philip's army, the remnants of which the little force joined at alagon before nightfall. it was some days before the archduke's army moved forward again. the troops were exhausted by the long marches they had made, and there was a difference of opinion among the generals as to the course that had best be followed. the king wished to pursue the beaten enemy and if possible to intercept their march towards france, but count starem- berg and stanhope were of opinion that they should first oc- cupy madrid, and then march into navarre, so as to bar the advance of fresh french troops into spain and at the same time open communications by sea with england, whence they could be supplied with reinforcements and stores of provisions. finally charles gave way, and the allies marched towards madrid. the main portion of the army halted at alcala, a day's march from the capital, and general stanhope marched on with his division to madrid, which opened its gates with- out resistance, philip having retired with his army. charles entered the city on the th of september, . the alarm in france at the news of the defeat at sara- gossa was great, and louis at once despatched the duke of vendome to command there. the latter, travelling fast, and gathering up the garrisons of the towns through which he passed, crossed the frontier at nearly the same time as charles entered madrid, and effected a junction with de bay's army, which had by this time been increased by some fourteen thou- sand men drawn from the garrisons of towns in navarre, castille, galicia, and valencia. vendome had no doubt that the intention of the allies in marching upon madrid was to open communication with the portuguese, and determined to throw himself between the capital and the frontier. marching with all speed, he encamped near salamanca on the th of october, and thence moved to plasencia, thereby se- war curing the bridge of almarez and preventing the portu- guese from joining charles. had it not been for the usual indecision and want of energy on the part of the portuguese government the junc- tion might have been effected before vendome arrived at plasencia, for both charles and stanhope had, after the vic- tory of saragossa, written urgently, begging that the portu- guese army should at once advance and join them at madrid, and that at any rate, if the whole army could not move, at least the troops in the pay of england should push forward instantly. stanhope indeed had marched with his division to the bridge of almarez to facilitate the junction, and had defeated a spanish force guarding the bridge. however, the portuguese did not arrive; and when a messenger brought the alarming news that a spanish and french army had occu- pied plasencia, stanhope fell back towards madrid. as large french reinforcements were known to be approaching the frontier, and philip's army was already much superior in numbers to that of the allies, it was decided in a council of war to evacuate madrid. the forces which had occupied toledo and other towns were recalled, and early in december the army left the capital, the archduke riding at once to bar- celona, while the army, of which stanhope's division formed the rear guard, followed in the same direction. the movement had been delayed too long; vendome and philip were already at hand, and on the th fell on stanhope's division at brihuega. this force, consisting of eight english battalions and the same number of portuguese horse, de- fended themselves desperately, and although the town was wholly without fortifications they repulsed every attack un- til their ammunition was exhausted, and they were then forced to surrender. staremberg, on hearing that stanhope was attacked and surrounded, turned back and marched with in the irish brigade all speed to relieve him, but on arriving wit-in three hours' march of the town, heard that he had surrendered. the duke of vendome, hearing of his coming, drew his troops out and formed them in line of battle, and the next morning attacked him vigorously. the allied right held their ground, but the left fled, and vendome swept his right round and took the centre and right of the allies in the rear. three battalions of the second line, however, fell in turn upon the french rear and repulsed them, and the left wing, rallying again, renewed the battle. the combat was indecisive, both parties claiming the vic- tory. staremberg wrote to charles that he had captured all the enemy's puns and had killed six thousand of them, while the french claimed that they had totally defeated the allies and captured all their cannon, killed four thousand, and ta- ken nine thousand prisoners. the balance of probability lies / to some extent with the french, for the day after the battle,' staremberg retired and marched to barcelona; but the fact that he was not at once pursued shows that the french and spaniards must have suffered very heavily. desmond had passed unscathed through the battle of sar- agossa. o'neil had been severely wounded, but had managed to sit his horse until the division effected its junction with the marquis de bay's shattered forces. great was the wrath among the two irish regiments at the issue of the battle. "what is the use," an officer said to desmond, "of our throwing away our lives fighting for these spaniards when they themselves are useless, save when they meet the portu- guese, who are still more contemptible? here have we, on level ground, fairly beaten the enemy, while the right and centre, although having a great advantage in position, allow them- selves to be scattered like a flock of sheep." "they had stouter foes to meet than we had," desmond in the irish brigade him on the throne. if, again, they would not accept him, england and france should mutually agree not to interfere in the affair, and let the spaniards indulge in civil war as long as it pleases them." moore laughed. "it might be a good solution, kennedy, but there is no more chance of philip or charles renouncing their pretensions, or indeed of the french on one side and the allies on the other permitting them to do so, than there is of the world becoming an utopia, where war shall be un- known, and all peoples live together in peace and amity." "well," desmond said, "for my part i am sick of fighting in quarrels that do not concern me, and when this campaign comes to an end i shall, if possible, rejoin berwick. the cause of the stuarts is not advanced in the slightest by what is taking place in spain, and if i am to fight, i would rather do so where victory would benefit us." "i don't know that you are not right," the other assented. "it certainly seems a pity that the best blood of ireland should be spilled in flanders and spain in the service of a foreign country. to my mind the terms of the surrender of limerick were disadvantageous both to ireland and eng- land. england has gained a number of inveterate foes who, with good and wise treatment, might now be fighting in her own ranks; ireland has lost her best blood, men who were her natural leaders, and belonged to the old families, whom all respected." "i am sure it was a mistake," desmond said. "if the terms had been an absolute equality in all matters of religion, and the free pardon of all without confiscation of their prop- erty or other disability, it would have gone far to reconcile our people to defeat, for they would have seen that they could not hope for more than the right of free exercise of their re- ligion if the stuarts came to the throne again," in earch of a family chapter xix in sbaech of a family qn the following day desmond left the brigade, and, fol- lowed by mike, rode for madrid, where was still lying a letter which had arrived some months before from eng- land. he had not asked for it to be forwarded, for if he had been killed, and it had been found on him, it might do his memory a great disservice, as it would seem that he had been in correspondence with the british. the letter, which con- tained an enclosure, was, to his surprise, from lord godol- phin. it ran: dear captain kennedy,—partly at the request of the earl of oalway, and still more from my own remembrance of your conduct in that affair you know of, and of the silence that you maintained concerning it, i have pleasure in sending you a safe-conduct to visit ireland on private affairs. the earl tells me that you have rendered him the greatest of services, and this alone should cancel the fact that you have been serv- ing against us in flanders and spain. for this, and for your conduct to myself, i can promise you that should you, at any time while i am in power, decide to remain in ireland, i will obtain for you a full and complete pardon and a restoration to all your rights as an irish subject of the queen. i will also obtain a reversal of any attainders or acts of confiscation that may have been passed against your family, on your giv- ing your promise that you will not take part in any secret plots or conspiracies against the reigning family, though in the event of a general rising in ireland, with the assistance in the irish brigade perhaps of a french army, you would be at liberty to choose your own course of action, without incurring more pains and penalties than those which might iefall any native of ireland waging war against the queen. as both godolphin and marlborough were known to be by no means unfavourably disposed to the cause of the stuarts, desmond was hardly surprised at the latter part of this inti- mation. though he had but small hopes of being enabled to remain permanently at home, it was yet very welcome to him. certainly, if he remained in ireland he would consider him- self bound to hold himself aloof from all jacobite plots, although, if the country rose and a french army landed, he would, unless he considered the cause a hopeless one, draw his sword on behalf of him whom he considered as his law- ful sovereign. "it is not sorry i am, your honour, to be turning my back on this country," mike said, as they rode out from the gate; "the wine is good, which is more than i can say for anything else in it, except that the people are good catholics." "i am starting a longer journey than you think, mike. i am only going to the duke now to ask for a year's leave, though i do not think that i shall be absent more than a few months." "and where are you going, your honour, if i may make so bold as to ask?" "i am going to ireland. mike." mike looked at him with astonishment. "to ireland, your honour? sure they will hang you before you set your foot a week in the country." f "i have obtained a safe-conduct. mike, from lord godol- phin. you remember him, the nobleman we kidnapped?" "sure i remember him, your honour; and he has given you in search op a family a safe-conduct? it is in luck you are, to be going back to ireland again." "it is not a visit of pleasure, mike. i am going over to try to ascertain to which branch of my family i belong." "and what can it matter, your honour? it's a good name you have made for yourself out here." "i have done well enough, mike, but i am tired of being asked by almost every officer i meet about my family, when in fact i know nothing myself." "well, captain, it does not seem to me worth troubling about, for if you don't know who they are, it is little they can have done for you." "it would seem so, mike. there is a mystery about the whole affair, and i want to get to the bottom of it." he rode silently for some distance. he knew that mike would go through fire and water for him, and that, simple as he seemed, he had no ordinary amount of shrewdness; and he determined to tell him all he knew, especially as he intended to take him to ireland with him. "mike, he said at last, "i suppose you would like to pay a visit to ireland alsol" "i should that," mike said emphatically. "i was but eighteen when i came out here to enlist in the brigade—that is twelve years ago now, and it is few people would be likely to know me again." "well, i am thinking of taking you with me, mike; and as possibly you may be of use in my search, i will tell you my story." and he related the history of his youth. "he must be an unfeeling baste to treat you like that," mike exclaimed indignantly. "sure i know the name, and have heard him spoken of as a traitor who had gone over to the enemy, and turned protestant to save his estate." in the irish brigade "that is how you would hear him spoken of, mike, for it is true; but as to his treatment of me, it all depends whether i was forced upon him by threats, or was taken by him out of friendship to my father. if it were the first of these reasons, he cannot be blamed for keeping me at a distance: if the second, he certainly ought to have behaved differently. but neither explains why he, a supporter of the usurper, should have sent me out to france to fight against the eng- lish. it is a hard nut to crack." mike agreed. "mighty hard; but your honour will get to the bottom of it, never fear. and why are we going to the duke, master?" "to get leave of absence. i cannot disappear suddenly without asking for leave. i shall, of course, tell the duke of berwick exactly why i am going, and i feel sure he will grant my request without hesitation. there is no fighting to be done just at present, and even if there were, one officer more or less would make no difference. "have you any relations in ireland, mike?" "none that i know of, sir, barring a sister who was twelve years older than myself; and it is little i saw of her, for she married when i was a bit of a gossoon. her husband was killed in the siege of limerick, and i heard that after it was over, she went to settle with some cousins in cork. whether she is there now, is married again, or is dead years ago, is more than i can say, seeing that i have never heard of her since." "was she with her husband in the siege of limerick?" "she was that; i heard about her from some men who knew her husband. they said, after he was killed she went as a servant in the family of an officer and his wife for a bit, but the officer was killed, and the lady died of grief and trouble; and it was hard work she had to live till the place in the irish brigade my father, and of course i was contented that it should be supposed so, and therefore i asked no questions about other kennedys. of late, however, i have been worried over the matter. in the irish regiments in spain, as elsewhere, were a number of officers belonging to good old irish families, and though i have got on well enough with them—in the first place as berwick's aide-de-camp, and afterwards as on the staff of the generals here—i could see that when, in answer to their question, it was evident i knew little or nothing of my family, there was a sort of coolness in their manner which i could quite understand, counting back their ancestors as they did pretty nearly to the flood. at present it does not make any difference to me personally, one way or the other, but i am convinced that if by chance, when i get older, i should fall in love with the daughter of an officer of one of these old fami- lies, he would not for a moment listen to me until i could give him some proofs that i had a right to the name i bear, or at any rate came of a good family. certainly, at present i could not assure him on either point. i only know that i have always been called kennedy, and that it was under that name that i was committed to the care of father o'leary. that proves nothing more than that it is the name by which john o'car- roll wished me to be called; and it is as likely as not—indeed a good deal more likely—that it was not the true one." "well, at any rate, your honour, you have made the name of desmond kennedy well known and liked both among the irish and french officers, for it is no slight thing that an officer in an infantry regiment should be taken on the staff of the duke of berwick." "all that is very well, mike; but it will not satisfy me more than it satisfies others. so i am resolved to try to get to the bottom of the affair, even if i have to go direct to john o'carroll, though i know that the chance of his telling in search of a family me anything is but slight. the only way indeed that seems likely to lead to anything is to call upon as many of the kennedys as i can discover, and ask whether murroch ken- nedy, who left ireland after the siege of limerick, married and left a child of two years old behind him. if so, and that child suddenly disappeared when his father left for france, there would be every reason for assuming that i was the child in question; though why he should have committed me to the charge of john o'carroll instead of to one of his own family is not easily seen, unless the whole of the kennedys were in such ill-favour with the english government that he thought it better to trust me to one who was in good odour with the supporters of dutch william, and was therefore safe from disturbance in his estates." "sure, your honour, you are arguing it out like a counsel- lor, and there is no gainsaying what you have spoken. i have no doubt you will ferret it out. with such a head as you have on your shoulders, it is hard if you cannot circumvent that ould rascal at kilkargan." "at any rate we will try, you and i. while i am visiting the kennedys, you can be finding out people who were at limerick during the siege, and gather all they can remember about the kennedys there." as desmond had expected, the duke, as soon as he heard his story, at once granted him leave of absence. "i hope you may succeed, kennedy," he said. "it is a poor look-out to be risking death continually in the service of a foreign king. i grant that we have the knack of making ourselves at home wherever we may be, and there are irish officers in every army in europe; but, however successful irishmen may be, they cannot but long to be among their own people in their own land. and if, as you tell me, lord godolphin will befriend you, i for one shall think no worse in the irish brigade foreign service. my estates were confiscated, and i have ever since lived here on the wreck of my fortune, taking no part in politics. my cousin was of a different mind. he did not indeed go at once with the greater part of the army of limerick, but still, hoping that the cause was not altogether lost, he lived for some months among the mountains and took part in a rising which was promptly suppressed, and then joined the irish brigade; and i received a notification from one of his brother officers that he had fallen at the battle of breda. and now may i ask in turn what murroch kennedy's relationship was to you?" "i will tell you, sir. but first will you kindly inform me whether your cousin left a child about a year old behind him?" "certainly not, sir. my cousin was an unmarried man, at any rate up to the time when he left ireland." "then, sir, my questions are at an end. i may tell you that about the time your cousin left ireland i was sent as an infant to the care of john o'carroll, the traitor, of kilkargan, and was brought up under the name of desmond kennedy. he showed me but little kindness, and nearly three years ago i went abroad and obtained a commission in one of the regiments in the irish brigade, and now hold the rank of captain. for many reasons i am anxious to find out what family i belong to. it was assumed by my colonel and fellow officers that i was the son of murroch kennedy, and i wished to ascertain whether this was true, and with that object obtained leave of absence and made my way back." "i am sorry that i can give you no assistance, sir. as- suredly you are not the son of my cousin, murroch kennedy, and had you been, john o'carroll, the traitor, would have been the last man to whom he would have entrusted you. i know well the history of all the members of my branch of the in the irish brigade "a romantic story, young sir," mr. kennedy said when he had finished,' and to whatever family you belong, they should be proud of possessing so gallant a member. you tell me that you have a safe-conduct, but you did not mention how you obtained it." "desmond had abstained from making any allusion either to the affair with lord godolphin or to that with the earl of galway, and he replied: "sir, this is a secret that concerns other people as well as myself, consequently i am not at liberty to explain it. i may say, however, that it was given to me on my engagement that my visit to ireland was one of a private nature only, and that i would in no way meddle with politics. when i tell you that the duke of berwick himself granted me the necessary leave of absence, it will prove to you that he on his part was well satisfied that the safe-conduct had been issued to me without any unworthy offers on my part to the princess anne's ministers." after chatting for some time longer, desmond took his leave and returned to cork. mike was standing at the door of the inn. "i have had no success, mike; have you fared better?" "i have not found her yet, your honour, but i have great hopes of doing so. larry callaghan died four years ago, and the woman of the house she occupied said that mrs. rooney moved with his widow and children to some other part of the town. she knew little about them, seeing that she only went into the house after they had left, but her husband worked in the same yard as larry did, and she thought that he would be able to find out from some of the old hands where the widow callaghan had moved to. she said she would ask her husband when he came home to his dinner, and maybe he would be able to give her some news. and so your honour has learned nothing about yourself?" in the irish brigade when i saw her last; but when we had convinced each other that we were both what we said we were, matters went on pleasantly. i told her some of my adventures with you, and that by the same token i had a hundred gold pieces that the baron of pointdexter had given me, sewn up in a belt round my waist, where it has been ever since i got it, except when we went into battle, or on that expedition to scotland, when, as your honour knows, i always put it in with the agent in your name, seeing that i would rather, if i was killed, know that your honour would have it instead of its being taken by some villain searching the dead. i told her that if she and mrs. callaghan wanted to take a bigger place i would share it with her, and that quite settled the matter in her mind that i was her brother. she said, as i knew she would, that she would come and talk to you for a week if you wanted it; and she will be here to-morrow at nine o'clock." "that is very satisfactory. i am afraid nothing will come of our talk; but still one may get a clue to other kennedys who were present at the siege of limerick." punctually at nine o'clock mike ushered his sister into des- mond's sitting-room. "i am glad to see you, mrs. rooney. your brother has been with me for three years, and has rendered me very many services, and i regard him as a friend rather than as a servant. i am glad that he has found his sister, from whom he has been so long parted." "mike has been telling me how good you have been to him, and that he would go through fire and water for you, and that you have had some wonderful adventures together. he said you wanted to speak to me about the siege of limerick. if there is anything i can tell you, your honour, i will do so gladly." "what i want to know is, what kennedys were at the siege?" in search of a family "there was murroch kennedy, and phelim, who was always called 'bed kennedy', on account of his colour; and james and fergus. i knew all these because they were friends of my master's. it may be that there were many others, but they were unbeknown to me." "am i like any of them?" the woman looked at him searchingly. "you are not, sir; but you are mighty like my master, barring, of course, that he was a man ten years older than yourself. but the more i look at you the more i see the likeness." "i did not know that you had a master, mrs. rooney; i thought that you were there with your husband." "so i was, your honour; but when he was kilt i was left alone, saving for a child that had been born a fortnight before, and what with the bad smells of the place and the sound of the cannon, and the fact of my grief, he pined away all at once, and died a week after me husband. it is well-nigh starving we all were, even the fighting men had scarce enough food to keep their strength up, and a lone woman would have died from hunger. so i was mighty glad when a friend of mine told me that there was an officer's lady who had had a baby, and, being but weak and ailing, wanted a foster-mother for it; so i went at once and got the place, and was with her for a month. her husband was killed three weeks after i went there, and the blow was too much for her, and she died a week later. a fortnight after that came the peace, and as everything was in confusion, what wid our soldiers all going away to france and the persecutions and slaughterings, i took the child with me and went down to my cousin larry's here. av course i could not part with it, and i could not make my way alone across the country, so i came down here with the troops. i was not strong myself, and it was a year later before i was able to take it to its friends." in the irish brigade "what was the name of your master?" desmond asked eagerly, for her last words had excited a sudden train of ideas in his mind. "he was mr. james o'carroll, a great gentleman, and the head of his family." desmond sprang to his feet. "that explains it all!" ho exclaimed. "mrs. rooney, i have no doubt that i am your foster-child." "why, how can that be, your honour, seeing as your name is kennedy, though except for that, you might well be so, seeing that you are so like my master." "at any rate, mrs. eooney, i was reared at kilkargan at the expense of john o'carroll, and was, as i heard, brought there by a woman when i was a year old. o'carroll said that my name was desmond kennedy, but i had only his word for it." "then how is it that you are not master of kilkargan, for if you are mr. james o'carroll's son it is you that ought to be? i have always thought of you as there. i have not been in the way of getting news. i left my address with mr. john, but i never heard from him or you. i thought perhaps that he might have lost the address, but i never dreamt that you had been kept out of your own." "i don't know that i can say that altogether," desmond said, "for if it had been known that james o'carroll had left an heir his estates would certainly have been confiscated, whereas, owing to his brother's turning protestant and join- ing the williamites, he was allowed to keep possession of them. i can understand now what seemed so strange, namely, that he feared that i might somehow learn that i was his nephew, and heir to the estates. therefore he behaved as if i was the son of a stranger, and when i was old enough, sent me off to join the irish brigade, in hopes that he had seen the last of me, for, even if not killed, i should never be able to set "that explains it ali,!" he exclaimed. in search of a family foot in ireland again after fighting for france. 'tis strange that none of my father's brother officers ever made any en- quiries about it." "they all went with the army to france, sir. they knew, of course, that the child was born, though they may never have seen you, for the mistress never left her bed after you were born. naturally, after her death they lost sight of me, and might well have believed that the child had died." "you must give me the names of all the officers who came to the house, mrs. rooney. many of them may be alive still, and their testimony that a child was born would be most im- portant, for at present there is only your word against john o'carroll's." "there is more than that, sir. you were baptized on the day she died. my mistress gave me the paper the priest had given to her, saying that it was of the greatest importance to you, and that i was to give it to mr. john o'carroll when, as i promised, i took the child to him." "and did you give it to him?" desmond asked eagerly. "no, your honour. i took it with me to the castle, but from the reception i got i thought it best to say nothing about it, but to give it to yourself when you were old enough. i have got it at home now. there it is, certifying that gerald o'carroll, the son of james o'carroll and his wife elizabeth, was baptized by him on the th of september, ." "that is fortunate indeed," desmond exclaimed. "and now, tell me how this uncle of mine received you." "faith, your honour, he was mightily put out at first. he said that i was an impostor and that he would have me given in charge. i told him that i had proofs that what i said was true, and that there were many gentlemen, brother officers of mr. james, who would speak for me, and say in court that a son was born to his brother before he died. he wanted to gerald carroll estates. my having been in the brigade will certainly render it difficult for me to do so, though possibly, with the patronage of lord godolphin, i may succeed. for that, however, care comparatively little. my object in coming here was to obtain proof that i belong to a good irish family, and that i have no doubt i shall be able to establish." "and what am i to call you, your honour, now that i know you are captain gerald o'carroll, and not desmond kennedy at all?" "at any rate i must remain desmond kennedy at present, mike. it is under that name that my safe-conduct was made out, and if i were arrested as gerald o'carroll it would be no protection to me. however, i shall not want to use it long, for it seems to me that my first step must be to return to france, and to see some of the officers who knew my father, and were aware of my birth. their testimony would be of great value, and without it there would be little chance of your sister's evidence being believed." "but there is the paper, your honour." "yes; that will show that a child was born, but the proof that i am that child rests entirely with your sister. it might have died when its mother did, and they would say that your sister was trying to palm off her own child or someone else's as his. of course'mrs. callaghan would be able to prove that your sister arrived immediately after the surrender of lim- erick, bringing a child with her, and that she said it was the son of james o'carroll, and that she went a year later to kil- kargan and left it there with john o'carroll. moreover, i could get plenty of evidence from those on the estate that i was the child so left." "the likeness that norah saw between you and your father might be taken as a proof, sir." "i did not think of that, mike. yes, if some of these in the irish brigade officers will also testify to the likeness, it will greatly strengthen my case. the chain of evidence seems pretty strong. first, there is the certificate of my baptism, your sister's declaration that i was entrusted to her by my mother on her death-bed, supported by mrs. callaghan's declaration that three weeks later she arrived in cork with the child, which she told her was that of james o'carroll; your sister's declaration that she took me to kilkargan and handed me over to my uncle, which would be supported by the evidence of the woman he first placed me with; while the servants of the castle could prove that i was brought by a woman who, an hour later, left the castle without speaking to anyone but my uncle. john o'carroll will find it difficult to explain why lie took me in, and who is the kennedy of whom i was the son, and what service he had rendered for him, a protest- ant and a williamite, to have undertaken the charge of the child of a rebel. there is no doubt that the weight of evi- dence is all on my side, but whether the judges would decide in favour of the son of a rebel as against a friend of the eng- lish party is doubtful. possibly lord godolphin's influence might be exerted in my favour. he promised in his letter to me to do me any service in his power. still, even if i lose the estate, which i may well do on the ground of my father having fought and died for the cause of james ii, i should still have the satisfaction of establishing my name, which i consider of more importance than the estates." "sure, your honour, it's a grand thing to belong to a good old irish stock, but for myself i would rather be mike callaghan and have a fine estate than mike o'neil without an acre of land." desmond smiled. "there is common sense in what you say, mike, but there is nothing more unpleasant than, when you are with a number in the irish brigade claim to be a good one, and was favourable to it, would have no slight influence with them, and would counteract to some extent the fact of my uncle being a protestant and what they would consider a loyal man. before beginning an action i should certainly communicate with my uncle, and call upon him to resign in my favour, for i would avoid the scandal of proving an o'carroll to be a scoundrel as well as a traitor. as it has turned out, the step which he thought would disembarrass him of me has had the other effect, for if i had not gone out to france i should never have been troubled by questions about my family, and should not have met you, mike, or known of the existence of your sister, the only per- son who could clear up the matter. i shall begin to think what o'neil and o'sullivan used to say, that my luck would carry me through anything; and certainly at present it has been marvellous." "which way will we go back, your honour?" "not the way we came, if we can help it. we were nearly a month coming from genoa, and might have been twice as long if the wind had not been fairly favourable. i think our best plan will be to take passage by sea to london; there we shall have no difficulty in finding a vessel bound for rotter- dam or the hague. then we will buy horses and ride along by the rhine. if we can get through luxembourg into france we will do so, but i think it will perhaps be best to go on through switzerland, and pass the frontier somewhere near lyons, where we shall be but a short distance from berwick's head-quarters in dauphiny." a month later they rode into the duke's camp. they had, on leaving toulon, packed up their uniforms and sent them to the care of a friend on the general's staff. to his quarters they first went, and having changed his civilian costume for a military one, desmond waited on the duke. gerald o'carroll "why, captain kennedy," the duke said in surprise, "i did not look to see you again so soon. have you been over to ireland?" "i have, sir, and though there only a few days, gained information that necessitated my return here. i have found out that the name i go by is not mine, and that my proper name is gerald o'carroll." "the son of major james o'carroll, who fought by my side at the boyne, and was through the first siege of limerick with me! that explains it. your face has often puzzled me; it seemed to me that i recognized it, and yet i could not recall whose face it was that it resembled so strongly. now you tell me, i know at once. your father, when i first knew him, was a few years older than you are, but he had the same figure, face, and expression. and so you are his son! by what miracle have you discovered your relationship to him?" desmond, or as he should now be called, gerald, related as briefly as possible the manner in which he had discovered his parentage. "your uncle must be a thorough villain," the duke said hotly. "that he was a traitor we all knew but that he should thus rob his brother's son of his inheritance is mon- strous and unnatural." i am glad indeed, sir, that you have thus recognized me. your testimony will go for much even in an english court, and i hope to receive a similar recognition from the officers who were intimate with my father in the second siege, and whose names i have here." the duke glanced down the list. . "well-nigh half of them are still alive," he said, "and all of them are men of rank and repute whose word would be taken even by an enemy. how do you mean to proceed? because i am afraid that even if we could spare them there gerald o'carroll the siege. they remembered her death, but none had heard what became of the child, for in the excitement of the closing scenes and of the preparation for the march immediately afterwards, they had had little time on their hands, and it was hitherto supposed that it had, like so many other infants, perished miserably. they willingly signed documents similar to that which he had received from berwick. he met with almost equal success on the northern frontier, only two out of eight officers failing to identify him by his likeness until he mentioned his name, when they too acknowledged that, now they recalled james o'carroll's face, they saw that the like- ness was a striking one. having obtained these documents he resumed civilian attire, and riding by cross-roads passed through flanders to sluys without coming in contact with any body of the allied troops. there he had no difficulty in obtaining a passage to london, and on his arrival called upon lord godolphin, who received him cordially. "so you have utilized your safe-conduct, captain kennedy. i am glad to see my former captor, and i am as grateful as ever to you for the silence you maintained as to that affair. if it had been known to my enemies i should never have heard the last of it. they would have made me such a laughing- stock that i could scarcely have retained office. now, what can i do for you?" "it is a long story, my lord." "then i cannot listen to it now; but if you will sup with me here at nine o'clock this evening i shall be glad to hear it. i am so harassed by the backstair intrigues of my enemies that it would be a relief to me to have something else to think of." gerald returned at the appointed time. nothing was said as to his affairs while supper was served, but after the table in the irish brigade had been cleared, decanters of port placed on the table, and the servants had retired, godolphin said: "now, captain kennedy, let us hear all about it." gerald related the history of his younger days, and of the manner in which he had discovered his real parentage, pro- ducing the certificate of his baptism, a statement which had been drawn up at cork and signed by norah rooney, and the testimony of the duke of berwick and the other irish officers. "there can be no doubt whatever, in the mind of any fair man," lord godolphin said, after listening attentively to the whole story and examining the documents, "that your uncle, john o'carroll is a villain, and that you have been most un- justly deprived of your rights. i know him by name, and from the reports of our agents in ireland, as one of the men who turned his coat and changed his religion to save his es- tates. those men i heartily despise, while those who gave up all and went into exile in order, as they believed, there to serve the cause of their rightful sovereign, are men to be ad- mired and respected. be assured that justice shall be done you. of course you will take action in the courts?" "i shall first summon him to give up the estate, shall let him know that i have indisputable evidence to prove that i am the son of his elder brother, and shall say that if he will give up possession peaceably i will take no further steps in the matter for the sake of the family name. if he refuses, as i fear is probable, i must then employ a lawyer." "yes, and a good one. i will furnish you with letters to the lord-lieutenant and to lord chief justice cox, strongly recommending you to them, and requesting the latter to appoint one of the law officers of the crown to take up your case. i should say that when this john o'carroll sees that you have such powerful friends he will perceive that it is hopeless for him to struggle in so bad a cause, and will very gerald 'carroll speedily accept your terms, though methinks it is hard that so great a villain should go unpunished. now it will be as well that you should have something stronger than the safe- conduct that i sent you. i will therefore draw out a docu- ment for her majesty to sign, granting you a full and free pardon for any offences that you may have committed against her and the realm, and also settling upon you the estates to which you are rightful heir in and about the barony of kilkargan, being influenced in so doing by the great services rendered by you both to her majesty's well-beloved and faithful minister and counsellor, myself, and to her trusty general, the earl of galway. "the queen is not very likely to ask the nature of the ser- vice. unless it be something that concerns herself she asks but few questions, and signs readily enough the documents laid before her. if she asks what are the offences for which she grants her pardon, i shall say, when but a boy you were maliciously sent abroad to join the irish brigade by your uncle, who wished thus to rid himself of you altogether, and who had foully wronged you by withholding your name from you and all others. i shall also add that you have distin- guished yourself much, and have gained the friendship of her half-brother, the duke of berwick; and you know that the queen in her heart of hearts would rather that her brother, whom you jacobites call james hi, should succeed her than the elector of hanover, for whom she has no love." "i thank you greatly indeed, my lord; never was a man so amply rewarded for merely holding his tongue." "it was not only that, sir; it was your conduct in general to me. you might have left me tied up in that house, to be found in the morning and to be made the jest of the town, instead of which you yourself conducted and guarded me hither, and so contrived it that no whisper spread abroad that gerald ocarroll queen grants me the estates of my father, i shall consider myself bound in honour not to draw my sword against her or to mix myself up in any plot or conspiracy, but to remain strictly neutral whatever may be going on. indeed, the more i think of it the more i doubt whether it would be for the good of ireland did the stuarts return to the throne; it could only be done at a further cost of blood and misery. the old religious quarrels would break out more fiercely than ever, there would be risings and civil wars, confiscations and massacres, which- ever side happened to get the upper hand. that james iii is the lawful sovereign of the three kingdoms i shall always uphold, but there are cases when it is to the benefit of the country at large that there should be a change in the succes- sion." "sure that may be so, your honour; and yet it is hard that a man should be kept out of his own." "no doubt it is hard; but it is far harder that thousands of people should be killed, and tens of thousands ruined, for the sake of one man." "so it is, sir; so it is, sure enough, when one comes to think of it. ireland has suffered mightily in the cause of the stuarts, and i don't suppose that if king james succeeded to the throne his english ministers would let him turn out all the men who have taken the places and lands of the old families." "that they certainly would not, mike. when charles ii returned from exile all those who had fought and suffered for him thought that they would recover their estates and turn out cromwell's men, to whom they had been granted; but they were disappointed. the king found that he could not make so great a change without upsetting the whole country, and that an attempt to do so would cost him his crown; and you may be sure that james would find an equal difficulty were he to come to the throne." (m ) t in the irish brioade "well, well, your honour, you know more of such matters than i do; but i have no doubt that you are right. i am sure we don't want the bad times to come over again in ireland." three days later gerald received a message from lord godolphin saying that he wished to see him, and on going to his house the minister handed to him the paper with the full pardon and the confirmation of his ownership in his father's estates, together with a letter to the lord-lieutenant and the lord chief justice cox. the next day he took ship for dublin, and on arriving there presented his letters and was well received by those to whom they were directed. the lord-lieutenant said: "it is enough for me, mr. o'car- roll, that lord godolphin speaks of you in such high terms, and i question not that he has thoroughly satisfied himself as to your right to these estates. at the same time i should be glad if you will give me a brief outline of how it is that you never claimed them before, though perhaps it is as well that you did not do so, for until the passions excited by the war had somewhat subsided a friend of the government would hardly have interposed for the benefit of the son of one who had died fighting for james." gerald had drawn up three copies of a statement containing a precis of the case, and he handed one of these to the lord- lieutenant, saying, "as the story is a somewhat long one, my lord, i have written it down in order that you might read it at your leisure." "i will certainly do so, mr. o'carroll. i should like to be personally acquainted with the details of the matter. it will doubtless excite a considerable stir. it is, i believe, the first time that a supporter of the government has had to defend his title against one of the family that fought on the other side." "it is hardly a case of royalist and rebel, sir, but the de- gerald o carroll liberate action of a man suppressing all knowledge of the ex- istence of his own nephew in order that he might himself obtain the property of his dead brother. i have no doubt that had it been known that i was in existence i should still have been thrust aside in order to reward his adhesion to the cause of william, but that would have made his position intol- erable. as one who has changed his religion and his politics, he is regarded as a traitor by the people of the barony and avoided by all the gentry round; but the feeling would have been infinitely stronger if it had been known that he was keeping his own nephew out of his inheritance. my father was, as i understand, immensely popular, and i doubt whether his brother would have dared to show his face within fifty miles of kilkargan had it been known that not only was he a traitor, hut a usurper." the lord-lieutenant smiled. "i am not surprised at your warmth, mr. o'carroll; but unfortunately your case is not a solitary one. there are thousands of men in ireland who have suffered for the deeds of their fathers. however, i shall understand the case better when i have read your state- ment." it was evident to gerald that the lord chief justice, who had taken a leading part in the prosecution and punishment of persons known to be favourable to the jacobite cause, was not altogether pleased with lord godolphin's letter. "a strange affair," he said; a "strange, and, as it appears to me, an unfortunate business. however, sir," he went on, with a changed tone, " i shall certainly do my best to see jus- tice done in accordance with his lordship's request. i will read carefully through this statement of your claim, and, after considering it, place it in the hands of the crown lawyers. but it seems to me that your own position here is a strange one, and that you yourself are liable to arrest as a member gerald o'carroix by this mrs. rooney to kilkargan. that can be proved be- yond all question; and the fact that your nurse was sent off without having any conversation save with john o'carroll himself, would show how anxious he was that no one but him- self should know her errand. "i must say that you have shown great acumen in mus- tering evidence of all kinds that would bear upon the question. i say frankly that without this royal rescript, and the in- fluence of these two noblemen, your chance, as james o'car- roll's son, of wresting your patrimony from the hands of your uncle would be small indeed. politics have, much more than facts, to do with decisions here, but with such powerful cre- dentials, and with the chief minister of england interfering on your behalf, i think that there is no great doubt that you will secure a judgment in your favour. when the facts are known, the feeling of the greater portion of the population will run strongly with you, and against this unnatural un- cle of yours." "i should be desirous, if possible, sir, of avoiding a pub- lic trial that would bring discredit upon the name of my fam- ily, and would, in the eyes of the supporters of the present government, act prejudicially to myself." "you are quite right. how do you propose to proceed?" "i was thinking, sir, of sending a statement to my uncle similar to that which i laid before you, going somewhat fur- ther into details, and promising that if he would surrender the property to me and publicly acknowledge me as his nephew, giving what reason he chose for having so long concealed his knowledge of the fact, i would take no proceedings against him, and would do my best to prevent any discredit falling upon him." "that would do very well," the kwyer said, "but i should abstain from making any allusion to the protectors you have in the irish brigade gained. he will learn that soon enough, and it will be well to see what his first impulse is. do not mention the names of the duke of berwick and the others, who have testified to your likeness to your late father; simply say that many of his comrades have recognized your likeness to him. it is of no use showing him all the cards we have to play. i should not send the letter by post, but by hand. if you like i will despatch one of my own messengers down with it, with instructions to bring back an answer, but not to say any- thing, i'f questioned, as to his being in my employment" the next morning the messenger started by coach forkil- kargan. he returned four days later, bearing john o'car- roll's answer. it read as follows:— sir,—i have received your audacious letter, and proclaim you to be an impostor, worthy of the severest punishment for attempting to personate a son of my late brother. how- ever, for the sake of my friendship for mr. kennedy, your father, i give you twenty-four hours to leave the country, be- fore laying any information against you, both as an impostor and as a rebel who has served against the armies of her ma- jesty. i shall, however, at once apply for a writ ordering your arrest, which will be served upon you within twenty- four hours of your receipt of this communication. i shall also have this woman, your pretended nurse, arrested for per- jury and conspiracy. gerald took this letter to the counsellor. "that is exactly what i expected," he said after reading it. "it shows the man in his true colours. we shall see what he says when he learns who are employed against him, and what protection you have obtained. my opinion is that before gerald ocarroll lord godolphin and the earl of galway have become my patrons, that the queen has restored to me my rights, and mr. counsellor fergusson has taken up my case. he there- fore declares that, as it was always his intention to restore the estate to me as soon as i could safely return, he is now ready to do so, and only hopes that i will not insist upon his handing over the back rents, which indeed i question whether i could do, as the estate was granted to him person- ally by the government. however, of course i shall not press that. i shall be only too glad to obtain possession without the scandal of having to show in the public courts that my father's brother was a villain." "the ould fox!" mike exclaimed indignantly. "i felt sure, when you told me what the counsellor had said, tha't he would wriggle out of it somehow. i would give all the gold pieces i have in my belt for half an hour's talk with him with a good shillelah." "well, we can afford to let bygones be bygones, mike. and after all he did me a service unwittingly in sending me over to france. in the first place, i had three years of stir- ring life; in the next, i have made many good friends, and have gained the patronage of two powerful noblemen, with- out which i should have assuredly never come in for kilkar- gan at all." "that is true for you, your honour. and without it i might be still a private in o'brien's regiment instead of being your honour's body-servant." "and friend, mike." "yes, sir, as you are good enough to say so." mr. fergusson put john o'carroll's letter down with a gesture of disgust after he had read it. "it is what might have been expected from such a man," he said. "a traitor to the cause he once adhered to, false to his religion, and a in the irish brigade usurper of his nephew's rights. at any rate, mr. o'carroll, i congratulate you. it has prevented a grievous scandal from being made public, and the large expenditure entailed by such a case. you have now only to go down and take possession." "i shall write to my uncle, and give him a week to clear out and to make what explanation he chooses of the change." gerald wrote at once to his uncle. it was coldly worded, and showed unmistakably that he was in no way deceived by the professions in his letter. he told him that he considered it fair that he should retain the savings he had made, as he had personally been confirmed in the ownership of kilkargan, the government being ignorant that his brother had left a son. he said that he thought it would be more pleasant for both of them that they should not meet, and wished therefore that he would leave before his arrival to take possession. john o'carroll at once summoned the tenants, and aston- ished them by informing them that he was glad to say he was free at last to lay down the position he had held as owner of kilkargan. that his brother james had left a son whom they all knew as desmond kennedy, but whom he had been obliged to treat with coldness lest suspi- cions should be excited as to his identity. had this been known, he would assuredly have been proscribed as the son of a rebel, and debarred by law from any inheritance. he was delighted to say that the time had come when he could pub- licly acknowledge him and place him in possession of the es- tate, as tier majesty had granted him a special indemnity against the pains and penalties incurred by his father's act of rebellion and treason, and had restored to him his full rights. a burst of cheering, such as had not been heard in kilkar- gan since james o'carroll rode out at the head of a troop raised among his tenantry to fight for king james, greeted gerald carkoll the announcement, and for the first time since that event john o'carroll was for the moment popular. subsequent reflection and their knowledge of his character soon dissipated that feeling; but in their joy at the announced approaching arrival of their new master, john o'carroll rode away with his followers without the manifestation of hostility that would otherwise ha'e attended his departure. bonfires blazed all over the barony when gerald rode in, accompanied by mike. the tenants and a number of the gentry who had known him when a boy assembled at the castle to meet him, and even his father could not have met with a more enthusiastic welcome than that which was given him. the next day gerald wrote to the duke of berwick telling him what had taken place and resigning his commission in the irish brigade. "i intend," he said, " to abstain from all part in politics. although no condition was made in my par- don for serving abroad and in the restoration of my estate, i feel that, having accepted these favours, i must hold myself aloof from all plots against queen anne, though my heart will still be with him whom i hold to be my lawful sovereign. unless a large army from france was landed here, i believe that any attempt at his restoration would only bringdown fresh misery upon ireland. but should a force land that would render success almost a certainty, i should then, with the great bulk of my countrymen, join it." in due time he received an answer approving the course he had taken. "i myself," the duke said, "am under no de- lusions. with the ten regiments of the irish brigade, twenty thousand french troops, and arms sufficient to distrib- ute to the whole country, i believe that ireland and scotland might again come under the rule of the stuarts, but nothing short of such a force would be of any avail. so convinced was i of this, that in , after the successful defence of in the irish brigade limerick, i saw that the cause was for the time lost, and that further resistance would only prove disastrous to ireland. i therefore resigned my command and went over to france, to serve as a volunteer, and took no part in the war at home. therefore, i think that you are fully justified in the course you have taken. when the present war, which i think is approaching its end, terminates, and you can again visit france, i trust that i shall see you; and i am sure that you will receive the heartiest of welcomes from your comrades in the brigade." gerald followed out strictly the line he had laid down for himself, and kept aloof from the plots and conspiracies that for years agitated the country, entailing disaster upon all concerned in them. mike was installed as his body-servant and major-domo of his household, and norah kooney as housekeeper at the castle. three years later, in , the treaty of utrecht brought the war to an end. communications being restored between the two countries, gerald wrote to the baron de pointdexter and told him of the changes which had taken place in his po- sition. he received a warm letter in reply, urging him to go over and pay him and his son-in-law a visit. but gerald had had enough of travelling, and wrote to say that he could not leave his estate, as there was much to look after. letters were, however, frequently exchanged between them, and when, three years later, gerald married the daughter of the mr. kennedy he had visited near cork, a present of a su- perb set of jewels, the joint gift of the baron and monsieur de la vallee, arrived for the bride. after the conclusion of the peace some of the irish regi- ments were disbanded, and as the british government, wiser in the hush brigade scotland; and the terrible disasters that befell all who had taken part in the movement showed him the wisdom of the course he had adopted, of standing aloof from all intrigues in favour of the descendants of james l the end books for touno people g. a. henty's popular stories for boys. new volumes for - . mr. bent;, the most popular writer of books of adventure in england, adds three new volumes to his list this fall—books that will delight thousands of boys on this side who have become bis ardent admirers. with buller in natal or. a born leader. by (j. a. henty. with illustrations by w. rainey. mo, $ . . the breaking out of the boer war compelled chris king, the hero of the story, to flee with his mother from johannesburg to the sea coast. they were with many other uitlanders, and all suffered much from the boers. reaching a place of safety for their families, chris and twenty of his friends formed an independent company of scouts. in this service they were with gen. yule at glencoe, then in lady- smith, then with buller. in each place they had many thrilling ad- ventures. they were in great battles, and in lonely fights on the veldt; were taken prisoners and escaped; and they rendered most valuable service to the english forces. the story is a most interesting picture of the war in south africa. out with garibaldi a story of the liberation of italy. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. rainey, r. i. mo, $ . . garibaldi himself is the central figure of this brilliant story, and the little-known history of the struggle for italian freedom is told here in the most thrilling way. from the time the hero, a young lad, son of an english father and an italian mother, joins garibaldi's band of , men in the first descent upon sicily, which was garrisoned by one of the large neapolitan armies, until the cud, when all those armies are beaten, and the two sicilys are conquered, we follow with the keenest interest the exciting adventures of the lad in scouting, in battle, and in freeing those in prison for liberty's sake. in the irish brigade by g. a. henty. mo, $ . . desmond kennedy is a young irish lad who left ireland to join the irish brigade in the service of louis xiv. of france. in pans he in- curred the deadly hatred of a powerful courtier from whom he had rescued a young girl who had been kidnapped, and his perils are of ab- sorbing interest. captured in an attempted jacobite invasion of scot- land, he escaped in a most extraordinary manner. as aide-de-«amp to the duke of berwick he experienced thrilling adventures in flan- ders. transferred to the army in spain, he was nearly assassinated, but escaped to return, when peace was declared, to his native land, having received pardou and having recovered his estates. the story is filled with adventure, and the interest never abates. books for yottno people s by g. a. henty. "sorely mr. henty should understand boys' tastes better than any man living."— the timet. won by the sword a tale of the thirty years' war. with illustrations by charles m. sheldon, and plans. mo, $ . . the scene of this story is laid in france, during the time of richelieu, of mazarin and anne of austria. the hero, hector campbell, is the orphaned son of a scotch officer in the french army. how he at- tracted the notice of marshal turenne and of the prince of conde , how he rose to the rank of colonel; bow he finally had to leave france, pursued by the deadly hatred of the due de beaufort—all these and much more the story tells with the most absorbing interest no surrender the story of the revolt in la vendee. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. mo, $ . . the revolt of la vendee against the french republic at the time of the revolution forms the groundwork of this absorbing story. leigh stansfield, a young english lad, is drawn into the thickest of the con- flict. forming a compauy of boys as scouts for the vend^an army, he greatly aids the peasants. he rescues his sister from the guillotine, and finally, after many thrilling experiences, when the cause of la vendee is lost, he escapes to england. a roving commission or, through the black insurrection at hayti. with illus- trations by william rainey. mo, $ . . this is one of the most brilliant of mr. henty's books. a story of the sea, with all its life and action, it is also full of thrilling adven- tures on land. so it holds the keenest interest until the end. the scene is a new one to mr. henty's readers, being laid at the time of the great revolt of the blacks, by which hayti became independent. toussalnt l'overture appears, and an admirable picture is given of him and of his power. at aboukir and acre a story of napoleon's invasion of egypt. with full-page illustrations by william rainey, and plans. ruo, $ . . the hero, having saved the life of the son of an arab chief, is taken into the tribe, has a part in the battle of the pyramids and the revolt at cairo. he is an eye-witness of the famous naval battle of aboukir, and later is in the hardest of the defense of acre. r, boors for tousa peoplb by o. a. henty "both like stirring adventures, and mr. benty la a master of this method of composition."—hew 'ork times. at agincourt a tale of the 'white hoods of paris. with full-page illustrations by walteb paget. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the story begins in a grim feudal castle in normandie. the times were troublous, and soon the king compelled lady margaret de villeroy with her children to go to paris as hostages. guy aylmer went with her. paris was turbulent. soon the guild of the butchers, adopting white hoods as their uniform, seized the city, and besieged the house where our hero and his charges lived. after desperate lighting, the white hoods were beatt n and our hero and his charges escaped from the city, and from france. with cochrane the dauntless a tale of the exploits of lord cochrane in south american waters. with full-page illustrations by w. h. margktson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story accompanies cochrane as midshipman, and serves in the war between chili and peru. he has many exciting adventures in battles by sea and land, is taken prisoner and condemned to death by the inquisition, but escapes by a long and thrilling flight across south america and down the amazon, piloted by two faithful indians. the tiger of mysore a story of the war with tippoo saib. with full-page illustrations by w. h. mabgetson, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . dick holland, whose father is supposed to be a captive of tippoo saib, goes to india to help him to escape. he joins the army under lord cornwallis, and takes part in the campaign against tippoo. afterwards he assumes a disguise, enters seringapatam, and at last he discovers his father in the great stronghold of savandroog. the hazardous rescue is at length accomplished, and the young fellow's dangerous mission is done. through russian snows a stoiy of napoleon's retreat from moscow. with full- page illustrations by w. h. ovkrend, and maps. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, julian wyatt, after several adventures with smugglers, by whom he is handed over a prisoner to the french, regains his freedom and joins napoleon's army in the russian campaign. when the terrible retreat begins, julian finds himself in the rear guard of the french army, fighting desperately. ultimately he escapes out of the general disaster, and returns to england. ss ror tovso psoplb by g. a. henty "here we have mr. george henty—the bojs' own author."—punch. a knight of the white cross a tale of the siege of rhodes. with full-page illustra- tions by ralph peacock, and a flan. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . gervaise tresham, the hero of this story, joins the order of the knights of st. john, and proceeds to the stronghold of rhodes. sub- sequently he is appointed commander of a war-galley, and in his first voyage destroys a fleet of moorish corsairs. during one of his cruises the young knight is attacked on shore, captured after a desperate struggle, and sold into slavery in tripoli. he succeeds in escaping, and returns to rhodes in time to take part in the defense of that fortress. wulf the saxon a story of the norman conquest. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero is a young thane who wins the favor of earl harold and be- comes one of bis retinue. when harold becomes king of england wnlf assists in the welsh wars, and takes part against the norsemen at the battle of stamford bridge. when william of normandy invades eng- land, wulf is with the english host at hasting*, and stands by his king to the last in the mighty struggle. beric the briton a story of the roman invasion. by q. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . , this story deals with the invasion of britain by the roman legionaries. beric, who is a boy-chief of a british tribe, takes a prominent part in the insurrection under boadicea; and after the defeat of that beroio queen (in a. d. ( ) he continues the struggle in the fen-country. ulti- mately beric is defeated and carried captive to rome, where he is trained in the exercise of arms in a school of gladiators. at length he returns to britain, where he becomes ruler of his own people. when london burned a story of the plague and the fire. by g. a henty. with full-page illustrations by j. ftnnehobe. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story was the son of a nobleman who had lost his estates during the tronblous times of the commonwealth. during the great plague and the great fire, cyril was prominent among those wh» brought help to the panio-stricken inhabitants. books fob touno people droll doings illustrated by habry b. neilson, with verses by the cockiolly bird. to, decorated boards. $ . . a new, original, and very amusing book of animal pictures in color. br carton moore park a book of birds profusely illustrated with full-page plates, vignettes, cover design, &c, &c. demy to ( inches by inches). $ . no artist has caught more thoroughly the individualities of the bird world, or has reproduced them with more lifelike vivacity and charm. an alphabet of animals with full-page plates, a large number of vignettes, and cover design by carton moore park, demy to ( inches by inches), $ . . a strikingly artistic alphabet hook. mr. park's drawings are marked by extraordinary boldness and vigor of treatment; but they display in addition a rare appreciation of the subtler characteristics of the animal world. of these individual traits mr. park has an intuitive percep- tion, and his pictures may almost be said to live upon the page. bright and original fairy tales the princess of hearts by isheila e. braine. with illustrations by alice b. woodward, and frontispiece in colors. square vo, gilt edges, $ . . go tell the king the sky is falling by sheila e. braine. with illustrations by alice b. woodward. square crown vo, $ . . the little browns by mabel e. wolton. with illustrations by h. m. brock, and a colored frontispiece. square vo, gilt edges, $ . . the little browns are a delightful set of youngsters, more than usually individual and self-reliant. during their parents' absence they rxteud hospitality to a stranger, under the belief that he is their uncle from australia. the supposed uncle is really a burglar, and by their courage and childish resource they outwit him. the little jhvumt is the work of a true child-lover. books for youho people capt. f. s. brereton with rifle and bayonet a story of the boer war. with illustrations by wal. paget. crown vo, olivine edges. $ . . jack tomerten, the hero of with rifle and bayonet, is an english boy who chances to be spending a vacntion at the home of a school friend in the trausvaa. just before the outbreak of the boer war. jack is the first uitlander tc find actual evidence that the boers are import- ing arms and ammunition in large quantities, but the boers soon learn that he has discovered their secret and from that time his life is in constant danger. the account of bis adventures and escapes during this time and throughout the war makes one of the best war tales of many years. the story gives also the most interesting details of transvaal his- tory, who the boers were, how they came to settle the transvaal, aud the government and customs that have arisen among them. in the king's service a tale of cromwell's invasion of ireland. with eight page illustrations by stanley l. wood. crown vo, olivine edges. $ . . dick granville is the eon of a royalist who u driven from his home in cheshire and takes refuge at castle driscoe, in ireland. when the parliamentary army crosses to ireland young dick granville and his cousin join a body of royalist horse. they take part in the defense of drogheda, only escaping from the slaughter there by a miracle, and afterwards go through a series of thrilling adventures and narrow es- capes in which dick displays extraordinary skill and resource. with shield and assegai a tale of the zulu war. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. crown vo. $ . . donald stewart, the son of an english missionary in zululand, when at school in england, is wrongfully accused of theft. he runs away, enlists in the british army, and is sent to africa. there he learns that his sister and a friend are in the hands of cetewayo. disguised as a zulu, he rescues the two girls ; and after the attack upon ulundt, he hears from a dying officer a confession of the theft of which he was ac- cused. fighting the matabele by j. chalmers. with illustrations by stanley l. wood. mo. $ . . a stout english bowman being a story of chivalry in the days of henry iii. by edgar pickering. with illustrations. price, $ . . in press-gang days by edgar pickering. with full page illustrations by w. s. stacey. crown vo. $ . . books for touso pboplb ill by kirk munroe midshipman stuart or, the last cruise of the essex. a tale of the war of . illustrated. mo, $ . in pirate waters a tale of the american navy. illustrated hy i. w. tabkr. mo, $ . . the hero of the story becomes a midshipman in the navy just at the time of the war with tripoli. his own wild adventures among the turks and his love romance are thoroughly interwoven with the stirring history of that time. the "white conquerors" series with crockett and bowie or, fighting for the lone star flag. a tale of texas.. with full-page illustrations t>y victor pibrard. crown vo, $ . . the story is of the texas revolution in , when american texans under sam houston, bowie, crockett and travis, fought for relief from the intolerable tyranny of the mexican santa ana. the hero, rex hardin, son of a texan ranchman and graduate of an american military school, takes a prominent part in the heroic defense of the alamo, and the final triumph at san jacinto. t through swamp and glade a tale of the seminole war. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations by v. pjbrard. crown vo,$l. . coacoochee, the hero of the story, is the son of philip the chieftain of the seminoles. he grows up to lead his tribe in the long struggle which resulted in the indians being driven from the north of florida down to the distant southern wilderness. at war with pontiac or, the totem of the bear. a tale of redcoat and red- skin. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustra- tions by j. finnemore. crown vo, $ . . a story when the shores of lake erie were held by hostile indiana the hero, donald hester, goes in search of his sister edith, who has l>een captured by t.h» indiana strange and terrible are his experi- ences ; ior ne is wounded, taken prisoner, condemned to be burned, but '■ontrives to escape. in the end all things terminate happily. the white conquerors a tale of toltec and aztec. by kirk munroe. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . this story deals with the conquest of mexico by cortes and his spaniards, the "white conquerors," who, after many deeds of valor, pushed their way into the great aztec kingdom and established their power in the wondrous city where montezuma reigned in splendor. books for touxq psoplh by dr. cordon stables courage true heart a brilliant new story of danger and daring on the sea. by gordon stables, m.d., cm. illustrated, crown vo, $ . . a naval cadet a story of adventure by sea. by gordon stables, m.d., cm. illustrated, crown vo, $ . . for life and liberty a story of battle by land and sea. by gordon stables, m.d., cm. with full-page illustrations by sidney paget. mo, $ . . • the story of an english bov who runs from home and joins the south- ern arm; in the late civil war. his chum enters the navy, and their various adventures are set forth with great vigor and interest. to greenland and the pole a story of adventure in the arctic regions. by gordon stables, m.d., cm. with full-page illustrations by g. c hindley, and a map. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the author is himself an old arctio voyager, and he deals with deer- hunting in norway, sealing in the arctio seas, bear-stalking on the ice-floes, the hardships of a journey across greenland, and a successful voyage to the back of the north pole. westward with columbus by gordon stables, m.d., cm. with full-page illustra- tions by alfred pearse. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the hero of this story is columbus himself. his career is traced from boyhood onward through the many hazardous enterprises in which he was at various times engaged. the narrative deals chiefly, however, with the great naval venture which resulted in the discovery of the american continent. twdct school and college a, tale of self-reliance. by gordon stables, m.d., cm. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . books for totnto pbopls by harry collinqwood the log of a privateersman by harry colltngwood. with full-page illustrations by w. rainey, r.i. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . in the war between napoleon and the british, many privateers were sent out from england to seize and destroy the french merchant vessels. on one of these george bowen went as second mate. long distance duels at sea, fights at close quarters, tierce boarding attacks, capture and recapture, flight and pursuit, storm and wreck, fire at sea and days with- out food or water in a small boat on the ocean, are some of the many thrilling experiences oar hero passed through. the log of "the flying fish." a story of aerial and submarine peril and adventure. by harry colungwood. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . in this story the aim of the author has been, not only to interest and amuse, but also to stimulate a taste for scientific study. the missing merchantman. by harry colltngwood. with full-page pictures by w. h. ovebend. crown vo, $ . . a fine australian clipper is seized by the crew, the passengers are landed on one deserted island, the captain and a junior officer on another; and the young hero of the story is kept on board to navigate the ship, which the mutineers refit as a private vessel. after many adventures ned succeeded in carrying off the ship, and in picking up the captain and the passengers. the congo rovers a tale of the slave squadron. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by j. scb nberg. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the scene of this thrilling tale is laid on the west coast of africa among the slavers. the rover's secret a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry colldjgwood. with full-page illustrations by w. c. symons. crown vo, $ . . the hero of " the rover's secret," a young officer of the british navy, narrates his peculiar experiences in childhood and his subsequent perils and achievements. the pirate island a story of the south pacific. by harry collingwood. illustrated by full-page pictures by c. j. stantland and j. r. wells. olivine edges. crown vo, $ . . this story details the adventures of a lad who was found in his infancy on board a wreck, and is adopted by a fisherman. going to sea, he forms one of a party who, after being burned out of their ship, are picked up by a pirate brig and taken to the "pirate island," where they have many thrilling adventures. books fob tormo people by george manville fenn "mr. pena is in the front rank of writers for boys."—liverpool mercury. dick <y the fens a romance of the great east swamp. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, $ . . brownsmith's boy with page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . yussuf the guide being the strange story of travels in asia minor. with full page illustrations. crown vo, $ . . the golden magnet a tale of the land of the incas. with full-page pic- tures by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . nat the naturalist a boy's adventures in the eastern seas. illustrated by full-page pictures by george browne. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . quicksilver or, a boy with no skid to his wheel. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, $ . . devon boys a tale of the north shore. with full-page illustra- tions by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . mother carey's chicken her voyage to the unknown isle. with full-page illus- trations. crown vo, $ . . bunyip land the story of a wild journey in new guinea. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . in the king's name or, the cruise of the keatrel. illustrated by full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . menhardoc a story of cornish nets and mines. with full-page illustrations by c. j. staniland. crown vo, $ . . patience wins or, war in the works. with full-page niustrations. crown vo. $ . . books for tou.vo people fl stories of adventure by sea and land paris at bay a story of the siege and the commune. by herbert hayens. with full-page illustrations by stanley l. wood. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . the turkish automaton a tale of the time of catharine the great of russia. by sheila e. braine. with full-page illustrations by william rainey, r. i. crown vo, $ . . a mystery of the pacific by oliphant smeaton. with illustrations by wal paget. mo, olivine edges, $ . . gold, gold, in cariboo a story of adventure in british columbia. by clive phillipps-wolley. with full-page illustrations by g. c. hindley. crown vo, $ . . his first kangaroo an australian story for boys. by arthur ferres. with illustrations by p. b. . spener. crown vo, $ . . sou'wester and sword by hugh st. leger. with full-page illustrations by hal hurst. crown vo, $ . . with the sea kings a story of the days of lord nelson. by f. h. winder. with full-page illustrations by w. s. stacey. crown vo, $ . . the wigwam and the war-path stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. illustrated by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . "mr. hope's 'wigwam and war-path' is notably good; it gives a very vivid picture of life among the indians."—spectator. the seven wise scholars by ascott r. hope. illustrated by gordon browne. square vo, $ . . young travellers' tales by ascott r. hope. with full-page illustrations by h. j. draper. crown vo, $ . . books for to uno people some books for girls the reign of the princess naska by amelia hutchison stirling. with illustrations by paul hardy. mo, $ . . the whispering winds and the tales that they told. by mary h. debenham. with illustrations by paul hardy. crown ro, si . . ' we wish the winds would tell us stories like these." —london academy. things will take a turn by beatrice habraden, author of "ships that pass in the night." illustrated. mo, $ . . it is the story of a sunny-hearted child, rosebud, who assists her grandfather in his dusty, second-hand bookshop. naughty miss bunny her tricks and troubles. by clara mulholland. illus- trated. crown vo, cents. "this naughty child is positively delightful."—land and water. unlucky a fragment of a girl's life. by caroline austin. hlus- trated. crown vo, cents. a touching story of an unlucky girl at odds with her stepmother. laugh and learn the easiest book of nursery lessons and nursery games. by jennbtt humphreys. charmingly illustrated. square vo, $ . . "one of the best books of the kind imaginable, full of practical teach- ing in word and picture, and helping the little ones pleasantly along a right royal road to learning."—graphic adventures in toyland by edith king hall. with colored plates and other illustrations by alice b. woodward. square vo, $ . . the story of what a little girl heard and saw in a toy shop. books for to uno people some books for girls. a newnham friendship by alice stronach. with illustrations by harold cop- ping. crown vo. $ . . in a nevmham friendship we have a description of life at newnham college. carol martin, a third-year student, befriends a "fresher," elspeth macleod, a shy, sensitive highland girl, who has worked her way from a board school to college. the enmity of a fellow-student and a mystery about some parodies cloud elspeth's happiness for a time. but the clouds clear. men students play their part in the s ory, and the closing chapters describe the work of some of the girls as "social settlers" in the east of london. three fair maids or, the burkes of derrymore. by katharine tynan. with illustrations by g. d. hammond. crown vo, olivine edges. $ . . a story of irish country life. the three fair maids are the daughters of an impoverished irish lady. their father had been disinherited by bis uncle for marrying against his wish. sir jasper's disinheritance obliged them to give up their great house, derrymore, but the family is ultimately reconciled with uncle peter, who makes elizabeth his heiress. queen charlotte's maidens by sarah tytler, author of " girl neighbors." with il- lustrations by paul hardy. mo. cts. girl neighbors or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with full-page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown vo. $ . . "oirl neighbors is a pleasant comedy, not so much of errors as of prejudices got rid of, very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written."—london spectator. the heiress of courtleroy by anne beale. with page illustrations by t. c. h. castle. crown vo, cloth; elegant, olivine edges. $ . . "miss anne beale relates how the young 'helress of courtleroy' bad such good influence over her uncle as to win him from his in- tensely selfish ways in regard to his tenants and others."—london qvardian. books fob youno people some books for girls. cynthia's bonnet shop by rosa mulholland. with illustrations by q. d. ham- mond. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . cynthia, one of an impoverished connaught family, desires to make money for the sake of her delicate mother. if she had only capital she would open a millinery establishment in london. the capital is mysteriously supplied, and the secret of the unknown benefactor is kept to the end. how she finds new interests in life, more important even than the bonuet shop, is described wilh mingled humor and pathos in this charming story. by rosa mulholland. banshee castle. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . the story of three bright and lively young girls who fall heir to an old castle in the west of ireland. their struggles to live in it on little money, and their strange ex-, periences, are deeply interesting. four little mischiefs. illustrated. crown vo, c. "a charming bright story about real children."— watchman. giannetta. a girl's story of herself. il- lustrated. crown vo, $ . . "extremely well told and full of interest."—academy. hetty gray: or, nobody's bairn. illus- strated. crown vo, $ . . the late miss hollingford. illustrated. crown vo, c. this story was a special favorite of charles dickens, and the title was chosen by him. a girl's loyalty by frances armstrong. with illustrations by john h. bacon. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . helen grant received from her grandfather on his deathbed a secret message. this influenced her whole life, but she was loyal to her trust and to her friends. a fair claimant being a story for girls. by frances armstrong. with full-page illustrations by gertrude d. hammond. crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . an exiting story of a young girl, the rightful heir to a large fortune, who has been kept out of it, but who most honorably regains it, after much trial and difficulty. the troubles of tatters and other stories. by alice talwin morris. with charming illustrations in black and white by alice b. woodward. square vo, $ . . the author of these stories is evidently able to talk with beasts and birds m their own language, and here puts down the important infor- mation gained, in a style that children will find absorbing and their elders tender and sympathetic books for young people some books for girls by alice corkran down the snow stairs or, from good-night to good- morning. by alice cork- ran. with character illustrations by gordon browne. square crown vo, olivine edges, $ . . "a gem of the first water, hear- ing upon every one of its pages the signet mark of genius. . . . all is told with such simplicity and perfect naturalness that the dream appears to be a solid reality. it is indeed a little pilgrim's progress."— christian leader. margery merton's girlhood by alice corkran. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, $ . . the experience of an orphan irl who in infancy is left by her jatber, an officer in india, to the care of an elderly aunt residing near paris. joan's adventures at the north pole and else- where. by alice corkran. illustrated. crown vo, cts. a beautiful dream-land story. adventures of mrs. 'wishing- to-be by alice corkran. with full-page pictures in colors. crown vo, cts. by mrs. r. h. read dora; or, a girl without a home. illustrated. crown vo, $ . . nell's school days a story of town and country. by h. p. gkthen. with illustrations. price, $ . . violet vereker's vanity by annie e. armstrong. with illustrations by g. d. hammond. crown vo, . $ . . three bright girls a story of chance and mis- chance. by annie e. arm- strong. with full-page illustrations by w. park- inson. crown vo, $ . . "among many good stories for girls this is undoubtedly one of the very best."—teacherv aid. a very odd girl life at the gabled farm by annie e. armstrong. with full-page ihustra- $ . . white lilac or, the queen of the may. by amy walton. illus- trated. crown vo, $ . . by marcaret parker for the sake of a friend a story of school life. il- lustrated. crown vo, $ . . charles scribner's sons ^w^' - harry rescues robesnierre from the assassins.—page . '" —in the eeion of terror* in the reign of terror. the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a. henty, ivthorof "bonnie prince charlie" "the lion of the north,-' "with clivtiu young carthaginian" "the dragon and the raven," with lee in virginia," "by pike and dyke," "ck bayley's heir," "by england's aid," "under drake's flag," "in freedom's cause," eta, illustrated by john schonbbro. a. l. burt company, * * * j> * * o» j» o» publishers. new york juvsnite preface. my dear lads: this time only a few words are needed, for the story speaks for itself. my object has been rather to tell you a tale of interest than to impart historical knowledge, for the facts of the dreadful time when "the terror" reigned supreme in france are well known to all educated lads. i need only say that such historical allusions as are necessary for the sequence of the story will be found correct, except that the noyades at nantes did not take place until a somewhat later period than is here assigned to them. yours sincerely, or. a. hentt. contents. chapter l mm. a journey to france.. chapter ii. a mad dog chapter iii. the demon wolf chapter iv the clouds gather. chapter v. the outburst chapter vi. the anxious time chapter vil the second of september chapter viii. marie arrested chapter ix. robespierre chapter x. free vi contents. chapter xl pass. marie and victor chapter xil nantes chapter xiii. in the hands of the reds chapter xiv. the noyades chapter xv. england in the reign of terror. chapter l a journey to france. "i don't know what to say, my dear." "why, surely, james, you are not thinking for a moment of letting him go?" "well, i don't know. yes, i am certainly think- ing of it, though i haven't at all made up my mind. there are advantages and disadvantages." "oh, but it is such a long way, and to live among those french people, who have been doing such dreadful things, attacking the bastile, and, as i have heard you say, passing all sorts of revolution- ary laws, and holding their king and queen almost as prisoners in paris!" "well, they won't eat him, my dear. the french assembly, or the national assembly, or whatever it ought to be called, has certainly been passing laws limiting the power of the king and abolishing many of the rights and privileges of the nobility and clergy; but you must remember that in the reign of terror. the condition of the vast body of the frenoh nation has been terrible. we have long conquered our liberties, and, indeed, never even in the height of the feudal system were the mass of the english peo- ple more enslaved than have been the peasants of france. "we must not be surprised, therefore, if in their newly-recovered freedom they push matters to an excess at first; but all this will right itself, and no doubt a constitutional form of government, some- what similiar to our own, will be established. but all this is no reason against harry's going out there. you don't suppose that the french people are going to fly at the throats of the nobility. why, even in the heat of the civil war here there was no instance of any personal wrong being done to the families of those engaged in the struggle, and in only two or three cases, after repeated risings, were any even of the leaders executed. "no; harry will be just as safe there as he would be here. as to the distance, it's nothing like so far as if he went to india, for example. i don't see any great chance of his setting the thames on fire at home. his school report is always the same —• conduct fair; progress in study moderate'— which means, as i take it, that he just scrapes along, that's it, isn't it, harry?" in the re n of terror. "fes, father, i think so. you see every one cannot be at the top of the form." "that's a very true observation, my boy. it is clear that if there are twenty boys in a class, nine- teen fathers have to be disappointed. still, of course, one would like to be the father who is not disappointed." "i stick to my work," the boy said; "but there are always fellows who seem to know just the right words without taking any trouble about it. it comes to them, i suppose." "what do you say to this idea yourself, harry?" "i don't know, sir," the boy said doubtfully. "and i don't know," his father agreed. "at any rate we will sleep upon it. i am clear that the offer is not to be lightly rejected." dr. sandwith was a doctor in chelsea. chelsea in the year was a very different place to chelsea of the present day. it was a pretty suburban hamlet, and was indeed a very fashionable quarter. here many of the nobility and personages connected with the court had their houses, and broad country fields and lanes separated it from the stir and din of london. dr. sandwith had a good practice, but he had also a large family. harry was at westminster, going backward and forward across the fields to school. so far he had evinced fif ms re gn op teltron. no predilection for any special career. he was a sturdy, well-built lad of some sixteen years old. he was, as his father said, not likely to set the thames on fire in any way. he was as undistinguished in the various sports popular among boys in those days as he was in his lessons. he was as good as the average, but no better; had fought some tough fights with boys of his own age, and had shown endurance rather than brilliancy. in the ordinary course of things he would probably in three or four years' time have chosen some profession; and, indeed, his father had already settled in his mind that as harry was not likely to make any great figure in life in the way of intellec- tual capacity, the best thing would be to obtain for him a commission in his majesty's service, as to which, with the doctor's connection among people of influence, there would not be any difficulty. he had, however, said nothing as yet to the boy on the subject. the fact that harry had three younger brothers and four sisters, and that dr. sandwith, who was obliged to keep up a good position, sometimes found it difficult to meet his various expenses, made him perhaps more inclined to view favorably the offer he had that morning received than would otherwise have been the case. two years before he had in the reign op terror s attended professionally a young french nobleman attached to the embassy. it was from him that the letter which had been the subject of conversation had been received. it ran as follows: "deae dootok sandwith: since my return from paris i have frequently spoken to my brother, the marquis of st. caux, respecting the difference of education between your english boys and our own. nothing struck me more when i was in london than your great schools. with us the children of good families are almost always brought up at home. they learn to dance and to fence, but have no other exercise for their limbs, and they lack the air of manly independence which struck me in english boys. they are more gentil—i do not know the word in your language which expresses it—they carry them- selves better, they are not so rough; they are more polite. there are advantages in both systems, but for myself i like yours much the best. my brother is, to some extent, a convert to my view. there are no such schools to which he could send his sons in france, for what large schools we have are under the management of the fathers, and the boys have none of that freedom which is the distinguishing point of the english system of education. even if there were such schools, i am sure that madame my sister-in-law would never hear of her sons being sent there. "since this is so, the marquis has concluded that the best thing would be to have an english boy of good family as their companion. he would, of course, study with them under their masters. he would play and ride with them, and would be treated as one of themselves. they would learn in the reign of terror. something of english from him, which would be useful if they adopt the diplomatic profession. he would learn french, which might also be useful to him; but of course the great point which my brother desires is that his sons should acquire some- thing of the manly independence of thought and action which distinguishes english boys. "having arranged this much, i thought of you. i know that you have several sons. if you have one of from fourteen to sixteen years, and you would bike him to take such a position for two or three years, i should be glad indeed to secure such a companion for my nephews. if not, would you do me the favor of looking round among your ac- quaintances and find us a lad such as we need. he must be a gentleman and a fair type of the boy we are speaking of. i may say that my brother author- izes me to offer in his name, in addition to all ex- penses, two thousand francs a year to the young gentleman who will thus benefit his sons. i do not think that the political excitement which is agita- ting paris need be taken into consideration. now that great concessions have been made to the repre- sentatives of the nation, it is not at all probable that there will be any recurrence of such popular tumults as that which brought about the capture of the bastile. but in any case this need not weigh in the decision, as my brother resides for the greater part of the year in his chateau near dijon in bur- gundy, far removed from the troubles in the capital." the more dr. sand with thought over the matter the more he liked it. there were comparatively few englishmen in those days who spoke the french language. it was, indeed, considered part of the in the reiqn of terror. education of a young man of good family to make what was called the grand tour of europe underthe charge of a tutor, after leaving the university. but these formed a very small proportion of society, and, indeed, the frequent wars which had, since the stuarts lost the throne of england, occurred be- tween the two countries had greatly interfered with continental travel. even now the subjects of france and england were engaged in a desperate struggle in india, al- though there was peace between the courts of ver- sailles and st. james. a knowledge of the french language then would be likely to be of great utility to harry if he entered the army; his expenses at westminster would be saved, and the two hundred and forty pounds which he would acquire during his three years' stay in france would be very useful to him on his first start in life. after breakfast next morning dr. sand with asked harry to take a turn in the garden with him, for the holidays had just begun. "what do you think of this, harry?" "i have not thought much about it one way or the other, sir," harry said, looking up with a smile. "it seemed to me better that you should do the thinking for both of us." "i might perhaps be better able to judge in the reign of terror. whether it would be advantageous or otherwise for you to accept the offer, but you must be the best judge as to whether you would like to accept it or not." "i can't quite make up ray mind as to that, sir. i like school very much and i like being at home. i don't want to learn frenchified ways, nor to eat frogs and snails and all sorts of nastiness; still, it would be fun going to a place so different to england, and hearing no english spoken, and learning all their rum ways, and getting to jabber french." "it might be very useful to you in the army, harry," and then the doctor stopped suddenly. "the army !" harry exclaimed in a tone of as- tonished delight. "oh, sir, do you really think of my going into the army? you never said a word about that before. i should like that immensely." "that slipped out, harry, for did not mean to say anything about it until you had left school; still, if you go to france i do not know why you should not keep that before you. i don't think the army is a very good profession, but you do not seem to have any marked talent for anything else. you don't like the idea of medicine or the church, and you were almost heartbroken when i wanted you to accept the offer of your uncle john of a seat in in the re ign of terror. his counting-house. it seems to me that the army would suit you better than anything else, and i have no doubt that i could get you a commission. now, whenever we fight france is sure to be on the other side, and i think that it would be of great advantage to you to have a thorough knowledge of french—a thing which very few officers in our army possess. if you accept this offer you will have the opportunity of attaining this, and at the same time of earning a nice little sum, which would pay for your outfit and supply you with pocket- money for some time." "yes, sir, it would be first rate!" harry exclaimed excitedly. "oh, please, accept the offer; i should like it of all things; and even if i do get ever so skinny on frogs and thin soup, i can get fat on roast beef again when i get back." "that is all nonsense, harry, about frogs and starving. the french style of cookery differs from ours, but they eat just as much, and although they may not, as a rule, be as broad and heavy as englishmen, that is simply a characteristic of race; the latin peoples are of slighter build than the teu- tonic. as to their food, you know that the romans, who were certainly judges of good living, considered the snail a great luxury, and i dare say ate frogs too. a gentleman who had made the grand tour in the beign of terror. told me that he had tasted them in paris and found them very delicate eating. you may not like the living quite at first, but you will soon get over that, and once accustomed to it you will like it quite as well as our solid joints. my principal objection to your going lies quite in another direction. public opinion in prance is much disturbed. in the national assembly, which is the same as our par- liament, there is a great spirit of resistance to the royal authority, something like a revolution has already been accomplished, and the king is little more than a prisoner." "but that would surely make no difference to me, sir!" "no, i don't see that it should, harry. still, it would cause your mother a good deal of anxiety." "i don't see it could make any difference," harry repeated; "and you see, sir, when i go into the army and there is war, mother would be a great deal more anxious." "you mean, harry," the doctor said with a smile, "that whether her anxiety begins a little sooner or later does not make much difference." "i don't think i quite meant that, sir," harry said; "but yes," he added frankly, after a moment's thought, " i suppose i did; but i really don't see that supposing there were any troubles in france it in the tteign of terro&. "he ought to be measured for several suits, m) dear," she said to her husband, "made bigger and bigger to allow for his growing." "nonsense, my daar! you do not suppose that clothes cannot be purchased in france! give him plenty of under-linen, but the fewer jackets and trousers he takes over the better; it will be much better for him to get clothes out there of the same fashion as other people; the boy will not want to be stared at wherever he goes. the best rule is always to dress like people round you. i shall give him money, and directly he gets there he can get a suit or two made by the tailor who makes for the lads he is going to be with. the english are no more loved in france than.the french are here, and though harry has no reason to be ashamed of his nationality there is no occasion for him to draw the attention of every one he meets to it by going about in a dress which would seem to them peculiar." in due time a letter was received from count auguste de st. caux, stating that the marquis had requested him to write and say that he was much gratified to hear that one of the doctor's own sons was coming over to be a companion and friend to his boys, and that he was sending off in the course of two days a gentleman of his household to calais to meet him and conduct him to paris. on young in the reign of terror. mr. sand wit h's arrival at calais he was to go at once to the hotel lion d'or and ask for m. du tillet. during the intervening time harry had been very busy, he had to say good-by to all his friends, who looked, some with envy, some with pity, upon him, for the idea of a three years' residence in france was a novel one to all. he was petted and made much of at home, especially by his sisters, who re- garded him in the light of a hero about to under- take a strange and hazardous adventure. three days after the arrival of the letter of the marquis dr. sand with and harry started by stage for dover, and the doctor put his son on board the packet sailing for calais. the evening before he gave him much good advice as to his behavior. "you will see much that is new, and perhaps a good deal that you don't like, harry, but it is better for you never to criticize or give a hostile opinion about things; you would not like it if a french boy came over here and made unpleasant remarks about english ways and manners. take things as they come and do as others do; avoid all comparisons between french and english customs; fall in with the ways of those around you; and adopt as far as you can the polite and courteous manner which is general among the french, and in which, i must in the reign of terror. say, they are far ahead of us. if questioned, you will, of course, give your opinion frankly and modestly; it is the independence of thought among english boys which has attracted the attention and approval of auguste de st. caux. "be natural and simple, giving yourself no airs, and permitting none on the part of the lads you are with; their father says you are to be treated as their equal. but, upon the other hand, do not be ever on the lookout for small slights, and bear with perfect good temper any little ridicule your, to them foreign, ways and manners may excite. i need not tell you to be always straightforward, honest, and true, for of those qualities i think you possess a fair share. above all things restrain any tendency to use your fists; fighting comes naturally to english boys, but in france it is considered as brutal and degrading—a blow is a deadly insult, and would never be forgiven. "so, whatever the provocation, abstain from striking any one. should you find that in any way your position is made intolerable, you will of course appeal to the marquis, and unless you obtain redress you will come home—you will find no difficulty in traveling when you once understand the language —but avoid anything like petty complaints. i trust there will be no reason for complaints at all, in the reign of terror. and that you will find your position an exceedingly pleasant one as soon as you become accustomed to it; but should occasion arise bear my words in mind." harry promised to follow his father's advice im- plicitly, but in his own mind he wondered what fel- lows did when they quarreled if they werenot allowed to fight; however, he supposed that he should, under the circumstances, do the same as french boys, whatever that might be. as soon as the packet was once fairly beyond the harbor harry's thoughts were effectually diverted from all other matters by the motion of the sailing boat, and he was soon in a state of prostration, in which he remained until, seven hours later, the packet entered calais harbor. dr. sand with had requested the captain to allow one of his men to show harry the way to the lion d'or. harry had pulled himself together a little as the vessel entered the still water in the harbor, and was staring at the men in their blue blouses and wooden shoes, at the women in their quaint and pic- turesque attire, when a sailor touched him on the shoulder. "now, young sir, the captain tells me i am to show you the way to your hotel. which is your box?" in the reign of terror. harry pointed out his trunk; the sailor threw it on his shoulder, and harry, with a feeling of bewil- derment, followed him along the gangway to the shore. here he was accosted by an officer. "what does he say?" he asked the sailor. "he asks for your passport." harry fumbled in his breast pocket for the docu- ment which his father had obtained for him from the foreign office, duly viseed by the french ambas- sador, notifying that henry sand with, aged sixteen, neight five feet eight, hair brown, eyes gray, nose short, mouth large, was about to reside in france in the family of the marquis de st. caux. the officer glanced it over, and then returned it to harry with a polite bow, which harry in some confusion en- deavored to imitate. "what does the fellow want to bow and scrape like that for?" he muttered to himself as he followed his guide. "an englishman would just have nodded and said all right!' what can a fellow want more, i should like to know? well, i suppose i shall get accustomed to it, and shall take to bow- ing and scraping as a matter of course." the lion d'or was close at hand. in reply to the sailor's question the landlord said that m. du tillet was within. the sailor put down the trunk, pocketed the coin harry gave him, and with a in the reign of terror. "good luck, young master!" went out, taking with him, as harry felt, the last link to england. he turned and followed the landlord. the latter mounted a flight of stairs, knocked at a door, and opened it. "a young gentleman desires to see m. du tillet," he said, and harry entered. a tall, big man, whose proportions at once disap- pointed harry's preconceived notions as to the smallness and leanness of frenchmen, rose from the table at which he was writing. "monsieur—sand with ?" he said interrogatively; "i am glad to see you." harry did not understand the latter portion of the remark, but he caught the sound of his name. "that's all right," he said nodding. "how do you do, m. du tillet?" the french gentleman bowed; harry bowed; and then they looked at each other. there was nothing more to say. a smile stole over harry's face, and broke into a frank laugh. the frenchman smiled, put his hand on harry's shoulder, and said: "brave gargon!" and harry felt they were friends. m. du tillet's face bore an expression of easy good temper, he wore a wig with long curls; he had a soldier's bearing, and a scar on his left cheek j ik tse reign of terror. his complexion was dark and red, his eyebrows black and bushy. after a pause he said: "are you hungry?" and then put imaginary food to his mouth. "you mean will i eat anything?" harry trans- lated. "yes, that i will if there's anything fit to eat. i begin to feel as hungry as a hunter, and no wonder, for i am as hollow as a drum!" his nod was a sufficient answer. m. du tillet took his hat, opened the door, and bowed for harry to precede him. harry hesitated, but believing it would be the polite way to do as he was told, returned the bow and went out. the frenchman put his hand on his shoulder, and they went downstairs together and took their seats in the salon, where his companion gave an order, and in two or three minutes a bowl of broth was placed before each of them. it fully answered harry's ideas as to the thinness of french soup, for it looked like dirty water with a few pieces of bread and some scraps of vegetables floating in it. he was astonished at the piece of bread, nearly a yard long, placed on the table. m. du tillet cut a piece off and handed it to him. he broke a portion of it into his broth, and found, when he tasted it, that it was much nicer than it looked. "it's not so bad after all," he thought to himself. in the reign of terror. "anyhow, bread seems plentiful, so there's no fear of my starving."' he followed his companion's example and made his way steadily through a num- ber of dishes all new and strange to him; neither his sight nor his taste gave him the slightest indi- cation as to what meat he was eating. "i suppose it's all right," he concluded; "but what people can want to make such messes of their food for i can't make out. a slice of good roast beef is worth the lot of it; but really it isn't nasty; some of the dishes are not bad at all if one only knew what they were made of." m. du tillet offered him some wine, which he tasted but shook his head, for it seemed rough and sour; but he poured himself out some water. presently a happy idea seized him; he touched the bread and said interrogatively, "bread?" m. du tillet at once replied "pain" which harry repeated after him. the ice thus broken, conversation began, and harry soon learned the french for knife, fork, spoon, plate, and various other articles, and felt that he was fairly on the way toward talking french. after the meal was over m. du tillet rose and put on his hat, and signed to harry to accom- pany him. they strolled through the town, went down to the quays and looked at the fishing-boats; harry was feeling more at home now, and asked in the reign of terror. the french name for everything he saw, repeating the word over and over again to himself until he felt sure that he should remember it, and then ask- ing the name of some fresh object. the next morning they started in the post-wagon for paris, and arrived there after thirty-six hours' travel. harry was struck with the roads, which were far better tended and kept than those in eng- land. the extreme flatness of the country surprised him, and, except in the quaintness of the villages and the variety of the church towers, he saw little to admire during the journey. "if it is all like this," he thought to himself, "i don't see that they have any reason for calling it la helle france." of paris he saw little. a blue-bloused porter carried his trunk what seemed to harry a long dis- tance from the place where the conveyance stopped. the streets here were quiet and almost deserted after the busy thoroughfares of the central city. the houses stood, for the most part, back from the street, with high walls and heavy gates. "here we are at last," his guide said, as he halted before a large and massive gateway, surmounted by a coat of arms with supporters carved in stone- work. he rang at the bell, which was opened by a porter in livery, who bowed profoundly upon seeing m the reign of terror. m. du tillet. passing through the doorway, harry found himself in a spacious hall, decorated with armor and arms. as he crossed the threshold m. du tillet took his hand and shook it heartily, saying, "welcome!" harry understood the action, though not the words, and nodded, saying: "i think i shall get on capitally if they are all as jolly as you are." then they both laughed, and harry looked round wondering what was coming next. "the marquis and his family are all away at their chateau near dijon," his companion said, waving his hand. "we shall stay a day or two to rest ourselves after our journey, and then start to join them." he led harry into a great salon magnificently furnished, pointed to the chairs and looking-glasses and other articles of furniture, all swathed up in coverings; and the lad understood at once that the family were away. this was a relief to him; he was getting on capitally with m. du tillet, but shrank from the prospect of meeting so many strange faces. a meal was speedily served in a small and com- fortably furnished apartment; and harry concluded that although he might not be able to decide on the nature of his food, it was really nice, and that there m the reign of terror. was no fear whatever of his falling away in flesh. m. du tillet pressed him to try the wine again, and this he found to be a vast improvement upon the vintage he had tasted at calais. after breakfast next morning they started for a walk, and harry was delighted with the louvre, the tuileries. the palais royal, and other public buildings, which he could not but acknowledge were vastly superior to anything he had seen in london. then he was taken to a tailor's, the marquis having commissioned his guide to carry out dr. sand- with's request in this matter. m. du tillet looked interrogatively at harry as he entered the shop, as if to ask if he understod why he was taken there. harry nodded, for indeed he was glad to see that no time was to be lost, for he was already conscious that his dress differed considerably from that of french boys. several street gamins had pointed at him and made jeering remarks, which, without understanding the words, harry felt to be insulting, and would, had he heard them in the purlieus of westminster, have considered as a challenge to battle. he had not, however, suffered altogether unavenged, for upon one occasion m. du tillet turned sharply round and caught one offender so smartly with his cane that he ran howling away. "they are awful guysl" harry thought as he lit the reiqn op terror. looked at the french boys he met. "but it's better to be a guy than to be chaffed by every boy one meets, especially if one is not to be allowed to fight it was, therefore, with a feeling of satisfaction that he turned into the tailor's shop. the proprietor came up bowing, as harry thought, in a most cringing sort of way to his companion. m. du tillet gave some orders, and the tailor unrolled a variety of pieces of cloth and other materials for harry's inspection. the lad shook his head and turned to his guide, and, pointing to the goods, asked him to choose the things which were most suitable for him; m. du tillet understood the appeal and ordered four suits. two of these were for ordinary wear; another was, harry concluded, for the evening; and the fourth for ceremonial occasions. the coats were cut long, but very open in front, and were far too scanty to button; the waistcoats were long and embroidered, a white and ample handkerchief went round the throat and was tied loosely, with long ends edged with lace falling in front; knee breeches, with white stockings, and shoes with buckles, completed the costume. harry looked on with a smile of amusement, and burst into a hearty laugh when the garments were fixed upon, for the idea of himself dressed out in these seemed to him ludicrous in the extreme. in the reign of tebror. "how they would laugh at home," he thought to himself, "if they could see me in these things! the girls would give me no peace. and wouldn't there be an uproar if i were to turn up in them in dean's yard and march up school!" harry was then measured. when this was done he took out his purse, which contained fifty guineas; for his father had thought it probable that the clothes he would require would cost more than they would in london, and he wished him to have a good store of pocket-money until he received the first installment of his pay. m. du tillet, however, shook his head and motioned to him to put up his purse; and harry supposed that it was not custom- ary to pay for things in france until they were delivered. then his companion took him into an- other shop and pointing to his own ruffles intimated that harry would require some linen of this kind to be worn when in full dress. harry signified that his friend should order what was necessary; and half a dozen shirts, with deep ruffles at the wrist and breast, were ordered. this brought their shopping to an end. they remained three days in paris, at the end of which time harry's clothes were delivered. the following morning a carriage with the arms of the marquis emblazoned upon it came up to the door, in the reign of terror. and they started. the horses were fat and lazy; and harry, who had no idea how far they were going, thought that the journey was likely to be a long one if this was the pace at which they were to travel. twelve miles out they changed horses at a post- station, their own returning to paris, and after this had relays at each station, and traveled at a pace which seemed to harry to be extraordinarily rapid. they slept twice upon the road. the third day the appearance of the country altogether changed, and, instead of the flat plains which harry had oegun to think extended all over france, they were now among hills higher than anything he had ever seen before. toward the afternoon they crossed the range and began to de- scend, and as evening approached m. du tillet pointed to a building standing on rising ground some miles away and said: "that is the chateau." in the reign of terror. "and you, m. du tillet," the marquis said. "you have made a good journey, i hope? i thank you much for the trouble you have taken. i like the boy's looks; what do you think of him?" "i like him very much," m. du tillet said; "he is a new type to me, and a pleasant one. i think he will make a good companion for the young count." the marquis now turned and led the way into a great drawing-room, and taking harry's hand led him up to a lady seated on a couch. "this is our young english friend, julie. of course he is strange at present, but m. du tillet re- ports well of him and i already like his face." the lady held out her hand, which harry, instead of bending over and kissing, as she had expected, shook heartily. for an instant only a look of in- tense surprise passed across her face; then she said courteously: "we are glad to see you. it is very good of you to come so far to us. i trust that you will be happy here." "these are my sons ernest and jules, who will, i am sure, do all in their power to make you oomfort- able," the marquis said. the last words were spoken sharply and signifi- cantly, and their tone was not lost upon the two in tee beign of terror. boys; they had a moment before been struggling to prevent themselves bursting into a laugh at harry's reception of their mother's greeting, but they now instantly composed their faces and advanced. "shake hands with him," the marquis said sharply; "it is the custom of his country." each in turn held out his hand to harry, who, as he shook hands with them, took a mental stock of his future companions. "good-looking," he said to himself, "but more like girls than boys. a year in the fifth form would do them a world of good. i could polish the two off together with one hand." "my daughters," the marquis said, " mesdemoi- selles marie, jeanne, and virginie." three young ladies had risen from their seats as their father entered, each made a deep courtesy as her name was mentioned, and harry bowed deeply in return. mademoiselle marie was two years at least older than himself, and was already a young lady of fashion. jeanne struck him as being about the same age as his sister fanny, who was between fourteen and fifteen. virginie was a child of ten. ernest was about his own age, while jules came between the two younger girls. "take m. sandwith to the abbe," the marquis said to ernest, "and do all in your power to set him in the reign of terror. at his ease. remember what you would feel if you were placed as he is, among strange people in a strange country." the lad motioned to harry to accompany him, and the three boys left the room together. "you can go to your governante," the marquise said to the two younger girls; and with a profound courtesy to her and another to the marquis, they left the room. unrestrained now by their presence, the marquise turned to her husband with a merry laugh. "but it is a bear you have brought home, edouard, a veritable bear—my fingers ache still— and he is to teach manners to my sons! i always protested against the plan, but i did not think it would be as bad as this. these islanders are savages." the marquis smiled. "he is a little gauche, but that will soon rub off. i like him, julie. rem ember it was a difficult posi- tion for a boy. we did not have him here to give polish to our sons. it may be that they have even a uttle too much of this at present. the english are not polished, every one knows that, but they are manly and independent. that boy bore himself well. he probably had never been in a room like this in his life, he was ignorant of our language, in the reign of terror. alone among strangers, but he was calm and self- possessed. i like the honest, straightforward look in his face. and look at the width of the shoulders and the strength of his arms; why, he would break ernest across his knee, and the two boys must be about the same age." - "oh, he has brute strength, i grant," the marquise said; "so have the sons of our peasants; however, i do not want to find fault with him, it is your hobby, or rather that of auguste, who is, i think, mad about these english; i will say nothing to prevent its having a fair trial, only i hope it will not be necessary for me to give him my hand again." "i do not suppose it will until he leaves, julie, and by that time, no doubt, he will know what to do with it; but here is m. du tillet waiting all this time for you to speak to him." "pardon me, my good m. du tillet," the marquise said. "in truth that squeeze of my hand has driven all other matters from my mind. how have you fared? this long journey with this english bear must have been very tedious for you." "indeed, madame la marquise," m. du tillet re- plied, "it has been no hardship, the boy has amused me greatly; nay, more, he has pleased me. we have been able to say little to each other, though, in the reign of terror indeed, he is quick and eager to learn, and will soon speak our language; but his face has been a study. when he is pleased you can see that he is pleased, and that is a pleasure, for few people are pleased in our days. again, when he does not like a thing you can also see it. i can see that he says to him- self, i can expect nothing better, these poor people are only french. when the gamins in paris jeered him as to his dress, he closed his hands and would have flown at them with his fists after the manner of his countrymen had he not put strong restraint on himself. from the look of his honest eyes i shall, when he can speak our language, believe im- plicity what he says. that boy would not tell a lie whatever were the consequences. altogether i like him much. i think that in a very little while he will adapt himself to what goes on around him, and that you will have no reason ere long to complain of his gaucheries." "and you really think, m. du tillet, that he will be a useful companion for my boys?" "if you will pardon me for saying so, madame, i think that he will—at any rate i am sure he can be trusted to teach them no wrong." "you are all against me," the marquise laughed. "and you, marie?" u i did not think of him one way or the other," a in the reiqn of terror. the girl said coldly. "he is very awkward; but as he is not to be my companion that does not con- cern me. it is like one of papa's dogs, one more or less makes no difference in the house so long as they do not tread upon one's skirt." "that is the true spirit of the french nobility, marie," her father said sarcastically. "outside our own circle the whole human race is nothing to us; they are animals who supply our wants, voild tout. i tell you, my dear, that the time is coming when this will not suffice. the nation is stirring; that france which we have so long ignored is lifting its head and muttering; the news from paris is more and more grave. the assembly has assumed the supreme authority, and the king is a puppet in its power. the air is dark as with a thunder-cloud, and there may be such a storm sweep over france as there has not been since the days of the jacquerie." "but the people should be contented," m. du tillet said; "they have had all the privileges they ever possessed given back to them." "yes," the marquis assented, "and there lies the danger. it is one thing or the other. if as soon as the temper of the third estate had been seen the king's guards had entered and cleared the place and closed the door, as cromwell did when the parlia- in the reign of terror. s ment was troublesome to him in england, that would have been one way. paris would have been troublesome, we might have had again the days of the fronde, but in the end the king's party would have won. "however, that was not the way tried. they began by concessions, they go on with concessions, and each concession is made the ground for more. it is like sliding down a hill; when you have once begun you cannot stop yourself, and you go on until there is a crash; then it may be you pick yourself up sorely wounded and bruised, and begin to re- climb the hill slowly and painfully; it may be that you are dashed to pieces. i am not a politician. i do not care much for the life of paris, and am well content to live quietly here on our estates; but even i can see that a storm is gathering; and as for my brother auguste, he goes about shaking his head and wringing his hands, his anticipations are of the darkest. what can one expect when fellows like voltaire and housseau were permitted by their poisonous preaching to corrupt and inflame the imagination of the people? both those men's heads should have been cut off the instant they began to write. "the scribblers are at the root of all the trouble with their pestilent doctrines; but it is too late now, in tee reign of terror. the mischief is done. if we had a king strong and determined all might yet be well; but louis is weak in decision, he listens one moment to mira- beau and the next to the queen, who is more firm and courageous. and so things drift on from bad to worse, and the assembly, backed by the tur- bulent scum of paris, are masters of the situation." for some time harry lived a quiet life at the chateau. he found his position a very pleasant one. the orders of the marquis that he should be treated as one of the family were obeyed, and there was no distinction made between himself and ernest. in the morning the two boys and himself worked with the abbe, a quiet and gentle old man; in the afternoon they rode and fenced, under the instructions of m. du tillet or one or other of the gentlemen of the marquis' establishment; and on holidays shot or fished as they chose on the pre- serves or streams of the estate. for an hour each morning the two younger girls shared in their studies, learning latin and history with their brothers. harry got on very well with ernest, but there was no real cordiality between them. the hauteur and insolence with which the young count treated his inferiors were a constant source of exasperation to harry. "he thinks himself a little god," he would often in the reign of terror mutter to himself. "i would give a good deal to have him for three months at westminster. wouldn't he get his conceit and nonsense knocked out of him!" at the same time he was always scrupulously polite and courteous to his english companion— much too polite, indeed, to please harry. he had good qualities too : he was generous with his money, and if during their rides a woman came up with a tale of distress he was always ready to assist her. he was clever, and harry, to his surprise, found that his knowledge of latin was far beyond his own, and that ernest could construe passages with the greatest ease which altogether puzzled him. he was a splendid rider, and could keep his seat with ease and grace on the most fiery animals in his father's stables. when they went out with their guns harry felt his inferiority keenly. not only was ernest an ex- cellent shot, but at the end of a long day's sport he would come in apparently fresh and untired, while harry, although bodily far the most powerful, would be completely done up; and at gymnastic exercises he could do with ease feats which harry could at first not even attempt. in this respect, however, the english lad in three months' time was able to rival him. his disgust at finding himself so in tme hewn off terror. easily beaten by a french boy nerved him to the greatest exertions, and his muscles, practiced in all sorts of games, soon adapted themselves to the new exercises. harry picked up french very rapidly. the abso- lute necessity there was to express himself in that language caused him to make a progress which sur- prised himself, and at the end of three months he was able to converse with little difficulty, and hav- ing learned it entirely by ear he spoke with a fair accent and pronunciation. m. du tillet, who was the principal instructor of the boys in their outdoor exercises, took much pains to assist him in his french, and helped him on in every way in his power. in the evening there were dancing lessons, and although very far from exhibiting the stately grace with which ernest could perform the minuet or other courtly dances then in fashion, harry came in time to perform his part fairly. two hours were spent in the evening in the salon. this part of his day harry at first found the most tedious; but as soon as he began to speak fluently the marquis ad- dressed most of his conversation to him, asking him questions about the life of english boys at school and about english manners and customs, and harry soon found himself chatting at his ease. in tsk reign op terror. "the distinction of classes is clearly very much less with you in england than it is here," the mar- quis said one day when harry had been describing a great fight which had taken place between a party of westminster boys and those of the neigh- borhood. "it seems extraordinary to me that sons of gentlemen should engage in a personal fight with boys of the lowest class. such a thing could not happen here. if you were insulted by such a boy, what would you do, ernest v "i should run him through the body," ernest said quietly. "just so," his father replied, "and i don't say you would be wrong according to our notions; but i do not say that the english plan is not the best. the english gentleman—for monsieur sandwith says that even among grown-up people the same habits prevail—does not disdain to show the canaille that even with their own rough weapons he is their superior, and he thus holds their respect. it is a coarse way and altogether at variance with our notions, but there is much to be said for it." "but it altogether does away with the reverence that the lower class should feel for the upper," ernest objected. "that is true, ernest. so long as that feeling generally exists, so long as there is, as it were, a w the reign of terror. wide chasm between the two classes, as there has always existed in france, it would be unwise per- haps for one of the upper to admit that in any respect there could be any equality between them; but this is not so in england, where a certain equality has always been allowed to exist. the englishman of all ranks has a certain feeling of self- respect and independence, and the result is shown in the history of the wars which have been fought between the two nations. "france in early days always relied upon her chivalry. the horde of footmen she placed in the field counted for little. england, upon the other hand, relied principally upon her archers and her pikemen, and it must be admitted that they beat us handsomely. then again in the wars in flanders, under the english general marlborough, their infan- try always proved themselves superior to ours. it is galling to admit it, but there is no blinking the facts of history. it seems to me that the feeling of independence and self-respect which this english system gives rise to, even among the lowest class, must render them man for man better soldiers than those drawn from a peasantry whose very lives are at the mercy of their lords." "i think, du tillet," the marquis said later on that same evening, when the young people had re- in the reign of terror. tired, "i have done very well in taking my brother auguste's advice as to having an english compan- ion for ernest. if things were as they were under the grand monarque, i do not say that it would have been wise to allow a young french nobleman to get these english ideas into his head, but it is different now. "we are on the eve of great changes. what will come of it no one can say; but there will cer- tainly be changes, and it is a good thing that my children should get broader ideas than those in which we were brought up. this lad is quiet and modest, but he ventures to think for himself. it scarce entered the head of a french nobleman a generation back that the mass of the people had any feelings or wishes, much less rights. they were useful in their way, just as the animals are, but needed no more consideration. they have never counted for anything. "in england the people have rights and liberties; they won them years ago. it would be well for us in the present day had they done so in france. i fancy the next generation will have to adapt them- selves to changed circumstances, and the ideas that ernest and jules , will learn from this english lad will be a great advantage to them, and will fit them for the new state of things." in the reign of terror. it was only during lessons, when their gouvernante was always present, at meal times, and in the salon in the evening, that harry had any communication with the young ladies of the family. if they met in the grounds they were saluted by the boys with as much formal courtesy as if they had been the most distant acquaintances, returning the bows with deep courtesies. these meetings were a source of great amusement to harry, who could scarcely preserve his gravity at these formal and distant greetings. on one occasion, however, the even course of these meet- ings was broken. the boys had just left the tennis* court where they had been playing, and had laid aside the swords which they carried when walking or riding. the tennis-court was at some little distance from the house, and they were walking across the garden when they heard a scream. at a short distance was the governess with her two young charges. she had thrown her arms round them, and stood the picture of terror, uttering loud screams. looking round in astonishment to discover the cause of her terror, harry saw a large wolf-hound running toward them at a trot. its tongue was hanging out, and there was a white foam on its jaws. he had heard m. du tillet tell the marquis in the reign of terror. on the previous day that this dog, which was a great favorite, seemed strange and unquiet, and he had ordered it to be chained up. it had evidently broken its fastening, for it was dragging a piece of chain some six feet long behind it. it flashed across him at once that the animal was mad, but without an instant's hesitation he dashed off at full speed and threw himself in front of the ladies before the dog reached them. snatching off his coat, and then kneeling on one knee, he awaited the animal's attack. without deviating from its course the hound sprang at him with a short snarl- ing howl. harry threw his coat over its head and then grasped it round the neck. the impetus of the spring knocked him over, and they rolled together on the ground. the animal struggled furiously, but harry retained his grasp round its neck. in vain the hound tried to free itself from its blinding encumbrance, or to bite his assailant through it, and struggled to shake off his hold with its legs and claws, harry maintained his grasp tightly round its neck, with his head pressed closely against one of its ears. several times they rolled over and over. at last harry made a great effort when he was uppermost, and managed to get his knees upon the animal's belly, and then, digging his toes in the ground, pressed with all his weight upon it. in the reign of terror. there was a sound as of cracking of bones, then the dog's struggles suddenly ceased, and his head fell over, and harry rose to his feet by the side of the dead hound just as a number of men, with pitchforks and other weapons, ran up to the spot from the stables, while the marquis, sword in hand, arrived from the house. the gouvernante, too, paralyzed by fear, had stood close by with her charges while the struggle was going on. ernest had come up, and was standing in front of his sisters, ready to be the next victim if the dog had overpowered harry. less accustomed to running than the english boy, and for a moment rooted to the ground with horror at his sisters' danger, he had not arrived at the spot until the struggle between harry and the dog was half over, and had then seen no way of rendering assistance; but believing that the dog was sure to be the con- queror, he had placed himself before his sisters to bear the brunt of the next assault. seeing at a glance that his daughters were un- touched the marquis ran on to harry, who was standing panting and breathless, and threw his arms round him. "my brave boy," he exclaimed, "you have saved my daughters from a dreadful death by your courage and devotion. how can land their mother in the reign of terror. ever thank you? i saw it all from the terrace—the speed with which you sprang to their assistance— the quickness of thought with which you stripped off your coat and threwwjt over its head. after that i could see nothing except your rolling over and over in a confused mass. you are not hurt, i trust?" "not a bit, sir," harry said. "and you have killed itv-wonderful!" "there was nothing in that, sir. i have heard my father, who is a doctor, say that a man could kill the biggest dog if he could get it down on its back and kneel on it. so when i once managed to get my knees on it i felt it was all right." "ah, it is all very well for you to speak as if it were nothing!" the marquis said. "there are few men, indeed, who would throw themselves in the way of a mad dog, especially of such a formidable brute as that. you too have behaved with courage, my son, and i saw you were ready to give your life for your sisters; but you had not the quickness and readiness of your friend, and would have been too late." "it is true, father," ernest said in a tone of humility. "i should have been too late, and, more- over, i should have been useless, for he would have torn me down in a moment, and then fallen upon my sisters. * in the reign of terror. "m. sand with," he said frankly, "i own i hard been wrong. i have thought the games of which you spoke, and your fighting, rough and barbarous; but i see their use ndw. you have put me to shame. when i saw that dog i felt powerless, for i had not my sword with me; but you—you rushed to the fight without a- moment's hesitation, trust- ing in your strength 'and your head. yes, your customs have made a maft of you, while i am a boy still." "you are very good to say so," harry said; "but i am quite sure that you would be just as quick and ready as me in most circumstances, and if it had been a matter of swords, very much more useful; but i am glad you see there is some advan- tage in our rough english ways." the marquis had put his hand approvingly upon ernest's shoulder when he addressed harry, and then turned to his daughters. the governess had sunk fainting to the ground when she saw that the danger was over. virginie had thrown herself down and was crying loudly; while jeanne stood pale, but quiet, beside them. the marquis directed one of the men to run up to the chateau and bid a female servant bring down water and smelling salts for the governess, and then lifted virginie up and tried to soothe her, while he stretched out his other hand to jeanne. in tbe reign of terror. "you are shaken, my jeanne," he said tenderly, "but you have borne the trial well. i did not hear you cry out, though madame and the little one screamed loudly enough." ''i was frightened enough, father," she said simply, "but of course i wasn't going to cry out; but it was very terrible; and oh, how noble and brave he was! and you know, papa, i feel ashamed to think how often i have been nearly laughing because he was awkward in the minuet. i feel so little now beside him." "you see, my dear, one must not judge too much by externals," her father said soothingly as she hid her face against his coat, and he could feel that she was trembling from head to foot. "older people than you often do so, and are sorry for it afterward; but as i am sure that you would never allow him to see that you were amused no harm has been done." "shall i thank him, papa?" "yes, presently, my dear; he has just gone off with ernest to see them bury the dog." this incident caused a considerable change in harry's position in the family. previously he had been accepted in consequence of the orders of the marquis. although compelled to treat him as an equal the two boys had in their hearts looked upon him as an inferior, while the girls had regarded him in the reign of terror. as a sort of tutor of their brothers, and thus as a creature altogether indifferent to them. but hence- forth he appeared in a different light. ernest acted up to the spirit of the words he had spoken at the time, and henceforth treated him as a comrade to be respected as well as liked. he tried to learn some of the english games, but as most of these re- quired more than two players he was forced to abandon them. he even asked him to teach him to box, but harry had the good sense to make excuses for not doing so. he felt that ernest was by no means his match in strength, and that, with all his good will, he would find it difficult to put up good-naturedly with being knocked about. he therefore said that it could not be done without boxing-gloves, and these it would be impossible to obtain in france; and that in the next place he should hardly advise him to learn even if he pro- cured the gloves, for that in such contests severe bruises often were given. "we think nothing of a black eye," he said, laugh- ing, " but i am sure madame your mother would not be pleased to see you so marked; besides, your peo- ple would not understand your motive in undertak- ing so rough an exercise, and you might lose some- what of their respect. be content, count ernest; you are an excellent swordsman, and although i aift. in the reign of terror. improving under m. du tillet's tuition i shall never be your match. if you like, some time when we are out and away from observation we can take off our coats, and i can give you a lesson in wrestling; it is a splendid exercise, and it has not the disadvan- tages of boxing." little jules looked up to harry as a hero, and henceforth, when they were together, gave him the same sort of implicit obedience he paid to his elder brother. the ceremonious habits of the age pre- vented anything like familiarity on the part of the younger girls; but jeanne and virginie now always greeted him with a smile when they met, and joined in conversation with him as with their brothers in the evening. the marquise, who had formerly protested, if playfully, against her husband's whim in intro- ducing an english boy into their family circle, now regarded him with real affection, only refraining from constant allusions to the debt she considered she owed him because she saw that he really shrank from the subject. the marquis shortly after this incident went to paris for a fortnight to ascertain from his friends there the exact position of things. he returned depressed and angry. the violence of the assembly had increased from in the reign of terror. day to day. the property of all the convents had been confiscated, and this measure had been followed by the seizure of the vast estates of the church. all the privileges of the nobility had been declared at an end, and in august a decree had been passed abolishing all titles of nobility. this decree had taken effect in paris and in the great towns, and also in some parts of the country where the passions of the people were most aroused against the nobility; but in burgundy it had remained a dead letter. the marquis de st. caux was popular upon his estates, and no one had ever neglected to con- cede to him and to the marquise their titles. he himself had regarded the decree with disdain. "they may take away my estates by force," he said, "but no law can deprive me of my title, any more than of the name which i inherited from my fathers. such laws as these are mere outbursts of folly." but the assembly continued to pass laws of the most sweeping description, assuming the sovereign power, and using it as no monarch of france had ever ventured to do. moderate men were shocked at the headlong course of events, and numbers of those who at the commencement of the movement had thrown themselves heart and soul into it now shrank back in dismay at the strange tyranny which was called liberty*- w the reign of terror. "it seems to me that a general madness has seized all paris," the marquis said to his wife on his return, "but at present nothing can be done to arrest it. i have seen the king and queen. his majesty is re- solved to do nothing; that is, to let events take their course, and what that will be heaven only knows. the assembly has taken all power into its hands, the king is already a mere cipher, the violence of the leaders of these men is beyond all bounds; the queen is by turns hot and cold; at one moment she agrees with her husband that the only hope lies in conceding everything; at another she would go to the army, place herself in its hands, and call on it to march upon paris. "at any rate there is nothing to be done at present but to wait. already numbers of the deputies, terrified at the aspect of affairs, have left france, and i am sorry to say many of the nobles have also gone. this is cowardice and treachery to the king. we cannot help him if he will not be helped, but it is our duty to remain here ready to rally round him when he calls us to his side. i am glad that the assembly has passed a law confiscating the estates of all who have emigrated." although the marquise was much alarmed at the news brought by her husband she did not think of questioning his decision. it did not seem to her of tsb reign of terror. possible that there could be danger for her and hers in their quiet country chateau. there might be dis turbance and bloodshed, and even revolution, in paris; but surely a mere echo of this would reach them so far away. "whenever you think it is right to go up and take your place by the king i will go and take mine by the queen," she said quietly. "the children will be safe here; but of course we must do our duty." the winter passed quietly at the chateau; there was none of the usual gayety, for a deep gloom hung over all the noble families of the province; still at times great hunting parties were got up for the chase of the wolves among the forests, for, when the snow was on the ground, these often came down into the villages and committed great depredations in the reign of terror, chapter in. the demon wolf. upon the first of these occasions harry and ernest were in high spirits, for they were to take part in the chase. it was the first time ernest had done so, for during the previous winter the marquis had been in attendance on the court. at an early hour" the guests invited to take part in the chase began to assemble at the chateau. many who lived at a distance had come over night, and the great courtyard presented a lively aspect with the horses and attendants of the guests. a collation was spread in the great hall, and the marquise and her eldest daughter moved about among the guests, saying a few words of welcome to each. "who is that young man who is talking to made- moiselle your sister, ernest?" harry asked, for since the adventure with the mad dog the ceremo- nious title had been dropped, and the boys addressed each other by their christian names. "that is monsieur lebat; he is the son of the mayor of dijon. i have not seen him here before, in the reign of terror. but i suppose my father thinks it is well in these times to do the civil thing to the people of dijon. he is a good-looking fellow too, but it is easy to see he is not a man of good family." "i don't like his looks at all," harry said shortly. "look what a cringing air he puts on as he speaks to madame la marquise. and yet i fancy he could be insolent when he likes. he may be good-look- ing, but it is not a style i admire, with his thick lips and his half-closed eyes. if i met him at home i should say the fellow was something between a butcher and a jew peddler." "well done, monsieur the aristocrat!" ernest said, laughing. "this is your english equality! here is a poor fellow who is allowed to take a place out of his station, thanks to the circumstances of the time, and you run him down mercilessly!" "i don't run him down because he is not a gentle- man," harry said. "i run him down because i don't like his face; and if he were the son of a duke instead of the son of a mayor i should dislike it just as much. you take my word for it, ernest, that's a bad fellow." "poor monsieur lebat!" ernest laughed. "i dare say he is a very decent fellow in his way." "i am sure he is not, ernest; he has a cruel, bad look. i would not have been that fellow's fag at school for any money." in the reign of terror. "well, it's fortunate, harry, that you are not likely to see much of him, else i should expect to see you flying at his neck and strangling him as you did the hound." harry joined in the laugh. "i will restrain myself, ernest; and besides, he would be an awkward customer; there's plenty of strength in those shoulders of his, and he looks active and sinewy in spite of that indolent air he puts on; but there is the horn, it is time for us to mount." in a few minutes some thirty gentlemen were in the saddle, the marquis, who was grand louvetier of the province, blew his horn, and the whole cavalcade got into motion, raising their hunting caps, as they rode off, to the marquise and her daughters, who were standing on the step of the chateau to see them depart. the dogs had already been sent forward to the forest, which was some miles distant. on arriving there the marquis found several woodmen, who had been for the last two days mark- ing the places most frequented by the wolves. they had given their reports and the party were just starting when a young forester rode up. "monsieur le marquis," he said, "i have good news for you; the demon wolf is in the forest. i in the reign of terror. saw him making his way along a glade an hour since as i was on my way thither. i turned back to follow him, and tracked him to a ravine in the hills choked with undergrowth." the news created great excitement. "the demon wolf!" the marquis repeated. "are you sure?" "quite sure, monsieur. how could i mistake it! i saw him once four years ago, and no one who had once done so could mistake any other wolf for him." "we are in luck indeed, gentlemen," the marquis said. "we will see if we can't bring this fellow's career to an end at last. i have hunted him a score of times myself since my first chase of him, well- nigh fifteen years ago, but he has always given us the slip." "and will again," an old forester, who was stand- ing close to harry, muttered. "i do not believe the bullet is cast which will bring that wolf to earth." "what is this demon wolf?" harry asked ernest. "it is a wolf of extraordinary size and fierceness. for many years he has been the terror of the mothers of this part of france. he has been known to go into a village and boldly carry off an infant at midday. every child who has been killed f the reign op terror. by wolves for years is always supposed to have been slain by this wolf. sometimes he is seen in one part of the province and sometimes in another. "for months he is not heard of. then there is slaughter among the young lambs. a child going to school, or an old woman carrying home a fagot from the forest is found torn and partly devoured, and the news spreads that the demon wolf has returned to the neighborhood. great hunts have over and over again been got up specially to slay him, but he seems to lead a charmed life. he has been shot at over and over again, but he seems to be bullet-proof. "the peasants regard him not as an ordinary wolf but as a demon, and mothers quiet their chil- dren when they cry by saying that if they are not good the demon wolf will carry them off. ah, if we could kill him to-day it would be a grand occasion!" "is there anything particular about his appear- ance j" "nothing except his size. some of those who have seen him declare that he is as big as three ordinary wolves; but my father, who has caught sight of him several times, says that this is an exaggeration, though he is by far the largest wolf he ever saw. he is lighter in color than other in the reiqn of terror. wolves, but those who saw him years ago say that this was not the case then, and that his light color must be due to his great age." the party now started, under the guidance of the forester, to the spot where he had seen the wolf enter the underwood. it was the head of a narrow valley. the sides which enclosed it sloped steeply, but not too much so for the wolf to climb. during the last halt the marquis had arranged the plan of action. he him- self, with three of the most experienced huntsmen, took their stations across the valley, which was but seventy or eighty yards wide. eight of the others were to dismount and take post on either side of the ravine. "lam sorry, gentlemen, that i cannot find posts for the rest of you, but you may have your share of the work. over and over again this wolf has slipped away when we thought we had him sur- rounded, and what he has done before he may do again. therefore, let each of you take up such a position as he thinks best outside our circle, but keep- ing well behind trees or other shelter, so as to cover himself from any random shot that may be fired after the wolf. do you, on your part, fire only when the wolf has passed your line, or you may hit some of us." m tee belgn of terror. ? the two lads were naturally among those left out from the inner circle. "what do you think, ernest; shall we remain on our horses here in the valley or climb the hills v "i should say wait here, harry; in the first place, because it is the least trouble, and in the second, be- cause i think he is as likely to come this way as any other. at any rate we may as well dismount here, and let the horses crop that piece of fresh grass until we hear the horn that will tell us when the dogs have been turned into the thicket to drive him out." it was half an hour before they heard the distant note of the horn. "they have begun," ernest exclaimed; "we had better mount at once. if the brute is still there he is just as likely, being such an old hand at the sport, to make a bolt at once, instead of waiting until the dogs are close to him." "what are we to do if we see him?" harry asked. "we are to shoot him if we can. if we miss him, or he glides past us before we can get a shot, we must follow shouting, so as to guide the rest as to the direction he is taking." "my chance of hitting him is not great," harry said. "i am not a very good shot even on my feet; in the rgign of terror. but sitting in my saddle i do not think it likely i should get anywhere near him." a quarter of an hour passed. the occasional note of a dog and the shouts of the men encourag- ing them to work their way through the dense thicket could be heard, but no sound of a shot met their ears. "either he is not there at all, or he is lying very close," ernest said. "look, look!" harry said suddenly, pointing through the trees to the right. "that is the wolf, sure enough," ernest ex- claimed. "come along." the two lads spurred their horses and rode reck- lessly through the trees toward the great gray beast, who seemed to flit like a shadow past them. "mind the boughs, ernest, or you will be swept from your saddle. hurrah! the trees are more open in front." but although the horses were going at the top of their speed they scarcely seemed to gain on the wolf, who, as it seemed to them, kept his distance ahead without any great exertion. "we shall never catch him," harry exclaimed after they had ridden for nearly half an hour, and the labored panting of the horses showed that they could not long maintain the pace. in the reign of terror. suddenly, ten yards ahead of the wolf, a man, armed with a hatchet, stepped out from behind a tree directly in its way. he was a woodcutter whose attention being called by the sound of the galloping feet of the horses, had left his half-hewn tree and stepped out to see who was coming. he gave an exclamation of surprise and alarm as he saw the wolf, and raised his hatchet to defend him- self. without a moment's hesitation the animal sprang upon him and carried him to the ground, fix- ing its fangs into his throat. there was a struggle for a few moments, and then the wolf left its lifeless foe and was about to continue its flight. "get ready to fire, harry," ernest exclaimed as the wolf sprang upon the man, "it is our last chance. if he gets away now we shall never oatch him." they reined in their horses just as the wolf rose to fly. harry fired first, but the movement of his panting horse deranged his aim and the bullet flew wide. more accustomed to firing on horseback, ernest's aim was truer; he struck the wolf on the shoulder, and it rolled over and over. with a shout of triumph the boys dashed forward, but when they were within a few paces the wolf leaped to its feet and endeavored to spring toward them. harry's horse wheeled aside so sharply that he was hurled from the saddle. in the rkiqn of terror. the shock was a severe one, and before he could rise to his feet the wolf was close upon him. he tried as he rose to draw his hunting-sword, but before he could do so, ernest, who had, when he saw him fall, at once leaped from his horse, threw himself before him, and dealt the wolf a severe blow on the head with his weapon. furious with rage and pain the wolf sprang upon him and seized him by the shoulder. ernest dropped his sword, and drawing his hunting-knife struck at it, while at the same moment harry ran it through the body. so strong and tenacious of life was the animal that the blows were repeated several times before it loosed its hold of ernest's shoulder and fell dead. "are you hurt, my dear ernest?" was harry's first exclamation. "oh, never mind that, that's nothing," ernest replied. "only think, harry, you and i have killed the demon wolf, and no one else had a hand in it. there is a triumph for us." "the triumph is yours, ernest," harry said. "he would have got away had you not stopped him with your bullet, and he would have made short work of me had you not come to my rescue, for i was half stunned with the fall, and he would have done for me as quickly as he did for that poor fellow there." in the reign of terror. u that is true, harry, but it was you who gave him his mortal wound. he would have mastered me otherwise. he was too strong for me, and would have borne me to the ground. no, it's a joint business, and we have both a right to be proud of it. now let us fasten him on my horse; but before we do that, you must bind up my shoulder somehow. in spite of my thick doublet he has bit me very sharply. but first let us see to this poor fellow. i fear he is dead." it was soon seen that nothing could be done for the woodman, who had been killed almost instantly. harry, therefore, proceeded to cut off ernest's coat- sleeve and bathed the wound. the flesh was badly torn, and the arm was so useless that he thought that some bones were broken. having done his best to bandage the wound, he strapped the arm firmly across the body, so as to prevent its being shaken by the motion of the riding. it was with the greatest difficulty that they were able to lift the body of the wolf, but could not lay it across the horse, as the animal plunged and kicked and refused to allow it to be brought near. ernest was able to assist but little, for now that the excitement was over he felt faint and sick with the pain of his wound. "i think you had better ride off, harry, and bring m the reign of terror. some one to our assistance. i will wait here till you come back." "i don't like to do that," harry said. "they must be seven or eight miles away, and i may not be able to find them. they may have moved away to some other part of the forest. ah! i have an idea! suppose i cut a pole, tie the wolfs legs together and put the pole through them; then we can hoist the pole up and lash its ends behind the two saddles. the horses may not mind so much if it's not put upon their backs." "that might do," ernest agreed; "but you mustn't make the pole more than six or seven feet long, or we shall have difficulty in riding between the trees." the pole was soon cut and the wolf in readiness to be lifted, but the horses still refused to stand steady. "blindfold them, harry," ernest said suddenly, "and tie them up to two trees a few feet apart." this was soon done, and the boys then patted and soothed them until they became quiet. the pole was now lifted, and this time they managed to lay it across the saddles and to lash it securely to the cantle . then they mounted, and taking the bandages off the horses' eyes set out on their way. the horses were fidgety at first, but presently fell into a quiet walk. in the reign of terror. for upward of an hour they heard nothing of the huntsmen. not a sound broke the stillness of the forest; the sun was shining through the leafless trees, and they were therefore enabled to shape their course in the direction in which they had come. presently they heard the sound of a shot, fol- lowed by several others, and then the bay of hounds. the sound came from their left. "they have been trying a fresh place," ernest said," and i expect they have come upon two wolves; one they have shot, the hounds are after the other." they turned their horses' heads in the direction of the sounds, and presently harry said: "they are coming this way." louder and louder grew the sounds of the chase; then the deep tones of the hounds were exchanged for a fierce, angry barking. "the wolf is at bay !" ernest exclaimed. a minute later some notes were sounded on the horn. "that is the mort, harry. we shall arrive before they move on again." five minutes later they rode into a glade where a number of horsemen were assembled. there was a shout as they were seen. "why, ernest," the marquis called as they nr the reign of terror. ■topping it with a ball, but the rest was entirely a joint affair." the slaying of the demon wolf was so important an event that no one thought of pursuing the hunt further that day. the other two wolves were added to the procession, but they looked small and insignificant beside the body of that killed by the boys. harry learned that no one had suspected that they had gone in pursuit of the wolf. a vigi- lant lookout had been kept all round the thicket, while the dogs hunted it from end to end, but no signs had been seen of it, and none were able to understand how it could have slipped between the watchers unseen. after the ravine had been thoroughly beaten the party had moved off to another cover. on their way there the marquis had missed the two boys. no one had seen them, and it was supposed that they had loitered behind in the forest. two or three notes of recall had been blown, and then no one had thought more of the matter until they rode into the glade when the second wolf had just been pulled down by the pack. it was afternoon when the hunting party arrived at the chateau. before they started homeward the marquis had sent off two horsemen; one to dijon to bring a surgeon with all speed to the chateau, the in the reign of terror. other to tell the marquise that ernest had been hurt, and that everything was to be got in readiness for him; but that she was not to make herself un- easy, as the injury was not a serious one. the messengers were charged strictly to say nothing about the death of the demon wolf. the marquise and her daughters were at the en- trance as the party arrived. the sight of the litter added to the anxiety which ernest's mother was feeling, but the marquis rode on a short distance ahead to her. "do not be alarmed, julie," he said; "the lad is not very seriously hurt. he has been torn a bit by a wolf, and has behaved splendidly." "the messenger said he had been hurt by a wolf, edouard; but how came he to put himself in such peril?" "he will tell you all about it, my dear. here he is to speak for himself." "do not look so alarmed, mother," ernest said as she ran down to the side of the litter. "it is no great harm, and i should not have minded it if it had been ten times as bad." "bring up the wolf," the marquis said, "and harry, do you come here and stand by ernest's side. madame la marquise," he went on, "do you see that great gray wolf? that is the demon wolf in the reion of terror. ? which has for years been the terror of the district, and these are its slayers. your son and m. sand- with, they, and they alone, have reaped the glory which every sportsman in burgundy has been so long striving to attain; they alone in the forest, miles away from the hunt, pursued and slew this scourge of the province." he put his horn to his lips. the others who car- ried similar instruments followed his example. a triumphant traralira was blown. all present took off their hunting-caps and cheered, and the hounds added their barking to the chorus. "is it possible, edouard," the marquise said, ter- rified at the thought of the danger her son must have run in an encounter with the dreaded beast, "is it possible that these two alone have slain this dreadful wolf?" "it is quite possible, my dear, since it has been done, though, had you asked me yesterday, i should almost have said that it could not be; however, there it is. ernest and his brave young friend have covered themselves with glory; they will be the heroes of the department. but we must not stay talking here. we must get ernest into bed as soon as possible. a surgeon will be here very shortly. i sent a messenger on to dijon for one at the same time i sent to vou." in tee reign of terror. the marquis stayed outside for a few minutes while the domestics handed round great silver cups full of spiced wine, and then bidding good-by to his guests entered the chateau just as the surgeon rode up to the entrance. "please tell us all about it ?" his daughters asked him when, having seen the surgeon set the broken bone and bandage the wound, operations which ernest bore with stoical firmness, he went down to the salon where his daughters were anxiously ex- pecting him. "all about it, please. we have heard nothing, for harry went upstairs with ernest, and has not come down again." the marquis told the whole story, how the wolf had made his escape unseen through the cordon round his lair, and had passed within sight of the two boys some distance away, and how they had hunted it down and slain it. the girls shuddered at the story of the death of the woodcutter and the short but desperate conflict with the wolf. "then ernest has the principal honor this time," the eldest girl said. "it is pretty evenly divided," the marquis said. "tou see ernest brought the wolf to bay by break- ing its shoulder, and struck the first blow as it was flying upon harry, who had been thrown from his horse. then, again, ernest would almost certainly in tee reign of terror. have been killed had not harry in his turn come to his assistance and dealt it its mortal blows. there is not much difference, but perhaps the chief honors rest with ernest." "i am glad of that, papa," mademoiselle de st. caux said; "it is only right the chief honor should be with your son and not with this english boy. he has had more than his share already, i think." "you would not think so if he had saved your life, sister," jeanne broke in impetuously. "it was very brave of them both to kill the wolf; but i think it was ever, ever so much braver to attack a great mad dog without weapons. don't you think so, papa " "i don't think you should speak so warmly to your elder sister, jeanne," the marquis said; "she is a grown-up young lady, and you are in the school- room. still, in answer to your question, i admit that the first was ver}' much the braver deed. i myself should have liked nothing better than to stand before that great wolf with my hunting-sword in my hand; but although if i had been near you when the hound attacked you i should doubtless have thrown myself before you, i should have been horribly frightened and should certainly have been killed; for i should never have thought of or carried out so promptly the plan which harry adopted of in the reign of terror. muzzling the animal. but there is no need to make comparisons. on the present occasion both the lads have behaved with great bravery, and i am proud that ernest is one of the conquerors of the demon wolf. it will start him in life with a reputation already established for courage. now, come with me and have a look at the wolf. i don't think such a beast was ever before seen in france. i am going to have him stuffed and set up as a trophy. he shall stand over the fireplace in the hall, and long after we have all mouldered to dust our descendants will point to it proudly, telling how a lad of their race, with another his own age, slew the demon wolf of burgundy." ernest was confined to his bed for nearly a month, and during this time harry often went long rides and walks by himself. in the evening the marquis frequently talked with him over the situation of the country, and compared the events which had taken place with the struggle of the english parliament with the king. "there was one point of difference between the two cases," he said one evening. "in england the people had already great power in the state. the parliament had always been a check upon the royal authority; and it was because the king tried to over- rule parliament that the trouble came about. here m the reiqn of terror. our kings, or at least the ministers they appointed, have always governed; often unwisely, i admit, but is it likely that the mob would govern better? that is the question. at present they seem bent on showing their incapacity to govern even themselves." the marquis de st. caux had, in some respects, the thoughts and opinions of the old school. he was a royalist pure and simple. as to politics, he troubled his head little about them. these were a matter for ministers. it was their business to find a remedy for the general ills. as to the national assembly, which represented only the middle class and people, he regarded it with contempt. "why, it was from the middle class," he said, "that the oppressors of the people were drawn. it is they who were farmers-general, collectors, and officials of all kinds. it is they who ground down the nation and enriched themselves with the spoil. it is not the nobles who dirtied their hands with money wrung from the poor. by all means let the middle class have a share in the government; but it is not a share they desire. the clergy are to have no voice; the nobility are to have no voice; the king himself is to be a cipher. all power is to be placed in the hands of these men, the chosen of the scum of the great towns, the mere mouthpieoes of the ignorant mob. it is not order that these gentry are organizing, it is disorder." iit tee reign of eiir b. such were the opinions of the marquis, but he was tolerant of other views, and at the gatherings at the chateau harry heard opinions of all kinds expressed. during his rambles alone he entered as much as he could into conversation with the peasants, with woodcutters, foresters, and villagers. he found that the distress which prevailed everywhere was terrible. the people scarcely kept life together, and many had died of absolute starvation. he found a feeling of despair everywhere, and a dull hatred of all who were above them in the world. harry had difficulty in making them talk, and at first could obtain only sullen monosyllables. his dress and appearance showed him to belong to the hated classes, and set them against him at once; but when he said that he was english, and that in england people were watching with great interest what was passing in france, they had no hesitation in speaking. harry's motives in endeavoring to find out what were the feelings of the people at large, were not those of mere curiosity. he was now much attached to the marquis and his family; and the reports which came from all parts of france, as well as from paris, together with the talk among the visitors at the chateau, convinced him that the state in the reign of terror. ? of affairs was more serious than the marquis was inclined to admit. the capture of the bastile and the slaughter of its defenders—the massacres of persons obnoxious to the mob, not only in the streets of paris but in those of other great towns, proved that the lower class, if they once obtained the upper hand, were ready to go all lengths; while the number of the nobility who were flocking across the frontier showed that among this body there existed grievous apprehensions as to the future. harry had read in a book in the library of the chateau an account of the frightful excesses perpe- trated by the jacquerie. that dreadful insurrection had been crushed out by the armor-clad knights of france; but who was to undertake the task should such a flame again burst out? the nobles no longer wore armor, they had no armed retainers; they would be a mere handful among a multitude. the army had already shown its sympathy with the popular movement, and could not be relied upon. that the marquis himself should face out any danger which might come seemed to harry right and natural; but he thought that he was wrong not to send his wife and daughters, and at an}t rate jules, across the rhine until the dangers were passed. but the marquis had no fears. some one had mentioned the jacquerie in one of their conversa" in the reign of terror. tions, but the marquis had put it aside as bein^ altogether apart from the question. "the jacquerie took place," he said, "hundreds of years ago. the people then were serfs and little more than savages. can we imagine it possible that at this day the people would be capable of such excesses?" the answer of the gentleman he addressed had weighed little with the marquis, but harry thought over it seriously. "civilization has increased, marquis, since the days of the jacquerie, but the condition of the people has improved but little. even no w the feudal usages are scarce, extinct. the lower class have been regarded as animals rather than men; and the increase of civilization which you speak of, and from which they have received no benefit, makes them hate even more bitterly than of old those in position above them. "i am a reformer; i desire to see sweeping changes; i want a good, wise, and honest govern- ment; and i desire these things because i fear that, if they do not come peacefully, they will come in a tempest of lawlessness and vengeance." "well, they are getting all they want," the mar- quis said peevishly. "they are passing every law, however absurd, that comes into their heads. no in the reign of terror. h jtie is opposing them. they have got the reins in their own hands. what on earth can they want more? there might have been an excuse for rebel- lion and riot two years since—there can be none now. what say you abbe?" the abbe seldom took part in conversations on politics, but, being now appealed to, he said mildly: "we must allow for human nature, monsieur. the slave who finds himself free, with arms in his hands, is not likely to settle down at once into a peaceful citizen. men's heads are turned with the changes the last two years have brought about. they are drunk with their own success, and who can say where they will stop? so far they find no benefit from the changes. bread is as dear as ever, men's pockets are as empty. they thought to gain everything—they find they have got nothing; and so they will cry for more and more change, their fury will run higher and higher with each disappointment, and who can say to what lengths they will go? they have already confiscated the property of the church, next will come that of the laity." "i had no idea you were such a prophet of evil, abbe," the marquis said with an uneasy laugh, while feelings of gloom and anxiety fell over the others who heard the abbe's words. ? in tbb reign of terror. "god forbid that i should be a prophet!" the old man said gravely. "i hope and trust that i am mistaken, and that he has not reserved this terrible punishment for france. but you asked me for my opinion, marquis, and i have given it to you." despite these forebodings the winter of passed without disturbance at the chateau. in the spring came news of disorder, pillage, and acts of ruffianism in various parts. chateaux and convents were burned and destroyed, and people refused to pay either their taxes or rents to their landlords. in the south the popular excitement was greater than in other parts. in burgundy there was for the most part tranquillity ; and the marquis, who had always been regarded as an indulgent seigneur by the people of his estate, still main- tained that these troubles only occurred where the proprietors had abused their privileges and ground down the people. is tee be n of terror. chaptek iy. the clouds gather. occasionally and at considerable intervals harry received letters from his father. the latter said that there was great excitement in england over the events which had taken place in france, and that his mother was rendered extremely anxious by the news of the attacks upon chateaux, and the state of tumult and lawlessness which prevailed. they thought he had better resign his situation and return home. harry in his replies made light of the danger, and said that after having been treated so kindly, it would be most ungrateful of him to break the en- gagement he had made for three years, and leave his friends at the present moment. indeed, he, like all around him, was filled with the excitement of the time. in spite of the almost universal confusion and disorder, life went on quietly and calmly at the chateau. the establishment was greatly reduced- for few of the tenants paid their rents; but the ab- sence of ceremonial brought the family closer to- ft) lit the relgn of terror. gether, and the marquis and his wife agreed that they had never spent a happier time than the spring and summer of . the news of the failure of the king's attempt at flight on the th of june was a great shock to the marquis. "a king should never fly," he said; "above all he should never make an abortive at- tempt at flight. it is lamentable that he should be so ill-advised." at the end of september the elections to the legislative assembly, as it was now to be called, resulted in the return of men even more extreme and violent than those whom they succeeded. "we must go to paris,"the marquis said one day toward the end of october ; " the place for a french nobleman now is beside the king." "and that of his wife beside the queen," the mar- quise said quietly. "i cannot say no," the marquis replied. "i wish you could have stayed with the children, but they need fear no trouble here. ernest is nearly seven- teen, and may well begin, in my absence, to repre- sent me. i think we can leave the chateau without anxiety, bat even were it not so it would still be our duty to go." "there is another thing i want to speak to you about before we start," the marquise said. "jeanne iy the reign of terror is no longer a child, although we still regard her as one; she is fifteen, and she is graver and more ear- nest than most girls of her age. it seems ridiculous to think of such a thing, but it is clear that she has made this english lad her hero. do you not think it better that he should go? it would be unfor- tunate in the extreme that she should get to have any serious feelings for him." "i have noticed it, too, julie," the marquis said, "and have smiled to myself to see how the girl lis- tens gravely to all he says, but i am not disposed to send him away. in the first place, he has done a great deal of good to the boys, more even than i had hoped for. ernest now thinks and speaks for himself, his ideas are broader, his views wider. he was fitted before for the regime that has passed; he is rapidly becoming fit to take his part in that which is to come. "in the next place, my dear, you must remember the times have changed. mademoiselle jeanne de st. caux, daughter of a peer and noble of france, was infinitely removed from the son of an english doctor; but we seem to be approaching the end of all things; and although so far the law for the abolition of titles has been disregarded here, you must prepare yourself to find that in paris you will be no longer addressed by your title, and i shall be in tee reign of terror. monsieur de st. caux; or may be they will object both to the de and the st., and i shall find myself plain monsieur caux." "oh, edouard !" the marquise exclaimed aghast. "i am quite in earnest, my dear, i can assure you. you will say she is still the heiress of a portion of our estates, but who can say how long the estates will remain after the title is gone? just as the gen- tlemen of the pave object to titles because they have none themselves, so being penniless they will object to property, and for aught i know may decree a general division of lands and goods." "impossible, edouard!" "not at all impossible, julie. the beggars are on horseback, and they intend to ride. last week i called in from my bankers all the cash at my dis- posal, about five thousand louis, and to-morrow du tillet is going to start for holland. he will hand it over to a banker there to forward to dr. sand- with, to whom i have written asking him to under- take the charge. if you will take my advice you will forward at the same time all your jewelry. if things go wrong it will keep us in our old age and furnish a dot for our daughters. "the jewels of the st. caux have always been considered as equal to those of any family in france, and are certainly worth half a million francs even in tee reign of terror. to sell. keep a few small trinkets, and send all the others away. but i have wandered from my sub- ject. under these circumstances i think it as well that we should not interfere in the matter you speak of. personally one could not wish for a better husband for one of our daughters than this young englishman would make. "his father is a gentleman, and so is he, and in such times as are coming i should be glad to know that one of my girls had such a protector as he would make her; but this is, as you said at first, almost ridiculous. he is two years older than she is, but in some respects she is the elder; he regards her as a pretty child, and all his thoughts are given to his studies and his sports. "he has something of the english barbarian left in him, and is absolutely indifferent to jeanne's pref- erence. a french lad at his age would be flat- tered. this english boy does not notice it, or if he notices it regards it as an exhibition of gratitude, which he could well dispense with, for having saved her life. "you can leave them with a tranquil heart, my dear. i will answer for it that never in his inmost heart has the idea of his ever making love to jeanne occurred to this english lad. lastly, i should be sorry for him to leave because his good spirits and m the reign of terror. cheerfulness are invaluable at present. ernest is apt to be gloomy and depressed, and cheerfulness is at a premium in france at present. moreover, should there be any difficulty or danger while we are absent i trust very much to that lad's good sense and courage. that incident of the dog showed how quick he is to plan and how prompt to carry his plans into effect. it may seem absurd when there are several of our staunch and tried friends here to rely in any way on a lad, but i do so. not, of course, as before our faithful friends, but as one whose aid is not to be despised." thus it happened that on the same day that the marquis started for paris, m. du tillet set out from the chateau, taking with him some trunks and packages which appeared but of little value and were not likely to attract attention, but which con- tained a considerable sum of money and the famous st oaux jewels. life at the chateau was dull after the departure of its heads. they had few visitors now; the most frequent among them being victor de gisons. the estates of the duke, his father, adjoined those of the marquis, and between him and marie a marriage had long before been arranged by their parents. for once the inclination of the young people agreed with the wishes of the elders, and they were warmly in the reign of terror. attached to each other. no formal betrothal, how- ever, had as yet taken place, the troubles of the times having caused its postponement, although formerly it had been understood that in the present autumn the marriage should be celebrated. the young count had at the assembly of the states general been a prominent liberal, and had been one of those who had taken his seat with the third estate and had voted for the abolition of the special privileges of the nobility, but the violence of the assembly had alarmed and disgusted him, and in the winter he had left paris and returned to his father's estates. ernest and harry studied with the abbe, and fenced and rode as usual with m. du tillet after his return from holland. the ever-darkening cloud weighed upon their spirits, and yet life at the chateau was pleasant. the absence of their parents and the general feeling of anxiety knit the rest of the family closer together. much of the ceremonial observance which had, on his first arrival, surprised and amused harry was now laid aside. marie, happy in the visits of her lover and at the prospect of her approaching marriage, did her best to make the house cheerful. harry, who had not much liked her at first, now found her most pleasant and agree- able, and the younger girls walked in the grounds in the reign of terror. with their brothers and chatted when they were gathered in the evening just as harry's sisters had done at home. jeanne was, if the group broke up, generally harry's companion. ever since the affair of the mad dog she had treated him as her special friend, adopting all his opinions and falling in with any suggestion he might make with a readiness which caused ernest one day to say laughingly to harry: "one would think, harry, that you were jeanne's elder brother, not i. she listens to you with a good deal more deference than she does to me." the winter came and went. from time to time letters arrived from paris, but the news was always in the same strain. things were going worse and worse, the king was little more than a prisoner in the hands of the people of paris. the violence of the assembly was ever on the increase, the mob of paris were the real masters of the situation, the greater part of the nobility had fled, and any who appeared in the streets were liable to insult. the feeling in the provinces kept pace with that in paris. committees were formed in every town and village and virtually superseded the constituted authorities. numbers of chateaux were burned, and the peasants almost universally refused any longer to pay the dues to their seigneurs. but at present in the reign of terror. none dreamed of personal danger. the nobles who emigrated did so because they found the situation intolerable, and hoped that an army would be shortly raised and set in motion by foreign powers to put down the movement which constituted a danger to kings, nobles, and property all over europe. but as yet there was nothing to fore- shadow the terrible events which were to take place, or to indicate that a movement which began in the just demand of an oppressed people for justice and fair treatment, would end in that people becoming a bloodthirsty rabble, eager to destroy all who were above them in birth, education, or intellect. therefore, although the marquis de st. caux fore- saw the possibility of confiscation of the property and abolition of all the privileges of the nobility, he was under no uneasiness whatever as to the safety of his children. his instructions were precise: that if a small party of peasants attacked the chateau, and it was evident that a successful resist- ance could be made, m. du tillet should send word down to the mayor of dijon and ask for help, and should, with the servants of the chateau, defend it; if it was attacked by a large mob, no resistance was to be offered, but he was to abandon it at once and journey to paris with the children. but the time went on without disturbance. in dijon as else- in the reign of terror. where a committee had been formed and had taken into its hands the entire control of the management of the town. at its head was the son of the mayor, monsieur lebat. "i do not understand that young fellow," m. du tillet said one day on his return from dijon. "i do not like him; he is ambitious and pushing, he is the leader of the advanced party in dijon, and is in communication with the most violent spirits in paris, but i am bound to say that he appears most anxious to be of service to the family. whenever i see him he assures me of his devotion to the marquis. to- day, mademoiselle marie, he prayed me to assure you that you need feel under no uneasiness, for that he held the mob in his hand, and would answer for it that no hostile movement should be made against the chateau, and in fact i know, for i have taken the precaution of buying the services of a man who is upon the committee, that lebat has actually exerted himself to benefit us. "it has several times been urged by the most violent section that the mob should be incited to attack the chateau, but he has each time success- fully opposed the proposition. he has declared that while no one is more hostile than himself to the privileges of seigneury, and while he would not only abolish the nobles as a class but confiscate w the reign of terror, m their possessions, he considers that in the case of the marquis nothing should be done until a decree to that effect is passed by the assembly. "until that time, he argues, the people should discriminate. the chateaux of tyrants should be everywhere leveled to the ground, but it would be unworthy of the people to take measures of venge- ance against those who have not notably ground down those dependent upon them, and that as the marquis has not pushed the privilege of his class to the utmost, his chateau and property should be respected until the assembly pass a decree upon the subject." "i am sure we are much indebted to this monsieur lebat,'' marie said. "he was here at the hunting party and seemed a worthy young man of his class. of course he was out of place among us, but for a man in his position he seemed tolerable." "yes," monsieur du tillet agreed, but in a some- what doubtful tone of voice. "so far as assurances go there is nothing to be desired, and he has, as i baid, so far acted loyally up to them, and yet some- how i do not like him. it strikes me that he is playing a game, although what that game is i can- not say. at any rate i do not trust him; he speaks smoothly, but i think he has a double face, and that he is cruel and treacherous." in the reign of terror. "that is not like you, monsieur du tillet," marie laughed, "you who generally have a good word for every one. it seems to me that you are hard upon the young man, who appears to be animated by ex- cellent sentiments toward us." spring came again. m. du tillet learned that the mob of dijon were becoming more and more violent, and that spies and watchmen had been told off to see that none of the family attempted to fly for the frontier. he therefore wrote to th« marquis urging that it would be better that the family should move to paris, where they would be in no danger. in reply he received a letter begging him to start as soon as the roads were fit for travel. about the same time victor de gisons received a summons from his father to join him in paris. the messenger who brought the letter to m. du tillet brought one also for marie from the mar- quise, saying that the heads of both families were of opinion that the marriage must be still further postponed, as in the present state of affairs all private plans and interests must be put aside in view of the dangers that surrounded the king. marie acquiesced in the decision, and bade her lover adieu calmly and bravely. "they are quite right, victor; i have felt for m the reign of terror. some time that when france was on the verge of a precipice it was not the time for her nobles to be marrying. noblesse oblige. if we were two peasants we might marry and be happy. as it is we must wait, even though we know that waiting may never come to an end. i have a conviction. victor, that our days of happiness are over, and that terrible things are about to happen." "but nothing that can happen can separate us, marie." "nothing but death, victor," she said quietly. "but surely, marie, you take too gloomy a view. death, of course, may separate all lovers; but there seems no reason that we should fear him now more than at other times. a few farmers-general and others who have made themselves obnoxious to the mob have been killed, but what is that! there should at least be no hostility to our order many of the nobles have been foremost in demand- ing reforms. all have cheerfully resigned their privileges. there is no longer the slightest reason for hostility against us." "my dear victor," marie said quietly, "you do not ask a wild beast about to rend his prey what is the reason for his actions. i hope i may be wrong; but at least, dear, we shall see each other again before long, and, whatever troubles may come, will in the reign of terror. share them. my mother in her letter yesterday said that she and the marquis had determined that we should join them in paris; for that although the disorders have abated somewhat they are anxious at the thought of our being alone here, and in the present position of things they have no hope of being able to leave the king. she says my father is very indignant at the great emigration of the nobility that is going on. in the first place, he holds that they are deserting their post in the face of the enemy; and in the second place, by their assemblage across the frontier and their intrigues at foreign courts against france they are causing the people to look with suspicion upon the whole class." "you have kept your good news till the last, marie," victor said. "here have we been saying good-by, and it seems that we are going to meet again very shortly." "i have been bidding farewell," marie said, "not to you, but to our dream of happiness. "we shall meet soon, but i fear that will never return." "you are a veritable prophet of ill to-day, marie," victor said with an attempt at gayety. "some day, i hope, dear, that we shall smile together over your gloomy prognostication." "i hope so, victor—i pray god it may be so " jw the reign of terror. a week later three carriages arrived from paris to convey the family there; and upon the following day the whole party started ; the girls, their gouver- nante, the abbe, and some of the female servants occupying the carriages, monsieur du tillet, the boys, and several of the men riding beside them as an escort. they met with no interruption on the road, and arrived in paris on the last day of april, . harry was glad at the change. the doings at paris had been the subject of conversation and thought for nearly two years, and he had caught the excitement which pervaded france. he was tired of the somewhat monotonous life in the country, and had for some time been secretly longing to be at the center of interest, and to see for himself the stirring events, of which little more than a feeble echo had reached them at the chateau. the change of life was great indeed; the marquis had thrown himself into the thick of all that was going on, and his salon was crowded every evening with those of the nobility who still remained in paris. but he was regarded as by no means a man of extreme views, and many of the leaders of the party of the gironde with whose names harry was familiar were also frequent visitors — roland, vergniaud, lanjuinais, brissot, guadet, lebrun and condorcet. in the reign of terror. harry was struck with the variety of conversation that went on at these meetings. many of the young nobles laughed and chatted with the ladies with as much gayety as if the former state of things were continuing undisturbed; and an equal in- difference to the public state of things was shown by many of the elders, who sat down and devoted themselves to cards. others gathered apart in little groups and discussed gloomily and in low tones the events of the day; while others who were more liberal in their views gathered round the deputies of the gironde and joined in their talk upon the meetings of the assembly and the measures which were necessary to consolidate the work of reform, and to restore peace and happiness to france. the marquis moved from group to group, equally at home with all, chatting lightly with the courtiers, whispering gravely with the elders, or discussing with the tone of the man of the world the views and opinions of the deputies. victor de gisons was constantly at the house, and strove by his cheerful- ness and gayety to dissipate the shade of melancholy which still hung over marie. toward the end of july the marquis de st. oaux and the little body of royalists who still remained faithful to the king became more and more anxious; the position of the royal family was now most pre- nr the reign of terror. carious; most of the troops in paris had been sent to the frontier, and those left behind were disorgan- ized and ready to join the mob. two out of the three swiss battalions had been sent away, and but one remained at the tuileries. of the national guard only the battalion of filles st. thomas and part of the battalion of the saints peres could be trusted to defend the king. the rest were opposed to him, and would certainly join the populace. on the th of july a large number of national guards from the provinces had arrived in paris; and the battalion from marseilles, the most violent of all, had, immediately that it arrived in the city, come into collision with one of the loyal battalions. the royalists were wholly without organization, their sole aim being to defend the king should he be in danger, and if necessary to die by his side. on the evening before the th of august the tocsin was heard to sound and the drums to beat to arms. all day there had been sinister rumors circulating, but the king had sent privately to his friends that the danger was not imminent and that he had no need of them; however, as soon as the alarm sounded the marquis snatched up a sword and prepared to start for the palace. he embraced his wife, who was calm but very pale, and his children. ernest asked to be allowed to go with him, but the marquis said; , in the reign of terror. "no, my son, my life is the king's; but yours at present is due to your mother and sisters." it was twenty-four hours before he returned. his clothes were torn, his head was bound up, and one of his arms disabled. the marquise gave a cry of delight as he entered. no one had slept since he left, for every hour fresh rumors of fighting had arrived, and the sound of cannon and musketry had been heard in the early part of the day. "it is all over, wife!" he said. "we have done our best, but the king will do nothing. we cannot say we have lost the battle, for we have never tried to win it; but it would be the same thing in the long run." before hearing what had passed the marquise in- sisted upon her husband taking refreshment and having his wounds bound up and attended to. when he had finished his meal the marquis began: "we had a good deal of difficulty in getting into the tuileries, for the national guard tried to prevent our passing. however, we most of us got through; and we found that there were about a hundred assembled, almost all men of family. the marshal de mailly led us into the king's apartment. "' sire,' he said, 'here are your faithful nobles, eager to replace your majesty on the throne of your ancestors.' the national guard in the palace with, drew at once, leaving us alone with the swiss. of tse rfilgn of terror. the throng around became more and more numerous. the cannon they brought were turned against us. the first door was burst open, the swiss did not fire, the populace poured in and mixed with us and the soldiers. some one fired a gun. whether it was one of the swiss or one of the mob i know not, but the fight began. the swiss in good order marched down the staircase, drove out the mob, seized the cannon the marseillais had brought, and turning them upon their assailants opened fire. the mob fled in terror, and i believe that one battalion would have conquered all the scum of paris had not the king, at the sound of the first shot, sent word to the swiss to cease firing. they obeyed, and although the mob kept firing upon them from the windows, the great part of them marched calm, and without returning a shot, to the assembly, where, at the order of the king, they laid down their arms and were shut up in the church of the feuil- lants. "a portion of the swiss had remained on guard in the tuileries when the main body marched away. the instant the palace was undefended the mob burst in. every swiss was murdered, as well as many of the servants of the queen. the mob sacked the palace and set it on fire. when the swiss left we had one by one made our way out by in tee reign of terror. a back entrance, but most of us were recognized by the mob and were literally cut to pieces. i rushed into a house when assaulted, and, slamming the door behind me, made my way out by the back and so escaped them, getting off with only these two wounds; then i hurried to the house of a friend, whom i had seen murdered before my eyes, but his servants did not know of it, and they allowed me to remain there till dark, and you see here i am." "but what has happened at the assembly, and where is the king?" the marquise asked, after the first exclamation of horror at the tale they had heard. "the king and his family are prisoners in the temple," the marquis said. "the commune has triumphed over the assembly, and a national con- vention is to be the supreme power. the king's functions are suspended, but as he has not ruled for the last three years that wil] make little difference. a new ministry has been formed with danton, lebrun, and some of the girondists. he and his family are handed over to the care of the commune, and their correspondence is to be intercepted. a revolutionary tribunal has been constituted, when, i suppose, the farce of trying men whose only crime is loyalty to the king is to be carried out. in the reign of terror. "we must be prepared, my love, to face the worst. escape is now impossible, and, indeed, so long as the king and queen are alive i would not quit paris; but we must prepare for sending the children away if possible." w the reign of terror chapter v. the outburst. "monsieur le marquis," m. du tillet exclaimed, hurrying into the salon, in which the marquis with his family were sitting, on the evening of the st of august, "i hear that it is rumored in the street that all the members of noble families are to be arrested." the room was lit up as if to receive company, but the crowd which had thronged it a fortnight before were gone. the girondists had first withdrawn, then the nobles had begun to fall off, for it had become dangerous for them to show themselves in the streets, where they were liable to be insulted and attacked by the mob. moreover, any meeting of known royalists was regarded with suspicion by the authorities, and so gradually the gatherings had become smaller and smaller. the only constant visitor now was the count de gisons, but he to-night was absent. the news was not unexpected. the violence of the extremists of the mountain had been increasing daily. at the cordeliers and jacobin clubs dan ton, robespierre, of tss rfilgtf of terror. and marat had thundered nightly their denunciations against the aristocrats, and it was certain that at any moment the order for their arrest might be given. such bad news had been received of the state of feel- ing in the provinces, that it was felt that it would be more dangerous to send the young ones away than to retain them in paris, and the marquise had been a prey to the liveliest anxiety respecting her children. it seemed impossible that there could be any animosity against them, but the blind rage of the mob had risen to such a height that it was impossible to say what might happen. now that she heard the blow was about to fall she drew her younger girls instinctively to her, as if to protect them, but no word passed her lips. "it might still be possible to fly," m. du tillet went on. "we have all the disguises in readi- ness." "a marquis de st. caux does not fly from the ccmaille of paris," the marquis said quietly. "no, du tillet; the king and queen are in prison, and it is not for their friends to leave their post here in paris because danger threatens them; come when they may, these wretches will find us here ready for them." "but the children, edouard!" the marquise mur- mured. "i shall stand by my father's side," ernest said firmly. "i do not doubt your courage, my son. i wish n«w that i had long ago sent you all across the frontier; but who could have foreseen that the peo- ple of france were about to become a horde of wild beasts, animated by hate against all, old and young, in whose veins ran noble blood. however, al- though it is the duty of your mother and i to stay at our posts, it is our duty also to try and save our house from destruction; therefore, du tillet, i commit my two sons to your charge. save them if you can, disguise them as you will, and make for the frontier. once there you know all the arrange- ments we have already made." "but, father," ernest remonstrated. "i can listen to no argument, ernest," the mar- quis said firmly. "in this respect my will is law. i know what your feelings are, but you must set them aside, they must give way to the necessity of saving one of the oldest families of france from perishing." "and the girls?" the marquise asked, as ernest bent his head in sign of obedience to his father's orders. "i cannot think," the marquis said, "that they will be included in the order for our arrest. they in the reign of terror. must go, as arranged, in the morning to the house of our old servant and remain quietly there await- ing the course of events. they will pass very well as three of her nieces who have arrived from the country. you had better send a trusty servant to prepare her for their coming. you, harry, will, of course, accompany my sons." "pardon, marquis," harry said quietly, "i am firmly resolved to stay in paris. i may be of as- sistance to your daughters, and there will be no danger to me in remaining, for i have no noble blood in my veins. besides, my traveling with m. du tillet would add to his danger. he will have difficulty enough in traversing the country with two boys, a third would add to that difficulty." "i cannot help that," the marquis said. " ought long ago to have sent you home, and feel that i have acted wrongly in allowing you to remain so long. i must insist upon your accompanying my sons." "i am sorry to disobey you, monsieur le marquis," harry said quietly but firmly; "but from the moment of your arrest i shall be my own master and can dispose of my actions. i am deeply sensible of all your goodness to me, but i cannot yield, for i feel that i may be of some slight use here. there in the reign of terror. after a prolonged talk with m. du tillet the marquis sent for ernest. as soon as he entered the lad said: "of course, sir, i shall obey your commands; but it seems to me an unworthy part for your son to play, to be flying the country and leaving a stranger here to look after your daughters." "he is hardly a stranger, ernest," the marquis replied. "he has been with us as one of the family for two years, and he risked his life for your sisters. you could not stay here without extreme risk, for if your name is not already included in the warrant for arrest it speedily will be so, and when they once taste blood these wolves will hunt down every one of us. he, on the other hand, might proceed openly through the streets without danger; nevertheless, i would not have kept him if he would have gone; but i have no power of controlling him, and as he chooses to devote himself to us i thankfully accept his devotion. "and now, my son, it may be that after our parting to-morrow we shall not meet again, for god alone knows what fate is in store for us. i have, therefore, some serious advice to give you. if anything happens to me, you will, i know, never forget that you are the head of the family, and that the honor of a great name is in your keeping; but in the reign of terror. do not try to strive against the inevitable. adapt yourself to the new circumstances under which you will be placed, and lay aside that pride which has had much to do with the misfortunes which are now befalling us. "as to your sisters, marie is already provided for, that is if de gisons is not included in the order for arrest. i have already sent off a message to him to warn him; and as it has already been ar- ranged between us that while his father will stay and face whatever will come, it is his duty, like yours, to escape the danger which threatens our class, i trust that he will at once endeavor to leave the country; but i imagine that he will stop in paris until some means are devised for getting your sisters away. "as to the others, if you all reach england and settle down there do not keep up the class distinc- tions which have prevailed here. marry your sis- ters to men who will protect and make them happy. that these must be gentlemen goes without saying; but that is sufficient. for example, if in future time a gentleman of the rank of our english friend here, of whose character you can entirely approve, asks for the hand of either of your younger sisters, do not refuse it. remember that such a suit would have the cordial approval of your mother and myself." in the reign of terror. a look of great surprise passed over ernest's face. it had seemed to him so much a matter of course that the ladies of his house should marry into noble families that the idea of one of them being given to a gentleman belonging to the professional class was surprising indeed. "do you really mean, sir, that if my friend harry were some day to ask for jeanne's hand you would approve of the match?" "that is exactly what i do mean, ernest. in the stormy times in which we are living i could wish no better protector for her. were he a frenchman in the same position of life, i own that i might view the matter in a different light; but, as i have said, in england the distinction of classes is much less marked than here; and, moreover, in england there is little fear of such an outbreak of democracy as that which is destroying france." a few minutes later monsieur du tillet entered with the clothes which had been prepared for the boys. they were such as would be worn by the sons of workmen; he himself was attired in a blue blouse and trousers. jules was aroused from the couch on which he had for the last hour been asleep, and he and ernest retired to dress them- selves in their new costume, m. du tillet accom- panying them to assist in their toilet. both boys in the reign of terror. ? had the greatest repugnance to the change, and ob- jected still further when m. du tillet insisted it was absolutely necessary that they should cut their hair and smear their faces and hands with dirt. "my dear monsieur ernest," he said, "it would be worse than useless for you to assume that attire unless at the same time you assumed the bearing and manners appropriate to it. in your own dress we might for a short time walk the street without observation; but if you sallied out in that blouse with your white hands and your head thrown back, and a look of disdain and disgust on your face, the first gamin who met you would cry out: 'there is an aristocrat in disguise!' "you must behave as if you were acting in a comedy. you are representing a lad of the lower orders. you must try to imitate his walk and manner. shove your hands deep in your pockets, shuffle your feet along carelessly, let your head roll about as if it were uneasy on your neck, round your shoulders, and slouch your head forward. as to you, jules, your role should be impertinence. put your cap on the wrong way; hold your nose in the air; pull your short hair down over your forehead, and let some of it spurt out through that hole in your cap. to be quite correct, you ought to address jeering remarks to every respectable man and in the reign of terror. woman you meet in the streets; but as you know nothing of parisian slang, you must hold your tongue. see how thoroughly i have got myself up. you would take me for an idle out-of-elbows work- man wherever you met me. i do not like it; but, as i have to disguise myself, i try to do it thoroughly." it was, however, with a feeling of humiliation that the boys presented themselves before the marquis. he looked at them scrutinizingly. "you will do, my boys," he said gravely. "i should have passed you in the street without know- ing you. now come in with me and say good-by to your mother and sisters. the sooner you are out of this house the better, for there is no saying at what hour the agents of this canaille may present themselves." the parting was a sad one indeed, but it was over at last, and monsieur du tillet hurried the two boys away as soon as their father returned with them. "god bless you, du tillet!" the marquis said as he embraced his friend. "should aught happen to us, you will, i know, be a father to them." "now, harry," the marquis said when he had mastered the emotion caused by the parting, which he felt might be a final one, "since you have chosen to throw in your lot with ours, i will give you a few m tee re qn of teftrolt. instructions. in the first place, i have hidden under a plank beneath my bed a bag containing a thousand crowns. it is the middle plank. count an even number from each leg and the center one covers the bag. "you will find the plank is loose and that you can raise it easily with a knife; but wax has been run in, and dust swept over it, so that there is no fear of its being noticed by any who may pillage the house, which they will doubtless do after we are arrested. i have already sent an equal sum to louise moulin. here is her address; but it is possible that you may need money, and may be unable to communicate with my daughters at her house; at any rate do you keep the bag of money in your charge. "you had best attire yourself at once in the old- est suit of clothes you have got. my daughters will be ready in a few minutes. they are already dressed, so that they can slip out at the back entrance. should we be disturbed before morning i shall place them under your escort; for although i hope that all the servants are faithful, one can answer for no one in these times. i would send them off now, but that the sight of females moving through the streets at this time of night would be likely to attract attention on the part of drunken men, or of fellows returning from these rascally in the reign of terror. clubs, which are the center and focus of all the mis- chief that is going on. "i can give you no further advice. you must be guided by circumstances. if, as i trust, the girls can live undisturbed and unsuspected with their mother's old nurse, it were best that they should remain there until the troubles are finally over, and france comes to her senses again. if not, i must leave it to you to act for the best. it is a great trust to place in the hands of a youth of your age; but it is your own choosing, and we have every confidence in you." "i will do my best to deserve it, sir," harry said quietly; "but i trust that you and madame la mar- quise will soon be able to resume your guardian- ship. i cannot believe that although just at present the populace are excited to fury by agitators, they can in cold blood intend to wreak their vengeanoe upon all the classes above them." "i hope you may be right," the marquis said; "but i fear that it is not so. the people are mad so far. all that has been done has in no way mitigated their sufferings, and they gladly follow the preachings of the arch scoundrels of the jacobin club. i fear that before all this is over france will be deluged with blood. and now, when you have changed your clothes lie down, ready to rise at a in the reign of terror. ill moment's notice. should you hear a tumult, run at once to the long gallery. there my daughters will join you, prepared for flight. lead them instantly to the back entrance, avoiding, if possible, any ob- servation from the domestics. as these sleep on the floor above, and know nothing of the dangers which threaten us, they will not awake so quickly, and i trust that you will be able to get out without being seen by any of them. in that case, however closely questioned, no one will be able to afford a clue by which you can be traced." when he had changed his clothes harry extin- guished all the lights in the salon, for the marquis had long before ordered all the servants to retire to rest. then he opened the window looking into the street and took his place close to it. sleep under the circumstances was impossible. as the hours passed he thought over the events of the last few days. he was fully aware that the task he had undertaken might be full of danger; but to a healthy and active english lad a spice of danger is by no means a deterrent. he could, of course, have left his employment before the family left their chateau; but after his arrival in paris it would have been difficult for him to have traversed the country and crossed the frontier, and he thought that the danger which he now ran was not in the reign of terror. much greater than would have been entailed by such a step. in the next place he was greatly attached to the family of the marquis; and the orgies of the mob had filled him with such horror and disgust that he would have risked much to save any unfortunate, even a stranger, from their hands; and lastly, he felt the fascination of the wild excitement of the times, and congratulated himself that he should see and perhaps be an actor in the astonishing drama which was occupying the attention of the whole civilized world. as he sat there he arranged his own plans. after seeing his charge in safety he would take a room in some quiet locality, alleging that he was the clerk of a notary, and would, in the dress of one of that class, or the attire of one of the lower orders, pass his days in the streets, gathering every rumor and watching the course of events. morning was just breaking when he heard the sound of many feet coming along the street, and look- ing out saw a crowd of men with torches, headed by two whose red scarfs showed them to be officials. as they reached the entrance gate the men at the head of the procession stopped. harry at once darted away to the long gallery, and as he did so heard a loud knocking at the door. in the reign of terror. scarcely had he reached the gallery when a door at the further end opened, and three figures, the tallest carrying a lamp, appeared. the girls, too, had been keeping watch with their father and mother. they were dressed in the attire of respecta- ble peasant girls. virginie was weeping loudly, but the elder girls, although their cheeks bore traces of the many tears they had shed during the night, restrained them now. when they reached harry, the lad, without a word, took the lamp from marie's hand, and led the way along the corridor and down the stairs toward the back of the house. everything was quiet. the knocking, loud as it was, had not yet aroused the servants, and, drawing the bolt quietly, and blowing out the lamp, harry led the way into the garden behind the house. then for a moment he paused. there was a sound of axes hewing down the gate which led from the garden into the street behind. "quick, mesdemoiselles!" he said; "there is no time to lose." he took the key out of the door, and closed and jacked it after him. then throwing the key among the shrubs he took virginie's hand and led the way rapidly toward the gate, which was fortunately a strong one. in the reign of terror. "in here, mesdemoiselles," he said to marie, pointing to some shrubs close to the gate. "they will rush straight to the house when the gate gives way and we will slip out quietly." for nearly five minutes the gate, which was strongly bound with iron, resisted the attack upon it. then there was a crash, and a number of men with torches, and armed with muskets and pikes, poured in. virginie was clinging to marie, who, whispering to her to be calm and brave, pressed the child closely to her, while jeanne stood quiet and still by the side of harry, looking through the bushes. some twenty men entered, and a minute later there was the sound of battering at the door through which the fugitives had sallied out. "now," harry said, " let us be going." emerg- ing from the shelter, a few steps took them to the gate, and stepping over the door, which lay pros- trate on the ground, they turned into the lane. "let us run." harry said; "we must get out of this lane as soon as possible. we are sure to have the mob here before long, and should certainly be questioned." they hurried down the lane, took the first turn- ing away from the house, and then slackened their pace. presently they heard a number of footsteps m the rkign of terror. clattering on the pavement; but fortunately they reached another turning before the party came up. they turned down and stood up in a doorway till the footsteps had passed, and then resumed their way. "it is still too early for us to walk through the streets without exciting attention," harry said. "we had better make down to the river and wait there till the town is quite astir." in ten minutes they reached the river, and harry found a seat for them at the foot of a pile of timber, where they were partially screened from observa- tion. hitherto the girls had not spoken a word since they had issued from the house. virginie was dazed and frightened by the events of the night, and had hurried along almost mechanically holding marie's hand. marie's brain was too full to talk; her thoughts were with her father and mother and with her absent lover. she wondered that he had not come to her in spite of everything. perhaps he was already a captive; perhaps, in obedience to his father's orders, he was in hiding, waiting events. that he could, even had his father commanded him, have left paris as a fugitive without coming to see her, did not even occur to her as possible. with these thoughts there was mingled a vague wonder at her own position. a few weeks since, in the reign of veadoh. petted and cared for as the eldest daughter of one of the noblest families of france, now a fugitive in the streets under the sole care of this english boy. she had, the evening before, silently sided with ernest. it had seemed to her wrong that he should be sent away, and the assertion of harry that he intended to stay and watch over her and her sisters seemed at once absurd and presumptuous; but she already felt that she had been wrong in that opinion. the decision and coolness with which he had at once taken the command from the moment he met them in the gallery, and the quickness with which he had seized the only mode of escape, had surprised and dominated her. her own impulse, when on opening the door she heard the attack that was being made on the gate, was to draw back instantly and return to the side of her parents, and it was due to harry only that she and her sisters had got safely away. hitherto, although after the incident of the mad dog she had exchanged her former attitude of absolute indifference to one of cordiality and friendliness, she had regarded him as a boy. indeed she had treated and considered him as being very much younger than ernest, and in some respects she had been justified in doing so, for in his light- in the reign of terror. hearted fun, his love of active exercise, and his entire absence of any assumption of age, he was far more boyish that ernest. but although her thoughts were too busy now to permit her to analyze her feelings, she knew that she had been mistaken, and felt a strange confidence in this lad who had so promptly and coolly assumed the entire command of the party, and had piloted them with such steady nerve through the danger. as for jeanne, she felt no surprise and but little alarm. her confidence in her protector was un- bounded. prompt and cool as he was himself, she was ready on the instant to obey his orders, and felt a certain sensation of pride at the manner in which her previous confidence in him was being justified. after placing the girls in their shelter harry had left them and stood leaning against the parapet of the quay as if carelessly watching the water, but maintaining a vigilant lookout against the approach of danger. the number of passers-by increased rapidly. the washerwomen came down to the boats moored in the stream and began their opera- tion of banging the linen with wooden beaters. marketwomen came along with baskets, the hum and stir of life everywhere commenced, and paris was fairly awake. seeing that it was safe now to proceed, harry re- in the reign of terror. turned to his companions. he had scarcely glanced at them before, and now looked approvingly at their disguises, to which the marquise had, during the long hours of the night, devoted the most zealous attention. marie had been made to look older than she was. a few dark lines carefully traced on her forehead, at the corners of her eyes and mouth, had added many years to her appearance, and she could have passed, except to the closest observer, as the mother of virginie, whose dress was calculated to make her look even younger than she was. the hands and faces of all three had been slightly tinged with brown to give them a sunburnt aspect in ac- cordance with their peasant dresses, and so com- plete was the transformation that harry could scarcely suppress a start of surprise as he looked at the group. "it would be safe now, mademoiselle," he said to marie, " for us to proceed. there are plenty of people about in the streets; but as the news has, no doubt, already been spread that the daughters of the marquis de st. caux had left the house before those charged with their father's arrest arrived, it will be better for you not to keep together. i would suggest that you should walk on with vir- ginie. i will follow with jeanne a hundred yards behind, so that i can keep you in sight, and will come up if any one should accost you," in the reign op terror. ill marie at once rose, and taking the child's hand set out. they had to traverse the greater part of paris to reach their destination. it was a trial for marie, who had never before been in the streets of paris except with her mother and closely followed by two domestics, and even then only through the quiet streets of a fashionable quarter. however, she went steadily forward, tightly holding virginie's hand and trying to walk as if accustomed to them in the thick heavy shoes which felt so strangely dif- ferent to those which she was in the habit of wearing. from time to time she addressed an encouraging word to virginie as she felt her shrink as they ap- proached groups of men lounging outside the wine- shops, for there was but little work done in paris, and the men of the lower class spent their time in idleness, in discussions of the events of the day, or in joining the mobs which, under one pretext or another, kept the streets in an uproar. , fortunately marie knew the way perfectly, and there was no occasion for her to ask for directions, for she had frequently driven with her mother to visit louise moulin. the latter occupied the upper floor of a house in a quiet quarter near the fortifica- tions in the northwestern part of the town. a mes- sage had been sent to her the night before, and she in the reign of terror. was cm the lookout for her visitors, but she did not recognize them, and she uttered a cry of surprise as marie and virginie entered the room. "is it you, mademoiselle?" she exclaimed in great ,wrprise; "and you, my little angel? my eyes must be getting old, indeed, that i did not recognize you; but you are finely disguised. but where is mademoiselle jeanne?" "she will be here in a moment, louise; she is just behind. but you must not call me made- moiselle; you must remember that we are your nieces marie and jeanne, and that you are our aunt louise moulin, whom we have come to stay with." "i shall remember in time," the old woman said. "i have been talking about you to my neighbors for the last week, of how your good father and mother have died, and how you were going to journey to paris under the charge of a neighbor, who was bringing a wagon load of wine from burgundy, and how you were going to look after me and help me in the house since i am getting old and infirm, and the young ones were to stop with me till they were old enough to go out to service. ah, here is mademoiselle jeanne!" "here is jeanne," marie corrected; "thank god we have all got here safely. this, louise, is a tn the reign of terror. young english gentleman who is going to remain in paris at present, and to whom we are indebted for having got us safely here." "and your mother," louise moulin exclaimed, "the darling lamb i nursed, what of her and your father? i fear, from the message i got last night, that some danger threatens them." "they have, i fear, been arrested by the sans culottes," marie said mournfully as she burst into tears, feeling, now that the strain was over, the natural reaction after her efforts to be calm. for her mother's sake she had held up to the last, and had tried to make the parting as easy as possible. "the wretches!" the old woman said, stamping her foot. "old as i am i feel that i could tear them to pieces. but there i am chattering away, and you must be faint with hunger. i have a nice soup ready on the fire; a plate of that will do good to you all. and you too, monsieur; you will join us, i hope?" harry was nothing loth, for his appetite was always a healthy one. when he had finished he said: "madame moulin, i have been thinking that it would be an advantage if you would take a lodging for me. if you would say that a youth whose friends are known to you has arrived from dijon, to in the reign terror. make his way in paris, and they have asked you to seek a lodging for him, it will seem less strange than if i went by myself. i should like it to be near, so that you can come to me quickly should anything out of the way occur. i should like to look in sometimes to see that all is well. you could mention to your neighbors that i traveled up with the same wagon with your nieces." "i will do that willingly," the old woman said; "but first, my dears, you must have some rest; come in here." and she led the way to the next room. "there is a bed for you, mademoiselle marie, and one for the two young ones. the room is not like what you are accustomed to, but i dared not buy finer things, though i had plenty of money from your mother to have furnished the rooms like a palace; but you see it would have seemed strange to my neighbors; but, at least, everything is clean and sweet." ( leaving the girls, who were worn out with weari- ness and anxiety, to sleep, she rejoined harry. "now, monsieur, i will do your business. it is a comfort to me to feel that some one will be near of whom i can ask advice, for it is a terrible responsi- bility for an old woman in such dreadful times as these, when it seems to me that every one has gone mad at once. what sort of a chamber do you want?"' in the reign of terror. "quite a small one," harry answered, "just such a chamber as a young clerk on the lookout for em- ployment and with his pocket very slenderly lined would desire." "i know just such a one," the old woman said. "it is a house a few doors away and has been ten- anted by a friend of mine, a young workwoman, who was married four days ago—it is a quiet place, and the people keep themselves to themselves, and do not trouble about their neighbors' affairs." "that will just suit me," harry said. "i suppose there is no porter below, so that i can go in or out without being noticed." "oh, we have no porters in this quarter, and you can go in and out as you like." half an hour later the matter was settled, and harry was installed in his apartment, which was a little room scantily furnished, at the top of the house, the window looking into the street in front. in the reign of terror. chapter vl an anxious time. haeet and the girls had brought bundles of clothes with them in their flight, as it would have looked strange had they arrived without any clothes save those they wore. harry had brought with him only underlinen, as he had nothing else which would be of service to him now. no sooner had louise moulin left him than he went out and pur- chased, at a second-hand shop, a workman's suit. this he carried home, and dressing himself in it descended the stairs again and set out to retrace his steps across paris. when he reached the mansion of the marquis he found a crowd of people going in and out. those leaving the house were laden with articles of furni- ture, clocks, pictures, bedding, and other things. a complete sack of the mansion was indeed taking place. the servants had all fled after the arrest of the marquis and his wife, and the mob had taken possession of the house. the lofty mirrors were smashed into fragments, the costly hangings torn m the reign of terror. down, and after they had destroyed much of the elaborate furniture, every man and woman began to lay hands upon whatever they fancied, and the mansion was already stripped of the greater part of its belongings. with his hands in his pockets, whistling care- lessly, harry wandered from room to room watch- ing the proceedings. several barrels of wine had been brought up into the salon, and round these were gathered a number of already drunken men, singing, shouting and dancing. "drink, drink, my garcon," a woman said, hold- ing a silver goblet full of wine toward him, "drink confusion to the tyrants and liberty and freedom to the people." harry drank the toast without hesitation, and then, heartsick at the destruction and ruin, wandered out again into the streets. knowing the anxiety which marie would be suffering as to the safety of her lover he next took his way to the mansion of the duke de gisons. the house was shut up, but groups of men were standing in the road opposite talking. sauntering along harry stopped near enough to one of these to hear what they were saying. he learned that the duke had been arrested only that morning. it had been effected quietly, the doors in the reign of terror. had again been locked before those in the neighbor- hood knew what was going on, and a guard had been left inside, partly, it was said, in order that the mansion might be preserved from pillage and be used for public purposes, partly that the young count, who was absent, might be arrested when he returned. as harry knew that the duke had estates in the neighborhood of fontainebleau he thought it proba- ble that victor might have gone thither, and he at once proceeded toward the gate by which he would enter on his return thence. he sat down a short distance outside the gate and watched patiently for some hours until he perceived a horseman approach- ing at a gallop, and at once recognized victor de gisons. harry went forward on to the road and held out his arms. the young count, not recogniz- ing him, did not check his horse, and would have ridden him down had he not jumped aside, at the same time shouting to him by name to stop. "what do you want, fellow?" victor exclaimed, reining in his horse. "you do not recognize me !" harry said. "i am harry sandwith, count, and i am here to warn you of the danger of proceeding." "why, what has happened ?" victor exclaimed anxiously; "and why are you in this disguise, monsieur sandwith. ffl tse reign of terror. "a great number of arrests have taken place in the night, among them that of the marquis de st. caux and your father. men are waiting inside your house to arrest you as you enter." victor uttered an exclamation of anger. "that is why i have been sent away," he said. "my father had no doubt received a warning of what was about to happen, and yesterday at noon he requested me to ride to his estate and have an interview with the steward as to the rents. i won- dered at his sending me so suddenly, and, feeling uneasy, rode there post-haste, saw the steward last night, and started again on a fresh horse this morn- ing. this accounts for it. he knew that if i were there nothing would have induced me to separate myself from him, while by sending me away he left it to me to do as i thought fit afterward, trusting that when i found that he was already imprisoned i might follow the counsel he had urged upon me, to make my escape from the country. and how about the ladies, how about marie v "the marquise was conveyed to prison with the marquis. the three young ladies are all safe with their mother's old servant, louise moulin; this is her address. they are in disguise as peasants, and no suspicion will, i hope, arise as to their real posi- tion. not that the marquis thought it probable in the reign of terror. they would be included in the order of arrest, but he said there was no knowing now to what lengths the mob might go, and he thought it better that they should disappear altogether for the present. ernest and jules went away in disguise with monsieur du tillet. after seeing the young ladies in safety this morning i went down to see what had happened at your father's mansion, in order to assuage mad- emoiselle de st. caux's anxiety respecting your safety, and found, as i expected, that the duke had been arrested, and learned that a party were inside waiting to arrest you on your return." "i thank you indeed," victor said, "and most warmly. i do not know what to do. my father is most anxious that i should cross the frontier, but i cannot go so long as he and marie are in danger." "if you enter paris as you are," harry said, "you are certain to be arrested. your only chance would be to do as i have done, namely to disguise yourself and take a small lodging, where you might live unsuspected," "and in that way i can see marie sometimes," victor said. "you could do so," harry agreed, in a somewhat hesitating way, " but it would greatly add to her danger, and, were you detected, might lead to the discovery of her disguise. besides, the thought that uer the reign of terror. yon were liable to arrest at any time would naturally heighten the anxiety from which she is suffering as to the fate of her father and mother." "but i cannot and will not run away and leave them all here in danger," victor said passionately. "i would not advise you to do so," harry replied. "i would only suggest, that after seeing mademoi- selle de st. caux once, you should lead her to believe that you have decided upon making for the frontier, and she will therefore have the happiness of believing that you are safe, while you are still near and watching over her." "that is all very well," victor said; "but what opinion would she have of me if she thought me capable of deserting her in that way?" "you would represent that you were obeying the duke's orders; and besides, if you did suffer in her opinion it would be but temporarily, for when she learned the truth, that you had only pretended to leave in order that her position might be the safer and that her mind might be relieved, she could only think more highly of you. besides, if necessary, you could at any time again present yourself before her." "your counsel is good, monsieur sandwith, and i will, at any rate for a time, follow it.. as you say, i can at any time reappear. where are you in the beign of terror. lodging? i will take a room near, and we can meet and compare notes and act together." harry gave him his address. "you have only to walk upstairs to the top story. my room is the one directly opposite the top of the stairs." "i will call on you to-morrow morning," victor said. "i will ride my horse a few miles back and turn him loose in some quiet place, and buy at the first village a blouse and workman's pantaloons." '"i think," harry said, "that would be unwise, count; it would look strange in the extreme for a gentleman dressed as you are to make such a pur- chase. you might be at once arrested, or a report of the circumstance might be sent into paris and lead to your discovery. if you will wait here for half an hour i will go back and buy you the things you want at the first shop i come to and bring them out to you. then you can ride back and loose the horse as you propose; but i should advise you to hide the saddle and bridle, as well as the clothes you are now wearing, most carefully. whoever finds your horse will probably appropriate it and will say nothing about it, so that all clue to your movements will be lost, and it will be supposed that you have ridden to the frontier." "pesie, monsieur sandwith! you seem to have a in ma reign of terror. head ready for all emergencies. i know what a high opinion the marquis had of you, and i perceive that it is fully justified, and consider myself as for- tunate indeed in having you for a friend in such a time as the present." "we have need of all our wits," harry said quietly. "the marquis was good enough to accept my offer to do all that i could to look after the safety of mesdemoiselles, and if i fail in my trust it will not, i hope, be from any lack of care or courage." the meeting had taken place at a point where it could not be observed from the gate, and the count withdrew a few hundred yards further away while harry went back into paris. the latter had no difficulty in purchasing the clothes required by the count and returned with them in little over a quarter of an hour, and then, having seen de gisons ride off, he sauntered back into paris and made his way toward the heart of the city. crossing the river he found a vast crowd gath- ered in front of the hotel de ville. the news of the wholesale arrests which had been made during the night had filled the populace with joy, and the air was full of shouts of "down with the aristocrats!" "vive danton! vive marat! vive robespierre!" hawkers were selling, in the crowd, newspapers in the reign of terror. light was to be seen in the windows and all was still and quiet. the great door stood open. the work of destruction was complete, the house was stripped of everything that could be carried away. harry made his way up to the bedroom of the marquis. the massive bedstead still stood in its place, having defied the efforts of destruction which had proved successful with the cabinets and other furniture. sitting down on the floor harry counted the boards beneath the bed, and then taking out a strong knife which he had purchased during the day he inserted it by the side of the middle board and tried to raise it. it yielded without difficulty to his effort. as soon as it was lifted he groped in the cavity below it, and his hand soon came in contact with the heavy bag. taking this out and putting it beneath his blouse he replaced the board and made his way downstairs. he felt too fatigued to walk across paris again, and therefore made his way down to the river and curled himself up for the night at the foot of the wood pile where the girls had found shelter in the morning, and, in spite of the novelty of his situation, fell instantly asleep. it was broad daylight when he woke, and an hour later he regained his lodgings, stopping by the way to breakfast at a quiet restaurant frequented by the m vse rtilgn of terror. better class of workmen. as when he had sallied out the day before, he was fortunate in meeting no one as he made his way up the stairs to his room. his first step was to get up a board and to deposit beneath it the bag of money. then, having changed his clothes, he went out and made a variety of purchases for housekeeping, as he did not wish to be obliged to take his meals at places where any one sitting at the table with him might enter into conversation. his french was quite good enough to pass in the salon of the marquis, but his ignorance of th parisian slang spoken among the working classes would have rendered it difficult for him to keep up his assumed character among them, and would have needed the fabrication of all sorts of stories as to his birthplace and past history. although in the posi- tion in which he was placed harry felt that it would be impossible always to adhere to the truth, he shrank from any falsehoods that could possibly be avoided. his first duty in order to carry out the task he had undertaken was to keep up his disguise, and this must be done even at the cost of telling lies as to his antecedents; but he was determined that he would avoid this upleasant necessity as far as lay in his power. in the reign of terror. at nine o'clock lie made his way to the apart- ments of louise moulin. his entry was received with a cry of satisfaction from the girls. "what is the news, harrv?" jeanne exclaimed. "we expected you here yesterday evening, and sat up till ten o'clock." "i was over the other side of the river discharg- ing a mission your father had confided to me, and did not get back till this morning." "i knew he was prevented by something," jeanne said triumphantly. "i told you so, marie —didn't i?" "yes, dear, i was wrong to be impatient; but you will forgive me, harry? you can guess how i suffered yesterday." "it was natural you should expect me, made- moiselle. i was sorry afterward that i did not tell you when i left you that i should not be able to come in the evening, but indeed i did not think of it at the time." "and now for your news, harry," jeanne asked impatiently; "have you learned anything about our father and mother?" "i am sorry to say i have not, except that they, with many others, were taken to the prison of bicetre. but i have good news for you, made- moiselle marie. after going first to the house and in the reign of terror. finding it in the possession of a hideous mob, who were plundering and drinking, i went to see what had taken place at the hotel of the duc de gisons. i found that he had, like your father, been arrested in the night. i learned that the count was absent, and that a party were inside in readiness to arrest him on his return. thinking it probable that he might have gone down to their estate near fontaine- bleau, i went out beyond the gate on that road and waited for him. i had the good fortune to meet him, to warn him of his danger, and to prevent his returning to the town. he rode away with a suit of workman's clothes i had procured for him, and was to enter paris in that disguise in the evening. he is to call on me at ten o'clock, and i will then conduct him hither. i thought it best to come in before to let you know that he was coming." marie burst into tears of happiness at hearing that her lover had escaped from the danger which threatened. "worn out by the fatigue and anxiety of the previous night, she had slept for some hours after reaching the shelter of the old nurse's roof, but she had lain awake all night thinking over the danger of all those dear to her. she was now com- pletely overcome with the revulsion of feeling. "you are a dear boy, harry!" jeanne said with frank admiration, while marie sobbed out exclama- in the reign of terror. tions of gratitude. "you. do seem to think about everything; and now marie knows that victor is safe, i do hope she is going to be more like herself. as i tell her, they cannot hurt father or mother. they have done no wrong, and they must let them out of prison after a time. mamma said we were to be brave; and at any rate i try to be, and so does virginie, though she does cry sometimes. and now i hope marie will be cheerful too, and not go about the rooms looking so downcast and wretched. it seems to me a miserable thing being in love. i should have thought marie would have been the last person to be downcast, for no one is prouder of being a st. caux than she is." "i shall be better now, jeanne," marie said smil- ing, as she wiped away her tears. "you shall not have any reason to complain of me in future." "but do you not think, harry," she went on with a return of her anxiety, "that it is very dan- gerous for victor to come back into paris? i know that his father has long been praying him to make for the frontier." "i do not think it is very dangerous at present, mademoiselle, although it may be later, if this rage against the aristocrats increases; but i hope that when he has once seen you, which is his principal object in returning to paris, he will carry out his in the reign of terror. father's wishes and make for the frontier, for his presence here can be of no possible utility." "oh, i hope so," marie said, "for i am sure victor would soon be found out, he could never make himself look like one of these canaille." ""why shouldn't he?" jeanne said indignantly. "harry does, and he is just as good-looking as victor." marie burst into a fit of laughter. "what a champion you are, child, to be sure! but you are quite right. clothes, after all, do go a long way toward making a man. still, although i think that it is dangerous for harry, i think it will be more dangerous for victor; because, you see, he is a man and he has the manner of his race, and would find it more difficult to pass himself off as a workman than harry, who has got something of english "—and she hesitated. "eoughness," harry put in, laughing. "you are quite right, mademoiselle. i can assure you that with these thick shoes on i find it quite natural for me to slouch along as the workmen do; and it will be much more difficult for the count, who always walks with his head thrown back, and a sort of air of looking down upon mankind in general." marie laughed this time. in tsk meign of tsrror. "that is a fair retort. victor certainly has the grand manner. however, i shall order him to go; and if he won't obey his father's wishes, he will have to give way to mine." "i think, mademoiselle, that it would be wiser for monsieur de gisons to meet you elsewhere than here. the arrival of three relations to stop with madame moulin is sure to attract some little atten- tion among her neighbors just at first. you will be the subject of talk and gossip. my visit will no doubt be noticed, and it will be as well that there should not be more material for talk. the less we attract attention the better. no doubt many have escaped arrest, and there will be a sharp lookout for, as they will call us, suspicious persons. i should propose, if you have no objection to such a course, that you should stroll out with your sisters and louise through the fields to st. denis. the count will be in my room in a few minutes. we can keep a lookout from my window and follow you at a distance until we get clear from observation beyond the gates." marie looked at madame moulin, who nodded. "that would be the best plan, my dear. what monsieur sandwith says is very true. the less we give the neighbors to gossip about the better; for though your disguises are good, if sharp eyes are in the reign of terror. watching you they may note something in your walk or air that may excite suspicion." "that being arranged then you must excuse me, for it is just the time when the count was to arrive, and i fancy that he will be before rather than behind time." indeed, upon reaching the door of his room harry found the young count standing there. "oh, it is you, friend harry! have been here ten minutes, and i began to be afraid that something might have happened to you and to imagine all sorts of things." "it is still three or four minutes before the time we agreed upon, victor," harry said in a loud voice, for at this moment one of the other doors opened and a woman came out with a basket in her arms. "i have been looking about as usual, but without luck so far. i suppose you have had no better fortune in your search for work?" he had by this time unlocked his door, and the two entered together. "i must call you by your christian name, count, and will do so, if you don't mind, when alone as at other times, otherwise the title might slip out accidentally. "will you, on your part, call me henri? as you know the marquis and his family tn the reiqlf of terror. they waited three or four minutes to allow the others to get well ahead and then started out after them; they walked fast until they caught sight of the others, and then kept some distance behind until the party had left the town and were out among the fields which lay between paris and st. denis. they then quickened their pace and were soon up with them. the greeting between the lovers was a silent one, few words were spoken, but their faces expressed their joy at meeting again after the perils through which they had passed; there was a little pause, and then harry, as usual, took the lead. "i will stroll on to st. denis and back with jeanne and virginie; madame moulin can sit down on that log over there, and go on with her knitting; you, victor, can ramble on with mademoiselle by that path through the field; we will agree to meet here again in an hour." this arrangement was carried out; jeanne and virginie really enjoyed their walk; the latter thought their disguise was great fun, and, being naturally a little mimic, imitated so well the walk and manner of the country children she had seen in her walks near the chateau that her sister and harry were greatly amused. " like this too, harry," jeanne said. "it would in the reign of terror. not be nice to be a peasant girl for many things; but it must be joyful to be able to walk, and run, and do just as you please, without having a gouvernante always with you to say, hold up your head, mademoiselle jeanne; do not swing your arms mademoiselle jeanne; please walk more sedately, mademoiselle jeanne. oh, it was hateful! now we might run, mightn't we, harry?" "oh, by the way, jeanne, please call me henri now; harry is english, and people would notice directly if you happened to say it while any one is near." "i like harry best," jeanne said; "but, of course, i should not say it before the people; but may we run just for once?" "certainly you may," harry laughed; "you and virginie can have a race to the corner of that wall." "come on, virginie," jeanne cried as she started, and the two girls ran at full speed to the wall; jeanne, however, completely distancing her younger sister. they were both laughing when harry came up. "that is the first time i have run a race," jeanne said. "i have often wanted to try how fast i could run, but i have never ventured to ask mademoi- selle; she would have been horrified; but i don't know how it is virginie does not run faster." in the reign of terror. "virginie has more flesh," harry said, smiling. "she carries weight, as we should say in england, while you ha ve nothing to spare." "and she is three years older," virginie put in. "jeanne is just sixteen, and i am not thirteen yet; it makes a difference." "a great deal of difference," harry agreed; "but i don't think you will ever run as fast as she does. that will not matter, you know," he went on, as virginie looked a little disappointed, " be- cause it is not likely that you will ever race again; but jeanne looks cut out for a runner—just the build, you see—tall, and slim, and active." "yes," virginie agreed frankly, "jeanne has walked ever so far and never gets tired, while i get dreadfully tired; mamma says sometimes i am quite a baby for my age." "here are some people coming," harry said; "as we pass them please talk with a little patois. your good french would be suspicious." all the children of the marquis, from their visits among the peasants' cottages, had picked up a good deal of the burgundian patois, and when talking among themselves often used the expressions current among the peasantry, and they now dropped into this talk, which harry had also acquired, as they passed a group of people coming in from st. denis. g in the reign op terror. "i am sure it is better so," harry said. a she will have anxiety enough to bear as to her father and mother; it is well that her mind should be at ease concerning you." "in reality," victor said, "i shall be safer here than i should be journeying toward the frontier. the papers this morning say that in consequence of the escape of suspected persons, and of the emigra- tion of the nobles to join the enemies of france, or- ders have been sent that the strictest scrutiny is to be exercised on the roads leading to the frontier, over all strangers who may pass through. all who cannot give a perfectly satisfactory account of themselves and produce their papers en regie, are to be arrested and sent to paris. therefore, my chance of getting through would be small indeed, whereas while remaining in paris there can be little fear of detection." "not much risk, i hope," harry agreed; u but there is no saying what stringent steps they may take as time goes on." victor had taken a lodging a few houses from that of harry. every day the excitement in paris increased, every day there were fresh arrests, until all the prisons became crowded to overflowing. it was late in august; the prussians were advancing and had laid siege to verdun, and terror was added in the reign of terror. to the emotions which excited to madness the popu- lation of paris. black flags were hung from the steeples, and danton and his allies skillfully used the fear inspired by the foreign enemy to add to the general hatred of the royalists. ""we republicans," he said in the rostrum of the assembly, " are exposed to two parties, that of the enemy without, that of the royalists within. there is a royalist directory which sits secretly at paris and corresponds with the prussian army. to frus- trate it we must terrify the royalists." the assembly decreed death against all who directly or indirectly refused to execute or hindered the orders given by the executive power. rumors of conspiracy agitated paris and struck alarm into people's minds, while those who had friends within the prison walls became more and more alarmed for their safety. on the th of august orders were issued that all the inhabitants of paris were to stay in their houses in order that a visit might be made by the delegates of the commune to search for arms, of which dan- ton had declared there were eighty thousand hidden in paris, and to search for suspected persons. as soon as the order was issued harry and victor went to their lodgings, and telling their landlords that they had obtained work at the other end of the z t the reign of terror. town, paid their rent and left the city, and for the next two days slept in the woods. they passed most of their time discussing pro- jects for enabling their friends to escape, for from the stringency of the steps taken, and the violence of the commune, they could no longer indulge in the hopes that in a short time the prisoners against whom no serious charge could be brought would be released. at the same time they could hardly persuade themselves that even such men as those who now held the supreme power in their hands could intend to take extreme measures against so vast a number of prisoners as were now in custody. victor and harry knew that their friends had at first been taken to the prison of bicetre, but whether they were still confined there they were of course ignorant. still there was no reason to suppose that they had been transferred to any of the other jails. the bicetre was, they had discovered, so strongly guarded that neither force nor stratagem seemed available. the jailers were the creatures of danton and robespierre, and any attempt to bribe them would have been dangerous in the extreme. victor proposed that, as he as well as harry was well pro- vided with funds, for he had brought to paris all the money which the steward of the estates had col- lected, they should recruit a band among the ruffians m the reign of terror. of the city, and make a sudden attack upon the prison. but harry pointed out that a numerous band would be required for such an enterprise, and that among so many men one would be sure to turn traitor before the time came. "i am ready to run all risks, victor, but i see no chance of success in it. the very first man we spoke to might denounce us, and if we were seized there would be no one to look after the safety of mademoiselle de st. caux and her sisters. my first duty is toward them. i gave my promise to their father, and although it is not probable that i can be of any use to them, i will at any rate, if possible, be at hand should occasion arise." on the evening of the th they returned to paris, and took two fresh apartments at a distance from their former quarters. they were greatly anxious as to the safety of the girls, and harry at once hastened there, but found that all was well. the deputies, learning from the landlord that only an old woman and her nieces in- habited the upper story, and having a heavy task before them, had only paid a short visit to the room, and had left after asking louise one or two ques- tions. the girls, however, were in a state of terrible anxiety as to their parents, although louise had tn the reign of terror. avoided repeating to them the sinister rumors which came to her ears when she was abroad doing her marketing, for she now went out alone, thinking it better that the girls should appear as little as possible in the streets. "it is terrible," marie said. "i think night and day of our father and mother. can nothing be done? surely we might devise some means for their escape." "i can think of nothing," harry said. "the prison is too strong to be taken without a consider- able force, and it would be impossible to get that together." , "could we not bribe these wretches?" "i have thought over that too," harry replied; "but, you see, it would be necessary to get several men to work together. one might, perhaps, bribe the man who has charge of the cell, but there would be other warders, and the guard at the gate, and the latter are changed every day. i do not see how that could possibly be done." "would it be any use, do you think, were i to go to danton or robespierre and plead with them for their lives? i would do that willingly if you think there would be the slightest chance of success." "it would be like a lamb going to plead with in the reign of terror. a wolf. you would only attract attention to them." "could you not get hold of one of these wretches and force him to sign an order for their release?" jeanne suggested. "eh!" harry exclaimed in surprise. "jeanne, you have the best head of us all. that idea never occurred to me. yes, that might be possible. how stupid of me not to think of it!" "do not run into any danger, harry," marie said earnestly. "such a scheme could hardly succeed." "i don't know, mademoiselle. i think it might. i will think it over. of course there are difficulties, but i do not see why it should not succeed." "certainly it will succeed if harry undertakes it," jeanne said, with implicit trust in his powers. harry laughed, and even marie, anxious u she was, could not help smiling. "i will try and deserve your confidence, jeanne; but i am not a magician. but i will talk it over with"—and he hesitated—"with a young fellow who is, like myself, a royalist, and in disguise. luckily, we ran against each other the other day, and after a little conversation discovered each other. he, too, has relatives in prison, and will, i am sure, join me in any scheme i may undertake. two j in the reign of terror. heads are better than one, and four are much better than two when it comes to acting. and now i must say good-night. i hope when i see you again i shall be able to tell you that i have formed some sort of plan for their release." iff- tee reign of terror. chapter vii. the second of septembee. viotoe de gisons was, as usual, waiting near the door when harry left louise moulin's. "what is the news, henri? nothing suspicious, i hope? you are out sooner than usual." "yes, for i have something to think of. here have we been planning in vain for the last fortnight to hit upon some scheme forgetting our friends out of prison, and jeanne has pointed out a way which you and i never thought of." "what is that, henri?" "the simplest thing in the world, namely, that we should seize one of the leaders of these vil- lains and compel him to sign an order for their release." "that certainly seems possible," victor said. "i wonder it never occurred to either of us. but how is it to be done?" "ah, that is for us to think out! jeanne has iw tee reign of terror. given us the idea, and we should be stupid if we cannot invent the details. in the first place we have got to settle which of them it had better be, and in the next how it is to be managed. it must be some one whose signature the people at the prison would be sure to obey." "then," victor said, "it must be either danton or kobespierre." "or marat," harry added; "i think he is as powerful as either of the others." "he is the worst of them, anyhow," victor said. "there is something straightforward about danton. no doubt he is ambitious, but i think his hatred of us all is real. he is a terrible enemy, and will certainly stick at nothing. he is ruthless and pitiless, but i do not think he is double-faced. kobespierre is ambitious too, but i think he is really acting according to his principles, such as they are. he would be pitiless, too, but he would murder on principle. "he would sign unmoved the order for a hundred heads to fall if he thought their falling necessary or even useful for the course of the revolution, but i do not think he would shed a drop of blood to satisfy private enmity. they call him the incorruptible.' he is more dangerous than danton, for he has no vices. he lives simply, and they say is fond of in tee reign of terror. birds and pets. i do not think we should make much of either danton or him, even if we got them in our power. "danton would be like a wild beast in a snare. he would rage with fury, but i do not think that he would be intimidated into signing what we require, nor do i think would robespierre. marat is a different creature altogether. he is simply venomous. he hates the world, and would abso- lutely rejoice in slaughter. so loathsome is he in appearance that even his colleagues shrink from him. he is a venomous reptile whom it would be a pleasure to slay, as it would be to put one's heel upon a rattlesnake. whether he is a coward or not i do not know, but i should think so. men of his type are seldom brave. i think if we had him in our hands we might frighten him into doing what we want." "then marat it shall be," harry said; "that much is settled. to-morrow we will find out some- thing about his habits. till we know about that we cannot form any plan whatever. let us meet at dinner-time at our usual place. then we will go outside the assembly and wait till he comes out fortunately we both know him well by sight. he will be sure to go, surrounded, as usual, by a mob of his admirers, to the jacobin club. from there we in the reign of terror. can trace him to his home. no doubt any one could tell us where he lives, but it would be dangerous to ask. when we have found that out we can decide upon our next step." they were, however, saved the trouble they con- templated, for they learned from the conversation of two men among the mob, who cheered marat as he entered the assembly, what they wanted to know. "marat is the man for me," one of them said. "he hates the aristocracy; he would bathe in their blood. i never miss, reading his articles in the friend of the people. his cry is always 'blood! blood!' he does not ape the manner of the bour- geois. he does not wash his face and put on clean linen. he is a great man, but he is as dirty as the best of us. he still lives in his old lodgings, though he could move if he liked into any of the fine houses whose owners are in the prisons. he wants no servants, but lives just as we do. vive marat!" "where does the great citizen live ?" victor asked the men in a tone of earnest entreaty. on learning the address they took their way to the dirty and disreputable street where marat lodged. "the citizen marat lives in this street, does he not v* victor asked a man lounging at the door of a cabaret, in the reign of terror. "yes; in that house opposite. do you want him?" "no; only i was curious to see the house where the friend of the people lives, and as i was passing the end of the street turned down. will you drink a glass?" "i am always ready for that," the man said, " but in these hard times one cannot do it as often as one would like." "that is true enough," victor said as they took their seats at a table. "and so marat lives over there; it's not much of a place for a great man." "it is all he wants," the other said carelessly; "and he is safer here than he would be in the richer quarters. there would be a plot against him, and those cursed royalists would kill him if they had the chance; but he is always escorted home from the club by a band of patriots." in the evening harry and victor returned to the street and watched until marat returned from the jacobin club. his escort of men with torches and bludgeons left him at the door, but two or three went upstairs with him, and until far in the night visitors came and went. then the light in the upper room was extinguished. "it is not such an easy affair," victor said as they moved away; "and you see, as that man in the wine- in tee reign of terror. shop told us, there is an old woman who cooks for him, and it is much more difficult to seize two peo- ple without an alarm being given than one." "that is so," harry agreed; "but it must be done somehow. every day matters grow more threatening, and those bands of scoundrels from marseilles have not been brought all this way for nothing. the worst of it is, we have such a short time to act. marat does not seem to be ever alone from early morning until late at night. supposing we did somehow get the order of release from him at night we could not present it till the morning, and before we could present it some one might arrive and discover him fastened up, and might take the news to the prison before we could get them out." "yes, that is very serious," victor agreed. "i begin to despair, henri." "we must not do that," harry rejoined. "you see we thought it impossible before till jeanne gave us the idea. there must be some way out of it if we could only hit upon it. perhaps by to-morrow morning an idea will occur to one of us. and there is another thing to be thought of, we must procure disguises for them. it would be of no use whatever getting them out unless we could conceal them after they are freed. it would not do for them to in the reign of terror. go to louise moulin's. she has three visitors already, and the arrival of more to stay with her would be sure to excite talk among the neighbors. the last orders are so strict about the punishment of any one giving shelter to enemies of the republic, that people who let rooms will all be suspicious. the only plan will be to get them out of the city at once. it will be difficult for them to make their way through france on foot, for in every town and village there is the strictest lookout kept for sus- pected persons. still, that must be risked; there is no other way." "yes, we must see about that to-morrow, henri; but i do not think the marquise could support such a journey, for they would have to sleep in the fields. moreover, she will probably elect to stay near her children until all can go together. therefore i think that it will be best for her to come either to you or me. we can take an additional room, say- ing that our mother is coming up from the country to keep house for us." "yes, that would be much the best plan, victor. and now here we are close home. i hope by the time we meet in the morning one of us may have hit upon some plan or other for getting hold of this scoundrel." "i have hit upon an idea, victor," harry said when they met the next morning. in tee reign of terror. "i am glad to hear it, for though i have lain awake all night i could think of nothing. well, what is your idea?" "well, you see, marat often goes out in the morning alone. he is so well known and he is so much regarded by the lower class that he has no fear of any assault being made upon him during the day. my plan is that we should follow him till he gets into some street with few people about. then i would rush upon him, seize him, and draw a knife to strike, shouting, 'die, villain!' you should be a few paces behind, and should run up and strike the knife out of my hand managing at the same moment to tumble over marat and fall with him to the ground. that would give me time to bolt. i would have a beard on, and would have my other clothes under the blouse. i would rush into the first doorway and run upstairs, pull off my beard, blouse, and blue pantaloons, and then walk quietly down. you would, of course, rush upstairs and meet me on the way. i should say i had just met a fellow running upstairs, and should slip quietly off." "it would be a frightful risk, henri, frightful v "no, i think it could be managed easily enough. then, of course, marat would be very grateful to you, and you could either get him to visit your in the reign of terror. lodgings or could go up to his, and once you had been there you could manage to outsit his last vis- itor at night, and then we could do as we agreed." "but, you know, we thought we should hardly have time in the morning, henri!" "no, i have been thinking of that, and i have come to the conclusion that our best plan would be to seize him and hold a dagger to his heart, and threaten to kill him instantly if he did not accom- pany us. then we would go down with him into the street and walk arm and arm with him to your lodging. we could thrust a ball of wood into his mouth so that he could not call out even if he had the courage to do so, which i don't think he would have if he were assured that if he made the slight- est sound we would kill him. then we could make him sign the order and leave him fastened up there. it would be better to take him to your lodgings than mine, in case my visits to louise moulin should have been noticed, and when he is released there will be a hue and cry after his captors." "the best plan will be to put a knife into his heart at once the minute you have got the order signed," victor said savagely; "i should have no more hesitation in killing him than stamping on a snake." "no, victor; the man is a monster, but we can- i f the reign of terror. not kill him in cold blood; besides, we should do more harm than good to the cause, for the people would consider he had died a martyr to his cham- pionship of their rights, and would be more furious than ever against the aristocracy." "but his account of what he has gone through will have just the same effect, henri." "i should think it probable he would keep the story to himself. what has happened once may happen again; and besides, his cowardice in signing the release of three enemies of the people in order to save his life would tell against him. no, i think he would keep silence. after we have got them safe away we can return and so far loosen his bonds that he would be able, after a time, to free himself. five minutes' start would be all that we should want." but the plan was not destined to be carried out. it was the morning of the d of september, , and as they went down into the quarter where the magazines of old clothes were situated, in order to purchase the necessary disguises, they soon became sensible that something unusual was in the air. separating, they joined the groups of men at the corner of the streets and tried to learn what was going on, but none seemed to know for certain. all sorts of sinister rumors were about. word had in the reign of terror. been passed that the jacobin bands were to be in readiness that evening. money had been distrib- uted. the marsellais had dropped hints that a blow was to be struck at the tyrants. everywhere there was a suppressed excitement among the working- classes, an air of gloom and terror among the bourgeois. after some time harry and victor came together again and compared their observations. neither had learned anything definite, but both were sure that something unusual was about to take place. "it may be that a large number of fresh arrests are about to be made," harry said. "there are still many deputies who withstand the violence of the mountain. it may be that a blow is going to be struck against them." "we must hope that that is it," victor said, " but am terribly uneasy." harry had the same feeling, but he did his best to reassure his friend, and proposed that they should at once set about buying the disguises, and that on the following morning they should carry into effect their plan with reference to marat. the dresses were bought. two suits, such as a respect- able mechanic would wear on sundays or holidays, were first purchased. there was then a debate as to the disguise for the marquise; it struck them at w tbe reign of terror. once that it was strange for two young workmen to be purchasing female attire, but, after some consul- tation, they decided upon a bonnet and long cloak, and these victor went in and bought, gayly telling the shopkeeper that he was buying a birthday present for his old mother. they took the clothes up to harry's room, agree- ing that louise could easily buy the rest of the garments required for the marquise as soon as she was free, but they decided to say nothing about the attempt that was about to be made until it was over, as it would cause an anxiety which the old woman would probably be unable to conceal from the girls. victor did not accompany harry to his room; they had never, indeed, visited each other in their apartments, meeting always some little distance away in order that their connection should be unob- served, and that, should one be arrested, no suspi- cion would follow the other. as soon as he had deposited the clothes harry sallied out again, and on rejoining victor they made their way down to the hotel de ville, being too anxious to remain quiet. they could learn nothing from the crowd which was, as usual, assembled before the hotel. there was a general impression that something was about to happen, but none could give any in tek reign of terror. definite reason for their belief. all day they wan- dered about restless and anxious. they fought their way into the galleries of the assembly when the doors opened, but for a time nothing new took place. the assembly, in which the moderates had still a powerful voice, had protested against the assumption of authority by the council of the commune sitting at the hotel de ville. but the assembly lacked firmness, the commune every day gained in power. already warrants of arrest were prepared against the girondists, the early leaders of the movement. too restless to remain in the assembly, victor and harry again took their steps to the hotel de ville. just as they arrived there twenty-four per- sons, of whom twenty-two were priests, were brought out from the prison of the mairie by a party of marseillais, who shouted, "to the ab- baye!" these ruffians pushed the prisoners into coaches standing at the door, shouting: "you will not arrive at the prison; the people are waiting to tear you in pieces." but the people looked on silently in sullen apathy. "you see them," the marseillais shouted. "there they are. you are about to march to verdun. they only wait for your departure to butcher your wives and children." & thk rbign of terror. still the crowd did not move. the great mass of the people had no share in the bloody deeds of the bevolution; these were the work of a few score of violent men, backed by the refuse of the population. a few shouts were raised here and there of, " down with the priests!" but more of the crowd joined in the shouts which victor and harry lustily raised of, "shame, down with the marseillais!" victor would have pressed forward to attack the mar- seillais had not harry held his arm tightly, exclaim- ing in his ear: "restrain yourself, victor. think of the lives that depend upon ours. the mob will not follow you. you can do nothing yourself. come, get out of the crowd." so saying he dragged victor away. it was well that they could not see what was taking place in the coaches, or victor's fury would have been un- governable, for several of the ruffians had drawn their swords and were hacking furiously at their prisoners. "we will follow them," harry said, when he and victor had made their way out of the crowd ; "but you must remember, victor, that, come what may, you must keep cool. you would only throw away your life uselessly; for marie's sake you must keep calm. your life belongs to her, and you have no right to throw it away." in the rbion of terror. "you are right, henri," victor said gloomily; "but how can one look on and see men inciting others to massacre? what is going to take place? we must follow them." "i am ready to follow them," harry said; "but you must not go unless you are firmly resolved to restrain your feelings whatever may happen. you can do no possible good, and will only involve your- self in the destruction of others." "you may trust me," the young count said; "i will be calm for marie's sake." harry had his doubts as to his friend's power of self-control, but he was anxious to see what was taking place, and they joined the throng that fol- lowed the coaches. but they were now in the rear, and could see nothing that was taking place before them. when the carriages reached the abbaye the prisoners alighted. some of them were at once cut down by the marseillais, the rest fled into the hall, where one of the committees was sitting. its mem- bers, however, did nothing to protect them, and looked on while all save two were massacred unre- sistingly. then the marseillais came out brandish- ing their bloody weapons and shouting, "the good work has begun; down with the priests! down with the enemies of the people!" the better class of people in the crowd assembled -or the reign of terror. at the hotel de ville had not followed the proces- sion to the abbaye. they had been horror-struck at the words and actions of the marseillais, and felt that this was the beginning of the fulfillment of the rumors of the last few days. the murder of the first prisoner was indeed the signal for every man of thought or feeling and of heart to draw back from the revolution. thou- sands of earnest men who had at first thought that the hour of life and liberty commenced with the meeting of the states-general, and who had gone heart and soul with that body in its early struggles for power, had long since shrunk back appalled at the new tyranny which had sprung into existence. each fresh act of usurpation of power by the jacobins had alienated a section. the nobles and the clergy, many of whom had at first gone heartily with the early reformers, had shrunk back appalled when they saw that religion and monarchy were menaced. the bourgeoisie, who had made the revolution, were already to a man against it; the girondists, the leaders of the third estate, had fallen away, and over their heads the axe was already hanging. the revolution had no longer a friend in france, save among the lowest, the basest, and the most ignorant. and now, by the massacres of the d of september, the republic of france was to stand in the reign of terror. forth in the eyes of europe as a blood-stained mon- ster, the enemy, not of kings only, but of humanity in general. thus the crowd following the marseillais was composed almost entirely of the scum of paris, wretches who had long been at war with society, who hated the rich, hated the priests, hated all above them—men who had suffered so much that they had become wild beasts, who were the products of that evil system of society which had now been overthrown. the greater proportion of them were in the pay of the commune, for, two days before, all the unemployed had been enrolled as the army of the commune. thus there was no repetition before the abbaye of the cries of shame which had been heard in front of the mairie. the shouts of the marseillais were taken up and re-echoed by the mob. savage cries, curses, and shouts for vengeance filled the air; many were armed, and knives and bludgeons, swords and pikes, were brandished or shaken. blood had been tasted, and all the savage instincts were on fire. "this is horrible, henri!" victor de gisons ex- claimed. "i feel as if i were in a nightmare, not that any nightmare could compare in terror to this. look at those hideous faces—faces of men debased by crime, sodden with drink, degraded below the in the reign of terror. level of brutes, exulting in the thought of blood, lusting for murder; and to think that these creatures are the masters of france. great heavens! what can come of it in the future? what is going to take place now?" "organized massacre, i fear, victor. what seemed incredible, impossible, is going to take place; there is to be a massacre of the prisoners." they had by this time reached the monastery of the carmelites, now converted into a prison. here a large number of priests had been collected. the marseillais entered, and the prisoners were called by name to assemble in the garden. first the archbishop of aries was murdered; then they fell upon the others and hewed them down. the bishops of saintes and beauvais were among the slain, and the assassins did not desist until the last prisoner in the carmelites had been hacked to pieces. graves had already been dug near the barrier saint jacques and carts were wait- ing to convey the corpses there, showing how care- fully the preparations for the massacre had been made. then the marseillais returned to the abbaye, and, with a crowd of followers, entered the great hall. here the bailiff maillard organized a sort of tribunal of men taken at random from the crowd. in the reign of terror. m some of these were paid hirelings of the commune, some were terrified workmen or small tradesmen who had, merely from curiosity, joined the mob. the swiss officers and soldiers, who were, with the priests, special objects of hatred to the mob, were first brought out. they were spared the farce of a trial, they were ordered to march out through the doors, outside which the marseillais were awaiting them. some hesitated to go out, and cried for mercy. a young man with head erect was the first to pass through the fatal doors. he fell in a moment, pierced with pikes. the rest followed him, and all save two, who were, by some caprice of the mob, bpared, shared his fate. the mob had crowded into the galleries which surrounded the hall and ap- plauded with ferocious yells the murder of the sol- diers. in the body of the hall a space was kept clear by the armed followers of the commune round the judges' table, and a pathway to the door from the interior of the prison to that opening into the street. when the swiss had been massacred the trial of the other prisoners commenced. one after another the prisoners were brought out. they were asked their names and occupations, a few questions fol- lowed, and then the verdict of "guilty." one i? in tme reign of terror. after another they were conducted to the door and there slain. two or three by the wittiness of their answers amused the mob and were thereupon ac- quitted, the acquittals being greeted by the specta- tors as heartily as the sentences of death. victor and harry were in the lowest gallery. they stood back from the front, but between the heads of those before them they could see what was going on below. victor stood immovable, his face as pale of death. his cap had fallen off, his hair was dank with perspiration, his eyes had a look of concentrated horror, his body shook with a spas- modic shuddering. in vain harry, when he once saw what was going to take place, urged him in a whisper to leave. he did not appear to hear, and even when harry pulled him by the sleeve of his blouse he seemed equally unconscious. harry was greatly alarmed, and feared that every moment his companion would betray himself by some terrible outburst. after the three or four first prisoners had been disposed of, a tall and stately man was brought into the hall. a terrible cry, which sounded loud even above the tumult which reigned, burst from victor's lips. he threw himself with the fury of a madman upon those in front of him, and in a moment would have bounded into the hall had not m t e reign op terror. harry brought the heavy stick he carried with all his force down upon his head. victor fell like a log under the blow. "what is it? what is it?" shouted those around. "my comrade has gone out of his mind," harry said quietly; "he has been drinking for some days, and his hatred for the enemies of france has turned his head. i have been watching him, and had i not knocked him down he would have thrown himself head-foremost off the gallery and broken his neck." the explanation seemed natural, and all were too interested in what was passing in the hall below to pay further attention to so trivial an incident. it was well that harry had caught sight of the pris- oner before victor did so and was prepared for the outbreak, for it was the duc de gisons who had thus been led in to murder. harry dragged victor back against the wall behind and then tried to lift him. "i will lend you a hand," a tall man in the dress of a mechanic, who had been standing next to him, said, and, lifting victor's body on to his shoulder, made his way to the top of the stairs, harry pre- ceding him and opening a way through the crowd. in another minute they were in the open air. "thank you greatly," harry said. "i do not know how i should have managed without your in the reign of terror. aid. if you put him down here i will try and bring him round." "i live not far from here," the man said. "i will take him to my room. you need not be afraid," he added as harry hesitated, " i have got my eyes open, you can trust me." so saying he made his way through the crowd gathered outside. he was frequently asked who he was carrying, for the crowd feared lest any of their prey should escape; but the man's reply,given with a rough laugh—" it is a lad whose stomach is not strong enough to bear the sight of blood, and i tell you it is pretty hot in there "—satisfied them. passing through several streets the man entered a small house and carried victor to the attic and laid him on a bed, then he carefully closed the door and struck a light. "you struck hard, my friend," he said, as he ex- amined victor's head. "mafoi, i should not have liked such a blow myself; but i don't blame you. you were but just in time to prevent his betraying himself, and better a hundred times a knock on the head than those pikes outside the door. i had my eye on him, and felt sure he would do something rash, and i had intended to choke him, but he was too quick for me. how came you to be so foolish as to be there?" in the reign of terror. "we had friends in the prison, and we thought we might do something to save them," harry answered, for he saw that it would be his best policy to be frank. "it was his father whom they brought out." "it was rash of you, young sir. a kid might as well try to save his mother from the tiger who has laid its paw upon her as for you to try to rescue any one from the clutches of the mob. mori bieu! to think that in the early days i was fool enough to go down to the assembly and cheer the deputies; but i have seen my mistake. what has it brought us ?—a ruined trade, an empty cupboard, and to be ruled by the ruffians of the slums instead of the king, the clergy, and the upper classes. i was a brass-worker, and a good one, though i say it my- self, and earned good wages. now for the last month i haven't done a stroke of work. "who wants to buy brass-work when there are mansions and shops to pillage? and now, what are you going to do? my wife is out, but she will probably be back soon. we will attend to this young fellow. she is a good nurse, and i tell you i think he will need all we can do for him." "you don't think i have seriously injured him?" harry said in a tone of dismay. "no, no; don't make yourself uneasy. you have tff the bbion of tmmbom. chapter vni. uikxa aeeested. on leaving victor in the care of the man who had so providentially come to his aid, harry hurried down the street toward the abbaye, then he stopped to think—should he return there or make his way to the bic tre? he could not tell whether his friends had, like the duc de gisons, been removed to the abbaye. if they had been so, it was clearly impossible for him to aid them in any way. they might already have fallen. the crowd was too great for him to regain the gallery, and even there he could only witness, without power to avert, their murder. "were they still at the bicgtre he might do something. perhaps the assassins had not yet arrived there. it was now nine o'clock in the evening. the streets were almost deserted. the respectable in- habitants all remained within their houses, trembling at the horrors, of which reports had circulated during the afternoon. at first there had been hopes that in the reign of terror. the assembly would take steps to put a stop to the massacre, but the assembly did nothing. danton and the ministers were absent. the cannon's roar and the tocsin sounded perpetually. there was no secret as to what was going on. the commune had the insolence to send commissioners to the bar of the assembly to state that the people wished to break open the doors of the prisons, and this when two hundred priests had already been butchered at the carmelites. a deputation indeed went to the abbaye to try to persuade the murderers to desist, but their voices were drowned in tumultuous cries. the commune of paris openly directed the massacre. billaud- varennes went backward and forward to superin- tend the execution of his orders, and promised the executioners twenty-four francs a day. the receipt for the payment of this blood-money still exists. on arriving in front of the bicstre harry found all was silent there, and with a faint feeling of hope that the massacre would not extend beyond the abbaye he again turned his steps in that direc- tion. the bloody work was still going on, and harry wandered away into the quiet streets to avoid hear- ing the shrieks of the victims and the yells of the crowd. a sudden thought struck him, and he went in the reign of terror. along until he saw a woman come out of a house. he ran up to her. "madame," he said, " i have the most urgent need of a bonnet and shawl. will you sell me those you have on? the shops are all shut, or i would not trouble you. you have only to name your price and i will pay you." the woman was surprised at this proposition, but seeing that a good bargain was to be made she asked twice the cost of the articles when new, and this harry paid her without question. wrapping the shawl and bonnet into a bundle he retraced his steps, and sat down on some doorsteps within a distance of the abbaye which would enable him to observe any general movement of the crowd in front of the prison. at one o'clock in the morn- ing there was a stir, and the body of men with pikes moved down the street. "they are going to la force," he said, after fol- lowing them for some distance. "oh, if i had but two or three hundred english soldiers here we would make mincemeat of these murderers!" harry did not enter la force, where the scenes that were taking place at the abbaye—for, in spite of the speed with which the mock trials were hur- ried through, these massacres were not yet finished there, so great was the number of prisoners—were repeated. in the reign of terror. at la force many ladies were imprisoned, among them the princess de lamballe. they shared the fate of the male prisoners, being hewn to pieces by sabers. the head of the princess was cut off and stuck upon a pike, and was carried in triumph under the windows of the temple, where the king and queen were confined, and was held up to the bars of the room they occupied for them to see. marie antoinette, fearless for herself, fainted at the terrible sight of the pale head of her friend. harry remained at a little distance from la force, tramping restlessly up and down, half-mad with rage and horror, and at his powerlessness to interfere in any way with the proceedings of the wretches who were carrying on the work of murder. at last, about eight o'clock in the morning, a boy ran by. "they have finished with them at the abbaye," he said with fiendish glee. "they are going from there to the bicetre." harry with difficulty repressed his desire to slay the urchin, and hurried away to reach the prison of bicetre before the band from the abbaye arrived there. unfortunately he came down by a side street upon them when they were within a few hundred yards of the prison. his great hope was that he might succeed in penetrating with the mar- seillais and find the marquise, and aid her in mak- tn tee reigtf of terror. ing her way through the mob in the disguise h« had purchased. but here, as at the other prisons, there was a method in the work of murder. the agents of the commune took possession of the hall at the entrance and permitted none to pass further into the prison, the warders and officials bringing down the prison- ers in batches, and so handing them over for slaughter. in vain harry tried to penetrate into the inner part of the prison. he was roughly repulsed by the men guarding the door; and at last, finding that nothing could be done, he forced his way out again into the open air, and hurrying away for some distance, threw himself on the ground and burst into a passion of tears. after a time he rose and made his way back to the house where he had left victor de gisons. ho found him in a state of delirium, acting over and over again the scene in the abbaye, cursing the judge and executioners, and crying out he would die with his father. "what does the doctor think of him v he asked the woman who was sitting by victor's bed. "he did not say much," the woman replied. "he shook his head, and said there had been a terrible mental shock, and that he could not answer either for his life or reason. there was nothing to do but ix the rb gx of terror. to be patient, to keep his head bandaged with wet cloths, and to give him water from time to time. do not be afraid, sir; we will watch over him carefully." "i would stay if i could," harry said; "but i have others i must see about. i have the terrible news to break to some young ladies of the murder of their father and mother." "poor things!—poor things!" the woman said, shaking her head. "it is terrible! my husband was telling me what he saw; and a neighbor came in just now and said it was the same thing at all the other prisons. the priest, too—our priest at the little church at the corner of the street, where i used to go in every morning to pray on my way to market—he was dragged away ten days ago to the carmelites, and now he is a saint in heaven. how is it, sir, that god allows such things to be v "we cannot tell," harry said sadly. "as for myself, i can hardly believe it, though i saw it. they say there are over four thousand people in the prisons, and they will all be murdered. such a thing was never heard of. i can hardly believe that i am not in a dream now." "you look almost like one dead yourself," the woman said pityingly. "i have made a bouillon for jacques' breakfast and mine. it is just ready. ffl the reign of terror. do take a mouthful before you go out. that and a piece of bread and a cup of red wine will do you good." harry was on the point of refusing; but he felt that he was utterly worn and exhausted, and that he must keep up his strength. her husband, therefore, took her place by victor's bedside in readiness to hold him down should he try to get up in his rav- ings, while the good woman ladled out a basin of the broth and placed it with a piece of bread and some wine on the table. harry forced himself to drink it, and when he rose from the table he already felt the benefit of the meal. "thank you very much," he said. "i feel stronger now; but how i am to tell the story i do not know. but i must make quite certain before i go to these poor girls that their parents were killed. three or four were spared at the abbaye. possibly it may have been the same thing at the bicetre." so harry went back and waited outside the prison until the bloody work was over; but found on ques- tioning those who came out when all was done that the thirst for blood had increased with killing, and that all the prisoners found in the bicfitre had been put to death. "ma foi /" the man whom he was speaking to said; "but these accursed aristocrats have courage. in tun reign of terror. men and women were alike; there was not one of them but faced the judges bravely and went to their death as calmly as if to dinner. there was a mar- quis and his wife—the marquis de st. caux they called him. they brought them out together. they were asked whether they had anything to say why they should not be punished for their crimes against france. the marquis laughed aloud. "'crimes !' he said. 'do you think a marquis de st. caux is going to plead for his life to a band of murderers and assassins? come, my love.' "he just gave her one kiss, and then took her hand as if they were going to walk a minuet together, and then led her down between the lines of guards with his head erect and a smile of scorn on his face. , she did not smile, but her step never faltered. i watched her closely. she was very pale, and she did not look proud, but she walked as calmly and steadily as her husband till they reached the door where the pikemen were awaiting them, and then it was over in a minute, and they died without a cry or a groan. they are wretches, the aristocrats. they have fattened on the life-blood of the people; but they know how to die, these people." without a word harry turned away. he had told himself there was no hope; but he knew by in tee reign of terror. the bitter pang he felt now that he had hoped to the last. then he walked slowly away to tell the news. there were comparatively few people about the streets, and these all of the lower order. every shop was closed. men with scared faces stood at some of the doors to gather the news from passers- by, and pale women looked timidly from the upper windows. when he reached the house he could not summon courage to enter it, but stood for a long time outside, until at last he saw louise moulin put her head from the window. he succeeded in catch- ing her eye, and placing his finger on his lips signed to her to come down. a minute later she appeared at the door. "is it all true, monsieur sandwith? they say they are murdering the prisoners. surely it must be false! they could never do such a thing!" "it is true, louise. i have seen it myself. i went with a disguise to try and rescue our dear lady, even if i could not save the marquis; but i could not get to her—the wretches have murdered them both." "oh, my dear lady !" the old woman cried, burst- ing into tears; "the pretty babe i nursed. to think of her murdered; and the poor young things upstairs—what shall i do ?—what shall i do, mon- sieur sandwith v in the reign of terror "you must break it to them, louise. do they know how great the danger is?" "no. i have kept it from them. they can see from the window that something unusual is going on, every one can see that. but i told them it was only that the prussians were advancing. they are anxious—very anxious—but they are quite unpre- pared for this." "break it gradually, louise. tell them first that there are rumors that the prisons have been at- tacked. come down again presently as if to get more news, and then tell them that there are re- ports that the prisoners have been massacred, and then at last tell them all the truth." "but will you not come up, monsieur sandwith— they trust in you so much? your presence will be a support to them." "i could do nothing now," harry said sadly. "god only can console them. they had best be by themselves for awhile. i will come in this evening. the first burst of grief will be over then, and my talk may aid them to rouse themselves. oh, if we had but tried to get them out of prison sooner. and yet who could have foreseen that here in paris thousands of innocent prisoners, men and women, would be murdered in cold blood!" finding that she could not persuade harry to in the reign of terbob. enter, louise turned to perform her painful duty; while harry, thoroughly exhausted with the night of horrors, made his way home, and throwing him- self on the bed, fell asleep, and did not wake until evening. his first step was to plunge his head into water, and then, after a good wash, to prepare a meal, his sleep had restored his energy, and with brisk steps he made his way through the streets to louise moulin. he knocked with his knuckles at the outer door of her apartments. the old nurse opened it quietly. "come in," she said, "and sit down. they are in their room, and i think they have cried them- selves to sleep. my heart has been breaking all day to see them. it has been dreadful. poor little vir- ginie cried terribly, and sobbed for hours; but it was a long time before the others cried. marie fainted, and when i got her round lay still and quiet with- out speaking. jeanne was worst of all. she sat on that chair with her eyes staring open and her face as white as if she were dead. she did not seem to hear anything i said; but at last, when virginie's sobs were stopping, i began to talk to her about her mother and her pretty ways when she was a child, and then at last jeanne broke down, and she cried so wildly that i was frightened, and then marie cried too; and after awhile i persuaded them in the reign of terror. all to lie down; and as i have not heard a sound for the last hour i hope the good god has sent them all to sloep." "i trust so indeed, louise. i will stay here quietly for an hour, and then if we hear nothing i will go home, and be back again in the morning. sleep will do more for them than anything i can say." at the end of an hour all was still quiet, and harry with a somewhat lightened heart took his departure. at nine o'clock next morning he was again at the house. when he entered virginie ran to him, and throwing her arms round his neck again burst into a passion of tears. harry felt that this was the best thing that could have happened, for the others were occcupied for some time in trying to soothe her, crying quietly to themselves while they did so. at last her sobs became less violent. "and now, harry," marie said, turning to him, "will you tell us all about it?" "i will tell you only that your dear father and mother died, as you might be sure they would, calmly and fearlessly, and that they suffered but little. more than that i cannot tell you now. some day further on, when you can bear it, i will tell you of the events of the last forty-eight hours, in the reign of terror. at present i myself dare not think of it, and it would harm you to know it. "do not, i pray you, ask me any questions now. we must think of the future. fortunatfly you passed unsuspected the last time they searched the house; but it may not be so another time. you may be sure that these human tigers will not be satisfied with the blood they have shed, but that they will long for fresh victims. the prisons are empty now, but they will soon be filled again. we must therefore turn our thoughts to your making your escape from the city. i fear that there is peril everywhere; but it must be faced. i think it will be useless for us to try and reach the frontier by land. at every town and village they will be on the lookout for fugitives, and whatever disguise you might adopt you could not escape observation. i think, then, that we must make for the sea and hire a fishing-boat to take us across to england. "but we must not huny. in the first place, we must settle all our plans carefully and prepare our disguises; in the next place, there will be such tremendous excitement when the news of what has happened here is known that it would be unsafe to travel. i think myself it will be best to wait a little until there is a lull. that is what i want you %o think over and decide, in tme reign of terror. "i do not think there is any very great danger here for the next few days. for a little time they will be tired of slaying; and, from what i hear, the girondists are marked out as the next victims. they say danton has denounced them at the jacobin club. at any rate it will be better to get everything in readiness for flight, so that we can leave at once if we hear of any fresh measures for a search after suspects." harry was pleased to find that his suggestion an- swered the purpose for which he made it. the girls began to discuss the disguises which would be required and the best route to be taken, and their thoughts were for a time turned from the logs they had sustained. after an hour's talk he left them greatly benefited by his visit. for the next few days harry spent his time for the most part by the bedside of victor de gisons. the fever was still at its height, and the doctor gave but small hopes of his recovery. harry de- termined that he would not leave paris until the issue was decided one way or the other, and when with the girls he discouraged any idea of an imme- diate flight. this was the more easy, for the news from the provinces showed that the situation was everywhere as bad as it was at the capital. the commune had sent to all the committees in the reign of terror. acting in connection with them in the towns throughout the country the news of the execution of the enemies of france confined in the prisons, and had urged that a similar step should at once be taken with reference to all the prisoners in their hands. the order was promptly obeyed, and throughout france massacres similar to those in paris were at once carried out. a carnival of mur- der and horror had commenced, and the madness for blood raged throughout the whole country. such being the case, harry found it by no means difficult to dissuade the girls from taking instant steps toward making their escape. he was, however, in a state of great uneasiness. many of the moderate deputies had been seized, others had sought safety in flight, and the search for suspected persons was carried on vigorously. difficult and dangerous as it would be to endeavor to travel through france with three girls, he would have attempted it without hesitation rather than re- main in paris had it not been for victor de gisons. one day, a week after the massacres at the prisons, he received another terrible shock. he had bought a paper from one of the men shouting them for sale in the street, and sat down in the garden of the tuileries to read it. a great portion of the space was filled with lists of the enemies of the peo- in the reign of terror. pie who had been, as it was called, executed. as these lists had formed the staple of news for several days harry scarce glanced at the names, his eye traveling rapidly down the list until he gave a start and a low cry. under the heading of persons exe- cuted at lille were the names of ernest de st. caux, jules de st. caux, pierre du tillet—" aristo- crats, arrested august th, in the act of endeavor* ing to leave france in disguise." for some time harry sat as if stunned. he had scarce given a thought to his friends since the night they had left, the affairs of the marquis and his wife, of their daughters, and of victor de gisons, almost excluding everything else. when he thought of the boys it had been as already in england, under the charge of du tillet. he had thought, that if they had been arrested on the way he should have been sure to hear of it; and he had such confidence in the sagacity of mon- sieur du tillet that he had looked upon it as almost certain he would be able to lead his two charges through any difficulty and danger which might beset them. and now he knew that his hopes had been ill founded—that his friends had been arrested when almost within sight of the frontier, and had been murdered as soon as the news of the massacres in paris had reached lille. in the reign of terror. he felt crushed with the blow. a warm affec- tion had sprung up between him and ernest, while from the first the younger boy had attached himself to him; and now they were dead, and the girls were alone in the world, save for himself and the poor young fellow tossing with fever! it was true that if his friends had reached england in safety they could not have aided him in the task he had before him of getting the girls away; still their deaths somehow seemed to add to his responsibili- ties. upon one thing he determined at once, and that was, that until his charges were safely in england they should not hear a whisper of this new and terrible misfortune which had befallen them. in order to afford the girls some slight change, and anxious at their pale faces, the result of grief and of their unwonted confinement, louise moulin had persuaded them to go out with her in the early mornings when she went to the markets.. the fear of detection was small, for the girls had now become accustomed to their thick shoes and rough dresses; and indeed she thought that it would be safer to go out, for the suspicions of her neighbors might be excited if the girls remained secluded in the house. harry generally met them soon after they started, and accompanied them in their walk. in the reign of terror. $ one morning he was walking with the two younger girls, while marie and the old nurse were together a short distance in front of them. they had just reached the flower-market, which was gen- erally the main object of their walks—for the girls, having passed most of their time in the country, were passionately fond of flowers—when a man on horseback wearing a red sash, which showed him to be an official of the republic, came along at a foot- pace. his eyes fell upon marie's face and rested there, at first with the look of doubtful recognition, followed by a start of surprise and satisfaction. he reined in his horse instantly, with the exclama- tion: "mademoiselle de st. caux!" for a moment she shrank back, her cheek paler even than before; then recovering herself she said calmly: "it is myself, monsieur lebat." "citizen lebat," he corrected. "you forget, there are no titles now—we have changed all that. it goes to my heart," he went on with a sneer, "to be obliged to do my duty; but however unpleasant it is, it must be done. citizens," he said, raising his voice, "i want two men well disposed to the state." as to be ill disposed meant danger if not in the rklgn of terror. death, several men within hearing at once came forward. "this female citizen is an aristocrat in disguise," he went on, pointing to marie; "in virtue of my office as deputy of dijon and member of the com- mittee of public safety, i arrest her and give her into your charge. where is the person who was with her? seize her also on a charge of harboring an enemy of the state!" but louise was gone. the moment lebat had looked round in search of assistance marie had whispered in louise's ear: "fly, louise, for the sake of the children; if you are arrested they are lost." had she herself been alone concerned, the old woman would have stood by marie and shared her fate; but the words "for the sake of the children" decided her, and she had instantly slipped away among the crowd, whose attention had been called by lebat's first words, and dived into a small shop, where she at once began to bargain for some eggs. "where is the woman?" lebat repeated angrily. "what is she like?" one of the bystanders asked. but lebat could give no description whatever of her. he had noticed that marie was speaking to some one when he first caught sight of her face; but in tse reign oe terror. he had noticed nothing more, and did not know whether the woman was young or old. "i can't tell you," he said in a tone of vexation. "never mind; we shall find her later on. this capture is the most important." so saying he set out, with marie walking beside him, with a guard on either hand. in the next street he came on a party of four of the armed soldiers of the commune, and ordered them to take the place of those he had first charged with the duty, and directed them to proceed with him to the mairie. marie was taken at once before the committee sitting en permanence for the discovery and arrest of suspects. "i charge this young woman with being an aristo- crat in disguise. she is the daughter of the ci-devant marquis de st. caux, who was executed on the d of sepember at bicetre." "murdered, you mean, sir," marie said in a clear, haughty voice. "why not call things by their proper name?" "i am sorry," lebat went on, not heeding the interruption, "that it should fall to my lot to de- nounce her, for i acknowledge that in the days before our glorious eevolution commenced, i have visited at her father's chateau. but i feel that my in tee reign of terror. "i know what i am doing, jeanne; i will tell you presently." he walked along several streets until he came to an unfrequented thoroughfare. "there is something wrong, harry, i see it in your face!" jeanne exclaimed. "tell us at once." "it is bad news," harry said quietly. "try and nerve yourselves, my dear girls, for you will need all your courage. marie is captured." "oh, harry!" virginie exclaimed, bursting into tears, while jeanne stood still and motionless. "why are you taking us away?" she said in a hard, sharp voice which harry would not have recognized as hers. "our place is with her, and where she goes we will go. you have no right to lead us away. we will go back to her at once." "you can do her no good, jeanne, dear," harry said gently. "you could not help her, and it would only add to her misery if virginie and you were also in their hands. besides, we can be of more use outside. trust to me, jeanne; i will do all in my power to save her, whatever the risk." "you could not save our father and mother," jeanne said with a quivering lip. "no, dear; but i would have saved them had there been but a little time to do so. this time i hope to be more successful. courage, jeanne! do not give way; i depend on your olear head to help in the reign of terror. me. besides, till we can get her back, you have to fill marie's place and look after virginie." the appeal was successful, and jeanne burst into a passion of tears. harry did not try to check them, and in a short time the sobs ceased and jeanne raised her head again. "i feel better now," she said. "come, virginie, and dry your eyes, darling; we shall have plenty of time to cry afterward. are we to go home, harry? have they taken louise?" "i do not know, jeanne; that is the first thing to find out, for if they have, it will not be safe for you to return. let us push on now, so that if she has not been taken we shall reach home before her. we will place ourselves at the corner of your street and wait for an hour; she may spend some time in looking for us, but if she does not come by the end of that time i shall feel sure that it is because she cannot come, and in that case i must look out for another place for you." they hurried on until they were nearly home, the brisk walk having, as harry had calculated it would do, had the effect of preventing their thoughts from dwelling upon marie's capture. they had not been more than a quarter of an hour at their post when harry gave an exclamation of satisfaction as he saw louise moulin approaching. the two girls hurried to meet her. in the reign of terror. "thank god you are both safe, dears!" she ex- claimed with tears streaming down her cheeks. "i thought of you in the middle of it all; but i was sure that monsieur sandwith would see what was being done and would get you away." "and you, louise," said harry, who had now come up, "how did you get away? i have been terribly anxious, thinking that they might seize you too, and that would have been dreadful." "so they would have done," the old woman said; "but when that evil man looked away for a moment, mademoiselle whispered, 'fly, louise, for the chil- dren's sake!' and i slipped away into the crowd without even stopping to think, and ran into a shop; and it was well i did, for he shouted to them to seize me too, but i was gone, and as i don't think he noticed me before, they could not find me; and as soon as they had all moved away i came out. i looked for you for some time, and then made up my mind that monsieur sandwith had come on home with you." "so i did, you see," harry said; "but did not dare to go in until we knew whether you had been taken too. if you had not come after a time we should have looked for another lodging, though i knew well enough that you would not tell them where you lived." in the reign of terror. "no, indeed," the old woman said. "they might have cut me in pieces without getting a sin- gle word from me as to where i lived. still they might have found out somehow, for they would have been sure to have published the fact that i had been taken, with a description of me. then the neighbors would have said, 'this description is like louise moulen, and she is missing;' and then they would have talked, and the end of it would have been you would have been discovered. will you come home with us, monsieur sand with?" "i will come after it's dark, louise. the less my visits are noticed the better." • "this is awful!" harry said to himself as he turned away. "the marquis and his wife massa- cred, ernest and jules murdered, marie in prison, victor mad with fever, jeanne and virginie with no one to trust to but me, my people at home in a frightful stats of mind about me. it is awful to think of. it's enough to drive a fellow out of his senses. well, i will go and see how victor is going on. the doctor thought there was a change yester- day. poor fellow! if he comes to his senses i shall have hard work to keep the truth about marie from him. it would send him off again worse than ever if he had an idea of it." "and how is your patient to-day, madame?" he asked, as victor's nurse opened the door to him. i w t e reign ox terror. "he is quieter, much quieter," she replied. "i think he is too weak to rave any longer; but other- wise he's just the same. he lies with his eyes open, talking sometimes to himself, but i cannot make out any sense in what he saya. the doctor has been here this morning, and he says that he thinks another two days will decide. if he does not take a turn then he will die. if he does, he may live, but even then he may not get his reason again. poor young fellow! i feel for him almost as if he were my son, and so does jacques." "you are both very good, madame," harry said, "and my friend is fortunate indeed to have fallen into such good hands. i will sit with him for three or four hours now, and you had better go and get a little fresh air." "that i will, monsieur. jacques is asleep. he was up with him all last night, and i had a good night. he would have it so." "quite right," harry said. "you must not knock yourself up, madame. you are too useful to others for us to let you do that. to-morrow night i will take my turn." in the reign op terror. "i felt sure it was victor all along," the girl said. "in the first place i never believed that he had gone away. marie told me she had begged and prayed him to go, and that he had only gone to please her. she seemed to think it was right he should go, but i didn't think so. a gentleman would not run away and leave any one he liked behind, even if she told him. it was not likely. why, here are you staying here and risking your life for us, though we are not related to you and have no claim upon you. and how could victor run away? but as marie seemed pleased to think he was safe i said nothing; but i know, if he had gone and some day they had been married, should never have looked upon him as a brother. but i felt sure he wouldn't do it, and that he was in paris still. then, again, you did not tell us the name of the friend who was working with you, and i felt sure you must have some reason for your silence. so, putting the two things together, i was sure that it was victor. what has happened to him? is he in prison too?" "no, he is not in prison, jeanne," harry said, "but he is very ill." and he related the whole cir- cumstances of victor's fever. "i blamed myself awfully at first for having hit him so hard, as you may suppose, jeanne; but the doctor thinks it made in the reign of terror. might help her to get out then. from what i hear the prisoners are not separated, but all live to- gether." "no, no, harry," jeanne exclaimed in a tone of sharp pain, "you must not do that of all things. we have only you, and if you are once in prison you might never get out again; besides, there are lots of other prisons, and there is no reason why they should send you to la force rather than any- where else. no, i will never consent to that plan." "i thought it seemed too doubtful myself," harry said. "of course, if i knew that they would send me to la force, i might risk it. i could hide a file and a steel saw about me, and might cut through the bars; but, as you say, there is no reason why they should send me there rather than anywhere else. i would kill that villain who arrested her—the scoundrel, after being a guest at the chateau!—but i don't see as that would do your sister any good, and would probably end in my being shut up. the most hopeful plan seems to me to try and bribe some of the warders. some of them, no doubt, would be glad enough to take money if they could see their way to letting her out without fear of detection." "but you know we thought of that before, harry, and agreed it would be a terrible risk to try in the reign of terror it, for the very first man you spoke to might turn round on you." "of course there is a certain risk, jeanne, any- way. there is no getting a prisoner out of la force without running some sort of risk; the thing is to fix on as safe a plan as we can. however, we must think it out well before we do try. a failure would be fatal, and i do not think there is any pressing danger just at present. it is hardly likely there will be any repetition of the wholesale work of the d of september; and if they have anything like a trial of the prisoners, there are such numbers of them, so many arrested every day, that it may be a long time before they come to your sister. i do not mean that we should trust to that, only that there is time for us to make our plans properly. have you thought of anything?" "i have thought of all sorts of things since you left us this morning, harry, but they are like yours, just vague sort of schemes that do not seem possi- ble when you try to work them out. i do not know whether they let you inside the prisons to sell everything to the prisoners, because if they did i might go in with something and see marie, and find out how she could be got out." harry shook his head. "i do not think any one would be allowed in like t m thk reign of terror. that, bat if they did it would only be a few to whom the privilege would be granted." "yes, i thought of that, harry ; but one of them might be bribed perhaps to let me take her place." "it might be possible," harry said, "but there would be a terrible risk, and i don't think any ad- vantage to compensate for it. even if you did get to her and spoke to her, we should still be no nearer to getting her out. still we mustn't be disheart- ened. "we can hardly expect to hit upon a scheme at once, and i don't think either of our heads is very clear to-day; let us think it over quietly, and perhaps some other idea may occur to one of us—i expect it will be to you. now, good-night; keep your courage up. i rely very much upon you, jeanne, and you don't know what a comfort it is to me that you are calm and brave, and that can talk things over to you. i don't know what i should do if i had it all on my own shoulders." jeanne made no answer, but her eyes were full of tears as she put her hands into harry's, and no sound came from her lips in answer to his good- night. "that girl's a trump, and no mistake," harry said to himself as he descended the stairs. "she has got more pluck than most women, and is as cool and calm as if she were twice her age. most girls would of tbe reign oe terror. be quite knocked over if they were in her place. her father and mother murdered, her sister in the hands of these wretches, and danger hanging over herself and virginie! it isn't that she doesn't feel it. i can see she does, quite as much, if not more, than people who would sit down and howl and wring their hands. she is a trump, jeanne is, and no mis- take. and now about marie. she must be got out somehow, but how? that is the question. i really don't see any possible way except by bribing her guards, and i haven't the least idea how tj set about that. i think to-morrow i will tell jacques and his wife all about it; they may know some of these men, though it isn't likely that they do; anyhow, three heads are better than one." accordingly, next morning he took the kind- hearted couple into his counsel. when they heard that the young lady who had been arrested was the fiancee of their sick lodger they were greatly inter- ested, but they shook their heads when he told them that he was determined at all hazards to get her out of prison. "it isn't the risk so much," jacques said, "that i look at. life doesn't seem of so much account in these days; but how could it be done? even if you made up your mind to be killed, i don't see that you would put her a bit nearer to getting out of prison; in the reign of terror. the place is too strong to break into or to break out of." "no, i don't think it is possible to succeed in that sort of way; but if the men who have the keys of the corridors could be bribed, and the guard at the gate put soundly to sleep by drugging their drink, it might be managed." jacques looked sharply at harry to see if he was in earnest, and seeing that he was so, said dryly: "yes, if we could do those things we should, no doubt, see our way ; but how could it be managed v "that is just the point, jacques. in the first place it will be necessary to find out in which cor- ridor mademoiselle de st. caux is confined; in the second, to let her know that we are working for her, and to learn, if possible, from her whether, among those in charge of her, there is one man who shows some sort of feeling of pity and kindness; when that is done we should, of course, try to get hold of him. of course, he doesn't remain in the prison all day. however, we can see about that after we have found out the first points." "i know a woman who is sister to one of the warders," elise medart said. "i don't know whether he is there now or whether he has been turned out. martha is a good soul, and i know that sometimes she has been inside the prison, i suppose to see her in the reign of terror. brother, for before the troubles the warders used to get out only once a month. what her brother is like i don't know, but if he is like her he would, i think, be just the man to help you." "yes," jacques assented, "i didn't think of martha. she is a good soul and would do her best, i am sure." "thank you both," harry said; but i do not wish you to run any risks. you have already in- curred the greatest danger by sheltering my friend; i cannot let you hazard your lives further. this woman may, as you say, be ready to help us, but her brother might betray the whole of us, and screen his sister by saying she had only pretended to enter into the plot in order to betray it." "we all risk our lives every day," jacques said quietly. "i am sure we can trust martha, and she will know whether she can rely completely upon her brother. if she can, we will set her to sound him. elise will go and see her to day, and you shall know what she thinks of it when you come this evening for your night's watching." greatly pleased with this unexpected stroke of luck,- harry went off at once to tell jeanne that the outline of a plan to rescue marie had been fixed upon. the girl's pale face brightened up at the news. m the reign of terror. "perhaps," she said, " we may be able to send a letter in to her. i should like so to send her just a line to say that virginie and i are well. do you think it can be done?" "i do not know, jeanne. at any rate you can rely that, if it is possible and all goes well, she shall have it; but be sure and give no clue by which they might find you out, if the letter falls into wrong hands. tell her we are working to get her free, and ask if she can suggest any way of escape; knowing the place she may see opportunities of which we know nothing. write it very small, only on a tiny piece of paper, so that a man can hide it anywhere, slip it into her hand, or put it in her ration of bread." jeanne wrote the little note—a few loving words, and the message harry had given her. "do not sign your name to it," harry said;" she will know well enough who it comes from, and it is better in case it should fall into any one else's hands." that evening harry learned that the woman had consented to sound her brother, who was still em- ployed in the prison. she had said she was sure that he would not betray her even if he refused to aid in the plan. "i am to see her to-morrow morning," elise said in the reign of terror. "she will go straight from me to the prison. she says discipline is not nearly so strict as it used to be. there is a very close watch kept over the prisoners, but friends of the guards can go in and out without trouble, except that on leaving they have to be ac- companied by the guard to the door, so as to be sure that no one is passing out in disguise. she says her brother is good-natured but very fond of money. he is always talking of retiring and settling down on a farm in brittany, where he comes from, and she thinks that if he thought he could gain enough to do this he would be ready to run some risk, for he hates the terrible things that are being done now." "he seems just the man for us," harry said. "will you tell your friend, when you see her in the morning, that i will give her twenty louis and her brother a hundred if he can succeed in getting marie out?" "i will tell them, sir. that offer will set his wits to work, i have no doubt." harry then gave her the note jeanne had writ- ten, for the woman to hand to her brother for de- livery if he proved willing to enter into their plan. harry had a quiet night of watching, for victor lay so still that his friend several times leaned over him to see if he breattfed. the doctor had looked in late and said that the crisis was at hand. in tbe rfilgn op terror. "to-morrow your friend will either sink or he will turn the corner. he is asleep now and will probably sleep for many hours. he may never wake again; he may wake, recognize you for a few minutes, and then go off in a last stupor; he may "wake stronger and with a chance of life. here is a draught that you will give him as soon as he opens his eyes; pour besides three or four spoonfuls of soup down his throat, and if he keeps awake do the same every half hour." it was not until ten o'clock in the morning that victor opened his eyes. he looked vaguely round the room and there was no recognition in his eyes as they fell upon harry's face, but they had lost the wild expression they had worn while he had lain there, and harry felt renewed hope as he lifted his head and poured the draught between his lips. then he gave him a few spoonfuls of soup and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes close again and his breathing become more and more regular. the doctor, when he came in and felt victor's pulse, nodded approval. "the fever has quite left him," he said, "i think he will do now. it will be slow, very slow, but i think he will regain his strength; as to his mind, of that i can say nothing at present." about midday elise returned. in the reign of terror. "i have good news, monsieur," she said at once. "i waited outside the prison till martha came out. her brother has agreed to help if he can, but he said that he did not think that it would be at all possible to get mademoiselle out. there are many of the men of the faubourgs mixed up with the old warders, and there is the greatest vigilance to ensure that none escape. there would be many doors to be opened, and the keys are all held by different persons. he says he will think it over, and if it is any way possible he will risk it. but he wishes first of all to declare that he does not think that any way of getting her out can be discovered. he will give ner the note on the first opportunity, and get an answer from her, which he will send to his sister as soon as he gets a chance." "that is all we can expect," harry said joyfully. "i did not expect that it would be an easy business, or that the man would be able to hit upon a scheme at once; but now that he has gone so far as to agree to carry notes, the thought that he may, if he suc- ceeds, soon have his little farm in brittany, will sharpen his wits up wonderfully." it was three days before an answer came from marie. jacques handed it to harry when he came to take his turn by victor's bedside. victor was better; he was no longer unconscious, but followed in tm ttetgn of tmbo&. ? with his eyes the movements of those in the room. once he had said, " where am i?" but the answer "you are with friends; you have been ill; you shall hear all about it when you get stronger," had ap- parently satisfied him. at harry he looked with doubtful recognition. he seemed to remember the face, but to have no further idea about it, and even when harry said cheerfully: "don't you remember your friend harry, victor?" he had shaken his head in feeble negative. "i expect it will all come back to him," jacques said, "as he gets stronger; and after all it is much better that he should remember nothing at present. it will be quite time enough for that when he is better able to stand it." "i agree with you there," harry said, "and i am really glad that he did not remember me, for had he done so the past might have come back at once and, feeble as he is, that would have completely knocked him over." upon the receipt of marie's note harry at once started off at full speed and soon had the satisfaction of handing it to jeanne. she tore it open. "do you not know what it is, harry?" "how could i?" harry replied. "as you see the letter is addressed to you. of course i should not think of looking at it." in the beign of terror. "why not? you are as much interested in it as i am. sit down between me and virginie and let us read it together. why, it is quite a long epistle." it was written in pencil upon what was evidently a fly-leaf of a book, and ran as follows: "my darling jeanne and virginie, you can imagine what joy i felt when i received your little note to-day and heard that you were still safe. i could hardly believe my senses when, on opening the little ball of paper which one of our guards thrust into my hand, i found that it was from you, and that you were both safe and well. i am writing this crouched down on the ground behind our guards, but i can only write a few lines at a time, lest i should be detected. tell our good friend that i fear there is little chance of escape. we are watched night and day. we are locked up at night, three or four together, in little cells, but in the day we are in a common hall. "it is a strange mixture. here are many of the best blood in france, together with deputies, advo- cates, and writers. we may talk together as much as we like, and soirietimes even a joke and a laugh are heard. every day some names are called out, and these go and we never see them again. do not fret about me, my dear sisters, we are all in god's hands. if it is his will, we shall be saved; if not, we must face bravely whatever comes. "it is a day since i wrote last. a strange thing has happened which will make your blood boil, jeanne, as it has made mine. i was called out this morning to a little room where questions are sometimes asked us, and who do you think was madame de vij and so hidden from the sight of in the reign of terror. there? m. lebat, the son of the mayor of dijon— the man who denounced and arrested me. what do you think the wretch had the insolence to say? that he loved me, and that if i would consent to marry him he could save me. he said that his in- fluence would suffice, not only to get me free but to obtain for me some of our estates, and he told me he would give me time to consider his offer, but that i must remember that nothing could save me if i re- fused. what do you think i did, jeanne? some- thing very unladylike, i am afraid. i made a step closer to him, and then i gave him a slap on the face which made my fingers tingle, then i made him a deep courtesy and said,' that is my answer, mon- sieur lebat,' and walked into the great hall again. "but do not let me waste a line of this last erecious letter that i may be able to write to you y saying more about this wretch. i can see no possible way of escape, dears, so do not buoy your- selves up with hope. i have none. strange as it may seem to you we are not very unhappy here. there are many of our old friends and some of the deputies of the gironde, who used to attend our salon. we keep up each other's courage. we talk of other things just as if we were in a drawing- room, and when the list is called out of a morning, those who are named say good-by bravely; there is seldom a tear shed. "so do not think of me as wretched or unhappy in these last days. and now, my sisters, i must say adieu. you must trust yourselves entirely to our brave english friend, as you would trust a brother. he will do all that is possible to take you out of this unhappy land and conduct you to eng- land, where you will find victor, monsieur du tillet, and your brothers, who have. i trust, weeks ago arrived there in safety. thank our friend from ht the reign of terror. > me and from our dead parents for his goodness and devotion. that your lives may be happy, my dear sisters, will be the last prayer of your loving marie." inside the letter was another tiny note addressed for jeanne, "private." having read the other, jeanne took the little note and walking to the win- dow opened it. as she did so a burning flush of color swept across her face to her very brow. she folded it carefully again and stood looking through the window silently for another quarter of an hour before she came back to the table. "what is it, jeanne?" virginie asked; "have you been crying, jeanne dear? you look so flushed. you must not fret. harry says we must not give up hope, for that he believes he may hit upon some plan for saving marie yet. he says it's only natural that she should think there was no means of getting away, out it was only what he expected. it is we who must invent^omething." "yes, dear, we will try," jeanne said with a quiver in her lip, and then she suddenly burst into tears. "you mustn't give way, jeanne," harry said, when she recovered herself a little. "you know how much i trust to your advice; if you were to break down i should lose heart. do not think of in the reign of terror. marie's letter as a good-by. i have not lost hope yet, by a long way. why, we have done wonders already in managing to get a letter in to her and to have her reply. i consider half the difficulty is over now we have a friend in there." "i will try not to break down again," jeanne said; "it is not often i give way, but to-day i do not feel quite myself, and this letter finished me. you will see i shall be all right to-morrow." "i hope so," harry said as he rose to leave; "but i think you had better ask louise to give you some- thing—your hands are hot and your cheeks are quite flushed, and you look to me as if you were feverish. good-night, dears!" / "i do hope jeanne is not going to break down," harry said as he walked toward his lodging. "if she were to get laid up now that would be the finishing touch to the whole affair; but perhaps, as she says, she will be all right in the morning. no doubt in that note marie wrote as if she were sure of dying, and such a letter as that would be enough to upset any girl, even such a plucky one as jeanne. "however, it is of marie i must think now. it was a brave letter of hers; it is clear she has given up all hope. this is a bad business about the scoundrel lebat. i used to wonder why he parae in the reign of terror. so often to the chateau on business that could have been done just as well by a messenger. he saw how things were going, and thought that when the division of the estates came he might get a big slice. however, it's most unfortunate that he should have had this interview with marie in the prison. if it had not been for that it might have been months before her turn came for trial. as it is, no doubt lebat will have her name put down at once in the list of those for trial, if such a farce can be called a trial, and will then see that no time is lost before it appears on that fatal list for execution. "he will flatter himself, of course, that when the last moment comes, and she sees that there is no hope whatever, she will change her mind. there is one thing, if she is murdered i will kill him as i would a dog, for he will be her murderer just as much as if he had himself cut her throat. i would do it at once if it were not for the girls. i must not run any unnecessary risks; at any rate i need not think of him now; the one thing at present is to get marie out." turning this over in his mind, he walked about for some hours, scarce noticing where he was going. it seemed to him that there must be some way of getting marie out if he could only hit upon it. he in tee reign of terror. turned over in his mind every escape he had ever read of, but in most of these the prisoner had been a man, capable of using tools passed in to him to saw through iron bars, pierce walls or overcome jailers; some had been saved by female relatives, wives or daughters, who went in and exchanged clothes and places with them, but this was not feasible here. this was not a prison where relatives could call upon friends, for to be a relative or friend of a prisoner was quite sufficient in the eyes of the terrorists to mark any one as being an enemy of the republic. he was suddenly roused from his reverie by a cry, and beneath the dim light of a lantern, sus- pended over the narrow street, he saw a man feebly defending himself against two others. he sprang forward just as the man fell, and with his stick struck a sharp blow on the uplifted wrist of one of the assailants, sending the knife he was holding flying through the air. the other turned upon him, but he drew the pistol which he always carried beneath his clothes, and the two men at once took to their heels. harry replaced his pistol and stooped over the fallen man. "are you badly hurt?" he asked. "no, i think not, but i do not know. i think i slipped down; but they would have killed me had you not arrived/ " in the reign of terror. "well, let me get you to your feet," harry said, holding out his hands, but with a feeling of some disgust at the abject fear expressed in the tones of the man's voice. he was indeed trembling so that even when harry hauled him to his feet he could scarcely stand." "you had better lean against the wall for a min- ute or two to recover yourself," harry said. "i see you have your coat cut on the shoulder, and are bleeding pretty freely, but it is nothing to be fright- ened about. if you will give me your handkerchief i will bind it up for you." harry unbuttoned the man's coat, for his hands shook so much that he was unable to do so, pulled the arm out of the sleeve, and tied the bandage tightly round the shoulder. the man seemed to belong to the bourgeois class, and evidently was careful as to his attire, which was neat and precise. his linen and the ruffles of his shirt were spotlessly white and of fine material. the short-waisted coat was of olive-green cloth, with bright metal buttons; the waistcoat, extending far below the coat, was a light-buff color, brocaded with a small pattern of flowers. when he had bound the wound harry helped him on with his coat again. he was by this time recovering himself. "oh, these aristocrats," he murmured, "how they hate me!" in the reign of terror. the words startled harry. what was this he had not interfered, as he had supposed, to prevem the robbery of some quiet citizen by the ruffians of the streets. it was a political assassination that had been attempted—a vengeance by eoyalists upon one of the men of the revolution. he looked more closely at the person whose life he had saved. he had a thin and insignificant figure—his face was pale and looked like that of a student. it seemed to harry that he had seen it before, but where he could not say. his first thought was one of regret that he had interfered to save one of the men of the d of september; then the thought flashed through his mind that there might be some benefit to be derived from it. "young man," the stranger said, "will you give me your arm and escort me home. you have saved my life; it is a humble one, but perhaps it is of some value to france. i live but two streets away. it is not often i am out alone, for i have many ene- mies, but i was called suddenly out on business, though i have no doubt now the message was a fraudulent one, designed simply to put me into the hands of my foes." the man spoke in a thin hard voice, which in- spired harry, he knew not why, with a feeling of repulsion; he had certainly heard it before. he in the reign of terror. offered him his arm and walked with him to his door. "come up, beg you," the stranger said. he ascended to the second floor and rang at the bell. a woman with a light opened it. "why, my brother," she exclaimed on seeing his face, "you are ill! has anything happened?" "i have been attacked in the street," he said, "but am not hurt, though, had it not been for this citizen, it would have gone hardly with me. you have to thank him for having saved your brother's life." they had entered a sitting-room now. it was plainly but very neatly furnished. there were some birds in cages, which, late though the hour was, hopped on their perches and twittered when they heard the master's voice, and he responded with two or three words of greeting to them. "set the supper," he said to his sister; "the citi- zen will take a meal with us. you know who i am, i suppose?" he said to harry. "no," harry replied. "i have a recollection of your face and voice, but i cannot recall where i have met you." "i am robespierre," he said. harry gave a start of surprise. this man whom he had saved was he whom he had so often exe- w the reign of terror. m crated—one of the leaders of those who had deluged france with blood—the man who, next only to marat, was hated and feared by the royalists of france. his first feeling was one of loathing and hatred, but at the same moment there flashed through his mind the thought that chance had favored him beyond his hopes, and that the comedy which he had planned with victor to carry out upon the person of marat had come to pass without premeditation, but with robespierre as the chief actor. but so surprised and so delighted was he that for a minute he sat unable to say a word. robespierre was gratified at the effect which his name had pro- duced. his was a strangely mixed character—at once timid and bold, shrinking from personal danger, yet ready to urge the extremest measures. simple in his tastes, and yet very vain and greedy of ap- plause. domestic and affectionate in his private character, but ready to shed a river of blood in his public capacity. pure in morals; passionless in his resolves; incorruptible and inflexible; the more dangerous because he had neither passion nor hate; because he had not, like danton and marat, a lust for blood, but because human life to him was as nothing, because had he considered it necessary that half france should die for the benefit of the other of tbe &eigx op fb&ror. half he would have signed their death-warrant without emotion or hesitation. "you are surprised, young man," he said, "but the ways of fate are inscrutible. the interposition of a youth has thwarted the schemes of the enemies of france. had you been but ten seconds later i should have ceased to be, and one of the humble in- struments by whicb fate is working for the regener- ation of the people would have perished." while robespierre was speaking harry had rap- idly thought over the role which it would be best for him to adopt. should he avow his real charac- ter and ask for an order for the liberation of marie as a recompense for the service he had rendered robespierre, or should he retain his present charac- ter and obtain robespierre's confidence? there was danger in an open appeal, for, above all things, robespierre prided himself upon his incorruptibility, and he might consider that to free a prisoner for service rendered to himself would be a breach of his duty to france. he resolved, therefore, to keep silence at present, reserving an appeal to robes- pierre's gratitude for the last extremity. "pardon me, monsieur," he said, after he had rapidly arrived at this conclusion; "my emotion was naturally great at finding that i had unwit- tingly been the means of saving the life of one on in the re qn of terror chapter x. free. robespierre chatted continuously as the meal went on, and harry asked himself in astonishment whether he was in a dream, and if this man before him, talking about his birds, his flowers, and his life before he came to paris, could really be the dreaded robespierre. after the meal was over his host said: "as yet i am ignorant of the name of my pre- server." "my name is henry sandwith," harry replied. "it is not a french name," robespierre said in surprise. "i am of english parentage," harry said quietly, "but have been resident for some years in france. i was for some time in the service of the ci-devant marquis de st. caux; but since the break-up of his household i have been shifting for myself as best i could, living chiefly on the moneys i had earned in in the reign of terror. service, and on the lookout for any employment that may offer." "england is our enemy," robespierre said, raising his voice angrily; "the enemy of free institutions and liberty." "i know nothing about english politics," harry replied with a smile; "nor indeed about any politics. i am but little past eighteen, and so that i can earn my living i do not ask whether my employer is a patriot or an aristocrat. it is quite trouble enough to earn one's living without bother- ing one's head about politics. if you can put me in the way of doing so i shall consider that i am well repaid for the little service i rendered you." "assuredly i will do so," robespierre said. "i am a poor man, you know. i do not put my hand into the public purse, and i and my sister live as frugally as we did when we first came to paris from arras. my only gains have been the hatred of the aristocrats and the love of the people. but though i have not money, i have influence, and i promise to use it on your behalf. until i hear of something suitable you can, if you will, work here with me, and share what i possess. my correspondence is very heavy. i am overwhelmed with letters from the provinces begging me to inquire into griev- ances and redress wrongs. can you read and write in the reign of terror. well?" for from harry's words he supposed that he had held some menial post in the household of the marquis de st. caux. "yes, i can read and write fairly," harry said. "and are you acquainted with the english tongue?" "i know enough of it to read it," harry said. "i spoke it when i was a child." "if you can read it that will do," robespierre said. "there are english papers sent over, and i should like to hear for myself what this perfidious people say of us, and there are few here who can translate the language. do you accept my proposal?" "willingly," harry said. "very well, then, come here at nine o'clock in the morning. but mind you are only filling the post of my secretary until i can find something better for you to do." "the post will be a better one some day, mon- sieur robespierre. ere long you will be the great- est man in france, and the post of secretary will be one which may well be envied." "ah, i see you know how to flatter," robespierre said with a smile, much gratified nevertheless with harry's words. "you must remember that i crave no dignities, that i care only for the welfare of france." in the reign of terror. "i know, monsieur, that you are called 'kobes- pierre the incorruptible,'" harry said, "but, never- theless, you belong to france, and france will assuredly see that some day you have such a reward as you richly merit." "there was no untruth in that," harry said to himself as he made his way downstairs. "these human tigers will meet their doom when france comes to her senses. he is a strange contrast, this man; but i suppose that even the tiger is a domes- tic animal in his own family. his food almost choked me, and had i not known that marie's fate depends upon my calmness, i should assuredly have broken out and told this dapper little demagogue my opinion of him. but this is glorious! what news i shall have to give the girls in the morning! if i cannot ensure marie's freedom now i should be a bungler indeed. had i had the planning of the events of this evening they could not have turned out better for us." it was the first time that harry had called at louise moulin's as early as eight o'clock in the morning, and jeanne leaped up as he entered. "what is it, harry? you bring us some news, don't you?" "i do indeed, jeanne; capital news. whom do you think i had supper with last night " in the reign of terror. "had sapper with, harry!" jeanne repeated. "what do you mean! how can i guess whom you had supper with?" "i am sure you cannot guess, jeanne, so i will not puzzle your brain. i had supper with robes- pierre." "with robespierre!" the two girls repeated in astonishment. "you are not joking, harry v jeanne went on; "but no, you cannot be doing that; tell us how you came to have supper with robespierre." "my dear jeanne, i regard it as a special provi- dence, as an answer from god to your prayers for marie. i had the good fortune to save his life." "oh, harry," jeanne exclaimed, " what happi- ness! then marie's life will be saved." "i think i can almost promise you that, jeanne, though i do not know yet exactly how it's to be done. but such a piece of good fortune would never have been sent to me had it not been intended that we should save marie. now sit down quietly, both of you. and you too, louise, and let me tell you all about it, for i have to be with robespierre again at nine o'clock." "oh, that is fortunate indeed!" jeanne exclaimed when he had finished. "surely he cannot refuse any request you may make now." -cv the reiqn of terror. "if ho does, i must get it out of him somehow," harry said cheerfully. "by fair means or foul i will get the order for her release." "but you don't think he can refuse, harry v jeanne asked anxiously. "i think he may refuse, jeanne. he is proud of his integrity and incorruptibility, and i think it quite possible that he may refuse to grant marie's release in return for a benefit done him personally. however, do not let that discourage you in the least. as i said, i will have the order by fair means or foul." at nine o'clock harry presented himself in readi- ness for work, and found that his post would be no sinecure. the correspondence which he had to go through was enormous. bequests for favors, letters of congratulation on bobespierre's speeches and mo- tions in the assembly, reports of scores of provincial committees, denunciations of aristocrats, letters of blame because the work of rooting out the suspects did not proceed faster, entreaties from friends of prisoners. all these had to be sorted, read, and answered. bobespierre was, harry soon found, methodical in the extreme. he read every letter himself, and not only gave directions how they were to be answered, but read through the answers when written, and in tbe rbtgn op terror. added two names, and then signed it and sent it back to the prison. there was another list with the names of the prisoners to be executed on the follow- ing day, and this. harry learned, was not sent in to the prison authorities until late in the evening, so that even they were ignorant until the last moment which of the prisoners were to be called for by the tumbrils the next morning. thus he would know when marie was to go through the mockery of a trial, and would also know when her name was put on the fatal list for the guillotine. the first fact he might have been able to learn from his ally in the prison, but the second and most important he could not have obtained in any other way. the work had been frequently interrupted by callers. members of the committee of public safety, leaders of the jacobin and cordeliers clubs, and others, dropped in and asked robespierre's advice, or discussed measures to be taken; and after a day or two harry found that it was very seldom, except when taking his meals, that robespierre was alone while in the house; and as his sister was in and out of the room all day, the idea of compelling him by force to sign the order, as they had origi- nally intended to do with marat, was clearly impracticable. each day after his work was over, and this was gen- in the reign of terror. erally completed by about one o'clock, harry called to see how victor was getting on. he was gaining strength, but his brain appeared to make far less progress than his bodily health. he did not recog- nize harry in the least, and although he would answer questions that were asked him, his mind ap- peared a blank as to the past, and he often lay for hours without speaking a word. after leaving him harry met louise and the two girls at a spot agreed upon the day before, a fresh meeting-place being arranged each day. he found it difficult to satisfy them, for indeed each day he became more and more doubtful as to his ability to get the order of release from robespierre. toward the man himself his feelings were of a mixed kind. he shuddered at the calmness with which, in his letters to the provincial committees, he advocated wholesale exe- cutions of prisoners. he wondered at the violence with which, in his shrill, high-pitched voice, he de- claimed in favor of the most revolutionary measures. he admired the simplicity of his life, his affection for his sister and bis birds, his kindness of heart in all matters in which politics were not concerned. among robespierre's vistors during the next three weeks was lebat, who was, harry found, an important personage, being the representative on the committee of public safety of the province of jv the reign of terror. burgundy, and one of the most extreme of the fre- quenters of the jacobin club. he did not recog- nize harry, whom he had never noticed particularly on the occasion of his visits to the chateau, and who, in the somewhat threadbare black suit which he had assumed instead of the workman's blouse, wrote steadily at a table apart, taking apparently no notice of what was going on in the apartment. but harry's time was not altogether thrown away. it was his duty the first thing of a morning to open and sort the letters and lay them in piles upon the table used by robespierre himself, and he managed every day to slip quietly into his pocket several of the letters of denunciation against persons as aristocrats in disguise or as being suspected of hostility to the commune. when robespierre left him to go to the club or the assembly harry would write short notes of warning in a disguised hand to the persons named, and would, when he went out, leave these at their doors. thus he had the satis- faction of saving a considerable number of persons from the clutches of the revolutionists. he would then, two or three days later, slip the letters of denunciation, very few of which were dated, among the rest of the correspondence, satisfied that when search was made the persons named would already have shifted their quarters and assumed some other disguise. m the reign op terror. and so break her down that she would be willing enough to purchase her life by a marriage with him. there had been some little lull in the work of blood, for in december all eyes had been turned to the spectacle of the trial of the king. from the th of august he had remained a close prisoner in the temple, watched and insulted by his ruffian guards, and passing the time in the midst of his family with a serenity of mind, a calmness and tranquillity which went far to redeem the blunders he had made during the preceding three years. the following is the account written by the princess royal in her journal of the manner in which the family passed their days: "my father rose at seven and said prayers till eight; then dressing himself he was with my brother till nine, when he came to breakfast with my mother. after breakfast my father gave us lessons till eleven o'clock; and then my brother played till midday, when we went to walk together, whatever the weather was, because at that hour they relieved guard and wished to see us to be sure of our pres- ence. our walk was continued till two o'clock, when we dined. after dinner my father and mother played at backgammon, or rather pretended to play, in order to have an opportunity of talking together for a short time lit tee relgn of terror. "at four o'clock my mother went upstairs with us, because the king then usually took a nap. at six o'clock my brother went down, and my father gave us lessons till supper at nine. after supper my mother soon went to bed. we then went up- stairs, and the king went to bed at eleven. my mother worked much at. tapestry and made me study, and frequently read alone. my aunt said prayers and read the service; she also read many religious books, usually aloud." but harmless as was the life of the royal family, danton and the jacobins were determined upon having their lives. the mockery of the trial com- menced on the th of december. malesherbes, tronchet, and deseze defended him fearlessly and eloquently, but it was useless—the king was con- demned beforehand. robespierre and marat led the assault. the girondists, themselves menaced and alarmed, stood neutral; but on the th of january the question was put to the assembly, " is louis capet, formerly king of the french, guilty of con- spiracy and attempt against the general safety of the state?" with scarcely a single exception the assembly re- turned an affirmative answer, and on the th the final vote was taken. three hundred and sixty-one voted for death, two for imprisonment, two hundred in the reign of terror. and eighty-six for detention, banishment, or con- ditional death, forty-six for death but after a delay, twenty-six for death but with a wish that the assembly should revise the sentence. sentence of death was pronounced. after a sit- ting which lasted for thirty-seven hours there was another struggle between the advocates of delay and those of instant execution, but the latter won; and after parting with noble resignation from his wife and family, the king, on the st, was exe- cuted. his bearing excited the admiration even of his bitterest foes. france looked on amazed and appalled at the act, for louis had undoubtedly striven his best to lessen abuses and to go with the people in the path of re- form. it was his objection to shed blood,his readiness to give way, his affection for the people, which had allowed the revolution to march on its bloody way without a check. it was the victims—the nobles, the priests, the delicate women and cultured men— who had reason to complain; for it was the king's hatred to resistance which left them at the mercy of their foes. louis had been the best friend of the eevolution that slew him. the trial and execution of the king had at least the good effect of diverting the minds of jeanne and virginie from their own anxieties. jeanne was in the reign of terror. passionate and virginie tearful in their sorrow and indignation. over and over again jeanne im- plored harry to try to save the king. there were still many royalists, and indeed the bulk of the people were shocked and alienated by the violence of the convention; and jeanne urged that harry might, from his connection with robespierre, obtain some pass or document which would enable the king to escape. but harry refused to make any attempt whatever on his behalf. "in the first place, jeanne, it would be absolutely impossible for the king, watched as he is, to escape; and no pass or permit that robespierre could give would be of the smallest utility. you must re- member, that although all apparently unite against the king, there is a never-ending struggle going on in the convention between the various parties and the various leaders. robespierre is but one of them, although, perhaps, the most prominent; but could i wring a pass from him even if only to see the king, that pass would not be respected. "in the next place, jeanne, i have nothing to do with these struggles in france. i am staying here to do what little i can to watch over you and virginie, for the sake of your dear parents and because i love you both; and i have also if possible to rescue marie from the hands of these murderers. in the reign of terror. the responsibility is heavy enough; and could i, by merely using robespierre's name, rescue the ting and queen and their children and pass them across the frontier, i would not do it if the act in the slightest degree interfered with my freedom of action toward you and marie." "but virginie and i would die for the king!" jeanne said passionately. "happily, jeanne," harry replied coolly, "your dying would in no respect benefit him; and as your life is in my eyes of a thousand times more conse- quence than that of the king, and as your chances of safety to some extent depend upon mine, i do not mean to risk one of those chances for the sake of his majesty. be&ides, to tell you the truth, i have a good deal of liking for my own life, and have a marked objection to losing my head. you see i have people at home who are fond of me, and who want to see me back again with that head on my shoulders." "i know, harry; i know," jeanne said with her eyes full of tears. "do not think that i am un- grateful because i talk so. i am always thinking how wrong it is that you should be staying here risking your life for us instead of going home to those who love you. i think sometimes virginie and i ought to give ourselves up, and then you could go home." and jeanne burst into tears. in the reign of terror. "my dear jeanne," harry said soothingly, "do not worry yourself about me. it would have been just as dangerous at the time your father was taken prisoner for me to have tried to escape from the country as it was to stay here—in fact, i should say that it was a good deal more dangerous; and at present, as robespierre's secretary, i am in no dan- ger at all. it is a little disagreeable certainly serv- ing a man whom one regards in some respects as being a sort of wild beast; but at the same time, in his own house, i am bound to say, he is a very decent kind of man and not at all a bad fellow to get on with. "as to what i have done for you, so far as i see i have done nothing beyond bringing you here in the first place, and coming to have a pleasant chat with you every evening. nor, with the best will in the world, have i been able to be of the slightest assistance to marie. as we say at home, my in- tentions are good; but so far the intentions have borne no useful fruit whatever. come, jeanne, dry your eyes, for it is not often that i have seen you cry. we have thrown in our lot together, and we shall swim or sink in company. "you keep up my spirits and i keep up yours. don't let there be any talk about gratitude. there will be time enough for that if i ever get you safely in tsb rmgn of terror. to england. then, perhaps, i may send in my bill and ask for payment." harry spoke lightly, and jeanne with a great effort recovered her composure; and after that, al- though the trial and danger of the king were nightly discussed and lamented, she never said a word as to any possibility of the catastrophe being averted. one day toward the end of february, harry felt a thrill run through him as, on glancing over the list of persons to be tried on the following day, he saw the name of marie, daughter of the ci-devant marquis de st. caux. although his knowledge of robespierre's character gave him little ground for hope, he determined upon making a direct appeal. "i see, citizen," he said—for such was the mode of address universal at that time—" that among the list of persons to be tried is the name of marie de st. caux." "say marie caux," robespierre said reprovingly. "you know de and st. are both forbidden prefixes. yes; what would you say about her v "i told you, citizen, upon the first night when i came here, that i had been in the service of the father of this female citizen. although i know now that he was one of those who lived upon the blood of the people, i am bound to say that he al- nr tmb reigi? op terror. ways treated his dependants kindly. his daughter also showed me many marks of kindness, and this i would now fain return. citizen, i did you some service on the night when we first met; and i ask you now, as a full quittance for that aid, that you will grant me the freedom of this young woman. whatever were the crimes of her father, she cannot have shared in them. she is young, and cannot do harm to any; therefore i implore you to give me her life." "i am surprised at your request," robespierre said calmly. "this woman belongs to a race who have for centuries oppressed france, and it is better that they should perish altogether. if she can con- vince the tribunal that she is innocent of all crime, undoubtedly she will be spared; but i cannot, only on account of the obligation i am under to you, in- terfere on her behalf; such an act would be treason to the people, and i hope you know me well enough by this time to be aware that nothing whatever would induce me to allow my private inclinations to interfere with the course of justice. ask of me all i have, it is little enough, but it is yours; but this thing i cannot grant you." for a moment harry was on the point of bursting out indignantty, but he checked himself and without a word went on with his writing, although tears ? this reign of terror. of disappointment for a time almost blinded him; but he felt it would be hopeless to urge the point further, and that did he do so he might forfeit the opportunity he now had of learning what was going on. another month passed before the name appeared on the fatal list. in the meantime harry had cor- responded regularly with marie by means of the warder, and had even once seen her and exchanged a few words with her, having been sent by robes- pierre with a letter to the governor of the prison. marie was greatly changed: her color had faded away, the former somewhat haughty air and car- riage had disappeared, and there was an expression of patient resignation on her face. harry had only the opportunity to whisper to her "hope always, all is not lost yet." he had spent hours each day in his lodging imitating the signature of robes- pierre, and he had made up his mind that, should all other efforts fail, he would boldly present him- self at the prison with an order for marie's release, with robespierre's signature forged at the bottom. he thought he could write it now plainly enough for it tc pass; his fear was that the prison author- ities would not act upon it unless presented by a well-known official personage without first sending to robespierre to have it verified. of the bmqn of tfulttor. still but little change had taken place in victor de gisons' condition. he remained in a state almost of lethargy, with an expression of dull hopelessness on his face; sometimes he passed his hand wearily across his forehead as if he were trying to recollect something he had lost; he was still too weak to stand, but jacques and his wife would dress him and place him on a couch which harry purchased for his use. the worthy couple ran no risk now, for the sharpest spy would fail to recognize in the bowed-down invalid, with vacant face, the once brilliant victor de gisons. harry had many talks with jeanne concerning him. "what should we do, harry," the girl said over and over again, "if we could get marie away and all get safe together to england, which i begin to despair now of our ever doing, but if we should do it what should we say to marie? she thinks victor is safe there. only the other day, as you know, she sent us out a letter to him. what would she say when she learned on her arrival in england that victor has all this time been lying broken down and in suffering in paris?" to this question harry, for a long time, could give no answer. at last he said, "i have been thinking it over, jeanne, and i feel that we have no right to take marie away without her knowing the in the reign of terror. truth about victor. his misfortunes have come upon him because he would stop in paris to watch over her. i feel now that she has the right, if she chooses, of stopping in paris to look after him." "oh, harry, you would never think of our going away and leaving her!" "i don't know, jeanne, if it would not be best. she could stay in the disguise of a peasant girl with jacques and his wife; they would give out that she was victor's sister who had come to nurse him. i have great hopes that her voice and presence would do what we have failed to do, namely, awaken him from his sad state of lethargy. they could stay there for months until these evil days are over. jacques' workmen friends are accustomed now to victor being with him, and there is no chance of any suspicion arising that he is not what he seems to be, a workman whom jacques picked up injured and insensible on that terrible night. it would seem natural that his sister or his fiancee—marie could pass for whichever she chose—should come and help take care of him." "then if she can stop in paris with victor, of oourse we can stop with louise?" "i am afraid not," harry said. "every day the search for suspects becomes stricter; every day people are being seized and called upon to produce in the reign of terror. the papers proving their identity; and i fear, jeanne, there is no hope of permanent safety for you save in flight." it was just a month from the mock trial, at which marie had been found guilty and sentenced to death that harry received a double shock. among the letters of denunciation was the following: "citi- zen, i know that you watch over the state. i would have you know that for more than seven months two girls have been dwelling with one louise moulin of rue michel; there were three of them, but the eldest has disappeared. this, in itself, is mysterious; the old woman herself was a servant in the family of the ci-devant marquis de st. caux. she gives out that the girls are relatives of hers, but it is believed in the neighborhood that they are aristocrats in disguise. they receive many visits from a young man of whom no one knows anything." harry felt the color leave his cheeks, and his hand shook as he hastily abstracted the note, and he could scarcely master the meaning of the next few letters he opened. this was a sudden blow for which he was unpre- pared. he could not even think what was best to be done. however, saying to himself that he had at any rate a few days before him, he resolutely put in the reign of terror. the matter aside, to be thought over when he was alone, and proceeded with his work. after a time he came to the list of those marked out for execution on the following day, and saw with a fresh pang the name of marie de st. caux. so the crisis had arrived. that night or never marie must be rescued, and his plan of forging robespierre's signature must be put into effect that day. he opened the next few papers mechanically, but steadied himself upon robespierre asking him a question. for a time he worked on; but his brain was swimming, and he was on the point of saying that he felt strangely unwell, and must ask to be excused his work for that day, when he heard a ring at the bell, and a moment later lebat entered the room. "i have just come from the tribunal, citizen," he said, "and have seen the list for to-morrow. i have come to you, as i know you are just, and abhor the shedding of innocent blood. there is among the number a young girl who is wholly innocent. i know her well, for she comes from my province, and her father's chateau was within a few miles of dijon. although her father was a furious aristo- crat, her heart was always with the people. she was good to the poor, and was beloved by all the tenants on the estate. it is not just that she should in the reign of terror. "thank you, citizen," he said to robespierre. "it is an act of justice which i relied upon from your well-known character. i promise you that your clemency will not be misplaced, and that she will become a worthy citizen. may i ask," he said, "how it is that your secretary, whose face seems familiar to me, is interested in this young woman also?" "it is simple enough," robespierre replied. "he was in the service of her father." "oh, i remember now," lebat said. "he is english. i wonder, citizen, that you should give your confidence to one of that treacherous nation." "he saved my life," robespierre replied coldly; "a somewhat good ground, you will admit, for placing confidence in him." "assuredly," lebat said hastily, seeing that robespierre was offended. "and now, citizen, there is another matter of importance on which i wish to confer with you." harry rose. "citizen, i will ask you to excuse me from further work to-day. my head aches badly, and i can scarce see what i am writing." "i thought you were making some confusion of my papers," robespierre said kindly. "by all means put aside your work." of the reign of terror. on leaving the room harry ran up to the attic above, which he had occupied since he had entered robespierre's service, rapidly put on the blue blouse and pantaloons which he had formerly worn, pulled his cap well down over his eyes, and hurried down stairs. he stationed himself some distance along the street and waited for lebat to come out. rapidly thinking the matter over, he concluded that the man would not present himself with the order of release until after dark, in order that if marie struggled or tried to make her escape it would be unnoticed in the street. lebat had calculated, of course, that on the presentation of the order the prison officials would at once lead marie to the gates whether she wished it or not, and would, at his order, force her into a vehicle, when she would be completely in his power, and he could confine her in his own house or elsewhere until she consented to be his wife. a quarter of an hour later lebat came out of the house and walked down the street. harry followed him. after walking for some distance lebat came to a stand of hackney-coaches and spoke to one of the drivers. when he had gone on again harry went up to the man. "comrade," he said, "do you wish to do a good action and to earn a couple of gold pieces at the same time v in the reign of terror. "that will suit me admirably," the coachman replied. "let one of your comrades look after your horse, then, and let us have a glass of wine together in that cabaret." as soon as they were seated at a small table with a measure of wine before them harry said: "that deputy with the red sash who spoke to you just now has engaged you for a job this evening?" "he has," the coachman said. "i am to be at the left corner of the place de carrousel at eight this evening." "he is a bad lot," harry said; "he is going to carry off a poor girl to whom he has been promis- ing marriage; but of course we know better than that. she is a friend of mine and so were her parents, and i want to save her. now, what i want to do is to take your place on the box this evening. i will drive him to the place where he is to meet her, and when he gets her to the door of his lodging i shall jump off and give my citizen such a thrash- ing as will put a stop to his gallivanting for some time. i will give you ten crowns for the use of your coach for an hour." "agreed!" the coachman said. "between our- selves, some of these fellows who pretend to be m the reign op terror. the warders and declares that she would rather die than go with him, it is just possible that they might refuse to let him take her away, saying that the order was for her release, but not for her delivery to him. i don't suppose they would do so, because as one of the members of the committee of public safet}r he is all-powerful; still it would be as well to avoid any risk whatever of our scheme failing i will drive to the rue montagnard, which, as you know, is close to la force. it is a quiet street, and it is not likely there will be anybody about at half- past eight. will you be there and give me a hand to secure the fellow?" "certainly i will," jacques said heartily. "what do you propose to do with him?" "i propose to tie his hands and feet and gag him, and then drive to the rue bluett, which is close by, and where there are some unfinished houses. we can toss him in there, and he will be safe till morning." "it will be the safest plan to run him through at once and have done with him," jacques said. "he will be a dangerous enemy if he is left alive; and as he would kill you without mercy if he had a chance, i don't see why you need be over-nice with him." "the man is a scoundrel, and one of a band of men whom i regard as murderers," harry said; "but i could not kill him in cold blood." fit this rei&n op terror. harry took off his sword and placed it on the seat, wrapped himself in the great cape, wound a muffler round the lower part of his face, and waited. a few minutes after the clock had struck eight lebat came along. "here we are, citizen," harry said in a rough voice. "i am glad you have come, for it's no joke waiting about on such nights as this. where am i to drive you to?" "the prison of la force," lebat said, taking his seat in the coach. harry's heart beat fast as he drove toward the prison. he felt sure that success would attend his plans; but the moment was an exciting one. it did not seem that anything could interpose to prevent success, and yet something might happen which he had not foreseen or guarded against. he drove at little more than a footpace, for the streets a short distance from the center of the town were only lighted here and there by a dim oil lamp, and further away they were in absolute darkness, save for the lights which gleamed through the casements. at last he reached the entrance to the prison. lebat jumped out and rang at the bell. "what is it, citizen?" the guard said, looking through a grille in the gate. "i am citizen lebat of the committee of public s i& the reiqn of terror. safety, and i have an order here, signed by citizen robespierre, for the release of the female prisoner known as marie caux." "all right, citizen!" the man said, opening the gate. "it is late for a discharge; but i don't suppose the prisoner will grumble at that." ten minutes later the gate opened again and lebat came out with a cloaked female figure. she hesitated on the top step, and then, refusing to touch the hand lebat held out to assist her, stepped down and entered the coach. "rue fosseuse no. ," lebat said as he followed her. harry drove on, and was soon in the rue mon- tagnard. it was a dark, narrow street; no one seemed stirring, and harry peered anxiously through the darkness for the figure of jacques. presently he heard a low whistle, and a figure appeared from a doorway. harry at once checked the horse. "what is it v lebat asked, putting his head out of the window. harry got off the box, and going to the window said in a drunken voice: "i want my far©. there is a cabaret only just ahead, and i want a glass before i go further. my feet are pretty well frozen." "drive on, you drunken rascal," lebat said furi- ously, "or it will be worse for you." in the reign of terror. "don't you speak in that way to me, citizen," harry said hoarsely. "one man's as good as an- other in these days, and if you talk like that to me i will break your head in spite of your red sash." with an exclamation of rage lebat sprang from the coach, and as his foot touched the ground harry threw his arms round him; but as he did so he trod upon some of the filth which so thickly littered the thoroughfare and slipped. lebat wrenched himself free and drew his sword, and before harry could have regained his feet he would have cut him down, when he fell himself in a heap from a tremendous blow which jacques struck him with his sword. "jump inside," jacques said to harry. "we may have some one out to see what the noise is about. he will be no more trouble." he seized the prostrate body, threw it up on the box, and taking his seat drove on. "marie," harry said as he jumped in, "thank god you are safe!" "oh, harry, is it you? can it be true?" and the spirit which had so long sustained the girl gave way, and leaning her head upon his shoulder she burst into tears. harry soothed and pacified her till the vehicle again came to a stop. "what is it, jacques?" harry asked, putting his head out of window, in the reign of terror. "just what we agreed upon," the man said. rt here are the empty houses. you stop where you are. i will get rid of this trash." harry, however, got out. "is he dead?" he asked in a low voice. "well, considering his head's cut pretty nigh in two, i should think he was," jacques said. "it could not be helped, you know; for if i hadn't struck sharp it would have been all over with you. anyhow it's better as it is a hundred times. if you don't value your neck, i do mine. now get in again. i shan't be two minutes." he slipped off the red sash and coat and waist- coat of the dead man, emptied his trousers pockets and turned them inside out, then lifting the body on his shoulder he carried it to one of the empty houses and threw it down. "they will never know who he is," he said to himself. "in this neighborhood the first comer will take his shirt and trousers. they will suppose he has been killed and robbed, no uncommon matter in these days, and his body will be thrown into the public pit, and no one be any the wiser. i will burn the coat and waistcoat as soon as i get back." in the reign of terror. chapter xl maeie and victob. "are you taking me to the girls, harry?" "no," harry said. "it would not be safe to do so. there are already suspicions, and they have been denounced." marie gave a cry of alarm. "i have managed to suppress the document, marie, and we start with them in a day or two. still it will be better for you not to go near them. i will arrange for you to meet them to- morrow." "where am i going, then?" "you are going to the house of a worthy couple, who have shown themselves faithful and trust- worthy by nursing a friend of mine, who has for nearly six months been lying ill there. you will be perfectly safe there till we can arrange matters." "but if robespierre has signed my release, as they said, i am safe enough, surely, and can go where i like." in the reign of terror. "i think you will be safe from re-arrest here in paris, marie, because you could appeal to him; but outside paris it might be different. however, we can talk about that to-morrow, when you have had a good night's rest." harry did not think it necessary to say, that when lebat was missed it would probably be ascer- tained that he was last seen leaving la force with her, and that if inquiries were set on foot about him she might be sought for. however, marie said no more on the subject, quite content that harry should make whatever arrangements he thought best, and she now began to ask all sorts of questions about her sisters, and so passed the time until they were close to the place de carrousel; then harry called to jacques to stop. "will you please get out, marie, and wait with our good friend here till i return. i shall be back in five minutes. i have to hand the coach over to its owner." jacques threw lebat's clothes over his arm and got down from the box. harry took his seat and drove into the place, where he found the coachman awaiting him. "have you managed the job?" "that we have," harry said. "he has had a lesson, and isabel has gone off to her friends again. w tee reign of terror. poor little girl, i hope it will cure her of her flight, iness. here is your cape and your money, ray friend, and thank you." "you are heartily welcome," the driver said, mounting his box. "i wish i could do as well every day; but these are bad times for us, and money is precious scarce, i can tell you." harry soon rejoined jacques and marie. there were but few words said as they made their way through the streets, for marie was weakened by her long imprisonment, and shaken by what she had gone through. she had not asked a single question as to what had become of lebat; but she had no doubt that he was killed. she had grown, however, almost indifferent to death. day after day she had seen batches of her friends taken out to execution, and the retribution which had fallen upon this wretch gave her scarcely a thought, except a feeling of thankfulness that she was freed from his perse- cutions. completely as she trusted harry, it was with the greatest difficulty that she had brought herself to obey his instructions and to place herself for a moment in the power of her persecutor, and appear to go with him willingly. when lebat told her triumphantly that he had saved her from death, and that she was to have formed one of the party in the tumbril on the follow- in the rkign of terror. ( and had fitted them up as a bedroom and sitting- room for her. there was already a communication existing between the two sets of apartments, and they had only to remove some brickwork between the double doors to throw them into one suite. telling marie to sit down, elise hurried off and returned with a basin of bouillon. "drink this, my dear, and then go straight to bed; your friend will be here in good time in the morning, and then you can talk over matters with him." she waited to see marie drink the broth, and then helped her to undress. "she will be asleep in five minutes," she said when she rejoined her husband and harry. "she is worn out with excitement, but a night's rest will do wonders for her. don't come too early in the morning, monsieur sandwith; she is sure to sleep late, and i would not disturb her till she wakes of herself." "i will be here at nine," harry said, " and will go round before that and tell her sisters. they will be wondering they have seen nothing of me to-day, but i was afraid to tell them till it was all over. the anxiety would have been too great for them." it was fortunate that robespierre went out early on the following morning to attend a meet- ing at the jacobins, and harry was therefore in fbe &eiqn of telittor. saved the necessity for asking leave to absent himself again. at eight o'clock he was at louise moulin's. "what is it, harry?" jeanne exclaimed as he entered. "i can see you have news. what is it?" "i have news," harry said, "and good news, but you must not excite yourselves." "have you found a way for getting marie out?" "yes, i have found a way." "a sure, certain way, harry?" virginie asked; "not only a chance?" "a sure, certain way," harry replied. "you need have no more fear; marie will certainly be freed." the two girls stood speechless with delight. it never occurred to them to doubt harry's words when he spoke so confidently. "have you told us all, harry?" jeanne asked a minute later, looking earnestly in his face. "can it be ?—is she really out already?" "yes," harry said, "thank god, dears, your sister is free." with aery of delight virginie sprang to him, and throwing her arms round his neck, kissed him in the exuberance of her happiness. louise threw her apron over her head and burst into tears of thank- fulness while jeanne put her hand on his shoulder and said: m the reign of terror . "oh, harry, how can we ever thank you enough for all you have done for us v six months back jeanne would probably have acted as virginie did, but those six months had changed her greatly; indeed, ever since she re- ceived that note from marie, which she had never shown even to virginie, there had been a shade of difference in her manner to harry, which he had more than once noticed and wondered at. it was some little time before the girls were sufficiently composed to listen to harry's story. "but why did you not bring her here, harry?" virginie asked. "why did you take her somewhere else?" "for several reasons, virginie. i have not told you before, but there is no reason why you should not know now that victor is still in paris." virginie uttered an exclamation of wonder. "he stopped here to look after you all, but he has had a very bad illness, and is still terribly weak, and does not even know me. marie will nurse him. i have great hopes that he will know her, and that she may be able in time to effect a complete cure. in the next place i think it would be dangerous to bring her here, for we must leave in a very few days." "what, go without her v in the reign of terror. "tes, i am afraid so, virginia. i have learned, louise, that some of your neighbors have their sus- picions, and that a letter of denunciation has already been sent, so it will be absolutely necessary to make a move. i have suppressed the first letter, but the writer will probably not let the matter drop, and may write to danton or marat next time, so we must go without delay. you cannot change your lodging, for they would certainly trace you; besides, at the present time the regulations about lodgers are so strict that no one would dare receive you until the committee of the district have examined you and are perfectly satisfied. therefore, i think we must go alone. marie is wanted here, and i think she will be far safer nursing victor than she would be with us; besides, now she has been freed by eobespierre's orders, i do not think there is any fear of her arrest, even if her identity were discovered. lastly, it would be safer to travel three than four. three girls traveling with a young fellow like me would be sure to attract attention. it will be difficult enough in any case, but it would certainly be worse with her with us." "but we are to see her, harry?" jeanne said. "surely we are not to go away without seeing marie!" "certainly not, jeanne; i am not so cruel as that. in tbe reign of terror. this evening, after dark, we will meet in the gardens of the tuileries. louise, will you bring them down and be with them near the main entrance? i will bring marie there at six o'clock. and now i must be off; i have to break the news to marie that victor is in the same house with her and ill. i did not tell her last night. she will be better able to bear it after a good night's sleep." "marie was up and dressed when harry arrived, and was sitting by the fire in the little kitchen. "i have just left your sisters, marie," harry said. "and you may imagine their delight at the news i gave them. you are to see them this evening in the gardens of the tuileries." "oh, harry, how good you are! how much you have done for us!" harry laughed lightly. "not very much yet; besides, it has been a pleasure as well as a duty. the girls have both been so brave, and jeanne has the head of a woman." "she is nearly a woman now, harry," marie said gently. "she is some months past sixteen, and though you tell me girls of that age in england are quite children, it is not so here. why, it is nothing uncommon for a girl to marry at sixteen." "well, at any rate," harry said, "jeanne has no in the reign of terror. ? "well, marie, you mustn't be agitated, and i hope you will not be angry; but i ask you how, as he has a good heart, and you have claims upon him, could you expect victor de gisons to run away like a coward and leave you here?" marie had risen to her feet and gazed at him with frightened eyes. "what, is it about him that you deceived me? is it true that he did not go away? has anything happened to him? oh, harry, do not say he is dead!" "he is not dead, marie, but he has been very, very ill. he was with me at la force on that ter- rible night, and saw his father brought out to be murdered. the shock nearly killed him. he has had brain fever, and has been at death's door. at present he is mending, but very, very slowly. he knows no one, not even me, but i trust that your voice and your presence will do wonders for him." "where is he, harry?" marie said as she stood with clasped hands, and a face from which every vestige of color had flown. "take me to him at once." "he is in the house, marie; that is why i have brought you here. these good people have nursed and concealed him for five months," in the reign of terror. marie made a movement toward the door. "wait, marie, you cannot go to him till you com- pose yourself. it is all-important that you should speak to him, when you see him, in your natural voice, and you must prepare yourself for a shock. he is at present a mere wreck, so changed that you will hardly know him." "you are telling me the truth, harry? you are not hiding from me that he is dying?" "no, dear; i believe, on my honor, that he is out of danger now, and that he is progressing. it is his mind more than his body that needs curing. it may be a long and difficult task, marie, before he is himself again; but i believe that with your care and companionship he will get round in time, but it may be months before that." "time is nothing," marie said. "but what about the girls?" "they must still be under my charge, marie. i shall start with them in a day or two and try to make for the seashore, and then across to england. suspicions have been aroused; they have already been denounced, and may be arrested at any time. therefore it is absolutely necessary that they should fly at once; but i thought that you would consider it your first duty to stay with victor, seeing that to him your presence is everything, while you could do in the reign of terror. life has been spared in order that i might take my place here. as to the girls, it was a shock at first when you told me that fresh danger threatened them, and that i should not be able to share their perils upon their journey; but i could not have aided them, and god has marked out my place here. no, harry, god has protected me so far, and will aid me still. now i am ready for whatever may be- tide." "one moment before you enter, marie. you are prepared, i know, to see a great change in victor, but nevertheless you cannot but be shocked at first. do not go up to him or attract his attention till you have overcome this and are able to speak to him in your natural voice. i think a great deal depends upon the first impression you make on his brain. your voice has changed a good deal in the last six months; it would be strange if it had not; but i want you to try and speak to him in the bright, cheerful tone he was accustomed to hear." marie nodded. "one moment," she said, as she brushed aside the tears which filled her eyes, drew herself up with a little gesture that reminded harry of old times, and then with a swift step passed through the door into victor's room. what- ever she felt at the sight of the wasted figure lying kstlessly with half-closed eyes on the couch, it only in tbe relgtf op terror. $ showed itself by a swift expression of pain which passed for a moment across her face and then was gone. "victor," she said in her clear, ringing voice, "victor, my well beloved, i am come to you." the effect upon victor was instantaneous. he opened his eyes with a start, half rose from his couch and held out his arms toward her. "marie," he said in a faint voice, " you have come at last. i have wanted you so much." then, as marie advanced to him, and kneeling by his side, clasped him in her arms, elise and harry stole quietly from the room. it was nearly an hour before marie came out. there was a soft glow of happiness on her face, though her cheeks were pale. "not yet!" she said, as she swept past them into her own room. in a few minutes she reappeared. "pardon me," she said, holding out her hands to harry and elise, " but i had to thank the good god first. victor is quite sensible now, but oh, so weak! he remembers nothing of the past, but seems to think he is still down in burgundy, and has some- how had an illness. then he spoke of the duke and my dear father and mother as being still alive, and that he hoped they would let me come to him in the reign of terror. now. i told him that all should be as he wished as soon as he got stronger, but that he must not think of anything now, and that i would nurse him, and all would be well. he seemed puzzled about my dress "—for marie had already put on the simple attire which had been prepared for her —" but i told him that it was fit for a sick-room, and he seemed satisfied. he has just dozed off to sleep, and i will go in and sit with him now till he wakes." ""when he does, mademoiselle, i will have some broth and a glass of good burgundy ready for him," elise said. "thank you; but please call me marie in future. there are no mesdemoiselles in france now, and i shall call you elise instead of madame. and harry would you mind telling the girls that i will meet them to-morrow instead of this evening. i long to see them, oh so, so much; but i should not like to leave him for a moment now. i fear so that his memory might go again if he were to wake and miss me." "i was going to propose it myself, marie," harry said. "it is all-important to avoid any agita- tion now. to-morrow, i hope, it will be safer, and the doctor will give him a sleeping-draught, so that he shall not wake while you are away. but, marie, in tee reign of terror. remember it will be a farewell visit, for i dare not let them stay more than another day. they may be denounced again at any hour, for the man who wrote to robespierre, if he finds that nothing comes of it, may go to the local committee, and they will not lose an hour, you may be sure." "i must see them this evening then," marie said hurriedly. "the doctor will be here, you say, soon. victor must have his sleeping-draught this after- noon instead of to-morrow. they must go at once. i should never forgive myself if, by putting off our parting for twenty-four hours, i caused them to fall into the hands of these wretches; so please hurry on all the arrangements so that they may leave the first thing to-morrow morning." "it will be best," harry said, "if you will do it, marie. i own that i am in a fever of apprehension. i will go there at once to tell them that all must be in readiness by to-night. they will be glad indeed to hear that your presence has done such wonders for victor. they will be able to leave you with a better heart if they feel that your stay here is likely to bring health to him and happiness to both of you." "a week since," marie said, "it did not seem to me that i could ever be happy again; but though in the reign of terror. everything is still very dark, the clouds seem lifting." the girls were greatly rejoiced when they heard the good news that victor had recognized marie, and that harry had now hopes that he would do well. "and now we must talk about ourselves," harry said. "we must not lose another hour. now, louise, you must take part in our council. we have everything to settle, and only a few hours to do it in. i should like, if possible, that we should not come back here this evening after you have once left the house. the man who denounced you will expect that something would be done to-day, and when he sees that nothing has come of his letter he may go this evening to the local committee, and they would sand men at once to arrest you. no doubt he only wrote to robespierre first, thinking he would get credit and perhaps a post of some sort for his vigilance in the cause. but if louise thinks that it cannot possibly be managed, i will write a letter at once to him in robespierre's name, saying that his letter has been noted and your movements will be closely watched, and thanking him for his zeal in the public service." "no, i think we are ready," jeanne said. "of course we have been talking it over for weeks, and m the reign of terror. agreed it was better to be in readiness whenever you told us it was time to go. louise will tell you all about it." harry looked toward louise. "the disguises are all ready, monsieur sandwith; and yesterday when you said that my dear made- moiselle could not go with them, i settled, if you do not see any objection, to go with the dear children." "i should be very glad," harry said eagerly, for although he had seen no other way out of it, the diffi- culties and inconveniences of a journey alone with jeanne and virginie had been continually on his mind. the idea of taking the old woman with them had never occurred to him, but he now hailed it as a most welcome solution of the difficulty. "that will be a thousand times better in every way, for with you with us it would excite far less remark than three young people traveling alone. but i fear, louise, that the hardships we may have to undergo will be great." "it matters little," the old woman said. "i nursed their mother, and have for years lived on her bounty; and gladly now will i give what little remains to me of life in the service of her dear chil- dren. i know that everything is turned topsy-turvy in our poor country at present, but as long as i have ufe in my body i will not let my dear mistress' in the reign of terror. it is out of the question that you should stop out all night, and yet we could not ask for a lodging close to paris. "oh, i see now! the best plan will be for you all to sleep to-night at jacques'. the good people will manage somehow; then we can start early in the morning. yes, and in that way it will not be necessary for marie to go out and leave victor." "that will certainly be the best way," louise said. "i have been wondering ever since you said we must start this evening what would become of us to-night. when we once get fairly away from paris it will be easier, for the country people are kind-hearted, and i think we shall always be able to get shelter for the night; but just outside paris it would be different. then where shall we meet this evening?" "i will be at the end of the street," harry said. "it is quite dark by five, so do you start a quarter of an hour later; hide your bundles under your cloaks, for if that fellow is on the lookout he might follow you if he thought you were leaving. draw your blinds up when you leave, louise, so that the room will look as usual, and then it may be some time before any one suspects that you have left; and if i were you i would mention to some of your neighbors this afternoon that you have had a letter in the reign of terror. from your friends in burgundy, and are going away soon with your nieces to stay with them for awhile. you had better pay your rent for three months in advance, and tell your landlord the same thing; saying that you may go suddenly any time, as a compere who is in paris, and is also going back, is going to take charge of you on the journey, and that he may call for you at any time. thus when he finds that you have left, your absence will be accounted for; not that it makes much difference, for i hope that when you have seen the girls safely to england you will make your home with them there." "yes, i shall never come back here," the old woman said, " never, even if i could. paris is hate- ful to me now, and i have no reason for ever wanting to come back." "in that case," harry said, smiling, "we may as well save the three months' rent." "oh, how i long to be in england," virginie ex- claimed, "and to see dear ernest and jules again! how anxious they must be about us, not having heard of us all this long time! how shall we know where to find them?" "you forget, virginie," jeanne said, "it was arranged they should go to harry's father when they got to england, and he will know where they in tse reton of terror. are living; there is sure to be no mistake about that, is there, harry?" "none at all," harry said. "you may rely upon it that directly you get to my father you will hear where your brothers are. and now i will go and tell marie that there is no occasion for victor to take a sleeping-draught." marie was delighted when she heard that she was going to have her sisters with her for the whole evening and night, and elise busied herself with preparations for the accommodation of her guests. harry then went back to his attic, made his clothes into a bundle, and took up the bag of money from its hiding-place under a board and placed it in his pocket. he had, since he had been with robespierre, gradually changed the silver for gold in order to make it more convenient to carry, and it was now of comparatively little weight, although he had drawn but slightly upon it, except for the payment of the bribe promised to the warder. his pistols were also hidden under his blouse. he went downstairs and waited the return of robespierre. "citizen," he said when he entered, "circum- stances have occurred which render it necessary for me to travel down to nantes to escort a young girl, & if tbb rthon of terror. a boy, and an old woman to that town; they cannot travel alone in such times as these, and they have a claim upon me which i cannot ignore." "surely, friend sandwith," robespierre said, "the affairs of france are of more importance than private matters like these." "assuredly they are, citizen; but i cannot flatter myself that the affairs of france will be in any way injured by my temporary absence. my duty in this matter is clear to me, and i can only regret that my temporary absence may put you to some inconvenience. but have a double favor to ask you: the one is to spare me for a time; the second, that you will give me papers recommending me, and those traveling with me, to the authorities of the towns through which we shall pass. in these times, when the enemies of the state are traveling throughout france seeking to corrupt the minds of the people, it is necessary to have papers showing that one is a good citizen." "but i have no authority," robespierre said. "i am neither a minister nor a ruler." "you are not a minister, citizen, but you are assuredly a ruler. it is to you men look more than to any other. danton is too headstrong and violent. you alone combine fearlessness in the cause of france with that wisdom and moderation in tee reign of terror. which are, above all things, necessary in guiding the state through its dangers." robespierre's vanity was so inordinate that he accepted the compliment as his due, though he waved his hand with an air of deprecation. "therefore,citizen," harry went on, "a letter from you would be more powerful than an order from another." "but these persons who travel with you, citizen —how am i to be sure that they are not enemies of france v "france is not to be shaken," harry said, smil- ing, "by the efforts of an old woman of seventy and a young boy and girl; but i can assure you that they are no enemies of france but, simple, inoffen- sive people who have been frightened by the com- motion in paris, and long to return to the country life to which they are accustomed. come, citizen, you refused the first boon which i asked you, and, methinks, cannot hesitate at granting one who has deserved well of you this slight favor." "you are right," robespierre said. "i cannot refuse you, even if the persons who accompany you belong to the class of suspects, of which, mind, i know nothing, though i may have my suspicions. i have not forgotten, you know, that you asked for the life of the daughter of the ci devant marquis da in the reign of terror. st. caux; and for aught i know these children may be of the same breed. but i will not ask you. did i know it, not even the obligation i am under to you would induce me to do what you ask; for although as children they can do no harm, they might do so were they allowed to grow up hating france. all children of suspects are, as you know, ordered to be placed in the state schools, in order that they may there learn to love the people of france and to grow up worthy citizens. now, how shall i word it?" he said, taking up a pen; and harry dictated: "i hereby recommend citizen henri sandwith, age nineteen, who has been acting as my confiden- tial secretary, to all public authorities, together with citoyenne moulin and her two grandchildren, with whom he is traveling?" to this robespierre signed his name and handed the paper to harry. "how long will you be before you return?" he asked. "i cannot say exactly," harry replied; " as after i have seen them to their destination i may stop with them for a few weeks." robespierre nodded and held out his hand. "i shall be glad to have you with me again, for i have conceived a strong friendship for you, and w tee reign of terror. think none the worse of you for your showing your gratitude to the family in whom you are interested." harry then went into the kitchen, where robes- pierre's sister was preparing the next meal, and said good-by to her. she had taken a fancy to her brother's young secretary, and expressed a hope that his absence would be but a short one, telling him that robes- pierre had said only the day before how much work he had saved him, and that he was determined to push his fortunes to the utmost. having thus paved the way for an appeal to robespierre should he find himself in difficulties on the road, harry proceeded to jacques' house and waited there until it was time to go up to meet louise and the girls. victor did not wake until the afternoon. the doctor had called as usual, but had not roused him. he had been told what had taken place, and had held out hope to marie that victor's improvement would be permanent, and that he would now make steady progress toward recovery. at the appointed hour harry was at his post to meet the party. they came along within a few min- utes of the time named, but instead of stopping to greet him they walked straight on, jeanne saying as she passed him; ztt the remit oe terror. "i think we are followed." harry at once drew back and allowed them to go fifty yards on before he moved after them. as there were many people about, it was some little time before he could verify jeanne's suspicions; then he noticed that a man, walking a short dis- tance ahead of him, followed each turning that the others took. harry waited until they were in a quiet street, and then quickened his pace until he was close behind the man. then he drew one of his pistols, and, springing forward, struck him a heavy blow on the head with its butt. he fell forward on his face without a cry; and harry, satisfied that he had stunned him, ran on and overtook the others, and, turning down the first street they came to, was assured that they were safe from pursuit. "we had noticed a man lounging against the house opposite all the afternoon," jeanne said, " and came to the conclusion that he must be watching us, so we looked out for him when we came out, and noticed that as soon as we went on he began to walk that way too. so i told louise to walk straight on without stopping when we came up to you. i was sure you would manage somehow to get rid of him." harry laughed. in tbb kbiglf of terror. "i fancy he will spend to-morrow in bed instead of lounging about. perhaps it will teach him to mind his own business in future and to leave other people alone. i am very glad that he did follow you; for i felt that i owed him one, and was sorry to leave paris without paying my debt. now i think we are pretty well square." the meeting between the sisters was indeed a happy one. they fell on each other's necks, and for some time scarce a word was spoken; then they stood a little apart and had a long look at each other. "you are changed, marie dear," jeanne said; "you look pale, but you look, too, softer and prettier than you used to." "all my airs and graces have been rubbed off," marie said with a slight smile. "i have learned so much, jeanne, and have been where noble blood has been the reverse of a recommendation. you are changed too—the six months have altered you. your gouvernante would not call you a wild girl now. you are quite a woman." "we have suffered too, marie," jeanne said as tears came to her eyes at the thought of the changes and losses of the last few months. "we have thought of you night and day; but louise has been very good to us, and as for harry, we owe every- in the reion of terror. thing to him. he had always been so hopeful and strong, and has cheered us up with promises that he would bring you to us some day." marie smiled. "you are right, jeanne. i used to laugh a little, you know, at your belief in your hero, and little thought that the time would come when i should trust him as implicitly as you do. you have a right to be proud of him, jeanne. what thought and devotion and courage he has shown for us! and do you know, he saved victor too. jacques has told me all about it—how victor saw his father brought out to be murdered; and how, half-mad, he was spring- ing out to stand beside him, when harry, as quick as thought, knocked him down before he could betray himself; and then jacques, who was stand- ing by and saw it, helped him carry him here. oh, my dear, how much we owe to him! "and now, virginie," she said, turning to the youngest, " i must have a good look at you, little one—but no, i mustn't call you little one any longer, for you are already almost as tall as i am. my child, how you have been growing, and you look so well! louise must have been feeding you up. ah, louise, how much we all owe to you too! and i hear you are going to leave your comfortable home and take care of the girls on their journey. in the reign of terror. it was such a comfort to me when harry told me!" "i could not let them go alone, mademoiselle," the old woman said simply, "it was only my duty. besides, what should i do in paris with all my chil- dren in england?" "now, my dears, take your things off," marie said. "i will just run in and see how victor is get- ting on. harry went straight in to him, and i want to know whether victor recognized him." in the reign of terror. / chapter xii. nantes. haeet was very pleased to see a look of recogni- tion on victor's face as he came up to the side of his couch. "well, victor," he said cheerfully, "i am glad to see you looking more yourself again." victor nodded assent, and his hand feebly returned the pressure of harry's. "i cannot understand it," he said, after a pause. "i seem to be in a dream; but it is true marie is here, isn't it v "oh yes! she is chatting now with her sisters, jeanne and virginie, you know." "and why am i here?" victor asked, looking round the room. "marie tells me not to ask questions." "no. there will be plenty of time for that after- ward, victor. it is all simple enough. you were out with me, and there was an accident, and you got hurt. so i and a workman who was passing carried in the reign of terror. you into his house, and he and his wife have been taking care of you. you have been very ill, but you are getting on better now. marie has come to nurse you, and she won't leave you until you are quite well. now, i think that's enough for you, and the doctor would be very angry if he knew i had told you so much, because he said you were not to bother your- self about things at all, but just to sleep as much as you can, and eat as much as you can, and listen to marie talking and reading to you, and not trouble your brain in any way, because it's your brain that has gone wrong, and any thinking will be very bad for it." this explanation seemed satisfactory to victor, who soon after dozed off to sleep, and harry joined the party in marie's sitting-room. "oh, if i could but keep them here with me, harry, what a comfort it would be!" "i know that it would, marie; but it is too dan- gerous. you know they were denounced at louise moulin's. already there is risk enough in you and victor being here. the search for royalists does not relax; indeed it seems to become more and more keen every day. victor's extreme illness is your best safeguard. the neighbors have heard that jacques has had a fellow-workman dangerously . ill for some long time, and victor can no longer be in thb reign of terror. looked upon as a stranger to be suspected, while your coming here to help nurse him will seem so natural a step that it will excite no comment. but any fresh addition of numbers would be sure to give rise to talk, and you would have a commissary of the commune here in no time to make inquiries, and to ask for your papers of domicile." "yes, i know that it would be too dangerous to risk," marie agreed; "but i tremble at the thought of their journey." "i have every hope that we shall get through safely," harry said. "i have some good news i have not yet told you. i have received a paper from robespierre stating that i have been his secre- tary, and recommending us all to the authorities, so that we can dispense with the ordinary papers which they would otherwise ask for." "that is good news, indeed, harry," marie said. "that relieves me of half my anxiety. once on the seacoast it will be comparatively easy to get a passage to england. my dear harry, you surprise me more every day, and i am ashamed to think that when our dear father and mother first told me that they had accepted your noble offer to look after us i was inclined in my heart to think that such pro- . tection would be of little use. you see i confess, harry, and you know that is halfway to forgive- ness." in the reign oe tellror. shipwrecked mariner who has been cast upon an island and given up as lost. but my father always used to say, that if i was a first rate hand at getting into scrapes, i was equally good at getting out of them again; and i don't think they will have quite despaired of seeing me again, especially as they know, by the last letters i sent them, that you all said i could speak french well enough to pass any- where as a native." "how surprised they will beat your arriving with two girls and louise!" virginie said. "they will be pleased more than surprised," harry replied. "i have written so much about you in my letters that the girls and my mother will be delighted to see you." "besides," jeanne added, "the boys will have told them you are waiting behind with us, so they will not be so surprised as they would otherwise have been. but it will be funny, arriving among people who don't speak a word of our language." "you will soon be at home with them," said harry reassuringly. "jenny and kate are just about your ages, and i expect they will have grown so i shall hardly know them. it is nearly three years now since i left them, and i have to look at you to assure myself that jenny will have grown almost into a young woman. now i shall go out for a bit, and leave you to chat together. & the reign of terror. attire as a boy, and indeed had there been time the night before to procure a disguise for her as a girl it would have been done, although harry's opinion that it would attract less attention for her to travel as a boy was unchanged; but he would have given way had it been possible to make the change. as any delay, however, would certainly be dangerous, the original plan was adhered to. marie had cut her sister's hair short, and no one would have suspected from her appearance that vir- ginie was not what she seemed, a good-looking boy of some thirteen years old. with their bundles in their hands they trudged along the road, and stopped for the night at a village about twelve miles out of paris. after having again satisfied the authorities by the production of the pass, harry made inquiries, and the next morning went two miles away to a farmhouse, where there was, he heard, a cart and horse to be disposed of. after much haggling over terms—since to give the sum that was first asked would have excited sur- prise, and perhaps suspicion—harry became the pos- sessor of the horse and cart, drove triumphantly back to the village, and having stowed louise and the two girls on some straw in the bottom of the cart, proceeded on the journey. they met with no adventure whatever on the in the reign of terror. obtain information of all that was going on. had it not been for this he would gladly have declined the honor, for his feelings were daily harrowed by arrests and massacres which he was powerless to prevent, for he did not venture to raise his voice on the side of mercy, for had he done so it would have been certain to excite suspicion. he found that, horrible as were the atrocities committed in paris, they were even surpassed by those which were enacted in the provinces, and that in nantes in par- ticular a terrible persecution was raging under the direction of carrier, who had been sent down from paris as commissioner from the commune there. harry's next object was to make the acquaintance of some of the fishermen, and to find out what vessels were engaged in smuggling goods across to england; for it was in one of these alone that he could hope to cross the channel. this, how- ever, he found much more difficult than he had expected. the terror was universal. the news of the execu- tion of the king had heightened the dismay. mas- sacres were going on all over france. the lowest ruffians in all the great towns were now their masters, and under pretended accusations were wreaking their hate upon the respectable inhabit- ants. private enmities were wiped out in blood. in the reign of terror. none were too high or too low to be denounced as royalists, and denunciation was followed as a matter of course by a mock trial and execution. every man distrusted his neighbor, and fear caused those who most loathed and hated the existing regime to be loudest in their advocacy of it. there were spies everywhere—men who received blood-money for every victim they denounced. thus, then, harry's efforts to make acquaintances among the sailors met with very slight success. he was a stranger, and that was sufficient to cause dis- trust, and ere long it became whispered that he had come from paris with special authority to hasten on the work of extirpation of the enemies of the state. soon, therefore, harry perceived that as he moved along the quay little groups of sailors and fishermen talking together broke up at his approach, the men sauntering off to the wine-shops, and any he ac- costed replied civilly indeed, but with embarrass- ment and restrain; and although any questions of a general character were answered, a profound ignorance was manifested upon the subject upon which he wished to gain information. the sailors all seemed to know that occasionally cargoes of spirits were run from the river to england, but none could name any vessel engaged in the trade. harry soon perceived that he was regarded with absolute in the reign of terror. hostility, and one day one of the sailors said to him quietly: "citizen, i am a good scms-culotte, and i warn you you had best not come down the river after dark, for there is a strong feeling against you; and unless you would like your body to be fished out of the river with half a dozen knife-holes in it, you will take my advice." harry began to feel almost crushed under his responsibilities. his attendance at the revolution- ary committee tried him greatly. he made no progress whatever in his efforts to obtain a passage; and to add to his trouble the old nurse, who had been much exhausted by the change from her usual habits, and the inclemency of the weather on her journey, instead of gaining strength appeared to be rapidly losing it, and was forced to take to her bed. the terrible events in paris, and the long strain of anxiety as to the safety of the girls and the fate of marie, had completely exhausted her strength, and the last six months had aged her as many years. harry tried hard to keep up his appearance of hope- fulness, and to cheer the girls; but jeanne's quick eye speedily perceived the change in him. "you are wearing yourself out, harry," she said, one evening as they were sitting by the fire, while virginie was tending louise in the next room. "i s in the reign of terror. "i think i could have stood that, jeanne; but it is that terrible committee that tries me. it is so awful hearing these fiends marking out their vic- tims and exulting over their murder, that at times i feel tempted to throw myself upon some of them and strangle them." "it must be dreadful, harry," jeanne said sooth- ingly. ""will it not be possible for you to give out that you are ill, and so absent yourself for a time from their meetings? i am sure you look ill—ill enough for anything. as to the sailors, do not let that worry you. even if you could hear of a ship at present it would be of no use. i couldn't leave louise; she seems to me to be getting worse and worse, and the doctor you called in three days ago thinks so too. i can see it by his face. i think he is a good man. the woman whose sick child i sat up with last night tells me the poor all love him. i am sure he guesses that we are not what we seem. he said this morning to me: "' i cannot do much for your grandmother. it is a general break-up. i have many cases like it of old people and women upon whom the anxiety of the times has told. do not worry yourself with watching, child. she will sleep quietly, and will not need attendance. if you don't mind i shall have you on my hands anxiety affects the young as well as the old," in the reign of terror. sailors, you know i have made the acquaintance of some of the women in our street. some of them are sailors' wives, and possibly through them i may be able to hear about ships. at any rate i could try." "perhaps you could, jeanne; but be very, very careful what questions you put, or you might be betrayed." "i don't think there is much fear of that, harry. the women are more outspoken than the men. some of them are with what they call the people; but it is clear that others are quite the other way. you see trade has been almost stopped, and there is great suffering among the sailors and their families. of course i have been very careful not to seem to have more money than other people; but i have been able to make soups and things—i have learned to be quite a cook from seeing louise at work—and i take them to those that are very poor, especially if they have children ill, and i think i have won some of their hearts." "you win every one's heart who comes near you, jeanne, i think," harry said earnestly. jeanne flushed a rosy red, but said with a laugh: "now, harry, you are turning flatterer. we are not at the chateau now, sir, so your pretty speeches in tbe reign of terror. fear," the woman said. "i know that many a poor soul has been hidden away on board the smuggler's craft and got safely out of the country; but of course it's a risk, for it is death to assist any of the suspects. still the sailors are ready to run the risk, and indeed they haven't much fear of the con- sequences if they are caught, for the sailor popula- tion here are very strong, and they would not stand quietly by and see some of their own class treated as if they had done some great crime merely because they were earning a few pounds by running passen- gers across to england. why, they have done it from father to son as far as they can recollect, for there has never been a time yet when there were not people who wanted to pass from france to england and from england to france without asking the leave of the authorities. i think it can be man- aged, mademoiselle, especially as you say, you can afford to pay, for if one won't take you another will. trade is so bad that there are scores of men would start in their fishing boats for a voyage across the channel in the hope of getting food for their wives and families." "i was sure it was so, marthe, but it was so diffi- cult to set about it. every one is afraid of spies, and it needs some one to warrant that we are not trying to draw them into a snare, before any one in the reign of terror. will listen. if your husband will but take the mat- ter up, i have no doubt it can be managed." "set your mind at ease; the thing is as good as done. i tell you there are scores of men ready to undertake the job when they know it is a straight- forward one." "that is good news indeed, jeanne," harry said, when the girl told him of the conversation. "that does seem a way out of our difficulties. i felt sure you would be able to manage it, sooner or later, among the poor people you have been so good to. hurry it on as much as you can, jeanne. i feel that our position is getting more and more danger- ous. i am afraid i do not play my part sufficiently well. i am not forward enough in their violent councils. i cannot bring myself to vote for pro- posals for massacre when there is any division among them. i fear that some have suspicions. i have been asked questions lately as to why i am staying here, and why i have come. i have been thinking for the last few days whether it would not be better for us to make our way down to the mouth of the river and try and bribe some fisher- men in the villages there who would not have that feeling against me that the men here have, to take us to sea, or if that could not be managed, to get on board some little fishing-boat at night and sail in the reign of terror. off by ourselves in the hopes of being picked up by an english cruiser." harry indeed had for some days been feeling that danger was thickening round him. he had noticed angry glances cast at him by the more vio- lent of the committee, and had caught sentences expressing doubt whether he had really been robespierre's secretary. that very evening as he came out from the meeting he heard one man say to another: "i tell you he may have stolen it, and perhaps killed the citizen who bore it. i believe he is a • cursed aristocrat. i tell you i shall watch him. he has got some women with him; the mayor, who saw the paper, told me so. i shall make it my busi- ness to get to the bottom of the affair, and we will make short work with him if we find things are as i believe." harry felt, therefore, that the danger was even more urgent than he had expressed it to jeanne, and he had returned intending to propose immedi- ate flight had not jeanne been beforehand with her news. even now he hesitated whether even a day's delay might not ruin them. "have you told me all, harry?" jeanne asked. "not quite all, jeanne. i was just thinking it over. i fear the danger is even more pressing than in the reign of terror. i have said;" and he repeated the sentence he had overheard. "even now," he said, "that fellow may be watching outside or making inquiries about you. he will hear nothing but praise; but that very praise may cause him to doubt still more that you are not what you seem." "but why can we not run away at once?" vir- ginie said. "why should we wait here till they come and take us and carry us away and kill us?" "that is what i was thinking when i came home, virginie; but the risk of trying to escape in a fish- ing-boat by ourselves would be tremendous. you see, although i have gone out sailing sometimes on the river in england, i know very little about it, and although we might be picked up by an english ship, it would be much more likely that we should fall into the hands of one of the french gunboats. so i look upon that as a desperate step, to be taken only at the last moment. and now that jeanne seems to have arranged a safe plan, i do not like trying such a wild scheme. a week now, and per- haps all might be arranged; but the question is— have we a week? have we more than twenty-four hours? what do you think, jeanne?" "i do not see what is best to do yet," jeanne said, looking steadily in the fire. "it is a terrible thing to have to decide; but i see we must decide," in the reign of terror. she sat for five minutes without speaking, and then taking down her cloak from the peg on which it hung she said: "i will go round to marthe pichon again and tell her we are all so anxious for each other, that i don't think we can judge what is really the best. marthe will see things more clearly and will be able to advise us." "yes, that will be the best plan." it was three-quarters of an hour before she returned. "i can see you have a plan," harry said as he saw that there was a look of brightness and hope on jeanne's face. "yes, i have a plan, and a good one; that is to say, marthe has. i told her all about it, and she said directly that we must be hidden somewhere till her husband can arrange for us to sail. i said, of course, that was what was wanted, but how could it be managed? so she thought it over, and we have quite arranged it. she has a sister who lives in a fishing-village four miles down the river. she will go over there to-morrow and arrange with them to take us, and will get some fisher-girls' dresses for us. she says she is sure her sister will take us, for she was over here yesterday and heard about the child getting better, and marthe told her all sorts of nonsense about what i had done for it. in tee reign of terror. i chapter xiii. in the hands of the beds. the next morning harry went out, as usual, im- mediately after breakfast, for a walk for two or three hours. this he did partly to allow the girls to tidy the rooms, an office which had naturally fallen to them since the commencement of their old nurse's illness; partly because in active exercise he found some relief from the burden of his anxieties. to-day he felt more anxious than ever. the con- versation with marthe pichon had afforded good grounds of hope that in a day or two a fair pros- pect of escape would be open to them ; but this only seemed to make the present anxiety all the sharper. the woman had promised to get disguises, and make the arrangements with her friends at the vil- lage below during the course of the day, and by night, if all went well, they might start. he told himself that he had no reason for supposing that the vague suspicions which were, he knew, afloat would suddenly be converted into action. he do- in the reign of terror. termined to take his place that afternoon with the committee as usual, and endeavor to allay their doubts by assuming a violent attitude. he felt, however, that the day would be more trying than any he had passed, and that he would give a great deal if the next twenty-four hours were over. scarcely heeding where he walked he was out longer than usual, and it was nearly three hours after he started before he approached the town again by the road along the river bank. just when he came to the first houses a woman, who was standing there knitting, came up to him. "you are the citizen who lives with his two sis- ters next door to la mere pichon, are you not v harry assented hurriedly, with a strange presenti- ment of evil. "la mere pichon bids me tell you," the woman said, "that half an hour after you started this morning six men, with an official with the red scarf, came to the house and arrested your sisters and carried them off. they are watching there for your return." harry staggered as if struck with a blow. "poor young man," the woman said compassion- ately, seeing the ghastly pallor of his face, " but i pity you. the street is furious that these wretches should have carried off that sweet young creature, in the reign of terror. who was so good to every one; but what could we do? we hissed the men, and we would have pelted them had we not been afraid of striking your sis- ters. when they had gone la mere piohon said to some of us, 'the best thing we can do for that angel is to save her brother from being caught also. so do one of you post yourself on each road leading to the house, and warn him in time. he generally walks beyond the town. i heard one of his sisters say so.' so some of us came out on all the roads, and two remained, one at each end of the street, in case we should miss you. la mere said whoever met you was to tell you to be on this road, by the river, just outside the town, after dark, and she would bring you some clothes, and take you where you would be safe; but till then you were to go away again, and keep far from the town. do you understand?" she asked, laying her hand on his arm, for he seemed dazed and stupid with the shock he had received. "i understand," he said in a low voice. "thank you all for your warning. yes, i will be here this evening." so saying he turned and moved away, walking unsteadily as if he were drunk. the woman looked after him pityingly, and then, shaking her head and muttering execrations against the " reds," she made tn fhb itelgn of tbbrott. murdered. and now here are the clothes, but you need not put them on now. there will be a boat here in a few minutes. we have told some of the sailors how they misjudged you, and they are sorry, now it is too late, that they would not listen when you spoke to them. however, they will do all they can for you. i have sent a message by a boy to my sister to say that i shall be down this evening, so they will be expecting us. ah, here is the boat!" the splash of oars was heard, and a boat rowed along close to the bank. "is that you, pierre?" "it is us, sure enough, mere pichon. is all right?" "yes, we are both here." in another minute the boat was rowed alongside, and harry and the woman got on board. there were few words spoken as the two men rowed vigor- ously down stream. in three-quarters of an hour some lights were seen on the opposite bank, and the boat was headed toward them and soon reached a little causeway. "i shall not be more than twenty minutes," mere pichon said as she got out. "all right, we will wait!" was the reply, and mounting the causeway la mere pichon led the way in the reign of terror. nazaire, and are the son of a friend of mine whose fishing-boat was lost in the last gale, and so you have come to work for a time with me; no one would ask you any more. besides, we are all com- rades, and hate the reds, who have spoiled our trade by killing all our best customers, so if they come asking questions here thejr won't get a word out of any one." for ten days harry lived with the fisherman. adolphe had returned in his lugger the day after his arrival there, and came over the next evening to see him. he said that it would be some little time before the lugger sailed again, but that if he was ready to start before she sailed he would manage to procure him a passage in some other craft. he said that he had already been talking to some of the sailors on the wharves, and that they had promised to go to the tribunal when the girls were brought up before it, and that he would manage to get news from a friend employed in the prison when that would be. harry frequently went up in a boat to nantes with pierre with the fish they had caught. he had no fear of being recognized, and did not hesitate to land, though he seldom went far from the boat. adolphe was generally there, and he and two or three of bis comrades, who were in the secret, -ty the reign of terror. always hailed him as an old acquaintance, so that had any of the spies of the revolutionists been standing there, no suspicion that harry was other than he seemed would have entered their minds. one evening, three weeks after harry's arrival at the hut, adolphe came in with his head bound up by a bandage. "what is the matter, adolphe?" harry ex- claimed. "i have bad news for you, monsieur. i learned this morning that mesdemoiselles were to-day to be brought before the tribunal, and we filled the hall with women and two or three score of sailors. mesdemoiselles were brought out. the young one seemed frightened, but the elder was as calm and brave as if she feared nothing. they were asked their names, and she said: "' i am jeanne de st. caux, and this is my sister virginie. we have committed no crime.' "carrier himself was there, and he said: "' you are charged with being enemies of france, with being here in disguise, and with trying to leave france contrary to the laws against emigration, and with being in company with one who, under false pretences, obtained admission to the committee of safety here, but who is an enemy and traitor to france. what do you say v ±z«r the reign of terror. men with wives and families to brave the anger of these monsters. they would think nothing of put- ting us all to death. it isn't the fighting we are afraid of, though the odds are heavy against us, but it's the vengeance they would take afterward, whether we happened to win or whether we didn't." "i cannot blame them," harry said. "as you say, even if they succeeded there would be a terrible vengeance for it afterward. no; if the girls are to be rescued it must be by some other way. i have been quiet so long because i hoped that the inter- cession of the women would have saved them. as that has failed i must set to work. i have thought of every method, but bribery seems the only chance. will you speak to the man you know in the prison, and sound him whether it will be possible to carry out any plan in that way?" "i will speak again to him," adolphe said. "but i have already sounded him, and he said that there were so many guards and jailers that he feared that it would be impossible. but i will try again." the next day, soon after dinner, adolphe came again, and there was a white, scared look upon his face which filled harry with alarm. "what is it, adolphe? what is your news?" "monsieur, i can hardly tell it," adolphe said in in tbb reiqn of terror. a low, awe-stricken voice. "it is too awful even for these fiends." "what is it, adolphe? tell me. if they have been murdered i will go straight to nantes and kill carrier the first time he leaves his house, though they may tear me to pieces afterward." "they are not murdered yet," adolphe said; "but they are to be, and every one else." and this time the sailor sat down and cried like a child. at last, in answer to harry's entreaties, he raised his head and told the story. the revolutionary committee had that day been down at the wharf, and had taken for the public service four old luggers past service which were lying on the mud, and they had openly boasted that an end was going to be put to the aristocrats; that the guillotine was too slow, that the prison must be cleared, and that they were going to pack the aristocrats on board the luggers and sink them. harry gave a cry of horror, in which the fisher- man and his wife joined, the latter pouring out voluble curses against carrier and the reds. after his first cry harry was silent; he sank down on to a low chair, and sat there with his face hidden in his hands for some minutes, while the fisherman and his wife poured question after ques- tion upon adolphe. presently harry rose to his in the reign of terror. feet, and saying to adolphe, "do not go away, i shall be back presently, i must think by myself," went out bareheaded into the night. it was half an hour before he returned. "now, adolphe," he said, "i can think again. now, how are they to be saved?" "i cannot say, monsieur," adolphe said hesitat- ingly. "it does not seem to me" "they have to be saved," harry interrupted him in a grave, steady voice. "the question is how?" "yes, monsieur," adolphe agreed hesitatingly, "that is the question. you can rely upon me, mon- sieur," he went on, "to do my best whatever you may decide; but i have no head to invent things. you tell me and i will do it." "i know i can rely upon you, adolphe. as far as i can see there are but two ways. one is for me to go to carrier's house, find the monster, place a pistol at his head, compel him to order them to be released, stand with him at the prison door till they come out, embark with him and them in a boat, row down the river, and put to sea." "and then, monsieur?" adolphe asked after a pause, seeing that harry was speaking to himself rather than to him. "yes, that is the question that i cannot answer," in ttte rmgn of terror. ? had time to embark with them; then i would blow out his brains and make my way down to the river. but there would be no chance of finding him alone. monsters like this are always fearful of assassination." "and what is monsieur's other plan i" "the other plan is to get on board the boat in which they are to be placed—you might find out which it is from your friend in prison—hide down in the hold until the guards leave her; then join them; and when she sinks fasten them to a spar and drift down the river with them till out of sight of the town, when pierre could row off and pick them up." "they say there are to be soldiers on each side of the river," adolphe said despondently, "to shoot down any who may try to swim to shore. but there would not be many who would try. most of them, they say, will be women and children; but the heads would be seen as you drifted down." "yes; but we must think of something, adolphe —think, man, think—and you, pierre, think; if you were in a sinking ship, and you wanted something which would hide you from the eyes of people a hundred yards away, what would you take v "but you would be seen on anything you climbed on to or clung to, monsieur." oh tub reign of terror. "but we need not climb on to it," harry said. "i can take pieces of cork with me and wrap round them so as to keep their faces just afloat. i should only want something that would hide their faces." "a hatch might do," pierre said. "the very thing !" harry exclaimed, with a fresh ring of animation and hopefulness in his voice; "the very thing! of course there would be a hatchway to the forecastle of the lugger. we might get that loosened beforehand, so that it would float off. what is the size of such a hatch?" "some four feet square, monsieur." "that will be enough," harry said; but how high would a hatch float out of water, because there must be room between the top and the water for us to breathe as we lie on our backs. four inches would be enough. are the sides buoyant enough to keep the top that much out of water?" "i do not think so, monsieur," pierre said with a shake of the head. "it would float nearly level with the water." "but see here, monsieur," adolphe said eagerly; '• i have an idea! the hatches are covered with tarpaulin. if you could hide in the forecastle during the night you might cut away all the top underneath the tarpaulin and prop it up, so that if any one trod on it in the morning they would not in the reign of terror. notice what had been done. then when they have pushed off you could knock away the props, the board would tumble down, and there would be only the tarpaulin cover on the sides. it would float then quite four inches out of water, and that in the middle of the stream would look almost level with it." "i will try it," harry said; "there is a chance of success." "it is a terrible risk, monsieur," pierre said. "i know it," harry replied; "but it is just possible. the chances are a hundred to one against it, but it may succeed. well, pierre, do you be with your boat on the river just below the point where the town can be seen. if you see a hatch floating down row to it. if we are beneath it, well and good; if not" "if not, monsieur," the fisherman's wife said solemnly, " we will pray for your souls." "adolphe will send down to you in the morning the two fisher-girls' dresses his wife had prepared for the ladies. have some brandy in the boat and your little charcoal stove, and keep water boiling. they will want it. and now good-by, my good friends! pray for us to-night. now, adolphe, let us hasten back to the town, for there is much to be done. and first of all you must see your friend in the reign of terror. in the prison; find out if mesdemoiselles are on the list of those to be murdered. i have no doubt they will be, for after the emeute there has been about them they are almost sure to be among the first victims. but above all, find out, if you can, which vessel they are to be placed in." "but if i cannot find that out, monsieur; if there is no arrangement made at all—though i should think there would be, for the butchers will like to have everything done in order" "then i will get you to find a dozen men you can trust to volunteer to row the boats to put them on board. and you must be sure to take the boat in which they are to the lugger we have prepared." "i will try," adolphe said, "though i would rather cut off my hand than pull an oar to take those poor creatures out to be murdered. but i will do it, monsieur. but except for that i warrant me they will not get a sailor in nantes to put his hand to an oar to aid their accursed work." it was four o'clock when they arrived at nantes. adolphe went straight to the prison, while harry walked along the quay. when he came abreast the center of the town a number of sailors and fisher- men were standing talking in low tones, and looking with horror at four luggers moored in a line in the center of the river. a number of men drawn from in the reign of terror. the scum of the town were painting them white, while a strong body of troops were drawn up on the quay in readiness to put a summary stop to any demonstration of hostility on the part of the sailors. these did not indeed venture to express openly their detestation of the proceedings, but the mut- tered execrations and curses that rose from the little group showed how deep were their feelings. harry joined a little knot of three or four men who had been, with adolphe, in the habit of greet- ing him when he landed. "all is lost, you see!" one of them said in a tone of deep commiseration. "there is nothing left but vengeance—we will take that one of these days— but that is a poor consolation for you now." "all is not quite lost," harry said. "i have yet one hope." "we dare not try force," one of the other men said. "they have marched three more regiments of beds in to-day. "what can we do against them without arms? i could cry to think that we are so helpless in the face of these things." "ko; i know force is useless," harry said. "still i have just one hope left. it is a desperate one, and i cannot tell you what it is now; but to- night, maybe, adolphe may ask you to help us. i expect him here soon." in the reign of terror. in half an hour adolphe returned, and harry at once joined him. "i have got the news i wanted," he said. "mes- demoiselles are to be in the first batch brought out. boats have already been bought by the reds to row them out, and men hired. they were forced to buy the boats, for not a man would let his craft for such a purpose. it would be accursed ever afterward, no sailor would ever put a foot on. board. the first boats will go to the ship lying lowest in the stream; then they will come back and take the next batch out to the vessel next above; and so until all are on board. there will be fifty placed on board each lugger; and i hear, monsieur, that is only the first of it, and that the drownings will go on until the prisons are cleared." "thank god we know that much, adolphe! now, in the first place, i want you to get me some tools—a sharp saw, a chisel, a large screwdriver, and half a dozen large screws; also, two beams of wood to fasten across the hatchway and keep the boards up after i have sawn through them; also, i want three bundles of cork—flat pieces will be the best if you can get them, but that doesn't matter much. i may as well have an auger too. when you go back to your house will you go in next door and ask our old landlady, mere leflo -" itf the tteign of terhon. u she died three days ago," the man said. "then go into the house without asking, and in the furthest corner to the right-hand side of the kitchen scratch away the earth, and you will find a little bag of money. if i fail to-morrow, keep it for yourself; if i succeed, bring it to me at pierre's. when does your lugger sail for england?" "in three days, monsieur. i have already sounded the captain, and i think he will take you. and what shall i do next?" "at nine o'clock this evening have a boat with the things on board half a mile below the town. give a low whistle and i will answer it. wrap some flannel round the rowlocks to muffle the sound. it will be a dark night, and there's a mist rising already from the river. i do not think there's much chance of our meeting any boats near those vessels." "no, indeed," adolphe agreed. "it makes me shiver to look at them. there will be no boats out on the river to-night except ours. will you not come home with me, monsieur, until it is time to start? you will need supper, for you must keep up your strength." harry accepted the sailor's invitation; and after partaking of a meal with adolphe and his wife, who was informed of the attempt which was about to in the reign of terror. be made, he sat looking quietly into the fire, arranging in his mind all the details of the enter- prise, uttering many a silent but fervent prayer that he might be permitted to save the lives of the two girls. adolphe went in and out making his prepara- tions. at half-past eight he said, touching harry on the shoulder: "it is time to start, monsieur. i have got the bag of money. everything is in the boat, and i saw the men start with it. it is time for us to go and meet them." marthe burst into tears as she said good-by to harry. "i shall spend all night on my knees," she said, "praying god and the holy virgin to aid you and save those dear angels. here is a packet, monsieur, with some food for you to eat in the morning, and a bottle of good wine. you will want strength for your adventure." three or four minutes after harry and adolphe had gained the appointed spot they heard a low whistle on the water. adolphe whistled in return, and in another minute a dark object appeared through the mist. they took their places in the stern, and the boat rowed quietly off again. so well were the oars muffled that harry could hear no sound save an almost imperceptible splash each time they dipped into the water. in the reign of terror. the town was very still and scarce a sound was heard. the awe of the horrible event which was about to take place hung over the town, and although there was drinking and exultations among the ruffians in the back lanes, even these instinctively avoided the neighborhood of the river. so thick was the fog that they were some little time before they found the white luggers. when they did so they rowed to that moored lowest down the stream and made fast alongside. noiselessly the tools and beams were handed on board. then harry said: "that is all, adolphe." "not at all, monsieur. we are not going to leave you till the work is done. we have settled that four sets of hands can work better than one, and besides, we may hit on some idea. no one can say." finding it useless to remonstrate, harry let the good fellows have their way. the men had already removed their boots, and noiselessly made their way to the hatch of the forecastle. "ah, it is just as well i brought a file with me," adolphe said in a low voice as he knelt down and felt the hatch. "it is fastened down with a staple and padlock. they are old, but you might have some trouble in breaking them. but let first. no, it moves. now,ja wrench all together." in the reign of terror. "no, thank you, adolphe, i don't think i shall sleep; i shall sit and think out every detail." "then good-night, monsieur. may the good god bless you and aid you to-morrow, and i think he will! i do think you are the bravest man i ever met." "i am not brave for myself, adolphe, but for them." the three men shook hands with harry, and one after another in husky voices gave him their good wishes. then they ascended to the deck, put on the hatch, pressed the staple down through its holes in the deck, got into the boat, cast off the head-rope, and got out the oars. "mon dieu, what courage!" one of them ex- claimed. "his hand is as steady and his voice as firm as if he were going fishing to-morrow." "i think he will succeed," adolphe said, "any- how, we will have our boat out below the bend of the river, and lend a hand to pierre to get them out." in the reign of terror. chaptek xiv. the noyades. when left alone harry blew out the other candles, but left that in the lantern burning, and threw himself down on the locker and thought over every detail of the work for the next day. as he had said, the great danger was of virginie strug- gling and being too frightened to follow his instruc- tions. certainly he could fasten a rope round her, but even then it might be difficult to manage her. the next danger was, that other persons might cling to the hatchway. harry felt the long knife which was concealed in his breast. "god grant i may not have to use it!" he said; "but, if it must be, i shall not hesitate. they would simply destroy us without saving themselves, that is certain; therefore, i am justified in defend- ing the girls, as i would against any other enemy." he knelt down and prayed for some time. then he replaced the piece they had cut from the hatch, and fixed the beams beneath it, and then lay down in the reign of terror. to die; they have bored holes in the ships' bottoms, and in a few minutes they will sink. it is a wholesale execution." as he began to speak one of the ladies in the stern pushed her way through the rest. "oh, harry, is it you!" she exclaimed as he finished. "is it true, are we to die together?" "we are in god's hands, jeanne, but there is hope yet. bring virginie forward with me." at harry's first words a panic had seized all around; one or two ran to the hatchway and looked down into the hold, and screamed out that the water was rushing in; then some cried to the distant crowd to send to save them; others ran up and down as if demented; while some threw them- selves on their knees. but the panic soon passed away; all had for weeks looked death in the face, and though the unexpected form in which it ap- peared had for the moment shaken them, they soon recovered. mothers clasped their daughters to their breasts for a last farewell, and then all with bowed heads kneeled and listened in silence to an old man who began to pray aloud. jeanne, without another word, had taken vir- ginie's hands and accompanied harry forward to the fore part of the deck. "jeanne, i am going to try to save you and in the reign of terror. virginie, but everything depends upon your being cool and brave. need not urge you, because i am sure of you. virginie, will you try to be so fot jeanne's sake and your own? if you do not we, must all die together." "what are we to do, harry?" jeanne said steadily, while virginie clung to her sister sobbing bitterly. "fasten this bundle of corks between virginie's shoulders, high up—yes, there." while jeanne was doing this, harry fastened a rope to a ring in the side of the hatch, then he tied the corks on to jeanne's shoulders, and adjusted the third bundle to his own. "now, jeanne," he said, "i will tell you what we are going to do. you see this hatch; when the vessel sinks it will float, and we must float on our backs with our faces under- neath it so that it will hide us from the sight of the wretches on shore; and even if they put out in boats to kill any who may be swimming or clinging to spars, they will not suspect that there is any one under this. we may not succeed; an accident may betray us, but there is a possibility. at any rate, dear, we shall live or die together." "i am content," jeanne said quietly. "you know, jeanne," harry said, putting his hands on the girl's shoulders, "that i love you; i in tee relqut of terror. ? it was useless to speak, for their ears were sub- merged; but a slight motion from jeanne responded to a pressure of his arm, and he knew that she was sensible although she had not made the slightest motion from the moment the vessel sank. virginia had not, as he feared would be the case, recovered her senses with the shock of the immersion, but lay insensible on his shoulder. he could see by the movement of jeanne's lips that she was praying, and he too thanked god that he had given success to the plan so far, and prayed for protection to the end. with every minute that passed his ho pes rose; everything had answered beyond his expectation. the other victims had apparently not even noticed what he was doin g, and therefore had not, as he feared might be the case, interfered with his prep- arations, nor had any of them striven to gain a hold on the hatchway. the sinking of the vessels, and the tearing up of the water by the shot, would render the surface disturbed and broken, and decrease the chances of the floating hatch attracting attention. after ten minutes had passed he felt certain that they must be below the point where the troops were assembled. the tide was running out strong, for the time for the massacre had been fixed at an hour which would in the rrign of terror. ensure the bodies being swept down to the sea. half an hour would, he thought, take them past the bend, where their friends would be waiting for them. the time seemed endless, for although harry felt the coldness of the water but little for himself, he knew that it must be trying indeed for jeanne. as far as he could see her face it was as white as her sister's; but he had hold of one of her hands now, and knew that she was still conscious. at last he heard the sound of oars. it might not be one of the friendly boats; but the probability was that it was one or other of them. had they seen any other fisherman's boat near the point they would have rowed high up so as to intercept the hatch before it reached the stranger. harry could not hear voices; for although the water had con- veyed the sound of the oars a considerable distance he could hear no sound in the air. the oars came nearer and nearer, and by the quickness with which the strokes followed each other he knew that two boats were at hand. then the hatch was suddenly lifted, and as harry raised his head above water there was a loud cheer, and he saw adolphe and pierre, one on each side, stretch out their arms to him. the girls were first lifted into pierre's boat, for jeanne was as incapable of movement as her sister, then harry was dragged iw the reign of terror. in, the rough sailors shaking his hand and patting him on the shoulder, while the tears ran down their cheeks. "give them some hot brandy and water," were his first words. pierre had a kettle boiling. a glass of hot liquor was placed to jeanne's lips. at first she could not swallow, but after a few drops had passed her lips she was able to take a sip, and would then have stopped, but harry insisted upon her drinking the whole contents of the glass. "you must do as you are told, jeanne," he said in her ear. "you belong to me now, you know. it can do you no harm, chilled as you are, and may save you from illness." in the meantime pierre had poured several spoon- fuls of nearly neat brandy between virginie's lips. adolphe, and one of the men with him, had changed over into pierre's boat, and were rowing lustily down the river. as soon as jeanne was able to sit up she began to chafe one of "virginie's hands, while harry took the other. "take off her shoes, pierre, and soak a swab with the hot water and put it to her feet." but with all these efforts it was not until they were close to pierre's village that virginie opened of the reiglt of terror. was persuaded by pierre to lie down for a bit; but he soon gave up the idea of going to sleep. his brain was in a whirl from the events of the last twenty-four hours, and above all he felt so brimming over with happiness that the girls had been saved that he soon found it impossible to lie still. he therefore went down again and joined pierre, who was doing some repairs to his boat. "it is no use my trying to sleep, pierre. i am too delighted that everything has turned out right. i want to break out into shouting and singing." "i can understand, monsieur. yes, yes. after great trouble great joy. i know it myself. i was once adrift in a boat for three weeks. i was on a voyage to guadaloupe when we were blown in a hurricane on a 'key,' as they call the low sandy islands out there. it was in fact no more than a sand-bank. more than half of those on board were drowned; but eight of us got ashore, and we man- aged to haul up a woman with her child of two years old in her arms. "we thought at first the mother was dead, but she came round. the ship went to pieces and we saved nothing. the currents swept everything away but a boat, which had been thrown up beyond the reach of the waves. for two days we had no food or water, and suffered terribly, for the sun had in the reign of terror. the sun blazing down upon us. we had not been careful enough of the water at first, making sure that in three or four days we should sight land, and when after three days we put ourselves on short rations, there was scarce a gallon of water left. "it was a week after that before we saw a sail. two of the men had jumped overboard raving mad, the rest were lying well-nigh senseless in the bottom of the boat. only the woman was sitting up, hold- ing her child in her arms. she was very weak, too; but she had never complained, never doubted for a moment. her eyes went from the child's face over the sea to look for the help she felt would come, and back again, and at last she said quite quiet and natural: "' there is the ship. i knew it must come to day, for my child could not live through another night.' "we thought she was dreaming or off her head. but one of us made a shift to stand up and look, and when he screamed out a sail! a sail!' two of us who were strong enough looked out also. there she was and sailing, as we could soon see, on a line as directly for us as if they had our bearings and had been sent to fetch us. "it was not until evening that she came up, though she was bringing a light breeze along with in tee reign of terror. who would buy fish caught to-day? if he had thought of it he would have gone too, and perhaps he would have picked up somebody, as you have done. poor things, what an escape for them!" "it is wonderful that they have come round," henriette said. "it was lucky my husband had some brandy in the boat. he thought for a time he would never bring the youngest round. they are only young girls. what harm could they have done that those monsters at nantes should try to murder them. there is no fear, i hope, that any in the village will say a word about it." "what!" the woman said indignantly, "do you think that any one here would betray a comrade to the reds? why, we would tear him in pieces." "no, no," henriette said; "i never thought for a moment that any one would do it intentionally; but the boys might let slip a word carelessly which might bring them down upon us." "we will take care of that," the woman said. "make your mind easy. not a soul outside the vil- lage will ever know of it." "and," henriette added, "one of them has some money hidden upon her, and she told me just before i came out, when i was saying that the village would have a bad time now the fishing was spoiled —that as she hoped to cross to england in a few in the reign of terror cared for you. you didn't thiuk so, did you, harry?" she broke off with a vivid blush. "you did not think i cared for you before you cared for me?" "no, indeed, jeanne," he said earnestly. "it never entered my mind. you see, dear, up to the beginning of that time i only felt as a boy, and in england lads of eighteen or nineteen seldom think about such things at all. it was only afterward, when somehow the danger and the anxiety seemed to make a man of me, when i saw how brave and thoughtful and unselfish you were, that i knew i loved you, and felt that if you could some day love me, i should be the happiest fellow alive. before that i thought of you as a dear little girl who was inclined to make rather too much of me because of that dog business. and did you really care for me then?" "i never thought of it in that way, harry, any more than you did, but i know now that my mother was right, and that i loved you all along without knowing it. my dear father and mother told marie that they thought i was fond of you, and that, if at any time you should get fond of me too and ask for my hand, they gave their approval beforehand, for they were sure that you would make me happy. so they told marie and ernest, who, if ill came to them, would be the heads of the family, that i had in the reign of terror. their consent to marry you. it makes me happy to know this, harry." "i am very glad, too, dear," harry said earnestly. "it is very satisfactory for you, and it is very pleasant to me to know that they had such a good opinion of me, and that they were ready to trust you to me. ah!" he said suddenly, "that was what was in the letter. i wondered a little at the time, for somehow after that, jeanne, you were a little different with me. i thought at first i might somehow have offended you. but i did not think that long," he went on, as jeanne uttered an indig- nant exclamation, "because if anything offended you, you always spoke out frankly. still i wondered over it for some time, and certainly i was never near guessing the truth." "i could not help being a little different," jeanne said shyly. "i had never thought of it be- fore, and though i am sure it made me happy, i could not feel quite the same with you, especially as i knew that you never thought of me like that." "but you thought of me so afterward, jeanne?" "sometimes just for a moment, but i tried not to think of it, harry. we were so strangely placed, and it made it easier for you to be a brother, and i felt sure you would not speak till we were safely in england, and i was in ernest's care. but," she in the reign of terror. said with a little laugh, "you were nearly speaking that evening in the cottage when you felt so despairing." "very nearly, jeanne; i did so want comfort." and so they talked happily together for an hour. "i wonder pierre does not come down to his boat," harry said at last. "there were several more things wanting doing to it. why, there he is calling. surely it can never be dinner-time; but that's what he says. it doesn't seem an hour since breakfast." jeanne hurried on into the hut. "why, pierre," harry said to the fisherman, who was waiting outside for him, "i thought you were going on with your boat." "so i was, monsieur, but henriette told me i should be in the way." "in the way, pierre!" harry repeated in surprise. "ah, monsieur," pierre said with a twinkle in his eye, "you have been deceiving us. my wife saw it in a moment when the young lady came to breakfast. "' brother !' she said to me when you went out; 'don't tell me! monsieur is the young lady's lover. brother and sister don't, look at each other like that. why, one could see it with half an eye.'" "your wife is right, pierre; mademoiselle is my in the reign of terror. "ah, mademoiselle," the woman said as she em- braced jeanne with tears in her eyes, "how thank- ful i am to see you again! i never thought i should do so. my heart almost stopped beating yesterday when i heard the guns. i and my little one were on our knees praying to the good god for the dear lady who had saved her life. adolphe had spoken hopefully, but it hardly seemed to me that it could be, and when he brought back the news that he had left you all safely here, i could hardly believe it was true." "and i must thank you also, mademoiselle," adolphe said, "for saving the life of my little one. i never expected to see her alive again, and when the lugger made fast to the wharf i was afraid to go home, and i hung about till marthe had heard we were in and came down to me with julie in her arms, looking almost herself again. ah, mademoi- selle, you cannot tell how my heart leaped with joy, and how i felt when marthe told me how much you had done for us, and how glad i was when she told me that there was a way of paying some part of my debt to you." "you have been able to pay more than your debt," jeanne said gently; "if i saved one life you have helped to save three." "no, we shall be only quits, mademoiselle, for of the reign of terror. % what would marthe's life and mine be worth if the child had died. "there are fresh notices stuck up," he went on, "warning all masters of ships, fishermen and others, against taking passengers on board, and say- ing that the penalty of assisting the enemies of france to escape from justice is death." "that is rather serious," harry said. "it is nothing," adolpbe replied confidently. "after yesterday's work there is not a sailor or fish- erman in the port but would do all he could to help people to escape from the hands of the butchers, and once on board it will help you. you may be sure the sailors will do their best to rtin away if they can, or to hide any on board, should they be overhauled, now they know that they will be guillo- tined if any one is found. however, our captain has made the agreement, and he is a man jf his word; besides, he hates the keds. i have been helping ship the casks to day, and we have stowed them so as to leave space into which your sisters can crawl and the entrance be stopped up with casks, if we should be overhauled. as for you, monsieur, you will pass anywhere as one of the crew, and we have arranged that one of the men shall at the last moment stay behind, so that the number will be right, and you will answer to his name. "we have in the reign of terror. with the wind and tide. she carried a small white flag flying on the mizzen. "that is her," the fisherman said; "that is the signal." he rowed out into the middle of the river. in a few minutes the lugger came dashing along; her course took her within a few feet of the boat, a rope was thrown, and in an instant the boat was tearing through the water alongside her. half a dozen hands were stretched out, the girls and harry sprang on board, the rope was cast off, and the fisherman, with a cheery " god speed you," put out his oars again and rowed to shore. in the reign of terror. chaptee xv. england. "go below, mesdemoiselles," the captain of the lugger said as soon as they had put foot on the deck. "if any one on the shore were to see us as we ran down, and notice women on deck, he would think it strange. at any rate it's best to be on the safe side." so saying he led the way to his cabin below. "it is a rough place, mesdemoiselles," he said, re- moving his cap, " but it is better than the prisons at nantes. i am sorry to say that when we get down near the forts i shall have to ask you to hide down below the casks. i heard last night that in future every boat going out of the river, even if it is only a fishing-boat, is to be searched. but you needn't be afraid ; we have constructed a hiding-place, where they will never find you unless they unloaded the whole lugger, and that there is no chance of their doing." "we do not mind where wo hide, captain," in the reign of terror. for those who were suffering. he was therefore cordially received by the sailors, to each of whom the captain had already promised double pay for the voyage if they got through safely. "you will remember," adolphe said, " that you are andre lebceuf. andre had to make a cold swim of it this morning, for there was the commissary on. the wharf when we started, and he had the captain's list of the crew, and saw that each man was on board, and searched high and low to see that there was no one else. so andre, instead of slipping off home again, had to go with us. when we were out of sight of the town the captain steered as near the bank as he could and andre jumped over and swam ashore. it is all the better as it has turned out, be- cause the commissary signed the list of the crew and put a seal to it." in four hours the trois freres was approaching the forts at the mouth of the river, and the captain came down to the cabin in which harry was chat- ting with the two girls. "now, mesdemoiselles," he said, "it is time for you to go to your hiding-place, for it will take us nearly half an hour to close it up again. as soon as the reds have left us we will let you out." the hatch was lifted and they descended into the hold of the vessel, which was full of kegs to within in tbe reign of terror. three feet of the deck. the captain carried a lantern. "please follow me, mesdemoiselles, you must crawl along here." the girls followed him until they were close to the bulkhead dividing the hold from the forecastle. two feet from this there was a vacant space. "now, mesdemoiselles, if you will give me your hands i will lower you down here. do not be afraid—your feet will touch the bottom; and i have had some hay put there for you to sit upon. adolphe, you had better go down first with that lantern of yours to receive them." the girls were lowered down and found them- selves in a space five feet long and two feet wide. one side was formed by the bulkhead, on the other there were kegs. four feet from the bottom a beam of wood had been nailed against the bulkhead. the captain now handed down to adolphe some short beams; these he fixed with one end resting on the beam, the other in a space between the kegs. "this is to form the roof, mesdemoiselles," he said. "i am going up now, and then we shall place three tiers of kegs on these beams, which will fill it up level with the rest above. i think you will have plenty of air, for it can get down between the in the reign of terror. and the officer read out the names, harry answer- ing for andre leboeuf. "that is all right, so far," the officer said. "now, sir, i must, according to my orders, search your vessel to see that no one is concealed there." "by all means," the captain said, "you will find the trois freres carries nothing contraband except her cargo. i have already taken off the hatch, as you see, in order to save time." the forecastle and cabin were first searched closely. several of the sailors then descended into the hold. two lanterns were handed down to them. "it looks all clear, sir," one of the sailors said to their officer. the latter leaped down on to the kegs and looked round. "yes, it looks all right, but you had better shift some of the kegs and see that all is solid." some of the kegs were moved from their position, and in a few places some of the second tier were also lifted. the officer himself superintended the search. "i think i can let you go on now, captain grig- naud," he said. "your men can stow the cargo again. a good voyage to you, and may you meet with no english cruisers by the way." the captain at once gave orders for the sails to be run up again, and by the time the officer and his men had climbed over the bulwarks into the gun ijf thk reign of terror. virginie was carried under the open hatchway; some water was handed down to jeanne, who sprinkled it on her face, and this with the fresh air speedily brought her round. when the lugger was a mile below the forts, the captain said that they could now safely come up, and they were soon in possession of the cabin again. before evening the lugger was out of sight of land. the wind was blowing freshly, and she raced along leaving a broad track of foam behind her. the captain and crew were in high spirits at having succeeded in carrying off the fugitives from under the noses of their enemies, and at the progress the lugger was making. "we shall not be far from the coast of england by to-morrow night," the captain said to harry, "that is if we have the luck to avoid meeting any of the english cruisers. we don't care much for the revenue cutters, for there is not one of them that can overhaul the trois freres in a wind like this. they have all had more than one try, but we can laugh at them; but it would be a different thing if we fell in with one of the channel cruisers; in a light wind we could keep away from them too, but with a brisk wind like this we should have no chance with them; they carry too much sail for us. there is the boy carrying in the supper to yow in tbe reiqn of tbukoh. sisters; with their permission, you and i will sup with them." the captain sent in a polite message to the girls, and on the receipt of the answer that they would be very pleased to have the captain's company, he and harry went down. the meal was an excellent one, but the girls ate but little, for they were both begins ning to feel the effects of the motion of the vessel, for they had, when once fairly at sea, kept on deck. the captain perceiving that they ate but little pro- posed to harry that coffee should be served on deck, so that the ladies might at once lie down for the night. "now, captain," harry said as the skipper lit his pipe, "i dare say you would like to hear how we came to be fugitives on board your ship." "if you have no objection to tell me, i should indeed," the captain replied; "i have been wonder- ing all day how you young people escaped the search for suspects so long, and how you came to be at nantes, where, as adolphe tells me, your sister was an angel among the poor, and that you your- self were a member of the revolutionary com- mittee; that seemed to me the most extraordinary of all, but i wouldn't ask any questions until you yourself volunteered to enlighten me." harry thereupon related the whole story of their m in tme reign of teuror. to your sister in paris, saying that you and the other two have reached england in safety, i will when i return send it by sure hand to paris. to make all safe you had better send it to the people she is staying with, and word it so that no one will understand it if they were to read it. say, for example: "' my dear sister—you will be glad to hear that the consignment of lace has been safely landed in england.' then you can go on saying that ' your mother is better, and that you expect to be married soon, as you have made a good profit out of the lace,' and so on; and just sign your name— your brother, henri.' "i can trust the man who will deliver it in paris, but it is just as well always to be on the safe side. if your letter is opened and read, any one will sup- pose that it is written by a sailor belonging to one of the nantes luggers." harry thanked the captain warmly for the offer, and said that the letter would indeed be an immense comfort to his sister and friend. "i will tell the man that he is to ask if there is any answer," the captain said. "and if your sister is as sharp as you are she will write the same sort of letter, and i will bring it across with me to england the first voyage i make after i get it." in the reign of terror. harry slept down, in the forecastle with the orew, the captain keeping on deck all night. he was awoke by an order shouted down the forecastle for all hands to come on deck; and hurrying up with the rest found that the sun had just risen. the day was beautifully fine, and to harry's surprise he found that those on deck had already lowered the great lugsails. "what is it, captain?" he asked. "there is a sail there i don't like," the captain said. "if i am not mistaken that is an english frigate." there were several sails in sight, but the one to which the captain pointed was crossing ahead of the lugger. her hull could not be seen, and indeed from the deck only her topsails and royals were visible above the water. "i hope she will not see us," the captain said. "we are low in the water, and these stump masts could not be seen at that distance even by a lookout at the masthead. "we are already somewhat astern of her, and every minute will take her further away. if she does not see us in a quarter of an hour, we shall be safe. if she does, there is nothing for it but to run back toward the french ooast. we should have such a long start that with this wind she would in the retgn terror. the cliff, for the path was filled with men carrying up tubs or coming down for more after placing them in the carts, which were waiting to convey them inland. at last they got to the top. one of the carts was already laden, and was on the point of "driving off when harry asked the man if he could tell him of any farmhouse near, where the two ladies who had landed with him could pass the night. "master's place is two miles away," the man said; "but if you like to walk as far he will take you in, i doubt not." the girls at once agreed to the proposal, and in three-quarters of an hour the cart drew up at a farmhouse. "is it all right, bill?" a man asked, opening the door as the cart stopped. "yes, it be all right. not one of them revenue chaps nigh the place. here be the load of tubs; they was the first that came ashore." "who have you got here?" the farmer asked as harry came forward with the girls. "these are two young ladies who have crossed in the lugger," harry replied. "they have narrowly escaped being murdered in france by the revolu- tionists, and have gone through a terrible time. as they have nowhere to go to night, i thought per- in the reign of terror. but were keeping it from me. you spoke so very seldom of them, and when you did it seemed to me that what you said was not spoken in your natural voice. i felt sure that had you known nothing you would have often talked to us of meeting them in london, and of the happiness it would be. i would not ask, because i was sure you had a good reason for not telling us; but i was quite sure that there was something." "i thought it better to keep it from you, jeanne, until the danger was all over. in the first place you had need of all your courage and strength; in the next place it was possible that you might never reach england, and in that case yon would never have suffered the pain of knowing anything about it." "how thoughtful you are, harry!" jeanne mur- mured. "oh, how much we owe you! but oh, how strange and lonely we seem—every one gone except marie, and we may never see her again!" "you will see her again, never fear," harry said confidently. "and you will not feel lonely long, for i can promise you that before you have been long at ray mother's place you will feel like one of the family." "yes; but i shall not be one of the family," jeanne said. in the reign of terror. "not yet, jeanne. but mother will look upon you as her daughter directly i tell her that you have promised to become so in reality some day." harry's reception, when with the two girls he drove up in a hackney coach to the house at cheyne walk, was overwhelming, and the two french girls were at first almost bewildered by the rush of boys and girls who tore down the steps and threw them- selves upon harry's neck. "yoxx will stifle me between you all," harry said, after he had responded to the embraces. "where are father and mother?" "father is out, and mother is in the garden. no, there she is"—as mrs. sand with, pale and agitated, appeared at the door, having hurried in when one of the young ones had shouted out from a back window: "harry has come." "oh, my boy, we had given you up," she sobbed as harry rushed into her arms. "i am worth a great many dead men yet, mother. but now let me introduce to you mesdemoiselles jeanne and virginie de st. caux, of whom i have written to you so often.' they are orphans, mother, and i have promised them that you and father will fill the place of their parents." "that will we willingly," mrs. sandwith said, turning to the girls and kissing them with motherly z v the reign of terror. "of course i know that," dr. sand with said, "seeing that, as you know, they were consigned to me, and the marquis wrote to ask me to act as his agent. the money is invested in stock, and the jewels are in the hands of my bankers. i had begun to wonder what would become of it all, for i was by no means sure that the whole family had not perished, as well as yourself." "there are only the three girls left," harry said. "in that case they will be well off, for the marquis inclosed me a will, saying that if anything should happen to him, and the estates should be altogether lost, the money and proceeds of the jewels were to be divided equally among his children. you must have gone through a great deal, old boy. you are scarcely nineteen, and you look two or three and twenty." "i shall soon look young again, father, now i have got my mind clear of anxiety. but i have had a trying time of it, i can tell you; but it's too long a story to go into now, i will tell you all the whole yarn this evening. i want you to go in with me now to the girls and make them at home. all this must be just as trying for them at present as the dangers they have gone through." the young ones were all forbidden to follow, and after an hour spent with his parents and the girls in. in he reign of terror. the dining-room, harry was pleased to see that the latter were beginning to feel at their ease, and that the strangeness was wearing off. that evening, before the whole circle of his family, harry related the adventures that they had gone through, subject, however, to a great many interruptions from jeanne. "but i am telling the story, not you, jeanne," he said at last. "some day when you begin to talk english quite well you shall give your version of it." "but he is not telling it right, madame," jeanne protested, "he keeps all the best part back. he says about the dangers, but he says nothing about what he do himself." then she broke into french, "no, madame, it is not just, it is not right; i will not suffer the tale to be told so. how can it be the true story when he says no word of his courage, of his devotion, of the way he watched over us and cheered us, no word of his grand heart, of the noble way he risked his life for us, for our sister, for our parents, for all? oh, madame, i cannot tell you what we all owe to him;" and jeanne, who had risen to her feet in her earnestness, burst into passionate tears. this put an end to the story for the evening, for mrs. sandwith saw that jeanne required rest and quiet, and took the two girls up at once to the bedroom prepared for them. from w the reign of terror. utes we should neither of us be alive. if it hadn't been for that i should have brought her home and waited till i was making my own way in life." , "i do not blame you, harry, my boy," his father said heartily. "of course you are very young, and under ordinary circumstances would not have been thinking about a wife for years to come yet; but i can see that your jeanne is a girl of no ordinary character, and it is certainly for her happiness that, being here with her sister alone among strangers, she should feel that she is at home. personally she is oharming, and even in point of fortune you would be considered a lucky fellow. what do you say, mother?" "i say god bless them both!" mrs. sandwith said earnestly. "after the way in which provi- dence has brought them together, there can be no doubt that they were meant for each other." "do you know i half guessed there was some- thing more than mere gratitude in jeanne's heart when she flamed out just now; did not you, mother?" mrs. sandwith nodded and smiled. "i was sure there was," she said. "i did not say anything about it when we came in," harry said, " because i thought it better for jeanne to have one quiet day, and you know tho in tee reign of terror. young ones will laugh awfully at the idea of my being engaged." "never you mind, harry," his father said; "let those laugh that win. but you are not thinking of getting married yet, i hope." "no, no, father; you cannot think i would live on jeanne's money?" "and you still intend to go into the army, harry?" "no, father; i have had enough of bloodshed for the rest of ray life. i have been thinking it over a good deal, and i have determined to follow your example and become a doctor." "that's right, my boy," dr. sand with said heartily. "i have always regretted you had a fancy for the army, for i used to look forward to your becoming my right hand. your brothers, too, do not take to the profession, so i began to think i was going to be alone in my old age. you have made me very happy, harry, and your mother too. it will be delightful for us having you and your pretty french wife settled by us; will it not, mother?" "it will indeed," mrs. sandwith said in a tone of deep happiness. "you are certainly overworked and need a partner terribly, and who could be like harry?" "yes, i have been thinking of taking a partner orange and green  author of "with lee in virginia;" "with cliv« in india;" "in freedom's cause;" "the lion of the north;" "with wolfe in canada;" "facing death;" etc. with eight full-page illustrations by gor- don browne. a tale of the boyne and limerick. by g. a. henty, new york: htiest & company, publisheks. preface. my deae lads: the subject of ireland is one which has for some years been a vefy prominent one, and is likely, i fear, for some time yet to occupy a large share of public attention. for' many years the laws in ireland and the rights of irishmen have been identical with those which we enjoy in england. the discontent manifested in the troubles of recent years has had its root in an older sense of grievance, for which there was, unhappily, only too abundant reason. the great proportion of the soil of ireland was taken from the original owners and handed over to cromwell's followers, and lor years the land that still remained in the hands of irishmen was subject to the covetousness of a party of greedy in- triguers, who had sufficient influence to sway the pro- ceedings of government. the result was the rising of ireland, nominally in defense of the rights of king james, but really an effort of despair on the part of those who deemed their religion, their property, and even their lives threatened by this absolute ascendency of the prot- estant party in the government of the country. i have drawn my information from a variety of sources; but as i wished you to see the matter from the irish point of view i have drawn most largely from the history of those events by mr. o'driscol, published sixty years ago. there is, however, but little difference of opinion be- tween irish and english authors as to the general course of the war, or as to the atrocious conduct of william's army of foreign mercenaries toward the people of ireland. your sincerely, g. a. henty. contents. chapter i. paob a. shipwreck chapter ii. for james or william chapter iii. the king in ireland chapter iv. the siege of derry chapter v. the relief of derry chapter vi. dundalk chapter vii. the coming battle chapter viii. boyne water chapter ix. pleasant quarters chapter x. a cavalry raid chapter xi. the first siege of limerick chapter xii. winter quarters chapter xiii. a dangerous mission vi contents. chapter xiv. paos athlone chapter xv. ... a fortunate recognition chapter xvi. peace orange and green chapter i. a shipwreck. a few miles to the south of bray head, on the crest of a hill falling sharply down to the sea, stood castle davenant, a conspicuous landmark to mariners skirting the coast on their way from cork or waterford to dublin bay. castle davenant it was called, although it had long since cased to be defensible; but when it was built by sir godfrey davenant, who came over with strongbow, it was a place of strength. strongbow's followers did well for themselves. they had reckoned on hard fighting, but the irish were too much divided among themselves to oppose any serious resistance to the invaders. strong- bow had married the daughter of dermid, prince of leinster, and at the death of that prince succeeded him, and the greater portion of leinster was soon divided among the knights and men-at-arms who had followed his standard. godfrey davenant, who was a favorite of the earl, had no reason to be dissatisfied with his share, which consisted of a domain including many square miles of fertile land stretching back from the seacoast. here for many generations his descendants lived, for the most part taking an active share in the wars and dis- turbances which, with scarcely an interval of rest, agitated the country. the castle had continued to de- serve its name until forty years before the time this story orange and green. commences, when cromwell's gunners had battered a breach in it and left it a heap of smoking ruins. walter davenant had died, fighting to the last, in his own hall. at that time the greater part of his estate was bestowed upon officers and soldiers in cromwell's army, among whom no less than four million acres of irish land were divided. had it not been that walter davenant's widow was an englishwoman and a relation of general ireton, the whole of the estate would have gone; but his influence was sufficient to secure for her the possession of the ruins of her home and a few hundred acres surrounding it. fortunately the dowry which mrs. davenant had brought her husband was untouched, and a new house was reared within the ruins of the castle, the new work being dove- tailed with the old. the family now consisted of mrs. davenant, a lady sixty-eight years old; her son fergus, who was when cromwell devastated the land a child of five years; his wife katherine, daughter of lawrence mccarthy, a large land-owner near cork; and their two sons, walter, a lad of sixteen, and godfrey, twelve years old. two miles west of the castle stood a square-built stone house, surrounded by solidly constructed barns and out- buildings. this was the abode of old zephaniah white- foot, the man upon whom had been bestowed the broad lands of walter davenant. zephaniah had fought stoutly as lieutenant in one of cromwell's regiments of horse, and had always considered himself an ill-treated man, because although he had obtained all the most fertile por- tion of the davenant estate, the old family were per- mitted to retain the castle and a few hundred acres by the sea. he was one of those who contended that the amalekites should be utterly destroyed by the sword, and he consid- orange and green. ered that the retention of the corner of their domains by the davenants was a direct flying in the face of the providence who had given them into the hands of the faithful. not that had he obtained possession of the ruined castle zephaniah whitefoot would .have repaired it or set up his abode there. the followers of cromwell had no eyes for the beautiful. they were too much in earnest to care aught for the amenities of life, and despised as almost sinful anything approximating to beauty either in dress, person, or surroundings. the houses that they reared in this land of which they had taken possession were bare to the point of ugliness, and their interior was as cold and hard as was the exterior. everything was for use, nothing for ornament. scarce a flower was to be seen in their gardens, and laughter was a sign of levity to be sternly repressed. their isolation in the midst of a hostile population caused them no concern whatever. they cared for no society or companionship save that of their own house- holds, which they ruled with a rod of iron, and an occa- sional gathering for religious purposes with the other settlers of their own faith. they regarded the irish as papists doomed to everlasting perdition, and indeed con- signed to that fate all outside their own narrow sect. such a people could no more mix with the surrounding population than oil with water. as a rule they tilled as much ground in the immediate vicinity of their houses as they and their families could manage, and the rest of the land which had fallen into their possession they let either for a money payment, or more often for a portion of the crops raised upon it, to such natives as were willing to hold it on these terms. the next generation had fallen away somewhat from their father's standards. it is not in human nature to stand such a strain as their families had been subjected "you are less than a man, jabez," she would say to him indignantly, "to put up at your age with being lectured as if you were a child. parental obedience is all very well, and i hope i was always obedient to my father; but when it comes to a body not being permitted to have a soul of his own it is going too far. if you had told nie that, when i became your wife, i was to become the in- mate of a dungeon for the rest of my existence, i wouldn't have had you, not if you had been master of all the broad lands of leinster." but though unable to rouse her husband into making an effort for some sort of freedom, hannah whitefoot had battled more successfully in behalf of her son john. "you have had the management of your son, sir, and i will manage mine," she said. "i will see that he does not grow up a reprobate or a papist, but at least he shall grow up a man, and his life shall not be as hateful as mine is if i can help it." many battles had already been fought on this point, but in the end hannah whitefoot triumphed. although her husband never himself opposed his father's authority, he refused absolutely to use his own to compel his wife to submission. "you know, sir," he said, "you had your own way with my mother and me, and i say nothing for or against it. hannah has other ideas. no one can say that she is not a good woman, or that she fails in her duty to me. all people do not see life from the same point of view. she is just as conscientious in her way as you are in yours; she reads her bible and draws her own conclusions from it just as you do; and as she is the mother of the child, and as i know she will do her best for it, i shall not in- terfere with her way of doing it." and so hannah won at last, and although according to modern ideas the boy's training would have been consid- orange and green. ered strict in the extreme, it differed very widely from that which his father had had before him. sounds of laughter such as never had been heard within the walls of the house since zephaniah laid stone upon stone some- times issued from the room where hannah and the child were together alone, and zephaniah was out with jabez about the farm; and hannah herself benefited as much as did the child by her rebellion against the authorities. jabez, too, was conscious that home was brighter and pleasanter than it had been, and when zephaniah burst into a torrent of indignation when he discovered that the child had absolutely heard some fairy stories from its mother, jabez said quietly: "father, i wish no dispute. i have been an obedient son to you, and will continue so to my life's end; but if you are not satisfied with the doings of my wife, i will depart with her. tbere are'plenty who will be glad to let me a piece of land; and if i only work there as hard as i work here, i shall assuredly be able to support her and my boy. so let this be the last word between us." this threat put an end to the struggle. zephaniah had, like most of his class, a keen eye to the main chance^ and could ill spare the services of jabez and his thrifty and hard-working wife, and henceforth, except by pointed references in the lengthy morning and evening prayers to the backsliding in his household, he held hi peace. between the castle and zephaniah whitefoot there had never been any intercourse. the dowager mrs. davenant hated the cromwellite occupier of her estate, not only as a usurper but as the representative of the man who had slain her husband. she never alluded to his existence, and had always contrived in her rides and walks to avoid any point from which she could obtain so much as a distant view of the square, ugly house which formed a blot on the fair landscape. she still spoke of the estate as if it extended to its original boundaries, and ignored absolutely the very existence of zephaniah white- foot and all that belonged to him. but when her son and jabez grew to man's estate, at about the same period, they necessarily at times crossed each other's paths; and as in them the prejudices and enmities of their elders were somewhat softened, they would, when they met on the road, exchange a passing nod or a brief "good-morn- ing." another generation still, and the boys of the two houses met as friends. thanks to his mother's success- ful rebellion, john whitefoot grew up a hearty, healthy boy, with a bright eye, a merry laugh, and a frank, open bearing. "one would think," his grandfather remarked angrily one day, as the boy went out whistling gayly to fetch in a young colt jabez was about to break, "that john was the son of a malignant, or one of the men of charles stuart, rather than of a god-fearing tiller of the soil." "so long as he fears god, and walks in the right way, he is none the worse for that, father," jabez said stoutly; "and even you would hardly say that his mother has failed in her teachings in that respect. i do not know that so long as one has the words of scripture in his heart, he is any the better for having them always on his lips; in other respects i regret not that the boy should have a spirit and a fire which i know i lack myself. who can say what may yet take place here! the stuarts are again upon the throne, and, with james' leaning toward papacy, there is no saying whether some day all the lands which cromwell divided among his soldiers may not be restored to their original possessors, and in that case our sons may have to make their way in other paths of life than ours; and if it be so, john will assuredly be more likely to make his way than i should have done." orange and green. "we would never surrender, save with our lives, what our swords have won. we will hold the inheritance which the lord has given us,""the old man said fiercely. "yes, father; and so said those whose lands we have inherited; so said walter davenant, of whose lands we are possessed. it will be as god wills it. he has given to us the lands of others, and it may be that he will take them away again. the times have changed, father, and the manners; and i am well pleased to see that john, while i am sure he is as true to the faith as i am myself, will take broader and, perhaps, happier views of life than i have done." zephaniah gave a snort of displeasure. he grieved continually at the influence which his daughter-in-law exercised over her son, and which now extended clearly to her husband; but jabez was now a man of forty-five, and had lately shown that, in some respects at least, he intended to have his way, while zephaniah himself, though still erect and strong, was well-nigh eighty. "remember, jabez," he said, "that it goes hard with those who, having set their hands to the plow, turn aside." "i shall not turn aside, father," jabez said quietly. "i have gone too long along a straight furrow to change now; but i am not ill pleased that my son should have a wider scope. i trust and believe that he will drive his furrow as straight as we have done, although it may not be exactly in the same line." but neither zephaniah nor old mrs. davenant knew that their respective grandsons had made friends, al- though both the boys' fathers knew and approved of it, although for somewhat different reasons. "the whitefoot boy," mr. davenant had said to his wife, "is, i fancy from what i have seen of him, of a dif- ferent type to his father and grandfather. i met him orange and green. the other day when i was out, and he spoke as naturally and outspokenly as walter himself. he seems to have got rid of the puritanical twang altogether. at any rate he will do walter no harm; and, indeed, i should say that there was a solid good sense about him which will do master walter, who is somewhat disposed to be a mad- cap, much good. anyhow he is a better companion for the boy than the lads down in the village; and there is no saying, wife, how matters may go in this unhappy country. it may be that we may come to our own again; it may be that we may lose what is left to us. anyhow, it can do no harm to walter that he should have as a friend one in the opposite camp." somewhat similar was the talk between hannah and jabez, although in their case the wife was the speaker. "john has told me, jabez, that he has several times met young davenant, and that the boy is disposed to be friendly with him; and he has asked me to speak with you, to know whether you have any objection to his mak- ing a friend of him." "what do you say, hannah?" jabez asked cautiously. "my father, i fear, would not approve of it." "your father need know nothing about it, jabez. he is an old man and a good man, but he clings to the ways of his youth, and deems that things are still as they were when he rode behind cromwell. i would not deceive him did he ask; but i do not see that the matter need be mentioned in his presence. it seems to me that it will be good for john to be friends with this boy. he is almost without companionship; we have acquaintance, it is true, among the other settlers of our faith, but such companionship as he has there will not open his mind or broaden his views. we are dull people here for a lad. had we had other children it might have been different. "i have heard my mother speak of her life as a girl in orange and green. england, and assuredly it was brighter and more varied than ours; and it seems not to me that the pleasures which they had were sinful, although i have been taught otherwise; but as i read my bible, i cannot see that in- nocent pleasures are in any way denied to the lord's people; and such pleasure as the companionship of the young davenant can give john will, i think, be alto- gether for his good." "but the lad is a papist, hannah." "he is, jabez; but boys, methinks, do not argue among themselves upon points of doctrine; and i have no fear that john will ever be led from the right path, nor in- deed, though it is presumption for a woman to say so, do i feel so sure as our ministers, that ours is the only path to heaven. "we believe firmly that it is the best path, but others believe as firmly in their paths; and i cannot think, jabez, that all mankind, save those who are within the fold of our church, can be condemned by the good lord to perdition." "your words are bold, hannah, and i know not what my father and the elders of the church would say were they to hear them. as to that i will not argue, but me- thinks that you are right in saying that the companion- ship of the young davenant will do our boy no harm, but the lad must have his father's consent. though i reckon that we could count pounds where they could count shil- lings, yet in the opinion of the world they assuredly stand above us.- moreover, as it is only in human nature that they should regard us as those who have despoiled them, john must have no dealings with their son without their consent; if that be given i have naught to say against it." and so john told walter next time they met, and learned in reply that walter had already obtained his father's consent to going out rambles with him; ao the boys became companions and friends, and each benefited orange and green. by it. to john, the bright, careless ease and gayety of walter's talk and manner were at first strange indeed, after the restraint and gloom of his home; but in time ho caught something of his companion's tone, until, as has been said, his altered manner and bearing struck and annoyed his grandfather. on the other hand, the earnestness and solidity of john's character was of benefit to walter; and his simple truthfulness, the straightforwardness of his principles, and his blunt frankness in saying exactly what he thought, influenced walter to quite as large an extent as he had influenced john. so the companionship between the lads had gone on' for two years. in fine weather they had met once or twice a week and had taken long rambles together, or, throwing themselves down on the slopes facing the sea, had talked over subjects of mutual interest. walter's education was far in advance of that of his companion, whose reading, indeed, had been confined to the scrip- tures, and the works of divines and controversialists of his own church, and whose acquirements did not extend beyond the most elementary subjects. to him everything that walter know was novel and strange; and he eagerly devoured, after receiving permis- sion from his mother, the books which walter lent him, principally histories, travels, and the works of milton and shakespeare. as to the latter, hannah had at first some scruples; and it was only after setting herself, with great misgivings as to the lawfulness of the act, to peruse the book that she suffered her son to read it. the volume only contained some ten of shakespeare's plays; and hannah, on handing the book: to her son, said: "i do not pretend, john, to understand all that is written there, but i cannot see that there is evil in it. there are assuredly many noble thoughts and much orange and green. worldly wisdom. did i think that ycur life would he passed here, i should say that it were better for you not to read a hook which gives a picture of a life so different from what yours would he; but none can say what your iot may he. and although i have heard much about the wickedness of the stage, i can see no line in this book which could do harm to you. i do not see it can do you much good, john, but neither do i see that it can do you any harm; therefore, if you have set your mind on it, read it, my boy." it was a stormy evening in the first week of november, . the wind was blowing in fierce gusts, making every door and casement quiver in davenant castle, while between the gusts the sound of the deep roar of the sea on the rocks far below could be plainly heard. mrs. davenant was sitting in a high-backed chair on one side of the great fireplace, in which a pile of logs was blazing. her son had just laid down a book which he could no longer see to read, while her daughter-in-law was indus- triously knitting. walter was wandering restlessly be- tween the fire and the window, looking out at the flying clouds, through which the moon occasionally struggled. "do sit down, walter," his mother said at last. "you certainly are the most restless creature i ever saw." "not always, mother; but i cannot help wondering about that ship we saw down the coast making for the bay. she was about ten miles out, and seemed to be keeping her course when i saw her last half an hour ago; but i can see by the clouds that the wind has drawn round more to the north, and i doubt much whether she will be able to gain the bay." "in that case, walter," his father said, "if her captain knows his business he will wear round and run down for waterford. i agree with you," he continued, after walk- ing to the window and watching the clouds, "that a vessel orangr ant) oreen. coming from the soutli will hardly weather bray head with tbis wind." he had scarcely spoken when the door opened, and one of the servants entered. "your honor, a boy has just come up from the village; he says that john considine sent him to tell you that a large ship is driving in to shore, and that he thinks she will strike not far from the village." "why, on earth," mr. davenant exclaimed, "doesn't he tack and stand out to sea!" "the boy says her foremast is gone,'and they have lost all management of her." "in that case god help them! there is little chance for them on this rocky coast; however, i will go down at once and see if anything can be done. katherine, do you see that there are plenty of hot blankets ready in case any of the poor fellows are washed ashore. i shall, of course, send them up here. i suppose, walter, you will come down with me." but walter had already disappeared, having slipped os as soon as he had heard the message. "don't let that boy get into mischief, fergus," old mrs. davenant said. "i am afraid, mother, he is beyond me," her son said with a smile. "no davenant yet could ever keep out of mischief, and walter is no exception; however, fortu- nately for us, we generally get out of scrapes as easily as we get into them." "not always, fergus," she said, shaking her head. "no, not always, mother; but exceptions, you know, prove the rule." "well, godfrey, do you want to go?" he asked the younger boy, who had risen from the table, and was look- ing eagerly at him. "of course you do; but, mind, you must keep close to me. ah, father john!" he broke off orange and green. as an ecclesiastic, muffled up to the throat in wrappings, entered the room, "are you going down too?" "assuredly i am, fergus; you don't think a trifle of wind would keep me from doing my duty?" in another two minutes the two men and godfrey sallied out. they staggered as the wind struck them, and godfrey clung to his father's arm. not a word was spoken as they made their way down the steep descent to the village, which consisted of about a dozen fishermen's huts. indeed, speaking would have been useless, for no word would have been beard above the howling of the storm. the vessel was visible to them as they made their way down the hill. she was a complete wreck. the light of the moon was sufficient for them to see that she had, as the boy said, lost her foremast. her sails were in rib- bons, and she was laboring heavily in the sea, each wave that struck her breaking over her bows and sweeping along her deck. there was no hope for her; she could neither tack nor wear, and no anchor would hold for a moment on that rocky bottom in such a sea. on reaching the village they joined a group of fisher- men who were standing under the shelter of the end of a cottage. "can nothing be done, considine?" mr. davenant shouted in the ear of one of the fishermen. "not a thing, yer honor; she has just let drop one of her anchors." "but they could not hope it would hold there," mr. davenant said. "not they, your honor, onless they were mad. they hoped it would hoult so as to bring her head round; but the cable went as soon as the strain came. i saw her head go sharp up to the wind, and then fall off again; not that it would have made much difference in the end, orange and green. though it would have given them half an hour longer of life." "could we get a boat off with a line if she strikes?" "look at the sea, yer honor. mr. walter has been asking us; but there's no boat could get through that surf, not if all ireland dipinded on it." "where is walter?" "sure and i can't tell ye, yer honor. he was here a few minutes since; but what's come of him is more nor i can tell ye." "he went off with larry doolan," a boy who was standing next to the fisherman shouted. "then as sure as fate they are up to some mischief," mr. davenant said. "walter is bad enough by himself, but with larry to help him it would take a regiment to look after them." "they can't be in much mischief to-night, yer honor," the fisherman said. "look, sir, she's coming in fast. she draws a power of water, and she will strike in a minute or two." "she seems crowded with men. can nothing be done to help them?" the priest asked. "nothing, your reverence. praying for them is the only thing that can help the poor sowls now." "you are sure it's not possible to launch a boat, con- sidine?" "look for yourself, yer honor. there's not a boat on the coast that could get through them breakers. there she goes." even above the noise of the storm a loud cry was heard and the crash of breaking timber, as with the shock the main and mizzen masts, weakened by the loss of the fore- mast, went over the sides. the next great wave drove the vessel forward two or three fathoms. "that's her last move," considine said. "the rocks will be through her bottom now." orange and green. "they are off," a boy shouted running up. "who are off?" considine asked. "the young squire and larry doolan." "off where?" mr. davenant exclaimed. "off in the curragh, yer honor. me and tim connolly helped them carry it round the nose, and they launched her there. these they are. sure you can see them for yourself." the party rushed out from the shelter, and there, a quarter of a mile along on the right, a small boat was seen making its way over the waves. "be jabers, yer honor, and they have done it," the boatmen said as mr. davenant gave a cry of alarm. "i didn't think of the curragh, and if i had she could not have been launched here. mr. walter has hit on the only place where there was a chance. under the shelter of the nose it might be done, but nowhere else." the nose was a formidable reef of rocks running off from a point and trending to the south. many a ship had gone ashore on its jagged edge, but with the wind from the northeast it formed somewhat of a shelter, and it was under its lee that walter and larry had launched the curragh. the curragh is still found on the irish coast. it is a boat whose greatest width is at the stern, so much so that it looks like a boat cut in two. the floor is almost flat, and rises so much to the bow that three or four feet are entirely out of water. they are roughly built, and by no means fast, but they are wonde/fully good sea- boats for their size, and can live in seas which would swamp a boat of ordinary build. walter had, with the assistance of larry doolan, built this boat for going out fishing. it was extremely light, being a mere framework covered with tarred canvas. as soon as walter had reached the village, and found that the fishermen con- orange and green. sidered that no boat could possibly be put out, he had found and held a consultation with larry. "do you think the curragh could go out, larry?" "not she, yer honor. she would just be broke up like an eggshell with them breakers." "but she might float if wo got beyond them, larry." "she might that," larry agreed, "seeing how light she is." "well, will you go with me, larry?" "sure and i would go anywhere with yer honor, but she could never get out." "i am thinking, larry, that if we carry her along beyond the nose we might find it calmer there." "well, we might," larry agreed. "at any rate we can try." so, calling together two or three other boys, they had lifted the light boat and carried it with its oars along the shore until they got beyond the nose; but even here it was a formidable business to launch her, for although the rocks broke the full force of the seas, throwing the spray hundreds of feet up in the air, the waves poured through the intervals, and dashed over the lower rocks in such masses that formidable waves rolled in to the shore. after much consultation the boys agreed that their best plan was to scramble out on the rocks as far as pos- sible so as to launch the boat beyond the break of the surf. it was a hazardous enterprise, and the whole party were several times nearly washed into the water as they struggled out. at last they reached a spot beyond which they could go no further, as a deep passage was here broken in the rock. but they were now beyond the line of breakers. after several vain efforts to launch the boat, in each of which she narrowly escaped destruction, they agreed that the only plan was, after a wave passed, lb orange and gueen. to drop her on to a flat rock, which then showed above the water, and to jump into her. the two boys on shore were to hold the head rope to prevent her being dashed toward the land by the next wave, while larry worked with the oars to get her away from the ridge. the moment the wave had passed under them the head rope was to be thrown off. this plan was carried out. the two boys had but just time to jump into the boat and get out their oars when the next wave lifted the boat high on its crest. the lads holding the rope were nearly torn from the rock, but they held on till the strain ceased, then they threw in the rope, and walter and larry bent to their oars. "row easy, larry," walter said as the next wave passed under them, "and put her head to each wave." terrible as was the sea, the curragh floated buoyantly over it, though several times, as she rose to the steep waves, walter thought that she would be thrown right over. the worst part of their task was over when they got beyond the end of the nose, for up to that point they were forced to row across the course of the waves, and continually to turn the boat to face the great masses of water which ran between the rocks. but once beyond the end of the reef they turned her head north and rowed straight toward the ship. "she has struck, master walter," larry said, glancing over his shoulder, "and her masts are gone." "lay out, then, larry, there's no time to lose." but in spite of their efforts the boat moved but slowly through the water, for the wind caught her high bow with such force that at times it needed all their strength and skill to keep her head straight. at last they were close to the ship, which already showed signs of break- ing up. they ranged up alongside of it. "fasten a line to a keg ana throw it in," walter shouted. oranqe and green. in a minute a keg was thrown overboard with a line attached. as soon as it drifted a little way from the vessel's side they hauled it into the boat. "now, back, larry; these waves would sink us in a moment if we turn our stern to them." the wreck lay within a hundred yards of the shore, and the boat backed until close to the line where the waves toppled over in a torrent of foam. "now, larry, keep her steady; we are as near as we dare go." then walter stood up in the boat, took the keg and a foot or two of line in his hand, and waited till the next wave passed under the boat. he swung the keg round his head and hurled it toward the shore. then he dropped into his seat and gave two or three vigorous strokes, and, when safely beyond the line of breakers, sat quiet and watched the result. "they have missed it the first time," he said. "look! they are going to run into the surf for it." the group on the shore joined hands, and the next time the keg was borne forward in the tumble of foam considine ran forward and seized it. the back rush took him from his feet, but the others held on, and before the next wave came the line was safely on the beach. a strong cable was soon pulled ashore and firmly fixed. a light line was attached to it, and the sailors at once began to pass along. "shall we turn back now, master walter?" "we will keep near the wreck for a few minutes longer, larry. she can't hold together long, and maybe we can pick somebody up." the vessel was indeed breaking up fast. her stern was burst in, and the waves, as they poured in at the opening, smashed up the deck. many of the crew had been washed overboard, and had instantly disappeared. orange anl green. as the .boat approached the wreck an officer who had climbed the shrouds shouted out: "will your boat hold another?" "yes," walter shouted back, "she will hold two more." "i will try and swim to you," the officer said. he threw off the long cloak in which he was wrapped, and unbuckled his sword and let it drop, unbuttoned and took off his military coat, and with some difficulty got rid of his high boots. "can you come a bit nearer?" he shouted. "we daren't," walter said. "a touch from one of those floating timbers would send us to the bottom." the officer waved his hand and then sprang headfore- most into the sea. so long was he in the water that walter began to think he must have struck against some- thing and was not coming up again, when suddenly he appeared within twenty yards of the boat. they rowed toward him instantly. "you must get in over the stern," walter said. the officer was perfectly cool, and, placing his hands on the stern, drew himself partly over it, and walter, grasping his hand, dragged him in. no sooner was he in than walter again hailed the wreck. "we can carry one more." but those who were still on board were huddled up in the bow waiting their turn for the rope. "there is a big un coming now," larry exclaimed, "that will finish her." a wave, towering far above its fellows, was indeed ap- proaching. higher and higher it rose. there was a wild cry from the wreck as it surged over it. when it had passed the sea was covered with floating timbers, but the vessel was gone. "we can do nothing now," walter said "we daren't orange and green. . go in among that wreckage, and any who get hold of lloating planks will drift ashore. now, larry, back quietly, and let her drift down round the nose. wa must keep her head to the waves." ten minutes and they were abreast of the reef. as soon as they were past it walter gave the word, and they rowed along under its shelter to the point where they had embarked. "now, sir," walter said, "we will back her up to that rock. when we are close enough you must jump." this was safely accomplished. "now, larry, row alongside when the next wave comes; we must both scramble out as well as we can." but by this time help was at hand. the boat had been anxiously watched from the shore, and when, on the dis- appearance of the wreck, she was seen to be making iier way back to the nose, mr. davenant, with considine and the priest, and the boys who had assisted in getting her afloat, hurried along the shore to meet her, the rest of the fishermen remaining behind to aid any who might be washed up from the wreck. as soon as it was seen that they intended to land at the spot where they had started, considine and mr. davenant made their way along the rock and joined the officer just as he leaped ashore. the boat came alongside on the top of the wave, and as this sank it grazed the rock and capsized, but walter and larry grasped the hands stretched out to them, and were hauled on to the rook, while the next wave dashed the eurragh in fragments on the beach. orange and green. chaptek ii. for james or william. « "my dear walter," his father exclaimed as he em- braced his son as he scrambled on shore, "you have be- haved like a hero indeed, but you oughtn't to have done it; and you too, larry. you both deserve a sound thrashing for the fright you have given us." "they may have frightened you, sir," the officer said, "but assuredly i owe my life to these brave lads. i have scarcely thanked them yet, for indeed until i felt my foot on the rock i had but small hopes of reaching shore safely in that cock-boat of theirs. after feeling that great ship so helpless against the waves, it seemed im- possible that a mere eggshell could float over them. my name, sir, is colonel l'estrange, at your •ervice." "my name is davenant, colonel, and i am truly glad that my son has rescued you; but the sooner you are up at my place the better, sir. this is no weather for stand- ing talking in shirt-sleeves." they now made their way along the rock back to the shore, and then hurried to the village. there they learned that six men had succeeded in getting to shore along the rope before the vessel broke up. telling larry he had best have a glass of hot spirits and then turn into bed at once, and that he was to come up to the house the first thing in the morning, mr. davenant, with the priest, colonel l'estrange, and orange and green. walter made his way up to the house, to which the men who had reached the shore had been already taken. the party were met at the door by mrs. davenant, who had been extremely anxious, for godfery had been sent home by his father as soon as the wreck went to pieces, and had brought the news of walter's doings up to that time. "he is quite safe, katherine," mr. davenant said, "but you mustn't stop either to scold him or praise him at present. hurry off, walter, and get between the blankets; i will bring you up some hot spiced wine di- rectly. katherine, this is colonel l'estrange, whom walter has brought ashore in his boat. you will excuse him at present, for he has been for hours exposed to the storm, and must be half-frozen as well as half-drowned. now, colonel, if you will come along with me you will find a bed with hot blankets ready, and i doubt not, a blazing fire. ah, here is the spiced wine; take a draught of that before you go upstairs. you can have another after you are in bed." three more survivors from the wreck were presently brought up. they had been washed ashore on planks, as indeed had many others, but th« rest had all been beaten to death against the rocks by the breakers. walter slept late the next morning, and when he came downstairs found that the others had already finished breakfast. when he had eaten his meal and listened to the gentle scolding which his mother gave him for risk- ing his life, he joined his father, who was, with colonel l'estrange, pacing backward and forward on the terrace in front of the house. the first fury of the storm was over, but it still blew strongly, and a very heavy sea was running, "ah, my young friend," colonel l'estrange said, ad- vancing, "i am glad to see you, and to be able to thank orajyge and gbeen. you more warmly than i was able to do last night, when the very words seemed frozen on my lips, for having saved my life. it was a gallant deed, and one which your father may well be proud of. it showed not only bravery of the highest kind, but coolness and judgment, which are virtues even more rare. i predict a brilliant future for you, and if in any way my aid may be of use to you, believe me, it will be at your service." "it was well you were a good swimmer, sir," walter said, "for we could not have helped you if you had not been able to help yourself, for the sea was covered with pieces of wreck, and as the boat was only covered with canvas the slightest touch from one of the jagged ends would have made a hole in it. i am very much obliged to you for your kind offer of assistance; but at present we have not made up our minds what i am to be; have we, father?" "no, indeed, walter. you have told me that you would like, at any rate for a time, to see something of the world before settling down here for life; but it is no easy matter to say what is best for you to do. ireland offers but little field for any one's ambition. since king james eame to the throne, and especially since tyrconnell be- came governor, things have been a little more favorable for us; and i have hopes yet that justice will be done to the catholic population of this unhappy country. is it not monstrous, colonel l'estrange, that the very men who had a hand in the rebellion against king charles i. should stii< be in possession during the reign of his son of the lands which were taken from my father be- cause he was loyal to his king? and so it is all over ire- land, the descendants of cromwell's men lord it in the homes of t jose who were faithful to king charles." "it certainly seems so, sir," colonel l'estrange said; "but i am no politician. i am simply a soldier, and obey ran e and green. orders; but i own that it does seem a cruel injustice that the great portion of the lands of this country should be held by the descendants of cromwell's soldiers, while the lawful owners, whose only fault was that they were loyal to their king, should still be dispossessed of it." ''but i think better times are coming," mr. davenaut said. "there can be no doubt of the king's leaning to- ward our religion. he has been restrained from carrying his good-will toward us into effect by his privy-council- ors and by the english party here, whose interest it is to prevent any change being made, and who constantly mis- represent the feelings of this country. from the days when strongbow first landed this island has been the prey of adventurers, whose only object has been to wrest the land from the native population." "but you are yourself a descendant of one of the early english settlers, mr. davenant." "that is true enough," mr. davenant said, smiling, "and no doubt he was as bad as the rest of them; but you see we have held the land for some centuries now, and, like the other descendants of strongbow's men, have come to look at matters from the irish point of view rather than the english; however, i hope for better times." "you haven't heard the news, then, about the prince of orange?" "no; what is the news?" mr. davenant asked. "there have been rumors for years that he intended to make a bid for the english throne; but i have heard nothing else." "there was a report before i left london that he has already sailed from holland," colonel l'estrange re- plied; "and indeed i have no doubt the rumor is well founded." "but he will never succeed," mr. davenant said orange and green. eagerly. "he will be put down as easily as monmouth was." "i do not know," colonel l'estrange said gravely. "the protestant feeling in england is very strong. monmouth was vain and empty-headed, and he wrecked his own cause. the dutchman is a different sort of man altogether, and one thing is certain, if king james can make a mess of matters he is sure to do so. the stuarts have always been feeble and indecisive, and james is the most feeble and indecisive of them. if william suc- ceeds in effecting a landing, i think his chance of success is a good one." "he may reign in england," mr. davenant broke in passionately, "but he will not reign in ireland. but for- give me," he broke off. "i forgot for a moment that you are an englishman and my guest." "you need not apologize, mr. davenant. as i said, i am a soldier and no politician. my ancestors were royal- ists, and i have no great love for the dutch stadtholder, who will be supported in england by the class who rose against king charles. at the^eame time it is difficult to feel much enthusiasm for the stuarts. the first was a pedant; the second threw away his chances over and over again by his duplicity and want of faith; the third was utterly selfish and unprincipled; the fourth is a gloomy bigot. charles was, and james is, a pensioner of france. how can men be ready to sacrifice everything for such a race as this?" "that is not the way in which we look at it in ireland," mr. davenant said. "the wars here are waged under various pretenses; some one is goaded into rebellion, false charges are preferred wholesale, or there is a reli- gious pretext; but we all know what is at the bottom of them all, simply the greed of english adventurers for irish land; and not content with having dispossessed the orange and gueen. ancient owners of three-fourths of the cultivated land of the country, they want the remainder, and under the pretense that we, the descendants of the early settlors, are in sympathy with our irish neighbors, they have marked us out for destruction, and already a great por- tion of our estates is in the hands of cromwell's men. so gros have been the abuses that the commission, which the king appointed to inquire into the seizure of our estates, only ventured to sit one day, for the proofs brought forward were so overwhelmingly strong that it was seen at once that did the inquiry continue it would be made manifest to all the world that justice could be satisfied by nothing less than a clear sweep of all those men who have seized our estates. "if ireland rises in favor of king james it will not be for any love for the stuarts; but it will be to recover the land which has been illegally wrested from us, and which, if dutch william and his whig adherents gain the upper hand, will be taken from us forever. the religious ele- ment will, of course, count for much. already we have suffered persecution for our religion; and if the whigs could have their way they would stamp it out utterly with fire and sword. things have looked better during the last five or six years than they have done since crom- well first put foot in ireland. we have begun to hope for justice. tyrconnell has stood up for us, and with the good-will of james has gained many concessions we have now what we never had before, an irish army, the land thieves have been fairly alarmed, for they have seen that the long-delayed justice will be done us at last. many have sold back their land?! to the original owners and ha. left the country; others are only holding out for better terms. another ten years oc james' reign and things would have righted tiieaij.i.es; but if the dutch- man ascends the throne of england there is no hope for ireland save in the sword." orange and green. "well, we must hope it will not come to that," colo- nel l'estrange said. "i am ready to fight the battles of england on the continent, but civil war with all its horrors sickens me; and civil war here is not like our civil war in england. there were no race animosities there, no memory of cruel wrongs on one side or the other; men fought for a principle, but there were no atrocities committed on either side like those which have devastated germany. the peasant plowed the land, and the trader kept open his shop unmolested. it is true that toward the end there were confiscations of the prop- erty of those who still continued the strife, and a few executions of individuals; but, taking it as a whole, no war has ever caused so little suffering to the people at large as did the civil war in england; but assuredly a war in ireland now, like those which have gone before, would be marked by the foulest atrocities,, massacres, and de- struction on both sides." "yes," mr. davenant said, "i must own that for downright brutal and bloody ferocity the wars in ireland rival those of the huns." walter had listened in silence to this conversation. his father now turned to him. "have you heard whether larry has recovered from his adventure of yesterday as well as you have?" "no, father, i have not heard anything about it. i came out here directly i finished my breakfast. how are the people who were brought up here?" "they are going on well, walter, but they were all so bruised as they were being drawn up through the surf that it will bo some days before any of them can leave their beds. how many had you on board, colonel?" "i did not see the list of passengers, but there were twelve or fourteen aft, and from what i saw i should think as many more forward; there were twenty-three orange and green. which my aid may be useful, you have only to let me know and i will stand your friend." the sum appeared to larry to be enormous. "long life to yer honor, and it's proud i am to have been of service to such a grand gentleman. it's thank- ful i am for your kindness, and if ever you want a boy to do a job for you it's myself that will be proud to do it. as to yesterday, i just came because the young squire tould me to, and thankful i am that he got back safe to shore, for if we had been drowned i don't know whatever i should have said to the squire." two days after the shipwreck walter and john white- foot met at the place which they had agreed on when they last saw each other four days before. "i heard of your brave deed on the night of the storm, walter—every one is talking of it; and even my grand- father, who has seldom a good word for any of you at the castle, said that it was a noble deed. it was as much as i could do not to say, 'yes, he is a friend of mine;' for i felt proud of you, i can tell you." "it is all nonsense, john. i have often been out in a curragh in bad weather, though never in quite such a storm as that; but, once launched, she rode lightly enough, and scarce shipped a spoonful of water." "i should like to have been there," john said; "but i should have been no use. my people have always been against my going down to the sea, deeming it a pure waste of time, except that they let me go down to swim. i can do that well, you know; but they have always for- bidden my going out in boats. now, you see, it is proved that it is not a waste of time, for you have been able to save many lives. the thought must make you very happy." "weil, i don't know that it does particularly," walter said carelessly. "of course i was glad at the time, but i ra kg r a nt) green. have not thought much about it one way or the other since. you see the news that lias come has driven every- thing else out of our heads." "is it true, then, the report that we heard yesterday, that william of orange has,set out for england?" "yes, it is true enough; and i am afraid, by what i hear, that it is likely to cause all sorts of troubles." "i suppose so," john said gravely; "and of course in this matter my people think differently from yours. you know we agreed that we would never talk on these sub- jects, but i am afraid the time is coming when there will be nothing else to be talked of." "i am afraid so too, john. father thinks that there will be civil war again." "of course my grandfather is delighted," john said quietly; "he has been greatly disturbed in his mind for some months owing to the leanings of king james toward the irish, which seem to point to his having to give up no small portion of the lands." ""we thought so too, john; and although it is your father who would lose and mine who would gain, i don't think that even you can deny that it would be reasonable. your grandfather got the land from mine because he fought for oromwell against the king, and cromwell got the best of it. well, it seems only reasonable that when the king again came to the throne, those who fought for him should get their own again." "it does seem so, walter, i must own; and i am sure i should not have cared for myself if the land was given back again to your father to-morrow. then i suppose we should go back to england; and as i know my grand- father has done well and has laid by a good deal of money, they could take a farm there; and there would be more chance of their letting me enter upon some handicraft. i would rather that by a great deal than orange and green. farming. all these books you have lent me, walter, have shown me what great and noble deeds there are to be done in the world—i don't mean in fighting, you know, but in other ways. and they make the life here, toiling on the farm irom sunrise to sunset with no object save" that of laying by every year more money, seem terribly empty and worthless. "by the way, my grandfather was yesterday evening rating my father because, instead of always keeping me hard at work, he allowed me once or twice a week to be away for hours wasting my time—which means, though he didn't know it, going about with you. my father said stoutly that he did not thin'; the time was altogether wasted, for that in the last two years i had made a nota- ble advance in learning, and he was satisfied that i had benefited much by these intervals of recreation. there- upon my grandfather grumbled that i was too fond of reading, and that i was filling my mind with all sorts of nonsense, whereas true wisdom was to be found in one book only. "my father said that was true of religious wisdom, but that for the advancement of the world it was needed that men should learn other things. of course my grand- father had three or four texts ready at hand; but my father had him by saying: 'you see, father, all the com- mands issued to the jews are not strictly applicable to us —for example, they were ordered not to use horses; and i do not remember that cromwell felt that he was doing wrong when he raised his ironsides.' that was a poser, and so the matter dropped." ten days later, when the boys met, john said: "this is the last time we shall meet for some time, walter, for i am going up to derry to stay with a cousin of my father who is settled there and exercises the trade of a currier. i said some months ago that i should like orange and green. to learn a trade, but every one was against it then; they seemed to think that, as i should some day have the land, it was flying in the face of providence to think of any- thing else. but i suppose the fact that everything is so unsettled now, and that there is no saying what may come of these events in england, may have made them think differently. "at any rate my father said to me yesterday: 'we have been talking over what you said about wishing to learn a trade. if all goes on well there is no occasion for you to learn any business save that of farming; but none can say what the lord may not have in store for us, or what troubles may come upon us. in any case it will do you no harm to see a little of the world outside our farm; and therefore your grandfather and i have settled that you shall go for a few months to my cousin, who, as you know, is a currier in derry. he has often written asking you to go and stay with him, seeing that he has no chil- dren of his own. learn what you can of his business; and if it should be that you find it more to your liking than farming, i should not be one to hold you back from following the bent of your inclinations. "'but this is between ourselves. my father's ideas on these subjects you know, and it would cause much trouble did he think that you had any idea of not follow- ing in the path in which he and i have trod. but to me it seems better that each should go on the path toward which his mind is turned—that is, when he has made quite sure, after long reflection and prayer, that it is no idle whim but a settled, earnest desire. if, then, after your visit to your uncle you feel that you are truly called to follow a life other than that you would lead here, i shall not oppose you. the lord has blessed our labors, the land is fertile, and i can well provide the moneys that will be needful to start you either in business with my cousin, or in such way as may appear best.' orange and green. "i thanked him gravely, but, indeed, walter, i had difficulty in restraining myself from shouting with joy, for a life like that of my father and grandfather here would be very grievous to me. i have no desire to gain greater wealth than we have, but long for a higher life than this." "i don't know, john," walter said doubtfully. "un- less, as you say, these troubles make a difference, you will be a large land-owner some day; and these bitter- nesses will die out in time, and you will take a very dif- ferent position from that which your grandfather holds. of course we regard him as a usurper, but you know in the third generation the grandson of a usurper becomes a legitimate monarch. my ancestors usurped the land from the native irish by the sword, just as your grand- father did from us; but we came in time to be regarded as the natural lords of the soil, and so will you. but to be a currier!—that strikes me as a tremendous come down!" "i care nothing about coming up or coming down," john said simply; "i long only for an honest mode of life, in which, instead of dwelling solitary, and seeing no one from year to year save at our sabbath meetings, i may mix with others and take part in a more active and busy life. in itself i do not suppose that the trade of a currier is a very pleasant one; but that matters little if' when work is done one has leisure for some sort of com- munication with others and for improving one's mind. it will be to me something like what going to court in london would be to you, walter. i am most grieved about my mother; she will miss me sorely. "she said to me last night, 'i fear somewhat, john, that the course i have taken with you has greatly unfitted you for settling down here as we have done before you; but although i shall rrtiss you sadly, i do not blame my- orange and green. self for what i have done. i think myself, my son, that there are higher lives than that spent in tilling the soil from boyhood to old age. it is true the soil must be tilled. there must be ever hewers of wood and drawers of water; but god has appointed for each his place, and i think, my son, that you have that within you which would render the life with which your father and grand- father have been well-contented an irksome one for you. i have no fear that we shall be always separated. your grandfather is an old man, and when the lord pleases to take him, your father and i will be free to do as we choose, and can, if we like, dispose of this land and quit this troubled country and settle in england or else- where near where you may be. it is true that we shall get little for the land; for, broad as are its acres, who will give much for a doubtful title? but there is ample laid by for our old age, and i see not the sense of laboring in- cessantly, as does your grandfather, merely to lay up stores which you will never enjoy. did i see any signs of a decrease in the bitter animosity which parties feel toward each other here i might think differently; but there is no prospect of peace and good-will returning in your time, and therefore no object in your father and i toiling on for the rest of our lives when the return of our labor will be of little worth to you. such being so, i do not regret that your thoughts turn to the world of which you have read in books. the world is but a secondary . consideration to us, 'tis true, but i can see no special goodness in a life of dull monotony.'" "i wonder where your mother got hold of her ideas, john; she is so different from most of your people?" "she is indeed," john agreed. "it was from her mother that she received her teaching. i know she was not happy with her husband, who was as gloomy and fanatical as is my grandfather, and she ever looked back orange and green. to the happy days of her girlhood in england. i think she did for my mother just what my mother has done for me, only the difference is that she never had sufficient influence with her husband to enable her to carry out her views for her daughter, while my mother" "has managed to have her own way," walter laughed. "i suppose so, and that in spite of my grandfather. certainly i owe everything to her, for i am sure if it hadn't been for her my father would never have ventured to oppose the old man, even so far as to let me know you. it makes one sad to think, walter, that religion should sometimes make those who think most of it tyrants in their families. my grandfather is terribly earnest in his religion. there is no pretense or mistake about it; but, for all that, or rather because of it, he would, if he could, allow no one else to have a will or opinion of his own." "i don't think it's the religion, john, but the manner of the religion. my mother and grandmother are both as religious as any one could be; but i don't think i ever heard either of them say a hard word of a soul. their religion is a pleasure to them and not a task, and i know that some years ago, when we had a priest who was al- ways denouncing the protestants, they very soon man- aged to get him changed for another. what a funny thing it is, to be sure, that people should quarrel about their religion! after all, we believe all the same impor- tant things; and as to others, what does it matter, pro- vided we all do our best in the way that seems right to us?" but this was too liberal for john. he had been brought up in too strait a sect to subscribe to such an opinion as this. "i do think it makes a difference, walter," he said slowly. "i don't," walter said; "it's just a matter of bringing orange and green. up. if you had been bom in the castle, and i had been born in your place, you would have thought as i do, and i should have thought as you do; and of course still more if you had been born in a catholic country like italy, where you would never have heard of protestant- ism, and i had been born in a protestant country like holland, where i should never have had a chance of be- coming a catholic. very few people ever change their religion; they just live and die as they have been boru and educated." "it seems so," john said after a pause; "but the ques- tion is too deep for us." "quite so," walter laughed, "and i don't want to argue it. well, when are you going to start?" "i am off to-morrow morning. my father has an ac- quaintance in dublin who is starting for derry, and i am to go in his charge." for another hour the boys chatted together, and then with mutual promises of writing regularly, whenever they had the chance, they said good-by, and the follow- ing morning john started with his father to dublin, and next day journeyed north toward derry. orange-and green. the same measures against the protestants. both reports were equally false, but they were generally believed, and added to the panic and dismay. in fact, however, both parties were waiting. the protestants dared not com- mence hostilities until assured that william was firmly seated on the english throne and ready to come to their assistance; the catholics were equally desirous to main- tain the peace until assured that no hope remained save the sword. a month after john whitefoot had left, walter re- ceived a letter from him: "dear friend walter: you will have heard, no doubt, of the troubles that have arisen here. my father sent me here to learn a trade, but at present all men's minds are so agitated that there is no talk save of arms and of lighting. my kinsman is as bad as the other.--. he spends the day going hither and thither among the townsfolk, and has been made an officer in one of the six companies which have been raised here, and pays no fur- ther heed to business. the town is mightily divided: the younger and more zealous spirits are all for fighting, while almost all the older and wealthier citizens are op- posed to this. "this is how the trouble began. the earl of tyrcon- nell sent, as you know, three thousand soldiers to help king james at the first news of the landing of the prince and to do so he withdrew the regiment which was in gar- rison in this town. on the ?th of this month of decem- ber the people here heard that the regiment of the earl of antrim was approaching the town to take the place of those troops. when the news arrived there was a sort of panic in the town and the news was spread that this regi- ment was intended to massacre the people. "why this should be i do not know and i cannot but think that the alarm was a false one; however, the regi- ment arrived on the river bank, and some of its officers crossed and entered the city. when they were in coun- cil with some of the leading citizens a party of appren- tices, with some of the rabble, shut the gates. for some time there was great debate. the older citizens were orange and green. mostly in favor of admitting the earl's regiment. why, they asked, should derry alone defy the power of tyrcon- nell and king james? if king william made his cause good and came over to ireland to aid the protestants, it would be time enough for the men of derry to join him and to fight for their faith; but if they now stood alone they could do no good to the cause of king william, and would bring destruction on themselves and their city. "but these arguments were of no avail. the appren- tices and all the young men of the town, and the fugi- tives who had come in from the country round, were all for fighting, and so the gates were kept shut; and lord a.ntrim, seeing that he could do nothing against such a strong place as derry, marched away with his regiment. this seems to me a fair account of what has happened. what will come of it i know not; but, being a protestant, my feelings would incline me to the side of william. yet it seems to me that his friends here have acted hastily in thus adventuring themselves against all the forces of king jame , and that sore trouble is like to come upon the town. however, it is not for me to judge. i am as warm as any of them in defense of our religion, and shall try to do my best in case of need. i am sorry, dear walter, that we have to take different sides in this quar- rel, but of course we are each of the opinion of our elders, and must not blame each other for what is indeed not of our own choosing. "this is a fair city, standing on rising ground by a stately river, and with strong walls; and at any other time life would be very pleasant here, although living among so many people seems strange to me after my life on the farm. i near all sorts of tales about fighting in other parts, and of the slaughter of protestants by kap- parees, but know not whether they are true. as my cousin, who is an earnest man, is wholly taken up with the present affairs, and all business is at a stand, i have little to do, and spend much of my time by the riverside, and have taken to fishing, which i like mightily, and yes- terday i caught a fish weighing three pounds, and we had him for dinner. i often wish you were with me. write me a long letter and tell me all that you are doing. "your affectionate friend, "john whitefoot." orange and green. indeed, throughout all ireland preparations for war were going on. aj over the north the protestants wore banding themselves in arms; and, under the excuse of some outrages committed by a few isolated parties of peas- ants known as rapparees, were everywhere harrying the catholics, carrying fire and sword into quiet villages, burning, slaying, and carrying off their grain and cattle. throughout the whole of ulster, charlemont and car- rickfergus alone remained in the hands of king james' troops. england and scotland had now accepted william as their king, and james had fled to france. with the exception of ulster, ireland remained stanch to king james. in the south lord inshiquin, and in connaught lord kingston, had each raised corps among the prot- estants settlers for william, and were the first to com- mence hostilities, and the latter, marching north, made an attack on carrickfergus. tyrconnell now issued commissions to several of the catholic nobility and gentry to raise troops for the king's service, and as the people responded to the call readily some fifty regiments of foot and several troops of horse were soon raised. but though men were forthcoming in abundance, there was a great want of arms and all muni- tions of war. there were in the government stores only twenty thousand arms, and most of these were old weap- ons that had been returned to store as unserviceable, and only about a thousand muskets were found to be of any use. there was no artillery or ammunition, and no money with which these necessaries could be purchased abroad. the gentry would have willingly contributed, but all had been well-nigh ruined by the confiscation of their property, and could do little toward filling the treasury. never did a nation enter upon a war so badly provided orange and green. with all necessaries as did ireland when she resolved to adhere to the cause of her king and to resist the power of england and scotland, aided by that of holland and the protestant states of germany. mr. davenant had been one of the first to respond to the invitation of tyrconnell, and had set about raising a troop of horse. he had no difficulty in getting the num- ber of men in bray and the surrounding villages, and the difficulty in mounting them was overcome by the patriot- ism of sundry gentlemen and citizens of dublin, who willingly contributed their spare horses to the king's service. their arms were various. some had swords, some short pikes, while a few only had pistols; but the smiths everywhere toiled hard converting scythes and reaping- hooks into swords and pikes, and before they were ready to take the field the whole troop were provided with swords. "walter had eagerly begged his father to ap- point him cornet of the troop, and mr. davenant might have yielded had it not been for his wife's entreaties. even old mrs. davenant, intensely loyal as she was to the cause of james, sided with her daughter-in-law. "of course, fergus, you will do your duty to the king. it would indeed be a shame for a davenant to hold back; hut at walter's age there can be no occasion for him, as yet, to take a commission. i am ready to give my son as i gave my husband to the king; and when walter be- comes a man he too must go if duty demands it; but for the present, assuredly there is no reason why such a boy should mix himself up in this unhappy struggle. be- sides, if aught befalls you it is to him that his mother will have to look in the future. there are hundreds and thousands of strong and active men in ireland, and the necessity has not yet come for boys to take the field." so walter, to his intense disappointment, was refused orange and green. the cornetcy of the troop, but his father, who fully en- tered into his feelings, finally told him that when the troop took the field he should accompany him. "you are not to carry arms, walter, or to mix yourself up in any way with it. you will be a sort of camp-fol- lower, you know; but you will see all that goes on, and will be able to prepare yourself to take your place in the ranks if the war should unhappily go on for any time." with this walter had to be satisfied; and, indeed, al- though somewhat disappointed at not being at once allowed to join the troop, he felt sure that it would not be very long before his father, once away from the influ- ence of his wife and mother, would allow him to join. "may i take larry with me, father? he would look after my horse, and would be useful to you for running messages and all sorts of things. he wants to go very much; you see his uncle and two or three of his cousins have joined the troop, and he would have joined too if you had not thought him too young." "the worst of you and larry is, that you are always getting into some scrape together," mr. davenant said with a smile. "but i should not get into scrapes on such a business as this," walter said indignantly. "this is a serious affair, and of course going with you i should be very particular." "yes, as long as i was close by, avalter; however, i don't mind your taking larry; he would, as you say, be useful, and you will want somebody to look after your horse and act as your servant. we may be separated sometimes, for the troop may be sent on detached service when i could not take you with me." the permission to take larry quite reconciled walter to the downfall of his hopes of going as cornet, and in high spirits he hastened down to the village to tell larry that his father had consented to his accompanying him. orange and green. all through january mr. davenant was busy drilling his troop. throughout all ireland both parties were pre- paring for the storm which was soon to burst. lord mountjoy, a protestant nobleman, was sent with his regi- ment, which consisted for the most part of protestants, to derry. he held a meeting with the leading towns- people, who agreed to admit the protestant soldiers, upon the condition that no more troops were sent. accord- ingly, the protestant troops, under colonel lundy, entered the town, and lord mountjoy assumed the gov- ernorship. tyrconnell soon perceived that he had made a mistake in sending mountjoy to derry, for instead of overawing the inhabitants, his regiment had in fact become a part of the rebel garrison; he therefore recalled mountjoy and sent him over to france on the pretense of an embassy to king james, but as soon as he arrived there he was treacherously thrown into prison. the people of derry received quantities of powder and arms from scotland, and on the th of february the prince of orange was formally proclaimed king in derry; and this example was followed throughout ulster. this was, in fact, the beginning of the war. anxious to save ireland from the horrors of civil war, lord granard and other protestant noblemen of the council joined tyrcon- nell in issuing a proclamation, ordering the protestant corps to lay down their arms; and as they did not obey, lieutenant-general hamilton was dispatched to the north with a thousand regular troops and a considerable num- ber of irregulars. these came up with the insurgents at dromore, and defeated them with great slaughter. they rallied at hillsborough, but again wore defeated and scattered. hamilton divided his force, and marching through the north reduced ulster to submission, with the exception bang s am) green. only of the fortified towns of lnniskiilen and derry. in the south general mccarty was equally successful in clearing munster of william's adherents, and defeated lord inshiquin in every encounter. on the th of march mr. davenant, who had ridden into dublin, returned in the evening with the news that the king had landed at kinsale two days before, -with fifteen hundred irish troops in the pay of france, and a hundred french officers, intended to aid in drilling the new levies. "i am glad, indeed, that he has arrived, for had he been met on the seas by the english fleet all our hopes might have been dashed at a blow. now that he is with us it will rouse the enthusiasm of the people to the ut- most. if he is wise he will surely be able to unite all ireland under him, save of course the fanatics of the north, who, however, can do nothing against the whole strength of the country, since hamilton's little force alone has been sufficient to put down all opposition, save where they remain shut up behind the walls of derry and enniskillen. it is not with them that we have to cope alone—they would be utterly powerless—it is with the army of england and scotland we shall have to fight. unfortunately we have no fleet, and they can land wher- ever they choose; but now the king is really among us, all who have hitherto wavered will join. let england and scotland choose their king as they will, but there is no reason why ireland should desert its rightful monarch at their bidding." "when will the king arrive at dublin, father?" "he goes first to cork, walter; tyrconnell has set out, and will meet him there. they say he will be here in about ten days' time. the french ambassador, the mar- quis d'avaux, comes with him, and many french nobles." "do you think, father, he will at once order that his orange and green. friends shall receive the laud again which was taken from them by cromwell's soldiers?" "i hope not, my boy. it is his interest and not our own we must think of now; and if ireland is to resist successfully the english and continental troops of dutch william, we must be united—we must be irishmen first, catholics and protestants afterward. i trust that he will issue such proclamations as will allay the alarm of the protestants and bind us all together. "king james is not like his father. in no single case since he came to the throne has he broken his royal word once given; therefore all may feel confidence in any promises he may make. i have, of course, no hope that anything he can say will influence the fanatics of derry and enniskillen, but we can afford to disregard them. they are entailing misery and suffering upon themselves without the slightest benefit to the cause they advocate. if we beat the english, of course those places must finally surrender; if the english beat us, they will get their dutch william as king, without any effort on their part. i think myself that it will be very unwise to at- tempt anything against those two places. the people there can shut themselves up in their walls as long as they like, and by so doing can in no way harm us. if we take their towns it will only add to the bad blood that already exists. better by far leave them to themselves, until the main battle is fought out." on the d tie news came that the king was to arrive in dublin the next day, and mr. davenant, or, as he was now called, captain davenant, went over with all the gentry of the neighborhood to meet him. king james was received with enthusiasm. addresses were presented to him by the several public bodies and by the clergy of the established church. his answer to these addresses gave satisfaction to all. he promised favor and protection to the established protestant church; issued an invitation to the protestants who had fled the kingdom to return to their homes, and assured them of safety and his particular care; and he com- manded that, with the exception of the military, no catholics should carry arms in dublin. finally, he sum- moned a parliament to meet him in dublin on the th of may. one day a messenger arrived with a dispatch for cap- tain davenant. "we are to move into dublin to-morrow, walter," he said when he read it. "we are to take the field at once; the king himself is going to march in command of us against derry. i think his majesty is wrong; and i know that tyrconnell has argued strongly against his in- tention. there are three reasons against it. first, as i told you, i think it were better to leave derry alone until the main issue is settled; secondly, king james has no military experience whatever, and if aught goes wrong with the expedition he will lose prestige; thirdly, al- though it were well for him to be with the army when it fights a foreign foe, it were better that he should not lead it against men who are, however much they may rebel against him, his own subjects. "i know tyrconnell has set forth these objections to him; but unhappily obstinacy is a fault of all the stuart race, and it generally happens that they are most obsti- nate when most wrong. however, i trust that when derry sees so strong a force marching against it, it will open its gates without resistance. a siege can only en- tail horrible suffering on the town; and that suffering will in the end tell against james' cause, for it will excite the sympathy of the protestants in england and scotland and make them all the hotter to conquer ireland." the following day the troop was mustered in front of orange and green. the castle, and, after a tender farewell to his wife and mother, captain davenant placed himself at their head and rode off. a quarter of an hour later walter, with larry doolan on a rough little pony by his side, rode after the troop. dublin was reached in the afternoon. the town presented a festive appearance; the principal streets were still draped with the flags which had been hung out at the king's entry five days before. the streets were thronged with people, for loyalists had come in from all parts of the country to welcome the king. large numbers of men belonging to the newly raised regiments wandered among the crowd, and with these were mingled the french uniforms of the irish troops who had come over with james. the troop was loudly cheered by the crowd as it passed through the town to the spot assigned to it in the camp of the force gathered near the city. walter and larry rode a short distance behind the troop, and joined it as soon as it reached the ground allotted to it. "it was a brave sight, father, was it not, to see the city decked out and all the people cheering for the king? dublin is setting a fine example—isn't it?" "you must not set much weight upon the cheering of a crowd, walter. i do not say that the people of dublin may not at the present moment be loyal to the king; but if he were defeated and william were to march in, you would see that they would cheer him just as heartily. the mob of london cheered king james as he passed through it a week before he was so ill advised as to fly, and they threw up their hats for joy a fortnight later for william. no, my boy—there is no dependence on a mob. they worship success, and the king who is present is sure to be vastly more dear to them than the king who is absent. and now you had better help larry picket your horses. put them by the side of mine. see how orange and oreen. the troopers fasten theirs, and do yours the same. when that is done send larry to get hold of some wood and light a fire; it will be cold when the sun goes down. as for food, we have brought enough with us for to-night; to-morrow, i suppose, we shall get rations." captain davenant now posted a certain number of men to look after the horses, and the rest set off to cut fire- wood; and in an hour four or five great fires were blaz- ing. forage was served out for the horses from the stores which had been collected, and also a truss of straw to every three soldiers as bedding. walter had in the mean- time strolled away among the other camps, and was greatly amused at the various shifts and contrivances that the men had made to make themselves comfortable. a few only of the officers had tents; for these, as well as all other necessaries of war, were wanting; and the troops, who had for some little time been in camp there, had raised all sorts of shelter from the weather. some had constructed little huts of turf thatched with straw or rushes; others had erected little tents, some of sail-cloth obtained from the shipping, others of blankets, coarse linen cloaks, or any other articles on which they could lay hands. all were in high spirits at the prospect of the termination of the monotony of continued drill and of the commencement of active campaigning. huge fires blazed everywhere, and the country for some distance round had been completely stripped of its wood. everywhere was life and bustle. men were cleaning their arms preparatory to the march of next day; others were cooking at the fires; troopers were grooming their horses; snatches of song and loud laughter rose in the air. after wandering about for an hour walter rejoined his father. captain davenant was sitting with the two officers of his troop, lieutenant o'driscoll and cornet heron, by a fire, the materials for which the three troop- orange and green. ers who acted as their servants had collected. there was no cooking to be done, for sufficient cold provisions had been brought with the troop. "you are just in time, walter," his father said; "we are going to fall to at once at our meal. hand over that cold chicken, larry; and do you, tim donelly, broach that keg of claret. give me the bread, fergus—that's right. now, gentlemen, here's a hunch each; plates are a luxury which we must do without in the field. now let us fall to." walter seated himself on a truss of straw beside his father, and thought he had never enjoyed a meal so much in his life as the bread and cold chicken, eaten as they were in the open air in front of the crackling fire. each was provided with a horn, and these were filled from the keg. "here's to the king, gentlemen; success to his arms!" all stood up to drink the toast, and then continued their meal. three chickens vanished rapidly, and the troopers kept their horns filled with claret. "if we always do as well as that," captain davenamt said as they finished the meal, "we shall have no reas«n to grumble. but i fear that's too much to expect. bring me my pipe and tobacco, larry; you will find them in the holsters of my saddle. fergus, do you undo these trusses and lay the straw out even—that will do. now, lads, you will find plenty more provisions in the wallet. do you go and get your own suppers, then give an eye to the horses. we shall not want anything more." for two or three hours the three officers and walter sat chatting by the fire, occasionally piling on fresh logs. gradually the din of voices in the camp died away and the bright fires burned down. "i think we had better turn in," captain davenant said at last. "we must be astir an hour before daylight, for we march as soon as it's light." orange and gueen. rolling themselves in their long cloaks, they lay down upon the straw. it was some time before walter got to sleep. the novelty of the situation and the strangeness of lying with the night air blowing in his face made him unusually wakeful. occasionally, too, a laugh from some party who were sitting late round their fire attracted his attention, and the sound of the snorting and pawing of the horses also kept him awake; but at last he, too, went off to sleep. in spite of his warm cloak he felt stiff and chilled when the sound of the trumpets and drums roused the camp. "well, walter, how do you like sleeping in the open air?" his father said as he rose to his feet and shook himself. "i don't mind the sleeping, father, but the waking is not so pleasant; however, i shall soon get accustomed to it, i suppose. but i always did hate getting up in the dark even when we were going out fishing." "you won't always get as comfortable a bed as this, walter; so don't expect it. the time will come ere long when you will look back upon this as absolute luxury. we are not likely to get straw another night, i can tell you. now, fergus, bring that wallet here. we must breakfast before we get in the saddle." walter came to the conclusion that breakfast eaten in the dark was a very inferior meal to dinner before a great fire; however, he kept his thoughts to himself, and, as soon as he had finished, went to aid larry in saddling the horses. "i suppose i can ride with you to-day, father?" he said as he mounted. "yes; there will not be any military display by the "way. many of the soldiers have got nothing in the way of uniform at present. so you can ride with me. but if any general officer comes along, you must draw off a orange and green. little and drop behind with larry, who will follow in the rear of the troop." as soon as daylight appeared the bugles gave the signal, and the force, preceded by its cavalry, started on its march toward the north. grange and green. chaptek iv. the siege of derry. there was an air of excitement in the streets of derry. knots of people were gathered talking excitedly, women stood at the doors of all the houses, while men moved aimlessly and restlessly about between the groups, listened for a time to a speaker, and then moved on again. the work of strengthening the defenses, which had gone on incessantly for the last three months, had ceased, while numbers of persons were gathered on the walls looking anxiously toward the south. a general air of gloom and despondency hung over the place; the storm which derry had braved was gathering around it at last. king james and his troops were advancing against it. opinion was strongly divided in the city; almost with- out exception the older citizens deprecated resistance. the walls, indeed, were strong and the position formi- dable. the king had no artillery worth speaking of, and the walls, manned by brave men, might well for a definite time resist assault; but the stores of food could not long support the large population now gathered in the town, and there seemed no possibility whatever of assistance from england before the horrors of famine would be upon them. to what purpose, then, oppose resistance, which must, even if successful, cause frightful sufferings to the inhabitants, and which, if unsuccessful, would hand over the city to the vengeance of james. orange and green. the garrison had been strengthened by two regiments and a vast quantity of supplies. but including every- thing there were but provisions for ten days, and as many weeks might elapse before assistance could come. the younger and more ardent spirits were for resistance to the last. "better," they said, "die of hunger than sur- render the protestant stronghold to the papists." every hour brought crowds of fugitives, the inhabitants of all the villages deserting their homes at the approach of the royal forces, and flying, with what goods they could carry, to derry. archdeacon hamilton had arrived with a message from the king, offering that if the city would, within four days, surrender, there should be an amnesty to all for past offenses, and that the property of all the inhabitants should be respected. this proposition was now being considered by the governor and his council, together with all the principal officers of the english regiments. john whitefoot had been out all day, and had just re- turned to his cousin's house, which was crowded with fugitives, as the tanner had friends and connections in all the villages, and had opened his doors to all who sought shelter, until every room was filled. it was a pitiful sight to see women with their babies in their arms and their children gathered round them sit- ting forlornly, almost indifferent to the momentous con- sultation which was going on, and thinking only of their deserted homes and wondering what had befallen them. the men had for the most part been out in the streets gathering news. the tanner's wife, assisted by two or three of the women, was busy at the great fire on the hearth, over which hung some huge pots in which broth and porridge were being prepared. one by one the men dropped in. no news had yet been heard as to the de- cision of the council. it was dark when the tanner him- self entered. his face was stern and pale. orange and green. "it is settled," he said shortly, "the council have broken up. i have just spoken to one of the members. they and the officers are unanimously in favor of accept- ing the terms of james." exclamations of anger broke from some of the men. "i cannot say aught against it," the tanner said, "though my heart feels well-nigh broken. had we only men here i should say let us fight to the last, but look at all these women and children; think what thousands and thousands of them are in the town. truly i cannot blame the council that they have decided not to bring this terrible suffering upon the city." "the lord will provide for his own," a minister who had come in with his flock said. "friend, i had looked for better things from you. i thought that you were steadfast in the cause of the lord, and now that the time of trouble comes you fall away at once. remember how sennacherib and his host died before jerusalem. can- not the lord protect londonderry likewise?" "the age of miracles is past," the tanner said. "did we not see in germany how magdeburg and other protes- tant cities were destroyed with their inhabitants by the papists? no, brother williams, the wicked are suffered to work their will here when they are stronger than the godly, and we must look for no miracles. i am ready to fight, and, had the council decided otherwise, would have done my share to the last, but my heart sickens as i look round on the women, the weak, and ailing. did james demand that we should renounce our religion, i would say let us all die by sword or famine rather than consent; but he has offered toleration to all, that none shall suffer for what has been done, and that the property as well as the lives of all shall be respected. truly it seems to me that resistance would be not bravery but a sort of mad- ness. there are promises of aid from england; but how orange and green. long may we have to wait for them, and there are but tea days' provisions in the town. if these english officers of king william think that resistance is hopeless, why should i, who know naught of war, set myself against them?" "because they have not faith," the minister said, "and you should have faith; because they think only of carnal weapons, and you should trust to the lord. re- member leyden, how help came when all seemed lost." "i do," the tanner replied, "and i remember how the women and children suffered and died, how they dropped in the streets and perished with famine in their houses; i remember this, and i shrink from saying let us resist to the end. i should rejoice if they had decided that derry should be deserted, that the women and children should be sent away to shelter in the mountains of donegal, and that every man should march out and do combat with the army of james. we are numerous and far better armed than the papists, and victory might be ours; but were it otherwise, were every man fated to fall on the field, i would still say let us march forward. it is not death that i fear, but seeing these weak and helpless ones suffer. i should not envy the feelings of the men who decided on resistance, when the time came that the women and children were dying of hunger around them. there is a time to fight, and a time to sheathe the sword and to wait until a chance of drawing it successfully again arrives, and methinks that, having such good terms offered, the present is the time for waiting." the preacher waved his hand impatiently, and, wrap- ping himself in his cloak, left the house without another word. the next day the capitulation was signed, and the following day the army of james was seen approach- ing, and presently halted on a hill within cannon-shot of the town. orange and green. londonderry stands in a bend of the river foyle, and the position which the army took up at once isolated it from the surrounding country. the offer of capitulation had already been sent out to general hamilton by cap- tain white, the bearer receiving instructions to stipulate that the army should not advance within four miles of the town until all was ready to hand over the city. in the meantime general eosen, who was in chief command of the army, stationed it so as to extend from one corner of the bend of the river to the other, and so to cut off all communication between the city and the surrounding country; but in the course of the day a country gentle- man named murray made his way through their lines with a body of cavalry and rode up to the gate of the town. the governor refused to open it, but in spite of his orders some of the townspeople opened the gate, and murray rode into the town, and, going from point to point, exhorted the people not to surrender but to resist to the last, accusing the governor and council of foul treachery in thus handing over the city. the confusion and excitement in the streets was now great, and while this was going on the governor sent a trumpeter to the king requiring one hour's time before the city should surrender. rosen took no notice of this, and, believing that all was arranged, rode forward with the king and a portion of the army. but murray's exhortations and passionate harangues had their effect; a number of the townspeople ran to the walls, and, loading the cannon, opened, with these and their muskets, a heavy fire on the approaching troops. several of the soldiers were killed, and among them was captain troy, who was riding close to the king. astonished at this unexpected resistance the troops (jo orangh and grken. of energy and judgment as well as enthusiastic and fanatical, and he at once gave evidence of his fitness for the post, and set himself diligently to work to establish order in the town. he issued orders that all unable to bear arms who wished to leave the town could do so, while the able- bodied men, now formed into regiments, were assigned every man his place and every regiment its quarters on the walls. no less than thirty thousand fugitives, ex- clusive of the garrison, were shut up in the walls of derry, and the army which was besieging the town num- bered twenty thousand. the guns of the besiegers soon opened fire, and those on the walls replied briskly. the besiegers threw up works, but carried on the siege but languidly, feeling sure that famine must ere long force the town to surrender, and fearing, perhaps, to engage the fresh and ill-trained levies against a multitude ani- mated by the desperate resolution and religious fanaticism of the defenders of the town. now that the die was once cast there was no longer any difference of opinion among the inhabitants, and all classes joined enthusiastically in the measures for de- fense. all provisions in the town were given into one common store to be doled out in regular rations, and so made to last as long as possible; and as thsse rations were from the first extremely small, the sufferings of the be- sieged really began from the first day. john whitefoot found that there was but little for him to do, and spent much of his time on the walls watching the throwing up of works by the besiegers. a regular cannonade was now kept up on both sides; but though the shot occasionally fell inside the town, the danger to the inhabitants from this source was but slight, for of the six guns possessed by the besiegers rive were very small, and one only was large enough to carry orange and grben.\ shell. all day the various chapels were open, and here the preachers by their fiery discourses kept up the spirits and courage of the people who thronged these buildings. the women spent most of their time there, and the men, when off duty from the walls, however fatigued they might be with their labor, flocked at once to the chapels to pray for strength to resist and for early succor. never were the whole population of the town more deeply animated by religious excitement, never a whole population more thoroughly and unanimously determined to die rather than surrender. when not upon the walls or in chapel john spent much of his time in amusing the children, of whom there were many in the tanner's house. the change from their country quarters, the crowded town, the privation of milk, and the scantiness and unfitness of their rations, soon began to tell upon the little ones, and john felt thankful indeed that his mind had been stored with stories from his varied reading of the last two or three years. with these he was able to interest and quiet the children who sat round him with wrapt attention, while the booming of the guns and the occasional rattling of musketry outside passed unheeded. scarce a day passed without active fighting, the initia- tive being always taken by the besieged, for in the royal army the policy of blockade rather than assault was steadily adhered to. the besieged, however, contin- ually sallied out and attacked the parties engaged in throwing up works. there was no settled plan of opera- tions; but the commander on each portion of the walls led out his men against the enemy whenever he thought he saw a favorable opportunity. the fights which ensued were stoutly contested, and many were killed, but no ad- vantage was gained on either side. if it was the inten- tion of the besieged to incite the royalists to make an orange and green. attack upon the city they failed altogether, and indeed would have served their purpose better had they remained quietly within the walls, for the energy and desperation with which they fought were well calculated to deter even the most energetic commander from attacking a town defended by eight or nine thousand men animated by such fiery energy. so confident, indeed, were the besieged that the gates were often left open, and taunting invitations to come on and take derry were shouted to the besiegers. the supply of provisions found to be stored aay was vastly greater than had been expected, for many of the fugi- tives had brought in large stores, and a great number of the inhabitants had been for weeks making preparation for the siege by buying up quantities of grain and stor- ing it in their cellars. thus, up to the end of the first month, although the allowance of food was short, no real suffering was undergone by the inhabitants; but as time went on the supplies doled out became smaller and smaller, and dysentery and fever broke out in the crowded town. fierce disputes arose between those belonging to the established church and the nonconformists, and it was with the greatest difficulty that governor walker pre- vented the two parties from engaging in open strife. day and night the besiegers' fire continued, and many were killed by the shells which fell in the city. the fighting men on the walls were far better off than those who had nothing to do but to wait and suffer, and it was among the women and children chiefly that disease at first made its victims. for a time the children of the families who had taken refuge with the tanner remained healthy. the visitors were lodged for the most part in the cellars, so as to be in shelter from the fire of t*>« enemy's mortar; but john orange and green. scanty rations to the weakest of the children, and he de- termined to try and get them some food or to die in the attempt. he set out at his usual hour in the evening. the tide was high, but just running out, and entering the river he floated down with the stream. keeping close under the bank, he passed the batteries which the besiegers had erected there without notice, dived under the great boom which they had constructed across the river directly kirk's expedition had retired, and con- tinued to float down to the mouth of the river, where he landed and boldly struck across the country, for he was now beyond the lines of the besiegers. he knew that his friend walter was in the royalist army, for one of the last mails which entered the city had told him that he was to accompany his father, and that captain davenant's troop would most likely form part of any army that might march for the north. by the morning his clothes had dried upon him, and he then boldly entered the royalist camp, mingling with the peasants who were bringing in provisions for sale. he soon learned where captain davenant's troop was sta- tioned and made his way thither. he stood watching for some time until he saw walter come out of a tent, and he then approached him. walter looked up, but did not recognize in the thin and pallid lad before him his former companion. "do you want anything?" he asked. "don't you know me, walter?" john said. walter started and gazed at him earnestly. "good heavens!" he exclaimed at last; "why, it can't be john!" "it is what remains of me," john replied with a faint smile. "why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, john?" orange and green. "i have been starving in there," john said, pointing to the city. "come into the tent, john," walter said, grasping his friend's arm and then letting it fall again with an ex- clamation of horror at its thinness; "yon needn't be afraid. my father is out—not that that would make any difference." john entered the tent, and sat exhausted upon a box. walter hastened to get some food, which he set before him, and poured out a large cup of wine and water, and then stood looking on in awed silence while john de- voured his meal. "i have wondered a thousand times," he said at last when john had finished, "what you were doing in there, or whether you left before the siege began. how did you get out?" "i floated down the river to the mouth beyond your lines last night and then worked round here. i thought i might find you." "well, lam glad indeed that you are out," walter said. "every time the mortar sent a shell into the town i was thinking of you, and wishing that i could share meals with you, for of course we know that you are suffering horribly in the town." "horribly!" john repeated. "you can have no idea what it is, walter, to see children suffer. as for men, if it is the will of god, they must bear it, but it is awful for children. i have had eighteen of them under my charge through the siege, and to see them getting thinner and weaker every day till the bones look as if they would come through the skin, and their eyes get bigger and bigger, and their voices weaker, is awful. at last i could stand it no longer, and i have come out to fetch some food for them." "to fetch food!" walter repeated. "do you mean to say you are thinking of going back again?" os orange and green. "that i am," john said. "i am going to take some food in to them. you will help me, won't you, walter? it isn't for the men that fight, but for little children who know nothing about king james, or king william, or the protestants, or the catholics, but who are just god's creatures, and are dying of hunger. no one could grudge food to infants like these." "i will help you, of course, john," walter said, "if i can; but now tell me all about it." john then gave an account of all he had been doing throughout the siege. "and now what have you been doing, walter? fight- ing?" "no. i have not been doing any fighting, except that once or twice i was out with the troop, when they had a skirmish with your horsemen, but i kept in the rear. i hope, ere long, my father will let me enter, but he is waiting to see what comes of it. no. i have been idle enough. well, of course, i know all the officers in the cavalry now, and pretty nearly all the officers in the camp, and then with these constant skirmishes and attacks by your people and ours there is always plenty to interest one. general hamilton has been conducting the siege lately, but general eosen returned yesterday and took the command; but there's really not much to do. we know you cannot hold out much longer." "i don't know," john said quietly. "i think that as long as a man has-strength enough to hold his arms derry will not surrender. when you march in it will be to a city of dead people. we had such hopes when the fleet came. if the people could have caught kirk they would have torn him in pieces. he had five thousand soldiers on board, and if he had landed them we could have sallied out and fought instead of dying of hunger." "yes," walter agreed, "we should have retired at orange and green. once. we have only seven or eight thousand men here now, and if five thousand english soldiers had landed we must have raised the siege at once. i can tell you, that though he is on the other side, i was almost as angry at kirk's cowardice as you must have been. i shall be glad when this awful business is over. i knew it was bad enough before, but after what you have told me about the women and children i shall never think of anything else, and i will gladly help you in any way i can. there can't be any treason in trying to prevent children from starving to death. what do you want me to do?" "what would do the children more good than any- thing, the women say, would be milk. if i could get a keg that would hold two or three gallons, and a water- tight box with about twenty pounds of bread, i could swim back with them just as i came. i would show you the exact spot where i landed, and would come out again in four days. if you could put a supply ready for mc every fourth night among the bushes, at the mouth of the river, with a little lantern to show me the exact spot, i could come down with the tide, get the things, and float back again when the tide turns." "i could do that easily enough," walter said. "the mouth of the river is quite beyond our lines. but it is very risky for you, john. you might get shot if a sentry were to see you." "i do not think that there is much fear of that," john said. "just floating along as i do, without swimming at all, there is only just my face above water, and it would be hardly possible for a sentry to see me; but if i were shot i could not die in a better cause." "i think, john, if you don't mind, i should like to tell my father. i am quite sure he would not object, and in case you should happen to get caught you could refer at once to him to prove that you were not a spy. they orange and green. make very short work of spies. but if you were to de- mand to be brought to captain davenant, and say you were acting in accordance with his knowledge, no doubt they would bring you." "do as you think best, walter, but don't tell him unless you feel almost sure that he will not object." "there is no fear of that," walter said. "he is con- stantly lamenting over the sufferings of the people of derry, and has all along been in favor of attempting to storm the place by force, so as to put a stop to all this useless suffering. now, john, you had better lie down on that straw bed of mine and get a sleep. after that you will be ready for another meal. i will tell larry to go out among the market people and buy three gallons of milk and twenty pounds of bread. there are plenty of small spirit kegs about which will do capitally for the milk, and i don't think that we can have anything better than one of them for the bread. we can head it up and make it water-tight. how do you mean to get into the town? i should have thought that they were likely to be seized." "so they would be," john said. "i shall hide them in some bushes at the foot of the walls, at the side of the town facing the river. there are only a few sentvies there. then when it is light i shall go in and tell my cousin and get him after dark to lower a rope from the wall. i shall of course be below to tie on the kegs. he can then walk with them boldly through the street to our house, which is only a short distance from that part «f the walls. if any one saw him they would only suppose he was taking home water from one of the wells." john was soon fast asleep. walter sat watching him until, two hours later, his father returned with his troop. john still slept on, while walter told his father tb« errand on which he had come. orange and glieen. "he is a brave lad," captain davenaiit said, "and i hoior him for his conduct. it is not many men who at a time like this would risk their lives for a number of chil- dren who are not any relation to them. certainly i will gladly assist him. i am sick at heart at all this. my only conso-ation is that it is brought on solely by the acts of these men, who, though comparatively a handful, set themselves up against the voice of all ireland. if they had risen when an english army arrived to their assist- ance i should say nothing against it. as it is. without doing any good to their cause, they are mnxumr ibis horrible suffering upon thousands of women n.n*-i o.nuttren. "by all means help the poor lad, and if vm mnma fall into the hands of our people let him mentw mv w»amc. kosen would no doubt disapprove of it, but s cannot nelp that. all the irish gentlemen in the army w.uitfi at-ree that i had done rightly, and even if they die-rat-*, my own conscience would be quite sufficient for mp to act upon. i am fighting against the king's enemies. n« warring against women and children. how soundly **nnv jad sleeps, and how changed he is! he is a n>«« «wov«r.on. i should not have known him in the least, n t*?a i» the condition into which a strong healthy la** .v>ar fallen, what must the women and children have r.ssrereci! i wish kirk had not turned coward, but haw iitnaea his troops. we could then have brought up owp scattered forces, and could have fought them in a rair held with something like equal forces. that would have been vastly more to my taste than starving them like rats in a hole." orange and green. chapter v. the relief of derrt. it was late in the afternoon before john woke. he started up as his eyes fell upon captain davenant. "you have had a good sleep, and i hope you are all the better for it," captain davenant said kindly. "my son has been telling me all about your expedition, and i honor you very much for the courage you have shown in thus risking your life to get food for those starving chil- dren. i quite approve of the promise walter has given to assist you, and if you should by any chance be taken prisoner i will stand your friend." john expressed his gratitude warmly. "it is a sad thing in these civil wars, when friends are arrayed against friends," captain davenant said. "who would have thought three months ago that you and walter would be arrayed on opposite sides? it is true you are neither of you combatants, but i have no doubt you would gladly have joined in some of the sallies, just as walter is eager to be riding in my troop. if we must fight, i wish at any rate that it could be so managed that all the suffering should fall upon the men who are willing to take up the sword, and not upon the women and chil- dren. my heart bleeds as i ride across the country. at one time one comes upon a ruined village burned by the midnight ruffians who call themselves rapparees, and who are a disgrace to our cause; at another upon a place sacked and ruined by one of the bands of horsemen from orange and green. enniskillen, who are as cruel and merciless as the rap- parees. let the armies fight out their quarrels, i say, but let peaceful people dwell in quiet and safety. but wholesale atrocities have ever been the rule on both sides in warfare in ireland, and will, i suppose, remain so to the end. and now we are just going to have dinner, and another hearty meal will do you good. each night when my son brings down the supplies for you he will bring a substantial meal of cold meat and bread, and you must give me your promise now that you will eat this at once. you will need it after being so long,in the water, and having another swim before you besides. although i approve of sending in milk for the children, i can be no party to the supply of food for the garrison. do you promise?" "yes, sir, i promise," john said, "though i would rather save all but a mouthful or two for the people who are starving at home. still, of course, if you insist upon it, i will promise." "i do insist upon it, john. the lives of these children of yours depend on your life, and even one good meal every four days will help you to keep enough strength together to carry out the kind work you have under- taken." larry now brought in the dinner. he had been told by walter of john's arrival, but he otherwise would have failed to recognize in him the boy who had sometimes come down to the village with walter. "are you quite well, larry?" john asked him. "i am," larry replied; "but i need not ask the same question of yourself, for you are nothing but skin and bone entirely. dear, dear, i wouldn't have known you at all, at all, and such a foinc color as .ye used to have." "i don't think starving would suit you, larry," cap- tain davenant said with a smile. orange and green. "sure an' it wouldn't, yer honor. it's always ready to eat i am, though, as mother says, the victuals don't seem to do me much good anyway." "you won't be able to come out and go back again the same night next week, john," captain davenant said presently; "the tide won't suit, so you must come up here as you have done to-day. you will always find a hearty welcome, and walter shall go down and meet you early in the morning near the mouth of the river, so you can come up with him; and then, if you fall in with any of the other parties, no questions will be asked. i think every one in camp knows him now. i wonder what your grandfather would say if he saw you sitting here at dinner with walter and me?" john laughed. "i am afraid he would disown me then and there with- out listening to explanations." "i have no doubt it's a sore grievance to him that he is not in derry at present," captain davenant said. "i am sure it is," john replied; "but the fasting would be a great trial to him. my grandfather is a cap- ital trencherman; still, i am sure he would have borne his part." "that he would," captain davenant agreed; "he and the men of his class are thorough fanatics, as i consider them. hard and pitiless as they proved themselves to those against whom they fought, one cannot but admire them, for they were heart and soul in their cause. there was no flinching, no half-measures, no concessions for the sake of expediency. on the ground on which they took their stand they conquered or died. would that a like spirit animated all my countrymen!" after nightfall larry brought round walter's horse saddled and his own rough pony. walter mounted the former, and john the latter. the two kegs were slung across walter's horse. orange and green. "will you meet me at the clump of trees half a mile out of camp, larry?" walter said, "in the dark no one will notice the difference between you and john." captain davenant had furnished walter with a pass- word, and now walked beside the two boys till they were well beyond the camp, and then returned to his tent. the lads made their way without meeting with any one down to the mouth of the river; the kegs were then taken off the horse and placed in the water—they floated just above the surface. "that is exactly right," john said; "they will not show any more than will my face. when i come down next time i shall fill them with water so as to keep them just at this level." "i am afraid the moon will be up next time, john." "yes, it will. i shall lay some boughs of bush across my face and the kegs, so that there will be no fear of my face showing; and if a sentry should happen to catch sight of it he will suppose that it is merely a bush drift- ing in the stream." "well, good-by, john, and may you get through with- out trouble." "i have no fear, walter. i am in god's hands, and he will take me safely through if he thinks fit." the journey was achieved without detection, the only difficulty being the sinking of the kegs under the boom; this, however, was successfully accomplished, and by mid- night the kegs were safely hidden in some bushes at the foot of the wall, and there john lay down and waited for morning. as he entered the yard the children ran out to meet him. there were no loud rejoicings; they had no longer strength or spirit to shout and laugh; but the joy in the thin, worn faces was more eloquent than any words could have been. ora nge and oreen. "we have missed you so, john. we have wanted you so much. lucy and kate, and deby wore so bad yester- day, and they did cry so for you. we were all so hun- gry. we don't mind so much when you are here to talk to us and tell us stories. why did you stop away, john, when we wanted you so?" "i went away to see if i could manage to get you something to eat." "and did you?" was the anxious cry. "i have got a little; but you must wait till evening, anu then you will each have—" and he stopped. "what, john? oh, do tell us!" "you will each have some milk and bread. not much, dear ," he went on, as there was a cry of gladness, which was pitiful from the intensity of joy it expressed, "but there will be some for to-night, and a little curds and whey and bread for you to-morrow and next day, and i hope always as long as this lasts. now, go, dears, into your castle. i will come to you presently. i have brought you some water as usual." "i am heartily glad to see you back, john," his cousin said as he entered the house. "the children were in a sad state without you yesterday. i suppose you can tell me now what you have been doing. you told me you would be away two nights, and begged me not to ask any questions; but although i know you to be discret and prudent, i have been worrying." "i will tell you now," john said, and he recounted the details of the expedition which he had accomplished. "and you have swum the river twice, and been in the camp of the papists. truly it is surprising, john, and i know not what to do. should your visit there be dis- covered you will assuredly be accused of treachery." "they may accuse me of what they like," john said quietly. "i have done it, and i am going to do it again orange and green. every fourth night, and there is the milk and bread at the foot of the wall ready for you to haul up as soon as it gets dark." "it ought to be fairly divided," the tanner said. "it will be fairly divided between our children," john said; "but nobody else will get a drop or a crumb. i have risked my life to get it for them. if other people want to get it let them do the same. besides, as i told you, captain davenant and his son both procured it for me for the sake of the childen, and them only, and i should be breaking faith with them if any others touched it save those for whom it was given me. it is little enough among eighteen children for four days—a pound of bread and a little over a pint of milk each. they must each have a quarter of a pint when you bring it in to- night, and the rest had better be curdled. that way it will keep, and they can have a portion each day of curds and whey, and a fourth share of their bread. it is little enough; but i trust that it may keep life in them." "well, john, i will do as you say," the tanner said after a pause. "it goes somewhat against my eon- science; but, as you say, it will make but a meager por- tion for each of them, and would be nothing were it fairly divided; besides, you have brought it with the risk of your life, and i know not that any save you have a right to a voice in its partition." before the gates were closed john went out, and pres- ently had the satisfaction of hearing a small stone drop from the wall above him, followed presently by the end of a rope. he sent up the kegs, and then lay down among the bushes and enjoyed the satisfaction of think- ing of the joy of the little ones when the milk and bread were served out to them. as soon as the gates were open in the morning he went in. "thank you, oh, so much, for the milk and bread last obange and green. night. we heard how you had swum so far and gone into danger to get it for us, and we're going to have some more for breakfast." "it is not much, dears," john said. "oh, no, it was not much; but it was so nice, and we did all sleep so well last night—even little lucy didn't waken and cry once—and ruth hardy said we ought to call you the raven; but we don'tlikethat nameforyou." "the raven, ruth!" john said, mystified. "why did you want to call me the raven?" "i wouldn't do it if you didn't like it, dear john; but you know that chapter that master williams read us the other day about the ravens that fed somebody in a cave, and we have been wishing the ravens would feed us; and so you see when you sent us the milk last night i thought you ought to be called the raven. i did not mean any harm." "no, my dear, of course not, and you can all call me the raven if you like." "no, no, john. you are john, and that's much better than the raven. they brought the man food, but they didn't nurse him and tell him stories as you do." "now, run inside the castle," john said, "and i will go in and get your breakfasts." john soon returned with a great bowl of curds and whey, a platter piled up with slices of bread and a score of little mugs, and the feast began. scarce a word was said while the children were eating, their hunger was too keen and their enjoyment too intense to admit of speech. when each had finished their portion there was a general exclamation. "oh, john, you haven't had any. why didn't you have some too?" "because there is only enough for you," he said. "if i were to have some, and cousin josiah, and all the orange and green. others, there would be a very little share for you; besides, when i went out the day before yesterday i had as much as i could eat." "oh, dear, that must have been nice," one of the boys said. "only think having as much as one can eat. oh, how much i could eat if i had it!" "and yet i dare say, tom," john said, "that some- times before you came here, when you had as much as you could eat, you used to grumble if it wasn't quite what you fancied." "i shall never grumble again," the boy said positively. "i shall be quite, quite content with potatoes, if i can but get enough of them." "the good times will come again," john said cheerily. "now we will have a story. which shall it be?" as the children sat round him, john was delighted to see that even the two scanty meals they had had had done wonders for them. the listless, hopeless look of the last few days had disappeared, and occasionally something like a hearty laugh broke out among them, and an hour later the tanner came to the entrance. "come to the walls with me, john." "what is it?—what is the matter?" john said, as he saw the look of anger and indignation on the wasted features of his cousin. "come and see for yourself," the latter said. when they reached the walls they found them crowded with the inhabitants. outside were a multitude of women, children, and old men. these general rosen, with a refinement of cruelty, had swept in from the country round and driven under the walls, where they were left to starve, unless the garrison would take them in and divide their scanty supply of food with them. "it is monstrous," john cried, when he understood the meaning of the sight. orange and queen. "what are we to do?" "we can do nothing," the tanner replied; "the coun- cil have met, and have determined to keep the gates closed. we are dying for the cause; they must do so too; and they will not die in vain, for all europe will cry out when they hear of this dastardly act of cruelty." the people outside were animated by a spirit as stern as that of the besieged, and the women cried out to those on the walls to keep the gates shut and to resist to the last, and not to heed them. the ministers went out through the gates and held services among the crowd, and the people on the walls joined in the hymns that were sung below. so for three days and nights the people within and without fasted and prayed. on the third day a messenger arrived from king james at dublin ordering general rosen at once to let the people depart. the indignation among the irish gentlemen in the camp at rosen's brutal order had been unbounded, and messenger after messenger had been sent to dublin, where the news excited a burst of indignation, and james at once countermanded the order of the general. the gates were opened now, and the people flocked out and exchanged greetings with their friends. a few able- bodied men in the crowd entered the town to share in its defense, while a considerable number of the women and children from within mingled with them and moved away through the lines of the besiegers. john had the day before gone out when the gates were opened for the preachers, and at night had again safely made the passage to the mouth of the river and back. he found the lantern burning among the bushes, and two kegs placed beside it, with a bountiful meal of bread and meat for himself. so the days went on, each day lessening the number of or a no k and g h ken. the inhabitants of the town. fever and famine wtre making terrible ravages, and the survivors moved about the streets like living skeletons, so feeble and weak now that they could scarce bear tbe weight of their arms. on the th of july three ships were seen approaching the mouth of the river. they were part of kirk's squad- ron, which had all this time been lying idle almost within sight of the town. the news of his conduct had excited such anger and indignation in england that at last, in obedience to peremptory orders from london, he pre- pared to make the attempt; although, by sending only two store-ships and one frigate, it would almost seem as if he had determined that it should be a failure. the besiegers as well as the besieged saw the three ships ad- vancing, and the former moved down to the shore to repel the attempt; the batteries on either side of the boom were manned, and from them, and from the in- fantry gathered on the banks, a heavy fire was opened as the ships approached. so innocuous was the fire of the artillery that it has been supposed that kirk had previously bribed the officers commanding the forts. at any rate the ships suffered no material damage, and, returning the fire, advanced against the boom. the leading store-ship dashed against it and broke it, but the ship swerved from her course with the shock and struck the ground. a shout of dis- may burst from those on the walls, and one of exultation from the besiegers, who rushed down to board the ves- sel. her captain, however, pointed all his guns forward, and discharged them all at the same moment, and the recoil shook the vessel from her hold on the ground, and she floated off, and pursued her way up the river, fol- lowed by her consorts. the delay of kirk had cost the defenders of london- derry more than half their number. the fighting men orange and green. had, either by disease, famine, or in the field, lost some five thousand, while of the non-combatants seven thou- sand had died. the joy and exultation in the city as the two store-ships ranged up under its walls were un- bounded. provisions were speedily conveyed on shore, and abundance took the place of famine. five days later general kosen raised the siege and marched away with his army, which had in the various operations of the siege, and from the effect of disease, lost upward of three thousand men. "this has been a bad beginning, walter," captain davenant said, as they rode away from the grounds on which they had been so long encamped. "if the whole force of ireland does not suffice to take a single town, the prospect of our waging war successfully against eng- land is not hopeful." "it seems to ine that it would have been much better to have left derry alone, father," walter said. "it would have been better as it has turned out, walter; but had the king taken the place, as he ex- pected, without difficulty, he would have crossed with a portion of the army to scotland, where a considerable part of the population would at once have joined him. the defense of derry has entirely thwarted that plan, and i fear now that it will never be carried out. how- ever, it has had the advantage of making soldiers out of an army of peasants. when we came here officers and men were alike ignorant of everything relating to war; now we have, at any rate, learned a certain amount of drill and discipline, and i think we shall give a much better account of ourselves in the open field than we have done in front of a strong town which we had no means whatever of storming. still it has been a fright- ful waste of life on both sides, and with no result beyond horribly embittering the feeling of hatred which unfor- orange and green. own house. the day after his return home walter went over to give jabez whitefoot and his wife news of john, from whom they had heard nothing since a fortnight be- fore the siege had begun. "your son is alive and well," were his first words. "he has been all through the siege of derry, and has behaved like a hero." "the lord be praised!" jabez said, while his wife burst into tears of relief, for she had gone through ter- rible anxiety during the long weeks that derry had been suffering from starvation. "but how do you know, master walter?" jabez asked. "seeing that you were on the side of the besiegers how could you tell what was passing on the inside of the walls? how do you know john is alive?" "because i saw him first a month before the end of the siege, and because he came regularly afterward to fetch away some provisions which i had placed for him." and walter then gave a full account of john's visit to the camp in search of food for the children who were sheltered in the tanner's house. "that is just like john," his mother said; "he was ever thoughtful for others. i am more pleased a hundred times that he should have so risked his life to obtain food for the little ones than if he had taken part in the fighting and proved himself a very champion of derry." parliament had met on the th of may. the session had been opened by a speech from the throne, in which the king commended the loyalty of his irish subjects, de- clared his intention to make no difference between catholics and protestants, and that loyalty and good con- duct should be the only passport to liis favor. he stated his earnest wish that good and wholesome laws should be enacted for the encouragement of trade and of the man- ufactures of the country, and for the relief of such as orange and green. had suffered injustice by the act of settlement; that is, the act by which the lands of the catholics had been handed over wholesale to cromwell's soldiers and other protestants. bills were speedily passed abolishing the jurisdiction of english courts of law and of the english parliament in ireland, and other bills were passed for the regulation of commerce and the promotien of ship-building. the bill for the repeal of the act of settlement was brought up on the d of may; it was opposed only by the protes- tant bishops and peers, and became law on the th of june. acts of attainder were speedily passed against some two thousand protestant landed proprietors, all of whom had obtained their lands by the settlement of cromwell. a land-tax was voted to the king of twenty thousand pounds a month, and he proceeded to raise other levies by his private authority. the result was that the re- sources of ireland were speedily exhausted, money al- most disappeared, and james, being at his wits' end for funds, issued copper money stamped with the value of gold and silver; and a law was passed making this base money legal tender, promising that at the end of the war it should be exchanged for sterling money. this was a measure which inflicted enormous loss and damage. at first the people raised the prices of goods in proportion to the decrease in the value of the money, but james stopped this by issuing a proclamation fixing the prices at which all articles were to be sold; and hav- ing done this, proceeded to buy up great quantities of hides, butter, corn, wood, and other goods, paying for them all with a few pounds of copper and tin, and then shipping them to france, where they were sold on his own account. it need hardly be said that conduct of this kind speedily excited great dissatisfaction, even among those who were most loyal in his cause. g orange and green. captain davenant was shocked at the state of things he found prevailing in dublin. "i regret bitterly," he said when alone with his wife and mother, "that i have taken up the sword. success appears to me to be hope- less. the folly of the stuarts is incredible; they would ruin the best cause in the world. with a spark of wis- dom and firmness james might have united all ireland in his cause, instead of which he has absolutely forced the protestants into hostility. his folly is only equaled by his rapacity, and both are stupendous." this was said one evening when he had just returned from a visit to dublin, depressed and disheartened by all he heard there. "i am astonished, fergus," his mother said sharply, "to hear you speak in that way. "who would have thought that it was a davenant who was speaking! doubtless there have been mistakes, as was only natural, but everything will come right in time. i have been longing for you to come home, looking forward with such joy to welcome you as the possessor of the broad lands of the davenants. thank god i have lived to see the res- toration of my dear husband's lands, and the discom- fiture of those cromwellian knaves who have so long pos- sessed them. it was a grand day when the act was passed repealing all cromwell's grants handing over the best part of ireland to his soldiers; and i saw in the gazette, among the two thousand grants specially men- tioned as canceled was that of the davenant estate to &et>naiiiah whitefoot. i am told that the old man and his son have taken no notice of the act, but go about their work as if they were still the owners of the land; but of course, now that you are back, there will soon be an end of this." captain davenant was silent. -t "i shall be in no hurry, mother," he said after a pause. john eagerly devoured the books which walter lent him. oliange and green. "it is true that an act of the irish parliament has can- celed the iniquitous work of cromwell, and restored the land to its rightful possessors. i do not say that this is not just, but i am quite sure that it is not politic. these men have been planted on the soil for two generations; they have built houses and tilled the fields, and made homes for themselves. it was essentially a case for ar- rangement, and not for setting right the first act of con- fiscation by another as sweeping. it has rendered the protestants desperate; it has enlisted the sympathy of the protestants of england in their behalf, and has done much to popularize the war there. it would have been vastly wiser had a commission been ordered to examine into the circumstances of each case. "in the great proportion of cases the estates which the cromwellites took possession of were vastly larger than they were able to till themselves; and, as in the case of zephaniah whitefoot, they let out the greater portion to tenants. all these lands i would have restored to their former owners, leaving to the cromwellites the land they till themselves and the houses they have built upon it. "as to turning the whitefoots out, i shall certainly take no step that way at present: it will be time enough to do so when king james is firmly established on the throne. as things go at present i have but very faint hopes that will ever be. he has utterly failed to con- quer the protestants of the north of ireland, and we have all the strength" of england to cope with yet. it will be well, mother, if at the end of this strife we can keep davenant castle over our heads, with the few acres that still remain to us." two days afterward captain davenant mounted his horse and rode over to the whitefoots. zephaniah and jabez came to the door. "i suppose you have come over to turn us out, fergus obange and qreen. davenant," the old man said; "but i warn you that it will not be for long. the triumph of the ungodly is short, and the lord will care for his own people." "you are mistaken," captain davenant said quietly. "i have come over for no such purpose. i am of course aware that parliament has passed a law reinstating me in my father's lands; but i came over to tell you that at present i do not propose to take advantage of that law. i shall do nothing until this war is at an end. if king william's cause triumphs, the act will remain a dead letter; if king james' wins, and the act is upheld, i wish to tell you that i shall never disturb you in the land which you yourselves occupy. your tenants, on the other hand, will be my tenants; but in the house which you have built, and in the fields which you have tilled, you will remain masters. "i have thought the matter over, and this appears to me to be a just settlement, and one which i give you my -yord that i will hold to should king james triumph in die end. i think that the law turning out the protes- tant settlers from the land which they have held for forty years is well-nigh as unjust as that which gave it to them." "i will take no gifts at the hands of the wicked," zephaniah began, but jabez interrupted him. "hush, father!" he said, "it is not thus that kindness should be met." then he stepped forward, leaving his father too surprised at this sudden assumption of com- mand on the part of his son to interrupt him. "captain davenant," he said, "i thank you most sin- cerely on the part of myself, my wife and son, and, i may say, of my father too, although at present he may not realize the kindness of your offer. i do not think it likely that if james stuart prevails, and ireland is rent from england, we shall avail ourselves of your offer, for orange and green. we have more than sufficient of this world's goods to re- move to england, and there settle ourselves and our son, for assuredly ireland would be no place where a protestant could dwell in peace and quietness. nevertheless, i thank you heartily, and shall ever gratefully bear in mind the promise you have made, and the fact that, al- though you have the power to turn us from our home, you have stayed from doing so. there has been much wrong done on both sides; and, from a boy, when i have seen you ride into or from your home, i have felt that i and mine wronged you by being the possessors of your father's lands." "they were the spoil of battle," zephaniah broke in fiercely. "yes, they were the spoil of battle," his son repeated; "but there are limits even to the rights of conquerors. i have read history, and i know that nowhere but in ire- land did conquerors ever dispossess whole peoples and take possession of their lands." "the israelites took the land of canaan," zephaniah interrupted. "i am speaking of modern wars, father. for centuries no such act of wholesale spoliation was ever perpetrated; and considering, as i do, that the act was an iniquitous one, although we have benefited by it, i consider the offer which captain davenant has made to us to be a noble one. i have to thank yon, sir, also, for your kind- ness to my son—a kindness which doubtless saved his life as well as that of many others in londonderry; and believe me that, whatever comes of this horrible war, i and mine will never forget the kindnesess we have received at your hands." "the affair was my son's rather than mine," captain davenant said; "but i was glad to be able to assist him in aiding your brave boy. he is a noble fellow, and you have every reason to be proud of him." orange and green. "i must add my thanks to those of my husband," hannah said, coming out from the house, having listened to the conversation through an open window. "we had suffered so until your son brought us news of john two days since. it is strange, indeed, that your son should have been the means of saving one of a household whom he cannot but have learned to regard as the usurpers of his father's rights. it was but last night i was reading of jonathan and david, and it seemed to me that as- suredly the same spirit that they felt for each other was in our sons." "the boys are very fond of each other, mrs. white- foot, and i am glad of it; they are both manly fellows, and there is no reason why the feuds of the fathers should descend to the children." with a cordial good-by capatin davenant rode off. "jabez," zephaniah said, as they turned into the house, "i had not thought to hear a son of mine rise in rebellion against his father." "father," jabez said, "for forty-five years i have been a good son to you; but it is time that i took my stand. it seems to me that the principles upon which the sol- diers of cromwell fought were the principles which animated the israelites of old. exodus, judges, and kings were the groundwork of their religion, not the gospels. it has gradually been borne upon me that such is not the religion of the new testament, and while i seek in no way to dispute your right to think as you choose, i say the time has come when i and my wife will act upon our principles." "it is written, honor thy father and thy mother," zephaniah said sternly. "ay, father, i have honored you, and i shall honor you to the end; but a man has no right to give up his con- science to his father; for it is written also that a man orange and green. shall leave father and mother, and wife and home to follow the lord. i have heard, you, father, and the elders of our church, quote abundant texts from scrip- ture, but never one that i can recall from the new testa- ment. hitherto i have been as an israelite of joshua's time, henceforward i hope to be a christian. i grieve to anger you, father, and for years i have held my peace rather than do so; but the time has come when the spirit within me will no longer permit me to hold my peace. in all worldly matters i am still your obedient son, ready to labor to my utmost to gather up wealth which i do not enjoy, to live a life as hard as that of the poorest tenant on our lands; but, as touching higher matters, i and my wife go our own way." without a word zephaniah took his hat and strode away from the house, and, after much angry communing with himself, went to the minister and deacons of his chapel, and laid the facts of the rebellion before them and asked their advice. they were in favor of peace, for two of them were his tenants, and they knew that the time could not be very far off when jabez would take the old man's place, and it would be a serious matter indeed to the chapel were he to be driven from its fold. "we cannot expect that all shall see with our eyes, zephaniah," the minister said, "and, indeed, the offer which thou sayest the man davenant made was a gener- ous one. it would be well indeed for our brethren throughout ireland did all the original owners of their lands so treat them. thousands who but a few months since were prosperous men are now without a shelter wherein to lay their heads. the storm is sweeping over us, the elect are everywhere smitten, and should james stuart conquer, not a protestant in ireland but must leave its shores. therefore, although i would counsel orange and green. no giving up of principle, no abandonment of faith, yet i would say that this is no time for the enforcement of our views upon weak vessels. i mourn that your son should for the time have fallen away from your high standard, but i say it were best to be patient with him." at home there were few words spoken after zephaniah had gone out. hannah had thrown her arms round her husband's neck, and had said: "i thank god for your words, jabez. now i am proud of you as i have never been proud before, that you have boldly spoken out for liberty of conscience. i feel like one who has for many years been a slave, but who is at last free." jabez kissed her, but was silent. to him it had been a great trial to rebel; he knew that he was right, and. would have done it again if necessary; but it was a ter- rible thing to him to have openly withstood the father to whom he had from childhood rendered almost implicit obe- dience. on his return zephaniah did not renew the sub- ject; but from that time there was a great change in the moral atmosphere of the house. zephaniah was still master in all matters of daily work; but in other respects jabez had completely emancipated himself. orange and green. selves with the greatest skill and bravery. as fast as breaches were battered in their walls they repaired them, and repulsed every attempt of the besiegers to gain a footing in the town. the garrison were badly supplied with ammunition, but they stripped the lead from the roofs of the castle and church to make bullets. but all this time no at- tempt whatever was made to relieve them. the french and irish generals were disputing as to what was the best plan of campaign. the king was busy making money with his trade with france; and, after holding out until they had burned their last grain of powder, the gallant garrison were forced to capitulate. schomberg was too glad to get the place to insist on hard terms, and the garrison marched out with all the honors of war—drums beating, and matches alight—and were conveyed with all their stores, arms, and public and private property to the nearest irish post. the effect of this determined resistance on the part of the little garrison at carrickfergus was to impress schom- berg with the fact that the difficulty of the task he had undertaken was vastly greater than he had supposed. the success with which londonderry had defended itself against the irish army had impressed him with the idea that the levies of king james were simply contemptible; but the fighting qualities of the garrison of carrickfer- gus had shown him that they were a foe by no means to be despised, and convinced him that the force at his com- mand was altogether inadequate to his necessities. he therefore moved south with extreme caution. he found the country altogether wasted and deserted. the protestants had long since fled, and were gathered round derry and enniskillen. the catholics had now deserted their homes at his approach, and the troops in their re- treat had burned and wasted everything, so that he had ( orange and green. no means of subsistence for his army, and was obliged to rely upon the fleet which he ordered to follow him down the coast. schomberg was soon joined by three regi- ments of enniskillen horse. the appearance of these troops astonished the english. they resembled rather a horde of italian banditti than a body of european cavalry. they observed little order in their military movements, and no uniformity of dress or accouterment. each man was armed and clad according to his own fancy, and accompanied by a mounted servant carrying his baggage. but, like the cossacks whom they closely resembled, they were distinguished by an extreme rapidity of movement, and a fierceness and contempt of all difficulty and danger. they calculated neither chances nor numbers, but rushed to the attack of any foe with a ferocity and fanaticism which almost insured suc- cess, and they regarded the slaughter of a papist as an acceptable service to the lord. they plundered wher- ever they went, and were a scourge to the irish protes- tants as well as catholics. the troops furnished by derry were similar in char- acter to those from enniskillen. they could not endure the restraints of discipline, and were little use in acting with the regular army, and, like the cossacks, were formidable only when acting by themselves. schomberg and his successor, and, indeed, the whole of the english officers, soon came to abhor these savage and undisci- plined allies. still the irish army made no move. report had mag- nified schomberg's strength to more than twice its real numbers, and the military leaders could not believe that, after so many months of preparation, william had dis- patched so small an army for the conquest of ireland. confusion and dismay reigned in dublin. the french marshal de rosen advised that dublin and drogheda orange and green. should be abandoned, and that the irish army should be concentrated at athlone and limerick; but tyrconnell went to drogheda, where the council of war was sitting, and strenuously opposed this, promising that by the next night twenty thousand men should be assembled there. expresses were sent out in all directions; and by forced marches the irish troops stationed in munster directed their course to drogheda, in high spirits and anxious to meet the enemy. schomberg, although he had been re- inforced by six thousand men from england, fell back at the news of the gathering, and formed an intrenched camp in a strong position between dundalk and the sea. his approaches were covered by mountains, rivers, and morasses; his communication was open to the sea, and here he resolved to wait for reinforcements. captain davenant became more and more despondent as to the cause in which he had embarked. "without the king and without his french allies," he said bitterly to his wife, "we might hope for success; but these are enough to ruin any cause. were the king's object to excite discontent and disgust among his sub- jects, he could not act otherwise than he is now doing. his whole thoughts are devoted to wringing money out of the people, and any time he has to spare is spent upon superintending the building of the nunneries in which he is so interested. as to the french, they paralyze all mil- itary operations. they regard us as an inferior race, and act as if, with their own five or six thousand troops, they could defeat all the power of england. it is heart- breaking seeing our chances so wasted. "had advantage been taken of the enthusiasm excited when king james landed; had he himself been wise and prudent, disinterested for himself, and desirous of ob- taining the affections of all classes; and had he brought with him none of these french adventurers, he would os or a ng e and gre en. long ere this have been undisputed king of ireland from end to end, and we should have stood as one people in arms ready to oppose ourselves to any force that england could send against us. never were chances so frittered away, never such a succession of blunders and folly. it is enough to break one's heart." "i do hope, father, that when the troop marches again you will take me as cornet. i am six months older than i was, and have learned a lot in the last campaign. you have not filled up the place of cornet o'driscoll. i did think, when he was killed in that last fight you had be- fore derry, you would have appointed me." "in some respects i am less inclined than ever, walter," captain davenant said; "for i begin to regard success as hopeless." "it will make no difference, father, in that way, for if we are beaten they are sure to hand all our land over to the protestants. besides, things may turn out better than you think; and whether or no, i should certainly like to do my best for ireland." "well, we will think about it," captain davenant said; and walter was satisfied, for he felt sure that his father would finally accede to his wishes. it was late at night when the mounted messenger dashed up to the door of the castle and handed in an order. captain davenant opened it. "we are to march in half an hour's time to drogheda; the whole army is to assemble there." "hurray!" walter shouted. "something is going to be done at last." a man was sent down to the village at once to order the twenty men quartered there to saddle and mount in- stantly and ride up to the castle, while another on horse- back started for bray to get the main body under arms. mrs. davenant busied herself in packing the wallets of orange and green. her husband and son. she was very pale, but she said little. "god bless yon both," she said when all was finished, "and bring you back again safely. i won't ask you to take care of yourselves, because, of course, you must do your duty, and with all my love i should not wish you to draw back from that. when home and religion and country are at stake even we women could not wish to keep those we love beside us." there was a last embrace, and then "captain davenant and his son sprang on their horses, which were waiting at the door, took their place at the head of the party which had come up from the village, and rode away into the darkness, while the two mrs. davenants gave free vent to the tears which they had hitherto so bravely restrained. at bray captain davenant found the rest of his troop drawn up in readiness, and after a brief inspection, to see that all were present with their proper arms and ac- couterments, he started with them for dublin, and after a few hours' rest there continued his way toward drog- heda. the army then proceeded north to dundalk, and bitter was the disappointment of the troops when, on arriving there, they found that schomberg, instead of advancing to give battle, had shut himself lip in the intrenchments he had formed, and could not be induced to sally out. in vain king james, who accompanied his army, formed it up in order of battle within sight of the in- vaders' lines. schomberg was not to be tempted out, and as the position appeared to be too strong to be at- tacked, the irish were forced to endeavor to reduce it by the slow process of starvation. the english army was soon reduced to pitiable straits—not from hunger, for they were able to obtain food from the ships, but from disease. the situation of the camp was low and un- orange and green. healthy. fever broke out, and swept away vast numbers of the men. the dutch and enniskilleners suffered comparatively little—both were accustomed to a damp climate, but of the english troops nearly eight thousand died in the two months that the blockade lasted. had james maintained his position the whole of the army of schomberg must have perished; but, most unfortunately for his cause, he insisted on personally conducting operations, and when complete success was in his grasp he marched his army away in the middle of november to winter quarters, thereby allowing schomberg to move with the eight thousand men who remained to him from the pest- stricken camp to healthier quarters. the disgust of those of james' officers who under- stood anything of war at this termination of the cam- paign was extreme. the men, indeed, were eager to re- turn to their homes, but would gladly have attempted an assault on the english camp before doing so; and as the defenders were reduced to half their original strength, while most of the survivors were weakened by disease, the attack would probably have been successful. james himself was several times on the point of ordering an at- tack, but his own vacillation of character was heightened by the conflicting counsels of his generals, who seemed more bent on thwarting each other than on gaining the cause for which they fought. the cavalry were not idle while the blockade of schom- berg's camp continued, frequently making excursions over the country to bring in cattle for the army, for the villagers had for the most part deserted their homes, and herds of cattle were grazing without masters. one day captain davenant's troop had ridden some thirty miles out of camp, and had halted for the night in a village. in the morning they broke up into small parties and scat- orange aiid &reen. tered round the country. walter, with fifteen of the troopers, had collected some cattle and stopped for an hour to feed and rest the horses in a deserted village. he took the precaution to place two or three men on sentry round it. the men were sitting on the doorsteps eating the food they had brought with them, when one of the outposts dashed in at full gallop, shouting that the enemy were upon them; but his warning came too late, for close be- hind him came a body of wild-looking horsemen, shout- ing and yelling. there was a cry of "the enniskillen- ers!" and the men ran to their horses. they had scarcely time to throw themselves in the saddle when the enniskilleners charged down. for a minute or two there was a confused medley, and then three or four of the troopers rode off at full speed hotly pursued by the en- niskilleners. walter had discharged his pistols and drawn his sword, but before he had timo to strike a blow his horse was rolled over by the rush of the enemy, and as he was fall- ing he received a blow on the head from a saber which stretched him insensible on the ground. he was roused by two men turning him over and searching his pockets. a slight groan burst from his lips. "the fellow is not dead," one of the men said. "we will soon settle that," the other replied. "don't kill him," the first speaker said. "wait till the captain has spoken to him. we may be able to get some information from him. we can finish him after- ward." walter lay with his eyes closed. he well knew that the enniskilleners took no prisoners, but killed all who fell into their hands, and he determined to show no signs of returning consciousness. presently he heard the sound of a party of horsemen returning, and by the exclama- orange and green. tions of disappointment which greeted the news they gave, he learned that some, at least, of his men had made their escape. some time later several men came up to him. one leaned over him and put his hand to his heart. "he is alive." "very well," another voice said. "then we will take him with us. he is an officer, and will be able to tell us all about their strength. watkins, you have a strong beast, and do not weigh much. do you mount, and then we will tie him to your back." a minute later walter was lifted up and felt that he was placed on a horse with his back to that of the rider. a rope was wound several times round his body. he re- mained perfectly passive, with his head hanging down on his breast. then a word of command was given and the troop set off. for a time there was no need for him to pretend in- sensibility, for the pain of his wound and the loss of blood overpowered him, and for some time he was un- conscious. after two hours' riding the troop was halted. walter felt the rope taken off him. then he was lifted down, dragged a short distance, and thrown down on some straw. then a door shut, and he heard a key turned. he felt sure that he was alone, but for some time lay perfectly quiet, as it was possible that one of the men might have remained to watch him. after a quarter of an hour, hearing not the slightest sound, he opened his eyes and looked round. he was, as he supposed, alone. the place in which he was lying was a stable, lighted only by a small opening high up in the wall. certain, therefore, that he was not overlooked, he made an effort to rise to his feet, but he was so weak and giddy that he was obliged for some time to vemain leaning against the wall. seeing a bucket in one corner, orange and green. "now, young fellow," one said sharply, "tell us what corps you belong to." walter looked stupidly at his questioner, but made no answer. "answer my question," the man said, leveling a pistol at him, "or i will blow out your brains at once." still walter stared at him stupidly and made no reply, except to mutter "water." "it's no use," one of the other men said; "he hasn't got his right senses yet. it's no use shooting him now, after we have had the trouble of bringing him here. in the morning he will be able to answer you." "he had better," the other said savagely, "or we will light a fire and roast him over it. there, take him back to the stable and give him a drink of water. i don't want him to slip through our fingers after the trouble we have had with him." walter was taken back as before to the stable, and one of the men brought him a mug of water and held it to his lips. he drank eagerly, and then the man placed the mug down beside him, the door was again closed and locked, and walter was alone. he rose at once to his feet, and felt that his sleep had greatly refreshed and strengthened him. "i will have another sleep before i try," he said to himself. "it will not be light till six, and it must be eight or nine o'clock now. i must make up my mind, before i doze off, to wake in about three or four hours; but first i must see what i can find here." he felt round the walls, but failed to find anything like a rope. "i must trust to luck," he said; "i don't suppose they will post many sentries. these fellows are not real sol- diers, and no doubt they will all be sound asleep in a couple of hours." orangk and green. so saying, he again lay down, and was speedily asleep. when he woke he felt sure that he had not exceeded the time he had given himself. he listened intently. he could hear a low confused sound, which he knew was made by horses feeding, but he could hear no human voices. he drank the rest of the water in the mug, then he turned up the bucket, placed it under the opening, and mounted on it. his first spring failed to reach the sill, and he stood for a few minutes before making another attempt. he knew that it was a matter of life or death, for he had no doubt whatever that, even if he gave the required infor- mation, which he was determined not to do, however much he might suffer, he would be shot afterward. he braced himself to the utmost, took a long breath, and then sprang. his fingers caught on the ledge of stone- work, and with a desperate effort he drew himself up, aided by his feet. he had before making the attempt removed his boots, partly to avoid the scraping noise which these would make, partly to enable him the better to avail himself of the inequalities in the stone-work. it was a desperate struggle; and when he got his shoulders in the opening, which was just wide enough to admit them, he lay for three or four minutes panting heavily, with the perspiration streaming down his face. the aperture was too small to admit of his turning in any way, and there was nothing for it, as he knew, but to drop headforemost. gradually he drew himself through the opening, low- ering himself as much as he could by holding on to the upper edge by his feet. then stretching out his arms to save himself, he let go. fortunately the ground was soft, for a garden adjoined the stable; but the shock was a heavy one, and he lay for a minute or two without mot - ing, having some doubt whether he had not broken his neck. then he got up and listened. orange and gbeen. everything was still and quiet, and indeed his fall had been almost noiseless; he rose to his feet, felt along the wall until he encountered a low paling, climbed over it, and was in the road. he had, when he jumped for the window, tied his boots to his back, and now carried them in his hand. the night was very dark; but his eyes, ac- customed to the greater darkness of the stable, had no difficulty in following the road. he walked slowly, for the exertion he had undergone and the shock of the fall had drawn greatly from his small stock of strength. after going a quarter of a mile he put on his boots, and, climbing a wall of sods which bordered the roads struck across country. there were no stars to guide him, and a slight mist had begun to fall. there was but little wind, but this was sufficient to give a direction to the rain. walter noticed this, and at once struck out in a direction which kept the rain falling upon the right side of his face; and he knew that, by so continuing, he was going in a tolerably straight line. as near as he could tell he walked for two hours, and then, utterly ex- hausted, lay down on the lee side of a turf wall. there was as yet no gleam of light in the sky, and in a very few minutes he was again sound asleep. he woke up with a feeling of bitter cold, and on rising found that his limbs were completely stiffened by the wet. it was morning now, the wind had got up, and a driving rain shut out the view on all sides. walter stamped his feet and swung his arms for some time to restore the circu- lation. he had no idea in which direction he had been travel- ing, for he did not know whether the road from which he had started ran north, south, east, or west. he noticed that the wind had changed; for whereas he had lain down under the lee of the wall, it was now the weather side. he walked in the same direction as before orange and green. for two hours, and could then go no further. he had seen no signs of human habitation, and had not crossed a road or even a footpath. since starting in the morn- ing he had passed no more walls or fences, and, as far as his eye could reach through the driving rain, nothing was to be seen save a desolate expanse of moor and bog. he was at any rate free from pursuit for the time, and he thought more of obtaining food and shelter than of the enniskilleners. it was useless pushing further on, even had he been able to do so, while the rain lasted; for he might have passed within a quarter of a mile of a habitation without seeing it. he accordingly threw himself down beside some low bushes, which afforded him some slight protec- tion from the rain. orange and green. chapter vii. the coming battle. some hours passed, and he was on the point of drop- ping off to sleep again when he heard a whistle repeated once or twice, followed by the sharp bark of a dog. it was but a short distance away, and leaping to his feet he saw a peasant standing at a distance of two or three hun- dred yards. walter hurried toward him at a speed of which a few minutes before he would have thought himself incapable. the man continued whistling at short intervals, and did not notice walter till he was within twenty yards distant; then he turned sharply round. "who are you?" he asked, clubbing a heavy stick which he held in his hand and standing on the defensive. the dress and appearance of the man assured walter that he was a catholic, and therefore a friend, and he re- plied at once: "i belong to one of the irish troops of horse. the enniskilleners surprised a party of us yesterday, and wounded me, as you see. fortunately i escaped in the night or they would have finished me this morning. i have been out all night in the rain, and am weak from loss of blood and hunger. can you give me shelter?" "that i can," the man said, "and gladly. those villains have been killing and destroying all over the country, and there's many a one of us who, like myself, have been driven to take refuge in the bogs." orange and green. "is it far?" walter asked; "for i don't think i could get more than a mile or two." "it is not half a mile," the man said. "you do look nearly done for. here, lean on me, i will help you along; and if you find your strength go i will make a shift to carry you." "it is lucky i heard you whistle," walter said. "it is, indeed," the man replied, "for it is not likely any one else would have come along to-day. my dog went off after a rabbit, and i was whistling to him to come to me again. ah! here he is; he has got the rabbit too. good dog! well done!" he took the rabbit and dropped it into the pocket of his coat. seeing that walter was too exhausted to talk, he asked no questions and said nothing till he pointed to a low mound of earth and said: "here we are." he went round by the side; and walter perceived that there was a sharp dip in the ground, and that the hut was dug out in the face of the slope; so that if it were approached either from behind or on either side it would not be noticed, the roof being covered with sods, and closely matching the surrounding ground. the man went to the low door and opened it. "come in, sir," he said; "you are quite welcome." the hut contained two other men, who looked up in surprise at the greeting. "this is a young officer in one of our horse regiments," the man said. "he has been in the hands of the ennis- killeners, and has got out from them alive—which is more than most can say. he has had a bad wound, has been wet through for hours, and is half-starving. look sharp, lads, and get something hot as soon as possible. now, sir, if you will take off those wet things of yours and wrap yourself in that rug, you will find yourself the better for it. when a man is in health a few hours' wet orange and green. will not do him any harm; but when he is weak from loss of blood, as you are, the cold seems to get into his bones." fresh turfs were at once put on the smoldering fire, which one of the men, leaning down before it, proceeded to blow" lustily; and although much of the smoke made its way out through a hole in the roof, enough lingered to render it difficult for walter to breathe, while his eyes watered with the sharp fumes. a kettle had been placed on the fire, and in a very short time a jar was produced from the corner of the hut and a horn of strong spirits and water mixed. "here are some cold praties, sir. it's all we have got cooked by us now, but i can promise you a better meal later on." walter ate the potatoes and drank the warm mixture. the change from the cold damp air outside to the warm atmosphere of the hut aided the effects of the spirits; he was first conscious of a warm glow all over him, and then the voices of the men seemed to grow indistinct. "you had better stretch yourself on that pile of rushes," the man said, as walter gave a start, being on the point of rolling over. "two or three hours' sleep will make a man of you, and by that time dinner will be ready and your clothes dry." walter fell almost instantaneously off to sleep, and it was late in the afternoon before he woke. "i am afraid i must have slept a long time," he said, sitting up. "you have had a fine sleep surely," one of the men re- plied; "and it's dinner and supper all in one that you will have." walter found his uniform and underclothes neatly folded up by his side, and speedily dressed himself. "that sleep has done me a world of good," he said. "i feel quite myself again." orange and greek "it's just that/' the man said. "we belonged to kil- bally. the enniskillenors came that way and burned it to the ground. they murdered my wife and many another one. i was away cutting pe*t with my wife's brother here; when we came back everything was gone. a few had escaped to the boge, where they could not be followed; the rest was, every mother's son of them, killed by those murdering villains. your honor may guess what we felt when we got back. thank god i had no children! we buried the wife in the garden behind the house, and then started away and joined a band of rap- parees, and paid some of them back in their own coin. then one day the enniskilleners fell on us, and most of us were killed. then we made our way back to the old village, and came up here and built us this hut. it's a wonder to us how you got here; for there are bogs stretch- ing away in all directions, and how you made your way through them bates us entirely." "yours is a sad story, but unfortunately a common one. and how have you managed to live here?" "there are plenty of potatoes for the digging of 'em," the man said, "for there are a score of ruined villages within a day's walk. as for meat, there are cattle for the taking, wandering all over the country; some have lately strayed away; but among the hills there are herds which have run wild since the days when cromwell made the country a desert. as for spirits, i brew them my- self. barley as well as potatoes may be had for the tak- ing. then sometimes the dog picks up a rabbit; some- times, when we go down for potatoes, we light on a fowl or two; there's many a one of them running wild among the ruins. as far as eating and drinking goes, we never did better; and if i could forget the old cottage, and the sight that met my eyes when i went back to it, i should do well enough, but night and day i am dreaming of it, and my heart is sore with longing for vengeance." orange and qreen. "why don't you join the army?" walter asked. "there's plenty of room for good men, and yesterday's s flair ?<as made some vacancies in my own troop. what t^o you say, lads? you would have a chance of crossing swords with the enniskilleners, and you could always come back here when the war is over." "what do you say, boys?" the man asked his compan- ions. "i am just wearying for a fight, and i could die contented if i could but send a few of those murdering villains to their place before i go." the other two men at once agreed. they talked well into the night, and walter heard many tales of the savage bi'tchery of unoffending peasants by the men who pro- ff/'sed to be fighting for religious liberty, which shocked al.d sickened him. it was arranged that they should start on the following morning. the men said that they could guide him across country to dundalk without difficulty, and assured him that he would be little likely to meet with the enemy, for that the whole country had been so wasted by fire and sword as to offer but little temp- tation even to the most insatiable of plunderers. accordingly, the next morning they set out and ar- rived late that evening at the camp. walter found that his father and his followers were absent. they had re- turned, much surprised at not having been rejoined by walter's party, but on their arrival they had found there the survivors of his command, who had ridden straight for dundalk. after a few hours' stay to rest the horses, captain davenant, with his own men and two of the troops of cavalry, had ridden out in search of the enniskilleners. larry, who had been almost wild with grief when the news of the surprise, and, as he believed, the death of walter, had been brought in, had accompanied the cav- alry. it was late on the following after uoon before they orange and green. rode into camp. larry was the first to come in, having received permission from captain davenant to gallop on ahead. they had met the enemy and had inflicted a de- cisive defeat upon them, but the greater part had escaped by taking to the hills on their wiry little horses, which were able to traverse bogs and quagmires impassable to the heavy troopers. / captain davenant had closely questioned two or three wounded men who fell into his hands. these all de- clared that a young officer had been captured in the pre- vious fight, that he had been severely wounded, and car- rried away senseless, but that he had in some extraor- dinary manner managed to escape that night. this story had greatly raised captain davenant's hopes that walter might yet be alive, a hope which he had not before al- lowed himself for a moment to indulge in; and as lie neared dundalk he had readily granted leave for the im- patient larry to gallop on ahead, and discover if any news had been received of walter. larry's delight at seeing his young master standing at the door of the tent was extreme. he gave a wild whoop, threw his cap high up into the air, and then, without a word of greeting, turned his horse's head and galloped away again, at th* top of his speed, to carry the good news to captain dav- enant. half an hour later the column rode into camp, and walter was clasped in his father's arms. that evening walter's three companions were enrolled in the troop, and, hearing that there were vacancies for fifteen more, volunteered to return to the hills and to bring back that number of men from the peasants hiding there. this mission they carried out, and by the end of the week captain davenant's troops was again made up to its full strength. the unsuccessful result of the siege of schomberg's camp greatly damped walter's enthusiasm. he had orange and green. been engaged in two long and tedious blockades, and, with the exception of some skirmishes round berry, had seen nothing whatever of fighting. neither operation had been attended by any decisive result; both had in- flicted extreme misery and suffering upon the enemy, but in neither was the success aimed at attained. at the same time, the novelty of the life, the companionship of his father and the other officers of the regiment, and, not least, the good-humor and fun of his attendant, larry, had made the time pass far more cheerfully to him than to the majority of those in the army. as before, when the army arrived at dublin, captain davenant's troop was posted in and around bray, the greater portion of it being permitted to reside in their own homes until again wanted for active service. walter on his return was glad to find that his friend john whitfeoot had made his way home from derry, and their pleasant intercourse was at once renewed. schomberg's army, when moved to healthy quarters and bountifully supplied with all kinds of food and nec- essaries from england, speedily recovered their health and discipline, and in a very short time were again in condition to take the field. early in february, , brigadier wolseley, with a detachment of enniskilleners and english, marched against cavan. james had no longer an army with which he could oppose schomberg's enterprises. while the latter had been recovering from the effects of his heavy losses, nothing had been done to put the irish army in a condition to take the field again. they lacked almost every necessary for a campaign. no magazines had been formed to supply them when they should again advance, and so short of forage were they that it was considered impossible to make any move in force until the grass should grow sufficiently to enable the horses to get into condition. orange and greek. nevertheless, the duke of berwick marched with eight hundred men from dublin, and brigadier nugent with a like force from west meath and longford, and arrived at cavan a few hours before the english reached the town. the irish force was composed entirely of infan- try, with the exceptioi >*f two troops of cavalry. the english force consisted of ?even hundred foot and three hundred cavalry. as cavan did not offer any advantages in the way of defense, the duke of borwick moved his army out into the open field. the english lined the hedges and stood on the defensive. the irish horse commenced the battle with a furious charge on the enniskilleners and dragoons, and drove them from the field, but the english infantry maintained their position so stoutly that after a prolonged fight the irish retreated into a fort near the town. the english and enniskilleners entered cavan, and at once began to sunder the place. hearing what was going on, the *?uke of berwick sallied out from his fort to attack them, and gained considerable advantage. brigadier wolseley being unable to restore discipline among the enniskilleners, who formed the great majority of his force, ordered the town to be set on fire in several places. the troops then collected and repulsed the irish with considerable loss. the duke of berwick had two hundred killed, among whom were brigadier nugent and many officers. as the irish remained in possession of the fort, and the town was almost entirely destroyed by fire, brigadier wolseley returned with his force to dundalk. shortly afterward the fort of charlernont was invested by a strong detach- ment of schomberg's ttrmy. teigue o'regan, the veteran governor, defended the place with the greatest bravery, and did not capitulate until the th of may, when the last ounce of provisions orange and green. was consumed. the garrison were allowed honorable terms, and the eight hundred men who defended the place, with their arms and baggage, and some two hun- dred women and children, were allowed to march away. the enniskilleners treated the irish soldiers and their families with great brutality as they passed along, but schomberg humanely ordered that a loaf of bread should be given to each man at armagh. the irish army were not in condition to render any assistance to the hard-pressed garrison of charlemont until after they had capitulated. in the meantime a great army, which was to be led by king william in per- son, was being collected in england. it consisted of a strange medley, collected from almost every european nation—english, scotch, irish protestants, french huguenots, dutch, swedes, danes, brandenburghers, swiss, norwegians, and hessians. more than half, in- deed, were foreigners. all were well disciplined, armed, and clothed. in all, including the force under schom- berg, the army amounted to forty-three thousand men and fifty cannon. king william landed at carrickfergus on the th of june, and the combined army at once began their south- ward march. against this force king james collected but twenty thousand men. of these six thousand were french; they had arrived under the command of the count de lauzun in march, but they had not increased the numbers of king james' troops, for he had been obliged to send in exchange an equal number of his best trained soldiers under lord mountcashel for service in france. of the fourteen thousand native troops, the irish horse, which was raised and officered by irish gen- tlemen, was excellent, but the infantry was composed for the most part of raw levies, but half-armed, and the only artillery consisted of twelve guns, which had arrived with the infantry from france. orange and green. it was a sad parting when captain davenant and walter left home for the front. the former was filled with gloomy forebodings. he could scarcely hope that the ill-trained levies of james could succeed against the vastly superior force of disciplined troops with whom they had now to cope; especially as the latter were led by an able and energetic general, while the former were hampered by the incompetence and vacillation of james. tho day before they started captain davenant rode over to *he whitefoots and had a talk with jabez. ''i know not how the campaign will go," he said. "if we are beaten we shall probably retire to the west and maintain the war there. in that case, dublin will of course fall into the hands of william. should this be so i will ask you to reverse our late position, and to ex- tend what assistance you can to my wife and mother. it may be that if i do not return here none will disturb them. i have not made myself obnoxious to my protes- tant neighbors, and no one may take the trouble to bring it before the notice of the english that i am absent fight- ing with the army of king james. if, however, they should do so, and the castle and what remains of the estates be confiscated, will you lend what aid you can to the ladies and my younger boy until i or walter return from the war?" "that will i do right gladly," jabez said heartily. "should i hear any talk of what you speak of i will go up to dublin with some of our friends and ministers, and we will testify to the good relations which have existed between you and your protestant neighbors, and entreat that no measures be taken against your estate. should we not prevail, be assured that i will look after the com- fort of the ladies as if they were of my own family. i can well understand that mrs. davenant the elder would not accept the shelter of our roof whatever her extremity. orange and green. she belongs to the generation of my father, and cannot forget the past; but i will see that they are well lodged in bray, and have every protection from molestation and annoyance there. should i find, as, alas! may be the case, that the spirit of religious persecution is fiercely abroad, i will consult with them as to whether they may wish to cross the sea until you can join them, and will make arrangements as they may direct for their passage." "i am truly obliged to you," captain davenant said. "it will make me comfortable to know that, whatsoever may befall me, they will have a friend in these stormy times." "say nought about it," jabez replied. "did not you and your son succor my boy in his extremity? if i do all and more than all that i can in this matter i shall not deem that we are quits." the irish army moved forward to the boyne, which william was approaching from the north. james' officers endeavored to dissuade him from setting everything on the hazard of the battle. they represented that his army, though now quite unequal to the contest, was rap- idly improving in skill and confidence in itself; that re- inforcements were every day expected from france, which would at least make them equal to the enemy in numbers; that they were in want of arms, artillery, and stores, all which might be expected also from france in -i short period; and that their policy was clearly to pro- tract the war, and wear out the enemy by a contest of posts and sieges. unskilled as his troops might be in the field, they had proved themselves steady and resolute in the defense of fortified places; they held all the great fortresses of the kingdom, and it would be easy to provide for the de- fense of these, and to occupy william's army in small affairs till the winter, when the climate would do execu- orange and green. tion upon the invaders, while the irish would suffer little. then would be the time to fight. in the meantime, it was urged, the intrigues the french were actively carrying out in britain would have produced some effect: the french fleet was every day ex- pected on the coast of england, and william would soon be compelled to return to that country, if not to recall the greater part of his army. in scotland, too, the french were busy; and there were materials in that coun- try for creating a powerful diversion. to fight now would be to forego every advantage, and to meet the views of william, whose obvious interest it was to bring the contest to an immediate decision now while every circumstance was in hi favor. but james, who had hitherto shown nothing but tim- idity and hesitation, was now seized with an impulse of valor. having acted with unfortunate cowardice before derry and schomberg's camp at dundalk, he was as un- fortunately now seized with ardor to fight when pru- dence and discretion would have been his best policy. but while james was determining to fight in the teeth of the opinion and advice of his bravest officers, his true character was shown in his taking every precaution for his personal safety. he sent off his heavy baggage, and engaged a vessel at waterford to convey him to france. william, on the other hand, was naturally eager for an early engagement. he was still very insecurely seated upon the english throne. the people were either dis- contented or indifferent. they looked with impatience and indignation at the crowd of dutch officers and civil- ians whom william had brought over with him; while the cold and ungracious manner of the king contrasted most unfavorably with the bearing to which they had been accustomed in english monarchs. in scotland the jacobite spirit was gathering in orange and green. strength, and william knew that unless he speedily broke the strength of james' party in ireland he would very shortly be confronted with difficulties and dangers on all sides. the position which the irish army occupied was a strong one. its right rested upon drogheda, a strong town in their possession. in front was the boyne, with steep banks lined with thick hedges, with cottages scat- tered here and there, offering an excellent position for light troops. on the left the boyne turned almost at a right angle, and formed a defense on this flank. to the rear the irish position was covered by high hills and the village of donore. further back was the pass of duleek. the hedges and cottages by the river side were oc- cupied by the irish infantry, and upon some little hil- locks which ran along the water's edge they erected some light batteries. king william reconnoitered the position with great at- tention, and saw that it had been well chosen and its advantages turned to account. notwithstanding the re- ports of deserters and others, he showed much anxiety to determine the exact strength of the irish. after examining the- position for some time from a height he rode down toward the river accompanied by several of his officers. when within musket-shot of the bank, near the ford and village of old bridge, he per- ceived that a small island in the boyne was occupied by a party of the irish horse. near the ford some field- works had been thrown up. it was at this point that the king determined to cross the river, and he spent some time conversing with his officers as to the arrange- ments for the passage. he then rode slowly along the river bank until he ar- rived nearly opposite the left of the irish line. here he alighted from his horse, and sat down on rising ground obangb and green. watching his own battalions, which were marching with the greatest regularity and order into the positions as- signed to them. while he was so engaged some officers of james' army were observed riding quietly along the opposite bank of the river, and also engaged in watching the movements of the british troops. these were general sarsfield, the duke of berwick, the marquis of tyrconnell, the count de lauzun, and others. some of the english dragoons approached the river and were fired upon by the irish. they returned the fire, and while the attention of both sides was en- gaged by the skirmish a party of irish cavalry moved slowly down toward the river and halted behind a low hedge, and then wheeling about again retired. the movements of the king and the group of officers accompanying him had been observed in the irish army, and two field-pieces were sent down concealed in the center of the cavalry. the guns had been placed behind the hedge when the horsemen withdrew, and when will- iam rose from the ground and mounted his horse fire was opened. the first cannon-shot killed two horses and a man by his side. the next grazed the king's right shoulder, tearing away his coat and inflicting a slight flesh wound. had the aim been slightly more accurate, or had the gunners fired with grape instead of round shot, it is probable that the whole course of history would have been changed. the rumor spread through both armies that the king was killed; but the wound was a slight one, and having had it hastily bound up the king rode quietly through the camps in order to show the men that the hurt was not serious. in the evening he called a council of war. the duke of schomberg was strongly opposed to an at- tack upon the enemy while posted in so strong a posi- tion, and urged that by making a turning movement orange and green. king's new-born courage began to die out; he ordered some movements to the rear, and sent forward more of his baggage. he would probably have declined the com- bat altogether had it not been too late. finally, just as day was breaking over the council, he determined that the army should retreat during the battle and not commit themselves in a decisive engagement. the french formed the left, and were to lead the retreat, while the irish held the right and center. it is almost certain that if james had kept to his reso- lution to fight, imprudent as it appeared to be, and had brought the french battalion into action instead of lead- ing them out of the field, the result of the battle of the boyne would have been a very different one. orange and green. chapter viii. boyne wateb. the morning of tuesday, the st of july, , broke calm and bright. at about six o'clock in the morning the english right wing, under general douglas and count schomberg, marched toward slane. it consisted of twenty-four squadrons of horse and six battalions of infantry. as they marched along at the back of the river they discovered several shallows, and crossed with- out proceeding as far as slane. no serious resistance was offered to their passage of the boyne, as the irish had here only some parties of skirmishers, who fell back as they advanced. after forming the troops in order douglas and schom- berg advanced, but presently perceived the french bat- talions and a great part of the irish cavalry, forming the left wing of james' army, drawn up in order at some dis- tance. they consequently halted and sent for reinforce- ments. when these arrived they extended their lines to the right, so as to outflank the enemy, and, supporting their cavalry by alternate battalions of infantry, again moved forward. the irish skirmishers fell back before their advance, taking advantage of the banks of the ditches, which divided the ground into small fields, and keeping up a galling fire upon the british as they ad- vanced. with some difficulty the latter passed over this broken ground and formed in order of battle on the edge of what appeared to be a plain, but which was in fact a orange and green. deep bog, which completely covered the irish left. here they came to a standstill. william had waited until he believed that his right would have had time to fall upon the irish left, and then ordered his center to advance and force the passage at old bridge. the dutch guards, whom william relied upon as his best and most trustworthy troops, advanced in splendid order to the river side, with their drums beating the march. when they reached the water's edge the drums ceased, and the soldiers entered the river. the stream rose as the dense column marched in and dammed it up, and the water reached the shoulders of the grenadiers, but they still moved on in regular order, keeping their arms and ammunition dry by holding them above their heads. on the opposite bank the hedges near the brink of the river were lined with skirmishers, while in the rear, in a hol- low covered by some little hills, seven regiments of irish infantry, supported by ten troops of horse and tyrcon- nelfs regiment of cavalry, were drawn up. the hills protected them from the fire of the british batteries, which passed over their heads. the dutch troops continued their way unmolested . until they reached the middle of the river, when a hot fire was opened upon them from the irish skirmishers; but the dutch moved on unshaken and soon gained the opposite bank, where they rapidly formed up, the skirmishers retiring before them. scarcely had the dutch formed their squares when the irish horse burst down upon them at full speed and charged them with impetuosity. they stood the charge unbroken, but again and again the irish horse charged down upon them with the great- est gallantry. william pushed two regiments of french huguenots and one of british across the river to the as- orange and green. sistance of the dutch guards, and ordered sir john hanmars and the count of nassau's regiment to cross lower down the stream to support them. as the supports were making a passage, general hamilton advanced at the head of a body of irish infantry to the water's edge, and dashing into the river encoun- t«red the french huguenot regiments in the middle of the stream. a desperate fight ensued, but the french made their way across, and hamilton, falling back with his infantry, opened to the right and left, permitting the irish horse to charge through them. these rushed with fury upon the french regiment of colonel la callimot, and cut their way right through them. then wheeling they charged them in flank again, broke them and drove them into the river. la callimot himself was killed, and but few of his regiment regained the opposite bank. in the meantime the dutch guards, now reinforced, were advancing slowly, the irish infantry holding fast to the hedges and brushwood, and contest- ing every inch of the ground, while, wherever the ground permitted it, the irish horse burst down upon them, evincing a gallantry and determination which would have done honor to the finest cavalry in europe. the king continued to make repeated efforts to sup- port his dutch troops, and after the french were broken he pushed forward the danish horse; but no sooner had they crossed the bank than the irish cavalry burst down upon them, broke them and drove them back into the river. they fled across the stream in disorder, and dis- persed in all directions. so far success had rested principally with the irish; the dutch guards alone remained unbroken in the cen- ter; the french infantry and danish horse were broken and destroyed. old duke schomberg exerted himself to the utmost to restore the battle at this point, and having orange and green. rallied the french infantry advanced with them, and a few french cavalry, toward the river, where he was met by some of the irish horse returning from the pursuit of the danes. the old duke was cut down and his party again routed, and at the same moment ay^alker, the cler- ical commander of derry, received a mortal wound. after his successful defense of derry, this man had gone to london, where he had been feted and made much of, and had then attached himself to king william's army, where he posed as a high military authority, although much discouraged by the king, whom his arrogance and airs of authority displeased. while in the center william's forces were getting worsted, and on his right douglas and count schomberg were inactive and powerless, he himself was leading his left wing across the river. the passage was a difficult one, and the king himself was only extricated with much exertion from a quicksand into which his horse had plunged. the irish did not oppose the crossing, and as soon as his forces were across the stream william ranged them in order. they consisted of a large body of danish, dutch, and enniskillen horse, and a considerable force of in- fantry. as soon as all were in order the king, though still suffering from the wound he had received the day before, drew his sword and put himself at the head of his troops. the irish right wing, which consisted chiefly of infantry, moved forward to meet them, but perceiving the numerous cavalry, led by the king himself, preparing to take them in flank, they halted, faced about and marched slowly to the little hill of donore. havifig gained this point, they again faced round and charged down upon the british who had followed them closely. at this moment the irish cavalry, who had moved rap- idly from the center to the support of the right, charged orange and green. superiority to those of the british, and even broke and destroyed regiments of infantry; and when the whole army fell back they closed up the rear, and effectually prevented any attempt at pursuit. thus the battle of the boyne was fought rather to cover a retreat than de- fend a position. the loss on either side was estimated at about five hundred, and general hamilton was the only prisoner taken by the british. the honors of the fight certainly rested with the irish, who, against a vastly superior force, comprising some of the best troops in europe, maintained themselves throughout the day, and gained, indeed, in most points, a decided advantage. king james' valor had entirely evaporated before the first shot was fired. instead of following william's ex- ample, and leading his troops in the conflict which was to decide the fate of his crown, and which he himself had precipitated, he took up his position at a safe dis- tance from danger, on the hill of donore, and as soon as the battle approached that point he rode off to duleek, where he placed himself at the head of the french troops, and led their retreat. he soon, however, rode on ahead, and arrived in dub- lin in a state of consternation and despair, the first fugi- tive from the field of battle. in the meantime the army was whole and unbroken, marching in perfect order from the field of battle, while its king and commander was do- ing his best to ruin the cause by spreading dismay and alarm throughout the country. the next morning the king sent for the mayor and corporation of dublin, and told them that he was under the necessity of taking care of himself, and recommended them to do the same, and to make the best terms they could with the enemy. ho then at once mounted and made his flight to waterford, ordering the bridges to be broken down behind him, al- orange and green. ably the white feather. after this the king disliked and despised these troops, and hung them without ceremony when taken in those acts of plunder and slaughter to which they were so much addicted. so far from the flight of king james discouraging the army, it caused universal joy. it was his constant vacil- lation, interference, and cowardly action which had paralyzed his troops; and they felt that, now they were free to act without his interference, they would be able to cope with the invaders. william at once offered favorable terms if ireland would submit to his authority; but these were declined, partly owing to the powerful influence of prance, partly to the fear that the tenns would not be observed, partly to the apprehension of all the gentry that the lands which they had but just recovered from the hands of cromwell's settlers would be again taken from them. at the battle of the boyne walter davenant with his father's troop had taken part in all the desperate charges upon the enemy. during the long hours the battle had lasted the cavalry had been incessantly engaged. time after time they had charged down upon the dutch squares, and no sooner had the ranks been re-formed after recoiling from the line of fixed bayonets than they were called upon to charge in another direction. walter's heart beat high as they dashed into the midst of the french infantry, or shattered and drove before them the danish horse; but there was little time to think, and looking back upon the day when all was over it seemed to him a chaos of excitement and confusion, of which he could hardly recall even the chief incidents. as the troops halted for the night they were in no way dispirited at the result of the battle, as the retreat had been begun before a blow was struck. they knew that it was neither intended nor hoped that the ground would orange and green. be successfully held; and every man felt a pride in the thought that some eighteen thousand newly raised irish levies, of whom but a small portion of the infantry were armed with muskets, had sustained throughout a long summer's day the attacks of more than double their number of veteran troops, supported by fifty pieces of artillery. the loss of the irish horse had been comparatively small. charging a square in the days when the bayonet was fixed in the muzzle of the gun was not the desperate undertaking that it now is, when from the hedge of steel issues a rolling and continuous fire. the french regi- ment, once broken, had been cut down with scarce any resistance, while the mercenary cavalry had been de- feated with the greatest ease. thus among the brigade of the irish horse there were but few fallen friends to mourn, and nothing to mar the pride that every man felt in the behavior of the irish troops against such over- whelming odds. that the king had fled every one knew, but the feeling was one of relief. "his absence is more than a victory to us," captain davenant said as with a group of officers he sat by a fire made of a fence hastily pulled down. "his majesty has his virtues, and, with good counselors, would make a worthy monarch; but among his virtues military genius is not conspicuous. i should be glad myself if lauzun and the french would also take their departure, and let us have mountcashel's division back again from france. if we are left to ourselves, with our own generals, sars- field and mountcashel, we can tire out this continental riffraff that william has gathered together. the dissen- sions caused by french interference have been our ruin so far; leave us to ourselves and we shall do. the irish to-day have proved their fighting qualities; and, if proper use is made of the resources and difficulties of the coun- orange and green. try, i defy them to conquer us. i feel more hopeful now than i have done since the first day we took the field." "do you think we shall fight another battle before dublin, father?" walter asked. "i have no idea what the generals will decide, walter, but i should imagine that we shall march to the west. we had a strong position to-day, but in the open field at present we could not hope to cope with william's supe- rior numbers and great artillery train. his guns were little use to him yesterday; but on level ground they would tear our ranks to pieces, without our being able to make any return. among the rivers and bogs and moun- tains of the west we should find scores of places which we could hold against them. besides, in my opinion we should not fight pitched battles, but should harass them with continuous marches and attacks, leaving them masters only of the ground they stand on, until at last we completely wear them out and exhaust them." "then you think we shall abandon dublin altogether?" "i think so, walter." "but will they not persecute the catholics when they have them in their power?" "there may be some disturbance in the city, walter, before the english troops march-in; but william will no doubt put an end to this as soon as he arrives. he can- not wish to drive the catholics of ireland to desperation. at any rate i do not think we need feel at all uneasy about those at home; lying on the coast to the east of the town of dublin, and altogether out of the track of the movements of troops, there is little fear of trouble there. in our district there is little preponderance in numbers of one religion over the other; and unless the presence of troops, or worse, of those savages from enniskillen or derry, excite them, there is little fear of the protestants of that neighborhood interfering with our people, espe- orange and green. cially as they have no grounds for complaint in the past. no, i do not think that you need disquiet yourself in the slightest about those at home." as captain davenant had thought probable, the irish army, after marching into dublin in good order, with flags flying and music playing, left on the following day for the west. they were accompanied by most of the leading catholic families; and on their departure the corporation at once wrote to william inviting him to enter the capital. before his arrival, however, the prot- estant mob destroyed a great quantity of property be- longing to the catholics, and carried their excesses to such a point that the town would probably have been de- stroyed by fire had not the better classes of protestants armed themselves and taken energetic steps to repress the tumult. as the troops marched into dublin "walter said to captain davenant: "can i ride over to see how they are at home? they will have heard of the battle. mother and grandmother must be terribly anxious." "i shall be glad for you to go, walter, for it would greatly ease their minds at home; but we are to start again almost immediately, and probably the whole army will have marched off before you get back in the morn- ing. there is no saying what may occur after we have gone. there may be a general attack upon the catho- lics. at any rate it will be dangerous in the extreme for a single officer in our uniform to be riding through the town after we have left. even in the country villages there must be intense excitement, and any one in the king's uniform might be fired at in passing through any of the protestant settlements." "well, father, suppose i do not start until it gets dark, then i can get home without attracting notice; there i orange and green. can put on a suit of my old clothes, and bring my uni- form out in my valise." "well, perhaps you might manage in that way, walter; and i should be very glad to relieve their minds at home, and to know how they are going on. if you like you can stop there for a day or two. i don't suppose that william will be here with his troops for a few days. he has learned that our army is not to be despised, and he may hesitate to advance upon dublin until he receives certain news that we have moved away, and that he will not have to fight another battle for the possession of the city. should you hear that william's troops have ar- rived in the town, you will of course make a detour so as to avoid it on your way to rejoin us; ai now i will write 'a letter at once for you to take to your mother." as soon as it was dark walter mounted and started for bray, where he arrived without molestation on the way. his arrival was an immense relief to the ladies, who had been suffering an agony of suspense since the news of the battle had reached them. king james' hurried arrival and panic flight to waterford had caused the most alarm- ing reports as to the battle to circulate throughout the country, and by many it was supposed that his army had been utterly destroyed. walter's arrival, then, with the news that his father as well as himself had passed through the day unhurt, was an immense relief; and they were grateful to learn that, so from having been routed, the irish army had accomplished its object of fighting the battle and then falling back in perfect order and without molestation. "father says, mother, that he believes next time, when we shall be no longer hampered by the interference of the king, we shall be able to make even a better fight of it, especially if, as we all hope, the french officers will follow the king's example and take themselves off." oba nge and gre en. "how long are you going to stay, walter?" "i shall stay over to-morrow, mother, and start next morning early. i ought to he able to come up to the army before night, but if not i shall overtake them on the march next day." "i wish i was older," godfrey, who had been listening to the account of the battle, said. "it is so hard to have to stay at home here while you and father are having such fun!" "you would not think it was fun if you were with us, godfrey," walter said. "i used to think it would be fun, but i don't think so now. just while the fighting is going on one is so excited that one doesn't think of the danger, but when it is over it is awful to see the gaps in the ranks, and to know that so many of those who were riding with you have fallen, and that it may be your turn next time." "ah, it's all very well for you to talk, walter, because you are going through it all, but you would think just the same as i do if you were in my place." "that is true enough, godfrey. anyhow, i am glad you are not old enough. i don't mean that i should not like to have you with us, but then there would be nobody at home with mother. now if anything happens to father and me, she has got you, and as you grow up you will be able to look after her and take care of her. it is bad enough for her having two of us in the war; it would be worse still if there were three." as the next evening walter heard that there was news that william's troops had not yet moved from the boyne, he thought that it was sale to take the direct road through dublin. he had laid aside his uniform on reaching home, and in the morning started in his civilian clothes, with the uniform in the valise strapped behind the saddle. ue carried his sword as usual, for almost all orange and green. caught up hoes, spades, and other weapons, and a fierce fight was going on. the women with shrill cries encour- aged the peasants, and aided them by hurling stones at the rioters. walter saw that his interference would be of no avail, and, with a heavy heart at the bitter hatred which the two parties in ireland exhibited for each other, he turned from the road, made a circuit round the village, and continued his way. after that he avoided all towns and villages, and slept at night in the cabin of a peasant lying some little distance from the road. the following day he again pressed on, and before evening overtook the retiring army. on the arrival of king william with his army in dub- lin, a proclamation was issued assuring all save those who resisted his authority of his protection, and threatening severity against those who disturbed the peace or com- mitted outrage on personal property. letters of protec- tion were granted to all who applied for them; and hear- ing this, jabez whitefoot at once went into dublin to apply for protection for the family of captain davenant. on hearing, however, that no persecution of catholics would be allowed, and that the army was likely to march west at once in pursuit of the irish, he thought it better to leave the matter alone, as his application would only draw the attention of the authorities to the fact of cap- tain davenant and his son being engaged in the hostile, army. he felt sure that the ladies need fear no molesta- tion save from the soldiers or northerners, as his own in- fluence with the protestants of his neighborhood would suffice to prevent these from interfering with the house- hold at the castle. the irish army marched toward the shannon, and were concentrated part in the neighborhood of athlone and part at limerick. william shortly prepared to fol- low them. he, too, divided his army into two columns. orange and green. the main body, under his own command, took the road to limerick, while the other division, consisting of five regiments of cavalry and twelve of infantry, was dis- patched under the command of general douglas for the purpose of investing the fortress of athlone. as the armies marched west their path was marked by wholesale outrage and destruction. although protec- tions were granted to the peasants and inhabitants of the towns and villages through which the armies marched, they were entirely disregarded by the soldiers, who plundered, ill-used, and sometimes murdered the de- fenseless people, carrying away without payment all pro- visions on which they could lay their hands. the king sometimes hanged those who were caught in these acts of plunder and slaughter, but this had but little effect. the dutch soldiers alone maintained their order and discipline. the foreign mercenaries, com- posed for the most part of the sweepings of the great cities, behaved with a brutality and cruelty almost with- out example, and which was acknowledged by all the his- torians of the time, protestant as well as catholic. in- deed, the protestant inhabitants suffered even more than the catholics, for many of the latter fled at the approach of the army, while the protestants, regarding them as friends and deliverers, remained quietly at home, and suffered every insult and outrage at the hands of this horde of savages, who were perfectly indifferent as to the religion of those they plundered. captain davenant's troop was with the force which had retired to athlone, and there awaited the approach of the column of general douglas. the reports of the conduct of the enemy that were brought in by the flying peasants filled the irish troops with indignation and rage, and when, on arriving before the town, general douglas sent a messenger to demand its surrender, colonel grace, ob a nam and gr ken. who commanded, only replied by firing a pistol toward him. athlone stood on either side tit the shannon. the town on the eastern bank of the river was called "the english town," that on the western "the irish"—a dis- tinction existing in many of the irish towns, where the early english settlers found it expedient to live apart from the irish for mutual protection against attack. colonel grace had retired to the west bank of the river, which was strongly fortified, destroying the english town and breaking down part of the bridge across the river. the garrison consisted of three regiments of foot and nine troops of horse; and when douglas erected his bat- teries and opened fire on the castle they replied briskly, and their guns got the better of those in the batteries. a strong detachment of horse and mounted grenadiers was sent by douglas to lanesborough, some miles north of the town, with orders to pass the river at that point, but the post was held by irish troops, who easily repulsed the attempt. it was next proposed to pass the river at a ford a short distance from the bridge; but the troops had little heart for the enterprise, as the ford was covered by field works erected by the irish. the assailants were already re- duced to considerable -straits. they had consumed all provisions found in the town, plundering without mercy the protestant inhabitants, who had been well treated by the irish troops, while the conduct of the army effec- tually deterred the country people from bringing in provisions. the circulation of the report that general sarsfield, with fifteen thousand men, was on the march to cut off the besiegers of athlone, determined general douglas to make a speedy retreat. in his fear of being cut off he abandoned all his heavy baggage, and quitting the high- orange and green. road, made his way by unfrequented routes, which added to the hardships of the march. in its retreat the column was accompanied by the unhappy protestant inhabitants, who feared to remain behind lest the irish should retal- iate upon them the sufferings which had been inflicted upon their countrymen. in the meantime the main english army had done but little. in dublin a commission had been appointed to examine into and forfeit the lands of all catholics and adherents of king james, and having set this machine at work, the king proceeded with his army southward through carlow, kilkenny, and waterford, all of which places surrendered, the garrisons being allowed to march out with their arms and baggage to join their main army on the shannon. at waterford the king received such serious news as to the state of things in england that he determined to return home. on arriving at dublin he was overwhelmed with petitions from the inhabitants as to the shameful conduct of the troops left in garrison there, especially those of trelawney's, schomberg's, and some other regi- ments of horse, who, the people complained, treated them, although protestants, far worse than james' catholic soldiers had done. inquiry showed these com- plaints to be well founded, and finding it impossible to restore order and discipline among them, the king at once sent these regiments back to england. then, re- ceiving better news from home, he again started to rejoin his army, and marched toward limerick, being joined on his way by the division under douglas, which had driven along with them all the cattle and horses of the country through which they had passed. limerick was at that time the second city in ireland. the country, for a long distance along the mouth of the shannon, was much wooded, but in the immediate vicin- orange and green. ity of the town it was surrounded by thick inclosures, houses, orchards, gardens, and plantations. the culti- vated land was everywhere divided into small fields in- closed by hedges, and intersected by lanes. to the east of the town the shannon divides itself, forming an island on which part of the city is situated. this was called the english town, and was connected by a bridge, called thomond bridge, with the clare side of the river on the north, and on the south by another bridge with the irish town on the county of limerick side. the thomond bridge was defended by a strong fort and some lieldworks on the clare side, and on the city side by a drawbridge flanked by towers and the city walls. the bridge was very long and narrow. the posi- tion of the english town was indeed almost impregnable. it was built upon a rock of considerable extent, and the land outside the walls was low and marshy, and could at any time be flooded. the shannon was broad and rapid. the irish town on the limerick shore was not strong, being defended only by ordinary walls. if this were cap- tured, however, the english town could still hold out. the king made his approaches to the city slowly, being obliged to level the numerous inclosures as he moved on. these were occupied by the irish infantry, who, lining every hedge, kept up a galling fire, falling back gradually as heavy bodies of troops were brought up against them, until they reached the cover of the guns of the city and fort; upon these opening fire, william's army halted and encamped before the irish town. here, as at the boyne, the king had a narrow escape, a cannon-ball from the walls striking the ground at his foot as he was passing through a gap in a hedge. the king had learned that great dissensions existed be- tween the irish and french, and relied upon this as much as upon the strength of his arms to obtain possession of the city. orange and green. his information was indeed correct. king james in his flight had left no orders as to who should assume the supreme command. the duke of berwick had consider- able claims. lauzun and the french officers declined alto- gether to receive orders from tyrconnell, and the irish officers equally objected to act under the command of a frenchman. consequently, during the wh»le siege, the main irish army, which, by acting upon william's rear, could speedily have made his position untenable, re- mained inactive. m. boileau, a french officer, was gov- ernor of the town, but lauzun, having examined the fortifications, pronounced the place wholly incapable of defense, declaring that the walls could be knocked down with roasted apples, and so ordered the entire french division to march to galway, and there await an oppor- tunity for embarking for france, leaving the irish to de- fend the city if they chose. lauzun, in fact, was a courtier, not a soldier. he de- sired to get back to versailles at any hazard, and had so inspired his officers and men with his own sentiments that there was a general cry among them to be recalled to france. they had indeed no interest in the cause in which they fought. they looked with contempt at their half-armed and half-trained allies, and they grumbled con- tinually at the hardships which they had to undergo. it was indeed an evil day for king james' cause when he exchanged mountcashel's fine division for these useless allies, who throughout the war not only did no service, but were the cause of endless dissension and disaster. as soon as king william had taken up his position in front of limerick he sent a summons to boileau to sur- render. the latter consulted with tyrconnell, sarsfield, and some other officers, for even to the last moment it was a question whether the place should be defended. at last, however, a decision was made. the reply was orange and green. chapter ix. pleasant quarters. after the termination of the short siege of athlone the troop of captain davenant were dispatched to join the army near limerick, and on their arrival there were ordered to take up their quarters at the house of a prot- estant gentleman named conyers, four miles from the town on the limerick side of the river. it was a mansion of considerable size, standing in large grounds, for its proprietor was one of the largest land- owners in the county of limerick, his grandfather having been a colonel in one of cromwell's regiments. mr. conyers himself had gone to dublin, upon the passing of the act sequestrating the property of all the protes- tants by james' parliament, to endeavor to obtain a re- mission of the decree so far as it concerned his house and adjoining grounds. as he had influential friends there, he had remained urging his petition until the battle of the boyne and the entry of king william into dublin entirely changed the position. but he then, owing to the disturbance of the country, and the fact that the irish army had retired to limerick, found it impossible to return home. he had, however, traveled with will- iam's army, to which he was able to give much useful information regarding the defenses and details of the country round the town. as captain davenant's troop rode up to the house a lady with a girl of some sixteen years old appeared at the orange and green. door. both looked very pale, for they feared that the brutal conduct of which they had heard of william's army would be followed by reprisals on the part of the irish. they were somewhat reassured, however, by captain davenant's manner as that officer dismounted, raised his hat, and said: "madam, i have received orders to quarter my troop in the house, but i am anxious, i can assure you, to cause as little inconvenience and annoyance as possible under the circumstances." "we are only women here, sir," mrs. conyers said. "the house is at your disposal. i myself and my daugh- ter will move to the gardener's cottage, and i trust that you will give orders to your men that we shall be free from molestation there." "i could not think of disturbing you in that manner," captain davenant said. "i myself have a wife and mother alone at home, and will gladly treat you with the same courtesy which i trust they will receive. allow me in the first place to introduce to you my lieutenant, mr. o'moore, and my cornet, who is also my son, walter. i see that you have extensive stables and out-buildings. i am sure that my men, who are all good fellows, and many of them the sons of farmers, will make themselves very comfortable in these. i myself and my two officers will quarter ourselves in the gardener's cottage you speak of." "you are good indeed, sir," mrs. conyers said grate- fully; "but i could not think of allowing you to do that, and shall indeed be pleased if you and your officers will take up your residence here as my guests." "i thank you kindly; but that i could not do. my men will be well content with the outhouses if they see that we are content with the cottage; but they might not be so if they saw that we took up our quarters in the orange and green. house. therefore, if you will allow me, i will carry out my own plan; but i need not say that we shall be very pleased to visit you in the house at such times as may be agreeable to you." after expressing their grateful thanks mrs. conyers and her daughter withdrew into the house. captain davenant then addressed a few words to his men. "the house will not hold you all, lads, and there are only ladies here, and i am sure you would not wish to disturb and annoy them by crowding their house; there- fore, i have arranged that you shall take, up your quar- ters in the outhouses, and that we shall occupy a little cottage on the grounds. i hope, lads, that, for the honor of the country and the cause, all will behave as peacefully and quietly as if in our own homes. it would be a poor excuse that because william's soldiers are be- having like wild beasts we should forget the respect due to lonely women." a fortnight was spent here pleasantly for all. the first alarm past, mrs. conyers felt safer than she had done for months. ever since the troubles had begun she had felt the loneliness of her position as a protestant, and she would have long before made her way with her daughter to dublin, had it not been that she thought that so long as she continued in the house it might be respected by the catholic peasantry, while, were she to desert it, it would probably be plundered, perhaps burned to the ground. still, the position was a very trying one, especially since the jacobite army began to gather in force round limerick. she now felt that her troubles were comparatively over. the troops caused no annoyance, and she heard but little of them, while she found in captain davenant and his officers pleasant guests. the troops on their part were orange and green. well satisfied. mrs. conyers gave instructions that they were to be supplied with all they needed, and their ra- tions of bread and meat were supplemented with many little comforts and luxuries from the house. while mrs. conyers entertained the two elder officers walter naturally fell to the share of her daughter, and the two soon became great friends, wandering in the grounds, and sometimes riding together when walter was not engaged with the troop. the news came daily of the movements of william's army, and when it ap- proached captain davenant's troop went far out to ob- serve its movements and obtain an accurate idea of its strength. it was late in the evening when they returned, and captain davenant said at supper: "this is our last meal with you, mrs. conyers. we leave at daybreak, and a few hours afterward william's army will arrive before limerick. we shall be the losers, but you will be the gainer if, as you suppose, mr. conyers is with them." "i shall be really sorry for your going, captain daven- ant. it seemed a terrible thing having a troop of hostile horse quartered upon one; but in reality it has been a pleasant operation rather than not, and i have felt safer than i have done for months. i do hope that when these troubles are over we shall renew our acquaintance, and that you will give my husband an opportunity of thanking you for the kindness with which you have treated us." "the thanks should be on my side," captain davenant said. "you have made what promised to be an un- pleasant duty a most pleasant one. our stay here has been like a visit at a friend's, and i regret deeply that it has to come to an end, a regret which i am sure lieutenant o'moore and my son share." orange and grebn. walter turned round sharply, for he had not heard him approach. "we had, larry," he said with a smile. "we shall find it rougher work now." "we shall, yer honor. i was thinking to myself," he said confidentially, "that if you might be wanting to send a bit of a letter it's meself could easily make a boat with some osiers and the skin of that bullock we had given us for the rations of the troops to-day." "send a letter, larry!—who should i be sending a letter to?" "sure yer honor knows better than me. i thought maybe you would be liking to let the young lady know how we're getting on now, and to find out whether her father has come home, and how things are going. yer honor will excuse me, but it just seemed natural that you should be wishing to send a line; and a sweeter young lady never trod the sod." walter could not help laughing at the gleam of quiet humor in larry's face. "i don't know, lad. you have pretty well guessed my thoughts; but it can't be. the opposite bank will be swarming with william's men—it would be a most dan- gerous business. no, it's not to be thought of." "very well, yer honor, it's just as you like; but you have only got to hand me a bit of paper, and give me a wink of your eye, and i will do it. as to william's sodgers, it's little i fear them; and if all one hears of their doings be true, and i had a pretty young creature a mile away from me, with those blackguards round about her, it's anxious i should be for a line from her hand;" and larry got down from his seat, and began to walk away toward the village. walter stood silent for a moment. "wait, larry," he said. orange and green. for some time. he had certainly thought vaguely that he should like claire conyers to know that he was still within sight of her house; but the possibility of sending her word had not occurred to him until his follower sug- gested it. larry's suggestion of possible danger to her made him uneasy. even if her father was with the king, and had already returned home, he would frequently be absent in the camp, and who could tell but some band of plunderers might visit the house in his absence! the protestants had been plundered and ill-used by william's men round athlone, and might be here. it would cer- tainly be well to know what was going on across the water. after the kindness they had received, surely it would be only civil to let the conyers know where they were posted. at any rate claire could not be offended at his writing; beside, he might arrange some plan by which he might get news from larry's friend, pat ryan. as he went down to the village he heard roars of laughter, and passing a cottage saw larry with five or six of the troopers round him. larry was seated on the ground, making a framework in the shape of a saucer four feet in diameter. "and what are you wanting a boat for, larry?" "sure, i am mighty fond of fishing," larry said. "didn't you know that?" "i know you are a fisherman at home, larry; but if it's fishing you want, there are two large boats hauled up on the bank." "they are too big," larry said. "i should want half a dozen men to launch them, and then you would want to go with me, and the bare sight of you would be enough to frighten away all the fish in the shannon. but i will have a look at the boats; the captain might want a party to cross the river, and it's as well to see that they are in orange and green. good order, and have got the oars and thole-pins handy. i will see to them myself, for there are not half a dozen of ye know one end of the boat from the other." when walter reached his quarters he at once sat down to write. after many attempts he finished one as follows: "dear miss conyers: after the kindness shown to us by mrs. conyers and yourself, i feel sure that you will like to know where we are posted. we are at ballygan, just across the shannon opposite to your house, and i can see your roof from a spot fifty yards from the village. it seems a pleasure to me to be so close, even though we are as much divided as if there were the sea between us. i hope that mr. conyers has returned, and that you will have no trouble with william's troops, whose reputation for good behavior is not of the' best. i hope that now that you are among your friends you have not quite for- gotten us, and that you will let me have a line to say how you are and how things are going on with you. my boy larry is going to take this across, and will call to-morrow night for an answer, if you are good enough to send one." "when will your boat be finished, larry?" he asked his follower as the latter came in, just as it was getting dusk. "she will be finished to-morrow. the framework is done, and i could make a shift, if your honor wished, just to fasten the skin on so that it would take me to- night." "if you could, i would rather, larry." "all right, your honor!" larry said with a slight smile; "two hours' work will do it." "i know where you are making it, larry, and will come round when i go to inspect sentries, at eleven o'clock. we shall post ten men a quarter of a mile apart on the bank, and i will give orders for them to look out for you. the word will be 'wicklow;' so when you come across they will shout to you, 'who comes there?' you say, 'wicklow;' and it will be all right." orange and green. at the hour he had named walter went round for larry, who was working by the light of a torch stuck in the ground. "i have just finished it, yer honor; but i was obliged to stop till the boys got quiet; they were so mighty in- quisitive as to what i was in such a hurry about that i had to leave it alone for awhile." "look here, larry, here is the letter, but that's not the principal reason why i am sending you across. you will give it to pat ryan, as you suggested, to pass on through bridget to miss conyers; but i want you to ar- range with him that he shall, to-morrow, get some dry sticks put together on the bank opposite, with some straw, so that he can make a blaze in a minute. then do you arrange with him that if any parties of william's troops come to the house in the absence of mr. conyers, and there should seem likely to be trouble, he is to run as hard as he can down to the river; if it is day, he is to wave a white cloth on a stick; if it is night, he is to light the fire. tell him to arrange with bridget to run at once to him and tell him if there is trouble in the house, for as he is in the stables he may not know what is going on inside. i have been looking at those boats, they will carry fifteen men each at a pinch; and if the signal is made we shall not be long in getting across. pat would only have about half a mile to run. we will get the boats down close to the water's edge, and it won't take us many minutes to get across. anyhow, in twenty minutes from the time he starts we might be there." "that will be a moighty good plan, yer honor. now, if you will go down to the water with me i will be off at once. i shan't be away half an hour; and i can slip up into the loft where pat sleeps, and not a sowl be the wiser if there was » regiment of william's troops about the house." orange and green. "there is little enough to tell, yer honor. i just rowed across and landed, and made straight for the house. everything was quiet and still. i went round to the stables and up into the loft where pat sleeps. 'are you there, pat ryan,' says i? "'who is it calls pat ryan?' says he. "'it's myself, larry, mr. davenant's boy.' "'why, i thought you had gone,' says he. 'are you sure it's yourself?' says he. "'and who else should it be, pat ryan? don't yer know my voice?' "by this time i had got into the corner where he slept, and touched him. "'i am glad to feel you, larry,' says he, 'for i wasn't sure that you hadn't fallen in with the troopers, and it wasn't your ghost that come to visit me.' "'whist,' says i, 'i have no time to waste upon ye. the master and the troops are stationed just across the river at ballygan. mr. davenant has given me a letter for miss oonyers, telling her all about it. i don't ex- actly know what he said, and maybe she would like it given privately, so do you hand it to bridget in the morning, and ask her to give it her mistress, and to hand over to you any answer there may be. i will come across for it to-morrow night. but that's not all, pat. you know the devil's work that william's men have been carrying on on the march.' "'av course, every one has heard the tales of the vil- lains' doings, larry.' "'well, the young master is mighty anxious about it, as you may guess. has mr. conyers come?' "'yes. he rode in at four this afternoon.' "'well, mr. davenant says you will all be safe as long as he's here, but maybe that at some time when he's away you may have a troop of these villains of the world orange and green. ride in here, and little they care whether it's protestants or catholics that they plunder; so if they come here and begin their devilries, you run for your life down to the river, opposite ballygan, with a white cloth or a shirt, if it's daytime, and wave it. you are to have a pile of sticks and straw ready, and, if it's night, ye will just set it in a blaze, and there will be help over before many minutes. you stop there till they come, to tell thee, how strong the enemy are. "'the master says you are to tell bridget about it, so that if they misbehave themselves inside the house she can slip out and let you know. you understand that?' *" 'i do,' says he; 'and it's a comfort to me, for it's fretting i have been over what might happen if a troop of those murderin' villains were to come here, and not a sowl save me and the other boys to take the part of the mistress and miss claire.' "'well, you know now, pat, what's to be done, and see you do it; and now i must go, for the master is wait- ing for me. i will be with you to-morrow night for the answer.' "and so i came back, and i lost ten minutes looking about for the boat, for it was so mighty dark that i could not see a f ut. i kicked against it and very near fell over it. it's well i didn't, for i should have knocked it into smithereens entirely!" "capital, larry! you couldn't have done better. now i shall feel comfortable." after breakfast walter told his father of the mission on which he had sent larry, and the arrangement he had made with pat eyan. "you ought to have told me at first, walter. i do not blame you, but you should not do things on your own responsibility." "but so far, father, it has not been a regimental affair. orange and green. i simply sent my own boy with a note to miss conyers just to say where we were; but as it may be an affair in which some of the troop may have to act, have told you about it, so that you can make what arrangements you like." "it's rather a fine distinction, walter," his father said, smiling. "it seems to me that you have engaged us to send a detachment across the river in case of trouble at mrs. conyers'. however, i heartily agree with you that our kind friends should be protected from injury and insult. "how many will the boats hold?" "thirteen or fourteen men each." "very well, then. i authorize you at any time, if i am away with a portion of the troop, to take twenty-five men across if the signal is made. if i am here i shall, of course, go over myself. you can take any measures of preparation you may think necessary." walter availed himself of the permission, and at once gave orders to the sentry posted on the river in front of the village that if a white flag was waved by day or a fire lit by night on the opposite bank, he was to shout loudly and fire his pistol, and that these orders were to be passed on to the sentry who succeeded him at the post. then he picked out twenty-five men and told them that at any time in the night or day, if they heard a shot fired jjy the sentry they were to seize their arms, rush down to the boats, launch them and take their places, and wait for orders. he told them to sleep without removing any of their clothes, so as to be ready for instant action. the next night larry again crossed and brought back a little note from claire conyers, thanking walter for letting her know they were so close, telling him of her father's return, and saying that there was no fear of her mother or herself forgetting their late visitors. it was a orange and green. prettily-written little note, and walter was delighted at receiving it. "well, my boy," captain davenant said with a little smile when walter told him next morning that he had heard from miss conyers, "as you seem specially intei- ested in this affair, i will let you have the honor and glory of being the first to come to the rescue of miss conyers and her mother if they should need it; and therefore, whether i am here or not, i give you permis- sion to cross at once in the two boats if you get the signal. but on reaching the other side you are to send the two boats back at once, with two men in each, and i will bring the rest of the troop across as fast as possible. there is no saying what force you may find there. i shall leave it to your discretion to attack at once or to wait until i come up with reinforcements. you will, of course, be guided partly by the strength of the enemy, partly by the urgency for instant interference for the protection of the ladies." four days passed quietly; there was but little for the cavalry to do. small parties were posted at various spots for some miles down the river to give notice should the enemy appear on the opposite bank and show any in- tention of making a crossing; and beyond furnishing these guards the troop had little to do. walter spent much of his time watching the opposite bank. he hardly knew whether he wished the signal to be displayed or not—he certainly desired no trouble to befall the ladies; but, on the other hand, the thought of rushing to their rescue was undoubtedly a pleasant one. larry spent much of his time at the water's edge fishing—a pursuit in which many of the troopers joined; and they were able to augment the daily rations by a good supply of salmon. on the fifth day the officers had just finished supper orange and green. when the sound of a pistol-shot was heard. walter leaped from his seat, snatched up his sword and pistols, and ran down to the river. the men were already clus- tering round the boats. a minute later these were in the water, and the men jumped on board. they too were eager for the work, for larry had whispered among them that if the signal was made it would signify that a band of the enemy's marauders were at mrs. conyers'; and all had been so kindly treated there that they were eager to repay the treatment they had received. be- sides, there was not a man in the irish army whose heart had not been fired at the recitals of the brutality of the enemy, and filled with deep longings for vengeance upon the perpetrators of the deeds. walter counted the men as they rowed across, and was pleased to find that not one of them was missing. he ordered the two men who were at the oars in each boat to return, the instant the rest had landed, to fetch another detachment across. as they reached the land the men sprang out. pat kyan was standing at the landing-place. "well, pat, what is it?" "a troop of hessian horse, your honor. half an hour ago they rode up to the doors. mrs. conyers came out to meet them, and told them that she was a loyal protes- tant and wife of a gentleman high in the king's councils, who was in the camp. the blackguards only laughed. the officers, with some of the men, dismounted and pushed their way past her into the house, and the rest of the troop tied their horses up to the trees on the lawn, and shouted to me and some of the other boys who were looking on to bring forage. i suppose we weren't quick enough for them, for one of them drew his pistol and fired at me. fortunately he only hit the truss of straw i was carrying. then i went round to the back-door, orange and green. where i had agreed that bridget was to come to me if things were going wrong in the house. a few minutes afterward she came out with a white face and said: 'for the sake of the holy virgin run for your life, pat, and warn the soldiers!' so i slipped away and ran my hardest." all this was told as the party were running at full speed toward the house. "how strong was the troop?' walter asked. "about eighty men, yer honor." "we must trust to a surprise," walter said. "we can get round to the back of the house without being seen. if we burst in there suddenly we can clear the house and hold it till my father comes up with the whole troop." five minutes after they had left the boat the party ap- proached the house. walter halted his men for a moment in the shrubbery behind it. "steady, lads, and take breath you will follow me into the house and keep together. give no quarter to the scoundrels." scarcely had he spoken than a piercing scream, accom- panied by a pistol-shot, was heard within. "come on, lads!" walter exclaimed as he rushed at full speed at the door, the men following close at his heels. the door was open. in the passage lay one of the maid-servants shot through the head by one of the hes- sian troopers, who still held the pistol in his hand. walter's pistol cracked before the man had time to draw his sword, and he fell dead. then he rushed on into the hall, in which were a score of troopers gathered round a barrel of wine which had just been broached. in an in- stant the irish were upon them. many were cut down or shot before they had time to stand on the defensive. the rest were slain after a short and desperate fight. orange and green. g "bar the front door!'' "walter shouted. "sergeant mullins, take six men and hold it against those outside. the rest follow me." short as the fight had been, it had given time to the rest of the hessians scattered about the house in the act of plundering to gather on the stair, headed by their officers. without a moment's hesitation walter dashed at them; in point of numbers the party were well matched; but the fury of the irishmen more than coun- terbalanced the advantage of position on the part of the hessians. for five minutes a desperate fight raged; those in front grappled each other and fought with clubbed pistols and shortened swords; those behind struck a blow as they could with sword or musket. but the hessians, ignorant of the strength of the force which had thus suddenly at- tacked them, thought more of securing their safety than of defending the stairs, so several of those behind slipped away and jumped from the windows to the ground. their desertion disheartened those in front, and with a shout walter and his troopers bore back the hessians on to the landing and the latter then broke and fled. most of them were overtaken and cut down at once; two or three only gained the windows and leaped out. the instant resistance had ceased walter rushed into the drawing-room, bidding the men run down and hold the lower windows. mrs. conyers lay in a dead faint on the sofa. claire, with a face as pale as death, was standing beside her. "walter!" she gasped out; "then we are safe!" she tottered and would have fallen had not walter rushed forward in time to catch her, and place her in a chair: "don't faint, my dear claire," he said urgently. "there is your mother to be looked after, and i must run downstairs, for they are attacking the house." orange and green. "i won't faint," claire said, laughing and crying in a manner which frightened walter more than her fainting would have done. "i shall be better directly, but it seems almost like a miracle. oh, those dreadful men!" "they have all gone now, claire. we hold the house and have cleared them out. pray, calm yourself and at- tend to your mother. i must go. don't be frightened at the firing; my father will be here in a few minutes with aid." "oh! i am not frightened now," claire said; "and oh! walter, you are bleeding dreadfully." "never mind that now," walter said; "i will see to it when it is all over." then, leaving her to look after mrs. conyers, he ran downstairs. his right arm was disabled, he having re- ceived a sweeping blow on the shoulder from one of the hessians as he won his way on to the landing; but he had no time to think of this now, for his men were hardly pressed. for a moment a panic had reigned among the troopers outside at the outburst of firing, and at the sight of their comrades leaping panic-stricken from the win- dows; but inquiry soon showed them that they were still greatly superior in numbers to the party who had ob- tained possession of the hall; and, furious at the loss of all their officers and of many of their comrades, they at- tacked on all sides and tried to force their way in at the doors and lower windows in spite of the vigorous resist- ance from within. walter hurried from point to point, cheering on his men by assurance that help was at hand, and seeing that no point had been left undefended. orange and green. chapter x. a cavalry baid. ^ stanchlt as walter's troopers maintained the de- fense they were sorely pressed, for the enemy ctill out- numbered them by three to one. several time? tha hes- sians almost forced their way in at one or other of the windows, but each time walter, who kept four men with bim as a reserve, rushed to the assistance of the de- fenders of the windows and drove them back; but this could not last. the defenders were hard pressed at sev- eral points, and walter, feeling sure that his father would be up in a very few minutes, called the men off from their posts and stationed them on the staircase. with shouts of triumph the hessians burst in. the hall was filled with a crowd of furious soldiers, who hurled themselves like a wave at the defenders of the staircase. all the pistols had long since been emptied, and they fought sword to sword. walter had detached five of his little party to hold the top of the other stair- case should the assailants try to force a passage there; and he had but ten men now, and several of these- severely wounded, to hold the staircase. great as the advantage that the position gave the de- fenders they were forced up step by step, and walter began to fear that he would be driven to the landing be- fore succor came, when a crowd of figures suddenly burst in at the hall-door, and above the cracking of pistols, which at once arose, he heard his father's voice: c orange and green. "down with the murdering dogs! no quarter!" taken wholly by surprise, ignorant of the force by which they were attacked, and taken between two bodies of enemies, the hessians turned to fly. walter and bis men at once pressed down upon them, while the new- comers fell upon them with fury. there was but little resistance, for the hessians thought only of flight. some burst through their as- sailants and gained the door; more fled down the passages and escaped by the windows through which they had entered; but more than thirty of them fell in the hall. the instant resistance was over captain davenant ran out with his men to secure the horses. a few of the hessians who had escaped from the front door had jumped on the backs of the nearest animals and ridden off, the rest had fled on foot, and the exulting troopers counted seventy-two horses remaining in their hands. captain davenant at once returned to the house. "where are you, walter?" he shouted; but there was no answer. getting more light captain davenant searched hastily among the numerous bodies scattered in the hall and soon came upon walter, who was lying in- sensible just at the foot of the stairs. the excitement had supported him so long as the defense had to be con- tinued; but as soon as succor appeared and the assailants retreated he had stumbled forward with his men and had fallen insensible from loss of blood at the foot of the stairs. captain davenant hastily examined him. "thank god," he said to larry, who had smuggled himself over with the second detachment, "he has no other wound but this on the shoulder, and has only fainted from loss of blood! kun upstairs and snatch a sheet from one of the beds. we will soon make some bandages." larry did as he was ordered. slips were torn off the orange and green. let sheet, and after cutting walter's coat and shirt from his shoulder captain davenant bound and bandaged up the wound. in the meantime larry had got some spirits from the buffet in the dining-room, and a spoonful or two were poured down walter's throat, and in a few . minutes he opened his eyes. for a moment he looked confused, then he smiled at his father. "you were just in time," he said. "we couldn't have held out much longer." "yes, we were just in time, thank god!" his father said; "but where are the ladies?" "in the drawing-room. mrs. conyers has fainted." captain davenant ran upstairs. claire had succeeded in restoring her mother, who had just sat up when cap- tain davenant entered. "my daughter tells mo that you have rescued us, you and your son," she said faintly. "how can i thank you enough?" "never mind that now, my dear lady," captain daven- ant said hastily. "just at present we have no time to lose. the fellows who have escaped will carry the news to william's camp, and in half an hour we shall have a regiment of cavalry here. i must retreat at once, and carry my wounded with me. what will you do? will you stay here, or will you and your daughter come with us?" "oh, i will go with you, please. if i was sure my husband would come with them i would not fear; bit he may not hear of it, and there is no saying what they might do." "how is walter, captain davenant?" claire—who had been waiting impatiently for her mother to finish—burst in. "he was wounded, and there was such terrible fighting afterward, and he has not come back with you." "he fainted from loss of blood," captain davenant c orange and green. said; "but i do not think his wounds arc serious. mrs. conyers, i can only give you five minutes. take with you any jewels or valuables you prize most. if they should arrive without your husband they will be sure to sack and burn the house." captain davenant now hurried downstairs. the wouuded had already been collected. there were but four so seriously wounded as to be unable to walk; six had been killed. the wounded, including walter, lay ou blankets. men took each a corner and at once started to the spot where the boats had been left. captain davenant told four men to wait at the foot of the stairs while he went up to the drawing-room. mrs. conyers and her daughter were already prepared. each had thrown a shawl over her head and had in their hands the dressing-cases, containing mrs. conyers' jewelry. "now, madam," captain davenant said, "if you will point out your plate-chest i have four men below in readiness to carry it to the boat. it is no use leaving that to be divided between the marauders." mrs. conyers pointed out two chests, in one of which deeds and other valuable documents were kept, and in the other the plate, of which mrs. conyers had a con- siderable quantity. two men seized each of them. "now, mrs. conyers, please accompany them as quick as you can to the river. we will follow and cover the retreat. i think we have a few minutes yet before cav- alry can arrive from the camp." avhen captain davenant and the rearguard reached the bank they found that the boats had already returned after taking over the wounded and a portion of the de- tachment. the rest, with the two ladies and the female servants, at once took their places, and were taken across before any sound betokened the arrival of the enemy at the hall. orange and green. "i sincerely hope, mrs. conyers," captain davenant said as they landed, "that mr. conyers may accompany the first body of troops who arrive, for if not i fear they will set fire to the hall. they must have lost consider- ably over fifty men, and in their rage at finding no one on whom to wreak their vengeance they will make no in- quiry as to whom the house belongs; indeed, they will find no one there to ask. the servants of the house had already fled, and i sent my boy's servant larry round to the stables to tell the men there to ride away with the horses. they will accompany fifteen of my men, who mounted as many of the horses we captured, and are driving the rest to a ford some miles away. they are a valuable capture, and altogether, as far as we are con- cerned, we have made a good night's work of it." "but i do not understand now," mrs. conyers said, "how it was that you came across just in time. how did you know that we were in such trouble, because i am sure you would not have come across to attack the sol- diers in our house without some special reason?" "no, indeed, madum, i certainly should not have made your house a battlefield. the fact is, our fortunate ar- rival is due entirely to my son. he made all the arrange- ments without my knowing anything about it. he sent over his boy to one of your lads in the stable, and ar- ranged that if there should be any trouble in the house in the absence of mr. conyers he should run down and signal across the river. your daughter's maid was to let the boy know what was going on within. it was not till he had the whole business in train that "walter told me anything about it. as it was his plan and not mine, and i could see he was extremely anxious about it, i left the matter in his hands, and authorized him to lead the first party across whenever the signal was made, night or day. our boats would only carry twenty-five men, and orange and gbebn. four of these had to return with them. as walter would have hut a quarter of our force with him i ordered him, in case the signal was made and he crossed, not to attack until i joined him unless the necessity seemed very urgent. i suppose he considered it was so, for he would hardly have fallen upon some eighty or ninety troopers unless he had deemed it most urgent." "thank god he did so!" mrs. conyers said, "for we owe him our lives and more. i cannot tell you all now. it is too horrible to think of. but i shall never forget the thankfulness and joy i felt when suddenly i heard the noise of shouts and firing, and the men who were trying to tear my child from my arms suddenly desist and rushing out of the room left us alone. i fainted then, and knew nothing more till i heard, in a confused way, the sound of shouting and conflict, and claire was bending over me, telling me that your son was holding the stairs against the germans, and that he was expect- ing help to arrive every moment. where is he? i long to see him and give him my thanks and blessing." "he is in that cottage yonder, which is at present our quarters," captain davenant said. "i told them to send off a trooper to limerick for a doctor as soon as they got across." "but you assured me his wound was not dangerous," mrs. conyers said anxiously. "no, i am sure it is not. it is a severe wound, but not likely to have serious consequences. but i fear that some of the men are in a far worse condition." "i shall install myself as head nurse," mrs. conyers said decidedly. "we owe so much to you all that that is the least i can do." "very well, mrs. conyers. then i, appoint you head of the hospital. i will have the four seriously wounded men moved into the cottage next to mine. you will be orange a nd gueen. able to obtain plenty of assistance among the women of the village. o'moore and i will move into other quar- ters and leave the cottage to you and your daughter. your servants can have the cottage on the other side." they had now reached the door. "i will just go in and see him first," captain daven- ant said. larry was sitting by walter's couch. "well, walter, how are you feeling?" "oh, i am all right now," walter said, "since larry brought me word that the boats have brought every one across safely. i was anxious before, you know." "how does your shoulder feel?" "it throbs a bit, father; but that is no odds." "mrs. conyers is coming in to see you. she is going to establish herself here, and o'moore and i are moving out. she is going for the present to be head nurse." "that will be nice," walter said; "but i shan't want much nursing." "i don't know, walter. a downright cut with a heavy cavalry sword is not a light matter, even when it falls on the shoulder instead of the head. but you had better not talk much now, but when you have seen mrs. con- yers try and get off to sleep. larry, do you see to mov- ing our things out at once." so saying, captain davenant left the room, and a minute later mrs. conyers came in. she took the left hand that walter held out to her. "god bless you, my boy!" she said softly. "i shall never forget what claire and i owe to you. all my life i shall be your grateful debtor, and some day i hope that my husband will be able to thank you for what you did for us. and now," she went on in a lighter tone, "i am going to be your nurse, and my first order is that you lie quite quiet and try to get to sleep. i will make you m orange and green. some barley-water and put it by your bedside. that is all i can do for you till the surgeon comes to examine your wound. claire wanted to come in to thank you herself, but the child has gone through enough for one night, so i have sent her straight to bed. i do not want her on my hands too." a few minutes later larry, having established the two officers in another cottage, returned and took his place by walter's bedside, while mrs. conyers went out to see to the comfort of the other wounded. half an hour later a surgeon arrived from limerick. two of the cases were pronounced at once to be hopeless, the other two he thought might recover. walter's wound he said was a severe one, but in no way dangerous. the sword had probably glanced off something as it descended, so that the edge had not fallen straight on the shoulder-bone. it had, however, nearly taken off the arm. had it fallen truly it would probably have been fatal. after he had attended to the more serious cases he dressed the wounds of the other men, several of which were quite as severe as that of walter, although they had not incapacitated the men from making their way down to the boats. captain davenant had kept a watch toward the hall. and as, in an hour after they had crossed, no sheet of flame was seen arising thence, he was able to tell mrs. conyers that he thought that it was safe, and that either mr. conyers himself must have accompanied the troops who would by this time have unquestionably arrived there, or that some officer, aware that the owner of the house was a friend, and with sufficient authority over the men to prevent its destruction, must be in command. in the morning he had a long talk with her. he sug- gested that she and her daughter should accompany him into limerick, and be sent with a flag of truce orange and green. across the bridge to join her husband in william's camp. this, however, she positively declined to accede to. "in the first place," she said, "i consider that it is my duty to nurse the men who suffered for our sake. in the next place, after what we went through last night i re- fuse absolutely to place myself and my daughter in the hands of the ruffians who disgrace the cause of william. hitherto as a protestant i have been an adherent of that cause, as has my husband; henceforth i am an irish woman, and as such abhor a cause which can employ such instruments and inflict such atrocities upon ireland. i will write a letter to my husband telling him exactly what has happened, and how we have been preserved, and say that nothing will induce me to trust myself and claire among william's troops, but that i shall remain on this side of the shannon. if, as i trust will not be the case, the english force their way across the river, i shall make for galway, and thence take ship to england, where we can join him. i intend to remain here as long as i can be useful as a nurse, and i shall then retire with claire to galway, where i have some relations, with whom i can stay until matters are decided." mrs. conyers at once wrote the letter, which captain davenant carried himself into limerick, as he was going in to report the occurrences of the preceding night. the governor immediately sent the letter across with a flag of truce. general sarsfield, who was in command of the cavalry, expressed himself highly pleased with the result of the raid across the shannon, and appointed three officers to raise another troop of horse with the captured animals, which had arrived before morning at ballygan, and to place themselves under captain davenant's com- mand. "your son must be a lad after your own heart," he said to captain davenant. ".it was indeed a most gal- orange and green. lant action thus with twenty-five dismounted men only to attack a strong troop of hessians. i hope that as soon as he is well enough to mount a horse again you will introduce him to me. keep your troop in readiness for a move, for i mean to beat them up before long." "can't i see walter to-day, mamma?" claire asked, after captain davenant had ridden off. "it seems so unkind my being in the house with him and not going in to tell him how sorry i am that he was wounded." "not to-day, claire. he is very flushed and feverish this morning, and i must not have him excited at all." "but i would not excite him, mother. i would only go in and speak to him quietly." "even that would excite him, my dear. i will tell him that you want to come in and see him; but that i think you had better not do so for a day or two." but even without the excitement of claire's presence walter became more feverish, and by evening was talk- ing wildly. the excitement and anxiety he had gone through were as much responsible for this as the wound, and by midnight he knew no one. the surgeon, who came over in the evening, order cloths constantly soaked with fresh water to be placed round his head, and that he should be given, whenever he desired it barley-water sharpened by apples boiled in it. mrs. conyers and larry sat one on each side of his couch, and once or twice when he was lying quiet claire was allowed to steal in and look at him; but at other times mrs. conyers kept her out of the room, for in his feverish talk walter was constantly mentioning her name, and telling her he would come to her. mrs. con- yers was troubled and perplexed in her mind. kegard- ing claire as a child and walter as a lad of eighteen, the thought that any serious consequence would arise from their intercourse at the hall had not occurred to her; but orange and green. now she could not doubt that on walter's part at least a serious attachment for her daughter had sprung up, and claire's face and manner told her a similar story. she was but sixteen, but having been her mother's compan- ion and friend she was older than many girls of the same age. mrs. conyers would rather that it had not been so, for she foresaw much sorrow for claire. she had thought that her daughter, as a wealthy heiress, would some day make a good match, and walter, whose fortune in any case would be but a small one—for she knew that his father's estates had passed from the family—was a soldier on the side she believed would be the losing one. still she felt that he had earned a right to claire, and resolved that come what would, if it turned out that claire's affections were really given to the lad, she should have her support and championship with her father. for two days the fever continued, and then the care of his watchers prevailed, and walter sank into a quiet sleep from which he awoke sensible and refreshed. an answer had been received from mr. conyers on the same afternoon that his wife's letter was sent to him. he had been in council with the king, when an officer came in with the news that some hessians had ridden in saying that the troop to which they belonged had ridden out to a large house two miles beyond the spot at which the regiment was quartered, and had there been attacked by a body of irish troops, who had killed all their officers and three-quarters of the troop. "knowing where the regiment was quartered, it at once struck me that the house might be our own, and on the trooper being brought in i found that it was so, and obtained permission from the king to accompany the regiment of danish horse who were at once sent out. the king gave stringent orders to the officer in command that the house was to be respected, and a guard was to be placed there to protect it from marauders. you can orange and green. imagine my anxiety as i rode out, and how it was in creased when i found the place absolutely deserted. from the trooper whom we took with us we learned something of what had taken place. he had been in the garden, but the officers and nearly half the troopers were in the house. suddenly the sounds of a conflict were heard within. then many of his comrades jumped from the windows, and as they reported the number of the assailants was not large, an attack was made upon the house. after considerable loss an entrance was effected, and they were gradually overcoming the defenders when they were attacked in the rear by a fresh body of the enemy, and only a few of them managed to make their escape. "the appearance of the house fully corroborated his story. the inside was piled with dead, who were found scattered all over the house. among them were a few men in the uniform of one of the irish cavalry legiments. this was some alleviation to my terrible anxiety. had the assailants been a body of peasants i should have feared that they had wreaked on you and claire the hatred which they feel, i own not unjustly, toward the king's foreign troops. as they were regular soldiers i had hopes that they had only carried you off as hostages. "one of the female servants wa found below killed. no pursuit was possible, as we could find no one of whom to inquire by which way the enemy retreated; but in the morning we found that the horses of the hessians had been ridden to a spot some miles up the river, where they had swam or forded the stream. there was a strong party of the enemy on the opposite side. my anxiety was terrible till i received your letter, and you may im- agine how great a shock it was to me to learn the fright- ful scene through which you had passed, and how my sentiments changed toward those whom i had regarded as your abductors, but whom i now learn were your saviours. "i have read that portion of your letter to the king, who is furious at the evil conduct of his troops. he has all along done everything in his power to repress it; but when not under his immediate eye, it seems as if all dis- cipline was lost, and the troops behaved rather as a horde of savages than as soldiers. after what had happened i s 'i v orange and green. ill cannot blame you for the opinion you express in your letter, or for your determination not to trust yourself and claire in this camp, although i am sure that the king would send a detachment of his own dutch guards with you to dublin. i trust that you will, as soon as the work you have undertaken is over, go to our cousins at galway and take, ship without delay to england, where i will at once join you when i hear of your arrival there. "please express to captain davenant and his son the extreme obligation under which i feel toward them, and assure them that i look forward to the time when this unfortunate struggle shall be at an end, and i can meet them and thank them personally. it will be a satisfac- tion to you to be able to inform them that i have this morning obtained from the king a peremptory order on the commission in dublin to siay all proceedings in the matter of captain davenant's estate near bray, which was on the list of confiscated properties. i am forward- ing this by one of the royal messengers, who leaves with dispatches to-day, and when i visit dublin i shall do my- self the pleasure of calling on mrs. davenant, and of setting her mind at ease." while walter had been at his worst his father had been away for only a few hours. after his interview with sarsfield in limerick a messenger arrived from that gen- eral ordering captain davenant to bring his troop into the city at once. it was four in the afternoon when he arrived, and he at once went to general sarsfield's quar- ters. "let the men dismount, captain davenant, and let them and the horses feed. we have a long ride before us to-night. i have just heard that william's siege artillery is coming up under a weak escort, and i mean to get round in the dutchman's rear and destroy it. he shall find that limerick is not to be taken us easily as he ex- pects. ho has had a disagreeable sample of our quality to-day. a deserter brought in news of the exact position of his tent, and our artillery have been giving him such orange and green. along the highroad. he watched it until it halted and encamped for the night in a field beside the highway. he waited until the horses were picketed and the men engaged in making their encampment for the night. then the irish cavalry burst down from the glen in which they had been hiding. the officer in command sounded to horse, but it was too late; before the men were in the saddle the irish were upon them, and in a moment the two troops of dragoons were dispersed or killed. sarsfield's men at once set to to collect the powder- wagons, pontoons, and baggage of every description. the great guns were filled with powder to the muzzle, and then buried two-thirds of their length in the earth, the whole mass of siege equipage was piled above them, and a train of gunpowder was laid to the store in the center. the men then drew off to a distance. a match was applied to the train, and the whole blew up with a tremendous explosion. the shock was heard in the far-away camp of william, and he knew that his cavalry had arrived too late to avert the catastrophe he feared. they had, indeed, just arrived within sight of the spot when the explosion took place. they rode on at full speed only to find the vast pile of ruined woodwork blazing furiously. the irish cavalry was seen in the distance leisurely retiring; but although the english pursued for a short time, the irish easily evaded them in the darkness among the hills. the whole of william's cavalry in camp were sent out, when the explosion was felt, to endeavor to cut off the irish horse; but sarsfield was well acquainted with the ground, and retired with his troops safely across the shannon, hav- ing struck a terrible blow against the designs of william. the king, however, found that in spite of the measures sarsfield had taken, two of the guns remained uninjured by the explosion. these were brought to the camp, and orange and green. another heavy gun was fetched from waterford, to- gether with a small quantity of ammunition. the regi- ments wore at once set to manufacture fascines for the siege, and this work proceeded quickly, the orchards and plantations furnishing an abundance of wood. the fascines were used for filling up ditches, and the ad- vances against the town were pushed forward with vigor. but the besiegers were not allowed to carry on their work unmolested, for a constant fire was kept up by the guns on the walls, and the besieged made several sorties, driv- ing back the working parties, destroying their work, and retiring before any considerable bodies of troops could be brought up to attack them. the three heavy guns were, however, brought into position at a short distance from the wall, and began to play upon it. the dissensions between the irish commanders still continued and beyond sarsfield's raid against the batter- ing train, nothing was done to annoy the enemy in the rear, although, had any vigor been shown, the irish army lying idle west of the shannon could have moved across, and speedily starved out william's army by cutting off all supplies. even as it was, provisions could only be collected by sending out strong bodies of troops to plunder the country; for the peasantry had been goaded into fury by the evil conduct of the troops, and were now in a state of insurrection, cutting off and murdering all stragglers, and driving in small parties. william had good reason to regret that he had brought with him so small a contingent of british troops, owing to his doubts whether they could be depended upon, and his poor opin- ion of their bravery; for since the days of agincourt english troops had been seldom seen on the continent, and were consequently held but in small esteem there. he had with him now a regiment of english grenadiers and a fow line regiments, but the bulk of the army was orange and green. composed of his dutch troops and foreign mercenaries; the latter had shown at the battle of the boyne that their courage was not of a high order, while their excesses had not only produced a bitter feeling of hatred against them throughout the country, but had done immense harm to the cause by rendering it next to impossible to obtain provisions. walter's progress toward recovery from the day when he recovered consciousness was very rapid. the fever, though severe, had been short, and he gained strength almost as rapidly as he had lost it. the morning after he had come to himself, mrs. conyers brought claire in to see him. "here is a young lady who is very anxious to see how you are getting on, walter," she said cheerfully; "and now you are going on so well i shall hand you over a good deal to her care, as some of the others want my at- tention badly. you must not talk much, you know, else we shall be having you getting feverish again." so saying she left the room.' claire had stopped timidly near the door. the change which four days had made in walter's appearance shocked her, and she scarcely recognized in the pale, drawn face the youth who had burst in, sword in hand, to her rescue on that terrible evening. the tears were running down her cheeks as she approached the couch. "why, what is the matter, claire?" he asked. "you must not cry. i am all right again now, and in a week shall be on horseback, i hope." "oh, walter, what can i say!" she said. "to think that you should have suffered so for us!" "there is nothing dreadful about it," he said, smiling. "a soldier must expect to get wounded sometimes, and a slash from a german sword is not a serious matter. i am only too glad that i got it in your cause, claire—only orange and green. too glad that i was able to be of service to you—and your mother," he added as an afterthought. "it makes me very happy to think i have been useful to you, only i would rather that you didn't say anything more about it. i am quite content and happy as it is, and if it had been my life i would have gladly given it." "i won't say any more if you don't wish it," claire said quietly, "but i shall think of it always; and now," she said with an effort, mamma said you were not to talk much, and you look quite flushed already, so you must lie quiet, and i will read to you, or work, if you like that better." "i don't care which it is," walter said, "so that i can look at you;" and this time claire's cheeks were a good deal redder than walter's. mrs. conyera leturned in half an hour and found claire sitting working, while walter lay looking at her. "i think, claire, you had better take your work in the next room again," she said. "walter looks flushed, and i don't think your visit has done him any good. you have been talking too much." "it has done me an immense deal of good, mrs. con- yers," walter protested; while claire exclaimed that they had hardly spoken a word, which indeed was the truth, for walter had been feeling too dreamily happy to want to talk, and claire had felt so shy and embarrassed with walter watching her that she had been unable to hit on a single subject for remark. another two days and walter was well enough to get up and lie on a couch of heather, covered with the blanket, which larry bad prepared for him in the next room. his voice had recovered its natural ring, and claire had got over her unaccustomed shyness; and mrs. conyers, as she moved in and out, heard them laughing and chatting together as they had done ten days before at the hall. orange and green. chapter xi. the first siege of limerick. the three heavy guns thundered against the walls without intermission night and day until at length a breach was made. the garrison in vain attempted to repair it, and every hour it grew larger, until there was a yawning gap twelve yards wide. this william consid- ered sufficient for the purpose, and made his prepara- tions for the assault. the english regiment of grena- diers, six hundred strong, was ordered to take its place in the advanced trenches, and to lead the assault. it was supported on the right by the dutch guards, with some british and brandenburg regiments in reserve. on the left the grenadiers were supported by the danish regiments, and a large body of cavalry were held in readiness to pour in behind the infantry. the storm- ing parties were under command of lieutenant-general douglas. at three o'clock in the afternoon the signal for the assault was given by a discharge of three pieces of cannon. as the last gun was fired the grenadiers leaped from the trenches and dashed forward toward the breach. as they approached the wall they discharged their muskets at the enemy upon the walls, and before assault- ing the breach they hurled a shower of hand-grenades at its defenders. the preparations for the assault had been observed by the irish, and they were in readiness to receive it. the news had spread through the town, and orange and grebn. the excitement among the whole population was intense. the guns on the walls ceased firing in order that all might be ready to pour in their shower of balls when the assault commenced. the fire from the batteries of the besiegers had also died away, aud a silence which seemed strange after the constant din of the preceding days hung over the camp and city. no sooner had the grenadiers leaped from the trenches than the guns on the walls, and the musketry of the de- fenders, poured their fire upon them, while all the bat- teries of the besiegers opened at the same moment to cover the assault. through the hail of fire the grena- diers kept on without faltering, and as they neared the breach the irish rushed out through the opening to meet them. there was a desperate struggle, half-hidden from the eyes of those on the walls by the cloud of smoke and dust which arose from the combatants; but the grena- diers, fighting with the greatest gallantry, won their way to the counterscarp, and half the regiment forced its way through the breach and entered the town; but the irish troops, clustered behind the wall, then closed in again, and barred the breach to those following. the dutch and english regiments were marched up to aid the rest of the grenadiers to cut their way in after their comrades; but these troops were unable to imitate the valor of the grenadiers. they got as far as the counterscarp; but the fire from the walls was so deadly that they could not be prevailed upon to advance. the rain of fire mowed them down. their officers urged them on, and, unwilling to retreat and incapable of ad- vancing, they were shot down in scores. presently there was a sudden movement among the irish defenders on the breach, and a few of the grena- diers who had entered the city burst their way through them, and rejoined their comrades. no sooner had they orange and green. , might have followed the king; but william, although he had often proved the possession of no ordinary courage and coolness in danger, had not that species of courage which prompts a man to throw himself forward to lead a forlorn hope. moreover, both as a general-in-chief and king, his place was not at the head of an assault. the assailants lost more than two thousand men, and these the flower of william's army. the surprise of the troops at their defeat by an enemy they had been taught to despise was extreme, and so ashamed were they of their failure that the following day they were ready to renew the assault. the king, however, would not risk another such defeat. the bravest of his force had per- ished, his stores of ammunition were nearly exhausted, and the rains had set in with great violence. on the day following the assault the king called a council of war, and it was resolved to raise the siege. there was a great scarcity of wagons and horses in con- sequence of the loss sustained by sarsfield's attack on the train. the few wagons which remained were not enough to convey the wounded men, many of whom were obliged to walk. the stores had therefore to be abandoned for want of transport. some were thrown into the river, others blown up and destroyed, and on saturday, the th of august, the army commenced its retreat. it was accompanied by a great host of fugitives, for with the army went the whole of the protestant inhab- itants of the county of limerick and the surrounding country, with their wives, children, servants, and such household, goods as they could bring with them. in addition to these were the protestant fugitives from the neighborhood of athlone, who had come down with the division of general douglas after he had raised the siege of that city. the protestants round limerick had not doubted the orange and green. success of the besiegers, never questioning the ability of an army commanded by a king to capture a place like limerick. the misery of this body of fugitives was ter- rible. they had abandoned their homes to pillage and destruction, and knew not whether they should ever be able to return to them again. they had, on the arrival of william, torn up the letters of protection which the irish generals had given to all who applied to them, and having thrown in their fortunes with him, dared not re- main among the country people who had suffered so ter- ribly from the exactions and brutality'of william's army. not only had they to endure wet, hunger, and fatigue in the retreat, but they were robbed and plundered by the army which should have protected them, as if they had been enemies instead of friends. william himself left his army as soon as he broke up the siege, and pushed straight on to waterford, and the troops, relieved from the only authority they feared, and rendered furious by the ill success which had attended their operations, broke out into acts of plunder and insub- ordination which surpassed anything that they had before perpetrated. the siege of limerick brought the cam- paign to a close, and so far the irish had no reason to be disheartened. they had besieged and nearly annihilated the army of schomberg at dundalk; they had fought a sturdy battle on the boyne, and had proved themselves a match for william's best troops; they had decisively re- pulsed the attacks upon athlone and limerick; half the troops william had sent to conquer the country had fallen, while their own losses had been comparatively small. the sole fruit of all the efforts of william had been the occupation of the capital—a great advantage, as it gave him a point at which he could pour fresh troops into ireland and recommence the war in the spring with orange and green. new chances of success. when the british army reached callan some of the arrears of pay were distributed among the troops, and the army was then broken up and the troops went into winter quarters. william had returned at once to england, and sent over some new lords-justices to dublin. these were re- ceived with delight by the townspeople, who had suffered terribly from the exactions and depredations of the for- eign troops quartered there, and were, indeed, almost in a state of starvation, for the country people were afraid to bring in provisions for sale, as they were either plun- dered of the goods as they approached the city, or robbed of their money as they returned after disposing of them. as the only possible check to these disorders, the jus- tices raised a body of militia in the town to cope with the soldiery, and the result was a series of frays which kept the city in a state of alarm. by the time that limerick beat off the assault upon its breach, walter davenant was quite convalescent. eumors of the ill-treatment of the protestants who ac- companied the retreating army circulated in limerick, and mrs. conyers congratulated herself warmly that she and her daughter were safe under the protection of the irish troops, instead of being in the sad column of fugi- tives. as soon as the english army had left, captain daven- ant obtained for her an order of protection from general sarsfield, and she returned for awhile with her daughter to their house, to which the invalids were carried, cap- tain davenant's troops being again quartered around it. "i hardly know what is best to do," she said to cap- tain davenant a few days after her return. "i am of course anxious to rejoin my husband, but at the same time i feel that my staying here is of benefit to him. with the order of protection i have received i am per- orange and green. fectly safe here, and i have no fear whatever of any trouble either with the troops or peasantry; but, on the other hand, if we abandon this place i fear that it will bo pillaged, and perhaps burned like the other houses be- longing to protestants which have been deserted by their owners. what do you say, captain davenant?" "i should be sorry to give any advice, mrs. conyers. for the troops i can answer; the protection you have re- ceived from general sarsfield will be sufficient to insure you against any trouble whatever from them, but as to the peasantry i cannot say. every village within reach of william's army, in its advance or retreat, has been de- stroyed, and the vilest atrocities have been committed upon the people. the greater part of the men have, in despair, taken up arms, and, when they get the chance, will avenge their wrongs upon inoffensive protestants who have ventured to remain in their dwellings. sav- agery has begot savagery, and even such a protection order as you have received would go for little with these half-maddened wretches. i should say, therefore, that so long as there are a considerable body of troops at limerick, so long you may safely remain here, but no longer." "at any rate i will stay for a time," mrs. conyers said. "the winter may bring peace; and i am very loath to abandon the house, to which my husband is greatly attached, if it is possible to save it." the party now fell back to the mode of life which had been interrupted by the advance of william's army. captain davenant drilled his men and spent his evenings pleasantly in the house. walter had so far recovered that he was able to stroll through the grounds or drive witli claire. the troopers enjoyed their rest and abun- dance of rations. captain davenant's mind had been set at ease by the receipt of a letter which mrs. davenant orange and green. the winter. had it not been for that i should never have decided as i did." the next morning the troop started. "the place seems strangely quiet," walter said as he strolled out into the garden with claire after breakfast. "it seems terrible to think that in three or four days it will be deserted altogether, and that you will have gone." "it is horrid," the girl said, with tears gathering in her eyes. "i hate king william and king james both," she went on petulantly. "why can't they fight their quarrel out alone, instead of troubling every one else? i don't know which of them i hate the most." "there is a compensation," walter said with a smile. "i am sure i don't see any compensation," the girl said. "what do you mean, walter?" "i mean," walter said, "that if they had not quar- reled we might never have met." "there is something in that," claire said softly. "no; i don't know that i ought quite to hate them after all." by which it will be seen that walter davenant and claire conyers had already arrived at a thorough under- standing as to their feelings toward each other. after this, as was natural between young persons so situated, their talk wandered away into the future, and the present was already forgotten. in the house every one was at work. mrs. conyers' servants had all returned when she came back to the house, and these were now busy, with the assistance of larry and the four troopers left behind, in taking down and packing pictures, taking up carpets, and getting furniture ready for removal. in the afternoon walter assisted in the work of packing. as he was dressing for dinner, larry, as usual, came into his room. "i suppose, your honor," he said, after putting out walter's clothes, "you will be setting a watch to-night?" orange and greek "why, yon have heard nothing certain, larry?" "i have not, or i would tell your honor at once; but i know what the people think and feel> and i know that the rapparees have been plundering and destroying every protestant house around, and they will guess that the ladies will be moving now that the troop is gone. besides, won't they have heard that the news has gone round for wagons to come to take away the things?" the earnestness with which larry spoke convinced walter that the danger was serious. larry was not given to magnify danger, and usually treated all risks with carelessness and indifference. walter knew that he would gather from the stablemen and the people who brought in provisions much more as to the state of pop- ular feeling in the country than he was likely to know, and he accordingly went down to dinner grave and pre- occupied. mrs. conyers soon noticed the change in his manner, and as soon as the servants had retired asked him if he had received any bad news. "no," he said, trying to speak lightly. "my boy larry has been trying to scare me about the rapparees, and although i do not think that there is any danger to be apprehended from them, i do think that it would be just as well to hurry on your preparations as much as possible, and for you and claire to go in to limerick to- morrow afternoon. we can finish the packing up of the goods you wish to take, and any we cannot get off to- morrow can be sent in the next day." mrs. conyers looked grave. "but we have heard of no rapparees in this neighbor- hood, walter," she said. "we have heard of sad ex- cesses in some parts of the country, but nothing in this, neighborhood." "there has been small temptation for them about orange and green. here," walter said, "for every house within miles was stripped by the williamites. catholic or protestant was all the same to them. besides, they knew well that sarsfield's horse would soon have put a stop to that sort of thing. now, i do not wish to alarm you in the slight- est, and i do not think that there is any real cause for anxiety. even if they are in the neighborhood the rap- parees will hardly venture an attack upon a house oc- cupied by even a few of our troops. still it is always wisest to be prepared, and therefore i should like for us to arrange exactly what had best be done in the event of an attack. of course i shall see that all the doors and the lower windows are securely fastened, and i shall have the men from the stables into the house, so we shall be nine or ten men in all, enough, i hope, for all circum- stances. still, merely as a matter of discussion, let us suppose the worst. let us imagine the house sur- rounded, the doors burst in, and the resistance on the point of being overpowered. what would be our best plan for making our escape? do not be frightened, claire," he went on, seeing how pale the girl had be- come. "every general, when he is going to fight a battle, however sure he may be of success, decides upon the route by which his army shall retreat in case of a defeat, and i am only taking the same precaution." "if there is to be a retreat made at all," mrs. conyers said, "i prefer that it should be made now. do you really think that there is any real danger of attack?" "i think that there is danger of attack, mrs. conyers; but i have no reason for supposing that there is any par- ticular danger this night." "then claire and i will at once start for the town under the escort of two of your men. it would be folly indeed to run the risk of another attack here. if the house is to be burned it must be burned. for if they orange and queen. were beaten off once they would come again when the house was undefended. as for the things, should all be quiet to-night they can be sent in to-morrow as arranged. the things that are to go are all got together." "i do think that the best way," walter said. "of course, i shall ride in with you and hand you over to the friends you are going to in the town, and shall then come back here again with a light heart. but i own that lam nervous at the thought of you and claire being here should the rapparees attack the house." "but mind, walter, there is to be no fighting. if they come to-night i had rather that they took every- thing than that you should risk your life in its defense. the silver and valuables we took across before are all safe in limerick. as for the other things, they can go. now, mind, we shall not leave unless we have your promise that if a band of these men come to-night to sack the place, you and your men will offer no resistance." "if they come in numbers which render successful re- sistance out of the question, i promise you that we will not draw a trigger, mrs. conyers." "in that case i am satisfied, walter. against you and your men these peasants have no quarrel." walter at once called larry. "larry, get my horse saddled, and tell browning to saddle his. place two pillions behind the saddles. mrs. conyers and her daughter are going to ride into lim- erick at once." '"the lord be praised!" larry said piously. "that's the best news i have heard this many a day." "and, larry," mrs. conyers said, "tell the three boys in the stable to saddle the three best horses and ride with us. if we lose everything else we may as well retain them, for it would not be easy to buy others now." in ten minutes all was ready for a start. walter and orange and green. house if it is attacked in any force. i wish yon would let me have twenty-five men and a sergeant just for to- night. i will march them in with the baggage in the afternoon." "certainly i will," captain donovan said. "i need not disturb the colonel at this time of the evening, but will take it on myself. there are just that number quar- tered in the storehouse close to the gate. i will go down with you at once and turn them out and give them orders. it will be a good thing for the rapparees to have a lesson. they bring disgrace upon our cause by their doings." in a few minutes the men, who had not retired to bed, were turned out. "you have got a four-mile march before you, boys," walter said when they m'ere drawn up; "but there will be a pint of good wine and some supper for you when you get there. so step out as briskly as you can." after a cordial good-night to captain donovan, walter placed himself at the head of the infantry, and in little over an hour arrived at the house. he knocked loudly at the door. a minute later larry put his head out of the window above. "who is there? what do you want knocking at a peaceful house at this time of night? you had best go away, boys, for the house is chock-full of soldiers. we are only waiting for orders to blow you to smithereens." walter burst into a laugh. "very well done, larry. it is i, with some soldiers. so you needn't give orders to the men to fire." larry gave a cry of satisfaction and ran down to open the door. "it's glad i am to see you, master walter, entirely. i have been listening ever since you went, and when i heard the tramp of feet i made sure it was the boys." oltanok and gueen. "but i gave orders that there was to be no resistance, larry." "and i wasn't going to resist, your honor; but i thought i might just frighten them away." "now, larry, get up a pint of wine for each of these good fellows, and what victuals you can find in the house. we need have no fear of an attack to-night." when the soldiers had finished their supper they lay down in the hall. walter placed a sentry at a window at each side of the house, and he then lay down on a sofa, for the ride to limerick and back had greatly fatigued him, much to his surprise, for he had no idea how far his strength had been pulled down. he was aroused just as day was breaking by a loud knocking at the door, and at the same moment a shot was fired from a window above. the soldiers had started to their feet and seized their arms as he ran out and bade them follow him upstairs. he threw up a window. "who are you? and what do you want?" "never mind who we are," a voice replied. "we want the door opened, and you had best do it quick." "look here, my man," walter said in a loud, steady voice, "there are thirty soldiers in this house, and if i give the word you will get such a volley among you that half of you will never go home to tell about it, so i warn you to depart quietly." "it's a lie," the man said. "if you are the officer you have got only four men, and you know it. we want to do you no harm, and we don't want to harm the ladies; but what's in the house is ours—that's the law of will- iam's troops, and we mean to act up to it." a chorus of approbation rose from a throng of peas- ants gathered round the door. a few of them carried muskets, but the greater part were armed with rude pikes. orange and gueen. chapter xii. winter quarters. two or there days later captain davenant returned to limerick with his troop. he had stopped at the house on his way and learned there of the more which had been made. "well, "walter, so you nearly had to defend mrs. con- yers against odds again," ho said, as walter joined him in the market-place, where the troop was dismounting. "i have come here for a day only, for we are on our way south. it is thought likely that the enemy's next move may be against cork, so some of us are detached in that direction. to my mind," he went on after he had seen the troop quartered in some houses which formerly be- longed to the protestants, but were now used as barracks —"in my opinion we are wasting precious time. we ought not to allow the enemy to go into winter quarters. our best season is just coming on. we can stand the wet far better than they can, and we ought not to give them a moment's rest, but should keep our army to- gether and beat up one garrison after another; threaten the strongest places; compel them to keep constantly on the move; and, before the spring, completely wear out and exhaust those whom we cannot conquer. if england found that she had the whole work to begin over again she would think twice before she went further. "these petty german princes would not find their men so ready to embark in a quarrel with which they have orange and green. no concern when they learned that all who had done so had laid their bones in the swamps of ireland, and with- out his mercenaries william would lind it hard to gather an army, for the english themselves have no heart what- ever in the war. if we remain inactive all the winter and enable them to retain their foothold everywhere, fresh reinforcements will arrive in the spring, and so bit by bit all ireland will be won. "it is disheartening in the extreme, after seeing the enemy retire repulsed and utterly disheartened from athlone and limerick, to allow them unmolested to rest and gather strength again. if we could but get rid of the french there would be some hope for us. they have scarce fired a shot since the war began, and yet they as- sume superiority over our generals. they thwart us at every turn; they not only refuse to combine in any action, but they prevent our doing so. "since the boyne our army has lain inactive and has done nothing, although they might have done every- thing. all ireland was open to them on the day when william, with all his forces, sat down here before lime- rick. why, they could have marched straight for dub- lin and captured it before william heard that they had crossed the shannon. they might have cut off his sup- plies from waterford; they might have starved him out in his camp here. they have had the game in their hands, and they have allowed it to slip altogether through their fingers. the only hope i have now is that before the spring the french will go. it is but too clear that louis has no intention whatever of helping us in earnest. had he chosen he could any time during the last six months have landed an army here, which would have decided the struggle. instead of that he has sent five thousand men, and had in return as many of our best soldiers; and the officers he sent seem to have been orange and green. furnished with secret instructions not only to do nothing themselves, but to prevent us from doing anything." "whom would you like to see in command, father?" "i should not care much, walter, so that it was one man. i had rather have any soldier you might take at random from our army, so that he possessed a fair share of common sense, than the chaos which now prevails; but of course the man whom we would rather have is sarsfield. whether he is a great general or not we have no means of knowing, for he has never yet had the slightest opportunity of showing it; but i do not think myself that he has made the most of what chances he has had, save that one dash against the artillery convoy. he has done nothing; and as the cavalry are under his command, and he could, if he chose, snap his fingers at the pretensions of the french and act independently, i think he might have done far more than he has done. still he is our most prominent leader, and he possesses the confidence of the irish of all classes. if he were in supreme command there would, i am sure, be a complete change in our tactics. instead of waiting everywhere to be attacked we should take the offensive, and even if we were unable to meet william's forces in pitched battles, and i believe that we are perfectly capable of doing so» we should be able to harass and exhaust them to such a point that william would be only too glad to grant us any terms we might demand to bring the war to an end." after having dined, captain davenant went with walter to call upon mrs. conyers. hearing that he was about to march with his troop to cork, mrs. conyers said: "oh, captain davenant, will you not take us under your protection there? i am afraid of traveling with claire to galway in the present disturbed state of the country, and i should find it easier to take a passage to england from cork than from galway." orange and green. "you certainly would, mrs. conyers. there is no formal war between england and ireland, and trading vessels still ply between cork and bristol. i agree with you that it would not be safe for two protestant ladies to travel without protection from here to galway, and i shall be only too glad for you to journey with us. your daughter, i know, can ride any of the country ponies; and for yourself" "i can ride too if there is an occasion. one of our horses is perfectly quiet, and i have often ridden him by the side of mr. conyers, so there will be no difficulty on that score." "in that case," captain davenant said, "consider the matter arranged. will you be ready to start to-morrow early?" "certainly, captain davenant; i have no preparations to make. all our furniture—which, thanks to walter, was saved—has been stowed away in the cellars of a ware- house here and is safe unless william returns and batters the whole town to pieces. the silver and other valua- bles our friends here will take care of till better times, so we have only to pack two valises and mount. the serv- ants will all find situations here. my daughter's maid, bridget, and two or three others have offered to accom- pany us to england, but we have decided to take no one. directly we get to bristol i shall write to my husband, who has given me an address both in london and dub- lin, so that he will doubtless join us in a very short time." the party started the next morning and reached cork without adventure, as there were no english troops in that part of the country. three days after their arrival mrs. conyers took a passage for herself and claire in a trader about to sail for bristol. the evening before they sailed mrs. conyers had a long talk with captain daven- ant, while the two young people had slipped off for a last walk together. orange and green. "of course, captain davenant," she began, "you have seen as well as i have how things stand between claire and walter. they are both very young, but the strange circumstances of the times and the manner in which they have been thrown together have combined to render their position peculiar, and i believe, nay, i am sure, that on both sides their affection is deep and will be lasting." "i quite agree with you, mrs. conyers, at any rate as far as my son is concerned. walter has never spoken to me on the subject. i suppose fathers and sons are less given to confidences of this sort than mothers and daugh- ters. but that walter is deeply and earnestly attached to your daughter is unquestionable, and indeed it would be singular were it otherwise. i have stood passive in the matter, simply because i saw that you took no steps to keep them apart; and you could not but have seen at an early period of their acquaintance in what direction matters were tending." "frankly," mrs. conyers said, "i gave the matter no thought during your first stay with us. i had regarded claire as a child, and it did not at first occur to me that there could be any danger of her falling seriously in love for years to come. when my eyes were opened to the true state of things, and i found my little girl had lost her heart, i could have wished it otherwise. i do not mean as to worldly matters," she went on hastily, seeing that captain davenant was about to speak. "that weighed absolutely nothing with me; indeed, they may be considered to be well matched in that respect. if the war is decided in favor of king william, claire will be a rich heiress. if, on the other hand, your cause triumph, you will regain your confiscated estates while we shall lose ours. so that there is, i consider, no inequality whatever in their position. the difficulty, of course, to which i allude is their religion. this is naturally a grave orange and green. obstacle, and i fear that my husband will regard it as such even more strongly than i do. he is, however, ex- tremely attached to claire, and will, i feel sure, when he sees that her happiness is at stake, come round to my views of the matter. there are," she said with a smile, "catholics and catholics just as there are protestants and protestants. i would rather see claire in her grave than married to many catholics i know; but neither you nor walter are bigots." "no, indeed," captain davenant said: "we came over to this country when catholicism was the religion of all england, and we have maintained the religious belief of our fathers. i own that what i may call political protes- tantism is hateful to me; but between such catholicism as mine and such protestantism as yours i see no such broad distinctions as should cause us to hate each other." "that is just my view," mrs. conyers agreed. "the differences between the creeds are political rather than religious, and in any case i consider that when neither of the parties is bigoted, the chances of happiness are greater in the case where the man is a catholic and the woman a protestant than in the opposite case." "i think so too," captain davenant said. "at any rate i do not think that walter and claire would be likely to quarrel over their respective opinions." "i think not," mrs. conyers agreed with a smile. "i do wish with all my heart that it had been otherwise; but as it is not so, i for my part am determined to make the best of the circumstances. they are both young, and it is possible that they may in time come to think alike one way or the other. i am not one of those who think that there is but one way to heaven; and should walter some day win claire over to his way of thinking, i shall not consider that she has forfeited her chances." "it is quite as likely to be the other way," captain orange and green. davenant said. "walter is a good lad and a brave one; but with all claire's pretty winning ways i question if the young lady lias not more will of her own and more mind than walter has. i hope they may agree each to go their own way, and i think that if they continue to live in this country they will probably do so, for here, 'inhappily, political differences build up a wall between the two branches of christianity. but if it should come that they should some day leave this unhappy country and settle in england, where the same ill-feeling does not exist, there is no saying what may happen." "well, at any rate, captain davenant, it is satisfactory that our views on the subject agree, and that we are both willing to make the best of what we cannot but consider to be a misfortune. but here come the young people. i have no doubt," she laughed, "that they have been swearing vows of eternal fidelity." "well, we were young ourselves once, and we are not too old yet, mrs. conyers, to feel enjoyment in the hap- piness of these young people." the next morning mrs. conyers and claire sailed for england, and the military events which shortly after- ward took place left walter little time for thought on other subjects. on the st of september, two days after the depar- ture of mrs. conyers, a heavy cannonading was heard from the forts at the mouth of cork harbor, and soon afterward a horseman galloped into the town with the news that an english fleet had forced the entrance in spite of the fire from the forts. this fleet bore five thousand men under the command of the earl of marl- borough. the english party at court had long been mortified and disgusted at the manner in which the english had been ignored by william, and all the military commands "can you give me shelter?" asked walter. ,-"'^*t.'a orange and green. t bestowed upon foreigners. the discontent caused by the want of success which had attended the operations in ireland had greatly strengthened this party, and they had now succeeded in getting an independent english expedition sent off under the command of an english general. william was much annoyed at this, for any brilliant success attained by marlborough would have in- creased the feeling against his foreign favorites. he had therefore dispatched the division of general scravenmore to besiege the town on the land side, and had placed in command of it the duke of wirtemberg, whose rank as a prince and as a general of higher rank than marlborough would enable him to claim the supremo command, and to carry off the honor of any success that might be gained. this force arrived before the town within a day of the appearance of the fleet. marlborough had already made good use of his time, for immediately the leading vessels had effected the passage, troops .were landed in boats, and the batteries attacked in rear and carried. the rest of the fleet then entered, and on the d and th the troops were landed on the south bank of the river and commenced their march toward the city, the sailors drag- ging the guns. wirtemberg immediately sent to marl- borough to claim the command of the whole force. marlborough replied that his commission was an in- dependent one. he denied the authority of any of will- iam's foreign officers in ireland, and stated haughtily that his troops were british, and he a british officer. wirtemberg was greatly offended that the english gen- eral should affect to look down upon the danes, germans, french, and other foreign ragamuffins who composed his command, and he insisted strongly upon his claims. marlborough maintained his position, and wirtemberg was driven at last to propose that they should command on alternate days, and marlborough agreed to the pro- posal. orange and green. the position of cork was not a strong one, although in the days before the use of artillery it was considered well-nigh impregnable, being built upon the islands and marshes formed by the river lea, and completely sur- rounded by two branches of the river. but upon three sides it was surrounded at a short distance only by high hills, which completely commanded it, and these hills were defended only by castles and forts of no great strength. the garrison was but small, for the irish were taken by surprise by the arrival of marlborough's expedition, and had prepared only for a siege by wirtemberg and his foreign division. they were therefore obliged to abandon shandon castle and two adjoining forts which defended the hills on the north of the city, and wirtem- berg's danes at once took possession of these works, and planting their guns there, opened fire on the northern quarter of the city. marlborough constructed his batteries at a monastery called the red abbey on the south point of the river, where he was separated from the city only by the stream and narrow strip of marshy ground. these guns soon made a breach in the walls, and marlborough prepared to storm the place, for at low tide it was possible to wade across the marsh and river. the garrison, well aware that they could not long de- fend the place, now offered to capitulate on the same terms which william had granted to the garrisons of towns he had captured, namely, that they should be al- lowed to march out with the honors of war, with their arms and baggage, and to make their way unmolested to limerick. the prince of wirtemberg was strongly in favor of these terms being granted, but marlborough peremptorily refused. while a sharp dispute took place between the two officers, and before any conclusion could orange and green. ward that town, and the next day marched thither him- self at the head of his infantry. the works of kinsale consisted of two forts, both of considerable strength, called the old fort and charles' fort. they were well supplied with stores and provisions for a siege. on the approach of the besiegers the governor set fire to the town and retired to the forts, and, in answer to the sum-' mons to surrender, replied that "it would be time enough to talk about that a month hence." marlborough ordered general tettau to cross the river in boats with eight hundred picked men and to carry old fort by storm. the assault was made with great deter- mination and bravery; but the works were strong and stoutly defended, and the british were about to fall back discomfited when fortune came to their assistance. some loose powder ignited and fired the magazine, by which more than two hundred men of the garrison were killed and the works seriously injured. after this disaster the governor abandoned the fort and withdrew with the sur- vivors of its garrison to charles' fort. marlborough at once commenced the siege of this position, but for fifteen days the place resisted all his efforts. the heavy loss, however, which the garrison had suffered by the explosion in old fort rendered them unable, by sallies, to interfere with the works of the besiegers. these were carried on with great vigor, for marlborough feared that the ap- proach of the wet season would put a stop to his opera- tions. when, therefore, the governor offered to sur- render on the terms of his being permitted "to march away with his garrison, their arms, baggage, and all the honors of war, taking with them all persons who wished to accompany them, together with their property, to limerick," marlborough at once granted the terms demanded. the advent of winter now put a stop to regular opera- orange and green. tions; but a war of skirmishes continued, and the british in their quarters were greatly straitened for forage and provisions. in dublin the work of confiscation went on merrily; the greater part of the catholic proprietors of the town were thrown into prison; the various indict- ments against country gentlemen, followed by the con- fiscation of their property, were hurried through the court with the merest shadow of legal form; for the de- fendants being absent and unacquainted with what was being done in dublin, it was only necessary to recite the accusation to find the accused guilty and to pass sentence of confiscation—all being the work of but a few minutes. nothing could bo done, however, to carry the sen- tences into effect, for william's troops still possessed only the ground the troops stood upon and the towns they occupied. outside those limits the whole country was against them. the earl of marlborough had re- turned to england immediately after the surrender of kinsale; and general ginckle, who had now succeeded to the command, determined to harass the enemy and to increase the resources at his disposal by an expedition into the southwest of ireland, which, covered by cork and limerick, had hitherto been free from the presence of any english troops. he therefore pushed a strong body of cavalry and infantry westward from cork and kinsale; and these succeeded in making themselves masters of castle haven, baltimore, bantry, and several other castles on the line of coast. the district was wild and mountainous, and the passes might have been easily held against the advance; but the peasants had not been organized for resistance, and no serious opposition was encountered. colonel o'driscol, a cousin of macfinn o'driscol, and captain o'donovan, two of the principal proprietors of the neighborhood, soon arrived upon the spot and as- orange and gkeen. sembled a large irregular force, consisting chiefly of mounted peasants, and with these they soon cooped the invaders up in the castles they had taken. o'driscol next attempted the recovery of his own castle haven, which was strongly defended and stood on a cliff over- hanging the sea; but his wild peasants were ill adapted for such work, and they were repulsed by the english garrison and o'driscol himself killed. but another force was advancing from the north; macfinn o'driscol with his regiment pressed forward along the line of bandon river, besieged and captured castle haven, and expelled the english garrisons from baltimore and bantry. general tettau had also marched out from cork witli several regiments of infantry and dragoons, with the in- tention of penetrating into kerry; but the enemy's light troops harassed him night and day, wasted the country, and defended every pass; and he was obliged to return to cork without haying accomplished anything. all this time ginckle was urging upon the lord-justices, who were now the real ruling party in ireland, to issue a proclama- tion offering pardon and security for person and property to all who came in; urging that it was impossible that ho could ever subdue the country while the whole popula- tion had everything at stake in opposing him. lie was supported by king avilliam, who was most anxious to bring the struggle to an end; but the lord- justices and the protestant party at dublin, who were bent upon dividing among themselves the property of the catholics throughout ireland, turned a deaf ear to the arguments of ginckle, and their friends in london had sufficient power to prevent the king from insisting upon his own wishes being carried into effect. after taking part in the operations in kerry, captain davenant's troop returned to limerick, around which city the greater part of the irish army were still en- camped. oranok and orken. chapter xiii. a dangerous mission. "walter," captain davenant said to his son one day when he returned from a council in which he had taken part at the quarters of general sarsfield, "i have a mis- sion for you in dublin. it is necessary, in the first place, to communicate with some of our friends there, and in the second to ascertain, as far as we can, the plans of the enemy during the next campaign. there are few of us here who would not be readily recognized in dublin; therefore, when there seemed a difficulty in selecting some one to undertake the duty, i said that i thought you would be likely to succeed better than most. "you have not been any time in dublin, and i ques- tion whether a single person there would be likely to rec- ognize you. you will, of course, be in disguise, and your youth will be in your favor. i don't say there is no danger in such an undertaking, but i do not think the risk is greater than that which you have frequently run. i was sure you would readily undertake the mission, and i thought i could answer for your intelligence as well as your discretion." "i will undertake it certainly, father, if you think me capable of it," walter said; "it is dull enough here now that the wet weather has thoroughly set in, and i shall really like the adventure. when am i to set out?" "to-morrow. your instructions and the letters you are to carry will be drawn up to-night, and you can set orange a nd otieen. off after breakfast. i shall ride with you, with a part of the troop, until you are past the point where you are likely to fall in with any body of the enemy's cavalry; after that you will, of course, shift for yourself. we think you had best travel on foot, dressed as a peasant; in that way you will attract no attention and pass through towns occupied by the enemy without questioning." "i think, father, i will take larry with me, if you have no objection. he would be the real thing, and could do most of the talking; besides sometimes it is very useful to have some one to send with a message, or to put on guard when one went in anywhere." "take him, by all means, walter, and, indeed, i agree with you that you may find him very useful." accordingly the following morning walter and larry, dressed as young peasants, mounted, and with the troop started from the camp. no signs of any parties of the enemy were seen during their ride, and after proceeding some twenty-five miles, they dismounted, and with a hearty farewell from captain davenant and a cheer from the men they started on foot. the letters of which walter was the bearer had been written on very small pieces of paper and had been sewn up inside the collar of his coat. his instructions as to the persons on whom he was to call had been learned by heart and the paper destroyed. larry was in high glee at taking part in the adventure, and laughed and jested as they made their way along. they avoided the main roads running to waterford and dublin, as they would probably have fallen in with parties of troops journeying west, and might have been shot out of pure wantonness, besides being exposed to the risk of being asked awkward questions. they slept at peasants' houses, where they were every- where hospitably received as soon as their hosts assured orange and green. ? mained in suspense, from the beginning to the end of the war, as to the fate of those who had left them to take part in it. the friends did not make long journeys, for walter was unaccustomed to walk barefooted, and his feet at first were very sore and tender; but by the time they reached dublin they had hardened and he was able to stride along by the side of larry, who, until he started with him for the war, had never had on a pair of shoes in his life. as soon as they reached dublin they made their way to the quarters inhabited by the working-classes. there walter purchased shoes and made such alteration in their attire as to do away with their country aspect and give them the appearance of two young fellows belonging to the town. having hired a room and made these changes they sallied out. the streets were thronged with foreign troops, who behaved as if in a conquered country, swaggering along the streets, pushing the citizens out into the middle of the road, abusing the tradesmen who refused to part with their goods at nominal prices, making insolent remarks to any woman who hurried past them, and behaving with a freedom and license which showed how completely all bonds of discipline were relaxed. "they look mighty bould," larry whispered, "but it's mighty little of it they show when they see the irish horse advancing agin them. no one would think, to see them now, as they were the men we saw spurring away for the bare life on boyne water." "no, indeed, larry," agreed walter, who was furious at what he saw. "i wish we had a few squadrons of sarsfield's horse here; we would clear the street of these vermin in no time. but you must be careful, larry. whatever happens we must not get into any brawl. we have a mission to perform, and must not think of our- selves." orange and green. "i will remember it, yer honor." it was well that larry had been warned, for the next moment a german soldier passing brushed against him, and then, with a savage oath, turned and struck him to the ground. larry sprang up with his eyes blazing with passion, but he caught walter's warning "larry," and, hanging his head, moved away without a word. "that's right, larry," walter said approvingly. "i was afraid for a moment that you were going to spring at that fellow. if you had you would have been in a lock-up in five minutes, and as you could have given no good account of yourself, there you might have remained for weeks." "if ever i meet that fellow outside dublin," larry muttered savagely, "i will pay him for the blow he gave me." seeing the risk of another encounter of the same kind walter led the way down to the bank of the river, and there they remained chatting until it became dusk. "now, larry, i must begin my work. my first visit is to bo to a merchant who lives in a street close to where the ships discharge. while i am in do you sit down on a doorstep near and keep a sharp lookout to see whether the house is watched. it is not likely, but all the better class of catholics who remain in the town are regarded with suspicion." walter had no trouble in finding the house he was in search of, and, knocking at the door, he told the servant who opened it that he wanted to see the master. "you must come in business hours," the man said; "he can't see you now." "i have a letter to him from his friend mr. fitzgerald, of waterford. if you tell him that i think he will see me now." "that's all right," the man said. "hetouldme if any orange and green. one came with a letter from that gentleman i was to show him up." so saying he led him upstairs. "here's a young man, your honor, with the letter you tould me about from mr. fitzgerald." "show him in," a voice said; and walter entered a sitting-room. the gentleman who was with him said nothing until the door was closed behind him: then he asked: "has the ship come in?" to which walter replied: "she is sailing slowly, but she will come." "that's right," the merchant said rising. "where do you come from?" "i am walter davenant, a cornet in my father's troop of horse, and i have come direct from limerick. i have a letter for you in my collar." he pulled off his coat, the merchant handed him a knife, he ripped open the collar, and taking out the papers concealed there picked out that intended for mr. o'brian, which was not directed, but had only a slight mark upon it to distinguish it from the others. the merchant read it in silence. "i am disappointed, mr. davenant," he said as he finished it. "i had hoped that a dash would be made at dublin this winter; but the general says that it has been decided to fight one more campaign on the defen- sive, and that in the autumn, when the french arrive, there will be a general advance. now, i am ready to an- swer any question you are instructed to ask." "in the first place, sir, how many men do you think would be ready to join in any rising in dublin?" "it would all depend upon whether an irish army was advancing in this direction. in that case some seven or eight thousand men would rise. but unless there were a orange and green. hope of early assistance i do not think that above a thousand could bo relied on. i have about that number on my list. they, as you see, could do nothing unas- sisted. there are three or four thousand troops here, and the protestant mob who would join them would number seven or eight thousand at the very least. therefore any attempt to rise in the face of such odds, unless after a crushing defeat of william's troops, would be out of the question. but, as i said, ir an army were marching on dublin, the protestants would be thinking more of taking to their ships than fighting, and all the catholics in the city would then join the movement." "i think the general hoped that you could have mus- tered a stronger force, sir." "so i could a year ago," mr. o'brian said; "but the constant persecution and ill-treatment of the catholics have caused large numbers of them to leave the town. many of the younger and more determined men have made their way west and joined the army. i fear that the numbers i have given are quite as many as can be re- lied upon." "the general was in hopes," walter said, "that a di- version might have been caused in the spring by a rising in dublin, which would, even if unsuccessful, compel the dutch general to keep a large force here." "it might have been done six or eight months ago," mr. o'brian said; "but the spirit of the people here lias been very much broken as well as their numbers dimin- ished. but you can rely upon it that if anything like a general rising can be got up, wo will do our share here. with but a thousand men i can rely on, i feel that any open insurrection would be hopeless; but we could fire the city at a score of points night after night, and so alarm the citizens that they would insist on a consider- able force being kept here for their protection, and this orange and greek would aid our friends outside. i know nothing as to what is being done there, i have only charge of the matter inside the city." "i am well aware of that, sir, and have to call upon those who have the threads of the movement throughout the country in their hands. i only arrived to-day, and came to you first in order that i might know how matters stand here before i see the others. i shall, of course, call again upon you before i leave." after leaving mr. 'brian, walter visited the houses of several others to whom he bore letters. the accounts of the feeling throughout the country were more encourag- ing than those which he had received from mr. o'brian. the hatred of the invaders was greater than ever, and the peasantry in all parts were in a state of sullen desper- ation; indeed the enemy could nowhere move in small parties without the certainty of being attacked. the pressing need was arms. a great part of the peasants who owned guns had already joined the army, and the rest possessed no weapons beyond roughly-made pikes and scythes fixed on long handles. these were formidable weapons in a sudden attack on any small party, but they would not enable the peasants to cope with any chance of success against considerable bodies of troops, especially if provided with artillery. the persons whom walter saw were in communication with the disaffected in all parts of the country, and agreed in the opinion that a general rising should be delayed until some striking success was obtained by the irish army, when the whole country would rise and fall upon the enemy wherever met with. the plans for a rising having been discussed and arranged after several interviews, at some of which most of the leaders of the movement were present, walter prepared to start again for the camp with the news that the first irish victory would be followed by a rising throughout orange and green. to limerick. i have told you exactly what has been ar- ranged with people i have seen, and you can tell my father, who will report to the general. but whatever you do, don't stop here with any idea of getting me out of their hands. the most important thing is that they should know at limerick exactly what has been arranged. if you remain here you would almost certainly be caught also, for as the man who has followed us will be aware that we are together, a search will at once be made for you. so mind, my orders are that if you see i am in trouble you are at once to set out for limerick. if you think that i may manage to get away, you are also to leave at once, but are to wait for me for twelve hours at the village three miles out. if i do not come by the end of that time it will be that i have been taken, and you are to go straight on." it was on the evening when all the arrangements were finally settled that a loud knocking was heard at the door of the house where eight of the principal persons in the affair were assembled. one of them looked out of the window and announced that the street was full of sol- diers. all leaped to their feet and drew their swords. "it is of no use to resist, gentlemen," walter said. ''do you put bottles and glasses on the table and sit down quietly. i will try to escape. if they find you alone they can prove nothing against you, and if i get safe off you also are safe. is there any way out on to the roof? no doubt the house is watched behind." "there is a trapdoor," the gentleman, in whose house they were, said, and led the way upstairs at full speed. as he was unbolting the trap walter ran into a bed- room and seized an armful of blankets, then ran up the ladder to the trapdoor and stepped out on to the roof the door was closed behind him, and he heard the bolts drawn, and then his host ran downstairs and told the - orange and green. frightened servants to open the doors, which had so far resisted the attack from without. headed by an officer, the soldiers rushed in. "what means this violence?" the gentleman asked. "why is my house broken into in this way?" "i arrest you and all who are in this house," the officer said, "on the charge of treason." "treason!" the gentleman said coolly; ^'you will find no treason here. i have a few friends upstairs who are cracking a bottle of port; but that is not, so far as i am aware, against the law." the officer ran upstairs to the room where the others were standing, as if surprised at the tumult, round the table, on which were bottles and half-filled glasses. "take the names of all these persons," the officer said to the sergeant who followed him, "and then convey them in custody to the castle." "there is no trouble about their names," the host said. "all are well known and peaceful citizens, as can be testified by any magistrate." "where is the man who was with you?" the officer said, looking round. "there is, so far as i am aware, no one in the house, sir, beyond these gentlemen and my domestics." "it is a lie!" the officer exclaimed furiously. "a man was seen to enter this house an hour and a half ago, and no one has left since." "a young man! oh, i suppose you mean the young fellow who brought me a message from my cousin at waterford, and who called to ask if i had yet found him any employment. oh, yes, he has been here, but left some time ago, unless he is chatting with the maids in the kitchen." the officer directed a rigorous search to be made of the house. the soldiers soon reported that every nook and orange and green. comer had been examined, but that no one was to be found. at this moment a shot was fired in tfhe street, and a sergeant ran in. "captain peters- bid me say, sir, that they have just caught sight of a man on the roof of a house some dis- tance along the street." "take the prisoners to the castle under a strong guard, sergeant. you will be answerable for their safety," the officer exclaimed, as he ran downstairs. directly the trap closed behind him, "walter—sure that some minutes would pass before the method of his escape was known—tore the blankets he had brought with him into wide strips, tied the ends together, and twisted them up. into the form of a rope; then, coiling this over his arm, he made his way along the roofs. the street below was now a mass of people. the report that a popish plot had been discovered, and that a number of important arrests had been made, spread quickly as the soldiers were seen gathered round the house. the news was sufficient to stir up party feelings, and the mob which collected soon set up the shout which had of late been so often raised in the streets of dublin—"down with the papists!" soon the crashing of glass was heard, as stones were hurled at the dwellings of known catholics. walter, anxious for the safety of larry, who was, he knew, some- where without, tried to look down into the street to see what was going on, believing that in the darkness he could not be seen. the flash of a musket, and the whistle of a ball close to him showed him that his figure had been seen against the sky-line. drawing back, he paused a moment in thought. the trapdoor would be discovered at once, and a search on the roof commenced, and the soldiers would be placed behind the houses. there was no time to be lost in continuing his search for 'w orange and green. a house with a building projecting behind on to which he could lower himself with his rope, which was not nearly long enough to reach the ground. looking over at the back between two of the sharp ridges of the roofs, ho hung his rope so that it would fall across a window, fastened the end round a stack of chim- neys, and then taking hold of it, swung himself over. he had been very careful in tying the knots, and had tested them by pulling at them with all his strength; but he did not feel at all certain that they might not draw with his weight, in which case he must have been dashed to pieces on the ground far below him; but there was no time to hesitate, and as fast as he could he began to slide down the rope, the frequent knots affording good hold for his hands. at last he reached the window. it was made of the small diamond-shaped panes at that time in general use. holding the rope with one hand and his legs, he dashed the other hand through a pane just where he judged the fastening inside would be. three panes were beaten in before he felt the latch. this was easily turned. the frame opened outward, and he had some difficulty in pull- ing it past him; then, grasping the woodwork, he drew himself in, and with a great effort succeeded in gaining a sufficient holding to enable him to leave go of the rope and make good his footing inside. he had little fear of the inmates of the house taking notice of the fall of glass; for had they noticed the sound above the din in the street they would have supposed that the breakage was caused by one of the flying stones. he ran lightly downstairs and opened a door at the back of the house and found himself in the yard. the wall was not very high, and a spring enabled him to get his fingers on the top. he was soon sitting there, and.then dropped into the road behind. the sound of his fall orange and green. the tide was running up. had it been ebbing he would have made down and tried to gain the shore under shelter of the shipping moored below. but it was useless to think of swimming against the tide. his pursuers were but a few yards behind him, and the second time he rose to the surface for air two or three shots were fired. he dived again, and when he next came up took a deliberate look round in order to judge of his chances. he was how about a third of the way across. the shore he had left was already lined with people, and several were gathering on the opposite bank. two or three shots struck the water close to him, and he knew that he was visible to his pursuers. taking a long breath he again went under water. he was a first- rate swimmer and diver, having bathed regularly summer and winter in the bay below the castle. he had this time turned his face toward the shore he had quitted. the tide he knew was sweeping him up. he kept under water as long as he possibly could, swim- ming his hardest. when he could keep under no longer, he turned on his back and permitted himself to rise slowly to the surface. the moment his mouth and nostrils were above water he got rid of the pent-up air, took another breath, and sank again. he swam on until he felt by the ground rising rapidly in front of him that he was close to the . •dge. he then cautiously came to the surface and looked round. he was close under the bank from which he had started, but two or three hundred yards higher up. the bank rose straight up some twelve feet above him, and he could hear persons talking close to its edge —"there he is."—"no, he isn't."—"pretty nearly over the other side."—"i don't see him."—"they will catch him as he gets out."—"i believe he has sunk."—"he never could keep under all this time."—"one of the bullets must have hit him." orange and green. then a voice in the crowd shouted, "there's his head just in the middle of the river," and a stone splashed in the stream. it was followed by a volley of other stones and several musket-shots in the same direction. walter, having now got his breath, sunk his head quietly below the water, and swam on again, keeping close under the bank. "whenever he came up for air he listened for a moment: shots were still being fired be- low him, and he knew that the attention of all upon the shores was still directed toward the center of the stream, and that there was but small chance of any one leaning over to gaze down into the water close to their feet. his hopes rose as every minute placed him further from his pursuers. he could no longer hear voices above him when he rose, but he swam on for upward of a mile and struggled up the bank well beyond the walls of the town. he lay down a few minutes to rest himself, walked half a mile along the bank, and then entering the river again, swam across, for the road he was to follow was on the south side of it. he made his way across the country until he saw a small shed. he entered this, and finding some hay in the loft, stripped off his wet clothes, and crept deep into the hay to warm himself, for the water was cold, and he was shivering from head to foot. as soon as it was light he again put on his clothes and started at a run, which he maintained until he was hi a thorough glow in spite of his wet clothing. he did not approach the village, at which he had arranged to meet larry, until the sun was high and his clothes had dried so far that they would not attract the attention of any one who might be passing. then he went into the deserted village and took up his place in one of the ruined cottages, from which he could obtain a view of the road from dublin. u orange and green. half an hour later he saw larry coming along it. al- though there was no one else in sight, some one might be going the other way, and walter therefore remained in his hiding-place till larry was abreast of him, when he showed his head in the doorway and called him by name. larry gave a cry of joy, and rushing in, threw his arms round him and burst into tears. "it's a terrible fright you have given me!" he exclaimed when he could find words. "i have been breaking my heart all night. sure i thought you were at the bottom of the river." "not this time, larry, though it was a pretty close thing. did you see it all?" "sure and i did," larry said. "i was sitting on a doorstep watching the house when i saw the sodgers coming along. they turned up from a side street, and were so close that i saw i could not get across and get the door opened in time to give you the alarm. then they began to knock at the door, and for a bit i felt so wake that i could not move. then the crowd began to gather, and then i said to myself, the master will try to shlip out at the back of the house. so i went round, but i found the thieves of the world waiting for ye there. but i was sure ye weren't the one to let them take ye widout a struggle for it. so i moved a bit away, and jist waited. "the time seemed long, when on a suddint i heard the sodgers sing out, and then fire and set out to run. i never doubted it was you, and so off i went behindt them as hard as i could tear. i wasn't long in coming up to them, and at first i thought ye would get clean away. then my heart fell when i saw those villains attempt to seize ye, but when i thought it was all over ye turned sharp off and made for the river. i was with the first of them to get there, and i ran accidental against the first orange and green. "sometimes i thought i should find you, then again i tould myself that if you had been alive i must have seen you come up agin; for, knowing the strength of the stream and how fast you could swim, i could tell pretty nigh about where you would come up if you were keep- ing straight up the river. how did you manage it at all, master walter?" "i turned and swam back again to the bank, larry. i knew every one would be watching the middle of the river, and would not be looking at the water in front of them. of course the stream took me up a long way. i only came up once, on my back, took a breath, and went down again, and the second time i was right under the bank and well out of sight, though i could hear them talking above me. it was just when i looked round then that i saw them throwing stones and firing into the middle of the river two hundred yards lower down, and after that i had only to keep on swimming under water close to the bank." "and that is how ye managed it! it was a grand thought entirely to swim back to us. i never thought of that. i was most afraid you would go for the opposite shore, and there were plenty had gathered there ready to seize you. i didn't think i could have missed you if you'd kept on in the middle, and i have been puzzled al- together as to what could have' become of you if ye were really alive. i have got some bread in my bundle here, and a bottle of spirits, and you had better have a bite and a sup before we go on, for it's pretty nigh as white as a ghost ye are." the meal seemed to put new life and strength into walter, and after its conclusion he was ready to step out again with fresh energy. they thought it better at cnce to leave the road and tramp across the country. by so doing they avoided all parties of the english troops, and orange and green. reached the irish army without adventure. walter at once reported himself to general sarsfield, and related all that had taken place in dublin. "you have done excellently, mr. davenant, and your escape from capture was an extraordinary one. unfor- tunately the betrayal of what was doing, and the arrest of our friends, is likely to upset all the plans you had arranged." "i hope not, sir," walter said. "i know that they were all careful to have no written documents, for it was always possible that the houses of the catholics might be searched." "that may be so," the general said; "but i fear that this traitor will have managed to overhear some of the conversation; and the fact of their meeting and of your escape will in itself tell against them sufficiently to in- sure their being kept in prison at any rate for a consid- erable time, and even if released they would be suspected persons, and would be unable to make the slightest move." the general's previsions were justified. the whole of those arrested were retained in prison for some months, and no such general rising as had been planned was ever carried into effect. during the winter stores and ordnance arrived from france for the supply of the irish army, and from eng- land for the use of the british, and a great number of officers from the continent also joined both armies. the discontent among the irish at the apathy of france was extreme. they had embarked in the war on the strength of the promises of king louis. none of these promises had been fulfilled. the supplies of arms and money had been most meager, the few thousand troops sent had never taken part in any of the operations, and their coming had been much more than counter- balanced by the troops sent from ireland in exchange for orange and green. them. an additional cause of discontent was given by the fact that william exchanged all the prisoners taken in ireland for dutch prisoners in the hands of louis, and the irish so handed over were all incorporated in the french army. so great was the discontent that had a proclamation of pardon and protection been offered, the whole irish army would have disbanded and all resistance ceased. but louis, alarmed at finding that it was likely william would be freed from his troubles at home, and be at liberty to give his whole attention to the war on the con- tinent, sent fresh promises of large and speedy aid, and dispatched general st. ruth to take the command in ireland in place of lauzun, who had returned to france. this appointment caused fresh discontent among the irish. their cause had already been well-nigh ruined by the interference and incapacity of the french generals, and on the retirement of lauzun they had confidently expected that sarsfield would be appointed commander- in-chief, and that henceforth there would be unity of de- sign in their operations. st. ruth was accompanied by a large number of young french officers, whose demeanor still further widened the breach between the french and irish. st. ruth at once inspected the army, now concentrated between limerick and athlone. except that there was a great deficiency in horses for the cavalry the army was greatly improved in discipline and appearance since the battle of the boyne, for both officers, petty officers, and men had learned their duties. the army had passed the winter in comfortable quarters, and had been well supplied with food. the difficulty was to find horses. the eap- parees had carried off many of the charges of the english cavalry by stratagem, and it was a common practice of the danish and other foreign troops to sell their horses to orange and green. the irish at the outposts and pretend that they were stolen. still the supply was altogether insufficient, and st. ruth, finding that he could not get horses from the enemy, determined to take them from his friends. a proclamation was accordingly issued inviting all the gentry throughout the country held by the irish to meet him at limerick, mounted and accoutered in the best manner. reports were spread that an important com- munication was to be made to the gentlemen of the coun- try from king james, and that many marks of honor and distinction were to be conferred. accordingly, there was a very numerous attendance of gentry on the day fixed. st. ruth appeared on the ground with a large body of cavalry. he made a speech to the gentlemen—complimented them on their punctual attendance and gallant appearance; told them that it was necessary that every man should make sacrifices for the defense of his religion and his estates, and requested them to hand over their horses to the cavalry. he then at once rode off the ground, leaving the cavalry to take possession of the horses. anger and expostulation were useless, and the gentlemen had to return on foot, sadder men; but the army obtained a large and valuable addi- tion of horses, and st. ruth was able to march out at the head of twenty thousand foot and five thousand well- appointed cavalry. their direction was athlone, toward which point ginckle was also directing his movements, having as- sembled his whole force at mullingar, withdrawing the garrisons from almost all the towns, in order to raise his force in the field. the alarm in dublin was, in conse- quence, extreme, and the council and lords-justices be- sought ginckle not to leave them without protection; but he only replied that they had it in their own power to put an end to the war by publishing such a declaration orange and green. of pardon and security for person and property as would satisfy the irish in james' army. but the council, even in this moment of alarm, refused to renounce their golden hopes of confiscation. ginckle's first attack was directed against the village of ballymore, which lay between mullingar and athlone. it was defended by a thousand cavalry and infantry, and a sergeant and a few men were posted in a castle on an eminence some distance from the village. the first at- tack was made on the castle, but the sergeant and his little garrison made a long and gallant resistance,"and the savage dutchman was so infuriated at the opposition that when at last the post was taken he ordered the gal- lant sergeant to be at once hung. he then sent word to the garrison of the village that if they did not surrender he would serve them as he had served the sergeant. they were unmoved by the threat, and made a long and gallant defense against the whole of ginckle's army; and the dutch general was unable to overcome their resistance till he at last offered fair terms of surrender. the position being a strong and impor- tant one, ginckle spent some days in adding to the de- fensive works the irish had erected before he moved for- ward and sat down in front of athlone. his army was well provided with heavy artillery and everything neces- sary for a siege, and he was firmly resolved that there should be no repetition of the disastrous failure of the preceding autumn. orange and green. of the heavy artillery brought to bear upon it. a mill which stood in the river, and was connected with the bridge, was set on fire, and the sixty soldiers posted in it, being unable to escape, were all burned. night and day seven great batteries played incessantly upon the town. on the th of june thirty wagons loaded with powder and a hundred carts with cannon-balls arrived from dub- lin, and enabled the besiegers to keep up their fire with- out intermission. the interior of the town was reduced to ruins—nothing remained erect save the city walls, in which the breaches, as fast as they were made, were re- paired by the irish. the slaughter among those so em- ployed was very heavy; but there was no lack of men, the places of those who fell being at once supplied by others willing to give their lives in the defense of the town. at last there was nothing more that the besiegers could do. the town was reduced to ashes, but the river and the broken arch still separated them from the ruins. to remain much longer where they were was impossible, for the country on every side was exhausted, and no longer afforded food for man or horse. the country peo- ple had fled from the cruelty and spoliation of ginckle's foreign soldiery, carrying with them all their effects; and the irish light troops and armed peasantry hovered round the camp, laid the country waste, and intercepted their supplies and communications with dublin. ginckle held a council of war to consider what was to be done. it was admitted that they must force the pas- sage of the river without loss of time, or submit to the alternative of retreat and the utter failure of the cam- paign. it was finally resolved to attempt the passage of the bridge by throwing a wooden gallery over the broken arch, and forcing their way across at all cost. additional batteries were now raised on the bank of the river, and a orange and green. heavy fire was poured, without intermission, upon the irish on their side of the broken arch. both parties had erected a breastwork on the bridge at their respective sides of the breach, and from behind this, day and night, a continued musketry fire was kept up, the grenadiers of the english army throwing grenades into the enemy's works. after some days the breast- work on the irish side was set on fire by the continued assault of shot and grenades. the wattles of which it was composed, dried by the hot weather, were soon in a blaze, and under cover of the flames and smoke the eng- lish ran forward the great beams they had prepared in readiness, and threw them across the gap in the bridge. the fire from all the batteries on the english side was directed against the burning breastvork, while the grenadiers hastened to lay planks across the beams to complete the bridge. the work was well-nigh done when an irish sergeant and ten men, all clad in armor, leaped through the flames of the breastwork, and began to hew with their axes at the beams and planks. for a moment the british were paralyzed at the daring action. then the batteries and musketry fire again opened, a storm of shot and bullets swept across the bridge, and the whole of the gallant fellows fell dead, but in a moment another party, similarly armed, dashed t hrough the flames and took their places. regardless of the fire they whirled their axes. nine fell, but the last two gave the final stroke to the beams; the bridge fell with a crash into the river below, and the two survivors recrossed the breastwork and joined their friends within amid the wild enthusiasm of the defend- ers; an enthusiasm in which even the baffled assailants joined, for the british grenadiers gave a cheer in token of their admiration at the gallantry and devotion of the deed. ohahqai and green. in all history there is no record of a more gallant action than this, performed by two sergeants and twenty men, who thus encountered almost certain death to maintain their post. the destruction of the temporary bridge filled ginckle and his officers with consternation, and the manner in which their design had been baffled showed the spirit of the defenders and the magnitude of the task which they had undertaken; but it was resolved at another council which was called to attempt one more effort before abandoning the enterprise. a finished plat- form was constructed. this was to be thrown over the arch, and a chosen body of the bravest troops in the army were to throw themselves across and try to force a pas- sage. at the same time a division was to cross the river by a ford near the bridge, and another to attempt to cross by a bridge of pontoons prepared in readiness. the irish were informed, by french deserters, of what was going on in the english camp, and early on the morn- ing of the assault several strong divisions of the irish army were seen marching down from the camp two miles away into the town. here they were drawn up in readi- ness to repulse the assault. the british were some time before they were ready for the attack, but at ten o'clock the whole army stood in close order ready to advance. the first to move forward were those who were to carry the bridge. the irish guns, which still remained intact, opened upon them, but they pressed forward along the bridge to the broken arch, and, with less trouble than had been anticipated, threw the platform across it. instead of rushing forward at once the grenadiers stood behind their breastwork and hurled their grenades at the irish grenadiers, who stood in close order on the opposite edge. these, however, stood their ground and hurled their grenades with great effect into the column. one of orange and green. these exploded against the english breastwork and set it on fire. it at once blazed up; a strong west wind was blowing and drove the smoke and flames into the faces of the english grenadiers, who for some time strove in vain to extinguish the flames, notwithstanding the heavy fire which the defenders poured into them. they had at last to fall back, and the irish, sallying from behind their breastwork, pulled down the burning timbers on to the bridge, which was soon in flames. the other divisions of the english army, finding that the grenadiers on the bridge made no progress, did not attempt to perform their part of the work, and finally the whole retreated to their camp. that evening another council of war was held. matters now looked desperate, and the fact that the enterprise had this time failed owing to the hesitation of the troops to push for- ward to the attack of the enemy, made the prospect appear more hopeless. nevertheless, in spite of the opposition of generals ginckle and mackey the council determined that one more attempt should be made, and that this should be carried out at daylight next morning in the hopes of taking the irish by surprise. it was accordingly given out that the army would re- treat in the morning, and the heavy guns were withdrawn from the batteries. st. ruth, who was convinced that athlone could not be taken, and who had spent the greater portion of his time in entertaining tha ladies and gentry of the neighborhood with balls and fetes, fell into the trap, and, contrary to the opinion and advice of the irish generals, recalled from the town the regiments which had marched in that morning and replaced them with only three battalions of inferior troops. the irish officers remonstrated warmly, but st. ruth, to show his disdain for their opinions, invited a large party of ladies and gentlemen to an entertainment in the orange and green. evening. in the night the british army prepared for the attack; the commanders of the respective divisions all led their troops in person. the garrison of the town were all asleep. in st. ruth's camp the festivities were over, and the general and his officers had retired. the irish sentinels, who noted the movement in the british camp, supposed that they were mustering to retreat, and thus the three british columns drew up inside the town wall in readiness to advance, without a notion of their purpose being entertained on the opposite side of the river. one column, headed by sixty chosen men in complete armor, was to cross the bridge and throw a platform over the arch; another to cross by the ford; the third by a pontoon bridge. when the church bell tolled six the three columns advanced simultaneously, and before the irish were thoroughly awake, the leading battalions had forded the river, the platform was in its place, and the troops pouring into the town. a few guns were hastily discharged, and then the men of the three irish regiments in the town fled in haste to avoid capture by the columns pouring across the river by the ford and pontoon bridge. many indeed were cap- tured while asleep. st. ruth, roused from sleep by the sound of cannon, ordered the troops to arms, but it was too late. the town, or rather its ruins, were in the pos- session of the british, and the brilliant success which had been won by the valor and determination of the irish troops was forfeited by the carelessness, folly, and self- confidence of the french general. had he listened to the advice of the irish officers the attempt, like those which had preceded it, must have failed, and in that case there was nothing remained to gincklebut a precipitous retreat to dublin, with the loss of the whole of the advantages gained in the previous orange and green. campaign and the necessity of bringing the war to an end by the concession of the rights and privileges of the irish catholics and landowners. the whole course of history was changed by the folly of one man. ginckle had taken athlone, but it was at a vast cost of life, and he was more than ever impressed with the magnitude of the task of subduing ireland so long as the people were driven to desperation by the threatened confiscation of all their lands and by the per- secution of their religion. king william too was more anxious than ever for the termination of hostilities, and on the very day that the news of the fall of athlone reached him he issued a proclamation offering protection, security of all possessions, and continuance in auy offices which they held under james, tp all who would lay down their arms in three weeks' time. the issue of such a proclamation as this a year before would have satisfied the irish and put a stop to the war; but it was now too late. the promises made had been broken over and over again, and the irish had but too much reason to fear that when all opposition ceased the council and their train of greedy adherents would again obtain the ascendency, and would continue their work of spoliation and robbery. mo'^over, the irish army did not feel itself in any way beaten. it was not its fault that the second siege of athlone had not terminated as the former siege and that of limerick had done, and that ginckle's army was not hurrying back defeated and dis- organized to dublin. they felt that at the battle of the boyne they had suffered no defeat, although, in accord- ance with the general plan, they had fallen back, and they eagerly desired to fight one battle to prove that in the open field they were more than a match for the mer- cenaries of king william. the council and lords-jus- tices, who were aghast at the proclamation which threat orange anv green. ened to destroy their hopes of dividing among them- selves and their friends all the lands of the catholics of ireland, did their best to prevent its acceptance by spreading rumors that it was a mere bait, and that its promises would not be fulfilled, while st. ruth and his french officers did their best also to set the irish against it. st. ruth, who was really a good officer, was conscious that, so far from having gained credit as he had expected from a command in ireland, the misfortunes which had happened were entirely attributed to him, and he longed for an opportunity of wiping out the slur on his military reputation. he therefore urged upon the irish generals that ginckle had indeed gained but little; that all the hopes of william rested upon that army alone; and that with its defeat they could demand aud obtain any terms they liked to lay down; besides which he was able to as- sure them by his advices from france that louis was making preparations for assisting them on a vastly larger scale than he had previously done. thus from a com- bination of circumstances the proclamation elicited no response. avhiu the siege of athlone was being carried on the main body of sarsfield's cavalry remained for the most part in the camp near the town, but commanders of small bodies of men like the corps of captain davenant, which were regarded as irregulars, had liberty of action. some made long raids to the east and often spread con- fusion and dismay among the enemy by appearing sud- denly when no irish troops were believed to be within a hundred miles. some went down and joined the peas- ants, who were keeping up desultory lighting in the neighborhood of cork, harassing the english whenever they moved from one point to another, or sent out parties to collect forage or provisions. captain davenant, who orange and green. drivers, who were not to move until joined by their owner. he then rode back and shook hands with john. "i am glad to see you," he said. "all are well, i hope, at both our homes?" "quite well, sir." "thank god for that! now i must leave you to see that our work is thoroughly carried out. you will find your wagons safe a quarter of a mile along the road. i will leave you to tell all the home news to walter, who will retell it to me afterward." "now tell me all the news," walter said when they were together again. "the news is not altogether pleasant," john replied. "the whole of the country round dublin is being harried by the cavalry in garrison there. they pay no attention whatever to papers of protection, and care but little whether those they plunder are protestant or catholic, friend or foe. they go about in small parties like bands of brigands through the country; and those who go to dublin to obtain redress for their exactions are received with indifference, and sometimes with insult, by the authorities. then, too, we have had trouble at home. "my grandfather became more bigoted than ever, and would, if he had the power, have annihilated every cath- olic in ireland. my father and he had frequent quarrels, and i was in daily expectation of an open breach between them, and of my father giving up his share of the prop- erty and taking us to england. he was a backslider in my grandfather's eyes. the tales of battle, plunder, and murder seemed to have taken the latter back to his own fighting days; and he was rather inclined to consider the generals as lukewarm than to join in the general in- dignation at their atrocious conduct. "even the sufferings of the protestants did not seem to affect him. the lord's work, he said, cannot be car- orange and green. ried on without victims. it horrified me to hear him talk. if this was the religion of our fathers, i was fast coming to the conclusion that it was little better than no religion at all. "i think my father and mother saw it in the same light, and the breach between them and my grandfather daily widened. but i have not told you the worst yet. a party of cavalry rode up the other day, and wore about, as usual, to seize upon some cattle. my father was out, and my grandfather stepped forward and asked them 'how they could lay it to their consciences to plunder protestants when, a mile or two away, there were catho- lics lording it over the soil—catholics whose husbands and sons were fighting in the ranks of the army of james stuart?' "i was in the house with my mother, but we heard what was said; and she whispered to me to slip out be- hind and find my father and tell him what was being done. i made off; but before i had gone a quarter of a mile i saw the soldiers riding off toward the castle, with my grandfather riding at their head. i was not long in finding my father,who at once called the men off from their work and sent them off in all directions to raise the coun- try; and in an hour two hundred men, armed with any weapon they could snatch up, were marching toward the castle, my father at their head. there were catholics and potestants among them—the latter had come at my father's bidding, the former of their own free-will. "we hurried along, anxiously fearing every moment to see flames rise from the castle. fortunately the sol- diers were too busy in plundering to notice our ap- proach, and we pounced down upon them and seized them unawares. they were stripping the place of every- thing worth carrying away before setting it on fire. we burst into the hall, and there was a sight which filled my orange and green. father and myself with anger and shame. your grand- mother was standing erect looking with dignity mingled with disdain at my grandfather; while your mother, hold- ing your brother's hands, stood beside her. my grand- father was standing npoo a chair; in his hand he held a bible, and was pouring out a string of demmncing texts at the ladies, and was at the moment we entered compar- ing them to the wicked who had fallen into a net. "i don't think, walter, his senses are quite right now. he is crazed with religion'and hate, and i believe at the time he fancied himself in the meeting-house. anyhow there he was, while two sergeants who were supposed to be in command of the troop were sitting on a table, with a flagon of wine between them, looking on with amuse- ment. their expression changed pretty quickly when we rushed in. "it needed all my father's efforts to prevent the whole party being hung, so furious were all the rescuers at the outrage upon the good ladies of the castle. but my father pointed out to them that although such a punish- ment was well deserved, it would do harm rather than good to the ladies. they had orders of protection from the lords-justices; and he should proceed at once, with four or five witnesses, to lay the matter before the gen- eral at dublin and demand the punishment of the offend- ers. but if the party took the law into their own hands and meted out the punishment the fellows deserved, the facts of the case would be lost sight of; there would be a cry of vengeance for the murder, as it would be called, of a party of soldiers, and it would serve as an excuse for harrying the whole district with fire and sword. "having at last persuaded the angry tenants and peas- antry to lay aside their project of vengeance, my father went to the soldiers, who, tied hand and foot, were ex- pecting nothing short of death. he ordered all their orange and green. * castle, is a great friend of the lords-justices and other members of the council, and is also acquainted with the general, which will account for the prompt measures taken to punish the marauders—a very rare and excep- tional matter, i can tell you." "i am sure we are greatly indebted to your father and you for so promptly taking measures to assist my mother," walter said. "i have no doubt the castle would have been burned as well as plundered if it had not been for your rescue of them." "it is not worth thinking about, walter. we are heavily your debtors still for the kindness of your father and yourself to me at derry, and indeed on all other oc- casions; besides, it was the least we could do, seeing that it was my grandfather's hatred of your family which brought the matter about." "what became of your grandfather," walter asked, "when you interrupted his sermon?" "he fell down in a fit," john replied; "and perhaps it was the best thing he could do, for i don't know what my father and he would have said to each other had it not been so. he was carried home, and he has not been the same man since. i don't think the subject was ever alluded to between my father and him; but i think that, being balked just at the moment when he thought he had obtained the object of his hopes and prayers for the last forty years, has almost broken his heart. "he goes about the house scarce speaking a word, and seems to have lost almost all his energy. he has ceased to read the family prayers and to hold forth morning and night. i do think he considers that the lord has cheated him out of his lawful vengeance. it is awfully sad, walter, though it is strange, to see such a travesty of religion as the tenets of my grandfather and some of the orange and green. old men who, like him, represent the views of crom- well's soldiers. "their religion cannot be called true christianity. it is the judaism of the times when the jews were among the most ignorant of peoples. to me it is most shock- ing, and i would infinitely rather be a mohammedan than hold such a faith as theirs. i thank god that my father and mother have shaken oil such a yoke, and brought me up according to the teaching of the new testament rather than that of the old." by this time the wagons, with the exception of those under john whitefoot's charge, had been collected in a mass, and fire had been applied to them. they were now a pile of flame. a few of the best and fastest-look- ing of the horses were set aside to be carried off by the troop. the rest were shot, as the great object of the raids was to deprive the english army of its. means of transport. the troop then mounted. captain daven- ant and "walter took a hearty farewell of john, and in- trusted him with hastily-written letters for home; and as the smoke of the burning train would soon bring down any parties of the enemy who happened to be in the neighborhood, the troop then rode off at full speed, and arrived safely at athlone without meeting with any fur- ther adventures. after the fall of the city ginckle remained inactive some time, but finding that his proclamation had no effect in inducing the irish to lay down their arms he re- luctantly prepared to advance against them. in the in- terval he occupied himself in repairing the western wall of the city, and as he had been joined by several regi- ments sent out to reinforce him, he resumed his advance with a force larger than that with which he had com- menced the siege of athlone. before starting he issued the most peremptory orders against a repetition of the bi orange and green. every effort they could to rescue their country from the oppression of the prince of orange and his army of foreigners. ginckle, on his part, as at athlone, distributed money among the troops, and promised them the plunder of the enemy's camp. as the day cleared up the british army was put in motion, and a strong column advanced against the enemy's right, where stood the house and grounds of urachree, occupied by some irish horse. a strong de- tachment of danish cavalry headed the british column. they moved forward boldly, quickening their pace as they approached the irish; but on the latter charging them at full gallop they wheeled about and rode off at once in disorder. ginckle immediately ordered two hundred of cunning- ham's dragoons, who were considered the best cavalry in the army, to advance and drive back the irish horse. the dragoons advanced at a trot, but seeing that the irish quietly awaited their coming they halted behind a hedge and awaited the arrival of the infantry. when these came up the cavalry again moved forward. the irish horse now fell back on a little hill in their rear, where a body of infantry were posted. they then faced to the front and charged and broke the english dragoons, who retreated as the danes had done, in confusion. eppinger's dragoons were ordered tip to support cun- ningham's, but the irish horse had also received rein- forcements before they arrived, and after a fierce fight the two english regiments were routed and driven off the field. ginckle rallied them, added lord portland's horse to their numbers, and again sent them against the irish. these, however, had fallen back from urachree, and had taken up a new position upon the rivulet behind it, in front of the solid ground by which alone the right wing of the irish army could be approached. here they orange and green remained waiting the onset of the british cavalry; but these, perceiving that the ground was becoming more and more difficult, soon came to a halt, and then wheel- ing about fell back upon the infantry. seeing the successful stand which was made by a small body of irish horse to the advance of the left wing, and that the spirit with which his troops were behaving was greatly inferior to that of the irish, ginckle called a council of war. opinions were greatly at variance. it was now nearly four o'clock, and it was at first decided to postpone the battle till the morning, and a messenger was sent to the baggage column in the rear to bring up the tents; but other counsels finally prevailed. the order for the tents was countermanded, and at half-past four the british infantry were ordered to advance. they pressed forward in solid masses across the ground where the cavalry fight had taken place, and the irish horse fell back behind their infantry, who were posted behind the substantial hedges which intersected the ground beyond the rivulet. a heavy musketry fire was opened upon the british infantry as they advanced, but they pressed forward in unbroken order till they reached the hedges. these were long and obstinately contested. the irish had cut openings through the hedges by which they could retire, and as they fell back from hedge to hedge the advancing british were received by a fire from hedges on both flanks as well as from the front. as the british poured regiment after regiment to the attack, st. ruth moved some bodies of horse and foot from his left to the support of his right wing. this movement had been foreseen by ginckle, who now gave orders for several battalions of infantry to cross the bog and attack the irish center. at this point there was a path across the bog, or rather a place where the mud and water were not so deep as at orange and green. other points, and where it was possible for it to be forded. ginckle had found a peasant, who, for a large sum of money, disclosed the passage. it traversed the bog at its narrowest point, the hill of kilcomeden here running out a shoulder far into it. four regiments entered the morass, with orders to cross it and make their way to the nearest hedges on the sloping ground, where they were to post themselves till the cavalry, who were to attempt the passage by aughrim castle, could come round to their rupport. the first part of the passage was unopposed, but the difficulty of passing was great, for the men were fre- quently up to their waists in mud, too soft to afford any firm footing, but solid enough to render it extremely difficult for the feet to be disengaged from it. at length, as they approached firmer ground, the irish in- fantry advanced toward the edge of the bog and received them with a steady fire. the english, although suffering heavily, pressed for- ward without firing a shot, till the ground became solid under their feet, when the irish withdrew, and, as upon the right, took post behind the hedges which everywhere intersected the slopes. the english, seeing the irish retire, pressed forward, and another fierce contest raged in the inclosures; the irish, according to their precon- ceived plan, falling gradually back. the british in their ardor forgot their orders to halt at the first hedge, and continued to press forward until the constantly increas- ing numbers of the enemy recalled to their leaders the danger of the position. before them were the heights of kilcomeden with a strong force drawn up to receive them, while on both flanks the enemy were crowding down to intercept their retreat. colonel earl, who was the senior officer, looked anxiously toward the right, from which quarter be ex- orange and green. while this was passing in the center another division of ginckle'fl army, consisting of english and french in- fantry, had crossed the bog by a passage more to the right. they also had met with no opposition in passing, and it was only when they reached the hedges on the firm ground that the irish showed themselves, fired, and retreated. this division, more cautious than that of earl, could not be tempted to pursue, but contented themselves with maintaining their ground under a heavy fire, awaiting anxiously the arrival of the british horse. they could see, however, no sign of them, but could perceive the irish cavalry descending in large masses pre- paring to charge, while the infantry were forming for an advance. so far the irish had been successful at every point; they had repulsed every attack made by the brit- ish left, had crushed the brigade composed of the flower of the british infantry which had assaulted the center, and were now preparing to destroy the division which stood unsupported on their side of the bog. at this moment a tumult was heard on the left wing of the irish, the direction from which the british division expected relief, and the irish, aware of the importance of the pass of aughrim, suspended their attack to await the events there. st. ruth had directed the operations of the battle with as much skill as he had prepared for the assault. he had taken up his position on a point of the hill whence he had a complete view of the whole field of battle, and had moved his troops with calmness and judg- ment to meet each of the attacks made upon them, and when he saw the destruction of the english regiment in the center he exclaimed, in the full confidence of vic- tory, "now i will drive the english to the walls of dublin!" there was, indeed, but one hope, on the part of the orange and green. how far that treachery extended they abstained from all action. captain davenant's troop had shared in the disaster inflicted by the night attack upon the cavalry camp. all were asleep when the english cavalry burst upon them. taken utterly by surprise, and ignorant as to the strength of the force by which they were attacked, there was no thought of resistance; officers and men leaped from the piles of rushes, which served as beds, and rushed to their horses. the english troopers were cutting and hewing in all directions, and cutting the picket ropes, each man sprang on his horse and rode for his life. captain davenant had at first shouted to his men to keep steady; but his words were lost in the din which prevailed, and seeing that nothing was to be done, he said to walter: "it is all over, walter; we must ride for it like the rest." by morning the irish cavalry was scattered all over the country, and it was not for two or three days that they again assembled in regiments, presenting a sorry sight, the greater part having lost saddles and accouterments of every kind. a few troops, composed of men who had been fortunate enough to have left their horses saddled when night came on, were sent back to limerick. the rest drew off toward ennis and encamped there until they could procure saddles and accouterments to take the field again. in captain davenant's troop there were but six men who had saved their saddles; and as it would have been useless to send so small a detachment to limerick, these remained with the troop, and were at walter's request placed entirely at his disposal in order that with them he might make scouting expeditions in the enemy's rear. he had permission to consider himself on detached serv- ice, and to join any body of kapparees he might choose; orange and gre en. mile, cutting off a few stragglers less well mounted than the rest, and then returned to kilcowan, where the peas- ants had just arrived in triumph with the rescued carts of potatoes. "what are you going to do?" he asked when the ex- citement of the welcome accorded by the women to the captors had subsided a little.. "you may expect a strong body to be sent out to-morrow to punish you for this." "it's the general's own proclamation, your honor. didn't he say himself that his soldiers were not to stale anything, and that they would be severely punished if they did, and didn't he guarantee that we should be paid for everything? he could not blame us for what we have done, and he ought to hang the rest of those thiev- ing villains when they get back to him." "i wouldn't be too sure about it," walter said. "he issued a good many proclamations before, but he has never kept the terms of one of them. if i were you i would leave the village—man, woman, and child—for a few days at any rate, and see how the dutchman takes it." but the villagers could not be persuaded that the dutch general would disapprove of what they had done, and walter finding his arguments of no avail rode off with his men to the village they had left an hour before, with the parting advice that if they would not follow his counsel they should at any rate place watchers that night on the roads toward ginckle's camp, to bring them news of the approach of any body of the enemy's cavalry. but the villagers were too delighted with their day's work to pay much heed to walter's warning, and after a general jollification in honor of their victory retired to rest thoughtless of danger. it was getting dark when walter reached the village where he had determined to stay for the night. he ordered the men to keep the saddles on their horses and to hitch them to the doors of orange and green. the cabins where they took up their quarters, in readi- ness for instant movement. he placed one mounted sentry at the entrance to the village, and another a quar- ter of a mile on the road toward kilcowan. at nine o'clock he heard the sound of a horse galloping up to the door, and ran out. it was the sentry at the end of the village. 'kilcowan is on fire, sir!" walter looked in that direction and saw a broad glare of light. "ride out and bring in the advanced sentry," he said, "as quick as possible." he called the other men out and bade them mount; that done they sat ready to ride off on the return of their comrades. "here they come, sir," one of the men said, "and i fancy the enemy are after them." walter listened intently. he could hear a deep thundering noise, which was certainly made by the hoofs of more than two horses. "face about, men, trot! keep your horses well in hand until the others come up, and then ride for it. ah, what is that?" as he spoke there was a shout from the other end of the village, followed instantly by the trampling of horses. "they have surrounded us!" walter exclaimed. "shoulder to shoulder, lads, and cut your way through. it's our only chance. charge!" and placing himself at the head he set spurs to his horse and dashed at the approaching enemy. there was a fierce shock, a horse and rider rolled over from the impetus of his charge, then he cut right and left; pistol shots rang out, and his horse fell beneath him shot through the head, pinning his leg beneath it. orange and green. had not the least idea of what was meant, by it; but walter stepped forward: "it is not these men who are to blame, but your sol- diers, general," he said. "your own proclamation issued three days ago guaranteed that no private property should be interfered with, and that everything the troops required should be paid for. your soldiers disobeyed your orders and plundered these poor people, and they were just as much justified in defending themselves against them as any householder is who resists a burglar." "you dare speak to me!" exclaimed ginckle. "you shall share their fate. every man of you shall be broken on the wheel." "general ginckle," walter said warmly, "hitherto the foul excesses of your troops have brought disgrace upon them rather than you; but if this brutal order is carried out your name will be held infamous, and you will stand next only to cromwell in the curses which irishmen will heap upon your memory." the dutch general was almost convulsed with passion. "take the dogs away," he shouted, "and let the sen- tence be carried out." several english officers were standing near, and these looked at one another in astonishment and disgust. two of them hurried away to fetch some of the superior officers, and directly these heard of the orders that had been given they proceeded to ginckle's tent. "can it be true," general hamilton said, "that you have ordered some prisoners to be broken on the wheel?" "i have given those orders," ginckle said angrily, "and i will not permit them to be questioned." "pardon me," general hamilton said firmly; "but they must be questioned. there is no such punishment as breaking on the wheel known to the english law, and i and myenglish comrades protest against such a sen- tence being carried out." , , orange and green. seized walter and dragged him toward the tree. colonel l'estrange drew his sword. "my men," he shouted to some english soldiers who tvere mingled with the crowd of onlookers, which had rapidly increased during the dispute, "stand by me and don't let this brave young officer be murdered." a score of soldiers pushed through the crowd and ranged themselves by colonel l'estrange. he dashed forward sword in hand, and in a moment walter was torn from the grasp of the soldiers and placed in the center of his rescuers, who were now joined by general hamilton and the other officers. several men had run off at full speed to the british camp to bring up aid. the hessian colonel called upon his men to seize the prisoner and cut down all who inter- fered to prevent the general's orders being carried out. these hesitated before the resolute aspect of the english, but the crowd of foreign soldiers ranged themselves with them, and the attack was about to commence when a number of english soldiers were seen running, musket in hand, from their camp. the hessian colonel saw that to attempt to carry out his orders now would bring on something like a pitched battle, and he therefore waved his men back, saying to general hamilton. "i have nothing to do now, sir, but to report to gen- eral ginckle that i have been prevented by force from carrying his orders into effect." "that you will, of course, do," general hamilton said coldly. "i shall be perfectly prepared to answer for my conduct." there was no good-will between the english and foreign sections of ginckle's army, and general hamil- ton had some trouble in preventing the soldiers from at- tacking the hessians and in inducing them to retire to orange and green. ting rid of his prisoner. there are not likely to be any questions asked or remarks made afterward. i am not without influence at court, and there is a very strong section who are bitterly opposed to dutchmen being placed in every post in the king's gift, and there would be no difficulty in getting up such a hostile feeling against ginckle in relation to this affair that it would cost him his command." "yes," the general agreed; "marlborough would be only too glad to take the matter up, and as ginckle must be pretty well aware that his want of success here must have already made his position precarious, i do not think he will trouble himself to ask any questions about the prisoner; and certainly william will not thank him for being the means by his unjust and arbitrary conduct of causing a split between the english and his foreign troops. i should like to put all their heads into one noose, and i should feel no compunction in setting them swinging, for a greater set of rascals were never collected under the sun. i must say that the contrast between our army and the irish is very great, and that although many bloody deeds are performed by the rapparees there has never been a single complaint brought against the irish troops. anyhow, mr. davenant, i think you cannot do better than fall in with colonel l'estrange's plan. there will be no difficulty in getting out, and indeed i will send a troop of cavalry to see you well beyond our lines." walter spent the rest of the day with colonel l'estrange, and told him all that had taken place since they had last met. "it is difficult to believe that it is but three years ago," he said when he had finished. "no, we judge the flight of time by the incidents we crowd into it. the most uneventful days pass the most orange and green. unheeded. now to me it seems but yesterday that i stood on the deck of the ship and knew that she was sure to go to pieces, and that the chance of any one reaching that rocky coast alive were small indeed, when i saw what seemed little more than a black speck approaching, and you and your fisher boy made your way over the wave. by the way, how is he? doing well, i hope?" "he might have done well if he liked. the present that you left in my father's hands to buy him a boat when he was old enough to start as a fisherman on his own account would have made a man of him, but it is hidden somewhere in the thatch of his father's cottage. when my father first went to the war he handed it over to larry, as he could not say what might happen before his return. larry was at first delighted with the thought that some day he should have a boat of his own, and a boat too larger than any on the shore; but when i ac- companied my father larry insisted on going with me. 'it will be time enough to buy a boat when the war is over,' he said; and as i was very glad to have him with me, and my father did not object, larry had his way, and he has been with me ever since. he is enrolled in the troop now, and when he thinks there is any chance of fighting he takes his place in the ranks, but at other times he acts as my servant." "tell him i have not forgotten him," colonel l'estrange said. "while you have been doing so much i have had a quiet time of it. i could have got a regi- ment at once had i cared for it, but i disliked the thought of fighting over here, it was too much like civil war. six months ago, when things were going badly with us on the continent, i asked to be employed, and was given a regiment they were just raising. i had got them into fair order and was expecting to be ordered to embark for the low country at any moment, when the orange and green. to them in safety. there was an immense deal to tell on both sides, for it was months since any letter had passed between them. "we have everything to be thankful, for," mrs. davenant said when the stories on both sides had been told, "and it seems to me that it is to no slight extent due to walter that we have passed so well through the last two troubled years. it was jabez whitefoot who first stood our friend, and who saved the castle from be- ing burned, and his good-will was earned by walter's friendship with his son. then mr. conyers stood be- tween us and the council, who would certainly have con- fiscated everything had it not been for him. and al- though he always expressed himself as greatly indebted to you also, he said that, so far as he understood from his wife, it was to walter's foresight and arrangement that his wife and daughter owed their rescue. how was it that walter was so forward in the matter, fergus?" "walter was perhaps more particularly interested in the matter than i was," captain davenant said with a smile. "his thoughts were running in that direction." walter colored up, and mrs. davenant, who was look- ing at him with some surprise at her husband's words, broke into a laugh. "you don't mean to say, walter, that you have been falling in love at your age?' "you forget, dear," captain davenant said, coming to walter's rescue, "that walter is no longer a boy. three years of campaigning have made a man of him, and i venture to think an earnest and thoughtful one. he is, it is true, only nineteen, but he has seen as much and gone through as much as men double his age. he has upon several occasions evinced an amount of coolness and judgment in danger which has earned him the orange and green. approbation even of general sarsqeld a man not easily satisfied." "i don't mean to hurt your feelings, walter," mrs. davenant said; "but of course it is difficult for me at first to realize that while you have been away you have changed from a boy into a man." "i don't mind, mother dear," walter said, "and you can laugh at me as much as you like." "and is there anything in what your father says?" mrs. davenant asked, as she passed her hand fondly over walter's head as he sat on a low stool beside her. , "yes, mother," he answered manfully. "i am en- gaged to claire conyers. i have her mother's consent, but what mr. conyers will think about it i don't know. he must know long before this, for mrs. conyers said that she should tell him as soon as he joined them in england." mrs. davenant leaned over and kissed her son. "the csnyers are of good family," old mrs. davenant said, "although they did come over with cromwell. i do not think that is any objection to a son of our house marrying into theirs." captain davenant laughed. "no objection at all on our side/mother. any objec- tion is likely to be on the other side, not on the ground of family, but on that of property. claire conyers is one of the richest heiresses in ireland, while walter's inheritance can scarcely be termed extensive." two months later captain davenant received a letter from mr. conyers saying that he had arrived with his wife and daughter at dublin on the previous day, and should be glad to make his acquaintance and that of his son. "my wife," he said, "has informed me of certain love passages which have taken place between claire and orange and green. your son, and i shall be glad to talk to you concerning them." captain davenant and walter at once rode over to dublin, the latter full of delight, and yet with a consid- erable amount of trepidation as to the interview between his father, and mr. oonyers his mind was, however, speedily put at rest, for upon entering mr. oonyers at once took him by the hand and said: "i am glad, indeed, of the opportunity of thanking you in person for the inestimable service you rendered to my wife and daughter, i find from my wife that claire has discovered a means of repaying you for your service, and as her happiness is, she tells me, dependent on my giving my consent to the plan, i tell you at once that i do so very heartily. i think you had better wait for awhile, say two or three years, but we need not settle that at present. come here, claire" he placed the girl's hand in walter's. "take her," he said, "and make her happy." the next day mr. conyers, with his wife and daughter, accompanied captain davenant and walter back to davenant castle, where they stayed for some days. the whitefoots did not long remain neighbors of the davenants. old zephaniah had passed away ere the peace was signed, and soon after captain davenant re- turned jabez called at the castle. "we are going away," he said. "john has made up his mind to become a trader in london, and hannah and i would be lonely without him, and moreover we are both weary of our life here, and have far more than enough money laid by for our needs, and for giving john the means of entering some well-established firm when the time shall come. as to the lands here, they are ours now; but the next turn of the wheel might give them back to you. besides we do not wish to be troubled with their orange and green. kindness. the friendship between him and walter davenant remained unchanged to the end of their lives. they occasionally paid each other visits, and when a son of john whitefoot married a daughter of walter daven- ant, they felt that this was a fitting termination of the old feud between the families. sbb inoh "a € s the cat of bubastes a tale of ancient egypt. by gf a. henty, author of m by sheer pluck;" "the young carthaginian;"' "forthetemplo;" "in the reign of terror;" "a final reckoning;" ac with e ght full-page illustrations by j. r. wegusl n. london blackie & son, limited, old bailey, e.c. glasgow and dublin preface. thanks to the care with which the egyptians depicted upon the walls of their sepulchres the minutest doings of their daily life, to the dryness of the climate which has pre- served these records uninjured for so many thousand years, and to the indefatigable labour of modern investigators, we know far more of the manners and customs of the egyptians, of their methods of work, their sports and amusements, their public festivals, and domestic life, than we do of those of peoples comparatively modern. my object in the present story has been to give you as lively a picture as possible of that life, drawn from the bulky pages of sir j. gardner wilkinson and other writers on the same subject '■i have laid the scene in the time of thotmes iii., one of the great- est of the egyptian monarchs, being surpassed only in glory and the extent of his conquests by rameses the great it is certain that thotmes carried the arms of egypt to the shores of the caspian, and a people named the rebu, with fair hair and blue eyes, were among those depicted in the egyptian sculptures as being conquered and made tributary. it is open to discussion whether the exodus of the jews from egypt took place in the reign of thotmes or many years subsequently, some authors assigning it to the time of rameses. without attempting to enter into this much discussed question, i have assumed that the israelites were iv preface. still in egypt at the time of thotmes, and by introducing moses just at the time he began to take up the cause of the people to whom he belonged, i leave it to be inferred that the exodus took place some forty years later. i wish you to understand, however, that you are not to accept this date as being absolutely correct opinions differ widely upon it; and as no allusion whatever has been discovered either to the exodus, or to any of the events which preceded it, among the records of egypt, there is nothing to fix the date as occurring during the reign of any one among the long line of egyptian kings. the term pharoah used in the bible throws no light upon the subject, as pharoah simply means king, and the name of no monarch bearing that appellation is to be found on the egyptian monu- ments. i have in no way exaggerated the consequences arising from the slaying of the sacred cat, as the acci- dental killing of any cat whatever was an offence punished by death throughout the history of egypt down to the time of the roman connection with that country. g. a. henty contents. chap. l the kino of the rebu, ii. the siege of the city iil captive iv. an easy servitude, .... v. in lower eoypt vi. fowling and fishing vii. hippopotamus and crocodile viii. the conspiracy in the temple, ix. a startling event * x. the cat of bubastes, xl dangers thicken xii. the death of ameres, xiii. the search for mysa xiv. a prince of egypt, xv. ameres is revenged, xvi. up the nile, xvii. out of egypt xviii. the desert journey xix. home at last, xx. the kino or the rebu, illustrations. page fowling with the throwino-stice, frontispiece the rebu people led into captivity the high-priest presents ahuba and jethro to his wife, amense gives a banquet to her friends, amense and mysa bewail the death of neco the hiding-place of chebron and his friends, . . . "the highway of egypt," "long live amuba, king of the kebu!" the cat of bubastes. chapter the kino of the rebc the sun was blazing down upon a city on the western shore of the caspian. it was a primitive city, and yet its size and population rendered it worthy of the term. it consisted of a vast aggregation of buildings, which were for the most part mere huts. among them rose, however, a few of more solid build and of higher pretensions. these were the abodes of the chiefs and great men, the temples, and places of assembly. but, although larger and more solidly built, these buildings could lay noclaim to architectural beauty of any kind, but were little more than magnified huts, and even the king's palace was but a collection of such buildings closely adjoining each other. the town was surrounded by a lofty wall with battle- ments and loopholes, and a similar but higher wall girt in the dwellings of the king and of his principal captains. the streets were alive with the busy multitude; and it was evi- dent that, although in the arts of peace the nation had made but little progress, they had in everything appertaining to war made great advances. most of the men wore helmets closely fitting to the head and surmounted by a spike. these were for the most part composed of hammered brass, although some of the head-pieces were made of tough hide, studded with knobs of metal . all carried round shields —those of the soldiers, of leather stiffened with metal; those of the captains, of brass, worked with considerable elaboration. a rack of warriors. in their belts all wore daggers, while at their backs were slung quivers of iron; painted bows hung over one shoulder, and some had at their waist a pouch of smooth flat stones and leather slings. their chief garment was a sort of kilt falling to the knee. above the waist some wore only a thin vest of white linen, others a garment not unlike the night- gown of modern times, but with short sleeves. the kilt was worn over this. some had breast-pieces of thick leather confined by straps behind; while in the case of the officers the leather was covered with small pieces of metal, forming a cuirass. all carried two or three javelins in the left hand, and a spear some ten feet long in the right horsemen galloped about at full speed to and from the royal palace, while occasionally chariots, drawn sometimes by one, sometimes by two horses, dashed along. these chariots were small, the wheels not exceeding three feet in height between them was placed the body of the vehicle, which was but just large enough for two men to stand on. it consisted only of a small platform, with a semicircular rail running round the front some eighteen inches above it a close observer would have perceived at once that not only were the males of the city upon the point of marching out on a military expedition, but that it was no mere foray against a neighbouring people, but a war on which the safety of the city depended. women were standing in tearful groups as they watched the soldiers making towards the gates. the men themselves had a resolute and determined look, but there was none of the light-hearted gaiety among them which betokened the ex- pectation of success and triumph. inside the palace the bustle of preparation was as marked as without the king and his principal councillors and leaders were assembled in the great circular hut which formed the audience-room and council- chamber. messengers arrived in close succession with news of the progress and strength of the enemy, or with messages a council of war. from the neighbouring towns and tribes as to the contin- gents they had furnished, and the time at which these had set out to join the army. the king himself was a tall and warlike figure, in the prime of life. he had led his warriors on many successful expeditions far to the west, and had repulsed with great loss the attempts of the persians to encroach upon his territory. standing behind him was his son, amuba, a lad of some fifteen years of age. the king and his councillors, as well as all the wealthier inhabitants of the city, wore, in addition to the kilt and linen jacket, a long robe highly coloured and ornamented with fanciful devices, and having a broad rich border. it was fastened at the neck with a large brooch, fell loosely from the shoulders to the ankles, and was open in front the girdles which retained the kilts and in which the daggers were worn were highly ornamented, and the ends fell down in front and terminated in large tassels. all wore a profusion of necklaces, bracelets, and other ornaments of gold; many of the chiefs wore feathers in their helmets, and the greater portion of all ranks had figures tattooed on their arms and legs. they were fair in complexion, with blue eyes; their hair was for the most part golden or red, and they wore their beards short and pointed. the young prince amuba was attired for the field; his helmet was of gold, and his cuirass covered with plates of the same metal . he listened with suppressed impatience to the arguments of his elders, for he was eager to be off, this being the first time that he had been permitted to take part in the military expeditions of his country. after listening for some time and perceiving that there was no prospect of the council breaking up, he retired to the large hut adjoining the council-chamber. this served as the dwelling-place of the ladies and their family. it was divided into several apartments by screens formed of hide sewn together and hidden from sight by coloured hangings. mother and son. in one of these a lady was seated on a low couch covered with panthers' skins. "they have not done talking yet, mother. it has been a question as to where we shall assemble to give battle. it does not seem to me to make much difference where we fight, but they seem to think that it is most important; and of course they know more about it than i do. they have fixed upon a place at last—it is about fifteen miles from here. they say that the ground in front is marshy and can hardly be traversed by the enemy's chariots; but if they cannot get at us, it seems to me that we cannot get at them. messen- gers have been sent off to order all the contingents to assemble at that spot six thousand men are to remain behind to guard the city; but as we mean to beat them i do not think there can be much occasion for that; for you think we shall beat them—don't you, mother?" "i hope so, amuba; but i am very fearful." "but we have several times repulsed them when they have invaded our country, mother; why should we not do so this time?" "they are much stronger than they have ever been before when they have come against us, my boy; and their king is a great warrior, who has been successful in almost every enterprise he has undertaken." "i cannot think why he wants to conquer us, mother. they say the riches of egypt are immense, and the splen- dour of their temples and buildings such as we have no idea of. we have no quarrel with them if they will but let us alone." "no country is so rich that it does not desire more, my son. we have gold and are skilled in the working of it, and no doubt they anticipate that they will capture much treasure in the land; besides, as you say, their expeditions against the rebu have been several times repulsed, and therefore their monarch will reap all the greater honour if he should defeat us. as to their having no quarrel with last advice. us, have we not made many expeditions to the west, return- ing with captives and much booty? and yet the people had no quarrel with us—many of them, indeed, could scarcely have known us by name when our army appeared among them . some day, my son, things may be managed differ- ently; but at present kings who have power make war upon people that are weaker than themselves, spoil them of their goods, and make slaves of them. "i hope, amuba, you will not expose yourself too much in the conflict you have not come to man's strength yet; and remember you are my only child. see that your charioteer covers you with his shield when you have entered the battle, for the egyptians are terrible as archers. their bows carry much farther than do ours, and the arrows will pierce even the strongest armour. our spearmen have al- ways shown themselves as good as theirs—nay, better, for they are stronger in body and full of courage. it is in the goodness of her archers and the multitude of her chariots that the strength of egypt lies. remember that although your father, as king, must needs go into the thick of the battle to encourage his soldiers, there is no occasion why you, who are yet a boy, should so expose yourself. "it will doubtless be a terrible battle. the egyptians have the memory of past defeats to wipe out, and they will be fighting under the eye of their king. i am terrified, amuba. hitherto when your father has gone out to battle i have never doubted as to the result the persians were not foes whom brave men need dread; nor was it difficult to force the hordes passing us from the eastward towards the setting sun to respect our country, for we had the advantage in arms and discipline. but the egyptians are terrible foes, and the arms of their king have been everywhere victorioua my heart is filled with dread at the thought of the approach- ing conflict, though i try to keep up a brave face when your father is with me, for i would not that he should deem me cowardly." going out to battle. "i trust, mother, that your fears are groundless; and i cannot think that our men will give way when fighting for their homes and country upon ground chosen by themselves." "i hope not, amuba. but there is the trumpet sound- ing; it is the signal that the council have broken up and that your father is about to start . bless you, my dear boy, and may you return safe and sound from the conflict!" the queen fondly embraced her son, who left the apart- ment hastily as his father entered in order that the latter might not see the traces of tears on his cheeks. a few minutes later the king, with his captains, started from the palace. most of them rode in chariots, the rest on horse- back. the town was quiet now and the streets almost deserted. with the exception of the garrison, all the men capable of bearing arms had gone forth; the women with anxious faces stood in groups at their doors and watched the royal party as it drove out . the charioteer of amuba was a tall and powerful man; he carried a shield far larger than was ordinarily used, and had been specially selected by the king for the service. his orders were that he was not to allow amuba to rush into the front line of fighters, and that he was even to disobey the orders of the prince if he wished to charge into the ranks of the enemy. "my son must not shirk danger," his father said, "and he must needs go well into the fight; but he is still but a boy, not fit to enter upon a hand-to-hand contest with the picked warriors of egypt. in time i hope he will fight abreast of me, but at present you must restrain his ardour. i need not bid you shield him as well as you can from the arrows of the egyptians. he is my eldest son, and if aught happens to me he will be the king of the rebu; and his life is therefore a precious one." half an hour later they came upon the tail of the stragglers making their way to the front . the king stopped his chariot and sharply reproved some of them for their the order of battle. delay in setting out, and urged them to hasten on to the ap- pointed place. in two hours the king arrived at this spot, where already some forty thousand men were assembled. the scouts who had been sent out reported that although the advance-guard of the egyptians might arrive in an hour's time the main body were some distance behind, and would not be up in time to attack before dark. this was welcome news, for before night the rest of the forces of the rebu, fully thirty thousand more, would have joined. the king at once set out to examine the ground chosen by his general for the conflict. it sloped gently down in front to a small stream which ran through soft and marshy ground, and would oppose a formidable obstacle to the pas- sage of chariots. the right rested upon a dense wood, while a village a mile and a half distant from the wood was held by the left wing. a causeway which led from this across the marsh had been broken up, end heavy blocks of stone were scattered thickly upon it to impede the passage of chariots. the archers were placed in front to harass the enemy attempt- ing to cross. behind them were the spearmen in readiness to advance and aid them if pressed. the chariots were on the higher ground in the rear ready to dash in and join in the conflict should the enemy succeed in forcing their way through the marsh. the visit of inspection was scarcely finished when a cloud of dust was seen rising over the plain. it approached rapidly. the flash of arms could be seen in the sun, and presently a vast number of horses were seen approaching in even line. "are they horsemen, father?" amuba asked . "no, they are chariots, amuba. the egyptians do not, like us, fight on horseback, although there may be a few small bodies of horsemen with the army; their strength lies in their chariots. see, they have halted; they have perceived our ranks drawn up in order of battle." the chariots drew up in perfect line, and as the clouds of the egyptian host. dust blew away four lines of chariots could be made out ranged at a distance of a hundred yards apart. "there are about a thousand in each line," the king said, "and this is but their advance guard; we have learned from fugitives that there are fully fifteen thousand chariots with their army." "is there no other place where they can pass this swamp, father?" "not so well as here, amuba; the valley deepens further on, and the passage would be far more difficult than here. above, beyond the wood, there is a lake of considerable extent, and beyond that the ground is broken and unsuited for the action of chariots as far as the sea besides, they have come to fight us, and the pride of their king would not permit of their making a detour. see, there is some great personage, probably the king himself, advancing beyond their ranks to reconnoitre the ground." a chariot was indeed approaching the opposite brow of the depression; there were two figures in it; by the side walked numerous figures, who, although too far off to be distinguished, were judged to be the attendants and courtiers of the king. the sun flashed from the side of the chariot, which appeared at this distance to be composed of burnished gold. great fans carried on wands shaded the king from the heat of the sun. he drove slowly along the edge of the brow until he reached a point opposite the wood, and then, turning, went the other way till he reached the causeway which passed on through the village. after this he rode back to the line of chariots and evidently gave a word of command, for instantly the long line of figures seen above the horses disappeared as the men stepped off the chariots to the ground. no movement took place for an hour, then there was a sudden stir, and the long lines broke up and wheeled round to the right and left, where they took up their position in two solid masses. ( ) strange gods. "the main army are at hand," the king said. "do you see that great cloud, ruddy in the setting sun? that is the dust raised by their advance; in another hour they will be here, but by that time the sun will have set, and assuredly they will not attack until morning." the front line were ordered to remain under arms for a time; the others were told to fall out and prepare their food for the night. the egyptian army halted about a mile dis- tant, and as soon as it was evident that no further move- ment was intended, the whole of the soldiers were ordered to fall out. a line of archers were placed along the edge of the swamp, and ere long a party of egyptian bowmen took up their post along the opposite crest. great fires were lighted, and a number of oxen, which had been driven for- ward in readiness, were slaughtered for food. "if the egyptians can see what is going on," the king said to his son, "they must be filled with fury, for they worship the oxen as among their chief gods." "is it possible, father, that they can believe that cattle are gods?" amuba asked in surprise. "they do not exactly look upon them as gods, my son, but as sacred to their gods. similarly they reverence the cat, the ibis, and many other creatures." "how strange!" amuba said. "do they not worship, as we and the persians do, the sun, which, as all must see, is the giver of light and heat, which ripens our crops and gives fertility in abundance?" "not, so far as i know, amuba; but i know that they have many gods who they believe give them victory over their enemies." "they don't always give them victory," amuba said, "since four times they have been repulsed in their endeav- ours to invade our land; perhaps our gods are more power- ful than theirs." "it may be that, my son; but so far as i can see the gods give victory to the bravest and most numerous armies." ( ) b "you are my heir." "that is to say they do not interfere at all, father." "i do not say that, my son; we know little of the ways of the gods. each nation has its own, and as some nations overthrow others, it must be that either some gods are more powerful than others, or that they do not interfere to save those who worship them from destruction. but these things are all beyond our knowledge. we have but to do our part bravely, and we need assuredly not fear the bulls and the cats, and other creatures in which the egyptians trust" some hours were spent by the king, his leaders, and his captains in going about among the troops seeing that all the contingents had arrived well armed and in good order, notifying to the leaders of each the position they should take up in the morning, and doing all in their power to animate and encourage the soldiers. when all was done the king sat down on a pile of skins which had been prepared for him, and talked long and earnestly with his son, giving him advice as to his conduct in future, if aught should befall him in the coming fight "you are my heir," he said, "and as is customary to the country the throne goes down from father to son. were i to survive for another eight or ten years you would, of course, succeed me, but should i fall to-morrow, and should the egyptians overrun the land, things may happen other- wise. in that case the great need of the people would be a military leader who would rouse them to prolonged resistance and lead them again and again against the egyptians until these, worn out by the perpetual fighting, abandon the idea of subjecting us, and turn their attention to less stubborn- minded people. "for such work you are far too young, and the people would look to amusis or one of my other captains as their leader. should success crown his efforts they may choose him as their king. in that case i would say, amuba, it will be far better for you to acquiesce in the public choice than to struggle against it a lad like you would have no the battle begins. night on his couch of skins in a very different mood to that in which he had ridden out; he had thought little of his mother's forebodings, and had looked upon it as certain that the rebu would beat the egyptians as they had done before, but his father's tone showed him that he too felt by no means confident of the issue of the day. as soon as daylight broke the rebu stood to their arms, and an hour later dense masses of the egyptians were seen advancing. as soon as these reached the edge of the slope and began to descend towards the stream, the king ordered his people to advance to the edge of the swamp and to open fire with their arrows. a shower of missiles flew through the air and fell among the ranks of the egyptian footmen who had just arrived at the edge of the swamp. so terrible was the discharge that the egyptians recoiled and, retreating half-way up the slope where they would be beyond the reach of the rebu, in turn discharged their arrows. the superiority of the egyptian bowmen was at once manifest; they carried very powerful bows, and standing sideways drew them to the ear, just as the english archers did at crecy, and therefore shot their arrows a vastly greater distance than did their opponents, who were accustomed to draw their bows only to the breast. scores of the rebu fell at the first discharge, and as the storm of arrows continued, they, finding themselves power- less to damage the egyptians at that distance, retired half-way up the side of the slope. now from behind the lines of the egyptian archers a column of men advanced a hundred abreast, each carrying a great faggot; their object was evident, they were about to prepare a wide causeway across the marsh by which the chariots could pass. again the rebu advanced to the edge of the swamp and poured in their showers of arrows; but the egyptians, covering them- selves with the bundles of faggots they carried, suffered but little harm, while the rebu were mown down by the arrows a storm of arrows. of the egyptian archers shooting calmly and steadily beyond the range of their missiles. as soon as the front rank of the egyptian column reached the edge of the swampy ground the men of the front line laid down their faggots in a close row, and then retired in the intervals between their comrades behind them. each rank as it arrived at the edge did the same. many fell beneath the arrows of the rebu, but the operation went on steadily, the faggots being laid down two deep as the ground became more marshy, and the rebu saw, with a feeling ap- proaching dismay, the gradual but steady advance of a causeway two hundred yards wide across the swamp. the king himself and his bravest captains, alighting from their chariots, went down among the footmen and urged them to stand firm, pointing out that every yard the causeway ad- vanced their arrows inflicted more fatal damage among the men who were forming it their entreaties, however, were vain; the ground facing the causeway was already thickly encumbered with dead, and the hail of the egyptian arrows was so fast and deadly that even the bravest shrank from withstanding it at last even their leaders ceased to urge them, and the king gave the order for all to fall back beyond the range of the egyptian arrows. some changes were made in the formation of the troops, and the best and most disciplined bands were placed facing the causeway so as to receive the charge of the egyptian chariots. the two front lines were of spearmen, while on the highei ground behind them were placed archers whose orders were to shoot at the horses, and to pay no heed to those in the chariots; then came the chariots, four hundred in number. behind these again was a deep line of spearmen; on the right and left extending to the wood and village were the main body of the army, who were to oppose the egyptian footmen advancing across the swamp. the completion of the last portion of the causeway cost the egyptians heavily, for while they were exposed to the the fight at the causeway. arrows of the rebu archers these were now beyond the range of the egyptians on the opposite crest but at last the work was completed. just as it was finished and the work- men had retired, the king leaped from his chariot, and, lead- ing a body of a hundred men carrying blazing brands, dashed down the slope. as soon as they were seen the egyptian archers ran forward and a storm of arrows was poured into the little band. two-thirds of them fell ere they reached the causeway, the others applied their torches to the faggots. the egyptian footmen rushed across to extinguish the flames, while the rebu poured down to repel them. a desperate fight ensued, but the bravery of the rebu pre- vailed, and the egyptians were driven back . their attack, however, had answered its purpose, for in the struggle the faggots had been trodden deeper into the mire, and the fire was extinguished. the rebu now went back to their first position and waited the attack which they were powerless to avert it was upwards of an hour before it began, then the long line of egyptian footmen opened, and their chariots were seen fifty abreast, then with a mighty shout the whole army advanced down the slope. the rebu replied with their war-cry. at full speed the egyptian chariots dashed down the declivity to the causeway. this was the signal for the rebu archers to draw their bows, and in an instant confusion was spread among the first line of chariots. the horses wounded by the missiles plunged madly. many, stepping between the faggots, fell. for a moment the advance was checked, but the egyptian footmen, entering the swamp waist-deep, opened such a terrible fire with their arrows that the front line of the rebu were forced to fall back, and the aim of their archers became wild and uncertain. in vain the king endeavoured to steady them. while he was doing so, the first of the egyptian chariots had already made their way across the causeway, and behind them the others poured on in an unbroken column. then through a terrible struggle. the broken lines of spearmen the rebu chariots dashed down upon them, followed by the host of spearmen. the king's object was to arrest the first onslaught of the egyptians, to overwhelm the leaders, and prevent the mass behind from emerging from the crowded causeway. the shock was terrible. horses and chariots rolled over in wild confusion, javelins were hurled, bows twanged, and the shouts of the combatants and the cries of the wounded as they fell beneath the feet of the struggling horses created a terrible din. light and active, the rebu footmen mingled in the fray, diving under the bellies of the egyptian horses, and inflicting vital stabs with their long knives or engaging in hand-to-hand conflicts with the dismounted egyptians. amuba had charged down with the rest of the chariots. he was stationed in the second line, immediately behind his father; and his charioteer, mindful of the orders he had re- ceived, strove, in spite of the angry orders of the lad, to keep the chariot stationary; but the horses, accustomed to man- oeuvre in line, were not to be restrained, and in spite of their driver's efforts charged down the slope with the rest amuba, who had hunted the lion and leopard, retained his coolness, and discharged his arrows among the egyptians with steady aim. for a time the contest was doubtful. the egyptian chariots crowded on the causeway were unable to move forward, and in many places their weight forced the faggots so deep in the mire that the vehicles were im- movable. meanwhile, along the swamp on both sides a terrible contest was going on. the egyptians, covered by the fire of their arrows, succeeded in making their way across the swamp, but here they were met by the rebu spearmen, and the fight raged along the whole line. then two thousand chosen men, the body-guard of the egyptian king, made their way across the swamp close to the causeway, while at the same time there was a movement among the densely packed vehicles. a tremendous impulse was given to them from behind: some were pressed off into a charge of chariots. the swamp, some were overthrown or trampled under foot, some were swept forward on to the firm ground beyond, and thus a mass of the heaviest chariots drawn by the most powerful horses forced their way across the causeway over all obstacles. in their midst was the king of egypt himself, the great thotmes. the weight and impetus of the mass of horses and chariots pressed all before it up the hill . this gave to the chariots which came on behind room to open to the right and left the king's body-guard shook the solid formation of the rebu spearmen with their thick flights of arrows, and the chariots then dashed in among them. the rebu fought with the valour of their race. the egyptians who first charged among them fell pierced with their arrows, while their horses were stabbed in innumerable places. but as the stream of chariots poured over without a check, and charged in sections upon them, bursting their way through the mass of footmen by the force and fury with which they charged, the infantry became broken up into groups, each fighting doggedly and desperately. at this moment the officer in command of the rebu horse, a thousand strong, charged down upon the egyptian chariots, drove them back towards the swamp, and for a time restored the conflict; but the breaks which had occurred between the rebu centre and its two flanks had enabled the egyptian body-guard to thrust themselves through and to fall upon the rebu chariots and spearmen, who were still maintaining the desperate conflict the rebu king had throughout fought in the front line of his men, inspiriting them with his voice and valour. many times, when his chariot was so jammed in the mass that all movement was impossible, he leapt to the ground, and, making his way through the throng, slew many of the occupants of the egyptian chariots. but his efforts and those of his captains were unavailing. the weight of the attack was irresistible. the solid phalanx death of the rebu king. of egyptian chariots pressed onward, and the rebu were forced steadily back. their chariots, enormously outnum- bered, were destroyed rather than defeated . the horses fell pierced by the terrible rain of arrows, and the wave of egyptians passed over them. the king, looking round in his chariot, saw that all was lost here, and that the only hope was to gain one or other of the masses of his infantry on the flank, and to lead them off the field in solid order. but as he turned to give orders, a shaft sent by a bowman in a chariot a few yards away struck him in the eye, and he fell back dead in his chariot. chapter il the siege of the city. amuba saw his father fall, and leaping from his chariot, strove to make his way through the mingled mass of footmen and chariots to the spot . jethro followed close behind him. he, too, had caught sight of the falling figure, and knew what amuba did not—that the rebu had lost their king. he was not forgetful of the charge which had been laid on him, but the lad was for a moment beyond his control, and he, too, was filled with fury at the fall of the king, and determined if possible to save his body. he reached amuba's side just in time to interpose his shield between the boy and an egyptian archer in a chariot he was passing. the arrow pierced the shield and the arm that held it . jethro paused an instant, broke off the shaft at the shield, and seizing the point, which was projecting two inches beyond the flesh, pulled the arrow through the wound. it was but a moment's work, but short as it was it almost amuba is rescued. cost amuba his life, for the archer, leaning forward, dropt the end of his bow over the lad's head—a trick common among the egyptian archers—and in a moment dragged him to the ground, while his comrade in the chariot raised his spear to despatch him. jethro sprang forward with a shout of rage, and with a blow of his sword struck off the head of the spear as it was descending. then shortening his sword, he sprang into the chariot, ran the man holding the bow through the body, and grappled with the spearman. the struggle was a short one. leaving his sword in the body of the archer, jethro drew his dagger and speedily despatched his foe. then he jumped down, and lifting amuba, who was insensible from the sharp jerk of the bow- string upon his throat and the violence of his fall, carried him back to his chariot this with the greatest difficulty he managed to draw out of the heat of the conflict, which was for the moment raging more fiercely than before. the rebu who had seen the fall of their king had dashed for- ward to rescue the body and to avenge his death. they cleared a space round him, and as it was impossible to extri- cate his chariot, they carried his body through the chaos of plunging horses, broken chariots, and fiercely struggling men to the rear. then it was placed in another chariot, and the driver started with it at full speed for the city. jethro, on emerg- ing from the crowd, paused for a moment to look round. he saw at once that the battle was lost the centre was utterly broken, and the masses of the egyptians who had crossed the swamp were pressing heavily on the flanks of the rebu footmen, who were still opposing a firm stand to those attacking them in front for the moment the passage of the egyptian chariots was arrested; so choked was the causeway with chariots and horses which were embedded in the mire, or had sunk between the faggots, that further passage was impossible, and a large body of footmen were now forming a fresh causeway by the side of the other. "and the king, my father?" this would soon be completed, for they were now working undisturbed by opposition, and jethro saw that as soon as it was done the egyptian host would sweep across and fall upon the rear of the rebu. jethro ran up to two mounted men, badly wounded, who had like himself made their way out of the fight. "see," he said, "in a quarter of an hour a new causeway will be completed, and the egyptians will pour over. in that case resistance will be impossible, and all will be lost. do one of you ride to each flank and tell the captains that the king is dead, that there are none to give orders here, and that their only chance to save their troops is to retreat at full speed but keeping good order to the city." the horsemen rode oft' immediately, for jethro, as the king's own charioteer, was a man of some importance. after despatching the messengers he returned to his chariot and at once drove off. amuba was now recovering, and the rough motion of the vehicle as it dashed along at full speed aroused him. "what is it, jethro? what has happened?" "the battle is lost, prince, and i am conveying you back to the city. you have had a rough fall and a narrow escape of your life, and can do no more fighting even if fighting were of any good, which it is not." "and the king, my father?" amuba said, struggling to his feet. "what of him? did i not see him fall?" "i know nought of him for certain," jethro replied. "there was a terrible fight raging, and as i had you to carry out i could take no share in it . besides, i had an arrow through my left arm—if i had been a moment later it would have gone through your body instead. and now, if you do not mind taking the reins, i will bandage it up. i have not had time to think about it yet, but it is bleeding fast, and i begin to feel faint." this was indeed true; but jethro had called amuba's attention to his wound principally for the sake of diverting flight. his thoughts for a moment from his fear for his father. as amuba drove, he looked back. the plain behind him was covered with a mass of fugitives. "i see that all is lost," he said mournfully. "but how is it that we are not pursued?" "we shall be pursued before long," jethro answered. "but i fancy that few of the egyptian chariots which first passed are in a condition to follow. most of them have lost horses or drivers. numbers were broken to pieces in the melee. but they are making a fresh causeway, and when that is completed those who cross will take up the pursuit. as for their footmen, they have small chance of catching the rebu." "surely our men ought to retreat in good order, jethro. scattered as they are, they will be slaughtered in thousands by the egyptian chariots." "they could not oppose much resistance to them anyhow," jethro replied. "on a plain footmen cannot withstand a chariot charge. as it is, many will doubtless fall; but they will scatter to the right and left, numbers will reach the hills in safety, some will take refuge in woods and jungles, while many will outrun the chariots. the new causeway is narrow, and a few only can cross abreast, and thus, though many of our men will be overtaken and killed, i trust that the greater part will escape." "let us draw up here for a short time, jethro. i see there are several chariots and some horsemen behind, and as they are with the main body of the fugitives, they are doubt- less friends. let us join them, and proceed in a body to the town. i should not like to be the first to enter with the news of our defeat" "you are right, prince. as our horses are good, we need not fear being overtaken. we can therefore wait a few minutes." a score of chariots presently came up, and all halted on seeing amuba. one of them contained amusis, the chief "we must hasten." captain of the army. he leaped from his chariot when he saw amuba, and advanced to him. "prince," he said, "why do you delay? i rejoice at see- ing that you have escaped in the battle, for i marked you bravely fighting in the midst; but let me beg you to hasten on. a few minutes and the host of egyptian chariots will be upon us." "i am ready to proceed, amusis, since you have come. have you any news of my father?" "the king has been sorely wounded," the general said, "and was carried off out of the battle; but come, prince, we must hasten oa our presence will be sorely needed in the city, and we must get all in readiness for defence before the egyptians arrive." the chariots again started, and reached the city without seeing anything of the egyptians, who did not indeed arrive before the walls until an hour later, having been delayed by the slaughter of the fugitives. as the party entered the town they found confusion and terror prevailing. the arrival of the body of the king was the first intimation of disaster, and this had been followed by several horsemen and chariots, who had spread the news of the defeat of the army. the cries of women filled the air; some in their grief and terror ran wildly here and there; some-sat at their doors with their faces hidden by their hands, wailing loudly; others tore their garments and behaved as if de- mented. on their way to the palace they met the troops who had been left behind to guard the city, moving down stern and silent to take their places on the wall. during the drive amusis, who had driven in amuba's chariot, had broken to the boy the news that his father was dead, and amuba was prepared for the loud lamentation of women which met him as he entered the royal inclosure. "i will see my mother," he said to amusis, "and then will come down with you to the walls and will take what- "thank the gods, my son." ever part you may assign me in the defence. it is to your experience and valour we must now trust" "i will do all that i can, prince. the walls are strong, and if, as i hope, the greater part of our army find their way back, i trust we may be able to defend ourselves successfully against the egyptian host assure your royal mother of my deep sympathy for her in her sorrow, and of my devotion to her personally." the general now drove off, and amuba entered the royal dwellings. in the principal apartment the body of the king was laid upon a couch in the middle of the room. the queen stood beside it in silent grief, while the attendants raised loud cries, wrung their hands, and filled the air with their lamentation, mingled with praises of the character and bravery of the king. amuba advanced to his mother's side. she turned and threw her arms round him. "thank the gods, my son, that you are restored to me; but what a loss, what a terrible loss is ours!" "it is indeed, mother. no better father ever lived than mine. but i pray you, mother, 'ay aside your grief for a while; we shall have time to weep and mourn for him afterwards. we have need of all our courage. in a few hours the egyptian hosts will be before our walls, and every arm will be needed for their defence. i am going down to take my place among the men, to do what i can to encourage them; but the confusion in the city is terrible. none know whether they have lost husbands or fathers, and the cries and lamentations of the women cannot but dispirit and dis- hearten the men. i think, mother, that you might do much if you would; and i am sure that my father in his resting- place with the gods would far rather see you devoting your- self to the safety of his people than to lamentations here." "what would you have me do?" "i should say, mother, mount a chariot and drive through the streets of the town; bid the women follow the example of their queen and defer their lamentation for the fallen a noble example. until the foe has been repelled. bid each do her part in the defence of the city; there is work for all—stones to be carried to the walls, food to be cooked for the fighting men, hides to be prepared in readiness to be carried to the ram- parts where the attack is hottest, to shield our soldiers from arrows. in these and other tasks all can find employment, and, in thus working for the defence of the town, the women would find distraction from their sorrows and anxieties." "your advice is wise, amuba, and i will follow it order a chariot to be brought down. my maidens shall come with me; and see that two trumpeters are in readiness to precede us. this will ensure attention and silence, and my words will be heard as we pass along. how did you escape from the conflict?" "the faithful jethro bore me off, mother, or i, too, should have fallen; and now, with your permission, i will go to the wall." "do so, amuba, and may the gods preserve you. you must partake of some food before you go, for you will need all your strength, my son." amuba hastily ate the food that was placed before him in another apartment, and drank a goblet of wine, and then hurried down to the wall. the scene was a heart-rending one. all over the plain were scattered groups of men hurrying towards the city, while among them dashed the egyptian chariots, overthrow- ing and slaying them; but not without resistance. the rebu were well disciplined, and, as the chariots thundered up, little groups gathered together, shield overlapping shield, and spears projecting, while those within the circle shot their arrows or whirled stones from their slings. the horses wounded by the arrows often refused to obey their drivers, but rushed headlong across the plain; others charged up only to fall pierced with the spears, while the chariots were often empty of their occupants before they broke into the phalanx hope restored. thus, although many fell, many succeeded in gaining the gates of the town, and the number of men available for the defence had already largely increased when amuba reached the walls. although the egyptian chariots came up in great numbers, night fell without the appearance of the main body of the egyptian army. after darkness set in great numbers of the rebu troops who had escaped to the hills made their way into the town. the men of the con- tingents furnished by the other rebu cities naturally made their way direct to their homes, but before morning the six thousand men left behind to guard the city when the army set out had been swelled to four times their numbers. although this was little more than half the force which had marched out to battle, the return of so large a number of the fugitives caused a great abatement of the panic and misery that had prevailed. the women whose husbands or sons had returned rejoiced over those whom they had re- garded as lost, while those whose friends had not yet returned gained hopes from the narratives of the fresh comers that their loved ones might also have survived, and would ere long make their way back. the example of the queen had already done much to restore confidence. all knew the affection that existed between the king and her, and the women all felt that if she could lay aside her deep sorrow, and set such an example of calmness and courage at such a time, it behoved all others to set aside their anxieties and to do their best for the defence of the town. amusis gave orders that all those who had returned from battle should rest for the night in their homes, the troops who had remained in the city keeping guard upon the walls. in the morning, however, all collected at the trumpet-call, and were formed up according to the companies and batta- lions to which they belonged. of some of these which had borne the brunt of the combat there were but a handful of survivors, while of others the greater portion were present; weak battalions were joined to the strong, fresh officers were the city of the rebu. appointed to take the place of those who were missing; the arms were examined, and all deficiencies made good from the public stores. ten thousand men were set aside as a reserve to be brought up to the points most threatened, while to the rest were allotted those portions of the wall which they were to occupy. as soon as morning broke the women recommenced the work that had been interrupted by night, making their way to the walls in long trains, carrying baskets of stones on their heads. disused houses were pulled down for the sake of their stones and timber, parties of women with ropes dragging the latter to the walls in readiness to be hurled down upon the heads of the enemy. even the children joined in the work, carrying small baskets of earth to those portions of the wall which amusis had ordered to be strengthened. the position of the city had been chosen with a view to defence. it stood on a plateau of rock raised some fifty feet above the plain. the caspian washed its eastern face; on the other three sides a high wall, composed of earth roughly faced with stones, ran along at the edge of the plateau, above it, at distances of fifty yards apart, rose towers. the entire circuit of the walls was about three miles. since its foun- dation by the grandfather of the late king the town had never been taken, although several times besieged, and the rebu had strong hopes that here, when the chariots of the egyptians were no longer to be feared, they could oppose a successful resistance to all the efforts of the enemy. at noon the egyptian army was seen advancing, and, confident as the defenders of the city felt, they could not resist a feeling of apprehension at the enormous force which was seen upon the plain. the egyptian army was over three hundred thousand strong. it moved in regular order according to the arms or nationality of the men. here were nubians, sardinians, etruscans, oscans, dauni, maxyes, kahaka a race from iberia, and bodies of other mercenaries ( ) c a mighty army. from every tribe and people with whom the egyptians had any dealings. the sardinians bore round shields, three or four spears or javelins, a long straight dagger, and a helmet surmounted by a spike, with a ball at the top. the etruscans carried no shields, and instead of the straight dagger were armed with a heavy curved chopping-knife; their head-dress resembled somewhat in shape that now worn by the armenians. the dauni were greek in the character of their arms, carrying a round shield, a single spear, a short straight sword, and a helmet of the shape of a cone. the egyptians were divided according to their arms. there were regiments of archers, who carried, for close com- bat, a slightly-curved stick of heavy wood; other regiments of archers carried hatchets. the heavy infantry all bore the egyptian shield, which was about three feet long. it was widest at the upper part, where it was semicircular, while the bottom was cut off straight the shields had a boss near the upper part some regiments carried, in addition to the spears, heavy maces, others axes. their helmets all fitted closely to the head; most of them wore metal tassels hanging from the top. the helmets were for the most part made of thick material, quilted and padded; these were pre- ferred to metal, being a protection from the heat of the sun. each company carried its own standard; these were all of religious character, and represented animals sacred to the gods, sacred boats, emblematic devices, or the names of the king or queen. these were in metal, and were raised at the end of spears or staves. the standard-bearers were all officers of approved valour. behind the army followed an enormous baggage-train; and as soon as this had arrived on the ground the tents of the king and the principal officers were pitched. "what a host!" jethro said to amuba, who, after having his arm dressed on his arrival at the palace, had accompanied the young prince to the walls. "it seems a nation rather the chances of defence. than an army. i do not wonder now that we were defeated yesterday, but that we so long held our ground, and that so many escaped from the battle." "it is wonderful, truly, jethro. look at the long line of chariots moving in as regular order as the footmen. it is well for us that they will now be forced to be inactive. as to the others, although they are countless in numbers, they cannot do much against our walls. no towers that they can erect upon the plains will place them on a level with us here, and the rock is so steep that it is only here and there that it can be climbed." "it would seem impossible for them to take it, prince; but we must not be too confident we know that many towns which believed themselves impregnable have been captured by the egyptians, and must be prepared for the most daring enterprises. the gates have been already fastened, and so great a thickness of rocks piled against them, that they are now the strongest part of the wall; those parts of the roads leading up to them that were formed of timber have been burned, and they cannot now reach the gates ex- cept by climbing, as at other points. we have provisions enough to last for well-nigh a year, for all the harvest has been brought in from the whole district round, together with many thousands of cattle; of wells there are abundance." "yes, i heard the preparations that were being made, jethro, and doubt not that if we can resist the first on- slaught of the egyptians we can hold out far longer than they can, for the difficulty of victualling so huge an army will be immense. in what way do you think they will attack? for my part i do not see any method which offers a hope of success." "that i cannot tell you. we know that to us and to the peoples around our cities seem impregnable. but the egyp- tians are skilled in all the devices of war. they have laid siege to and captured great numbers of cities, and are doubtless full of plans and expedients of which we know a solemn council. nothing. however, to-morrow morning will show us some- thing. nothing will be attempted to-day. the generals have first to inspect our walls and see where the assault is to be delivered, and the army will be given a day's rest at least before being called upon to assault such a position." in the afternoon a cortege of chariots made the circuit of the walls from the shore of the sea round the great plateau to the sea again, keeping just beyond the range of arrows. "if we had but a few of their archers here," jethro said, "the egyptian king would not be so over bold in venturing so near. it is wonderful how strongly they shoot. their arrows have fully double the range of ours, and their power is sufficient to carry them through the strongest shields, ever when strengthened with metal. had i not seen it i should have thought it impossible that living men, and those no bigger or stronger than we, could have sent their arrows with such power. they stand in a different attitude to that of our archers, and though their shafts are fully a foot longer than ours they draw them to the head. i regarded myself as a good bowman till i met the egyptians, and now i feel as a child might do when watching a man performing feats of strength of which he had not even imagined a possibility." in the evening the great council met. it included all the principal officers of the army, the priests, the royal coun- cillors, and the leading men in the state. after a discussion it was determined that in the present crisis it were best to postpone taking any steps to appoint a successor to the late king, but that so long as the siege lasted amusis should be endowed with absolute powers. in order that there should be no loss of time for the necessity of consulting anyone amuba was present with his mother at the council, though neither of them took any active part in it . but at its commencement an announcement was made in their name that they were willing to abide by whatever the council should decide, and that indeed both mother and son desired that while this terrible danger hung over the state the cremation of the kino. supreme power should be placed in the hands of whomso- ever the general voice might select as the person best fitted to take the command in such an extremity. that night the body of the king was consumed on a great funeral pile. under ordinary occasions the ceremony would have taken place on a narrow promontory jutting out into the sea, about five miles from the city. here the previous monarchs had been consumed in sight of a multitude of their people, and had been buried beneath great mounds of earth. the priests had long ago pronounced this place the most sacred in the kingdom, and had declared that the anger of the gods would fall upon any who ventured to set foot upon the holy ground. but it was impossible for the present to lay the ashes of the king by the side of those of his fore- fathers, and the ceremony was therefore conducted within the royal inclosure, only the officiating priests and the wife and son of the deceased being present when all was over the ashes were collected and were placed in a casket, which was destined, when better times returned, to be laid, in the sight of the whole people, in the sacred inclosure on the promontory. early next morning the trumpets of the guards on the walls called all the troops to arms. as soon as amuba reached his post he saw the egyptian army marching against the city. when they arrived within bow-shot the archers, who formed the front lines, opened fire upon the defenders on the walls. their arrows, however, for the most part fell short, while those of the besieged rained down upon them with effect .they were therefore withdrawn a short distance, and contracting their ranks a vast number of footmen poured through, and in irregular order ran forward to the foot of the rock, where they were sheltered from the arrows of those on the wall. "what can they be going to do now?" amuba ex- claimed, laying aside his bow. jethro shook his head. scaling the rock. "they are working with a plan," he said. "we shall see before very long. listen." even above the din caused by so vast a multitude a sharp metallic sound was presently heard like that of innumerable hammers striking on steel. "surely," amuba exclaimed, "they can never be thinking of quarrying the rock away! that is too great a task even were the whole people of egypt here." "it certainly is not that," jethro agreed; "and yet i cannot think what else can be their intentions." it was nigh an hour before the mystery was solved. then, at the blast of a trumpet sounded at the post where the egyptian king had placed himself, and taken up along the whole of the line, a great number of heads ap- peared along the edge of rock at the foot of the walls. the egyptians had been employed in driving spikes in the crevices of the rock. standing on the first so driven, they then inserted others three feet higher, and so had proceeded until a number of men had climbed up the face of the rock . these let down ropes, and ladders had been hauled up the steepest places. great numbers of ropes were hung down to assist those who followed in the ascent, and the men who first showed themselves over the brow were followed by a stream of others, until the ledge, which was in most cases but a few feet wide, was crowded with soldiers. the ladders were now hauled up and placed against the wall, and the egyptians swarmed up in great numbers; but the rebu were prepared for the assault, and a storm of stones, beams of wood, arrows, javelins, and other missiles rained down on the egyptians. many of the ladders, in spite of the number of men upon them, were thrown back by the defenders, and fell with a crash over the edge of the rock to the plain below. here and there the egyptians gained a footing on the wall before the rebu had recovered from their first surprise at their daring manner of attack; but so soon as they rallied they attacked the egyptians with such a foothold obtained. fury that in every case the latter were slain fighting or were thrown over the embattlements. for several hours the egyptians continued their efforts, but after losing vast numbers of men without obtaining any success they were recalled by the sound of the trumpet "that has not been very serious, jethro," amuba said, wiping the perspiration from his forehead; for he had been encouraging the men by assisting in the lifting and casting over the massive stones and beams of wood. "it was not difficult to repulse them under such condi- tions," jethro said; "but the manner of their attack was a surprise indeed to us, and they have fought with the greatest bravery. you will see that the next time they will have benefited by the lesson, and that we shall have some new device to cope with. now that they have once found a way to scale the rock we may expect but little rest" the fight was not renewed until evening, when, just as darkness fell, a large number of the egyptians again as- cended the rock. as before, the rebu poured missiles down upon them; but this time only a sufficient number had climbed up to be able to stand along close to the foot of the wall, where they were to a great extent sheltered from the missiles from above. the night was a dark one, and all night long the rebu continued to shower down missiles upon their invisible foe, of whose continued presence they were assured by the sounds which from time to time were heard . when daylight enabled the defenders to see what was going on at the foot of their walls they raised a shout of surprise and dismay. during the night the egyptians had hoisted up by ropes a quantity of the timber brought with them for the construction of shelters for those who were engaged on siege operations. the timbers were all cut and prepared for fitting together, and were easily jointed even in the dark . thus then, when the besiegers looked over, they saw forty or fifty of these shelters erected against the foot of their walls. they were so formed that they sloped undefined fears. down like a pent-house and were thickly covered with hides. the besieged soon found that so solid were these con- structions that the beams and great stones which they dropped upon them simply bounded off and leapt down into the plain. ladders fastened together had been fixed by the egyptians from each of these shelters to the plain below, so that the men at work could be relieved or reinforced as the occasion required. in vain the besieged showered down missiles, in vain poured over the cauldrons of boiling oil they had prepared in readiness. the strength of the beams defied the first, the hides lapping over each other prevented the second from penetrating to those below. "truly these are terrible foes, prince," jethro said. "i told you that we might expect new plans and devices, but i did not think that the very day after the siege began we should find that they had overcome all the difficulties of our natural defences, and should have established themselves in safety at the foot of our walls." "but what is to l>e done, jethro? the men working in those shelters will speedily dislodge these stones facing the walls, and will then without difficulty dig through the earth- work behind." "the matter is serious," jethro agreed; "but as yet there is no reason to alarm ourselves. the greater portion of our troops will be assembled behind the wall, and should the egyptians gain a way through we should pour in at the openings, and, as they can be only reinforced slowly, would speedily hurl them all over the edge of the cliff. it is not that i fear." "what is it that you do fear, jethro?" "i fear, prince, because i do not know what it is i have to fear. we are as children in a struggle of this kind as opposed to the egyptians. already they have wholly over- thrown all our calculations, and it is just because t do not a mystery. know what they will do next that i am afraid. it must be as plain to them as it is to us, that if they dig through the walls we shall rush in and overpower them." "perhaps they intend to work right and left and to under- mine the walls, until large portions of them tumble over and breaches are made." jethro shook his head. "that would destroy the egyptian shelters and bury their workmen; or, even did they manage to retire before the walls fell, they would gain nothing by it in fact, i wish that we ourselves could tumble the walls over, for in that case the heap of earth and stones would rise from the very edge of the rock, and as the egyptians could only climb up in small numbers at a time, we could destroy them without difficulty. i see now that our builders made a mistake in surrounding the city with a high wall; it would have been best to have built a mere breastwork at the very edge of the cliff all round. here comes amusis; we shall hear what his opinion of the matter is." amusis looked flushed and anxious, although, when he saw the prince, he assumed an expression of carelessness. "the egyptians are going to burrow through our walls," he said; "but when they do we will drive them like rats out of the holes. do you not think so, jethro?" "i do not know," jethro said gravely. "if they dig through our walls we shall certainly, as you say, drive them out of their holes; but i cannot believe that that is what they are going to do." "what do you think they are going to do " amusis asked roughly. "i have no idea, amusis. wish that i had; but i am quite sure that they haven't taken all this trouble for nothing." a false confidence, chapter lit captive. so confident were the rebu that if the egyptians dug through their walls, or even threw them down by undermining them, they could repel their assault, that they took but little heed to the huts established at the foot of the wall, except that a strong body of men were stationed behind the walls, half of whom were always to be under arms in readiness to repel the egyptians should they bur- row through. this confidence proved their ruin. the egyptians were thoroughly accustomed to mining opera- tions, and were fully aware that were they to pierce the wall the rebu could at once overwhelm the small working parties; they therefore, after penetrating a considerable dis- tance into the embankment, drove right and left making an excavation of considerable size, the roof being supported by beams and planks hauled up at night the number of those employed in the work was increased as fast as there was room for them; and, while the rebu thought that there were at most a dozen men in each of the sheltered places, there were, at the end of twenty-four hours, fully two hundred men at work in the heart of the embank- ment at each point the egyptian king had ordered the chief of his engineers to have everything in readiness for the capture of the city by the end of the third day. each night the numbers of workmen increased, while the excavations were carried in further and further. no picks were used in the work, the earth being cut away with wide daggers. absolute silence was enjoined among the workers, and they were thus enabled to extend their excavations close to the surface without the defenders having an idea of their proximity. the distance that they were from the a night surprise. inner face was ascertained by boring through at night-time with spears. by the end of the third day the excavations had been carried so far that there was but a foot or so of earth remaining, this being kept from moving, on pressure from the outside, by a lining of boards supported by beams. thus at twenty points the egyptians were in readiness to burst through among the unsuspecting defenders. as soon as it was dark the preparations for the assault began. great numbers of stagings of vast length had been prepared, together with an immense number of broad and lofty ladders. these last were brought forward noiselessly to the foot of the cliff, and great numbers of the egyptians mounted before the alarm was given by those on the walls. but by this time the excavations were all crowded with men. the egyptian army now advanced with shouts to the assault. the great stages were brought forward by the labour of thousands of men and placed against the cliff. the besieged had now rushed to defend the walls, and volleys of missiles of all sorts were poured down upon the egyptians as they strove to mount the ladders and stages. no one thought of any possible danger from the little shelters lying at the foot of the wall, and the din was so great that the work of digging through the remaining wall of earth was unheard. the troops who had been specially told off to watch these points had joined their comrades on the walls, and none marked the stream of dark figures which presently began to pour out from the embankment at twenty different points. at last the besieged, whose hopes were rising as the egyptians appeared to falter under the showers of missiles poured down, were startled by the sound of a trumpet in their rear—a sound which was answered instantly from a score of points. rushing with cries of dismay to the back of the rampart, they saw dark bodies of footmen drawn up in regular order, and a rain of arrows was opened upon them. the rebu, without a moment's hesitation, rushed down to a terrible conflict. attack the foes who had gained a footing, they scarce knew how, in their fortress. but each of the egyptian companies was four hundred strong, composed of picked troops, and these for a time easily beat off the irregular attacks of the rebu. amusis and the other leaders of the rebu strove to get their men into solid order, for so alone could they hope to break the phalanxes of the egyptians; but the confusion was too great in the meantime the egyptians outside had taken advantage of the diversion created by the attack within, and poured up their ladders and stagings in vast numbers. some dragging up ladders after them planted them against the walls, others poured through by the passages which had been dug, and these, as soon as they were numerous enough, as- cended the embankments from behind and fell upon the rebu still defending the wall. never did the tribesmen fight with greater bravery; but the completeness of the surprise, the number of the egyptians who had established themselves in their rear, the constant pushing in of reinforcements both through and over the wall, rendered it impossible for them to retrieve their fortunes; and in the confusion and darkness they were unable to distinguish friend from foe. the various battalions and companies were hopelessly mixed together; the orders of their leaders and officers were unheard in the din. upon the egyptian side everything had been carefully planned. one of the companies which first entered had made their way quietly along the foot of the wall, and were not noticed until they suddenly threw themselves upon the defenders of one of the gates. as soon as they had obtained possession of this great fires were lighted, and a large body of egyptian troops, headed by engineers carrying beams and planks, advanced. the gaps across the roadway were bridged over, and the egyptians poured in at the gate before the rebu could dislodge the party which had taken possession of it every moment added to the confusion of the scene. to the waiting for morning. rebu it seemed as if their foes were springing from the very earth upon them, and, despairing of regaining the ground that had been lost, they began to break away and make some for their homes, some for the water face of the city— the only one which was open to them, for the egyptians were now pressing forward from the three other faces of the town. the boats lying along the sand were quickly crowded with fugitives and pushed off from shore, and those who arrived later found all means of escape gone. some threw down their arms and made their way to their homes, others ran back to meet the egyptians and die fighting. it was some hours before the conflict ceased, for the egyptians too were confused with the darkness, and many desperate fights took place between different battalions be- fore they discovered they were friends. light was gained by firing numbers of the houses lying nearest to the walls; but as soon as the egyptians advanced beyond the arc of light they were fiercely attacked by the rebu, and at last the trumpet sounded the order for the troops to remain in the positions they occupied until daylight as soon as morning broke a vast crowd of women were seen advancing from the centre of the town. as they neared the egyptians they threw themselves on the ground with loud cries for mercy. there was a pause; and then some egyptian officers advanced and bade a score of the women fol- low them to the presence of the king. thotines had entered with the troops who made their way into the city by the gate, but yielding to the entreaties of the officers that he would not expose himself to be killed in the confusion, per- haps by an arrow shot by his own soldiers, he had retired to the plain, and had just returned to take part in the occupation of the city. the rebu women were led to him over ground thickly covered with dead. fully half the defenders of the city had fallen, while the loss of the egyptians had been almost as large. the women threw themselves on their faces before submission. the great monarch and implored mercy for themselves, their children, and the remnant of the men of the city. thotmes was well satisfied. he had captured a city which was regarded as impregnable; he had crushed the people who had inflicted defeats upon his predecessors; he had added to his own glory and to the renown of the egyptian arms. the disposition of the egyptians was lenient. human sacrifices were unknown to their religion, and they do not appear at any time to have slain in cold blood captives taken in war. human life was held at a far higher value in egypt than among any other nation of antiquity, and the whole teaching of their laws tended to create a disposition towards mercy. an interpreter translated to the king the words of the women. "has all resistance ceased?" the king asked. "have all the men laid down their arms?" the women exclaimed that there was not now an armed man in the city, all the weapons having been collected dur- ing the night and placed in piles in the open space in front of the entrance to the palace. "then i give to all their lives," the king said graciously. "when i fight with cowards i have little mercy upon them, for men who are not brave are unfit to live; but when i fight with men i treat them as men. the rebu are a valiant people, but as well might the jackal fight with the lion as the rebu oppose themselves to the might of egypt. they fought bravely in the field, and they have bravely defended their walls; therefore i grant life to all in the city—men, women, and children. where is your king?" "he died in the battle four days since," the women replied. "where is your queen?" "she drank poison last night, preferring to join her hus- band than to survive the capture of the city." thotmes had now ordered the whole of the inhabitants to be taken out to the plain and kept there under a guard. the egyptian demands. the town was then methodically searched and everything of value brought together. the king set aside a certain portion of the golden vessels for the services of the temple, some he chose for himself, and after presenting others to his generals, ordered the rest to be divided among the troops. he then ordered a hundred captives—fifty young men and fifty maidens of the highest rank—to be selected to be taken to egypt as slaves, and then fixed the tribute which the rebu were in future to pay. the army then evacuated the city and the inhabitants were permitted to return. the next day messengers arrived from the other rebu towns. the fall of the capital, which had been believed to be impregnable, after so short a siege had struck terror into the minds of all, and the messengers brought offers of sub- mission to the king, with promises to pay any tribute that he might lay upon them. the king, well satisfied with his success and anxious to return to egypt, from which he had been absent nearly two years, replied graciously to the various deputations, inform- ing them that he had already fixed the tribute that the nation was to pay annually, and ordered a contribution to be sent in at once by each city in proportion to its size. in a few days the required sums, partly in money, partly in vessels of gold, embroidered robes, and other articles of value, were brought in. when the full amount had been received the camp was struck and the army started on their long march back to egypt, an officer of high rank being left as governor of the newly-captured province, with ten thousand men as a garrison. amuba was one of the fifty selected as slaves. amusis had escaped in the confusion, as had many others. jethro was also one of the selected band . amuba was for a time care- less of what befell him. the news of the death of his mother, which had met him as, after fighting to the last, he returned to the palace, had been a terrible blow, following a last message. as it did so closely upon the loss of his father and the over- throw of the nation. his mother had left the message for him that, although as life had no longer a charm for her, she preferred death to the humiliation of being carried a prisoner to egypt, she trusted that he would bear the misfortunes which had fallen on him and his people with submission and patience; he was young, and there was no saying what the future had in store for him. "you will doubtless, my son," were the words of her message, "be carried away captive into egypt, but you may yet escape some day and rejoin your people, or may meet with some lot in which you may find contentment or even happiness there. at any rate my last words to you are, bear patiently whatever may befall you, remember always that your father was king of the rebu, and, whatever your station in life may be, try to be worthy of the rank to which you were born. there is no greater happiness on a throne than in a cottage. men make their own happiness, and a man may be respected even though only a slave. may the gods of your country preside over and protect you always." the message was delivered by an old woman who had been with the queen since her birth, and, struck down with grief as amuba was at his mother's death, he yet acknow- ledged to himself that even this loss was less hard to bear than the knowledge that she who had been so loved and honoured by the people should undergo the humiliation of being dragged a slave in the train of the conquering egyp- tians. he was, however, so prostrate with grief that he obeyed with indifference the order to leave the city, and was scarcely moved when the egyptian officer appointed to make the selection chose him as one of the party that were to be taken as slaves to egypt prostrate as he was, however, he felt it to be a satisfaction and comfort when he found that jethro was also of the party set aside. jethro's philosophy. "it is selfish, jethro," he said, "for me to feel glad that you too are to be dragged away as a slave, but it will be a great comfort to have you with me. i know almost all the others of the party, but to none shall i be able to talk of my father and mother and my home here as i should to you whom i have known so long." "i am not sorry that i have been chosen," jethro said, "for i have no family ties, and now that the rebu are a conquered people i should have little satisfaction in my life here. when we get to egypt we shall probably be separated, but there is a march of months' duration before us, and during that time we may at least be together; since, then, my being with you is as you say, prince, a comfort to you, i am well content that i have been chosen. i thought it a hard thing when my wife died but a few weeks after our marriage. now i rejoice that it was so, and that i can leave without anyone's heart being wrung at my departure. you and i, prince, perhaps of all those chosen will feel the least misery at the fate that has befallen us. most of those here are leaving wives and children behind; some of the youngest are still unmarried, but they have fathers and mothers from whom they will be separated. therefore, let us not bemoan our lot, for it might have been worse, and our life in egypt may not be wholly unbearable." "that is just what my dear mother said, jethro," amuba replied, repeating the message the queen had sent him. "my dear mistress was right," jethro said. "we may find happiness in egypt as elsewhere; and now let us try to cheer up our companions, for in cheering them we shall forget our own misfortunes." jethro and amuba went among the rest of the captives, most of whom were prostrated with grief, and did their best to rouse them from their stupor. "the egyptians have seen that the rebu are men in the field," amuba said to some of them. "let them see that we can also bear misfortune like men. grieving will not ( ) d a long journey. mitigate our lot, nay, it will add to its burden. if the egyptians see that we bear our fate manfully they will have far more compassion upon us than if they see that we be- moan ourselves. remember we have a long and toilsome journey before us, and shall need all our strength. after all the hardship of our lot is as nothing to that of the women yonder. we are accustomed to exercise and toil, but the journey, which we can support as well as the egyp- tians, will be terrible to them, delicate in nature as they are. let us therefore set them an example of courage and patience, let us bear ourselves as men whose suffering is unmerited, who have been conquered but not disgraced, who are prepared to defy fate and not to succumb to it." amuba's words had a great effect upon the captives. they regarded him with respect as the son of their late king, and as one who would have been king himself had not this misfortune misfallen them; and his calmness arid manly speech encouraged them to strive against their grief and to look their fate more hopefully in the face. as long as the army remained in camp the hands of the captives were tied behind them, but when the march was begun they were relieved of their bonds and were placed in the centre of one of the egyptian regiments. it was a long and tedious journey. on the way the train of captives was very largely increased by those who had been taken in the earlier conquests of the army, and who had been left in charge of the troops told off to the various provinces brought into subjection by the egyptians until the army passed through on its homeward march. provisions had been everywhere collected to supply it on its progress, and as the distance traversed each day was small the captives suffered but little until they entered upon the passage of the desert tract between the southern point of syria and the mouth of the nile. here, although vast quantities of water were carried in the train of the army, the supply given to the captives was in egypt. extremely small, and as the sun blazed down with tre- mendous heat, and they were half suffocated by the dust which rose in clouds under the feet of the vast body of men, their sufferings were very severe. the rebu captives had gained the respect of the troops who escorted them by their manly bearing and the absence of the manifestations of grief which were betrayed by most of the other captives. the regiment was composed of lybian mercenaries, hardy, active men, inured alike to heat and fatigue. during the three months which the march had occupied, amuba and jethro, and indeed most of the captives, had acquired some knowledge of the egyptian language. jethro had from the first impressed upon the young prince the great advantage this would be to them. in the first place it would divert their thoughts from dwelling upon the past, and in the second it would make their lot more bearable in egypt "you must remember," he said "that we shall be slaves, and masters are not patient with their slaves. they give them orders, and if the order is not understood so much the worse for the slaves. it will add to our value, and therefore obtain for us better treatment, if we are able to converse in their tongue." amuba was thankful indeed when the gray monotony of the desert was succeeded by the bright verdure of the plains of egypt as they entered the land the order in which they had marched was changed, and the long line of captives followed immediately after the chariot of the king. each of them was laden with a portion of the spoil taken from their native country. amuba bore on his head a large golden vase which had been used in the ceremonies of the temple. jethro carried a rich helmet and armour which had belonged to the king. the first city they entered amuba was astonished at the massive splendour of the buildings and at the signs of com- fort and wealth which everywhere met his eye. the streets strange figures. were thronged with people who, bending to the ground, shouted their acclamations as the king passed along, and who gazed with interest and surprise at the long procession of captives representing the various nations who had been sub- jected to his arms. most of all he was surprised at the temples with their long avenues of sphinxes, the gigantic figures representing the gods, the rows of massive pillars, the majesty and grandeur of the edifices themselves. "how were they built, jethro?" he exclaimed over and again. "how were these massive stones placed in order? how did they drag these huge figures across the plains? what tools could they have used to carve them out of the solid granite?" "i am afraid, amuba," jethro said grimly, for the lad had positively forbidden him to address him any longer as prince, saying that such title addressed to a slave was no better than mockery, "we are likely to learn to our cost before long how they manage these marvels, for marvels they assuredly are. it must have taken the strength of thousands of men to have transported even one of these strange figures, and although the people themselves may have aided in the work, you may be sure the slaves bore the brunt of it" "but what is the meaning of these figures, jethro? surely neither in this country nor in any other are there creatures with the faces of women and the bodies of lions and great wings such as these have. some, too, have the faces of men and the bodies of bulls, while others have heads like birds and bodies like those of men." "assuredly there can be no such creatures, amuba; and i wonder that a people so enlightened and wise as the egyptians should chose such strange figures for their goda i can only suppose that these figures represent their attri- butes rather than the gods themselves. do you see, the human head may represent their intelligence, the bodies of the lions or bulls their strength and power, the wings of the memphis. bird their swiftness. i do not know that it is so, but it seems to me that it is possible that it may be something of this sort. we cannot but allow that their gods are powerful since they give them victory over all other people; but no doubt we shall learn more of them and of many other things in time." the journey was continued for another three weeks, and was the cause of constant surprises to the captives. the extraordinary fertility of the land especially struck them. cultivation among the rebu was of a very primitive de- scription, and the abundance and variety of the crops that everywhere met their eye seemed to them absolutely mar- vellous. irrigation was not wholly unknown to the rebu, and was carried on to a considerable extent in persia; but the enormous works for the purpose in egypt, the massive embankments of the river, the network of canals and ditches, the order and method everywhere apparent filled them with surprise and admiration. many of the cities and temples greatly surpassed in mag- nificence and splendour those they had first met with, and amuba's wonder reached its climax when they arrived at memphis, till lately the capital of egypt . the wealth and contents of the city astonished the captives, but most of all were they surprised when they saw the enormous bulk of the pyramids rising a few miles distant from the town, and learned that these were some of the tombs of the kings. the country had now altered in character. on the left a range of steep hills approached the river, and as the march proceeded similar though not so lofty hills were seen on the right . at last after another fortnight's travelling a shout of joy from the army proclaimed that thebes, the capital of egypt, the goal of the long and weary march, was in view. thebes stood on both sides of the nile. on the eastern bank the largest portion of the population was gathered, but this part of the city was inhabited principally by the theliks. poorer class. there was, too, a large population on the libyan side of the nile, the houses being densely packed near the bank of the river. behind these were numbers of temples and palaces, while the tombs of the kings and queens were excavated in a valley farther back, whose precipitous sides were honeycombed with the rock sepulchres of the wealthy. as the dwelling-houses were all low, the vast piles of the temples, palaces, and public buildings rose above them, and presented a most striking appearance to those approaching the city, which lay in a great natural amphitheatre, the hills on both sides narrowing towards the river both above and below it . the march of the royal army from memphis had been on the western bank of the river, and it was the great libyan suburb with its palaces and temples that they were approaching. as they neared the city an enormous multitude poured out to welcome the king and the returning army. shouts of enthusiasm were raised, the sound of trumpets and other musical instruments filled the air, religious processions from the great temples moved with steady course through the dense crowd, which separated at once to allow of the passage of the figures of the gods, and of the priests and attendants bearing their emblems. "indeed, jethro," amuba exclaimed with enthusiasm, "it is almost worth while being made a slave if it is only to witness this glorious scene. what a wonderful people are these; what knowledge, and power, and magnificence. why, my father's palace would be regarded as a mere hut in thebes, and our temples, of which we thought so much, are pigmies by the side of these immense edifices." "all that is true enough, amuba, and i do not say that i, too, am not filled with admiration, and yet you know the rebu several times drove back their forces, and man for man are more than a match for their soldiers. our people are taller than they by half a head. we have not so much luxury, nor did we want it . all this must make people effeminate." the division of the captives. "perhaps so," amuba assented; "but you must remem- ber it is not so very long ago that we were a people living in tents, and wandering at will in search of pasture, and we have not, i think, become effeminate because we have settled down and built towns. no one can say that the egyptians are not brave, certainly it is not for us to say so, though i agree with you that physically they are not our equals. see how the people stare and point at us, jethro. i should think they have never seen a race like ours with blue eyes and fair hair. though even among them there are varying shades of darkness. the nobles and upper classes are much lighter in hue than the common people. the surprise of the egyptians was indeed great at the complexion of their captives, and the decoration of their walls have handed down in paintings which still remain, the blue eyes and fair hair of the rebu. the rejoicings upon the return of the king went on for several days, at the end of that time the captives were distributed by the royal order. some were given to the generals who had most distinguished themselves. many were assigned to the priests, while the great bulk were sent to labour upon the public works. the rebu captives, whose singular complexion and fair- ness caused them to be regarded with special interest, were distributed among the special favourites of the king. many of the girls were assigned to the queen and royal princesses, others to the wives of the priests and generals who formed the council of the king. the men were, for the most part, given to the priests for service about the temples. to his great delight amuba found that jethro and himself were among the eight captives who were assigned to the ser- vice of the priests of one of the great temples. this was scarcely the effect of chance, for the captives were drawn up in line, and the number assigned to each temple were marched off together in order that there might be no pick- ing and choosing of the captives, but that they might be a kindly master. divided impartially between the various temples, and as jethro always placed himself by amuba's side, it naturally happened that they fell to the same destination. on reaching the temple the little band of captives were again drawn up, and the high-priest, ameres, a grave and distinguished-looking man, walked along the line scrutiniz- ing them. he beckoned to amuba to step forward. "hence- forth," he said, "you are my servant . behave well, and you will be well treated." he again walked down the line, and amuba saw that he was going to choose another, and threw himself on his knees before him. "will my lord pardon my boldness," he said, "but may implore you to choose yonder man who stood next beside ine. he has been my friend from childhood, he covered me with his shield in battle, he has been a father to me since i have lost my own. do not, i implore you, my lord, separate us now. you will find us both willing to labour at what- soever you may give us to do." the priest listened gravely. "it shall be as you wish," he said, "it is the duty of every man to give pleasure to those around him if it lies in his power, and as your friend is a man of thews and sinews, and has a frank and honest face, he will assuredly suit me as well as another; do you therefore both follow me to my house." the other captives saluted amuba as he and jethro turned to follow. the priest observed the action, and said to the lad: "were you a person of consequence among your people that they thus at parting salute you rather than your com- rade who is older than you?" "i am the son of him who was their king," amuba said. "he fell in action with your troops, and had not our city been taken, and the nation subdued by the egyptians, i should have inherited the throne." "is it so?" the priest said. "truly the changes and "judge not hastily." fortunes of life are strange. i wonder that, being the son of their king, you were not specially kept by thotmes himself" "i think that he knew it not," amuba said . "we knew not your customs, and my fellow-captives thought that possibly i might be put to death were it known that i was a son of their king, and therefore abstained from all out- ward marks of respect, which, indeed, would to one, who was a slave like themselves, have been ridiculous." "perhaps it is best so," the priest said thoughtfully. "you would not have been injured, for we do not slay our cap- tives taken in war, still maybe your life will be easier to bear as the servant of a priest than in the household of the king. you had better, however, mention to no one the rank you have borne, for it might be reported to the king, and then you might be sent for to the palace; unless indeed you would rather be a spectator of the pomp and gaiety of the court than a servant in a quiet household." "i would far rather remain with you, my lord," amuba said eagerly. "you have already shown the kindness of your heart by granting my request, and choosing my comrade jethro as my fellow slave, and i feel already that my lot will be a far happier one than i had ventured to hope." "judge not hastily by appearances," the priest said. "at the same time, here in egypt, slaves are not treated as they are among the wild peoples of nubia and the desert there is a law for all, and he who kills a slave is punished as if he took the life of an egyptian. however i think i can say that your life will not be a hard one; you have intelligence, as is shown by the fact that you have so rapidly acquired suffi- cient knowledge of our tongue to speak it intelligibly. can you, too, speak our language?" he asked jethro. "i can speak a little," jethro said; "but not nearly so well as amuba. my lips are too old to fashion a strange tongue as rapidly as can his younger ones." "you speak sufficiently well to understand," the priest the high-priest's abode. said, "and doubtless will in time acquire our tongue per- fectly. this is my house." the priest entered an imposing gateway, on each side of which stretched a long and lofty wall. at a distance of fifty yards from the gate stood a large dwelling, compared to which the royal abode which amuba had been brought up in was but a miserable hut inclosed within the walls was a space of ground some three hundred yards square, which was laid out as a garden. avenues of fruit trees ran all round it, a portion was laid out as a vineyard; while, separated from the rest by an avenue of palm-trees, was a vegetable garden. in front of the house was a large piece of water, in which floated a gaily painted boat; aquatic plants of all kinds bor- dered its edges. graceful palms grouped their foliage over it, the broad flat leaves of lilies floated on its surface, while the white flowers which amuba had seen carried in all the religious processions, and by large numbers of people of the upper rank, and which he heard were called the lotus, rose above them. the two captives were struck with surprise and admiration at the beauty of the scene, and forgot for a moment that they were slaves, as they looked round at a vegetation more beautiful than they had ever beheld. a smile passed over the countenance of the priest "perfect happiness is for no man," he said, "and yet me- thinks that you may in time learn at least contentment here." chapter iv. an easy servitude. just as the priest finished speaking, a lad of about the same age as amuba appeared at the portico of the house, and ran down to his father. "politeness is the rule." "oh, father!" he exclaimed, "have you brought two of these strange captives home. we saw them in the procession, and marvelled greatly at the colour of their hair and eyes. mysa and i particularly noticed this lad, whose hair is almost the colour of gold." "as usual, chebron, your tongue outruns your discretion . this youth understands enough egyptian to know what you are saying, and it is not courteous to speak of a person's characteristics to his face." the lad flushed through his olive cheeks. "pardon me," he said courteously to amuba. "i did not think for a moment that one who had but newly arrived among us understood our language." "do not apologise," amuba replied with a smile. "doubt- less our appearance is strange to you, and indeed even among the peoples of lydia and persia, there are few whose hair and eyes are as fair as ours. even had you said that you did not like our appearance i should not have felt hurt, for all people i think like that to which they are accustomed; in any case it is good of you to say that you regret what you said; people do not generally think that captives have feel- ings." "chebron's apology was right," his father said. "among us politeness is the rule, and every egyptian is taught to be considerate to all people. it is just as easy to be polite as to be rude, and men are served better for love than for fear." "and are they to stay here, father?" chebron asked, "or have you only brought them for to-day?" "they are to stay here, my son. i have chosen them from those set aside for our temple. i selected the younger because he was about your age, and it is good for a man to have one near him who has been brought up with him, and is attached to him; who, although circumstances may not have made them equal in condition, can yet be a comrade and a friend, and such, t hope, you will find in amuba, for such he tells me is his name. i have said whom circum- "i will treat you as my friend." stances have placed in an inferior position, for after all cir- cumstances are everything. this youth, in his own country, held a position even higher than you do here, for he was the son of the king; and, since his father fell in battle, would now be the king of his people had they not been subjected to us. therefore, chebron, bear it always in mind that, although misfortune has placed him a captive among us, he is in birth your superior, and treat him as you yourself would wish to be treated did you fall a captive into the hands of a hostile nation." "i will gladly treat you as my friend," the young egyptian said frankly to amuba. "although you are so different from me in race, i can see in your face that you are true and loyal. besides," he added, "i am sure that my father would not have bade me so trust you had he not read your character and been certain that you will be a fit friend for me." "you and your father are both good," amuba replied. "i know how hard is the lot of captives taken in war, for we, rebu, had many slaves whom we took in various ex- peditions, and i was prepared to suffer. you can judge, then, how grateful i feel to our gods that they have placed me in hands so different from those i had looked for, and i swear to you, chebron, that you shall find me faithful and devoted to you. so, too, will you find my friend here, who in any difficulty would be far more able to render you service than i could. he was one of our bravest warriors. he drove my chariot in the great battle we fought with your people, and saved my life several times; and should you need the service of a strong and brave man, jethro will be able to aid you." "and have you been in battle?" chebron asked in surprise. "that was the first time i had ever fought with men," amuba said; "but i had often hunted the lion, and he is almost as terrible ad enemy as your soldiers. i was young an egyptian youth. to go to battle, but my father naturally wished me to take my place early among the fighting men of our nation." "by the way, chebron," ameres said, "i would warn you, mention to no one the rank that amuba held in his own country. were it known he might be taken away from us to serve in the palace. his people who were taken captives with him said nothing as to his rank, fearing that ill might befall him were it known, and it was therefore supposed that he was of the same rank as the other captives, who were all men of noble birth among the rebu. therefore tell no one, not even your mother or your sister mysa. if there is a secret to be kept, the fewer who know it the better." while this conversation had been going on amuba had been narrowly examining the lad who had promised to treat him as a friend. like his father he was fairer in complexion than the majority of the egyptians, the lighter hue being, indeed, almost universal among the upper class. he was much shorter and slighter than the young rebu, but he carried him- self well, and had already in his manner something of the calm and dignity that distinguished egyptians born to high rank. he was disfigured, as amuba thought, by the custom, general throughout egypt, of having his head smoothly shaven, except one lock which fell down over the left ear. this, as amuba afterwards learned, was the distinguishing sign of youth, and would be shaved off when he attained man's estate, married, or entered upon a profession. at present his head was bare, but when he went out he wore a close-fitting cap with an orifice through which the lock of hair passed out and fell down to his shoulder. he had not yet taken to the custom general among the upper and middle classes of wearing a wig. this general shaving of the head had, to amuba, a most unpleasant effect until he became accustomed to it it was adopted, doubtless, by the egyptians for the purpose of coolness and cleanliness; but amuba thought that he would rather spend any amount of the high-priest's wife. pains in keeping his hair free from dust than go about in the fantastic and complicated wigs that the egyptians wore. the priest now led them within the house. on passing through the entrance they entered a large hall. along its side ran a row of massive columns supporting the ceiling, which projected twelve feet from each wall; the walls were covered with marble and other coloured stones; the floor was paved with the same material; a fountain played in the middle, and threw its water to a considerable height, for the portion of the hall between the columns was open to the sky; seats of a great variety of shapes stood about the room; while in great pots were placed palms and other plants of graceful foliage. the ceiling was painted with an elaborate pattern in colours. a lady was seated upon a long couch. it had no back, but one end was raised as a support for the arm, and the ends were carved into the semblance of the heads of animals. two nubian slave girls stood behind her fanning her, and a girl about twelve years old was seated on a low stool studying from a roll of papyrus. she threw it down and jumped to her feet as her father entered, and the lady rose with a languid air, as if the effort of even so slight a move- ment was a trouble to her. "oh, papa!—" the girl began, but the priest checked her with a motion of his hand. "my dear," he said to his wife, "i have brought home two of the captives whom our great king has brought with him as trophies of his conquest. he has handed many over for our service and that of the temples, and these two have fallen to my share.' they were of noble rank in their own country, and we will do our best to make them forget the sad change in their position." "you are always so peculiar in your notions, ameres," the lady said more pettishly than would have been expected from her languid movements. "they are captives; and i do not see that it makes any matter what they were before they mysa. were captives, so that they are captives now. by all means treat them as you like, so that you do not place them about me, for their strange coloured hair and eyes and their white faces make me shudder." "oh, mamma, i think it so pretty," mysa exclaimed. "i do wish my hair was gold-coloured like that boy's, instead of being black like every one else's." the priest shook his head at his daughter reprovingly; but she seemed in no way abashed, for she was her father's pet, and knew well enough that he was never seriously angry with her. "i do not propose placing them near you, amense," he said calmly in reply to his wife. "indeed it seems to me that you have already more attendants about you than you can find any sort of employment for. the lad i have specially allotted to chebron, as to the other i have not exactly settled as to what his duties will be." "won't you give him to me, papa," mysa said coaxingly. "fatina is not at all amusing, and dolma, the nubian girl, can only look good-natured and show her white teeth, but as we can't understand each other at all don't see that she is of any use to me." "and what use do you think you could make of this tall rebu?" the priest asked smiling. "i don't quite know, papa," mysa said, as with her head a little on one side she examined jethro critically, "but i like his looks, and i am sure he could do all sorts of things; for instance he could walk with me when i want to go out, he could tow me round the lake in the boat, he could pick up my ball for me, and could feed my pets." "when you are too lazy to feed them yourself," the priest put in. "very well, mysa, we will try the experiment jethro shall be your special attendant, and when you have nothing for him to do, which will be the best part of the day, he can look after the water-fowl. zunbo never attends them properly. do you understand that?" he asked jethro. fortunate captives. jethro replied by stepping forward, taking the girls band, and bending over it until his forehead touched it. "there is an answer for you, mysa." "you indulge the children too much, ameres," his wife said irritably. "i do not think in all egypt there are any children so spoilt as ours. other men's sons never speak unless addressed, and do not think of sitting down in the presence of their father. am astonished indeed that you, who are looked up to as one of the wisest men in egypt, should suffer your children to be so familiar with you." "perhaps, my dear," ameres said with a placid smile, "it is because i am one of the wisest men in egypt. my children honour me in their hearts as much as do those who are kept in slave-like subjection. how is a boy's mind to expand if he does not ask questions, and who should be so well able to answer his questions as his father? there, children, you can go now, take your new companions with you and show them the garden and your pets." "we are fortunate, indeed, jethro," amuba said as they followed chebron and mysa into the garden. "when we pictured to ourselves as we lay on the sand at night during our journey hither what our life would be, we never dreamt of anything like this; we thought of tilling the land, of aid- ing to raise the great dams and embankments, of quarrying stone for the public buildings, of a grinding and hopeless slavery, and the only thing that ever we ventured to hope for was that we might toil side by side, and now, see how good the gods have been to us. not only are we together, but we have found friends in our masters, a home in this strange land." "truly it is wonderful, amuba. this priest ameres, is a most excellent person; one to be loved by all who come near him. we have indeed been most fortunate in having been chosen by him." the brother and sister led the way through an avenue of fruit trees, at the end of which a gate led through a high a variety of pets. paling of rashes into an inclosure some fifty feet square. it was surrounded by trees and shrubs, and in their shade stood a number of wooden structures. in the centre was a pool occupying the third of the area, and like the large pond before the house bordered with aquatic plants. at the edge stood two ibises, while many brilliantly plumaged water-fowl were swimming on its surface, or cleaning their feathers on the bank. as soon as the gate closed there was a great commotion among the water-fowl; the ibises advanced gravely to meet their young mistress, the ducks set up a chorus of welcome, those on the water made for the shore, while those on land followed the ibises with loud quackings. but the first to reach them were two gazelles, which bounded from one of the wooden huts and were in an instant beside them, thrusting their soft muzzles into the hands of chebron and mysa, while from the other structures arose a medley of sounds— the barking of dogs and the sounds of welcome from a variety of creatures. "this is not your feeding time, you know," chebron said, looking at the gazelles, "and for once we have come empty- handed; but we will give you something from your stores. see, jethro, this is their larder," and he led the way into a structure somewhat larger than the rest; along the walls were a number of boxes of various sizes, while some large bins stood below them. "here, you see," he went on, open- ing one of the bins and taking from it a handful of freshly- cut vetches, and going to the door and throwing it down before the gazelles, "this is their special food; it is brought in fresh every morning from our farm, which lies six miles away. the next bin contains the seed for the water-fowl. it is all mixed here you see. wheat and peas and pulse and other seeds. mysa, do give them a few handfuls, for i can hardly hear myself speak from their clamour. "in this box above you see there is a pan of sopped bread for the cats. there is a little mixed with the water; but ( ) k a well-cared-for colony. only a little, for it will not keep good. those cakes are for them too. those large, plain, hard-baked cakes in the next box are for the dogs; they have some meat and bones given them two or three times a week. these frogs and toads in this cage are for the little crocodile; he has a tank all to himself. all these other boxes are full of different food for the other animals you see. there's a picture of the right animal upon each, so there is no fear of making a mistake. we generally feed them ourselves three times a day when we are here, but when we are away it will be for you to feed them." "and please," mysa said, "above all things be very par- ticular that they have all got fresh water; they do love fresh water so much, and sometimes it is so hot that the pans dry up in an hour after it has been poured out . you see the gazelles can go to the pond and drink when they are thirsty, but the others are fastened up because they won't live peaceably together as they ought to do; but we let them out for a bit while we are here. the dogs chase the water-fowl and frighten them, and the cats will eat up the little ducklings, which is very wrong when they have plenty of proper food; and the ichneumon, even when we are here, would quarrel with the snakes if we let him into their house. they are very troublesome that way, though they are all so good with us. the houses all want making nice and clean of a morning." the party went from house to house inspecting the various animals, all of which were most carefully attended. the dogs, which were, chebron said, of a nubian breed, were used for hunting; while on comfortable beds of fresh rushes three great cats lay blinking on large cushions, but got up and rubbed against mysa and chebron in token of welcome. a number of kittens who were playing about together rushed up with upraised tails and loud mowings. amuba noticed that their two guides made a motion of respect as they entered the house where the cats were as well as towards a quiet time, the dogs, the ichneumon, and the crocodile, all of which were sacred animals in thebes. many instructions were given by mysa to jethro as to the peculiar treatment that each of her pets demanded, and having completed their rounds the party then explored the garden, and arauba and jethro were greatly struck by the immense variety of plants, which had indeed been raised from seeds or roots brought from all the various countries where the egyptian arms extended. for a year the time passed tranquilly and pleasantly to amuba in the household of the priest his duties and those of jethro were light in his walks and excursions amuba was chebron's companion. he learned to row his boat when he went out fishing on the nile. when thus out together the distinction of rank was altogether laid aside; but when in thebes the line was necessarily more marked, as cheb- ron could not take amuba with him to the houses of the many friends and relatives of his father among the priestly and military classes. when the priest and his family went out to a banquet or entertainment jethro and amuba were always with the party of servants who went with torches to escort them home. the service was a light one in their case; but not so in many others, for the egyptians often drank deeply at these feasts, and many of the slaves always took with them light couches upon which to carry their masters home. even among the ladies, who generally took their meals apart from the men upon these occasions, drun- kenness was by no means uncommon. when in the house amuba was often present when chebron studied, and as he himself was most anxious to acquire as much as he could of the wisdom of the egyp- tians, chebron taught him the hieroglyphic characters, and he was ere long able to read the inscriptions upon the temple and public buildings and to study from the papyrus scrolls, of which vast numbers were stowed away in pigeon holes ranged round one of the largest rooms in the house. country life. when chebron's studies were over jcthro instructed him in the use of arms, and also practised with amuba. a teacher of the use of the bow came frequently—for egyptians of all ranks were skilled in the use of the national weapon—and the rebu captives, already skilled in the bow as used by their own people, learned from watching his teaching of chebron to use the longer and much more powerful weapon of the egyptians. whenever mysa went outside the house jethro accompanied her; waiting outside the house she visited until she came out, or going back to fetch her if her stay was a prolonged one. greatly they enjoyed the occasional visits made by the family to their farm. here they saw the cultivation of the fields carried on, watched the plucking of the grapes and their conversion into wine. to extract the juice the grapes were heaped in a large flat vat above which ropes were sus- pended. a dozen bare-footed slaves entered the vat and trod out the grapes, usin^ the ropes to lift themselves in order that they might drop with greater force upon the fruit . amuba had learned from chebron that, although he was going to enter the priesthood as an almost necessary prelimin- ary for state employment, he was not intended to rise to the upper rank of the priesthood, but to become a state official. "my elder brother will, no doubt, some day succeed my father as high-priest of osiris," he told amuba. "i know that my father does not think that he is clever, but it is not necessary to be very clever to serve in the temple. i thought that, of course, i too should come to high rank in the priesthood; for, as you know, almost all posts are here- ditary, and though my brother as the elder would be high-priest, i should be one of the chief-priests also. but i have not much taste that way, and rejoiced much when one day saying so to my father, he replied at once that he should not urge me to devote my life to the priesthood, for that there were many other offices of state which would be open to me, and in which i could serve my countiy and be a noble priest. useful to the people. almost all the posts in the service of the state are, indeed, held by the members of priestly families; they furnish governors to the provinces, and not unfrequently generals to the army. "' some,' he said, 'are by disposition fitted to spend their lives in ministering in the temples, and it is doubtless a high honour and happiness to do so; but for others a more active life and a wider field of usefulness is more suitable. engineers are wanted for the canal and irrigation works, judges are required to make the law respected and obeyed, diplomatists to deal with foreign nations, governors for the many peoples over whom we rule; therefore, my son, if you do not feel a longing to spend your life in the service of the temple, by all means turn your mind to study which will fit you to be an officer of the state. be assured that i can obtain for you from the king a post in which you will be able to make your first essay, and so, if deserving, rise to high advancement.'" there were few priests during the reign of thotmes iii. who stood higher in the opinion of the egyptian people than ameres. his piety and learning rendered him distin- guished among his fellows. he was high-priest in the temple of osiris, and was one of the most trusted of the councillors of the king. he had by heart all the laws of the sacred books; he was an adept in the inmost mysteries of the religion. his wealth was large, and he used it nobl); he lived in a certain pomp and state which were necessary for his position, but he spent but a tithe of his revenues, and the rest he distributed among the needy. if the nile rose to a higher level than usual and spread ruin and destruction among the cultivators, ameres was ready to assist the distressed. if the rise of the river was deficient, he always set the example of remitting the rents of the tenants of his broad lands, and was ready to lend money without interest to tenants of harder or more necessitous landlords. an inquiring mind. yet among the high priesthood ameres was regarded with suspicion, and even dislike. it was whispered among them that, learned and pious as he was, the opinions of the high-priest were not in accordance with the general senti- ments of the priesthood; that, although he performed punctiliously all the numerous duties of his office, and took his part in the sacrifices and processions of the god, he yet lacked reverence for him, and entertained notions widely at variance with those of his fellows. ameres was, in fact, one of those men who refuse to be bound by the thoughts and opinions of others, and to whom it is a necessity to bring their own judgment to bear on every question presented to them. his father, who had been high- priest before him—for the great offices of egypt were for the most part hereditary—while he had been delighted at the thirst for knowledge and the enthusiasm for study in his son, had been frequently shocked at the freedom with which he expressed his opinions, as step by step he was initiated into the sacred mysteries. already at his introduction to the priesthood, ameres had mastered all there was to learn in geometry and astronomy. he was a skilful architect, and was deeply versed in the history of the nation. he had already been employed as supervisor in the construction of canals and irrigation works on the property belonging to the temple, and in all these respects his father had every reason to be proud of the suc- cess he had attained and the estimation in which he was held by his fellows. it was only the latitude which he allowed himself in his consideration of religious questions which alarmed and distressed his father. the egyptians were the most conservative of peoples. for thousands of years no change whatever took place in their constitution, their manners, customs, and habits. it was the fixed belief of every egyptian that in all respects their country was superior to any other, and that their laws and customs had approached perfection. all from the a conservative people. highest to the lowest were equally bound by these. the king himself was no more independent than the peasant; his hour of rising, the manner in which the day should be employed, the very quantity and quality of food he should eat, were all rigidly dictated by custom. he was surrounded from his youth by young men of his own age—sons of priests, chosen for their virtue and piety. thus he was freed from the influence of evil advisors, and even had he so wished it, had neither means nor power of oppressing his subjects, whose rights and privileges were as strictly defined as his own. in a country, then, where every man followed the profession of his father, and where from time immemorial everything had proceeded on pre- cisely the same lines, the fact that ameres, the son of the high-priest of osiris, and himself destined to succeed to that dignity, should entertain opinions differing even in the slightest from those held by the leaders of the priesthood, was sufficient to cause him to be regarded with marked dis- favour among them; it was indeed only because his piety and benevolence were as remarkable as his learning and know- ledge of science that he was enabled at his father's death to succeed to his office without opposition. indeed, even at that time the priests of higher grade would have opposed his election; but ameres was as popu- lar with the lower classes of the priesthood as with the people at large, and their suffrages would have swamped those of his opponents. the multitude had, indeed, never heard so much as a whisper against the orthodoxy of the high-priest of osiris. they saw him ever foremost in the sacrifices and processions; they knew that he was indefatig- able in his services in the temple, and that all his spare time was devoted to works of benevolence and general utility; and as they bent devoutly as he passed through the streets they little dreamt that the high-priest of osiris was regarded by his chief brethren as a dangerous innovator. and yet it was on one subject only that he differed widely an innovator. from his order. versed as he was in the innermost mys- teries, he had learned the true meaning of the religion of which he was one of the chief ministers. he was aware that osiris and isis, the six other great gods, and the innumer- able divinities whom the egyptians worshipped under the guise of deities with the heads of animals, were in themselves no gods at all, but mere attributes of the power, the wisdom, the goodness, the anger of the one great god—a god so mighty that his name was unknown, and that it was only when each of his attributes was given an individuality and worshipped as a god that it could be understood by the finite sense of man. all this was known to ameres and the few who, like him, had been admitted to the inmost mysteries of the egyptian religion. the rest of the population in egypt worshipped in truth and in faith the animal-headed gods and the animals sacred to them; and yet as to these ani- mals there was no consensus of opinion. in one nome or division of the kingdom the crocodile was sacred; in another he was regarded with dislike, and the ichneumon, who was supposed to be his destroyer, was deified. in one the goat was worshipped, and in another eaten for food; and so it was throughout the whole of the list of sacred animals, which were regarded with reverence or indiffer- ence according to the gods who were looked upon as the special tutelary deities of the nome. it was the opinion of ameres that the knowledge, con- fined only to the initiated, should be more widely dissemi- nated, and, without wishing to extend it at present to the ignorant masses of the peasantry and labourers, he thought that all the educated and intelligent classes of egypt should be admitted to an understanding of the real nature of the gods they worshipped and the inner truths of their religion. he was willing to admit that the process must be gradual, and that it would be necessary to enlarge gradually the circle of the initiated. his proposals were nevertheless the arguments of the priests. received with dismay and horror by his colleagues. they asserted that to allow others besides the higher priesthood to become aware of the deep mysteries of their religion would be attended with terrible consequences. in the first place, it would shake entirely the respect and reverence in which the priesthood were held, and would annihilate their influence. the temples would be deserted, and, losing the faith which they now so steadfastly held in the gods, people would soon cease to have any religion at all . "there are no people," they urged, "on the face of the earth so moral, so contented, so happy, and so easily ruled as the egyptians; but what would they be did you destroy all their beliefs, and launch them upon a sea of doubt and speculation! no longer would they look up to those who have so long been their guides and teachers, and whom they regard as possessing a knowledge and wisdom infinitely beyond theirs. they would accuse us of having deceived them, and in their blind fury destroy alike the gods and their ministers. the idea of such a thing is horrible." ameres was silenced though not convinced. he felt, in- deed, that there was much truth in the view they entertained of the matter, and that terrible consequences would almost certainly follow the discovery by the people that for thou- sands of years they had been led by the priests to worship as gods those who were no gods at all, and he saw that the evil which would arise from a general enlightenment of the people would outweigh any benefit that they could derive from the discovery. the system had, as his colleagues said, worked well; and the fact that the people worshipped as actual deities imaginary beings who were really but the re- presentatives of the attributes of the infinite god, could not be said to have done them any actual harm. at any rate, he alone and unaided could do nothing. only with the general consent of the higher priesthood could the circle of initiated be widened, and any movement on his part alone would simply bring upon himself disgrace and death. therefore, an egyptian priest. after unburdening himself in a council composed only of the higher initiates, he held his peace and went on the quiet tenor of his way. enlightened as he was he felt that he did no wrong to preside at the sacrifices and take part in the services of the gods. he was worshipping not the animal-headed idols, but the attributes which they personified. he felt pity for the ignorant multitude who laid their offerings upon the shrine; and yet he felt that it would shatter their happiness instead of adding to it were they to know that the deity they worshipped was a myth. he allowed his wife and daughter to join with the priestesses in the service at the temple, and in his heart acknowledged that there was much in the contention of those who argued that the spread of the knowledge of the inner mysteries would not conduce to the happiness of all who received it indeed he him- self would have shrunk from disturbing the minds of his wife and daughter by informing them that all their pious ministrations in the temple were offered to non-existent gods; that the sacred'animals they tended were in no way more sacred than others, save that in them were recognized some shadow of the attributes of the unknown god. his eldest son was, he saw, not of a disposition to be troubled with the problems which gave him so much subject for thought and care. ho would conduct the services con- sciously and well. he would bear a respectable part when, on his accession to the high-priesthood, he became one of the councillors of the monarch. he had common sense, but no imagination. the knowledge of the inmost mysteries would not disturb his mind in the slightest degree, and it was improbable that even a thought would ever cross his mind that the terrible deception practised by the enlightened upon the whole people was anything but right and proper. ameres saw, however, that chebron was altogether differ- ently constituted. he was very intelligent, and was pos- sessed of an ardent thirst for a knowledge of all kinds; but the character of chebron. he had also his father's habit of looking at matters from all points of view and of thinking for himself. the manner in which ameres had himself superintended his studies and taught him to work with his understanding, and to con- vince himself that each rule and precept was true before proceeding to the next, had developed his thinking powers. altogether, ameres saw that the doubts which filled his own mind as to the honesty, or even expediency, of keeping the whole people in darkness and error would probably be felt with even greater force by chebron. he had determined, therefore, that the lad should not work up through all the grades of the priesthood to the upper rank, but should, after rising high enough to fit him- self for official employment, turn his attention to one or other of the great departments of state. chapter v. in lower egypt. iam going on a journey," ameres said to his son, a few days after the return from the farm. "i shall take you with me, chebron, for i am going to view the progress of a fresh canal that is being made on our estate in goshen. the officer who is superintending it has doubts whether, when the sluices are opened, it will altogether fulfil its pur- pose, and i fear that some mistake must have been made in the levels. i have already taught you the theory of the work, it is well that you should gain some practical ex- perience in it; for there is no more useful or honourable profession than that of carrying out works by which the floods of the nile are conveyed to the thirsty soil." "thank you, father. i should like it greatly," chebron a stranger people. replied in a tone of delight, for he had never before been far south of thebes. "and may amuba go with us?" "yes; i was thinking of taking him," the high-priest said. "jethro can also go, for i take a retinue with me. did i consult my own pleasure i would far rather travel without this state and ceremony; but, as a functionary of state, i must conform to the customs. and, indeed, even in goshen it is as well always to travel with some sort of state. the people there are of a different race to ourselves. although they have dwelt a long time in the land and conform to its customs, still they are notoriously a stubborn and obstinate people, and there is more trouble in getting the public works executed there than in any other part of the country." "i have heard of them, father. they belong to the same race as the shepherd kings who were such bitter tyrants to egypt. how is it that they stayed behind when the shep- herds were driven out?" "they are of the same race, but they came not with them, and formed no part of their conquering armies. the shep- herds, who, as you know, came from the land lying to the east of the great sea, had reigned here for a long time when this people came. they were relations of the joseph who, as you have read in your history, was chief minister of egypt. "he came here as a slave, and was certainly brought from the country whence our oppressors came. but they say that he was not of their race, but that his forefathers had come into the land from a country lying far to the east; but that i know not . suffice it he gained the confidence of the king, became his minister, and ruled wisely as far as the king was concerned, though the people have little reason to bless his memory. in his days was a terrible famine, and they say he foretold its coming, and that his gods gave him warning of it. so, vast granaries were constructed and filled to overflowing, and when the famine came and the people were starving the grain was served out, but in ownership of the land. return the people had to give up their land. thus the whole tenure of the land in the country was changed, and all became the property of the state, the people remaining as its tenants upon the land they formerly owned . then it was that the state granted large tracts to the temples and others to the military order, so that at present all tillers of land pay rent either to the king, the temples, or the military order. "thus it is that the army can always be kept up in ser- viceable order, dwelling by its tens of thousands in the cities assigned to it. thus it is that the royal treasury is always kept full, and the services of the temples maintained. the step has added to the power and dignity of the nation, and has benefited the cultivators themselves by enabling v ast works of irrigation to be carried out—works that could never have been accomplished had the land been the pro- perty of innumerable small holders, each with his own petty interests." "but you said, father, that it has not been for the good of the people." "nor has it in one respect, chebron, for it has drawn a wide chasm between the aristocratic classes and the bulk of the people, who can never own land, and have no stimulus to exertion." "but they are wholly ignorant, father. they are peasants, and nothing more." "i think they might be something more, chebron, under other circumstances. however, that is not the question we are discussing. this joseph brought his family out of the land at the east of the great sea, and land was given to them in goshen, and they settled there and throve and multiplied greatly. partly because of the remembrance of the services joseph had rendered to the state, partly because they were a kindred people, they were held in favour as long as the shepherd kings ruled over us. but when egypt rose, and shook off the yoke they had groaned under so long, and the people of goshen. drove the shepherds and their followers out of the land, this people—for they had now so grown in numbers as to be in verity a people—remained behind, and they have been naturally viewed with suspicion by us. they are akin to our late oppressors, and lying as their land does to the east, they could open the door to any fresh army of in- vasion. "happily, now that our conquests have spread so far, and the power of the people eastward of the great sea has been completely broken, this reason for distrust has died out, but joseph's people are still viewed unfavourably. prejudices take long to die out among the masses, and the manner in which these people cling together, marrying only among themselves and keeping themselves apart from us, gives a certain foundation for the dislike which exists. personally, i think the feeling is unfounded. they are industrious and hard working, though they are, i own, somewhat disposed to resist authority, and there is more difficulty in obtaining the quota of men from goshen for the execution of public works than from any other of the provinces of egypt." "do they differ from us in appearance, father?" "considerably, chebron. they are somewhat fairer than we are, their noses are more aquiline, and they are physi- cally stronger. they do not shave their heads as we do, and they generally let the hair on their faces grow. for a long time after their settlement i believe that they worshipped their own gods, or rather their own god, but they have long adopted our religion." "surely that must be wrong," chebron said. "each nation has its gods, and if a people forsake their own gods it is not likely that other gods would care for them as they do for their own people." "it is a difficult question, chebron, and one which it is best for you to leave alone at present. you will soon enter into the lower grade of the priesthood, and, although if you do not pass into the upper grades you will never know the puzzling questions. greater mysteries, you will yet learn enough to enlighten you to some extent" chebron was. too well trained in the respect due to a parent to ask further questions, but he renewed the subject with amuba as they strolled in the garden together after- wards. "i wonder how each nation found out who were the gods who specially cared for them, amuba?" "i have no idea," amuba, who had never given the sub- ject a thought, replied. "you are always asking puzzling questions, chebron." "well, but it must have been somehow," chebron in- sisted. "do you suppose that anyone ever saw our gods? and if not, how do people know that one has the head of a dog and another of a cat, or what they are like? are some gods stronger than others, because all people offer sacrifices to the gods and ask for their help before going to battle? some are beaten and some are victorious; some win to-day and lose to-morrow. is it that these gods are stronger one day than another? or that they do not care to help their people sometimes? why do they not prevent their temples from being burned and their images from being thrown down? it is all very strange." "it is all very strange, chebron. i was not long ago asking jethro nearly the same question, but he could give me no answer. why do you not ask your father—he is one of the wisest of the egyptians?" "i have asked my father, but he will not answer me," chebron said thoughtfully. "i think sometimes that it is because i have asked these questions that he does not wish me to become a high-priest i did not mean anything dis- respectful to the gods. but somehow when i want to know things, and he will not answer me, i think he looks sadly, as if he was sorry at heart that he could not tell me what i want to know." "have you ever asked your brother neco?" a journey down the nile. "oh, neco is different," chebron said with an accent almost of disdain. "neco gets into passions and threatens me with all sorts of things; but i can see he knows no more about it than i do, for he has a bewildered look in his face when i ask him these things, and once or twice he has put his hands to his ears and fairly run away, as if i was saying something altogether profane and impious against the gods." on the following day the high-priest and his party started for goshen. the first portion of the journey was performed by water. the craft was a large one, with a pavilion of carved wood on deck, and two masts, with great sails of many colours cunningly worked together. persons of con- sequence travelling in this way were generally accompanied by at least two or three musicians playing on harps, trum- pets, or pipes; for the egyptians were passionately fond of music, and no feast was thought complete without a band to discourse soft music while it was going on. the instru- ments were of the most varied kinds; stringed instruments predominated, and these varied in size from tiny instruments resembling zithers to harps much larger than those used in modern times. in addition to these they had trumpets of many forms, reed instruments, cymbals, and drums, the last- named long and narrow in shape. ameres, however, although not averse to music after the evening meal, was of too practical a character to care for it at other times. he considered that it was too often an excuse for doing nothing and thinking of nothing, and therefore dispensed with it except on state occasions. as they floated down the river he explained to his son the various objects which they passed; told him the manner in which the fisher- men in their high boats made of wooden planks bound together by rushes, or in smaller crafts shaped like punts formed entirely of papyrus bound together with bands of the same plant, caught the fish; pointed out the entrances to the various canals, and explained the working of the gates which admitted the water; gave him the history of the various the pyramids. temples, towns, and villages; named the many water-fowl basking on the surface of the river, and told him of their habits and how they were captured by the fowlers; he pointed out the great tombs to him, and told him by whom they were built "the largest, my son, are monuments of pride and folly. the greatest of the pyramids was built by a king who thought it would immortalize him; but so terrible was the labour that its construction inflicted upon the people that it caused him to be execrated, and he was never laid in the mausoleum he had built for himself. you see our custom of judging kings after their death is not without advantages. after a king is dead the people are gathered together and the question is put to them, has the dead monarch ruled well? if they reply with assenting shouts, he is buried in a fitting tomb which he has probably prepared for himself, or which his successor raises to him; but if the answer is that he has reigned ill, the sacred rites in his honour are omitted and the mausoleum he has raised stands empty for ever. "there are few, indeed, of our kings who have thus merited the execration of their people; for as a rule the careful manner in which they are brought up, surrounded by youths chosen for their piety and learning, and the fact that they, like the meanest of their subjects, are bound to respect the laws of the land, act as sufficient check upon them. but there is no doubt that the knowledge that after death they must be judged by the people exercises a whole- some restraint even upon the most reckless." "i long to see the pyramids," chebron said. "are they built of brick or stone, for i have been told that their sur- face is so smooth and shiny that they look as if cut from a single piece " "they are built of vast blocks of stone, each of which employed the labour of many hundreds of men to transport from the quarries where they were cut" "were they the work of slaves or of the people at large?" ( ) k honour to the gods. "vast numbers of slaves captured in war laboured at them," the priest replied. "but numerous as these were they were wholly insufficient for the work, and well-nigh half the people of egypt were forced to leave their homes to labour at them. so great was the burden and distress that even now the builders of these pyramids are never spoken of save with curses; and rightly so, for what might not have been done with the same labour usefully employed! why, the number of the canals in the country might be doubled and the fertility of the soil vastly increased. vast tracts might have been reclaimed from the marshes and shallow lakes, and the produce of the land might have been doubled." "and what splendid temples might have been raised!" chebron said enthusiastically. "doubtless, my son," the priest said quietly after a slight pause. "but though it is meet and right that the temples of the gods shall be worthy of them, still, as we hold that the gods love egypt and rejoice in the prosperity of the people, i think that they might have preferred so vast an improvement as the works i speak of would have effected in the condition of the people, even to the raising of long avenues of sphinxes and gorgeous temples in their own honour." "yes, one would think so," chebron said thoughtfully. "and yet, father, we are always taught that our highest duty is to pay honour to the gods, and that in no way can money be so well spent as in raising fresh temples and add- ing to the beauty of those that exist." ''our highest duty is assuredly to pay honour to the gods, chebron; but how that honour can be paid most acceptably is another and deeper question which you are a great deal too young to enter upon. it will be time enough for you to do that years hence. there, do you see that temple standing on the right bank of the river ?—that is where we stop for the night. my messenger will have a banquet. prepared them for our coming, and all will be in readiness for us." as they approached the temple they saw a number of people gathered on the great stone steps reaching down to the water's-edge, and strains of music were heard. on landing ameres was greeted with the greatest respect by the priests all bowing to the ground, while those of inferior order knelt with their faces to the earth, and did not raise them until he had passed on. as soon as he entered the temple a procession was formed. priests bearing sacred vessels and the symbols of the gods walked before him to the altar; a band of unseen musicians struck up a pro- cessional air; priestesses and maidens, also carrying offerings and emblems, followed ameres. he naturally took the prin- cipal part in the sacrifice at the altar, cutting the throat of the victim, and making the offering of the parts specially set aside for the gods. after the ceremonies were concluded the procession moved in order as far as the house of the chief priest here all again saluted ameres, who entered, followed by his son and attendants. a banquet was already in readiness. to this ameres sat down with the principal priests, while chebron was conducted to the apartment prepared for him, where food from the high table was served to him. amuba and the rest of the suite of the high-priest were served in another apartment as soon as chebron had finished he joined amuba. "let us slip away," he said. "the feasting will go on for hours, and then there will be music far on into the night my father will be heartily tired of it all; for he loves plain food, and thinks that the priests should eat none other. still, as it would not be polite for a guest to remark upon the viands set before him, i know that he will go through it all. i have heard him say that it is one of the greatest trials of his position that whenever he travels people seem to think that a feast must be prepared for him; whereas i egyptian pillows. know he would rather sit down to a dish of boiled lentils and water than have the richest dishes set before him." "is it going to be like this all the journey?" amuba asked. "oh, no! i know that all the way down the river we shall rest at a temple, for did my father not do so the priests would regard it as a slight; but then we leave the boat and journey in chariots or bullock-carts. when we reach goshen we shall live in a little house which my father has had constructed for him, and where we shall have no more fuss and ceremony than we do at our own farm. then he will be occupied with the affairs of the estates and in the works of irrigation; and although we shall be with him when he journeys about, as i am to begin to learn the duties of a superintendent, i expect we shall have plenty of time for amusement and sport." they strolled for an hour or two on the bank of the river, for the moon was shining brightly and many boats were passing up and down; the latter drifted with the stream, for the wind was so light that the sails were scarce filled, the former kept close to the bank, and were either propelled by long poles or towed by parties of men on the bank. when they returned to the house they listened for a time to the music, and then retired to their rooms. amuba lay down upon the soft couch made of a layer of bulrushes,- covered with a thick woollen cloth, and rested his head on a pillow of bulrushes which jethro had bound up for him; for neither of the rebu had learned to adopt the egyptian fashion of using a stool for a pillow. these stools were long, and somewhat curved in the middle to fit the neck. for the common people they were roughly made of wood, smoothed where the head came; but the head-stools of the wealthy were constructed of ebony, cedar and other scarce woods, beautifully inlaid with ivory. amuba had made several trials of these head- stools, but had not once succeeded in going to sleep with memphis. one under his head, half an hour sufficing to cause such an aching of his neck that he was glad to take to the pillow of rushes to which he was accustomed. indeed, to sleep upon the stool-pillows, it was necessary to lie upon the side with an arm so placed as to raise the head to the exact level of the stool, and as amuba had been accustomed to throw himself down and sleep on his back or any other position in which he first lay, for he was generally thoroughly tired either in hunting or by exercise of arms, he found the cramped and fixed position necessary for sleeping with a hard stool absolutely intolerable. for a week the journey down the river continued, and then they arrived at memphis, where they remained for some days. ameres passed the time in ceremonial visits and in taking part in the sacrifices in the temple. chebron and amuba visited all the temples and public buildings, and one day went out to inspect the great pyramids attended by jethro. "this surpasses anything i have seen," jethro said as they stood at the foot of the great pyramid of cheops. "what a wonderful structure, but what a frightful waste of human labour!" "it is marvellous, indeed," amuba said. "what wealth and power a monarch must have had to raise such a colossal pile! i thought you said, chebron, that your kings were bound by laws as well as other people. if so, how could this king have exacted such terrible toil and labour from his subjects as this must have cost?" "kings should be bound by the laws," chebron replied; "but there are some so powerful and haughty that they tyrannize over the people. cheops was one of them. my father has been telling me that he ground down the people to build this wonderful tomb for himself. but he had his reward, for at his funeral he had to be judged by the public voice, and the public condemned him as a bad and tyrannous king. therefore he was not allowed to an egyptian farmhouse. be buried in the great tomb that he had built for him- self. i know not where his remains rest, but this huge pyramid stands as an eternal monument of the failure of human ambition—the greatest and costliest tomb in the world, but without an occupant, save that theliene, one of his queens, was buried here in a chamber near that destined for the king." "the people did well," jethro said heartily; "but they would have done better still had they risen against him and cut off his head directly they understood the labour he was setting them to do." on leaving memphis one more day's journey was made by water, and the next morning the party started by land. ameres rode in a chariot, which was similar in form to those used for war, except that the sides were much higher, form- ing a sort of deep open box, against which those standing in it could rest their bodies. amuba and chebron travelled vin a wagon drawn by two oxen, the rest of the party walked on foot. at the end of two days they arrived at their destination. the house was a small one compared to the great mansion near thebes, but it was built on a similar plan. a high wall surrounded an inclosure of a quarter of an acre. in the centre stood the house with one large apartment for general purposes, and small bed-chambers opening from it on either side. the garden, although small, was kept with scrupulous care. rows of fruit-trees afforded a pleasant shade. in front of the house there was a small pond bor dered with lilies and rushes. a nubian slave and his wife kept everything in readiness for the owner whenever he should appear. a larger retinue of servants was unneces- sary, as a cook and barber were among those who travelled in the train of ameres. the overseer of the estate was in readiness to receive the high-priest. "i have brought my son with me," ameres said when the ceremonial observances and salutations were concluded egyptian castes. "he is going to commence his studies in irrigation, but i shall not have time at present to instruct him. i wish him to become proficient in out-door exercises, and beg you to procure men skilled in fishing, fowling, and hunting, so that he can amuse his unoccupied hours with sport at thebes he has but rare opportunities for these matters; for, excepting in the preserves, game has become well-nigh extinct, while as for fowling there is none of it to be had in upper egypt, while here in the marshes birds abound." the superintendent promised that suitable men should be forthcoming, one of each caste; fot in egypt men always followed the occupation of their fathers, and each branch of trade was occupied by men forming distinct castes, who married only in their own caste, worked just as their fathers had done before them, and did not dream of change or ele- vation. thus the fowler knew nothing about catching fish, or the fishermen of fowling. both, however, knew some- thing about hunting; for the slaying of the hyenas, who carried off the young lambs and kids from the villages, and the great river-horses, which came out and devastated the fields, was a part of the business of every villager. the country where they now were was for the most part well cultivated and watered by the canals, which were filled when the nile was high. a day's journey to the north lay lake menzaleh—a great shallow lagoon, which stretched away to the great sea, from which it was separated only by a narrow bank of sand. the canals of the nile reached nearly to the edge of this, and when the river rose above its usual height and threat- ened to inundate the country beyond the usual limits, and to injure instead of benefiting the cultivators, great gates at the end of these canals would be opened, and the water find its way into the lagoon. there were, too, con- nections between some of the lower arms of the nile and the lake, so that the water, although salt, was less so than a hunting expedition. provisions will be ready to start the hunters of this part of the country will be of little use to you, so i have ordered one of my chief men to accompany you. "he will see that when you arrive you obtain men skilled in the sport, and acquainted with the locality and the habits of the wild creatures them my lord your father said you would probably be away for a week, and that on your return you would from time to time have a day's hunting in these parts. he thought that as your time will be more occupied then, it were better that you should make this dis- tant expedition to begin with." an hour later some twenty slaves drew up before the house, carrying on their heads, provisions, tents, and other necessaries. a horse was provided for chebron, but he decided that he would walk with amuba. "there is no advantage in going on a horse," he said, "when you have to move at the pace of footmen, and pos- sibly we may find something to shoot on the way." the leader of the party, upon hearing chebron's decision, told him that doubtless when they left the cultivated country, which extended but a few miles further north, game would be found. six dogs accompanied them. four of them were powerful animals, kept for the chase of the more formidable beasts, the hyena or lion, for although there were no lions in the flat country, they abounded in the broken grounds at the foot of the hills to the south. the other two were much more lightly built, and were capable of running down a deer. dogs were held in high honour in egypt in some parts of the country they were held to be sacred. in all they were kept as companions and friends in the house as well as for the purposes of the chase. the season was the cold one, and the heat was so much less than they were accustomed to at thebes—where the hills which inclosed the plain on which the city was built cut off much of the air, and seemed to reflect the sun's rays down upon it—that the walk was a pleasant one. a hardly-treated race. chebron and amuba, carrying their bows, walked along, chatting gaily at the head of the party. jethro and rabah the foreman came next then followed two slaves, leading the dogs in leashes, ready to be slipped at a moment's notice, while the carriers followed in the rear. occasionally they passed through scattered villages, where the women came to their doors to look at the strangers, and where generally offerings of milk and fruit were made to them. the men were for the most part at work in the fields. "they are a stout-looking race. stronger and more bony than our own people," chebron remarked to the leader of the party. "they are stubborn to deal with," he replied. "they till their ground well, and pay their portion of the produce without grumbling, but when any extra labour is asked of them there is sure to be trouble. it is easier to manage a thousand egyptian peasants than a hundred of these israelites, and if forced labour is required for the public service it is always necessary to bring down the troops before we can obtain it "but indeed they are hardly treated fairly, and have suffered much. they arrived in egypt during the reign of usertuen l, and had land allotted to them. during the reign of the king and other successors of his dynasty they were held in favour, and multiplied greatly; but when the theban dynasty succeeded that of memphis, the kings, find- ing this foreign people settled here, and seeing that they were related by origin to the shepherd tribes who at various times have threatened our country from the east, and have even conquered portions of it and occupied it for long periods, they regard them with hostility, and have treated them rather as prisoners of war than as a portion of the people. many burdens have been laid upon them. they have had to give far more than their fair share of labour towards the public works, the making of bricks, and the erection of royal tombs and pyramids." women of spirit. "it is strange that they do not shave their heads as do our people," chebron said. "but i do not," amuba laughed, "nor jethro." "it is different with you," chebron replied. "you do not labour and get the dust of the soil in your hair. besides, you do keep it cut quite short. still, i think you would be more comfortable if you followed our fashion." "it is all a matter of habit," amuba replied. "to us, when we first came here, the sight of all the poorer people going about with their heads shaven was quite repulsive —and as for comfort, surely one's own hair must be more comfortable than the great wigs that all of the better class wear." "they keep off the sun," chebron said, "when one is out of doors, and are seldom worn in the house, and then when one comes in one can wash off the dust" "i can wash the dust out of my hair," amuba said. "still i do think that these israelites wear their hair in- conveniently long; and yet the long plaits that their women wear down their back are certainly graceful, and the women themselves are fair and comely." chebron shook his head. "they may be fair, amuba, but i should think they would make very troublesome wives. they lack altogether the subdued and submissive look of our women. they would, i should say, have opinions of their own, and not be submissive to their lords; is that not so, rabah?" "the women like the men have spirit and fire," the fore- man answered, "and have much voice in all domestic matters; but i do not know that they have more than with us. they can certainly use their tongues; for, at times, when soldiers have been here to take away gangs of men for public works, they have more trouble with them than with the men. the latter are sullen, but they know that they must submit; but the women gather at a little distance and scream curses and abuse at the troops, and sometimes even pelt them with a stag hunt stones, knowing that the soldiers will not draw weapon upon them, although not unfrequently it is necessary in order to put a stop to the tumult to haul two or three of their leaders off to prison." "i thought they were viragoes," chebron said with a laugh. "i would rather hunt a lion than have the women of one of these villages set upon me." in a few miles cultivation became more rare; sand hills took the place of the level fields, and only here and there in the hollows were patches of cultivated ground. rabah now ordered the slave leading the two fleet dogs to keep close up and be in readiness to slip them. "we may see deer at any time now," he said. "they abound in these sandy deserts which form their shelter, and yet are within easy distance of fields where when such vegetation as is here fails them they can go for food." a few minutes later a deer started from a clump of bushes. the dogs were instantly let slip and started in pursuit. "hurry on a hundred yards and take your position on that mound!" rabah exclaimed to chebron, while at the same time he signalled to the slaves behind to stop. "the dogs know their duty, and you will see they will presently drive the stag within shot." chebron called amuba to follow him and ran forward. by the time they reached the mound the stag was far away, with the dogs labouring in pursuit. at present they seemed to have gained but little, if at all, upon him, and all were soon hidden from sight among the sand hills. in spite of the assurance of rabah the lads had doubts whether the dogs would ever drive their quarry back to the spot where they were standing, and it was full a quarter of an hour before pursuers and pursued came in sight again. the pace had greatly fallen off, for one of the dogs was some twenty yards behind the stag, the other was out on its flank at about the same distance away, and was evidently aiding in turning it towards the spot where the boys were standing: a good shot. "we will shoot together," chebron said. "it will come within fifty yards of us." they waited until the stag was abreast of them. the dog on its flank had now fallen back to the side of his companion as if to leave the stag clear for the arrows of the hunters. the lads fired together just as the stag was abreast; but it was running faster than they had allowed for, and both arrows flew behind it. they uttered exclamations of disappointment, but before the deer had run twenty yards it gave a sudden leap into the air and fell over. jethro had crept up and taken his post behind some bushes to the left of the clump in readiness to shoot should the others miss, and his arrow had brought the stag to the ground. "well done, jethro!" amuba shouted. "it is so long since i was out hunting that i seem to have lost my skill; but it matters not since we have brought him down." the dogs stood quiet beside the deer who was struggling on the ground, being too well trained to interfere with it. jethro ran out and cut its throat. the others were soon standing beside it. it was of a species smaller than those to which the deer of europe belong, with two long straight horns. "it will make a useful addition to our fare to-night," rabah said, "although, perhaps, some of the other sorts are better eating." "do the dogs never pull them down by themselves?" amuba asked. "very seldom. these two are particularly fleet, but i doubt whether they would have caught it . these deer can run for a long time, and although they will let dogs gain upon them they can leave them if they choose. still i have known this couple run down a deer when they could not succeed in driving it within bowshot; but they know very well they ought not to do so, for, of course, deer are of no use for food unless the animals are properly killed and the blood allowed to escape." hyenas. several other stags were started, but these all escaped, the dogs being too fatigued with their first run to be able to keep up with them. the other dogs were therefore unloosed and allowed to range about the country. they started several hyenas, some of which they themselves killed; others they brought to bay until the lads ran up and despatched them with their arrows, while others which took to flight in sufficient time got safely away, for the hyena, unless overtaken just at the start, can run long and swiftly and tire out heavy dogs such as those the party had with them. after walking some fifteen miles the lads stopped suddenly on the brow of a sand hill . in front of them was a wide expanse of water bordered by a band of vegetation. long rushes and aquatic plants formed a band by the water's- edge, while here and there huts with patches of cultivated ground dotted the country. "we are at the end of our journey," rabah said. "these huts are chiefly inhabited by fowlers and fishermen. we will encamp at the foot of this mound. it is better for us not to go too near the margin of the water, for the air is not salubrious to those unaccustomed to it. the best hunt- ing ground lies a few miles to our left, for there, when the river is high, floods come down through a valley which is at all times wet and marshy. there we may expect to find game of all kinds in abundance." chapter vl fowling and fishing. the tents, which were made of light cloth intended to keep off the night dews rather than to afford warmth, were soon pitched, fires were lighted with fuel that had a lovely view. been brought with them in order to save time in searching for it, and rabah went off to search for fish and fowl . he returned in half an hour with a peasant carrying four ducks and several fine fish. "we shall do now," he said; "with these and the stag our larder is complete. everything but meat we have brought with us." chebron, although he had kept on bravely, was fatigued with his walk and was glad to throw himself down on the sand and enjoy the prospect which to him was a new one, for he had never before seen so wide an expanse of water. when on the top of the hill he had made out a faint dark line in the distance, and this rabah told him was the bank of sand that separated the lake from the great sea. now from his present position this was invisible, and nothing but a wide expanse of water stretching away until it seemed to touch the sky met his view. here and there it was dotted with dark patches which were, rabah told him, clumps of water-fowl, and in the shallow water near the margin which was but a quarter of a mile away he could see vast numbers of wading birds, white cranes, and white and black ibises, while numbers of other water-fowl, looking like black specks, moved about briskly among them. sometimes with loud cries a number would rise on the wing, and either make off in a straight line across the water or circle round and settle again when they found that their alarm was groundless. "it is lovely, is it not?" he exclaimed to amuba, who was standing beside him leaning on his bow and looking over the water. amuba did not reply immediately, and chebron looking up saw that there were tears on his cheeks. "what is it, amuba?" he asked anxiously. "it is nothing, chebron; but the sight of this wide water takes my thoughts homewards. our city stood on a sea like this, not so large as they say is this great sea we are a free life. by themselves or joining with one of the peoples who push past us from the far east; besides, wherever we went we should take our country with us, build houses like those we left behind, live by the chase or fishing in one place as another, while the egyptians could nowhere find a country like egypt i suppose it is the people more than the country, the familiar language, and the familiar faces and ways, i grant freely that the egyptians are a far greater people than we, more powerful, more learned, the masters of many arts, the owners of many comforts and luxuries, and yet one longs sometimes for one's free life among the rebu." "one thing is, amuba, you were a prince there and you are not here. had you been but a common man, born to labour, to toil, or to fight at the bidding of your king, you might perhaps find that the life even of an egyptian peasant is easier and more pleasant than yours was." "that may be," amuba said thoughtfully, "and yet i think that the very poorest among us was far freer and more independent than the richest of your egyptian peasants. he did not grovel on the ground when the king passed along. it was open to him if he was braver than his fellows to rise in rank. he could fish, or hunt, or till the ground, or fashion arms as he chose; his life was not tied down by usage or custom. he was a man, a poor one, perhaps—a half savage one, if you will—but he was a man, while your egyptian peasants, free as they may be in name, are the very slaves of law and custom. but i see that the meal is ready, and i have a grand appetite." "so have i, amuba. it is almost worth while walking a long way for the sake of the appetite one gets at the end." the meal was an excellent one. one of the slaves who had been brought was an adept at cooking, and fish, birds, and venison were alike excellent, and for once the vege- tables that formed so large a portion of the ordinary egyp- tian repast were neglected. ( ) o fowling. "what are we going to do to-morrow, rabah?" chebron asked after the meal was concluded. "i have arranged for to-morrow, if such is your pleasure, my lord, that you shall go fowling. a boat will take you along the lake to a point about three miles off where the best sport is to be had, then when the day is over it will carry you on another eight miles to the place i spoke to you of where good sport was to be obtained. i shall meet you on your landing there, and will have everything in readiness for you." "that will do well," chebron said. "amuba and jethro, you will, of course, come with me." as soon as it was daylight rabah led chebron down to the lake, and the lad with amuba and jethro entered the boat, which was constructed of rushes covered with pitch, and drew only two or three inches of water. two men with long poles were already in the boat, they were fowlers by profession, and skilled in all the various devices by which the water-fowl were captured. they had, during the night, been preparing the boat for the expedition by fastening rushes all round it; the lower ends of these dipped into the water, the upper ends were six feet above it, and the rushes were so thickly placed together as to form an impenetrable screen. the boat was square at the stern, and here only was there an opening a few inches wide in the rushes to enable the boatman standing there to propel the boat with his pole. one of the men took his station here, the other at the bow, where he peered through a little opening between the rushes, and directed his comrade in the stern as to the course he should take. in the bottom of the boat lay two cats who, knowing that their part was presently to come, watched all that was being done with an air of intelligent interest a basket well stored with provisions, and a jar of wine, were placed on board, and the boat then pushed noiselessly off. parting the reeds with their fingers and peeping out, the good sport. boys saw that the boat was not making out into the deeper part of the lake, but was skirting the edge, keeping only a few yards out from the band of rushes at its margin. "do you keep this distance all the way?" chebron asked the man with the pole. the man nodded. "as long as we are close to the rushes the water-fowl do not notice our approach, while were we to push out into the middle they might take the alarm; although we often do capture them in that way, but in that case we get to wind- ward of the flock we want to reach, and then drift down slowly upon them, but we shall get more sport now by keeping close in. the birds are numerous, and you will soon be at work." in five minutes the man at the bow motioned his pas- sengers that they were approaching a flock of water-fowl. each of them took up his bow and arrows and stood in readiness, while the man in the stern used his pole even more quickly and silently than before. presently at a signal from his comrades he ceased poling. all round the boat there were slight sounds — low contented quackings, and fluttering of wings, as the birds raised themselves and shook the water from their backs. parting the rushes in front of them, the two lads and jethro peeped through them. they were right in the middle of a flock of wild fowl who were feeding without a thought of danger from the clump of rushes in their midst the arrows were already in their notches, the rushes were parted a little further, and the three shafts were loosed. the twangs of the bows startled the ducks, and stopping feeding they gazed at the rushes with heads on one side. three more arrows glanced out, but this time one of the birds aimed at was wounded only, and uttering a cry of pain and terror it flapped along the surface of the water. instantly, with wild cries of alarm, the whole flock arose, but before they had fairly settled in their flight, two more throwing-sticks. fell pierced with arrows. the cats had been standing on the alert, and as the cry of alarm was given leapt overboard from the stern, and proceeded to pick up the dead ducks, among which were included that which had at first flown away, for it had dropped in the water about fifty yards from the boat a dozen times the same scene was repeated until some three score ducks and geese lay in the bottom of the boat by this time the party had had enough of sport, and had indeed lost the greater part of their arrows, as all which failed to strike the bird aimed at went far down into the deep mud at the bottom and could not be recovered . "now let the men show us their skill with their throw- ing-sticks," chebron said. "you will see they will do better with them than we with our arrows." the men at once turned the boat's head towards a patch of rushes growing from the shallow water a hundred yards out in the lake. numbers of ducks and geese were feeding round it, and the whole rushes were in movement from those swimming and feeding among them, for the plants were just at that time in seed. the birds were too much occupied to mark the approach of this fresh clump of rushes. the men had removed the screen from the side of the boat furthest from the birds, and now stood in readiness, each holding half-a-dozen sticks about two feet long, made of curved and crooked wood. when close to the birds the boat was swung round, and at once with deafening cries the birds rose; but as they did so the men with great rapidity hurled their sticks one after another among them, the last being directed at the birds which, feeding among the rushes, were not able to rise as rapidly as their companions. the lads were astonished at the effect produced by these simple missiles. so closely packed were the birds that each stick, after striking one, whirled and twisted among the others, one missile frequently bringing down three or four birds. the cats were in an instant at work . the flapping and "curious things." noise was prodigious, for although many of the birds were killed outright, others struck in the wing or leg were but slightly injured. some made off along the surface of the water, others succeeded in getting up and flying away, but the greater part were either killed by the cats, or knocked on the head by the poles of the two fowlers. altogether twenty-seven birds were added to the store in the boat "that puts our arrows to shame altogether, amuba," chebron said. "i have always heard that the fowlers on these lakes were very skilled with these throwing-sticks of theirs, but i could not have believed it possible that two men should in so short a space have effected such a slaughter; but then i had no idea of the enormous quantities of birds on these lakes." jethro was examining the sticks which, as well as the ducks, had been retrieved by the cats. "they are curious things," he said to amuba. "i was thinking before the men used them that straight sticks would be much better, and was wondering why they choose curved wood, but i have no doubt now the shape has some- thing to do with it you see as the men threw they gave them a strong spinning motion. that seems the secret of their action. it was wonderful to see how they whirled about among the fowl, striking one on the head, another on the leg, another on the wing, until they happened to hit one plump on the body; that seemed to stop them. i am suie one of those sticks that i kept my eyes fixed on must have knocked down six birds. i will practice with these things, and if i ever get back home i will teach their use to our people. there are almost as many water-fowl on our sea as there are here. i have seen it almost black with them down at the southern end, where it is bordered by swamps and reed-covered marshes." "how do they catch them there, jethro," chebron asked. "they net them in decoys, and sometimes wade out a clever stratagem. among them with their heads hidden among floating boughs, and so get near enough to seize them by the legs and pull them under water; in that way a man will catch a score of them before their comrades are any the wiser." "we catch them the same way here," one of the fowlers who had been listening remarked. "we weave little bowers just large enough for our heads and shoulders to go into, and leave three or four of them floating about for some days near the spot where we mean to work, the wild fowl get accustomed to them, and after that we can easily go among them and capture numbers." "i should think fowling must be a good trade," chebron said. "it is good enough at times," the man replied; "but the ducks are not here all the year. the long-legged birds are always to be found here in numbers, but the ducks are un- certain, so are the geese. at certain times in the year they leave us altogether. some say they go across the great sea to the north; others that they go far south into nubia. then even when they are here they are uncertain. some- times they are thick here, then again there is scarce one to be seen, and we hear they are swarming on the lakes further to the west of course the wading birds are of no use for food; so you see when the ducks and geese are scarce, we have a hard time of it then, again, even when we have got a boat load we have a long way to take it to market, and when the weather is hot all may get spoilt before we can sell them; and the price is so low in these parts when the flocks are here, that it is hard to lay by enough money to keep us and our families during the slack time. if the great cities thebes and memphis lay near to us, it would be dif- ferent they could consume all we could catch, and we should get better prices, but unless under very favourable circumstances there is no hope of the fowl keeping good during the long passage up the river to thebes. in fact were it not for our decoys we should starve. in these, of decoys. course, we take them alive, and send them in baskets to thebes, and in that way get a fair price for them." "what sort of decoys do you use?" jethro asked. "many kinds," the man replied. "sometimes we arch over the rushes, tie them together at the top so as to form long passages over little channels among the rushes; then we strew corn over the water, and place near the entrance ducks which are trained to swim about outside until a flock comes near; then they enter the passage feeding, and the others follow. there is a sort of door which they can push aside easily as they pass up, but cannot open on their return." "that is the sort of decoy they use in our country," jethro said. "another way," the fowler went on, "is to choose a spot where the rushes form a thick screen twenty yards deep along the bank, then a light net two or three hundred feet long is pegged down on to the shore behind them, and thrown over the tops of the rushes reaching to within a foot or two of the water. here it is rolled up, so that when it is shaken out it will go down into the water. then two men stand among the rushes at the ends of the net, while another goes out far on to the lake in a boat when he sees a flock of ducks swimming near the shore he poles the boat towards them; not so rapidly as to frighten them into taking flight, but enough so to attract their attention and cause uneasiness. he goes backwards and forwards, gradually approaching the shore, and of course managing so as to drive them towards the point where the net is. when they are opposite this he closes in faster, and the ducks all swim in among the rushes. directly they are in, the men at the ends of the net shake down the rolled-up part, and then the whole flock are prisoners. after that the fowlers have only to enter the rushes, and take them as they try to fly upwards and are stopped by the net with luck two or three catches can be made in a day, and a thousand ducks and sometimes double that number can be captured. then they are put poultry farms. into flat baskets just high enough for them to stand in with their heads out through the openings at the top, and so put on board the boat and taken up the nile." "yes, i have often seen the baskets taken out of the boat," chebron said, "and thought how cruel it was to pack them so closely. but how do they feed them, for they must often be a fortnight on the way?" "the trader who has bought them of us and other fowlers waits until he has got enough together to freight a large craft—for it would not pay to work upon a small scale—accompanies them up the river, and feeds them regularly with little balls made of moistened flour, just in the same way that they do at the establishments in upper egypt, where they raise fowl and stuff them for the markets. if the boat is a large one, and is taking up forty or fifty thousand fowl, of course he takes two or three boys to help him, for it is no light matter to feed such a number, and each must have a little water as well as the meal. it seems strange to us here, where fowl are so abundant, that people should raise and feed them just as if they were bullocks. but i suppose it is true." "it is quite true," chebron replied. "amuba and i went to one of the great breeding farms two or three months ago. there are two sorts—one where they hatch, the other where they fat them. the one we went to embraced both branches, but this is unusual. from the hatching-places collectors go round to all the people who keep fowls for miles round and bring in eggs, and besides these they buy them from others at a greater distance. the eggs are placed on sand laid on the floor of a low chamber, and this is heated by means of flues from a fire underneath. it requires great care to keep the temperature exactly right; but of course men who pass their lives at this work can regulate it exactly, and know by the feel just what is the heat at which the eggs should be kept . "there are eight or ten such chambers in the place we a fresh camping ground. then each time the flap is lifted they think it is daylight, and pop out their heads at once to see. in about ten days they get quite fat and plump, and are ready for market." "it seems a wonderful deal of trouble," the fowler said. "but, i suppose, as they have a fine market close at hand, and can get good prices, it pays them. it seems more reasonable to me than the hatching business. why they should not let the fowl hatch their own eggs is more than i can imagine." "fowls will lay a vastly greater number of eggs than they will hatch," chebron said. "a well-fed fowl should lay two hundred and fifty eggs in the year; and, left to herself, she will not hatch more than two broods of fifteen eggs in each. thus, you see, as it pays the peasants much better to reai fowls than to sell eggs, it is to their profit to send their eggs to the hatching-places, and so to get a hundred and twenty- five chickens a year instead of thirty." "i suppose it does," the fowler agreed. "but here we are, my lord, at the end of our journey. there is the point where we are to land, and your servant who hired us is standing there in readiness for you. i hope that you are satisfied with your day's sport." chebron said they had been greatly pleased, and in a few minutes the boat reached the landing-place where rabah was awaiting them. one of the fowlers, carrying a dozen of the finest fowl they had killed, accompanied them to the spot rabah had chosen for the encampment. like the last, it stood at the foot of the sand-hills, a few hundred yards from the lake. "is the place where we are going to hunt near here?" was chebron's first question. "no, my lord; it is two miles away. but, in accordance with your order last night, i have arranged for you to fish to-morrow. in the afternoon i will move the tents a mile nearer to the country where you will hunt, but it is best not to go too close, for near the edge of these great swamps a day's fishing. the air is unhealthy to those who are not accustomed to it." "i long to get at the hunting," chebron said; "but it is better, as you say, to have the day's fishing first, for the work would seem tame after the excitement of hunting the river-horse. we shall be glad of our dinner as soon as we can get it, for although we have done justice to the food you put on board, we are quite ready again. twelve hours of this fresh air from the sea gives one the appetite of a hyena." "everything is already in readiness, my lord . i thought it better not to wait for the game you brought home, which will do well to-morrow, and so purchased fish and fowl from the peasants. as we have seen your boat for the last two or three hours, we were able to calculate the time of your arrival, and thus have everything in readiness." the dinner was similar to that on the previous day, except that a hare took the place of the venison—a change for the better, as the hare was a delicacy much appreciated by the egyptians. the following day was spent in fishing. for this purpose a long net was used, and the method was pre- cisely similar to that in use in modern times. one end of the net was fastened to the shore, the net itself being coiled up in the boat. this was rowed out into the lake, the fishermen paying out the net as it went . a circuit was then made back to the shore, where the men seized the two ends of the net and hauled it to land, capturing the fish inclosed within its sweep. after seeing two or three hauls made, the lads went with jethro on board the boat. they were provided by the fishermen with long two- pronged spears. the boat was then quietly rowed along the edge of the rushes, where the water was deeper than usual. it was, however, so clear that they could see to the bottom, and with their spears they struck at the fish swimming there. at first they were uniformly unsuccessful, as they were ignorant that a village feud. allowance must be made for diffraction, and were puzzled at finding that their spears instead of going straight down at the fish they struck at, seemed to bend off at an angle at the water's-edge. the fishermen, however, explained to them that an allowance must be made for this, the allowance being all the greater the greater the distance the fish was from the boat, and that it was only when it lay precisely under them that they could strike directly at it. but even after being instructed in the matter they succeeded but poorly, and presently laid down their spears and contented themselves with watching their boatmen, who rarely failed in striking and bringing up the prey they aimed at. presently their attention was attracted to four boats, each containing from six to eight men. two had come from either direction, and when they neared each other volleys of abuse were exchanged between their occupants. "what is all this about?" chebron asked, as the two fishermen laid by their spears, and with faces full of excite- ment turned round to watch the boats. "the boats come from two villages, my lord, between which at present there is a feud arising out of some fishing nets that were carried away. they sent a regular challenge to each other a few days since, as is the custom here, and their champions are going to fight it out . you see the number of men on one side are equal to those on the other, and the boats are about the same size." amuba and jethro looked on with great interest, for they had seen painted on the walls representations of these fights between boatmen, which were of common occurrence, the egyptians being a very combative race, and fierce feuds being often carried on for a long time between neighbouring villages. the men were armed with poles some ten feet in length, and about an inch and a half in diameter, their favourite weapons on occasions of this kind. the boats had now come in close contact, and a furious battle at once com- menced, the clattering of the sticks, the heavy thuds of the a desperate fight. blows, and the shouts of the combatants creating a clamour that caused all the water-fowl within a circle of half a mile to fly screaming away across the lake. the men all used their heavy weapons with considerable ability, the greater part of the blows being warded oft many, however, took effect, some of the combatants being knocked into the water, others fell prostrate in their boats, while some dropped their long staves after a disabling blow on the arm. "it is marvellous that they do not all kill each other," jethro said. "surely this shaving of the head, amuba, which has always struck us as being very peculiar, has its uses, for it must tend to thicken the skull, for surely the heads of no other men could have borne such blows without being crushed like water-jars." that there was certainly some ground for jethro's suppo- sition is proved by the fact that herodotus, long afterwards writing of the desperate conflicts between the villagers of egypt, asserted that their skulls were thicker than those of any other people. most of the men who fell into the water scrambled back into the boats and renewed the fight, but some sank imme- diately and were seen no more. at last, when fully half the men on each side had been put hors de combat, four or five having been killed or drowned, the boats separated, no advantage resting with either party; and still shouting defiance and jeers at each other, the men poled in the direction of their respective villages. "are such desperate fights as these common?" chebron asked the fishermen. "yes; there are often quarrels," one of them replied, quietly resuming his fishing as if nothing out of the ordi- nary way had taken place. "if they are water-side villages their champions fight in boats, as you have seen; if not, equal parties meet at a spot half way between the villages and decide it on foot sometimes they fight with short the neboot. sticks, the hand being protected by a basket hilt, while on the left arm a piece of wood, extending from the elbow to the tips of the fingers, is fastened on by straps, serving as a shield; but more usually they fight with the long pole, which we call the neboot." "it is a fine weapon," jethro said, "and they guard their heads with it admirably, sliding their hands far apart. if i were back again, amuba, i should like to organize a regi- ment of men armed with those weapons. it would need that the part used as a guard should be covered with light iron to prevent a sword or axe from cutting through it; but with that addition they would make splendid weapons, and footmen armed with sword and shield would find it hard indeed to repel an assault by them." "the drawback would be," amuba observed, "that each man would require so much room to wield his weapon that they must stand far apart, and each would be opposed to three or four swordsmen in the enemy's line." "that is true, amuba, and you have certainly hit upon the weak point in the use of such a weapon; but for single combat, or the fighting of broken ranks, they would be grand. when we get back to thebes if i can find any peasant who can instruct me in the use of these neboots i will certainly learn it." "you ought to make a fine player," one of the fishermen said, looking at jethro's powerful figure. "i should not like a crack on the head from a neboot in your hands. but the sun is getting low, and we had best be moving to the point where you are to disembark." "we have had another capital day, rabah," chebron said when they reached their new encampment . "i hope that the rest will turn out as successful." "i think that i can promise you that they will, my lord. i have been making inquiries among the villagers, and find that the swamp in the river - bed abounds with hippo- potami" "they must be cowardly beasts." ill "how do you hunt them?—on foot?" "no, my lord. there is enough water in the river-bed for the flat boats made of bundles of rushes to pass up, while in many places are deep pools in which the animals lie during the heat of the day." "are they ferocious animals?" amuba asked. "i have never yet seen one; for though they say that they are com- mon in the upper nile as well as found in swamps like this at its mouth, there are none anywhere in the neighbourhood of thebes. i suppose that there is too much traffic for them, and that they are afraid of showing themselves in such water." "there would be do food for them," rabah said. "they are found only in swamps like this, or in places on the upper nile where the river is shallow and bordered with aquatic plants, on whose roots they principally live. they are timid creatures, and are found only in; little frequented places. when struck they generally try to make their escape; for although occasionally they will rush with their enormous mouth open at a boat, tear it in pieces, and kill the hunter, this very seldom happens. as a rule they try only to fly." "they must be cowardly beasts!" jethro said scornfully. "i would rather hunt an animal, be it ever so small, that will make a fight for its life. however, we shall see." upon the following morning they started for the scene of action. an exclamation of surprise broke from them simultaneously when, on ascending a sand-hill . they saw before them a plain a mile wide extending at their feet it was covered with rushes and other aquatic plants, and ex- tended south as far as the eye could see. "for one month in the year," rabah said, "this is a river, for eleven it is little more than a swamp, though the shallower boats can make their way up it many miles. but a little water always finds its way down either from the nile itself or from the canals. it is one of the few places of northern egypt where the river-horse is still found, and none are dangerous enemies. allowed to hunt them unless they are of sufficient rank to obtain the permission of the governor of the province. the steward wrote for and obtained this as soon as he knew by letter from your father that you were accompanying him, and would desire to have some sport." "are there crocodiles there?" amuba asked. "many," rabah replied, "although few are now found in the lakes. the people here are not like those of the theban zone, who hold them in high respect—here they regard them as dangerous enemies, and kill them without mercy." chapter vh hippopotamus and crocodile. guided by rabah the party now descended to the edge of the swamp. here in the shallow water lay three boats, or rather rafts, constructed of bundles of bul- rushes. they were turned up in front so as to form a sort of swan-necked bow, and in outline were exactly similar to the iron of modern skates. upon each stood a native with a pole for pushing the rafts along, and three or four spears. these were of unusual shape, and the lads examined them with curiosity. they had broad short blades, and these were loosely attached to the shafts, so that when the animal was struck the shaft would drop out leaving the head em- bedded in its flesh. to the head was attached a cord which was wound up on a spindle passing through a handle. "those rafts do not look as if they would carry three," chebron said. "they will do so at a push," the man replied; "but they are better with two only." "i will stop on shore, with your permission, chebron," the prey marked down. jethro said. "i see there are a number of men here with ropes. i suppose they have something to do with the busi- ness, and i will accompany them." "the ropes are for hauling the beasts ashore after we have struck them." "well, i will go and help pull them. i can do my share at that, and should be of no use on one of those little rafts; indeed, i think that my weight would bury it under the water." "we have been out this morning, my lord," the boatman said, addressing chebron, "and have found out that there is a river-horse lying in a pool a mile up the river. i think he is a large one and will give us good sport" chebron and amuba now took their places on the two rafts; and the men, laying down the spears and taking the poles, pushed off from the shore. noiselessly they made their way among the rushes. sometimes the channels were so narrow that the reeds almost brushed the rafts on both sides; then they opened out into wide pools, and here the water deepened so much that the poles could scarce touch the bottom. not a word was spoken, as the men had warned them that the slightest noise would scare the hippopotami and cause them to sink to the bottom of the pools, where they would be difficult to capture. after half an hour's poling they reached a pool larger than any that they had hitherto passed, and extending on one side almost to the bank of the river. the man on his raft now signed to chebron to take up one of the spears; but the lad shook his head and motioned to him to undertake the attack, for he felt that, ignorant as he was of the habits of the animal, it would be folly for him to engage in such an adventure. the man nodded, for he had indeed been doubting as to the course which the affair would take, for it needed a thrust with a very power- ful arm to drive the spear through the thick hide of the hippopotamus. amuba imitated chebron's example, pre- ( ) h a huge beast. ferring to be a spectator instead of an actor in this unknown sport for three or four minutes the boats lay motionless, then a blowing sound was heard, and the boatman pointed to what seemed to the boys two lumps of black mud projecting an inch or two above the water near the margin of the rushes. they could not have believed that these formed part of an animal, but that slight ripples widening out on the glassy water showed that there had been a movement at the spot indicated. with a noiseless push chebron's hunter sent the boat in that direction, and then handed the end of the pole to chebron, signing to him to push the boat back when he gave the signal . when within ten yards of the two little black patches there was a sudden movement; they widened into an enor- mous head, and a huge beast rose to his feet, startled at the discovery he had just made that men were close at hand. in an instant the hunter hurled his spear with all his force. tough as was the animal's hide, the sharp head cut its way through. with a roar the beast plunged into the rushes, the shaft of the spear falling out of its socket as it did so, and the strong cord ran out rapidly from the reel held by the hunter. presently the strain ceased. "he has laid down again in shelter," the hunter said; "we will now fol- low him and give him a second spear." pushing the rushes aside the boat was forced along until they again caught sight of the hippopotamus, who was stand- ing up to his belly in water. "is he going to charge?" chebron asked, grasping a spear. "no, there is little chance of that should he do so and upset the boat, throw yourself among the rushes and lie there with only your face above water. i will divert his attention and come back and get you into the boat when he has made oft" another spear was thrown with good effect there was stirring him up. a roar and a great splash. chebron thought that the animal was upon them; but he turned off and dashed back to the pool where he had been first lying. "i thought that was what he would do," the hunter said. "they always seek shelter in the bottom of the deep pools; and here, you see, the water is not deep enough to cover him." the boat again followed the hippopotamus. amuba was still on his raft on the pool . "what has become of him?" chebron asked as they passed beyond the rushes. "he has sunk to the bottom of the pool," amuba replied. "he gave me a start, i can tell you. we heard him burst- ing through the rushes, and then he rushed out with his mouth open—a mouth like a cavern; and then, just as i thought he was going to charge us, he turned off and sunk to the bottom of the pool." "how long will he lie there?" chebron asked the hunter. "a long time if he is left to himself, but we are going to stir him up." so saying he directed the boat towards the rushes nearest to the bank and pushed the boat through them. "oh, here you are, jethro!" chebron said, seeing the rebu and the men he had accompanied standing on the bank. "what has happened, chebron?—have you killed one of them? we heard a sort of roar and a great splashing." "we have not killed him, but there are two spear-heads sticking into him." the hunter handed the cords to the men and told them to pull steadily, but not hard enough to break the cords. then he took from them the end of the rope they carried and poled back into the pool. "those cords are not strong enough to pull the great beast to the shore, are they?" chebron asked. "oh, no, they would not move him; but by pulling on a. hard pull. them it causes the spear-heads to give him pain, he gets uneasy, and rises to the surface in anger. then, you see, throw this noose over his head, and they can pull upon that." in two or three minutes the animal's head appeared above the water. the instant it did so the hunter threw the noose. the aim was correct, and with a jerk he tightened it round the neck. "now, pull!" he shouted. the peasants pulled, and gradually the hippopotamus was drawn towards the bank, although struggling to swim in the opposite direction. as soon, however, as he reached the shallow water and his feet touched the ground he threw his whole weight upon the rope. the peasants were thrown to the ground and the rope dragged through their fingers as the hippopotamus again made his way to the bottom of the pool. the pea- sants regained their feet and pulled on the rope and cords. again the hippopotamus rose and was dragged to the shal- low, only to break away again. for eight or ten times this happened. "he is getting tired now," the hunter said. "next time or the time after they will get him on shore. we will land then and attack him with spears and arrows." the hippopotamus was indeed exhausted, and allowed itself to be dragged ashore at the next effort without oppo- sition. as soon as it did so he was attacked with spears by the hunters, jethro, and the boys. the latter found that they were unable to drive their weapons through the thick skin, and betook themselves to their bows and arrows. the hunters, however, knew the points at which the skin was thinnest, and drove their spears deep into the animal just behind the fore leg, while the boys shot their arrows at its mouth. another noose had been thrown over its head as it issued from the water, and the peasants pulling on the ropes prevented it from charging. three or four more thrusts "mind its taill" were given from the hunters; then one of the spears touched a vital part—the hippopotamus sank on its knees and rolled over dead. the peasants sent up a shout of joy, for the flesh of the hippopotamus is by no means bad eating, and here was a store of food sufficient for the whole neighbourhood. "shall we search for another, my lord?" the hunter asked chebron. "no. i think i have had enough of this. there is no fun in killing an animal that has not spirit to defend itself. what do you think, amuba?" "i quite agree with you, chebron. one might almost as well slaughter a cow. what is that?" he exclaimed suddenly, as a loud scream was heard at a short distance away. "it is a woman's voice." chebron darted off in full speed in the direction of the sound, closely followed by amuba and jethro. they ran about a hundred yards along the bank when they saw the cause of the outcry. an immense crocodile was making his way towards the river, dragging along with it the figure of a woman. in spite of his reverence for the crocodile chebron did not hesitate a moment, but rushing forward smote the crocodile on the nose with all his strength with the shaft of his spear. the crocodile dropped its victim and turned upon his assailant; but jethro and amuba were close behind, and these also attacked him. the crocodile seeing this ac- cession of enemies now set out for the river, snapping its jaws together. "mind its tail!" one of the hunters exclaimed running up. but the warning was too late, for the next moment amuba received a tremendous blow which sent him to the ground. the hunter at the same moment plunged his spear into the animal through the soft skin at the back of its leg. jethro followed his example on the other side. the animal checked ■ "is she dead?" its flight, and turning round and round lashed with its tail in all directions. "keep clear of itl" the hunter shouted. "it is mortally wounded and will need no more blows." in fact the crocodile had received its death wound . its movements became more languid, it ceased to lash its tail, though it still snapped at those nearest to it, but gradually this action also ceased, its head sank and it was dead . jethro as soon as he had delivered his blow ran to amuba. "are you hurt?" he asked anxiously. "no, i don't think so," amuba gasped. "the brute has knocked all the breath out of my body; but that's better than if he had hit me in the leg, for i think he would have broken it had he done so. how is the woman?—is she dead?" "i have not had time to see," jethro replied . "let me help you to your feet, and let us see if any of your ribs are broken. i will see about her afterwards." amuba on getting up declared that he did not think he was seriously hurt, although unable for the time to stand upright "i expect i am only bruised, jethro. it was certainly a tremendous whack he gave me, and i expect i shall not be able to take part in any sporting for the next few days. the crocodile was worth a dozen hippopotami. there was some courage about him." they now walked across to chebron, who was stooping over the figure of the crocodile's victim. "why, she is but a girl!" amuba exclaimed. "she is no older than your sister, chebron." "do you think she is dead?" chebron asked in hushed tones. "i think she has only fainted," jethro replied . "here," he shouted to one of the peasants who were gathered round the crocodile, "one of you run down to the water and bring up a gourd full?" an aged man. "i don't think she is dead," amuba said. "it seemed to me that the crocodile had seized her by the leg." "we must carry her somewhere," jethro said, "and get some woman to attend to her. i will see if there is a hut near." he sprang up to the top of some rising ground and looked round. "there is a cottage close at hand," he said as he returned. "i daresay she belongs there." bidding two of the peasants run to fetch some women, he lifted up the slight figure and carried her up the slope, the two lads following. on turning round the foot of a sand-hill they saw a cottage lying nestled behind it it was neater and better kept than the majority of the huts of the peasants. the walls of baked clay had been white- washed and were half covered with bright flowers. a patch of carefully cultivated ground lay around it jethro entered the cottage. on a settle at the further end a man was sitting. he was apparently of great age, his hair and long beard were snowy white. "what is it?" he exclaimed as jethro entered. "has the god of our fathers again smitten me in my old age, and taken from me my pet lamb? i heard her cry, but my limbs have lost their power, and i could not rise to come to her aid." "i trust that the child is not severely injured," jethro said. "we had just killed a hippopotamus when we heard her scream, and running up found a great crocodile dragging her to the river, but we soon made him drop her. i trust that she is not severely hurt the beast seemed to us to have seized her by the leg. we have sent to fetch some women. doubtless they will be here immediately. ah! here's the water." he laid the girl down upon a couch in the corner of the room, and taking the gourd from the peasant who brought it sprinkled some water on her face, while amuba, by his direction, rubbed her hands. it was some minutes before she opened her eyes, and just as she did so two women "she will be alone in the world." entered the hut. leaving the girl to their care, jethro and the boys left the cottage. "i trust that the little maid is not greatly hurt," amuba said. "by her dress it seems to me that she is an israelite, though i thought we had left their land behind us on the other side of the desert . still her dress resembles those of the women we saw in the village as we passed, and it is well for her it does so, for they wear more and thicker gar- ments than the egyptian peasant women, and the brute's teeth may not have torn her severely." in a few minutes one of the women came out and told them that the maid had now recovered and that she was almost unhurt. "the crocodile seems to have seized her by her garments rather than her flesh, and although the teeth have bruised her, the skin is unbroken. her grandfather would fain thank you for the service you have rendered him." they re-entered the cottage. the girl was sitting on the ground at her grandfather's feet holding one of his hands in tier's, while with his other he was stroking her head. as they entered, the women, seeing that their services were no longer required, left the cottage. "who are those to whom i owe the life of my grand- child?" the old man asked. "i am chebron, the son of ameres, high-priest of the temple of osiris at thebes. these are my friends, amuba and jethro, two of the rebu nation who were brought to egypt, and now live in my father's household." "we are his servants," amuba said, "though he is good enough to call us his friends." "'tis strange," the old man said, "that the son of a priest of osiris should thus come to gladden the last few hours of one who has always withstood the egyptian gods. and yet had the crocodile carried off my ruth, it might have been better for her, seeing that ere the sun has risen and set many times she will be alone in the world." "because i testified against them." the girl uttered a little cry, and rising on her knees threw her arms round the old man's neck . "it must be so, my ruth. i have lived a hundred and ten years in this land of the heathen, and my course is run; and were it not for your sake i should be glad that it is so, for my life has been sorrow and bitterness. i call her my grandchild, but she is in truth the daughter of my grand- child, and all who stood between her and me have passed away before me and left us alone together. but she trusts in the god of abraham, and he will raise up a protector for her." chebron, who had learned something of the traditions of the israelites dwelling in egypt, saw by the old man's words that jethro's surmises were correct and that he belonged to that race. "you are an israelite," he said gently. "how is it that you are not dwelling among your people instead of alone among strangers?" "i left them thirty years back when ruth's mother was but a tottering child . they would not suffer me to dwell in peace among them, but drove me out because i testified against them." "because you testified against them?" chebron repeated in surprise. "yes. my father was already an old man when i was born, and he was one of the few who still clung to the faith of our fathers. he taught me that there was but one god, the god of abraham, of isaac, and of jacob, and that all other gods were but images of wood and stone. to that faith i clung, though, after a while, i alone of all our people held to the belief. the others had forgotten their god and worshipped the gods of the egyptians. when i would speak to them they treated my words as ravings and as casting dishonour on the gods they served . "my sons went with the rest, but my daughter learned the true faith from my lips and clung to it . she taught her "i will never deny my god." daughter after her, and ten years ago when she too lay dying she sent ruth by a messenger to me, praying me to bring her up in the faith of our fathers, and saying that though she knew i was of a great age she doubted not that when my time came god would raise up protectors for the child. so for ten years we have dwelt here together, tilling and watering our ground and living on its fruit and by the sale of baskets that we weave and exchange for fish with our neighbours. the child worships the god of our fathers, and has grown and thriven here for ten years; but my heart is heavy at the thought that my hours are numbered and that i see no way after me but that ruth shall return to our people, who will assuredly in time wean her from her faith." "never, grandfather," the girl said firmly. "they may beat me, and persecute me, but i will never deny my god." "they are hard people the israelites," the old man said shaking his head, "and they are stubborn, and must needs prevail against one so tender. however all matters are in the hands of god, who will again reveal himself in his due time to his people who have forgotten him." amuba, looking at the girl, thought that she had more power of resistance than the old man gave her credit for. her face was of the same style of beauty as that of some of the young women he had seen in the villages of the israelites, but of a higher and finer type. her face was almost oval, with soft black hair, and delicately-marked eyebrows run- ning almost in a straight line below her forehead. her eyes were large and soft, with long lashes veiling them, but there was a firmness about the lips and chin that spoke of a de- termined will, and gave strength to her declaration "never." there was silence a moment, and then chebron said almost timidly: "my father, although high priest of osiris, is not a bigot in his religion. he is wise and learned, and views all things temperately as my friends here can tell you. he knows of your religion; for i have heard him say that when they first "god has chosen for me." came into this land the israelites worshipped one god only. i have a sister who is of about the same age as ruth, and is gentle and kind. i am sure that if i ask my father he will take your grandchild into his household to be a friend and companion to mysa, and i am certain that he would never try to shake her religion, but would let her worship as she chooses." the old man looked fixedly at chebron. "your speech is pleasant and kind, young sir, and your voice has an honest ring. a few years back i would have said that i would rather the maiden were dead than a hand- maid in the house of an egyptian; but as death approaches we see things differently, and it may be that she would be better there than among those who once having known the true god have forgotten him and taken to the worship of idols. i have always prayed and believed that god would raise up protectors for ruth, and it seems to me now that the way you have been brought hither in these latter days of my life is the answer to my prayer. ruth, my child, you have heard the offer, and it is for you to decide. will you go with this young egyptian lord and serve his sister as a handmaiden, or will you return to the villages of our people " ruth had risen to her feet now, and was looking earnestly at chebron, then her eyes turned to the faces of amuba and jethro, and then slowly went back again to chebron. "i believe that god has chosen for me," she said at last, "and has sent them here not only to save my life, but to be protectors to me; their faces are all honest and good. if the father of this youth will receive me, i will, when you leave me, go and be the handmaid of his daughter." "it is well," the old man said. "now i am ready to depart, for my prayers have been heard . may god deal with you and yours, egyptian, even as you deal with my child." "may it be so," chebron replied reverently. "i can tell you," jethro said to the old man, "that in no "she could not be in kinder hands." household in egypt could your daughter be happier than in that of ameres. he is the lord and master of amuba and myself, and yet, as you see, his son treats us not as servants, but as friends. ameres is one of the kindest of men; and as to his daughter mysa, whose special attendant i am, i would lay down my life to shield her from harm. your grandchild could not be in better hands. as to her religion, although ameres has often questioned amuba and myself respecting the gods of our people, he has never once shown the slightest desire that we should abandon them for those of egypt." "and now," chebron said, "we will leave you; for doubt- less the excitement has wearied you, and ruth needs rest and quiet after her fright. we are encamped a mile away near the lake, and will come and see you to-morrow." not a word was spoken for some time after they left the house, and then chebron said: "it really would almost seem as if what that old man said was true, and that his god had sent us there that a protector might be found for his daughter. it was certainly strange that we should happen to be within sound of her voice when she was seized by that crocodile, and be able to rescue her just in time. it needed you see, first, that we should be there, then that the crocodile should seize her at that moment, and, lastly, that we should be just in time to save her being dragged into the river. a crocodile might have carried her away ten thousand times without any one being within reach to save her, and the chances were enor- mously against any one who did save her being in a position to offer her a suitable home at her father's death." "it is certainly strange. you do not think that your father will have any objection to take her," amuba asked. "oh no, he may say that he does not want any more servants in the house, but i am sure that when he sees her, he will be pleased to have such a companion for mysa. if it was my mother i do not know. most likely she would chebron's scruples. say no; but when she hears that it has all been settled, she will not trouble one way or the other about it. i will write my father a letter telling him all about it, and send off one of the slaves with it at once. he can get back to-morrow, and this will gladden the old man's heart to know that it is all arranged. i wish to tell my father, too, of my trouble." "what trouble?" amuba asked in surprise. "you have told me nothing about anything troubling you." "do you not understand, amuba. i am in trouble because i struck the crocodile; it is an impious action, and yet what could i do?" amuba repressed an inclination to smile. "you could do nothing else, chebron, for there was no time to mince matters. he was going too fast for you to explain to him that he was doing wrong in carrying off a girl, and you therefore took the only means in your power of stop- ping him; besides the blow you dealt him did him no injury whatever. it was jethro and the hunter who killed him." "but had i not delayed his flight, they could not have done so." "that is true enough, chebron; but in that case he would have reached the water with his burden and devoured her at his leisure. unless you think that his life is of much more importance than hers, i cannot see that you have anything to reproach yourself with." "you do not understand me, amuba," chebron said pettishly. "of course i do not think that the life of an ordinary animal is of as much importance as that of a human being; but the crocodiles are sacred, and misfortune falls upon those who injure them." "then in that case, chebron, misfortune must fall very heavily on the inhabitants of those districts where the crocodile is killed wherever he is found. i have not heard that pestilence and famine visit those parts of egypt with more frequency than they do the districts where the croco- dile is venerated." "you can set you mind at ease." chebron made no answer. what amuba said was doubt- less true; but upon the other hand he had always been taught that the crocodile was sacred, and if so he could not account for the impunity with which these creatures were destroyed in other parts of egypt it was another of the puzzles that he so constantly met with. after a long pause he replied: "it may seem to be as you say; but you see, amuba, there are some gods specially worshipped in one district, others in another. in the district that a god specially pro- tects he would naturally be indignant were the animal sacred to him be slain, while he might pay no heed to the doings in those parts in which he is little concerned." "in that case, chebron, you can clearly set your mind at rest let us allow that it is wrong to kill a crocodile in the district in which he is sacred and where a god is con- cerned about his welfare, but that no evil consequences can follow the slaying of him in districts in which he is not sacred, and where his god, as you say, feels little interest in him." "i hope that is so, amuba; and that as the crocodile is not a sacred animal here no harm may come from my striking one, though i would give much that i had not been obliged to do so. i hope that my father will regard the matter in the same light" "i have no doubt that he will do so, chebron, especially as we agreed that you did no real harm to the beast" "is it not strange, jethro," amuba said when chebron had gone into the tent, "that wise and learned people like the egyptians should be so silly regarding animals?" "it is strange, amuba, and it was hard to keep from laughing to hear you so gravely arguing the question with chebron. if all the people held the same belief i should not be surprised; but as almost every animal worshipped in one of the districts is hated and slain in another, and that without any evil consequences arising, one would have a quiet day. thought that they could not but see for themselves the folly of their belief. what are we going to do to-mor- row r "i do not think that it is settled, we have had one day at each of the sports. rabah said that to-morrow we could either go out and see new modes of fishing, or accompany the fowlers and watch them catching birds in the clap-nets, or go out into the desert and hunt ibex. chebron did not decide, but i suppose when he has finished his letter we shall hear what he intends to do." after chebron had finished his letter, which was a long one, he called rabah and asked him to despatch it at once by the fleetest-footed of the slaves. "he will get there," he said, "before my father retires to rest . if he does not reply at once, he will probably answer in the morning, and at any rate the man ought to be back before mid-day." at dinner amuba asked chebron whether he had decided what they should do the next day. "we might go and look at the men with the clap-nets," chebron answered . "they have several sorts in use, and take numbers of pigeons and other birds. i think that will be enough for to-morrow. we have had four days hard work, and a quiet day will be pleasant, and if we find the time goes slowly, we can take a boat across the lake and look at the great sea beyond the sand-hills that divide the lake from it; besides i hope we shall get my father's answer, and i should like some further talk with that old israelite. it is interesting to learn about the religion that his fore- fathers believed in, and in which it seems that he and his grandchild are now the last who have faith. "it will suit me very well to have a quiet day, chebron; for in any case i do not think i could have accompanied you. my ribs are sore from the whack the crocodile gave me with his tail, and i doubt whether i shall bo able to walk to-morrow." the messenger returns. indeed, the next morning amuba was so stiff and sore that he was unable to rise from his couch. soon after breakfast the messenger returned bringing a letter from ameres. it was as follows:— "it seems to me, chebron, that mysa has no occasion for further attendants; but as your story of this old israelite and his daughter interests me, and the girl is of mysa's age and might be a pleasant companion for her, i have no objection to her entering our household. i should have liked to talk with the old man himself, and to have heard from him more about the religion that joseph and his people brought to egypt it is recorded in some of the scrolls that these people were monotheists; but although i have many times questioned israelites, all have professed to be acquainted with no religion but that of egypt if you have further opportunity find out as much as you, can from this old man upon the subject "assure him from me that his daughter shall be kindly treated in my household, and that no attempt whatever will be made to turn her from the religion she professes. as to your adventure with the crocodile, i do not think that your conscience need trouble you. it would certainly be unfor- tunate to meet in upper egypt a crocodile carrying off a peasant, and i am not called upon to give an opinion as to what would be the proper course to pursue under the cir- cumstances; but as you are at present in a district where the crocodile, instead of being respected, is held in detes- tation, and as the people with you would probably have overtaken and slain him even without your intervention, i do not think that you need trouble yourself about the knock that you gave him across his snout had i found myself in the position you did i should probably have taken the same course. with respect to the girl, you had best give them instructions that when the old man dies she shall travel by boat to thebes; arrived there, she will find no difficulty in learning which is my house, and on presenting chebron visits the cottage. herself there she will be well received . i will write at once to mysa, telling her that you have found a little israelite hand- maiden as her special attendant, and that, should the girl arrive before my return, she is at once to assume that position. "it would not do for her to come here were her grand- father to die before we leave for home. in the first place she would be in the way, and in the second her features and dress would proclaim her to be an israelite. the people in the villages she passed through might detain her, and insist on her remaining with them; or, should she arrive here, the fact of her departing with us might be made a subject of complaint, and the israelites would not improbably declare that i had carried off a young woman of their tribe as a slave. therefore, in all respects it is better that she should proceed up the river to thebes. "as they are poor you had best leave a sum of money with them to pay for her passage by boat, and for her sup- port during the voyage. i find that i shall have finished with the steward earlier than i had expected, and shall be starting in about three days to inspect the canals and lay out plans for some fresh ones; therefore, if by that time you have had enough sport to satisfy you, you had best journey back." "my father has consented," chebron said joyously as he finished the letter. "i felt sure that he would; still, i was anxious till i got the letter, for it would have been a great disappointment to the old man could it not have been man- aged. i will go off and tell him at once. i shall not want you this morning, jethro; so you can either stay here with amuba or do some fishing or fowling on the lake. the boat is all in readiness, you know." chebron went off to the cottage. ruth was in the garden tending the vegetables, and he stopped to speak to her be- fore entering. "i have not heard yet," he said, "how it came about that you were seized by the crocodile." ( ) i "i have satisfactory news." " hardly know how it was," she said. "i am in the habit of going down many times a day to fetch up water for the garden, and i always keep a look-out for these creatures before i fill my jar; but yesterday i had just gone round the corner of the sand-hill when i was struck down with a tremendous blow, and a moment afterwards the creature seized me. i gave a scream; but i thought i was lost, for there are no neighbours within sound of the voice, and my grandfather has not been able to walk for months. then i prayed as well as i could for the pain, and god heard me and sent you to deliver me." "it is not often that they go up so far from the river, is it?" "not often. but yesterday we had a portion of a kid from a neighbour and were cooking it, and perhaps the smell attracted the crocodile; for they say that they are quick at smell, and they have been known to go into cottages and carry off meat from before the fire." "i see you walk very lame still." "ye& grandfather would have me keep still for a day or two; but i think that as soon as the bruises die out and the pain ceases i shall be as well as ever. besides, what would the garden do without water? my grandfather will be glad to see you, my lord; but he is rather more feeble than usual this morning. the excitement of yesterday has shaken him." she led the way into the cottage. "your granddaughter has told me you are not very strong to-day," chebron began. "at my age," the old man said, "even a little thing up- sets one, and the affair of yesterday was no little thing. i wonder much that the agitation did not kill me." "i have satisfactory news to give you," chebron said. "i yesterday despatched a message to my father, and have just received the answer." and taking out the scroll he read aloud the portion in which ameres stated his readiness to receive ruth in his household, and his promise that no "the lord be praised!" pressure whatever should be put upon her to abandon her religion. "the lord be praised!" the old man exclaimed. "the very animals are the instruments of his will, and the croco- dile that threatened death to the child was, in truth, the answer sent to my prayer. i thank you, my young lord; and as you and yours deal with my child, so may the god of my fathers deal with you. but she may stay on with me for the little time that remains, may she not?" "surely. we should not think of taking her now. my father sends instructions as to what she is to do, and money to pay for her journey up the nile to thebes. this is what he says." and he read the portion of the scroll relating to the journey. "and now," he said, "let me read to you what my father says about your religion. he is ever a searcher after truth, and would fain that i should hear from your lips and repeat to him all that you can tell me relating to this god whom you worship." "that will i with gladness, my young lord. the story is easily told, for it is simple, and not like that of your religion with its many deities." chebron took a seat upon a pile of rushes and prepared to listen to the old man's story of the god of the israelite! chapter vhl the conspiracy in the temple. for two days longer the party lingered by the side of the lake fishing and fowling, and then returned across the desert to the head-quarters of ameres. two months were spent in examining canals and water-courses, seeing that the dykes were strengthened where it needed, and that the return to thebes. the gates and channels were in good repair. levels were taken for the construction of several fresh branches, which would considerably extend the margin of cultivation. the natives were called upon to furnish a supply of labour for their formation; but the quota was not furnished without considerable grumbling on the part of the israelites, although ameres announced that payment would be given them for their work. at last, having seen that everything was in train, ameres left one of his subordinates to carry out the work, and then started with his son for thebes. a fortnight after his return home he was informed that a young female, who said her name was ruth, wished to see him. he bade the servant conduct her to him, and at the same time summon chebron from his studies. the lad arrived first, and as ruth entered presented her to his father. "welcome, child, to this house," the high-priest said. "i suppose by your coming that the old man, your great-grand- father, of whom my son has spoken to me, is no more?" "he died a month since, my lord," ruth replied; "but it was two weeks before i could find a passage in a boat coming hither." "chebron, tell mysa to come here," ameres said, and the lad at once fetched mysa, who had already heard that an israelite girl was coming to be her special attendant, and had been much interested in chebron's account of her and her rescue from the crocodile. "this is ruth, mysa," ameres said when she entered, "who has come to be with you. she has lost her last friend, and i need not tell you, my child, to be kind and conside- rate with her. you know what you would suffer were you to be placed among strangers, and how lonely you would be at first she will be a little strange to our ways, but you will soon make her at home, i hope." "i will try and make her happy," mysa replied, looking at her new companion. chebron enters the priesthood. once companion and attendant to mysa, accompanying her in her walks under the escort of jethro, playing with her in the garden, helping her to feed the animals, and amusing her when she preferred to sit quiet by telling her about her life near the lake by the great sea, about the fowling and fishing there, and especially about the river course close to the cottage, with its hippopotami and crocodiles. euth brightened up greatly in her new surroundings, which to her were marvellous and beautiful; and she soon caught some- thing of the cheerfulness of her young mistress, and the laughter of the two girls was often heard rising from mysa's inclosure at the farther end of the quiet garden. shortly after the return from their visit to lower egypt an important event took place, chebron being initiated into the lowest grade of the priesthood. his duties at first were slight; for aspirants to the higher order, who were with scarce an exception the sons of the superior priesthood, were not expected to perform any of the drudgery that belonged properly to the work of the lower class of the order. it was necessary to ascend step by step; but, until they arrived at the grade beyond which study and intelli- gence alone led to promotion, their progress was rapid, and they were expected only to take part in such services and ceremonies of the temple as required the attendance of all attached to it kis duties, therefore, interfered but little with his studies or ordinal} mode of life, and he was almost as much at home as before. he could now, however, enter the temple at all hours, and had access to the inner courts and cham- bers, the apartments where the sacred animals were kept, and other places where none but the priests were permitted to enter. he availed himself of this privilege chiefly of an evening. all the great courts were open to the sky, and chebron loved to roam through them in the bright moon- light, when they were deserted by the crowd of worship- pers and all was still and silent at that time the massive the priest ptylus. egyptians as were his own to the rebu. and, indeed, the fact that the egyptians were so great and powerful, and prevailed over other nations, was, he was inclined to think, due to the superior power of their gods. the majesty of the temples, the splendour of the proces- sions, and the devoutness with which the people worshipped their gods, alike impressed him; and although the strange- ness of the images struck him as singular, he was ready to admit that the gods might take any shape they pleased. thus, then, chebron could look for no sympathy from him, and shrank from opening his mind to him. nevertheless he sometimes took amuba with him in his visits to the temple. the doors at all times stood open, and any could enter who chose, and had they in the inner courts met with any of the priests, amuba would have passed unnoticed as being one of the attendants of the temple in company with chebron. but few words were exchanged between the lads during these rambles, for the awful grandeur of the silent temple and its weird aspect in the moonlight, affected amuba as strongly as it did chebron. at times he wondered to him- self whether if he ever returned home and were to introduce the worship of these terrible gods of egypt, they would extend their protection to the rebu. near the house of ameres stood that of ptylus, a priest who occupied a position in the temple of osiris, next in dignity to that of the high-priest between the two priests there was little cordiality, for they differed alike in disposition and manner of thought pty- lus was narrow and bigotted in his religion, precise in every observance of ceremonial; austere and haughty in manner, professing to despise all learning beyond that relating to religion, but secretly devoured with jealousy at the esteem in which ameres was held by the court, and his reputation as one of the first engineers, astronomers, and statesmen of egypt he had been one of the fiercest in the opposition rivals. raised to the innovations proposed by ameres, and had at the time exerted himself to the utmost to excite such a feel- ing against him as would render it necessary for him to resign his position in the temple. his disappointment had been intense, when—owing in no slight degree to the influence of the king himself, who re- garded ameres with too much trust and affection to allow himself to be shaken in his confidence even by what he held to be the erroneous views of the high-priest of osiris—his intrigue came to nothing; but he had ever since kept an un- ceasing watch upon the conduct of his colleague, without, however, being able to find the slightest pretence for com- plaint against him. for ameres was no visionary; and having failed in obtaining a favourable decision as to the views he entertained, he had not striven against the tide, knowing that by doing so he would only involve himself and his family in ruin and disgrace, without forwarding in the smallest degree the opinions he held. he was thus as exact as ever in his ministration in the temple, differing only from the other performers of the sacred rites inasmuch as while they offered their sacrifices to osiris himself, he in his heart dedicated his offerings to the great god of whom osiris was but a feeble type or image. a certain amount of intimacy was kept up between the two families. although there was no more liking between the wives of the two priests than between their husbands, they were of similar dispositions—both were fond of show and gaiety, both were ambitious; and although in society both exhibited to perfection the somewhat gentle and indo- lent manner which was considered to mark high breeding among the women of egypt, the slaves of both knew to their cost that in their own homes their bearing was very different . in their entertainments and feasts there was constant rivalry between them, although the wife of the high-priest considered it nothing short of insolence that the wife of one a proposal for mysa. inferior to her husband's rank should venture to compete with her; while upon the other hand the little airs of calm superiority her rival assumed when visiting her excited the deepest indignation and bitterness in the heart of the wife of ptylus. she, too, was aware of the enmity that her husband bore to ameres, and dm her best to second him by shaking her head and affecting an air of mystery whenever his name was mentioned, leaving her friends to suppose that did she choose she could tell terrible tales to his disadvantage. ameres on his part had never alluded at home either to his views concerning religion or to his difference of opinion with his colleagues. there was but little in common be- tween him and his wife. he allowed her liberty to do as she chose, to give frequent entertainments to her female friends, and to spend money as she liked so long as his own mode of life was not interfered with. he kept in his own hands, too, the regulation of the studies of chebron and mysa. one day when he was in his study his wife entered. he looked up with an expression of remonstrance, for it was an understood thing that when occupied with his books he was on no account to be disturbed except upon business of im- portance. "you must not mind my disturbing you for once, ameres; but an important thing has happened. nicotis, the wife of ptylus, has been here this afternoon, and what do you think she was the bearer of—a proposal from her husband and her- self that their son plexo should marry our mysa." ameres uttered an exclamation of surprise and anger. "she is a child at present, the thing is ridiculous!" "not so much of a child, ameres, after all. she is nearer fifteen than fourteen, and betrothal often takes place a year earlier. i have been thinking for some time of talking the matter over with you, for it is fully time that we thought of her future." ameres was silent what his wife said was perfectly the offer declined. true, and mysa had reached the age at which the egyptian maidens were generally betrothed. it came upon him, how- ever, as an unpleasant surprise. he had regarded mysa as still a child, and his affections were centred in her and chebron; for his eldest son, who resembled his mother in spirit, he had but little affection or sympathy. "very well," he said at last in a tone of irritation very unusual to him, "if mysa has reached the age when we must begin to think whom she is to marry, we will think of it, but there is no occasion whatever for haste. as to plexo i have marked him often when he has been here with chebron, and i do not like his disposition. he is arrogant and overbearing, and, at the same time, shallow and foolish. such is not the kind of youth to whom i shall give mysa." the answer did not quite satisfy his wife . she agreed with him in objecting to the proposed alliance, but on entirely different grounds. she had looked forward to mysa making a brilliant match, which would add to her own consequence and standing. on ceremonial occasions, as the wife of the high-priest, and herself a priestess of crisis, she was present at all the court banquets; but the abstemious tastes and habits of ameres prevented her from taking the part she desired in other festivities, and she con- sidered that were mysa to marry some great general, or perhaps even one of the princes of the blood, she would then be able to take that position in society to which she aspired, and considered, indeed, that she ought to fill as the wife of ameres, high-priest of osiris, and one of the most trusted counsellors of the king. such result would certainly not flow from mysa's marriage to the son of one of less rank in the temple than her hus- band, and far inferior in public estimation. being content, however, that her husband objected to the match on other grounds she abstained from pressing her own view of the subject, being perfectly aware that it was one with which "what reason shall i give?" ameres would by no means sympathize. she therefore only said: "i am glad that you object to the match, ameres, and am quite in accord with you in your opinion of the son of ptylus. but what reason shall i give nicotis for declining the connection?" "the true one, of course!" ameres said in surprise. "what other reason could there be? in respect to position no objection could arise, nor upon that of wealth. he is an only son, and although ptylus may not have so large an income as myself (for i have had much state employment), he can certainly afford to place his son in at least as good a position as we can expect for mysa. were we to decline the proposal without giving a reason ptylus would have good ground for offence. "i do not suppose, amense, he will be pleased at fault being found with his son, but that we cannot help. parents cannot expect others to see their offspring with the same eyes that they do. i should certainly feel no offence were i to propose for a wife for chebron to receive as an answer that he lacked some of the virtues the parents required in a husband for their daughter. i might consider that chebron had those virtues, but if they thought otherwise why should i be offended?" "it is not everyone who sees matters as you do, ameres, and no one likes having his children slighted . still, if it is your wish that i should tell nicotis that you have a personal objection to her son, of course i will do so." "do not put it in that light, amense. it is not that i have a personal objection to him. i certainly do not like him, but that fact has nothing to do with my decision. i might like him very much, and yet consider that he would not make mysa a good husband; or, on the other hand, i might dislike him personally, and yet feel that i could safely entrust mysa's happiness to him. you will say, then, to nicotis that from what i have seen of plexo, and from an indignant woman. what i have learned of his character, it does not appear to me that a union between him and mysa would be likely to conduce to her happiness; and that, therefore, i decline altogether to enter into negotiations for the bringing about of such a marriage." amense was well pleased, for she felt that this message, given in her husband's name, would be a great rebuff for her rival, and would far more than counterbalance the many triumphs she had gained over her by the recital of the number of banquets and entertainments in which she had taken part had amense been present when nicotis informed ptylus of the refusal of their proposal for the hand of mysa, she might have felt that even the satisfaction of mortifying a rival may be dearly purchased. "you know the woman, ptylus, and can picture to your- self the air of insolence with which she declined our proposal. i wished at the moment we had been peasants' wives instead of ladies of quality. i would have given her cause to regret her insolence for a long time. as it was, it was as much as i could do to restrain myself, and to smile and say that perhaps, after all, the young people were not as well suited for each other as could be wished; and that we had only yielded to the wishes of plexo, having in our mind another alliance which would in every respect be more advantageous. of course she replied that she was glad to hear it, but she could not but know that i was lying, for the lotus flower i was holding in my hand trembled with the rage that devoured me." "and it was, you say, against plexo personally that the objection was made," ptylus said gloomily. "so she seemed to say. of course she would not tell me that she had set her mind on her daughter marrying one of the royal princes, though it is like enough that such is her thought, for the woman is pushing and ambitious enough for anything. she only said, in a formal sort of way, "let them both beware!' that while the alliance between the two families would naturally be most agreeable to them, her husband was of opinion that the dispositions of the young people were wholly dissimilar, and that he feared such a union would not be for the happiness of either; and that having perhaps peculiar ideas as to the necessity for husband and wife being of one mind in all matters, he thought it better that the idea should be abandoned. i had a mind to tell her that ameres did not seem to have acted upon those ideas in his own case, for everyone knows that he and amense have not a thought in common—that she goes her way and he goes his." "let them both beware!" ptylus said . "they shall learn that we are not to be insulted with impunity. this ameres, whom the people regard as so holy, is at heart a despiser of the gods. had he not been a favourite of thotmes he would ere now have been disgraced and degraded, and i should be high-priest in his place; for his son, neco, is too young for such a dignity. but he is ascending in the scale, and every year that his father lives and holds office he will come more and more to be looked upon as his natural successor. a few more years and my chance will be extinguished." "then," nicotis said decidedly, "ameres must not hold office for mady more years. we have talked the matter over and over again, and you have always promised me that some day i should be the wife of the high-priest, and that plexo should stand first in the succession of the office. it is high time that you carried your promises into effect." "it is time, nicotis. this man has too long insulted the gods by ministering at their services, when in his heart he was false to them. it shall be so no longer; this last in- sult to us decides me! had he agreed to our proposal i would have laid aside my own claims, and with my influence could have secured that plexo, as his son-in-law, should succeed, rather than that shallow-brained fool, neco. he "ask me no questions." has refused the offer, and he must bear the consequences. i have been too patient . i will be so no longer, but will act . i have a strong party among the upper priesthood who have long been of my opinion that ameres is a disgrace to our caste and a danger to our religion. they will join me heart and soul, for they feel with me that his position as high-priest is an outrage to the gods. ask me no questions, nicotis, but be assured that my promises shall be kept . i will be high-priest; plexo shall marry this child he fancies, for his doing so will not only strengthen my position but render his own succession secure, by silencing those who might at my death seek to bring back the succession to neco." "that is well, ptylus. i have long wondered that you were content to be lorded over by ameres. if i can aid you in any way be sure that i will do so. by the way, amense invited us to a banquet she is about to give next week. shall we accept the invitation?" "certainly. we must not show that we are in any way offended at what has passed. as far as ameres himself is concerned it matters not, for the man has so good an opinion of himself that nothing could persuade him that he has enemies; but it would not do in view of what i have resolved upon that any other should entertain the slightest suspicion that there exists any ill-feeling between us." great preparations were made by amense for the banquet on the following week, for she had resolved that this should completely eclipse the entertainments of nicotis. ameres had, as usual, left everything in her hands, and she spared no expense. for a day or two previous large supplies of food arrived from the country farm, and from the markets in the city; and early on the morning of the entertainment a host of professional cooks arrived to prepare the dinner. the head cooks superintended their labours. the meat consisted of beef and goose, ibex, gazelle, and oryx; for although large flocks of sheep were kept for their wool the preparations for a banquet. flesh was not eaten by the egyptians. there were, besides, great numbers of ducks, quails, and other small fowl. the chief cooks superintended the cutting up of the meat, and the selection of the different joints for boiling or roasting. one servant worked with his feet a bellows, raising the fire to the required heat; another skimmed the boiling caul- drons with a spoon; and a third pounded salt, pepper, and other ingredients in a large mortar. bakers and confec- tioners made light bread and pastry; the former being made in the form of rolls, sprinkled at the top with carra- way and other seeds. the confectionery was made of fruit and other ingredients mixed with dough, and this was formed by a skillful workman into various artistic shapes, such as recumbent oxen, vases, temples, and other forms. besides the meats there was an abundance of all the most delicate kinds of fish. when the hour of noon approached ameres and amense took their seats on two chairs at the upper end of the chief apartment, and as the guests arrived each came up to them to receive their welcome. when all had arrived the women took their places on chairs at the one side of the hall, the men on the other. then servants brought in tables, piled up with dishes containing the viands, and in some cases filled with fruits and decorated with flowers, and ranged them down the centre of the room. cups of wine were then handed round to the guests, lotus flowers presented to them to hold in their hands, and gar- lands of flowers placed round their necks. stands, each containing a number of jars of wine, stoppered with heads of wheat and decked with garlands, were ranged about the room. many small tables were now brought in, and round these the guests took their seats upon low stools and chairs —the women occupying those on one side of the room, the men those on the other. the servants now placed the dishes on the small tables, male attendants waiting on the men, while the women were an egyptian feast. served by females. egyptians were unacquainted with the use of knives and forks, the joints being cut up by the attendants into small pieces, and the guests helping them- selves from the dishes with the aid of pieces of bread held between the fingers. vegetables formed a large part of the meal, the meats being mixed with them to serve as flavour- ing; for in so hot a climate a vegetable diet is far more healthy than one composed principally of meat. while the meal was proceeding a party of female musicians, seated on the ground in one corner of the room, played and sang. the banquet lasted for a long time, the number of dishes served being very large. when it was half over the figure of a mummy, of about three feet in length, was brought round and presented to each guest in succession, as a reminder of the uncertainty of existence. but as all present were accus- tomed to this ceremony it had but little effect, and the sound of conversation and laughter, although checked for a moment, broke out again as soon as the figure was removed . wine of many kinds was served during the dinner, the women as well as the men partaking of it. when all was concluded servants brought round golden basins with perfumed water and napkins, and the guests removed from their fingers the gravy that even with the dain- tiest care in feeding could not be altogether escaped. then the email tables and stools were removed, and the guests took their places on the chairs along the sides of the room. then parties of male and female dancers by turn came in and performed. female acrobats and tumblers then entered, and went through a variety of performances, and jugglers showed feats of dexterity with balls, and other tricks; while the musicians of various nationalities played in turns upon the instruments in use in their own countries. all this time the attendants moved about among the guests, serving them with wine and keeping them supplied with fresh flowers. a bard recited an ode in honour of the glories of ( ) k an unsatisfactory husband. king thotmes, and it was not until late in the evening that the entertainment came to an end. "it has gone off splendidly," amense said to ameres when all was over, and the last guest had been helped away by his servants; for there were many who were unable to walk steadily unaided. "nothing could have been better —it will be the talk of the whole town; and i could see nicotis was devoured by envy and vexation. i do think great credit is due to me, ameres, for you have really done nothing towards the preparations." "i am perfectly willing that you should have all the credit, amense," ameres said wearily, "and i am glad that you are satisfied. to me the whole thing is tedious and tiresome to a degree. all this superabundance of food, this too lavish use of wine, and the postures and antics of the actors and dancers, is simply disgusting. however, if every- one else was pleased, of course i am content" "you are the most unsatisfactory husband a woman ever had," amense said angrily. "i do believe you would be perfectly happy shut up in your study with your rolls of manuscript all your life, without seeing another human being save a black slave to bring you in bread and fruit and water twice a day." "i think i should, my dear," ameres replied calmly. "at any rate i should prefer it vastly to such a waste of time, and that in a form to me so disagreeable, as that i have had to endure to-day." the door in the wall. h chapter ix. a startling event. it was some days later that chebron and amuba again paid a visit to the temple by moonlight it was well- nigh a month since they had been there; for, save when the moon was up, the darkness and gloom of the courts, lighted only by the lamps of the altars, was so great that the place offered no attractions. amuba, free from the superstitions which influenced his companion, would have gone with him had he proposed it, although he too felt the influence of the darkness, and the dim weird figures of the gods, seen but faintly by the lights that burned at their feet but to chebron, more imaginative and easily affected, there was something absolutely terrible in the gloomy dark- ness, and nothing would have induced him to wander in the silent courts save when the moon threw her light upon them. on entering one of the inner courts they found a massive door in the wall standing ajar. "where does this lead to?" amuba asked. "i do not know. i have never seen it open before. i think it must have been left unclosed by accident we will see where it leads to." opening it they saw in front of them a flight of stairs in the thickness of the wall . "it leads up to the roof," chebron said in surprise. "i knew not there were any stairs to the roof, for when repairs are needed the workmen mount by ladders." "let us go up, chebron; it will be curious to look down upon the courts." "yes, but we must be careful, amuba; for, did any below catch sight of us, they might spread an alarm." "what a curious place!" "we need only stay there a minute or two," amuba urged. "there are so few about that we are not likely to be seen, for if we walk noiselessly none are likely to cast their eyes so far upwards." so saying amuba led the way up the stairs, and chebron somewhat reluctantly followed him. they felt their way as they went, and after mounting for a considerable distance found that the stairs ended in a narrow passage, at the end of which was an opening scarce three feet high and just wide enough for a man to pass through. this evi- dently opened into the outer air, as sufficient light passed through to enable them to see where they were standing. amuba crept out through the opening at the end. beyond was a ledge a foot wide; beyond that rose a dome some six feet high and eight or ten feet along the ledge. "come on, chebron; there is plenty of room for both of us," he said, looking backwards. chebron at once joined him. "where can we be?" amuba asked. "there is the sky overhead. we are twenty feet from the top of the wall, and where this ledge ends, just before it gets to the sides of this stone, it seems to go straight down." chebron looked round him. "this must be the head of one of the statues," he said after a pause. "what a curious place! i wonder what it can have been made for. see, there is a hole here!" just in front of them was an opening of some six inches in diameter in the stone. amuba pushed his hand down. "it seems to go a long way down," he said; "but it is narrowing," and removing his arm he looked down the hole. "there is an opening at the other end," he said; "a small narrow slit it must have been made to enable anyone standing here to see down, though i don't think they could see much through so small a hole. i should think, chebron. if a midnight gathering. this is really the top of the head of one of the great figures, that slit must be where his lips are. don't you think so?" chebron agreed that this was probable. "in that case," amuba went on, "i should say that this hole must be made to allow the priests to give answers through the mouth of the image to supplications made to it. i have heard that the images sometimes gave answers to the worshippers. perhaps this is the secret of it." chebron was silent. the idea was a painful one to him; for if this were so, it was evident that trickery was practised. "i think we had better go," he said at last . "we have done wrong in coming up here." "let me peep over the side first," amuba said . "it seems to me that i can hear voices below." but the projection of the head prevented his seeing any- thing beyond. returning he put his foot in the hole and raised himself sufficiently to get on the top of the stone, which was here so much flattened that there was no risk of falling off. leaning forward he looked over the edge. as amuba had guessed would be the case, he found himself on the head of the principal idol in the temple. gathered round the altar at its foot were seven or eight men, all of whom he knew by the whiteness of their garments to be priests. listening intently he could distinctly hear their words. after waiting a minute he crawled back. "come up here, chebron; there is something important going on." chebron joined him, and the two, lying close together, looked down at the court . "i tell you we must do away with him," one of the group below said in tones louder than had been hitherto used. "you know as well as i do that his heart is not in the worship of the gods. he has already shown himself desir- ous of all sorts of innovations, and unless we take matters in our hands there is no saying to what lengths he may go. he might shatter the very worship of the gods. it is a conspiracy to murder. no use to try to overthrow him openly; for he has the sup- port of the king, and the efforts that have been made have not in any way shaken his position. therefore he must dia it will be easy to put him out of the way. there are plenty of small chambers and recesses which he might be induced to enter on some pretext or other, and then be slain without difficulty, and his body taken away by night and thrown into some of the disused catacombs. "it would be a nine days' wonder when he was missed, but no one could ever learn the truth of his disappearance. i am ready to kill him with my own hands, and should regard the deed as one most pleasing to the gods. there- fore if you are ready to undertake the other arrangements, and two of you will join me in seeing that the deed is carried out without noise or outcry, i will take the matter in hand. i hate him, with his airs of holiness and his pretended love for the people. besides, the good of our religion requires that he shall die." there was a chorus of approbation from the others. "leave me to determine the time and place," the speaker went on, "and the excuse on which we will lead him to his doom. those who will not be actually engaged with me in the business must be in the precincts of the place, and see that no one comes that way, and make some ex- cuse or other should a cry by chance be heard, and must afterwards set on foot all sorts of rumours to account for his actions. we can settle nothing to-night; but there is no occasion for haste, and on the third night hence we will again gather here." chebron touched amuba, and the two crept back to where they had been standing on the ledge. "the villains are planning a murder in the very templet" chebron said. "i will give them a fright;" and applying his mouth to the orifice he cried: "beware, sacriligious wretches! your plots shall fail and ruin fall upon you!" "run for your life, chebron!" "come on, chebron!" amuba exclaimed, pulling his gar- ment "some of the fellows may know the secret of this statue, and in that case they will kill us without mercy if they find us here." passing through the opening they groped their way to the top of the stairs, hurried down these as fast as they could in the darkness, and issued out from the door. "i hear footsteps!" amuba exclaimed as they did so. "run for your life, chebron!" just as they left the court they heard the noise of angry voices, and hurried footsteps close by. at full speed they ran through several courts and apartments. "we had better hide, amuba." "it will be no use trying to do that they will guard the entrance-gates, give the alarm, and set all the priests on duty in the temple in search. no, come along quickly. they can- not be sure that it is we who spoke to them, and will probably wait until one has ascended the stair to see that no one is lurking there. i think we are safe for the moment; but there are no good hiding-places. i think you had better walk straight to the entrance, chebron. your presence here is natural enough, and those they post at the gates would let you pass out without suspicion. i will try and find myself a hiding-place." "i certainly will not do that, amuba. i am not going to run away and leave you in the scrape, especially as it was i who got us into it by my rashness." "is there any place where workmen are engaged on the walls?" amuba asked suddenly. "yes, in the third court on the right after entering," chebron replied. "they are repainting the figures on the upper part of the wall . i was watching them at work yesterday." "then in that case there must be some ladders. with them we might get away safely. let us make for the court at once, but tread noiselessly, and if you hear a footstep on the walls. approaching hide in the shadow behind the statue. listen! they are giving the alarm. they know that their number would be altogether insufficient to search this great temple thoroughly." shouts were indeed heard, and the lads pressed on towards the court chebron had spoken of. the temple now was echoing with sounds, for the priests on duty, who had been asleep as usual when not engaged in attending to the lights, had now been roused by one of their number, who ran in and told them some 'sacrilegious persons had made their way into the temple. "here is the place," chebron said, stopping at the foot of the wall. here two or three long light ladders were standing. some of these reached part of the distance only up the walls, but the top of one could be seen against the sky- line. "mount, chebron! there is no time to lose. they may be here at any moment" chebron mounted, followed closely by his companion. just as he gained the top of the wall several men carrying torches ran into the court and began to search along the side lying in shadow. just as amuba joined chebron one of the searchers caught sight of them, and with a shout ran towards the ladder. "pull, chebron!" amuba exclaimed as he tried to haul up the ladder. chebron at once assisted him, and the foot of the ladder was already many feet above the ground before the men reached it the height of the wall was some fifty feet, and light as was the construction of the ladder it was as much as the lads could do to pull it up to the top. the wall was fully twelve feet in thickness, and as soon as the ladder was up amuba said: "keep away from the edge, chebron, or it is possible that in this bright moonlight we may be recognized. we the escape must be going on at once. they will tie the short ladders together and be after us directly." "which way shall we got" "towards the outer wall, as far as possible from the gate. bring the ladder along." taking it upon their shoulders they hurried along. critical as the position was, amuba could not help remarking on the singularity of the scene. the massive walls were all topped with white cement and stretched like broad ribbons, crossing and recrossing each other in regular parallelograms on a black ground. five minutes' running took them to the outer wall, and the ladder was again lowered and they descended, and then stood at its foot for a moment to listen. everything was still and silent "it is lucky they did not think of sending men to watch outside the walls when they first caught sight of us, or we should have been captured. i expect they thought of nothing but getting down the other ladders and fastening them together. let us make straight out and get well away from the temple, and then we will return to your house at our leisure. we had better get out of sight if we can before our pursuers find the top of the ladder, then as they will have no idea in which direction we have gone they will give up the chase." after an hour's walking they reached home. on the way they had discussed whether or not chebron should tell ameres what had taken place, and had agreed that it would be best to be silent "your father would not like to know that you have discovered the secret of the image, chebron. if it was not for that i should say you had best have told him. but i do not see that it would do any good now. we do not know who the men were who were plotting or whom they were plotting against but one thing is pretty certain, the} will not try to carry out their plans now, for they cannot terrible news. tell how much of their conversation was overheard, and their fear of discovery will put an end for the present to this scheme of theirs." chebron agreed with amuba's views, and it was decided to say nothing about the affair unless circumstances occurred which might alter their intentions. they entered the house quietly and reached their apartment without disturbing any of the inmates. on the following morning one of the priests of the temple arrived at an early hour and demanded to see ameres. "i have evil tidings to give you, my lord," he said. "your son neco has this morning been killed." "neco killed?" ameres repeated. "it is, alas, but too true, my lord! he left the house where he lives with two other priests but a short distance from the gate of the temple at his usual it was his turn to offer the sacrifices at dawn, and it must have been still dark when he left the house. as he did not arrive at the proper time a messenger was sent to fetch him, and he found him lying dead but a few paces from his own door, stabbed to the heart" ameres waved his hand to signify that he would be alone, and sat down half stunned by the sudden shock . between himself and his eldest son there was no great affection. neco was of a cold and formal disposition, and although ameres would in his own house have gladly re- laxed in his case, as he had done in that of chebron, the rigid respect and deference demanded by egyptian custom on the part of sons towards their father, neco had never responded to his advances and had been punctilious in all the observances practised at the time. except when abso- lutely commanded to do so, he had never taken a seat in his father's presence, had never addressed him unless spoken to, had made his appearance only at stated times to pay his respects to him, and when dismissed had gladly hurried away to the priest who acted as his tutor. amense's grief. as he grew up the gap had widened instead of closing. ameres saw with regret that his mind was narrow and his understanding shallow, that in matters of religion he was bigoted; while at the same time he perceived that his ex- treme zeal in the services of the temple, his absorption in ceremonial observances of all kinds, were due in no slight degree to ambition, and that he was endeavouring to obtain reputation for distinguished piety with a view to succeeding some day to the office of high-priest. he guessed that the eagerness with which neco embraced the first opportunity of withdrawing himself from his home and joining two other young priests in their establishment was due to a desire to disassociate himself from his father, and thus to make an unspoken protest against the latitude of opinion that had raised up a party hostile to ameres. although living so close it was very seldom that he had, after once leaving the house, again entered it; generally choosing a time when his father was absent and so paying his visits only to his mother. still the news of his sudden death was a great shock, and ameres sat without moving for some minutes until a sudden outburst of cries in the house betokened that the messenger had told his tidings to the servants, and that these had carried them to their mistress. ameres at once went to his wife's apartment and endeavoured to console her, but wholly without success. amense was frantic with grief. although herself much addicted to the pleasures of the world she had the highest respect for religion, and the ardour of neco in the dis- charge of his religious duties had been a source of pride and gratification to her. not only was it pleasant to hear her son spoken of as one of the most rising of the young priesthood, but she saw that he would make his way rapidly and would ere long become the recognized suc- cessor to his father's office. chebron and mysa bore the news of their brother's death with much more resignation. for the last three years they had scarcely seen him, and no clue to the crime. even when living at home there had been nothing in com- mon between him and them. they were indeed more awed by the suddenness of his death than grieved at his loss. when he left them ameres went at once to the house of neco to make further inquiries into the matter. there he could learn nothing that could afford any clue. neco had been late at the temple and had not returned until long after the rest of the household were in bed, and none had seen him before he left in the morning. no sound of a struggle or cry for help had been heard. his death had apparently been instantaneous. he had been stabbed in the back by someone who had probably been lurking close to the door awaiting his coming out the general opinion there and in the temple was that he must have fallen a victim to a feeling of revenge on the part of some attendant in the building who on his report had undergone disgrace and punishment for some fault of care- lessness or inattention in the services or in the care of the sacred animals. as a score of attendants had at one time or other been so reported by neco, for he was constantly on the look-out for small irregularities, it was impossible to fix the crime on one more than another. the magistrates, who arrived soon after ameres to inves- tigate the matter, called the whole of those who could be suspected of harbouring ill-will against neco to be brought before them, and questioned as to their doings during the night all stoutly asserted that they had been in bed at the time of the murder, and nothing occurred to throw a suspicion upon one more than another. as soon as the investigation was concluded ameres ordered the corpse to be brought to his own house. covered by white cloths it was placed on a sort of sledge. this was drawn by six of the attendants of the temple; ameres and chebron followed behind, and after them came a procession of priests. when it arrived at the house, amense and mysa, with their hair unbound and falling the time of mourning. around them, received the body,—uttering loud cries of lamentations, in which they were joined by all the women of the house. it was carried into an inner apartment, and there until evening a loud wailing was kept up, many female relatives and friends coming in and joining in the outcry. late in the evening the body was taken out, placed upon another sledge, and, followed by the male relatives and friends and by all the attendants and slaves of the house, was carried to the establishment of chigron the embalmer. during the forty days occupied by the process the strictest mourning was observed in the house. no meat or wheaten bread was eaten, nor wine served at the table— even the luxury of the bath was abandoned. all the males shaved their eyebrows, and sounds of loud lamentation on the part of the women echoed through the house. at the end of that time the mummy was brought back in great state, and placed in the room which was in all large egyptian houses set apart for the reception of the dead. the mummy-case was placed upright against the wall . here sacrifices similar to those offered at the temple were made. ameres himself and a number of the priests of the rank of those decorated with leopard skins took part in the services. incense and libation were offered. amense and mysa were present at the ceremony, and wailed with their hair in disorder over their shoulders and dust sprinkled on their heads. oil was poured over the head of the mummy, and after the ceremony was over amense and mysa embraced the mummied body, bathing its feet with their tears and uttering expressions of grief and praises of the deceased. in the evening a feast was held in honour of the dead. on this occasion the signs of grief were laid aside, and the joyful aspect of the departure of the dead to a happy exist- ence prevailed. a large number of friends and relations were present the guests were annointed and decked with flowers, as was usual at these parties, and after the meal the the funeral ceremonies. mummy was drawn through the room in token that his spirit was still present among them. amense would fain have kept the mummy for some time in the house as was often the practice, but ameres preferred that the funeral should take place at once. three days later the procession assembled and started from the house. first came servants bearing tables laden with fruit, cakes, flowers, vases of ointment, wine, some young geese in a crate for sacrifice, chairs, wooden tables, napkins, and other things. then came others carrying small closets containing the images of the gods; they also carried daggers, bows, sandals, and fans, and each bore a napkin upon his shoulder. then came a table with offerings and a chariot drawn by a pair of horses, the charioteer driving them as he walked behind the chariot then came the bearers of a sacred boat and the mysterious eye of horus, the god of stability. others carried small images of blue pottery representing the deceased under the form of osiris, and the bird emblematic of the soul. then eight women of the class of paid mourners came along beat- ing their breasts, throwing dust upon their heads, and uttering loud lamentations. ameres, clad in a leopard skin, and having in his hands the censer and vase of liba- tion, accompanied by his attendants bearing the various im- plements used in the services, and followed by a number of priests also clad in leopard skins, now came along. imme- diately behind them followed the consecrated boat placed upon a sledge, and containing the mummy-case in a large exterior case covered with paintings. it was drawn by four oxen and seven men. in the boat amense and mysa were seated . the sledge was decked with flowers, and was followed by chebron and other relatives and friends of the deceased, beating their breasts and lamenting loudly. when they arrived at the sacred lake, which was a large piece of artificial water, the coffin was taken from the small boat in which it had been conveyed and placed in the baris the sacred lake. or consecrated boat of the dead. this was a gorgeously- painted boat with a lofty cabin. amense, mysa, and cheb- ron took their places here. it was towed by a large boat with sails and oars. the members of the procession then took their places in other richly-decorated sailing boats, and all crossed the lake together. the procession was then re- formed and went in the same order to the tomb. here the mummy-case was placed on the slab prepared for it, and a sacrifice and libation with incense offered. the door of the tomb was then closed, but not fastened, as sacrificial services would be held there periodically for many years. the procession then returned on foot to the house. during all this time no certain clue had been obtained as to the authors of the murder. upon going up to the temple on the day of neco's death chebron found all sorts of rumours current the affair of the previous night had been greatly magnified, and it was generally believed that a strong party of men had entered the temple with the intention of carrying off the sacred vessels, but that they had been disturbed just as they were going to break into the subterranean apartments where these were kept, and had then fled to the ladders and escaped over the wall before a sufficient force could be collected to detain them. it was generally supposed that this affair was in some way con- nected with the death of neco. upon chebron's return with this news he and amuba agreed that it was necessary to inform ameres at once of their doings on the previous night after the evening meal was over ameres called chebron into his study. "have you heard aught in the temple, chebron, as to this strange affair that took place there last night? i cannot see how it can have any connection with your brother's death; still, it is strange. have you heard who first discovered these thieves last night? some say that it was ptylus, though what he should be doing there at that hour i know not four or five others are named by priests as having l< ameres hears chebron's story. aroused them; but curiously not one of these is in the temple to-day. i have received a letter from ptylus saying that he has been suddenly called to visit some relations living on the sea-shore near the mouths of the nile. the others sent similar excuses. i have sent to their houses, but all appear to have left at an early hour this morning. this is most strange, for none notified to me yesterday that they had occasion to be absent what can be their motive in thus running away when naturally they would obtain praise and honour for having saved the vessels of the temple? have you heard anything that would seem to throw any light upon the subject?" "i have heard nothing, father; but i can tell you much. i should have spoken to you the first thing this morning had it not been for the news about neco." chebron then related to ameres how he and amuba had the night before visited the temple, ascended the stair behind the image of the god, and overheard a plot to murder some unknown person. "this is an extraordinary tale, chebron," ameres said when he had brought his story to a conclusion. "you certainly would have been slain had you been overtaken. how the door that led to the staircase came to be open i cannot imagine. the place is only used on very rare occa- sions, when it is deemed absolutely necessary that we should influence in one direction or another the course of events. i can only suppose that when last used, which is now some months since, the door must have been carelessly fastened, and that it only now opened of itself. still, that is a minor matter, and it is fortunate that it is you who made the discovery. as to this conspiracy you say you overheard, it is much more serious. to my mind the sudden absence of ptylus and the others would seem to show that they were conscious of guilt "their presence in the temple so late was in itself singu- lar; and, as you say, they cannot know how much of their conversation was overheard. against whom their plot was the high-priest's view. directed i can form no idea; though, doubtless, it was a personage of high importance." "you do not think, father," chebron said hesitatingly, "that the plot could have been to murder neco. this is what amuba and i thought when we talked it over this afternoon." "i do not think so," ameres said after a pause. "it is hardly likely that four or five persons would plot together to carry out the murder of one in his position; it must be someone of far greater importance. neco may not have been liked, but he was certainly held in esteem by all the priests in the temple." "you see, father," chebron said, "that ptylus is an ambi- tious man, and may have hoped at some time or other to become high-priest neco would have stood in his way, for, as the office is hereditary, if the eldest son is fitted to under- take it, neco would almost certainly be selected." "that is true, chebron, but i have no reason to credit ptylus with such wickedness; besides, he would hardly take other people into his confidence did he entertain such a scheme. moreover, knowing that they were overheard last night, although they cannot tell how much may have been gathered by the listener, they would assuredly not have carried the plan into execution; besides which, as you say, no plan was arrived at, and after the whole temple was dis- turbed they would hardly have met afterwards and arranged this fresh scheme of murder. no. if neco was killed by them, it must have been that they suspected that he was one of those who overheard them. his figure is not unlike yours. they may probably have obtained a glimpse of you on the walls, and have noticed your priest's attire. he was in the temple late, and probably left just before you were discovered. believing, then, that they were overheard, and thinking that one of the listeners was neco, they decided for their own safety to remove him. of course it is mere assumption that ptylus was one of those you overheard last night his <«i) l grave suspicions absence to-day is the only thing we have against him, and that alone is wholly insufficient to enable us to move in the matter. the whole affair is a terrible mystery; be assured i will do my best to unravel it. at present, in any case, we can do nothing. ptylus and the four priests who are absent will doubtless return when they find that no accusa- tion is laid against them. they will suppose that the other person who overheard them, whoever he was, is either afraid to come forward, or perhaps heard only a few words and is ignorant of the identity of the speakers. indeed, he would be a bold man who would venture to prefer so terrible an accusation against five of the priests of the temple. i do not blame you in the matter, for you could not have fore- seen the events that have happened. it was the will of the gods that you should have learned what you have learned; perhaps they intend some day that you shall be their instru- ment for bringing the guilty to justice. as to the conspiracy, no doubt, as you say, the plot, against whomsoever it was directed, will be abandoned, for they will never be sure as to how much is known of what passed between them, and whether those who overheard them may not be waiting for the commission of the crown tar denounce them. in the meantime you will on no account renew your visit to the temple or enter it at any time, except when called upon to do so by your duties." the very day after neco's funeral mysa and her mother were thrown into a flutter of excitement by a message which arrived from bubastes. some months before the sacred cat of the great temple there—a cat held in as high honour in lower egypt as the bull apis in the thebaid—had fallen sick, and, in spite of the care and attendance lavished upon it, had died . the task of finding its successor was an important and arduous one, and, like the bull of apis, it was neces- sary not only that the cat should be distinguished for its size and beauty, but that it should bear certain markings. without these particular markings no cat could be elevated the sacred cat. to the sacred post, even if it remained vacant for years; therefore, as soon as the cat was dead a party of priests set out from bubastes to visit all the cities of egypt in search of its successor. the whole country was agitated with the question of the sacred cat, and at each town they visited lists were brought to the priests of all the cats which, from size, shape, and colour, could be considered as candidates for the office. as soon as one of the parties of the priests had reached thebes amense had sent to them a description of mysa's great cat paucis. hitherto, amense had evinced no interest what- ever in her daughter's pets, seldom going out into the garden, except to sit under the shade of the trees near the fountain for a short time in the afternoon when the sun had lost its power. in paucis, indeed, she had taken some slight interest; because, in the first place, it was only becoming that the mistress of the house should busy herself as to the welfare of animals deemed so sacred; and in the second, because all who saw paucis agreed that it was remarkable alike in size and beauty, and the presence of such a creature in the house was in itself a source of pride and dignity. thus then she lost no time in sending a message to the priests inviting them to call and visit her and inspect the cat although, as a rule, the competitors for the post of sacred cat of bubastes were brought in baskets by their owners for in- spection, the priests were willing enough to pay a visit in person to the wife of so important a man as the high- priest of osiris. amense received them with much honour, presented mysa to them as the owner of the cat, and herself accompanied the priests in their visit to the home of mysa's pets. their report was most favourable. they had, since they left bubastes, seen no cat approaching paucis in size and beauty, and although her markings were not precisely correct they yet approximated very closely to the standard. they could the successful competitor. say no more than this, because the decision could not be made until the return of all the parties of searchers to bubastes. their reports would then be compared, and unless any one animal appeared exactly to suit all requirements, a visit would be made by the high-priest of the temple him- self to three or four of the cats most highly reported upon. if he found one of them worthy of the honour, it would be selected for the vacant position. if none of them came up to the lofty standard the post would remain unfilled for a year or two, when it might be hoped that among the rising generation of cats a worthy successor to the departed one might be found. for them- selves they must continue their search in thebes and its neighbourhood, as all claimants must be examined; but they assured amense that they thought it most improbable that a cat equal to paucis would be found. some months had passed, and it was not until a week after the funeral of neco that a message arrived, saying that the report concerning paucis by the priests who had visited thebes was so much more favourable than that given by any of the other searchers of the animals they had seen, that it had been decided by the high-priest that it alone was worthy of the honour. the messenger stated that in the course of a fortnight a deputation consisting of the high-priest and several leading functionaries of the temple, with a retinue of the lower clergy and attendants, would set out from bubastes by water in order to receive the sacred cat, and to conduct her with all due ceremony to the shrine of bubastes. mysa was delighted at the honour which had befallen her cat . privately she was less fond of paucis than of some of the less stately cats; for paucis, from the time it grew up, had none of the playfulness of the tribe, but deported itself with a placid dignity which would do honour to its new position, but which rendered it less amusing to mysa than its humbler but more active companions. a great honour. amense was vastly gratified at the news. it was con- sidered the highest honour that could befall an egyptian for one of his animals to be chosen to fill the chief post in one of the temples, and next in dignity to apis himself was the sacred cat of the great goddess known as baste, bubastes, or pasht . as soon as the news was known, all the friends and acquaintances of the family flocked in to offer their con- gratulations; and so many visits were paid to mysa's in- closure that even the tranquility of paucis was disturbed by the succession of admirers, and amense, declaring that she felt herself responsible for the animal being in perfect health when the priests arrived for it, permitted only the callers, whom she particularly desired to honour, to pay a visit of inspection to it . chapter x. the cat of bubastes. for several days, upon paying their morning visit to the birds and other pets in the inclosure in the garden, chebron and mysa had observed an unusual timidity among them. the wild fowl, instead of advancing to meet them with demonstrations of welcome, remained close among the reeds, and even the ibis did not respond at once to their call. "they must have been alarmed at something," chebron said the third morning. "some bird of prey must have been swooping down upon them. see here, there are several feathers scattered about, and some of them are stained with blood. look at that pretty drake that was brought to us by the merchants in trade with the far east. its mate is missing. it may be a hawk or some creature of the weasel the fatal arrow. tribe. at any rate we must try to put a stop to it this is the third morning that we have noticed the change in the behaviour of the birds. doubtless three of them have been carried off. amuba and i will watch to-morrow with our bows and arrows and see if we cannot put an end to the marauder. if this goes on we shall lose all our pets." upon the following morning chebron and amuba went down to the inclosure soon after daybreak, and concealing themselves in some shrubs waited for the appearance of the intruder. the ducks were splashing about in the pond, evidently forgetful of their fright of the day before; and as soon as the sun was up the dogs came out of their house and threw themselves down on a spot where his rays could fall upon them, while the cats sat and cleaned themselves on a ledge behind a lattice, for they were only allowed to run about in the inclosure when some one was there to pre- vent their interference with birds. for an hour there was no sign of an enemy. then one of the birds gave a sudden cry of alarm, and there was a sudden flutter as all rushed to shelter among the reeds; but before the last could get within cover a dark object shot down from above. there was a frightened cry and a violent flapping as a large hawk suddenly seized one of the water- fowl and struck it to the ground . in an instant the watchers rose to their feet, and as the hawk rose with its prey in its talons they shot their arrows almost simul- taneously amuba's arrow struck the hawk between the wings, and the creature fell dead still clutching its prey. chebron's arrow was equally well aimed, but it struck a twig which deflected its course and it flew wide of the mark. amuba gave a shout of triumph and leapt out from among the bushes. but he paused and turned as an exclamation of alarm broke from chebron. to his astonishment, he saw a look of horror on his companion's face. his bow was still outstretched, and he stood as if petrified. "what's the matter, chebron ?" amuba exclaimed. "what a terrible accident. has happened? has a deadly snake bit you? what is it, chebron?" "do you not see?" chebron said in a low voice. "i see nothing," amuba replied looking round, and at the same time putting another arrow into his bow-string ready to repel the attack of some dangerous creature. "where is it? t can see nothing." "my arrow; it glanced off a twig and entered there; i saw one of the cats fall . i must have killed it" two years before amuba would have laughed at the horror which chebron's face expressed at the accident of shooting a cat, but he had been long enough in egypt to know how serious were the consequences of such an act better by far that chebron's arrow had lodged in the heart of a man. in that case an explanation of the manner in which the accident had occurred, a compensation to the relatives of the slain, and an expiatory offering at one of the temples would have been deemed sufficient to purge him from the offence; but to kill a cat, even by accident, was the most unpardonable offence an egyptian could commit, and the offender would assuredly be torn to pieces by the mob. knowing this he realized at once the terrible import of chebron's words. for a moment he felt almost as much stunned as chebron himself, but he quickly recovered his presence of mind. "there is only one thing to be done, chebron; we must dig a hole and bury it at once. i will run and fetch a hoe." throwing down his bow and arrows he ran to the little shed at the other end of the garden where the implements were kept, bidding a careless good morning to the men who were already at work there. he soon rejoined chebron, who had not moved from the spot from which he had shot the unlucky arrow. "do you think this is best, amuba? don't you think i had better go and tell my father?" "i do not think so, chebron. upon any other matter it chebron's despair. chebron seemed paralyzed at the news. "come, chebron," amuba said, "it will not do to give way to fear, we must brave it out i will leave the door of the cat-house open, and when it is missed it will be thought that it has escaped and wandered away. at any rate there is no reason why suspicion should fall upon us if we do but put a bold face upon the matter; but we must not let our looks betray us. if the worst comes to the worst, and we find that suspicions are entertained, we must get out of the way. but there will be plenty of time to think of that, all that you have got to do now is to try and look as if nothing had happened." "but how can " chebron said in broken tonea "to you, as you say, it is only a cat; to me it is a creature sacred above all others that i have slain. it is ten thousand times worse than if i had killed a man." "a cat is a cat," amuba repeated. "i can understand what you feel about it, though to my mind it is ridiculous. there are thousands of cats in thebes, let them choose another one for the temple. but i grant the danger of what has happened, and i know that if it is found out there is no hope for us." "you had nothing to do with it," chebron said; "there is no reason why you should take all this risk with me." "we were both in the matter, chebron, and that twig might just as well have turned my arrow from its course as yours. we went to kill a hawk together and we have shot a cat, and it is a terrible business, there is no doubt; and it makes no dif- ference whatever whether i think the cat was only a cat if the people of thebes considered it is a god. if it is found out it is certain death, and we shall need all our wits to save our lives; but unless you pluck up courage and look a little more like yourself, we may as well go at once and say what has happened and take the consequences. only if you don't value your life i do mine; so if you mean to let your looks betray us, say so, and stop here for a few hours till i get a good start." "i will tell my father." "i will tell my father," chebron said suddenly, "and abide by what he says. if he thinks it is his duty to denounce me, so be it; in that case you will run no risk." "but i don't mind running the risk, chebron; i am quite ready to share the peril with you." "no; i will tell my father," chebron repeated, "and abide by what he says. i am sure i can never face this out by myself, and that my looks will betray us. i have committed the most terrible crime an egyptian can commit, and i dare not keep such a secret to myself." "very well, chebron, i will not try to dissuade you, and i will go and see jethro. of course to him as to me the shooting of a cat is a matter not worth a second thought; but he will understand the consequences, and if we fly will accompany us. you do not mind my speaking to him? you could trust your life to him as to me." chebron nodded, and moved away towards the house. "for pity sake, chebron!" amuba exclaimed, "do not walk like that if the men at work get sight of you they can- not but see that something strange has happened, and it will be recalled against you when the creature is missed." chebron made an effort to walk with his usual gait amuba stood watching him for a minute, and then turned away with a gesture of impatience. "chebron is clever and learned in many things, and i do not think that he lacks courage; but these egyptians seem to have no iron in their composition when a pinch comes. chebron walks as if all his bones had turned to jelly. of course he is in a horrible scrape; still if he would but face it out with sense and pluck it would be easier for us all. how- ever, i do think that it is more the idea that he has com- mitted an act of horrible sacrilege than the fear of death that weighs him down. if it were not so serious a matter one could almost laugh at any one being crushed to the earth because he had accidentally killed a cat" upon entering the house chebron made his way to the "your life is indeed forfeited." room where his father was engaged in study. dropping the heavy curtains over the door behind him he advanced a few paces, then fell on his knees, and touched the ground with his forehead. "chebron!" ameres exclaimed, laying down the roll of papyrus on which he was engaged and rising to his feet. "what is it, my son? why do you thus kneel before me in an attitude of supplication? rise and tell me what has happened." chebron raised his head but still continued on his knees. ameres was startled at the expression of his son's face. the look of health and life had gone from it, the colour beneath the bronze skin had faded away, drops of perspiration stood on his forehead, his lips were parched and drawn. "what is it, my son?" ameres repeated, now thoroughly alarmed. "i have forfeited my life, father! worse, i have offended the gods beyond forgiveness! this morning i went with amuba with our bows and arrows to shoot a hawk which has for some time been slaying the water-fowl. it came down and we shot together. amuba killed the hawk, but my arrow struck a tree and flew wide of the mark, and entering the cat's house killed paucis, who was chosen only two days ago to take the place of the sacred cat in the temple of bubastes." an exclamation of horror broke from the high-priest, and he recoiled a pace from his son. "unhappy boy," he said, "your life is indeed forfeited. the king himself could not save his son from the fury of the populace had he perpetrated such a deed." "it is not my life i am thinking of, father," chebron said, "but first of the horrible sacrilege, and then that i alone cannot bear the consequences, but that some of these must fall upon you and my mother and sister; for even to be related to one who has committed such a crime is a ter- rible disgrace." "that is not troubling me." ameres walked up and down the room several times be- fore he spoke. "as to our share of the consequences, chebron, we must bear it as best we can," he said at last in a calmer tone than he had before used; "it is of you we must first think. it is a terrible affair; and yet, as you say, it was but an accident, and you are guiltless of any intentional sacrilege. but that plea will be as nothing. death is the punishment for slay- ing a cat; and the one you have slain having been chosen to succeed the cat of bubastes, is of all others the one most sacred. the question is, what is to be done you must fly and that instantly, though i fear that flight will be vain; for as soon as the news is known it will spread from one end of egypt to the other, and every man's hand will be against you, and even by this time the discovery may have been made." "that will hardly be, father; for amuba has buried the cat among the bushes, and has left the door of the house open so that it may be supposed for a time that it has wandered away. he proposed to me to fly with him at once; for he declares that he is determined to share my fate since we were both concerned in the attempt to kill the hawk . but in that of course he is wrong; for it is i, not he, who has done this thing." "amuba has done rightly," ameres said. "we have at least time to reflect" "but i do not want to fly, father. of what good will life be to me with this awful sin upon my head? i wonder that you suffer me to remain a moment in your presence—that you do not cast me out as a wretch who has mortally offended the gods." ameres waved his hand impatiently, "that is not troubling me now, chebron. i do not view things in the same way as most men, and should it be that you have to fly for your life i will tell you more; suffice for you that i do not blame you, still less regard you with hor- ror. the great thing for us to think of at present is as to the "keep up a brave heart." best steps to be taken. were you to fly now you might get several days start, and might even get out of the country before an alarm was spread; but upon the other hand your disappearance would at once be connected with that of the cat as soon as it became known that she is missing, whereas if you stay here quietly it is possible that no one will con- nect you in any way with the fact that the cat is gone. "that something has happened to it will speedily be guessed, for a cat does not stray away far from the place where it has been bred up; besides a cat of such a size and appearance is remarkable, and were it anywhere in the neighbourhood it would speedily be noticed . but now go and join amuba in your room, and remain there for the morning as usual . i will give orders that your instructor be told that you will not want him to-day, as you are not well . i will see you presently when i have thought the matter fully out and determined what had best be done. keep up a brave heart, my boy; the danger may yet pass over." chebron retired overwhelmed with surprise at the kind- ness with which his father had spoken to him, when he had expected that he would be so filled with horror at the terrible act of sacrilege that he would not have suffered him to remain in the house for a moment after the tale was told. and yet he had seemed to think chiefly of the danger to his life, and to be but little affected by what to chebron himself was by far the most terrible part of the affair—the religious aspect of the deed. on entering the room where he pur- sued his studies he found jethro as well as amuba there. "i am sorry for you, young master," jethro said as he entered . "of course to me the idea of any fuss being made over the accidental killing of a cat is ridiculous; but i know how you view it, and the danger in which it has placed you. i only came in here with amuba to say that you can rely upon me, and that if you decide on flight i am ready at once to accompany you." "thanks, jethro," chebron replied. "should i fly it will "hk will not denounce you." indeed be a comfort to have you with me as well as amuba, who has already promised to go with me; but at present nothing is determined. i have seen my father and told him everything, and he will decide for me." "then he will not denounce you," amuba said. "i thought that he would not" "no; and he has spoken so kindly that i am amazed. it did not seem possible to me that an egyptian would have heard of such a dreadful occurrence without feeling horror and detestation of the person who did it, even were he his own son. still more would one expect it from a man who, like my father, is a high-priest to the gods." "your father is a wise as well as a learned man," jethro said; "and he knows that the gods cannot be altogether offended at an affair for which fate and not the slayer is responsible. the real slayer of the cat is the twig which turned the arrow, and i do not see that you are any more to blame, or anything like so much to blame, as is the hawk at whom you shot" this, however, was no consolation to chebron, who threw himself down on a couch in a state of complete prostration. it seemed to him that even could this terrible thing be hidden he must denounce himself and bear the penalty. how could he exist with the knowledge that he was under the ban of the gods? his life would be a curse rather than a gift under such circumstances. physically, chebron was not a coward, but he had not the toughness of mental fibre which enables some men to bear almost unmoved misfor- tunes which would crush others to the ground. as to the comforting assurances of amuba and jethro they failed to give him the slightest consolation. he loved amuba as a brother, and in all other matters his opinion would have weighed greatly with him; but amuba knew nothing of the gods of egypt, and could not feel in the slightest the ter- rible nature of the act of sacrilege, and therefore on this point his opinion could have no weight "i do not mean to fly." "jethro," amuba said, "you told me you were going to escort mysa one day or other to the very top of the hills, in order that she could thence look down upon the whole city. put it into her head to go this morning, or at least persuade her to go into the city. if she goes into the garden she will at once notice that the cat is lost; whereas, if you can keep her away for the day it will give us so much more time." "but if ameres decides that you had best fly, i might on my return find that you have both gone." "should he do so, jethro, he will tell you the route we have taken, and arrange for some point at which you can join us. he would certainly wish you to go with us, for he would know that your experience and strong arm would be above all things needful." "then i will go at once," jethro agreed . "there are two or three excursions she has been wanting to make, and i think i can promise that she shall go on one of them to-day. if she says anything about wanting to go to see her pets before starting, i can say that you have both been there this morn- ing and seen after them." "i do not mean to fly," chebron said, starting up, "unless it be that my father commands me to do so. rather a thousand worlds i stay here and meet my fate!" jethro would have spoken, but amuba signed to him to go at once, and crossing the room took chebron's hand. it was hot and feverish, and there was a patch of colour in his cheek . "do not let us talk about it, chebron," he said. "you have put the matter in your father's hands, and you may be sure that he will decide wisely; therefore the burden is off your shoulders for the present. you could have no better counsellor in all egypt, and the fact that he holds so high and sacred an office will add to the weight of his words. if he believes that your crime against the gods is so great that you have no hope of happiness in life, he will tell you so; a revelation. you left me, thought over from every point of view what i ought to do. on the one hand, i should have to tell you things known only to an inner circle, things which were it known i had whispered to anyone my life would be for- feited. on the other hand, if i keep silent i should doom you to a life of misery. i have resolved to take the former alternative. i may first tell you what you do not know, that i have long been viewed with suspicion by those of the higher priesthood who know my views, which are that the knowledge we possess should not be confined to our- selves, but should be disseminated, at least, among that class of educated egyptians capable of appreciating it "what i am about to tell you is not, as a whole, fully understood perhaps by any. it is the outcome of my own reflections, founded upon the light thrown upon things by the knowledge i have gained. you asked me one day, cheb- ron, how we knew about the gods—how they first revealed themselves, seeing that they are not things that belong to the world? i replied to you at the time that these things are mysteries—a convenient answer with which we close the mouths of questioners. "listen now and i will tell you how religion first began upon earth, not only in egypt but in all lands. man felt his own powerlessness. looking at tho operations of nature— the course of the heavenly bodies, the issues of birth and life and death—he concluded, d rightly, that there was a god over all things, but this god was too mighty for his imagina- tion to grasp. "he was everywhere and nowhere, he animated all things, and yet was nowhere to be found;-he gave fertility and he caused famine, he gave life and he gave death, he gave light and heat, he sent storms and tempests. he was too infinite and too various for the untutored mind of the early man to comprehend, and so they tried to approach him piece-meal. they worshipped him as the sun, the giver of heat and life and fertility; they worshipped him as a destructive god, the growth of religions. they invoked his aid as a beneficent being, they offered sacrifices to appease his wrath as a terrible one. and so in time they came to regard all these attributes of his—all his sides and lights under which they viewed him—as being distinct and different, and instead of all being the qualities of one god as being each the quality or attribute of separate gods. "so there came to be a god of life and a god of death, one who sends fertility and one who causes famine. all sorts of inanimate objects were defined as possessing some fancied attribute either for good or evil, and the one almighty god became hidden and lost in the crowd of minor deities. in some nations the fancies of man went one way, in another another. the lower the intelligence of the people the lower their gods. in some countries serpents are sacred, doubtless because originally they were considered to typify at onco the subtleness and the destructive power of a god. in others trees are worshipped. there are peoples who make the sun their god. others the moon. our forefathers in egypt being a wiser people than the savages around them, wor- shipped the attributes of gods under many different names. first, eight great deities were chosen to typify the chief characteristics of the mighty one. chnoumis, or neuf, typified the idea of the spirit of god—that spirit which per- vades all creation. ameura, the intellect of god. osiris, the goodness of god . ptah typified at once the working power and the truthfulness of god. khem represents the produc- tive power—the god who presides over the multiplication of all species: man, beast, fish, and vegetable—and so with the rest of the great gods and of the minor divinities, which are reckoned by the score. "in time certain animals, birds, and other creatures, whose qualities are considered to resemble one or other of the deities, are in the first place regarded as typical of them, then are held as sacred to them, then in some sort of way become mixed up with the gods and to be held almost as the gods tiie god of the israelites. themselves. this is, i think, the history of the religions of all countries. the highest intelligences, the men of education and learning, never quite lose sight of the original truths, and recognize that the gods represent only the various attri- butes of the one almighty god. the rest of the population lose sight of the truth, and really worship as gods these various creations, that are really but types and shadows. "it is perhaps necessary that it should be so. it is easier for the grosser and more ignorant classes to worship things that they can see and understand, to strive to please those whose statues and temples they behold, to fear to draw upon themselves the vengeance of those represented to them as destructive powers, than to worship an inconceivable god, without form or shape, so mighty the imagination cannot picture him, so beneficent, so all-providing, so equable and serene, that the human mind cannot grasp even a notion of him. man is material, and must worship the material in a form in which he thinks he can comprehend it, and so he creates gods for himself with figures, likenesses, passions, and feelings like those of the many animals he sees around him. "the israelite maid whom we brought hither, and with whom i have frequently conversed, tells me that her people before coming to this land worshipped but one god like unto him of whom i have told you, save that they belittled him by deeming that he was their own special god, caring for them above all peoples of the earth; but in all other respects he corresponded with the almighty one whom we who have gained glimpses of the truth which existed ere the pantheon of egypt came into existence, worship in our hearts, and it seems to me as if this little handful of men who came to egypt hundreds of years ago were the only people in the world who kept the worship of the one god clear and undefiled." chebron and amuba listened in awe-struck silence to the words of the high-priest amuba's face lit up with pleasure the true nature of the gods. and enthusiasm as he listened to words which seemed to clear away all the doubts and difficulties that had been in his mind. to chebron the revelation, though a joyful one, came as a great shock. his mind, too, had long been un- satisfied. he had wondered and questioned, but the destruc- tion at one blow of all the teachings of his youth, of all he had held sacred, came at first as a terrible shock . neither spoke when the priest concluded, and after a pause he re- sumed. "you will understand, chebron, that what i have told you is not in its entirety held even by the most enlightened, and that the sketch i have given you of the formation of all religions is, in fact, the idea which i myself have formed as the result of all i have learned, both as one initiated in all the learning of the ancient egyptians and from my own studies both of our oldest records and the traditions of all the peoples with whom egypt has come in contact but that all our gods merely represent attributes of the one deity, and have no personal existence as represented in our temples, is acknowledged more or less completely by all those most deeply initiated in the mysteries of our religion. "when we offer sacrifices we offer them not to the images behind our altar, but to god the creator, god the preserver, god the fertilizer, to god the ruler, to god the omnipotent over good and evil. thus, you see, there is no mockery in our services, although to us they bear an inner meaning not understood by others. they worship a personality endowed with principle; we the principle itself. they see in the mystic figure the representation of a deity; we see in it the type of an attribute of a higher deity. "you may think that in telling you all this i have told you things which should be told only to those whose privilege it is to have learned the inner mysteries of their religion, that, maybe, i am untrue to my vows. these, lads, are matters for my own conscience. personally, i have long been impressed with the conviction that it were better that the chebron relieved from his burden. circles of initiates should be very widely extended, and that all capable by education and intellect of appreciating the mightiness of the truth should no longer be left in darkness. i have been overruled, and should never have spoken had not this accident taken place; but when i see that the whole happiness of your life is at stake, that should the secret ever be discovered you will either be put to death despairing and hopeless, or have to fly and live despairing and hopeless in some foreign country, i have considered that the balance of duty lay on the side jof lightening your mind by a revela- tion of what was within my own. and it is not, as i have told you, so much the outcome of the teaching i have received as of my own studies and a conviction i have arrived at as to the nature of god . thus, then, my son, you can lay aside the horror which you have felt at the thought that by the accidental slaying of a cat you offended the gods beyond for- giveness. the cat is but typical of the qualities attributed to baste. baste herself is but typical of one of the qualities of the one god." "oh, my father!" chebron exclaimed, throwing himself on his knees beside ameres and kissing his hand, "how good you are. what a weight have you lifted from my mind. what a wonderful future have you opened to me if i escape the danger that threatens me now. if i have to die i can do so like one who fears not the future after death. if i live i shall no longer be oppressed with the doubts and difficulties which have so long weighed upon me. though till now you have given me no glimpse of the great truth, i have at times felt not only that the answers you gave me failed to satisfy me, but it seemed to me also that you yourself with all your learning and wisdom were yet unable to set me right in these matters as you did in all others upon which i questioned you. my father, you have given me life, and more than life—you have given me a power over fate. i am ready now to fly, should you think it best, or to remain here and risk whatever may happen." the final decision. "i do not think you should fly, chebron. in the first place, flight would be an acknowledgment of guilt; in the second, i do not see where you could fly. to-morrow, at latest, the fact that the creature is missing will be dis- covered, and as soon as it was known that you had gone a hot pursuit would be set up. if you went straight down to the sea you would probably be overtaken long before you got there; and even did you reach a port before your pur- suers you might have to wait days before a ship sailed. "then again, did you hide in any secluded neighbourhood, you would surely be found sooner or later, for the news will go from end to end of egypt, and it will be everyone's duty to search for and denounce you. messengers would be sent to all countries under egyptian government, and even if you passed our frontiers by land or sea your peril would be as as great as it is here. lastly, did you surmount all these difficulties, and reach some land beyond the sway of egypt, you would be an exile for life. therefore i say that flight is your last resource, to be undertaken only if a discovery is made; but we may hope that no evil fortune will lead the searchers to the conclusion that the cat was killed here. "when it is missed there will be search high and low in which every one will join. when the conclusion is at last arrived at that it has irrecoverably disappeared, all sorts of hypothesis will be started to account for it, some will think that it probably wandered to the hills and became the prey of hyenas or other wild beasts; some will assert that it has been killed and hidden away; others that it has made its way down to the nile and has been carried off by a crocodile. thus there is no reason why suspicion should fall upon you more than upon others, but you will have to play your part carefully." "it is wonderful!" chapter xl dangers thicken. when chebron and amuba returned to the room set apart for their use and study their conversation did not turn upon the slaying of the cat or the danger which threatened them, but upon the wonderful revelation that ameres had made . neither of them thought for a moment of doubting his words. their feeling of reverence for his wisdom and learning would have been sufficient in itself for them to accept without a question any statement that he made to them. but there was in addition their own inward conviction of the truth of his theory. it appealed at once to their heads and hearts. it satisfied all their longing and annihilated their doubts and difficulties; cleared away at once the pantheon of strange and fantastic figures that had been a source of doubting amusement to amuba, of bewil- derment to chebron. "the israelite maid ruth was right, then," amuba said. "you know that she told us that her forefathers who came down into egypt believed that there was one god only, and that all the others were false gods. she said that he could not be seen or pictured; that he was god of all the heavens, and so infinite that the mind of man could form no idea of him. everything she said of him seems to be true, except inas- much as she said he cared more for her ancestors than for other men; but of course each nation and people would think that" "it is wonderful," chebron replied as he paced restlessly up and down the room. "now that i know the truth it seems impossible i could have really believed that all the strange images of our temples really represented gods. it worried me to think of them. i could not see how they "paucis is missing." could be, and yet i never doubted their existence. it seems to me now that all the people of egypt are living in a sort of nightmare. why do those who know so much suffer them to remain in such darkness?" "i understood your father to say, chebron, that he him- self is only in favour of the more enlightened and educated people obtaining a glimpse of the truth. i think i can understand that. were all the lower class informed that the gods they worshipped were merely shadows of a great god and not real living deities, they would either fall upon and rend those who told them so as impious liars, or, if they could be made to believe it, they would no longer hold to any religion, and in their rage might tear down the temples, abolish the order of priesthood altogether, spread tumult and havoc through the land, rebel against all authority, destroy with one blow all the power and glory of egypt." "that is true," chebron said thoughtfully. "no doubt the ignorant mass of the people require something material to worship. they need to believe in gods who will punish impiety and wrong and reward.well-doing; and the religion of egypt, as they believe it, is better suited to their daily wants than the worship of a deity so mighty and great and good that their intellect would fail altogether to grasp him." their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of ruth. "paucis is missing. when we came back from our walk we went out to the animals, and the door of the house is open and the cat has gone. mysa says will you come at once and help look for it. i was to send all the women who can be spared from the house to join in the search." work was instantly abandoned, for all knew that paucis had been chosen to be the sacred cat at bubastes; but even had it been one of the others the news that it was missing would have caused a general excitement . so esteemed were even the most common animals of the cat tribe that, if a cat the search begun. happened to die in a house, the inhabitants went into mourning and shaved their eyebrows in token of their grief; the embalmers were sent for, the dead cat made into a mummy, and conveyed with much solemnity to the great catacombs set aside for the burial of the sacred animals. thus the news that paucis was missing was so important that work was at once laid aside and the men and female slaves began to search the garden thoroughly, examining every bush and tree, and calling loudly to the missing animal. chebron and amuba joined in the search as actively as the rest . "where can it bet" mysa exclaimed. "why should it have wandered away? it never did so before, though the door of the cat-house is often left open all day. where do you think it can have gone to? do you think it could have got over the wall?" "it could get over the wall easily enough," chebron replied. "it is a terrible misfortune!" continued mysa with tears in her eyes. "mamma fainted on hearing the news, and her women are burning feathers under her nose and slapping her hands and sprinkling water on her face. whatever will be done if it does not come back before to-morrow, for i hear a solemn procession is coming from bubastes to fetch it away? poor dear paucis! and it seemed so contented and happy, and it had everything it could want! what can have induced her to wander away?" "cats are often uncertain things," amuba said. "they are not like dogs, who are always ready to follow their masters, and who will lie down for hours, ready to start out when- ever called upon." "yes, but paucis was not a common cat, amuba. it did not want to catch mice and birds for a living. it had everything it could possibly want—cushions to lie on, and fresh water and milk to drink, and plenty of everything to eat" "i felt horribly guilty." "but even all that will not satisfy cats when the instinct to wander comes upon them," amuba said. ameres himself soon came out of the house, and, upon hearing that the cat was not to be found either in the gar- den or within, gave orders for the whole of the males of the household to sally out in the search, to inform all the neigh- bours what had happened, and to pray them to search their gardens. they were also to make every inquiries of all they met whether they had seen a cat resembling paucis. "this is a very serious matter," ameres said. "after the choice of the priests of bubastes had fixed upon paucis to be the sacred cat of the temple of bubastes, the greatest care and caution should have been exercised respecting an animal towards whom all the eyes of egypt were turned. for the last two or three weeks the question as to which cat was to succeed to the post of honour has been discussed in every household. great has been the excitement among all the families possessing cats that had the smallest chance whatever of being selected; and what will be said if the cat is not forthcoming when the procession arrives to- morrow from bubastes to conduct her there, i tremble to think of. the excitement and stir will be prodigious, and the matter will become of state importance. well, do not stand here, but go at once and join in the search." "i felt horribly guilty when talking to mysa," chebron said. "of course she is very proud that paucis was chosen for the temple, but i know that she has really been grieving over the approaching loss of her favourite. but of course that was nothing to what she will feel when she finds that no news whatever can be obtained of the creature; and it was hard to play the part and to pretend to know nothing about it, when all the time one knew it was lying dead and buried in the garden." "yes, i felt that myself," amuba agreed, "but we cannot help it . mysa will probably in the course of her life have very much more serious grief to bear than the loss of a cat." no news of paucis. all day the search was maintained, and when it was dark great numbers of men with torches searched every point far and near on that side of thebes. the news had now spread far and wide, and numbers of the friends of the high-priest called to inquire into the particulars of the loss and to con- dole with him on the calamity which had befallen his house. innumerable theories were broached as to the course the animal would have taken after once getting out of the gar- den, while the chances of its recovery were eagerly dis- cussed. the general opinion was that it would speedily be found. a cat of such remarkable appearance must, it was argued, attract notice wherever it went; and even if it did not return of its own accord, as was generally ex- pected, it was considered certain that it would be brought back before many hours. but when upon the following morning it was found that it had not returned and that all search for it had been fruitless, there was a feeling akin to consternation. for the first time men ventured to hint that something must have befallen the sacred cat either in its rambles some evil dog must have fallen upon it and slain it, or it must have been carried off by a crocodile as it quenched its thirst at a pool. that it had fallen by the hand of man no one even suggested. no egyptian would be capable of an act of such sacrilege. the idea was too monstrous to entertain for a moment mysa had cried herself to sleep, and broke forth in fresh lamentation when upon waking in the morning she heard that her favourite was still absent; while her mother took the calamity so seriously to heart that she kept her bed. the slaves went about silently and spoke with bated breath, as if a death had taken place in the house. ameres and chebron were both anxious and disturbed, knowing that the excitement would grow every hour; while amuba and jethro, joining busily in the search and starting on horse- back the first thing in the morning to make inquiries in the popular view. more distant localities, were secretly amused at the fuss and excitement which was being made over the loss of a cat it was well for the household of ameres that he occupied so exalted a position in the priesthood. had he been a private citizen, the excitement, which increased hour by hour when the vigilant search carried on far and wide for the missing cat proved fruitless, would speedily have led to an outbreak of popular fury. but the respect due to the high- priest of osiris, his position, his well-known learning and benevolence rendered it impossible for the supposition to be entertained for a moment that the cat could have come to an untimely end within the limit of his house or garden, but it was now generally believed that, after wandering away, as even the best conducted of cats will do at times, it had fallen a victim to some savage beast or had been devoured by a crocodile. so heavy was the penalty for the offence, so tremendous the sacrilege in killing a cat, that such an act was almost unknown in egypt, and but few instances are recorded of its having taken place. as in the present case the enormity of the act would be vastly increased by the size and beauty of the cat, and the fact that it had been chosen for the temple of bubastes, this seemed to put it altogether beyond the range of possibility that the creature had fallen by the hands of man. when a week passed without tidings it was generally accepted as a fact that the cat must be dead, and ameres and his household in accordance with the custom shaved their eyebrows in token of mourning. although not suspected of having had anything to do with the loss of the cat the event nevertheless threw a sort of cloud over the household of ameres. it was considered to be such a terrible stroke of ill-luck that a cat, and above all such a cat should have been lost upon the very eve of her being installed as the most sacred animal in the temple of bubastes, that it seems as if it must be a direct proof of the anger of the gods, and there was a general shrinking on the the danger thickens. part of their friends and acquaintances from intercourse with people upon whom such a misfortune had fallen. ameres cared little for public opinion, and continued on his way with placid calmness, ministering in the temple and pasring the rest of his time in study. the example of ameres, however, was wholly lost upon his wife. the deference paid to her as the wife of the high- priest, and also to herself as the principal figure in the services in which women took part, was very dear to her, and she felt the change greatly. her slaves had a very bad time of it, and she worried ameres with constant complaints as to the changed demeanour of her acquaintances and his indifference to the fact that they were no longer asked to entertain- ments; nor was she in any way pacified by his quiet assurances that it was useless for them to irritate them- selves over trifles, and that matters would mend themselves in time. but as the days went on, so far from mending things became worse, groups of people frequently assembled round the house, and shouts of anger and hatred were raised when any of the occupants entered or left even when ameres was passing through the streets in procession with the sacred emblems hoots and cries were raised among the crowd . chebron took this state of things greatly to heart, and more than once he implored his father to allow him to declare the truth openly and bear the consequence* "i am not afraid of death, father. have you not trained me to regard life as of no account? do we not in our feasts always see the image of a dead man carried past to remind us that death is always among us? you have mysa and my mother. i fear death far less than this constant anxiety that is hanging over us." but ameres would not hear of the sacrifice. "i do not pretend that there is no danger, chebron. i thought at first that the matter would soon pass over, but i own that i was wrong. the unfortunate fact that the "a general ruin would fall upon us." creature was chosen as sacred cat for the temple at bubastes has given its loss a prominence far beyond that which there would have been had it been an ordinary animal of its class, and the affair has made an extraordinary sensation in the city. still i cannot but think that an enemy must be at work stirring up the people against me. i suspect, although i may be wrong, that ptylus is concerned in the matter. since he reappeared after his sudden absence following the night when you overheard that conversation, he has affected a feeling of warmth and friendship which i believe have been entirely feigned. "whether he was one of those you overheard i am un- able to say, but his sudden disappearance certainly favours that idea. at any rate, he can have no real reason for any extra cordiality towards me at present, but would more naturally still feel aggrieved at my rejection of his son as a husband for mysa. i thought at first when you told me what you had overheard that possibly it was a plot against my life. now i feel sure of it "no doubt they believe, as no measures were taken, that their conversation was not overheard or that only a few words reached the listeners, and his manner to me is de- signed to allay any suspicion i might have conceived had as much of the conversation as was overheard been reported to me. it has had just the opposite effect at any rate, an enemy is at work, and even were you to sacrifice yourself by admitting that you slew the missing animal, not only would your death be the result but a general ruin would fall upon us. "the mob would easily be taught to believe that i must to a great extent be responsible; the opinions i have ex- pressed would be quoted against me, and even the favour of the king could not maintain me in my present position in defiance of popular clamour. no, my son, we must stand or fall altogether. jethro offered yesterday if i liked to dig up the remains of the cat, carry it away and hide it under some "whither could they fly?" jethro, to save him if it be possible with amuba, for i fear that amuba is in as much danger as he is. "should the slaves be seized and questioned, and perhaps flogged, till they say what they know, the fact would be sure to come out that the two lads were together among the animals on the morning before the cat was missed. it will be noticed, too, that they took with them their bows and arrows. it will therefore be assumed that the responsibility of the act lies upon both of them . chebron, i know, would proclaim the truth if he had an opportunity for speech, but an angry crowd does not stop to listen, and the same fate will befall them both. "you who are a stranger to our manners can hardly con- ceive the frenzy of excitement and rage in which the popu- lation of egypt are thrown by the killing of a cat i doubt whether even the king's person would be held sacred were the guilt of such an offence brought home to him; and, of course, the fact that this unfortunate beast was to have gone to the temple of bubastes makes its death a matter ten times graver than ordinary. therefore, should the storm burst, there is no hope for either of them but in flight the question is, whither could they fly? "certainly they would be safe nowhere in egypt nor, were it possible that they could journey north and reach the sea, could they do so before the news reached the ports. naturally messengers would be sent to the frontier towns, and even the governors of the provinces lying east of the great sea would hear of it; and could they leave the country and cross the desert they might be seized and sent back on their arrival. for the same reason the routes from here to the ports on the arabian sea are closed to them . it seems to me that their only hope of safety lies in reaching the country far up the nile and gaining meroe, over whose people the authority of egypt is but a shadow, thence possibly they might some day reach the arabian sea, cross that and pass up through the country east of the great sea, ( ) n jethro's promise. and travelling by the route by which you came hither reach your country. long before they could leave the savage tribes and start upon their journey this matter would have been forgotten, and whatever dangers might befall them that of arrest for participation in this matter would not be among them. "i know that your fidelity and friendship for the son of your late king would cause you to risk all dangers and hard- ships for his sake, and that if bravery and prudence could take him safely through such terrible dangers as would be encountered in such a journey as i speak of, you will conduct him through them. i ask you to let chebron share your protection, and to render him such service as you will give to amuba." "i can promise that willingly, my lord," jethro answered. "he has treated amuba more as a brother than a servant since we came here, and i will treat him as if he were a brother to amuba now that danger threatens. the journey you speak of would, indeed, be a long and dangerous one; but i agree with you that only by accomplishing it is there even a chance of escape." "then i commit my son to your charge, jethro, and i do so with full confidence that if it be possible for him to make this journey in safety he will do so. i have already placed in the hands of chigron, the embalmer, a large sum of money. you can trust him absolutely. it is through my patronage that he has risen from being a small worker to be the master of one of the largest businesses in egypt, and he has the embalming of all the sacred animals belonging to our temple, and several others. he will hide the boys for a time until you are ready to start on your journey. "when you are once a few days south of thebes you will be fairly safe from pursuit, for they will never think of looking for you in that direction, but will make sure that you will attempt to leave the country either by sea, by the eastern desert, or that you may possibly try to reach some mysa's future. of the tribes in the west, and so to go down upon the great sea there. i thought at first that this might be the best direction; but the tribes are all subject to us, and would naturally regard egyptians going among them as fugitives from justice, and so hand them over to us." "you can rely upon me, my lord, to carry out your directions and do all that is possible to serve the two lads. what the country through which we have to pass is like, or its inhabitants, i know not, but at least we will do our best to reach the arabian sea as you direct. amuba is hardy and strong, and chebron, though less powerful in frame, is courageous, and able to use his weapons. we should, of course, travel in disguise. but you spoke something about your daughter—in what way can i serve her t i have now accompanied her in her walks for months, and would lay down my life for her." "i fear that you can do nothing," ameres said after a pause. "we have many friends, one of whom will doubtless receive her. at first i would, if it were possible, that she should go to some relatives of mine who live at amyla, fifty miles up the river. she was staying with them two years ago and will know the house; but i do not see how you could take her—the boys will be sufficient charge on your hands. she will have her mother with her, and though i fear that the latter has little real affection for her, having no time to think of aught but her own pleasure and amuse- ment, she will be able to place her among the many friends she has. "it is not her present so much i am thinking of as her future. i should like my little mysa to marry happily. she is a little self-willed, and has been indulged; and although, of course, she would marry as i arrange for her, i would not give her to anyone who was not altogether agreeable to her. i fear that should anything happen to me the same consideration might not be paid to her inclina- tions. however, jethro, i see no manner in which you can "the people are always fickle." be useful to mysa. so far as she is concerned things must be left to take their own course." "i trust," jethro said, "that your forebodings will not be verified . i cannot believe that an absurd suspicion can draw away the hearts of the people from one whom they have so respected as yourself." ameres shook his head. "the people are always fickle, jethro, and easily led; and their love and respect for the gods renders it easy for anyone who works on that feeling to lash them into fury. all else is as nothing in their eyes in comparison with their religion. it is blind worship, if you will; but it is a sincere one. of all the people in the world there are none to whom religion counts so much as to the egyptains. it is inter- woven with all their daily life. their feasts and processions are all religious, they eat and drink and clothe themselves according to its decrees, and undertake no action, however trifling, without consulting the gods. thus, therefore, while in all other respects obedience is paid to the law, they are maddened by any supposed insult to their religion, or any breach of its observances. i know that we are in danger. the ideas that i have held of the regeneration of the people by purifying their religious beliefs have been used as wea- pons against me. i know from what has come to my ears that it has been hinted among them, that in spite of my high office i have no respect for the gods. "the accusation is false, but none the less dangerous for that . nothing is more difficult than to expose or annihilate a falsehood. it spreads like wild-fire, and the clearest demonstration of its falsity fails to reach a tithe of those who believe it. however, it is needless to speak of it now. you know what i wish you to do if danger comes—get the boys away, and conduct them to the place i have indicated. if they are from home seek them and take them there. do not waste time in vain attempts to succour me. if you are attacked, and this may possibly be the case, make, i "i cannot leave my duties." pray you, no resistance save such as may be needed to get away. above all, do not try to interfere on my behalf. one man, though endowed with supernatural strength, can- not overcome a mob, and your trying to aid me would not benefit me, and might cost you your life, and so deprive chebron and amuba of their protector." jethro promised strictly to follow the instructions he had received, and to devote himself in case of need solely to insuring the safety of the boys. two days later, ameres sent chebron and amuba away to the farm, and told them to remain there until he sent for them. "you cannot go in and out here without unpleasantness," he said, "and had best be away. your presence here can be of no use, and you are probably quite as much suspected as i am. as to your mother and sister, the present state of things is inconvenient to them, but that is all. there can be no danger for them; however violent a mob they would not molest females." "why should not you also, father, go away until the trouble is passed?" "i cannot leave my duties, chebron; nor would it benefit me if i did. i am convinced that this cry against us is a mere pretext which has been seized by enemies who dare not attack me openly. were i to depart from thebes my absence would be denounced as a proof of my guilt, and the people be inflamed more and more against me, and nowhere in egypt should i be safe. my only course is to face the storm, trusting to the integrity of my life, to the absence of any deed which could offend the great god i believe in, and to the knowledge that my life is in his hands. when it is his will, and not before, it will return to him who gave it me." "could you not apply to the king for guards?" "the king spoke to me yesterday at the termination of the council," ameres replied, "and told me that he had last advice. been informed of the murmurs of the populace against me . he said that as one of his most trusted counsellors, and as a high-priest of osiris, he knew that the charges against me were baseless; but that in view of the proneness of the people of thebes to excitement and tumult, he should be glad to order a company of soldiers to keep guard over my house. i refused. i said that i was conscious of no evil, that none could say that i was slack in my ministrations in the temple, or that i had ever spoken a word in disre- spect of our religion. that as for the disappearance of the sacred cat, of which so much had been made, i had had no hand in it, and that whatever had happened to it had been, i was sure, the result of accident were i to have soldiers placed to guard me it would be a confession that i was conscious of ill-doing, and knew that i had forfeited the protection of the gods. it would, too, help to keep up the talk and excitement, which i trusted would die away ere long." chebron did not think of further questioning the orders of ameres, and an hour later he and amuba rode out to the farm. before they started ameres had a long talk with chebron, and told him that he had placed him in charge of jethro, in the event of any popular outbreak taking place. "remember, chebron," he said, " that whatever comes of this affair you are not to blame yourself for the accident of killing the cat all things are in the hands of the great god, and your arrow would not have struck the twig and flown straight to the heart of that creature had it not been his will . moreover, you must always remember that the loss of this cat is but a pretext for the tumult "the populace believe that they are angry on account of the loss of the sacred cat, whereas, in fact, they are but in- struments in the hands of my enemies. i have no doubt whatever now that the plot you overheard in the temple was directed against my life, and had not the loss of the leaving for the farm. cat happened opportunely and served them as a lever with which to work against me, the plot would have taken some other form. i trust sincerely that whatever fate may befall your sister she may never have to marry the son of the man who has plotted against my life. but it is no use thinking of that now. should aught happen before we meet again, remember i have placed you in the hands of jethro, and have delegated my authority to him. he is shrewd, strong, and courageous, and can be relied upon to do what is best. in amuba you will find a friend who will be as a brother to you . so farewell, my son, and may the great one who rules all things keep you!" a stay at the farm had hitherto been regarded by chebron as a delightful change from the city, but upon this occasion he proceeded there sad and depressed in spirit. "even here we are watched, you see, chebron," amuba said as they rode along. "do you see those runners behind us? doubtless they will follow us to the farm, and set a watch upon us there. however, there, at least, they can search as much as they like, and find out nothing." chapter xh the death of ameres. the days passed slowly at the farm. the lads went out listlessly to watch the cattle treading in the seed and the other operations on the lands, but they were too anxious as to what was going on in the city to feel the slightest interest in the work of the farm. the second and fourth days after their coming, jethro had paid them a short visit to say that there was no change in the situation. the officer in command of some troops whom the king had terrible news. he had run for the six intervening miles between the farm and the city at the top of his speed. "quick, my lord " he said, "there is not a moment to lose. the whole matter has been discovered, and ere long they will be here in pursuit of you." "what of my father?" chebron exclaimed. "i will tell you all about it afterwards, chebron. there is no time for talking now, his orders must be instantly carried out. where are the fellows who are spying over you?" "one of them is probably seated outside at the entrance to the farm. you must have passed him as you entered," amuba replied. "i have not seen more than one at a time since they first came." "take up your arms and follow me," jethro said, taking a heavy staff from the corner of the room, and, followed by the lads, he went outside the gate. it was now getting dark, and as they passed out a man standing near approached as if to see who they were. with- out a word jethro sprang forward and brought down the staff with tremendous force upon his head, and he fell with- out a cry upon the road. "there is no fear of his giving the alarm," jethro said grimly, and set off in a run in the direction of the city at a pace that taxed the powers of chebron to keep up with. once or twice as he ran the boy gasped out a question as to his father's safety, but jethro did not appear to hear him but kept on at a steady pace. presently he stopped suddenly and listened. a vague confused sound was heard in front of them, and jethro quitted the road and took his course over the fields. amuba heard the sound increase, and was presently con- scious that a crowd of people were passing along the road. "it is well i managed to get through," jethro said. "they would have made short work of you both had they arrived at the farm and found you unprepared." a place of concealment. reception of bodies embalmed by other processes than that of salt passing through a door at the rear the lads found them- selves in the open air again. above them the hill rose in a precipitous rock. chigron led the way along the foot of this for some little distance, and then stopped at a portal hewn in the rock itself. all this time he had carried a lighted lamp, although the chambers in which the dead were lying was illuminated with lamps hanging from the ceiling. upon entering the portal and closing the door behind him he produced from a niche in the wall several other lamps, lighted them, and gave one to each of his companions. "this," he said, "was cut by a wealthy inhabitant of thebes centuries ago as a tomb for himself and his family. what happened to him i know not, but the place was never used beyond this chamber, which has been utilized for mum- mies of sacred animals. beyond in the main chamber every- thing is as it was left by those who formed it there i have during the last ten days privately stored up such articles as would be necessary for you, and i trust that you will not find yourself uncomfortable." upon entering the apartment, which was some twenty feet square, they found that the embalmer had not exaggerated what he had done. a table with several settles stood in the middle, three couches piled with rushes were placed against the wall . mats had been laid down to cover the floor and give warmth to the feet, and lamps ready for burning stood upon the table. in a corner stood two jars of wine, with drinking vessels. "all is here except food," chigron said. "that i could not prepare until i knew you were coming; but be assured that you shall be served regularly. there is no fear of intrusion from any employed in the establishment they have no occasion to come out to the back of the house, and probably few know of the existence of this tomb. should i have any ground for believing that there is danger, i "my dear father is no more?" will take other measures for your concealment should you need anything, do not hesitate to say so. i owe my position to the patronage of my lord ameres, and there is nothing i would not do to ensure the safety of his son. and now, my lord, i will retire, and will presently send you by a trusty servant the food of which i have no doubt that you stand in need." chebron said a few words in thanks, but he was too anxious and full of grief to say more. directly chigron had left he turned to jethro. "now, jethro, tell me all; i am prepared for the worst my dear father is no more? is it not so?" "it is too true, chebron," jethro replied. "your noble father has been killed by a base and cowardly mob urged on by some villains of the priesthood." chebron threw himself down on one of the couches and wept bitterly, while amuba was almost as deeply affected, for ameres had behaved to him with the kindness of a father. it was not until the following morning that chebron was sufficiently recovered to ask jethro to relate to him the details of his father's death. "i was in the garden," jethro began. "mysa and ruth were in a boat on the pond, and i was towing them when i heard a tumult at the gate. i pulled the boat ashore, and hurried them up to the house and told mysa to retire to her apartment, and that she was not to leave it whatever noise she might hear, that being her father's command. then i went out to the gate. just as i got there it fell in, and a crowd of people rushed through. as there were only myself and two or three of the gardeners who had run up we could do nothing to stop them. just as they reached the house your father came out into the portico and said, 'good people, what will you have?' "those in front of him were silent a moment, abashed by his presence and the calm manner in which he spoke, but others behind set up the cry 'where is the sacred cat? we the search in the garden. will find it!' while others again shouted out 'down with the impious priest!' ameres replied, 'you can search the place if you will; though, indeed, it seems that you need not my permission, seeing that you have taken the matter into your own hands. only i pray you enter not the house. there are the ladies of my family and other women there, and i swear to you that neither alive nor dead is the cat to be found there.' "the cry was raised, 'let us search the garden!' in all this it struck me that there were two parties among the mob —the one ignorant and bigoted, believing really that an offence had been committed against their gods; the other, men who kept in the background, but who were the moving spirits. i was not pleased when i saw the crowd so readily abandon the idea of searching the house and scatter them- selves over the garden, for it seemed to me that from one of the gardeners or others they might have obtained some sort of clue that might put them on the road to discovery. i saw that several among the crowd had with them dogs trained for the chase, and this made me more uneasy. i told one of the men to run at once and summon the troops, and then followed the crowd. "i was the more uneasy to see that without wasting time in searching elsewhere they made straight to the inclosure where the animals were kept no sooner did they get there than they began to search, urging on the dogs to assist them. suddenly i started, for there was a touch upon my shoulder, and looking round i saw ameres. 'remember my instruc- tions, jethro,' he said in a quiet voice; 'i commit chebron to your charge.' "'oh, my lord!' i exclaimed, 'why are you here? the troops are but a short distance away. why do you not place yourself under their protection v "'because i have done no wrong, jethro,' he replied calmly. 'i have not offended the gods, nor have i ever wronged one of my countrymen. why should i fly j' the murder of ameres. "at this moment there was a yell of rage among the crowd, and i knew that one of those accursed hounds must have smelt the dead cat and scratched the earth from over it . then i heard a voice cry above the rest, 'seel even now the wounds are manifest; it has been pierced by an arrow, even as i told you. the sacred cat has been slain!' then the crowd turned. 'fly, jethro,'ameres said. 'it is my last command.' "but even then i could not obey him. there was death in the eyes of those who were rushing towards him shouting 'down with the despiser of the gods! down with the slayer of the sacred cat!' and seeing that, i rushed at them. after that all was confusion. i had caught up a staff from the por- tico as i passed, and with it i struck right and left. many fell, i know, before they closed with me . blows were showered upon me, and the staff then fell from my hands, but i fought with my naked fists. several times i was beaten down, but each time i rose again. then, as in a dream, i seemed to hear your father's command, 'i commit chebron to your care,' and i burst my way through them and threw myself upon a group standing further on, but i saw as i broke through them that i could do nothing there. "your father lay on the ground looking as calm and peaceful as when he had spoken to me but five minutes before; but his white garments were stained with blood, and the haft of a dagger stood up just over his heart. there was no time to see more. his last commandment was to be obeyed, and shaking off those who tried to hold me, and evading the blows aimed at me with their knives, i fled. as i rushed out through the gate i saw the troops i had sent for coming towards the house. but they were too late now; besides, some of my pursuers were close behind me, and so without a pause i took the road to the farm. i think that is all i have to tell you." chebron was weeping bitterly, and amuba, who was him- self deeply affected, went over to him. "naught elsb is talked about." "console yourself, chebron. i know what you are feeling now, but do not blame yourself too greatly for this calamity. you know what your father said—that it was but an acci- dent, and that it was doubtless the will of the great god that your arrow should fly as it did; and he himself declared that he believed that all this was but the result of conspiracy, and that, as we heard in the temple, there were men determined to take his life." a few minutes later the embalmer entered bringing them food. he saw at once that chebron had been informed of the fate that had befallen his father. "have you heard aught of what is passing in the city?" amuba asked him. "yes," chigron answered; "naught else is talked about many of those concerned in the deed escaped either by the entrance before the soldiers arrived there, or over the walls; but many were seized, and are now in prison for their sacri- legious deed in raising their hand against the person of the high-priest of osiris. there were tumults in the city during the night, many maintaining that the deed was well done, others the contrary. "those who had been taken all declared that they had been informed by one who said he knew it for certain that the cat was buried in the inclosure, and that it had been slain by you and my young lord here, as you had been seen going with your bow and arrows to the inclosure and were there for some time, after which the cat was never seen again. the general opinion is that though the prisoners taken will be punished—some with flogging, some with death—your lives are also assuredly forfeited, and that even the friendship of the king for your father would not avail to protect you, for that he like others must obey the law, and that the law of egypt is that whosoever shall take the life of a cat shall be slain." "i am perfectly willing to die," chebron said; "and my greatest regret now is that i did not follow my first impulse faithful to his trust. and denounce myself as the accidental killer of the cat no blame could have then been attached to my father or to any but myself." "the disgrace would have fallen upon your whole family," the embalmer said; "for those nearly related to one who performed an impious action must needs suffer with him. not that i blame you, chebron; for i know that your father did not do so. he told me when he arranged that i should, if needs be, furnish you with a hiding-place, that although you might need a refuge it would be for no fault of your own. i do not understand how he could have said so, seeing the terrible guilt of even accidently taking the life of a cat, and specially of this cat, which was sacred above all others in the land. still i know your father's wisdom equalled his good- ness; and although i own that i cannot understand his saying, i am content to accept it, and will do all in my power to save you. doubtless the search after you will be a hot one, but we must hope for the best" "i will go out and see what is doing," jethro said. "it may be that it will be more safe to move away at once than to remain here." "in that case," the embalmer said, "you will need to be disguised before you start it is known that ameres had two fair-skinned slaves, and that one of them was concerned with my young lord here in the matter; also that the other, after fighting furiously in the garden, and, as i heard, slay- ing several of his master's enemies, managed to make his escape. fortunately i have the materials at hand. we use paints and stains in abundance for the sere clothes of the dead and the decorations of their coffins, and i can easily make you as dark as any of our people. that, with one of my wigs and egyptian garments, will alter you so that, so long as you do not look anyone fairly in the face, there will be no fear whatever of your discovery; but you must not look up, for even when i have blackened your lashes the lightness of your eyes would at once betray you." ( ) o embalming. the wealthy differing widely from that to which the bodies of the poorer classes were submitted. there were many kinds of embalming, varying according to the means of the family of the deceased. the process employed for the wealthy was a long and expensive one. first, an official called a scribe marked on the side of the corpse where an aperture should be made; this was cut by another person, who after doing so fled, pursued with execrations and pelted with stones, as although necessary the operation was considered a dishonourable one and as an injury to a sacred body. through this aperture the embalmers removed the whole of the internal organs, which, after being cleansed and em- balmed in spices, were deposited in four vases, which were subsequently placed in the tomb with the coffins. each of these vases contained the parts sacred to a separate deity. the body was then filled with aromatic resin and spices, and rubbed for thirty days with a mixture of the same in- gredients. in the case of the very wealthy the whole body was then gilt; in other cases only the face and portions of the body. the skin of the mummy so preserved is found to be of an olive colour, dry and flexible as if tanned; the features are preserved and appear as during life, and the teeth, hair of the head, and eyebrows are well pre- served. in some cases, instead of the aromatic resin, the bodies were filled with bitumen; in others saltpetre was used, the bodies being soaked in it for a long time and finally filled with resin and bitumen. in the second quality of mummies, those of persons of the middle class, the incision was not made, but resin or bitumen was used and the bodies soaked in salt for a long time. in the case of the poorer classes the bodies were simply dipped into liquid pitch. none of these, however, were treated in the establishment of chigron, who operated only upon the bodies of the wealthy. after the preparation was complete the body passed from the hands of the embalmers into those of another class who the trial of the dead. enveloped it in its coverings. these were linen bandages, which in the case of the rich were sometimes a thousand yards in length. it was then inclosed in a sort of case fitting closely to the mummied body. this case was richly painted, covered in front with a net-work of beads and bugles arranged in a tasteful form, the face being overlaid with thick gold-leaf and the eyes made of enamel. this again was placed in other cases, sometimes three or four in number, all similarly ornamented with painting and gilding, and the whole inclosed in a sarcophagus or coffin of wood or stone, profusely decorated with painting and sculpture. it was then handed over to the family of the deceased, and afterwards taken in solemn procession across the sacred lake, followed by the mourning relatives throwing dust upon their heads. every egyptian city had a lake of this kind, either natural or artificial. notice was given beforehand to the judges and public of the day on which the funeral would take place, and these assembled at the side of the lake, where the decorated boat in readiness for the passage was lying. before the coffin could be placed upon the boat it was lawful for any person present to bring forward his accusation against the deceased. if it could be proved that he had led an evil life the judge declared that the body was deprived of the accustomed sepulture. if the accused failed to establish his charge he was subject to the heaviest penalties. if there was no accuser, or if the accusation was not proved the judge de- clared the dead man innocent the body was placed in the boat and carried across the lake, and then either taken to the family catacombs or to the room specially prepared for its reception in the house of the deceased. the greatest grief and shame were felt by the family of those deprived of the right of sepulture, for they believed that thereby he was excluded from the mansions of the blest, and that in the course of the transmigrations through which his spirit would pass before it again returned to a the future state. human form, it might be condemned to inhabit the body of an unclean animal. as none from the lowest to the very highest rank could escape the ordeal of public accusation after death, there can be little doubt that this ceremony exercised a most wholesome effect upon the life of the egyptians, and was most efficacious in repressing tyranny, cruelty, and vice of all kinds among them. even the most powerful kings were restrained by the knowledge that should they give cause of complaint to their subjects they were liable after death to be accused and deprived of the right of lying in the mighty tombs they had so carefully prepared for their reception. chebron's brain, therefore, while he was watching the pro- cess of embalming, was busy with thoughts and fancies as to the future of the spirit that had inhabited the body he looked at had it already passed into the body of some animal? was it still disconnected and searching for an abode? through what changes would it pass and how long would be the time before it returned to this human tenement? for the three thousand years was believed to be the shortest period of transition through the various changes in the case of the man of the purest and most blameless life, while in other cases the period was vastly extended. as amuba was not gifted with a strong imagination, and saw in the whole matter merely the preservation of a body which in his opinion had much better have been either buried or placed on a funeral pile and destroyed by fire, these visits to the embalmers had constituted the most un- pleasant part of his duties as chebron's companion. jethro had anticipated when he left that his visit to the city would be of short duration, and that he should return in an hour at the latest; but as the day passed and night fell without his return the lads became exceedingly anxious and feared that something serious had taken place to detain him. either his disguise had been detected and he had jethro's prolonged absence. been seized by the populace, or some other great misfortune must have befallen him. it had been arranged indeed that they should that night have started upon their journey, and jethro after his return was to have made out a list of such articles as he deemed necessary for their flight, and these chigron had promised to purchase for him. their plans, however, were completely upset by his non-appearance, and late in the afternoon chigron himself went down into the city to ascertain, if he could, if jethro had been discovered, for his name had been associated with that of the boys. it was not believed indeed that he had taken any actual part in the slaying of the cat, but it was deemed certain from his close connection with them, and his disappearance shortly before the time they had suddenly left the farm, that he was in league with them. chigron returned with the news that so far as he could learn nothing had been heard of jethro. no other subject was talked of in the city but the event of the previous day, and the indignation of the people was equally divided between the murderers of ameres and the slayers of the sacred cat . the boys were full of grief and perplexity. to amuba jethro had taken the place of an elder brother. he had cheered him in the darkest moment of his life and had been his friend and companion ever since, and the thought that ill might have befallen him filled him with sorrow. with this was mingled an intense anxiety as to the future. without jethro's strong arm and advice how was this terrible journey to be accomplished? chebron was in no state either to act or plan. a deep depression had seized upon him; he cared not whether he escaped or not, and would indeed have hailed detection and death as boons. intense, therefore, was amuba's relief when late in the evening a footstep was heard in the outer chamber, and jethro entered. he sprang to his feet with a cry of gladness. "oh, jethro! thank the gods you have returned. i have "mysa has been carried off." suffered terribly on your account what has happened to you, and so long delayed your return here?" "there is fresh trouble," jethro replied in a stern voice. "fresh trouble, jethro? in what way?" and even chebron, who had scarcely sat up languidly on his couch on jethro's entrance, looked up with some interest for jethro's answer. "mysa has been carried off," he replied grimly. chebron sprang to his feet he was devoted to his sister, and for a moment this new calamity effaced the remem- brance of those which had preceded it "mysa carried off!" he exclaimed at the same moment as amuba. "who has done it?—when was it done?—how did you learn it?" were questions which broke quickly from the lads. "on leaving here i went as arranged down into the city," jethro replied. "there was no difficulty in learning what there was to learn, for all business seemed suspended and the streets were full of groups of people talking over the events of yesterday. the whole city is shaken by the fact that two such terrible acts of sacrilege as the slaying of the sacred cat of bubastes and the murder of a high-priest of osiris should have taken place within so short a time of each other. all prophesy that some terrible calamity will befall the land, and that the offended gods will in some way wreak their vengeance upon it a royal order has been issued enjoining all men to search for and arrest every person concerned in the murder of ameres, and doubtless the severest penalties will be dealt to them. the same decree orders your arrest wherever found, and enjoins upon all officials throughout the kingdom to keep a strict watch in the towns and villages, to examine any strangers who may present themselves, and to send hither bound in chains all young men who may fail to give a satisfactory account of themselves. sacrifices will be offered up at all the temples throughout the land to appease the wrath of the gods. a series of calamities. messengers have been despatched in all directions in the provinces, and all seemed to consider it certain that in a few hours our hiding-place would be discovered. all made sure that we had made either for the sea-coast or the desert, on one side or the other, and as the messengers would reach the coast long before we could do so, it was considered im- possible for us to get through unnoticed . "then i went to the house, not intending to go in but simply to see if those in the neighbourhood had heard any further news. the gates were open, and quite a crowd of people were passing in and out to gratify their curiosity by gazing on the scene. relying upon my disguise i went in with the rest none entered the house, for a guard of soldiers had been stationed there. i passed round at the back and presently lyptis the old female slave came out to fetch water. i spoke to her in my assumed character, but she only shook her head and made no reply. then be- lieving that she, like all the others in the house, was at- tached to the family and could be trusted, i spoke to her in my natural voice, and she at once knew me. i made a sign to her to be silent and withdrew with her alone to some bushes. the tears were streaming down her face. "'oh, jethro!' she exclaimed, 'did the gods ever before hurl such calamities upon a household? my dear master is dead; my lord, chebron, is hunted for as men hunt for a wild beast; my dear young mistress, mysa, is missing!' "'missing!' i exclaimed. 'what do you mean?' "'have you not heard it?' she said. '"i have heard nothing!' i cried. 'tell me all!' "' just after the gates were beaten down and the crowd rushed along into the garden, four men burst into the house and ran from chamber to chamber until they entered that of my young mistress. we heard a scream, and a moment later they came out again bearing a figure enveloped in a wrapping. we strove to stop them, but there were nought but women in the house. they struck two of us to the "ruth has gone." ground, and rushed out some of us ran out into the garden crying for aid, but there we saw a terrible scene. a great struggle was going on, and presently you broke forth, covered with blood and wounds, and ran swiftly past none heeded us or our cries. "'when the soldiers arrived we told the officer what had happened; but it was too late then, and nothing could be done. had there been a guard over the house all these things would never have happened.' "i asked her if she could describe to me the appearance of the men. she said that they were attired as respectable citizens, but that from their language and manner she be- lieved that they were ruffians of the lowest class. "for a time i was so overwhelmed with this news that i could think of nothing, but went out and roamed through the streets. at last i bethought me of the girl ruth. she was with mysa at the time, and might, if questioned, be able to tell me more than the old woman had done. i therefore returned, but had to wait for three hours before old lyptis came out again. "'i want to speak to ruth,' i said. 'send her out to me.' "'ruth has gone,' she said. "' gone!' i repeated. 'where and whither?' "' that we know not it was not until hours after mysa was carried off that anyone thought of her. we were too overwhelmed with grief at the death of our dear lord and the loss of mysa to give a thought to the young israelite. then one asked, where was she? no one had noticed her. we went to mysa's chamber, thinking that the villains who carried our young mistress off might have slain her; but there were no signs of her there.' '"but she was with mysa, was she not,' i asked, 'when the attack was made? did she not pass in with her when she came in from the garden?' "'yes,' she replied, 'they came in together and passed through us; for we were gathered in the front chamber, a mysterious disappearance. being greatly frightened at the clamour at the gate. as they passed us our young mistress said, 'keep silent, what the use of screaming and crying?'" "i asked if she was sure ruth was not carried off as well as mysa. "' quite sure,' she said. 'one bore a figure and the other three cleared the way.' "'and that was the last time,' i asked, 'that any of you saw the israelite?' '"it was,' she answered. 'she must have passed out by the door at the end of the passage, which she might well have done without being observed by any of us.' "this was a new mystery. why ruth should have fled i could not guess, because as soon as the soldiers appeared there was no more danger in remaining. besides, i did not think ruth was one to shrink from danger. however, there was no more to be learned, and i again went out into the streets." chapter xiil the search for mysa. perhaps ruth had gone to tell my mother that mysa was lost," chebron suggested, when jethro had gone so far in his story. "that" could hardly have been," jethro replied, "for i should have told you that your mother returned early this morning to the house with many relatives, and that all were weeping and mourning round the body of your father. had ruth gone to her, she would either have returned with her, or lyptis would have heard where she was." "did you hear how my mother bore her misfortunes, jethro?" a change of plans. "she was overwhelmed with grief, lyptis said, at youi father's death—so overwhelmed that she seemed to have no thought for anything else. she had, of course, been told the night before that mysa was missing; but it seemed to make no impression upon her. she only said that doubtless friends had carried her off to save her from the danger that chebron's wickedness had brought upon us all . this morn- ing she made some further inquiries, but did not seem in any serious alarm; but the magistrates, when they came last night to inquire into the whole matter, took note of mysa having been carried off, and when on their coming again this morning they found that nothing had been heard of her, gave orders that a search should be made for her, and a proclamation was issued this afternoon denouncing punishment on those who carried her off, and enjoining all who could give any information on the subject to present themselves before them immediately. "since i came out from the house i have been wandering about trying to think what is best to be done, and hoping that something might occur to me which would put me upon the track of the villains who carried mysa off" "you do not think of carrying out our plans for to-mor- row, jethro?" chebron asked anxiously. "we could never go away from here in ignorance of what had become of her." "certainly not, chebron. i consider it my duty, as well as my inclination, to stay here until she is found. your father spoke to me of her as well as of you, but as he did not see any way in which we could aid her he said that she must take her chance—meaning, take her chance under the guardianship of your mother to obtain some day a husband whom she could love. but the present misfortune entirely alters the case. she has need of our active help, and what- ever are the risks we must postpone our start . "whether you will be able to stay here or not is doubtful. each day that passes without news being received of your capture in the provinces north of us, will increase the belief amuba's conclusions. that you are hiding somewhere in the neighbourhood of the city, and in that case the search will become more and more earnest however, for a day or two we may be safe here. as to that, however, we must abide by chigron's opinion. he is running no small risk in concealing us here, and if he considers the danger is becoming greater than he is willing to run, we must betake ourselves to the hills. there are lonely spots there where we could lie concealed for a long time, or, at least, as long as such supplies of food and water as we could carry with us hold out but, at any rate, we must set aside all thought of flight for the present, and de- vote all our energies to the discovery and rescue of mysa." "i do not think we have far to look for the contrivers of the outrage," amuba said. "it seems to me that it is of a piece with the whole of the misfortunes that have befallen us. we know that ameres refused the request of ptylus for mysa as a wife for his son. after that came the plot which we overheard in the temple for the murder of some- one. the knowledge that they were overheard put a stop to that scheme. then came the stirring up of the people, partly by the story of that unfortunate cat, partly by whispers that ameres, although high-priest of osiris, was yet a scorner of the gods. then came the attack upon the house, in which, while the main body of the mob attacked ameres, a chosen band carried off mysa. "this villain, ptylus, had several motives to spur him on. in the first place, there was anger at the rejection of his son's suit; next, that he would, at the death of ameres, naturally succeed to the high-priesthood; thirdly, he may have thought that if he could obtain possession of mysa and marry her to his son, she would bring with her no small portion of her father's lands as a dowry. with the influence which he, as high-priest, would have with the king and council he could rely upon her obtaining a share of the estate, especially as the villain would calculate that chebron as well as his father would be put out of the way. chigron's plan. someone; in the second place, the cave would scarcely escape search a second time. were it not for my workmen i could conceal you in the house; and if i saw men in search of you approaching i could place you in one of the inner casings of the mummies, and put two or three more casings on. then, lying as you would be among a number of corpses in a simi- lar state of advancement towards burial, none would think of opening the cases. "but with so many people about it would be well-nigh impossible to do this without observation—unless, indeed, the search was made at night or after the workmen had departed, which would hardly be likely to happen. there- fore i think it impossible for you to stay here more than another day or two; but there are many caves and burial- places higher up on the hill-side where you might be con- cealed. in many of these there are sarcophagi. if we choose one in which there are several coffins i can remove the mummies and their casings into another cave, so that, should a party of searchers approach the place, you can lie down in the sarcophagus and lower the lid down upon you." "it would be sacrilege to move the dead," chebron said with a shudder. "it would be sacrilege for others," chigron replied, "but not to us, whose business and duty it is to handle the dead . i can replace the mummies in their cases after you have left, and they will be none the worse for their temporary removal. it will be necessary, of course, that there should be no signs of habitation in the cave—nothing to excite their suspicions that it has been disturbed." "i think that is a very good plan," jethro said. "we can make sleeping-places in the open air near. we shall sleep in the open air on our journey, and it would be no hardship to begin at once. i should think it best to remove to one of these caves at once. there is never any saying when the searchers may be here again; therefore if you will, where is rutht chigron, i will at early daybreak go with you, choose a cave, and make our arrangements." "i think, indeed, that that will be the best plan," the embalmer agreed. "i will, of course, take care to bring you up every night a store of provisions. and now i will leave you to sleep." it was long, however, before the occupants of the chamber threw themselves upon their piles of rushes. sometimes they talked of mysa, and discussed all possible plans for discovering where she was concealed. then they wondered what had become of ruth, who would be friendless in the great city, and might not have money sufficient to buy a meal with her. "she had her ornaments," jethro said; "a silver bracelet that mysa gave her she always wore. she had two silver necklaces and ear-rings of her own. i should think they had been handed down to her from her mother; they seemed good and would fetch money. ruth is a shrewd little maid; for though but fifteen years old she has long been accus- tomed to manage a house and look after her grandfather. why she has run away i cannot think, except that perhaps from the noise and tumult she thought that all were going to be killed. but even in that case she would probably have found her way back by this morning, if not sooner." "i cannot help thinking myself," chebron said, "that she has followed mysa. although she has not been here for many months, i am sure that she was very fond of her." "that she certainly was," jethro said. "i often thought when i was walking behind them that it was pretty to see them together. mysa knew so much more of everything; and yet it was the hebrew maid who gave her opinion most decidedly, and mysa listened to her as she talked in that grave way of hers as if she had been an elder sister. and you think she might have followed her? i hope that it may have been so. but in that case the women must have seen her." a fresh hiding-place. "the women were scared out of their senses," chebron said, "and, i have no doubt, were screaming and wringing their hands and attending to nothing else. if i could but be sure that ruth is with mysa i should feel less anxious, for i am certain she would be a comfort and support to her." "she would, indeed," jethro agreed. "and moreover i should have greater hopes of finding where they are con- cealed; for if it be possible to get away and to spread the alarm i am sure that ruth would seize the first opportunity promptly." it was but a short time after they lay down that chigron entered and said that morning was beginning to break . they at once rose and followed him. he led them along the foot of the hill for some distance, and then turning began to ascend at a spot where it sloped gradually. they passed many tombs, partly erected with masonry and partly cut out from the rock behind; and it was not until after walking fully half an hour that he stopped before the entrance of one of them. "this is the one that i thought of as being suitable for the purpose," he said. "it is one of the most lonely, and there is little likelihood of any chance passer coming near it in the second place, i know that the stone door which rolls across the entrance has not been cemented in its place. i know indeed to whom the tomb belongs. the last mummy was placed here but a short time back; and the son of the man then buried told me that he should not have it cemented because his wife was grievously sick, and he feared would shortly follow his father. therefore there will be no diffi- culty in effecting an entry. in the second place, there is hard by a small tomb that was cut in the rock and then left—the owners changing their minds and having a larger tomb made lower down, the hill. as nothing beyond the chamber and the narrow entrance were made, we can there hide the mummies from this chamber and heap stones and earth over the entrance, so that none would suspect its existence." the tomb on the hill. "nothing could be better," jetb.ro said. "let us set to work and prepare it at once." the stone across the entrance to the tomb, which was but three feet high and of the same width, was pushed back without difficulty and they entered. four wooden sarco- phagi stood there. jethro aided chigron in opening three of these. the mummies in their cases were taken out, the outer cases opened and replaced in the coffins after the mummies with the inner cases had been removed from them. these were then carried to the unfinished tomb fifty yards away and there deposited. stones were then piled together so as to conceal the entrance, and the men re- turned to the tomb. "here you will be perfectly safe," chigron said. "you can keep the stone rolled back unless you see anyone approach- ing; and you would be sure to make out any considerable number of searchers mounting the hillside long before they reach you. should you see them, you will of course close the door, enter each of you one of the sarcophagi, lie down in the inner case, close the lid of the sarcophagus, and place the lid of the inner case over you. i think it unlikely in the extreme that any search will be made for you, or at any rate a search only of untenanted tombs. the fact of the stone here being left uncemented is a mere accident pro- bably known only to myself and its owner. it is only as an extreme resource that you could need to take to these hiding-places. as far as passers-by are concerned you might remain outside altogether, but in that case you would run some risk of being noticed. you may be sure that the hills will be closely scanned, and if figures were seen moving about here a party might set out to see whether these were the fugitives so eagerly sought for. therefore i say, during the daytime keep yourselves concealed here. as soon as it is dark you can of course issue out and pass the night wherever you may think fit" "we shall certainly follow your advice," jethro said. ( ) f "i would have done more if i could." "undoubtedly the plan you propose is by far the safest . i cannot think that there is much chance of an earnest search being made among the tombs, though likely enough they may visit those which are open and empty; but as you say, they would never dream of examining the tombs in use, as they would naturally suppose that all were securely fastened. in case of the very worst, there are the coffins for us to betake ourselves to; and these, assuredly, no one would think of examining." "if you will come down," chigron said, "as soon as it is dark, i will give you provisions for some days, together with the peasants' dresses i have prepared for you and the money ameres committed to my charge. it is not likely that any- thing will occur to decide you to make a move suddenly, but it is best that you should have everything in readiness for so doing should the occasion possibly arise . i will come up myself to-morrow night, if all is well an hour after sun- set. i name the time exactly in order that if you sleep at any distance away you can be here at that hour to meet me; and now i leave you to the protection of the gods. this evening i shall dismantle the chamber you have used and remove all signs of its having been inhabited." chebron thanked the embalmer very earnestly for the kindness he had shown them, the trouble he had taken, and the risk he had run on their behalf. "i would have done more if i could," chigron said. "your father's son has the highest claims upon me, and were it to half my fortune i would spend it to carry out the last wishes that ameres expressed to me." as soon as the embalmer left them the three friends sat down just within the entrance to the tomb, looking out over the quiet city lying in the plain below them. "i wish we had our peasant dresses," chebron said, "that we might go down with you and join in the search for mysa." "it would be too dangerous," jethro said decidedly. "that matters not at all." "too many have seen you taking part in the services and procession for you to have a chance of passing unnoticed . amuba is less likely than you to be detected, and if his skin was stained, his eyebrows blackened, and his head shaved, he might manage to pass providing he walked with his eyes fixed on the ground; but in that way he would not have much chance of coming upon traces of mysa. "any search you make must be at night i shall to-day station myself near the house of ptylus. i do not expect to gain any information from gazing at the high wall which surrounds it, but i will follow, as closely as i can without attracting observation, all the slaves or servants who may come out, especially if two issue forth together; i may then catch a few words of their talk, and possibly gather some clue to the mystery. still i own that the chance is small, and you must not look forward in any way to my returning with news." "i wish, jethro," chebron said, "that if possible you would again go to our house, see the old woman, and get her to bring out to you a suit of my priests' garments; with these i could at night enter the temple, and wander un- questioned through the chambers and courts. the nights are dark now, and unless i pass close to a lamp none could recognize me. we overheard one conversation of importance there, and it may be that i could overhear another." "there would be danger in the attempt," jethro said doubtfully. "that matters not at all!" chebron exclaimed impetuously. "all this trouble has come upon us through me, and even should there be some slight risk i would willingly face it; but in truth i think there is no chance whatever of my being recognized. see how often amuba went there with me, and though the nights were always moonlit we never were once addressed, nor was it noticed that amuba was not one of the regular attendants of the temple, who alone have a right to penetrate beyond the great courts." amuba's plan. "so be it then," jethro said. "then you shall explore the temple, amuba and i will search every cavern in the hills. there are many great tombs behind the temple, and just as we have selected such a hiding-place, ptylus may have chosen one as a place of concealment for mysa. there are many tombs there built by princes, nobles, and wealthy priests for their reception after death which could be turned into a comfortable dwelling. after we have spent some time in searching there, we must, if unsuccessful, try further away. ptylus, no doubt, like ameres, has country farms and resi- dences, and she may be hidden in one of these." "i believe myself," amuba said, "that a better plan than yours will be for us to establish a watch over plexo. pty- lus has his duties and is no doubt fully occupied in securing his election to the high-priesthood, but plexo would most probably go sometimes to see mysa in her place of imprison- ment; he will naturally be anxious to conciliate or frighten her into giving her consent to marry him as soon as possible. therefore, if we can but watch him sufficiently closely he is sure to lead us at last to her." "that will certainly be the best way, amuba. i did not think of it before, but it is clearly the plan that promises the best chance of success. we might search the country for years without finding her; and although i wished to keep up your hopes, i really despaired in my own mind. but, as you say, if we follow plexo, sooner or later he is sure to bring us to her. but to do so we shall want many disguises. i will think the matter over as i walk to-day, and when i see chigron this evening will beg him to get the disguises that seem to him the best for us to use." "as for me, jethro," chebron said, " i will visit the temple of an evening, as i said. but long before midnight all will be quiet there; so that will give me plenty of time for sleep, and in the daytime i will work with you. get me the garb of a peasant woman. in such a dress and with a female head-covering i could surely get myself up so that even a long day. those who know me best would pass by without suspicion. many women are taller than i am. the disguise would be out of the question for amuba, who is well nigh as tall as you are, besides being wide and strong looking, but for me it would do well." "yes, i think you could pass as a woman," jethro agreed; and certainly the more of us there are to watch this rascal the better. but for myself i think that we are more likely to succeed by night than by day. plexo, too, has his duties in the temple, and would be likely to pay his visits after dark . then it would be a mere question of speed of foot, and amuba and i used to be trained in running, and it will be a swift horse that will outpace us. and now i am going down to the city. i feel more hopeful than i did, lads, and for the first time begin to think that we have a chance of discovering where the villains have carried mysa." the day passed slowly to chebron and amuba. they would not show themselves outside the tomb, as chigron had earnestly begged them not to do so; besides there were frequently people about on the hillside, for many came daily to offer prayers at the tombs of their relatives. still they had much to talk of—the chances of finding mysa; the question with whom she should be placed if recovered; the prospects of the long and adventurous journey which lay before them. amuba encouraged talk on all these points, and started the conversation afresh whenever it dropped, for he saw that the excitement concerning mysa had done a great deal for chebron. it had weaned his thoughts from the death of his father, and the consequences that had arisen from his unfortunate shot; it had given him fresh subject for thought, and had revived his spirits and interest in life. both lads were glad when, late in the afternoon, they saw jethro ascending the hill . "i have no news," he said, as he came up to them. "i have been all day in the neighbourhood of the house of ptylus, and have followed all who came out two together no news. from it . i have overheard many scraps of conversation, and one and all talked upon the same subject, the death of ameres and of the sacred cat, and the want of success in the search for you. the fact of mysa being carried off was spoken of once or twice; but i was convinced by the manner in which the slaves spoke to each other on the subject that they had not the slightest idea that their master was con- cerned in the matter, and they had assuredly no knowledge whatever of her being in the house. "of course it is possible that she might be there without its being generally known to all the slaves. still you know how things leak out in a household, and how everything done by the master and mistress soon becomes public pro- perty; and had anyone among them heard something un- usual was going on, it would by this time have been known to all the servants. i hardly thought that ptylus would have ventured to have her carried home, for he might suppose that her mother's suspicions might be directed towards him just as ours have been, and that if she made a complaint against him a search of his house might be ordered; besides there are too many servants there for a secret to be kept. no, if a clue is to be obtained it will be in the temple or by our following plexo." as soon as it was dark they descended the hill together. chebron had attired himself in the garments bearing the dis- tinguishing marks of the priesthood that jethro had brought up with him, having obtained them from old lyptis. when near the house of the embalmer the lad stopped, and jethro went on and returned in half an hour with the various dis- guises he had asked chigron to obtain for him . all these, with the exception of the scanty attire of two peasants, he hid for the present in some bushes near the path, then he rubbed amuba's skin and his own with a fluid he had ob- tained from chigron; and after putting on the peasants' clothes they took their way towards the house of ptylus. while chebron went towards the temple, which was but on the watch. a short distance from the house, jethro and amuba sat down by the wall close to the gate so that none could leave it without their knowledge. but beyond servants and visitors no one came out at ten o'clock they heard the bolts of the gates fastened, but remained where they were until near midnight, when chebron joined them. he had spent the time wandering from court to court of the temple, but be- yond a solitary priest moving here and there replenishing the lamps of the altars he had seen no one, and had been himself entirely unnoticed. amuba and chebron were both inclined to be dispirited at the want of success of their watching, but jethro chid them for their impatience. "you do not suppose," he said, "that you are going to find out a secret so well hidden by a few hours' watching. it may be weeks before we succeed . to-morrow we will begin our watch two or three hours before sundown. i am better known to the servants at the house of ptylus than you are, as i have often taken messages there; besides in my disguise i could not so well loiter about without attracting attention as you could. i will, therefore, content myself with watch- ing the northern road from the city upon the chance of his taking that way, while you in your dress as peasants can watch the house itself. you, chebron, might sit down by the wall fifty yards from the house on the north side, while you, amuba, had best keep on the other side of the road and somewhat to the south of the gate. in this way you will be within sight of each other and yet not together; solitary figures are less likely to attract attention than two together, for it is for two boys that people would be looking. as i should scarcely know you myself now that your skins are darkened, there is, i trust, small fear of others detecting your disguise." accordingly the next day, three hours after noon, amuba and chebron, disguised as peasants, went down to the house of ptylus and took their posts as arranged. late in the afternoon amuba noticed that one of the slaves from the "run for your life!" house of ptylus suddenly checked his walk as he passed chebron and gazed fixedly at him. amuba left the spot where he was standing and walked quickly in that direction. the slave spoke to chebron, who rose to his feet a moment later the slave seized him. as they were struggling amuba ran up. "here is a find!" the slave exclaimed. "this is the slayer of the sacred cat aid me to drag him into the house of my master." but to his surprise amuba sprang upon him and struck him such a heavy blow in the face that he released his hold of chebron and staggered backwards. "run for your life !" amuba exclaimed to his friend. "i will take another route." the slave, recovering from his blow, rushed at amuba, shouting at the top of his voice: "death to the insulters of the gods! death to the slayers of the sacred cat!" but amuba, who was now eighteen years of age, was at once stronger and more active than the slave, whose easy life in the household of the priest had unfitted him for such a struggle. springing back to avoid the grasp of his assail- ant, amuba struck him with all his strength in the face, and as he reeled backwards repeated the blow, and the man fell heavily to the ground. but several other people, at- tracted by the conflict and the shouts of the slave, were running up, and amuba took to his heels at the top of his speed. as he expected, the passers by paused to assist the fallen man and to learn the cause of the fray before they took up the pursuit, and he was nearly two hundred yards away when he heard the cry again raised, "death to the slayer of the sacred cat!" by this time he was alongside of chebron, who had paused to see the issue of the contest with the slave. "do you turn off, chebron, and take a turning or two and conceal yourself, and then make your way up to the hill. i ashjba's flight. will keep straight on for a while. have more last than you have and can outrun these fellows, never fear. do as i tell you," he said almost angrily, as he saw that chebron hesi- tated when they reached the next turning. "if we keep together they will overtake us both." chebron hesitated no longer, but took the turning indi- cated. amuba slackened his speed now, judging correctly that his pursuers if they saw they gained upon him would not trouble themselves about his companion, of whose identity they were probably still ignorant when, on look- ing back, he saw that all had passed the turning, he again quickened his speed. he was not afraid of being overtaken by those behind him, but that he might meet other people who, seeing the pursuit, would take him for a fugitive from justice, and endeavour to stop him. one or two did indeed make feeble attempts to do so, but did not care to grapple in earnest with a powerful young man, evidently desperate, and of whose crime they knew nothing. as soon as he felt sure that chebron was quite safe from pursuit, he turned off from the road he was following and struck across the country. a quarter of an hour's running took him fairly beyond the villas and detached houses scat- tered so thickly round thebes. the ground here was closely cultivated. it was intersected everywhere by channels con- / veying the water needed for the irrigation of the crops. the holdings were small, and in the centre of each stood a little hut some of these were inhabited, but for the most part the cultivators lived in the villages, using the huts only when it was necessary to scare away the birds and keep a close watch over their fruit in some of these patches the fruit-trees were thick, and amuba took advantage of the cover to turn off at right angles to the course he had been pursuing, and then shaping his course so as to keep in shelter of the trees, ran until he arrived at a hut whose door stood open. a glance within showed that it was not at present used by a hot chase. the owner. he entered and closed the door behind him, and then climbed up a ladder, and threw himself down on some boards that lay on the rafters for the storage of fruit, pulling the ladder up after him. the last glimpse he had of his pursuers showed him that they were fully four hundred yards behind him when he turned off from the line he had been following, and he would have kept on and trusted to his speed and endurance to outrun them had he not been sure that many of the cul- tivators whom he had passed in his flight, and who had contented themselves with shouting threats at him for cross- ing their land, would, on learning from his pursuers the crime with which he was charged, join in the pursuit thus fresh runners would be constantly taking up the chase, and he would eventually be run down; he therefore thought it best to attempt to conceal himself until night fell . scarcely had he thrown himself down when he heard loud shouts rise close at hand, and had no doubt that some labourer unobserved by him had noticed him enter the hut he sprang down again from the loft, and seizing a stake which with several others was standing in a corner, he again sallied out as he did so he was suddenly grasped . twisting himself free he saw a powerful nubian armed with a hoe. without a moment's hesitation amuba sprang at him with his stake . the nubian parried the blow with his hoe, and in turn dealt a sweeping blow at the lad. amuba sprang back just in time, and before the negro could recover his guard, struck him a heavy blow on the wrist with his stake. the negro dropped his hoe uttering a cry of pain and rage. amuba followed up the blow on the wrist with one on the ankle, and as the man fell, bounded away again. but the negro's shouts had been heard, and the pursuers were now but fifty yards away. amuba saw that their numbers had swollen considerably, and a doubt as to his ability to escape them for the first time entered his mind. overtaken. they were too close for any further attempts at conceal- ment, and he had now only his speed to rely on. but he had already run nearly three miles, while many of those behind him were fresh, and he soon found that he could not again widen the space between them. for another two miles he still kept ahead, at first leaping the ditches lightly and without a pause, but at last often landing in the middle, and scrambling out with difficulty. he was becoming completely exhausted now. those who had at first taken up the chase had long since abandoned it; but, as he had feared, fresh men constantly joined the ranks of his pursuers. they were but a few paces behind him when he found himself again on the high road. a few hundred yards away he saw a chariot approaching, and feeling that further flight was hopeless he turned stake in hand to face his pursuers, who were but a few paces be- hind him. with cries of "kill him!" "death to the insulter of the gods !" they rushed at him. panting and breathless he defended himself as best he could. but his guard was beaten down, and blows were showered upon him. he fell, but with a great effort struggled to his feet again; his senses were fast deserting him now, but he was con- scious that the chariot drew up beside him, scattering his assailants right and left he heard a voice raised in tones of indignant reproach, and then a renewal of the cries of hatred. he felt strong arms round him; then he was lifted, and for a time became unconscious. "who are you?" chapter xiv. a prince of egypt. when amuba recovered his senses he was lying in a heap at the bottom of the chariot. two men were standing in the car beside him. the one he supposed to be the driver, the other the owner of the chariot. in a few minutes the chariot turned off through a stately gateway. the driver leapt down and closed the gates, and then led the horses to the steps leading up to a splendid mansion. the man beside him called out, and two or three slaves ran down the steps. then he was lifted out, carried into the house, and laid upon a couch. a cup of wine was placed to his lips, and after he had drunk a slave bathed his head with cold water, and bandaged up the numerous cuts from which blood was flowing. this greatly refreshed him, and he raised himself on his arm. an order was given, and the slaves left the apart- ment, and amuba looking up saw a tall and stately figure standing before him. he recognized him at once, for he had seen him following the king in one of the processions among the princes of egypt. "who are you? and is it true what those men whom i found maltreating you averred, that you are the slayer of the cat of bubastes?" "my name is amuba, my lord," the lad said striving to stand upright, but his questioner signed to him to remain seated. "i am a rebu taken prisoner of war, and handed as a slave to ameres, high-priest of osiris. i am not the slayer of the cat, but it is true that i was present at its death, and that it might just as well have been my arrow that accidentally pierced it as that of him who did so." "then it was an accident," the noble said. amuba questioned. "it was wholly an accident, my lord. we fired at a hawk that had been thinning the pet birds of my master's daughter. one of the arrows struck a tree, and glancing off entered the house in which the cat was kept and unfor- tunately caused its death. we regretted the accident bitterly, knowing how sacred was the animal in the sight of the egyptians." "and not in your sight, young man? you are not yet a follower of the gods of the egyptians?" "i am not, my lord," amuba answered; "but at the same time i would not upon any account have willfully done aught to offend the religious opinions of others, although i myself have not been taught to consider the life of a cat as of more value than that of other animals." "then you worship the gods of your own people?" amuba was silent for a moment. "i would answer frankly, my lord, and i hope that you will not be displeased. since i have come to egypt i have come to think that neither the gods of the egyptians nor the gods my fathers worshipped are the true gods. i be- lieve that there is one great god over all, and that the others are but as it were his attributes, which men worship under the name of gods." the egyptian uttered an exclamation of surprise. "whence did you obtain such a belief as this?" he asked. amuba was silent. "it must have been from ameres himself," the noble went on, seeing that the lad was reluctant to answer "i knew him well, and also that he carried to an extreme the knowledge he had gained. but how came it that he should speak of such matters to you—a slave?" "my master was good enough to make me a companion and friend to his son rather than a servant to him," amuba replied, "partly because he thought that i should lead him to a more active life, which he needed, for he was over studious; partly because i had high rank in my own country, of "do you know who i ami" which my father was the king. but he never spoke of this matter until after the accident of the cat my friend chebron was utterly cast down at the sin that he thought he had committed, and would at once have denounced himself, preferring death to living with such a burden upon his mind. then his father, seeing that his whole life would be embittered, and that he would probably be forced to fly from egypt and dwell in some other land, told him the belief which he himself held . i believed this all the more readily because i had heard much the same from an israelite maiden who served my master's daughter." again amuba's listener uttered an exclamation of sur- prise. "i knew not," he said, after a pause, "that there was an israelite who still adhered to the religion of their ances- tors?" "the maiden told me that for the most part they had taken to the worship of the egyptians, and indeed, so far as she knew, she was the last who clung to the old belief. she had been brought up by a great-grandfather who had been driven from his people and forced to dwell apart because he reproached them for having forsaken their god, and he instructed her in the faith he held, which was that there was but one god over all the earth" "do you know who i am?" the noble asked abruptly. "i know that you are one of the princes of the land, my lord, for i have seen you in a procession following closely behind the king with his sons and other princes." "i also am an israelite. it seems strange to you, doubt- less," he went on, as amuba started in astonishment at hearing a prince of egypt declare himself as belonging to the hated race. "many years ago, at the time i was an infant, there was a great persecution of the israelites, and as is supposed my father and mother, fearing for my life, placed me in a little cradle and set me afloat on the water. it chanced—or was it chance or the will of god?—that the "she called me moses." water took me to the spot where the princess thermuthis, the daughter of the then king, was bathing with her maidena she had compassion upon me and adopted me, and as i grew up i had all the rights and privileges of her son, and rank, as you say, with the princes of egypt . she called me moses; for that was the name, as it seems, that was writ upon a piece of papyrus fastened to my cradle. i was instructed in all the learning of the egyptians, and grew up as one of them. so i lived for many years, and had almost forgotten that i was not one of them; but now—" and here he stopped and began thoughtfully to pace up and down the apartment . "what has become of the maiden of whom you spoke?" he asked, suddenly stopping before amuba. "that i know not, my lord. upon the day that ameres was murdered by the mob his little daughter was carried off, and ruth, for that is her name, has also been missing ever since . it is for that reason we have lingered here, other- wise we should have fled at once." "you and the son of ameres?" "yes, my lord, and another rebu, one of my father's warriors, who was a fellow-captive with me, and also slave of ameres. the high-priest had great confidence in him, and committed to him the mission of aiding chebron to escape, and of conducting us if possible back to my own land; but when we found that my young mistress was missing we decided to remain to search for her." "what will you do when you find her?" "if we can rescue her from those who have carried her away we shall hand her over to her mother, and then leave the land as we had intended. unless, indeed, you, my lord, in your goodness, could obtain for chebron a pardon for an offence which was wholly accidental." "that i can never do," moses said. "this is wholly beyond my power; the king himself could not withstand the demand of the populace for his life. until lately i "moses also holds the faith. might have in some way aided you, but i have no longer influence, and have myself fallen into disgrace at court." after again pacing the apartment for some time, moses went on: "if you find this little israelite maiden tell her that she is not the last of the israelites who believes in the god of abraham, our ancestor; tell her that moses also holds to the faith. you again look surprised young man, and you may well be so, seeing that i have from the days of my infancy been separated from my people. "but our priests keep accurate records of all things connected with the countries and religion of the people with whom we come in contact . thus, then, it was easy for me, who have access to all the stores of knowledge, to examine the rolls recording the first coming of my people, the rule of joseph the great governor, the coming of his relations here and their settlement in the country. thus i learned that they worshipped one god, whom they believed to be the only god in the world. i have been interested deeply in the learning of the priesthood, and have long seen that behind all the forms and mysteries of the egyptian religion this central idea seemed to be hidden. none with whom i have spoken acknowledged boldly that it was so; but i heard reports that ameres was bold enough to enter- tain the idea that there was but one god, and that our far- back ancestors, who had first worshipped him under the various attributes they ascribed to him, came in course of time to lose the truth altogether and to regard shadows as substances. therefore, i said to myself, i too will believe in the one god worshipped by my forefathers, hoping that in time it may be that i may learn more of him. "until the last two or three years i have been content to live as one of the egyptian princes; but of late my heart has turned much to my oppressed people, and i have deter- mined upon doing what i can to relieve their burden. i have even raised my voice in the council in their favour, and "i shall tell them the truth." this has created a coldness between the court and myself. they consider that i, having had the honour of adoption into the royal family, should myself forget, and allow others to forget, what they regard as my base origin. sometimes i own, that i myself wonder that i should feel so drawn towards them, and even wish that i could forget my origin and give my whole mind to the duties and pleasures of my present rank; but i feel moved by a spirit stronger than my own. but we must talk no longer, i see that you are now stronger. do you think that you can walk?" "oh, yes," amuba replied, getting up and walking across the apartment. "i have not lost much blood, and was only dizzy from their blows." "then it is better that you should leave at once. the people from whom i snatched you will have carried the news speedily to the city, and officials will, doubtless, soon arrive here to demand that you be given up to them. take, there- fore, another draught of wine and a piece of bread, i will then give you in charge of a trusty slave who will lead you through the garden and through a small door at the back, and will guide you to any spot where you may wish to £>. even now, doubtless, a watch is being kept up in the front of the house. when the officials arrive i shall tell them the truth—that, coming, as i drove, upon a lad who was being attacked and murdered by a number of brutal peasants, i carried him off in my chariot. as to the shouts i heard, that you were the slayer of the cat of bubastes, i regarded it as an invention designed to hinder me from interfering on your behalf; that i questioned you upon your arrival here, and finding that, as i had supposed, you were entirely innocent of the offence charged against you, i urged you to leave at once, letting you depart by the garden gate in order to escape the fury of your persecutors. as you are not an israelite no one can suppose that i could have any motive for shielding an offender from the punishment of his crimes. do not thank me, for time presses, and you must be moving, so as ( ) q amuba helpless. to be well away before it is known that you have left may the god we both worship, though as yet in ignorance, guide and preserve you and carry you and your friends through the dangers that beset you." moses drew back the curtains from before the entrance to the chamber and clapped his hands, and ordered the servant who answered the call to tell mephres to come to him. an old slave speedily appeared, and moses ordered him to take amuba out by the private way, and to guide him by quiet roads back to the city. then cutting short his guest's ex- pressions of thanks for the great kindness he had rendered him, he hurried him away, for he knew that at any moment the officials might arrive from the city. it was well that amuba had been supplied with a guide, for upon issuing into the night air—for by this time dark- ness had fallen—he found that he could with difficulty direct his steps; his head throbbed as if it would split from the blows that had been dealt him, and every limb ached . the old slave, however, seeing that he stumbled as ho walked, placed his staff in one of amuba's hands, and taking him firmly by the arm led him steadily on. it seemed to the lad that he went on walking all night, and yet it was less than an hour after starting when his conductor found that he could go no further, and that he was wholly unable to answer his questions as to whither he wished to be guided. he determined to stop with him until he should be able to proceed again. he therefore led amuba aside into an orchard, and there laid him down under the shelter of a tree, covering him with one of his own garments. "it is well for the lad that my lord arrived just when he did," he said to himself as he sat down by the side of amuba and listened to his heavy breathing—for all in the house had heard from the charioteer of the rescue of the lad from the hands of furious peasants. "he must have been very near death when he was saved from their hands. maxis said that his assailants shouted out "i remember now." that he was the slayer of the cat of bubastes about which such a turmoil has been made. had it been so i do not think that my lord would have aided him thus to escape; though for my part i care not if he had killed all the cats in egypt, seeing that in my native libya we worship not the gods of the egyptians." several times during the night the old man got up and plucked large handfuls of grass wet with dew and placed them on amuba's head, and when he perceived the first faint gleam of morning in the sky he aroused him. amuba sat up, and looked round with an air of astonishment "where am ii" he exclaimed. "you are at present in an orchard, my young friend, though to whom it may belong i know not; but finding that you were unable to continue your journey i drew you aside here, and you have slept well all night, and i hope feel better for it, and able to proceed." "i remember now," amuba said; "it seemed to me that i walked for hours leaning on your arm." "it was but an hour," the slave replied; "we are not yet two miles from my lord's house." "and you have watched over me all night," amuba said; "for it was i know but an hour after sunset when we started . truly i am deeply indebted to you for your kindness." "speak not of it," the old man replied. "my lord gave you into my charge, and i cannot return until i can tell him that you are in safety. but it you are able to walk we must pass on, for there may be a search for you as soon as it is light" "i am perfectly able to go on," amuba said; "thanks to the wet grass i see you have been piling round my head, the heat seems to have passed away and the throbbing to have ceased." amuba was indeed now able to walk at a brisk pace. ""which way do you want to go?" the slave asked him in a short time. "it is getting light enough now for me to see in shelter among the hills. your face, and it will never do for you to meet any one. your head is still swollen, and there are marks of bruises and cuts all over the scalp. your appearance will attract attention at once, and if any saw you who had heard of last evening's doings you would be at once suspected." "i will make direct for the hills," amuba said. "they are not far distant, and i can easily conceal myself among the rocks until sunset." "let us hurry on then," the slave said; "it is but half an hour's walk. but as we may at any moment now meet peasants going to their work, i will go on a-head, do you follow a hundred yards behind me. if i see any one coming i will lift my hand above my head, and do you at once step aside from the road into the vineyard or orchard, and lie there until they have passed." amuba followed these instructions, and it was more than an hour before he reached the foot of the hills, so often did he have to turn aside to avoid groups of peasants. at last he reached the foot of the rugged ascent. here he took leave of his guide with many warm thanks for his kindness and services, and with a message of gratitude to his lord. then amuba ascended the hill for a short distance, and laid himself down among some great boulders. although greatly refreshed by his night's rest he was still weak and shaken, and felt altogether unequal to making his way along the hills for the four miles which intervened be- tween himself and the hiding-place of his friends among the tombs above the city. he was soon asleep again, and the sun was already some distance down the sky when he awoke. he waited until it sank behind the brow of the hill above him, and then climbing some distance higher made his way along the hillside, having little fear that his figure would be noticed now that the hillside was in shadow. darkness had just fallen when he arrived at the tomb they used as their shelter. a figure was standing there in deep shadow. as he turned the path and approached, it advanced to meet amuba's return. him. then there was a cry of joy, and jethro sprang for- ward and clasped him in his arms. "my dear amuba, i never thought to see you in life again!" a moment later chebron ran out, and in his turn embraced amuba. "i shall never forgive you, and i shall never forgive my- self," he said reproachfully. "what right had you to take my danger upon yourself? it was wrong, amuba; and i have suffered horribly. even though we are as brothers why should you sacrifice yourself for me, especially when it is my life and not yours that is forfeited. i told myself a thousand times last night that i was base and cowardly in allowing you and jethro to risk your lives for me, when by giving myself up the rage of the people will be satisfied, and you could make your way out of this land without great danger. it was bad enough that you should share my risk, but when it comes to your taking it all upon your shoulders that i should escape free, i can accept such sacrifice no longer; and to-morrow i will go down and surrender my- self." amuba was about to burst into remonstrance, when jethro touched him as a sign to be silent the rebu knew how acutely chebron had suffered, and how he had spent the night in tears and self-reproaches, and felt that it was better to allow his present agitation to pass before arguing with him. "are you hungry, amuba? " he asked. "that i am, jethro. i had nothing save a mouthful of bread since our meal here yesterday; and you will get no news out of me until i have eaten and drunk." a meal of cakes and cool fish and a draught of wine was soon taken; and amuba said, "now i will tell you all about it" "we know the first part," jethro said. "when i re- turned here yesterday evening i found chebron almost be- side himself with anxiety. he told me how he had been jkthro prepared for a rescue. discovered by one of the slaves of ptylus who knew him by sight; how you had attacked the slave, rescued him from his hands, and then joined him in his flight; how you in- sisted that you should separate; and how the pursuers had all followed on your track, leaving him to return here un- molested. he had been here upwards of two hours when i arrived, and as the time had passed on without your return he had become more and more anxious. of course i at once started out to gather news, and had the greatest difficulty in persuading him to remain here, for he scorned the idea of danger to himself from the search which would be sure to be again actively set on foot. however, as i pointed out it was necessary that if you returned you should find somebody here, he at last agreed to remain. "when i got into the town i found the whole city in the streets. the news had come that the slayers of the cat had been discovered; that one had escaped, but that the other had been overtaken after a long chase; and that he had been set upon, and would have been slain, as he well de- served, had not one of the princes of the royal house arrived and carried him off in his chariot. this news excited the greatest surprise and indignation, and two officers of the city had gone out to the prince's mansion, which was six miles away from the city, to claim the fugitive and bring him to the town, when he would be at once delivered to the just anger of the populace. "as soon as i learned this i started out along the road by which they would return, and hurried on past the people already gathered there. i had brought my sword with me, and my intention was, that as the chariot returned with you i would leap upon it, surprise and slay the officials, and drive off with you; for i knew you would be able to take no part in making the escape, as i had heard that you were already insensible when carried off in the chariot. there were groups of people all along the road with torches, but i thought that a sudden surprise would probably be successful. amuba's story. been punished sufficiently. all agreed that no doubt the whole affair would be investigated. "i hurried back again with the news, and all night we watched for you, and when morning came without your arrival we were almost as anxious as before, fearing that you had been too badly injured to rejoin us, and that to-day you would almost certainly be recaptured. as the search for chebron would assuredly be actively carried out, i insisted on his remaining quiet here while i made frequent journeys down to the city for news; but beyond the certainty that you had not been recaptured, although a diligent search had been made for you as well as for chebron, i learned nothing. now, amuba, i have relieved you of the necessity for much talk; you have only to fill in the gaps of the story, and to tell us how it was that you persuaded this egyptian prince of your innocence." "it is rather a long story, jethro; but now that i have had a meal i feel strong enough to talk all night, for i have had nearly twenty-four hours sleep. first, i will tell cheb- ron that when i took the pursuers off his track i had no idea of sacrificing myself, for i made sure that i should be able to outrun them, and i should have done so easily, had it not been for fresh people constantly taking up the pursuit and at last running me down." amuba then related the whole story of his flight, his attack with the peasants and his rescue, and then recited the whole of his conversation with his rescuer, and his proceed- ings after leaving his house. "so you see," he concluded, "that strangely enough it was the teaching of your father, chebron, and the tale that ruth told us, and that her grand- father before told you, of the god of their forefathers, that saved my life. had it not been that this prince of israel it- ish birth also believed in one god, it could hardly be that he would have saved me from the vengeance of the people, for as he says he is in disfavour with the king, and his con- duct in allowing me to go free merely on my own assertion fresh disguises. of my innocence is likely to do him further harm. this he would assuredly never have risked had it not been for the tie between us of a common faith in one great god." "it is a strange story," jethro said when amuba brought his narrative to a conclusion, "and you have had a mar- vellous escape. had it not been for the arrival of this prince upon the spot at the very moment you must have been killed. had he not have been of a compassionate nature, he would never, in the first place, have interfered on your behalf; and had it not been for your common faith, he would have held you until the officials arrived to claim you. then, too, you were fortunate, indeed, in the kindness of your guide; for evidently had it not been for your long rest, and the steps he took to reduce the heat of your wounds, you must have fallen into the hands of the searchers this morning. above all, i consider it extraordinary that you should at the critical moment have been rescued by perhaps the one man in egypt who would have had the will and the courage to save you." upon the following morning jethro and amuba succeeded with some difficulty in dissuading chebron from his deter- mination to give himself up, the argument that had the most powerful effect being that by so doing he would be disobeying the last orders of his father. it was resolved that in future as a better disguise he should be attired as a woman, and that the watch upon the house of ptylus should be recommenced; but that they should station them- selves further away. it was thought, indeed, that the search in that neighbourhood was likely to be less rigorous than elsewhere, as it would not be thought probable that the fugitives would return to a spot where they had been recog- nized. amuba's disguise was completely altered . he was still in the dress of a peasant, but, by means of pigments obtained from chigron, jethro so transformed him as to give him, to a casual observer, the appearance of advanced yeara posted on the hills. and it was therefore certain that he had turned off from the main road either to the right or left at some point between the post of jethro and that of amuba. when this was determined they agreed, after a consultation, not to return to their hiding-places near thebes that night, but to lie down under some trees by the road-side until morning broke, and then to examine the road carefully. it was not likely that another chariot would pass before morning, and they might be able to follow the tracks along the dusty road. in this way they discovered the road where he had turned off; but beyond this the tracks did not show, as the road was hard and almost free from dust . it lay, as they ex- pected, towards the hills; but there were so many country mansions of the wealthy classes dotted about, and so many cross-roads leading to these and to the farm-houses of the cultivators, that they felt they were still far from attaining the object of their search. after some discussion it was agreed that they should ascend the hills and remain there during the day, and that jethro should return to the town as soon as it became dark to obtain a store of provisions sufficient to last them for a week . this was done, and the next day they separated at dawn and took up their places on the hills at a distance of about a mile apart, choosing spots where they commanded a view over the valley, and arranging to meet at a central point when night came on. chapter xv. ameres is revenged six days passed without their watch being rewarded; then chebron, whose post was just opposite the road where they had traced the wheels, saw a chariot turn from tracked to the hiding-place. the main road into it as many others had taken that course every day he did not at first feel very hopeful, although the time precisely tallied with that at which plexo should have arrived had he started at the same hour as before. as it came near, however, he became convinced that it was the vehicle he was looking for. the horses tallied in colour with those of plexo, and the colour of his dress could even at that distance be distinguished. this time, however, he was not accompanied by a servant, but by a figure the whiteness of whose garment showed him also to be a priest "that must be ptylus," he said to himself, "my father's murderer. would i were down by the edge of the road, with my bow and arrows; high-priest as he has now become, i would send an arrow through his heart!" the chariot turned off by the road parallel to that which had been followed from thebes, and so close to the foot of the hills that from chebron's post he could no longer see it as soon as it was out of sight he leapt to his feet and hur- ried along the hills to join amuba, whose post was next to his own. he found his friend had already gone on, and he hurried breathlessly on until he reached jethro, who had been joined by amuba a few minutes before. "have you seen them?" he exclaimed. "i have seen them and marked them down," jethro re- plied. "you see that roof among those trees at the foot of the hill half a mile further along. they turned off the road and entered these trees. our search is over at last" "what had we better do, jethro? wait until they have left again, and then go down?" "no," jethro said sternly. "there are two things to be done—the one is to rescue mysa; the other to punish the murderer of ameres. but even did we determine to delay our vengeance i should say we must still press on. you saw that arch-villain ptylus is with his son. he has assuredly come for some purpose; probably he may intend to terrify "we will push on at once." the girl until he drives her into taking some solemn oath that she will accept plexo as her husband. what can a girl of that age do in the hands of unscrupulous villains like these. it may be that this fox plexo has been trying flat- tery; and, finding that fail, has called in ptylus, who can threaten her with the anger of these gods of hers, to say nothing of perpetual imprisonment and harsh treatment. we will therefore push on at once. amuba and i carry our stout peasant staves, while you, chebron, have your dagger concealed under that female dress. we shall have all the advantage of surprise in our favour. it is not likely that there are more than one or two men there, with perhaps a female servant . ptylus would not wish the secret to be known to more than was absolutely necessary. of course it is possible that the four men who carried her off may all be on guard there, but if so, it makes but six; and what with the surprise, and what with their not knowing how numerous we are, that number should not be more than sufficient for us to dispose of without difficulty. at any rate were there twenty i would not hesitate; honest men need never fear an encounter with rogues." "especially," amuba said, "when the honest men pos- sess such sinews as yours, jethro, and a good heavy cudgel in their hands." jethro smiled, but was in too earnest a mood to answer, and at once led the way along the hillside until imme- diately behind the house among the trees; then they de- scended, climbing with some difficulty over the wall surround- ing the wood, and entered the inclosure. treading as lightly as possible jethro and his companions passed through the wood and made their way up to the house. it was small but handsomely built, and was surrounded with a colonnade supported by carved pillars. the garden immediately around it was evidently carefully tended, and the house, from its secluded position, was well fitted as a place of sojourn for a wealthy priest or noble desirous of a few days' rest "don't listen to him, mysa." and retirement from the bustle of the great city. as all were barefooted they passed across the garden to the colonnade without the slightest sound. as they reached it jethro held up his hand for them to stop, for the sound of voices came through the wide doorway of an apartment opening out to the colonnade. both chebron and amuba at once recognised the voice of ptylus. "i will put up with no more of this folly, mysa. you should think yourself fortunate in the extreme, in the posi- tion in which you are, belonging to a disgraced family, to receive such an offer as my son makes to you. i will have an answer at once. you will either swear before the gods that you accept plexo as your future husband, that you will reply to all who question you that you have been staying here by your own free will, and that you remained in con- cealment simply because you were overwhelmed with horror at the terrible act of sacrilege committed by your brother, or you will this night be confined in a tomb, where you will remain alone and without the light of day until you agree to my conditions. you don't think, you little fool, that i, ptylus, high-priest of osiris, am to be thwarted in my plans by the opposition of a child like you." here a voice, which the three listeners recognized to their surprise as that of ruth, broke out: "do not listen to him, mysa. whatever comes of it never consent to lie before god, as this wicked man would have you. you call yourself a high-priest, sir. what must be the worth of the gods you pretend to worship if they suffer one like you to minister to them? were they gods, and not mere images of stone, they would strike you dead at the altar." a furious exclamation broke from ptylus, and he stepped forward and seized the hebrew girl roughly by the shoulder, only to start back with another exclamation as ruth struck him with her open hand, with all her force, on the cheek. "drag her hence, plexo!" he exclaimed. but at this mo- "i dare to execute him." ment the entrance was darkened, and the three listeners sprang into the room. ptylus had the courage that distinguished his race, and although for a moment startled at the sudden entry he did not recoil, but drawing a sword from his girdle he said haughtily: "who are you, and what means this intrusion?" "we are those whom you have been hunting to death, ptylus; and we come here as avengers of blood. as you brought about the murder of ameres, so you must die,—to say nought of your offence in carrying off the daughter of the man you slew." without a word ptylus rushed upon jethro with his sword, thinking to make short work of this insolent peasant; but as he did so, jethro whirled his massive club round his head, and catching the blow upon it, shivered the sword in pieces. ptylus dropped his arm, and, gazing steadily at his oppo- nent, said: "wretch, do you dare to murder the high-priest of osiris!" "no," jethro said; "but i dare to execute him," and he brought his heavy club down with all his strength upon the head of the priest at this moment plexo, who had stolen unobserved from the room the instant the others entered, returned, followed by three armed men. chebron and amuba were so intent upon the combat between jethro and the priest, that they did not notice the entrance of plexo, who, with uplifted knife, sprang upon chebron. there was a scream of warning, and quick as thought ruth sprang forward and pushed plexo as he sprang through the air. the sudden shock threw both to the ground. ruth sprang to her feet again, but plexo lay there motionless. the three armed men stood for a moment stupified at the fall of their two employers, and then, seeing two men and a woman, rushed forward to attack them. one sweeping the end of the encounter. blow with jethro's staff felled the first of his assailants to the ground; the others paused irresolute. "drop your weapons, or you are dead men!" jethro ex- claimed. "you are outnumbered; and if you move, you die!" as chebron had now thrown back his female robe and drawn his dagger, and taken his place at the door, while jethro and amuba were advancing against them, the two men dropped their weapons. "hold out your hands," jethro said. "my son, stand over them with your club, and break the skull of either who may move." the men did as they were ordered. jethro tore strips of cloth off their garments, twisted them into ropes, and bound their wrists firmly together. the meaning tone in which jethro had called amuba his son had not escaped either amuba or chebron, who saw that jethro was desirous of concealing their names. mysa, who had raised a cry of joy when jethro first spoke, had sunk terrified upon a couch, and had hidden her face in her hands during the short encoun- ter; while ruth had stood silent and vigilant beside her, moving only when plexo rushed at chebron, and retiring to mysa's side again as soon as she had regained her feet she, too, understood jethro's motive in calling amuba his son, and stooping over mysa she said: "it is all over now, mysa, but remain quiet at present do not speak until you see what is going to be done." as soon as the men were tied, jethro secured in the same manner the man who was lying stunned from his blow. then he turned to plexo, who had not moved since he had fallen. he half turned him round, and uttered a low exclamation of surprise. "gastrion," he said to chebron, "go with the young lady into the garden, and remain there until we join you." chebron passed out on to the colonnade, following mysa and ruth. the moment they were unobserved mysa threw her arms round him, and burst into tears with joy. ( ) r "plexo is dead." "oh, chebron!" she exclaimed, "you have arrived just in time. i thought we were never going to get away from that dreadful man; and i don't know what i should have done if it hadn't been for ruth. and, ohl they have been tell- ing me such terrible things—but they can't be true—that our dear father had been killed; and that it was you, chebron, who killed dear paucis; but of course i did not believe them —i knew it was all their wickedness." "never mind about that, dear," chebron said; "we will talk about all this afterwards. the first thing is to get you away from this place. jethro and amuba will soon de- cide what is best to be done. are there any others in the house?" "there is one other man," ruth replied, "and an old woman; i think the other man is at the door with the chariot" "i had better tell jethro," chebron said, and he again went into the room and told jethro what he had heard. "we will seize the woman first," jethro said, "and then go out round the house and come down from the other way upon the chariot the man will have heard the outcry; and if we came suddenly out of the door, might leap into the chariot and drive off before we could overtake him. but if we come upon it from behind we shall secure him." "but you have forgotten to bind plexo," chebron said. "plexo is dead," jethro replied. "as he fell his arm was beneath him, and the knife with which he had intended to strike you pierced his heart i am very glad that you ob- served the way i spoke to amuba. it was of the greatest importance that the name should not be mentioned. this affair will cause a tremendous excitement there is nothing to connect us with ptylus, and it may be supposed that it is the work of some malefactors, who came down from the hills in search of plunder. the fact that mysa was here and was carried away is not in itself any proof that we had a hand in it, for lybian robbers might well have carried her and "you saved my life, ruth." ruth away to make slaves of. plexo caught but a glimpse of us, and doubtless only rushed out and called to the men to come to his father's assistance. at any rate let there be no names mentioned. now let us finish our work here." the female servant was soon found and bound; then the four prisoners were placed in different rooms, and fastened securely to the wall or pillars. "never put two prisoners together," jethro said; "always remember that tie one man up and you may keep him; tie up two and they are sure to escape. they can bite through each other's cords, or untie the knot with their teeth, or possibly even with their fingers." "now, what is the next thing to do?" amuba asked. "the next thing is to have a consultation. do you, chebron, go out into the garden to the girls. amuba and i will deal with the other man." as soon as jethro and amuba had left him chebron re- joined the girls. "you saved my life, ruth i shall never forget it" "you saved me from the crocodile, my lord. it was but a push and he fell. i scarce know how it was done." "your quickness saved my life all the same, ruth i had not noticed him till you cried out, and then it would have been too late. we have been anxious for you also, ruth. we hoped that you might be with mysa, but none saw you go out with her." "my place was with my mistress," ruth said quietly. "and she was more than a mistress—she was as a friend to me." "but how came you here, chebron i" mysa again asked, "and why are you dressed up like a peasant woman? it is not seemly in any man, much less in you, a priest and amuba and jethro, too; they are dressed as peasants, and their faces seem changed, i do not know how. they look darker, and i should not have known them had i not recog- nized jethro's voice." united. "it is a long story, dear, and i will tell you all presently, and we want to hear your story too. ah! here come the others. it is to them, mysa, far more than to me that you owe your rescue. i may know more of the learning of our people, but i have none of the readiness and coolness of amuba, while jethro is as prudent as he is brave. it would have fared hardly with me as well as with you, mysa, had it not been for these good friends." mysa went up to them as they approached . "oh, jethro! i feel how much i owe to you; and to you, amuba. my courage had all but given way, although ruth strove so hard to give me hope, and i fear i could not have long withstood the threats of that bad man. you cannot tell what joy i felt when i recognized your voice." "our joy was as great in finding you as yours in seeing us," jethro replied. "amuba and i would gladly have laid down our lives for you. and now let us have a con- sultation; there is much to decide upon and arrange. let us go round to the garden at the other side of the house. there we can sit and talk, and at the same time keep watch that no one else enters. it is not likely that any one will do so, for the place is secluded, and none would know that these men were here; still a peasant might enter to sell fowls or fruit, therefore it were best to keep an eye upon the eutrance." they went round to some seats placed beneath trees on the other side of the house. a fountain worked by the water of a little rill on the hillside played in front of them, and a few tame water-fowl swam in a shallow basin around it. everything was still and peaceful, and to chebron it seemed as if the events of the last three weeks had been a hideous dream, and that they were again sitting in the garden of their house at thebes. "now, first of all," mysa said, "i must have my questions answered . how are my father and mother and everyone?" jethro took amuba's arm and turned away. "we will "this is too dreadful!" leave you, chebron, to tell mysa what has taken place. it will be better for you to do so alone." ruth rose from her seat to leave also, but mysa put her hand on her arm. "i am frightened, ruth; stay with me." "you told me, mysa," chebron began, "that they had told you tales that our father was dead, and that it was i who killed paucis." "yes; but i did not believe them, chebron. of course i did not for a moment—at least not for a moment about you. but when i thought of those bad men at the gate, and the crash we heard, and the noise of the people rushing in shouting, i thought—i was afraid—that perhaps it might be true about our father. but, oh, chebron, surely it is not so?" "alas! mysa, it is true! they cruelly slew our father. i wish i had been there to have fallen by his side; but you know amuba and i were away. jethro fought desperately to the last, and would have died with him had not our father himself commanded that in case anything happened to him he was to take charge of me, and to carry me out of the land." mysa was crying bitterly now. presently she looked up. "but why should you want to leave the land, chebron? surely—surely it is not true that you—" the thing seemed too terrible for her to put into words. "that i killed poor paucis. that is true also, mysa." mysa gave a little cry of horror. "oh, ruth!" she cried, "this is too dreadful!" ruth put her arms round the sobbing girl. "you may be sure, mysa, that your brother did not do it intentionally." "but it is all the same," mysa cried. "it was the sacred cat, you know—the cat of bubastes." "it was, mysa; and i thought at first, as you did, that al- though it was the result of an accident the anger of the gods would be poured out against me, that i was as one accursed, "i should never do that!" whose life was forfeited in this world, and whose spirit was destined to dwell in unclean beasts after death. but when i told my father all, he reassured me, and told me not to fear in any way the wrath of the gods." he then related to his sister the manner in which the cat had been killed, the steps he and amuba had taken to con- ceal the body, and his avowal to his father of his fault. "i see it was not your fault, chebron. but you know the laws of egypt, and the punishment for killing even a com- mon cat. how could our father say that the gods would not be angry?" "i cannot tell you all he said, mysa; though some day had i remained with you i might have done so. but he did say so, and you know how wise and good he was. therefore i want you to remember what he said, so that when i am gone you will not all your life think of me as one accursed." "oh! i should never do that!" mysa exclaimed, starting up and throwing her arms round her brother's neck. "how could you think so? but why are you talking about going, ind where are you going?" "i am going, mysa, because the people of egypt do not view this matter in the same light as my father, but are hunting all the land to find and slay me and amuba; for, not knowing the exact truth, they put us down as equally guilty. so we must fly. our father gave full directions to jethro, and we should by this time have been a long distance away had it not been that we stayed to find and rescue you." "then if the other things they told me are true, chebron, it may be true too that the letter they showed me ordering me to consent to marry plexo was from my mother. how could she tell me that when she knew that i hated him, and she has over and over again spoken scornfully of his family before me?" "what did she say?" chebron asked. "she said that now disgrace had fallen on the family i "he died by his own hand." might think myself very fortunate in obtaining such an offer." chebron was silent. he knew that his mother had never shown any earnest love either for mysa or himself, that her thoughts were entirely devoted to dress and entertainments, and that any love she had to give had been bestowed upon his brother. "i fear it is true, mysa." "but i will never marry plexo!" mysa exclaimed passion- ately. "my father always said i should never marry a man i disliked." "you will never marry plexo, mysa—he is dead." ruth uttered an exclamation. "he died by his own hand, ruth—that is, by an accident as he fell his dagger pierced his own heart, and when jethro went to look at him he was dead." "the lord requited him for his evil," ruth said firmly. "all things are in his hands. as i did not mean to slay him, i lament not over his death. besides, he strove to take your life, and had i had a dagger in my hand i should assuredly have used it." "then what is to become of me?" mysa asked. "you must go back to your mother, mysa. there is nought else for you to do." "i will not!" mysa exclaimed. "she never loved me. she would have married me against my will to plexo, al- though she knew he was bad, and that i hated him. she would make me marry some one else who was rich, regardless of my wishes. no, chebron, nothing shall make me go back to her." chebron looked perplexed. "here come jethro and amuba, dear. you had best talk it over with them. i see nothing else for you to do." as jethro came up mysa walked to meet him. "i will not go back to my mother, jethro " she exclaimed impetuously. "she wanted me to marry plexo. she would mysa's determination. tremendous journey, full of danger and fatigue. we are going among unknown and savage peoples; the chances are a hundred to one against our ever arriving at the end of our journey. if this is so to myself and to young men like chebron and amuba—for they are now past eighteen, and will speedily be men—what chance would there be of success with you with us?" "i can walk as well as chebron," mysa said. "you know that, chebron. and i suppose i could suffer hardship just as well. at any rate, i would rather suffer anything and be with him and all of you than stop here. the people have murdered my father. my mother would sell me to the highest bidder. if the chances are so great that you will never get through your journey in safety, my being with you cannot make them so much greater. i have only chebron in the world, and i will go where he goes, and die where he dies. the gods can protect me just as well on a journey as here. have they not protected you now, and chebron too, by what he says? you will take me with you, dear jethro, won't you?" she urged pleadingly. "you say my father wished you to watch over me; do not forsake me now. ruth will come with us too—will you not, ruth ?—i am sure she will not be more afraid of the journey than i am." "i will assuredly go if you go, mysa. the god of israel can take us safely through all dangers if it be his will." jethro was silent such an addition to his charge would assuredly add immensely to the difficulties of the journey; but on the other hand he remembered the anxiety of ameres about mysa, and he asked himself what his late master would have wished had he known how matters stood. he glanced at amuba and chebron and saw at once that their wishes agreed with those of mysa. he turned away abruptly, and for some minutes paced up and down the garden. then he returned to the group, among whom not a word had been exchanged since he left them. "mysa," he said gravely, "this is a great thing that you g a serious undertaking. ask; there is no disguising that your presence will add greatly to our difficulties, will add also to our perils, and may render it impossible for me to carry out your father's wishes and to conduct chebron to a land where he will be beyond the persecution of egypt such an enterprise must be undertaken in no light spirit if you go you must be prepared to face death in all forms—by hunger and thirst and the weapons of the wild natives. it may even be that your lot may be that of slavery among them. it is a terrible journey for men, more terrible still for women; still, if you are resolved, resolved with the strength and mind of a woman and not of a child, that after having once turned your back upon egypt you will never repent the step you have taken or wish to return, but will be steadfast under all the trials that may befall us, then i say that you shall share our lot" mysa uttered an exclamation of joy. "i promise, jethro; and whatever may happen—hardship, danger, or death—you shall never hear a word of complaint from me. are you not glad, ruth?" "i think it well," ruth said gravely. "it is a great undertaking; but i think that god's hand is in it i, too, would fain leave this land of idols; and except those here have none in the world to care for." "and now, jethro," amuba said, "what had we best do? it is already almost dark, therefore we could set out at once. could we make use of the chariot?" jethro considered for a short time. "except for carrying any things we may want for our first start, i do not see that we can do so," he said; "for where we leave the chariot to-morrow morning it would be found, and when it is known that ptylus' chariot was miss- ing it would soon be recognized as his, and thus a clue be afforded to the fact that we had fled south. as to travelling in it beyond to-night, it would be out of the question. besides it will only hold three at the most no, if we use the disposal of the chariot. it at all it must be to drive north, and so throw them off the scent . i think it will be worth doing that." "i will undertake that part of the business," amuba said . "there will be much for you to do to-morrow, jethro, which only you can arrange. there's the boat to be hired, stores laid in, and all got in readiness. i think the best plan will be for you both to start at once with the girls for thebes. you and chebron can occupy your hiding-place on the hill, and chigron will be glad to take the girls into his house. there is no danger of an immediate search being made for them. "to-night when the priest and his son do not return their servants will suppose that they have slept here. it will not be until late to-morrow afternoon that there will be any alarm or any likelihood of a messenger being sent over here, then the consternation and confusion that will be caused will be so great that probably no one will think of carrying the news to the officials until the next morning. besides, until the story of mysa's having been here and of her being missing is generally known, there is no reason that what has taken place should be attributed to us; therefore, for the next eight-and-forty hours i think that they would be per- fectly safe at the embalmer's. i will drive the chariot thirty or forty miles north, then turn the horses loose where they are sure to be noticed ere long, and will return on foot and join you in your hiding-place to-morrow night." "i think your plan is a very good one, amuba. before we start i will make a search through the house. there will be nothing we want to take with us, nor would we touch any of the treasure of the villains were the house full of it; but if i toss some of the things about it will look as if robbery had been the motive of what has taken place. the men in bonds can know nothing of the real state of things. plexo, when he rushed out for their aid, can have had no time to do more than to tell them to take up their arms and follow him; indeed, it is doubtful whether he him- preparing a false clue. self had any idea that we were aught but what we seemed. therefore, the first impression assuredly will be that we were malefactors of the worst kind, escaped slaves, men with no respect for the gods; for assuredly no egyptians, even the worst of criminals, would, in cold blood, have laid hands on the high-priest of osiris." "they laid hands on my father," chebron said bitterly. "yes, but not in cold blood. reports had first been spread amongst them that he was untrue to the gods, and then they were maddened by fanaticism and horror at the death of that sacred cat. but in cold blood, as i said, no egyptian, however vile and criminal, would lift his hand against a priest . you may as well come with me, amuba, it would be strange if one of us only took part in the search." in ten minutes jethro and amuba had turned the place into confusion in forcing open chests and cabinets and lit- tering the floor with garments; then taking a few of the most valuable vases and jewels they threw them into the pond round the fountain, where they would be concealed from view by the water-lilies which floated on its surface. they examined afresh the fastenings of the captives, and felt assured that by no possibility could they free them- selves. "they will be sure to be freed by to-morrow night," amuba said, "otherwise i should not like to leave them here to die of hunger and thirst." "i should be only too glad," jethro said, "if i thought there was a chance of their being here forty hours instead of twenty. doubtless this is not the first evil business they have carried out for their villain master, and they may think themselves lucky indeed that we do not take what would be in every way the safest and best course, namely, to run a sword through their bodies and silence them for ever. if i thought they could tell anything i would do so now; but i really do not think that anything they can tell "they can tell nothing." will add to our danger. of course the priest's wife knows that mysa is hidden here, and will proclaim the fact that she has been here and is now missing, as she would consider it might afford a clue for the apprehension of those who attacked the house and slew her husband and son, therefore i do not see that there would be much to be gained hy silencing these people; but if you think differently i will finish them at once." amuba shook his head, for although human life in those days was thought little of, save by the egyptians them- selves, he shrank from the thought of slaying captives in cold blood. "no, they can tell nothing, jethro. you had best be moving, there is nothing more to talk over. i think all our plans were arranged long ago; except, of course, that you must get rather a larger boat than you had intended, together with garments for the girls. i think it would be best that chebron should still be disguised as a woman; but we can settle that to-morrow night there is a good store of dresses for us to choose from at chigron's." amuba led the horses to a stone water-trough and allowed them to quench their thirst then he mounted the chariot and drove off, while the rest of the party set out on foot for thebes. it was so late before they reached chigron's house that they thought it better not to arouse the inmates, as comment would be excited by the arrival of women at so late an hour and unexpected by the master; the girls, therefore, passed the night in the rock chamber behind the building, while jethro and chebron lay down outside. as soon as dawn broke they moved some distance away. jethro went to the house as soon as there was a sign that there was any one astir, and told chigron that they had discovered and rescued mysa. chigron was much disturbed when he heard of the death of the high-priest and his son. "i don't say these men were not villains, jethro; but that two high-priests should be slaughtered in the course of a welcome shelter. a month is enough to hring the anger of all the gods upon egypt however, the poor girls are not responsible for it in any way, and i will willingly shelter them, especially as it is but for one night; but i own that i shall be vastly relieved when i know that you are all fairly on your journey." "that i can well understand," jethro said; "and believe me, the gratitude of those you have sheltered, which you will have as long as they live, may well outweigh any doubts that may present themselves as to whether you have acted wisely in aiding those who are victims to the superstitions of your countrymen." chigron called his servants and told them that he had just heard of the arrival from the country of some friends, and ordered a room to be prepared for them. he then went out and returned an hour later with the two girls. he led them quietly into the house and direct to the apart- ment prepared for them, so that they were unseen by any of the servants. then he called an old servant on whose fidelity he could rely, and charged her to wait upon them during the day, and to suffer none other to enter the apartment he bade her convey the impression to the other servants that the visitors were aged women, and to mention that they intended to make a stay of a few hours only, until some friends with whom they were going to stay should send in a cart to carry them to their farm in the country. the old woman at once prepared baths for the girls and then supplied them with a meal, after which they lay down on couches and were soon fast asleep; for the excitement of the preceding evening and the strangeness of their position in the comfortless stone chamber had prevented their closing an eye during the night, and they had spent the hours in talking over the terrible loss mysa had sustained, and the journey that lay before them. half an hour later chigron went out again and was soon joined by jethro, who had now resumed his attire as a citizen of middle class. it was necessary that chigron hiring a boat. should accompany him and take the chief part in making the arrangements; for although jethro had learned, in his two years' captivity, to speak egyptian fluently, he could not well pass as a native. chigron therefore did most of the bargaining, jethro keeping somewhat in the background. they first took their course down to the river bank. here innumerable craft lay moored; for the nile was the highway of egypt, and except for short journeys all traffic was carried on on its waters. as soon as it was known that they were looking for a boat they were surrounded by the owners of the various craft, each praising the speed, safety, and comfort of his boat. chigron, however, was some time before he made his choice; then he fixed upon a boat that seemed well suited for the purpose. she carried a mast and large sail to take advantage of favourable winds. she was light and of very small draught, and, being con- structed entirely for passenger traffic, she had a large cabin —divided into two parts for the accommodation of ladies— the crew, consisting of the captain and four men, sleeping on the deck . "i think your boat will do very well," he said to the captain, "provided we can come to terms. my friend is going up with his family as far as syene at any rate, and possibly on to ibsciak; his business may take him even far- ther. what will be your terms a week?" "i suppose my lord will provide food for the crew as well as for his own family?" "that will be the best way," jethro said. "then will he pay for extra hands where the current runs so strong that the crew cannot tow the boat unaided against it?" jethro assented. "and will he return with it, or remain for a while at the end of his journey?" "it is probable that his business may detain him there for a considerable time," chigron replied. "he has rela- the final arrangements. but to-morrow, when those who were in the house are questioned by the magistrates, this fact will doubtless come out, and the men will own that by the orders of ptylus they carried mysa away at the time the attack on the house was made. "at present, however, there is no question of women in the case; and i can go down to the boat with the girls in company with chigron without any fear whatever. but it is better that you should not be with us when we embark; for when the matter comes to be talked over, someone who sees us embark might notice that our number tallied with that of the three persons present when ptylus was killed, and the two missing girls. therefore chigron's opinion is that it will be safer for you to start at once and walk to mita, a village twenty miles up the river. there the boat will lie up to-morrow night, and as soon as it is dark you can come on board. i shall tell the boatmen that i expect you to join us there, as you have gone on ahead to transact some business for me in the neighbourhood." "that is certainly the best plan," amuba agreed. "there are too many who know chebron by sight for it to be safe for him to go down to the boat here and embark in broad daylight. i will take two hours' sleep before i start; for as i did not sleep last night, and have walked forty miles since i left the chariot, i feel in need of a little repose before i start again. i was foolish not to have slept this afternoon, for i have since midday been hiding near; but there was so much to think about that i had no inclination to do so, especially as i believed that we would have a night's rest here." "i will wake you," chebron said. "i have been asleep the better part of the day, having had nothing to do since we arrived here yesterday evening." chebron sat watching the stars until he saw that they had made two hours' journey through the sky. then he roused amuba. both now laid aside their garments as peasants and put on the attire prepared for them as the on the bank of the river. sons of a small trader. amuba had submitted, although with much disgust, to have his head shaved on the night following the death of ameres, and it was a satisfaction to him to put on a wig; for, accustomed as he was to see the bare heads of the peasants, it was strange and uncomfortable to him to be going about in the same fashion. as soon as they were dressed they started, made their way down to the bank of the river above the town, and walked along the broad causeway by the stream until within a mile or two of their destination. then they turned off towards a clump of trees which were visible by the first gleam of dawn a quarter of a mile away. here they slept for some hours, and late in the afternoon returned to the side of the river and strolled quietly along, watching the boats. those in the middle of the stream were making their way down with the current lightly and easily, the crews often singing merrily, rejoicing over the approaching meeting with their friends after an absence of many weeks. the boats going up the stream were all close to the bank, the crews walking along the causeway and labouring at the tow-ropes, for there was not enough wind to render the sails of any utility in breasting the stream. the craft were of various kinds, some shapeless and rudely fashioned, used in conveying corn from the country higher up down to thebes, and now returning empty. others were the fancifully-painted boats of the wealthy, with comfortable cabins and.sails of many colours richly decorated and embroidered. these were carrying their owners up or down the river, between their country mansions and the city. it was half an hour after sunset when the two friends arrived at mita. darkness falls quickly in egypt after the sun has gone down, and their features could scarcely have been recognized had they been met by anyone acquainted with them in the streets. the scene in the streets of the little village was a busy one. its distance from thebes rendered it a general halting-place for the night of the boats "here are your brothers." which had left the capital early, and a great number of these were already moored off the bank, while others were arriving in quick succession. the boatmen and passengers were busy making their purchases at the shops; fishermen, with well-filled baskets, were shouting the praises of their fish; fowlers, with strings of ducks and geese hanging from poles from their shoulders, were equally clamorous in offer- ing them for sale. the shops of the fruiterers and bakers and those of the vendors of the vegetables that formed so large a portion of the diet of the egyptians, were all crowded, and the wine- shops were doing a brisk business. chebron and amuba made their way through the busy scene, keeping a sharp look-out for jethro, for they consid- ered it certain, that owing to the early start the boat was to make that it would have arrived there some hours before, and that he would be on the look-out for them. in a few minutes they saw him looking into one of the shops. he started as they went up to him and touched him, for he had not perceived them before. "all well?" amuba asked. "everything has gone off admirably. we got off without the slightest trouble. but come on board at once; the girls are anxious about you, although i assured them that there was not the slightest risk of your being discovered on your way here." so saying, jethro led the way to the boat, which was moored by the bank a hundred yards above the village, "in order," jethro said, "that they could make an early start in the morning, and be off before the rest of the boats were under way." "here are your brothers," jethro said in a loud voice as he stepped on board. "i found them dawdling and gossip- ping in the street, forgetting altogether that you were wait- ing for your evening meal until they came on board." both entered the cabin, which was about eight feet wide and "it does feel homelike." twelve feet long, but not high enough for them to stand up- right . the floor was spread with a thick carpet; cushions and pillows were arranged along each side, and thick mat- ting hung from the top. in the daytime this was rolled up and fastened, so that the air could play through the cabin, and those within could look out at the river; but at present it closed the openings, and kept out both the night-air and the glances of passers-by. at the other end was a door opening into the smaller cabin allotted to the girls. a lamp swung from the beams overhead. mysa gave a cry of plea- sure as they entered, and was about to spring to her feet when jethro exclaimed: "mind your head, child! you are not accustomed to these low quarters yet." "thank the gods we are together again!" mysa said, as chebron, after embracing her, sat down on the cushion beside her. "i feel almost happy now, in spite of the dreadful times that have passed." "it does feel homelike here," chebron said, looking round, "especially after sleeping in the open air on the hard ground, as we have been doing for the last month." "i should hardly have known you, amuba," mysa said. "you do look so different in your wig, and with your skin darkened." "i must look horrible," amuba replied rather ruefully. "you don't look so nice," mysa replied frankly. "i used at first to think that short, wavy, golden hair of yours was strange, and that you would look better in a wig like other people; but now i am sorry it has gone." "here is our meal," jethro said, as the hangings that served as a door were drawn aside, and one of the men entered bearing a dish of fried fish and another of stewed ducks, which he placed on the floor. jethro produced some cups and a jar of wine from a locker in the cabin, and then the men, by his orders, brought in a jar of water for the use of the girls. then sitting round the a change of names. dishes they began their meal, jethro cutting up the food with his dagger, and all helping themselves with the aid of their fingers and pieces of bread, that served them for the purpose of forks. mysa had been accustomed always to the use of a table; but these were only used in the abodes of the rich, and the people in general sat on the ground to their meals. "we have not begun our hardships yet," mysa said, smiling. "i should not mind how long this went on. i call this much better than living in a house; don't you, ruth?" "it is more natural to me than that great house of yours," ruth replied; "and of course to me it is far more homelike and comfortable. for i do not think i was a favourite among the other servants; they were jealous of the kindness you showed me." "there is one thing i wanted to say," jethro said. "it is better that we should not call each other by our names. i am sure that the boatmen have no suspicion here that we are other than what we seem to be; but they can hardly help hearing our names, for all egypt has rung with them for the last month, and it would be well if we change them for the present . you must of necessity call me father, since that is the relation i am supposed to bear to you. amuba can become amnis, and chebron chefu." "and i will be mytis," mysa said. "what name will you take, ruth? there is no egyptian name quite like yours." "it matters not what you call me," ruth said. 'we will call you nite," mysa said. "i had a great friend of that name, but she died." "and there is one thing, nite," chebron said, "that i wish you to understand. just now you spoke to me as my lord chebron. that sort of thing must not be any longer. we are all fugitives together, and mysa and i have no longer any rank . jethro and amuba are of high rank in their own country, and if we ever get safely to their own people ruth's story. they will be nobles in the land, while we shall be but strangers, as he was when he and jethro came into egypt therefore any talk of rank among us is but folly. we are fugitives, and my life is forfeited if i am discovered in my own land. jethro is our leader and guardian, alike by the will of our father and because he is older and wiser than any of us. amuba is as my elder brother, being stronger and braver and more accustomed to danger than i; while you and mysa are sisters, inasmuch as you are both exiled from your own land, and are friendless, save for each other and us." "i am glad to hear you say that, brother," mysa said. "i spoke to her last night about it, for she would insist on treating me as if she were still my servant; which is absurd, and not nice of her, when she is going out with us to share our dangers only because she loves me. it is i rather who should look up to her, for i am very helpless, and know nothing of work or real life, while she can do all sorts of things; besides, when we were captives it was she who was always brave and hopeful, and kept up my spirits when, i do think, if it had not been for her i should have died of grief and terror." "by the way," jethro said, "we have not heard yet how it was that you were together. we heard of your being carried off, but old lyptis told me that no one had seen aught of you." "they were all scared out of their senses," ruth said scornfully. "the men suddenly ran into the room and seized mysa, and twisted a shawl round her head before she had time to call out i screamed, and one of them struck me a blow which knocked me down. then they carried her off. i think i was stunned for a moment when i recov- ered i found they were gone. i jumped up and ran along the passage and through the hall, where the women were screaming and crying, and then out of the house through the garden, and out of the gate. then i saw four men at a "you acted bravely and well." short distance off carrying mysa to a cart standing a hun- dred yards away. i ran up just as they laid her in it one of them turned upon me with a dagger. i said: "let me go with her, and i will be quiet if not, i will scream; and if you kill me, it will only set the people on your traces. "the men hesitated, and i ran past them and climbed into the cart, and threw myself down by mysa, and then they drove off." "it was brave and good of you, ruth," jethro said, laying his hand on the girl's shoulder; "but why did you not scream when you first came out of the gate? it might have brought aid, and prevented mysa from being carried off." "i thought of that," ruth said, "but there were numbers of rough men still coming in at the gate; and knowing how the people had been stirred up to anger against us, i did not know what might happen if i gave the alarm. besides, i was not sure at first that these men, although they seemed so rough and violent, were not really friends, who were taking away mysa to save her from the popular fury." "yes, that might have been the case," jethro agreed. "at any rate, child, you acted bravely and well. we were hoping all along that you were with mysa, for we knew what a comfort you would be to her. only, as the women all declared you did not pass out after her, we did not see how that could be. and now, mytis and nite, you had better retire to your own cabin to rest; for though you have both kept up wonderfully, all this has been a great strain for you, and you are both looking fagged and heavy-eyed. to-night you can sleep in comfort; for, for the present, i think that there is no occasion whatever for the slightest anxiety." it was some time before jethro and his companions lay down to sleep. they talked long and earnestly of the journey that lay before them; and when they had exhausted this topic, chebron said: "till now, jethro, i have not asked you about my father's breakfast. the four men towing her, and the captain steering with an oar at the stern. it was light enough now for him to dis- tinguish the faces of his passengers, and he brought the boat straight alongside the bank. in a few minutes the girls came out from their cabin, looking fresh and rosy. "so you have been bathing?" mysa said. "we heard what you were saying, and we have had our bath too." "how did you manage that?" chebron asked. "we went out by the door at the other side of our cabin in our woollen robes, on to that little platform on which the man is standing to steer, and poured jars of water over each other." "and you both slept well?" "yes, indeed, and without waking once till we heard amnis call you to get up." "you disturbed every one, you see, amnis," chebron said. "and a very good thing too," amuba laughed. "if we had not had our bath when we did, we should not have got an opportunity all day. now we all feel fresh." "and ready for something to eat," mysa put in. "what would you like, mytis?" ruth asked. "i am a capital cook, you know, and i don't suppose the men will be preparing their breakfast for a long time yet" "i think that will be a very good plan, mytis," jethro said; "but we will divide the labour between us. the two boys shall stir up the brands mouldering on the flat stone hearth forward, i will clean and get ready some fish, nite shall cook them, while mytis shall, under her directions, make us some cakes and put them into the hot ashes to bake. we shall have to shift for ourselves later on. there is nothing like getting accustomed to it of course the men will cook the principal meals, but we can prepare little meals between times. it is astonishing how many times you can eat during the day when you are in the open air.'' in half an hour the meal, consisting of the fish, light a pleasant time. dough-cakes, which mysa had with much amusement pre- pared under ruth's directions, and fruit was ready. the latter consisted of grapes and melons. the meal was greatly enjoyed, and by the time it was finished the sun was already some distance up the sky. for an hour the party sat on the deck forward watching the boats coming down the stream and the villages on the opposite shore; but as the sun gained power they were glad to enter into the cabin. the mats were rolled up now to allow a free passage of air, and as they sat on the cushions they could look out on both sides. day after day passed quietly and smoothly. the men generally towed the boat from sunrise until eleven o'clock in the day, then they moored her to the bank, prepared a meal, and after eating it went ashore if there were trees that afforded a shade there, or if not, spread out some mats on poles over the boat and slept in their shade till three o'clock. then they towed until sunset, moored her for the night, cooked their second meal, talked and sung for an hour or two, and then lay down for the night. sometimes the wind blew with sufficient strength to enable the boat to stem the stream close inshore by means of the sail alone; then the boatmen were perfectly happy, and spent their day in alternate eating and sleeping. generally the passengers landed and walked alongside of the boat for an hour or two after they had had their early breakfast, and again when the heat of the day was over; it made a change, and at the same time kept their muscles in a state of health and ac- tivity. "we may have to make long journeys on foot," jethro said, "and the more we can accustom ourselves to walking the better." the time passed so quietly and pleasantly that both mysa and chebron at times blamed themselves for feeling as light- hearted as they did; but when the latter once said so to jethro he replied: the route to be followed. "do not be uneasy on that score. remember that in the first place it is a comfort to us all that you and your sister are cheerful companions. it makes the journey lighter for ua in the next place, good spirits and good health go together; and although, at present, our life is an easy one, there will be need for health and strength presently. this flight and exile are at present blessings rather than misfortunes to you. just as amuba's captivity following so closely upon the death of his father and mother was to him." "i can hardly believe," mysa said, "that we are really going upon a dangerous expedition. everything is so pleas- ant and tranquil. the days pass without any care or trouble. i find it difficult to believe that the time is not very far off when we shall have to cross deserts, and perhaps to meet savage beasts and wild people, and be in danger of our lives." "it will be a long time first, mytis. it will be months before we arrive at meroe, the capital of the next kingdom, which lies at the junction of the two great arms of this river. up to that point i do not think there will be dangers, though there may be some little difficulty, for they say there are tremendous rapids to be passed. it is only lately that the king overran meroe, defeated its armies, and forced it to pay tribute, but as there is a considerable trade carried on with that country i do not think there is any danger of molestation. it is on leaving meroe that our difficulties will commence; for, as i hear, the road thence to the east through the city of axoum, which is the capital of the country named abyssinia, passes through a wild land abounding with savage animals; and again, beyond axoum the country is broken and difficult down to the sea. "chigron told me, however, that he had heard from a native of meroe who had worked for him that there is a far shorter road to the sea from a point at which the river takes a great bend many hundreds of miles below the capital. syene. country to traverse which, although often subjugated, was continually rising against the power of egypt at syene they remained for three days. they would gladly have pushed on without delay, for although the egyptian authority extended further up the river, syene was the last town where the governor would concern himself with the affairs of egypt, or where fugitives from justice were likely to be arrested. however, as it was customary to give boatmen a few days of repose after their labour, and before undertaking the still more severe work which lay before them, jethro thought it better to avoid any appearance of haste. there was much to be seen that was new to them at syene. a great trade was carried on with meroe. most of the merchants engaged in it dwelt here, buying on the one hand the products of upper and lower egypt and sending or taking them up the river, and on the other hand buying the products of meroe and despatching them to thebes. the streets were filled with a mingled population . egyptians with their spotless garments and tranquil mien; merchants absorbed in business; officers and soldiers in large numbers, for syene was an important military station; officials belong- ing to the great quarries near, and gangs of slaves of many nationalities working under their orders. wild-looking figures moved among the crowd, their gar- ments, thrown loosely round them, affording a striking con- trast to the cleanness of those of the egyptians, while their unkempt hair was in equally strong contrast to the precise wigs of the middle-class egyptians and the bare heads of the lower class. their skins, too, were much darker in colour, though there was considerable variation in this respect among them were a sprinkling of men of an en- tirely different type, almost black in hue, with thicker lips and flatter features. these were ethiopians, whose land lay beyond that of meroe, and who had also felt the weight and power of the arms of egypt ( ) t the origin of the egyptians. "these people of meroe," amuba said, "are very similar in feature to the egyptians, chebron. and their tongue is also not unlike yours; i can understand their speech." "our oldest books," amuba said, "say that we are kindred people, and are asiatic rather than african in our origin. the people of meroe say that their far-back ancestors came from arabia, and first spreading along the western shore of the red sea, ascended to the high lands and drove out the black people who inhabited them. "as to our own origin, it is vague; but my father has told me that the opinion among those most skilled in the ancient learning is that we too came from arabia. we were not all one people, that is certain; and it is com- paratively of recent years, though a vast time as far as human lives go, that the people of the thebaid—that is, of upper egypt—extended their dominion over lower egypt, and made the whole country one nation. even now, you know, the king wears two crowns—the one of upper egypt, the other of the lower country. along the shores of the great sea to the west are lybians and other peoples similar in race to ourselves. my father considered that the tribes which first came from asia pressed on to the west, driving back or exterminating the black people. each fresh wave that came from the east pushed the others further and further, until at last the ancestors of the people of lower egypt arrived and settled there. "in meroe the temples and religion are similar to our own. whether they brought that religion from arabia, or whether we planted it there during our various conquests of the country, i cannot tell you; but certain it is that there is at present but little more difference between upper egypt and meroe than there is between upper egypt and the delta." "and beyond meroe the people are all black like those we see here?" "so i believe, amuba. our merchants penetrate vast a vast quarry. distances to the south exchanging our products for gold and ivory, and everywhere they find the country inhabited by black people living in wretched villages, without, as it seems, any government, or law, or order, waging war with each other and making slaves, whom they also sell to our mer- chants. they differ so wholly from us that it is certain that we cannot come from the same stock. but they are strong and active, and make excellent slaves. lying between meroe and the sea, the country called abyssinia is also inhabited by a race of arab blood, but differing more from us than those of meroe. "they have great towns, but i do not think that their re- ligion is the same as ours; our traders say that their language can be understood by them, although more rough and un- polished. i have heard my father say that he considered that all the country lying east of the nile, and of its eastern branch that rises in abyssinia and is called the tacazze, belongs to asia rather than to africa." the party found that the death by violence of two suc- cessive high-priests of osiris was one of the principal topics of conversation in syene, but none appeared to think that there was the remotest probability of any concerned in those occurrences making for the south. however, jethro thought it prudent that the whole party should not land together, and therefore amuba and chebron usually went one way, and he with the girls another. they paid visits to the sacred island of ebo opposite the town, and to the quarries of phile, four miles away. here they saw the gangs of slaves cutting out colossal statues, obelisks, and shrines from the solid rock . first the outline was traced on the rock, then the sur- rounding stone was removed with chisels and wedges, and at last the statue or obelisk was itself severed from the rock. then it was hewn and sculptured by the masons, placed on rollers and dragged by hundreds of men down to the landing-place below the rapids, and these placed on rafts slave labourers. to be floated down the river to its destination. they saw many of these masses of stone in all stages of manufacture. the number of slaves employed was enormous, and these inhabited great buildings erected near the quarries, where also were barracks for the troops who kept guard over them. watching the slaves at their painful labour, jethro and amuba were both filled with gratitude at the good fortune that had placed them with ameres instead of sending them to pass their lives in such unceasing and monotonous toil. among the slaves were several whom, by their complexion and appearance, they judged to be rebu. as at first all those brought to egypt had been distributed among the priests and great officers, they supposed that either from obstinacy, misconduct, or from attempts to escape, they had incurred the displeasure of their masters, and had been handed over by them for the service of the state. had the slaves been in the hands of private masters, jethro and amuba, who were filled with pity at seeing their country men in such a state, would have endeavoured to purchase them and take them with them upon their journey. this was out of the question now, nor was it possible to hold any communication with them, or to present them with a small sum of money to alleviate their misery, without exciting suspicion. the whole party were heartily glad when on the morning of the fourth day after their arrival the boat was pushed off from the shore, and the work of ascending the rapids began. chapter xvil out of egypt. the river had begun to rise before they left thebes, and although it had not yet reached its highest point a great volume of water was pouring down; and the boatmen the frontier town. records of the victories of rameses over various nations of africa and asia. jethro offered, if the boatmen wished to make a longer stay here, that he would charter another boat to take them further; but they declared their willingness to proceed at the end of a week after their arrival, being well satisfied with their engagement and treatment. after passing the second cataract they arrived at another large town named behni. this was a very large city, and abounded with temples and public buildings. the largest temple was dedi- cated to thoth. all along the river a belt of cultivated land extended for some miles back from the bank; this was dotted with numerous villages, and there was no difficulty whatever in obtaining food of all kinds. at last they reached semneh, the point to which the boatmen had agreed to take them. this was the farthest boundary to which at that time the egyptian power ex- tended. the river here took a great bend to the east, then flowing south and afterwards again west, forming a great loop. this could be avoided by cutting across the desert to merawe, a flourishing town which marked the northern limit of the power of meroe, the desert forming a conveni- ent neutral ground between the two kingdoms. sometimes egypt under a powerful king carried her arms much further to the south, at other times a warlike monarch of meroe would push back the egyptian frontier almost to syene; but as a rule the nile as far south as semneh was regarded as be- longing to egypt. the traders arriving at semneh generally waited until a sufficient number were gathered together to form a strong caravan for mutual protection against the natives inhabiting the desert, who held themselves independent alike of egypt and of meroe, and attacked and plundered parties crossing the desert, unless these were so strong and well-armed as to be able to set them at defiance. erecting two tents, and > now wady-half a. the choice of routes. landing their goods and merchandise, jethro and his party encamped near the river-bank . they had not yet settled whether they would cross the desert or continue their jour- ney by water. the choice between the two routes was open to them; for although the traders usually crossed the desert, taking with them their lighter and more valuable merchandise, the heavier goods made the long detour in boats, going up in large flotillas, both for protection against the natives and for mutual aid in ascending the rapids which had to be encountered. there was no difficulty in hiring another boat, for it was the universal rule to make a transhipment here, as the egyptian boatmen were unwilling to enter meroe. the transport beyond this point, therefore, was in the hands of the people of this country. in consultation with the traders gathered at semneh jethro learned that it was by no means necessary to proceed up the river to the city of meroe, and thence eastward through axoum, the capital of abyssinia, to the sea, but that a far shorter road existed from the easternmost point of the bend of the river direct to the sea. there were, indeed, several large egyptian towns upon the red sea, and from these a flourishing trade was carried on with meroe and abyssinia; and the first merchant to whom jethro spoke was much surprised to find that he was in ignorance of the existence of the route he had described. the journey, although toilsome, was said to be no more so than that from meroe through axoum, while the distance to be traversed was small in comparison. after much con- sultation it was therefore agreed that the best plan was to dispose of the merchandise that they had brought with them to one of the traders about to proceed south, retaining only sufficient for the payment of the men whom it would be necessary to take with them for protection on their journey. jethro had no difficulty in doing this, alleging as his reason 'now khartoum. the journey resumed. for parting with his goods that he found that the expenses to meroe would greatly exceed the sum he had calculated upon, and that therefore he had determined to proceed no further. as they thought it best to allow six months from the date of their departure from thebes to elapse before they entered any large egyptian town, they remained for nearly two months at semneh, and then finding that a flotilla of boats was ready to ascend the river they made an arrange- ment with some boatmen for the hire of their craft to the point where they were to leave the river and again set out on their journey. the difficulties of the journey were very great. after travelling for some sixty miles they came to rapids more dangerous than any they had passed, and it took the flotilla more than a fortnight passing up them, only four or five boats being taken up each day by the united labours of the whole of the crews. there was great satisfaction when the last boat had been taken up the rapids, and there was a general feast that evening among the boatmen. during the whole time they had been engaged in the passage a number of armed scouts had been placed upon the rocky eminences near the bank; for the place had an evil reputation, and attacks were frequently made by the desert tribesmen upon those passing up or down upon the river. so far no signs of the presence of hostile natives had been perceived. the usual precautions, however, had been taken; the cargoes had all been carried up by hand and deposited so as to form a breastwork, and as night closed in several sentries were placed to guard against surprise. it had been arranged that the men belonging to the boats each day brought up should that night take sentinel duty; and this evening jethro, his companions, and boatmen were among those on guard. many of the boats had left semneh before them, and they had been among the last to arrive at the foot of the cataracts, and consequently came up in the last batch. an attack repulsed. "stoop down behind the breastwork," jethro shouted, "until they are near enough for you to take aim. have your spears ready to check their onslaught when they charge.'' although jethro held no position entitling him to com- mand, his orders were as promptly obeyed as if he had been in authority. the men recognized at once, by the calmness of his tones, that he was accustomed to warfare, and readily yielded to him obedience. in a minute or two a crowd of figures could be seen approaching, and the egyptians, leap- ing to their feet, poured in a volley of arrows. the yells and screams which broke forth testified to the execution wrought in the ranks of the enemy, but without a check they still rushed forward . the egyptians discharged their arrows as fast as they could during the few moments left them, and then, as the natives rushed at the breastwork, threw down their bows, and, grasping the spears, maces, swords, axes, or staves with which they were armed, boldly met the foe. for a few minutes the contest was doubtful, but encour- aged by the shouts of jethro, whose voice could be heard above the yells of the natives, the egyptians defended their position with vigour and courage. as fast as the natives climbed over the low breastwork of merchandise they were either speared or cut down, and after ten minutes' fierce fighting their attack ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and as if by magic a dead silence succeeded the din of battle. "you have done well, comrades," jethro said, "and de- feated our assailants; but we had best stand to arms for a while, for they may return. i do not think they will, for they have found us stronger and better prepared for them than they had expected. still, as we do not know their ways, it were best to remain on our guard." an hour later, as nothing had been heard of the enemy, the fires were relighted and the wounded attended to. six- teen men had been shot dead by the arrows of the assailants and some fifty were more or less severely wounded by the same missiles, while eighteen had fallen in the hand-to-hand chebron carries the news. contest at the breastwork. thirty-seven natives were found dead inside the breastwork. how many had fallen before the arrows of the defenders the latter never knew, for it was found in the morning that the natives had carried off their killed and wounded who fell outside the inclosure. as soon as the fighting was over chebron ran down to the boat to allay the fears of the girls and assure them that none of their party had received a serious wound, jethro alone having been hurt by a spear thrust, which, however, glanced off his ribs, inflicting only a flesh wound, which he treated as of no consequence whatever. "why did not amuba come down with you?" mysa asked. "are you sure that he escaped without injury?" "i can assure you that he has not been touched, mysa; but we are still on guard, for it is possible that the enemy may return again, although we hope that the lesson has been sufficient for them." "were you frightened, chebron?" "i felt a little nervous as they were coming on, but when it came to hand-to-hand fighting i was too excited to think anything about the danger. besides, i was standing be- tween jethro and amuba, and they have fought in great battles, and seemed so quiet and cool that i could scarcely feel otherwise. jethro took the command of every one, and the rest obeyed him without question. but now i must go back to my post. jethro told me to slip away to tell you that we were all safe, but i should not like not to be in my place if they attack again." "i have often wondered, ruth," mysa said when chebron had left them, "what we should have done if it had not been for jethro and amuba. if it had not been for them i should have been obliged to marry plexo, and chebron would have been caught and killed at thebes. they arrange everything, and do not seem afraid in the slightest." "i think your brother is brave, too," ruth said; "and they always consult with him about their plans." ruth understands things. "yes; but it is all their doing," mysa replied. "chebron, before they came, thought of nothing but reading, and was gentle and quiet. i heard one of the slaves say to another that he was more like a girl than a boy; but being with amuba has quite altered him. of course, he is not as strong as amuba, but he can walk and run and shoot an arrow and shoot a javelin at a mark almost as well as amuba can; still he has not so much spirit. i think amuba always speaks decidedly, while chebron hesitates to give an opinion." "but your brother has a great deal more learning than amuba, and so his opinion ought to be worth more, mysa." "oh, yes, if it were about history or science; for any- thing of that sort of course it would, ruth, but not about other things. of course, it is natural that they should be different, because amuba is the son of a king." "the son of a king?" ruth repeated in surprise. "yes, i heard it when he first came; only father said it was not to be mentioned, because if it were known he would be taken away from us and kept as a royal slave at the palace. but he is really the son of a king, and as his father is dead he will be king himself when he gets back to his own country." "and jethro is one of the same people, is he not?" ruth asked. "oh, yes! they are both rebu. i think jethro was one of the king's warriors." "that accounts," ruth said, "for what has often puzzled me. jethro is much the oldest of our party, and altogether the leader, and yet i have observed that he always speaks to amuba as if the latter were the chief." "i have not noticed that," mysa said, shaking her head; "but i do know, now you mention it, that he always asks amuba's opinion before giving his own." "i have constantly noticed it, mysa, and i wondered that since he and amuba were your father's slaves he should the end of the boat-journey. hundreds of years ago came thence. but here are the others," she broke off, as the boat heeled suddenly over as some one sprang on board. "now we shall hear more about the fighting." the next day the journey was continued, and without further adventure the flotilla arrived at last at the town where the party would leave the river and strike for the coast . having unloaded their goods and discharged the boat, jethro hired a small house until arrangements were made for their journey to the sea-coast. el makrif was a place of no great importance. a certain amount of trade was carried on with the coast, but most of the merchants trading with meroe preferred the longer but safer route through axoum. still parties of travellers passed up and down and took boat there for meroe; but there was an absence of the temples and great buildings which had dis- tinguished every town they had passed between thebes and semneh. jethro upon inquiry found that there were wells at the camping-places along the whole route. the people were wild and savage, the egyptian power extending only from the sea-shore to the foot of the hills, some fifteen miles away. occasionally expeditions were got up to punish the tribesmen for their raids upon the cultivated land of the coast, but it was seldom that the troops could come upon them, for, knowing every foot of the mountain, these eluded all search by their heavy-armed adversaries. jethro found that the custom was for merchants travelling across this country to pay a fixed sum in goods for the right of passage. there were two chiefs claiming jurisdiction over the road, and a messenger was at once despatched to the nearest of these with the offer of the usual payment and a request for an escort. a week later four wild-looking figures presented them- selves at the house and stated that they were ready to con- now called berber. "we must not give way, mysa." duct the travellers through their chiefs territory. jethro had already made arrangements with the head man of the place to furnish him with twelve men to carry provisions necessary for the journey, and upon the following morning the party started, and mysa and ruth assumed the garb of boys, jethro finding that although traders might bring up the ladies of their family to semneh, or even take them higher up the river in boats, they would never think of exposing them to the fatigue of a journey across the moun- tains, and that the arrival of two girls at the egyptian town on the sea would therefore assuredly attract remark, and possibly inquiry, on the part of the authorities. for the first few hours the girls enjoyed the change of travelling after the long confinement on the boat, but long before nightfall they longed for the snug cushions and easy life they had left behind. the bearers, heavy laden as they were, proceeded at a steady pace that taxed the strength of the girls to keep up with after the first few miles were passed. the heat of the sun was intense. the country after a short distance had been passed became barren and desolate. they did not suffer from thirst, for an ample supply of fruit was carried by one of the bearers, but their limbs ached, and their feet, unused to walking, became tender and painful. "can we not stop for a while, jethrov mysa asked beseechingly. jethro shook his head. "we must keep on to the wells. they are two hours further yet. they told us at starting that the first day's journey was six hours steady walking." mysa was about to say that she could walk no further, when ruth whispered in her ear: "we must not give way, mysa. you know we promised that if they would take us with them, we would go through all difficulties and dangers without complaining." the admonition had its effect . mysa felt ashamed that in hiding. despatch them. generally we drive them from our villages by lighting great fires and making noises. solitary elephants are more dangerous than a herd. i have known one of them kill a dozen men, seizing some in his trunk and throwing them in the air as high as the top of a lofty tree, dashing others to the ground, and kneeling upon them until every bone is crushed to pieces." the elephants had now reached the bottom of the valley, and the chief of the escort held up his hand for perfect silence. all were prepared to fight if the elephants pursued them into the bushes, for further retreat was impossible. amuba and chebron had fitted their arrows into the bow- strings, and loosened their swords in the scabbards. the four natives had drawn the short heavy swords they carried, while jethro grasped the axe that was his favourite weapon. "remember," he had whispered to the boys, "the back sinews of the legs are the only useful point to aim at; if they advance, separate, and if they make towards the girls try to get behind them and hamstring them." there was a long pause of expectation. the elephants could be heard making a low snorting noise with their trunks; and jethro at last raised himself sufficiently to look through the bushes at what was going on. the elephants were examining the bundles that had been thrown down. "i believe that they are eating up our food," he whispered as he sat down again. half an hour elapsed, and then there was a sound of breaking the bushes. jethro again looked out "thank the gods!" he exclaimed, "they are going off again." trampling down the mimosa thicket as if it had been grass, the elephants ascended the opposite hill and at last re-entered the wood from which they had first emerged . the fugitives waited for a quarter of an hour and then made their way out again from the thicket, jethro cutting a path with his axe through the thorns. an exclamation of sur- greedy visitors. 'prise broke from them as they gained the open ground. the whole of their stores were tossed about in the wildest confu- sion. every one of the packages had been opened. tent, garments, and carpets hung upon the bushes as if the ani- mals had tossed them contemptuously there as being unfit to eat . everything eatable had disappeared. the fruit, grain, and vegetables had been completely cleared up. the skins of wine were burst; but the contents had been apparently appreciated, for none remained in the hollows of the rocks. "what greedy creatures!" mysa exclaimed indignantly, '' they have not left us a single thing." "they do not often get a chance of such dainty feeding," amuba said. "i don't think we ought to blame them, espe- cially as they do not seem to have done very much damage to our other goods." "look how they have trampled down the bushes as they went through. i wish their skins were as thin as mine," mysa said, as she wiped away the blood from a deep scratch on her cheek; "they would keep up in their own woods then and not come down to rob travellers." "at any rate, mysa, we ought to feel indebted to them," chebron said, "for not having pushed their investigations further. we should have had no chance either of escape or resistance in these bushes. jethro told us to move round and attack them from behind; but moving round in these thorns is all very well to talk about, but quite impossible to do. two minutes of active exercise and there would not be a morsel of flesh left on one's bones." it was two or three hours before the bearers came back one by one. they were assailed with fierce reproaches by jethro for the cowardice which had been the means of losing all the provisions. four of their number were at once paid off and sent back, as there was no longer anything for them to carry. the others would have left also had it not been for the escort, who threatened death if they did not at once take up their burdens and proceed. for jethro bad been on the red sea. liberal with his stores, and they were as indignant as he was himself at the sudden stoppage of their rations. three days later they arrived at a small village, which marked the commencement of the territory of the second chief through whose country the road ran. here the escort and carriers left them, their place being supplied by natives of the village. there was no difficulty in obtaining a supply of grain and goats'-milk cheese; but these were a poor sub- stitute for the stores that the elephants had devoured. they were too glad, however, at having accomplished half the toilsome journey to murmur at trifles, and after a day's halt proceeded on their way. another fortnight's travel and they stood on the lower slopes of the hills, and saw across a wide belt of flat country the expanse of the sea glistening in the sun. two more days' journey and they reached the egyptian trading station. this was situated on a little peninsula connected with the mainland by a narrow neck of land, across which a massive wall had been built to repulse the attacks of the wild tribesmen, who frequently swept down and devastated the cultivated fields up to the very wall. as soon as they entered the town jethro was ordered by an official to accompany him to the house of the governor. taking chebron with him, he left it to amuba to arrange for the use of a small house during their stay. the governor's inquiries were limited to the state of the country, the behavour of the tribesmen along the road, the state of the wells, and the amount of provisions obtainable along the line of route. "there are a party of arab traders from the other side who wish to pass up to carry their goods either to semneh or meroe, but i have detained them until news should reach me from above, for if any wrong should happen to them their countrymen might probably enough hold us respon- sible for their deaths, and this might lead to quarrels and loss of trade; but since you have passed through with so jethro examined. small a party there can be no fear, and they can arrange with the people who brought you down as to the amount to be paid to the chiefs for free passage." he inquired jethro's reason for making the journey over the mountains instead of proceeding by the nile. he replied that he had received an advantageous offer for all his merchandise and had disposed of it to a trader going up to meroe, and that as the nile had now fallen, and the danger in passing down the cataracts was considerable, he thought it better to make the short land journey, and to travel by sea to lower egypt; especially as he was told that the natives were now friendly, and that no difficulty would be met with on the way. another reason for his choosing that route was, that he might determine whether on his next venture it would not be more advantageous to bring down his merchandise by ship, and start from the sea-shore for meroe. "undoubtedly it would be better," the governor said; "but it were wiser to sail another two days' journey down the coast and then to journey by way of axoum." a weeks' rest completely recruited'the strength of the girls, and jethro then engaged a passage in a trading ship which was going to touch at various small ports on its way north. chapter xviil the desert journey. the journey was a long one. the winds were often so light that the vessel scarcely moved, and the heat was greater than anything they had felt during their journey. they stopped at many small ports on the arabian side; the captain trading with the natives—selling to them articles leaving the ship. would have seemed an extraordinary proceeding for a trader journeying with his family to leave the ship at any of the arabian ports. while sailing up the gulf mysa complained of illness, and indeed so overpowered was she by the heat that there was but little fiction in the complaint. upon arriving at /elana jethro had her carried on shore, and, hiring a house there, stayed on shore while the ship was in port. there was a small egyptian garrison in the town, which carried on a considerable trade with moab and the country to the east. no attention, however, was paid to the landing of the traders, for, as the country beyond the walls of the town lay beyond the limit of egyptian rale, the landing and departure of persons at the port was a matter of no interest to the authorities. two days later jethro went on board again and said that his young son was so ill that there was no chance of him being able to proceed on the journey, and that therefore he must forfeit the passage money paid to arsinoe. he said that as it might be many weeks before another vessel would come along, he should endeavour to pay his way by trading with the natives, and he therefore wished to purchase from him a portion of his remaining goods suitable for the purpose. as the captain saw that he would save the provisions for five persons for the month or six weeks that the voyage would yet last, and at the same time get rid of some of his surplus cargo, he assented without ques- tion to jethro's proposal. several bales of goods were made up, consisting principally of cloths of various texture and colour of egyptian manufacture, trinkets, and a selection of arms. these were landed, and two days later the vessel set sail. jethro called upon the egyptian commandant, and by mak- ing him a handsome present at once enlisted his aid in his enterprise. he said that as he had been detained by the illness of his son, and it might be a long time before any plundering tribes. vessel came, he thought of getting rid of the rest of the merchandise he had brought with him by trade with the people of moab. "that you can do if you reach moab," the egyptian said, "for traders are everywhere well received; but the journey from here is not without dangers. it is a country without a master; the people have no fixed abodes, moving here and there according as they can find food for their animals, sometimes among the valleys of sinai, sometimes in the desert to the east these people plunder any whom they may come across, and not content with plunder might slay or carry you away as slaves. once you have passed through as far as moab you are safe; as you would also be if you journeyed to the west of the salt lake, into which runs the river jordan. there are many tribes there, all living in cities, warlike and valorous people, among whom also you would be safe. we have had many wars with them, and not always to our advantage. but between us is a sort of truce—they do not molest our armies marching along by the sea-coast, nor do we go up among their hills to meddle with them. these are the people who at one time conquered a portion of lower egypt, and reigned over it for many generations until, happily, we rose and drove them out" "is the journey between this and the salt lake you speak of an arduous one?" "it is by no means difficult, except that it were best to carry water upon the journey, for the wells are few and often dry; but the country is flat for the whole distance, indeed there is a tradition that this gulf at one time extended as far north as the salt lake. the road, therefore, though stony and rough, offers no difficulties whatever; but i should advise you, if you determine upon the journey, to leave your son behind." "it is better for him to travel than to remain here without me," jethro said; "and if we go up through the people you speak of to the west of this lake and river, it would be but the start. the camels learned that they had decided positively to pass to the east of the salt lake, he advised them strongly, in- stead of following the valley of ^elana to the salt lake, where it would be difficult to obtain water, to take the road to the east of the range of hills skirting the valleys, and so to proceed through petra and shobek and karik to hesbon in moab. this was the route followed by all the caravans. villages would be found at very short distances, and there was no difficulty whatever about water. "my camels," he said, "can go long distances without water, and could take the valley route, but the horses would suffer greajtly." jethro was glad to hear that the journey was likely to be less toilsome than he had anticipated; and all the arrange- ments having been concluded, the party started soon after dawn on the day at first fixed upon. the girls were still in male attire, and rode in large baskets slung one on each side of a camel. the camel- driver walked at the head of the animal, leading it by a cord. its fellows followed in a long line, each fastened to the one before it . jethro, amuba, and chebron, all armed with bows and arrows, as well as swords, rode beside the girls' camel. half the escort went on ahead, the other half formed the rear-guard. "which is the most dangerous part of the journey?" jethro asked the camel-driver. "that on which we are now entering," he replied. "once we arrive at petra we are comparatively safe; but this por- tion of the journey passes over a rough and uninhabited country, and it is across this line that the wandering tribes- men pass in their journeys to or from the pastures round mount sinai. the steep hills on our left form at once a hiding-place and a look-out. there they can watch for trav- ellers passing along this road, and swoop down upon them." "how long shall we be reaching petra?" a dreary desert. "it is three days' fair travelling; but as the beasts are fresh, by journeying well on to sundown we could accom- plish it in two days. after that we can travel at our ease, the villages lie but a few miles apart." "let us push on, then, by all means," said jethro. "we can stay a day at petra to rest the beasts, but let us get through this desolate and dangerous country as soon as we can." the girls had been greatly amused at first at the appear- ance of the strange animal that was carrying them; but they soon found that the swinging action was extremely fatiguing, and they would have gladly got down and walked. jethro, however, said that this could not be, for the pace of the animal, deliberate though it seemed, was yet too great for them to keep up with on foot, and it was needful for the first two days to push on at full speed. the sun blazed with tremendous force, and was reflected from the black rock of the hills and the white sand lying between the stones that everywhere strewed the plain along which they were travelling, and the heat was terrible. after travelling for three hours they halted for an hour, and jethro managed, with the poles, that had been brought to form the framework of tents, and some cloths, to fasten an awning over the baskets in which the girls were riding. the camel had lain down as soon as they halted, and the girls stepped into the baskets before they arose. they gave a simultaneous cry as the animal rose. they had prepared for him to rise on his forelegs, and when his hind quarter suddenly rose in the air they were almost thrown from their baskets. "i don't like this creature a bit," mysa said, as they moved on. "who would suppose that he was going to get up the wrong way first? besides, why does he keep on grumbling? i am sure that ruth and i cannot be such a very heavy load for such a great beast. i believe he would have bit us as we got in if the driver had not jerked the the first halt. rope at its head. it must be much nicer to sit on a horse. i am sure that looks easy enough." "it is not so easy as it looks, mysa," chebron replied; "besides, you know women never do ride horses." "they do in our country," amuba said. "when we get there, mysa, i will teach you how to sit on them." "ah! it is a long way off, amuba," mysa replied; "and i believe this creature has made up his mind to shake us to pieces as soon as he can." "you should not try to sit stiff," jethro said. "sit quite easily, and sway backwards and forwards with the motion of the basket. you will soon get accustomed to it, and will find that ere long you will be able to sleep as if in a cradle." they travelled on until the sun was just sinking, and then prepared to camp for the night. they had brought with them several skins of water, and from these a scanty drink was given to each of the horses. a few handfuls of grain were also served out to each. the drivers stuck their spears firmly into the ground, and to these fastened them. the camels were made to kneel down so as to form a square. in the centre of this the tent was pitched for the girls, the horses being arranged in a circle outside. the men had all brought with them flat cakes, and with these and a handful of dates they made their meal; and there was no occasion for lighting a fire, for jethro's party had brought an ample store of cooked provisions for their own use. in a short time quiet reigned in the camp. the journey had been a hot and fatiguing one, and the men wrapping themselves in their cloaks lay down, each by his spear, and were soon asleep, with the exception of four who took their posts as sentries. jethro had agreed with amuba and chebron that they also would divide the night between them, taking it by turns to keep watch. the men of the escort were, however, of opinion that there was very little probability of any attack before morn- the journey interrupted. ing, even had they been watched by a party among the hills. "they could hardly hope to take us by surprise, for they would be sure that we should set a watch in the darkness. they could not make their way down the hills without some noise; besides, they believe the powers of evil are potent at night, and seldom stir out of their camps after dark. if we are attacked at all, it is likely to be just before sunrise." jethro had therefore arranged that chebron should keep the first watch, amuba the second, and that he himself would take charge four hours before daylight the night passed without any cause for alarm. as soon as daylight broke the camp was astir. another ration of water and grain was served out to the horses, a hasty meal was made by the men, and just as the sun rose the cavalcade moved on. they had journeyed but half a mile, when from behind a spur of the hills running out in the plain a large party were seen to issue forth. there must have been fully a hundred of them, of whom some twenty were mounted and the rest on foot the travellers halted and had a short consultation. jethro with one of the escort then rode out to meet the advancing party, waving a white cloth in token of amity. two of the arabs rode forward to meet them. it was some time before jethro returned to the party, who were anxiously awaiting the termination of the colloquy. "what do they say, jethro?" amuba asked as he rode up. "he says, to begin with, that we ought to have pur- chased from him the right of travelling across the country. i said that i would gladly have paid a moderate sum had i been aware that such was required, but that as he was not in ielana i could not tell that he claimed such a right at the same time i was ready to make an offer of four rolls of egyptian cloth. he rejected the offer with scorn, and after a long conversation let me know pretty plainly that he intended to take all our goods and animals, and that we defeat of the arabs. trusting to their somewhat superior numbers the arab horsemen advanced to meet them; but jethro's party, obeying his orders to keep in a close line together with their spears levelled in front of them, rode right over the arabs, who came up singly and without order. men and horses rolled over together, several of the former transfixed by the spears of the horsemen. jethro called upon his men to halt, and turned upon the arabs. some of the latter fled towards the footmen, who were running up to their assistance, but were pursued and cut down. others fought to the last silently and desperately; but these, too, were slain. as soon as the footmen ap- proached they opened fire with slings and stones. jethro rallied his men and formed them in line again, and at their head charged the arabs. the latter fought steadily. giving way for a moment, they closed in round the little party of horsemen, throwing their javelins, and hacking at them with their swords. jethro spurred his horse into their midst, dealing blows right and left with his heavy axe. his followers pressed after him, and after hard fighting cut their way through their opponents. again and again the manoeuvre was repeated, the resist- ance of the arabs weakening, as most of their best men had fallen, while the large shields carried by the horsemen re- pelled the greater part of the missiles they hurled at them. another minute or two and the arabs broke and fled from the hills, leaving over twenty of their number on the ground, in addition to the whole of their mounted men. jethro had now time to look round, and saw for the first time that he had not, as he supposed, been engaged with the whole of the enemy's party. while some fifty of them had attacked him, the rest had made direct for the camels, and were now gathered in a mass around them. with a shout to his men to follow him jethro galloped at ( ) x serious wounds. after an examination of their wounds jethro was able to say that he did not think that any of them would have very serious consequences. both had been wounded in the leg with javelins, the side of chebron's face was laid open by a sword cut, and a spear had cut through the flesh and grazed the ribs on the right side. amuba's most serious wound had been inflicted by a javelin thrown at him sideways. this had passed com- pletely through his back under both shoulder-blades, and had broken off there. jethro cut off the ragged end, and taking hold of the point protruding behind the left arm, drew the shaft through. then taking some of the ban- dages from the girls, he bound up all the wounds, and then proceeded to examine those of the men who were already occupied in staunching the flow of blood from their comrades' wounds. it was found that one of the defenders of the square was dead and three others severely wounded . of jethro's party two had fallen, and all had received wounds more or less severe. had it not been for the shields that covered their bodies, few would have emerged alive from the conflict; but these gave them an immense advan- tage over the arabs, who carried no such means of protec- tion. the owner of the camels had escaped unhurt, having remained during the fight hidden under some bales. as soon as the wounds were all bandaged, and a drink of wine and water had been served out to each, the camels were unbound and permitted to rise. three of the men most seriously wounded, being unable to sit on their horses, were placed on the bales carried by camels, and the party again set out. it was well that they were obliged to proceed at the pace of the camels, for several men could scarcely sit their horses, and could not have done so at a pace exceeding a walk. comparing notes. "now, amuba, let us hear about your fight," jethro said. "i have not had time to ask a question yet." "there is nought to tell," amuba said. "we saw you charge down upon their horsemen and destroy them, and then ride into the middle of their foot. at once a party of about thirty strong detached themselves and made straight for us. as soon as they came within range of our arrows we began. i shot four before they reached us, and i think chebron did the same; but the men with us shot but poorly, and i do not think that they can have killed more than seven or eight between them. however, altogether, that accounted for about half their number, and there were only about fifteen who got up to a hand-to-hand fight with us. for a bit, aided by our breastwork, we kept them out . but at last they managed to spring over, and although we were doing our best, and several of them had fallen, we had been wounded, and it would have gone very hard with us in another minnte or two if you had not come up to the rescue. now let us hear what you were doing." jethro then described the encounter he and his party had had with the footmen. "they fight well, these arabs," he said, "and it was well for us that we all carried shields; for had we not done so they would have riddled us with their javelins. as you see, i had a narrow escape; for had that dart that went through my ear been an inch or two to the right it would have pierced my eye. i have two or three nasty gashes with their swords on the legs, and i think that most of the other men came out worse than i did. it was lucky that they did not strike at the horses; but i suppose they wanted them, and so avoided inflicting injury on them. however, it has been a tough fight, and we are well out of it. i hope i shall not be called on to use my battle-axe again until i am fighting in the ranks of the rebu." a six months' journey. cases boiled herbs of medicinal virtue were applied as poultices to the wounds. petra at that time was but a large village, but it after- wards rose into a place of importance. the travellers remained here for a week, at the end of which time all save two were in a fit state to continue their journey. without further adventure the journey was continued to moab. on their arrival here the escort was dismissed, each man receiving a present in addition to the stipulated rate of pay that they were to draw upon their return to ^elana. moab was a settled country. it contained no large towns; but the population, which was considerable, was gathered in small villages of low stone-built houses, similar to those in petra. the inhabitants were ready to trade. their language was strange to jethro and amuba; but it was closely related to that spoken by ruth, and she generally acted as interpreter between jethro and the natives. after travelling through moab, they took the caravan road across the desert to the north-east, passed through the oasis of palmyra, a large and flourishing city, and then journeyed on to the euphrates. they were now in the country of the assyrians, and not wishing to attract attention or questions, they avoided nineveh and the other great cities, and kept on their way north until they reached the mountainous country lying between assyria and the caspian. they met with many delays upon the way, and it was six months after leaving ^elana before, after passing through a portion of persia, they reached the country inhabited by the scattered tribes known by the general name of medes, and to whom the rebu were related. through this country thotmes had carried his arms, and most of the tribes acknowledged the dominion of egypt, ana paid a tribute to that country, egyp- tian garrisons being scattered here and there among them. jethro and amuba now felt at home, but as they deter- among the rebu. mined that when they reached their own country they would, until they found how matters were going on there, disguise their identity, they now travelled as persian traders. long before reaching persia they had disposed of the stock of goods with which they started, and had now supplied themselves with articles of persian manufacture. they thus passed on unquestioned from village to village, as the trade in those regions was entirely carried on by persian merchants, that country having already attained a comparatively high amount of civilization; while the median tribes, although settled down into fixed communities, had as yet but little knowledge of the arts of peace. the party journeyed in company with some persian traders, and gradu- ally worked their way north until they arrived at the first rebu village. they had many times debated the question of the part they should here play, and had agreed that it would be better to continue to maintain their character as persian traders until they had learned the exact position of affairs. in order to be able to keep up their disguise they had laid in a fresh stock of persian goods at the last large town through which they passed. had jethro been alone he could at once have declared himself, and would have been received with joy as one who had made his way back from captivity in egypt; but for amuba there would have been danger in his being recognized until the disposition of the occupant of the throne was discovered. there would, indeed, have been small chance of his being recognized had he been alone. nearly four years had elapsed since he had been carried away captive, and he had grown from a boy into a powerful young man; but had jethro been recognized his companion's identity might have been suspected, as he was known to have been the special mentor and companion of the young prince. as to amuba he had no desire whatever to occupy the "my mind is made up now." wise, for you will appear before the people not only as their rightful king but as their liberator from the hated egyptian yoke." "you are right, jethro," amuba said after a long silence; "it is my duty to assert my rights and to restore the land to freedom. my mind is made up now. what is your advice in the matter i" "i should journey through the land until we reach a port by the sea frequented by persian traders, and should there leave the two girls in charge of the family of some trader in that country; there they can remain in tranquillity until matters are settled. chebron will, i am sure, insist upon sharing our fortunes. our long wanderings have made a man of him, too. they have not only strengthened his frame and hardened his constitution, but they have given stability to his character. he is thoughtful and prudent, and his advice will always be valuable, while of his courage i have no more doubt than i have of yours. when you have once gained your kingdom you will find in chebron a wise councillor, one on whom you can lean in all times of difficulty. "when we have left the girls behind we will continue our journey through the land, and gradually put ourselves into communication with such governors of towns and other persons of influence as we may learn to be discontented with the present state of things, so that when we strike our blow the whole country will declare for you at once. as we travel we will gradually collect a body of determined men for the surprise of the capital. there must be numbers of my old friends and comrades still surviving, and there should be no difficulty in collecting a force capable of capturing the city by a surprise." jethro's plans were carried out, and the girls placed under the care of the wife of a persian trader in a seaport close to the gathering. was therefore necessary, and jethro soon made himself known, and began to enlist men to the service. this he had no difficulty in doing. the news that an attempt was at once to be made to overthrow the usurper and to free the land of the egyptians, and that at the proper time the right- ful king would present himself and take the command, was received with enthusiasm. in each valley through which they passed the whole of the young men enrolled themselves, receiving orders to remain perfectly quiet and to busy themselves in fabricating arms, of which the land had been stripped by the egyptians, until a messenger arrived summoning them to meet at a rendez- vous on an appointed day. in six weeks the numbers of the enrolled had reached the point that was considered necessary for the enterprise, and a day was fixed on which they were to assemble among the hills a few miles distant from the town. upon the appointed day the bands began to arrive. jethro had pur- chased cattle and provisions, and receiving each band as it arrived formed them into companies and appointed their leaders. great fires were lighted, and the cattle slaughtered. chebron aided in the arrangements; but amuba, by jethro's advice, passed the day in a small tent that had been pitched in the centre of the camp. by the evening the whole of the contingents had arrived, and jethro saw with satisfaction the spirit that animated them all, and the useful if somewhat rough weapons that they had fashioned. when all assembled he drew them up in a body; and after a speech that excited their patriotic feelings to the utmost, he went to the tent, and leading amuba forth presented him to them as their king. he had in his journeys through the towns procured from some of the principal men arms and armour fitted for per- 'sons of high rank, which had been lying concealed since the the final arrangements. to be suddenly attacked. amuba, with the main body, was to approach the city late in the evening, and to station them- selves near one of the gates. jethro was before the hour named for the attack to see whether this gate was open and unguarded, and if he found that it was closed and under charge of an egyptian guard, he was to tell off fifty men of his command to attack and overpower the egyptians, and throw open the gate the instant they heard the trumpet, which was to be the signal for the attack of the palace. jethro's party were, therefore, the first to start, going off in little groups, some to the neigh- bouring ports, others direct to the city. jethro himself was the last to set out, having himself given instructions to each group as they started as to their behaviour and entry into the city, and the rendezvous at which they were to assemble. he also arranged that if at any time they should hear his call upon the horn, which was to be repeated by three or four of his followers, who were provided with similar instru- ments, they were to hurry to the spot at the top of their speed. "one can never tell," he said, when he told amuba the orders he had given, "what may happen. i believe that every man here is devoted to you, but there may al- ways be one traitor in a crowd; but even without that, some careless speech on the part of one of them, a quarrel with one of the king's men or with an egyptian, and the number of armed men in the city might be discovered, for others would run up to help their comrade, and the broil would grow until all were involved. other reasons might render it advisable to strike at an earlier hour than i arranged." "i cannot think so," amuba replied. "i should say if anything were to precipitate affairs it would be most prejudi- cial. you, with your small force, would be certain to be overwhelmed by the large body of followers whom, as we jethro's plan. have learned, the king keeps in his palace, to say nothing of the egyptians. in that case not only would you lose your lives, but you would put them so thoroughly upon their guard, that our enterprise at night would have little chance of success." "that is true," jethro said; "and i certainly do not mean to make the slightest variation from the plan we agreed upon unless i am driven to it. still it is as well to be pre- pared for everything." "of course i know that you will do nothing that is rash, jethro. after being all these years my guide and councillor, i know that you would do nothing to endanger our success now that it seems almost assured." jethro had in fact a reason for wishing to be able to col- lect his men suddenly which he had not mentioned to amuba. he thought it possible that, as he had said, at the last mo- ment the plot might by some means or other be discovered. and his idea was that if that were the case he would instantly gather his followers and attack the palace, trusting to sur- prise and to his knowledge of the building in the endeavour to fight his way to the king's abode and slay him there, even if he himself and his men were afterwards surrounded and cut to pieces. the usurper once removed, jethro had no doubt that the whole nation would gladly acknowledge amuba, who would then have only the egyptian garrison to deal with. no such accident, however, happened. the men entered the town unnoticed. those who had come by boat, and who were for the most part natives of villages along the shore, remained in the lower town near the landing-place. such of them as had friends went to their houses. those who entered the gates sauntered about the town singly or in pairs, and as their weapons were hidden they attracted no notice, having the appearance of men who had come in waiting for nightfall. from the country round to dispose of their produce or the spoils of the chase, or to exchange them for such articles as were required at home. jethro went at once to the house of an old friend with whom he had already communicated by messenger. the house was situated on the open space facing the palace. here from time to time he received messages from his sub-leaders, and learned that all was going on well . he heard that the continual rumours from the country of the approaching return of the son of the late king had at last caused some anxiety to the usurper, who had that morning seized and thrown into prison several leading men who were known to be personally attached to the late king. not indeed that he believed that amuba could have returned; but he thought it possible that some impostor might be trading on his name. several bodies of men had been despatched from the town to the places whence these rumours had been received, to ascertain what truth there was in them, and to suppress at once any signs of revolt against the king's authority. this was highly satisfactory news to jethro, as in the first place it showed that the king did not dream of danger in his capital; and, in the second place, it reduced the number of fighting men in the palace to a number but slightly exceed- ing the force at his own disposal. jethro did not stir abroad until nightfall, his face being so well known in the town that he might at any moment be recognized. but as soon as it was dark he went out, and, accompanied by his friend, went round the town. he found that some changes had taken place since he had last been there. the egyptians had entirely cleared away the huts towards the end of the rock farthest from the sea, and had there erected large buildings for the use of the governor, offi- cers, and troops; and had run a wall across from the walls on ( ) y the egyptian garrison. either side, entirely separating their quarter from the rest of the town. jethro's friend informed him that the erection of these buildings had greatly added to the hatred with which the egyptians were regarded, as they had been erected with forced labour, the people being driven in by thousands, and compelled to work for many months at the buildings. jethro learned that as soon as the inner wall was com- pleted the egyptians had ceased altogether to keep watch at the gates of the city walls, but that they had for a long time kept a vigilant guard at the gate leading to their quarters through the new wall. for the last year, however, owing to the absence of any spirit of revolt among the rebu, and to their confidence in the friendship of the king, they had greatly relaxed their vigilance. by nine o'clock all was quiet in the town. jethro sent out a messenger by the road by which amuba's force would approach, to tell him that the city walls were all unguarded, and that he had better enter by the gate half an hour before midnight, instead of waiting until he heard the signal for attack. he could then move his men up close to the egyp- tian wall so as to attack that gate when the signal was given, otherwise the egyptians would be put on their guard by the sound of fighting at the palace before he could arrive at their gate. at the time he had named jethro went to the gate by which amuba was to enter, and soon heard a faint confused noise, and a minute or two later a dark mass of men were at the path at the gate. they were headed by amuba. jethro at once explained to him the exact position; and his com- panion placed himself by the side of amuba to act as his guide to the egyptian wall . jethro then returned to the rendezvous, where his men were already drawn up in order. midnight was now close at hand. quietly the band crossed the square to the gate jethro counsels delay. the moment before stared them in the face, and to swear allegiance to their rightful king. as jethro ceased, there- fore, shouts of "long live amuba, king of the rebu!" rose from them . "form up in order instantly under your captains," jethro commanded, "and follow us." the fray had been so short that it was but ten minutes from the moment when jethro's horn had given the signal for attack to that when he led his force, now increased to twice its former dimensions, to the assistance of amuba. when he reached the wall that separated the egyptian barracks from the rest of the town he found that amuba had entered without resistance and had captured two or three buildings nearest to the gate, surprising and slaying their occupants; but beyond that he had made no progress. the egyptians were veterans in warfare, and after the first moment of surprise had recovered their coolness, and with their flights of arrows so swept the open spaces between the buildings that the rebu could make no progress. jethro ordered the troops who had just joined him, all of whom carried bows and arrows, to ascend the walls and open fire upon the buildings occupied by the egyptians. then he with his own band joined amuba. "all has gone well," he said. "the palace is captured and amusis slain. i would do nothing further to-night . the egyptians are four thousand strong, while we have but half that number. it would be madness to risk a repulse now. i will send off messengers at once to the governors of all the towns and to our friends there, informing them that the usurper is slain, that you are proclaimed king and are now besieging the egyptians in their quarters, and ordering them to march hither at once with every man capable of bearing arms. "in three days we shall have twenty thousand men here, a summons to surrender. and the egyptians, finding their position hopeless, will sur- render; whereas, if you attack now, we may be repulsed and you may be slain, and in that case the country, left without a leader, will fall again into slavery." amuba, whose armour had already been pierced by several arrows and who was bleeding freely, was with some difficulty persuaded by jethro to adopt his counsel. he saw at last that it was clearly the wisest plan to adopt, and orders were at once issued to the men to desist from further assaults, but to content themselves with repelling any attacks the egyp- tians might make . these, however, were too ignorant as to the strength of their assailants to think of taking the offensive, and until morning both sides contented themselves with keeping up an incessant fire of arrows against the openings in the build- ings occupied by their foes. in the morning amuba ordered some green branches to be elevated on the flat terrace of the house he occupied. the signal was observed, and the fire of the egyptians ceased. as soon as it did so jethro presented himself on the terrace, and a minute or two later the egyptian governor appeared on the terrace of the oppo- site building. not a little surprised was he to hear himself addressed in his own language. "in the name of king amuba, son of king phrases and lawful ruler of the rebu, i, jethro his general, summon you to surrender. the usurper amusis is dead and the whole land has risen against you. our force is overpowering— resistance can only result in the death of every egyptian under your orders. did we choose we could starve you out, for we know that you have not more than a week's provi- sions in your magazines. "there is no possibility that assistance can reach you no messenger could pass the watchers in the plain; and could they do so your nearest force is hundreds of miles away, the tribute to be lowered. and is of no strength to fight its way hither. in the name of the king i offer to allow you to depart, carrying with you your arms and standards. the king has been in your coun- try. he knows how great and' powerful is your nation, and fain would be on terms of friendship with it; therefore he would inflict no indignity upon you . the tribute which your king laid upon the land is far more than it can pay, but the king will be willing to send every year, to the nearest garrison to his frontiers, a tribute of gold and precious stones of one-fifth the value of that which has been until now wrung from the land. this he will do as a proof of the honour in which he holds your great nation, and as a recog- nition of its power. the king ordered me to say that he will give you until to-morrow morning to reflect over his offer. if it is refused the whole garrison will be put to the sword." so saying jethro descended from the terrace, leaving the egyptians to consider the terms he proposed. chapter xx. the kino of the rebu. the offer that amuba had made through jethro was a politic one, and he was influenced by two motives in granting a delay of twenty-four hours before receiving the answer. in the first place, he felt sure that his own force would, before the conclusion of that time, be trebled in strength, and that should the egyptians refuse he would be able to repel any efforts they might make to cut their way out until he would be at the head of such a force that he arming the people. those arrested the previous day, and many others of the principal captains of his father's army, thronged round him and greeted him as their king. with difficulty a way was cleared to the gate of the royal inclosure. amuba, after entering, mounted the wall and addressed a few words to the people. he told them that in defiance of all probability he had escaped from his captivity in egypt and had made his way back to his native land, intent not so much on claiming his rightful position there as of freeing them from the power of their oppressors. he promised them that he would always respect their rights and usages, and should endeavour to follow in the footsteps of his father. then he retired to the palace, where he held a council with the captains and leading men in the city. orders were at once issued for every man capable of bearing arms to provide himself with some kind of weapon, and to assemble at noon in the great square. lists were drawn up of all the officers of the late army still living in the town, and when the gathering took place at noon these were appointed to form the men into com- panies, to appoint sub-officers, to see to the state of the arms, and, as far as possible, to supply deficiencies. a larger pro- portion than was expected of the three thousand men that assembled were found to be provided with weapons. al- though nominally all arms had been surrendered to the egyptians great numbers of spear and arrow-heads, swords, and axes had been buried. shafts had been hastily made for the spears, and bows used for the purposes of the chase were now brought out to do service as fighting weapons. many hundreds of spears and swords had been found in the stores at the palace, and when these were served out most of the men had a weapon of some sort. they were at once marched up to the egyptian inclosure. those with bows and arrows were placed upon the walls, the rest were a politic speech. tian was astonished at finding that the king, as well as his general, was capable of conversing in the egyptian tongue); "and, indeed, knowing and honouring the valour of the egyptian troops, i admit it is possible that, although with great loss, you might make your way out, but more than that you could not do. you could not hold the country, for you have a nation against you. it is doubtful whether you could reach the frontier. surely it is better, then, that you should leave with honour and without loss." "as to the tribute that you offer," the egyptian com- mander said, "i have no power to agree to any diminution of the terms imposed by the king, and if it be his will that an army invades your country to enforce the former terms, i, with the troops here, must march as ordered, without im- putation of having behaved treacherously." i "that is quite understood," amuba said; "but i trust, my lord, that you, having seen for yourself how poor is our country, how utterly unable to continue to pay the tribute formerly demanded from us, which has already impover- ished us to the last degree, will represent the same in your despatches to the king, and will use your good offices in obtaining his favourable consideration of our case. i can promise you that the tribute shall be paid regularly. i re- gard egypt as the greatest power in the world, and i am most desirous to continue in friendly relations with it, and i swear to you that it will be no fault of mine if any com- plaint reach you of trouble on our part." amuba's speech was well calculated to soothe the pride of the egyptian. the latter was perfectly conscious, al- though he spoke confidently, that it would be no easy matter for his troops to cut their way through the narrow gateway held by the masses of the rebu, still less to make their way, harassed as he was, to their frontier. if he i returned with his troops intact and in good condition he the evacuation. could so represent circumstances that no blame or discredit would fall upon him; and personally he was exceedingly pleased at the prospect of the termination of his soldiering at a post so far removed from egypt and civilization. he, therefore, agreed to the terms amuba proposed, and after a short parley the conditions of the evacuation of the town by the egyptians were arranged. amuba agreed to withdraw his men from the buildings that they occupied, and also from the gate, and to place them all upon the walls, thus saving the egyptians the humiliation of passing through lines of armed men, and avoiding the risk of a broil arising between the soldiers. he at once issued the necessary orders, and the rebu retired to the walls where they could defend themselves in case of any treachery on the part of the egyptians, and the inhabitants of the city were all ordered back from the road leading from the entrance to the egyptian inclosure to the gate in the city walls. an hour later the egyptians drew up in order in their inclosure. each man carried with him food sufficient for a week's subsistence, and amuba had arranged that a certain number of bullocks should be sent forward at once to each halting- place on the way to the frontier, and that there a herd sufficient for their subsistence during their march to the nearest egyptian garrison should be awaiting them. in firm and steady order the egyptians marched out . the images and symbols of the gods were carried aloft, and the bearing of the soldiers was proud and defiant, for they, too, were doubtful whether the rebu might not intend to make an attack upon them, the terms granted them seeming to be almost too good to be trusted. no sooner had the rear of the column passed out through the city gate than the rebu with shouts of joy flocked down from the walls, and the city gave itself up to rejoicing. a double marriage. but mysa did not say no, and six weeks later there was a royal wedding in the capital. amuba had at once allotted one of the largest houses in the royal inclosure to chebron, and to this he took mysa while amuba was making the tour of his country, receiving the homage of the people, hearing complaints and seeing that the work of preparation for the defence of the country was being carried on, after which he returned to the capital the wedding was celebrated in great state, though it was observed that the religious cere- monies were somewhat cut short, and that amuba abstained from himself offering sacrifice on the altars of the gods. the ceremony was a double one, for at the same time chebron was united to ruth. for the next year the preparations for war went on vigorously and the rebu army was got into a state of great efficiency. amuba and jethro felt confident that it could successfully withstand any invading force from egypt, but, as they had hoped, egypt made no effort to regain her distant conquest, but was content to rank the land of the rebu among the list of her tributary nations, and to accept the diminished tribute. once prepared for war amuba turned his attention to the internal affairs of the country. many of the methods of government of egypt were introduced. irrigation was carried out on a large scale, and the people were taught no longer to depend solely upon their flocks and herds. stone took the place of mud in the buildings of the towns, rigorous justice was enforced throughout the land, wagons and carts similar to those of egypt took the place of pack animals, which had hitherto been used for transport; improved methods of agriculture were taught, and contentment and plenty reigned in the land. chebron remained amuba's chief minister, adviser, and friend, and under their joint efforts the rebu rose from the amuba's hardest task. condition of a mere settled tribe to that of a small but flourishing nation. another change was made, but more slowly. soon after his ascension amuba assembled many of the leading men and chief-priests in the country, and explained to them the convictions held by himself and chebron and their wives, that there was but one god who ruled over the world, and that this knowledge was the highest wisdom f the egyp- tians. he explained to the priests that he did not wish to overthrow the temples, or disturb the worship of the former gods, but that he desired that the people should not remain in ignorance, but should be taught that the gods as they worshipped them were hvt, sym'-ols of images of the one great god. he said he had no thought of enforcing his convictions upon others, but that all would be free to wor ship as they pleased, and that at all times he and chebron would be ready to confer with those who wished to inquire into these matters. in this matter alone amuba met with much opposition in carrying out his plans, and had he been less popular than he was with the people his efforts might have cost him his throne and his life; but the rebu were devoted to him, and as the priests came gradually to see that the change would not diminish their power, their opposition died away, es- pecially as many of the younger men were soon convinced by the arguments of the king and his minister, and preached the new religion with enthusiasm among the people. but it was not until many years after that amuba had the satisfaction of knowing that the one god was worshipped among his people. he was well aware that the success of the work was to no small extent due to the earnestness with which mysa and ruth had laboured among the wives and daughters of the nobles. "how strangely things turn out," chebron said one day "the fortunate shot." ten years after their arrival in the land, when the little party who had travelled so long together were gathered in a room in the palace. "at one time it seemed that that unlucky shot of mine would not only bring ruin on all connected with me, but be a source of unhappiness to me to the end of my life. now i see that, except for the death of my father, it was the most fortunate event of my life. but for that, i should all my life have gone on believing in the gods of egypt; but for that, although you, amuba and jethro, might some day have made your escape, mysa and i would assuredly never have left egypt, never have known anything of the life of happiness and usefulness that we now enjoy. all this i consider i owe to the fortunate shot that killed the cat of bubastes." nre end. blackie & son's books for young people. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty's stores of literary vivacity are inexhaustible, and boys will find their old favourite as full of instruction and of excitement as ever."—the times. in crown voy cloth elegant, olivine edges. with frederick the great: a tale of the seven years' war. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by wal paget, and maps. *. "the story is one of mr. henty's best, and so cleverly is history interwoven with fiction that the boy who reads it will know as much about the seven years' war as many an adult student of carlyle's masterpiece. "standard. with moore at corunna: a tale of the peninsular war. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by wal paget. s. "a very spirited story, well worthy to be ranked with the best of mr. henty's work. terence o'connor, up to the time of the opening of the tale, has done little hut get into mischief, but as soon as he feels the responsibility of being one of mr. henty's heroes, combines discretion with courage, not forgetting, however, to spice the mixture with a little fun."—spectator, the tiger of mysore: a story of the war with tippoo sub. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. h. mar- get x, and a map. s. "mr. henty not only concocts a thrilling tale, he weaves fact and fiction to- gether with so skilful a hand that the reader cannot help acquiring a just nud clear view of that fierce and terrible struggle which gave to us our indian em- pire."—atheiuxum. a knight of the white cross: a tale of the siege of rhodes. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by ralph peacock. «. "mr. henty is a giant among boys' writers, and his books are sufficiently popular to be sure of a welcome anywhere. ... in stirring interest, this is quite up to the level of mr. henty's former historical tales."—saturday review. when london burned: a story of restoration times and the great fire. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by j. finnemore. s. "no boy needs to have any story of henty's recommended to him, and parcnta who do not know and buy him for their boys should be ashamed of themselves. those to whom he is yet unknown could not make a better beginning than with when london burned."—british weekly. hi o a from with moore at corunna. by g. a. henty. terence finds that the sea horse has been badly mauled between-decks. blackie ic son' s books for younq people. by g. a. henty. "among writers of stories of adventure mr. henty stands in the very first rank. "—academy. in crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges. the young" carthaginian: a story of the times of hannibal. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by c. j. .staniland, b.i. s. "from first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. it bear s us along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its force."—saturday jieview. redskin and cow-boy: a tale of the western plains. by g. a. henty. illustrated by alfred pearse. s. "it has a good plot; it abounds in action; the scenes are equally spirited and alistic. the pictures of life on a cattle ranche are most graphically painted, as are the manners of the reckless but jovial cow-boys."—times. the lion of the nofth: a tale of gustavus adolphus. by g. a. henty. with page pictures by j. schonbero. s. "a praiseworthy attempt to interest british youth in the great deeds of the scotch brigade in the wars of gustavus adolphus."—athenceum. with clive in india: or, the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. henty. illustrated by gordon browne. s. "those who know something about india will be the most ready to thank mr. henty for giving them this instructive volume to place in the hands of their children."—academy. in greek waters: a story of the grecian war of inde- pendence ( - ). by g. a. henty. with page illus- trations by w. s. stacey, and a map. s. "an excellent story, and if the proportion of history is smaller than usual, the whole result leaves nothing to be desired."—journal of education. the dash for khartoum: a tale of the nile expedition. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by j. sohonberg and j. nash, and plans. s. "it is literally true that the narrative never flags for a moment; the incidents which fall to be recorded after the dash for khartonm has been made and failed are quite as interesting as those which precede it."—academy. with lee in virginia: a story of the american civil war. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by gordon browne, and maps. s. "the story is a capital one and full of variety. young wingfleld, who is conscientious, spirited, and 'hard ns nails', would have been a man after the very heart of stonewall jackson."- 'imee. by right of conquest: or, with cortez in mexico. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. s. stacey. s. "by bight of conquext is the nearest approach to a perfectly successful histori- cal tale that mr. henty has yet published."—academy. black ie * son's books for you ho people by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is the king of story-tellers for boys."—sword and trowel. in crown vo, cloth elegant, olieine edges. through the fray: a story of the luddite riots. by (i.a. henty.with page illustra- tions by h. m. paget. s. "one of the best of the many good books he has produced, and deserves to he classed with his facing death. "—standard. captain bayley's heir: a tale of the gold fields. by g. a. henty. illustrated by h. m. paget. s. "a westminster boy who makes his way in the world by hard work, good temper, and unfailing courage."— st. james's gazette. st. bartholo- mew's eve. by g. a. henty. illustrated by h. j. draper. s. "is in mr. henty's best style, and the interest never flags."—journal of education. in freedom's cause: a story of wallace and bruce. by g. a. henty. illustrated by gordon browne. s. "his tale of the days of wallace and bruce is full of stirring action, and will commend itself to boys. "—a thenceum. with cochrane the dauntless-. a tale of the exploits of lord cochrane in south american waters. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. h. margetson. s. *' this tale we specially recommend; for the career of lord cochrane and his many valiant lights in the cause of liberty deserve to be better known than they are."—st. james's gazette. reduced illustration from" with frederick the great". black e <* son's books for youno people. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty is one of the best of story-tellers for young people."—spectator. in crown svo, cloth elegant, olivine edges. beric the briton: a story of the roman invasion. by g. a. henty. illustra- ted by w. parkinson. s. "mr. henty has done his utmost to make an impressive picture of the haughty roman character, with its indomit- able courage, sternness, and discipline. beric is good all through. "—spectator. by pike and dyke: a tale of the rise of the dutch republic. by g. a. henty. with page illustra- tions by maynard brown, and maps. "told with a vividness and skill worthy of mr. henty at his best."—academy. wulf the saxon: a story of the nor- man conquest. by g. a. henty. illustrated by ralph peacock. reduved illustration from "beric the briton ". s. "wulf the saxon is second to none of mr. henty's historical tales, and we may safely say that a boy may learn from it more genuine history than he will from many a tedious tome."—the spectator. through the sikh war: punjaub. by g. a. henty. hurst, and a map. s. "we have never read a more vivid and faithful narrative of military adven- ture in india."—the academy. under drake's flag": a tale of the spanish main. by g. a. henty. illustrated by gordon browne. s. "there is not a dull chapter, nor, indeed, a dull page in the book; the author has so carefully worked up his subject that the exciting deeds of his heroes are never incongruous or absurd."—observer. a tale of the conquest of the with page illustrations by hal blackie <t son's books for youno people. by g. a. henty. "g. a. henty more than holds his own as the prince of story-tellers for boys." —st. james's gazette. in crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges. a mapch on london: being a story of wat tyler's insur- rection. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. h. maroetson. «. "mr. henty, true as ever, tells a capital story, and keeps up to the high stan- dard of interest which we have learnt to expect from him.' — spectator. "the story of wat tyler's ever-famous insurrection is set forth with a degree of cunning and an eye for effect that may always be looked for in the work that comes from this practised hand. mr. henty deals with troublesome times and with characters that have left their mark on the pages of history. he is fresh, virile, and never dull, and this volume must needs add to his reputation."—daily telegraph. on the irrawaddy: a story of the first burmese war. with illustrations by w. h. overend. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, a. "altogether this is a capital story, and the descriptions of the burmese cities are very good."—the times. "stanley brook's pluck is even greater than his luck, and he is precisely the boy to hearten with emulation the boys who read his stirring story."—saturday review. through russian snows: a story of napoleon's betreat from moscow. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by w. h. overend, and a map. i. "julian, the hero of the story, early excites our admiration, and is altogether a fine character such as boys will delight in, whilst the story of the campaign is very graphically told. . . . will, we think, prove one of the most popular boys' books this season."—st. james's gazette. in the heart of the rockies: a story of adventure in colorado. by g. a. henty. illustrated by g. c. hindley. «. "few christmas books will be more to the taste of the ingenuous boy than in the heart of the rockies."—athenceum. "mr. henty is seen here at his best as an artist in lightning fiction."—academy. one of the th: a tale of waterloo. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. h. overend, and maps. s. "written with homeric vigour and heroic inspiration. it is graphic, pictur- esque, and dramatically effective . . . shows us mr. henty at his best and brightest. the adventures will hold a boy of a winter's night enthralled as he rushes through them with breathless interest 'from cover to cover'."—observer. facing' death: or, the hero of the vaughan pit. a tale of the coal mines. by g. a. henty. with page pictures by gordon browne. «. "if any father, godfather, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the look-out for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would recommend."—standard. blackie < t son's books for touno people. by g. a. henty. "ask for heuty, and we that you get him."—punch. in croicn do, cloth elegant, olivine edges. the cat of bubastes: a story of ancient egypt . by g. a. henty. illustrated by j. r. weourlin. «. "the story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat to the perilous exodus into asia with which it closes, is very skilfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. it is admirably illustrated."—saturday review. maori and settler: a story of the new zealand war. by g. a . henty. with page illustrations by alfred pearse. s. "it is a book which all young people, but especially boys, will read with avidity."—atheiueum. "a first-rate book for boys, brimful of adventure, of humorous and interesting conversation, and of vivid pictures of colonial life.' —schoolmaster. st. george for england: a tale of cressy and poitiers. by g. a. henty. illustrated by gordon browne. s. "a story of very great interest for boys. in his own forcible style the author has endeavoured to show that determination and enthusiasm can accomplish mar- vellous results; and that courage is generally accompanied by magnanimity and gentleness."—pall mall gazette. the bravest of the brave: with peterborough in spain. by g. a . henty. with full-page pictures by h. m. paget. «. "mr. henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work—to enforce the doctrine of courage and truth, mercy and lovingkindness, as indispensable to the making of an english gentleman. british lads will read the bravest of the brave with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite sure."—daily telegraph. for name and fame: or, through afghan passes. by g. a. henty. illustrated by gordon browne. «. "not only a rousing story, replete with all the varied forms of excitement of a campaign, but, what is still more useful, an account of a territory and its inhabi- tants which must for a long time possess a supreme interest for englishmen, as beiug the key to our indian empire."—glasgow herald. a jacobite exile: being the adventures of a young english- man in the service of charles xii. of sweden. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by padl hardy, and a map. s. "incident succeeds incident, and adventure is piled upon adventure, and at the end the reader, be he boy or man, will have experienced breathless enjoyment in a romantic story that must have taught him much at its close."—army and na vy gazette. held fast for england: a tale of the siege of gibraltar. by g. a. henty. illustrated by gordon browne. s. "among them we would place first in interest and wholesome educational alue the story of the siege of gibraltar. . . . there is no cessation of exciting incident throughout the story."—athenamm. black e * son's books for younq people. by g. a. henty. "mr. henty's books are always alive with moving incident. "—review / reviews. in crown i>o, cloth elegant. condemned as a nihilist: a story of escape from siberia. by . a. henty. illustrated by walter paget. s. "the belt of this year's henty. hii narrative is more interesting than many of the tales with which the public is familiar, of escape from siberia. despite their superior claim to authenticity these tales are without doubt no less fic- titious than mr. henty's, and he beats them hollow in the matter of sensations." —national observer. orange and green: a tale of the boyue and limerick. by g. a. henty. illustrated by gobdon browne. «. "the narrative is free from the vice of prejudice, and ripples with life as vivacious as if what is being described were really passing before the eye. . . . should be in the hands of every young student of irish history."—belfast news. in the reign of terror: the adventures of a westminster boy. by g. a. henty. illustrated by j. schonbebg. «. "harry sandwith, the westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat mr. henty's record. his adventures will delight boys by the audacity and peril they depict. the story is one of mr. henty's best."—saturday review. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. ». "morally, the book is everything that could be desired, setting before the boys a bright and bracing ideal of the english gentleman."— christian leader. the dragon and the raven: or, the days of king alfred. by g. a . henty. with page illustrations by . j. staniland, b.i. >. "a story that may justly be styled remarkable. boys, in reading ft, will be surprised to and how alfred persevered, through years of bloodshed and times of peace, to rescue his people from the thraldom of the danes. we hope the book will soon be widely known in all our schools."—schoolmaster. a final reckoning: a tale of bush life in australia. by g. a. henty. illustrated by w. b. wollen. «. "all boys will read this story with eager and unflagging interest . the episodes are in mr. henty's very best vein—graphic, exciting, realistic; and, as in all mr. henty's books, the tendency is to the formation of an honourable, manly, and even heroic character."—birmingham post. the young colonists: a tale of the zulu and boer wars. by g. a. henty. with illustrations by simon h. vedder. s. !. "fiction and history are so happily blended that the record of facts quicken the imagination. no boy can read this book without learning a great deal of south african history at its most critical period."--standard. a chapter of adventures: or, through the bombard- ment of alexandria. by g. a. henty. with page illustrations by w. h. ovebend. s. d. "jack robson and his two companions have their all of excitement, and their chapter of adventures is so brisk and entertaining we could have wished it longer than it is."—saturday review. black ie <fc son's books for you no people. by professor a. j. church. 'that prince of winning story-tellers, and master of musical english." —expository times. in crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges. lords of the world: a tale of the fall of carthage and corinth. by a. j. church. with page illustrations by ralph peacock. a. "mr. church's mastery of his suhject and his lit- erary skill are surttciently complete to carry his nilult readers with him. some of the scenes are highly pic- turesque, aud there is many au exciting adventure that sustains the reader's curi- osity in the fortunes of the hero, clean or. as a boys' book. lords of the world deserves a hearty welcome." —spectator. two thousand years ago: or, the adventures of a roman boy. by pro- fessor a. j. church. with page illus- trations by adrien marie. s. "adventures well worth the telling. the book is extremely entertaining ns well as useful, and there is a wonderful freshness in the roman seenes and char- reduved illustration from "lords of the world '. aeters."—the times. by herbert hayens. papis at bay: a story of the siege and the commune. by herbert hayeks. with page illustrations by stanley l. wood. s. "the story culminates in the terrible struggle between the versaillists and the men who follow the red flag. mr. hayens holds the balance with commend- able impartiality. he loves to describe a good soldier on whichever aide he may fight. altogether paris at bay is of more than average merit."—spectator. blackie * son's books for younq people. by george manville fenn. ";mr. fenn stands in the foremost rank of writers in this department."—daily news. in crown svo, cloth elegant. dick ' the fens: a romance of the great east swamp. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by frank dado. s. "we conscientiously believe that boys will find it capital reading. it b full of incident and mystery, and the mystery is kept up to the las; moment . it is rich in effective local colouring; and it has a historical interest . "—times. devon boys: a tale of the north shore. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations by gobdon browne. s. "an admirable story, as remarkable for the individuality of its young heroes as for the excellent descriptions of coast scenery and life in north devon. it is one of the best books we have seen this season."—athenceum. the golden magnet: a tale of the land of the incas. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by gordon browne. >. "there could be no more welcome present for a boy. there is not a dull page in the book, and many will be read with breathless interest. 'the golden mag- net is. of course, the same one that attracted kaleigh and the heroes of west- ward ho!"—journal of education. in the king's name: or, the cruise of the kestrel. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by gordon browne. «. "the best of all mr. fenn's productions in this field. it has the great quality of always 'moving on', adventure following adventure in constant succession."— daily news. nat the naturalist: a boy's adventures in the eastern seas. by g. manville fenn. with page pictures. «. "this sort of book encourages independence of character, develops resource, and teaches a boy to keep his eyes open."—saturday review. bunyip land: the story of a wild journey in new guinea. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by gordon browne. s. "mr. fenn deserves the thanks of everybody for bunyip land, and we may ven- ture to promise that a quiet week may be reckoned on whilst the youngsters have such fascinating literature provided for their evenings' amusement."—spectator. quicksilver: or, a boy with no skid to his wheel. by george manville fenn. with page illustrations by frank dadd. s. d. "quicksilver is little short of an inspiration. in it that prince of story-writers for hoys—george manville fenn—has surpassed himself. it is an ideal book for a boy's library."—practical teacher. brownsmith's boy: a romance in a garden. by g. manville fenn. with page illustrations. «. d. "mr. fenn's books are among the best, if not altogether the best, of the stories for boys. mr. fenn is at his best in broumsmith's boy."—pictorial world. for other books by g. manville fenn, see page . black e <fc son's books for youno people. by robert leighton. "mr. robert leighton has taken a place in the very front rani of the writers of stories for boys."—daily graphic. in crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges. the golden galleon: a narrative of the adventures of master gilbert oglander, under the gallant sir richard grenville in the great sea-fight off flores. by robert leighton. with page illustrations by william rainey, r.i. «. "the ttory itself is a capital one, but the chief merit lies in the telling. it presents an excellent picture of life in england, both on land and sea, in the days of elizabeth."—standard. olaf the glorious. by robert leighton. with page illustrations by ralph peacock, and a map. s. "is as good as anything of the kind we have met with. mr. leighton more than holds hls own with rider haggard and baring-gould."—the times. the wreck of "the golden fleece": the story of a north sea fisher-boy. by robert leighton. with page illustrations by f. branqwyn. «. "this story should add considerably to mr. leighton's high reputation. ex- cellent in every respect, it contains every variety of incident. the plot is very cleverly devised, and the types of the north sea sailors are capital."—the times. the pilots of pomona: a story of the orkney islands. by robert leighton. illustrated by john leighton. «. "a story which is quite as good in its way as treasure island, and is full of adventure of a stirring yet most natural kind. although it is primarily a boys' book, it is a real godsend to the elderly reader."—glasgow evening times. the thirsty sword: a story of the norse invasion of scotland ( - ). by robert leighton. with page illus- trations by a. fearse. s. , "this b one of the most fascinating stories for boys that it has ever been our pleasure to read. from first to last the interest never flags."—schoolmaster. the clever miss follett. by j. k. h. denny. with page illustrations by gertrude d. hammond. «. "just the book to give to girls, who will delight both in the letterpress and the illustrations. miss hammond has never done better work."—review oj reviews. the heiress of courtleroy. by anne beale. with page illustrations by t. c. h. castle. s. "we can speak highly of the grace with which miss beale relates how the young 'heiress of courtleroy' had such good influence over her uncle as to win him from his intensely selfish ways."— guardian. blackte <t son's books for youno people. twelfth edition of the universe. the universe: or, the infinitely great and the infinitely little. a sketch of contrasts in creation, and marvels revealed and explained by natural science. by f. a. pouchet, m.d. with engravings on wood, of which are full-page size, and i coloured illustrations. twelfth edition, medium vo, cloth ele- gant, gilt edges, «. d.; also morocco antique, s. "dr. pouchet's wonderful work on the universe, than which there is no book better calculated to encourage the study of nature."—pall mall gazette. "we know no better book of the kind for a schoolroom library."—bookman. by g. norway. in crown vo, cloth elegant. a prisoner of war: a story of the time of napoleon bonaparte. by g. norway. with page illustrations by robt. barnes, a.r.w. . s. d. "more hairbreadth escapes from death by starvation, by ice, by lighting, &c, were never before surmounted. . . . it is a fine yarn."—the guardian. a true cornish maid. by g. norway. with page illustrations by j. finnemorr. s. d. "there is some excellent reading. . . . mrs. norway brings before the eyes of her readers the good cornish folk, their speech, their manners, and their ways. a true cornish maid deserves to be popular."— athenceum. %* for other books by g. norway see p. . under false colours: a story from two girls' lives. by sarah doudney. illustrated by g. g. kilburne. s. "sarah doudney has no superior as a writer of high-toned stories—pnre in style and original in conception; but we have seen nothing from her pen equal in dramatic energy to this lwok."—christian leader. with the sea kin?s: a story of the days of lord nelson. by f. h. winder. illustrated by w. s. stacey. is. "just the book to put into a boy's hands. every chapter contains hoardings, cuttings out, fighting pirates, escapes of thrilling audacity, and captures by corsairs, sufficient to turn the quietest boy's head. the story culminates in a vigorous account of the battle of trafalgar. happy boys! "—the academy. dr. jolliffe's boys: a tale of weston school. by lewis hough. with page pictures. s. d. "young people who appreciate tom brown's school days will find this story a worthy companion to that fascinating book."—newcastle journal. dora: or, a girl without a home. by mrs. r. h. read. with page illustrations by paul hardy. s. rf. "it is no slight thing, in an age of rubbish, to get a story so pure and healthy as this."—the academy. [ ] b black e & son's books for rounq people. by dr. gordon stables, r.n. "in all dr. gordon stables' books for boys we are sure to find i wholesome tone, plenty of instruction, and abundance of adventure."—saturday review. in crovm svo, cloth elegant. the naval cadet. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., b.n. with page illustrations by william rainey, b.i. s. m. "a really interesting travellers' tale, with plenty of fun and incident in it."— spectator. "love and war ami 'gun-room fun' combine to make the history of the naval cadet a very readable book."— literature. for life and liberty. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., r.n. with illustrations by sydney paget, and a map. s. "the story is lively aud spirited, with abundance of blockade-running, hard fighting, narrow escapes, and introductions to some of the most distinguished generals on both sides."—the times. to greenland and the pole. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., r.n. with page illustrations by g. c. hindley, and a map. s. "his arctic explorers have the verisimilitude of life. it is one of the books of the season, and one of the best mr. stables has ever written."—truth. westward with columbus. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., r.n. with page illustrations by a. pearse. s. we must place westward with columbus among those books that all boys ought to read. '—the spectator. 'twixt school and college: a tale of self-reliance. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., r.n. illustrated by w. parkinson. s. "one of the best of a prolific writer's books for boys, and inculcates the virtue of self-reliance."—athenceum. by hugh st. leger. an ocean outlaw: a story of adventure in the good ship maryarct. with illustrations hy william rainey, rx. s. "we know no modern boys' hook in which there ia more sound, hearty, good- humoured fun, or of which the tone is more wholesome and bracing than mr. st . letter's."—national observer. hallowe'en ahoy! or, lost on the crozet islands. by hugh st. leger. with illustrations by h. j. draper. is. "one of the best stories of seafaring life and adventure which have appeared this season. no boy who begins it but will wish to join the britannia long before he finishes these delightful pages."—academy. sou'wester and sword. by hugh st. leger. with page illustrations by hal hurst. «. "as racy a tale of life at sea and war adventure as we have met with for some time. . . . altogether the sort of book that lx>ys will revel in."—athencntm. black ie * son's books for younq people. by charles w. whistler. "historical tales are always welcome when they are told by such a prince of story-tellers as sir. charles w. whistler."—the record. in crown vo, cloth elegant. king" olaf's kinsman: a story of the last saxon struggle against the danes. by charles w. whistler. with page illustrations by w. h. margetson. s. "mr. whistler's story is in fine an excellent one—worthy to rank with some of r. l. stevenson's tales for boys."—st. james's qazette. wlllfric the weapon-thane: the story of the danish conquest of east anglia. by charles w. whistler. with illustrations by w. h. margetson. is. "a picturesque and energetic story. a worthy companion to his capital story, a thane of wessex. one that will delight all active-minded boys."—saturday review. a thane of wessex: being the story of the great viking raid of . by charles w. whistler. with illustrations by w. h. margetson. «. d. "the story is told with spirit and force, and affords an excellent picture of the life of the period."—standard. grettir the outlaw: a story of iceland. by s. baring- gould. with page illustrations by m. zeno diemer. is. a champion of the faith: a tale of prince hal and the lollards. by j. m. callwell. with page illustrations by herbert j. draper, is. meg's friend. by alice corkran. with page illustra- tions by robert fowler. «. d. "one of miss corkran's charming books for girls, narrated in that simple and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first amongst writers for young people."- -the spectator. margery merton's girlhood. by alice corkran. with page pictures by gordon browne. s. d. "another book for girls we can warmly commend. there is a delightful piquancy in the experiences and trials of a young english girl who studies painting in paris."—saturday review. down the snow stairs: or, from good-night to good-morn- ing. by alice corkran. illustrated by gordon browne. «. d. "a gem of the first water, bearing upon every page the mark of genius. it is indeed a little pilgrim's progress."—christian leader. gold, gold, in cariboo. by clive phillipps-wolley. with page illustrations by g. c. hindley. s. d. "we have seldom read a more exciting tale. there is a capital plot, and the interest is sustained to the last page."—the times. blackie <fc son's books for young people. blackie's half-crown series. illustrated by eminent artists. crown vo, cloth elegant. a daughter of erin. by violet g. finny. "extremely well written; the characters are cleverly drawn and the individual interest sustained to the end. it is a book we can thoroughly recommend, not only to girls, but to all who like a well written healthy toned story."—st. j amait gazette. nell's school-days. by h. f. getiibn. "a simple and natural picture of young life, and inculcates in an unosten- tatious way lessons of thoughtfulncss and kindness."—spectator. the luck of the eardleys. by sheila e. braine. "one of the cleverest books we have read for a long time. the authoress com- bines wit, humour, and pathos in a delightful manner, and understands how to portray character, for all her men, women, boys and girls glow with life and colour "—the liecord. picked up at sea: or. the gold miners of minturoe creek. by john c. hutcheson. the search for the talisman: a story of labrador. by henry frith. "we pity the boy who cannot read every page of this capital story."—school guardian. marooned on australia. by ernest favenc. "a remarkably interesting and well-written story of travel and adventure in the great southern land."—school guardian. the secret of the australian desert. by ernest favenc. "we recommend the book most heartily; it is certain to please boys and girls, and even some grown-ups,"—guardian. my friend kathleen. by jennie chappell. a girl's kingdom. by m. corbet-seymour. "the story is bright, well told, and thoroughly healthy and good."—ch. bells. laugh and learn: the easiest book of nursery lessons and nursery games. by jennett humphreys. "one of the best books of the kind imaginable, full of practical teaching in word and picture, and helping the little ones pleasantly along a right royal road to learning. —graphic. reefer and rifleman: a tale of the two services. by lieut.-col. percy-groves. a musical genius. by the author of the "two dorothys". "it is brightly written, well illustrated, and daintily bound, and can be strongly recommended as a really good prize-book."—teacher? aid. for the sake of a friend: a story of school life. by margaret parker. "au excellent school-girls' story."—athcnaum. blackie * son's books for younq people. half-orown series-continued. illustrated by eminent artists. crown vo, cloth elegant. things will take a turn with illustrations by john h. bacon. "perhaps the most bril- liant is things wilt take a turn. . . . it is a delight- ful blending of comedy and tragedy, with an excellent plot."—the times. by beatrice harraden. under the black eagle. by an- drew hllliard. "the rapid movement of the story, and the strange scenes thro ugh which it passes, give it a full interest of sur- prise and adventure."—scofa- man. a golden age. by ismay thorn. illus- trated by gordon browne. "ought to have a place of honour on the nursery shelf." —the athen&um. (reduced.) from " things mil take a turn" hal hungerford. by j. r. hutchinson, r.a. "altogether, hal hungerford is a distinct literary success."—spectator. the secret of the old house. by e. everett-green. "tim, the little jacobite, is a charming creation."—academy. white lilac: or, the queen of the may. by amy walton. "every rural parish ought to add white lilac to its library."—academy. the whispering winds, and the tales that they told. by mary h. debenham. with illustrations by paul hardy. miriam's ambition. by evelyn everett-green. "miss green's children are real british boys and girls."—liverpool mercury. the brig "audacious". by alan cole. "fresh and wholesome as a breath of sea air."—court journal. black e & son's books for touno people. two-shilling series-continued. illustrated by eminent artists. crown vo, cloth elegant. an unexpected hero. by eliz. j. lysaght. the bushranger's secret. by mrs. henry clarke, m.a. the white squall. by john c. hutcheson. the wreck of the "nancy bell". by j. c. hutcheson. the lonely pyramid. by j. h. yoxall. bab: or, the triumph of unselfishness. by ismay thorn. brave and true, and other stories. by gregson gow. the light princess. by george mac donald. nutbrown roger and i. by j. h. yoxall. sara silvan's sacrifice. by jesse colhan. insect ways on summer days in garden, forest, field, and stream. by jennett humphreys. with illustrations. susan. by amy walton. a pair of clogs. by amy walton. the hawthorns. by amy walton. dorothy's dilemma. by caroline austin. marie's home. by caroline austin. a warrior king. by j. evelyn. aboard the "atalanta". by henry frith. the penang pirate. by john c. hutcheson. teddy: the story of a " little pickle ". by john c. hutcheson. a rash promise. by cecilia selby lowndes. linda and the boys. by cecilia selby lowndes. swiss stories for children. from the german of madam johanna spyri. by lucy wheelock. the squire's grandson. by j. m callwell. magna charta stories. edited by arthur gilman, a.m. the wings of courage; and the cloud - spinner. translated from the french of george sand, hy mrs. corkran. chirp and chatter: or, lessons from field and tree. by alice banks. with illustrations by gordon browne. four little mischiefs. by rosa mulholland. blackie s son's books fob youno people. blackie's school and home library. under the above title the publishers have arranged -to issue, for school libraries and the home circle, a selection of the best and most interesting books in the english language. the library includes lives of heroes, ancient and modern, records of travel and adventure by sea and land, fiction of the highest class, historical romances, books of natural history, and tales of domestic life. the greatest care has been devoted to the get-up of the library. the volumes are clearly printed on good paper, and the binding made specially durable, to withstand the wear and tear to which well-circu- lated books are necessarily subjected. in crown vo volumes. strongly bound in cloth. price is. d, each. dana's two years before the mast. southey's life of nelson. waterton'swanderings in s.america. anson's voyage round the world. lamb's tales from shakspeare. autobiographyof benjamin franklin. marryat's children of the new forest. miss mitford's our village. cott's talisman. the basket of flowers. marryat's masterman ready. alcott's little women. cooper's deerslayer. parry's third voyage. dickens' old curiosity shop. vols. plutarch's lives of greek heroes. the lamplighter. cooper's pathfinder. the vicar of wakefield. white's natural history of selborne. scott's ivanhoe. vols. michael scott's tom cringle's log. irving's conquest of granada. vols. lives of drake and cavendish. michael scott's cruise of the midge. edgeworth's moral tales. passages in the lit e ot a gal ley-slave. the snowstorm. by mrs. gore. life of dampier. marryat's the settlers in canada. martineau's feats on the fiord. marryat's poor jack. the good governess. by maria. edgcworth. northanger abbey. by jane austen. the log book of a midshipman. autobiographies of boyhood. holiday house. by catherine sinclair. wreck of the "wager". what katy did. by miss coolidgc. what katy did at school. by do. scott's life of napoleon. essays on english history. by ix>rd macaulay. the rifle rangers. by captain mayne rcid. detailed prospectus and press opinions will be sent post free on application. "the library is one of the most intelligent enterprises in connection with juvenile literature of recent years. ... a glance at the list proves that the editing is in the hands of some one who understands the likings of healthy boys and girls. . . . one of the healthiest juvenile libraries in existence."—bookman. london: blackie & son, limited, old bailey, e.c. the cornet of horse a tale of marlborough's wars by g. a. henty author of "the young buglers," "the young fralfo* tireurs," "lion of the north," etc, etc. new york the mershon company publishers contents. hue pas i. windthorpe cbace ii. rupert to tbe rescue -. hi. a kiss and its consequences .' - iv. the sedan chair „ ... v. the fencing-school vi. the war of succession. vti. venloo viii. the old mill ix. the duel x. the battle of the dykes xi. a death trap xii. the sad side of war xm. blenheim xiv. the riot at dort xv. the end of a feud xvi. ramilies xvii. a prisoner of war xviii. twe court of versailles xix. the evasion xx. loches xxi. back in harness xxii. oudenarde xxiii. the siege of lille xxiv. adele xxv. flight and pursuit xxvi. the siege of tournai xxvii. malplaquet, and the end of the war j i \ - list op illustrations. "he dashed the torch in sir richard's face" frontispiece. "kupert ran the highwayman right through the body" "drawing his sword, lie would have sprung upon the lad" the defence of the stairs "he lifted him from his seat and threw him backward over his head" *' as rupert, with the barrel poised above his head, reared him- self above the bulwarks" the cornet of horse. chapter i. windthorpe chacb. "one,-two, three, four, one, two, three, four—turn to your lady; one, two, three, four—now a deep rever- ence. now you take her hand; no, not her whole hand—the tips of her fingers; now you lead her to her seat; now a deep bow, so. that will do. you are improving, but you must be more light, more graceful, more courtly in your air; still, you will do. now run away, mignon, to the garden; you have madam's per- mission to gather fruit. now, m. rupert, we will take our lesson in fencing." the above speech was in the french language, and the speaker was a tall, slightly-built man, of about fifty years of age. the scene was a long low room, in a mansion situated some two miles from derby. the. month was january, , and king william the third sat upon the throne. in the room, in addition to the dancing-master, were the lad he was teaching, an active, healthy-looking boy between fifteen and sixteen, his partner, a bright-faced french girl of some twelve years of age, and an old man, nearer eighty than seventy, but still erect and active, who sat in a,large arm-chair, looking on. by the alacrity with which the lad went to . the cornet of borse. an armoire and took out the foils, and steel caps with visors which served as fencing masks, it was clear that he preferred the fencing-lesson to dancing. he threw off his coat, buttoned a padded guard across his chest, and handing a foil to his instructor, took his place before him. "now let us practise that thrust in tierce after the feint and disengage. you were not quite so close as you might have been, yesterday. ha ! ha! that is better. i think that monsieur your grandfather has been giving you a lesson, and poaching on my manor. is it not so?" "yes," said the old man, " i gave him ten minutes yesterday evening; but i must give it up, my sword begins to fail me, and your pupil gets more skilful, and stronger in the wrist, every day. in the days when i was at st. germains with the king, when the cropheads lorded it here, i could hold my own with the best of your young blades. but even allowing fully for the stiffness of age, i think i can still gauge the strength of an opponent, and i think the boy promises to be of premiere force." "it is as you say, monsieur le colonel. my pupil is born to be a fencer; he learns it with all his heart; he has had two good teachers for three years; he has worked with all his energy at it; and he has one of those supple strong wrists that seem made for the sword. he presses me hard. now, monsieur rupert, open play, and do your best." then began a struggle which would have done credit to any fencing-school in europe. rupert holliday was as active as a cat, and was ever on the move, constantly shifting his ground, advancing and retreating with as- tonishing lightness and activity. at first he was too windthorpe chace. eager, audi his instructor touched him twice over hia guard. then, rendered cautious, he fought more care- fully, although with no less quickness than before; and for some minutes there was no advantage on either side, the master's long reach and calm steady play baffling every effort of his assailant. at last, with a quick turn of the wrist, he sent rupert's foil flying across the room. rupert gave an exclamation of disgust, followed by a merry laugh. "you always have me so, m. dessin. do what i will, sooner or later comes that twist, which i cannot stop." "you must learn how, sir. your sword is so; as you lunge i guard, and run my foil along yours, so as to get power near my hilt. now if i press, your sword must go; but you must not let me press; you must disengage quickly. thus, you see? now let us try again. we -will practise nothing else to-day—or to-morrow—or till you are perfect. it is your one weak point. then you must practise to disarm your opponent, till you are per- fect in that also. then, as far as i can teach you, you will be a master of fencing. you know all my coups, and all those of monsieur le colonel. these face guards too have worked wonders, in enabling you to play with quickness and freedom. we are both fine blades. i tell you, young sir, you need not put up with an insult in any public place in europe. i tell you so, who ought to know:" in the year fencing was far from having attained that perfection which it reached later. masks had not yet been invented, and in consequence play was neces- sarily stiff and slow, as the danger of the loss of sight, or even of death, from a chance thrust was very great. when rupert first began his lessons, he was so rash the cornet of house. and hasty that his grandfather greatly feared an acci- dent, and it struck him that by having visors affixed to a couple of light steel caps, not only would all possi- bility of an accident be obviated upon the part of either himself or his pupil, but the latter would attain a free- dom and confidence of style which could otherwise be only gained from a long practice in actual war. the result had more than equalled his expectations; and m. dessin had, when he assumed the post of instructor, been delighted with the invention, and astonished at the freedom and boldness of the lad's play. it was, then, thanks to these masks, as well as to his teacher's skill, and his own aptitude, that rupert had obtained a cer- tainty, a rapidity, and a freedom of style absolutely impossible in the ease of a person, whatever his age, who had been accustomed to fence with the face un- guarded, and with the caution and stiffness necessary to prevent the occurrence of a terrible accident. for another half-hour the lesson went on. then, just as the final salute was given, the door opened at the end of the room, and a lady entered, in the stiff dress with large hoops then in fashion. colonel holliday advanced with a courtly air, and offered her his hand; the french gentleman, with an air to the full as courtly as that of the colonel, brought forward a chair for her; and when she had seated herself, rupert advanced to kiss her hand. "no, rupert, you are too hot. there, leave us; i wish to speak to colonel holliday and monsieur." with a deep bow, and a manner far more respectful and distant than that which nowadays would be shown to a stranger who was worthy of all honor, rupert holliday left his mother's presence. !" i know what she wants," rupert muttered to him* windthorpe crack self—" to stop my fencing lessons; just as if a gentle- man could fence too well. she wants me to be a stiff, cold, finnikin fop, like that conceited young brownlow, of the haugh. not if i know it, madame ma mere. you will never make a courtier of me, any more than you will a whig. the colonel fought at naseby, and was with the king in france. papa was a tory, and so am i." and the lad whistled a jacobite air as he made his way with a rapid step to the stables. the terms whig and tory in the reign of king william had very little in common with the meaning which now attaches to these words. the principal difference between the two was, in their views as to the succession to the throne. the princess anne would succeed king william, and the whigs desired to see george, elector of hanover, ascend the throne when it again became vacant; the tories looked to the return of the stuarts. the princess's sympathies were with the tories, for she, as a daughter of james the second, would naturally have preferred that the throne should revert to her brother, than that it should pass to a ger- man prince, a stranger to her, a foreigner, and ignorant even of the language of the people. roughly it may be said that the tories were the descendants of the cav- aliers, while the whigs inherited the principles of the parliamentarians. party feeling ran very high through- out the country; and as in the civil war, the towns were for the most part whig in their predilection, the country was tory. rupert holliday had grown up in a divided house. the fortunes of colonel holliday were greatly impaired in the civil war; his estates were forfeited; and at the restoration he received his ancestral home, windthorpe chace, and a small portion of the surrounding domain, the cornet of horse. but had never been able to recover the outlying prop- erties from the men who had acquired them in his ab- sence. he had married in france, the daughter of an exile like himself; but befoie the "king came to his own " his wife had died, and he returned with one son, herbert. herbert had, when he arrived at manhood, restored the fortunes of the chace by marrying mistress dorothy maynard, the daughter and heiress of a wealthy brewer of derby, who had taken the side of parliament, and had thriven greatly at the expense of the royalist gentry of the neighborhood. after the restoration he, like many other roundheads who had grown rich by the acquisition of forfeited estates, felt very doubtful whether he should be allowed to retain possession, and was glad enough to secure his daughter's fortune by marrying her to the heir of a prominent royalist. colonel holliday had at first objected strongly to the match, but the probable advantage to the fortune of his house at last prevailed over his political bias. the fortune which mistress dorothy brought into the family was eventually much smaller than had been expected, for several of the owners of estates of which the round- head brewer had become possessed made good their claims to them. still herbert holliday was a rich man at his father-in- law's death, which happened three years after the mar- riage. with a portion of his wife's dowry most of the outlying properties which had belonged to the chace were purchased back from their holders; but herbert holliday, who was a weak man, cared nothing for a country life, but resided in london with his wife. there he lived for another six years, and was then killed in a duel over a dispute at cards, having in that time managed to run through every penny that his wife had windthorpe chace. li brought him, save that invested in the lands of the chace. dorothy holliday then, at the colonel's earn- est invitation, returned to the chace with her son rupert, then five years old. there she ruled as mis- tress, for her disposition was a masterful one, and she was a notable housekeeper. the colonel gladly re- signed the reins of government into her hands. the house and surrounding land were his; the estate whose rental enabled the household to be maintained as be- fitted that of a county family was hers; and both would in time, unless indeed dorothy holliday should marry again, go to rupert. should she marry again—and at the time of her husband's death she wanted two or three years of thirty—she might divide the estate between rupert and any other children she might have, she having purchased the estate with her dowry, and having right of appointment between her children as she chose. colonel holliday was quite content to leave to his daughter-in-law the management of the chace, while he assumed that of his grandson, on whom he doted. the boy, young as he then was, gave every promise of a fine and courageous disposition, and the old cavalier promised himself that he would train him to be a soldier and a gentleman. when the lad was eight years old, the old vicar of the little church at the village at the gates of the chace died, and the living being in the colonel's gift as master of the chace, he appointed a young man, freshly ordained from oxford, who was forthwith installed as tutor to rupert. three years later, colonel holliday heard that a french emigre had settled in derby, and gave lessons in his own language and in fencing. rupert had al- ready made some advance in these studies, for colonel the counet of horse. holliday, from his long residence in france, spoke the language like a native; and now, after mistress dor- othy's objection having been overcome by the assur- ance that french and fencing were necessary parts of a gentleman's education if he were ever to make his way at court, m. dessin was installed as tutor in these branches, coming out three times a week for the after- noon to the chace. a few months before our story begins, dancing had been added to the subjects taught. this was a branch of education which m. dessin did not impart to the inhabitants of derby, where indeed he had but few pupils, the principal portion of his scanty income being derived from his payments from the chace. he had however, acceded willingly enough to mistress dor- othy's request, his consent perhaps being partly due to the proposition that, as it would be necessary that the boy should have a partner, a pony with his groom should be sent over twice a week to derby to fetch his little daughter adele out to the chace, where, when the lesson was over, she could amuse herself in the grounds until her father was free to accompany her home. in those days dancing was an art to be acquired only with long study. it was a necessity that a gentleman should dance, and dance well, and the stately minuet required accuracy, grace, and dignity. dancing in those da} s was an art; it has fallen grievously from that high estate. between m. dessin and the old cavalier a cordial friendship reigned. the former had never spoken of his past history, but the colonel never doubted that, like so many refugees who sought our shore from france from the date of the revocation of the edict of nantes to the close of the great revolution, he was of noble blood, wind thorpe' oh a ce. an exile from his country on account of his religion or political opinions; and the colonel tried in every way to repay to him the hospitality and kindness which he him- self had received during his long exile in france. very often, when lessons were over, the two would stroll in the garden, talking over paris and its court; and it was only the thought of his little daughter, alone in his dull lodgings in derby, that prevented m. dessin from ac- cepting the warm invitation to the evening meal which the colonel often pressed upon him. during the da,y- time he could leave her, for adele went to the first ladies'school in the town, where she received an edu- cation in return for her talking french to the younger pupils. it was on her half-holidays that she came over to dance with rupert holliday. mistress dorothy did not approve of her son's devo- tion to fencing, although she had no objection to his acquiring the courtly accomplishments of dancing and the french language; but her opposition was useless. colonel holliday reminded her of the terms of their agreement, that she was to be mistress of the chace, and that he was to superintend rupert's education. upon the present occasion, when the lad had left the room, she again protested against what she termed a waste of time. "it is no waste of time, madam," the old cavalier said, more firmly than he was accustomed to speak to his daughter-in-law. "rupert will never grow up a man thrusting himself into quarrels; and believe me, the rep- utation of being the best swordsman at the court will keep him out of them. in m. dessin and myself i may say that he has had two great teachers. in my young days there was no finer blade at the court of france the cornet of horse. than i was; and m. dessin is, in the new style, what i was in the old. the lad may be a soldier—" "he shall never be a soldier," madam dorothy broke out. "that, madam," the colonel said courteously, "will be for the lad himself and for circumstances to decide. when i was his age there was nothing less likely than that i should be a soldier; but you see it came about." "believe me, madam," m. dessin said deferentially, "it is good that your son should be a master of fence. not only may he at court be forced into quarrels, in which it will be necessary for him to defend his honor, but in all ways it benefits him. look at his figure; nature has given him health and strength, but fencing has given him that light, active carriage, the arm of steel, and a bearing which at his age is remarkable. fencing, too, gives a quickness, a readiness, and prompt- ness of action which in itself is an admirable training. monsieur le colonel has been good enough to praise my fencing, and i may say that the praise is deserved. there are few men in france who would willingly have crossed swords with me," and now he spoke with a hauteur characteristic of a french noble rather than a fencing-master. madam holliday was silent; but just as she was about to speak again, a sound of horses' hoofs were heard outside. the silence continued until a domestic en- tered, and said that sir william brownlovv and his son awaited madam's pleasure in the drawing-room. a dark cloud passed over the old colonel's face as mistress dorothy rose and, with a sweeping courtesy, left the room. "let us go into the garden, monsieur," he said ab- ruptly, "and see how your daughter is getting on." windthospe chace. addle was talking eagerly with rupert, at a short dis- tance from whom stood a lad some two years his senior, dressed in an attire that showed he was of inferior rank. hugh parsons was in fact the son of the tenant of the home farm of the chace, and had since rupert's child- hood been his playmate, companion, and protector. "monsieur mon pdre," adele said, dancing up to her father, and pausing for a moment to courtesy deeply to him and colonel holliday, " monsieur rupert is going out with his hawks after a heron that hugh has seen in the pool a mile from here; he has offered to take me on his pony, if you will give permission for me to go." "certainly, you may go, adele; monsieur rupert will be careful of you, i am sure." "yes, indeed," rupert said, " i will be very careful. hugh, see my pony saddled, and get the hawks. i will run in for a cloth to lay over the saddle." in five minutes the pony was brought round, a cloth was laid over the saddle, and rupert aided adele to mount, with as much deference as if he had been assist- ing a princess; then he took the reins and walked by the pony's head, while hugh followed, with two hooded hawks upon his arm. "they are a pretty pair," colonel holliday said, look- in after them. "yes," m. dessin replied, but so shortly that the col- onel looked at him with surprise. he was looking after his daughter and rupert with a grave, thoughtful face, and had evidently answered his own thought rather than the old cavalier's remark. "yes," he re- peated, rousing himself with an effort, " they are a pretty pair indeed." at a walking pace, rupert holliday, very proud of his charge, led the pony in the direction of the pool ia the cornet of horse. which the heron had an hour before been seen by hugh, the boy and girl chattering in french as they went. when they neared the spot they stopped, and adele alighted. then rupert took the hawks, while hugh went forward alone to the edge of the pool. just as he reached it a heron soared up with a hoarse cry. rupert slipped the hoods off the hawks, and threw them into the air. they circled for an instant, and then, as they saw their quarry rising, darting off with the velocity of arrows. the heron instantly perceived his danger, and soared straight upwards. the hawks pursued him, sail- ing round in circles higher and higher. so they mounted until they were mere specks in the sky. at last the hawks got above the heron, and instantly pre- pared to pounce upon him. seeing his danger, the heron turned on his back, and, with feet and beak pointed upwards to protect himself, fell almost like a stone towards the earth; but more quickly still the hawks darted down upon him. one the heron with a quick movement literally impaled upon his sharp bill; but the other planted his talons in his breast, and, rend- ing and tearing at his neck, the three birds fell together, with a crash, to the earth. the flight had been so directly upwards that they fell but a short distance from the pool, and the lads and adele were quickly upon the spot. the heron was killed by the fall; and to rupert's grief, one of his hawks was also dead, pierced through and through by the heron's beak. the other bird was with difficulty re- moved from the quarry, and the hood replaced. ru- pert, after giving the heron's plumes to adele for her hat, led her back to the pony, hugh following with the hawk on his wrist, and carrying the two dead birds. "i am so sorry your hawk is killed," adele said. windthorpe chase. "yes," rupert answered, "it is a pity. it was a fine, bold bird, and gave us lots of trouble to train; but he was always rash, and i told him over and over again what would happen if he was not more careful." "have you any more?" adele asked. "no more falcons like this. i have gerfalcons, for pigeons and partridges, but none for herons. but i dare say hugh will be able to get me two more young birds before long, and it is a pleasure to train them." colonel holliday and m. dessin met them as they returned to the house. "what, rupert! had bad luck? " his grandfather said. "yes, sir. cavalier was too rash, aud the quarry killed him." *' hum !" said the old man; "just the old story. the falcon was well named, rupert. it was just our rashness that lost us all our battles. what, m. dessin, you must be off? will you let me have a horse saddled for yourself, and the pony for mademoiselle? the groom can bring them back." m. dessin declined the offer; and a few minutes later started to walk back with his daughter to derby. the cornet of eobse, chapter ii rupert to the rescue. about a month after the day on which rupert had taken mademoiselle adele dessin out hawking, the colonel and mistress dorothy went to dine at the house of a county family some miles away. the family coach, which was only used on grand occasions, was had out, and in this mistress dorothy, hooped and powdered irt accordance with the fashion of the day, took her seat with colonel' holliday. rupert had been invited, as the eldest son was a lad of his own age. it was a mem- orable occasion for him, as he was for the first time to dress in the full costume of the period—with powdered hair, ruffles, a blue satin coat, and knee-breeches of the same material, with silk stockings. his greatest pleas- ure, however, was that he was now to wear a sword, the emblem of a gentleman, for the first time. he was to ride on horseback, for madam completely filled the coach with her hoops and brocaded dress, and there was scarcely room for colonel holliday, who sat beside her almost lost in her ample skirts. the weather was cold, and rupert wore a riding cloak over his finery, and high boots, which were upon his arrival to be exchanged for silver-buckled shoes. they started at twelve, for the dinner hour was two, and there were eight miles to drive—a distance which, 'ver the roads of those days, could not be accomplished bumnr to the rescue. much under two hours. the coachman and two lackeys took their places on the box of the lumbering carriage, the two latter being armed with pistols, as it would be dark before they returned, and travelling after dark in the days of king william was a danger not to be lightly undertaken. nothing could be more statety, or to rupert's mind more tedious, than that entertainment. several other guests of distinction were present, and the dinner was elaborate. the conversation turned chiefly on county business, with an occasional allusion to the war with france. politics were entirely eschewed, for party feeling ran too high for so dangerous a subject to be broached at a gathering at which both whigs and tories were present- rupert sat near one end of the table, with the eldest son of the host; as a matter of course they kept abso- lute silence in an assembly of their elders, only answer- ing shortly and respectfully when spoken to. when dinner was over, however, and the ladies rose, they slipped away to a quiet room, and made up for their long silence by chatting without cessation of their dogs, and hawks, and sports, until at six o'clock the coach came round to the door, and rupert, again donning his cloak and riding-boots mounted his horse, and rode slowly off after the carriage. slow as the progress had been in the daytime, it was slower now. the heavy coach jolted over great lumps of rough stone, and bumped into deep ruts, with a violence -which would shake a modern vehicle to pieces. some- times, where the road was particularly bad, the lackeys -would get down, light torches at the lanterns that hung below the box, and show the way until the road im- proved. they had ridden about six miles, when some distance tbe cornet of morse. ahead the sound of pistol shots, followed by loud shouts, came sharply on the ear. rupert happened to be in front, and with the love of adventure natural to his age, he set spurs to his horse and dashed forward, not hear- ing, or at any rate not heeding, the shouts of his grand- father. colonel holliday, finding that rupert was fairly off, bade the lackeys get down, and follow him at a run with their pistols, and urged the coachmen to drive on with all possible speed. rupert was not long in reaching the scene of action; and hurried the more that he could hear the clinking of sword-blades, and knew that the resistance of those assailed had not ceased. on arriving at the spot he saw, as he expected, a car- riage standing by the road. one or two figures lay stretched on the ground; the driver lay back, a huddled mass, on his seat; a man held high a torch with one hand, while with the other he was striving to re-charge a pistol. four other men with swords were attacking a gentleman who, with his back to the coach, was de- fending himself calmly and valiantly. as he rode up rupert unbuttoned his riding-cloak, and threw it off as he reined up his horse and dis- mounted. an execration broke from the assailants at seeing this new arrival, but perceiving that he was alone, one of the four men advanced to attack him. just as rupert leapt from his horse, the man holding the torch completed the loading of his pistol, and level- ling it at him, fired. the ball knocked off his hat just as he touched the ground, and the man shouted,— "kill him, gervais! spit him like a lark; he is only a boy." rupert drew his sword as the highwayman advanced upon him, and was in a moment hotly engaged. never - rupert to the rescue. before had he fenced with pointed rapiers; but the swords had scarcely crossed when he felt, with the in- stinct of a good fencer, how different were the clumsy thrusts of his opponent to the delicate and skilful play of his grandfather and m. dessin. there was no time to lose in feints and nourishes; the man with the torch had drawn his sword, and was coming up; and rupert parried a thrust of his assailant's and with a rapid lunge in tierce ran him right through the body. then with a bound he dashed through the men attacking the trav- eller, and took his stand beside him, while the torch- bearer, leaving his torch against a stump of a tree, also joined the combat. beyond a calm "i thank you, sir; your arrival is most opportune," from the traveller, not a word passed as the swords clashed and ground against each other. "dash in, and finish him," shouted the man who ap- peared the leader of the assailants, and three of them rushed together at the traveller. the leader fell back cursing, with a sword-thrust through his shoulder, just at the moment when rupert sent the sword of the man who was attacking him flying through the air, and turn- ing at once, engaged one of the two remaining assail- ants of the traveller. but these had had enough of it; and as the lackeys came running up, they turned, and rushed away into the darkness. the lackeys at rupert's order discharged their pistols after them; but a moment later the sound of four horses making off at full gallop showed that they had escaped. "by my faith," the traveller said, turning to rupert, and holding out his hand, " no knight-errant ever ar- rived more opportunely. you are a gallant gentleman, sir; permit me to ask to whom i am so indebted?" "my name is rupert holliday, sir," the lad said, as the cobnut of horse. the stranger shook his hand warmly, and who, as the lackey approached with the torch, exclaimed,— "why, by the king's head, you are but a stripling, and you have run one of these fellows through the body, and disarmed the other, as neatly as i ever saw it done in the schools. why, young sir, if you go on like this you will be a very palladm." "i have had good masters, sir," rupert said, mod- estty; "and having been taught to use my sword, there is little merit in trouncing such rascals as these." "by my faith, but there is though," the stranger said. "it is one thing to fence in a school with buttoned foils, another to bear oneself as calmly and as well as you did but here are your friends, or i mistake not." the coach came lumbering up, at a speed which for coaches in those days was wonderful, and as it stopped colonel holliday leapt out, sword in hand. "is it all over?" he exclaimed. "is rupert hurt?" "it is all over, sir; and i have not so much as a scratch," rupert said. "sir," the stranger said, uncovering, and making a courtly bow to the old cavalier, and to mistress dor- othy, who was looking from the open door, " your son—" "my grandson," the colonel, who had also uncovered, corrected. "your grandson arrived in time to save me from grievous peril. my coachman and lackey were shot at the first fire, and i fancy one of the horses. i disposed of one of the rascals, but four others pressed me hard, while a fifth held a light to them. your grandson ran one through in fair fight, and disarmed another: i dis- abled a third, and they ran. i have to thank him fur my life; and, if you will permit me to say so—and i have been in many frays—-no man ever bore himself more bupert to the rescue. coolly, or used his sword more skilfully, than did this young gentleman." "i am very proud indeed to hear that the lad bore himself so well; although i own that he caused some anxiety to his mother and myself, by rushing forward alone to join in a fray of whose extent he knew nothing. however, all is well that ends well. and now, sir, as your servants are killed, and but one horse remains to your carriage, will you permit me to offer you for the night the hospitality of windthorpe chace? i am colonel holliday, sir, an old servant of king charles the first." "i accept your offer, sir, as frankly as it is made. i have often heard your name. i, sir, am john church- ill." "the earl of marlborough!" exclaimed colonel hol- liday. "the same," the earl said, with a smile. "i am not greatly loved, sir; but my name will, i am sure, do me no ill service with one of the men of naseby." "no, indeed!" colonel holliday said, warmly; «' it is at once a pleasure and an honor to me to entertain so great a general at the chace." "and now," the earl said, "a truce to compliments. pray resume your seat in the coach, sir. i will cut loose the horse from the coach, and will follow you in company with your grandson." colonel holliday in vain tried to persuade the earl to take his place in the carriage. the latter, however, firmly declined, and the colonel took his place in the coach, and drove off at once, to make preparation for the reception of his guest. the earl had even declined the offer to leave one or both of the lackeys behind.. and when the carriaga rupert to the rescue. so saying, he vaulted on his horse, and with rupert rode quietly along the road to the chaee. the great door opened as they approached, and four lackeys with torches came out. colonel holliday himself came down the steps and assisted the earl to alight, and led the way into the house. they now entered the drawing-room, where mistress dorothy was seated. she arose and made a deep courtesy, in answer to the even deeper bow with which the earl greeted her. "my lord," she said, "welcome to windthorpe chace." "madam," the earl said, bowing over the hand she extended, until his lips almost touched her fingers, " i am indeed indebted to the fellows who thought to do me harm, in that they have been the means of my making the acquaintance of a lady whose charms turned all heads in london, and who left the court in gloom when she retired to the country." nowadays, such a speech as this would be thought to savor of mockery, but gentlemen two hundred years since ordinarily addressed women in the language of high-flown compliment. mistress holliday, despite her thirty-seven years, was still very comely, and she smiled as she replied,— "my lord, ten years' absence from court has rendered me unused to compliments, and i will not venture to engage in a war, even of words, with so great a general." supper was now announced, and the earl offered his hand to lead mistress dorothy to the dining hall. the meal passed off quietly, the conversation turn- ing entirely upon country matters. the earl did full justice to the fare, which consisted of a stuffed carp, the counet of horse. fresh from the well-stocked ponds of the chase, a boar's head, and larded capon, the two latter dishes being cold. with these were served tankards of burgundy and of sherries. rupert, as was the custom of the younger members of families, waited upon the honored guest. the meal over, mistress holliday rose. the earl offered her his hand and led her to the door, where, with an exchange of ceremonious salutes, she bade hinj good-night. then the earl accompanied colonel holliday to the latter's room, hung with rapiers, swords, and other arms. there ceremony was laid aside, and the old cav- alier and the brilliant general entered into familiar talk, the former lighting a long pipe, of the kind known at present as a "churchwarden." the earl told colonel holliday of the discovery that had been made, that the attack was no mere affair with highwaymen, but an attempt at assassination by a political rival. "i had been down," he said, " at lord hadleigh's, where there was a gathering of many gentlemen of our way of thinking. i left london quietly, and thought that none knew of my absence; but it is clear that through some spy in my household my enemies learned both my journey and destination. i came down on horseback, having sent forward relays. when i arrived last night at hadleigh my horse was dead lame. i mis- doubt now 'twas lamed in the stable by one of the men who dogged me. lord hadleigh offered me his coach, to take me back the first stage—to the inn where i had left my servants and had intended to sleep. i accepted —for in truth i sat up and talked all last night, and thought to doze the journey away. your derbyshire roads are, however, too rough, and i was wide awake when the first shot was fired i" rupert to the rescue. "do you think of taking steps to punish the authors of this outrage?" colonel holliday asked. "by no means," the earl answered. "i would ask you to send over a man, with the horse i rode on and another, at daybreak. let him put them into the coach and drive back to hadleigh, taking with him the bodies of the lackey and coachman. with him i will send a note to my lord, asking that no stir be made in the matter. we need not set the world talking as to my visit to this house; but lest any magistrate stir in the matter, i will leave a letter for him saying that the coach in which i travelled was attacked by highwa}'- men, and that two of them, as well as the two servants, were killed, and that no further inquisition need be made into the matter. you may be sure that the other side will say naught, and they will likely enough go back and carry off their dead to-night, and bury them quietly." "very well, sir," colonel holliday said. "my grand- son will ride over with you in the morning to ashby.-de- la-zouche. two well-armed lackeys shall accompany you." "oh, there is no fear of another attempt," the earl said, smiling. "besides, your grandson and i could fight a whole troop of cumhroats by daylight. what a swordsman that boy is! and as cool as a veteran! he is your pupil with the sword, i presume?" "only partly; he owes most of his skill to a french emigre, who calls himself m. dessin, but who had, i suspect, a far higher title across the water. he is a magnificent swordsman ; and as i was able to teach the lad a few thrusts which in their time did me good ser- vice, and the boy has a clear eye, a cool head, and a firm wrist, he can, young as he is, hold his own, go where he will." the cornet of house. "what do you mean to do with him? you ought to make a soldier of him. it is the career of a gentleman, and we shall have a stirring campaign on the rhine next spring. he will have plenty of opportunities to distinguish himself, and i need not say he will have my best favor and protection!" "i thank you heartily," the colonel said, "and doubt not that one day the lad may claim the fulfilment of your promise. at present his mother dreams of his being a parliament-man, and sinning at court. but you might as well expect to teach a falcon to dance. besides, the lad is a soldier heart and soul, and has, saving your presence, little of the whig in him; and his mother will find ere long, that if he goes to parlia- ment it will not be to vote as she wishes. besides," he said, moodily, " i foresee changes here which he, young as he is, will not brook. if then at present i decline your kind offer in his name, i think that the time is not far off when he may remind you of it." "let him do so," the earl said, "and a commission in horse, foot, or artillery is at his service. and now, with your permission, i will to bed, for my eyelids are con- sumedly heavy." colonel holliday rang a hand-bell, and a lackey ap- peared with lighted candles. preceded by him the old cavalier accompanied his guest to the door of his apart- ment, and seeing that a posset cup of spiced cordial was steaming on the table, and that everything else was prop- erly prepared, left him to repose. a kiss and its consequences. chapter iii. a kiss and its consequences. thbee months have passed since the earl of marl- borough's visit to the chace. changes have taken place in england, for on the th of march king william died from the effects of a fall from his horse, and the prin- cess anne ascended the throne. after her accession, one of her first steps had been to shower honor upon the earl of marlborough. a whig cabinet was formed, of which he and lord godolphin were the leading spirits, two tories, however—harley and st. john—hav- ing seats in the ministry. the earl of marlborough was her most trusted adviser. he had during the reign of the late monarch been always a firm friend of the princess anne, and was at one time regarded almost as a tory. he had indeed plotted for the restoration of the stuarts, and had entered into negotiation with the french king for that purpose. the plot having been discovered, he had with other noblemen been sent to the tower, and had continued in disgrace until a year be- fore the death of william. anne appointed him one of her ministers, and made the duchess her most intimate friend. in fact, in poli- tics the duke of marlborough took no very strong part. he was attached to the stuarts, for under them he had at first risen to rank and honor; but he was a strong protestant, and therefore in favor of the maintenance a kiss and its consequences. nor that son of his, who, on the strength of his three years' seniority, looks down upon me, and gives himself as many airs as madam my mother's peacock." "and you have never even thought why he comes here so frequently?" "no, sir," rupert said, surprised; "it was no busi- ness of mine, and i gave no single thought to it." "he is a suitor for your lady mother's hand," colonel holliday said, gravely. "what!" almost shouted rupert; "what, sir! lie, with his sneering face, dares to think—" "my dear boy, he not only dares to think, but madam approves of the thought, and has promised him her hand." rupert stood motionless. "it shall not be," he burst out. "we must stop it, sir. why do not you?" "i have no shadow of authority over mistress holli- day," the old colonel said. "as far as i could go, for your sake i have gone—farther, perhaps, than was wise. it has been a great blow for me, rupert. i had hoped that in the time to come you would be master of the chace, and of all the broad acres i owned when young; now it will never be. this house and the home farm are mine, and will be yours, lad; but the outlying land will never come back to the chace again, but will go to swell the haugh estate on the other side. my lady can leave it as she likes. i have begged her to have it set- tled upon you, but she has declined. she may have another family, and, infatuated as she is with her suitor, she i more likely to leave it to them than to you, espe- cially as i fear that you will not take kindly to the new arrangement." "i will not submit to it, sir; i will not have it. i the cornet of horse. will insult him, and force him to fight me!" the lad gasped, his face white with passion. "no, rupert, it won't do, lad. were you four or five years older you might interfere; now he would laugh at you for a headstrong boy. you would gain his hate, and forfeit your mother's favor utterly. it was because i feared an outbreak like this that i told you to-day what you will in a few hours learn from her." "what is to be done?" rupert said, despairingly. "nothing, my boy. at her marriage, your mother will of course live at the haugh with sir william. this house is mine, and if you cannot get on at the haugh, it will be always open to you." "i will never set my foot inside the haugh," rupert said, firmly. "my lady mother may leave her lands where she will; but if i am to have them only at the price of being the humble servant of this new father-in- law, i care not for them. he has an evil face, grand- father, and i hated him before i knew what he came .for." "my boy," colonel holliday said, "we have all many things to go through in life that we like not. this is your trial, and i trust that you will come out of it worth- ily. your respect and duty are due to your mother. if you will not feign gladness that you do not feel, i do not blame you; but when she tells you the news, answer her with that respect which you owe her. she has a clear right to choose for herself. she is still a comely dame, and no one will blame her for taking another hus- band. to me and to you the thing may seem hard, even unnatural, but it is not so. i like sir william no more than you do. report says that he has deeply dipped into his estates over the dice-box; and your lady mother's estates, and the sum that many years of quiet a kiss and its consequences. living has enabled her to save, are doubtless items which he has not overlooked." rupert remained for some time silent. "i will be perfectly respectful to my mother," he said, "but i will not disguise my feelings. if i did so at first, it would in the end be useless, for sir william i could never treat with respect. sooner or later a quarrel would come, and i may therefore as well have it under- stood first as last. the estates i care for only because they were part of the chace, and i know that they will never be mine if this match is made. you feel that yourself, do you not, sir?" "yes," the colonel said, reluctantly, "i have felt that all along." "very well, sir," rupert said; "in that case i have nothing to gain by affecting a satisfaction at this match. i shall respectfully but firmly warn my mother against it, and tell her that if she persists in it i will never put my foot under the roof of sir william brownlow." the next morning the servant brought word to ru- pert, that mistress holliday wished to speak to him in her room. knowing what was coming, rupert went with slow steps and a heavy heart to the little drawing- room which was known as madam's room. "rupert," she said, as he stood respectfully before her, "i have sent for you to tell you that i have ac- cepted the offer of marriage of sir william brownlow. sir william has much court influence, and will be able to do you much service, and he has promised me to look upon you as a son of his own." "madam," rupert said, calmly and respectfully, "that you should marry sir william brownlow is a matter as to which, alas! i have no right to say aught. i trust that the marriage will bring you happiness, al the cornet of horse. though my mind sorely misgives me as to whether it will be so. as to myself, i decline sir william's offer of protection. it is enough for me that my fathers have for generations owned windthorpe chace. come what may, madam, i neither acknowledge sir william as my father, nor do i put a foot under his roof." "malapert boy!" mistress holliday said, angrily, "this is the teaching of colonel holliday." "pardon me," rupert said, quietly, "colonel holli- day begged me to submit to what could not be helped; but i declined. this man is not worthy of you, madam. were you about to marry a good man, i would gladly receive him as my father. i should be glad to know when out in the world that you were cared for and happy; but this is not a good man." "hush, sir," mistress holliday said. "i will not suffer you to speak thus. and know, rupert, if you do not know it already, that i have absolute power over the estates of the chace, and that if you defy me i can leave them where i will." "i know it, madam," rupert said, sadly; "but this will in no way alter my determination. if when yon marry 'ou give me your permission to remain here with my grandfather, i will do so; if not, i will go forth into the world to seek my fortune." "insolent boy!" mistress holliday said, furiously, "i have a mind to call the lackeys in and bid them beat you." "madam," rupert said, drawing himself up and touching his sword lightly, " if you value your lackeys you will give no such order; for the first man, lackey or lord, who lays his hand on me, i would kill like a dog. with your permission, madam, i will retire, sines this morning i take my dancing lesson." a kiss and its consequences. so saying, with a ceremonious bow rupert left his mother's presence. m. dessin and his daughter were already with colonel holliday when rupert joined them, and he went through his dancing lessons as usual. then adele went as usual out into the garden, and the fencing lesson began. when it was half over, rupert's brow clouded angrily for he heard horsemen ride up to the door, and felt sure who they were. "steady, my dear pupil, steady," m. dessin cried, as with knitted brow rupert pressed him hotly, fancying at the moment that sir william brownlow stood in front of him. "peste !" he exclaimed, as the lad lunged and touched him in the chest, "you are terrible. monsieur le colo- nel," he went on, dropping his sword, " i resign my post. i have seen it coming for some time, and now it has arrived. your grandson is more than a match for me. he has all my skill, some of yours, and has besides an activity and suppleness greater, i think, than i ever had. you young islanders are trained to use hand and eye; and although french lads may have as much activity, they have far less strength, far less ap- titude for such exercises. besides, there are other reasons. go, monsieur rupert, and take care of my daughter; i would talk with monsieur your grand- father." slowly, and brooding over the change which the late twenty-four hours had made in his fortune, rupert sought the garden. as he sauntered along the walks he heard a cry, and looking up saw adele struggling in the arms of james brownlow, who was trying to kiss her, while a young fellow his own age stood by laugh- ing. rupert's pentrup fury found a vent at last, and rushing forward, he struck the aggressor so violent a the counet of house. blow between the eyes that, loosing his hold of adele, he fell to the ground. "thunder and lightning," the other young man ex- claimed, drawing his sword, "what means this, young cockerel?" rupert's sword flew from its sheath, but before he could cross it, james brownlow sprang to his feet and crying to his friend,— "stand back! i will spit the saucy knave !" rushed upon rupert. the swords clashed, and almost simultaneously brownlow's weapon flew far through the air. with a cry of fury he ran to fetch it, while his com- panion burst into a coarse laugh. rupert did not move from his position, but stood passive, until his antagonist again rushed at him. "mind this time," rupert said, between his teeth, "for i will kill you like a dog." warned by the lesson, james brownlow fought more carefully; but he was too enraged to continue these tactics long, and after a short bout he lunged furiously. rupert turned aside the point and straightened his arm, and his antagonist fell to the ground, run completely through the body. "you are a witness that i killed him in fair fight," rupert said, turning to the young man, who gazed stupefied at the body of his comrade, and then sheath- ing his sword bounded away to the stables. hugh was there. "quick, hugh; saddle ronald. i have just killed young brownlow, and must ride for it." hugh stood for a moment astonished, and then call- ing a helper ran into the stables. in a minute he came out with two horses saddled. without a word rupert a kiss and its consequences. leapt on one, while he vaulted on the other, and the two dashed off at full speed. "where are you going, master rupert?" "to london," rupert said. "this is no place for me now. i killed him in fair fight, and after warning; still, what with sir william and my lady mother, there will be no stopping here. you had better ride back, hugh, and tell my grandfather, privately, that i am going to the earl of marlborough, to ask him to give me the cornetcy he promised me." "with your leave, master rupert, i shall do nothing of the sort. where you go, i go. my grandfather rode out with yours to naseby, and died there. my people have been the tenants of the chace as long as the hollidays have been its lords, and have always followed their master to the field. my old father would beat me out of the house with a broom-handle, if i went back and said i had let you go to the wars alone. no, master rupert, wherever you go, hugh parsons goes too." rupert held out his hand, which his companion grasped, and the two galloped rapidly along the roads towards london. in the meantime all was consternation at the chace. colonel holliday and m. dessin were deeply engaged in conversation when adele burst in upon them. "quick, quick!" she exclaimed, " m. rupert is fight- ing with a wicked young man!" "then," said m. dessin, grimly, " it will be very bad for the wicked young man, whoever he is." "where are they?" exclaimed colonel holliday. "in the garden," the girl said bursting into tears. "the wicked young man was rude to me, and wanted tee cornet of horse. to kiss me, and m. rupert knocked him down, and then they began to fight, and i ran away." m. dessin swore a very deep oath in french, and was about to hurry out with colonel holliday. then he stopped, and putting his hand on the colonel's shoulder, said, coldly, "do not let us hurry, sir. m. rupert has taken the matter in his hands. it is as well that he should kill this fellow as that i should have to do so." just at this moment they reached the door and a young man came running up to the house shouting,— "young brownlow is killed. help! help!" "i think, m. dessin," colonel holliday said, stop- ping, " it would be as well if you and mademoiselle were for the present to leave us. there will be trouble enough, and the fewer in it the better. sir william is a hot man, and you are not a cool one. enough mischief has been done." "you are right," m. dessin said. "will you tell m. rupert that so long as my arm can lift a sword it is at his service, and that i am his debtor for life. come, adele, let us leave by the front of the house." colonel holliday now hurried out into the garden, just as sir william brownlow, accompanied by his son's friend, rushed out of the house, followed by some lackeys with scared faces. not a word was spoken as they ran to the spot where young brownlow was lying. sir william and colonel holliday both knelt beside him and the latter put his finger to his pulse. "he is not dead," he said after a moment. "ralph, saddle a horse, and ride with all speed to derby for a doctor." "ay," sir william said, " and tell the chief magistrate a kiss and its consequences. that he is -wanted here, with one of his constables, for that murder has been done." "you will do nothing of the sort," colonel holliday said. "sir william brownlow, i make every excuse for you in your grief, but even from you i will permit no such word to be used. your son has been wounded in fair fight, and whether he dies or not, alters the circum- stances no whit. my grandson found him engaged in offering a gross insult to a young lady in the garden of my house. he did what i should have done had i so found him—he knocked him down. they fought and your son was worsted. i think, sir, that for the credit of your house you had best be quiet over the matter. hush, sir," he went on sternly, seeing that the baronet was about to answer furiously, " i am an old man, but i will put up with bluster from no man." colonel holli- day's repute as a swordsman was well known, and sir william brownlow swallowed his passion in silence. a door was taken off its hinges, and the insensible young man was carried into the house. there he was received by mistress holliday, who was vehement in her re- proaches against rupert, and even against colonel hol- liday, who had, as she said, encouraged him in brawl- ing. the colonel bent quietly before the storm; and leaving the wounded man in the care of his daughter-in- law and the attendants, made his way to the stables, to inquire what had become of rupert. there he found that a few minutes before, rupert, accompanied by hugh parsons, had ridden off at full speed, having placed valises and a brace of pistols in the holsters on their saddles. the colonel was glad to hear that ru- pert had his humble friend with him, and doubted not that he had made for london. with a somewhat light- ened heart he went back to the house. the cornet of horse. after galloping fast for the first two miles, rupert drew rein, for he had now time to think, and was as- sured that even should sir william at once send into derby for a warrant for his apprehension, he would be across the borders of the county long before he could be overtaken. "have you any money with you, hugh?" he asked, suddenly; "for i have not a penny with me." "i have only two shillings, master rupert. i got that yesterday in derby for a nest of young owlets i found in the copse." rupert reined up his horse in dismay. "two shillings between us, hugh ! and it is a hundred and twenty-six miles to london. what are we to do?" hugh thought a moment. "we can't go on with that, sir. do you take these two shillings and ride on to the red dragon, you will be outside the county there. i will ride back to father's. it's under two miles, and i shall be back here in half-an-hour again. he will give me any money he may have in the house. i may as well fill my valise too, while i am about it; and he's got a pair of pistols too, that he will give me." it was clearly the best course to take, and rupert trotted forward on his way, while hugh galloped back at full speed. in a quarter of an hour the latter drew rein at his father's door. "hullo, hugh, lad," the farmer, a hearty man of some fifty years of age, said as he came to the door, "be'est thou? what art doing on the squire's horse? he looks as if thou had ridden him unmercifully, surely?" in a few words hugh related what had taken place, and told him of his own offer to go to the wars with rupert. "that's right lad; that's right and proper. it's ao a kiss and its consequences. cording to the nature of things that when a hollitlay rides to the war a parsons should ride behind him. it's always been so, and will always be so, i hope. mother will grieve, no doubt; but she won't want to fly in the face of nature. here, mother, come out; master ru- pert's killed sir william brownlow's son, and is off to the wars, and so our hugh's, natural-like, going with him." mrs. parsons, after her first ejaculation of surprise, burst into tears, but, as her husband had predicted, of- fered no objection whatever to what seemed to her, as to him, a matter of plain duty on the part of her son. hugh now explained the reason of his return. "ay, ay, lad ; thou shalt have the money. i've got fifty pounds for next quarter's rent. colonel holliday will be glad enough for some of it to go to his grandson. i'll gin ye half o't, hugh, and take my chance of the colonel agreeing to it. i'll give'e as much more out of my old stocking upstairs. put it carefully by, lad. money is as useful in war as at other times, and pay ain't always regular; may be the time may come when the young master may be short of money, and it may come in useful. now put on thy riding coat; and mother will put thy best clothes in a valise. bustle up, mother, there bain't no time to lose." thus addressed, mrs. parsons dried her tears and hurried away. hugh, hitching the bridle over a hook, made his way to his room to change his clothes. when he came down, all was ready. "thy clothes are in the valise, hugh. i have put on the holsters, and the pistols are in them. they are loaded, boy. in the bottom of one are the master's twenty-five pounds. thy own money is in the valise. here, boy, is my father's sword; it hasn't been used the cornet of horse. ulnce naseby, but it's a good blade. thou are adeft hand at quarterstaff aud single-stick though, and i doubt not that thy hands can guard thy head. i need not say, hugh parsons, you will, if need be, die for thy master, for i know thou will do it lad. now kiss thy mother, boy; and god speed you." a long embrace with his father and mother, and then hugh, blinded by his tears, mounted his horse, and rode off in the track of rupert. after an hour's sharp riding he overtook him, at a wayside inn, just across the boundary between derby and leicestershire. "is it all right, hugh ?" he asked, as hugh drew up at the door. "all right, master rupert. father has sent thee twenty-five pounds out of the rent that will be due at lady day; and he doubts not that the colonel will ap- prove of what he has done. how long have you been here?" "only some five minutes, hugh. we had best let the horses feed, and then ride quietly into leicester, it's only fifteen miles away. i see you've got a sword." "a sword and pistols, master rupert and as you have the same, methinks any highwayman chaps we might meet would think twice ere they venture to cry 'stand and deliver !'" "you heard no word of whether james brownlow was alive or dead, hugh? i should be very glad to hear that he is not killed." "no word of the matter had come to the farm when i came away," hugh said; "but i should not worry about it one way or the other, master rupert. you'll kill lots more when you get to the wars; and the coun- try won't grieve over james brownlow. young as he a kiss and its consequences. -was, he was a bad one: i've heard more than one dark story whispered of him. folks say he took after hia father, who was as wild and as bad as any man in derby- shire when he was young." tee cornet of uor&e. chapter iv. the sedan chair. "this is our last stage, hugh, and to-night we shall be in london," rupert said, as they rode out of wat- ford. "methinks we shall find it very strange in that great city. i am glad i thought of asking our host the name of an inn at which to put up; the bell in bishops- gate street, he said. it will seem less strange asking tlie way there than it would be to be wandering about gazing for a place at which to alight." "ay, truly, master rupert; and i've heard say those london folk are main fond of making game of strangers." "so i have heard, hugh; any reasonable jest we had best put up with with good temper; if they push it too far, we shall be able, i doubt not, to hold our own. the first thing to do will be to get clothes of the cut in vogue, for i have come away just as i stood; and i fear that even your clothes will have a marvellously country air about them in the eyes of the city folk. there is london," he said, as they passed over the crest of hempstead hill. "that great round dome that stands up so high must be st. paul's; and look how many other church towers and spires there are. and there, away to the right, those must be the towers of west- minster." "it is a big place, surely, master rupert. how many people do you think live there?" the sedan chair. "i believe there are near three hundred thousand souls there, hugh. it seems wonderful, does it not?" "it's too big to think of, master rupert," hugh said, and they continued their journey southward. they entered the city at aldersgate, but they had ridden some distance through houses before they ar- rived at the boundary, for the city was already spread- ing beyond its ancient limits. once inside the walls, the lads were astonished at the bustle and noise. hugh inquired the way to bishopsgate street of a respectable citizen, who directed them to follow the road until they came to a broad turning to their left, this would be chepeside, and they were to follow this until they came to the exchange, a large building straight in front of them. passing this, they would find them- selves in bishopsgate street. if aldersgate street had surprised them, much more were they astonished at the din and turmoil of chepe- side, and hugh, having twice narrowly escaped riding over a citizen, and being soundly rated for a country gawk, rupert turned to him. "look at your horse's head, hugh, and pay no atten- tion to aught else. when we have reached our destina- tion, we shall have plenty of time to look at all these wonders." the advice avas good, and without mischance they reached the bell in bishopsgate street, and rode into the yard. the host at once came out, and after a mo- mentary look of surprise at the youth of the new arriv- als, he asked rupert courteously if he needed a room. "two rooms if it please you," rupert said, "and to- gether." the host called a hostler, who at once took charge of the sedan cbaib. "i am going to order a walking suit, hugh, and a court suit for myself, and a suit for you." "yes, but what sort of a suit, master rupert?" "i should say a walking suit, hugh, such as would become a modest citizen." "that's just it, master rupert. so far you have treated me as a friend; but now, sir, it must be dif- ferent, for to do so any longer would not be seemly. you are going to be an officer; i am going to follow, you as a trooper; but till we go to the war i must be dressed as your retainer. not a lackey, perhaps, but a sort of confidential retainer. that will be best, master rupert, in every way." rupert was silent for a moment. "well, hugh, perhaps that would be best; but you must remember that whatever we are before others, we are always friends when we are alone." "very well," hugh said, " that is understood; but you know that alone or before others, i shall always be your faithful servant." "what can i make you, sir?" the tailor asked, as .the lads entered his shop. master haliford was a small man; neat in his dress; a little fussy in manner. he was very upright, and seemed to look under rather than through the pair of horn spectacles which he wore. his look changed from affability to doubt as he took a nearer look at his intending customers. "i need a suit such as a gentleman might wear at court," rupert said, quietly, "and a walking or ordinary suit for myself; and a suit such as would be worn by a trusted retainer for my friend here." the tailor put his head on one side, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. the cornet of horse. "have i had the honor of being recommended to you by the honorable gentleman your father?" he asked. "no, indeed," rupert said, " it was mine host at the bell, who advised me that i could not do better than come to your shop." "ah, you are known to. him, beyond doubt," john flaliford said, brightening. "no, indeed," rupert answered, " he was a stranger to me to within five minutes back." "you must excuse my caution, young sir," john haliford said, after another minute's reflection, " but it is the custom of us london tradesmen with those gentlemen who may honor us with their custom, and whom we have not the honor of knowing, to require payment, or at least a portion of payment, at the time of giving the order, and the rest at the time of delivery of the goods. in your case, sir, i am sure, an unneces- sary piece of caution, but a rule from which i never venture to go." "that is only fair and right," rupert said. "i will pay half now, and the other half when the garments are completed, or if it please you, will pay the whole in ad- vance." "by no means, by no means," the tailor said with alacrity; "one-third in advance is my rule, sir. and now, sir, what color and material do you affect?" "as sober both in hue and in material as may be," rupert said, " and yet sufficiently in the fashion for me to wear in calling upon a nobleman of the court." "pardon me," the tailor said, "but perhaps you ■vould condescend to take me into your confidence. there are noblemen, and noblemen. a tory lord, for instance, is generally a little richer in his color than a the sedan chair. -whig nobleman, for these affect a certain sobriety of air. with some again, a certain military cut is per- mitted, while with others this would be altogether out of place." "i am going to the earl of marlborough," rupert said, briefly. "dear me, dear me! indeed now!" the little tailor said with an instant and great accession of deference, for the earl of marlborough was the greatest man in the realm. "had your honor mentioned that at first, i should not have ventured to hint at need for previous payment." "what!" rupert said, with a smile, " you would have broken your fixed rule! surely not, master haliford." the tailor looked sharply at his young customer. whoever he might be, he was clearly no fool; and without more ado he brought forward his patterns and bent himself to the work in hand. having chosen the colors and stuffs for the suits of clothes, the lads returned to the bell, where a supper of cold chicken and the remains of a fine sirloin awaited them, with two tankards of home-brewed ale. the next morning, before sallying out to see the town, ru- pert wrote to his grandfather, asking his pardon for running away, expressing his intention of applying to the earl of marlborough for a cornetcy of horse, and giving his address at the bell; asking him also to make his humble excuse to his lady mother, and to assure her of his devotion and respect, although circumstances had caused his apparent disobedience to her wishes. although there was a much greater amount of filial respect and obedience expressed in those days than now, human nature has differed but slightly in different -" the cob et of horse. ages of the world; and it is probable that sons went their own way quite as much as they do now, when there is very little talk either of obedience or respect. indeed, the implicit obedience, and almost servile respect, which our forefathers expected from their sons, could not but in a great number of cases drive the sons to be hypocrites as well as undutiful; and our modern system of making our boys companions and friends, of taking an interest in all they do, and in teaching them to regard us as their natural advisers, has produced a generation of boys less outwardly respectful, no doubt, but as dutiful, and far more frank and truthful than those of the bygone times. rupert, finding that few of the citizens wore swords, and feeling that in his present attire he would attract attention by so doing, left his sword at the inn, and bought for hugh and himself a couple of stout sticks— hugh's a cudgel which would be useful in a hand well accustomed to single-stick, his own a cane of a wood such as he had never before seen—light, strong, and stiff. he chose it because it was well balanced in the hand. then they sallied out into cornhill, past the exchange, erected by the worshipful citizen sir thomas gresham, and then into chepeside, where they were astonished at the wealth and variety of the wares dis- played in the shops. gazing into the windows, they frequently got into the way, and were saluted many times with the query, " where are you going, stupids?" a question which hugh was largely inclined to resent, and would have done so had not rupert told him that evidently they did get into the way of the hurrying citi- zens, and that it was more wise to put up with rudeness than to embark in a series of quarrels, in which, more- over, as strangers, they were likely to get the worst of the cornet of horse. was connected with houses, and the junction of the two cities had fairly taken place. dim oil lamps were lighted here and there as they went along, foot passengers bore lanterns to enable them to pick their way across rough places, and link- men carried torches in front of sedan-chairs, in which ladies were being taken to fashionable entertainments, which then commenced at six o'clock. all this was new and amusing to the boys; and hav- ing gone into a tavern near the abbey, and partaken of some refreshment, they were not pressed for time; and it was near eight before they seriously thought of pro- ceeding towards the city. when a few hundred yards from temple bar, they heard a shouting and a scream down one of the streets leading to the river. the street was deserted, but down at the farther end they could see the flash of sword blades, in the light of an oil lamp. "come along, hugh; that is a woman's scream." "better not interfere, master rupert," hugh said. but rupert had already darted off, and hugh with- out a moment's hesitation followed in his steps. at the end of the street they came upon a sedan-chair. the two porters stood surlily against the wall, menaced by the drawn swords of two men, standing over them, while two other men—evidently of higher rank, but enveloped in cloaks—were forcibly dragging a lady from the chair. they had thrown a cloak over her head to drown her cries. as the lads came up, one of the men uttered a furious oath. "rolf, simon! leave those fellows and keep these jpringalls back. they are but boys. i will whistle the cornet of horse. man on tho ground, and the fellow held by the chair- man, were seized by the watch. rupert turned to the young lady, who, having now disencumbered herself of the folds of the cloak over her head, was leaning, half fainting, against the chair. taking off his hat and bowing deeply, he expressed his hope that she had suffered no harm through the un- mannerly assault upon her. "i thank you greatly, sir," she said, speaking with a slightly foreign accent. "i am unhurt, although some- what breathless. i owe you my deep gratitude for rescue from these evil-minded men." "what may be your name, mistress?" one of the watch asked. "you will be needed to-morrow to testify against these men." "my name is maria von duyk, and i reside at pres- ent with the worthy alderman, peter hawkins, to whom i was i-eturning in the chair, as the chairmen will tell you, after a visit to mistress vanloct, whose house we had just left when molested." "and yours, young sir?" the watchman asked. "my name is rupert holliday. i am staying at the bell, in bishopsgate street." "you will both have to be present to-morrow morn- ing before the worshipful magistrate master forman, at westminster." the watch now secured the man on the ground, who was recovering from the effect of the violent thrust in the stomach, and putting handcuffs on him and the other, led them away. "you will permit me, i trust, to escort you to your door," rupert said, as he ceremoniously handed the young lady into her chair. "yes, indeed, sir; and i trust that you will enter, the sedan chair. and allow dame hawkins to add her thanks to mine." rupert bowed, and the chair being closed the chair- men lifted it, and with rupert and hugh following, pro- ceeded eastward. when they arrived at the house of alderman haw- kins, in lawrence pulteney, the young lady on alight- ing begged rupert to enter; but the latter excused himself on account of the hour, but said that he would call next morning, and would, if allowed, accompany her and the alderman to give evidence as to the assault. on arriving next morning, rupert was overwhelmed with thanks by the alderman, his wife, and mistress maria von duyk, all of whom were much surprised at his youth, for in the dim light of the preceding even- ing the young lady had not perceived that her rescuer was a mere lad. rupert found that there was no occasion to go before the magistrate, for the alderman having sent down early to the watchhouse to inquire at what hour their presence would be required, found that the prisoners had been rescued on their way to the watchhouse, by a party of armed men. "we are," the alderman said, " well aware who wa the leader of the assailants, the man who escaped. sir richard fulke is a ruined gamester, and is a distant relation of dame vanloct, whom my young friend was yesterday visiting. knowing the wealth of mistress von duyk's good father, he has sought to mend his ruined fortune by a match with her. at the urgent re- quest of mistress von duyk i wrote to him, saying that his attentions were unpleasing to her, and that they must be discontinued, or that she could no longer visit at dame vanloct's, where she usually had met him. tee cornet of horse. this was a week since. he replied courteously, re- gretting that the deep devotion he felt was unrequited but withdrawing from the undertaking of trying to win her, and promising that henceforth she should be no longer troubled with his presence when she visited dame vanloct. this was of course done to lull our suspicion. when the chair was stopped yesterday, maria at once recognized his voice. as they dragged her from the chair, he said,— "' quick ! hurry her down to the boat.' "there is no doubt upon my mind that he intended to carry her off, and compel her to marry him. i be- thought me at first of applying to the secretary of state for a warrant for his arrest to answer for this outrage, but mistress maria leaves us to-morrow for holland, and the process would delay her departure, and would cause a scandal and talk very unpleasant to herself, and which would greatly offend my good friend her father. had the men in custody been brought up this morning, there would have been no choice but to have carried the matter through. it was then a relief to us to find that they had escaped. i have told you this, young sir, as your due after having rescued mistress von duyk from so great a peril. now, as to yourself, believe me if my friendship and assistance can in any way advan- tage you, they are at your service. even of your name i am yet in ignorance." rupert thanked the worthy alderman, and then stated that he was the grandson of colonel holliday, of wind- thorpe chace, in derbyshire, and had come up to lon- don to wait upon the earl of marlborough, who had promised him his protection and a cornetcy in a regi- ment of horse for service in holland. "in that case, sir," mistress von duyk said, "it is the sedan chair. sf like you may come to dort. if so, believe me that my father, whom i shall tell how much we are indebted to you, will not be backward in manifesting his gratitude for the great service that you have rendered to his daughter." "how were you thinking of passing the day?" the alderman asked. "i had no plan," rupert said. "in truth, i am wait- ing to call upon the earl of marlborough until master haliford has fashioned me a suit of clothes fitted for such an occasion; he has promised them for this even- tag." "would it please you to go down the river? i have a boat, and if you would like to see the shipping of this great port, and the palace at greenwich for our seamen, my boatmen will take you down; and you will, i trust, return and take your midday meal with us." and so it was arranged; and as rupert and hugh were rowed down the river, lost in wonder at the numer- ous craft that lay there, hugh admitted that rupert's interference in a business which was no concern of his had turned out a fortunate occurrence. § the cornet of horse. chapter v. the fencing-school. it was with no small trepidation that rupert holli- day ascended the steps of the earl of marlborough's residence in pall mall. hugh accompanied him thus far and stopped at the door, outside which, in the court yard, and in the hall were standing many lackeys who had atte'nded their masters. rupert felt very young, and the somewhat surprised looks of the servants in the hall at his appearance, added to his feeling of youth. he was shown into an ante-chamber, where a number of officers of all ranks, of courtiers, and politicians, were assembled, talking in groups. rupert felt alone and uncomfortable among this crowd of distinguished men, none of whom did he know, and no one paid the smallest attention to him. he had on entering written his name down in a book in the hall, whence it would be taken in with others to the great man. presently an officer in general's uniform came out from an inner room, and an instant afterwards the earl himself appeared. not only was john churchill one of the most handsome men in europe, but he was the most courtly and winning in manner; and rupert, shrinking back from observation, watched with admiration as he moved round the room, stopping to say a few words here, shaking hands there, listening to a short urgent person, giving an answer to a petition, before presented the fencing-school. by another, giving pleasure and satisfaction wherever he moved. rupert saw, however, that even while speak- ing his-eye was wandering round the room, and directly he perceived him he walked straight towards him, those standing between falling back as he advanced. "ah, my young friend, he said, warmly, holding out his hand to rupert, "i was expecting you. sir john loveday, lord fairholm," he said, turning to two young gentlemen near, "let me present to you master rupert holliday, grandson of colonel holliday, one of the bravest of our cavaliers, and who i can guarantee has inherited the skill and courage of his grandfather. he will make the campaign in holland with you, gentle- men, for his commission has been made out to-day in her majesty's fifth regiment of dragoons. i will speak to you more, presently, rupert." so saying, the earl moved away among his visitors, leaving rupert flushed with pleasure and confusion. the young gentlemen to whom the earl had introduced him, much surprised at the flattering manner in which the great general had spoken of the lad before them, at once entered into conversation with him, and hearing that he was but newly come to london, offered to show him the various places where men of fashion resorted, and begged him to consider them at his disposal. ru- pert, who had been carefully instructed by his grand- father in courtly expression and manner, returned many thanks to the gentlemen for their obliging offers, of which, after he had again spoken to the earl, and knew what commands he would lay upon him, he would thankfully avail himself. it was nearly an hour before the earl of marlborough had made the round of the ante-chamber, but the time passed quickly to rupert. the room was full of men. the cornet of horse. whose names were prominent in the history of the time, and these sir john loveday, and lord fairholm, who were lively young men, twenty-two or twenty-three years old, pointed out to him, often telling him a merry story or some droll jest regarding them. there was st. john, handsome, but delicate-looking, with a half sneer on his face, and dressed in the extremity of fashion, with a coat of peach-colored velvet with immense cuffs, crimson leather shoes with diamond buckles; his sword was also diamond-hilted, his hands were almost hidden in lace ruffles, and he wore his hair in ringlets of some twenty inches in length, tied behind with a red ribbon. the tall man, with a haughty but irritable face, in the scarlet uniform of a general officer, was the earl of peterborough. there too were godolphin and orford, both leading members of the cabinet, the earl of suther- land, the dukes of devonshire and newcastle, lord nottingham, and many others. at last the audience was over, and the minister, bow- ing to all, withdrew, and the visitors began to leave. a lackey came up to rupert and requested him to follow him; and bidding adieu to his new friends, who both gave him their addresses and begged him to call upon them, he followed the servant into the hall and upstairs into a cosey room, such as would now be called a bou- doir. there stood the earl of marlborough, by the chair in which a lady of great beauty and commanding air was sitting. "sarah," he said, "this is my young friend, rupert holliday, who as you know did me good service in the midlands." the countess held out her hand kindly to rupert, and he bent over it and touched it with his lips. "you must remember you are my friend as well aa the fencing-school. my husband's," she said. "he tells me you saved his life; and although i can scarce credit the tale, seeing how young you are, yet courage and skill dwell not necessarily in great bodies. truly, master holliday, am deeply indebted to you; and sarah churchill is true in her friendships." "as in her hates, eh? " laughed the earl. between the earl of marlborough and his wife there existed no common affection. they were passionately attached to each other; and the earl's letters show that at all timesi even when in the field surrounded by diffi- culties, harassed by opposition, menaced with destruc- tion by superior forces, his thoughts were turned affec- tionately towards her, and he was ever wishing that the war would end that he might return to her side. she on her part was equally attached to him, but much as she strove to add to his power and to forward his plans, her haughty and violent temper was the main cause of the unmerited disgrace into which he fell with his royal mistress, who owed so much to him personally, and whose reign he did so much to render a brilliant and successful one. at the present time, however, she stood upon the footing of the closest intimacy and affection with queen anne. the earl then introduced rupert to those other ladies who were present; the eldest, his daughter lady harriet, recently married to mr. godol- phin; the second, anne, married to lord spencer; and the two daughters still unmarried, aged sixteen and sev- enteen respectively. rupert was so confused with the earl's kindness, that he had difficulty in finding words, but he made a great effort, and expressed in proper set terms his thankful- ness to the countess for her great kindness to him, and of his own want of deserts. the cornet of horse. "there," the countess said, " that will do very nicely and prettily; and now put it aside until we are in public, and talk in your own natural way. so you have been fighting again, have you, and well-nigh killing young master brownlow?" rupert was completely astounded at this address; and the earl said, laughing,— "i told you that i expected you. the worthy colonel your grandfather wrote me a letter, which i received this morning, telling me the incident which had taken place, and your sudden disappearance, stating that he doubted not you had made for london, and begging— which indeed was in no way necessary—my protection on your behalf?" "did my grandfather say, sir," rupert asked, anx- iously, " aught of the state of master brownlow?" "yes; he said that the leech had strong hopes that he would recover." "i am indeed glad of that," rupert said; "for i had no ill will to him." "we must be careful of you, master holliday," the countess said; "for if you go on like this you will much diminish the number of the queen's subjects." "i cau,assure your grace," rupert said earnestly, "that i am no brawler, and am not quarrelsome by nat- ure, and that the thought of shedding blood, except of the foes of my country in battle, pains mo much." "i'll warrant me you are the mildest-tempered boy alive," the earl said. "now tell me frankly: you have been in london some forty-eight hours; have you passed that time without getting into a fray or quarrel of any kind?" rupert turned scarlet with confusion. "his looks betray him," the earl laughed. "look. the fencing-school. en girls, at the mild-tempered young gentleman* now, out with it. how was it?" thus exhorted, rupert stammeringly gave an ac* count of the fray in which he had been engaged. "von duyk!" the earl said. "she must be a daugh- ter of the great merchant of dort—a useful friend to have made maybe, master holliday; and it may be that your adventure may yet be of service to the state. never speak now, master rupert, of your peaceful intentions. you take after your namesake, the prince, and are a veritable knight-errant of adventure. the sooner i have you over in holland fighting the queen's enemies, and not the queen's subjects, the better. now tell me, where have you taken up your abode?" "at the bell, at bishopsgate street," rupert an- swered. "and your follower, for i know one accompanied you; where is he?" "he waits without, sir." the earl touched a hand bell. '"fetch in master holliday's retainer; you will find him without. make him at home in the servant's hall. send a messenger down to the bell at bishopsgate, fetch hither the mails of master holliday; he will remain as my guest at present." rupert now entered upon a life very different to that which he had led hitherto. he received a letter from colonel holliday, enclosing an order on a london banker for fifty pounds, and he was soon provided with suits of clothes fit for balls and other occasions. wherever the earl went, rupert accompanied him as one of his personal followers; and the frank, straightforward manners of the lad pleased the ladies of the court, and the cornet of horse. thus "little holliday," as he was called, soon became a great favorite. it was about a fortnight after his arrival in town that, for the first time, he accompanied his friends sir john loveday and lord fairholm to the fencing-school of maitre dalboy, the great fencing-master of the day. rupert had been looking forward much to this visit, as he was anxious to see what was the degree of proficiency of the young court gallants in the art which he so much loved. maitre dalboy's school was a fashionable lounge of the young men of the court and army. it was a large and lofty room, and some six assistants were in the act of giving instructions to beginners, or of fencing with more advanced students, when the trio entered. maitre dalboy himself came up to greet them, for both rupert's friends had been his pupils. "you are strangers," he said, reproachfully. "how are your muscles to keep in good order, and your eye true, if you do not practice? it is heartrending! i take every pains to turn out accomplished swordsmen; and no sooner have my pupils learned something of the busi- ness, than they begin to forget it." "we shall begin to put your teaching into effect be- fore long, maitre dalboy," sir john loveday said, with a smile, "for we are going over to join the army in holland in a few weeks, and we shall then have an opportunity of trying the utilit" c; ae parries you have taught us." "it is too bad," the frenchman said, shrugging his shoulders, "that my pupils should use the science i have taught them, against my countrymen; but what would you have? it is the fortune of war. is this young gentleman a new pupil that }-ou have brought me?" the cornet of house. cover what is possible with good teachers, when th. science is begun young. what may your age be, mas- ter holliday?" "i am four months short of sixteen," rupert said, "and i shall be very proud of the honor of crossing swords with so famed a master as yourself, if you think me worthy of so great a privilege." there was quite a sensation in the fencing-school, round which were gathered some forty or fifty of the young men of the day, when maitre dalboy called for his plastron and foil, for it was seldom indeed, and then only with swordsmen of altogether exceptional strength that m. dalboy condescended to fence, contenting him- self ordinarily with walking about the school and giving a hint now and then to those fencing with his assistants, not, perhaps, more than once a week taking a foil in his hand to illustrate some thrust or guard which he was inculcating. at this call, therefore, there was a general silence; and every one turned to see who was the fencer whom the great master thus signally designed to honor. great was the astonishment when, as m. dalboy di- vested himself of his coat and vest, the lad who had entered with lord fairholm and sir john loveday was seen similarly to prepare for the contest. "who is he? what singular freak is this of the maitre to take up a foil with a boy?" was the question which ran round the room. several of those present had met rupert holliday, and could give his name; but none could account for the freak on the part of the master. fortunately rupert was unacquainted with the fact that what seemed to him a natural occurrence was an extraordinary event in the eyes of all assembled, and he the fencing-school. therefore experienced no feeling of nervousness what- ever. he knew that colonel holliday was a master of the sword, and his grandfather had told him that m. dessin was an altogether exceptional swordsman; as he knew himself to be fully a match for the latter, he felt sure that, however perfect a master .m. dalboy might be, he need not fear discrediting his master, even if his present opponent should prove more than his match. there was a dead silence of curiosity at the singularity of the affair, as rupert holliday took his post face to face with the master; but a murmur of surprise and ad- miration ran round the room at the grace and perfection of accuracy with which rupert went through the vari- ous parades which were then customary before the com- batants crossed swords. rupert felt as calm and as steady as when fencing at home, and determined to use all his caution as well as all his skill; for not only did he feel that his own strength was upon trial, but that the honor of the teachers who had taken such pains with him was concerned in the re- sult. the swords had scarcely crossed when an expres- sion of surprise passed across maitre dalboy's face. the first few passes showed him that in this lad he had found an opponent of no ordinary character, and that all his skill would be needed to obtain a victory over him. for the first few minutes each fought cautiously, feeling each other's strength rather than attempting to attack seriously. then the master dropped his point. "ma foi! young sir, you have done monsieur le col- onel and my compatriot justice. i offer you my con- gratulations." "they are premature, sir," rupert said, smiling; " you have not as yet begun." the silence in the school was even more profound the cornet of horse. -when the swords again crossed than it had been when the bout began, for wonder had now taken the place of amused curiosity. the struggle now commenced in earnest. several times at first rupert narrowly escaped being touched, for the master's play was new to him. the thrusts and feints, the various attacks, were all fa- miliar; but whereas colonel holliday had fought simply with his head, standing immovably in one place, and m. dessin had, although quick to advance and fall back, fought comparatively on the defensive, while he himself had been the assailant from his superior activity, m. dalboy was as quick and as active as himself, and the rapidity of the attacks, the quick bounds, the swift rushes, at first almost bewildered him; but gradually, as he grew accustomed to the play, he steadied himself' and eluded the master's attacks with an activity as great as his own. in vain m. dalboy employed every feint, every com- bination in his repertoire. rupert was always prepared, for from one or other of his teachers he had learnt the defence to be employed against each; and at last, as the master, exhausted with his exertions, flagged a little, rupert in turn took the offensive. now m. dalboy's skill stood him in equal stead to defend himself against rupert's rapid attacks and lightning-like passes and thrusts; and although the combat had lasted without a second's interruption for nearly a quarter of an hour, neither combatant had touched the other. at last rupert saw by his opponent's eye that a new and special combination was about to be put into action against him, and he instantly steadied himself to resist it. it came with the rapidity of thought, but rupert recognized it by the first pass as the very last combina- tion which m. dessin had taught him, assuring him at the fencing-school. the time that he would find it irresistible, for that there were not three men in europe acquainted with it. he met the attack then with the defence which m. dessin had showed him to be the sure escape, ending with a wrench which nearly tore the sword from the hand of his opponent. m. dalboy sprang back on guard, with a look of profound astonishment; and then throwing down his foil, he threw himself, in the impetuous manner of his countrymen, on rupert's neck, and embraced him. "mon dieu! mon dieu!" he exclaimed, "you are in- croyable, you are a miracle. gentlemen," he said, turn- ing to those present, when the burst of enthusiastic ap- plause which greeted the conclusion of this extraordi- nary contest subsided, "you see in this young gentleman one of the finest swordsmen in europe. i do not say the finest, for he has not touched me, and having no idea of his force i extended myself rashly at first; but i may say he is my equal. never but once have i crossed swords with such a fencer, and i doubt if even he was as strong. his parry to my last attack was miraculous. it was a coup invented by myself, and brought to perfec- tion with that one i speak of. i believed no one else knew it, and have ever reserved it for a last extremity; but his defence even to the last wrench, which would have disarmed any other man but myself, and even me had i not known that it should have come then, was perfect; it was astounding. this maitre of yours—this m. dessin," he went on, turning to rupert, "must be a wonder. ah!" he said suddenly, and as if to himself; *' c'est bien possible! what was he like, this m. dessin?" "he is tall, and slight except as to his shoulders, where he is very broad." "and he has a little scar here, has he not?" the fenc- ing master said, pointing to his temple. the cornet of horse. "yes," rupert said, surprised; "i have often noticed it." "then it is he," m. dalboy said, "the swordsman of whom i spoke. no wonder you parried my coup. i had wondered what had become of him. and you know him as m. dessin? and he teaches fencing?" "yes," rupert said; "but my grandfather always said that m. dessin was only an assumed name, and that he was undoubtedly of noble blood." "your grandfather was right," the master said. "yes, you have had wonderful masters; but unless i had seen it, i should not have believed that even the best masters in the world could have turned out such a- swordsman as you at your age." by this time the various couples had begun fencing again, and the room resounded with the talk of the nu- merous lookers-on, who were all discoursing on what appeared to them, as to m. dalboy, the almost miracu- lous occurrence of a lad under sixteen holding his own against a man who had the reputation of being the finest maitre in europe. lord fairholm, sir john loveday, and other gentlemen, now came round. "i was rather thinking," sir john said, with a laugh, "of taking you under my protection, master holliday, and fighting your battles for you, as an old boy does for a young one at school; but it must even be the other way. and by my faith, if any german ritter or french swordsman should challenge the british dragoons to a trial of the sword, we shall put you forth as our david." "i trust that that may not be," rupert said; "for though in battle i hope that i shall not be found want- ing, yet i trust that i shall have nought to do in private quarrels, but be looked upon as one of a peaceful dis- position." the fencing-school. "very peaceful, doubtless !" laughed lord fairholm. "tell me, master rupert, honestly now, didst ever use in earnest that sword that you have just shown that you know so well how to wield?" rupert flushed up crimson. "yes," he said, with a shamefaced look, "i have twice used my sword in self- defence." "ha, ha! our peaceful friend!" laughed lord fair- holm. "and tell me, didst put an end to both unfor- tunates?" rupert colored still more deeply. "i had the- mis- fortune to slay one, my lord; but there are good hopes that the other will recover." a general shout of laughter greeted the announce- ment, which together with rupert's evident shamefaced look, was altogether too much for their gravity. just at this moment a diversion was caused by a young man dressed in the extreme of fashion who entered the school. he had a dissipated and jaded air. "fulke, where hast been ?" one of the group standing round rupert asked. "we have missed you these two weeks. some one said you had been roughly mauled, and had even lost some teeth. is it so %' "it is," the new-comer said, with an angry scowl. "any beauty i once may have had is gone forever. i have lost three of my upper teeth, and two of my lower, and i am learning now to speak with my lips shut, so as to hide the gap." "but how came it about?" "i was walking down a side street off the strand, when four men sprang out and held my hands to my side, another snatched my watch and purse, and as i gave a cry for the watch, he smote me with the pommel of his rapier in my mouth, then throwing tee cornet of horse. me on the ground the villains took to their heels to- gether." the exclamations of commiseration and indignation which arose around were abruptly checked by a loud laugh from rupert. there was a dead silence and sir richard fulke, turning his eyes with fury towards the lad who had dared to jeer at his misfortune, demanded why he laughed. "i could not help but laugh," rupert said,- "al- though doubtless it was unmannerly; but your wor- ship's story reminded me so marvellously of the tale of the stout knight, sir john falstaff's adventure with the men of buckram." "what mean you?" thundered sir richard. "i mean, sir" rupert said, quietly, "that your story has not one word of truth in it. i came upon you in that side street off the strand, as you were trying to carry off by force, aided by a rascal named captain copper, a lady, whose name shall not be mentioned here. i had not my sword with me, but with a walk- ing-stick i trounced your friend the captain, and then, with my stick against your rapier, i knocked out those teeth you regret, with a fair thrust. if my word is doubted, gentlemen, alderman hawkins, who heard the details of the matter from the young lady and her chairmen, can vouch for it." a cry of fury burst from sir richard fulke; and drawing his sword he would have sprung upon the lad, who had not only disfigured him for life, but now made him the laughing-stock of society, for the tale would, he knew, spread far and wide. several of the gentle- men threw themselves between him and rupert. "i will have his life's blood!" he exclaimed, strug- the fencing-school- gling in the arms of those who would hold him hack. "i will kill the dog as he stands." "sir richard fulke," lord fairholm said, " master holliday is a friend of mine, and will give you an hon- orable meeting when you will; but i should advise you to smother your choler. it seems he proved himself with a stick your superior, although armed with a sword, and master dalboy will tell you that it is better to leave him alone." master t)alboy was standing by, and going up to sir richard, said,— "sir, if you will take my poor advice you will go your way, and leave master holliday to himself. he has, as those here will tell you, proved himself fully my equal as a swordsman, and could kill you if only armed with a six-inch dagger against your sword. it would be safer for you to challenge the whole of those in this present company than to cross swords with him." a few words from those standing round corroborated a statement which at first appeared fabulous ; and then finding that an open encounter with rupert would be the worst possible method of obtaining satisfaction for the injuries he had received, sir richard fulke flung himself out of the school, muttering deep vows of fu- ture vengeance. "you have made a dangerous enemy," lord fair- holm said, as the three friends walked homeward. "he bears a bad character, and is a reckless and ruined man. after what he has heard of your skill as a swordsman he will, we may be sure, take no open steps against you; but it is certain that he will scheme night and day for vengeance. when the report gets abroad of his cock-and-bull story, and the true history of the loss of his teeth, he will not be able to show his face in pub- t ie cornet of horse. lie for some time; but he will be none the less danger- ous. through that notorious ruffian, captain copper, he can dispose of half the cut-throats about the town, and i should advise you not to go out after dark until you have put the seas between you and him, and even then you had better be cautious for a time." rupert agreed .with his friend's advice, and the next day begged his patron to let him embark at once for holland, in a ship that was to sail with troops from london bridge. he urged as his reason for desiring to go at once, his wish to learn something at least of his duties before the campaign began. as the earl had already heard a rumor of the scene in the fencing-school, he made no opposition to the plan, and the next day rupert, accompanied by hugh, sailed down the thames, bound for rotterdam. j e war of succession. chapter vi. the war op succession. the war which was about to commence, and which rupert holliday sailed for the hague to take part in, was one of the grandest and most extensive struggles that ever devastated europe, embracing as it did the whole of the central and western nations of the conti- . nent. in fact, with the exception of russia, still in the depths of barbarism, and italy, which was then a battle- field rather than a nation, all the states of europe were ranged on one side or the other. as charles the second of spain approached his end, the liveliest interest was felt as to las succession. he had no children, and the hopes and fears of all the con- tinental nations were excited by the question of the disposal of the then vast dominions of spain. the prin- cipal powers of europe, dreading the consequences of this great empire being added to the power of any one monarch, entered into a secret treaty, which was signed at the hague in , by which it was agreed that spain itself should be ceded to the electoral prince of bavaria, with flanders and the low countries; naples, sicily, tuscany, and guipuscoa, were to fall to france; and the duchy of milan to the archduke, son of the emperor of germany. holland was to gain a consider- able accession of territory. england, one of the signa- tories to the treaty, was to gain nothing by the division. the contents of this treaty leaked out, and the king g tue counet of horse. of spain, after a consultation with austria, who was also indignant at the secret treaty, made a will bequeath- ing all his dominions to the elector of bavaria. had that prince lived, all the complications which ensued would probably have been avoided, but he died, the th february, g , and the whole question was thereby again opened. another secret treaty was made, be- tween england, france, and holland, and signed on the th march, , at the hague. by this treaty it was agreed that france was to receive naples, sicily, guipuscoa, and lorraine; the archduke charles- spain, the low countries, and the indies, and the spanish colonies were to be divided between holland and england, as both england and holland were at the time in alliance with spain, it must be admitted that their secret arrangement for the partition of her territories was of a very infamous character. louis of france, while apparently acting with the other powers, secretly communicated the contents of the treaty to charles ii. the spanish king was natu- rally dismayed at the great conspiracy to divide his kingdom at his death, and he convened his council of state and submitted the matter to them. it was appar- ent that france, by far the most powerful of the other continental states, could alone avert the division, and the states-general therefore determined to unite the interests of france and spain by appointing the due d'anjou, grandson of the king of france, sole heir to the vast empire of spain. the news that spain and france were henceforth to be united caused the greatest consternation to the rest of the states, and all europe began to arm. very shortly after signing the bequest, the old king of spain died, and the due d'anjou ascended the throne. the the war of succession. spanish netherlands, governed by the young elector of "bavaria, as lieutenant-general of spain, at once gave in their adhesion to the new monarch. the dis- tant colonies all accepted his rule, as did the great spanish possessions in italy; while 'the principal european nations acknowledged him as successor of charles ii. the new empire seemed indeed of preponderating strength. bavaria united herself in a firm alliance with france and spain; and these three countries, with italy and flanders, appeared capable of giving the law to the world. england, less affected than the continental powers by the dominance of this powerful coalition, might have remained quiet, had not the french king thrown down the gauntlet of defiance. on the th september, , james ii., the exiled king of england, died, and louis at once acknowledged his son as king of great britain and ireland. this act was nothing short of a public declaration of war, not only against the reigning monarch of england, but against the es- tablished religion of our country. the exiled prince was a roman catholic, louis was the author of the most terrible persecution of the protestants that ever occurred in europe. thus the action of the french king rallied round william iii. all the protestant feel- ing of the nation, both houses of parliament voted loyal addresses, and the nation prepared for the great strug- gle before it. the king labored to establish alliances and a plan for common action, and all was in readiness, when his sudden death left the guidance of affairs in other hands. these hands were, happily for england, those of the earl of marlborough, the finest diplomatist, as well as the greatest soldier, of his time. the struggle which was approaching was a gigantio the cornet of horse. one. on one side were france and spain, open to at- tack on one side only, and holding moreover flanders, and almost the whole of italy, with the rich treasures of the indies upon which to draw for supplies. the alli- ance of bavaria, with a valiant population, extended the offensive power of the coalition into the heart of austria. upon the other hand were the troops of austria, england, holland, hanover, hesse cassel, and the lesser states of germany, with a contingent of troops, from prussia and denmark. in point of numbers the nations ranged on either side were about equal; but -while france, spain, and bavaria formed a compact body under the guidance of louis, the allies were di- vided by separate, and often opposing interests and ne- cessities, while austria was almost neutralized by a dangerous hungarian insurrection that was going on, and by the danger of a turkish invasion which the ac- tivity of french diplomacy kept continually hanging over it. the coalition was weakened in the field by the jealousies of the commanders of the various nationali- ties, and still more by the ignorance and timidity of the dutch deputies, which holland insisted on keeping at headquarters, with the right of veto on all proceedings. on the side of the allies the following were the ar- rangements for the opening of the campaign. a ger- man army under louis, margrave of baden, was to be collected on the upper rhine to threaten france on the ide of alsace; a second corps, , strong, composed of prussian troops and dutch, under the prince of saar- bruck, were to undertake the siege of kaiserwerth, a small but very important fortress, on the right bank of the rhine, two leagues below dusseldorf. the main army, , strong, under the earl of athlone, was tee watt of succession. destined to cover the frontier of holland, from the rhine to the vecun, and also to cover the siege of kai- serwerth; while a fourth body, of , men, under general cohorn, were collected near the mouth of the scheldt, and threatened the district of bruges. upon the other side the french had been equally ac- tive. on the lower ilhine a force was stationed to keep that of cohorn in check. marshal tallard, with , men, came down from the upper rhine to in- terrupt the siege of kaiserwerth, while the main army, , strong, under the duke of burgundy and mar- shal boufflers, was posted in the bishopric of liege, resting on the tremendous chain of fortresses of flan* ders, all of which were in french possession, and strongly garrisoned by french and spanish soldiers. at the time, however, when the vessel containing ru- pert holliday and hugh parsons sailed up the scheldt, early in the month of may, these arrangements were not completed, but both armies were waiting for the conflict. the lads had little time for the examination of the hague, now the dullest and most quiet of european capitals, but then a bustling city, full of life and energy; for, with the troops who had arrived with them, they received orders to march at once to join the camp formed at breda. accustomed to a quiet english coun- try life, the activity and bustle of camp life were at once astonishing and delightful. the journey from the hague had been a pleasant one. rupert rode one of the two horses with which the earl of marlborough had presented him, hugh the other; and as a portion of the soldiers with them were infantry, the marches were short and easy; while the stoppages at quaint dutch villages, the solemn ways of whose inhabitants, their the cornet of horse. huge breeches, and disgust at the disturbance of their usual habits when the troops were quartered upon them, were a source of great amusement to them. upon reaching the camp they soon found their way to their regiment. here rupert presented to colonel forbes the letter of recommendation with which fhe earl of marlborough had provided him, and was at once introduced by him to his brother officers, most of them young men,but all some years older than himself. his frank, pleasant, boyish manner at once won for him a cordial acceptance, and the little comet, as he was called in the regiment, soon became a general favorite. hugh, who had formally enlisted in the regiment be- fore leaving england, was on arrival handed over to a sergeant; and the two lads were, with other recruits, incessantly drilled from morning till night, to render them efficient soldiers before the day of trial arrived. rupert shared a tent with the other two officers of his troop, captain lauriston, a quiet scotchman, and lieu- tenant dillon, a young irishman, full of fun and life. there were in camp three regiments of british cav- alry and six of infantry, and as they were far from the seat of war, there was for the present nothing to do but to drill, and prepare for the coming campaign. rupert was delighted with the life, for although the work for the recruits was hard, the weather was splendid, supplies abundant—for the dutch farm-wives and their daugh- ters brought ducks, and geese, and eggs into the camp —and all were in high spirits at the thought of the ap- proaching campaign. every night there were gather- ings round the fire, when songs were sung and stories told. most of the officers had before campaigned in holland, under king william, and many had fought in ireland, and had stirring tales of the boyne, of the siege -be war of succession. of athlone, and of fierce encounters with the brave but undisciplined irish. at the end of a month's hard work. rupert began to understand his duties, for in those days the amount of drill deemed necessary for a trooper was small indeed in proportion to that which he has now to master. rupert was already a good rider, and soon learned where was his proper place as cornet in each evolution, and the orders that it behooved him to give. the foot drill was longer and more difficult, for in those days dragoons fought far more on foot than is now the case, although at this epoch they had already ceased to be considered as mounted infantry, and had taken their true place as cavalry. rupert's broadsword drill lasted but a very short time; upon the drill sergeant asking him if he knew anything of that weapon, he said that he could play at singlestick, but had never practised with the broadsword. his instructor, however, found that a very few lessons were sufficient to enable him to perform the required cuts and guards with sufficient proficiency, and very speedily claimed the crown which rupert promised him on his dismissal from the class. week after week passed in inactivity, and the troops chafed mightily thereat, the more so that stirring events were proceeding elsewhere. the siege of kaiserwerth, by a body of , german troops, had begun on the th of april, and the attack and defence were alike obstinate and bloody. the earl of athlone, with his covering forces lay at cleves, and a sharp cavalry fight between of the allied cavalry and french horse took place on the th of april. the french were de- feated, with the loss of men; but as the victors lost , it is clear that both sides fought with extreme de- termination and bravery, such a loss— men out of combatants—being extraordinarily large. the tee cornet of uorsex spirit shown by both sides in this, the first fight of the war, was a portent of the obstinate manner in which all the battles of this great war were contested. for two months kaiserwerth nobly defended itself. seventy- eight guns and mortars thundered against it night and day. on the th of june the besiegers made a desper- ate assault and gained possession of a covered way, but at a cost of killed and wounded. a week later the place capitulated after a siege which had cost the allies men. general boufflers with his army of , men find- ing himself unable to raise the siege, determined to make a dash against nimeguen, an important frontier fortress of holland, but which the supineness of the dutch government had allowed to fall into disrepair. not only was there no garrison there, but not a gun was mounted on its walls. the expedition seemed certain of success, and on the evening of the th of june, bouf- flers moved out from xanten, and marched all night. next day athlone obtained news of the movement and started in the evening, his march being parallel with the french, the hostile armies moving abreast, and at no great distance from each other. the cavalry covered the british march, and these were in the morning at- tacked by the french horse under the duke of bur- gundy. the british were outnumbered, but fought with great obstinacy, and before they fell back, with a loss of men and a convoy of wagons, the in- fantry had pushed forward, and when the french army reached nimeguen, its ramparts bristled with british bayonets. boufflers disappointed in his aim, fell back upon the rich district of cleves, now open to him, and plundered and ravaged that fertile country. although kaiserwerth had been taken and nimeguen saved, the the war of succession. danger which they had run, and the backward movement of the allied army, filled the dutch with consternation. the time, however, had come when marlborough himself was to assume the command, and by his genius, dash, and strategy to alter the whole complexion of things, and to roll back the tide of war from the borders of holland. he had crossed from england early in may, a few days only after rupert had sailed; but hitherto he had been engaged in smoothing obstacles, appeasing jealousies, healing differences, and getting the whole arrangement of the campaign into something like working order. at last, everything being fairly in trim, he set out on the d of july from the hague, with full power as commander-in-chief of the allied armies, for nimeguen. there he ordered the british troops from breda, germans from kaiserwerth, and the contingents of hesse and luneburg, strong, under the prince of zell, to join him. as these reinforcements brought his army up to a strength superior to that of the french, although mar- shal boufflers had hastily drawn to him some of the gar- risons of the fortresses, the earl of marlborough pre- pared to strike a great blow. the dutch deputies who accompanied the army—and whose timidity and ob- stinacy a score of times during the course of the war thwarted all marlborough's best-laid plans, and saved the enemy from destruction—interfered to forbid an at- tack upon two occasions, when an engagement would, as admitted by french historians, have been fatal to their whole army. marlborough therefore was obliged to content himself by outflanking the french, compell- ing them to abandon cleves, to cross the meuse, and to fall back into flanders, with some loss, and great haste and disorder. the cornet of horse. in vain the french marshal endeavored to take post so as to save the meuse fortresses, which stood at the gates of flanders, and by their command of the river prevented the allies from using the chain of water com- munications to bring up supplies, marlborough crossed the line by which his siege train was coming up, and then pounced upon venloo, a very strong fortress stand- ing across the meuse—that is to say, the town was on one side, the fort of st. michael on the other. after this chapter, devoted to the necessary task of explaining the cause and commencement of the great war of succession, we can return to the individual fos> tunes of our hero. venlqo. chapter vii. venloo. upon the th dragoons being, with the others lying with it in camp at breda, ordered up to join the main army at nimeguen, rupert was, to his great delight, declared to be sufficiently advanced in his knowledge of drill to take his place regularly in the ranks; and hugh and the other recruits also fell into their places in the various troops among which they were divided, hugh being, at rupert's request, told off to captain lauris- ton's troop. with drums beating and colors flying, the column from breda marched into the allied camp at duckenberg in front of nimeguen, where the troops crowded out to greet this valuable addition of eight in- fantry regiments and three of cavalry. scarcely were the tents pitched than rupert heard himself heartily saluted, and looking round, saw his friends lord fairholm and sir john loveday, who be- ing already in camp had at once sought him out. "by my faith, master holliday, the three months have done wonders for you; you look every inch a soldier," lord fairholm said. "his very moustache is beginning to show," sir john loveday said, laughing. rupert join in the laugh, for in truth he had that very morning looked anxiously in a glass, and had tried in vain to persuade himself that the down on his upper lip showed any signs of thickening or growing. the cornet of horse. "well, and how many unfortunate english, dutch, and germans have you despatched since we saw you?" "oh, please hush," rupert said, anxiously. "no one knows that i have any idea of fencing, or that i have ever drawn a sword before i went through my course of the broadsword here. i would not on any account that any one thought i was a quarrelsome swordster. you know i really am not, and it has been purely my misfor- tune that i have been thrust into these things." "and you have never told any of your comrades that you have killed your man? or that dalboy proclaimed you in his salle to be one of the finest blades in europe?" "no, indeed," rupert said. "why should i, sir john?" "well, all i can say is, rupert, i admire your modesty as much as your skill. there are few fellows of your age, or of mine either, but would hector a little on the strength of such a reputation. i think that i myself should cock my hat, and point my moustache a little more fiercely, if i knew that i was the cock of the whole walk." rupert smiled. "i don't think you would, sir john, especially if you were as young as i am. i know i have heard my tutor say that the fellow who is really cock of a school is generally one of the quietest and best-tempered fellows going. not that i mean," he added hastily, as his companions both laughed, " that i am cock, or that i am a quiet or very good-tempered fellow. i only meant that i was not quarrelsome, and have indeed put up more than once with practical jok- ings which i might have resented had i not known how skilful with the sword i am, and that in this campaign i shall have plenty of opportunities of showing that i am no coward." venloo. "well spoken, rupert," sir john said. "now we have kept you talking in the sun an unconscionable time; come over to our tent, and have something to wash the dust away. we have some fairly good burgundy, of which we bought a barrel the other day from a vintner in nimeguen, and it must be drunk before we march. are these the officers of your troop? pray present me." rupert introduced his friends to captain lauriston and lieutenant dillon, and the invitation was extended to them. for the time, however, it was necessary to see to the wants of the men, but later on the three officers went across to the tents of the king's dragoons, to which regiment lord fairholm and sir john loveday both belonged, and spent a merry evening. upon the following day the earl of marlborough sent for rupert, and inquired of him how he liked the life, and how he was getting on; and begged of him to come to him at any time should he have need of money, or be in any way so placed as to need his aid. rupert thanked him warmly, but replied that he lacked nothing. the following day the march began, and rupert shared in the general indignation felt by the british officers and men at seeing the splendid opportunities of crushing the enemy—opportunities gained by the skill and science of their general, and by their own rapid and fatiguing marches—thrown away by the feebleness and timidity of the dutch deputies. when the siege of ven- loo began the main body of the army was again con- demned to inactivity, and the cavalry had of course nothing, to do with the siege. the place was exceed- ingly strong, but the garrison was weak, consisting only of six battalions of infantry and horse. cohorn, the celebrated engineer, directed the siege operations, for which thirty-two battalions of infantry and thirty-six the cornet of horse.' squadrons of horse were told off, the prince of nassau saarbruch being in command. two squadrons of the th dragoons, including the troop to which rupert belonged, formed part of the force. the work was by no means popular with the cavalry, as they had little to do, and lost their chance of taking part in any great action that boufflers might fight with marlborough to relieve the town. the investment began on the th of september, the efforts of the besiegers being directed against fort st. michael at the opposite side of the river, but connected by a bridge of boats to the town. on the th the breaches were increasing rapidly in size, and it was whispered that the assault would be made on the evening of the th, soon after dusk. "it will be a difficult and bloody business," captain lauriston said, as they sat in their tent that evening. "the garrison of fort st. michael is only , but rein- forcements will of course pour in from the town directly the attack begins, and it may be more than our men can do to win the place. you remember how heavily the germans suffered in their attack on the covered way of kaiserwerth." "i should think the best thing to do would be to break down the bridge of boats before beginning the attack," lieutenant dillon remarked. "yes, that would be an excellent plan if it could be carried out, but none of our guns command it." "we might launch a boat with straw or combustibles from above," rupert said, " and burn it." "you may be very sure that they have got chains across the river above the bridge, to prevent any at- tempt of that kind," captain lauriston said. presently the captain, who was on duty, went out for venloo. his rounds, and rupert, who had been sitting thought- fully, said, "look here, dillon, i am a good swimmer, and it seems to me that it would be easy enough to put two or three petards on a plank—i noticed some wood on the bank above the town yesterday—and to float down to the bridge, to fasten them to two or three of the boats, and so to break the bridge; your cousin in the en- gineers could manage to get us the petards. what do you say?" the young irishman looked at the lad in astonish- ment. "are you talking seriously?" he asked. "certainly; why not?" "they'd laugh in your face if you were to volunteer," dillon said. "but i shouldn't volunteer; i should just go and do it." "yes, but after it was done, instead of getting praise —that is, if you weren't killed—you'd be simply told you had no right to undertake such an affair. "but i should never say anything about it," rupert said. "i should just do it, because it would be a good thing to do, and would save the lives of some of our grenadiers, who will, likely enough, lead the assault; besides, it would be an adventure, like any other." dillon looked at him for some time. "you are a curious fellow, holliday; i would agree to join you in the matter, but i cannot swim a stroke. pat dillon cares as little for his life as any man; and after all, there's no more danger in it than in going out in a duel; and i could do that without thinking twice." "well, i shall try it," rupert said, quietly. "hugh can swim as well as i can, and i'll take him. but can you get me the petards?" the cornet of horse. "i dare say i could manage that," dillon said, enter- ing into the scheme with all an irishman's love of ex- citement. "but don't you think i could go too, though i can't swim? i could stick tight to the planks, you know." "no," rupert said, seriously, "that would not do. we may be detected, and may have to dive, and all sorts of things. no, dillon, it would not do. but if you can get the petards, you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have done your share of the work; and then you might, if you could, ride round in the evening with my uniform and hugh's in your valise. if you go on to the bank half a mile or so below the town, every one will be watching the assault, and we can get ashore, put on our clothes, and get back home without a soul being the wiser." "and suppose you are killed?" "pooh, i shall not be killed!" rupert said. "but i shall leave a letter, which you can find in the morning if i do not come back, sa}dng i have undertaken this ad- venture in hope of benefiting her majesty's arms; that i do it without asking permission; but that i hope that my going beyond my duty will be forgiven, in consider- ation that i have died in her majesty's service." the next day at two o'clock, lieutenant dillon, who had been away for an hour, beckoned to rupert that he wanted to speak to him apart." "i have seen my cousin gerald, but he will not let me have the petards unless he knows for what purpose they are to be used. i said as much as i could without betraying your intentions, but i think he guessed them; for he said, ' look here, pat, if there is any fun and ad- venture on hand, i will make free with her gracious majesty's petards, on condition that i am in it.' he's venloo. up to fun of every kind, gerald is; and can, i know, swim like a fish. what do you say, shall i tell him?" "do, by all means," eupert said. "i have warned hugh of what i am going to do, and he would never forgive me if i did not take him, but if your cousin will go, all the better, for he will know far better than i how to fix the petards. you can tell him i shall be glad to act under his orders; and if it succeeds, and he likes to let it be known the part which he has played in the matter—which indeed would seem to be within the scope of his proper duties, he being an engineer—i shall be glad for him to do so, it always being understood that he does not mention my name in any way." half an hour later dillon entered, to say that his cousin agreed heartily to take a part in the adventure, and that he would shortly come up to arrange the details with rupert. rupert had met gerald dillon before, and knew him to be as wild, adventurous, and harum- scarum a young officer as his cousin pat; and in half-an- hour's talk the whole matter was settled. gerald would take two petards, which weighed some twenty pounds each, to his tent, one by one. hugh should fetch them in a basket, one by one, to the river bank, at the spot where a balk of wood had been washed ashore by some recent floods. at seven in the evening gerald should call upon his cousin, and on leaving, ac- company rupert to the river bank, where hugh would be already in waiting. when they had left, pat dillon should start on horseback with three uniforms in his valise, the party hiding the clothes in which they left the camp, under the bank at their place of starting. the plan was carried out as arranged, and soon after seven o'clock rupert holliday and gerald dillon, leav- ing the camp, strolled down to the river, on whose bank the cornet of horse. hugh was already sitting. the day had been extremely hot, and numbers of soldiers were bathing in the river. it was known that the assault was to take place that night, but as the cavalry would take no part in it, the soldiers, with their accustomed carelessness, paid little heed to the matter. as it grew dusk, the bathers one by one dressed and left, until only the three watchers remained. then rupert called hugh, who had been sitting at a short distance, to lis side; they then stripped, and carefully concealed their clothes. the petards were taken out from beneath a heap of stones, where hugh had hid them, and were fixed on the piece of timber, one. end of which was just afloat in the stream. by their side was placed some lengths of fuse, a brace of pistols, a long gimlet, some'hooks, and cord. then just as it was fairly dark the log was silently pushed into the water, and swimming beside it, with one hand upon it, the little party started upon their adventurous expedition. the log was not very large, although of considerable length, and with the petards upon it, it showed but little above water. the point where they had embarked was fully two miles above the town, and it was more than an hour before the stream took them abreast of it. al- though it was very dark, they now floated on their backs by the piece of timber, so as to show as little as possible to any who might be on the look-out, for of all objects the round outline of a human head is one of the most easily recognized. presently they came, as they had expected, to a float- ing boom, composed of logs of timber chained together. here the piece of timber came to a standstill. no talk was necessary, as the course under these circumstances had been already agreed to. the petards and other ob- venloo. jects were placed on the boom, upon which rupert, as the lightest of the party, crept, holding in his hand a cord fastened round the log. hugh and gerald dillon now climbed upon one end of the log, which at once sank into the water below the level of the bottom of the boom, and the current taking it, swept it beneath the obstacle. rupert's rope directed its downward course, and it was soon alongside the boom, but on the lower side. the petards were replaced, and the party again pro- ceeded; but now hugh swam on his back, holding a short rope attached to one end, so as to keep the log straight, and prevent its getting across the mooring chains of the boats forming the bridge; while rupert and gerald, each with a rope, also attached to the log, floated down some ten or twelve yards on either side of the log, but a little behind it. the plan answered ad- mirably; the stream carried the log end foremost be- tween two of the boats, which were moored twelve feet apart, while gerald and rupert each floated on the other side of the mooring chains of the boats; round these chains they twisted the ropes, and by them the log lay anchored as it were under the bridge, and between two of the boats forming it. if there were any sentries on the bridge, these neither saw nor heard them, their attention being absorbed by the expectation of an attack upon the breaches of fort st. michael. the party now set to work. with the gimlet holes were made a couple of feet above the water. in them the hooks were inserted, and from these the petards were suspended by ropes, so as to lie against the sides of the boats, an inch only above the water's level. the fuses were inserted; and all being now in readiness for blowing a hole in the side of the two boats, they re- gained the log, and awaited the signal. the cornet of horse. the time passed slowly; but as the church clocks of the town struck eleven, a sudden outburst of musketry broke out round st. michael's. in an instant the can- non of the fort roared out, the bells clanged the alarm, blue fires were lighted, and the dead silence was suc- - ceeded by a perfect chaos of sounds. the party under the bridge waited quietly, until the noise as of a large body of men coming upon the bridge from the town end was heard. at the first outbreak gerald dillon had, with some difficulty, lit first some tinder, and then a slow-match, from a flint and steel—all of these articles having been most carefully kept dry during the trip, with the two pistols, which were intended to fire the fuses, should the flint and steel fail to produce a light. as the sound of the reinforcements coming on to the bridge was heard, gerald dillon on one side, rupert holiday on the other, left the log, and swam with a slow match in hand to the boats. in another instant the fuses were lighted, and the three companions swam steadily down stream. in twenty seconds a loud explosion was heard, fol- lowed almost instantaneously by another, and the swim- mers knew that their object had been successful, that two of the boats forming the bridge would sink im- mediately, and that, the connection being thus broken, no reinforcements from the town could reach the garri- son of the fort st. michael. loud shouts were heard upon the bridge as the swimmers struck steadily down stream, while the roar of the musketry from fort st. michael was unremitting. half an hour later the three adventurers landed, at a point where a lantern had, according to arrangement, been placed at the water's edge by pat dillon, who was in waiting with their clothes, and who received them venloo. with an enthusiastic welcome. fiv,e minutes later they were on their way back to their camp. in the meantime the battle had raged fiercely round fort st. michael. the attack had been made upon two breaches. the british column, headed by the grena- diers, and under the command of lord cutts, attacked the principal breach. the french opposed a desperate defences with lord cutts as volunteers were lord huntingdon, lord lorn, sir richard temple, and mr. dalrymple, and these set a gallant example to their men. on arriving at a high breastwork, lord huntingdon, who was weakened by recent attack of fever, was unable to climb over it. "five guineas," he shouted, "to the man who will help me over'" even among the storm of balls there was a shout of laughter as the nobleman held out his purse, and a dozen willing hands soon lifted him over the obstacle. then on the troops swept, stormed the covered way, carried the ravelin, and forced their way up the breach. the french fought staunchly; and well it was for the british that no reinforcements could reach them from venloo, and that the original garrisoning the fort were alone in their defence. as it was, the place was stormed, of the french made prisoners, and the rest either killed or drowned in endeavoring to cross the river. the french in venloo, upon finding that the fort had fallen, broke up the rest of the bridge; and although there was some surprise in the british camp that no re- inforcements had been sent over to aid the garrison, none knew that the bridge had been broken at the coir,- mencement of the attack, consequently there were the cornet of horse. neither talk nor inquiries, and those concerned con- gratulated themselves that their adventure had been successful, and that, as no one knew anything of it, they could, should occasion offer, again undertake an ex- pedition on their own account. the day after the capture of st. michael's, strong fa- tigue parties were set to' work, erecting batteries to play across the river on the town. these were soon opened, and after a few days' further resistance, the place surrendered, on the condition of the garrison being free to march to antwerp, then in french possession. the towns of ruremond and stevenswort were now invested, and surrendered after a short resistance; and thus the maas was opened as a waterway for the sup- plies for the army. the dutch government, satisfied with the successes so far, would have now had the army go into winter quartet's; but marlborough, with great difficulty, per- suaded them fo consent to his undertaking the siege of liege, a most important town and fortress, whose possession would give to the allies the command of the meuse—or maas—into the very heart of flanders. marshal boufflers, ever watching the movements of marlborough, suspected that liege would be his next object of attack, and accordingly reconnoitered the ground round that city, and fixed on a position which would, he thought, serve admirably for the establish- ment of a permanent camp. the news was, however, brought to marlborough, who broke up his camp the same night; and when the french army approached liege, they found the allies established on the very ground which the marshal had selected for their camp. all unsuspecting the presence yen loo. of the english, the french came ou in order of march until within cannon-shot of the allies, and another splen- did opportunity was thus given to marlborough to attack the main body of tile enemy under most advan- tageous circumstances. the dutch deputies again interposed their veto, and the english had the mortification of seeing the enemy again escape from their hands. however, there was now nothing to prevent their -undertaking the siege of liege, and on the th of octo- ber the regular investment of the place was formed. the strength of liege consisted in its citadel and the fort of chatreuse, both strongly fortified. the town itself, a wealthy city, and so abounding in churches that it was called " little rome," was defended only by a single wall. it could clearly offer no defence against the besiegers, and therefore surrendered at the first sum- mons, the garrison, strong, retiring to the citadel and fort st. chatreuse, which mounted fifty guns. siege was at once laid to the citadel, and with such ex- traordinary vigor was the attack pushed forward, un- der the direction of general cohorn, that upon the d of october, three days only after the investment com- menced, the breaches in the counter-scarp were pro- nounced practicable, and an assault was immediately ordered. the allies attacked with extreme bravery, and the citadel was carried by storm—here as at venloo, the british troops being the first who scaled the breach. thus prisoners were taken; and the garrison of fort chatreuse were so disheartened at the speedy fall of the citadel, that they capitulated a few days later. this brought the first campaign of the war to an end. it had been very short, but its effect had been great. kaiserwerth had been taken, and the lower rhine the coiixet of horse. opened; four fortified places on the meuse had been captured; the enemy had been driven back from the borders of holland; and the allied army had, in the pos- session of liege, an advanced post in the heart of flan- ders for the recommencement of the campaign in the spring. and all this had been done in the face of a large french army, which had never ventured to give battle even to save the beleaguered fortresses. the army now went into winter quarters, and marl- borough returned at once to england. upon the voyage down the meuse, in company with the dutch commissioners, he had a very narrow escape. the boat was captured by a french partisan leader, who had made an incursion to the river. the earl had with him an old servant named gill, who, with great pres- ence of mind, slipped into his master's hand an -old pass- port made out in the name of general churchill. the french, intent only upon plunder, and not recognizing under the name of churchill their great opponent marl- borough, seized all the plate and valuables in the boat, made prisoners of the small detachment of soldiers on board, but suffered the rest of the passengers, including the earl and the dutch commissioners, to pass unmo- lested. thus, had it not been for the presence of mind of an old servant, the earl of marlborough would have been taken a prisoner to france; and since it was his genius and diplomatic power alone which kept the alliance to- gether, and secured victory for their arms, the whole issue of the war, the whole future of europe would have been changed. she old mill, chapter viii. the old mill. a considerable portion of the allied army were quartered in the barracks and forts of liege, in large convents requisitioned for the purpose, and in outlying villages. the th dragoons had assigned to them a convent some two miles from the town. the monks had moved out, and gone to an establishment of the same order in the town, and the soldiers were therefore left to make the best they could of their quarters. there was plenty of room for the men, but for the horses there was some difficulty. the cloisters were very large, and these were transformed into stables, and boards were fastened up on the open faces to keep out the cold; others were stalled in sheds and outbuildings; and the great refectory, or dining hall, was also strewn thick with straw, and filled with four rows of horses. in the afternoon the officers generally rode or walked down into the town. one day, rupert ilolliday with pat dillon had met their friends lord fairholm and sir john loveday, whose regiment was quartered in the town, at the principal wine-shop, a large establishment, which was the great gathering place of the officers of the garrison. there an immense variety of bright uni- forms were to be seen, english, german, and dutch, horse, foot, and artillery, while the serving men hurried tie cornet of borsk about through the throng with trays piled with beer mugs, or with wine and glasses. "who is that officer," dillon asked, "in the hessian cavalry uniform? methinks he eyes you - with no friendly look." rupert and his friends glanced at the officer pointed out. "it is that fellow fulke," sir john said. "i heard he had managed to obtain a commission in the array of the landgrave of hesse. you must keep a smart look- out, master rupert, for his presence bodes you no good. he is in fitting company; that big german officer next to him is the graff muller, a turbulent swashbuckler, but a famous swordsman—a fellow who would as soon run you through as look at you, and who is a disgrace to the margrave's army, in which i wonder much that he is allowed to stay." "who is the fellow you are speaking of?" dillon asked. "a gentleman with whom our friend rupert had a difference of opinion," sir john loveday laughed. "there is a blood feud between them. seriously, the fellow has a grudge against our friend, and as he is the sort of man to gratify himself without caring much as to the means he uses, i should advise master holliday not to trust himself out alone after dark. there are plenty of ruined men in these german regiments who would willingly cut a throat for a guinea, especially if offered them by one of their own officers." "the scoundrel is trying to get muller to take up his quarrel, or i am mistaken," lord fairholm, who had been watching the pair closely, said; "they are glan- cing this way, and fulke has been talking earnestly. but ruffian as he is, muller is of opinion that for a no* the old mill. torious swordsman like him to pick a quarrel with a lad like our friend would be too rank, and would, if he killed him, look so much like murder that even he dare not face it; he has shaken his head very positively." "but why should not this fulke take the quarrel in his own hands ?" dillon asked, surprised. "unless he is the rankest of cowards he might surely consider him- self a match for our little cornet?" "our little cornet has a neat hand with the foils," lord fairholm said, dryly, "and master fulke is not unacquainted with the fact." "why, rupert," dillon said, turning to him, "you have never said that you ever had a foil in your hand!" "you never asked me," rupert said, smiling. "but have practised somewhat with the colonel my grand- father. and now it is time to be off, dillon; we have to walk back." four days later, as rupert holliday was standing in the barrack-yard, his troop having just been dismissed drill, a trooper of the st dragoons rode into the yard, and after asking a question of one of the men, rode up to him and handed him a note. somewhat surprised he opened it, and read as fol- lows :—" my dear master holliday,—sir john loveday and myself are engaged in an adventure which promises some entertainment, albeit it is not without a spice of danger. we need a good comrade who can on occa- sion use his sword, and we know that we can rely on you. on receipt of this, please mount your horse aud ride to the old mill which lies back from the road in the valley beyond dettinheim. there you will find your sincere friend, fairholm. p. s.—it would be as well not to mention whithei vou are going to ride." it was the first note that rupert had received from the old mill. dering, but still more ignorant of the nature of the ex- pedition, rode quietly on behind. the road was an unfrequented one, and during the last two miles' ride they did not meet a single person upon it. the hamlet of dettinheim contained four or five houses only, and no one seemed about. another five minutes' ride took them to the entrance to the little valley in which the mill stood. they rode up to it, and then dismounted. "it's a lonesome dismal-looking place, master ru- pert. it doesn't seem to bode good. of course you know what you're come for, sir; but i don't like the look of the place, nohow." "it does not look cheerful, hugh; but i am to meet lord fairholm and sir john loveday here." "i don't see any sign of them, master rupert. i'd be careful if i were you, for it's just the sort of place for a foul deed to be done in. it does not look safe." "it looks old and haunted," rupert said; "but as that is its natural look, i don't see it can help it. the door is open, so my friends are here." "look out, master rupert; you may be running into a snare." rupert paused a moment, and the thought flashed across his mind that it might, as hugh said, be a snare; but with lord fairholm's letter in his pocket, he dis- missed the idea. "you make me nervous, hugh, with your sugges-. tions; nevertheless, i will be on my guard;" and he drew his sword as he entered the mill. as he did so, hugh, who was holding the horses, bri- dles over his arm, snatched a brace of pistols from the holsters, cocked them, and stood eagerly listening. he heard rupert walk a few paces forward, and then pause, the cornet of horse. and shout "where are you, fairholm?" then he heard a rush of heavy feet, a shout from rupert, a clash of swords, and a scream of agony. all this was the work of a second; and as hugh dropped the reins and rushed forward to his master's assistance, he heard a noise behind him, and saw a dozen men issue from behind the trees, and run towards him. coming from the light, hugh could with difficulty see what was taking place in the darkened chamber be- fore him. in an instant, however, he saw rupert stand- ing with his back to a wall, with a dead man at his feet, and four others hacking and thrusting at him. rush- ing up, hugh fired his two pistols. one of the men dropped to the ground, the other with an oath reeled backwards. "quick, sir! there are a dozen men just upon us." rupert ran one of his opponents through the shoulder, and as the other drew back shouted to hugh,— "up the stairs, hugh! quick!" the two lads sprang up the wide steps leading to the floor above, just as the doorway was darkened by a mass of men. the door at the top of the steps yielded to their rush, the rotten woodwork giving, and the door falling to the ground. two or three pistol bullets whizzed by their ears, just as they leaped through the opening. "up another floor, hugh; and easy with the door." the door at the top of the next ladder creaked heav- ily as they pushed it back on its hinges. "look about, hugh, for something to pile against it." the shutters of the window were closed, but enough light streamed through the chinks and crevices for them to see dimly. there was odd rubbish strewn all about, and in one corner a heap of decaying sacks. to these the old mill. both rushed, and threw some on the floor by the door, placing their feet on them to keep them firm, just as with a rush the men came against it. this door was far stronger than the one below, but it gave before the weight. "the hinges will give, hugh exclaimed; but at the moment rupert passed his thin rapier through one of the chinks of the rough boards which formed it, and a yell was heard on the outside. the pressure against the door ceased instantly; and rupert bade hugh run for some more sacks, while he threw himself prone on them on the ground. it was well he did so, for, as ho expected a half dozen pistol-shots were heard, and the bullets crashed through the woodwork. "keep out of the line of fire, hugh." hugh did so, and threw down the sacks close to the door. several times he ran backwards and forwards across the room, the assailants still firing through the door. then rupert leaped up, and the pile of sacks were rapidly heaped against the door, just as the men out- side, in hopes that they had killed the defenders, made another rush against it. this time, however, the pile of sacks had given it strength and solidity, and it hardly shook under the as- sault. then came volleys of curses and imprecations, in german, from outside; and then the lads could hear the steps descend the stairs, and a loud and angry con- sultation take place below. "open the shutters, hugh, and let us see where we are." it was a chamber of some forty feet square, and, like those below it, of considerable height. it was like the rest of the mill, built of rough pine, black with age. it had evidently been used as a granary. the cornet of horse. "this is a nice trap we have fallen into, hugh, and t doubt me if lord fairholm ever saw the letter with hu name upon it which lured me here. however, that i not the question now; the thing is how we are to get out of the trap. how many were there outside, do you think.'"' "there seemed to me about a dozen, master rupert, but i got merely a blink at them." "if it were not for their pistols we might do some- thing hugh; but as it is, it is hopeless." looking out from the window they saw that it waa over the great water-wheel, whose top was some fifteen feet below them, with the water running to waste from the leet, which led from the reservoir higher up the valley. presently they heard a horse gallop up to the front of the mill, and shortly after the sound of a man's voice raised in anger. by this time it was getting dark. "what'llbe the end of this, master rupert? we could stand a siege for a week, but they'd hardly try that." "what's that?" rupert said. "there's some one at the door again." they came back, but all was quiet. listening at- tentively, however, they heard a creaking, as of some one silently descending the stairs. for some time all was quiet, except that they could hear movements in the lower story of the mill. presently rupert grasped hugh's arm. "do you smell anything, hugh?" "yes, sir; i smell a smoke." "the scoundrels have set the mill on fire, hugh." in another minute or two the smell became stronger, the old mill. end then wreaths of smoke could be seen curling up through the crevices in the floor. "run through the other rooms, hugh; let us see if there is any means of getting down." there were three other rooms, but on opening the shutters they found in each case a sheer descent of full forty feet to the ground, there being no outhouses whose roofs would afford them a means of descent. "we must rush down stairs, hugh. it is better to be shot as we go out, than be roasted here." rapidly they tore away the barrier of sacks, and ru- pert put his thumb on the latch. he withdrew it with a sharp exclamation,— "they have jammed the latch, hugh. that was what that fellow we heard was doing." the smoke was now getting very dense, and they could with difficulty breathe. rupert put his head out of the window. "there is a little window just over the wheel," he said; "if we could get down to the next floor we might slip out of that and get in the wheel without being no- ticed. look about, hugh," he exclaimed, suddenly; "there must be a trap-door somewhere for lowering the sacks. there is a wheel hanging to the ceiling; the trap must be under that." in a minute the trap was found, and raised. the smoke rushed up in a volume, and the boys looked with dismay at the dense mirk below. "it's got to be done, hugh. tie that bit of sacking, quick, over your nose and mouth, while i do the same. now lower yourself by your arms, and drop; it won't be above fifteen feet. hold your breath, and rush straight to the window. i heard them open it. now, both together; now." the cornet of iiorse. the lads fell on their feet, and were in another minute at the window. the broad top of the great wheel stretched out level with them, hiding the window from those who might have been standing below. the wheel itself was some thirty feet in diameter, and was sunk nearly half its depth in the ground, the water running -off by a deep tail-race. "we might lie flat on the top of the wheel," hugh said. "we should be roasted to death when the mill is fairly in flames. no, hugh ; ave must squeeze through this space between the wall and the wheel, slip down by the framework, and keep inside the wheel. there is no fear of that burning, and we shall get plenty of fresh air down below the level of the mill. i will go first, hugh. mind how you go, for these beams are all slimy; get your arm well around, and slip down as far as the axle." it was not an easy thing to do, and rupert lost his hold and slipped down the last ten feet, hurting him- self a good deal in his fall. he was soon on his feet again, and helped to break the fall of hugh, who lost his hold and footing at the axle, and would-have hurt himself greatly, had not rupert caught him, both boys falling with a crash in the bottom of the wheel. they were some little time before regaining their feet, for both were much hurt. their movements were, however, accelerated by the water, which fell in a heavy shower from above, through the leaks in the buckets of the wheel. "are you hurt much, master rupert?" "i don't think i am broken at all, hugh, but i am hurt all over. how are you?" the old mill. « am all right, i think. it's lucky the inside of this wheel is pretty smooth, like a big drum." the position was not a pleasant one. a heavy shower of water from above filled the air with spray, and with their heads bent down it was difficult to breathe; the inside planks of the wheel were so slimy that standing was almost impossible, and at the slight- est attempt at movement they fell. above, the flames were already darting out through the windows and sides of the mill. "do you not think we might crawl out between the wheel and the wall, and make our way down the tail- race, master rupert? this water is chilling me to the bones." "i think it safer to stop where we are, hugh. those fellows are sure to be on the watch. they will expect to see us jump out of the upper window the last thing, and will wait to throw our bodies—for of course we should be killed—into the flames, to hide all trace of us. we have only to wait quietly here. it is not pleasant; but after all the trouble we have had to save our lives, it would be a pity to risk them again. and i have a very particular desire to be even with that fellow who is, i doubt not, at the bottom of all this." soon the flames were rushing out in great sheets from the mill, and even in the wheel the heat of the atmos- phere was considerable. presently a great crash was heard inside. "there is a floor fallen," rupert said. "i think we may move now; those fellows will have made off, secure that—hullo! what's that?" the exclamation was caused by a sudden creaking noise, and the great wheel began slowly to revolve. the fall of the floor had broken its connection with the the cornet of horse. machinery in the mill, and left free, it at once yielded to the weight of the water in its buckets. the supply of water coming down was small, and the wheel stiff from long disuse, therefore it moved but slowly. the mo- tion, however, threw both lads from their feet, and once down, the rotary motion rendered it impossible for them to regain their feet. after the first cry of sur- prise, neither spoke; across both their minds rushed the certainty of death. how long the terrible time that followed lasted, neither of them ever knew. the sensation was that of being pounded to death. at one moment they were together, then separated; now rolling over and over in a sort of a ball, then lifted up and cast down into the bottom of the wheel with a crash; now with their heads highest, now with their feet. it was like a terrible nightmare; but gradually the sharp pain of the blows and falls were less vivid—a dull sensation came over them—and both lost consciousness. rupert was the first to open his eyes, and for a time lay but in dreamy wonder as to where he was and what had happened. he seemed to be lying under a great penthouse, with a red glow pervading everything. gradually his thoughts took shape, and he remembered what had passed, and struggling painfully into a sitting position, looked round. the wheel no longer re- volved; there was no longer the constant splash of water. indeed the wheel existed as a wheel no longer. as he looked round the truth lighted upon him. the burning mill had fallen across the wheel, crushing, at the top, the sides together. the massive timber had given no further, and the wheel formed a sort of roof, sloping from the outer wall, built solidly up against it, to the opposite foot. above, the timber of this wall the old mill. ill glared and flickered, but the soddened timber of the wheel could have resisted a far greater amount of heat. the leet had of course been carried away with the fall, and the water would be flowing down the valley. the heat was very great, but the rush of air up the deep cut of the mill-race rendered it bearable. having once grasped the facts—and as he doubted not'the fall must have occurred soon after he lost consciousness, and so saved him from being bruised to death—rupert turned to hugh. he was quite insensible, but his heart still beat. ru- pert crawled out of the wheel, and found pools of water in the mill-race, from which he brought double hand- fuls, and sprinkled hugh's face. then as he himself grew stronger from fresh air and a copious dousing of his face and head with water, he dragged hugh out, and laying him beside a pool dashed water on his face and chest. a deep sigh was the first symptom of re- turning consciousness. he soon, to rupert's delight, opened his eyes. after a time he sat up, but was too much hurt to rise. after some consultation, rupert left him, and went alone down to the hamlet of dettinheim, where, after much knocking, he roused some of the inhabitants, who had only a short time before returned from the burning mill. sodden and discolored as it was, ru- pert's uniform was still recognizable, and by the author- ity this conveyed, and a promise of ample reward, four men were induced to return with him to the mill, and carry hugh down to the village. this they reached just as the distant clock of liege cathedral struck two. a bed was given up to them, and in half an hour both lads were sound asleep. tee corset of e r e. chapter ix. the puel. great was the excitement in the th dragoons when, upon the arrival of rupert and hugh—the former of whom was able to ride, but the latter was carried by on a stretcher—they learned the attack which had been made upon one of their officers. the " little comet" was a general favorite, short as was the time since he had joined; while hugh was greatly liked by the men of his own troop. rupert's colonel at once sent for him, to learn the particulars of the outrage. rupert was unable to give farther particulars as to his assailants than that they were german soldiers; that much the dim light had permitted him to see, but more than that he could not say. he stated his reasons for believing sir richard fulke was the originator of the attack, since he had had a quarrel with him in england, but owned that, beyond suspicions, he had no proof. the colonel at once rode down to headquarters, and laid a com- plaint before the earl of athlone, who promised that he would cause every inquiry to be made. then the gen- eral commanding the hesse contingent was communi- cated with, and the colonel of the cavalry regiment to which sir richard fulke belonged was sent for. he stated that captain fulke had been away on leave of absence for three days, and that he had gone to eng- land. the regiment was, however, paraded, and it was found that five troopers were missing. no inquiry, the duel. however, could elicit from any of the others a confes- sion that they had been engaged in any fray, and as all were reported as having been in by ten o'clock, except the five missing men, there was no clue as to the parties engaged. the five men might have deserted, but the grounds for suspicion were very strong. still, as no proof could be obtained, the matter was suffered to drop. the affair caused, however, much bad feeling be- tween the two regiments, and the men engaged in affrays when they met, until the order was issued that they should only be allowed leave into the town on al- ternate days. this ill-feeling spread, however, beyond the regiments concerned. there had already been a good deal of jealousy upon the part of the continental troops of the honor gained by the british in being first in at the breaches of venloo and liege, and this feeling was now much embittered. duels between the officers became matters of frequent occurrence, in spite of the strict orders issued against that practice. as rupert had anticipated, the letter by which he had been entrapped turned out a forgery. lord fairholm was extremely indignant when he heard the use that had been made of his name, and at once made inquiries as to the trooper who had carried the note to rupert. this man he found without difficulty; upon being ques- tioned, he stated that he had just returned from carry- ing a message when he was accosted by a german offi- cer who offered him a couple of marks to carry a letter up to an officer of the th dragoons. thinking that there was no harm in so doing, he had at once accepted the offer. upon being asked if he could recognize the officer if he saw him, he replied that he had scarcely no- ticed his face, and did not think that he could pick him crat from others. tee cornet of horse. the first three or four duels which took place had not been attended with fatal result; but about three weeks after the occurrence of the attack on rupert, captain muller, who had been away on leave, returned, and publicly announced his attention of avenging the insult to his regiment by insulting and killing one of the offi- cers of the th dragoons. the report of the threat caused some uneasiness among the officers, for the fellow's reputation as a swordsman and notorious duellist was so well known, that it was felt that any one whom he might select as his antagonist would be as good as a dead man. a proposition was started to report the matter to the gen- eral, but this was decisively negatived, as it would have looked like a request for protection, and would so affect the honor of the regiment. there was the satisfaction that but one victim could be slain, for the aggressor in a fatal duel was sure to be punished by removal into some corps stationed at a distance. rupert was silent during these discussions, but he silently determined that he would, if the opportunity offered, take up the gauntlet, for he argued that he was the primary cause of the feud; and, remembering the words of m. dessin and maitre dalboy, he thought that, skilful as a swordsman as muller might be, he would yet have at least a fair chance of victory, while he knew that so much could not be said for any of the other officers of his regiment. the opportunity occurred two days later. rupert, with his friend dillon, went down to the large saloon, which was the usual rendezvous with his friends fair- holm and loveday. the place was crowded with of- ficers, but rupert soon perceived his friends, sitting at the duel. a small table. he and dillon placed two chairs there also, and were engaged in conversation when a sudden lull in the buzz of talk caused them to look up. cap- tain muller had just entered the saloon with a friend, and the lull was caused by curiosity, as his boast had been the matter of public talk; and as all noticed that two officers of the th were present, it was anticipated that a scene would ensue. a glance at dillon's face showed that the blood had left his cheek; for, brave as the irishman was, the pros- pect of being killed like a dog by this native swordsman could not be but terrible to him, and he did not doubt for a moment that he would be selected. captain muller walked leisurely up to the bar, drank off a bum- per of raw geneva, and then turned and looked round the room. as his eyes fell on the uniform of the th, a look of satisfaction came over his face, and fixing his eyes on dillon, he walked leisurely across the room. rupert happened to be sitting on the outside of the table, and he at once rose and as calmly advanced to- wards the german. there was now a dead silence in the room, and all listened intently to hear what the lad had to say to the duellist. rupert spoke first and although he did not raise his voice in the slightest, not a sound was lost from one end of the room to the other. "captain muller," he said, "i hear that you have made a boast that you will kill the first officer of my regiment whom you met. i am, i think, the first, and you now have the opportunity of proving whether you are a mere cut-throat or a liar." a perfect gasp of astonishment was heard in the room. dillon leaped to his feet, exclaiming,— the cornet of horse. "no, rupert, i will not allow it-! i am your senior officer." and the gallant fellow would have pushed forward, had not lord fairholm put his hand on his shoulder and forced him back, saying,— "leave him alone :. he knows what he is doing." the german took a step back, with a hoarse ex- clamation of rage and surprise at rupert's address, and put his hand to his sword. then, making a great effort to master his fury, he said,— "you are safe in crowing loud, little cockerel; but captain muller does not fight with boys." a murmur of approval ran round the room; for the prospect of this lad standing up to be killed by so noted a swordsman was painful alike to the german and eng- lish officers present. "the same spirit seems to animate you and your friend sir richard fulke," rupert said, quietly. "he did not care about fighting a boy, and so employed a dozen of his soldiers to murder him." "it is a lie!" the captain thundered. "beware, young sir, how you tempt me too far." "you know it is not a lie," rupert said, calmly. "i know he told you he was afraid to fight me, for that i was more than his match; and it seems to me, sir, that this seeming pity for my youth is a mere cover of the fact that you would rather choose as your victim some one less skilled in fence than i happen to be. are you a coward, too, sir, as well as a ruffian?" "enough!" the german gasped. "swartzberg," he said turning to his friend, " make the arrangements; for i vow i will kill this insolent puppy in the morning." lord fairholm at once stepped forward to the hes- sian captain. "i shall have the honor to act as mr. holliday's sec- the duel. ond. here is my card. i shall be at home all the evening." rupert now resumed his seat, while captain muller and his friend moved to the other end of the saloon. here he was surrounded by a number of german offi- cers, who endeavored to dissuade.him from fighting a duel in which the killing of his adversary would be condemned by the whole army as child murder. "child or not," he said, ferociously, "he dies to- morrow. you think he was mad to insult me; it was conceit, not madness. his head is turned; a.fencing- master once praised his skill at fence, and he thinks himself a match for me—me! the best swordsman, though i say it, in the german army. no, i would not have forced a quarrel on him, for he is beneath my notice; but i am right glad that he lias taken up the glove i meant to throw down to his fellow. in killing him i shall not only have punished the only person who has for many years ventured to insult otto muller, but i shall have done a service to a friend." no sooner had rupert regained his seat than dillon exclaimed,— "rupert, i shall never forgive myself. others think you are mad, but i know that you sacrifice yourself to save me. you did me an ill-service, my lord," he said, turning to lord fairholm, "by holding me back when i would have taken my proper place. i shall never hold up my head again. but it will not be for long, for when he has killed rupert i will seek him wherever he may go, and force him to kill me too." "my dear dillon, i knew what i was doing," lord fairholm said. "it was clear that either he or you had to meet this german cut-throat." "but," dillon asked, in astonishment, "why would the cornet of horse. you rather that your friend rupert should be killed than i?" "you are not putting the case fairly," lord fairholm said. "did it stand so, i would certainly prefer that you should run this risk than that rupert should do so. but the case stands thus: in the first place, it is really his quarrel; and in the second, while it is certain that this german could kill you without fail, it is by no means certain that he will kill rupert." dillon's eyes opened with astonishment. "not kill him! do you think that he will spare him after the way he has been insulted before all of us?" "no, there is little chance of that. it is his power, not his will, that i doubt. i do not feel certain; far from it, i regard the issue as doubtful; and yet i feel strong confidence in the result; for you must know, master dillon, that rupert holliday, boy as he is, is probably the best swordsman in the british army." "rupert holliday!" ejaculated dillon, incredulously. lord fairholm nodded. "it is as i say, dillon; and although they say this german is also the best in his, his people are in no way famous that way. had it been with the best swords- man in the french army that rupert had to fight, my mind would be less at ease. but come now, we have finished our liquor, and may as well be off. we are the centre of all eyes here, and it is not pleasant to be a general object of pity, even when that pity is ill-be- stowed. besides, i have promised to be at home, to wait for midler's second. i will come round to your quarters, rupert, when i have arranged time and place." the calm and assured manner of rupert's two friends did more to convince dillon that they were speaking in earnest, and that they really had confidence in rupert's the duel% skill, than any asseveration on their part could have done, but he was still astounded at the news that this boy friend of his, who had never even mentioned that he could fence, could by any possibility be not only a first rate swordsman, but actually a fair match for this noted duellist. upon the way up to the barracks, rupert per- suaded his friend to say nothing as to his skill, but it was found impossible to remain silent, for when the offi- cers heard of the approaching duel there was a universal cry of indignation, and the colonel at once avowed his intention of riding off to lord athlone to request him to put a stop to a duel which would be nothing short of murder. "the honor of the regiment shall not suffer," he said, sternly, "for i myself will meet this german cut- throat." seeing that his colonel was resolute, rupert made a sign to dillon that he might speak, and he accordingly related to his astonished comrades the substance of what lord fairholm had told him. rupert's brother officers could not believe the news; but rupert sug- gested that the matter could be easily settled if some foils were brought, adding that half-an-hour's fencing would be useful to him, and get his hand into work again. the proposal was agreed to, and first one and then another of those recognized as the best swords- men of the regiment took their places against him, but without exerting himself in the slightest, he proved himself so infinitely their superior that their doubts speedily changed into admiration, and the meeting of the morrow was soon regarded with a feeling of not only hope, but confidence. it was late before lord fairholm rode up to the cornet's. "did you think i was never coming?" he asked, as he the cornet of horse. entered rupert's quarters. "the affair has created quite an excitement, and just as i was starting, two hours back, a message came to me to go to head-quar- ters. i found his lordship in a great passion, and he rated me soundly, i can tell you, for undertaking to be second in such a disgracefully uneven contest as this. when he had had his say, of course i explained mat- ters, pointed out that this german bully was a nuisance to the whole army, and that you being, as i myself could vouch, a sort of phenomenon with the sword, had taken the matter up to save your brother officer from being killed. i assured him that i had the highest au- thority for your being one of the best swordsmen in europe, and that therefore i doubted not that you were a match for this german. i also pointed out respect- fully to him that if he were to interfere to stop it, as he had intended, the matter would be certain to lead to many more meetings between the officers of the two nationalities. upon this the general after some talk decided to allow the matter to go on, but said that whichever way it went he would write to the generals commanding all the divisions of the allied army, and would publish a general order to the effect that hence- forth no duels shall be permitted except after the dis- pute being referred to a court of honor of five senior officers, by whom the necessity or otherwise of the duel shall be determined; and that in the case of any duel fought without any such preliminary, both combatants shall be dismissed from the service, whether the wounds given be serious or not. i think the proposal is an excellent one, and likely to do much good; for in a mixed army like ours, causes for dispute and jealousy are sure to arise, and without some stringent regulation we should be always fighting among ourselves." the duel. at an early hour on the following morning a stranger would have supposed that some great military spectacle was about to take place, so large was the number of officers riding from liege and the military stations around it towards the place fixed upon for the duel, the event had created a very unusual amount of excite- ment, because, in the first place, the attempt to murder rupert at the mill of dettinheim had created much talk; the intention of captain muller to force a quarrel on the officers of the th had also been a matter of public com- ment, while the manner in which the young cornet of that regiment had taken up the gage, added to the extraordinary inequality between the combatants, gave a special character to the duel. it was eight in the morning when rupert holliday rode up to the place fixed upon, a quiet valley some three miles from the town. on the slopes of hills on either side were gathered some two or three hundred officers, english, dutch, and german, the bottom of the valley, which was some forty yards across, being left clear. there was however, none of the life and animation which generally characterize a military gathering. the brit- ish officers looked sombre and stern at what they deemed nothing short of the approaching murder of their gallant young countryman; and the germans were grave and downcast, for they felt ashamed of the inequality of the contest. among both parties there was earnest though quiet talk of arresting the duel, but such a step would have been absolutely unprecedented. the arrival of the officers of the th, who rode up in a body a few minutes before rupert arrived with lord fairholm and his friend dillon, somewhat changed the aspect of affairs, for their cheerful faces showed that from some cause, at which the rest were unable to the cornet of horse. guess, they by no means regarded the death of their comrade as a foregone event. as they alighted and gave their horses to the orderlies who had followed them, their acquaintances gathered round them full of expressions of indignation and regret at the approach- ing duel. "is there any chance of this horrible business being stopped?" an old colonel asked colonel forbes, as he alighted. "there is a report that the general has got wind of it, and will at the last moment put an end to it by arresting both of them." "no, i fancy that the matter will go on," colonel forbes said. "but it is murder," colonel chambers said, indig- nantly. "not so much murder as you think, chambers; for i tell you this lad is simply a marvel with his sword." "ah," the colonel said, " i had not heard that; but in no case could a lad like this have a chance with this muller, a man who has not only the reputation of being the best swordsman in germany, who now has been in something like thirty duels, and has more than twenty times killed his man. "i know the ruffian's skill and address," colonel •forbes said; "and yet i tell you that i regard my young friend's chance as by no means desperate."' similar assurances had some effect in raising the spirits of the english officers; still they refused to be- lieve that a lad like a recently-joined cornet could have any real chance with the noted duellist, and their hopes faded away altogether when rupert rode up. he was, of course, a stranger to most of those present, and his smooth boyish face and slight figure struck them with pity and dismay. rupert, however, although a little the duel. pale, seemed more cheerful than jmy one on the ground, and smiled and talked to lord fairholm and dillon as if awaiting the commencement of an ordinary military parade. "that is a gallant young fellow," was the universal exclamation of most of those present, whatever their nationality. "he faces death as calmly as if he were ignorant of his danger." five minutes later captain muller rode up, with his second; and the preparations for the conflict at once began. all except the combatants and their seconds retired to the slopes. lord fairholm and captain swartzberg stood in the middle of the bottom; rupert stood back at a short distance, talking quietly with dillon and his colonel; while captain muller walked about near the foot of the slope, loudly saluting those present with whom he was acquainted'. there was but little loss of time in choosing the ground, for the bottom of the valley was flat and smooth, and the sun was concealed beneath a gray bank of clouds, which covered the greater part of the sky, so that there was no advantage of light. when all was arranged, the length of the swords was measured. both had come provided with a pair of duel- ling rapiers, and as all four weapons were of excellent temper and of exactly even length, no difficulty was met with here. then a deep hush fell upon the gathering as the seconds returned to their principals. it had been arranged by the seconds that they should not fight in uniform, as the heavy boots impeded their action. both were accordingly attired in evening dress. rupert wore dark puce satin breeches, white tockings, and very light buckled shoes. his opponent the cornet of house. was in bright orange-colored breeches, with stockings to match. coats and waistcoats were soon removed, and the shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow. as they took stand face to face, something like a groan went through the spectators. rupert stood about five feet nine, slight, active, with smooth face, and head covered with short curls. the german stood six feet high, with massive shoulders, and arms covered with muscle. his huge moustache was twisted up- wards towards his ears; his hair was cropped short, and stood erect all over his head. it was only among a few of the shrewder onlookers that the full value of the tough, whipcordy-look of rupert's frame, and the ex- treme activity promised by his easy pose, were appre- ciated. the general opinion went back to the former verdict, that the disparity was so great that, even put- ting aside the german's well-known skill, the duel was little short of murder. just before they stood on guard, captain muller said, in a loud voice,— "now, sir, if you have any prayer to say, say it; for i warn you, i will kill you like a dog." a cry of "shame!" arose from the entire body of spectators; when it abated rupert said, quietly but clearly,— "my prayers are said, captain muller. if yours are not, say them now, for assuredly i will kill you—not as a dog, for a dog is a true and faithful animal, but as i would kill a tiger, or any other beast whose existence was a scourge to mankind." a cheer of approbation arose from the circle; and with a grin of rage captain muller took his stand. rupert faced him in an instant, and their swords crossed. for a short time the play was exceedingly the duel. cautious on both sides, each trying to find out his oppo- nent's strength. hitherto the german had thought but little of what fulke had told him that he had heard, of rupert's skill; but the calm and confident manner of the young englishman now impressed him with the idea that he really, boy as he was, must be something out of the common way. the thought in no way abated his own assurance, it merely taught him that it would be wiser to play cautiously at first, instead of, as he had intended, making a fierce and rapid attack at once, and finishing the struggle almost as soon as it began. the lightning speed with which his first thrusts were parried and returned soon showed him the wisdom of the course he had adopted; aud the expression of arro- gant disdain with which he had commenced the fight speedily changed to one of care and determination. this insolent boy was to be killed, but the operation must not be carelessly carried out. "for a time he attempted by skilful play to get through rupert's guard, but the lad's sword always met him; and its point flashed so quickly and vengefully forward, that several times it was only by quick back- ward springs that he escaped from it. the intense, but silent excitement among the spec- tators increased with every thrust and parry; and every nerve seemed to tingle in unison with the sharp clink of the swords. the german now endeavored to take advantage of his superior height, length of arm, and strength, to force down rupert's guard; but the latter slipped away from him, bounding as lightly as a cat out of range, and returning with such rapid and elastic springs, that the german was in turn obliged to use his utmost activity to get back out of reach. so far several slight scratches had been given on both' the cornet of horse. sides, but nothing in any way to affect the combatants. as the struggle continued, gaining every moment in earnestness and effort, a look of anxiety gradually stole over the german's face, and the perspiration stood thick on his forehead. he knew now that he had met his match; and an internal feeling told him that although he had exerted himself to the utmost, his opponent had not yet put out his full strength and skill. rupert's face was unchanged since the swords had crossed. his mouth was set, but in a half smile; his eye was bright; and his demeanor rather that of a lad fencing with but- toned foils, than that of one contending for his life against a formidable foe. now thoroughly aware of his opponent's strength and tactics, rupert began to press the attack, and foot by foot drove his opponent back to the spot at which the combat had commenced. then, after a fierce rally, he gave an opening; the german lunged, rupert threw back his body with the rapidity of lightning, lunging also as he did so. his opponent's sword grazed his cheek as it passed, while his own ran through the ger- man's body until the hilt struck it. muller fell without a word, an inert mass; and the surgeon running up, pronounced that life was already extinct. the crowd of spectators now nocked down, the eng- lish with difficulty repressing their exclamations of de- light, and congratulated rupert on the result, which to them appeared almost miraculous; while the senior german officer present came up to him, and said,—- "although captain muller was a countryman of mine, sir, i rejoice in the unexpected result of this duel; it has rid our army of a man who was a scourge to it." the duel. plaisters and bandages were now applied to rupert's wounds; and in a few moments the whole party had left the valley, one german orderly alone remaining to watch the body of the dead duellist until a party could be sent out to convey it to the town for burial. the cornet of horse. chapter x. the battle of the dykes. for some time after his duel with captain muller, it is probable that the little cornet was, after marlborough - himself, the most popular man in the british army in flanders. he, however, bore his honors quietly, shrink- ing from notice, and seldom going down into the town. any mention of the duel was painful to him; for al- though he considered that he was perfectly justified in taking up the quarrel forced upon his regiment, yet he sincerely regretted that he should have been obliged to kill a man, however dangerous and obnoxious, in cold blood. two days after the duel he received a letter from his grandfather. it was only the second he had received. in the previous letter colonel holliday alluded to some- thing which he had said in a prior communication, and rupert had written back to say that no such letter had come to hand. the answer ran as follows,— "my dear grandson,—your letter has duly come to hand. i regret to find that my first to you miscarried, and by comparing dates i think that it must have been lost in the wreck of the brig ' flora,' which was lost in a tempest on her way to holland a few days after i wrote. this being so, you are ignorant of the changes which have taken place here, and which affect yourself in no slight degree. the match between your lady mother and sir william brownlow is broken off. this took be battle of the dykes. place just after you sailed for the wars. it was brought about by our friend, m. dessin. this gentleman—who is, although i know not his name, a french nobleman of title and distinction—received, about the time you left, the news that he might shortly expect to hear that the decree which had sent him into exile was reversed. some little time later a compatriot of his came down to stay with him. m. dessin, who i know cherished ill- feeling against sir william for the insult which his son had passed upon his daughter, and for various belittling words respecting that young lady which sir william had in his anger permitted himself to use in public, took occasion when he was riding through the streets of derby, accompanied by his friends, lord pomeroy and sir john hawkes, gentlemen of fashion and repute, to accost him. sir william swore at him as a french dancing-master; whereupon m. dessin at once chal- lenged him to a duel. sir william refused with many scornful words to meet a man of such kind, whereupon m. dessin, drawing lord pomeroy to him, in con- fidence disclosed his name and quality, to which his compatriot—also a french nobleman—testified, and of which he offered to produce documents and proofs. they did then adjourn to a tavern, where they called for a private room, to talk the matter over out of ear- shot of the crowd; and after examining the proofs, lord pomeroy and sir john hawkes declared that sir wil- liam brownlow could not refuse the satisfaction which m. dessin demanded. it has always been suspected that sir william was a man of small courage, though of overbearing manner, and he was mightily put to when he heard that he must fight with a man whom he justly regarded as being far more than his match. so craven did he become, indeed, that the gentlemen with him did the cornet of horse.^ not scruple to express their disgust loudly. m. dessin paid that, unless sir william did afford him satisfaction, he would trounce him publicly as a coward, but tbat be bad one other alternative to offer. all were mightily surprised when he stated that this alternative was that he should write a letter to mistress holliday renouncing all claim to her hand. this sir william for a time refused to do, blustering much; but finally, having no tomach for a fight, and fearing the indignity of a public whipping, he did consent so to do; and m. dessin having called for paper and pens, the letter was then written, and the four gentlemen signed as witnesses. the party then separated, lord pomeroy and sir john hawkes riding off without exchanging another word with sir william brownlow. your lady mother was in a great taking when she received the letter, and learned the manner in which it had come to be written. m. dessin left the town, with his daughter, two days later. he came over to take farewell of me, and ex- pressed himself with great feeling and heartiness as to the kindness which he was good enough to say that i had shown hun. i assured him, as you may believe, that the action he had forced mistress holliday's suitor to take left me infinitely his debtor. he promised to write to me from france, whither he was about to return. he said that he regretted much that a vow he had sworn to keep his name unknown in england, save and except his honor should compel him to disclose it, prevented him from telling it; but that he would in the future let me know it. after it was known that he had left, sir william brownlow again attempted to make advances to your lady mother; but she, who lacks not spirit, repulsed him so scornfully that all fear of any future entanglement in that quarter is at an end; at the the battle of the dykes. which i have rejoiced mightily, although the chace, now that you have gone, is greatly changed to me. farmer parsons sends his duty to you, and his love to hugh. i think that it would not he ill-taken if, in a short time, you were to write to mistress holliday. make no mention of her broken espousal, which is a subject upon which she cares not to touch. the earl of marlborough has been good enough to write me a letter speaking in high terms of you. this i handed to her to read, and although she said no word when she handed it back, i could see that she was much moved. my pen runs not so fast as it did. i will therefore now conclude. "your loving grandfather." this letter gave great pleasure to rupert, not because it restored to him the succession of the estates of the chace, for of that he thought but little, but because his mother was saved from a match which would, he felt sure, have been an unhappy one for her. the winter passed off quietly, and with the spring the two armies again took the field. the campaign of was, like its predecessor, marred by the pusillanimity and indecision of the dutch deputies, who thwarted all marlborough's schemes for bringing the french to a general engagement, and so ruined the english gen- eral's most skilful plans, that the earl, worn out by dis- appointment and disgust, wrote to the queen, praying to be relieved of his command and allowed to retire into private life, and finally only remained at his post at his mistress's earnest entreaty. the campaign opened with the siege of bonn, a strongly fortified town held by the french, and of great importance to them, as being the point by which they kept open communication between the cornet of horse. france arid their strong army in germany. marlbor- ough himself commanded the siege operations, having under him forty battalions, sixty squadrons, and a hun- dred guns. general overkirk, who, owing to the death of the earl of athlone, was now second in command, commanded the covering army, which extended from liege to bonn. the siege commenced on the d of may, and with such vigor was it carried on that on the th the fort on the opposite side of the rhine was carried by storm; and as from this point the works defending the town could all be taken in reverse, the place surrendered on the th, the garrison, strong, being permitted by the terms of capitulation to retire to luxemburg. mar- -shal villeroi, who commanded the french army on the frontier, finding that he could give no aid to bonn, ad- vanced against maestrich, which he hoped to surprise, before overkirk could arrive to its aid. on the way, however, he had to take the town of tangres, which was held by two battalions of infantry only. these, how- ever, defended themselves with astonishing bravery against the efforts of a whole army, and for twenty-eight hours of continuous fighting arrested the course of the enemy. at the end of that time they were forced to surrender, but the time gained by their heroic defence afforded time for overkirk to bring up his army, and when villeroi arrived near maestrich, he found the allies already there, and so strongly posted that although his force was fully twice as strong as theirs, he did not vent- ure to attack. marlborough, upon the fall of bonn, marched with the greatest expedition to the assistance of his colleague. his cavalry reached maestrich on the st, his infantry three days later. on the th of may he broke up the the battle of the dykes. camp and advanced to undertake the grand operation of the siege of antwerp. the operation was to be under- taken by a simultaneous advance of several columns. marlborough himself with the main wing was to con- front marshal villeroi, general spaar was to attack that part of the french lines which lay beyond the scheldt, cohorn was to force the passage of that river in the ter- ritory of hulst, and unite spaar's attack with that of obdam, who with twenty-one battalions and sixteen squadrons was to advance from bergen-op-zoom. the commencement of this operation was well-conducted. on the night of the th cohorn passed the scheldt, and the next morning he and spaar made a combined attack on that part of the french lines against which they had been ordered to act, and carried them after severe fighting and the loss of men. upon the following day the earl of marlborough riding through the camp saw rupert holliday, standing at the door of his tent, beckoning him to him, he said,— "would you like a ride round antwerp, master holli- day? i have a letter which i desire carried to general obdara, whose force is at eckeron on the north of the city." upon rupert saying that he should like it greatly, the earl bade him be at his quarters in an hour's time. "there is the despatch," he said, when rupert called upon him. "you will give this to the general himself. i consider his position as dangerous, for marshal vil- leroi may throw troops into the town, and in that case the marquis bedmar may fall in great force upon any of our columns now lying around him. i have warned obdam of his danger, and have begged him to send back his heavy baggage, to take up a strong position, and if the enemy advance in force to fall back to bergen-op- tee cornet of horse zoom. should the general question you, you can say that you are aware of the terms of the despatch, and that i had begged you to assure the general that my un- easiness on his account was considerable." the general then pointed out to rupert on a map the route that he should take so as to make a sweep round antwerp, and warned him to use every precaution, and to destroy the despatch if there should be danger of his being captured. "am i to return at once, sir?" "no," the earl said. "if all goes well we shall in three days invest the place, advancing on all sides, and you can rejoin your corps when the armies unite." rupert's horse was already saddled on his return, and hugh was in readiness to accompany him as his orderly. it was a thirty miles', ride, and it was evening before he reached eckeron, having seen no enemy on his line of route. he was at once conducted to the quarters of the dutch general, who received him politely, and read the de- spatch which he had brought. it did not strike rupert that he was much impressed with its contents, but he made no remark, and simply requested one of his staff to see to rupert's wants, and to have a tent pitched for him. he spent a pleasant evening with the dutch general's staff, most of whom could talk french, while hugh was hospitably entertained by the sergeants of the staff. the next morning the tents were struck, and the heavy baggage was, in accordance with lord marlbor- ough's orders, sent to the fortress of bergen-op-zoom, but, to rupert's surprise and uneasiness, no attempt was made to carry out the second part of the instruction contained in the despatch. the battle of tbe dykes. the day passed quietly, and at night the party were very merry round a camp fire. at eight o'clock next morning a horseman rode into camp with the news that the french were attacking the rear, and that the army was cut off from the scheldt! the earl of marlborough's prevision had proved cor- rect. the french marshals had determined to take ad- vantage of their central position, and to crush one of their enemy's columns. on the evening of the th, marshal villeroi detached marshal boufflers with thirty companies of grenadiers and thirty squadrons of horse. these marching all night reached antwerp at daybreak without interrup- tion, and uniting with the force under the marquis bedmar, issued out , strong to attack obdam. sending off detached columns, who moved round, and—. unseen by the dutch, who acted with as great care- lessness as if their foes had been miles away—he took possession of the roads on the dykes leading not only to fort lille on the scheldt, but to bergen-op- zoom, and fell suddenly upon the dutch army on all sides. scarcely had the messenger ridden into eckeron, when a tremendous roar of musketry broke out in all quarters, and the desperate position into which the supineness of their general had suffered them to fall, was apparent to all. in a few minutes the confusion was terrible. rupert and hugh hastily saddled their horses, and had just mounted when general obdam with twenty troopers rode past at full gallop. "where can he be going?" rupert said. "he is not riding towards either of the points attacked." "it seems to me that he is bolting, master rupert, ($ the cornet of horse. just flying by some road the french have not yet occu- pied." "impossible!" rupert said; but it was so, and the next day the runaway general himself brought the news of his defeat to the hague, announcing that he had escaped with thirty horse, and that the rest of his army was destroyed. it is needless to say that general obdam never after- wards commanded a dutch army in the field. the sec- ond part of the news which he brought the hague was not correct. general schlangenberg, the second in command, at once assumed the command; the dutch rallied speedily from their surprise, and the advancing columns of the enemy were soon met with a desperate resistance. in front general boufflers attacked with twenty battalions of french troops, headed by the gren- adiers he had brought with him, while a strong spanish forced barred the retreat. under such circumstances many troops would at once have laid down their arms; but such a thought never occurred to the dutchmen of schlangenberg's army. while a portion of this force opposed boufflers' troops pressing on their front, the rest threw themselves against those who barred their retreat to fort lille. never was there more desperate fighting; nowhere could ground have been selected more unsuited for a battle-field. it was by the roads alone running upon the dykes above the general level of the country the troops could advance or retreat, and it was upon these that the heads of the heavy columns struggled for victory. there was little firing. the men in front had no time to reload, those behind could not fire because their friends were before them; the battle of the dykes.' it was a fierce hand-to-hand struggle, such as might have taken place on the same ground in the middle ages, before gunpowder was in use. bayonets and clubbed muskets, these were the weapons on both sides, while dismounted troopers—for horses were worse than useless here, mixed up with the infantry—fought with swords. on the roads, on the sides of the slopes, waist deep in the water of the ditches, men fought hand-to- hand. schlangenberg commanded at the spot where the dutchmen obstinately and stubbornly resisted the fury of the french onslaught, and even the chosen grenadiers of france failed to break down that desper- ate defence. ah day the battle raged. rupert having no fixed duty rode backwards and forwards along the roads, now watching how went the defence against the french attack, now how the dutch in vain tried to press back the spaniards and open a way of retreat. late in the afternoon he saw a party of the staff officers pressing towards the rear on foot. "we are going to try to get to the head of the col- umn," one said to rupert; "we must force back the spaniards, or we are all lost." "i will join you,"rupert said, leaping from his horse. "hugh, give me my pistols and take your own; leave the horses, and come with me." it took upwards of an hour to make their way along the dyke, sometimes pushing forward between the sol- diers, sometimes wading in the ditch, but at last they reached the spot where, over ground high heaped with dead, the battle raged as fiercely as ever. with a shout of encouragement to the men, the party of officers threw themselves in front and joined in the fray. desperate as the fighting had been before, it increased in intensity now. the cornet of horse. the dutch, cheered hy the leading of their officers, pressed forward with renewed energy; the spaniards fought desperately, nor indeed could they have re- treated, from the crowd of their comrades behind. the struggle was desperate; bayonet clashed against bay- onet, heavy muskets descended with a showering thud on head and shoulders, swords flashed, men locked to- gether struggled for life, those who fell were trampled to death, and often those in front were so jammed by the pressure, that their arms were useless, and they could do naught but grasp at each other's throats, until a blow or a bayonet thrust from behind robbed one or other of his adversary. slowly, very slowly, the dutch were forcing their way forward, but it was by the de- struction of the head of their enemy's column, and not by any movement of retreat on their part. after a few minutes of desperate struggles, in which twice hugh saved his life by shooting a man on the point of running him through with a bayonet, rupert found himself on the edge of the road. he drew out of the fight for an instant, and then making his way back until he came to a dutch colonel, he pointed out to him that the sole hope was for a strong body of men to de- scend into the ditch, to push forward there, and to open fire on the flank of the enemy's column, so as to shake its solidity. the officer saw the advice was good; and a column, four abreast, entered the ditches on each side, and pressed forward. the water was some inches above their waists, but they shifted their pouches to be above its level, and soon passing the spot where the struggle raged as fiercely as ever on the dyke above, they opened fire on the flanks of the spaniards. these in turn fired down, and the carnage on both sides was great. fresh the battle of the dykes. dutchmen, however, pressed forward to take the place of those that fell; and the solidity of the spaniards' col- umn being shaken, the head of the dutch body began to press them back. the impetus once given was never checked; slowly, very slowly, the dutch pushed forward, until at last the spaniards were driven off the road, and the line of re- treat was open to the dutch army. then the rear guard began to fall back before the french; and fight- ing every step of the way, the last of the dutch army reached fort lille long after night had fallen. their loss in this desperate hand-to-hand fighting had been killed and wounded, besides pris- oners and six guns. the french and spaniards lost killed and wounded. it was well for rupert that hugh kept so close to him, for nearly the last shot fired by the enemy struck him and he fell beneath the water, when his career would have been ended had not hugh seized him and lifted him ashore. so much had the gallantry of the little cornet attracted the attention and admiration of the dutch, that plenty of volunteers were glad to assist hugh to carry him to fort lille. there during the night a surgeon examined his wound, and pronounced that the ball had broken two ribs, and had then glanced out behind, and that if all went well, in a month he would be about again. the numbers of wounded were far beyond the re- sources of fort lille to accommodate, and all were upon the following day put into boats, and distributed through the various dutch riverine towns, in order that they might be well tended and cared for. this was a far better plan than their accumulation in large military hospitals, where, even with the greatest care, the air is the cornet of horse. always impure, and the deaths far more numerous than when the men are scattered, and can have good nursing and fresh air. rupert, with several other officers, was sent to doit, at that time one of the great commercial cities of hol- land. rupert, although tightly bandaged, and forbid- den to make any movement, was able to take an interest in all that was going on. "there is quite a crowd on the quay, hugh." "yes, sir; i expect most of these dutch officers have friends and acquaintances here; besides, as yet the peo- ple here cannot tell who have fallen, and must be anxious indeed for news." the crowd increased greatly by the time the boat touched the quay; and as the officers stepped or were carried ashore, each was surrounded by a group of anx- ious inquirers. hugh, standing by his master's stretcher, felt quite alone in the crowd—as, seeing his british uniform, and the shake of his head at the first question asked, none tried to question him—and looked round vaguely at the crowd, until some soldiers should come to lift the stretcher. suddenly he gave a cry of surprise, and to rupert's astonishment left his side, and sprang through the crowd. with some difficulty he made his way to a young lady, who was standing with an elderly gentle- man on some steps a short distance back from the crowd. she looked surprised at the approach of this british soldier, whose eyes were eagerly fixed on her; but not till hugh stepped in front of her and spoke did she re- member him. "mistress von duyk," he said, "my master is here wounded; and as he has not a friend in the place, and i saw you, i made bold to speak to you." the battle of the dykes. "oh! i am sorry," the girl said, holding out her hand to hugh. "papa, this is one of the gentlemen who res- cued me, as i told you, when sir richard fulk'e tried to carry me off." the gentleman, who had looked on in profound as- tonishment, seized hugh's hand,— "i am indeed glad to have an opportunity of thank- ing you. hasten home, maria, and prepare a room; i will go and hme this good friend brought to our house." the cqbnet of house. chapter xl a death tea p. never did a patient receive more unremitting care than that which was lavished upon rupert holliday in the stately old house at dort. the old housekeeper, in the stiffest of dresses and starched caps, and with the rosiest although most wrinkled of faces, waited upon him; while maria von duyk herself was in and out of his room, brought him flowers, read to him, and told him the news, and her father frequently came in to see that he lacked nothing. as for hugh, he grumbled, and said that there was nothing for him to do for his master; but he nevertheless got through the days pleas- antly enough, having struck up a flirtation with maria's plump and pretty waiting-maid, who essayed to improve his dutch, of which he had by this time picked up a slight smattering. then, too, he made himself useful, and became a great favorite in the servant's hall, went out marketing, told them stories of the war in broken dutch, and made himself generally at home. greatly astonished was he at the stories that he heard as to the land around him; how not unfrequently great subsi- dences, extending over very many square miles, took place; and where towns and villages stood when the sun went down, there spread in the morning a sea very many fathoms deep. hugh could hardly believe these tales, which he repeated to rupert, who in turn ques- tioned maria von duyk, who answered him that the a death trap. stories were strictly true, and that many such great and sudden catastrophes had happened. "i can't understand it," rupert said. "of course one could imagine a sea or river breaking through a dyke and covering low lands, but that the whole country should sink, and there be deep water over the spot, appears unaccountable." "the learned believe," maria said, "that deep down below the surface of the land lies a sort of soil like a quicksand, and that when the river deepens its bed so that its waters do enter this soil it melts away, leaving a great void, into which the land above does sink and is altogether swallowed up." "it is a marvellously uncomfortable feeling," rupert said, " to think that one may any night be awoke with a sudden crash, only to be swallowed up." "such things do not happen often," maria said; "and the districts that suffer are after all but small in com- parison to holland. so i read that in italy the people do build their towns on the slopes of vesuvius, although history says that now and again the mountain bubbles out in irruption, and the lava destroys many villages, and even towns. in other countries there are earth- quakes, but the people forget all about them until the shock comes, and the houses begin to topple over their heads." "you are right, no doubt," rupert said. "but to a stranger the feeling, at first, of living over a great quick- sand, is not altogether pleasant. to-morrow the doc- tor says i may leave my room. my own idea is that i need never have been kept there at all." "if there had been any great occasion for you to have moved about, no doubt you might have done so," maria said; "but you might have thrown back your cure, and the cornet of horse. -* instead of ycur bones knitting well and soundly, as the leech says they are in a fair way to do, you might have made but a poor recovery. dear me, what impatient creatures boys are!" "no, indeed i am not impatient," rupert said. "you have all made me so comfortable and happy, that i should indeed be ungrateful were i to be impa- tient. i only want to be about again that i may spare you some of the trouble which you bestow upon me." "yes, that is all very well and very pretty," maria said, laughing; "but i know that you are atheart long- ing to be off to join your regiment, and take part in all their marching and fighting. do yon know, an officer who came here with you after that terrible fight near antwerp, told nie that you covered yourself with glory there?" "i covered myself with mud," rupert laughed. "next day, when i had dried a little, i felt as if i had been dipped in dough and then baked. i am sure i looked like a pie in human shape when you first saw me, did i not?" . "it would have been difficult to tell the color of your uniform, certainly," maria smiled. "fortunately, neither cloth nor tailors are scarce in our good town of dort, and you will find a fresh suit in readiness for you to attire yourself in to-morrow." "oh, that is good of you," rupert said, delighted; for he had been thinking ruefully of the spectacle he should present the next day. as to hugh, he had been fitted out in bourgeois clothes since he came, and had said no word as to uniform. in another fortnight rupert was thoroughly restored to health, his wound had healed, his bones had perfectly a be ate trap. set, and he was as fit for work as ever. even his host could not but allow that there was no cause for his further detention. during this time rupert had talked much with the burgomaster, who spoke french flu- ently, and had told him frequently and earnestly of the grievous harm that was done to the prospects of the war by the mischievous interference with the general's plans by the dutch deputies, who, knowing nothing whatever of war, yet took upon themselves continually to thwart the plans of the greatest general of the age. van duyk listened with great attention, and promised that when he went shortly to haarlem he would use all his influ- ence to abbreviate the powers which the deputies so unwisely used. two or three days before the date fixed for rupert's departure, he was walking in the town with mynheer von duyk and his daughter, when he observed a person gazing intently at him from the entrance to a small bye- lane. he started, and exclaimed,— "there is that rascal, sir richard fulke!" "where ?" exclaimed both his companions. "he has gone now," rupert said. "but he stood there in shadow, at the entrance to that lane." so saying, he hurried forward, but no sign of his enemy was visible. "are you sure it was he?" mynheer von duyk asked. "what can he be doing in holland?" rupert then in a few words recounted their meeting in liege, the subsequent attempt to murder him at the mill, and the disappearance of sir richard fulke, and his exchange into some other regiment. von duyk was much disturbed. "this touches me nearly," he said. "it is from your interference on behalf of my daughter that you have in- ic the cornet of horse. curred this fellow's enmity, and it is clear that he will shrink from nothing to gratify it. moreover, i cannot consider my daughter to be in safety, so long as so reck- less a man is in the town. i will go at once to the magistrates, and urge that my daughter goes in danger of him, and so obtain an order to search for and arrest him. in a few hours we will have him by the heels, and then, after a while in prison, we will send him packing across the frontier, with a warning that if he comes back he will not escape so lightly." the search, however, was not successful; and myn- heer von duyk was beginning to think that rupert must have been mistaken, when the officer of the mag- istracy discovered that a man answering to the de- scription given had been staying for three days at a small tavern by the water, but that he had hastily taken a boat and sailed, within a half-hour of being seen by rupert. "it is a low resort where he was staying," von duyk said, " a tavern to which all the bad characters of the town—for even dort has some bad characters— do resort. if he came here to do you harm, or with any fresh design upon my daughter, he would find instruments there. i had intended to have left maria behind, when i travelled to the hague next week; but i will now take her with me, with two or three stout fellows as an escort. as for you, friend rupert, you have but two more evenings here in dort, but i pray you move not out after dusk, for these long wars have made many men homeless and desperate, and it is not good for one who has an enemy to trust himself abroad at night, alone." the next morning hugh went down to the quay with one of the clerks of von duyk, and struck a bargain a death trap. with some boatmen to carry rupert and himself to ber- gen-op-zoom. it was a craft of some four or five tons burden, with a good-sized cabin. the next day hugh went down early to the boat with the bags containing rupert's luggage and his own, and a servant of von duyk ac- companied him, bearing some provisions and a few choice bottles of wine for their use on the way. "do you know, master rupert," he said, on his re- turn, "i don't much like the look of that boatman chap. when we got down to the quay this morning, he was talking with two men whose faces i did not see, for they walked suddenly and hastily away, but who seemed to me to flavor much of the two men we disturbed that evening when they were carrying off miss von duyk. i could not swear to them, for i did not get a fair sight of them before, but they were about the same size and height, and it was clear that they did not wish to be recognized." rupert made no reply for a while, but thought the matter over. "well, hugh, i wish it had not been so, for i hate quarrels and brawls, but i do not think that we need be uneasy, especially now that we are warned. the boat carries but three men, and as we shall have our pistols and swords, i imagine that we are a match for these dutch boatmen. see that the pistols are loaded, and say naught to our kind friends here as to your suspi- cions; i would not make them uncomfortable." before taking leave of their friends, rupert was drawn aside by mynheer von duyk, who begged to know if he had any necessity for money, and assured him that then or at any other time he should be glad to honor any drafts that rupert might draw upon him. the cornet of horse. "i am not a man of many -words," he said, "but in saving my daughter from that ruffian you have laid me under an obligation which i should be glad to discharge with half my fortune. i am, as you know, a rich man— i may say a very rich man. had you been a few years older, i would gladly have given my daughter to you, did your inclination and hers jump that way; as it is, i can only regard you as a younger brother of hers, and view you as a sort of son by adoption. young men in cavalry regiments require horses and have many ex- penses, and you will really pain me much if you refuse to allow me to act as your banker. i have, believing that you would not take it wrongly, paid in to your account with the paymaster of your regiment the sum of two hundred pounds, and have told him that the same sum would be paid to your account annually so long as the regiment might be in flanders, and that he may further cash any order drawn by you upon my house. there now, my daughter is waiting, and the hour for sailing is at hand. do not let us say any more about it." so saying he hurried rupert out into the hall where maria von duyk was waiting, before he could have raised any objection had he wished to do so. but in truth rupert felt that he could not refuse the kind offer without giving pain, and he knew moreover that this al- lowance, which to the rich merchant was a mere trifle, would add greatly to his comfort, and enable him to en- ter more freely than he had yet done in the plans and pursuits of his brother officers, who were for the most part young men of fortune. with a word or two of sin- cere thanks therefor, he accompanied the worthy dutch- man, and twelve minutes later the party were on their way down to the quay. "a surly looking knave is your captain," mynheer a death trap. von duyk said, as they stood by the boat while the men prepared for a start. "i see he belongs not to this town,' but to bergen. however, the voyage is not a long one, and as you know but little of our language, it will matter but slightly whether his temper be good or bad. there, i see he is ready. good-bye, master holliday; good- bye, my good hugh. all fortune attend you, and god keep you both from harm." maria added her affectionate adieux to those of her father, and in a few minutes the boat was moving down the river under full sail. "hugh, you may as well overhaul the cabin at once," rupert said; "we have paid for its sole use during the voyage. cast your eye carefully round, and see if there is anything that strikes you as being suspicious. i see no arms on deck; see that none are hidden below." hugh returned on deck in a few minutes. "it seems all right, master rupert. there are some provisions in a locker, and in another are a cutlass, a couple of old pistols, and a keg half full of powder; i should say by its weight there are ten pounds in it. the arms are rusted, and have been there some time, i should say. there is also a bag of heavy shot, and „ there is a long duck gun fastened to the beam; but all these things are natural enough in a boat like this. no doubt they fire a charge or two of shot into a passing flight of wild-fowl when they get a chance." "that's all right, then, hugh, especially as they evi- dently could not go down into the cabin without our seeing them; and as with our pistols and swords we could make short work of them even if they did mean mischief, we need not trouble ourselves any further in the matter. it's going to be a wet night, i am afraid; not that it makes much difference, but one would rathei the cornet of horse have stayed on deck as long as one could keep awake, for the smells of the cabin of a dutch fishing-boat are not of the sweetest." rupert was not mistaken. as the darkness came on a thick heavy mist began to fall steadily; and he and hugh descended through the half door from the cock- pit into the cabin. "now let us have supper, hugh; there are plenty of good things; and i have a famous appetite." the thoughtfulness of mynheer von duyk's house- keeper had placed two candles in the basket together with two drinking glasses; and the former were soon lighted, and by the aid of a drop or two of their own grease, fixed upright on the rough table. then a splen- did pie was produced; the neck was knocked off a bot- tle; the lads drew off their clasp-knives, and set to work. "here is a bottle of schnaps," hugh said, examining the basket when they had finished a hearty meal. "you may as well give that to the boatman, hugh. i expect the good frau had him in her thoughts when she put it in, for she would hardly give us credit for such bad taste as to drink that stuff when we could get good wine." hugh handed out the bottle to the boatman, who took it with a surly grunt of satisfaction. it was rain- ing steadily, and the wind had almost dropped. an hour later the lads agreed that they were ready for sleep. hitherto the door had been slightly open to admit air. "shall i shut the door, master rupert?" "well, perhaps you had better, hugh. we have got into the way of sleeping heavily at dort, without any night guard or disturbance. i doubt not that these dutchmen mean us no harm; still it is well to be on the safe side." a death trap. "there is no fastening to it, master rupert." "well, take your sword out of its scabbard, hugh, and put the scabbard against the door, so that it will fall with a crash if the door is opened. then, if we have a pistol close at hand, we can sleep in security." hugh obeyed his instructions; and in a few minutes, wrapped in their military cloaks, they were fast asleep on the lockers, which served as benches and beds. how long they slept they knew not; but both started up into a sitting attitude, with their hands on their pis- tols. "who's there?" both shouted; blit there was no an- swer. the darkness was intense; and it was clear that whoever had tried to open the door had shut it again. "have you your tinder-box handy, hugh? if so, let us have a light. those fellows are moving about over- head, hugh; but we had better stay where we are. the scabbard may have shaken down, for the wind has got up, and the boat is feeling it; and if they mean foul play they could knock us on the head as we go out from under the low door. hallo! what's that?" the "that" was the falling of some heavy substance against the door. "those are the coils of cable, hugh; they have blocked us in. go on striking that light; we can't push the door open now." some more weight was thrown against the door, and then all was still. presently hugh succeeded in striking a light—no easy task in the days of flint and steel—and the candles being lighted, they sat down to consider the position. "we are prisoners, mastert rupert; no doubt about that." "none at all, hugh. the question is what do they the cornet of liorsk mean to do with vis. we've got food enough here to last us with ease for a week; and with our pistols and bwords, to say nothing of the duck-gun, we could hold this cahin against any number." presently they heard the men on deck hailing another boat. "i.suppose that is that rascal fulke," rupert said. "i hope that i am not quarrelsome by disposition, hugh; but the next time i meet that fellow i will, if time and place be suitable, come to a reckoning with him." there was a movement above, and then a bump came against the side. the other boat had come up. "now we shall see what they are up to." nothing, however, came of it; there was some low talking above, and some coarse laughter. "master rupert," hugh exclaimed, suddenly, " i am standing in water!" rupert had half lain down again, but he leapt up now. "they have scuttled the boat. hugh, and mean "to drown us like rats; the cowards." "what's to be done now, master rupert?" hugh asked. "let us try the door, hugh." a single effort showed that they were powerless here. the door was strong, it was fastened outside, and it was heavily weighted with coils of rope and other sub- stances. 'the water rises fast, it's over our ankles," hugh said, quietly. the bumping of the boat was again heard outside, then a trampling of feet, and all was still again. "they have taken to the boats." a death trap. not all, however, for through the door there came a shout,— "good-bye, master holliday," and a loud, jeering laugh. "au revoir,' sir richard fulke," rupert shouted back; "and when we meet next, beware!" "ha, ha! it won't be in this world;" and they heard their enemy get into the boat. "now, hugh, we must set to work; we have got the boat to ourselves." "but what are we to do, master rupert?" rupert was silent for a minute. "there is but one way, hugh; we must blow up the boat." "blow up the boat!" hugh repeated, in astonish- ment. "yes, hugh; at least, blow the deck up. give me that keg of powder." hugh opened the locker; it was, fortunately, still above water. "now, hugh, put it in that high locker there, just under the deck. knock its head out. now tie a pistol to those hooks just above, so that its muzzle points at the powder; now for a piece of cord." "but it will blow us into smash, master rupert." "i hope not, hugh; but we must take our chance. i would rather that than be drowned gradually. but look, the water is up nearly to our waists now; and the boat must be pretty nearly sinking. i will take hold of the cord, then both of us throw ourselves down to the floor, and i will pull the string. three feet of water over us ought to save us; but mind, the instant you feel the shock, jump up and rush for the opening; for it is pretty safe to sink her. now!" the cornet of horse. the lads dived under water, and the instant after- wards there was a tremendous explosion; the deck of the boat was blown into the air in a hundred fragments, and at the same moment the boat sunk under the water. a few seconds later rupert and hugh were swim- ming side by side. for a while neither spoke—they were shaken and half stunned by the shock. "it is a thick fog, hugh; all the better, for if those scoundrels come back, as is likely enough, there is no chance of their finding us, for i can hardly see you, though i am touching you. now we must paddle about) and try to get hold of a spar or a bit of plank." chapter xii. the sad side of war. before firing the keg of powder, rupert and hugh had rid themselves of their jack-boots, coats, and vests, and they therefore swam easily and confidently. "listen, hugh! here is the boat coming back again," rupert exclaimed. "this thick mist is fortu- nate, for they can't see twenty yards. we can always dive when they come near. mind you go down with- out making a splash. we are all right at present; the boat is going to our right, let us swim quietly in the other direction." presently they heard a voice in english say,— "it is no use our troubling ourselves. it's a mere waste of time; the young rascals are dead; drowned or blown up, what matters it; they will never trouble you again." "you don't know the villains as well as i do. they have as many lives as cats. i could have sworn that they were burned at that mill, for i watched till it fell, and not a soul came out; and to this moment i don't know how they escaped, unless they flew away in the smoke; then i thought at any rate the chief rogue was done for, when muller wrote to tell me he was going to finish him for me the next day; then they both got through that day's fighting by the scheldt, though i hear they were in the front of it; and now, when i leave them fastened up like puppies in a basket, in a the cornet of horse. sinking boat, comes this explosion, and all is uncertain again." "not a bit of it," the other voice said; "they simply preferred a sudden death to a slow one; the matter is simple enough." "i wish i could think so," the other said. "but i tell you, after this night's work i shall never feel my life's safe for one hour, till i hear certain news of their death. stop rowing," he said, in dutch; "there is a bit of a plank: we must be just on the place where she blew up! listen, does any one hear anything?" there was a long silence, and then he said,— "row about for half an hour; it's as dark as a wolfs mouth, but we may come upon them." in the mean time, the two lads were swimming stead- ily and quietly away. presently hugh said,— "i must get rid of my sword, master rupert, it seems pulling me down. i don't like to lose it, for it was my grandfather's." "you had better lose the grandfather's sword, hugl^ than the grandson's life. loose your belt, hugh, and let it go. mine is no weight in comparison. i'll stick to it as long as i can, for it may be useful; but if needs be, it must follow yours." "which way do you think the shore lies?" hugh asked, after having, with a sigh of regret, loosed his sword-belt and let it go. "i have no idea, hugh. it's no use swimming now, for with nothing to fix our eyes on, we may be going round in a circle. all we need do is to keep ourselves afloat till the mist clears up, or daylight comes." for an hour they drifted quietly. hugh exclaimed,— "i hear a voice." the sad side of war. "so do i, hugh; it may be on shore, it may be in a boat. let us make for it in either case." in five minutes they saw close ahead of them a large boat, which, with its sail hanging idly by the mast, was drifting down stream. two boatmen were sitting by the tiller, smoking their pipes. "heave us a rope," hugh said, in dutch. "we have had an upset, and shall be glad to be out of this." the boatmen gave a cry of surprise, but at once leaped to their feet, and would have thrown a rope, but by this time the lads were alongside, and leaning over they helped them into the boat. then they looked with as- tonishment at their suddenly arrived guests. "we are english soldiers," hugh said, "on our way to- bergen-op-zoom, when by some carelessness a keg of powder blew up, our boat went to the bottom, and we have been swimming for it for the last couple of hours." "are you the english officer and soldier who left dort this afternoon?" one of the men said. "we saw you come down to the quay with mynheer von duyk and his daughter; our boat lay next to the boat you went by." "that is so," hugh said. "are you going to ber- gen? we have enough dollars left to pay our passage." '- you would be welcome in any case," the boatman said. "hans petersen is not a man to bargain with shipwrecked men. but go below, there is a fire there; i will lend you some dry clothes, and a glass of hot schnaps will warm your blood again." arrived at bergen, one of the boatmen, at rupert's request, went up into the town, and returned with a merchant of ready-made clothes, followed by his servant bearing a selection of garments such as rupert had said tee cornet of iiorsk that they would require, and in another half hour, after a handsome present to the boatmen, rupert and hugh landed, dressed in the costume of a dutch gentleman and burgher respectively. their first visit was to an armorer's shop, where hugh was provided with a sword, in point of temper and make fully equal to that with which he had so reluctantly parted; then, hiring horses, they journeyed by easy stages to huy, a town on the meuse, six leagues above liege, which marlbor- ough, again forbidden by the dutch deputies to give battle when he had every prospect of a great victory , was besieging.; the capture of the fortress, and subsequently of lim- berg, was all the campaign of effected; whereas, had the english commander been allowed to have his way, the great results which were not obtained until after three years'further fighting might at once" have been gained. rupert was greeted with enthusiasm by his comrades on his return. after the battle before antwerp the duke had caused inquiries to be made as to the fate of his young friend, and had written to dort, and had re- ceived an answer from rupert announcing his conva- lescence and speedy return to duty. upon hearing his tale of the fresh attempt upon hi life by sir richard fulke, the commander-in-chief wrote to the states-general, as the government of holland was called, and requested that orders should be issued for the arrest of sir richard fulke, wherever he might be found, upon a charge of attempt at murder. nothing was, however, heard of him, and it was supposed that he had either returned, to england or passed into germany. after the capture of limberg the army went into the sad side of wab. winter quarters, and the th dragoons were allotted their old quarters near liege. during the campaign of , although slight ad- vantages had been gained by the allies in flanders, it was otherwise in germany and italy, where the greatest efforts of the french had been made. beyond the rhine the french and bavarians had carried all before them, and villars, who commanded their armies here, had almost effected a junction across the alps with vendome, who commanded the french troops in italy. had success crowned their efforts, the armies could have been passed at will to either one side or the other of the alps, and could have thrown themselves with overwhelming force either upon austria, or upon princa eugene, who commanded the imperial'troops in italy. the mountaineers of the tyrol, however, flew to arms, and held their passes with such extreme bravery that neither the bavarians on the north, nor the french on the south, could make any progress, and the design had for a time been abandoned. austria was paralyzed by the formidable insurrection of hungary, and it appeared certain that vienna would in the ensu- ing campaign fall into the hands of the french. during the winter marlborough labored earnestly to prepare for the important campaign which must take place in the spring, and after the usual amount of diffi- culties, arising from private and political enemies, at home and in holland, he succeeded in carrying out his plan, and in arranging that the dutch should hold their frontier line alone, and that he should carry the rest of his army into germany. the position there seemed well-nigh desperate. marshal tallard, with , men, was posted on the upper rhine, in readiness to advance through the black forest and join the advanced force the cornet of horse. and the bavarians, who also numbered , men, and the united army was to advance upon vienna, which, so weakened was the empire, was defended only by an army of , men, placed on the frontier. on the th of may, marlborough set out with his army, crossed the meuse at maestricht, and arrived at bonn on the th of that month. marching up the rhine, he crossed it at coblentz on the th, and pushed on to mundlesheim, where he met prince eugene, who now commanded the allied force there. next only to marlborough himself, eugene was the greatest general of the age—skilful, dashing yet prudent, brave to a fault —for a general can be too brave—frank, sincere, and incapable of petty jealousy. between him and marlborough, from the date pf their first meeting, the most cordial friendship, and the most loyal co-operation, prevailed. each was always anx- ious to give the other credit, and thought more of each other's glory than their own. so rapidly had marlbor- ough marched, that only his cavalry had come up; and prince eugene, reviewing them, remarked that they were the finest body of men he had ever seen. a few days later the prince of baden came down from the austrian army of the danube to meet him. eugene and marlborough wished the prince to take command of the army of the rhine, leaving the army of the danube to their joint command. the prince, however, stood upon his rank; and it was finally arranged that eugene should command the [army of the rhine, and that marlborough and the prince of baden should com- mand the army of the danube on alternate days—an ar- rangement so objectionable that it is surprising it did not terminate in disaster. marlborough at once marched with his force, and iv*. •* every hour we delay will cost us a thousand men." orders were therefore given for an instant assault upon the hill of schellenberg. not only was the position very strong in itself, but in front of it was a wood, so thick that no attack could be made through it. it was necessary, therefore, to attack by the flanks of the posi- tion, and one of these flanks was covered by the fire of the fortress of donauworth. "this is as bad as a siege," rupert said, discontent- edly, to his friend dillon, for their squadron formed part of the advance, "we are always out of it." "you are in a great hurry to get that bright cuirass of yours dinted, rupert; but i agree with you the cavalry are always out of it. there go the infantry." in splendid order the picked men moved for- ward against the face of the enemy's position, extending from the wood to the covered way of the fortress; but when they arrived within range of grape, they were swept by so fearful a storm of shot that the line wavered. general goor and his bravest officers were struck down, and the line fell into confusion. the bavarians seeing this, leaped from their entrench- ments, and pursued their broken assailants with the bayonet: but when disordered by their rush, a battalion of english guards, which had kept its ground, poured so tremendous a fire into their flank that they fell back to their entrenchments. "this looks serious," dillon said, as the allies fell back. "the enemy are two to our one, and they have got all the advantage of position." "there is the duke," rupert exclaimed, " reforming them. there they go again, and he is leading them himself. what a terrible fire! look how the officers of the staff are dropping! oh, if the duke should himself the sao side of war. be hit! see, the infantry are slackening their advance in spite of the shouts of their officers; they are waver- ing! oh, how dreadful; here they come back again." "the duke is going to try again, rupert; see how he is waving his hand and exhorting the men to a fresh at- tack. that's right, lads, that's right; they have formed again; there they go." again the troops wavered and broke under the ter- rible rain of bullets; and this time the bavarians in great force leaped from their entrenchments, and pounced down upon the broken line. "prepare to charge!" shouted general lumley, who commanded the cavalry. "forward, trot, gallop, charge!" with a cheer the cavalry, chafed at their long inac- tion while their comrades were suffering so terribly, dashed forward, and threw themselves furiously upon the bavarians, driving them headlong back to their lines, and then falling back under a tremendous fire, which rolled over men and horses in numbers. at this moment a cheer broke from the dispirited in- fantry, as the heads of the three regiments of imperial grenadiers, led by the prince of baden, arrived on the ground. these, without halting, moved forward to- wards the extreme left of the enemy's position—which had been left to some extent unguarded, many of the troops having been called off to repulse marlborough's attack—pushed back two battalions of french infantry, and entered the works. general d'arco, the french commanding officer, withdrew some of his men from the centre to hold the prince of baden in check; and marlborough profited by the confusion so caused to endeavor, for the fourth time, to carry the hill. his force was, however, now the cornet of jiouse. fearfully weakened; and general lumley, after con- ferring with him for a moment, rode back to the cavalry. "the th dragoons will dismount and join the infan- try," he said. in a moment every soldier was on his feet; and five minutes later the regiment, marching side by side with the infantry, advanced up the hill. this time the assault was successful. the enemy, confused by the fact that the allies had already forced their line on the left, wavered; their fire was wild and ineffectual; and with a tremendous cheer the allies scaled the height and burst into the works. close be- hind them general lumley led his cavalry, who made their way through the gaps in the entrenchments, and fell upon the fugitives with dreadful slaughter. tha french and bavarians fled to a bridge across the danube below donauworth, which, choked by their weight, gave way, and great numbers were drowned. the rest re treated through donauworth, their rear being gallantly covered by general d'arco, with a small body of troops who held together. sixteen guns and thirteen stand- ards fell into the victors' hands. the loss of the allies, considering the force that they brought into the field—for the main army had not ar- rived when the victory was decided—was extraor- dinary, for out of a total of , men, including cav- alry, they lost killed, and wounded, or more- than half their force; and the greater part of these were english, for upon them fell the whole brunt of the fight- ing. the enemy suffered comparatively little in the battle, but great numbers were killed in the pursuit or drowned in the danube; still greater numbers of bavarians scat- the sad side of war. tered to their homes; and out of , men, only joined the army on the other side of the danube. the elector of bavaria fell hack with his army to augsburg, under the cannon of which fortress he en- camped, in a position too strong to be attacked. his strong places all fell into the hands of the allies; and every effort was made to induce him to break off from his alliance with france. the elector, however, relying upon the aid of marshal tallard, who was advancing with , men to his assistance, refused to listen to any terms; and the allied powers ordered marlborough to harry his country, and so force him into submission by the misery of his subjects. such an order was most repugnant to the duke, who was one of the most hu- mane of men, and who by the uniform kind treatment of his prisoners, not only did much to mitigate the hor- rors of the war in which he was engaged, but set an example which has since his time been followed by all civilized armies. he had, however, no resource but to obey orders; and the cavalry of the allies were sent to carry five through bavaria. no less than towns and villages were destroyed in this barbarous war- fare. this duty was abhorrent to rupert, who waited on the duke, and begged him as the greatest of favors to attach him for a short time to the staff, in order that he might not be obliged to accompany his regiment. the duke—who had already offered rupert an appointment on his staff, an offer he had gratefully declined, as he preferred to do duty with his regiment—at once acceded to his request, and he was thus spared the horror of seeing the agony of the unhappy peasantry and towns- people, at the destruction of their houses. rupert, in his rides with messages across the country saw enough the cornet of horse to make him heartsick at the distress into which hie people of the country were plunged. one day when riding, followed by hugh, he came upon a sad group. by a hut which had recently been burned, after some resistance, as was shown by the dead body of a hessian trooper, a peasant knelt by the body of his wife, a dead child of some five years old lay by, and a baby kicked and cried by the side of its mother. the peasant looked up with an air of bewildered grief, and on seeing the british uniform sprang to his feet, and with a fierce but despairing gesture placed himself as if to defend his children to the last. rupert drew his rein. "i would not hurt you, my poor fellow," he said, in dutch. the man did not understand, but the gentleness of the tone showed him that no harm was meant, and he again flung himself down by his wife. "i do not think that she is dead, hugh," rupert said. "hold my horse, i will soon see." so saying, he dismounted and knelt by the woman. there was a wound on her forehead, and her face was covered with blood. rupert ran to a stream that trickled by the side of the road, dipped his handkerchief in water, and returning, wiped the blood from the face andwound. "it is a pistol bullet, i imagine," he said to him; "but i do not think the ball has entered her head; it has, i think, glanced off. fasten the horses up to that rail, hugh; get some water in your hands, and dash it in her face." the peasant paid no attention to what was being done, but sat absorbed in grief, mechanically patting the child beside him. the sad side of war. » "that's it, hugh; now another. i do believe she is only stunned. give me that flask of spirits out of my holster." hugh again dashed water in the woman's face, and rupert distinctly saw a quiver in her eyelid as he did so. then forcing open her teeth, he poured a little spirit into her mouth, and was in a minute rewarded by a gasping sigh. "she lives," he exclaimed, shaking the peasant by the shoulder. the man looked round stupidly, but rupert pointed to his wife, and again poured some spirits between her lips. this time she made a slight move- ment and opened her eyes. the peasant gave a wild scream of delight, and poured forth a volume of words, of which rupert understood nothing; but the peasant kneeling beside him, bent his forehead till it touched the ground, and then kissed the lappet of his coat—an action expressive of the intensity of his gratitude. rupert continued his efforts until the woman was able to sit up, and look round with frightened and be- wildered air. when her eyes caught her husband, she burst into tears; and as hugh raised the baby and placed it in her arms she clasped it tightly, and rocked to and fro, sobbing convulsively. "look, hugh, see if you can find something like a spade in that little garden; let us bury this poor little child." hugh soon found a spade, and dug a little grave in the corner of a garden, under the shade of an old tree. then the lads returned to the spot where the husband and wife, quiet now, were sitting hand in hand crying together. rupert made a sign to him to lift the body of his little girl, and then led the way to the little grave. the father laid her in, and then fell on his knees by it the corbet of h r e. with bis .wife, and prayed in a loud voice, broken with sobs. rupert and hugh stood by uncovered, until the peasant had finished. then the little grave was filled in; and rupert, pointing to the ruined house, placed five gold pieces in the woman's hand. then they mounted their horses again and rode on, the man and his wife both kneeling by the roadside praying for blessings on their heads. • a week later, rupert again had occasion to pass through the village, and dismounted and walked to the little grave. a rough cross had been placed at one end, and some flowers lay strewn upon it. rupert picked a few of the roses which were blooming neglected near, and laid them on the grave, and then rode on, sighing at the horrors which war inflicts on an innocent popula- tion. this time their route lay through a thickly wooded mountain, to a town beyond, where one of the cavalry regiments had its head-quarters. rupert was the bearer of orders for it to return to head-quarters, as a general movement of the army was to take place. the road was a mere track, hilly and wild, and the lads rode with pis- tols cocked, in case of any sudden attack by deserters or stragglers from the bavarian army. the journey was, however, performed without adventure; and hav- ing delivered their orders, they at once started on their homeward way. blenheim. jgg chapter xiii. blenheim. although the sun had not set when rupert and hugh rode into the forest on their return journey, they had not been long among the trees when the light began to fade. the foliage met overhead, and al- though above the sky seemed still bright, the change was distinctly felt in the gloom of the forest. the ride had been a long one, and rupert feared to press his horse, consequently, they wound but slowly up the hill, and by the time they reached its crest, it was night. "this is unpleasant, hugh, for i can scarcely see my horse's head; and as there are several tracks crossing this, we are likely enough to go wrong." "i think, master rupert, we had better dismount and lead our horses; we shall break our necks if they tread on a stone on this rocky path." for half-an-hour they walked on in silence, then hugh said,—"i think ave are going wrong, master rupert, for we are not descending now; and we ought to have been at the foot of the hill, if we had been right, by this time." "i am afraid you are right, hugh. in that case we had better make up our minds to halt where we are till morning; it is no use wandering on, and knocking up the horses. it seems rather lighter just ahead, as if the trees opened a little; we may find a better place to halt." bciousness that he was lying on the ground, with a number of wild-looking figures around him, some of whom bore torches, while hugh, held by two of them, was close by. it was hugh's voice, indeed, that first recalled him to a consciousness of what had happened. "master rupert, master rupert!" he exclaimed, "'tell me that you are not killed!" "no, i am not killed, hugh," rupert said, raising himself on his elbow. "but it would have served me right if i had been, for going to sleep on my watch." one of their captors now stooped down, seized rupert by the shoulder, and gave him a rough kick to intimate that he was to get up. "i am sorry, hugh, that i have sacrificed your life as well as my own by my folly, for i have no doubt these fellows mean to kill us; they are charcoal-burners; as rough a lot as there exists in europe, and now nat- urally half mad at the flames they see all over the land. in the meantime, a dialogue was going on between their captors as to the best and most suitable method of putting them to death. "they are fond of burning houses," one said at last, "let them try how they like it; let us make a blaze here, and toss them in, and let them roast in their own shells." the proposal was received with a shout of approval. some of them scattered in the forest, and soon returned laden with dry branches and small logs, which were piled up in a great heap against the hut, which was itself constructed of rough-hewn logs. the heap of dry wood was then lighted, and ere long a great sheet of flame arose, the logs and the shingles of the roof caught, and ere many minutes the hut was a pile of fire. "they're going to throw us in there," hugh.'' "god's will be done, master rupert; but i.should like to have died sword in hand." "and i too, hugh. i wish i could snatch at a weapon and die fighting; but this man hold my hands like a vice, and those heavy axes of theirs would make short work of us. well, the fire will not take an in- stant, hugh; it will be a momentary death to be thrown into that mass of flame. say a prayer to god, hugh, for those at home, for it is all up with us now." the blaze of fire had attracted other bodies of char- coal burners and others, and their captors only delayed to obtain as large a number of spectators as possible for their act of vengeance. the fire was now at its height, and even the savage charcoal burners felt a grudging admiration for- the calm demeanor, and fearless, if pale, faces, with which these lads faced death. there was, however, no change of purpose. the horrors that had been perpetrated on the plains had extinguished the last spark of pity from their breasts, and the deed that they were about to do seemed to them one of just and praiseworthy retribution. the man who acted as leader gave the word, and the powerful woodsmen lifted the two lads as if they had been bundles of straw, and advanced towards the hut. "good-bye, master rupert!" "good-bye, hugh. may god receive "—when a terrible scream rent the air, and a wild shout. then from the back of the crowd, two figures who had just arrived at the spot burst their way. with piercing cries a woman with a baby in her arms flung herself down on the ground on her knees, between rupert and the flames, and clasping the legs of the men who held him, arrested their movement; while blenheim. the man, with a huge club swinging round his head, planted himself also in the way, shouting at the top of his voice. a mighty uproar arose; and then the leader obtained silence enough to hear the cause of the interruption. then the man began, and told the tale of the resto- ration to life and consciousness of his wife, and of the burial of his child, with an eloquence and pathos that moved many of his rough audience to tears; and when he had finished, his wife, who had been sobbing on her knees while he spoke, rose to her feet, and told how that morning, as she went down from the wood towards her little one's grave, she saw rupert ride up and dismount, and how when she reached the place she found fresh- gathered flowers laid on her darling's grave. a dead hush fell upon the whole assembly. without a word the leader of the charcoal burners strode away into the forest, and returned in another minute with the two horses. rupert and hugh wrung the hands of the peasants to whom they owed their lives, and leaped into the saddle. the leader took a torch and strode on ahead along the path, to show them their way; and the crowd, who had hitherto stood still and silent, broke into a shout of farewell and blessing. it was some time before either rupert or hugh spoke, the emotion had been too great for them. that terrible half hour facing death—the sudden revulsion at their wonderful deliverance—completely prostrated them, and they felt exhausted and weak, as if after some great exertion. on the previous occasions in which they had seen great danger together—at the mill of dettingheim, the fight on the dykes, the scuttling of the boat—they had been actively engaged. their en- the cornet of horse. ergies were fully employed, and they had had no time to think. now they had faced death in all his terrors, but without the power of action; and both felt they would far rathar go through the three first risks again, than endure five minutes of that terrible watching the fire burn up. hugh was the first to speak when, nearly an hour after starting, they emerged from the wood into the plain at the foot of the hill. "my mother used to say, master rupert, that curses, like chickens, come home to roost, and surely we have proved it's the case with blessings. who would have thought that that little act of kindness was to save our lives?" "no, indeed, hugh. let it be a lesson to us to do good always when we can." ^ at this moment they reached the main road from which that over the hill branched off. their guide paused, pointed in the direction they were to go, and with a "god-speed you," in his own language, extinguished his torch on the road, turned, and strode back by the path that they had come by. the lads patted their horses, and glad to be again on level ground, the animals went on at a sharp canter along the road. two hours later they reached camp. the duke of marlborough had already laid siege to the fortress of ingoldstadt, the siege operations being conducted by prince louis of baden with a portion of his troops, while the main army covered the siege. but early in august the elector of bavaria left augs- burg with his army, and, altogether abandoning his dominions, marched to join marshal tallard, who was now coming up. marlborough at once broke up his camp, leaving blenheim. prince louis to continue the siege of ingoldstadt, and collecting as many of his troops as he could, marched with all speed in the same direction ; as prince eugene, who, with his army, had marched in a parallel line with the french, now ran the risk of being crushed by their united force. by dint of great exertion, marlborough joined the prince with his cavalry on the th of august, and the infantry came up next day. the two great armies now faced each other, their numerical force being not unequal, the french being about , strong, and the allies , . in other respects, however, the advantage lay wholly with the enemy. they had ninety guns, while the allies had but fifty-one, while out of the , troops under mar- shal tallard , were the best troops france could produce. the allied army was a motley assembly, composed of nearly equal numbers of english, prus- sians, danes, wurtemburghers, dutch, hanoverians, and hessians, but although not more numerous than the troops of other nationalities, it was felt by all that the brunt of the battle would fall upon the british. these had, throughout the three campaigns, shown fighting qualities of so high a character, that the whole army had come to look upon them as their mainstay in battle. the heavy loss which had taken place among these, the flower of his troops, at the assault of schles- singen greatly decreased the fighting power of marl- borough's army.' the weakness caused by the miscellaneous character of the army was so much felt, that marlborough was urged to draw off, and not to tempt fortune under such unfavorable circumstances. marshal villeroi was, however, within a few days' the infantry would be separated and unable to reunite, and the strong force in blenheim would run a risk of being surrounded without a possibility of retreat, as the danube was unfordable. upon the side of the allies the troops were divided into two distinct armies. that under prince eugene, consisting of eighteen battalions of infantry and sev- enty-four squadrons of horse, was to attack the french left. the main army under the duke, consisting of forty-eight battalions and eighty-six squadrons, was to attack the centre and right. the british contingent of fourteen battalions and fourteen squadrons, formed part of marlborough's command. it was arranged that prince eugene should com- mence the attack, and that when he had crossed the rivulets in front of the french left, marlborough should advance and attempt to carry out the plan he had laid out, namely, to cut the french line between oberglau and blenheim. prince eugene's advance took the french by sur- prise. so confident were the marshals in the strength of their position and the belief of the superiority of their troops over the polyglot army of marlborough, that they had made up their minds that he was about to retreat. the morning was misty, and eugene's advance reached the french pickets before they were perceived. their difficulties now began. the rivulets were deep, the ground treacherous; fascines had to be laid down, and the rivulets filled up, before guns could get over; and even when across they could but feebly an- swer the french artillery, which from the higher ground commanded their whole line; thus the allies lost m.xr wimiii rjp' huk e, men before eugene got the army he commanded across the marshes. then at half-past twelve he sent word to marlborough that he was ready. while the cannon roar had been incessant on their right, the main army remained motionless, and divine service was performed at the head of every regiment and squadron. the moment the aide-de-camp arrived with the news that prince eugene was in readiness, the artillery of marlborough's army opened fire, and the infantry, fol- lowed closely by their cavalry, advanced to the attack. the british division, under lord cutts, as the most trustworthy, had assigned to them a direct attack upon the strong position of blenheim, and they advanced unwaveringly under a storm of fire, crossed the swamps and the nebel, and advanced towards blenheim. general rowe led the front line, consisting of five english battalions and four hessians, and he was sup- ported by lord cutts with eleven battalions and fifteen squadrons. advancing through a heavy artillery fire, general rowe's troops had arrived within thirty yards of the palisade before the french infantry opened fire. then <i tremendous volley was poured into the allies, and a great number of men and officers fell. still they moved forward, and rowe, marching in line with his men, struck the palisade with his sword before he gave the order to fire. then desperately the british strove to knock down the palisade and attack their enemy with the bayonet, but the structure was too strong, and the gallant force melted away under the withering fire kept up by the great force of french infantry which occupied the vil- lage. blenheim. half rowe's force fell, he himself was badly wounded, most of his officers down, when some squadrons of french horse fell upon their flank, threw them into confusion, and took the colors of the regiment. the hessians, who so far had been in reserve, fell upon the french, and retook the colors. fresh squadrons of french cavalry came up, and general lumley sent some squadrons of cavalry across to rowe's assistance. then, with a cheer, the dra- goons rode at the french, who were twice their strength. in an instant every one was engaged in a fierce conflict, cutting, slashing, and using their points. the french gave way under the onslaught, but fresh squadrons came up from their side, a heavy musketry fire broke out from the enclosure round blenheim, and leaving many of their number behind them, the british horse and foot fell back to the stream. marlborough, seeing that blenheim could not be taken, now resolved upon making his great effort to break the french line midway between oberglau and blenheim. on the stream at this part stood the village of unter- glau, having a stone bridge across the nebel. this was but weakly held by the french, who, upon seeing the allies advancing at full speed, fired the village to check the advance, and then fell back. general churchill's division rushed through the burning village, crossed the bridge, and began to open out on both sides. then the duke gave the order for the whole cavalry to advance. headed by the english dragoons, they came down in good order through tho concentrated fire of the enemy's batteries to the edge of the stream; but the difficulties here were immense; the stream was divided into several branches, with swampy the cornet of horse. meadows between them, and only by throwing down fascines could a footing be obtained for the horses. "i don't call this lighting, master rupert," hugh said, as they floundered and struggled through'the deep marshes, while the enemy's shell burst in and around the rants; "it's more like swimming. here come the french cavalry, and we've not even formed up." had the french charge been pressed home, the dragoons must have been crushed; but churchill's in- fantry on their right opened such a heavy fire that the french cavalry at that end of the line paused. on their left, however, near blenheim, the dragoons, suf- fering terribly from the artillery and musketry fire from that village, were driven back by the french cavalry to the very edge of the swamp. marlborough, however, anxiously watching the strug- gle, continued to send fresh bodies of horse across to their assistance, until the dutch and hanoverian squad- rons were all across, and the allied cavalry formed in two long lines. while this had been going on, a serious fight had been raging in front of oberglau; and here, as at blen- heim, the allies suffered disaster. here, the hano- verians, led by the prince of holstein, had attacked. the powerful body of french and irish infantry did not, however, wait for the assault, but, strong, charged down the slope upon the hanoverians before they had formed up after crossing the river, repulsed them with great loss, and took the prince him- self prisoner. this was a serious disaster, as by the rout of the hanoverians the connection between marlborough's army and that of prince eugene was broken. blenheim. marlborough's eye, however, was everywhere; and galloping to the spot he put himself at the head of some squadrons of british cavalry, and, closely followed by three battalions of fresh infantry, charged the irish battalions, who, in the impetuosity of their pursuit, had fallen into disorder. the cavalry charge com- pleted their confusion, and the infantry opening fire in flank on the lately victorious column, drove it back with immense slaughter. thus the battle was restored at this point. all this time the fight had raged between eugene's army and the bavarians and french opposed to them. at first the prince had been successful, and the danes and prussians under his orders captured a battery of six guns. his cavalry, however, while advancing in some disorder, were charged by the french, driven back across the nebel, and the guns were re-taken. twice the prince himself rallied his cavalry, and brought * - them back to the charge, but each time the bavarian horse, led by the elector, drove them back, defeated and broken, across the river. the prussian and danish infantry stood their ground nobly, although the enemy charged them over and over again: but, cheered by the presence of prince eugene, who took his place amongst them, they beat off all attacks. the duke of marlborough, after restoring the battle at oberglau, rode back to his centre, and prepared for the grand attack by his cavalry. marshal tallard, in preparation for the attack he saw impending, brought up six battalions of infantry, and placed them in the centre of the ridge. marlborough brought up three battalions of hessians to front them, placed the rest of his infantry to cover the left of the cavalry from the attack of the strong battalions in blenheim, and then, the cornet of horse. drawing his sword, placed himself in front of his troops, and ordered the trumpets to sound the advance. this grand and decisive charge is thus described by- allison in his " life of marlborough : "— "indescribably grand was the spectacle that ensued. in compact order, and in the finest array, the allied cavalry, mustering sabres, moved up the gentle slope in two lines—at first slowly, as on a field day, but gradually more quickly as they drew near, and the fire of the artillery became more violent. the french horse, , strong, stood their ground at first firmly. the choicest and bravest of their chivalry were there; the banderolls of almost all the nobles of france floated over the squadrons. "so hot was the fire of musketry and cannon when . the assailants drew near, that their advance was checked. . they retired sixty paces, and the battle was kept up for a few minutes only by a fire of artillery. gradu- ally, however, the fire of the artillery slackened; and - _ • marlborough, taking advantage of the pause, led his cavalry again to the charge. with irresistible vehem- ence the line dashed forward at full speed, and soon the crest of the ridge was passed. the french horsemen . discharged their carbines at a considerable distance with« little effect, and immediately wheeled about and fled. "the battle was gained. the allied horse rapidly inundated the open space between the two villages ; the six battalions in the middle were surrounded, cut to pieces, or taken. they made a noble resistance; and the men were found lying on their backs in their ranks as they had stood in the field." thus at one blow the whole french line of defence was broken up. blenheim was entirely cut off; and the rear of their left beyond oberglau threatened. the cornet of horse. attack them. so strong were the defences, however, so desperate the resistance offered by the brave body of frenchmen, who were now alone against an army, that the infantry attack was beaten baok. the guns were then brought up, and opened fire, and the french, whose case was now hopeless, surrendered. the battle of blenheim was over. in this great battle marlborough's army lost , men, eugene's , . in all , men. the french and bavarians lost in killed and wounded , , together with , officers and , privates made prisoners, and cannon. their total loss, including desertions in their retreat through the black forest, was estimated by their own historians at , men—a defeat as com- plete and disastrous as that o£ waterloo, tee riot at bort. chapter xiv. the biot at dort. the duke of marlborough lost no time in utilizing the advantages gained by the victory of blenheim. he at once raised the siege of ingoldstadt, which^ when all the country was in his power, must sooner or later sur- render, and detached a portion of the force, which had been there engaged, to besiege ulm, an important fort- ress "on the danube. then with the bulk of his army he marched to the rhine, crossed at philipsburg on the th of september, and advanced towards landau. marshal villeroi had constructed an entrenched camp to cover the town; but on the approach of the victor of blenheim he fell back, leaving landau to its fate. marlborough followed him, and made every effort to bring the french to a battle; but villeroi fell back behind the lauter, and then behind the motter, abandoning without a blow one of the strongest coun- tries in europe. on the th of september ulm surrendered, with pieces of cannon; and upon the following da}% landau was invested. the prince of baden with , men conducted the siege, and marlborough and eugene with , covered the operations. marlborough, how- ever, determined on ending the campaign, if possible, by driving the french beyond the moselle, and leaving prince eugene with , men, marched with , men on the th of october. the cornet of house. after a tremendous march through a wild and deso- late country, he arrived with his exhausted troops at treves on the th, one day before the arrival of , french, who were advancing to occupy it. the gar- rison of men in the citadel evacuated it at hia approach. he immediately collected and set to work peasants to restore the fortifications. leaving a garrison, he marched against the strong place of traes- bach. here he was joined by twelve dutch battalions from the meuse; and having invested the place, he left the prince of hesse to conduct the siege—which speed- ily ended in the surrender of the place—and marched back with all haste to rejoin prince eugene. leaving eugene to cover the siege of landau, marl- borough now hurried away to hanover and berlin, to stimulate the governments of hanover and prussia to renewed exertion; and by his address and conciliatory manner succeeded in making arrangements for , fresh prussian troops to be sent to the imperial armies in italy, as the duke of savoy had been reduced to the last extremity there by the french. the electress of bavaria, who had been regent of that country since her husband left to join the french, had now no resource but submission, and she accord- ingly agreed to disband her remaining troops, and to make peace. the hungarian insurrection was suppressed by aus- tria, now able to devote all its attention to that point; and landau surrendered towards the end of november, when its garrison was reduced from to , who became prisoners of war. all these decisive results arose from the victory of blenheim. had the british government during the winter acceded to marlborough's request, and voted the riot at lort. men and money, he would have been able to march to paris in the next campaign, and could have brought the war to an end; but the mistaken parsimony then, as often since, crippled the british general, allowed the french to recover from their disaster, prolonged the war for years, and cost the country very many times the money and the men that marlborough had asked for to bring the war to a decisive termination. but while the english and dutch governments re- fused to vote more money or men, and the german government, freed from their pressing danger, becama supine and lukewarm, the french upon the contrary, set to in an admirable manner to retrieve the disasters they had suffered, and employed the winter in well-conceived efforts to take the field with a new army, to the full as strong as that which they had lost; and the fruits of blenheim were, with the exception of the acquisition of a few fortresses, entirely thrown away. at the battle of blenheim, rupert holliday escaped untouched, but hugh was struck with a fragment of shell, and severely wounded. he was sent down the rhine by water to the great military hospital which had been established at bonn; and rupert, who was greatly grieved at being separated from his faithful follower, had the satisfaction of hearing ere long that he wa doing well. rupert had assigned him as orderly a strong, active young fellow, named joe sedley, who was delighted at his appointment, for the " little cornet" was, since his defeat of the german champion, the pride of the regi- ment. joe was a londoner, one of those fellows who can turn their hand to anything, always full of fun, getting sometimes into scrapes, but a general favorite with his comrades. the cornet of horse. the campaign over, rupert, who was now a lieu- tenant, asked and obtained leave to go home for the winter; he had long since been reconciled with his mother; and it was two years and a half since he had left home. hugh and joe sedley had also obtained leave, upon rupert's application on their behalf. on his way down rupert resolved to pay a visit for a few days to his kind friends at dort. they had writ- tun begging him to come and see them; and a post- script which maria had put in her last letter to him, to the effect that she had reason to believe that her old persecutor was in the neighborhood, and that her father had taken renewed precautions for her safety, added to his desire to visit dort. "that fellow's obstinacy is really admirable in its way," rupert said, on reading this news. "he has made up his mind that there is a fortune to be obtained by carrying off maria von duyk, and he sticks to it with the same pertinacity which other men display in the pursuit of commerce or of lawful trade, or that a wild beast shows in his tireless pursuit of his prey.". had it not been for the postscript, rupert would have deferred his visit to dort until after his return from england, but the news caused him serious uneasiness. he knew but too well the unscrupulous nature of this desperate man, whom he had heard of since his last at- tempt upon his life as being a leader of one of the bands of freebooters who, formed of deserters and other des- perate men, frequented the black forest, the vosges mountains, the ardennes, and other forest and hill dis- tricts. that he would dare lead his band down into the plains of holland, rupert had no fear; still he could have no difficulty in finding men of ruined fortunes even there to join in any wild attempt. tee riot at host. leaving the army when it went into winter quarters, rupert travelled by land to bonn, and there picked up hugh, who was now completely restored to health, and then, taking boat, journeyed down the rhine. then he took horse again, and rode to dort. mynheer von duyk and maria were delighted to see him; and hugh and sedley were hospitably received by the servants, with whom hugh had, on the occasion of his last visit, made himself a prime favorite. from the first day of their arrival rupert had all the talking to do, and his adventures to relate from the time he set sail from dort. he had of course written from time to time, but his letters, although fairly full, did not contain a tithe of the detail which his friends were anxious to leam. the next morning, after breakfast, he asked his host if he was unwell, for he looked worn and anxious. "i am well in body, but disturbed in mind," he said. "six months ago i stood well with my fellow-citizens, and few were more popular in dort than myself. now, save among the better class, men look askance at me. subtle whispers have gone abroad that i am in corre- spondence with france; that i am a traitor to holland; that i correspond with the spanish at antwerp. in vain have i tried to force an open accusation, in order that i might disperse it. the merchants, and others of my rank, scoff at these rumors, and have in full council denounced their authors as slanderers; but the lower class still hold to their belief. men scowl as i walk along; the boys shout' traitor !' after me; and i have received threatening letters." "but this is abominable," rupert said, hotly. "is there no way of dealing with these slanderers?" "no," the merchant said; "i see none, beyond living tbe cornet of horse. it down. some enemy is at work, steadily and power- fully." "have you an enemy you suspect?" "none, save indeed that rascal countryman of yours. he is desperate, and, as you know, relentless. my house has always been guarded by six stout fellows since we returned from the hague; and any open at- tempt to carry off my daughter would be useless. it is difficult to see what he proposes to himself by stirring up a party against me; but he might have some scheme which we cannot fathom. our dutchmen are slow but obstinate, and once they get an idea in their head it is difficult to discharge." "you do not fear any public tumult, surely ?" rupert said. "i do not anticipate it, and yet i regard it as possi- ble," von duyk said; "the people in our town have been given to bursts of frenzy, in which some of our best men have been slain." "why don't you go down to the hague again till this madness has passed by?" "i cannot do that. my enemies would take advan^ tage of it, and might sack my house and warehouses." "but there is the burgher guard; and all the respect- able citizens are with you." "that is true enough," the merchant said; "but they are always slow to take action, and i might be killed, and my place burned before they came on to the ground. i will send maria with you down to the hague to her aunt's. if this be the work of the man we wot of, it may be that he will then cease his efforts, and the bad feeling he has raised will die away , but in truth, i shall never feel that maria is safe until i hear that his evil course has come to an end." the riot at dobl. "if i come across him, i will bring it to an end, and that quickly," rupert said, wrathfully. "at any rate, i think that the burgomaster ought to take steps to pro- tect the house." "the council laugh at the idea of danger," von duyk said. "to them the idea that i should be charged with dealing with the enemy is so supremely ridiculous that they make light of it, and are inclined to think that the state of things i describe is purely a matter of my own imagination. if i were attacked they would come as quickly as they could to my aid; but they may be all too late. there is one thing, rupert. this enemy hates you, and desires your death as much as he wishes to carry off my daughter, and through her to become possessed of my money bags. if, then, this work is his doing, assuredly he will bring it to a head while you are here, so as to gratify both his hate and his greed at once." "it is a pity that you cannot make some public state- ment, that unless your daughter marries a man of whom you approve you will give her no fortune whatever." "i might do that," von duyk said; "but he knows that if he forced her to marry him, i should still give her my money; in the second place, she has a large fortune of her own, that came to her through her mother; and lastly, i believe that it is not marriage he wishes now, for he must be sure that maria would die rather than accept him, but to carry her off, and then place some enormous sum as a ransom on condition of her being restored safe and unharmed to me. he knows that i would give all that i possess to save her from his hands." "the only way out of it that i see," rupert said, "is for me to find him and put an end to him." the coll net of horse. "you will oblige me, rupert, if, during the time you remain here, you would wear this fine mail shirt under your waistcoat. you do not wear your cuirass here; and your enemy might get a dagger planted between your shoulders as you walk the streets. it is light, and very strong; it was worn by a spanish general who fell, in the days of alva, in an attack upon dort. my great- grandfather shot him through the head, and kept his mail shirt as a trophy." "it is a useful thing against such a foe as this," ru- pert said, putting it on at once. "i could not wear it in battle, for it would be an unfair advantage; but against an assassin all arms are fair." during the day rupert went out with his host, and the scowling looks which were turned upon the latter convinced him that the merchant had not exaggerated the extent to which the feeling of the lower class had been excited against him. so convinced was he of the danger of the position, that, to the immense surprise of hugh and joe sedley, he ordered them to lie down at night in their clothes, with their swords and pistols ready by them. with eight armed men in the house— for four of the porters engaged in the merchant's ware- house slept on truckle beds placed in the hall—rupert thought that they ought to be able to repel any assault which might be made. it was on the fourth night after rupert's coming to dort, that he was aroused by a touch on his shoulder. he leapt to his feet, and his hand, as he did so, grasped his sword, which lay ready beside him. "what is it?" he exclaimed. "there is mischief afloat," von duyk said. "there is a sound as of a crowd in front of the house. i hava heard the tramp of many footsteps." the riot at dottt. rupert went to the window and looked out. the night was. dark, and the oil lamps had all been extin- guished; but it seemed to him that a confused mass filled the space in which the house stood. "let me get the men under arms," he said, "and then we can open the window, and ask what they want." in two minutes he returned. "now, sir, let us ask them at once. they are prob- ably waiting for a leader or order." the merchant went to the window, and threw it open. "who is there?" he asked. "and what means this gathering at the door of a peaceful citizen?" as if his voice had been the signal for which they waited, a roar went up from the immense crowd. a thunder of axes at the door and shutters, and a great shout arose,— . . "death to the traitor i death to the frenchmen " shots were fired at the windows, and at the same moment the alarm-bell at the top of the house pealed loudly out, one of the serving-men having previously received order to sound the signal if needed. in an- swer to the alarm bell, the watchman on the tower, whose duty it was to call the citizens from their beds in case of fire, struck the great bell, and its deep sounds rang out over the town; two minutes later the church bells joined in the clamor; and the bell on the town hall with quick, sharp strokes called the burgher guard to arms. von duyk, knowing now that all that cpuld be done had been effected, ran to his daughter's room, bade her dress, and keep her door locked until she heard his voice, come what may; then he ran downstairs to join the defenders below. the cornet of horse. "the shutters are giving everywhere," rupert cried. "we must hold this broad staircase. how long will it be, think you, before the burgher guard are here?" "a quarter of an hour, maybe." * "we should beat them back for that time," rupert said. "light as many lights as you can, and place them so as to throw the light in their faces, and keep us in the shade." in two or three minutes a smashing of timber and loud shouts of triumph proclaimed that the mob were effecting an entrance. "for the present i will stand in front, with one of these good fellows with their axes on each side of me. the other two shall stand behind us, a step or two higher. you, hugh and joe, take post with our host in the gallery above with your pistols, and cover us by shooting any man who presses us hard. fire slowly, pick off your men, and only leave your posts and join me here as a last necessity." they had just taken the posts assigned to them when the door fell in with a crash, and the mob poured in, just as a rush took place from the side passages by those who had made their way in through the lower windows. "a grim set of men," rupert said to himself. they were indeed a grim set. many bore torches, which, when once need for quiet and concealment was over, they had lighted. dort did a large export trade in hides, and in meats to the towns lying below them, and it was clear that it was from the butchers and skinners that the mob was chiefly drawn. huge figures, with pole-axes and long knives, in leathern clothes spotted and stained with blood, showed wild and fierce in the red light of the tee biot at dobt. torches, as they brandished their weapons, and pre- pared to assault the little band who held the broad etairs. rupert advanced a step below the rest, and shouted,— "what means this? i am an officer of the duke of marlborough's army, and i warn you against lifting a hand against my host and good friend mynheer von duykl" "it's a lie !" shouted one of the crowd. "we know you; you are a frenchman masquerading in english uniform. down with him, my friends! death to the traitors!" there was a rush up the stairs, and in an instant the terrible fight began. . on open ground, rupert, with his activity and his straight -sword, would have made short work of one of the brawny giants who now attacked him,-for he could have leapt out of reach of the tremendous blow, and have run his opponent through ere be could again lift his ponderous axe. but there was no guarding such swinging blows as these with a light sword; and even the advantage of the height of the stairs was here of little use. at first he felt that the combat was desperate; soon, however, he regained confidence in his sword. with it held ever straight in front of him, the men mounting could not strike without laying open their breasts to the blade. there must, he felt, be no guarding on his part; he must be ever on the offensive. all this was felt rather than thought in the whirl of action. one after another the leaders of the assailants fell, pierced through the throat while their ponderous axes were in the act of descending. by his side the dutchman's retainers fought sturdily, while the crack the cornet of horse. of the pistols of hugh, joe sedley, and the master of the house were generally followed by a cry and a fall from the assailants. as the difficulty of their task became more apparent, the yells of fury of the crowd increased. many of them were half drunk, and their wild gestures and shouts, the waving of their torches, and the brandishing of knives and axes, made the scene a sort of pande- monium. ten minutes had passed since the first attack, and still the stairs were held. one of the defenders lay dead, with his head cloven to his shoulders with a pole- axe, but another had taken his place. suddenly from behind, the figure of a man bounded down the stairs from the gallery, and with a ciy of " die, villain!struck rupert with a dagger with all his strength, and then bounded back into the gallery. ru- pert fell headlong amid his assailants below. hugh and joe sedley, with a shout of rage and horror, dashed from their places, sword in hand, and leaping headlong down the stairs, cutting and hewing with their heavy swords, swept all opposition back, and stood at the foot, over the body of rupert. the three dutchmen and von duyk followed their example, and formed a group round the foot of the stairs. then there was a wild storm of falling blows, the clash of sword and axe, furious shouts, loud death- cries, a very turmoil of strife, when there was a cry at the door of " the watch!" and then a loud command,— "cut the knaves down! slay every man! dort! dort!" there was a rush now to escape; down the passages fled the late assailants, pursued by the burgher guard, who, jealous of the honor of their town, injured by the riot at dort. this foul attack upon a leading citizen, cut down all they came upon; while many who made their escape through the windows by which they had entered, were cut down or captured by the guard outside. the de- fenders of the stairs made no attempt at pursuit. the instant the burgher guard entered the hall, hugh and joe threw down their blood-stained swords, and knelt beside rupert. "ough!" sighed the latter, in a long breath. "thank god! he is not dead." "dead !" rupert gasped, " not a bit of it; only almost trodden to death. one of my stout friends has been standing on me all the time, though i roared for mercy so that you might have heard me a mile off, had it not been for the din." "but are you not stabbed, master rupert?" "stabbed! no; who would have stabbed me? one of you somehow hit me on the back, and down i went; but there was no stab." "he had a dagger; i saw it flash," hugh said, lifting rupert to his feet. "had lie?" rupert said; "and who was he? if it was an enemy, it is your coat of mail has saved me," he continued, turning to von duyk. "i have never taken it off since. but how did he get behind me, i wonder? run," he continued energetically," and see if the lady is safe. there must have been mischief behind." mynheer von duyk, closely followed by the others, ran upstairs to his daughter's room. the door was open. he rushed into the room. it was empty. the window was open; and looking out, two ladders were seen, side by side. it was clear that while the fray had been raging, maria von duyk had been carried off. las the cornet of horse, - chapter xv. the ejfd of a feud. -after the first cry of rage and grief at the discovery cf the abduction of maria von duyk there was a mo- ment's silence. rupert broke it, laying his hand on the shoulder of von duyk, who had dropped despairingly into a chair,— "we will find her," he said, "wherever she be. let us lose no moments in sorrow. call up the burgomas- ter, or whoever leads the burghers, and let us consult." in another minute or two four of the principal mag- istrates of dort had joined the party, and von duyk told them what had happened. "i told her to lock the door, and not to open untilshe heard my voice. doubtless she was standing there listening to the strife without, when the men burst in at the window, and seized her before, in her surprise and terror, she had time to unlock the door. now what is to be done to recover her? they have, no doubt, car- ried her off by boat, for they could not pass through the landward gate of the town. will you order two fast boats, to be manned by strong parties of rower , with well-armed men? one had better go up the river, one down for we know not in which direction they will take their flight. what think you, master holliday?" "i think that a boat had better go either way, without a moment's loss of time," rupert said. "but i doubt the end of a feud. whether either will find them, but send the boats with- out a moment's delay, with orders to overhaul and seareh every craft they overtake." the magistrates at once called in an officer of the guard, and gave him the necessary instructions. *' and why do you not think that either up or down the river they will overtake them ?" von duyk asked rupert, as the officer left the room. "because they will know that a fleet horseman will pass them; and that by morning the people at the towns on the banks will all be on the look-out for them. so, having sent off the boats, i should now send off horse- men up and down the river, with a letter from you, sirs, to the authorities at all the towns, begging them to stop and search every boat." again the necessary orders were given. "it was right to take these steps," rupert said, " for they may be greater fools than i take them to be; but i think that they have done one of two things. they have gone either up or down the river to some place, probably not far away, where horses are in readiness, or —or, they may be still in the town." "still in the town!" "yes," rupert said; "they will know that we should pursue them up and down the river; that we should scour the country round; but they may think that we should not suspect that she is still here. there must be lots of secure hiding-places in an old town like this . and they may well think it safer to keep her hidden here until they force her into marriage, or wring a fabulous ransom from you." "we will search every house," the burgomaster said, "from cellar to roof." "it would be useless," rupert said. "there must be the cornet of horse. secret hiding-places where she could be stowed away, bound and gagged perhaps, and which you could never detect. i would lose no moment of time in sending out horsemen to every village on either side of the river above and below us, for a circle of twenty miles. if horsemen have passed througb, some villager or other is sure to have been awoke by the clatter of the horses. if we get news, we must follow up the traces wherever they go. if not, it will be strong proof that they are still here. in any case, our pursuit all over the coun- try will lead them to think that we have no suspicion that she is here, and we shall have far more chance of ♦ighting upon a clue than if they thought we suspected it. get trusty men to work at once; question the prisoners your men have taken, with some sharp pain that will wring the truth from them; but let all be done quietly; while, on the other hand, let the chase through the country be as active and public as possible." threats, and the application of a string twisted round the thumb, and tightened until the blood spurted from beneath the nails—rough modes of questioning which had not yet died out—soon elicited from the captives the place where the arch-conspirator had been staying while he laid the train for the explosion; but, as was expected, a search showed that the bird had flown, without leaving a trace behind him. then, as there was nothing more to do until morn- ing, and two score of horsemen had been sent off in different directions, and the officers most acquainted avith the haunts of the bad characters were set quietly to work to search for some clue that might help to find the hiding-place of maria, the magistrates took their leave with many expressions of regret and commisera- tion with the merchant, and with confession of a con- the end of a feud. sciousness of deep fault that they had not taken to heart his warnings. long ere this the bodies of the score of rioters who had fallen on the stairs, hall, and passages had been re- moved; and leaving the afflicted merchant for awhile to his thoughts, eupert retired to his room, telling hugh and joe to follow him. he explained to them exactly the steps which had been taken, and his opinion as to the true state of things; and bade them think the matter over in every light, and to come to him at day- break, and let him know if any plan for the conduct of the search had occurred to them. the result of the night's thoughts and of the morn- ing's deliberations was conveyed to mynheer von duyk by rupert. "the first thing to be done is to offer a large reward, sir, for any news which may lead to the discovery of your daughter. this may or may not bring us in some information. the next thing is to have an eye kept on every boat by the quay which may have a cabin or half deck capable of concealing a person wrapped up and bound. also, that a watch should be set upon any fish- ing boat anchored in the river, or moored against the banks, for miles round. it is very possible that she was carried on board, and that there she may be kept, close to us, for days, or even weeks, until the hotness of the search is over, and they can pass up or down the river without being stopped and overhauled." "we will have every boat at the quay searched at once; and boat parties shall be sent off to examine every craft at anchor or moored in the river." "i think, sir, that it behooves us to act with care," rupert said; "for knowing the desperate nature of this villain, i think it probable that he would wreak his hate- tee cornet of horse. upon your daughter, aud do some terrible crime when he found that he was discovered, for he knows that his life is already forfeit. when we find out where she is confined, to my mind the serious difficulty only com- mences, for it is absolutely necessary that the arrest be so prompt and sudden, that he shall not have time even to level a pistol at her." von duyk acknowledged the justice of rupert's rea- soning. "hugh had suggested that it is likely that he has in his pay the same boatmen whom he employed last year to murder us. as a first step, let one of your clerks go down with an officer to the quay, and inquire what boats left here yesterday or in the night. hugh will put on a rough fisherman's suit, and with his hat well down over his brows, will stroll along by the water, to see if he recognizes the face of any of the men." at eight o'clock in the morning there was a meeting of the council of the town, to determine upon the measures to be taken to discover the authors of this dis- graceful outbreak, and to take steps for the recovery of the daughter of the leading citizen of the town. criers had already gone round to offer rewards for informa- tion; and a proclamation was now issued by the mag- istrates, calling upon every citizen to do his best to aid in the search. a committee was appointed to investi- gate all information which might be brought in. all dort was in a state of excitement; parties of the burgher guard still patrolled the town; numerous arrests were made in the skinners' and butchers' quarters; groups of people assembled and talked over the events of the night; and indignation at the riot and assault upon mynheer von duyk, and pity for himself and his daughter, were loudly expressed on all sides. the au- tee end of a feud. thorities forbade any one from leaving the town by land or water without a special permit signed by the magis- trates. the investigation as to the sailing of boats upon the previous day produced a long list of craft of various sizes and kinds that had left dort. besides those that had actually sailed, one or two had left the quay, and had anchored out in the river, and made fast to buoys there. - hugh returned with the intelligence that he had re- cognized in a boatman loitering on the quay one of the crew of the boat in which rupert and he had had so narrow an escape from drowning. the captain of one of the merchant's own craft, of which there were several at dort, was sent for, and having received instructions as to his course, accompanied hugh to the quay, and having had the fisherman pointed out to him, sauntered along, and after speaking to several men, entered into conversation with him. a confidential agent of the merchant was also ordered to keep at a distance, but to watch every movement, however minute and insignifi- cant, of the suspected man. the captain's report was soon given in. he had asked the man if he wanted a berth in a ship just going to sail for england, one of the crew having fallen sick at the last moment. he had refused, as he belonged to a boat just about to sail for bergen-op-zoom, and he had nodded towards a large decked boat riding in the river. fearing to excite suspicions, he had asked no further questions, but had turned to another man standing near, and asked him if he would make the voyage. it was considered certain by rupert and v«on duyk that maria was either already confined in that boat, op that she would be taken there when it was considered the end of a feud. been ascertained that sir richard fulke had, previous to the last attempt on rupert, stayed in hiding, it would be suspected, and might be searched. the strictest -watch was now set upon the house, and every one leav- ing it was followed. many came out and in, sailors from the quay or the ships, lying there; but in none of their movements was anything suspicious found. at five in the afternoon a boy of twelve years old, a son of the landlord came out. he looked supiciously round, and then walked along the quay. as he passed a house of considerable size, he again looked round, pulled the bell twice, hastily, and then walked on. he made a long ditour, and returned to the tavern. not a moment was lost in following up the clue. the house in question had been unoccupied for some time; the owner was, however, known to von duyk, who at "once called upon him. he said that he had let it some weeks before, to a person who had stated that he was a merchant of amsterdam, and intended to open a branch house at dort. he had paid him six months' rent in advance, and had received the keys of the house. he believed that some of his party had arrived, as he bad himself seen two men go in, but the house was certainly not yet open for business. rupert who had been all day at work following out other clues given by persons who had come forward, returned just as mynheer von duyk came back with the news. "thank god!" he said, " there is an end to uncer- tainty. your daughter is in that house, beyond all doubt. it is only a question of action now. let us call in the burgomaster and the chief constable, and dis- cuss how the rescue is to be effected. it is probable that he has with him a dozen desperate fellows of his the cornet of horse. black forest gang, and the task of so arranging it that we may interpose between her and the arch-villain is a difficult one indeed. while you send for these officials, i will go and reconnoitre the house; it is quite dark." the house differed little from its fellows. it was old, with gables, and each floor projected beyond the one below it. a dim light was visible in one of the upper rooms, while a far brighter light shone through the folds of curtains which had been drawn across a window lower down. rupert drew his own conclusions. returning, he found the burgomaster and chief con- stable already with mynheer von duyk. after much discussion it was agreed that thirty picked men should be at rupert's orders at ten that night, an hour at which all dort would already be sound asleep. the chief constable then proceeded with rupert to the houses situated behind that which was intended to be attacked. it was reconnoitred from that side, and found to be in darkness. the owners of these houses, strictly charged to secrecy, were informed of what was going on, and promised all aid in their power. a dozen ladders of various lengths were now got together. then they went to the house adjoining, and made their way out on to the roof. this, like many of the dort houses, was furnished with a terrace, placed be- tween the gabled roofs, which rose sharply on either side. here the owner, if disposed, could sit and smoke, and look on the river. a table and benches were placed here, and a few tubs with shrubs and flowers. a short, light ladder was brought up, and rupert climbed up the steep roof, drew up his ladder, and descended on the other side. the steep roof of the end of a feud. the next house now faced him, and he was soon over this also, and stood on the little terrace of the house where he believed maria was a prisoner. it in all re- spects resembled that he had left. the door leading to it appeared strong and firmly fastened. he now re- traced his steps. then some light ladders were brought up and placed in position on the two roofs, and all was ready for a party to pass over on to the terrace. at ten o'clock, then, accompanied by mynheer von duyk and the two troopers, he went to the spot where the force was assembled, and told them off to the duties he had assigned to them. eight were to enter the next house with hugh and joe sedley, wete to pass, by means of the ladders, over the roof on to the terrace. they were to carry heavy axes and crowbars, and to beat down the door and rush downstairs the instant the signal was given. sixteen were to raise eight ladders at the back of the house, and place them close to the windows. two were to take post at each, ready to burst in the window and rush in at the signal. the remaining six were to bring a long ladder to the front of the house, and place it against the upper win- dow, where the light was. two were to follow rupert up this ladder, the other four to place themselves at the front door, and cut down all who tried to escape. rupert's object at attacking at so many different points was so to confuse the occupants of the house by the suddenness and noise of the assault that they would be unable to rally and carry out any plan they might have formed, before the assailants could muster in suf~ ficient force to overcome them. orders were also issued for a party of men to proceed the cornet of horse. to the quay, and to arrest and carry off any one they might find hanging about there. all arranged, the party moved off, and the work was begun. thick rolls of flannel had been fastened round the ends of the ladders, so as to prevent the slightest noise being made when they came in contact with the wall. rupert saw the ladders planted at the back of the house, and the men ready to climb to their places. he then moved round to the front; here the ladder was also fixed. a light flashed down from the terrace above showed that here too the party were in position; and rupert began to mount, followed by von duyk, who had insisted upon taking that post, so as to be ready to spring to the assistance of his child at the first attack. the ladder reached exactly to the window, and as his eyes reached the level rupert peered anx- iously in. at a table, on which burned a candle, sat a man with a huge bowl of liquor and a brace of pistols before him. on a pallet bed in a corner lay a figure, which rupert felt sure was that of maria. rupert doubted not in the least that the order to the watcher was to kill her at the first alarm. twice he raised his pistol, twice withdrew it. if he did not kill the man on the spot, maria's life would be clearly forfeited. under such circumstances he dared not fire. after a moment's thought he gave a sharp tap at the window, and then shrank below the level of the window, and with both his pistols pointed upwards, he waited. as he expected, in a moment the window darkened, and the figure of a man was seen trying to look out into the darkness. as he leaned against the glass, rupert dis- charged both his pistols into his body, and then, leaping up, dashed in the window, and leapt over the man's body into the room. the end of a feud. maria had sprung up with a scream. "you are safe, maria," rupert exclaimed, as he ran to the door. "here is your father." the discharge of the pistol had been the signal, and with it came a sound of heavy blows, the crashing of timber, and the shivering of glass. then rose shouts and furious exclamations, and then a great tramping sounded through the late silent house. doors and win- dows had all given way at the onset; and as sir richard fulke with eight comrades rushed upstairs, hugh and his party ran down. torches had been provided and lanterns, and as three of hugh's men carried them the broad landing was lighted up. sir richard fulke first turned to the door of maria's room, but there rupert and two followers stood with drawn swords. "cut them down! cut them down!" he shouted; but the rush of hugh, joe sedley, and the rest swept him back, and he fought now to defend his life. up the stairs from behind ran the officers who had gained entry by the windows; and the outlaws saw themselves surrounded and hedged in. they fought desperately but vainly, and one by one fell under the blows of their assailants. rupert stood immovable on guard; he knew the desperate nature of his enemy and feared that if he himself were drawn for a moment from his post into the conflict he would rush past and en- deavor to avenge himself upon them all by killing maria. at last, when most of his followers had fallen, sir richard fulke made a sudden dash through his assail- ants, and fled up the stairs towards the door on the roof. rupert, who had never for a moment taken his eye off tee cornet of eorse. him, followed at full speed, shouting to hugh to bring torches and follow. short as was the start that was gained, it nearly suf- ficed for the desperate man's escape; as kupert gained the terrace, he was already nearly at the top of the ladder against tiie roof. rupert seized the ladder, and jerked it sideways. sir richard made a grasp at the crest of the roof, and then rolled down on to the terrace. rupert rushed forward, but the torches had not yet come, and his enemy was on his feet and upon him, with the advantage which the light coming up the stairs afforded him, and striking down his guard, rushed in and grappled with him. rupert dropped his sword, which was useless now, and struggled for his life. he felt what his enemy's object was, to throw both over the end of the terrace. he was strong and athletic, but he was far from being a match for his older opponent, to whom rage, despair, and hatred lent a prodigious strength. "hugh," he shouted, "quick! quick!" joe sedley was the first to leap to the terrace with a torch, and stood for a moment aghast as he saw the deadly struggle going on, close to the slight wooden railing which ran along the edge of the terrace ; then he sprang forward, and just as the struggling foes crashed through the woodwork, and were in the very act of fall- ing over the low stone parapet, he dashed the torch in sir richard's face, while at the same moment he grasped rupert's shoulder with a grip of iron, and dragged him back as his foe loosed his grasp when the torch struck him in the face, and dropped in the darkness. "a close squeak that, sir; the fellow died hard," jos sedley said, cheerily. "it was indeed, joe; i owe my life to you." the end of a feud. "oh, it was all in the way of business, sir; you'll likely enough do as much for me in our next charge." hugh was up a moment after joe sedley, for the lat- ter had been nearer to a man with a torch, but he just saw the narrow escape ins master bad, and was so shaken that his hand trembled as he wrung that of his comrade. "i must stick to my sword another time," rupert said; "i am david without his sling without it, and any goliath who comes along can make short work of me. now let us go below and see after miss von duyk, and assure ourselves that our enemy is dead at last. a be said in the boat, i shall never feel quite safe till know for certain *bat he is dead." we cornet of iiorse. chapter xvi. eamilies. neither rupert holliday nor maria von duyk would be troubled more with sir richard fulke. he was absolutely and unquestionably dead; he had fallen on his head, and death had been instantaneous. in the man whom rupert shot through the window, hugh and he recognized the fellow who had been his accomplice in the attempt to carry off maria in london. maria was wholly uninjured, although she was days before she was able to speak with comfort, so roughly had the gag been thrust into her mouth. she had not seen her chief abductor after she had been carried off, as sir richard must have felt that it was in vain either to threaten or to sue until he had got her in safety far from dort. leaving the rest of the gang to be dealt with by the authorities, rupert with his followers left dort two days later, happy in having finally freed his friends from the danger which had so long menaced them. mynheer von duyk said but little; but rupert knew how deep were his feelings of gratitude; and he again sighed deeply over the fact that rupert was still but little over eighteen. maria herself was equally grateful. von duyk would have freighted a shipful of presents to ru- pert's friends in england, but the latter would not hear of it; he insisted, however, on sending a pipe of mag- nificent old burgundy for the colonel's drinking; while bamilies. maria sent a stomacher of antique workmanship, with valuable gems, to madame holliday. no adventure marked their homeward journey. their ship took them rapidly with a fair wind to lon- don bridge; and rupert and hugh started next day by the coach for derby, the former having made joe sedley a handsome present, to enable him to enjoy his holiday, and an invitation to come down to windthorpe chace when he was tired of london. a letter had been written from holland a few days before starting,, to announce their coming, but it was, of course, impossible in the days of sailing ships to fix a day for arrival. hiring a chaise, they drove to windthorpe chace, where the delight both of mistress holliday and of the colonel was unbounded. hugh, too, was greeted very warmly by both, for rupert had done full justice to the services he had rendered him. it was difficult to recog- nize in the dashing-looking young officer and the stal- wart trooper the lads who but two years and a half be- fore had ridden away post-haste from the chace. hugh was driven off to the farm; and rupert remained alone with his mother and the colonel, who overwhelmed him with questions. the colonel had changed but little, and bid fair to live to a great age. his eye was bright, and his bearing still erect. he scarcely looked sixty-five, although he was more than ten years older. mistress dorothy was, rupert thought, softer and kinder than of old. her pride, and to some extent her heart, had met with a rude shock, but her eyes were now fully open to the worth- lessness of her former suitor, who had lately been obliged to fly the country, having been' detected at cheating at cards. the cornet of iiorsjs. colonel holliday rejoiced when ho heard of the pipe of prime burgundy, which started from london on the day rupert left; while mistress dorothy was enchanted with the stomacher, which her son produced from his trunk. "have you ever heard from m. dessin, grandfather? you told me that he said he would write and tell you his real name." "i doubt not that he did so, rupert; hut the carriage of letters between this and france is precarious. only smugglers or such like bring them over, and these, ex- cept when specially paid, care but little for the trouble. that he wrote i am certain, hut his letter has npt readied me, which i regret much." the six months at home passed rapidly. rupert fell into his old ways; rode and hawked, and occasionally paid state visits to the gentry of the neighborhood, hy whom, as one of marlborough's soldiers, he was made much of. "i think this soldering life makes one restless, master rupert," hugh said, one day when the time was ap- proaching for their start; "i feel a longing to be with the troop again, to be at work and doing." "i feel the same, hugh; but you would not find it so, i think, if you had come home for good. then you would have your regular pursuits on the farm, while now you have simply got tired of having no work to do. when the war is over, and we have done soldiering, you will settle down on one of the farms of the chace, madame says you shall have the first that falls vacant when you come home. then you will take a wife, and be well content that you have seen the world, and have something to look back upon beyond a six miles' circuit of derby." bamilies. the next campaign may be passed over briefly. the parsimony of england and holland, and the indiffer- ence of germany, spoiled all the plans of marlborough, and lost the allies all the benefits of the victory of blen- heim. the french, in spite of their heavy losses, took the field in far greater force than the allies; and instead of the brilliant offensive campaign he had planned, marlborough had to stand on the defensive. the gallantry of his english troops, and the effect which blenheim had produced upon the mot-ale of the french, enabled him to hold the ground won, and to obtain several minor successes, one notably at the dyle, where villeroi's troops were driven out of lines consid- ered impregnable, but where the pusillanimity and ill- will of the dutch generals prevented any substantial results being obtained; but no important action took place, and the end of found things in nearly the same state that had left them. the non-success of the campaign undid some of the harm which the success of that of had effected. in flanders the genius of the duke had enabled the allies to maintain their ground; but on the rhine they had done badly, and in italy the french had carried all before them; therefore while after blenheim an apathy had fallen on the victors, so now the extent of the dan- ger moved them to fresh exertions. marlborough, after seeing his army into winter quar* ters, visited the capitals of vienna, berlin, and the. hague, and again by the charm of his manner succeeded in pacifying jealousies, in healing quarrels, and in obtain- ing the promises of vigorous action and larger arma- ments in the spring. the bad conduct of the dutch generals had created such a general ciy of indignation through europe, that the cornet of horse. the states-general were compelled by the pressure of public opinion to dismiss several of the men who had most distinguished themselves by thwarting the plans of marlborough, and interposing on every occasion between him and victory. consequently the campaign of seemed likely to open with far brighter pros- pects of success than its predecessors had done. - suddenly, however, all the arrangements broke down. the imperialists had just suffered another reverse in italy; and matters looked so desperate there, that marl- borough proposed to pass the alps with an army of , men to their assistance, and there, as he would have the warm co-operation of prince eugene instead of the cowardice of the dutch generals, and the inca- pacity and obstinacy of the prince of baden, he antici- pated the complete discomfiture of the french. in these hopes, however, he was thwarted. the prince of baden would do nothing beyond defending his own dominion; the cabinets of berlin and copen- hagen fell to quarrelling, and both refused to supply their promised contingents; the hanoverians and hes- sians had also grievances, and refused to join in any general plan, or to send their troops to form part of the allied army. thus all ideas of a campaign in the south were destroyed; but marlborough persuaded the dutch to send , of the troops in their pay across the alps td assist prince eugene, under the promise that he with the english and dutch troops would defend flanders. so the campaign commenced; and on the th of may marlborough joined his army, which lay encamped on the dyle, on the french frontier. on the d a danish contingent, which had at the last moment been despatched in answer to an urgent appeal of the duke, airived; and his army now consisted of battalions ramilies. and squadrons, in all , men, with guns. marshal villeroi's force, which lay on the other side of the dyle, consisted of battalions and squadrons — , men, with guns. they had also, as at blenheim, the advantage that the troops were all of one nationality, and accustomed to act together, while marl- borough's army consisted of troops of three nations, at least half of them new to war, and unused to act with each other. marlborough opened the campaign by moving towards tirlemont, with a view of laying siege to namur, where many of the citizens were anxious to throw off the french yoke. villeroi, anxious to cover namur, moved his troops out from their quarters on the dyle to stop the advance of the allies, and bring on a battle in the open field. the ground taken up by the french marshal was ex- ceedingly strong. marlborough was aware of the great importance of the position, and had made every effort to be the first to seize it; but the french had less dis- tance to march, and when the allied troops arrived within sight of the ground, the french were already in camp upon mons st. andre*. mons st. andre* is an extensive and elevated plateau, being, indeed, the highest ground in brabant. from it four rivers take their rise—the great gheet, the little gheet, the dyle, and the mehaigne. the french camp was placed immediately above the sources of the two gheets. the plan of the battle should be examined carefully, and the events of the great battle will then be under- stood without difficulty. the descents from the plateau to the great gheet are steep and abrupt. the other rivers rise in wet marshes, in some places impassable. the french left was on the the cornet of horse. crest of the ridge, above the marshes of the little gheet, and extended to the village of autre eglise, while the extreme right stood on the high ground over- looking the sources of the mehaigne. the village of tavieres, in front of the right, was strongly held; while in the villages of offuz and ramilies,- opposite their centre, were numerous infantry, no less than twenty battalions occupying ramilies. the great bulk of the french cavalry were arranged in two lines on their right, the extreme right of their cavalry being in front of the tomb, or barrow, of the ancient german hero ottomond, the highest part of the ridge, and commanding the whole field of battle. marlborough, having with the dutch general over- kirk, a loyal and gallant old man, reconnoitred the ground, immediately formed his plan of attack. the french position was somewhat in the form of a bow, the ends being advanced. they would therefore have more difficulty in sending troops from one end to the other of their line than would the allies, who could move in a direct line along, as it were, the string of the bow; and the ground was sufficiently undulating to enable the movements of troops to be concealed from the enemy on the plateau. the commanding position of ottomond's tomb ap- peared the key of the whole battle-ground; and marl- borough determined to make his main attack on this point, first deceiving the enemy by a feigned attack on .their left. accordingly, he formed in a conspicuous position, a heavy column of attack, opposite the french left, and menacing the village of autre eglise. villeroi, believing that the main attack would be made there, moved a considerable body of his infantry from his centre behind offuz, to reinforce autre eglise. ramilies. as the column of attack advanced, a large portion was withdrawn by a dip behind the rising ground on which the others advanced, and moved rapidly towards the left centre, the danish horse, twenty squadrons strong, being directed to the same spot. the smoke of the advance towards autre eglise, and the nature of the ground, concealed all these movements froni the french, who directed a very heavy artillery fire on the column advancing against autre eglise. suddenly the real attack began. five dutch bat- talions advanced against tavieres; twelve battalions under general schultz, supported by a strong reserve, moved to attack ramilies. the vehemence of their attack showed villeroi that lie had been deceived; but he had now no infantry avail- able to move to reinforce the troops in the threatened villages. he therefore ordered fourteen squadrons of dragoons to dismount, and with two swiss battalions to advance to the support of tavieres. they arrived, however, too late, for before they could reach the spot, the dutch battalions had, with great gallantry, carried the village; and the duke of marlborough, launching the danish horse on the supports as they came up, cut them up terribly, and threw back the remnant in con- fusion upon the french cavalry, advancing to charge. overkirk now charged the french cavalry with the first line of the allied horse, broke and drove them back; but at this moment, when the allied cavalry were in dis- order after their success, the second line of french cav- alry, among whom were the royal life guards, burst upon them, drove them back in great confusion, and restored the battle in that quarter. the danger was great, for the victorious cavalry might have swept round, and fallen upon the rear of the cornet of horse. the infantry engaged in the attack upon ramilies. marlborough saw the danger, and putting himself at the head of seventeen squadrons of dragoons, and send- ing an aide-de-camp to order up twenty squadrons still in reserve, charged the french life guards. the french batteries on the heights behind ramilies poured in so dreadful a fire that the cavalry hesitated, and some french troopers recognizing the duke, made a dash at him as he rode ahead of the troops, in an instant he was surrounded; but before any of his troops could ride to his rescue, he cut his way through the french troopers, sword in hand. as his horse tried to leap a wall it fell, and the enemy were again upon him. at this moment rupert holliday, whose troop was in the front line, arrived on the spot, followed by hugh and half a dozen other troopers, and some of the duke's personal staff. a desperate fight raged round the general, until the cavalry charged heav- ily down to the rescue of their beloved leader. but they were still overmatched and pressed backwards by the french guards. at this critical time, however, the twenty squadrons of the reserve arrived on the ground, and charged the french cavalry in front, while the dan- ish cavalry, who had been detained by the morasses, fell at the same moment on their flank, and the french cavalry fell back in confusion. forming the allied cav- alry in two lines, marlborough led them forward in per- son, and sweeping aside all resistance, they halted not until they reached the summit of ottomond's tomb, where they were visible to the whole army, while a tremendous shout told friend and foe alike that the key of the whole position had been gained, and vic- tory in that part of the field secured. all this time the twenty french battalions in ramilies ramil es. under the marquis maffie had fought obstinately, al- though far removed from succor. gradually, how- ever, they were driven out of the village ; the british had fresh battalions of infantry available, and these were sent against them, and the victorious horse charging them in flank, they were almost all made prisoners or destroyed. the fight had lasted but three hours, and the victory was complete on the right arid left. the confusion was however, great, and marlborough halted his troops and re-formed them, before advancing to the final attack; while marshal villeroi strove on his part also to re-form his troops, and to take up a new front. the roads were, however, choked with baggage-wagons and artillery, and before the troops could take up their fresh posts, the allies were ready. the charge was sounded, and horse and foot advanced to the attack on the centre, while the troops who had commenced the battle by their demonstration against autre eglise joined in the general attack. confused and disheartened, the french did not await the onslaught, but broke and fled. the spanish and bavarian horse guards made a gallant at- tempt to stem the tide of defeat, but were cut to pieces. the battle was now over. it was a rout and a pursuit, and the british horse, under lord orkney, pursued the fugitives until they reached louvain, at two o'clock in the morning. in the battle of ramilies the french lost in killed and wounded men, and were taken prison- ers. they lost guns, their whole baggage and pontoon train and standards. among the prison- ers were the princes de soubise and rohan, while among the killed were many nobles of the best blood of france. the cornet of horse. the allies lost killed and wounded, in all men. but great as was the victory itself, the consequences were even more important. brussels, louvain, mech- lin, alost, luise, and all the chief towns of brabant, speedily opened their gates to the conqueror; ghent and bruges, darn and oudenarde, followed the example. of all the cities of flanders, antwerp, ostend, nieu- port, and dunkirk, with some smaller fortresses, alone held out for the french. the duke of marlborough issued the most stringent orders for the protection and fair treatment of the in- habitants, and so won such general good-will among the population, that when he advanced on antwerp the local troops and citizens insisted on a surrender; and the french troops capitulated, on condition of being al- lowed to march out with the honors of war, and to be escorted safely to the french frontier. ostend was then besieged, and captured after a brave resistance; and then after a desperate resistance, the important and very strong fortress of menin, was carried by as- sault, of the storming party, principally british, being slain at the breach. dindermande and ath were next taken, and the allied army then went into winter quarters, after a campaign as successful, and far more important in its results, than that of blenheim. a prisoner of was. chapter xvii. i a prisoner of war. in the brilliant results which arose from the victory at ramilies, rupert holliday had no share. the th dragoons formed part of the cavalry force which, when the battle was over, pursued the broken french cavalry to the gates of hochstad. in the pursuit, along a road encumbered with de- serted wagons, tumbrils, and guns, the pursuers after nightfall became almost as much broken up as the pur- sued. rupert's horse towards the end of the pursuit went dead lame, and he dismounted in order to see if he could do anything to its hoof. he found a sharp stone tightly jammed in the shoe, and was struggling to get this out when the troop again moved forward. not doubting that he would overtake them in a minute or two, and fearing that unless his horse was relieved of the stone it would become so lame that it would not be able to carry him back, rupert hammered away at it with a large boulder from the road. it was a longer job than he had anticipated, and five minutes elapsed before he succeeded in getting the stone out, and then, mounting his horse, he rode briskly forward. presently he came to a point where the road forked. he drew rein and listened, and thought he heard the tramping of horse on the road that led to the left. as he rode the cornet of horse. on the noise became louder, and in another five minutes he came up to the troop. it was quite dark, and riding past the men, he made his way to the head of the column. "i have had an awful bother in getting rid of that stone," he said, as he rode up to the leader. "i began to think that i should lose you altogether. it is quite a chance i took this road." "an unfortunate chance, sir, for you; a fortunate one for us," the officer he addressed said in english, but with a strong accent, "since you are our pris- oner," and as he spoke he laid his hand on rupert's bridle. rupert gave an exclamation of horror at finding the mistake that he had made, but he saw at once that resistance would be useless. "je me rends, monsieur. but what horrible luck." the three french officers at the head of the troop burst into a laugh. "monsieur," the one who had first spoken said, now in his native tongue, " we are indebted to you, for you have made us laugh, and heaven knows we have had little enough to laugh at to-day. but how came you here? your cavalry have taken the upper road. "we were drawn up to make a last charge, when we heard them turn off that way; and were, i can tell you, glad enough to get off without more fighting; we have had enough of it for one day." as the speaker proceeded, rupert became more and more convinced that he knew the voice; and the fact that the speaker was acquainted with english, the more convinced him that he was right. "i stopped to get rid of a stone in my horse's hoof," he said. "if i had only had a fight for it i should not a prisoner of war. have minded, but not even to have the pleasure of ex- changing a pass or two with one of you gentlemen i hard indeed." "it is just as well that you did not," one of the officers said,*" for m. le marquis de pignerolles is probably the best swordsman in our army." "the marquis de pignerolles," rupert said, cour- teously; "it would have been a pleasure to have crossed swords with him, but scarcely fair, for he knows already that he is not a match for me." "what!" exclaimed the marquis himself, and the two officers, in astonishment. "you are pleased to joke, sir," the marquis said haughtily. "not at all," rupert said, gravely. "you have met two persons who were your match. you remember m. dalboy?" "dalboy!" the marquis said. "surely, surely, le maitre dalboy, yet—?" "no, i am assuredly not m. dalboy," rupert said. "and the other?" the marquis reined in his horse suddenly. "what! " he said, "you arc—?" "rupert holliday, my dear m. dessin." "my dear, dear lad," the marquis exclaimed, "what pleasure! what delight! " and drawing his horse by the side of rupert he embraced him with affection. "my friends," he said to the other officers, who were naturally astonished at this sudden recognition between their prisoner and their colonel, "gentlemen, this eng- lish officer is my very dear friend. what kindness have i not received from his grandfather during my time of exile! while to himself i am deeply indebted. what a fortunate chance, that if you were to have the bad luck to be made prisoner, you should fall into my hands the cornet of horse. of all men. i wish that i could let you go, but you know—" "of course, of course," rupert said. "really i am hardly sorry, since it has brought us together again." "did you recognize my name?" the marquis said. "no indeed," rupert answered. "the letter which, we doubted not, that you wrote to my grandfather, never came to hand, and we never knew what m. des- sin's real name was, so that colonel holliday did not know to whom to write in france." > "i wrote twice," the marquis said, " but i guessed that the letters had never arrived; and the good gentle- man your grandfather, he is still alive and well?" "as well as ever," rupert said, " and will be de- lighted to hear of you. mademoiselle is well, i trust?" "quite well, and quite a belle at the court, i can as- sure you," the marquis said. "but there are the gates of louvain. you will, of course, give me your parole not to try to escape, and then you can come straight to my quarters with me, and i need not report you for a day or so. we shall be in fearful confusion to-night, for half our army is crowding in here, and every one must shift for himself. peste! what a beating you have given us! that marlborough of yours is terrible. i know some people here," he said, turning to the officers; "they will take us four in, and the men must picket their horses in the courtyard and street, and lie down in their cloaks. to-morrow we will see what is to be done, and how many have escaped from the terrible debacle." the streets of louvain were crowded with fugitives, some of them had thrown themselves down by the side- walks, utterly exhausted; others mingled with the anx- ious townsmen, and related the incidents of the disas- trous day; while the horses stood, with drooping heads, * tbe cornet of horse. the maison du roi to-day, and scattered the chivalry of france. as to himself, he is a rustium, a bobadil, if he has, as i doubt not, kept up his practice—" and he looked at rupert, who nodded smilingly; for he had indeed, during the four years he had been in flanders, not only practised assiduously in the regimental fencing salles, but had attended all the schools kept by the best spanish, italian, and german teachers, keeping him- self in practice, and acquiring a fresh pass here, an in- genious defence there, and ever improving—" the first swordsman in france would run a poor chance against this good-tempered-looking lad with his blue eyes." the french girls opened their eyes in astonishment, but they were not quite sure whether the marquis waa not making fun of them. "parbleu!" the two officers exclaimed. "you are not in earnest surely, marquis?" "i am, indeed, gentlemen; and i can claim some share of the merit, for i taught him myself, and before he was sixteen he was a better swordsman than i was; and as he loved the art, he will have gone on improving, and must be miraculous. by the way," he said sud- denly, "there was a story went through flanders near four years back of the best swordsman in the german army being killed by a mere boy in an english regiment, and i said then, i think that this must be my pupil; was it so?" "it was," rupert said; "it was a painful affair; but i was forced into it." "make no excuse, i beg," the marquis said, laughing. "now, young ladies, let us to supper; but beware of this prisoner of war, for if he is only half as formidable with his eyes as with his wrist, it is all up with your poor hearts." the cornet of nob e. rescinded, and that the estates, which had also been confiscated, were restored. the protestant persecu- tions had become things of the past, the greater portion of the french protestants having fled the country; and the powerful friends of de pignerolles had never ceased to interest themselves in his favor. the king, too, was in need of experienced soldiers for the war which was about to break out; and lastly, and by the tone in which his friend spoke rupert saw that the subject was rather a sore one, his majesty wished to have adele near the court. "mademoiselle uessin!" rupert said, in astonish- ment. "well, not exactly mademoiselle dessin," the mar- quis said, smiling, "but la marquise adele de pigne- rolles, who is by her mother's side—she was a mont- morency—one of the richest heiresses iu france, and as inheriting those lands, a royal ward, although i, her father, am alive." "but even so," rupert said, "what can his majesty wish to have her at court for?" ' because as a very rich heiress, and as a very pretty one, her hand is a valuable prize, and his majesty may well intend it as a reward to some courtier of high merit." "oh, m. dessin!" rupert said, earnestly; "surely you do not mean that?" "i am sorry to say that i do, master rupert. the grand monarque is not in the habit of considering such trifles as hearts or inclinations in the bestowal of his royal wards; and although it is a sort of treason to say so, i would rather be back in england, or have adele to myself, and be able to give her to some worthy man whom she might love, than to see her hand held out as a prisoner of war. & prize of the courtiers of versailles. i have lived long enough in england to have got some of your english notions, that a woman ought at least to have the right of refusal." rupert said nothing, but he felt sorry and full of pity at the thought of the young girl he remembered so well being bestowed as a sort of royal gift upon some court- ier, quite irrespective of the dictates of her own heart. after sitting some time in silence, the marquis changed the subject suddenly. "i am afraid you will not be exchanged before next winter, rupert; there are, no doubt, plenty of prisoners in marlborough's hands, but the campaign is sure to be a stirring and rapid one after this defeat; he will strike heavy blows, and we shall be doing our best to avoid them. it will not be until the fighting is over that the negotiations for the exchange of prisoners will begin." the next morning the marquis de pignerolles went off early to the headquarters of the commandant; and rupert remained chatting with the family of his host. two hours later he returned. "things are worse than i even feared," he said; "the royal guards are almost destroyed, and the destruction wrought in all our noble families is terrible. it is im- possible to estimate our total loss at present, but it is put down at , , including prisoners. in fact, as an army it has almost ceased to exist; and your marl- borough will be able to besiege the fortresses of flanders as he likes. there has been a council of all the general, officers here this morning. i am to carry some de- spatches to versailles—notaltogether a pleasant business, but some one must do it, and of course he will have heard the main incidents direct from villeroi. i leave at noon, rupert, and you will accompany me, unless the cornet of horse. indeed you would prefer remaining here on the chanca of getting an earlier exchange." rupert naturally declared at once for the journey to paris. officers on parole were in those days treated with great courtesy, especially if they happened to have a powerful friend. he therefore looked forward to a pleasant stay in paris, and to a renewal of his acquaint- ance with adele, and to a sight of the glories of ver- sailles, which, under louis xiv., was the gayest, the most intellectual, and the most distinguished court of europe. louis xiv. could not be termed a good man, but he was unquestionably a great king. he did much for france, whose greatness and power he strove to in- crease; and yet it was in no slight degree owing to his policy that, seventy years later, a tempest was to burst out in france, which was to sweep away the nobility and the crown itself; which was to deluge the soil of france with its best blood, to carry war through europe, and to end at last by the prostration of france beneath the feet of the nations to whom she had been a scourge. the tremendous efforts made by louis xiv. to main- tain the spanish succession, which he had secured for france; the draining of the land of men; and the im- poverishing of the nobles, who hesitated at no sacrifices and efforts to enable the country to make head against its foes, exhausted the land; while the immense extrav- agance of the splendid court in the midst of an im- poverished land, ruined not only by war, but by the de- struction of its trade, by the exile of the best and most industrious of its people on account of their religion, caused a deep and widespread discontent throughout the towns and country of france. tee cornet of house. tion your name. it will be amusing to see if she recog- nizes you. she was quite indignant at my taking you prisoner, and said that she thought soldiers ought not to take advantage of an accident of that kind. in fact, although adele, as i tell her, is very french at heart, the five years she passed in derby have left a deep im- pression upon her. she was very happy at school; every one, as she says, was kind to her; and the result is, that although she rejoices over our victories in italy and germany, she talks very little about the flanders campaign, about which, by the way, were she even as french as possible, there would not be anything very pleasant to say." rupert was at once furnished from the wardrobe of the marquis with clothes of all kinds, and as they were about the same height—although rupert was somewhat broader and heavier—the things fitted well, and rupert was able to go about paris, without being an object of observation and curiosity by the people. rupert was somewhat disappointed in paris. its streets were narrower than those of london, and al- though the public buildings were fine, the louvre espe- cially being infinitely grander than the palace of st. james, there was not anything like the bustle and rush of business which had struck rupert so much on his arrival in london. upon arriving at versailles, however, rupert was struck with wonder. nothing that he had seen could compare with the stately glories of versailles, which was then the real capital of france. a wing of the magnificent palace was set apart for the reception of the nobles and military men whose business brought them for short periods to the court, and here apartments had been assigned to the marquis. the clothes had [tee court of versailles. chapter xviii. the court of versailles. as the king of france entered the ante-chamber a dead hush fell upon all there, and rupert holliday looked eagerly to see what sort of man was the greatest sovereign in europe. louis was under middle height, in spite of his high- heeled shoes, but he had an air of dignity which fully redeemed his want of stature. although he was sixty- six years of age, he was still handsome, and his eyes were bright, and his movements quick and vivacious. the courtiers all bent low as the king moved slowly down the line, addressing a word here and there. the king's eye quickly caught that of the young english- man, who with his companion was taller than the major- ity of those present. louis moved forward until he stopped before him. "so, sir englishman," he said, "you are one of those who have been maltreating our soldiers. methinks i have more reason than you have to complain of the for- tune of war, but i trust that in your case the misfortune will be a light one, and that your stay in our court and capital will not be an unpleasant one." "i have no reason, sire, to complain of the fortune of war," rupert said, "since to it i owe the honor of see- ing your gracious majesty, and the most brilliant court in the world i" the cornet of house. "spoken like a courtier," the king said with a slight smile. "pray consider yourself invited to all the fetes at court and to all our entries and receptions, and i hope that all will do their best to make your stay here agreeable." then with a slight inclination of the head he passed on, saying in an audible tone to the nobles who walked next, but a little behind him,— "this is not such a bear as are his island countrymen in general!" "in another hour, rupert, is the evening reeeption, at which the ladies of the court will be present; and al- though all set fe"tes have been arrested owing to the news of the defeat at flanders, yet as the king chooses to put a good face upon it, every one else will do the same, therefore you may expect a brilliant assembly. adele will of course be there. shall i introduce you, or leave it to chance?" "i would rather you left it to chance," rupert said, "except, that as you do not desire it to be known that we have met before, it would be better that you should present me personally; but i should like to see if she will recognize me before you do so." "my daughter is a young lady of the court of his most puissant majesty louis xiv," the marquis said, somewhat bitterly, "and has learned not to carry her heart upon her sleeve. but before you show yourself near her, i will just warn her hy a word that a surprise may take place in the course of the evening, and that it is not always expedient to recognize people unless in- troduced formally. that will not be sufficient to give her any clue to your being here, but when she sees you she will recall my warning, and act prudently." presently they entered the immense apartment, or the court of versailles. rather series of apartments, in which the receptions took place. here were gathered all the ladies of the court, all the courtiers, wits, and nobles of france, except those who were in their places with the army. there was little air of ceremony. all present were more or less acquainted with each other. in a room screened off by curtains, the king was play- ing at cards with a few highly privileged members of court, and he would presently walk through the long suite of rooms, but while at cards his presence in no ways weighed upon the assembly. groups of ladies sat on fauteuils surrounded by their admirers, with whom volleys of light badinage, fun, and compliments were exchanged. leaving rupert talking to some of those to whom he had been introduced in the king's ante-chamber, and who were anxious to obey the royal command to make themselves agreeable to him,, the marquis de pignerolles sauntered across the room to a young lady who was sitting with three others, surrounded by a group of gen- tlemen. rupert was watching him, and saw him stoop over the girl, for she was little more, and say a few words in her ear. a surprised and somewhat puzzled expression passed across her face, and then as her father left her she continued chatting as merrily as before. rupert could scarcely recognize in the lovely girl of seventeen the little adele with whom he had danced and walked little more than four years before. adele de pignerolles was english rather than french in her style of beauty, for her hair was browner, and her complexion fresher and clearer, than those of the great majority of her countrywomen. she was viva* the court of versailles. *' and you, mademoiselle de pignerolles? but i know what you will say, you have never seen any one worth loving." adele did not answer; but her laughing friends in- sisted that as they confessed their inmost thoughts, she ought to do the same. for a moment she looked serious, then she laughed, and again put on a demure air. "yes," said she, " i have had a grande passion, but it came to nothing." a murmur of "impossible !" ran round the circle. "it was nearly four years ago," she said. "oh, nonsense, adele, you were a child four years ago," one of her companions said. "of course i was a child," adele said, "but i sup- pose children can love, and i loved an english boy." "oh, oh, mademoiselle, an english boy !" and other amused cries ran round the circle. "and did he love you, mademoiselle?" the due de carolan asked. "oh, dear no," the girl answered. "i don't suppose i should have loved him if he had. but he was strong, and gentle, and brave, and he was nearly four years older than i was, and he always treated me with respect. oh, yes, i loved him." "he must have been the most insensible of boys," the due de carolan said; "but no doubt he was very good and gentle, this youthful islander; but how do you know that he was brave?" the sneering tone with which the duke spoke was clearly resented by adele, for her cheek flushed, and she spoke with an earnestness quite different from the half- laughing tone she had hitherto spoken in. t "i know that he was brave, m. le due, because he the cornet of hor e. fought with, and ran through the body, a. man who in. suited me." the girl spoke so earnestly that for a moment a hush fell upon the little group; and the due de carolau, who clearly resented the warm tone in which she spoke, said,— "quite a hero of romance, mademoiselle. this un- fortunate who incurred your paladin's indignation was clearly more insolent than skilful, or sir amadis of six- teen could hardly have prevailed against the dragon." this time adele de pignerolles was seriously angry: "m. le due de carolan," she said quietly, " you have honored me by professing some admiration of my poor person, and methinks that good taste would have de- manded that you would have feigned, at least, some in- terest in the boy who championed my cause. i was wrong, even in merry jest, to touch on such a subject, but i thought that as french gentlemen you would un- derstand that i was half serious, half jesting at myself for this girlish love of mine. he is not here to defend himself against your uncourteous remarks ; but, m. le due, allow me to inform you that the fact that the per- son who insulted me paid for it almost with his life was no proof of his great want of skill, for monsieur my father will inform you, if you care to ask him, that had you stood opposite to my boy hero, the result would probably have been exactly the same; for, as i have of- ten heard him say that this boy was fully a match for himself, i imagine that the chance of a nobleman who, with all his merits, has not, so far as i have heard, any great pretensions to special skill with his sword, would be slight indeed." the duke, with an air of bitter mortification on his face, bowed before the indignant tone in which adele the cornet of horse. they danced together. in spite, therefore, of her efforts, it was with a heightened color that, as demanded by etiquette, adele rose, and making a deep reverence in return to the even deeper bow of rupert, extended her hand, which, taking the tips of the fingers, rupert bent over and kissed; then, looking up in her face, he said,— "the marquis your father has encouraged me to hope that you will take pity upon a poor prisoner, and forget and forgive his having fought against your compatriots." adele adroitly took up the line thus offered to her, and was soon deep in a laughing contest with him as to the merits of their respective countries, and above all as to his opinion of french beauty. rupert answered in the exaggerated compliments characteristic of the time. after talking with her for some little time he withdrew, saying that he should have the honor of call- ing upon the following day with her father. the next day when they arrived rupert was greeted with a frank smile of welcome. "i am indeed glad to see you again, m. rupert; but tell me why was that little farce of pretending that we were strangers played yesterday?" "it was my doing, adele," her father said. "you know what the king is. if he were aware that rupert were an old friend of ours he would imagine all sorts of things." "what sort of things, papa?" "to begin with, that m. rupert had come to carry you off from the various noblemen for one or other of whom his majesty destines your hand." the girl colored. "what nonsense! however," she went on," it would anyhow make no difference so far as the king is con- the court of versailles. eerned, for i am quite determined that i will go into a convent and let all my lands go to whomsoever his maj- esty may think fit to give them rather than marry any one i don't care for. i couldn't do it even to please you, papa, so you may be quite sure i couldn't do it to please the king. and now let me look at you, m. ru- pert. i talked to you last night, but i did not fairly look at you. yes, you are really very little altered ex- cept that you have grown into a man; but i should have known you anywhere. now, would you have known me?" "not if i had met you in the street," rupert said. "when i talk to you, and. look at you closely, made- moiselle adtsle dessin comes back again; but at a cas- ual glance you are simply mademoiselle adele de pig- nerolles." "i wish i were adele dessin again," she said. "i should be a thousand times happier living with my father than in this artificial court, where no one is what they seem to be; where every one considers it his duty to say complimentary things; where every one seems to be gay and happy, but every one is as much slaves as if they wore chains. i break out sometimes, and astonish them." a slight smile passed over rupert's face; and adele knew that he had overheard her the evening before. the girl flushed hotly. her father and madame de soissons were talking together in a deep bay window at the end of the room. "so you heard me last night, m. rupert. well, there is nothing to be ashamed of. you were my hero when i was a child; i don't mind saying so now. if you had made me your heroine it would have been different, but you never did, one bit. now don't try to tell stories. i the cornet of horse. should find you out in a moment* i am accustomed to hear falsehoods all day." "there is nothing to be ashamed of, mademoiselle. every one must have a hero, and i was the only boy you knew. no one could have misunderstood you; and even to those artificial fops who were standing round yon, there seemed nothing strange or unmaidenly in your avowal that when you were a little girl you made a hero of a boy. you are quite right, i did not make a heroine of you; boys, i think, always make heroines of women much older than themselves. i looked upon you as a dear, bright little girl, whom i would have cared for and protected as i would my favorite dog. some boys are given to heroine-worship. i don't think that is my line. i am only just getting out of my boy- hood now, and i have never had a heroine at all." so they sat and chatted, easily and pleasantly, as if four years had been rolled back, and they were boy and girl again in the garden of windthorpe chace. "i suppose i shall see you every evening at the court?" rupert said. "i suppose so," the girl sighed. "but it will be much more pleasant here; you will come with papa, won't you?" "whenever he will be good enough to bring me," rupert said. "you remember what i told you about adele," the marquis said, as they walked back to their rooms in the palace. "surety, sir," rupert replied. *' i think it would be as well, both for her sake and your own, that you should not frequent her society in public, rupert. his majesty intends to give her hand to one of the half-dozen of his courtiers who are at pres- the court of versailles. ent intriguing for it. happily, as she is little over six- teen, although marriages here are often made at that age, the question does not press; and i trust that he will not decide for a year, or even longer. but if you were to be seen much at her side, it might be considered that you were a possible rival, and you might, if the king thought that there was the slightest risk of your interfering with his plans, find yourself shut up in the bastile or at loches, or some other of the fortress dun- geons, and adele might be ordered to give her hand at once to the man he selected for her. there is hope in time. adele may in time really come to love one of her suitors, and if he were- one of those whom the king would like to favor, he would probably consent to the match. then, the king may die. it is treason even to suppose such a thing possible; still he is but mortal; or something else may occur to change the course of the future. of one thing i have decided: i will not see adele sacrificed. i have for the last four years man- aged to transmit a considerable portion of the revenues of my estates to the hands of a banker in holland; and if needs be i will again become an exile with her, and wait patiently until some less absolute monarch mounts the throne." it was not so easy, however, to silence the mouths of the gossips of versailles as the marquis de pignerolles had hoped. it was true that rupert was seldom seen by the side of adele in the drawing-room of the palace, but it was soon noticed that he called regularly every morning with the marquis at madame de soissons', and that, however long the visits of the marquis might be the young english officer remained until he left. adele's english bringing up, and her avowed liking for things english, were remembered; and the due de the cornet of house. carolan, and the other aspirants to allele's hand, began to scowl angrily at the young englishman whenever they met him. upon the other hand, among the ladies rupert was a general favorite, but he puzzled them altogether. he was ready to chat, to pay compliments, to act as cheva- lier to any lady, but his compliments never passed be- yond the boundary of mere courtly expression; and in a court where it appeared to be almost the duty of every one to be in love, rupert holliday did not seem to know what love meant. the oddness of this dashing-looking young officer— who was, the marquis de pignerolles assured every one, a very gallant soldier, and who had killed in a duel the finest swordsman in the german army—being perfectly proof to all blandishments, and ready to treat every woman with equal courtesy and attention, was a mys- tery to the ladies of the court of versailles; and rupert was regarded as a most novel and amusing specimen of english coldness and impenetrability. rupert himself was absolutely ignorant of the opinion with which men and women alike regarded him. lie dreamed not that it was only the character which so high an authority as the marquis de pignerolles had given him as a swordsman of extraordinary skill that pre- vented the due de carolan and some of ad&le's other admirers from forcing a quarrel upon him; still less did he imagine that the ladies of the court considered it in the highest degree singular that he did not fall in love with any of them. he went his way, laughed, talked, was pleasant with every one, and enjoyed his life, espe- cially his morning visits to madame de soissons. the first intimation that was given of the jealousy with which the due de carolan and others regarded the court of versailles. rupert, was a brief order that the marquis de pigne- rolles received from the king to retire with his prisoner to paris, an intimation being given that although the marquis would as heretofore be received at court, .yet that rupert was not to leave the circuit of the walls of paris. the marquis, who had foreseen the gathering storm in a hundred petty symptoms, was not surprised at the order. he knew the jealousy with which the king regarded any person who appeared even remotely likely to interfere with any plans that he had formed, and was sure that a mere hint from some favorite as to the possibility of rupert's intimacy at madame de sois- sons proving an obstacle to the carrying out of his wishes with regard to the disposal of adele's hand, would be sufficient to ensure the issue of an order for his instant dismissal from versailles. rupert was astonished and indignant at the order. "at any rate i may call and say 'good-bye' to ma- demoiselle, may i not?" "i think that you had better not, rupert; but i have simply orders to leave versailles at one o'clock to-day. i can therefore only ask you to be here at that hour. it is now eleven." "very well, sir," rupert said, "i will be here in time; and as i am not a prisoner, and can go about where i like, i do not think that even the king could object to my paying a visit of adieu." on presenting himself at madame de soissons', ru- pert heard that, in accordance with the king's command that morning received, madame de soissons and ma- demoiselle de pignerolles had gone out to the hunt, one of the royal carriages having come for them. rupert, determined not to be balked, hurried back to the stables where the horses of the marquis, one of the cornet of horse. which was always at his disposal, were kept. in a few minutes he was riding out towards the forest of st. ger- mains, where he learned that the royal chase had gone. he rode for some time, until at last he came up with one of the royal carriages which had got separated from the others. he saw at once, that it contained two of the ladies of the court with whom he was most intimate. they gave an exclamation of surprise as he reined up his horse at the window. "you, monsieur holliday! how imprudent! every one knows that you are in disgrace, and exiled to paris; how foolish of you to come here!" "i have done nothing to be ashamed of," rupert said. "besides, i was ordered to leave at one o'clock, and it is not one o'clock yet." "oh, we are all angry with you, m. l'anglais, for you have been deceiving us all for the last three months; but, now mind, we bear no malice; but pray ride off." as she spoke she made a sign to rupert to alight and come to the window, so that the coachman might not overhear what was said. "do you know," she said, earnestly, " that you are trifling with your safety, and, if la belle anglaise loves you, with her happiness? you have already done more than harm enough. the king has to-day, when he joined the hunt, presented to her formally before all the court the due de carolan as her future husband. re- member, if you are found here you will not only be sent straight to some fortress, where you may remain till you are an old man, but you will do her harm by compro- mising her still further, in which case the king might be so enraged, that he might order her to marry the duke to-morrow." "you are right. thank you," rupert said, quietly; the court of versailles. "and i have indeed, although most unwittingly, done harm. why you should all make up your minds i love mademoiselle de pignerolles i know not. i have never thought of the matter myself. i am but just twenty, and at twenty in england we are still little more than boys. i only know that i liked her very much, just as i did when she was a little girl." "oh, monsieur, but you are sly, you and l'anglaise. so it was you that she owned was her hero; and the monsieur the marquis introduced you as a stranger. oh, what innocence! but there," she went on kindly, "you know your secret is safe with us. and, monsieur," and she leant forward, "although you would not make love to me, i bear no malice, and will act as your deputy. a very strict watch is certain to be kept over her; if you want to write to her, enclose a note to me; trust me, she shall have it. there, do not stop to thank me; i hear horses' hoofs; gallop away, please; it would ruin all were you caught here." rupert pressed the hands the two ladies held out to him to his lips, mounted his horse, and rode furiously back to versailles, where he arrived just in time to leave again for paris at the hour beyond which their stay was not to be delayed. tee cornet of horse. chapter xix. the evasion. upon the ride from versailles to paris rupert told the marquis what he had done and heard. "it is bad news, rupert. i will ride back this after- noon, when i have lodged you in paris, and see adele. jf she objects—as i know she will object to this marriage —i shall respectfully protest. that any good will come of the protest i have no thought, but my protest may strengthen atlele's refusal, by showing that she has her father's approval. adcle will of course be treated coldly at first, then she will have pressure put upon her, then be ordered to choose between a convent and marriage. she will choose a convent. now in some convents she could live quietly and happily, in others she would be persecuted. if she is sent to a convent chosen for her, it will be worse than a prison. her life will be made a burden to her until she consents to obey the king's com- mand. therefore, my object will be to secure her re- treat to a convent where she will be well treated and happy. but we will talk of this again." it was not until the following afternoon that the mar- quis returned from versailles. "i am off to the front again," he said. "i had an audience with his majesty this morning, and respect- fully informed him of my daughter's incurable repug- nance to the due de carolan, and of her desire to re- the evasion. main single until at least she reached the age of twenty. his majesty was pleased to say that girls' whims were matters to which it behooved not to pay any attention. he said, however, that for the present he would allow it to remain in abeyance, and that he begged me to see adele, and to urge upon her the necessity for making up her mind to accept his majesty's choice. he also said that the news from the army was bad, that good officers were urgently required there, and that it would be therefore advisable for me to repair at once to the front and again take the command of my regiment. he said that he wished me to take you with me as far as lille, and that you should there take up your residence." "of course i will accompany you, sir," rupert said; "but i will withdraw my parole as soon as you hand me over, and take my chance of escaping." "yes, i should do that, rupert; indeed, as you gave your parole to me, you can give it back to me now, if you choose. i will run the risk of some little anger on the part of the king, if you quit me on your way to lille and make the best of your way to the frontier." "no, i thank you," rupert said: "there can't be much difficulty in escaping from a town when one wants to do so; and it would do you an evil turn indeed to in- cense the king against you at the present time." the next morning, just as they were setting out, a lackey placed a note in rupert's hands. "i hear you are sent off to lille. i have a cousin there, and have written to recommend you to his care. i will keep my promise, and let you know, if needs be, of what is happening to the young person we spoke of.—diana." rupert wrote a few words of earnest thanks, and imi- tating the example set him, gave it unaddressed and the evasion. safe, get up, put on the country gentleman's suit, say good-bye to him and go straight to the stables at the henri iv. you are the sire de nadar. i have writ- ten a note here, telling you the horse will be there and you are to fetch it—here it is. the messenger will know my seal." "i - am indeed obliged to you," rupert said, "you have thought of everything; but how will the doctor explain my not being forthcoming in the morning?" "oh, he will arrange that easily enough. the sol- diers will all sleep soundly enough after this march ; be- sides, they will not, in all probability, be near his quar- ters, so he will only have to say that he found you were too ill to continue the journey, and had therefore had you carried to a confrere of his. you must be under no fear, rupert, of any evil consequences to any one, for no one will ever connect you with the convoy. you will be missed at roll-call, but that will go for nothing. when you are absent again at six o'clock, you will be reported as missing. then it will be supposed that yon are hid in the city, and a sharp watch will be set at the gates; but after a few days it will be supposed that you have either got over the walls, or that you have gone out disguised as a peasant. a prisoner of war more or less makes but little difference, and there will never be any fuss about it." soon after dusk on the evening of the th of octo- ber, adele de pignerolles was sitting alone in a large room in the house of madame de soissons. a wood fire was blazing, and even in that doubtful light it might have been seen that the girl's eyes were swollen with crying. she was not crying now, but was looking into the fire with a set, determined look in her face. "i don't care," she said; "they may kill me at st. the cornet of horse. marie, but i will never say yes. oh, if papa were bu'j here." at that moment there was a knock at the door, and a bright-looking waiting-maid entered. "a note, mademoiselle, from mademoiselle d'etamps —and mademoiselle," and she put her finger mysteri- ously to her lips, " it is a new lackey has brought it. i told him to come again in ten minutes for an answer; for i thought it better he should not come in to be looked at by francois and jules." "why not, margot?" adele asked in great surprise. "because, mademoiselle, he seemed to me—i may be wrong, you know—but he seemed to me very, very like-" "like whom, margot? how mysterious you are." "like the english office]-," margot said, with anarch nod. adele leaped to her feet. "you must be mad, margot. there, light a candle." but without waiting, adele knelt down close to the fire, and broke open the letter. a flush, even ruddier than that given by the fire, mounted over her face. "it is him, margot. he has come from ni}- father. now we are to do what i told you about. we are to go off to-night under his charge, to your mother's, my dear old nurse, and there i am to live with you, and be as your cousin, till papa can get me out of the country." "and is the young officer to live there till the mar- quis comes?" margot asked, slily; "he might pass as another cousin, mademoiselle." "how foolish you are, margot, and this is no time for folly. but listen. my father says, ' rupert will be in, the evasion. tlio street round the corner, with three horses, lit eleven o'clock. you and margot are to be dressed in the boy's clothes that i bade you prepare. take in bundles two of margot's dresses. do not be afraid to trust yourself with rupert holliday; regard him as a brother; he has all my confidence and trust'." "we must remember that," margot said. "remember what, margot?" "only that you are to regard him as a brother, ma- demoiselle." "margot, margot, i am surprised at you, joking like a child when we have a terrible bifsiness before us. but indeed i feel so happy at the thought of escape from that terrible convent, that i could joke like a child also." "you had better write a line for him, mademoiselle. it was from chance that i happened to be in |he hall when he rang; and we don't want him to come in to be stared at by francois while you write an answer." quickly adele sat down at a table, and wrote,— "at the hour and place named, expect us.—yours, trustfully, adele." as the clock struck eleven two slight figures stole noiselessly out of the garden gate of madame de sois- sons' house at versailles. the town was hushed* in sleep, and not a sound was moving in the street. they carried bundles with them, and walkefl with rapid steps" to a small lane which led off the street by the side of the garden wall. it was quite dark, and they could see nothing, but a voice said,—" adele!' "rupert!" one of the figures answered, in shy, trem- bling tones. "please stay where you are," rupert said; "it i lighter in the street." the cornet of horse. the horses were led forth noiselessly, for rupert had fastened cloths round their feet, to prevent the- iron shoes sounding on the round pehbles which paved the streets. not a word was said. there was a warm clasp of the hand, and rupert lifted adele into the saddle ; mar- got climbed into another, and the three rode rapidly- down the streets. not a word was spoken until they were in the open country. "thank god, you are safe thus far, adele. the last time i helped you on to a horse was the day you went out to see my hawk kill a heron." "oh, rupert," the girl said, "it seems like a dream. but please do not let us talk yet about ourselves. tell me about papa. how is he?" rupert told her; and gradually as they talked the ex- citement and agitation passed off. "and where did you get the horses, rupert?" "the one i am riding is louis d'etamps'," he said, "the others are your father's. i brought orders from him to his steward in paris, that two of his best horses were to be sent this morning to a stable in versailles, and left there, and that a person with an order from him would call for them." "i cannot see you in the least; are you dressed as m. d'etamps' lackey still?" "no, i am now a quiet country gentleman, riding down from paris with my two sons, who have been up with me to see their aunt who lives in the rue du temple." "talk french, please, rupert: margot will under- stand then; and she is so brave and good, and shares my danger, so she ought to be as one of us." adele's spirits rose as they got farther from ver- the evasion. sailles, and they talked and laughed cheerfully, but in low tones. three miles from versailles, as they rode past a cross- road, two mounted men dashed out suddenly. "stand, in the king's name! who are you?" "we are travellers," rupert said, quietly, "and go where we will. who are you?" "we are guards of the court, and we must know who you are before we suffer you to pass. none ride at night near versailles but with a pass." "i am an exception then," rupert said, "and i advise you not to interfere with us," and he urged his horse a few feet in advance of his companions. one of the horsemen seized his bridle, while another drew a pistol. rupert's sword leaped from its scabbard and cut down the man who held the rein. the other fired, but rupert threw himself forward on the horse's neck and the bullet whizzed over his head; he rode at the garde, and with a heavy blow with the pommel of the sword struck him senseless from his horse. "now," he said to adele, " we can ride on again. you are not frightened, i hope?" "not so frightened as i was the first time you drew sword in my behalf," the girl said; "but it is very dreadful. are they killed, rupert?" "not a bit of it," rupert said; "one has got a gash on the head which will cost him a crown in plaister, the other may have lost some teeth. it would have been wise to have killed them, for their tale in the morning is likely to be regarded as throwing some light upon your disappearance; but i could not kill men who were only doing their duty. at any rate we have twelve hours' start, even if they take up the clue and pursue us the cornet of house. on this line to-morrow. it is about ten miles this side of poitiers that your mother lives, is it not, margot?" "yes, m. rupert. how surprised she will be at my arrival with my cousins." "oh, we are both your cousins, are we, margot?" "mademoiselle adele is to pass as my cousin, mon- sieur, and i suppose you must be either another cousin, or else her brother." "margot," adele said, "you chatter too much." "do i, mademoiselle? it is better than riding through the darkness without speaking. i was very glad when the cloths were off the horses' feet, for we seemed like a party of ghosts." "how long shall we be getting there ?" adele asked, presently. "six days, if we do it all with the same horses," ru- pert said; "and i am afraid to hire horses and leave them on the way, as it would look as if we were pressed for time. no, for to-day we are safe—but for to-day only. messengers will be sent in all directions with orders for our arrest. they will take fresh relays of horses; and really our only hope is in disguise. i pro- pose that we go the first stage without halting as far as our horses will carry us. i think we can get to orleans. there we will put them up and take rooms. then margot must slip out in her own dress and buy two peasant girls' attire, and i will pick up at some dealer in old clothes a suit which will enable me to pass as a wounded soldier making his way home. then we will strike off from the main road and follow the lanes and get on some other road. they will inquire all along the road and will hear of a gentleman and two youths, and will for a while have that in their minds. no one will particularly notice us, and we shall get into tours g the cornet of horse. "you are very,good, rupert. good-bye ;" and with a wave of the hand she ran after margot; while rupert, mounting the cart, drove on into poitiers. here he sold his load of hay to a stable-keeper, drove a mile or two out of the town, entered a wood, and then took the horse out of the cart, and leaving the latter in a spot where, according to all appearances, it was not likely to be seen for months, drove the horse still further into the wood, and, placing a pistol to its head, shot it dead. then he renewed his disguise as a soldier, but this time dispensing with the greater part of his ban- dages, and set out on his return, in high spirits at hav- ing so successfully performed his journey. he pursued his journey as far back as blois without the slightest interruption, but here his tramp came to a sudden termination. secure in the excellence of his french, rupert had attempted no disguise as to his face beyond such as was given by a strip of plaister, running from the upper lip to the temple. he strode gayly along, sometimes walking alone, sometimes joining some other wayfarer, telling every one that he was from bordeaux, where he had been to see his parents, and get cured of a sabre cut. as he passed through the town of blois, rupert sud- denly came upon a group of horsemen. saluting as he passed—for in those days in france no one of inferior rank passed one of the upper classes without uncover- ing—he went steadily on. "that is a proper looking fellow," one of the party said, looking after him. "by our lady," exclaimed another, " i believe i have seen that head and shoulders before. yes, i feel sure. gentlemen, we have made a prize; unless i am greatly mistaken, this is the villainous englishman the evasion. who it is believed aided that malapert young lady to escape." in another moment rupert was surrounded, his hat was knocked off, and the due de carolan, for it was he, exclaimed in delight,— , "i thought that i could not be mistaken, it is him- - iself." rupert attempted no resistance, for alone and on foot it would have been hopeless. the governor of the royal castle of blois was one of the party, and rupert found himself in another ten minutes standing, with guards on each side of him, before a table in the governor's room, with the governor and the due de carolan sitting as judges before him. "i have nothing to say," rupert said, quietly. "i escaped from lille because i had been, as i deemed it, unworthily treated in paris. i had withdrawn my pa- role, and was therefore free to escape if i could. i did escape, but finding the frontier swarmed with french troops, i thought it safer to make for central france, where a wayfarer would not be looked upon as suspi- ciously as in the north. here i am. i decline to an- swer any further questions. as to the lady of whom you question me, i rejoice to find, by the drift of your questions, that she has withdrawn herself from the per- secution which she suffered, and has escaped being forced into marriage with a man whom she once de- scribed in my hearing as an ape in the costume of the day." "and that is all you will say, prisoner?" the gov- ernor asked, while the due de carolan gave an excla- mation of fury. "that is all, sir; and i would urge, that as an english officer i am entitled to fair and honorable treatment, the cornet of house. for although i might have been shot in the act of trying to escape from prison, it is the rule that an escaping prisoner caught afterwards, as i am, should have fair treatment, although his imprisonment should be stricter and more secure than before. as to the other matter, there cannot be, i am assured, even a tittle of evidence to connect me with the event you mention. as far as i hear from you, i escaped on the th from lille, which date is indeed accurate. three days later mademoi- selle de pignerolles left versailles. the connection between the two events does not appear in any way clear to me." "it may or it may not be," the governor said; "how- ever, my duty is clear, to keep you here in safe ward until i receive his majesty's orders." four days later the royal order came. rupert waa to be taken to the dreaded fortress prison of loches, a place from which not one in a hundred of those who en* tered in ever came forth alive. j&gbbs. chapter xx. loches. "a british pfficer, broke out from lille. ah i" the governor of loches said to himself, as he glanced over the royal order. "something else beyond that, i fancy. prisoners of war who try to break prison are not sent to loches. i suppose he has been in somebody's way very seriously. a fine young fellow, too—a really splendid fellow. a pity really; however, it is not my business. number four, in the south tower," he said, and rupert was led away. number four was a cell on the third story of the south tower. more than that rupert did not know. there was no looking out from the loopholes that admitted light, for they were boarded up on the outside. there was a fireplace, a table, a chair, and a bedstead. twice a day a jailer entered with provisions; he made no re- ply to rupert's questions, but shook his head when spoken to. for the first week rupert bore his imprisonment with cheerfulness, but the absolute silence, the absence of anything to break the dreary monotony, the probability that he might remain a prisoner all his life, was crush- ing even to the most active and energetic temperament. at the end of a month the jailer made a motion for him to follow him. ascending the stairs to a great height, they reached the platform on the top of the tower. tiie connet of horse. rupert was delighted with the sight of the sky, and of the wide-spreading fields—even though the latfer were covered with snow. 'for half an hour he paced rapidly round and round the limited walk. presently the jailer touched him, and pointing below, said,— "look i" rupert looked over the battlement, and saw a little party issue from a small postern gate far below him, cross the broad fosse, and pause in an open space formed by an outlying w rk beyond. they bore with them a box. "a funeral?" rupert asked. the man nodded. "they all go out at last," he said, " but unless they tell what they are wanted to tell, they go no other way." five minutes later rupert was again locked up in his cell, when he was, in the afternoon of the same day, visited by the governor, who asked if he would say where he had taken mademoiselle pignerolles. "you may as well answer," he said; "you will never go out alive unless you do." rupert shook his head. "i do not admit that i know aught concerning the lady you name; but did i do so, i should prefer death to betraying her." "ay," the governor said, "you might do that; but death is very preferable to life at loches." in a day or two rupert found himself again despond- ing. "this will not do," he said earnestly, "i must arouse myself. let me think, what have i heard that prison- ers do? in the first place they try to escape; and soma have escaped from places as difficult as loches. well, lochbs. that is one thing to be thought very seriously about. in the next place, i have heard of their making pets of spiders and all sorts of things. well, i may come to that, but at present i don't like spiders well enough to make pets of them; besides i don't see any spiders to make pets of. then some prisoners have carved avails, but i have no taste for carving. i might keep my mus- cles in order and my health good by exercise with the chair and table, get to hold them out at arm's length, lift the table with one hand, and so on. yes, all sorts of exercise might be continued in that way, and the more i take exercise the better i shall sleep at night and enjoy my meals. yes, with nothing else to do i might become almost a samson here. there, now my whole time is marked out—escape from prison, and exercise. i'll try the last first, and then think over the other." for a long time rupert worked away with his furni- ture until he had quite exhausted himself; then feel- ing happier and better than he had done since he was shut up, he began to think of plans to escape. the easiest way would of course be to knock down and gag the jailer, and to escape in his clothes; but this plan he put aside at once, as it was morally certain that he should be no nearer to his escape after reaching the courtyard of the prison, than he was in his cell. there remained then the chimney, the loophole, and the solid wall. the chimney was the first to disappear from the calculation. looking up it rupert saw that it was crossed by a dozen iron bars, the height too was very great, and even when at the top the height was immense to descend to the fosse. the loophole was next examined. it was far too narrow to squeeze through, and was cressed by three sets of bars. the chance of widening the cornet of house. the narrow loophole and removing the bins without de- tection was extreme; besides, rupert had a strong idea that loophole looked into the courtyard. finally, he came to the conclusion, that if an escape was to be made it must be by raising a flag of the floor, tunnelling be- tween his room and that underneath it, and working out through the solid wall. it would be a tremendous work, for the loophole showed him that the wall must be ten feet thick; still, as he said to himself, it will be at least something to do and to think about, and even if it takes five years and comes to nothing, it will have been useful. thus resolved, rupert went to work, and labored steadily. his exercise with the chair and table suc- ceeded admirably, and after six months he was able to perform feats of strength with them that surprised him- self. with his scheme for escape he was less fortunate. either his tools were fault}?, or the stones he had to work upon were too compact and well built, but beyond getting up the flag, making a hole below it in the hard cement which filled in the space between the floor, large enough to bury a good-sized cat, rupert achieved noth- ing. he had gone into prison in november, it was now august, and he was fast coming to the idea that loches was not be broken out of by the way in which he was attempting to do it. one circumstance gave him in- tense delight, adele's hiding-place, had not been discov- ered. this he was sure of, by the urgency with which -the governor strove to extract from him the secret of her whereabouts. their demands were at the last meet- ing mingled with threats, and rupert felt that the gov- ernor had received stringent orders to wring the truth from him. so serious did these menaces become that loches. rupert ceased to labor at the floor of his cell, being assured that ere long some change or other would take place. he was not mistaken. one day the governor entered, attended, as usual, by the jailer and another official. "sir," he said to rupert," we can no longer be trifled with. i have orders to obtain from you the name of the place to which you escorted the young lady you went off with. if you refuse to answer me, a different system to that which has hitherto been pursued will be adopted. you will be removed from this comfortable room and placed in the dungeons. once there, you must either speak or die, for few men are robust enough to exist there for many weeks. i am sorry, sir, but i have my duty to do. will you speak, or will you change your room?" "i will change my room," rupert said, quietly. "i may die; but if by any chance i should ever see the light again, be assured that all europe shall know how offi- cers taken in war are treated by the king of france." the governor shrugged his shoulders, made a sign to the jailer, who opened the door, and as the governor left four other warders entered the room. rupert smiled, he knew that this display of force was occasioned by the fact that his jailer, entering his room suddenly, had several times caught him balancing the weighty ta- ble on his arm or performing other feats which had as- tounded the frenchman. the work at the cell wall had alwavs been done at night. "i«am ready to accompany you," rupert said, and without another word followed his conductor down stairs. arrived at a level with the yard, another door was unlocked, and the party descended down some stairs, where the cold dampness of the air struck a chill loches. comes down here, it is always because they want to get something out of him, or they want to finish with him for good and all. you see you are below the level of the moat here, the water comes at ordinary times to within six inches of that slit up there. and in wet weather it happens sometimes that the stream which feeds the moat swells, and if it has been forgotten to open the sluice gates of the moat, it will rise ten feet before morning. i once knew a prisoner drowned in the cell above this." "well," rupert said, calmly. "after all one may as well be drowned as die by inches. i don't owe you any ill-will, but i should be almost glad if i did, for then i should dash your brains out against the wall, and fight till they had to bring soldiers down to kill me." the man gave a surly growl,— "i have my knife," he said. "just so," rupert answered; "and it may be, although i do not think it likely, that you might kill me before i knocked your brains out; but that would be just what i should like. i repeat, it is only because i have no ill- will towards you that i don't at once begin a struggle which would end in my death one way or another." the jailer said no more; but it was clear that ru- pert's words had in no slight degree impressed him, for he was on all his future visits as civil as it was within his nature to be. "whenever you wish to see the governor, he will come to you," he said to rupert one day. "if the governor does not come till i send for him," rupert answered, "he will never come." even in this dungeon, where escape seemed hope- less, rupert determined to do his best to keep life and etren^th -together. nothing but the death of the king loches. water outside rise ten feet above the level of his roof, sufficient air would he pent up there to prevent the water from rising inside, and to supply him with suffi- cient to breathe for many hours. he was more afraid of the effects of cold than of being drowned. he felt that in a flood in october the water was likely to be fairly warm, and he congratulated himself that it was now, instead of in december, that he should have to pass through the ordeal. before commencing the struggle, he kneeled for some time in prayer on his bed, and then, with a firm heart, rose to his feet and awaited the rising of the water. this was rapid indeed, it was already two feet over his bed, and minute by minute it rose higher. when it reached his chin, which it did in less than a quarter of an hour from the time when he had first awoke, he swam across to the loophole, which was now but a few inches above the water, and through which a stream of water still poured. impossible as it was for any human being to get through the narrow slit, an iron bar had been placed across it. of this rupert took hold, and remained quiescent as the water mounted higher and higher; presently it rose above the top of the loophole, and rupert now watched anxiously how fast it ran. floating on his back, and keeping a finger at the water level against the wall, he could feel that the water still rose. it seem to him that the rise was slow- er and slower, and at last his finger remained against a point in the stones for some minutes without moving. the rise of the water inside the dungeon had ceased. that it continued outside he guessed by a slight but distinct feeling of pressure in the air, showing that the column of water outside was compressing it. he had no fear of any bad consequences from this source, as the cohnet of horse. even a height of twelve feet of water outside would not give any unbearable pressure. he was more afraid that he himself would exhaust the air, but he believed that there would be sufficient; and as he knew that the less he exerted himself the less air he required, he floated quietly on his back, with his feet resting on the bar across the loophole, now two feet under water. he scarcely felt the water cold. the rain had come from a warm quarter; and the temperature of the water was actually higher than that of the cold and humid dun- geon. hour after hour passed. the night appeared interminable. from time to time rupert dived so as to look through the loophole, and at last was rewarded by seeing a faint dull light. day was beginning; and ru- pert had no doubt that with early morning the sluices would be opened, and the moat entirely cleared of water. he had, when talking with his jailer one day, asked him how they got rid of the water in the dungeon after a flood, and the man said there were pipes from the floor of each dungeon into the moat. at ordinary times these pipes were closed by wooden plugs, as the water outside was far above the floor; but that after a flood the water was entirely let out of the moat, and the plugs removed from the pipes, which thus emptied the dun- geons. from the way in which the fellow described the vari- ous arrangements, rupert had little doubt that the sluice gates were at times purposely left closed, in order to clear off troublesome prisoners who might otherwise have remained a care and expense to the state for years to come. long as the night had seemed, it seemed even longer before rupert felt that the water was sinking. he knew that after the upper sluice had opened the fosse loches. might take some time to fall to the water inside the dungeon, and that until it did the water inside would remain stationary. he passed the hours by changing his position as much as possible; sometimes he swam round and round, at other times he trod water, then he would float quietly, then cling to the bar of the loophole. the descent of the water came upon him at last as a surprise. he was swimming round and round, and had not for some time touched the wall, when suddenly a ray of light flashed in his face. he gave a cry of joy. the water had fallen below the top of the loophole, and swimming up to it, he could see across the fosse, and watch the sunlight sparkling on the water. it was two months since he had seen the light, and the feeling of joy overpowered him more than the danger he had faced. rapidly the water fell, until it was level with the bot- tom of the loophole. then hours passed away; for the fosse would have to be emptied before the drain leading from the dungeon could be opened. however, rupert hardly felt the time long. with his hands on the bar and in the loop- hole, he remained gazing out at the sunlight. the water in the fosse sank and sank, until he could no longer see it; but he could see the sun glistening on the wet grass of the bank, and he was satisfied. at last he was conscious of a strain on his arm, and with- drawing his gaze from without, he saw that the water had fallen six inches. it now sank rapidly; and in an hour he could stand with his head above it. then he was able to sit down on his bed; but when the water sank to a depth of two feet, he again lay on his back and floated. he knew that a thick deposit of mud would be left, and that it the corset of horse. was essential for his plan that he should drift to the exit hole of the water, and there be found, with the mud and slime undisturbed by footsteps or movement. another ten minutes, and he lay on his back on the ground in a corner of the dungeon to which the water had floated him, having taken care towards the end to sink his head so that his hair floated partly over it, and as the water drained off remained so. he guessed it to be about midday, and he expected to be left undisturbed until night. after a time he slept, and when he awoke it was dark, and soon after he heard steps coming down the stairs. now was the moment of trial. presently the doc* opened and four of the jailers came in. they bore be- tween them a stretcher. "this is the fifth," one said, and he recognized the voice of his own attendant, "it is a pity ! he was a fine fellow. well, there's one more, and then the job's done." he bent over rupert, who ceased breathing. "he's the only one with his eyes closed," he said. "i expect there's some one would break her heart if she knew he was lying here. well, lift him up, mates." the two month's' imprisonment in the dungeon had done one good service for rupert, the absence of light had blanched his face, and even had he been dead he could hardly have looked more white than he did. the long hours in the water had made his hands deadly cold, and the hair matted on his face added to the deathlike aspect. put the stretcher on the ground, and roll him over on to it," one of the men said. "i don't mind a dead man, but these are so clammy and slimy that they are .horrible to touch. there,-stand between him and the the cornet of horse. hands again, and by the morning he "was thirty-five miles from loches. he had stopped once, a mile or two after starting, when he came to a stream. into this he had waded, and had washed the muck stains from his clothes, hair, and face. with the morning dawn his clothes were dry, and he presented to the eye an aspect similar to that which he wore when captured at blois nearly a year before, of a dilapidated and broken-down soldier, for he had retained in prison the clothes he wore when captured; but they had become infinitely more dingy from the wear and tear of prison, and soaking had destroyed all vestige of color. presently he came to a mill by a stream. "hallo!" the miller said cheerily, from his door. "you seem to have been in the wars, friend." "i have in my way," rupert said. "i was wounded in flanders. i have been home to bordeaux, and got cured again. i started for the army again, and some tramps who slept in the same room with me robbed me of my last shilling. to complete my disaster, last night, not having money to pay for a bed, i tramped on, fell into a stream, and was nearly drowned." "come in," said the miller. "wife, here is a poor fellow out of luck; give him a bowl of hot milk, and some bread." back in harness. must be going, the regrets of the miller and his wife were deep, and by offer of higher pay they tried to get him to stay. rupert however was, of course, unable to accede to their request, and was glad when they re- ceived a letter from a son in the army, saying that lie had been laid up with fever, and had got his discharge, and was just starting to settle with them at the mill. saying good-bye to his kind employers, rupert started with a stout suit of clothes, fifty francs in his pocket and a document signed by the maire of the parish to the effect that antoine duprat, miller's man, had been working through the winter at evres, and was now on his way to join his regiment with the army of flanders. determined to run no more risks if he could avoid it, he took a line which would avoid paris and all other towns at which he had ever shown himself. sometimes he tramped alone, more often with other soldiers who had been during the winter on leave to recover from the effects of wounds or of fevers. from their talk rupert learned with satisfaction that the campaign which he had missed had been very uneventful, and that no great battles had taken place. it was expected that the struggle that would begin in a few weeks would be a desperate one, both sides having made great efforts to place a predominating force in the field. as he had no idea of putting on the french uniform even for a day, rupert resolved as he approached the army frontier to abandon his story that he was a soldier going to take his place in the ranks. when he reached amiens he found the streets en- cumbered with baggage wagons taking up provisions and stores to the army. the drivers had all been pressed into the service. going into a cabaret, he heard some young fellow lamenting bitterly that he had been the cornet of horse. dragged away from home when he was in three weeks to have been married. waiting until he left, rupert followed him, and told him that he had heard what he had said and was ready to go as his substitute, if he liked. for a minute or two the poor fellow eould hardly believe his good fortune; but when he found that he was in earnest he was delighted, and hurried off to the contractor in charge of the train—rupert stopping with him'by the way to buy a blouse, in which he looked more fitted for the post. the contractor seeing that rupert was a far more powerful and useful-looking man than the driver whose place he offered to take, made no difficulty whatever; and in five minutes rupert, with a metal plate with his number hung round his neck, was walking by the side of a heavily loaded team, while their late driver, with his papers of discharge in his pocket, had started for home almost wild with delight. for a month rupert worked backwards and forwards, between the posts and the depfits. as yet the allies had not taken the field, and he knew that he should have no chance of crossing a wide belt of country patrolled in every direction by the french cavalry. at the end of that time the infantry moved out from their quarters and took the field, and the allied army advanced towards them. the french army, under vendfime, numbered , men, while marlborough, owing to the intrigues of his enemies at home, and the dissensions of the allies, was able to bring only , into the field. the french had correspondents in most of the towns in flanders, where the rapacity of the dutch had exas~ perated the people against their new masters, and made them long for the return of the french. a plot was on foot to deliver antwerp to the french, and vendsme moved forward to take advantage of it; back in harness. but marlborough took post at halle, and vendsme halted his army at soignies, three leagues distant. considerable portions of each force moved much closer to each other, and lay watching each other across a valley but a mile wide. rupert happened to be with the wagons taking am- munition up to the artillery in an advanced position, and determined, if possible, to seize the opportunity of rejoining his countrymen. a lane running between two high hedges led from the foot of the hill where he was standing, directly across the valley, and rupert slipping away unnoticed, made the best of his way down the lane. when nearly half across the valley, the hedges ceased, and rupert issued out into open fields. hitherto, knowing that he had not been noticed, he had husbanded his breath, and had only walked quickly, but as he came into the open he started at a run. he was already nearly half way between the armies, and reckoned that before any of the french cavalry could overtake him he would be within reach of succor by his friends. a loud shout from behind him showed that he was seen, and looking round he saw that a french general officer, accompanied by another officer and a dragoon, were out in front of their lines reconnoitring the british position. they, seeing the fugitive, set spurs to their horses to cut him off. rupert ran at the top of his speed, and could hear a roar of encouragement from the troops in front. he was assured that there was no cavalry at this part of the lines, and that he must be overtaken long before he could get within the very short distance that then constituted musket range. finding that escape was out of the question, he slack- l- back in harness. "i don't know, sir," rupert said, laughing, "there was no time for any formal introduction, and i made his acquaintance without asking his name." an officer was at once sent off to colonel forbes to inquire the name of the prisoner. "there is one of your assailants making off," the duke said; and rupert saw that the trooper had re- gained his feet and was limping slowly away. u he fell right," rupert said; "he was no weight to speak of." "the other officer is killed, i think," the duke said, looking with a telescope. "i fancy so," rupert said, dryly. "i hit him rather hard. he was the due de carolan, and as he had given much annoyance to a friend of mine, not to mention a serious act of disservice to myself, i must own that if i had to kill a frenchman in order to escape, i could not have picked out one with whom i had so long an account to settle." the officer now rode back, and reported that the prisoner was general mouffler. "a good cavalry officer," the duke said; "it is a useful capture. and now, rupert, you will.want to be with your friends. if we encamp here to-night, come in to me after it is dark and tell me what you have been doing. if not, come to me the first evening we halt." rupert now rode back to his regiment, where he was again received with the greatest delight. the men had now dismounted, and rupert, after a few cordial words with his brother officers, went off to find hugh. he found the faithful fellow leaning against a tree, fairly crying with emotion and delight, and ruperthim- l the cornet of house. self could not but shed tears of pleasure at his reunion with his attached friend. after a talk with hugh, ru- pert again returned to the officers, who were just sitting down to a dinner on the grass. after the meal was over rupert was called upon to relate his adventures. some parts of his narrative were clear enough, but others were singularly confused and indistinct. the first parts were all satisfactory. ru- pert's capture was accounted for. he said that in the person of the commanding officer he met an old friend of colonel holliday, who took him to paris, and pre- sented him at versailles. then the narrative became indistinct. he fell into disgrace; his friend was sent back to the army, and he was sent to lille. "but why was this, rupert," captain dillon—for he was now a captain—asked. "did you call his majesty out? or did you kiss madame de maintenon? or run away with a maid of honor?" a dozen laughing suggestions were made, and then rupert said gravely,— "there was an unfounded imputation that i was in- terfering with the plans which his majesty had formed for the marriage of a lady and gentleman of the court." rupert spoke so gravely that his brother officers saw that any joking here would be ill-timed; but sly winks were exchanged as rupert, changing the subject, went on to recount his captivity at lille. the story of his escape was listened to eagerly, and then rupert made a long pause, and colored lightly. "several things of no importance then happened," he said, "and as i was going through the streets of blois,—" "the streets of where?" colonel forbes asked, in astonishment. "you escape from lille, just on the back in harness. frontier, what on earth were you doing down at blois, a hundred miles south of paris?" rupert paused again, "i really cannot explain it, colonel. i shall make a point of telling the duke, and if he considers that i acted wrongly, i must bear his displeasure; but the matter is of no real importance, and does not greatly concern my adventures. forgive me, if i do not feel justified in telling it. all the rest is plain sail- ing." again the narrative went on, and the surprise at hear- ing that rupert had been confined at loches, well known as a prison for dangerous political offenders, was only exceeded by that occasioned by the incidents of his escape therefrom. rupert carried on his story to the point of the escape from the french, which they had just witnessed. there was a chorus of congratulations at his having gone safely through such great dangers; and dillon remarked,— "it appears to me that you have been wasting your time and your gifts most amazingly. here have you been absent just two years, and with the exception of a paltry marauder you do not seem to have slain a single frenchman, till you broke that officer's skull to-day. i think, my friends, that the least we can do is to pass a formal vote of censure upon our comrade for such a grievous waste of his natural advantages. the only thing in his favor is, that he seems to have been giving up his whole attention to growing, and he has got so prodigiously broad and big that now he has again joined us he will be able to make up for the otherwise sinful loss of time." a chorus of laughter greeted dillon's proposal, and the cornet of horse. chapter xxii. oudenakde. the trumpet call which summoned rupert and his friends to horse was, as he suspected, an indication that there was a general movement of the troops in front. vendsme had declined to attack the allies in the posi- tion they had taken up, but had moved by his right to braine-le-leude, a village close to the ground on which, more than a hundred years later, waterloo was fought, and whence he threatened alike louvain and brussels. marlborough moved his army on a parallel line to an- derleet. no sooner had he arrived there, than he found that vend ine was still moving towards his right—a proof that louvain was really the object of the attack. again the allied troops were set in motion, and all night, through torrents of rain, they tramped wearily along, until at daybreak they were in position at pare, covering the fortress of louvain. vendfime, finding himself anticipated, fell back to braine-le-leude with- out firing a shot. but though marlborough had so far foiled the enenry, it was clear that he was not in a condition to take the offensive before the arrival of prince eugene, who would, he trusted, be able to come to his assistance; and for weeks the armies watched each other without movement. on the th of july, vendsme suddenly marched from braine-le-leude, intending to capture the fortress of oudenarde. oudenarde. small bodies of troops were sent off at the same time to ghent and bruges, whose inhabitants rose and admitted the french. marlborough, seeing the danger which threatened the very important for- tress of oudenarde, sent orders to lord cliandos who commanded at ath, to collect all the small garrisons in the neighborhood, and to throw himself into ouden- arde. this was done before vendsme could reach the place, which was thus secured against a coup-de-main. vendfime invested the fortress, brought up his siege train from tournay, and removed towards lessines with his main army to cover the siege. the loss of ghent and bruges, the annoyances he suffered from party attacks at home, and the failure of the allies to furnish the promised contingents, so agi- tated marlborough that he was seized with an attack of fever. fortunately, on the th of july prince eugene ar- rived. finding that his army could not be up in time, he had left them, and, accompanied only by his personal staff, had ridden on to join marlborough. the arrival of this able general and congenial spirit did much to restore marlborough; and after a council with the prince, he determined to throw his army upon vend me's line of communications, and thus force him to fight with his face to paris. at two in the morning of the th of july, the allies broke up their camp, and advanced in four great col- umns towards lessines and the french frontier. by noon the heads of the columns had reached herfelin- gen, fourteen miles from their starting point, and bridges were thrown across the dender, and the next morning the army crossed, and then stood between the french and their own frontier- ottdekaedk it flows a stream formed by the junction of the two rivulets. at a distance of about a mile from the scheldt, and almost parallel with that river, runs the norken, a considerable stream, which falls into the scheldt below gavre. behind this river the ground rises into a high plateau, in which, at the commence- ment of the fight, the greater portion of the french army were posted. the appearance of colonel cadogan with his advanced guard completely astonished the french generals. the allies were known to have been fifteen miles away on the preceding evening, and that a great army should march that distance, cross a great river, and be in readiness to fight a great battle, was contrary to all their calculations of probabilities. the duke of burgundy wished to continue the march to ghent. marshal vendsme pointed out, that it was too late, and that although a country so intersected with hedges was unfavorable ground for the army which possessed the larger masses of men, yet that a battle be fought. this irresolution and dissension on the part of the french generals wasted time, and allowed the allies to push large bodies of troops across the river un- molested. as fast as they got over marlborough formed them up near bevere, a village a few hundred yards north of oudenarde. marlborough then pre- pared to take the offensive, and ordered colonel cado- gan to retake eynes. four english battalions, under colonel sabine, crossed the stream and attacked the french forces in the village, consisting of several battal- ions under pfiffer, while the cavalry crossed the rivu- lets higher up, and came down on the flank of the village. the result was three french battalions were surrounded and made prisoners, and the other four routed and dispersed. oudenarde. . - & marlborough now despatched eugene to take command of the british on the right, directed count lottum to move from the centre with twenty battalions to reinforce that side of the fight, and went himself to restore the battle on the left. eugene, with his british troops, were gradually but steadily, in spite of their obstinate resistance, being driven back, when lottum's reinforcements arrived, and with these eugene advanced at once, and drove back the enemy. as these were in disorder, general natzmer, at the head of the prussian cuirassiers, charged them and drove them back, until he himself was fallen upon by the french horse guards in reserve, while the infantry's fire from the hedgerows mowed down the cuirassiers. so dreadful was the fire that half the prus- sian cavalry were slain, and the rest escaped with diffi- culty, hotly pursued by the french household troops. an even more desperate conflict was all this time raging on the left. here marlborough placed himself at the head of the dutch and hanoverian battalions, and led them back against the french, who were advancing with shouts of victory, and desperate struggles ensued. alison in his history says:—" the ground on which the hostile lines met was so broken, that the battle in that quarter turned almost into a series of partial conflicts and even personal encounters. every bridge, every ditch, every wood, every hamlet, every enclosure, was obstinately con- tested, and so incessant was the roll of musketry, and so intermingled did the hostile lines become, that the field, seen from a distance, appeared an unbroken line of flame. a warmer fire, a more desperate series of combats, was never witnessed in modern warfare; it was in great part conducted hand to hand, like the the cornet of horse. battles of antiquity, of which livy and homer have left such graphic descriptions. the cavalry could not act, from the multitude of hedges and copses -which intersected the theatre of conflict; breast to breast, knee to knee, bayonet to bayonet, they maintained the fight on both sides with the most desperate resolution. if the resistance, however, was obstinate, the attack was no less vigorous, and at length the enthusiastic ardor of the french yielded to the steady valor of the germans. gradually they were driven back, literally, at the bayonet's point; and at length, resisting at every point, they yielded all the ground they had won at the commencement of the action. so, gradually they were pushed back as far as the village of diepenbech, where so stubborn a stand was made that the allies could no longer advance." overkirk had now got the rear of the army across the river, and the duke, seeing that the hill of }'cke, which flanked the enemy's position, was unoccupied by them, directed the veteran general with his twenty dutch and danish battalions to advance and occupy it. arrived there, he swung round the left of his line, and so pressed the french right, which was advanced beyond their outer bounds into the little plain of diepenbeck. the duke commanded overkirk to press round still further to his left by the passes of mullein and the mill of royeghem by which the french sustained their com- munication with the force still on the plateau beyond the norken, and prince eugene to further extend his right so as to encompass the mass of french crowded in the plain of diepenbeck. the night was falling now, and the progress of the allies on either flank could be seen by the flashes of fire. oudenabde. vendsme, seeing the immense danger in which his right and centre were placed, endeavored to bring up his left, hitherto intact; but the increasing darkness, the thick inclosures, and the determined resistance of eugene's troops, prevented him from carrying out his intention. so far were the british wings extended round the plain of diepenbeck, that they completely enclosed it, and eugene's and overkirk's men meeting • fought fiercely, each believing the other to be french. the mistake was discovered, and to prevent any further mishap of this kind in the darkness, the whole army was ordered to halt where it was and wait till morning. had the daylight lasted two hours longer, the whole of the french army would have been slain or taken pris- oners; as it was, the greater portion made their way through the intervals of the allied army around them, and fled to ghent. nevertheless, they lost , , killed and wounded, and , prisoners, while many thousands of the fugitives made for the french frontier. thus the total loss to vend *me exceeded , men, while the allies lost in all , . when morning broke, marlborough despatched forty squadrons of horse in pursuit of the fugitives towards ghent, sent off count lottum with thirty battalions and fifty squadrons to carry the strong lines which the enemy had constructed between ypres and warneton, and employed the rest of his force in collecting and tending the wounded of both armies. a few days later the two armies, that of eugene and that of the duke of berwick, which had been marching with all speed parallel to each other, came up and joined those of marlborough and vendqme respectively. the duke of berwick's corps was the more powerful, numbering thirty-four battalions and fifty-five squadrons, the cornet of horse. and this raised the duke de vendsme's army to over , , and placed him again fairly on an equality with the allies. marlborough having by his masterly movement forced vendsme to fight with his face to paris, and in his retreat to retire still farther from the frontier, now had france open to him, and his counsel was that the whole army should at once march for ■ paris, disregarding the fortresses just as wellington and blucher did after waterloo. he was, however, overruled, even eugene considering such an attempt to be altogether too dangerous, with vendfime's army, , strong, in the rear; and it must be admitted it would certainly have been a march altogether without a parallel. finding that his colleagues would not consent to so daring and adventurous a march, marlborough deter- mined to enter france, and lay siege to the immensely strong fortress of lille. this was in itself a tremen- dous undertaking, for the fortifications of the town were considered the most formidable ever designed by vau- ban, the citadel within the town was still stronger, and the garrison of , picked troops were commanded by marshal boufflers, one of the most skilful generals in the french army. to lay siege to such a fortress as this, while vendome, with this army of , men, lay ready to advance to its assistance, was an under- taking of the greatest magnitude. in most cases the proper course to have taken would have been to advance against and defeat vendsme be- fore undertaking the siege of lille; but the french gen- eral had entrenched his position with such skill that he could not be attacked, while he had, moreover, the ad- vantage, that if the allies stood between him and france he stood between them and their base, commanded the the cornet of eorsk chapter xxiii. the siege of lille. i the british cavalry suffered less severely at ouden- arde than did those of the other allied nationalities, as they were during the greater portion of the day held in reserve; and neither rupert nor my of his special friends in the regiment were wounded. he was, how- ever, greatly grieved at the death of sir john loveday, who was killed by a cannon-ball at the commencement of the action. two of the captains in the th were also killed, and this gave rupert another step. he could have had his captain's rank long before, had he ac- cepted the duke's offer, several times repeated, of a post on his staff; he preferred, however, the life with his regiment, and in this his promotion was, of course, regular, instead of going up by favor, as was, and still is, the case on the staff. the train for the siege of lille was brought up by canal from holland to brussels; and although the french knew that a large accumulation of military stores was taking place there, they could not believe that marlborough meditated so gigantic an undertaking as the siege of lille, and believed that he was intending to lay siege to mons. berwick, with his army, which had since his arrival on the scene of action been lying at douai, now ad- vanced to montagne; and vendome detached , men from his army, lying between ghent and bruges, g the cornet of house. to facilitate his operations, marlborough threw six bridges across the scheldt, and , pioneers were collected to commence the lines which were to sur- round the city. the lines were projected not only to shut in the city, but to protect the besiegers from at- tacks by a relieving army. never since caesar besieged alesia had works upon so gigantic a scale been con- structed. they were fifteen miles in circumference, and the ditch was fifteen feet wide and nine deep. on the d of august, the lines of circumvallation being now nearly finished, eugene opened his trenches and began operations against the city, the parts selected for attack being the gates of st. martin and of the ma- delaine. these points were upon the same side of the city, but were separated from each other by the river dyle, which flows through the town. on the morning of the th the cannonade opened, prince eugene himself firing the first gun on the right, the prince of orange that on the left attack. the troops worked with the greatest energy, and the next day forty-four guns poured their fire into the advanced works round the chapel of the madelaine, which stood outside the walls. the same night the chapel was car- ried by assault; but the next night, while a tremendous cannonade was going on, french issued quietly from their works, fell upon the dutch who held the chapel, killed or drove them out, blew up the chapel, which served as an advanced post for the besiegers, and retired before reinforcements could arrive. marshal vendfime now determined to unite with the duke of berwick, and to raise the siege, and by making a long and circuitous march, to avoid marlborough's force. this was accomplished; the two armies united, and advanced to relieve lille. the cornet of horse. side of the bastions of the outworks that were to be assaulted. fourteen thousand men prepared to storm the out- works. the french allowed them to get, with but slight resistance, into the covered way, where a terrific fire was poured upon them, were shot down in a few minutes, and two mines were exploded under them. the fighting was desperate; but the assailants managed to retain possession of two points in the outwork, a success most dearly purchased with a loss of killed, and as many wounded. it was not until the th that a fresh attempt to carry the place by storm was made. at this time marlbor- ough's position was becoming critical. the fortress held out bravely; the consumption of ammunition was so enormous, that his supplies were almost exhausted, and a great army lay directly upon his line of communi- cation. it became a matter of necessity that the place should be taken. immense efforts were made to secure the success of the assault; enormous quantities of fas- cines were made for filling up the ditch; and british troops were sent by marlborough from his army to lead the assault. rupert holliday, with many other officers, accom- panied this body as a volunteev. the troops were drawn up as the afternoon grew late, and just as it became dark they advanced to the assault. the besieged in the outworks assaulted were sup- ported by the fire of the cannon and musketry of the ramparts behind, from which, so soon as the dense masses of the stormers advanced, a stream of flame is- sued. so tremendous was the carnage, that three times the troops recoiled before the storm of balls. on the fourth occasion eugene himself led them to the siege of lille. the assault, on either side of him were the princes of orange and hesse, and a number of officers. "remember hochstadt, ramilies, and oudenarde!" the prince shouted; but scarcely had he spoken when he was struck to the ground by a bullet, which struck and glanced over the left eye. then the troops dashed forward, and forced their way into the outwork. the french fought with mag- nificent resolution; and were from time to time rein- forced by parties from the city. for two hours the fight raged. with bayonets and clubbed muskets, hand to hand, the troops fought; no one flinched or gave way; indeed it was safer to be in the front line than behind, for in front friends and foes were so mixed together, that the french on the ramparts were unable to fire, but had to direct their aim at the masses behind. at last the allies gained ground. gradually, foot by foot, the french were thrust back, and rupert, who had been fighting desperately in the front line of the stormers' party, directed his efforts to a part where a french officer still held his ground, nobly backed by his men. the piled up dead in front of them showed how strenuous had been the resistance to the advancing wave of the allies. rupert gradually reached the spot, and had no diffi- culty in placing himself vis-d-vis to the french officer; for so terrible was his skill, that others willingly turned asida to attack less dangerous opponents. in a moment the swords crossed! the light was a strange one, flickering and yet con- stant, with the thousands of firearms, which kept up an unceasing roar. the swords clashed and ground to- gether, and after a pass or two both men drew back. the cornet of house. a bright flash from a musket not a yard away threw a bright though momentary light on their faces. "m. dessin!" rupert exclaimed, in delight. "what! is it possible?" the frenchman ex- claimed. "rupert holliday!" at the moment there was a tremendous rush of the british. the french were borne back, and hurled over the edge of the outwork; and before rupert could avert the blow, the butt-end of a musket fell with great force upon his late opponent's head. rupert leapt forward, and lifting him in his arms, made his way with him to the rear; for with that last rush the fight was over, and the allies had established themselves in the left demibastion of the outwork—an important advantage, but one which had cost them killed and wounded, of whom belonged to the english force, whom marlborough had sent. the fact that more than half of them were hors de combat showed how fiercely they had fought. owing to the wound of prince eugene, the duke oi marlborough had to direct the operations of the siege as well as to command the army in the field. on the d he followed up the advantage gained on the th, by a fresh attack in two columns, each strong, and headed by english troops. after being three times repulsed, these succeeded in maintaining a lodgment in another outwork, losing, however, men in the attack, the greater part being destroyed by the explosion of a mine. both besiegers and besieged were now becoming btraitened for ammunition, for the consumption had been immense. the french generals succeeded in passing a supply into the fortress in a very daring manner. the cornet of horse. observation of the sentinels. he arrived in safety in the town, exhausted with his great exertions. after having had dry clothes put on him, and having taken some refreshment, he was conducted round the walls by marshal boufflers, who showed him all the defensive works, and explained to him the whole cir- cumstances of the position. the next night he again set out by the dyle, carrying despatches in an envelope of wax in his mouth, and after diving as before through the dangerous places, and running innumerable risks of detection, he arrived in safety in the french camp. but it was not the french alone who had runshortof ammunition. marlborough had also been greatly straitened, and there being now no possibility of getting through convoys from brussels, he persuaded the home government to direct a considerable expedition, which had been collected for the purpose of exciting an alarm on the coast of normandy, and was now on board ship in the downs, to be sent to ostend. it arrived there, to the number of fourteen battalions and an abundant sup- ply of ammunition, on the d of september, and marl- borough detached , men from his army to protect the convoy on its way up. on the th of september, the convoy started, crossed the canal of nieuport at leffinghen, and directed its course by slype to defile through the woods of wynden- dale. general webb, who commanded the troops de- tached for its protection, took post with men to defend its passage through the wood, which was the most dangerous portion of the journey; while cado- gan with the rest of the force was stationed at hoglede to cover the march farther on. vendome had received information of the march of the column, and detached m. de la mathe with , men to intercept the con- the siege of lille. voy. at five in the evening the force approached the wood, through which the convoy was then filing. webb posted his men in the bushes, and when the french— confident in the great superiority of numbers which they knew that they possessed—advanced boldly, they were received by such a terrible fire of musketry, poured in at a distance of a hundred yards, that they fell into confusion. they, however, rallied, and made desperate efforts to penetrate the wood, but they were over and over driven back, and after two hours' fight- ing they retired, leaving the convoy to pass on in safety to the camp. in this glorious action english defeated , french, and inflicted on them, a loss of killed and wounded. several fresh assaults were now made, and gradually the allies won ground, until on the eve of the grand assault, marshal boufflers surrendered the town, and retired with the survivors of the defenders into the citadel, which held out for another month, and then also surrendered. in this memorable siege, the great- est—with the exception of that of sebastopol—that has ever taken place in history, the allies lost men killed, wounded, in all , , and over from sickness. of the garrison, originally , strong, and reinforced by the horsemen who made their way through the allied camp, but remained alive at the time of the final capitulation. marshal boufflers only surrendered the citadel on the express order of louis xiv. not to throw away any more lives of the brave men under him. at the time of the surrender the last flask of powder was exhausted, and the garrison had long been living on horseflesh. after lille had fallen, marlborough, by a feint of go- ing into winter quarters, threw the french generals off the cornet of house. their guard, and then by a rapid dash through their lines fell upon ghent and bruges, and recaptured those cities before vendume had time to collect and bring up liis army to save them. then ended one of the most remarkable campaigns in the annals of our own or any other history. 'admle. chapter xxiv. adele. "my dear, dear lad," the marquis of pignerolles said, as he made his way with rupert back out of the throng in the captured outwork, "what miracle is this? i heard that you had died at loches." "a mistake, as you see," rupert laughed. "but i shall tell you all presently. "first, how is mademoi- selle?" "well, i trust," the marquis said; "but i have not heard of her for eighteen months. i have been a pris- oner in the bastile, and was only let out two months since, together with some other officers, in order to take part in the defence of lille. even then i should not have been allowed to volunteer, had it not been that the due de carolan, adele's persecutor, was killed; and his majesty's plans having been thus necessarily upset, he was for the time being less anxious to know what had become of adele." "in that case you have to thank me for your deliver- ance," rupert said; "for it was i who killed monsieur le due, and never in my life did i strike a blow with a heartier goodwill." "you " the marquis exclaimed, in astonishment; "but i might have guessed it. i inquired about his death when i reached lille, and was told by an officer who was there that he was killed in an extraordinary combat, in which general mouffler, a trooper, and him- the corne trf* horse. self were put hors de combat in sight of the whole army, by a deserter of demoniacal strength, skill, and activity. i ought to have recognized you at once; and no doubt should have done so, had i not heard that you were dead. i never was so shocked, dear boy, in all my life, and have done nothing but blame myself for allowing you to run so fearful a risk." on arriving at the camp rupert presented his pris- oner to the duke of marlborough, who having, when rupert rejoined, heard the story of his discovery in the marquis de pignerolles of his old friend m. dessin, re- ceived him with great kindness, and told him that he was free to go where-he liked until arrangements could be made for his exchange. rupert then took him to his tent, where they sat for many hours talking. rupert learned that after his escape from lille the marquis was for three weeks confined to his bed. be- fore the end of that time a messenger brought him a letter from a dele, saying that she was well and com- fortable. when he was able to travel he repaired at once to versailles, having received a peremptory order from the king, a few days after rupert left, to repair to the court the instant he could be moved. he found his majesty in the worst of humors; the disappearance of .adele had thwarted his plan, and louis xiv. was not a man accustomed to be balked in his intentions. the news of rupert's escape from lille had further enraged him, as he connected it with adele's disappearance; and the fact that the capture of rupert had thrown no light upon adele's hiding-place had still further exasperated him. he now demanded that the marquis should inform him instantly of her place of concealment. this com- mand the marquis had firmly declined to comply with. he admitted that he could guess where she would take adele. refuge; but that as he sympathized with her in her ob- jection to the match which his majesty had been pleased to make for her, he must decline to say a word which could lead to her discovery. upon leaving the king's presence he was at once arrested, and conveyed to the bastile. imprisonment in the bastile, although rigorous, was not, except in exceptional cases, painful for men of rank. they were well fed and not uncomfortably lodged; and as the governor had been a personal friend of the marquis previous ta his confinement, he had been treated with as much lenity as possible. after he had been a year in prison, the governor came to his room and told him that rupert had been drowned by the overflowing of the moat at loches, and that if therefore his daughter was, as it was believed, actuated by an affection for the englishman in refusing to accept the husband that the king had chosen for her, it was thought that she might now become obedient. he was therefore again ordered to name the place of her concealment. the marquis replied that he was not aware that his daughter had any affection for rupert beyond the regard which an acquaintance of many years authorized; and that as he was sure the news would in no way overcome her aversion to the match with the due de carolan, he must still decline to name the place where he might suspect that she had hidden herself. he heard nothing more for some months; and then the governor told him privately that the duke was dead, and that as it was thought that lille would be besieged, two or three other officers in the bastile had petitioned for leave to go to aid in the defence. had the duke still lived, the governor was sure that any such request on the part of the marquis would have been refused. the cornet of horse. as it was, however, his known military skill and brav- ery would be so useful in the defence, that it was possi- ble that the king would now consent. the marquis had therefore applied for, and had received, permission to go to aid in the defence of lille. rupert then told his story, which excited the wonder and admiration of the marquis to the highest point. when he concluded, he said,— "and now, monsieur le marquis,, i must say what i have never said before, because until i travelled with her down to poitiers i did not know what my own feel- ings really were. then i learned to know that which i felt was not a mere brotherly affection, but a deep love. i know that neither in point of fortune nor in rank am i the equal of mademoiselle, but i love her truly, sir, and the chaee, which will some day be mine, will at least enable me to maintain her in comfort. monsieur le marquis, may i ask of you the hand of your daughter?" "you may indeed, my dear rupert," the marquis said, warmly, taking his hand. "even when in eng- land the possibility that this might some day come about occurred to me; and although then i should have regretted adele's marrying an englishman, yet i saw in your character the making of a man to whom i could safely intrust her happiness. when we met again, i found that you had answered my expectation of you, and i should not have allowed so great an intimacy to spring up between you had i not been willing that she should, if she so wished it, marry you. i no longer wish her to settle in france. after what i have seen of your free england, the despotism of our kings and the feudal power of our nobles disgust me, and i foresee that sooner or later a terrible upheaval will take place adele. what adele herself will say i do not know, but imag- ine that she will not be so obstinate in refusing to yield to the vvdshes of her father as she has been to the commands of her king. but she will not bring you a fortune, rupert. if she marries you, her estates will assuredly be forfeited by the crown. they are so virtually now, royal receivers having been placed in possession; but they will be formally declared forfeited on her marriage with you. however, she will not come to you a dowerless bride. in seven years i have laid by sufficient to enable me to give her a dowry which will add a few farms to the chace. and now, rupert, let us to sleep; day is breaking, and although your twenty- three years may need no rest, i like a few hours' sleep when i can get them." upon the following day the conversation was re- newed. "i think, rupert, that my captivity is really a for- tunate one for our plans. so long as i remained in france my every movement would be watched. i dared not even write to adele, far less think of going to see her. now i am out of sight of the creatures of louis, and can do as i please. i have been thinking it over. i will cross to england. thence i will make my way in a smuggler's craft to nantes," where the gov- ernor is a friend of mine. from him i will get papers under an assumed name for myself and daughter, and with them journey to poitiers, and so fetch her to england." "you will let me go with you, will you not?" ru- pert exclaimed. "no one can tell i am not a french- man by my speech, and i might be useful." "i don't know, rupert; you might be useful, doubt- less, but your size and strength render you remarkable." the cornet of house. "well, but there are big frenchmen as well as big englishmen," rupert said. "if you travel as a mer- chant, i might very well go as your serving-man, and you and i together could, i think, carry mademoiselle in safety through any odds. it will not be long to wait. i cannot leave until lille falls, but i am sure the duke will give me leave as soon as the marshal sur- renders the city; which cannot be very many days now; for it is clear that vendsme will not fight, and a desperate resistance at the end would be a mere waste of life." so it was arranged, and shortly afterwards rupert took his friend major dillon into his confidence. the latter expressed the wildest joy, shook rupert's hand, patted him on the back, and absolutely shouted in his enthusiasm. rupert was astonished at the excess of joy on bis friend's part, and was mystified in the ex- treme when he wound up,— "you have taken ji great load off my mind, rupert; you have made pat dillon even more eternally indebted to you than he was before." "what on earth do you mean, dillon?" rupert asked. "what is all this extraordinary delight about? know i am one of the luckiest fellows in the world, but why are you so overjoyed because i am in love?" "my dear rupert, now i can tell you all about it. i told you, you know, that in the two winters you were away i went, at the invitation of mynheer von duyk, to dort, in order that he might hear whether there was any news of you, and what i thought of your chance of being alive, and all that, didn't i?" "yes, you told me all that, dillon ; but what on earth has that got to do with it?" "w.ell, my boy, i stopped each time something like adelr a month at dort, and, as a matter of course, i fell over head and ears in love with maria von duyk. i never said a word, though i thought she liked me well enough; but she was for ever talking about you and praising you, and her father spoke of you as his son, and i made sure it was all a settled thing between you, and'thought what a sly dog you were never to have breathed a word to me of your good fortune. if you had never come back i should have tried my luck with her; but when you turned up again, glad as i was to see you, rupert, i made sure that there was an end of any little corner of hope i had had. when you told me about your gallivanting about france with a young lady, i thought for a moment that you might have been in love with her; but then i told myself that you were as good as married to maria vou duyk, and that the other was merely the daughter of your old friend, to whom you were bound to be civil. now i know you are really in love with her, and not with maria, i will try my luck there; that is, if she doesn't break her heart and die when she hears of the french girl." "break her heart! nonsense, man!" rupert laughed. "she was two years older than i was, and looked upon me as a younger brother. her father lamented that i was not older, but admitted that any idea of a marriage between us was out of the question. but i don't know what he will say to your proposal to take her over to ireland." "my proposal to take her over to ireland !" repeated dillon, in astonishment; "i should as soon think of proposing to take her to the moon! why, man, i have not an acre of ground in ireland, nor a shilling in the world, except my pay. no; if she will have me, i'll t the cornet of horse. settle down in doit and turn dutchman, and wear big breeches, and take to being a merchant." rupert burst into a roar of laughter. "you a merchant, pat! mynheer von duykand dil- lon! why, man, you'd bring the house to ruin in a year. no, no; if maria will have you, i shall be delighted; but her fortune will be ample without your efforts—you who, to my positive knowledge, could never keep your company's accounts without the aid of your sergeant." dillon burst out laughing too. "true for you, rupert; figures were never in my line, except it is such a neat figure as maria has. ah, rupert! i always thought you a nice lad; but how you managed not to fall in love with her, though she was a ear or so older than yourself, beats pat dillon en- tirely. now the sooner the campaign is over, and the army goes into winter quarters, the better i shall be pleased." it was a dark and squally evening in november, when "la belle jeanne," one of the fastest luggers which carried on a contraband trade between england and france, ran up the river to nantes. she had been chased for twelve hours by a british war ship, but had at last fairly outsailed her pursuers, and had run in without mishap. on her deck were two passengers, maitre antoine perrot, a merchant, who had been over to england to open relations with a large house who dealt in silks and cloths, and his servant, jacques bontemps, whose sturdy frame and powerful limbs had created the ad- miration of the crew of the " belle jeanne." an hour later the lugger was moored against the quay, her crew had scattered to their homes, and the adele. and your lady mother was most kind and cordial. she clearly bore no malice for my interference in her love affair some years ago." "upon the contrary," rupert said, " i am sure that she feels grateful to you for saving her from the con- sequences of her infatuation." six days later, the travellers rode into poitiers. they had met with no misadventure on the way. once or twice they had met parties of rough fellows, but the determined bearing and evident strength of master and man had prevented any attempt at violence. the next morning they started early, and after two hours' riding approached the cottage where adele had for two years lived with her old nurse. they dismounted at the door. "go you in, sir," said rupert, "i will hold the horses. your daughter will naturally like best to meet you alone." the marquis nodded, lifted the latch of the door, and went in. there was a pause, and then he heard a cry of " father!" just as the door closed. in another in- stant it opened again, and margot stole out, escaping to leave her mistress alone with her father. she ran down to the gate, looked at rupert, and gave a little scream of pleasure, leaping and clapping her hands. "i said so, monsieur; i always said so. 'when mon- sieur le marquis comes, mademoiselle, you be sure mon- bieur 'anglais will come with him.'" "and what did mademoiselle use to say?" "oh, she used to pretend she did not believe you would. but i knew better; i knew that when she said over and over again, 'is my father never coming for me?' she was thinking of somebody else. and are you come to take her away?" the cornet of t r e. rupert nodded. the girl's face clouded. "oh, how i shall miss her! but there, monsieur, the fact is—the fact is—" "you need not pretend to be shy," rupert said, laughing. "i can guess what' the fact is.' i suppose that there is somebody in your case too, and that you are just waiting to be married till mademoiselle goes." margot laughed and colored, and was going to speak, when the door opened, and the marquis beckoned him. in. "mr. holliday," he said, as rupert on entering found adele leaning on her father's shoulder, with a rosy col- or, and a look of happiness upon her face, "i have laid my commands upon my daughter, mademoiselle adele tie pignerolles, to receive you as her future husband, and i find no disposition whatever on her part to defy my authority, as she has that of his majesty. there, my children, may you be happy together!" so saying, he left the room, and went to look after the horses, leaving adele and rupert to their new found happiness. flight and pubsuit. "for i know you would not alarm us unnecessarily. what do you advise?" "i will go down," rupert said, " and put the saddles on quietly. the stable opens into the street behind. there is a flight of stairs at the end of the long passage here, which leads down into a passage below, at the end of which is a door into the stable-yard. i have just been examining it. i should recommend adele to put on her things, and to be in readiness, and then to re- main in her room. if you keep a watch here you will see every one coming down the street, and the moment you see an officer approaching, if you will lock the door outside and take the key with you, then call adele, and come down the back stairs with her into the yard, i will have the horses in readiness. there is only one man in the stable, a crown piece will make him shut his eyes as we ride out, and the}' will be five minutes at the door before they find that we have gone." the marquis at once agreed to the plan, and rupert went down into the stable-yard, and began to re-saddle the horses. "what, off again?" the ostler said. "yes," rupert answered. "between you and i, my master has just seen a creditor to whom he owes a. heavy bill, and he wants to slip away quietly. here is a crown for yourself, to keep your tongue between your teeth. now lend me a hand with these saddles, and help bring them out quickly when i give the word." the horses re-saddled and turned in their stables ready to be brought out without a moment's delay, ru- pert took his place at the entrance, and watched the door leading from the hotel. in ten minutes it opened, and the marquis, followed by adele, came out. "quick with that horse," rupert said to the ostler j the cornet of horse. and seeing to the other, they were in the yard as soon as the marquis came up. "an officer and eight men," he whispered to rupert, as he leaped into the saddle, while rupert lifted adele on to the pillion. "mounted?" "no." "then we have a good half-hour's start. which ia the way to the west gate?" "straight on, till you reach the wall; follow that to the right, it will bring you to the gate." rupert vaulted into his saddle, and the party rode out into the street and then briskly, but without any appearance of extraordinary haste, until they reached the gate. the guardian of the gate was sitting on a low block of wood at the door of the guard-room. there was, rupert saw, no soldier about; indeed, the place was quiet, for the evening was falling, and but few people cared to be about in those times after night- fall. an idea flashed across rupert's mind, and he rode up to the marquis,— "please lead my horse," he said. "wait for me a hundred yards on; i will be with you in three min- utes." without waiting for an answer, he leaped from his horse, threw the reins to the marquis, and ran back to the gate, which was but thirty yards back. "a word with you, good man," he said, going straight into the guard-room. "hullo!" the man said, getting up and following him in. "and who may you be, i should like to know, who makes so free?" the cornet of bouse. start we have got and good horses, we might have kept ahead of them for a day; but with one horse carrying douhlc, there is no chance for us doing so for eighty miles. we must hide up somewhere to let the horses, rest. they would make sure that we were going to take ship, and would be certain to send on straight to nantes, so that we should be arrested when we arrived there. as it is we can follow this road for thirty miles, as if going to la roch<ille, and then strike up for a forty miles' ride across to nantes!" "well thought of, indeed," m. de pignerolles said. "adele, this future lord and master of yours is as long- headed as he is long-limbed." adele laughed happily. the excitement, and the fresh air and the brisk pace, had raised her spirits ; and with her father and lover to protect her, she had no fear of tiie danger that threatened them. "with ten miles start they ought not to overtake us till morning, rupert." "no," rupert said, "supposing that we could keep on, but we cannot. > the horses have done twenty-five miles to-day. they have had an hour and a half's rest, but we must not do more than as much farther, or we shall run the risk of knocking them up." so they rode on at a fast trot for three hours. "here is a little road to the right," rupert said; "let us ride up there, and stop at the first house we come to." it was a mere by-road, and as once out of the main road they were for the present safe from pursuit, they now-suffered the horses to break into a walk. it was not until two miles had been passed that they came to a small farmhouse. rupert dismounted and knocked at the door. flight and pursuit. "who is there?" a voice shouted within. "travellers, who want shelter and are ready to pay well for it." "no, no," the voice said. "no travellers come along here, much less at this time of night. keep away; we are armed, i and my son, and it will be worse for you if you do not leave us alone." "look here, good man, we are what i say," rupert said. "open an upstairs casement and show a light, and you will see that we have a lady with us. we are but two men. look out, i say. we will pay you well. we need shelter for the lady." there was more talking within, and then a heavy step was heard ascending the stairs. then a light ap- peared in an upper room. the casement opened and a long gun was first thrust out, then a face appeared. the night was not a very dark one, and he was able to see the form of the horse, and of a rider with a fe- male figure behind him. so far assured, he brought a light and again looked out. the inspection was satisfactory, for he said,— "i will open the door directby." soon adele was sitting before a fire bright with logs freshly thrown on. the horses, still saddled, were placed in a shed with an ample allowance of food. one of the sons, upon the promise of a handsome reward, stalled to go a mile down the road, with instructions to discharge his gun if he heard horsemen coming up it, in a quarter of an hour adele, thoroughly fatigued with her day's exertion, went to lie down on the bed ordinarily used by the farmer's daughter, the marquis wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down in front of the fire, while rupert took the first watch outside. flight and pursuit. play you some trick or other. i will bring some re- freshments out, and learn the news.' so saying, rupert leaped from his horse, took his pis- tols from their holsters, placed one in his belt, and hav- ing cocked the other, went up to the landlord. "bring out five manchettes of bread," he said, "and a few bottles of your best wine ;'and tell me how long is it since men came here asking if you had seen us?" "this morning, about noon," the man said, "two gendarmes came along, and a troop of soldiers passed an hour since; they came from parthenay." "did they say anything besides asking for us? come here is a louis to quicken your recollection." "they said to each other, as they drank their wine, that you could not have passed here yet, since you could not get fresh horses, as they had done. more- over, they said that troops from every place on the road were out in search of you." "call your man, and bid him bring out quickly the things i have named," rupert said. the man did so; and a lad, looking scared at the sight of rupert's drawn pistol, brought out the wine and bread, and three drinking-horns. "how far is it to la rochelle ?" rupert asked. "thirty-five miles." "are there any by-roads, by which we can make a detour, so as to avoid this main road, and so come down either from the north or south into the town?" the landlord gave some elaborate directions. "good !" rupert said. "i think we shall get through yet." then he broke up two of the portions of bread, and gave them to the horses, removed the bits from their mouths, and poured a bottle of wine down each of their the cornet of horse. throats; then bridled up and mounted, throwing two louis to the host, and saying,— "we can trust you to be secret as to our having been here, can we not?" the landlord swore a great oath that he would say nothing of their having passed, and they then rode on. "that landlord had ' rogue' written on his face," adele said. "yes, indeed," rupert said. "i warrant me by this he has sent off to the nearest post. now we will take the first road to the north, and make for nantes. it is getting dark now, and we must not make than another ten miles; these poor brutes have gone thirty already." two hours further riding at an^easy pace brought them to a village, where they were hospitably received at the house of the maire of the place. the start was again made early. "we must do our best to-day," the marquis said. "we have a fifty-five mile ride before us ; and if the horses take us there, their work is done, so we can press them to the utmost. the troops will have been march- ing all night along the road on which the innkeeper set them ; but by this morning they will begin to suspect that they have been put on a false scent, and as likely as not will send to nantes. we must be first there, if possible." the horses, however, tired by their long journeys on the two preceding days, flagged greatly during the last half of the journey, and it was late in the afternoon be- fore they came in sight of nantes. at a slight rise half a mile from the town rupert looked back along the straight, level road on which they had ridden the last few miles of the journey. "there is a body of men in the distance, marquis. flight and pursuit. a troop of cavalry, i should say. they are a long way behind—three miles or so; and if they are in chase of ns, their horses must be fagged; but in five-and-twenty minutes they -will be here." they urged their weary steeds into a gallop as far as the town, and then rode quietly along the streets into an inn-yard. here they dismounted in a leisurely way. "take the horses round to the stable, rub them down and give them food," the marquis said to the ostler who came out. then turning to the host, he said, " a sit- ting-room, with a good tire. two bedrooms for my- self and my daughter, a bedroom for my servant. pre- pare a meal at once. we have a friend to see before we , enter." so saying, he turned with his daughter, as if to re- trace his steps up the street; but on reaching the first side street, turned, and then, by another street, made his way down to the river, rupert following closely behind. "there is ' la belle jeanne,' " the marquis exclaimed "that is fortunate. the captain said he should be re- turning in a week or ten days, so i hope he has his cargo on board, and will be open to make a start at once." the corxet of horse. chapter xxvi. the siege of tournai. in a few minutes they were alongside the lugger. "maitre nicolay! maitre nicolay!" the marquia shouted. "holloa !" and a head showed up the companion. on seeing who it was, the speaker emerged. "it is you, maitre perrot." "have you your cargo on board?" "every barrel," said the skipper; "we sail to-mor- row morning." "i will give you two hundred and fifty louis if you will sail in ten minutes, and as much more if you land us safely in england." "really?" "really." "it is a bargain. holloa! pierre! etienne!" two lads ran up from below. "run to the wine-shops on the quay, fetch the crew, just whisper in their ears, say i am casting off, that no man must wait to say good-bye to his wife, and that each down in five minutes will have as many louis, and that in ten i sail, if with only half the crew. run! run! the two boys set off at full speed. "i fear ten minutes will be impossible, maitre perrot; but all that can be done, shall. is ten absolutely neces- sary?" the cornet of horse. and although these were but half her crew, the cap- tain, who had been throwing himself heart and soul in the work, declared that he could wait for no more : the last rope was thrown off, and the lugger dropped out into the stream. it was running rapidly out; and as the wind caught the sails, the " belle jeanne" began to move, standing down towards the sea. during the time the lugger had been prepared for sea the passengers had remained below, so as not to attract the attention of the little crowd of sailors whom the sudden departure had assembled on the quay. but they now came up on deck. scarcely were they in the middle of the stream, and the sails had fairly gathered way on her, when rupert exclaimed, " there they are!" as a party of horsemen rode down on to the quay; now nearly a quarter of a mile away. then a faint shout came across the water, followed by a musket-shot, the ball splashing in the water a little way astern. the men looked at each other and at their captain. "look here, lads, i will tell you the truth about this matter; and i know that, as men of la vendue, you will agree with me. this gentleman who crossed with us before is a noble, and the king wants this lady, his daughter, to marry a man she does not like. the father agrees with her; and he and her fianci, this gentleman here, have run away with her, to prevent her being locked up. now we are bound, as- true vendeans, to assist them; and besides, they are going to pay hand- somely. each of you will get ten louis if we land them safe in england. but you know we cannot resist the law; so we must let these gentlemen, with their swords and pistols, drive us below, do you see? and then we the siege of tournal shan't be responsible if the " jeanne " does not hcave-to when ordered. now let ns make a bit of a scuffle ; and will you fire a shot or two, gentlemen? they will be watching us with glasses from the shore, and will see that we make a fight for it." the sailors entered into the spirit of the thing, and a mock fight took place. the marquis and rupert flashed their swords and fired their pistols, the crew being driven below, and the hatch put on ahove them. the fugitives had time to look around. two boats laden with soldiers had put out, and were rowing after them. the marquis took the helm. "the wind is freshen- ing, and i think it will be a gale before morning, ru- pert; but they are gaining upon us. i fear they will overtake us." "i don't think.they will get onboard if they do,sir," rupert said. "had not adele better sit down on deck under shelter of the bulwarks; for they keep on firing, and a chance shot might hit her?" "it is no more likely to hit me than papa or you, rupert." "no more likely, my dear," her father said; "but we must run the risk, and you need not. besides, if we are anxious about you, we shall not be so well able to attend to what we have to do." adele sat down by the bulwark, but presently said,— "if they come up close, papa, i might take the helm, if you show me which way to hold it. i could do it sitting down on deck, and you could help rupert keep them off." "your proposal is a very good one, adele, and it pleases me much to.see you so cool and steady." the bullets were now whistling past the lugger, as rupert, res the barrel poised above his head, reared htuself above the bciwarjss. cornet of horse, p. bus. tee sieqe of toubnai. man in the boats was hit, for neither of those in the lugger took aim. the men cheered, and rowed lustily, and soon the boat was within ten yards of the lugger, coming up to board at the side. rupert went to the water barrel and rolled it to the bulwarks at the point towards which the boat was making. the marquis stooped behind the bulwarks, a few paces distant, with the dummy. "now!" rupert said, stooping over the barrel, as the boat made a dash at the side, - , the marquis lifted the dummy, and five or six muskets were simultaneously discharged. then a cry of amaze- ment and horror arose, as rupert, with the barrel poised above his head, reared himself above the bulwarks. he bent back to gain impetus, and then hurled the barrel into the boat as she came within a yard of the side of the lugger. there was a wild shout, a crash of timber, and in an instant the shattered boat was level with the water, and the men were holding on, or swimming for their lives. a minute later the other boat was on the spot, and the men were at work picking up their com- rades. by the time all were in, she was only an inch or two out of the water, and there was only room for two men to pull; and the last thing those on board the lugger saw of her in the gathering darkness, she was slowly making her way towards shore. now that all immediate danger was at an end, the marquis took the tiller and rupert lifted the hatchway. "the captain and two of the crew may come on deck if they promise to behave well," he said. there was a shout of laughter, and all the sailors pressed up, eager to know how the pursuit had been shaken off. when rupert told them simply that he had tossed the cornet of house. one of the water barrels into one of the boats and staved it, the men refused to believe him; and it was not until he took one of the carronades, weighing some five hun- dred weight, from its carriage, and lifted it above bis head as if to hurl it overboard, that their doubts were changed into astonishment. "i suppose our danger is not over, captain ?" the mar- quis asked. "no, we have the forts at the mouth of the river to pass, but we shall be there before it is light. they will send off a horseman when they get back to the town, but they will not be there for some time, and the wind is rising fast. i hope we shall be through before they get news of what has taken place. in any case, at the speed we shall be going through the water in another hour or two no row boat could stop us." "i think, captain nicolay, it would be as well for you to keep only as many men as you absolutely want ou deck, so that you can say we only allowed two or three up, and kept watch over you with loaded pistols." "it would be better, perhaps," maitre nicolay said. "there is safe to be a nice row about it, and it is always as well to have as few lies as possible to tell. perhaps mademoiselle will like to go below. my cabin is ready for her, and i have told the boy to get supper for us all." the captain's prediction about the rising wind was correct, and in another hour the " belle jeanne " was tearing down the river at a rate of speed which, had the road from nantes to the forts been no longer than that by water, would have rendered the chance of any horse- man arriving before it slight indeed; but the river was winding, and although they calculated that they had gained an hour and a half start, captain nicolay ac- knowledged that it would be a close thing. long ere the siege of tournai. the forts were reached, adele was fast asleep below, while her father and rupert paced the deck anxiousty. the night was not a dark one. the moon shone out at times bright and clear between the hurrying clouds. "there are the forts," maitre nicolay said. "the prospect is hopeful, for i do not see a light." the hands were all ordered below as they neared the forts, maitre nicolay himself taking the helm. all was dark and silent as they approached, and as "la belle jeanne " swept past them like a shadow, and all was still, a sigh of relief burst from the marquis and rupert. five minutes later the wind brought down the sound of a drum, a rocket soared into the air, and a min- ute or two later lights appeared in every embrasure of the forts on both sides. "it has been a near thing," the marquis said; "we have only won by five minutes." three minutes later came a flash, followed by the roar of a gun, and almost at the same moment a shot struck the water, fifty yards ahead of them on their beam. "we are nearly a mile away already," the captain said; "it is fifty to one against their crippling us by this light, though they may knock some holes in our sails, and perhaps splinter our timbers a little. ah! just what i thought, here come the chasse-marees, and he pointed to two vessels which had lain close under the shadow of the forts, and which were now hoisting sail. "it is lucky that they are in there, instead of cruising outside as usual. i suppose they saw the gale coming, and ran in for a quiet night." the forts were now hard at work, and the balls fell thickly around; one or two went through the sails, but the cornet of horse. none touched her hull, or spars, and in another ten min- utes she was so far away that the forts ceased firing. by this time, however, the chasse-onarses were under full sail, and were rapidly following in pursuit. "la belle jeanne" had, however, a start of fully a mile and a half. "how do those craft sail with yours?" rupert asked. "in ordinary weather the 'jeanne' could beat them, though they are fast boats: but they are heavier than we are, and can carry their sail longer; besides, our being underhanded is against us. it will be a close race, mon- sieur. it will be too rough when we are fairly out of them to use their guns. but the best thing that can happen for us is that there may be an english cruiser not far off. i must have the hands up, and take in some sail; she will go just as fast, for she has too much on to be doing her best now we are in the open sea. now, gentlemen, i advise you to lie down for an hour or two. i will call you if they gain much upon us." it was morning before the voyagers awoke, and made their way on deck. they looked round, but no sail was in sight, only an expanse of foaming sea and driving cloud. the captain was on deck. " suspect they have given it up and run back," he said; ' and no fools either. it is not weather for any one to be out who has a choice in the matter. but the 'jeanne' is a good sea boat, and has been out in worse weather than this. not but that it is a big gale, but it is from the north, and the land shelters us a bit. if it keeps on like this, i shall lie-to a few hours. the sea will be tremendous when we get beyond ushant." for three days the gale blew furiously, and the "jeanne" lay-to. then the storm broke, and the wind the siege of tournai. ened by artificial inundations, ditches" abattis, and earth- works, as to be practically impregnable. marlborough and eugene made, however, as if they would attack, and villars called to him as many men as could be spared from the garrisons round. the allies then by a sudden night march arrived before tournai, and at once commenced its investment. tournai was an immensely strong town, but its garrison was weak. the heavy artillery was brought up from ghent, and on the th of july the approaches were commenced, and on the th of that month the governor, finding that the allies were gradually winning fort after fort, and that villars made no movement to relieve him, surren- dered the town, and retired into the citadel, which was then besieged. this was one of the most terrible sieges ever under- taken, for not only were the fortifications enormously strong, but beneath each bastion and outwork, and far extending beyond them, an immense number of gal- leries had been driven for mines. at all times soldiers, even the bravest, have found it difficult to withstand the panic brought about by the explosion of mines, and by that underground warfare in which bravery and strength were alike unavailing, and where the bravest as well as the most cowardly were liable at any moment to be blown into the air, or smothered underground. the dangers of this service, at all times great, were im- 'mensely aggravated by the extraordinary pains taken by those who had constructed the fortifications to pre- pare for subterranean warfare by the construction of galleries. the miners frequently met underground, breaking into each other's galleries; sometimes the troops mistaking friend for foe, fought with each other, sometimes whole companies entered mines by mistake the siege of tournai. it is no detriment to the courage of the troops to say, that they shrank appalled before such sudden and ter- rible a mode of warfare, and marlborough and eugene in person visited the trenches and braved the dangers in order to encourage the men. at last on the d of september, the garrison, reduced to , men, surrendered, and were permitted to march out with the honors of war, and to return to france ou the promise not to serve again. this siege cost the allies , men. malplaquet, and the end of the war. above the meadow-land of the tvouville, across which their assailants must pass. malplaquet stood on this plateau. on the slopes from the plateau to the plain, the woods were extremely thick, and the only access to the plateau, for troops, were two clearings cut through the woods, known as the troudes de la louvi&re, and d'aulnoit. . on the morning of the th, when the french defi- nitely took up their position, marlborough and eugene were in favor of making an instant attack, before the french could add to the great natural strength of their position by entrenchments. the dutch deputies, how- ever, were altogether opposed to an assault on so for- midable a front. finally a compromise was adopted—a compromise which, as is often the case, was the very worst course which could have been adopted. the army should neither fall back, as the dutch wished; nor attack at once, as marlborough desired. it was resolved not to abandon the siege of mons, and to attack the enemy if they would not take the offensive, but to wait until st. ghislain, which commanded a passage on the haine, was taken, and until twenty-six battalions on the march from tournai arrived. it was two days be- fore these conditions were fulfilled; and villars had used these two precious days in throwing up a series of immensely strong works. the heights he occupied formed a concave semicircle, enfilading on all sides the little plain of malplaquet, and this semicircle now bris- tled with redoubts, palisades, abattis, and stockades; while the two troupes, or openings, by which it was pre- sumed that the allies would endeavor to force an en- trance, were so enfiladed by cross batteries as to be well- nigh unassailable. half the french army by turns had labored ceaselessly at the works, during the two days tee cornet ok tiorse. which the cowardly folly of the dutch deputies hacl given them; and the result was the works resembled rather the fortifications of a fortress, than ordinary field works. marlborough and eugene had seen from hour to hour the progress of these formidable works, and re- solved to mask their front attack by a strong demon- stration on the enemy's rear. the troops coming up from tournai, under general withers, were ordered not to join the main army, but to cross the haine at st. ghislain, and to attack the extreme left of the enemy at the farm of la folie. baron schulemberg was to at- tack the left flank of the entrenchments in the wood of tuisuidre, with forty of eugene's battalions, supported by as many cannon; while count lottunt wlis to attack the right flank of the wood with twenty-two battalions. the rest of the army was to attack in front; but it was from eugene's attack in the wood of taisniere that suc- cess was chiefly hoped. at three o'clock on the morning of the th the men were got under arms, divine service was performed at the head of each regiment, and then the troops marched to the posts assigned to them in the attack. both armies were confident, the french enthusiastic. the allies relied on their unbroken series of victories. never once since the war begun had they suffered defeat; and with eugene as well as marlborough with them, they felt confident of their power to carry a position which, even to the eye of the least instructed soldier, was yet formidable in the extreme. the french were confident, in being commanded by their best and most popular generals, villars and bouf- flers, they were strong in the enthusiasm which the king's appeal had communicated to the whole nation, and they considered it absolutely impossible for any enemy malplaquet, and the end of the war. to carry the wonderful series of works that they had erected. at half-past seven all was ready, and the fog which had hitherto hung over the low ground cleared up, and the two armies came into view of each other, and the artillery on both sides opened a heavy fire. the whole line advanced; but the left was halted for awhile, while count lottum, with his twenty-two battalions formed in three lines, attacked the right of the wood of tais- niere, and schulemberg, with whom was eugene him- self, attacked their left. without firing a single hot, schulemberg's men marched through the storm of grape which swept them until within twenty paces of the entrenchments, when the musketry fire of the french troops was so terrible that the attacking columns recoiled two hundred yards, where they were steadied, and brought back to the charge by the heroic efforts of eugene, who exposed himself in front of the line. while this conflict was raging, some austrian battal- ions which had formed the extreme right of schulem- berg's corps, but had been unable to advance, owing to a deep marsh, stole round unperceived into the north- eastern angle of the wood of taisniere, and were soon in conflict with the french. lottum's division had, with immense bravery, crossed a deep morass under a tremendous fire, and stormed a portion of the entrench- ments; but villars, who was directly in rear, led on a fresh brigade, who drove back the assailants. marlborough then charged at the head of d'au- vergne's cavalry, and some of lottum's battalion again forced their way in. meanwhile withers was quietly making his way through the wood from la folie, and had made con- malplaquet, and the end of the war. eugene galloped off with all haste to lead the right and carry them forward, while marlborough directed lord orkney to attack the weakened french centre with all his strength, and ordered the cavalry to follow on the heels of the infantry. the fight on the right was fierce indeed, for here villars and eugene alike led their men. both were wounded; villars in the knee. he refused to leave the field, but insisted on being placed in a chair where he could see the battle and cheer on his men. the agony he suffered, however, and the great loss of blood, weakened him so that at last he fainted, and was carried off the field, the command devolving on marshal boufflers. eugene was wounded in the head. in vain his staff pressed him to retire in order that the wound might be dressed. "if i am to die here," he said, "of what use to dress the wounds? if i survive, it will be time enough in the evening." so with the blood streaming over his shoulders, he kept his place at the head of his troops, who, animated by his example and heroism, rushed forward with such impetuosity that the works were carried. in the centre an even more decisive advantage had been gained. lord orkney made the attack with such vigor, that the entrenchments, weakened by the forces which had been withdrawn, were carried, and the horse, following close behind, broke through the openings of the works, and spread themselves over the plateau, cutting down the fugitives. the guns in the works were wheeled round, and opened a tremendous fire on the dense masses of the french drawn up behind other parts of the entrenchments. the cornet of horse. thrown into confusion by the fire, the french began to waver, and marlborough gave the order for the great battery of forty guns in the allied centre to advance. these advanced up the hill, passed through the en- trenchments and opened a fire right and left upon the french. although the french still strove gallantly, the battle was now virtually over. the centre was pierced, the right turned, and boufflers prepared to cover the neces- sary retreat with his cavalry. with picked horse- men of the royal horse guards, he charged the allied cavalry when scattered and blown by their pursuit, and drove them back, but was himself repulsed by the fire of orkney's infantry, and fpll back, leaving half his force dead on the plain. again and again boufflers brought up fresh cavalry, and executed the most desperate charges to cover the retreat of his infantry, who were now falling back along the whole line, as the prince of orange, benefiting by the confusion, had now carried the entrenchments on the french left. boufflers formed his infantry into three great masses, and fell back in good order in the direction of bavai. such was the victory of malplaquet. a victory in- deed, but won at such a cost that a few more such suc- cesses would have been ruin. the allies had gained the french position, had driven the enemy from the field, and had prevented the raising of the siege of mons, the great object of the french, but beyond that their advantage was slight, for the enemy retired in good order, and was ready to have fought again, if attacked, on the following day. the allies captured fourteen guns and twenty-five (standards, the french carried off thirty-two standards, malplaquet, and the end of the waa. principally dutch. the french lost , men in killed and wounded, the allies fuily , . the french historians have done full justice to the extraordinary bravery of the allied troops. one of their officers wrote after the battle,— "eugene and marlborough ought to be well satisfied with us on that day, since up to that time they had not met with a resistance worthy of them. they may now say with justice that nothing can stand before them; and indeed what should be able to stay the rapid progress of those heroes, if an army of , men of the best troops, strongly posted between two woods, trebly en- trenched, and performing their duty as well as any brave men could do, were not abie to stop them one day'! will you not then own with me that they sur- pass all the heroes of former ages?" the siege of mons was now undertaken, and after a month's gallant defence, fell, and the two armies then went into winter quarters, there remaining now only the fortress of valenciennes between the allies and paris. rupert holliday was not present with the army at the siege of mons. he had distinguished himself greatly in the desperate cavalry fight which took place upon the plateau after the british infantry had forced their way in. more than once, fighting in front of his regiment, he had been cut off and surrounded when the allied cav- alry gave way before the valiant charge of the french cavalry, but each time his strength, his weight, and the skill with which he wielded the long, heavy sword he carried, enabled him to cut his way through the enemy's ranks, and to rejoin his regiment. he had not, how- ever, come off scatheless, having received several se- vere sabre cuts. hugh had also been wounded, and rupert readily obtained leave to retire to england to be the cornet of horse. cured of his wounds, the duke of marlborough raising him to the rank of colonel on the field of battle. ho had, during the campaign, received many letters from adele, who told him that the marquis had taken a house, but to each inquiry that rupert made as to its locality, she either did not answer the question at all, or returned evasive answers. all he knew was that she was staying at the chace, and that the marquis was away, seeing to the renovation of his house. it was not until rupert returned that he obtained the clue to this little mystery. the marquis de pignerolles had bought the haugh, formerly the property of sir william brownlow, and in- tended the estate as a dowry for adele. the pigne- rolles estate was indeed very large, and two or three years of his savings were sufficient, not only to purchase the estate, but to add to and redecorate and refurnish the house. madame holliday handed over to rupert the title- deeds of the whole of the windthorpe estate owned by her, as the income from her savings was more than enough to maintain her at windthorpe chace. one only condition the marquis exacted with the dowry, which was that the combined estates should, after rupert finally came into possession of the chace, be known not as the haugh, but as windthorpe chace. "it was at windthorpe chace, my dear rupert, that you first knew and drew sword for adele, and the name is dear to her as to you. it is only right that i should unite the two estates, since i prevented their union some ten years ago. i am in treaty now for a small estate two miles on the other side of derby, so that, until the king either forgives me or dies, i shall be near you. the wedding did not take place quite so soon as ru- malplaquet, and the end of the war. lived quietly on the continent until the death of anne, a living monument of national injustice. when george the first ascended the throne, the hero was recalled, and remained the war minister of the country until within a year or two of his death, honored and loved by the people for whom he had done so much. there is little more to tell about rupert holliday. his grandfather lived until past ninety years of age, and madame holliday died suddenly a few weeks after her father-in-law. rupert was now one of the largest landowners in the country, and was one of the most popular men. the home farm round the chace was held for generations by the parsons, for hugh married not many months after his master. at the death of louis, the marquis de pignerolles passed over again to france, and there, at least when england and france were at peace, colonel rupert holliday and his wife paid him long visits. as his daughter had married a foreigner she could not inherit the estates, which went to a distant relation; but at the death of the marquis, at a good old age, he left a fortune to his daughter, which enabled her husband still further to extend his estates. had rupert desired it, he could have been raised to the peerage, but he preferred remaining one of the wealthiest private gentlemen in england. from time to time they received visits from major dillon and his wife, botli of whom were great favorites with the young hollidays. between rupert and hugh a real affection prevailed all through their lives, and the latter was never so happy as when the children first, and, years after, the grandchildren, of rupert and adele came down to the farm to eat cake, drink syllabub, and listen to wonderful tales about the doings of the " cor- net of horse." mrs, l, t. meade's "famous books for girls mo, cloth price $ . j* there are few more favorite authors with american girls than mrs. l. t. meade, whose copyright works can only be had from us. essentially a writer for the home, with the loftiest aims and purest sentiments, mrs. meade's books possess the merit of utility as well as the means of amusement. they are girls' books—written for girls, and fitted for every home. here will be found no maudlin nonsense as to the affections. there are no counts in disguise nor castles in spain. it is pure and wholesome literature of a high order with a lofty ideal. the volumes are all copyright, excejlently printed with clear, open type, uniformly bound in best cloth, with ink and gold stamp. the following are the titles the children of wilton chase bashful fifteen betty: a schoolgirl four on an island girls new and old out of the fashion the palace beautiful polly, a new-fashioned girl red rose ant* tiger lily temptation of olive latimer a ring of rubies a sweet girl graduate a world of girls good luck a girl in ten thousand a young mutineer wild kitty the children's pilgrimage the girls- of st. wode's light o' the morning < > the mershon company i fifth ave., new york railway, n.j .va~ --v i i i i i i the golden canon by g. a. henty author of "true to the old flag," "with ism in virginia," "with wowe in canada," etc. new york hurst & company publishers copyright, , by the mershon company. contents. chapter _ page the golden canon. i. a run ashore ii. dick's escape, iii. the gold-seekers iv. more plans, v. the search for the canon, ... vi. the map again * vii. the scarcity of water, ... viii. the golden valley, .... ix. the tree on the peak, .... x. watched, , xi. hard at work xii. retreat xiii. the redskin, . . . . . . ° xiv. in the ravine, xv. rifle-shots, i xvi. on the return, xvii. conclusion, hi iv contents. chapter fags the stone chest. i. a mystery of the storm, . . . ii. off for zaruth, iii. among the icebergs, .... iv. the escape from the icebergs, . . v. the arctic island, vi. the madman, .... . vii. a fearful fall viii. a remarkable story ix. the volcano of ice, .... x. the escape of the " dart," . . . xi. among a strange foe xii. bob's discovery, xiii. the big polar bear xiv. the finding of the stone chest, . . xv. bob rescues his father—conclusion, . publishers' introduction. george alfred henty has been called "the prince of story-tellers." to call him "the boy's own historian " would perhaps be a more appropriate title, for time has proved that he is more than a story-teller; he is a pre- server and propagator of history amongst boys. how mr. henty has risen to be worthy of these enviable titles is a story which will doubtless possess some amount of interest for all his readers. henty may be said to have begun his pre- liminary training for his life-work when a boy attending school at westminster. even then the germ of his story-telling propensity seems to have evinced itself, for he was always awarded the highest marks in english com- position. from westminster he went to cambridge, vi publishers' introduction. where he was enrolled as a student at caius college. it is a decided change of scenery and circumstances from cambridge to the crimea, but such was the change which took place in mr. henty's career at the age of twenty-one. an appointment in connection with the commissariat department of the british army, took him from the scenes of student life into the excitement of the muscovite war. previous to this, however, he had written his first novel, which he has characterized as "very bad, no doubt, and was, of course, never published, but the plot was certainly a good one." whilst engaged with his duties at the crimea he sent home several descriptive let- ters of the places, people, and circumstances passing under his notice. his father, think- ing some of those letters were of more than private interest, took a selection of them to the editor of the morning advertiser, who, after perusal of them, was so well pleased with their contents that he at once appointed publishers' introduction. vii young henty as war correspondent to the paper in the crimea. the ability with which he discharged his duties in the commissariat department at that time soon found for him another sphere of similar work in connection with the hospital of the italian forces. after a short time this was relinquished for engagement in mining work, which he first entered into at wales, and then in italy. ten years after his crimean correspond- ence to the morning advertiser he again took to writing, and at this time obtained the posi- tion of special correspondent to the standard. while holding this post, he contributed let- ters and articles on the wars in italy and abyssinia, and on the expedition to khiva. two novels came from his pen during this time, but his attention was mostly devoted to miscellaneous letters and articles. it is a specially interesting incident in the career of mr. henty how he came to turn his attention to writing for boys. when at home, after dinner, it was his habit to spend publishers' introduction. ix there is in this incident a glimpse of the character of our author which endears him to us all. the story of his kindly interest in his own children surely creates a liking for him in the hearts of the children of others. the man who can spend an hour in telling stories to his little ones, and retain their attention and interest, has an evident sympathy with, and power over, the youthful nature. time has proved such is the case with g. a. henty, for up to the present he has written close on fifty stories for boys, which have been received with unbounded joy and satisfaction by all. as an indication of the reception which his books have met with, the following may be quoted from an english paper: "g. a. henty, the english writer of juve- niles, is the most popular writer in england to-day in point of sales. over , copies of his books are sold in a year, and in america he sells from , to , during a year." "all the world" is the sphere from which mr. henty draws his pictures and characters for the pleasure of the young. almost every x publishers' introduction. country in the world has been studied to do service in this way, with the result that within the se: '; of books which mr. henty has pro- duced for the young we find such places dealt with as carthage, egypt, jerusalem, scot- land, spain, england, afghanistan, ashanti, ireland, france, india, gibraltar, waterloo, alexandria, venice, mexico, canada, vir- ginia, and california. doubtless what other countries remain untouched as yet are but so many fields to be attacked, and which every lad hopes to see conquered in the same mas- terly way in which the previous ones have been handled. as a rule much of what boys learn at school is left behind them when classes are given up for the sterner work of the world. unless there is a special demand for a certain subject, that subject is apt to become a thing of the past, both in theory and practice. this, how- ever, is not likely to be the case with history, so long as g. a. henty writes books for boys, and boys read them. history is his especial forte, and that he is able to invest the dry facts publishers' introduction. x! of history with life, and make them attractive to the modern schoolboy, says not a little for his power as a story-teller for boys. it is questionable if history has any better means of fixing itself in the minds of youthful readers than as it is read in the pages of g. a. henty's works. there is about it an attraction which cannot be resisted; a most unusual circum- stance in connection with such a subject. all this of course means for mr. henty a vast amount of research and study to substantiate his facts and make his situations, characters, places, and points of time authentic. to the reader it means a benefit which is incalculable^ not only as a means of passing a pleasant hour, but in reviving or imparting a general knowledge of the history and geography, the manners and customs of our own and other lands. there is a noticeable element of "free- dom" which runs through mr. henty's books, and in this may be said to lie their in- fluence. from them lads get an elevating sense of independence, and a stimulus to pa- xii publishers' introduction. triotic and manly endeavor. his pages provide the purest form of intellectual excite- ment which it is possible to put into the hands of lads. they are always vigorous and healthy, and a power for the strengthening of the moral as well as the intellectual life. in the present work, " the golden canon," a tale of the gold mines, mr. henty has fully sustained his reputation, and we feel certain all boys will read the book with keen interest. the golden canon. tween san francisco and the mouth of the 'gulf of california. two or three other ships which were, like the northampton, engaged in shipping hides, lay near her. a sickening odor rose from the half-cured skins as they were swung up from boats alongside and low- ered into the hold, and in spite of the sharp orders of the mates, the crew worked slowly and listlessly. "this is awful, tom," a lad of about six- teen, in the uniform of a midshipman, said to another of about the same age as, after the last boat had left the ship's sides, they leaned against the bulwarks; "what with the heat, and what with the stench, and what with the captain and the first mate, life is not worth liv- ing. however, only another two or three days and we shall be full up, and once off we shall get rid of a good deal of the heat and most of the smell." "yes, we shall be better off in those re- spects, dick, but unfortunately we shan't leave the captain and mate behind." "no, i don't know which i like worst of a run ashore. them. it is a contrast to our last ship, tom. what a good time we had of it on board the zebra! the captain was a brick, and the mates were all good fellows. in fact, we have always been fortunate since the day we first came on board together up to now. i can't think how the owners ever appointed collet to the command; he is not one of their own officers. but when halford was taken sud- denly ill i suppose they had no others at home to put in his place, so had to go outside. my father said that mr. thompson had told him that they heard that he was a capital sailor, and i have no doubt he is. he certainly handled her splendidly in that big storm we had rounding the cape. i suppose,they did not inquire much farther, as we took no pas- sengers out to san francisco, and were com- ing out to pick up a cargo of hides here for the return journey; but he is a tyrant on board, and when i get back i will tell my father, and he will let thompson know the sort of fellow collet is. it doesn't do one any good making complaints of a captain, but vayl the golden canon. father is such friends with thompson that i know he will tell the other partners that he hears that collet isn't the sort of man they care about having commanding their ships, without my name coming into it. if he does i can't help it. i know thompson will see that i don't sail with collet again, anyhow, and will get you with me, as he has often met you at my father's, and knows what chums we are. collet brought williams with him, and they were a nice pair. i believe the second and third are just as disgusted as we are, and as allen is a nephew of one of the partners he will put a spoke in their wheel too, when he comes back." "well, we might be worse off in some re- spects, dick. we have two good officers out of the four, and we have a very fair crew, and we have good grub; and the company always victual their ships well, and don't put the offi- cers' messing into the hands of the captain, as they do in some ships." presently mr. allen, the second officer, came up with the two lads. a run ashore. "i am going ashore in an hour, preston," he said to dick; "if you like, you can come with me." "thank you, sir; i should like it very much." "i wish you were coming too, tom," he went on when the officer moved away. "that is one of the nuisances, collet never letting us go ashore together." "it is a nuisance," the other said, heartily. "of course, allen is a very good fellow, but one can't have any larks as one could have if we were together." "well, there are not many larks to be had here, at any rate, tom. it is about the dullest place i ever landed at. it is a regular mexican town, and except that they do have, i suppose, sometimes, dances and that sort of thing, there is really nothing to be done when one does go ashore, and the whole place stinks of hides. even if one could get away for a day there is no temptation to ride about that desert-looking country, with the sun burning down on one; no one but a salaman- the golden canon. der could stand it. they are about the roughest-looking lot i ever saw in the town. everyone has got something to do with hides one way or the other. they have either come in with them from the country, or they pack them in the warehouses, or they ship them. that and mining seem the only two things going on, and the miners, with their red shirts and pistols and knives, look even a rougher lot than the others. i took my pistol when last i went ashore; i will lend it you this evening." "oh, i don't want a pistol, tom; there is no chance of my getting into a row." "oh, it is just as well to carry one, dick, when you know that everyone else has got one about him somewhere, and a considerable number of them are drunk; it is just as well to take one. you know, it is small, and goes in my breast pocket." "i will take my stick, the one i bought at san francisco; it has got an ounce of lead in the knob. i would rather have that than a pistol any day." a run ashore. however, as dick was standing with the second officer at the top of the gangway, tom haldane, as he passed by, slipped the pistol into his hand and then walked on. dick thrust it into his pocket, and then descended the ladder. it was almost dark now. "i have two or three places to go to, pres- ton, and do not know how long i shall be de- tained. it is just nine o'clock now. sup- pose you meet me here at the boat at half-past ten. it will be pleasanter for you to stroll about by yourself than to be waiting about outside houses for me." "very well, sir. i don't think there is much to see in the town, but i will take a bit of a stroll outside. it is cool and pleasant after the heat of the day." they walked together to the first house that mr. allen had to visit; then dick strolled on by himself. the place abounded with wine-shops. through the open doors the sound of the strumming of mandolins, snatches of spanish song, and occasionally voices raised in dispute or anger, came out. the golden canon. dick felt no inclination to enter any of them. had his chum been with him he might have looked in for a few minutes for the fun of the thing, but alone he would be the object of re- mark, and might perhaps get involved in a quarrel. besides the freshness of the air was so pleasant that he felt disposed for a walk, for the moon was shining brightly, the stars seemed to hang from the skies, and after hav- ing been pent up in the ship for the last four days it was pleasant to stretch the limbs in a brisk walk. in ten minutes he was outside the town, and followed the road for half an hour. "it is a comfort," he said to himself, "to have got rid of the smell of hides. if ever cholera comes this way i should think it would make a clean sweep of san diego." turning, he walked leisurely back; he en- tered the town, and had gone but a hundred yards or two when he heard a shout, followed by a pistol shot, and then, in english, a cry for help. he dashed down the street toward a group a run ashore. of people who, he could see in the moonlight, were engaged in a sharp struggle. one man was defending himself against four, and the oaths and exclamations of these showed that they were mexicans. just as he reached them the man they were attacking was struck down, and two of his assailants threw them- selves upon him. dick rushed upon the men, and felled one with a sweeping blow of his stick. the other man who was standing up sprang at him, knife in hand, with a savage oath. so quick was the action that he was upon dick before he had time to strike a blow with his stick. he threw up his left arm to guard his head, but received a severe gash on the shoulders. at the same moment he struck out with his right, full into the face of the mexican, who, as he staggered back, fell across the three men on the ground. dick seized the opportunity to draw his pistol, dropping his stick as he did so, as his left arm was disabled. it was a double-barreled pistol and as the three natives rose and rushed at io the golden canon. him, he shot the first. the other two sprang at him and he received a blow that almost paralyzed him. he staggered against the wall, but had strength to raise his arm and fire again, just as the man was about to repeat his blow; he fell forward on his face, and his other assailant took to his heels. a moment later dick himself sank to the ground. chapter ii. dick's escape. when dick opened his eyes it was broad daylight. he was lying in a barely furnished room. a surgeon was leaning over him ban- daging his wounds, while on the other side of the bed stood three red-shirted men, whose rough beards and belts with bowie knives and pistols showed them to be miners. one of them had his face strapped up and his arm in a sling. an exclamation of satisfaction burst from him as dick's eyes opened. "that is right, lad. you will do now. "it has been touch and go with you all night. my life aint no pertik'lar value to nobody, but such as it is you have saved it. but i won't talk of that now. which ship do you belong to? we will let them know at once." "the nortliampton," dick said in a whisper. the golden cafton. "all right; don't you talk any more. we will get your friends here in no time." but when mr. allen came ashore dick was again unconscious. the mate fetched two more surgeons, who, after conferring with the first, were all of opinion that although he might possibly recover from his wounds, weeks would elapse before he would be con- valescent. before night fever had set in, and it was a fortnight before he was again con- scious of what was passing round him. he looked feebly round the room. one of the red-shirted men was attending to a pot over a charcoal fire. turning his head he saw, standing looking out of the window, his friend tom haldane. "halloa, tom," he said, in a whisper, which, however, reached the midshipman's ears. he turned sharply round, and hurried to the bedside. "thank god, dick, you are conscious again. don't try to talk, old fellow; drink this lemonade, and then shut your eyes again." dick's escape. dick tried to raise his hand to take the glass, but, to his surprise, found he was un- able to do so. tom, however, put it to his lips and poured it down his throat. it was cool and pleasant, and with a sigh of relief he again closed his eyes, and went off into a quiet sleep. when he awoke it was evening; the win- dow was open, and the fresh air came in, mak- ing the lamp on the table flicker. "how do you feel now, old man?" tom asked. "i feel all right," he said, "but i am won- derfully weak. i suppose i must have lost a lot of blood. has the skipper given you leave to stop with me for the night?" tom nodded. "i will tell you all about it in the morning, dick. there is some chicken broth dave has been cooking for you. you must try and drink a bowl of it, and then by to-morrow morning you will be feeling like a giant." dick laughed feebly. "it will be some time before there is much of a giant about me, the golden canon. tom; but i feel as if i could drink some broth." the next morning dick woke feeling de- cidedly stronger. "raise me up and put some pillows behind me, tom. it is horrid being fed from a spoon, lying on one's back." the man called dave, and tom, lifted him up as he wished, and then the latter fed him with the broth, in which some bread had been crumbled. "now, then," dick said, when he had fin- ished; " let us hear what the old man said. i suppose he was in a tremendous rage?" "that he was! a brute!" "why, there is my chest. what has he sent that ashore for? i should think i could be taken on board again to-day." "you won't be taken on board the north- ampton," tom said, "for by this time she is down somewhere near cape horn." "eh!" dick eclaimed in astonishment. "why, how long have i been here?" , "a fortnight to-day, dick." dick's escape. is dick was too surprised to make any remark for some time. "but if the northampton has gone, how is it that you are here, tom?" "simply because she has gone without me, dick. the old man was in a furious rage when he heard in the morning what had hap- pened to you. of course, we were in a great stew—i mean the third mate and myself— when allen came off at twelve o'clock without you, after waiting an hour and a half at the wharf for you to turn up. we all felt sure that something must have happened, or you would never have been all that time late. there was a row between allen and the skip- per the first thing in the morning. allen wanted to go ashore to make inquiries about you, and the old man would not let him, and said that no doubt you had deserted, but that if you came on board again he would have you put in irons. "well, there was a regular row going on when a boat came off with a man in a red shirt, who i know now is one of dave's part- l the golden canon. ners, and said that you were desperately] wounded, and that the spanish doctor they had called in thought that you would die. so then the old man couldn't help allen's going ashore. of course, he could do nothing, as you were insensible, but he got two other sur- geons. their opinion was that you would not get over it, but that if you did it would be a long time first. when allen got back there was another row. he wanted to have you brought on board. the captain said that as you had chosen to mix yourself up in a row on shore, you might die on shore for anything he cared. then i asked for leave to stay with you when the vessel sailed, and got sworn at for my pains. in the afternoon i filled up your chest chockfull with as many of my things as i could get into it, and sent it ashore. by the next night we had got all the cargcwon board, and were to sail by the next morning, and i lowered myself down and swam ashore. "allen had told me exactly where you were lying, so i came here at once and told dave who i was, and why i had come ashore, and dick's escape. as soon as it was light he took me round to the room the other two had. the captain came ashore in the morning and stormed and raved at the consul's, but he had better have kept on board. i told our friends here all about it, and as he went back to the boat again one of them pitched into him, and gave him such a tremendous licking that i hear he had to be carried on board. as soon as he got on board the northampton sailed, so you see here we both are. i have written off to your father and mine, giving them a full ac- count of the whole affair, and saying what a brute collet had been on the whole voyage. they will be sure to lay the letters before the firm, and as allen and smith will, when they are questioned, speak out pretty straight, you may be sure the old man and his friend, the first mate, will have to look for a berth some- where else." "it is awfully good of you to have come ashore to nurse me, tom." "bosh! why, i have got away from the northampton. i found, too, that as far as » the golden caffotf. nursing was concerned i might as well have (stayed on board, for dave here and his two mates have, one or other of them, been with you night and day, and they could not have taken more care of you if they had been women. still i have been very glad to be here, though till three days ago there seemed very little hope of your pulling through it. now you have talked enough, or rather, i have talked enough, dick; and you had better turn over and get another sleep." chapter nr. the gold-seekers. two days later the lad was able to sit up in bed and to enter upon a discussion as to the future with tom arid the miner. it was be- gun by the latter. "i suppose you will be taking the first ship back as soon as you are strong enough?" he said. "i don't know, dave; now i am here i should certainly like a run ashore for a few weeks and to see something of the country. we have got twenty pounds between us; that will last for some time. i should think we could get a passage back without having to pay on this side for it, and if there was any difficulty about it, we could work our way back; but tom agrees with me, we should like to see something of the country first. "i suppose in another fortnight i shall be to the golden canon. all right again; but there is the doctor to pay. i don't know what their charges are here, but i expect his bill will be a pretty long one. you had better tell him to-day that we have not got a great deal of cash between us, and that as i only want building up now, he need not come again." "don't you trouble yourself about that," dave growled. "you don't suppose that when you have got yourself cut and sliced about in helping me you are going to have any trouble about doctors? we have got a tidy lot at present amongst us, and what is ours is yourn. we were going to set off among the hills a day or two after the time we had that trouble; only, of course, that stopped it all." "please don't stop on my account," dick said. "i shall get on very well now, and i was saying to tom, as soon as i can get about we will go off somewhere among the hills; for one might just as well be lying in an oven as here. if you will tell us where you and your mates are working, we might find our way the gold-seekers. there, and get a job. we are both p'retty strong, you know—that is to say, when we are welt—and we have often said that we should like to try our luck gold-mining." "we aint agoing till you are strong enough to get about," dave said; " so it is no use saying any more about that. then, if you want to do some mining, we will put you in the way of it; but we are going on a long expedition, which may last months, and from which, as like as not, we shall never come back again. however, we can easy enough take you with us for a bit and drop you at one of the mining camps, and stop there with you till you get accustomed to it, or work for a few months with you if you like. time is not of much consequence to us." "that is awfully good of you, dave," tom said, "but as you have lost more than a fort- night at present, and i suppose it will be an- other fortnight before dick is strong enough to travel, it isn't fair on you; and perhaps you might be able to introduce us to some men going up to the hills—that is, if you think that the golden canon. we could not go with you on this expedition you talk of." "that won't be a job for young hands," dave said. "it will be a mighty long jour- ney over a terrible rough country, where one's life will be always in one's hands, where one's eyes will always be on the lookout for an enemy, and one will know that any moment, night or day, one may hear the war yell of the indians. we are going into the heart of ari- zona, to places where not half-a-dozen white men, even counting mexicans as white men, have ever set foot; at least, where not half-a dozen have ever come back alive from, though maybe there are hundreds who have tried." "then i suppose you are going to look for some very rich mine, dave?" "that is so; i will tell you how it came about, and queerly enough, it wur pretty well the same way as your friend and me came to- gether. my mates and me were coming down from the hills when we heard a shot fired in a wood ahead of us. it wasn't none the gold-seekers. of our business, but we went on at a trot, thinking as how some white men had been at- tacked by greasers." "what are greasers? " tom asked. dave laughed. "a greaser is just a mexican. why tney call them so i don't know; but that has been their name always as long as i came in the country. well, we ran down and came sud- den upon two greasers who were kneeling by a man lying in the road, and seemed to be searching his pockets. we let fly with our colts; one of them was knocked over, and the other bolted. then we went to look at the man in the road; he wur a greaser too. he had been shot dead. 'i wonder what they shot him for?' says i. 'maybe it is a private quarrel; maybe he had struck it rich, and has got a lot of gold in his belt. we may as well look; it is no use leaving it for that skunk that bolted to come back for.' he had got about twenty ounces in his belt, and we shifted it into our bag, and were just going on when 'zekel—that is one of my mates—said, 'i the golden canon. know this cuss, dave; it's vhe chap that lived in that village close to where we were work- ing six months ago; they said he had been fossicking all over arizona, and that he was the only one who ever came back out of a party who went to locate a wonderful rich spot it was said he knew of. "' he tried over and over again to get up another party, but no one would try after that first failure. we may just as well search him all over; it may be he has got a plan of the place somewhere about him, and it is like enough those fellows have killed him on the chance of finding it.' "so we searched him pretty thorough, and at last we found a paper sewn up in the collar of his jacket. sure enough it was a plan. we did not examine it then, for someone might have come along, and we might have been accused of the chap's murder; so i shoved it into the inside pocket of my shirt, and we went on. we looked at it that night; there was several marks on it and names, one of which we had heard of, though we had the gold-seekers. $ never been so far in the indian country. well, as you may guess, we had some big talks over it, and at last we reckoned we would have a try to find it. "we had been lucky, and had struck it rich at the last place we had been at, and we agreed, instead of spending our money in a spree or at the monte tables, we would fit out an expedition and try it. now i believe that attack was made on me to try and get that piece of paper. the chap who bolted may like enough have hid himself and watched us, and may have seen us find it and me take charge of it. we thought more than once since we came down here that we were being dogged by a greaser, but we never thought about the paper. that evening i had been out by myself, which i did not often do, for we in general went about together, and was going back along that street, and was pretty nigh home, when someone said in spanish, 'that is the fellow,' and then five men jumped out with knives in their hands. i had just time to whip out my, six-shooter and fire once. the golden canon. one fellow went down, but at the same mo- ment i got a clip across my wrist with a knife, and down went the pistol. then i got a slice across the head, and another on the shoulder, and down i went. two of them threw them- selves on me, and i shammed dead, knowing that if i moved it was all over with me. one of them shoved his hand in my trousers pockets, and the other tore my shirt open. i heard a sudden row, a blow, and the fall of a body; then one of them came tumbling down on the top of us and knocked the two fellows over, then they jumped up, and i heard your pistol crack twice and two falls, and as i got up on to my feet to lend a hand i saw one of the fellows bolting down the street, running off in another direction. that was the one, i think, that came down on the top of us. "i have been wondering since then how it was that that fellow fell, for you did not fire till they jumped up." dick explained that he had felled one with a blow from the stick, and not having time to strike with it again, had sent the second stag- the gold-seekers. j gering over the group with a blow of his fist; "those are the two that got away, i expect," he said. "i expect so; there were four bodies on the ground—yours, the two fellows you shot, and the one i wiped out to begin with." "has there been any row about it?" dick asked. "no; they take these things quietly. if it had been one of my mates and me who had killed three mexicans, our story that we had been attacked might not have been believed, but as it was certain a young ship's officer would not have joined me in falling foul of three natives, they just took and buried them, and there was an end of it." more plans. the lads had their way. as soon as she three men saw that they were really bent upon accompanying them, they raised no fur- ther objections. "we shall be glad enough to have you with us," dave said, "and though the work will be toilsome and hard, there is nothing in it that two active young chaps like you need be afraid of. it is just the injuns—they are the worst kind, and have always set themselves against gold-seekers. that is natural enough, for they know that if gold mines were once opened in their country, the whites would pour in, and they would soon be wiped out. anyhow, everyone who goes prospecting in that part of arizona knows well enough that he takes his life in his hands. "all along the country by the gila river is the stronghold of the apaches, the terror of northern mexico. many parties of miners have set out, but very few have ever come back again; but those that have tell of gold richer by a hundred times than ever was seen in california, and have brought with them the golden canon. sacks of nuggets to prove it. these are men who have had the luck to get in and out with- out ever having been seen by the injuns; the large parties have never succeeded. so you see, young fellows, the odds are strongly agin you. still, if you like to go with us, you are welcome; but if the time comes when the red- skins have got us shut up in some place we can never get out of alive, remember that you are there on your own choice, and that we had no hand in getting you into the scrape." "we will never blame you, whatever comes of it, dave. if the risk is not too great for you and your comrades, it is not too great for us. there is nothing in the world we should like so much as such an adventure." "well, that is settled then, and no more words about it. we shall be glad to have two more with us, and we intended to go alone only because it is not everyone that can be trusted." "what do we take with us?" "we shall each take a horse, and a mexi- can pony to carry, our food and traps. if more plans. everything goes right and we find a bonanza, we can load them up on the way back. twenty dollars will buy a pony here. then you will want a critter each to ride. we are not going to get first-rate ones, for if the in- dians come on us it is fighting that we shall have to do, not riding. among those moun- tains no shod horse of the plains has a chance with those indian ponies, which can climb like goats and go at a gallop along places where a horse from the plains wouldn't dare move. then you will want rifles and six-shooters. that is about all; i am afraid our stock of money will hardly run to it, and i think we had better work for a while in one of the dig- gings to make up what we shall want." "we have- twenty pounds between us," dick said, "and we can draw on our fathers for twenty-five pounds each. the consul here has, of course, heard of my being wounded and left behind, and i expect he won't mind cashing our draft." "there will be more than we want," the miner said. "still, it is as well to be on the the golden canon. right side. if we don't find any gold up there, we shall want a little when we get back to keep us going until something turns up." three days later dick was strong enough to go with his friend to the consul's; they found that mr. allen had spoken about dick, and told him that should he recover from his wounds, he could cash a draft for him without any fear. therefore in half an hour the lads returned to their lodgings with three hundred and fifty dollars, having changed their eng- lish gold'into the currency of the country. "you have not got your horses yet, i sup- pose, dave?" "no, we shall go up the river about a hun- dred and twenty miles. there we shall buy horses cheaper than we can get them here. we have got rifles and colts; they are things one can't very well do without in knocking about among the hills. i will go round the town, and i have no doubt i shall be able to pick you up what you want cheap. there are so many men get rubbed out one way or more plans. the other that such things are pretty often for sale." the other two miners, who during dick's illness had nothing to do but to stroll about the town, both knew of men who had rifles or revolvers to dispose of, and in a couple of hours the purchases were completed and a considerable stock of ammunition was also bought. "i should recommend yer," the miner called 'zekel said, as the party were talking matters over that evening, " to rig yourselves out miner fashion. them uniforms looks very nice on board ship, but they aint much good for knocking about in the mountains; and yer can leave them here, and take to them again when yer gets back." the lads thought the advice was good, and next day rigged themselves out in red shirts and high boots, in which were tucked the bot- tom of the thick moleskin trousers. they also bought jackets of the same material as the trousers. "you will be glad of them at night," dave the golden canon. said; " it gets pretty cold up in the mountains when the sun is down, and we shan't be light- ing any fires, you bet." they also bought a couple of rough blankets each, a spare shirt, and two or three pairs of stockings, a couple of long bowie knives, and two broad-brimmed felt hats. chapter v. the search for the canon. ten days later the party took passage in a large boat going up the river to santa fe. it had come down freighted with hides, and the odor still hung about it. however, by this time they had become accustomed to the smell, and scarcely noticed it. the boat was manned by six mexicans, who sometimes poled it along, sometimes, when the stream was rapid, got ashore and towed from the bank. it took them six days to arrive at santa fe. although just inside the united states fron- tier, the population was almost entirely mexi- can. there were, however, a few american stores, containing european goods of all kinds, for the use of the natives, and such articles as miners or prospectors going up among the hills would require. here the^ the golden canon. had no difficulty in purchasing horses. five rough, serviceable ponies for the carriage of the baggage were picked up at twenty dollars a piece, and five well-made and wiry horses for their own riding. mexican saddles, with very high pommels and cantles, heavy and cumbersome to look at, but very comfortable for long distances, were also obtained without difficulty. at the stores were bought two sacks of flour and two sides of bacon, a frying pan, saucepan, baking pot, and a good supply of tea and sugar; four large water-skins, five small ones, completed their purchases, with the exception of shovels, picks, and pails for washing the gravel. "going up among the hills again, dave?" remarked the store-keeper, with whom the miners had often dealt before. "yes, we are going to try a new direction this time, and don't want to have to come back directly we have struck anything. we have got enough grub here for three or four months, reckoning as we shall occasionally get hold of bear or deer meat." the search for the casfon. "well, you had better keep clear of the in- dian country, dave. they made a raid down south, i hear, last month, and burnt half a dozen mexican villages, and they would make short work with you if they came across you anywhere near their country. however, i suppose you aint going to be fool enough to go that way, especially as i see you have got two green hands with you." "they are old enough to be useful," dave said. "we can put them to cook and look after the horses, if they can't do anything else. they are britishers, and one of them stood by me pluckily in a mess i got into in san diego; so as they had left their ship and were out of a berth, i thought i would bring them with me, as they had a fancy for seeing a little of mining life, before they shipped back again." two days after their arrival at santa fe they started. "we will strike due south as if intending to enter mexico; one never knows who is watch- ing one," dave said the evening before. "there are always some pretty hard men the golden canon. about these border towns—miners who are on their luck; men who have had to run from the northern diggings, and such like. we may say what we like, but they will make a guess that we have located something rich, and are going back to work it quietly and keep it to ourselves, and like enough some of them will take it in their heads to follow us. anyhow, we will travel south for a day or two, and then turn off sharp to the west. it aint as i should grudge anyone else a share in the mine, but the more there are the more chance of the injuns finding us. besides, some of these chaps are so reckless that like as not they would light a big fire if they wanted to cook a loaf of bread. we three have been up that way before, although not so far as we are going now, and we know what we have got to expect, and that, if we are going to bring our scalps out again, we have got to sleep with our eyes open." another fortnight's traveling and they had passed the last settlements, had left fort mason behind them, and had entered the the golden canon. large skins filled with water, in case none should be met with at their halting places; this sufficed for tea and for a good drink at night, and before starting in the morning for the horses. the villages, however, had be- come fewer and fewer, and at the last through which they had passed they had bought one of the little bullocks of the country, cut the flesh into strips, and hung it in the sun to dry, halting three days for the purpose. chapter vi. the map again. "now," dave said, as they finished their meal on the evening after leaving fort mason, "we have got to consider which course we had better take. first we will have another look at the map." this was taken out from a wash-leather case, in which it had been sewn, dave carry- ing it under his shirt by a string that went round his neck. it was the first time that the boys had seen it. as dave opened it they examined it with much curiosity. it was di- vided in two; the upper one appeared to be a general map of the country, the lower one a plan of the immediate locality of the spot. "it looks very confusing," dick said, as he examined it. "you see the chap as made it did not do it for other people, but so that he could find his the golden canon. way back by it. this line that runs along the bottom of the other map i take to be the gila, which is a big river which runs right through the indian country, and falls into the rio grande. i have gone up it from that side two or three hundred miles. we were a strong party, but we had to fight our way back again, and lost pretty near half our num- ber. you see by the map it lies on the north side of the gila. but as the gila is eight or nine hundred miles long, that don't help us a great deal, and the map wouldn't be any good to us if it was not for this mark here up near the top. you see all these things are meant for mountains, but as one mountain on a map is just like another, we should be downright done if it was not for this mark. do you see there are three little jags here close together? now i take it those three jags are meant for a mountain the indians call the three sisters, which is a mountain with three peaks close together. i never saw it myself, but i have spoken with miners who have seen it from the north. now, here you see, to the south of the map again. the tfiree sisters, is a cross, and i take it that's the mine. you see there is a black line waving about among the mountains that stops at that point. i guess that is the line they traveled by." "but there is nothing to tell us what scale the map is on, dave," tom said; "it may mean five hundred miles from end to end, it may mean fifty. if it is five hundred it must be seventy or eighty miles from those peaks to the cross, if it is fifty it is only seven or eight." "that is so," dave agreed. "have you any idea how far it is from the three peaks to the river?" "yes, i have heard it is about fifty miles north of the gila." "well, that would make this spot marked from fifteen to twenty miles from them. the length of the map would be about two hun- dred miles, and as the peaks are about a quar- ter of the distance from the right-hand side, this map begins about a hundred and fifty miles to the west of the peaks. i should think the golden cafton. it would be at some well-known place that the maker of this map began; some place that he knew he could find again without difficulty." "that is so; you will see the line begins at a stream running north and south. there is a mark here each side of the path-line. of course they might mean anything; they might mean trees or rocks. then look here; there are two more dots out here, and if you were to draw a line straight through them, it would come to the other dots. one must be three or four miles off, and the other twelve or fifteen. the farthest one may be a peak, and the one nearer some conspicuous tree or rock in a line with it." "yes, that is what we make it out to be," boston joe said. "we have the choice of either going up the gila valley and mounting this side stream till we come upon something that agrees with these four marks, or of keep- ing along from the west by a valley about the right distance from the gila." "i should not think we can trust much to distances," dick said; " this man was merely the map again. sketching out a plan to help him on his way up again, should he ever make up a party to return to the mine, and, though probably these bendings and turnings of the road are to be depended upon, the map itself cannot be done to any scale. here the peaks are made twice as far from the left side as they are from the river, but they may be really four times as far, or they may be only the same dis- tance; there is no saying at all; as he has drawn it, the point where the road begins is a good deal more to the south than the peaks are. if the scale is correct, it is not more than thirty miles at most north of the gila that the path begins. you see about halfway between this point and the river are five or six little marks like a v upside down. i see there are other marks like these at different places on the map. i should say they were meant for indian villages." "that is so, no doubt," dave agreed. "here is another thing beside them; what do you make that out to be, dick?" "it looks to me like a tiny bird; it is very the golden canon. small and very badly done; but i am pretty sure that that is what is meant. what in the world can he have put a bird there for? let us look at the other villages." he examined them carefully. "two of them have got figures. this one looks like a cat, and this is a snake—at least, i should think so." "i have got it," dave exclaimed. "those are the names of the chiefs. i know the names of a good many of their chiefs, and there's rattlesnake and the mountain lion among them." "and there is the crow, too, dave," bos- ton joe put in. "so there is; i know he is the chief of the tribes whose country lies this side of the ari- zona. no doubt that is his village. now we have it. i know pretty well where his place is, for i have been further among the hills than that. i can find my way there easy enough. when we get to the stream his village is built on we have got to hunt along it till we find these marks, and then follow on the line he took. the crow's village is about thirty miles the map again. north of the gila. that will put these stops sixty miles from the river. yes, this straight- ens out the distances pretty considerable, for i should say that from them to the three peaks it must be nigh three hundred miles. i don't think it is more than a hundred from here to the crow's village. it should be an easy thing following that marked line, but it won't matter if we miss it. our course will be pretty nigh due east, not, as he makes it, north, for we know the sisters are not more than eighty miles from the gila. when we get near them we can't help seeing them. then we have only got to follow the direction of this map below. there are the peaks. well, right in front of them is a lower hill with a tree on its top, and that tree exactly in line with the middle peak gives us the line, and as the tree just touches the bottom of the peak, it will give us the distance to within half a mile. here are two lines, one on each side of the line from the peak through the trees. i don't know what they mean, but i guess they mark a canon, and when we go up that we the golden canon. can hardly help striking the mine, wherever it is. i think we have got the thing pretty well down to a point, and if we go wrong it is our own fault." "shall we have to come back this way?" dick asked. "that must depend upon circumstances," dave replied. "we might make straight north and come down on a pass that crosses the mountains about a hundred and fifty miles north of the sisters, but i reckon it would be a terrible journey to undertake with loaded mules. then again we might strike east, and make either for albuquerque or socorro. like enough we may find that our best way." chapter vii. the scarcity of water. five days later they reached the stream. the miners had all recognized points that they had passed on their former journey, and all agreed that it was lower down on this stream that the crow's village was situated. for the moment this was a matter of inferior importance to them. it was enough that they had reached water, for they had for the last four days been traversing an arid waste of broken country, without as much as a tree under which they could lie during the day. they had filled up all their water skins before entering on this region, and these had sufficed for them and their animals, but for the last two days they had been obliged to husband it. what remained tasted so strongly of the skins that at any other time the boys could not have the golden canon. drank it, but men and horses were both filled with delight at the sight of the bright clear water. the baggage and saddles were re- moved, and the animals were allowed to drink their fill, and then to lie down in the stream while their riders enjoyed the luxury of a bath. they had done no cooking for the last four aays, as no fuel of any sort was to be obtained, and they lived upon the dried meat and a drink of flour and water. the banks of the stream were well wooded, and the animals, as soon as their thirst was quenched, fell to work upon the grass that grew knee-deep near its banks. "we must do some cooking to-day," dave said, " and a good batch of it; there is no say- ing when it will be safe to cook again. we must wait till night, and then light the fire in the thickest part of these trees, and fasten our blankets up round it to prevent its light being seen. we can collect the firewood in readi- ness before it gets dark." the spot was carefully chosen, the horse- 'the golden canon. said; " it is the sort of valley a party exploring would be likely to follow. there is wood, water, and grass. now for the landmarks." they went on until they reached the spot where the stream fell into the river. "we can't do better than camp here, dave," 'zekel said; "it has been a rough journey for the ponies, and they will be all the better for another good feed." "all right," dave agreed, " i don't see any signs of the landmarks, but they may be somewhere about. we will unsaddle the ponies. boys, you may as well walk up the stream a bit. keep your eyes open, but don't go very far away. keep your rifles ready for use; there is no saying but what some prowl- ing indian may not have caught sight of us as we came along." the boys unslung their rifles, which were strapped tightly to their backs—they were already loaded—and started up the valley. in a quarter of a mile they passed through the low wood which filled the bottom of the val-' ley. in front of them was an open space, the golden canon. marks and have taken a wrong turning some- where. from this time they had put aside the map, and made their way as nearly east as the inequalities of the ground permitted. they had no difficulties as to forage for their horses. in many of the valleys there was an abundance of coarse grass, and among the rocks the aloe and cactus grew thickly, and when, as was sometimes the case, no water was to be found, they peeled the thorny skin from the thick juicy leaves and gave the pulp to the animals. for themselves they shot three bears and several small mountain deer. there was little fear of the sound of their rifles being heard in these mountain gorges, and should the report have reached the ear of an indian he would have supposed that it was the gun of some red hunters. there were indeed only two villages marked on the map any- where near the line they were following, as the great bulk of the indians*" lived on the slopes of the hills on either side of the gila, the golden valley. whence they could make their raids into mexico to the south or to new mexico to the east. here among the mountains they could sub- sist on the proceeds of the chase and the little plantations tended by the women, but this offered small attractions to the restless and warlike indians, who preferred depending upon the plunder that they could always gather by a raid upon the defenseless mexi- can villages. thus during the whole journey they had not once caught sight of an indian, though they had two or three times made out, with the aid of a telescope tom had brought with him, little clusters of wigwams far away among |he hills. "there will be more danger when we get near the place," 'zekel said one evening when they were talking it over. "the redskins know well enough that it is gold the whites who come into their mountains are in search of, and i guess they know every place where it is to be found. a redskin always has his eyes open, a broken branch, a stone newty the golden canon. rolled down on a path, the ashes of a fire, the slightest thing that is new, he is sure to no- tice, and the glitter of gold, whether in a stream or in a vein, would be certain to catch his eye, and if this place is specially rich they are safe to know of it, and would keep some sort of watch to see that it is not found out by the whites." "that is so," dave agreed; " of course we don't know how the party that mexican got the map from got wiped out. it may have, been on their way back, but it is more likely it was at the mine itself, and we may find signs of them when we get there. i hope they had been at work some time before they were at- tacked; if so we may like enough find a store of gold without the trouble of working for it. it is no use to the redskins. they don't do any trade with the whites, and they don't wear gold ornaments. they are wise enough to know that if they were to show much gold about them it would make the whites more eager than ever to come in among their .mountains in search of it, so if the mexican the golden valley. party gathered some up afore they went under, like enough we shall find it." it was with deep satisfaction that they at last caught sight of the mountain with three sharp peaks, but it was four days after they first saw it that they reached a point due south of it. they were now in a wide valley running east and west; to the south a wall of rock rose in a seemingly unbroken line. on the northern side of the valley the hills sloped away, rising one above another, with the peaks of the sisters visible above them all. they had left their animals in charge of boston joe, in a clump of trees four miles back, as the miners were of opinion that some indian village might lie somewhere in the neighborhood, and that it would be safer to make their way on foot. one of the many branches of the gila ran along the center of the valley, but except in deep pools it was now dry. "now we must keep a sharp lookout for marks on the hills," dave said; " we know we are about right as to the line, but we may o the golden canon. have to go two or three miles north or as much south before we get a mark just bearing on that middle peak. stop," he broke off suddenly; "look up there just beyond the shoulder of that hill; there are some wigwams, sure enough." tom brought his telescope to bear. "yes, there are about twenty of them, but they never can see us at this distance." "don't you make any mistake, young fel- low;-there aint no saying what an indian can see and what he can't see. i reckon their eyes is as good as that glass of yours, and i would not guarantee they could not see a rab- bit run at this distance. there, get among those rocks at the foot of the cliff; we will make our way along them, hiding as much as we can. i suppose those are horses away there on the hillside to the right of the village; they can't be nothing else." "yes, they are horses, dave." for another half hour they made their way among the rocks, and then dick exclaimed suddenly: the golden valley. l "look, dave, there is a tree standing by itself at the top of that hill. i believe in an- other fifty yards it will just be on the line of the peaks." "i think you are right, dick, and we have hit the very point at the first try; if it is right, there must be a break in this wall above us." chapter ix. the tree on the peak, they hastened on now with their eyes fixed on the tree. a minute later an exclamation broke from dave, who was ahead, and the others on joining him saw that the great wall of rock had been split as if by an earthquake. the opening was not more than ten yards wide, and on looking up a narrow line of sky appeared between the walls of rock. look- ing the- other way, they saw that the tree on the hill bore exactly on the middle peak, the indian village lying just in the same line half- way up the hill. "here is the place, sure enough," dave said; "there can't be no mistake about it; it is just as the map made it, the tree on the middle peak and the line from them going right into this canon. look, boys, there is a stream comes down here in the wet season, a the tree on the peak. and runs into the one in the middle of the val- ley. see, i can make out gold sparkling in the sand; that is how it was the place was found; they were prospecting along the val- ley, and they came upon gold, and traced it up to the mouth of this canon." "shall we go in now, dave?" dick asked excitedly, for they were still standing among the rocks, which broke off abruptly opposite the mouth of the canon, those in front of it evidently having been swept away by the tor- rents flowing down it. "no, don't go a step forward, dick. don't let us risk nothing by showing our- selves now. we will make our way back as we came to boston, and bring up the horses after dark. we have not got a chance to throw away, i can tell you." at night they returned with the horses; two blankets had been cut up, and the feet of the animals muffled. "if one of them redskins was to come upon our track and saw the print of a horseshoe, it would be all up with us," zeke said; " we had the golden canon. best do the same ourselves; the heel of a boot would be as ugly a mark as a horseshoe. we must keep well along at the edge of these fallen racks. like enough they come down here to fetch water up to their village, and the further we keep away from the stream the better." the moon was half full, which was fortu- nate, as they would otherwise have had great difficulty in finding the narrow gap in the cliff. its light, too, enabled them to avoid rocks that had rolled out farther than the rest; once inside the gorge it was pitch-dark, and they had to feel their way along. in about a hundred yards it began to widen, and they soon found themselves in a narrow valley with perpendicular sides, which seemed to widen farther up. the horses were at once unloaded. "now do you lie down," dave said. "i will keep watch at the mouth. i don't think there is any danger; still, we may as well be- gin as we shall have to go on." "well, call me up in a couple of hours, the tree on the peak. then," zeke said; "it will begin to get light in about four, and as soon as it does we will cover up the tracks." with the first dawn of light the three miners, taking their blankets, went down to the mouth of the canon. the boys accom- panied them to watch their operations. it was only in the sand and gravel swept down by the floods from the gorge that any foot- marks could be seen; these were first leveled, and then with the blankets the surface of the sand was carefully swept so as to erase all signs of disturbance. before the sun was up the operation was completed, twenty or thirty yards up the canon. "that is enough for the present," dave said; "we are safe from anyone passing. now, let us have a look round up above." "they must have been awful careless if they were surprised in here," zeke said; " half a dozen men ought to hold this place against a hull tribe of redskins." "that is so," boston joe agreed, "but the greasers are mighty bad watchmen, and no the golden canon. doubt they thought they were safe in here. that indian village could not have been over on the hill opposite then, or it would have been put down on the map." "like enough they had been followed/" dave said. "if a redskin had caught sight of them, he might have followed on their trail for weeks, till he found where they were going, and then made off to bring his tribe down on them. it may be that one has been hanging behind us just in the same way." "it is a very unpleasant idea," tom said. "the redskins' ways aint pleasant," dave said. "well, let us be moving up. the first thing we have got to look for aint gold. there is no doubt about that being here somewhere. what we have got to look for is if there is any way out of this hole, because it is a regular trap, and if we were caught here we might hold the gorge for a long time, but they would have us at last certain; besides, they could shoot us down from the top." they proceeded a few hundred yards up the valley, and then stopped suddenly on a the tree on the peak. ccleared space of ground. in the center lay a score of skeletons, some separately, some in groups of twos and threes. the remnants of the rags that still hung on them showed that they had been mexicans. the two lads felt a thrill of horror at this proof of the fate that had befallen their predecessors. "wall," zeke exclaimed, "that was some- thing like a surprise; there aint no sign they made a fight of it; they were just caught in their sleep, and never even gathered for re- sistance. well, well, what fools men are to be sure. i shouldn't have believed as even mexicans would have been such fools as to sleep here without putting a guard at the en- trance. i reckon the redskins must have come down from above somewhere, and so caught them unawares. well, let us be mov- ing on." chapter x. watched. a little higher up the valley narrowed again, the sides came closer and closer, until they closed in abruptly in a rounded precipice, down which in the wet season it was evident that a waterfall leaped from a height above. "they didn't come down here," dave said. "if it were anywhere it was near where the at- tack was made; the sides slope away a bit there. now keep your eyes skinned, and see if you can make out any place where a man might climb up or down. our lives may de- pend on it." just as they reached the old encampment dick said, " look, dave, there is a ledge run- ning up behind that bush; it seems to me that it joins another ledge halfway up. tom and i are accustomed to climbing; we will go up a bit and see if it goes anywhere." watched. the two lads stopped as they got behind the bush. "it looks like a path here, dave; it has cer- tainly been trodden." the miners came to the spot. "you are right," dave said; "it is a path, sure enough. animals of some sort" come up and down—bears, i should say; maybe goats, and lots of them, like enough; it is the only way they can get down from the top into the valley, and they come down to drink." the ridge was wider than it looked, being, where it started, fully two feet across. the boys at once set off up it; as dick had sup- posed, it met another ledge running along halfway up the face of the hill. from below this ledge seemed a mere line, but it was really two feet wide in most places, and even at the narrowest was not less than a foot. two hundred yards along, another ascent was met with, and after half an hour's climbing they found themselves on a level plateau, from which they could see across to the three peaks. hie path was everywhere worn smooth, watched. dave shouted to them as they approached the bottom. "we have been right up to the top; the ponies could go anywhere. it is narrow in places, but we have passed many worse on the way; the cliffs never close up, so even at the worst places there is room for them to get along with their loads." "what is it like at the top?" "level ground along to the drop of the cliffs, hills behind it to the south." "well, it is a comfort there is a way down into the valley. anyhow, since you have been gone, we have been fossicking about, and there is no doubt about the gold; it is the richest place any of us have ever seed." "have you found water, dave?" "no, that is the one thing bad, we shall have to go out to fetch water, but maybe if we dig in the center of the channel we shall find it. the best place to try will be at the end, right under where the waterfall comes down in winter. there is most always a deep hole in the rock there, where the water and stones the golden canon. and so on have come down and pounded away the bed rock. we found where the gold comes from too. there is a big quartz vein running right up the face of the cliff there; it is just full of gold. you can see it sparkle everywhere. some day, when the in- dians is all wiped out, fellows will bring ma- chinery and powder, and will have one of the richest mines in the world. however, that don't concern us. i reckon there is enough in this gravel under our feet to make a hun- dred men rich. now, boston, what do you think is the best thing to do first?" "see if we can get water, dave. if we were shut up here without water they would have us in twelve hours, so we have got to get enough for ourselves and the horses to drink if we can, even if we have to fetch up what we want for the gravel. when we have got water, the next job will be to make a cradle; there are plenty of trees here, and we have got our hatchets, and we have brought the zinc screens, so we have got everything we want. i don't say we mightn't pick up a lot in nug- watched. gets. i have got a dozen already, making, i should say, over an ounce between them. still, the others is the real thing to depend on. "and there is another thing, dave," zeke put in; " we must have a watch. we had in- tended that, but we thought we should have only one place to watch ; now we have found this track up the hill we have two." "that is so, dave, though it is pretty hard on us having two out of five idle. still, we have got a lesson there," boston said, point- ing to the spot where they had found the skeletons. "aye, aye, it has got to be done," dave said. "well, lads, will you take the watch to-day, one above and one at the mouth, and we will set to work at the water hole?" "we will toss up which goes up the hill again, dick. you spin. heads; tails it is." "then i will choose the mouth here. you go up to the mouth's head." "don't you be walking about when you get to the top," dave said. "find some the golden casfon. place where you get a clear view all round, and then lie down. choose a bit of shade, if you can find it. when we knock off work and have had a bit of grub, i will come up and take your place." it was just getting dusk when dave came up and relieved dick. "are you going to stay here all night, dick?" "yes, we have agreed i shall keep watch here to-night, boston to-morrow night, and then i go on again. zeke will take the watch below regular; he sleeps like a dog, and the least noise in the world will wake him, so he will do very well. can you make out the in- dian village across there from here?" "yes, quite plainly." "you have not been using your glass, i hope," dave said in alarm. "no, i forgot to bring it up with me. but why shouldn't i?" "because if the sun were to flash on the glass or brasswork, it would be sartin to catch the eye of someone in the village, and if it did watched. you may be sure they would send up to see what it was. still, if you can make out the village, it will save us the need for keeping watch in the daytime down below. it is from there we have got to expect an attack the most, and if you saw them moving out strong, you could shout down to us and we should be ready for them. at night, in course, we must watch both places, for there may be, for any- thing we know, a big village half a mile from here, and the attack might come from one way or the other. i expect you would rather work than watch, dick; so you had better arrange to change places with tom in the middle of the day, then you can each work half a day. you will find that plenty, i warrant." "did you find water, dave?" "yes, plenty of it, enough for the horses and the washing too." chapter xi. hard at work. tom took the first watch in the morning. dick rendered all the assistance he could to the men, who cut down a couple of the trees that stood in the gorge, chopped them into eight-feet lengths, and then with wedges split them into boards, which they smoothed up with an adze. all were accustomed to the work, and by nightfall a deep trough was con- structed, resting upon rockers like a cradle. next morning the work began; two men threw the gravel and sand into the cradle, the third kept it in motion, while whichever of the boys was off watch brought water in two of the pails from the hole. the horses were no trouble, finding plenty of coarse grass among the rocks, and only re- quiring watering night and morning. thrice hard at work. a day the contents of the cradle were cleared entirely out, and the gold that had sunk to the bottom collected. much of it was in fine dust, but there was also a large number of nuggets, varying in size from a pea to a marble. each clear-up they obtained on an average eight or nine pounds of gold. the fourth day tom had come down from above at twelve o'clock, and found that the men had only just finished the clear-up, and had sat down to have some food. having nothing to do, he strolled away to the spot where the mexicans had been mas- sacred, a short distance away, on some ground at the side of the valley. some three or four feet above the ground level of the bot- tom he saw a charred stump of a pole sticking up; he went across to it. "i suppose this is where the leader of the party had a tent or rough hut," he said. he was confirmed in the belief by a number of bits of charred wood lying round the pole. "it was sort of arbor, i suppose," he said to himself. the golden canon. there were several relics lying about: two boots shriveled by fire, a tin cup flattened by some weight that had fallen on it, a pistol with its stock blackened by fire. he called the men to the spot. "yes, like enough it is as you say, dick, but it is scarcely worth getting up to look at." "no, there is not much to look at, dave, but you have been wondering ever since you came that you had not come upon any of the gold they must have gathered, and you said you didn't believe the indians had taken it away. now if this was the hut of the leader of the party, it struck me that it would most likely be kept here, and that it may be buried somewhere under this circle of ashes." "tom is right, mates," dave said, "that is just where the gold would be kept, and there aint much doubt that they would bury it as they got it, so as to prevent anyone from tak- ing any of it till it was divided up. let us fetch our picks, boston, and we will soon see if it is here. let us try round the post first," hard at work. he went on, when the three men fetched their picks; " it will be either close to the middle of the hut, or else on one side under where he made his bed." the ground was sand, which had been washed up by an eddy in one of the floods, and they had struck but three or four blows with the pick, when dave exclaimed: "here is something, boys!" they had brought a shovel with them, and throwing aside the sand, they saw a piece of leather. "it is a bag," joe said; " this is their hoard, sure enough." going down on their hands and knees, they pulled up bag after bag, each about fifty pounds in weight, until they had a pile on the surface of eight bags. "eureka!" dave exclaimed, as he lifted the last bag out of the hole. "they had made something like a pile; no doubt they were a strong party, but even with that they must have been here a couple of months to have got this lot together. well, boston," the golden canon. and he held out his hand, "we can go east again; we have struck it rich at last." "you bet," joe said briefly. "how much is it? " dick asked. "each, of them bags weighs about fifty pounds, dick." dick looked incredulous, and stooped to pick up one of the bags, and was astonished at its weight. "fifty pounds if it weighs an ounce, and there are eight of them—four hundred pounds of gold; think of that, lad; that is pretty nigh eighty pounds apiece. i aint good at reckoning, but put it rough at two hundred and fifty dollars a pound, that is somewhere like two hundred thousand dollars each." "forty thousand pounds!" dick ex- claimed; " it does not seem possible;" "we aint got it to the settlements yet," zeke said quietly; "them chaps had it, and they lost it. don't let us figure it up much till we get beyond the sound of the apache war-whoop." hard at work. bl "well, i will go on watch at the mouth," dick said, " and then you can talk things oven together." "do, dick; there is a lot more to look after than there was before, and it makes one feel one can't be too careful. anyhow we won't stay a day longer in this place. we will be off to-night." dick went nearly down to the mouth of the narrow gorge. he had expected they would find a treasure, and although this far exceeded his anticipations, he did not feel the excite- ment the men had shown at the discovery of the treasure. he sat down on a rock, and amused himself with the thought of the won- der there would be at home. suddenly he heard the sound of a horse's hoof, and grasp- ing his rifle, stooped down behind a fallen rock. a moment later a mounted indian dashed past the mouth of the rift. he was scarce twenty yards away, but dick noticed the eagle feathers of his head-dress, the rifle slung across his shoulder, and the leggings decorated with tufts of hair. it was but a the golden canon. moment, and then he was gone. dick waited a minute or two, and then ran in to tell the miners. they uttered an exclamation of alarm. "he went right on," dick said. "he didn't check the speed of his horse or glance my way." "that is no sign," zeke said. "the chances are that fellow has happened on our trail maybe a mjle, maybe fifty, back and he has just been following it. why should he be riding so close to the cliffs if he was not track- ing us?" "but he didn't look in," dick persisted. "he warn't such a fool, lad. he knew well enough that if he glanced round, and there was anyone on watch there, he would have a bullet through him sartin." "what shall we do? shall we saddle up at once, dave? " boston joe asked. "we may as well pack the horses anyhow, boston, but we can't go till it is dark. if a party like ours were to show up there, they would see us from the village sure. do you the golden canon. messenger off to some village up behind us. there is one thing, he will have a good way to go for we have seen no break in the cliffs for the last twenty miles, and maybe they go much farther; anyhow, we have got to risk it." "i should think," dick said, "that any- how we might as well get the horses up to the top of the path, ready to push on as soon as it gets dark. they can do it easily enough in daylight, but it would be a very awkward job at night." "right you are, lad, that is a capital plan. we will do it at once. we have got every- thing wrapped up ready. one of us will stay up there with tom so as to guard the top of the path, in case any of the redskins should come down before we are ready to go for- ward. three will be enough to hold the canon." "i will undertake the horse job," boston joe said. "as you say, three is enough here. they will think they are going to take us by surprise, and as soon as they find we are ready retreat. for them they will draw off fast enough. i reckon that fellow has counted our numbers, and no redskin will try to force that pass with five western rifles facing him." just as joe began to mount the path, lead- ing his horse, with the others tied head to tail in a long line behind it, tom appeared on the path high up and shouted: "thirty or forty horsemen have just left the village, and are coming this way." "all right, tom," dick shouted back. "you are not to come down. joe is coming up with the horses." "we have got plenty of time yet," dave said, as soon as the string of horses had started on their way up; "it aint much past two o'clock yet, and it will be pretty nigh six hours afore we can make a start. there is a good fire, and we have kept down thirty pounds of flour; we shall have time to bake that into bread before we start. we shan't have much time for baking when we are once off, you can bet your boots." dick looked on with some wonder at the the golden canon. quiet and deliberate manner in which dave mixed his dough. "by the way, dick," the latter said, look- ing up, "we have divided that lot of gold we got here ourselves into five lots, and put one lot into the blankets on each of our riding horses; it is like enough that if we carry our own scalps back to the settlements we shan't get any of the four baggage ponies there with us. there is about twelve pound of gold in each blanket, so suppose we have to let the other ponies go, we shan't have made a bad job out of our journey after all." "have you filled the water-skins, dave?" "we filled the five small skins we carry our- selves, and one of the others we daren't carry. each of the horses has got two sacks of gold, one of them has got the water-skin, two others have got twenty pounds of flour each, which will be enough to last us with the loaf we are baking here till we get out of the in- dian country; the others have got the tea and sugar. the one with the skin will be the heaviest load at first; but the water will soon retreat. go, so that makes it even. everything else we have got to leave behind, except a kettle and this baking pan. we will take them up as we go. now that the loaf is fairly under way, we will get ready for the redskins." chapter xiii. the redskin. they took their post behind some rocks in front of them. the bottom was composed of sand and gravel, the only rock being that be- hind which dick had crouched, close to the entrance. "mind, we mustn't all fire at once," dave said; "one must always be loading, and we will take it in turns to fire. of course, if they make a rush we must take to our six-shooters; but they aint likely to do that. i will fire first, zeke, you follow me; i reckon they aint likely to miss either of us." another quarter of an hour passed, and then suddenly a mounted indian appeared at the mouth of the canon. he checked his horse and sat gazing up it. dave's rifle cracked, and the indian fell backward from the redskin. i his saddle; and a sudden yell of anger and sur- prise rose outside. another moment and a dozen figures appeared at the entrance. zeke fired. "now, dick! " dave said a moment later, and the lad, whose rifle was resting on the rock in front of him, pulled his trigger, and almost immediately dave fired again. an- other moment and the mouth of the canon was clear. another indian lay by the side of the first who had fallen. "i reckon all the shots told," dave said; "we could hardly miss that clump. now i don't think you will see any more of them; they know we are here and they know we are ready for them, and it aint in indian nature to throw away their lives charging up a place like this. they had reckoned the five first would go down anyhow. then they will guess that we have got pistols, and the red- skins hate six-shooters like poison." the time passed slowly, but the quiet in the canon remained undisturbed. "i expect it is as i said, zeke; they won't the golden canon. attack again by daylight, though i don't say as they won't try and crawl up when it gets dark, but i don't think as they will. if there is a village up in the hill behind us they will send round to it, and wait here till they hear a fight begin inside. if there aint no village, half of them will ride round to come down on us. however, they won't set about that at once. injuns are never in a hurry, and they think that they have got us safe in here and can take things easy. if it is a long way, round and they aint quite sure of the path, like enough they won't start until they calcu- late they will get there at daybreak, when they will guess that we shall be all pretty well worn out with keeping watch here." "i guess that is about it, dave. anyhow, we can push out as soon as it begins to get too dark for them to see us from the village across there—that is, as soon as the sun has gone down behind the hills to the south." dave had from time to time left his post and gone to keep up the fire and to put a fresh batch of dough in the pan, and as soon as a the redskin. shadow fell across the valley he said, "now we will be off. i reckon there is no fear of the redskins getting round for a time; but i tell you that gold makes one mighty fidgety." six loaves had been baked, and each taking two, while dave, in addition, took the pan and kettle, they mounted the path. when they reached the tail of the string of horses dave hailed boston joe, and a moment, later the miner's head appeared on the edge of the cliff above them. "is it all clear?" "aye. i have seen nothing of them—. ne'er a thing moving." "well, we will go at once, joe. even a redskin's eyes could not make us out from that village now." the horses were at once set in motion. as soon as they had left the path the cords were unfastened, and the five mounted. "which way, dave?" boston joe asked. "we had better make west. it is lucky we shall have the moon, for there is no travel- ing over the hills in the dark if you don't the golden canon. know the way. anyhow, we will make straight back at present, or we may come upon those fellows riding round. we will go in indian file. i will go first, with a pony tied to mine. the two lads will follow, then either you, zeke, or joe, can take the last pony, and the other one ride in the rear, so that you can keep us well in sight, and yet be far enough off to use your ears." for an hour they continued their course south, the ground rising as they went. then they reached a dip running west, a, "we will follow this," dave said; "it is the right direction anyhow, and it is as likely to take us down into the valleys again in time." as they proceeded, the dip became more decided, and after two hours' riding the sides narrowed in. "we shall strike a water-course soon," dave said, turning round to speak to tom, who was riding next to him. "the water that falls here has got to make its way out somewhere, and this is the only way as it can the redskin. go. not that there is much water, for it is often months without rain." presently they found that the ground was covered with pebbles. "there is the water-course, you see," dave said. the fall became steeper and steeper, and the ground more stony; low trees and bushes rose on the slopes on either side. "we had best dismount here," dave said; "it is growing mighty steep, and we may come upon a sudden fall anywhere, and it is mighty difficult to judge about depth in the moonlight." the lads were heartily glad at the order, for they had for some time been momentarily ex- pecting that their horses would come down over the bowlders. "i will go twenty yards ahead," dave said. "you had better loose the baggage-ponies and let them pick their own way. throw your bridles on your horses' necks: they will go a deal safer so than if you were leading them; the critters can pick their way any- the golden canon. where if they have got time and can look: about." luckily the moon was still high and shot full down upon the path they were traveling. even on foot the lads found it difficult to make their way down. sometimes they had to climb over heaps of bowlders, sometimes to slide down smooth faces of rock so steep that they could not keep their feet upon them, and' often it seemed so perilous that they would have hesitated to attempt it had they not seen that dave with his two horses kept steadily on below them. chapter xiv. in the ravine. the lads were surprised at the way their own horses followed, sliding on their haunches down the steepest places and picking their way among rocks and bowlders. six hours after starting they found themselves in a deep ravine, whose sides were covered with trees. they had now lost the moon, and it was far too dark for them to progress further. "we will give them four hours' rest," dave said; "that long halt on the path was worse than traveling. we shall go three times as fast when we get light to help us as in the dark; besides, we have got to look for some place where we can double on them. we shan't find that till we are out of this valley. we shall have to be pretty spry if we are going to get away from them; they will come along fast when they once take up the trail. it has the golden canon. * taken us six hours to get down here; it won't take them three. well, i hope we shall get on the move an hour or two before they do. if they wait until daylight before advancing there will be a lot of hubbub and talk before they really make up their minds that we have really slipped through their fingers, and arrange for a start. still, by midday we shall be having them behind us if we can't find the way to throw them off." "i'd willingly take twenty ounces for my share of that gold, to be paid to me at santa fe," boston joe said. "so would i, joe; there aint no denying it, we are in a tight place, and unless we find some way out of it in the morning, my own opinion is that we have only got one chance, and that is to leave all the horses behind us and to take our rifles and a loaf of bread each, and to start back on foot." "i should not wonder if we came to that," zeke said; "but we will hold on for a few hours, and, anyhow, before we leave them we will hide them bags. possibly we might come in the ravine. back some day; anyhow, we could each tote along what we have got in our blankets; it aint as if we were going to run all the way from here to the settlements. twelve pound weight aint nothing one way or the other." "no, nor twenty," boston agreed. "i vote if we do have to leave the horses we slip open one of the bags and take another eight pounds or so each. twenty pounds aint much for a man to carry besides his gun and ammunition and a chunk of bread. well, let the rest of you lie down and get a couple of hours' sleep. i was off once last night." "all right; wake us directly you see a change in the sky. we should give the horses a chunk of bread and a drink each before we start." it seemed to the lads that they had been asleep for five minutes only when they were roused. it was but the work of a few minutes to adjust the loads again and to give the horses the bread and water. it was still hardly light in the ravine when they were ready to start, but all were too anxious to get on to delay a ioo the golden canon. moment. as soon as the day had broadened a little they were able to pick their way along on the comparatively level ground beyond the edge of the water-course, and the horses were put into a trot. "if we can keep on like this," joe said, " the apaches won't be up to us before night. they will know that we have got nigh twelve hours' start of them, and though they may start off fast at first, they will soon settle down into a pace that they can keep up all day." after journeying for three hours they came upon the spot where two other ravines fell into that along which they were journeying. "let us hold a council," dave said. "now, what do you think had best be done—push straight forward or take one of these other gulches?" "they seem to run back almost the same line as that ye have been following," dick said. "all the better, lad. they will be less in- 'clined to think that we have taken it. what do you say, zeke?" i "i think we had better push straight on, in the ravine. dave. if they were coming along in the dark it would be a different thing; but they would not go a horse's length afore they missed our tracks, and even if we muffle the critters' feet, they are strong enough to send a party each way." "so they are, zeke; but it would be a sight better to fight a third of them than the hull- lot." "i think that it would be better to push on, dave," boston joe said. "there aint no say- ing where these narrow valleys lead, they wind • and double every way; besides, they are dry, sot says let us push on till we get into one of the main valleys." "well, we will do it, joe; anyhow, we may as well do as i say and muffle their feet. tha injuns will know what we have done when they see the tracks stop here, but, as you say, they won't know whether we have gon< straight on or turned up one side or the other, i guess most likely they will think that we hav« turned up; anyhow, they are sure to divide." no further talking was necessary. the the golden canon. blankets were all cut up, bunches of dry grass were laced under the horses' feet to form a pad, and the strips of blankets wound round and round and securely fastened. "now, on we go again, lads," dave said, setting the example, and they rode straight down, the ravine ahead of them. two hours later the blankets were taken off and thrown among the bushes, the rocks having cut through them, they were useless any longer to conceal the tracks, and they incommoded the horses. a mouthful of water was given to the animals, and they again started at a brisk pace. the sides of the valley were now narrowing in again, and becoming much steeper; the trees had ceased, and the bare rock rose in some places almost precipitously. "the water rises high here when there is a storm," zeke said. "you see, it is pretty nigh closed up somewhere in front here." "all the better," dave said; "we can make a fight for it in a place like that, and hold it till dark. they can't be far behind us now. stop the horses a moment and listen." in the ravine. a faint sound was heard. "that is them," dave said; "they aint above a mile behind; push on till we find a good place to make a stand." chapter xv. rifle-shots. another five minutes they entered a gorge so blocked with rocks that had fallen from above that they had the greatest difficulty in leading the horses over them. "it could not be better," dave said. "we can stop them here. zeke, do you go on with dick, see how far this goes, and what the chances are when we get out of it. if you can see any way of climbing the side of the valley come back and tell us. then i reckon the best thing will be for you to take the horses down and go straight up, leaving dick to tell us ex- actly where you have gone up; then, as soon as it is quite dark, we will be off and follow you; they won't be able to pick up the trail and will guess we have gone straight down the the golden canon. would have a long ride before they overtook them—ten or twelve miles, maybe—and they would have all that to come down again, so they would be pretty well four hours before they had joined the first band, and in four hours it will be dark enough for dave to draw off." "there they go again!" shot after shot echoed among the cliffs. the gorge extended for another mile, and then widened rapidly. a mile and a half farther the sides were clad with trees, and the slope, although still steep, was, zeke said, possible for horses to scramble up. "they will go up there safe enough," he said, "five of them with nothing to carry, and the other four aint heavy loaded. you see them two trees standing alone on the crest there?" "i see them, zeke." "well, that is to be your mark. you will make them out plainly enough in the moon- light. i shall be just down beyond them. i need not tell you to be keerful how you go rifle-shots. io when you get beyond the shelter of the trees below. dave will know all about that. now you can be off back again." dick started back at a run, and in less than half an hour joined the other three among the rocks. "found a place, lad?" - "yes; they have started up." "i am glad you are back. these fellows' look as if they were going to make an attack on us. they are about five-and-twenty of them, and i guess they know as well as we do that it will be dark before their friends join them. however, i don't think they will make a rush; they will lose heart when three or four of their number get shot, and weaken when it comes to climbing these rocks in face of our six-shoot- ers. now, do you two lads keep below; get down right among the rocks, so that you can fire out through some hole between them, and directly you have fired get out of the line, for a stray bullet might come in." scarcely had the boys taken their position, and looked along their barrels, when they saw the golden canon. a dozen dark figures spring up among the rocks fifty yards away. two shots were fired by the miners, and two of the indians fell forward; then, one after another, the lads fired, as they felt sure of their aim, while at the same moment two sharper cracks sounded close to them, for the colt at forty yards is as deadly a weapon as a rifle. three more of the indians fell, and the rest sank down behind rocks and opened fire at the position held by the whites. these reloaded rapidly. "now keep a sharp look-out," dave said, "but don't fire unless they rise again. joe and i will make it hot for them as they raise their heads to take aim." the rifles were fired but twice, and then the fire of the indians ceased. "i think we have accounted for two more," [joe said. "we shan't hear any more of them. seven out of twenty-five is a sharp lesson, and the first man who fell was their chief, i reckon, and they will wait till the sub-chiefs with the other bands come up. now, the sooner the rifle-shots. io sun goes down the better. there is one thing, it will be dark down here an hour before it is on the hill-tops." "why shouldn't we fall back at once?" tom asked. "because, like enough, they will open fire occasionally, and if we didn't reply they would think we had made off, and would follow us, and pick up the trail where the horses left the valley. we have got to wait here until it is too dark for them to follow the trail. the mo- ment it is dark enough for that we are off." it was just getting dusk, when dave said, suddenly: "there is one of the other bands coming up. they are a good bit away yet, but i can hear them." dick could only make out a low, continuous murmur that sounded to him like a distant waterfall. "what do you think, joe," dave said; "would it be safe to make a run for it? we might beat off the first attack, but some of us are safe either to get killed or hurt too badly chapter xve on the return. the trees began fully half a mile above the point where zeke had made his way up with the horses, and, running now at the top of their speed, they were among them before the indians issued from the gorge. the fugitives went on at a slower pace among the trees, until they heard a war- whoop, and knew that the leading indians had passed out. "now throw yourselves down," dave said, "and just lie as still as mice—the slightest noise would tell them we had taken to the wood. we want them to go straight on for a bit." in four or five minutes they heard the tramp- ing of horses, and a party of indians rode down the valley. on the return. "there are over fifty of them," dave whis- pered. "i expect the other two bands must have come up together. now let us get up as high as we can. as long as they are galloping they won't hear any little noise we may make, but mind how you go, lads. don't step on a twig, don't brush against any dead wood that might crack, and mind you don't set a stone rolling." they climbed for ten minutes, and then came to a spot where they had a view through the trees down the valley. "there they are in a heap about a mile down," joe said, and the boys in the moonlight could see a dark mass gathered in the middle. "they are having a talk over it," dave said; "they know if we held on down the valley they would have overtaken us by this time, and they know we have taken to the wood one side or the other. i reckon they won't think it any use searching for us to-night, but maybe they will go straight on for a bit. they won't know how long a start the horses may have had, and will think we may have had them in the gorge, the golden canon. and have mounted and ridden down. yes;; there they go. now we can move on again without fear of being heard." half an hour later they joined zeke, who was with the horses a hundred yards over the crest of the hill in a line with the two trees. "no one hurt?" he asked, as they ap-» proached. "nary a scratch, zeke. we have wiped out eight of them. the rest have just gone tear- ing down the valley." "well, we had best be moving so as to get as far as we can before we lose the moon." ".that won't be till within an hour of day- light," zeke said. "now, which way shall we go?" "i think we had better keep along the hill- « side, zeke. we can travel fast here, and can get so far that when they find the trail in the morning, and follow us, we shall be too far away for them to overtake us before night- fall." so day after day they traveledi sometirofis on the return. in deep ravines, sometimes high up among thq hills, sometimes coming upon a stream and taking in a supply of water, and sometimes well-nigh mad with thirst. they had cut up two of the empty water-skins and had made rough shoes for their horses, and believed that they had entirely thrown their pursuers off the trail, winding along on what was little more than a goat's track up the steep face of a val- ley, the opposite side of which was a perpendic- ular cliff. they had nearly gained the top when the crack of a rifle was heard from the opposite cliff, which was not more than two hundred yards away, although the depth of the gorge was fully a thousand feet. looking across they saw that nearly opposite to them stood an indian village, and that a number of redskins were running toward the edge. "hurry up, hurry up!" dave shouted. "it is too far for them to shoot straight, but a stray bullet might hit us. push on, lads, with the ponies. we will give them a shot or two. our rifles will carry that distance easy enough." il the golden canon. the lads pushed on while the three miners opened fire. there was but another fifty yards to climb. they could hear the sharp ping of the bullets round them. one of the ponies gave a sudden start, stumbled forward, and then rolled over the edge. in another minute the rest gained the plateau. "oh, dick, it is one of the treasure ponies," tom exclaimed. "that is a bad job, tom; which is it?" "the gray." "better him than the others. it was one of his bags that we took the gold out of to make us up twenty pounds each, so there aint above seventy pounds lost. come on, let us get beyond range. we don't want to lose any more." when they got two or three hundred yards further the three men ran up. "one pony has gone, i see," dave said. "yes; it is the gray. he had only seventy pounds, you know, so if one was to go it were best it should be him." "well, let us mount and be off, lads; like enough those indians will have to ride forty or chapter xvii. conclusion. another ten days of arduous toil, and, in turning a sharp corner in a defile, they saw a number of men at work. as these heard the sound of the horses' feet they threw down their picks and shovels, and seized their guns. "don't say anything about the gold," dave exclaimed to the others. "it is lucky it is all covered up." as soon as the miners saw that the new- comers were whites they lowered their guns. "why, where on earth have you come from?" one of them asked, as they rode up. "we have been making a prospecting tour among the hills." "have you found anything?" "yes; we have found a first-rate place, but the apaches drove us off from it when we had been at work only four days, and we have had u conclusion. hard work to save our scalps. i have no ob- jection to give you the indications, for i will not go back again among them ramping apaches not to find solid gold. there is the map as i steered by. them three points are the three sisters, and that tree bears on the mouth of a narrow canon. there is gold there, you bet, and likewise the skeletons of about thirty mexicans who got killed there three or four years ago. now, let us have some grub; we finished our last ounce of flour yesterday, and have been short for the last fort- night." "you have had to leave everything behind, i see," the miner said, looking at the eight horses. "yes; we had to make a clean bolt for it. however, in the four days we were there we got about seventy pounds of gold, and we have stuck to that. now you know as much about it as we do. there is gold enough to make you all rich, but you will have to fight, and fight hard, to get there and come away again." the horses were unsaddled and picketed, the golden casfon. dave and joe taking care themselves to un- load the three packed ponies, and that the flat bags, over which blankets had been stuffed, should not be noticed.' they stopped there for two days to rest the horses, and then pro- ceeded on their way, arriving at pueblo a fort- night later. thence they traveled together to santa fe, and then hired a wagon and joined a large caravan going across the plains east. when they reached st. louis they separated. a division was made of the gold, and the lads started by train for new york, and the next day took their passages for england. when dick reached home he was received by his family as one from the dead. the north- ampton had arrived three weeks before, and, from the report mr. allen had given, they had slight hopes indeed that dick would recover from his wounds, although the letter that tom had written three days after he landed had given them some slight grounds for hope. the letter had been shown to the owners of the northampton, and as the statements respecting conclusion. the captain and the first mate were confirmed by mr. allen and the third officer, the captain and first mate had been summarily discharged from the service. the astonishment of the lads' fathers when they found that each lad had brought home a hundred pounds of gold, worth about five thou- sand pounds, was great indeed. with it shares were bought in the ships of the company, and when in time both attained the rank of master they had the satisfaction of sailing in ships in which they held shares. neither had any inclination ever to embark again upon the operation of gold-mining. the stone chest; or, the secret of cedar islands the stone chests chapter i. a mystery of the storm. "what a fearful night, bob!" "yes, mother; it's about the worst storm of the season," replied bob cromwell, as he entered the seaside cottage and shook the water from his cap. "it will go hard on any vessel near the coast. the wind is rising to a per- fect gale. just listen to it sing." there was no need to listen. the storm was so violent one could scarcely hear aught else. the little cottage, standing so boldly out upon the sea cliff, shook and rocked from end to end as if preparing to leave its foundations. "i see supper is ready," went on bob. "by the way, was mr. vasty here?" * copyrighted, , by the bright days pub. co. the stone chest. at once mrs. cromwell's face grew dark and troubled. it was an aristocratic face, and plainly indicated that the lady had seen better days. "yes, he was here, bob." "and what did he say?" "we must leave on monday. the cottage has been sold over our heads." tears stood in mrs. cromwell's eyes as she spoke. "sold!" "yes, my boy. he said he could wait no longer. he believes, as do all in sea cove, that your father is dead." "perhaps he is," sighed bob. "it is now over six months since the bluebell went down. if he escaped in a small boat we should have heard from him before this." "oh, i cannot believe your father dead, bob," cried the mother, bursting into tears. "if i thought that "she did not finish. bob sat down to the supper table in silence. he had little heart to eat, and swallowed the food mechanically. a mystery of the storm. bob was seventeen years of age, bright, handsome, and fearless. he was mrs. crom- well's only son and his father had been a sea captain. we say, had been, for the bluebell had been wrecked some time before and all in sea cove thought the captain dead—all saving mrs. cromwell, who still hoped for his safe return —hoping, as it were, against hope. years before the cromwells had been rich, owning four large trading vessels. but bad luck had come and continued until the fortune dwindled down to nothing but the ownership of the old bluebell. it was then that the cap- tain had determined on a voyage to alaska, taking with him a party of men who wished to explore the new gold mines in that territory. the bluebell was supposed to have gone down in sight of the coast and only two of the survivors had thus far returned. as time went by the little cottage, a poor affair at the best, was mortgaged to pay out- standing debts. it was the last of the crom- well belongings. the stone chest. bob worked at the docks, handling freight. it was not what he had been brought up to, but it was the best employment he could obtain in the vicinity. "i don't see what's to be done, bob," said mrs. cromwell, during a lull in the storm. "we must move and i have only three dollars in all." "oh, i forgot! " he suddenly exclaimed, and pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. "here, mother, is a little to help us." "why, where in the world did you get that, bob?" she ejaculated. "a young gentleman gave it to me—in- sisted i should take it." "what for?" "he said i saved his life." "and did you?" "well, i don't know—perhaps," mused bob. "you see, it was captain randolph sumner, the gentleman who owns that splen- did new yacht down to marcey's. he fell into the water right in front of the incoming steamer flag, and i fished him out just as he a mystery of the storm. was on the point of being struck. he was very grateful and made me keep the money, although i didn't want it and told him so." that was all bob said. he was too modest to mention that randolph sumner had called him a hero and that the crowd standing by had given him a cheer for his bravery. "ten dollars is a windfall," began mrs. cromwell. "now if we gracious, the signal gun, bob!" boom! bob sprang up from the table. he knew that sound only too well. boom! "ship has struck, mother!" he cried. "i must go down and see if i can help in any way." and waiting for no reply, the youth grabbed up his cap and storm coat and rushed out into the storm. bob was right—a ship had struck. away off through the mist and rain he could see the colored lights and the flash of the gun, calling for help. the stone chest. the lifeboat men were already out and get- ting ready to launch their heavy craft. "look! look! the ship is going down!" the cry thrilled everyone to the very heart. it was true. the stately ship was sinking fast. down she went and came up again, once, twice —and then no more. the lifeboat went out in a hurry, but it was of no avail. the storm had done its work and all on board had perished. no, not all. walking at the foot of the cliff a little later, bob heard a low moan, and soon came upon the body of an aged seaman jammed in between the rocks. the man was fearfully bruised and did nothing but moan as the youth bore him up to the cottage. here he was made as comfortable as possible on a cot. it was an hour before he was able to open his eyes. "where am i?" he asked faintly. "oh, the storm. i was hit in the back—i am dying; i know it. take me to mrs. leon cromwell." at this utterance mrs. cromwell and bob were both greatly astonished. a mystery of the storm. j i *' i am mrs. cromwell, sir." "you! it is not possible!" "mother tells the truth," put in bob. "what do you want?" "you are the wife of leon cromwell?" "i am," said the woman. "heaven be praised! who brought you to me?" "i brought you to our cottage," returned bob. "you lay unconscious on the rocks." "it is the work of providence," murmured the sufferer. "i was on my way hither when the storm overtook the mary lee. i—i—a drink—i am fainting!" water with brandy was brought and the man revived a little. he glared strangely at mrs. cromwell. "i must speak quickly, for i am dying—i know it, feel it. i was sick on board; that's why i know. the doctor said i couldn't live, and the storm has only hastened matters. i want to talk to you about your husband." "is he alive?" came from mother and son simultaneously. the stone chest. "he is—or was three months ago. at zaruth, on the siberian coast—where the stone chest was left—we—more drink—quick!" again the sufferer had a relapse. "the stone chest caused the trouble. there was gold and silver, and after the wreck" "never mind the gold and silver. where: is my husband?" interrupted mrs. cromwell. "i was going to tell you. we started for —for "the man gasped for breath. "it's my head. we started for the coast, when the people living there who had seen the stone chest, got together and—oh!" the sufferer fell back in a spasm of pain, from which it was almost impossible to revive him. at last he spoke again. "he was made a prisoner, and—water, or i die—i can't drink—it is growing dark—the papers in my pocket are for you—and may heaven forgive me!" the man leaped almost to his feet, then fell back in another spasm. a minute later he was dead. a mystery of the storm. with tenderness mother and son cared for the body. in one of the seaman's pockets was found a packet of papers yellow with age. bob opened the packet and looked over the paper with interest. an hour passed. then the youth sprang to his feet. "mother, i am going to cedar island on the siberian coast and to father's rescue!" he cried, with sudden determination. chapter ii. off for zaruth. "to siberia—cedar island!" "yes, mother. from what i can make out, father is there, a prisoner of some people called the svlachkys, and all on account of a wonder- ful stone chest, said to be filled with gold and silver." "it cannot be true, bob." "i think it is. this dead sailor's name was ruel gross" "ruel gross!" mrs. cromwell started. "i heard of him before. your father said he possessed a wonderful secret." "he did—about the stone chest. the whole truth is, so far as i can understand, he got father to go up there in search of it. after it was found they got into some trouble with nt off for zaruth. the natives, and ruel gross abandoned father to his fate. here is a handmade map of the locality." "pray heaven your father still lives," murmured mrs. cromwell. "but you say you are going up there. how?" "i don't know. but i'll find a way, even if i have to go up on a whaler." mrs. cromwell shook her head. on the following morning the dead body of the sailor was turned over to the village author- ities. between them mother and son decided for the present to say nothing to the simple fisher- folks concerning ruel gross' revelation. "they'll sneer at us—that's all," said bob. but bob confided in his chum, jack larmore, an orphan boy of his own age. jack was tre- mendously interested. "say, bob, i'll go along, if you say the word," he said. "i'm sick of sea cove and the mean folks living around here." "all right."' that noon, when bob returned home he i the stone chest. found captain sumner present, talking to his mother. the captain had come to offer bob a position on his yacht. "i would like to go—if you're going up the coast," said bob. "i want to get to alaska, and then to cedar island, off siberia." the rich yacht-owner was much astonished. he proceeded to draw bob out, and an hour later had the youth's story in full. with mrs. cromwell he looked over the papers and map. then he lit a cigar and began to pace up and down the parlor of the cottage. "i've half a mind to cruise up there," he said. "to me, one place is as good as another. i love to roam the wide world over, and have already been to the south seas and to the coast of africa. what if i should take you up there, my boy?" "will you? " shouted bob, in quick delight. "do it, and you shall have the contents of that stone chest—if we can get it." "no, i'll only want my share of it," laughed captain sumner. off for zaruth. on the next day they talked the matter over once more. the captain was a widower with one child, a girl of fifteen. the girl, whose name was viola, said she would like to go up the coast to new lands. but she would like mrs. cromwell, or some other lady, to go along. persuaded by bob, mrs. cromwell said she would undertake the trip, and before they knew it, all arrangements were made. the dart, as the yacht was named, was sent to san francisco for stores, and three days later bob and mrs. cromwell and jack lar- more left sea cove, and left it forever! it is not the purpose of this tale to tell of all that happened ere the dart put to sea on that memorable voyage up the coast to alaska. for awhile all went well on board. but one day there was trouble among the crew. the trouble grew worse and three of the fellows had to be put into irons. they were let go later on, but ever after they showed their ugliness only too plainly. i the stone chest. bob and jack were not idle while on board. both did their full share of work and both proved themselves good sailors. a strong friendship sprang up between mrs. cromwell and viola sumner, and the two be- came almost inseparable. bob found captain sumner a fine man to get along with, stern at times, but always fair and square. he had, as he said, been a great rover, and often told interesting stories of his adventures. as days went by and they got further north it became colder. then a storm was encoun- tered which took them many miles out of their course. so suddenly did it fall upon them that the sails were blown to ribbons. viola sumner, who was on deck, got drenched and nearly drowned. she was saved by bob only at peril of his life, and carried down into the cabin nearly senseless. and now we find the dart storm-beaten, but still water-tight, blown far out to sea. bob, who had just come on deck, cast his off for zaruth. eye arst aloft, like the true sailor he was be- coming, and then around him. not more than half a mile distant towered an immense iceberg, its topmost pinnacles glowing in the bright morning sun. other bergs floated to the southward, while to both east and west could be seen long floes of rugged ice. the yacht was trying to beat to the north- ward by making short tacks through the ice- floes, but, as bob could see, she made but little way. "have we done any good since i went below?" he asked bok, a sailor who was steering. "no, faith, yer honor. the current sets so fast to the south that sorra a bit more north do we make in an hour than i could throw a cat by her tail. it's wearisome work, yer honor, and, be jabers! it's bitterly cold." bob buttoned his pilot coat closer around him and shivered. "you are right, bok." "hullo, bob!" the stone chest. our hero looked around and perceived jack larmore's head above the companion. "come down to breakfast, before it's cold," cried jack. our hero made a bolt down the ladder after his friend. "what is your opinion, bob, about the men?" asked captain sumner, as bob took his place at the table. "i mean the rascals i had to iron up last week." "well, sir," replied our hero, "they seem to go about their duty all right, but after our experience, we must never trust them." "it's that scoundrel, nockey, that i mis- trust. the others are more fools than knaves. he will never forgive that flogging i gave him." "it served him all right," broke in bob. "when we gave them the choice of taking a couple of dozen or going ashore, not one hesi- tated." "well, even now, we have only eight hands end ourselves." | "what do you mean to do, papa?" broke off for zaruth. in viola. "surely not go further among these dreadful icebergs? i have read that ships are often crushed by them." "i should be only too glad to be out of these regions, dear; but, with the wind and current against us, i don't know what to do." as soon as breakfast was finished the cap- tain went on deck. his eye rested on the floe to the westward. "where are your eyes, you irish lubber?" he shouted to the steersman. "don't you see yon ice closing in on us? you ought to have let me know of this." "blest if i can see much change," muttered bok. "but i can. the channel is narrowed by half. we shall never get clear of it before we are nipped. 'bout ship, boys, and be smart!" "all hands!" bellowed the mate. in a couple of minutes the small crew were on deck, hauling in the ropes and halyards. the topsail-yards swung round, the helm was put hard down. among the icebergs. "keep her so!" he added, as he saw the bows of the schooner point for the narrow passage. jack lit another blue light, and thumped on the deck to wake those below. in half a minute captain sumner and the mate were beside them. "the bergs are closing in on us," said the captain quietly. "go to your helm, bok; it will be safer." the bergs were more than a mile long, and the vessel, under easy saily was not making more than six knots an hour. "here, gentlemen, take the halyards, and rouse up the topgallant sails. i won't trust the crew on deck till the last minute." with the assistance of the man bob had re- lieved at the wheel, they soon had the top- gallant sails, which had been furled, chock-a- block. "it will be a narrow squeak," muttered the captain, as he glanced at the icebergs, whose tops seemed quite close, though the bases were yet some distance from the schooner. & the stone chest. "is there any hope? " whispered a soft voice: in our hero's ear. "i trust so, miss viola," he answered. "see! yonder is the end of the ice mountain on the starboard bow." "but how close they are!" "they look closer than they are in reality," he replied. all the time he was wondering if their end had really come. suppose the wind were to fail! fortunately for them, however, caught be- tween the two bergs, it rather increased in force than diminished. the icy tops seemed now ready to topple down on the deck. the waves, running up the sides of the bergs, lifted the vessel on their swell as they rebounded. fifty yards on either side towered the glit- tering mountains. thirty yards, twenty yards! and the salt spray of the billows, which dashed on the icy cliffs, fell on deck. among the icebergs. viola's hand was clasped in bob's, and our hero felt some relief in facing death with her and his mother. "call your comrades," cried captain sumner to the sailor. "give them a chance for life. come, mrs. cromwell, viola, bob, jack—all of you. prepare to jump for the ice, when we strike! it's our only hopel" chapter iv. the escape from the icebergs. to captain sumner it looked as if the dart would surely be crushed. "be prepared to jump!" he sang out again. but even as he spoke a strong gust filled the yacht's topsails. she plunged forward. the starboard berg was left behind, and the sea on that bow was open. bok instantly shifted the helm. the dart's head fell away from the danger on the port bow. 'a few minutes passed. then, with a crash as if an earthquake had riven a mountain chain, the two bergs met. our hero, who, with the others, was watch- ing with breathless interest, saw them rebound. huge blocks and pinnacles of ice, thousands the escape from the icebergs. of tons in weight, fell into the gap between them. before these could rise to the surface the ice mountains had again collided. a crunching, rending sound struck the ears of our friends, as the two monsters ground their sides against one another. the rugged summits fell into the sea, and formed smaller bergs. the yacht was lifted on to the top of the giant waves caused by the concussion, then sank into the hollow, only to be caught up again by the still higher swell. but the danger was over! after escaping so narrowly being crushed the dart found the sea free from ice, and made good way to the southward. however, about eight bells on the following day, a gale sprang up from the northeast, which drove down the eastern floe in dangerous proximity. the waves rose, and sheets of spray flew over the fast-driven schooner. it was so cold that, in spite of all the warm i the stone chest. clothing they could find on board, all hands felt numbed. "land ahead t" was an appalling cry which rang out suddenly. captain sumner himself hurried forward. a rough, rocky island, the waves dashing in foam against its low cliffs, was discerned through the flying spray. already the edge of the eastern floe was crushing itself to pieces against the projecting reefs. on the right, or western side, was a lane of broken water. to venture into it was very dangerous, but seemed their only chance. bok and another sailor were at the wheel. over it went, strained down by their united strength, and the dart dashed through the breaking water. the western side of the island was about a mile long. twice, by porting the helm, the little vessel escaped clear of rocks, over which the water spurted. the escape from the icebergs. as she approached the southern end of the isle, bok, who had been sent into the foretop, shouted that again there was land ahead, and that the passage between was full of ice. the captain ascended the shrouds himself, half-way to the top. "it's like a cauldron," he exclaimed on de- scending. "no ship, except perhaps a very powerful steam whaler, could live in it. "there is only one chance for us," he con- tinued. "we must get under shelter of this island." as the south coast line opened, the helm was put down, and the vessel was hove to under a high cliff and jutting cape, which pro- tected her from the rush of the ice-laden current. both anchors were at once let go. fortunately they found good holding ground. all the rest of that day, and till dawn the next, did the gale rage; but as the short night passed, the wind sank, and by mid-day it was feut a breeze. the stone chest. the current running between the islands soon swept the ice away. but before trusting himself in these strange waters the captain determined to send a boat across to the greater island, on which rose a rugged hill of considerable height. both mrs. cromwell and viola begged for a run on shore, so the larger boat was manned by bok and three seamen, bob and jack each taking an oar, while the captain and the women occupied the stern-sheets. chapter v. the arctic island. once on the island, it was seen that the hill rose on its southernmost point. the ground was rocky, and covered with deep patches of snow in sheltered places. "i don't like the look of that," observed the captain. "that is this year's snow. once the frost sets in we are done." finding it hard work to traverse the direct route, they made for the western shore. here, though they had to clamber over hil- locks and steep rocks, they got along quicker. suddenly bok, who was in front, uttered a shout. on the others hastening up they saw the cause of his astonishment. beached in a little bay, with her topmasts the stone chest. gone and the hulk lying over on the port side, was a brig. the water only washed her rudder-case, and the captain noticed, to his dismay, a thin coating of ice fringing the shore of the inlet. not a sign of life was to be seen. "we must examine her before we do any- thing else/' exclaimed bob. captain sumner looked at his watch. "we can spare an hour," he said, "but not more." there was a rush down the steep rocks on to the sand. arriving alongside, for some time they could find no means of climbing on board, till our hero found a rope hanging from the port-bow, which, on being pulled, seemed strong and firm. as soon as he, the captain, bok, and one of the men were on deck, which sloped acutely, bob called to the ladies to say that he would fetch a chair, or something to serve as one, and hoist them up. the arctic island. must be glad that we have arrived in time, if indeed we have." the captain and bob advanced to the pros- trate man's side. he was lying on a rug of seals' skins, with another pulled over him, under which was a blanket. "he lives!" cried the captain, placing his hand over the heart of the unconscious man. after a minute a faint color mantled his white cheek and he heaved a long sigh. presently the eyelids trembled, and a mo- ment later he opened them. they rested on the captain, who was stoop- ing over him. a look of surprise came into them, but they almost immediately closed again. a dose of hot brandy was given. this time he recovered considerably, and looked round him inquiringly. "you will do now, my man," cried the cap- tain encouragingly. "try him with the food," he added. mrs. cromwell brought the roughly minced the stone chest. meat and soddened bread and placed a spoon- ful in the sufferer's mouth. he swallowed it eagerly. « after he had taken some half-dozen spoon- fuls he turned his head on the pillow and fell asleep. "he will be all right now," whispered the captain. "but someone must stay with him while we ransack the ship." a second door led forward, and, leaving the watchers, the rest of the party passed through it. forward was found a number of great casks, such as are used to receive the blubber cut from the whale. "she is a whaler, evidently," exclaimed the captain. in the forecastle there was nothing except some hammocks and a chest or two. "we can get warmer clothing than what we possess, anyhow," remarked the captain. "now, what's the best thing to do?" "we can carry the man back in a ham- mock," suggested one. the arctic island. "i doubt it," replied the captain. "what i propose is that some of us stay the night with him, and we will return in the morning, by which time he will be much stronger." on their return to the square room, bqb and jack volunteered to remain. this done, bok was delegated to bring them, some supper. on arriving bok first fastened to the rope the package he had brought, which was drawn on board, and then the rope was lowered again. "be jabers! but it's cold, it is," he cried. "if i might be so bold, i would jist suggest that we should go down below. how is the dead man?" "he isn't dead yet," replied bob, laughing. "but he is sleeping still. i hope you have brought something good for him." "good, is it? there's a tin of soup, and another of salmon, besides a piece of seal, that leeks shot while we were away. "then there is a bottle of wine—that's for yerselves and the sick man—and half a bottle chapter vi. the madman. taking the things with them, they hastily descended the companionway. it was not without a shudder that they passed the many bodies. as they were preparing supper they noticed the sick man stirring. "who are you?" he suddenly muttered. "we are americans, like yourself," replied bob. "here, have something to eat?" the man's eyes glistened. "give it me—quick!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse voice. jack, who had warmed some of the soup, brought it in a basin he had found, with a spoon and a piece of bread. bob took it from him and fed the invalid slowly. i i the stone chest. "more," cried the latter, when it was fin- ished. "not yet," replied our hero. "have a doze, and you shall have as much as you want next time." giving him a glass of wine, they left him, and in a few minutes his regular breathing showed that he slept again. by this time the joint of seal was roasted, and the little party of three sat down together. "what can that noise come from?" ex- claimed our hero, as he stayed his fork halfway to his mouth to listen. "i heard it once or twice before," returned jack, "but thought it rats." "faith, but i hope there's no ghosts here," cried bok. "heaven stand between us and harm." "bah! don't be foolish. it's rats, sure enough." it was not long after this that the sick man sat up to partake of more food. this done, he told his story. he said he belonged to the whaler, cross of the madman. gold, which had been caught in a large ice- pack. "this pack we attempted to cross," con- tinued the sailor, " by dragging our boats over rollers we had brought with us. "on the third day, however, a snow-storm set in, and continued for hours. "knowing as how time was valuable, after a rest, we tried to make our way through the drifting snow. "but, after toiling for a long while, we found ourselves back where we started from. "the captain, i and one or two others wanted to try again, but the rest outvoted us. "we, therefore, tried to turn the pack by coasting along it, but, although we ran over a hundred miles along its edge, in a westerly direction, never a lead did we come across which offered any hopes of getting through. "at length we came to the end, where it was joined on to another pack, which extended to the south. "this we ran along till we saw high land before us. the stone chest. "but all the shore was a rampart of old ice, so that it was next to impossible to ap- proach. "however, we killed quantities of seals and saw many whales floating in the open" water. "we then determined to make once more for the brig and start anew, taking an easterly route. "but our luck was out. we lost many days in finding these islands, and when we did get back to them, hardly had we got on board than the weather broke up. "for days the snow was driven in whirling clouds all around us. "the decks were covered feet deep. "it was impossible to get out in search of fooda and we were almost starved. "at length the weather cleared up, and we, with difficulty, forced our way on deck. "the whole view was changed. "a sharp frost had set in, and bound the snow-covered country with iron bands. "fresh ice had formed round the brig. the stone chest. stove, the meat was no sooner cut in slices than it was cold. "i took mine back to the fire and re- warmed it. "there was still a good supply of rum, and i took a swig at the bottle, and then, whether because of the cold or the rum, i don't know, but i fell sound asleep in front of the blaze. "i woke up numbed with cold. "the fire was nearly out, and the first thing i did was to make it up. "then, after heating myself a drop of grog, i fell to wondering what had become of my comrades. "i stumbled along the passage, which felt as cold as the grave, and there, just as you see them now, sat our cap'n and his crew, frozen to death. "the fire in the stove was out, and the com- panion door open. "i took up one of the bodies, after i had recovered my nerve a bit, and dragged it along the passage into the kitchen. the madman. "but i could not restore it to life, though i tried hard. "so you see, sir, here have i been heaven in mercy! what's that?" the sick sailor had risen to his feet. bob and jack had done the same. bok crouched near the fire, with a horror- struck look in his eyes. "it's the dead walking, maybe," he gasped. a muffled thump, thump, thump! was again heard. a minute or more passed. then our hero again seized a brand, and made a rush along the cabin passage. jack followed, and after him bok. a glance sufficed. the body from the head of the table had disappeared. "what can it mean?" exclaimed jack. "i don't think i am a coward, but this is hor- rible." "something in that sick man's face tells me he has not spoken all the truth. we must have it out of him," said our hero. the stone chest. but at that moment a mournful howl came from above. rushing to where their arms were stacked, bob and jack seized each a rifle and made their way on deck, not heeding, in their excitement, a cry not to fire from horton, the sick man. on lifting their eyes aloft they beheld a sin-< gular-looking object gazing at them over the edge of the foretop. it appeared to be some huge animal, though of what kind they could not make out. scarcely waiting to consider what they were doing, bob and jack prepared to fire. a wild shriek echoed along the deck. "stop that noise!" cried bob, glancing round and seeing that horton had managed to ascend the companion ladder. bob had thrown up his rifle to his shoulder, when the weak voice of the sailor arrested him in the act of firing. "for heaven's sake, sir, don't fire! it's murder, nothing else." as horton spoke, the object of his solicitude, the madman. \ with incredible speed, slid down the forestay and disappeared through the scuttle of the fore- castle. "please, sir, listen to me." "all right; only be quick, and don't talk' such nonsense about it's being murder." with their guns in their hands, and taking good care to shut the door both at the top and bottom of the companionway, the two lads fol- lowed bok and horton through the dark death- cabin and passage to the kitchen, lit up by the cheerful firelight. "now, say what you have to, and be quick about if," cried our hero. "i can't rest quiet when a huge wild animal is within a few yards of us, though how it got there i can't imagine, for i thought there were no such things in the polar regions." "that animal, as you call him, is charlow, one of our sailors. he has gone mad." no more was just then seen or heard of the crazy sailor, and the party retired for the bal- ance of the night. when the captain came from the yacht he the madman. terror-stricken, mrs. cromwell and viola shrank back on the stern sheets. "stop! stop!" yelled bob. with a snarl the madman bent to his work. soon the boat was in deep water. in desperation bob leaped into the water after it. ere he could reach the craft the madman picked up the long ice pole and aimed a vicious prod with it at our hero's breast. bob was struck squarely, and on the instant disappeared beneath the surface with the shrill laugh of the crazy sailor ringing in his ears. chapter vii. a fearful fall. "where am i? where are mother and miss viola?" it was bob who spoke. jack larmore stood over him in the snow. "you're all right—i got you out of the water," jack made answer. "and the others?" "gone." "gone! in the power of that madman?" "yes." bob gave a groan and leaped up. his breast hurt him not a little. "where is captain sumner?" "the yacht has given chase. look!" jack pointed up the coast. the yacht was disappearing around a distant point. but in an hour the vessel returned. the captain's sad face told his story. he had been a fearful fall. unable to catch the crazy fugitive and rescue his daughter and mrs. cromwell. what was to be done? night came on rap- idly, and they were compelled to wait until morning. at early dawn bob and jack commenced to climb a near-by hill of ice to look for the small boat. it was perilous work, but they did not falter. at length they reached the level summit and glanced down. the yacht looked beautiful as she lay to, with her topsails backed, and every move- ment of the figures on deck could be distinctly seen. crossing some rough, porous ice, they came to the pinnacle. this was rougher than it had looked from below, and they found not much difficulty in mounting. soon they reached the summit, or, rather, within a few yards of it, where there was a tolerably safe and level spot. with anxious speed, bob extended the tele- a fearful fall. jack's feet were already over the edge. "i am gone! help!" he gasped. then, with a stifled cry, he disappeared over the verge of the abyss. chapter viii. a remarkable story. "jack! jack!" shouted bob. a sound as of falling rocks or ice blocks reached his ears, but no answering voice. the echoes of the falling masses died away. bob was filled with dismay at the dreadful ending of his chum. he had reached his gun to him, but lar-< more had been unable to grasp it. he shuddered as he thought of jack's feel* ings as he felt himself shooting over the precipice. there was nothing to do but to return. he found, lame as he was, the path extremely difficult. but at length he reached the yacht and told his story. "it's dreadful," said captain sumner. "first my daughter and your mother, and now your friend, a young gentleman we all likedt a remarkable story. and i, for one, looked on as a comrade, for we fought side by side against that rascally crew of ours." the captain was quite affected. when the dart was once more going through the water in the direction in which bob had seen what he took for a boat sail, he came to the side of our hero, who stood leaning on the after-bulwarks, gazing at the berg, whose southern point they were now passing. "he was a fine young fellow!" he ex- claimed, "and would have made a good officer. "but what are you looking at?" "a seal, sir," said bob. "don't you see it, lying in the shade of that block of ice, on the ledge, lapped by the swell?" "seals don't lie in the shade—they bask in the sun. give me the glass, bob." but our hero was already drawing it out to his focus. no sooner did he get it pointed correctly than he uttered a cry of surprise. "that's his body " he exclaimed. "at all iso the stone chest. events, a man's body. how on earth did it come there?" a small boat was still towing astern. bob, forgetful of his sprain, lowered him- self into her, and grasped the oars, while the captain followed. "hold hard! " shouted the mate. our hero impatiently, though he never for a moment expected to find his friend alive, complied. in two minutes leeks reappeared and let down a flask into the boat. our hero dashed the oars into the water, and the small boat moved faster over the heav- ing face of the ocean than she had ever done before. "don't deceive yourself. if it is your friend, he can't be alive," said the captain, as they approached the body of the ledge. "it is jack!" he added, a couple of minutes later. "but how on earth did he come there?" another score of vigorous strokes brought the little boat alongside the berg. the stone chest. alongside the yacht his comrade with some difficulty was got on board. it was not until late that evening that jack was able to tell of his wonderful escape. "i don't know much about it," he said, " but never shall i forget the awful feeling as i shot aver the edge of the precipice. "of course i thought that i should fall down a well that penetrated right through the berg k into the sea. "however, instead of that, i did not fall a great distance before i came down feet first among a lot of pieces of loose ice, or, if not loose, they gave way with me, and together we went clattering down a second slope. "all of a sudden i was pulled up by my rifle, which was slung round my shoulders, get- ting jammed across the passage. "i tried to gain my feet, but failed; the slope was too smooth and steep. "there was but one thing for it, and that was to go on. "i slipped the sling over my head, and away i went again. a remarkable story. "then came another fall. "this nearly knocked me senseless. "i just remember another slide, then day- light, then a last fall, and i lost all conscious- ness, only coming to myself to find you leaning over me." "how is your side?" asked the captain. "your escape was most wonderful. another foot farther, and you would have been drowned." "it was, as you say, a narrow escape. as for my side, i must say it's rather painful." however, on the captain pressing it, he came to the conclusion that no ribs were broken. it was bandaged up, and jack was able to walk about, thankful that things were not worse. chapter ix. the volcano of ice. for three long days the dart bore away northwest, the direction in which the last had been seen of the missing boat. "luckily it's the right course to steer for the siberian coast," remarked the captain, as he sat over his wine after midday dinner. "we shall sight the high land to-morrow morning, if not before." "surely we shall come across the boat in time, captain?" remarked bob. "well, we have had wonderfully fine weather," replied the captain. "but, after all, she was but a cutter, handled by a lunatic." and he and bob interchanged looks of despair as they ascended the companion ladder. "bok, go to the foremast-head," ordered the captain. "take the glass, and have a look around." the volcano of ice. the captain himself seized the rope and aided the sailors to execute his orders, while leeks attended to the jib. bok was at the wheel. when on the new tack the dart was not a cable's length from the boiling water. "it's a subterranean eruption!" exclaimed the captain. "look—look yonder!" where he pointed, from the midst of the curling waves, a great black patch of what seemed to be mud rose above the surface. round it were thick columns of smoke, which instantly shut it out from view. the wind chopped round, and a fierce gust came, laden with steam and smoke, from the north. the yacht heeled over till her copper sheet- ing gleamed above the water-line. gasping for breath, for a fearful stench ac- companied the smoke, which enveloped them, all on board could do nothing but hold on to whatever was handiest. a rushing, roaring sound filled their ears as the dart dashed onward, throwing the the stone chest. boiling water in showers of spray over her bows. the men forward were forced to stagger aft. it looked as if the dart was doomed! chapter x. the escape of the "dart." for fully ten minutes no one could tell whether the yacht would right herself or not. captain sumner, aided by our hero and jack, at length found the topgallant halyards, and lowered the sail in the peak. we say found, for the darkness was' intense. then the gallant little vessel, as if freed from an overpowering load, came up to her bracings. once more she flew with increased speed through the water. a few seconds and the star-lit sky again appeared overhead, and the rolling smoke wreaths were left behind. "heavens!" cried the captain; "never in all my life have i seen the like. what a death to have escaped!" as if exhausted with its own fury, the squall subsided as suddenly as it had sprung up. »« the escape of the "dart." "i trust we are never separated again," said bob to his mother. "so do i, bob," she returned fondly. then she gave a sigh. "i wonder when we will reach cedar island. i see nothing like cedar trees around here." "the map has but one cedar on it," he re- turned. "it must have floated up here in the water and taken root in the ice. even cap- tain sumner can't understand that part of it." on the following day the dart again set sail for the coast of siberia. they were well into the sea of kamtchatka, and felt that they must soon strike the spot mentioned in ruel gross' memorandums, if the old sailor had taken his observations correctly. "if only we were sure father was alive!" bob murmured more than once. three days passed, and bob was one morn- ing in the foretop when suddenly he gave a wild shout. "land ahoy!" "where away?" asked captain sumner quickly. the stone chest. for from the deck nothing but icebergs were to be seen. "to the northwest, sir. will you let me have the glass?" the glass was quickly brought and adjusted. the captain gave one glance. "ah! bob, look!" the boy did so, and then gave a shout that brought everyone on board on deck. "cedar island!" chapter xii. bob's discovery. night came, and the hostile natives showed no sign of returning. a strict watch was kept until morning, but nothing out of the ordinary happened. in the meantime captain sumner and bob examined the map with great care and also read and reread the papers ruel gross had left behind him. "let us go on another tour of exploration," said the captain, on the following day. "if those natives come back bok can fire a gun to warn us." the boy readily agreed and they set off with- delay. once under the dead cedar tree they looked around them curiously. a short distance further inland they saw bob's discovery. a hollow, which had evidently at one time been a camp. tin cans were strewn around, along with a number of fish and animal bones. j "i wonder if father and ruel gross once encamped here?" thought bob. hardly had the idea occurred to him than captain sumner set up a shout. he was pointing to a post set up in the ice. to the top of the post was attached a rude sign, which read: "to the svlachkys' camp—one mile." "hurrah! here's a discovery!" cried bob. "shall we go on?" "yes; but let us advance with extreme cau- tion. these svlachkys may be very bad people." "undoubtedly there are, or they wouldn't keep my father a prisoner," rejoined bob. "that signpost must be the work of ruel gross," went on the captain. "the savages haven't dared to touch it, thinking there was something supernatural attached to it—some- thing to injure them." the stone chest. on went the captain and bob, down one hill of ice and up another. it was extremely cold, but neither minded that. at last they reached a portion of the island that was very uneven. great chasms yawned to the right and left of them. it was with difficulty that they pushed forward. but they were bound to go on, and go they did, until at the mouth of what looked like a cave of ice the captain called a halt. "listen!" he whispered. "i hear voices." bob listened. captain sumner was right. from the cavern came the sounds of several human tongues. "they are not speaking russian," said the captain. "perhaps we have stumbled upon more savages." hardly had he spoken when three human beings came into view. they were bundled up in furs, in strong contrast to the other natives, who had scarcely any body-covering. the new-comers were jabbering among themselves at a great rate. bob's discovery. presently they came to a halt before a large slab of ice. they tugged and pounded on this until the slab fell to one side, revealing a strange-looking opening. "what are they up to now?" whispered bob. "i don't know—wait." they waited. presently the three men dis- appeared within the opening. soon a smoke came out, and they saw that firebrands had been lit to light up the scene. "that may be the place where the stone chest is kept," said bob. "more likely it is a burial place," replied captain sumner. "i've seen such spots be- fore. maybe they're preparing for a funeral." "can't we get a little closer to them?" "it would not be safe. hark!" from a distance they heard the mournful toot of a large horn. "that's a funeral horn, i'm sure," said the captain. "if they are coming this way we had better-. — hullo! look!" the stone chest. the captain pointed to an opening to their left. a band of men were advancing. they were guarding a prisoner—a white man, who walked in their midst. bob gave the white man one swift look, and then shrieked out at the top of his voice: "it's my father " chapter xiii. the big polar bear. "your father!" cried captain sumner. "yes, my father," repeated bob, in high ex- citement. "what shall we do?" he felt like rushing forward, but the captain restrained him. "we can do nothing against such a force of men" he said. "wait—or "he hesitated. "what?" "you or i might go back to the dart for help. every man on board can come heavily armed. when these people see our number they may be willing to talk reasonably to us." "that's so, but i hate to leave," returned bob. "they may do some harm to my father in the meantime." "then i will go, bob. but mind, keep shady, unless they do something very bad." the stone chest. bob promised, and without delay captain sumner started on the return to the dart. with a wildly beating heart bob watched the people who held his father a captive. they were marching along silently now and did not stop until the center of the cave of ice was reached. here the party assembled in a circle at a point where there was a slight elevation. two of the men had axes, and with these they began to chop at the elevation, causing the pieces of ice to fly in all directions. "now what are they going to do? " thought our hero. presently he heard a slight noise behind him. somewhat startled, he turned around to find himself face to face with a monstrous polar bear! the beast had just discovered bob. for a moment he stood still. then with a growl he leaped directly for the astonished youth. had bob not sprung out of the way the bear would have landed on his head. the big polar bear. but bob moved with the quickness of light- ning, and this saved his life. the bear, however, came down so close to the boy's side that our hero had no time left to fire at him. he struck the bear one hasty blow with his gun stock and then ran for dear life. recovering, the huge beast came after him. although a heavyweight, the bear managed to cover the ground with incredible swift- ness. down the side of the icy hill went bob, with the bear less than a dozen feet in the rear. the plain below reached, bob scarcely knew which way to turn. the bear uttered growl after growl, show- ing that he was working himself up to a per- fect fury. "i must get to the yacht, if possible," thought bob, and headed in the direction with- out delay. on and on came the polar bear. he did not-seem to gain, neither did he lose. so far the race had been about even, but chapter xiv, the finding of the stone chest. '« help! help!" why he uttered the cry bob could scarcely tell. he did not imagine that any human beings were within sound of his voice. yet it is natural for a person in mortal peril to cry for assistance. luckily his cries were heard. captain sumner was returning from the dart, having hastily summoned bok, leeks, and the others. glancing in the direction, he saw the polar bear and then bob. he did not stop to think, but, taking hasty aim, fired. bok also discharged his weapon, and, hit twice in the neck, the beast staggered back.v bob now saw his friends, and, running up the stream, joined them. the finding of the stone chest. how had the object come there? "i believe those people were going to dig it out when our firing frightened them off," said captain sumner. "let us see what the chest contains," re- turned bob, in high curiosity. the others were willing, and by the united efforts of the sailors the top of the chest was pried back. a murmur of astonishment went up. the chest contained three iron pots, one filled with silver and the others filled with gold! "the treasure, sure enough!" ejaculated jack, who had come along with the sailors. "there are thousands of dollars there!" said captain sumner. "we ought to take the stuff on board of the dart," put in bok. "'taint no use to leave it out here." the others agreed with him. in the chest were two fur-covered sacks, an these the party used, filling them up to the top. in the midst of the work a far-away shot was the stone chest. heard. two more followed in quick succes- sion. "'tis an alarm from the yacht," cried the captain. "i told my daughter and mrs. crom- well to fire in case anything turned up." without delay the sailors were sent off in advance. captain sumner, bob, and jack started to follow with the treasure sacks, when a shout went up and a band of the hostile savages ap- peared at the far end of the ice cave. "we must run for it!" yelled bob. "come on—for the ship!" "give them a volley first!" shouted the captain. six shots, poured into the advancing troop, threw them into confusion. , as the treasure-seekers turned to run a spear glanced over our hero's shoulder and stuck quivering in the ground a dozen yards beyond. at the top of their speed they rushed toward the shore. at first they fancied they were not pursued. after going a hundred yards, however, a the finding of the stone chest. wild yell and the patter of feet told them they would have to do their best. encumbered as they were, with both the lads partly disabled and the captain no speedy runner, the savages soon gained on them. "we must give them another volley!" panted the captain. though the guns chosen were breech- loaders, it took some little time to reload them whilst at a run. suddenly bob felt a shock, which nearly made him fall. however, he recovered himself with a stagger. "the sack saved you," gasped captain sumner. "but for that the spear would have pierced your back. now wheel round and fire!" as they fronted the natives they found that not thirty yards divided them. at that short range every bullet told. three men fell dead, and as many were wounded. the captain gave them - couple of shots l the stone chest. from his revolver before he once more turned and ran for his life. "that accounts for about half of them," ex- claimed our hero. as they gained the head of the beach jack stopped short. "go on!" he gasped. "my side! i am struck!" bob put his arm through that of his friend, who had dropped his gun, and dragged him onward. the captain turned and fired the remaining chambers of his revolver among the crowd, now within a score of yards. the small boat was in waiting, and into it they tumbled, amid a storm of spears. both the captain and bok, who rowed, were struck. our hero seized the oars from the hands of the latter and pulled with all his strength for the yacht. the gunwale of the little boat was almost level with the water. it was slow work. the finding of the stone chest. luckily, nearly all the enemies' spears were exhausted. an arrow pierced bob's cap, and the last spear which was thrown again wounded the captain, piercing his leg. fortunately the distance was so far that it only entered about an inch and fell out from its own weight. our hero and the captain clambered on board the schooner. jack was exhausted, but still clung to his bag of silver. scarcely had they gained the deck when a yell broke from the dark waters around them, and spears and arrows fell on all sides. every gun on board was now fired at the savages. yet they came on as if determined to kill every white person in sight bob rescues his father. dressing of wounds and making things a little ship-shape. it had been a hard-fought fight, and every- one was tired out. fortunately, neither mrs. cromwell nor viola had suffered from the attack. long before the crew were able to do any- thing more darkness set in. bob was very impatient to trace up his father, but just now that was impossible. anxiously the boy waited for dawn, while his mother wept in silence, thinking of her be- loved husband. would they save him? at the first signs of morning bob was up and ready for the search. captain sumner and jack were not far be- hind. the dart proceeded slowly toward land. satisfied that the savages had left the vicinity, the party went ashore, and once more proceeded toward the cave of ice. a light snow had fallen, and all former tracks had been obliterated. the stone chest. in vain they looked about for some trace at the svlachkys. "let us go on an exploring tour," suggested the captain, seeing how badly bob felt. they started off first for the far end of the cavern. they had gone scarcely a dozen rods when the captain called a halt. "someone is coming! " he whispered. a crunching of snow and ice was now plainly to be heard. the party ran for shelter behind a series of ice humps and waited. suddenly a man clad in furs dashed by them, running at top speed. "father!" at that strange cry the man stopped as though shot. "who calls?" he asked, but instead of re- plying, bob rushed from his hiding place. "my son! what does this mean? how came you here?" "we came in search of you, father," replied bob. a brush with the chinese. ^ sued that four boats should be ready for starting at daybreak the next morning. the perseus an- chored off the mouth of the creek, and two boats were ordered to row backwards and forwards off its mouth all night to insure that the enemy did not slip out in the darkness. jack fothergill, the senior midshipman, was commanding the gig, and two of the other mid- shipmen were going in the pinnace and launch, commanded respectively by the first lieutenant and the master. the three other midshipmen of the perseus were loud in their lamentations that they were not to take share in the fun. "you can't all go, you know," fothergill said, "and it's no use making a row about it; the cap- tain has been very good to let three of us go." "it's all very well for you, jack," percy adcock, the youngest of the lads replied, "because you are one of those chosen; and it is not so hard for sim- mons and linthorpe, because they went the other day in the boat that chased those junks under shelter of the guns of their battery, but i haven't had a chance for ever so long." "what fun was there in chasing the junks?" simmons said. "we never got near the brutes till they were close to their battery, and then just as the first shot came singing from their guns, and we thought that we were going to have some excite- among malay pirates. ment, the first lieutenant sung out 'easy all/ and there was nothing for it but to turn round and to row for the ship, and a nice hot row it was—two hours and a half in a broiling sun. of course i am not blaming oliphant, for the captain's orders were strict that we were not to try to cut the junks out if they got under the guns of any of their bat- teries. still it was horribly annoying, and i do think the captain might have remembered what beastly luck we had last time, and given us a chance to-morrow." "it is clear we could not all go," fothergill said, "and naturally enough the captain chose the three seniors. besides, if you did have bad luck last time, you had your chance, and i don't suppose we shall have anything more exciting now; these fellows always set fire to their junks and row for the shore directly they see us, after firing a shot or two wildly in our direction." "well, jack, if you don't expect any fun," sim- mons replied, "perhaps you wouldn't mind telling the first lieutenant you do not care for going, and that i am very anxious to take your place. per- haps he will be good enough to allow me to relieve you." ""a likely thing that!" fothergill laughed. "no, tom, i am sorry you are not going, but you must make the best of it till another chance comes." a brush with the chinese. "don't you think, jack," percy adcock said to his senior in a coaxing tone later on, "you could manage to smuggle me into the boat with you?" "not i, percy. suppose you got hurt, what would the captain say then? and firing as wildly as the chinese do, a shot is just as likely to hit your little carcass as to lodge in one of the sailors. no, you must just make the best of it, percy, and i promise you that next time there is a boat expedi- tion, if you are not put in, i will say a good word to the first luff for you." "that promise is better than nothing," the boy said; "but i would a deal rather go this time and take my chances next." "but you see you can't, percy, and there's no use talking any more about it. i really do not expect there will be any fighting. two junks would hardly make any opposition to the boats < - the ship, and i expect we shall be back by nine o'clock with the news that they were well on fire before we came up." percy adcock, however, was determined, if pos- sible, to go. he was a favorite among the men, and when he spoke to the bow oar of the gig the latter promised to do anything he could to aid him to carry out his wishes. "we are to start at daybreak, tom, so that it will be quite dark when the boats are lowered. i among malay pirates. will creep into the gig before that and bide myself as well as i can under your thwart, and all you have got to do is to take no notice of me. when the boat is lowered i think they will hardly make me out from the deck especially as you will be standing up in the bow holding on with the boat- hook till the rest get on board." "well, sir, i will do my best; but if you are caught you must not let out that i knew anything about it." "i won't do that," percy said. "i don't think there is much chance of my being noticed until we get on board the junks, and then they won't know which boat i came off in, and the first lieutenant will be too busy to blow me up. of course i shall get it when i am on board again, but i don't mind that so that i see the fun. besides, i want to send home some things to my sister, and she will like them all the better if i can tell her i captured them on board some junks we seized and burnt." the next morning the crews mustered before daybreak. percy had already taken his place un- der the bow thwart of the gig. the davits were swung overboard, and two men took their places in her as she was lowered down by the falls. as soon as she touched the water the rest of the crew clam- bered down by the ladder and took their places; then fothergill took his seat in the stern, and the a brush with the chinese. boat pushed off and lay a few lengths away from the ship until the heavier boats put off. as soon as they were under way percy crawled out from his hiding-place and placed himself in the bow, where he was sheltered by the body of the oarsman from fothergill's sight. day was just breaking now, but it was still dark on the water, and the boat rowed very slowly until it became lighter. percy could just make out the shores of the creek on both sides; they were but two or three feet above the level of the water, and were evidently submerged at high tide. the creek was about a hundred yards wide, and the lad could not see far ahead, for it was full of sharp windings and turnings. here and there branches joined it, but the boats were evidently following the main channel. after another half-hour's rowing the first lieutenant suddenly gave the order, "easy all," and the men, looking over their shoulders, saw a village a quarter of a mile ahead, with the two junks they had chased the night before lying in front of it. almost at the same moment a sud- den uproar was heard—drums were beaten and gongs sounded. "they are on the lookout for us," the first lieu- tenant said. "mr. mason, do you keep with me and attack the junk highest up the river; mr. bellew and mr. fothergill, do you take the one lower down. row on, men." among malay pirates. the oars all touched the water together, and the four boats leapt forward. in a minute a scatter- ing fire of gingals and matchlocks was opened from the junks and the bullets pattered on the water round the boats. percy was kneeling up in the bow now. as they passed a branch channel three or four hundred yards from the village, he started and leapt to his feet. "there are four or five junks in that passage, fothergill; they are poling out." the first lieutenant heard the words. "row on, men; let us finish with these craft ahead before the others get out. this must be that piratical village we have heard about, mr. mason, as lying up one of these creeks; that accounts for those two junks not going higher up. i was sur- prised at seeing them there, for they might guess that we should try to get to them this morning. evidently they calculated on catching us in a trap." percy was delighted at finding that, in the ex- citement caused by his news, the first lieutenant had forgotten to take any notice of his being there without orders, and he returned a defiant nod to the threat conveyed by fothergill shaking his fist at him. as they neared the junks the fire of those on board redoubled, and was aided by that of many villagers gathered on the bank of the creek. sud- a brush with the chinese. g denly from a bank of rushes four cannons were fired. a ball struck the pinnace, smashing in her side. the other boats gathered hastily round and took her crew on board, and then dashed at the junks, which were but a hundred yards distant. the valor of the chinese evaporated as they saw the boats approaching, and scores of them leapt overboard and swam for shore. in another minute the boats were alongside and the crews scrambling up the sides of the junks. a few chinamen only attempted to oppose them. these were speedily overcome, and the british had now time to look round, and saw that six junks crowded with men had issued from the side creek and were making towards them. "let the boats tow astern," the lieutenant or- dered. "we should have to run the gauntlet of that battery on shore if we were to attack them, and might lose another boat before we reached their side. we will fight them here." the junks approached, those on board firing their guns, yelling and shouting, while the drums and gongs were furiously beaten. "they will find themselves mistaken, percy, if they think they are going to frighten us with all that row," fothergill said. "you young rascal, how did you get on board the boat without being seen? the captain will be sure to suspect i had a hand in concealing you." among malay pirates. the tars were now at work firing the gingals attached to the bulwarks and the matchlocks, with which the deck was strewn, at the approaching junks. as they took steady aim, leaning their pieces on the bulwarks, they did considerable exe- cution among the chinamen crowded on board the junks, while the shot of the chinese, for the most part, whistled far overhead; but the guns of the shore battery, which had now been slewed round to bear upon them, opened with a better aim, and sev- eral shots came crashing into the sides of the two captured junks. "get ready to board, lads i" lieutenant oliphant shouted. "don't wait for them to board you, but the moment they come alongside lash their rigging to ours and spring on board them." the leading junk was now about twenty yards away, and presently grated alongside. half a dozen sailors at once sprang into her rigging with ropes, and after lashing the junks together leaped down upon her deck, where fothergill was leading the gig's crew and some of those rescued from the pinnace, while mr. bellew, with another party, had boarded her at the stern. several of the chinese fought stoutly, but the greater part lost heart at seeing themselves attacked by the "white devils," instead of, as they expected, overwhelming them by their superior numbers. many began at once among malay pirates. lieutenant with his party boarded one, while the newcomers leapt on to the deck of the other. the panic which had seized the chinese was so com- plete that they attempted no resistance whatever, but sprang overboard in great numbers and swam to the shore, which was but twenty yards away, and in three minutes the english were in undis- puted possession of both vessels. "back again, mr. fothergill, or you will lose the craft you captured," lieutenant oliphant said; "they have already cut her free." the chinese, indeed, who had been beaten below by the boarding party, had soon perceived the sud- den departure of their captors, and gaining the deck again had cut the lashings which fastened them to the other junk, and were proceeding to hoist their sails. they were too late, however. almost before the craft had way on her fothergill and his crew were alongside. the chinese did not wait for the attack, but at once sprang over- board and made for the shore. the other three junks, seeing the capture of their comrades, had already hoisted their sails and were making up the creek. fothergill dropped an anchor, left four of his men in charge, and rowed back to mr. oli- phant. "what shall we do next, sir?" "we will give those fellows on shore a lesson, among malay pirates. there are a good many of our poor fellows just at the present moment who do not see anything funny in the affair at all. here we are; clamber up." the crew soon set to work under fothergill's orders. the sails were cut off the masts and thrown down into the hold; bamboos, of which there were an abundance down there, were heaped over them, a barrel of oil was poured over the mass, and the fire then applied. "that will do, lads. now take to your boats and let's make a bonfire of the other junk." in ten minutes both vessels were a sheet of flame, and the boat was lying a short distance from them waiting for further operations. the inhabitants of the village, furious at the failure of the plan which had been laid for the destruction of the "white devils," kept up a constant fusilade, which, however, did no harm, for the gig was completely sheltered by the burning junks close to her from their missiles. "there go the others!" percy exclaimed after a minute or two, as three columns of smoke arose simultaneously from the other junks, and the sail- ors were seen dropping into their boats alongside. the killed and wounded were placed in the other gig with four sailors in charge. they were di- rected to keep under shelter of the junks until re- joined by the pinnace and fothergill's gig, after these had done their work on shore. among malay pirates. at the head of his men he rushed in at the en- trance. there was a blaze of fire as half a dozen muskets were discharged in their faces. one of the sailors dropped dead, and before the others had time to realize what had happened they were beaten to the ground by a storm of blows from swords and other weapons. a heavy blow crashed down on percy's head, and he fell insensible even before he realized what had occurred. when he recovered, his first sensation was that of a vague wonder as to what had happened to him. he seemed to be in darkness and unable to move hand or foot. he was compressed in some way that he could not at first understand, and was being bumped and jolted in an extraordinary man- ner. it was some little time before he could un- derstand the situation. he first remembered the fight with the junks, then he recalled the landing and burning the village: then, as his brain cleared, came the recollection of his start with fothergill for the temple among the trees, his arrival there, and a loud report and flash of fire. "i must have been knocked down and stunned," he said to himself, "and i suppose i am a prisoner now to these brutes, and one of them must be car- rying me on his back." yes, he could understand it all now. his hands a brush with the chinese. ton for a bit, and if they do the squadron may ar- rive and fight its way past the forts and take the city before they have quite made up their minds as to what kind of death will be most appropriate to the occasion. i wonder what they are doing now? they seem to be chopping sticks." "i wish they would give us some water," percy said. "i am frightfully thirsty." "and so am i, percy; there is one comfort, they won't let us die of thirst, they could get no satis- faction out of our deaths now." two hours later some of the chinese re-entered the room and led the captives outside, and the lads then saw what was the meaning of the noise they had heard. a cage had been manufactured of strong bamboos. it was about four and a half feet long, four feet wide, and less than three feet high; above it were fastened two long bamboos. two or three of the bars of the cage had been left open. "my goodness! they never intend to put us in there," percy exclaimed. "that they do," jack said. "they are going to carry us the rest of the way." the cords which bound the prisoners' hands were now cut, and they were motioned to crawl into the cage. this they did; the bars were then put in their places and securely lashed. four a brush with the chinese. this was, indeed, the purpose of the pirates. at that time europeans seldom ventured beyond the limits assigned to them in the two or three towns where they were permitted to trade, and few, in- deed, of the country people had ever obtained a sight of the white barbarians of whose doings they had so frequently heard. consequently a small crowd soon gathered round the cage, eying the captives with the same interest they would have felt as to unknown and dangerous beasts; they laughed and joked, passed remarks upon them, and even poked them with sticks. fothergill, furious at this treatment, caught one of the sticks, and wrenching it from the hands of the chinaman, tried to strike at him through the bars, a proceed- ing which excited shouts of laughter from the by- standers. "i think, jack," percy said, "it will be best to try and keep our tempers and not to seem to mind what they do to us, then if they find they can't get any fun out of us they will soon leave us alone." "of course, that's the best plan," fothergill agreed, "but if s not so easy to follow. that fel- low very nearly poked out my eye with his stick, and no one's going to stand that if he can help it." it was some hours before the curiosity of the village was satisfied. when all had paid who were likely to do so, the guards broke up their circle, among malay pirates. and leaving two of their number at the cage to sea that no actual harm was caused to their prisoners, the rest went off to a refreshment house. the place of the elders was now taken by the boys and children of the village, who crowded round the cage, prodded the prisoners with sticks, and, put- ting their hands through the bars, pulled their ears and hair. this amusement, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by fothergill suddenly seizing the wrist of a big boy and pulling his arm through the cage until his face was against the bars; then he proceeded to punch him until the guard, coming to his rescue, poked fothergill with his stick until he released his hold. the punishment of their comrade excited neither anger nor resentment among the other boys, who yelled with delight at his discomfiture, but it made them more careful in approaching the cage, and though they continued to poke the prisoners with sticks they did not venture again to thrust a hand through the bars. at sunset the guards again came round, lifted the cage and carried it into a shed. a platter of dirty rice and a jug of water were put into the cage; two of the men lighted their long pipes and sat down on guard beside it, and, the doors being closed, the captives were left in peace. "if this sort of thing is to go on, as i suppose a brush with the chinese. it is," fothergill said, "the sooner they cut off our heads the better." "it is very bad, jack. i am sore all over with those probes from their sharp sticks." "i don't care for the pain, percy, so much as the humiliation of the thing. to be stared at and poked at as if we were wild beasts by these curs, when with half a dozen of our men we could send a hundred of them scampering, i feel as if i could choke with rage." "you had better try and eat some of this rice, jack. it is beastly, but i dare say we shall get no more until to-morrow night, and we must keep up our strength if we can. at any rate, the water is not bad, that's a comfort." "no thanks to them," jack growled. "if there had been any bad water in the neighborhood they would have given it to us." for six weeks the sufferings of the prisoners continued. their captors avoided towns where the authorities would probably at once have taken the prisoners out of their hands. no one would have recognized the two captives as the midship- men of the perseus; their clothes were in rags— torn to pieces by the thrusts of the sharp-pointed bamboos, to which they had daily been subjected —the bad food, the cramped position, and the misery which they suffered had worn both l«vis a brush with the chinese. not that it makes much difference now to me, for i do not think i can stand many more days of it." "i am afraid i am tougher than you, percy, and shall take longer to kill, so i hope with all my heart that i may be right, and that they may be going to give us up to the authorities." the next evening they stopped at a large place, and were subjected to the usual persecution; this, however, was now less prolonged than during the early days of their captivity, for they had now no longer strength or spirits to resent their treat- ment, and as no fun was to be obtained from pas- sive victims, even the village boys soon ceased to find any amusement in tormenting them. when most of their visitors had left them, an elderly chinaman approached the side of the cage. he spoke to their guards and looked at them at- tentively for some minutes, then he said in pigeon english, "you officer men?" "yes!" jack exclaimed, starting at the sound of the english words, the first they had heard spoken since their captivity. "yes, we are offi- cers of the perseus." "me speeke english velly well," the china- man said; "me pilot-man many years on canton river. how you get here?" "we were attacking some piratical junks, and a sbttss wltb ths chhtese. takee village, kill evely one." he set off at a run. jack followed as fast as he could, groaning at every step from the pain the movement caused to his bruised body. they went to the side of the village opposite to that at which the attack was going on. they met no one on the way, the inhabitants having all rushed to the other side to repel the attack. they stopped at a small gate in the wall, the chinaman drew back the bolts and opened it, and they passed out into the country. for an hour they kept on. by the end of that time jack could scarcely drag his limbs along. the chinaman halted at length in a clump of trees surrounded by a thick under- growth. "allee safee here," he said, "no searchee so far; here food," and he produced from a wallet a cold chicken and some boiled rice, and unslung from his shoulder a gourd filled with cold tea. "me go back now, see what happen. to-mol- low nightee come again—bringee more food." and without another word went off at a rapid pace. jack moistened his lips with the tea, and then turned to his companion. percy had not spoken a word since he had been released from the cage, and had been insensible during the greater part of his journey. jack poured some cold tea be- tween his lips. among malay pirates. "cheer up, percy, old boy, we are free now, and with luck and that good fellow's help we will work our way down to canton yet." "i shall never get down there; you may," percy said feebly. "oh, nonsense, you will pick up strength like a steam-engine now. here, let me prop you against this tree. that's better. now drink a drop of this tea; ifs like nectar after that filthy water ve. have been drinking. now you will feel better. now you must try and eat a little of this chicken and rice. oh, nonsense, you have got to do it. i am not going to let you give way when our trouble is just over. think of your people at home, percy, and make an effort, for their sakes. good heavens! now i think of it, it must be christmas morning. we were caught on the d and we have been just twenty-two days on show. i am sure that it must be past twelve o'clock, and it is christmas-day. it is a good omen, percy. this food isn't like roast beef and plum pudding, but it's not to be despised, i can tell you. come, fire away, that's a good fellow." percy made an effort and ate a few mouthfuls of rice and chicken, then he took another draught of tea, and lay down, and was almost immediately asleep. jack ate his food slowly and contentedly till he a brush with the chinese. and covered with mats in the stern of the boat, and remained thus sheltered not only from the view of people in boats passing up or down the stream, but from the eyes of their own boatmen. after two days' journey down the river with- out incident, they arrived off canton, where the british fleet was still lying while negotiations for peace were being carried on with the authorities at pekin. peeping out between the mats, the lads caught sight of the english warships, and, know- ing that there was now no danger, they dashed out of the cabin, to the surprise of the native boatmen, and shouted and waved their arms to the distant ships. in ten minutes they were alongside the perseus, when they were hailed as if restored from the dead. the pilot was very handsomely rewarded by the english authorities for his kindness to the prisoners, and was highly satisfied with the result of his proceedings, which more than doubled the little capital with which he had retired from busi- ness. jack fothergill and percy adcock declared that they have never since eaten chicken without thinking of their christmas fare on the morning of their escape from the hands of the chinese pirates. r . ws orais the lion of st. mark george alfred henty, gordon browne sig.nor polani accompanies francis to "the steps- the lion of st. make a tale of venice. by g. a. henty, author of "bounle prince charlie;-' "for tho temple;" "by sheer pluck;" "with clire in india;" *c. with ten full-page illustrations by gordon browne. london: blackte a son, & old bailey, e.c. glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. preface. my dear lads, of all the chapters of history there are few more in- teresting or wonderful than that which tells the story of the rise and progress of venice. built upon a few sandy islands in a shallow lagoon, and originally founded by fugitives from the mainland, venice became one of the greatest and most respected powers of europe. she was mistress of the sea; conquered and ruled over a considerable territory bordering on the adri- atic; checked the rising power of the turks; conquered con- stantinople; successfully defied all the attacks of her jealous rivals to shake her power; and carried on a trade relatively as great as that of england in the present day. i have laid my story in the time not of the triumphs of venice, but of her hardest struggle for existence—when she defended herself successfully against the coalition of hungary, padua, and genoa—for never at any time were the virtues of venice, her steadfastness, her patriotism, and her willingness to make all sacrifice for her independence more brilliantly shown. the historical portion of the story is drawn from hazlitt's history of the republic of venice, and with it i have woven the adven- tures of an english boy endowed with a full share of that energy and pluck which, more than any other qualities, have made the british empire the greatest the world ever saw. yours sincerely, g. a. henty. contents. chap. page i. venice, ii. a conspibaoy, iii. on the grand canal, iv. carbied off v. finding a clue, vi. the hut on san nicolo vii. on board a trader, viii. an attack by pirates ix. the capture of the "lido," x. recaptured, xi. the battle or antium, xii. in moceniqo's power, xiii the pirates' raid xiv. the end op the persecutor, xv. the battle of pola xvl the recapture of the "pluto," xvil an ungrateful republic, xviil the release of pisani, xix. the siege of chioggia xx. the triumph of venice, illustrations. page slgnob polani accompanies francis to the steps, . frontis. francis watches the conspirators on san nicolo, . ... on board the "bonito" in a storm, the crew op the "bonito" sheltering from the pirates' arrows, the "lido" recaptured by francis and matteo, .... francis in the power of the pirate ruggiero francis brought before his savage captor, philippo the jailer mastered by his prisoner, . . . . death of the pirate kuggiero mocenigo, francis tells signor polani what he wishes for, . . . the lion of st. mark chapter l venice. suppose you never have such nights as these in that misty island of yours, francisco v "yes, we have," the other said stoutly. "i have seen just as bright nights on the thames. i have stood down by paul's stairs and watched the reflection of the moon on the water, and the lights of the houses on the bridge, and the passing boats, just as we are doing now. but," he added honestly, "i must confess that we do not have such still bright nights very often, while with you they are the rule, though sometimes even here a mist rises up and dims the water just as it does with us." "but i have heard you say that the stars are not so bright as we have them here." "no, i do not think they are, mattco. i do not remember now, but i do know when first came here i was struck with the brightness of the stars, so i suppose there must have been a difference." "but you like this better than england t you are glad that your father came out here?" old memories. francis hammond did not answer at once. "i am glad he came out," he said after a pause, "because i have seen many things i should never have seen if i had stayed at home, and i have learned to speak your tongue. but i do not know that i like it better than home. things are different, you see. there was more fun at home. my father had two or three apprentices whom i used to play with when the shop was closed, and there were often what you would call tumults, but which were not serious. sometimes there would be a fight between the apprentices of one ward and another, a shout would be raised of 'clubs!' and all the 'prentices would catch up their sticks and pour out of the shops, and then there would be a fight till the city guard turned out and separated them. then there used to be the shooting at the butts, and the shows, and the mayday revels, and all sorts of things. the people were more merry than you are here, and much more free. you see, the barons, who are the same to us that your great families are to you, had no influence in the city. you are a nation of traders, and so are we; but in london the traders have the power, and are absolute masters inside their own walls, caring nothing for the barons, and not much for the king. if anyone did wrong he got an open and fair trial. there was no fear of secret accusations. everyone thought and said as he pleased. there was no lion's mouth, and no council of ten." "hush! hush! francisco," the other said, grasping his arm. "do not say a word against the council. there is no saying who may be listening." and he looked nervously round to see if anyone was within earshot. "there it is, you see," his companion said. "so long as we have a safe conscience in london we are frightened at nothing, whereas here no one can say with certainty that he may not before to-morrow morning be lying in the dungeons of st . on the piazza. mark without the slightest idea in the world as to what his crime has been." "there, there, francisco," matteo said uneasily; "do talk about other things. your notions may do very well in eng- land, but are not safe to discuss here. of course there are plenty here who would gladly see a change in some matters, but one cannot have everything; and, after all, when one has so much to be proud of, one need not grumble because every- thing is not just as one would like." "yes, you have much to be proud of," francis hammond agreed. "it is marvellous that the people of these scattered islets should be masters of the sea, that their alliance should be coveted by every power in europe, that they should be the greatest trading community in the world. if i were not english i should like to be venetian." the speakers were standing at the edge of the water in front of the palace of st. mark. in the piazza behind them a throng of people were walking to and fro, gossiping over the latest news from constantinople, the last rumour as to the doings of the hated rival of venice, genoa, or the purport of the letter which had, as everyone knew, been brought by the bishop of treviso from the pope to the seignory. the moon was shining brightly overhead, and glittering in the waters of the lagoon, which were broken into innumerable little wavelets by the continual crossing and recrossing of the gondolas dotting its surface. there was a constant arrival and departure of boats from the steps, fifty yards to the right of the spot where the speakers were standing; but where they had stationed themselves, about half-way between the landing-steps and the canal running down by the side of the ducal palace, there were but few people about. francis hammond was a lad between fifteen and sixteen years old. his father was a merchant of london. he was an english merchant. a man of great enterprise and energy, and had four years before determined to leave his junior partner in charge of the business in london, and to come out himself for a time to venice so as to buy the eastern stuffs in which he dealt at the head-quarters of the trade instead of paying such prices as the agents of the venetian traders might demand in london. he had succeeded beyond his expectations. in venice there were constantly bargains to be purchased from ships returning laden with the spoils of some captured genoese merchantman or taken in the sack of some eastern seaport. the prices too asked by the traders with the towns of syria or the black sea were but a fraction of those charged when these goods arrived in london. it was true that occasionally some of his cargoes were lost on the homeward voyage, captured either by the genoese or the moorish pirates; but even allowing for this, the profits of the trade were excellent. the english merchant occupied a good position in venice. the promptness of his payments and the integrity of his dealings made him generally respected, and the fact that he was engaged in trade was no drawback to his social position in a city in which, of all others, trade was con- sidered honourable, and where members of even the most aristocratic families were, with scarcely an exception, engaged in commerce. there were many foreign merchants settled in venice, for from the first the republic had encouraged strangers to take up their residence there, and had granted them several privi- leges and advantages. between venice and england there had always been good feeling. although jealous of foreigners, england had granted the venetians liberty to trade in london, southampton, and some other towns as far back as the year , and their relations had always been cordial, as there were no grounds for jealousy or rivalry between the two the rise of venice. peoples; whereas the interference of france, germany, austria, and hungary in the affairs of italy had frequently caused uneasiness to venice, and had on several occasions embroiled her with one or other of the three last-named powers. france had as yet taken a very minor part in the continual wars which were waged between the rival cities of italy, and during the crusades there had been a close alliance between her and venice, the troops of the two nations fighting together at the siege of constantinople, and causing the temporary over- throw of the greek empire of the east. the rise of venice had been rapid, and she owed her advance- ment to a combination of circumstances. in the first place, her insular position rendered her almost impervious to attack, and she had therefore no occasion to keep on foot any army, and was able to throw all her strength on to the sea, where genoa was her only formidable rival. in the second place, her mercantile spirit and her extensive trade with the east brought in a steady influx of wealth, and her gold enabled her to purchase allies, to maintain lengthy struggles without faltering, and to emerge unscathed from wars which exhausted the resources and crippled the powers of her rivals. the third source of her success lay in the spirit of her population. like rome in her early days, she was never cast down by reverses. misfortune only nerved her to further exertions, and after each defeat she rose stronger than before. but the cause which more than all contributed to give to venice her ascendency among the cities of italy was her form of government. democratic at first, as among all communities, it had gradu- ally assumed the character of a close oligarchy, and although nominally ruled by a council containing a large number of members, her destinies were actually in the hands of the doge, elected for life, and the council of ten, chosen from the great a well-governed state. body of the council. thus she had from the first been free from those factions which were the bane of genoa and florence. some of the great families had from time to time come more prominently to the front than others, but none had attained predominant political power, and beyond a few street tumults of slight importance venice had not suffered from the popular tumults and uprisings which played so prominent a part in the history of her rivals. thus, undisturbed by discord at home, venice had been able to give all her attention and all her care to her interests abroad, and her affairs, conducted as they were by her wisest citizens, with a single eye to the benefit of the state, had been distinguished by a rare sagacity. her object had been single and uniform, to protect her own interests and to prevent any one city on the mainland attaining such a preponderance as would render her a dangerous neighbour. hence she was always ready to ally herself with the weaker against the stronger, and to aid with money and men any state struggling against an ambitious neighbour. acting on this principle she by turns assisted padua against verona and verona against padua, or either of them when threatened by the growing power of milan, and at the end of a war she generally came out with an increased territory and added importance. it is probable that no community was ever governed for hundreds of years with such uniform wisdom and sagacity as was venice; but the advantage was not without drawbacks. the vigilance of the council of ten in repressing plots, not unfrequently set on foot by the enemies of the republic, resulted in the adoption of a hateful system of espionage. the city was pervaded with spies, and even secret denunciations were attended to, and the slightest expression of discontent against the ruling authorities was severely punished. on the other hand comparatively slight attention was paid ( ) the square of st. mark. to private crime. assassinations were of frequent occurrence, and unless the victim happened to be very powerfully con- nected no notice was taken when a man was found to be missing from his usual place, and his corpse was discovered floating in the lagoon. consequently crimes of this kind were in the great majority of cases committed with impunity, and even when traced the authors, if possessed of powerful pro- tectors, seldom suffered any greater punishment than temporary banishment . after standing for some time on the piazzetta the two lads turned, and entering the square of st . mark mingled with the crowd . it was a motley one. nobles in silks and satins jostled with fishermen of the lagoons. natives of all the coasts and islands which owned the sway of venice, greeks from constantinople, tartar merchants from the crimea, tyrians, and inhabitants of the islands of the iegean, were present in considerable numbers; while among the crowd vendors of fruit and flowers from the mainland, and of fresh water or cooling drinks, sold their wares. the english lad's companion— matteo giustiniani—belonged to one of the leading families of venice, and was able to name to francis most of the nobles and persons of importance whom they passed. "there is pisani," he said; "of course you know him; what a jolly, good-tempered looking fellow he is! the sailors would do anything for him, and they say he will have command of * the next fleet that puts to sea. i wish i was going with him, there is sure to be a fierce fight when he comes across the genoese; his father was one of our greatest admirals. that noble just behind him is fiofio dandolo: what a grand family they have been, what a number of great men they have given to the republic! i should like to have seen the grand old doge who stormed the walls of constantinople, and divided the eastern empire among the crusading barons. he was a ( ) b a grave accusation. hero indeed. no; i don't know who that young noble in the green velvet cap and plum-coloured dress is. o yes, i do, though; it is ruggiero mocenigo; he has been away for the last two years at constantinople; he was banished for having killed polo morosini—he declared it was in fair fight, but no one believed him. they had quarrelled a few days before over some question of the precedence of their families, and morosini was found dead at the top of the steps close to the church of st. paolo. some people heard a cry and ran up just as mocenigo leapt into his gondola, but as it rowed off their shouts called the attention of one of the city guard boats which happened to be passing, and it was stopped. as his sword was still wet with blood he could not deny that he was the author of the deed, but, as i said, he declared it was in fair fight. the morosinis asserted that polo's sword was undrawn, but the mocenigo family brought forward a man who swore that he was one of the first to arrive and pick up the sword and place it in its scabbard to prevent its being lost. no doubt he lied; but as mocenigo's influence in the council was greater than that of the morosini, the story was accepted; however, the public feeling was so strong that they could not do less than sentence ruggiero to two years' banishment. i suppose that has just expired, and he has returned from constantinople; he had a bad reputation before this affair took place, but as his connections are so power- ful, i suppose he will be received as if nothing had happened. there are plenty of others as bad as he is." "it's a scandalous thing," francis hammond said indig- nantly, "that, just because they have got powerful connections, men should be allowed to do, almost with impunity, things for which an ordinary man would be hung; there ought to be one law for the rich as well as the poor." "so there is as far as the.state is concerned," his companion replied; "a noble who plots against the state is as certain of early hours. a place in the lowest dungeons as a fisherman who has done the same; but in other respects there is naturally some differ- ence." "why naturally?" francis retorted. "you belong to a powerful family, giustiniani, and my father is only a trader, but i don't see that naturally you have any more right to get me stabbed in the back, than i have to get you put out of the way." "naturally perhaps not," matteo laughed; "but you see it has become a second nature to us here in venice. but seriously i admit that the present state of things has grown to be a scandal, and that the doings of some of our class ought to be put down with a strong hand." "well, i shall say good-night now," the english boy said; "my father doesn't like my being out after ten; he keeps up his english habits of shutting up early, and has not learned to turn night into day as you do here in venice." "the bell has just tolled the hour, francis," his father said as he entered. "i didn't think it was quite so late, father; the piazza is crowded. i really do not think there is one person in venice who goes to bed so early as we do. it is so pleasant in the moonlight after the heat of the day." "that is true enough, francis, but men are meant to sleep at night and to work in the day. i think our fathers carried this too far when they rang the curfew at eight; but ten is quite late enough for any honest man to be about in the streets; and the hours of the early morning are just as pleasant and far more healthy than those of the evening, especially in a place like this where the mists rise from the water, to say nothing of the chance of meeting a band of wild gallants on their way homewards heated with wine, or of getting a stab in the back from some midnight assassin. however, i do not a view fiiom a window. blame venice for enjoying herself while she can; she will have more serious matters to attend to soon." "but she is at peace with every one at present, father. i thought when she signed the treaty with austria after a year's fighting, she was going to have rest for a time." "that was only the beginning of the trouble, francis, and the council knew it well; that was why they made such terms with austria as they did. they knew that austria was only acting in accord with hungary, and padua, and genoa; the others were not ready to begin, so austria came on her own account to get what booty and plunder she could; but the storm is gathering, and will burst before long. but do not let us stand talking here any longer, it is high time for you to be in bed." but though francis retired to his room it was more than an hour before he got into bed. his window looked down upon one of the canals running into the grand canal. gondolas lighted by lanterns, or by torches held by servitors, passed constantly backwards and forwards beneath his window, and by leaning out he could see the passing lights of those on the grand canal. snatches of song and laughter came up to him, and sometimes the note of a musical instrument . the air was soft and balmy, and he felt no inclination for sleep. francis thought over what his father had said of the probability of war as he sat at his window, and wished that he were a couple of years older and could take part in the struggle. the venetian fleet had performed such marvels of valour, that, in the days when military service was almost the sole avenue to distinction and fortune, the desire to take part in a naval expedition which promised unusual opportunities of gaining credit and renown was the most natural thing possible for a boy of spirit. francis was a well-built lad of nearly sixteen; he had, until an english boy's training. ho left london when about twelve years old, taken his full share in the rough sports which formed so good a training for the youths of england, and in which the citizens of london were in no way behind the rest of the kingdom. he had practised shooting with a light bow and arrows in company with boys of his own age in the fields outside the city walls; had engaged in many a rough tussle with light clubs and quarter-staffs; and his whole time—except for an hour or two daily which he had, as the son of a well-to-do citizen, spent in learning to read and write—had been occupied in games and exercises of one kind or other. since his arrival in venice he had not altogether discon- tinued his former habits. at his earnest solicitation his father had permitted him to attend the school of arms, where the sons of patricians and well-to-do merchants learned the use of sword and dagger, to hurl the javelin, and wield the mace and battle-axe; and was, besides, a frequenter of some of the schools where old soldiers gave private lessons in arms to such as could afford it; and the skill and strength of the english lad excited no slight envy among the young venetian nobles. often too he would go out to one of the sandy islets, and there setting up a mark, practise with the bow; his muscles, too, had gained strength and hardness by rowing. it was his constant habit of an evening when well away from the crowded canals in the gondola, with giuseppi, the son and assistant of his father's gondolier, to take an oar, for he had thoroughly mastered the difficult accomplishment of rowing well in a gondola; but he only did this when far out from the city, or when the darkness of evening would prevent his figure from being recognized by any of his acquaintances, for no venetian of good family would demean himself by handling an oar. francis, however, accustomed to row upon the thames, could see no reason why he should not do the same in a gondola, a new gondola, and in time he and his companion could send the hoat dancing over the water at a rate which enabled them to overtake and distance most pair-oared boats. after breakfast next morning he went down to the steps where beppo and giuseppi, in their black cloth suits with red sashes round their waists, were waiting with the gondola in which mr. hammond was going out to malamocco to examine a cargo which had the day before arrived from azoph. giuseppi jumped ashore. "i have heard of just the gondola to suit you, messer francisco, and you can get her a bargain." "what is she like, giuseppi?" "she belongs to a man out at lido. she was built for the race two years ago, but her owner fell sick and was unable to start; he has not got strong again, and wants to sell his boat, which is far too light for ordinary work; they say she is almost like an egg-shell, and you and i will be able to send her along grandly. she cost four ducats, but he will sell her for two." "that is capital, giuseppi; this gondola is all well enough for my father, but she is very heavy. this evening we will row over to lido and look at her." a few minutes later mr. hammond came down, beppo and his son took off their jackets, and in their snow-white shirts and black trousers, set off by the red scarf and a red ribbon round their broad hats, took their places on the bow and stern. mr. hammond sat down on the cushions in the middle of the boat, and with an easy noiselews motion the gondola glided away from the stairs. francis, with a little sigh, turned away and strolled off for a couple of hours' work with the preceptor with whom ho had continued his studies since he came to venice. this work consisted chiefly of learning various languages, for in those days there was little else to learn. latin was almost universally spoken by educated men in southern europe, and matteo's opinion. greeks, italians, spaniards, and frenchmen were able to converse in this common medium. french, francis understood, for it was the language in use in the court and among the upper classes in england. italian he picked up naturally during his residence, and spoke it with the facility of a native. he could now converse freely in latin, and had some knowledge of german. at the same school were many lads of good venetian families, and it was here that he had first made the acquaintance of matteo giustiniani, who was now his most intimate friend. matteo, like all the young nobles of venice, was anxious to excel in military exercises, but he had none of the ardour for really hard work which distinguished his friend. he admired the latter's strength and activity, but could not bring himself to imitate him in the exercises by which that strength was attained, and had often remonstrated with him upon his fondness for rowing. "it is not seemly, francisco, for a gentleman to be labouring like a common gondolier; these men are paid for doing it; but what pleasure there can be in standing up working that oar till you are drenched with perspiration i cannot understand. i don't mind getting hot in the school of arms, because one can- not learn to use the sword and dagger without it, but that's quite another thing from tugging at an oar." "but i like it, matteo; and see how strong it has made my muscles, not of the arm only, but the leg and back. you often say you envy me my strength, but you might be just as strong if you ohose to work as i do; besides it is delightful, when you are accustomed to it, to feel the gondola flying away under your stroke." "i prefer feeling it fly away under some one else's stroke, francisco. that is pleasant enough, i grant; but the very thought of working as you do throws me into a perspiration. i should like to be as strong as you are, but to work as a gondolier is too high a price to pay for it." a racing craft. that evening francis crossed the lagoon in the gondola with giuseppi to inspect the boat he had heard of. it was just what he wanted. in appearance it differed in no way from an ordinary gondola, but it was a mere shell. the timbers and planking were extremely light, and the weight of the boat was little more than a third of that of other craft. she had been built like a working gondola, instead of in the form of those mostly used for racing, because her owner had intended, after the race was over, to plank her inside and strengthen her for everyday work; but the race had never come off, and the boat lay just as she had come from the hands of her builder, except that she had been painted black, like other gondolas, to prevent her planks from opening. when her owner had determined to part with her he had given her a fresh coat of paint, and had put her in the water that her seams might close up. "i don't like parting with her," the young fisherman to whom she belonged said. "i tried her once or twice and she went like the wind, but i got fever in my bones and i am unlikely to race again, and the times are hard, and i must part with her." francis and giuseppi gave her a trial, and were delighted with the speed and ease with which she flew through the water. on their return francis at once paid the price asked for her his father made him a handsome allowance in order that he might be able to mix without discomfort with the lads of good family whom he met at his preceptor's and at the schools of arms. but francis did not care for strolling in the piazza, or sitting for hours sipping liquors; still less did he care for dress or finery; consequently he had always plenty of money to in- dulge in his own special fancies. as soon as the bargain was completed giuseppi took his place in the old gondola, while francis took the oar in his newjacquisition, and found to his satisfaction that with scarcely an effort he could dart ahead of "young people always want to go fast." his companion and leave him far behind. by nightfall the two gondolas were fastened side by side behind the gaily-painted posts which, in almost all venetian houses, are driven into the canal close to the steps, and behind which the gondolas belonging to the house lie safe from injury by passing craft. "i have bought another gondola, father," francis said the next morning. "she is a very light, fast craft, and i got her cheap." "i don't see what you wanted another gondola for, francis. i do not use mine very much, and you are always welcome to take it when i do not want it." "yes, father, but you often use it in the evening, and that is just the time when one wants to go out. you very often only take beppo with you when you do not go on business, and i often want a boat that i could take with giuseppi; besides, your gondola is a very solid one, and i like passing people." "young people always want to go fast," mr. hammond said, "why, i can't make out. however, francis, i am not sorry that you have got a boat of your own, for it has happened several times lately that when in the evening i have gone down intend- ing to row round to the piazetta i have found the boat gone, and have had to walk . now i shall be able to rely on finding beppo asleep in the boat at the steps. in future, since you have a boat of your own, i shall not be so particular as to your being in at ten. i do not so much mind your being out on the water, only you must promise me that you will not be in the streets after that hour. there are frequent broils as the evening gets on, not to mention the danger of cut-throats in unfrequented lanes; but if you will promise me that you will never be about the streets after half-past nine i will give you leave to stay out on the water till a later hour; but when you come in late be careful always to close and bar the door, and do not make more noise than you can help in coming up to your room." a concession. francis was much pleased with this concession, for the obligation to return at ten o'clock, just when the temperature was most delightful and the grand canal at its gayest, had been very irksome to him. as to the prohibition against being in the streets of venice after half-past nine he felt that no hardship whatever, as he found no amusement in strolling in the crowded piazza. chapter il a conspiracy. ho are those ladies, matteo?" francis asked his friend one evening, as the latter, who was sitting with him in his gondola while giuseppi rowed them along the grand canal, half rose and saluted two girls in a passing gondola, "they are distant cousins of mine, maria and giulia polani; they only returned a short time since from corfu. their father is one of the richest merchants of our city, he has for the last three years been living in corfu, which is the head- quarters of his trade. the family is an old one, and has given doges to venice. they are two of our richest heiresses, for they have no brothers. their mother died soon after the birth of giulia." "they both look very young," francis said. "maria is about sixteen, her sister two years younger. there will be no lack of suitors for their hands, for although the family is not politically powerful, as it used to be, their wealth would cause them to be gladly received in our very first families." "who was the middle-aged lady sitting between them?" "she is only their duenna," matteo said carelessly. "she has been with them since they were children, and their father places great confidence in her. and he had need to, for maria "it is always useful to have a fast boat." will ere long be receiving bouquets and perfumed notes from many a young gallant." "i can quite fancy that," francis said, "for she is very pretty as well as very rich, and, as far as i have observed, the two things do not go very often together. however, no doubt by this time her father has pretty well arranged in his mind whom she is to marry." "i expect so," agreed matteo. "that is the worst of being born of good family; you have got to marry some one of your father's choice, not your own, and that choice is determined simply by the desire to add to the political influence of the family, to strengthen distant ties, or to obtain powerful connections. i suppose it is the same everywhere, matteo, but i do think that a man or woman ought to have some voice in a matter of such importance to them." "i think so too at the present time," matteo laughed; "but i don't suppose that i shall be of that opinion when i have a family of sons and daughters to marry. this gondola of yours must be a fast one indeed, francisco, for with only one rower she keeps up with almost all the pair-oared boats, and your boy is not exerting himself to the utmost either." "she can fly along, i can tell you, matteo. you shall come out in her some evening when giuseppi and i both take oars. i have had her ten days now, and we have not come across anything that can hold her for a moment." "it is always useful," matteo said, "to have a fast boat . it is invaluable in case you have been getting into a scrape and have one of the boats of the city watch in chase of you." "i hope i sha'n't want it for any purpose of that sort," francis answered, laughing. "i do not think i am likely to give cause to the city watch to chase me." "i don't think you are, francisco, but there is never any saying." a pake. "at anyrate it is always useful to be able to go fast if necessary, and if we did want to get away i do not think there are many pair-oared gondolas afloat that would overtake us, though a good four-oar might do so. giuseppi and i are so accustomed to each other's stroke now that though in a heavy boat we might not be a match for two men, in a light craft like this, where weight does not count for so much, we would not mind entering her for a race against the two best gondoliers on the canals in an ordinary boat." a few evenings later francis was returning homewards at about half-past ten, when, in passing along a quiet canal, the boat was hailed from the shore. "shall we take him, messer francisco?" giuseppi asked in a low voice; for more than once they had late in the evening taken a fare. francis rowed, like giuseppi, in his shirt, and in the dark- ness they were often taken for a pair-oared gondola on the look-out for a fare. francis had sometimes accepted the offer, because it was an amusement to see where the passenger wished to go—to guess whether he was a lover hastening to keep an appointment, a gambler on a visit to some quiet locality where high play went on unknown to the authorities, or simply one who had by some error missed his own gondola and was anxious to return home. it made no difference to him which way he rowed; it was always possible that some adven- ture was to be met with, and the fare paid was a not unwel- come addition to giuseppi's funds. "yes, we may as well take him," he replied to giuseppi's question. "you are in no hurry to get to bed, i suppose!" the man who had hailed them said as the boat drew up against the wall of the canal. "it does not make much difference to us if we are well paid a long row. to keep awake," giuseppi said. upon such occasions he was always the spokesman. "you know san nicolo?" "yes, i know it," giuseppi said; "but it is a long row— six miles, if it's a foot." "you will have to wait there for an hour or two, but i will give you half a ducat for your night's work." "what do you say, partner?" giuseppi asked francis. "we may as well go," the lad replied after a moment's pause. the row was certainly a long one, but the night was delight- ful, and the half-ducat was a prize for giuseppi; but what influenced francis principally in accepting was curiosity. san nicolo was a little sandy islet lying quite on the outside of the group of islands. it was inhabited only by a few fishermen; and francis wondered that a man, evidently by his voice and manner of address belonging to the upper class, should want to go to such a place as this at this hour of the night . certainly no ordinary motives could actuate him. as the stranger took his place in the boat francis saw by the light of the stars that he was masked; but there was nothing very unusual in this, as masks were not unfrequently worn at night by young gallants when engaged on any frolic in which they wished their identity to be unrecognized. still it added to the interest of the trip; and dipping his oar in the water he set out at a slow, steady stroke well within his power. he adopted this partly in view of the length of the row before them, partly because the idea struck him that it might be as well that their passenger should not suspect that the boat was other than an ordinary gondola. the passenger, however, was well satisfied with the speed, for they passed two or three other gondolas before issuing from the narrow canals and starting across the broad stretch of the lagoon. not a word was spoken until the gondola neared its destination. then the passenger said: at san nicolo. "you row well if you like the job i may employ you again." "we are always ready to earn money," francis said, speak- ing in a gruff voice quite unlike his own. "very well . i will let you know, as we return, what night i shall want you again. i suppose you can keep your mouths shut on occasion, and can go without gossiping to your fellows as to any job on which you are employed?" "we can do that," francis said. "it's no matter to us where our customers want to go if they are willing to pay for it; and as to gossiping, there is a saying, 'a silver gag is the best for keeping the mouth closed.'" a few minutes later the bow of the gondola ran up on the sandy shore of san nicolo. the stranger made his way for- ward and leapt out, and with the words, "it may be two hours before i am back," walked rapidly away. "why, messer francisco," giuseppi said when their passen- ger was well out of hearing, "what on earth possessed you to accept a fare to such a place as this? of course, for myself, i am glad enough to earn half a ducat, which will buy me a new jacket with silver buttons for the next festa; but to make such a journey as this was too much, and it will be very late before we are back . if the padrone knew it he would be very angry." "i didn't do it to enable you to earn half a ducat, giuseppi, although i am glad enough you should do so; but i did it because it seemed to promise the chance of an adventure. there must be something in this. a noble—for i have no doubt he is one—would never be coming out to san nicolo at this time of night without some very strong motive. there can be no rich heiress whom he might want to carry off living here, so that can't be what he has come for. i think there must be some secret meeting, for as we came across the lagoon a foolish determination. i saw one or two boats in the distance heading in this direction. anyhow, i mean to try and find out what it all means." "you had better not, sir," giuseppi said earnestly. "if there is any plot on foot we had best not get mixed up in it . no one is too high or too low to escape the vengeance of the council if found plotting against the state; and before now gondolas staved in and empty have been found drifting on the lagoons, and the men who rowed them have never been heard of again. once in the dungeons of st. mark it would be of no use to plead that you had entered into the affair simply for the amusement. the fact that you were not a regular boatman would make the matter all the worse, and the maxim that 'dead men tell no tales' is largely acted upon in venice. i think, sir, the best plan will be to row straight back, and leave our fare to find his way home as best he may." "i mean to find something out about it if i can, giuseppi. a state secret may be dangerous, but it may be valuable. any- how, there can be no great risk in it . on the water i think we can show our heels to anyone who chases us; and once in venice, we are absolutely safe, for no one would suspect a gon- dola of mr. hammond, the english merchant, of having any connection with a hired craft with its two gondoliers." "that is true enough, sir; but i don't like it for all that . however, if you have made up your mind to it there is nothing more to be said." "very well. you stay here, and i will go and look round. you had better get the gondola afloat and be ready to start at the instant, so that, if i should have to run for it, i can jump on board and be off in a moment." francis made his way quietly up to the little group of huts inhabited by the fishermen, but in none of them could he see any signs of life—no lights were visible, nor could he hear the murmur of voices. there were, he knew, other buildings scat- a useless search. tered about on the island; but he had only the light of the stars to guide him, and, not knowing anything of the exact position of the houses, he thought it better to return to the boat . "i can find no signs of them, giuseppi." "all the better, messer francisco. there are some sorts of game which it is well for the safety of the hunter not to dis- cover. i was very glad, i can tell you, when i heard your whistle and made out your figure returning at a walk. now you are back i will take an hour's nap, and i should advise you to do the same." but francis had no thought of sleep, and sat down at his end of the gondola wondering over the adventure, and con- sidering whether or not it would be worth while to follow it up another night. that it was a plot of some sort he had little doubt . there were always in venice two parties, equally anxious perhaps for the prosperity of the republic, but differ- ing widely as to the means by which that prosperity would be best achieved, and as to the alliances which would in the long run prove most beneficial to her. there were also needy and desperate men ready enough to take bribes from any who might offer them, and to intrigue in the interest of padua or ferrara, verona, milan, or genoa—whichever might for the time be their paymasters. francis was english, but he had been long enough in venice to feel a pride in the island city, and to be almost as keenly interested in her fortunes as were his companions and friends; and a certain sense of duty, mingled with his natural love of adventure, decided him to follow up the chance which had befallen him, and to endeavour to ascer- tain the nature of the plot which was, he had little doubt, being hatched at san nicolo. in a very few minutes the regular breathing of giuseppi, who had curled himself up in the bottom of the boat, showed that he had gone to sleep; and he did not stir until, an hour ( s) o "stop, in the name of the republic i" and a half after the return of francis, the latter heard the fall of footsteps approaching the gondola. "wake up, giuseppi, here comes our fare!" francis stood up and stretched himself as the stranger came alongside, as if he too had been fast asleep. "take me back to the spot where i hailed you," the fare said briefly as he stepped into the boat and threw himself back on the cushions, and without a word the lads dipped their oars in the water and the gondola glided away towards venice. just as they reached the mouth of the grand canal, and were about to turn into it, a six-oared gondola shot out from under the point, and a voice called out: "stop, in the name of the republic, and give an account of yourselves!" "bow on," the passenger exclaimed, starting up; "ten ducats if you can set me safely on shore." had the lads been real gondoliers it is probable that even this tempting offer would not have induced them to disregard the order from the galley, for they would have run no slight risk in so doing. but francis had no desire to be caught, and perhaps im- prisoned for a considerable time until he was able to convince the council that his share of the night's work had been merely the result of a boyish freak. with two strokes of his oar, therefore, he swept the boat's head round, thereby throwing their pursuers directly astern of them; then he and giuseppi threw their whole weight into the stroke, and the boat danced over the water at a pace very different to that at which it had hitherto proceeded. but, fast as they went, the galley travelled somewhat faster, the rowers doing their utmost in obedience to the angry orders of their officer, and had the race been continued on a broad stretch of water it would sooner or later have overhauled the gondola. but francis was perfectly aware of chased. this, and edged the boat away towards the end of the piazzetta, and then, shooting her head round, dashed at full speed along the canal by the side of the ducal palace, the galley being at the time some forty yards behind. "the first to the right," francis said, and with scarce a pause in their speed they turned off at right angles up the first canal they came to. again and again they turned and twisted, regardless of the direction in which the canals took them, their only object being to gain on their pursuers, who lost consider- ably at each turn, being obliged always to check their speed before arriving at each angle, to allow the boat to go round. in ten minutes she was far behind, and they then abated their speed, and turned the boat's head in the direction in which they wished to go. "by san paolo," the stranger said, "that was well done! you are masters of your craft, and sent your boat along at a pace which must have astonished those fellows in that lumbering galley. i had no reason to fear them, but i do not care to be interfered with and questioned by these jacks-in-office of the republic." a few minutes later they reached the place where he em- barked, and as he got out he handed the money he had promised to giuseppi. "next thursday night," he said, "at half-past ten." "it seems a dangerous sort of service, signor," giuseppi said hesitatingly. "it is no joke to disobey the officers of the republic, and next time we may not be so fortunate." "it's worth taking a little risk when you are well paid," the other said, turning away, "and it is not likely we shall run against one of the state galleys another night." "home, now, giuseppi,'' francis said, "we can talk about it to-morrow; it's the best night's work you ever did in your life, and as i have had a grand excitement we are both contented." a piece of new& during the next few days francis debated seriously with himself whether to follow up the adventure; but he finally de- cided on doing so, feeling convinced that there could be no real danger, even were the boat seized by one of the state galleys, as his story, that he had gone into the matter simply to dis- cover whether any plot was intended against the republic, would finally be believed, as it would be beyond the bounds of probability that a lad of his age could himself have been con- cerned in such a conspiracy. as to giuseppi, he offered no remonstrance when francis told him that he intended to go out to san nicolo on the fol- lowing thursday, for the ten ducats he had received were a sum larger than he could have saved in a couple of years' steady work, and were indeed quite a fortune in his eyes. another such a sum, and he would be able, when the time came, to buy a gondola of his own, to marry, and set up housekeeping in grand style. as for the danger, if francis was willing to run it he could do the same; for after all, a few months' imprisonment was the worst that could befall him for his share in the business. before the day came matteo giustiniani told francis a piece of news which interested him. "you remember my cousin maria polani, whom we met the other evening on the grand canal?" "of course i do, matteo. what of her?" "well, what do you think! ruggiero mocenigo, whom i pointed out to you on the piazza—the man who had been banished for two years—has asked for her hand in marriage." "he is not going to have it, i hope," francis said indig- nantly. "it would be a shame, indeed, to give her to such a man as that." "that is just what her father thought, francisco, and he re- fused ruggiero pretty curtly, and told him, i believe, he would an argument. rather see her in her grave than married to him; and i hear there was a regular scene, and ruggiero went away swearing polani should regret his refusal." "i suppose your cousin does not care much about his threats," francis said . "i don't suppose he cares much about them," matteo replied; "but ruggiero is very powerfully connected, and may do him damage, not to speak of the chance of his hiring a bravo to stab him on the first opportunity. i know my father advised polani to be very cautious where he went at night for a time. this fellow, ruggiero, is a dangerous enemy. if he were to get polani stabbed, it would be next to impossible to prove that it was his doing, however strong the suspicion might be; for mere suspicion goes for nothing against a man with his influence and connections. he has two near relations on the council, and if he were to burn down polani's mansion, and to carry off maria, the chances are against his being punished if he did but keep out of the way for a few months." as in england powerful barons were in the habit of waging private wars with each other, and the carrying off a bride by force was no very rare event, this state of things did not appear to francis as outrageous as it would do to an english lad of the present day, but he shook his head. "of course one understands, matteo, that everywhere powerful nobles do things which would be regarded as crimes if done by others; but,elsewhere, people can fortify their houses, and call out and arm their retainers, and stand on their guard. but that here, in a city like this, private feuds should be carried on, and men stabbed when unconscious of danger, seems to me detestable." "of course it isn't right," matteo said carelessly, "but i don't know how you are going to put a stop to it; and after all, our quarrels here only involve a life or two, while in other . two sides of a question. countries nobles go to war with each other, and hundreds of jives of people who have nothing to do with the quarrel may be sacrificed." this was a light in which francis had hardly looked upon the matter before, and he was obliged to own that even private assassination, detestable as it was, yet caused much less suffering than feudal war; still, he was not disposed entirely to give in to his friend's opinion. "that is true, matteo; but at the same time, in a war it is fair fighting, while a stab in the back is a cowardly business." "it is not always fair fighting," matteo replied. "you hear of castles being surprised and the people massacred without a chance of resistance; of villages being burned, and the people butchered unresistingly. i don't think there is so much more fairness one way than the other. polani knows he will have to be careful, and if he likes he can hiro bravos to put ruggiero out of the way, just as ruggiero can do to remove him. there's a good deal to be said for both sides of the question." francis felt this was so, and that although he had an abhor- rence of the venetian method of settling quarrels he saw that as far as the public were concerned, it was really preferable to the feudal method of both parties calling out their retainers and going to war with each other, especially as assassinations played no inconsiderable part in the feudal struggles of the time. on the thursday night the gondola was in waiting at the agreed spot. francis had thought it probable that the stranger might this time ask some questions as to where they lived and their usual place of plying for hire, and would endeavour to find out as much as he could about them, as they could not but suspect that he was engaged in some very unusual enterprise. he had therefore warned giuseppi to be very careful in his replies. he knew that it was not necessary to say more, for questioned. giuseppi had plenty of shrewdness, and would, he was sure, invent some plausible story "without the least difficulty, posses- sing as he did plenty of the easy mendacity so general among the lower classes of the races inhabiting countries bordering on the mediterranean. their fare came down to the gondola a few minutes after the clock had tolled the half-hour. "i see you are punctual," he said, "which is more than most of you men are." francis was rowing the bow-oar, and therefore stood with his back to the passenger, and was not likely to be addressed by him, as he would naturally turn to giuseppi, who stood close behind him. as francis had expected, as soon as they were out on the lagoon the passenger turned to his companion and began to question him. "i cannot see your faces," he said; "but by your figures you are both young, are you not?" "i am but twenty-two," giuseppi said, "and my brother is a year younger." "and what are your names?" "giovanni and beppo morani." "and is this boat your own?" "it is, signor. our father died three years ago, leaving us his boat." "and where do you usually ply?" "anywhere, signor, just as the fancy seizes us. sometimes one place is good, sometimes another." "and where do you live?" "we don't live anywhere, signor. when night comes, and business is over, we tie up the boat to a post, wrap ourselves up, and go to sleep at the bottom. it costs nothing, and we are just as comfortable there as we should be on straw in a room." "then you must be saving money?" "the boat is like others." "yes; we are laying money by. some day, i suppose, we shall marry, and our wives must have homes. besides, some- times we are lazy and don't work. one must have some pleasure, you know." "would you like to enter service?" "no, signor. we prefer being our own masters; to take a fare or leave it as we please." "your boat is a very fast one. you went at a tremendous rate when the galley was after us the other night." "the boat is like others," giuseppi said carelessly; "but most men can row fast when the alternative is ten ducats one way or a prison the other." "then there would be no place where i could always find you in the daytime if i wanted you?" "no, signor; there would be no saying where we might be. we have sometimes regular customers, and it would not pay us to disappoint them, even if you paid us five times the ordinary fare; but we could always meet you at night anywhere, when you choose to appoint." "but how can i appoint," the passenger said irritably, "if i don't know where to find you?" giuseppi was silent for a stroke or two. "if your excellency would write in figures half-past ten or eleven, or whatever time we should meet you, just at the base of the column of the palace—the corner one on the piazzetta— we should be sure to be there sometime or other during the day, and would look for it." "you can read and write, then?" the passenger asked. "i cannot do that, signor," giuseppi said, "but i can make out figures. that is necessary to us, as how else could we keep time with our customers? we can read the sun-dials, as everyone else can; but as to reading and writing, that is not for poor lads like us." francis follows his fake. the stranger was satisfied. certainly every one could read the sun-dials; and the gondoliers would, as they said, under- stand his figures if he wrote them. "very well," he said; "it is probable i shall generally know, each time i discharge you, when i shall want you again; but should there be any change, i will make the figures on the base of the column at the corner of the piazzetta, and that will mean the hour at which you are to meet me that night at the usual place." nothing more was said until the gondola arrived at the same spot at which it had landed the passenger on the previous occasion. "i shall be back in about the same time as before," the fare said when he alighted. as he strode away into the darkness francis followed him. he was shoeless, for at that time the lower class seldom wore any protection to the feet, unless when going a journey over rough ground. among the gondoliers shoes were unknown; and francis himself generally took his off, for coolness and comfort, when out for the evening in his boat. he kept some distance behind the man he was following, for as there were no hedges or inclosures, he could make out his figure against the sky at a considerable distance. as francis had expected, he did not make towards the vil- lage, but kept along the island at a short distance from the edge of the water. presently francis heard the dip of oars, and a gondola ran up on the sands half-way between himself and the man he was following. he threw himself down on the ground. two men alighted, and went in the same direc- tion as the one who had gone ahead. francis made a detour, so as to avoid being noticed by the gondoliers, and then again followed. after keeping more than a quarter of a mile near the water, the place of meeting. the two figures ahead struck inshore. francis followed thern, and in a few minutes they stopped at a black mass rising above the sand. he heard them knock, and then a low murmur, as if they were answering some question from within. then they entered, and a door closed. he moved up to the building; it was a hut of some size, but had a deserted appearance. it stood between two ridges of low sand-hills, and the sand had drifted till it was half-way up the walls. there was no garden or inclosure round it, and any passer-by would have concluded that it was uninhabited. the shutters were closed, and no gleam of light showed from within. after stepping carefully round it francis took his post round the angle close to the door, and waited. presently he heard footsteps approaching—three knocks were given on the door, and a voice within asked, "who is there?" the reply was, "one who is in distress." the question came, "what ails you?" and the answer, "all is wrong within." then there was a sound of bars being withdrawn, and the door opened and closed again. there were four other arrivals. the same questions were asked and answered each time. then some minutes elapsed without any fresh comers, and francis thought that the number was probably complete. he lay down on the sand, and with his dagger began to make a hole through the wood, which was old and rotten, and gave him no difficulty in piercing it. he applied his eye to the orifice, and saw that there were some twelve men seated round a table. of those facing him he knew three or four by sight; all were men of good family. two of them belonged to the council, but not to the inner council of ten. one sitting at the top of the table was speaking; but although francis applied his ear to the hole he had made he could hear but a confused mur- mur, and could not catch the words. he now rose cautiously, watching the conspirators. scooped up the sand so as to cover the hole in the wall, and swept a little down over the spot where he had been lying, although he had no doubt that the breeze which would spring up before morning would soon drift the light shifting sand over it and obliterate the mark of his recumbent figure. then he went round to the other side of the hut and bored another hole, so as to obtain a view of the faces of those whose backs had before been towards him. one of these was ruggiero mocenigo. another was a stranger to francis, and some difference in the fashion of his garments indicated that he was not a venetian, but, francis thought, a hungarian. the other three were not nobles. one of them francis recognized as being a man of much influence among the fishermen and sailors. the other two were unknown to him. as upwards of an hour had been spent in making the two holes and taking observations, francis thought it better now to make his way back to his boat, especially as it was evident that he would gain nothing by remaining longer. therefore, after taking the same precautions as before to conceal all signs of his presence, he made his way across the sands back to his gondola. "heaven be praised you are back again!" giuseppi said when he heard his low whistle as he came down to the boat. "i have been in a fever ever since i lost sight of you. have you succeeded?" "i have found out that there is certainly a plot of some sort being got up, and i know some of those concerned in it, but i could hear nothing that went on. still i have succeeded better than i expected, and i am well satisfied with the night's work." "i hope you won't come again, messer francisco. in the first place, you may not always have the fortune to get away un- seen. in the next place, it is a dangerous matter to have to pros and cons. do with conspiracies, whichever side you are on. the way to live long in venice is to make no enemies." "yes, i know that, giuseppi, and i haven't decided yet what to do in the matter." a quarter of an hour later their fare returned to the boat. this time they took a long detour, and, entering venice by one of the many canals, reached the landing-place without adven- ture. the stranger handed giuseppi a ducat . "i do not know when i shall want you again; but i will mark the hour, as agreed, on the pillar. do not fail to go there every afternoon; and even if you don't see it, you might as well come round here at half-past ten of a night . i may want you suddenly." before going to sleep that night francis thought the matter over seriously, and finally concluded that he would have no more to do with it . no doubt, by crossing over to san nicolo in the daytime he might be able to loosen a plank at the back of the hut, or to cut so large an opening that he could hear as well as see what was going on within; but supposing he discovered that a plot was on hand in favour of the enemies of venice, such as padua or hungary, what was he to do next? at the best, if he denounced it, and the officers of the republic surrounded the hut when the conspirators were gathered there, arrested them, and found upon them, or in their houses, proofs sufficient to condemn them, his own position would not be enviable. he would gain, indeed, the gratitude of the re- public; but as for rewards, he had no need of them. on the other hand, he would draw upon himself the enmity of some eight or ten important families and all their connections and followers, and his life would be placed in imminent danger. they would be all the more bitter against him, inasmuch as the discovery would not have been made by accident, but by an act of deliberate prying into matters which concerned him in no a wise decision. way, he not being a citizen of the republic so far his action in the matter had been a mere boyish freak; and now that he saw it was likely to become an affair of grave importance, involving the lives of many persons, he determined to have nothing further to do with it . a measure of precaution. on the other hand, be of importance when least expected . as a matter of precaution he drew up an exact account of the proceedings of the two nights on the lagoons, giving an account of the meeting, and the names of the persons present, and placed it in a drawer in his room. he told giuseppi what he had done. "i do not think there is the least chance of our ever being recognized, giuseppi; there was not enough light for the man to have made out our features. still there is nothing like taking precautions, and if—i don't think it is likely, mind—but if anything should ever happen to me—if i should be missing, for example, and not return by the following morning—you take that paper out of my drawer and drop it into the lion's mouth. then, if you are questioned, tell the whole story." "but they will never believe me, messer francisco," giuseppi said in alarm. "they will believe you, because it will be a confirmation of my story; but i don't think that there is the least chance of our ever hearing anything further about it." "why not denounce them at once without putting your name to it," giuseppi said; "then they could pounce upon them over there, and find out all about it for themselves?" "i have thought about it, giuseppi, but there is something treacherous in secret denunciations; these men have done me no harm, and as a foreigner their political schemes do not greatly concern me. i should not like to think i had sent twelve men to the dungeons and perhaps to death." "i think it's a pity you ever went there at all, messer francisco." "well, perhaps it is, giuseppi; but i never thought it would turn out a serious affair like this; however, i do wish i hadn't gone now; not that i think it really matters, or that we shall ever hear anything more of it . we may, perhaps, inquiries set on foot. some day see the result of this conspiracy, that is, if its objects are such as i guess them to be, namely, to form a party opposed to war with hungary, padua, or genoa." for some days after this francis abstained from late excur- sions in the gondola. it was improbable that he or giuseppi would be recognized did their late passenger meet them; still it was possible that they might be so; and when he went out he sat quietly among the cushions while giuseppi rowed, as it would be a pair-oared gondola the stranger would be looking for. he was sure that the conspirator would feel un- easy when the boat did not come to the rendezvous, especially when they found that on three successive days figures were marked as had been arranged on the column at the corner of the piazzetta. giuseppi learned indeed a week later that inquiries had been made among the gondoliers for a boat rowed by two brothers, giovanni and beppo; and the inquirer, who was dressed as a retainer of a noble family, had offered five ducats reward for information concerning it. no such names, however, were down upon the register of gondoliers licensed to ply for hire. giuseppi learned that the search had been conducted quietly but vigorously, and that several young gondoliers who rowed together had been seen and questioned. the general opinion among the boatmen was that some lady must have been carried off, and that her friends were seeking for a clue as to the spot to which she had been taken. one evening francis had been strolling on the piazza with matteo, and had remained out later than he had done since the night of his last visit to san nicolo. he took his seat in the gondola, and when giuseppi asked him if he would go home, said he would first take a turn or two on the grand canal as the night was close and sultry. there was no moon now, and most of the gondolas carried torches. giuseppi was francis to the kescue. paddling quietly, when a pair-oared gondola shot past them, and by the light of the torch it carried francis recognized the ladies sitting in it to be maria and giulia polani with their duenna; two armed retainers sat behind them. they were, francis supposed, returning from spending the evening at the house of some of their friends. there were but few boats now passing along the canal. polani's gondola was a considerable distance ahead, when francis heard a sudden shout of, "mind where you are going!" then there was a crash of two gondolas striking each other followed by an outburst of shouts and cries of alarm, with, francis thought, the clash of swords. "row, giuseppil" he exclaimed, leaping from his seat and catching up the other oar; and with swift and powerful strokes the two lads drove the gondola towards the scene of what was either an accident or an attempt at crime. they had no doubt which it was when they arrived at the spot. a four-oared gondola lay alongside that of the polanis, and the gondoliers with their oars, and the two retainers with their swords, had offered a stout resistance to an armed party who were trying to board her from the other craft, but their resistance was well-nigh over by the time francis brought his gondola along- side. one of the retainers had fallen with a sword thrust through his body, and a gondolier had been knocked overboard by a blow from an oar. the two girls were standing up screaming, and the surviving retainer was being borne backwards by three or four armed men who were slashing furiously at him. "quick, ladies, jump into my boat!" francis exclaimed as he came alongside, and, leaning over, he dragged them one after the other into his boat just as their last defender fell . with a fierce oath the leader of the assailants was about to spring into the gondola, when francis, snatching up his oar, smote him with all his strength on the head as he was in tho (us) d "to the palazzo polan . act of springing, and he fell with a heavy splash into the water between the boats. a shout of alarm and rage rose from his followers, but the gondolas were now separated, and in another moment that of francis was flying along the canal at the top of its speed. "calm yourselves, ladies," francis said; "there is no fear of pursuit, they will stop to pick up the man i knocked into the canal, and by the time they get him on board we shall be out of their reach." "what will become of the signorar' the eldest girl asked when they recovered a little from their agitation. "no harm will befall her, you may be sure," francis said; "it was evidently an attempt to carry you off, and now that you have escaped they will care nothing for your duenna. she seemed to have lost her head altogether, for as i lifted you into the boat she clung so fast to your garments that i fancy a portion of them were left in her grasp." "do you know where to take us? i see you are going in the right direction!" the girl asked. "to the palazzo polani," francis said. "i have the honour of being a friend of your cousin, matteo giustiniani, and being with him one day when you passed in your gondola he named you to me." "a friend of matteo!" the girl repeated in surprise. "pardon me, signor, i thought you were two passing gondo- liers; it was so dark that i could not recognize you; and, you see, it is so unusual to see a gentleman rowing." "i am english, signora, and we are fond of strong exercise, and so after nightfall, when it cannot shock my friends, i often take an oar myself." "i thank you, sir, with all my heart, for my sister and my- self, for the service you have rendered us. i can hardly under- stand what has passed, even now it seems like a dream. we "we have been attacked, father. were going quietly along home when a large dark gondola dashed out from one of the side canals and nearly ran us down. our gondolier shouted to warn them, but they ran alongside, and then some men jumped on board, and there was a terrible fight, and every moment i expected that the gondola would have been upset; beppo was knocked overboard, and i saw old nicolini fall; and then, just as it seemed all over, you appeared suddenly by our side and dragged us on board this boat before i had time to think." "i am afraid i was rather rough, signora, but there was no time to stand on ceremony. here is the palazzo." the boat was brought up by the side of the steps. francis leapt ashore and rang the bell, and then assisted the girls to land. in a minute the door was thrown open, and two servi- tors with torches appeared. there was an exclamation of astonishment as they saw the young ladies alone with a strange attendant. "i will do myself the honour of calling to-morrow to inquire if you are any the worse for your adventure, signora." "no, indeed," the eldest girl said; "you must come up with us and see our father. we must tell him what has happened; and he will be angry indeed did we suffer our rescuer to depart without his having an opportunity of thanking him." francis bowed and followed the girls upstairs. they entered a large, very handsomely-furnished apartment where a tall man was sitting reading. "why, girls," he exclaimed as he rose, "what has happened you look strangely excited; where is your duenna) and who is this young gentleman who accompanies you?" "we have been attacked, father, on our way home," both the girls exclaimed. "attacked!" signor polani repeated. "who has dared to venture on such an outrage " "it is a scandalous outrage." "we don't know, father," maria said; "it was a four-oared gondola that ran suddenly into us. we thought it was an accident till a number of men, with their swords drawn, leaped on board. then nicolini and francia drew their swords and tried to defend us, and beppo and jacopo both fought bravely too with their oars; but beppo was knocked overboard, and i am afraid nicolini and francia are killed, and in another moment they would have got at us, when this young gentleman came alongside in his gondola and dragged us on board, for we were too bewildered and frightened to do anything. one of them —he seemed the leader of the party—tried to jump on board, but our protector struck him a terrible blow with his oar and he fell into the water, and then the gondola made off, and, so far as we could see, they did not chase us." "it is a scandalous outrage, and i will demand justice at the hands of the council. young sir, you have laid me under an obligation i shall never forget. you have saved my daughter from the worst calamity that could befall her. who is it to whom i am thus indebted v "my name is francis hammond; my father is an english merchant who has for the last four years established himself here." "i know him well by repute," polani said; "i trust i shall know more of him in the future. but where is your duenna, girls'!" "she remained behind in the gondola, father; she seemed too frightened to move." "the lady seemed to have lost her head altogether," francis said. "as i was lifting your daughters into my gondola in a very hasty and unceremonious way—for the resistance of your servitors was all but overcome, and there was no time to be lost—she held so tightly to their robes that they were rent in her hands." "and well you did it." ( signor polani struck a gong. "let a gondola be manned instantly," he said, "and let six of you take arms and go in search of our boat; let another man at once summon a leech, for some of those on board are, i fear, grievously wounded, if not killed." but there was no occasion to carry out the order concerning the boat, for before it was ready to start the missing gondola arrived at the steps, rowed by the remaining gondolier. the duenna was lifted out sobbing hysterically, and the bodies of the two retainers were then landed. one was dead; the other expired a few minutes after being brought ashore. "you did not observe anything particular about the gondola, maria, or you, giulia?" "no, father, i saw no mark or escutcheon upon it, though they might have been there without my noticing them. i was too frightened to see anything; it came so suddenly upon us." "it was, as far as i noticed, a plain black gondola," francis said. "the men concerned in the affair were all dressed in dark clothes, without any distinguishing badges." "how was it you came to interfere in the fray, young gentle- man? few of our people would have done so, holding it to bo a dangerous thing for a man to mix himself up in a quarrel in which he had no concern." "i should probably have mixed myself up in it in any case when i heard the cry of women," francis replied; "but, in truth, i recognized the signoras as their gondola passed mine, and knew them to be cousins of my friend matteo giustiniani, therefore when i heard the outcry ahead i naturally hastened up to do what i could in the matter." "and well you did it," polani said heartily. "i trust that the man you felled into the water is he who is the author of this outrage. i do not think i need seek far for him. my suspicions point very strongly in one direction, and to-morrow "we seem fated to have adventures." i wiu lay the matter before the council and demand repara tion." "and now, signor, if you will permit me i will take my leave," francis said; "the hour is late, and the signoras will require rest after their fright and emotion." "i will see you to-morrow, sir. i shall do myself the honour of calling early upon your father to thank him for the great service you have rendered me." signor polani accompanied francis to the steps, while two servants held torches while he took his seat in the gondola, and remained standing there until the barque had shot away beyond the circle of light. "we seem fated to have adventures, giuseppi." "we do indeed, messer francisco, and this is more to my liking than the last. we arrived just at the nick of time; another half-minute and those young ladies would have been carried off. that was a rare blow you dealt their leader. fancy he never came up again, and that that is why we got away without being chased." 'i am of that opinion myself, giuseppi." "if that is the case we shall not have heard the last of it, messer francisco. only some one of a powerful family would venture upon so bold a deed as to try to carry off ladies of birth on the grand canal, and you may find that this adventure has created for you enemies not to be despised." "i can't help it if it has," francis said carelessly. "on the other hand, it will gain for me an influential friend in signor polani, who is not only one of the richest merchants of venice, but closely related to a number of the best families of the city." "his influence will not protect you against the point of a dagger," giuseppi said. "your share in this business cannot but become public, and i think that it would be wise to give up our evening excursions at present." francis tells his story. "i don't agree with you, giuseppi. we don't go about with torches burning, so no one who meets us is likely to recognize us. one gondola in the dark is pretty much like another, and however many enemies i had i should not be afraid of travers- ing the canals." the next morning at breakfast-time francis related to his father his adventure of the previous evening. "it is a mistake, my son, to mix yourself up in broils which do not concern you; but in the present instance it may be that your adventure will turn out to be advantageous to your pros- pects. signor polani is one of the most illustrious merchants of venice; his name is known everywhere in the east* and there is not a port in the levant where his galleys do not trade; the friendship of such a man cannot but be most useful to me. upon the other hand, you will probably make some enemies by your interference with the plans of some unscrupu- lous young noble, and venice is not a healthy city for those who have powerful enemies; still i think that the advantages will more than balance the risk. "however, francis, you must curb your spirit of adventure. you are not the son of a baron or count, and the winning of honour and glory by deeds of arms neither befits you nor would be of advantage to you in any way. a trader of the city of london should be distinguished for his probity and his attention to business; and methinks that ere long it will be well to send you home to take your place in the counting-house under the eye of my partner, john pearson. hitherto i have not checked your love for arms or your intercourse with youths of far higher rank than your own; but i have been for some time doubting the wisdom of my course in bringing you out here with me, and have regretted that i did not leave you in good hands at home. the events of last night show that the time is fast approaching when you can no longer be g a merchant's life. considered a boy, and it will be better for you to turn at once into the groove in which you are to travel than to continue a mode of life which will unfit you for the career of a city trader." francis knew too well his duty towards his father to make any reply, but his heart sank at the prospect of settling down in the establishment in london. his life there had not been an unpleasant one, but he know that he should find it terribly dull after the freedom and liberty he had enjoyed in venice. he had never, however, even to himself, indulged the idea that any other career save that of his father could be his, and had regarded it as a matter of course that some day he would take his place in the shop in cheapside. now that it was suddenly presented to him as something which would shortly take place, a feeling of repugnance towards the life came over him. not that he dreamt for a moment of trying to induce his father to allow him to seek some other calling. he had been always taught to consider the position of a trader of good standing of the city of london as one of the most desirable possible. the line between the noble and the citizen was so strongly marked that no one thought of overstepping it . the citizens of london were as proud of their position and as tenacious of their rights as were the nobles themselves. they were ready enough to take up arms to defend their privileges and to resist oppression, whether it came from king or noble; but few indeed, even of the wilder spirits of the city, ever thought of taking to arms as a profession. it was true that honour and rank were to be gained by those who rode in the train of great nobles to the wars, but the nobles drew their following from their own estates, and not from among the dwellers in the cities; and, although the bodies of men-at-arms and archers furnished by the city to the king in his wars always did their duty stoutly in the field, they had no opportunity of distinguishing themselves singly. the deeds which attracted a visitor. attention and led to honour and rank were performed by the esquires and candidates for the rank of knighthood, who rode behiud the barons into the thick of the french chivalry. therefore francis hammond.kad never thought of taking to the profession of arms in his own country; though, when the news arrived in venice of desperate fighting at sea with the genoese, he had thought to himself that the most glorious thing in life must be to command a well-manned galley as she ad- vanced to the encounter of an enemy superior in numbers. he had never dreamed that such an aspiration could ever be satisfied —it was merely one of the fancies in which lads so often indulge. still, the thought that he was soon to return and take his place in the shop in chepe was exceedingly unpleasant to him. soon after breakfast the bell at the water-gate rang loudly, and a minute later the servant entered with the news that signor polani was below, and begged an interview. mr. hammond at once went down to the steps to receive his visitor, whom he saluted with all ceremony, and conducted upstairs. "i am known to you by name, no doubt, signor hammond, as you are to me," the venetian said when the first formal greetings were over. "i am not a man of ceremony, nor, i judge, are you; but even if i were, the present is not an occa- sion for it. your son has doubtless told you of the inestimable service which he rendered to me last night, by saving my daughters, or rather my eldest daughter—for it was doubtless she whom the villains sought—from being borne off by one of the worst and most disreputable of the many bad and disrepu- table young men of this city." "i am indeed glad, signor polani, that my son was able to be of service to you. i have somewhat blamed myself that i have let him have his own way so much, and permitted him to give himself up to exercises of arms, more befitting the son of a warlike noble than of a peaceful trader; but the quickness ami "a mastery of arms is always useful." boldness which the mastery of arms gives was yesterday of ser- vice, and i no longer regret the time he has spent, since it has enabled him to be of aid to the daughters of signor polani." "a mastery of arms is always useful, whether a man be a peace- loving citizen or one who would carve his way to fame by means of his weapons. we merchants of the mediterranean might give up our trade if we were not prepared to defend our ships against the corsairs of barbary and the pirates who haunt every inlet and islet of the levant now, as they have ever done since the days of rome. besides, it is the duty of every citizen to defend his native city when attacked. and lastly, there are the private enemies, that every man who rises but in the smallest degree above his fellows is sure to create for himself. moreover, a training in arms, as you say, gives readiness and quickness, it enables the mind to remain calm and steadfast amidst dangers of all sorts, and, methinks, it adds not a little to a man's dignity and self-respect to know that he is equal, man to man, to any with whom he may come in contact. here in venice we are all soldiers and sailors, and your son will make no worse merchant, but rather the better, for being able to wield sword and dagger. even now," he said with a smile, "he has proved the advantage of his training; for, though i say it not boastfully, nicholas polani has it in his power to be of some use to his friends, and fore- most among them he will henceforward count your brave son, and, if you will permit him, yourself. but you will, i trust, excuse my paying you but a short visit this morning, for i am on my way to lay a complaint before the council. i have already been round to several of my friends, and phillipo giustiniani and some six others, nearest related to me, will go with me, being all aggrieved at this outrage to a family nearly connected. i crave you to permit me to take your son with me, in order that he may be at hand if called upon to say what he knows of the affair." "how old ark you?" "assuredly it is his duty to go with you if you desire it; although i own i am not sorry that he could see, as he tells me, no badge or cognizance which would enable him to say aught which can lead to the identification of those who would have abducted your daughter. it is but too well known a fact that it is dangerous to make enemies in venice, for even the most powerful protection does not avail against the stab of a dagger." "that is true enough," the merchant said. "the frequency of assassinations is a disgrace to our city; nor will it ever be put down until some men of high rank are executed, and the seignory show that they are as jealous of the lives of private citizens as they are of the honour and well-being of the republic." francis gladly threw aside his books when he was told that signor polani desired him to accompany him, and was soon seated by the side of the merchant in his gondola. "how old are you, my friend " the merchant asked him, as the boat threaded the mazes of the canals. "i am just sixteen, signor." "no more!" the merchant said in surprise. "i had taken you for well-nigh two years older. i have but just come from the palazzo giustiniani, and my young kinsman, matteo, tells me that in the school of arms there are none of our young nobles who are your match with rapier or battle-axe." "i fear, sir," francis said modestly, "that i have given up more time to the study of arms than befits the son of a sober trader." "not at all," the venetian replied. "we traders have to defend our rights and our liberties, our goods and our ships, just as much as the nobles have to defend their privileges and their castles. here in venice there are no such distinctions of rank as there are elsewhera certain families distinguished "the idea is a foolish one." among the rest by their long standing, wealth, influence, or the services they have rendered to the state, are of senatorial rank, and constitute our nobility; but there are no titles among us. we are all citizens of the republic, with our rights and privileges, which cannot be infringed even by the most powerful; and the poorest citizen has an equal right to make himself a proficient in the arms which he may be called upon to wield in defence of the state as the doge himself. in your country also, i believe, all men are obliged to learn the use of arms, to practise shooting at the butts, and to make themselves efficient, if called upon to take part in the wars of the country. and i have heard that at the jousts the champions of the city of london have ere now held their own against those of the court." "they have done so," francis said; "and yet, i know not why, it is considered unseemly for the sons of well-to-do citizens to be too fond of military exercises." "the idea is a foolish one," the venetian said hotly. "i myself have a score of times defended my ships against corsairs and pirates, genoese, and other enemies. i have fought against the greeks, and been forced to busy myself in more than one serious fray in the streets of constantinople, alexandria, and other ports, and have served in the galleys of the state. all men who live by trade must be in favour of peace; but they must also be prepared to defend their goods, and the better able they are to do it the more the honour to them. but here we are at the piazzetta." a group of nobles were standing near the landing-place, and signor polani at once went up to them and introduced francis to them as the gentleman who had done his daughter and their kinswoman such good service. francis was warmly thanked and congratulated by them all. "will you wait near the entrance?" signor polani said. "i see that my young cousin, matteo, has accompanied his father, matteo's congratulations. ci and you will, no doubt, find enough to say to each other while we are with the council." the gentlemen entered the palace, and matteo, who had re- mained respectfully at a short distance from the seniors, at once joined his friend. "well, francis, i congratulate you heartily, though i feel quite jealous of you. it was splendid to think of your dashing up in your gondola, and carrying off my pretty cousins from the clutches of that villain, ruggiero mocenigo, just as he was about to lay his hands on them." "are you sure it was ruggiero, matteo?" "oh, there can't be any doubt about it. you know, he had asked for maria's hand, and when polani refused him, had gone off muttering threats. you know what his character is, he is capable of any evil action; besides, they say that he has dissipated his patrimony in gaming and other extravagancies at constantinople, and is deep in the hands of the jews. if he could have succeeded in carrying off maria it would more than have mended his fortunes, for she and her sister are acknow- ledged to be the richest heiressos in venice. oh, there is not a shadow of doubt that it's he. you won't hear me saying anything against your love of prowling about in that gondola of yours, since it has brought you such a piece of good fortune —for it is a piece of good fortune, francis, to have rendered such a service to polani, to say nothing of all the rest of us who are connected with his family. i can tell you that there are scores of young men of good birth iu venice who would give their right hand to have done what you did." "i should have considered myself fortunate to have been of service to any girls threatened by violence, though they had only been fishermen's daughters," francis said; "but i am specially pleased because they are relatives of yours, matteo." "it would not trouble me at all." "to say nothing to their being two of the prettiest girls in venice," matteo added slyly. "that counts for something too, no doubt," francis said laughing, "though i didn't think of it. i wonder," he went on gravely, "whether that was kuggiero whom i struck down, and whether he came up again to the surface. he has very powerful connections, you know, matteo; and if i have gained friends, i shall also have gained enemies by the night's work." "that is so," matteo agreed. "for your sake i own that i hope that ruggiero is at present at the bottom of the canal. he was certainly no credit to his friends; and although they would of course have stood by him, i do not think they will feel at heart in any way displeased to know that he will trouble them no longer. but if his men got him out again, i should say you had best be careful, for ruggiero is about the last man in venice i should care to have as an enemy. however, we won't look at the unpleasant side of the matter, and will hope that his career has been brought to a close." "i don't know which way to hope," francis said gravely. "he will certainly be a dangerous enemy if he is alive; and yet the thought of having killed a man troubles me much." "it would not trouble me at all if i were in your place," matteo said. "if you had not killed him, you may be very sure that he would have killed you, and that the deed would have caused him no compunction whatever. it was a fair fight, just as if it had been a hostile galley in mid-sea; and i don't see why the thought of having rid venice of one of her worst citi- zens need trouble you in any way." "you see i have been brought up with rather different ideas to yours, matteo. my father, as a trader, is adverse to fighting of all kinds—save, of course, in defence of one's country; and although he has not blamed me in any way for the part i took, "oh, i hope not!" g i can see that he is much disquieted, and indeed speaks of sending me back to england at once." "oh, i hope not!" matteo said earnestly. "hitherto you and i have been great friends, francis, but we shall be more in future. all polani's friends will regard you as one of them- selves; and i was even thinking, on my way here, that perhaps you and i might enter the service of the state together and get appointed to a war galley in a few years." "my father's hair would stand up at the thought, matteo; though, for myself, i should like nothing so well. however, that could never have been. still i am sorry, indeed, at the thought of leaving venice. i have been very happy here, and i have made friends, and there is always something to do or talk about; and the life in london would be so dull in com- parison. but here comes one of the ushers from the palace." the official came up to them and asked if either of them was messer francisco hammond, and, finding that he had come to the right person, requested francis to follow him. chapter iv. carried off. t was with a feeling of considerable discomfort and some awe that francis hammond followed his conductor to the chamber of the council. it was a large and stately apartment. the decorations were magnificent, and large pictures representing events in the wars of venice hung round the walls; the ceiling was also superbly painted. the cornices were heavily gilded, curtains of worked tapestry hung by the windows and fell behind him as he entered the door. at a table of horse-shoe shape eleven councillors, clad in the long scarlet robes trimmed with ermine which were the dis- tinguishing dress of venetian senators, were seated—the doge himself acting as president. on their heads they wore black velvet caps, flat at the top and in shape somewhat resembling the flat scotch bonnet . signor polani and his companions were seated in chairs facing the table. "when francis entered the gondolier was giving evidence as to the attack upon his boat. several questions were asked him when he had finished, and he was then told to retire. the usher then brought francis forward. "this is messer francisco hammond," he said. "tell your story your own way," the doge said. before the council. francis related the story of the attack on the gondola and the escape of the ladies in his boat. "how came you, a foreigner and a youth, to interfere in a fray of this kind?" one of the councillors asked. "i did not stop to think of my being a stranger or a youth," francis replied quietly. "i heard the screams of women in distress, and felt naturally bound to render them what aid i could." "did you know who the ladies were?" "i knew them only by sight . my friend matteo giustiniani had pointed them out to me on one occasion as being the daughters of signor polani and connections of his. when their gondola had passed mine, a few minutes previously, i recognized their faces by the light of the torches in their boat." "were the torches burning brightly?" another of the council asked; "because it may be that this attack was not intended against them, but against some others." "the light was bright enough for me to recognize their faces at a glance," francis said, "and also the yellow and white sashes of their gondoliers." "did you see any badge or cognizance either on the gondola or on the persons of the assailants " "i did not," francis said; "they certainly wore none. one of the torches in the polani gondola had been extinguished in the fray, but the other was still burning, and, had the gon- doliers worn coloured sashes or other distinguishing marks, i should have noticed them." "should you recognize, were you to see them again; any of the assailants?" "i should not," francis said; "they were all masked." "you say you struck down the one who appeared to be their leader with an oar as he was about to leap into your boat . ( ) k "let him enter." how was it the oar was in your hand instead of that of your gondolier?" "i was myself rowing," francis said . "in london rowing is an amusement of which boys of all classes are fond, and since i have been out here with my father i have learned to row a gondola; and sometimes when i am out of an evening i take an oar as well as my gondolier, enjoying the exercise and the speed at which the boat goes along. i was not rowing when the signora's boat passed me, but upon hearing the screams i stood up and took the second oar to arrive as quickly as possible at the spot. that was how it was that i had it in my hand when the man was about to leap into the boat." "then there is nothing at all, so far as you know, to direct your suspicion against anyone as the author of this attack?" "there was nothing," francis said, "either in the gondola itself or in the attire or persons of those concerned in the fray, which could give me the slightest clue as to their identity." "at anyrate, young gentleman," the doge said, "you appear to have behaved with a promptness, presence of mind, and courage—for it needs courage to interfere in a fray of this sort—beyond your years; and in the name of the republic i thank you for having prevented the commission of a grievous crime. you will please to remain here for the present. it may be that when the person accused of this crime appears before us you may be able to recognize his figure." it was with mixed feelings that francis heard, a minute or two later, the usher announce that signor ruggiero mocenigo was without awaiting the pleasure of their excellencies. "let him enter," the doge said. the curtains fell back and ruggiero mocenigo entered with a haughty air. he bowed to the council and stood as if ex- pecting to be questioned. "you are charged, ruggiero mocenigo," the doge said, "with the accused. being concerned in an attempt to carry off the daughters of signor polani, and of taking part in the killing of three servi- tors of that gentleman." "on what grounds am i accused!" ruggiero said haughtily. "on the ground that you are a rejected suitor for the elder lady's hand, and that you had uttered threats against her father, who, so far as he knows, has no other enemies." "this seems somewhat scanty ground for an accusation of such gravity," ruggiero said sneeringly. "if every suitor who grumbles when his offer is refused is to be held responsible for every accident which may take place in the lady's family, me thinks that the time of this reverend and illustrious council will be largely occupied." "you will remember," the doge said sternly, "that your previous conduct gives good ground for suspicion against you. you have already been banished from the state for two years for assassination, and such reports as reached us of your con- duct in constantinople during your exile were the reverse of satisfactory. had it not been so, the prayers of your friends that your term of banishment might be shortened would doubt- less have produced their effect." "at auyrate," ruggiero said, "i can with little difficulty prove that i had no hand in any attempt upon signor polani's daughters last night, seeing that i had friends spending the evening with me, and that we indulged in play until three o'clock this morning—an hour at which, i should imagine, the signoras polani would scarcely be abroad." "at what time did your friends assemble?" "at nine o'clock," ruggiero said. "we met by agreement in the piazza somewhat before that hour and proceeded to- gether on foot to my house." "who were your companions?" ruggiero gave the names of six young men, all connections proving an alibi. of his family, and summonses were immediately sent for them to attend before the council. "in the meantime, messer francisco hammond, you can tell us whether you recognize in the accused one of the assailants last night." "i cannot recognize him, your excellency," francis said; "but i can say certainly that he was not the leader of the party whom i struck with my oar. the blow fell on the temple, and as- suredly there would be marks of such a blow remaining to-day." as francis was speaking ruggiero looked at him with a cold piercing glance which expressed the reverse of gratitude for the evidence which he was giving in his favour, and some- thing like a chill ran through him as he resumed his seat behind signor polani and his friends. there was silence for a quarter of an hour. occasionally the members of the council spoke in low tones to each other, but no word was spoken aloud until the appearance of the first of the young men who had been summoned. one after another they gave their evidence, and all were unanimous in declaring that they had spent the evening with ruggiero mocenigo, and that he did not leave the room from the moment of his arrival there soon after nine o'clock, until they left him at two in the morning. "you have heard my witnesses," ruggiero said when the last had given his testimony; " and i now ask your excellencies whether it is right that a gentleman of good family should be exposed to a villainous accusation of this kind on the barest grounds of suspicion v "you have heard the evidence which has been given, signor polani," the doge said; "do you withdraw your accusation against signor mocenigo " "i acknowledge, your excellency," signor polani said, rising, "that ruggiero mocenigo has proved that he took no personal "i fear that he will go free." part in the affair, but i will submit to you that this in no way proves that he is not the author of the attempt. he would know that my first suspicion would fall upon him, and would therefore naturally leave the matter to be carried out by others, and would take precautions to enable him to prove, as he has done, that he was not present. i still maintain that the circumstances of the case, his threats to me, and the fact that my daughter will naturally inherit a portion of what wealth i might possess, and that, as i know and can prove, ruggiero mocenigo has been lately reduced to borrowing money of the jews, all point to his being the author of this attempt, which would at once satisfy his anger against me for having declined the honour of his alliance, and repair his damaged fortunes." there were a few words of whispered consultation between the councillors, and the doge then said: "all present will now retire while the council deliberates. our decision will be made known to the parties concerned in due time." on leaving the palace signor polani and his friends walked together across the piazza, discussing the turn of events. "he will escape," polani said; "he has two near relations on the council, and however strong our suspicions may be there is really no proof against him. i fear that he will go free. i feel as certain as ever that he is the contriver of the attempt; but the precautions he has taken seem to render it impossible to bring the crime home to him. however, it is no use talking about it any more at present. you will, i hope, accompany me home, signor francisco, and allow me to present you formally to my daughters. they were too much agitated last night to be able to thank you fully for the service you had rendered them. matteo, do you come with us." three days passed and no decision of the council had been announced, when, early in the morning, one of the state in the state prison. messengers brought an order that francis should be in readi- ness at nine o'clock to accompany him. at that hour a gondola drew up at the steps. it was a covered gondola, with hangings, which prevented any from seeing who were within. francis took his seat by the side of the official, and the gondola started at once. "it looks very much as if i was being taken as a prisoner," francis said to himself; "however, that can hardly be, for even if ruggiero convinced the council that he was wholly innocent of this affair, no blame could fall on me, for i neither accused nor identified him. however, it is certainly towards the prisons we are going." the boat indeed was passing the piazzetta without stopping, and turned down the canal behind to the prisons in rear of the palace. they stopped at the water-gate close to the bridge of sighs, and francis and his conductor entered. they proceeded along two or three passages until they came to a door where an official was standing; a word was spoken, and they passed in. the chamber they entered was bare and vaulted, and contained no furniture whatever, but at one end was a low stone slab upon which something was lying covered with a cloak. four of the members of the council were standing in a group talking when francis enterod. signor polani, with two of his friends, stood apart at one side of the chamber. ruggiero mocenigo also, with two of his companions, stood on the other side. francis thought that the demeanour of ruggiero was somewhat altered from that which he had assumed at the previous inves- tigation, and that he looked sullen and anxious. "we have sent for you, francisco hammond, in order that you may, if you can, identify a body which was found last night floating in the grand canal." one of the officials stepped forward and removed the cloak, showing on the stone slab the body of a young maa on the the bruise on the temple. left temple there was an extensive bruise, and the skin was broken. "do you recognize that body?" "i do not recognize the face," francis said, "and do not know that i ever saw it before." "the wound upon the temple which you see, is it such as you would suppose would be caused by the blow you struck an unknown person while he was engaged in attacking the gondola of signor polani?" "i cannot say whether it is such a wound as would be caused by a blow with an oar," francis said; "but it is certainly as nearly as possible on the spot where i struck the man, just as he was leaping, sword in hand, into my gondola." "you stated at your examination the other day that it was on the left temple you struck the blow." "i did so. i said at once that signor ruggiero mocenigo could not have been the man who led the assailants, because had he been so he would assuredly have borne a mark from the blow on the left temple." "look at the clothes. do you see anything there which could lead you to identify him with your assailant?" "my assailant was dressed in dark clothes as this one was. there was but one distinguishing mark that i noticed, and this is wanting here. the light of the torch fell upon the handle of a dagger in his girdle. i saw it but for a moment, but i caught the gleam of gems; it was only a passing impression, but i could swear that he carried a small gold or yellow metal handled dagger, and i believe that it was set with gems, but to this i should not like to swear." "produce the dagger found upon the dead man," one of the council said to an official. and the officer produced a small dagger with a fine steel blade and gold handle, thickly encrusted with gems. found guilty. "is this the dagger?" the senator asked francis. "i cannot say that it is the dagger," francis replied; "but it closely resembles it if it is not the same." "you have no doubt, i suppose, seeing that wound on the temple, the dagger found in the girdle, and the fact that the body has evidently only been a few days in the water, that this is the man whom you struck down in the fray on the canal?" "no, signor, i have no doubt whatever that it is the same person." "that will do," the council said, "you can retire; and we thank you, in the name of justice, for the evidence you have given." francis was led back to the gondola and conveyed to his father's house. an hour later signor polani arrived. "the matter is finished," he said, "i cannot say satisfac- torily to me, for the punishment is wholly inadequate to the offence, but at anyrate he has not got off altogether unpunished. after you left we passed from the prison into the palace, and then the whole council assembled as before, in the council chamber. i may tell you that the body which was found was that of a cousin and intimate of ruggiero mocenigo; the two have been constantly together since the return of the latter from constantinople. it was found by inquiry at the house of the young man's father that he left home on the evening upon which the attack was committed, saying that he was going to the mainland and might not be expected to return for some days. "the council took it for granted from the wound in his head, and the fact that a leech has testified that the body had probably been in the water about three days, that he was the man that was stunned by your blow and drowned in the canal. ruggiero urged that the discovery in no way affected him; and that his cousin had no doubt attempted to carry off my daugh- the sentence. ter on his own account . there was eventually a division among the council on this point, but maria was sent for, and on being questioned testified that the young man had never spoken to her, and that indeed she did not know him even by sight; and the majority thereupon came to the conclusion that he could only have been acting as an instrument of ruggiero's. "we were not in the apartment while the deliberation was going on, but when we returned the president announced that although there was no absolute proof of ruggiero's complicity in the affair, yet that, considering his application for my daughter's hand, his threats on my refusal to his request, his previous character, and his intimacy with his cousin, the council had no doubt that the attempt had been made at his instigation, and therefore sentenced him to banishment from venice and the islands for three years." "i should be butter pleased if they had sent him back to constantinople, or one of the islands of the levant," mr. ham- mond said. "if he is allowed to take up his abode on the mainland he may be only two or three miles away, which, in the case of a man of his description, is much too near to be pleasant for those who have incurred his enmity." "that is true," signor polani agreed, "and i myself and my friends are indignant that he should not have been banished to a distance, where he at least would have been powerless for fresh mischief. on the other hand, his friends will doubtless consider that he has been hardly treated. however, as far as my daughters are concerned, i will take good care that he shall have no opportunity of repeating his attempt; for i have ordered them, on no account whatever to be absent from the palazzo after the shades of evening begin to fall, unless i my- self am with them, and i shall increase the number of armed retainers in the house by bringing some of my men on shore from a ship which arrived last night in port . i cannot believe francis and the merchant's family. that even ruggiero would have the insolence to attempt to carry them off from the house by force; but when one has to deal with a man like this, one cannot take too great precautions." "i have already ordered my son, on no account to be out after nightfall in the streets. in his gondola i do not mind, for unless the gondoliers wear badges, it is impossible to tell one boat from another after dark . besides, as he tells me, his boat is so fast that he has no fear whatever of being overtaken, even if recognized and chased. but i shall not feel comfortable so long as he is here, and shall send him back to england on the very first occasion that offers." "i trust that no such occasion may occur just yet, signor hammond. i should be sorry, indeed, for your son to be separated so soon from us. we must talk the matter over together, and perhaps between us we may hit on some plan by which, while he may be out of the reach of the peril he has incurred on behalf of my family, he may yet be neither wasting his time, nor altogether separated from us." for the next fortnight francis spent most of his time at the palazzo polani. the merchant was evidently sincere in his invitation to him to make his house his home; and if a day passed without the lad paying a visit, would chide him gently for deserting them. he himself was frequently present in the balcony, where the four young people—for matteo giustiniani was generally of the party—sat and chatted together, the gouvernante sitting austerely by, with at times a strong expres- sion of disapproval on her countenance at their laughter and merriment, although—as her charges' father approved of the intimacy of the girls with their young cousin and this english lad—she could offer no open objections. in the afternoon the party generally went for a long row in a four-oared gondola, always returning home upon the approach of evening. the duenna. to francis this time was delightful. he had had no sister of his own; and although he had made the acquaintance of a number of lads in venice, and had accompanied his father to formal entertainments at the houses of his friends, he had never before been intimate in any of their families. the gaiety and high spirits of the two girls when they were in the house amused and pleased him, especially as it was in contrast to the somewhat stiff and dignified demeanour which they assumed when passing through the frequented canals in the gondola. "i do not like that woman castaldi," francis said one even- ing as, after leaving the palazzo, giuseppi rowed them towards the palazzo giustiniani, where matteo was to be landed. "gouvernantes are not popular as a class with young men," matteo laughed. "but seriously, matteo, i don't like her; and i am quite sure, that for some reason or other, she does not like me. i have seen her watching me as a cat would watch a mouse she is going to spring on." "perhaps she has not forgiven you, francisco, for saving her two charges, and leaving her to the mercy of their assailants." "i don't know, matteo. her conduct appeared to me at the time to be very strange. of course she might have been par- alysed with fright, but it was certainly curious the way she clung to their dresses, and tried to prevent them from leaving the boat." "you don't really think, francis, that she wanted them to be captured?" "i don't know whether i should be justified in saying as much as that, matteo, and i certainly should not say so to anyone else, but i can't help thinking that such was the case. i don't like her face, and i don't like the woman; she strikes me as being deceitful. she certainly did try to prevent my carrying the girls off, and had not their dresses given way in suspicions. her hands she would have done so. anyhow it strikes me that ruggiero must have had some accomplice in the house. how else could he have known of the exact time at which they would be passing along the grand canal? for that the gondola was in waiting to dash out and surprise them there is no doubt. "i was asking signora giulia, the other day, how it was they were so late, for she says that her father never liked their being out after dusk in venice, though at corfu he did not care how late they were upon the water. she replied that she did not quite know how it happened. her sister had said, some time before, that she thought it was time to be going, but the gouvernante—who was generally very particular—had said that there was no occasion to hurry, as their father knew where they were and would not be uneasy. she thought the woman must have mistaken the time, and did not know how late it was. of course this proves nothing. still i own that, putting all the things together, i have my suspicions." "it is certainly curious, francisco, though i can hardly believe it possible that the woman could be treacherous. she has been for some years in the service of the family, and my cousin has every confidence in her." "that may be, matteo; but ruggiero may have promised so highly that he may have persuaded her to aid him. he could have afforded to be generous if he had been successful." "there is another thing, by the bye, francisco, which did not strike me at the time; but now you speak of it, maybe another link in the chain. i was laughing at maria about their screaming, and saying what a noise the three of them must have made, and she said, 'oh, no! there were only two of us—giulia and i screamed for aid at the top of our voices; but the signora was as quiet and brave as possible, and did not utter a sound.'" "that doesn't agree, matteo, with her being so frightened as to hold the girls tightly and almost prevent their escape, or "you have made me very uncomfortable." with the row she made, sobbing and crying, when she came back. of course there is not enough to go upon; and i could hardly venture to speak of it to signor polani, or to accuse a woman in whom he has perfect confidence of such frightful treachery on such vague grounds of suspicion. still i do suspect her; and i hope when i go away from venice you will, as far as you can, keep an eye upon her." "i do not know how to do that," matteo said, laughing; "but i will tell my cousins that we don't like her, and advise them in future not on any account to stay out after dusk, even if she gives them permission to do so; and if i learn anything more to justify our suspicions, i will tell my cousin what you and i think, though it won't be a pleasant thing to do. how- ever, ruggiero is gone now, and i hope we sha'n't hear any- thing more about him." "i hope not, matteo; but i am sure he is not the man to give up the plan he has once formed easily, any more than he is to forgive an injury. however, here we are at your steps. we will talk the other matter over another time. anyhow i am glad i have told you what i thought, for it has been worrying me. now that i find you don't think my ideas about her are altogether absurd, i will keep my eyes more open than ever in future. i am convinced she is a bad one, and i only hope we may be able to prove it." "you have made me very uncomfortable, francisco," mat- teo said as he stepped ashore; "butwe will talk about it again to-morrow." "we shall meet at your cousin's in the evening. before that time we had better both think over whether we ought to tell anyone our suspicions, and we can hold a council in the gondola on the way back." francis did think the matter over that night. he felt that the fact told him by gjulia, that the gouvernante had herself been francis relates his suspicions. the means of their staying out later than usual on the evening of the attack, added great weight to the vague suspicions he had previously entertained; and he determined to let the matter rest no longer, but that the next day he would speak to signor polani, even at the risk of offending him by his suspicions of a person who had been for some years in his confidence. accor- dingly he went in the morning to the palazzo, but found that signor polani was absent, and would not be in until two or three o'clock in the afternoon. he did not see the girls, who, he knew, were going out to spend the day with some friends. at three o'clock, he returned, and found that polani had just come in. "why, francisco," the merchant said when he entered, "have you forgotten that my daughters will be out all day?" "no, signor, i have not forgotten that, but i wish to speak to you. i dare say you will laugh at me, but i hope you will not think me meddlesome or impertinent for touching upon a subject which concerns you nearly." "i am sure you will not be meddlesome or impertinent, francisco," signor polani said reassuringly, for he saw that the lad was nervous and anxious. "tell me what you have to say, and i can promise you beforehand that whether i agree with you or not in what you may have to say, i shall be in no way vexed, for i shall know you have said it with the best intentions." "what i have to say, sir, concerns the signora castaldi, your daughters' gouvernante. i know, sir, that you repose im- plicit confidence in her; and your judgment, formed after years of intimate knowledge, is hardly likely to be shaken by what i have to tell you. i spoke to matteo about it, and, as he is somewhat of my opinion, i have decided that it is at least my duty to tell you all the circumstances, and you can then form your own conclusions" polanl's view of the matter. francis then related the facts known to him. first, that the assailants of the gondola must have had accurate information as to the hour at which they would come along; secondly, that it was at the gouvernante's suggestion that the return had been delayed much later than usual; lastly, that when the attack took place the gouvernante did not raise her voice to cry for assistance, and that she had at the last moment so firmly seized their dresses that it was only by tearing the girls from her grasp that he had been enabled to get them into the boat . "there may be nothing in all this," he said when he had concluded. "but at least, sir, i thought that it was right you should know it; and you will believe me that it is only anxiety as to the safety of your daughters that has led me to speak to you." "of that i am quite sure," signor polani said cordially, "and you were perfectly right in speaking to me. i own, however, that i do not for a moment think that the circumstances arc more than mere coincidences. signora castaldi has been with me for upwards of ten years; she has instructed and trained my daughters entirely to my satisfaction. i do not say that she is everything that one could wish, but, then, no one is perfect, and i have every confidence in her fidelity and trustworthiness. i own that the chain you have put together is a strong one, and had she but lately entered my service, and were she a person of whom i knew but little, i should attach great weight to the facts, although taken in themselves they do not amount to much. doubtless she saw that my daughters were enjoying themselves in the society of my friends, and in her kindness of heart erred, as she certainly did err, in allowing them to stay longer than she should have done. "then, as to her not crying out when attacked, women behave differently in cases of danger. some scream loudly, "i shall certainly not neglect the warning." others are silent, as if paralysed by fear. this would seem to have been her case. doubtless she instinctively grasped the girls for their protection, and in her fright did not even perceive that a boat had come alongside, or know that you were a friend trying to save them. that someone informed their assailants of the whereabouts of my daughters, and the time they were coming home, is clear; but they might have been seen going to the house, and a swift gondola have been placed on the watch. had this boat started as soon as they took their seat in the gondola on their return, and hastened by the narrow canals to the spot where their accomplices were waiting, they could have warned them in ample time of the approach of the gondola with my daughtera "i have, as you may believe, thought the matter deeply over, for it was evident to me that the news of my daughters' coming must have reached their assailants beforehand. i was most unwilling to suspect treachery on the part of any of my house- hold, and came to the conclusion that the warning was given in the way i have suggested. at the same time, francisco, i thank you deeply for having mentioned to me the suspicions you have formed, and although i think that you are wholly mistaken, i certainly shall not neglect the warning, but shall watch very closely the conduct of my daughters' gouvernante, and shall take every precaution to put it out of her power to play me false, even while i cannot for a moment believe she would be so base and treacherous as to attempt to do so." "in that case, signor, i shall feel that my mission 'has not been unsuccessful, however mistaken i may be, and i trust sincerely that i am wholly wrong. i thank you much for the kind way in which you have heard me express suspicions of a person in your confidence." the gravity with which the merchant had heard francis' "my cousins have disappeared!" story vanished immediately he left the room, and a smile came over his face. "boys are boys all the world over," he said to himself, "and though my young friend has almost the stature of a man, as well as the quickness and courage of one, and has plenty of sense in other matters, he has at once the prejudices and the romantic ideas of a boy. had signora castaldi been young and pretty, no idea that she was treacherous would have ever entered his mind; but what young fellow yet ever liked a gouvernante, who sits by and works at her tambour frame with a disapproving expression on her face, while he is laughing and talking with a girl of his own age. i should have felt the same when i was a boy; still to picture the poor signora as a traitoress in the pay of that villain mocenigo is too absurd. i had the greatest difficulty in keeping my gravity when he was unfolding his story; but he is an excellent lad nevertheless, a true, honest, brave lad, with a little of the bluffness that they say all his nation possess, but with a heart of gold, unless i am greatly mistaken." at seven o'clock, francis was just getting into his gondola to go round again to signor polani's, when another gondola came along the canal at the top of its speed, and he recognized at once the badge of the giustiniani. it stopped suddenly as it came abreast of his own boat, and matteo, in a state of the highest excitement, jumped from his own boat into that of francis. "what is the matter, matteo? what has happened?" "i have terrible news, francisco. my cousins have both disappeared." "disappeared!" francis repeated in astonishment . "how have they disappeared?" "their father has just boon round to see mine; he is half mad with grief and anger. you know they had gone to spend the day at the persanis'" ( ) f treachery. "yes, yes," francis exclaimed; "but do go on, matteo. tell me all about it quickly." "well, it seems that polani, for some reason or other, thought he would go and fetch them himself, and at five o'clock he arrived there in his gondola, only to find that they had left two hours before. you were right, francisco, it was that beldam castaldi; she went with them there in the morning and left them there, and was to have come in the gondola for them at six. at three o'clock she arrived saying that their father had met with a serious accident, having fallen down the steps of one of the bridges and broken his leg, and that he had sent her to fetch them at once. "of course they left with her instantly. polani questioned the lackeys, who had aided them to embark. they said that the gondola was not one of his boats, but was apparently a hired gondola, with a closed cabin. the girls had stopped in surprise as they came down the steps, and maria said,'why, this is not our gondola!' castaldi replied, 'no, no; our own gondolas had both gone off to find and bring a leech, and as your father was urgently wanting you, i hailed the first passing boat. make haste, dears, your father is longing for you.' so they got on board at once, and the gondola rowed swiftly away. that is all i know about it, except that the story was a lie, that their father never sent for them, and that up to a quarter of an hour ago they had not reached home." chapter v. finding a clue. his is awful, matteo," francis said, when his friend had finished his story. "what is to be done?" "that is just the thing, francisco; what is to be done my cousin has been already to the city magistrates to tell them what has taken place, and to request their aid in discovering where the girls have been carried to. i believe that he is going to put up a proclamation, announcing that he will give a thousand ducats to whomsoever will bring information which will enable him to recover the girls. that will set every gondolier on the canals on the alert, and some of them must surely have noticed a closed gondola rowed by two men, for at this time of year very few gondolas have their covers on. it seems to be terrible not to be able to do anything, so i came straight off to tell you." "you had better send your gondola home, matteo, it may be wanted. we will paddle out to the lagoon and talk it over; surely there must be something to be done, if we could but think of it. this is terrible, indeed, matteo," he repeated, after they had sat without speaking for some minutes. "one feels quite helpless and bewildered. to think that only yesterday evening we were laughing and chatting with them, and that now they are lost and in the power of that villain mocenigo, who si what is to be done? you may be sure is at the bottom of it. by the way," he said suddenly, "do you know where he has taken up his abode?" "i heard that he was at botonda near chioggia a week ago, but whether he is there still i have not the least idea." "it seems to me that the thing to do is to find him, and keep him in sight. he will probably have them hidden away some- where, and will not go near them for some time, for he will know that he will be suspected and perhaps watched." "but why should he not forco maria to marry him at once?" matteo said. "you see when he has once made her his wife he will be safe, for my cousin would be driven then to make terms with him for her sake." "he may try that," francis said; "but he must know that maria has plenty of spirit, and may refuse to marry him, threaten her as he will. ho may think that after she has been kept confined for some time and finds that there is no hope of escape, except by consenting to be his wife, she may give way. but in any case, it seems to me that the thing to be done is to find ruggiero, and to watch his movements." "i have no doubt my cousin has already taken steps in that direction," matteo said, "and i feel sure that in this case he will receive the support of every influential man in venice outside the mocenigo family and their connections. the carry- ing off of ladies in broad daylight will be regarded as a personal injury in every family. the last attempt was different; i do not say it was not bad enough, hut it is not like decoying girls from home by a false message. no one could feel safe if such a deed as this were not severely punished." "let us go back again, matteo. it is no use our thinking of anything until we know what has really been done, and you are sure to bo able to learn at home what steps have been taken." on reaching home matteo learned that polani, accompanied enekgetic measures. by two members of the council, had already started in one of the swiftest of the state galleys for the mainland. a council had been hastily summoned, and upon hearing polaui's narra- tive had despatched two of their number, with an official of the republic, to botonda. if ruggiero was found to be still there, he was to be kept a prisoner in the house in which he was staying under the strictest watch; if he had left, orders were to be sent to every town in the venetian dominions on the mainland for his arrest when discovered, and in that case he was to be sent a prisoner, strongly guarded, to venice. other galleys had been simultaneously despatched to the various ports, ordering a strict search of every boat arriving or leaving, and directing a minute investigation to be made as to the occupants of every boat that had arrived during the evening or night . the fact that a thousand ducats were offered for information which would lead to the recovery of the girls, was also to be published far and wide. the news of the abduction had spread, and the greatest indig- nation was excited in the city. the sailors from the port of malamocco came over in great numbers. they regarded this outrage on the family of the great merchant as almost a personal insult. stones were thrown at the windows of the palazzo mocenigo, and an attack would have been made upon it had not the authorities sent down strong guards to protect it. persons belonging to that house, and the families connected with it, were assaulted in the streets, and all venice was in an uproar. "there is one comfort," giuseppi said, when he heard from francis what had taken place; "just at present mocenigo will have enough to think about his own affairs without troubling about you. i have been in a tremble ever since that day, and have dreamed bad dreams every night." "you are more nervous for me than i am for myself, giu- a change of plans. soppi; but i have been careful too, for although liuggiero himself was away his friends are here, and active too, as you see by this successful attempt; but i think that at present they are likely to let matters sleep. public opinion is greatly excited over the affair, and as, if i wore found with a stab in my back, it would, after what has passed, be put down to them, i think they will leave me alone." "i do hope, father," francis said at breakfast the next morning, "that there may be no opportunity of sending me back to england until something is heard of the polanis." "i have somewhat changed my mind, francis, as to that matter. after what signor po'ani said the other day, i feel that it would be foolish for me to adhere to that plan; with his immense trade and business connections he can do almost anything for you, and such an introduction into business is so vastly better than your entering my shop in the city, that it is best in every way that you should stay here for the present. of course for the time he will be able to think of nothing but his missing daughters; but at any rate you can remain here until he has leisure to pursue the subject, and to state further than he did the other day what he proposes for you. my own business is a good one for a london trader, but it is nothing by the side of the transactions of the mer- chant princes at venice, among the very first of whom signor polani is reckoned." francis was greatly pleased at his father's words. he had, ever since polani had spoken to him, been pondering the matter in his mind; he knew that to enter business under his protection would be one of the best openings that even venice could afford; but his father was slow to change his plans, and francis greatly feared that he would adhere to his original plan. " was hoping, father, that you would think favourably of "your warning made me uneasy.'' b what signor polani said, although, of course, i kept silence, knowing that you would do what was best for me. and now i would ask you if you will, until this matter is cleared up, excuse me from my tasks. i should learn nothing did i continue at them, for my mind would be ever running upon signor polani's daughters, and i should be altogether too rest- less to apply myself. it seems to me, too, that i might, as i row here and there in my gondola, obtain some clue as to their place of concealment." "i do not see how you could do that, francis, when so many others, far better qualified than yourself, will be on the look-out. still, as i agree with you that you are not likely to apply your mind diligently to your tasks, and as indeed you will shortly be giving them up altogether, i grant your request." polani returned in the evening to venice. ruggieromocenigo had been found. he professed great indignation at the accusa- tion brought against him of being concerned in the abduction of the ladies, and protested furiously when he heard that, until they were found, he was to consider himself a prisoner. signor polani considered that his indignation was feigned, but he had no doubt as to the reality of his anger at finding that he was to be confined to his house under a guard. imme- diately after his return, polani sent his gondola for francis; he was pacing up and down the room when the lad arrived. "your suspicions have turned out correct, as you see, francis; would to heaven i had acted upon them at once, and then this would not have happened. it seemed to me altogether absurd when you spoke to me, that the woman i have for years treated as a friend should thus betray me; and yet your warning made me uneasy, so much so, that i set off myself to fetch them home at five o'clock, only to find that i was too late. i scarcely know why i have sent for you, francis, except that as "that is what i calculated." i have found to my cost that you were more clear-sighted in this matter than i, i want to know what you think now, and whether any plan offering even a chance of success has occurred to you. that they have been carried off by the friends of mocenigo i have no doubt whatever." "i fear, signor," francis said, "that there is little hope of my thinking of anything that has not already occurred to you. it seems to me hardly likely that they can be in the city, although, of course, they may be confined in the house of mocenigo's agents. still they would be sure that you would offer large rewards for their discovery, and would be more likely to take them right away; besides, i should think that it was mocenigo's intention to join them, wherever they may be, as soon as he learned that they were in the hands of his accom- plices. your fortunate discovery that they had gone, so soon after they had been carried off, and your going straight to him armed with the order of the council, probably upset his calcu- lations, for it is likely enough that his agents had not arrived at the house, and that he learned from you for the first time that his plans had succeeded. had you arrived two or three hours later you might have found him gone." "that is what i calculated, francisco. his agents had but four hours' start of me, they would no doubt carry the girls to the place of concealment chosen, and would then bear the news to him; whereas i, going direct in one of the state gondolas, might reach him before they did, and i feel assured that i did so. it was nigh midnight when i arrived, but he was still up, and i doubt not awaiting the arrival of the villains he had employed. my first step was to set a watch round the house, with the order to arrest any who might come and inquire for him. no one however came. "the news indeed of the sudden arrival of a state galley at that hour had caused some excitement in the place, and his the proclamations. s'j agents might well have heard of it upon their arrival. i agree with you in thinking they are not in the town, but this makes the search all the more difficult; the question is, what ought we to do next?" "the reward that you have offered will certainly bring you news, signor, if any, save those absolutely concerned, have observed anything suspicious; but i should send to all the fishing villages on the islets and on the mainland, to publish the news of the reward you have offered; beyond that i do not see that anything can be done; and i too have thought of nothing else since matteo brought me the news of their being carried off. it will be of no use that i can see going among the fishermen and questioning them, because with such a reward in view it is certain that anyone who has anything to tell will come of his own accord to do so." "i know that is the case already, francisco; the authorities have been busy all day with the matter, and a score of reports as to closed gondolas being seen havo reached them; but so far nothing has come of it . many of these gondolas have been traced to their destinations, but in no case was there anything to justify suspicion. happily as long as mocenigo is in con- finement i feel that no actual harm will happen to the girls; but the villain is as crafty as a fox, and may elude the vigi- lance of the officer in charge of him. i am going to the council presently to urge that he should be brought here as a prisoner; but from what i hear there is little chance of the request being complied with; his friends are already declaiming on the injus- tice of a man being treated as a criminal when there is no shadow of proof forthcoming against him; and the disturbances last night have angered many who have no great friendship for him, but who are indignant at the attack of the populace upon the house of a noble. so you see that there is but faint chance that they would bring him hither a prisoner." "i will ix) my lest." "i think, sir, that were i in your case i should put some trusty men to watch round the house where he is confined; so that in case he should escape the vigilance of his guards they might seize upon him. everything depends, as you say, upon his being kept in durance." "i will do so, francisco, at once. i will send to two of my officers at the port, and tell thein to pick out a dozen men on whom they can rely, to proceed to botonda and to watch closely every one who enters or leaves the house, without at the same time making themselves conspicuous. at any rate they will be handy thero in case mocenigo's friends attempt to rescue him by force, which might be done with success, for the house he occupies stands at a short distance out of the town, and the official in charge of mocenigo has only eight men with him. "yes, your advice is excellent, and i will follow it at once. should any other idea occur to you pray let me know it immediately. you saved my daughters once, and although i know there is no reason why it should be so, still feel a sort of belief that you may somehow be instrumental in their again being brought back to me." "i will do my best, sir, you may depend upon it," francis said earnestly. "were they my own sisters i could not feel more strongly interested in their behalf." francis spent the next week almost entirely in his gondola starting soon after daybreak with giuseppi, he would row across to the villages on the mainland and make inquiries of all sorts there, or would visit the little groups of fishermen's huts built here and there on posts among the shallows. he would scan every house as he passed it, with the vague hope that a face might appear at the window or a hand be waved for assistanca but during all that time he had found nothing which seemed to offer the slightest clue, nor were the the duenna. <j inquiries set on foot by signor polani more successful. every piece of information which seemed to bear in the slightest degree upon the affair was investigated, but in no case was it found of the slightest utility. one evening he was returning late, tired by the long day's work, and discouraged with his utter want of success, when, just as he had passed under the ponto maggiore, the lights on the bridge fell on the faces of the sitters in a gondola coming the other way. they were a man and a woman. the latter was closely veiled. but the night was close and oppressive, and just at the moment when francis' eyes fell upon her she lifted her veil for air. francis recognized her instantly. for a moment he stopped rowing, and then dipped his oar in as before. directly the other gondola passed through the bridge behind him, and his own had got beyond the circle of light, he swept it suddenly round. giuseppi gave an exclamation of surprise. "giuseppi, we have luck at last. did you notice that gon- dola we met just now the woman sitting in it is castaldi, the woman who betrayed the signoras." "what shall we do, messer francisco?" giuseppi, who had become almost as interested in the search as his master, asked. "there was only a single gondolier and one other man. if we take them by surprise we can master them." "that will not do, giuseppi. the woman would refuse to speak, and though they could force her to do so in the dungeons, the girls would be sure to be removed the moment it was known she was captured. we must follow them and see where they go to. let us get well behind them so that we can just make them out in the distance. if they have a suspi- cion that they are being followed they will land her at the first steps and slip away from us." "they are landing now, signor," giuseppi exclaimed directly "keep yoult eye upon it." afterwards. "shall we push and overtake them on shore?" "it is too late, giuseppl they are a hundred and fifty yards away, and would have mixed in the crowd and be lost long before we should get ashore and follow them. row on fast, but not over towards that side. if the gondola moves otf we will make straight for the steps and try to follow them, though our chance of hitting upon them in the narrow lanes and turnings is slight indeed. but if, as i hope, the gondola stops at the steps, most likely they will return to it in time. so we will row in to the bank a hundred yards farther up tho canal and wait." the persons who had been seen in the gondola had disap- peared when they came abreast of it, and the gondolier had seated himself in the boat with the evident intention of waiting. francis steered his gondola at a distance of a few yards from it as he shot past, but did not abate his speed, and continued to row till they were three or four hundred yards farther up tho canal. then he turned the gondola and paddled noiselessly back until he could see the outline of the boat he was watching. an hour elapsed before any movement was visible. then francis heard the sound of footsteps, and could just make out the figures of persons descending the steps and entoring the gondola. then the boat moved out into the middle of tho canal, where a few boats were still passing to and fro. francis kept his gondola close by the bank so as to be in the deep shade of the houses. the boat they were following again passed under the ponto maggiore, and for some distance fol- lowed the line of the grand canal. "keep your eye upon it, giuseppi. it is sure to turn off one way or the other soon, and if it is too far ahead of us when it does so then it may give us the slip altogether." but the gondola continued its course the whole length of the a narrow escape. canal, and then straight on until, nearly opposite st . mark's, it passed close to a larger gondola with four rowers coining slowly in the other direction, and it seemed to francis that the two boats paused when opposite each other, and that a few words were exchanged. then the boat they were watching turned out straight into the lagoon. it was rather lighter here than in the canal bordered on each side by houses, and francis did not turn the head of his gondola for a minute or two. "it will be very difficult to keep them in sight out here without their making us out," giuseppi said. "yes, and it is likely enough that they are only going out there in order that they may be quite sure that they are not followed before striking off to the place they want to go to. they may possibly have made us out, and guess that wo are tracking them. they would be sure to keep their eyes and cars open." "i can only just make them out now, messer francisco, and as we shall have the buildings behind us they will not be able to see us as well as we can see them. i think we can go now." "we will risk it at any rate, giuseppi. i have lost sight of them already, and it will never do to let them give us the slip." they dipped their oars in the water, and the gondola darted out from the shore. they had not gone fifty strokes when they heard the sound of oars close at hand. "to the right, giuseppi, hard!" francis cried as he glanced over his shoulder. a sweep with both oars brought the gondola's head in a moment almost at right angles to the course that she had been pursuing, and the next sent her dancing on a new line just as a four-oared gondola swopt down upon them, missing their stern affled. by only threo or four feet. had they been less quick in turn- ing the iron prow would have cut right through their light boat. giuseppi burst into a torrent of vituperation at the careless- ness of the gondoliers who had so nearly run into them, but francis silenced him at once. "row, giuseppi, it was done on purpose. it is the gondola the other spoke to." their assailant was turning also, and in a few seconds was in pursuit . francis understood it now. the gondola they had been following had noticed them, and had informed their friends waiting off st. mark's of the fact. intent upon watching the receding boat, he had paid no further attention to the four- oared craft, which had made a turn, and lay waiting in readi- ness to run them down should they follow in the track of the other boat . francis soon saw that the craft behind them was a fast one, and rowed by men who were first-rate gondoliers. fast as his own boat was flying through the water, the other gained upon them steadily. he was heading now for the entrance to the grand canal, for their pursuer, in the wider sweep he had made in turning, was nearer to the piazza than they were, and cut off their flight in that direction. "keep cool, giuseppi," he said, "they will be up to us in a minute or two. when their bow is within a yard or two of us, and i say, 'now!' sweep her head straight round towards the lagoon. we can turn quicker than they can. then let them gain upon us and we will then turn again." the gondola in pursuit came up hand over hand. francis kept looking over his shoulder, and when he saw its bow gliding up within a few feet of her stern he exclaimed "nowl" and with a sudden turn the gondola again swept out seaward. their pursuer rushed on for a length or two before she could safe on shore. .r> sweep round, while a volley of imprecations and threats burst from three men who were standing up in her with drawn swords. francis and giuseppi were now rowing less strongly and gaining breath for their next effort. when the gondola again came up to them they swept round to the left, and as their pursuers followed they headed for the grand canal. "make for tho steps of santa maria church. we will jump out there and trust to our feet." the two lads put out all their strength now. they were some three boats' lengths ahead before their pursuers were fairly on their track. they were now rowing for life, for they knew that they could hardly succeed in doubling again, and that the gondola behind them was so well handled that they could not gain on it at the turnings were they to venture into the narrow channels. it was a question of speed alone, and so hard did they row that the gondola in pursuit gained but slowly on them, and they were still two lengths ahead when they dashed up to the steps of the church. simultaneously they sprang on shore, leaped up the steps, and dashed off at the top of their speed, hearing, as they did so, a crash as the gondola ran into their light craft . there was a moment's delay, as the men had to step across their boat to gain the shore, and they were fifty yards ahead before they heard the sound of their pursuers' feet on the stone steps; but they were lightly clad and shoeless, and carried nothing to impede their movements, and they had therefore little fear of being overtaken. after racing on at the top of their speed for a few minutes they stopped and listened. the sound of their pursuers' footsteps died away in the distance; and, after taking a few turns to put them off their track, they pursued their way at a more leisurely pace. "they have smashed the gondola," giuseppi said with a sob, for he was very proud of the light craft. on the thack at last. "never mind the gondola," francis said cheerfully; "if they had smashed a hundred it would not matter." "but the woman has got away and we have learned nothing," giuseppi said, surprised at his master's cheerfulness. "i think we have learned something, giuseppi; i think we have learned everything. i have no doubt the girls are confined in that hut on san nicolo. i wonder i never thought of it before; but i made so sure that they would be takon somewhere close to where mocenigo was staying that it never occurred to me that they might hide them out there. i ought to have known that that was just the thing they would do, for while the search would be keen among the islets near the land, and the villages there, no one would think of looking for them on the seaward islands. i have no doubt they are there now. that woman came ashore to report to his friends, and that four-oared boat which has chased us was in waiting off st . mark's to attack any boat that might be following them. we will go to signor polani at once and tell him what has happened. i suppose it is about one o'clock now, but i have not noticed the hour; it was past eleven before we first met the gondola, and we must have been a good deal more than an hour lying there waiting for them." a quarter of an hour's walking took them to the palazzo of polani. they rang twice at the bell at the land entrance before a face appeared at the little window of the door and asked who was there. "i wish to see signor polani at once," francis said. "the signor retired to rest an hour ago," the man said. "never mind that," francis replied. "i am francis ham- mond, and i have important news to give him." as soon as the servitor recognized francis' voice he unbarred tho door. "have you news of the ladies?" he asked eagerly. good news. "i have news which will, i hope, lead to something," francis replied. a moment later the voice of polani himself, who, although he had retired to his room, had not yet gone to sleep, was heard at the top of the grand stairs inquiring who it was who had come so late; for although men had been arriving all day with reports from the various islands and villages, he thought that no one would come at this hour unless his news were important . francis at once answered: "it is i, signor polani, francis hammond . i have news which i think may be of importance, although i may be mis- taken; still, it is certainly news that may lead to some- thing." the merchant hurried down. "what is it, francisco? what have you learned?" "i have seen the woman castaldi, and have followed her. i do not know for certain where she was going, for we have been chased by a large gondola and have narrowly escaped with our lives; still i have a clue to their whereabouts." francis then related the events of the evening. "but why did you not run into the boat and give the alarm at once, francisco? any gondolas passing would have given their assistance when yon declared who she was, for the affair is the talk of the city. if that woman were in our power we should soon find means to make her speak." "yes, signor; but the moment she was known to be in your power you may be sure that they would remove your daughters from the place where they have been hiding them. i thought, therefore, the best plan would be to track them. no doubt we should have succeeded in doing so had it not been for the attack upon us by another gondola." "you are right, no doubt, francisco. still, it is unfortunate, for i do not see that we are now any nearer than wo were mm) o san nicolo. before, except that we know that this woman is in the habit of coming into the city." "i think we are nearer, sir, for i had an adventure some time ago that may afford a clue to their hiding-place." he then told the merchant how he had one evening taken a man out to san nicolo, and had discovered that a hut in that island was used as a meeting-place by various persons, among whom was ruggiero mocenigo. "i might have thought of the place before, signor; but, in fact, it never entered my mind. from the first we considered it so certain that the men who carried off your daughters would take them to some hiding-place where mocenigo could speedily join them that san nicolo never entered my mind. i own that it was very stupid, for it seems now to me that the natural thing for them to do would be to take them in the very opposite direction to that in which the search for them would be made." the story had been frequently interrupted by exclamations of surprise by polani. at its conclusion he laid his hand on francis' shoulder. "my dear boy," he said, "how can i thank you! you seem to me to be born to be the preserver of my daughters. i cannot doubt that your suspicion is correct, and that they are confined in this hut at san nicolo. how fortunate that you did not denounce this conspiracy—for conspiracy no doubt it is—that you discovered, for, had you done so, some other place would have been selected for the girls' prison." "i would not be too sanguine, sir. the girls may not be in this hut, still we may come on some clue there which may lead us to them; if not, we will search the islands on that side as closely as we have done those on the mainland." "now, shall i send for the gondoliers and set out at once? there are ten or twelve men in the house, and it is hardly francis sketches a plan. likely that they will place a guard over them of anything like this strength, as of course they will be anxious to avoid obser- vation by the islanders." "i do not think i would do anything to-night, sir," francis said; "the gondola that chased us will be on the alert. they cannot, of course, suspect in the slightest that we have any clue to the hiding-place of your daughters, still they might think that if we were really pursuing the other gondola and had recognized the woman castaldi, we might bring the news to you, and that a stir might be made; they may therefore be watching to see if anything comes of it; and if they saw a bustle and gondolas setting out taking the direction of the island, they might set off and get there first, for it is a very fast craft, and remove your daughters before we reach the hut. "i should say wait till morning. they may be watching your house now, and if in an hour or two they see all is quiet they will no doubt retire with the belief that all danger is at an end. then, in the morning, i would embark the men in two or three gondolas, but i would not start from your own steps, for no doubt your house is watched. let the men go out singly and embark at a distance from here, and not at the same place. once out upon the lagoon, they should row quietly towards san nicolo, keeping a considerable distance apart, the men lying down in the bottom as the boats approach the island, so that if anyone is on watch he will have no suspicion. "as i am the only one that knows the position of the hut i will be with you in the first gondola. we will not land near the hut, but pass by and land at the other end of the island; the other gondolas will slowly follow us and land at the same spot; then three or four men can go along by the sea face, with orders to watch any boats hauled up upon the shore there and stop any party making down towards them. the rest of us will walk straight to the hut, and, as it lies among sand-hills, "an excellent precaution." i hope we shall be able to get quite close to it before our approach is discovered." "an excellent plan, francisco, though i am so impatient that the night will seem endless to me; but certainly your plan is the best. even if the house is watched and you were seen to enter, if all remains perfectly quiet they will naturally sup- pose that the news you brought was not considered of sufficient importance to lead to any action. you will, of course, remain here till morning?" "i cannot do that, sir, though i will return the first thing. there is lying on my table a papor with the particulars and names of the persons i saw meet in this hut, and a request to my father that if i do not return in the morning he will at once lay this before the council. i place it there every day when i go out, in order that, if i should be seized and carried off by mocenigo's people, i should have some means of forcing them to let me go. although i know absolutely nothing of the nature of the conspiracy, they will not know how much i am aware of, or what particulars i may have given in the document; and as i could name to them those present, and among them is the envoy of the king of hungary now in the city, they would hardly dare harm me, when they knew that if they did so this affair would be brought before the council." "it was an excellent precaution, francisco. why, you are as prudent and thoughtful as you are courageous!" "it was not likely to be of much use, sir," francis said modestly. "i was very much more likely to get a stab in the back than to be carried off. still, it was just possible that mocenigo might himself like to see his vengeance carried out, and it was therefore worth my while guarding against it; but, as you see, it will be necessary for me to be back sometime before morning." "at any rate, francisco, you had better wait here until "we will start at seven." morning breaks. your room is not likely to be entered for some hours after that; so while i am preparing for our expe- dition, you can go out and make your way to the grand canal, hail an early gondola, and be put down at your own steps, when, as you have told me, you can enter the house without disturbing anyone; then you can remove that paper and return here in the gondola. we will start at seven; there will be plenty of boats about by that time, and the lagoon will be dotted by the fishermen's craft, so that our gondolas will attract no attention." "perhaps that will be the best plan, signor; and, indeed, i should not be sorry for a few hours' sleep, for giuseppi and i have been in our boat since a very early hour in the morning, and were pretty well tired out before this last adventure began." chapter vi the hut on san n colo. t seven o'clock all was in readiness for a start. signor polani set out alone in his gondola, and picked up francis and four men at a secluded spot some dis- tance from the house. a messenger had been sent two hours before to the captain of one of the merchant ships lying in the port. he at once put ten men into a large boat and rowed down to within half a mile of the island. here a grapnel was thrown overboard, most of the men lay down in the bottom, and the captain, according to his instructions, kept a sharp look-out to see that no boat left san nicolo—his instruc- tions being to overhaul any boat coming out, and to see that no one was concealed on board it. there he remained until polani's gondola rowed past him. after it had gone a few hundred yards the grapnel was got up, the men took to their oars and followed the gondola, keeping so far behind that it would not seem there was any connection between them. francis made for the narrow channel which separated san nicolo from the next island, and then directed the gondola to be run ashore, where a low sand-hill close by hid them from the sight of any one on the look-out . a few minutes later the ship's boat arrived. francis now led the way direct for the hut, accompanied by polani and six men, while four sailors a clue discovered. "if they are not here, they are near by," francis said to folani. "do not give up hope. i am convinced they are not far off- and if we search we may find a clue. better keep your men outside; we can search more thoroughly by ourselves." the merchant told his men, who had seized and were binding the two occupants of the hut, to remain outside. the inside of the hut differed in no way from the ordinary dwelling of fishermen, except that a large table stood in the middle of it, and there were some benches against the walls. some oars stood in one corner, and some nets were piled close to them. a fire burned in the open hearth, and a pot hung over it and two others stood on the hearth. "let us see what they have got here," francis said, while the merchant leaned against the table with an air of profound depression, paying no attention to what he was doing. "a soup," francis said, lifting the lid from the pot over the fire, "and, by the smell, a good one." then he lifted the other pots simmering among the burning brands. "a ragout of kid and a boiled fish. signor folani, this is no fisherman's meal; either these men expect visitors of a much higher degree than themselves, or your daughters are somewhere close. oh! there is a door." "it can lead nowhere," polani said. "the sand is piled up to the roof on that side of the house." "it is," francis agreed; "but there may be a lower room there completely covered with the sand; at any rate we will see." he pushed against the door, but it did not give in the slightest- "it may be the sand," he said, "it may be bolts." he went to the outside door and called in the sailors with the hatchets. "break open that door," he said. "there is a space behind," he exclaimed, as the first blow was given. "it is hollow, i swear; it would be a different sound altogether if sand was found! piled up against it." a dozen blows and the fastenings gave, and, sword in hand, the merchant and francis rushed through it. both gave a shout of delight . they were in a room built out at the back of the hut. it was richly furnished, and hang- ings of eastern stuffs covered the walls. a burning lamp hung from the ceiling. two men stood irresolute with drawn swords, having apparently turned round just as the door gave way, for as it did so two figures struggled to their feet from a couch behind them, for some shawls had been wrapped round their heads, and with a cry of delight rushed forward to meet their rescuers. seated at the end of the couch, with bowed-down head, was another female figure. "maria—giulia!" the merchant exclaimed, as, dropping his sword, he clasped his daughters in his arms. francis, followed by the two sailors with hatchets, advanced towards the men. "drop your swords and surrender," he said. "resistance is useless; there are a dozen men outside." the men threw their swords down on the ground . "lead them outside and bind them securely," francis said. for the next minute or two few words were spoken. the girls sobbed with delight on their father's breast, while he him- self was too moved to do more than murmur words of love and thankfulness. franciswent quietlyout and spoke to the captain, who went in to the inner room, touched the sitting figure on the shoulder, and, taking her by the arm, led her outside. "come in, francis," polani called a minute later. "my dears, it is not me you must thank for your rescue, it is your english friend here who has again restored you to me. it is to him we owe our happiness, and that you, my child, are saved from the dreadful fate of being forced to be the wife of that villain mocenigo. embrace him, my dears, as a brother, for lou makia's story. he has done more than a brother for you. and now tell mo all that has happened since i lust saw you." "you know, father, the message that was brought us, that you had been hurt and wanted us home " "yes, my dears, that i learned soon afterwards. i went at five o'clock to fetch you home, and found that you had gone, and why." "well, father, directly we had taken our seats in the cabin of the gondola our gouvernante closed the doors, and soon afterwards she slid to the two shutters before the windows. we cried out in surprise at finding ourselves in the dark, but she bade us be quiet in a tone quite different to any in which she had ever spoken to us before. we were both frightened, and tried to push back the shutters and open the door, but they were fastened firmly. i suppose there was some spring which held them. then we screamed; but i could feel that the inside was all thickly padded. i suppose our voices could not be heard outside. i thought so, because once i thought i heard the gondoliers singing, but it was so faint that i could not be sure. then the air seemed stiflingly close, and i fainted; and when i came to myself one of the windows was open, and giulia said she had promised we would not scream, but i think we were beyond the canals then, for i could see nothing but the sky as we passed along. when i was bettor the windows were almost shut again, so that we could not see out, though a little air could get in; then the gondola went on for a long time. at last it stopped, and she said we must be blindfolded. we said we would not submit to it, and she told us unless we let her do it the men would do it. so we submitted, and she wrapped shawls closely over our heads. then we were helped ashore, and walked some distance. at last the shawls were taken off our heads and we found ourselves here, and here we have been ever since." "where are we?" "you have not been ill-treated in any way, my children " the merchant asked anxiously. "not at all, father; until to-day, nobody has been into this room besides ourselves and that woman. the door was generally left a little open for air, for you see there are no windows here. she used to go into the next room and come back with our food. we could see men moving about in there, but they were very quiet, and all spoke in low tones. you may think how we up- braided our gouvernante for her treachery, and threatened her with your anger. she told us we should never be found, and that i might as well make up my mind to marry ruggiero mocenigo, for if i did not consent quietly means would be found to compel me to do so. i said i would die first, but she used to laugh a cruel laugh and say he would soon be here with the priest, and that it mattered not whether i said yes or no, the ceremony would be performed, and then ruggiero would sail away with me to the east, and i should be glad enough then to make peace between him and you; but he never came. i think she became anxious, for she went away twice for three or four hours, and locked us in here when she went . that, father, is all we know about it . where are we?" "you are at san nicolo." "on the island!" maria exclaimed in surprise. "she told us we were on the mainland. and now, how did you find us " "i will tell you as we go home, maria." "yes, that will be better, father. giulia and i long for a breath of fresh air and the sight of the blue sky." "giulia has not had so much to frighten her as you have," her father said. "yes, i have, father; for she said i was to go across the seas with maria, and that ruggiero would soon find a husband for mo among his friends. i told her she was a wicked woman over and over again, and we told her that we were sure you "shall we put a torch to this place?" would forgive and even reward her if she would take us back again to you. when she was away we thought we would try to make our escape behind, and we made a little hole in the boards; but the sand came pouring in, and we found we were underground, though how we got there we didn't know, for we had not come down any steps. so we had to give up the idea of escape." "you are partly underground," her father said, "for, as you will see when you get out, the sand has drifted up at the back of the hut to the roof, and has altogether hidden this part of the hut; so that we did not know that there was more than one room, and i should never have thought of breaking into that door had it not been for francisco. and now come along, my dears; let us wait here no longer." the sailors and servitors broke into a cheer as the girls came out of the hut. "shall we put a torch to this place?" francis asked polani. "no, francisco; it must be searched thoroughly first. (jap- tain lontano, do you order four of your men to remain here until some of the officials of the state arrive. if anyone comes before that, they must seize them and detain them as prisoners. the state will investigate the matter to the bottom." now that they were in the open air the merchant could see that the close confinement and anxiety had told greatly upon liis daughters; both were pale and hollow-eyed, and looked as if they had suffered a long illness. seeing how shaken they wore ho ordered one of the retainers to go to the gondola, and tell the men to row it round to the nearest point to the hut; the party then walked along down to the shore. in a few minutes the gondola arrived; polani, his two daugh- ters, and francis took their places in it; the four men, bound hand and foot, were laid in the bottom of the ship's boat; the gouvernante was made to take her place there also; and the "we shall love him all our lives." sailors were told to follow closely behind the gondola, which was rowed at a very slow pace. on the way polani told his daughters of the manner in which francis had discovered the place of concealment . "had it not been for him, my dears, we should certainly not have found you, and that villain would have carried out his plans sooner or later. he would either have given his guards the slip, or, when no evidence was forthcoming against him, they would have been removed. he would then have gone outside the jurisdiction of the republic, obtained a ship with a crew of desperadoes, sailed round to the seaward side of san nicolo, and carried you off. nothing could have saved you, and your resistance would, as that woman told you, have been futile." "we shall be grateful to you all our lives, francisco," maria said. "we shall pray for you always, night and morning, shall we not, giulia?" "yes, indeed," the young girl said simply; "we shall love him all our lives." "answer for yourself, giulia," maria said with a laugh, her spirits returning in the bright sunshine and fresh air. "when francisco asks for my love, it will be quite soon enough to say what i think about it." "i should never have courage enough to do that, signora. i know what you would say too well." "what should i say?" maria asked. "you would say i was an impudent boy." maria laughed. "i cannot think of you as a boy any longer, francisco," she said more gravely. "i have, perhaps, regarded you as a boy till now, though you did save us so bravely before; but you see you are only my own age, and a girl always looks upon a boy of her own age as ever so much younger than she is herself. the merchant's plans. besides, too, you have none of the airs of being a man, which some of my cousins have; and never pay compliments or say pretty things, but seem altogether like a younger brother. but i shall think you a boy no more. i know you better now." "but i am a boy," francis said, "and i don't want to be thought anything else. in england we keep young longer than they do here, and a boy of my age would not think of speaking to his elders unless he was first addressed. what are you going to do with your prisoners, signor'i" "i shall take them direct to my house,and then go and report the recovery of my daughters and their capture. officials will at once be sent with a gondola to take them off to the prison. there can be no question now as to the part mocenigo has played in this business, and no doubt he will be brought here a prisoner at once. even his nearest connections will not dare to defend conduct so outrageous, especially when public indignation has been so excited. you do not know, girls, what a stir has been caused in the city on your account. if it had not been for the citizen guard i believe the mocenigo palace would have been burned down, and ruggiero's connections have scarcely dared to show their faces in the streets since you have been missing. you see every father of a family felt per- sonally grieved, for if the nobles wero permitted with impunity to carry off the daughters of citizens, who could feel safe? when this is all over i shall take you for a time back to our home in corfu. it is not good for girls to be the subject of public talk and attention." "i shall be very glad, father," giulia said. "i love our home at corfu, with its gardens and flowers, far better than the palazzo here. the air is always soft and balmy, while here it is so hot sometimes by day and so damp and foggy in the evening. i shall be glad to go back again." "and you, maria?" a joyful reception. ill "i shall be very happy there, father, but i like venice best." "you are getting to an age to enjoy gaiety, maria; and it is natural you should do so. however, it will not be necessary for you to be long absent . in a city like venice there are always fresh subjects for talk, and the most exciting piece of scandal is but a three days' wonder. a few weeks at corfu will restore your nerves, which cannot but have been shaken by what you have gone through, and you will come back here more disposed than ever to appreciate the gaieties of venice." "as long as it is for only a few weeks, father, i shall not care; for you know i am very fond, too, of our beautiful home there. still i do like venice." they had now reached the steps of the palazzo polani. they had not proceeded by way of the grand canal, as the merchant was anxious that his daughters should reach their home unrecognized, as, had they been noticed, it would have given rise to no little excitement, and they had had moro than enough of this, and needed quiet and repose. besides, until the prisoners were in the safe custody of the officials of the state it was in every way desirable that the events of the morning should remain unknown. their return home created quite a tumult of joy in the house. the preparations that had been made had been kept a profound secret, as the merchant could not be sure but that some other member of his household was in the pay of mo- cenigo. thus until the girls alighted at the steps none in the house were aware that any clue had been obtained as to their hiding-place. the women ran down with cries of joy; the men would have shouted and cheered, had not polani held up his hand. "the signoras have had more than enough excitement," he said. "they are grateful to you for your good-will and affec- tion, but for the present they need quiet. they may have the fate of the gondola. more to go through to-day. i pray you that no word as to their return be said outside the house. i would not that the news were whispered in the city till the seignory decide what is to be done in the matter." as soon as the girls had gone upstairs to their rooms the ship's boat came alongside and the prisoners were carried into the house, glances of indignation and anger being cast at the gouvernante, who had, as soon as she was placed on board the boat, closely veiled herself; and some of the women broke out into threats and imprecations. "captain lontano, the servants will show you a room where your men can guard the prisoners. you had better remain with them yourself. let no one except your own men enter the room." giuseppi was on the steps, and francis stepped up to him and eagerly asked, "what news of the gondolav "i found her stove in and full of water behind the piles close to the steps. someone must have pushed her there to be out of the way of the traffic. she has several holes in her bottom, besides being stove in at the gunwale where the other boat struck her. they must have thrust the ends of their oars through her planks out of sheer spite when they found that we had escaped them. father and i have towed her round to your steps, but i doubt whether she is worth repairing." "well, we can't help it, giuseppi. she has done her work; and if every two ducats i lay out were to bring in as good a harvest i should have no reason to complain." having seen the prisoners safely placed, the merchant re- turned. "i think, francisco, you must go with me. they will be sure to want to question you." "i shall have to say what were my reasons for thinking your daughters were hid in that hut, signor," francis said as "i am not going to tell a lre atiotjt it." the gondola rowed towards st. mark's; "and i can only do that by telling of that secret meeting. i do not want to de- nounce a number of people besides ruggiero. i have no evi- dence against them, and do not know what they were plotting, nor have i any wish to create for myself more enemies. it is quite enough to have incurred the enmity of all the connections of the house of mocenigo." "that is true enough, francisco, but i do not see how it is to be avoided; unfortunately you did recognize others besides ruggiero." "quite so, signor, and i am not going to tell a lie about it, whatever the consequences may be; still i wish i could get out of it." "i wish you could, francis, but i do not see any escape for it, especially as you say you did not recognize ruggiero as the passenger you carried." "no, signor, i did not; it might have been he, but i can- not say; he was wrapped in a cloak, and i did not see his features." "it is a pity, francisco, for had you known him the state- ment that, moved by curiosity, you followed him and saw him into that hut, would have been sufficient without your entering into the other matter. most of my countrymen would not hesitate about telling a lie to avoid mixing themselves up further in such a matter, for the dangers of making enemies are thoroughly appreciated here; but you are perfectly right, and i like your steady love of the truth whatever the conse- quences to yourself; but certainly as soon as the matter is concluded, it will be better for you to quit venice for a time." "are you going to the council direct, signor?" "no; i am going first to the magistrates to tell them that i have in my hands five persons who have been engaged in carrying off my daughters, and beg them to send at once to ( ) h polani keeps the secret. take them into their custody; then i shall go before the council and demand justice upon mocenigo, against whom we have now conclusive evidence. you will not be wanted at the magistracy; my own evidence that i found them keeping guard over my daughters will be quite sufficient for the present, and after that the girls' evidence will be sufficient to convict them without your name appearing in the affair at all. i will try whether i cannot keep your name from appearing before the council also. yes, i think i might do that; and as a first step i give you my promise not to name you unless i find it absolutely necessary. you may as well remain here in the gondola until i return." it was upwards of an hour before signor polani came back to the boat. "i have succeeded," he said, "in keeping your name out of it. i first of all told my daughters' story, and then said that, having obtained information that ruggiero, before he was banished from venice, was in the habit of going sometimes at night to a hut on san nicolo, i proceeded thither, and found my daughters concealed in the hut whose position had been described to me. of course they inquired where i had obtained the information; but i replied that, as they knew, i had offered a large reward which would lead to my daughters' discovery, and that this reward had attracted one in the secret of mocenigo, but that for the man's own safety i had been com- pelled to promise that i would not divulge his name. "some of the council were inclined to insist, but others pointed out that for the ends of justice it mattered in no way how i obtained the information. i had at any rate gone to the island and found my daughters there; and their evidence, if it was in accordance with what i had stated, was amply sufficient to bring the guilt of the abduction of my daughters home to ruggiero, against whom other circumstances "i have much to say to him." had already excited suspicion. a galley has already started for the mainland with orders to bring him back a prisoner) and the girls are to appear to give evidence to-morrow; the woman castaldi is to be interrogated by the council this after- noon, and i have no doubt she will make a full confession, seeing that my daughters' evidence is in itself sufficient to prove her guilt, and that it can be proved from other sources that it was she who inveigled them away by a false message from me." "i am glad indeed, signor, that i am not to be called, and that this affair of the conspiracy is not to be brought up. i would with your permission now return home. giuseppi took a message to my father from me the first thing explaining my absence, and i told him when we left your house to go at once to tell him that your daughters had been recovered, and that i should return before long. still he will want to hear from me as to the events of the night." "will you also tell him, francisco, that i will call upon him this afternoon. i have much to say to him." "i am glad signor polani is coming," mr. hammond said when his son gave him the message. "i am quite resolved that you shall quit venice at once. i do not wish to blame you for what you have done, which, indeed, is likely to have a favourable effect upon your fortunes; but that at your age you have mixed yourself up in adventures of this kind, taken part in the affairs of great houses, and drawn upon yourself the enmity of one of the most powerful families of venice, is altogether strange and improper for a lad of your years and belonging to the family of a quiet trader. i have been think- ing about it all this morning, and am quite resolved that the sooner you are out of venice the better; if i saw any way of sending you off before nightfall i would do so. "signor polani has, you say, so far concealed from the mr. hammond is alarmed. council the- fact that you have been mixed up in this business; but there is no saying how soon it may come out . you know that venice swarms with spies, and these are likely before many hours to learn the fact of your midnight arrival at polani's house; and as no orders were given for the prepara- tion of this expedition to the island before that time, it will not need much penetration to conclude that you were the bearer of the news that led to the discovery of the maidens; besides which, you accompanied the expedition and acted as its guide to the hut. part of this they will learn from the servants of the house, part of it they may get out from the sailors, who, over their wine-cups, are not given to reticence. the council may not have pressed polani on this point, but, take my word for it, some of them at least will endeavour to get to the bottom of it, especially mocenigo's connections, who will naturally be alarmed at the thought that there is some- where a traitor among their own ranks. "the affair has become very serious, francis, and far beyond the compass of a boyish scrape, and no time must be lost in getting you out of venice. i have no doubt polani will see the matter in the same light, for he knows the ways of his countrymen even better than i do." the interview between the two traders was a long one; at its conclusion francis was sent for. "francis," his father said, "signor polani has had the kindness to make me offers of a most generous nature." "not at all, messer hammond," the venetian interrupted; "let there be no mistake upon that score. your son has ren- dered me services impossible for me ever to repay adequately. he has laid me under an obligation greater than i can ever discharge. at the same time, fortunately, i am in a position to be able to further his interests in life. i have proposed, francisco, that you shall enter my house at once. you will, of a generous offer. course, for some years learn the business, but you will do so in the position which a son of mine would occupy, and when you come of age you will take your place as a partner with me. "your father will return to england. he informs me that he is now longing to return to his own country, and has for some time been thinking of doing so. i have proposed to him that he shall act as my agent there. hitherto i have not traded direct with england; in future i shall do so largely. your father has explained to me somewhat of his transactions, and i see there is good profit to be made on trade with london by a merchant who has the advantage of the advice and assistance of one, like your father, thoroughly conversant in the trade. thus i hope that the arrangement will be largely to our mutual advantage. as to yourself, you will probably be reluctant to establish yourself for life in this country; but there is no reason why in time, when your father wishes to retire from business, you should not establish yourself in london in charge of the english branch of our house." "i am most grateful to you for your offer, signor, which is vastly beyond anything that my ambition could ever have aspired to. i can only say that i will try my best to do justice to your kindness to me." "i have no fear as to that, francisco," the merchant said; "you have shown so much thoughtfulness in this business that i shall have no fear of intrusting even weighty affairs of busi- ness in your hands; and you must remember always that i shall still consider myself your debtor. i thoroughly agree with your father's views as to the necessity for your leaving venice as soon as possible. in a few months this matter will have blown over, the angry feelings excited will calm down, and you will then be able to come and go in safety; but at present you were best out of the town, and i have therefore arranged with your father that you shall embark to-night a great future. on board the bmiito, which sails to-moirow. you will have much to say to your father now, but i hope you will find time to come round and say good-bye to my daughters this evening." "your adventures, francis," mr. hammond said when the merchant had left them, "have turned out fortunate indeed. you have an opening now beyond anything we could have hoped for. signor polani has expressed himself most warmly. he told me that i need concern myself no further with your future, for that would now be his affair. the arrangement that he has made with me will enable me to hold my head as high as any in the city, for it will give me almost a monopoly of the venetian trade; and although he said that he had long been thinking of entering into trade direct with england, there is no doubt that it is his feeling towards you which has influenced him now in the matter. "my business here has more than answered my expecta- tions in one respect, but has fallen short in another. i have bought cheaply, and the business should have been a very profitable one; but my partner in london is either not acting fairly by me, or he is mismanaging matters altogether. this offer, then, of signor polani is in every respect acceptable. i shall give up my own business and start anew, and selling, as i shall, on commission shall run no risk, while the profits will be' far larger than i could myself make, for polani will carry it on on a great scale. as for you, you will soon learn the ways of trade, and will be able to come home and join me, and eventually succeed me in the business. "no fairer prospect could well open to a young man, and if you show yourself as keen in business as you have been ener- getic in the pursuits you have adopted, assuredly a great future is open to you, and you may look to be one of the greatest merchants in the city of london. i know not yet what offers giuseppis grief. polani may make you here, but i hope that you will not settle in venice permanently, but will always remember that you are an englishman and the son of a london citizen, and that you will never lose your love for your native land. and yet do not hurry home for my sake. your two brothers will soon have finished their schooling, and will, of course, be apprenticed to me as soon as i return; and if, as i hope, they turn out steady and industrious they will, by the time they come to man's estate, be of great assistance to me in the business. and now, you will be wanting to say good-bye to your friends. be careful this last evening, for it is just when you are thinking most of other matters that sudden misfortune is likely to come upon yoa" delighted with his good fortune—rather because it opened up a life of activity instead of the confinement to business that he had dreaded, than for the pecuniary advantages it offered— francis ran down-stairs, and leaping into his father's gondola told beppo to take him to the palazzo giustiniani. on the way he told beppo and his son that the next day he was leaving venice, and was going to enter the service of signor polani. giuseppi ceased rowing, and, throwing himself down at the bottom of the gondola, began to sob violently, with the abandonment to his emotions common to his race; then he suddenly sat up. "if you are going, i will go too, messer francisco. you will want a servant who will be faithful to you. i will ask the padrone to let me go with you. you will let me go, will you not, father? i cannot leave our young master, and should pine away were i obliged to stop here to work a gondola, while he may be wanting my help, for messer francisco is sure to get into adventures and dangers. has he not done it here in venice? and is he not sure to do it at sea, where there are genoese and pirates, and perils of all kinds? you will take me with you, glusems hliyuest granted. will you not, messor francisco? you will never be so hard- hearted as to go away and leave me behind?" "i shall be very glad to have you with me, giuseppi, if your father will give you leave to go. i am quite sure that signor l'olani will make no objection. in the first place, he would do it to oblige me, and in the second, i know that it is his intention to do somothing to your advantage. he has spoken to me about it several times, for you haj your share of the danger when we first rescued his daughters, and again when wo wore chased by that four-oared gondola. he has been too busy with the search for his daughters to give the matter his attention, but i know that ho is conscious of his obligation to you, and that he intends to reward you largely; therefore i am sure that ho will offer no objection to your accompanying me. what do you say, beppo?" "i do not like to stand in the way of the lad's wishes, messer francisco, but, you see, he is of an ago now to be very useful to me. if giuseppi leaves me i shall have to hire another hand for the gondola, or to take a partner." "well, we will talk it over presently," francis said. "here we are at the steps of the palazzo, and here comes matteo himself. it is lucky i was not five minutes later, or i should have missed him." chapter vil on board a trader. ave you heard the news, francisco? my cousins are rescued! i have been out this morning and have only just heard it, ;iud i was on the point of starting to tell you." "your news is old, mattco. i knew it hours ago." "and i hear," matteo went on, "that polani found them in a hut on san nicolo. my father cannot think how he came to hear of their hiding-place; he says polani would not say how he learned the news. my father supposes he heard it from some member of ruggiero's household." francis hesitated for a moment. he had at first been on the point of telling matteo of the share he had had in the recovery of the girls; but he thought that although his friend could be trusted not to repeat the news wilfully, he might accidentally say something which would lead to the fact being known, and that as polani had strongly enjoined the necessity of keeping the secret, and had himself declined to mention, even to the council, the source from which he obtained his information, he would look upon him as a babbler and un- worthy of trust did he find that matteo had been let into the secret. "it does not much matter who it is polani learned the news from. the great point is he has found his daughters safe from "i congratulate you, francisco." all injury, and i hear has brought back with him the woman who betrayed them. it is fortunate indeed that he took such prompt measures with ruggiero, and thus prevented his escaping from the mainland and making off with the girls, as of course he intended to do." "my father tells me," matteo said, "that a state gondola has already been despatched to bring ruggiero a prisoner here, and that even his powerful connections will not save him from severe punishment, for public indignation is so great at the attempt that his friends will not venture to plead on his behalf." "and now i have my bit of news to tell you, matteo. signor polani has most generously offered me a position in his house, and i am to sail to-morrow in one of his ships for the east." "i congratulate you, francisco, for i know from what you have often said that you would like this much better than going back to england . but it seems very sudden; you did not know anything about it yesterday, and now you are going to start at once. why, when can it have been settled polani has been absent since daybreak, engaged in this matter of the girls, and has been occupied ever since with the council." "i have seen him since he returned," francis replied; "and though it was only absolutely settled this morning, he has had several interviews with my father on the subject. i believe he and my father thought that it was better to get me away as soon as possible, as ruggiero's friends may put down the disgrace which has befallen him to my interference in his first attempt to carry off the girls." "well, i think you are a lucky fellow anyhow, francisco, and i hope that i may be soon doing something also. i shall speak to my father about it, and ask him to get polani to let me take some voyages in his vessels, so that i may be fit to become an officer in one of the state galleys as soon as i am of age. where are you going now?" "you are the heroines of the day." "i am going round to the school of arms to say good bye to our comrades; after that i am going to signor polani's to pay my respects to the signoras; then i shall be at home with my father till it is time to go on board. he will have left here before i return from my voyage, as he is going to wind up his affairs at once and return to england." "well, i will accompany you to the school and to my cousin's," matteo said. "i shall miss you terribly here, and shall certainly do all i can to follow your example and get afloat. you may have all sorts of adventures, for we shall certainly be at war with genoa before many weeks are over, and you will have to keep a sharp look-out for their war galleys. polani's ships are prizes worth taking, and you may have the chance of seeing the inside of a genoese prison before you return." after a visit to the school of arms the two friends were rowed to signor polani's. the merchant himself was out, but they were at once shown up to the room where the girls were sitting. "my dear cousins," matteo said as he entered, "i am delighted to see you back safe and well . all venice is talking of your return. you are the heroines of the day. you do not know what an excitement there has been over your adventure." "the sooner people get to talk about something else the better, matteo," maria said, "for we shall have to be prisoners all day till something else occupies their attention. we have not the least desire to be pointed at, whenever we go out, as the maidens who were carried away. if the venetians were so in- terested in us, they had much better have set about discovering where we were hidden away before." "but everyone did try, i can assure you, maria. every place has been ransacked, high and low. every gondolier has been questioned and cross-questioned as to his doings on that "francisco is different." day. every fishing village has been visited. never was such a search, i do believe. but who could have thought of your being hidden away all the time at san nicolo! as for me, i have spent most of my timo in a gondola, going out and staring up at every house i passed, in hopes of seeing a handkerchief waved from a casement. and so has francisco; he has been just as busy in the search as anyone, i can assure you." "francisco is different," maria said, not observing the signs francis was making for her to be silent. "francisco has got eyes in his head and a brain in his skull, which is more, it seems, than any of the venetians have; and had he not brought father to our hiding-place, there we should have remained until ruggiero mocenigo came and carried us away." "francisco brought your father the news! "matteo exclaimed in astonishment. "why, was it he who found you out, after all?" "did you not know that, matteo? of course it was fran- cisco! as i told you, he has got brains; and if it had not been for him we should certainly never have been rescued. giulia and i owe him everything—don't we, giulia?" "forgive me for not telling you, matteo," francis said to his astonished friend; "but signor polani and my father both impressed upon me so strongly that i should keep silent as to my share in the business, that i thought it better not even to mention it to you at present. it was purely the result of an accident." "it was nothing of the sort," maria said; "it was the result of your keeping your eyes open and knowing how to put two and two together. i did not know, francisco, that it was a secret. we have not seen our father since we have returned, and i suppose he thought we should see nobody until he saw us again, and so did not tell us that we were not to mention your name in the affair; but we will be careful in future." "what! ark you going away?" "but how was it, francisco?" matteo asked. "now i know so much as this, i suppose i can bo told the rest. i can under- stand well enough why it was to be kept a secret, and why my cousin is anxious to get you out of venice at once." francis related the manner in which he first became acquainted with the existence of the hut on the island and the fact of its being frequented by ruggiero mocenigo, and how, on catching sight of the gouvernante in a gondola, and seeing her make out across the lagoons, the idea struck him that the girls were confined in the hut. "it is all very simple, you see, matteo," he concluded. "i will never say anything against learning to row a gon- dola in future," matteo said, "for it seems to lead to all sorts of adventures; and unless you could have rowed well, you would never have got back to tell the story. but it is certain that it is a good thing you are leaving venice for a time, for ruggiero's friends may find out the share you had in it from some of my cousin's servants. you may be sure that they will do their best to discover how he came to be informed of the hiding-place, and he is quite right to send you off at once." "what! are you going away, francisco?" the two girls ex- claimed together. "i am sailing to-morrow in one of your father's ships, signoras." "and you are not coming back again?" maria exclaimed. "i hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again before very long, signora. i am entering your father's service for good, and shall be backwards and forwards to venice as the ship comes and goes. my father is returning to england, and signor polani has most kindly requested me to make my home with him whenever i am in port." "that is better," maria said. "we should have a pretty that will be very pleasant. quarrel with papa if he had let you go away altogether, after what you have done for us—shouldn't we, giulia?" but giulia had walked away to the window, and did not seem to hear the question. "that will be very pleasant," maria went on; "for you will be back every two or three months, and i shall take good care that papa does not send the ship off in a hurry again. it will be almost as good as having a brother; and i look upon you almost as a brother now, francisco—and a very good brother too. i don't think that man will molest us any more. if i thought there was any chance of it, i should ask papa to keep you for a time, because i should feel confident that you would manage to protect us somehow." "i do not think there is the slightest chance of more trouble from him," francis said. "he is sure of a long term of im- prisonment for carrying you off." "that is the least they can do to him, i should think," maria said indignantly. "i certainly shall not feel comfortable while he is at large." after half an hour's talk francis and his friend took their leave. "you certainly were born with a silver spoon in your mouth," matteo said as they took their seats in the gondola, "and my cousin does well to get you out of venice at once, for i can tell you there are scores of young fellows who would feel jealous at your position with my cousins." "nonsense!" francis said, colouring. "how can you talk so absurdly, matteo i am only a boy, and it will be years before i could think of marriage. besides, your cousins are said to be the richest heiresses in venice; and it is not because i have been able to be of some slight service to them that i should venture to think of either of them in that way." "we shall see," matteo laughed. "maria is a little too "the thing is absurd." old for you, i grant, but giulia will do very well; and as you have already come, as maria says, to be looked upon by them as a brother and protector, there is no saying as to how she may regard you in another two or three years." "the thing is absurd, matteo," francis said impatiently; "do not talk such nonsense any more." matteo lay back in his seat and whistled. "i will say no more about it at present, francisco," he said, after a pause; "but i must own that i should be well content to stand as high in the good graces of my pretty cousins as you do." the next morning francis spent some time with his father talking over future arrangements. "i have no doubt that i shall see you sometimes, francis; for polani will be sure to give you an opportunity of making a trip to england from time to time, in one of his ships trading thither. unless anything unexpected happens, your futuro appears assured. polani tells me he shall always regard you in the light of a son; and i have no fear of your doing anything to cause him to forfeit his good opinion of you. do not be over adventurous, for even in a merchant ship there are many perils to be met with. pirates swarm in the mediter- ranean, in spito of the efforts of venice to suppress them; and when war is going on, both venice and genoa send outnumbers of ships whose doings savour strongly of piracy. remember that the first duty of the captain of a merchant ship is to save his vessel and cargo, and that he should not think of fighting unless he sees no other method of escape open to him. "it is possible that, after a time, i may send one of your brothers out here, but that will depend upon what i find of their disposition when i get home; for it will be worse than useless to send a lad of a headstrong disposition out to the care of one but a few years older than himself. but this we can talk "venice has rare virtues." about when you come over to england, and we spc what posi- tion you are occupying here. i fear that venice is about to enter upon a period of great difficulty and danger. there can be little doubt that genoa, padua, and hungary are leagued against her; and powerful as she is, and great as are her re- sources, they will be taxed to the utmost to carry her through the dangers that threaten her. however, i have faith in her future, and believe that she will weather the storm, as she has done many that have preceded it . "venice has the rare virtue of endurance—the greatest dangers, the most disastrous defeats, fail to shake her courage, and only arouse her to greater efforts. in this respect she is in the greatest contrast to her rival, genoa, who always loses heart the moment the tide turns against her. no doubt this is due, in no slight extent, to her oligarchic form of government. the people see the nobles, who rule them, calm and self-pos- sessed, however great the danger, and remain confident and tranquil; while in genoa each misfortune is the signal for a struggle between contending factions. the occasion is seized to throw blame and contumely upon those in power, and the people give way to alternate outbursts of rage and depres- sion. "i do not say there are no faults in the government of venice, but taking her altogether there is no government in europe to compare with it. during the last three hundred years the history of every other city in italy, i may say of every other nation in europe, is one long record of intestine struggle and bloodshed, while in venice there has not been a single popular tumult worthy of the name. it is to the strength, the firmness, and the moderation of her government that venice owes her advancement, the respect in which she is held among nations, as much as to the commercial industry of her people. the "bonito." "she alone among nations could for years have withstood the interdict of the pope, or the misfortunes that have some- times befallen her. she alone has never felt the foot of the invader, or bent her neck beneath a foreign yoke to preserve her existence. here, save only in matters of government, all opinions are free, strangers of all nationalities are welcome. it is a grand city and a grand people, francis, and though i shall be glad to return to england i cannot but feel regret at leaving it. and now, my boy, it is time to be going off to your ship. polani said she would sail at ten o'clock . it is now nine, and it will take you half an hour to get there. i am glad to hear that giuseppi is going with you; the lad is faithful and attached to you, and may be of service. your trunk has already been sent on board, so let us be going." on arriving at the ship, which was lying in the port of malamocco they found that she was just ready for sailing, the last bales of goods were being hoisted on board, and the sailors were preparing to loosen the sails. the bonito was a large vessel, built for stowage rather than speed. she carried two masts with large square sails, and before the wind would probably proceed at a fair rate; but the art of sailing close-hauled was then unknown, and in the event of the wind being unfavourable she would be forced either to anchor or to depend upon her oars, of which she rowed fifteen on either side. as they mounted on to the deck they were greeted by polani himself. "i have come off to see the last of your son, messer hammond, and to make sure that my orders for his comfort have been carried out. captain corpadio, this is the young gentleman of whom i have spoken to you, and who is to be treated in all respects as if he were my son. you will instruct him in all matters connected with the navigation of the ship, as well as in the mercantile portion of the business, the best ( s ) i bad news. methods of buying and selling, the prices of goods and the methods of payment . this is your cabin, francisco." he opened the door of a roomy cabin in the poop of the ship. it was fitted up with every luxury. "thank you very much indeed, signor polani," francis said. "the only fault is that it is too comfortable. i would as lief have roughed it as other aspirants have to do." "there was no occasion, francisco. when there is rough work to be done you will, i have no doubt, do it; but as you are going to be a trader, and not a sailor, there is no occasion that you should do so more than is necessary. you will learn to command a ship just as well as if you began by dipping your hands in tar. and it is well that you should learn to do this, for unless a man can sail a vessel himself he is not well qualified to judge of the merits of men he appoints to be captains; but you must remember that you are going as a representative of my house, and must, therefore, travel in accordance with that condition. you will be sorry to hear that bad news has just been received from the mainland. the state galley sent to fetch ruggiero mocenigo has arrived with the news that on the previous night a strong party of men who are believed to have come from padua, fell upon the guard and carried off ruggiero. my sailors came up and fought stoutly, but they were overpowered, and several of them were killed; so rug- giero is again at large. "this is a great disappointment to me. though the villain is not likely to show his face in the venetian territory again, i shall be anxious until maria is safely married, and shall lose no time in choosing a husband for her. unless i am mis- taken her liking is turned in the direction of rufino, brother of your friend matteo giustiniani, and as i like none better among the suitors for her hand, methinks that by the time you return you will find that they are betrothed. and now i hear on boarti. the sailors are heaving the anchor, and therefore, messer ham- mond, it is time we took to our boats." there was a parting embrace between francis and his father. then the merchants descended into their gondolas, and lay waiting alongside until the anchor was up, the great sails shaken out, and the bonito began to move slowly through the water towards the entrance of the port; then, with a final wave of the hand, the gondolas rowed off, and francis turned to look at his surroundings. the first object that met his eye was giuseppi, who was standing near him waving his cap to his father. "well, giuseppi, what do you think of this?" "i don't know what to think yet, messer francisco; it all seems so big and solid one does not feel as if one was on the water, it's more like living in a house. it does not seem as if anything could move her." "you will find the waves can move her about when we get fairly to sea, giuseppi, and the time will come when you will think our fast gondola was a steady craft in comparison. how long have you been on board?" "i came off three hours ago, signor, with the boat that brought the furniture for your cabin. i have been putting that to rights since. a supply of the best wine has been sent off, and extra stores of all sorts, so you need not be afraid of being starved on the voyage." "i wish he hadn't sent so much," francis said; "it makes one feel like a milksop. whose cabin is it i have got?" "i believe that it is the cabin usually used by the supercargo who is in charge of the goods and does the trading, but the men say the captain of this ship has been a great many years in polani's employment, and often sails without a supercargo, being able to manage the trading perfectly well by himself; but the usual cabin is only half the size of yours, and two have been thrown into one to make it light and airy." i "she is lively enough in a storm." "and where do you sleep, giuseppi?" "i am going to sleep in the passago outside your door, messer francisco." "oh, but i sha'n't like that !" francis said; "you ought to have a better place than that." giuseppi laughed. "why, messer francisco, considering that half my time i slept in the gondola, and the other half on some straw in our kitchen, i shall do capitally. of course i could sleep in the fo'castle with the crew if i liked, but i should find it hot and stihing there. i chose the place myself, and asked the captain if i could sleep there, and he has given me leave." in an hour the bonito had passed through the malamocco channel and was out on the broad sea. the wind was very light, and but just sufficient to keep the great sails bellied out. the sailors were all at work, coiling down ropes, washing the decks, and-making everything clean and tidy. "this is a good start, messer hammond," the captain said, coming up to him; "if this wind holds we shall be able to make our course round the southern point of greece and then on to candia, which is our first port. i always like a light breeze when i first go out of port, it gives time for everyone to get at home and have things ship-shape before we begin to get lively." "she does not look as if she would ever get lively," francis said, looking at the heavy vessel. "she is lively enough in a storm, i can tell you," the captain said, laughing; "when she once begins to roll she does it in earnest, but she is a fine sea boat, and i have no fear of gales. i wish i could say as much of pirates; however, she has always been fortunate, and as we carry a stout crew she could give a good account of herself against any of the small piratical vessels that swarm among the islands, although, of course, if adventures with pikates. she fell in with two or three of them together it would be awkward." "how many men do you carry altogether, captain?" "just seventy. you see she rows thirty oars, and in case of need we put two men to each oar, and though she doesn't look fast she can get along at a fine rate when the oars are double-banked. we have shown them our heels many a time, for our orders are strict, we are never to fight if we can get away by running." "but i suppose you have to fight sometimes?" francis asked. "yes, i have been in some tough fights several times, though not in the bonito, which was only built last year. once in the lion we were attacked by three pirates. we were at anchor in a bay, and the wind was blowing on the shore, when they suddenly came round the headland, so there was no chance of running, and we had to fight it out. we fought for five hours before they sheered off pretty well crippled, and one of them in flames, for we carried greek fire. "three or four times they nearly got a footing on deck, but we managed to beat them off somehow. we lost a third of our crew. i don't think there was a man escaped without a wound. i was laid up for three months after i got home with a slash on the shoulder, which pretty nigh took off my left arm however, we saved the ship and the cargo, which was a valuable one, and messer polani saw that no one was the worse for his share in the business. there's no more liberal hearted man in the trade than he is, and whatever may be the scarcity of hands in the port there is never any difficulty in getting a good crew together for his vessels. "of course there are the roughs with the smooths. some years ago i was in prison for six months with all my crew in azoff. it was the work of those rascally genoese, who are always doing us a bad turn when they have the chance, antagonism. even when we arc at peace with them. they set the mind of the native khan—that is the prince of the country— against us by some lying stories that wc had been engaged in smuggling goods in at another port. and suddenly, in the middle of the night, in marched his soldiers on board my ship and two other venetian craft lying in the harbour, and took possession of them, and shut us all up in prison. there we were till messer polani got news and sent out another ship to pay the fine demanded. that was no joke, i can tell you, for the prison was so hot and crowded, and the food so bad, that we got fever, and pretty near half of us died before our ransom came. then at constantinople the genoese stirred the people up against us once or twice, and all the sailors ashore had to fight for their lives. those genoese are always doing us mischief." "but i suppose you do them mischief sometimes, captain) i imagine it isn't all one side?" "of course we pay them out when we get a chance'," the captain replied. "it isn't likely we are going to stand being always put upon, and not take our chance when it comes. we only want fair trade and no favour, while those rascals want it all to themselves. they know they have no chance with us when it comes to fair trading." "you know, captain, that the genoese say just the same things about the venetians that the venetians do about them. so i expect that there are faults on both sides." the captain laughed. "i suppose each want to have matters their own way, messer hammond, but i don't consider the genoese have any right to come interfering with us to the eastward of italy. they have got france and spain to trade with, and all the western parts of italy. why don't they keep there? besides, i look upon them as landsmen. why, we can always lick them at sea in a fair fight." "i have nevek been to england." "generally, captain; i admit you generally thrash them; still, you know they have sometimes got the better of you, even when the force was equal." the captain grunted. he could not deny the fact . "sometimes our captains don't do their duty," he said. "they put a lot of young patricians in command of the gal- leys, men that don't know one end of a ship from the other, and then, of course, we get the worst of it . but i maintain that, properly fought, a venetian ship is always more than a match for a genoese." "i think she generally is, captain, and i hope it will always prove so in the future. you see, though i am english i have lived long enough in venice to feel like a venetian." "i have never been to england," the captain said, "though a good many venetian ships go there every year. they tell me it's an island, like venice, only a deal bigger than any we have got in the mediterranean. those who have been there say the sea is mighty stormy, and that sailing up from spain you get tremendous tempests sometimes, with the waves ever so much bigger than we have here, and longer and more regular, but not so trying to the ships as the short sharp gales of these seas." "i believe that is so, captain, though i don't know anything about it myself. it is some years since i came out, and our voyage was a very calm one." three days of quiet sailing and the bonito rounded the headlands of the morea, and shaped her course to candia. the voyage was a very pleasant one to francis. each day the captain brought out the list of cargo and instructed him in the prices of each description of goods, told him of the various descriptions of merchandise which they would be likely to pur- chase at the different ports at which they were to touch, and the prices which they would probably have to pay for them. a storm. a certain time, too, was devoted each day to the examination of the charts of the various ports and islands, the captain point- ing out the marks which were to be observed on entering and leaving the harbours, the best places for anchorage, and the points where shelter could be obtained should high winds come on. after losing sight of the morea the weather changed, clouds banked up rapidly in the south-west, and the captain ordered the great sails to be furled. "we are going to have a serious gale," he said to francis, "which is unusual at this period of the year. i have thought for the last two days we were going to have a change, but i hoped to have reached candia before the gale burst upon us. i fear that this will drive us off our course." by evening it was blowing hard, and the sea got up rapidly. the ship speedily justified the remarks of the captain on her power of rolling, and the oars, at which the men had been labouring since the sails were furled, were laid in. "it is impossible to keep our course," the captain said, "and we must run up among the islands, and anchor under the lee of one of them. i should recommend you to get into your bed as soon as possible, you have not learned to keep your legs in a storm. i see that lad of yours is very ill already, but as you show no signs of suffering thus far you will probably escape." it was some time, however, before francis went below. the scene was novel to him, and he was astonished at the sight of the waves, and at the manner in which they tossed the great ship about, as if she were an egg-shell; but when it became quite dark, and he could see nothing but the white crests of the waves and the foam that flew high in the air every time the bluff bows of the ship plunged down into a hollow, he took the captain's advice and retired to his cabin. he was on deck again early. a gray mist overhung the water; the sea was of a leaden colour, crested with white heads; the waves were far in port. "what should we do if we saw land, captain?" he asked presently. "get out the oars, row her head round, and try to work either to the right or left, whichever point of land seemed easiest to weather. of course if it was the mainland we were being driven on there would be no use, and we should try and row into the teeth of the gale, so as to keep her off land as long as possible, in the hope of the wind dropping. when we got into shallow water we should drop our anchors and still keep on row- ing to lessen the strain upon them. if they gave, there would be an end to the bonito. but if, as i think, we are driving towards mitylene, there is a safe harbour on this side of the island, and i shall certainly run into it. it is well sheltered and landlocked." two more hours passed, and then there was a startling trans- formation. the clouds broke suddenly and cleared off, as if by magic, and the sun streamed brightly out . the wind was blowing as strong as ever, but the change in the hue of sky and sea would at once have raised the spirits of the tired crew had not a long line of land been seen stretching ahead of them at a distance of four or five miles. "just as i thought," the captain exclaimed as he saw it. "that is mitylene sure enough, and the entrance to the har- bour i spoke of lies away there on that beam." the oars were at once got out, the sail braced up a little, and the bonito made for the point indicated by the captain, who himself took the helm. another half-hour and they were close to land. francis could see no sign of a port, but in a few minutes the bonito rounded the end of a low island and a passage opened before her. she passed through this and found herself in still water, in a harbour large enough to hold the fleet of venice. the anchor was speedily let drop. "it seems almost bewildering," francis said, "the hush and chapter viil an attack by pirates. boat was lowered, and the captain went ashore with a strong crew, all armed to the teeth. francis accompanied him. the natives were sullen in their manner, but expressed a willingness to trade, and to exchange hides and wine for cloth. "we may as well do a little barter," the captain said, as they rowed back towards the ship. "the port is not often visited, and the road across the island is hilly and rough, so they ought to be willing to sell their goods cheaply." "they did not seem pleased to see us, nevertheless," francis said. "no; you see the genoese have got a footing in the island, and of course they represent us to the natives as being rob- bers, who would take their island if we got the chance. all round these coasts and islands the people are partisans either of venice or genoa; they care very little for constantinople, although they form part of the empire. constantinople taxes tliem heavily, and is too weak to afford them protection. of course they are greeks, but the greeks of the islands have very little in common, beyond their language, with the greeks of constantinople. they see, too, that the turks a£e increasing in power, and they know that if they are to be saved from falling into the hands of the moslem, it is venice or genoa a measure of precaution. who will protect them, and not constantinople, who will have enough to do to defend herself. as to themselves, they would naturally prefer venice, because venice is a far better mistress than genoa; but of course, when the genoese get a footing they spread lies as to our tyranny and greed, and so it comes that the people of the islands are divided in their wishes, and that while we are gladly received in some of them, we are re- garded with hate and suspicion in others." trade at once began, and continued until evening. "how long do you expect to stay here, captain?" francis asked . "that must depend upon the wind; it may go down to- morrow, it may continue to blow strong for days, and it is no use our attempting to work down to candia until it changes its direction. i should hope, however, that in a day or two we may be off; we are doing little more than wasting our time here." a strong watch was placed on deck at nightfall. "why, surely, captain, there is no fear of an attack! war has not yet been proclaimed with genoa, although there is little doubt it will be so in a few weeks, or perhaps a few days." "there is never a real peace between venice and genoa in these seas," the captain said, "and as war is now imminent, one cannot be too watchful . state galleys would not be attacked, but merchant vessels are different. who is to inquire about a merchant ship! why, if we were attacked and plundered here, who would be any the wiser! we should either have our throats cut or be sent to rot in the dungeons of genoa and not till there was an exchange of prisoners, perhaps years hence, would any in venice know what had befallen us. when weeks passed, and no news came to venice of our having reached candia, it wotjd be supposed that we had been lost in the storm. * a vessel missing. "signor polani would run his pen through the name of the bonito, and put her down as a total loss, and there would be an end of it till those of us who were alive, when the prison doors were opened, made their way back to venice. no, no, messer francisco; in these eastern waters one must always act as if the republic were at war. why, did not antonio doria, in a time of profound peace, attack and seize eight venetian ships laden with goods, killing two of the merchants on board, and putting the ships at a ransom. as to single vessels missing, and never heard of, their number is innumerable. it is all put down to pirates; but trust me, the genoese are often at the bottom of it. they are robbers, the genoese. in fair trade we can always beat them, and they know it, and so they are always seeking a pretext for a quarrel with us." francis smiled quietly at the bigoted hatred which the captain bore the genoese, but thought it useless to argue with him. the next morning he came up on deck soon after day- break. "i see one of those vessels has taken her departure," he said, as he glanced towards the spot where they had been lying. "so she has," the captain said. "i had not noticed that before. i wonder what that fellow has gone for? no good, you may be sura why, it is blowing hard outside still, as you may see by the rate those light clouds travel. he would never have put to sea without having a motive, and he must have had a strong crew on board to row out in the teeth of the gale far enough to make off the land; that fellow is up to mischief of some sort." a few minutes later the captain ordered a boat to be lowered and rowed out to the rocky islet at the mouth of the harbour, and landing, climbed up the rocks and looked out to sea. in half an hour ho returned to the ship. "it is no use," he said to francis; "the wind is blowing straight into the the captain's suspicions. passage, and we could not row the bonito out against it . it was different with that craft that went out yesterday evening, for i have no doubt she started as soon as it became dark. she was low in the water, and would not hold the wind; besides, no doubt they lowered the masts, and with a strong crew might well have swept her out. but with the bonito, with her high sides and heavy tonnage, it could not be done." "what do you think she went out for, captain?" "it is likely enough that she may have gone to one of the other islands, and may return with a dozen other craft, pirates like herself. the news that a venetian merchant ship, without consorts, is weather-bound here, would bring them upon us like bees. it is a dangerous thing, this sailing alone. i have talked it over several times with the master. other merchants generally send their ships in companies of eight or ten, and they are then strong enough to beat off any attack of pirates. messer polani always sends his vessels out singly. what he says is this: 'a single ship always travels faster than a convoy, because these must go at the rate of the slowest among them; then the captain is free to go where he will, without consulting others, according as he gets news where trade is be done, and when he gets there he can drive his own bargains without the competition of other ships.' "so you see there are advantages both ways. the padrone's ships run greater risks, but if they get through them safely they bring home much larger profits than do those of others. as a rule, i prefer sailing singly; but just at the present time i should be well pleased to see half a dozen consorts lying alongside." three times during the day the captain paid a visit to the rocky island. on his return for the last time before nightfall, ho said to francis: "the wind is certainly falling; i hope that to-morrow i ominous signs. morning we shall be able to get out of this trap. i am con- vinced that there is danger." "you see nothing else, do you, captain, beyond the departure of that craft, to make you think that there is danger?" "yes, i have seen two things," the captain said. "in the first place, the demeanour of the people has changed; they do not seem more unfriendly than they were before, but as i moved about the place to-day it seemed to me that there was a sup- pressed excitement—people gathered together and talked earnestly, and separated if any of our crew happened to go near them; even laughed when they thought that none of us were looking, and looked serious and sullen if we turned round . i am convinced that they are expecting something to happen. "i have another reason for suspecting it . i have kept a sharp watch on that high hill behind the village; they tell me there is nothing at the top except some curious stones, that look as if they had once been trees, so there is nothing they can want to go up for. several times to-day i have made out the figures of men climbing that hill; when they got to the top they stood for some time as if they were looking out over the sea, and then came down again without doing anything. now, men do not climb such a hill as that merely for exercise. they went up because they expected to see something, and that something could only be a fleet of pirate boats from the other islands. i would give a year's pay if we could get out of this place this evening, but it cannot be done, and we must wait till to-morrow morning; i will try then, even though i risk being driven on the rocks. however, if they do come to-night they will not catch us asleep." orders were issued that the whole crew were to remain in readiness for attack, and that those whose watch was below were to sleep with their nrras beside them. the lower ports "what sokt of sounds?" were all closed, a strong watch was kept on deck, and it was certain that, whatever happened, the bonitu would not be taken by surprise. being assured by the captain that it was not probable that any attack would be made before morning, as the pirates, not knowing their exact position, would wait until the first gleam of daylight enabled them to make out where she was lying, and to advance in order against her, francis lay down on his couch, leaving orders that, if asleep, he was to be called two hours before daybreak. he slept but little, how- ever, getting up frequently and going out to ascertain if any sounds indicated the presence of an enemy. upon one of these occasions he found that the person leaning next to him against the bulwark, and gazing towards the mouth of the harbour, was giuseppi. "have you been here long, giuseppi?" "since you were out last, messer francisco. i thought i would wait a bit and listen." "and have you heard anything?" "i have heard sounds several times." "what sort of sounds, giuseppi?" "such a sound as is made when the sails and yards are lowered. i have heard it over and over again when out at night on the lagoons near the port; there is no mistake in the creaking of the blocks as the halyards run through them. i am sure, that since i have been here several vessels have brought up insido the mouth of the harbour. some of the sailors have heard the same noises, so there cannot be any mistake about it. if the captain likes, i will take a small boat and row out, and find out all about them." "i will ask the captain, giuseppi." the captain, however, said that there would be no use in this being done. "whether there are few or whether there are many of them, we must wait till morning before we go out. ( ) k g the pirate fleet. there will be no working out that channel in the dark, even if we were unopposed." "but they must have managed to come in," francis said. "no doubt some of their comrades in the other barque, or people from the village, show a light out there to guide them in; besides, the wind is favourable to them and against us. no, young sir, there is nothing to do but to wait. in the morning, if there are but few of them, we will try to break through and gain the sea; if there are many we will fight here, as then all hands will be available for the combat, while if we were rowing, half of them would be occupied with the oars. if your lad were to go as he proposes he might fall into the hands of the enemy, and as the information he could gather would be in any case of no use it is best he should remain where he is." the hours seemed long until the first tinge of daylight appeared in the sky. all hands were on deck now, for the news that vessels had been arriving in the port had convinced all that danger really threatened them. it was not until half an hour later that they were able to make out some dark objects lying in under the shadow of the islet across the mouth of the harbour. "there they are, messer francisco," the captain said. "ten of them, as far as i can make out; but there may be more, for likely enough some of them are lying side by side. there may, too, be some round a corner, where we cannot see them. another half hour we shall know all about it." francis was half surprised that the captain did not order the oars to be put out and lashed in that position, for it was a recognized plan for preventing a ship from being boarded by an enemy, who could thus only approach her at the lofty poop and forecastle. "are you not going to get out the oars to keep them off?" "no, m esser francisco. in the first place, our sides are so high ready for the fight. out of water that the pirates will have a difficulty in boarding us in any case. in the second place, if we get the oars out and they row full at them, sooner or later they will break them off, and it is all-important that we should be able to row. i have been thinking the matter over, and my idea is, as soon as they advance, to get three or four oars at work on either side so as to move her gradually through the water towards the harbour mouth. the rowers will be charged to let their oars swing alongside whenever any of their craft dash at them. we shall want every oar as well as our sails to get away when we are once outside. i do not think we have much chance of finally beating them off if we stop and fight here. but if we can do so for a time and can manage to creep out of the harbour, all may be well." when daylight fairly broke they were able to make out their enemy. the vessels were of all sizes, from long, low craft, carrying great sails and long banks of oars, down to boats of a few tons burden. all seemed crowded with men. "none of them are anything like as high out of the water as the bonito," the captain said, " and they will find it very difficult to climb up our sides. still the odds against us are serious, but we shall give them a warmer reception than they expect. they will hardly calculate either on our being so strong-handed or so well prepared for them." everything was indeed ready for the combat . two or three barrels of the compound known as greek fire had been brought up from the hold, and the cooks had heated cauldrons full of pitch. thirty men with bows and arrows were on the poop, and the rest, with spears, axes, and swords, stood along the bulwarks. "we may as well get as near the entrance as we can before the fight begins," the captain said. "get up the anchor, and as soon as it is apeak get out four oars on each side." attacked. the anchor had already been hove short, and was soon in its place. then the oars dipped into the water, and slowly the bonito moved towards the mouth of the harbour. scarcely had the oars touched the water than a bustle was perceived on board the piratical ships. oars were put out, and in two or three minutes the pirates were under way, advancing at a rapid pace towards the bonito. the crew made no reply to the shouts and yells of the pirates, but, in accordance with the orders of the captain, remained in a stooping position, so that the figure of the cap- tain, as he hauled up the flag with the lion of venice to the mast-head, was alone visible to the pirates. as these ap- proached volleys of arrows were shot at the bonito, but not a shot replied until they were within fifty yards of the ship. then the captain gave the word. the archers sprang to their feet, and from their eminence poured their arrows thick and fast on to the crowded decks of the pirates. the captain gave the word to the rowers, and they relinquished their oars, which swung in by the side of the vessel. a moment later two of the largest craft of the pirates dashed alongside. the instant they did so they were saluted with showers of boiling pitch, while pots full of greek fire were thrown down upon them. those who tried to climb up the side of the bonito were speared with lances or cut down with battle-axes. the combat was of short duration. many of those on whom the boiling pitch had fallen jumped overboard in their agony, while others did the same to escape the greek fire which they in vain endeavoured to extinguish. the fire quickly spread to the woodwork, and in five minutes after the beginning of the fight the two craft dropped astern from the bonito with the flames already rising fiercely from them. in the meantime the other vessels had not been idle, and a storm of missiles was poured upon the bonito. the fate which ramming the "bonito." befell their comrades, however, showed them how formidable was the vessel they had regarded as an easy prey, and when the first assailants of the bonito dropped astern none of the others cared to take their places. "man the oars again!" the captain ordered, and the bonito again moved forward, her crew stooping behind the bulwarks, while the archers only rose from time to time to discharge their shafts. "the thing i am most afraid of," the captain said to francis, who was standing beside him, "is, that they will ram us with their prows. the bonito is strongly built, but the chances are that they would knock a hole in her." "i should think, captain, that if we were to get up some of those bales of cloth and fasten ropes to them we might lower them over the side and so break the shock." "it is worth trying anyhow," the captain said. and a score of the sailors were at once sent down to fetch up the bales. ropes were fastened round these, and they were laid along by the bulwarks in readiness for being lowered instantly. ten bales were placed on each side, and three men told off to each bale. by this time they were half-way to the mouth of the har- bour, and the preparations were completed just in time, for the small boats suddenly drew aside, and two of the largest of the pirates' craft, each rowed by twenty-four oars, dashed at her, one on each side. the captain shouted the order, and the men all sprang to their feet . it was seen at once that the vessels would both strike about midships. three bales on either side were raised to the bulwarks and lowered down with the ropes until close to the water's edge and closely touching each other. francis sprang on to the bulwark and superintended the operations on one side, while the captain did the same on the other. beaten off. "a few feet more astern, lads. that is right . now, keep the bales touching. you are just in the line." an instant later the bonito reeled from the shock of two tremendous blows. the bows of the pirates were stove in, but the thick bales enabled the bonito to withstand the shock, although her sides creaked, the seams started, and the water flowed in freely. but of this the crew thought little. they were occupied in hurling darts, arrows, and combustibles into the pirates as these backed off in an already sinking con- dition. "now i think we can go," the captain said, and ordered the whole of the oars to be manned. they were speedily got out, and the bonito made her way out through the mouth of the harbour. the pirates, in their lighter boats, rowed round and round her, shooting clouds of arrows, but not venturing to come to close quarters after the fate which had befallen the four largest vessels of their fleet . as soon as they were clear of the islet the sails were hoisted. the wind had fallen much during the night, and had worked round to the east, and under sails and oars the bonito left the island, none of the pirates venturing to follow in pursuit . the oars were soon laid in, and the men, with mallets and chisels, set to work to caulk the seams through which the water was making its way. the casualties were now inquired into, and it was found that six men had been shot dead, and that nine-and-twenty had received wounds more or less severe from the arrows of the pirates. francis had been twice wounded while superintending the placing of the bales. one arrow had gone through his right leg, another had struck him in the side and glanced cff a rib. "this won't do, messer francisco," the captain said as he assisted giuseppi to bandage the wounds. "signor polani placed you on board to learn something of seamanship and comparing notes. commerce, not to make yourself a target for the arrows of pirates. however, we have to thank you for the saving of the bonito, for assuredly she would have been stove in had not the happy thought of hanging those bales overboard struck you. it would be of no use against war-galleys, whose beaks are often below the water-line, but against craft like these pirates it acts splendidly, and there is no doubt that you saved the ship from destruction and us from death, for after the burning of the two first vessels that attacked us you may be sure they would have shown but little mercy. i can't think how you came to think of it." "why, i have read in books, captain, of defenders of walls hanging over trusses of straw to break the blows of battering- rams and machines of the besiegers. directly you said they were going to ram us it struck me we might do the same, and then i thought that bales of cloth similar to those you got up on deck to trade with the islanders would be just the thing." "it was a close shave," the captain said. "i was leaning over, and saw the whole side of the ship bend beneath the blow, and expected to hear the ribs crack beneath me. fortunately the bonito was stronger built than her assailants, and their bows crumpled in before her side gave; but my heart was in my mouth for a time, i can tell you." "so was mine, captain. i hardly felt these two arrows strike me; they must have been shot from one of the other boats. then i could not help laughing to see the way in which the men at the oars tumbled backwards at the moment when their vessel struck us; it was as if an invisible giant had swept them all off their seats together." the wind continued favourable until they arrived at candia, where the captain reported to the commander of a venetian war galley lying in the port the attack that had been made cruising. upon him, and the galley at once started for the scene of the action to destroy any pirates she might find there or among the neighbouring islands, or in the various inlets and bays of the mainland. having delivered their letters and landed a portion of their cargo for the use of polani's agents in the islands, the bonito proceeded to cyprus. for some weeks she cruised along the coast of syria, trading in the various turkish ports, for venice, although she had shared in some of the crusades, was now, as she had often been before, on friendly terms with the turks. her interests all lay in that direction; she carried on a large trade with them; and in the days when she lay under the interdict of the pope, and all europe stood aloof from her, she drew her stores of provisions from the moslem ports, and was thus enabled successfully to resist the pressure which she suffered from the interdict. she foresaw, too, the growing power of the turks, and per- ceived that in the future they would triumph over the de- generate greek empire at constantinople. she had spent her blood and treasure freely in maintaining that empire; but the weakness and profligacy of its emperors, the intestine quarrels and disturbances which were for ever going on, and the in- gratitude with which she had always treated venice, had completely alienated the venetians from her; genoa had, in- deed, for many years exercised a far more preponderating influence at constantinople than venice had done. having completed the tour of the syrian ports the bonito sailed north, with the intention of passing the dardanelles and bosphorus and proceeding to azoph. when she reached the little island of tenedos, a few miles from the entrance to the strait, she heard news which compelled the captain to alter his intentions. a revolution had broken out in constantinople, aided by the genoese of pera. the cruel tyrant calojohannes v. had been deposed, and his heir andronicus, whom he had a revolution. deprived of sight and thrown into a dungeon, released and placed on the throne. as a reward for the services she had rendered him, andronicus issued a decree conferring tenedos upon genoa. the news had just arrived when the bonito entered the port, and the town was in a ferment. there were two or three venetian war-ships in the harbour; but the venetian admiral, being without orders from home as to what part to take in such an emergency, remained neutral. the matter was, how- ever, an important one, for the possession of tenedos gave its owners the command of the dardanelles, and a fleet lying there could effectually block the passage. the people thronged up to the governor's house with shouts of "down with genoa!" the governor being unsupported by any greek or genoese troops, bowed to the popular will, and declared that he did not recognize the revolution that had taken place in constantinople, and refused to submit to the decree of andronicus. donato trono, a venetian merchant resident in the island, and other venetians, harangued the people, and pointed out to them that alone they could not hope to resist the united forces of greece and genoa, and that their only hope of safety lay in placing themsolves under the protec- tion of venice. the people, seeing the justice of the arguments of the venetians, and preferring the venetian rule to that of genoa, agreed to the proposal. the banner of st. mark was raised amid great enthusiasm, and the island declared subject to venice. a genoese galley in port immediately set sail and quickly carried the news to constantinople, where the emperor at once threw the whole of the venetian residents into prison. as soon as the news of this reached tenedos the captain of the bonito held a consultation with francis. "it is evident, messer francisco, that we cannot proceed return to venice. upon our northward voyage. we should be captured and held at constantinople; and, even did we succeed in passing at night, we should fall into the hands of the genoese—who are far stronger in the black sea than we are—for if venice accepts the offer of the people of this place and takes possession of the island, genoa is sure to declare war. i think, then, that we had better make our way back to venice with what cargo we have on board, and there get fresh orders from the padrone. we have not done badly so far, and it is better to make sure of what we have got than to risk its loss, for at any day we may fall in'with the genoese fleet sailing hither." francis quite agreed with the captain's opinion, and the bonito sailed for the south. they touched, on their way, at several islands, and the news that an early outbreak of hostilities between genoa and venice was probable—in which case there would be an almost complete cessation of trade—produced so strong a desire on the part of the islanders to lay in a store of goods, that the captain was able to dispose of the rest of his cargo on good terms, and to fill up his ship with the produce of the islands. thus the bonito was deep in the water when she re-entered the port of venice after an absence of about three months. as soon as the anchor was dropped the captain, accompanied by francis, hired a gondola, and rowed into the city to give an account to signor polani of the success of his voyage, and to lay before, him a list of the cargo with which the bonito was laden. the merchant received them with great cordiality, and embraced francis with the affection of a father. "do you go at once into the salon, francisco; you will find my daughters expecting you there, for the news came an hour ago that the bonito was entering port. of course we heard from the letters from candia of your adventures with the pirates, and the gallant way in which the bonito defeated them. you a hearty greeting. will find, captain, that i have ordered an extra month's pay to be given to all on board. "the captain did full justice, francisco, in his account of the matter, to your quickness in suggesting a method by which the effort of the ramming of the enemy was neutralized, and for the courage you showed in carrying out your idea; but we will talk of that afterwards. he and i have business to transact which will occupy us for some time, so the sooner you go the better." francis at once took himself off and joined the girls, who received him with the heartiest greeting. "we were glad indeed, francis," maria said, "when our father told us that the bonito was signalled as entering the port. no letters have come for some time, and we feared that you must have entered the dardanelles and reached constanti- nople before the news arrived there of that affair at tenedos, in which case you would no doubt have been seized and thrown into the dungeons." "we were at tenedos when the affair took place," francis said, "and have had no opportunity since of sending a letter by any ship likely to be here before us. the outbreak made us alter our plans, for, of course, it would not have been safe to have sailed farther when the emperor was so enraged against venice. i need hardly tell you i was not sorry when we turned our faces again towards venice. i have enjoyed the voyage very much, and have had plenty to occupy me; still, three months at a time is long enough, and i was beginning to long for a sight of venice." "for a sight of venice and—" maria repeated, holding up her finger reprovingly. "and of you both," francis said smiling. "i did not think it necessary to put that in, because you must know that you are venice to me." "we bo not want flattery." "that is much better," maria said approvingly. "i think you have improved since you have been away. do you not think so, giulia?" "i don't think that sort of nonsense is an improvement," giulia said gravely. "any of the young venetian gallants can say that sort of thing. we do not want flattery from francisco." "you should say you do not want it, giulia," maria said laughing. "i like it, i own, even from francisco. it may not mean anything, but it is pleasant nevertheless; besides, one likes to think that there is just a little truth in it, not much, perhaps, but just a little in what francisco said, for instance. of course we are not all venice to him, still, just as we are pleased to see him, he is pleased to see us; and why shouldn't he say so in a pretty way? it's all very well for you to set up as being above flattery, giulia, but you are young yet; i have no doubt you will like it when you get as old as i am." giulia shook her head decidedly. "i always think," she said, "when i hear a man saying flattering things to a girl, that it is the least complimentary thing he can do, for it is treating her as if he considers that she is a fool, otherwise he would never say such outrageous nonsense to her." "there, francisco," maria laughed, "you are fairly warned now; beware how you venture to pay any compliment to giulia in future. it would be a dull world if every one were to think as you do, giulia, and to say exactly as they meant. fancy a young man saying to you: 'i think you are a nice sort of girl, no prettier than the rest, but good-tempered and pleasant, and to be desired because your father is rich!' a nice sort of way that would be to be made love to!" "there is no occasion for them to say anything at all," giulia said indignantly; "we don't go about saying to them, chapter ix. the capture of the "lido." ignor polani told francis that evening that he was much pleased with the report that the capt;iin had given of his eagerness to acquire infor- mation both in mercantile and nautical matters, and of the manner in which he had kept the ship's books, and the entries of the sales, and purchases of goods. "many young fellows at your age, francis, when there was no compulsion for them to have taken these matters into their charge, would have thought only of amusement and gaiety when they were in port, and i am glad to see that you have a real interest in them. whatever the line in life a young man takes up, he will never excel in it unless he goes into it with all his heart, and i am very glad to see that you have thrown yourself so heartily into your new profession. the bonito made a most satisfactory voyage, far more so than i antici- pated when i found that she would not be able to carry out the programme i had laid down for her; but the rise in the prices in the latter part of your voyage have more than made up for the loss of the trade in the black sea; and you have done as much in the three months you were absent as i should have expected had you been, as i anticipated, six months away. war imminent. "you will be some little time before you start again, as i wish to see how matters are going before i send the btmilo out upon another adventure. at present nothing is settled here; that there will be war with genoa before long is certain, but we would rather postpone it as long as possible, and the senate has not yet arrived at the decision to accept the offer of tenedos. negotiations are going on with genoa and con- stantinople, but i have little hope that anything will come of them. "it is getting late in the season now, and the war will hardly break out until next spring; but i have no doubt the struggle will then begin, and preparations are going on with all speed in the dockyards. we are endeavouring to obtain allies, but the combination is so strong against venice that we are meeting with little success, and ferrara is really the only friend on whom we can rely, and she is not in a position to aid us materially in such a struggle as this will be. i am glad to tell you that the affair in which you were concerned before you sailed has now completely dropped; nothing has been heard of mocenigo since he made his escape. "a decree of banishment was passed against him, but where he is we know not. that wretched woman was sentenced to four years' imprisonment, but upon my petition she will be released at the end of six months, on her promise that she will not again set foot in the territory of the republic as mocenigo has not been brought to trial, there will be no further official inquiry into the matter, and i have not been further questioned as to the source from which i obtained my information as to the girls' hiding-place. your share in the matter is therefore altogether unsuspected, and i do not think that there is any further danger to you from mocenigo's partisans." "i should be glad enough to remain in venice a fortnight " will arrange it !so." or so, sir," francis said, "but if at the end of that time you have any vessel going out, i shall prefer to go in her. now that my studies are over, i shall very soon get tired of doing nothing. perhaps in a few years i may care more for the gaieties of venice, but certainly at present i have no interest in them, and would rather be at sea. matteo tells me that you have promised he shall make a few voyages in your ships, and that you have told him he shall go in one of them shortly; if so, it would be very pleasant to us both if we can sail together." "i will arrange it so, francisco. it would be for the benefit of my cousin—who is a good lad, but hare-brained, and without ballast—for you to go with him. i should indeed have pro- posed it, but the vessel in which i have decided he shall sail will be ready for sea in another ten days or so, and i thought that you would prefer a longer stay in venice before you again set sail. if, however, it is your wish to be off again so soon, i will arrange for you both to sail together. this time you will go officially as my supercargo, since you now understand the duties. the captain of the vessel in which you will sail is a good sailor and a brave man, but he has no aptitude for trade, and i must have sent a supercargo with him. your decision to go relieves me of this, for which i am not sorry, for men who are at once good supercargos and honest men are difficult to get." the fortnight passed rapidly, and francis enjoyed his stay at the merchant's greatly, but he was not sorry when, at the end of ten days, polani told him that the lading of the vessel would begin the next day, and that he had best go on board early and see the cargo shipped, so that he might check off the bales and casks as they were sent on board, and see where each description of goods was stowed away. "i think, papa, it is too bad of you sending francisco away ( ) i. "our faultl" so soon," maria said, when at their evening meal she learned the news of his early departure. "it is his own doing," her father said; "it is he who wants to go, not i who send him. i consider that it is entirely your fault." "our fault!" the two girls repeated in surprise. "certainly. if you had made venice sufficiently pleasant to him ho would not wish to leave. i am too busy to see about such things, and i left it to you to entertain him. as he is in such a hurry to get away again, it is evident that you have not succeeded in doing so." "indeed, signor polani, your daughters have been every- thing that is kind, but i have no taste for assemblies and entertainments. i feel out of place there amid all the gaily- dressed nobles and ladies, and no sooner do i get there than i begin to wonder how anyone can prefer the heated rooms and clatter of tongues, to the quiet pleasure of a walk back- wards and forwards on the deck of a good ship; besides, i want to learn my profession, and there is so much to learn in it that i feel i have no time to lose." "i am right glad to see your eagerness in that direction, francisco, and i did but jest with my daughters. you have not yet asked me what is the destination of the lido, for that is the name of your new vessel . this time you are going quite in a new direction. in the spring we are certain to have war with genoa, and as parma and hungary will probably both take side against us, we may find ourselves cut off from the mainland, and, in case of a disaster happening to our fleet, in sore straits for food. i am, therefore, going to gather into my warehouses as much grain as they will hold; this will both be a benefit to the state, and will bring me good profit, for the price of wheat will be high in the city if we are leaguered on the land side. to sicily for grain. "the lido will go down to sicily, and fill up there with corn. you will have to use care before entering port, for with war now certain both parties will begin to snap up prizes when they get the chance. so you must keep a sharp look-out for genoese galleys. if you find the coast is too closely watched, you will go to the moorish ports. we are friends with them at present, though doubtless, as soon as genoa and ourselves get to blows, they will be resuming their piratical work . thus you will, this time, take in a much smaller amount of cargo, as you will have to pay for the most part in gold." it mattered little to francis where he voyaged; but matteo, who had been greatly delighted at the thought of sailing with his friend, was much disappointed when he heard that they were only going to fetch grain from sicily. "why, it is nothing to call a voyage," he said in tones of disgust, when francis told him the destination of the lido. "i had hoped we were going to make a long voyage, and touch at all sorts of places, just as you did last time." "i do not see that it matters much, matteo; and we shall learn navigation just as well from one course as another. the voyage will not be a long one, unless we meet with unfavour- able winds; but there's no saying what may happen, and you may meet with adventure even on a voyage to sicily and back." the trip down to sicily was quickly made. francis had worked hard on his first voyage, and was now able to make daily calculations as to the run made, the course steered, and the posi- tion of the ship, and found that these tallied closely with those of the captain. matteo and he shared a large and handsome cabin, and the time passed pleasantly as the vessel ran down the coast of italy. once out of the adriatic a sharp look-out was kept, but the coast of sicily was made without seeing any sails of a suspicious character. the lads were struck with etna. surprise and admiration when, on coming on deck in the mor- ning, they saw the great cone of etna lying ahead of them. neither of them had ever seen a mountain of any size, and their interest in the scene was heightened hy a slight wreath of smoke which curled up from the summit of the hill "it is well worth a voyage, if it were only to see that moun- tain," francis said. "what an immense height it is, and how regular in its shape!" "and yet," matteo said, "those who have journeyed from italy into france tell me that there are mountains there beside which etna is as nothing. these mountains are a continuation of the range of hills which we can see from venice. their tops are always covered with snow, and cannot be ascended by man; whereas it is easy, they say, to reach the top of etna." "yes, that looks easy enough," francis agreed. "it seems such a regular slope, that one could almost ride up; but i dare say, when you are close you would find all sorts of difficult places." "i should like to try," matteo said. "what a grand view there would be from the top! is the port we are going to try first, captain, anywhere near the foot of the mountain?" "no, i am going round the southern part of the island. on this side the ground is less fertile, and we should have difficulty in obtaining a cargo. but even were we to put into a port on this side, you would not be able to climb mount etna. "sicily has been an unfortunate country. its great natural wealth has rendered it an object of desire to all its neighbours. it was the battle-ground of the romans and carthaginians. pisa, genoa, and naples have all contended for its possession; and the moors frequently make descents upon its coasts. it has seldom enjoyed a peaceful and settled government. the consequence is that general lawlessness prevails in the districts remote from the towns; while in the forests that clothe the side of "genoese galleys are entering the bay." laughing; "and i am afraid that i shall never see the view from the top of etna. certainly i shall not, if it will be necessary- beforehand to be always exercising my muscles by running up the stairs of high houses." the next day they were off girgenti, the port at which they hoped to obtain a cargo. they steered in until they encoun- tered a fishing-boat, and learned from those on board that there was no genoese vessel in port, nor, as far as the men knew, any state galleys anywhere in the neighbourhood. obtaining this news, they sailed boldly into the port and dropped anchor. francis, who had received before starting a list of houses with whom signor polani was in the habit of doing business, at once rowed ashore, matteo and giuseppi accompanying him. his business arrangements were soon completed; the harvest had been a good one, and there was an abundance of corn to be had at a cheap rate. in half an hour he arranged for as large a quantity as the lido would carry. the work of loading soon commenced, and in four days the ship was full up to the hatches. francis went on shore to settle the various accounts, and was just making the last payment when matteo ran into the office. "four genoese galleys are entering the bay!" francis ran out, and saw four genoese galleys rowing in. "it is too late to escape. even were we empty we could not get away; but laden as the lido is, they could row three feet to her one." "what shall we do, francisco !" francis stood for half a minute thinking. "you had better stay here, matteo. i will row out to the ship and send most of the men on shore. if they seize the ship, they may not take those on board prisoners; but if they do, there is no reason why they should take us all." "you had better come on shore too, francisco, and leave "i will not suffek it." the captain in charge. you can do no good by staying there; and polani would be more concerned at your capture than he would at the loss of a dozen ships. if you could do any good, it would be different; but as it is, it would be foolish to risk capture." "i will see," francis said; "at any rate do you stop here." jumping into a boat, he rowed towards the lido, which was lying but a cable's-length from the shore. as he neared her, he shouted to the men to lower the boats. "captain," he said, "i do not know whether there is any danger of being captured by the genoese. but it is useless to run any unnecessary risk; therefore send all the crew but three or four men on shore. if the genoese board us, we have our papers as peaceful traders buying wheat; but if, in spite of that, they capture us, we must take our chance." "surely you are not thinking of stopping, messer francisco. the padrone would be terribly vexed if you were taken. he specially ordered me, before we started, to see that no unneces- sary risk was run, and to prevent you from thrusting yourself into danger. therefore, as captain of the ship, i must insist that you go on shore." "i think i ought to stay here," francis said. "i do not think so," the captain said firmly, "and i will not suffer it. i have to answer for your safety to the padrone; and if you do not go by yourself, i shall order the men to put you into one of the boats by force. i mean no dis- respect; but i know my duty, and that is to prevent you from falling into the hands of the genoese." "i will not oblige you to use force, captain," francis said smiling, "and will do as you wish me." in five minutes the men were all—save four, whom the cap- tain had selected — in the boat, and rowing towards shorn matteo was awaiting them when they landed. c "i know how obstinate you are." "that is right, francisco. i was half afraid you would stay on board. i know how obstinate you are whenever you take a thing into your head." "the captain was more obstinate still, matteo, and said that unless i came away he would send me on shore by force; but i don't like deserting the ship." "that is nonsense, francisco. if the genoese take her, they take her, and your remaining on board could not do any good. what are you going to do now?" "we will at once leave the place with the men, matteo, and retire into the country behind. it is not likely the genoese would land and seize us here, but they might do so, or the inhabitants, to please genoa, might seize us and send us on board. at any rate we shall be safer in the country." the men had, by the captain's orders, brought their arms ashore on leaving the ship. this was the suggestion of francis, who said that were they unarmed the people might seize them and hand them over to the genoese. at the head of this party, which was about fifty strong, francis marched up through the little town and out into the country. he had really but little fear either that the genoese would arrest them on shore, or that the people would interfere with them, for they would not care to risk the anger of venice by interfering in such a matter. he thought it probable, however, that if his men remained in the town, broils would arise between them and any of the genoese sailors who might land. as soon as the genoese galleys came up to the head of the bay a boat was lowered and rowed to the lido, at whose mast- head the venetian flag was flying. an officer, followed by six men, climbed up on to the deck. "are you the captain of this ship?" the officer asked as the captain approached him. the bivouac. "you and your men can go ashore," he said to the captain. "the admiral does not deem you worth the trouble of carrying to genoa; but be quick, or you will have to swim to shore." as the lido's boats had all gone ashore the captain hailed a fishing-boat which was passing, and with the four sailors was rowed to shore, well content that he had escaped the dungeons of genoa. he rightly imagined that he and his men were released solely on account of the paucity of their numbers. had the whole crew been captured they would have been carried to genoa; but the admiral did not care to bring in five prisoners only, and preferred taking the ship alone. francis with his party followed the line of the coast, ascend- ing the hills which rose steeply from the edge of the sea at a short distance from the town. he had brought with him from the town a supply of food sufficient for four or five days, and encamped in a little wood near the edge of the cliff. from this they had a view of the port and could watch the doings of the genoese galleys. fires were lit and meat cooked over them; and just as the meal was prepared the captain and the four sailors joined them amid a hearty cheer from the crew. "i have made my protest," the captain said as he took his seat by the side of francis, "and the padrone can make a com- plaint before the council if he thinks fit to do so; but there is small chance that he will ever recover the lido or the value of her cargo." "i don't like losing the ship," francis said. "of course it is only a stroke of bad fortune, and we could neither fly nor defend ourselves. still one hates arriving home with the story that one has lost the ship." "yes," the captain agreed. "messer polani is a just man, yet no one cares to employ men who are unlucky; and the worst of it is that the last ship i commanded was wrecked. many men would not have employed me again, although it wasn't a walk along the cliffs. my fault. but after this second affair in a few months' time i shall get the name of being an unlucky man, and no one in his senses would employ a man who is always losing his ships." "do you think that there is any chance of our recapturing it, captain?" "not the least in the world," the captain replied . "even sup- posing that we could get on board and overpower the genoese without being heard, and get her out of the port without being seen, we should not get away. laden as she is with grain, she will sail very slowly, and the genoese would overtake her in a few hours; and i needn't tell you that then there would be very little mercy shown to any on board." "that is true enough," francis said. "still i do not like the idea of losing the lido." after the meal was over francis rose and asked matteo to accompany him on a stroll along the cliffs, giuseppi as usual following them. they walked along until they rounded the head of the bay and were able to look along the coast for some distance. it was steep and rocky and worn into a number of slight indentations. in one of these rose a ledge of rocks at a very short distance from the shore. "how much further are we going, francis?" matteo said when they had walked a couple of miles. "about a quarter of a mile, matteo. i want to examine thdt ledge of rocks we saw from the first point." "what on earth do you want to look at them for, francis? you certainly are the most curious fellow i ever met . you scoffed at me when i said i should like to go up mount etna, and now here you are dragging me along this cliff just to look at some rocks of no possible interest to any one." "that is the point to be inquired into, matteo. i think it's possible they may prove very interesting." matteo is puzzled. matteo shrugged his shoulders, as he often did when he felt too lazy to combat the eccentric ideas of his english friend. "there wo are," francis said at last, standing on the edge of the cliff and looking down. "nothing could be better." "i am glad you think so, francisco," matteo said, seating himself on the grass. "i hope you intend to stay some little time to admire them, for i own that i should like a rest before i go back." francis stood looking at the rocks. the bay was a shallow one and was but five or six hundred yards from point to point, the rocks rising nearly in a line between the points and show- ing for about two hundred yards above water, and at about the same distance from the cliffs behind them. "what height do you think those rocks are above the water, giuseppi?" "it is difficult to judge, signor, we are so high above them; but i should think in the middle they must be ten or twelve feet." "i should think it likely they were more than double that, giuseppi; but we shall see better when we get down to the bottom. i daresay we shall find a place where we can clamber down somewhere." "my dear francisco," matteo said earnestly, "is anything the matter with you? i begin to have doubts of your sanity. what on earth do these rocks matter to you one way or the other'! or what can you care whether they are thirty inches or thirty feet above the water? they do not differ from other rocks, as far as i can see. they are very rugged and very rough, and would be very awkward if they lay out at sea instead of in this little bay, where they are in nobody's way. is it not enough that you have tramped two miles to have a look at them, which means four miles, as we have got to return somehow? and now you talk about climbing down that break- neck cliff to have a look at them close!" matteo protests. but francis paid no attention to matteo's words. he was gazing down into the clear smooth water, which was so trans- parent that every stone and pebble at the bottom could be seen. "the water looks extremely shallow, giuseppi. what do you think?" "it seems to me, signor, that there is not a foot of water between the rocks and the shore." "it does look so, giuseppi; but it is possible that the trans- parency of the water deceives us, and that there may be ten or twelve feet of water there. however, that is what we must go down and find out. now the first thing is to look about and find some point at which we can get down the beach." "well, i will lie down and take a nap till you come back," matteo said in a tone of resignation. "i have no interest either in these rocks or in the water; and as far as i can pro- test i do so against the whole proceeding, which to me savours of madness." "don't you understand, you silly fellow, what i am thinking about?" francis said impatiently. "not in the smallest degree, francisco; but do not trouble to tell me—it makes no matter. you have some idea in your head, carry it out by all means; only don't ask me to cut my hands, tear my clothes, and put myself into a perspiration by climbing down that cliff." "my idea is this, ■ matteo. there is no chance of carrying off the lido by speed from the genoese; but if we could get her out of the bay we might bring her round here and lay her behind those rocks, and the genoese would pass by without dreaming she was there. half a mile out those rocks would look as if they form part of the cliff, and none would suspect there was a passage behind them." "that is something like an idea!" matteo said, jumping to his feet. "why did you not tell me of it before? you have "giuseppi can wade out." quite alarmed me. seriously i began to think that you had become a little mad, and was wondering whether i had not better go back and fetch the captain and some of his men to look after you. now let us look at your rocks again. why, man, there is not water enough to float a boat between them and the shore, much less the lido, which draws nine foot of water now she is loaded." "i don't know, matteo. looking down on water from a height is very deceiving; if it is clear and transparent there is nothing to enable you to judge its depth. at any rate it is worth trying. before we go down we will cut some long stiff rods with which we can measure the depth. but we have first to find a place where we can get down to the water." after a quarter of an hour's search they found a point where the descent seemed practicable. a little stream had worn a deep fissure in the face of the rock, shrubs and bushes had grown up in the crevices and afforded a hold for the hands, and there appeared no great difficulty in getting down. before starting they cut three stiff slender rods twelve feet in length. they then set to work to make the descent. it was by no means difficult, and in a few minutes they stood by the edge of the water. "it is a great advantage, the path being so easy," francis said, "for in case they did discover the ship we could land and climb to the top before they had time to come to shore, and once there we couid keep the whole force in those galleys at bay. now for the main point, the depth of the water." matteo shook his head. "it is useless to take the trouble to undress, francis," he said, as the latter threw off his jacket. "giuseppi can wade out to the rocks without wetting his knees." "giuseppi can try if he likes," francis said, "but i will wager he will not get far." "i shall believe you in future." giuseppi, as convinced as matteo of the shallowness of the water, stepped into it, but was surprised to find that before he had gone many paces the water was up to his waist. "well, i wouldn't have believed it if i hadn't seen it," matteo said when he returned, "but i think he must have got into a deep hole among the rocks; however, we shall soon see," and he too began to undress. in a few minutes the three lads were swimming out towards the rocks which, as francis had anticipated, rose from twenty to thirty feet above the level of the sea. the water deepened fast, and for the last thirty or forty yards they were unable to touch the bottom, even when thrusting down their rods to the fullest depth. they then tried the depth in the passages at the end of the rocks and found that there was ample water for the lido. when they ascertained this to their satisfaction they swam back to the shore. "i shall believe you in future, francis, even if you assert that the moon is made of cheese. i could have taken an oath that there was not a foot of water between those rocks and the shore." "i hardly ventured to hope that it was as deep as it is," francis said, "but i know how deceiving clear water is when you look down upon it from a height . however, that point is settled." "but they would see our masts above the rocks, francisco; they are sure to keep a sharp look-out as they go along." "we must take the masts out of her," francis said. "i don't know how it is to be done, but the captain will know, and if that can't be managed we must cut them down. there is no difficulty about that. now we will make our way back again, it will be dark in a couple of hours' time. everything depends upon whether they have towed the lido out and anchored her among their galleys. if they have i fear the scheme is giuskm's instructions. impracticable, but if they let her remain where she is lying we might get her out without being noticed, for there is no moon." as they began to ascend the cliff francis stopped sud- denly. "we should never be able to find this place in the dark," he said. "giuseppi, you must stay here. do you collect a quantity of dried sticks, and lay them in readiness at that point opposite the ledge; we will show a light as we come along, that is if we succeed in getting the lido out, and directly you see it set fire to the sticks; the fire will be a guide to us as to the position of the rocks." "perhaps i had better take the sticks off to the ledge, messer francisco, and light my fire on the rock at the end. the water is deep a few yards out, as we found, so you could sail close to the fire and then round behind the rocks without danger." "that will be the best way, giuseppi; but how will you get the sticks off without wetting them?" "i will make a bundle three or four times as big as i want," giuseppi said, "and then half of them will be dry. i can put my clothes on them and the tinder. i will answer for the fire, but i would rather have been with you in your adventure." "there will be no danger there, giuseppi, so you need not be anxious about us; it has to be done quietly and secretly, and there will be no fighting. these genoese are too strong to think of that; and if we are discovered in the attempt, or as we make off, we shall take to our boats again and row straight on shore. keep a sharp look-out for us, we will hoist two lights, one above the other, to prevent your mistaking any fishing-boat which may be coming along for us. now, matteo, for a climb; we have no time to lose." the two lads climbed to the top of the cliff, and then started etting out on the adventure. think it worth the trouble to get up the anchor and tow her out to where they are lying." the details of the expedition were now discussed and arranged, and the men told off to their various duties, and at eleven o'clock at night, when all in the town were fast asleep, the party quitted the bivouac and marched down again to the port. chapter x. recaptured. one was astir in the streets as the band marched through, and they reached the port without encountering a single person. a small boat was chosen, and in this the captain, francis, matteo, and two of the strongest and most powerful of the sailors embarked. it was thought unlikely that, lying, as the lido did, within a couple of hundred yards of the genoese galleys, any very vigilant watch would be kept, and not more than two sailors would probably be on deck . the dark mass of the ship could just be made out from the shore, and when all was ready the two sailors with their oars pushed her off with all their strength, and then stood perfectly quiet. the impetus was sufficient . the boat moved so slowly through the water, indeed, before they reached the ship that francis thought it would be necessary for the men to row a stroke or two, but the boat still moved on until at last it touched the side of the ship. all had removed their boots before start- ing, and they now clambered up the sides without making the slightest noise. once on deck they stood perfectly quiet, listening. presently they heard a murmur of voices on the other side of the vessel. very quietly they crept towards the sound, and at length a surprise. made out two figures leaning over the bulwarks talking. each man's work had been settled, and there was no confusion. one of the sailors and francis stole towards one of the men, while the other and matteo approached the second. the captain stood with his sword bared in readiness to cut down any other man who might be on deck. the genoese did not look round. francis gave the word, "now," and in a moment the two sailors seized them from behind with a grasp of iron, while the lads at the same moment passed bandages tightly round their mouths, and before the genoese were quite aware of what had happened they were lying bound hand and foot gagged upon the deck. the party now made a search, but found no one else about. they then secured and fastened down the hatch of the forecastle by coiling ropes upon it, quietly opened the door leading to the poop cabins, and entering, seized and bound two officers sleeping there without the slightest noise or resistance. then they took a light from the cabin and showed it towards the shore. at the signal the sailors, who had already taken their places in the boats, at once rowed out to the vessel. when all were on board, the boats were fastened alongside in case it should be necessary to abandon the ship again. the cable was then cut . one of the sailors had already ascended the shrouds and poured oil over the blocks through which the halyards ran so that the sails should ascend noiselessly. the wind was very light, scarcely enough to belly out the sails, but it was fortu- nately in the right direction, and the lido began to steal through the water. not a word had been spoken since they first started, but francis now whispered to the captain, "i think i can make out the genoese ships." "so can i," the captain said, "but they cannot see us; they nre against the sky-line, while we are in the shadow of the shore; so far all is perfectly safe, and if this breath of wind will fairly away. but carry us far enough out to be able to use our oars without their hearing us we shall certainly get away." the progress of the lido was so slow that it was nearly an hour before the captain said that he thought they were now fairly round the point of the bay and could use their oars. "we had better tow," he said; "the sweeps make a noise that can be heard miles away on a calm night like this, whereas, if they are careful, men in a boat can row almost noiselessly." ten of the men accordingly took their places in one of the large boats in which they had come on board, and a rope being passed down to them they began rowing at the head of the ship. "we may as well lower the sails," the captain said, "they are doing no good now. indeed i think it is a current rather than the wind that has helped us so far." "i will put two lanterns over the side," francis said. "we may have gone farther than we think, and it would never do to pass our hiding-place." the men in the boat rowed vigorously, but it was slow work towing the deeply laden vessel. at last, however, a light burst suddenly up from the shore. "there is giuseppi," francis exclaimed. "we are further out than we thought we were. he must be fully a mile and a half away." the men in the boat were told to row direct for the light, and some of the sweeps were got out and helped the vessel through the water. as they drew near they could make out giuseppi throwing fresh wood on the fire. "you can steer within ten yards of where he is standing, captain, and directly you are abreast of him put your helm hard to port . you had better get the sweeps in now, the less way she has on her the better." ! in the hiding-place. "all well?" giuseppi hailed, as they came within fifty yards of it. "all well, giuseppi! there has been no fighting, so you have lost nothing. put all your wood on the fire, wo want as much light as we can to get in." the flames shot up high, and the captain had no difficulty in rounding the corner of the rocks and bringing up his vessel behind them. a kedge was dropped, and the men in the boat rowed to the end of the rocks and brought off giuseppi. "i was beginning to be anxious," the lad said, as he joined them on deck, "and when i first saw your signal i took you for a fishing-boat; you were so far off that the two lights looked like one, but by dint of gazing i made them out at last, and then lit the fire." "now, captain," francis said, "we have a good deal to do before morning, for i take it it will be no easy matter to get out the masts." "there would be no difficulty in getting the masts out," the captain answered. "i have only to knock out the wedges and loosen the stays, and get up a tripod made of three spars to lift them out; but i don't see how they are to be got in again." "how is that, captain? i should have thought it no more difficult to get a mast in than to take it out." "nor would it be so under ordinary circumstances," the captain replied; "but you see our hold is full of grain, and as the mast comes out the hole it leaves will fill up and there will be no getting it down again to step it on the keel without discharging the cargo." "yes, i see that, captain. then you think we had better cut down the masts; but in that case how are we to raise them again?" "we will cut them off about six feet above the deck, messer francisco; then when we want to set sail again we have only to the prisoners. rear the masts up by the side of the stumps, and lash them securely. of course they will be six feet shorter than before, but that is of little consequence." "then so let it be," francis said, "the sooner we begin the better." just at this moment there was a violent knocking against the hatch of the forecastle. "i had forgotten all about the sailors," the captain said, laughing. "i suppose the men who were to relieve the watch have woke up, and finding they could not get out have aroused their comrades." "shall we leave them there, or take them out and bind them?" matteo asked. "we had better have them up," the captain said. "i don't suppose there are more than twenty of them, and it would be best to bind them and put them down in the hold with the corn, otherwise they may manage to break out when we are not ex- pecting it, and might give us some trouble." accordingly, the sailors gathered round the hatch, the ropes were then removed and the hatch taken off. "what fooling are you up to v one of the genoese exclaimed, angrily, as they rushed up on deck. "you have nearly stifled us down below putting on the hatch and fastening it." he stopped abruptly as, on gaining the deck, he saw a crowd of armed figures round him, for a lantern had been placed so as to throw a light upon the spot. "you are prisoners," the captain said. "it is useless to at- tempt resistance." "help, help, treachery!" one of the genoese shouted at the top of his voice. "it is useless for you to shout," the captain said, "you are miles away from your fleet . now, do you surrender, or are we to attack you?" awaiting the pursueks. taken by surprise and unarmed, the genoese who had gained the deck sullenly replied that they surrendered. they were bound and led away, and the others ordered to come up on deck. there were found to be four-and-twenty in all, and these were soon laid side by side on the grain in the hold, the hatch being left off to give them air. the masts were then cut through, and were with some trouble lowered to the dock. "there is nothing more to be done now," the captain said, "and i think we can all safely turn in till morning." he then ordered the under officer to place two men on watch on the rocks and two men on deck, two men to stand as sentinels over the prisoners, and the rest to lie down. he directed that he should be roused at the earliest streak of daylight . the lads were soon fast asleep, and could hardly believe that the night was over when giuseppi awakened them with the news that day was breaking. they were soon on deck, and found that the crew were already astir. the sentinels on the rock were at once ordered to lie down, so that they could command a view of the sea without exposing themselves to sight . the boats were drawn up alongside, and everything put in readiness for instant debarkation, and then the party waited for the appear- ance of the genoese galleys. "they will be along in less than an hour," the captain said. "it is light enough now for the watch to have discovered that the lido is missing, and it will not be many minutes before they are under way. they will calculate that we can have but five or six hours' start at the utmost, and that three hours' rowing will bring them up to us." "i have no fear whatever of their discovering us as they go along," francis said. "the only fear is that after rowing for three or four hours and seeing no sign of us they will guess that we are hidden somewhere under the cliffs, and will come back along the shore, searching every bay." a watch along the cliff. "there is a chance of that," the captain agreed, " but i should think only a chance. when the party who come this way find they do not overtake us they will suppose that we have sailed to the west, and that on their return they will find us in the hands of their comrades, and when these also come back empty handed they will conclude that we have sailed straight out to sea. of course they may have sent a galley southward also, but will conclude that that has somehow missed us when it returns without news. i hardly think that the idea that we may be hidden so close to them will enter their minds, and the only fear i entertain is that some peasant may happen to come to the edge of the cliff and see us lying here, and may take the news back to girgenti." "yes, there is certainly a danger of that," francis said. "i think, captain, it would be the best plan to land twenty men at once. giuseppi will show them the way up the cliff, and then they must take their station at short distances apart along the edge of the cliff, from point to point of this little bay, with orders to seize any one who may approach and bring him down here. they must, of course, be told to lie down, as a line of sentries along the top of the cliff might attract the attention of somebody on the galleys, and lead to a search." "yes, i think that will be a wise precaution," the captain agreed. "thomaso, do you take twenty men and post them as you hear messer francisco say. tell them to lie in the bushes and keep out of sight, and on no account to show them- selves unless some one comes along sufficiently near to look over the edge of the cliff." "giuseppi," francis said, "do you act as guide to the party. you will have plenty of time to get to the top and to return before the galleys come along." a quarter of an hour later the captain with matteo and francis landed on the ledge and took the place of the sentries, the baffled galley. rest themselves, for from the hurry with which they started you may be sure that they did not wait to break their fast . i would give a month's pay to be in that harbour this evening. what tempers they must be in when they find, after all their toil, that we have slipped through their fingers; how they will talk the matter over, and discuss which way we went; how the men in each ship will say that the others cannot have used their eyes or exerted themselves, else we must have been over- taken. messer francisco, i am indebted to you, not only for having saved the ship, but for giving me a joke, which i shall laugh over whenever i think of it. it will be a grand story to tell over the wine-cups, how we cheated a whole genoese fleet, and carried off the lido from under their noses. what a tale it will be to relate to a genoese, when we meet in some port after the war is over; it will be enough to make him dance with rage. "now, lads," he went on, turning to the men, "stand to your tackle; the moment that galley gets out of sight round the point, up with the mast." ten minutes later the masts were up, stout ropes were lashed round them and the stumps, and wedges driven in to tighten the cords to the utmost. the rigging was of the simplest description, and before dark everything was in readiness for hoisting the sails. "i don't think they can make us out now," the captain said. "i don't think they could," francis agreed; "but we had better wait another quarter of an hour; it would be absurd to run any risk after everything has turned out so well; but the men can get into the boats and tow us out through the channel, then we can hoist the boats on board, and by that time it should be nearly dark enough" " think there will be a breeze presently," the captain said, home again. "and from the right direction. however, the men won't mind working hard for a bit, they have had an easy time for the last two days." the oars were all manned, and the men set to work with hearty good-will. they were delighted at their escape from the island, for they might have been there some time before they got a passage back, and still more pleased at having tricked the genoese; and the lido, heavy laden as she was, moved at a steady pace through the water, under the impulsion of the oars. for an hour they rowed parallel with the shore, as, had they made out to sea they might possibly have been seen by one of the galleys returning late from the search for them. at the end of that time the captain turned her head from shore. as soon as they got well out from under the shelter of the land the breeze made itself felt, and the sails were hoisted. for a time the men kept on rowing, but the breeze increased rapidly, and the captain ordered the oars to be laid in. a double allowance of wine was served out, and an hour or two spent in song and hilarity; then the watch below was sent down, and francis and matteo turned into their cots. in the morning the breeze was blowing strong; the sails had been taken off the main-mast, but that on the fore mast was dragging the lido through the water at a good rate of speed, and before night they were off cape spartivento. the wind held till next morning, when they were abreast of the gulf of taranto. then came a long spell of calms or baffling winds, and it was a fortnight before the campaniles of venice were seen rising apparently from the water. "i have been anxious about you," signor polani said when francis arrived. "one of our galleys brought the report that a genoese fleet was cruising on the coast of sicily, and as, although war had not yet been openly declared, both parties "it was just a happy idea" were making prizes, i was afraid that they might have snapped you up." "they did snap us up," francis said smiling. "they caught us in the port of girgenti, and the standard of genoa waved over the lido." "but how can that be," polani said, "when you have returned in her? for she was signalled as approaching the port hours ago. you could hardly have persuaded the genoese by fair words to release a prize that they had once taken. eh, cap- tain?" "no, that is not the genoese way, nor ours either," the captain said. "we did better than that, signor; we recaptured her, and carried her off from under their noses." "you are joking," polani said, "for they signalled the lido as returning laden, and a laden ship could never get away from state galleys, however long her start. a fat pig might as soon try to escape from a hunting dog." "that is so, messer polani, and we did not trust to our speed; we tricked them famously, sir. at least, when i say we did, messer francisco here did, for the credit is due solely to him. if it had not been for this young gentleman i and the crew would now have been camping out in the forests of sicily, without the slightest prospect of being able to make our way home, and the lido would now be moored in the port of genoa." "that is so, cousin polani," matteo said. "it is to francisco that we owe our escape, and you owe the safety of the lido and her cargo." "it was just a happy idea that occurred to me," francis said, "as it would assuredly have occurred to captain pesoro, if he had been with us, or to anyone else, and after i had first suggested it the captain carried out all the arrangements." "not at all, messer francisco," the captain said obstinately. the story told. "i had no part or hand in the business beyond doing what you suggested, and you would have got the lido off just as well if i hadn't been there." "well, i will judge for myself when i hear," polani said. "but, as it must be an interesting story, my daughters would like to hear it also; so, come into the next room and tell the tale, and i will order up a flagon of cyprus wine to moisten your throats." "first of all," the captain began, after the girls had greeted francis, and all had taken their seats, "i must tell how the lido was captured." and he then related how the genoese fleet had suddenly appeared before them, and how, seeing the im- possibility of escape, he had sent all on shore with the exception of four sailors, and how he had with them been released and sent on shore. "that's the genoese all over," polani said. "if they could have sent forty prisoners home they would have done so; but the fact that there were only five on board when they took the vessel would seem to them to detract from the credit of the capture." the captain then told how, fearing that the people of girgenti might give them all up to the genoese, or that fights might ensue among the genoese sailors who landed, he had marched the crew away out of the town. "now, captain," matteo broke in, "i will tell the next bit, because i was with francis when he found a hiding-place." he then related how francis had seen the ledge of rocks in the distance, and had dragged him along the cliff two miles to observe them more closely; and how ho had come to the con- clusion that his companion had lost his senses; then he described the exact position and the clearness of the water, and how he had been convinced that there was not depth to float a row-boat inside the rocks; and how they had gone war with genoa. down, swum out, fathomed the water, and then returned to the wood. the captain then took up the tale again, and completed it to" the end. "there is no doubt you were right, captain," polani said, "and that it is entirely francisco's quickness of observation, readiness of plan, and determination to see if his ideas could be carried into effect, which saved the lido. that he possessed these qualities is not new to me, for i have already greatly benefited by them. if he had not been born a peace- ful trader he would have made a great captain some day; but the qualities which would distinguish a man in war are also useful in peace, and i think it fully as honourable to be a suc- cessful merchant, as a successful soldier. henceforth, francisco, i shall no longer consider you as in leading strings, and shall feel that i can confide important business to you, young as you are." the next voyage that francis made was to jaffa, and this was accomplished without adventure. on his return he found that venice was in a state of excitement—war had at last been declared, and every effort was being made to fit out a fleet which could cope with that of genoa. the command was intrusted to vettore pisani, who was invested in the church of st. mark with the supreme command of the fleet by the doge himself, who handed to the admiral the great banner of venice, with the words: "you are destined by god to defend with your valour this republic, and to retaliate upon those who have dared to insult her and to rob her of that security which she owes to the virtue of her ancestors; wherefore, we confide to you this victorious and great standard, which it will be your duty to restore to us unsullied and triumphant." carlo zeno, a noble, who had gained a high reputation in vettoke pisani. various capacities, was appointed commissioner and captain- general of negropont. the three first divisions of those inscribed in the register, as liable to serve in the navy, were called out, and on the th of april pisani sailed from venice with four- teen war galleys. pisani enjoyed the highest popularity among the people of venice, his manner was that of a bluff hearty sailor, he was always ready to share in the hardships of his men, and to set them an example of good temper and cheerfulness, as well as of bravery. he was quick-tempered, and when in a passion cared nothing whom he struck; when governor of candia, he had got into a serious scrape, by striking pietro cornaro, an officer of the republic, from whom he happened to differ on some point of routine. he was a relative of the doge andrea contarini, and had been employed not only as an officer in the navy, but as a military engineer and as a diplomatist, and in each capacity had shown equal talent. he was connected with the polani family, and was at their house several times before he sailed. here he heard from his kinsman an account of the manner in which francisco had saved the bonito from being rammed by the pirates, and how he had succeeded in getting the lido out of the hands of the genoese; and he was so much pleased that he offered to take him with him in his galley, but polani advised francis not to accept the offer. "it is quite true," he said, "that most of our noble families are, like myself, engaged in commerce, and that one day they are trading as merchants and the next fighting under the state; but at present, if you take my advice you will stick to the peaceful side of the profession, especially as, being an english- man, you are in no way called upon to serve the state. in another five or six years, if we are then at war, it will be different. i have frequently offered galleys for the service of the polanl's advice. state, and you can then take the command of one, and will, i have no doubt, distinguish yourself; but were you to enter now, you might remain in the service of the state for some years, and would be losing your time as a merchant . there are countries in which when a man once takes up the profession of arms he remains a soldier all his life, and may not only achieve honour but wealth and wide possessions. it is not so in venice; here we are all citizens as well as all soldiers if need be. we fight for the state while a war lasts, and then return to our peaceful avocations. even my kinsman, pisani, may be admiral of the fleet to-day, and a week hence may be a private citizen. therefore, my lad, i think it would be very foolish of you to give up commerce at present to take military ser- vice." "i quite agree with you, signor," francis said, although, in truth, for a moment he had felt a strong mind to accept the offer of pisani. "i am just beginning to learn a little of trade, and desire nothing better than to be a successful merchant; though i confess that i should like to take part in such a glorious sea-fight as that which is likely to take place soon." "yes, and perhaps be killed in the first engagement, francis, for neither skill nor bravery avail against a bolt from a genoese cross-bow. no, my lad, be content with trade, espe- cially since you have seen already that even the life of a trader has plenty of incident and excitement . what with storms, what with pirates, what with the enemies of the state and the treachery of the native peoples with whom we trade, there is no lack of adventure in the life of a venetian merchant." francis felt that this was true, and that he had in the past six months had fully his share in adventures. his stay on shore this time extended over a month, and it was not until three weeks after pisani sailed that he again set out the notice was a short one. polani had been sent for to ( ) n a fresh voyage. attend the council early in the morning, and on his return he said to francis: "you must go down to the port at once, francis. news has been received from pisani that he has sailed almost into the port of genoa, without finding the fleet of fieschi. the genoese have been in a terrible state of panic. the lord of fiesole, who is our ally, is menacing the city by land, the stella company of condottieri, which is in our pay, is also march- ing against them; and the news that pisani was close at hand seems to have frightened them out of their senses. their first step as usual has been to depose their doge and choose another. however that is not the point. pisani has written asking that some ships with provisions and stores shall be sent out to him. they are to go through the straits of messina and up the coast of italy until he meets them. his force is far too small for him to think of making an attack upon genoa. he will wait in the neighbourhood of the city for a short time in hopes of fieschi's fleet returning; if it does not do so he will come down the coast searching for it, and as he does not wish to put in port, he desires the stores mentioned to be sent out to him. "i have placed the bonito at their service, and have pro- mised that she shall be ready to sail to-morrow morning, if they will send the stores on board to-day. three other merchants placed ships at their disposal, but these may not sail for a day or two. they are particularly anxious that the bonito shall start at once, as, in addition to provisions, she will carry a store of javelins, arrows, and other missiles of which there was not a sufficiency in the arsenal when pisani sailed. you will have a strong party on board, as speed is required, and the oars must be kept going until you join the fleet; therefore i shall place the crew of the lido on board as well as the bonito's own complement, and this will bring the number up to a busy night's work. a hundred men. the captain has had an accident, and will not be able to go in charge, therefore the lido's captain will com- mand. this time i shall appoint you specifically second in command, as well as my representative. now get off on board as quickly as you can, for there is enough to keep you at^orli till to-morrow morning to get everything in readiness for u start . you had best run in and say good-bye to my daughters, as it may be that you will not find time to return before sail- ing. you can send your boy ashore for what things ycu require. matteo will accompany you." a few minutes later francis was on his way to the port, leaving giuseppi to charter a gondola and follow with his trunks. as polani had said, he was occupied without inter- mission until the time for sailing next morning. the barges of the state kept coming alongside with stores and provisions from the arsenal; while other boats brought out the ship's stores; and francis had to take a note of all that came on board. the captain superintended the setting up of the rig- ging, and the getting of the ship into working order; while the under officers saw to the hoisting in and storing of the cargo. gangs of men were at work tarring the sides of the ship, for she had only two days before returned from a trip to spain; and a number of sailors were unloading the cargo from one hatchway, while her fresh freight was being taken in at the other. it seemed well-nigh impossible that she could be ready to sail at the hour named, but every one worked with a will, and by daybreak things were almost in order. polani himself came down to the port as soon as it was light, and expressed satisfaction at the work which had been done; and half an hour afterwards the anchor was weighed. just as tho sails had been hoisted, matteo arrived . "you are only just in time, matteo," polani said; "why did you not come off yesterday and help?" matteo is reprtmanded. "i was out," matteo said, "when your message came, and only returned just in time to go to the entertainment at the ducal palace; i knew i could be of no use on board while they were only getting in the cargo." "you will never be of any use on board, matteo, if you go to entertainments when there's work to be done. you could have taken the marks on the bales as they came on board just as well as another. i suppose you thought that the dirt and dust wouldn't suit a fine gentleman like you? another time, unless you come on board when sent for, and make yourself as useful as you can while the ship is fitting out and loading, you will not sail in her. one part of the duty is just as important as the other, and seamanship does not consist solely in strolling up and down the deck, and watching a vessel sail for her destination." "matteo was abashed at the reproach, but soon recovered his usual spirits after polani had left when the vessel was under way. "my cousin was rather in a sharp mood this morning," he said with a laugh to francis; "but really i did not think i could be of any good, and the entertainment was a grand one. every one was there, and i should have been very sorry to have missed it." "every one to his taste, matteo. for my part i would very much rather have been at work here all night watching the cargo got in and checking it off, than have been standing about doing nothing in the palace." "doing nothing!" matteo repeated indignantly. "why, was talking to some one the whole time i was there." "talking about what, matteo?" "the heat, and the music, and the costumes, and the last bit of scandal at the piazza." "i don't call that talk, i call it chatter. and now, matteo, searching for pisani. i shall leave you to your own devices, for i am going to turn in and get a sleep for a few hours." "you look as if you wanted it," matteo said; "but i think that you stand in even more need of a wash. you are grimy with dust. it is just as well that my cousin giulia did not come on board with her father this morning, for the sight of your face would have given her quite a shock, and would have dissipated any illusions she may have had that you were a good-looking fellow." francis went off to his cabin with a laugh, and took matteo's advice as to the wash before he turned in. in a few minutes he was asleep, and did not wake until giuseppi came to say that the mid-day meal was just ready. the bonito made a rapid voyage. the winds were light, and for the most part favourable, and the twenty-four oars were kept going night and day, the men relieving each other every two hours, so that they had six hours' rest between the spells of rowing. when they rounded the southern point of italy a sharp look-out was kept for the fleet of fieschi, but they passed through the straits without catching sight of a single vessel carrying the genoese flag. the most vigilant watch was now kept for pisani's galleys, and they always anchored at the close of day, lest they should pass him in the dark. occasionally they overhauled a fishing-boat, and endeavoured to obtain news of the two squadrons; but beyond the fact that fieschi had been seen steering north some days before, and that no signs had been seen of pisani's returning fleet, they could learn nothing. chapter xl the battle of antium. e are running very far north," the captain said on the th of may. "we are near antium now, and are getting into what we may call genoese waters. if anything has occurred to prevent pisani carry- ing out his intention of sailing back along this coast, or if he lias passed us on the way up, our position would be a hazardous one, for as soon as he has rowed away the genoese galleys will be on the move again, and even if we do not fall in with fieschi we may be snapped up by one of their cruisers." "it is rather risky, captain," francis agreed; "but our orders are distinct. we were to sail north till we met pisani, and we must do so till we are within sight of the walls of genoa, if we then see he is not lying off the port we shall put about and make our way back again." "yes, if they give us the chance, messer francisco; but long before we are sufficiently near to genoa to make out whether pisani is lying off the port they will see us from the hills, and will send off a galley to bring us in. however, we must take our chance, and if we get into a scrape i shall look to you con- fidently to get us out again." "i should advise you not to count on that," francis said, laughing. "it is not always one gets such a lucky combination of circumstances as we did at girgenti." news of the genoese. at last they obtained news from a fishing-boat that fieschi's fleet had passed, going northward, on the previous day, and was now lying in the bay of antium. as antium lay but a few miles north they held a consultation as to the best method to pursue. if they sailed on there was a risk of capture; but that risk did not appear to be very great. the genoese admiral would not expect to find a venetian merchant ship so near to genoa, and they might be able to pass without being inter- fered with. on the other hand, news might possibly have come of the departure of store-ships from venice for pisani's fleet, and in that case a strict look-out would certainly be kept, and it would be necessary to keep so far to sea as to be out of sight of the genoese; but in that case there would be a risk of their missing pisani's fleet on the way down. "i think," the captain said after a long debate, "that we had better anchor here close under the shore to-night. if i am not mistaken we shall have a gale in the morning. i do not like the look of the sky. to-morrow we shall see how the weather is, and can then come to a decision." by morning, as the captain had predicted, the wind was blow- ing strongly and a heavy sea was running, and it was agreed to keep along under the lee of the shore until they could obtain a view of the bay of antium, and see if the fleet of fieschi was still there; if so, they would tack and run back some distance and make straight out to sea, so as to pass along four or five miles from the shore, as it would be unlikely in the extreme that the genoese admiral would send a galley out to overhaul a passing ship in such weather. they sailed along till they neared the slight depression known as the bay of antium, and then bore farther out to sea. suddenly a fleet was seen running down the coast at some distance away. "'bout ship," the captain cried. "the genoese have been the rival ki.ekts. cruising further north, and are coming down the coast. in such weather as this the bonito ought to be able to get away from them." "it may be pisanfs fleet," francis said, as the ship was put round. "it is possible," the captain agreed; "but we cannot run the risk of stopping until we make inquiries." "no, captain; but, at least, if we run a mile or so out to sea we should be able to see round the point and discover whether fieschi's galleys are there." the captain assented. the vessel's head was turned from the land. in ten minutes there was a joyous shout on board the bonito, for the genoese fleet was seen lying in the bay. the distant fleet must then form that of pisani. "see!" francis exclaimed; "the genoese have just caught sight of them, and are hoisting sail. they are either going to meet them or to run away. our vessels are the most numerous; but no, there is not much difference. pisani has fourteen ships, but some must be lagging behind, or have been lost. how many do you make them out to be, captain?" "i think there are only nine," the captain answered, "and that is just the number of the genoese." "then fieschi will fight if he is not a coward," matteo said; "but, in that case, why are they making out to sea?" "fieschi may not care to be attacked at anchor," the captain replied; "that would give all the advantage to us; besides, if they were beaten there would be but little chance of any of them escaping. no, he is right to make out to sea, but blow- ing as it is it will be next to impossible for him to fight there. two vessels could hardly get alongside to board in such a sea as this. i expect fieschi thinks that we shall never attack him in such a storm; but pisani would fight if it were a hurricane." "cannot we edge down towards them?" it did indeed seem almost impossible to fight in such a sea. the ltonito was rolling, gunwale under. her sail had been reduced to its smallest proportions, and yet, when the squalls struck her she was laid completely over on her side. but the rival admirals were too anxious to fight to be deterred by the difficulty, and both were bent upon bringing on an action at once. "i would give anything to be on board one of our galleys," matteo said. "it is horrible standing here doing nothing, when such a fight as this is going to begin." "cannot we edge down towards them, captain?" francis asked. "i do not mean that we should take part in the fight, for we have but a hundred men, and the galleys must each carry at least three times as many; still we might be near enough to see something, and perhaps to give succour to any disabled ship that drops out of the fight." "i will do so if you like, messer francisco," the captain said, "if you will take the responsibility; but if our side gets the worst of it, you must remember that the bonito may be cap- tured." "i don't think there's much chance of pisani being beaten by an enemy no stronger than himself," francis said; "and even if they should be victorious, the genoese will certainly have enough on their hands with repairing damages and securing prisoners to think of setting ofl" in chase of a ship like ours." "that is true enough," the captain agreed, for he was indeed as anxious as francis and matteo to witness the struggle. the vessels on both sides were under canvas, for it was im- possible to row in such a sea. as soon as they approached each other both fleets broke up, and the vessels each singling an opponent out, the combat began. it was a singular one, and differed widely from ordinary sea-fights of the time, in which the combatants always tried to grapple with their enemies and carry them by boarding. this was almost impossible now, for a sea-fight. it seemed that the vessels would be dashed in pieces like egg- shells were they to strike each other. clouds of missilos were poured from one to the other; the archers plied their bows; great machines hurled javelins and big stones, and the crash of the blows of the latter against the sides of the ships sounded even above the noise of the wind and waves and the shouting of the combatants. as for the cannon with which all the galleys were armed, they were far too cumbrous and unmanage- able to be worked in such weather. sometimes one vessel, lifted on the crest of a wave while its opponent lay in a hollow, swept its decks with terrible effect; while- a few seconds later the advantage was on the other side. for a long time neither party seemed to gain any advantage. great numbors were killed on both sides, but victory did not in- cline either way, until the mast of one of the venetian galleys was struck by a heavy stone and went over the side. she at once fell out of the line of the battle, her opponent keeping close to her, pouring in volumes of missiles, while the sea, taking her on the broad side, washed numbers of her crew overboard. her opponent, seeing that she was altogether helpless, left her to be taken possession of afterwards, and made for pisani's galley, which was distinguished by its flag at the masthead, and was maintaining a desperate conflict with the galley of fieschi. the admiral's ship was now swept with missiles from both sides, and when his adversaries saw that his crew was greatly weakened they prepared to close, in spite of the state of the sea. if pisani himself could bo captured there would remain but seven venetian ships to the nine genoese, and victory was certain. the captain of the bonito had lashed together some heavy spars and thrown them overboard, having fastened a strong rope to them, and was riding head to the waves by means the "bonito" to the rescuel of this sea anchor, at a distance of about half a mile from the conflict. a cry of grief and rage had arisen when the crew saw that one of their galleys was disabled, and their excitement be- came intense when they saw the unequal struggle which pisani was maintaining. "they are preparing to board, captain," francis said. "wo must go to the admiral's aid; if his ship is captured the battle is lost." "i am ready, mcsser francisco, if you authorize me." "certainly i do," francis said. "the loss or capture of the llnnito is as nothing in comparison to the importance of saving pisani." the captain gave the order for the hawser to be cut and the sail hoisted. a cheer broke from the crew as they saw what was to be done. their arms had been served out at the begin- ning of the contest, and they now seized them and gathered in readiness to take part in the fight. the two genoese galleys had thrown their grapnels and made fast, one on each side of pisani's galley. the bulwarks were stove in and splintered as the vessels rolled, and the rigging of the three ships became entangled. the genoese sprang on to the deck of pisani's galley, with shouts of triumph, but they were met by the admiral himself, wielding a mighty battle-axe, and the survivors of his crew. the combat was still raging when the bonito sailed swiftly up. her sails were lowered as she came alongside, and she was lashed to one of the galleys. but this manoeuvre was not per- formed without loss. as she approached with the venetian flag flying at her masthead, the genoese archers on the poop of the galley, who had hitherto been pouring their missiles among pisani's men, turned round and opened fire upon this new foe. their arrows did far more execution here than they had done among the armour-clad soldiers of the state. the captain fell a hand-to-hand combat. dead with an arrow which struck him full in the throat, anil ten or twelve of the sailors fell on the deck beside him. "pour in one volley," francis shouted; "then throw down your bows, and take to your axes and follow me." the instant the vessel was lashed francis sprang on to the dock of the galley. matteo was by his side, giuseppi just behind, and the whole crew followed. climbing first upon the poop, they fell upon the archers, who, after a short struggle, were cut down; then, descending again to the waist of the galley, they leaped on to the deck of pisani's ship, and fell upon the rear of the genoese. these were taken completely by sur- prise. absorbed in the struggle in which they were engaged, they had noticed neither the approach of the bonito, nor the struggle on board their own galley, and supposed that another of the venetian war-ships had come up to the assistance of their admiral. taken then by surprise, and finding themselves thus between two bands of foes, they fought irresolutely, and the crew of the bonito, with their heavy axes, cut down numbers of them, and fighting their way through the mass, joined the diminished force of pisani. the admiral shouted the battle-cry of "st. mark!" his fol- lowers, who had begun to give way to despair, rallied at the arrival of this unlooked-for reinforcement, and the whole fell upon the genoese with fury. the latter fought stoutly and steadily now, animated by the voice and example of fieschi himself; but their assurance of victory was gone, and they were gradually beaten back to the deck of their admiral's ship. here they made desperate efforts to cut the lashings and free the vessel; but the yards had got interlocked and the rigging entangled, and the venetians sprang on to the deck of the ship, and renewed the conflict there. for some time the struggle was doubtful; the genoese had after the battle. him by the hand. "i have seen you often at your father's house. i shall have to give him a good account of you, for i saw you fighting bravely. but we will talk more of this after- wards. we must set to work to separate the galleys, or we shall have them grinding each other to pieces. then we must hasten to the assistance of our friends." the genoese prisoners were all fastened below, and the venetians then set to work to cut the lashings and free the rigging of the ships. francis kept only twenty men on board the bonito; the re- mainder were distributed between the two captured genoese galleys, and the admiral turned his attention to the battle. rut it was already almost over. the sight of the venetian flag at the mastheads of the admiral's ship and the other galley struck dismay into the genoese. five of their ships immediately hoisted all canvas and made off, while the other two, surrounded by the venetian galleys, hauled clown their flags. the battle had been a sanguinary one, and but eight hun- dred men were found alive on board the four galleys captured. the fight is known in history as the battle of porto d'anzo. the struggle had lasted nearly the whole day, and it was growing dark when the venetian fleet, with their prizes, anchored under shelter of the land. all night long the work of attending upon the wounded went on, and it was daybreak before the wearied crews lay down for repose. in the afternoon pisani hoisted a signal for the cap- tains of the galleys to come on board; and in their presence he formally thanked francis, in the name of the republic, for the aid he had afforded him at the most critical moment. had it not been for that aid, he acknowledged that he and his crew must have succumbed, and the victory would assuredly have fallen to the genoese. pisanl's offer. after the meeting was over he took francis into his cabin, and again offered him a post in his own ship. "were your merit properly rewarded," he said, "i would appoint you at once to the command of a galley; but to do so would do you no service, for it would excite against you the jealousy of all the young nobles in the fleet. besides, you are so young, that although the council at home cannot but acknow- ledge the vastness of the service you have rendered, they might make your age an excuse for refusing to confirm the appoints ment; but if you like to come as my third officer, i can promise you that you shall have rapid promotion, and speedily be in command of a galley. we venetians have no prejudice against foreigners. they hold very high commands, and, indeed, our armies in the field are frequently commanded by foreign captains." francis thanked the admiral heartily for his offer, but said that his father's wishes and his own led him to adopt the life of a merchant, and that, under the patronage of messer polani, his prospects were so good that he would not exchange them even for a command under the state of venice." "you are quite right, lad," the admiral said. "all govern- ments are ungrateful, and republics most of all. where all are supposed to be equal, there is ever envy and jealousy against one who rises above the rest. the multitude is fickle and easily led; and the first change of fortune, however slight, is seized upon by enemies as a cause of complaint, and the popular hero of to-day may be an exile to-morrow. like enough i shall see the inside of a venetian prison some day." "impossible, signor!" francis exclaimed; "thepeople would tear to pieces anyone who ventured to malign you." "just at present, my lad; just at present. but i know my countrymen. they are not as light-hearted and fickle as those of genoa; but they are easily led, and will shout 'a basso!' as the return. easily as 'viva!' time will show. i was within an ace of being defeated to-day; and you may not be close at hand to come to my rescue next time. and now to business. "to-morrow morning i will set the crews to get out your stores, and distribute them as required, and will place four hundred prisoners in your hold, and you shall carry them to venice with my despatches announcing the victory. the other four hundred genoese i shall send in the galley that was dis- masted yesterday to candia, to be imprisoned there. i shall send prize crews home in the galleys we have captured; and as soon as they are refitted and manned, and rejoin me, i shall sail in search of dona and his fleet . i shall first cruise up the adriatic, in case he may have gone that way to threaten venice, and i can the more easily receive such reinforcements as may have been prepared for me." the following day was spent in unloading the vessel. this was accomplished by nightfall. the prisoners were then put on board. francis at once ordered sail to be set, and the bunito was started on her homeward voyage. as soon as the bonito was signalled in sight signor polani went down to the port to meet her, to ascertain where she had fallen in with the fleet, for there was great anxiety in venice, as no news had been received from pisani for more than ten days. the vessel had just passed through the entrance between the islands when the gondola, with her owner, was seen approach- ing. francis went to the gangway to receive him. "why, what has happened, francisco?" polani asked, as the boat neared the side of the ship. "half your bulwark is car- ried away, and the whole side of the ship is scraped and scored. she looks as if she had been rubbing against a rock." "not quite so bad as that, messer polani. she has been grinding against a genoese galley." "against a genoese galley!" the merchant repeated in sur- "this is indeed great news." prise, stopping in his passage up the rope-ladder, which had been lowered for him. "why, how is that? but never mind that now; first tell me what is the news from the fleet i" "there is great news," francis replied. "the admiral fell in with fieschi off antium. there were nine ships on each side, and the battle took place in a storm. we were victorious, and captured four of the genoese galleys, with fieschi himself and eight hundred prisoners; the rest fled. fieschi is now in my cabin and four hundred prisoners in the hold." "this is indeed great news," the merchant said, "and will be an immense relief to venice. we were getting very anxious, for had pisani been defeated there was nothing to prevent the genoese ravaging our coasts, and even assailing venice itself. but where is the captain?" "i regret to say, sir, that he has been killed, as well as twenty-seven of the sailors, and many of the others are more or less severely wounded. i am the bearer of despatches from the admiral to the council." "then get into my gondola and come along at once," polani said. "i deeply regret the death of the captain and sailors; you shall tell me all about it as we come along; we must not delay a moment in carrying this great news ashore. have you got the despatches?" "yes, signor. i put them into my doublet when i saw you approaching, thinking that you would probably wish me to take them on shore at once." "and now tell me all about the battle," the merchant said as soon as they had taken their seats in the gondola. "you say there were nine ships on either side. pisani sailed away with fourteen; has he lost the remainder?" "they came up next day," francis replied. "the fleet was in a port north of antium when the news came that fieschi's fleet was there. five of the galleys had been dismantled and ( ) the story of the fight. were under repair, and pisani would not wait for them to be got into fighting order, as he was afraid lest fieschi might weigh anchor and escape if he delayed an hour. he learned that the genoese had nine ships with him, and as he had himself this number ready for sea he sailed at once. the weather was stormy and the sea very high when he appeared within sight of antium. fieschi sailed boldly out to meet him. the battle lasted all day, for it was next to impossible to board; but in the end, as i say, four genoese galleys sur- rendered and the rest fled. it was a terrible sight; for it seemed at every moment as if the waves would hurl the vessels against each otherr.and so break them into fragments; but in no case did such an accident happen." "why, you speak as if you saw it, francisco! had you joined the admiral before the battle took place?" "no, signor; we arrived near antium on the evening before the fight and heard of fieschi's presence there, therefore we anchored south of the promontory. in the morning we put out, intending to sail well out to sea and so pass the genoese, who were not likely in such weather to put out to question a sail passing in the distance; but as we made off from land we saw pisani's fleet approaching. then as fieschi put to sea and we saw that the battle was imminent, there was nothing for us to do but to lie to and wait for the battle to be over before we delivered our stores, having little doubt that pisani would be victorious." "then had the battle gone the other way," the merchant said, "the bonito at the present moment would probably be lying a prize in the harbour of genoa!" "we did not lose sight of the probability of that, signor, but thought that, if the genoese should gain a victory, they would be too busy with their prizes and prisoners, if not too crippled, to pursue us, and we reckoned that in such weather "that was well done indeed." the bonito would be able to sail quite as fast as any of the genoese" "and now tell me about your affairs, francisco. where was it you fell in with the genoese galley, and by what miracle did you get off?" "it was in the battle, sir. one of the venetian galleys had dropped out of the fight disabled, and its opponent went to the assistance of their admiral's ship, which was engaged with pisani. they attempted to board him on both sides, and, seeing that he was in great peril, and that if his ship was taken the battle would be as bad as lost, we thought that you yourself would approve of our going to his assistance. this we did, and engaged one of their galleys; and, as her crew were occupied with the admiral, we took them by surprise, and created such a diversion that he succeeded, with what assistance we could give him, in capturing both his opponents." "that was well done indeed," polani said warmly. "it was a risky matter indeed for you, with sailors unprotected by armour, to enter into a combat with the iron-clad soldiers of genoa. and so the captain and twenty-seven of the men were killed! you must have had some brisk fighting!" "the captain and many of the men were shot by the genoese archers as we ranged up alongside their vessel; the others were killed in hand-to-hand fighting." "and my cousin matteo, what has become of him !" polani asked suddenly. "i trust he is not among the killed!" "he is unharmed," francis replied. "he fought gallantly, and the admiral the next day offered to take him on board his own ship, many of the volunteers serving on board having been killed. matteo of course accepted the offer." "he would have done better to have stayed on board my ship for another two years," polani said, "and learned his busi- ness. he would have made a far better sailor than he can spreading the news. ever become on board a state galley; but i never expected him to stick to it. he has no earnestness of purpose, and is too particular about his dress to care about the rough life of a real seaman." "he has plenty of courage, sir, and i have always found him a staunch friend." "no doubt he has courage," tho merchant said. "he comes of good blood and could hardly be a coward. i think he is a good-hearted lad too, and will, i have no doubt, make a brave commander of a galley; but more than that matteo is never likely to become." "your daughters are well, i hope?" francis asked. "quite well; but you will not find them at home—they sailed three days ago in the lido for corfu. they are going to stay for a time at my villa there. that affair of last year shook them both, and i thought it better that they should go away for a change—the hot months here are trying, and often unhealthy. i will go over myself next week to be with them." they were now approaching the piazzetta, and polani shouted out to various acquaintances he met in passing gondolas the news that pisani had gained a great victory, and had captured the genoese admiral with four of his galleys. the gondolas at once changed their course, and accompanied them to gather further details of the fight. the news was shouted to other passing boats, and by the time they reached the steps of the piazzetta a throng was round them. those on shore shouted out the news, and it spread rapidly from mouth to mouth; the shopkeepers left their stores and the loungers on the piazzetta ran up, and it was with difficulty that polani and francis could make their way through the shouting and excited crowd to the entrance of the ducal palace. polani at once led francis to the doge, to whom he gave an account of the action. messengers were immediate))' despatched i'.ekore the council. to some of the members of the council, for it was to them that the despatches had to be delivered. as soon as a sufficient number to transact the business had arrived at the palace the doge himself led francis to the council chamber. "is the news that we heard shouted in the streets as we came thither true, your highness?" one of the councillors asked as they entered, "that our fleet has gained a victory over the genoese?" "i am happy to say that it is quite true; but this young gentleman is the bearer of despatches from the admiral, and these will doubtless give us all particulars." "admiral pisani has chosen a strange messenger for so important a despatch," one of the party hostile to the admiral said. "it is usual to send despatches of this kind by a trusted officer, and i do not think it respectful either to the council or the republic to send home the news of a victory by a lad like this." "the admiral apparently chose this young gentleman because, owing to the death of his captain, he was in command of the ship which messer polani placed at the service of the republic, and which was present at the fight. the admiral intended, as i hear, to set out at once in search of the fleet of doria, and doubtless did not wish to weaken himself by despatching a state galley with the news; but perhaps he may explain the matter in his despatches." several other councillors had by this time arrived, and the despatches were opened. the admiral's account of the engage- ment was brief, for he was fonder of the sword than the pen. he stated that having obtained news that fieschi's fleet was at anchor under the promontory of antium he sailed thither with nine ships, these being all that were at the moment fit to take to sea; that fieschi had sailed out to meet him, and that an engagement had taken place in the storm, which prevented the the despatches. ships from pursuing their usual tactics and compelled them to fight with missiles at a distance. the despatch then went on: "we fought all day, and the upshot of it was we captured four of their galleys, the admiral himself, and eight hundred prisoners. fortunately it is unnecessary for me to give your seignory the details of the fighting, as these can be furnished you by messcr francisco hammond, who will hand you these despatches. he was a witness of the action on the bimito, which had that morning arrived at antium with some of the stores you despatched me. i have selected this young gentle- man as the bearer of these despatches because it is to him i entirely owe it that i am not at the present moment a prisoner in genoa, and to him the republic owes that we yesterday won a victory. "i was attacked by fieschi and by another galley, and in spite of the weather they cast grapnels on to my ship and boarded me. i had already lost half of my crew by their missiles, and things were going very badly with us, when the banito came up to our assistance and grappled with one of the galleys. her captain was killed, but mcsser hammond— of whom l'olani has so high an opinion that he had aj>- pointed him second in command—led his men to my rescue. they boarded the galley and slew those who remained on board, and then, crossing on to my ship, fell upon the rear of the genoese who were pressing us backwards. his sailors, undefended as they were by armour, fought like demons with their axes, and, led by messer hammond, cut their way through the enemy and joined me. "this reinforcement gave fresh strength and spirit to my men, who had a minute before thought that all was lost. together we fell upon the genoese before they could recover from their surprise, beat them back into their admiral's ship, and following them there forced them to surrender. messer hammond the doge's approval fought by my side, and although but a lad in years he showed himself a sturdy man-at-arms, and behaved with a coolness and bravery beyond praise. i hereby recommend him to your gracious consideration, for assuredly to him it is due that it is i, and not fieschi, who is writing to announce a victory." a murmur of surprise from the councillors greeted the read- ing of this portion of the letter. when it was concluded the doge was the first to speak. "you have indeed deserved well of the republic, messer hammond, for we know that admiral pisani is not one to give undue praise or to exaggerate in aught. this is news to me, signors, as well as to you, for in his narrative to me of the events of the fight, he passed over his own share in it, though messer polani, who accompanied him, did say that his ship had taken some part in the fight, and that the captain and twenty-seven men had been killed. now, young sir, as the admiral has referred us to you for a detailed narrative of the battle, we will thank you to tell us all you witnessed, omitting no detail of the occurrences." francis accordingly gave a full account of the action, and gave great praise to his crew for the valour with which they had fought against the heavy-armed genoese. when he had concluded the doge said: "we thank you for your narrative, messer hammond, as well as for the great service you have rendered the state. will you now leave us, as we have much to debate on regard- ing this and other matters, and to arrange for the reinforce- ments for which i see by his letter the admiral asks. will you ask messer polani to remain in attendance for a while, as we wish to consult with him as to ships and other matters? as to yourself, we shall ask you to come before us again shortly." after francis had left, the council first voted that five ducats should be given to every man of the crew of the borate, rewards for merit. and that the widows of those who had been slain should be provided for at the expense of the state. they deferred the question as to the honours which should be conferred upon francis until they had consulted polani. state barges were at once sent off to bring in the prisoners from the ship, and prepara- tions made for their accommodation, for venice always treated prisoners taken in war with the greatest kindness, an example which genoa was very far from following. then polani was sent for, and the question of stores and ships gone into. orders were issued for redoubled activity in the arsenal, and it was arranged that several ships belonging to polani and others should be at once purchased for the service of the state. then they asked him for his opinion as to the reward which should be given to francis. upon the merchant expressing his igno- rance of any special service his young friend had rendered, the passage from pisani's letter relating to him was read out. "the lad is as modest as he is brave," the merchant said, "for although of course he told me that the ship had taken some part in the fight, and had done what it could to assist the admiral, in which service the captain and twenty-seven men had lost their lives, i had no idea of the real nature of the encounter. i feel very proud of the service he has rendered the state, for he has rendered me as a private individual no less important service, and i regard him as my adopted son and my future partner in my business. such being the case, signors, he needs no gift of money from the state." "he has not, of course, being still a minor, taken up his papers of naturalization as a citizen?" the doge said. "no, your highness, nor is it his intention to do so. i spoke to him on the subject once, and he said that although he regarded venice with affection, and would at all times do every- thing in his power for the state, he could not renounce his birthplace, as an englishman, by taking an oath of allegiance chapter xii. in mocenigo's power. t was full}' an hour before polani was recalled to the council chamber. he saw at once by the flushed and angry faces of some of the council that the debate had been a hot one. at this he was not surprised, for he knew that the friends and connections of ruggiero mocenigo would vehemently oppose the suggestion he had made. the doge announced the decision. "the council thank you for your suggestion, signor polani^ and have resolved by a majority to confer upon messer francisco hammond the high honour of placing his name upon the list of the citizens of venice without requiring from him the oaths of allegiance to the state. as such an honour has never before been conferred, save upon personages of the highest rank, it will be a proof of the gratitude which venice feels towards one who has done her such distinguished service. the decree to that effect will be published to-morrow." the merchant retired highly gratified. the honour was a great and signal one, and the material advantages considerable. the fact that francis was a foreigner had been the sole obstacle which had presented itself to him in associating him with his business, for it would prevent francis from trading personally with any of the countries in which venetian citizens enjoyed special advantages. francis was immensely gratified when he the joy of venice. heard from the merchant of the honour to be conferred upon him; it was of all others the reward he would have selected had a free choice been given him, but it was so great and unusual an honour that he could indeed scarcely credit it when the merchant told him the result of his interviews with the council. the difficulty which his being a foreigner would throw in the way of his career as a merchant in eastern waters had been frequently in his mind, and would, he foresaw, greatly lessen his usefulness, but that he should be able to obtain naturaliza- tion without renouncing his allegiance to england he had never even hoped. "it is a very high honour, doubtless," polani said, "but no whit higher than you deserve; besides, after all it costs venice nothing, and money is scarce at present. at any rate i can congratulate myself as well as you, for i foresaw many difficul- ties in our way. although the ships carrying the venetian hag could enter the ports of all countries trading with us, you would personally be liable to arrest at any time on being denounced as not being a native of venice, which you assuredly would be by my rivals in trade." the next day a bulletin was published, giving the substance of pisani's despatch, and announcing that in token of the gratitude of the republic for the great service he had rendered, messer hammond would be at once granted the freedom of venice, and his name inserted on the list of her citizens. during these two days the delight of venice at the news of the victory had been extreme. the houses had been decorated with flags, and the bells of all the churches had peeled out joy- ously. crowds assembled round the polani palace, and insisted upon francis making his appearance, when they greeted him with tremendous shouts of applause. upon the evening of the second day he said to polani: "have you any ship fit for sea, signor, because if so i pray "i will charter a fishing-boat." you to send me away, no matter where. i cannot stand this. since the decree was published this morning i have not had a moment's peace, and it is too absurd when i did no more than any sailor on board the ship. if it went on i should very soon be heartily sorry i ever interfered on behalf of the admiral." the merchant smiled. "i have half promised to take you with me to the reception at the persanis' this evening, and have had a dozen requests of a similar nature for every night this week and next." "then if you have no ship ready, signor, i will charter a fishing-boat, engage a couple of men, and go off for a fortnight; by the end of that time something fresh will have hap- pened." "i can send you off if you really wish it, francisco, the first thing to-morrow morning. i am despatching a small craft with a message to my agent in corfu, and with letters for my daughters; they will be delighted to see you, and indeed i shall be glad to know that you are with them, until i can wind up several affairs which i have in hand, and join them myself. she is fast, and you should be at corfu in eight-and-forty hours after sailing." francis gladly embraced the offer, and started the next mor- ning. the vessel was a small one, designed either to sail or row. her crew consisted of twenty men, who rowed sixteen sweeps when the wind was light or unfavourable. she was an open boat, except that she was decked at each end, a small cabin being formed aft for the captain, and any passengers there might be on board, while the crew stowed themselves in the little forecastle. when the boat was half-way across a sail was seen approach- ing, and the captain recognized her as one of polani's vessels. "in that case," francis said, "we may as well direct our course so as to pass them within hailing distance. when you a mysterious vessel. approach theni hoist the polani flag, and signal to them to lay to." this was done, and the two craft brought up within thirty yards of each other. the captain appeared at the side of the vessel, and doffed his cap when he recognized francis. "have you any news from the east )" the latter asked. "but little, signor. a few genoese pirates are among the islands, and are reported to have made some captures, but i have seen none. there is nothing new from constantinople; no fresh attempt has been made by the emperor to recapture tenedos." "did you touch at corfu on your way back?" "i left there yesterday, signor. a strange craft has been reported as having been seen on the coast. she carries no flag, but from her appearance she is judged to be a moor." "but we are at peace with the moors," francis said, "and it is years since they ventured on any depredations excepting on their own waters." "that is so, signor, and i only tell you what was the report at corfu. she appeared to be a swift craft, rowing a great many oars. her movements certainly seem mysterious, as she has several times appeared off the coast. two vessels which sailed from cyprus, and were to have touched at corfu, had not arrived there when i left, and they say that several others are overdue. i do not say that has anything to do with the strange galley, but it is the general opinion in corfu that it has something to do with it, and i am the bearer of letters from the governor to the seignory, praying that two or three war ships may at once be sent down to the island." "it looks strange, certainly," francis said; "but i cannot believe that any moorish pirates would be so daring as to come up into venetian waters." "i should not have thought so either, signor; but it may ho moor or genoese) that, knowing there is war between venice and genoa, and that the state galleys of the republics, instead of being scattered over the seas, are now collected in fleets and thinking only of fighting each other, they might consider it a good opportunity for picking prizes." "it is a good opportunity certainly," francis said; "but they would know that venice would sooner or later reckon with them and would demand a fourfold indemnity for any losses her merchants may have suffered. however, i will not detain you longer. will you tell signor polani that you met us, and that we were making good progress and hoped to reach corfu some time to-morrow " "this is a curious thing about this galley," the captain of the boat said to francis as the men again dipped their oars into the water and the boat once more proceeded on the way. "it is much more likely to be a genoese pirate than a moor," francis said. "they may have purposely altered their rig a little in order to deceive vessels who may sight them. it is very many years since any moorish craft have been bold enough to commit acts of piracy on this side of sicily. however, we must hope that we shall not fall in with her, and if we see anything answering to her description we will give it a wide berth. besides, it is hardly likely they would interfere with so small a craft as ours, for they would be sure we should be carrying no cargo of any great value." "twenty christian slaves would fetch money among the moors," the captain said. "let us hope we shall see nothing of them; for we should have no chance of resistance against such a craft, and she would go two feet to our one." the next morning francis was aroused by a hurried sum- mons from the captain. half-awake, and wondering what could be the cause of the call, for the boat lay motionless on the pirate. the water, he hurried out from the little cabin. day had just broken, the sky was aglow with ruddy light in the east. "look there, signor!" the captain said, pointing to the south. "the watch made them out a quarter of an hour since, but, thinking nothing of it, they did not call me. what do you think of that?" two vessels were lying in close proximity to each other at a distance of about two miles from the boat. one of them was a large trader, the other was a long galley rigged quite differently to those of either venice or genoa. "that is the craft they were speaking of," the captain said. "there is no mistaking her. she may be an egyptian or a moor, but certainly she comes from the african coast." "or is got up in african fashion," francis said. "she may be, as we agreed yesterday, a genoese masquerading in that fashion in order to be able to approach our traders without their suspicions being aroused. she looks as if she has made a captive of that vessel. i imagine she must have come up to her late yesterday evening, and has been at work all night stripping her. i hope she is too busy to attend to us." the sail had been lowered the instant the captain caught sight of the vessels, for there was scarcely enough wind to fill it, and the men were now rowing steadily. "i do not think she could have taken much of her cargr> out; she is very deep in the water." "very deep," francis agreed. "she seems to me to be deeper than she did three minutes ago." "she is a great deal deeper than when we first caught sight of her," one of the sailors said. "she stood much higher in the water than the galley did, and now, if anything, the galley stands highest." "see!" the captain exclaimed suddenly, "the galley is row- ing her oars on the port bow and bringing her head round. ciiasi:d. she has noticed us and is going to chase us! we have seen too much. row, men—it is for life! if they overtake us it is a question between death and slavery among the moors." a sudden exclamation from one of the men caused the cap- tain to glance round again at the galley. she was alone now on the water—the trader had sunk! "do you take the helm, signor," the captain said, "all hands will help at the oars." some of the oars were double banked, and beneath the strength of the twenty men the boat moved fast through the water. the galley was now rowing all her oars and in full pur- suit . for a quarter of an hour not a word was spoken, every man on board was doing his utmost. francis had glanced back- wards several times, and at the end of a quarter of an hour he could see that the distance between the boat and her pursuer had distinctly lessened. "is she gaining on us?" the captain asked, for the cabin in the stern hid the galley from the sight of the oarsmen. "she is gaining," francis said quietly, "but not rapidly. row steadily, my lads, and do not despair. when they find how slowly they gain they may give up the chase and think us not worth the trouble. "jacopo," he said to an old sailor who was rowing in the bow, and who already was getting exhausted from the exer- tion, "do you lay in your oar and come aft. i will take your place." at the end of an hour the galley was little more than a quarter of a mile away. "we had better stop," the captain said. "we have no chance of getting away, and the longer the chase the more furious they will be. what do you think, signor?" "i agree with you," francis replied. "we have done all that we could. there is no use in rowing longer." ruggiero mocenigo. the oars fell motionless in the water, and a few minutes later the long galley came rushing up by their side. "a fine row you have given us, you dogs!" a man shouted angrily as she came alongside. "if you haven't something on board that will pay us for the chase we have had it will be the worse for you. what boat is that?" "it is the naxos, and belongs to messer polani of venice. we are bound to corfu, and bear letters from the padrone to his agent there. we have no cargo on board." "the letters perhaps may be worth more than any cargo such a boat would carry. so come on board and let us see what the excellent polani says to his agent. now, make haste all of you, or it will be the worse for you." it was useless hesitating. the captain, francis, and the crew stepped on board the galley. "just look round her," the captain said to one of his sailors. "if there is anything worth taking take it, and then knock a hole in her bottom with your axe." francis, as he stepped on board the galley, looked round at the crew. they were not genoese, as he had expected, but a mixture of ruffians from all the ports in the mediterranean, as he saw at once by their costumes. some were greeks from the islands, some smyrniots, moors, and spaniards; but tho moors predominated, nearly half the crew belonging to that race. then he looked at the captain, who was eagerly perusing the documents the captain had handed him. as his eye fell upon him francis started, for he recognized at once the man whose designs he had twice thwarted, ruggiero mocenigo, and felt that he was in deadly peril. after reading the merchant's communication to his agent, ruggiero opened the letter addressed to maria. he had read but a few lines when he suddenly looked up, and then, with an expression of savage pleasure in his face, stepped up to francis. "you shall suiter a thousand torments." "so, messer hammond, the good polani sends you to stay for a while with his daughters! truly, when i set out in chase this morning of that wretched row-boat, i little deemed that she carried a prize that i valued more than a loaded caravel! it is to you i owe it that i am an exile instead of being the honoured son-in-law of the wealthy polani; it was your ac- cursed interference that brought all my misfortunes upon me; but thank heaven my vengeance has come at last! take them all below," he said, turning to his men. "put the heaviest irons you have got on this fellow, and fasten them with staples into the deck. you thought i was going to hang you or throw you overboard," he went on, turning to francis. "do not flatter yourself that your death will be so easy a one—you shall suffer a thousand torments before you die!" francis had not spoken a word since ruggiero first turned to him, but had stood with a tranquil and almost contemptu- ous expression upon his face; but every nerve and muscle of his body were strained and in readiness to spring into action. he had expected that ruggiero would at once attack him, and was determined to leap upon him and to sell his life as dearly as possible. the sailors seized francis and his companions and thrust them down into the hold, which was already crowded with upwards of a hundred captives. he was chained with heavy manacles. in obedience to ruggiero's orders staples were driven through the links of his chain deep into the deck, so that he was forced to remain in a sitting or lying posture. the captain of the naxos came and sat beside him. "who is this pirate captain, messer francisco, who thus knows and has an enmity against you? by his speech he is surely a venetian. and yet, how comes a venetian in command of a pirate?" "that man is ruggiero mocenigo—the same who twice "tell it in venice." attempted to carry off messer polani's daughters. the second time he succeeded, and would have been tried for the offence by the state had he not, aided by a band of paduans, escaped from the keeping of his guard." "of course i heard of it, signor. i was away at sea at the time, but i heard how you came up at the moment when the padrone's gondoliers had been overcome, and rescued his daughters. and this is that villain mocenigo, a disgrace to his name and family!" "remember the name, captain, and tell it to each of your men, so that if they ever escape from this slavery into which, no doubt, he intends to sell you, they may tell it in venice that ruggiero mocenigo is a pirate and an ally of the moors. as for me, there is, i think, but small chance of escape; but at any rate, if you ever reach venice you will be able to tell the padrone how it was that we never arrived at corfu, and how i fell into the hands of his old enemy. still, i do not despair that i may carry the message myself; there is many a slip between the cup and the lip, and mocenigo may have cause yet to regret that he did not make an end of me as soon as he got me into his hands." "it may be so," the captain said, "and indeed i cannot think that so brave a young gentleman is destined to die miser- ably at the hands of such a scoundrel as this man has shown himself to be. as for death, did it come but speedily and sharply, i would far sooner die than live a moorish slave. santa maria, how they will wonder at home when the days go on and the naxos does not return, and how at last they will give up all hope, thinking that she has gone down in a sudden squall, and never dreaming that we are sold as slaves to the moors by a countryman!" "keep up your heart, captain; be sure that when the war with genoa is over venice will take the matter in hand. as you "he will do his best." know, a vessel has already carried tidings thither of the depre- dation of a moorish cruiser, and she will take vengeance on the moors, and may even force them to liberate the captives they have taken; and besides, you may be sure, that the padrone, when he hears of the moorish galley, and finds we never reached corfu although the weather continued fine, will guess that we have fallen into her hands, and will never rest till he finds where we have been taken, and will ransom those who survive at whatever price they may put upon them." "he will do his best, i know, he is a good master to serve; but once a prisoner among the moors, the hope of one's ever being heard of again is slight. sometimes, of course, men have been ransomed; but most, as i have heard, can never be found by their friends, however ready they may be to pay any ransom that might be asked. it just depends whether they are sold to a moor living in a seaport or not; if they are, there would be no great difficulty in hearing of them, but if they are sold into the interior, no inquiries are ever likely to discover them." "you must hope for the best," francis said. "chances of escape may occur, and i have heard that christian captives who have been released, say that the moors are for the most part kind masters." "i have heard so, too," the captain said; "and anyhow, i would rather be a moorish slave than lie in a genoese dungeon. the genoese are not like us. when we take prisoners we treat them fairly and honourably, while they treat their prisoners worse than dogs. i wish i could do something for you, messer francisco; your case is a deal worse than ours. listen, they are quarrelling up on deck!" there was indeed a sound of men in hot dispute, a trampling of feet, a clash of steel, and the sound of bodies falling. "it is not possible that one of our cruisers can have come up and is boarding the pirate," the captain said, "for no sail was utterly dispirited. in sight when we were brought hero; i looked round the last thing before i left the deck. what can they be fighting about?" "likely enough as to their course. they have probably, from what we heard, taken and sunk several ships, and some may be in favour of returning to dispose of their booty, while others may be for cruising longer. i only hope that scoundrel ruggiero is among those we heard fall they are quiet now, and one party or the other has evidently got the best of it. there, they are taking to the oars again." several days passed; sometimes the oars were heard going, but generally the galley was under sail. the sailors brought down food and water morning and evening, but paid no other attention to the captives. francis discussed with some of the other prisoners the chances of making a sudden rush on to the deck and overpowering the crew; but all their arms had been taken from them, and the galley, they calculated, contained fully a hundred and fifty men; they noticed too, when the sailors brought down the food, a party armed and in readiness were assembled round the hatchway. at all other times the hatchway was nearly closed, being only left sufficiently open to allow a certain amount of air to pass down into the hold, and by the steady tramp of steps up and down they knew that two sentries were also on guard above. most of the prisoners were so overcome with the mis- fortune which had befallen them and the prospect of a life in hopeless slavery, that they had no spirit to attempt any enter- prise whatever, and there was nothing to do but to wait the termination of the voyage. at the end of six days there was a bustle on deck, and the chain of the anchor was heard to run out. two or three hours afterwards the hatchway was taken off. when the rest had ascended, two men came below with hammers, and drew the a prisoner in chains. staples which fastened francis to the deck. on going up he was at first so blinded with the glare of the sunshine—after six days in almost total darkness—that he could scarce see where he was. the ship was lying at anchor in a bay; the shores were low, and a group of houses stood abreast of where the ship was anchored . by their appearance francis saw at once that he was on the coast of africa, or of some island near it. the prisoners were ordered to descend into the boats which lay alongside, some sailors taking their places with them. rug- giero was not at first to be seen, but just as francis was pre- paring to take his place in the boat he came out from the cabin. one of his arms was in a sling and his head bandaged. "take special care of that prisoner," he said to the men. "do not take off his chains, and place a sentinel at the door of the place of his confinement. i would rather lose my share of all the spoil we have taken than he should escape me!" the shackles had been removed from the rest of the captives, and on landing they were driven into some huts which stood a little apart from the village. francis was thrust into a small chamber with five or six com- panions. the next morning the other prisoners were called out, and francis was left alone by himself all day. on their return in the evening they told him that all the prisoners had been employed in assisting to get out the cargo with which the vessel was crammed, and in carrying it to a large storehouse in the village. "they must have taken a rich booty indeed," said one of the prisoners, who had already told francis that he was the captain of the vessel they had seen founder. "i could tell pretty well what all the bales contain by the manner of pack- ing, and i should say that there were the pick of the cargoes of a dozen ships there. all of us here belong to three ships, except a rusk sition, for he had several times entered into conversation with the captives. in addition to a long knife he carried a small stiletto in his girdle, and francis thought that if he could obtain this he might possibly free himself. accordingly, at the hour when he expected his guard to enter francis placed himself at his window, with his face against the bars. when he heard the guard come in, and, as usual, close the door behind him, he turned round and said: "who is that damsel there? she is very beautiful, and she passes here frequently. there she is, just going among those trees." the guard moved to the window and looked out . "do you see her just going round that corner there? ah! she is gone." the guard was pressing his face against the bars to look in the direction indicated, and francis, who was already standing on his left leg, with the right raised so as to give freedom to the hand next to the man, had no difficulty in drawing the stiletto from its sheath and slipping it into his trousers. "you were just too late," he said, "but no doubt you often see her." "i don't see any beautiful damsels about in this wretched place," the man replied. "i suppose she is the daughter of the head man in the village. they say he has some good-looking ones, but he takes pretty good care that they are not about when we are here. i suppose she thought she wouldn't be seen along that path. i will keep a good look-out for her in future." "don't frighten her away," francis said laughing; "she is the one pleasant thing i have in the day to look at." after some more talk the man retired, and francis examined his prize. it was a thin blade of fine steel, and he at once hid it in the earth which formed the floor of the hut . an hour "i have dropped my dagger" later the guard opened the door suddenly. it was now dusk, and francis was sitting quietly in a corner. "bring a light, thomaso," the guard shouted to his comrade outside, "it is getting dark in here." the other brought a torch, and they carefully examined the floor of the cell . "what is it that you are searching for?" francis asked. "i have dropped my dagger somewhere," the man replied. "i can't think how it fell out." "when did you see it last?" "not since dinner time. i know i had it then. i thought possibly i might have dropped it here, and a dagger is not the sort of plaything one cares about giving to prisoners." "chained as i am," francis said, "a dagger would not be a formidable weapon in my hands." "no," the man agreed. "it would be useless to you unless you wanted to stick it into your own ribs." "i should have to sit down to be able to do even that." "that is so, lad. it is not for me to question what the captain says, i just do as i am told. but i own it does seem hard keeping a young fellow like you chained up as if you were a wild beast. if he had got pisani or zeno as a prisoner, and wanted to make doubly sure that they would not escape, it would be all well enough, but for a lad like you with one man always at the door and the window barred so that a lion couldn't break through, i do think it hard to keep you chained like this; and the worst of it is, we are going to have to stop here to look after you till the captain gets back, and that may bo three weeks or a month, who knows!" "why don't you keep your mouth shut, philippo?" the other man growled . "it's always talk, talk with you. we are chosen because the captain can rely upon us." trying the rivet. "he can rely upon anyone," philippo retorted, "who knows that he will get his throat cut if he fails in his duty." "well, come along," the other said, "i don't want to be staying hero all night . your dagger isn't here, that's certain, and as i am off guard at present i want to be going." as soon as he was left alone francis unearthed the dagger, feeling sure that no fresh visit would be made him that evening. as he had hoped, his first attempt showed him that the iron of the rivet was soft, and the keen dagger at once notched off a small piece of the burred end. again and again he tried, and each time a small piece of metal flew off. after each cut he examined the edge of the dagger, but it was well tempered, and seemed entirely unaffected. he now felt certain that with patience he should be able to cut off the projecting edges of the rivets and so be able to free his hands. he therefore now examined the fastenings at the ankles. these were more heavy, and on trying them the iron of the rivet appeared to be much harder than that which kept the manacles together. it was, however, now too dark to see what he was doing, and concealing the dagger again he lay down with a lighter heart than he had from the moment of his capture. even if he found that the lower fastenings of the chain defied all his efforts, he could cut the rivets at the wrists, and so free one end of each chain, he could then tie the chains round his legs, and their weight would not be sufficient to pro- vent his walking. chapter xiil the pirates' raid. s soon as it was daylight next morning francis was up and at work. his experiments of the evening before were at once confirmed. three or four hours' work would enable him to free his wrists, but he could make no impression on the rivets at his ankles. after a few trials he gave this up as hopeless, for he was afraid if he continued he would blunt the edge of the dagger. for an hour he sat still thinking, and at last an idea occurred to him. iron could be ground by rubbing it upon stone, and if he could not cut off the burr of the rivet with the dagger he might perhaps be able to wear it down by rubbing it with a stone. he at once turned to the walls of his cell . these were not built of the unbaked clay so largely used for houses of the poorer class in northern egypt, but had evidently been constructed either as a prison or more probably as a strong room where some merchant kept valuable goods. it was therefore constructed of blocks of hard stone. it seemed to francis that this was sandstone, and to test its quality he sat down in the corner where the guard had the night before placed his supply of food and water. first he moistened a portion of the wall, then he took up a link of his chain and rubbed for some time against it at last, to bis slow work. satisfaction, a bright patch showed that the stone was capable of wearing away iron. but in vain did he try to twist his legs so as to rub the rivet against the wall, and he gave up the attempt as impossible. it was clear then that he must have a bit of the stone to rub with. he at once began to dig with the dagger in the earth at the foot of the wall to see if he could find any such pieces. for a long time he came across no chips, even of the smallest size. as he worked he was most careful to stamp down the earth which he had moved, scattering over it the sand, of which there was an abundance in the corners of the room, to obli- terate all traces of his work. when breakfast time approached he ceased for a while, but after the meal had been taken he recommenced the task. he met with little success till he reached the door, but here he was more fortunate. a short distance below the surface were a number of pieces of stone of various sizes, which he had no doubt had been cut from the blocks to allow for the fixing of the lintel and door-post. he chose half a dozen pieces of the handiest sizes, each having a fiat surface. then replacing the earth carefully, he took one of the pieces in his hand, and moistening it with water, set to work. he made little progress. still the stone did wear the iron, and he felt sure that by perseverance he should succeed in wearing off the burrs. all day he worked without intermission, holding a rag wrapped round the stone to deaden the sound. he worked till his fingers ached so that he could no longer hold it, then rested for an hour or two, and resumed his work. when his guard brought his dinner he asked him when the galley was to sail again. "it was to have gone to-day," the man said, "but the captain has been laid up with fever. he has a leech from tunis attend- ing him, and, weak as he is, he is so bent on going, that he an interview. would have had himself carried on board the ship had not the leech said that in that case he would not answer for his life, as in the state his blood is in his wounds would assuredly mortify did he not remain perfectly quiet. so he has agreed to delay for three days." francis was unable to work with the stone at night, for in the stillness the sound might be heard; but for some hours he hacked away with the dagger at the rivets on his manacles. the next morning he was at work as soon as the chirrup of the cicadas began, as these, he knew, would completely deaden any sound he might make. by night-time the rivet ends on the irons round his ankles were worn so thin that he felt sure that another hour's work would bring them level with the iron, and before he went to sleep the rivets on the wrist were in the same condition. he learned from his guard next morning that the captain was better, that he was to be taken on board in the cool of the even- ing, and that the vessel would start as soon as the breeze sprang up in the morning. in the afternoon his two guards entered, and bade him follow them. he was conducted to the principal house in the village, and into a room where ruggiero mocenigo was lying on a couch. "i have sent for you," ruggiero said, "to tell you that i have not forgotten you. my vengeance has been delayed from no fault of mine, but it will be all the sweeter when it comes. i am going to fetch polani's daughters. i have heard that since you thrust yourself between me and them you have been a familiar in the house, that polani treats you as a member of the family, and that you are in high favour with his daughters. i have kept myself informed of what happened in venice, and i have noted each of these things down in the account of what i owe you. i am going to fetch polani's daughters here, and to make maria my wife, and then i will show her how i treat those who a villainous scheme. cross my path. it will be a lesson to her as well as for you. you shall wish yourself dead a thousand times before death comes to you." "i always knew that you were a villain, ruggiero mocenigo," francis said quietly, "although i hardly thought that a man who had once the honour of being a noble of venice would sink to become a pirate and renegade. you may carry maria polani off, but you will never succeed through her in obtaining a portion of her father's fortune, for i know that the first moment her hands are free she will stab herself to the heart, rather than remain in the power of such a wretch." ruggiero snatched up a dagger from a table by his couch as francis was speaking, but dropped it again. "fool," he said. "am i not going to carry off the two girls, and do you not see that it will tame maria's spirit effectually when she knows that if she lays hands on herself she will but shift the honour of being my wife from herself to her sister?" as the laugh of anticipated triumph rang in francis's ears the latter in his fury made a spring forward to throw himself upon the villain, but he had forgotten his chains, and fell head- long on to the floor. "guards," ruggiero shouted, "take this fellow away, and i charge you watch over him securely, and remember that your lives shall answer for his escape." "there is no need for threats, signor," philippo said. "you can rely on our vigilance, though, as far as i see, if he had but a child to watch him he would be safe in that cell of his, fettered as he is." ruggiero waved his hand impatiently, and the two men with- drew with their prisoner. "if it were not that i have not touched my share of the booty of our last trip," philippo said as they left the house, "i would not serve him another day. as it is, as soon as the galley re- "the crew are all on board." turns and we get our shares of the money and of the sum he has promised if this expedition of his is successful, i will be off i have had enough of this. it is bad enough to be consorting with moors, without being abused and threatened as if one was a dog." as soon as he was alone again francis set to work, and by the afternoon the ends of the four rivets were worn down level with the iron, and it needed but a pressure to make the rings spring open. then he waited for the evening before freeing himself, as by some chance he might again be visited, and even if free before nightfall he could not leave the house. philippo was later than usual in bringing him his meal, and francis heard angry words passing between him and his com- rade because he had not returned to relieve him sooner. "is everything ready for the start?" francis asked the man as he entered. "yes, the crew are all on board. the boat is to be on shore for the captain at nine o'clock, and as there is a little breeze blowing i expect they will get up sail and start at once." after a few minutes' talk the man left, and francis waited until it became almost dark, then he inserted the dagger between the irons at the point of junction. at the first wrench they flew apart, and his left hand was free. a few minutes' more work and the chains lay on the ground. taking them up he rattled them together loudly. in a minute he heard the guard outside move and come to the door, then the key was inserted in the lock and the door opened . "what on earth are you doing now?" philippo asked as he entered. francis was standing close to the door, so that as his guard entered he had his back to him, and before the question was finished he sprang upon him, throwing him headlong to the ground with the shock, and before the astonished man could "i do not want to kill you." speak he was kneeling upon him, with the point of the dagger at his throat. "if you make a sound, or utter a cry," he exclaimed, "i will drive this dagger into your throat." philippo could feel the point of the dagger against his skin, and remained perfectly quiet. "i do not want to kill you, philippo. you have not heen harsh to me, and i would spare your life if i could. hold your hands hack above your head and put your wrists together that i may fasten them, then i will let you get up." philippo held up his hands as requested, and francis bound them tightly together with a strip of twisted cloth. he then allowed him to rise. "now, philippo, i must gag you, then i will fasten your hands to a bar well above your head so that you can't get at the rope with your teeth; i will leave you here till your comrade comes in the morning." "i would rather that you killed me at once, signor," the man said. "thomaso will be furious at your having made your escape, for he will certainly come in for a share of the fury of the captain. there are three or four of the crew remaining behind, and no doubt they will keep me locked up till the ship returns, and in that case the captain will be as good as his word. you had better kill me at once." "but what am i to do, philippo? i must ensure my own safety. if you will suggest any way by which i can do that, i will." "i would swear any oath you like, signor, that i will not give the alarm. i will make straight across the island and get hold of a boat there so as to be well away before your escape is known in the morning." "well, look here, philippo. i believe you are sincere, and you shall take the oath you hold most sacred." ( ) q phil pp ' offer. safe away! assuredly if i live i will ere long present myself to you at venice—not for the money which you so generously promised me, but that i may with your aid earn an honest living among christians." by this time the exchange of clothes was effected. the six ducats in philippo's purse—the result of a little private plun- dering on one of the captured vessels—divided; and then they left the prison room, and philippo locked the door after them. "is there any chance of thomaso returning speedily?" francis asked; "because if so he might notice your absence, and so give the alarm before the ship sets sail, in which case we should have the whole crew on our tracks." "i do not think that he will. he will be likely to be drink- ing in the wine-shop for an hour or two before he returns- but i tell you what i will do, signor. i will resume my place here on guard until he has returned. he will relieve me at midnight, and in the darkness will not notice the change of clothes. there will still be plenty of time for me to cross the island and get out of sight in the boat before the alarm is given, which will not be until six o'clock, when i ought to relieve him again. as you say, if the alarm were to be given before the vessel sails, they might start at once to cut us off before we reach the mainland, for they would make sure that we should try to escape in that direction." "that will be the best plan, philippo; and now good-bye." francis walked down to the shore. there were no boats lying thero of a size he could launch unaided, but presently he heard the sound of oars, and a small fishing-boat rowed by two men approached. "look here, lads," he said; "i want to be put on board the ship. i ought to have been on board three hours ago, but took too much wine, and lay down for an hour or two and overslept myself. do you think you can row quietly up along- on board the pirate. side so that i can slip on board unnoticed if so i will give you a ducat for your trouble." "we can do that,"the fishermen said; "we have just come from the ship now, and have sold them our catch of to-day. there were half-a-dozen other boats lying beside her bargain- ing for their fish; besides they are taking on board firewood and other stores that have been left till the last moment; so jump in and we will soon get you there." in a few minutes they approached the side of the ship. "i see you have got half-a-dozen fish left in your boat now," francis said. "they are of no account," one of the men said; "they are good enough for our eating, but not such as they buy on board a ship where money is plentiful. you are heartily welcome to them if you have a fancy for them." "thank you," francis said; "i will take two or three of them if you can spare them. i want to play a trick with a comrade." as the fishermen said, there were several boats lying near the vessel, and the men were leaning over the sides bargaining for fish. handing the fishermen their promised reward, fran- cis sprang up the ladder to the deck. he was unnoticed, for other men had gone down into the boats for fish. mingling with the sailors he gradually made his way to the hatchway leading into the hold, descended the ladder, and stowed himself away among a quantity of casks, some filled with wine and some with water, at the farther end of the hold, and as he lay there devoutly thanked god that his enterprise had been so far successful. men came down from time to time with lanterns to stow away the lately-arrived stores, but none came near the place where francis was hidden. the time seemed long before he heard the clank of the capstan, and knew the vessel was being in hiding. hove up to her anchors. then after a while he heard the creaking of cordage, and much trampling of feet on the deck above, and knew that she was under way. then he made himself as comfortable as he could in his cramped position, and went off to sleep. when he woke in the morning the light was streaming down the hatch, which was only closed in rough weather, as it was necessary frequently to go down into it for water and stores. francis had brought the fish with him as a means of subsistence during the voyage in case he should be unable to obtain provisions, but for this there was no occasion, as there was an abundance of fruit hanging from the beams, while piles of bread were stowed in a partition at one end of the hold. during the day, however, he did not venture to move, and was heartily glad when it again became dark and he could venture to get out and stretch himself. he appropriated a loaf and some bunches of grapes, took a long drink from a pail placed under the tap of a water-butt, and made his way back to his corner. after a hearty meal he went out again for another drink, and then turned in to sleep. so passed six days. by the rush of water against the outside planks he could always judge whether the vessel was making brisk way or whether she was lying becalmed. once or twice after nightfall he ventured up on deck, feeling certain that in the darkness there was no fear of his being detected. from con- versation he overheard on the seventh evening he learned that corfu had been sighted that day. for some hours the vessel's sails had been lowered, and she had remained motionless; but she was now again making for the land, and in the course of another two hours a landing was to be made. the boats had all been got in readiness, and the men were to muster fully armed. although, as they understood, the carrying off of two girls was their special object, it was intended corfu. that they should gather as much plunder as could be obtained. the island was rich, for many wealthy venetians had residences there. therefore, with the exception of a few men left on board to take care of the galley, the whole were to land. a picked boat's crew were to accompany the captain, who was now completely convalescent; the rest were to divide in bands and scatter over the country, pillaging as they went, and setting fire to the houses. it was considered that such conster- nation would be caused that nothing like resistance could be offered for some time, and by daybreak all hands were to gather at the landing-place. how far this spot was from the town francis had no means of learning. there was a store of spare arms in the hold, and francis, furnishing himself with a sword and large dagger, waited until he heard a great movement overhead, and then went upon deck and joined a gang of men employed in lowering one of the boats. the boat was a large one, rowing sixteen oars and carrying some twenty men seated in the stern; here francis took his place with the others, the boat pushed off and waited until four others were launched and filled, then the order was given, and the boats rowed in a body towards the shore. the men landed and formed under their respective officers, one man remaining in each boat to keep it afloat. francis leaped ashore, and while the men were forming up, found no difficulty in slipping away unnoticed. as he did not know where the path was, and was afraid of making a noise, he lay down among the rocks until he heard the word of command to start given; then he cautiously crept out, and, keeping far enough in the rear to be unseen, followed the sound of their footsteps. by the short time which had elapsed between the landing and the start he had no doubt they were guided by some persons perfectly acquainted with the locality, probably by some natives of the island among the mixed crew. seeking a guide. francis had, during his voyage, thought over the course he should pursue on landing, and saw that, ignorant as he was of the country, his only hope was in obtaining a guide who would conduct him to polani's villa before the arrival of mocenigo and his band. the fact that the crew were divided into five parties which were to proceed in different directions, and that he did not know which of them was commanded by the captain, added to the difficulty. had they kept together he might, after seeing the direction in which they were going, make a detour and get ahead of them. but he might now follow a party going in an entirely wrong direction, and before he could obtain a guide mocenigo's band might have gone so far that they could not be overtaken before they reached the villa. there was nothing to do but to get ahead of all the parties in the hope of coming upon a habitation before going far. as soon, therefore, as the last band had disappeared he started at a run. the country was open, with few walls or fences; there- fore on leaving the road he was able to run rapidly forwards, and in a few minutes knew that he must be ahead of the pirates, then he again changed his course so as to strike the road he had left. after running for about a mile he saw a light ahead of him, and soon arrived at a cottage. he knocked at the door, and then entered. the occupants of the room—a man and woman, a lad, and several children—rose to their feet at the sudden entrance of the stranger. "good people," francis said, "i have just landed from a ship and am the bearer of important messages to the signoras polani. i have lost my way, and it is necessary that i should go on without a moment's delay. can you tell me how far the villa of polani is distant " "it is about three miles from here," the man said. "i will give a ducat to your son if he will run on with me at once." a race. the man looked doubtful. the apparel and general appear- ance of francis were not prepossessing; he had been six days a prisoner in the hold without means of washing. "see," he said, producing a ducat, "here is the money. i will give it you at once if you will order your son to go with me and to hurry at the top of his speed." "it's a bargain," the man said. "here, rufo! start at once with the signor." "come along, signor," the boy said; and without another word to the parents francis followed him out, and both set off at a run along the road. francis had said nothing about pirates to the peasants, for he knew that did he do so such alarm would be caused that they would think of nothing but flight, and he should not be able to obtain a guide. it was improbable that they would be molested. the pirates were bent upon pillaging the villas of the wealthy, and would not risk the raising of an alarm by entering cottages where there was no chance of plunder. after proceeding a few hundred yards the lad struck off by a by-road at right angles to that which they had been following, and by the direction he took francis felt that he must at first have gone far out of his way, and that the party going direct to the villa must have had a considerable start; still he reckoned that as he was running at the rate of three feet to every one they would march, he might hope to arrive at the house well before them. not a word was spoken as they ran along. the lad was wondering in his mind as to what could be the urgent business that could necessitate its being carried at such speed, while francis felt that every breath was needed for the work he had to do. only once or twice he spoke, to ask how much further it was to their destination. the last answer was cheering: "a few hundred paces farther." signor polani warned. "there are the lights, signor; they have not gone to bed; this is the door." francis knocked with the pommel of his sword, keeping up a loud continuous knocking. a minute or two passed, and then a face appeared at the window above. "who is it that knocks so loudly at this time of night " "it is francisco hammond. open instantly; danger threatens the signoras. quick, for your life!" the servant recognized the voice and ran down without hesitation and unbarred the fastening; but for a moment he thought he must have been mistaken as francis ran into the lighted hall. "where are the ladies?" he asked. "lead me to them instantly." but as he spoke a door standing by was opened, and signor polani himself with the two girls appeared. they had been on the point of retiring to rest when the knocking began, and the merchant with his drawn sword was standing at the door when he recognized francis' voice. they were about to utter au exclamation of pleasure at seeing him, and of astonishment, not only at his sudden arrival, but at his appearance, when francis burst out: "there is no time for a word, you must fly instantly. rug- giero mocenigo is close at my heels with a band of twenty pirates." the girls uttered a cry of alarm, and the merchant exclaimed: "can we not defend the house, francisco? i have eight men here, and we can hold it till assistance comes." "ruggiero has a hundred," francis said, "and all can be brought up in a short time—you must fly. for god's sake, do not delay, signor. they may be here at any moment." "come, girls," polani said; "and you too," he went on, turning to the servants, whom the knocking had caused to in safety. "they have fired the house, signor. there are flames issuing from one of the lower windows." "i expected that," the merchant said, without looking back. "that scoundrel would, in any case, light it in his fury at find- ing that we have escaped; but he has probably done so now in hopes that the light will enable him to discover us. it is well that we are so far ahead, for the blaze will light up the country for a long way round." "there is a wood a little way ahead, signor," the servant said . "once through that we shall be hidden from sight, how- ever great the light." arrived at the wood they again broke into a walk. a few hundred yards beyond the wood was some rising ground, from which they could see far over the country. "let us stop here," the merchant said; "we are safe now. we have placed two miles between ourselves and those villains." the villa was now a mass of flames. exclamations of fury broke from the men-servants, while the women cried with anger at the sight of the destruction. "do not concern yourselves," the merchant said, "the house can be rebuilt, and i will see that none of you are the poorer for the loss of your belongings. now, girls, let us sit down here and hear from francisco how it is that he has once again been your saviour." "before i begin, signor, tell me whether there are any ships of war in the port, and how far that is distant from us?" "it is not above six miles on the other side of the island; that is to say, we have been going towards it since we left the villa. see," he broke off, "there are flames rising in three or four directions; the rest of those villains are at their work." "but are there any war galleys in the port?" francis interrupted. "yes; three ships were sent here on the report that a moorish "francisco's story will keep." pirato had been cruising in these waters, and that several vessels were missing. when the story first came i did not credit it . the captain of the ship who brought the news told me he had met you about half-way across, and had told you about the supposed pirate. a vessel arrived four days later, and brought letters from my agent, but he said no word about your boat having arrived. then i became uneasy; and when later news came, and still no word of you, i felt sure that something must have befallen you; that possibly the report was true, and that you had fallen into the hands of the pirates. so i at once started in one of the galleys which the council were despatching in answer to the request of the governor here." "in that case, signor, there is not a moment to lose. the governor should be informed that the pirate is lying on the opposite coast, and that his crew have landed, and are burning and pillaging. if orders are issued at once, the galleys could get round before morning, and so cut off the retreat of these miscreants." "you are quite right," polani said, rising at once. "we will go on without a moment's delay! the girls can follow slowly under the escort of the servants." "oh, papa," maria exclaimed, "you are not going to take francisco away till wo have heard his story! can you not send forward the servants with a message to the governor?" "no, my dear. the governor will have gone to bed, and the servants might not be able to obtain admittance to him. i must go myself. it is for your sakes, as well as for my own. we shall never feel a moment's safety as long as this villain is at large. francisco's story will keep till to-morrow. as to your gratitude and mine, that needs no telling. he cannot but know what we are feeling at the thought of the almost miraculous escape you have had from falling into the hands of your perse- cutor. now come along, francisco. one of you men who polanl's instructions. knows the road had better come with us. do the rest of you all keep together. two miles further, girls, as you know, is a villa of carlo maffene. if you feel tired, you had best stop and ask for shelter there. there is no fear that the pirates will extend their ravages so far. they will keep on the side of the island where they landed, so as to be able to return with their booty before daybreak to the ship. chapter xiv the end of the persecutor. tonor polani was so well known that upon his arrival at the governor's house the domestics, upon being aroused, did not hesitate to awaken the governor at once. the latter, as soon as he heard that the pirates had landed and were devastating the other side of the island, and that their ship was lying close in to the coast under the charge of a few sailors only, at onco despatched a messenger to the commander of the galleys, order- ing them to arouse the crews and make ready to put out to sea instantly. he added that he himself should follow his mes- senger on board in a few minutes and should accompany them; he then issued orders that the bell should toll to summon the inhabitants to arms; and directed an officer to take the com- mand, and to start with them at once across the island and to fall upon the pirates while engaged in their work of pillage. they were to take a party with them with litters to carry polani's daughters to the town, and an apartment was to be assigned to them in his palace until his return. while he was issuing this order refreshments had been placed upon the table, and he pressed polani and his companions to partake of these before starting. francis needed no second invitation. he had been too excited at the news he had heard on board the ship to think of eating, and he now remembered on board a state galley. that it was a good many hours since he had taken his last meal; he was but a few minutes, however, in satisfying his hunger. by the time he had finished, the governor had seen that his orders had been carried out. two hundred armed citizens had already mustered in companies and were now on the point of setting out, burning with indignation at what they had heard of the depredations which the pirates had committed. after seeing his preparations complete the governor, accompanied by polani and francis, made his way down to the port and was rowed out to the galleys. here he found all on the alert. the sails were ready for hoisting, and the men were seated at the benches ready to aid with oars the light wind which was blow- ing. the governor now informed the commander of the vessels the reason of the sudden orders for sailing. the news was passed to the captains of the other two vessels, and in a very few minutes the anchors were weighed and the vessels started on their way. francis was closely questioned as to the spot at which the pirate vessel was lying, but could only reply that, beyond the fact that it was some four miles from polani's villa, he had no idea of the locality. "but can you not describe to us the nature of the coast?" the commander said. "that i cannot," francis replied; "for i was hidden away in the hold of the vessel and did not come on deck until after it was dark, at which time the land abreast of us was only a dark mass." "signor polani has informed me," the governor said, "that although your attire does not betoken it you are a dear friend of his; but he has not yet informed me how it comes that you were upon this pirate ship." "he has been telling me as we came along," polani replied; "and a strange story it is. he was on his voyage hither in the polani explains matters. naxos, which, as you doubtless remember, was a little craft of mine, which should have arrived here a month since. as wo supposed, it was captured by the pirates, the leader of whom is ruggiero mocenigo, who, as of course you know, made his escape from the custody of the officers of the state, they being over- powered by a party of paduans. the sentence of banishment for life has been passed against him, and, until i heard from my friend here that he was captain of the pirate which has been seen off this island, i knew not what had become of him. "those on board the naxos were taken prisoners and con- fined in the pirate's hold, which they found already filled with captives taken from other ships. the pirate at once sailed for africa, where all the prisoners were sold as slaves to the moors, my friend here alone excepted, mocenigo having an old feud with him and a design to keep him in his hands. learn- ing that a raid was intended upon corfu with the special design of carrying off my daughters, whom mocenigo had twice previously tried to abduct, francisco managed to get on board the vessel and conceal himself in her hold in order that he might frustrate the design. he managed in the dark to mingle with the landing party, and then, separating from them, made his way on ahead, and fortunately was able to obtain a guide to my house, which he reached five minutes only before the arrival of the pirates there." "admirable, indeed! and we are all vastly indebted to him, for had it not been for him we should not have known of the doings of these scoundrels until too late to cut off their retreat; and, once away in their ship again, they might long have preyed upon our commerce before one of our cruisers happened to fall in with them. as for ruggiero mocenigo, he is a disgrace to the name of a venetian; and it is sad to think that one of our most noble families should have to bear the brand of being connected with a man so base and villainous. however, i the plan of attack. trust that his power of ill-doing has come to an end. is the vessel a fast one, signor?" "i cannot say whether she sails fast," francis replies; "but she certainly rows fast." "i trust that we shall catch her before she gets under way," the commander of the galleys said. "our vessels are not made for rowing, although we get out oars to help them along in calm weather." "what course do you propose to take?" the merchant asked. "when we approach the spot where she is likely to be lying i shall order the captains of the other two ships to lie off the coast a couple of miles distant and as far from each other, so that they can cut her off as she makes out to sea. we will follow the coast line, keeping in as close as the water will permit, and in this way we shall most likely come upon her. if we should miss her i shall at the first dawn of morning join the others in the offing, and keep watch till she appears from under the shadow of the land." it was now three o'clock in the morning, and an hour latei the three vessels parted company, and the galley with the governor and commander of the squadron rowed for the shore. when they came close to the land the captain ordered the oars to be laid in. "the breeze is very light," he said; "but it is favourable, and will enable us to creep along the shore. if we continue rowing those in charge of the ship may hear us coming and may cut their cables, get up sail, and make out from the land without our seeing them. on a still night like this the sound of the sweeps can be heard a very long distance." quietly the vessel made her way along the shore. over the land the sky was red with the reflection of numerous fires, but this only made the darkness more intense under its shadow, and the lead was kept going in order to prevent them from (<& ) b the pirate at anchor. sailing into shallow water. by the captain's orders strict silence was observed on board the ship, and every eye was strained ahead on the look-out for the pirate vessel. presently all became aware of a confused noise apparently coming from the land, but at some distance ahead. as they got further on distant shouts and cries were heard. "i fancy," the governor said to the captain, "the band from the town have met the pirates, and the latter are retreating to their ship." "then the ship can't be far off," the captain said. "day- light is beginning to break in the east, and we shall soon be able to make her out against the sky—that is, if she is still lying at anchor." on getting round the next point the vessel was distinctly visible. the shouting on the shore was now plainly heard, and there could be no doubt that a desperate fight was going on there. it seemed to be close to the water's edge. "there is a boat rowing off to the ship," one of the sailors said. "then get out your oars again; she is not more than half a mile away, and she can hardly get under way before we reach her. besides, judging from the sound of the fight, the pirates must have lost a good many men and will not be able to man all the oars even if they gain their ship." the men sat down to their oars with alacrity. every sailor on board felt it almost as a personal insult that pirates should dare to enter the venetian waters and carry on their depreda- tions there. the glare of the burning houses, too, had fired their indignation to the utmost, and all were eager for the fight. three boats were now seen rowing towards the ship. "stretch to your oars, men," the captain said; "we must be alongside them if we can before they can take to their sweeps." "traitor and villain." the pirates had now seen them; and francis, standing at the bow eagerly watching the vessel, could hear orders shouted to the boats. these pulled rapidly alongside, and he could see the men clambering up in the greatest haste. there was a din of voices; some men tried to get up the sails, others got out oars, and the utmost confusion evidently prevailed. in obe- dience to the shouts of the officers the sails were lowered again and all betook themselves to the oars, but scarce a stroke had been pulled before the venetian galley ran up alongside. grapnels were thrown, and the crew, seizing their weapons, sprang on to the deck of the pirate. the crew of the latter knew that they had no mercy to expect, and although weakened by the loss of nearly a third of their number in the fighting on shore, sprang from their benches and rushed to oppose their assailants, with the desperation of despair. they were led by ruggiero mocenigo, who, furious at the failure of his schemes, and preferring death to the shame of being carried to venice as a pirate and a traitor, rushed upon the venetians with a fury which at first carried all before it. sup- ported by his moors and renegades he drove back the boarders, and almost succeeded in clearing the deck of his vessel. he himself engaged hand-to-hand with the commander of the venetian galley, and at the third thrust ran him through the throat; but the venetians, although they had yielded to the first onslaught, again poured over the bulwarks of the galley. polani, burning to punish the man who had so repeatedly tried to injure him, accompanied them, francis keeping close beside him. "ruggiero mocenigo, traitor and villain, your time has come!" ruggiero started at hearing his name thus proclaimed, for on board his own ship he was simply known as the captain; but in the dim light he recognized polani, and at once crossed swords with him. "how about your vengeance now?" "be not so sure, polani; perhaps it is your time that has come." the two engaged with fury. polani was still strong and vigorous, his opponent had the advantage of youth and activity. but polani's weight and strength told, and he was forcing his opponent back when his foot slipped on the blood-stained deck. he fell forward; and in another moment ruggiero would have run him through the body had not the weapon been knocked up by francis, who, watching every movement of the fight, sprang forward when he saw the merchant slip. "this time, ruggiero, my hands are free. how about your vengeance now?" ruggiero gave a cry of astonishment at seeing the lad whom he believed to be lying in chains five hundred miles away, facing him. for a moment he recoiled, and then with the cry, "i will take it now," sprang forward; but this time he had met an opponent as active and as capable as himself. for a minute or two they fought on even terms, and then ruggiero fell suddenly backwards, a cross-bow bolt from one of the venetians on the poop of the vessel having struck him full in the forehead. without their leader the spirit of the pirates had fled. they still fought, steadily and desperately, but it was only to sell their lives as dearly as possible; and in five minutes after the fall of ruggerio the last man was cut down, for no quarter was given to pirates. just as the combat concluded the sound of oars was heard, and the other two galleys came up to the assistance of their consort. they arrived too late to take part in the conflict, but cheered lustily when they heard that the pirate captain and all his crew had been killed. upon learning that the commander of the galley was killed, the captain next in seniority assumed the command. in a few minutes the bodies of the pirates i "thanks to you, francisco." were thrown overboard, the wounded were carried below to have their wounds attended to, while the bodies of those who had fallen—thirteen in number—were laid together on the deck, for burial on shore. "thanks to you, francisco, that i am not lying there beside them," the merchant said. "i did not know that you were so close at hand, and as i slipped i felt that my end had come." "you were getting the better of him up to that point," francis said. "i was close at hand in readiness to strike in should i see that my aid was wanted, but up to the moment you slipped i believed that you would have avenged your wrongs yourself." "it is well that he fell as he did. it would have been dreadful, • indeed, had he been carried to venice to bring shame and dis- grace upon a noble family. thank god, his power for mischief is at an end! i have had no peace of mind since the day when you first thwarted his attempt to carry off the girls; nor should i have ever had until i obtained sure tidings that he was dead. the perseverance with which he has followed his resolve to make my daughter his wife is almost beyond belief. had his mind been turned to other matters he was capable of attaining great- ness, for no obstacle would have barred his way. it almost seems as if it were a duel between him and you to the death —his aim to injure me, and yours to defend us; and now it has ended. maria will breathe more freely when she hears the news, for, gay and light-hearted as she is, the dread of that man has weighed heavily upon her." the governor, who from the poop of the vessel had watched the conflict, now came up and warmly congratulated francis upon his bravery. "i saw you rush forward just as my friend polani fell and engage his assailant. at first i thought you lost, for the villain was counted one of the best swordsmen in venice, and you are the return to the port. still but a lad; but saw you did not give way an inch, but held your own against him; and i believe you would have slain him unaided, for you were fighting with greater coolness than he was; still i was relieved when i saw him fall, for even then the combat was doubtful, and his men, to do them justice, fought like demons. how comes it that one so young as you should be so skilled with your weapon?" "this is not the first time that my young friend has done good service to the state," polani said; "for it was he who led a crew of one of my ships to the aid of pisani when his galley was boarded by the genoese, at the battle of antium." "is this he?" the governor said in surprise. "i heard, of course, by the account of those who came from venice a month since, how pisani was aided, when hard pressed, by the crew of one of your ships, headed by a young englishman, upon whom the state had conferred the rights of citizenship as a recognition of his services; but i did not dream that the englishman was but a lad. what is your age, young sir?" "i am just eighteen," francis replied. "our people are all fond of strong exercise, and thus it was that i became more skilled perhaps than many of my age in the use of arms." at nine o'clock the squadron arrived in the port, bringing with them the captured galley. as soon as they were seen approaching, the church bells rang, flags were hung out from the houses, and the whole population assembled at the quay to welcome the victors and to hear the news. "do you go on at once directly we land, francisco, and set the girls' minds at ease. i must come on with the governor, and he is sure to be detained and will havo much to say before he can make his way through the crowd." francis was, on his arrival at the governor's, recognized by the domestics, and at once shown into the room where the girls were awaiting him. the fact that the pirate galley had been "st. mark be praised." captured was already known to them, the news having been brought some hours before by a horseman from the other side of the island. "where is our father?" maria exclaimed as francis entered alone. "he is well, and sent me on to relieve your minds." "st. mark be praised!" maria said. we have been sorely anxious about you both. a messenger who brought the news said that it could be seen from the shore that there was a desperate fight on board the pirate ship, which was attacked by one galley only. we felt sure that it woidd be the ship that the governor was in, and we knew you were with him; and our father was so enraged at what had happened that we felt sure he would take part in the fight." "he did so," francis said, "and himself engaged hand-to-hand with mocenigo, and would probably have killed him had not his foot slipped on the deck. i was, of course, by his side, and occupied the villain until a cross-bolt pierced his brain. so there is an end to all your trouble with him." "is he reallydead " maria said. "oh, francisco, how thank- ful i am! he seemed so determined that i began to think he was sure some day to succeed in carrying me off. not that i would ever have become his wife, for i had vowed to kill myself before that came about. i should have thought he might have known that he could never have forced me to be his wife." "i told him the same thing," francis said, "and he replied that he was not afraid of that, for that he should have your sister in his power also, and that he should warn you that if you laid hands on yourself he should make her his wife instead of you." the girls both gave an exclamation of horror. "i never thought of that," maria said; "but he would indeed have disarmed me with such a threat. it would have been "you have heard all the news, i suppose?" horrible for me to have been the wife of such a man; but i think i could have borne it rather than have consigned giulia to such a fate. oh, here is father!" "i have got away sooner than i expected," polani said as he entered. "the governor was good enough to beg me to come on at once to you. you have heard all the news, i suppose, and know that our enemy will persecute you no more?" "we have heard, papa, and also that you yourself fought with him, which was very wrong and very rash of you." "and did ho tell you that had it not been for him i should not be here alive now, girls?" "no, father; he said that when you slipped he occupied ruggioro's attention until the cross-bolt struck him." "that is what he did, my dear; but had he not occupied his attention i should have been a dead man. the thrust was aimed at me as i fell, and would have pierced me had he not sprung forward and turned it aside, and then engaged in single combat with moccnigo, who, with all his faults, was brave and a skilful swordsman; and yet, as the governor himself said, probably francisco would have slain him, even had not the combat ended as it did. and now we must have his story in full. i have not heard much about it yet, and you have heard nothing; and i want to know how he managed to get out of the hands of that man when he had once fallen into them." "that is what we want to know too, father. we know what a sharp watch was kept upon us, and i am sure they must have been much more severe with him." "they were certainly more severe," francis said smiling, "for my right hand was chained to my left ankle and the left hand to the right ankle—not tightly, you know, but the chain was so short that i could not stand upright; but, on the other hand, i do not think my guards were as vigilant as yours. however, i will tell you the whole story." "what are we to do for him?" the girls listened with rapt attention to the story of the capture, the escape, and of his hiding in the hold of the pirate in order to be able to give them a warning in time. "your escape was fortunate indeed," the merchant said when he had finished. "fortunate both for you and for us, for i have no doubt that mocenigo had intended to put you to a lingering death on his return. as for the girls, nothing could have saved them from the fate he designed for them save the method which you took of arriving here before him." "what are we to do for him, father?" maria exclaimed. "we are not tired of thanking him, but he hates being thanked. if he would only get into some terrible scrape giulia and i would set out to rescue him at once; but you see he gets out of his scrapes before we hear of them. it is quite disheartening not to be able to do anything." francis laughed merrily. "it is terrible, is it not, signora? but if i manage to get into any scrape, and have time to summon you to my assist- ance, be sure i will do so. but, you see, one cannot get into a scrape when one chooses, and i must be content while i am away in knowing that i have the good wishes of you and your sister." "do not trouble yourself, maria," her father said; "some day an opportunity may come for our paying our debts, and in the meantime francis is content that we should be his debtors." "and now, what are you going to do, papa?" "i shall sail with you for venice to-morrow. the governor will be sending one of the galleys with the news of the capture of the pirate, and doubtless he will give us all a passage in her. i shall order steps to be taken at once for rebuilding the villa, and will get it completed by the spring, before which time you will be off my hands, young lady; and i shall not be "it has not been my fault." altogether sorry, for you have been a very troublesome child lately." "it has not been my fault," maria pouted. "not at all, my dear. it has been your misfortune, and i am not blaming you at all." "but the trouble is now over, father!" "so much the better for rufino," the merchant said. "it will be good news to him that you are freed from the persecution of ruggiero. and now, i must leave you, for i have arranged to ride over with the governor to the other side of the island. he has to investigate the damage which took place last evening. i hear that upwards of a score of villas were sacked and de- stroyed, and that many persons were killed, and while he is doing that i shall see what has to be done at our place. i don't know whether the walls are standing or whether it will have to be entirely rebuilt, and i must arrange with some builder to to go over from here with me and take my instructions as to what must be done." on the following day the party set sail for venice, where they arrived without adventure. preparations were at once begun for the marriage of maria with rufino giustiniani, and six weeks later the wedding ceremony took place. francis did not go to sea until this was over, for when he spoke of a fresh voyage a short time after their return maria declared that she would not be married unless he remained to be present. "you have got me out of all my scrapes hitherto, fran- cisco, and you must see me safely through this." as signor polani also declared that it was not to be thought of that francis should leave until after the marriage, he was obliged to remain for it. he was glad, however, when it was over, for he found the time on shore more tedious than usual. the girls were taken up with the preparations for the ceremony, and visitors were constantly coming and going, and a welcome proposal. the house was not like itself. but even when the marriage was over he was forced to remain some time longer in venice. the genoese fleets were keeping the sea, and pisani had not, since the battle of antium, succeeded in coming up with them; the consequence was that commerce was at a stand-still, for the risk of capture was so great that the merchants ceased to send their ships to sea. "the profit would not repay us for the risk, francisco," the merchant said one day when they were talking over it. "if only one cargo in ten fell into their hands the profit off the other nine would be swept away; but as i see that you are longing to be afloat again, you can, if you tike, join one of the state galleys which start next week to reinforce pisani's fleet. the last time pisani wrote to me he said how glad he should be to have you with him; and after your service at antium i have no doubt whatever that i could procure for you a post as second in command in one of the ships. what do you say?" "i should certainly like it, signor, greatly; but, as you said before, it would be a mere waste of time for me to take service with the state when i am determined upon the vocation of a merchant." "i did say that, francis, and meant it at the time; but at present trade is, as you see, at a stand-still, so you would not be losing time, and, in the next place, it is always an advantage even to a trader to stand well with the state. here in venice all the great merchants are of noble family, and trade is no bar to occupying the highest offices of the state. many of our doges have been merchants; while merchants are often soldiers, diplomatists, or governors as the state requires their services. you have already, you see, obtained considerable benefit by the action at antium. i do not say that you would derive any direct benefit even were you to distinguish yourself again as highly as on that occasion, still it is always well to gain the "i am quite jealous." consideration of your fellows and to be popular with the people. therefore if you would like to take service with the state until this affair is decided with genoa and the seas are again open to our ships, i think it will be advantageous to you rather than not." "then, with your permission i will certainly do so, signor," francis said. "of course i should prefer to go as an officer on board one of the ships; but if not, i will go as a volun- teer." "you need not fear about that, francis. with my influence and that of the giustiniani, and the repute you have gained for yourself, you may be sure of an appointment. rufino would have commanded one of the ships had it not been for his mar- riage." rufino giustiniani had indeed been most warm in his ex- pressions of gratitude to francis, to whom the whole family had shown the greatest attention, giving him many presents as a proof of their good-will and gratitude. "i am quite jealous of your english friend," rufino had said one day to maria. "i do believe, maria, that you care for him more than you do for me; it is lucky for me that he is not two or three years older." maria laughed. "i do care for him dearly; and if he had been, as you say, older and had fallen in love with me, i can't say how it would have been. you must acknowledge it would be very hard to say no to a man who keeps on saving you from frightful peril; but then, you see, a girl can't fall in love with a man who does not fall in love with her. francisco is so different from us venetians; he always says just what he thinks, and never pays anyone even the least bit of a compliment. how can you fall in love with a man like that? of course you can love him like :i brother—and i do love francisco as if he were my brother— "i shall have to put up with it." but i don't think we should have got further than that if he had been ever so old." "and does francis never pay you compliments, giulia?" "never!" giulia said decidedly. "it would be hateful of him if he did." "but maria doesn't object to compliments, giulia. she looks for them as if they were her daily bread; don't you, maria? you will have to learn to put up with them soon, giulia, for you will be out in society now, and the young men will crowd round your chair just as they have done round that of this little flirt your sister." "i shall have to put up with it, i suppose," giulia said quietly, "just as one puts up with other annoyances; but i should certainly never get to care for anyone who thinks so little of me as to believe that i could be pleased by being addressed in such terms." "from which i gather," giustiniani said smiling, "that this english lad's bluntness of speech pleases you more than it does maria?" "it pleases maria too," giulia said, "though she may choose to say that it doesn't. and i don't think it quite right to discuss him at all when we all owe him as much as we do." giustiniani glanced at maria and gave a little significant nod. "i do not think giulia regards francisco in quite the bro- therly way that you do, maria," he whispered presently to her. "perhaps not," maria answered. "you see she had not fallen in love with you before she met him. but i do not know; giulia seldom speaks of him when we are alone, and if she did, you don't suppose i should tell you my sister's secrets, sir?" the day after his conversation with francis, polani handed him his nomination as second in command of the pluto, which he had obtained that morning from the seignory. a search for the captive& "you will be glad to hear that it is in this ship that matteo also sails," for matteo had come home for his brother's wedding. "i am very glad of that," francis said. "i wish that poor giuseppi was also here to go with me. i shall miss him ter- ribly; he was a most faithful and devoted follower." "i have already sent orders to my agent in tunis to spare no pains in discovering to whom the crew of the naxos were sold. it is unfortunate that so many other captives were sold at the same time, as it will make it so much more difficult to trace our men. those purchasing are not likely to know more than their first names, and may not even take the trouble to find out those, but may give them the first appellation that comes to hand; therefore he has to find out who are now the masters of the whole of the captives sold at the same time, and then to pursue his investigations until he discovers the identity of the men he is looking for. once he has found this i will promise you there will be no delay. i have ordered him to make the best bargain in each case he can, but that at any- rate he is to buy every one of them, whatever it may cost. i have sent him the personal descriptions of each man of the boat's crew, as given to me by their friends and relatives here, as this will be an assistance in his search. if, for instance, he hears of a christian slave named giuseppi living with a master some hundreds of miles in the interior, the fact that this man is middle-aged will show at once that he was not the giuseppi, age , of whom he is in search. i have particularly impressed upon him in my letter that we were especially anxious for the rescue of the captain and the young man giuseppi, so i hope that by the time you return from the voyage i may have received some news of them." matteo was greatly pleased when he heard that he was going to sail under francis. "i would rather that we had both been volunteers," francis chapter xv. the battle of pola. | he squadron, consisting of four galleys, sailed for cyprus, where pisani had just endeavoured with- out success to expel the genoese from famagosta. it was towards the end of august that they effected a junction with his fleet. pisani received francis with great warmth, and in the presence of many officers remarked that he was glad to see that the republic was at last appointing men for their merits, and not, as heretofore, allow- ing family connection and influence to be the chief passport to their favour. for two months the fleet sailed among the islands of the levant and along the shores of greece, istria, and dalmatia, hoping to find the genoese fleet, but altogether without success. in november, when they were on the coast of istria, winter set in with extraordinary severity, and the frost was intense. pisani wrote to his government asking permission to bring the fleet into venice until the spring. the seignory, however, refused his request, for they feared that were it known that their fleet had come into port for the winter the genoese would take advantage of its absence to seize upon some of the islands belonging to venice, and to induce the inhabitants of the cities of istria and dalmatia, always ready for revolt, to declare against her. a terrible winter. the first indications of the winter were more than verified. the cold was altogether extraordinary; and out of the nineteen galleys of pisani only six were fit to take the sea with their full complement of men when the spring of began. many of the vessels had been disabled by storms; numbers of the men had died, more had been sent home invalided, and it was only by transferring the men from the other vessels to the six in the best condition that the crews of the latter were made up to their full strength. as soon as the terrible frost broke, pisani received a rein- forcement of twelve ships from venice, these being, for the most part, built and equipped at the cost of his personal friends, polani having contributed two of the number. with the eighteen sail pisani put to sea to prosecute a fresh search for the genoese admiral, doria, and his fleet. the pluto was one of the six vessels which remained in good condition at the end of the winter, thanks in no small degree to the energy and care which francis had bestowed in looking after the welfare of the crew. in the most bitter weather he had himself landed with the boats to see that firewood was cut and brought off in abundance, not only for the officers' cabins, but to warm that portion of the ship inhabited by the men. knowing that polani would not grudge any sum which might be required, he obtained from his agents ample supplies of warm clothing and bedding for the men, occupying himself in- cessantly for their welfare, while the captain and other officers passed their time in their warm and comfortable cabins. francis induced matteo and several of his comrades to brave the weather as he did, and to exert themselves for the benefit of the men; and the consequence was, that while but few of the other ships retained enough men to raise their sails in case of emergency, the strength of the crew of the pluto was scarcely impaired at the termination of the winter. the admiral, on ( ) s praise misplaced. paying a visit of inspection to the ship, was greatly struck with the contrast which the appearance of the crew afforded to that of the other galleys, and warmly complimented the commander on the condition of his men. the captain received the praise as if it was entirely due to himself, and said not a single word of the share which francis had had in bringing it about. matteo was most indignant at this injustice towards his friend, and managed that through a relative serving in the admiral's own ship, a true report of the case should come to pisani's ears. francis was in no way troubled at the captain's appropriation of the praise due to himself. there had not, from the time he sailed, been any cordiality between francis and the other officers. these had been selected for the position solely from family influence, and none of them were acquainted with the working of a ship. in those days, not only in venice but in other countries, naval battles were fought by soldiers rather than sailors. nobles and knights, with their retainers, embarked on board a ship for the purpose of fighting, and of fighting only, the management of the vessel being carried on entirely by sailors under their own officers. thus, neither the commander of the force on board the galley, nor any of his officers, with the exception of francis, knew anything whatever about the management of the ship, nor were capable of giving orders to the crew. among the latter were some who had sailed with francis in his first two voyages, and these gave so excellent a report of him to the rest that they were from the first ready to obey his orders as promptly as those of their own sub-officer. francis concerned himself but little with the ill-will that was shown him by the officers. he knew that it arose from jealousy, not only of the promotion he, a foreigner and a junior in years, had received over them, but of the fact that he had already received the thanks of the republic for the a hand-to-hand conflict. decision into effect. ascending the poop of his galley, he ad- dressed in a loud voice the crews of the ships gathered around him. "remember, my brethren, that those who will now face you are the same whom you vanquished with so much glory on the roman shore. do not let the name of luciano doria terrify you; it is not the names of commanders that will decide the conflict, but venetian hearts and venetian hands. let him that loves st. mark follow me." the men received the address with a shout, and as soon as the commanders had regained their galleys the fleet moved out to attack the enemy. the fight was a furious one, each vessel singling out an opponent and engaging her hand to hand. carlo bottini was killed early in the fight, and francis succeeded to the command. his galley had grappled with one of the largest of the genoese vessols, and a desperate conflict went on. some- times the venetians gained a footing on the deck of the genoese, sometimes they were driven back and the genoese in turn poured on board, but no decisive advantage was gained on either side after an hour's fighting. the genoese crew was numerically much stronger than that of the pluto, and although francis with matteo and his com- rades headed their men and cheered them on, they could make no impression on the ranks of the enemy. suddenly the genoese threw off the grapnels that attached the two ships, and hoisting their sails, sheered off. francis looked round to see the cause of this sudden manoeuvre, and perceived for the first time that the genoese vessels were all in flight, with the venetians press- ing closely upon them. sails were at once hoisted, and the pluto joined in the chase. but the flight was a feigned one, and it was only designed to throw the venetian rank into confusion. after sailing for two miles the genoese suddenly turned and fell upon their defeat. pursuers as they came up in straggling order. the result was decisive. many of the venetian ships were captured before the rest came up to take part in the battle; others were hemmed in by numerous foes. pisani, after fighting until he saw that all was lost, made the signal for the ships to withdraw from the conflict, and he himself, with six galleys, succeeded in fighting his way through the enemy's fleet, and gained a refuge in the port of parenzo. all the rest were taken. from seven to eight hundred venetians perished in the fight, two thousand four hundred were taken prisoners, twelve commanders were killed, and five captured. the genoese losses were also severe, and doria himself was among the slain, having been killed by a spear thrust by donato zeno, commander of one of the galleys, almost at the moment of victory. the pluto had defended herself for a long time against the attacks of three of the genoese galleys, and had repeatedly endeavoured to force her way out of the throng, but the genoese held her fast with their grapnels, and at last the greater part of her crew were driven down below, and francis, seeing the uselessness of further resistance, ordered the little group, who were now completely pent in by the genoese, to lower their weapons. all were more or less severely wounded, and were bleeding from sword cuts and thrusts. "this is an evil day for venice," matteo said, as, having been deprived of their weapons, the prisoners were thrust below. "i heard the genoese say that only six of our galleys have escaped, all the rest have been taken. we were the last ship to surrender, that's a comfort anyhow." "now, matteo, before you do anything else let me bind up your wounds; you are bleeding in two or three places." "and you are bleeding from something like a dozen, fran- cisco, so you had better let me play the doctor first." prisoners. "the captain is always served last, so do as you are told, and strip off your doublet. now, gentlemen," he said, turning to the other officers, "let each of us do what we can to dress the wounds of others; we can expect no care from the genoese leeches, who will have their hands full for a long time to come with their own men. there are some among us who will soon bleed to death unless their wounds are staunched. let us, therefore, take the most serious cases first, and so on in rotation until all have been attended to." it was fortunate for them that in the hold in which they were confined there were some casks of water; for, for hours the genoese paid no attention whatever to their prisoners, and the wounded were beginning to suffer agonies of thirst when the barrels were fortunately discovered. the head of one was knocked in, and some shallow tubs used for serving the water to the crew filled, and the men knelt down and drank by turns from these. many were too enfeebled by their wounds to rise, and their thirst was assuaged by dipping articles of clothing into the water, and letting the fluid from these run into their mouths. it was not until next morning that the prisoners were ordered to come on deck. many had died during the night, others were too weak to obey the summons. the names of the rest were taken, and not a little surprise was expressed by the genoese officers at the extreme youth of the officer in command of the pluto. "i was only the second in command," francis said in answer to their questions. "carlo bottini was in command of the ship, but he was killed at the commencement of the fight." "but how is it that one so young came to be second? you must belong to some great family to have been thus pushed forward above men so much your senior." "it was a wise choice nevertheless," the commander of one "you are not a mercenary?" of the galleys which had been engaged with the pluto said, "for it is but justice to own that no ship was better handled or fought in the venetian fleet. they were engaged with us first, and for over an hour they fought us on fair terms, yielding no foot of ground, although we had far more men than they carried. i noticed this youth fighting always in the front line with the venetians, and marvelled at the strength and dexterity with which he used his weapons, and afterwards, when there were three of us around him, he fought like a boar surrounded by hounds. i am sure he is a brave youth, and well worthy the position he held, to whatsoever he owed it." "i belong to no noble family of venice," francis said. "my name is francis hammond, and my parents are english." "you are not a mercenary, i trust?" the genoese captain asked earnestly. "i am not," francis replied. "i am a citizen of venice, and my name is inscribed in her books, as my comrades will vouch." "right glad am i that it is so," the genoese said, "for pietro doria, who is now, by the death of his brother, in chief com- mand, has ordered that every mercenary found among the prisoners shall to-day be slain." "it is a brutal order," francis said fearlessly, "whosoever may have given it! a mercenary taken in fair fight has as much right to be held for ransom or fair exchange as any other prisoner; and if your admiral thus breaks the laws of war, there is not a free-lance from one end of italy to the other but will take it up as a personal quarrel." the genoese frowned at the boldness with which francis spoke, but at heart agreed in the sentiments he expressed; for among the genoese officers generally there was a feeling that this brutal execution in cold blood was an impolitic as well as a disgraceful deed. "i am your captain no longer." there is just enough light coming down from those scuttles to enable us to do so fairly." there was a general laugh from his comrades at the cheerful way in which francis spoke. only one of them had been an officer on the pluto; the rest were, like matteo, volunteers of good families. there was a good deal of light-hearted jesting over their meal. when it was over francis said: "now let us hold a council of war." "you are better off than pisani was anyhow," one of the young men said, "for you are not hampered with proveditors, and anything that your captaincy may suggest will, you may be sure, receive our assent." "i am your captain no longer," francis replied; "we are all prisoners now and equal, and each one has a free voice and a free vote." "then i give my voice and vote at once, francisco," matteo said, "to the proposal that you remain our captain, and that we obey you as cheerfully and willingly as we should if you were on the poop of the pluto instead of being in the hold. in the first place, at carlo's death you became our cap- tain by right so long as we remain together; and in the second place you have more experience than all of us put together, and a very much better head than most of us, my- self included. therefore, comrades, i vote that messer fran- cisco hammond bo still regarded as our captain, and obeyed as such." there was a general chorus of assent, for the energy which francis had displayed throughout the trying winter, and the manner in which he had led the crew during the desperate fighting, had won for him the regard and the respect of them all. "very well, then," francis said; "if you wish it so i will remain your leader, but we will nevertheless hold our council of war. the question which i shall first present to your con- a council of wak. sideration is, which is the best way to set about retaking the pluto?" there was a burst of laughter among the young men. the matter-of-fact way in which francis proposed what seemed to them an impossibility amused them immensely. "i am quite in earnest," francis went on when the laughter had subsided; "if it is possibly to be done i mean to retake the pluto, and i have very little doubt that it is possible if we set about it in the right way. in the first place, we may take it as absolutely certain that we very considerably outnumber the genoese on board. they must have suffered in the battle almost as much as we did, and have had nearly as many killed and wounded. in the second place, if doria intends to profit by his victory he must have retained a fair amount of fighting men on board each of his galleys, and, weakened as his force was by the losses of the action, he can spare but a comparatively small force on board each of the fifteen captured galleys. i should think it probable that there are not more than fifty men in charge of the pluto, and we number fully three times that force. the mere fact that they let down our food to us by ropes instead of bringing it down, showed a consciousness of weakness." "what you say is quite true," paolo parucchi, the other officer of the pluto, said; "but they are fifty well-armed men, and we are a hundred and fifty without arms and shut down in the hold, to which must be added the fact that we are cut off from our men, and our men from us. they are, as it were, without a head to plan, while we are without arms to strike." a murmur of approval was heard among some of the young men. "i do not suppose that there are no difficulties in our way," francis said quietly; "or that we have only, next time the the first step. hatch is opened, to say to those above, gentlemen of genoa, we are more numerous than you are, and we therefore request you to change places with us immediately. all i have asserted so far is that we are sufficiently strong to retake the ship if we get the opportunity. what we have now to settle is how that opportunity is to come about. to begin with, has any one a dagger or knife which has escaped the eye of our searchers t" no one replied. "i was afraid that nothing had escaped the vigilance of those who appropriated our belongings. as, however, we have no weapons or tools, the next thing is to see what there is in the hold which can be turned to account. it is fortunate we are on board the pluto instead of being transferred to another ship, as we already know all about her. there are some iron bolts driven in along a beam at the farther end; they have been used, i suppose, at some time or other for hanging the carcasses of animals from. let us see whether there is any chance of getting some of them out." the iron pegs, however, were so firmly driven into the beam that all their efforts failed to move them in the slightest. "we will give that up for the present," francis said, "and look round for something more available." but with the exception of the water-casks, the closest search failed to find anything in the hold. "i do not know whether the iron hoops of a cask would be of any use," matteo said. "certainly they would be of use if we get them off, matteo." "there is no difficulty about that," one of the others said, examining the casks closely. "this is an empty one, and the hoops seem quite loose." in a few minutes four iron hoops were taken off the cask. "what next, captain?" "after all," matteo said, "they cannot be of much use; the iron is rust-eaten, and they would break in our hands before going into any one." "they would certainly be useless as daggers, matteo, but i think that with care they will act as saws. break off a length of about a foot, now straighten it, and tear a piece off your doublet and wrap it round and round one end, so that you can hold it. now just try it on the edge of a beam." "it certainly cuts," matteo announced after a trial, "but not very fast." "so that it cuts at all we may be very well content," francis said cheerfully; "we have got a week at least to work in, and if the wind is not favourable we may have a month. let us therefore break the hoops up into pieces of the right length. we must use them carefully, for we may expect to have many breakages." "what next, captain?" "our object will, of course, be to cut through into the main hold which separates us from the crew. there we shall probably find plenty of weapons; but to use our saws we must first find a hole in the bulkhead. first of all then let there be a strict search made for a knot-hole, or any other hole through the bulkhead." it was too dark for eyes to be of much use, but hands were run all over the bulkhead, but no hole however small was discovered. "it is clear, then," francis said, "that the first thing to do is to cut out some of those iron bolts. pick out those that are nearest to the lower side of the beam, say three of them. there are twelve of us, that will give four to each bolt, and we can relieve each other every few minutes. remember, it is patience that is required and not strength." the work was at once begun. the young men had by this the first success. time fully entered into the spirit of the attempt. the quiet and business-like way in which their leader set about it con- vinced them that he at least had a firm belief that the work was possible; and there was a hope, even if but a remote one, of avoiding the dreaded dungeons of genoa. the work was slow, and two or three of the strips of iron were at first broken by the too great eagerness of their holders; but when it was found that by using them lightly the edges gradually cut their way into the wood, the work went on regu- larly. the pluto had been hurriedly constructed, and any timbers that were available in the emergency were utilized. consequently much soft wood that at other times would never have been found in the state dockyards was put into her. the beam at which they were working was of soft timber, and a fine dust fell steadily as the rough iron was sawed backward and forward upon it. two cuts were made under each bolt, wide at the base and converging towards it. the saws were kept going the whole day, and although the progress was slow it was fast enough to encourage them; and just as the light that came through the scuttle faded away three of the young men hung their weight upon one of the bolts, and the wood beneath it, already almost severed, gave, and a suppressed cry of satisfaction announced that one bolt was free. the pieces of iron were two feet long and were intended for some other purpose, but had been driven in when, on loading the ship, some strong pegs on which to hang carcasses were required. they were driven about three inches into the beam, and could have been cut out with an ordinary saw in two or three minutes. "try the others," francis said. "as many of you get hold of them as can put your hands on." the effort was made and the other two bolts were got out. breakfast. although all worked their best they made but slight pro- gress in the dark, and each worker was forced to take frequent rests, for the fatigue of working with their arms above their heads was excessive. as soon, however, as the light began to steal down and the movement above head told them that the crew were at work washing the decks, the points of the irons were used to wrench away the wood between the saw-cuts; and the work then proceeded briskly, as they relieved each other every few minutes. at last, to their intense satisfaction, three more irons were got out. "if anyone had told me," one of the party said, "that a man's arms could hurt as much as mine do from working a few hours, i should have disbelieved him." there was a chorus of assent, for none were accustomed to hard manual labour, and the pain in their arms was excessive. "let us have half an hour's rest, francis, before you issue your next orders. i shall want that at least before i feel that i have any power in my arms at all." "we will have an hour's rest, matteo, if you like. before that time they will be sending us down our food, and after we have breakfasted we can set to work again." "breakfast!" one of the young men groaned. "i cannot call that black bread and water breakfast. when i think of the breakfasts i have eaten, when i think of the dishes i have refused to eat because they were not cooked to perfection, i groan over my folly in those days, and my enormous stupidity in ever volunteering to come to sea." "i should recommend you all," francis said, "to spend the next hour in rubbing and squeezing the muscles of your neigh- bours' arms and shoulders. it is the best way for taking out stiffness, and giuseppi used to give me relief that way when i was stiff with fencing." the idea was adopted; and while the rest were at work in a favourable report. the manner he suggested, francis, taking one of the irons, went to the bulkhead. one by one he tried the planks from the floor boards to the beams above. "well, captain, what is your report?" matteo asked as he joined the rest. "my report is a most favourable one," francis said. "by great good luck the planks are nailed from the other side against the beams both above and below." "what difference does that make, francisco?" "all the difference in the world. had they been nailed on this side, there would have been nothing for it but to carry out our original plan—that is, to make holes through the planks with these irons large enough for the saws to go through, and then to saw the wood out from hole to hole. as it is, i believe that with five minutes' work we could wrench a plank away. we have only to push the points of the irons up between the beams and the planks and use them as levers. the nails will be strong indeed if those irons, with two of us at each, would not wrench them out." the young men all leapt to their feet, pains and aches quite forgotten in the excitement of this unexpected news, and six of them seized hold of the irons. "gently!" francis said. "you must remember there may be people going down there at present getting up stores. before we venture to disturb a plank we must make the hole sufficiently large for us to spy through. this will be a very easy affair in comparison with making a hole large enough for a saw to go through. still you will find it will take some time. however, we had better wait, as we agreed, till we have had our food." ( ) t an entrance effected. again the effort was made, and this time the nails drew fully two inches. another effort, and the plank was completely free at the lower end. "now do you push against it as hard as you can," francis said, "while i get my iron in between it and the beam above." the upper nails yielded even more easily than those below. "no farther," francis said when they had fairly started them, "or the plank will be falling with a crash. we must push from the bottom now until it gives sufficiently far for you to get an iron down each side, to prevent its closing again." "now," he said, "push the irons higher up; that is right. now i will loosen a bit farther at the top, and then you will be able to get your hands in at the bottom to steady it and prevent its falling when the nails are quite drawn." another effort and the plank was free, and, being drawn in, was laid down. the delight of those who were standing in the dark, and could only judge how matters were going on from francis's low-spoken orders, was extreme. "can we get through?" "no," francis replied; "it will be necessary to remove another plank first, but perhaps one of the slighter among you might manage to squeeze through and hold the plank at the back; we shall be able to work with more freedom if we know that there is no danger of its falling." in a few minutes the second plank was laid beside the first. "what is to be done next?" matteo asked. "we must establish a communication with the sailors. i will take a working party of four; paolo parucchi with four others will relieve me; you, matteo, will with the rest take the last spell. when we have entered the next compartment we will communication opened. put up the planks again and press the nails in tightly enough to prevent their falling. should, by some chance, any one descend into the hold while we are working, we shall be hidden from their view; at the other end there are a number of sacks piled up, and we shall be working behind them." francis and the men he had chosen made their way to the pile of arms they had observed through their peep-hole, moving with great precaution so as to avoid falling over anything. here with some trouble they succeeded in finding a dagger among the heap, and they then felt their way on until they reached the pile of sacks; these were packed to within a foot of the deck-beams, and there was but just room for them to crawl in at the top. "whatever you do, do not bump against the beams," francis said. "any noise of that sort from below would at once excite attention. now do you be quiet while i find a spot to begin upon." commencing at a junction of two planks, francis began with the dagger to cut a hole of some three or four inches across, but tapering rapidly as it went in. after waiting for some ten minutes he touched the man lying next to him, placed his hand on the hole he had begun, and then moved aside to allow him to continue the work. in an hour a hole was made in a two- inch plank, and this was soon enlarged until it was an inch in diameter. lying along the side of the bulkhead so as to get his ear to the hole, francis listened, but could hear no sound within; then he put his mouth to the orifice and asked: "are you all asleep there " then he listened again. some of the men were speaking, and asking each other who it was that had suddenly spoken. no one replied; and some of them gave vent to angry threats orders to the crew. against whoever it might bo who had just disturbed them from going off to sleep. directly the voices ceased again francis said: "let us have silence in there. where is liinaldo, the boat- swain?" "i am here," a voice replied; "but who is speaking? it sounds like the voice of messer hammond." "it is my voice, rinaldo. we have worked through from the hold at the other end of the ship, having removed some of the planks of the bulkhead; now it is for you to do the same. wo will pass you some daggers through when we have made this hole a bit larger. you must choose one of the planks in the corner, as this will be less likely to be observed." "they will not observe us, messer hammond; they never come down here at all, but pass our food down in buckets." "nevertheless, begin at the plank next to the side," francis said; "possibly some one may come down before you have finished. you will have to remove two planks to get through. i will pass a javelin through; you can set to work with it and bore holes through the plank close to the floor, and then with the dagger cut away the wood between them. when you have done them set to at the top, close to the beams, and cut the two planks through there. there are sacks of grain piled up against them on this side, so that there is no fear of your being observed from here. the work must be carried on perfectly noiselessly, the men relieving each other every few minutes. "when the planks are cut through replace them in their former positions and wedge some small pieces of wood in, so that there shall be no chance of their falling. you ought to finish the work by to-morrow. when you have done it take no farther step until you get orders from me. it would not do to "what did i tell you?" rise now, for we may be surrounded by other ships, and if we overpowered the crew we should at once be attacked and re- captured by them. you will therefore remain quiet until you have orders, whether it be one day or ten. all the arms they have taken from us are lying piled here, and when the time comes we shall have no difficulty in overpowering the genoese, and shall, i hope, bring the pluto safely to anchor in the port of venice before long." there was a murmur of delight among the sailors, pent up in their close quarters. francis listened a moment and heard one of the men say: "what did i tell you? didn't i tell you that messer ham- mond got us all out of a scrape before, when our ship was captured by the genoese, and that i would be bound he would do the same again if he had but the shadow of a chance." "you did, pietro, and you have turned out right; that is the sort of fellow to have for a captain. he is not like one of those dainty young nobles who don't know one rope's end from another, and who turn up their noses at the thought of dirty- ing their hands. see how he looked after us through the winter. i wish we could give a cheer for him, but that would never do; but when we are out of this i will give him the loudest shout i ever gave yet. now then, rinaldo, let us set to work without a moment's delay. there's a chance we aren't going to rot in the dungeons of genoa after all." convinced that the work would be carried on in accordance with his orders, francis withdrew his ear from the hole, and, crawling over the sacks again, made his way to the pile of arms, felt about until he found two javelins, and taking these back passed them one after the other through the hole. the next step towards freedom. "that is the next point to be seen to," francis replied. "we must cut, either from this hold or from the other, a way up to the deck above. it may take us some days to do this, but that matters little, we have plenty of time for the work before reaching genoa. the difficulty is not in the work itself, but in doing it unobserved." "that is difficult indeed," matteo said, "seeing that the genoese sailors are quartered in the forecastle above the fore- hold, while the officers will be in the cabins in the poop over us." "that is so, matteo, and for that reason it is clear that it is we, not the sailors, who must cut through the planks above. there are no divisions in the forecastle, and it will be therefore absolutely impossible to cut through into it without being perceived long before a hole is made of a sufficient size to enable us to get out. here we may succeed better, for fortu- nately we know the exact plan of the cabins above us, and can choose a spot where we should not be likely to be noticed." "that is so," matteo agreed, "and as they will not have as many officers as we had—that is, including the volunteers— some of the cabins will not be occupied. perhaps by listening to the footsteps above we might find out which are vacant." "i thought of that, matteo, but i doubt whether it would be well to rely upon that. many on board ship wear soft shoes which make but little noise, and it would be fatal to us were we to make a mistake. after thinking it over i have decided that we had best try to cut a way up into the captain's cabin." "but that is sure to be occupied, messer hammond," pa- rucchi said. "yes, it will be certainly be occupied; but it affords a good "we can begin at once." opportunity of success. as you know, parucchi, carlo bottini had been a long time at constantinople and the eastern ports, and had a somewhat luxurious taste. do you not remember that against the stern windows he had caused to be erected a low wide seat running across the cabin; this he called a divan, and spent no small proportion of his time lolling upon it. if i am right, its height was from ten inches to a foot above the deck, and it was fully four feet wide. it would therefore be quite possible to cut through the two planks at the back without its being observed by anyone in the cabin." there was a chorus of assent. "of course we must work most cautiously," francis went on. "the wood must be cut out with clean cuts with the daggers, there must be no sawing or scraping; the beams are two feet apart, and we must cut through two planks close to them. in that way there will be no nails to remove. of course we shall not cut quite through until the time arrives for us to make the attempt, but just leave enough to hold the planks together; half an hour's work will get through that; for if we were to cut through it at once, not only would there be risk of the hole being discovered by anyone sweeping the cabin, but we should be obliged to remain absolutely silent, or we should be heard immediately." "we can begin at once, can we not?" matteo asked. "any- thing is better than sitting quietly here." "certainly, matteo, if you wish. two can work at once, one on each line. choose the two sharpest-edged of the daggers, and be sure to cut clean and not to make a scraping noise or to try to break out pieces of wood. the work must be done in absolute quiet; indeed, however careful you are it the captain's cabin. from the hole. two of his comrades lifted francis so that his head was above the level of the hole, and he was enabled to see into the cabin. so far as he could tell it was untenanted, but it was possible that the commander might be on the divan above him. this was not, however, likely, as in the gale that was now blowing he would probably be on deck directing the working of the ship. francis now gave the signal, and the others raised him still further, until he was able to get his weight upon the deck above, and he then crawled along underneath the divan, and lay there quiet until parucchi and matteo had both reached the deck; then he gave the word and all three rolled out and leaped to their feet, with their daggers in their hands in readi- ness to fall upon the captain should he be on the divan. as they had hoped and expected, the cabin was untenanted. the other volunteers now joined them, the last giving the word to rinaldo, who soon passed up followed by the crew, until the cabin was as full as it could contain. there were now as- sembled some fifty men closely packed together. "that is ample," francis said, "as they will be unarmed and unprepared. we can issue out singly until the alarm is given, and then those that remain must rush out in a body. simply knock them down with the hilts of your swords. there is no occasion to shed blood unless in the case of armed resis- tance; but remember they will have their knives in their girdles, and do not let any one take you by surprise." opening the door francis walked along a passage, and then through an outer door into the waist of the ship. the wind was blowing fiercely, but the gale was not so violent as it had appeared to them when confined below. the night was dark, "there are sixteen lights." ing that fully twenty armed men were opposed to them, they threw down their swords. francis ordered four of the sailors to conduct them to the captain's cabin, and remain in guard over them; then with the rest he hurried forward to assist parucchi's party. but the work was already done; the genoese, taken completely by surprise, had at once surrendered as the armed party rushed in the forecastle, and the ship was already theirs. as soon as the prisoners were secured, the after-hatch was thrown off, and those whose turn to crawl up through the hole had not yet arrived came up on deck. "rinaldo," francis said, as soon as the crew had fallen into their places, "send a man aloft and let him suddenly knock out the light in the lantern." "but we can lower it down, captain, from the deck." "of course we can, rinaldo, but i don't want it lowered down, i want it put suddenly out." rinaldo at once sent a man up, and a minute later the light suddenly disappeared. "if we were seon to lower it down," francis said to matteo, "the suspicions of those who noticed it would be at once aroused, for the only motive for doing so would be conceal- ment, whereas now if it is missed it will be supposed that the wind has blown it out. now we have only to lower our sails and wo can drop unobserved out of the fleet." "there are sixteen lights, i have just been counting them," matteo said. "these are probably the fourteen galleys captured with us, and two galleys as guards in case on their way they should fall in with any of our ships. parucchi, will you at once muster the men, and see that all are armed and in readiness ( ) v "i am going to lay the ship alongside." for fighting. matteo, do you and some of your friends assist the lieutenant." in a few minutes parucchi reported that the men were all ready for action. "rinaldo, brail up the sails so that we may drop into the rear of the squadron; watch the lights of the vessels behind, and steer so that they shall pass us as widely as possible." this was the order the men were expecting to receive, but they were surprised when, just as the last light was abreast of them, francis gave the order for the brails to be loosed again. "signor parucchi, do you tell off fifty men. i am going to lay the ship alongside that vessel and recapture her; they will not see us until we are close on board, and will suppose it is an accident when we run alongside. no doubt they, like the pluto, have only a complement of fifty men, and we shall over- power them before they are prepared to offer any resistance. no doubt they have prisoners below. immediately we have recaptured her i shall return on board with the rest, leaving you with your fifty men in charge of her. as soon as you have secured the genoese, free any prisoners there may be in the hold. i shall keep close to you, and you can hear me, and tell me how many there are." the pluto was now edged away till she was close to the other ship. the crew, exulting in having turned the tables on the genoese and at the prospect of recovering another of the lost galleys, clustered in the waist grasping their arms. the ship was not perceived until she was within her own length of the other, then there was a sudden hail: "where are you coming to? keep away, or you will be into us. why don't you show your light?" dismasted. your light and board the vessel whose light you see on your starboard bow; i will take the one to port. when you have captured her, lower the sails of both vessels; i will do the same. you will keep a little head sail set, so as to keep them before the wind; but do not show more than you can help. i wish the rest of the fleet to outrun us as soon as possible." the pluto sheered off from the prize and directed her course towards the vessel nearest to her, which she captured as easily as she had done the preceding; but this time not only were her bulwarks stove in, but the chain-plates were carried away; and the main-mast, no longer supported by its shroud's, fell over the side with a crash. this vessel had but a hundred prisoners on board. they were wild with astonishment and delight when they found that their vessel had been recaptured. francis told them to koep by him through the night, as possibly he might need their assistance. for some hours the gale increased; the pluto lay head to it, her mast serving as a floating anchor. as soon as the lights of the genoese squadron disappeared in the distance francis hoisted a lantern on his main-mast, as a signal to the other vessels to keep near him. as soon as day broke, the galley they had last recaptured was seen half a mile away, while the two others could be made out some six miles to leeward. the gale died out soon after daybreak, and francis at once set his crew to work to get the mast on board, and to ship it by its stump. it was a difficult undertaking, for the vessel was rolling heavily. it was first got alongside, two ropes were passed over it, and it was parbuckled on board. shears were made of two spars, and the end was placed against the stump, which the vovll galleys. projected six feet above the deck. by the aid of the shears it was hoisted erect and lashed to the stump, wedges were driven in to tighten the lashings, and it was then firmly stayed; and by the afternoon it was in readiness for sail to be hoisted again. by this time parucchi, with the vessel he had captured, was alongside. the lion of st. mark was hoisted to the main- mast of the pluto, and throo similar banners were run up by the other vessels, the crews shouting and cheering with wild enthusiasm. chapter xvii. an ungrateful republic. t is glorious, francis," mattco said, "to think that we should have recaptured four of our ships!" "it is very good as far as it goes," francis replied, "but it might have been a great deal better. if it hadn't been for the storm we might have picked them all up one by one. each vessel we took the stronger we became, and i had calculated upon our capturing the greater number; but in such a sea i don't think we could possibly "i should think not," matteo said. "i had never dreamt of doing more than recovering the pluto, and when you first talked about that it seemed almost like madness. i don't think one of us had the slightest belief in the possibility of the thing when you first proposed it." "i thought it was to be managed somehow," francis said. "it would have been a shame indeed if a hundred and fifty men were to be kept prisoners for a fortnight or three weeks by a third of their number." "well, certainly no one would have thought of making the attempt if you had not proposed it, francis. i believe even if you were to propose our sailing north and capturing genoa, capture more than we did. i "iluw did it all come about i" "what miracle is this, francis?" he asked, as he warmly embraced his young friend. "not a miracle at all, messer polani. the genoese fancied that a guard of fifty men was amply sufficient to keep a hundred and fifty venetians captives, and we taught them their mistake." "it wasn't we," matteo put in, as he shook hands with his kinsman. "we had no more idea of escaping than we had of flying; the whole thing was entirely the work of francisco here." "i might have been sure the genoese would not keep you long, francisco," polani said; "and the girls and i might have spared ourselves the pain of fretting for you. but how did it all come about?" "if you will take me to the piazza in your gondola i will tell you all about on the way," francis replied; "for, absurd as it seems, i am the senior officer of the squadron, and must, i suppose, report to the council what has happened." "take me too, kinsman," matteo said; "i know francisco well that i am quite sure that of himself he will never tell the facts of this affair, and will simply say that we broke out, avoiding all mention of his share in it, and how it was that under his orders we recaptured the other ships." "i think that a very good plan, matteo; so do you come with us, and you shall tell me all about it instead of my hearing it from francis, and i will take care the council know the truth of the matter." "the admiral got safely back, i hope?" francis asked. "we saw that his galley, with five others, broke through the genoese fleet and got safely away, but of course we knew not whether the brave admiral was himself hurt." pisani mpiusi ned. "he arrived here safely," polani replied; "but knowing the venetians as you do you will be scarcely surprised to hear that he has been sentenced to six months' imprisonment for losing the battle." "put that is shameful," francis exclaimed indignantly. "i heard from our captain, who was present at the council, that pisani was opposed to fighting, and that he was oidy overruled by the proveditors. it is shameful. i will go on shore and make my report, and then i will come back to you, for i swear that not another blow will i strike on bohalf of the republic as long as pisani is in prison." "it is a bad business, my lad," polani said; "but you know that pisani, popular as he is with the people, has few friends among the nobles. they are jealous of his fame and popu- larity, and, to say the truth, he has often irritated them by his bluntness and his disregard for their opinion and rank, conse- quently they seized upon his defeat as an occasion for accusing him, and it was even a question in the council of taking his life, and he may be considered fortunate in getting off with the sentence of six months' imprisonment. i do not think he will have to remain very long in confinement. we may expect the genoese fleet here in a few days, for the paduan army is already moving, as we heard last night; no doubt it is going to co-operate with the fleet. once the danger presses, the populace will demand pisani's release. there have already been demon- strations, and shouts of 'viva pisani!' have been raised in the piazza. at any rate, francis, let me advise you most strongly not to suffer any expression of your feelings concerning him to escape you before the council. i need scarcely say it would do no good to the admiral, and would set the whole of before the council. his enemies against you. it is no affair of yours if the gover- nors of venice behave ungratefully to one who deserves well at their hands, and you have made more than enough enemies by mingling in my affairs without drawing upon yourself more foes by your championship of pisani." "i will, of course, follow your counsel," francis said; "but i will certainly serve the state no more until pisani is freed." several of the councillors were already assembled on hearing the strange news that four of the ships which had been captured by the genoese had entered port. francis, on announcing his errand, was at once shown in to them. polani accompanied him, explaining his presence to the council by saying: "i have ventured, signors, to accompany my young friend here in order that i may give you a much further detail of the affair in which he has been engaged than you are likely to hear from his own lips. i have just come on shore from his ship, the pluto, and have heard the story from my kinsman, matteo giustiniani." "wo have surely seen this young gentleman before, messer polani?" one of the council said. "you have, signor," polani replied. "you may remember that he greatly distinguished himself at the fight of antium, was sent home by the admiral with his despatches, and had the honour of receiving from you the thanks of the republic and the gift of citizenship." "i remember now," the councillor said; and a murmur of assent from the others showed that they also recalled the circumstance. "is he again the bearer of despatches from the officer in command of tho little squadron which, as it seems, has just, by some miracle, entered the port; and how is it l francis tells his story. that the officer did not present himself in person before us?" "the officor has presented himself," polani said. "messer hammond is in command of the four ships which have just arrived. not only is he in command by virtue of senior rank, but it is to him that their recapture from the genoese is entirely due." there was a murmur of incredulity from the circle of coun- cillors, but polani went on quietly. "it may seem well-nigh impossible to you, signors, but what i say is strictly true. if messer hammond will first relate to you the broad facts of the recapture of the ships i will furnish you with such details as he may omit." francis then briefly related the events which had led to the capture of the four galleys. he explained that by the death of the captain he, as second officer, succeeded to the command of the pluto, and that afterwards being captured by the genoese, signor parucchi, the sole other surviving officer, and ten gen- tlemen belonging to noble families and serving as volunteers on board the pluto, wore confined in one hold of that ship on her voyage as a prize to genoa, the crew being shut up in the other; that by working at night they had effected a junction with the crew, and choosing a stormy night when any noise that might be made would not be heard on board the ship, they made their way up to the deck above through a hole they had cut in the planks, and overpowered the genoese almost without resistance; that they had then in the darkness ran alongside another of the ships and captured her with equal ease, and parucchi, with a portion of the crew of the pluto and the venetian prisoners on board that ship had retaken a third, while the pluto had captured a fourth. polani fills up the details. "it may seem to you, signors," francis concluded, "that we might in the same way have recaptured the rest of our ships, and it was a bitter disappointment to me that we failed to do so; but the storm was so high and the sea so rough that it was only with the greatest danger and difficulty that ships could lie alongside each other. the bulwarks of all four vessels were greatly damaged, and the pluto lost her foremast while along- side the last ship we captured, and as the storm was increasing rather than abating we wore, to our great chagrin, obliged to let the rest escape, since in striving for more we might have lost not only our lives but the vessels we had taken." "this is indeed a most notable achievement, messer hammond, and the restoration of four ships and their crews at the present moment is of great importance to the republic, threatened as she is with invasion by land and sea. now, messer polani, if you will give us the full details of which you spoke we shall be glad." polani then related to the council the full story of the means by which the crew of the pinto had gained their liberty, show- ing how the recapture was entirely due to the initiative of francis, and to the ingenuity with which he overcame all diffi- culties. he ended by saying: "my kinsman, mattoo, said that should you doubt whether this account is not tinged by his friendship and partiality for messer hammond, signor parucchi and all the gentlemen who were confined with them in the hold can substantiate the account that he has given. he said that parucchi's evidence would be all the more valuable since he and the other officers were in the first place much prejudiced against messer ham- mond, deeming it an indignity that one so young, and a foreigner by birth, should be appointed to the command over francis refuses command. the heads of others, venetian born, of good family, and his seniors in age. the circumstances which i have related to you have, however, completely altered his opinion, and he is as enthusiastic with respect to messer hammond's conduct as are my kinsman and all on board the ship." "i remember now," one of the council said, "that we had a letter from the admiral in the spring, and that when describing how terribly the crews had been diminished and weakened by the severity of the winter, he said that the sole exception was the pluto, whose crew was kept up to their full strength and in excellent health, owing entirely to the care and attention that messer hammond, the officer second in command, had bestowed upon them." "thanks, messer polani," the president of the council said, "for the light you have thrown on this matter. messer ham- mond, it is difficult to over-estimate the services that you have rendered to the state. we shall at an early day decide in what manner most fitly to reward them, and in the meantime you will remain in command of the squadron you have brought in." francis returned thanks for the promise of the president, but expressed his desire to resign the command of the squadron at once. "i am in business," he said, "with messer polani, and although for a short time i abandoned commerce in order to sail under admiral pisani, i now, from various reasons, desire, as soon as my successor is appointed, to return to my work with signor polani. i desire to recommend warmly to your excellencies signor parucchi, who is, except myself, the sole remaining officer of the pluto. he seconded me most admirably among friends. in our enterprise, and himself commanded at the recapture of one of the ships. the gentlemen volunteers also worked with the greatest energy and spirit. matteo giustiniani has been acting as third officer, and to him also the thanks of the republic are due." on leaving the ship messer polani had despatched a boat to carry to his house the news that francis had returned, and when they came back from the palace they found giulia anxiously expecting them, and a few minutes later matteo arrived with his brother rufino, and maria. the latter was far more effusive in her greeting of francis than giulia had been. "matteo has been telling us all about it, francis^ and that he and everyone else owed their escape from the dungeons of genoa entirely to your cleverness." "not so much to his cleverness, maria," matteo corrected, "although he is wonderful in inventing things, but to his energy, determination, and steadfastness. there was not one of us but regarded a visit to the dungeons of genoa as a foregone conclusion, and when francis spoke of our recaptur- ing the pluto as if it were the easiest and most natural thing in the world, it was as much as we could do not to laugh in his face. however, he set about it as quietly and calmly as if he were carrying on the regular work of a ship. we gradually caught some of his spirit, and when we began to see that there was a method in his madness did our best to carry out his orders." "it is wonderful," maria said; "and do you know, francisco, that when we first knew you, after you had rescued us from the attack on the canal, i absolutely thought that though you were brave and straightforward and honourable, yet that by "he is quite right, maria." rufino," she said, turning to him, "you pretend sometimes to be jealous of francisco hammond; and there you see, just when i have said i have lots of questions to ask him, and five minutes after my arrival here to greet him, he races away without a word directly he hears that his man giuseppi has returned." "and he is quite right, maria," matteo said indignantly. "giuseppi would give his life for francisco, and the two have been together every day for the last six or seven years. i don't doubt the faithful fellow is crying with joy now. francisco is quite right not to keep him waiting for a minute." "perhaps i cried for joy too, master matteo," maria said. "i believe i did see tears in your eyes, maria; but i put them down to my own account. you would naturally be delighted to know that your brother-in-law was safe and sound, to say nothing of the fact that the family would be spared the expense of sending a thousand ducats or so to ransom him." "a thousand ducats, matteo! a thousand soldi would more nearly represent your value, if the genoese did but know it. but why don't you toll giulia your adventures, as i ordered you?" "because giulia would very much rather hear them from francisco's lips, and i have no doubt he will be equally glad to tell her himself, though certainly he is a bad hand at recount- ing his own doings. however, he shall have the pleasure of telling her of it, and i can fill up the details for her afterwards." two days later a decree was published by the council stating that, in consideration of the very great service rendered to the state by francisco hammond, a citizen of venice, in recaptur- ing four galleys from the genoese, the council decreed the ( ) x a tension settlement upon him for life of a pension of three hundred ducats a year. "you will not want it, francisco," messer polani said as he brought in the news, "for i intend at the end of these troubles to take you as a partner in my business. i told your father that i should do so; and you have not only proved yourself earnest in business, quick at learning, and full of resources, but you have vastly added to the debt of gratitude which first caused me to make the proposition, by again saving my daugh- ters from falling into the hands of their enemy. i told your father that i should regard you in the light of a son, and i do so regard you, and as a son of whom i have every reason to be proud. "i need no thanks, my lad. i am still, and shall always remain, your debtor. you have very much more than fulfilled my expectations, and i shall be glad to place some of the burden of my business upon your shoulders. there is another matter which i have long had in my mind, but of which i will not speak just at present. thus, then, the three hundred ducats which you will receive each year from the state may not be needed by you, still you are to be congratulated upon the grant, because being the recipient of a pension for distin- guished services will add to your weight and influence in the city; and so long as you do not need it—and no man can say what may occur in the course of years to hinder the trade of venice—you can bestow the sum annually upon the poor of the city, and thus increase your popularity." "i shall be happy to do that, signor," francis said, "al- though it seems to me that popularity is of little value in venice. it has not saved the man whom a short time since popularity. the people hailed as their father from unmerited disgrace and imprisonment." "it has not, francisco, but it has saved his life. you may take my word for it that the proposal absolutely made in the council for the execution of pisani would have been voted had it not been for fear of the people; and it may be that you will yet see that the voice of the people will bring pisani from his prison long before the expiration of his term of imprisonment. popularity is not to be despised, for it is a great power. that power may be abused, as when one, having gained the ear of the people, leads them astray for his own base ends, and uses the popularity he has gained to attack and hurl from power men less eloquent and less gifted in the arts of cajoling the people, but more worthy than himself. but, used rightly, the power of swaying and influencing the people is a great one, and especially valuable in a city like venice, where private enmities and private feuds are carried to so great an extent. already your name is in every mouth. your rescue of pisani when sorely beset by the enemy has been the theme of talk in every house; and this feat, which retrieves to some extent the misfortune of pola, will make your name a household word in venice." immediately after the battle of pola the venetians had entered into negotiations with hungary to endeavour to detach that power from the league against them. but the demands of king louis were too extravagant to be accepted. he demanded the cession of trieste, the recognition of the suzerainty of his crown on the part of the present doge and all his successors, an annual tribute of one hundred thousand ducats, and half a million of ready money. this demand was so excessive that the genoese fleet. even in their distress the venetians refused to accept it, and hastened on their preparations for a struggle for life or death. fortunately the genoese continued for three months after thoir success at pola to capture the outlying possessions of venice instead of striking at the capital. towards the end of july seventeen genoese vessels appeared off pelestrina, burned a merchant ship lying there, and spent the day in reconnoitring positions and in taking soundings of the shallows and canals off brondolo. they then sailed away for dalmatia. in less than a week six galleys again hove in sight; and admiral giustiniani, who was in supreme command of the forces, issued out from the lido with an equal number of ships to give them battle. on his way, however, a black object was seen in the water. as they neared it this was seen to be the head of a swimmer. he was soon picked up, and was found to be a venetian citizen named savadia who had been captured by the enemy but had managed to escape, and was swimming towards land to warn his countrymen that the whole genoese fleet of forty-seven sail, under pietro doria, was close at hand, and that the six ships in the offing were simply a decoy to tempt the venetians to come out and give battle. giustiniani at once returned to port, and scarcely had he done so than the whole genoese fleet made its appearance. they approached the passage of the lido; but the respite that had been afforded them had enabled the venetians to make their preparations, and the genoese found, to their disappoint- ment, that the channels of the lido and malamocco were completely closed up with sunken vessels, palisades, and chains; and they sailed away to seek another entry through which they could strike at venice. the brondolo channel. had the same precautions that had proved so effective at the lido and malamocco passages been taken at all the other channels venice could have defied all the efforts of doria's fleet. the city is situated on a group of small islands rising in the midst of a shallow basin twenty-five miles long and five wide, and separated from the sea by a long sand-bank formed by the sediment brought down by the rivers piave and adige. through this sand-bank the sea had pierced several channels. treporti, the northern of these channels, contained water only for the smallest craft. the next opening was known as the port of lido, and separated the island of san nicolo from malamocco. five miles farther on is the passage of malamocco, between that island and pelestrina. south-west of pelestrina lay brondolo, behind which stood chioggia, twenty miles distant from venice. the southern point of brondolo was only separ- ated by a small channel—called the canal of lombardy—from the mainland. unfortunately at brondolo the channel had not been closed. all preparations had been made for doing so, but the work had been postponed until the last moment in order that trading vessels might enter and leave the harbour, the chioggians believing that there was sure to be sufficient warning of the approach of an enemy to enable them to close the entrance in time. the sudden appearance of doria's fleet before brondolo upset all these calculations, and the genoese easily carried the position. little chioggia, the portion of the town separated from the rest by the canal of santa caterina, was captured without difficulty; but the bridge across the canal was strongly defended by bastions and redoubts, and here pietro emo made- the siege of hi ggia. a bravo stand with his garrison of three thousand five hundred men. the enemy at once erected his batteries, and on the th of august the genoese opened fire. the venetians replied stoutly, and for three days a heavy cannonade was kept up on both sides, reinforcements had reached the garrison from venice, and hour by hour swift boats brought the news to the city of the pro- gress of the fight. so far all seemed going on well; the genoese had suffered heavily, and made no impression upon the batteries at the head of the bridge. the days passed in venice in a state of restless disquietude. it was hoped and believed that chiog- gia could successfully defend itself; but if it fell the consequence would be terrible. already the hungarians had overrun the venetian possessions on the mainland, the lord of padua was in the field with his army, and communication was cut with ferrara, their sole ally. should chioggia fall, the genoese fleet would enter the lagoons and would sail by the great channel through the flats from chioggia to venice, and their light galleys could overrun the whole of the lagoons and cut off all communication with the mainland, and starvation would rapidly stare the city in the face. polani made all preparations for the worst. many of his valuables were hidden away in recesses beneath the floors, others were taken on board one of his ships in the port, and this was held in readiness to convey giulia and maria, whose husband had willingly accepted polani's offer to endeavour to carry her off by sea with giulia in case the genoese should enter the city. the merchant made an excursion to chioggia with francis to see for himself how things were going, and re- turned somewhat reassured. stirring up the sailors. francis spent much of his time at the port visiting polani's ships, talking to the sailors, and expressing to them his opinion that the genoese and paduans would never have dared to lay siege to chioggia had they not known that pisani was no longer in command of the venetian forces. "i regard the present state of affairs," he said over and over again, "as a judgment upon the city for its base ingratitude to the brave admiral, and i am convinced that things will never come right until we have him again in command of our fleet. "giustiniani is no doubt an able man; but what has he ever done in comparison to what pisani has accomplished? why should we place our only hope of safety in the hands of an un- tried man. i warrant if pisani was out and about you would see venice as active as a swarm of bees, pouring out against our aggressors. what is being done now? preparations are being made; but of what kind? ships are sunk in the channel; but what will be the use of this if chioggia falls. the canals to that place will be blocked, but that will not prevent the genoese from passing in their light boats from island to island until they enter venice itself. "do you think all these ships would be lying idly here if pisani were in command? talk to your comrades, talk to the sailors in the port, talk to those on shore when you land, and urge everywhere that the cry should be raised for pisani's release and restoration to command." chapter xvm. the release of pisani. x the morning of the th the party were sitting at breakfast, when giulia suddenly sprang to her feet. "listen!" she exclaimed. her father andfrancis looked at her in surprise, but instinctively listened for whatever sound she could have heard; then a deep, solemn sound boomed through the air. "it is the bell of the campanile tolling," the merchant ex- claimed. "it is the signal for all citizens to take up arms. some terrible news has arrived." hastily putting on his armour, the merchant started to st. mark's, accompanied by francis, who put on a steel cap, which he preferred to the heavy helmet, and a breastplate. a crowd of citizens were pursuing the same direction. the numbers thickened as they approached the piazza, which they found on their arrival to be already thronged with people, who were densely packed in front of the palace, awaiting an explanation of the summons. there was a look of deep anxiety on every face, for all felt that the news must be bad indeed which could have necessitated such a call. presently the doge, accompanied by the council, appeared in the balcony. a complete silence fell upon the "chioggia has fallen!" multitude, the bell ceased tolling, and not the slightest sound disturbed the stillness. one of the councillors stepped to the front, for the doge contarini was now seventy-two years old, and his voice could hardly have been heard over so wide an area. "citizens of the republic, gather, i pray you, all your forti- tude and constancy to hear the news which i have to tell. it is bad news; but there is no reason for repining, still less for despair. if venice has but confidence in herself, such as she has throughout her history shown when danger seemed imminent, be assured that we shall weather this storm as we have done all that have preceded it. chioggia has fallen!" an exclamation of pain and grief went up from the crowd. the speaker held up his hand for silence. "chioggia, contrary to our hopes and expectations, has fallen; but we are proud to say it has fallen from no lack of bravery on the part of its defenders. as you know, for six days the brave podesta, emo, and his troops have repulsed every attack; but yesterday an unforeseen accident occurred. while our soldiers were holding their own, as usual, a genoese fire- ship exploded in the canal behind them. the idea unfortu- nately seized the troops that the bridge was on fire. the genoese shouted 'the bridge is in flames!' and pressed onward, and our soldiers fell back in some confusion towards the bridge. here emo with four brave companions made a noble stand, and for a time checked the advance of the foe; but he was driven back. there was no time to destroy the communication behind him; the enemy pressed on, and mingled with our retreating soldiers entered the town. and so chioggia was taken. our loss in killed is said to be eight hundred and sixty men; while venice (jpen to attack. the rest of the garrison—four thousand in number—were taken prisoners." a loud cry of anguish burst from the crowd. numbers of those present had relatives and friends among the garrison of chioggia; and to all the news of this terrible disaster was a pro- found blow. venice was open now to invasion. in a few hours the enemy might appear in her canals. the council and the nobles endeavoured to dispel the feeling of despair; while some harangued the people from the balconies, others went down and mingled with the crowd, assuring them that all was not yet lost, that already messengers had been despatched to doria and the lord of padua, asking for terms of peace; and even should these be refused venice might yet defend herself until zeno arrived with his fleet to their rescue. the doge himself received deputations of the citizens, and, by his calmness and serenity, did much to allay the first feeling of terror and dismay; and in a few hours the city recovered its wonted aspect of tranquillity. the next morning the answer to the overtures was received. the lord of padua, who was doubt- less beginning to feel some misgiving as to the final issue of the struggle, declared that he himself was not unwilling to treat upon certain terms, but that the decision must rest in the hands of his colleague. doria, believing that venice was now in his grasp, rejected the idea of terms with scorn. "by god's faith, my lords of venice," he cried, "ye shall have no peace from the lord of padua, nor from our commune of genoa, until i have put a bit in the mouths of the horses of your evangelist of st. mark; when they have been bridled you shall then, in sooth, have a good peace; and this is our purpose and that of our commune! as for these captives, my brethren," resistance to the last. he said, pointing to some genoese prisoners of rank whom the venetians had sent with their embassy in hopes of conciliating tho genoese, "take them back; i want them not; for in a few days i am coming to release from your prisons them and the rest." as soon as the message was received the bell summoned the popular assembly together, and, in the name of the doge, pietro mocenigo described to them the terrible nature of the peril that threatened them, told them that after the insolent reply of doria there was now no hope save in their own exertions, and invited all to rally round the national standard for the pro- tection of their hearths and homes. the reply of the assembly was unanimous; and shouts were raised, "let us arm ourselves; let us equip and man what galleys are in the arsenal; let us sally out to the combat; it is better to die in the defence of our country than to perish here from want." a universal conscription was at once ordered, new taxes were imposed, and the salaries of the magistrates and civil functionaries suspended. all business came to a stand-still, and property fell to a fourth of its former value. the imposts were not found adequate to produce the sums required, and a new loan at five per cent was decreed. all subscribed to the utmost of their ability, raising the enormous sum of , , lire. a new captain-general was elected, and the government nominated taddeo giustiniani to the post. the fortification of the city with earthworks was commenced. lines of defence were drawn from lido to san spirito, and two wooden towers constructed at the former point to guard the pass of san nicolo. events succeeded each other with the greatest rapidity, and all these matters were settled within thirty-six the people demand pisani. hours of the fall of chioggia. in all respects the people at first yielded implicit obedience to the order of the council; they en- rolled themselves for service, they subscribed to the loan, they laboured at the outworks; but from the moment the appoint- ment of taddeo giustiniani was announced they grew sullen. it was not that they objected to the new captain-general, who was a popular nobleman, but every man felt that something more than this was required in such an emergency, and that the best man that venice could produce should be at the helm. the sailors of the port were the first to move in the matter, and shouts for vettoro pisani were heard in the streets. others took up the cry, and soon a large multitude assembled in the piazza, and with menacing shouts demanded that pisani should be freed and appointed. so serious did the tumult become that the council were summoned in haste. pisani—so popular with the lower class that they called him their father—was viewed with corresponding dislike and distrust by the nobles, who were at once jealous of his fame and superiority, and were alarmed at a popularity which could have made him, had he chosen it, the master of the state. it was not, therefore, until after some hours of stormy debate that they decided to give in to the wishes of the crowd, which was continually growing larger and more threatening, and it was late in the evening before the sonators deputed by the council, followed by the exulting populace, hurried to the prison to apprise pisani that he was free, and that the doge and senate were expecting him. pisani heard the message without emotion, and placidly replied that he should prefer to pass the night where he was in reflection, and would wait on the seignory in the morning. pisani's triumph. at daybreak on friday, the th of august, the senatorial delegates and the people, accompanied by the other officers who had been involved in the disgrace of pisani, and who had now been freed, reappeared at the gates of the prison. these were immediately opened, and pisani appeared with his usual expression of cheerfulness and good-humour on his face. he was at once lifted on to the shoulders of some sailors and borne in triumph to the palace amid the deafening cheers of the populace. on the staircase he was met by the doge and sena- tors, who saluted him cordially. mass was heard in the chapel, and pisani and the council then set to business, and were for some time closeted together. the crowd waited outside the building continuing to shout, and when pisani issued out from the palace he was seized and carried in triumph to his house in san fantino. as he was passing the campanile of st. mark, his old pilot, marino corbaro, a remarkably able seaman, but a perpetual grumbler against those in authority, met him, and elbowing his way through the crowd, drew close to him, loudly shouting at the same time: "now is tho time, admiral, for revenging yourself by seizing the dictatorship of this city; behold all are at your service. all are willing at this very instant to proclaim you prince if you choose." the loyalty of pisani's nature was so affronted by this offer, that, in a fury of rage, he leaned forward and struck corbaro a heavy blow with his fist, and then raising his voice shouted to those about him: "let none who wish me well say, 'viva pisani!' but, 'viva san marco!'" "i was a true prophet." the installation of pisani in the supreme command. he had at first instigated the sailors of polani to raise a cry in the streets for the restoration of the admiral, and had gone about with two or three of his friends mingling with knots of persons, and urging that the only hope of the republic lay in the energy and talent of pisani. even matteo had joined him, although taddeo giustiniani was his own uncle; but, as the lad said, "what matters it about relationship now? what will become of relationship, if the genoese and paduans land here, rase the city to the ground, and scatter us over the face of the earth? no. when it comes to a question of ordinary command, of course i should go with my family; but when venice is in danger, and only one man can save her, i should vote for him whoever the other may be." polani had also exerted the great influence he possessed among the commercial classes, and had aided the efforts of francis by giving leave to the sailors of all his ships in port to go on shore. a few hours after pisani's release the merchant, accompanied by francis, called upon him. "welcome, my friends," he said heartily. "well, you see, messer hammond, that i was a true prophet, and that i have had my share of the dungeon. however, we need not talk of that now, i am up to my eyes in business." "i have no doubt of that, admiral," polani said; "i have called to offer every ship i have in the harbour for the defence of the city. i myself will continue to pay their crews as at present. use the vessels as you like. make fire-ships of them if you will, i can afford the loss." "thanks, my friend," the admiral said; "we shall find a use for them, never fear. as for you, messer hammond, even famine. doria's brother landed upon san nicolo, while the paduans attacked san spirito and santa marta. they found the besieged in readiness. directly the alarm was given the venetians flocked to the threatened points, and repulsed the enemy with slaughter; the latter then attempted to make a junction of their forces, but cornaro with his galleys occupied the canal, drove back the boats in which they intended to cross, and defeated the attempt. doria had felt certain that the movement, which was at- tempted under cover of night, would succeed, and his disap- pointment was extreme. the lord of padua was so disgusted that he withdrew his troops to the mainland. doria remained before venice until the early part of october, but without making another attack, indeed the defences had long before become so formidable that attack was well-nigh hopeless. at the end of that time he destroyed all his works and fell back upon chioggia, and deter- mined to wait there until venice was starved into surrender. the suffering in the city was intense. it was cut off from all access to the mainland behind, but occasionally a ship laden with provisions from egypt or syria managed to evade the genoese galleys; these precarious supplies, however, availed but little for the wants of the starving city, eked out though they were by the exertions of the sailors, who occasionally sailed across the lagoon, landed on the mainland, and cut off the supplies sent from padua and elsewhere to the genoese camp. the price of provisions was so enormous that the bulk of the people were famishing, and even in the houses of the wealthy the pressure was great. the nobility, however, did their desperate proposals. utmost for their starving countrymen, and the words of pietro mocenigo, speaking in the name of the doge to the popular assembly, were literally carried into effect. "let all," he said, "who are pressed by hunger, go to the dwellings of the patricians, there you will find friends and brothers who will divide with you their last crust." so desperate indeed did the position become that a motion was made by some members of the council for emigrating from the lagoons and founding a new home in candia or negropont; but this proposal was at once negatived, and the venetians declared that sooner than abandon their city they would bury themselves under her ruins. so october and november passed. carlo zeno had not yet arrived, but by some letters which had been captured with a convoy of provisions it was learned that he had been achieving the most triumphant success, had swept the seas from genoa to constantinople, had captured a genoese galleon valued at three hundred thousand ducats, and was at candia. this intelligence revived the hopes of venice, and on the th of november luigi moroceni was despatched to order him, in the name of the government, peremptorily to hasten to the rescue of venice. almost at the same time giovanni barberigo with his light craft surprised and captured three of the enemy's vessels, killing many of the sailors and taking a hundred and fifty prisoners. the success was not in itself important, but it raised the hopes of the venetians as being the first time they had taken the offensive. pisani himself had endeavoured to reconnoitre the position of the enemy, but had each time been sharply repulsed, losing ten boats and thirty men upon one occasion, when the doge's an appeal to the people. "m nephew, antonio gradenigo, was also killed by the enemy; but in spite of this he advised government to make a great effort to recover chioggia. he admitted that the chances of failure were great; still he maintained that success was pos- sible, and it was better that the venetians should die fighting than by hunger. as the residt of his expeditions he had found that doria had at least thirty thousand men, fifty great ships, and from seven to eight hundred light craft. moreover his troops were in high spirits, well fed, and well cared for, and should therefore be, man to man, more than a match for the starving soldiers of venice. nevertheless there was a possibility of success, as zeno would doubtless arrive by the time the siege had fairly commenced. after much debate the council determined that the undertaking should be attempted. to stir the people to the utmost exertion the senate, on the st of december, published a decree that the thirty plebeians who should most liberally meet the urgent necessities of the state by the proffer of their persons or estates should, after peace was made, be raised to the rank of nobility and summoned to the great council; that thirty-five thousand ducats of gold should be distributed annually among those who were not elected and their heirs for ever; that any foreign merchant who should display peculiar zeal for the cause of the republic should be admitted to the full privileges of citizenship; and that, on the other hand, such venetians as might endeavour to elude a, participation in the common burdens and hardships should be held by so doing to have forfeited all their civil rights. seventy-five candidates came forward: some offered money, some personal service or the service of their sons and relatives; an improvised fleet. some presented galleys and offered to pay their crews. im- mense efforts were made, and by the st of december sixty ships, four hundred boats of all sizes, and thirty-four war galleys were equipped. the doge, although just seventy-three years old, signified his wish to assume the supreme command of the expedition, pisani acting as his lieutenant and admiral. during the long weeks the siege continued francis saw little of the polanis, his duties keeping him constantly near pisani, with whom he took such meals as the time would afford, sleep- ing in his house in readiness for instant service. maria had returned to her father's house, for her husband was in com- mand of the outpost nearest to the enemy and was therefore constantly away from home. maria's spirits were higher than ever. she made light of the hardships in the way of food, bantered francis when he came on his business engagements, and affected to treat him with extreme respect as the trusted lieutenant of pisani. giulia, too, kept up her spirits, and no one would have thought, listening to the lively talk of the two girls with their father and francis, that venice was besieged by an overwhelming force and reduced to the direst straits by hunger. the greater part of polani's ships were now in the service of the state; those which remained were constantly engaged in running across to the dalmatian coast and bringing in cargoes of pro- visions through the cordon of the genoese galleys. the light gondola which, after being repaired, had been lying for two years under cover in messer polani's yard had again been made useful. giuseppi had returned to his old work, and he and another powerful oarsman made the light boat fly through the water as francis carried the orders of the admiral to the curiosity. another, for there are many fishermen here who escaped before the genoese captured chioggia." "when will you see him?" "as soon as you have landed me at messer polani's." "go and fetch him, giuseppi; and if you can find one or two old fishermen of chioggia, bring them also with you; i want to gain as much information as possible regarding the country." "is it true that the fleet starts to-morrow, francisco?" maria asked as he entered; "everyone says so." "it is quite true; there will be no further change; the orders have been all issued, and you may rely upon it that we are going to sea." "and when will you return?" "that's another matter altogether," francis laughed. "it may be a week, it may be three months." "but i thought we were going to fight the genoese galleys; it does not seem to me that a week is wanted to do that. a day to go to chioggia, a day to fight, and a day to return. what can you want more than that for?" "i do not think that we are going to fight the genoese galleys," francis answered. "certainly we shall not do so if we can ,help it; they are vastly stronger than we are; but i do not know that we need fear them for all that." "what do you mean, francisco? you do not mean to fight —they are vastly stronger than you are—and yet you do not fear them. you are not given to speak in riddles; but you have puzzled me this time." "well, i will explain myself a little," francis said; "but you must remember that it is a secret, and not to be whispered to anyone." "do not trifle with us, sir." "that is right," maria said. "i love a secret, especially a state secret. giulia, come and sit quite close, so that he can whisper it into our ears, and even the walls shall not hear it. now, sir, explain yourself!" "i will explain it without telling you," francis said. "have you not gone to see african lions, who were very much stronger and fiercer than yourself, and yet you did not fear them?" "because they have been in cages," maria said. "but what has that to do with it?" "it explains the whole matter," francis said. "we do not mean to fight the genoese fleet if we can help it; but we are going to try to put them in a cage, and then we shall not be afraid of them." "do not trifle with us, sir," maria said sternly. "how can you put genoese galleys in a cage?" "we cannot put them in a cage, but we can cage them up," francis said. "pisani's intention is, if possible, to close all the entrances to the canals round chioggia; thus not only will the genoese galleys be unable to sally out to attack us, but the whole of the genoese army will be couped up, and we shall then do to them what they have been doing to us, namely, starve them out!" "capital, capital!" maria said, clapping her hands; "your pisani is a grand man, francisco. and if he can do this for us, there is nothing which we would not do to show our gratitude; but you won't find it easy; besides, in the game of starving out are we likely to win? the contest will not be even, for they start on it full men and strong, while our people are half- starved already." "i do not regard success as certain," francis replied; "and "you should tell him not to go." pisani himself acknowledges the chances are very great against us. still, it is possible; and as nothing else seems possible we are going to attempt it." polani looked grave when he heard of the mission which francis was going to undertake; giulia's bright colour fled at once, and maria said angrily: "you have no right to be always running into danger, francisco. you are not a venetian, and there is no reason why you should be always running risks greater than those which most venetians are likely to encounter; you ought to think of us who care for you, if you don't choose to think of your- self." "i did not volunteer for the service," francis said. "i was asked by the admiral to undertake it, and even had i wished it i could hardly have refused. the admiral selected me, not from any merit on my part, but because he knows that my boat is one of the fastest on the lagoons, and that i can easily ran away from any of the genoese row-boats. he particularly ordered me to ran no unnecessary risks." "that is all very well," maria said; "but you know very well that you will ran risks and put yourself in the way of danger if there is a chance of doing so. you should tell him not to go, father!" "i cannot do that, maria; for the service he has undertaken is a very important one to venice. everything depends upon the success of pisani's attempt, and undertaken, as it is, against great odds, it is of the utmost importance that there should be no mistake as to the position of the enemy. whether francis was wise or not in accepting pisani's offer that he should act as his aide-de-camp, may be doubted; but now that he has un- studying the country. dertakcn it he must carry out his orders, especially as it is now too late to make other arrangements did he draw back. "if you will come into my room, francisco, i will give you a chart of the passages around chioggia; you can study that, and you will then the better understand the information you may receive from the men you are expecting." half an hour later giuseppi arrived with the gondolier he had spoken of and two old fishermen, and from their explana- tions and a study of the map francis gained an exact idea of the localities. from his previous expeditions he had learned where the genoese were generally posted, and something of the strength of the forces at the various points. in truth, they kept but a careless watch. feeling convinced that the venetians possessed no forces capable of attacking him, and that their surrender must now be a matter of a few days only, doria took no precautions; his troops were all quartered in the houses of chioggia, his galleys moored alongside its quays, and the utmost he did was to post small bodies of men with row-boats at the entrances to the passages from the sea and up the lagoons, to give warning of any sudden attempt on the part of barberigo, with his light flotilla, to make a dash at the galleys and endeavour to burn them. having obtained all the information he could from the old fishermen, francis dismissed them. "it is evident," he said to giuseppi, "that we can hardly hope to succeed in passing the boats at the entrance to the canal sea- ward or by going up tho lagoon; the only plan that i can see is for us to land on the island of pelestrina, which is held by us, to carry the boat across it, and to embark in the malamocco channel. in this way we should be within their cordon of lightening the boat. boats, and can row fearlessly either out to the entrances or to chioggia itself; we are not likely to be detected, and if we are, we must make a race of it to pelestrina." the gondolier agreed that the scheme was practicable, and francis ordered giuseppi and him to remove the burdens and every bit of wood that could be dispensed with from the gondola, so as to facilitate its transport. matteo's opinion. of good living. my bones ache perpetually with lying on the bare ground, and if i escape from this without being a cripple for life from rheumatism i shall consider myself lucky indeed. you are a fortunate fellow, francisco; spending your time in the admiral's comfortable palace or flying about in a smooth-rowing gondola!" "that is one side of the question certainly," francis said, laughing; "but there is a good deal of hard work too in the way of writing." "i should not like that," matteo said. "still, i think you have the best of it. if the genoese would come sometimes and try and drive us off the island there would be some excite- ment. but except when the admiral wishes a reconnaissance, or barberigo's galleys come down and stir them up, there is really nothing doing here." "that ought to suit you exactly, matteo, for never but once did i hear you say you wanted to do anything." "when was that?" rufino asked laughing. "matteo conceived a violent desire to climb mount etna," francis said, "and it needed all my arguments to prevent his leaving the ship at girgenti, while she was loading, and starting to make the ascent." "he would have repented before he had gone a quarter of the way up," rufino said. "i might have repented," matteo replied stoutly, "but i would have done it if i had begun. you don't know me yet, rufino; i have a large store of energy, only at present i have had no opportunity of showing what i am made of. and now how do you intend to proceed, francisco? have you any plan?" a good supper. "none at all," francis replied. "i simply want to assure myself that the galleys are all in their usual places, and that the genoese are making no special preparations against our coming." "i have seen no unusual stir," rufino said. "their ships, as far as one can see their masts, seem all in their usual position. i fancy that since barberigo carried off two of them they have put booms across the channels to prevent sudden attacks. i saw a lot of row-boats busy about something, but i could not make out exactly what they were doing; but still i fancy they were constructing a boom. their galleys keep a sharp look-out at night, and you certainly would not have succeeded in passing them had you not hit upon this plan of carrying your boat over. "your greatest danger will be at first. when once you have fairly entered the inner canals you are not likely to be sus- pected of being an enemy. they will take you for chioggian fishermen returning late. we often make out their fishing- boats near the town. no doubt doria is fond of fresh fish. otherwise you would be detected, for the genoese boats are of course quite different to ours, and even in the dark they would make out that you belonged to the lagoons. ah, here is supper! it is not often that i should have anything to offer you, but one of my men managed to catch three or four fish to-day, and sold them to me at about their weight in silver. however, i have some good wine from my own cellars, and a man who has good wine, fish, and bread can do royally what- ever this grumbling brother of mine may say." half an hour later a soldier brought the news that the gondola was in the water, and francis bade adieu to his friends across the shallows. and started at once. "row slowly and quietly," he said as he took his seat. "do not let your oars make the slightest splash in the water until we are well across to the opposite shore; they may have a guard-boat lying in the channel." the light craft made her way noiselessly across the water. once or twice they heard the sound of oars as some genoese galley passed up or down, but none came near enough to per- ceive them, and they crossed the main channel and entered one of the numerous passages practicable only for boats of very light draught, without being once hailed. a broad shallow tract of water was now crossed, passable only by craft draw- ing but a few inches of water; then again they were in a deeper channel, and the lights of chioggia rose but a short distance ahead. they paused and listened now, for they were nearing the ship channel, and here the enemy would, if any- where, be on the alert. coming across the water they could hear the sound of voices and the dull noise made by the move- ment of men in a boat. "those are the galleys watching the boom, i expect," francis said. "now, philippo, we can move on; i suppose there is plenty of water across the flats for us to get into the channel without going near the boom." "plenty for us, signor; but if the boom goes right across the channel heavy row-boats would not be able to pass. there are few shallower places in the lagoons than just about here; it may be that in one or two places even we might touch, but if we do the bottom is firm enough for us to get out and float the boat over." but they did not touch any shoal sufficiently shallow to necessitate this. several times francis could feel by the ( *) z matteo has an opportunity. a minute or two later a sudden shout proclaimed that the nearest of their pursuers had touched the ground. "we can take it easy now," giuseppi said, "and i am not sorry, for we could not have rowed harder if we had been racing." a few minutes later the light craft touched the mud a few yards distant from the shore. "is that you, francisco?" a voice which francis recognized as matteo's asked. "all right, matteo!" he replied. "no one hurt this time." "i have been on the look-out for you the last hour. i have got a body of my men here in case you were chased. we heard the shouting and guessed it was you." "if you have got some men there, matteo, there is a chance for you to take a prize. a galley rowing twelve or fourteen oars is in the mud a few hundred yards out. she was chasing us and ran aground when at full speed, and i imagine they will have some trouble in getting her off. i suppose she draws a couple of feet of water. there! don't you hear the hubbub they are making?" "i hear them," matteo said. "come along, lads. the night is cold, and i don't suppose the water is any warmer, but a skirmish will heat our blood." matteo, followed by a company of some forty men, at onco entered the water and made in the direction of the sounds. five minutes later francis heard shouts and a clashing of wea- pons suddenly break out. it lasted but a short time. matteo and his band soon returned with the prisoners. "what! have you waited, francisco? i thought you would be on the other side of the island by this time." "i must go nevertheless." "i was in no particular hurry, matteo; and besides, i want my boat; and although two men can lift her easily enough she would be a heavy weight to carry so far." "you shall have a dozen, francisco. it is owing to you we have taken these prisoners and that i have had my first bit of excitement since i came out here. sergeant, here are a couple of ducats. when you have given the prisoners into safe cus- tody spend the money in wine for the company. the water is bitterly cold, i can tell you, francisco; but otherwise i am warm enough, for one's feet stick to the mud, and it seems each step as if one had fifty pounds of lead on one's shoes. but come along to my brother's tent at once. your feet must be cold too, though the water was only a few inches deep where you got out of your boat. a glass of hot wine will do us both good; and it will be an hour before your boat is in the water again. indeed, i don't see the use of your starting before daybreak." "nor do i, matteo; but i must go nevertheless. pisani knows how long it will take me to get to chioggia and return. he will allow an hour or two for me to reconnoitre, and will then be expecting me back. as it is i shall be two hours after the time when he will be expecting me, for he knows nothing about the boat being carried across this island, and will make no allowance for that. moreover, polani and his daughters will be anxious about me." "oh, you flatter yourself they will be lying awake for you," matteo said laughing, "thinking over your dangers! well, there's nothing like having a good idea of one's self." francis joined in the laugh. "it does sound rather con- ceited, matteo; but i know they will be anxious. they took "thank heaven you have returned safe." sleeping on a bench in the hall; he started up as francis entered. "i have orders to let my master know as soon as you return, signor." "you can tell him at the same time that i have returned without hurt, and pray him not to disturb himself, as i can tell him what has taken place in the morning." polani, however, at once came to francis' room. "thank heaven you have returned safe to us, my boy!" he said. "i have just knocked at the girls'doors to tell them of your return, and, by the quickness with which they answered, i am sure that they, like myself, have had no sleep. have you succeeded in your mission?" "perfectly, signor. i have been to chioggia itself and to the entrances of the three passages, and have discovered that none of them are guarded by any force that could resist us." "but how did you manage to pass through their galleys?" "i landed on this side of pelestrina and had the gondola carried across and launched in the channel inside their cordon; and it was not until we entered the last passage—that by brondolo — that we were noticed. then there was a sharp chase for a bit, but we out-stripped them and got safely across to pelestrina. one of the galleys, in the excitement of the chase, ran fast into the mud; and matteo, with some of his men, waded out and captured the officer and crew. so there is every prospect of our succeeding to-morrow." "all that is good," polani said; "but to me just at present i own that the principal thing is that you have got safely back. now i will not keep you from your bed, for i suppose that you will not be able to lie late in the morning." the expedition starts. giulia nodded. "giulia hasn't much to say when you are here, francisco, but she can chatter about you fast enough when we are alone." "how can you say so, maria?" giulia said reproachfully. "well, my dear, there is no harm in that. for aught he knows you may be saying the most unkind things about him all the time." "i am sure he knows that i should not do that," giulia said indignantly. "by the way, do you know, francisco, that all venice is in a state of excitement! a proclamation has been issued by the doge this morning that all should be in their galleys and at their posts at noon, under pain of death. so everyone knows that something is about to be done at last." "then it is time for me to be off," francis said, rising hastily, "for it is ten o'clock already." "take your time, my lad," the merchant said. "there is no hurry, for pisani told me privately that they should not sail until after dark." it was not indeed until nearly eight o'clock in the evening that the expedition started. at the hour of vespers the doge, pisani, and the other leaders of the expedition, attended mass in the church of st. mark, and then proceeded to their galleys, where all was now in readiness. pisani led the first division, which consisted of fourteen galleys; the doge, assisted by cavalli, commanded in the centre; and corbaro brought up the rear with ton large ships. the night was beautifully bright and calm, a light and favour- able breeze was blowing, and all venice assembled to see the departure of the fleet. just after it passed through the a first success. passage of the lido a thick mist came on. pisani stamped up and down the deck impatiently. "if this goes on it will ruin us," he said. "instead of arriv- ing in proper order at the mouth of the passages, and occupy- ing them before the genoese wake up to a sense of their dan- ger, we shall get there one by one, they will take the alarm, and we shall have their whole fleet to deal with. it will be simply ruin to our scheme." fortunately, however, the fog speedily lifted, the vessels closed up together, and in two hours after starting arrived off the entrances to the channels. pisani anchored until daylight appeared, and nearly five thousand men were then landed on the brondolo's shore, easily driving back the small detachment placed there. but the alarm was soon given, and the genoese poured out in such overwhelming force that the venetians were driven in disorder to their boats, leaving behind them six hundred killed, drowned, or prisoners. but pisani had not supposed that he would be able to hold his position in front of the whole genoese force, and he had succeeded in his main object. while the fighting had been going on on shore a party of sailors had managed to moor a great ship laden with stones across the channel. as soon as the genoese had driven the venetians to their boats they took possession of this vessel, and finding that she was aground they set her on fire, thus unconsciously aiding pisani's object, for when she had burned to the water's edge she sank. barberigo with his light galleys now arrived upon the spot, and emptied their loads of stone into the passage around the wreck. the genoese kept up a heavy fire with their artillery, a terrible task. many of the galleys were sunk, and numbers of the venetians drowned or killed by the shot. nevertheless they worked on unflinchingly. as soon as the pile of stones had risen sufficiently for the men to stand upon them waist deep they took their places upon it and packed in order the stones that their comrades handed them, and fixed heavy chains binding the whole together. the work was terribly severe. the cold was bitter. the men were badly fed, and most of them altogether unaccustomed to hardships. in addition to the fire from the enemy's guns they were exposed to a rain of arrows, and at the end of two days and nights they were utterly worn out and exhausted, and pro- tested that they could do no more. pisani, who had himself laboured among them in the thick- est of the danger, strove to keep up their spirits by pointing out the importance of their work, and requested the doge to swear on his sword that, old as he was, he would never return to venice unless chioggia was conquered. the doge took the oath, and for the moment the murmuring ceased; and on the night of the th the channel of chioggia was entirely choked from shore to shore. on that day corbaro succeeded in sinking two hulks in the passage of brondolo. doria, who had hitherto believed that the venetians would attempt nothing serious, now perceived for the first time the object of pisani, and despatched fourteen great galleys to crush corbaro, who had with him but four vessels. pisani at once sailed to his assistance with ten more ships, and the pas- sage was now so narrow that the genoese did not venture to attack, and corbaro completed the operation of blocking up the brondolo passage. the next day the canal of lombardy was despairing. fate of venice hung in the balance. if zeno arrived not only would she be saved, but she had it in her power to inflict upon genoa a terrible blow. should zeno still tarry, not only would the siege be raised and the genoese be at liberty to remove the dams which the venetians had placed at such a cost of suffering and blood; but there would be nothing left for venice but to accept the terms, however onerous, her trium- phant foes might dictate, terms which would certainly strip her of all her possessions, and probably involve even her independence. never from her first foundation had venice been in such terrible risk; her very existence trembled in the balance. the th passed as the days preceding it. there was but little fighting, for the genoese knew how terrible were the straits to which venice was reduced, and learned from the prisoners they had taken that in a few days at the outside the army besieging them would cease to exist. at daybreak on the st men ascended the masts of the ships and gazed over the sea in hopes of making out the long-expected sails. but the sea was bare. it was terrible to see the faces of the venetians, gaunt with famine, broken down by cold and fatigue. even the most enduring began to despair. men spoke no more of zeno. he had been away for months; was it likely that he would come just at this moment? they talked rather of their homes; the next day they would return. if they must die, they would die with those they loved in venice. they should not mind that. and so the day went on, and as they lay down at night hungry and cold they thanked god that it was their last day. whatever might come would be better than this. men were at the mast-heads again before daylight on the "there are ships out at sea!" st of january. then as the first streak of dawn broke, the cry went from mast-head to mast-head: "there are ships out at sea!" the cry was heard on shore. pisani jumped into a boat with francis, rowed out to his ship, and climbed the mast. "yes, there are ships!" he said. and then after a pause: "fifteen of them! who are they god grant it be zeno!" this was the question every one on ship and on shore was asking himself, for it was known that the genoese too were expecting reinforcements. "the wind is scarce strong enough to move them through tho water," pisani said; "let some light boats go off to recon- noitre. let us know the best or the worst. if it be zeno, venice is saved! if it be the genoese, i and those who agree with me that it is better to die fighting than to perish of hunger, will go out and attack them." in a few minutes several fast galleys started for the fleet, which was still so far away that the vessels could scarcely be made out, still less their rig and nationality. it would be some time before the boats would return with the news, and pisani went ashore, and with the doge moved among tho men, exhorting them to be steadfast, above all things not to give way to panic should the new-comers prove to be enemies. "if all is done in order," he said, "they cannot interfere with our retreat to venice. they do not know how weak we arc, and will not venture to attack so large a fleet. therefore when the signal is made that they are genoese we will fall back in good order to our boats and take to our ships, and then either return to venice or sail out and give battle, as it may be decided." chapter xx. the triumph of venice. rancis rowed off to the ship, got the flags in readiness for hoisting, and stood with the lines in his hand. "can you make them out yet?" he hailed the men at the mast-heads. "they arc mere specks yet, signor," the man at the fore- mast said; the other did not reply at once, but presently he shouted down: "far as they are away, signor, i am almost sure that one or two of them at least have something white flying." there was a murmur of joy from the men on the deck, for jacopo zippo was famous for his keenness of sight. "silence, men!" francis said. "do not let a man shout or wave his cap till we are absolutely certain. remember the agony with which those on shore are watching us, and the awful disappointment it would be were their hopes raised only to be crushed afterwards." another ten minutes and jacopo slid rapidly down by the stays and stood on the deck with bared head. "god be praised, signor! i have no longer a doubt. i can tell you for certain that white flags are flying from these boats." the venetians take the offensive. he was appointed governor of negropont, and soon afterwards received a separate naval command. he had been lost sight of for many months prior to his appearance so opportunely before brondolo, and he now confirmed to the doge the news that had been received shortly before. he had captured nearly seventy genoese vessels of various sizes, had cruised for some time in sight of genoa, struck a heavy blow at her commerce, and prevented the despatch of the reinforcements promised to doria. among the vessels taken was one which was carrying three hundred thousand ducats from genoa. he reported him- self ready with his men to take up the brunt of the siege forthwith, and selecting brondolo as the most dangerous posi- tion at once landed his crews. the stores on board ship were also brought ashore, and proved ample for the present necessities of the army. in a few days he sailed with his galleys and recaptured loredo, driving out the paduan garrison there. this conquest was all-important to venice, for it opened their communication with ferrara, and vast stores of provisions were at once sent by their ally to venice, and the pressure of starvation immediately ceased. the siege of brondolo was now pushed on, and on the d of january the great bombard, the victory, so battered the wall opposite to it that it fell suddenly, crushing beneath its ruins the genoeso commander doria. the change which three weeks had made in the appearance of the venetian forces was marvellous; ample food, firing, and shelter had restored their wasted frames, and assurance of victory had taken the place of the courage of despair. a month of toil, hardship, and fighting had converted a mob of recruits into disciplined soldiers, and zeno and pisani seemed a narrow escape. to have filled all with their own energy and courage; zeno, indeed, was so rash and fearless that he had innumerable escapes from death. one evening after dusk his own vessel, having been acci- dentally torn from its anchorage near the lova fort by the force of the wind and currents, was driven across the passage against the enemy's forts, whence showers of missiles were poured into it. one arrow pierced his throat. dragging it out he continued to issue his orders for getting the galley off the shore—bade a seaman swim with a line to the moorings, and angrily rebuked those who, believing destruction to be inevi- table, entreated him to strike his flag. the sailor reached the moorings, and with a line he had taken made fast a strong rope to it, and the vessel was then hauled off into a place of safety. as zeno hurried along the deck superintending the operation he tumbled down an open hatchway, and fell on his back almost unconscious. in a few moments he would have been suffocated by the blood from the wound in his throat, but with a final effort he managed to roll over on to his face, the wound was thus per- mitted to bleed freely and he soon recovered. on the th of february he was appointed general-in-chief of the land forces, and the next day drove the genoese from all their positions on the islands of brondolo and little chioggia, and on the follow- ing morning established his head-quarters under the ramparts of chioggia and directed a destructive fire upon the citadel. as the genoese fell back across the bridge over the canal of santa caterina the structure gave way under their weight, and great numbers were drowned. the retreat of the genoese was indeed so hurried and genoese reinforcements. confused, and they left behind them an immense quantity of arms, accoutrements, and war material, so much so that suits of mail were selling for a few shillings in the venetian camp. so completely were the genoese disheartened by the change in their position that many thought that the venetians could at once have taken chioggia by assault; but the leaders were deter- mined to risk no failure, and knew that the enemy must yield to hunger. they therefore contented themselves with a rigorous blockade, cutting off all the supplies which the lord of padua endeavoured to throw into the city. the venetians, however, allowed the besieged to send away their women and children, who were taken to venice and kindly treated there. the army of venice had now been vastly increased by the arrival of the star company of milan and the condottieri commanded by sir john hawk wood. the dikes erected .across the channels with so much labour were removed, and the fleet took their part in the siege. on the th of may there was joy in chioggia similar to that which the venetians had felt at the sight of zeno's fleet, for on that morning the squadron which genoa had sent to their assistance under the command of matteo maruffo appeared in sight. this admiral had wasted much valuable time on the way, but had fallen in with and captured, after a most gallant resistance, five venetian galloys under giustiniani, who had been despatched to apulia to fetch grain. the genoese fleet drew up in order of battle and challenged pisani to come out to engage them. but impetuous as was the disposition of the admiral, and greatly as he longed to avenge his defeat at pola, he refused to stir. he knew that chioggia must ere long fall, and he would not risk all the advantages chioogta surrendkrs. to be tempted out. on the st a deputation was sent out from chioggia to ask for terms, and though on being told that an unconditional surrender alone would be accepted, they returned to the city, yet the following day the genoese flag was hauled down from the battlements. on the th the doge, accompanied by pisani and zeno, made his formal entry into chioggia. the booty was enor- mous; and the companies received the promised bounty, and were allowed to pillage for three days. so large was the plunder collected in this time by the adventurers that the share of one of them amounted to five hundred ducats. the republic, however, did not come off altogether without spoil— they obtained nineteen sea-worthy galleys, four thousand four hundred and forty prisoners, and a vast amount of valuable stores, the salt alone being computed as worth ninety thousand crowns. not even when the triumphant fleet returned after the con- quest of constantinople was venice so wild with delight as when the doge, accompanied by pisani and zeno, entered the city in triumph after the capture of chioggia. from the danger, more imminent than any that had threatened venice from her first foundation, they had emerged with a success which would cripple the strength and lower the pride of genoa for years. each citizen felt that he had some share in tho triumph, for each had taken his share in the sufferings, tho sacrifices, and the efforts of the struggle. there had been no unmanly giving way to despair, no pitiful entreaty for aid in their peril. venice had relied upon herself, and had come out triumphant. from every house hung flags and banners, every balcony was hung with tapestry and drapery. the grand canal was closely a triumphal entry. packed with gondolas, which for once disregarded the sump- tuary law that enforced black as their only hue, and shone in a mass of colour; gaily dressed ladies sat beneath canopies of silk and velvet; flags floated from every boat, and the rowers were dressed in the bright liveries of their employers; the church bells rang out with a deafening clang, and from roof and bal- cony, from wharf and river, rang out a mighty shout of welcome and triumph from the crowded mass, as the great state gondola, bearing the doge and the two commanders, made its way slowly and with difficulty along the centre of the canal. francis was on board one of the gondolas that followed in the wake of that of the doge, and as soon as the grand service in st . mark's was over he slipped off and made his way back to the palazzo polani. the merchant and giulia had both been present at the ceremony, and had just returned when he arrived. "i guessed you would be off at once, francisco, directly the ceremony was over. i own that i myself would have stayed for a time to see the grand doings in the piazza, but this child would not hear of our doing so; she said it would be a shame indeed if you should arrive home and find no one to greet you." "so it would have been," giulia said. "i am sure i should not have liked when i have been away, even on a visit of pleasure to corfu, to return and find the house empty; and after the terrible dangers and hardships you have gone through, francisco, it would have been unkind indeed had we not been here. you still look thin and worn." "i think that is fancy on your part, giulia; to my eyes he looks as stout as ever i saw him. but certainly he looked as lean and "i love your daughter." no reason to regret, therefore, that you have for a year taken up soldiering instead of trading, especially as our business was all stopped by the war, and you must have passed your time in inactivity." in the evening when the merchant and fi-ancis were alone together the former said: "i told you last autumn, francis, when i informed you that henceforth you would enter into my house as a partner in the business when we again recommenced trade, that i had some- thing else in my mind, but the time to speak of it had not then arrived. i think it has now come. tell me, my boy, frankly, if there is anything that you would wish to ask of me." francis was silent for a moment; then he said: "you have done so much, signor polani; you have heaped kindness upon me altogether beyond anything i could have hoped for, that even did i wish for more i could not ask it." "then there is something more you would like, francisco. remember that i have told you that i regard you as a son, and therefore i wish you to speak to me as frankly as if i was really your father." "i fear, signor, that you will think me audacious, but since you thus urge upon me to speak all that is in my mind i cannot but tell you the truth. i love your daughter, giulia, and have done so ever since the first day that my eyes fell on her. it has seemed to me too much even to hope that she can ever be mine, and i have been carefid in letting no word expressive of my feelings pass my lips. it still seems to me beyond the bounds of possibility that i could successfully aspire to the hand of the daughter of one of the noblest families in venice." g blackie * son's books for tottnq people. by george manville fenn. "mr. fenn is in the front rank of writers of stories for boys."—liverpool mercury. quicksilver: or a boy with no skid to his wheel. by george manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "quicksilver is little rhort of an inspiration. in it that prince of story-writers for boys—george manville fenn—has surpassed himself. it is an ideal book for a boy's library."—practical teacher. "the story is capitally told, it abounds in graphic and well-described scenes, and it has an excellent and manly tone throughout."—the guardian. "this is one of mr. fenns happiest efforts, and deserves to be read and re-read by every school-boy in the land. we are not exaggerating when we say that quicksilver has nothing to equal it this seasou."— teachers' aid. dick ' the fens: a romance of the great east swamp. by g. manville fknn. with full-page illustrations by frank dadd. crown vo, cloth elegant, (divine edges, s. "we conscientiously believe that boys will find it capital reading. it is full of incident and mystery, and the mystery is kept up to the last moment . it is rich in effective local colouring; and it has a historical interest. "—times. "we have not of late come across a historical action, whether intended for boys or for men, which deserves to be so heartily and unreservedly praised as regards plot, incidents, and spirit as dick o' (he fens. it is its author's master- piece as yet . '—spectator. devon boys: a tale of the north shore. by g. manvillk fenn. with full - page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "an admirable story, as remarkable for the individuality of its young heroes as for the excellent descriptions of coast scenery and life in north devon. it is one of the best books we have seen this season."—athenmun. "we do not know that mr. fenn has ever reached a higher level than he has in devon boys. it must bo put in the very front rank of christmas books."— spectator. bpownsmith's boy: a romance in a garden. by g. man- ville fknn. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». '' mr. fenn's books are among the best, if not altogether the best, of the stories for boys. mr. fenn is at bis best in brownsmitft's boy."—pictorial world. "browmmith's bnij must rank among the few undeniably good boys' books. he will be a very dull boy indeed who lays it down without wishing that it had gone on for at least pages more."—north british mail. in the king's name: or the cruise of the kestrel. by g. manville fenn. illustrated by full page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "a capital boys story, full of incident and adventure, and told in the lively style in which mr. fenn is such an adept."—globe. "the best of all mr fenn's productions in this field. it has the great quality of always 'moving on,' adventure following adventure in constant succession."— daily neve. black e <* son's books for younq people. ii by george manville fenn. "no one can find his way to the hearts ol lads more readily than mr. fenn."— nottingham guardian. yussuf the guide: being the strange story of the travels in asia minor of burno the lawyer, preston the professor, and lawrence the sick. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by john schonberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, j. "the narrative will take its readers into scenes that will have {treat novelty and attraction for them, and the experiences with the brigands will be especially delightful to boys."—scotsman. menhardoc: a story of cornish nets and mines. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by c. j. stani- land. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "they are real living boys, with their virtues and faults. the cornish fisher- men are drawn from life, they are racy of the soil, salt with the sea-water, and they stand out from the pages in their jerseys and sea-boots all sprinkled with silvery pilchard scales."—sltectator. "a description of will marion's descent into a flooded mine is excellent. josh is a delightfully amusing character. we may cordially praise the illustrations." —saturday review. mother carey's chicken: her voyage to the unknown isle. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by a. fobestieb. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, ». "jules verne himself never constructed a more marvellous tale. it contains the strongly marked english features that are always conspicuous in mr. fenn's stories—a humour racy of the british soil, the manly vigour of his sentiment, and wholesome moral lessons. for anything to match his realistic touch we must go to daniel defoe."—christian leader. "when we get to the ' unknown isle,' the story becomes exciting. mr. fenn keeps his readers in a suspense that is not intermitted for a moment, and the denouement is a surprise which is as probable as it is startling."—spectator. patience wins: or, war in the works. by g. manville fenn. with full-page illustrations by gordon bbownk. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "an excellent story, the interest being sustained from first to last. one of the best books of its kind which has come before us this year."—saturday review. "mr. fenn is at his best in patience iftiw. it is sure to prove acceptable to youthful readers, and will give a good idea of that which was the real state of one of our largest manufacturing towns not many years ago."—guardian. nat the naturalist: a boy's adventures in the eastern seaa. by g. manville fenn. with full-page pictures. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "among the best of the many good books for boys that have come out this season."—times. "this sort of book encourages independence of character, develops resource, and teachcs a boy to keep his eyea open."—saturday review. blackie <* son's books for tottm psople. by harry collingwood. the missing merchantman. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by w. el overend. crowu vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "mr. collingwood is facile vrinceps as a teller of sea stories for boys, and the present is one of the best productions of his pen."—standard. "this is one of the author's best sea stories. the hero is as heroic as any boy could desire, and the ending is extremely happy."—british weekly. the rover's secret: a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustra- tions by w. c. symons. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the rover's secret is by far the best sea story wo have read for years, and b certain to give unalloyed pleasure to boys. the illustrations are fresh and vigorous."—saturday review. the pirate island: a story of the south pacific. by harry collingwood. illustrated by full-page pictures by c j. staniland and j. e. wells. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "a capital story of the sea; indeed in our opinion the author is superior in some respects as a marine novelist to the better known mr. clarke russell. "—the times. "told in the most vivid and graphic language. it would be difficult to find a more thoroughly delightful gift-book."—guardian. the congo rovers: a story of the slave squadren. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by j. schonberg. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "no better sea story has lately been written than the congo rovers. it is as original as any boy could desire."—morning posl . by ascott r. hope. the seven wise scholars. by ascott r hope. with nearly one hundred illustrations by gordon browne. square vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, s. "as full of fun as a volume of punch; with illustrations, moro laughter- provoking than most we have seen since leech died."—sheffield independent. "a capital story, full of fnn and happy comic fancies. the tale would put the sourest-tempered boy into a good humour, and to an imaginative child would be a source of keen delight."—scotsman. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the ked indians. by ascorr r. hope. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. "all the stories are told well, in simple spirited language and with a fulness of detail that makes them instructive as well as interesting."—journal of education. black k <* son's books for yoztng pboplb. new edition of the universe. the universe: or the infinitely great and the infinitely little. a sketch of contrasts in creation, and marvels revealed and explained hy natural science. by f. a. pocchet, m.d. with engravings on wood, of which are full-page size, and a coloured frontispiece. tenth edition, medium vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges, ». </.; also morocco antique, ». "we can honestly commend professor pouchet's book, which is admirably, as it is copiously illustrated."—the times. "this book is as interesting as the most exciting romance, and a great deal more likely to be remembered to good purpose."—standard. "scarcely any book in french or in english is so likely to stimulate in the young an interest in the physical phenomena."—fortnightly review. at the back of the north wind. by george mac donald, lld. with illustrations by arthur hughes. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "in at the back of the north wind we stand with one foot in fairyland and one on common earth. the story is thoroughly original, full of fancy and pathos, and underlaid with earnest but not too obtrusive teaching. "—the times. ranald bannerman's boyhood. by george mac donald, ll.d. with illustrations by arthur hughes. new edition. crown vo, cloth elegant, olivine edges, s. "the sympathy with boy-nature in ranald bannerman's boyhood is perfect. it is a beautiful picture of childhood, teaching by its impressions and suggestions all noble things. —british quarterly review. the princess and the goblin. by george macdonald, ll.d. with illustrations by arthur hughes, and full- page pictures by h. 'ktheiiick. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "little of what is written for children has the lightness of touch and play of fancy which are characteristic of george mac donald's fairy tales. mr. arthur hughes's illustrations are all that illustrations should be."—manchester guardian. "a model of what a child's book ought to be—interesting, instructive, and poetical. we cordially recommend it as one of the very best gift-books we have yet come across."—eujin courant. the princess and curdie. by george mac donald, lld. with full-page illustrations by james allen. crown vo, cloth extra, ss. d. "there is the finest and rarest genius in this brilliant story. upgrown people would do wisely occasionally to lay aside their newspapers and magazines to spend an hour with curdie and the princess."—sheffield independent.  by george macdonald. blackie <fc son's books for younq people. by caroline austin. cousin geoffrey and i. by caroline austin. with full-page illustrations by w. parkinson. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. (id. the only daughter of a country gentleman finds herself unprovided for at hor father's death, and for sorao time lives as a dependant upon the kinsman who has inherited tho property. life is kept from being entirely unbearable to her by her young cousin geoffrey, who at length meets with a serious accident for which she is hold responsible. she is then passed on to other relatives, who prove even moro objectionable, and at length, in despair, she runs away and makes a brave attempt to earn her own livelihood. being a splendid rider, she succeeds in doing this, until the startling event which brings her cousin geoffrey and herself together again, and solvos tho problem of tho missing will. hugh herbert's inheritance. by caroline austin. with full-page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown vo, cloth elegant, ss. d. "will please by its simplicity, its tenderness, and its healthy interesting motive. it is admirably written."—scotsman. "well and gracefully written, full of interest, and excellent in tone."—school guardian. by e. s. brooks. storied holidays: a cycle of red-letter days. by e. s. bbooks. with full-page illustrations by howard pylk. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. "it is a downright good book for a senlor boy, and is eminently readable from first to last."—schoolmaster. "replete with interest from chapter i. to finis, and can be confidently recom- mended as one of the gems of messrs. blackie's collection."—teachers' aid. chivalric days: stories of courtesy and courage iu the olden times. by e. s. brooks. with illustrations by gordon browne and other artists. crown vo, cloth extra, s. rf. "we have seldom come across a prettier collection of tales. these charming stories of hoys and girls of olden days are no mere fk-titious or imaginary sketches, but are real and actual records of their sayings and doings. the illustrations are in gordon browne's happiest style."—literary world. historic boys: their endeavours, their achievements, and their times. by e. . brooks. with full-page illustrations by r. b. birch and john schonberq. crown vo, cloth extra, ». rf. "a wholesome book, manly in tone, its character sketches enlivened by brisk dialogue. we advise schoolmasters to put it on their list of prise*."—knowudge. b is blackie <* son's books for young people. by mrs. e. r. pitman. garnered sheaves. a tale for boys. by mrs. e. r. pitman. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "this is a story of the best sort ... a noble-looking book, illustrating faith in god, and commending to young minds all that is mire and true."—rev. c. h. spurgeou's sword and trowel. life's daily ministry: a story of everyday service for others. by mrs. e. b. pitman. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, s. <l. "shows exquisite touches of a master hand. she has not only made a close stndy uf human nature in all its phases, hut she has acquired the artist's skill in depicting in graphic outline the characteristics of the beautiful and the good in life."—christian union. my governess life: or earning my living. by mrs. e. it. pitman. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, s. d. "full of sound teaching and bright examples of character."—sunday-school chronicle. by mrs. r. h. read. silver mill: a tale of the don valley. by mrs. r. h. bead. with full-page illustrations by john schonbkro. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "a good girl's story-book. the plot is interesting, and the heroine, ruth, a lady by birth, though brought up in a humble station, well deserves the more elevated position in which the end of the book leaves her. the pictures are very spirited."—saturday review. dora: or a girl without a home. by mrs. r. h. read. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. rf. "it is no slight thing, in an ag<i of rubbish, to get a story so pure and healthy as this."—the academy. by elizabeth j. lysaght. brother and sister: or the trials of the mooro family. by elizabeth j. lysaght. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, cloth extra, s. gd. "a pretty story, and well told. the plot is cleverly constructed, and the moral is excellont.*'— athenaeum, slack ib <* son's boors for younq people. two shilling series—continued. warner's chase: or the gentle heart. by annie s. swan. "in milly warren, the heroine, who softens the hard heart of her rich uncle and thus unwittingly restores the family fortunes, we have a fine ideal of real womanly goodness. "—schoolmaster. "a good book for hoys and girls. there is no sickly goodyism in it, but a tone of quiet and true religion that keeps its own place."—perthshire advertiser. aboard the "atalanta:" the story of a truant . by henry frith. "the story is very interesting and the descriptions most graphic. we doubt if any boy after reading it would be tempted to the great mistake of running away from school under almost any pretext whatever."—practical teacher. the penang pirate and the lost pinnace. by john c. hutoheson. "a book which boys will thoroughly enjoy: rattling, adventurous, and romantic, and the stories are thoroughly healthy in tone."—aberdeen journal. teddy: the story of a " little pickle." by john c. hutcheson. "he is an amusing little fellow with a rich fund of animal spirits, and when at length he goes to sea with uncle jack he speedily sobers down under the discip- line of life."—saturday review. linda and the boys. by cecilia selbt lowndes. "the hook is essentially a child's book, and will be heartily appreciated by the young folk."— the academy. "is not only told in an artless, simple way, but is full of the kind of humour that children love."—liverpool mercury. swiss stories for children and those who love children. frem the german of madam johanna sptri. by ia'cy whrilock. "charming stories. they are rich in local colouring, and, what is better, in genuine pathos."—the times. "these most delightful children's tales are essentially for children, but would fascinate older and less enthusiastic minds with their delicate romance and the admirable portraiture of the hard life of the swiss peasantry."—spectator. the squire's grandson: a devonshire story. by j. m. callwell. "a healthy tone pervades this story, and the lessons of courage, filial affection, and devotidii to duty on the part of the young hero cannot fail to favourably impress all young rvaders."—schoolmaster. magna charta stories: or struggles for freedom in the olden time. edited by arthur giiman, a.m. with full- ]i»go illustrations. "a book of special excellence, which ought to be in the hands of all boys."— educational news. black e jk sons books for young pboplb. blackie's eighteenpenny series—continued. our general: a story for girls. by elizabeth j. lysaqht. "a young girl of indomitable spirit, to whom all instinctively turn for guid- ance—a noble pattern for girls."—guardian. aunt hesba's charge. by elizabeth j. lysaght. "this well-written bonk tells how a maiden aunt is softened by the influence of two indian children who are unexpectedly left upon her hands. mrs. lysaght's style is bright and pleasant."—academy. into the haven. by annie s. swan. "no story more attractive, by reason of its breezy freshness, as well as for the practical lessons it conveys."—christian leader. our frank: and other stories. by amy walton. "these stories are of the sort that children of the clever kind are sure to like." —academy. the late miss hollingford. by rosa mulholland. "no book for girls published this season approaches this in the charm of its telling, which will be equally appreciated by persons of all ages."—standard. the pedlar and his dog. by mary c. kowbell. "the opening chapter, with its description of necton fair, will forcibly remind many readers of george eliot . taken altogether it is a delightful story."— western morning news. yarns on the beach. by g. a. henty. "this little book should find special favour among boys. the yams are fuu of romance and adventure, and are admirably calculated to foster a manly spirit." —the echo. a terrible coward. by g. manville fenn. "just such a tale as boys will delight to read, and as they are certain to profit by."—aberdeen journal. tom fineh's monkey: and other yarns. by j. . hutcheson. "stories of an altogether unexceptionable character, with adventures sufficient for a dozen books of its size."—u. service gazette. miss grantley's girls, and the stories she told them,. by thomas archer. »- "for fireside reading more wholesome and highly entertaining reading for young people could not be found."—northern chronule. down and up again: being some account of the felton family, and the odd people they met. by gregson gow. "the story is very neatly told, with some fairly dramatic incidents, and cal- culated altogether to please young people."—scotsman- malcolm and grant cross the rhine at midnight.—page . —the lion of the north the lion of the north. a tale of the times of gustavus adolphus and the wars of religion. by g. a. henty, author of ''bonnie prince charlie," "with clive in india," "the dragon and the raven," "the young carthaginian," "in freedom's cause," "with lee in virginia," "by pike and dyke," "captain bayley's heir," "by england's aid," "under drake's flag," "in the reign of terror," etc. illustrated by john schonberg. new york: a. l. burt, publisher preface. my dear lads : you are nowadays cajled upon to acquire so great a mass of learning and informa- tion in the period of life between the ages of twelve and eighteen that it is not surprising that but little time can be spared for the study of the history of foreign nations. most lads are, therefore, lamentably ignorant of the leading events of even the most important epochs of continental history, although, as many of these events have exercised a marked influence upon the existing state of affairs in europe, a knowledge of them is far more useful, and, it may be said, far more interesting than that of the comparatively petty affairs of athens, sparta, corinth, and thebes. prominent among such epochs is the thirty years' war, which arose from the determination of the emperor of austria to crush out protestantism throughout germany. since the invasion of the huns no struggle which has taken place in europe has approached this in the obstinacy ©f the fighting and the terrible sufferings which the war inflicted upon the people at large. during these thirty years the population of germany decreased by iv preface. nearly a third, and in some of the states half the towns and two-thirds of the villages absolutely disappeared. the story of the thirty years' war is too long to be treated in one volume. fortunately it divides itself naturally into two parts. the first begins with the entry of sweden, under her chivalrous monarch gustavus adolphus, upon the struggle, and terminates with his death and that of his great rival wallenstein. this portion of the war has been treated in the present story. the second period begins at the point when france assumed the leading part in the struggle, and concludes with the peace which secured liberty of conscience to the protestants of germany. this period i hope to treat some day in another story, so that you may have a complete picture of the war. the military events of the present tale, the battles, sieges, and operations, are all taken from the best authorities, while for the account of the special doings of mackay's, afterward munro's scottish regiment, i am indebted to mr. j. grant's " life of sir john hepburn." yours sincerely, g. a. hentt. contents. chapter l page. the invitation chapter ii. shipwrecked chapter iii. sir john hepburn chapter iv. new brandenburg chapter v. marauders chapter vi. the attack on the village chapter vii. a quiet time chapter viii. the siege of mansfeld chapter ix. the battle of breitenfeld - vi contents. chapter x. page. the passage of the rhine ' chapter xi. the capture of oppenheim chapter xii. the passage of the lech chapter xiii. captured by the peasants chapter xiv. in the church tower chapter xv. i a timely rescue chapter xvi. the siege of nuremberg chapter xvii. the death of gustavus chapter xviii. wounded chapter xix. a pause in hostilities chapter xx. i friends in trouble chapter xxi. flight -- contents. vii chapter xxii. page. the conspiracy chapter xxiii. the murder of wallenstein , chapter xxiv. malcolm's escape chapter xxv. nordlingen i the lion of the north. chapter i. the invitation. it was late in the afternoon in the spring of the year ; the hilltops of the south of scotland were covered with masses of cloud, and a fierce wind swept the driving rain before it with such force that it was not easy to make way against it. it had been raining for three days without intermis- sion. every little mountain burn had become a boiling torrent, while the rivers had risen above their banks and flooded the low lands in the valleys. the shades of evening were closing in, when a lad of some sixteen years of age stood gazing across the swollen waters of the nith rushing past in tur- bid flood. he scarce seemed conscious of the pour- ing rain; but with his lowland bonnet pressed down over his eyes, and his plaid wrapped tightly round him, he stood on a rising hummock of ground at the edge of the flood, and looked across the stream. "if they are not here soon," he said to himself, "they will not get across the nith to-night. none but bold riders could do so now; but by what uncle the lion of the north. says, captain hume must be that and more. ah! here they come." as he spoke two horsemen rode down the oppo- site side of the valley and halted at the water's edge. the prospect was not a pleasant one. the river was sixty or seventy feet wide, and in the center the water swept along in a raging current. "you cannot cross here," the boy shouted at the top of his voice. "you must go higher up where the water's deeper." the wind swept his words away, but his gestures were understood. "the boy is telling us to go higher up," said one of the horsemen. "i suppose he is," the other replied; "but here is the ford. you see the road we have traveled ends here, and i can see it again on the other side. it is getting dark, and were we to cross higher up we might lose our way and get bogged; it is years since i was here. what's the boy going to do now % show us a place for crossing?" the lad, on seeing the hesitation of the horsemen, had run along the bank up the stream, and to their surprise, when he had gone a little more than a-hun- dred yards, he dashed into the water. for a time the water was shallow, and he waded out until he reached the edge of the regular bank of the river, and then swam out into the current. "go back," the horseman shouted; but his voice did not reach the swimmer, who, in a few strokes, was in the full force of the stream, and was soon the lion of the north. lost to the sight of the horsemen among the short foaming waves of the torrent. "the boy will be drowned," one of the horsemen said, spurring his horse up the valley; but in another minute the lad was seen breasting the calmer water just above the ford. "you cannot cross here, captain hume," he said, as he approached the horsemen. "you must go nigh a mile up the river." "why, who are you, lad?" the horseman asked. "and how do you know my name?" "i'm the nephew of nigel graeme. seeing how deep the floods were i came out to show you the way, for the best horse in the world could not swim the mth here now." "but this is the ford," captain hume said. "yes, this is the ford in dry weather. the bot- tom here is hard rock and easy to ride over when the river is but waist-deep, but below and above this place it is covered with great boulders. the water is six feet deep here now, and the horses would be carried down among the rocks, and would never get across. a mile up the river is always deep, and though the current is strong there is nothing to prevent a bold horseman from swimming across." "i thank you heartily, young sir," captain hume said. "i can see how broken is the surface of the water, and doubt not that it would have fared hard with us had we attempted to swim across here. in faith, munro, we have had a narrow escape." the lion of the north. "ay, indeed," the other agreed. "it would have been hard if you and i, after going through all the battlefields of the low countries, should have been drowned here together in a scottish burn. your young friend is a gallant lad and a good swimmer, for in truth it was no light task to swim that torrent with the water almost as cold as ice." "now, sirs, will you please to ride on," the boy said; "it is getting dark fast, and the sooner we are across the better." so saying he went off at a fast run, the horses trotting behind him. a mile above he reached the spot he had spoken of. the river was narrower here, and the stream was running with great rapidity, swirling and heaving as it went, but with a smooth, even surface. "two hundred yards farther up," the boy said, "is the beginning of the deep; if you take the water there yon. will get across so as to climb up by that sloping bank just opposite." he led the way to the spot he indicated, and then plunged into the stream, swimming quietly and steadily across, and allowing the stream to drift him down. the horseman followed his example. they had swum many a swollen river, and although their horses snorted and plunged at first, they soon quieted down and swam steadily over. they just struck the spot which the boy had indicated. he had already arrived there, and, without a word, trotted forward. it was soon dark, and the horsemen were obliged the lion of the north. to keep close to his heels to see his figure. it was as much as they could do to keep up with him, for the ground was rough and broken, sometimes swampy, sometimes strewn with boulders. "it is well we have a guide," colonel munro said to his companion; "for assuredly, even had we got safely across the stream, we should never have found our way across such a country as this. scot- land is a fine country, hume, a grand country, and we are all proud of it, you know, but for cam- paigning, give me the plains of germany; while, as for your weather here, it is only fit for a water- rat." hume laughed at this outburst. "i shan't be sorry, munro, for a change of dry clothes and a corner by a fire; but we must be nearly there now if i remember right. gramme's hold is about three miles from the nith." the boy presently gave a loud shout, and a min- ute later lights were seen ahead, and in two or three minutes the horsemen drew up at a door beside which two men were standing with torches; another strolled out as they stopped. "welcome, hume! i am glad indeed to see you; and—ah! is it you, munro? it is long indeed since we met." "that it is, graeme; it is twelve years since we -were students together at st. andrew's." "i did not think ^ou would have come on such a night," graeme said. "i doubt that we should have come to-night, or the lion of the north. any other night, nigel, if it had not been that that brave boy who calls you uncle swam across the mth to show us the best way to cross. it was a gallant deed, and i consider we owe him our lives." "it would have gone hard with you, indeed, had you tried to swim the jstith at the ford; had i not made so sure you would not come would have sent a man down there. i missed malcolm after dinner, and wondered what had become of him. but come in and get your wet things off. it is a cold wel- come keeping you here. my men will take your horses round to the stable and see that they are well rubbed down and warmly littered." in a quarter of an hour the party were assembled again in the sitting-room. it was a bare room with heavily timbered ceiling and narrow windows high up from the ground; for the house was built for purposes of defense, like most scottish residences in those days. the floor was thickly strewn with rushes. arms and trophies of the chase hung on the walls, and a bright fire blazing on the hearth gave it a warm and cheerful aspect. as his guests entered the room graeme presented them with a large silver cup of steaming liquor. "drain this," he said, " to begin with. i will war- rant me a draught of spiced wine will drive the cold of the nith out of your bones." the travelers drank off the liquor. "'tis a famous drink," hume said, " and there is nowhere i enjoy it so much as in scotland, for the cold here seems to have a knack of getting into one's the lion of the north. very marrow, though i will say there have been times in the low countries when we have appreci- ated such a draught. well, and how goes it with you, graeme?" "things might be better; in fact, times in scot- land have been getting worse and worse ever since king james went to england, and all the court with him. if it were not for an occasional raid among the wild folks of galloway, and a few quarrels among ourselves, life would be too dull to bear here." "but why bear it?" captain hume asked. "you used to have plenty of spirit in our old college days, graeme, and i wonder at your rusting your life out here when there is a fair field and plenty of honor, to say nothing of hard cash, to be won in the low country. why, beside hepburn's regiment, which has made itself a name throughout all europe, there are half a score of scottish regiments in the service of the king of sweden, and his gracious majesty, gustavus adolphus, does not keep them idle, i war- rant you." "i have thought of going a dozen times," graeme said, "but you see circumstances have kept me back; but i have all along intended to cross the seas when malcolm came of an age to take the charge of his father's lands. when my brother james was dying from that swordthrust he got in a fray with the duffs, i promised him i would be a father to the boy, and see that he got his rights." the lion of the north. "well, we will talk of the affair after supper, graeme, for now that i have got rid of the cold i begin to perceive that i am well-nigh famished." as the officer was speaking, the servitors were laying the table, and supper was soon brought in. after ample justice had been done to this, and the board was again cleared, the three men drew their seats round the fire, malcolm seating himself on a low stool by his uncle. "and now to business, nigel," colonel munro said. "we have not come back to scotland to see the country, or to enjoy your weather, or even for the pleasure of swimming your rivers in flood. we are commissioned by the king of sweden to raise some three thousand or four thousand more scot- tish troops. i believe that the king intends to take part in the war in germany, where the protestants are getting terribly mauled, and where, indeed, it is likely that the reformed religion will be stamped out altogether unless the swedes strike in to their rescue. my chief object is to fill up to its full strength of two thousand men the mackay regi- ment of which i am lieutenant-colonel. the rest of the recruits whom we may get will go as drafts to fill up the vacancies in the other regiments. so you see here we are, and it is our intention to beat up all our friends and relations, and ask them each to raise a company or half a company of recruits, of which, of course, they would have the command. "we landed at berwick, and wrote to several of our friends that we were coming. scott of jedburgh colonel munro seeks to enlist nigel graeme and his nephew.—page . —the lion of the north. the lion of the north. is has engaged to raise a company. balfour of lauder- dale, who is a cousin of mine, has promised to bring another; they were both at st. andrew's with us, as you may remember, graeme. young hamilton, who has been an ensign in my regiment, left us on the way. he will raise a company in douglasdale. now, graeme, don't you think you can bring us a band of the men of nithsdale?" "i don't know," graeme said hesitatingly. "i should like it of all things, for i am sick of doing nothing here, and my blood often runs hot when i read of the persecutions of the protestants in germany; but i don't think i can manage it." "oh, nonsense, nigel!" said hume; "you can manage it easily enough if you have the will. are you thinking of the lad there? why not bring him with you? he is young, certainly, but he could carry a color; and as for his spirit and bravery, munro and i will vouch for it." "oh, do, uncle," the lad exclaimed, leaping to his feet in his excitement. "i promise you i would not give you any trouble; and as for marching, there isn't a man in nithsdale who can tire me out across the mountains." "but what's to become of the house, malcolm, and the land and the herds?" "oh, they will be all right," the boy said. "leave old duncan in charge, and he will look after them." "but i had intended you to go to st. andrew's next year, malcolm, and i think the best plan will the lion of the north. be for you to go there at once. as you say, duncan can look after the place." malcolm's face fell. "take the lad with you, graeme," colonel munro said. "three years under gustavus will do him vastly more good than will st. andrew's. you know it never did us any good to speak of. we learned a little more latin than we knew when we went there, but i don't know that that has been of any use to us; whereas for the dry tomes of divinity we waded through, i am happy to say that not a single word of the musty stuff remains in my brains. the boy will see life and service, he will have opportu- nities of distinguishing himself under the eye of the most chivalrous king in europe, he will have entered a noble profession, and have a fair chance of better- ing his fortune, all of which is a thousand times better than settling down here in this corner of scotland." "i must think it over," graeme said; "it is a serious step to take. i had thought of his going to the court at london after he left the university, and of using our family interest to push his way there." "what is he to do in london?" munro said. "the old pedant james, who wouldn't spend a shil- ling or raise a dozen men to aid the cause of his own daughter, and who thought more of musty dogmatic' treatises than of the glory and credit of the country he ruled over, or the sufferings of his co-religionists in germany, has left no career open to a lad of spirit." the lion of the north. "well, i will think it over by the morning," graeme said. "and now tell me a little more about the merits of this quarrel in germany. if i am going to tight, i should like at least to know exactly what i am fighting about." "my dear fellow," hume laughed, "you will never make a soldier if you always want to know the ins and outs of every quarrel you have to tight about; but for once the tenderest conscience may be satisfied as to the justice of the contention. but munro is much better versed in the history of the affair than i am; for, to tell you the truth, beyond the fact that it is a general row between the pro- testants and catholics, i have not troubled myself much in the matter." "you must know," colonel munro began, "that some twenty years ago the protestant princes of germany formed a league for mutual protection and support, which they called the protestant union; and a year later the catholics, on their side, constituted what they called the holy league. at that time the condition of the protestants was not unbearable. in bohemia, where they constituted two-thirds of the population, rudolph ii., and after him mathias, gave conditions of religious freedom. "gradually, however, the catholic party about the emperor gained the upper hand then various acts in breach of the conditions granted to the pro- testants were committed, and public spirit on both sides became much embittered. on the d of may, , the estates of bohemia met at prague, and the lion of the north. the protestant nobles, headed by count thurn, came there armed, and demanded from the imperial councilors an account of the high-handed proceed ings. a violent quarrel ensued, and finally the protestant deputies seized the councilors martinitz and slavata, and their secretary, and hurled them from the window into the dry ditch, fifty feet below. fortunately for the councilors the ditch contained a quantity of light rubbish, and they and their sec- retary escaped without serious damage. the in- cident, however, was the commencement of war. bohemia was almost independent of austria, admin- istering its own internal affairs. the estates invested count thurn with the command of the army. the protestant union supported bohemia in its action. mathias, who was himself a tolerant and well-meaning man, tried to allay the storm; but, failing to do so, marched an army into bohemia. "had mathias lived matters would probaby have arranged themselves, but he died the following spring, and was succeeded by ferdinand ii. ferdi- nand is one of the most bigoted catholics living, and is at the same time a bold and resolute man; and he had taken a solemn vow at the shrine of loretto that, if ever he came to the throne, he would re-establish catholicism throughout his dominions. both parties prepared for the strife; the bohemians renounced their allegiance to him and nominated the elector palatine frederick v., the husband of our scotch princess, their king. the lion of the north. "the first blow was struck at zablati. there a union army, led by mansfeldt, was defeated by the imperial general bucquoi. a few days later, how- ever, count thurn, marching through moravia and upper austria, laid siege to vienna. ferdinand's own subjects were estranged from him, and the cry of the protestant army, 'equal rights for all christian churches,' was approved by the whole population—for even in austria itself there were a very large number of protestants. ferdinand had but a few soldiers, the population of the city were hostile, and had thurn only entered the town he could have seized the emperor without any resist- ance. . "thurn hesitated, and endeavored instead to obtain the conditions of toleration which the protestants required; and sixteen austrian barons in the city were in the act of insisting upon ferdi- nand signing these when the head of the relieving army entered the city. thurn retired hastily. the catholic princes and representatives met at frank- fort and elected ferdinand emperor of germany. he at once entered into a strict agreement with maximilian of bavaria to crush protestantism throughout germany. the bohemians, however, in concert with bethlem gabor, king of hungary, again besieged vienna; but as the winter set in they were obliged to retire. from that moment the protestant cause was lost; saxony and hesse- darmstadt left the union aud joined ferdinand. denmark, which had promised its assistance to the the lion of the north. protestants, was persuaded to remain quiet. sweden was engaged in a war with the poles. "the protestant army was assembled at ulm; the army of the league, under the order of maxi- milian of bavaria, was at donauworth. maximilian worked upon the fears of the protestant princes, who, frightened at the contest they had undertaken, agreed to a peace, by which they bound themselves to afford no aid to frederick v. "the imperial forces then marched to bohemia and attacked frederick's army outside prague, and in less than an hour completely defeated it. fred- erick escaped with his family to holland. ferdi- dinand then took steps to carry out his oath. the religious freedom granted by mathias was abol- ished. in bohemia, moravia, silesia, and austria proper many of the promoters of the rebellion were punished in life and property. the year following all members of the calvinistic sect were forced to leave their country, a few months afterward the lutherans were also expelled, and in the exercise of all religious forms except those of the catholic church was forbidden; two hundred of the noble, and thirty thousand of the wealthier and industrial classes, were driven into exile; and lands and property to the amount of £ , , or £ , ,- were confiscated. "the hereditary dominions of frederick y. were invaded, the protestants were defeated, the palati- nate entirely subdued, and the electorate' was conferred upon maximilian of bavaria; and the the lion of the north. rigid laws against the protestants were carried into effect in the palatinate also. it had now become evident to all europe that the emperor of austria was determined to stamp out protestantism through- out germany; and the protestant princes, now thoroughly alarmed, besought aid from the protes- tant countries, england, holland and denmark. king james, who had seen unmoved the misfortunes which had befallen his daughter and her husband, and who had been dead to the general feeling of the country, could no longer resist, and england agreed to supply an annual subsidy; holland consented to supply troops; and the king of denmark joined the league, and was to take command of the army. "in germany the protestants of lower saxony and brunswick, and the partisan leader mansfeldt, were still in arms. the army under the king of denmark advanced into brunswick, and was there confronted by that of the league under tilly; while an austrian army, raised by wallenstein, also marched against it. mansfeldt endeavored to pre- vent wallenstein from joining tilly, but was met and defeated by the former general. mansfeldt was, however, an enterprising leader, and falling back into brandenburg, recruited his army, joined the force under the duke of saxe-weimar, and started by forced marches to silesia and moravia, to join bethlem gabor in hungary. wallenstein was therefore obliged to abandon his campaign against the danes and to follow him. mansfeldt joined the hungarian army, but so rapid were his the lion of the north. marches that his force had dwindled away to a mere skeleton, and the assistance which it would be to the hungarians was so small that bethlem gabor refused to co-operate with it against austria. "mansfeldt disbanded his remaining soldiers, and two months afterward died. wallenstein then marched north. in the meantine tilly had attacked king christian at lutter, and completely defeated him. i will tell you about that battle some other time. when wallenstein came north it was decided that tilly should carry the war into holland, and that wallenstein should deal with the king of denmark and the protestant princes. in the course of two years he drove the danes from silesia, subdued brandenburg and mecklenburg, and, advancing into pomerania, besieged stralsund. "what a siege that was to be sure! wallenstein had sworn to capture the place, but he didn't reckon upon the scots. after the siege had begun lieuten- ant-general sir alexander leslie, with five thousand scots and swedes, fought his way into the town; and though wallenstein rained fire upon it, though we were half-starved and ravaged by plague, we held out for three months, repulsing every assault, till at last the imperialists were obliged to draw off, having lost twelve thousand two hundred men. "this, however, was the solitary success on our side, and a few months since, christian signed a peace, binding himself to interfere no more in the affairs of germany. when ferdinand considered himself free to carry out his plans, he issued an the lion of the north. edict by which the protestants throughout ger- many were required to restore to the catholics all the monasteries and land which had formerly belonged to the catholic church. the catholic service was alone to be performed, and the catholic princes of the empire were ordered to constrain their subjects, by force if necessary, to conform to the catholic faith; and it was intimated to the protestant princes that they would be equally forced to carry the edict into effect. but this was too much. even france disapproved, not from any feeling of pity on the part of richelieu for the protestants, but because it did not suit the interests of france that ferdinand should become the absolute monarch of all germany. "in these circumstances gustavus of sweden at once resolved to assist the protestants in arms, and ere long will take the field. that is what has brought us here. already in the swedish army there are ten thousand scotchmen, and in denmark they also form the backbone of the force ; and both in the swedish and danish armies the greater part of the native troops are officered and commanded by scotchmen. "hitherto i myself have been in the danish ser- vice, but my regiment is about to take service with the swedes. it has been quietly intimated to us that there will be no objection to our doing so, although christian intends to remain neutral, at any rate for a time. we suffered very heavily at lutter, and i need five hundred men to fill up my ranks to the full strength. the lion of the north. "now, graeme, i quite rely upon you. you were at college with hepburn, hume, and myself, and it will be a pleasure for us all to fight side by side; and if i know anything of your disposition i am sure you cannot be contented to be remaining here at the age of nine-and-twenty, rusting out your life as a scotch laird, while hepburn has already won a name which is known through europe." the lion of the north. chaptee ii. shipwrecked. upon the following morning nigel graeme told his visitors that he had determined to accept their offer, and would at once set to work to raise a com- pany. "i have," he said," as you know, a small patrimony of my own, and as for the last eight years i have been living here looking after malcolm i have been laying by my rents, and can now furnish the arms and accouterments for a hundred men without diffi- culty. when malcolm comes of age he must act for himself, and can raise two or three hundred men if he chooses; but at present he will march in my company. i understand that i have the appoint- ment of my own officers." "yes, until you join the regiment," munro said. "you have the first appointments. afterward the colonel will fill up vacancies. you must decide how you will arm your men, for you must know that gustavus' regiments have their right and left wings composed of musketeers, while the center is formed of pikemen, so you must decide to which branch your company shall belong." the lion of the north. "i would choose the pike," nigel said, "for after all it must be by the pike that the battle is decided." "quite right, nigel. i have here with me a drawing of the armor in use with us. you see they have helmets of an acorn shape, with a rim turning up in front; gauntlets, buff-coats well padded in front, and large breastplates. the pikes vary from fourteen to eighteen feet long according to the taste of the commander. we generally use about sixteen. if your company is a hundred strong you will have two lieutenants and three ensigns. be careful in choosing your officers. i will fill in the king's com- mission to you as captain of the company, author- izing you to enlist men for his service and to appoint officers thereto." an hour or two later colonel munro and captain hume proceeded on their way. the news speedily spread through nithsdale that nigel graeme had re- ceived a commission from the king of sweden to raise a company in his service, and very speedily men began to pour in. the disbandment of the scottish army had left but few careers open at home to the youth of that country, and very large num- bers had consequently flocked to the continent and taken service in one or other of the armies there, any opening of the sort, therefore, had only to be known to be freely embraced. consequently, in eight-and-forty hours nigel graeme had applications from a far larger number than he could accept, and he was enabled to pick and choose among the applicants. many young men of good family were the lion of the north. among them, for in those days service in the ranks was regarded as honorable, and great numbers of young men of good family and education trailed a pike in the scotch regiments in the service of the various powers of europe. two young men whose property adjoined his own, herries and farquhar, each of whom brought twenty of his own tenants with him, were appointed lieutenants, while two others, leslie and jamieson, were with malcolm named as ensigns. the non-commissioned officers were appointed from men who had served before. many of the men already possessed armor which was suitable, for in those days there was no strict uniformity of military attire, and the armies of the various nationalities differed very slightly from each other. colonel munro returned in the course of a fortnight, nigel graeme's company completing the number of men required to fill up the ranks of his regiment. captain. hume had proceeded further north. colonel munro stopped for a week in nithsdale, giving instructions to the officers and non-commis- sioned officers as to the drill in use in the swedish army. military maneuvers were in these days very different to what they have now become. the movements were few and simple, and easily acquired. gustavus had, however, introduced an entirely new formation into his army. hitherto troops had fought in solid masses, twenty or more deep. gustavus taught his men to fight six deep, maintaining that if troops were steady this depth of the lion of this north. formation should be able to sustain any assault upon it, and that with a greater depth the men behind were useless in the fight. his cavalry fought only three deep. the recruits acquired the new tactics with little difficulty. in scotland for generations every man and boy had received a certain military training, and all were instructed in the use of the pike; consequently, at the end of a week colonel munro pronounced nigel grasme's company capable of taking their place in the regiment without dis- credit, and so went forward to see to the training of the companies of hamilton, balfour, and scott, having arranged with graeme to march his company to dunbar in three weeks' time, when he would be joined by the other three companies. malcolm was delighted with the stir and bustle of his new life. accustomed to hard exercise, to climbing and swimming, he was a strong and well- grown lad, and was in appearance fully a year beyond his age. he felt but little fatigued by the in'cessant drill in which the days were passed, though he was glad enough of an evening to lay aside his armor of which the officers wore in those days con- siderably more than the soldiers, the mounted officers being still clad in full armor, while those on foot wore back and arm pieces, and often leg pieces, in addition to the helmet and breastplate. they were armed with swords and pistols, and car- ried besides what were called half-pikes, or pikes some seven feet long. they wore feathers in their helmets, and the armor was of fine quality, and often richly damascened, or inlaid with gold. the lion of the north. very proud did malcolm feel as on the appointed day he marched with the company from nithsdale, with the sun glittering on their arms and a drum- mer beating the march at their head. they arrived in due course at dunbar, and were in a few hours joined by the other three companies under munro himself. the regiment which was now commanded by lieutenant-colonel munro had been raised in by sir donald mackay of farre and strathnaver, one thousand five hundred strong, for the service of the king of denmark. munro was his cousin, and when sir donald went home shortly before, he succeeded to the command of the regiment. they embarked at once on board a ship which munro had chartered, and were landed in denmark and marched to flensberg, where the rest of the regiment was tying- a fortnight was spent in severe drill, and then orders were received from oxenstiern, the chancel- lor of sweden, to embark the regiment on board two swedish vessels, the lillynichol and the hound. on board the former were the companies of captains robert munro, hector munro, bullion, nigel graeme, and hamilton. colonel munro sailed in this ship, while major sennot commanded the wing of the regiment on board the hound. the baggage horses and ammunition were in a smaller vessel. the orders were that they were to land at wolgast on the southern shore of the baltic. scarcely had they set sail than the weather changed, the lion of the north. and a sudden tempest burst upon them. higher and higher grew the wind, and the vessels were separated in the night. the lillynichol labored heavily in the waves, and the discomfort of the troops, crowded together between decks, was very great. presently it was discovered that she had made a leak, and that the water was entering fast. munro at once called forty-eight soldiers to the pumps. they were relieved every quarter of an hour, and by dint of the greatest exertions barely succeeded in keeping down the water. so heavily did the vessel labor that munro bore away for dantzig; but when night came on the storm in- creased in fury. they were now in shoal water, and the vessel, already half water-logged, became quite unmanageable in the furious waves. beyond the fact that they were fast drifting on to the pomeranian coast, they were ignorant of their position. "this is a rough beginning," nigel said to his nephew. "we bargained to run the risk of being killed by the germans, but we did not expect to run the hazard of being drowned. i doubt if the vessel can live till morning. it is only eleven o'clock yet, and in spite of the pumps she is getting lower and lower in the water." before malcolm had time to answer him there was a tremendous crash which threw them off their feet. all below struggled on deck, but nothing could be seen in the darkness saves masses of foam as the waves broke on the rock on which they had the lion of the north. struck. there were two more crashes, and then another, even louder and more terrible, and the vessel broke in two parts. "come aft all," colonel munro shouted; "this part of the wreck is fixed." with great efforts all on board managed to reach the after portion oi the vessel, which was wedged among the rocks, and soon afterward the forepart broke up and disappeared. for two hours the sea broke wildly over the ship, and all had to hold on for life. malcolm, even in this time of danger, could not but admire the calmness and coolness of his young colonel. he at once set men to work with ropes to drag toward the vessel the floating pieces of wreck which were tossing about in the boiling surf. the masts and yards were hauled alongside, and the colonel instructed the men to make themselves fast to these in case the vessel should go to pieces. hour after hour passed, and at last, to the joy of all, daylight appeared. the boats had all been broken to pieces, and munro now set the men to work to bind the spars and timbers together into a raft. one of the soldiers and a sailor volunteered to try to swim to shore with lines, but both were dashed to pieces. at one o'clock in the day some natives were seen collecting on the shore, and these presently dragged down a boat and launched it, and with great diffi- culty rowed out to the ship. a line was thrown to them, and with this they returned to shore, where the lion of the north. they made the line fast. the storm was now abating somewhat, and munro ordered the debarka- tion to commence. as many of the troops as could find a place on the raft, or could cling to the ropes fastened on its sides, started first, and by means of the line hauled the raft ashore. a small party then brought it back to the ship, while others manned the boat; and so after a number of trips the whole of the troops and crew were landed, together with all the weapons and armor that could be saved. from the peasantry munro now learned that they had been wrecked upon the coast of rugenwalde, a low-lying tract of country in the north of pomerania. the forts upon it were all in the possession of the imperialists, while the nearest post of the swedes was eighty miles away. the position was not a pleasant one. many of the arms had been lost, and the gunpowder was of course destroyed. the men were exhausted and worn out with their long struggle with the tempest. they were without food, and might at any moment be attacked by their enemies. "something must be done, and that quickly," munro said, " or our fate will be well-nigh as bad as that of the sinclairs; but before night we can do nothing, and we must hope that the germans will not discover us till then." thereupon he ordered all the men to lie down under shelter of the bushes on the slopes facing the shore, and on no account to show themselves on the the lion of the north. higher ground. then he sent a walloon officer of the regiment to the pomeranian seneschal of the old castle of rugenwalde which belonged to bogislaus iv., duke of pomerania, to inform him that a body of scotch troops in the service of the swedish king had been cast on the coast, and beg- ging him to supply them with a few muskets, some dry powder, and bullets, promising if he would do so that the scotch would clear the town of its imperial garrison. the castle itself, which was a very old feudal building, was held only by the retainers of the duke, and the seneschal at once complied with munro's request, for the duke of pomerania, his master, although nominally an ally of the imperialists, had been deprived of all authority by them, and the feelings of his subjects were entirely with the swedes. fifty old muskets, some ammunition and some food were sent out by a secret passage to the scots. there was great satisfaction among the men when these supplies arrived. the muskets which had been brought ashore were cleaned up and loaded, and the feeling that they were no longer in a position to fall helplessly into the hands of any foe who might discover them, restored the spirits of the troops, and fatigue and hunger were forgotten as they looked forward to striking a blow at the enemy. "what did the colonel mean by saying that our position was well-nigh as bad as that of the sin- the lion of the north. clairs?" malcolm asked captain hector munro, who with two or three other officers was sheltering under a thick clump of bushes. "that was a bad business," captain munro replied. "it happened now nigh twenty years ago. colonel mohkhoven, a swedish officer, had enlisted two thousand three hundred men in scotland for service with gustavus, and sailed with them and with a regiment nine hundred strong raised by sinclair en- tirely of his own clan and name. sweden was at war with denmark, and stockholm was invested by the danish fleet when monkhoven arrived with his ships. finding that he was unable to land, he sailed north, landed at trondheim, and marching over the norwegian alps reached stockholm in safety, where the appearance of his reinforcements discouraged the danes and enabled gustavus to raise the siege. "unfortunately colonel sinclair's regiment had not kept with monkhoven, it being thought better that they should march by different routes so as to distract the attention of the norwegians, who were bitterly hostile. the sinclairs were attacked sev- eral times, but beat off their assailants; when pass- ing, however, through the tremendous gorge of kringellen, the peasantry of the whole surrounding country gathered in the mountains. the road wound along on one side of the gorge. so steep was the hill that the path was cut in solid rock which rose almost precipitously on one side, while far be- low at their feet rushed a rapid torrent. as the sinclairs were marching along through this rocky the lion of the nolltb. gorge a tremendous fire was opened upon them from the pine forests above, while hugh rocks and stones came bounding down the precipice. "the sinclairs strove in vain to climb the moun- tain side and get at their foes. it was impossible, and they were simply slaughtered where they stood, only one man of the whole regiment escaping to tell the story." "that was a terrible massacre indeed," malcolm said. "i have read of a good many surprises and slaughters in our scottish history, but never of such complete destruction as that only one man out of nine hundred should escape. and was the slaughter never avenged?" no," munro replied. "we scots would gladly march north and repay these savage peasants for the massacre of our countrymen, but the king of sweden has had plenty of occupation for his scotch- men in his own wars. what with the russians and the poles and the danes his hands have been pretty full from that day to this, and indeed an expedition against the norsemen is one which would bring more fatigue and labor than profit. the peasants would seek shelter in their forests and mountains, and march as we would we should never see them, save when they fell upon us with advantage in some defile." at nightfall the troops were mustered, and, led by the men who had brought the arms, they passed by the secret passage into the castle, and thence sallied suddenly into the town below. there they the lion of the norte. fell upon a patrol of imperial cavalry, who were all shot down before they had time to draw their swords. then, scattering through the town, the whole squadron of cuirassiers who garrisoned it were either killed or taken prisoners. this easy con- quest achieved, the first care of munro was to feed his troops. these were then armed from the stores in the town, and a strong guard being placed lest they should be attacked by the austrian force, which was, they learned, lying but seven miles away, on the other side of the river, the troops lay down to snatch a few hours of needed rest. in the morning the country was scoured, and a few detached posts of the austrians captured. the main body then advanced and blew up the bridge across the river. five days later an order came from oxenstiern, to whom munro had at once despatched the news of his capture of rugenwalde, ordering him to hold it to the last, the position being a very valuable one, as opening an entrance into pomerania. the passage of the river was protected by en- trenchments, strong redoubts were thrown up round rugenwalde, and parties crossing the river in boats collected provisions and stores from the country to the very gates of dantzig. the aus- trians rapidly closed in upon all sides, and for nine weeks a constant series of skirmishes wtere main- tained with them. at the end of that time sir john hepburn arrived from spruce, having pushed forward by the lion of the north. order of oxenstiern by forced marches to their relief. loud and hearty was the cheering when the two scotch regiments united, and the friends, munro and hepburn, clasped hands. not only had they been at college together, but they had, after leaving st. andrew's, traveled in companionship on the continent for two or three years before taking service, munro entering that of france, while hep- burn joined sir andrew gray as a volunteer when he led a band to succor the prince palatine at the commencement of the war. "i have another old friend in my regiment, hepburn," the colonel said after the first greeting was over—" nigel graeme ; of course you remember him." "certainly i do," hepburn exclaimed cordially, "and right glad will i be to see him again; but i thought your regiment was entirely from the north." "it was originally," munro said; but i have filled up the gaps with men from nithsdale and the south. i was pressed for time, and our glens of farre and strathnaver had already been cleared of all their best men. the other companies are all commanded by men who were with us at st. andrew's—balfour, george hamilton, and james scott." "that is well," hepburn said. "whether from the north or south, scots fight equally well; and with gustavus 'tis like being in our own country, so large a proportion are we of his majesty's army. the lion of the north. and now, munro, i fear that i must supersede you in command, being senior to you in the service, and having, moreover, his majesty's commission as governor of the town and district." "there is no one to whom i- would more wil- lingly resign the command. i have seen some hard fighting, but have yet my name to win; while you, though still only a colonel, are famous throughout europe." "thanks to my men rather than to myself," hepburn said, "though, indeed, mine is no better than the other scottish regiments in the king's service; but we have had luck, and in war, you know, luck is everything." there were many officers in both regiments who were old friends and acquaintances, and there was much feasting that night in the scotch camp. in the morning work began again. the peasants of the district, eight thousand strong, were mustered and divided into companies, armed and disciplined, and with these and the two scotch regiments hep- burn advanced through pomerania to the gates of colberg, fifty miles away, clearing the country of the austrians, who offered, indeed, but a faint resistance. the lord of kniphausen, a general in the swedish service, now arrived with some swedish troops, and prepared to besiege the town. the rest of munro's regiment accompanied him, having arrived safely at their destination, and the whole were ordered to aid in the investment of colberg, while hepburn was the lion of the north. to seize the town and castle of schiefelbrune,five miles distant, and there to check the advance of the imperialists, who were moving forward in strength toward it. hepburn performed his mission with a party of cavalry, and reported that although the castle was dilapidated it was a place of strength, and that it could be held by a resolute garrison; whereupon munro with five hundred men of his regiment was ordered to occupy it. nigel graeme's company was one of those which marched forward on the th of november, and entering the town, which was almost deserted by its inhabitants, set to work to prepare it for defense. ramparts of earth and stockades were hastily thrown up, and the gates were backed by piles of rubbish to prevent them being blown in by petards. scarcely were the preparations completed before the enemy were seen moving down the hillside. "how many are there of them, think you ?" mal- colm asked lieutenant farquhar. "i am not skilled in judging numbers, malcolm, but i should say that there must be fully five thousand." there were indeed eight thousand imperialists approaching, led by the count of montecuouli, a distinguished italian officer, who had with him the regiments of coloredo, isslani, goetz, sparre, and charles wallenstein, with a large force of mounted croats. munro's orders were to hold the town as long as the lion of the north. he could, and afterward to defend the castle to the last man. the imperial general sent in a message requesting him to treat for the surrender of the place; but munro replied simply, that as no allusion to the word treaty was contained in his instructions he should defend the place to the last. the first advance of the imperialists was made by the cavalry covered by one thousand musketeers, but these were repulsed without much difficulty by the scottish fire. the whole force then advanced to the attack with great resolution. desperately the highlanders defended the town, again and again the imperial- ists were repulsed from the slight rampart, and when at last they won their way into the place by dint of numbers, every street, lane, alley, and house was defended to the last. malcolm was almost bewildered at the din, the incessant roll of mus- ketry, the hoarse shouts of the contending troops, the rattling of the guns, and the shrieks of pain. every time the imperialists tried to force their way in heavy columns up the streets the scots poured out from the houses to resist them, and meeting them pike to pike hurled them backward. malcolm tried to keep cool, and to imitate the behavior of his senior officers, repeating their orders, and seeing that they were carried out. time after time the austrians attempted to carry the place, and were always hurled back, although outnumbering the scots by nigh twenty to one. at last the town was in ruins, and was on fire in a the lion of the north, score of places. its streets and lanes were heaped with dead, and it was no longer tenable. munro therefore gave orders that the houses should every- where be set on fire, and the troops fall back to the castle. steadily and in good order his commands were carried out, and with leveled pikes, still facing the enemy, the troops retired into the castle. the imperial general, seeing how heavy had been his losses in carrying the open town, shrank from the prospect of assaulting a castle defended by such troops, and when night fell he quietly marched away with the force under his command. the lion of the north. chaptee iii. sir john hepbcen. munro's first care, when he found that the imperialists had retreated in the direction of col- berg, was to send out some horsemen to discover whether the swedes were in a position to cover that town. the men returned in two hours with the report that field-marshal horn, with the swedish troops from stettin, had joined kniphausen and hepburn, and were guarding the passage between the enemy and colberg. two days later a message arrived to the effect that sir donald mackay, who had now been created lord reay, had arrived to take the command of his regiment, and that nigel graeme's company was to march and join him; while munro with the rest of his command was to continue to hold the castle of schiefelbrune. shortly afterward general bauditzen arrived with four thousand men and eighteen pieces of cannon to press the siege of colberg, which was one of the strongest fortresses in north germany. on the th of november the news arrived that montecuculi was again advancing to raise the siege; and lord the lion of the north. reay with his half-regiment, hepburn with half his regiment, and a regiment of swedish infantry marched out to meet him, kniphausen being in command. they took up a position in a little village a few miles from the town; and here, at four o'clock in the morning, they were attacked by the imperi- alists, seven thousand strong. the swedish infantry fled almost without firing a shot, but the scottish musketeers of hepburn and reay stood their ground. for a time a desperate conflict raged. in the darkness it was utterly impossible to distinguish friend from foe, and numbers on both sides were mown down by the volleys of their own party. in the streets and gardens of the little village men fought desperately with pikes and clubbed muskets. unable to act in the darkness, and losing many men from the storm of bullets which swept over the vil- lage, the swedish cavalry who had accompanied the column turned and fled; and being unable to resist so vast a superiority of force, kniphausen gave the word, and the scotch fell slowly back under cover of the heavy mist which rose with the first breath of day, leaving five hundred men, nearly half their force, dead behind them. nigel graeme's company had suffered severely; he himself was badly wounded. a lieutenant and one of the ensigns were killed, with thirty of the men, and many others were wounded with pike or bullet. malcolm had had his share of the fighting. several times he and the men immediately round him had the lion of the north. been charged by the imperialists, but their long pikes had each time repulsed the assaults. malcolm had before this come to the conclusion, from the anecdotes he heard from the officers who had served through several campaigns, that the first quality of an officer is coolness, and that this is even more valuable than is reckless bravery. he had therefore set before himself that his first duty in action was to be perfectly calm, to speak without hurry or excitement in a quiet and natural tone. in his first fight at schiefelbrune he had endeav- ored to carry this out, but although he gained much commendation from nigel and the other officers of the company for his coolness on that occasion, he had by no means satisfied himself; but upon the present occasion he succeeded much better in keeping his natural feelings in check, forcing himself to speak in a quiet and deliberate way without flurry or ex- citement, and in a tone of voice in no way raised above the ordinary. the effect had been excellent, and the soldiers, in talking over the affair next day, were loud in their praise of the conduct of the young ensign. "the lad was as cool as an old soldier," one of the sergeants said, "and cooler. just as the aus- trian column was coming on for the third time, shouting, and cheering, and sending their bullets in a hail, he said to me as quietly as if he was giving an order about his dinner: 'i think, donald, it would be as well to keep the men out of fire until the last moment. some one might get hurt, you — the lion of the korth. the lion of the north. see, before the enemy get close enough to use the pikes.' and then when they came close he said: 'now, sergeant, i think it is time to move out and stop them.' when they came upon us he was fight- ing with his half-pike with the best of us. and when the austrians fell back and began to fire again, and we took shelter behind the houses, he walked about on the road, stooping down over those who had fallen, to see if all were killed, and finding two were alive he called out, 'will one of you just come and help me carry these men under shelter they may get hit again if they remain here.' i went out to him, but i can tell you i didn't like it, for the bullets were coming along the road in a shower. his helmet was knocked off by one, and one of the men we were carrying in was struck by two more bullets and killed, and the lad seemed to mint it no more than if it had been a rainstorm in the hills at home. i thought when we left niths- dale that the captain was in the wrong to make so young a boy an officer, but i don't think so now, munro himself could not have been cooler. if he lives he will make a great soldier." the defense of the scots had been so stubborn that montecuculi abandoned his attempt to relieve colberg that day, and so vigilant was the watch which the besiegers kept that he was obliged at last to draw off his troops and leave colberg to its fate. the place held out to the th of february, when the garrison surrendered and were allowed to march out with the honors of war, with pikes carried, the lion of the north. colors flying, drums beating, matches lighted, with their baggage, and with two pieces of cannon loaded and ready for action. they were saluted by the army as they marched away to the nearest town held by the austrians, and as they passed by schiefelbrune munro's command were drawn up and presented arms to the fifteen hundred men who had for three months resisted every attempt to capture colberg by assault. nigel graeme's wound was so severe that he was obliged for a time to relinquish the command of his company, which he handed over to herries. as there had been two vacancies among the officers malcolm would naturally have been pro- moted to the duties of lieutenant, but at his urgent request his uncle chose for the purpose a young gentleman of good family who had fought in the ranks, and had much distinguished himself in both the contests. two others were also promoted to fill up the vacancies as ensigns. the troops after the capture of colberg marched to stettin, around which town they encamped for a time, while gustavus completed his preparations for his march into germany. while a portion of his army had been besieging colberg, gustavus had been driving the imperialists out of the whole of pomerania. landing on the th of june with an army in all of fifteen thousand infantry, two thousand cavalry, and about three thousand artillery, he had, after despatching troops to aidmunro and besiege colberg, marched against the the lion of the north. imperialists under conti. these, however, retreated in great disorder and with much loss of men, guns, and baggage, into brandenburg; and in a few weeks after the swedish landing only colberg, greifswald, and demrning held out. in january gustavus concluded a treaty with france, who agreed to pay him an annual subsidy of , thalers on the condition that gustavus maintained in the field an army of thirty thousand infantry and six thousand cavalry, and assured to the princes and peoples whose territory he might occupy the free exercise of their religion. eng- land also promised a subsidy, and the marquis of hamilton was to bring over six thousand infan- trny; but as the king did not wish openly to take part in the war this force was not to appear as an english contingent. another regi- ment of highlanders was brought over by colonel john munro of obstell, and also a regiment recruited in the lowlands by colonel sir james lumsden. many other parties of scotch were brought over by gentlemen of rank. four chosen scottish regi- ments, hepburn's regiment, lord reay's regiment, sir james lumsden's musketeers, and stargate's corps, were formed into one brigade under the com- mand of hepburn. it was called the green brigade, and the doublets, scarfs, feathers, and standards were of that color. the rest of the infantry were divided into the yellow, blue, and white brigades. one evening when the officers of reay's regiment the lion of the north. were sitting round the camp-fire lieutenant farquhar said to colonel munro: "how is it that sir john hepburn has, although still so young, risen to such high honor in the counsel of the king; how did he first make his way?" "he first entered the force raised by sir andrew gray, who crossed from leith to holland, and then uniting with a body of english troops under sir horace vere marched to join the troops of the elector palatine. it was a work of danger and difficulty for so small a body of men to march through germany, and spinola with a powerful force tried to intercept them. they managed, how- ever, to avoid him, and reached their destination in safety. "vere's force consisted of two thousand two hundred men, and when he and sir andrew gray joined the margrave of anspach the latter had but four thousand horse and four thousand foot with him. there was a good deal of fighting, and hep- burn so distinguished himself that although then but twenty years old he obtained command of a com- pany of pikemen in sir andrew gray's band, and this company was specially selected as a body-guard for the king. "there was one scotchman in the band who vied even with hepburn in the gallantry of his deeds. he was the son of a burgess of stirling named edmund, and on one occasion, laying aside his armor, he swam the danube at night in front of the austrian lines, and penetrated to the very heart of the lion of the north. the imperial camp. there he managed to enter the tent of the imperialist general, the count de bucquoi, gagged and bound him, carried him to the river, swam across with him and presented him as a pris- oner to the prince of orange, under whose command he was then serving. "it was well for hepburn that at the battle of prague he was guarding the king, or he also might have fallen among the hosts who died on that dis- astrous day. when the elector had fled the country sir andrew gray's bands formed part of mansfeldt's force, under whom they gained great glory. when driven out of the palatinate they still kept up the war in various parts of germany and alsace. with the scotch companies of colonel henderson they defended bergen when the marquis of spinola besieged it. morgan with an english brigade was with them, and right steadily they fought. again and again the spaniards attempted to storm the place, but after losing twelve thousand men they were forced to withdraw on the approach of prince maurice. "the elector now made peace with the emperor, and mansfeldt's bands found themselves without employment. mansfeldt in vain endeavored to obtain employment under one of the powers, but failing, marched into lorraine. there, it must be owned they plundered and ravaged till they were a terror to the country. at last the dutch, being sorely pressed by the spaniards, offered to take them into their pay, and the bands marched out from lorraine in high spirits. the lion of the north. "they were in sore plight for fighting, for most of them had been obliged to sell even their arms and armor to procure food. spinola hearing of their approach pushed forward with a strong force to intercept them, and so came upon them at fleurus, eight miles from namur, on the th of august, . "the scots were led by hepburn, hume, and sir james ramsay; the english by sir charles kich, brother to the earl of warwick, sir james hays, and others. the odds seemed all in favor of the spaniards, who were much superior in numbers, and were splendidly accoutered and well-disciplined, and what was more, were well fed, while mansfeldt's bands were but half armed and almost wholly starving. "it was a desperate battle, and the spaniards in the end remained masters of the field, but mansfeldt with his bands had burst their way through them, and succeeded in crossing into holland. here their position was bettered; for, though there was little fighting for them to do, and they could get no pay, they lived and grew fat in free quarters among the dutch. at last the force broke up altogether; the germans scattered to their homes, the english crossed the seas, and hepburn led what remained of sir andrew gray's bands to sweden, where he offered their services to gustavus. the swedish king had already a large number of scotch in his service, and hepburn was made a colonel, having a strong regiment composed of his old followers the lion of the north. inured to war and hardship, and strengthened by a number of new arrivals. "when in hostilities were renewed with poland hepburn's regiment formed part of the army which invaded polish prussia. the first feat in which he distinguished himself in the service of sweden was at the relief of mewe, a town of eastern prussia, which was blockaded by king sigismund at the head of thirty thousand poles. the town is situate at the confluence of the bersa with the vistula, which washes two sides of its walls. "in front of its other face is a steep green emi- nence which the poles had very strongly entrenched, and had erected upon it ten batteries of heavy cannon. as the town could only be approached on this side the difficulties of the relieving force were enormous; but as the relief of the town was a necessity in order to enable gustavus to carry out the campaign he intended, the king determined to make a desperate effort to effect it. "he selected three thousand of his best scottish infantry, among whom was hepburn's own regi- ment, and five hundred horse under colonel thurn. when they were drawn up he gave them a short address on the desperate nature of the service they were about to perform, namely, to cut a passage over a strongly fortified hill defended by thirty thousand men. the column, commanded by hep- burn, started at dusk, and, unseen by the enemy, approached their position, and working round it the lion of the norte. began to ascend the hill by a narrow and winding path encumbered by rocks and stones, thick under- wood, and overhanging trees. "the difficulty for troops with heavy muskets, cartridges, breastplates, and helmets, to make their way up such a place was enormous, and the moun- tain side was so steep that they were frequently obliged to haul themselves up by the branches of the trees; nevertheless, they managed to make their way through the enemy's outposts unobserved, and reached the summit, where the ground was smooth and level. "here they fell at once upon the poles, who were working busily at their trenches, and for a time gained a footing there; but a deadly fire of mus- ketry with showers of arrows and stones, opened upon them from all points, compelled the scots to recoil from the trenches, when they were instantly attacked by crowds of horsemen in mail-shirts and steel caps. hepburn drew off his men till they reached a rock on the plateau, and here they made their stand, the musketeers occupying the rock, the pikemen forming in a wall around it. "they had brought with them the portable chevaux-de-frise carried by the infantry in the swedish service, they fixed this along in front, and it aided the spearmen greatly in resisting the des- perate charges of the polish horsemen. hepburn was joined by colonel mostyn, an englishman, and count brahe, with two hundred german arque- busiers, and this force for two days withstood the the lion of the north. incessant attacks of the whole of the polish army. "while this desperate strife was going on, and the attention of the enemy entirely occupied, gus- tavus managed to pass a strong force of men and a store of ammunition into the town, and the poles, seeing that he had achieved his purpose, retired un- molested. in every battle which gustavus fought hepburn bore a prominent part. he distinguished himself at the storming of kesmark and in the de- feat of the poles who were marching to its relief. "he took part in the siege and capture of ma- rienburg and in the defeat of the poles at dirschau. "he was with leslie when last year he defended stralsund against wallenstein, and inflicted upon that haughty general the first reverse he had ever met with. truly hepburn has won his honors by the edge of the sword." "wallenstein is the greatest of the imperial commanders, is he not?" farquhar asked. "he and tilly," munro replied. "'tis a ques- tion which is the greatest. they are men of a very different stamp. tilly is a soldier, and nothing but a soldier, save that he is a fanatic in religion. he is as cruel as he is brave, and as portentously ugly as he is cruel. "wallenstein is a very different man. he has enormous ambition and great talent, and his pos- sessions are so vast that he is a dangerous subject for any potentate, even the most powerful. curi- ously enough, he was born of protestant parents, the lion of the nouth. but when they died, while he was yet a child, he was committed to the care of his uncle, albert slavata, a jesuit, and was by him brought up a strict catholic. when he had finished the course of his study at metz he spent some time at the uni- versity of altdorf, and afterward studied at bologna and padua. he then traveled in italy, germany, france, spain, england and holland, studying the military forces and tactics of each country. "on his return to bohemia he took service under the emperor rudolph and joined the army of gen- eral basta in hungary, where he distinguished him- self greatly at the siege of grau. when peace was made in wallenstein returned to bohemia, and though he was but twenty-three years old he mar- ried a wealthy old widow, all of whose large prop- erties came to him at her death eight years after- ward. "five years later he raised at his own cost two hundred dragoons to support ferdinand of gratz in his war against the venetians. here he greatly distinguished himself, and was promoted to a colonelcy. he married a second time, and again to one of the richest heiresses of austria. on the outbreak of the religious war of he raised a regiment of cuirassiers, and fought at its head. two years later he was made quartermaster-general of the army, and marched at the head of an inde- pendent force into moravia, and there reestablished the imperial authority. "the next year he bought from the emperor the lion of the north. ferdinand, for a little over , , florins, sixty properties which the emperor had confiscated from protestants whom he had either executed or ban- ished. he had been made a count at the time of his second marriage; he was now named a prince, which title was changed into that of the duke of friedland. they say that his wealth is so vast that he obtains two millions and a half sterling a year from his various estates. "when in king christian of denmark joined in the war against the emperor, wallenstein raised at his own cost an army of fifty thousand men and defeated mansfeldt's army. after that he cleared the danes out of silesia, conquered branden- burg and mecklenburg, and laid siege to stralsund, and there broke his teeth against our scottish pikes. for his services in that war wallenstein received the duchy of mecklenburg. "at present he is in retirement. the conquests which his army have made for the emperor aroused the suspicion and jealousy of the german princes, and it may be that the emperor himself was glad enough of an excuse to humble his to powerful sub- ject. at any rate, wallenstein's army was dis- banded, and he retired to one of his castles. you may be sure we shall hear of him again. tilly, you know, is the bavarian commander, and we shall probably encounter him before long." new brandenburg and several other towns were captured and strongly garrisoned, six hundred of lteay's regiment under lieutenant-colonel lindsay the lion of the north. being left in new brandenburg; nigel graeme was still laid up, but his company formed part of the force. "this is ill-fortune indeed," malcolm said to lieu- tenant farquhar, "thus to be shut up here while the army are marching away to win victories in the field." "it is indeed, malcolm, but i suppose that the king thinks that tilly is likely to try and retake these places, and so to threaten his rear as he marches forward. he would never have placed as strong a force of his best soldiers here if he bad not thought the position a very important one." the troops were quartered in the larger buildings of new brandenburg; the officers were billeted upon the burghers. the position of the country people and the inhabitants of the towns of germany during this long and desolating war was terrible; no matter which side won, they suffered. there were in those days no commissariat wagons bring- ing up stores from depots and magazines to the armies. the troops lived entirely upon the country through which they marched. in exceptional cases, when the military chest happened to be well filled the provisions acquired might be paid for, but as a rule armies upon the march lived by foraging. the cavalry swept in the flocks and herds from the country round. flour, forage, and everything else required was seized wherever found, and the the lion of the north. unhappy peasants and villagers thought themselves lucky if they escaped with the loss of all they pos- sessed, without violence, insult, and ill treatment. the slightest resistance to the exactions of the law- less foragers excited their fury, and indiscriminate slaughter took place. the march of an army could be followed by burned villages, demolished houses, crops destroyed, and general ruin, havoc, and desolation. in the cases of towns these generally escaped in- discriminate plunder by sending deputies forward to meet advancing armies, when an offer would be made to the general to supply so much food and to pay so much money on condition that private property was respected. in these cases the main body of the troops was generally encamped outside the town. along the routes frequently followed by armies the country became a desert, the hapless people forsook their ruined homes, and took refuge in the forests or in the heart of the hills, carrying with them their portable property, and driving be- fore them a cow or two and a few goats. how great was the general slaughter and destruction may be judged by the fact that the population of germany decreased by half during the war, and in bohemia the slaughter was even greater. at the commencement of the war the population of bohemia consisted of three million of people, inhabiting seven hundred and thirty eight towns and thirty-four thousand seven hundred villages. at the end of the war there were but tee lion of the north. seven hundred and eighty thousand inhabitants, two hundred and thirty towns, and six thousand villages. thus three out of four of the whole population had been slaughtered during the struggle. malcolm was, with lieutenant farquhar, quar- tered upon one of the principal burghers of new brandenburg and syndic of the weavers. he received them cordially. "i am glad," he said, "to entertain two scottish officers, and, to speak frankly, your presence will be of no slight advantage, for it is only the houses where officers are quartered which can hope to escape from the plunder and exactions of the soldiers. my wife and i will do our best to make you comfortable, but we cannot entertain you as we could have done before this war began, for trade is altogether ruined. none have money wherewith to buy goods. even when free from the presence of contending armies, the country is in- fested with parties of deserters or disbanded soldiers, who plunder and murder all whom they meet, so that none dare travel along the roads save in strong parties. i believe that there is scarce a village standing within twenty miles, and many parts have suffered much more than we have. if this war goes on, god help the people, for know not what will become of them. this is my house, will you please to enter." entering a wide hall, he led them into a low sitting-room where his wife and three daughters the lion of the north. it was nearly a year since farquhar and malcolm had landed on the shores of the baltic, and living as they had done among swedes and germans, they had had no difficulty in learning to speak both languages fluently. the lion of the north. chapter iv. new beandenbubg. fabqtthak and malcolm graeme were soon at home with their hosts. the syndic had offered to have their meals prepared for them in a separate chamber, but they begged to be allowed to take them with the family, with whom they speedily became intimate. three weeks after the capture of new branden- burg the news came that tilly with a large army was rapidly approaching. every effort was made to place the town in a position of defense. day after day messengers came in with the news that the other places which had been garrisoned by the swedes had been captured, and very shortly the imperialist army was seen approaching. the garrison knew that they could expect no relief from gustavus, who had ten days before marched northward, and all prepared for a desperate resistance. the townsfolk looked on with trembling apprehension, their sympathies were with the defenders, and, moreover, they knew that in any case they might expect pillage and rapine should the city be taken, for the property of the towns- the lion of the north. people when a city was captured was regarded by the soldiery as their lawful prize, whether friendly to the conquerors or the reverse. the town was at once summoned to surrender, and upon lindsay's refusal the guns were placed in position, and the siege began. as tilly was anxious to march away to the north to. oppose gustavus he spared no effort to reduce new brandenburg as speedily as possible, and his artillery fired night and day to effect breaches in the walls. the scotch officers saw little of their hosts now, for they were almost continually upon the walls. at the first news of the approach of the imperial- ists the syndic had sent away his daughters to the house of a relative at stralsund, where his son was settled in business. when farquhar and malcolm returned to eat a meal or to throw themselves on their beds to snatch a short sleep, the syndic anx- iously questioned them as to the progress of the siege. the reports were not hopeful. in several places the walls were crumbling, and it was prob- able that a storm would shortly be attempted. the town itself was suffering heavily, for the balls of the besiegers frequently flew high, and came crashing among the houses. few of the inhabi- tants were to be seen in the streets; all had buried their most valuable property, and with scared faces awaited the issue of the conflict. after six days' cannonade the walls were breached in many places, and the imperialists advanced to the lion of the north. the assault. the scotch defended them with great resolution, and again and again the imperialists re- coiled, unable to burst their way through the lines of pikes or to withstand the heavy musketry fire poured upon them from the walls and buildings. but tilly's army was so strong that he was able continually to bring up fresh troops to the attack, while the scotch were incessantly engaged. for eight-and-forty hours the defenders resisted suc- cessfully, but at last, worn out by fatigue, they were unable to withstand the onslaught of the en- emy, and the latter forced their way into the town. still the scots fought on. falling back from the breaches, they contested every foot of the ground, holding the streets and lanes with desperate tenacity, and inflicting terrible losses upon the enemy. at last, twelve hours later, they were gathered in the market place, nearly in the center of the town, surrounded on all sides by the enemy. sev- eral times the scottish bugles had sounded a parley, but tilly, furious at the resistance, and at the loss which the capture of the town had entailed, had issued orders that no quarter should be given, and his troops pressed the now diminished band of scotchmen on all sides. even now they could not break through the circle of spears, but from every window and roof command- ing them a deadly fire was poured in. colonel lindsay was shot dead. captain moncrieff, lieu- tenant keith, and farquhar fell close to malcolm. the lion of the north. the shouts of " kill, kill, no quarter," rose from the masses of imperialists. parties of the scotch, pre- ferring to die sword in hand rather than be shot down, flung themselves into the midst of the enemy and died fighting. at last, when but fifty men remained standing, these in a close body rushed at the enemy and drove them by the fury of their attack some distance down the principal street. then numbers told. the band was broken up, and a desperate hand-to- hand conflict raged for a time. two of the scot- tish officers alone, captain innes and lieutenant lumsden, succeeded in breaking their way down a side lane, and thence, rushing to the wall, leaped down into the moat, and swimming across, succeed- ed in making their escape, and in carrying the news of the massacre to the camp of gustavus, where the tale filled all with indignation and fury. among the scotch regiments deep vows of vengeance were interchanged, and in after-battles (the imperialists had cause bitterly to rue having refused quarter to the scots at new brandenburg. when the last melee was at its thickest, and all hope was at an end, malcolm, who had been fight- ing desperately with his half-pike, found himself for a moment in a doorway. he turned the handle, and it opened at once. the house, like all the others, was full of impe- rialists, who had thrown themselves into it when the scots made their charge, and were now keeping up a fire at them from the upper windows. closing the lion of tee north. the door behind him, malcolm stood for a moment to recover his breath. he had passed unscathed through the three days' fighting, though his armor and helmet were deeply dinted in many places. the din without and above was tremendous. the stroke of swords on armor, the sharp crack of the pistols, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the imperialists, and the wild defiant cries of the highlanders mingled together. as malcolm stood panting he recalled the situa- tion, and, remembering that the syndic's house was in the street behind, he determined to gain it, feel- ing sure that his host would shelter him if he could. passing through the house he issued into a court- yard, quickly stripped off his armor and accouter- ments, and threw them into an out-house. climb- ing on the roof of this he got upon the wall, and ran along it until behind the house of the syndic. he had no fear of being observed, for the attention of all in the houses in the street he had left would be directed to the conflict below. the sound of musketry had already ceased, tell- ing that the work of slaughter was well-nigh over, when malcolm dropped into the court-yard of the syndic; the latter and his wife gave a cry of aston- ishment as the lad entered the house, breathless and pale as death. "can you shelter me awhile?" he said. "i believe that all my countrymen are killed." "we will do our best, my lad," the syndic said at once. "but the houses will be ransacked presently from top to bottom." the lion of the north. "let him have one of the servant's disguises," the wife said; "they can all be trusted." one of the serving-men was at once called in, and he hurried off with malcolm. the young scotchmen had made themselves very popular with the servants by their courtesy and care to avoid giving unnecessary trouble, and in a few minutes malcolm was attired as a serving-man, and joined the servants who were busy in spread- ing the tables with provisions, and in broaching a large cask of wine to allay the passions of the imperialists. it was not long before they came. soon there was a thundering knocking at the door, and upon its being open a number of soldiers burst in. many were bleeding from wounds. all bore signs of the desperate strife in which they had been engaged. "you are welcome," the host said, advancing toward them. "i have made preparations for your coming; eat and drink as it pleases you." eushing to the wine casks, the soldiers appeased their thirst with long draughts of wine, and then fell upon the eatables. other bands followed, and the house was soon filled from top to bottom with soldiers, who ransacked the cupboards, loaded them- selves with such things as they deemed worth carry- ing away, and wantonly broke and destroyed what they could not. the servants were all kept busy bringing up wine from the cellars. this was of good quality, and the soldiers, well satisfied, abstained from personal violence. the lion of the north. all night long pandemonium reigned in the town. shrieks and cries, oaths and sounds of conflict arose from all quarters, as citizens or their wives were slaughtered by drunken soldiers, or the latter quar- reled and fought among themselves for some article of plunder. flames broke out in many places, and whole streets were burned, many of the drunken soldiers losing their lives in the burning houses; but in the morning the bugles rang out, the soldiers desisted from their orgies, and such as were able to stand staggered away to join their colors. a fresh party marched into the town; these collected the stragglers, and seized all the horses and carts for the carriage of the baggage and plunder. the burgomaster had been taken before tilly and commanded to find a considerable sum of money the first thing in the morning, under threat that the whole town would be burned down, and the inhabitants massacred if it was not forthcoming. a council of the principal inhabitants was hastily summoned at daybreak. the syndics of the various guilds between them contributed the necessary sum either in money or in drafts, and at noon tilly marched away with his troops, leaving the smoking and ruined town behind him. many of the inhab- itants were forced as drivers to accompany the horses and carts taken away. among these were three of the syndic's serving-men, malcolm being one of the number. it was well that the pomeranian dialect differed so widely from the bavarian, so malcolm's german the lion of the north. had consequently passed muster without suspicion. the imperialist army, although dragging with them an immense train of carts laden with plunder, marched rapidly. the baggage was guarded by horsemen who kept the train in motion, galloping up and down the line, and freely administering blows among their captives whenever a delay or stoppage occurred. the whole country through which they passed was desolated and wasted, and the army would have fared badly had it not been for the herds of captured cattle they drove along with them, and the wagons laden with flour and wine taken at new branden- burg and the other towns they had stormed. the marches were long, for tilly was anxious to accom- plish his object before gustavus should be aware of the direction he was taking. this object was the capture of the town of magdeburg, a large and important city, and one of the strongholds of protestantism. here he was resolved to strike a blow which would, he believed, terrify germany into submission. when gustavus heard that tilly had marched west, he moved against frankfort on the oder, where the imperialists were commanded by count schomberg. the latter had taken every measure for the defense of the town, destroying all the sub- urbs, burning the country houses and mills, and cutting dawn the orchards and vineyards. gustavus, accompanied by sir john hepburn, at once reconnonered the place and posted his troops. the lion of the north. the bine and yellow brigades were posted among the vineyards on the road to custrin; the white brigade took post opposite one of the two gates of the town. hepburn and the green brigade were stationed opposite the other. as the swedes advanced the imperialist garrison, who were ten thousand strong, opened fire with musketry and cannon from the walls. the weakest point in the defense was assigned by schomberg to colonel walter butler, who commanded a regiment of irish musketeers in the imperialist service. in the evening hepburn and some other officers accom- panied the king to reconnoiter near the walls. a party of imperialists, seeing some officers approach- ing, and judging by their waving plumes they were of importance, sallied quietly out of a postern gate unperceived and suddenly opened fire. lieutenant munro, of munro's regiment, was shot in the leg, and count teuffel, a colonel of the life-guards, in the arm. a body of hepburn's regiment, under major sinclair, rushed forward and drove in the imperialists, a lieutenant-colonel and a captain being captured. so hotly did they press the imperialists that they were able to make a lodgment on some high ground near the rampart, on which stood an old church- yard surrounded by a wall, and whence their fire could sweep the enemy's works. some cannon were at once brought up and placed in position here, and opened fire on the guben gate. captain gunter, of hepburn's regiment, went forward with the lion of the north. twelve men, and in spite of a very heavy fire from the walls, reconnoitered the ditch and approaches to the walls. the next day all was ready for the assault. it was palm sunday, the d of april, and the attack was to take place at five o'clock in the afternoon. before advancing, hepburn and several of the other officers wished to lay aside their armor, as its weight was great, and would impede their move- ments. the king, however, forbade them to do so. "no," he said; "he who loves my service will not risk life lightly. if my officers are killed, who is to command my soldiers?" fascines and scaling-ladders were prepared. the green brigade were to head the assault, and gustavus, addressing them, bade them remember new brandenburg. at five o'clock a tremendous cannonade was opened on the walls from all the swedish batteries, and under cover of the smoke the green bri- gade advanced to the assault. from the circle of the walls a cloud of smoke and fire broke out from cannon and arquebus, muskets and wall-pieces. sir john hepburn and colonel lumsden, side by side, led on their regiments against the guben gate; both carried petards. in spite of the tremendous fire poured upon them from the wall they reached the gate, and the two colonels fixed the petards to it and retired a few paces. in a minute there was a tremendous ex- plosion, and the gate fell scattered in fragments. the lion of the north. then the scottish pikemen rushed forward. as they did so there was a roar of cannon, and a storm of bullets plowed lanes through the close ranks of the pikemen, for the imperialists, expecting the attack, had placed cannon, loaded to the muzzle with bullets, behind the gates. munro's regiment now leaped into the moat, waded across, and planting their ladders under a murderous fire, stormed the works flanking the gate, and then joined their comrades, who were striving to make an entrance. hepburn, leading on the pikemen, was hit on the knee, where he had in a former battle been badly wounded. "go on, bully munro," he said jocularly to his old schoolfellow, "for am wounded." a major who advanced to take his place at the head of the regiment was shot dead, and so terrible was the fire that even the pikemen of hepburn's regiment wavered for a moment; but munro and lumsden, with their visors down and half-pikes in their hands, cheered on their men, and, side by side, led the way. "my hearts !" shouted lumsden, waving his pike —" my brave hearts, let's enter." "forward !" shouted munro; "advance pikes!" with a wild cheer the scots burst forward; the gates were stormed, and in a moment the cannon, being seized were turned, and volleys of bullets poured upon the dense masses of the imperialists. the pikemen pressed forward in close column, shoulder to shoulder, the pikes levelled in front, the the lion of the north. musketeers behind firing on the imperialists in the houses. in the meantime gustavus, with the blue and yellow swedish brigades, stormed that part of the wall defended by butler with his irishmen. these fought with extreme bravery, and continued their resistance until almost every man was killed, when the two brigades burst into the town, the white brigade storming the wall in another quarter. twice the imperialist drums beat a parley, but their sound was deadened by the roar of musketry and the boom of cannon from wall and battery, and the uproar and shouting in every street and house. the green brigade, under its commander, main- tained its regular order, pressing forward with resistless strength. in vain the austrians shouted for quarter. they were met by shouts of: "remember new brandenburg!" even now, when all was lost, tilly's verterans fought with extreme bravery and resolution ; but at last, when butler had fallen, and schomberg and montecuculi, and a few other officers had succeeded in escaping, all resistance ceased. four colonels, thirty-six officers, and three thousand men were killed. fifty colors and ten bagage-waggons, laden with gold and silver plate, were captured. many were taken prisoners, and hundreds were drowned in the oder, across which the survivors of the garrison made their escape. plundering at once began, and several houses were set on fire; but gustavus ordered the drums to beat, and the soldiers the lion of the north. to repair to their colors outside the town, which was committed to the charge of sir john hepburn, with his regiment. the rumor that magdeburg was the next object of attack circulated among tilly's troops the day after they marched west from new brandenburg. it originated in some chance word dropped by a superior officer, and seemed confirmed by the direction which they were taking, which was directly away from the swedish army. there was a report, too, that count pappenheim, who com- manded a separate army, would meet tilly there, and that every effort would be made to capture the town before gustavus could march to its assistance. malcolm could easily have made his escape the first night after leaving new brandenburg; but the distance to be traversed to join the swedish army was great, confusion and disorder reigned every- where, and he had decided that it would be safer to remain with the imperialist army until gustavus should approach within striking distance. on the road he kept with the other two men who had been taken with the horses from the syndic of the weav- ers, and, chatting with them when the convoy halted, he had not the least fear of being questioned by others. indeed none of those in the long train of carts and wagons paid much attention to their fellows, all had been alike forced to accompany the imperialists, and each was too much occupied by the hardships of his own lot, and by thoughts of the home from which he had been torn, to seek the lion of the north. for the companionship of his comrades in mis- fortune. as soon, however, as malcolm heard the report of tilly's intentions, he saw that it was of the utmost importance that the king of sweden should be informed of the imperialist plans as early as possible, and he determined at once to start and endeavor to make his way across the country. at nightfall the train with the baggage and plunder was as usual so placed that it was surrounded by the camps of the various brigades of the army in order to prevent desertion. the previous night an escape would have been comparatively easy, for the soldiers were worn out by their exertions at the siege of new brandenburg, and were still heavy from the drink they had obtained there; but disci- pline was now restored, and the sentries were on the alert. a close cordon of these was placed around the baggage train; and when this was passed, there would still be the difficulty of escap- ing through the camps of soldiery, and of passing the outposts. malcolm waited until the camp became quiet, or rather comparatively quiet, for the supplies of wine were far from exhausted, and reveling was still going on in various parts of the camp, for the rigid discipline in use in modern armies was at that time unknown, and except when on duty in the ranks a wide amount of license was permitted to the sol- diers. the night was fine and bright, and malcolm saw that it would be difficult to get through the line the lion of the north. of sentries who were stationed some thirty or forty yards apart. after thinking for some time he went up to a group of eight or ten horses which were fastened by their bridles to a large store-wagon on the out- side of the baggage-camp. malcolm unfastened the bridles and turned the horses' heads outward. then he gave two of them a sharp prick with his dagger, and the startled animals dashed forward in affright, followed by their companions. they passed close to one of the sentries, who tried in vain to stop them, and then burst into the camp beyond where their rush startled the horses picketed there. these began to kick and struggle desperately to free themselves from their fastenings. the soldiers, -startled at the sudden noise, sprang to their feet, and much confusion reigned until the runaway horses were secured and driven back to their lines. the instant he had thus diverted the attention of the whole line of sentries along that side of the baggage-camp, malcolm crept quietly up and passed between them. turning from the direction in which the horses had disturbed the camp, he made his way cautiously along. only the officers had tents, the men sleeping on the ground around their fires. he had to move with the greatest caution to avoid treading upon the sleepers, and was constantly com- pelled to make detours to get beyond the range of the fires, round which groups of men were sitting and carousing. at last he reached the outside of the camp, and the lion of the north. taking advantage of every clump of bushes he had no difficulty in making his way through the out- posts, for as the enemy was known to be far away, no great vigilance was observed by the sentries. he had still to be watchful, for fires were blazing in a score of places over the country round, show- ing that the foragers of the army were at their usual work of rapine, and he might at any moment meet one of these returning laden with spoil. once or twice, indeed, he heard the gallop- ing of bodies of horse, and the sound of dis- tant pistol-shots and the shrieks of women came faintly to his ears. he passed on, how- ever, without meeting with any of the for- aging parties, and by morning was fifteen miles away from tilly's camp. entering a wood he threw himself down and slept soundly for some hours. it was nearly noon before he started again. after an hour's walking he came upon the ruins of a village. smoke was still curling up from the charred beams and rafters of the cottages, and the destruction had evidently taken place but the day before. the bodies of several men and women lay scattered among the houses; two or three dogs were prowling about, and these growled angrily at the intruder, and would have attacked him had he not flourished a club which he had cut in the woods for self-defense. moving about through the village he heard a sound of wild laughter, and going in that direction saw a woman sitting on the ground. in her lap the lion of the north. was a dead child pierced through with a lance. the woman was talking and laughing to it, her clothes were torn, and her hair fell in wild disorder over her shoulders. it needed but a glance to tell mal- colm that the poor creature was mad, distraught by the horrors of the previous day. a peasant stood by leaning on a stick, mourn- fully regarding her. he turned suddenly round with the weapon uplifted at the sound of malcolm's approach, but lowered it on seeing that the new- comer was a lad. "i hoped you were a soldier," the peasant said, as he lowered his stick. "i should like to kill one, and then to be killed myself. my god, what is life worth living for in this unhappy country three times since the war began has our village been burned, but each time we were warned of the ap- proach of the plunderers, and escaped in time. yesterday they came when i was away, and see what they have done;" and he' pointed to his wife and child, and to the corpses scattered about. "it is terrible," malcolm replied. "i was taken a prisoner but two days since at the sack of new brandenburg, but i have managed to escape. i am a scot, and am on my way now to join the army of the swedes, which will, i hope, soon punish the villains who have done this damage." "i shall take my wife to her mother," the peas- ant said, " and leave her there. i hope god will take her soon, and then i will go and take service under the swedish king, and will slay till i am t the lton of tee north. slain. i would kill myself now, but that i would fain avenge my wife and child on some of these murderers of tilly's before i die." malcolm felt that the case was far beyond any attempt at consolation. * "if you come to the swedish army ask for ensign malcolm gramme of keay's scottish regiment, and i will take you to one of the german corps, where you will understand t he language of your comrades." so saying he turned from the blood-stained village and continued his way. the lion of the north. chapter y. marauders. malcolm had brought with him from tilly's camp a supply of provisions sufficient for three or four days, and a flask of wine. before he started from new brandenburg the syndic had slipped into his hand a purse containing ten gold pieces, and when- ever he came to a village which had escaped the ravages of the avar he had no difficulty in obtaining provisions. it was pitiable at each place to see the a,nxiety with which the villagers crowded round him upon his arrival and questioned him as to the position of the armies and whether he had met with any parties of raiders on the way. everywhere the cattle had been driven into the woods; boys were posted as lookouts on eminences at a distance to bring in word should any body of men be seen moving in that direction; and the inhabitants were prepared to fly instantly at the approach of danger. the news that tilly's army was marching in the opposite direction was received with a deep sense of thankfulness and relief, for they were now assured of a respite from his plunderers, although still the lion of thk north. exposed to danger from the arrival of some of the numerous bands. these, nominally fighting for one or other of the parties, were in truth nothing but marauders, being composed of deserters and desper- adoes of all kinds, who lived upon the misfortunes of the country, and were even more cruel and pitiless than were the regular troops. at one of these villages malcolm exchanged his attire as a serving-man of a rich burgher for that of a peasant lad. he was in ignorance of the present position of the swedish army, and was making for the entrenched camp of schwedt, on the oder, which gustavus had not left when he had last heard of him. on the fourth day after leaving the camp of tilly, as malcolm was proceeding across a bare and desolate country he heard a sound of galloping behind him, and saw a party of six rough-looking horsemen coming along the road. as flight would have been useless he continued his way until they overtook him. they reined up when they reached him. "where are you going, boy, and where do you belong to ?" the leader of the party asked. "i am going in search of work," malcolm an- swered. "my village is destroyed and my parents killed." "don't tell me that tale," the man said, drawing a pistol from his holster. "i can tell by your speech that you are not a native of these parts." there was nothing in the appointments of the the lion of the north. men to indicate which party they favored, and malcolm thought it better to state exactly who he was, for a doubtful answer might be followed by a pistol-shot, which would have brought his career to a close. "you are right," he said quietly; "but in these times it is not safe always to state one's errand to all comers. i am a scotch officer in the army of the king of sweden. i was in new brandenburg when it was stormed by tilly. i disguised myself, and, passing unnoticed, was forced to accompany his army as a teamster. the second night i escaped, and am now making my way to schwedt, where i hope to find the army." the man replaced his pistol. "you are an outspoken lad," he said laughing, "and a fearless one. i believe that your story is true, for no german boor would have looked me in the face and answered so quietly; but i have heard that the scotch scarce know what danger is, though they will find tilly and pappenheim very different customers to the poles." "which side do you fight on?" malcolm asked. "a frank question and a bold one!" the leader laughed. "what say you, men? whom are we for just at present? we were for the imperialists the other day, but now they have marched away, and as it may be the swedes will be coming in this direction, i fancy that we shall soon find ourselves on the side of the new religion." the men laughed. "what shall we do with this the lion of the north. boy? to begin with, if he is what he says, no doubt he has some money with him." malcolm at once drew out his purse. "here are nine gold pieces," he said. "they are all i have, save some small change." "that is better than nothing," the leader said, pocketing the purse. "and now what shall we do with him?" "he is a protestant," one of the men replied; "best shoot him." "i should say," another said, "that we had best make him our cook. old hollo is always grumbling at being kept at the work, and his cooking gets worse and worse. i could not get my jaws into the meat this morning." a murmur of agreement was raised by the other horsemen. "so be it," the leader said. "dost hear, lad? you have the choice whether you will be cook to a band of honorable gentlemen or be shot at once." "the choice pleases me not," malcolm replied. "still, if it must needs be, i would prefer for a time the post of cook to the other alternative." "and mind you," the leader said sharply, "at the first attempt to escape we string you up to the near- est bough. carl, do you lead him back and set him to work, and tell the men there to keep a sharp watch upon him." one of the men turned his horse, and, with mal- colm walking by his side, left the party. they the lion of the norte. soon turned aside from the road, and after a ride of five miles across a rough and broken country entered a wood. another half mile and they reached the foot of an eminence, on the summit of which stood a ruined castle. several horses were picketed among the trees at the foot of the hill, and two men were sitting near them cleaning their arms. the sight of these deterred malcolm from carrying into execution the plan which he had formed—namely, to strike down his guard with his club as he dismounted, to leap on his horse, and ride off. "who have you there, carl ?" one of the men asked as they rose and approached the new- comers. "a prisoner," carl said, "whom the captain has appointed to the honorable office of cook instead of old rollo, whose food gets harder and tougher every day. you are to keep a sharp eye over the lad, who says he is a scotch officer of the swedes, and to shoot him down if he attempts to escape." "why, i thought those scots were very devils to fight," one of the men said, "and this is but a boy. how comes he here?" "he told the captain his story, and he believed it," carl said carelessly, "and the captain is not easily taken in. he was captured by tilly at new brandenburg, which town we heard yesterday he assaulted and sacked, killing every man of the gar- rison; but it seems this boy put on a disguise, and being but a boy i suppose passed unnoticed, and the lion of the north. was taken off as a teamster with tilly's army. he gave them the slip, but as he has managed to fall into our hands i don't know that he has gained much by the exchange. now, youngster, go up to the castle." having picketed his horse the man led the way up the steep hill. when they reached the castle malcolm saw that it was less ruined than it had ap- peared to be from below. the battlements had indeed crumbled away, and there were cracks and fissures in the upper parts of the walls, but below the walls were still solid and unbroken, and as the rock was almost precipitous, save at the point at which a narrow path wound up to the entrance, it was still capable of making a stout defense against attack. a strong but roughly made gate, evidently of quite recent make, hung on the hinges, and passing through it malcolm found himself in the courtyard of the castle. crossing this he entered with his guide what had once been the principal room of the castle. a good fire blazed in the center; around this half a dozen men were lying on a thick couch of straw. malcolm's guide repeated the his- tory of the newcomer, and then passed through with him into a smaller apartment, where a man was attending to several saucepans over a fire. "rollo," he said, " i bring, you a substitute. you have been always grumbling about being told off for the cooking, just because you happened to be the oldest of the band. here is a lad who will take the lion of the north. your place, and to-morrow you can mount your horse and ride with the rest of us." "and be poisoned, i suppose, with bad food when i return," the man grumbled—"a nice lookout truly." "there's one thing, you old grumbler, it is quite certain he cannot do worse than you do. my jaws ache now with trying to eat the food you gave us this morning. another week and you would have starved the whole band to death." - "very well," the man said surlily; "we will see whether you have gained by the exchange. what does this boy know about cooking?" "very little, i am afraid," malcolm said cheer- fully; "but at least i can try. if i must be a cook i will at least do my best to be a good one. now, what have you got in these pots?" rollo grumblingly enumerated their contents, and then putting on his doublet went out to join his com- rades in the hall, leaving malcolm to his new duties. the latter set to work with a will. he saw that it was best to appear contented with the situation, and to gain as far as possible the good-will of the band by his attention to their wants. in this way their vigilance would become relaxed, and some mode of escape might open itself to him. at dusk the rest of the band returned, and malcolm found that those who had met him with the captain were but a portion of the party, as three other companies of equal strength arrived at about the same time, the total number mounting up to over thirty. the lion of the north. malcolm was conscious that the supper was far from being a success; but for this he was not re- sponsible, as the cooking was well advanced when he undertook it; however the band were not dis- satisfied, for it was much better than they had been accustomed to, as malcolm had procured woodwork from the disused part of the castle, and had kept the fire briskly going; whereas his predecessor in the office had been too indolent to get sufficient wood to keep the water on the boil. in the year which malcolm had spent in camp he had learned a good deal of rough cookery, for when on active duty the officers had often to shift for themselves, and consequently next day he was able to produce a dinner so far in advance of that to which the band was accustomed that their appro- bation was warmly and loudly expressed. the stew was juicy and tender, the roast done to a turn, and the bread, baked on an iron plate, was pronounced to be excellent. the band declared that their new cook was a treasure. malcolm had already found that though he could move about the castle as he chose, one of the band was now alwaj^s stationed at the gate with pike and pistols, while at night the door between the room in which he cooked and the hall was closed, and two or three heavy logs thrown against it. under the pretense of getting wood malcolm soon explored the castle. the upper rooms were all roofless and open to the air. there were no windows on the side upon which the path ascended, the lion of the north. and by which alone an attack upon the castle was possible. here the walls were pierced only by narrow loopholes for arrows or musketry. on the other sides the windows were large, for here the steepness of the rock protected the castle from attack. the kitchen in which he cooked and slept had no other entrance save that into the hall, the doorway into the courtyard being closed by a heap of fallen stones from above. two or three narrow slits in the wall allowed light and air to enter. malcolm saw that escape at night, after he had once been shut in, was impossible, and that in the daytime he could not pass out by the gate; for even if by a sudden surprise he overpowered the sentry there, he would be met at the bottom of the path by the two men who were always stationed as guards to the horses, and to give notice of the approach of strangers. the only chance of escape, therefore, was by lowering himself from one of the windows behind down the steep rock. to do this a rope of some seventy feet long was necessary, and after a careful search through the ruins he failed to discover even the shortest piece of rope. that afternoon some of the band on their return from foraging drove in half a dozen cattle, and one of these was with much difficulty compelled to climb up the path to the castle, and was slaughtered in the yard. "there, scot, are victuals for the next week ; cut it up, and throw the head and offal down the rock behind." the lion of this norte. as malcolm commenced his unpleasant task a thought suddenly struck him, and he labored away cheerfully and hopefully. after cutting up the animal into quarters he threw the head, the lower joints of the legs, and the offal from the window. the hide he carried, with the four quarters, into his kitchen, and there concealed it under the pile of straw which served for his bed. when the dinner was over and the usual carousal had begun, and he knew there was no chance of any of the freebooters coming into the room, he spread out the hide on the floor, cut off the edges, and trimmed it up till it was nearly circular in form, and then began to cut a strip two inches wide round and round till he reached the center. this gave him a thong of over a hundred feet long. tying one end to a ring in the wall he twisted the long strip until it assumed the form of a rope, which was, he was sure, strong enough to bear many times his weight. this part of the work was done after the freeboot- ers had retired to rest. when he had finished cut- ting the hide he went in as usual and sat down with them as they drank, as he wished to appear con- tented with his position. the freebooters were dis- cussing an attack upon a village some thirty miles away. it lay in a secluded position, and had so far escaped pillage either by the armies or wandering bands. the captain said he had learned that the principal farmer was a well-to-do man with a large herd of cattle, some good horses, and a well-stocked the lion of the north. house. it was finally agreed that the band should the next day carry out another raid which had already been decided upon, and that they should on the day following that sack and burn glogau. as soon as the majority of the band had started in the morning malcolm made his way with his rope to the back of the castle, fastened it to the window, and launched himself over the rock, which, although too steep to climb, was not perpendicular; and holding by the rope malcolm had no difficulty in lowering himself down. he had before starting taken a brace of pistols and a sword from the heap of weapons which the freebooters had collected in their raids, and as soon as he reached the ground he struck off through the wood. enough had been said during the conversation the night before to indicate the direction in which glogau lay, and he determined in the first place, to warn the inhabitants of the village of the fate which the freebooters intended for them. he walked miles before seeing a single person in the deserted fields. he had long since left the wood, and was now traversing the open country, frequently turning round to examine the country around him, for at any moment after he had left, his absence from the castle might be discovered, and the pursuit begun. he hoped, however, that two or three hours at least would elapse before the discovery was made. he had, before starting, piled high the fire in the hall, and had placed plenty of logs for the purpose of replenishing it close at hand. the lion of the north. he pat tankards on the board, and with them a large jug full of wine, so that the freebooters would have no occasion to call for him, and unless they wanted him they would be unlikely to look into the kitchen. except when occasionally breaking into a walk to get breath, he ran steadily on. it was not until he had gone nearly ten miles that he saw a goat- herd tending a few goats, and from him he learned the direction of glogau, and was glad to find he had not gone very far out of the direct line. at last, after asking the way several times, he arrived within a short distance of the village. the ground had now become undulating, and the slopes were covered with trees. the village lay up a valley, and it was evident that the road he was traveling was but little frequented ending probably at the village itself. proceeding for nearly two miles through a wood he came suddenly upon glogau. it stood near the head of the valley, which was here free of trees, and some cultivated fields lay around it. the houses were surrounded by fruit- trees, and an air of peace and tranquility prevailed such as malcolm had not seen before since he left his native country. one house was much larger than the rest; several stacks stood in the rick-yard, and the large stables and barns gave a proof of the prosperity of its owner. the war which had already devastated a great part of germany had passed by this secluded hamlet. no signs of work were to be seen, the village was the lion of the north. as still and quiet as if it was deserted. suddenly malcolm remembered that it was the sabbath, which, though always kept strictly by the scotch and swedish soldiers when in camp, for the most part passed unobserved when they were engaged in active service. malcolm turned his steps toward the house; as he neared it he heard the sound of singing within. the door was open, and he en- tered and found himself on the threshold of a large apartment in which some twenty men and twice as many women and children were standing singing a hymn which was led by a venerable pastor who stood at the head of the room, with a powerfully built elderly man, evidently the master of the house, near him. the singing was not interrupted by the entrance of the newcomer. many eyes were cast in his direction, but seeing that their leaders went on un- moved, the little congregation continued their hymn with great fervor and force. when they had done the pastor prayed for some time, and then dismissed the congregation with his blessing. they filed out in a quiet and orderly way, but not until the last had left did the master of the house show any sign of observing malcolm, who had taken his place near the door. then he said gravely, "strangers do not often rind their way to glogau, and in truth we can do without them, for a stranger in these times too often means a foe; but you are young, my lad, though strong enough to bear weapons, and can the lion of the north. mean us no ill. what is it that brings you to our quiet village?" "i have, sir, but this morning escaped from the hands of the freebooters at wolfsburg, and i come to warn you that last night i heard them agree to attack and sack your village to-morrow; therefore, before pursuing my own way, which is to the camp of the swedish king, in whose service i am, i came hither to warn you of their intention." exclamations of alarm arose from the females of the farmer's family, who were sitting at the end of the room. the farmer waved his hand and the women were instantly silent. "this is bad news, truly," he said gravely; "hitherto god has protected our village and suffered us to worship him in our own way in peace and in quiet in spite of the decrees of emperors and princes. this gang of wolfsburg have long been a scourge to the country around it, and terrible are the tales we have heard of their violence and cruelty. i have for weeks feared that sooner or later they would extend their ravages even to this secluded spot. "and, indeed, i thank you, brave youth, for the warning you have given us, which will enable us to send our womenkind, our cattle and horses, to a place of safety before these scourges of god arrive here. gretchen, place food and wine before this youth who has done us so great a service; doubt- less he is hungry and thirsty, for 'tis a long journey from wolfsburg hither." the lton of the north. "what think you, father, shall i warn the men at once of the coming danger, or shall i let them sleep quietly this sabbath night for the last time in their old homes?" "what time, think you, will these marauders leave their hold v the pastor asked malcolm. "they will probably start by daybreak," malcolm said, "seeing that the journey is a long one; but this is not certain, as they may intend to remain here for the night, and to return with their plunder on the following day to the castle. "but, sir," he went on, turning to the farmer, "surely you will not abandon your home and goods thus tamely to these freebooters. you have here, unless i am mistaken, fully twenty stout men capable of bearing arms; the marauders number but thirty in all, and they always leave at least five to guard the castle and two as sentries over the horses; thus you will not have more than twenty- three to cope with. had they, as they expected, taken you by surprise, this force would have been ample to put down all resistance here; but as you will be prepared for them, and will, therefore, take them by surprise, it seems to me that you should be able to make a good fight of it, stout men-at-arms though the villains be." "you speak bodly, sir, for one but a boy in years," the pastor said; "it is lawful, nay it is right to defend one's home against these lawless pillagers and murderers; but as you say, evil though their ways are, these freebooters are stout men-at- arms, and we have heard that they have taken a i the lion of the north. terrible vengeance on the villages which have ventured to oppose them." "i am a scottish officer in the king of sweden's army," malcolm said, "and fought at schiefelbrune and new brandenburg, and in the fight when the imperialists tried to relieve colberg ; and having, i hope, done my duty in three such desperate strug- gles against the imperialist veterans, i need not shrink from an encounter with these freebooters. if you decide to defend the village i am ready to strike a blow at them, for they have held me cap- tive for five days, and have degraded me by making me cook for them." a slight titter was heard among the younger females at the indignant tone in which malcolm spoke of his enforced culinary work. "and you are truly one of those scottish soldiers of the swedish hero who fight so stoutly for the faith, and of whose deeds we have heard so much!" the pastor said. "truly we are glad to see you. our prayers have not been wanting night and morn- ing for the success of the champions of the reformed faith. what say you, my friend? shall we take the advice of this young soldier and venture our lives for the defense of our homes?" "that will we," the farmer said warmly. "he is used to war, and can give us good advice. as far as strength goes, our men are not wanting. each has his sword and pike, and there are four or five arquebuses in the village. yes, if there be a chance of success, even of the slightest, we will do our best as men in defense of our homes." the lion of the north. chapter vi. the attack on the village. "and now," the farmer said to malcolm, " what is your advice? that we will fight is settled. when, where and how? this house is strongly built, and we could so strengthen its doors and windows with beams that we might hold out for a long time against them." "no," malcolm said, "that would not be my ad- vice. assuredly we might defend the house; but in that case the rest of the village, the herds and granaries, would fall into their hands. to do any good, we must fight them in the wood on their way hither. but although i hope for a favorable issue, i should strongly advise that you should have the herds and horses driven away. send off all your more valuable goods in the wagons, with your women and children, to a distance. we shall fight all the better if we know that they are all in safety. some of the old men and boys will suffice for this work. and now, methinks, you had best summon the men, for there will be work for them to-night." the lion of the north. the bell which was used to call the hands from their work in the fields and woods at sunset soon sounded, and the men in surprise came trooping in at the summons. when they were assembled the farmer told them the news he had heard, and the determination which had been arrived at to defend the village. after the first movement of alarm caused by the name of the dreaded band of the wolfsburg had subsided malcolm was glad to see an expression of stout determination come over the faces of the assemblage, and all declared themselves ready to fight to the last. four of the elder men were told off at once to superintend the placing of the more movable household goods of the village in wagons, which were to set out at daybreak with the cattle and families. "now," malcolm said, " i want the rest to bring mattocks and shovels and to accompany me along the road. there is one spot which i marked as i came along as being specially suited for defense." this was about half a mile away, and as darkness had now set in the men lighted torches, and with their implements followed him. at the spot which he had selected there was for the distance of a hun- dred yards a thick growth of underwood bordering the track on either side. across the road, at the end of the passage nearest to the farm, malcolm directed ten of the men to dig a pit twelve feet wide and eight feet deep. the rest of the men he set to work to cut nearly through the trunks of the trees the lion of the north. standing nearest the road until thev were ready to fall. ten trees were so treated, five on either side of the road. standing, as they did, among the under- growth, the operation which had been performed on them was invisible to any one passing by. ropes were now fastened to the upper part of the trees and carried across the road, almost hidden from sight by the foliage which met over the path. when the pit was completed the earth which had been taken from it was scattered in the wood out of sight. light boughs were then placed over the hole. these were covered with earth and sods trampled down until the break in the road was not perceptible to a casual eye. this was done by malcolm himself, as the lightest of the party, the boughs sufficing to bear his weight, although they would give way at once beneath that of a horse. the men all worked with vigor and alacrity as soon as they understood malcolm's plans. daylight was breaking when the preparations were completed. malcolm now divided the party, and told them off to their respective posts. they were sixteen in all, excluding the pastor. eight were placed on each side of the road. those on one side were gathered near the pit which had been dug, those on the other were opposite to the tree which was farthest down the valley. the freebooters were to be allowed to pass along until the foremost fell into the pit. the men stationed there were at once to haul upon the rope attached the lion of the nollth. to the tree near it and to bring it down. its fall would bar the road and prevent the horsemen from leaping the pit. those in the rear were, if they heard the crash before the last of the marauders had passed through, to wait until they had closed up, which they were sure to do when the obstacle was reached, and then to fell the tree to bar their retreat. the instant this was done both parties were to run to other ropes and to bring down the trees upon the horsemen gathered on the road, and were then to fall upon them with axe, pike, and arquebus. "if it works as well as i expect," malcolm said, "not one of them will escape from the trap." soon after daybreak bowls of milk and trays of bread and meat were brought down to the workers by some of the women. as there was no immediate expectation of attack, the farmer himself, with the pastor, went back to the village to cheer the women before their departure. "you need not be afraid, wife," the farmer said. "i shall keep to my plans, because when you have once made a plan it is foolish to change it; but i deem not that there is any real need for sending you and the wagons and beasts away. this young scotch lad seems made for a commander, and truly, if all his countrymen are like himself, i wonder no longer that the poles and imperialists have been unable to withstand them. truly he has con- structed a trap from which this band of villains will have but little chance of escape, and i trust that we the lion of the north. may slay them without much loss to ourselves. what rejoicings will there not be in the fifty vil- lages when the news comes that their oppressors have been killed! the good god has assuredly sent this youth hither as his instrument in defeat- ing the oppressors, even as he chose the shepherd boy david out of israel to be the scourge of the philistines." by this time all was ready for a start and, having seen the wagons fairly on their way, the farmer re- turned to the wood, the pastor accompanying the women. three hours passed before there were any signs of the marauders, and malcolm began to think that the idea might have occurred to them that he had gone to glogau, and that they might therefore have postponed their raid upon that vil- lage until they could make sure of taking it by sur- prise, and so capturing all the horses and valuables before the villagers had time to remove them. glogau was, however, quite out of malcolm's direct line for the swedish camp, and it was hardly likely that the freebooters would think that their late captive would go out of his way to warn the village in which he had no interest whatever; indeed they would scarcely be likely to recall the fact that he had been present when they were discussing their proposed expedition against it. all doubts were, however, set at rest when a boy who had been stationed in a high tree near the edge of the wood ran in with the news that a band of horsemen were riding across the plain, and would the lion of the north. be there in a few minutes. every one fell into his appointed place. the farmer himself took the com- mand of the party on one side of the road, malcolm of that on the other. matches were blown and the priming of the arquebuses looked to; then they gathered round the ropes, and listened for the tramp of horses. although it was but a few minutes before it came the time seemed long to those waiting; but at last a vague sound was heard, which rapidly rose into a loud trampling of horses. the marauders had been riding quietly until they neared the wood, as speed was no object; but as they wished to take the vil- lage by surprise—and it was just possible that they might have been seen approaching—they were now riding rapidly. suddenly the earth gave way under the feet of the horses of the captain and his lieutenant, who were riding at the head of the troop, and men and animals disappeared from the sight of those who followed. the two men behind them pulled their horses back on their haunches, and checked them at the edge of the pit into which their leaders had fallen. as they did so a loud crack was heard, and a great tree came crashing down, falling directly upon them, striking them and their horses to the ground. a loud cry of astonishment and alarm rose from those behind, followed by curses and exclamations of rage. a few seconds after the fall of the tree there was a crash in the rear of the party, and the lion of the north. to their astonishment the freebooters saw that an- other tree had fallen there, and that a barricade of boughs and leaves closed their way behind as in front. deprived of their leaders, bewildered and alarmed at this strange and unexpected occurrence, the marauders remained irresolute. two or three of those in front got off their horses and tried to make their way to the assistance of their comrades who were lying crushed under the mass of foliage, and of their leaders in the pit beyond. but now almost simultaneously two more crashes were heard, and a tree from each side fell upon them. panic-stricken now the horsemen strove to dash through the underwood, but their progress was arrested, for among the bushes ropes had been fas- tened from tree to tree; stakes had been driven in, and the bushes interlaced with cords. the trees continued to fall till the portion of the road occupied by the troop was covered by a heap of fallen wood and leaf. then for the first time the silence in the wood beyond them was broken, the flashes of fire- arms darted out from the brushwood, and then with a shout a number of men armed with pikes and axes sprang forward to the attack. a few only of the marauders were in a position to offer any resistance whatever. the greater por- tion were buried under the mass of foliage. many had been struck down by the trunks or heavy arms of the trees. all were hampered and confused by the situation in which the} found themselves. under such circumstances it was a massacre rather the lion of the north. than a fight. malcolm, seeing the inability of the freebooters to oppose any formidable resistance, sheathed his sword, and left it to the peasants to avenge the countless murders which the band had committed, and the ruin and misery which they had inflicted upon the country. in a few minutes all was over. the brigands were shot down, piked or slain by the heavy axes through the openings in their leafy prison. quarter was neither asked for nor given. the freebooters knew that it would be useless, and died cursing their foes and their own fate in being thus slaughtered like rats in a trap. two or three of the peasants were wounded by pistol-shots, but this was all the injury that their success cost them. "the wicked have digged a pit, and they have fallen into it themselves," the farmer said as he approached the spot where malcolm was standing, some little distance from the scene of slaughter. "verily the lord hath delivered them into our hands. i understand, my young friend, why you as a soldier did not aid in the slaughter of these vil- lains. it is your trade to fight in open battle, and you care not to slay your enemies when helpless; but with us it is different. we regard them as wild beasts, without heart or pity, as scourges to be annihilated when we have the chance; just as in winter we slay the wolves who come down to attack our herds." "i blame you not," malcolm said. "when men take to the life of wild beasts they must be slain as the lion of the north. such. now my task is done, and i will journey on at once to join my countrymen; but i will give you one piece of advice before i go. "in the course of a day or two the party left at wolfsburg will grow uneasy, and two of their num- ber are sure to ride hither to inquire as to the tarry- ing of the band. let your men with arquebuses keep watch night and day and shoot them down when they arrive. were i in your place i would then mount a dozen of your men and let them put on the armor of these dead robbers and ride to wolfsburg, arriving there about daybreak. if they see you coming they will take you to be the band returning. the two men below you will cut down without difficulty, and there will then be but three or four to deal with in the castle. "i recommend you to make a complete end of them; and for this reason: if any of the band sur- vive they will join themselves with some other party and will be sure to endeavor to get them to avenge this slaughter; for although these bands have no love for each other, yet they would be ready enough to take up each other's quarrel as against country folk, especially when there is a hope of plunder. exterminate them, then, and advise your men to keep their secret. few can have seen the brigands riding hither to-day. when it is found that the band have disappeared the country around will thank god, and will have little curiosity as to how they have gone. you will of course clear the path again and bury their bodies; and were i you i the lwn of the north. would prepare at once another ambush like that into which they have fallen, and when a second band of marauders comes into this part of the country set a watch night and day. your men will in future be better armed than hitherto, as each of those free- booters carries a brace of pistols. and now, as i would fain be off as soon as possible, i would ask you to let your men set to work with their axes and cut away the boughs and to get me out a horse. several of them must have been killed by the falling trees, and some by the fire of the arquebuses; but no doubt there are some uninjured." in a quarter of an hour a horse was brought up together with the helmet and armor worn by the late captain of the band. as malcolm mounted, the men crowded round him and loaded him with thanks and blessings for the danger from which he had delivered them, their . wives and families. when the fugitives had left the village a store of cooked provisions had been left behind for the use of the defenders during the day. as the women could not be fetched back before nightfall, the farmer had despatched a man for some of this food, and the wallets on the saddle were filled with sufficient to last malcolm for three or four days. a brace of pistols were placed in the holsters, and with a last farewell to the farmer malcolm gave the rein to his horse and rode away from the village. he traveled fast now and without fear of inter- ruption. the sight of armed men riding to join one the lion of the north. or other of the armies was too common to attract any attention and, avoiding large towns, malcolm rode unmolested across the plain. he presently heard the report that the swedes had captured frankfort-on-the-oder, and as he approached that town, after four days' riding, heard that they had moved toward landsberg. thither he followed them, and came up to them outside the walls of that place six days after leaving glogau. the main body of the swedish army had remained in and around frankfort, gustavus having marched against landsberg with only three thousand two hundred musketeers, twelve pieces of cannon, and a strong body of horse. hepburn and reay's scotch regiments formed part of the column, and malcolm with delight again saw the green scarfs and banners. as he rode into the camp of his regiment he was unnoticed by the soldiers until he reached the tents of the officers, before which colonel munro was standing talking with several others. on seeing an officer approach in full armor they looked up, and a cry of astonishment broke from them on recognizing malcolm. "is it you, malcolm graeme, or your wraith?" munro exclaimed. "it is i in the flesh, colonel, sound and hearty." "why, my dear lad," munro exclaimed, holding out his hand, "we thought you had fallen at the sack of xew brandenburg. innes and lums- den were believed to be the only ones who had escaped." the lion of the north. "i have come through it, nevertheless." mal- colm said; "but it is a long story, colonel, and i would ask you first if the king has learned what tilly is doing." "no, he has received no news whatever of him since he heard of the affair at new brandenburg, and is most anxious- lest he should fall upon the army at frankfort while we are away. do you know aught about him?" "tilly marched west from new brandenburg," malcolm said, "and is now besieging magde- burg." "this is news indeed," munro said; "you must come with me at once to the king." malcolm followed colonel munro to the royal tent, which was but a few hundred yards away. gustavus had just returned after visiting the ad- vanced lines round the city. on being told that colonel munro wished to speak to him on impor- tant business, he at once came to the entrance of his tent. "allow me to present to you, sire, malcolm graeme, a very gallant young officer of my regi- ment. he was at new brandenburg, and i deemed that he had fallen there; how he escaped i have not yet had time to learn, seeing that he has but now ridden into the camp; but as he is bearer of news of the whereabouts of tilly and his army, i thought it best to bring him immediately to you." "well, sir," gustavus said anxiously to malcolm, "what is your news?" colonel munro presents malcolm to the king.—page . —j he lion of the north. the lion of the north. "tilly is besieging magdeburg, sire, with his whole strength." "magdeburg!" gustavus exclaimed incredulously. "are you sure of your news? i deemed him advancing upon frankfort." "quite sure, sire, for i accompanied his column to within two marches of the city, and there was no secret of his intentions. he started for that town on the very day after he had captured new bran- denburg." "this is important, indeed," gustavus said; "fol- low me," and he turned and entered the tent. spread out on the table was a large map, which the king at once consulted. "you see, colonel munro, that to relieve magde? burg i must march through ciistrin, berlin, and spandau, and the first and last are strong fortresses. i can do nothing until the elector of brandenburg declares for us, and gives us leave to pass those places, for i dare not march round and leave them in my rear until sure that this weak prince will not take sides with the imperialists. i will dispatch a messenger to-night to him at berlin demanding leave to march through his territory to relieve magdeburg. in the meantime we will finish off with this place, and so be in readiness to march west when his answer arrives. and now, sir," he went on, turning to malcolm, "please to give me the account of how you escaped first from new brandenburg, and then from tilly." malcolm related briefly the manner of his escape g the lion of the north. * • from the massacre at new brandenburg, and how, after accompanying tilly's army as a teamster for two days, he had made his escape. he then still more briefly related how he had been taken prisoner by a band of freebooters, but had managed to get away from them, and had drawn them into an am- bush by peasants, where they had been slain, by which means he had obtained a horse and ridden straight to the army. gustavus asked many questions, and elicited many more details than malcolm had deemed it necessary to give in his first recital. "you have shown great prudence and fore- thought," the king said when he had finished, " such as would not be looked for in so young a soldier." "and he behaved, sire, with distinguished gallan- try and coolness at schiefelbrune, and in the de- structive fight outside colberg," colonel munro put in. "by the slaughter on the latter day he would naturally have obtained his promotion, but he begged to be passed over, asserting that it was best that at his age he should remain for a time as an ensign." "such modesty is unusual," the king said, "and pleases me; see the next time a step is vacant, colonel, that he has it. whatever his age, he has shown himself fit to do man's work, and years are no great value in a soldier; why, among all my scot- tish regiments i have scarcely a colonel who is yet thirty years old." the lion of the north, malcolm now returned with colonel munro to the regiment, and there had to give a full and minute account of his adventures, and was warmly congratu- lated by his fellow officers on his good fortune in escaping from the dangers which had beset him. the suit of armor was a handsome one, and had been doubtless stripped off from the body of some knight or noble murdered by the freebooters, yhe leg-pieces malcolm laid aside, retaining only a cuirass, back-piece, and helmet, as the full armor was too heavy for service on foot. two days later the king gave orders that the assault upon landsberg was to be made that night. the place was extremely strong, and gustavus had in his previous campaign twice failed in attempts to capture it. since that time the imperialists had been busy in strengthening the fortification, and all the peasantry for ten miles round had been em- ployed in throwing up earthworks; but its princi- pal defense was in the marsh which surrounded it, and which rendered the construction of approaches by besiegers almost impossible. its importance consisted in the fact that from its great strength its garrison dominated the whole district known as the mark of brandenburg. it was the key to silesia, and guarded the approaches to pomerania, and its possession was therefore of supreme impor- tance to gustavus. the garrison consisted of five thousand imperialist infantry and twelve troo ps of horse, the whole commanded by count gratz. the the lion of the north. principal approach to the town was guarded by a strong redoubt armed with numerous artillery. colonel munro had advanced his trenches to within a short distance of this redoubt, and had mounted the twelve pieces of cannon to play upon it, but so solid was the masonry of the fort that their fire produced but little visible effect. gus- tavus had brought from frankfort as guide on the march a blacksmith who was a native of landsberg, and this man had informed him of a postern gate into the town which would not be likely to be de- fended, as to reach it it would be necessary to cross a swamp flanked by the advanced redoubt and covered with water. for two days previous to the assault the troops had been at work cutting bushes and trees, and pre- paring the materials for constructing a floating causeway across the mud and water. as soon as night fell the men were set to work laying down the causeway, and when this was finished the column advanced to the attack. it consisted of two hundred and fifty pikemen under colonel munro, and the same number of dragoons under colonel deubattel. hepburn with one thousand musketeers followed a short distance behind them. the pikemen led the way and passed along the floating causeway without difficulty, but the cause- way swayed and often sank under the feet of the cavalry behind them. these, however, also man- aged to get across. their approach was entirely the lion of the north. ill unobserved, and they effected an entrance into the town. scarcely had they done so when they came upon a body of three hundred imperialists who were about to make a sally under colonel gratz, son of the governor. the pikemen at once fell upon them. taken by surprise the imperialists fought neverthe- less stoutly, and eighty of the scots fell under the fire of their musketry. but the pikemen charged home; colonel gratz was killed, with many of his men, and the rest taken prisoners. hepburn marching on behind heard the din of musketry and pressed forward; before reaching the town he found a place in the swamp sufficiently firm to en- able his men to march across it and, turning off, he led his troops between the town and the redoubt, and then attacked the latter in the rear where its defenses were weak, and after three minutes' fight- ing with its surprised and disheartened garrison the latter surrendered. the redoubt having fallen, and munro's men having effected a lodgment in the town, while the retreat on one side was cut off by the force of gustavus, and on the other by a strong body of eavalry under marshal horn, the governor sent a drummer to colonel munro to say that he was ready to surrender, and to ask for terms. the drummer was sent to gustavus, who agreed that the garrison should be allowed to march away with the honors of war, taking their baggage and effects with them. accordingly at eight o'clock the count of gratz ] the lion of the north. at the head of his soldiers marched out with colors hying and drums beating, and retired into silesia. a garrison was placed in landsberg, and the black- smith appointed burgomaster of the town. lands- berg fell on the th of april, and on the th the force marched back to frankfort. the lion of the north. ii chaptee vii. a quiet time. in spite of the urgent entreaties of gustavus and the pressing peril of magdeburg, the wavering duke of brandenburg could not bring himself to join the swedes. he delivered spandau over to them, but would do no more. the swedish army accordingly marched to berlin and invested his cap- ital. the duke sent his wife to gustavus to beseech him to draw off his army and allow him to remain neutral; but gustavus would not listen to his en- treaties, and insisted, as the only condition upon which he would raise the siege, that the duke should ally himself with him, and that the troops of bran- denburg should join his army. these conditions the duke was obliged to accept, but in the meantime his long hesitation and delay had caused the loss of magdeburg which, after a gallant defense, was stormed by the troops of pap- penheim and tilly on the th of may. the fero- cious tilly had determined upon a deed which would,.he believed, frighten germany into submis- sion; he ordered that no quarter should be given, the lion of the north and for five days the city was handed over to the troops. history has no record since the days of attila of so frightful a massacre. neither age nor sex was spared, and thirty thousand men, women and chil- dren were ruthlessly massacred. the result for a time justified the anticipations of the ferocious leader. the terrible deed sent a shudder of horror and terror through protestant germany. it seemed, too, as if the catastrophe might have been averted had the swedes shown diligence and marched to the relief of the city; for in such a time men were not inclined to discuss how much of the blame rested upon the shoulders of the duke of branden- burg, who was, in fact, alone responsible for the delay of the swedes. many of the princes and free towns which had hitherto been stanch to the cause of protestantism, at once hastened to make their peace with the em- peror. for a time the sack of magdeburg greatly strengthened the imperialist cause. no sooner did the news reach the ears of the duke of branden- burg than his fears overcame him, and he wrote to gustavus withdrawing from the treaty he had made, and saying that as spandau had only been delivered to him in order that he might march to the relief of magdeburg, he was now bound in honor to restore it. gustavus at once ordered spandau to be evacu- ated by his troops, and again marched with the army against berlin, which he had but a few days the lion of the north. before left. here he again dictated terms, which the duke was forced to agree to. the swedish army now marched to old bran- denburg, thirty-four miles west of berlin, and there remained for some time waiting until some expected reinforcements should reach it. the place was extremely unhealthy and great numbers died from malaria and fever, thirty of munro's musketeers dying in a single week. during this time the king was negotiating with the elector of saxony and the landgrave of hesse. these were the two most powerful of the protestant princes in that part of germany, and tilly resolved to reduce them to obedience before the army of gustavus was in a position to move forward, for at present his force was too small to enable him to take the field against the united armies of tilly and pappenheim. he first fell upon the landgrave of hesse, and laid thiiringen waste with fire and sword. franken- hausen was plundered and burned to the ground. erfurt saved itself from a similar fate by the pay- ment of a large sum of money, and by engaging to supply great stores of provisions for the use of the imperial army. the landgrave of hesse-cassel was next summoned by tilly, who threatened to carry fire and sword through his dominions unless he would immediately disband his troops, pay a heavy contribution, and receive the imperial troops into his cities and fortresses; but the landgrave refused to accept the terms. the lion of the north. owing to the unhealthiness of the district round old brandenburg gustavus raised his camp there and marched forward to werben, near the junction of the elbe with the havel. he was joined there by his young queen, maria eleonora, with a rein- forcement of eight thousand men, and by the marquis of hamilton with six thousand two hundred, for the most part scotch, who had been raised by him with the consent of charles i., to whom the marquis was master of the horse. werben was distant but a few miles from magde- burg, and pappenheim, who commanded the troops in that neighborhood, seeing that gustavus was now in a position to take the field against him, sent an urgent message to tilly for assistance; and the imperial general, who was on the point of attacking the landgrave of hesse-cassel, at once marched with his army and effected a junction with pappen- heim, their combined force being greatly superior to that of gustavus even after the latter had received his reinforcements. malcolm had not accompanied the army in its march from old brandenburg. he had been pros- trated by fever, and although he shook off the attack it left him so weak and feeble that he was altogether unfit for duty. the army was still lying in its swampy quarters, and the leech who had attended him declared that he could never recover his strength in such an unhealthy air. nigel graeme, who had now rejoined the regiment cured of his wound, reported the surgeon's opinion to munro. the lion of thk north. "i am not surprised," the colonel said, " and there are many others in the same state; but whither can i send them? the elector of brandenburg is so fickle and treacherous that he may at any moment turn against us." "i was speaking to malcolm," nigel replied, "and he said that he would, he could go for a time to recruit his health in that village among the hills where he had the fight with the freebooters who made him captive. he said he was sure of a cordial welcome there, and it is but three days' march from here." "'tis an out-of-the-way place," munro said, " and if we move west we shall be still further removed from it. there are imperial bands everywhere harrying the country unguarded by us, and one of these might at any moment swoop down into that neighborhood." "that is true; but, after all, it would be better that he should run that risk than sink from weak- ness as so many have done here after getting through the first attack of fever." "that is so, nigel, and if you and malcolm prefer that risk to the other i will not say you nay; but what is good for him is good for others, and i will ask the surgeon to make me a list of twenty men who are strong enough to journey by easy stages, and who yet absolutely require to get out of this poisonous air to enable them to effect their recov- ery. we will furnish them with one of the bag- gage-wagons of the regiment, so that they can ride the lion of the north. when they choose. tell the paymaster to give each man in advance a month's pay, that they may have money to pay for what they need. horses are scarce, so we can give them but two with the wagon, but that will be sufficient as they will jour- ney slowly. see that a steady and experienced driver is told off with them. they had best start at daybreak to-morrow morning." at the appointed time the wagon was in readi- ness, and those who had to accompany malcolm gathered round, together with many of their com- rades who had assembled to wish them god-speed. the pikes and muskets, helmets and breast-pieces were placed in the wagon, and then the fever- stricken band formed up before it. munro, nigel, and most of the officers came down to bid farewell to malcolm and to wish him a speedy return in good health. then he placed him- self at the head of the band and marched off, the wagon following in the rear. before they had been gone a mile several of the men had been com- pelled to take their places in the wagon, and by the time three miles had been passed the rest had one by one been forced to give in. malcolm was one of the last. he took his seat by the driver, and the now heavily-freighted wagon moved slowly across the country. a store of pro- visions sufficient for several days had been placed in the wagon, and after proceeding fifteen miles a halt was made at a deserted village and two of the houses in the best condition were taken possession the lion of the north. of, malcolm and the sergeant of the party, a young fellow named sinclair, occupying the one, and the men taking up their quarters in another. the next morning the benefit of the change and the removal from the fever-tainted air made itself already apparent. the distance performed on foot was somewhat longer than on the preceding day; the men were in better spirits and marched with a brisker step than that with which they had left the camp. at the end of the fourth day they ap- proached the wood in which the village was situated. "i will go on ahead," malcolm said. "our ap- proach will probably have been seen, and unless they know who we are we may meet with but a rough welcome. halt the wagon here until one re- turns with news that you may proceed, for there may be pitfalls in the road." malcolm had kept the horse on which he had rid- den to landsberg, and it had been tied behind the wagon. during the last day's march he had been strong enough to ride it. he now dismounted, and taking the bridle ovor his arm he entered the wood. he examined the road cautiously as he went along. he had gone about half way when the farmer with four of his men armed with pikes suddenly appeared in the road before him. "who are you," the farmer asked, "and what would you here?" "do you not remember me?" malcolm said. "it is but three months since i was here." the lion of the north. "bless me, it is our scottish friend! why, lad, i knew you not again, so changed are you. why, what has happened to you?" "i have had the fever," malcolm said, "and have been like to die; but i thought that a change to the pure air of your hills and woods here would set me up. so i have traveled here to ask your hospi- tality." by this time the farmer had come up and had grasped malcolm's hand. all that i have is yours," he said warmly. "the lookout saw a wagon coming across the plain with three or four men walking beside it, and he thought that many more were seated in it; so thinking that this might be a ruse of some free- booting band, i had the alarm-bell rung, and pre- pared to give them a hot reception." "i have brought some sick comrades with me," malcolm said. "i have no thought of quartering them on you. that would be nigh as bad as the arrival of a party of marauders, for they are getting strength and will, i warrant you, have keen appetites ere long; but we have brought tents and will pay for all we have." "do not talk of payment," the farmer said heartily. "as long as there is flour in the store-house and bacon on the beams, any scottish soldier of gus- tavus is welcome to it, still more if they be comrades of thine." "thanks, indeed," malcolm replied. "i left them * the "lion of the north. at the edge of the wood, for i knew not what welcome you might have prepared here ; and seeing so many men you might have shot at them before waiting to ask a question." "that is possible enough," the farmer said, "for indeed we could hardly look for friends. the men are all posted a hundred yards further on." the farmer ordered one of his men to go on and bring up the wagon, and then with malcolm walked on to the village. a call that all was right brought out the defenders of the ambush. it had been arranged similarly to that which had been so successful before, except that instead of the pit, several strong ropes had been laid across the road, to be tightened breast-high as soon as an enemy came close to them. "these are not as good as the pit," the farmer said as they passed them; "but as we have to use the road sometimes we could not keep a pit here which, moreover, might have given way and injured any one from a neighboring village who might be riding hither. we have made a strong stockade of beams among the underwood on either side, so that none could break through into the wood from the path." "that is good," malcolm said; "but were i you i would dig a pit across the road some twelve feet wide, and would cover it with a stout door with a catch, so that it would bear wagons crossing, but when the catches drawn it should rest only on some light supports below and would give way at once the lion of the ndrth. if a weight came on it. it would, of course, be covered over with turf. it will take some time to make, but it will add greatly to your safety." "it shall be done," the farmer said. "wood is in plently and some of my men are good carpenters. i will set about it at once." on arriving at the village malcolm was cordially welcomed by the farmer's wife and daughters. the guest chamber was instantly prepared for him and refreshments laid on the table, while the maids, under the direction of the farmer's wife, at once began to cook a bounteous meal in readiness for the arrival of the soldiers. a spot was chosen on some smooth turf under the shade of trees for the erection of the tents, and trusses of clean straw carried there for bedding. malcolm as he sat in the cool chamber in the farmhouse felt the change delightful after the hot dusty journey across the plain. there was quite an excitement in the little village when the wagon drove up. the men lifted the arms and baggage from the wagon. the women offered fruit and flagons of wine, and fresh cool water to the soldiers. there was not only general pleasure throughout the village caused by the novelty of the arrival of the party from the outer world, but a real satisfaction in receiving these men who had fought so bravely against the oppressors of the protestants of ger- many. there was also the feeling that so long as this body of soldiers might remain in the village they would be able to sleep in peace and security, tee*lion of the north. -safe from the attacks of any marauding band. the tents were soon pitched by the peasants under the direction of sergeant sinclair, straw was laid down in them, and the canvas raised to allow the air to sweep through them. very grateful were the weary men for the kind- ness with which they were received, and even the weakest felt that they should soon recover their strength. in an hour two men came up from the farm-house carrying a huge pot filled with strong soup. an- other brought a great dish of stew. women carried wooden platters, bowls of stewed fruit, and loaves of bread; and the soldiers, seated upon the grass, fell to with an appetite such as they had not experi- enced for weeks. with the meal was an abundant supply of the rough but wholesome wine of the country. to the scottish soldiers after the hardships they had passed through this secluded valley seemed a perfect paradise. they had nought to do save to eat their meals, to sleep on the turf in the shade, or to wander in the woods and gardens free to pick what fruit they fancied. under these circumstances they rapidly picked up strength, and in a week after their arrival would hardly have been recog- nized as the feeble band who had left the swedish camp at old brandenburg. on sunday the pastor arrived. he did not live permanently at the village, but ministered to the inhabitants of several villages scattered among the the lion of the north. hills, holding services in them by turns, and remain- ing a few days in each. as the congregation was too large for the room in the farm-house the service was held in the open air. the scottish soldiers were all present, and joined heartily in the singing, although many of them were ignorant of the lan- guage, and sang the words of scotch hymns to the german tunes. even the roughest of them, and those who had been longest away from their native country, were much moved by the service. the hush and stillness, the air of quiet and peace which prevailed, the fervor with which all joined in the simple service, took them back in thought to the days of their youth in quiet scottish glens, and many a hand was passed hastily across eyes which had not been moistened for many a year. the armor and arms were now cleaned and pol- ished, and for a short time each day malcolm exer- cised the men. the martial appearance and perfect discipline of the scots struck the villagers with ad- miration the first time they saw them under arms, and they earnestly begged malcolm that they might receive from him and sergeant sinclair some in- struction in drill. accordingly every evening when work was done the men of the village were formed up and drilled. several of the soldiers took their places with them in the ranks in order to aid them by their example. after the drill there was sword and pike exercise, and as most of the men had already some knowl- the lion of the north. edge of the use of arms they made rapid progress, and felt an increased confidence in their power to defend the village against the attacks of any small bands of plunderers. to malcolm the time passed delightfully. his kind hosts vied with each other in their efforts to make him comfortable, and it was in vain that he assured them that he no longer needed attention and care. a seat was always placed for him in the coolest nook in the room, fresh grapes and other fruit stood in readiness on a table hard by. the farmer's daughters, busy as they were in their house- hold avocations, were always ready to sit and talk with him when he was indoors, and of an evening to sing him the country melodies. at the end of a fortnight the men were all fit for duty again, but the hospitable farmer would not hear of their leaving, and as news from time to time reached them from the outer world, and mal- colm learned that there was no chance of any en- gagement for a time between the hostile armies, he was only too glad to remain. another fortnight passed and malcolm reluctantly gave the word that on the morrow the march must be recommenced. a general feeling of sorrow reigned in the village when it was known that their guests were about to depart, for the scottish sol- diers had made themselves extremely popular. they were ever ready to assist in the labors of the village. they helped to pick the apples from the heavily-laden trees, they assisted to thrash out the lion of the north. the corn, and in every way strove to repay their entertainers for the kindness they had shown them. of an evening their camp had been the rendezvous of the whole village. there alternately the soldiers and the peasants sang their national songs, and joined in hearty choruses. sometimes there were dances, for many of the villagers played on various instruments; and altogether glogau had never known such a time of festivity and cheerfulness before. late in the evening of the day before they had fixed for their departure the pastor rode into the village. "i have bad news," he said. "a party of pap- penheim's dragoons, three hundred strong, are raid- ing in the district on the other side of the hills. a man came in just as i mounted my horse, saying that it was expected they would attack mansfeld, whose count is a sturdy protestant. the people were determined to resist to the last, in spite of the fate of magdeburg and frankenhausen, but i fear that their chance of success is a small one; but they say they may as well die lighting as be slaughtered in cold blood." "is mansfeld fortified?" malcolm asked. "it has a wall," the pastor replied, "but of no great strength. the count's castle, which stands on a rock adjoining it, might defend itself for some time, but i question whether it can withstand pappenheim's veterans. mansfeld itself is little the lion of the north. ? more than a village. i should not say it had more than a thousand inhabitants, and can muster at best about two hundred and fifty men capable of bearing arms." "how far is it from here?" malcolm asked after a pause. "twenty-four miles by the bridle path across the hills." "when were the imperialists expected to arrive?" "they were ten miles away this morning," the pastor replied; "but as they were plundering and burning as they went they will not probably arrive before mansfeld before the morning. some of the more timid citizens were leaving, and many were sending away their wives and families." "then," malcolm said, "i will march thither at once. twenty good soldiers may make all the dif- ference, and although i have, of course, no orders for such an emergency, the king can hardly blame me, even if the worst happens, for striking a blow against the imperialists here. will you give me a man," he asked the farmer, "to guide us across the hills r "that will i right willingly," the farmer said; "but it seems to me a desperate service to embark in. these townspeople are of little good for fight- ing, and probably intend only to make a show of resistance in order to procure better terms. the count himself is a brave nobleman, but i fear that the enterprise is a hopeless one." "hopeless or not," malcolm said, "i will under- the lion of the north. take it, and will at once put the men under arms. the wagon and horses with the baggage i will leave here till i return, that is if we should ever come back again." a tap of the drum and the soldiers came running in hastily from various cottages where they were spending their last evening with their village friends, wondering at the sudden summons to arms. as soon as they had fallen in, malcolm joined them. "men," he said, "i am sorry to disturb you on your last evening here, but there is business on hand. a party of pappenheim's dragoons are about to attack the town of mansfeld, where the people are of the reformed religion. the siege will begin in the morning, and ere that time we must be there. we have all got fat and lazy, and a little fighting will do us good." the thought of a coming fray reconciled the men to their departure from their quiet and happy rest- ing-place. armor was donned, buckles fastened, and arms inspected, and in half an hour, after a cordial adieu from their kind hosts, the detachment marched off, their guide with a lighted torch leading the way. the men were in light marching order, having left everything superfluous behind them in the wagon; and they marched briskly along over hill and through forest without a halt, till at three o'clock in the morning the little town of mansfeld, with its castle rising above it, was visible before them in the first light of morning. as they approached the walls a musketoon was the lion of the norte. fired, and the alarm-bell of the church instantly rang out. soon armed men made their appearance on the walls. fearing that the burghers might fire before waiting to ascertain who were the new- comers, malcolm halted his band and advanced alone toward the walls. "who are you who come in arms to the peaceful town of mansfeld?" an officer asked from the wall. "i am an officer of his swedish majesty, gustavus, and hearing that the town was threatened with attack by the imperialists, i have marched hither with my detachment to aid in the defense." a loud cheer broke from the walls. not only was the reinforcement a most welcome one, small as it was, for the valor of the scottish soldiers of the king of sweden was at that time the talk of all germany, but the fact that a detachment of these redoubted troops had arrived seemed a proof that the main army of the swedish king could not be far away. the gates were at once opened, and mal- colm with his band marched into mansfeld. t the lion of the north: chaptek viii. the siege of mansfeld. will it please your worship at once to repair to the castle?" the leader of the townspeople said. "the count has just sent down to inquire into the reason of the alarm." "yes," malcolm replied, "i will go at once. in the meantime, sir, i pray you to see to the wants of my soldiers, who have taken a long night march and will be none the worse for some refreshment. hast seen aught of the imperialists?" "they are at a village but a mile distant on the other side of the town," the citizen said. "yester- day we counted eighteen villages in flames, and the peasants who have come in say that numbers have been slain by them." "there is little mercy to be expected from the butchers of magdeburg," malcolm replied; "the only arguments they will listen to are steel and lead, and we will not be sparing of these." a murmur of assent rang through the townsfolk who had gathered round, and then the burgomaster himself led malcolm up the ascent to the castle. the news that the newcomers were a party of scots the lion of the north. had already been sent up to the castle, and as mal- colm entered the gateway the count came forward to welcome him. "you are welcome indeed, fair sir," he said. "it seems almost as if you had arrived from the clouds to our assistance, for we had heard that the swedish king and his army were encamped around old brandenburg." "his majesty has moved west, i hear," malcolm said; "but we have been a month away from the camp. my detachment consisted of a body of in- valids who came up among the hills to get rid of the fever which was playing such havoc among our ranks. i am glad to say that all are restored, and fit as ever for a meeting with the imperialists. i heard but yestereven that you were'expecting an attack, and have marched all night to be here in time. my party is a small one, but each man can be relied upon, and when it comes to hard fighting, twenty good soldiers may turn the day." "you are heartily welcome, sir, and i thank you much for coming to our aid. the townspeople are determined to do their best, but most of them have little skill in arms. i have a score or two of old soldiers here in the castle, and had hoped to be able to hold this to the end; but truly i despaired of a successful defense of the town. but enter, i pray you, the countess will be glad to welcome you." malcolm accompanied the count to the banquet- hall of the castle. the countess, a gentle and grace- ful woman, was already there; for indeed but few the lion of the north. in mansfeld had closed an eye that night, for it was possible that the imperialists might attack without delay. by her side stood her daughter, a girl of about fourteen years old. malcolm had already stated his name to the count, and the latter now presented him to his wife. "we have heard so much of the scottish soldiers," she said as she held out her hand, over which malcolm bent deeply, "that we have all been curious to see them, little dreaming that a band of them would appear here like good angels in our hour of danger." "it was a fortunate accident which found me within reach when i heard of the approach of the imperialists. the names of the count and countess of mansfeld are so well known and so highly esteemed through protestant germany that i was sure that the king would approve of my hastening to lend what aid i might to you without orders from him." "i see you have learned to flatter," the countess said smiling. "this is my daughter thekla." "i am glad to see you," the girl said; " but i am a little disappointed. i had thought that the scots were such big, fierce soldiers, and you are not very big—not so tall as papa; and you do not look fierce at all—not half so fierce as my cousin caspar, who is but a boy." "that is very rude, thekla," her mother said re- provingly, while malcolm laughed gayly. "you are quite right, fraulein thekla. i know the lion of the north. i do not look very fierce, but i hope when my moustache grows i shall come up more nearly to your expectations. as to my height, i have some years to grow yet, seeing that i am scarce eighteen, and perhaps no older than your cousin." "have you recently joined, sir?" the countess asked. "i have served through the campaign," malcolm replied, "and have seen some hard knocks given, as you may imagine when i tell you that i was at the siege of new brandenburg." "where your soldiers fought like heroes, and, as heard, all died sword in hand save two or three offi- cers who managed to escape." "i was one of the three, countess; but the tale is a long one, and can be told after we have done with the imperialists. now, sir," he went on, turn- ing to the count, " i am at your orders, and will take post with my men at any point that you may think fit." "before doing that," the count said, "you must join us at breakfast. you must be hungry after your long march, and as i have been all night in my armor i shall do justice to it myself. you will, of course, take up your abode here. as to other mat- ters i have done my best, and the townspeople were yesterday all told off to their places on the walls. i should think it were best that your band were stationed in the market-place as a reserve, they could then move to any point which might be seri- ously threatened. should the imperialists enter the lion of the north. the town the citizens have orders to fall back here fighting. all their most valuable goods were sent up here yesterday, together with such of their wives and families as have not taken flight, so that there will be nothing to distract them from their duty." "that is good," malcolm said. "the thought that one is fighting for home and family must nerve a man in the defense; but when the enemy once breaks in he would naturally think of home first and hasten away to defend it to the last instead of obeying orders and falling back with his comrades in good order and discipline." the meal was a cheerful one. malcolm related more in detail how he and his detachment happened to be so far removed from the army. just as the meal came to an end a drum beat in the town and the alarm-bells began to ring. the count and malcolm sallied out at once to the outer wall, and saw a small party of officers riding from the village occupied by the imperialists toward the town. "let us descend," the count said. "i presume they are going to demand our surrender." they reached the wall of the town just as the imperialist officers approached the gate. "in the name of his majesty the emperor," one of them cried out, "i command you to open the gate and to surrender to his good will and pleasure." "the smoking villages which i see around me," the lion of the north. count mansfeld replied, "are no hopeful sign of any good will or pleasure on the part of his majes- ty toward us. as to surrendering, we will die rather. but i am willing to pay a fair ransom for the town if you will draw off your troops and march away." "beware, sir!'' the officer said. "i have a force here sufficient to compel obedience, and i warn you of the fate which will befall all within these walls if you persist in refusing to admit us." "i doubt not as to their fate," the count replied; "there are plenty of examples before us of the ten- der mercy which your master's troops show toward the towns you capture. once again i offer you a ransom for the town. name the sum, and if it be in reason such as i and the townspeople can pay, it shall be yours; but open the gates to you we will not." "very well," the officer said; "then your blood be on your own heads." and turning his horse he rode with his companions back toward the village. on their arrival there a bustle was seen to pre- vail. a hundred horsemen rode off and took post on an eminence near the town, ready to cut off the retreat of any who might try to escape, and to enter the town when the gates were forced open. the other two hundred men advanced on foot in a close body toward the principal gate. "they will try and blow it open with petards," malcolm said. "half of my men are musketeers and good shots, and i will, with your permission, the lion of the north. place them on the wall to aid the townsfolk there, for if the gate is blown open and the enemy force their way in it will go hard with us." the count assented and malcolm posted his musketeers on the wall, ordering sergeant sinclair with the remainder to set to work to erect barri- cades across the street leading from the gate, so that, in case this were blown in, such a stand might be made against the imperialists as would give the townspeople time to rally from the walls and to gather there. the imperialists heralded their advance by open- ing fire with pistols and musketoons against the wall, and the defenders at once replied. so heavy was the fire that the head of the column wavered, many of the leading files being at once shot down, but, encouraged by their officers, they rallied, and pushed forward at a run. the fire of the towns- people at once became hurried and irregular, but the scots picked off their men with steady aim. the leader of the imperialists, who carried a petard, advanced boldly to the edge of the ditch. the fosse was shallow and contained but little water, and he at once dashed into it and waded across, for the drawbridge had, of course, been raised. he climbed up the bank, and was close to the gate, when malcolm, leaning far over the wall, discharged his pistol at him. the ball glanced from the steel armor. malcolm drew his other pistol and again fired, this time more effectually, for the ball struck be- the lion of the north. tween the shoulder and the neck at the junction of the breast and back pieces and passed down into the body of the austrian who, dropping the petard, fell dead; but a number of his men were close behind him. "quick, lads!" malcolm cried. "put your strength to this parapet. it is old and rotten. now, altogether! shove!" the soldiers bent their strength against the para- pet, while some of the townspeople, thrusting their pikes into the rotten mortar between the stones, prised them up with all their strength. the para- pet tottered, and then with a tremendous crash fell, burying five or six of the imperialists and the petard beneath the ruins. a shout of exultation rose from the defenders, and the imperialists at once withdrew at full speed. they halted out of gunshot, and then a number of men were sent back to the village, whence they returned carrying ladders, some of which had been collected the day before from the neighboring villages and others manufactured during the night. the enemy now divided into three parties, which advanced simultaneously against different points of the wall. notwithstanding the storm of shot poured upon them as they advanced, they pressed forward until they reached the wall and planted their ladders, and then essayed to climb; but at each point the stormers were stoutly met with pike and sword, while the musketeers from the flanking towers poured their bullets into them. the lion of the north. the troops proved themselves worthy of their reputation, for it was not until more than fifty had fallen that they desisted from the attempt and drew off. "now we shall have a respite," malcolm said. "if there are no more of them in the neighborhood methinks they will retire altogether, but if they have any friends with cannon anywhere within reach they will probably send for them and renew the attack." the day passed quietly. parties of horsemen were seen leaving the village to forage and plunder the surrounding country, but the main body remained quietly there. the next day there was still no renewal of the attack, but as the enemy remained in occupation of the village malcolm guessed that they must be waiting for the arrival of reinforce- ments. the following afternoon a cloud of dust was seen upon the plain, and presently a column of infantry some four hundred strong, with three cannon, could be made out. the townspeople now wavered in their determination. a few were still for resistance, but the majority held that they could not attempt to withstand an assault by so strong a force, and that it was better to make the best terms they could with the enemy. a parlementaire was accordingly dispatched to the imperialists asking what terms would be granted should the place surrender. "we will grant no terms whatever," the colonel in command of the imperialists said. "the town is the lion of the north. at our mercy, and we will do as we will with it and all within it; but tell count mansfeld that if he will surrender the castle as well as the town at once, and without striking another blow, his case shall receive favorable consideration." "that will not do," the count said. "they either guarantee our lives or they do not. i give not up my castle on terms like these, but i will exercise no pressure on the townspeople. if they choose to defend themselves till the last i will fight here with them; if they choose to surrender they can do so; and those who differ from their fellows and put no faith in tilly's wolves can enter the castle with me." the principal inhabitants of the town debated the question hotly. malcolm lost patience with them, and said: "are you mad as well as stupid? do you not see the smoking villages round you? do you not remember the fate of magdeburg, new branden- burg, and the other towns which have made a resistance? you have chosen to resist. it was open to you to have fled when you heard the imperialists were coming. you could have opened the gates then with some hope at least of your lives; but you decided to resist. you have killed some fifty or sixty of their soldiers. you have repulsed them from a place which they thought to take with scarce an effort. you have compelled them to send for reinforcements and guns. and now you are talking of opening the gates without even obtaining a promise that your lives shall be spared. this is the lion of the north. the extremity of folly, and all i can say is, if you take such a step you will well deserve your fate." malcolm's indignant address had its effect, and after a short discussion the townspeople again placed themselves at the count's disposal, and said that they would obey his orders. "i will give no orders," the count said. "my scottish friend here agrees with me that it is use- less to try to defend the town. we might repulse several attacks, but in the end they would surely break in, for the walls are old and weak, and will crumble before their cannon. were there any hope of relief one would defend them to the last, but as it is it would be but a waste of blood, for many would be slain both in the defense and before they could retreat to the castle; therefore we propose at once to withdraw. we doubt not we can hold the castle. any who like to remain in their houses and trust to the tender mercy of tilly's wolves can do so." there was no more hesitation, and a cannon-ball, the first which the imperialists had fired, at that moment crashed into a house hard by, and sharp- ened their decision wonderfully. "i have no great store of provisions in the castle," the count said, and although i deem it not likely that we shall have to stand a long siege we must be prepared for it. there are already more than seven hundred of your wives and children there, therefore while half of the force continue to show themselves upon the walls, and so deter the the lion of the north. enemy from attempting an assault until they have opened some breaches, let the rest carry up provi- sions to the castle. any houses from which the women have fled are at once to be broken open. all that we leave behind the enemy will take, and the less we leave for them the better; therefore all stores and magazines of food and wine must be con- sidered as public property. let the men at once be divided into two bodies—the one to guard the walls, the other to search for and carry up provisions. they can be changed every three or fonr hours." the resolution was taken and carried into effect without delay. most of the horses and carts in the town had left with the fugitives, those that re- mained were at once set to work. the carts were laden with large barrels of wine and sacks of flour, while the men carried sides of bacon, kegs of but- ter, and other portable articles on their heads. the imperialists, seeing the movement up the steep road to the castle gate, opened fire with their arque- buses, but the defenders of the wall replied so hotly that they were forced to retire out of range. the cannon played steadily all day, and by nightfall two breaches had been effected in the wall and the gate had been battered down. but by this time an ample store of provisions had been collected in the castle and as the imperialists were seen to form up for the assault the trumpet was sounded, and at the signal the whole of the defenders of the walls left their posts and fell back to the castle, leaving the deserted town at the the lion of the norte. mercy of the enemy. the imperialists raised a shout of triumph as they entered the breaches and found them undefended, and when once assured that the town was deserted they broke their ranks and scattered to plunder. it was now quite dark, and many of them drag- ging articles of furniture into the streets made great bonfires to light them at their work of plunder. but they had soon reason to repent having done so, for immediately the flames sprang up and lighted the streets, flashes ran round the battlements of the castle, and a heavy fire was opened into the streets, killing many of the soldiers. seeing the danger of thus exposing the men to the fire from the castle, the imperialist commander issued orders at once that all fires should be extinguished, that any one setting fire to a house should be instantly hung, and that no lights were to be lit in the houses whose windows faced the castle. foreseeing the possibility of an attack from the castle, the austrians placed a hundred men at the foot of the road leading up to it, and laid their three cannon loaded to the muzzle to command it. "have you not," malcolm asked the count, " some means of exit from the castle besides the way into the town?" "yes," the count said, "there is a footpath down the rock on the other side." "then," malcolm said, " as soon as they are fairly drunk, which will be before midnight, let us fall upon them from the other side. leave fifty of your the lion of the north. oldest men with half a dozen veteran soldiers to de- fend the gateway against a sudden attack ; with the rest we can issue out, and marching round, enter by the gate and breaches, sweeping the streets as we go, and then uniting, burst through any guard they may have placed to prevent a sortie, and so regain the castle." the count at once assented. in a short time shouts, songs, the sound of rioting and quarrels, arose from the town, showing that revelry was gen- eral. at eleven o'clock the men in the castle were mustered, fifty were told off to the defense with five experienced soldiers, an officer of the count being left in command. the rest sallied through a little door at the back of the castle, and noiselessly descended the steep path. on arriving at the bottom they were divided into three bodies. malcolm with his scots and fifty of the townspeople formed one. count mansfeld took the command of another, composed of his own soldiers and fifty more of the townspeo- ple. the third consisted of eighty of the best fight- ing men of the town under their own leaders. these were to enter by the gate, while the other two parties came in by the breaches. the moment the attack began the defenders of the castle were to open as rapid a fire as they could upon the foot of the road so as to occupy the attention of the enemy's force there, and to lead them to anticipate a sortie. the breach by which malcolm was to enter was the farthest from the castle, and his command the lion of the north. would, therefore, be the last in arriving at its sta- tion. when he reached it he ordered the trum- peters who accompanied him to sound, and at the signal the three columns rushed into the town utter- ing shouts of " gustavus! gustavus!" the imperialists in the houses near were slaughtered with scarcely any resistance. they were for the most part intoxicated, and such as re- tained their senses were paralyzed at the sudden attack, and panic-stricken at the shouts, which por- tended the arrival of a relieving force from the army of the king of sweden. as the bands pressed forward, slaying all whom they came upon, the re- sistance became stronger; but the three columns were all headed by parties of pikemen who ad- vanced steadily and in good order, bearing down all opposition, and leaving to those behind them the task of slaying all found in the houses. lights flashed from the windows and partly lit up the streets, and the imperialist officers attempted to rally their men; but the scottish shouts," a hep- burn! a hepburn!" and the sight of their green scarfs added to the terror of the soldiers, who were convinced that the terrible green brigade of the king of sweden was upon them. hundreds were cut down after striking scarce a blow in their defense, numbers fled to the walls and leaped over. the panic communicated itself to the party drawn up to repel a sortie. hearing the veils, screams, and shouts, accompanied by the musketry approaching from three different quarters m the lion of the north. of the town, while a steady fire from the castle in- dicated that the defenders there might at any moment sally out upon them, they stood for a time irresolute; but as the heads of the three columns approached they lost heart, quitted their station, and withdrew in a body by a street by which they avoided the approaching columns. on arriving at the spot malcolm found the guns deserted. "the town is won now," he said. "i will take my post here with my men in case the austrians should rally; do you with the rest scatter over the town and complete the work, but bid them keep to- gether in parties of twenty." the force broke up and scattered through the town in their work of vengeance. house after house was entered and searched, and all who were found there put to the sword; but by this time most of those who were not too drunk to fly had already made for the gates. in half an hour not an imperialist was left alive in the town. then guards were placed at the gate and breaches, and they waited till morning. not a sign of an imperialist was to be seen on the plain, and parties sallying out found that they had fled in the utmost disorder. arms, accouterments, and portions of plunder lay scattered thickly about, and it was clear that in the belief that the swedish army was on them, the imperialists had fled panic- stricken, and were now far away. upward of two hundred bodies were found in the streets and houses. the lion of the north. reinforcements arrived; and in that case, with so small a force at my command i could not have hoped to defend the castle successfully. moreover, the idea of the sortie which has freed us of them and saved the town from destruction was entirely yours. no, my friend, say what you will i feel that i am indebted to you for the safety of my wife and child, and so long as i live i shall be deeply your debtor." the following day malcolm with his party marched away. the count had presented him with a suit of magnificent armor, and the countess with a gold chain of great value. handsome presents were also made to sergeant sinclair, who was a cadet of good family, and a purse of gold was given to each of the soldiers, so in high spirits the band marched away over the mountains on their return to the village. the lion of the north. chapter ix. the battle of beeitenfeld. geeat joy was manifested as malcolm's band marched into the village and it was found that they had accomplished the mission on which they went, had saved mansfeld, and utterly defeated the imperialists, and had returned in undiminished num- bers, although two or three had received wounds more or less serious, principally in the first day's fighting. they only remained one night in the vil- lage. on the following morning the baggage was placed in the wagons with a store of fruit and provisions for their inarch, and after another hearty adieu the detachment set out in high spirits. after marching for two days they learned that the swedish army had marched to werben, and that tilly's army had followed it there. after the receipt of this news there was no more loitering; the marches were long and severe, and after making a detour to avoid the imperialists the detachment entered the royal camp without having met with any adventure on the way. his fellow- officers flocked round malcolm to congratulate him on his safe return and on his restored health. the lion of the north. "the change has done wonders for you, mal- colm,'' nigel graeme said. "why, when you marched out you were a band of tottering scare- crows, and now your detachment looks as healthy and fresh as if they had but yesterday left scot- land; but come in, the bugle has just sounded to supper, and we are only waiting for the colonel to arrive. he is at present in council with the king with hepburn and some more. ah! here he comes." munro rode up and leaped from his horse, and after heartily greeting malcolm led the way into the tent where supper was laid out. malcolm was glad to see by the faces of his comrades that all had shaken off the disease which had played such havoc among them at old brandenburg. "is there any chance of a general engagement?" he asked nigel. "not at present," nigel said. "we are expect- ing the reinforcements up in a few days. as you see we have fortified the camp too strongly for tilly to venture to attack us here. only yesterday he drew up his army and offered us battle; but the odds were too great, and the king will not fight till his reinforcements arrive. some of the hotter spirits were sorry that he would not accept tilly's invitation, and i own that i rather gnashed my teeth myself; but i knew that the king was right in not risking the whole cause rashly when a few days will put us in a position to meet the impe- rialists on something like equal terms. is there any news, colonel ?" he asked, turning to munro. the lion of the north. "no news of importance," the colonel replied; "but the king is rather puzzled. a prisoner was taken to-day—one of pappenheim's horsemen—and he declares that a force of horse and foot have been defeated at mansfeld by the swedish army with heavy loss. he avers that he was present at the affair, and arrived in camp with the rest of the beaten force only yesterday. we cannot make it out, as we know that there are no swedish troops anywhere in that direction." malcolm burst into a hearty laugh, to the surprise of his fellow-officers. "i can explain the matter, colonel," he said. "it was my detachment that had the honor of repre- senting the swedish army at mansfeld." "what on earth do you mean, malcolm?" the colonel asked. "well, sir, as you know i went with a detach- ment to the village where i had before been well treated, and had earned the gratitude of the people by teaching them how to destroy a party of marauders. after having been there for a month i was on the point of marching, for the men were all perfectly restored to health; and indeed i know i ought to have returned sooner, seeing that the men were fit for service; but as i thought you were still at old brandenburg, and could well dispense with our services, i lingered on to the last. but just as i was about to march the news came that a party of imperialist horse, three hundred strong, was about to attack mansfeld, a place of whose exist- the lion of the north. ence i had never heard; but hearing that its count was a stanch protestant, and that the inhabitants intended to make a stout defense, i thought that i could not be doing wrong in the service of the king by marching to aid them, the place being but twenty- four miles away across the hills. we got there in time, and aided the townspeople to repulse the first assault. after two days they brought up a rein- forcement of four hundred infantry and some cannon. as the place is a small one, with but about two hundred and fifty fighting men of all ages, we deemed it impossible to defend the town, and while they were breaching the walls fell back to the castle. the imperialists occupied it at sunset, and at night, leaving a party to hold the castle, we sallied out from the other side, and marching round entered by the breaches, and, raising the swedish war-cry, fell upon the enemy, who were for the most part too drunk to offer any serious resistance. we killed two hundred and fifty of them, and the rest fled in terror, thinking they had the whole swedish army upon them. the next day i started on my march back here, and though we have not spared speed, it seems that the imperialists have arrived before us." a burst of laughter and applause greeted the so- lution of the mystery. "you have done well, sir," munro said cordially, and have rendered a great service not only in the defeat of the imperialists, but in its consequences here, for the prisoner said that last night five thou- the lion of the north. sand men were marched away from tilly's army to observe and make head against this supposed swe- dish force advancing from the east. when i have done my meal i will go over to the king with the news, for his majesty is greatly puzzled, especially as the prisoner declared that he himself had seen the scots of the green brigade in the van of the column, and had heard the war-cry, 'a hepburn! a hepburn!' "hepburn himself could make neither head nor tail of it, and was naif inclined to believe that this avenging force was led by the ghosts of those who had been slain at new brandenburg. whenever we can't account for a thing, we scots are inclined to believe it's supernatural. "now tell me more fully about the affair, mal- colm. by the way, do you know you are a lieuten- ant now? poor foulis died of the fever a few days after you left us, and as the king had himself or- dered that you were to have the next vacancy, i of course appointed you at once. we must drink to- night to your promotion." malcolm now related fully the incidents of the siege. "by my faith, malcolm graeme," munro said when he had finished, "you are as lucky as you are brave. mansfeld is a powerful nobleman, and has large possessions in various parts of germany and much influence, and the king will be grateful that you have thus rendered him such effective assist- ance and so bound him to our cause. i believe he has no children." the lion of the north. "he has a daughter," malcolm said, "a pretty little maid some fourteen years old." "in faith, malcolm, 'tis a pity that you and she are not four or five years older. what a match it would be for you, the heiress of mansfeld; she would be a catch indeed! well, there's time enough yet, my lad, for there is no saying how long this war will last." there was a general laugh, and the colonel continued: "malcolm has the grace to color, which i am afraid the rest of us have lost long ago. never mind, malcolm, there are plenty of scotch cadets have mended their fortune by means of a rich heiress before now, and i hope there will be many more. i am on the lookout for a wealthy young countess myself, and i don't think there is one here who would not lay aside his armor and sword on such inducement. and now, gentlemen, as we have all finished, i will leave you to your wine while i go across with our young lieutenant to the king. i must tell him to night, or he will not sleep with wondering over the mystery. we will be back anon and will broach a cask of that famous wine we picked up the other day, in honor of malcolm graeme's promotion." sir john hepburn was dining with gustavus, and the meal was just concluded when colonel munro was announced. "well, my brave munro, what is it ?" the king said heartily, "and whom have you here? the the lion of the north. young officer who escaped from new brandenburg and tilly, unless i am mistaken." "it is, sire, but i have to introduce him in a new character to-night, as the leader of your majesty's army who have defeated the imperialists at mans- feld." "say you so?" exclaimed the king. "then, though i understand you not, we shall hear a solution of the mystery which has been puzzling us. sit down, young sir; fill yourself a flagon of wine, and ex- pound this riddle to us." malcolm repeated the narrative as he had told it to his colonel, and the king expressed his warm satisfaction. "you will make a great leader some day if you do not get killed in one of these adventures, young sir. bravery seems to be a common gift of the men of your nation; but you seem to unite with it a sur- prising prudence and sagacity, and, moreover, this march of yours to mansfeld shows that you do not fear taking responsibility, which is a high and rare quality. you have done good service to the cause, and i thank you, and shall keep my eye upon you in the future." the next day malcolm went round the camp, and was surprised at the extensive works which had been erected. strong ramparts and redoubts had been thrown up round it, faced with stone, and mounted with one hundred and fifty pieces of can- non. in the center stood an inner intrenchment with earthworks and a deep fosse. in this stood the lion of the north. the tents of the king and those of his principal offi- cers. the marquis of hamilton had, malcolm heard, arrived and gone. he had lost on the march many of the soldiers he had enlisted in england, who had died from eating german bread, which was heavier, darker colored, and more sour than that of their own country. this, however, did not disagree with the scotch, who were accustomed to black bread. "i wonder," malcolm said to nigel graeme, " that when the king has in face of him a force so superior to his own he should have sent away on detached service the four splendid regiments which they say the marquis brought." "well, the fact was," nigel said laughing, " ham- ilton was altogether too grand for us here. we all felt small and mean so long as he remained. gus- tavus himself, who is as simple in his tastes as any officer in the army, and who keeps up no ostenta- tious show, was thrown into the shade by his visitor. why, had he been the emperor of germany or the king of france he could not have made a braver show. his table was equipped and furnished with magnificence; his carriages would have created a sensation in paris; the liveries of his attendants were more splendid than the uniforms of generals; he had forty gentlemen as esquires and pages, and two hundred yeomen, splendidly mounted and armed, rode with him as his bodyguard. "altogether he was oppressive; but the hamil- tons have ever been fond of show and finery. so the lion of the north. gustavus has sent him and his troops away to guard the passages of the oder and to cover our retreat should we be forced to fall back." tilly, finding that the position of gustavus was too strong to be forced, retired to wolmirstadt, whence he summoned the elector of saxony to admit his army into his country, and either to dis- band the saxon army or to unite it to his own. hitherto the elector had held aloof from gustavus, whom he regarded with jealousy and dislike, and had stood by inactive although the slightest move- ment of his army would have saved magdeburg. to disband his troops, however, and to hand over his fortresses to tilly, would be equivalent to giving up his dominions to the enemy; rather than do this he determined to join gustavus, and having dispatched arnheim to treat with the king of sweden for alliance, he sent a point-blank refusal to tilly. the imperialist general at once marched toward leipzig, devastating the country as he advanced. terms were soon arranged between the elector and gustavus, and on the d of september, , the swedish army crossed the elbe, and the next day joined the saxon army at torgau. by this time tilly was in front of leipzig, and immediately on his arrival burned to the ground halle, a suburb tying beyond the wall, and then summoned the city to surrender. alarmed at the sight of the conflagration of halle, and with the fate of magdeburg in their minds, the citizens of leipzig opened their gates at once on the lion of the north. promise of fair treatment. the news of this speedy surrender was a heavy blow to the allies, who, how- ever after a council of war, determined at once to march forward against the city, and to give battle to the imperialists on the plain around it. leipzig stands on a wide plain which is called the plain of breitenfeld, and the battle which was about to commence there has been called by the germans the battle of breitenfeld. to distinguish it from the even greater struggles which have since taken place under the walls of leipzig. the baggage had all been left behind, and the swedish army lay down as they stood. the king occupied his traveling coach, and passed the night chatting with sir john hepburn, marshal horn, sir john banner, baron teuffel, who com- manded the guards, and other leaders. the lines of red fires which marked tilly's position on the slope of a gentle eminence to the southwest were plainly to be seen. the day broke dull and misty on the th of september, and as the light fog gradually rose the troops formed up for battle. prayers were said in front of every regiment, and the army then moved forward. two scottish brigades had the places of honor in the van, where the regiments of sir james ramsay, the laird of foulis, and sir john hamilton were posted, while hepburn's green brigade formed part of the reserve—a force composed of the best troops of the army, as on them the fate of the battle frequently depends. the swedish cavalry were commanded by the lion of the nollth. field-marshal horn, general banner, and lieutenant- general bauditzen. the king and baron teuffel led the main body of infantry; the king of saxony commanded the sax- ons, who were on the swedish left. the armies were not very unequal in numbers, the allies num- bering thirty-five thousand, of whom the swedes and scots counted twenty thousand, the saxons fifteen thousand. the imperialists numbered about forty thousand. tilly was fighting unwillingly, for he had wished to await the arrival from italy of twelve thousand veterans under general altringer, and who were within a few days' march; but he had been induced, against his own better judgment, by the urgency of pappenheim, fiirstenberg, and the younger generals, to quit the unassailable post he had taken up in front of leipzig, and to move out on to the plain of breitenfeld to accept the bat- tle which the swedes offered. a short distance in his front was the village of podelwitz. behind his position were two elevations, on which he placed his guns, forty in number. in rear of these elevations was a very thick wood. the imperialist right was commanded by fiirsten- berg, the left by pappenheim, the center by tilly himself. although he had yielded to his generals so far as to take up a position on the plain, tilly was resolved, if possible, not to fight until the arrival of the reinforcements; but the rashness of pappen- heim brought on a battle. to approach the austrian position the swedes had to cross the little river the lion of the north. loder, and pappenheim asked permission of tilly to charge them as they did so. tilly consented on condition that he only charged with two thousand horse and did not bring on a general engagement. accordingly, as the scottish brigade under sir james ramsay crossed the loder, pappenheim swept down upon them. the scots stood firm, and with pike and musket repelled the attack; and after hard fighting pappen- heim was obliged to fall back, setting fire as he re- tired to the village of podelwitz. the smoke of the burning village drifted across the plain, and was useful to the swedes, as under its cover the entire army passed the loder, and formed up ready for battle facing the imperialists' position, the move- ment being executed under a heavy fire from the austrian batteries ou the hills. the swedish order of battle was different from that of the imperialists. the latter had their cav- alry massed together in one heavy, compact body, while the swedish regiments of horse were placed alternately with the various regiments or brigades of infantry. the swedish center was composed of four brigades of pikemen. guns were behind the first line, as were the cavalry supporting the pike- men. the regiments of musketeers were placed at intervals among the brigades of pikemen. pappenheim on his return to the camp ordered up the whole of his cavalry, and charged down with fury upon the swedes, while at the same moment furstenberg dashed with seven regiments of cavalry the uon of the north. on the saxons. between these and the swedes there was a slight interval, for gustavus had doubts of the steadiness of his allies, and was anxious that in case of their defeat his own troops should not be thrown into confusion. the result justified his anticipations. attacked with fury on their flank by fiirsten- berg's horse, while his infantry and artillery poured a direct fire into their front, the saxons at once gave way. their elector was the first to set the example of flight and, turning his horse, galloped without drawing rein to torgau, and in twenty minutes af- ter the commencement of the fight the whole of the saxons were in utter rout, hotly pursued by fiirs- tenberg's cavalry. tilly now deemed the victory certain, for nearly half of his opponents were disposed of, and he out- numbered the remainder by two to one; but while filrstenberg had gained so complete a victory over the saxons, pappenheim, who had charged the swedish center, had met with a very different reception. in vain he tried to break through the swedish spears. the wind was blowing full in the faces of the pikemen, and the clouds of smoke and dust which rolled down upon them rendered it impossible for them to see the heavy columns of horse until they fell upon them like an avalanche, yet with perfect steadiness they withstood the attacks. seven times pappenheim renewed his charge; seven times he fell back broken and disordered. the lion of the north. as he drew off for the last time gustavus, seeing the rout of the saxons, and knowing that he would have the whole of tilly's force upon him in a few minutes, determined to rid himself altogether of pappenheim and launched the whole of his cavalry upon the retreating squadrons with ove rwhelming effect. thus at the end of half an hour's fighting tilly had disposed of the saxons and gustavus had driven pappenheim's horse from the field. three of the scottish regiments were sent from the center to strengthen horn on the left flank, which was now exposed by the flight of the saxons. scarcely had the scottish musketeers taken their position when furstenberg's horse returned trium- phant from their pursuit of the saxons and at once fell upon horn's pikemen. these, however, stood as firmly as their comrades in the center had done; and the scottish musketeers, six deep, the three front ranks kneeling, the three in rear standing, poured such heavy volleys into the horsemen that these fell back in disorder; the more confused per- haps, since volley firing was at that time peculiar to the swedish army, and the crashes of musketry were new to the imperialists. as the cavalry fell back in disorder, gustavus led his horse, who had just returned from the pursuit of pappenheim, against them. the shock was irresistible, and furstenberg's horse were driven headlong from the field. but the imperialist in- fantry, led by tilly himself, were now close at hand, and the roar of musketry along the whole the lion of the north. line was tremendous, while the artillery on both sides played unceasingly. just as the battle was at the hottest the swedish reserve came up to the assistance of the first line, and sir john hepburn led the green brigade through the intervals of the swedish regiments into action. lord reay's regiment was in front and munro, leading it on, advanced against the solid imperialist columns, pouring heavy volleys into them. when close at hand the pikemen passed through the intervals of the musketeers and charged furiously with leveled pikes, the musketeers follow- ing them with clubbed weapons. the gaps formed by the losses of the regiment at new brandenburg and the other engagements had been filled up, and two thousand strong they fell upon the imperialists. for a few minutes there was a tremendous hand-to-hand conflict, but the valor and strength of the scotch prevailed, and the regiment was the first to burst its way through the ranks of the imperialists, and then pressed on to attack the trenches behind, held by the walloon infantry. while the battle was raging in the plain the swedish cavalry, after driving away fiirstenberg's horse, swept round and charged the eminence in the rear of the imperialists, cutting down the artillerymen and capturing the cannon there. these were at once turned upon the masses of imperialists infantry, who thus, taken between two fires—pressed hotly by the pikemen in front, mown the lion of the north. down by the cannon in their rear—lost heart and fled precipitately, four regiments alone, the veterans of furstenberg's infantry, holding together and cutting their way through to the woods in the rear of their position. the slaughter would have been even greater than it was, had not the cloud of dust and smoke been so thick that the swedes were unable to see ten yards in front of them. the pursuit was taken up by their cavalry, who pressed the flying imperial- ists until nightfall. so complete was the defeat that tilly, who was badly wounded, could only muster six hundred men to accompany him in his retreat, and pappenheim could get together but fourteen hundred of his horsemen. seven thousand of the imperialists were killed, five thousand were wounded or taken prisoners. the swedes lost but seven hundred men, the saxons about two thou- sand. the swedes that night occupied the imperial tents, making great bonfires of the broken wagons, pikes, and stockades. a hundred standards were taken. tilly had fought throughout the battle with desperate valor. he was ever in the van of his in- fantry and three times was wounded by bullets and once taken prisoner, and only rescued after a desperate conflict. at the conclusion of the day cronenberg with six hundred walloon cavalry threw themselves around him and bore him from the field. the fierce old soldier is said to have burst into a passion the lion of the north. of tears on beholding the slaughter and defeat of his infantry. hitherto he had been invincible, this being the first defeat he had suffered in the course of his long military career. great stores of pro- vision and wine had been captured, and the night was spent in feasting in the swedish camp. the next morning the elector of saxony rode on to the field to congratulate gustavus on his victory. the latter was politic enough to receive him with great courtesy and to thank him for the services the saxons had rendered. he intrusted to the elector the task of recapturing leipzig, while he marched against merseburg, which he captured with its garrison of five hundred men. after two or three assaults had been made on leipzig the garrison capitulated to the saxons, and on the th of september the army was drawn up and reviewed by gustavus. when the king arrived opposite the green brigade he dismounted and made the soldiers an address, thanking them for their great share in winning the battle of leipzig. many of the scottish officers were promoted, munro being made a full colonel, and many others advanced a step in rank. the scottish brigade responded to the address of the gallant king with hearty cheers. gustavus was indeed beloved as well as admired by his soldiers. fearless himself of danger, he ever recognized bravery in others, and was ready to take his full share of every hardship as well as every peril. he had ever a word of commendation and en- the lion of the north. couragement for his troops, and was regarded by them as a comrade as well as a leader. in person he was tall and rather stout, his face was handsome, his complexion fair, his forehead lofty, his hair auburn, his eyes large and penetrating, his cheeks ruddy and healthy. he had an air of majesty which enabled him to address his soldiers in terms of cheerful familiarity without in the slightest degree dimishing their respect and reverence for him as their monarch. the lion of the north. chapter x. the passage of the khine. "i suppose," nigel graeme said, as the officers of the regiment assembled in one of the imperialist tents on the night after the battle of leipzig, " we shall at once press forward to vienna;" and such was the general opinion throughout the swedish army; but such was not the intention of gustavus. undoubtedly the temptation to press forward and dictate peace in vienna was strong, but the difficul- ties and disadvantages of such a step were many. he had but twenty thousand men, for the saxons could not be reckoned upon; and indeed it was probable that their elector, whose jealousy and dis- like of gustavus would undoubtedly be heightened by the events of the battle of breitenfeld, would prove himself to be a more than doubtful ally were the swedish army to remove to a distance. tilly would soon rally his fugitives and, rein- forced by the numerous imperialist garrisons from the towns, would be able to overrun north ger- many in his absence and to force the saxons to join him even if the elector were unwilling to do so. thus the little swedish force would be isolated in the lion of the north. the heart of germany; and should ferdinand aban- don vienna at his approach and altogether refuse to treat with him—which his obstinacy upon a former occasion, when in the very hands of his enemy, ren- dered probable—the swedes would find themselves in a desperate position, isolated and alone in the midst of enemies. there was another consideration. an imperialist diet was at that moment sitting at frankfort, and ferdinand was using all his influence to compel the various princes and representatives of the free cities to submit to him. it was of the utmost importance that gustavus should strengthen his friends and overawe the waverers by the approach of his army. hitherto franconia and the rhine provinces had been entirely in the hands of the imperialists, and it was needful that a counterbalancing influence should be exerted. these considerations induced gustavus to abandon the tempting idea of a march upon vienna. the elector of saxony was charged with carrying the war into silesia and bohemia, the electors of hesse and hesse-cassel were to maintain lower saxony and westphalia, and the swedish army turned its face toward the rhine. on the th of september it arrived before erfurt, an important fortified town on the gera, which surrendered at discretion. gustavus granted the inhabitants, who were for the most part catholics, the free exercise of their religion, and nominated the duke of saxe-weimar to be governor of the district and of the province of thuringen, and the count of the lion of the north. lowenstein to be commander of the garrison, which consisted of colonel foulis' scottish regiment, one thousand five hundred strong. traveling by different routes in two columns the army marched to wilrtzburg, the capital of franconia, a rich and populous city, the imperialist garrison having withdrawn to the strong castle of marienburg, on a lofty eminence overlooking the town, and only separated from it by the river main. the cathedral at wilrtzburg is dedicated to a scot- tish saint, st. kilian, a bishop who, with two priests came from scotland in the year to convert the heathens of franconia. they baptized many at wiirtzburg, among them gospert, the duke of that country. this leader was married to geilana, the widow of his brother; and kilian urging upon him that such a marriage was contrary to the laws of the christian church, the duke promised to separate from her. geilana had not, like her lord, accepted christianity and, furious at this interference of kilian, she seized the opportunity when the latter had gone with his followers on an expedition against the pagan saxons to have kilian and his two com- panions murdered. the cathedral was naturally an object of interest to the scotch soldiers in the time of gustavus, and there was an animated argument in the quarters of the officers of munro's regiment on the night of their arrival as to whether st. kilian had done well or otherwise in insisting upon his new convert repudiating his wife. the general opinion, however, the lion of the north. was against the saint, the colonel summing up the question. "in my opinion," he said, " kilian was a fool. here was no less a matter at stake than the conver- sion of a whole nation, or at least of a great tribe of heathens, and kilian imperiled it all on a question of minor importance; for in the first place, the church of rome has always held that the pope could grant permission for marriage within inter- dicted degrees; in the second place, the marriage had taken place before the conversion of the duke to christianity, and they were therefore innocently and without thought of harm bona fide man and wife. lastly, the church of rome is opposed to divorce; and kilian might in any case have put up with this small sin, if sin it were, for the sake of saving the souls of thousands of pagans. my opinion is that st. kilian richly deserved the fate which befell him. and now to a subject much more inter- esting to us—viz. the capture of marienburg. "i tell you, my friends, it is going to be a warm business; the castle is considered impregnable, and is strong by nature as well as art, and captain kel- ler is said to be a stout and brave soldier. he has one thousand men in the garrison, and all the monks who were in the town have gone up and turned sol- diers. but if the task is a hard one the reward will be rich; for as the imperialists believe the place cannot be taken, the treasures of all the country round are stored up there. and i can tell you more. in the cellars are sixty gigantic tuns of stone, the the lion of the nort . the central arch of the bridge had been blown up by the imperialists, a single plank remaining across the chasm over the river forty-eight feet below. the bridge was swept by the heaviest cannon in the fortress, and a passage appeared well-nigh hope- less. on the afternoon of the th of october the party prepared to pass, some in boats, others by the bridge. a tremendous fire was opened by the im- perialists from cannon and musketry, sweeping the bridge with a storm of missiles and lashing the river to foam around the boats. the soldiers in these returned the fire with their muskets, and the smoke served as a cover to conceal them from the enemy. in the meantime major bothwell of ramsay's regiment led a company across the bridge. these, in spite of the fire, crossed the plank over the broken arch and reached the head of the bridge, from whence they kept up so heavy a fire upon the gun- ners and musketeers in the lower works by the river that they forced them to quit their posts, and so en- abled sir james ramsay and sir john hamilton to effect a landing. major bothwell, his brother, and the greater part of his followers were, however, slain by the imperialists' fire from above. the commandant of the castle now sallied out and en- deavored to recapture the works by the water, but the scotch repelled the attack and drove the enemy up the hill to the castle again. the scottish troops having thus effected a lodgment across the river, and being protected by the rocks from the enemy's fire, lay down for the night in the position they had won. the lion of the north. gustavus during the night caused planks to be thrown across the broken bridge and prepared to assault at daybreak. just as morning was break- ing, a swedish officer with seven men climbed up the hill to reconnoitre the castle, and found to his surprise that the drawbridge was down, but a guard of two hundred men were stationed at the gate. he was at once challenged and, shouting "sweden i" sprang with his men on to the end of the drawbridge. the imperialists tried in vain to raise it; before they could succeed some compan- ions of the swedes ran up and, driving in the guard, took possession of the outer court. almost at the same moment ramsay's and hamilton's regiments commenced their assault on a strong outwork of the castle, which, after two hours' desperate fighting, they succeeded in gaining. they then turned its guns upon the gate of the keep, which they battered down and were about to charge in when they received orders from the king to halt and retire, while the swedish regiment of axel-lilly and the blue brigade advanced to the storm. the scottish regiments retired in the deepest discontent, deeming themselves affronted by others being ordered to the post of honor after they had by their bravery cleared the way. the swedish troops forced their way in after hard fighting; and the castle of marienburg, so long deemed impreg- nable, was captured after a few hours' fighting. the quantity of treasure found in it was enormous, the lion of the north. and there were sufficient provisions to have lasted its garrison for twenty years. immediately the place was taken colonel sir john hamilton advanced to gustavus and resigned his commission on the spot; nor did the assurances of the king that he intended no insult to the scotch soldiers mollify his wrath, and quitting the swedish service he returned at once to scotland. munro's regiment had taken no part in the storming of marienburg, but was formed up on the north side of the river in readiness to advance should the first attack be repelled, and many were wounded by the shot of the enemy while thus inactive. malcolm while binding up the arm of his ser- geant who stood next to him felt a sharp pain shoot through his leg, and at once fell to the ground. he was lifted up and carried to the rear, where his wound was examined by the doctor to the regi- ment. "your luck has not deserted you," he said after probing the wound. "the bullet had missed the bone by half an inch and a short rest will soon put you right again." fortunately for a short time the army remained around wiirtzburg. columns scoured the surround- ing country, capturing the various towns and fortresses held by the imperialists, and collecting large quantities of provisions and stores. tilly's army lay within a few days' march; but although superior in numbers to that of gustavus, tilly had received strict orders not to risk a general engage- the lion of the north. ment as his army was now almost the only one that remained to the imperialists, and should it suffer another defeat the country would lie at the mercy of the swedes. one evening when malcolm had so far recovered as to be able to walk for a short distance, he was at supper with colonel munro and some other officers, when the door opened and gustavus himself entered. all leaped to their feet. "munro," he said, " get the musketeers of your brigade under arms with all haste, form them up in the square before the townhall, and desire sir john hepburn to meet me there." the drums were at once beaten, and the troops came pouring from their lodgings, and in three or four minutes the musketeers, eight hundred strong, were formed up with hepburn and munro at their head. malcolm had prepared to take his arms on the summons, but munro said at once: "no, malcolm, so sudden a summons augurs des- perate duty, maybe a long night march; you would break down before you got half a mile; besides, as only the musketeers have to go, half the officers must remain here." without a word the king placed himself at the head of the men, and through the dark and stormy night the troops started on their unknown mission. hepburn and munro were, like their men, on foot, for they had not had time to have their horses sad- dled. after marching two hours along the right bank the lion of the north. of the main the tramp of horses was heard behind them, and they were reinforced by eighty troopers whom gustavus before starting had ordered to mount and follow. hitherto the king had remained lost in abstraction, but he now roused himself. "i have just received the most serious news, hep- burn. tilly has been reinforced by seventeen thou- sand men under the duke of lorraine, and is march- ing with all speed against me. were my whole army collected here he would outnumber us by two to one, but many columns are away, and the posi- tion is well-nigh desperate. "i have resolved to hold ochsenfurt. the place is not strong, but it lies in a sharp bend of the river and may be defended for a time. if any can do so it is surely you and your scots. tilly is already close to the town; indeed the man who brought me the news said that when he left it his advanced pickets were just entering, hence the need for this haste. "you must hold it to the last, hepburn, and then, if you can, fall back to "wurtzburg; even a day's delay will enable me to call in some of the detach- ments and to prepare to receive tilly." without halting, the little column marched six- teen miles, and then, crossing the bridge over the main, entered ochsenfurt. it was occupied by a party of fifty imperialist arquebnsiers, but these were driven headlong from it. the night was extremely dark, all were igno- rant of the locality, and the troops were formed up the lion of the north. in the market-place to await either morning or the attack of tilly. fifty troopers were sent half a mile in advance to give warning of the approach of the enemy. they had scarcely taken their place when they were attacked by the imperialists, who had been roused by the firing in the town. the in- cessant flash of fire and the heavy rattle of mus- ketry told gustavus that they were in force, and a lieutenant of lumsden's regiment with fifty mus- keteers was sent off to reinforce the cavalry. the imperialists were, however, too strong to be checked, and horse and foot were being driven in when colonel munro sallied out with a hundred of his own regiment, and the imperialists after a brisk skirmish, not knowing what force they had to deal with, fell back. as soon as day broke the king and hepburn made a tour of the walls, which were found to be in a very bad condition and ill-calculated to resist an assault. the imperialists were not to be seen, and the king, fearing they might have marched by some other route against "wurtzburg, deter- mined to return at once, telling hepburn to mind the bridge, and to blow it up if forced to abandon the town. hepburn at once set to work to strengthen the position, to demolish all the houses and walls out- side the defenses, cut down and destroy all trees and hedges which might shelter an enemy, and to strengthen the walls with banks of earth and plat- forms of wood. for three days the troops labored this lion of the north. incessantly ; on the third night the enemy were heard approaching. the advanced troopers and a half company of infantry were driven in, contesting every foot of the way. when they reached the walls heavy volleys were poured in by the musketeers who lined them upon the approaching enemy, and tilly, supposing that gustavus must have moved forward a considerable portion of his army, called off his troops and marched away to nuremberg. two days later hepburn was ordered to return with his force to wiirtzburg. the king now broke up his camp near wiirtzburg, and leaving a garrison in the castle of marienburg and appointing marshal horn to hold franconia with eight thousand men, he marched against frankfort-on-the-main, his troops capturing all the towns and castles on the way, levying contributions, and collecting great booty. frankfort opened its gates without resistance, and for a short time the army had rest in pleasant quarters. the regiments were reorganized, in some cases two of those which had suffered most being joined into one. gustavus had lately been strengthened by two more scottish regiments under sir frederick hamilton and alexander, master of forbes, and an english regiment under captain austin. he had now thirteen regiments of scottish infantry, and the other corps of the army were almost entirely officered by scotchmen. he had five regiments of english and irish, and had thus eighteen regiments of british infantry. the lion of the north. at frankfort he was joined by the marquis of hamilton, who had done splendid service with the troops under his command. he had driven the imperialists out of silesia, and marching south, struck such fear into them that tilly was obliged to weaken his army to send reinforcements to that quarter. by the order of gustavus he left silesia and marched to magdeburg. he had now but three thousand five hundred men with him, two thousand seven hundred having died from pesti- lence, famine and disease. he assisted general banner in blockading the imperialist garrison of magdeburg, and his losses by fever and pestilence thinned his troops down to two small regiments; these were incorporated with the force of the duke of saxe-weimar, and the marquis of hamilton joined the staff of gustavus as a simple volunteer. the king now determined to conquer the palat- inate, which was held by a spanish army. he drove them before him until he reached the rhine, where they endeavored to defend the passage by burning every vessel and boat they could find, and for a time the advance of the swedes was checked. it was now the end of november, the snow lay thick over the whole country, and the troops, with- out tents or covering, were bivouacked along the side of the river, two miles below oppenheim. the opposite bank was covered with bushes to the water's edge, and on an eminence a short distance back could be seen the tents of the spaniards. "if it were summer we might swim across," nigel the lion of the north. graeme said to malcolm; "the river is broad, but a good swimmer could cross it easily enough." "yes," malcolm agreed, " there would be no diffi- culty in swimming if unencumbered with arms and armor, but there would be no advantage in getting across without these; if we could but get hold of a boat or two, we would soon wake yonder spaniards up." the next morning malcolm wandered along the bank closely examining the bushes as he went, to see if any boats might be concealed among them, for the fishermen and boatmen would naturally try to save their craft when they heard that the imperi- alists were destroying them. he walked three miles up the river without success. as he returned he kept his eyes fixed on the bushes on the opposite bank. when within half a mile of the camp he suddenly stopped, for his eye caught something dark among them. he went to the water's edge and stooped, the better to see under the bushes, and saw what he doubted not to be the stern of a boat hauled up and sheltered beneath them. he leaped to his feet with a joyful exclamation. here was the means of crossing the river; but the boat had to be brought over. once afloat this would be easy enough, but he was sure that his own strength would be insufficient to launch her, and that he should need the aid of at least one man. on returning to camp he called aside the sergeant of his company, james grant, who was from his own estate in nithsdale, and whom he knew to be a good swimmer. the lion of the north. "sergeant," he said, "i want you to join me in an enterprise to-night. i have found a boat hauled up under the bushes on the opposite shore, and we must bring her across. i cannot make out her size; but from the look of her stern i should say she was a large boat. you had better therefore borrow from the artillerymen one of their wooden levers, and get a stout pole two or three inches across, and cut half a dozen two-foot lengths from it to put under her as rollers. get also a plank of four inches wide from one of the deserted houses in the village behind us, and cut out two paddles; we may find oars on board, but it is as well to be prepared in case the owner should have removed them." "shall take my weapons, sir?" "we can take our dirks in our belts, sergeant, and lash our swords to the wooden lever, but i do not think we shall have any fighting. the night will be dark, and the spaniards, believing that we have no boats, will not keep a very strict watch. the worst part of the business is the swim across the river, the water will be bitterly cold; but as you and i have often swum scotch burns when they were swollen by the melting snow i think that we may well manage to get across this sluggish stream." "at what time will we be starting, sir?" "be here at the edge of the river at six o'clock, sergeant. i can get away at that time without ex- citing comment, and we will say nothing about it unless we succeed." thinking it over, however, it occurred to mai- the lion of the north. colm that by this means a day would be lost, and he knew how anxious the king was to press for- ward. he therefore abandoned his idea of keeping his discovery secret, and going to his colonel re- ported that he had found a boat and could bring it across from the other side by seven o'clock. the news was so important that munro at once went to the king. gustavus ordered three hundred swedes and a hundred scots of each of the regi- ments of ramsay, munro, and the laird of wor- miston, the whole under the command of count brahe, to form up after dark on the river bank and prepare to cross, and he himself came down to superintend the passage. by six it was perfectly dark. during the day malcolm had placed two stones on the edge of the water, one exactly op- posite the boat, the other twenty feet behind it in an exact line. when gustavus arrived at the spot where the troops were drawn up, malcolm was taken up to him by his colonel. "well, my brave young graeme," the king said, "so you are going to do us another service; but bow will you find the boat in this darkness? even were there no stream you would find it very difficult to strike the exact spot on a dark night like this." "i have provided against that, sir, by placing two marks on the bank. when we start, lanterns will be placed on these. we shall cross higher up so as to strike the bank a little above where i believe the boat to be, then we shall float along under the the lion of the north. bushes until the lanterns are in a line one with another, and we shall know then that we are exactly opposite the boat." "well thought of!" the king exclaimed. "munro, this lieutenant of yours is a treasure. and now god speed you, my friend, in your cold swim across the stream!" malcolm and the sergeant now walked half a mile up the river, a distance which, judging from the strength of the current and the speed at which they could swim, would, they thought, take them to the opposite bank at about the point where the boat was lying. shaking hands with colonel munro, who had accompanied them, malcolm entered the icy-cold water without delay. knowing that it was possible that their strength might give out before they reached the opposite side, malcolm had had two pairs of small casks lashed two feet apart. these they fastened securely, so that as they began to swim the casks floated a short distance behind each shoulder, giving them perfect support. the lever and paddles were towed behind them. the lights in the two camps afforded them a means of directing their way. the water was intensely cold, and before they were half-way across mal- colm congratulated himself upon having thought of the casks. had it not been for them he would have began to doubt his ability to reach the further shore, for although he would have thought nothing of the swim at other times his limbs were fast becoming numbed with the extreme cold. the the lion of the north. sergeant kept close to him, and a word or two was occasionally exchanged. "i think it is colder than our mountain streams, grant." "it's no colder, your honor, but the water is smooth and still, and we do not have to wrestle with it as with a brook in spate. it's the stillness which makes it feel so cold. the harder we swim the less we will feel it." it was with a deep feeling of relief that malcolm saw something loom just in front of him from the darkness, and knew that he was close to the land. a few more strokes and he touched the bushes. looking back he saw that the two lights were nearly in a line. stopping swimming he let the stream drift him down. two or three minutes more and one of the tiny lights seemed exactly above the other. "this is the spot, grant," he said in a low voice; "land here as quietly as you can." the lion of the north. chapter xi. the capture of oppenheim. the two swimmers dragged themselves on shore, but for a minute or two could scarce stand, so numbed were their limbs by the cold. malcolm took from his belt a flask of brandy, took a long draught, and handed it to his companion who fol- lowed his example. the spirit sent a glow of warmth through their veins, and they began to search among the bushes for the boat, one proceeding each way along the bank. they had not removed their leathern doub- lets before entering the water, as these, buoyed up as they were, would not affect their swimming, and would be a necessary protection when they landed not only against the cold of the night air but against the bushes. malcolm's beacon proved an accurate guide, for he had not proceeded twenty yards before he came against a solid object which he at once felt to be the boat. a low whistle called the sergeant to his side, bringing with him the rollers and paddles from the spot where they had landed. they soon felt that the boat was a large one, and that their strength would have been wholly insufficient to get the lion of the north. her into the water without the aid of the lever and rollers. taking the former they placed its end un- der the stern-post, and placing a roller under its heel to serve as a pivot they threw their weight on the other end of the lever and at once raised the boat some inches in the air. grant held the lever down and malcolm slid a roller as far up under the keel as it would go; the lever was then shifted and the boat again raised, and the process was continued until her weight rested upon three rollers. she was now ready to be launched, and as the bank was steep they had no doubt of their ability to run her down. an exam- ination had already shown that their paddles would be needless, as the oars were inside her. they took their places one on each side of the bow, and apply- ing their strength the boat glided rapidly down. "gently, grant," malcolm said, "don't let her go in with a splash. there may be some sentries within hearing." they continued their work cautiously, and the boat noiselessly entered the water. getting out the oars they gave her a push, and she was soon floating down the stream. the rowlocks were in their places, and rowing with extreme care so as to avoid making the slightest sound they made their way across the river. they were below the camp when they landed, but there were many men on the lookout, for the news of the attempt had spread rapidly. leaping ashore amidst a low cheer from a group of soldiers, malcolm directed them to tow the boat he lion of the north. up at once to the place where the troops were formed ready for crossing, while he and the sergeant, who were both chilled to the bone, for their clothes had frozen stiff upon them, hurried to the spot where the regiment was bivouacked. here by the side of a blazing fire they stripped, and were rubbed with cloths by their comrades till a glow of warmth again began to be felt, the external heat and friction being aided by the administration of two steaming flagons of spiced wine. dry clothes were taken from their knapsacks and warmed before the fire, and when these were put on they again felt warm and comfortable. hurrying off now to the spot where the troops were drawn up, they found that the boat had already made two passages. she rowed four oars, and would, laden down to the water's edge, carry twenty-five men. the oars had been muffled with cloths so as to make no sound in the rowlocks. a party of munro's scots had first crossed, then a party of swedes. malcolm and the sergeant joined their company unnoticed in the darkness. eacli' detachment sent over a boat load in turns, and when six loads had crossed it was again the turn of the men of munro's regiment, and malcolm entered the boat with the men. the lights still burned as a signal, enabling the boat to land each party almost at the same spot. malcolm wondered what was going on. a perfect stillness reigned on the other side, and it was certain that the alarm had not yet been given. the lion of the north. on ascending the bank he saw in front of him some dark figures actively engaged, and heard dull sounds. on reaching the spot he found the parties who had preceded him hard at work with shovels throwing up an intrenchment. in the darkness he had not perceived that each of the soldiers carried a spade in addition to his arms. the soil was deep and soft, and the operations were carried on with scarce a sound. as each party landed they fell to work under the direction of their officers. all night the labor continued, and when the dull light of the winter morning began to dispel the darkness a solid rampart of earth breast-high rose in a semi- circle, with its two extremities resting on the river- bank. the last boat load had but just arrived across, and the six hundred men were now gathered in the work, which was about one hundred and fifty feet across, the base formed by the river. the earth forming the ramparts had been taken from the out- side, and a ditch three feet deep and six feet wide had been thus formed. the men who, in spite of the cold, were hot and perspiring from their night's work, now entered the intrenched space and sat down to take a meal, each man having brought two days' rations in his hav- ersack. it grew rapidly lighter, and suddenly the sound of a trumpet, followed by the rapid beating of drums, showed that the spaniards had, from their camp on the eminence half a mile away, discovered the work which had sprung up during the night as if by magic on their side of the river. the lion of the north. in a few minutes a great body of caval^ was seen issuing from the spanish camp, and fourteen squadrons of cuirassiers trotted down toward the intrenchments. soon the word was given to charge, and, like a torrent, the mass of cavalry swept down upon it. two-thirds of those who had crossed were muske- teers, the remainder pikemen. the latter formed the front line behind the rampart, their spears form- ing a close hedge around it, while the musketeers pre- pared to fire between them. by the order of count brahe not a trigger was pulled until the cavalry were within fifty yards, then a flash of flame swept round the rampart, and horses and men in the front line of the cavalry tumbled to the ground. but half the musketeers had fired, and a few seconds later another volley was poured into the horsemen. the latter, however, although many had fallen, did not check their speed, but rose up close to the ram- part, and flung themselves upon the hedge of spears. nothing could exceed the gallantry with which the spaniards fought. some dismounted and, leap- ing into the ditch, tried to climb the rampart; others leaped the horses into it, and standing up in their saddles, cut at the spearmen with their swords and fired their pistols among them. many, again, tried to leap their horses over ditch and rampart, but the pikemen stood firm, while at short intervals wither- ing volleys tore into the struggling mass. for half an hour the desperate fight continued, and then, finding that the position could not be car- the lion of the north. ried by horsemen, the spanish commander drew off his men, leaving no less than six hundred lying dead around the rampart of earth. there were no span- ish infantry within some miles of the spot, and the cavalry rode away, some to maintz, but the greater part to oppenheim, where there was a strong garri- son of one thousand men. a careful search among the bushes brought three more boats to light, and a force was soon taken across the river sufficient to maintain itself against any attack. gustavus himself was in one of the first boats that crossed. "well done, my brave hearts!" he said as he landed, just as the spanish horsemen had ridden away. "you have fought stoutly and well, and our way is now open to us. where are lieutenant graame and the sergeant who swam across with him?" malcolm and his companion soon presented them- selves. "i sent for you to your camp," the king said, "but found that you but waited to change your clothes, and had then joined the force crossing. you had no orders to do so." "we had no orders not to do so, sire, but having begun the affair it was only natural that we should see the end of it." "you had done your share and more," the king said, "and i thank you both heartily for it, and promote you, graeme, at once to the rank of cap- tain, and will request colonel munro to give you the lion of the north. the first company which may fall vacant in his regiment. if a vacancy should not occur shortly i will place you in another regiment until one may happen in your own corps. to you, sergeant, i give a commission as officer. you will take that rank at once, and will be a supernumerary in your regiment till a vacancy occurs. such promotion has been well and worthily won by you both." without delay an advance was ordered against oppenheim. it lay on the imperialist side of the rhine. behind the town stood a strong and well- fortified castle upon a lofty eminence. its guns swept not only the country around it, but the ground upon the opposite side of the river. there, facing it, stood a strong fort surrounded by double ditches, which were deep and broad and full of water. they were crossed only by a drawbridge on the side facing the river, and the garrison could therefore obtain by boats supplies or reinforcements as needed from the town. the green and blue brigades at once commenced opening trenches against this fort, and would have assaulted the place without delay had not a number of boats been brought over by a protestant well- wisher of the swedes from the other side of the river. the assault was therefore delayed in order that the attack might be delivered simultaneously against the positions on both sides of the river. the brigade of guards and the white brigade crossed in the boats at gernsheim, five miles from the town, and marched against it during the night. the lion of the north. lost, and man to man they fought with pike, sword and clubbed musket. there was no giving of orders, for no word could be heard in such a din, and the officers with their swords and halfpikes fought desperately in the melee with the rest. gradually, however, the strength and endurance of ramsay's veterans prevailed over numbers. most of the officers of the imperialists had been slain as well as their bravest men, and the rest began to draw off and to scatter through the castle, some to look for hiding places, many to jump over the walls rather than fall into the hands of the terrible scots. the astonishment of gustavus and of hepburn, who was now marching with his men toward the castle, at hearing the rattle of musketry and the din of battle within the very heart of the fortress was great indeed, and this was heightened when, a few minutes later, the soldiers were seen leaping desper- ately from the walls, and a great shout arose from the troops as the imperial banner was seen to de- scend from its flagstaff on the keep. gustavus with his staff rode at once to the gate which was opened for him, and on entering he found ramsay's little force drawn up to salute him as he entered. it was reduced nearly half in strength, and not a man but was bleeding from several wounds, while cleft helms and dinted armor showed how severe had been the fray. "my brave scots," he exclaimed, "why were you too quick for me?" the courtyard of the castle was piled with slain, the lion of the north. who were also scattered in every room throughout it, five hundred having been slain there before the rest threw down their arms and were given quarter. this exploit was one of the most valiant which was performed during the course of the whole war. four colors were taken, one of which was that of the spanish regiment, this being the first of that nationality which had ever been captured by gus- tavus. after going over the castle, whose capture would have tasked his resources and the valor of his troops to the utmost had he been compelled to attack it in the usual way, gustavus sent for the officers of ramsay's companies and thanked them individually for their capture. "what! you here, malcolm graeme!" gustavus said as he came in at the rear of ramsay's offioers. "why, what had you to do with this business?" "i was only a volunteer, sire," malcolm said. "i crossed with the parties who fetched the boats ; but as my instructions ended there i had nought to do, and finding that ramsay's men were about to march up to the attack of the castle, i thought it best to join them, being somewhat afraid to stop in the town alone." "and he did valiant service, sire," the major said. "i marked him in the thick of the fight, and saw more than one imperialist go down before his sword." "you know the story of the pitcher and the well, captain graeme," the king said, smiling. "some the lion of the north. day you will go once too often, and i shall have to mourn the loss of one of the bravest young officers in my army." there was no rest for the soldiers of gustavus, and no sooner had oppenheim fallen than the army marched against maintz. this was defended by two thousand spanish troops under don philip de sylvia, and was a place of immense strength. it was at once invested, and trenches commenced on all sides, the green brigade as usual having the post of danger and honor facing the citadel. the investment began in the evening, but so vigorously did the scotch work all night in spite of the heavy musketry and artillery fire with which the garrison swept the ground that by morning the first parallel was completed, and the soldiers were under shelter behind a thick bank of earth. all day the imperialists kept up their fire, the scots gradually pushing forward their trenches. in the evening colonel axel-lilly, one of the bravest of the swedish officers, came into the trenches to pay a visit to hepburn. he found him just sitting down to dinner with munro by the side of a fire in the trench. they invited him to join them, and the party were chatting gayly when a heavy cannon ball crashed through the earthen rampart behind them and, passing between hep- burn and munro, carried off the leg of the swedish officer. upon the following day the governor, seeing that the swedes had erected several strong batteries, the how of the north. and that the green brigade, whose name was a terror to the imperialists, was preparing to storm, capitulated, and his soldiers were allowed to march out with all their baggage, flying colors, and two pieces of cannon. eighty pieces of cannon fell into the hands of the swedes. the citizens paid , dollars as the ransom of their city from pillage, and the jews , for the protection of their quarters and of their gorgeous synagogue, whose wealth and magnificence were celebrated; and on the th of december, , on which day gustavus completed his thirty-seventh year, he entered the city as conqueror. here he kept christmas with great festivity, and his court was attended by princes and nobles from all parts of germany. among them were six of the chief princes of the empire and twelve ambassa- dors from foreign powers. among the nobles was the count of mansfeld, who brought with him his wife and daughter. three days before christmas hepburn's brigade had been moved in from their bivouac in the snow-covered trenches, and assigned quarters in the town, and the count, who arrived on the following day, at once repaired to the man- sion inhabited by the colonel and officers of munro's regiment, and inquired for malcolm graeme. "you will find captain graeme within," the scottish soldier on sentry said. "it is not captain graeme i wish to see," the count said, " but malcolm graeme, a very young officer." the lion of the north. "i reckon that it is the captain," the soldier said; "he is but a boy; but in all the regiment there is not a braver soldier, not even the colonel himself. donald," he said, turning to a comrade, "tell cap- tain graeme that he is wanted here." in a short time malcolm appeared at the door. "ah! it is you, my young friend!" the count exclaimed; "and you have won the rank of captain already by your brave deeds! right glad am i to see you again. i have come with my wife to attend the court of this noble king of yours. can you come with me at once? the countess is long- ing to see you, and will be delighted to hear that you have passed unscathed through all the terrible contests in which you have been engaged. my daughter is here too; she is never tired of talking about her young scottish soldier; but now that you are a captain she will have to be grave and respectful." malcolm at once accompanied the count to his house, and was most kindly received by the countess. "it is difficult to believe," she said, " that 'tis but four months since we met, so many have been the events which have been crowded into that time. scarce a day has passed but we have received news of some success gained, of some town or castle cap- tured, and your green brigade has always been in the van. we have been constantly in fear for you, and after that terrible battle before leipzig thekla scarcely slept a wink until we obtained a copy the lion of the north. of the gazette with the names of the officers killed." "you are kind indeed to bear me so in remem- brance," malcolm said, " and i am indeed grateful for it. i have often wondered whether any fresh danger threatened you; but i hoped that the ad- vance of the marquis of hamilton's force would have given the imperialists too much to do for them to disturb you." "yes, we have had no more trouble," the count- ess replied. "the villages which the imperialists destroyed are rising again; and as after the flight of the enemy the cattle and booty they had cap- tured were all left behind, the people are recover- ing from their visit. what terrible havoc has the war caused! our way here led through ruined towns and villages, the country is infested by marauders, and all law and order is at an end save where there are strong bodies of troops. we rode with an escort of twenty men; but even then we did not feel very safe until we were fairly through franconia. and so you have passed unwounded through the strife?" "yes, countess," malcolm replied. "i had indeed a ball through my leg at wiirtzburg; but as it missed the bone, a trifle like that is scarcely worth counting. i have been most fortunate indeed." "here is a captain now," the count said, "and to obtain such promotion he must have greatly distin- guished himself. i do not suppose that he will him- self tell us his exploits; but i shall soon learn all the lion of the north. about them from others. i am to meet his colonel this evening at a dinner at the palace and shall be able to give you the whole history to-morrow." "but i want the history now," thekla said. "it is much nicer to hear a thing straight from some one who has done it than from any one else." "there is no story to tell," malcolm said. "i had been promised my lieutenancy at the first vacancy before i was at mansfeld, and on my return found that the vacancy had already occurred, and i was appointed. i got my company the other day for a very simple matter, namely for swimming across the rhine with a barrel fixed on each side of me to prevent my sinking. nothing very heroic about that, you see, young lady." "for swimming across the rhine!" the count said. "then you must have been the scottish officer who with a sergeant swam and fetched the boat across which enabled the swedes to pass a body of troops over, and so open the way into the palatinate. i heard it spoken of as a most gallant action." "i can assure you," malcolm said earnestly," that there was no gallantry about it. it was exceedingly cold, i grant, but that was all." "then why should the king have made you a captain for it? you can't get over that." "that was a reward for my luck," malcolm laughed. "'tis better to be lucky than to be rich, it is said, and i had the good luck to discover a boat concealed among the bushes just at the time when a boat was worth its weight in gold." the lion of the north. for an hour malcolm sat chatting and then took his leave as he was going on duty, promising to re- turn the next day, and to spend as much of his time as possible with them while they remained in the city. the lion of the north. chapter xii. the passage of the lech. for the next two months the green brigade re- mained quietly at maintz, a welcome rest after their arduous labors. the town was very gay, and every house was occupied either by troops or by the nobles and visitors from all parts of northern europe. ban- quets and balls were of nightly occurrence; and a stranger who arrived in the gay city would not have dreamed that a terrible campaign had just been concluded, and that another to the full as arduous was about to commence. during this interval of rest the damages which the campaign had effected in the armor and accou- trements of men and officers were repaired, the deep dents effected by sword, pike and bullet were ham- mered out, the rust removed, and the stains of blood and bivouac obliterated; fresh doublets and jerkins were served out from the ample stores captured from the enemy, and the army looked as gay and brilliant as when it first landed in "north germany. malcolm spent much of his spare time with the count and countess of mansfeld, who, irrespective of their gratitude for the assistance he had rendered the lion of the north. them in time of need, had taken a strong liking to the young scotchman. "you are becoming quite a court gallant, grasme," one ot his comrades said at a court ball where mal- colm had been enjoying himself greatly, having, thanks to the countess of mansfeld, no lack of partners, while many of the officers were forced to look on without taking part in the dancing, the num- ber of ladies being altogether insufficient to furnish partners to the throng of officers, swedish, german and scottish. beyond the scarf and feathers which showed the brigade to which officers belonged, there was, even when in arms, but slight attempt at uniformity in their attire, still less so when off duty. the scene at these balls was therefore gay in the extreme, the gallants being all attired in silk, satin or velvet of brilliant colors slashed with white or some contrasting hue. the tailors at maintz had had a busy time of it, for in so rapid a campaign much baggage had been necessarily lost, and many of the officers required an entirely new outfit before they could take part in the court festivities. there was, however, no lack of money, for the booty and treasure captured had been immense, and each officer having received a fixed share, they were well able to renew their wardrobes. some fresh rein- forcements arrived during their stay here, and the vacancies which battle and disease had made in the ranks were filled up. but although the green brigade did not march from maintz till the th of march, , the whole the lion of the north. army did not enjoy so long a rest. in february gustavus despatched three hundred of ramsay's regiment under lieutenant-colonel george douglas against the town of creutznach, together with a small party of english volunteers under lord cra- ven. forty-seven of the men were killed while opening the trenches, but the next day they stormed one of the gates and drove the garrison, which was composed of six hundred walloons and burgun- dians, out of the town into the castle of kausem- berg, which commanded it. its position was ex- tremely strong, its walls and bastions rising one behind another, and their aspect was so formidable that they were popularly known as the "devil's works." from these the garrison opened a very heavy fire into the town, killing many of the scots. douglas, however, gave them but short respite, for gathering his men he attacked the castle and car- ried bastion after bastion by storm until the whole were taken. about the same time the important town of ulm on the danube opened its gates to the swedes, and sir patrick ruthven was appointed commandant, with twelve hundred swedes as garrison. colonel munro with two companies of musketeers marched to coblentz and aided otto louis, the rhinegrave, who with a brigade of twenty troops of horse was expecting to be attacked by ten thousand spaniards and walloons from spires. four regiments of spanish horse attacked the rhinegrave's quarters, but were charged so furiously by four troops of the lion of the north. swedish dragoons under captain hume that three hundred of them were killed and the elector of nassau taken prisoner; after this the spaniards re- tired beyond the moselle. in other parts of germany the generals of gusta- vus were equalty successful. general horn defeated the imperialists at heidelberg and heilbronn. gen- eral lowenhausen scoured all the shores of the bal- tic, and compelled colonel graham, a scotch soldier in the imperial service, to surrender the hanse town of wismar. graham marched out with his garrison, three thousand strong, with the honors of war en route for silesia, but having, contrary to terms, spiked the cannon, plundered the shipping, and slain a swedish lieutenant, lowenhausen pur- sued him, and in the battle which ensued five hun- dred of graham's men were slain and the colonel himself with two thousand taken prisoner. general ottentodt was moving up the elbe carry- ing all before him with a force of fourteen thousand men, among whom were five battalions of scots and one of english. this force cleared the whole duchy of mecklenburg, capturing all the towns and for- tresses in rapid succession. sir patrick rnthven advanced along the shores of lake constance, driving the imperialists before him into the tyrol. magdeburg was captured by general banner, the landgrave of hesse-cassel reduced all fulda-pader- born and the adjacent districts, the elector of saxony overran bohemia, and sir alexander leslie threatened the imperialists in lower saxony. the lion of the korth. thus the campaign of opened under the most favorable auspices. the green brigade marched on the th of march to aschaffenburg, a distance of more' than thirty miles, a fact which speaks volumes for the physique and endurance of the troops, for this would in the present day be con- sidered an extremely long march for troops, and the weight of the helmet and armor, musket and accoutrements of the troops of those days was fully double that now carried by european soldiers. here they were reviewed by the king. by' the th the whole army, twenty-three thousand strong, were collected at weinsheim and advanced toward bavaria, driving before them the imperialists under the count de bucquio. the chancellor oxenstiern had been left by the king with a strong force to guard his conquests on the rhine. no sooner had the king marched than the span- iards again crossed the moselle. the chancellor and the duke of weimar advanced against them. the dutch troops, who formed the first line of the chancellor's army, were unable to stand the charge of the spanish and fled in utter confusion; but the scottish regiment of sir roderick leslie, who had succeeded sir john hamilton on his resignation, and the battalion of sir john ruthven charged the spaniards with leveled pikes so furiously that these in turn were broken and driven off the field. on the th of march gustavus arrived before the important town and fortress of donauworth, being the lion of the norte. joined on the same day by the laird of foulis with his two regiments of horse and foot. donauworth is the key to suabia; it stands on the danube, and was a strongly fortified place, its defenses being further covered by fortifications upon a lofty emi- nence close by, named the schellemberg. it was held by the duke of saxe-lauenburg with two thousand five hundred men. the country round donauworth is fertile and hilly, and gustavus at once seized a height which com- manded the place. the bavarians were at work upon entrenchments here as the swedes advanced, but were forced to fall back into the town. from the foot of the hill a suburb extended to the gates of the city. this was at once occupied by five hundred musketeers, who took up their post in the houses along the main road in readiness to repel a sortie should the garrison attempt one; while the force on the hillside worked all night, and by day- break on the th had completed and armed a twenty-gun battery. in this was placed a strong body of infantry under captain semple, a scotchman. as this bat- tery commanded the walls of the town and flanked the bridge across the danube, the position of the defenders was now seriously menaced, but the duke of saxe-lauenburg refused the demand of gustavus to surrender. the battery now opened fire, first demolishing a large stone building by the river occu- pied by a force of imperialists, and then directing its fire upon the city gates. the lion of thk nortb. the cannonade continued after nightfall, but in the darkness a body of imperialist horsemen under colonel cronenberg dashed out at full speed through the gate, cut a passage through the musketeers in the suburb, galloped up the hill, and fell upon the infantry and artillery in the battery. so furious was their charge that the greater part of the de- fenders of the battery were cut down. the guns were spiked, and the cavalry, having accomplished their purpose, charged down the hill, cut their way through the suburb, and regained the town. this gallant exploit deranged the plans of the swedes. gustavus reconnoitered the town accom- panied by sir john hepburn, and by the advice of that officer decided upon a fresh plan of operations. hepburn pointed out to him that by taking posses- sion of the angle formed by the confluence of the wermitz and danube to the west of the town, the bridge crossing from donauworth into bavaria would be completely commanded, and the garrison would be cut off from all hope of escape and of receiving relief from bavaria. the plan being approved, hepburn drew off his brigade with its artillery, and marching five miles up the danube crossed the river at the bridge of hassfurt and descended the opposite bank until he faced donauworth. he reached his position at midnight and placed his cannon so as to command the whole length of the bridge, and then posted his musketeers in the gardens and houses of a suburb on the river so that their cross fire also swept it. the lion of the north. the pikemen were drawn up close to the artillery at the head of the bridge. quietly as these move- ments were performed the garrison took the alarm, and toward morning the duke, finding his retreat intercepted, sallied out at the head of eight hun- dred musketeers to cut his way through; but as the column advanced upon the bridge the green bri- gade opened fire, the leaden hail of their musketeers smote the column on both sides, while the cannon plowed lanes through it from end to end. so great was the destruction that the bavarians re- treated in confusion back into the town again, leaving the bridge strewn with their dead. alone the gallant duke of saxe-lauen burg charged through the hail of fire across the bridge, fell upon the pikemen sword in hand and, cutting his way through them, rode away, leaving his garri- son to their fate. the roar of artillery informed gustavus what was going on, and he immediately opened fire against the other side of the town and led his men to the assault of the gate. the instant the scotch had recovered from their surprise at the desperate feat performed by the duke, hepburn, calling them together, placed himself at their head and led them across the bridge. the panic-stricken fugitives had omitted to close the gate and the scotch at once entered the town. here the garrison resisted desperately; their pike- men barred the streets, and from every window and roof their musketeers poured their fire upon the advancing column. the lion of the north. the day was breaking now and the roar of battle in the city mingled with that at the gates, where the swedes were in vain striving to effect an en- trance. gradually the scotch won their way forward; five hundred of the bavarians were killed, in addition to four hundred who had fallen on the bridge. the rest now attempted to fly. great numbers were drowned in the danube and the re- mainder were taken prisoners. the streets were encumbered by the heavily-laden baggage wagons, and a vast amount of booty fell into the hands of the scotch, who thus became masters of the town before gustavus and his swedes had succeeded in carrying the gate. the king now entered the town, and as soon as order was restored hepburn's brigade recrossed the danube and threw up a strong work on the other side of the bridge; for tilly was on the lech, but seven miles distant, and might at any moment return. he had just struck a severe blow at marshal horn, who had recently taken bamberg. his force, nine thousand strong, had been scattered to put down a rising of the country people, when tilly with sixteen thousand fell upon them. a column under bauditzen was attacked and de- feated, and tilly's horsemen pursued them hotly to the bridge leading to the town. marshal horn threw a barricade across this and defended it until nightfall. tilly had then fallen back before the advance of gustavus to a very strong position on the lech. this was an extremely rapid river, the lion of the north. difficult to cross and easily defensible. tilly had broken down the bridges, and was prepared to dis- pute till the last the further advance of the swedes. he placed his army between rain, where the lech falls into the danube, and augsburg, a distance of sixteen miles—all the assailable points being strongly occupied, with small bodies of cavalry in the intervals to give warning of the approach of the enemy. he had been joined by maximilian of bavaria, and his force amounted to forty thousand men. gustavus gave his army four days' rest at donau- wbrth, and then advanced with thirty-two thousand men against the lech. his dragoons, who had been pushed forward, had found the bridges de- stroyed. he first attempted to repair that at rain, but the fire of the artilley and musketry was so heavy that he was forced to abandon the idea. he then made a careful reoonnoissance of the river, whose course was winding and erratic. finding that at every point at which a crossing could be easily effected tilly's batteries and troops commanded the position, he determined to make his attack at a point where the river made a sharp bend in the form of a semi-circle, of which he occu- pied the outer edge. he encamped the bulk of his army at the village of nordheim, a short distance in the rear, and erected three powerful batteries mounting seventy-two guns. one of these faced the center of the loop, the others were placed opposite the sides. the lion of the north. the ground on the swedish bank of the river was higher than that facing it; and when the swedish batteries opened they so completely swept the ground inclosed by the curve of the river that the imperialists could not advance across it and were compelled to remain behind a rivulet called the ach, a short distance in the rear of the lech. they brought up their artillery, however, and re- plied to the cannonade of the swedes. for four days the artillery duel continued, and while it was going on a considerable number of troops were at work in the village of oberndorf, which lay in a declivity near the river, hidden from the sight of the imperialists, constructing a bridge. for that purpose a number of strong wooden trestles of various heights and with feet of unequal length for standing in the bed of the river, were prepared together with a quantity of piles to be driven in among and beside them to enable them to resist the force of the current. on the night of the fourth day the king caused a number of fires to be lighted near the river, fed with green wood and damp straw. a favorable wind blew the smoke toward the enemy and thus con- cealed the ground from them. at daybreak on the th of april a thousand picked men crossed the river in two boats and, having reached the other side, at once proceeded to throw up intrenchments to cover the head of the bridge, while at the same time the workmen began to place the trestles in position. the lion of the north. ialist cavalry were repulsed. altringer, however, rallied them and led them back again to the charge, but a cannon ball grazed his temple and he was car- ried senseless from the field. his men, shaken by the tremendous fire and deprived of their leader, fell back in confusion. tilly at once placed himself at the head of a chosen body of troops and advanced to the attack, fighting with the ardor and bravery which always distinguished him. he was short in stature and remarkable for his ugliness as well as his bravery. lean and spare in figure, he had hollow cheeks, a long nose, a broad wrinkled forehead, heavy mustaches, and a sharp-pointed chin. he had from his boyhood been fighting against the protes- tants. he had learned the art of war under the cruel and pitiless spanish general, alva, in the netherlands, of which country he was a native, and had afterward fought against them in bavaria, in bohemia, and the palatinate, and had served in hungary against the turks. until he met gustavus at breitenfeld he had never known a reverse. a bigoted catholic, he had never hesitated at any act of cruelty which might benefit the cause for which he fought, or strike ter- ror into the protestants; and the singularity of his costume and the ugliness of his appearance height- ened the terror which his deeds inspired among them. when not in armor his costume was mod- eled upon that of the duke of alva, consisting of a slashed doublet of green silk, with an enormously the lion of the north. wide-brimmed and high conical hat adorned with a large red ostrich feather. in his girdle he carried a long dagger and a toledo sword of immense length. his personal bravery was famous, and never did he fight more gallantly than when he led his veterans to the attack of the swedes. for twenty minutes a furious hand-to-hand con- flict raged, and the result was still uncertain when a shot from a falconet struck tilly on the knee and shattered the bone, and the old general fell insen- sible to the ground. he was carried off the field, and his troops, now without a leader, gave way, the movement being hastened by two bodies of swedish horse, who, eager for action, swam their horses across the river and threatened to cut off the re- treat. by this time evening was at hand. the swedes had secured the passage of the river, but the imperialist army still held its intrenched position in the wood behind the lech. gustavus brought the rest of his army across and halted for the night. the imperialist position was tremendously strong, being unassailable on the right and covered in the front by the marshy ground. it could still have been defended with every prospect of success by a determined general, but the two best imperialist commanders were hors de combat, and maximilian of bavaria, the nominal generalissimo, had no mili- tary experience. the army, too, was disheartened by the first success of the swedes and by the loss of the general whom they regarded as well-nigh in- vincible. the lion of the north. tilly had now recovered his senses, but was suf- fering intense agony from his wound, and on being consulted by maximilian he advised him to fall back, as the destruction of his army would leave the whole country open to the swedes. the imperialists accordingly evacuated their posi- tion and fell back in good order during the night on neuberg, and then to ingolstadt. rain and neu- berg were occupied the next day by the swedes. gustavus despatched marshal horn to follow the retreating enemy to ingolstadt, and he himself with the rest of his army marched up the lech to augs- burg, which was held by colonel breda with four thousand five hundred men. the imperialists had broken down the bridge, but gustavus immediately built two others, one above and the other below the city, and summoned it to surrender. breda, hearing that tilly was dy- ing, altringer severely wounded, and that no help was to be expected from maximilian, considered it hopeless to resist, and surrendered the town, which gustavus, attended by the titular king of bohemia and many other princes, entered in triumph on the following day, april th. the capture of augsburg was hailed with peculiar satisfaction, as the city was regarded as the birth- place of the reformation in germany. leaving a garrison there the king retraced his steps along the lech to eeuberg, and marched thence to join mar- shal horn in front of ingolstadt. this town was one of the strongest places in ger- the lion of the north. many and had never been captured. it was now held by a formidable garrison, and the imperialist army covered it on the north. tilly had implored maximilian to defend it and ratisbon at all hazards, as their possession was a bar to the further advance of gustavus. the king arrived before it on the th, and on the following day advanced to reconnoiter it closely. the gunners of the town, seeing a number of officers approaching, fired, and with so good an aim that a cannon ball carried off the hind-quarters of the horse the king was riding. a cry of alarm and consternation burst from the officers, but their delight was great when the king rose to his feet, covered with dust and blood fndeed, but otherwise unhurt. on the following day a cannon ball carried off the head of the margave of baden-durlach, and on the same day tilly expired. with his last breath he urged maximilian never to break his alliance with the emperor, and to appoint colonel cratz, an officer of great courage and ability, to the command of his army. gustavus remained eight days before ingolstadt and then, finding that the reduction of the place could not be effected without the loss of much valuable time, he raised the siege. on his march he took possession of landshut and forced it to pay a ransom of one hundred thousand thalers and to receive a garrison, and then continued his way to munich. the lion of the north. chapter xiii. captured by the peasants. malcolm graeme was not present at the siege of ingolstadt. the orders after crossing the lech had been very strict against straggling, so soon as the disposition of the country people was seen; but it is not easy to keep a large column of troops in a solid body. the regiments on the march indeed, under the eye of the officers, can be kept in column, but a considerable number of troops are scattered along the great convoy of wagons containing the tents, stores, and ammunition of the army, and which often extends some miles in length. even if the desire for plunder does not draw men away, many are forced to fall behind either from sickness, sore feet, or other causes. the number of these was comparatively small in the army of gustavus, for discipline was strict and the spirit of the troops good. as soon, however, as it was found that every straggler who fell into the hands of the peasantry was murdered under circum- stances of horrible atrocity it became very difficult for the officers to keep the men together, so intense was their fury and desire for vengeance against the the lion of the north. savage peasantry, and on every possible occasion when a village was seen near the line of march men would slip away and slay, plunder, and burn. gustavus endeavored to repress these proceedings. he shared the indignation of his troops at the barbarous conduct of the peasantry, but throughout the war he always tried to carry on hostilities so as to inflict as little loss and suffering as possible upon non-combatants. this state of warfare,too.between his troops and the country people added to his difficulties, for the peasantry drove off their cattle and burned their stacks, and rendered it necessary for provisions and forage to be carried with the army. parties were therefore sent out on the flanks of the column for the double purpose of pre- venting soldiers stealing off to plunder and burn, and of picking up stragglers and saving them from the fury of the peasants. a strong rear-guard followed a short distance behind the army. it was accompanied by some empty wagons, in which those who fell out and were unable to keep up with the march were placed. two days after the advance from the lech, malcolm was in charge of a small party on the right flank of the column. there was no fear of an attack from the enemy, for the swedish horsemen were out scouring the country, and the imperialists were known to have fallen back to ingolstadt. the villages were found deserted by the male inhabi- tants, the younger women too had all left, but a few old crones generally remained in charge. these the lion of the north. scowled at the invaders, and crossing themselves muttered curses beneath their breath upon those whom their priests had taught them to regard as devils. there was nothing to tempt the cupidity of the soldiers in these villages. malcolm's duty was confined to a casual inspection, to see that no stragglers had entered for the purpose of procuring wine. the day's march was nearly over when he saw some flames rise from a village a short distance away. hurrying forward with his men he found a party of ten of the swedish soldiers who had stolen away from the baggage guard engaged in plunder- ing. two peasants lay dead in the street, and a house was in flames. malcolm at once ordered his detachment, who were twenty strong, to arrest the swedes and to march them back to the columns. while they were doing this he went from house to house to see that none of the party were lurking there. at the door of the last house of the village three women were standing. "are any of the soldiers here?" he asked. the women gave him an unintelligible answer in the country patois, and passing between them he entered the cottage. on the table stood a large jug of water, and lifting it he took a long draught. there was a sudden crash, and he fell heavily, struck down from behind with a heavy mallet by one of the women. he was .stunned by the blow, and when he recovered his senses he found that he the lion of the north. was bound hand and foot, a cloth had been stuffed tightly into his mouth, and he was covered thickly with a heap of straw and rubbish. he struggled desperately to free himself, but so tightly were the cords bound that they did not give in the slightest. a cold perspiration broke out on his forehead as he reflected that he was helpless in the power of these savage peasants, and that he should probably be put to death by torture. presently he could hear the shouts of his men, who, on finding that he did not return, had scattered through the village in search of him. he heard the voice of his sergeant. "these old hags say they saw an officer walk across to the left. the captain may have meant us to march the prisoners at once to the column, and be waiting just outside the village for us, but it is not likely. at any rate, lads, we will search every house from top to bottom before we leave. so set to work at once; search every room, cupboard and shed. there may be foul play; though we see no men about, some may be in hiding." malcolm heard the sound of footsteps, and the crashing of planks as the men searched the cottages, wrenched off the doors of cupboards, and ransacked the whole place. gradually the sound ceased, and everything became quiet. presently he heard the sound of drums, and knew that the regiment which formed the rear-guard was passing. it was bitterness indeed to know that his friends were within sound of a call for aid, and that he was bound and helpless. the halting-place for the night the lion of the north. was, he knew, but a mile or two in advance, and his only hope was that some band of plunderers might in the night visit the village; but even then his chances of being discovered were small indeed, for even should they sack and burn it he would pass unnoticed lying hidden in the straw-yard. his cap- tors were no doubt aware of the possibility of such a visit, for it was not until broad daylight, when the army would again be on its forward march, that they uncovered him. brave as malcolm was he could scarce repress a shudder as he looked at the band of women who surrounded him. all were past middle age, some were old and toothless, but all were animated by a spirit of ferocious triumph. raising him into a sit- ting position, they clustered round him, some shook their skinny hands in his face, others heaped curses upon him, some of the most furious assailed him with heavy sticks, and had he not still been clothed in his armor, would then and there have killed him. this, however, was not their intention, for they intended to put him to death by slow torture. he was lifted and carried into the cottage. there the lacings of his armor were cut, the cords loosened one by one, sufficient to enable them to remove the various pieces of which it was composed, then he was left to himself, as the hags intended to postpone the final tragedy until the men returned from the hills. this might be some hours yet, as the swedish cavalry would still be scouring the country, and the lion of the north. other bodies of troops might be marching up. from the conversation of the women, which he understood but imperfectly, malcolm gathered that they thought the men would return that night. some of the women were in favor of executing the vengeance themselves, but the majority were of opinion that the men should have their share of the pleasure. all sorts of fiendish propositions were made as to the manner in which his execution should be carried out, but even the mildest caused malcolm to shudder in anticipation. his arms were bound tightly to his side at the elbows, and the wrists were fastened in front of him, his legs were tied at the knees and ankles. sometimes he was left alone as the women went about their various avocations in the village, but he was so securely bound that to him as to them his escape appeared altogether impossible. the day passed heavily and slowly. the cloth had been re- moved from his mouth, but he was parched with thirst, while the tightly-bound cords cut deeply into his flesh. he had once asked for water, but his request had been answered with such jeers and mockery that he resolved to suffer silently until the last. at length the darkness of the winter evening began to fall when a thought suddenly struck him. on the hearth a fire was burning; he waited until the women had again left the hut. he could hear their voices without as they talked with those in the next cottage. they might at any moment return, and the lion of the north. it was improbable that they would again go out, for the cold was bitter, and they would most likely wait indoors for the return of the men. this then was his last opportunity. he rolled himself to the fire, and with his teeth seized the end of one of the burning sticks. he raised him- self into a sitting position, and with the greatest difficulty laid the burning end of the stick across the cords which bound his wrists. it seemed to him that they would never catch fire. the flesh scorched and frizzled, and the smoke rose up with that of the burning rope. the agony was intense, but it was for life, and malcolm unflinchingly held the burn- ing brand in its place until the cords flew asunder and his hands were free. although almost mad with the pain, malcolm sat to work instantly to undo the other ropes. as soon as one of his arms was free he seized a hatchet, which lay near him, and rapidly cut the rest. he was not a moment too soon, for as he cut the last knot he heard the sound of steps, and two women appeared at the door. on seeing their prisoner standing erect with an axe in his hand they turned and fled shrieking loudly. it was well for malcolm that they did so, for so stiff and numbed were his limbs that he could scarcely hold the axe, and the slightest push would have thrown him to the ground. some minutes passed before, by stamping his feet and rubbing his legs he restored circulation suffi- ciently to totter across the room. then he seized a the lion of the norte. brand and thrust it into the thatch of the house, having first put on his helmet and placed his sword and pistols in his belt. his hands were too crippled and powerless to enable him to fasten on the rest of his armor. he knew that he had no time to lose. fortunately the women would not know how weak and helpless he was, for had they returned in a body they could easily have overpowered him; but at any moment the men might arrive, and if he was found there by them his fate was sealed. accordingly as soon as he had fired the hut he made his way from the village as quickly as he could crawl along. he saw behind him the flames rising higher and higher. the wind was blowing keenly, and the fire spread rapidly from house to house, and by the time he reached the road along which the army had traveled the whole village was in flames. he felt that he could not travel far, for the intense sufferings which he had endured for twenty-four hours without food or water had ex- hausted his strength. his limbs were swollen and bruised from the tight- ness of the cords, the agony of his burned wrists was terrible, and after proceeding slowly for about a mile he drew off from the broad trampled track which the army had made in passing, and dragging himself to a clump of trees a short distance from the road, made his way through some thick under- growth and flung himself down. the night was intensely cold, but this was a relief to him rather than otherwise, for it alleviated the burning pain of the lion of the north. now recovered their lissomeness; but he was weak from want of food and no longer walked with the free, elastic stride which distinguished the scottish infantry. his wrists gave him great pain, being both terribly burned, and every movement of the hand sent a thrill of agony up the arm. he per- sisted, however, in frequently opening and clench- ing his hands, regardless of the pain, for he feared that did he not do so they would stiffen and he would be unable to grasp a sword. fortunately the wounds were principally on the upper side of the thumbs, where the flesh was burned away to the bone, but the sinews and muscles of the wrists had to a great extent escaped. he had not journeyed very far when he saw a light ahead and presently perceived the houses of a village. a fire was lit in the center, and a number of figures were gathered round it. "something is going on," malcolm said to him- self; "as likely as not they have got some unfortu- nate prisoner. whatever it be, i will steal in and try to get some food. i cannot go much further without it; and as their attention is occupied, i may find a cottage empty." making his way round to the back of the houses, he approached one of the cottages in the rear. he lifted the latch of the door and opened it a little. all was still. with his drawn sword he entered. the room was empty; a fire burned on the hearth, and on the table were some loaves which had evi- dently been just baked. malcolm fell upon one of the lion of the north. them and speedity devoured it, and, taking a long draught of rough country wine from a skin hanging against the wall, he felt another man. he broke another loaf in two and thrust the pieces into his doublet, and then sallied out from the cottage again. still keeping behind the houses he made his way until he got within view of the lire. here he saw a sight which thrilled him with horror. some eight or ten peasants and forty or fifty women were yelling and shouting. fastened against a post in front of the fire were the remains of a prisoner. he had been stripped, his ears, nose, hands, and feet cut off, and he was slowly bleeding to death. four other men, bound hand and foot, lay close to the fire. by its flames malcolm saw the green scarfs that told they were scotchmen of his own brigade, and he determined at once to rescue them or die in the attempt. he crept forward un- til he reached the edge of the road; then he raised a pistol and with a steady aim fired at one of the natives, who fell dead across the fire. another shot laid another beside him before the peasants recovered from their first surprise. then with a loud shout in german, "kill—kill! and spare none!" malcolm dashed forward. the peas- ants, believing that they were attacked by a strong body, fled precipitately in all directions. malcolm, on reaching the prisoners, instantly severed their bonds. malcolm fired at one of the datives and then with a loud shout dashed forward.—page . s — the lion of the north. the lion of tbe nortb. "quick, my lads!" he exclaimed; "we shall have them upon us again in a minute." the men in vain tried to struggle to their feet— their limbs were too numbed to bear them. "crawl to the nearest cottage!" malcolm ex- claimed; "we can hold it until your limbs are recovered." he caught up from the ground some pikes and scythes which the peasants had dropped in their flight, and aided the men to make their way to the nearest cottage. they were but just in time; for the peasants, finding they were not pursued, had looked round, and seeing but one opponent had gained courage and were beginning to approach again. malcolm barred the door, and then taking down a skin of wine bade his companions take a drink. there were loaves on the shelves, and these he cut up and handed to them. "quick, lads!" he said; "stamp your legs and swing your arms, and get the blood in motion. i will keep these fellows at bay a few minutes lon- ger." he reloaded his pistols and fired through the door, at which the peasants were now hewing with axes. a cry and a heavy fall told him that one of the shots had taken effect. suddenly there was a smell of smoke. "they have fired the roof," malcolm said. "now, lads, each of you put a loaf of bread under his jer- kin. there is no saying when we may get more. now get ready and sally out with me. there are the lion of thk north. but six or eight men in the village, and they are no match for us. they only dared to attack us because they saw that you couldn't walk." the door was opened, and headed by malcolm the four scotchmen dashed out. they were assailed by a shower of missiles by the crowd as they ap- peared, but as soon as it was seen that the men were on foot again the peasants gave way. malcolm shot one and cut down another, and the rest scat- tered in all directions. "now, lads, follow me while we may," and mal- colm again took to the fields. the peasants fol- lowed for some distance, but when the soldiers had quite recovered the use of their limbs malcolm sud- denly turned on his pursuers, overtaking and killing two of them. then he and his men again contin- ued their journey, the peasants no longer following. when at some distance from the village he said: "we must turn and make for the lech again. it is no farther than it is to ingolstadt, and we shall find friends there. these peasants will go on ahead and raise all the villagers against us, and we should never get through. what regiment do you belong to, lads ?" for in the darkness he had been unable to see their faces. "your own, captain graeme. we were in charge of one of the wagons with sick. the wheel came off, and we were left behind the convoy while we were mending it. as we were at work our weapons laid on the ground, some twenty men sprang out from some bushes hard by and fell upon us. we the lion of the north. killed five or six of them, but were beaten down and ten of our number were slain. they murdered all the sick in the wagons and marched us away, bound, to this village where you found us. sandy m'alister they had murdered just as you came up, and we should have had a like horrible fate had you been a few minutes later. eh, sir! but it's an awful death to be cut in pieces by these devils incarnate!" "well, lads," malcolm said, "we will determine that they shall not take us alive again. if we are overtaken or met by any of these gangs of peasants we will fight till we die. none of us, i hope, are afraid of death in fair strife, but the bravest might well shrink from such a death as that of your poor comrade. now let us see what arms we have between us." malcolm had his sword and pistols, two of the men had pikes, the other two scythes fastened to long handles. "these are clumsy weapons," malcolm said. "you had best fit short handles to them, so as to make them into double-handled swords." they were unable to travel far, for all were ex- hausted with the sufferings they had gone through, but they kept on until they came upon a village which had been fired when the troops marched through. the walls of a little church were alone standing. it had, like the rest of the village, been burned, but the shell still remained. "so far as i can see," malcolm said, "the tower the lion of tub north. has escaped. had it been burned we should see through the windows. we mav find shelter in the belfry." on reaching the church they found that the entrance to the belfry tower was outside the church, and to this, no doubt, it owed its escape from the fire which had destroyed the main edifice. the door was strong and defied their efforts to break it in. "i must fire my pistol through the lock," mal- colm said. "i do not like doing so, for the sound may reach the ears of any peasants in the neighbor- hood; but we must risk it, for the cold is extreme, and to lie down in the snow would be well-nigh certain death." he placed his pistol to the keyhole and fired. the lock at once yielded and the party entered the door. "before we mount," malcolm said, "let each pick up one of these blocks of stone which have fallen from the wall. we will wedge the door from behind, and can then sleep secure against a surprise." when the door was closed one of the men, who was a musketeer, struck some sparks from a flint and steel on to a slow match which he carried in his jerkin, and by its glow they were enabled to look around them. the stone steps began to ascend close to the door, and by laying the stones between the bottom step and the door they wedged the latter firmly in its place. they then ascended the the lion of the north. stairs, and found themselves in a room some ten feet square, in which hung the bell which had called the village to prayers. it hung from some beams which were covered with a boarded floor, and a rough ladder led to a trapdoor, showing that there was another room above. the floor of the room in which they stood was of stone. "now, lads," malcolm said, "two of you make your way up that ladder and rip up some of the planks of the flooring. see if there are any win- dows or loopholes in the chamber above, and if so stuff your jerkins into them; we will close up those here. in a few minutes we will have a roaring fire; but we must beware lest a gleam of light be visible without, for this belfry can be seen for miles round. some of the boards were soon split up into frag- ments; but before the light was applied to them malcolm carefully examined each window and loop- hole to be sure that they were perfectly stopped. then the slow match was placed in the center of a number of pieces of dry and rotten wood. one of the men kneeling down blew lustily, and in a few seconds a flame sprang up. the wood was now heaped on, and a bright fire was soon blazing high. a trapdoor leading out on to the flat top of the tower was opened for the escape of the smoke, and the party then seated themselves round the fire, under whose genial warmth their spirits speedily rose. they now took from their wallets the bread which they had brought away with them. the lion of the north. "if we had," one of the soldiers said, " but a few flasks of ehine wine with us we need not envy a king." "jvo," malcolm replied, "we are better off at present than our comrades who are sleeping in the snow round the watch fires; but for all that i would that we were with them, for we have a long and dangerous march before us. and now, lads, you can sleep soundly. there will be no occasion to place a watch, for the door is securely fastened; but at the first dawn of light we must be on our feet; for although i do not mean to march until nightfall, we must remove the stoppings from the windows, for should the eye of any passing peasant fall upon them, he will guess at once that someone is sheltering here, and may proceed to find out whether it be friend or foe." having finished half their bread, for malcolm had warned them to save the other half for the next day, the men lay down round the fire, and soon all were sound asleep. the lion of the north. chapter xiv. in the church tower. malcolm was the first to awake, and was vexed to find by a stream of light pouring down through the half open trap door above that it was broad day. he roused the men, and the stoppings were at once removed from the loopholes. the sun was already high, for the party, overpowered with fatigue, had slept long and soundly. malcolm looked cautiously from the window; no one was in sight, and the ruins of the village below lay black and deserted. the men resumed the clothes which had been used for blocking the loop- holes, and sat down to pass the long hours which would elapse before the time for action arrived. it was exceedingly cold, for there were loopholes on each side of the chamber, and the wind blew keenly through. "sergeant," malcolm said, "we will risk a bit of fire again, for the cold pierces to the bone; only be sure that you use perfectly dry wood. examine each piece to see that no drip from the roof has penetrated it. if it is dry it will give but little smoke, and a slight vapor is not likely to be observed rising from the top of the tower." the lion of the norte. the fire was again lighted, and the smoke was so slight that malcolm had little fear of its being ob- served. an hour later, as the men were talking, malcolm suddenly held up his hand for silence, and the murmur of voices was heard without. malcolm rose to his feet to reconnoiter, standing far back from the loophole as he did so. a group of some eight or ten peasants were standing looking at the tower, while a woman was pointing to it and talk- ing eagerly. it was toward the windows that she was pointing, and malcolm guessed at once that, having returned in the early morning to see what remained of her home, she had happened to notice the garments stuffed in the windows and had carried the news to some of her companions. malcolm regretted bit- terly now that he had not set a watch, so that at the first gleam of daylight the windo ws might have been unlocked; but it was now too late. ""we shall have to fight for it, lads," he said, turn- ing round. "our clothes must have been seen early this morning, and there is a party of peasants watch- ing the tower. of course they cannot know at pres- ent whether we are friends or foes ; but no doubt the news of last evening's doings has traveled through the country, and the peasants are on the lookout for us, so they may well guess that we are here. however, we shall soon see. sergeant, place one of your men on sentry at the foot of the stairs, but do not let him speak or give any signs of his presence if the door is tried." the lion of the north. one of the soldiers was placed on guard. scarcely had he taken his station when there was a knocking at the door, and shouts were heard outside from the peasants calling on those within, if they were friends, to come out. no answer was returned. "it's fortunate for you," malcolm muttered, "that we don't come out, or we should make short work of you; but i know you would fly like hares if you saw us, and would bring the whole country down on us. no; we must hold out here. our only hope is to escape at night, or to hold this place till some of our troops come along. at any moment some regiments from the lech may be marching forward to join the king. "we must make our bread last, lads," he said cheerfully to the men, "for we may have to stand a long siege. methinks we can hold this stone staircase against all the peasants of this part of bavaria, and we must do so until we hear the sound of the swedish drums; they may come along at any time. if the worst comes to the worst one of us must start at night and carry news of our peril to the lech. we made a good supper last night and can fast for a bit. if we cut our "bread up into small portions we can hold out for days. there should be snow enough on the tower top to furnish us with drink." after hammering at the door for some time, the peasants retired, convinced that there were none of their own people within the tower, and that those who had slept there were the fugitives of whom the lion of the north. they had been in search during the night. these might, indeed, have departed in the interval between the time when the woman first saw the traces of their presence and her return with them; but they did not think that this was so, for in that case they could not have fastened the door behind them. the peasants accordingly withdrew a short dis- tance from the church, and three of their number were sent off in different directions to bring up re- inforcements. as soon as malcolm saw this movement he knew that concealment was useless and began to make preparations for the defense. first, he with the sergeant ascended to the roof of the tower. to his disappointment he saw that the heat of the flames had melted the snow and that most of the water had run away. some, however, stood in the hollows and inequalities of the stone platform, where it had again frozen into ice. as the supply would be very precious, malcolm directed that before any moved about on the platform, every piece of ice should be carefully taken up and carried below. here it was melted over the fire in one of the iron caps, and was found to furnish three quarts of water. the appear- ance of malcolm and his companion on the tower had been hailed by a shout of hatred and exulta- tion by the peasants; but the defenders had paid no attention to the demonstration and had continued their work as if regardless of the presence of their enemies. on his return to the platform malcolm found, the lion of the north. looking over the low parapet, that on the side farthest from the church great icicles hung down from the mouth of the gutter, the water having frozen again as it trickled from the platform. these icicles were three or four inches in diameter and many feet in length. they were carefully broken off and were laid down on the platform where they would remain frozen until wanted. malcolm now felt secure against the attacks of thirst for some days to come. the stones of the parapet were next tried and were without much trouble moved from their places, and were all carried to the side in which the door was situated, in readiness to hurl down upon any who might assault it. some of the beams of the upper floor- ing were removed from their places and, being carried down, were wedged against the upper part of the door, securing it as firmly as did the stones below. these preparations being finished, malcolm took a survey of the situation outside. the group of peasants had increased largely, some thirty or forty men armed with pikes, bills and scythes being gathered in a body, while many more could be seen across the country, hurrying over the white plain toward the spot. the windows of the lower apartment had been barricaded with planks, partly to keep out missiles, partly for warmth. a good fire now blazed in the center, and the soldiers, confident in themselves and their leader, cracked grim jokes as, their work being finished, they sat down round it and awaited the attack, one of their the lion of the north. number being placed on the summit of the tower to give warning of the approach of the enemy. "i would that we had a musket or two," malcolm said, "for we might then keep them from the door. i have only some twenty charges for my pistols, and the most of these, at any rate, i must keep for the defense of the stairs." presently the sentry from above called out that the peasants were moving forward to the attack. "sergeant," malcolm said, "do you fasten my green scarf to a long strip of plank and fix it to the top of the tower. we cannot fight under a better banner. now let us mount to the roof and give them a warm reception." "look out, sir," the sentry exclaimed as malcolm ascended the stair, "three or four of them have got muskets." "then we must be careful," malcolm said. "i don't suppose they are much of marksmen, but even a random shot will tell at times, and i want to take you all back safe with me; so keep low when you get on the roof, lads, and don't show your heads more than you can help." heralding their attack by a discharge from their muskets, whose balls whistled harmlessly round the tower, the peasants rushed forward to the door and commenced an assault upon it with hatchets and axes. malcolm and his men each lifted a heavy stone and rolled it over the parapet, the five loosing the missiles simultaneously. there was a dull crash, the lion of the north. and with a terrible cry the peasants fled from the door. looking over malcolm saw that six or seven men had been struck down. five of these lay dead or senseless; two were endeavoring to drag them- selves away. "that is lesson number one," he said. "they will be more prudent next time." the peasants, after holding a tumultuous council, scattered, most of them making for a wood a short distance off. "they are going to cut down a tree and use it as a battering-ram," malcolm observed. "they know that these large stones are too heavy for us to cast many paces from the foot of the wall. we must get to work and break some of them up. that will not be difficult, for the wind and weather have rot- ted many of them half through." the stones were for the most part from two to three feet long and nine or ten inches square. two were laid down on the platform some eighteen inches apart and another placed across them. the four men then lifted another stone, and holding it perpendicularly brought it down with all their strength upon the unsupported center of the stone, which broke in half at once. to break it again re- quired greater efforts, but it yielded to the blows. other stones were similarly treated, until a large pile was formed of blocks of some ten inches each way, besides a number of smaller fragments. in half an hour the peasants reappeared with a slight well-grown tree some forty feet long which the lion of the north. had been robbed of its branches. it was laid down about fifty yards from the church, and then twenty men lifted it near the butt and advanced to use it as a battering-ram, with the small end forward; but before they were near enough to touch the door the bearers were arrested by a cry from the crowd as the defenders appeared on the tower, and poising their blocks of stone above their heads, hurled them down. three of them flew over the heads of the peasants, but the others crashed down among them, slaying and terribly mutilating two of the bearers of the tree and striking several others to the ground. the battering-ram was instantly dropped, and before the scotchmen had time to lift another missile the peasants were beyond their reach. "lesson number two," malcolm said. "what will our friends do next, i wonder?" the peasants were clearly at a loss. a long con- sultation was held, but this was not followed by any renewal of the attack. "i think they must have made up their minds to starve us out, sir," the sergeant remarked as the hours went slowly by without any renewal of the attack. "yes; either that, sergeant, or a night attack. in either case i consider that we are safe for a time, but sooner or later our fate is sealed unless aid comes to us, and therefore i propose that one of vou should to-night try and bear a message to the lech. we can lower him down by the bell-rope from this window in the angle where the tower touches the the lion of the north. church. keeping round by the church he will be in deep shadow until he reaches the other end, and will then be close to the ruins of the village. before morning he could reach our camp." "i will undertake it myself, sir, if you will allow me," the sergeant said, while the other men also volunteered for the duty. "you shall try first, sergeant," malcolm said. "it will be dangerous work, for as the news of our being here spreads the peasants will be coming in from all quarters. their numbers are already greatly increased since they commenced the attack, and there must be at least three or four hundred men around us. they will be sure to keep a sharp lookout against our escaping, and it will need all your care and caution to get through them." "never fear, sir," the man replied confidently. "i have stalked the deer scores of times, and it will be hard if i cannot crawl through a number of thick- witted bavarian peasants." "even beyond the village you will have to keep your eyes open, as you may meet parties of peasants on their way here. fortunately you will have no difficulty in keeping the road, so well beaten is it by the march of the army. if by to-morrow night no rescue arrives i shall consider that you have been taken or killed, and shall try with the others to make my way through. it would be better to die sword in hand while we have still the strength to wield our arms than to be cooped up here until too weak any longer to defend ourselves, and then to be slowly tortured to death." the jon of the north. as soon as it was dusk a sentry was placed on the top of the tower, with orders to report the slightest sound or stir. during the day this had not been necessary, for a view could be obtained from the windows, and the men with firearms, who had now considerably increased in numbers, kept up a con- stant fire at the tower. an hour later the sentry reported that he could hear the sound of many feet in the darkness, with the occasional snapping as of dry twigs. "they are going to burn down the door," mal- colm said. "that is what i expected. now, ser- geant, is your time. they are all busy and intent upon their purpose. you could not have a better time." the rope was fastened round the sergeant's waist, and with some difficulty he squeezed himself through the narrow window, after listening atten- tively to discover if any were below. all seemed perfectly still on this side, and he was gradually and steadily lowered down. presently those above felt the rope slack. another minute and it swung loosely. it was drawn up again, and malcolm, placing one of the men at the loophole, with instructions to listen intently for any sound of alarm or conflict, turned his attention to the other side. soon he saw a number of dark figures bearing on their heads great bundles which he knew to be fag- ots approaching across the snow. as they approached a brisk fire suddenly opened the lion of the north. on the tower. malcolm at once called the sentry down. "it is of no use exposing yourself," he said, "and we could not do much harm to them did we take to stoning them again. we have nothing to do now but to wait." soon a series of dull heavy crashes were heard as the fagots were thrown down against the door. malcolm descended the stairs until he reached the lowest loophole which lighted them, and which was a few feet above the top of the door. he took one of the men with him. "here are my flask and bullet pouch," he said. "do you reload my pistols as i discharge them." for some minutes the sound of the fagots being thrown down continued, then the footsteps were heard retreating, and all was quiet again. "now it is our turn again," malcolm said. "it is one thing to prepare a fire and another to light it, my fine fellows. i expect that you have forgotten that there are firearms here." presently a light was seen in the distance, and two men with blazing brands approached. they advanced confidently until within twenty yards of the tower, then there was the sharp crack of a pis- tol, and one of them fell forward on his face, the other hesitated and stood irresolute, then, summon- ing up courage, he sprang forward. as he did so another shot flashed out, and he, too, fell prostrate, the brand hissing and spluttering in the snow a few feet from the pile of brushwood. a the lion of the north. which it leaned were catching, and the flames be- gan to shoot up. higher and higher they rose, and a shout of triumph from the peasants told how keenly they were also watching. still the heavy stones continued to fall. the flames rose higher, and half the fagot was now alight. another minute and the fire would communicate with the pile. then there was a crash. a shower of sparks leaped up as the fagot, struck by one of the heavy stones, was dashed from its place and lay blazing twenty feet distant from the pile. there it burned itself out, and for a time the tower was safe. for an hour the defenders watched the peasants, who had now lighted great fires just out of pistol- shot from the tower, and were gathered thickly round them, the light flashing redly from pike-head and scythe. the uproar of voices was loud; but though the defenders guessed that they were discussing the next plan of attack they could catch no meaning from such words as reached them, for the patois of the bavarian peasants was unintelligible. at last a large number seized brands, some approached as be- fore toward the pile, the others scattered in various directions, while the men with muskets again opened fire at the top of the tower. malcolm took his post at the loophole awaiting attack, but the men in front of him did not advance. suddenly a light sprang up beneath him. there was a sound of falling stones, but the light grew brighter and brighter, and he knew that this time the lion of the north. the pile had been fired. as he ran upstairs he was met by one of the soldiers from above. "they crept round by the back of the church, sir, and round at the foot of the tower, and they had fired the pile before we saw that they were there." "it cannot be helped," malcolm said, "they were sure to succeed sooner or later. call the others down from the roof." the door at the top of the stairs was now closed, and the crevices were stuffed tightly with strips torn from the men's clothes so as to prevent the smoke from entering when the door below gave way to the flames. a broad glare of light now lit up the scene, and showers of sparks and an occasional tongue of flame were visible through the window. "shut down the trapdoor in the roof," malcolm said, "that will check the draught through the win- dows." the wood was dry, and what smoke made its way in through the window found its way out through the loopholes of the upper chamber without seri- ously incommoding those below. "we can take it easy now," malcolm said as he set the example by sitting down against the wall. "it will be hours before the stonework below will be cool enough to permit them to attack." "they are lighting a circle of fires all round the church," one of the soldiers said, looking out. "they think we shall be trying to escape, now that our door is burned. they are too late ; i trust our messenger is miles away by this time." the lion of the north. in half an hour the flames died away, but a deep red glow showed that the pile of embers was still giving out an intense heat. one of the men was now placed on the top of the tower again, as a measure of precaution, but it was certain that hours would elapse before an attack could be made. the peasants, indeed, secure of their prey, evinced no hurry to commence the attack, but spent the night in shouting and singing round their fires, occasion- ally yelling threats of the fate which awaited them against the defenders of the tower. toward daylight malcolm commenced his prep- arations for defense. the door was taken off its hinges and was laid on the stone stairs. these were but two feet wide, the door itself being some three inches less. the rope was fastened round its upper end to prevent it from sliding down. "i wish we had had some grease to pour over it," malcolm said, " but dry as it is it will be next to impossible for any one to walk up that sharp incline, and we four should be able to hold it against the peasants till doomsday." it was not until broad daylight that the peasants prepared for the attack. so long as the operation had been a distant one it had seemed easy enough, but as in a confused mass they approached the open doorway they realized that to ascend the narrow staircase, defended at the top by desperate men, was an enterprise of no common danger, and that the work which they had regarded as finished was in fact scarcely begun. the lion of the north. the greater part then hung back, but a band of men, who by their blackened garments and swarthy faces malcolm judged to be charcoal burners, armed with heavy axes, advanced to the front, and with an air of dogged resolution ap- proached the door. the defenders gave no sign of their presence, no pistol flashed out from window or loophole. striding through the still hot ashes the leader of the woodmen passed through the doorway and advanced up the stairs. these ran in short straight flights round the tower, lighted by narrow loop- holes. no resistance was encountered until he reached the last turning, where a broader glare of light came from the open doorway, where two of the soldiers, pike in hand, stood ready to repel them. with a shout to his followers to come on, the peas- ant sprang forward. he ascended three steps, and then, as he placed his foot upon the sharply inclined plane of the door, which he had not noticed, he stumbled forward. his companions, supposing he had been pierced with a spear, pressed on after him, but each fell when they trod upon the door until a heap of men cumbered the stair. these were not unharmed, for with their long pikes the scottish spearmen ran them through and through as they lay. their bodies afforded a foothold to those who fol- lowed, but these could make but little way, for as but one could advance at a time, each as he came on was slain by the pikes. finding that two were the lion of the north. well able to hold the door, malcolm with the other ran up to the top of the tower and toppled over the stones of the parapet upon the mass gathered around the door. these at once scattered, and those on the stairs finding themselves unable to get forward, for the narrow passage was now completely choked with the dead, made their way out again and re- joined their comrades. "i expect they will send their musketeers first next time," malcolm said as he rejoined those below, leaving the soldier on the watch. "now let us get the door up again, and bring the dead here ; we can form a barrier with them breast-high." the door was quickly shifted on one side, and then the troopers brought up the dead, who were eleven in number. "now replace the door," malcolm ordered; "fill your iron caps with blood—there is plenty flowing from these fellows—and pour it over the door, it will be as good as oil." this was done, and the bodies were then piled shoulder-high across the door. "they can fire as much as they like now," mal- colm said, " they will be no nearer, and i defy any one to climb up that door now." : the lion of the north. chapter xv. a timely rescue. although unaware how much more formidable the task before them had become, the peasants were disheartened by their defeat, and even the boldest hesitated at the thought of again attacking foes so formidably posted. none of those who had returned were able to explain what was the obstacle which had checked their advance. all that they could tell was, that those before them had fallen, in some cases even before they were touched by the spears of the defenders. this mystery added to the dread which the assault of so difficult a position naturally inspired, and some hours were spent in discussing how the next attack should be made. many indeed were strongly in favor of remaining quietly around the tower and starving its defenders into surrendering. , others advocated an attempt to stifle them by heaping green wood and damp straw round the tower; but the more timid pointed out that many would be killed in carrying out the task by the fire- arms of the besieged, and that even were the com- bustibles placed in position and lighted, the success of the experiment would be by no means certain, as the besieged might stuff up all the orifices, or at the the lion of the north. worst might obtain sufficient fresh air on the top of the tower to enable them to breathe. "you are forgetting," one of the peasants ex- claimed, " the powder wagon which broke down as count tilly retreated from the lech. did we not carry off the powder barrels and hide them, partly to prevent them falling into the hands of these accursed swedes, partly because the powder would last us for years for hunting the wolf and wild boar? we have only to stow these inside the tower to blow it into the air." the idea was seized with shouts of acclamation. most of the peasants who had assisted in carrying off the contents of the wagon were present, and these started instantly to dig up the barrels which they had taken as their share of the booty. the shouts of satisfaction and the departure of forty or fifty men at full speed in various directions did not pass unnoticed by the garrison of the tower. "they have got a plan of some sort," malcolm said; "what it is i have no idea, but they certainly seem confident about it. look at those fellows throwing up their caps and waving their arms. i do not see how we can be attacked, but i do not like these signs of confidence on their part, for they know now how strong our position is. it seems to me that we are impregnable except against artillery." unable to repress his uneasiness malcolm wan- dered from window to window watching attentively what was going on without, but keeping himself as the lion of the north. far back as possible from the loopholes; for the men with muskets kept up a dropping fire at the open- ings, and although their aim was poor, bullets occasionally passed in and flattened themselves against the opposite walls. "there is a man returning," he said in about half an hour; "he is carrying something oh his shoulder, but i cannot see what it is." in another ten minutes the man had reached the group of peasants standing two or three hundred yards from the church, and was greeted with cheers and waving of hats. "good heavens!" malcolm exclaimed suddenly, "it is a barrel of powder. they must have stripped some broken-down ammunition wagon. this is a danger indeed." the men grasped their weapons and rose to their feet at the news, prepared to take any steps which their young officer might command, for his promptitude and ingenuity had inspired them with unbounded confidence in him. "we must at all hazards," he said after a few minutes' thought, "prevent them from storing these barrels below. remove the barricade of bodies and then carry the door down the stairs. we must fix it again on the bottom steps. the bottom stair is but a foot or two inside the doorway; if you place it there it will hinder their rushing up to attack you, and your pikes, as you stand above it, will prevent any from placing their barrels inside. "i will take my place at the loophole as before. we cannot prevent their crawling round from the lion of the north. behind as they did to light the fagots; but if they pile them outside, they may blow in a hole in the wall of the tower, but it is possible that even then it may not fall. two will be sufficient to hold the stairs, at any rate for the present. do you, cameron, take your place on the tower, and drop stones over on any who may try to make their way round from behind; even if you do no harm you will make them careful, and delay the operation, and every hour now is of consequence." malcolm's instructions were carried out, and all was in readiness before the peasants, some of whom had to go considerable distances, had returned with the powder. the lesson of the previous evening had evidently not been lost upon the peasants, for malcolm saw a tall man who was acting as their leader wave his hand,' and those who had brought the powder started to make a detour round the church. mal- colm, finding that no movement was being made toward the front, and that at present he could do nothing from his loophole, ran up to the top of the tower and took his place by the soldier who was lying down on the roof and looking over the edge. presently the first of the peasants appeared round the corner of the main building, and dashed rapidly across to the angle of the tower. two heavy stones were dropped, but he had passed on long before they had reached the bottom. man after man fol- lowed, and malcolm, seeing that he could do noth- the lion of the north. ing to stop them, again ran down. as he did so he heard a scream of agony. the leading peasants had reached the doorway, but as they dashed in to place their barrels of powder they were run through and through by the spears of the pikemen. they fell half in and half out of the doorway, and the barrels rolled some dis- tance away. those behind them stopped panic- stricken at their sudden fall. several of them dropped their barrels and fled, while others ran round the angle of the tower again, coming in vio- lent contact with those following them; all then hurried round behind the church. malcolm stamped his feet with vexation. "what a fool i am," he muttered, "not to have thought of a sortie! if we had all held ourselves in readiness to spring out, we might have cut down the whole of them; at any rate none would have got off with their barrels." this unexpected failure greatly damped the spirit of the peasants, and there was much consulta- tion among them before any fresh move was made. as he saw that they were fully occupied, and paying no heed to the tower, malcolm said to his men: "i am going outside; prepare to help me up over the door again quickly if necessary." leaving his sword behind him, he took a leap from the step above the inclined plane and landed at the bottom, and at once threw himself down out- side. with his dagger he removed the hoops of one the last of the siege of the church-tower.—page . —the lion of the north. the lion of the north. of the barrels and scattered the contents thickly along the front of the tower. none of the peas- ants perceived him, for there were many bodies lying round the foot of the tower; and even had any looked that way they would not have noticed that one prone figure had been added to the number. crawling cautiously along malcolm pushed two other barrels before him, and opening them as be- fore spread the contents of one upon the ground near the side of the tower, and the other by the hinder face. the thick black layer on the snow would have told its tale instantly to a soldier, but malcolm had little fear of the peasants in their haste paying attention to it. when his task was completed he crawled back again to the door and laid a train from the foot of the slide to the powder without. "i will remain here," he said, "for the present. do one of you take your place in the belfry. tell cameron to shout down to you what is passing behind, and do you run instantly down the stairs to tell me." the peasants advanced next time accompanied by a strong force of their armed comrades. as before they came round from behind, intending to stack their barrels in the angle there. as the bearers of the first two or three powder barrels came round the corner cameron shouted the news, and the sol- dier below ran down to malcolm, who fired his pis- tol into the train. a broad flash of fire rose round the tower, followed instantaneously by two heavy the lion of thk north. explosions. there was silence for an instant, and then a chorus of shrieks and yells. the powder barrels borne by the two first men had exploded, their heads having been knocked in previously to admit of their ignition. some thirty of the peasants were killed or terribly mutilated by the explosion, and the rest took to their heels in ter- ror, leaving their wounded comrades on the ground. the echoes of the explosion had scarce died away when a shout of terror broke from the main body of peasants, and malcolm saw them flying in all directions. an instant afterward the ringing sound of the swedish trumpets was heard, and a squadron of horse galloped down at full speed. the peasants attempted no resistance but fled in all directions, hotly pursued by the swedes, who broke up into small parties and followed the fugitives across the country, cutting down great numbers of them. the swedish leader at once rode up to the foot of the tower, where malcolm had already sallied out. "i am glad indeed i am in time, captain graeme; we have ridden without drawing rein since your messenger arrived at four o'clock this morning." "thanks, indeed, captain burgh," malcolm re- plied. "your coming is most welcome; though i think we have given the peasants so hot a lesson that they would not have attacked us again, and by tightening our waistbelts we could have held on for another three or four days." "i see that you have punished them heavily," the swedish officer said, looking round at the bodies; 'but what was the explosion i heard?" the lion of the north. "you will see its signs behind the tower," mal- colm said, as he led the way there. "they tried to blow us up, but burned their own fingers." the scene behind the tower was ghastly. some thirty peasants lay with their clothes completely burned from their bodies, the greater portion of them dead, but some still writhing in agony. mal- colm uttered an exclamation of horror. "it were a kindness to put these wretches out of their misery," the swede said, and dismounting he passed his sword through the bodies of the writh- ing men. "you know i am in favor of carrying on the war as mercifully as may be," he continued, turning to malcolm, "for we have talked the matter over before now; and god forbid that i should strike a fallen foe; but these poor wretches were beyond help, and it is true mercy to end their suffer- ings." "they have had a heavy lesson," malcolm said; "there are eleven more dead up in the belfry, which they tried to carry by storm, and a dozen at least crushed by stones." "you and your three men have indeed given a good account of yourselves," captain burgh ex- claimed; "but while i am talking you are fasting. here is a bottle of wine, a cold chicken and a man- chet of bread which i put in my wallet on starting; let us breakfast, for though i do not pretend to have been fasting as you have, the morning ride has giv- en me an appetite. i see your fellows are hard at work already on the viands which my orderly the lion of the north. brought for them in his haversack; but first let us move away to the tree over yonder, for verily the scent of blood and of roasted flesh is enough to take away one's appetite, little squeamish as these wars have taught us to be." captain burgh asked no questions until malcolm had finished his meal. "i have plenty more food," he said, "for we have brought three led horses well laden; but it were better that you eat no more at present, 'tis ill overloading a fasting stomach. my men will not be back from the pursuit for a couple of hours yet, for they will not draw rein so long as their horses can gallop, so excited are they over the tales of the horrible cruelties which have been perpetrated on all our men who have fallen into the hands of the peasants, so now you can tell me in full the tale of your adventures. i had no time to ask any questions of your sergeant, for we were called up and sent off five minutes after he arrived with the news that you with three men were beleaguered here by a party of peasants." malcolm related the whole incidents which had befallen him since he had been suddenly felled and made captive by the women in the hut in the vil- lage. the swede laughed over this part of the adventure. "to think," he said, "of you, a dashing captain of the green brigade, being made captive by a couple of old women. there is more than one gallant scot, if reports be true, has fallen a captive to german maidens, but of another sort; to be the lion of the north. taken prisoner and hid in a straw yard is too good." "it was no laughing matter, i can tell you," malcolm said, "though doubtless it will serve as a standing jest against me for a long time; however, i am so thankful i have got out of the scrape that those may laugh who will." when malcolm finished his story captain burgh said: "you have managed marvelously well in- deed, grasme, and can well afford to put up with a little laughter anent that matter of the women, for in truth there are few who would with three men have held a post against four or five hundred, as you have done—ay, and fairly defeated them be- fore i came on the scene. that thought of yours of laying the door upon the stairs was a masterly one, and you rarely met and defeated every device of the enemy. "now, if you will, i will mount this stronghold of yours with you, and see exactly how it stands, for i shall have to tell the tale a score of times at least when i get back to camp, and i can do it all the better after i have seen for myself the various features of the place." by the time they had mounted the top of the tower and captain burgh had fully satisfied himself as to the details of the defense the troopers began to return. their horses were far too fatigued with the long ride from the camp and the subsequent pursuit to be able to travel farther. fires were accordingly lit, rations distributed, and a halt the lion of the north. us. "whoever of us may be doomed to lay our bones in this german soil, it will not be you. some good fairy has distinctly taken charge of you, and there is no saying what brilliant destiny may await you." "but he must keep clear of the petticoats, graeme," colonel manro laughed; "evidently danger lurks for him there, and if he is caught nap- ping again some delilah will assuredly crop the hair of this young samson of ours." "there was not much of delilah in that fury who felled me with a mallet, colonel," malcolm laughed; "however, i will be careful in future, and will not give them a chance." "ah! it may come in another form next time, malcolm," munro said; "this time it was an old woman, next time it may be a young one. beware, my boy! they are far the most dangerous, innocent though they may look." a laugh ran round the circle. "forewarned forearmed, colonel," malcolm said sturdily; "i will be on my guard against every female creature, young or old, in future. but i don't think that in this affair the woman has had much to boast about—she and her friends had best have left me alone." "that is so, malcolm," the colonel said warmly. "you have borne yourself well and bravely, and you have got an old head on those young shoulders of yours. you are as full of plans and stratagems as if you had been a campaigner for the last half the lion of the north. little for the numerous adventures which have fallen to your lot, and for the courage and wisdom which you have shown in extricating yourself from them." "and now, please, will you tell me, colonel," mal- colm said more cheerfully, " why we are turning our backs upon ingolstadt and are marching away with- out taking it? i have been away for ten days, you know, and it is a mystery to me why we are leaving the only enemy between us and vienna, after having beaten him so heartily a fortnight since, without making an effort to rout him thoroughly." "maximilian's position is a very strong one, my lad, and covered as he is by the guns of ingolstadt it would be even a harder task to dislodge him than it was to cross the lech in his teeth. but you are wrong; his is not the only army which stands between us and vienna. no sooner is old tilly dead than a greater than tilly appears to oppose us. wallenstein is in the field again. it has been known that he has for some time been negotiating with the emperor, who has been imploring him to forgive the slight that was passed upon him before, and to again take the field. "wallenstein, knowing that the game was in his hands, and that the emperor must finally agree to any terms which he chose to dictate, has, while he has been negotiating, been collecting an army; and when the emperor finally agreed to his conditions, that he was at the conclusion of the peace to be assured a royal title and the fief of a sovereign state, he had an army ready to his hand, and is now on the lion of the north. the point of entering bohemia with forty thousand men. "what his plans may be we cannot yet say, but at any rate it would not do to be delaying here and leaving germany open to wallenstein to operate as he will. it was a stern day at leipzig, but, mark my words, it will be sterner still when we meet wallenstein; for, great captain as tilly undoubt- edly was, wallenstein is far greater, and europe will hold its breath when gustavus and he, the two greatest captains of the age, meet in a pitched battle." at munich the regiments of munro and spynie were quartered in the magnificent electoral palace, where they fared sumptuously and enjoyed not a little their comfortable quarters and the stores of old wines in the cellar. sir john hepburn was appointed military governor of munich. in the arsenal, armor, arms and clothing sufficient • for ten thousand infantry were found, and a hundred and forty pieces of cannon were discovered buried beneath the floors of the palace. their carriages were ready in the arsenal, and they were soon put in order for battle. for three weeks the army re- mained at munich, gustavus waiting to see what course wallenstein was taking. the imperialist general had entered bohemia, had driven thence, with scarcely an effort, arnheim and the saxons, and formed a junction near eger with the remnants of the army which had been beaten on the lech; then, leaving a strong garrison in ratisbon, he had marched on with an army of sixty thousand men. the lion of the north. he saw that his best plan to force gustavus to loose his hold of bavaria was to march on some im- portant point lying between him and north ger- many. he therefore selected a place which gustavus could not abandon, and so would be obliged to leave bavaria garrisoned only by a force insufficient to withstand the attacks of pappenheim, who had collected a considerable army for the re- covery of the territories of maximilian. such a point was nuremberg, the greatest and strongest of the free cities, and which had been the first to open its gates to gustavus. the swedish king could hardly abandon this friendly city to the assaults of the imperialists, and indeed its fall would have been followed by the general defection from his cause of all that part of germany, and he would have found himself isolated and cut off from the north. as soon as gustavus perceived that nuremberg was the point toward which wallenstein was moving, he hastened at once from munich to the assistance of the threatened city. the forces at his disposal had been weakened by the despatch of marshal horn to the lower palatinate, and by the garrisons left in the bavarian cities, and he had but seventeen thousand men disposable to meet the sixty thousand with whom wallenstein was advancing. he did not hesitate, however, but sent off messengers at once to direct the corps in swabia under general banner, prince william of weimar, and general ruthven, to join him, if possible, before nuremberg. the lion of the north. on the ramparts and fort three hundred cannon, for the most part supplied by the city of nurem- berg, were placed in position. as the camp between the ramparts and the town was traversed by the river pegnitz numerous bridges were thrown across it, so that the whole force could concentrate on either side in case of attack. so vigorously did the army, assisted by the citizens, labor at these works, that they were completed in fourteen days after gustavus reached nuremberg. it was on the th of june that the swedish army arrived there, and on the th wallenstein and maximilian of bavaria appeared before it with the intention of making an immediate assault. the works, however, although not yet quite completed, were so formidable that wallenstein saw at once that the success of an assault upon them would be extremely doubtful, and, in spite of the earnest en- treaties of maximilian to lead his army to the assault, he decided to reduce the place by starvation. this method appeared at once easy and certain. the whole of the surrounding countrv belonged to the bishop of bamberg, who was devoted to the imperialist cause, and he possessed all the towns and strong places in the circle of country around nuremberg. wallenstein had brought with him vast stores of provisions, and could draw upon the surrounding country for the further maintenance of his army. it was only necessary then to place him- self in a position where the swedes could not attack him with a hope of success. the lion of the north. such a position lay at a distance of three miles from nuremberg, where there was a wooded hill known as the alte veste. round this wallenstein threw up a circle of defenses, consisting of a ditch behind which was an interlacement of forest trees, baggage wagons and gabions, forming an almost in- surpassable obstacle to an attacking force. within this circle he encamped his army, formed into eight divisions, each about seven thousand strong, while two considerable bodies of troops in the diocese of bamberg and the upper palatinate prepared to op pose any forces approaching to the aid of nurem- berg, and the croats, horse and foot, scoured the country day and night to prevent any supplies enter- ing the city. having thus adopted every means for starving out the beleaguered army and city, wallen- stein calmly awaited the result. the lion of the north. but these raids in search of provisions occupied but a small portion of the army. the rest passed their time in enforced idleness. there was nothing to be done save to clean and furbish their arms and armor; to stand on the ramparts and gaze on the distant heights of the alte veste to watch the solid columns of the imperial army, which from time to time wallenstein marched down from his stronghold and paraded in order of battle as a challenge to the swedes to come out and fight, or to loiter through the narrow streets of nuremberg, and to talk to the citizens, whose trade and com- merce were now entirely at a standstill. malcolm, with the restlessness of youth, seldom stayed many hours quiet in camp. he did not care either for drinking or gambling; nor could he imitate the pas- sive tranquillity of the old soldiers, who were con- tent to sleep away the greater part of their time. he therefore spent many hours every day in the city where he speedily made many acquaintances. in the city of nuremberg time dragged as slowly as-it did in the camp. at ordinary times the center of a quiet and busy trade, the city was now cut off from the world. the shops were for the most part closed; the artisans stood idle in the streets, and the townsfolk had nought to do save to gather in groups and discuss the times, or to take occasional excur- sions beyond the gates into the camp of their allies. the advances then of the young scottish officer were willingly responded to, and he soon be- came intimate in the houses of all the principal the lion of the north. citizens; and while the greater part of his comrades spent their evenings in drinking and gambling, he enjoyed the hours in conversation and music in the houses of the citizens of nuremberg. the long inaction brought its moral consequences, and the troops became demoralized and insubordi- nate from their enforced idleness. plundering and acts of violence became so common that gustavus was obliged to issue the most stringent ordinances to restore discipline; and an officer and many men had to be executed before the spirit of insubordina- tion was quelled. in order to pass some of the hours of the day malcolm obtained leave from one of the great clockmakers of the town—for nurem- berg was at that time the center of the craft of clockmaking—to allow him to work in his shop, and to learn the mysteries of his trade. most of the establishments were closed, but mal- colm's acquaintance was one of the wealthiest of the citizens, and was able to keep his craftsmen at work, and to store the goods he manufactured until better times should return. malcolm began the work purely to occupy his time, but he presently came to take a lively interest in it, and was soon able to take to pieces and put together again the cumbrous but simple machines which constituted the clocks of the period. workshops were not in those days factories. the master of a craft worked, surrounded by his crafts- men and apprentices. every wheel and spring were made upon the premises, fashioned and finished the lion of the north. still there was no sign of a change. wallenstein would not attack, gustavus could not. the swe- dish king waited to take advantage of some false move on the part of the imperial commander; but wallenstein was as great a general as himself, and afforded him no opening, turning a deaf ear to the entreaties and importunities of maximilian that he would end the tedious siege by an attack upon the small and enfeebled army around nuremberg. all this time gustavus was in constant communi- cation with his generals outside, his messengers making their way by speed or stratagem through the beleaguering croats, and kept up the spirits of his men by daily reviews and by the cheerful coun- tenance which he always wore. the swedish columns were gradually closing in toward nuremberg. one was led by the chancellor oxenstiern, to whom had been committed the care of the middle rhine and the lower palatinate, where he had been confronted by the spanish troops under don philip de sylva. on the th of july, leaving horn with a smallforce to oppose the spaniards, the chancellor set out to join his master. on the way he effected a junction with the forces of the landgrave of hesse-cassel. this general had been opposed in westphalia by pappenheim, but he seized the opportunity when the latter had marched to relieve maestricht, which was besieged by frederic of nassau, to march away and join oxenstiern. the scotch officers, ballandine and alexander the lion of the north. hamilton, were with their regiment in the duchy of magdeburg. when the news of the king's danger reached them, without waiting for instructions they marched to halle, and joining a portion of the divi- sion of the duke of saxe-weimar, to which they were attached, pushed on to zeitz, and were there joined by the duke himself, who had hurried on from the lake of constance, attended only by his guards, but picking up five saxon regiments in fran- conia. together they passed onto wiirtzburg, where they joined oxenstiern and the landgrave of hesse- cassel. general banner, with the fourth corps, was at augsburg, opposed to cratz, who was at the head of the remains of tilly's old army. slipping away from his foes he marched to winds- heim, and was there joined by a body of troops un- der bernhard of weimar. the force from wiirtz- burg soon afterward came up, and the whole of the detached corps, amounting to forty-nine thousand men, being now collected, they marched to bruck, ten miles north of nuremberg. three days later, on the th of august, gustavus rode into their camp, and on the st marched at their head into nuremberg, unhindered by the imperialists. gustavus probably calculated that the imperialists would now move down and offer battle; but wal- lenstein, who had detached ten thousand men to bring up supplies, could not place in the field a num- ber equal to those of the reinforcements, and pre- ferred to await an attack in the position which he had prepared with such care. he knew the straits the lion of the north. to which nuremberg and its defenders were reduced, and the impossibility there would be of feeding the new arrivals. the country round for a vast distance had been long since stripped of provisions, and gustavus had no course open to him but to march away with his army and leave the city to its fate, or to attack the imperialists in their stronghold. on the day after his arrival, the st of august, gustavus marched out and opened a cannonade upon the imperialists' position, in order to induce wal- lenstein to come down and give battle. wallenstein was not, however, to be tempted, but kept his whole army busy with the spade and axe further intrench- ing his position. the next day the king brought his guns nearer to the enemy's camp, and for twenty-four hours kept up a heavy fire. the only result, however, was that wallenstein fell back a few hundred yards on to two ridges, on one of which was the ruined castle called the alte veste; the other was known as the altenburg. the ascent to these was steep and craggy, and they were covered by a thick forest. here wallenstein formed in front of his position a threefold barrier of felled trees woven and interlaced with each other, each barrier rising in a semicircle one above the other. before the swedish cannon ceased to fire the new position of the imperialists had been made impregnable. unfortunately for gustavus he had at this moment lost the services of the best officer in his the lion of the north. the news was brought down to gustavus of the advantage gained by duke bernhard, but he was unable to take advantage of it by moving his army round to that position, as he would have exposed himself to a counter attack of the enemy while doing so. he therefore launched a fresh column of attack against the alte teste. this was followed by an- other and yet another, until every regiment in the army had in its turn attempted to storm the posi- tion, but still without success. the battle had now raged for ten hours, and nightfall put an end to the struggle. hepburn had all day ridden behind the king as a simple cavalier, and had twice carried messages through the thick of the fire when there were no others to bear them, so great had been the slaughter round the person of the king. it was the first time that gustavus had been re- pulsed, and he could hardly yet realize the fact; but as messenger after messenger came in from the different divisions he discovered how terrible had been his loss. most of his generals and superior officers had been killed or wounded, two thousand men lay dead on the field, and there were nigh three times that number of wounded. the imperialists on their side lost one thousand killed and fifteen hundred wounded; but the accounts of the losses on both sides differ greatly, some placing the imperial loss higher than that of the swedes, a palpably absurd estimate, as the imperial- ists, fighting behind shelter, could not have suffered the lion of the north. anything like so heavily as their assailants, who were exposed to their fire in the open. hepburn bore the order from the king for munro's troops and those of duke bernhard to retire from the position they had won, as they were entirely cut off from the rest of the army, and would at day- light have had the whole of the imperialists upon them. the service was one of great danger, and hepburn had to cut his way sword in hand through the croats who intervened between him and his comrades of the green brigade. he accomplished his task in safety, and before daylight munro's men and the regiments of duke bernhard rejoined the army in the plain. but though repulsed gustavus was not defeated. he took up a new position just out of cannon-shot of the altenburg, and then offered battle to wallenstein; the latter, however, well satisfied with his success, remained firm in his policy of starving out the enemy, and resisted every device of the king to turn him from his stronghold. for fourteen days gustavus remained in position. then he could hold out no longer. the supplies were entirely exhausted. the summer had been unusually hot. the shrunken wp+ers of the pegnitz were putrid and stinking, the carcasses of dead horses poisoned the air, and fever and pestilence raged in the camp. leaving, then, kniphausen with eight thousand men to aid the citizens of nuremberg to defend the city should wallenstein besiege it, gustavus marched on the th of septem- ber by way of neustadt to windsheim, and there the lion of the north. halted to watch the further movements of the enemy. five days later wallenstein quitted his camp and marched to forsheim. so far the advantage of the campaign lay with him. his patience and iron reso- lution had given the first check to the victorious career of the lion of the north. munro's regiment, as it was still called—for he was now its full colonel, although lieutenant-colonel sinclair commanded it in the field—had suffered terribly, but less, perhaps, than some of those who had in vain attempted to force their way up the slopes of the alte veste; and many an eye grew moist as at day break the regiment marched into its place in the ranks of the brigade and saw how ter- rible had been the slaughter among them. munro's soldiers had had but little of that hand- to-hand fighting in which men's blood becomes heated and all thought of danger is lost in the fierce desire to kill. their losses had been caused by the storm of cannon-ball and bullet which had swept through them as, panting and breathless, they struggled up the steep slopes, incapable of answer- ing the fire of the enemy. they had had their triumph, indeed, as the imperial regiments broke and fled before their advance; but although proud that they at least had succeeded in a day when failure was general, there was not a man but regretted that he had not come within push of pike of the enemy. malcolm grasme had passed scatheless through the lion of the north. at present he was in no position to risk a battle, for he had already detached four thousand men to reinforce holk, whom he had sent with ten thou- sand to threaten dresden. the thirteen thousand bavarians who were with him under maximilian had separated from him on his way to forsheim, and on arriving at that place his army numbered but seventeen thousand men, while gustavus had more than forty thousand gathered at windsheim. gustavus, on his part, determined to carry out his former projects, to march against ingolstadt, which he had before failed to capture, and thence to penetrate into upper austria. but fearful lest wallenstein, released from his presence, should attempt to recover the fortresses in franconia, he despatched half his force under duke bern hard to prevent the imperial general from crossing the rhine. could he succeed in doing this he would be in a position to dictate terms to the emperor in vienna. on the th of october he reached keuberg, on the danube, and halted there, awaiting the arrival of his siege train from donauworth. while making the most vigorous exertions to press on the necessary arrangements for his march against vienna he received the most urgent messages to return to saxony. not only, as he was told, had wallenstein penetrated into that province, but he was employing all his influence to detach its elector from the pro- testant cause, and there was great fear that the weak prince would yield to the solicitations of the lion of the north. wallenstein and to his own jealousy of the king of sweden. no sooner, in fact, had gustavus crossed the danube than wallenstein moved toward schwein- furt, and by so doing drew to that place the swedish army under the command of duke bernhard. he then suddenly marched eastward at full speed, cap- turing bamberg, baireuth, and culmbach, and pushed on to colberg. the town was captured, but the swedish colonel dubatel, who was really a scotchman, by name mcdougal, a gallant and brilliant officer, threw him- self with his dragoons into the castle, which com- manded the town, and defended it so resolutely against the assaults of wallenstein that duke bern- hard had time to march to within twenty miles of the place. wallenstein then raised the siege, marched east to kronach, and then north to weida, on the elster. thence he pressed on direct to leip- zig, which he besieged at once; and while the main body of his troops were engaged before the city, others took possession of the surrounding towns and fortresses. leipzig held out for only two days, and after its capture wallenstein marched to merseburg, where he was joined by the army under pappenheim. thus reinforced he was in a position to capture the whole of saxony. the elector, timid and vacillating, was fully conscious of his danger and the solicitations of wallenstein to break off from his alliance with the king of sweden and to join the imperialists were the lion of the north. strongly seconded by marshal von arnheim, his most trusted councillor, who was an intimate friend of the imperialist general. it was indeed a hard decision which gustavus was called upon to make. on the one hand vienna lay almost within his grasp, for wallenstein was now too far north to interpose between him and the capi- tal. on the other hand, should the elector of sax- ony join the imperialists, his position after the cap- ture of vienna would be perilous in the extreme. the emperor would probably leave his capital before he arrived there, and the conquest would, therefore, be a barren one. gustavus reluctantly determined to abandon his plan, and to march to the assistance of saxony. the lion of he n b h. chapter xvii. the death of gustavus. the determination of gustavus to march to the assistance of saxony once taken, he lost not a moment in carrying it into effect. general banner, whom he greatty trusted, was unfortunately suffer- ing from a wound, and until he should recover he appointed the prince palatine of biirkenfeldt to command a corps twelve thousand strong which he determined to leave on the danube; then strength- ening the garrisons of augsburg, rain, and donau- worth, he set out with the remainder of his army on his march to saxony. from donau worth he marched to nuremberg, stayed there forty-eight hours to recover the fortress of lauf, and, having forced the garrison of that place to surrender at discretion, pushed on with all possible speed to erfurt, which he had fixed upon as the point of junction for his several corps. the green brigade formed a portion of the force which gustavus left behind him in bavaria under the prince palatine. so terribly weakened were the scottish regiments by the various battles of the campaign, in all of which they had borne the brunt the lion of the north. of the fighting, that gustavus determined reluct- antly to leave them behind for rest and reorgan- ization. hepburn, sir james hamilton, sir james ramsay, and the marquis of hamilton, who like hepburn had quarreled with gustavus, left the swedish army the day after they arrived at neustadt, after marching away from nuremberg. all the scottish officers in the swedish army accompanied hepburn and his three companions along the road for a long german mile from neustadt, and then parted with great grief from the gallant cavalier who had led them so often to victory. malcolm graeme did not remain behind in bavaria with his comrades of the green brigade. gustavus, who had taken a great fancy to the young scotch officer, whose spirit of adventure and daring was in strong harmony with his own character, appointed him to ride on his own personal staff. although he parted with regret from his comrades, malcolm was glad to accompany the king on his northward march, for there was no probabability of any very active service in bavaria, and it was certain that a desperate battle would be fought when gustavus and wallen- stein met face to face in the open field. at erfurt gustavus was joined by duke bernhard of saxe-weimar with his force, which raised his army to a strength of twenty thousand. the news of his approach had again revived the courage of the elector of saxony, who had occupied the only towns where the elbe could be crossed, dresden, the lion of the north. torgau, and wittenberg—he himself, with his main army of fifteen thousand men, lying at torgau. from him gustavus learned that the imperial army was divided into three chief corps—that of "wallen- stein twelve thousand strong, that of pappenheim ten thousand, those of gallas and hoik united sixteen thousand, making a total of thirty-eight thousand men. so great was the speed with which gustavus had marched to erfurt that wallenstein had re- ceived no notice of his approach; and believing that for some time to come he should meet with no serious opposition, he had on the very day after the swedes reached erfurt despatched gallas with twelve thousand men into bohemia. a division of his troops was at the same time threatening naum- burg, whose possession would enable him to block the only easy road with which gustavus could enter the country held by him. but gustavus at erfurt learned that naumburg had not yet fallen, and marching with great rapid- ity reached the neighborhood of that town before the imperialists were aware that he had quitted erfurt, and cutting up a small detachment of the enemy who lay in his way, entered the town and at once began to intrench it. wallenstein first learned from the fugitives of the beaten detachment that gustavus had arrived at naumburg, but as his own position lay almost cen- trally between naumburg and torgau, so long as he could prevent the swedes arid saxons from the lion of the north. the neighborhood, and that wallenstein himself was at lutzen. gustavus called his generals together and in- formed them of the news. learning that lutzen was but five miles distant—as it turned out, a mis- taken piece of information, as it was nearly twice as far—he ordered that the men should take some food, and then wheeling to the left push on toward lutzen. it was not until some time later that wallenstein learned from the imperial scouts that gustavus was upon him. it was then nearty five o'clock in the evening, and darkness was at hand. considering the heavy state of the roads, and the fact that gus- tavus would have in the last three miles of his march to traverse a morass crossed by a bridge over which only two persons could pass abreast, he felt confident that the attack could not be made until the following morning. mounted messengers were sent in all directions to bring up his troops from the villages in which they were posted, and in the meantime the troops sta- tioned around lutzen were employed in preparing obstacles to hinder the advance of the swedes. on either side of the roads was a low, swampy country intersected with ditches, and wallenstein at once set his men to work to widen and deepen these ditches, which the troops as they arrived on the ground were to occupy. all night the troops labored at this task. in the meantime gustavus had found the distance the lion of the north. longer and the difficulties greater than lie had antic- ipated; the roads were so heavy that it was with difficulty that the artillery and ammunition wagons could be dragged along them, and the delay caused by the passage of the morass was very great. indeed the passage would have been scarcely possible had the men of an imperial regiment of cuirassiers and a battalion of croats, who were posted in a village on the further side of the morass, defended it; but instead of doing so they fell back to an eminence in the rear of the village, and re- mained there quietly until, just as the sun set, the whole swedish army got across. the cuirassiers and croats were at once attacked and put to flight; but as darkness was now at hand it was impossible for gustavus to make any further advance, and the army was ordered to bivouac as it stood. the state of the roads had defeated the plans of gustavus. instead of taking the enemy by surprise, as he had hoped, and falling upon them scattered and disunited, the delays which had occurred had given wallenstein time to bring up all his forces, and at daybreak gustavus would be confronted by a force nearly equal to his own, and occupying a position very strongly defended by natural obstacles. before the day was won, pappenheim, for whom wallenstein would have sent as soon as he heard of the swedish advance, might be on the field, and in that case the imperialists would not only have the advantage of position but also that of numbers. it was an anxious night, and gustavus spent the the lion of the north. gustavus ordered the advance toward chursitz, the village in front of them. the king himself led the right wing, consisting of six regiments of swedes, supported by musketeers intermingled with cavalry. the left, composed of cavalry and infantry intermixed, was commanded by duke bernhard. the center, consisting of four brigades of infantry supported by the scottish regi- ments under henderson, was commanded by nicholas brahe, count of weissenburg. the reserves behind each of these divisions were formed entirely of cavalry, commanded on the right by bulach, in the center by kniphausen, and on the left by ernest, prince of anhalt. the field pieces, twenty in number, were disposed to the best advantage between the wings. franz albert of lauenburg, who had joined the army the day before, rode by the king. a short halt was made at chur- sitz, where the baggage was left behind, and the army then advanced against the imperialists, who at once opened fire. wallenstein had posted his left so as to be cov- ered by a canal, while his right was protected by the village of lutzen. on some rising ground to the left of that village, where there were several windmills, he planted fourteen small pieces of can- non, while to support his front, which was composed of the musketeers in the ditches on either side of the road, he planted a battery of seven heavy pieces of artillery. the main body of his infantry he formed into the lion of the north. four massive brigades, which were flanked on both sides by musketeers intermixed with cavalry. count colloredo commanded on the left, holk on the right, terzky in the center. as the swedish army advanced beyond chur- sitz the seven heavy pieces of artillery on the side of the road opened upon them, doing much execu- tion, while their own lighter guns could not reply effectively. the swedes pressed forward to come to close quarters. the left wing, led by duke bern- hard, was the first to arrive upon tho scene of action. gallantly led by the duke his men forced the ditches, cleared the road, charged the deadly battery, killed or drove away the gunners, and rushed with fury on the imperialist right. holk, a resolute commander, tried in vain to stem the assault; the ardor of the swedes was irresisti- ble, and they scattered, one after the other, his three brigades. the battle seemed already lost when wallenstein himself took his place at the head of the fourth brigade, and fell upon the swedes, who were disordered by the rapidity and ardor of their charge, while at the same moment he launched three regiments of cavalry on their flanks. the swedes fought heroically but in vain ; step by step they were driven back, the battery avas recap- tured, and the guns, which in the excitement of the advance the captors had omitted to spike, were retaken by the imperialists. in the meantime on the right the king had also forced the road, and had driven from the field the the lion of the north. croats and poles opposed to him, and he was on the point of wheeling his troops to fall on the flank of the imperialist center when one of duke bernhard's aides-de-camp dashed up with the news that the left wing had fallen back broken and in disorder. leaving to count stalhaus to continue to press the enemy, gustavus, accompanied by his staff, rode at full gallop to the left at the head of steinboch's regiment of dragoons. arrived on the spot he dashed to the front at a point where his men had not yet been forced back across the road, and riding among them roused them to fresh exertions. by his side were franz albert of lauenburg and a few other followers. but his pace had been so furious that steinboch's dragoons had not yet arrived. as he urged on his broken men gustavus was struck in the shoulder by a musket-ball. he reeled in his saddle, but exclaimed, "it is nothing," and ordered them to charge the enemy with the dragoons. malcolm graeme and others on his staff hesitated, but the king exclaimed, " kide all, the duke will see to me." the cavalry dashed forward, and the king, accompanied only by franz albert, duke of lauen- burg, turned to leave the field, but he had scarcely moved a few paces when he received another shot in the back. calling out to franz albert that it was all over with him, the mortally wounded king fell to the ground. franz albert, believing the battle lost, galloped away; the king's page alone remained with the dying man. a minute later three austrian cuirassiers the lion of the north. rode up and demanded the name of the dying man. the page leu belling refused to give it, and firing their pistols at him they stretched him mortally wounded beside the dying king. gustavus then, but with difficulty, said who he was. the troopers leaped from their horses and stripped his rich armor from him, and then, as they saw steinboch's dragoons returning from their charge, they placed their pistols close to the king's head and fired, and then leaping on their horses fled. great was the grief when malcolm, happening to ride near the body, recognized it as that of the king. an instant later a regiment of imperialist cavalry charged down, and a furious fight took place for some minutes over the king's body. it was, how- ever, at last carried off by the swedes, so disfigured by wounds and by the trampling of the horses in the fray as to be unrecognizable. the news of the fall of their king, which spread rapidly through the ranks, so far from discouraging the swedes, inspired them with a desperate deter- mination to avenge his death, and burning with fury they advanced against the enemy, yet preserving the most perfect steadiness and order in their ranks. in vain did wallenstein and his officers strive to stem the attack of the left wing, their bravery and skill availed nothing to arrest that furious charge. regiment after regiment who strove to bar their way were swept aside, the guns near the windmills were captured and turned against the enemy. step by step the imperial right wing was forced back, the lion of the north. and the center was assailed in flank by the guns from the rising ground, while stalhaus with the right wing of the swedes attacked them on their left. hopeless of victory the imperialist center was giving way, when the explosion of one of their powder wagons still further shook them. attacked on both flanks and in front the imperialist center wavered, and in a few minutes would have been in full flight. the swedish victory seemed assured, when a mighty trampling of horse was heard, and emerging from the smoke pappenheim with eight regiments of imperial cavalry dashed into the fray. pappenheim had already captured the citadel of halle when wallenstein's messenger reached him. to wait until his infantry, who were engaged in plun- dering, could be collected, and then to proceed at their pace to the field of battle, would be to arrive too late to be of service, and pappenheim instantly placed himself at the head of his eight regiments of magnificent cavalry, and galloped at full speed to the battlefield eighteen miles distant. on the way he met large numbers of flying poles and croats, the remnants of the austrian left, who had been driven from the field by gustavus; these he rallied, and with them dashed upon the troops of stalhaus who were pursuing them, and forced them backward. the relief afforded to the imperialists by this opportune arrival was immense, and leaving pappenheim to deal with the swedish right, wallen- stein rallied his own right on the center, and op- the lion of the north. posed a fresh front to the advancing troops of duke bernhard and kniphausen. inspirited by the arrival of the reinforcements, and burning to turn what had just appeared a defeat into a victory, the impe- rialists advanced with such ardor that the swedes were driven back, the guns on the hills recap- tured, and it seemed that in this terrible battle vic- tory was at last to declare itself in favor of the imperialists. it needed only the return of pappenheim from the pursuit of the swedish right to decide the day, but pappenheim was not to come. though driven back by the first impetuous charge of the imperial cavalry, the swedes under stalhaus, reinforced by the scottish regiments under henderson, stubbornly opposed their further attacks. while leading his men forward pappenheim fell with two musket-balls through his body. while lying there the rumor for the first time reached him that gustavus had been killed. when upon inquiry the truth of the rumor was confirmed, the eyes of the dying man lighted up. "tell wallenstein," he said to the officer nearest to him, "that i am lying here without hope of life, but i die gladly, knowing, as i now know, that the irreconcilable enemy of my faith has fallen on the same day." the imperialists, discouraged by the fall of their general, could not withstand the ardor with which the swedes and scottish infantry attacked them, and the cavalry rode from the field. elsewhere the the lion of the north. turned their backs to the foe; and thus the fight went on till the darkness gathered thicker and thicker, the combatants could no longer see each other, and the desperate battle came to an end. in the darkness wallenstein drew off his army and fell back to leipzig, leaving behind him his colors and all his guns. in thus doing he threw away the opportunity of turning what his retreat acknowl- edged to be a defeat into a victory on the following morning, for scarcely had he left the field when the six regiments of pappenheim's infantry arrived from halle. had he held his ground he could have re- newed the battle in the morning, with the best pros- pects of success, for the struggle of the preceding day had been little more than a drawn battle, and the accessions of fresh troops should have given him a decided advantage over the weary swedes. the newcomers, finding the field deserted, and learning from the wounded tying thickly over it that wal- lenstein had retreated, at once marched away. in the swedish camp there was no assurance what- ever that a victory had been gained, for nightfall had fallen on the imperialists fighting as stubbornly as ever. the loss of the king, the master-spirit of the war, dispirited and discouraged them, and duke bernhard and kniphausen held in the darkness an anxious consultation as to whether the army should not at once retreat to weissenburg. the plan was not carried out, only because it was considered that it was impracticable, as the army would be exposed to destruction should the imperialists fall upon them while crossing the terrible morass in their rear. the lion of the north. the morning showed them that the imperialists had disappeared, and that the mighty struggle had indeed been a victory for them—a victory won rather by the superior stubbornness with which the swedish generals held their ground during the night, while wallenstein fell back, than to the splendid courage with which the troops had fought on the preceding day, but better far would it have been for the cause which the swedes championed, that they should have been driven a defeated host from the field of lutzen, than that they should have gained a barren victory at the cost of the life of their gallant monarch—the soul of the struggle, the hope of pro- testantism, the guiding spirit of the coalition against catholicism as represented by ferdinand of austria. the losses in the battle were about equal, no less than nine thousand having fallen upon each side—a proportion without precedent in any battle of modern times, and testifying to the obstinacy and valor with which on both sides the struggle was maintained from early morning until night alone terminated it. it is said, indeed, that every man, both of the yel- low regiments of swedish guards and of the blue regiments, composed entirely of english and scotch- men, lay dead on the field. on both sides many men of high rank were killed. on the swedish side, besides gustavus himself, fell count milo, the count of brahe, general tjslar, ernest prince of anhalt, and colonels gersdorf and wildessein. on the im- perialist side pappenheim, schenk, prince and abbot of fulda, count berthold wallenstein, general the lion of the north. brenner, issolani, general of the croats, and six colo- nels were killed. piccolomini received ten wounds, but none of them were mortal. holk was severely wounded, and, indeed, so close and desperate was the conflict, that it is said there was scarcely a man in the imperial army who escaped altogether without a wound. the lion of the north. chapter xyiii. wounded. a controversy, which has never been cleared up, long raged as to the death of gustavus of sweden; but the weight of evidence is strongly in favor of those who affirm that he received his fatal wound, that in the back, at the hand of franz albert of lauenburg. the circumstantial evidence is, indeed, almost overwhelming. by birth the duke was the youngest of four sons of franz ii., duke of lauen- burg. on his mother's side he was related to the swedish royal family, and in his youth lived for some time at the court of stockholm. owing to some impertinent remarks in reference to gustavus he fell into disfavor with the queen and had to leave sweden. on attaining manhood he professed the catholic faith, entered the imperial army, obtained the command of a regiment, attached himself with much devotion to wallenstein, and gained the confidence of that general. while the negotiations between the emperor and wallenstein were pending franz albert was employed by the latter in endeavoring to bring about a secret understanding with the court of dresden. the lion of the north. "when gustavus was blockaded in nuremberg by wallenstein franz albert left the camp of the lat- ter and presented himself in that of gustavus as a convert to the reformed religion and anxious to serve as a volunteer under him. no quarrel or dis- agreement had, so far as is known, taken place between him and wallenstein, nor has any explana- tion ever been given for such an extraordinary change of sides, made, too, at a moment when it seemed that gustavus was in a position almost des- perate. by his profession of religious zeal he man- aged to win the king's heart, but oxenstiern, when he saw him, entertained a profound distrust of him, and even warned the king against putting confidence in this sudden convert. gustavus, however, naturally frank and open in disposition, could not believe that treachery was in- tended, and continued to treat him with kindness. after the assault made by gustavus upon wallen- stein's position franz albert quitted his camp, say- ing that he was desirious of raising some troops for his service in his father's territory. he rejoined him, however, with only his personal followers, on the very day before the battle of lutzen, and was received by gustavus with great cordiality, although the absence of his retainers increased the general doubts as to his sincerity. he was by the king's side when gustavus received his first wound. he was riding close behind him when the king received his second and fatal wound in the back, and the moment the king had fallen he the lion of the north. rode away from the field, and it is asserted that it was he who brought the news of the king's death to "wallenstein. very soon after the battle he exchanged the swedish service for the saxon, and some eighteen months later he re-embraced the roman catholic faith and re-entered the imperial army. a stronger case of circumstantial evidence could hardly be put together, and it would certainly seem as if lauenburg had entered the swedish service with the intention of murdering the king. that he did not carry out his purpose during the attack on the altenburg was perhaps due to the fact that gus- tavus may not have been in such a position as to afford him an opportunity of doing so with safety to himself. it is certainly curious that after that fight he should have absented himself, and only rejoined on the eve of the battle of lutzen. the only piece of evidence in his favor is that of truchsess, a chamber- lain of the king, who affirmed that he saw the fatal shot fired at a distance of ten paces from the king by an imperial officer, lieutenant-general falken- berg, who at once turned and fled, but was pursued and cut down by luckau, master of horse of franz albert. the general opinion of contemporary writers is certainly to the effect that the king of sweden was murdered by franz albert; but the absolute facts must ever remain in doubt. on the morning after the battle wallenstein, the lion of the north. having been joined by pappenheim's infantry, sent a division of croats back to the battlefield to take possession of it should they find that the swedes had retired; but on their report that they still held the ground he retired at once from leipzig, and, evacuating saxony, marched into bohemia, leaving the swedes free to accomplish their junction with the army of the elector, thus gaining the object for which they had fought at lutzen. after the death of the king, malcolm graeme, full of grief and rage at the loss of the monarch who was loved by all his troops, and had treated him with special kindness, joined the soldiers of duke bernhard, and took part in the charge which swept back the imperialists and captured the cannon on the hill. at the very commencement of the struggle his horse fell dead under him, and he fought on foot among the swedish infantry; but when the arrival of pappenheim on the field enabled the imperialists again to assume the offensive, malcolm, having picked up a pike from the hands of a dead soldier, fought shoulder to shoulder in the ranks as the swedes, contesting stubbornly every foot of the ground, were gradually driven back toward the road. suddenly a shot struck him; he reeled backward a few feet, strove to steady himself and to level his pike, and then all consciousness left him, and he fell prostrate. again and again, as the fortune of the desperate fray wavered one way or the other, did friend and foe pass over the place where he lay. the lion of the north. so thickly strewn was the field with dead that the combatants in their desperate struggle had long ceased to pick their way over the fallen, but trampled ruthlessly upon and over them as, hoarsely shouting their battle cry, they either pressed for- ward after the slowly retreating foe or with obstinate bravery strove to resist the charges of the enemy. when malcolm recovered his consciousness all was still, save that here and there a faint moan was heard from others who like himself lay wounded on the battlefield. the night was intensely dark, and malcolm's first sensation was that of bitter cold. it was indeed freezing severely, and great numbers of the wounded who might otherwise have survived were frozen to death before morning; but a few, and among these were malcolm, were saved by the frost. although unconscious of the fact, he had been wounded in two places. the first ball had penetrated his breastpiece and had entered his body, and a few seconds later another ball had struck him in the arm. it was the first wound which had caused his insensibility; but from the second which had severed one of the principal veins in the arm, he would have bled to death had it not been for the effects of the cold. for a time the life blood had flowed steadily away; but as the cold increased it froze and stiffened on his jerkin, and at last the wound was staunched. it was none too soon, for before it ceased to flow malcolm nad lost a vast quantity of blood. it was the lion of the north. hours before nature recovered from the drain. gradually and slowty he awoke from his swoon. it was some time before he realized where he was and what had happened, then gradually his recollection of the light returned to him. "i remember now," he murmured to himself, "i was fighting with the swedish infantry when a shot struck me in the body, think, for seemed to feel a sudden pain like a red-hot iron. who won the day, i wonder? how bitterly cold it is! i feel as if i were freezing to death." so faint and stiff was he, partly from loss of blood, partly from being bruised from head to foot by being trampled on again and again as the ranks of the combatants swept over him, that it was some time before he was capable of making the slightest movement. his left arm was, he found, entirely useless; it was indeed firmly frozen to the ground; but after some difficulty he succeeded in moving his right, and felt for the flask which had hung from his girdle. so frozen and stiff were his fingers that he was unable to unbuckle the strap which fastened it; but, drawing his dagger, he at last cut through this, and removing the stopper of the flask, took a long draught of the wine with which it was filled. the relief which it afforded him was almost in- stantaneous, and he seemed to feel life again coursing in his veins. after awhile he was sufficiently restored to be enabled to get from his haversack some bread and the lion of the north. meat which he had placed there after finishing his breakfast on the previous morning. he ate a few mouthfuls, took another long draught of wine, and then felt that he could hope to hold on until morn- ing. he was unable to rise even into a sitting posi- tion, nor would it have availed him bad he been able to walk, for he knew not where the armies were lying, nor could he have proceeded a yard in any direction without falling over the bodies which so thickly strewed the ground around him. though in fact it wanted but two hours of day- light when he recovered consciousness, the time ap- peared interminable; but at last, to his delight, a faint gleam of light spread across the sky. stronger and stronger did it become until the day was fairly broken. it was another hour before he heard voices approaching. almost holding his breath he listened as they approached, and his heart gave a throb of delight as he heard that they were speaking in swedish. a victory had been won, then, for had it not been so, it would have been the imperialists, not the swedes, who would have been searching the field of battle. "there are but few alive," one voice said, "the cold has finished the work which the enemy began." malcolm, unable to rise, lifted his arm and held it erect to call the attention of the searchers; it was quickly observed. "there is some one still alive," the soldier ex- claimed, "an officer, too; by his scarf and feathers he belongs to the green brigade." the lion of the north. "these scotchmen are as hard as iron," another voice said; "come, bring a stretcher along." they were soon by the side of malcolm. "drink this, sir," one said, kneeling beside him and placing a flask of spirits to his lips; "that will warm your blood, i warrant, and you must be well- nigh frozen." malcolm took a few gulps at the potent liquor, then he had strength to say: "there is something the matter with my left arm; i can't move it, and i think i am hit in the body." "you are hit in the body, sure enough," the man said, " for there is a bullet-hole through your cuirass and your jerkin below it is all stained with blood. you have been hit in the left arm, too, and the blood is frozen to the ground; but we will soon free that for you. but before trying to do that we will cut open the sleeve of your jerkin and bandage your arm, or the movement may set it off bleeding again, and you have lost a pool of blood already." very carefully the soldiers did their work, and then placing malcolm on a stretcher carried him away to the camp. here the surgeons were all hard at work attending to the wounded who were brought in. they had already been busy all night, as those whose hurts had not actually disabled them found their way into the camp. as he was a scotch offi- cer he was carried to the lines occupied by colonel henderson with his scotch brigade. he was known to many of the officers personally, and no the lion of the north. time was lost in attending to him. he was nearly unconscious again by the time that he reached the camp, for the movement had caused the wound in his body to break out afresh. his armor was at once unbuckled, and his clothes having been cut the surgeons proceeded to examine his wounds. they shook their heads as they did so. passing a probe into the wound they found that the ball, breaking one of the ribs in its course, had gone straight on. they turned him gently over. "here it is," the surgeon said, producing a flat- tened bullet. the missile indeed had passed right through the body and had flattened against the backpiece, which its force was too far spent to pen- etrate. "is the case hopeless, doctor ?" one of the officers who was looking on asked. "it is well-nigh hopeless," the doctor said, " but it is just possible that it has not touched any vital part. the lad is young, and i judge that he has not ruined his constitution, as most of you have done, by hard drinking, so that there is just a chance for him. there is nothing for me to do but to put a piece of lint over the two holes, bandage it firmly, and leave it to nature. now let me look at his arm. "ah!" he went on as he examined the wound, "he has had a narrow escape here. the ball has cut a vein and missed the principal artery by an eighth of an inch. if that had been cut he would have bled to death in five minutes. evidently the the lion of the north. lad has luck on his side, and i begin to think we may save him if we can only keep him quiet." at the earnest request of the surgeons, tents were brought up and a hospital established on some rising ground near the field of battle for the serious cases among the wounded, and when the army marched away to join the saxons at leipzig a brigade was left encamped around the hospital. here for three weeks malcolm lay between life and death. the quantity of blood he had lost was greatly in his favor, as it diminished the risk of in- flammation, while his vigorous constitution and the life of fatigue and activity which he had led greatly strengthened his power of resistance. well-nigh by a miracle the bullet in its passage had passed through without injuring any of the vital parts; and though his convalescence was slow it was steady, and even at the end of the first week the surgeons were able to pronounce a confident opinion that he would get over it. but it was not until the end of the month that he was allowed to move from his recumbent position. a week later and he was able to sit up. on the following day, to his surprise, the count of mans- feld strode into his tent. "ah! my young friend," he exclaimed, "i am glad indeed to see you so far recovered. i came to leipzig with the countess and my daughter; for leipzig at present is the center where all sorts of political combinations are seething as in a cooking pot. it is enough to make one sick of humanity the lion of the north. and ashamed of one's country when one sees the greed which is displa} ed by every one, from the highest of the princes down to petty nobles who can scarce set twenty men in the field. "each and all are struggling to make terms by which he may better himself, and may add a prov- ince or an acre, as the case may be, to his patrimony at the expense of his neighbors. truly, i wonder that the noble oxenstiern, who represents sweden, does not call together the generals and troops of that country from all parts and march away north- ward, leaving these greedy princes and nobles to fight their own battles, and make the best terms they may with their imperial master. "but there, all that does not interest you at pres- ent; but i am so full of spleen and disgust that i could not help letting it out. we arrived there a week since, and of course one of our first inquiries was for you, and we heard to our grief that the imperialists had shot one of their bullets through your body and another through your arm. this, of course, would have been sufficient for any ordi- nary carcass; but i knew my scotchman, and was not surprised when they told me you were mending fast. "i had speech yesterday with an officer who had ridden over from this camp, and he told me that the doctors said you were now convalescent, but would need repose and quiet for some time before you could again buckle on armor. the countess, when i told her, said at once, ' then we will take him the lion of the north. away back with us to mansfeld.' thekla clapped her hands and said, ' that will be capital! we will look after him, and he shall tell us stories about the wars.' "so the thing was settled at once. i have brought over with me a horse-litter, and have seen your surgeon, who says that although it will be some weeks before you can sit on a horse without the risk of your wound bursting out internally, there is no objection to your progression in a litter by easy stages; so that is settled, and the doctor will write to your colonel saying that it will be some months before you are fit for duty, and that he has therefore ordered you change and quiet. "you need not be afraid of neglecting your duty or of getting out of the way of risking your life in ha^brained ventures, for there will be no fighting till the spring. every one is negotiating at present, and you will be back with your regiment before fighting begins again. well, what do you say?" " thank you, indeed," malcolm replied. "it will of all things be the most pleasant; the doctor has told me that i shall not be fit for duty until the spring, and i have been wondering how ever i should be able to pass the time until then." "then we will be off without a minute's delay," the count said. "i sent off the litter last night and started myself at daybreak, promising the countess to be back with you ere nightfall, so we have no time to lose." the news soon spread that malcolm graeme was the lion of thr north. about to leave the camp, and many of the scottish officers came in to say adieu to him; but time pressed, and half an hour after the arrival of the count he started for leipzig with malcolm in a litter swung between two horses. as they traveled at a foot-pace malcolm did not find the journey uneasy, but the fresh air and motion soon made him drowsy, and he was fast asleep before he had left the camp an hour, and did not awake until the sound of the horses' hoofs on stone pavements told him that they were entering the town of leipzig. a few minutes later he was lying on a couch in the comfortable apartments occupied by the count, while the countess with her own hands was admin- istering refreshments to him, and thekla was look- ing timidly on, scarce able to believe that this pale and helpless invalid was the stalwart young scottish soldier of whose adventures she was never weary of talking. the lion of the north. chapter xix. a pause in hostilities. never had malcolm graeme spent a more pleasant time than the two months which he passed at mans- feld. traveling by very easy stages there he was so far convalescent upon his arrival that he was able to move about freely and could soon ride on horse- back. for the time the neighborhood of mansfeld was undisturbed by the peasants or combatants on either side, and the count had acted with such vigor against any parties of brigands and marauders who might approach the vicinity of mansfeld, or the country under his control, that a greater security of life and property existed than in most other parts of germany. the ravages made by war were speedily effaced, and although the peasants carried on their operations in the fields without any surety as to who would gather the crops, they worked free from the harassing tyranny of the petty bands of robbers. as soon as he was-strong enough malcolm rode with the count on his visits to the different parts of his estates, joined in several parties got up to hunt the boar in the hills, or to make war on a small scale against the wolves which, since the outbreak of the the lion of the north. troubles, had vastly increased in number, committing great depredations upon the flocks and herds, and rendering it dangerous for the peasants to move be- tween their villages except in strong parties. the evenings were passed pleasantly and quietly. the countess would read aloud or would play on the zither, with which instrument she would accompany herself while she sang. thekla would sit at her embroidery and would chat merrily to malcolm, and ask many questions about scotland and the life which the ladies led in that, as she asserted, "cold and desolate country." sometimes the count's chaplain would be present and would gravely discuss theological questions with the count, wearying mal- colm and thekla so excessively that they would slip away from the others and play checkers or cards on a little table in a deep oriel window where their low talk and laughter did not disturb the discussions of their elders. once malcolm was absent for two days on a visit to the village in the mountains he had so much aided in defending. here he was joyfully received, and was glad to find that war had not penetrated to the quiet valley, and that prosperity still reigned there. malcolm lingered at mansfeld for some time after he felt that his strength was sufficiently restored to enable him to rejoin his regiment; but he knew that until the spring commenced no great movement of troops would take place, and he was so happy with his kind friends, who treated him completely as one of the family, that he was loath indeed to tear him- the lion of the north. self away. at last he felt that he could no longer delay, and neither the assurances of the count that the protestant cause could dispense with his doughty services for a few weeks longer, or the tears of thekla and her insistence that he could not care for them or he would not be in such a hurry to leave, could de- tain him longer, and mounting a horse with which the count had presented him he rode away to rejoin his regiment. no military movements of importance had taken place subsequent to the battle of lutzen. oxen- stiern had labored night and day to repair as far as possible the effects of the death of gustavus. he had been left by the will of the king regent of sweden until the king's daughter, now a child of six years old, came of age, and he at once assumed the supreme direction of affairs. it was essential to revive the drooping courage of the weaker states, to meet the secret machinations of the enemy, to allay the jealousy of the more powerful allies, to arouse the friendly powers, france in particular, to active assistance, and above all to repair the ruined edifice of the german alliance and to reunite the scattered strength of the party by a close and permanent bond of union. had the emperor at this moment acted wisely oxenstiern's efforts would have been in vain. wal- lenstein, far-seeing and broad-minded, saw the proper course to pursue, and strongly urged upon the emperor the advisibality of declaring a universal amnesty, and of offering favorable conditions to the the lion of the north. protestant princes, who, dismayed at the loss of their great champion, would gladly accept any pro posals which would ensure the religious liberty for which they had fought; but the emperor, blinded by this unexpected turn of fortune, and infatuated by spanish counsels, now looked to a complete tri- umph and to enforce his absolute will upon the whole of germany. instead, therefore, of listening to the wise counsels of wallenstein he hastened to augment his forces. spain sent him considerable supplies, negotiated for him with the ever vacillating elector of saxony, and levied troops for him in italy. the elector of bavaria increased his army, and the duke of lor- raine prepared again to take part in the struggle which now seemed to offer him an easy opportunity of increasing his dominions. for a time the elector of saxony, the duke of brunswick, and many others of the german princes, wavered; but when they saw that ferdinand, so far from being disposed to offer them favorable terms to detach them from the league, was preparing with greater vigor than ever to overwhelm them, they perceived that their interest was to remain faithful to their ally, and at a great meeting of princes and deputies held at heilbronn the alliance was re-established on a firmer basis. before, however, the solemn compact was ratified scarce one of the german princes and nobles but required of oxenstiern the gratification of private greed and ambition, and each bargained for some possession either already wrested or to be after- the lion of the north. * ward taken from the enemy. to the landgrave of hesse, the abbacies of paderborn, corvey, munster, and fulda were promised; to duke bernhard of weimar, the franconian bishoprics; to the duke of "wurtemberg, the ecclesiastical domains and the austrian counties lying within his territories, all to be held as fiefs of sweden. oxenstiern, an upright and conscientious man, was disgusted at the greed of those princes and nobles who professed to be warring solely in defense of their religious liberties, and he once exclaimed that he would have it entered in the swedish archives as an everlasting memorial that a prince of the german empire made a request for such and such territory from a swedish nobleman, and that the swedish noble complied with the request by granting him german lands. however, the negotiations were at last completed, the saxons marched toward lusatia and silesia to act in conjunction with count thurn against the austrians in that quarter, a part of the swedish army was led by the duke of weimar into franconia, and the other by george, duke of brunswick, into westphalia and lower saxony. when gnstavus had marched south from ingol- stadt on the news of wall en stein's entry into sax- ony he had left the count palatine of birkenfeldt and general banner to maintain the swedish con- quests in bavaria. these generals had in the first instance pressed their conquest southward as far as lake constance; but toward the end of the year the lion of the north. the bavarian general altringer pressed them with so powerful an army that banner sent urgent re- quests to horn to come to his assistance from alsace, where he had been carrying all before him. confiding his conquests to the rhinegrave otto ludwig, horn marched at the head of seven thou- sand men toward swabia. before he could join ban- ner, however, altringer had forced the line of the lech, and had received reinforcements strong enough to neutralize the aid brought to banner by horn. deeming it necessary above all things to bar the future progress of the enemy, horn sent orders to otto ludwig to join him with all the troops still remaining in alsace; but finding him- self still unable to resist the advance of altringer, he despatched an urgent request to duke bernhard, who had captured bamberg and the strong places of kronach and hochstadt in franconia, to come to his assistance. the duke at once quitted bamberg and marched southward, swept a strong detachment of the bavarian army under john of werth from his path, and pressing on reached donau worth in march, . malcolm had rejoined his regiment, which was with duke bernhard, just before it advanced from bamberg, and was received with a hearty welcome by his comrades, from whom he had been separated nine months, having quitted them three months before the battle of lutzen. the officers were full of hope that duke bernhard was going to strike a great blow. the lion of the north. altringer was away on the shore of lake con- stance facing horn, wallenstein was in bohemia. between donauworth and vienna were but the four strong places of ingolstadt, ratisbon, passau, and linz. ingolstadt was, the duke knew, commanded by a traitor who was ready to sur- render. ratisbon had a protestant population who were ready to open their gates. it seemed that the opportunity for ending the war by a march upon vienna, which had been snatched by wallenstein from gustavus just when it appeared in his grasp, was now opened to duke bernhard. but the duke was ambitious, his demands for franconia had not yet been entirely complied with by oxenstiern, and he saw an opportunity to obtain his own terms. the troops under his orders were discontented, owing to the fact that their pay was many months in arrear, and private agents of the duke fomented this feeling by assuring the men that their general was with them and would back their demands. accordingly they refused to march further until their demands were fully satisfied. the scotch regiments stood apart from the movement, though they too were equally'in arrear with their pay. munro and the officers of the brigade chafed terribly at this un- timely mutiny just when the way to vienna ap- peared open to them. duke bernhard forwarded the demands of the soldiers to oxenstiern, sending at the same time a demand on his own account, first that the territory of the franconian bishoprics should at once be erected into a principality in his the lion of the north. favor, and secondly, that he should be nominated commander-in-chief of all the armies fighting in ger- many for the protestant cause with the title of generalissimo. oxenstiern was alarmed by the receipt of the mutinous demands of the troops on the danube, and was disgusted when he saw those demands virtually supported by their general. his first thought was to dismiss duke bernhard from the swedish service; but he saw that if he did so the disaffection might spread, and that the duke might place himself at the head of the malcontents and bring ruin upon the cause. he therefore agreed to bestow at once the franconian bishoprics upon him, and gave a pledge that sweden would defend him in that position. he declined to make him generalissimo of all the armies, but appointed him commander-in-chief of the forces south of the main. the duke accepted this modification, and had no difficulty in restoring order in the ranks of his army. but precious months had been wasted before this matter was brought to a conclusion, and the month of october arrived before the duke had completed all his prep- arations and was in a position to move forward. "while the delays had been going on altringer, having been joined by the army of the duke of feria, quitted the line of the danube, in spite of wallenstein's absolute order not to do so, and, evading horn and birkenfeldt, marched into alsace. the swedish generals, however, pressed hotly upon him, and finally drove him out of alsace. ratisbon the lion of the north. being left open by altringer's disobedience to wallenstein's orders, duke bernhard marched upon that city without opposition, and laid siege to it. maximilian of bavaria was himself there with a force sufficient to defend the city had he been supported by the inhabitants; but a large majority of the people were protestants, and, moreover, bitterly hated the bavarians, who had suppressed their rights as a free city. maximilian wrote urgently to the emperor and to wallenstein, pledging himself to maintain ratisbon if he could receive a reinforcement of five thousand men. the emperor was powerless; he had not the men to send, but he despatched to wallenstein, one after another, seven messengers, urging him at all hazards to prevent the fall of so important a place. wallenstein replied to the order that he would do all in his power, and in presence of the messengers ordered the count of gallas to march with twelve thousand men on ratisbon, but privately furnished the general with absolute orders, forbidding him on any account to do anything which might bring on an action with the duke. wallenstein's motives in so acting were, as he afterward assured the emperor, that he was not strong enough to divide his army, and that he could best cover vienna by maintaining a strong position in bohemia, a policy which was afterward justified by the event. ratisbon resisted for a short time; but, finding that the promised relief did not arrive, it capitulated on the h of november, maximilian having left the town before the surrender. the lion of the north. the duke now pushed on toward vienna, and captured straubing and plattling. john of werth, who was posted here, not being strong enough to dispute the passage of the isar, fell back toward the bohemian frontier, hoping to meet the troops which the emperor had urged wallenstein to send to his aid, but which never came. duke bernhard crossed the isar unopposed, and on the th came within sight of passau. so far wallenstein had not moved; he had seemed to comply with the emperor's request to save ratis- bon, but had seemed only, and had not set a man in motion to reinforce john of werth. he refused, in fact, to fritter away his army. had he sent gallas with twelve thousand men to join john of werth, and had their united forces been, as was probable, at- tacked and defeated by the swedes, wallenstein would have been too weak to save the empire. keeping his army strong he had the key of the position in his hands. he had fixed upon passau as the point beyond which duke bernhard should not be allowed to ad- vance, and felt that should he attack that city he and his army were lost. in front of him was the inn, a broad and deep river protected by strongly fortified places; behind him john of werth, a bitterly hostile country, and the river isar. on his left would be wallenstein himself marching across the bohemian forest. when, therefore, he learned that duke bernhard was hastening on from the isar toward passau he the lion of the north. ' put his army in motion and marched southward, so as to place himself in the left rear of the duke. this movement duke bernhard heard of just when he arrived in sight of passau, and he instantly rec- ognized the extreme danger of his position, and per- ceived with his usual quickness of glance that to be caught before passau by wallenstein and john of werth would be absolute destruction. a moment's hesitation and the swedish army would have been lost. without an hour's delay he issued the neces- sary orders, and the army retraced its steps with all speed to ratisbon, and not stopping even there marched northward into the upper palatinate, to defend that conquered country against wallenstein even at the cost of a battle. but wallenstein declined to fight a battle there. he had but one army, and were that army destroyed duke bernhard, with the prestige of victory upon him, could resume his march upon vienna, which would then be open to him. therefore, having secured the safety of the capital, he fell back again into winter quarters in bohemia. thus ferdinand again owed his safety to wallenstein, and should have been the more grateful since wallenstein had saved him in defiance of his own orders. at the time he fully admitted in his letters to wallenstein that the general had acted wisely and prudently, nevertheless he was continually listening to the spaniards, the jesuits, and the many envious of wallenstein's great position, and hoping to benefit by his disgrace, and, in spite of all the services his :« the lion of the north. great general had rendered him, was preparing to repeat the humiliation which he had formerly laid upon him and again to deprive him of his command. wallenstein was not ignorant of the intrigue against him. vast as were his possessions, his pride and ambition were even greater. a consciousness of splendid services rendered and of great intel- lectual power, a belief that the army which had been raised by him and was to a great extent paid out of his private funds, and which he had so often led to victory, was devoted to him, and to him alone, excited in his mind the determination to resist by force the intriguers who dominated the bigoted and narrow-minded emperor, and, if necessary, to hurl the latter from his throne. malcolm receives lady hilda's appeal for help.—page . —the lion of the north. the lion of the north. chapter xx. friends in trouble. one day in the month of december, when mal- colm graeme was with his regiment on outpost duty closely watching the imperialists, a countryman approached. "can you direct me to captain malcolm graeme, who, they tell me, belongs to this regiment?" "you have come to the right man," malcolm said. "i am captain graeme—what would you with me?" "i am the bearer of a letter to you," the man said, and taking off his cap he pulled out the lining and brought out a letter hidden beneath it. "i am to ask for some token from you by which it may be known that it has been safely delivered." malcolm cut with his dagger the silk with which the letter was fastened. it began: "from the lady hilda, countess of mansfeld, to captain malcolm graeme of colonel munro's scot- tish regiment. my dear friend: i do not know whether you have heard the misfortune which has fallen upon us. the town and castle of mansfeld were captured two months since by a sudden assault of the imperialists, and my dear husband was griev- the lion of the north. ously wounded in the defense. he was brought hither a prisoner, and thekla and i also carried here. as the count still lies ill with his wounds he is not placed in a prison, but we are treated as cap- tives and a close watch is kept upon us. the count is threatened with the forfeiture of all his posses- sions unless he will change sides and join the impe- rialists, and some of his estates have been already conferred upon other nobles as a punishment for the part he has taken. "were my husband well and free he would treat the offers with scorn, believing that the tide will turn and that he will recover his possessions. nor even were he certain of their perpetual forfeiture would he desert the cause of protestantism. more- over, the estates which i brought him in marriage lie in the north of pomerania, and the income there- from is more than ample for our needs. but the smperor has ordered that if the count remain con- tumacious thekla shall be taken from us and placed in a convent, where she will be forced to embrace catholicism, and will, when she comes of age, be given in marriage to some adherent of the emperor, who will with her receive the greater portion of her father's lands. "she is now sixteen years old, and in another year will be deemed marriageable. my heart is broken at the thought, and i can scarce see the paper on which i write for weeping. i know not why i send to you, nor does the count know that i am writing, nor does it seem possible that any aid can come to us, seeing that we are here in the heart of bohemia, and that wallenstein's army lies between us and you. but somehow in my heart i have a hope that you may aid us, and at any rate i know that you will sympathize with us greatly. i feel sure that if there be any mode in which we may be aided it will the lion of the north. be seized by your ready wit. and now adieu! this letter will be brought to you by a messenger who will be hired by a woman who attends us, and who has a kind heart as well as an eye to her own inter- ests. send back by the messenger some token which she may pass on to me, that i may know that you have received it. send no written answer, for the danger is too great." malcolm twisted off two or three links of the chain which had long before been presented to him by the count, and then, until relieved from duty, paced up and down, slowly revolving in his mind what could best be done to aid his friends. his mind was at last made up, and when his company was called in he went to his colonel and asked for leave of absence, stating his reasons for wishing to absent himself from the regiment. "it is a perilous business, malcolm," colonel munro said. "i have scarce a handful of the friends with whom i joined gustavus but three years and a half ago remaining, and i can ill spare another; nevertheless, i will not stay you in your enterprise. the count of mansfeld has been a steady ally of ours, and is one of the few who has appeared to have at heart the cause of protestantism rather than of personal gain. "moreover, he is, as you say, a friend of yours, and has shown you real kindness in time of need. therefore go, my boy, and heaven be with you! it is not likely that there will be any more serious fighting this year. wallenstein lies inactive, nego- the lion of the north. tiating now with saxony, now with oxenstiern. what are his aims and plans heaven only knows; but at any rate we have no right to grumble at the great schemer, for ever since lutzen he has kept the emperor's best army inactive. make it a point, malcolm, to find out, so far as you can, what is the public opinion in bohemia as to his real intentions. if you can bring back any information as to his plans you will have done good service to the cause, however long your absence from the camp may be." that evening malcolm packed up his armor, arms, court suits, and valuables, and sent them away to the care of his friend the syndic of the clockmakers of nuremberg, with a letter requesting him to keep them in trust for him until he returned; and in the event of his not arriving to claim them in the course of six months, to sell them, and to devote the proceeds to the assistance of sick or wounded scottish soldiers. then he purchased garments suitable for a respectable craftsman, and having attired himself in these, with a stout sword hang- ing from his leathern belt, a wallet containing a change of garments and a number of light tools used in clockmaking, with a long staff in his hand, and fifty ducats sewed in the lining of the doublet, he set out on foot on his journey. it was nigh three weeks from the time when he started before he arrived at prague, for not only had he to make a very long detour to avoid the contending armies, but he was forced to wait at each considerable town until he could join a com- the lion of the north. pany of travelers going in the. same direction, for the whole country so swarmed with disbanded soldiers, plunderers, and marauding bands that none thought of traversing the roads save in parties sufficiently strong to defend themselves and their property. none of those with whom he journeyed suspected malcolm to be aught but what he pro- fessed himself—a craftsman who had served his time at a clockmaker's in nuremberg, and who was on his way to seek for employment in vienna. during his three years and a half residence in germany he had come to speak the language like a native, and, indeed, the dialect of the different provinces varied so widely that, even had he spoken the language with less fluency, no suspicion would have arisen of his being a foreigner. arrived at prague, his first care was to hire a modest lodging, and he then set to work to discover the house in which the count of mansfeld was lying as a prisoner. this he had no difficulty in doing without exciting suspicion, for the count was a well-known personage, and he soon found that he and his family had apart- ments in a large house, the rest of which was occupied by imperialist officers and their families. there was a separate entrance to the portion occu- pied by the count, and a sentry stood always at the door. the day after his arrival malcolm watched the door from a distance throughout the whole day, but none entered or came out. the next morning he the lion of tee norte. resumed his watch at a much earlier hour, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing a woman in the attire of a domestic issue from the door. she was carrying a basket, and was evidently bent upon purchasing the supplies for the day. he followed her to the market, and after watching her make her purchases, he followed her until, on her return, she entered a street where but few people were about. there he quickened his pace and overtook her. "you are the attendant of the countess of mans- feld, are you not?" he said. "i am," she replied; "but what is that to you?" "i will tell you presently," malcolm replied, "but in the first place please inform me whether you are her only attendant, and in the next place how long you have been in her service. i can assure you," he went on, as the woman, indignant at thus being questioned by a craftsman who was a stranger to her, tossed her head indignantly, and was about to move on, "that i ask not from any impertinent curiosity. here is a ducat as a proof that i am interested in my questions." the woman gave him a quick and searching glance; she took the piece of money, and replied more civilly. "i am the only attendant on the countess. i can- not be said to be in her service, since i have been placed there by the commandant of the prison, whither the count will be moved in a few days, but i have been .with them since their arrival there, nigh three months since." the lion of the north. "then you are the person whom i seek. i am he to whom a certain letter which you wot of was sent, and who returned by the messenger as token that he received it two links of this chain." the woman started as he spoke, and looked round anxiously to see that they were not observed; then she said hurriedly: "for goodness sake, sir, if you be he, put aside that grave and earnest look, and chat with me lightly and laughingly, so that if any observe us speaking they will think that you are trying to per- suade me that my face has taken your admiration. not so very difficult a task, -methinks," she added coquettishly, acting the part she had indicated. "by no means," malcolm replied, laughing, for the girl was really good-looking, "and were it not that other thoughts occupy me at present you might well have another captive to look after; and now tell me, how is it possible for me to obtain an inter- view with the count?" "and the countess, and the fraulein thekla," the girl said, laughing, " for i suppose you are the young scottish officer of whom the young countess is always talking. i don't see that it is possible." "twenty ducats are worth earning," malcolm said quietly. "very well worth earning," the woman replied, "but a costly day's work if they lead to a prison and flogging, if not to the gallows." "but we must take care that you run no risk," malcolm said. "surely such a clever head as i see you have can contrive some way for me to get in." the lion of the north. of the small inns patronized by the peasants who brought their goods into market, and without diffi- culty bargained with one of them for the purchase of a cart with two oxen, which were to remain at the inn until he called for them. then he bought a suit of peasant's clothes, after which, well satisfied with the day's work, he returned to his lodging. in the morning he again met the servant. "it was well i asked," she said, " for the sentry had orders to prevent any save nobles and officers from passing in. however, i went to the prison and saw one of the governor's deputies, and told him that the count was fretting because his clock had stopped, and, as while i said so i slipped five ducats the countess had given me for the purpose into his hand, he made no difficulty about giving me the pass. here it is. now," she said, " i have earned my twenty ducats." "you have earned them well," malcolm replied, handing them to her. "now mind," she said, "you must not count on me further. i don't know what you are going to do, and don't want to know. i have run quite risk enough as it is, and mean, directly the count is lodged in the prison, to make my way home, having collected a dowry which will enable me to buy a farm and marry my bachelor, who has been waiting for me for the last three years. his father is an old curmudgeon, who has declared that his son shall never marry except a maid who can bring as much money as he will give him. i told fritz that if he the lion of the north. would trust to my wits and wait, i would in five years produce the dowry. now i have treble the sum, and shall go off and make fritz happy." "he is a lucky fellow," malcolm said, laughing. "it is not every one who gets beauty, wit and wealth all together in a wife." "you are a flatterer," the girl laughed; "but for all that i think myself that fritz is not unfor- tunate." "and now tell me," malcolm asked, "at what time is the sentry generally changed?" "at sunrise, at noon, at sunset, and at midnight," the girl replied; "but what is that to you?" "never mind," malcolm laughed; "you know you don't want to be told what i'm going to do. i will tell you if you like." "no, no," the girl replied hurriedly. "i would rather be able to always take my oath on the holy relics that i know nothing about it." "very well," malcolm replied; "then this after- noon i will call." having hidden away under his doublet the suit of boy's clothes, and with the tools of his trade in a small basket in his hand, malcolm presented himself at three o'clock in the afternoon to the sentry at the door leading to the count's apartments. the sol- dier glanced at the pass and permitted him to enter without remark. the waiting-maid met him inside and conducted him upstairs, and ushered him into a spacious apart- ment, in which the count was lying on a couch, the lion of the north. tell us quickly by what miracle you have arrived here, and have penetrated to what is really my prison. you must be quick, for we have much to say, and your visit must be a short one, for every third day the governor of the prison pays me a visit to see how i am getting on, and i expect that he will be here ere long." "then," malcolm said, "i had best prepare for his coming, for assuredly i am not going to hurry away." so saying, he lifted down the great clock that stood on a bracket on the wall, and placed it on a side table. "i am a clockmaker," he said, "andam come to put this machine, whose stopping has annoyed you sadly, into order." so saying, he took some tools from his basket, re- moved the works of the clock, and, taking them in pieces, laid them on the table. "i spent much of my time at nuremberg," he said, in answer to the surprised exclamations of the count, "in learning the mysteries of horology, and can take a clock to pieces and can put it together again with fair skill. there, now, i am ready, and if the governor comes he will find me hard at work. and now i will briefly tell you how i got here; then i will hear what plans you may have formed, and i will tell you mine." - • "for myself, i have no plans," the count said. "i am helpless, and must for the present submit to whatever may befall me. that i will not renounce the cause of my religion you may be sure; as for the lion of the north. my wife, we know not yet whether, when they remove me to the fortress, they will allow her to accompany me or not. if they do, she will stay with me, but it is more likely that they will not. the emperor is merciless to those who oppose him. they will more likely keep her under their eye here or in vienna. but for ourselves we care little; our anxiety is for thekla. it is through her that they are striking us. you know what they have threat- ened if i do not abandon the cause of protestantism. thekla is to be placed in a convent, forced to become a catholic, and married to the man on whom the emperor may please to bestow my estates." "i would rather die, father, than become a catholic," thekla exclaimed firmly. "yes, dear," the count said gently, " but it is not death you have to face; with a fresh and unbroken spirit it were comparatively easy to die, but it needs an energy and a spirit almost superhuman to resist the pressure which may be placed on those who are committed to a convent. the hopelessness, the silence, the gloom, to say nothing of threats, men- aces, and constant and unremitting pressure, are sufficient to breakdown the firmest resolution. the body becomes enfeebled, the nerves shattered, and the power of resistance enfeebled. no, my darling, brave as you are in your young strength, you could n^tresist the influence which would be brought to bear upon you." "then it is clear," malcolm said cheerfully, "that we must get your daughter out of the clutches of the emperor and the nun " the lion of the north. "that is what i have thought over again and again as i have lain here helpless, but i can see no means of doing so. we have no friends in the city, and, could the child be got safely out of this place, there is nowhere whither she could go." "and it is for that i have sent for you," the countess said. "i knew that if it were in any way possible you would contrive her escape and aid her to carry it out." "assuredly i will, my dear countess," malcolm said. "you only wanted a friend outside, and now you have got one. i see no difficulty about it." at this moment the door suddenly opened; the waiting-maid put in her head and exclaimed, "the governor is alighting at the door." malcolm at once seated himself at the side-table and began oiling the wheels of the clock, while the countess and thekla took up their work again and seated themselves, as before, by the couch of the count. a moment later the attendant opened the door and in a loud voice announced the baron of steinburg. the governor as he entered cast a keen glance at malcolm, and then bowing ceremoniously ap- proached the count and inquired after his health, and paid the usual compliments to the countess. the count replied languidly that he gained strength slowly, while the countess said quietly that he had slept but badly and that his wound troubled him much. it was well for thekla that she was not obliged to take part in the conversation, for she the lion of the north. would have found it impossible to speak quietly and indifferently, for every nerve was tingling with joy at malcolm's last words. the prospect had seemed so hopeless that her spirits had sunk to the lowest ebb. her mother had done her best to cheer her, but the count, weakened by pain and illness, had all along taken the most gloomy view. he had told himself that it was better for the girl to submit to her fate than to break her heart like a wild bird beating out its life against the bars of its cage, and he wished to show her that neither he nor the world would blame her for yielding to the tremendous pressure which would be put upon her. for himself, he would have died a thousand times rather than renounce his faith; but he told himself that thekla was but a child, that women cared little for dogmas, and that she would learn to pray as sincerely in a catholic as in a protestant church, without troubling her mind as to whether there were gross abuses in the government of the church, in the sale of absolutions, or errors in abstruse doctrines. but to thekla it had seemed impossible that she could become a catholic. the two religions stood in arms against each other; catholics- and protest- ants differed not only in faith but in politics. in all things they were actively and openly opposed to each other, and the thought that she might be com- pelled to abjure her faith was most terrible to the girl; and she was firmly resolved that, so long as her strength lasted and her mind was unimpaired, she would resist whatever pressure might be placed the lion of the north. upon her, and would yield neither to menaces, to solitary confinement, or even to active cruelty. the prospect, however, had weighed heavily upon her mind. her father had appeared to consider any escape impossible; her mother had said nothing of her hopes; and the words which malcolm had spoken, indicating something like a surety of freeing her from her terrible position, filled her with sur- prise and delight. "whom have you here ?" the governor asked, indicating malcolm by a motion of the head. "it is a craftsman from nuremberg. the clock had stopped, and the count, with whom the hours pass but slowly, fretted himself at not being able to count them; so i asked our attendant to bring hither a craftsman to put it in order, first sending her with a note to you asking for permission for him to come; as you were out your deputy signed the order." "he should not have done so," the baron said shortly, " for the orders are strict touching the entry of any here. however, as he has taken the clock to pieces, he can put it together again." so saying he went over to the table where malcolm was at work and stood for a minute or two watching him. the manner in which malcolm fitted the wheels into their places, filing and oiling them wherever they did not run smoothly, satisfied him that the youth was what he seemed. "you are young to have completed your appren- ticeship," he said. "it is expired but two months, sir," malcolm said, standing up respectfully. the lion of the north. "under whom did you learn your trade?" the governor asked; "for i have been in nuremberg and know most of the guild of clockmakers by name." "under jans boerhoff, the syndic of the guild," malcolm replied. "ah!" the baron said shortly; "and his shop is in" "the cron strasse," malcolm said promptly in answer to the implied question. quite satisfied now, the baron turned away and conversed a few minutes with the count, telling him that as the surgeon said he could now be safely re- moved he would in three days be transferred to an apartment in the fortress. "will the countess be permitted to accompany me ?" the count asked. "that i cannot tell you," the baron replied. "we are expecting a messenger with his majesty's orders on the subject to-morrow or next day. i have already informed you that, in his solicitude for her welfare, his majesty has been good enough to order that the young countess shall be placed in the care of the lady superior of the convent of st. catherine." a few minutes later he left the room. not a word was spoken in the room until the sound of horses' hoofs without told that he had ridden off. as the door closed the countess and thekla had dropped their work and sat anxiously awaiting the continuance of the conversation. the count was the first to speak. the lion of the north. "how mean you, malcolm? how think you it possible that thekla can escape, and where could she go?" "i like not to make the proposal," malcolm said gravely, "nor under any other circumstances should i think of doing so; but in a desperate position desperate measures must be adopted. it is impos- sible that in your present state you can escape hence, and the countess will not leave you; but what is absolutely urgent is that your daughter should be freed from the strait. save myself you have no friends here; and therefore, count, if she is to escape it must be through my agency and she must be committed wholly to my care. i know it is a great responsibility; but if you and the count- ess can bring yourselves to commit her to me i swear to you, as a scottish gentleman and a protest- ant soldier, that i will watch over her as a brother until i place her in all honor in safe hands." the count looked at the countess and at thekla, who sat pale and still. "we can trust you, malcolm graeme," he said after a pause. "there are few, indeed, into whose hands we would thus confide our daughter; but we know you to be indeed, as you say, a scottish gen- tleman and a protestant soldier. moreover, we know you to be faithful, honorable, and true. therefore, we will, seeing that there is no other mode of escape from the fate which awaits her, confide her wholly to you. and now tell us what are your plans v the lion of the north. chapter xxi. flight. "i thank you, count, and you, dear lady," mal- colm said gratefully, "for the confidence you place in me, and will carry out my trust were it to cost me my life. my plan is a simple one. the guard will be changed in half an hour's time. i have brought hither a suit of boy's garments, which i must pray the countess thekla to don, seeing that it will be impossible for her to sally out in her own garb. i show my pass to the sentry, who will deem that my companion entered with me, and is my apprentice, and will suppose that, since the sentry who preceded him suffered him to enter with me he may well pass him out without question. in the town i have a wagon in readiness, and shall, disguised as a peasant, start with it this evening. thekla will be in the bottom covered with straw. we shall travel all night. "to-morrow, when your attendant discovers that your daughter has escaped, she will at once take the news to the governor. the sentries will all be questioned, and it will be found that, whereas but one clockmaker came in two went out. the city the lion of the north. will be searched and the country round scoured; but if the horsemen overtake me they will be look- ing for a craftsman and his apprentice, and will not suspect a solitary peasant with a wagon. "the first danger over i must be guided by circumstances; but in any case thekla must travel as a boy to the end of the journey, for in such troubled times as these it were unsafe indeed for a young girl to travel through germany except under a strong escort of men-at-arms. i design to make my way to nuremberg, and shall then place her in the hands of my good friend jans boerhoff, whose wife and daughters will, i am sure, gladly receive and care for her until the time, which i hope is not far off, that peace be made and you can again rejoin her." "the plan is a good one," the count said when malcolm had concluded, "and offers every prospect of success. 'tis hazardous, but there is no escape from such a strait as ours without risk. what say you, wife?" "assuredly i gan think of nothing better. but what say you, thekla? are you ready to run the risks, the danger, and the hardships of such a journey under the protection only of this brave scottish gentleman?" " am ready, mother," thekla said quickly, "but i wish—i wish "—and she hesitated. "you wish you could go in your own garments, thekla, with jewels on your fingers and a white horse to carry you on a pillion behind your pro- the lion of the worth. ■ honorable indeed did i reward your kindness and hospitality by winning the heart of your daughter; but after what you have so generously said i need no longer fear my heart, and will, when the time comes, proudly remind you of your promise. for this journey i will put all such thoughts aside, and will regard thekla as my merry playfellow of the last three years. but after have once placed her in safety i shall thenceforward think of her as my wife who is to be, and will watch over her safety as over my greatest treasure, trusting that in some happy change of times and circumstances you your- self and the dear countess, whom i already regard almost as my parents, will give her to me." "so be it," the count said solemnly. "my bless- ing on you both should i ne'er see you again. i can meet whatever fate may be before me with con- stancy and comfort now that her future is assured— but here they come." the door opened, and the countess appeared, fol- lowed by thekla, shrinking behind her mother's skirts in her boyish attire. "you will pass well," the count said gravely, for he knew that jest now would jar upon her. "keep that cap well down over your eyes, and try and as- sume a little more of the jaunty and impudent air of a boy. fortunately it will be dark below, and the sentry will not be able to mark how fair is your skin and how delicate your hands. and now farewell, my child. let us not stand talking, for the quicker a parting is over the better. may god in heaven the lion of the north "how stupid you are!" malcolm exclaimed sharply. "how often have i told you to be careful! you don't suppose that those fine tools can stand being knocked about in that way without injury? another time an' you are so careless i will give you a taste of the strap, you little rascal." "what is all this?" the sentry asked, barring the way with his pike, "and who are you who are issu- ing from this house with so much noise? my orders are that none pass out here without an order from the governor." "and such an order have i," malcolm said, pro- ducing the document. "there's the governor's seal. i have been sent for to repair the clock in the count of mansfeld's apartment, and a rare job it has been." the sentry was unable to read, but he looked at the seal, which he had been taught to recognize. "but there is only one seal," he said, "and there are two of you." "pooh !" malcolm said scornfully. "dost think that when ten persons are admitted to pass in to- gether the governor puts ten seals on the pass? you see for yourself that it is but a young boy, my ap- prentice. why, the governor himself left scare an hour ago, and was in the apartment with me while i was at work. had it not been all right he would have hauled me to the prison quickly enough." as the sentry knew that the governor had left but a short time before he came on guard this con- vinced him, and, standing aside, he allowed malcolm the lion of the north. road. as soon as thekla's disappearance had been discovered by the waiting-woman she had hurried to the governor, and with much perturbation and many tears informed him that the young countess was missing, and that her couch had not been slept on. the governor had at once hurried to the spot. the count and countess resolutely refused to state what had become of their daughter. the sentries had all been strictly questioned, and it was found that the mender of clocks had, when he left, been accompanied by an apprentice whom the sentry previously on duty asserted had not entered with him. the woman was then closely questioned; she asserted stoutly that she knew nothing whatever of the affair. the count had commissioned her to obtain a craftsman to set the clock in order, and she had bethought her of a young man whose acquaintance she had made some time previously, and who had informed her in the course of conversation that he had come from nuremberg, and was a clockmaker by trade, and was at present out of work. she had met him, she said, on several occasions, and as .he was a pleasant youth and comely, when he had spoken to her of marriage she had not been averse, now it was plain he had deceived her; and here she began to cry bitterly and loudly. her story seemed probable enough, for any friend of the count who intended to carry off his daughter would naturally have begun by ingratiating himself with her attendant. she was, however, placed in the lion of the north. to turn off by a crossroad and endeavor to avoid the imperialists. he had not, however, left the place before a party of imperialist horse rode in. malcolm was at once stopped, and was told that he must accompany the troops to pilsen, as they had orders to requisition all carts for the supply of provisions for the army. malcolm knew that it was of no use to remonstrate, but, with many loud grum- blings at his hard lot, he moved to the market-place, where he remained until all the wagons in the place and in the surrounding country had been collected. loud and bitter were the curses which the peas- ants uttered at finding themselves taken from their homes and compelled to perform service for which the pay, if received at all, would be scanty in the extreme. there was, however, no help for it; and when all were collected they started in a long pro- cession guarded by the cavalry for pilsen. on arriving there they were ordered to take up their station with the great train of wagons collected for the supply of the army. thekla had from her hiding-place heard the con- versation, and was greatly alarmed at finding that they were again in the power of the imperialists. no one, however, approached the wagon, and it was not until darkness had set in that she heard mal- colm's voice whispering to her to arise quietly. "we must leave the wagon; it will be impossible tor you to remain concealed here longer, for to- morrow i may be sent out to bring in supplies. for the present we must remain in pilsen. the whole the lion of the north. with mine; and yet the astrologer said that he who should present himself at the castle nearest to the stroke of nine this morning would be a factor in my future, and, as my steward tells me, the clock sounded nine as this young man addressed him." he then asked malcolm several questions as to the work upon which he was engaged, and then said abruptly: "dost know the day and hour on which you were born?" malcolm was somewhat surprised at the question, for he had not heard the muttered words of "wal- lenstein, but he at once replied that he had heard that he was born at the stroke of midnight on the last day in the year. the duke said no more, but left the closet and proceeded at once to an apartment near his own bedchamber, which, although he had arrived but a few hours previously, had already been fitted up for the use of his astrologer. the walls were hidden by a plain hanging of scarlet cloth; a large telescope stood at the window, a chart of the heavens was spread out on the table, and piles of books stood beside it. on the ceiling the signs of the zodiac had been painted, and some mystical circles had been marked out on the floor. a tall spare old man with a long white beard was seated at the table. he rose when wallenstein entered. "i cannot but think," the duke said, "that your calculations must for once have been mistaken, and that there must have been an error in the hour, for the lion of the north. i see not how the destiny of this craftsman, who seems to be a simple lad, can in any way be con- nected with mine." "i have made the calculation three times, your grace," the old man replied, "and am sure there is no error." "he was born," wallenstein said, "at midnight on december , . work out his nativity, and see what stars were in the ascendant, and whether there are any affinities between us." "i will do so at once," the astrologer said, "by to- night i shall be able to give your grace the informa- tion you require." "to-night," the duke said, "we will go over your calculations together as to our great enterprise. it is all-important that there should be no mistake. i have for a whole year remained inactive because you told me that the time had not yet come, and now that you say the propitious moment is ap- proaching would fain be sure that no error has been committed. all seems well, the troops are devoted to me, and will fight against whomsoever i bid them. by lavish gifts and favors i have attached all my generals firmly to me, and soon this ungrateful em- peror shall feel how rash and foolish he has been to insult the man to whom alone he owes it that he was not long ago a fugitive and an exile, with the swedes victorious masters of his capital and king- dom. "have not i alone saved him? did not i at my own cost raise an army and stand between him and the lion of the north. the victorious gustavus? have not i alone of all his generals checked the triumphant progress of the invaders? and yet he evades all his promises, he procrastinates and palters. not one step does he take to give me the sovereignty of bohemia which he so solemnly promised me, and seems to think that it is honor and reward enough for me to have spent my treasure and blood in his service. but my turn is at hand, and when the hand which saved his throne shall cast him from it he will learn how rash he has been to have deceived and slighted me. and you say that the stars last night all pointed to a favorable conjunction, and that the time for strik- ing the great blow is at hand?" "nothing could be better," the astrologer said; "jupiter, your own planet, and mars are in the as- cendant. saturn is still too near them to encourage instant action, but he will shortly remove to another house and then your time will have come." "so be it," wallenstein said, "and the sooner the better. now i will leave you to your studies, and will ride out to inspect the troops, and to see that they have all that they need, for they must be kept in the best of humors at present." the lion of the north. worthy relating to your excellency, but i once swam across a swollen river to direct some travelers who would otherwise have perished, and my neighbors were good enough to say that none in those parts save myself would have attempted such a feat." "ah !" the duke exclaimed in a tone of satisfac- tion, " as usual the stars have spoken correctly. doubtless as great courage is required to swim a river in flood as to charge into the ranks of the enemy." so saying wallenstein left the room, filled with a desire to attach to himself the young man whom his adviser had assured him was in some way connected with his destiny. wallenstein a day or two later offered malcolm to take him into his permanent serv- ice, sa\'ing that he was frequently plagued by the stoppages of his clocks, and desired to have a crafts- man capable of attending to them on his establish- ment. he even told the young man that he might expect promotion altogether beyond his present station. malcolm could not refuse so flattering an offer, and was at once installed as a member of wallen- stein's household, declining, however, the use of the apartment which the steward offered him, saying that he had a sick brother lodging with him in the town. mingling with the soldiers in the evenings malcolm learned that there were rumors that nego- tiations for peace were going on with saxony and sweden. this was indeed the case, but wallenstein was the lion of the north. negotiating on his own behalf, and not on that of the emperor. so far but little had come of these negotiations, for oxenstiern had the strongest doubts of wallenstein's sincerity, and believed that he was only trying to gain time and delay opera- tions by pretended proposals for peace. he could not believe that the great imperialist general, the right hand of the emperor, had any real intention of turning against his master. toward the end of january there was some excitement in pilsen owing to the arrival there of all the generals of the im- perialist army save only gallas, colloredo, and altringer. malcolm was sure that such a gathering could only have been summoned by wallenstein upon some matter of the most vital importance, and he determined at all hazards to learn what was taking place, in order that he might enlighten oxenstiern as to the real sentiments of the duke. learning that the principal chamber in the castle had been cleared, and that a meeting of the officers would take place there in the evening, he told thekla when he went home to his meal at midday that she must not be surprised if he did not return until a late hour. he continued his work until nearly six o'clock, the time at which the meeting was to begin, and then extinguishing his light, he made his way through the passages of the castle until he reached the council chamber, meeting with no interruption from the domestics, who were by this time familiar with his person, and who regarded him as one ris- the lion of the north. ing in favor with their master. he waited in the vicinity of the chamber until he saw an opportunity for entering unobserved, then he stole into the room and secreted himself behind the arras, beneath a table standing against the wall, and where, being in shadow, the bulge in the hanging would not attract attention. in a few minutes he heard heavy steps with the clanking of swords and jingling of spurs, and knew that the council was beginning to assemble. the hum of conversation rose louder and louder for a quarter of an hour; then he heard the door of the apartment closed, and knew that the.council was about to commence. the buzz of conversation ceased, and then a voice, which was that of field- marshal illo, one of the three men in wallenstein's confidence, rose in the silence. he began by laying before the army the orders which the em- peror had sent for its dispersal to various parts of the country, and by the turn he gave to these he found it easy to excite the indignation of the assembly. he then expatiated with much eloquence upon the merits of the army and its generals, and upon the ingratitude with which the emperor had treated them after their noble efforts in his behalf. the court, he said, was governed by spanish influence. the ministry were in the pay of spain. wallen- stein alone had hitherto opposed this tyranny, and had thus drawn upon himself the deadly enmity of the spaniards. to remove him from the command, the lion of the north. or to make away with him entirely, had, he asserted, been long the end of their desires, and until they could succeed they endeavored to abridge his power in the field. the supreme command was to be placed in the hands of the king of hungary solely to promote the spanish power in germany, as this prince was merely the passive instrument of spain. it was only with the view of weakening the army that six thousand troops were ordered to be detached from it, and solely to harass it by a winter cam- paign that they were now called upon at this in- hospitable season to undertake the recovery of ratisbon. the jesuits and the ministry enriched themselves with the treasure wrung from the provinces, and squandered the money intended for the pay of the troops. the general, then, abandoned by the court, was forced to acknowledge his inability to keep his en- gagements to the army. for all the services which for two-and-twenty years he had rendered to the house of austria, in return for all difficulties with which he had struggled, for all the treasures of his own which he had expended in the imperial service, a second disgraceful dismissal awaited him. but he was resolved the matter should not come to this; he was determined voluntarily to resign the com- mand before it should be wrested from his hands, "and this," continued the speaker, "is what he has summoned you here to make known to you, and what he has commissioned me to inform you." the lion of the north. it was now for them to say whether they would permit him to leave them; it was for each man present to consider who was to repay him the sums he had expended in the emperor's service; how he was ever to reap the rewards for his bravery and devotion, when the chief who alone was cognizant of their efforts, who was their sole advocate and champion, was removed from them. when the speaker concluded a loud cry broke from all the officers that they would not permit wallenstein to be taken from them. then a babel of talk arose, and after much discussion four of the officers were appointed as a deputation to wait upon the duke to assure him of the devotion of the army, and to beg him not to withdraw himself from them. the four officers intrusted with the com- mission left the room and repaired to the private chamber of the general. they returned in a short time, saying that the duke refused to yield. another deputation was sent to pray him in even stronger terms to remain with them. these re- turned with the news that wallenstein had reluct- antly yielded to their request; but upon the condition that each of them should give a written promise to truly and firmly adhere to him, neither to separate or to allow himself to be separated from him, and to shed his last drop of blood in his defense. whoever should break this covenant, so long as wallenstein should employ the army in the emperor's service, was to be regarded as a perfidious traitor and to be treated by the rest as a common enemy. the lion of the north. as these last words appeared to indicate clearly that wallenstein had no thought of assuming a position hostile to the emperor, or of defying his authority, save in the point of refusing to be sepa- rated from his army, all present agreed with acclamations to sign the documents required. "then, gentlemen," marshal illo said, "i will have the document for your signatures at once drawn up. a banquet has been prepared in the next room, of which i invite you now all to partake, and at its conclusion the document shall be ready," malcolm from his hiding-place heard the general movement as the officers left the apartment, and looking cautiously out from beneath the arras, saw that the chamber was entirely empty. he deter- mined, however, to remain and to hear the conclu- sion of the conference. he accordingly remained quiet for upward of an hour. during this time the attendants had entered and extinguished the lights, as the guests would not return to the council chamber. he now left his hiding-place and made his way to the door which separated him from the banqueting hall. listening intently at the keyhole, he heard the clinking of glasses and the sound of voices loudly raised, and he guessed that the revelry was at its height. more and more noisy did it become, for marshal illo was plying his guests with wine in order that they might sign without examination the document which he had prepared for their signa- tures. feeling confident that none would near him the lion of the north. run, overcame the scruples of the recalcitrants, and all signed the paper. this done the meeting broke up, and malcolm, stealing away from his post of observation, made his way back to his lodgings. he slept little that night. what he had seen con- vinced him that wallenstein was really in earnest in the propositions which he had made to oxen- stiern and the elector of saxony, and that he medi- tated an open rebellion against the emperor. it was of extreme importance that oxenstiern should be made acquainted with these facts; but it would be next to impossible to escape from pilsen, bur- dened as he was with thekla, and to cross the country which intervened between the two armies and which was constantly traversed by cavalry par- ties and scouts of both sides. after much deliberation, therefore, he determined upon the bold course of frankly informing wallen- stein who he was and what he had heard, and to beg of him to furnish him with an escort to pass through the lines in order that he might make his way with all speed to oxenstiern in order to assure him of the good faith of the duke and of the importance of his frankly and speedily accepting his proposals. it was possible, of course, that he might fall a victim to wallenstein's first anger when he found out that he had been duped, and the plot in which he was engaged discovered; but he resolved to run the risk, believing that the duke would see the advantage to be gained by complying with his proposal. it was necessary, however, to prepare thekla for the worst. the lion of the north, "thekla," he said in the morning, "an end has come to our stay here. circumstances have oc- curred which will either enable us to continue our journey at once and in safety or which may place me in a prison." thekla gave a cry of surprise and terror. "i do not think, my dear girl," malcolm went on, "that there is much fear of the second alternative, but we must be prepared for it. you must obey my instructions implicitly. should i not return by nightfall you will know that for a time at least i have been detained. you will tell the woman of the house, who is aware that i am employed by wallenstein, that i have been sent by him to ex- amine and set in order the clocks in his palace in vienna in readiness for his return there, but that as you were too unwell to travel i have bade you remain here until i return to fetch you. "you have an ample supply of money even with- out the purse of gold which the duke presented to me yesterday. you must remain here quietly until the spring, when the tide of war is sure to roll away to some other quarter, and i trust that, long ere that, even should i be detained, i shall be free to come to you again; but if not, do you then despatch this letter which i have written for you to jans boerhoff. in this i tell him where you are, in order that, if your mother comes to him asking for you, or your parents are able to write to him to inquire for you, he may inform them of your hiding-place. i have also written you a letter to the commander of the lion of the north. any swedish force which may enter this town, tell- ing him who you are, and praying him to forward you under an escort to nuremberg." "but what shall i do without you?" thekla sobbed. "i trust, my dear, that you will not have to do without me, and feel convinced that to-morrow we shall be upon our way to the swedish outposts. i only give you instructions in case of the worst. it troubles me terribly that i am forced to do anything which may possibly deprive you of my protection, but my duty to the country i serve compels me to take this step, which is one of supreme importance to our cause." it was long before thekla was pacified, and mal- colm himself was deeply troubled at the thought that the girl might be left alone and unprotected in a strange place. still there appeared every proba- bility that she would be able to remain there in safety until an opportunity should occur for her to make her way to nuremberg. it was with a heavy heart, caused far more by the thought of thekla's position than of danger to himself, that, he took his way to the castle; but he felt that his duty was imperative, and was at heart convinced that wallenstein would eagerly embrace his offer. it was not until midday that he was able to see the duke. wallenstein had been greatly angered as well as alarmed at the resistance which his scheme had met with on the previous evening. he had believed that his favors and liberality had so the lion of the north. thoroughly attached his generals to his person that they would have followed him willingly and with- out hesitation, even in a war against the emperor, and the discovery that, although willing to support him against deprivation from his command, they shrunk alarmed at the idea of disloyalty to the em- peror, showed that his position was dangerous in the extreme. he found that the signatures to the document had for the most part been scrawled so illegibly that the writers would be able to repudiate them if necessary, and that deceit was evidently intended. in the morning he called together the whole of the generals, and personally received them. after pouring out the bitterest reproaches and abuse against the court, he reminded them of their oppo- sition to the proposition set before them on the previous evening, and declared that this circum- stance had induced him to retract his own prom- ise, and that he should at once resign his com- mand. the generals, in confusion and dismay, withdrew to the antechamber, and after a short consultation returned to offer their apologies for their conduct on the previous evening and to offer to sign anew the engagement which bound them to him. this was done, and it now remained only for wallen- stein to obtain the adhesion of gallas, altringer, and colloredo, which, as they held important sepa- rate commands, was necessary for the success of his plan. messengers were accordingly sent the lion of the north. out at once to request them to come instantly to pilsen. after this business was despatched and wallen- stein was disengaged he was informed that mal- colm desired earnestly to speak to him on particu- lar business. greatly surprised at the request, he ordered that he should be shown in to him. "your excellency," malcolm began when they were alone, " what i am about to say may anger you, but as i trust that much advantage may arise from my communication, i implore you to restrain your anger until you hear me to the end, after which it will be for you to do with me as you will." still more surprised at this commencement, wal- lenstein signed to him to continue. "i am, sir," malcolm went on, "no clockmaker, although, indeed, having worked for some time in the shop of master jans boerhoff at the time of the siege of nuremberg, i am able to set clocks and watches in repair, as i have done to those which have been placed in my hands here. in reality, sir, i am a scottish officer, a captain in the service of sweden." wallenstein gave a short exclamation of angry surprise. "you must not think, sir, that i have come hither in disguise to be a spy upon the movements of your army. i came here unwillingly, being captured by your troops, and forced to accompany them. u i left the swedish camp on a private mission, having received there a missive from the countess the lion of thk north. of mansfeld, who, with her husband, was a kind friend of mine, telling me that they were prisoners of the emperor at prague, and begging me to come to their assistance. bethinking me of the occupa- tion which had amused my leisure hours during the weary months when we were shut up by you in nuremberg, i obtained leave of absence, attired myself as a craftsman, and made my way to prague. there i found the count confined to his couch by a wound and unable to move. the countess had no thought of quitting him. her anxiety was wholly for her daughter, a girl of fifteen, whom the em- peror proposed to shut up in a convent and force to change her religion, and then to bestow her hand upon one of his favorites, with her father's confis- cated estates as her dowry. "i succeeded in effecting her escape disguised as a boy, i myself traveling in the disguise of a peas- ant with a wagon. we were making our way toward the swedish lines when we came across your army, which had, unknown to me, suddenly moved hither. i and my cart were requisitioned for the service of the army. on the night of my arrival here i resumed my disguise as a craftsman, left my wagon, and with my young companion took up my lodging here, intending to remain quietly working at the craft i assumed until an opportunity offered for continuing our journey. accident obtained me employment here, and as rumors said that overtures for peace were passing between yourself and the swedish chancellor, i may frankly say that i deter- the lion of the north. mined to use the position in which i accidentally found myself for the benefit of the country i served, by ascertaining, if i could, how far your excellency was in earnest as to the offers you were making. in pursuance of that plan i yesterday concealed my- self and overheard all that passed in the council chamber with the officers, and at the banquet sub- sequently." wallenstein leaped to his feet with an angry exclamation. "your excellency will please to remember," mal- colm went on quietly, " that i could have kept all this to myself and used it to the benefit or detriment of your excellency, but it seemed to me that i should benefit at once your designs and the cause i serve by frankly acquainting you with what i had discov- ered. it would be a work of time for me to make my way with my companion through the lines of your army and to gain those of the swedes. i might be slain in so doing and the important information i have acquired lost. "it is of all things important to you that the swe- dish chancellor, whose nature is cautious and suspi- cious, should be thoroughly convinced that it is your intention to make common cause with him and to join him heart and soul in forcing the emperor to accept the conditions which you and he united may impose upon him. this the information i have ac- quired will assuredly suffice to do. and he will, with- out doubt, at once set his army in motion to act in concert with yours." wallenstein paced the room for a minute or two in silence. the lion of the north. chapter xxiii. the murder of wallen tein. malcolm hurried back to his lodging, where he was received with a cry of delight from thekla, who had passed the time since he had left her on her knees praying for his safety. he told her at once that she was about to be restored to safety among friends, that her troubles were at an end, and she was again to resume her proper garments, which she had brought with her in the basket containing his tools at the time of her flight. a few minutes sufficed to make the change, and then she accompanied malcolm to the castle. wal- lenstein's orders had been rapidly carried out; a squadron of cavalry were formed up in the court- yard, and in front of them an attendant held a horse with a pillion behind the saddle. malcolm lifted thekla on to the pillion and sprang into the saddle in front of her. one of wallenstein's house- hold handed a letter to him and then gave him into the charge of the officer commanding the squadron, who had already received his orders. the officer at once gave the word and rode from the castle followed by the cavalry. the lion of the north. as soon as they were out of the town the pace was quickened, and the cavalcade proceeded at a trot which was kept up with few intermissions until nightfall, by which time twenty miles had been covered. they halted for the night in a small town where the soldiers were billeted on the inhabitants, comfortable apartments being assigned to malcolm and his charge. soon after daybreak the journey was continued. a sharp watch was now kept up, as at any moment parties of the swedish cavalry making a raid far in advance of their lines might be met with. no such adventure happened, and late in the afternoon the troop halted on the crest of a low hill. "here," the officer said, "we part. that town which you see across the river is held by the swedes, and you will certainly meet with no molestation from any of our side as you ride down to it." malcolm thanked the officer for the courtesy he had shown him on the journey, and then rode for- ward toward the town. it was getting dusk as he neared the bridge, but as he came close malcolm's heart gave a bound as he recognized the green scarfs and plumes worn by the sentries at the bridge. these seeing only a single horseman with a female behind him did not attempt to question him as he passed; but he reined in his horse. "whose regiment do you belong to ?" he asked. the men looked up in surprise at being addressed in their own language by one whose attire was that of a simple craftsman, but whom they now saw rode a horse of great strength and beauty. the lion of the north. "we belong to hamilton's regiment," they replied. "and where shall i find that of munro?" "it is lying in quarters fifteen miles away," one of the soldiers answered. "then we cannot get on there to-night," malcolm said. "where are your officers quartered?" a soldier standing near at once volunteered to act as guide, and in a few minutes malcolm arrived at the house occupied by them. he was of course personally known to all the officers, and as soon as their surprise at his disguise and at seeing him accompanied by a young lady had subsided, they received him most heartily. thekla was at once taken to the house of the burgomaster, which was close at hand, and handed over to the wife of that functionary for the night, and malcolm spent a merry evening with the scottish officers, to whom he related the adventures which had so satisfactorily terminated—making, however, no allusion to the political secrets which he had discovered or the mission with which he was charged. he was soon furnished from the wardrobes of the officers with a suit of clothes, and although his craftsman attire had served him well he was glad to don again the uniform of the scottish brigade. "you have cut your narrative strangely short at the end, graeme," colonel hamilton said when malcolm brought his story to a conclusion. "how did you get away from pilsen at last, and from the lion of the north. she remembered colonel munro perfectly, as he and the other officers of the regiment had been fre- quently at her father's during the stay of the regi- ment at maintz. the colonel placed her at once in charge of the wife of one of the principal citizens, who upon hear- ing that she was the daughter of the count of mans- feld, well known for his attachment to the protes tant cause, willingly received her, and offered to retain her as her guest until an opportunity should occur for sending her on to nuremberg, should mal- colm not be able at once to continue his journey to that city. "that," colonel munro said as soon as malcolm informed him of the extremely important informa- tion he had gained, "is out of the question. your news is of supreme importance, it alters the whole course of events, and offers hopes of an early termination of the struggle. there is no doubt that wallenstein is in earnest now, for he has committed himself beyond reparation. the only question is whether he can carry the army with him. how- ever, it is clear that you must ride with all haste to oxenstiern with your tidings; not a moment must be lost. he is in the palatinate, and it will take you four days of hard riding at the least to reach him. "in the meantime, your little maid, who by the way is already nearly a woman, had best remain here—i will see that she is comfortable and well cared for, and after all she is as well here as at the lion of the north. nuremberg, as there is no fear now of an advance of the imperialists. in case of anything extraordi- nary occurring which might render this town an un- safe abiding place, i will forward her in safety to nuremberg, even if i have to detach a score of my men as her escort." before mounting again malcolm paid a hurried visit to thekla, who expressed her contentment with her new abode, and her readiness to stay there until he should return to take her to nuremberg, even should it be weeks before he could do so. "i quite feel among friends now," she said, "and colonel munro and your scotch officers will, i am sure, take good care of me till you return." glad to feel that his charge was left in good hands, malcolm mounted his horse with a light heart and galloped away. four days later he was closeted with the swedish chancellor and relating to him the scene in the castle at pilsen. when he had fin- ished his narrative oxenstiern, who had, before mal- colm began, read the letter which wallenstein had sent him, said: "after what you tell me there can be no longer the slightest doubts of wallenstein's intention. ever since the death of the king he has been nego- tiating privately with me, but i could not believe that he was in earnest, or that such monstrous treachery was possible. how could i suppose that he who has been raised from the rank of a simple gentleman to that of a duke and prince, and who, save the fortunes which he obtained with his wives, the lion of the north. owes everything to the bounty of the emperor, could be preparing to turn his arms against him?" "it is true that he has done great things for fer- dinand, but his ambition is even greater than his military talent. any other man would have been content with the enormous possessions and splendid dignity which he has attained, and which in fact render him far richer than his imperial master; but to be a prince does not suffice for him. he has been promised a kingdom, but even that is insufficient for his ambition. it is clear that he aims to dethrone the emperor and to set himself up in his place; however, his ingratitude does not concern me, it suffices now that at any rate he is sincere, and that a happy issue out of the struggle opens before us henceforth. "i can trust him thoroughly; but though he has the will to join us has he the power? wallenstein, with his generals and his army fighting for the em- peror, is a mighty personage, but wallenstein a rebel is another altogether. by what you tell me it seems more than doubtful whether his officers will follow him; and although his army is attached to him, and might follow him could he put himself at its head, it is scattered in its cantonments, and each section will obey the orders which the general in its command may give. "probably some of those who signed the docu- ment, pledging their fidelity to wallenstein, have already sent news to the emperor of what is being done. it is a strange situation and needs great the lion of the north. care; the elements are all uncertain. wallenstein writes to me as if he were assured of the allegiance of the whole of his army, and speaks unquestiona- bly, of his power to overthrow the emperor; but the man is clearly blinded by his ambition and in- fatuated by his fixed belief in the stars. however, one thing is certain, he and as much of his army as he can hold in hand are now our allies, and i must lose no time in moving such troops as are most easily disposable to his assistance. "i will send to saxony and urge the elector to put in motion a force to support him, and duke bernhard shall move with a division of our troops. i will at once pen a despatch to wallenstein, accept- ing his alliance and promising him active aid as soon as possible. "what say you, young sir? you have shown the greatest circumspection and ability in this affair. will you undertake to carry my despatch? you must not travel as a scottish officer, for if there are any traitors among the officers of wallenstein they will assuredly endeavor to intercept any despatches which may be passing between us in order to send them to the emperor as proofs of the duke's guilt." " will undertake the task willingly, sir," mal- colm replied, " and doubt not that i shall be able to penetrate to him in the same disguise which i before wore. when i once reach him is your wish that i should remain near him, or that i should at once return?" the lion of the norte. "it were best that you should remain for a time," the chancellor said. "you may be able to send me news from time to time of what is passing around the duke. before you start you shall be supplied with an ample amount of money to pay messengers to bring your reports to me. wallenstein hardly appears to see the danger of his situation; but you will be more clear-sighted. it is a strange drama wh'ch is being played, and may well terminate in a tragedy. at any rate the next month will decide what is to come of these strange combinations." the horse on which malcolm had ridden was knocked up from the speed at which he had traveled, and ordering it to be carefully tended till his return, he obtained a fresh horse and again set out. he made the journey at the same speed at which he had before passed over the ground, and paused for a few hours only at amberg, where he found thekla well and comfortable, and quite recovered from the effects of her journeys and anxiety. she received him with delight; but her joy was dashed when she found that, instead of returning to remain with his regiment, as she had hoped, he was only passing through on another mission. at amberg he again laid aside his uniform and donned his costume as a craftsman. colonel munro gave him an escort of twenty troopers; with these he crossed the river at nightfall, and, making a detour to avoid the imperialist outposts, rode some fifteen miles on his way. he then dismounted and handed over his horse to his escort, who at once the lion of the north and offered to go to altringer and to persuade him to return with him. wallenstein had no doubts of the fidelity of the general, and allowed him to depart. as he did not return at once piccolomini, who was also most anxious to get out of the grasp of wallenstein, offered to go and fetch both gallas and altringer. wallenstein consented, and conveyed piccolomini in his own carriage to lintz. no sooner had piccolomini left him than he hurried to his own command, denounced wallenstein as a traitor, and prepared to surprise the duke in pilsen. gallas at the same time sent round copies of his commission to all the imperial camps. upon his arrival malcolm at once proceeded to the castle, and, finding the steward, requested him to inform the duke that he had returned. in a few minutes he was ushered into his presence, and handed to him the letter from oxenstiern. wallen- stein tore it open without a word and gave an ex- clamation of satisfaction as he glanced it through. "this is opportune indeed," he said, " and i thank you for bringing me the news so rapidly. well did the astrologer say that my destiny to some extent depended on you; this is a proof that he was right. the chancellor tells me that the duke of saxe- lauenburg will march instantly with four thousand men to join me, and that duke bernhard will move down at once with six thousand of the best swedish troops. i may yet be even with the traitors." although the defection of gallas and piccolomini the lion of the north. and the news of the issue of the imperial procla- mation had fallen with stunning force upon wallen- stein, he had still faith in the fidelity of the army at large, and he had already despatched marshal terzky to prague, where all the troops faithful to him were to assemble, intending to follow himself with the regiments at pilsen as soon as carriage could be obtained from the country round. his astrologer still assured him that the stars were favorable, and wallenstein's faith in his own destiny was unshaken. upon finding that malcolm had orders to remain with him until he was joined by duke bernhard, he ordered handsome apartments to be prepared for him, and as there was no longer any reason why the fact that a swedish officer was in the castle should be concealed, he commanded that malcolm should be furnished with handsome raiment of all sorts and a suit of superb armor. upon the follow- ing morning wallenstein sent for him. "i have bad news," he said. "general suys with an army arrived at prague before terzky got there, and i fear that the influence of piccolomini, gallas, and altringer have withdrawn from me the corps which they command. terzky will return to- morrow morning, and i shall then march with him and the troops here to egra. there i shall effect a junction with duke bernhard, who is instructed to march upon that town." the duke, though anxious, still appeared confi- dent; but the outlook seemed to malcolm extremely the lion of the north. gloomy. the whole army save the regiments around pilsen had fallen away from wallenstein. his princely generosity to the generals and officers and his popularity among the troops had failed to attach them to him now that he had declared against the emperor, and it appeared to malcolm that he would be able to bring over to the swedish cause only the corps which he immediately commanded. still his defection could not but cause a vast gap in the imperial defenses, and the loss of the services of the greatest of their leaders would in itself be a heavy blow to the imperialist cause, which had been almost solely supported by his commanding talents and his vast private income. terzky arrived on the following morning, and the same afternoon wallenstein with the whole of the troops at pilsen marched toward egra. among the officers attached to wallenstein's person was a scotchman named leslie, to whom and a few other confidants wallenstein had confided his designs. wallenstein had at once introduced malcolm to him, and the two rode in company during the march to egra. malcolm did not find him a cheerful companion. they chatted at times of the engagements in which both had taken part although on opposite sides; but malcolm saw that his companion was absent and preoccupied, and that he avoided any conversation as to the turn which events had taken. at the end of the first day's ride malcolm came the lion of the north. to the decided conclusion that he did not like his companion, and, moreover, that his heart was far from being in the enterprise on which they were engaged. the following day he avoided joining him, and rode with some of the other officers. upon their arrival at egra the gates were opened at their approach, and colonel butler, an irishman who commanded the garrison, met wallenstein as he entered, and saluted him with all honor. wallen- stein was pleased to find that the disaffection which had spread so rapidly through the army had not reached egra. a few hours after he had entered the town wal lenstein received the news that an imperial edict had been issued proclaiming him a traitor and an outlaw; he also learned that the corps under the duke of saxe-lauenburg was within a day's march of egra. as soon as the duke retired to his apart- ments leslie sought out colonel butler, and revealed to him the purposes of wallenstein, and informed him of the imperial order absolving the army from their allegiance to him. the two men, with lieu- tenant-colonel gordon, another imperialist officer, at once determined to capture wallenstein and to hand him over as a prisoner to the emperor. in the afternoon leslie had an interview with wallenstein, who told him of the near approach of the dukes of saxe lauenburg and saxe-weimar, and informed him of his plans for advancing from egra direct into the heart of bohemia. the treacherous officer at once hurried away with malcolm overpowered by treachery at the banquet.—page . —ihe lion of the korth. the lion of the north. madness, and it may truly be said that he was goaded into rebellion. the verdict of posterity has certainly been favorable to him, and the das- tardly murder which requited a lifetime of brilliant services has been held to more than counterbalance the faults which he committed. the lion of the norte. chapter xxiv. after the fall of wallenstein's colonels malcolm was led away a prisoner, and was conducted to a dungeon in the castle. it was not until the door closed behind him that he could fairly realize what had taken place, so sudden and unexpected had been the scene in the banqueting-hall. five minutes before he had been feasting and drinking the health of wallenstein, now he was a prisoner of the im- perialists. wallenstein's adherents had been mur- dered, and it was but too probable that a like fate would befall the general himself. the alliance from which so much had been hoped, which seemed to offer a prospect of a termination of the long and bloody struggle, was cut short at a blow. as to his own fate it seemed dark enough, and his captivity might last for years, for the imperialists' treatment of their prisoners was harsh in the extreme. the system of exchange, which was usual then as now, was in abeyance during the religious war in germany. there was an almost personal hatred between the combatants, and, as malcolm the lion of the north. knew, many of his compatriots who had fallen into the hands of the imperialists had been treated with such harshness in prison that they had died there. some, indeed, were more than suspected of having been deliberately starved to death. however, malcolm had gone through so many adventures that even the scene which he had wit- nessed and his own captivity and uncertain fate were insufficient to banish sleep from his eyes, and he reposed as soundly on the heap of straw in the corner of his cell as he would have done in the carved and gilded bed in the apartment which had been assigned to him in the castle. the sun was shining through the loophole of his dungeon when he awoke. for an hour he occupied himself in polishing carefully the magnificently inlaid armor which wallenstein had presented him, and which, with the exception of his helmet, he had not laid aside when he sat down to the banquet, for it was very light and in no way hampered his movements, and except when quartered in towns far removed from an enemy officers seldom laid aside their arms. he still retained his sword and dagger, for his captors, in their haste to finish the first act of the tragedy, and to resist any rising which might take place among the soldiery, had omitted to take them from him when they hurried him away. on examination he found that with his dagger he could shove back the lock of the door, but this was firmly held by bolts without. thinking that on the lion of the north. some future occasion the blade might be useful to him, he pushed the dagger well into the lock- and with a sharp jerk snapped it off at the hilt. then he concealed the steel within his long boot and cast the hilt through the loophole. presently a soldier brought him his breakfast—a manchet of bread and a stoup of wine. he was visited again at dinner and supper. before the soldier came in the first time malcolm concealed his sword in the straw, thinking that the soldier would be sure to remove it if he noticed it. the man who brought his breakfast and dinner was taciturn, and made no reply to his questions, but another man brought his supper, and he turned out of a more communicative disposition. "what has happened?" he repeated in repiy to malcolm's question. "well, i don't know much about it myself, but i do know that wallenstein is dead, for the trooper who rides next to me helped to kill him. everyone is content that the traitor has been punished, and as the troops have all pro- nounced for the emperor everything is quiet. we had a good laugh this afternoon. the colonel sent out one of our men dressed up in wallenstein's liv- ery to meet the duke of saxe-lauenburg and invite him to come on at once and join him here. the duke suspected no danger, and rode on ahead of his troops, with a few attendants, and you should have seen his face, when, after passing through the gates, he suddenly found himself surrounded by our men and a prisoner. bernhard of saxe-weimar the lion of the north. will be here to-morrow, as they say, and we shall catch him in the same way. it's a rare trap this, i can tell you." the news heightened malcolm's uneasiness. the capture of duke bernhard, the most brilliant of the german generals on the protestant side, would be a heavy blow indeed to the cause, and leaving his supper untasted malcolm walked up and down his cell in a fever of rage at his impotence to prevent so serious a disaster. at last he ate his supper, and then threw himself upon the straw, but he was unable to sleep. the death of wallenstein had made a deep impression upon him. the imperialist general was greatly re- spected by his foes. not only was he admired for his immense military talents, but he carried on the war with a chivalry and humanity which contrasted strongly with the ferocity of tilly, pappenheim, and piccolomini. prisoners who fell into his hands were always treated with courtesy, and although, from motives of policy, he placed but little check upon the excesses of his soldiery, no massacres, such as those which had caused the names of tilly and pappenheim to be held in abhorrence by the pro- testants of germany, were associated with that of wallenstein. then, too, the princely dignity and noble presence of the duke had greatly impressed the young soldier, and the courtesy with which he had treated him personally had attracted his lik- ing as well as respect. to think that this great general, this princely noble, the man who alone had the lion of the north. mined to foil them. they have been feasting and drinking all night, and it is but now that the troopers have fallen into a drunken slumber and i was able to possess myself of the key of your dungeon. "here is your helmet. i will lead you to the stable, where i have saddled the best and fastest of my master's horses. you must remain there quietly until you deem that the gates are open, then leap upon the horse, and ride for your life. few will know you, and you will probably pass out of the gate unquestioned. if not. you have your sword to cut your way. once beyond the town ride to meet the duke. tell him my master has been murdered, that egra is in the hands of the impe- rialists, and that saxe-lauenburg is a prisoner. bid him march on this place with his force, take it by assault, and leave not one of the assassins of my lord living within its walls." "you will run no risk, i hope, for your share in this adventure," malcolm said. "it matters little to me," the old man replied. "my life is worthless, and i would gladly die in the thought that i have brought retribution on the head of the murderers of my master. but they will not suspect me. i shall lock the door behind us, and place the key again in the girdle of the drunken guard, and then return to my own chamber." quietly malcolm and his conductor made their way through the castle and out into the courtyard. then they entered the stables. the lion of the north. rid of the fumes of the wine they had indulged in over night. others were cleaning their arms. the sudden appearance of a mounted officer armed from head to foot caused a general pause in their occupation, although none had any suspicion that the spendidly attired officer wasafugitive; but believing that he was one of leslie's friends who was setting out on some mission they paid no further heed to him, as quietly and without any sign of haste he rode through the gateway of the castle into the town. the inhabitants were already in the streets, country-women with baskets were vending their produce, and the market was full of people. malcolm rode on at a foot pace until he was within sight of the open gate of the town. when within fifty yards of the gate he suddenly came upon colonel leslie, who had thus early been making a tour of the walls to see that the sentries were upon the alert, for duke bernhard's force was within a few miles. he instantly recognized malcolm. "ah !" he exclaimed, "captain graeme—treach- ery! treachery! shut the gate there," and drawing his sword, threw himself in malcolm's way. malcolm touched the horse with his spur and it bounded forward; he parried the blow which leslie struck at him, and, with a sweeping cut full on the traitor's helmet, struck him to the ground and then dashed onward. the sentry was beginning to shut the gate, and his comrades were running out from the guardhouse as malcolm galloped up. the lion of the north. "it is but too true, sir," malcolm replied; "i myself saw his friends illo, terzky, and kinsky as- sassinated before my eyes at a banquet. wallen- stein was murdered by his favorites leslie and gor- don and the irishman butler. i was seized and thrown into a dungeon, but have escaped by a miracle to warn you of your danger." "this is a blow indeed," the duke said mourn- fully. turning to his attendants he ordered them to hang the false messenger to the nearest tree, and then begged malcolm to follow him into his tent and give him full details of this terrible trans- action. "this upsets all our schemes indeed," the duke said when he had concluded. "what is the strength of the garrison at egra v "there were butler's dragoons and an infantry regiment in garrison there when we arrived; six regiments accompanied us on the march, and i fear that all these must now be considered as having gone over to the imperialists." "then their force is superior to my own," the duke said, "for i have but six thousand men with me, and have no artillery heavy enough to make any impression upon the walls of the town. much as i should like to meet these traitors and to deal out to them the punishment they deserve, i cannot adventure on the siege of egra until i have commu- nicated this terrible news to the swedish chancel- lor. egra was all-important to us as affording an entrance into bohemia so long as wallenstein was the lion of the north. with us, but now that he has been murdered and our schemes thus suddenly destroyed i cannot risk the destruction of my force by an assault upon the city, which is no longer of any use to us." much as malcolm would have liked to have seen the punishment of wallenstein's treacherous fol- lowers, he could not but feel that the duke's view was, under the circumstances, the correct one. the tents were speedily struck, and the force fell back with all speed toward bavaria, and after accom- panying them for a march or two, malcolm left them and rode to join his regiment, the duke having already sent off a messenger to oxenstiern with a full account of the murder of wallenstein. as none could say what events were likely to fol- low the changed position of things, malcolm deter- mined at once to carry out the original intention of placing thekla under the care of his friends at nuremberg, in which direction k was not probable that the tide of war would for the present flow. after staying, therefore, a day or two with his regi- ment, where his relation of the events he had wit- nessed caused the greatest excitement and interest, malcolm obtained leave from his colonel to escort thekla to nuremberg. in order that they might pass in perfect safety across the intervening country munro gave him an escort of twelve troopers, and with these he jour- neyed by easy stages to nuremberg, where the worthy syndic of the clockmakers and his wife gladly received thekla, and promised to treat her as one of their own daughters. the lion of the north. here malcolm took possession of his arms and valises, which he had sent, upon starting for prague, to the care of jans boerhoff; not indeed that he needed the armor, for the suit which wallenstein had given him was the admiration and envy of his comrades, and munro had laughingly said that since hepburn had left them no such gallantly attired cavalier had ridden in the ranks of the scottish brigade. there were many tears on thekla's part as her young protector bade her adieu, for there was no saying how long a time might elapse before she might again see him, and malcolm was sorely tempted to tell her that he had her father's consent to wooing her as his wife. he thought it, however, better to abstain from speaking, for should he fall in the campaign her grief would be all the greater had she come to think of him as her destined hus- band, for her hearty affection for him already assured him that she would make no objection to carrying out her father's wishes. shortly after rejoining his regiment malcolm received a communication from the swedish chan- cellor expressing in high terms his approbation of the manner in which he had carried out his instruc- tions with regard to wallenstein, and especially for the great service he had rendered the cause by warn- ing the duke of saxe-weimar of the trap which the imperialists had set for him. the death of wallenstein was followed by a short pause in the war. it had entirely frustrated all the the lion of the north. plans and hopes of the protestants, and it caused a delay in the movement of the imperialists. the emperor, when he heard of wallenstein's death, heaped favors and honors upon the three men who had plotted and carried out his murder, and then appointed his son ferdinand, king of hungary, to the chief command of the army, with general gal- las as his principal adviser. « the duke of lorraine marched with an army to join the imperialists, who were also strengthened by the arrival of ten thousand spanish veterans, and early in may the new imperial general entered the palatinate and marched to lay siege to ratisbon. to oppose the imperial army, which numbered thirty-five thousand men, duke bernhard, after having drawn together all the troops scattered in the neighborhood, could only put fifteen thousand in the field. with so great a disparity of force he could not offer battle, but in every way he harassed and interrupted the advance of the imperialists, while he sent pressing messages to oxenstiern for men and money, and to marshal horn, who com- manded in alsace, to beg him march with all haste to his assistance. unfortunately horn and duke bernhard were men of extremely different temperaments. the latter was vivacious, enterprising, and daring even to rashness, ready to undertake any enterprise which offered the smallest hope of success. marshal horn, on the other hand, although a good general, was slow, over-cautious and hesitating, and would the lion of the north. but not to defend it against a regular siege by a numerous army. the vast plain on which the town stands is broken near its center by two heights rising at a distance of three thousand yards from each other. the height nearest to the {own, which is very steep and craggy, is known as the weinberg, the other is called allersheim; a village stands some three hundred yards in advance of the valley be- tween the heights, and is nearer to the town than either of the two eminences. the scotch brigade formed part of duke bern- hard's command. it was now nearly two years since a pitched battle had been fought, for although there had been many skirmishes and assaults in the preceding year no great encounter had taken place between the armies since gustavus fell at lutzen, in october, , and the scotch brigade had not been present at that battle. in the time which had elapsed many recruits had arrived from scotland, and munro's regiment had been again raised to the strength at which it had landed at rugen four years before. not half a dozen of the officers who had then, full of life and spirit, marched in its ranks were now present. death had indeed been busy among them. on the evening of their arrival in sight of the imperialist army the two graemes supped with their colonel. munro had but just arrived from th« duke's quarters. "i suppose we shall fight to-morrow, munro," major graeme said. the lion of the north. part the feeling thus aroused will be but temporary, for we should soon wipe out the reverse. of the thirty-five thousand men of which the imperial army is composed, eight thousand at least are spaniards who are on their way to flanders, and who will very shortly leave it. "on the other hand the rhinegrave otto ludwig is with seven thousand men within a few marches of us; in a short time therefore we shall actually outnumber the enemy, and shall be able to recover our prestige, just as we recovered it at leipzig after suffering magdeburg to fall. we shall recapture the towns which he has taken, and if the enemy should dare to accept battle we shall beat him, and shall be in a position to march upon vienna." "horn's arguments are the strongest," nigel graeme said gravely; "the course he advises is the most prudent one." "undoubtedly," munro replied; "but i think that it will not be followed. the duke is of a fiery spirit, and he would feel it, as most of us would feel it, a disgrace to fall back without striking a blow for nordlingen. he has, too, been goaded nearly to madness during the last few days by messengers and letters which have reached him from the reformed princes and the free towns in all parts of germany, reproaching him bitterly for having suffered ratisbon and donauworth to fall into the hands of the enemy without a blow, and he feels that his honor is concerned. i have little doubt that we shall fight a great battle to save nordlingen." the lion of the north. chaptee xxv. noedlingen. while colonel munro and his companions were discussing the matter a council of war was being held, and duke bernhard's view was adopted by all his generals, who felt with him that their honor was involved in the question, and that it would be disgraceful to march away without striking a blow to save the besieged city. horn, therefore, being outvoted, was forced to give way. up to nightfall the imperialists had showed no signs of an inten- tion to occupy the weinberg, their forces being massed on and around the allersheim hill. it was determined therefore to seize the weinberg at once, and the execution of this step was committed to horn. the choice was most unfortunate. the service was one upon the prompt carrying out of which vic- tory depended, and horn, though a brave and capa- ble commander, was slow and cautious, and particu- larly unfitted for executing a service which had to be performed in a dark night across a country with which he was not familiar. taking with him four thousand chosen musketeers and pikemen and the lion of the north. twelve guns he set out at nine o'clock, but the rough road, the dykes, and ditches which intercepted the country impeded him, and the fact that he was unacquainted with the general position of the coun- try made him doubly cautious, and it was not until midnight that he reached the foot of the hill. here, unfortunately, he came to the conclusion that since he had encountered such difficulties in crossing the flat country he should meet with even greater obstacles and delays in ascending the hill in the dark; he therefore took the fatal resolution of remaining where he was until daylight, and accord- ingly ordered the column to halt. had he contin- ued his march he would have reached the summit of the weinberg unopposed, and the fate of the bat- tle on the following day would have been changed. but the imperialist leaders, gallas and cardinal infanta don fernando, had not been unmindful of the commanding position of the hill upon which horn was marching, and had given orders that it should be occupied before daylight by four hundred spaniards. the commander of this force was as over-prompt in the execution of his orders as horn was over- cautious. he reached the top of the weinberg be- fore midnight, and at once set his men to work to intrench themselves strongly. as soon as daybreak enabled horn to see the fatal consequences which had arisen from his delay he ordered his men to ad- vance. with their usual gallantry the swedes mounted the hill and rushed at the intrenchment. the lion of the north. way, and the scots found themselves on the crest of the hill which they had lately ascended. no sooner were they free from the spanish ranks than the musketeers of the latter opened fire upon them, and numbers fell in the retreat. when they reached the foot of the fatal hill, and bleeding and breath- lessly gathered round their commander, munro burst into tears on finding that of the noble regi- ment he had led up the hill scarce enough remained to form a single company. seven times now had horn striven to carry the hill, seven times had he been repulsed with terrible slaughter, and he now began to fall back to join the force of duke bernhard. the latter, recognizing that the battle was lost, and that horn, if not speed- ily succored, was doomed, for the imperialists, flushed with victory, were striving to cut him off, made a desperate attack upon the enemy hoping to draw their whole forces upon himself, and so enable horn to retire. for the moment he succeeded, but he was too weak in numbers to bear the assault he had thus provoked. john of werth, who com- manded the imperial cavalry, charged down upon the swedish horsemen and overthrew them so com- pletely that these, forced back upon their infantry, threw them also into complete disorder. the instant horn "had given the orders to retreat, colonel munro, seeing the danger of the force being surrounded, formed up the little remnant of his regi- ment and set off at the double to rejoin the force of the duke. it was well that he did so, for just when the lion of the nobth. denburg, duke william of weimar, the prince of anhalt, the duke of brunswick-luneburg, the duke of mecklenburg, pomerania, and the cities of augs- burg, wiirzburg and coburg, and many others hastened to follow the example of all the leading members of the protestant union. dukes bernhard of weimar and william of cassel were almost alone in supporting the cause to main- tain which gustavus adolphus had invaded germany. the swedish army, whose exploits had made the court of vienna tremble, seemed anni- hilated, and well might the emperor deem that his final triumph over protestantism was complete when he heard of the battle of nordlingen, for as yet he dreamed not that its result would bring france into the field against him. malcolm graeme was one of the few officers of munro's regiment who burst his way through the spanish lines on the top of the weinberg. he was bleeding from several wounds, but none of them were serious. nigel was beside him as they began to descend the hill; but scarcely had he gone a step when he fell headlong, struck by a ball from an arquebus. malcolm and one of the sergeants raised him, and between them carried him to the foot of the hill; then, when the remains of the regiments started to rejoin duke bernhard, they were forced to leave him. although malcolm kept up with his regiment in the retreat he was so utterly exhausted by loss of blood that he could no longer accompany them. the lion of the north. by the death of so many of his seniors he was now one of the majors of the regiment, if that could be called a regiment which was scarce a company in strength. a few days after the battle colonel munro received orders to march with his shattered remnant, scarce one of whom but was from wounds unfit for present service, by easy stages to north germany, there to await the arrival of reinforce- ments from scotland, which might raise the regi- ment to a strength which would enable it again to take the field. malcolm remained behind until his strength slowly returned. the colonel, before leaving, had bade him take his time before rejoining, as months would probably elapse before the regiment would again be fit for service. as soon as he was able to travel he journeyed to nuremberg. on arriving at the abode of jans boerhoff he learned that thekla was no longer an inmate of the family. the count of mansfeld had died in prison, and the countess had arrived at nuremberg and had taken up her abode there. malcolm made his way to the house she occupied. the meeting was an affecting one. malcolm was greatly grieved over the death of his staunch friend, and joined in the sorrow of the countess and her daughter. a few days after his arrival the countess said to him: "i am of course aware, malcolm, of the conversa- tion which the count had with you concerning thekla, and my wishes fully agreed with his on the the lion of the north. should wish to see her in a position similar to that in which she was born, and with this sum you can largely increase your estates and take rank among the nobles of your country. now i will call thekla in and leave you to ask her to agree to the arrange- ments we have made. "my child," she went on, as thekla in obedience to her summons entered the apartment, "malcolm graeme has asked your hand of me. he tells me that he loves you truly, and is willing to take you as a penniless bride, and to carry you and me away with him far from these terrible wars to his native scotland—what say you, my love?" thekla affected neither shyness nor confusion, her color hardly heightened as in her somber mourning she advanced to malcolm, and laying her hand in his, said: "he cannot doubt my answer, mother; he must know that i love him with my whole heart." "then, my daughter," the countess said, " will leave you to yourselves; there is much to arrange, for time presses, and your betrothal must be quickly followed by marriage." it was but a few days later that malcolm led thekla to the altar in st. sebald's church, nurem- berg. the marriage was a quiet one, seeing that the bride had been so lately orphaned, and only jans boerhoff and his family, and two or three scottish comrades of malcolm's, who were recover- ing from their wounds at nuremberg, were present at the quiet ceremony. the following day the the lion of the north. little party started for the north. malcolm had already received a letter from oxenstiern accepting his resignation, thanking him heartily for the good services he had rendered, and congratulating him on his approaching wedding. without adventure they reached hamburg, and there, arranging with the banker for the trans- mission of the sum in his hands to edinburgh, they took ship and crossed to scotland. three months later malcolm was delighted by the appearance of his uncle nigel. the latter was indeed in dilapidated condition, having lost an arm, and suffering from other wounds. he had been retained a prisoner by the imperialists only until he was cured, when they had freed him in exchange for an imperial officer who had been captured by the swedes. thekla's dowry enabled her husband largely to increase his estates. a new and handsome mansion was erected at a short distance from the old castle, and here malcolm graeme lived quietly for very many years with his beautiful wife, and saw a numerous progeny rise around them. to the gratification of both, five years after her coming to scotland, the countess of mansfeld married nigel graeme, and the pair took up their abode in the old castle, which was thoroughhr repaired and set in order by malcolm for their use, while he and thekla insisted that the fortune he had received as a dowry with his wife should be shared by the countess and nigel. the ehd. the "little men" serie's. uniform cloth binding. t . profusely illustrated. price cents per copy. this series of books have been selected from the writings of a large number of popular authors of juvenile stories, and are particularly adapted to interest and supply attractive reading for young boys. the l>ooks are profusely illustrated, and any one seek- ing to find a book to give a young boy can- not make a mistake by selecting from the following list of titles. black beauty. the autobiography of a horse. by anna sewell. illustrated cloth, price cents. carrots: just a little boy. by mrs. molksworth. illus- trated, cloth, price cents. chunk, funky and snout. a story of wild pigs for little people. by uerald young, lllus., cloth, price cents. daddy's boy. by l. t. meade. illus., cloth, price cents. geoff and jim. a story of school life. by ismat thorn. illustrated, cloth, price cents. jaekanapes. by joliana horatia ewing. illustrated, cloth, price ce ts. jack: a topsy turvy story. by c. m. crawley-boeve'". illustrated, cloth, price cents. larry's luck. by the author of "miss tooscy's mission," "tom's opinion," "one of a covey," etc. illustrated, cloth, price cents. mopsa the fairy. by jean ingelow. illustrated, cloth, price cents. peter the pilgrim. the story of a boy and his pet kab- bit. by l. t. meade. illustrated by gordon browne, cloth, price cents. tom's opinion. by the author of "miss toosey's mis- sion," '-one of a covey," etc. illustrated, cloth, price cents. we and the world. a story for boys. by jtjliasa ho- batia ewing. illustrated, cloth, price cents. for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by tb.» publisher, a. t. fbet, beade street, new york. a. l. burt's publications. the lion of st. mark: a tale of venice in the fourteenth century. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. mo, cloth, price $ . . a story of venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put to the severest tests. the hero displays a fine sense and manliness which carry him safely through an atmosphere of in- trigue, crime, and bloodshed. he contributes largely to the vie* lories of the venetians at porto d'anzo and chioggia, and finally wins the band of the daughter of one of the chief men of venice "every boy should read 'the lion of st. mark.' mr. henry has never pro fluced a story more delightful, more wholesome, or mora vivacious."—satur day review. a final reckoning: a tale of bush life in australia. byg. a henty. with full-page illustrations by w. b. wollen. mo, cloth, price $ . , the hero, a young english lad. after rather a stormy boyhood, emigrates to australia, and gets employment as au officer in the mounted police. a few years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush with both natives and bushrangers, gain him promotion to ft captaincy, and he eventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter. 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"a book of adventure, where the hero meets witu experience enough, one would think, to turn his hair gray."- -harper's monthly magazine. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. henty with full-page illustrations by gordon browm ma cloth, price $ . . the author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the de- tails of the ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness. his hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, is de- tained a prisoner by the king just before the outbreak of the war but escapes, and accompanies the english expedit.on on theil march (o cowmiissie. "mr fl -nty keeps up his reputation as a write.- oj boys' stories. 'bv sheer pluctc ' wiii be eagerly read."- athenoeuni. the young colonistsgeorge alfred henty the young colonists. london: printed by gilbert and r vington, limited, st. john's square. the young colonists g. a. henty author of "clive in india," "under draks's flag," etc. london george routledge and sons broadway, ludgate hill new york: lafayette place books of teatel and adventure, uniform with this volume. notable voyages. by w. h. g. kingston. a new edition, brought down to the last arctic expedition. with coloured plates and numerous woodcuts. great african travellers. by w. h. g. king- ston. a new edition, containing the latest records of african discoveries. with portrait and numerous illus- trations. the little savage. by captain marryat. with illustrations by sir john gilbert, r.a. travelling about over old and new ground. by lady barker. with illustrations. shipwrecks and disasters at sea. by w. h. g. kingston. with illustrations. the swiss family robinson. (w. h. king- ston's edition.) with coloured plates and many illus- trations on wood. the young colonists. chapter i. a snow-drift. the country round castleton, in derbyshire, is greatly admired by summer tourists, for it lies in the wildest part of that county; but in winter the wind whistles sharply over the bleak hills—where there are no trees to break its violence,—the sheep huddle under the shelter of the roughly-built stone walls, and even lovers of the picturesque would at that season prefer a more level and wooded country. the farm of mr. humphreys was situated about a mile from castleton. it consisted of acres or so of good land in the bottom, and of five or six times as much upland grazing on the hills. mr. humphreys owned as well as farmed his land, and so might have claimed, had he chosen, the title of gentleman-farmer; but he himself would have scoffed at such an idea. he was a hard-working, practical farmer, about over his ground from morning to night, save when the hounds met within easy distance in winter; then he would mount "robin," who served alike as hunter, or hack, b the young colonists. or to drive in the neat dog-cart to buxton market; and, although there were many handsomer horses in the field, mr. humphreys was seldom far off when the fox was killed. his family consisted of his wife and two sons, the eldest, richard, was about fourteen years old. his brother, john, was three years younger. both went to school at castleton. the younger boy was fond of his books; he had always been weak and delicate, and, being unable to spend his time in active exercise out of doors, he was gene- rally to be found reading by the fire in winter, or lying on the ground in summer under a tree in the orchard, with his chin on his hand, and the book before him. richard had no literary taste; he managed to scrape through his work and keep a moderate place in his class, somewhere about half-way down; but he threw his whole heart into outdoor exercise, and was one of the best bats in the school, although there were many there older by years. he knew every foot of the hills, could tell every bird by its note, and knew all about their nests and eggs. except in school, or perhaps during the long winter evenings, it was rare indeed to find dick with a book in his hand. "you will never set the thames on fire, dick," his father would say to him. "i shall never want to, father," he would reply. "i do not see that learning will ever be much good to me." the young colonists. "that is a foolish idea, dick. a great deal of the learning that boys get at school is of no actual value in pounds, shillings, and pence. it is not the fact of knowing latin, and greek, and mathematics which benefits a man; but it is the learning of them. it is the discipline to the mind, which is of benefit. the mind is like the body. there is no use in cricket, or in boating, or in hunting, but these things strengthen the body and make it active and healthy, and able to do better everything which it undertakes, and it is exactly the same thing with the mind; besides, the days are coming when farmers must farm their land with science and intelligence, or they will be left behind in the race. we are being rivalled by the farmers of america. not only do we have to pay rent, but by the tithes and rates and taxes they put upon us government makes the english farmer pay a heavy tax upon every bushel of corn he produces, while they allow the american corn to come into the market tax-free. this may be all right, but it docs not appear fair to me. however, there it is, and we have got to meet it, and if we are to keep our heads above water, it can only be by farming up to the very best lights of the day." "well, father," dick said, "then it seems to me that when we grow up, john and i must farm together. he shall be the scientific partner; i will do the work." "that is all right enough, dick, but you must b the young colonists. have some science too, else you and he will never get on. you would want to go on in the old- fashioned groove, and would call his ideas new- fangled. no, i intend you, when you get old enough, to go to cirencester college, where you will learn the theory and science of farming thoroughly. you will get the practical part at home. as to john, he is a child yet, and, i trust, will grow up strong and active; but if his tastes remain as they now are, i do not think it likely he will take to farming, and we must find some other career for him." one afternoon in the beginning of december two of dick's school-fellows said to him,— "we are going over the hills to our uncle's farm, dick. will you go with us?" when there was nothing better to do, dick was always ready for a walk, and he at once agreed to accompany the jacksons. the elder boy was about his own age, the younger two years his junior. the jacksons called for him directly he had finished his dinner, and they started away together for a farm which was about four miles distant. they struck right across the hills, as it would have been two miles longer by the nearest road. "i should not be surprised," dick said, "if it were to snow to-night; it is bitterly cold, and the clouds look very heavy." "i hope it won't snow until we get back," james, the younger of the brothers, remarked. the young colonists. "i don't know," dick answered, looking at the clouds. "i should not be surprised if it began at any moment." the wind was blowing strongly. the hills were high and steep, and, although the boys made their best speed, it was considerably over an hour before they reached the farm. they had started at two, and it was now a quarter past three. mr. jackson was out. the boys delivered the message with which they had been charged to their aunt. "now," she said, "i will cut you each a hunch of cake, and when you have eaten that and had a glass of fresh milk you had best start at once. it is bitterly cold, and we are going to have snow. the sooner you are home, the better." the boys now ate their cake. mrs. jackson came to the door with them. then she said, as the first flake of snow fell,— "i am not sure, boys, that you had not better stay here all night." the boys laughed. "why, what would they say at home? they would just be in a way about us." "well, at any rate, you had better go by the road." "oh, that is two miles farther at least. we should not get home until long after dark. we shan't be an hour by the hills. we know every foot of the way." the young colonists. "well, good-bye, then. make as much haste as you can." for half a mile their way led along the road, then they scrambled over a wall and began to ascend the barren hill-side. the snow was falling fast now. thicker and thicker it came down, and when, hot and panting, they reached the top of the hill, the wind blew the flakes so fiercely into their faces that they were half-blinded, and were obliged to turn their backs to the gale while they got breath. for half an hour they struggled on. they could scarcely see ten paces before them through the driving snow, and in every sheltered spot white patches rapidly began to form. "how different things look in a snow-storm!" dick said, as they stopped for breath and shelter under the lee of a wall. "i don't know, tom, but i am not quite sure that we are going straight; i do not know what wall this is" "no more do i," tom jackson replied. "i felt quite sure that we were going right at first, but some- how i don't think so now." "i wish the snow would stop for a minute," dick said, "just to let us have a look round. if i could see a hundred yards i am sure i should know where we are. what is the matter with you, james; what are you blubbering about?" "my feet are so cold ; they hurt dreadfully." "oh, never mind," dick said. "come, boys, push along, and we shall soon be home." the young colonists. again they started with heads bent to face the storm. "it is getting dark awfully fast," tom jackson said. "it is, and no mistake. come, let us have a trot. come on, young one." but, although dick spoke hopefully, he was not as confident as he appeared. he was sure now that they had lost the way. they might not, he hoped, be far off the track; but he knew that they were not following the precise line by which they came. it was now nearly dark. the snow was falling thicker than ever, and the ground, except upon the uplands exposed to the full force of the wind, was covered with a white mantle. on arriving at the bottom of a steep hill, they stopped again. "do you know where we are, tom?" "not in the least," tom answered. "this ought to be the last valley," dick said, "and after one more climb we ought to go straight down into castleton. don't you remember in that valley there were a lot of sheep in a fold, with a wall round it? if we can find that, we shall know that we are right. it is near the bottom, so , we shall not miss it. which way shall we turn, left or right?" "let us try the left first," tom said. they walked for half a mile, gradually ascending. "it is not this way," tom said at last. "we are getting to the head of the valley. what are you the young colonists. doing, james?" as the young boy, who had been sobbing for some time, threw himself on the snow. "i cannot go any farther," he murmured. "i am so cold, and so tired, and so sleepy." "oh, nonsense!" dick said. "here, take hold of his arm, tom, and lift him up; give him a good shake; he must go on; he would die if he stopped here." the two lads raised the younger boy, and half-sup- porting half-dragging him turned and retraced their footsteps. it was pitch dark now, and they could not see a yard before them. for some time they continued their way. "there is no shepherd's hut. certainly, this is not the valley. what on earth are we to do?" "i don't know," tom said, beginning to cry. "shut up, tom jackson. what are you thinking about? this is no time for howling like a baby; you have got to think of what is best to do. it is no use climbing the next hill, for we might be going away from home, instead of getting nearer. besides, we should have to haul jimmy up, for he can scarcely stand now; and, although it is bitterly cold here, it would be worse on the top of the hill. no, we have got to stop here all night, that is clear." "we shall be dead before morning!" tom roared. "i will hit you in the eye, tom jackson, if you don't shut up ; you are as bad as a girl; i am ashamed of you. now, what we have got to do, is to find some sort of shelter, either a wall or bush, and we must the young colonists. keep on until we come to something. keep awake, jimmy; we shan't have much farther to go, and then you can lie down quietly." they went on for a bit. "it is no use," dick said. "they don't put walls across bottoms; more likely to find one either to the right or left. now, tom, you stop here for a minute or two, and i will look about; you keep shouting every minute, so that i can find my way back to you." turning off, he began to ascend the next hill, and in two or three minutes shouted the glad news to tom that he had found the wall; then he returned. jimmy, cheered at the prospect of lying down, made an effort, and they soon reached the wall. like most of the walls in derbyshire, it was formed of flat stones laid without mortar, some four feet high. "now, tom, set to work; get some stones off the wall on both sides, and build up two other walls against this; three feet wide inside will do, and just long enough to lie in. here, jimmy, you help; it will keep you awake, and, you see, the higher we make the walls the snugger it will be; we will have quite a nice house." the boys all set to work, and in half an hour three walls were built. at the point where the two side walls touched the other, they were three feet high, and sloped down to two at the lower end. "now, jimmy, you chuck the snow out. tom and i will go, one each way, along the wall; likely enough io the young colonists. we may come upon some bushes—they often grow in shelter of the walls: if we can find a few sticks we will cover the house over. lots of these stones are a couple of feet long, and we will manage a sort of roof. the snow will soon cover it, and we shall be as warm as possible." a quarter of an hour later the two boys returned; both had been successful and brought a bundle of sticks ; these were laid across the top, interspersed with smaller twigs, the ends being kept down with stones to prevent their being blown away. the last were placed in position after the boys had crept inside. they did not attempt to roof it with stones, for the supply of sticks and brushwood was large enough to catch the snow-flakes as they fell, and these would soon form a covering, while it would have been difficult to balance the stones. jimmy was by this time in a state almost of lethargy; but the others were fairly warm from their exertions. they now lay down close beside the younger boy, one on each side. at first they felt the cold extremely. "let us keep awake as long as we can," dick said. "i don't feel inclined to sleep at all," tom answered; "my hands and feet feel frozen, but i am warm enough everywhere else, and the ground is precious hard and bumpy." "i am only afraid about jimmy," dick said; "he is sound asleep, and he was so awfully cold; lie as close as you can to him, tom, and put your arm over the young colonists. him and keep your legs huddled up against his." "it feels warmer than it did," he went on, after a pause of half an hour; "don't you think so, tom?" "a lot warmer," tom said. "i expect the snow has made a good thick roof." "yes, and the wind does not blow through the stones as it did. i expect the snow is drifting up all round ; it was getting very deep against the wall when we got in, and if it goes on all night, tom, i should not wonder if we are covered deep before morning. the wind always sweeps it off the hills, and makes deep drifts in the bottoms." "what shall we do, then?" "i don't know," dick answered; "but there will be plenty of time to think of that in the morning. i think jimmy is all right, tom; i have just put my hand inside his waistcoat and he feels quite warm now. say your prayers, and then let us try to get off to sleep." this they were not very long in doing, for the air in the little hut was soon heated by the action of their bodies. outside the storm was still raging, and the wind, laden with swirling snow from the uplands, was piling it high in the valleys. already the hut was covered and the wall behind it. all night and all next day the snow continued to fall; the next day, and the next, it kept on. old folks down in castleton said they never remembered such a storm. it lay three feet deep in the fields, and the young colonists. there was no saying how deep the drifts might be in the hollows. for the first two days the wind had tried its best to keep the hills clear, but it had tired of the work, and for the last two had ceased to blow, and the great feathered flakes formed steadily and silently. tom was the first to wake. "holloa!" he exclaimed, "where are we? oh! i remember. dick, are you awake?" "yes, i am awake now," dick said. "what is it? it is not morning yet. i seem to have been asleep a long time, and don't my bones just ache? jimmy, old boy, are you all right?" "yes," jimmy grunted. "it is quite warm," dick said. "it feels very close, and how still it is! the wind has quite gone down. do you know, tom, i think it must be morning. there seems a faint sort of light. i can see the stones in the wall behind you." "so it must," tom assented. "oh! how stifling it is!" and he raised himself into a sitting position. "i am afraid we are buried deep in the snowdrift. put your hand up, tom; don't you feel some of these sticks are bent in the middle?" "ever so much; there must be a great weight on them. what are we to do, dick; shall we try and dig a way out?" "that will be no good," dick answered; "not if it is deep; and if it has been snowing all night, there is no saying how deep it may be this morning down the young colonists. in this bottom. this drift-snow is like dust. i re- member last winter that bill jones and harry austin and i tried to make a tunnel in a deep drift, but the snow fell in as fast as we scraped it away. it was just like dry sand." "we are all right for warmth," tom said; "but it feels quite stifling." "yes, we must try and get some air," dick said. "the roof-sticks are close together down at our feet. there were three or four left over when we had finished, so we can take them away without weakening the roof. we might shove one of them up through the snow." the sticks were removed carefully, but a quantity of fine snow fell in on their feet. one was then shoved up through the top, but the only effect, when it was removed, was that it was followed by some snow powdering down on their faces. "let us tie four of them together," dick said. "i have plenty of string in my pocket." this was done, fresh sticks being tied to the bottom as the first were shoved up through the snow. "now, tom, help me to work it about a bit, so as to press the snow all round, and make a sort of tube." for some time a shower of little particles fell as they worked, but gradually these ceased. then the stick was cautiously lowered, being untied joint by joint, and looking up the boys gave a shout of pleasure. at the top of the hole, which was some six inches wide at the bottom, was a tiny patch of light. the young colonists. "they must have given up all hope by this time," dick said, on the fifth morning, "and must be pretty sure that we are buried in the drift somewhere; but, as all the bottoms will be like this, they will have given up all hopes of finding our bodies till the thaw comes." "that may be weeks," tom said; "we might as well have died at once." "we can live a long time here," dick replied con- fidently. "i remember reading once of a woman who had been buried in the snow being got out alive a tremendous time afterwards. i think it was five weeks, but it might have been more. hurrah! i have got an idea, tom." "what is that ?" tom asked. "look here; we will tie three more sticks—" "we can't spare any more sticks," tom said; "the snow is up to our knees already." "ah! but thin sticks will do for this," dick said; "we can get some thin sticks out here. we will tie them over the others, and on the top of all we will fasten my red pocket-handkerchief, like a flag; if any one comes down into this bottom they are sure to see it." the young colonists. chapter ii. the red flag. dick's plan was soon carried into effect, and the little red flag flew as an appeal for help ten feet above the snow in the lonely valley. down in castleton events had turned out just as the boys had anticipated. the night of the snow-storm there was no sleep for their parents, and at daybreak, next morning, mr. humphreys and mr. jackson set out on foot through the storm for the distant farm. they kept to the road, but it took them four hours to reach the farm, for the drifts were many feet deep in the hollows, and they had the greatest difficulty in making their way through. when, upon their arrival, they found the boys had left before the gale began, their consternation and grief were extreme, and they started at once on their return to castleton. search-parties were immediately organized, and these, in spite of the fury of the storm, searched the hills in all directions. after the first day, when it was found that they were not at any of the shepherds' huts scattered among the hills, all hopes of finding them alive ceased. so hopeless was it considered, that few parties went out on the three following days; but i the young colonists. nothing, however, was seen, save a smooth, white surface of snow. "what is that ?" one exclaimed suddenly. "look, there is a little red flag flying down there—come along." the boys rushed down the hill at full speed. "don't all go near the flag," one said; "you may be treading on their bodies." they arrived within ten yards of the flag, in which they soon recognized a red pocket-handker- chief. they were silent now, awe struck at the thought that their companions were lying dead beneath. "perhaps it is not theirs," the eldest of the party said presently. "anyhow i had better take it off and carry it home." treading cautiously and with a white face, for he feared to feel beneath his feet one of the bodies of his friends, he stepped, knee-deep in the snow-drift, to the flag. he took the little stick in his hand to pluck it up; he raised it a foot, and then gave a cry of astonishment and started back. "what is the matter ?" the others asked. "it was pulled down again," he said in awe-struck tones. "i will swear it was pulled down again." "oh, nonsense !" one of the others said; "you are dreaming." "i am not," the first replied positively; "it was regularly jerked in my hand." "can they be alive down there ?" one suggested. the young colonists. "alive! how can they be alive after five days, twenty feet deep in the snow? look at the flag!" there was no mistake this time ; the flag was raised and lowered five or six times. the boys took to their heels and ran and gathered in a cluster fifty yards away on the hillside. "what can it be?" they asked, looking in each others' pale faces. the behaviour of the flag seemed to them some- thing supernatural. "we had better go back and tell them at home," one of them said. "we can't do that; no one would believe us. look here, you fellows," and he glanced round at the bright sky, "this is nonsense; the flag could not wave of itself; there must be somebody alive below; perhaps there is a shepherd's hut quite covered with the drift, and they have pushed the flag up through the chimney." the supposition seemed a reasonable one, and a little ashamed of their panic the group returned to- wards the flag. the eldest boy again approached it. "go carefully, tomkins, or you may fall right down a chimney." the flag was still continuing its up and down move- ment ; the boy approached and lay down on the snow close to it; then he took hold of the stick; he felt a pull, but held fast; then he put his mouth close to the hole, two or three inches in diameter, through which it passed, c the young colonists. "halloa!" he shouted ; "is any one below?" a cry of "yes, yes," came back in reply. "the two jack-sons and humphreys." "hurrah!" he shouted at the top of his voice/and his companions, although they had not heard the answer, joined in the cheer. "are you all right?" he shouted down again. "yes, but please get help and dig us out." "all right; i will run all the way back; they will have men here in no time; good-bye; keep up your spirits." "they are all there below!" he shouted to his friends. "come on, you fellows, there is not a moment to lose." wild with excitement the boys made their way home; they rushed down the hill-sides, scrambled through the drifts in the bottoms,' in which they sometimes dis- appeared altogether, and had to haul each other out, struggled up the hills, and, panting and breathless, rushed in a body into mr. humphreys' farmhouse, that standing nearest to them, on their way to castleton. "we have found them ; we have found them," they panted out. "they are all alive." mrs. humphreys had risen from her seat in a chair by the fire as the boys entered, and uttering a faint cry fell back insensible. at this moment the farmer, who had but five minutes before returned, having been out since daybreak on the hills, hurried into the room; he was taking off his heavy boots when he heard the rush of feet into the house. "we have found them, sir; they are all alive!" the young colonists. "thank god! thank god!" the farmer exclaimed reverently, and then seeing his wife insensible hurried towards her, uttering a shout for the servants. two women ran in. "look to your mistress," he said; "she has fainted; the good news has been too much for her—the boys are found alive." with mingled exclamations of gladness and dismay . the servants raised their mistress. "now, boys, where are they?" mr. humphreys asked. the lads gave a rapid narrative of what had happened. "under the snow all this time!" the farmer exclaimed; "they must be, as you say, in a hut. now, will one of you stay and show me the way back, and the others go on to mr. jackson's and other places, and bring a strong party of men with shovels on after us?" the lad who had spoken with the prisoners re- mained to act as guide, the others hurried off. "come with me, my boy, into the larder. there, help yourself; you must be hungry and tired, and you have got to do it over again." mr. humphreys then ran into the yard, and bade the four labourers provide themselves with shovels and prepare to accompany him at once. he then went back into the parlour. his wife was just opening her eyes; for a time she looked confused and bewildered, then suddenly she sat up and gazed beseechingly at her husband—memory had come back to her. the young colonists. "there is no door, father; but you had better dig from below, because of the wall." "there must be a door," mr. humphreys said to himself, as he rejoined the men. "there can't be a hut without a door; dick must be a little light- headed, and no wonder. now, lads, let us set to work from below." the five men were soon at work, throwing aside the snow. in a short time the other parties arrived. mr. humphreys had brought with him a stock of candles. these were lit and stuck in the snow, where, as there was no wind, they burnt steadily, affording sufficient light for the search. the work was all the more difficult from the lightness of the snow, as the sides fell in like sand as they worked upon it, and they were obliged to make a very broad cutting. at last there was a cheer, as they struck the ground. "now, working up hill we must be at the hut in a few feet." twenty willing hands laboured away incessantly, but to their surprise no hut was met with; they worked and worked, throwing the snow behind them, until mr. jackson struck his shovel upon something hard. "here is a wall or something," he said. another minute uncovered a low wall of two feet in height, and directly afterwards a leg was popped up through the snow. a loud cheer broke from the men. but again the snow-drift fell in from the sides, and it was another quarter of an hour before the lads were the young colonists. following day, have been up and about. as it was, in a fortnight, he was perfectly himself again. tom jackson was confined to the house for many weeks; he lost several of his toes, but eventually became strong and hearty again. james, however, never recovered—the shock to his system had been too great; he lingered on for some months, and then sank quietly and painlessly. the events of the snow-storm left a far deeper trace upon mrs. humphreys than upon her son. the terrible anxiety of those five days had told greatly upon her, and after they were over she seemed to lose strength rapidly. she had never been very strong, and a hacking cough now constantly shook her. the doctor who attended her looked serious, and one day said to mr. humphreys,— "i don't like the state of your wife; she has always been weak in her lungs, and i fear that the anxiety she went through has somehow accentuated her former tendency to consumption. the air of this place—you see she was born in the south—is too keen for her. if i were you i would take her up to london and consult some first-rate man in lung diseases, and get his opinion." the next day mr. humphreys started for london. the celebrated physician examined his wife, and afterwards took him aside. "i cannot conceal from you," he said, "that your wife's lungs are very seriously affected, although con- sumption has not yet thoroughly set in. if she remains the young colonists. in this country she may not live many months; your only hope is to take her abroad—could you do that?" "yes, sir," mr. humphreys said. "i can take her anywhere. where would you advise?" "she would benefit from a residence either in egypt or madeira," the doctor said; "but for a permanency i should say the cape. i have known many complete cures made there. you tell me that you are engaged in agricultural pursuits; if it is possible for you to settle there, i can give you every hope of saving her life, as the disease is not yet developed. if you go, don't stay in the lowlands, but get up into the high plateaus, either behind the cape itself, or behind natal. the climate there is delicious, and land cheap." mr. humphreys thanked him and left, returning the next day to castleton. the astonishment of the boys, and indeed of mrs. humphreys, was unbounded, when the farmer announced in the evening at supper that he intended to sell his land and emigrate at once to the cape. the boys were full of excitement at the new and strange idea, and asked numerous questions, none of which the farmer could answer; but he brought out a pile of books, which he had purchased in town, concerning the colonies and their resources, and for once dick's aversion to books vanished, and he was soon as much absorbed as his brother in the perusal of the accounts of the new land to which they were to go. the young colonists. on the following saturday, to the surprise of all castleton, an advertisement appeared in the derby- shire paper announcing the sale by auction at an early date of mr. humphreys' farm. dick and john were quite heroes among their companions, who looked with envy at boys who were going to live in a land where lions and elephants and all sorts of wild beasts abounded, to say nothing of warlike natives. "there always seem to be kaffir wars going on," one boy said, "out at the cape; you will have all sorts of excitement, dick." "i don't think that sort of excitement will be nice," dick replied; "it must be horribly anxious work to think every time you go out to work that the place may be attacked and every one killed before you get back. but that is all nonsense, you know; i have been reading about some of the kaffir wars; they are in the bush-country, down by the sea. we are going up on to the high lands at the back of natal. father says very likely we may buy a farm in the transvaal, but mother does not seem to like the accounts of the dutchmen or boers, as they are called, who live there, and says she would rather have english neighbours; so i expect if we can get a farm somewhere in the natal colony, we shall do so." "you seem to know all about the place," the boy said, surprised. "well, we have had seven or eight books to read about it, and i seem now to know more about south the young colonists. africa than about any other country in the world. there are the diamond-fields, too, out there, and i hope, before i settle down regularly to a farm, that father will let me go for a few months and try my luck there. would it not just be jolly to find a diamond as big as a pigeon's egg and worth about twenty thousand pounds?" "and do they do that ?" the boy asked. "well, they don't often find them as big as that; still, one might be the lucky one." the news that mr. humphreys and his family were about to sell off and emigrate naturally caused a great deal of talk in and around castleton, and put the idea into the minds of many who had never before seriously thought of it. if mr. humphreys, who had one of the best farms in the neighbourhood, thought that it would pay him to sell his land and go out, it would surely be a good thing for others to do the same. he was considered to be a good farmer and a long-headed man; one who would not take such a step without carefully looking into the matter—for mr. humphreys, in order to avoid questioning and the constant inquiries about his wife's health, which would be made, did he announce that he was leaving for that reason, did not think it necessary to inform people that it was in the hopes of staving off the danger which threatened her that he was making a move. a great many of the neighbouring labourers would gladly have gone with him; but he found by the youngcolonists. his reading that kaffir labour was to be obtained out there very cheaply. he determined, however, to take with him two of his own hands; the one a strong active young fellow named bill harrison, the other a middle-aged man named johnson, who had been with him from a boy. he was a married man with two girls, aged fifteen and sixteen, the eldest of whom was already employed by mrs. humphreys in the house. johnson's wife was a superior woman of her class, and mr. humphreys thought that it would be pleasant for his wife, having a woman at hand, whom she could speak to. the girls were to act as servants—indeed mr. humphreys thought it probable that the whole party would live under one roof. among those whom mr. humphreys' decision to emigrate had much moved was mr. jackson. he was not in so good a position, as he did not farm his own land ; but he had sufficient capital to start him well in the colony, where a farm can be bought outright at a few shillings an acre. he talked the matter over with his friend on several occasions, and at last said,— "well, i think i have pretty well made up my mind; the doctor is telling me that my poor little chap is not likely to live long ; his mother is wrapped up in him, and will never like the place again ;—so i think on all grounds a change will be good. i can't come out with you, because i have got a lease of the farm; but i fancy that it is worth more than it the young colonists. was when i took it, and if i can get a good tenant to take it off my hands i don't suppose the landlord will make any objections. i shall look about at once, and, when my poor little chap is gone, i shan't be long before i come after you. you will let me know how you find the place, and whether these book- accounts are true ?—i have heard that many of these chaps who write books are awful liars. i should like to get a farm as near you as may be." it was early in the spring when mr. humphreys and his party embarked at plymouth in the dunster castle. the farm had sold well, and mr. humphreys possessed a capital of several thousand pounds—a sum which would make him a rich man in the colony. none of the party had ever seen the sea before, and the delight of the two boys and the wonderment of the labourers at all they saw was very great. mr. humphreys had taken first-class passages for himself and family, while the others of course were steerage passengers. the young colonists. chapter iii. the farm. the voyage to the cape passed without any incident whatever. the weather was fine the whole distance. without even a single storm to break the monotony they touched at capetown and port elizabeth, and at last arrived at durban. the journey had not been too long for the boys; everything was so perfectly new to them that they were never tired of watching the sea and looking for porpoises and the shoals of fish, over which hovered thousands of birds. once or twice they saw a whale spout, while flying-fish were matters of hourly occurrence. they had prodigious appetites, and greatly enjoyed the food, which was altogether different to that to which they had been accustomed. they had stopped at madeira and st. vincent, where great stocks of delicious fruit had been taken on board. altogether they were quite sorry when they arrived at the end of the voyage. the landing was effected in large boats, as the dimster castle drew too much water to cross the bar at the mouth of the harbour. they stopped only one day at durban, where mr. humphreys hired a waggon to take the party to the young colonists. pieter-maritzburg, the capital. he was not en- cumbered with baggage, as he had decided to buy everything he wanted in the colony. "you may pay dearer," he said, " no doubt; but then you get just what you want. if i were to take out implements, they might not be suited to the requirements of the country. as for clothes, they would of course be pretty much the same everywhere; still, it is better to take out only a year's requirements and to buy as we want, instead of lumbering over the country with a quantity of heavy baggage." the party were greatly amused at their first experience of a cape waggon; it was of very large size, massively built, and covered with a great tilt; and it was drawn by sixteen oxen, spanned two by two. this was an altogether unnecessary number for the weight which had to be carried, but the waggon had come down loaded from the interior, and mr. humphreys therefore paid no more than he would have done for a waggon with a small number of oxen. they took two days to accomplish the journey, the women sleeping at night in the waggon, and mr. humphreys and his sons in blankets on the ground. the driver, who was an englishman, had been many years in the colony, and from him, upon the road, mr. humphreys gained much valuable information about the country. the driver was assisted by two kaffirs, one of whom walked ahead of the leading cattle, the other alongside, shouting and prodding them. the young colonists. the boys were astonished at the power and accuracy with which the driver whirled his whip; this had a short handle and a lash of twenty yards long, and with it he was able to hit any animal of the team with absolute certainty, and indeed to make the thong alight on any part of their bodies at which he aimed. on theirarrival at pieter-maritzburgmr. humphreys hired a house, and here he placed his party while he set to work to make inquiries after a suitable loca- tion. he soon heard of several places which seemed suitable, and having bought a horse started for new- castle, a small town situated close to the frontier- line between the transvaal and natal. he was away for three weeks, and on his return informed his wife that he had purchased a farm of acres, with a substantial farmhouse, at a dis- tance of ten miles from newcastle, for the sum of /. the farmhouse was already roughly furnished, but mr. humphreys purchased a number of other articles, which would make it comfortable and home-like. he laid in a great stock of groceries, and then hiring a waggon, similar to that in which they had before travelled, started with his party for the farm, having also hired four kaffirs to assist there. travelling by easy stages, it took them twelve days to get to newcastle. the country was undulating and the road rose steadily the whole distance. near pieter-maritzburg the population was com- d the young colonists. paratively thick. the fields were well cultivated and the vegetation thick and luxuriant, but as they ascended the character of the country changed. vast stretches of rolling grass everywhere met the eye. this was now beautifully green, for it was winter. in the summer and autumn the grass becomes dry and burnt up; fire is then applied to it, and the whole country assumes a black mantle. but the first shower of rain brings up the young grass and in a very short time the country is covered with fresh verdure. mr. humphreys told his wife that, before fixing on the farm, he had ridden into the transvaal, and found that land could be purchased there even more cheaply than in natal; but that he had much conversa- tion with english settlers on the frontier, and these had for the most part strongly advised him to settle inside the natal frontier. "it may be that all will be right," one had told him, "but the boers have not yet recovered from their scare from secoceni." "who is secoceni, father?" dick asked. "the books we have say nothing about him." "no," mr. humphreys said; "they were all pub- lished a few years since, and none of them treat much of the affairs of the transvaal, which, as an independent state, had comparatively little interest to english settlers. there are in the transvaal, which is of immense extent, a very large number of natives, enormously outnumbering the boers. in the southern districts, where the boers are strongest, they the young colonists. cruelly ill-treat the natives, making slaves of them, and thinking no more of shooting one of them down than they would of shooting a dog. in the outlying provinces they live almost on sufferance of the natives, and, were these to unite their forces and rise, they could annihilate the dutch. secoceni is a powerful chief, who lives with his tribe in a natural stronghold; he has always held himself as independent of the dutch. as his men used to make raids upon the boers' cattle, the latter attacked him, and in alliance with swazis, another powerful tribe, endeavoured to carry his fortress; they were, however, badly beaten; it being only by the gallantry of their native allies that the boer contingent was saved from destruction. secoceni then took the offensive. a perfect panic seized the boers; they refused to obey the orders of their government, and to turn out to resist the in- vaders. the treasury was empty, for their govern- ment had never been enabled to persuade them to pay taxes. they applied for aid to natal, but finally their plight was so bad that they were glad to accept the offer which mr. shepstone made them, of annexation to england, by which they secured our protection and were safe from annihilation. secoceni was not the only enemy who threatened them. they had a still more formidable foe in the zulus on the eastern frontier. these are a very warlike people, and it was known that their king meditated the conquest of the transvaal. but, glad enough as the boers were at the moment to accept the protection of england, now d the young colonists. that the danger is over a great many of them would like to kick down the bridge which has helped them over the stream. they make no secret of their dislike to englishmen, and although they are glad enough to sell their land at prices immensely in advance of the former value, for indeed land was previously almost unsaleable in the transvaal, they are on bad terms with them. one of my informants describes them as a sullen, sulky people, and predicts that sooner or later we shall have trouble with them ; so i thought it better altogether to pay a little higher for my land, and to be within the boundaries of this colony." on arriving at the farm mrs. humphreys was glad to find that the house, though rough, was sub- stantial. it was built of stone. the walls were of great thickness, as the stones were laid without mortar, with which, however, it was faced inside and out. one large room occupied the greater portion of the ground floor; beside this was a small sitting-room. upstairs were four bedrooms. for the time the small room downstairs was turned into a bedroom, which mr. and mrs. humphreys occupied. the four bed- rooms upstairs just held the rest of the party. the out-houses consisted only of a large barn and a rough stable. mr. humphreys at once rode over to newcastle, and obtained the services of a mason and six kaffirs, and proceeded to add a wing to the farmhouse. this was for the use of johnson and his wife, and harrison. the whole party were, however, to take the young colonists. their meals together in the great kitchen. a hut was also built for the kaffirs, and another large stable was erected. a few days after his arrival mr. humphreys went across the border into the transvaal, taking harrison and two of the kaffirs with him, and returned a fort- night later with a herd of cattle, which he had purchased. he also bought three yoke of oxen, broken to the plough. hitherto the farm had been purely a pastoral one, but mr. humphreys at once began to break up some land for wheat and indian corn. the kaffirs were set to work to fence and dig up a plot round the house for vegetables, and to dig holes near it, over a space of some acres, for the recep- tion of young fruit-trees—apples, pears, peaches, and plums,—which he had bought at pieter-maritz- burg, and which were to come up in two months' time. he also bought six riding-horses. in a few weeks the farm assumed quite a different appearance. a gang of kaffirs, ten strong, had been hired to hurry on the work of preparing the orchard and erecting a fence round it. wood was, mr. humphreys found, extremely scarce and dear, the country being absolutely bare of trees, and wood for fuel was only obtained in kloofs or deep hollows, and had to be fetched long distances. "i suppose," mrs. humphreys said to her husband one evening, "you mean to make cattle-raising your principal point?" "no," he said; "every one raises cattle, and the the young colonists. dutch can do it cheaper than we can; they have immense tracts of land, and their kaffir labour costs them next to nothing. i do not say that we could not live and to a certain extent thrive on cattle, but i think that there is something much better to be done. wood is an awful price here, and all that is used has to be brought up from the coast. i think therefore of planting trees. the climate is magnifi- cent, and their growth will be rapid. they will of course require fencing to keep out the cattle, but i shall do that, as i am doing the orchard, with wire fencing and light iron-uprights. labour is plentiful, and there are large nurseries near pieter-maritzburg, where i can procure any number of young trees ; so i mean to plant acres a year—in ten years the whole farm will be planted, and the toppings for poles and fire-wood will in a very short time after planting begin to pay well. in fifteen years the first acres will be fit to fell, and the property will be worth a very large sum of money. of course we can sell out before that if we like. but at the present price of wood up here, or even should it fall to a quarter of its present price, the value of the acres of wood will in twenty years be extremely large." the boys were delighted with their new life. mr. humphreys had, before leaving england, bought for dick a winchester repeating-rifle. these arms are very light, and dick was able to carry his without difficulty; and very shortly after their arrival his father had a mark erected at a distance from the the young colonists. house, at which he could practise with safety. game was abundant all over the country. herds of deer and antelope of various kinds often swept past in sight of the farmhouse, and winged game also abounded. mr. humphreys had at home been considered a first-rate shot at partridges, and had for four or five years belonged to the castleton volunteers, and had carried off many prizes for rifle-shooting. he was now able, by going out for a few hours once or twice a week, to keep the larder well supplied, and the little flock of fifty sheep, which he had bought for home-consumption, was but seldom drawn upon. the kaffirs were fed upon mealies, as they call indian corn, of which mr. humphreys had no difficulty in purchasing sufficient for his wants from the neigh- bouring farmers. his next neighbours were two brothers, scotch- men, named fraser, who lived at a distance of four miles. they rode over the day after the travellers' arrival, and offered their services in any way. mr. humphreys, however, was well supplied with stores of all kinds, and his two white labourers, being both handy men, were able to do all that was required about the house. the frasers proved pleasant neighbours, and often rode over and spent sunday with the humphreys, and the boys sometimes went over and spent the day with them. a kaffir lad, son of one of the men engaged upon the young colonists. the farm, was hired by mr. humphreys as a special attendant for dick. on these vast undulating plains, where there are no trees to serve as a landmark, it is exceedingly difficult for a stranger to find his way. dick was told by his father that, whether riding or walking, he was always to take the kaffir boy with him; and except when he was indulging in a gallop the lad was easily able to keep up with him. he had been born a hunter, and soon taught dick how to stalk the timid deer, and, as the lad improved in his shooting, he was ere long enabled to keep the larder supplied—a duty which mr. humphreys gladly handed over to him, as every minute of his own time was occupied by his work on the farm. of an evening after supper, which was partaken of at the conclusion of work, the men retired to their own wing and mrs. humphreys and the two girls sat down to their sewing by the fire; for upon the uplands the evenings are quite cold enough to find a fire a comfort in winter. then the boys would take out their lesson-books and work steadily for three hours. under the changed conditions of their life, mr. humphreys felt that dick might, if he chose, well dis- continue his study of the classics, and his work there- fore consisted in the reading of history, travels, and books of scientific knowledge. "next to being a learned man," his father said to him, "the best and most useful thing is to be a thoroughly well-informed man on all general sub- jects." the youngcolonists. the two boys had become inseparable friends at home after their adventure in the snow, upon which occasion tom, as he freely owned, had owed his life to dick's energy and promptness of suggestion. dick was fond of his brother, but three years make a great difference at this period of life, and, as their tastes were wholly dissimilar, john had never been a companion for him. since their arrival in south africa they had got on very well together ;• still, they had not the same ideas or subjects of thought, and it was an immense delight to dick to have his old friend and companion with him. it must not be supposed that dick's time was occupied solely in amusement; from early morning until dinner-time he worked steadily. sometimes he assisted to erect the hurdles and strain the wires of the fencing; at others he aided in the planting of the fruit-trees ; then he would be with the kaffirs who were breaking in the oxen for the waggons. at all times he took off his coat and worked with the rest, for, as his father said,— "if a farmer is to be able properly to look after men at work, he must be able to do the work himself." while dick was at work with the men, john, who was too young to be of any use, remained indoors at his books, and, although of an afternoon he would stroll out, he seldom went far from the house. the other boys generally went for long rides when work was done. one day they sighted a herd of steinbock. leaving their horses with the kaffir lad in a hollow, the young colonists. they crept round so as to get the deer between them and the wind, and managed to reach unobserved a brow within a hundred yards of the herd. dick had by this time become a good shot, and the buck at which he aimed fell dead in its tracks. tom was not much of a shot, but he had fired into the thick of the deer and gave a shout of delight at seeing one of them fall. the rest of the herd dashed off at full speed. tom ran, shouting, forward, but to his mor- tification the stag that he had hit rose again to its feet and went off at a trot in the direction taken by the others ; a minute later the kaffir boy was seen running towards them at his full speed, leading the horses. the two boys on his arrival leapt into their saddles and started in pursuit of the wounded stag, which was still in sight, thinking at first they could easily ride it down. but the animal seemed rather to gain than to lose strength, and, although they had considerably lessened the start he had obtained of them, he still kept steadily on. active and wiry as their horses were, they could not overtake it, and the boys had at last the mortification of seeing that the stag was now gaining upon them, and they presently drew rein, and their panting horses came to a standstill. "what a horrid sell!" tom jackson exclaimed angrily. "i can't understand his going like that after i fairly brought him down." "i expect," dick said, " that your bullet can only have grazed his skull; it stunned him for the moment, but after he had once come to himself he went on as the young colonists. briskly as usual. if he had been hard hit we should certainly have ridden him down." "well, i suppose," tom said more goodhumouredly, "there is nothing for it but to ride back." "but which is our road ?" dick said in some dismay. "i am sure i have no idea, and now that the sun is gone in there is nothing to steer by." while they had been riding, the day had changed; the sky, which had for weeks been bright and fine, was now overcast with heavy clouds. "we are in for a storm, i think," dick went on, " and it is coming on fast. i have not an idea which way to go, and i think our best plan will be to halt. joel will track us, and the farther we go the longer he will be in overtaking us. there is the first drop! the best thing to do, tom, will be to take off our saddles and tether our horses, and then to wait. this storm is a nuisance; in the first place we shall be drenched, in the second it will wash out our tracks, and the darkness will come so quickly that i am afraid joel will not be able to trace us. you see we do not know whether we have been riding straight or not; the stag may have been running in a circle for any- thing we know, and as we have been riding for some- thing like two hours, we may be within five miles of home or we may be five and twenty." scarcely had the boys got the saddles off and tethered their horses when the rain came down in a sheet, accompanied by the most tremendous thunder and the most vivid lightning tom had ever seen. the young colonists. "this is awful, dick," he said. "yes," dick agreed; " thunderstorms here are fright- ful. houses are often struck; but, lying down here in the open, there is not much fear." for hours the storm continued unabated; the rain came down in a perfect deluge. the boys had put their saddles together and had covered these with the horse-cloths so as to form a sort of tent, but they were nevertheless soaked to the skin, and, to add to their discomfiture, the horses had been so frightened by the blinding glare of the lightning that they tugged at the ropes until, as the wet penetrated the ground, the pegs became loosened, and they scoured away into the darkness. after continuing for five hours the rain suddenly ceased. "what are we to do in the morning, dick?" "if it is fine it will be easy enough; we shall put our saddles on our heads and walk eastward. i have got a little pocket-compass which father gave me in case i should at any time get lost, so we shall have no difficulty in keeping our way, and sooner or later we must strike the road running north to newcastle." they did not, however, wait till morning; so wet and chilled were they, that they agreed they would rather walk than lie still. accordingly they put the saddles on their heads as soon as the rain ceased and the stars shone out, struck a light and looked at their compass, fixed on a star to steer by, and then set out on their journey. the young colonists, fortunately, after two hours' walking, they struck the road at a point some ten miles from the farm, and were home soon after daybreak, just as their fathers were about to set out with a body of kaffirs in search of them. joel had returned late at night, having turned his face homeward when it became too dark to follow the track; the horses had both come in during the night the young colonists. chapter iv. the outbreak of war. as soon as the jacksonsj house was finished, they went into residence there; but two or three times a week dick and tom managed to meet, one or other being sure to find some excuse for riding over. the humphreys had arrived in natal at the end of april, , and by november in the following year their farm presented a very different appearance to that which it had worn on their arrival—sixteen months of energetic labour, carried on by a considerable number of hands, will effect wonders. possessing ample capital mr. humphreys was able to keep a strong gang of kaffirs at work, and for some time had thirty men upon the farm. thus the house which, when he took it, stood solitary and lone in a bare plain, was now surrounded by acres of young trees. of these, twenty acres were fruit-trees; the remainder, trees grown for their wood. these were planted thickly, as they would every year be thinned out, and the young poles would fetch a good sum for fencing. although they had only been planted a few months, they were already green and bright; they were protected from the cattle by a wire fence encircling the whole. the cattle had thriven and were doing well, and a large field of indian corn had been harvested for the the young colonists. in, and when these were not employed in bringing up young trees and fencing from newcastle they worked upon the road between newcastle and pieter- maritzburg, there being a great demand for convey- ance, as numbers of traders were going up into the transvaal and opening stores there. mr. jackson had also two waggons engaged in the same work. when trees and goods were wanted for the farm, dick went down with the waggons to see that these were properly loaded, and that the young trees, which were often in leaf, were taken out every night and set with the roots in water until the morning. one evening, early in october, mr. jackson rode over with tom. "i have heard," the former said to mr. humphreys, "that the government have determined on moving the troops down to the zulu frontier; the attitude of cetewayo is very threatening." "he is a troublesome neighbour," mr. humphreys said. "they say that he has , fighting-men, and in that case he ought to be able to overrun both natal and the transvaal, for there is no doubt that zulus fight with great bravery. as for the dutch, i really can't blame the zulus. the boers are always encroaching on their territory, and any remonstrance is answered by a rifle-shot. had it not been for our annexation of the transvaal, cetewayo would have overrun it and exterminated the dutch before now. we have a strong force in the colony just at present, and i think sir bartle frere means to bring matters e the young colonists. to a crisis. the existence of such an army of warlike savages on the frontier is a standing threat to the very existence of the colony, and the constitution of the army renders it almost a necessity that it should fight. all the men are soldiers, and as none are allowed to marry until the regiment to which they belong has distinguished itself in battle they are naturally always burning for war. the pieter-maritzburg paper says that it understands that sir bartle frere isabout tosend in an ultimatum, demanding—in addition to various small matters, such as the punishing of raiders across the frontier—the entire abandonment of the present system of the zulu army, and cessation of the bloody massacres which constantly take place in that country. if a man offends the king, not only is he put to death, but the whole of the people of his village are often massacred. altogether an abominable state of things prevails \ there seems to be but one opinion through- out the colony, that it is absolutely necessary for our safety that the zulu organization shall be broken up." "i see," mr. jackson said, "that there is an advertisement in the papers for waggons for the transport of stores, and the price offered is ex- cellent. a large number are required; i was thinking of sending down my two teams—what do you think?" "i have been turning it over in my mind," mr. humphreys replied, "and i am inclined also to offer the young colonists. my waggons. the rate of pay is, as you say, high, and they certainly will have a difficulty in obtaining the number they require. i shall not have need for mine for home purposes for a considerable time now. the hot weather will soon be setting in, and planting is over for the season. i shall of course go on digging holes for my next batch, but i shall not want them up until after the end of the hot season. so i think, as i can spare them, i shall hire them to government. i think we ought all to do what we can to aid it at present; for every one agrees as to the necessity of the steps it is now taking." "and do you think that there will be any fighting, father?" dick asked eagerly. "that no one can say, my boy. the zulus are a proud as well as a brave people, and believe that they are invincible. i hardly think that they will consent to break up their army and abandon their customs at our dictation ; i should not be surprised if it comes to fighting." "oh, father, if you hire the waggons to govern- ment, may i go with them? i can see that the kaffirs look after the oxen, you know, and that everything goes straight. i have picked up a little kaffir from joel, and can manage to make them understand." "well, dick," mr. humphreys said, after a little thought, " i don't know that i have any objection to it; it will be a change for you, and of course there will be no chance of the waggons being near if any fighting e the young colonists. goes on. what do you think, jackson? i suppose your boy will want to go if mine does?" "well, i don't mind," mr. jackson answered. "i suppose it will not be for long, for the boy is useful on the farm now. however, as you say, it will be a change, and boys like a little excitement. well, i suppose i must say yes; they are fifteen now, and old enough to keep out of mischief." the boys were delighted at the prospect of the expedition, and at once went out to talk matters over together. they cordially agreed in the hope that the zulus would fight, and promised themselves that if possible they would see something of it. their fathers would, they thought, allow them to take their horses, and it would be easy, if the waggons were left behind, to ride forward with the troops, and see what went on. two days later the four teams started together for pieter-maritzburg. contrary to their expectations the boys were not allowed to take their horses. "no, no, dick," mr. humphreys had said, when his son asked him, " no horses, if you please; i know what you will be up to. galloping about to see what is going on, and getting into all sorts of mischief and scrapes. no, if you go, you go with the waggons, to see that everything goes straight, to translate orders to the kaffirs, and to learn something of waggon-driving across a rough country. for between this place and pieter-maritzburg it is such a fair road that you really learn nothing in that way; once get into a cross the young colonists. country, and you will see how they get waggons down steep kloofs, across streams, and over rough places. no, you and tom will stick to the waggons. i have been fixing a number of rings to-day underneath one of them, and your mother and the women have been at work, making a sort of curtain to hook on all round; so at night you will have a comfortable place to sleep in, for the waggons will likely enough be so filled with cases and stores that there will be no sleeping in them. you can take the double-barrel as well as your winchester, as of an evening you may be able to get a shot sometimes at game, which will vary your rations a bit. you must take with you a stock of tinned meats from pieter-maritzburg, for i do not suppose they will issue regular rations to you. so long as you are this side of the tugela, you will be able to buy food; but if the troops cross into zululand, you may have to depend on what you carry." tom with his two waggons arrived at daybreak, and the four teams set off together, mrs. humphreys —who had now completely lost her cough and was quite strong and well—laying many injunctions upon dick against exposing himself to any danger, and dick promising to be as careful as possible. upon their arrival at pieter-maritzburg the boys went at once to the government transport-yard, and on stating their errand were shown into the office of the officer in charge. "we have brought down four teams of sixteen oxen the young colonists. each," dick said, "from near newcastle, to be hired to the government." "that is right, my lads," the officer said, "we have room for plenty more. this is the form of con- tract. you engage to serve the government by the month; you bear any damages which may take place from wear and tear of the roads, breakdowns, and the other ordinary accidents of travel; the govern- ment engages to make good any loss or damage which may occur from the action of the enemy. this is not," he said, smiling, "likely to take place, but still those are the terms. have you any authority from your fathers, to whom, i suppose, the teams belong, to sign the contracts for them?" "yes, sir," dick said. "here is a paper from my father, and one from tom jackson's father, saying that they agree to be bound by the terms of the con- tract, and that they authorize us to sign in their names. we are going with the waggons, sir, to look after the kaffirs." "well," the officer said, "you can do as you like about that; but if you speak kaffir it will be useful— only, mind, you will have to provision yourselves. from the day the teams are taken up, rations of mealies will be served to the kaffirs at the various halting-places, but there is no provision for rations of white men. the cattle, too, will be fed, but you will have to see to yourselves." "yes, sir; we expected to do so." "well, you had better fetch the teams up to the the young colonists. yard. i must inspect and pass them before they are taken up. bring them round at once; then they will be loaded to-night, and start at daybreak to- morrow." the teams were brought round to the yard, and immediately passed by the officer, who indeed remarked upon the excellence of the animals. the kaffirs were directed to outspan or unyoke the oxen, for whom rations of hay and grain were at once issued. the boys returned to the town and made their pur- chases, which were carried down by two kaffirs and stored in the waggons, which were already in process of being loaded—two with boxes of ammunition, the others with miscellaneous stores for the troops. they slept at an hotel, and next morning at daybreak pre- sented themselves at the yard. the kaffirs were already harnessing up the oxen, and in a quarter of an hour the four waggons, with sixteen others, started for the tugela. it was now the middle of december. early in the month commissioners had been sent to cetewayo with the terms decided upon by sir bartle frere. the first clauses of the document contained the settlement of the disputed frontier, and fines were fixed to be paid by the chiefs whose men had com- mitted forays across the borders; it then went on to demand that the whole of cetewayo's army should at once be disbanded; freedom of marriage was to be allowed, when the parties thereto were of age; justice the young colonists. was to be impartially administered; missionaries to be allowed to reside in the zulu country; british resi- dents to be appointed; all disputes between zulus and europeans to be referred to the king and resident; and no expulsion from zulu territory was to be carried into effect without the distinct approval of the resident. it was intimated to the king that unless these terms were accepted by the nth of january the army would at once invade the country. few men expected that the zulu king would tamely submit to conditions which would deprive him of all the military power in which he delighted, and would re- duce him to a state of something like dependency upon the british. during the month of december general thesiger, who commanded the british forces in south africa, made every effort to prepare for hostilities. the regiments which were at the cape were brought round by sea; a brigade of seamen and marines was landed from the ships of war; several corps of irregular horse were raised among the colonists; and regiments of natives were enrolled. before the date by which the king was to send in his answer the troops were assembled along the frontier in the follow- ing disposition :— no. i column. {headquarters, thring's post, lower tugela.) commandant.—col. c. k. pearson, the buffs. naval brigade.— bluejackets and marines of the young colonists. h.m.s. active (with one gatling and two -pounder guns), under captain campbell, r.n. royal artillery.—two -pounder guns and rocket- battery, under lieut. w. n. lloyd, r.a. infantry.— nd battalion, rd buffs, under lieut. col. h. parnell. mounted infantry.— men under capt. barrow, th hussars. volunteers.—durban rifles, natal hussars, stanger rifles, victoria rifles, alexandra rifles. average, forty men per corps—all mounted. native contingent.— men under major graves, the buffs. no. column. [headquarters, helpmakaar, near rorke's drift.) commandant.—col. glyn, st battalion, th regiment. royal artillery.—n. battery, th brigade, royal artillery (with -pounder guns), under major a. harness, r.a. infantry.—seven companies st battalion, th regiment, and nd battalion, th regiment, under lieut.-col. degacher. natal mounted police.—commanded by major dartneil. volunteers.—natal carabineers, buffalo border guard, newcastle mounted rifles—all mounted; average, forty men. native contingent.— men, under commandant lonsdale, late th highlanders. the young colonists. no. column. {headquarters, utrecht.)commandant.—col. evelyn wood, v.c., c.b., th regiment. royal artillery.— nth battery, th brigade, r.a. (with four -pounder guns), under major e. tremlett, r.a. infantry.— st battalion th regiment, and th regiment. mounted infantry.— men, under major j. c. russell, th lancers. frontier light horse.— strong, under major redvers buller, c.b., th rifles. volunteers.—the kaffrarian vanguard, comman- dant schermbuicker, strong. native contingent.—the swazis, our native allies, some strong. in the first fortnight of their engagement the waggons travelled backward and forward between pieter-maritzburg and grey town, which for the time formed the base for the column of colonel glyn. the distance of the town from the capital was forty- five miles, and as the waggons travelled at the rate of fifteen miles a day, they were twelve days in accom- plishing two double journeys. when they were loaded up the third time, they received orders to go straight through to the headquarters of the column at helpmakaar. the boys were pleased at the change, for the road as far as grey town was a good one. they reached grey town for the third time on the the young colonists. nd of january. here they found the place in a state of great excitement, a mounted messenger having arrived that morning with the news that cetewayo had refused all demands and that large bodies of the zulus were marching towards the frontier to oppose the various columns collecting there. on arriving at the government-yard the lads re- ceived orders at once to unload the waggons and to take on the stores of the nd battalion of the th, which was to march from grey town the next morning. the start was delayed until the afternoon, as sufficient wag- gons had not arrived to take on their baggage. the road was rough, and it was late in the afternoon before they arrived at the mooin river. the weather had set in wet, the river was in flood, and the oxen had immense difficulty in getting the waggons across. two teams had to be attached to each waggon, and even then it was as much as they could do to get across, for the water was so high that it nearly took them off their feet. the troops were taken over in punts, and, after crossing, a halt was made for the night. after seeing the cattle outspanned and attended to, the boys wandered away among the troops, as they were to start at daybreak, and it was long past dark before all were over. the tents were not pitched, and the troops bivouacked in the open. brushwood was collected from the rough ground around, and blaz- ing fires were soon burning merrily. it was all new and very amusing to the boys. the troops were in high o the young colonists. spirits at the prospect of an early brush with the enemy, and songs were sung around the fires until the bugle rang out the order, " lights out," when the men wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay down, and the boys retired to their snug shelter under the waggons, where their kaffirs had as usual laid piles of brushwood to serve as their beds. the next morning they were off early, and reached the tugela after five hours' march. this river does not here form the frontier between zululand and natal, this being marked by the buffalo—a much larger and more important stream—from the point where this falls into the tugela, some fifteen miles below the spot where they crossed the latter river, which here runs towards the southwest. two more days' marching took the column to helpmakaar. the weather was wet and misty, and the troops now marched in close order, with flankers thrown out, for the road ran parallel with the buffalo, about five miles distant, and it was thought possible that the zulus might cross the river and commence hostilities. a cordon of sentinels had, however, been placed all along the river from rorke's drift down to the point of junction of the buffalo and tugela; below the stream was so wide that there was no fear of the zulus effecting a crossing. most of the troops which had been stationed at helpmakaar had already marched up to rorke's drift, and after staying two days at help- makaar the nd battalion of the th marched the young colonists. to that place, where the st battalion of the same regiment were already encamped. two days later the remainder of the force destined to act under colonel glyn had assembled at rorke's drift—the term "drift" meaning a ford across a river. this column was the strongest of those which had been formed for the simultaneous invasion of zulu- land, and general thesiger was himself upon the spot to accompany it. many of the waggons which had brought up stores were sent back to grey town for further supplies; but those of the boys, being laden with the spare ammunition and baggage of a portion of the th, were to accompany the column in its advance. the last two days of the term granted to cetewayo to accede to our terms were full of excitement; it had been reported, indeed, that the king was determined upon resistance, but it was thought probable that he might yield at the last moment, and the road leading down to the drift on the other side of the river was anxiously watched. as the hours went on and no messenger was seen approaching, the spirits of the troops rose, for there is nothing that soldiers hate so much as, after enduring the fatigues preparatory to the opening of a cam- paign, the long marches, the wet nights, and other privations and hardships, for the enemy to yield with- out a blow. men who had been in the campaigns of abyssinia and ashanti told their comrades how on the young colonists. both occasions the same uncertainty had prevailed as to the intentions of the enemy up to the last moment; and the fact that in both campaigns the enemy had at the last moment resolved to fight, was hailed as a sort of presage that a similar determination would be arrived at by the zulu king. to the boys these days passed very pleasantly; they had nothing to do but to wander about the camp and watch the proceedings. there was a parade of the two native regiments before the general, who was much pleased with their appearance, and who ex- horted them on no account to kill women, children, or prisoners. among these native regiments were curiously many zulus; for great numbers of this people had at various times been obliged to take refuge in natal, to avoid the destruction threatened them by their despotic king, and these were now eager to fight against their late monarch. some of the bodies of volunteer horse were very smart and soldier-like in their appearance. they were for the most part composed of young farmers, and dick and tom bitterly regretted that they had not been a few years older, in which case, instead of looking after a lot of bulls, as dick contemptuously said, they might have been riding in the ranks of the volunteers. by the regulars the two days were spent in cleaning their arms and accoutrements, whose burnish and cleanliness had suffered much in the the young colonists. long wet march, and from the bivouacs on the damp ground. after marching from grey town with the th the boys had been placed regularly on the roll of the army, as conductors, and, although they drew no pay, had now the advantage of receiving rations as white men. they had upon the line of march frequently chatted with the young officers of the regiment, who, finding that they were the sons of well-to-do farmers and were cheery, high-spirited lads, took to them very much, and invited them of an evening to join them round the camp-fire. the last day came, and still no messenger arrived from cetewayo, and in the evening orders were issued that the column should at daybreak pass the drift and advance into the enemy's country. the troops laid down that night in high spirits, little dreaming of the disaster which was to befall them in the campaign which they thought of so lightly. the young colonists. chapter v. isandula. at two o'clock on the morning of the i ith of january the bugle sounded the reveille, and the troops pre- pared to cross the buffalo. tents were struck, baggage piled on the waggons, and the regiments stood to arms at half-past four. the native contingent crossed first. the cavalry brigade under lieut.-col. russell placed their ammunition on a pontoon and rode over. the river was in some places up to the necks of the infantry, and even the cavalry were nearly swept away. the first and second battalions of the th crossed on the pontoons. the third regiment of the native contingent threw out skirmishers, but could find no trace of the enemy. a heavy storm had come on at daybreak, but this left off at nine o'clock. lieut.-col. buller, commanding the frontier light horse, now rode in from the camp of colonel wood's force, which had crossed the blood river and had encamped in zululand at a spot about thirty-two miles distant. lord chelmsford rode over there with an escort of the natal mounted police and the natal carabineers, who on their return captured three hundred head of cattle, several horses, and a num- ber of sheep and goats. during the day the waggons, the young colonists. oxen, and ambulances were brought across the river on the platoon. early next morning the st battalion of the st native regiment, four companies of the st battalion of the th, and of the irregular horse started on a reconnaissance towards the kraal of sirayo, the chief whose sons had been the greatest offenders in the raids into natal. the cavalry were thrown out in skirmishing order, and after marching nine miles they descended into the slope of the valley in which sirayo's kraals were situated. the enemy were heard singing their war-songs in one of the ravines, and the rd native regiment advanced against them with the th in reserve. the zulus opened fire as they ap- proached, and so heavy was this that many of our natives turned and ran ; they were rallied, however, and with a rush carried the caves in which the zulus were lurking. in the meantime the th's men had moved round to the head of the ravine, and cut off the enemy's retreat. there was a skirmish between the cavalry and some mounted zulus, and six of these, including a son of sirayo, were killed. thirty horses and head of cattle were captured. the next day was spent in cleaning up arms and accoutrements, after the heavy rain which had fallen the preceding week, and several days were spent in making the roads passable for the waggons. on the th the force moved forward, leaving one company of the nd battalion of the th, under f the young colonists. lieutenant bromhead, with some engineers and a few natives to guard the ford and look after the platoons, and garrison the store and hospital. the column camped at isandula, or, as it is more properly called, isandwhlana, ten miles distant from rorke's drift. a portion of the road was extremely rough, and the waggons had the greatest difficulty in making their way forward. the spot selected for a camping-ground was a wide flat valley, with hills on the left and undulating ground on the right; almost in the centre rose an isolated hill, perpendicular on three sides, and very steep and difficult on the fourth. the camp was pitched in front of this hill, looking down the valley, with a mile of open country between it and the hills on the left. the camp was formed in the following order: on the left were the two battalions of the rd native regiment; the royal artillery were in the centre; next to these was the nd battalion of the th. the line was then taken up by the cavalry, with the st battalion of the th on the right of the whole. the waggons were all placed between the camp and the hill at the back. by a strange and criminal neglect no attempt was made to intrench this position, although it was known that the column might at any moment be attacked by the zulus. it was determined that the greater part of the force should advance the next morning towards a stronghold, ten miles distant from the camp, straight the young colonists. down the valley. news had come that a large number of zulus were at this spot, and it was supposed that these would fight. the column consisted of eight companies of each of the battalions of the rd native regiment, with the greater part of the cavalry. the force started early and marched for three hours down the valley. here they came on much culti- vated ground, but the kraals had been deserted by the enemy. at four o'clock, as the cavalry were skirmishing at a distance on both flanks, they came upon a body of zulus about strong. the horse fell back upon the infantry, but, as it was now late, major dartnell decided to encamp for the night, and to attack in the morning. a messenger was despatched into camp with a report of the day's proceedings, and some provisions and blankets were sent out, with news that the general would join the troops with reinforce- ments in the morning. at daybreak he left the camp at isandula with seven companies of the nd battalion of the th, and orders were sent to colonel durnford, at rorke's drift, to bring up mounted men and his rocket- battery, which had reached that spot. the zulus were seen in all directions, and a good deal of skirmishing took place. by a gross neglect, equal to that which was manifested in the omission to fortify the camp, no steps whatever were taken to keep up communication between ^the column, which now consisted of the greater part of the troops, and those who remained at the camp at isandula. no f the young colonists. signallers were placed on the hills, no mounted videttes were posted, and the column marched on, absorbed in its own skirmishes with the enemy, as if the general in command had forgotten the very existence of the force at isandula. even in the middle of the day, when the firing of cannon told that the camp was attacked, no steps were taken to ascertain whether reinforcements were needed there, and it was not until hours after all was over that a party was despatched to ascertain what had taken place at the camp. upon the day on which the two native regiments advanced, the two boys felt the time hang heavy on their hands; they would have liked to take their guns and go out to shoot some game for their dinners, but all shooting had been strictly forbidden, as the sound of a gun might cause a false alarm. after hanging about the camp for an hour or two, dick proposed that they should climb the hill which rose so steeply behind them. "if the columns have any fighting," he said, " we should be sure to see it from the top." borrowing a telescope from one of the officers of the volunteer cavalry, they skirted round to the back of the hill, and there began their climb. it was very steep, but after some hard work they reached the summit, and then crossed to the front and sat down in a com- fortable niche in the rock, whence they could command a view far down the valley. they could see the two battalions of infantry marching steadily along, and the cavalry moving among the hills and undulations on both flanks. they had taken some biscuits and a the young colonists. bottle of beer up with them, and spent the whole day on the look-out. the view which they gained was a very extensive one, as the hill was far higher than those on either side, and in many places they could see small bodies of the enemy moving about. at sunset they descended. "i vote we go up again," tom said the next morning. "the general has gone forward with most of the white troops, and there is sure to be fighting to- day. we shall have nothing to do, and may as well go up there as anywhere else." after the general's departure there remained in camp five companies of the st battalion of the th, and one of the nd battalion, two field-pieces with their artillery-men, and some mounted men. just as the boys were starting at eight in the morning, there was a report in the camp that the zulus were gathering in force to the north of the camp. this quickened the boys' movements and half an hour later they gained the top of the hill, and from their old position looked down upon the camp lying many hundred feet below them. there was considerable bustle going on, and the kaffir drivers were hastily collecting the cattle which were grazing round, and were driving them into camp. "there is going to be a fight!" dick exclaimed, as they gained their look-out; "there are crowds of zulus out there on the plains." could the boys have looked over the hills a mile away to their right, they would have seen that the the young colonists. number of zulus down in the valley in front was but a small proportion of those gathering for the attack; for , men had moved up during the night, and were lying quietly behind those hills, or more were taking the road to rorke's drift, to cut off any who might escape from the camp, while as many more were showing down the valley. altogether some , of the enemy had gathered round the little body in the camp. to the boys, however, only the party down the valley was visible. at eleven o'clock colonel durnford came into camp with his mounted men from rorke's drift, and advanced with them to meet the enemy threatening the left flank, while two companies of the st bat- talion of the th moved out to attack their right. the zulus, now reinforced from behind the hills, moved forward steadily, and colonel durnford with his cavalry could do little to arrest them. for an hour the infantry stood their ground, and the two field-pieces swept lines through the thick ranks of the enemy. the zulus advanced in the form of a great crescent. "things look very bad, dick," tom said; "what do you think we had better do?" "i think we had better stay where we are, tom, and wait and see what occurs; we have a splendid view of the fight, and if our fellows meet them we shall see it all; but if—oh, look there, tom!" over the hills on the left thousands of zulus were seen pouring down. "this is terrible, tom. look here, i will crawl the young colonists. along over the crest, so as not to be seen, and look behind to see if it is clear there. if it is, i vote we make a bolt. it is of no use our thinking of going down for a couple of horses; the zulus will be in the camp long before we could get there." five minutes later he again joined his friend. "they are coming up behind too, tom. they have really surrounded us. look, they are close to the camp!" it was a scene of frightful confusion. nothing could be seen of the companies of the th, which had gone out to meet the zulus. the great wave of the advancing army had swept over them. below, the panic was complete and terrible, and soldiers, native drivers, and camp-followers were running wildly in all directions. one party of the th's men, about sixty strong, had gathered together and stood like a little island. the incessant fire of their rifles covered them with white smoke, while a dense mass of zulus pressed upon them. many of the soldiers were flying for their lives; others again, when they found that their retreat was cut off, had gathered in groups and were fighting desperately to the last. here and there mounted men strove to cut their way through the zulus, while numbers of fugi- tives could be seen making for the river, hotly pursued by crowds of the enemy, who speared them as they ran. "it is frightful, frightful, tom i cannot bear to look at it." the young colonists. for a few minutes the fight continued. the crack of the rifles was heard less frequently now. the exulting yell of the zulus rose louder and louder. on the right colonel durnford with his cavalry essayed to make one last stand to check the pursuit of the zulus and give time for the fugitives to escape; but it was in vain, showers of assegais fell among them, and the zulu crowd surged round. for a time the boys thought all were lost, but a few horsemen cut their way through the crowd and rode for the river. the artillery had long before ceased to fire, and the gunners lay speared by the cannons. the first shot had been fired at half-past eleven, by one o'clock all was over. the last white man had fallen, and the zulus swarmed like a vast body of ants over the camp in search of plunder. horror-stricken and sick, the boys shrank back against the rock behind them, and for some time sobbed bitterly over the dreadful massacre which had taken place before their eyes. but after a time they began to talk more quietly. "will they come up here, do you think, dick?" "no, i don't think so," dick replied. "they could hardly have seen us come up here, even if they had been on the look-out on the hills, and as they reached the back of the mountain before the camp was taken, they will know that nobody could have come up after- wards. lie back here; we cannot possibly be seen from below. they will be too much taken up with plundering the young colonists. the camp to think of searching this hill. what on earth is the general doing ?—i can see his troops right away on the plain. surely he must have heard the guns? our only hope now is that when he hears it he will march straight back; but, even if he does, i fear that the zulus will be too strong for him. the whole force which he has with him is no stronger than that which has been crushed here, and i don't expect the native regiments can make much stand if attacked by such a tremendously strong force." so long as the daylight lasted, the boys, peering occasionally over, could see the zulus at the work of plundering. all the sacks and barrels were taken from the waggons and cut or broken open, each man taking as much as he could carry of the tea, sugar, flour, and other necessaries ; many of the yoke- oxen were assegai ed at once, and cut up and eaten, the rest being driven off towards the north by a party of warriors. at nightfall the tents were set on fire; they soon burnt out, and the boys could no longer see what was taking place. rising from the shelter, they walked back to the other side of the crest. "i can hear firing now," dick said; "it seems to me that it is back at rorke's drift." they were soon sure that they were not mistaken; as it grew darker a flittering light was seen in that direction, and a continued fire of distant musketry was heard. later on there was a broad glare in the sky. the youngcolonists. "i fear it is all over there too," dick said, " and that the place has been burnt." still, however, the firing continued, as heavy as ever, and long on into the night the lads sat listening to it. at last they fell asleep, and when they awoke the sun was already high. thus they missed their chance of escape. at nine o'clock in the evening lord chelmsford's force, hearing at last what had happened, marched back into the camp, and before day had fairly broken continued their way down to rorke's drift. the defenders here, a little garrison, under lieutenant bromhead of the th, and chard of the royal artillery, had made an heroic defence against some of the enemy. with mealy bags and boxes they built up a breastwork, and this they held all night, in spite of the desperate efforts of the zulus to capture it. the hospital, which stood at one end of the intrenchment, was carried and burnt by the zulus, but the little garrison held out till morning in an inner intrenchment round the store-house. here was seen what could be done in the way of de- fence by the aid of hastily-thrown-up intrenchmentsj and had breastworks been erected at isandula, as they ought to have been the instant the troops arrived there, and still more so when the major portion of the column marched away, the force there, small as it was, would doubtless have made a successful resistance. even had the step been taken, when the zulus were first seen approaching, of forming a laager—that is, the young colonists. of drawing up the waggons in the form of a hollow square—at the foot of the steep mountain, the disaster might have been averted. it may be said that the massacre of isandula was due entirely to the over- confidence and carelessness of the officers in command of the column. the boys on waking crawled back cautiously to a spot where they could obtain a view over the valley, and, to their surprise, the force which, on the afternoon before, they had seen out there had entirely disappeared. many bodies of zulus were seen moving about, but there was no trace of the white troops. they made their way to the back of the hill, and then, to their horror, saw the column moving away from them, and already half-way on its road to rorke's drift. their first impulse was to get up and start off in a run in pursuit of it, but this feeling lasted but a moment, for between the hill and the column many scattered parties of zulus were to be seen. the boys looked blankly at each other. it was but too clear that they were cut off and alone in the enemy's country. "whatever shall we do, dick?" "i have not the least idea, tom. at any rate there is nothing to be done at present. we should be asse- gaied in a moment if we were to go down; let's go back to our old look-out." after much talk they agreed that it would be hope- less to attempt to make south and cross the buffalo, as many of the fugitives had done. there were sure the young colonists. to be strong bodies of zulus along the river, and even if they passed these without detection they would be unable to cross the river, as they would find no ford, and neither of them was able to swim. there were great numbers of zulus in the camp below, and these seemed to be pursuing the work of plundering more minutely than they had done on the previous day. the stores scattered recklessly about were collected, placed in empty barrels, and loaded up on the waggons. presently a number of cattle were brought down; these were harnessed to the waggons and driven off, and by nightfall nothing save scattered remnants marked the place where the british camp had stood. but from their post the boys could see that the ground far and near was dotted with corpses, black and white. after nightfall the boys descended to the camp, and having marked the exact spot where the waggons had stood were able to collect a number of pieces of the broken biscuit scattered about; they were fortunate enough to light upon a water-bottle still full, and with these treasures they returned to the post on the moun- tain. they had agreed to wait there for three or four days, in fact as long as they could hold out, and then quietly to walk into one of the native kraals. if caught in the act of flight they were certain of being killed, but they hoped that when the zulus' blood had cooled down after the conflict their lives might possibly be spared. this plan was carried out; for four days they the young colonists. remained on the hill of isandula, and then descending late one evening to the plain walked for ten or twelve miles north, and waiting until daybreak showed them a large native kraal at no great distance, they made for it, and sat quietly down at the door of the principal hut presently a girl issued from a neighbouring hut, and, upon seeing them, gave a scream and ran back again. the cry brought others to the doors of the huts. when the boys were seen, a perfect hubbub of tongues broke forth, and many of the men, running out with their spears, advanced towards the lads. they sat perfectly quiet, and held up their hands to show that they were unarmed. the zulus hesitated. dick went through the motion of eating and drinking, and in his best kaffir begged for a glass of water. the zulus, seeing that the boys were alone, approached them, and began to ask them questions, and were evidently much surprised at hearing that they had escaped from the massacre of the british. from the door of the hut in which they were sitting a chief, evidently of high rank, for the others greeted him respectfully, now came out. after the cause of the tumult was explained to the chief, he ordered the boys to be bound. this was done and they were put into an empty hut while their fate was decided upon; after much deliberation it was agreed by the zulus that, as they were but boys and had come into the camp unarmed and of their own accord, their lives should for the present be spared. the young colonists. it happened that in the village were a party of men who belonged to the tribe of umbelleni, whose territory lay to the north-west, and these volunteered to take the prisoners to their chief, who was one of the strongest opponents of the english. his country, indeed, lay just within the zulu frontier, and, having been engaged in constant skirmishes and broils with the dutch settlers, he was even more disappointed than the other chiefs at the taking over of the trans- vaal by england, just at the time when the zulus were meditating its conquest. the road from itelezi, the village at which the boys had given themselves up, to umbelleni's country ran along between the blood river and the lofty hill-coun- try; and, although they were ignorant of the fact, colonel wood's force was at that moment lying on this line. they were therefore taken up over a moun- tain-country, crossing mount ingwe, to the zlobani mountain, a stronghold ten miles south of umbel- leni's chief kraal, and where at present he was resid- ing. after three days' journey the lads, exhausted and footsore, ascended to the plateau of the zlobani mountains. upon their way they passed through many villages, and at each place it needed the efforts of their guards to prevent their being seriously mal- treated, if not killed. the zulus, although victorious at isandula, had suffered terribly, it being estimated that nearly had fallen in the attack. thus there was not a village but had lost some of the young colonists. its members, for, although the zulu regiments have local denominations and regular military kraals, each regiment consists of men drawn from the population at large. every four or five years all the lads who have passed the age of eighteen since the formation of the last corps, are called out and formed into a regi- ment, or are embodied with some regiment whose numbers have fallen in strength. thus a regiment may consist of men differing considerably from each other in point of age, the great distinction being that some corps consist entirely of married men, while others are all unmarried. a regiment remains unmarried until the king formally gives the permis- sion to take wives, and the corps to whom the boon has been granted are distinguished from the others by their hair being arranged in a thick ring round the head. so great is the enmity between these married regiments and their less fortunate comrades that they are never encamped in each other's view, as fighting in that case would inevitably take place. thus it happened that, although some of the corps had suffered far more than others, the loss was spread over the whole of zululand. o the young colonists. chapter vi. zlobani. while disaster had fallen upon the centre column, the division under colonel evelyn wood had been showing what could be done when care and prudence took the place of a happy-go-lucky recklessness. it had advanced from utrecht on the th of january, and had moved up to the frontier at sandspruit. at two in the afternoon of the th it moved forward, halted at six, and again advanced by the light of the moon at half-past one in the morning; a mounted advance-guard was thrown out, flanking patrols were organized, and the troops moved in the greatest silence. the next day colonel buller, with his irregular horse, went out, and after a skirmish with the zulus brought in a thousand cattle, and captain barton, with a party scouting in another direction, captured . on the following morning a reconnaissance in force was made, and a good deal of skirmishing took place; but, as colonel wood never allowed his men to follow the zulus into rough ground, the latter were unable to effect anything against the column. this division advanced forward but slowly, as it was intended that they should keep within reach of the leisurely-moving central column. after several slight skirmishes the news reached the young colonists. them on the th of the disaster of isandula, and with it colonel wood received orders to fall back; and on the th he encamped at kambula. raids were made in all directions with great success ; the great military kraal of manyamyoba was captured and destroyed by colonel buller and his cavalry. as colonel wood's was now the most advanced column,colonel rowlands, with a wing of the th and a couple of guns and swazis, together with raaf's horse and wetherby's borderers, were sent as a reinforcement to him. the zulus were not idle, and umbelleni and manyamyoba made several successful raids across the border and destroyed the kraals of natives friendly to the english. these two chiefs were not regular zulu chieftains ; both were adventurers who had gathered under them numbers of broken men, and had for years carried on raids on their own account from their mountain-stronghold, in much the same way that the scotch borderers of olden times harassed the country on the english side of the frontier. oham, the king's brother, with his own following, came into colonel wood's camp, and gave himself up, saying that he was altogether opposed to the war. the boys on their arrival at zlobani were brought before umbelleni. that chief briefly gave orders that they should be killed; but two or three of his headmen represented to him that they might be of use; they would be able to carry a message to the british camp, should he desire at any time to send one; by their appearance and dress, they could tell g the young colonists. leni, about three miles from the intombe river. on the bank of the river could be seen twenty waggons. these waggons had come down from derby, on their way to luneberg, a town situated four miles from the intombe. major tucker, who commanded there, sent captain moriarty with a company of the th, seventy strong, down to the river to protect the waggons whilst crossing, and that officer had orders to neglect no precaution, and above all to keep an incessant and vigilant look-out. the river was in flood, and no crossing could be effected, and for four days the waggons remained on the northern bank. captain moriarty placed the waggons in laager on the bank, and took post there with forty of his men, leaving lieutenant harwood with thirty-four on the south bank with directions to cover the sides of the laager with a flanking fire, should it be attacked. the position of the waggons was a dangerous one, as the ground rose immediately behind them, and was covered with bush. in the middle of the night of the nth umbelleni's men arose, and, accompanied by the boys, started from the kraal, and dick and tom were filled with forebod- ings of what was about to happen. dick had already gathered from the natives that theguardoi the waggons was an extremely small one, and, as the body moving to attack them were between and strong, the chance of a successful resistance appeared small. when within a short distance of the waggons two of the zulus motioned to the boys to stop. in ten g the young colonists. minutes they heard a sentry challenge; his shout was answered by a loud yell, and the zulus poured down to the attack. unfortunately captain moriarty had not taken sufficient precaution against surprise, and before the men were fairly under arms the zulus were upon them. the force on the other side of the river were now on the alert, and their rifle-fire opened before that of the defenders of the waggons. for a moment or two there was a sharp rattling fire from the waggons ; then there were shouts and screams, the firing ceased, and the boys knew that the laager had been captured. many of the soldiers indeed were assegaied before they could leave their tents, most were slaughtered at once, but a few managed to swim across the river. the zulus swarmed after them. lieutenant harwood jumped upon his horse and rode off to luneberg to fetch assistance. the little detachment was broken by the rush of the zulus, but a serjeant and eight men fell back into a deserted kraal, and succeeded in re- pelling the attacks of the enemy. lieutenant harwood was afterwards tried by court- martial for his conduct; he was acquitted, but the general in command refused to confirm the verdict, and the commander-in-chief at home approved of the view he took of the matter, and issued a general order to the effect that "an officer, being the only one present with a party of soldiers actually engaged with the enemy, is not under any pretext whatever justified in deserting them, and thus by so doing abandoning them to their fate." the young colonists. apprehensive of the arrival of reinforcements from luneberg, umbelleni did not continue his attack upon the little party in the kraal, but, after hastily plunder- ing the waggons, retreated with his force, and the next day returned to zlobani. a few days passed and the boys learnt that two regiments from uluridi were expected shortly to re- inforce umbelleni's men. the chief himself, with the majority of his followers, was now at his kraal, four miles distant, but the boys remained in the village on the zlobani plateau. several times they saw parties of british horse riding over the plains and from a dis- tance reconnoitring the position, and they wondered whether there could be any intention on the part of colonel wood to attack it. there was on the plateau a large number of cattle, part the property of umbel- leni's men, but the great majority spoil taken in raids. it seemed to the boys that an attack could scarcely be successful. the sides of the mountains were ex- tremely precipitous, covered with bush, and contained large numbers of caves. there was but one path up which mounted men could ride; this was about halfway along the west side, the hill being a much greater length from north to south than from east to west. up the southern extremity of the plateau was a path by which footmen could descend to the plain, but it was exceedingly steep and altogether impracticable for cavalry; a handful of men should have been able to hold the position against an army. colonel wood having heard of the large quantity of cattle concealed on the zlobani mountain had dc- he young colonists. evening colonel wood joined them with his staff, eight mounted men of the th regiment and six natives under untongo, a son of pongo, a friendly chief. untongo had.by some means obtained infor- mation that seven strong regiments had marched from ulundi seven days before, and was most anxious that the column should return to kambula. colonel wood, however, could not carry out this advice, for colonels buller and wetherby and piet- uys, with their commands, who were in front, had moved forward a long distance, and a retreat now would leave them to be surrounded and cut off. the troops lay down and slept, and at half-past three o'clock again prepared to advance. distant shots were heard, showing that colonel buller was attacked, and just as the party was setting off, colonel wetherby with his troopers rode in, having in the night got separated from buller's men in the wild and broken country. as the troops advanced they came here and there across the bodies of zulus, showing that buller had had to fight his way. captain ronald campbell ascended a rock and scanned the country with his glass. far away, almost in the centre of the gigantic and apparently inaccessible cliff of zlobani, the remains of buller's column could be seen slowly advancing, driving some dark masses of cattle and zulus before them. colonel wetherby obtained permission to lead his men on at once to buller's assistance, while colonel wood followed with the remainder of the force. the youngcolonists. wethcrby moved by a terribly difficult path to the right, while wood kept to what seemed the main track. about half a mile further the latter came on a party of zulus, armed with rifles; these crossed in front of him, taking an occasional shot at the leading files of the party, who on account of the difficulties of the road were compelled to dismount and lead their horses. their object was evidently to cut off wetherby's troop from the main column. lieutenant lysons, leaving the column, reconnoitred the ground, and found that wetherby's party was already divided from them by a deep and impassable ravine, at the bottom of which was the pathway by which buller had made his way to the summit of the cliff. a strong party of zulus were seen faraway in front, working as if to cut off buller's horse. it was clear that there was nothing to do but to press forward in hopes that the line taken by wetherby and that which the main column was following would come together. at this moment a heavy fire was opened by a party of the enemy from a narrow ledge of rock a hundred yards above them. untongo and two of his men guided a party of eight marksmen to a still higher point, and their fire speedily drove off the zulus. half an hour's march brought wood upon wetherby's track, and high above them to the right the rear of buller's column could be seen. no more unsuitable ground for the operation of mounted men could be found; perpendicular rocks rose in all directions, while steep precipices fell away at their feet. killed the young colonists. and wounded horses were seen at every turn of the road, showing how stoutly the enemy had held their ground, and how difficult an operation buller had performed. sending fifty men to work upon the right flank and endeavour to take the zulus in the rear, colonel wood kept his men for a few moments under cover of a friendly ledge of rocks, to take breath and look to their rifles, girths, and ammunition, and then pressed rapidly forward and joined the border horse. the scene was now most exciting. the firing was almost continuous, and the yells of the savages rose from every rock and bush, mingled with the loud cheers of buller's men far up in front, as they saw the co- lumn approaching to their aid. the ground was now more level and practicable for riding, and colonel wood mounted his horse and, accompanied by his own little escort of a dozen men and the border horse under colonel wetherby himself, with his gallant boy, aged fifteen, who was fighting by his side, galloped forward for the front, leaving colonel russell in command of the column. when within a hundred paces of the summit of the cliff a rain of fire opened upon their front and flank from a mass of zulus firing from caves, crevices, and behind enormous boulders. from one cave to the right front an exces- sively heavy fire was kept up, and colonel wetherby dashed at this with his men just as colonel wood's horse staggered from a deep assegai wound in the chest. at the same moment a native from behind a boulder the young colonists. fired at that officer at ten paces' distance; the bullet missed him and lieutenant lloyd rode at the man, but fell, shot through the head. colonel wood and cap- tain ronald campbell rode forward to cover his body. two more zulus fired at the same instant and the colonel's horse fell dead. colonel wetherby's men were hotly engaged at close quarters with the zulus, and were unable to join the colonel. captain camp- bell, lieutenant lysons, and the eight th men of the escort rushed at the opening. captain campbell fell, shot through the head, but the rest dashed forward. there was a movement in the cave and a sudden shout in english of " come on!" and as the little band dashed in and fell upon the zulus they saw, to their astonishment, two english boys, armed with assegais, attacking these in the rear. in another minute the zulus were all cut down, and the party returned to colonel wood. on the previous afternoon zulu scouts had arrived at zlobani with the news that an english column was on its way towards it. messengers were despatched to umbelleni's kraal, and at night his force there came to the assistance of those at zlobani. early in the morning the boys proceeded with a number of zulus to the edge of the plateau, and were placed with eight of their guards in a cave. from its mouth they watched anxiously the events of the day. colonel buller's party had struck upon the right road, and after hard fighting gained the summit of the young colonists. the cliff. here a great quantity of cattle were col- lected, and these were sent off in charge of a body of friendly natives, which accompanied the force. this column in the advance had not passed near the cave in which the boys were placed. their hearts beat high, as they saw colonel wood's column sud- denly turn off from the line which buller had fol- lowed, and make straight for it. their excitement grew higher and higher as the conflict increased in vigour. soon the zulus in the cave were at work. when captain campbell charged forward with his handful of men, dick and tom exchanged a glance. they stood quiet until it was evident that the english at- tack would be pushed home; then, as the men of the th, led by lysons, dashed at the entrance of the cavern, the boys seized two assegais and each pinned one of the crouching zulus to the ground. before the others could turn round upon them lysons and his men were among them. the fire of buller's men from above drove the zulus from their hiding-places. but colonel wood, finding it impossible to make his way up at this point, moved round at the foot of the rocks, to try and find the point at which buller had ascended the cliff. before doing so, however, the bodies of captain campbell and lieutenant lloyd were carried down the hill, and buried in a hastily-made grave. as, carrying their wounded men, the little party made their way to the foot of the cliff, untongo, who had the young colonists. been reconnoitring the rocks on both sides, ran down to him and began to talk rapidly, pointing over towards the plain. colonel wood did not understand kaffir, but dick, who was standing by, said,— "he says, sir, that there is a great zulu army marching below." colonel wood mounted a fresh horse, and making his way with great difficulty across some broken ground reached a point where he could see the plain. there, in five continuous columns, the zulu army from ulundi, , strong, was sweeping along at its usual rapid pace. it was evident at once that only by a speedy retreat could any of the force hope to escape. colonel wood despatched a message at once to colonel russell, who had with his force by this time commenced the ascent at the extreme westerly point, to retrace his steps instantly, and to cover as far as possible the retreat of the native allies with the cattle. colonel buller above had also seen the coming danger. so far he had accomplished his work ad- mirably. the zulu position had been triumphantly stormed, and a large number of cattle taken and driven off. had colonel wood's force and wetherby's troop arrived on the scene of action immediately after buller had ascended to the plateau, the retreat could have been made in time, and the expedition would have been successful at all points. the unfortunate the young colonists. incident of their losing the track, the delay caused thereby, and their inability to rejoin him had given time for the ulundi army to come up. colonel buller found that it was impossible now to descend to the plain by the path by which he had ascended. not only would he have to fight his way back through the whole force of umbelleni, but his retreat by that route would be cut off by the ulundi men. consequently, pursued by a great body of exulting zulus, he made his way along the plateau to the steep path at its extremity. the scene here was terrible. the zulus blocked the way in front and lined both sides. buller himself, with piet-uys, defended the rear, assisting the wounded, and often charging desperately into the ranks of the zulus pressing upon him. the path was slippery with blood and strewn with dead. as the last of his troop made their way down it, piet-uys, a most gallant dutchman, fell dead across the body of his horse, with six zulus, whom he had shot with his revolver, around him. wetherby's troop was surrounded, and forty-five out of his eighty men killed. the colonel himself and his boy both fell, the latter refusing to leave his father, although the latter urged him to gallop off and join the column, which appeared to be making its way through the zulus. colonel russell's command got through without so much opposition ; but buller's horse, piet-uys' troop, and wetherby's command suffered terribly. the young colonists. fortunately the ulundi army did not follow the retreat; first, because the tremendous three days' march which they had made had in a great measure exhausted the men, who had started in such haste that they had brought no provisions with them, and secondly, on account of the steady attitude and resolute bearing of russell's command. buller's force reached kambula camp at half-past seven at night. it had set in stormy, and torrents of rain were falling. although he had been in the saddle for forty-eight hours, colonel buller, on hearing that a small party of the survivors had taken refuge in hiding ten miles away, collected a party of volun- teers, and, taking led horses, set out to rescue them. this was effected; the fugitives were found to be seven in number, and returned with their rescuers safely to camp. the boys had both escaped, two of wetherby's men, who accompanied colonel wood, taking them on their saddles behind them. the total loss was ten officers and seventy-eight men. for the night the boys were handed over to the charge of one of the officers of the staff, but in the morning colonel wood sent for them, and they then told him the story of their adventures since the battle of isandula, with which he was greatly interested. he said that he would at once have sent them to utrecht, but that the camp would probably be attacked during the day. the troops had been on the alert all night, expect- the young colonists. ing an attack. before daylight captain raaf was sent out with twenty-five men to reconnoitre, and returned with one of oham's natives. this man had joined the zulu army as it advanced, and was, fortunately for himself, not recognized by them as being one of oham's people. in the night he had slipped away. he reported the zulus , strong, a great por- tion of them being armed with rifles. fortunately little preparation was necessary at kambula. nothing had been left to chance here, and there was therefore no fear of a repetition of the isandula disaster. each corps, each subdivision, each section, and each man had his place allotted to him, and had been told to be in that place at the sound of the bugle. the little fort was in a strong position, laid out upon an elevated narrow reach of table-land. a precipice, inaccessible to a white man, guarded the right flank ; on the left a succession of steep terraces had been utilized and carefully intrenched, each successive line commanding that below it. at one end there was a narrow slip of land swept by two -pounders. immediately in the rear, upon an eminence feet higher than the fort, was a small work, armed with two guns. the camp con- sisted of an outer defence of waggons, and an inner one of fifty—the whole protected by earth- works and ditches. the young colonists. chapter vii. kambula. immediately oham's zulu had made his report, the bugle sounded, and the garrison quietly and quickly took up the places assigned to them. mes- sengers went out to order a fatigue-party, which had gone out wood-cutting, to return at once. these men reported that they had seen the zulus scouting, about five miles to the west. the tents were struck, the men lined the shelter-trenches, and ammunition was served out by fatigue-parties told off for this duty. the white conductors and commis- sariat men, most of whom were old settlers and good shots, were told off to the different faces of the laager. a small party were provided with stretchers, in order to carry the wounded to the hospital in the centre. dick and tom, having no duty and being without arms, thought that they might as well make them- selves useful at this work, and therefore, taking a stretcher, they proceeded to one of the outer shelter- trenches. it was nearly eleven o'clock when the zulus were seen approaching, and halted just out of musket-range. here apparently a council of war was held, and it was more than an hour before any forward move- the young colonists. ment was made. then a body of them, about strong, ran at a tremendous pace along a ledge situated at the edge of the cultivated land. the troops were ordered not to fire, as it was thought better to wait until the zulus came on in earnest. at half-past one a cloud of skirmishers advanced from the zulu army, and fed by supports began to scale the north front of the english position. here, behind the outermost line of intrenchments, some of buller and russell's dismounted men, and a portion of the band of the gallant piet-uys were stationed, and these opened fire upon the zulus. scarcely one of them but was a dead-shot, and no sooner did a head or a shield appear above rock or boulder or tuft of grass than the deadly rifle rang out, and in most cases there was an enemy the less to encounter. the boers particularly distinguished themselves at this work. most of these men are certain shots, being trained from childhood in the use of their large single- barrelled guns, carrying an enormous bullet, and suited for the destruction of big game. animated by a hatred of the zulus, and a longing for vengeance for the , death of their late leader, the boers picked off their foes with unerring aim. the enemy's skirmishers now retired, and a more solid line took their place, sup- ported by a dense column in its rear. the cavalry remounted and fell slowly back, and major russell, , with twenty of his men, made a brilliant charge on a party of zulus who were running to take possession h the young colonists. of a sheltering ledge of rocks, and, after cutting down a great many, retreated without the loss of a man. buller and russell now retired slowly within the laager, their retreat being covered by colonel gilbert and four companies of the th, who were posted at this face of the works. one company of the th, under captain cox, held the cattle-laager, which was situated outside the line, and so were able to take the enemy in flank, as they attacked the main work. this little garrison and colonel gilbert's men poured a tremendous fire upon the zulus, who still, however, pushed forward. major hackett was now ordered to take a couple of companies of the th, and to advance up the slope, round the rear of the cattle-laager. taking post here, they opened a deliberate and deadly fire upon the enemy, and then advancing drove back the zulus with great loss. the zulu general, however, led a party of his best marksmen round to his right, and opened a heavy fire upon the th, as they fell back upon their intrenchments. lieutenant bright fell mortally wounded, and in running forward to pick him up major hackett was struck by a ball sideways, which passed through both eyes and destroyed his sight for ever. meanwhile, from the works on the heights, captain nicholson was doing great execution with his two -pounders. the zulu main body had now come within range, and grape and canister were poured into their heavy masses. as nicholson was standing on the parapet, field-glass in hand, directing the pointing the young colonists. of two guns, a bullet struck him on the temple and he fell dead. he was seen from the laager to fall, and major vaughan was sent to take his place. major tremlett, r.a., now took the four guns, hitherto held in reserve, to a small piece of rising ground outside the laager, and opened fire upon the masses of the enemy with immense execution. from time to time buller and russell, as they saw openings for a charge, swept down and drove the enemy's skirmishers back on to their main body; the zulus, altogether unac- customed to cavalry, always falling back precipi- tately at these assaults. at three o'clock a hot cross-fire was opened upon a company commanded by captain woodgate, which was stationed half-way between the laager and the upper fort, keeping open a communication between them, the enemy's fire from a height commanding this line being particularly galling. two of trem- lett's guns were brought to bear on the point, and the enemy's fire speedily slackened. for another hour and a half the troops continued to be hotly engaged, for the enemy, when driven back from one flank, swept round in most perfect order and attacked another. at half-past four the zulus, concentrating again, attacked the northern side, and made some desperate rushes up to the muzzles of the english rifles, and the fighting for a time was almost hand to hand. the boys had worked round with their stretchers wherever the fire was hardest, and had carried many wounded men into hospital. they were at the north ii ioo the young colonists. face when the zulus swarmed up towards it, and woodgate's men fell back into the shelter of the laager. as they came in, a young lieutenant, who was commanding the rear, fell, apparently dead. being in the rear of the company his fall was unnoticed by the men. dick, who was peering over the intrench- ment, saw him fall, and saw too that he moved slightly. "quick, tom!" he exclaimed; and, carrying the stretcher, the boys scrambled over the breastwork and ran towards the officer. he had fallen some twenty yards outside, and the zulus, rushing on, were but eighty yards away. on reaching the side of the young officer, the boys laid their stretcher on the ground, rolled him upon it, and, lifting it, turned towards the camp. a ringing cheer from the men had greeted this action, mingled with shouts of "run! run!" for by this time the zulus were but twenty yards behind. a stream of fire broke out from the top of the breastworks; an assegai whizzed over dick's shoulder, and another grazed tom's arm, but they hurried on until they reached the ditch, and then threw themselves and their burden down. there for five or six minutes they lay, while the fight raged above them. then the british cheer rose, and the boys knew that the zulus had fallen back. a minute later a dozen men leapt from the in- trenchment into the ditch outside, and lifted the wounded lieutenant over it into the arms of those behind. the young colonists. "bravo! boys, bravo!" a hundred voices shouted, as the boys scrambled back into the works, while the men crowded round to pat them on the shoulder and shake their hands. it was evident now that the zulu fire was slacken- ing, and three companies of the th went out, and, taking posts by the edge of the slope of the cattle- laager, opened fire upon them, as they retired. every gun was brought to bear upon them, and as, disheart- ened and beaten, they fell back, buller and russell, with every mounted man in camp, sallied out and fell upon them, and, burning with the desire to wipe out their misfortune of the preceding day, chased them for seven miles, like a flock of sheep, cutting down immense numbers. it was ascertained afterwards from prisoners that the zulu force which attacked was composed of , men. it was commanded by tyangwaiyo, with um- belleni as his second. many of the leading chiefs of zululand and of the king's bravest and best troops fell in the attack on kambula, and this battle was by far the hottest and best-contested which took place during the war. upon our side two officers and twenty-one men were killed. the difference between the result of the action at kambula and that at isandula was due entirely to the fact that in one case every precaution was taken, every means of defence utilized ; while in the other no more attention was paid to any of these points than if the troops had been encamped at aldershot. the young colonists. upon the day following the battle colonel wood set his men to work to erect further defences at the points which the recent action had shown to be weak, and never ceased work until the place had been made almost impregnable against an assault of savages, however brave. the messenger who carried to natal the news of the victory of kambula also took letters from the boys to their parents, acquainting them of their safety; and with the first convoy of wounded on the following day the boys started for home, colonel wood having given to each a flattering testimonial as to their gallant conduct in the action, and having presented them with two horses belonging to men of buller's corps who had fallen in the action, ordering that the horses should be entered as bought for the queen's service, and the value paid to the relatives of their late owners. three days' march took the convoy to utrecht, and the next morning the boys rode home, the distance from there to newcastle being about forty miles. they were received as if they had risen from the dead, for their letters had not arrived before them, and their parents had of course assumed that they had been killed at isandula. both the mothers were in mourn- ing, and their joy at the restoration of their sons was unbounded. mrs. jackson fainted from surprise and delight, as tom rode up ; but dick, remembering the effect which the news of his being alive in the snow had produced the young colonists. upon his mother, was careful to save her the shock. accordingly, instead of riding direct to the house, he made a detour and rode across the farm until he met bill harrison. the man was delighted at the sight of his young master, and could hardly believe his eyes, as he saw him riding towards him. after the first warm greeting was over, dick learned that his mother had been seriously ill, and was now recovering, and that his father had been much shaken. dick told harrison to go to the house, and, under the excuse of some question about his work, to call mr. humphreys out, and to tell him of his return, leaving it to him to break the news to his wife. this mr. humphreys, after recovering from his own emotion at the joyful intelligence, did so gradually and quietly, that the tale produced no injurious effect upon the mother. he began by saying that he had heard that a rumour was afloat that some of those that were supposed to have been killed at isandula had been kept captives by the zulus. mrs. humphreys for a time doubted the news, but, upon her husband's assurance that the intelligence was well founded, a faint feeling of hope began to spring up; then gradually, step by step, he told her that it was reported that these captives consisted chiefly of non-combatants, men who had taken refuge among the rocks and bushes when the fight was seen to be go- ing against the troops. this still further raised mrs. humphreys' hopes; for, from the presence of mind and the young colonists. panied the column, there was of course no difficulty in proving the loss, and both mr. jackson and myself received orders on the public treasury for their value last week. you see more transports were required, and there was such a panic after isandula, that if govern- ment had not promptly paid for their losses there, they would have got no more waggons from farmers for their work. we have already four more building for us at newcastle." "i suppose there was a great fright in the colony after the defeat?" "terrible!" mr. humphreys answered. "everyone imagined that the zulus would at once cross the fron- tier, and carry fire and sword throughout the colony. the rest of the th regiment instantly went forward to colonel glyn's column, and this restored it to some- thing like its strength before the fight. the rivers were high, which may have accounted partly for the zulus not taking the offensive. probably too the great loss which they themselves must have suffered had some effect; while they might not have liked to have advanced in force across the frontier, being, as they were, threatened on the one side by the column of colonel wood at kambula, and on the other by that of colonel pearson at ekowe." "i have not heard about that column, father. what are they doing?" "i will tell you about it this evening, dick, as it is rather a long story." after the jacksons had driven off in the evening, io the young colonists. dick again asked his father about the doings of colonel pearson's column. "well, my boy, they have neither suffered a great defeat, like that under lord chelmsford, nor obtained a decisive victory, like the column of colonel wood; they have beaten the enemy in a fight, and are at present besieged in a place called ekowe, or, as it is sometimes spelt, etckowi. the column consisted of eight companies of the rd buffs under colonel parnell; six companies of the th, under colonel welman; one company of royal engineers and two -pounder guns; they had, besides a naval brigade consisting of blue-jackets and marines of her majesty's ships active and tenedos, with three gatling-guns, mounted infantry; colonial mounted riflemen also formed part of the-column, with about men of the native contingent. they had great difficulty in crossing the tugela, which was nearly yards wide. but, thanks to the exertions of the sailors, a flying bridge was constructed—that is, a boat with ropes attached to both shores, so that it can be pulled back- wards and forwards, or, as is sometimes done, taken backwards and forwards by the force of the stream itself. "it was the th before the crossing was effected. the enemy were in considerable force near the river. a small earthwork, called fort tenedos, was thrown up on the zulu bank of the river. on the th the leading division started on its march into the enemy's country, followed the next day by the second division, a small detachment being left to garrison the fort. the young colonists. every precaution was taken in the advance, and the cavalry scouted the country in front of the column. at the end of the first day's march the inyoni, a small stream ten miles north of the tugela, was reached. "the second day they encamped on the umsin- dusi. the third day's march brought the column to the amatikulu; beyond this the country became covered with bush, and great care was then taken, as it was known that a large force was marching from ulundi to oppose their farther advance. early on the morning of the nd, the day which proved so fatal to colonel glyn's column, the first division had just crossed the inyezane river and was halted for breakfast, when they were attacked by a large force of the enemy, who, having chosen this position, were lying in wait for them. the ground chosen for the halt was not a favourable one, as it was surrounded by bush. but as no other place could be found by major barrow, who commanded the horse, near water, the halt had been made here. scarcely had they begun theirpreparations for breakfast,when captain hart, who was out scouting in front with the advance company of the native contingent, discovered the enemy advanc- ing rapidly over the ridge in his front and attempting to gain the bush on both flanks of the halting-place. the zulus at once opened a heavy fire upon the native contingent, and of these one officer and four non-commissioned officers and three men fell almost immediately. io the young colonists. "the native contingent was called in, and the naval brigade and two guns, under lieutenant lloyd, and two companies of the buffs were ordered to take up a position upon a knoll close to the road, on which they were halted. the sailors at once opened fire on the enemy with two -pounders and two -pounder rocket-tubes, while the buffs poured a heavy fire with their rifles upon them. the waggons were still com- ing up, and these were parked as they reached the ground; and two companies of the buffs, who were guarding them on the march, being now free to act, were ordered to move out in skirmishing order, and draw the enemy out of the bush, when, as they retired, they were exposed to the fire from the knoll. "the engineers and mounted troops moved forward, with the infantry skirmishers, supported by a half- company of the buffs and a half-company of the th. the enemy tried to outflank their left, and captain campbell with a portion of the naval brigade and some of the native contingent went out and drove them from a kraal of which they had taken possession. a still farther advance was now made, and the zulus took to flight, leaving dead upon the ground. the attacking party were strong, and against these some or of our troops were engaged. we had only eight europeans killed and four natives, and about twenty wounded. the next day colonel pearson reached ekowe. the position was a strong one, as theplace stood upon rising ground; it had been a missionary station, and there was a the young colonists. c church which could at the worst be converted into a citadel. "colonel pearson at once set to work to fortify the position. the same evening the news arrived of the disaster at isandula. after a consultation with his officers colonel pearson decided to hold the spot at which he now was, convinced that, without further supplies of reinforcements, he could hold the place for two months. in order to economize food, the mounted men and most of the natives were sent back, and there remained british troops. "colonel pearson at once commenced his pre- parations for a siege. three moderate-sized brick erections were turned into store-houses, and the church into a hospital, the tower making a capital look-out; from this a splendid view was obtained, the hill by the tugela being clearly visible. the men set to work to fortify the place. the intrenchments were of a six-sided form, about sixty yards across, with a ditch outside them eighteen feet deep and twelve feet wide. assegais were planted in the bottom. added to the south side was a kraal for cattle and horses, also defended by a small wall, outside the fort were entanglements of rows of felled trees and bushes. the supply of water was obtained from a good well, outside the walls, but covered by the fire of the fort. the guns were placed in position, and the garrison was ready for any attack that might be made upon them. all these details we learned in the early days of the siege by occasional messen- no the young colonists. gers, who managed to find their way through, but these had been few and far between; of twelve messen- gers sent out the first week of february, only one got through. the garrison had made several sorties, and had destroyed dabulamanzi's kraal. they also went out and cut off a large convoy of cattle on its way to ulundi." "but how have they found out what is being done at ekowe, if the first week only one messenger got through out of twelve ?" dick said. "by a very ingenious plan, dick. for three weeks we knew nothing of what was going on, and then it struck an engineer that communication might be established by flashing signals." "what are flashing signals, father?" "well, my boy, as a general rule they are made by showing a light either for a long or short period. thus, one long and one short might be a; one short and one long, b; two short and one long, c; and so on all through the alphabet. the distance was so great that ordinary lights would not have answered, but it struck one of the engineers that with a looking-glass the sunlight might be reflected. you know at what a distance the sun's reflection on a window can be made out. well, it was tried in vain for a whole week by lieutenant haynes, of the royal engineers, but at the end of that time he was delighted at seeing answering flashes from the hill on which ekowe stands. since that time news, has been regularly received every day by this means of what is passing in the fort. the young colonists. "in the meantime preparations were being made for the relief of the garrison. the news of the defeat at isandula was sent home by a swift ship, by which the particulars were telegraphed from st. vincent. the people at home did not lose an hour. the shah, which was on her way home, heard the news at st. helena, and captain bradshaw, who commanded her, at once, on his own responsibility, turned his ship's head south, and steered for durban, bringing with him the garrison of the island. some draughts from the th, th, and th regiments were brought down from the cape; the boadicea also arrived, and every man who could be spared from her and the shah was landed and sent up to the tugela. "in the second week in march the th and st regiments arrived from england. one hundred and sixty men were brought over from the garrison of mauritius, and a few days later the rd battalion of the th regiment also arrived. these assembled on the tugela on the th, and that day set out. the van- guard was composed of the seamen and marines of the shah and tenedos— men and two gatlings, the st regiment of men, men of the th, men of the rd buffs, mounted infantry, of the mounted native contingent, and men of the native infantry contingent. the second division consisted of men of the boadicea with gatlings, the th regiment, and the rd battalion of the th, men, and two troops of mounted natives. that is all i can tell you, my boy. the news only arrived i i the young colonists. here yesterday that they had started. in the course of three or four more days i hope that we shall hear that they have given the zulus a thorough licking. it is a strong force, and as there are about white troops among them, and there is no fear of their being taken by surprise this time, we need not have any anxiety about the result. i understand that, in accordance with the advice which colonel pearson has flashed from ekowe, they are not going to follow the road he took, but to keep along on the lower ground near the sea." "and do you think, father, that they will push on for ulundi when they have rescued the garrison of ekowe?" "no, dick; i think they are quite strong enough to do so, but as there are at least half a dozen more regiments on their way out from england, including some regiments of cavalry, it will be more prudent to stop until our whole fighting force is here, when we ought to be enabled to make short work of them, and to do the work completely and effectually. and now, dick, i am thoroughly sleepy—the sooner we are in bed the better." ii the young colonists. -v in splendid order with a sort of dancing step. their white and coloured shields, their crests of leopard skins and feathers, and the long ox-tails dangling from their necks gave them a wild and strange appearance. every ten or fifteen yards the first line would halt, a shot would be fired, then a loud yell burst forth, and they again advanced with a humming sound, in time to which their dancing movement was kept up. the oth, who lay opposite to the point against which they advanced, withheld their fire until the first line of skirmishers came to within yards. then a deadly sheet of flame flashed along the ridge of the shelter-trench, and a number of the zulu warriors fell. the main body now rushed forward, and although a tremendous fusilade was kept up on them, the zulu advance pressed on, ever fed by those in the rear, which deployed in excellent order as they reinforced the first line. for twenty minutes the fire of the th never ceased. again and again the zulus pressed forward, but their leading ranks were swept away by the storm of bullets. at half-past six the zulu masses, without the smallest confusion, faced to their right, ran round in columns, and fell upon the face of the laager held by the th and st. here they were as hotly received as they had been by the th. notwith- standing the deadly fire, the zulus pressed forward with noble courage. they had ceased to shout now, and seemed only anxious to reach the square. four the young colonists. " times they rushed forward; each time they fell back with terrible loss. the fire of the soldiers was assisted by that of the native contingent, who, posted in the waggons behind, added their fire to that of the st and th. the last attack was led by dabulamanzi in per- son, and arrived within five yards of the muzzles of the men's rifles; indeed one or two of the chiefs actually seized the hot barrels with one hand, while they stabbed at the men with their shortened assegais. this was their final repulse, and they now began to fall back. the moment that they did so, the cavalry dashed out in pursuit, and chased them far across the plain. the gatlings and -pounders added in no slight degree to the effect of the rifles. the entire english loss was but two officers and four privates killed, and three officers and thirty-four privates wounded ; while the zulu loss exceeded . the force under dabulamanzi was about , , and a similar force was close at hand, but fortunately had not joined that of dabulamanzi before he attacked the british. on the following day the th, th, and st, together with the mounted men and several of the mounted brigade, taking with them three days' provi- sions, marched for ekowe. major barrow scouted the ground, and reported that everywhere assegais, shields, feathers, ear and head ornaments, skins, furs, blankets, and even guns were lying about in confusion, the young colonists. evidently cast away in their headlong flight by the zulus, but that none of these had been seen. the column, however, advanced with every precau- tion, as it was possible that dabulamanzi might pro- cure reinforcements. no enemy, however, was met with, and the column continued its march until they were met by colonel pearson with men, coming out to lend a hand to them in case they should be attacked. the united column then marched into ekowe. the health of the garrison had suffered much from exposure to the sun and rain, and from the want of vegetables and useful medicine. beef they had plenty of, as it was considered advisable to kill and consume the waggon-oxen rather than see them die from want of forage. the great event of the siege had been the discovery of certain strange flashes of light on the white walls of the church-tower; these, after puzzling many of the officers and soldiers, were at length brought under the notice of an officer of the naval brigade, who had been trained in the use of the heliograph, and he was able at once to explain the mystery. they were three days before they could contrive an apparatus, which could be worked, to reply. fortunately an old mirror was found, and communication was opened. the effect of their renewed intercourse with the outer world, and of learning the preparations which were being made for their relief, acted more beneficially on the health of the imprisoned garrison than all the tonics the hospital could afford. nevertheless between the young colonists. the commencement of the siege and the arrival of the relief thirty deaths had occurred. to the great regret of the garrison they found that it had been determined by the general to abandon the fort which they had held so long, as the whole force was required in natal for operations in the field in conjunction with the reinforcements on their way out. before leaving, however, it was determined to strike another blow at dabulamanzi, whose private residence had escaped at the time that his kraal was burnt. a small party of about men there- fore went out and fired the place without resistance. ekowe was evacuated, and, having left a garrison at ginghilovo, lord chelmsford retired with his force across the tugela. every day for the next fortnight news reached newcastle of the arrival of one or more transports with reinforcements, and in a month from the date of the arrival of the first from england, seventeen transports came in, bringing more than soldiers and horses. the force consisted of two regi- ments of cavalry, sabres, two batteries of artil- lery with men, men of the royal engineers, six regiments of infantry, bayonets, draughts of the regiments already in the colony and army service corps' men, . most of the regiments brought their equipments complete and ready for the field—tents, waterproof-sheets, cooking utensils, and camp stores. the army service corps brought with them light but strongly-built waggons. the young colonists. having thus decided, mr. humphreys and his friend succeeded in obtaining their wives' consent to the boys accompanying the waggons, and in high glee they started for durban on the th of april. the campaign was arranged on a new plan. the numerous columns in which the strength of the force had been frittered away were abolished, and the following was adopted as the designation of the forces in the field, under the lieutenant-general commanding, viz.:— st division south african field-forces, major- general crealock, c.b., commanding, consisting of all troops on the left bank of the lower tugela; nd division south african field-forces, major-general newdigate commanding, consisting of all troops in the utrecht district other than those attached to the flying column under brigadier-general wood, v.c., c.b., which was designated as "brigadier-general wood's flying column." major-general marshall assumed command of the cavalry brigade, and major- general the hon. h. h. clifford, c.b., v.c., took up the command of the base of operations and superintendence of the lines of communication. the forces were divided as follows :— first division (general crealock's), lower tugela command. naval brigade m. battery, th brigade, royal artillery detachment, - th royal artillery. . rd regiment the young colonists. th regiment - oth , th „ st „ th „ mounted infantry, nd squadron . army service corps .... army hospital corps . . royal engineers . . . . - th royal artillery ... - th „ .... so lonsdale's horse .... cooke's horse colonial volunteers .... native contingent:— foot mounted total strength, effective and non- effective second division (general newdigate's.) st dragoon-guards \ attached to . th lancers j nd division . n- th royal artillery ... n- th „ .... io- th „ .... io- th „ .... royal engineers .... - th regiment detachment, i-i th regiment . . - st (two companies at maritzburg) the young colonists. i- th regiment .... - th „ th (one company at durban). th (several companies in the trans- th (one company at grey town) . army service corps .... army hospital corps grey town district colonial volun- natal mounted police natal carabineers . newcastle mounted rifles buffalo mounted guard native contingent:— i natives (mounted). total strength, effective and non- , general wood's flying column. - th royal artillery royal engineers , - r.l regiment . th „ . st squadron, mounted infantry army service corps . army hospital corps frontier, light horse the young colonists. baker's horse transvaal rangers .... st battalion, wood's irregulars:— europeans . . . . . natives nd battalion, wood's irregulars :— europeans natives natal native horse :— europeans natives total strength, effective and non- effective grand total. st division ; nd „ , general wood's flying column . total, effective and non-effective : namely, europeans, , , and natives, , out of this grand total there were about sick and non-effective with the lit division, with the nd division, and (including some of wood's irregulars, absent and not accounted for since the th of march) with wood's flying column. so that altogether, deducting, say, , lord chelmsford had at his disposal, from the middle of april, a total of , troops, of which over , were european. colonels pearson and wood were made brigadier- generals, and the former was to command no. i the young colonists. brigade, st division, and colonel pemberton, - oth, the other. they both, however, had to give up their commands through sickness, and colonels rowland, v.c., c.b., and clark, th regiment, succeeded them. major-general clifford, v.c., c.b., had the following staff for the management of the base of the opera- tions and the maintenance of the lines of communi- cation between zululand and natal:— lieutenant westmacott, th foot, aide-de-camp; major w. j. butler, c.b., assistant-adjutant and quar- termaster-general, stationed at durban; and captain w. r. fox, royal artillery, deputy assistant-adjutant and quartermaster-general. on the arrival of the boys with the waggons at pieter-maritzburg, they reported themselves at the headquarters of the transport corps, and were told that they were not to go down to durban, but were to load up at once and accompany the dragoon-guards, who were to march the next morning for the front. this time the lads were mounted, as their fathers thought that they would gain more benefit from their experience if they were able to move about instead of being confined to the sides of their waggons, and it was a satisfaction to their mothers that, in case of any untoward event again happening, they would be in a better position for making their escape. general newdigate's columns were encamped at landmann's drift; the cavalry, under general marshall, was also there. the march was altogether without incident. some days passed quietly, when a small party of the young colonists. horse made an expedition to isandula ; they reported that nearly a hundred waggons were still standing upon the field of battle. on the th of may, three days later, the rumour ran through the camp that the cavalry were to start on the th, to bury the dead and bring away the waggons. the army service corps and waggons were to accompany the party, which was to consist of the dragoon-guards and lancers, with a party of native mounted scouts. in the afternoon of the th the two boys went to colonel marshall's tent; they waited patiently until he came out, accompanied by two or three other officers. "we have come to ask, sir, if you will allow us to go with your column. we are in charge of waggons here, but they are not going. we were at the battle, and saw the whole thing, and were taken prisoners afterwards and carried to umbelleni's kraal, where we were liberated when colonel wood's cavalry attacked the zlobani hill. we are well mounted, sir, and are good shots; so, if you will let us go, we could keep with the scouts and not be in your way." "how did you see the fight?" general marshall asked. "we had gone up to the top of the hill, sir, before it began, and fortunately the natives did not notice us." "oh, yes, you can go," the general said. "pro- bably you can give us a better account of the action than any one else, as others who escaped were occupied the young colonists. by their own business, and could not mark the general progress of the battle. so you were taken prisoners! well, i am going out now, but if you will call in this evening at about half-past eight, i shall be glad to have a talk with you." in the evening the boys called upon the general, one of the most popular and dashing officers in the service. three or four of his staff were there, and all listened with great interest to the boys' account of their adventures. "you seem to have plenty of pluck and coolness, youngsters," the general said, when they had finished. "in future you need not trouble to ask for permission to accompany me whenever the cavalry go out, provid- ing we have natives mounted with us ; you must go as recruits, and can either keep with them or ride with my orderlies." much pleased with the permission given, the lads returned to the waggons, and the next morning they started on their way. the column bivouacked that night at dill's town, and reached rorke's drift between three and four o'clock in the morning, and were there joined by the natal carabineers and colonel harness, r.a., with guns. at daybreak on the th the reconnoitring force crossed the river. no signs of the enemy were seen until they neared isandula; then signal-fires blazed up on the hills to the right, and spread quickly from hill to hill far into the interior. pushing steadily on, the plain of isandula was reached by ten the young colonists. o'clock. the whole scene of the conflict was overgrown with long grass, thickly intermixed with growing crops of oats and indian corn. lying thickly here, and scat- tered over a wide area, lay the corpses of the soldiers, the site of the camp itself was marked by the remains of the tents, intermingled with a mass of broken trunks, boxes, meat-tins, papers, books, and letters in wild disorder. the sole visible objects, however, rising above the grass, were the waggons, all more or less broken up. the scouts were placed in all directions to give warning of the approach of any enemies. the army service corps set to work to harness the seventy pairs of led horses they had brought with them to the best of the waggons, and the troops wandered over the scene of the engagement, and searched for and buried all the bodies they found, with the exception of those of the th regi- ment, as these, colonel glyn had asked, should be left to be buried by their comrades. the bodies of the officers of colonel durnford's corps were all found together, showing that when all hope of escape was gone they had formed in a group and defended them- selves to the last. the men of the royal artillery buried all the bodies of their slain comrades who could be found, but the shortness of the time and the extent of the ground over which the fight had extended rendered anything like a thorough search impossible. the object of the expedition was not to fight, and as at any moment the zulus might appear in force the young colonists. upon the field, a start was made as soon as the waggons were ready. forty of the best waggons were brought out, with some water-carts, a gun- limber and a rocket-battery cart. twenty waggons in a disabled condition were left behind. some seventy waggons were missing, these having been carried off by the zulus, filled either with stores or with their own wounded. having accomplished this work the cavalry rejoined headquarters at land- mann's drift. on the th of may the column advanced, new- digate's division leading the way. by two o'clock in the afternoon the men had crossed the buffalo and marched to kopje-allein through a bare and tree- less country. one of the most popular figures in the camp was the prince imperial of france, who, having received a military education at woolwich, and being anxious to see service, had applied for and obtained leave to accompany the expedition. the young prince had been extremely popular at woolwich, and was indeed an immense favourite with all who knew him —high-spirited and full of life, and yet singularly gentle and courteous in manner. he was by nature adapted to win the hearts of all who came in contact with him. his abilities too were of the very highest order, as was proved by the fact that, although suf- fering under the disadvantage of being a foreigner, he yet came out so high in the final examination at woolwich as to be entitled to a commission in the royal engineers. when it is considered how keen the young colonists. is the competition to enter woolwich, and that all the students there, having won their places by com- petitive examinations, may be said to be considerably above the average of ability, it will be seen that, for one who had previously gone through an entirely . different course of education, and had now to study in a language that was not his own, to take rank among the foremost of these was a proof both of exceptional ability and industry. a splendid career was open for the young prince, for there is little doubt that, had he lived, he would sooner or later have mounted the throne of his father, and there are few pages of history more sad than those which relate to his death in a paltry skirmish in a corner of africa. to englishmen the page is all the more sad, inasmuch as, had the men accompanying him acted with the coolness and calmness generally shown by englishmen in a moment of danger, instead of being carried away by a cowardly panic, the prince imperial might yet be alive. at kopje-allein newdigate's column was joined by that of general wood. three days were spent in carefully exploring the country, and on the st of june the division, as nearly as possible , strong, with a baggage-train of native waggons, moved forward and encamped near the itelezi river. the flying column of general wood went on one march ahead, and the country was carefully scouted by buller's horse for twenty miles round, and no zulus were found. the young colonists. chapter ix. ulundi. on sunday, the st of june, general wood with a small escort was out reconnoitring in advance of his column, which was about five miles in front of the force of general newdigate. the morning was clear and fresh, the ridges of the hills on either side were dotted with buller's horsemen. they crossed the river by a ford, and having ridden about another mile forward they observed some of the vedettes on the high ground signalling that horsemen were ap- proaching. riding on to see who they could be, they were joined by colonel buller and a dozen of his men, and together they rode forward to meet the five men who were seen approaching. in a few seconds lieutenant carey and four troopers of bettington's horse rode up, and when they had told their story english soldiers had the shame and humiliation of knowing that an english officer and four english troopers had escaped unwounded from a zulu ambush, in which they had left a gallant young prince, the guest of england and the hope of france, to be barbarously slain. early in the morning the prince had learnt that a k the young colonists. without any search being made they sat down to make coffee, although it was clear, from the burnt embers, bones, and other debris, that the place had been but recently occupied. the zulu was the first to see the enemy in the long grass, and the horses were at once saddled. the escort stood ready by them, and just as the prince gave the word, " prepare to mount," the zulus' war-cry burst out, and some guns were fired from the grass. the horses started at the outburst, and some broke away. never were a body of troops in an enemy's country so unprepared for the attack. not a carbine was loaded! not a sentry placed! each of the troopers, including the officer, was seized with a wild panic, and thought only of flight,—one indeed had fallen at the first shot. the prince's horse was ill- tempered and badly broken, and, frightened by the firing and yells, he was so restive that the prince was unable to mount. had one of those men stood for an instant at'his head the prince might have gained his saddle, but all had galloped away, leaving him alone. running by his horse, he in vain endeavoured to mount; he had not had time to tighten the girth, the saddle slipped round, and the horse galloped away. unfortunately the prince's revolvers were in the holsters, so he was unarmed, save with his sword, and with this he stood bravely at bay, and died nobly facing his foes, who pierced him with assegais at a distance. according to zulu accounts afterwards obtained, k the young colonists. there were but five or six men engaged in the attack, and had the englishmen accompanying the prince, nay even had one of them, possessed but the smallest amount of presence of mind and courage, the prince imperial might have been saved. there is no blacker page in the annals of english- military history. the feeling of indignation, shame, and regret in the english camp, when this shameful episode was known, was indescribable. of all the party the friendly zulu was the only one who came out with honour; he had gone towards the river to fetch water when he discovered the enemy, and might have instantly taken flight. he returned, however, and gave warning that the zulus were lurking round. even then it does not appear that he attempted to fly, but fought the foe until overcome by numbers. his body was afterwards discovered not far from that of the prince, riddled with wounds, together with a number of his own assegais broken, but stained with the blood of his assailants. the next morning the cavalry rode out to find and bring in the prince's body. when it was discovered, it was tenderly brought into camp. it was afterwards taken over to england, and laid by the remains of his father atchislehurst. a court-martial was held on lieu- tenant carey. the sentence was kept secret, but it was generally understood that he was dismissed from the service with ignominy. he was sent home under arrest, but on his arrival there the proceedings of the court-martial were declared null and void on account of the young colonists. some technical irregularity, and he was ordered to resume his duties. it was reported that this extra- ordinary leniency was shown by the special desire of the empress, who made a personal request to the queen that nothing should be done in the matter. early in june some messengers arrived in lord chelmsford's camp from cetewayo. lord chelmsford told them that before any negotiations could be entered into, the whole of the spoil taken at isandula, especially the two captured -pounder guns, must be restored. considerable delays now took place, and for three weeks a force of englishmen sufficient to march through and through zululand in every direction was kept doing nothing at a distance of three days' march from the enemy's capital. so extraordinary and un- accountable was the delay that the english govern- ment appointed sir garnet wolseley to go out to supersede lord chelmsford. upon the receipt of this news preparations for an advance were at last made. on the st general newdigate's column reached the right bank of the umlatoosi. general crealock, who commanded the division which was operating by the sea, also moved forward about this time, but met with such difficulties, owing to the sickness which attacked his transport-train, that he was unable to co-operate with the first division, although his force did service by occupying a large number of the enemy, who would otherwise have been free to act against the main column. * the young colonists. between the th and th general newdigate's and wood's columns advanced but six miles. but buller with his horse scouted ahead, and cut up a number of zulus who were engaged in burning the grass, to hinder the advance of the horses and cattle. on the th colonel drury-lowe, with the light cavalry, of buller's men and two guns, went out and attacked and burnt five large military kraals. on the th the column advanced five miles towards ulundi, leaving their tents behind them, and taking only ammunition-waggons and ten days' rations; infantry were left to guard the stores. on the afternoon of that day some messengers came in from cetewayo, bringing of the cattle captured at isandula, together with a pair of elephant's tusks, and a letter written in english by a trader captured at isandula. the letter said that the king could not comply with all lord chelmsford's commands, as the arms taken from us at isandula were not brought to him, and that it was beyond his power as a king to order or compel any of his regiments to lay down their arms. he said the cannons should be sent in, and on the receipt of the cattle and these weapons the english must retire from zululand. the trader had written in a corner of the letter, in pencil, a few words of warning, and an intimation that cete- wayo had with him at ulundi a picked force of , men. lord chelmsford refused to receive the tusks, and told the messengers to inform cetewayo, that before he should think of retiring, all the conditions must be the young colonists. complied with, and the zulu regiments lay down their arms. late in the evening several large bodies of the enemy, amounting to some thousands, were noticed moving from the direction of ulundi, passing by their left flank. the next morning general wood moved forward as far as the left bank of the white umvolosi, and new- digate's column followed in the afternoon. wood's division bivouacked on the farther side of the river, newdigate's halted on the right. the most vigilant watch was kept, with pickets in every direction, and patrols of cavalry beyond these. at daybreak on the th the main body crossed the river, and joined wood on the left bank. they were now but fifteen miles from ulundi, and the king's five kraals were visible to the naked eye. three days were given to cetewayo to comply with the conditions, but the original terms were altered so far, that lord chelmsford consented to receive captured rifles instead of insisting upon the regiments laying down their arms. while waiting, the army remained on the umvolosi, having retired to the right side, pending the decision of peace or war. during these three days the zulus had made many hostile demonstrations against us. on the first and second they kept up a scattered fire at distant ranges at our men, and on the third, growing bolder, pushed their skirmishers down to the rocks on the opposite side of the river, and fired upon the men, as they were watering their horses in the stream. one horse was killed and several men wounded. the young colonists. buller therefore asked and obtained permission to make a raid on the other side. a couple of guns were brought into requisition to defend his crossing, and two or three rounds of shrapnel sent a crowd of zulus, who had approached the opposite heights, straggling in all directions. buller's horse, the mounted infantry, and baker's horse dashed over the river at once. at full speed they raced across the country; baker's men, guided by their leader, inclined to the left front, by buller's orders, to carry and hold a hillock which commanded the ford. colonel raaf, with a portion of buller's horse, was halted near the kraal of unodwingo to act as a reserve, and buller, with of his best mounted men, pushed on with the intention of exploring the ground as far as possible towards ulundi. he knew that the bulk of the king's army was awayupon lord chelmsford's right flank, and thought therefore that he might push on to ulundi without opposition. the country consisted of a plain, across which ran some stony undulations, and at one point were two hollows, united at a right angle. the zulu general disposed his men in shelter, and as buller with his little band of horsemen rode up they rose and poured a very heavy fire into the ranks of the horsemen. sudden and unexpected as was this attack, buller's men were too well used to native fighting to evince the slightest confusion. in the most perfect order they began to fall back in alternate ranks, keeping up a steady fire upon the enemy, who were eagerly advancing. raaf and his men rode up to the the young colonists. assistance of the hotly-pressed party, and baker's horse, upon their hillock, opened a steady fire upon the zulus. gradually and steadily the cavalry fell back towards the river, the two guns on the opposite bank aiding them by their fire of grape and shrapnel upon the zulus, who pressed forward with extreme bravery. many gallant deeds were done. lord william beresford, who had accompanied the party as a vo- lunteer, distinguished himself by his bravery and cool- ness. seeing upon the ground a dismounted and wounded trooper, surrounded by a dozen zulus, he wheeled his horse and dashed down among them, knocking over three with the rush of his horse, and cutting down two with right and left strokes of his sabre; in another moment he had the wounded man on his horse behind him, and carried him off in safety. commander d'arcy, also seeing a wounded man on the ground, tried to carry him off, but his horse, being restive, reared and fell back upon him, so that the unfortunate trooper was overtaken and assegaied; while d'arcy, who was severely bruised by falling on his revolver, was able to get back safely, but was unable to take part in the next day's fight. a little before daybreak wood with his flying column crossed the river, followed by the main army. the whole of the baggage was left in charge of the th, and nothing was taken, save the ammunition and water-carts, each man carrying four days' supply of biscuits and preserved meat in the young colonists. his havresack. the crossing of the river was made without any opposition, but the movements of the troops were watched by a party of zulus from a hillock on the left. as soon as favourable ground had been reached, wood was signalled to halt and wait for the main body, and when the junction was effected the order was given to form a large hollow square. inside this square were two companies of engineers, together with the ammu- nition-carts, water-carts, and ambulance waggons, carts with intrenching tools, stretchers and bearers, together with two gatling-guns in a reserve. the front face of the square was formed by the oth regiment, with two gatling-guns in their centre and two -pounders on their right. the right face of the square was formed of seven companies of the th regiment. next to these came two -pounder and one -pounder guns; four companies of the th completed the line on this side. the rear face was composed of two companies of the st, and three companies of the th, with a -pounder gun. on the left or west flank were three companies of the th, two -pounder guns, eight companies of the th, and two -pounders. buller's cavalry were away, scouring the country on the flanks. colonel drury- lowe, with two squadrons of the th lancers and captain shepstone's basutos, formed the rear-guard. the square moved forward for a few miles, when they began to near the smaller kraals. towards the left front the zulu columns could now be seen across the plain, with the sun glancing down upon their long lines the young colonists. of white shields. upon reaching the first kraal the square was halted while it was fired. the next kraal was a very large one, called unodwingo. this was also fired; but, as it was found that the smoke drifted across the plain so as to act as a screen to the zulus, lord chelmsford ordered its extinction. strong columns of the enemy could now be seen moving out in good order from ulundi, and the square halted on some slightly- rising ground. the zulus soon opened a dropping fire on the right front, and from a strong force operating on some broken ground near unodwingo on the left. by nine o'clock the zulu attack was fairly developed. buller's men then made a strong demonstration on the left, driving the zulus from the hollow where they were sheltered back to the unodwingo kraal. this move- ment was well supported by shepstone and the basutos. the zulus now brought up a strong reinforcement from the right, so as to assist those engaged with the cavalry. buller's men fought in the dutch fashion, in two ranks ; the first mounted and ready to dash in a moment upon any weak point in the enemy's line, the second on foot, using their saddles as a rest for their rifles. as soon as the front rank became too hardly pressed, they cantered to the rear and dismounted and opened fire, while the second rank mounted in readiness to charge. gradually buller and shepstone fell back, the zulu column pressing upon them until well within reach of the gatlings and martinis. the cavalry then took refuge in the square, and over the ridges the young colonists. of the front and left the zulu column with loud shouts swept down upon the square. the british infantry now opened fire. gatlings and rifles poured in their deadly hail of fire, while the guns swept the zulu ranks with shrapnel and grape. terrible as the fire was, the zulus pressed bravely forward, filling up the gaps made in their ranks, their wild war-cry rising even above the roll of the rifle-fire. the fiercest attack came from the unodwingo kraal. forming under cover of the kraal, a large body, led by a chief on a white horse, and formed in a hollow square, dashed at the right rear angle of the british formation. tremen- dous as the fire was, they pressed forward until it seemed as if they would come to close quarters with the column ; but, brave as the zulus were, it was impossible to withstand the fire which the st, th, th, and royal engineers poured into them. the square was broken up, and after a moment's pause the zulus turned and sought shelter from the leaden hail. while the fight was raging here, another zulu column had attacked the front; but here the assault was speedily repulsed, the cool and steady fire of the th having so deadly an effect that the zulus never attempted to make a rush upon them. it was now a quarter to ten—but a quarter of an hour from the firing of the first shot, but the combat was virtually at an end. the zulus, astounded at the storm of fire by which they had been received, were everywhere wavering; lord chelmsford gave the order, and the two squadrons of lancers burst from the square, the flying zulus were cut down in scores. the young colonists. greeted with a loud cheer from the infantry, and with their pennons fluttering in the breeze, and their long lances in rest they dashed upon the flying zulus, and drove them headlong into a little ravine. but flanking this, and hidden by the long grass, half a zulu regiment had been posted to cover the retreat, and as the squadrons of lancers came on a volley was poured in, which emptied several saddles and killed lieutenant wyatt-edgell, who was leading his men. in another moment the line of lancers dashed down upon the zulu ranks, and before the level line of lances the enemy went down like grass. shattered and broken in an instant, the zulus fought in stubborn knots, stabbing at the horses, throwing themselves on the men, and trying to dismount them. in a melie like this the lance was useless, and the troopers drew their swords and fought hand to hand with the foe; and now a troop of the king's dragoon- guards and buller's horse took up the charge, and the flying zulus were cut down in scores before they could gain the crest of the hill. the zulus here fought with far less determination than they had ex- hibited at kambula. there for four hours they had striven in vain to carry general wood's strongly- intrenched position; here they made one great effort, and then all was over. their force was estimated at , , and of these they lost only about , of whom at least one-third were killed in the retreat. the battle over, the remaining kraals were burnt. most unfortunately, the day after the battle of the young colonists. war; a great portion of the troops were sent home; the zulu chiefs came in and surrendered with their followers, almost to a man. cetewayo succeeded in concealing himself for some time, but after a long chase he was captured by major marter and lord gifford, and was sent a prisoner to the cape. the young colonists. roads have proved heavier than i had expected, and i have done a very long day's journey." mr. humphreys at once invited the speaker to enter. mr. harvey was a trader, one of those who are in the habit of taking long expeditions far into the interior, with his waggons laden with cotton, beads, tower-muskets, powder, lead, and toys prized by the natives, returning laden with ivory, ostrich feathers, and skins. he was now about to start upon such a journey, having stocked his waggons at durban. after supper was over, the trader told many stories of his adventures among the natives, and the profits which were gained by such journeys. "generally," he said, " i go with six waggons, but i was very unlucky last time; the tzetze-fly attacked my animals, most of which died, and the natives took advantage of my position to make an attack upon me. i beat them off, but was finally obliged to pack all my most valuable goods in one waggon, to make my way back with it, and abandon everything else to the natives. now, humphreys, why don't you join me? you have got a waggon, and you can buy stores at newcastle, not of course as cheap as at the seaside, but still cheap enough to leave a large marginal profit on the trip." "i cannot leave the farm," mr. humphreys said. "nor can his wife spare him, mr. harvey," mrs. humphreys put in. "well, why don't you send your son, here, with the l the young colonists. waggon ?" mr. harvey asked. "the man who gene- rally travels with me as partner broke his leg the other day, down at durban, and i should be very glad of one or two white companions. two or three white men together can do anything with the natives, but if there is only one, and he happens to knock up, it goes very hard with him." "well, i don't know," mr. humphreys said, as dick looked eagerly towards him; "it is a sort of thing that wants thinking over." "oh ! father," dick exclaimed excitedly, "it would be a glorious trip, especially if tom jackson would go too. i heard mr. jackson only yesterday say that his draught-oxen are eating their heads off, and that he must put them on the road to do some freighting. you see, if mr. jackson did not care about going in for the trading himself—and i know, from what he said the other day, that his money is all employed on the farm —you might hire his waggon for the trip. in fact that and your own—" "that sounds easy and satisfactory enough, dick," mr. humphreys said, laughing; "but one does not jump into these things in a moment. there, you go off to bed, and i will talk the matter further over with mr. harvey." dick went to bed in high glee. when his father once said that he would talk a thing over, dick felt that the chances were very strong that he would give in to his wishes. mr. humphreys was less influ- enced by the idea of making a good trading specu- the young colonists. time had dressed himself, and, having saddled his horse, was dashing at full speed across the veldt. early as the hour was when he arrived, mr. jackson was already out in his fields. dick soon found him, and handed him the letter, and while he was reading it explained in low, excited words to tom the mission on which he had come. "well, i don't know," mr. jackson said, when he had finished the letter; "your father makes me a very liberal offer, dick, for my waggon and team for six months, on the condition that i allow tom to accom- pany them, and he points out that in his opinion a journey of this kind will be likely to develop the boy's character and teach him many things that may some day be of use to him. it comes upon me suddenly, and it seems he wants the waggon and team to be at newcastle this evening, ready for a start in the morning. he himself is going to ride over there to purchase goods to freight it directly he receives my reply. i must go in and consult with mother before i come to any decided conclusion." so saying he strode off towards the house. dick, leading his pony, walked after, by the side of tom, to whom he explained all he knew of the character of the proposed journey. "mr. harvey says, tom, that of course he goes to trade, but that at the same time he does a lot of shoot- ing, both for the sake of the skins and for the meat for the men. he says that he often meets with lions, hippopotami, and sometimes elephants—sometimes they meet with hostile natives." the young colonists. altogether the expedition promised an immense variety of adventure. the boys remained chatting out- side the house until mr. jackson came to the door and called them in. "so you are not contented to stop at home, dick," mrs. jackson said, "and you want to take tom rambling away with you again? of course i can- not say no, when my husband is inclined to let him go, but i shall be terribly anxious until he is back again." "i wont let him get into any scrapes, mrs. jack- son," dick said confidently. "i have no faith whatever," mrs. jackson said, smiling, "in your keeping him out of scrapes, but i do think it possible that you may get him out of them after he is once in them. do be careful, my boys, for the sakes of your fathers and mothers! i know mr. harvey has been making these journeys for a good many years and has always got back safely, and i have great faith in his experience and knowledge,—but there, dick, i must not keep you. here is my husband with an answer to your father's letter, and as you will have lots to do, and your father will be waiting for this letter before he starts for newcastle, you had better ride off at once. good-bye, my boy, for i shan't see you again before you start. i trust that you will come back safe and well." two minutes later dick was again galloping across the country, arriving home in time for break- fast. mrs. humphreys was in better spirits than dick the young colonists. had feared he should find her; but her health had improved immensely since her arrival in the colony, and she was more active and energetic than dick ever remembered her to have been. she was able therefore to take a far more cheerful view of the pro- posed expedition than she could have done the year before, and her husband had had comparatively little difficulty in obtaining her consent to dick's accom- panying mr. harvey. "your father thinks that it will be for your good, my boy," she said, "and i have no doubt that you will enjoy yourself greatly,—but be sure to be careful, and don't let your high spirits get you into scrapes;—remember how valuable your life is to us!" "while you are away, dick," his father said, " you will remember that you are absolutely under mr. harvey's orders. asthe head of the expedition he stands in the positi on of the master, and he must receive ready and explicit obedience from all. he is not a man unnecessarily to curb or check you, and you may be sure that he will not restrain you unless for the good of the expedition. you must beware how far you stray from the caravan; the country you are going to is very different from this. here, go where you will, you are sure in a short time to come upon some farmhouse, where you may get directions as to your way. there, once lost, it is upon yourself alone you must depend to recover the track. the beasts of prey are formidable opponents, and a lion or an the young colonists. elephant wounded, but not killed, could rend you into pieces in a moment; therefore you must be prudent as well as brave, obedient as well as enterprising. you have already shown that you have plenty of presence of mind, as well as of courage, and in nine cases out of ten the former quality is even the more necessary in a country such as that you are now going to. courage will not avail you when a wounded leopard is charging down upon you, and your rifle is already discharged, but presence of mind may point out some means of escape from the danger. and now, if you have finished breakfast, you had better ride over with me to newcastle—i have a very large number of goods to buy. mr. harvey, who went on the first thing, will meet me there and show me the kind of goods most likely to take with the natives; it will be well that you should not only know the price of each article, but that you should see everything packed, so as to know the contents of each bale by its shape and markings—a matter which may save you much trouble when you begin to trade." the shopping did not take up so long a time as mr. humphreys had anticipated; the large store- keepers all kept precisely the kind of goods required, as they were in the habit of selling to the boers for barter with the natives. in the afternoon the waggon was sent away, and an hour before daybreak next morning dick, having bade farewell to his mother, started with mr. humphreys. the young colonists. dying, a baby of only a few months old. among savage people infants who are in any way deformed are generally deserted and left to perish, and this was the fate evidently intended for the child when the mother became convinced he would not grow up tall and straight, like other men. mr. harvey had picked it up, fed and cared for it, and it grew up full of a passionate attachment for him, following him every- where, and ready at any moment to give his life for him. he was called tony, and spoke english as fluently as the native language. the third of the hunters was a tall, slight figure, a man of about five and thirty, with muscles like whipcord, who could, if it were needed, go for miles without a halt, and tire out the swiftest horse. in addition to these were ten natives, who assisted with the cattle, pitched the tent, cooked and skinned the game, and did other odd jobs. the road was fairly good, and two days after leav- ing newcastle they arrived at standerton, a rising place, inhabited principally by english traders and shopkeepers. here three roads branched: the one led to utrecht on the east; another to pretoria, the capital, to the north-west; while the third, a track much less used than the others, led due north. this was the one followed by the caravan. as they proceeded, the dutch farmhouses became more sparsely sprinkled over the country, and several large native kraals were passed. over the wide plains large herds of deer roamed almost unmolested, the young colonists, and the lads had no difficulty in keeping the caravan well supplied with provisions. one or two of the kaffirs generally accompanied them, to carry in the game; but mr. harvey and the three hunters, accus- tomed to more exciting sport, kept along with the caravan, the former well content that the lads should amuse themselves with furnishing food for the party. at newcastle mr. humphreys had purchased a couple of small pocket-compasses, one for each of the boys, and the possession of these gave them great confidence, as, with their guidance, they were always enabled to strike the trail of the caravan. the road had now altogether ceased, and they were travelling across a bare, undulating country, dotted occasionally by herds and flocks of dutch settlers, and by the herds of wandering deer, but unbroken by a tree of any size, and for the most part covered with tall grass. the deer met with were for the most part antelopes of one or other of three kinds, all of which abound on the higher plains. these are known as the "wilde-beest," the " bless-buck," and the " spring-buck." the venison which these creatures afforded was occasionally varied by the flesh of the "stump-pig," which abounded in considerable numbers, and, as they ran at a great speed, afforded the boys many a good chase. generally the caravan halted for the night—while they were still in a country occupied here and there by the young colonists. such splendid marksmen that, while riding at full speed, they can, with almost absolute certainty, bring down an antelope at a distance of yards. but the abodes of the boers, and their manner of living, impressed the boys far less favourably. how- ever extensive the possessions and numerous the herds of a boer, he lives in the same primitive style as his poorest neighbour. the houses seldom contain more than two, or at most three, rooms. the dress of the farmer, wife, and family is no better than that of labourers; whole families sleep in one room ; books are almost unknown in their houses, and they are ignorant and prejudiced to an extreme degree. upon his horse and his gun the boer will spend money freely, but for all other purposes he is thrifty and close-fisted in the extreme. water is regarded as useful for drinking purposes, but its utility for matters of personal cleanliness is generally altogether ignored. almost all sleep in their clothes, and a shake and a stretch suffice for the morning toilet. the power of a boer over his sons and daughters is most unlimited, and he is the hardest and cruellest of masters to the unfortunate natives whom he keeps in slavery under the title of indentured apprentices, and whose lives he regards as of no more importance than those of his sheep, and as of infinitely less consequence than those of his horses or even of his dogs. to the unhappy natives the taking over of the transvaal by england had been a blessing of the highest kind. the young colonists. for the first time the shooting of them in cold blood had come to be considered a crime, and ordinances had been issued against slavery, which, although generally evaded by the boers, still promised a happy state of things in the future. at the native kraals the travellers were always welcomed when it was known that they were english. the natives looked to queen victoria as a sort of guardian angel, and not a thought entered their heads that they would ere long be cruelly and basely aban- doned to the mercies of the dutch by the govern- ment of england. slowly and without incident the caravan made its way north, and at last encamped upon the banks of the great river limpopo, the northern boundary of the transvaal. this river was too wide and deep to be forded, but at the spot where they had struck it, there was a large native kraal. here mr. harvey, who had many times before followed the same route to this spot, was warmly welcomed, and preparations were made for effecting a crossing. the oxen were first taken across; these were steered by ropes attached to their horns and fastened to a canoe, which paddled ahead of them. the beasts were delighted to enter the water after their long dusty journey, and most of them, after reaching the opposite bank, lay down for a long time in the shallow water at the edge. most of the stores were carried across in canoes. inflated skins were then fastened to the waggons, and these also were towed across the stream the young colonists. by canoes. the passage had commenced at early morning, and by nightfall the whole of the caravan and its contents were safely across the stream. "we are now," mr. harvey said, "in the matabele country; the natives are for the most part friendly, as they know the advantage they derive from the coming of english traders, but there are portions of the tribe altogether hostile to us, and the greatest caution and care have to be exercised in passing through some portions of the country. to the east lies a land said to be very rich in gold, and there can be little doubt that it is so, for we frequently find natives who have traded with that country in posses- sion of gold-dust, but they allow no white men to pass their frontier on any pretext whatever. they have become aware in some way how great is the value of gold in the eyes of europeans, and fear that if the wealth of the country in that metal were but known a vast emigration of europeans would take place, which would assuredly sooner or later end in the driving out or extirpation of the present inhabitants of the land." the news which they had learned at the village where they had crossed, of the state of affairs among the tribes of the north, was not encouraging. the natives said that there had been much fighting. not only had eruptions taken place with tribes still further north, but the matabele had also been quarrelling among themselves. "this is bad news indeed," mr. harvey said ; " these the young colonists. tribal wars make journeying very difficult; for, although none of the tribes may be hostile to euro- peans at ordinary times, they view them with distrust when coming from a tribe with whom they are at war. in peace-time, too, when each section of the tribe is under some sort of control by the head chief, each will hesitate to rob or attack an european caravan, because the whole would consider themselves aggrieved and injured by such a proceeding. in war-time, on the other hand, each thinks,' if we do not rob this rich caravan some one else is sure to do so; we may as well have the plunder as another.' war is injurious to us in other ways; instead of the tribes spending their time in hunting, they remain at home to guard their villages and women, and we shall find but little ivory and few ostrich feathers gathered to trade for our goods. i had not intended to have encumbered myself with a larger following, but i think, after what i have heard, it will be wise to strengthen our party before going further. i will therefore hire twenty men from the village here to accompany us; they will be useful in hunting, and will cost but little ; their wages are nominal, and we shall have no difficulty in providing them with food with our rifles. in one respect they are more useful than men hired from time to time from among the people farther north for the purpose of driving game, for, as you see, many of them carry guns, while beyond the river they arc armed only with bows and arrows." "i am surprised to see so many guns," dick said; o the young colonists. "where could these people have got the money to buy them?" "it is the result of a very bad system," mr. harvey replied. "the cape authorities, in spite of all the repre- sentations which have been made to them, of the ex- treme danger of allowing the natives to possess firearms, allow their importation and sale to them, simply on account of the revenue which they derive from it, as a duty of a pound is charged on each gun imported into the colony. from all parts of south africa the natives, pondos, basutos, zulus, and other kaffirs, go to the diamond-fields and work there for months; when their earnings suffice to enable them to buy a gun, a stock of ammunition, and a blanket, they return to their homes. all these fellows you see carrying guns have served their six or eight months in the diamond-mines; a dozen of them would be a strong reinforcement to our fighting power, in case of an attack." there was no difficulty in engaging the required number of men. each was to be paid on the con- clusion of the journey with a certain quantity of powder and lead, a few yards of cotton, some beads and other cheap trinkets, and was to be fed on the journey. thus reinforced the caravan proceeded on its way. the young colonists. chapter xi. a troop of lions. the country across which the waggons now made their way differed somewhat from that over which they had previously passed; it was not so undulating, and the herbage was shorter and more scanty; the soil was for the most part sandy; trees were much more abundant, and sometimes there were thick growths of jungle. even before leaving the transvaal they had at night often heard the roar of lions, but these had not approached the camp. "we must look out for lions to-night," mr. harvey said, when the caravan encamped near a large pool which in the wet season formed part of a river, and was now for the most part dry. "we must laager our waggons, and get as many cattle inside as we can, and must keep the rest close together, with fires in readiness to light in case of an attack." "but surely the lions would never venture to attack so large a party ?" dick said in surprise. "they will indeed," mr. harvey answered. "these brutes often hunt together, as many as twenty or thirty; they are nothing like such powerful beasts as the north african lions, but they are formidable enough, and the less we see of them the better. but there are numerous prints on the sand near the water, m the young colonists. and probably large numbers of them are in the habit of coming to this pool to drink, i expect therefore that we shall have a stirring night." as soon as the oxen were unyoked, they were driven a short distance out to pasture. five or six of the natives looked after them, while the remainder set to work to gather sticks and dried wood for the fires. "i think," tom said, "that i will go and have a bathe in the pool." "you will do no such thing," mr. harvey remarked; "the chances are that there are half a dozen alligators in that pool—it is just the sort of place in which they lurk, for they find no difficulty in occasionally taking a deer or a wild hog, as he comes down to quench his thirst. there! don't you see something projecting above the water on the other side of the pool?" "i see a bit of rough wood, that looks as if it were the top of a log underneath the water." "well, just watch it," mr. harvey said, as he took aim with his rifle. he fired ; the water instantly heaved and whirled at the spot the boy was watching; the supposed log rose higher out of the water, and then plunged down again; five or six feet of a long tail lashed the water and then disappeared, but the eddies on the surface showed that there was a violent agitation going on underneath it. "what do you think of your log now ?" mr. harvey asked, smiling. "why, it was an alligator," tom said. "who would the young colonists. by ten o'clock the roaring had approached so closely that mr. harvey thought that it was time to prepare for the defence; he took post at one side of the square, and placed the boys and jumbo at the other three; tony and the other hunter were to keep outside the cattle, and walk round and round. the armed natives were scattered round the square. the drivers and cattle-men were to move about among the animals, and do their best to pacify them, for already a perfect panic had seized upon the draught-cattle, and with starting eyes and coats ruffled by fear they were tugging and straining at their ropes. "quiet, you silly beasts," dick said, leaning out of the waggon in which he had taken his place; "youare safer where you are than you would be anywhere else. if you got away and bolted out into the plain, as you want to do, you would be pulled down and killed in no time." the fires were now blazing brightly, throwing a wide circle of light round the camp and making visible every object within fifty yards. it had been arranged that so long as the lions kept at a distance and only approached singly the defenders of the various faces of the square should retain their positions; but that, should a formidable attack be made upon any one side, the white men with two of the natives with them should hasten to the point attacked. several times, as dick stood in the waggon, rifle in the young colonists. hand, straining his eyes at the darkness, he fancied he saw indistinct shadowy forms moving at the edge of the circle of light. two or three times he raised his rifle to take aim, but the objects were so indistinct that he doubted whether his fancy had not deceived him. presently the crack of mr. harvey's rifle was heard, followed by a roar of a sharper and more angry nature than thosewhichhad preceded it. as if a signalhadbeen given, three or four creatures came with great bounds out of the darkness towards the side where dick was posted. taking a steady aim, he fired. tony, who was outside with the cattle on that side of the square, did the same. the other natives had been ordered to retain their fire until the lions were close enough to ensure each shot telling. the lion at which dick had aimed paused for a moment with a terrific roar, and then bounded forward again. when he came within twenty yards of the oxen, the four natives posted by dick's side fired. the lion for a moment fell; then, gathering itself together, it sprang on to the back of a bullock, just in front of where dick was standing. the lad had a second rifle in readiness, and leaning forward he placed the muzzle within two yards of the lion's head and fired. the animal rolled off the back of the bullock, who, with the one standing next to him, at once began to kick at it, endeavouring to get their heads round to gore it with their horns. the lion, however, lay unmoved; dick's last shot had been fatal. the young colonists. the other lions on this side had bounded back into the darkness. from the other sides of the square the sound of firing proclaimed that similar attacks had been made; but, as there was no summons for aid, dick supposed that the attacks were isolated ones, and so, after recharging his rifles, he remained quietly at his post. for some hours the attack was not renewed, though the continuous roaring showed that the lions were still close at hand. mr. harvey went round and advised the boys to lie down at their posts and get a little sleep, as the natives would keep watch. "i don't think we have done with them yet," he said; "we have killed three, but i think, by the roar- ing, the number has considerably increased within the last hour. it is probable that an attack will be made an hour or so before daybreak, and i expect it will be in earnest next time." dick accordingly lay down to sleep, but he was too excited to close his eyes. after a long time it seemed to him that the roaring was dying away, and a drowsiness was stealing over him, when suddenly mr. harvey's rifle was heard, and he shouted,— "to this side—quick! they are upon us." dick,tom,andjumbo,with the six natives,leaptfrom the waggons, and, running across the little enclosure, scrambled up into those on the other side. there was a momentary silence here, the whole of the defendants having discharged their pieces, and a number of lions the young colonists. bounding across the open were already close to the cattle. the new-comers at once opened fire. two or three of the lions sprang among the cattle; but the rest, intimidated by the noise and flash of the guns, and by the yelling and shouting of the natives, turned and made off again. those among the cattle were soon disposed of, but not before they had killed three of the draught-oxen and seriously torn two others. the roaring continued until daybreak, gradually, however, growing fainter and more distant, and it was evident that the attack had ceased. "are their skins worth anything?" dick asked. "yes, they are worth a few dollars apiece, except in the case of old lions, who are apt to become mangy, and these are not worth skinning. we have killed eight of them, but their skins will not be worth any- thing like so much as the cattle they have killed ; how- ever, it is well that it is no worse. an attack by these troops of lions is no joke; they are by far the most formidable animals of south africa. i don't say that an attack by a herd of wild elephants would not be more serious, but i never heard of such a thing taking place. they are timid creatures, and easily scared, and except in the case of wounded animals or of solitary bulls they can scarcely be considered as dangerous." when day broke, the natives set to work to skin the lions, with the exception of one whose skin was valueless. as soon as the operation was completed, the new comers at once opened fire. the young colonists. the skins were packed in the waggons, the oxen were inspanned, and the caravan proceeded on its way, all being glad to leave so dangerous a locality. the next evening they encamped upon a river, and the night passed without interruption. the following morning, just as they were about to start, tony, who with the other hunters had gone out at daybreak, returned with the news that he had found the spoor of elephants, and that he believed a herd had passed along only a few hours before. mr. harvey at once decided to halt where he was for another day. the oxen were again unyoked, and six of the armed natives having been left to guard the camp, under the direction of jumbo, the whole of the rest, with the white men, set off in pursuit of the elephants. the spoor was quite distinct, and even had this failed, there would have been no difficulty in following the track, for there were scattered here and there trees, and the elephants in passing had broken off many boughs, which, stripped of their leaves, lay upon the ground they had traversed. tony and the other hunter, whose name was blacking, a sobriquet gained from the extreme swarthiness of his skin, scouted ahead, and pre- sently held up their hands to those following them to advance quietly. the trees were very thick here, and mr. harvey and the boys dismounted and led their horses to the spot where the hunters had halted. they were standing at the edge of a large i/o the young colonists. circular clearing, three quarters of a mile in diameter; it had probably at one time been the site of a native village, for there were signs of cultivation, and a num- ber of scattered heads of maize rose here and there, the descendants of a bygone mealy plantation. feeding upon these were a herd of some twenty elephants; of these the greater portion were females or young ones, but there were three fine males—one, a beast of unusual size. "that is the master of the herd," mr. harvey said, "a savage-looking old customer; he has a splendid pair of tusks, although the tip of one," he added, gazing at the elephant through his field-glass, "is broken off. i think that for the present we will leave him alone, and direct our attention to the other two males. i will take tom and jumbo with me; you, dick, shall have tony and blacking. three of the natives shall go with each party, but you must not rely upon them much; and, remember, the one fatal spot is the forehead. fasten your horses up here, and leave two of the natives in charge. let the other six go round to the opposite side of the clearing and advance slowly from that direc- tion, showing themselves occasionally, so as to draw the attention of the herd towards them. the ele- phants will probably move leisurely in this direction. take your station behind trees, moving your position carefully as they approach, so as to place yourselves as near as possible in the line of the elephant you have fixed on. we will take up our station a hundred the young colonists. yards to the right of where we are standing; do you go as far to the left. the natives will take the horses into a thicket some distance in the rear. which- ever of the two young male elephants comes nearest to you is your mark, ours is the other. if they keep near each other, we shall probably meet again here." the two parties moved off to the places assigned to them, and the natives whose duty it was to drive the elephants started to their positions. keeping some little distance back among the trees, so that they could observe the movements of the elephants, while themselves unseen, dick and his party moved to the spot indicated, and then sat down. for three quarters of an hour the elephants con- tinued to feed upon the heads of maize; then the big male suddenly wheeled round, extended his great cars, lifted his trunk, and trumpeted. at this signal the others all gathered together, and stood gazing in the direction from which danger threatened. again the old bull gave an angry scream. the others moved slowly away from the danger, but he ad- vanced in the direction in which he had seen the natives. "very bad elephant that," tony whispered to dick; "he give heaps of trouble; you see him charge." a minute or two later the elephant, catching sight of his enemies, quickened his pace, and with his little tail switching angrily, uplifted trunk, and wide- spread ears, he charged down upon them at a pace of the young colonists. which dick had not supposed so cumbersome a beast would be capable. in a moment the distant natives were seen to rise from the grass and to run at full speed back towards the wood. the elephant pursued them until he reached the trees; here he halted, and gazed for some time into the wood. then seeing no signs of the natives— for these knew better than to provoke so vicious a beast by firing at him—he trumpeted defiantly, and slowly retraced his steps towards the rest of the herd. these, led by the two males, were already approaching the trees behind which dick and his party were lying concealed. before they had arrived there mr. harvey and his party came up. dick and tom were both carrying heavy smooth-bore guns, similar to those used by the boers. these their fathers had purchased at newcastle on the day of their start; they were old weapons, but very strong and serviceable; they carried a heavy charge of powder and a large ball, of a mixture of lead and tin, specially made for elephant-shooting. "dick fire first," blacking whispered in his ear; "if he not kill him, then the rest of us fire." dick was lying down behind the trunk of a tree, his rifle steadied against it; when the elephant was within a distance of twenty yards he fired, taking steady aim at the vital point. the recoil of the piece was tremendous, and the roar of its report almost stunned him; he gave, however, a shout of delight, for the elephant stood for half a minute swaying the young colonists. ' from side to side, and then fell heavily upon the ground. mr. harvey had given tom the first shot at the other elephant; but, just at the moment when the lad was about to fire, the elephant gave a sudden start at the report of dick's rifle, and tom's shot struck it at the side of the head and glancing off passed through its ear. throwing up its trunk, the elephant instantly charged. mr. harvey fired, but the uplifted trunk prevented his getting an accurate aim at the vital spot. the bullet passed through the trunk, and then glanced off the forehead. the elephant swerved and showed its side, at which a general volley was fired by all the guns still loaded. the great beast stood still for an instant, stumbled forward a few strides, and then its legs seemed to bend beneath it, and it sank down quietly to the ground. just at this moment, as the affrighted cows were turning to fly across the plain, there was a thundering rush, and the great elephant charged through them, and passing between the dead males dashed into the wood. its rush was so sudden and headlong that it carried the elephant past the men standing behind the trees; but it speedily checked itself, and turning round made a rush upon them. there was an instant stampede. most of the natives at once threw away their guns; some climbed hastily up into the trees against which they were standing; others took to the bushes. the elephant charged in after these, but seeing no signs of them he speedily came out again and looked the young colonists. round for a fresh foe. his eye fell upon dick, who had just recharged his rifle. "run, dick! run !" shouted mr. harvey. but dick saw that the elephant was upon him, while the tree near which he was standing was too thick to climb. the elephant was holding his head so high that dick could not aim at the spot on the forehead, but, waiting until the animal was within ten yards of him, he fired into its open mouth, and then leapt behind the tree. with a scream of pain the elephant rushed on, but being unable to check himself he came full butt with tremendous force against the tree, which quivered under the blow, and dick, thinking that it was going to fall upon him, sprang back a pace. three or four more shots were fired before the elephant could turn, and then wheeling round it charged upon its new assailants. tom was one of those nearest to him; the boy had just discharged his rifle and advanced a few feet from the tree behind which he had been standing. before he could regain it he felt something pass round him, there was a tremendous squeeze, which stopped his breath and seemed to press his life out of him, then he felt himself flying high into the air, and became insensible. apparently satisfied with what he had done, the elephant continued his rapid pace into the open again, and followed the retreating herd across the plain. dick had given a cry of horror, as he saw the ele- the young colonists. phant seize his friend, and his heart seemed to stand still when he saw him whirled high in the air. tom fell into a thick and bushy tree, and there, break- ing through the light foliage at the top, remained suspended in the upper boughs. in an instant jumbo climbed the tree, and making his way to the lad lifted him from the fork in which he was wedged, placed him on his shoulder as easily as if he had been a child, and descending the tree laid him on the ground by the side of mr. harvey. the latter at once knelt beside him. "thank god, he is breathing!" he exclaimed at once, "lift his head, dick; open his shirt, black- ing; and give me some water out of your gourd. i trust he is only stunned; that brute was in such a hurry that he had not time tc squeeze him fairly, and the tree has broken his fall. if he had come down to the ground from that height, it must have killed him." he sprinkled some water upon the lad's face and chest, and to his and dick's delight tom presently opened his eyes. he looked round in a surprised and half-stupid way, and then made an effort to rise, but a cry broke from him as he did so. "lie still, tom," mr. harvey said ; "you are hurt, but, i hope, not severely. cut his shirt off, dick; i expect some of his ribs are broken." upon mr. harvey carefully feeling tom's ribs, he found, as he had expected, that five of them were broken—three on one side and two on the other. the young colonists. chapter xii. an attack by elephants. a litter was speedily constructed from some boughs of trees, and tom being placed in it was at once carried back to the camp, escorted by his friend. the hunters remained behind to cut out the tusks of the two elephants that had fallen. a portion of the trunks and feet, which are considered the most delicate portions of the elephant, was laid aside for the use of the white men, and a large quantity of meat was brought back to camp for the natives. the sound of firing had brought up some people from a small village two or three miles away, and these to their immense joy were allowed to carry off enough meat to enable them to feast to the utmost extent of their ability for a week to come. mr. harvey had in the course of his wanderings frequently had occasion to dress wounds and bandage broken bones; he was therefore able to apply the necessary bandages to tom, and the lad was soon lying in comparative ease on a bed formed of rags. generally the boys slept in hammocks, but mr. harvey insisted that tom must lie perfectly straight on his back until the bones had begun to set again. "we made a sad mess with that old bull to-day, dick," he said. "it is humiliating to think that he n i ; the young colonists. should have charged us all, injured tom, and got away almost unscathed." "you see, sir," dick said, "he attacked us un- expectedly; our guns were all discharged, and he came on with such a rush that there was no getting a steady shot at him. the whole affair lasted little more than a minute, i should say." "i shall go out to-morrow morning," mr. harvey said," and take up the track again, and see if i cannot get even with the beast. there is time enough to-day, for it is still early, but the herd will be so restless and suspicious that there will be no getting near them, and i should not care to face that old bull unless i had a fair chance of killing him at the first shot. he has a magnificent pair of tusks, and ivory sells so high that they would be worth a good deal of trouble and some risk to get." "shall i go with you, sir?" "no, dick, i would rather you did not. the business will be more dangerous than usual, and i should not like the responsibility of having you with me. tom had as narrow a shave yesterday as ever i saw, and i certainly do not want two of you on my hands." dick was not sorry at mr. harvey's decision, for after the charge of the bull-elephant he felt just at present he should not care about encountering an- other. the next morning mr. harvey, accompanied by the three native hunters and the greater portion of the others, started in pursuit of the elephants. the young colonists. dick, after sitting for some time with tom, took his gun and wandered round near the camp, shooting birds. as the sun got high, and the heat became fiercer and fiercer, he returned to camp, and had just taken off his coat and sat down by the side of tom when he heard shouts of terror outside the tent. running out to see what was the matter, he saw the natives in a state of wild terror. they pointed across the plain, and dick, to his astonishment and alarm, saw a great elephant approaching at a rapid trot, with his trunk in the air and his ears extended to the fullest. he recognized at once the bull which had charged them on the previous day. the natives were now flying in all directions. dick shouted to them to stand and get their muskets, but his words were un- heeded; he ran to the tent, seized the long-bore gun which he had carried the day before and also that of tom, and charged them both hastily, but coolly. "what on earth is it all about ?" tom asked. "it is the elephant again, tom; lie quiet, whatever you do; you cannot run away, so lie just as you are." then with a gun in each hand dick ran out of the tent again. the elephant was now but a hundred yards away. dick climbed into a waggon standing in the line on which he was coming, knelt down in the bottom and rested the muzzle on the side, standing up and waving his arm before he did so, so as to attract the attention of the elephant. the great beast saw him, n , the young colonists. and trumpeting loudly came straight down at him; dick knelt, as steady as a rock, with the sight of the gun upon the elephant's forehead. when he was within twenty yards dick drew the trigger, and, without waiting to see the result, snatched up and levelled the second gun. the elephant had staggered as he was hit, and then, as with a great effort, he pulled himself together and again moved forward, but with a stumbling and hesitating step; taking steady aim again, dick fired when the elephant's trunk was within a yard of the muzzle of his gun, and then springing to his feet, leapt on the opposite side of the waggon and took to his heels. after running a few steps, he glanced back over his shoulder, and then ceased running; the elephant was no longer in sight above the waggon, but had fallen an inert mass by its side. "all right, tom!" dick shouted loudly; "i have done for him." before going to look at the fallen elephant dick went to the spot where stood the piled muskets of the natives who had fled; dropping a ramrod into them, he found that two were loaded, and taking these in his hands he advanced towards the elephant. the precaution was needless; the great beast lay dead; the two heavy balls had struck within an inch or two of each other, and penetrated the brain. the first would have been fatal, and the elephant was about to fall when dick had fired the second time. the young colonists. gradually the drivers and other natives returned to camp with shouts of triumph. these, however, dick speedily silenced by a volley of abuse for their cowardice in running away and leaving tom to his fate. a few minutes later mr. harvey galloped in at full speed, closely followed by the swift-footed blacking. "thank god.you are safe, my boys,"mr. harvey said, as heleapt from his horse. "i have had a terrible fright. we followed the spoor to the point where they had passed the night; here the trackers were much puzzled by the fact that the great elephant, whose tracks were easily distinguished from the others, seemed to have passed the night in rushing furiously about. numbers of young trees had been torn up by the roots, and great branches twisted off the larger trees. they concluded that he must have received some wound which had maddened him with pain. we took up the track where the herd had moved on, but soon found that he had separated himself from it, and had gone off at full speed by himself. we set off in pursuit, observing a good deal of caution, for if he had turned, as was likely enough, and had come upon us while in such a frantic state, we should have had to bolt for our lives. i was thinking only of this when i saw the hunters talking together and gesticulating. i soon found out what was the matter. they told me that if the elephant kept on in the line he was taking, it would assuredly bring him in sight of the camp, if not straight upon it. as i had no doubt the young colonists. in a week tom was convalescent; he was still, how- ever, very stiff and sore. a hammock was therefore slung under the tilt of one of the waggons, the sides were drawn up to allow of a free passage of air, and the caravan then went forward on its journey. for the next fortnight nothing of importance happened; sometimes the journeys were short, some- times extremely long, being regulated entirely by the occurrence of water. at many of the halting-places a good deal of trade was done, as the news of the coming of the caravan spread far ahead of it, and the natives for a considerable distance on each side of the line of route came down to trade with it. they brought with them skins of beasts and birds, small packets of gold-dust, ostrich feathers, and occasion- ally ivory. mr. harvey was well content with his success so far. for some time past, owing to the disturbed state of the country and the demand for waggons occasioned by the war, the number of traders who had made their way north had been very small, and the natives con- sequently were eager to buy cotton and cloth, and to get rid of the articles which they had been accumulating for the purpose of barter with the whites. never before, mr. harvey said, had he done so good a trade in so short a time. at the end of the fortnight after starting tom was again able to take his seat in the saddle and ride quietly along by the side of the caravan, mr. harvey warning him on no account to go above a walking the young colonists. pace at present, as a jerk or a jar might break the newly-knit bones, and undo all the work that had been effected. in the meantime dick, accompanied by one or other of the hunters, always rode out from the line of march, and had no difficulty in providing an ample supply of game. he was careful, however, not to shoot more than was required, for both he and mr. harvey viewed with abhorrence the taking of life unnecessarily, merely for the purpose of sport. he was able, nevertheless, to kill a great many deer with- out feeling that their flesh was wasted; for not only were the number of mouths in the caravan large, and their powers of eating wonderful, but the natives who came in to trade were always glad to eat up any surplus that remained—and indeed mr. harvey found the liberal distribution of meat opened their hearts and much facilitated trade. two or three days after they had left the scene of the elephant-hunt some objects were seen far out on the plain, which the hunters at once pronounced to be ostriches. dick would have started in pursuit, but mr. harvey checked him. "they can run," he said, " faster than a horse can gallop. they can indeed be ridden down, as they almost always run in a great circle, and the pursuit can be taken up with fresh horses, but this is a long business. we will send the hunters out first, to get on the other side of them, and when they are posted we will ride out. going quite slowly the attention of the young colonists. the birds will be directed to us; this will give the hunters an opportunity of creeping up on the other side and shooting or lassoing them. if i am not mistaken they have a good many young ones with them—this is about the time of year when this is usually the case. if we could catch a dozen of them, they would be prizes, for they fetch a good sum down in the colony, where ostrich-farming is carried on on a large scale. they are very easily tamed, and would soon keep with the caravan and give no trouble." after remaining quiet for some little time, to give the hunters time to make a wide circuit, mr. harvey and dick rode quietly forward towards the birds, who stood on a slight swell of ground at a distance of about half a mile, evidently watching the caravan with great interest. by mr. harvey's instructions dick unrolled the blanket which he always carried on his saddle, and taking an end in each hand held it out at arm's length on a level with the top of his head, mr. harvey doing the same. "they are silly birds," mr. harvey said, " and their attention is easily caught by anything they don't understand. like all other wild creatures they are afraid of man; but by holding the blankets out like sails they do not see our outline, and cannot make out what the strange creatures advancing towards them can be." at a foot-pace they advanced towards the ostriches; these made no signs of retreat until the horsemen the young colonists. approached to within about seventy yards. then from the brow behind the birds the three hunters suddenly rose up, and whirling the balls of their lassoes round their heads launched them among the ostriches. three birds fell with the cords twisted round their legs, and two more were shot as the startled flock dashed off at full speed across the plain. mr. harvey and dick dropped their blankets, and started at full gallop. "bring down an old bird if you can, dick, and then let the rest go, and give your attention to cutting off the young ones." dick fired at one of the old birds, but missed; mr. harvey brought one to the ground. the young ostriches, which were but a few weeks old, soon began to tail off in the race, and after ten minutes' riding mr. harvey and dick had the satisfaction of getting ahead of them and turning them. a little more driving brought the frightened creatures to a stand- still, and most of them dropped in a squatting posi- tion to the ground, huddled together like frightened chickens. they were sixteen in number, but one which had fallen and broken its leg was at once shot. the legs of the young ostrich are extremely brittle, and one of the troubles of the farmers who rear them is that they so frequently break their bones and have to be killed. blacking was sent off at his best speed to overtake the caravan and bring back a dozen men with him. the ostriches which had been lassoed had been at the young colonists. once killed by the hunters, and the feathers of the five killed by them and of that shot by mr. harvey were pulled out. three out of the six were in splendid plumage. "how much are each of those feathers worth?" dick asked. "those fine white ones will fetch from i/. to i/. $s. apiece out here—some as high as j. a perfect ostrich feather, fit for a court-plume, will sell in eng- land for /. to /. the small, dark-coloured feathers are worth from sixpence to one shilling apiece." the young birds, after their wings had been tied to their sides, were lifted and carried away, dick being unable to help laughing at their long legs sticking out in front of the bearers, and at their long necks and beaks, with which from time to time they inflicted sharp pecks on the men who were carrying them. when the caravan was overtaken, the birds were placed in a waggon, and in the evening were liberated inside the laager formed by the waggons. some grain was thrown to them, and they soon began to pick this up. after this their expression was rather one of curiosity than fear, and they exhibited no alarm whatever when dick, scattering some more corn, came in and moved quietly among them. for the first few days they were carried in a waggon, but at the end of that time they were completely domesticated. after the camp was formed they walked about, like barn- door fowls, picking up any scraps of food that were thrown to them, and indeed getting so bold as some- the young colonists. times to attempt to snatch it from the men's hands. when on the march, they stalked gravely along by the side of the waggons. "what is the value of an ostrich ?" dick asked mr. harvey one day. "an ostrich of about three or four months old," mr. harvey replied, "is worth from /. to sol. a full-grown cock and two hens, the stock with which most small settlers begin ostrich-farming, are worth from /. to /. each hen will lay about fifty eggs in a year, so that if only half are reared and sold at the rate of /. apiece, which is a low price, at three weeks old, there is a good profit upon them. the young birds increase in value at the rate of about /. per month. the feathers are generally sold by weight; fine plumes go from seventy to ninety to the pound, and fetch from /. to /. the feathers of the wild birds are worth a third more than those of the tame ones, as they are stronger. the quantity of feathers sold is astonishing. one firm in port elizabeth often buys , pounds' weight of ostrich feathers per week. of course these are not all first-class plumes, and the prices range down as low as /. or j. for the poorest kind." "where do they get water out here in the desert?" "they have no difficulty here," mr. harvey replied, "for an ostrich thinks nothing of going twenty or thirty miles; but they require to drink very seldom." "how many feathers can be plucked from each bird a year?" the young colonists. "about three quarters of a pound of first-class feathers, besides the inferior sorts. there are now such quantities of ostriches in the colony, that the price of feathers has gone down materially, and is now not so high as the figures i have given you. the highest class feathers, however, still maintain their price, and are likely to do so, for the demand for feathers in europe increases at as rapid a rate as does the production." "i suppose they could not be kept in england?" dick asked; "for there must be a splendid profit on such farming." "no," mr. harvey replied; "they want above all things a dry climate. warmth is of course important, but even this is less essential than dryness. they may be reared in england under artificial con- ditions, but they would never grow up strong and healthy in this way, and would no doubt be liable to disease—besides, as even in their native country you see that the feathers deteriorate in strength and diminish in value in domesticated birds, there would probably be so great a falling off in the yield and value of feathers in birds kept under artificial con- ditions in england that the speculation would not be likely to pay." "do the hens sit on their eggs, as ordinary hens?" "just the same," mr. harvey answered, "and very funny they look with their long legs sticking out. not only does the hen sit, but the cock takes his turn the young colonists. at keeping the eggs warm when the mother goes out to feed." "i shall ask father," dick said, "when we get back, to arrange to take these fifteen ostriches as part of his share of the venture; it would be great fun to see them stalking about." "ah! we have not got them home yet," mr. harvey replied, smiling; "we must not be too sanguine. we have certainly begun capitally, but there is no saying what adventures are before us yet. we have been particularly fortunate in seeing nothing of the tzetze fly. as you know, we have made several considerable devours to avoid tracts of country where they are known to prevail, still, occasionally they are met with in unexpected places, and i have seldom made a trip without losing some of my horses and cattle from them." "how is it that a fly can kill a horse? they are not larger than our blue-bottles at home, for i saw one in a naturalist's window in pieter-maritzburg." "it is a mystery, dick, which has not yet been solved; there are flies in other parts of the world, whose bite is sufficiently poisonous to raise bumps underneath the skins of animals, but nothing ap- proaching the tzetze in virulence. it certainly ap- pears unaccountable that the venom of so small a creature should be able to kill a great animal like a horse or an ox." "is it found only in the south of africa?" "no, dick, it extends more or less over the whole the young colonists. of the plateau-lands of africa, and is almost as great a scourge in the highlands of egypt as it is here." "i wonder," dick said thoughtfully, "why the tzetze was created; most insects are useful as sca- vengers, or to furnish food for birds, but i cannot see the use of a fly which is so terribly destructive as this." "i can't tell you, my boy," mr. harvey said. "that everything, even the tzetze has a good purpose, you may be sure, even though it is hidden from us. possibly, for example, it may be discovered some day that the tzetze is an invaluable medicine for some disease to which man is subject, just as blistering powder is obtained from the crest-body of the cantharides beetle. however, we must be content to take it on trust. we must leave our descendants something to discover, you know, dick; for if we go on inventing and discovering as we are doing, it is clear that they must look out for fresh channels for research." the young colonists. trees; it was not until he was close to them that he saw three giraffes, two old ones and a young one. they started off, as he approached, at a pace which seemed to dick to be slow, as well as extraordinarily clumsy. the two old ones kept themselves between their offspring and the pursuer, as if to shield it from a shot. dick, however, had no idea of firing; he only wished to gallop up close, so as to get a nearer view of these singular beasts, but to his astonishment he found that, although his horse was going at its best speed, the apparently slow-moving giraffes were steadily gaining upon him. he could hardly at first believe his eyes. but he was gradually tailed off, and at last, reining in his horse, he sat in the saddle and enjoyed a good laugh at the strange trio in front of him, with their long, straggling legs and necks. when he rejoined the caravan mr. harvey, who had watched the pursuit, asked him laughingly if he managed to catch the giraffe. "i might as soon have tried to catch an express train; they went right away from me,—and tommy can gallop too; but he hadn't a chance with them, although he did his best." "they do move along at a tremendous pace in their clumsy fashion. they take such immense strides with those odd long legs of theirs, that one has no idea of their speed until one chases them. i never knew a new hand who tried it, but he was sure to come back with a crestfallen face." three weeks after leaving what they called the the young colonists. elephant-camp the caravan halted for two days. they had now arrived at the spot where their troubles with the natives might be expected to begin; they were at the border of the matabele country, and here mr. harvey intended to turn west, and after keeping along for some time to bend to the south and re-enter the colony north of kimberley, and to journey down to port elizabeth, which is the principal mart for goods from the interior. between the matabele and the tribes on their border hostilities had for some time prevailed, and while they halted mr. harvey sent forward blacking with a few presents to the chief of the next tribe, saying that he was coming through his country to trade, and asking for a promise that he should not be interfered with in his passage. at the end of the second day the messenger returned. "the chief says come; he says he has been a long time without trade. but before he answered he talked with his chiefs, and i don't know whether he means honestly. the tribe has a bad name; they are thieves and robbers." "well, we will go on," mr. harvey said, "neverthe- less; we have got the chiefs word, and he will not after that venture to attack us openly, for if he did he knows very well that no more traders would visit his country. his people may make attacks upon us, but we are strong enough to hold our own. we muster about thirty guns, and in our laager would be able to beat off his whole tribe, did they attack us; we will, how- o the young colonists. ever, while travelling through his country, be more careful than hitherto. the waggons shall, when it is possible, travel two abreast, so that the line will not be so long to guard, and you must not wander away to shoot. fortunately we have a store of dried meat, which will last us for some time." on the following morning the caravans set out, and after travelling twelve miles halted on the bank of a stream. soon after they had formed their camp five or six natives came in; they brought a few bunches of ostrich plumes and some otter skins; these they bartered for cotton, and having concluded their bargains wandered about in the camp, as was the custom of the natives, peeping into the waggons, examining the bullocks, and looking at all the arrangements with childish curiosity. "i expect these fellows have come as spies rather than traders," mr. harvey said to the lads. *' as a general thing the natives come in with their wives and children; but, you see, these are all men. i observed too that they have particularly examined the pile of muskets, as if reckoning up our means of defence. in future, instead of merely a couple of men to look after the cattle and keep off any marauders, i will put six every night on guard; they shall be relieved twice during the night, and one of the hunters shall be in charge of each watch,—if there are signs of trouble, we will ourselves take it by turns." two or three times that night the sentries perceived moving objects near the camp, and challenged; in each the young colonists. case the objects at once disappeared; whether they were hyenas or crawling men could not be dis- cerned. at the halt next day a much larger number of natives came in, and a satisfactory amount of trade was done. their demeanour, however, was insolent and overbearing, and some of them went away with their goods, declining to accept the exchange offered. after they had left the camp several small articles were missed. the next day they passed across a plain abounding in game, and mr. harvey said that the boys and the three hunters might go out and kill some fresh meat; but he warned dick and tom not to allow their ardour in the chase to carry them away from the hunters, but to keep as much as possible together. when they had killed as many animals as could be carried on their horses and the hunters' shoulders, they were to return at once. it was the first time that tom had been out hunt- ing since his accident; his bones had all set well, and beyond a little stiffness and occasional pain he was quite himself again. "i am glad to be riding out again with you, dick," he said; " it has been awfully slow work jogging along by the side of the caravan." in addition to the three hunters they took as usual a native with them, to hold the horses should it be necessary to dismount and stalk the game, instead of chasing it and shooting it from the saddles, an rg the young colonists. exercise in which by this time the boys were efficient. they found more difficulty in getting up to the game than they had expected, and the hunters said con- fidently that the animals must have been chased or disturbed within a few hours. they had accordingly to go four or five miles across the plain before they could get a shot; but at last they saw a herd feeding in a valley. after the experience they had had that morning of the futility of attempting to get near the deer on horseback, they determined that the hunters should make a circuit, and come down upon the herd from different points. tom and dick were to stay on the brow where they were then standing, keeping well back, so as to be out of sight from the valley, until they heard the report of the first gun, when they were to mount and endeavour to cut off and head the deer back upon the others. the hunters then started—jumbo and blacking going to the right, tony and the other to the left. after an hour's walking they reached their places at points about equidistant from each other, forming with tom and dick a complete circle round the deer. they were enabled to keep each other in sight, although hidden from the herd in the hollow. when each had gained his station they lay down and began to crawl towards the deer, and until they were within yards of the herd the latter continued grazing quietly. then an old buck gave a short, sharp cry, and struck the ground violently with his hoofs; the others the young colonists. all ceased feeding, and gazed with startled eyes to windward, and were about to dash off in a body when the four men fired almost simultaneously, and as many stags fell. the rest darted off at full speed in the direction in which tom and dick were posted, that being the only side open to them. an instant later tom and dick appeared on horseback on the brow, and dashed down towards the herd ; these, alarmed at the appearance of a fresh enemy, broke into two bodies, scattering right and left, giving both lads an opportunity for a good shot. both succeeded in bringing down their mark. they then dismounted, and giving their horses to the native joined the hunters. they had bagged six deer, and the hunters at once proceeded to disembowel them; one was to be slung behind each of the saddles, and the others would be carried by the hunters and native. while they were so engaged they were startled by a shout, and saw the native running down towards them, leading the horses and gesticulating wildly. "we are attacked," blacking said, and almost at the same moment three or four arrows fell among them. they had collected the dead deer at one spot, and were standing in a group; looking round they saw a large number of natives crowning the low hills allround them, and saw that while they had been stalking the deer they themselves had been stalked by the natives. without a moment's hesitation the hunters disposed the bodies of the deer in a circle; seizing the two the young colonists. horses they threw them beside the deer, fastening their limbs with the lassoes which they carried, so that they could not move; then the six men threw them- selves down in the circle. all this had been done in a couple of minutes. the arrows were falling fast among them, but none had been hit, and as soon as the preparations were com- plete they opened a steady fire at the enemy. with the exception of the man who had come out with the horses all were good shots, and their steady fire at once checked the advance of the natives, whose triumphant yelling ceased, as man after man went down, and they speedily followed the example of their opponents, and, throwing themselves down on the grass, kept up a fire with their arrows in a circle of seventy or eighty yards round the hunters. gradually, however, their fire ceased, for to use their bows they were obliged to show their heads above the grass, and whenever one did so the sharp crack of a rifle was heard; and so often did the bullets fly true to their aim that the natives soon grew chary of exposing themselves. "what will they do now ?" dick asked, as the firing ceased. "they are cowards," jumbo said contemptuously. "if they had been zulus, or swazis, or matabele, they would have rushed in upon us, and finished it at once." "well, i am very glad they are not," dick said; "but what is to be done?" "they will wait for night," tony answered ; "then, the young colonists, when we cannot see them, they will creep up close and charge." "in that case," dick said, "the best thing will be for us to keep in a body, and fight our way through them, and make for the camp." jumbo shook his head. "they quiet now because they think they got us safe; if we try to get away, they rush down upon us; we shoot many, but we all get killed." "then," dick said, "the best thing will be for me to jump on my horse and ride straight through them; if i get off alive, i will make for the caravan and bring back mr. harvey and the rest to your assistance." "no good," blacking said; "your horse would be stuck full of arrows before you get away; he drop dead; they kill you. i go." "but it would be just as dangerous for you as for me, blacking." "no," the hunter said ; "directly you stand up to get on horse they see you and get ready to shoot; the horse fall dead before he reach them. i will crawl through the grass; they will not see me till i get to them—perhaps i get through without them seeing at all; if not, i jump up sudden and run; they all sur- prised, no shoot straight; once through line they never catch me." jumbo and tony assented with a grunt, and dick, seeing that no better plan could be suggested, offered no opposition to the young hunter undertaking the task. leaving his gun and ammunition behind him, the the young colonists. black at once without a word crawled out between the carcases of the deer, making his way, like a snake, perfectly flat on his stomach, and soon it was only by a very slight movement of the grass, which was nearly two feet high, that dick could follow his progress. but he could not do this for long, an arrow whizzing close to his head warned him that he was exposing himself, and he lay down behind his stag and listened with intense eagerness for the outcry which would arise when blacking was discovered. it seemed a long time, so slow and cautious was the black's advance. at last there was a sudden yell, and the little party, sure that the attention of their assailants would for the moment be diverted, raised their heads from the shelter and looked out. they saw blacking bounding at full speed up the slope; a score of natives had sprung to their feet, and were discharging their arrows in the direction of the fugitive, who zigzagged, as he ran with rapid bounds, to unsteady and divert their aim. one arrow struck him in the side; they saw him break off the feather-head, pull it through the wound, and throw it away without a moment's pause in his flight. "is it a serious wound?" tom asked eagerly. jumbo shook his head. "not kill him," he said; "too near skin." by this time blacking's pursuers had thrown their bows across their shoulders, and grasping their assegais had started in pursuit. the young colonists. "they no catch him,"tony said confidently; "black- ing clever man; he not run too fast; let them keep close behind him; they think they catch him, and keep on running all the way to camp. people here watch, not tink to attack us; then they wait again for the oders to come back; half of dem gone, a good many killed, they not like to attack us now." "what do you say, tony ?—shall we get up and follow in a body slowly?" "that would be good plan," tony said, "if sure no more black men come; but if others come and join dem, dey attack us out on plain, we got no stags to lie behind. dey fight hard 'caus they know that blacking have got away, and that help come; make bad affair of it; better stop here." presently two or three of the natives were seen coming back over the brow, having given up the pur- suit. dick's rifle was a good one, and the brow was not more than yards away; he took a steady aim and fired, and one of the natives fell. a yell of astonishment broke from the others, and they threw themselves instantly on the grass. this, however, although long enough to shelter them in the bottom, was shorter and scantier on the slope. the inclined position too enabled dick to see them, and he again fired. he could not see where the ball struck, but it must have been close to the two natives, for these leapt to their feet and bounded back again over the brow. "that was a capital shot of yours, dick," tom said. "i will try next time. our rifles will carry easily the young colonists. enough as far as that, although the hunters' won't. if we can but prevent any of these fellows who have gone after blacking from coming down and rejoining those round us, we are safe enough, for if they did not dare to make a rush when there were about sixty of them they will not try now when there are not half that number." an hour later a party of some ten or twelve natives appeared again on the brow. dick and tom at once fired. one of them fell, and the rest again retired behind the brow, shouting something to those below, which tony at once translated that blacking had got away. the news, added to the effect of the fall of their comrades on the height, dispirited the natives below, and one or two were to be seen stealing up the slopes. dick and tom were on the alert, and one of the natives fell with a broken leg; this completed the uneasiness of the party below. creeping away from the deadly rifles to the foot of the slopes, they suddenly rose and bounded up it. a general volley was fired by the beleaguered party, and two more natives fell; the rest dashed up the slope, two of them on the way lifting and carrying off their wounded comrades. "we all right now," jumbo said; " dey no attack us here any more ; like enough dey wait and lie in ambush in grass, in case we move away; but we not do that; we sit here quietly till the caravan arrive." "do you think mr. harvey will bring the whole caravan?" the young colonists. "sure to do dat," jumbo said. "he no able to leave party to protect the waggons and to send party here to us; he bring the caravan all along together. if he attacked, he make laager; but me no tink dey attack. the people ready to cut off little party; den the chief say he not responsible, but if his people attack the caravan dat different thing." the hours passed slowly; the heat in the bottom, as the sun, almost overhead, poured its rays down into it, was very great. as the hours passed on the heat became less oppressive, but it was with intense pleasure that the boys saw mr. harvey suddenly appear on the brow, and checking his horse gaze into the valley. they leapt to their feet and gave a shout, which was answered by mr. harvey. "are they round you still ?" he shouted. "no; they have all gone," dick replied; and mr. harvey at once rode down. by the time he reached them the hunters had freed the legs of the horses, and these struggled to their feet. "you have given me a nice fright," mr. harvey said, as he rode up. "we have had a pretty good fright ourselves," dick replied. "if it had not been for blacking pluckily get- ting through them to take you the news, i don't think we should have seen daylight. is he much hurt, sir?" "he has got a nasty wound," mr. harvey replied. "an arrow has gone between his ribs. he fell down from loss of blood when he reached us, and had we the young colonists. lads and the hunters into the valley. except that here and there were deep blood-stains, no signs of the conflict remained, the natives having carried off their dead in the course of the night. the hunters, after examining the ground, declared that fifteen of the enemy had fallen, including those shot on the slopes. the journey was now resumed. at the next halt the natives came in to trade as usual, and when questioned professed entire ignorance of the attack on the hunters. three days later, without further adventure, they arrived at the kraal of the principal chief. it was a large village, and a great number of cattle were grazing in the neighbourhood. the natives had a sullen appear- ance, but exhibited no active hostility. mr. harvey formed his waggons in a laager a few hundred yards outside the village, and then, accompanied by the boys, proceeded to the chief's abode. they were at once conducted to his presence. he was seated in a hut of bee-hive form, rather larger than those which sur- rounded it. when the white men crawled in through the door, which like all in native structures was not more than three feet high, they were at first unable to see, so dark was the interior. the chief uttered the usual words of welcome. "i have a complaint to make, chief," mr. harvey said, "against some of your people. they attacked my two friends and some of my followers when out hunting. fortunately they were repulsed, with the loss of some fifteen of their number, but that does t 'jf'.e jitterc^kwt.ii}.- nbt' make tlw tt? ck i:<hj« them anu/j lass .:iakx- c^^uah^-.\*' "tl.nt i- loci, ' t!v?£hi<?f taid i '"how'coos «w. :^aud^, thewhitetrader, know that they v.^r-* my. meej *'' ''"try 'w*r : inside /pur' territory. anyj*.ouvu>' ml-. tatvy ■ "it •.\,a<? upon the third cay ^c'cir:! ihad.i u'fttfi*; m %tah»»ki." "'it irt«st have ix.'gfi a party of matabeto;'"tfca chhif: said ;; "'th<*y.' often' cwfi« irtto my, t&rriricr. :i> st&all chfih;: they are bad rften^-^rfty. peof»e att- vwyy "i chft*t pj»ove that' theyrwere yvw :«coue>"''mij-. lifatvey sakl," whatever'i-rftay. think; -but i wa*n' ypuy. chief,' that-if there is af>yreri«tuiortof the a«taefc while, we ;rfe irt yotw: courttry: yjo» will liaw rtonxwectrasters.-' here. ivxe who ait&eked us have-' ltswrwd. thiaitwee can defend owfielvcs, afmllth^'.th^a -e.rhwe.iilici};.ttx.) death than' plunder out of: the-attempts'.'" io the young colonists. of the limpopo, and therefore will not be taken as a sign of suspicion of their good faith. a fair index to us of their disposition will be the amount of trade. if they bring their goods freely, we may assume that there is no fixed intention of attacking us; for if they are determined to seize our goods, those who have articles to trade would not care to part with them, when they would hope to obtain a share of our goods for nothing." the next morning mr. harvey spread out a few of his goods, but hardly any of the natives came forward with articles for barter. in the afternoon mr. harvey went across to the chief. "how is it," he asked, "that your people do not bring in their goods for sale? among the tribes through which i have passed i have done much trade; they see that i give good bargains—your people bring nothing. if they do not wish to trade with the white men, let them say so, and i will tell my brethren that it is of no use to bring their waggons so far." "my people are very poor," the chief said; "they have been at war with their neighbours, and have had no time to hunt the ostrich or to get skins." "they cannot have been fighting all the time," mr. harvey rejoined; "they must have taken furs and skins—it is clear that they do not wish to trade. to- morrow morning i will go on my way ; there are many other tribes who will be glad at the coming of the white trader." the young colonists. after mr. harvey's return to the waggons, it was evident that orders had been issued that some trade should be done, for several parcels of inferior kinds of ostrich feathers and skins were brought in. as it was clear, however, that no genuine trade was to be done, at daybreak the oxen were inspanned, and the caravan continued its journey. for the next two days the track lay across an open country, and no signs of molestation were met with. "we are now coming," mr. harvey said, "to the very worst part of our journey. the hills we have seen in front of us for the last two days have to be crossed. to-morrow we ascend the lower slopes, which are tolerably easy; but the next day we have to pass through a very wild gorge. the road, which is the bed of a stream, mounts rapidly; but the ravine is nearly ten miles in length. once at its head we are near the highest point of the shoulder over which we have to cross, and the descent on the other side is com- paratively easy. if i could avoid this spot, i would do so; but i know of no other road by which waggons could cross the range for a very long distance either way; this is the one always used by traders. in the wet season it is altogether impassable, for in some places the ravine narrows to fifteen yards, with perpendicular cliffs on either side, and at these points the river, when in flood, rushes down twenty or thirty feet deep. even putting aside the danger of attack in going through it, i would gladly avoid it if i could, for the young colonists. trader having passed along this way. i have spoken of it as a day's journey, but it is only under the most favourable circumstances that it has ever been accom- plished in that time, and sometimes traders have been three or four days in getting through." directly the caravan halted blacking and jumbo started to examine the defile; it was already growing dusk, and they were only able to get two miles up before it was so dark that they could make their way no further. they returned, saying that the first por- tion of the defile, which was usually one of the most difficult, was in a bad condition; that many enor- mous boulders were lying in the bottom; but that it appeared to be practicable, although in some places the waggons would have to be unloaded. at daybreak the oxen were inspanned, and in a quarter of an hour the leading waggon approached the entrance of the gorge; it seemed cut through a perpendicular cliff, feet high, the gorge through which the river issued appearing a mere narrow crack rent by some convulsion of nature. "it would be a fearful place to be attacked in," dick said, " and a few men with rocks up above could destroy us." "yes," mr. harvey said; "but you see up there?" dick looked up, and on one side of the passage saw some tiny figures. "the three hunters and ten of our men with muskets are up there; they started three hours ago, as they would have to go, jumbo said, five miles along the young colonists. the face of the cliff before they reached a point where they could make an ascent so as to gain the edge of the ravine. they will keep along parallel with us, and their fire would clear both sides; it is not usual to take any precaution of this sort, but after our attack of the other day, and the attitude of the chief and his people, we cannot be too cautious. after passing through the first three miles of the defile, the ravine widens into a valley a hundred yards wide; here they will come down and join us. there are two other ravines, similar to the first, to be passed through, but the country there is so wild and broken that it would be impossible for them to keep along on the heights, and i doubt whether even the natives could find a point from which to attack us." they had now fairly entered the ravine. for thirty or forty feet up the walls were smooth and polished by the action of the winter torrents; above, jagged rocks overhung the path, and at some points the cliffs nearly met overhead. although it was now almost broad daylight, in the depths of this ravine the light was dim and obscure. the boys at first were awestruck at the scene, but their attention was soon called to the difficulties of the pass. the bed of the stream was covered with rocks of all sizes; sometimes great boulders, as big as a good-sized cottage, almost entirely blocked the way, and would have done so altogether had not the small boulders round them formed slopes on either side. the depths of the ravine echoed and re-echoed, with a the young colonists. noise like thunder, the shout of the driver and the crack of the whip, as the oxen struggled on. the waggons bumped and lurched along over the stones; the natives and whites all worked their hardest, clearing away the blocks as far as possible from the track required for the waggons. armed with long wooden levers four or six together prized away the heavy boulders, or, when these were too massive to be moved by their strength, and when no other path could be chosen, piled a number of smaller blocks, so as to make a sort of ascent up which the wheels could travel. the waggons moved but one at a time, the united efforts of the whole party being required to enable them to get along. when the leading waggon had moved forward a hundred yards, the next in succession would be brought up, and so on until the six waggons were again in line; then all hands would set to work ahead, and prepare the path for another hundred yards. in two places, however, no efforts sufficed to clear the way; the blocks rose in such jagged masses that it was absolutely impossible for the oxen to pull across them,—indeed it was with the greatest difficulty that when unyoked they were one by one got over; then tackles were fastened from the top of the rock to the waggons below—ropes and blocks being generally carried by travellers for such emergencies,—the oxen fastened to the ends of the ropes, and with the purchase so obtained the waggons were dragged bodily one by one over the obstacles. l the young colonists. it was not until late in the afternoon that the party passed safely through the defile and reached the valley beyond, men and animals worn out by the exertions they had undergone. the day had not passed without excitement, for when they were engaged at the most difficult point of the journey the crack of rifles was heard far overhead, and for half an hour a steady fire was kept up there. those below were of course wholly ignorant of what was passing there, and for some time they suffered considerable anxiety; for if their guard above had been overpowered they must have been destroyed by rocks cast down by their foes. at the end of half an hour the firing ceased; but it was not until they camped for the night in the valley beyond the gorge that they learned from the hunters, who joined them there, what had happened. there were, jumbo explained, three or four hundred natives, but fortunately these approached from the opposite side of the gorge; consequently the little party of defenders was in no danger of attack. the enemy had been disconcerted when they first opened fire, but had then pressed forward to get to the edge of the ravine. the superior weapons of the defenders had, however, checked them, and finding that there was no possibility of coming to close quarters with the little band, they had, after losing several of their number, abandoned the attempt and fallen back. soon after nightfall they were startled by a heavy crashing sound, and great rocks came bounding the young colonists. attack, and the rifles of the whites and the three hunters opened fire upon them and checked those on the bare sides of the hill. many, however, went farther down, and descending into the valley crept up under the shelter of the stones and boulders, and as soon as they came within range opened fire with their bows and arrows. by this time, however, the waggons were entering the ravine which, although at its entrance less abrupt and perpendicular than that below, soon assumed a precisely similar character. once well within its shelter mr. harvey posted dick with the three hunters and four of the other natives to defend the rear. this was a matter of little difficulty. two or three hundred yards up the ravine a barrier, similar to those met with on the previous day, was encountered, and the waggons had to be dragged up by ropes, an operation which took upwards of three hours. while the passage was being effected, dick with his party had remained near the mouth of the ravine, and had been busy with the enemy who pressed them; but after the last waggon had safely crossed the barrier they took their station at this point, which they could have held against any number of enemies. the caravan proceeded on its way, men and animals labouring to the utmost; when, at a point where the sides of rock seemed nearly to close above them, a nar- row line of sky only being visible, a great rock came crushing and leaping down, bounding from side to side with a tremendous uproar, and bringing down with it the young colonists. a shower of smaller rocks, which it had dislodged in its course. the bottom of the ravine was here about twelve yards wide, and happened to be unusually level. the great rock, which must have weighed half a ton, fell on one side of the leading waggon and burst into fragments which flew in all directions. for- tunately no one was hurt, but a scream of dismay broke from the natives. "steady!" mr. harvey shouted; "push on ahead; but each man keep to his work—the first who attempts to run and desert the waggons i will shoot through the head." "tom, go on a hundred yards in front, and keep that distance ahead of the leading waggon. shoot down at once any one who attempts to pass you." rock followed rock in quick succession ; there was, however, fortunately a bulge in the cliff on the right- hand side, projecting some twenty feet out, and as the blocks struck this they were hurled off to the left side of the path. seeing this mr. harvey kept the waggons close along on the right, and although several of the oxen and three or four of the men were struck by detached fragments from above, or by splinters from the stones as they fell, none were seriously injured. long after the caravan had passed the point the rocks continued to thunder down, showing mr. harvey that those above were unable to see to the bottom of the gorge, but that they were discharging their missiles at random. a short distance farther a cross ravine, a mere cleft in the rock, some five feet wide at the the young colonists. bottom, was passed, and mr. harvey congratulated himself at the certainty that this would bar the pro- gress of their foes above, and prevent the attack being renewed from any point farther on. at this point so formidable an obstacle was met with in a massive rock, some thirty feet high, jammed in the narrowest part of the ravine, that the waggons had to be emptied and hauled by ropes up the almost perpendicular rock, the oxen being taken through a passage, which with immense labour the men managed to clear of stones, under one of the angles of the rock. it was not until after dark that they reached the spot where the ravine again widened out into a valley, having spent sixteen hours in accom- plishing a distance of only three miles. however, all congratulated themselves that two-thirds of their labour was over, and that but one more defile had to be surmounted. the rear-guard remained encamped at the opening of the defile, but the night passed without interrup- tion, the natives being doubtless disheartened by the failure to destroy the caravan by rocks from above. "do you think there is any chance of their attacking us to-night, down the slopes, as they did this morning?" tom asked mr. harvey. "none whatever," the latter replied, "as you will see in the morning. this valley does not resemble the last; the rocks rise almost perpendicularly on both sides, and it would not be possible for them to make their way down, even if they wanted to do so." the young colonists. dick presently arrived, and was much impressed with the formidable nature of the obstacle. "we might creep forward," he said, "among the stones and soon drive those fellows off the edge, but they would only lie down behind, and could easily destroy us, as we climbed one by one to the top. each one, as he got up, would be riddled with assegais. what are you thinking of doing, sir?" "i don't know what is best, dick. i quite agree with you, it is a tremendous position to storm, but on the other hand it would be almost as bad to retreat." ten minutes later jumbo arrived at a run ; without a word he threw himself down by the side of mr. harvey, and for two or three minutes gazed silently at the obstacle ahead; then, to mr. harvey's surprise, he turned over on to his back, and lay there with his eyes open. "what on earth are you doing, jumbo?" "look there, sir," the native said, pointing to a glistening spot, the size of a crown-piece, on his stomach. "well, what of that?" mr. harvey said ; "that's a drop of rain—there's another fallen on my hat. what do you think of that place ahead?" "me no think nothing about him, sir; that place, sir, no consequence one way or de other. you hear him, sir?" as he spoke a louder crash of thunder burst over- head. mr. harvey looked up now. that portion of q the young colonists. the sky which could be seen was inky black. great drops of rain were falling with a pattering sound on the rock. "storm come, sir; very bad storm, i see him coming, and say to massa tom, 'two or tree hour fight over; now you see someting like a mountain- storm. in tree hours water come down twenty feet deep."' "you are right, jumbo. it is lucky the storm has begun so early; if we had got far into the defile we should have been caught. now, all we have got to do is to wait. go back, dick, and send up every man with fire-arms; we must at once engage those fellows in front and occupy their attention. if they once per- ceive their danger they will make a desperate rush down here, and it will go hard with us then. when you have sent the fighting-men up, see that the teamsters move all the waggons to the highest piece of ground you can find in the valley. let them arrange the waggons there as closely as they will pack, and keep the animals well round them. a flood will destroy our enemy, but i am not sure that it may not destroy us too. now hurry away, and tell the fighting- men to run up as quick as they can. when you have seen everything in readiness, join tom, and warn him to be ready to fall back to the waggons as soon as the flood comes." dick ran down the ravine. it was not until he issued from it that he was aware how tremendously the rain was pouring down. in the defile he had been the young colonists. conscious only of a slight mist, with an occasional drop of heavy rain, for very few of the rain-drops which entered the gap far above descended to the bottom, almost all striking against the sides. in the compara- tively open valley, however, the rain was coming down in a perfect cataract. dick at once sent all the fighting-men to the front, and three minutes later the report of musketry told that they were engaged with the enemy. dick now set to work with ten of the natives to select the spot on which to place the waggons. the bottom of the valley was very flat, and the sand between the boulders showed that when the water was high the whole was covered. he, however, found a spot on the left-hand side, about midway between the two denies, which was some feet higher than the rest. the hill-side behind at this point rose somewhat less abruptly than elsewhere, and it was probable that the rise in the bottom was formed by a slip which had taken place at some past period. here the waggons were arranged side by side in two rows, the wheels of the three inner waggons close against the slope above them. the cattle were gathered closely round. dick then joined tom, whom he found in high spirits, the hunters having already told him that the flood would very soon come to their relief. the party was hotly engaged. about thirty or forty yards intervened between them and their enemy, who, crouching behind rocks, were shooting their q the young colonists. gorges. jumbo is listening; it will come with a roar like thunder. he has just told me i had better send most of the men back at once, keeping only four or five to continue firing to the last moment. you see the enemy, who are there on a sort of plat- form, will not notice the water that is making its way down. see how fast it rises; it is ankle-deep already—and, i tell you, we shall have to run when the time comes." all the natives, with the exception of jumbo and two other men, were sent back. "i don't see anything to fire at," dick said. "no," mr. harvey agreed; "it is a pure waste of ammunition, except that it occupies their attention. they can hardly be conscious yet how tremendously it is raining. if they were they would not remain where they are, but would make a rush upon us, how- ever great the risk." "listen !" jumbo exclaimed suddenly. they listened and were conscious of a dull, heavy, roaring sound. jumbo leapt to his feet. "come !" he said; "run for your lives." they started up and took to their heels. a terrible yell was heard behind them, and, glancing over his shoulder, as he turned the corner, dick saw the natives climbing down from their defence, and even leaping from the top in their terror. fast as dick was running, the roar behind rose louder and louder. "quick, dick," mr. harvey shouted, "or you will be too late." the young colonists. dick hurried to the utmost, but the stream was already rising rapidly, and was running knee-deep between the stones. stumbling and slipping, and cut- ting himself against the rocks, dick struggled on. the mighty roar was now close behind him, and seemed to him like that of a heavy train at full speed. he reached the mouth of the ravine; the water was already up to his waist. mr. harvey and jumbo dashed in, seized him by the arms, and dragged him out. "run !" they said. they were not fifty yards from the mouth, when dick, looking round, saw a mighty wall of water, fifteen feet high, leap from it, pouring as from huge sluice-gates into the valley. he did not stop running until he joined the rest gathered by the waggons. tom and his party were already there, for the rising water had soon warned their assailants of the danger, and the fire had suddenly ceased. already the greater part of the valley was covered with water, down the centre of which a foaming torrent was flowing. here and there could be seen numerous dark objects, which, he knew, were the bodies of the indians who had defended the upper defile, caught before they could reach its mouth by the wall of water from above. they had instantly been dashed lifeless against the rocks and boulders, and not one could be seen to make towards the comparatively still waters on either side of the centre stream. driven back again by the narrow entrance to the the young colonists. "it has not risen at all since i came here!" the teamsters had taken their station on the outside waggons, and continued to talk and shout to the oxen, exhorting these to be patient and quiet, as if the animals were capable of understanding every word they said. for three hours there was no change in the situation. then all thought that there was a slight decrease in the height of the torrent of water pouring from the defile, and half an hour later a slight but distinct sub- sidence in the level of the water could be perceived. in another hour it had fallen a foot, and after that the fall was rapid and steady. the deep roar caused by the rushing torrent and the rumbling of the huge boulders and rocks swept along in the narrow defile, gradually subsided, and soon the bullocks were again standing on their feet. the natives set to work to wash away the thick sedi- ment which the flood had left on the floor of the waggons, and before nightfall the goods were all repacked. but few signs of the recent flood nowremained in the valley. a stream still rushed through the centre. trunks and branches of trees lay here and there, as the water had left them, and the bodies of some twenty or thirty natives were lying amongst the rocks. in some places shallow pools remained; in others were sheets of glistening mud. "we shall have no more trouble with the natives," mr. harvey said; "the fighting-men of that tribe must have been nearly annihilated." the young colonists. "do you think that those below were caught, as well as those above?" "certainly," mr. harvey answered; "the water went down with the speed of a race-horse; they had only a few minutes' start, and would have been over- taken before they could have even gained the lower bed of the gorge. we can journey on peacefully now. we have been fortunate indeed; we have only lost one man, and the three who were hit with stones are all likely to do well. we have not lost a single bullock, nor a bale of goods." "we shall have hard work to get the waggons up that place where the natives made the stand to- morrow." "it is quite likely," mr. harvey said, "that the obstacle there no longer exists. a flood like that of to-day would carry away anything. look at those great blocks, some of which must weigh more than a hundred tons. likely enough some of them have formed part of that great pile. i have already sent tony and blacking up the defile to see how the flood has left it, and in an hour they will be back to report." the hunters on returning brought the good news that the great block had been removed, and so far as they had explored no other of any importance had been found. they said indeed that the defile was now more open than either of the two gorges they had already passed through. this was very satisfactory, for all had had enough of lifting and heaving rocks. their hands were all cut the young colonists. and wounded, and every limb ached with the strains which they had undergone. the next morning at daybreak the caravan started. the hunters' report of the state of the roads was fairly borne out, and although some difficulties were met with it was unnecessary to unyoke the oxen, although of course many boulders had to be cleared away to allow them to pass. on emerging at the upper end of the defile they found they were in a valley which opened out to a great width, and rose in gradual slopes at its head to the crest of the hills. as the only egress at the lower end was by the defile, it was clear that the whole rainfall must make its way by this exit, which fully accounted for the tremendous torrent they had witnessed. two days' travelling brought them to the foot of the slopes on the other side of the range of hills, and they were soon engaged in carrying on a considerable trade with the natives there. for another three months they travelled slowly through the country, by the end of which time they had disposed of all their goods, and the waggons were filled to the tilts with skins and bales of ostrich feathers. they now turned their faces to the south. after journeying for a fortnight they perceived one day, far across the country, the white tilts of another caravan. the three whites at once started at full gallop, eager to hear news of what had taken place in the colony during their absence. as they neared the caravan two white men rode out to meet them; the young colonists. both were known to mr. harvey, and hearty greetings were exchanged. the new-comers were halting for the day, and mr. harvey and the boys were soon seated in tents, with three bottles of beer in front of them, a luxury which they heartily enjoyed, having been many months without tasting it. "and now what is the news in the colony ?" mr. harvey asked, after having replied to their questions as to the state of trade, and the route which they had followed, as the new-comers would of course take another line, so as not to pass over the same ground. "things don't look well," they answered; "the boers are growing so insolent that there is no getting on with them. several english have been shot down in various places, without the smallest cause. they openly declare their intention of recovering their independence. the english stores are for the most part tabooed, and things altogether look very threatening. there is a mere handful of british troops in the transvaal, and only a regiment or so in natal. those wretched duffers at home hurried every soldier out of the country the instant the fighting was over, and if the boers really mean business we shall have no end of trouble. you see, we have crushed their two enemies, the zulus and secoceni, and now that we have done the work for them they want to get rid of us." "i thought we should have trouble with them," mr. harvey said ; "they are an obstinate, pig-headed the young colonists. decision it would be a different matter altogether. there are a considerable number of english and scotch settlers already here, and the natives would rise against the dutch to a man, if called upon to do so; and if a couple of dozen of their ringleaders were promptly seized and shot, there would be an end to the whole matter. but i know what it will be : the natives will not be encouraged or even allowed to rise, our soldiers, who can hardly hit a haystack at a hundred yards, will be shot down at a distance by the boers, and, likely enough, we shall meet with a serious disaster, and then the english government will get frightened and make any terms these fellows demand. the young colonists. chapter xvi. a fight with the boers. for some time they continued their journey, meeting everywhere with the grossest incivility on the part of the boers; in many places they were refused water at the farms, and warned at once off the land, and mr. harvey had the greatest difficulty in keeping his own temper and restraining the boys from resenting the language of the boers. one day, as they were riding along, two boers on horseback halted on an eminence near the road and addressed taunting remarks to them; they made no answer, but continued their way. they had not gone a hundred yards when one of the boers deliberately took aim and fired at them ; the ball passed between dick and mr. harvey and struck one of the natives walking just in front of them, killing him upon the spot. this was too much. mr. harvey and the lads wheeled their horses, unslung their rifles, and fired at the boers, who were galloping away. one of them at once dropped from his saddle, shot through the head; the other reeled, but, retaining his seat, galloped off at full speed. "this is a bad business, boys," mr. harvey said; "we could not help it, but it will bring trouble upon us. now let us branch off from the road we are following, the young colonists. a hundred yards from the laager, a shot was fired, the bullet burying itself with a thud in one of the bales of skins; almost instantly from every point in a circle round other shots were fired, and the splintering of wood and the dull sounds, as the shots struck the barricade, told how accurate was their aim. mr. harvey's orders had been, " don't throw away a shot. when you see the flash of a rifle, aim steadily at that point; the next time a head is lifted to take aim, hit it." the natives were ordered on no account to fire, unless the boers attempted to close, but to lie quietly < under shelter of the defences. in consequence of these orders not a shot replied to the first volley of the boers ; but when the second round commenced, puffs of smoke darted from beneath the waggons. dick and tom knew that their shots had been successful, for the heads at which they had aimed lay clearly in view, and no discharge came from the rifles pointed towards them. the other shots must have passed near their marks, and after this first exhibition of the shooting powers of the defenders, the boers became much more careful, firing only at intervals, and shifting their ground each time, before they raised their heads to take aim. so the whole day passed, a dropping fire being kept up on both sides. the defenders were con- vinced by the end of the day that seven or eight of the boers had fallen, but their places had been more than filled by new-comers who had been seen galloping across the plain towards the scene of conflict. on the side of the defenders no casualties had occurred. the young colonists. if everything had gone straight, i calculated that we might be at home by christmas-eve. now, goodness only knows when we shall arrive; for, as likely as not, we may be kept here for days over this row with the boers." the moment they arrived at leydenberg mr. har- vey, accompanied by the two lads and the three native hunters, went to the house of the magistrate. that gentleman had just finished his dinner; but on being told that his visitors' business was urgent he asked them to be shown in. the hunters remained outside, and the lads followed mr. harvey into the house. "i have come to make a complaint against some boers," the trader said. "then i can tell you beforehand," the magistrate put in, "that your mission is a vain one. outside this town i have not at present the slightest authority. complaints reach me on all sides of outrages perpe- trated by the boers upon english settlers and traders. strong armed parties are moving about the country; and although i will of course hear anything that you have got to say, with a view of obtaining redress when things settle down again, i cannot hold out any hope of being able to take action at present." "i have scarcely come to you, sir, with the idea of obtaining redress, but rather of stating my case, in case the boers should bring a complaint against me." the trader then proceeded to relate the circum- stances which had occurred: the wanton attack upon the young colonists. leave,"remember,theworcl for the night is, 'newcastle.' you will probably be challenged several times by sentries before you get to your waggons, for, although there is no absolute insurrection at present, there is no saying when the boers may break out. they will hardly think of attacking a body of troops marching peaceably along; still, it is as well to neglect no pre- cautions. if you are challenged,' who comes there?' you will reply, ' friends.' the sentry will then say, 'advance and give the word.' you walk forward and say, ' newcastle,' and you will pass all right." the march was continued for four days. at the end of this time they arrived at the spot where the direct road for pieter-maritzburg through utrecht left that which they were following. "look here, lads," mr. harvey said ; " this road will take you considerably out of your way. if you like you can follow the column for another couple of days. you will then cross the south road, and can there leave them and gallop on by yourselves to standerton in one day, and home the next. that will take you back by the rd; whereas, if you go on with me, you will not be back by new year's day. we are getting now to a part of the colony where the english element is pretty strong, and the boers are not likely to be troublesome; so i shall have no difficulty in passing down with the waggons. you can tell your fathers that we have had a most satisfactory trip, and i expect when i have sold our goods at durban they will have good reason to be content." the young colonists. the lads gladly accepted the offer; they were longing to be at home again, and especially wished to be back by christmas. the colonel on hearing of the arrangement heartily invited the lads to mess with the regiment for the time that they continued with them, and offered to have a spare tent pitched for their accommodation. the young colonists. chapter xvii. a terrible journey. that evening mr. harvey and the lads were again invited to dine at mess, and after dinner the colonel asked mr. harvey if he would be good enough to tell them some of his adventures in the interior. "i have had so many," the trader said, "that i hardly know which would be most interesting. i have been many times attacked by the natives, but i do not know that any of these affairs were so interesting as the fight we had in the defile the other day. some of the worst adventures which we have to go through are those occasioned by want of water. i have had several of these, but the worst was one which befell me on one of my earliest trips up the country. on this occasion i did not as usual accompany my father, but went with a trader named macgregor, a scotch- man, as my father was ill at the time. he considered me too young to go by myself, and when he proposed to macgregor that i should join him with the usual number of waggons he sent up, macgregor objected, saying,—i have no doubt with justice,—that the double amount of goods would be more than could be disposed of. he added, however, that he should be glad if i would accompany him with a couple of waggons. it was, as it turned out, a very good thing the young colonists. for my father that his venture was such a small one. macgregor was a keen trader; he understood the native character well, and was generally very suc- cessful in his ventures. his failing was that he was an obstinate, pig-headed man, very positive in his own opinions, and distrusting all advice given him. "our trip had been a successful one. we pene- trated very far in the interior, and disposed of all our goods. when we had done so, we started to strike down to kimberley across a little-known and very sandy district. the natives among whom we were, en- deavoured to dissuade macgregor from making the attempt, saying that the season was a very dry one, that many of the pools were empty, and that there would be the greatest difficulty in obtaining water. macgregor disregarded the advice. by taking the direct route south he would save some hundreds of miles. he said that other caravans had at different times taken this route in safety, and at the same time of the year. he insisted that the season had not been a particularly dry one, and that he was not going to be frightened by old women's tales. the natives were always croaking about something, but he did not mean to lose a month of his time for nothing. "accordingly we started. the really bad part of our journey was about miles across a sandy country, with low scrub. the bullocks, when driven to it, would eat the leaves of this scrub, so that we did not anticipate any difficulty in the way of forage. in the the young colonists. until daybreak ; then the sun rose, and poured down upon us. it was a terrible day. no one spoke, and the creaking of the wheels of the waggons was the only sound to be heard. every mile we went the numbers lessened, as the bullocks lay down to die by the way. my tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth, and the sun to scorch up my brain. i hardly took notice of what was going on around me, but let the reins hang loose on my horse's neck. several times he stumbled, and at last fell heavily. i picked myself up from the sands, and saw that he was dying. the waggons had come to a standstill now, and i had, i saw, for the last quarter of a mile gone on alone. i looked at my watch ; it was four o'clock, and i turned and walked slowly back to the waggons. the drivers had unroped the oxen, but most of them lay where they had halted, incapable of rising to their feet; others had tottered to the shade cast by the waggons, and had thrown themselves down there. the drivers were lying among them. as i came up macgregor staggered towards me; he was chewing a handful of leaves. 'i have been wrong, harvey,' he said, in a hoarse voice, 'and it has cost us all our lives. say you forgive me, my boy.' 'i forgive you heartily,' i said; 'you thought it was for the best.' i don't remember much more. i lay down and wondered vaguely what had become of my man, whom i had not seen since we started on the previous even- ing. "the next thing i remember was that it was night the young colonists. i got up on my feet and staggered to a bullock that i heard faintly groaning; i cut a vein in his neck and sucked the blood, and then started to walk; fortunately, as it turned out, i had not gone a hundred yards when a dizziness came over me, and i fell again to the ground. i must have lain there for some hours; when i became conscious, water was being poured between my lips. i soon recovered sufficiently to sit up, and found that it was my faithful man. when the caravan started from the last halting-place, he had seen that it was impos- sible for it to reach its journey's end, and although, like the rest, he was exhausted and worn out, he had started at full speed alone, and by morning reached water, having travelled fifty miles in the night. it was midday before he succeeded in finding a native kraal; then by promise of a large reward he induced forty men, each laden with a heavy skin of water, to start with him, and at three in the morning reached the camp; fortunately he stumbled across me just before he got there. "the assistance arrived in time. two of the drivers were found to be dead, but macgregor and the other hands, sixteen in number, were all brought round. - the supply carried by the natives was sufficient to give an ample drink to the eighteen oxen which were still alive. a feed of maize was then given to each, but as they were too weak to drag even one of the waggons they were driven on ahead, and most of them got over the twenty-five miles which still separated them from water. we halted there a week, to allow the animals s the young colonists. to recover; then, carrying skins of water for their supply on the way, they went back and brought in the two waggons, one at a time. with these i came down to the colony. macgregor remained behind, and directly the rain set in went up with native cattle and brought down the other waggons, all the valuable contents of which, however, had in the intervening time been carried off by natives. it was a near squeak, wasn't it? macgregor was never the same man again, and shortly after his return to natal he sold off his wag- gons and went back to scotland. being young and strong i soon recovered from my privation." "lions are very abundant in some parts of the interior, are they not, mr. harvey?" one of the officers asked, after they had thanked the trader for his story. "extraordinarily so," mr. harvey replied; "in fact it has long been a puzzle among us how such vast quantities could find food—in no other country in the world could they do so; but here the abundance of deer is so great that the lions are able to kill vast numbers, without making any great impression upon them." "but i should not have thought," an officer said, "that a lion could run down a deer!" "he cannot," mr. harvey said, "except for short distances. the south african lion is a lighter and more active beast than the northern lion, and can for the first hundred yards run with prodigious swiftness, tak- ing long bounds like a cat. stealing through the long grass, and keeping to leeward of the herd, he will the young colonists. i sprang to my feet and climbed up into the tree, just as two more lions arrived upon the spot. my ser- vant had not uttered a cry, and was, i have no doubt, struck dead at once. the horses ceased to struggle by the time i gained my tree. at least twenty lions gathered round, and growled and quarrelled over the carcases of the horses. when they had finished these, they walked round and round the tree, roaring hor- ridly; some of them reared themselves against the trunk, as if they would try to climb it, but the lion is not a tree-climber, and i had not much fear that they would make the attempt. i hoped that in the morn- ing they would move off; but they had clearly no in- tention of doing so, for, as it became daylight, they retired a short distance and then either lay down or sat upon their haunches in a semicircle fifty yards distant, watching me. "so the whole day passed; i had only the four shots left in my revolver, for my spare ammunition was in the holster of my saddle, and even had i had a dozen revolvers i could have done nothing against them. at night they again came up to the tree, and in hopes of frightening them off i descended to the lower branches, and fired my remaining shots at brutes rearing up against it. as i aimed in each case at the eye, and the muzzle of my pistol was within four feet of their heads, the shots were fatal; but the only result was that the lions withdrew for a short distance, and renewed their guard round the tree. the young colonists. wounded; and as the rest could not be got together to charge up the slope under the deadly fire of the boers, the colonel, who was himself wounded, sur- rendered with the survivors to the boers. two or three mounted officers only succeeded in getting through. when the fire opened, dick and tom at once threw themselves off their horses, and, unslinging their rifles, opened fire. when they saw the bewil- derment and confusion, and how fast the men were dropping under the fire of the boers, dick said to his friend,— "it is all up, tom; it is simply a massacre. we will wait for a minute or two, and then mount and make a dash for it." their horses were both lying down beside them, for the lads had taught them to do this at the word of command, as it enabled them often, when out hunt- ing, to conceal themselves in a slight depression from the sight of an approaching herd of deer. thus they, as well as their masters, remained untouched by the storm of bullets. the boers almost concealed from view, steadily picked off the men. "it is of no use, tom; let us mount and make a bolt for it. they must surrender in a few minutes, or not a man will be left alive." they gave the word to their horses, and these leaped to their feet, and, as was their habit in the chase, dashed off at full speed the instant their masters were in the saddle. bending low on the necks of their the young colonists. horses, the lads rode at the top of their speed. several bullets came very close to them, but keeping closely side by side, to lessen the mark they presented to the enemy, they dashed on untouched. looking round, when they had proceeded some little distance, they saw that four boers had mounted and were in hot pursuit. their horses were good ones, in capital condition, and had done easy work for the last few days. the boers also were well mounted, and for three or four miles the chase continued, the dutch from time to time firing; but the lads were a good four hundred yards ahead, a distance beyond that at which the boers are accustomed to shoot, or which their guns will carry with any accuracy. "we must stop this," dick said, as they breasted an ascent. "if they should happen to hit one of our horses, it would be all up with us. dismount, tom, as soon as you are over the rise." as soon as they were out of sight of their pursuers, they reined up their horses and dismounted. they again made the animals lie down, and, throwing them- selves behind them, rested their rifles upon them. the boers, they had noticed, were not all together —two of them being about fifty yards ahead of the others. at full speed the leading pursuers dashed for the rise; as they came fairly in view, they were but fifty yards distant. the lads and their horses were almost hidden in the long grass, and the boers did not for a moment notice them. when they did, they instantly reined in their horses, but it was too late. the young colonists. the lads had their rifles fixed upon them, the two shots rang out together, both the boers fell lifeless from the saddle, and the dutch horses dashed back along the track by which they had come. the lads instantly reloaded; but they waited in vain for the coming of the other pursuers; these on seeing the horses galloping towards them after the shots had been fired had at once turned and rode off. after waiting for a little time to be sure that they were not going to be attacked, the friends mounted and rode on. they did not retrace their steps to see what had become of the other pursuers, as it was possible that these had imitated their own tactics, and were lying down by their horses, waiting to get a shot at them, should they ride back. they now continued their journey at an easy canter, and late in the evening entered the little town of stan- derton. standerton presented a scene of unusual excitement; teams of waggons filled its streets, armed men moved about and talked excitedly, numbers of cattle and horses under the charge of kaffirs occupied every spare place near the town—it was an exodus. the loyal boers, who were at that time in an absolute majority throughout the colony, were many of them moving across the frontier, to escape the conflict which they saw approaching. the more enlightened among these people had been fully conscious of the short-comings of their own government, prior to the annexation to england. the young colonists. short as had been the period that had elapsed since that event, the benefits which had accrued to the country had been immense. the value of land had risen fourfold; english traders had opened establish- ments in every village, and the dutch obtained far higher prices than before for their produce, with a corresponding reduction in that of the articles which they had to purchase. peaceable men were no longer harassed by being summoned to take part in com- mandos or levies for expeditions against the natives. the feeling of insecurity from the threatening attitude of the zulus and other warlike neighbours was at an end, as was the danger of a general rising among the natives in the colony, who outnumbered the boers by ten to one. thus the wiser heads among the boers bitterly regretted the movement which had commenced for the renewed independence of the country. they did not believe that it would be successful, because they could not suppose that england, having, by the repeated assertions of its representatives that the annexation was final and absolute, induced thousands of englishmen to purchase land, erect trading esta- blishments, and embark their capital in the country, could ever desert and ruin them. they foresaw, more- over, that even should the rebellion be successful it would throw the country back a century, the rising trade would be nipped in the bud, the english colonists would leave the country, the price of land would again fall to a nominal sum, the old difficulties of raising taxes the young colonists. to carry on the government would recur, and restless spirits would again be carryingout lawless raids upon the natives, and involving them in difficulties and dangers. farther north the loyal portion of the dutch re- mained quiet during the trouble; but around stan- derton, utrecht, and other places near the frontier large numbers of them crossed into natal, with their wives and families, their cattle and horses, and there remained until the end of the war. the english settlers, almost to a man, abandoned their farms, and either re- tired into natal or assembled in the towns and formed themselves with the traders there into corps for their defence. the manner in which throughout the war these little bodies uniformly succeeded in repulsing every attempt of the boers to capture the towns showed how easily the latter could have been defeated, had the british government acted with energy when a sufficient force had been collected on the frontier, instead of losing heart and surrendering at discretion. it is not too much to say that, had the british govern- ment stood altogether aloof, the colony of natal, with the english settlers and loyal boers,could single-handed have put down the insurrection in the transvaal. the news which the lads brought to standerton of the unprovoked attack upon, and massacre of, the th caused a wild feeling of excitement. a crowd rapidly gathered round the lads, and so great was the anxiety to hear what had taken place that dick was obliged to mount on a waggon, and to relate the whole circumstances to the crowd. the young colonists. englishmen living at home in the happy conviction that their own is the greatest of nations can form little idea of the feelings of men in a colony like the cape, where our rule is but half-consolidated, and where a dutch population, equal in numbers, are sullenly hostile, or openly insolent. the love of the old flag and the pride of nationality are there very different feelings from the dull and languid sentiment at home; and the news of this bloody massacre, at a time when hostilities had not commenced on either side, and when no overt act of rebellion had taken place, caused every eye to flash, and the blood to run hotly in men's veins. those who had hitherto counselled that the english settlers should remain neutral in the contest were now as eager as the rest in their demands that the place should be defended. there was but one com- pany of british troops in the town; but within an hour of the story of the massacre being known men had put down their names to form a corps; officers were chosen, and these at once waited upon the captain in command of the troops, and placed them- selves under his orders. the next morning scores of men set to work throwing up a breastwork round the place, cutting holes in the walls and houses for musketry, and preparing to defend the little town to the last against any attack of the boers. the moment that he had heard from the lads of the disaster to the th, the officer in command despatched the young colonists.in that portion of natal; here large numbers of dutch were settled, and the colonists were consequently divided into hostile camps. large numbers of british colonists sent in their names as ready to serve against the boers; but the english military authorities un- fortunately declined to avail themselves of their ser- vices, on the ground that they did not wish to in- volve the colonists in a struggle which was purely an imperial one. for, were they to do so, the dutch throughout the colony and in the orange free state might also join in the struggle, and the whole of south africa be involved in a civil war. there was much in this view of the case; but had a strong corps of colonists been attached to the force of general colley, it is pretty certain that it would have escaped the disaster which subsequently befell it; for, being for the most part excellent shots and accustomed to the chase, they would have met the boers with their own tactics, and thus, as the english settlers in the garrisons in the transvaal showed themselves far better fighters than their dutch antagonists, so natal, where large numbers of young colonists had served against the zulus, secoceni, moirosi, and in other native troubles, could, if permitted, have furnished a contingent which would have entirely altered the complexion of the struggle. upon the very day after the return of their sons, mr. humphreys and his friend jackson, furious at the two attacks which had been made by the boers upon the young colonists. mince-pies were equal to the best at home, and no pains were spared to recall home customs on the occasion. at one o'clock there had been an equally good dinner given to the labourers and their families belonging to the farms of mr. humphreys and his guests, and in the evening all assembled in the great kitchen, and to the tunes of a violin, played by one of the young colonists, a merry dance was kept up for some hours. the next morning harrison started with the remaining waggon and several carts for pieter-maritzburg, and the lads were supposed to re- sume regular work on the farms. / the young colonists. the pretoria horse; mounted volunteers,known as norris's horse, and the pretoria rifles, an infantry volunteer corps, strong. for the reception of the women and children intrenchments were thrown up, connecting the jail and loretto convent, and the defence of this point was intrusted to six companies of the pretoria rifles, under major le mesurier. the camp was distant about a third of a mile from the jail and convent, and the approaches were commanded by three little forts erected on eminences around. several skirmishes took place in the last fortnight in december, but the first sharp engagement occurred on the th of january. colonel gildea took out a force of twenty officers, men, a gun, and fifteen waggons to bring in some forage and attack a boer position at pienness river, about twelve miles off. norris's horse scouted in front, and the pretoria pioneers were detached to cut off the retreat of the boers. the boers were easily turned out of their position. their defence was feeble; but several english were killed, owing to the boers treacherously hoisting a flag of truce, upon which the english skirmishers, who were creeping forward, stood up, thinking that the boers surrendered; they then fired, and several of our men were killed or wounded. the boers being largely reinforced came forward to the attack, but were smartly repulsed. our loss was four men killed and one officer (captain sampson); fourteen men were wounded. on the th another force started to attack a boer laager, but found the enemy in such the young colonists. had been attained, but still no water was met with. a reward of st. was offered to the first party who struck water, and the soldiers off duty commenced digging in several places. at last, to the intense relief of the garrison, a party of royal artillerymen found water at a depth of nine feet. the well soon filled, and yielded plenty of water during the remainder of the siege. a desultory fire was kept up until the st of january, when, the boers being strongly reinforced, men surrounded the fort at a distance of yards, and opened a heavy fire upon it. they did not, however, venture to attack the little garrison. on the th they occupied the cemetery, yards from the fort, but lieutenant lindsell with a party of volunteers went out by moonlight and drove them out. the boers then commenced making trenches, gradually approaching the fort; but on the nd lieutenant dalrymple hay went out, carried the position from which the boers had been most trouble- some, and captured four prisoners, some guns, ammu- nition, and trenching-tools. from that time, although the boers continued to throw up trenches, they con- tented themselves with a desultory fire. the siege continued for three months and five days; at the end of that time the whole of the pro- visions were exhausted. fever, dysentery, and scurvy had broken out, and many of the garrison had died. out of men eighty-three had been killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. in fact an armistice the young colonists. the centre point of defence was a building known as fort alice, yards from the town, and a military camp was formed on a height one mile and a quarter from this point. preparations were made to blow up some of the buildings, should the boers carry the town, mines being dug and laid to the fort. a good store of provisions was collected. on the th a scout on a hill signalled a large number of boers were approaching erasmus farm, three miles distant from standerton. captain cassell, with six- teen mounted volunteers, went out to reconnoitre. two or three scouts were thrown out, and these arrived within yards of the farm; suddenly a number of boers made their appearance, and mr. g. b. hall, one of the mounted volunteers, gallantly tried to cross their line to warn his comrades of the coming danger. galloping in front of the boers, his horse was shot under him; taking shelter behind it, he opened fire on the enemy, and so attracted the attention of his party. one man could not long resist , and hall was soon killed. the alarm, however, had been given in time, and the mounted men fell back on the camp, exchanging shots with the enemy. the boers now took up a position yards from the camp, and kept up a heavy fire. skirmishes occurred daily, and the enemy harassing the garrison from a height called standerton kop, major montague caused a dummy- gun, mounted on two waggon-wheels, to be placed in the intrenchments; the sight of this frightened the boers off standerton kop. the young colonists. on the th of january a swazi, named infofa, who had greatly distinguished himself by his bravery in the secoceni war, but was now undergoing a term of penal servitude for culpable homicide, performed an act of singular bravery. the boers had during the night erected a small earthwork on the outside of the vaal river; yards nearer the town stood a house, and fearing that this might be occupied by the dutch, it was determined to destroy it. infofa with a party of kaffirs volunteered for the duty; he crossed the river with his party, and the kaffirs began to pull down the house. infofa, however, took his gun, and marched boldly away to the boer earthwork, yards distant, to the astonishment of the lookers-on. it happened that at the moment no boers were pre- sent in the works, and the man reached it without a shot being fired at him; inside he found some tools, and with these he deliberately set to work and levelled the breastwork; this accomplished, he re- turned to the party. until the end of the war the boers were unable to make any impression upon standerton, and whenever they approached too closely the garrison sallied out and drove them off. at leydenberg fifty men of the th, under lieutenant long, had been left, when the four com- panies under colonel anstruther had marched away. the people of the town, when the news of the rising arrived, offered to defend themselves with the troops against attacks; but lieutenant long declined to ac- the young colonists. terms of the treaty, and the surrender to the boers, that he resigned his commission in the army. marabadstadt, though called a village, consists of only seven or eight houses. sixty men of the th, under captain brook, formed the garrison which was stationed there to keep order after the secoceni war, as no less than , natives inhabit the sur- rounding district. fortunately the races were being held at the time when the news of the massacre of the th arrived, and the english inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who were present, at once responded to the call of captain brook to aid in the defence, and thirty white men and fifty half-castes enrolled themselves as volunteers. the boers attacked in considerable force, having with them two cannons; but the fort held out until the end of the war, the garrison making many sorties when the boers brought up their guns too close. at rustenberg and wackerstroom a successful defence was also main- tained throughout the war by the british and loyalists; but no incidents of importance marked the siege of those places. the young colonists. on himself, and they would hang round a column like this, pick the men off at long distances, and fall upon them in hollows and bushes; while, whenever our fellows tried to take the offensive, they would mount their horses and ride away, only to return and renew the attack as soon as the troops fell back to the waggons. besides, with such a train of waggons we can only crawl along, and the boers will have time to fortify every position. i wonder, at any rate, that general colley does not push forward in light march- ing-order and drive the boers at once out of natal, and cross the river into the transvaal; then he would have a flat, open country before him, and could bring the waggons up afterwards." "what you say seems right enough, dick," his father answered; "but general colley has the repu- tation of being an excellent officer." "i have no doubt that he is an excellent officer, father; but he has had no experience whatever in the boers' style of fighting; he knows that they have often been defeated by natives, and i fancy he does not value them highly enough. they cannot stand a quick, sudden attack, and that's how the natives some- times defeat them, but at their own game of shoot- ing from behind rocks i believe that they are more than a match for regular troops. however, we shall see. as i am not going as a combatant i shall be able to look on quietly, and fortunately the boers are not like zulus, and there is no fear of non-combatants and prisoners being massacred. if there were, i tell u the young colonists. by them that he had started along the line of road to the west of newcastle, they moved their whole force to oppose him, and took post on a position known as laing's neck, at a spot where the road had to cross over a steep and difficult ridge. here they set to work to throw up intrenchments, and the leisurely, and indeed dilatory, advance of the british gave them ample time for this. although the dis- tance from newcastle to laing's neck was but twenty- five miles, and the column, unimpeded by baggage, could by a forced march have seized the position on the very day of their leaving newcastle, and long before the boers could have moved their army to reinforce the little body who occupied the position as corps of observation, no less than six days elapsed before sir george colley's force arrived before laing's neck. this time was spent in frequent halts, in im- proving the roads, bridging the streams, and other similar operations, all useful enough in their way, but fatal to the success of a flying column, whose object was to strike a sudden blow at the enemy, and to secure the road and passes as far as the frontier, in order to facilitate the march of the main column of invasion, which was on its way up from the coast. dick and tom chafed under the long delays, and twice rode home and spent a day with their parents. at last, however, the column was in front of the enemy's position. the boers, who were some strong, held a strong position on the line of the crest u the young colonists. bailey were killed, and no less than of the little force were killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. few even of the survivors would have escaped, had not the mounted infantry, who had ascended the spur at a point farther to the right, made a gallant charge along the crest of the hill and checked the pursuit. the main body of the british advanced a short distance to make a demonstration, and prevent the boers from following up their success. the whole column then fell back four miles, to the ground which they had occupied the night before. the gallantry displayed by the th and mounted infantry was the sole redeem- ing feature in the discreditable affair of laing's neck, where defeat had been rendered almost certain by the previous hesitation and delays, and was ensured by the folly of sending a mere handful of men to attack such a position. as the british fell back, the boers advanced, and at nightfall placed themselves on the road between the camp and newcastle, entirely cutting the force off from its base, and threatening both them and the town of newcastle. several days passed, the attitude of the boers be- came more and more threatening, and general colley determined at all hazards to open the way back to newcastle. on the morning of the th of february he moved out with five companies of the th rifles, two field and two mountain guns, and a detachment of mounted infantry; dick and tom obtained leave to ride back with the mounted detachment. at a commanding post near the river ingogo sir george the young colonists. colley left two mountain-guns and a company of rifles as a garrison, and moved forward with the rest of the column. the river ingogo runs at the bottom of a deep ravine. crossing this the english force mounted to the top of the opposite crest, but they had gone but a short distance farther when they were attacked on all sides by the boers. the troops were ordered at once to take shelter among the boulders and bushes, while the two guns from the top of the eminence opened fire with shell upon the enemy. dick and tom sought shelter with the rest, making their horses lie down beside them, and were soon as hotly engaged as the rifles around them in answering the heavy fire of the boers. the fight began at twelve o'clock, and raged without intermission for six hours; sometimes the boers attacked on one side of the position, sometimes upon another. the ground was broken and thickly strewn with boulders and bushes, and favoured by these the boers crept up sometimes close to the position held by the english. so accurate was their shooting that none of the defenders could show his head above shelter for a moment, and it was as much as they could do to prevent the enemy from carrying the position at a rush. the oth fought with the greatest coolness and steadiness, and, numerous as were the enemy, they could not muster up courage for the rush which would have assuredly overwhelmed the little party that they were attacking. the two english the young colonists. guns could render but small service, the men being shot down as fast as they stood up to load, and every officer, driver, gunner, and horse was killed or wounded within half an hour after the action com- menced. so incessant indeed was the rain of balls that the guns after the action were spotted with bullet- marks so thickly that it would have been difficult to place the tip of the finger upon a place unstruck by a ball. when darkness put a stop to the fight men —more than two-thirds of the force—were killed or wounded. among the former were captain macgregor of the staff, captain green of the royal artillery, and lieutenants green and o'connell of the th; while lieutenants pixney, parsons, twistle- waite and haworth, all of the th, were wounded. had the boers taken advantage of the cover of dark- ness to steal forward, they must have annihilated the little force; but they believed that they had them in their power, for the rain had fallen heavily, the ingogo had risen, and was, they thought, unfordable. general colley ascertained, however, that it was still possible to cross, and with the greatest silence the survivors moved off from their position, the storm helping to conceal the movement from the boers. very quietly they moved down to the stream, and with the greatest difficulty succeeded in crossing; then picking up on their way the company and guns which had been left on the eminence beyond, the column reached camp in safety. the young colonists. in the meantime reinforcements had been pushing forward from the sea as fast as possible, and on the th the column under sir evelyn wood arrived at newcastle, to the great joy of its inhabitants. for days an attack by the boers had been expected, intrench- ments had been thrown up round the great convoy which had been collected to advance with the force, and all the inhabitants who could bear arms, and many settlers from the surrounding country, had come in to aid in the defence, should the boers at- tack it. the arrival of the relieving column ensured the safety of the town, and the boers between newcastle and general colley's little camp at once fell back to their old position on laing's neck, leaving the road open. general colley and his staff rode in from prospect hill, the name of the camp, and had a consultation with general wood. the nd regiment marched out and reinforced general colley's column. the boers' position at laing's neck was commanded by a lofty and rugged mountain, called majuba hill, on its right, and the occupation of this hill by the british would render the position untenable. it would have been an admirable military movement to seize this hill when the whole force was collected at the camp in readiness to advance, as, with their flank turned and a force advancing for a direct attack, the boers must at once have retreated, but general colley most unfortunately desired to retrieve the two defeats he had suffered, by compelling the boers to fall back, the young colonists. out towards the hill, which during the day they used as a post of observation; as they approached the out- lying pickets fired upon them. as the sound of the guns was heard by the boers below, a scene of the greatest confusion and excitement was observed from the height to prevail. swarms of men were seen rush- ing hither and thither; some to their arms, some to their horses, others to their waggons, to which the oxen were at once harnessed, ready for a retreat in case of necessity. then a great portion of the boers moved forward towards the hill, with the evident intention of attacking it. at seven o'clock the enemy opened fire, and the bullets whistled up thickly round the edge of the plateau. the main body of the troops remained in the centre of the plateau, out of fire, small bodies being posted near the edge to answer the fire of the boers and prevent their approaching the accessible points. for five hours the musketry duel continued. so far its effect had been trifling, a few men only being wounded. the position appeared perfectly safe. the boers were indeed between the garrison of the hill and the camp, but the former had three days' provisions with them, and could therefore hold out until sir evelyn wood arrived with the main body for a direct attack upon the boers' position. between twelve and one o'clock the boers' fire slackened, and the besieged force thought that their assailants were drawing off; this, however, was not the case. under cover of the shrubs and rocks the boers the young colonists. were creeping quietly up, and at one o'clock a terrific fire suddenlybrokeout, andthe enemyin great numbers rushed up the short interveningdistance between them- selves and the scanty line of defenders on the edge of the plateau; these, seized by panic, at once fled, and the exulting boers poured up on to the plateau and opened a destructive fire upon the troops. the scene which ensued was one of the most dis- creditable in the annals of the british army. although armed with breech-loaders, and fully as numerous as the assailants who had gained the crest of the hill, the resistance offered was feeble in the extreme; had the troops charged the boers, the advantages of discipline and of their vastly superior weapons would have been irresistible, and they could have cleared the plateau as speedily as it had been occupied. the great majority, however, were seized with a wild panic, and, in spite of the efforts of the officers, thought of nothing but seeking safety in flight. a few stood and fired, but how few these were can be judged from the fact that only one boer was killed, one severely wounded, and four slightly so; while half the british force were killed, wounded, or taken prisoners, the remainder managing to escape down the sides of the hill, and to join the force left at its foot, or to hide in the bushes until night. among the killed were general colley, captain the hon. c. maude, surgeon- major h. cornish, surgeon a. landon, and lieu- tenant trower of the naval brigade; eight officers were killed, and seven taken prisoners; eighty-six men o the young colonists. were killed, wounded, fifty-one taken prisoners, and two missing. the fight, such as it was, lasted five minutes. the force which had been left at the bottom of the hill, under captain robertson, was also attacked; but, being admirably led by that officer, fought its way back to the camp with but small loss, the guns there assisting to cover its retreat. the boys had not accompanied the expedition, and from the camp had watched the line of smoke round the hill, and had joined in the laughter of the officers at the idea of the boers attacking so tremendously strong a position. intense was the astonishment in camp when a wreath of smoke suddenly rose from the summit, and when this cleared away, and all was quiet, and it became evident that the boers had carried the position, it was difficult to say whether the feeling of dismay or humiliation most prevailed. with the defeat of majuba hill the war in the transvaal virtually terminated. when the news reached england, the government declared that the honour of the british flag should be vindicated, and great numbers of troops were sent out to natal; these marched up the country, and were in readiness to assault the boers' position, when the english government suddenly gave way, and granted to the boers all that they demanded, the sole provision insisted upon being a purely nominal sovereignty on the part of the queen, and an equally nominal pro- tection for the natives—a clause in the treaty which, from that time to this, no attempt whatever has been the young colonists. made to enforce. not only were the natives practically abandoned to the mercy of the boers, to be shot down or enslaved at their will, as in former times, but the english settlers, who had for months made such a noble defence in every town in the transvaal, were abandoned, and the greater portion of them, ruined and plundered, have long since left the country where, relying upon the empty promises and vain guarantee of england, they had embarked their fortunes. a more disgraceful and humiliating chapter in english history than the war in the transvaal, and the treaty which concluded it, is not to be found. after the battle of majuba hill dick and tom returned to their farms, resolved to have nothing farther to do with the business; there they have re- mained steadily since that time. mr. humphreys' plantation of trees now covers a great extent of ground, and promises fully to answer his expecta- tions of eventual profit. those first planted are at- taining large size, and the thinning brings in a considerable annual income. his waggons are fully employed in taking down fruit to pieter-maritzburg. in another ten years mr. humphreys expects that he will be a very wealthy man; he is thinking next year of paying a visit, with his wife and two sons, to england, where john will be left to finish his education and pass through college, with a view of eventually entering the church. dick is quite contented with his life; he has taken no farther part in trading the young colonists. treaty with the british government. if the day should come when the natives at last rise and avenge upon the boers the accumulated injuries of many years, neither dick humphreys nor tom jackson will be inclined to lift a hand to save the boers from their well-merited fate. the example of the successful resistance offered by the basutos to the whole power of the cape government has had an immense effect among the native tribes of south africa, and sooner or later the colonists there will have a very serious crisis to pass through. dick hopes that this crisis will not occur in his time, for mr. humphreys intends in another fifteen years, if he live so long, when his first-planted trees will have gained maturity, to divide his great forest into lots, to sell off, and to return to his native land. dick quite agrees in the plan, and hopes some day to be settled with an abundant competency in old england. the end. london: gilbert and rivington, limited, st. john's square. routledge's juvenile books. routledge's three-and-sixpenny juvenile books. dogs and their ways, by the rev. charles williams. the boy's own country book, by thomas miller. sketches in natural history, by the rev. j. c. atkinson. books for boys. tales of charlton school, by the rev. h. c. adams. schoolboy honour, by rev. h. c. adams. balderscourt, by rev. h. c. adams. johnny jordan, by mrs. eiloart. ernie elton at home and at school, by mrs. eiloart. boys of beechwood, by mrs. eiloart. tom dunstone, by mrs. eiloart. jack of the mill, by w. howitt. barford bridge ) the white bruns- / by the wickers > rev. h. c. walter's school days i adams. tales of nethercourt ) every little boy's book. the winborough boys, by the rev. h. c. adams. the boys of axleford. c. camden. schoolboys all the world over, by henry frith. the boys of weston-] bury i by the wroxby college \ rev. h. c. schooldays at kings- adams. court j boys, by lady barker. foxholme hall, by w. h. g. kingston, influence; 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( little women, and little women married. the girl's birthday book. barriers burned away, by the rev. e. p. roe. forget-me-not, by the author of "the basket of flowers." sweet flowers, by the author of "a trap to catch a sunbeam." wild rose, and ocher tales. every girl's book, by louisa law- ford. opening a chestnut burr, by the rev. e. p. roe. lily's drawing-room book, with illustrations. helen mordaunt, by the author of "naomi." brave little heart, with page illustrations. only a cat, by mrs. h. b. paull. more dolls, by auntie bee. mixing in society: a manual of manners. heroines of the household, by the rev. william wilson, m a. characteristics of women, by mrs. jameson. hermy, the story of a little girl, by author of " cuckoo clock." memoirs of celebrated women, by g. p. r. james. henty serie a pum limus . . . sttthimit artes scientia an utm library veritas of the sity of mich niversity of mi umo dibution trutturulmuidutinio t n. tceror d rustninsulam strcumspic gift of jean taylor trvutite urunnittomuuttunutmutritittati montuummitindihinustu org hamumlimuumi m mortional for hordon aund anna - - kuristuras - se . sas . ned's horror at the dreadful news. through the fray: a tale of the luddite riots. by g. a. henty, author of "true to the old flag," "et. george for england,” “in freedom's cause," "with clive in india," "by sheer pluck." "facing death," etc., etc. vita twelve full-page illustrations by h. m. paget chicago: m. a. donohue & co. - dearborn st. nty serie the henty series illustrated for boys by g. a. henty this is a new and superior edi. tion of this famous author's books for boys. they are printed from new plates on an excellent quality of paper and are profusely illus- trated. olivine edges, bound in substantial cloth, with handsomne dosigns by blancho mcmanus. mo, cloth. price per volume.... c, a final teckoning, a tale of jack archer, a tale of the • bush life in australia crimea boy knight, the, a tale of lion of the north, a tale of the crusades gustavus adolphus and the bonnie prince charlie. a tale wars of religion of fontenoy and culloden lion of st. mark, a taie of bravest of the brave, or with venice in the th century peterborough in spain maori and settler, a talo of s by england's aid, or the the new zealand war freeing of the netherlands orange and greon, a tale of by pike and dyke, a tale of the boyne and the limerick the rise of the dutch re one of the th, a tale of public waterloo by right of conquest, or with out on the pampas, a tale of cortez in mexico south america by sheer pluck, a tale of the st. george for england. a ashantee war tale of croissy and poitiers cat of bubastes, a story of through the fray, a story of ancient egypt the luddite riots so cornet of horse, a tale of true to the old flag, a tale marlborough's wars of the american war of in u captain bayley's heir. a tale dependence of the gold fields of cali under drake's flag. a tale fornia of the spanish main dragon and the raven, or with clive in india, or the the days of king alfred beginning of an empire facing death, a tale of the with lee in virginia, a story coal mines of the american civil war friends, though divided, a with wolfe in canada, or the tale of the civil war in eng winning of a continent land young carthaginians, a story for name and fame, or of the times of hannibal through afghan passes young buglers, a tale of the for the temple, a tale of the peninsular war fall of jerusalem young franc-tireurs, a tals in freedom's cause, a story of the franco-prussian war of wallace and bruce young colonists in times of peril, a tale of among the malays india sturdy and strong bo in the reign of terror, the young midshipman, a tale adventures of a westminster the siege of alexandrir boy golden canon m. a. donohve & co., chicago. preface. my dear lads: the beginning of the present cen. tury, glorious as it was for british arms abroad, was a dark time to those who lived by their daily labor at home. the heavy taxation entailed by the war, the in- jury to trade, and the enormous prices of food, all pressed heavily upon the working-classes. the invention of improved machinery, vast as has been the increase of trade which it has brought about, at first pressed heavily upon the hand workers, who assigned all their distress to the new inventions. hence a movement arose, which did much damage and for a time threatened to be ex- tremely formidable. it had its ramifications through all the manufacturing districts of england, the object being the destruction of the machinery, and a return to the old methods of work. the troubles which occurred in vari- ous parts of the country were known as the luddite riots, and the secret body which organized them was called king or general lud. in the present story i have endeavored to give you an idea of the state of things which prevailed in yorkshire, where, among the crop- pers and others employed in the woolen manufactures, was one of the most formidable branches of the secret association. the incidents of the murder of mr. hors- fall and the attack upon mr. cartwright's mill are strictly accurate in all their details. in this story i have left the historical battle-fielas, across so many of which i have taken you, and have en- preface. deavored to show that there are peaceful battles to be fought and victories to be won every jot as arduous ani as difficult as those contested under arms. in “facia death” my hero won such a battle. iie had to fight against external circumstances, and step by step, liy pare severance, pluck, and determination, made his way in life. in the present tale my hero's enemy was within, and although his victory was at last achieved the vietor was well-nigh worsted in the fray. we have all suri hattles to fight; dear lads; may we all coma upecathed and victorious through the fray! yours sincerely, g, a. henty, contents. chapter . a fishing expedition... | chẮpter . the fight on the moor. chapter . Å cropper village..... .............. cÍÅpter iv. the worms turñ... chapter v. the new master......: ........ chapter vi. the thief detected.. chapter vii. a terrible shock. ....... chapter viii. ned is sorely tried... chapter ix. a painful time........ chapter x. troubles at home........ chapter xi. the new machinery....... chapter xii. murderedl. ....... ....... .......... ........ contents. ...... ....... ........... ....... chapter xiii. committed for trial.. chapter xiv. committed for trial....... chapter xv. not guilty......... chapter xvi. luke marner's sacrifice...... chapter xvii. a lonely life............. chapter xviii. ned is attacked., chapter xix. the attack on cartwright's mill........ chapter xx. cleared at last......... ........ ....... Сн ......... through the fray. chapter i. a fishing expedition. it has just struck one, and the boys are streaming out from the schoolroom of mr. hathorn's academy in the little town of marsden in yorkshire. their appearance would create some astonishment in the minds of lads of the present generation, for it was the year , and their attire differed somewhat materially from that now worn. they were for the most purt dressed in breeches tight at the knee, and buttoning up outside the close- fitting jacket nearly under the arms, so that they seemed almost devoid of waist. at the present moment they were bareheaded; but when they went beyond the pre- cincts of the school they wore stiff caps, flat and very large at the top, and with far-projecting peaks. they were not altogether a happy looking set of boys, and many of their cheeks were stained with tears and begrimed with dirt from the kuuckles which had been used to wipe them away; for there was in the year but one known method of instilling instruction into the youthful mind, namely, the cane, and one of the chief qualifications of a schoolmaster was to be able to hit hard and sharp. mr. hathorn, judged by this standard, stood very high in his profession; his cane seemed to whiz throngn the air, so rapidly and strongly did it descend, and he had through the fray. the knack of finding out tender places, and of hitting them unerringly. any one passing in front of the schoolhouse during the hours when the boys were at their lessons would be almost sure to hear the sharp cracks of the cane, followed sometimes by dead silence, when the recipient of the blows yąs of a sturdy and spartan disposition, but more frequently by shrieks and cries. that hathorn's boys hated their master was almost a matter of course. at the same time they were far from regarding him as an exceptional monster of cruelty, for they knew from their friends that flogging prevailed almost everywhere, and accepted it as a necessary por- tion of the woes of boyhood. indeed, in some respects, when not smarting under the infliction, they were in- clined to believe that their lot was, in comparison with that of others, a fortunate one; for whereas in many schools the diet was so poor and bad that the boys were half-starved, at hathorn's if their food was simple and coarse it was at least wholesome and abundant. mr. hathorn, in fact, intended, and as he quite be- lieved with success, to do his duty by his boys. they were sent to him to be taught, and he taught them through the medium then recognized as most fitting for the purpose—the cane; while, as far as an abundance of porridge for breakfast, and of heavy pudding at dinner, with twice a week an allowance of meat, the boys were unstinted. he would indeed point with pride to his pupils when their parents assembled at the annual pre- sentation of prizes. “look at them!” he would say proudly. "none of your half-starved skeletons here-well-filled out and in good condition every boy of them-no stint of porridge here. it keeps them in good health and improves their learning; for, mark you, & plump boy feels the cano through the fray twice as much as a skinny one; it stings, my dear sir, it stings, and leaves its mark; whereas there is no getting at a boy whose clothes hang like bags about him.” this was no doubt true, and the boys themselves were conscious of it, and many had been the stern resolutions made while smarting in agony that henceforward food shonld be eschewed, or taken only in sufficient quantities to keep life together. but boys' appetites are stronger than boys' resolutions, and in the end there was never any marked falling off in the consumption of viands at hathorn's. like other things punishment fails when administered in excess. there was no disgrace whatever in what was common to all; for although some boys of superior ability and perseverance would escape with a smaller amount of punishment than their fellows, none could hope to escape altogether. thus it was only the pain that they had to bear, and even this became to some extent deadened by repetition, and was forgotten as soon as inflicted, save when a sudden movement caused a sharp pain in back or leg. once in the playground their spirits revived, and except a few whose recent punishment incapacitated them for a time from active exercise, the whole were soon intent upon their games... one only of the party wore his cap, and he after a few minutes left the others, and went toward a door which led from the playground into the road. "don't be long, sankey; come back as soon as you can, you know we agreed to go fishing this afternoon.” "all right, tompkins; i will come back directly i have done my dinner. i expect i shall have finished quite as soon as you will.” edward sankey, who was regarded with envy by his school-fellows, was the only home boarder at hathorn's; for, as a general thing, the master set his face against througii the fray. the introduction of home boarders. they were, ho con- sidered, an element of disturbance; they carry tales to and from the school; they cause discontent among the other boys, and their parents are in the habit of protest- ing and interfering. not, indeed, that parents in those days considered it in any way a hardship for their boys to suffer corporal punishent; they had been flogged at school, and they believed that they had learned their lessous all the better for it. naturally the same thing would happen to their sons. still mothers are apt to be weak and soft-hearted, and therefore mr. hathorn objected to home boarders. he had made an exception in sankey's case; his father was of a different type to those of the majority of his boys; he had lost his leg at the battle of assaye, and had been obliged to leave the army, and having but small means beyond his pension, had settled near the quiet little yorkshire town as a place where he could live more cheaply than in more bustling localities. he had, when he first came, no acquaintances what- ever in the place, and therefore would not be given to discuss with the parents of other boys the doings in the school. not that mr. hathorn was afraid of discussion, for he regarded his school as almost perfect of its kind. still it was his fixed opinion that discussion was, as a general rule, unadvisable. therefore, when captain sankey, a few weeks after taking up his residence in the locality, made a proposal to him that his son should at- tend his school as a home boarder, mr. hathorn aceeded to the proposition, stating frankly his objections, as a rule, to boys of that class. "i shall not interfere," captain sankey said. “of course boys must be thrashed, and provided that the punishment is not excessive, and that it is justly admin- istered, i have nothing to say against it. boys unust be througit tie fra y. Š punished, and if you don't flog you have to confine them, and in my opinion that is far worse for a boy's temper, spirit, and health." so ned sankey went to llathorn's, and was soon a great favorite there. just at first he was regarded as a disobliging follow because he adhered strictly to a stip- lation which mr. hathorn had made, that he should not bring things in from the town for his school-fellows. only once a week, on the saturday half-holiday, were the boys allowed outside the bounds of the wall round the playground, and although on wednesday an old woman was allowed to come into those precincts to sell fruit, cakes, and sweets, many articles were wanted in the course of the week, and the boys took it much amiss for a time that ned refused to act as their messenger; but he was firm in his refusals. his father had told him not to do so, and his father's word was law to him; but when the boys saw that in all other respects he was a thoroughly good fellow, they soon forgave him what they considered his undue punctiliousness, and he became it prime favorite in the school. it is due to mr. llathorn to say that no fear of inter- ference induced him to mitigate his rule to thrash when he considered that punishment was necessary, and that ned received his full share of the general discipline. he was nerer known to utter a cry under punishment, for he was, as his school-fellows said admiringly, as hard as nails; and he was, moreover, of a dogged disposition which would have enabled him, when he had once deter- mined upon a thing, to carry it through even if it killed him. mr. iiathorn regarded this quality as obstinacy, the boys as iron resolution; and while the former did his best to conquer what he regarded as a fault, the boys encouraged by their admiration what they viewed as a virtue. through the fray. period of their marriage given up all attempt to manage the affairs of the household, and her nerves were wholly unequal to the strain of looking after her children. it was noticeable that though her health was unequal to the discharge of her duties, she was always well enougli to take part in any pleasure or gayety which might be going on; and as none of the many doctors who attended her were able to discover any specific ailment, the general opinion was that mrs. sankey's ill health was the creation of her own imagination. this, however, was not wholly the case. she was not strong; and although, had she made an effort; she would have been able to look after her children like other women, she had neither the disposition nor the training to make that effort. her son regarded her with the sort of pity, not unmingled with contempt, with which young people full of life and energy are apt to regard those who are weak and ailing without having any specific dis- ease or malady which would account for their condition. “all the bothers fall upon father," he would say to himself; and if mother did but make up her mind she could take her share in them well enough. there was he walking about for two hours this evening with little lucy in his arms, because she had fallen down and hurt herself; and there was mother lying on the sofa reading that book of poetry, as if nothing that happened in the house was any aflair of hers. she is very nice and very kind, but i do wish she wouldn't leave everything for father to do. it might have been all very well before he lost his leg, but i do think she ought to make an effort now.” however, mrs. sankey made no effort; nor did her husband ever hint that it would be better for herself as well as her family if she did so. he accepted the situa- tion as inevitable, and patiently, and indeed willingly, through the fray. bore her burden as well as his own. fortunately she had in the children's nurse an active and trustworthy woman. abijah wolf was a yorkshire woman. she had in her youth been engaged to a lad in her native village. in a moment of drunken folly, a short time before the day fixed for their wedding, he had been persuaded to enlist. abijah had waited patiently for him twelve years. then he had returned a sergeant, and she had married him and followed him with his regiment, which was that in which captain sankey-at that time a young ensign- served. when the latter's first child was born at madras there was a difficulty in obtaining a white nurse, and mrs. sankey declared that she would not trust the child to a native. inquiries were therefore made in the regi- ment, and sergeant wolf's wife, who had a great love for children although childless herself, volunteered to fill the post for a time. a few months afterward sergeant wolf was killed in a fight with a marauding hill tribe. his widow, instead of returning home and living on the little pension to which she was entitled at his death, remained in the service of the sankeys, who soon came to regard her as invaluable.. she was somewhat rough in her ways and sharp with her tongue; but eren mrs. sankey, who was often ruffled by her brusque independence, was conscious of her value, and knew that she should never obtain another servant who would take the trouble of the children so entirely off her hands. she retained, indeed, her privilege of grumbling, and sometimes complained to her husband that abijah's ways were really unbearable. still she never pressed the point, and abijah appeared established as a permanent fixture in the sankeys' household. she it was who, when, after leaving the service, cap- through tae fray, tain sankey was looking round for a cheap and quiet residence, had reconimended marsden. "there is a grand air from the hills,” she said, “which will be just the thing for the children. there's good fishing in the stream for yourself, captain, and you can't get a quieter and cheaper place in all england. i ought to know, for i was born upon the moorland but six miles away from it, and should have been there now if i hadn't followed my man to the wars." "where are you going, master ned?” she asked as the boy, having finished his dinner, ran to the high cup- board at the end of the passage near the kitchen to get his fishing-rod. “i am going out fishing, abijah." “not by yourself, i hope?" “xo; another fellow is going with mo. we are going up into the hills."!! “don't ye go too far, master ned. they say the croppers are drilling on the moors, and it were bad for ye if you fell in with them.” i "they wouldn't hurt me if i did.” "i don't suppose they would,” the nurse said, “but there is never no saying. poor fellows! they're druv well-nigh out of their senses with the bad times. what with the machines, and the low price of labor, and the high price of bread, they are having a terrible time of it. and no wonder that we hear of frame-breaking in not- tingham, and lancashire, and other places. how men can be wicked enough to make machines, to take the bread out of poor men's mouths, beats me altogether.” "father says the machinery will do good in the long run, abijah—that it will largely increase trade, and so give employment to a great many more people than at present. but it certainly is hard on those who have learned to work in one way to see their living taken away from them.” tarough the fray. “hard!” the nurse said. "i should say it were hard. i know the croppers, for there were a score of them in my village, and a rough, wild lot they were. they worked hard and they drank hard, and the girl as chose a cropper for a husband was reckoned to have made a bad match of it; but they are determined fellows, and you will see they won't have the bread taken out of their mouths without making a fight for it." "that may be," ned said, "for every one gives them the name of a rough lot; but i must talk to you about it another time, abijah, i have got to be off;" and having now found his fishing-rod, his box of bait, his paper of hooks, and a basket to bring home the fish he intended to get, ned ran off at full speed toward the school, as abijah wolf had said, the croppers of the west riding were a rough set. their occupation consisted in shearing or cropping the wool on the face of cloths. they used a large pair of shears, which were so set that one blade went under the cloth while the other worked on its upper face, mowing the fibers and ends of the wool to a smooth, even surface. the work was hard and re- quired considerable skill, and the men earned about twenty-four shillings a week, à sum which, with bread and all other necessities of life at famine prices, barely suf- ficed for the support of their families. the introduction of power-looms threatened to abolish their calling. it was true that although these machines wove the cloth more evenly and smoothly than the hand-looms, croppers were still required to give the necessary smoothness of face; still the tendency had been to lower wages. the weavers were affected even more than the crop- pers, for strength and skill were not so needed to tend the power-looms as to work the hand-looms. women and boys could do the work previously performed by men, and thë tendency of wages was everywhere to fall. through the fray, . for years a deep spirit of discontent had been seething among the operatives in the cotton and woolen manufac- tures, and there had been riots more or less serious in derbyshire, nottingham, lancashire and yorkshire, which in those days were the headquarters of these trades. factories had been burned, employers threat- ened and attacked, and the obnoxious machines smąshed. it was the vain struggle of the ignorant and badly paid people to keep down production and to keep up wages, to maintain manual labor against the power of the steam- engine. hitherto factories had been rare, men working the frames in their own homes, and utilizing the labor of their wives and families, and the necessity of going miles away to work in the mills, where the looms were driven by steam, added much to the discontent. having found his fishing appliances ned hurried off to the school, where his chum tompkins was already waiting him, and the two set out at once on their expe- dition. they had four miles to walk to reach the spot where they intended to fish. it was a quiet little stream with deep pools and many shadows, and had its source in the heart of the moor- lands. neither of them had ever tried it before, but they had heard it spoken of as one of the best streams for fish in that part. on reaching its banks the rods were put together, the hooks were baited with worms, and a deep pool being chosen they set to work. after fishing for some time without success they tried a pool higher up, and so mounted higher and higher up the stream, but ever with the same want of success. “how could they have said that this was a good place for fish?” tompkins said angrily at last. “why, by this time it would have been hard luck if we had not caught a dozen between us where we usually fish close to the town, and after our long walk we have not had even a bite." through the frat. “i fancy, tompkins," ned said, “that we are a couple of fools. i know it is trout that they catch in this stream, and of course, now i think of it, trout are caught in clear water with a fly, not with a worm. father said the other day he would take me out some saturday and give me a lesson in fly-fishing. how he will laugh when i tell him we have wasted all our afternoon in trying to catch trout with worms!” “i don't see anything to laugh at," tompkins grum- bled. "here we waste a whole half-holiday, and nothing to show for it, and have got six or seven miles at least to tramp back to school.” "well, we have had a nice walk," ned said, “even if we are caught in the rain. however, we may as well put up our rods and start. i vote we try to make a straight cut home; it must be ever so much shorter to go in a straight line than to follow all the windings of this stream." they had long since left the low lands, where trees and bushes bordered the stream, and were in a lonely valley where the hills came down close to the little stream, which sparkled among the boulders at their feet. the slopes were covered with a crop of short wiry grass through which the gray stone projected here and there. tiny rills of water made their way down the hillside to swell the stream, and the tinge of brown which showed up wherever these found a level sufficient to form a pool told that they had their source in the bogs on the moor- land above. tompkins looked round him rather discon- certedly. "i don't know,” he said. “it's a beastly long way to walk round; but suppose we got lost in trying to make our way across the hills." "well, just as you like," ned said, "i am game to walk back the way we came or to try and make a straight through the fray. cut, only mind don't you turn round and blame me after- ward. you take your choice; whichever you vote for i am ready to do." "my shoes are beginning to rub my heels," tompkins said, “so i will take the shortest way and risk it. i don't see we can go far out of our way.” “i don't see that we can," ned replied. "marsden lies to the east, so we have only to keep our backs to the sun; it won't be down for another two hours yet, and be- fore that we ought to be in.” by this time they had taken their rods to picces, wound up their lines, and were ready to start. a few minutes' sharp climbing took them to the top of the slope. they were now upon the moor, which stretched away with slight undulations as far as they could see. “now," ned said, “we will make for that clunip of rocks. they seem to be just in the line we ought to take, and by fixing our cyes upon them we shall go straight.” this, however, was not as easy to do as ned had fan- cied; the ground was in many places so soft and boggy that they were forced to make considerable detours. nevertheless the rocks served as a beacon, and enabled them to keep the right direction; but although they made their way at the best of their speed it was an hour after starting before they approached the rock. when they were within fifty yards of it a figure suddenly rose. it was that of a hoy some fifteen years of age. “goa back,” he shouted; "dang yer, what be'esi cooming here vor?” the two boys stopped astonished. “we are going to marsden,” ned replied; “but what's that to you?” “doan't ee moind wot it be to oi," the boy said; "oi tell ee ee can't goa no further; yoi've got ter go back." through the fray. “we shan't go back," ned said; “we have got as much right to go this way as you have. this is not your land; and if it is, we ain't hurting it.” by this time they were at the foot of the pile of rocks, and the lad was standing some ten feet above them. "oi tell ee," he repeated doggedly, "yoi've got vor to go back,” the boy was so much bigger and stronger than either ned or his companion that the former, al- though indignant at this interference, did not deem it prudent to attempt to climb the crag, so he said to tompkins: “of course we ain't going back, but we had better take a turn so as to get out of the way of this fellow.' so saying they turned to the right and prepared to scout round the rock and continue their way; but this did not suit their obstructor. "if ee doan't go back at oncet oi'll knock the heads off thee shoulders.” “we can't go back," tompkins said desperately, "we are both as tired as we can be, and my heel is so sore that i can hardly walk. we shouldn't get to marsden to-night if we were to turn back." “that's nowt to oi,” the boy said. "oi bain't a-going to let ee pass here.” “what are we to do, ned?" tompkins groaned. “do!" ned replied indignantly. “why, go on, of course. marsden cannot be more than three miles off, and i ain't going to walk twelve miles round to please this obstinate brute." “but he is ever so much bigger than we are," tomp- kins said doubtfully. “well, there are two of us," ned said, "and two to one is fair enough when he is as big as the two of us to- gether." “we are going on," he said to the boy, "and if you interfere with us it will be the worse for you." through the fray. the boy descended leisurely from his position on the rocks. "oi don't want to hurt ee, but oi've got to do as oi were bid, and if ee doan't go back oi've got to make ee. there be summat a-going on thar,” and he jerked his head behind him, “as it wouldn't be good vor ee to see, and ye bain't a-going vor to see it." but ned and tompkins were desperate now, and drop- ping their rods made a rush together against him. through the fray. chapter ii. the fight on the noor. the lad threw himself into a position of defense as the two boys rushed at him. “oi doan't want vor to hurt ee,” he said again, “but if ee will have it, why, it won't be moi vault;" and swing- ing his arm round, he brought it down with such force upon the nose of tompkins that the latter was knocked down like a nincpin, and, once down, evinced no inten- tion of continuing the conflict. in ned, however, the lad found an opponent of a dif- ferent stamp. the latter saw at once that his opponent's far greater weight and strength rendered it hopeless for him to trust to close fighting, and he worked round and round him, every now and then rusliing at him and de- livering a telling blow, and getting off again before his heavy and comparatively unwieldy companion could re- ply. once or twice, indeed, the lad managed to strike him as he came in, each time knocking him fairly off his feet; but in the fair spirit which at that time animated english men and boys of all classes he allowed ned each time to regain his feet without interference. “thou bee'st a plucky one,” he said, as ned after his third fall again faced him, “but thou bain't strong enough for oi." ned made no reply, but nerved himself for a fresh effort. the blows he had received liad been heavy, and the blood was streaming from his face; but he had no through the fray. idea of giving in, although tompkins, in spite of his calis and reproaches, refused to raise himself beyond a sitting position. “it's no good, ned,” he replied, “the brute is too big for us, and i'd rather try to walk home all the way round than get another like the last. my nose feels as big as my head.” ned hardly heard what his companion said. he would have been killed rather than yield now, and gathering all his strength he sprang at his opponent like a tiger. avoiding the blow which the boy aimed at him, he leaped upon him, and flung his arms round his neck. the sudden shock overthrew him, and with a crash both boys came to the ground together. ned at once loosened his hold, and springing to his feet again, awaited the rising of his opponent. the latter made a movement to get up, and then fell back with a cry: “thou hast beaten me," he said. "oi think moi leg be broke." ned saw now that as the lad had fallen his leg had been twisted under hin, and that he was unable to extri- cate it. in a moment he was kneeling before the pros- trate lad. “oh! i am sorry,” he exclaimed; “but you know i didn't mean to do it. here, tompkins, don't sit there like a fool, but come and help me move him and get his leg straight.” although the boys did this as gently as they could, a groan showed how great was the agony. “where is it?" ned asked. “aboove the knee somewhere,” the lad said, and ned put his hand gently to the spot, and to his horror could putats and you pre feel something like the end of a bone. "oh! dear, what is to be done? here, tompkins, either you or i must go on to the town for help.”' througÜ the fra y. "it's getting dark already," tompkins said; "the sun has set some time. how on earth is one to find the way?” “well, if you like i will go,” ned said, "and you stop here with him." the lad, who had been lying with closed eyes and a face of ghastly pallor, now looked up. "there be soom men not a quarter of a mile away; they be a-drilling, they be, and oi was sot here to stop any one from cooming upon em; but if so bee as thou wilt go and tell em oi has goi hurt, oi don't suppose as they will meddle with ye.” ned saw now why the lad had opposed liis going any further. some of the croppers were drilling on the moor, and the boy had been placed as sentry. it wasn't a pleasant business to go up to men so engaged, especially with the news that he had seriously injured the boy they had placed on watch. but ned did not hesitate a mo- ment. “you stop here, tompkins, with him," he said quietly, "i will go and fetch help. it is a risk, of course, but we can't let him lie here." so saying, ned mounted the rock to get a view over the moor. no sooner had he gained the position thai he saw some thirty or forty men walking in groups across the moor at a distance of about half a mile. they had evidently finished their drill, and were making their way to their homes. this at least was satisfactory. he would no longer risk their anger by disturbing them at their illegal prac- tices, and had now only to fear the wrath which would be excited when they heard what had happened to the boy. he started at a brisk run after them, and speedily came up to the last of the party. they were for the most part men between twenty and thirty, rough and strongly built, and armed with bill-hoobs and heavý this at ver by distus to fear had happers through the fray. bludgeons, two or three of them carrying guns. one of them looked round on hearing footsteps approaching, and gave a sudden exclamation. the rest turned, and on seeing ned, halted with a look of savage and menac- ing anger on their faces. “who be'est, boy? dang ee, what brings ye here??? ned gulped down the emotion of fear excited by their threatening appearance, and replied as calmly as he could: "i am sorry to say that i have had a struggle with a boy over by that rock yonder. we fell together, and he has broken his leg. he told me if i came oyer in this direc- tion i should find some one to help him.” “broaken bill's leg, did'st say, ye young varmint?” one of the men exclaimed. “di'ye a good moinde to wring yer neck.” “i am very sorry,'' ned said; “but i did not mean it. i and another boy were walking back to marsden from fishing, and he wouldn't let us pass; it was too far to go back again, so of course we had to try, anıl then there was a fight, but it was quite an accident his breaking his leg." “did'st see nowt afore ye had the yoight?” one of the other men inquired. "no," ned replied; "we saw no one from the time we left the stream till we met the boy who would not let pass, and i only caught sight of you walking this way from the top of the rock.” “if 'twere & vair yoight, john, the boy bain't to be blamed, though oi be main grieved about thy brother bill; but we'd best go back for him, yoor on ug. and moind, youngster, thee'd best keep a quiet tongue in thy head as to whaat thou'st seen here,” "i haven't seen anything,” ned said; "byt of course if you wish it i will say nothing about it." through the fram. "it were best for ec, for if thou go'st aboot saying thou'st seen men with guns and clubs up here on the moor, it ull be the worsest day's work ee've ever done." “i will say nothing about it," ned replied, “but please come on at once, for i am afraid the boy is in terrible pain." four of the men accompanied ned back to the rock. “hullo, bill! what's happened ee?” his brother asked. “oi've had a fight and hurted myself, and broke my leg; but it wa’nt that chap's fault; it were a vair voight, and a right good ’un he be, doan't do nowt to him." “well, that's roight enough then," the man said, "and you two young ’uns can go whoam. marsden lies over that way; thou wilt see it below ye when ye gets to yon rock over there; and moind what i told ee." “i will," ned said earnestly; “but do let me come up cosce how he is getting on, i shall be so anxious to know.” the man hesitated, but the lad said, “let um coom, john, he bee a roight good un." “well, if thou would'st like it, bill, he shall coom." "if thou coom oop to varley and ask vor bill swinton, anyone will show ce the place.” “good-by," ned'said to the boy, “i am so sorry you have got hurt. i will come and see you as soon as i can.” then he and tompkins set off toward the rock the man had pointed out, which by this time, in the fast growing darkness, could scarce be made out. they would indeed probably have missed it, for the distance was fully a mile and a half; but before they had gone many yards one of the four men passed by them on a run on his way down to marsden to summon the parish doc- tor, for a moment's examination had sufficed to show them that the boy's injury was far too serious to treat by themselves. tired as the boys were, they get off in his through the fray. footsteps, and managed to keep him in sight until they reached the spot whence marsden could be seen, and they could no longer mistake the way. “now, look here, tompkins," ned said as they made their way down the hill; “don't you say a word about this affair. you haven't got much to boast about in it, sitting there on the grass and doing nothing to help me. i shan't say anything more about that if you hold your tongue; but if you blab i will let all the fellows know how you behaved." “but they will all notice my nose directly i get in,” tompkins said. “what am i to say?" “yes, there's no fear about their not noticing your nose," ned replied. “i don't want you to tell a lie. you can say the exact truth. we were coming home across the moors; a boy interfered with us, and would not let us pass; we both pitched into him, and at last he got the worst of it, and we came home." “but what's the harm of saying that you and he fell, and he broke his leg?” “a great deal of harm,” ned replied. "if it was known that a boy's leg got broke in a fight with us it would be sure to come to hathorn's ears; then there would be an inquiry and a row. like enough he would go up to see the boy and inquire all about it. then the men would suppose that we had broken our words, and the next time you and i go out on a fishing expedition there's no saying what mightn't happen to us. they are a rough lot those moor men, and don't stick at trifles.” "i will say nothing about it," tompkins replied has- tily; "you may rely on that. what a lucky fellow you are to be going home! nothing will be said to you for being an hour late. i shall get a licking to a certainty, how i do hate that hathorn, to be sure!" through tie fray. they now came to the point where the road separated and each hurried on at his best speed. “you are late to-night, ned,” the boy's father kuid when he entered. “i don't like your being out after dark. i don't mind how far you go so that you aro in by sunset; but, halloo!” he broke off, as he canght sig:t of the boy's face as he approached the table at which the rest of the party were sitting at tea; “what have you been doing to your face?” captain sankey might well be surprised. one of the boy's eyes was completely closed by a swelling which covered the whole side of his face. his lip was badly cut, and the effect of that and the swelling was to give his mouth the appearance of being twisted completely on one side. "oh! there's nothing the matter," ned replied cheer. fully; "but i had a fight with a boy on the moor." "it is dreadfull-quite dreadful!” mrs. sankey said; "your going on like this. it makes me feel quite faint and ill to look at you. i wonder you don't get killed with your violent ways.” ned made no reply but took his seat at the table, and fell to work upon the hunches of thick brown bread and butter. “i will tell you about it afterward, father," he said; “it really wasn't my fault.” “i am sure i don't wish to hear the story of your quer- rels and fighting, edward,” mrs. sankey said; "the sight of you is quite enough to upset my nerves and make me wretched. of course if your father chooses to support you in such goings on i can say nothing. neither le nor you seem to remember how trying such things as these are to any one with a broken constitution like mine." captain sankey, knowing from experience liow useless through the fray. it was to attempt to argue with his wife when she was in this mood, continued to eat his meal placidly. ned seized his mug of milk and water, and took an impatient drink of it.. “is there anything i had better do for my face?” he asked his father presently "i don't think anything you can do, ned, will make you presentable for the next few days. i believe that a raw beefsteak is the best thing to put on your face; but there is not such a thing in the house, and if there was, i don't think that i should be justified in wasting it for such a purpose. i should say the next best thing would be to keep a cloth soaked in cold water on your face; that will probably take down the swelling to some extent.” after tea ned repaired to the kitchen, where abijah, with much scolding and some commiseration, applied a wet cloth to his face, and fastened a handkerchief over it to keep it in its place. then the boy went into the little room which his father called his study, where he used to read the papers, to follow the doings of the brit- ish armies in the field, and above all to smoke his pipe in quiet. he laughed as ned entered. "you look like a wounded 'hero, indeed, ned. now sit down, my boy, and tell me about this business; not, you know, that i have any objection to your fighting when it's necessary. my experience is that it is the na- ture of boys to fight, and it is no use trying to alter boys' nature. as i have always told you, don't get into a fight if you can help it; but, if you once begin, fight it out like a man." “well, i couldn't help it this time, father, and i will tell you all about it. i promised not to tell; but what was meant by that was that i should not tell any one who would do anything about it; and as i know you won't, why, of course i can tell you." througii tie frai. "i don't know what you mean in the least, ned; a promise, whatever it is about, is a promise.” “i know, father; but all that was meant in my case was that i would say nothing which would cause injury to those to whom i promised; and it will do them no in- jury whatever by telling you in confidence. besides, it is probable you may learn about it in another way; be- cause, unfortunately, i broke the other fellow's leg very badly, and there is nu saying what may come of it, so i think you ought to know all the circumstances.” “very well, ned,” his father said quietly; "this seems to be a serious business. go on, my boy." ned related the whole circumstances, his father saying no word until he had finished. "you have been in no way to blame in the matter, nor could you have acted otherwise. the breaking of the boy's leg is unfortunate, but it was a pure accident, and even the boy's friends did not blame you in the matter. as to the illegal drilling, that is no new thing; it has been known to be going on for many months, and, in- deed, in some places for years. the authorities take but little notice of it. an outbreak of these poor fellows would, indeed, constitute a considerable local danger. mills might be burned down, and possibly some obnox. ious masters killed, but a few troops of dragoons, or half a regiment of light infantry, would scatter them like chaff. "the irish rebellion thirteen years ago was a vastly more formidable affair. there it may be said that the whole country was in arms, and the element of religious fanaticism came into play; but in spite of that the resist- ance which they opposed to the troops was absolutely contemptible; however, it is just as well that you did not see them drill, becanse now, if by any chance this lad should die, and inquiry were made about it, there would through the tra y. bé no occasion for you to allude to the subject at all. you would be able to say truthfully that finding that he was hurt, you went off, and happened to come upon four men on the moor and brought them to his assistance.” "i promised to go up to see the boy, father. i suppose that there is no harm?” “none at all, ned, it is only natural that you should entertain the wish; in fact you have injured him seri- ously, and we must do all in our power to alleviate his pain. i will go in the morning and see dr. green. i shall, of course, tell him that the boy was hurt in a tussle with you, and that you are very sorry about it. the fact that he is some two years older, as you say, and ever so much stronger and bigger, is in itself a proof that you were not likely to have wantonly provoked a fight with him. i shall ask the doctor if there is anything in the way of food and comforts i can send up for him.” accordingly, the next morning, the first thing after breakfast, captain sankey went out and called upon the doctor. ned awaited his return anxiously. "the doctor says it's a bad fracture, ned, a very bad fracture, and the boy must have had his leg curiously twisted under him for the bone to have snapped in such a way. ile questions whether it will be possible to save the leg; in- deed, he would have taken it off last night, but the boy said he would rather die, and the men were all against it. by the help of half a dozen men he got the bones into their places again, and has bandaged the leg up with splints; but he is very doubtful what will come of it.” ned was crying now. "i would give anything if it hadn't happened, father, and he really seemed a nice fellow. he said over and over again he didn't want to hurt us, and i am sure he didn't, only he thought he oughtn't to let us pass, and as we would go on he had to stop us," through the fray. “well, it can't be helped, ned,” his father said kindly. "it is very natural that you should be grieved about it; but you see it really was an accident; there was nothing willful or intentional about it, and you must not take it to heart more than you can help.” but ned did take it to heart, and for the next fort- night was very miserable. the doctor's reports during that time were not hopeful. fever had set in, and for some days the boy was delirious, and there was no saying how it would turn out. at the end of that time the bulletins became somewhat more hopeful. the lad was quiet now from the complete exhaustion of his strength. he might rally or he might not; his leg was going on favorably. no bad symptom had set in, and it was now purely a question of strength and constitution whether he would pull through it. mrs. sankey had been kept in entire ignorance of the whole matter. she had once or twice expressed a lan- guid surprise at ned's altered manner and extreme quiet- ness; but her interest was not sufficient for her to inquire whether there were any reasons for this change. Åbijah had been taken into captain sankey's counsels, and as soon as the fever had abated, and the doctor pro- nounced that the most nourishing food was now requi, site, she set to work to prepare the strongest broths and jellies she could make, and these, with bottles of por: wine, were taken by her every evening to the doctor, who carried them up in his gig on his visits to his patient in thie morning. on the third saturday the doctor told ned that he considered that the boy had fairly turned the corner and was on the road to recovery, and that he might now go up and see him. his friends had expressed their warm gratitude for the supplies which had been sent up, and clearly cherished no animosity against ned. the boy had been informed of the extreme anxiety of through the fray. his young antagonist as to his condition, and had nodded feebly when asked if he would see ned should he call upon him. it was therefore without any feeling of trepi- dation as to his reception that ned on the saturday afternoon entered varley. varley was a scattered village lying at the very edge of the moor. the houses were built just where the val. ley began to dip down from the uplands, the depression being deep enough to shelter them from the winds which swept across the moor. some of those which stood low- est were surrounded by a few stumpy fruit-trees in the gardens, but the majority stood bleak and bare. from most of the houses the sound of the shuttle told that hand-weaving was carried on within, and when the weather was warm women sat at the doors with their spinning-wheels. the younger men for the most part worked as croppers in the factories in marsden. in good times varley had been a flourishing village, that is to say its inhabitants had earned good wages; but no one passing through the bare and dreary village would hare imagined that it had ever seen good days, for the greater proportion of the earnivgs had gone in drink, and the varley men had a bad name even in a country and at a time when heavy drinking was the rule rather than the exception. but whatever good times it may have had they were gone now. wages had fallen greatly and the prices of food risen enormously, and the wolf was at the door of every cottage. no wonder the men became desperate, and believing that all their sufferings arose from the introduction of the new machinery, had bound themselves to destroy it whatever happened. a woman of whom he inquired for john swinton's cottage told him that it was the last on the left. al- though he told himself that he had nothing to be afraid of, it needed all ned's determination to nerve himself to the visit to see bill swinton. through the fray. * i have brought you up some of my books for you to look at the pictures." the boy looked pleased. "oi shall loiko that,” bill said; "but oi shan't know what they be about." “but i will come up every saturday if you will let me, and tell you the stories all about them.” "willée now? that will be main koinde o' ye." “i don't think you are strong enough to listen to-day," ned said, seeing how feebly the boy spoke; “but i hope by next saturday you will be much stronger. and now i will say good-by, for the doctor said that i must not talk too long." so saying ned left the cottage and made his way back to marsdeni in better spirits than he had been for the last three weeks. from that time ned went up regularly for some weeks erery saturday to see bill swinton, to the great disgust of his school-fellows, who could not imagine why he re- fused to join in their walks or games on those days; but he was well repaid by the pleasure which his visits af- forded. the days passed very drearily to the sick boy, accustomed as he was to a life spent entirely in the open air, and he looked forward with eager longing to ned's visits. on the occasion of the second visit he was strong enough to sit up in bed, and ned was pleased to bear that his voice was heartier and stronger. he listened with delight as ned read through the books he had brought him from end to end, often stopping him to ask questions as to the many matters beyond his understand- ing, and the conversations on these points were often so long that the continuance of the reading had to be post- poned until the next visit. to bill everything he heard pas wonderful. hitherto through the fray. his world had ended at marsden, and the accounts of voy- ages and travels in strange lands were full of surprise and interest to him. especially he lored to talk to ned of india, where the boy had lived up to the time when his father had received his wound, and ned's account of the appearance and manners of the people there were even more interesting to him than books. at the end of two months after ned's first visit bill was able to walk about with a stick, and ned now dis- continued his regular visits; but whenever he had a sat- urday on which there was no particular engagement he would go for a chat with bill, for a strong friendship had now sprung up between the lads. on ned's side the feeling consisted partly of regret for the pain and injury he had inflicted upon his com- panion, partly in real liking for the honesty and fearless- ness which marked the boy's character. on bill's side the feeling was one of intense gratitude for the kindness and attention which ned had paid him, for his giving up his play-hours to his amusement, and the pains which he had taken to lighten the dreary time of his confinement. added to this there was a deep admiration for the supe. rior knowledge of his friend. "there was nothing," he often said to himself, “as oi wouldn't do for that young in," rinough tÚe fra y. chapter iii. a cropper village. bad as were times in varley, the two public-houses, one of which stood at either end of the village, were for the most part well filled of an evening; but this, as the landlords knew to their cost, was the result rather of habit than of thirst. the orders given were few and far between, and the mugs stood empty on the table for a long time before being refilled. in point of numbers the patrons of the “brown cow” and the “spotted dog" were not unequal; but the “dogdid a larger trade than its rival, for it was the resort of the younger men, while the “cow” was the meeting-place of the elders. a man who had neither wife nor child to support could manage even in these hard times to pay for his quart or two of liquor of an evening; but a pint mug was the utmost that those who had other mouths than their own to fill could afford. fortunately tobacco, although dear enough if pur- chased in the towns, cost comparatively little upon the moors, for scarce a week passed but some lugger ran in at night to some little bay among the cliffs on the eastern shore, and for the most part landed her bales and kegs in spite of the vigilance of the coast-guard. so there were plenty of places scattered all over the moorland where tobacco could be bought cheap, and where when the right signal was given a ncggin of spirits could be had from the keg which was lying concealed in the wood- through the fray. stack or rubbish heap. what drunkenness there was on the moors profited his majesty's excise but little. the evenings at the “cow” were not lively. the men smoked their long pipes and sipped their beer slowly, and sometimes for half an hour no one spoke; but it was as good as conversation, for every one knew what the rest were thinking of-the bad times, but no one had anything new to say about them. they were not bril- liant, these sturdy yorkshiremen. they suffered pa- tiently and uncomplainingly, because they did not see that any effort of theirs could alter the state of things. they accepted the fact that the high prices were due to the war; but why the war was always going on was more than any of them knew. it gave them a vague satisfac- tion when they heard that a british victory had been won; and when money had been more plentiful, the oc- casion had been a good excuse for an extra bout of drinking, for most of them were croppers, and had in their time been as rough and as wild as the younger men were now; but they had learned a certain amount of wisdom, and shook their heads over the talk and doings of the younger men who met at the “dog.” here there was neither quiet nor resignation, but fiery talk and stern determination; it was a settled thing here that the machines were responsible for the bad times. the fact that such times prevailed over the whole coun- try in no way affected their opinion. it was not for them to deny that there was a war, that food was dear, and taxation heavy. these things might be; but the effect of the machinery came straight home to them, and they were convinced that if they did but hold to- gether and wreck the machines prosperity would return to varley. the organization for resistance was extensive. there were branches in every village in west yorkshire, lipno throug! the fray. cashire, nottingham, and derby-all acting with a com- mon purpose. the members were bound by terrible oaths upon joining the society to be true to its objects, to abstuin on pain of death from any word which might betray its secrets, and to carry into execution its orders, even if these should involve the playing of a near relation proved to have turned traitor to the society. hitherto no very markod success had attended its doings. there had been isolated riots in many places; mills had been burned, and machinery broken. but the members looked forward to better things. so far their only successes had been obtained by threats rather than deeds, for many manufacturers had been deterred from adopting the new machinery by the receipt of threatening letters signed “king lud,” saying that their factories would be burned and themselves shot should they ven- ture upon altering thọir machinery. the organ of communication between the members of the society at varley and those in other villages was the blacksmith, or as he preferred to be called, the minister, john stukeley, who on week-days worked at the forge next door to the "spotted dog," and on sundays held services in “little bethel”-a tiny meeting-house stand- ing back from the road. had john stukeley been busier during the week he wonld have had less time to devote to the cause of “king lud;" but for many hours a day his fire was banked up, for except to make repairs in any of the frames which had got out of order, or to put on a shoo which a horse had cast on his way up the hill from marsden, there was but little employment for him. the man was not a yorkshireman by birth, but came from liverpool, and his small, spare figure contrasted strongly with those of the tall, square-built yorkshiremen among whom he lived. o road. through the fray. he was a good workman, but his nervous irritability, his self-assertion, and impatience of orders had lost him so many places that he had finally determined to become his own master, and, coming into a few pounds at the death of his father, had wandered away from the great towns, until finding in varley a village without a smith, he had established himself there, and having adopted the grievances of the men as his own, had speedily become a leading figure among them. a short time after his arrival the old man who had officiated at little bethel had died, and stukeley, who had from the first taken a prominent part in the service, and who possessed the faculty of fluent speech to a de- gree rare among the yorkshiremen, was installed as his successor, and soon filled little bethel as it had never been filled before. in his predecessor's time, small as the meeting-house was, it had been comparatively empty; two or three men, half a dozen women, and their chil. dren being the only attendants, but it was now filled to crowding. stukeley's religion was political; his prayers and dis- courses related to the position of affairs in varley rather than to christianity. they were a down-trodden people whom he implored to burst the bonds of their egyptian taskmasters. the strength he prayed for was the strength to struggle and to fight. the enemy he de- nounced was the capitalist rather than the devil. up to that time “king lud” had but few followers in varley; but the fiery discourses in little bethel roused among the younger men a passionate desire to right their alleged wrongs, and to take vengeance upon those de- nounced as their oppressors, so the society recruited its numbers fast. stnkeley was appointed the local secre- tary, partly because he was the leading spirit, partly because he alone among its members was able to write, througii tie fray. and under his vigorous impulsion varley became one of the leading centers of the organization in west york- shire. it was on a saturday evening soon after bill swinton had become convalescent. the parlor of the “brown cow” was filled with its usual gathering; a peat-fire ylowed upon the hearth, and two tallow-candles burned somewhat faintly in the dense smoke. mugs of beer stood on the tables, but they were seldom applied to the lips of the smokers, for they had to do service without being refilled through the long evening. the silence was broken only by the short puffs at the pipes. all were thinking over the usual topic, when old gideon jones unexpectedly led their ideas into another channel. “oive heern,” he said slowly, taking his pipe from his mouth, "as how nance wilson's little gal is wuss." “ay, indeed!” “so oi've heern;" “be she now?” and various other exclamations arose from the smokers. gideon was pleased with the effect he had produced, and a few minutes later continued the subject. “it be the empty coopbud more nor illness, i expect.” there was another chorus of assent, and a still heartier one when he wound up the subject: “these be hard toimes surely.” thinking that he had now done sufficient to vindicate his standing as one of the original thinkers of the village, gideon relapsed into silence and smoked away gravely, with his eyes fixed on the fire, in the post of honor on one side of which was his regular seat. the subject, however, was too valuable to be allowed to drop alto- gether, and luke marner brought it into prominence again by remarking: “they tell oi as how nance has asked bet collins to watch by the rood soide to catch doctor as he droives whoam, he went out this arternoon to retlow." through the fray. "oi doubt he woant do she much good; it be food, and not doctor's stuff as the child needs,” another remaked. "that be so, surely," went up in a general chorus, and then a newcomer who had just entered the room said: "oi ha' joost coom vrom nance's and bill swinton ha' sent in a basin o’soup as he got vrom the feyther o' that boy as broke his leg. nance war a feeding the child wi' it, and maybe it will do her good. he ha' been moighty koind to bill, that chap hay." "he ha' been that,” gideon said, after the chorus of approval had died away. “oi seed t' young un to-day a-sitting in front o'tn' cottage, a-talking and laughing wi' bill." “they be good uns, feyther and son, though they tells oi as neither on them bain't yaarkshire.” the general feeling among the company was evidently one of surprise that any good thing should be found out- side yorkshire. but further talk on the subject was interrupted by a slight exclamation at the door. “o what a smoke, feyther! i can't see you, but i suppose you're somewhere here. you're wanted at home.” altough the speaker was visible to but few in the room there was no doubt as to her identity, or as to the person addressed as feythor. mary powlett was indeed the piece and not the daughter of luke marner, but as he bad brought her up from childhood she looked upon him as her father. it was her accent and the tone of her voice which rendered it unnecessary for any of those present to see her face. luke was a bachelor when the child had arrived fifteen years before in the carrier's cart from marsden, haring made the journey in a similar conveyance to that town through the fray. - from sheffield, where her father and mother, had died within a week of each other, the last request of her mother being that little polly should be sent off to the care of luke marner at varley. luke had not then settled down into the position of one of the elders of the village, and he had been some- what embarrassed by the arrival of the three-year-old girl. he decided promptly, however, upon quitting the lodgings which he had as a single man occupied and tak- ing a cottage by himself. his neighbors urged upon him that so small a child could not remain alone all day while he was away at marsden at work-a proposition to which he assented; but to the surprise of every one, instead of placing her during the day under the care of one of the women of the place, he took her down with him to marsden and placed her under the care of a re- spectable woman there who had children of her own. starting at five every morning from his cottage with polly perched on his shoulder hè tramped down to the town, leaving her there before going to work, and calling for her in the evening. a year later he married, and the village supposed that polly would now be left behind. but they were mistaken. when he became engaged he had said: “now, loiza, there's one point as oi wish settled. as oi have told ye, oi ha? partly chosen ye becos oi knowed as how ye would maake a good mother to my little polly; but oi doan't mean to give up taking her down with me o' days to the town. oi likes to ha' her wi' me on the roade-it makes it shorter loike. as thou knowest thy- belf, oi ha? bin chaanged man sin she coom. there warn't a cropper in the village drank harder nor oi; but oi maad oop moi moind when she came to gi’ it up, and oi have gi'd it up.” "i know, luke," the girl said. “i wouldna have had through the fray. ye, hadn't ye doon so, as i told ye two years agone. i know the child ha' done it, and i loves her for it, and will be a good mother to her.” “oi knows you will, loiza, and oi bain't feared as ye'll be jealous if so be as ye’ve children o’ your own. oi shan't love 'em a bit the less coss oi loves little polly. she be just the image o' what moi sister jane was when she war a little thing and oi used to take care o' her. mother she didn't belong to this village, and the rough ways of the men and the drink frightened her. she war quiet and tidy and neat in her ways, and jane took arter her, and glad she was when the time came to marry and get away from varley. oi be roight sure if she knows owt what's going on down here, she would be glad to know as her child ain't bein' brought oop n varley ways. i ha' arranged wi’ the woman where she gets her meals for her to go to school wi' her own children. dost thee object to that, lass?-if so, say so noo afore it's too late, but doon't thraw it in moi face arterwards. ef thou'st. children they shalt go to school too. oi don't want to do more for polly nor oi'd do for moi own.” “i ha' no objection, luke. i remembers your sister, how pretty and quiet she wor; and thou shalt do what you likest wi' polly, wi’out no grumble from me.” eliza marner kept the promise she had made before marriage faithfully. if she ever felt in her heart any jealousy as she saw polly growing up a pretty bright little maiden, as different to the usual child product of varley as could well be, she was wise enough never to express her thoughts, and behaved with motherly kindness to her in the evening hours spent at home. she would perhaps have felt the task a harder one had her own elder children been girls; but three boys came first, and a girl was not born until she had boen married eleven years. polly, who wae now fourteon, had just come through the fray. home from her schooling at marsden for good, and was about to go out into service there. but after the birth of her little girl mrs. marner, who had never for a var- ley girl been strong, faded rapidly away; and polly's stay at home, intended at first to last but a few weeks, until its mother was about again, extended into months. the failing woman reaped now the benefit of polly's training. her gentle, quiet way, her soft voice, her neat- ness and tidiness, made her an excellent nurse, and she devoted herself to cheer and brighten the sick-room of the woman who had made so kind an adopted mother to her. her influence kept even the rough boys quiet; and all varley, which had at first been unanimous in its con- demnation of the manner in which luke marner was bringing up that “gal” of his, just as if the place was not good enough for her, were now forced to confess that the experiment had turned out well. “polly, my dear,” the sick woman said to her one afternoon when the girl had been reading to her for some time, and was now busy mending some of the boys' clothes, while baby, nearly a year old, was gravely amus- ing herself with a battered doll upon the floor, “i used to think, though i never said so, as your feyther war making a mistake in bringing you up different to other gals here; but i see as he was right. there ain't one of them as would have been content to give up all their time and thoughts to a sick woman as thou hast done. there ain't a house in the village as tidy and comfortable as this, and the boys mind you as they never minded me. when i am gone luke will miss me, but thar won't be no difference in his comfort, and i know thou'lt look arter baby and be a mother to her. i don't suppose as thou wilt stay here long; thou art over fifteen now, and the lads will not he long afore they begin to come a-coort- ing of thee, but doan't ce marry in varley, polly, y through the fray. luke's been a good husband to me. but thou know'st what the most of them bemthey may do for varley-bred gals, but not for the like of thee. and when thou goest take baby wi' thee and bring her up like thysel till she be old enough to coom back and look arter luke and the house.” polly was crying quietly while the dying woman was speaking. the doctor, on leaving that morning, had told her that he could do no more and that mrs. marner was sinking rapidly. kneeling now beside the bed she promised to do all that her adopted mother asked her, adding, "and i shall never, never leave feyther as long as he lives.” the woman smiled faintly. . "many a girl ha' said that afore now, polly, and ha' changed her moind when the roight man asked her. don’t ee make any promises that away, lass. 'tis natu- ral that, when a lassie's time comes, she should wed; and if luke feels loanly here, why he's got it in his power to get another to keep house for him. he be but a little over forty now; and as he ha' lived steady and kept his- self away from drink, he be a yoonger man now nor many a one ten year yoonger. don't ge think to go to sacrifice your loife to hissen. and now, child, read me that chapter over agin, and then i think i could sleep a bit." before morning eliza marner had passed away, and polly became the head of her uncle's house. two years had passed, and so far mary powlett showed no signs of leaving the house, which, even the many women in the village, who envied her for her prettiness and neatness and disliked her for what they called her airs, acknowl- edged that she managed well. but it was not from lack of suitors. there were at least half a dozen stalwart young croppers who would gladly have paid court to her had there been the smallest sign on her part of willing- through the fray, ness to accept their attentions; but polly, though bright and cheerful and pleasant to all, afforded to none of them an opportunity for anything approaching intimacy. on sundays, the timos alone when their occupations enabled the youth of varley to derote themselves to at- tentions to the maidens they favored, mary powlett was not to be found at home after breakfast, for, having set everything in readiness for dinner, she always started for marsden, taking little susan with her, and there spent the day with the woman who had oven more than eliza marner been her mother. she had, a month after his wife's death, fought a battle with luke and conquered. the latter had, in pursuance of the plans he had origi- nally drawn up for her, proposed that she should go into service at marsden. . “oi shall miss thee sorely, polly,” he said; “and oi doan't disguise it from thee, vor the last year, lass, thou hast been the light o' this house, and oi couldna have spared ye. but oi ha' always fixed that thou shouldst go into service at marsden-varley is not fit vor the loikes o' ye. we be a rough lot here, and a drunken; and though oi shall miss thee sorely for awhile, oi must larn to do wi'out thee." polly heard him in silence, and then positively refuse to go. “you have been all to me, feyther, since i was a child, and i am not going to leave you now. i don't say that varley is altogether nice, but i shall be very happy here with you and the boys and dear little susan, and i am not going to leave, and so—there!" luke knew well how great would be the void which her absence would make, but he still struggled to carry out his plans. “but, polly, oi should na loike to see thee marry here, and thy mother would never ha' loiked it, and thou wilt no chance of seeing other men here." "why, i am only sixteen, feyther, and we need not tirough the fray. talk of my marriage for years and years yet, and i prom- ise you i shan't think of marrying in varley when the time comes; but there is one thing i should like, and that is to spend sundays, say once a fortnight, down with mrs. mason; they were so quiet and still there, and i did like so much going to the church; and i hate that little bethel, especially since that horrible man came there; he is a disgrace, feyther, and you will see that mischief will come out of his talk.” “oi don't like him myself, polly, and maybe me and the boys will sometoimes come down to the church thou art so fond of. however, if thou wilt agree to go down every sunday to mrs. mason, thou shalt stay here for a bit till oi see what can best be done.” and so it was settled, and polly went off every sunday morning, and luke went down of an evening to fetch her back. “well, what is't, lass?” he asked as he joined her out- side the “brown cow.” “george has scalded his leg badly, feyther. i was just putting susan to bed, and he took the kettle off the fire to pour some water in the teapot, when dick pushed him, or something, and the boiling water went over his leg.” "oi'll give that dick a hiding,” luke said wrathfully as he hastened along by her side. “why didn't ye send him here to tell me instead of cooming thyself?” “it was only an accident, feyther, and dick was so frightened when he saw what had happened and heard george cry out that he ran out at once. i have put some flour on george's leg; but i think the doctor ought to see him, that's why i came for you." “it's no use moi goaing voor him now, lass, he be er. pected along here every minute. jack wilson, he be on the lookout by the roadside yor to stop him to ask him through the fray. to see nance, who be taken main bad. i will see him and ask him to send doctor to oor house when he comes, and tell jarge i will be oop in a minute." upon the doctor's arrival he pronounced the scald to be a serious one, and dick, who had been found sobbing outside the cottage, and had been cuffed by his father, was sent down with the doctor into the town to bring up some lint to envelop the leg. the doctor had already paid his visit to nance wilson, and had rated her father soundly for not procuring better food for her. "it's all nonsense your saying the times are bad," he said in reply to the man's excuses. “i know the times are bad; but you know as well as i do that half your wages go to the public-house; your family are starving while you are squandering money in drink. that child is sinking from pure want of food, and i doubt if she would not be gone now if it hadn't have been for that soup your wife tells me bill swinton sent in to her. i tell you, if she dies you will be as much her murderer as if you had chopped her down with a hatchet.” the plain speaking of the doctor was the terror of his parish patients, who nevertheless respected him for the honest truths he told them. he himself used to say that his plain speaking saved him a world of trouble, for that his patients took good care never to send for him except when he was really wanted. the next day mary powlett was unable to go off as usual to marsden as george was in great pain from his scald. she went down to church, however, in the even- ing with her father, bill swinton taking her place by the bedside of the boy. “thou hast been a-sitting by moi bedside hours every day, polly," he said, "and it's moi turn now to take thy place here. jack ha' brought over all moi books, for oi couldn't maake a shift to carry them and use moi crutches, through the fray. and oi'll explain all the pictures to jarge jest as maister ned explained 'em to oi." the sight of the pictures reconciled george to polly's departure, and seeing the lad was amused and comforta- ble, she started with luke, dick taking his placo near the bed, where he could also enjoy a look at the pictures "did you notice that pretty girl with the sweet voice in the aisle in a line with us, father," ned asked that evening, “with a great, strong, quiet-looking man by the side of her?” “yes, lad, the sweetness of her singing attracted my attention, and i thought what a bright, pretty face it was!" “that's mary powlett and her uncle. you have heard me speak of her as the girl who was so kind in nursing bill." "indeed, ned! i should goaroely have expected to find so quiet and tidy-looking a girl at varley, still less to meet her with a male relation in church." “she lives at varley, but she can bardly be called a varley girl," ned said. “bill was telling me about her. her uncle had her brought up down here. she used to go back to sleep at night, but otherwise all her time was spent here. it seems her mother never liked the place, and married away from it, and when she and her hus- band died and the child came back to live with her uncle he seemed to think he would be best carrying out his dead sister's wishes by having her brought up in a differ- ent way to the girls at varley. he has lost his wife now, and she keeps house for him, and bill says all the young men in varley are mad about her, but she won't have anything to say to them." "she is right enough there,” captain sankey said smilingly. “they are mostly oroppers, and rightly or wrongly--rightly, i am afraid they have the reputation through the fray. of being the most drunken and quarrelsome lot in york- shire. do you know the story that is current among the country people here about them?” “no, father, what is it?” “well, they say that no cropper is in the place of pun- ishment. it was crowded with them at one time, but they were so noisy and troublesome that his infernal majesty was driven to his wits' end by their disputes. he offered to let them all go. they refused. so one day he struck upon å plan to get rid of them. going outside the gates he shouted at the top of bis voice, 'beer, beer, who wants beer?' every cropper in the place rushed out, and he then slipped in again and shut the gates, and has taken good care ever since never to admit a cropper into his territory.” ned laughed at the story. “it shows at any rate, father, what people think of them here; but i don't think they are as bad as that, though bill did say that there are awful fights and rows going on there of an evening, and even down here if there is a row there is sure to be a cropper in it. still you see there are some good ones; look at luke marner, that's the man we saw in church, see how kind he has been to his niece.” "there are good men of all sorts, and though the croppers may be rough and given to drink, we must not blaine them too severely; they are wholly uneducated men, they work hard, and their sole pleasure is in the beer-shop. at bottom they are no doubt the same as the rest of their countrymen, and the yorkshire men, though a hard-headed, are a soft-hearted race; the doctor tells me that except that their constitutions are ruined by habitual drinking' he has no better patients; they bear pain unfinchingly, and are patient and even-tempered. i know he loves them with all their faults, and i consider him to be a good judge of character.” through the fray. chapter iv. the worms turn. "i say, it's a shame, a beastly shame!” ned sankey exclaimed passionately as the boys came out from school one day. generally they poured out in a confused mass, eager for the fresh air and anxious to forget in play the re- membrance of the painful hours in school; but to-day they came out slowly and quietly, each with a book in his hand, for they had tasks set them which would oc- cupy every moment till the bell sounded again. "every one says they know nothing about the cat. i don't know whether it's true or not, for i am sorry to say some of the fellows will tell lies to escape the cane, but whether it is so or not he's no right to punish us all for what can only be the fault of one or two." that morning the cat, which was the pet of mr. ha- thorn and his wife, had been found dead near the door of the schoolhouse. it had been most brutally knocked about. one of its eyes had been destroyed, its soft fur was matted with blood, and it had evidently been beaten to death. that the cat was no favorite with the boys was certain. the door between the schoolroom and the house was unfastened at night, and the cat, in her pur- suit of mice not unfrequently knocked over inkstands, and the ink, penetrating into the desks, stained books and papers, and more than one boy had been caned se. verely for damage due to the night prowlings of the cat. through the fray. threats of vengeance against her had often been ut- tered, and when the cat was found dead it was the general opinion in the school that one or other of their comrades had carried out his threats, but no suspicion fell upon any one in particular. the boys who were most likely to have done such a thing declared their innocence stoutly. mr. hathorn had no doubt on the subject. the cane had been going all the morning, and he had told them that extra tasks would be given which would occupy all their playtime until the offender was given up to judgment. in point of fact the boys were altogether innocent of the deed. pussy was a noted marauder, and having been caught the evening before in a larder, from which she had more than once stolen tit-bits, she had been attacked by an enraged cook with a broomstick, and blows had been showered upon her until the woman, believing that life was extinct, had thrown her outside into the road; but the cat was not quite dead, and had, after a time, revived sufficiently to drag her way home, only, however, to die. "i call it a shame!" ned repeated. “mind, i say it's a brutal thing to ill-treat a cat like that. if she did knock down inkstands and get fellows into rows it was not her fault. it's natural cats should run after mice, and the wainscoting of the schoolroom swarmed with them. one can hear them chasing each other about and squeaking all day. if i knew any of the fellows had killed the cat i should go straight to hathorn and tell him. “you might call it sneaking if you like, but i would do it, for i hate such brutal cruelty. i don't see how it could have been any of the fellows, for they would have had to get out of the bedroom and into it again; besides, ban't see how they oould have equght the at they through the fray. did get out; but whether it was one of the fellows or not makes no difference. i say it's injustice to punish every one for the fault of one or two fellows. "i suppose he thinks that in time we shall give up the names of the fellows who did it. as far as i am con- cerned, it will be just the other way. if i had known who had done it this morning, when he accused us, i should have got up and said so, because i think fellows who treat dumb animals like that are brutes that ought to be punished, but i certainly would not sneak because hathorn punished me unjustly. i vote we all refuse to do the work he has set us.” this bold proposition was received with blank aston- ishment. "but he would thrash us all fearfully," ompkins said. "he daren't if we only stuck together. why, he wouldn't have a chance with us if we showed fight. it we were to say to him, "we won't do these extra tasks, and if you touch one of us the whole lot will pitch into. you,' what could he do then?” " "i will tell you what he could do, sankey,” tom room, a quiet, sensible boy, replied. “if we were in a degert island it would be all well enough, he could not tyrannize over us then; but here it is different. he would just put on his hat and go into the town, and in ten minutes he would be back again with the six consta- bles, and if that wasn't enough he could get plenty of other men, and where would our fighting be then? we should all get the most tremendous licking we have ever had, and get laughed at besides through the town for a pack of young fools.” ned broke into a good-tempered laugh. of course you are right, room. i only thought about hathorn himself. still, it is horribly unfair. i through tiie fray. will do it to-day. but if he goes on with it, as he threatens, i won't do it, let him do what he likes." for some days this state of things continued. there was no longer any sound of shouting and laughter in the playground. the boys walked about moody and sullen, working at their lessons. they were fast becoming des- perate. no clue had been obtained as to the destroyer of the cat, and the schoolmaster declared that if it took him months to break their spirits he would do it. ned sankey had said nothing at home as to his troubles. his father noticed that he ran off again as soon as his dinner was over, and that he no longer said anything as to the sports in which he was engaged in playtime; also, that his les- sons occupied him from tea-time until he went up to bed. “anything is better than this," ned said one day to some of the boys of his own age. “in my opinion it's better to have a regular row. what room said was quite true; we shall get the worst of it; but the story will then come out, and it will be seen what a beastly tyranny we have been undergoing. i tell you, i for one will not stand it any longer, so here goes,' and he threw his book up into a tree, in whose branches it securely lodged. his comrades followed his example, and the news that sankey and some of the other fellows were determined to put up with it no longer soon spread, and in five min- utes not a book was to be seen in the playground. the spirit of resistance became strong and general, and when the bell rang the boys walked into the schoolroom silent and determined, but looking far less moody and downcast than usual. mr. hathorn took his seat at his desk. “the first class will come up and say their tasks.” not a boy moved in his seat. “the first class will come up and say their tasks," the master repeated, bringing his oane down with angry em. phasis on the desk, through the fray. still no one moved. “what does this mean?” he shouted, rising from his seat. “it means, sir," ned sankey said, rising also, “that we are determined, all of us, that we will learn no more extra tasks. none of us, so far as we know, ever touched your cat, and we are not going to submit to be punished any longer for a fault which none of us have committed.” “no, no,” rose in a general chorus through the school. room, "we will do no more tasks.” mr. hathorn stood petrified with astonishment and white with anger. "so you are at the bottom of this, sankey. i will make an example of you." so saying, he took a stride forward toward ned. in an instant a shower of books flew at him from all parts of the room. infuriated by the attack, he rushed forward with his cane raised. ned caught up a heavy inkstand. "if you touch me," he shouted, “i will fing this at your head." mr. hathorn hesitated. the shower of books had not affected him, but the heavy missile in ned's hand was a serious weapon. in another moment he sprang forward and brought his cane down with all his force npon ned's back. ned at once hurled the heavy inkstand at him. the schoolmaster sprang on one side, but it struck him on the shoulder, and he staggered back. “you have broken my shouldor, you young scoundrel!" he exclaimed. "i shouldn't care if i had broken your head," ned re- torted, white with passion; “it would have served you right if i had killed you, you tyrant." “one of you go and fetch a constable,” mr. hathorn said to the boys. through the fray. "let him send his servant. he will find me at home. mr. hathorn, i am not going to run away, you need not think it. give me in charge if you dare; i don't care what they do to me, but the whole country shall know what a tyrant you are." so saying, he collected his books, put his cap on his head, and walked from the schoolroom, the boys cheer- ing him loudly as he went. on reaching home he went at once to his father's study. "i am sorry to say, sir, that there has been a row in the school, and hathorn has threatened to send a consta- ble here after me for throwing an inkstand at him." “throwing an inkstand!” captain sankey exclaimed. “is it possible?” “it is quite possible and quite true; he has been treat- ing us shamefully for the last ien days; he has been always a cruel brute all along, though i never wanted to make a fuss about it, but it has been getting worse and worse. ten days ago some one killed his cat, and i am almost sure it was none of the boys, but he chose to be. lieve it was, and because he couldn't find out who, he has punished the whole school, and all our play hours have been taken up with lessons ever since, and he said he would keep on so till he found out who did it, if it was months. "so at last we could not stand any longer, and we all agreed that we wouldn't do the extra tasks, and that we would stick together when we told him so. he rushed at me with his cane, and gave me one with all his might, and i threw an inkstand at him, and it caught him on the shoulder, and he says it has broken it, and that he would send for a constable. so i told him to do so if he dared, and kere i am.” “this is a very serious business, ned,” his father said gravely. "in the first place, there is something like a througa the fray. rebellion in the school, of which, i suppose, you were one of the leaders or he would not have singled you out. in the second place, you threw a missile at him, which has broken his shoulder, and might have killed him had it struck him on the head. i have warned you, my boy, over and over again against giving way to that passionate temper of yours, and have told you that it would lead you into serious trouble.” “i can't help it, sir," ned said doggedly. “i've put up with a tremendous lot there, and have said nothing about it, because i did not wish to give you trouble; but when it came to downright tyranny like this i would rather be killed than put up with it. i warned him fairly that if he struck me i would throw the inkstand at him, and he brought it on himself." captain sankey seeing that in his son's present state of mind talking would be useless to him, ordered him to remain in his study till his return, and putting on his hat went toward the school. ned's temper had always been a source of anxiety to him. the boy was, no doubt, of a passionate nature, but had he had the advantage of a proper supervision and care when he was a child the tendency might have been overcome. unfortunately this had not been the case. his mother had left the children entirely to the care of ayahs, he himself had been far too occupied with his regimental duties to be able to super- intend their training, while abijah's hands had been too full with the management of the house, which entirely devolved upon her, and with the constant attention de- manded by mrs. sankey, to give them any close superin- tendence. thus like most children born in india and left entirely in the charge of colored nurses, neà had ac- quired the habit of giving way to bursts of ungoverrable passion; for the black nurses have no authority over their young charges, unless seconded and supported by the hrough the fray. drmness of their mothers. in this case no such support had been forthcoming. mrs. sänkey hated being troubled, and the ayahs always found that any complaints to her recoiled upon themselves, for she always took the part of her children, and insisted that the fault lay on the side of the nurses and not on them. the natural result was, that the ayahs ceased to trouble her, and found it easier to allow the children to do as they chose, and to give way quietly to ned's outbursts of passion, captain sankey knew nothing of all this, ned was fery fond of him, and was always bright and good-tem- pered when with his father, and it was not until he left india and was thrown more with him that captain sankey discovered how grievously ned's disposition, which was in other respects a fine one,, was marred by the habit which had been encouraged by indulgence and want of control. then he set to work earnestly to remedy the mischief, but the growth of years is hard to eradicate, and although under the influence of the affection for his father and his own good sense ned had so far conquered himself that his fits of passion were few and far between, the evil still existed, and might yet, as his father feit, lead to consequences which would mar his whole life. thinking the matter sadly over, captain sankey was proceeding toward the school when he inet one of the constables. the man touched his hat and stopped. "this be a moighty oonpleasant business, captain," he said; "your boy, he ha' been and battered schoolmaister; and t' doctor says he ha’ broke his collar-bone. oi ha' got to take him afore t'magistrate.” "very well, harper,” captain sankey said quietly; "of course you must do your duty. it is a sad business, and ļ was on my way to the school to see if the matter could vot be arranged; however, as it has been put in through the fray. your hands it is now too late, and things must take their course; the magistrates are not sitting to-day. i will guarantee that my son shall be present at the sitting on thursday, i suppose that will be sufficient?" “yes, oi supposes if you promises to produce him, that ull do," the constable said. “oi doan't suppose as nought will come o’t; these schoolmaister chaps does thrash t'boys cruel, and oi ain't surprised as t' little chaps roises ag'in it soometoimes. tothers all seem moighty glad o'it: oi heard 'em shouting and cheering in t' yard as if they was all mad.” captain sankey shook his head. “i'm afraid the magistrates won't see it in that light, harper; discipline is discipline. however, we must hope for the best." the story that there had been a rebellion among the boys at hathorn's, that the schoolmaster had his shoulder broken, and that captain sankey's son was to go before the magistrates, spread rapidly through marsden, and the courthouse was crowded at the sitting of the magis- trates on thursday. there were two magistrates on the bench, mr. thomp- son the local banker, and squire simmonds of lathorpe hall, three miles from the town. several minor cases were first disposed of, and then ned's name was called. captain sankey had been accommodated with a seat near the magistrates, with both of whom he had some personal acquaintance. ned was sitting by the side of the lawyer whom his father had retained to defend him; he now moved quietly into the dock, while mr. hathorn, with his arm in a sling, took his place in the witness-box. ned had recovered now from his fit of passion, and looked amused rather than concerned as the schoolmaster gave his evidence as to the fray in the schoolroom. “i have a few questions to ask you, mr. hathorn," mr. wakefield, ned's lawyer, said. “had you any reason through the fray. por expecting any outbreak of this kind among your boys?” “none whatever," mr. hathorn said. “you use the cane pretty freely, i believe, sir." “i use it when it is necessary,” mr. hathorn replied. “ah! and how often do you consider it necessary?” "that must depend upon circumstances.” “you have about thirty boys, i think?” "about thirty." “and you consider it necessary that at least fifteen ont of that thirty should be caned every day. you must have got a very bad lot of boys, mr. hathorn?” “not so many as that,” the schoolmaster said, flushing. “i shall be prepared to prove to your worships,” the lawyer said, "that for the last six months the average of boys severely caned by this man has exceeded sixteen a day, putting aside such minor matters as one, two, or three vicious cuts with the cane given at random. it fortunately happened, as i find from my young friend in the dock, that one of the boys has, from motives of curi- osity, kept an account for the last six months of the number of boys thrashed every day. i have sent round for him, and he is at present in court.” mr. hathorn turned pale, and he began to think that it would have been wiser for him to have followed ned's advice, and not to have brought the matter into court. “your worships,” the lawyer saill, "you have been boys, as i have, and you can form your own ideas as to the wretchedness that must prevail among a body of lads of whom more than half are caned daily. this, your worships, is a state of tyranny which might weil drive any boys to desperation. but i have not done will wir. hathorn yet. “during the ten days previous to this affair things were even more unpleasant than usual in your establishment, through the pŘay. were they bot, sir! i understand that the whole of the boys were deprived of all play whatever, and that every minute was occupied by extra tasks, and moreover the prospect was held out to them that this sort of thing would continue for months.” there had already been several demonstrations of feel- ing in court, but at this statement by the lawyer there was a general hiss. the schoolmaster hesitated before replying. “now, mr. hathorn,” the lawyer said briskly, we want neither hesitation nor equivocation. we may as well have it from you, because if you don't like telling the truth i can put the thirty miserable lads under your charge into the box one after the other." “they have had extra tasks to do during their play- time,” mr. hathorn said, “because they refused to reveal which among them brutally murdered my cat." “and how do you know they murdered your cat?" “i am sure they did," the schoolmaster said shortly. “oh! you are sure they did! and why are you so sure? had tliey any grudge against your cat?" "they prétended they had a grudge.” “what for, mr. hathorn?” “they used to accuse her of upsetting the ink-bottles when they did it themselves." “you did not believe their statements, i suppose !!! “not at all." “you caned them just the same as if they had done it themselves. at least i am told so." “of course i caned them, especially as i knew that they were telling a lie.” "but if it was a lie, mr. hathorn, if this cat did not upset their ink, why on earth should these boys have a grudge against her and murder her?” the schoolmaster was síient. through the fray. "now i want an answer, sir. you are punishing thirty boys in addition to the sixteen daily canings divided among them; you have cut off all their play-time, and kept them at work from the time they rise to the time they go to bed. as you see, according to your own statement, they could have had no grudge against the cat, how are you sure they murdered her?” “i am quite sure,” mr. hathorn said doggedly. “boys have always a spite against cats." “now, your honors, you hear this,” mr. wakefield said. "now i am about to place in the witness-box a very respectable woman, one jane tytler, who is cook to . our esteemed fellow-townsman, mr. samuel hawkins, whose residence is, as you know, not far from this school. she will tell you that, having for some time been plagued by a thieving cat which was in the habit of getting into her larder and carrying off portions of food, she, finding it one day there in the act of stealing a half-chicken, fell upon it with a broomstick and killed it, or as she thought killed it, and i imagine most cooks would have acted the same under the circumstances. “she thought no more about it until she lieard the reports in the town about this business at the school, and then she told her master. the dates have been compared, and it is found that she battered this cat on the evening before the hathorn cat was found dead in the yard. furthermore, the cat she battered was a white cat with a black spot on, one side, and this is the exact description of the hathorn cat; therefore, your honors, you will see that the assumption, or pretense, or excuse, call it what you will, by which this man justiîes his tyrannical treatment of these unfortunate boys has no bage or foundation whatever. you can go now, mr. hathorn; i have nothing further to say to you." a loud biss rosa again from the crowded court as the through the fray. schoolmaster stepped down from the witness-box, and jane tytler took his place. after giving her evidence she was succeeded by dick tompkins in much trepida- tion. dick was a most unwilling witness, but he pro- duced the notebook in which he had daily jotted down the number of boys caned, and swore to the general ac- zuracy of the figures. mr. wakefield then asked the magistrates if they would like to hear any further witnesses as to the state of things in the schoolroom. they said that what they had heard was quite sufficient. he then addressed them on the merits of the case, pointing out that although in this case une of the parties was a master and the other a pupil this in no way removed it in the eye of the law from the category of other assaults. “in this case," he said, “your worships, the affair has arisen out of a long course of tyran.y and provocation on the part of one of the parties, and you will observe that this is the party who first commits the assault, while my client was acting solely in sell-defense. "it is he who ought to stand in the witness-box, and the complainant in the dock, for he is at once the ag- gressor and the assailant. the law admits any man who is assaulted to defend himself, and there is, so far as i am aware, no enactment whatever to be found in the statute-book placing boys in a different category to grown-up persons. when your worships have discharged my client, as i have no doubt you will do at once, i shall advise him to apply for a summons for assault against this man hathorn.” the magistrates consulted together for some time, then the squire, who was the senior, said: “ve are of opinion that master sankey, by aiding this rebellion against his master, has done wrongly, and that he erred grievously in discharging a heavy missile at his througii tie trhy. master; at the saine time we think that the provocation that he received by the tyranny which has been proved to have been exercised by mr. hathorn toward the boys under his charge, and espocially by their unjust punish- ment for an offense which the complainant conceived without sufficient warrant, or indeed without any war- rant at all, that they had committed, to a great extent justifies and excuses the conduct of master sankey. therefore, with a reprimand as to his behavior, and a caution as to the consequences which might have arisen from his allowing his temper to go beyond bounds, we discharge him. . "as to you, sir," he said to the schoolmaster, “we wish to express our opinion that your conduct has been cruel and tyrannical in the extreme, and we pity the un- fortunate boys who are under the care of a man who treats them with such cruel harshness as you are proved to have done." the magistrates now rose, and the court broke up. many of those present crowded round ned and shook his hand, congratulating him on the issue; but at a sign from his father the boy drew himself away from them, and joining captain sankey, walked home with him. “the matter has ended better than i expected, ned," he said gravely; “but pray, my boy, do not let yourself think that there is any reason for triumph. you have boen gravely reprimanded, and had the missile you used struck the schoolmaster on the head, you would now be in prison awaiting your trial for a far graver offense, and that before judges who would not make the allowances for you that the magistrates here have done. “beware of your temper, ned, for unless you overcome it, be assured that sooner or later it may lead to terrible consequences." ned, who had in fact been inclined to feel triumph. - through the fray. ant over his success, was sobered by his father's grave words and manner; and resolved that he would try hard to conquer his fault; but evil habits are hard to over- come, and the full force of his father's words was still to come home to him. he did not, of course, return to mr. hathorn's, and indeed the disclosures of the master's severity made at the examination before the magistrates obtained such publicity that several of his pupils were removed at once, and notices were given that so many more would not re- turn after the next holidays that no one was surprised to hear that the schoolmaster had arranged with a successor in the school, and that he himself was about to go to america. the result was that after the holidays his successor took his place, and many of the fathers who had intended to remove their sons decided to give the newcomer a trial. the school opened with nearly the original num- ber of pupils. ned was one of those who went back. captain sankey had called on the new master, and had told him frankly the circumstances of the fracas between ned and mr. hathorn. “i will try your son at any rate, mr. sankey," the master said. “i have a strong opinion that boys can be managed without such use of the cane as is generally adopted; that, in my opinion, should be the last resort. boys are like other people, and will do more for kindness than for blows. by what you tell me, the circumstances of your son's bringing up in india among native servants have encouraged the growth of a passionate temper, but i trust that we may be able to overcome that; at any rate i will give him a trial.” and so it was settled that ned should return to porson's, for so the establishment was henceforth to be known. through the frat. chapter v. the new master. it was with much excitement and interest that the boys gathered in their places for the first time under the new master. the boarders had not seen him upon their arrival on the previous evening, but had been received by an old housekeeper, who told them mr. porson would not return until the coach came in from york that night. all eyes were turned to the door as the master entered. the first impression was that he was a younger man than they had expected. mr. hathorn had been some forty- five years old; the newcomer was not over thirty. he was a tall, loosely made man, with somewhat stooping shoulders; he had heavy eyebrows, gray eyes, and a firm mouth. he did not look round as he walked straight to his desk; then he turned, and his eyes traveled quietly and steadily round the room as if scanning each of the faces directed toward him, “now, boys," he said in & quiet voice, “a few words before we begin. i am here to teach, and you are here to learn. as your master i expect prompt obedience. i shall look to see each of you do your best to acquire the knowledge which your parents have sent you here to obtain. above all, i shall expect that every boy here will be straightforward, honorable, and truthful. i shall not expect to find that all are capable of making equal progrees; there are plever boys and stupid boys, just as through the fray. there are clever men and stupid men, and it would be unjust to expect that one can keep up to the other; but i do look to each doing his best according to his ability. on my part i shall do my best to advance you in your studies, to correct your faults, and to make useful men of you. “one word as to punishments. i do not believe that knowledge is to be thrashed into boys, or that fear is the best teacher. i shall expect you to learn, partly because you feel that as your parents have paid for you to learn it is your duty to learn, partly because you wish to please me. i hope that the cane will seldom be used in this school. it will be used if any boy tells me a lie, if any boy does anything which is mean and dishonorable, if any boy is obstinately idle, and when it is used it will be used to a purpose, but i trust that the occasion for it will be rare. “i shall treat you as friends whom it is my duty to in. struct. you will treat me, i hope, as a friend whose duty it is to instruct you, and who has a warm interest in your welfare; if we really bear these relations to each other there should be seldom any occasion for punish. ment. and now as a beginning to-day, boys, let each come up to my desk, one at a time, with his books. i shall examine you separately, and see what each knows and is capable of doing. i see by the report here that there are six boys in the first class. as these will occupy me all the morning the rest can go into the playground. the second class will be taken this afternoon." the boys had listened with astonished silence to this address, and so completely taken aback were they that ail save those ordered to remain rose from their seats and went out in a quiet and orderly way, very different from the wild rush which generally terminated school-time. ned being in the second class was one of those who through the fra y went out. instead of scattering into groups, the boys gathered in a body outside. “what do you think of that, sankey?” tompkins said. “it seems almost too good to be true. only fancy, no more thrashing except for lying and things of that sort, and treating us like friends! and he talked as if he meant it too." “that he did," ned said gravely; "and i tell you, fellows, we shall have to work now, and no mistake. a fellow who will not work for such a man as that deserves to be skinned.” "i expect,” said james mathers, who was one of the biggest boys in the school though still in the third class, "that it's all gammon, just to give himself a good name, and to do away with the bad repute the school has got into for hathorn's flogging. you will see how long it will last! i ain't going to swallow all that soft snap." ned, who had been much touched at the master's ad- dress, at once fired up: “oh! we all know how clever you are, mathers--quite a shining genius, one of the sort who can see through a stone wall. if you say it's gammon, of course it must be so." there was a laugh among the boys. "i will punch your head if you don't shut up, sankey,” mathers said angrily; "there's no ink-bottle for you to shy here." ned turned very white, but he checked himself with an effort. "i don't want to fight to-day-it's the first day of the half-year, and after such a speech as we've heard i don't want to have a rosv on this first morning. but you liad better look out; another time you won't find me so pa. tient. punch my head, indeed! why, you daren't try it.” through the fray. but mathers would have tried it, for he had for the last year been regarded as the cock of the school. how- ever, several of the boys interfered: “sankey is right, mathers; it would be a beastly shame to be fighting this morning. after what porson said there oughtn't to be any rows to-day. we shall soon see whether he means it.” mathers suffered himself to be dissuaded from carrying his threat into execution, the rather that in his heart of hearts he was not assured that the course would have been a wise one. ned had never fought in the school, but tompkins' account of his fight on the moor with bill swinton, and the courage he had shown in taking upon himself the office of spokesman in the rebellion against hathorn, had given him a very high reputation among the boys; and in spite of mather's greater age and weight there were many who thought that ned sankey would make a tough fight of it with the cock of the school. so the gathering broke up and the boys set to at their games, which were played with a heartiness and zest all the greater that none of them were in pain from recent punishments, and that they could look forward to the afternoon without fear and trembling. when at twelve o'clock the boys of the first class came out from school the others crowded round to hear the result of the morning's lessons. they looked bright and pleased. “i think he is going to turn out a brick," ripon, the head of the first class, said. “of course one can't tell yet. he was very quiet with us and had a regular exam- ination of each of us. i don't think he was at all satis- fied, though we all did our best, but there was no shout- ing or scolding. we are to go in again this afternoon with the rest. he says there's something which he for- got to mention to us this morning.” through the fray. “more speeches!" mathers grumbled. “i hate all this jaw.” "yes,” ripon said sharply; "a cane is the thing which suits your understanding best. well, perhaps he will indulge you; obstinate idleness is one of the things he mentioned in the address.” when afternoon school began mr. porson again rose. “there is one thing i forgot to mention this morning i understand that you have hitherto passed your play- time entirely in the playground, except on saturday afternoons, when you have been allowed to go where you like between dinner and tea-time. with the latter regu- lation i do not intend to interfere, or at any rate i shall not do so so long as i see that no bad effects come of it; bat i shall do so only with this proviso, i do not think it good for you to be going about the town. i shall there- fore put marsden out of bounds. you will be free to ramble where you like in the country, but any boy who enters the town will be severely punished. i am not yet sufficiently acquainted with the neighborhood to draw the exact line beyond which you are not to go, but i shall do so as soon as i have ascertained the boundaries of the town. “i understand that you look forward to saturday for making such purchases as you require. therefore each saturday four boys, selected by yourselves, one from each class, will be allowed to go into the town to make pur- chases for the rest, but they are not to be absent more than an hour. “in the second place, i do not think that the playground affords a sufficient space for exercise, and being graveled, it is unsuitable for many games. therefore i have hired a field, which i dare say you all know; it is called 'the four-acre field,' about a hundred yards down the road on the left-hand side. this you will use as your play- . through the fray. . ground during the six summer months. i have brought with me from york a box which i shall place under the charge of ripon and the two next senior to him. it contains bats, wickets, and a ball for cricket; a set of quoits; trap-bat and ball for the younger boys; leaping- bars and some other things. these will give you a start. as they become used-up or broken they must be replaced by yourselves; and i hope you will obtain plenty of en- joyment from them. i shall come and play a game of cricket with you myself sometimes. “you will bear in mind that it is my wish that you should be happy. i expect you to work hard, but i wish you to play hard too. unless the body works the brain will suffer, and a happy and contented boy will learn as easily again as a discontented and miserable one. i will give you the box after tea, so that you can all examine them together. the second and third classes will now stay in; the fourth class can go out in the playground with the first. i shall have time to examine them while the others are doing their work to-morrow.” there was a suppressed cheer among the boys and ripon, as the senior, said: “i am sure, sir, we are all very much obliged to you for your kindness, and we will do our best to deserve it." there was a chorus of assent, and then the elder and younger boys went out into the playground while the work of examination of the second and third classes began. on the following day lessons began in earnest, and the boys found their first impressions of the new master more than justified. a new era had commenced. the sound of the cane was no longer heard, and yet the lessons were far better done than had been the case before. then the whole work had fallen on the boys; the principal part of the day's lessons had been the repeating of tasks through the fray. learned by heart, and the master simply heard them and punished the boys who were not perfect. there was comparatively little of this mechanical work now; it was the sense and not the wording which had to be mastered. thus geography was studied from an atlas and not by the mere parrot-like learning of the names of towns and rivers. in grammar the boys had to show that they understood a rule by citing examples other than those given in their books. history was rather a lecture from the master than a repetition of dry facts and dates by the boys. latin and mathematics were made clear in a similar way. “it was almost too good to last," the boys said after the first day's experience of this new method of teaching; but it did last. a considerable portion of the work out of school was devoted to the keeping up the facts they had learned, for mr. porson was constantly going back and seeing that their memo- ries retained the facts they had acquired, and what they called examinations were a part of the daily routine. in some points upon which mr. hathorn had laid the greatest stress mr. porson was indifferent-dates, which had been the bane of many a boy's life and an unceasing source of punishment, he regarded but little, insisting only that the general period should be known, and his questions generally took the form of, “in the beginning or at the end of such and such a century, what was the state of things in england or in rome?” a few dates of special events, the landmarks of history, were required to be learned accurately, all others were passed over as unimportant. it was not that the boys worked fewer hours than be- fore, but that they worked more intelligently, and there- fore more pleasantly to themselves. the boys and there were some—who imagined that under this new method of teaching they could be idle, very soon found out their through the fray. mistake, and discovered that in his way mr. porson was just as strict as his predecessor. he never lost his tem- per; but his cold displeasure was harder to bear than mr. hathorn's wrath; nor were punishments wanting. although the cane was idle, those who would not work were kept in the the schoolroom during play hours; and in cases where this was found to be ineffectual mr. porson coldly said: “your parents pay me to teach you, and if you do not choose to be taught i have only to write home to them and request them to take you away. if you are one of those boys who will only learn from fear of the cane you had better go to some school where the cane is used.” this threat, which would have been ineffective in mr. hathorn's time, never failed to have an effect now; for even mather, the idlest and worst boy there, was able to appreciate the difference between the present regime and the last. in a marvelously short time mr. porson seemed to have gauged the abilities of each of the boys, and while he expected much from those who were able to master easily their tasks, he was content with less from the duller intellects, providing they had done their best. after a week's experience of mr. porson, ned gave so glowing an account to his father of the new master and his methods that captain sankey went down to the school and arranged that charlie, now ten years old, should ac- company his brother. there were several boys no older than he; but charlie differed widely from his elder brother, being a timid and delicate child, and ill-fitted to take care of himself. captain sankey felt, however, after what ned had told him of mr. porson, that he could trust to him during the school hours, and ned would be an active protector in the playground. it was not until a fortnight after the school began that the four-acre field was ready. by that time a througi the fray. fock of sheep bad been turned into it, and had eaten the grass smooth, and a heavy horse-roller had been at work for a day making a level pitch in the center. it was a saturday afternoon when the boys took possession of it for the first time. as they were about to start in the highest glee, mr. porson joined them. some of their faces fell a little; but he said cheerfully: "now, boys, i am going with you; but not, you know, to look after you or keep you in order. i want you all to enjoy yourselves just in your own way, and i mean to enjoy myself too. i have been a pretty good cricketer in my time, and played in the york eleven against leeds, so i may be able to coach you up a little, and i hope after a bit we may be able to challenge some of the vil- lage elevens round here. i am afraid marsden will be too good for us for some time; still, we shall see.” on reaching the field mr. porson saw the ground measured and the wickets erected, and then said: “now i propose we begin with a match. there are enough of us to make more than two elevens; but there are the other games. would any of the bigger boys like to play quoits better than cricket?” mather, who felt much aggrieved at the master's pres- ence, said he should prefer quoits; and williamson, who always followed his lead, agreed to play with him. “now," mr. porson said, “do you, ripon, choose an eleven. i will take the ten next best. the little ones who are over can play at trap-bat, or bowls, as they like."! there was a general approval of the plan. ripon chose an eleven of the likeliest boys, selecting the biggest ayd most active; for as there had been no room for cricket in the yard their aptitude for the game was a matter of guess-work, though most of them had played during the holidays. mr. porson chose the next ten, and after tops. ing for innings, which ripon won, they set to work. ms. r through the fray. porson played for a time as long-stop, putting on two of the strongest of his team as bowlers, and changing them from time to time to test their capacity. none of them turned out brilliant, and the runs came fast, and the wickets were taken were few and far between, until at last mr. porson himself took the ball. “i am not going to bowl fast,” he said, "just straight easy lobs;" but the boys found that the straight lobs were not so easy after all, and the wickets of the boys who had made a long score soon fell. most of those who followed managed to make a few runs as well off mr. porson's bowling as from that at the other end; for the master did not wish to discourage them, and for a few overs after each batsman came to the wicket aimed well off it so as to give them a chance of scoring. the last wicket fell for the respectable score of fifty- four. the junior eleven then went in, the master not going in until the last. only twenty runs bad been made when he took the bat. in the five balls of the over which were bowled to him he made three fours; but before it came to his turn again his partner at the other end was out, and his side were twenty-two behind on the first innings. the other side scored thirty-three for the first four wickets before he again took the ball, and the re- maining six went down for twelve runs. his own party implored him to go in first, but he refused. “no, no, boys,” he said; "you must win the match, if you can, without much aid from me.” the juniors made a better defense this time and scored forty before the ninth wicket fell. then mr. porson went in and ran the score up to sixty before his partner was out, the seniors winning the match by nine runs. both sides were highly pleased with the result of the match. the seniors had won after a close game. the juniors were well pleased to have run their elders so hard, through the fray. they all gathered round their master and thanked him warmly. "i am glad you are pleased, my boys,” he said; “i will come down two or three times a week and bowl to you for an hour, and give you a few hints, and you will find that you get on fast. there is plenty of promise among you, and i prophesy that we shall turn out a fair eleven by the end of the season.” the younger boy“ had also enjoyed themselves greatly, and had been joined by many of the elders while waiting for their turn to go in. altogether the opening day of the four-acre field had been great success. the old cake-woman who had previously supplied the boys still came once a week, her usual time being wed- nesday evening, when, after tea, the boys played for half an hour in the yard before going in to their usual lessons. ned was not usually present, but he one evening went back to fetch a book which he needed. as he came in at the gate of the yard mather was speaking to the woman. “no, i won't let you have any more, master mather. you have broken your promises to me over and over again. that money you owed me last half ain't been paid yet. if it had only been the money for the cakes and sweets i shouldn't ha’minded so much, but it's that ten shillings you borrowed and promised me solemn you would pay at the end of the week and ain't never paid yet. i have got to make up my rent, and i tell ye if i don't get the money by saturday i shall speak to t’ maister about it and see what he says to such goings on.” “don't talk so loud,” mather said hurriedly, "and i will get you the money as soon as i can." “i don't care who hears me," the woman replied in a still louder voice, and as soon as you can won't do for i. i have got to have it on saturday, so that's flat. i will through the fray. come up to the field, and you'll best have it ready for me.” ned did not hear the last few words, but he had heard enough to know that mather owed ten shillings which he had borrowed, besides a bill for cakes. mather had not noticed him come into the yard, for his back was- toward the gate, and the noise which the boys made run. ning about and shouting prevented him hearing the gate open and close, "it's a beastly shame," ned muttered to himself as he went off to school, "to borrow money from an old woman like that. mather must have known he couldn't pay it, for he has only a small allowance, and he is always short af money, and of oğurse he could not expect a tip before the holidays. he might have paid her when he came back, but as he didn't i don't see how he is to do so now, and if the old woman tells porson there will be a row. it's just the sort of thing would rile him most.” on the next saturday he watched with some curiosity the entry of the old woman into the field. several of the boys went up and bought sweets. when she was standing alone mather strolled up to her. after a word or two he handed her something. she took it, and said a few words. mather shook his head positively, and in a minnte or two walked away, leaving her apparently satisfied. "i suppose he has given her something on account,” ned said to himself. "i wonder where he got it. when ripon asked him last monday for a subscription to buy another set of bats and wickets, so that two lots could praotise at once, he said he had only sixpence left, and mather would not like to seem mean now, for he knows he doesn't stand woll with any one except two or three of his own got, because he is always running out against everything that porson does," mh va - the old cake woman duns master mather for per money, through the fray. a week later mr. porson said, at the end of school: “by the way, boys, have any of you seen that illustrated classical dictionary of mine. i had it in school about ten days ago when i was showing you the prints of the dress and armor of the romans, and i have not seen it since. i fancy i must have left it on my table, but i cannot be sure. i looked everywhere in my library for it last night and cannot find it. perhaps if i left it on the desk one of you has taken it to look at the pictures." there was a general silence. “i think it must be so," mr. porson went on more gravely. “if the boy who has it will give it up i shall not be angry, as, if i left it on the desk, there would be harm in taking it to look at the pictures.” still there was silence. “i value the book," mr. porson went on, “not only because it is an expensive work, but because it is a prize which i won at durham.” he paused a moment, and then said in a stern voice: "iset every boy open his desk.” the desks were opened, and mr. porson walked round and glanced at each. “this is a serious matter now,” he said. “ripon, will you come to the study with me and help me to search again. it is possible it may still be there and i may have overlooked it. the rest will remain in their places till i return." there was a buzz of conversation while the master was absent. on his return he said: "the book is certainly not there. the bookshelves are all so full that it could only have been put in its own place or iaid upon the table. ripon and i have searched the room thoroughly and it is certainly not there. now, boys, this is a serious business. in the first place, i will give a last chance to whoever may have taken it to rise in his place and confess it.” through the fray. he paused, and still all were silent. “now mind," he said, “i do not say that any of you have taken it-i have no grounds for such an accusation. it may have been taken by a servant. a tramp may have come in at the back gate when you were all away and have carried it off. these things are possible. and even were i sure that it had been done by one of you i should not dream of punishing all; therefore for the present we will say no more about it. but in order to assure myself and you i must ask you for the keys of your boxes. the servants' boxes will also be searched, as well as every nook and corner of the house; and then, when we have ascertained for a certainty that the book is not within these four walls, i shall go on with a lighter heart." the bo.ys all eagerly opened their trunks and play- boxes, searched under the beds, in the cupboards, and in every nook and corner of their part of the house, and an equally minute search was afterward made in the other apartments; but no trace of the book was discovered. for days the matter was a subject of conversation among the boys, and endless were the conjectures as to what could have become of the dictionary. their respect and affection for their master were greatly heightened by the fact that his behavior toward them was in no way altered by the circumstances. his temper was as patient and equable as before in the schoolroom; he was as cheerful and friendly in the cricket-field. they could see, how- ever, that he was worried and depressed, though he strove to appear the same as usual. often did they dis- cuss among themselves how different the state of things would have been had the loss happened to mr. hathorn, and what a life they would have led under those circum- btances. at the end of a week the happy thought struck ripon through the fray. just such a book as i had described was on sale in the window of one of the booksellers there. it was a second- hand copy, but in excellent preservation. the fly-leaf was missing. on going over yesterday i found that it was my book, and was able to prove it by several mar. ginal notes in my handwriting. "the bookseller said at once that it was sent him by a general dealer at marsden who was in the habit of picking up books at sales in the neighborhood and send- ing them to him; he had given eighteen shillings for it. this morning i have called upon the man, whose name is white, accompanied by a constable. he admitted at once that he had sent the book to york, and said that he bought it from some one about a month ago. his cus- tomer came late, and as white is short-sighted, and there was only x tallow-candle burning in the shop, he said that he should not know him again, and could say noth- ing about his age; however, i shall call him in; he is now outside with the constable. i am sure that for your own sakes you will not object to his taking a look at you." mr. porson went to the door, and the constable and white entered. the chief constable, when mr. porson had called upon him to ask for one of his men to accom- pany him to the dealer's, had told him that white bore a very bad reputation. he was suspected of being the medium through whom stolen goods in that part of yorkshire were sent up to london for disposal. a high- wayman who had been caught and executed at york, had in his confesssion stated that this man had acted as his go-between for the disposal of the watches and other articles he took from travelers, and white's premises had then been thoroughly searched by the constables; but as nothing suspicious was found, and there was only the unsupported confession of the highwayman against him, he had got off scot-free, “i don't think you will through the fray. get anything out of him, mr. porson,” the constable said. “the fact that he has been trusted by these fel. lows shows that he is not a man to peach upon those with whom he deals; and in the next place he would know well enough that if any one were convicted of stealing this book he would be liable to a prosecution as receiver; and though we could scarcely get a conviction against him, as we could not prove that he knew that it was stolen, it would do him no good.” the boys all stood up in a line. “i will look at 'em, sir,” white said; “but, as i have told you, i should not know the man as i bought that book from, from adam. anyhow none of these little ones couldn't be he. if it weren't a man, he were as big as a man. you don't suppose an honest tradesman woulä buy an expensive book like that from a kid.” so saying he placed a pair of norn spectacles on his nose and walked round the line. “i don't see any one here whose face i ever see before as far as i knows; but bless you, the man as i bought it of might have had hair all over his face, and i be none the wiser looking at him across that counter of mine in the dark.” "thank you," mr. porson said; "then it is of no use troubling you further, i have got my book back; but i confess that this affords me but small gratification in comparison to that which i should feel if i could unravel this mystery.” the discovery of the book reopened the interest in the matter, and nothing else was talked of that evening in the playground, “ripon," ned said, putting his arm in that of the head-boy, "i want to tell yon & thing that has been in my mind for the last three weeks; mind, i don't any that there's anything in it, and i hate to think herm of through the fray. “what a logot to say anything, and i want any one. there is another thing; he and i ain't good friends. if it hadn't been for that i should have spoken to you before; but i was afraid that it would look like a piece of dirty spite on my part; but i do think now that head-boy you ought to know, and i want your advice whether i ought to say anything about it or not.” “what a long-winded chap you are, sankey! what is it all about?" "well, you know, ripon, when we got up that sub- scription for the cricket things, mather didn't give any. thing. he said he had no money." “no; and he hadn't any," ripon said, "for i had only the day before lent him twopence to buy some string, and he paid me when he got his allowance on saturday," “well, a day or two after that i came back after tea for a book that i had left behind me, and as i came in at the gate there mather was standing at the corner talkivg to mother brown. he had his back to the door, and they didn't see me. she was talking loud and angry and i couldn't help hearing what she said.” "well, what did she say?" ripon said rather imp& tiently. "she said, 'you have disappointed me over and over again, and if you don't pay me that ten shillings you borrowed of me last half, and the bill for the cakes, by saturday, i will see the master and tell him all about it.' i didn't hear any more; but on the saturday i saw him go up to her in the field and pay her something. of course i don't know what it was; not all, i think, by the manner in which she took it; still, i suppose it was enough to content her. about ten days afterward we heard the book was missing. it didn't strike me at the time; but afterward, when i thought of it, i remembered that the last time porson brought it out was on the thursday, which was the day after mathor had been through the fray. mather paid her. we may as well settle that question first." as this was wednesday and the cake-woman was com- ing that evening there was not long to wait. ripon chose a time when most of the boys had made their pur- chases and the old woman was alone. “don't you give too much tick to any of the fellows, mother brown,” he began. “you know it isn't always easy to get money that's owing.” “i should think not, master ripon; i wish they would always pay money down as you do. there's master mather, he been owing me money ever since last half. he borrowed ten shillings of me and promised solemn he would pay at the end of the week, and he has only paid five shillings yet, a month ago, and that was only 'cause i told him i would tell the master about him; there's that five shillings, and seven shillings and eightpence for cakes and things; but i have been giving him a piece of my mind this afternoon; and if i don't get that other five shillings by saturday, sure enough i will speak to t’ maister about it. no one can say as mother brown is hard on boys, and i am always ready to wait reasonable; but i can't abear lies, and when i lent that ten shillings i expected it was going to be paid punctual.” "then he knows you are going to speak to mr. porson on saturday if he doesn't pay up another five shillings?” "he knows it,” the old woman said, nodding. “when i says a thing i mean it. so he had best pay up.” when ripon met ned next day he said: “i talked to her last night. mather paid her five shillings, and she has told hinı if he doesn't pay her the other five by sat- urday she will speak to porson; so i think the best plan is to wait till then and see what comes of it. she will tell the whole story and porson will learn it without our interference, and can think what he likes about it.” through the fray. the last to get in. so he was to-day, but i don't know that he was later than usnal." "i think, ripon, we ought to speak to porson.” "i think so too,” ripon rejoined gravely; "it is too serious to keep to ourselves. any ordinary thing i would not peach about on any account, but å disgraceful theft like this, which throws a doubt over us all, is another thing; the honor of the whole school is at stake. i have been thinking it over. i don't want mather to suspect anything, so i will go out at the back gate with you, as if i was going to walk part of the way home with you, and then we will go round to the front door and speak to porson." the master was sitting on a low seat in the window of his study. hearing footsteps coming up from the front gate he looked round. "do you want to speak to me, boys?” he asked in some surprise through the open window. “what makes you come round the front way?” “we want to see you privately, sir,” ripon said. “very well, boyể, i will open the door for you. now, what is it?” he asked as the boys followed him into the study. . "well, sir, it may be nothing, i am sure i hope so," ripon said, “but sankey and i thought you ought to know and then it will be off our minds, and you can do as you like about it. now, sánkey, tell what you know first, then i will tell what mother brown said to me on wednesday.” ned told the story in the same words in which he had related it to ripon; and ripon then detailed his conver- sation with the cake-woman, and her threats of reporting mather on saturday were the debt not paid. ned had already given his reason for keeping silence in the matter hitherto, and ripon now explained that they had deteta mined to wait till saturday to see what came of it, but through the fraÝ. that after that new theft they deemed it their duty to speak at once. mr. porson sat with his face half-shaded with his hand and without speaking a single word until the boys had concluded. “it is a sad business,” he said in a low tone, "a very sad business. it is still possible that you may have come to false conclusions; but the circumstances you have re- lated are terribly strong. i am grieved, indeed, over the business, and would rather have lost a hundred books and pencil-cases than it should have happened. you have done quite right, boys; i am greatly obliged to you both, and you have acted very well. i know how painful it must be to you both to have been obliged to bring so grave a matter to my ears. thank you; i will consider what is the best course to adopt. if it can be avoided, i shall so arrange that your names do not appear in the matter." for some little time after the boys had left him mr. porson remained in deep thonglit; then he rose, put on his hat, and went out, first inquiring of the servant if she knew where the woman who sold cakes to the boys lived. “yes, sir; she lives in a little house in mill street; it's not a regular shop, but there are a few cakes in one of the windows; i have bought things there for the kitchen, knowing that she dealt with the young gentle.. men.” mr. porson made his way to mill street and easily found the house he was in search of. on being ques- tioned the old woman at first showed some reluctance in answering his questions, but mr. porson said sharply: "now, dame, i want no nonsense; i am acquainted with the whole affair, but wish to have it from your own ips. unless you tell me the whole truth not a cake will you sell my boys in future.” tirougii tie fray. thus pressed mrs. brown at once related the story of mather having borrowed some money of her; of her threats to report him unless he paid, and of his having giren her five shillings on the following saturday, saying that he would give her the rest in a few days, but could pay no more then; and how, after repeated disappoint- ments, she had now given him till saturday to settle the debt. "if he didn't pay, sir, i meant to have come to ye and telled ye all about it, for i hate lies, and master mather has lied to me over and over again about it; but seeing that saturday hasn't come i don't like telling ye the story, as he may have meant to keep his word to ine this time." "here are the five shillings which he borrowed of you; as to the other money, you will never get it, and i hope it will be a lesson to you; and mind, if i find that you ever allow the boys to run an account with you further than the following saturday after it is incurred, you will never come into my field or playground again." mr. porson then went to the chief constable's, and after a short conversation with him a constable was told off to accompany him. he and the master took their station at a short distance from the shop of the man white and waited quietly. a little after nine a figure was seen coming down the street from the other end. he passed quickly into the shop. "that is the boy,” mr. porson said. “wouldn't it be better, sir,” the constable asked, “to wait till the deed is completed, then we can lay our hands on white as a receiver?" "no," mr. porson replied, "for in that case the boy would have to appear with him in the dock, and that i wish of all things to avoid.” so saying he walked quickly on and entered the shop. tÜrough the frat. mother was leaning across the counter while the man was examining the pencil-case by the light of the candle. "five shillings," the man said, “and no more. i was dearly getting into trouble over that last job of yours." "but it's worth a great deal more than that," mather said. “you might give me ten." “well, take it back then," the man said, pushing it across the counter. "thank you, i will take it myself," mr. porson said quietly, as he advanced and stretched out his hand. mather turned round with a sudden cry, and then stood the picture of silent terror. "as for you," the master said indignantly to the dealer, "you scoundrel, if you had your deserts i would hand you over to the constable, who is outside the door, as a receiver of stolen gaods, and for inciting this boy to theft. i heard you offer him a sum of money for it which shows that you knew it was stolen; but your time will come, sir, and you will hang over the gate of york prison as many a poor wretch far less guilty than your. self has done;' for in those days death was the punish- ment of receivers of stolen gaods, as well as of those convicted of highway robbery and burglary. “have mercy, sir, oh, spare me!" mather exclaimed, falling on his knees. “don't give me in charge." “i am not going to do so," the master said. “get up and come with me.” not a word was spoken on the way back to the school. mr. porson then took mather into his study, where they remained for half an hour. what passed between them was never known. in the morning the boys who slept in the room with mather were surprised to find that his bed was empty and the window open. he had gone to bed at half-past eight as usual, and saying he was sleepy had threatened to punch the head of any boy who through the fray. spoke, so that all had gone off to sleep in a very short time. a stout ivy grew against the wall, and some fallen leaves on the ground showed them that he had climbed down with the assistance of its stem. but why he should have gone, and what on earth possessed him to run away, none could imagine. the news ran rapidly through the other bedrooms, and brimful of excitement all went down when the bell rang for prayers before breakfast. the list of names was called out by the master as usual, and the excitement grew breathless as the roll of the third class was called; but to the astonishment of all, mather's name was omitted. when the list was con- cluded mr. porson said: “mather has left; i grieve to say that i have discovered that it was he who stole the book and pencil-case. he has confessed the whole to me, and he is, i trust, sin- cerely penitent. he slept last night on the sofa in my study, and has gone off this morning by the coach. i may tell you that i have written to his parents stating the whole circumstances under which he was driven to commit the theft, and that although i could not permit him to remain here, i trusted and believed that his re- pentance was sincere, and that it would be a lesson to him through life, and i urged them to give him a further trial, and not to drive him to desperation by severity. “there is a lesson which you may all learn from this. mather committed these crimes because he had borrowed money which he could not repay. most foolishly and mistakenly the woman who supplies you with cakes bad lent him money and when he could not repay it accord. ing to his promise to hor, threatened to report the case to me, and it was to prevent the matter coming to my ears that he took these things. let this be a warning to you, boys, through life. never borrow money, never spend more than your means afford. an extravagance through the fray. may seem to you but a small fault, but you see crime and disgrace may follow upon it. think this well over, and be lenient in your hearts to your late schoolfellow. he was tempted, you see, and none of us can tell what he may do when temptation comes, unless we have god's help to enable us to withstand it, and to do what is right. now let us fall to at our breakfast." it was a strangely silent meal. scarce & word was spoken, even in a whisper. it came as a shock to every- body there, that after all the dictionary should have been taken by one of their number, and that the master's kindness on that occasion should have been requited by another robbery seemed a disgrace to the whole school. that mather, too, always loud, noisy, and overbearing, should have been the thief was surprising indeed. had it been some quiet little boy, the sort of boy others are given to regard as a sneak, there would have been less surprise, but that mather should do such a thing was astounding. these were probably the first reflections which occurred to every boy as he sat down to breakfast. the next impression was how good mr. porson had been about it. he might have given mather in charge, and had him punished by law. he might have given him a terrific flogging and a public expulsion before all the school. instead of that he had sent him quietly away, and seemed sorry for rather than angry with him. by the time the meal was finished there was probably not a boy but had taken an inward resolution that there was nothing he would not do for his master, and although such resolutions are generally but transient, mr. porson found that the good effect of his treatment of mather was considerable and permanent. lessons were more carefully learned, obedience was not perhaps more prompt, but it was more willing, and the boys lost no opportunity of showing low anxious they were to please in every respect. through the fra y. ned and his brother were not present when mr. porson explained the cause of mather's absence to the others, but they were surrounded by their schoolfellows, all eager to tell the news upon their arrival in the play- ground a few minutes before the school began. before breaking up in june, porson's played their first cricket-match with a strong village team, and beat them handsomely, although, as the boys said, it was to their master's bowling that their success was due. still the eleven all batted fairly, and made so long a score that they won in one innings; and mr. porson promised them that before the season ended they should have a whole holiday, and play the marsden eleven. ned enjoyed his holiday rambles, taking several long walks across the moors accompanied by bill swinton, who had now perfectly recovered. the discontent among the croppers, and indeed among the workers in the mills generally through the country was as great as ever; but the season was a good one; bread had fallen somewhat in price, and the pinch was a little less severe than it had been. the majority of the masters had been intimidated by the action of their hands from introduc- ing the new machinery, and so far the relations between master and men, in that part of yorkshire at any rate, remained unchanged. but although ned enjoyed his rambles he was glad when the holidays were over. he had no friends of his own age in marsden; his brother was too young to accompany him in his long walks, and bill obtained a berth in one of the mills shortly after the holidays began, and was no longer available. therefore ned looked forward to meeting his schoolfellows again, to the fun of the cricket-field and playground, and even to lessons, for these were no longer terrible. the school reopened with largely increased numbers. the reports which the boys had taken home of the through the fray. changed conditions of things and of their master's kind- ness excited among all their friends an intense longing to go to a school where the state of things was so differ- ent to that which prevailed elsewhere; and the parents were equally satisfied with the results of the new mas- ter's teaching. such as took the trouble to ask their boys questions found that they had acquired a real grasp of the subjects, and that they were able to answer clearly and intelligently. the consequence was, the house was filled with its full complement of fifty boarders, and in- deed mr. porson was obliged to refuse several applications for want of room. as he had not the same objection as his predecessor to receive home boarders, the numbers were swelled by eighteen boys whose parents resided in marsden. to meet the increased demands upon his teaching powers mr. porson engaged two ushers, both of them young men who had just left durham. they were both pleasant and gentlemanly young fellows; and as mr. porson insisted that his own mode of teaching should be adopted, the change did not alter the pleasant state of things which had prevailed during the past half-year. both the ushers were fond of cricket, and one turned out to be at least equal to mr. porson as a bowler. therefore the boys looked forward to their match with marsden with some confidence. captain sankey saw with great pleasure the steady improvement which was taking place in ned's temper. it was not to be expected that the boy would at once overcome a fault of such long standing, but the outbursts were far less frequent, and it was evident that he was putting & steady check upon himself; so that his father looked forward to the time when he would entirely over- come the evil consequences engendered by his unchecked and undisciplined childhood. through the fray. chapter vii. À terrible shock. ned had been looking forward with great anticipations to michaelas day, upon which the great match was to take place; for he was one of the eleven, being the youngest of the boys included in it. an event, hows over, happened which deprived him of his share in the match, and caused the day to pass almost unnoticed. on the th of september the servant came in to mr. porson during morning school to say that he was wanted. a minute or two later she again re-entered and said that ned and his brother were to go to the master's study. mich sürprised at this summons they followed her. mr. porson was looking exceedingly grave. "my dear boys," he said, “i have bad news for you. very bad news. you mus's bear it brayely, looking for support and consolation him who alone can give it. dr. green's boy has just bien here. he was sent down by his master to say that there has been a serious acci- dent in the town.” the commencement of the master's speech and the gráveness of his tone sent a serious thrill through the hearts of the boys. mr. eyrson would never have spoken thus had not the news been serious indeed. when he paused ned gave a little gasp and exclaimed, "my father!” “yes, ned, i am grieved to say that it is your brave through the fray. father who has suffered from the accident. it seems that as he was walking down the high street one of ramsay's heavy wagons came along. a little girl ran across the street ahead, but stumbled and fell close to the horses. your father, forgetful of the fact of his wooden l-g, rushed over to lift her; but the suddenness of the movement, he being a heavy man, snapped the wooden leg in sunder, and he fell headlong in the street. iie was within reach of the child, and he caught her by the clothes and j'rked her aside; but before he could, in his crippled condit on, regain his feet, the wheel was upon him, and he has suffered very serious injuries.” “he is not dead, sir?" ned gasped, while his brother began to cry piteous.y. “no, ned, he is not dead,” mr. porson said; "but i fear, my dear boy, that it would be cruel kindness did i not tell you to prepare yourself for the worst. i fear from what i hear that he is fatally injured, and that there is but little hope. get your hats, my boys, and i will walk home with you at once.” there were but few words exchanged during that dis- mal walk, and these were addressed by mr. porson to ned. "try to calm yourself, my boy,” he said, putting his hand on his shoulder, which was shaking with the boy's efforts to keep down bis convulsive sobs; "try and nerve yourselves for the sake of your father himself, of your mother, and the little ones. the greatest kindness you can show to your father now is by being calm and composed." “i will try, sir," ned said as steadily as he could; “but you don't know how i loved him!” when i was just your age. god's ways are not our ways, ned; and be sure, although you may not see it now, that he acts for the best." ཟླe: s། "the boys fell on toeir knees by their father's side. * through the fray. key, leaned closely over him; then he laid his arm gently down, and putting his hand on ned's shoulder said softly: “come, my boy, your father is out of pain now.” ned gave one loud and bitter cry, and threw himself down by the side of the corpse, and gave way to his pent-up emotion. the doctor led the younger boy from the room, and gave him into the care of abijah. then he returned and stood for awhile watching ned's terrible outburst of grief; then he poured some wine into a glass. “my boy,” he said tenderly, "you must not give way like this or you will make yourself ill. drink this, ned, and then go up and lie down on your bed until you feel better. remember you must be strong for the sake of the others. you know you will have to bear your mother's burdens as well as your own.”. he helped ned to his feet and held the glass to his lips, for the boy's hand was shaking so that he could not have held it. after drinking it ned stumbled upstairs and threw himself on the bed, and there 'cried silently for a long time; but the first passion of grief had passed, and he now struggled with his tears, and in an hour rose, bathed his flushed and swollen face, and went downstairs. “abijah,” he said, in a voice which he struggled in vain to steady, “what is there for me to do? how is my mother?” "she has just cried herself off to sleep, master ned, and a mercy it is for her, poor lady, for she has been going on dreadful ever since he was brought in here; but if you go in to master charlie and miss lucy and try and comfort them it would be a blessing. i have not been able to leave your mother till now, and the poor little things are broken-hearted. i feel dazed my- self, sir. think of the captain, who went out so strong and well this morning, speaking so kind and bright just through tie fray. as usual, lying there!” and here abijah broke down and for the first time since captain sankey was carried into the house tears came to her relief, and throwing her arms round ned's neck she wept passionately. ned's own tears flowed too fast for him to speak for some time. at last he said quietly, “don't cry so, abi- jah. it is the death of all others that was fitted for him, he, so brave and unselfish, to die giving his life to save a child. you told me to be brave; it is you who must be brave, for you know that you must be our chief depend- ence now." "i know, master ned; i know, sir," the woman said, choking down her sobs, and wiping her eyes with her apron, “and i will do my best, never fear. i feel better now i have had a good cry. somehow i wasn't able to cry before. now, sir, do you go to the children and i will look after things.”, a fortnight passed. captain sankey had been laid in his grave, after such a funeral as had never been seen in marsden, the mills being closed for the day, and all the shutters up throughout the little town, the greater part of the population attending the funeral as a mark of re- spect to the man who, after fighting the battles of his country, nad now given his life for that of a child. the great cricket-match did not come off, it being agreed on all hands that it had better be postponed. mr. porson had called twice to see ned, and had done much by his comforting words to enable him to bear up. he came again the day after the funeral. “ned,” he said, "i think that you and charlie had better come to school again on monday. the sooner you fall into your regular groove the better. it would only do you both harm to mope about the house here; and al- though the laughter and noise of your schoolfellows will jar upon you for awhile, it is better to overcome the feel- through the fray. thie aoine aree ing at once; and i am sure that you will best carry out what would have been his wishes by setting to your work again instead of wasting your time in listless grieving.” "i think so too, sir," ned said, “but it will be awfully hard at first, and so terrible to come home and have no one to question one on the day's work, and to take an interest in what we have been doing.” “very hard, ned; i thoroughly agree with you, but it has to be borne, and remember there is one who will take interest in your work. if i were you i should take your brother out for walks this week. get up into the hills with him, and try and get the color back into his cheeks again. he is not so strong as you are, and the confinement is telling upon him—the fresh air will do you good too." ned promised to take his master's advice, and the next morning started after breakfast with charlie. his mother had not yet risen, and indeed had not been downstairs since the day of the accident, protesting that she was altogether unequal to any exertion whatever. ned had sat with her for many hours each day, but he had indeed found it hard work. sometimes she wept, her tears being mingled with self-reproaches that she had not been able to do more to brighten her husband's life. sometimes sbe would break off and reproach the boy bitterly for what she called his want of feeling. at other times her thoughts seemed directed solely toward the fashion of her mourning garments, and after the funeral she drove ned almost to madness by wanting to know all the details of who was there and what was done, and was most indignant with him because he was able to tell her nothing, the whole scene having been as a mist to him, absorbed as he was in the thought of his father alone. but nod had never showed the least sign of impatience turough the fray. or or hastiness, meeting tears, reproaches, and inquiries with the same stoical calmness and gentleness. still it was with a sigh of relief that he took a long breath of fresh air as he left the house and started for a ramble on the moor with his brother. he would have avoided varley, for he shrank even from the sympathy which bill swinton would give; but bill would be away, so as it was the shortest way he took that road. as he passed luke marner's cottage the door opened and mary came down to the gate. one of the little ones had seen ned coming along the road and had run off to tell her. lit. tle jane marner trotted along by polly's side. “good-morning, polly!” ned said, and walked on. he dreaded speech with any one. polly saw his inten- tion and hesitated; then she said: “good-morning, master ned! one moment, please, sir." ned paused irresolutely. “please don't say anything," he began. “no, sir, i am not a-going to—at least" and then she hesitated, and lifted up the child, who was about four years old, & soft-eyed, brown-haired little maiden. “it's little jenny,” she said; "you know sir, you know;" and she looked meaningly at the child as the tears stood in her eyes. ned understood at once. “what!” he said; “was it her? i did not know; i had not heard." “yes, sir; she and all of us owe her life to him. fey. ther wanted to come down to you, but i said better not yet awhile, you would understand.” “how did it happeni?” ned said, feeling that here at least his wound would be touched with no rough hand. "she went down to the town with jarge, who was going to fetch some things i wanted. he left her look- through the fray. ing in at a shop window while he went inside. they were some time serving him as there were other people in the shop. jenny got tired, as she says, of waiting, and seeing some pictures in a window on the other side of the street started to run across, and her foot slipped, and-and---" "i know,” ned said. “i am glad you have told me, polly. i am glad it was some one one knows something about. don't say anything more now, i cannot bear it.” “i understand, sir,” the girl said gently. “god bless you!” ned nodded. he could not trust himself to speak, and turning he passed on with charlie through the vil- lage, while mary powlett, with the child still in her arms, stood looking sorrowfully after him as long as he was in sight. "so thou'st seen the boy?” luke said, when on his return from work polly told him what had happened. “thou told's him, oi hope, how we all felt about it, and how grateful we was?” "i didn't say much, feyther, he could not bear it; just a word or two; if i had said more he would have broken out crying, and so should i.” “thou hast cried enoo, lass, the last ten days. thou hast done nowt but cry,” luke said kindly, "and oi felt sore inclined to join thee. oi ha' had hard work to keep back the tears, old though oi be, and oi a cropper." "you are just as soft-hearted as i am, feyther, every bit, so don't pretend you are not;" and indeed upon the previous day luke marner had broken down even more completely than jary. ile had followed the funeral at a short distance, keeping with mary aloof from the crowd; but when all was over, and the churchyard was left in quiet again, luke had gone and stood by the still open grave of the man who had given his life for his through the fray. thy, but to let them settle quietly into their places. “sankey will know you all feel for him, ripon, he will need no telling of that." ripon passed the word round the school, and accord- ingly when the boys came into the playground, two or three minutes before the bell rang, ned, to his great re- lief, found that with the exception of a warm silent wring of the hand from a few of those with whom he was most intimate, and a kindly nod from others, no allusion was made to his fortnight's absence or its cause. for the next month he worked hard and made up the time he had lost, running straight home when he came out from school, and returning just in time to go in with the others; but gradually he fell into his former ways, and by the time the school broke up at christmas was able to mix with the boys and take part in their games. at home he did his best to make things bright, but it was uphill work. mrs. sankey was fretful and com- plaining. their income was reduced by the loss of cap- tain sankey's half-pay, and they had now only the inter- est of the fortune of four thousand pounds which mrs. sankey had brought to her husband on her marriage. this sum had been settled upon her, and was entirely under her own control. the income was but a small one, but it was sufficient for the family to live upon with care and prudence. captain sankey had made many friends since the time when he first settled at marsden, and all vied with each other in their kindness to his widov. presents of game were constantly left for her; baskets of chickens, egys, and fresh vegetables were sent down by squire simmonds and other county magnates, and their carriages often stopped at the door to make inquiries. many people who had not hitherto called now did so, and all marsden seemed anxious to testify its sympathy witb the widow through the fray. of the brave offioer. ned was touched with these evi- donoes of respect for his father's memory. mrs. sankey was pleased for herself, and she would of an evening in- form ned with much gratification of the visits she had received. ned was glad that anything should occur which could rouse his mother, and divert her from her own griev- ancés; but the tone in which she spoke often jarred pain- fully upon him, and he wondered how his mother could find it in her heart to receive these people and to talk over bis father's death. but mrs. sankey liked it. she . was consoiots she looked well in her deep mourning, and that even the somber cap was not unbecoming with her golden hair peeping out beneath it. tears were always at her command, and she had ever a fet ready to drop upon her dainty embroidered handkerchief when the occasion commanded it; and her visitors, when they agreed among themselves, what a soft gentle woman that poor mrs. sankey was, but sadly delicate you know-had no idea of the querulous complaining and fretfulness whose display was reserved for her own family only. to this ned was so acoustomed that it passed over his head almost unheeded; not so her constant allusions to his father. wholly unconscious of the agony which it in- flicted upon the boy, mrs. sankey was incessantly quot- ing his opinions or utterances. “ned, i do wish you would not fidget with your feet. you know your dear father often told you of it;" or, “as your dear father used to say, ned;” until the boy in despair would throw down his book and rush out of the room to calm himiself by a rún in the frosty night air; while mrs. sankey would murmur to herself, “that boy's temper gets worse and worse, and with my poor nervés how am i to control him?” mr. porson was very kind to him in those days. dur. through the fray. ing that summer holiday he had very frequently spent the evening at captain sankey's, and had formed a pretty correct idea of the character of ned's mother. thus when he saw that ned, when he entered the school after breakfast or dinner, had an anxious hunted look, and was clearly in a state of high tension, he guessed he was hav- ing a bad time of it at home. charlie had fast got over the shock of his father's death; children quickly recover from a blow, and, though delicate, charlie was of a bright and gentle disposition, ready to be pleased at all times, and not easily upset. one morning when ned came in from school looking pale and white, gave random answers to questions, and even, to the astonishment of the class, answered mr. porson himself snappishly, the master, when school was over and the boys were leaving their places, said: “sankey, i want to have a few words with you in the study." ned followed his master with an air of indifference. he supposed that he was going to be lectured for the way he had spoken, but as he said to himself, “what did it matter! what did anything matter!” mr. porson did not sit down on entering the room, but when ned had closed the door after him took a step forward and laid his hand on his shoulder. "my boy,” he said, “what is it that is wrong with you! i fear that you have trouble at home.” ned stood silent, but the tears welled up into his eyes. “it can't be helped, sir,” he said in a choking voice, and then with an attempt at gayety: “it will be all the same fifty years hence, i suppose.” "that is a poor consolation, ned,” mr. porson re- joined. “fifty years is a long time to look forward to. can't we do anything before that?” ned was silent. through the fray. “i do not want you to tell me, ned, anything that happens at home-god forbid that i should pry into matters so sacred as relations between a boy and a par- ent!—but i can see, my boy, that something is wrong. you are not yourself. at first when you came back i thought all was well with you; you were, as was natural, sad and depressed, but i should not wish it otherwise. and excited; you have gone down in your class, not, i can see, because you have neglected your work, but be- cause you cannot bring your mind to bear upon it. now all this must have a cause. perhaps a little advice on my part might help you. we shall break up in a week, ned, and i shall be going away for a time. i should like to think before i went that things were going on better with you." "i don't want to say anything against my mother,” ned said in a low voice. “she means kindly, sir; but, oh! it is so hard to bear. she is always talking about father, not as you would talk, sir, but just as if he were alive and might come in at any moment, and it seems sometimes as if it would drive me out of my mind." “no doubt it is trying, my boy,” mr. porson said; "but you see natures differ, and we must all bear with each other and make allowances. your mother's nature, as far as i have seen of her, is not a deep one. she was very fond of your father, and she is fond of you; but you know, just as still waters run deep, shallow waters are full of ripples, and eddies, and currents. she has no idea that what seems natural and right to her should jar upon you. you upon your part can scarcely make suffi- cient allowance for her different treatment of a subject which is to you sacred. i know how you miss your fa- ther, but your mother must miss him still more. no man ever more lovingly and patiently tended a woman through the yray. than he did her so far as lay in his power. she had not a wish ungratified. you have in your work an employ- ment which occupies your thoughts and prevents them from turning constantly to one subject; she has nothing whatever to take her thoughts from the past. it is bet- ter for her to speak of him often than to brood over him in silence. your tribute to your father's memory is deep and silent sorrow, hers is frequent allusions. doubtless her way jar upon you; but, ned, you are younger than she, and it is easier for you to change. why not try and accept her method as being a part of her, and try, instead of wincing every time that she touches the sore, to accustom yourself to it. it may be hard at first, but it will be far easier in the end.” ned stood silent for a minute or two; then he said: “i will try, sir. my father's last words to me were to be kind to mother, and i have tried hard, and i will go ou trying.” “that is right, my boy; and ask god to help you. we all have our trials in this life, and this at present is yours; pray god to give you strength to bear it." phrough the frat. chapter viii. ned is sorely tried. xong the many who called upon mrs. sankey after the death of her husband was mr. mulready, the owner of mill near marsden. he was one of the leading men in the place, although his mill was by no means a large onę. he took rank in the eyes of the little town with men in a much larger way of business by means of a pushing manner and a fluent tongue. he had come to be considered an authority upon most subjects. he paid much attention to his dress, and drove the fastest þorse and the best got-up gig in that part of the country; but it was mr. mulready's manner which above all had raised him to his present position in the esteem of the good people of marsden. he had the knack of adapting himself to the vein of those he addressed. with the farmers who came into market he was bluff and cordial; with the people in general he was genial and good-tempered. at meetings at which the county geutry were present he was quiet, business-like, and a ţrifle deferential, showing that he recognized the differ- ence between his position and theirs. with ladies he was gay when they were gay, sympathetic when sympathy was expected. with them he was even more popular than with thọ men, for the latter, although they admired and somewhat envied his varied acquirements, were apt through the fray. in the intimacy of private conversation to speak of him as a humbug. there was one exception, however, to his general pop- ularity. there was no mill-owner in the neighborhood more heartily detested by his work people; but as these did not mingle with the genteel classes of marsden their opinion of mr. mulready went for nothing. the mill- owner was a man of forty-three or forty-four, although when dressed in his tightly-itting brown coat with its short waist, its brass buttons, and high collar, and with a low hat with narrow brim worn well forward and com- ing down almost to the bridge of his nose, he looked seven or eight years younger. his hair was light, his trimly cut mutton-chop whiskers were sandy, he had a bright, fresh complexion, a large month, and good teeth, which he always showed when he smiled, and in public he was always smiling; his eyes were light in color, very close together, and had a some- what peculiar appearance. indeed there were men who hinted that he hud a slight cast, but these were, no doubt, envious of his popularity. mrs. sankey had been flattered by his visit and mamer; indeed it could hardly have been otherwise, for he had expressed a sympathy and deference which were very soothing to her. "it is indeed kind of you to receive me," he had said. “i know, of course, that it is not usual for a man who has the misfortune to be unmarried to make a call upon a lady, but i could not help myself. william mulrendy is not a man to allow his feelings to be såcrificed to the cold etiquette of the world. i had not the pleasure of the acquaintance of that most brave and distinguished officer your late husband. i had hoped that somo day circumstances might throw me in contact with him, but it was not for me, a humble manufacturer, to force my acquaintance upon one socially my supeșior; but, my through the fray. dear madam, when i heard of that terrible accident, of that noble self-devotion, i said to myself, “william mul- ready, when a proper and decent time elapses you must call upon the relict of your late noble and distinguished townsman, and assure her of your sympathy and admira- tion, even if she spurns you from the door.'” “you could not think i should do that, mr. mulready,” mrs. sankey said. “it is most gratifying to me to re- ceive this mark of sympathy in my present sad position;" and she sighed deeply. “you are good indeed to say so," mr. mulready said in a tone of deep gratitude; "but i might have been sure that my motives at least would not be misunder- stood by a high-bred and delicate lady like yourself. i will not now trespass on your time, but hope that i may be permitted to call again. should there be anything in which so humble an individual could be in the slightest degree useful to you pray command my services. i know the responsibility which you must feel at being left in charge of those two noble boys and your charming little daughter must be well-nigh overwhelming, and if you would not think it presumption i would say that any poor advice or opinion which i, who call myself in some degree a man of the world, can give, will be always at your service." “you are very good,” mrs. sankey murmured. “it is indeed a responsibility. my younger boy and girl are all that i could wish, but the elder is already almost be- yond me;' and by the shake of her head she testified that her troubles on that score approached martyrdom. "never fear, my dear madam,” mr. mulready said heartily. “boys will be boys, and i doubt not that he will grow up everything that you could desire. i may have heard that he was a little passionate. there was a trifling affair between him and his schoolmaster, was through the fray. there not? but these things mend themselves, and doubtless all will come well in time; and now i have the honor of wishing you good-morning." "charming manners!” mrs. sankey said to herself when her visitor had left. "a little old-fashioned, per- haps, but so kind and deferential. he seemed to under- stand my feelings exactly.” that evening when they were at tea mrs. sankey men- tioned the agreeable visitor who had called in the after- noon. “what! william mulready!” ned exclaimed; "foxey, as his hands call him. i have heard bill speak of him often. his men höte him. they say he is a regular tyrant. what impudence his coming here!” “ned, i am surprised at you,” his mother said angrily. “i am sure mr. mulready is nothing of the sort. he is a most kind and considerate gentleman, and i will not allow you to repeat these things you hear from the low companions whom your father permitted you to associate with." "bill is not a low companion, mother," ned exclaimed passionately. "a better fellow never stood, and foxey is nut kind and considérate. he is a brutal tyrant, and i am sure my father, if you will quote his opinion, would not have had such a man inside his doors.” "leave the room, ned, this moment,” his mother ex- claimed, more angry than he had ever seen her before. "i am ashamed of you speaking to me in that way. you would not have dared to do it had your father been alive." ned dashed down his scarcely-begun bread and butter and flung himself out of the room, and then out of the house, and it was some hours before he returned. then he went straight up to his mother's room. “i beg your pardon, mother," he said quietly, "i am througÀi thÉ erat. delicate and needed tempting, or some book newly issued from the london press which he was sure she would appreciate. after a short time mrs. sankey ceased to speak of these visits, perhaps because she saw how ned objected to the introduction of mr. mulready's name, perhaps for some other reason, and a year passed without ned's being seriously ruffled on the subject. ned was now nearly sixteen. he had worked hard, and was the head-boy at porson's. it had always been regarded as a fixed thing that he should go into the army. as the son of an officer who had lost his leg in the service it was thought that he would be able to obtain a commission without difficulty, and squire simmonds, who had been a kind friend since his father's death, had promised to ask the lord-lieutenant of the county to in- terest himself in the matter, and had no doubt that the circumstances of captain sankey's death would be con- sidered as an addition to the clain of his services in the army. captain sankey had intended that ned should have gone to a superior school to finish his education, but the diminished income of the family had put this out of the question, and the subject had never been mooied after his death. ned, however, felt that he was making such good progress under mr. porson that he was well content to remain where he was. his struggle with his temper had gone on steadily, and he hoped he had won a final victory over it. mr. porson had been unwearied in his kindnesses, and often took ned for an hour in the evening in order to push him forward, and although lie avoided talking about his home life the boy felt that he could, in case of need, pour out his heart to him; but, indeed, things had gone better at home. mrs. sankey was just as indisposed as through the fray. over to take any share whatever in the trouble of house- keeping, but as abijah was perfectly capable of keeping the house in order without her instructions things went on smoothly and straightly in this respect. in other matters home life was more pleasant than it had been. mrs. sankoy was less given to querulous com- plaining, more inclined to see things in a cheerful light, and ned especially noticed with satisfaction that the references to his father which had so tried him had be- come much less frequent of late. one day in september, when his father had been dead just a year, one of the town boys, a lad of about ned's age, said to him as they were walking home from school together: “well, ned, i suppose i ought to congratulate you, although i don't know whether you will see it in that light.” “what do you mean?” ned said. “i don't know that anything has happened on which i should be particularly congratulated, except on having made the top score against the town last week.” “oh! i don't mean that,” the boy said. “i mean about mulready." “what do you mean?” ned said, stopping short and turning very white. “why," the lad said laughing, “all the town says he is going to marry your mother.” ned stood as if stupefied. then he sprang upon his companion and seized him by the throat. “it's a lie,” he shouted, shaking him furiously. “it's a lie i say, smithers, and you know it. i will kill you if you don't say it's a lie.” with a great effort smithers extricated himself from ned's grasp. “don't choke a fellow,” he said. "it may be a lie it ind seized bud shaking him i will ki throuch the fray. you say it is, but it is not my lie anyhow. people have been talking about it for some time. they say he's been down there nearly every day. didn't you know it?" “know it?" ned gasped. “i have not heard of his being in the house for months, but i will soon find out the truth." and without another word he dashed off at full speed up the street. panting and breathless he rushed into the house, and tore into the room where his mother was sitting trifling with a piece of fancy-work. “i do wish, edward, you would not come into the room like a whirlwind. you know how any sudden noise jars upon my nerves. why, what is the matter?” she broke off suddenly, his pale, set face catehing her eye, little accustomed as she was to pay any attention to ned's varying moods. “mother,” he panted out, "people are saying an awful thing about you, & wicked, abominable thing. i know, of course, it is not true, but i want just to hear you say so, so that i can go out and tell people they lie. how dare they say such things!” “why, what do you mean, edward?” mrs. sankey said, almost frightened at the boy's vehemence. - “why, they say that you are going to marry that hor- rible man mulready. it is monstrous, isn't it? i think they ought to be prosecuted and punished for such a wicked thing, and father only a year in his grave.” mrs. sankey was frightened at ned's passion. ever since the matter had first taken shape in her mind she had felt a certain uneasiness as to what ned would say of it, and had, since it was decided, been putting off from day to day the telling of the news to him. she had, in his absence, told herself over and over again that it was no business of his, and that a boy had no right to as much as question the actions of his mother; but some- through the fra y. how when he was present she had always shrank from telling him. she now took refuge in her usual defense tears. "it is shameful,” she said, sobbing, as she held her handkerchief to her eyes, "that a boy should speak in this way to his mother; it is downright wieked.” “but i am not speaking to you, mother; i am speak- ing of other people—the people who have invented this horrible lie--for it is a mile, other, isn't it? it is not possible it can be true?”. "it is true,” mrs. sankey said, gaining courage from her anger; "it is quite true. and you are a wiokod and abominable boy to talk in that way to me. why shouldn't i marry again? other people marry again, and why shouldn't i? i am sure your poor father would never have wished me to waste my life by remaining single, with nothing to do but to look after you children. and it is shameful of you to speak in that way of mr. mul- ready." ned stopped to hear no mare. at her first words he had giren a low, gasping cry, as one who has received a terrible wound. the blood flew to his head, the room swam ronnd, and he seemed to feel the veins in his tem- ples swell almost to bursting. the subsequent words of his mother fell unheeded on his ears, and turning round he went slowly to the door, groping his way as one half- asleep or stupefied by a blow. mechanically he opened the door and went out into the street; his cap was still on his head, but he neither thoght of it one way or the other, almost without knowing it he turned from the town and walked toward the hills. had any one met him by the way they would assuredly have thought that the boy had been drinking, so strangely and unevenly did he walk. his face was flushed almost purple, his eyes were through the fray. bloodshot; he swayed to and fro as he walked, sometimes pausing altogether, sometin.es hurrying along for a few steps. passing a field where the gate stood open he turned into it, kept on his way for some twenty yards fur- ther, and then fell at full length on the grass. there he lay unconscious for some hours, and it was not until the evening dews were falling heavily that he sat up and looked round. for some time he neither knew where he was nor what had brought him there. at last the remembrance of what had passed flashed across him, and with a cry of “father! father!” he threw himself at full length again with his head on his arm; but this time tears came to his relief, and for a long time he cried with a bitterness of grief even greater than that which he had suffered at his father's death. the stars were shining brightly when he rose to his feet, his clothes were soaked with dew, and he trembled with cold and weakness. “what am i to do?” he said to himself; "what am i to do?” he made his way back to the gate and leaned against it for some time; then, having at last made up his mind, he turned his back on the town and walked toward varley, moving more slowly and wearily than if he was at the end of a long and fatiguing day's walk. slowly he climbed the hill and made his way through the village till he reached the swintons' cottage. he tapped at the door with his hand, and lifting the latch he opened the door a few inches. “bill, are you in?” there was an exclamation of surprise. “why, sure-ly, it's maister ned!" and bill came to the door. “come out, bill, i want to speak to you." much surprised at the low and subdued tone in which through the fray. ned spoke, bill snatched down his cap from the peg by the door and joined him outside. “what be't, maister ned? what be t matter with thee? has owt gone wrong?" ned walked on without speaking. in his yearning for sympathy, in his intense desire to impart the miserable news to some one who would feel for him, he had come to his friend bill. he had thought first of going to mr. porson. but though his master would sympathize with him be would not be able to feel as he did; he would no doubt be shocked at hearing that his mother was so soon going to marry again, but he would not be able to under- stand the special dislike to mr. mulready, still less likely to encourage his passionate resentment. bill would, he knew, do both, for it was from him he had learned low hated the mill-owner was among his people. but at present he could not speak. he gave a short wave of his hand to show that he heard, but could not answer yet, and with his head bent down made his way out through the end of the village on to the moor-bill following him, wondering and sympathetic, unable to conjecture what had happened. presently, when they had left the houses far behind them, ned stopped. “what be’t, maister ned?” bill again asked, laying his strong hand upon ned's shoulder; "tell oi whai it be. hast got in another row with t' maister? if there be owt as oi can do, thou knowest well as bill sriaton be with thee heart and soul.” “i know, bill-i know," ned said in a broken voice, “but you can do nothing; i can do nothing; no one can. but it's dreadful to think of. it's worse than if i had killed twenty masters. only think--only think, bill, my mother's going to marry mulready!” "thou doesn't say so, lad! what! thy mother marry foxey! oi never heer'd o'such a thing. well, that be through the fray. bad news, surely! well, well, only to think, now! poor lad! well, that beats all!”. the calamity appeared so great to bill that for some time no idea occurred to him which could, under the circumstances, be considered as consolatory. but ned felt the sympathy conveyed in the strong grasp of his shoulder, and in the muttered “well, well, now!" to which bill gave vent at intervals. “what bee'st going to do vor to stop it?" he asked at last. “what can i do, bill? she won't listen to me-she never does. anything i say always makes her go the other way. she wouldn't believe anything i said against him. it would only make her stick to him all the more.” “do'st think,” bill suggested after another long pause, “that if we got up a sort of depitation—luke marner and four or five other steady chaps as knows him; yes, and polly powlett, she could do the talking-to go to her and tell her what a thundering bad un he is-dost think it would do any good?” even in his bitter grief ned could hardly help smiling at the thought of such a deputation waiting upon his mother. “no, it wouldn't do, bill.” bill was silent again for some time. “dost want un killed, maister ned?” he said in a low voice at last; “cause if ye do oi would do it for yeoi would lay down my life for ye willing, as thou knowst; and hanging ain't much, arter all. they say 'tis soon over. anyhow oi would chance it, and perhaps they wouldn't find me out." ned grasped his friend's hand. “i could kill him myself!” he exclaimed passionately, “i have been thinking of it; but what would be the good? i know what my mother is--when once she has through the fray. made up her mind there's no turning her; and if this fellow were out of the way, likely enough she would take up with another in no time.” “but it couldn't been as bad as if wur foxey,” bill urged, "he be the very worsest lot about marsden.” "i would do it," ned said passionately; “i would do it over and over again, but for the disgrace it would bring on charlie and lucy.”. “but there would be no disgrace if oi was to do it, maister ned.” “yes, there would, bill & worse disgrace than if i did it myself. it would be a nice thing to let you get hanged for my affairs; but let him look out—let him try to ill-treat charlie and lucy, and he will see if i don't get even with him. i am not so much afraid of that it's the shame of the thing. only to think that all marsden should know my mother is going to be married again within a year of my father's death, and that after being his wife she was going to take such a man as this! it's awful, downright awful, bill!” "then what art thou going to do, maister ned-run away and ’list for a soldier, or go to sea?" "i wish i could," ned exclaimed. “i would turn my back on marsden and never come back again, were it not for the little ones. besides,” he added after a pause, "father's last words were, ‘be kind to mother;' and she will want it more than he ever dreamed of.” "she will that,” bill agreed; "leastways unless oi be mistaken. and what be'st going to do now, lad? be'st agoing whoam?” "no, i won't go home to-night," ned replied. “i must think it over quietly, and it would be worse to bear there than anywhere else. no, i shall just walk about." "thou canst not walk abowt all night, maister ned," bill said positively; "it bain't to be thowt of. if thou finotge tits ra. tea yet, and they don't have tea at bill's; but i like it, though feyther grumbles sometimes, and says it's too expensive for the likes of us in sich times as these; but he knows i would rather go without meat than without tea, so he lets me have it. bill comes in for a cup some- times, for he likes it better than beer, and it's a deal better for him to be sitting taking a cup of tea with me than getting into the way of going down to the ‘spotted dog,' and drinking beer there. so we will all have a cup together. no one will disturb us. feyther is down at the ‘brown cow;' and when i told the children i had to go out on special business they all promised to be good, and jarge said he would see them all safely into bed. i told him i should be back in an hour.” while polly was speaking she was bustling about the rcom, putting things straight; with a wisp of heather she swept up the dust which had accumulated on the floor, in a semicircle in front of the fire, and laid down the rngs and blankets to form seats. three cups and cancers, a little jug of milk, a teapot, and basin of sugar were placed in the center, and a pile of slices of bread and butter beside them, while from a paper-bag she pro- duced a cake which she had bought at the village shop on her way up. ned watched her preparations listlessly. “you are very good, polly,” he said, “and i shall be very glad of the cup of tea, but i cannot eat anything." "never mind,” she said cheerfully. “bill and i can do the eating, and perhaps after you have had a cup of tea you will be able to, for bill tells me you have had nothing to eat since breakfast.” ned felt cheered by the warm blaze of the fire and by the cheerful sound of the kettle, and after taking a cap of tea found that his appetite was coming, and was soon able to eat his share. mary powlett kept up a cheerful through the fray. talk while the meal was going on, and no allusion was made to the circumstances which had brought ned there. after it was done she sat and chatted for an hour. then she said: “i must be off now, and i think, bill, you'd best be going soon too, and let maister ned have a good night of it. i will make him up his bed on the rugs; and i will warrant, after all the trouble he has gone through, he will sleep like a top.” through the fray. chapter ix. a painful time. when ned was left alone he rolled himself up in the blankets, pluced a pillow which polly had brought him under his head, and lay and looked at the fire; but it was not until the flames had died down, and the last red glow bad faded into blackness that he fell off to sleep. his thoughts were bitter in the extreme. iie pictured to himself the change which would take place in his home life with mulready the manufacturer, the tyrant of the workmen, ruling over it. for himself he doubted not that he would be able to hold his own. “he had better not try on his games with me," he muttered savagely. "though i am only sixteen he won't find it easy to bully me; bu' of course charlie and lucy can't defend themselves. however, i will take care of them. just let him be unkind to them, and see what comes of it! as to mother, she must take what she gets, at least she deserves to. only to think of it! only to think of it! oh, how bitterly she will come to repent! how could she do it! “and with father only dead a year! but i must stand by her too. i promised father to be kind to her, though he could never have guessed how she would need it. he meant that i would only put up, without losing my tem- per, with her way of always pretending to be ill, and never doing anything but lie on the sofa and read poetry. through the fray. still, of course, it meant i was to be kind anyhow, what. ever happened, and i will try to be so, though it is hard when she has brought such trouble upon us all. “as for mulready i should like to burn his mill down, or to break his neck. i hate him; it's bad enough to be a tyrant; but to be a tyrant and a hypocrite too, is hor- rible. well, at any rate he shan't lord it over me;" and so at last ned dropped off to sleep. he was still soundly asleep when bill swinton came in to wake him. it was half-past six, a dull october morning, with a dreary drizzling rain. bill brought with him a mug of hot tea and some thick slices of bread and butter. nod got up and shook himself. “what o'clock is it, bill?” “half-past six: the chaps went off to t' mill an hour gone; oi've kept some tea hot for ee.", “thank you, bill, my head aches, and so do all my bones, and i feel as if i hadn't been asleep all night, although, indeed, i must have slept quite as long as usual. can't i have a wash?” “yes,” bill said, "thou canst come to our place; but thou had best take thy breakfast whilst it be hot. it ull waken thee up loike.” ned drank the tea and ate a slice of bread and butter, and felt refreshed thereat. then he ran with bill to his cottage and had a wash, and then started for the town. it was eight o'clock when he reached home. abijah was at the door, looking down the road as he came up. “oh! master ned, how can you go on so? not a bit of sleop have i had this blessed night, and the mistress in strong hystrikes all the evening. where have you boen?” ned gave a grunt at the news of his mother's hysterics-á grunt which clearly expressed “served her right,” but he only answered the last part of the question. "i have been up at varley, and slept at the school. through the fra y. house. bill swinton and polly powlett made me ap bed and got me tea and breakfast. i am right enough.” “but you shouldn't have gone away, master ned, in that style, leaving us to wait and worry ourselves out of our senses.” “do you know what she told me, abijah? wasn't it enough to make any fellow mad?” “ay, ay,” the nurse said. “i know. i have see'd it coming months ago; but it wasn't no good for me to speak. ay, lad, it's a sore trouble for you, sure-ly a sore trouble for you, and for us all; but it ain't no manner of use for you to set yourself agin it. least said sooner mended, master ned; in a case like this it ain't no good your setting yourself up agin the missis. she ain't strong in some things, but she's strong enough in her will, and you ought to know by this time that what she sets her mind on she gets. it were so allos in the cap- tain's time, and if he couldn't change her, poor patient lamb—for if ever there were a saint on arth he was that- you may be sure that you can't. so try and take it qui- etly, dearie. it be main hard for ye, and it ain't for me to say as it isn't; but for the sake of peace and quiet, and for the sake of the little ones, master ned, it's better for you to take it quiet. if i thought as it would do any good for you to make a fuss i wouldn't be agin it; but it ain't, you know, and it will be worse for you all if you sets him agin you to begin with. now go up and see your mother, dearie, afore you goes off to school. i have just taken her up her tea.” “i have got nothing to say to her," ned growled. “yes, you have, diaster ned; you have got to tell her you hopes she will be happy. you can do that, you know, with a clear heart, for you do hope so. fortu- nately she didn't see him yesterday; for when he called i told him she was too ill to see him, and a nice taking through the fray. “very well, ned,” she said more graciously than usual, “i am glad that you have seen the wickedness of your conduct. i am sure that i am acting for the best, and that it will be a great advantage to you and your brother and sister having a man like mr. mulready to help you push your way in life. i am sure i am think- ing of your interest as much as my own; and i have spoken to him over and over again about you, and he has promised dozens of times to do his best to be like a father to you all.” ned winced perceptibly. “all right, mother! i do hope you will be happy; but, please, don't let us talk about it again till-till it comes off; and, please, don't let him come here in the evening. i will try and get accustomed to it in time; but you see it's rather hard at first, and you know i didn't expect it.” so saying ned left the room, and collecting his books made his way off to school, leaving his mother highly satisfied with the interview. his absence from afternoon school had, of course, been noticed, and smithers had told his friends how ned had flown at him on his speaking to him about the talk of his mother and mulready. of course before afternoon school broke up every boy knew that ned sankey had cut up rough about the report; and although the great majority of the boys did not know mr. mulready, by name there was a general feeling of sympathy with ned. the cir- cumstances of his father's death had, of course, exalted him greatly in the eyes of his schoolfellows, and it was the unanimous opinion, that after having had a hero for his father, a fellow would naturally object to having a stepfather put over him. ned's absence was naturally associated with the news, and caused much comment and even excitement. his attack upon mr. hathorn had become a sort of historical . through the fray. incident in the school, and the younger boys looked up with a sort of respectful awe upon the boy who had de- fied a head-master. there were all sorts of speculations rife among them as to what ned had done, there being a general opinion that he had probably killed mr. mul- ready, and the debate turning principally upon the man- ner in which this act of righteous vengeance had been performed. there was, then, a feeling almost of disappointment when ned walked into the playground looking much as usual, except that his face was pale and his eyes looked heavy and dull. no one asked him any questions; for although ned was a general favorite, it was generally understood that he was not the sort of fellow to be asked questions that might put him out. when they went in school, and the first class was called up, ned, who was always at its head, took his place at the bottom of the class, saying quietly to the master: “i have not prepared my lesson to-day, sir, and i have not done the exercises.” mr. porson made no remark; he saw at once by ned's face that something was wrong with him. when several questions went round, which ned could easily have an- swered without preparation, the master said: “you had better go to your desk, sankey; i see you are not well. i will speak to you after school is over.” ned sat down and opened a book, but he did not turn a page until school was over; then he followed his master to the study. “well, my boy,” he asked kindly, “what is it?" “my mother is going to marry mr. mulready," ned said shortly. the words seemed to come with difficulty from his lips. “ah! it is true, then. i heard the report some weeks ago, but hoped that it was not true. i am sorry for you, throug# the prax. ned. i know it must be a sore trial for you; it is always so when any one steps into the place of one we have loved and lost." “i shouldn't care so much if it wasn't him," ned said in a dull voice. “but there's nothing against the man, is there?” mr. porson asked. “i own i do not like him myself; but i believe he stands well in the town.” “only with those who don't know him," ned replied; “his work-people say he is the worst master and the big- gest tyrant in the district.” “we must hope it's not so bad as that, ned; still, i am sorry-very sorry, at what you tell me; but, my boy, you must not take it to heart. you see you will be go- ing out into the world before long. your brother will be following you in a few years. it is surely better that your mother should marry again and have some one to take care of her." “nice care of her he is likely to take!" ned laughed bitterly. “you might as well put a fox to take care of a goose.” "you are severe on both parties,” mr. porson said with a slight smile; “but i can hardly blame you, my boy, for feeling somewhat bitter at first; but i hope that, for your own sake and your mother's, you will try and conquer this feeling and will make the best of the cir- cumstances. it is worse than useless to kick against the pricks. any show of hostility on your part will only cause unhappiness, perhaps between your mother and him-almost certainly between you and her. in this world, my boy, we have all our trials. some are very heavy ones. this is yours. happily, so far as you are concerned, you need only look forward to its lasting eighteen montlis or so. in that time you may hope to get your commission; and as the marriage can hardly through thh fray. take place for some little time to come, you will have but a year or so to bear it.” "i don't know, sir," ned said gloomily: "everything seems upset now. i don't seem to know what i had best do.” "i am sure at present, ned,” mr. porson said kindly --for he saw that the boy was just now in no mood for argument—“the best is to try and think as little of it as possible. make every allowance for your mother; as you know, my boy, i would not speak disrespectfully to you of her on any account; but she is not strong-minded. she has always been accustomed to lean upon some one, and the need of some one to lean on is imperative with her. had you been a few years older, and had you been staying at home, it is probable that you might have taken your place as her support and strength. as it is, it was almost inevitable that something of this sort would happen. “but you know, ned, where to look for strength and support. you have fought one hard battle, my boy, and have well-nigh conquered; now you have another before you. seek for strength, my boy, where you will assur- edly find it, and remember that this discipline is doubt- less sent you for your good, and that it will be a prepa- ration for you for the struggle in after life. i don't want you to be a thoughtless, careless young officer, but a man earnest in doing his duty, and you cannot but see that these two trials must have a great effect in forming your character. remember, ned, that if the effect be not for good, it will certainly be for evil.” “i will try, sir," ned said; "but i know it is easy to make good resolutions, and how it will be when he is in the house as master i can't trust myself even to think.” “well, let us hope the best, ned,” mr. porson said kindly; "things may turn out better than you fear." through the fray. then seeing that further talking would be useless now, he shook ned's hand and let him go. the next three or four months passed slowly and heavily. ned went about his work again quietly and doggedly; but his high spirits seemed gone. his moth- er's engagement with mr. mulready had been openly announced, directly after he had first heard of it. charlie had, to ned's secret indignation, taken it qui- etly. he knew little of mr. mulready, who had, when- ever he saw him, spoken kindly to him, and who now made him frequent presents of books and other things dear to schoolboys. little lucy's liking he had, how- ever, failed to gain, although in his frequent visits he had spared no pains to do so, seldom coming without bringing with him cakes or papers of sweets. lucy ac- cepted the presents, but did not love the donor, and confided to abijah that his teeth were exactly like those of the wolf who ate little red riding hood. ned found much more comfort in her society during those dull days than in charlie's. he had the good sense, however, never to encourage her in her expressions of dislike to mr. mulready, and even did his best to com- bat her impression, knowing how essential it was for her to get on well with him. ned himself did not often see mr. mulready during that time. the first time that they met, ned had, on his return from school, gone straight up into the drawing-room, 'not knowing that mr. mulready was there. on opening the door and see: ing him he paused suddenly for a moment and then ad- vanced. for a moment neither of them spoke, then mr. mulready said in his frankest manner: “ned, you have heard i am going to marry your mother. i don't suppose you quite like it; it wouldn't be natural if you did; i know i shouldn't if i were in your place. still you know your disliking it won't alter tarough the fra y. it, and i hope we shall get on well together. give me your hand, my lad, you won't find me a bad sort of fellow." “i hope not,” ned said quietly, taking mr. mulready's hand and continuing to hold it while he went on: "i don't pretend i like it, and i know it makes no differ- ence whether i do or not; the principal point is, that my mother should be happy, and if you make her happy i have no doubt we shall, as you say, get on well together; if you don't, we shan't." there was no mistaking the threat conveyed in ned's steady tones, and mr. mulready, as ned dropped his hand, felt that he should have more trouble with the boy than he had expected. he gave a forced laugh. “one would think, ned, that you thought it likely i was going to be unkind to your mother.” "no," ned said quietly, “i don't want to think about it one way or the other, only i promised my father i would be kind to my mother; that means that i would look after her, and i mean to. well, mother,” he said in his usual tone, turning to mrs. sankey, “and how are you this morning?” “i was feeling better, ned," she said sharply; "but your unpleasant way of talking, and your nonsense about taking care of me, have made me feel quite ill again. somehow you always seem to shake my nerves. you never seem to me like other boys. one would think i was a child instead of being your mother. i thought after what you said to me that you were going to behave nicely.” “i am trying to behave nicely,” ned said. “i am sure i meant quite nicely, just as mr. mulready does; i think he understands me.” “i don't understand that boy,” mrs. sankey said plaintively when ned had left the room, and i never through the fray. have understood him. he was dreadfully spoiled when he was in india, as i have often told you; for in my weak state of health i was not equal to looking after him, and his poor father was sadly overindulgent. but he has certainly been much better as to his temper lately, and i do hope, william, that he is not going to cause trouble.” "oh, no!” mr. mulready said lightly, “he will not cause trouble; i have no doubt we shall get on well to- gether. boys will be boys, you know; i have been one myself, and of course they look upon stepfathers as nat- ural enemies; but in this case, you see, we shall not have to put up with each other long, as he will be getting his commission in a year or so. don't trouble yourself about it, love; in your state of health you ought really not to worry yourself, and worry, you know, spoils the eyes and the complexion, and i cannot allow that, for you will soon be my property now.” the wedding was fixed for march. it was to be per- fectly quiet, as mrs. sankey would, up to the day, be still in mourning. a month before the time ned no- ticed that his mother was more uncertain in her temper than usual, and abijah confided to him in secret that she thought things were not going on smoothly between the engaged couple. nor were they. mr mulready had discovered, to his surprise, that, indolent and silly as mrs. sankey was in many respects, she was not altogether a fool, and was keen enough where her own interests were concerned. he had suggested something about settlements, hoping that she would at once say that these were wholly unnec- essary; but to his surprise she replied in a manner which showed that she had already thought the matter over, and had very fixed ideas on the subject. “of course," she said, "that will be necessary. i know nothing about business, but it was done before, through the fray. and my poor husband insisted that my little fortune should be settled so as to be entirely at my own disposal.” but this by no means suited mr. mulready's views. hitherto want of capital had prevented his introducing the new machinery into his mills, and the competition with the firms which had already adopted it was injuring him seriously, and he had reckoned confidently upon the use of mrs. sankey's four thousand pounds. although he kept his temper admirably under the circumstances, he gave her distinctly to understand, in the pleasantest way, that an arrangement which was most admirably suitable in every respect in the case of a lady marrying an officer in the army, to whom her capital could be of no possible advantage, was altogether unsuitable in the case of a manufacturer. “you see, my love," he argued, “that it is for your benefit as well as mine that the business should grow and flourish by the addition of the new machinery which this little fortune of yours could purchase. the profits could be doubled and trebled, and we could look forward ere long to holding our heads as high as the richest manu- facturers at leeds and bradford-while the mere interest in this money invested in consols as at present would be absolutely useless to us.” mrs. sankey acknowledged the force of his argument, but was firm in her determination to retain her hold of ber money, and so they parted, not in anger, for mr. mulready altogether disclaimed the possibility of his being vexed, but with the sense that something like a barrier had sprung up between them. this went on for a few days, and although the subject was not mooted, mrs. sankey felt that unless some con- cession on her part was made it was likely that the match would fall through. this she had not the slightest idea of permitting, and rather than it should happen she tirotoa tä! frat, puity of two hundred and forty pounds à year to the three children. if, the most unlikely thing in the world, she did survive him-well, it mattered not a jot in that case who the mill went to. so the terms were settled, the necessary deeds were drawn up by a solicitor, and signed by both parties. mrs. sankey recovered her spirits, and the preparations for the wedding went on. ned had intended to absent himself from the ceremony, but mr. porson, guessing that such might be his intention, had talked the matter gravely over with him. he had pointed out to ned that his absence would in the first place be an act of great disrespect to his mother; that in the second place it would cause general comment, and would add to the un- favorable impression which his mother's early remarriage had undoubtedly created; and that, lastly, it would jus- tify mr. mulready in regarding him as hostile to the marriage, and, should trouble subsequently arise, he would be able to point to it in self-justification, and as a proof that ned had from the first determined to treat him as an enemy. so ned was present at his mother's marriage. quiet as the wedding was, for only two or three acquaintances were asked to be present, the greater part of marsden were assembled in the church. the marriage had created considerable comment. the death of captain sankey in saving a child's life had ren- dered his widow an object of general sympathy, and peo- ple felt that not only was this marriage within eighteen months of captain sankey's death almost indecent, but that it was somehow a personal wrong to them, and that they had been defrauded in their sympathy. therefore the numerous spectators of the marriage were critical rather than approving. they could find nothing to lind fault with, however, in the bride's ap. through the fray. pearance. she was dressed in a dove-colored silk, and with her fair hair and pale complexion looked quite young, and, as every one admitted, pretty. mr. mul- ready, as usual, was smiling, and seemed to convey by the looks which he cast round that he regarded the as- semblage as a personal compliment to himself. lucy and charlie betrayed no emotion either way; they were not pleased, but the excitement of the affair amused and interested them, and they might be said to be passive spectators. ned, however, although he had brought himself to be present, could not bring himself to look as if the ceremony had his approval or sanction. he just glared, as abijah, who was present, afterward confided to some of her friends, as if he could have killed the man as he stood. his look of undisguised hostility was indeed noticed by all who were in church, and counted heavily against him in the days which were to come. through the fray chapter x. troubles at home. it was not one of the least griefs of the young sankeys connected with their mother's wedding that abijah was to leave them. it was she herself who had given notice to mrs. sankey, saying that she would no longer be re- quired. the first time that she had spoken of her in- tentions, mrs. sankey vehemently combated the idea, saying that neither she nor lncy could spare her; but she did not afterward return to the subject, and seemed to consider it a settled thing that abijah intended to leave. mrs. sankey had, in fact, spoken to mr. mulready on the subject, but instead of taking the view she had expected, he had said cheerfully: "i am glad that she has given notice. i know that she is a valuable woman and much attached to you. at the same time these old servants always turn out a mis- take under changed circumstances. she would never have been comfortable or contented. she has, my dear if i may say so, been mistress too long, and as i intend you to be mistress of my house, it is much better that she should go.” as mrs. sankey had certain doubts herself as to whether abijah would be a success in the new home, the subject was dropped, and it became an understood thing that abijah would leave after the wedding. the newly married couple were absent for three weeks. until two days before their return abijah remained in through the fray. the oid house with the young sankeys; then they moved into their new home, and she went off to her pative vil- lage ten miles distant away on the moors. the next day there was a sale at the old house. a few, a very few, of the things had been moved. everything else was sold, to the deep indignation of ned, who was at once grieved and angry that all the articles of furniture which he as- sociated with his father should be parted with. abijah shared the boy's feelings in this respect, and at the sale all the furniture and fittings of captain sankey's study were bought by a friendly grocer on her behalf, and the morning after the sale a badly written letter, for abijah's education had been neglected, was placed in ned's hand. “my dear master ned: knowing as it cut you to the heart that everything should go away.into the hands of strangers, i have made so bold as to ask mr. willcox for to buy all the furniter and books in maister's study. he is a-going to stow them away in a dry loft, and when so bee as you gets a home of your own there they is for you; they are sure not to fetch much, and when you gets à rich man you can pay me for them; not as that matters at all one way or the other. i have been a-saving up pretty nigh all my wages from the day as you was born, and is quite comfortable off. write me a letter soon, dea, it, to tell me as how things is going on. your affec- tionate nurse, abijah wolf." although ned was a lad of sixteen, he had a great cry over this letter, but it did him good, and it was with a softer heart that he prepared to receive his mother and her husband that evening. the meeting passed off better than he had anticipated. mrs. mulready was really affected at seeing her chil- dren again, and embraced them, ned thought, with more fondness than she had done when they went away. mr. mulready spoke genially and kindly, and ned began to hope that things would not be so bad after all. through the fray. in the same tone. a little flush of color would come into her cheek, but she would pass it off lightly, and at all times she appeared nervously anxious to please him. ned wondered much over the change. “he is a tyrant,” he said, “and she has learned it already; but i do think she loves him. fancy my mother coming to be the slave of a man like this! i suppose," he laughed bitterly, “it's the story of a woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, the more you thrash them the better they will be.' my father spent his whole life in making hers easy, and in sparing her from every care and trouble, and i don't believe she cared half as much for him as she does for this man who is her master.” for some months mr. mulready was very busy at his mill. a steam-engine was being erected, new machinery brought in, and he was away the greater part of his time superintending it. one day at breakfast, & short time before all was in readiness for a start with the new plant, mr. mulready opened a letter directed in a sprawling and ill-written hand which lay at the top of the pile by his plate. ned happened to notice his face, and saw the color fade out from it as he glanced at the contents. the mouth re- mained as usual, set in a smile, but the rest of the face expressed agitation and fear. the hand which held the letter shook. mrs. mulready, whose eyes seldom left her husband's face when he was in the room, also noticed the change. "is anything the matter, william ?” “oh! nothing,” he said with an unnatural laugh, "only a little attempt to frighten me.” “an attempt which has succeeded,” ned said to him- self, “whatever it is.” mr. mulready passed the letter over to his wife. it was a rough piece of paper; at the top was scrawled the outrine of a coffin, underneath which was written: t'hrough the fray. “mr. mulready: sir, this is to give you warning that if you uses the new machinery you are a dead man. you have been a marked man for a long time for your tyrannical ways, but as long as you didn't get the new machinery we let you live; but we has come to the end of it now; the day as you turns on steam we burns your mill to the ground and shoots you, so now you knows it." at the bottom of this was signed the words “captain lud." "oh! william,” mrs. mulready cried, “you will never do it! you will never risk your life at the hands of these terrible people!" all the thin veneer of politeness was cracked by this blow, and mr. mulready said sullenly: “nice thing indeed; after i have married to get this money, and then not to be able to use it!" his wife gave a little cry. “it's a shame to say so," charlie burst out sturdily. mr. mulready's passion found a vent. he leaped up and seized the boy by the collar and boxed his ears with all his force. in an instant the fury which had been smoldering in ned's breast for months found a vent. he leaped to his feet and struck mr. mulready a blow between the eyes which sent him staggering back against the wall; then he caught up the poker. the manufacturer with a snarl like that of an angry wild beast was about to rush at him, but ned's attitude as he stood, poker in hand, checked him. "stand back," ned said threateningly, "or i will strike you. you coward and bully; for months i have put up with your tyrannizing over charlie and lucy, but touch either of them again if you dare. you think that you are stronger than i am-s you are ever so much; but you lay a finger on them or on me, and i warn you, if i b a - mai ned defends little charlie against their stepfather, through the fray wait a month for an opportunity i will pay you for it, if you kill me afterward.”. mrs. mulready's screams had by this time brought the seryants into the room, and they stood astonished at the spectacle. lucy crying bitterly had run to ned and thrown her arms round him, begging him to be quiet. charlie, hardly recovered from the heavy blows he had received, was crying too. mr. mulready as pale as death was glar- ing at ned, while his wife had thrown herself between them. mr. mulready was the first to recover himself. “this is a nice spectacle,” he said to the servants. “you see that boy has attacked me with the poker and might have murdered me. however, you can go now, and mind, no chattering about what you have seen. and now," he continued to ned as the door closed behind the servants, “out of this house you go this day.". . “you don't suppose i want to stay in your house,” ned said passionately. “you don't suppose that it's any pleasure to me to stop here, seeing you play the tyrant over my mother.” “oh, ned, ned,” mrs. mulready broke in, "how can you talk so!” "it is true, mother, he is a tyrant to you as well as to every one else; but i don't mean to go, i mean to stop here to protect you and the children. he daren't turn me out; if he did, i would go and work in one of the mills, and what would the people of marsden say then? what would they think of this popular, pleasant gentle- man then, who has told his wife before her children that he married her for her money? they shall all know it, never fear, if i leave this house. i would have gone to mr. sim- monds and asked him to apply for a commission for me before now, for other fellows get it as young as i am; but i have made up my mind that it's my duty not to do so. through the fray. i know he has been looking forward to my being out of the way, and his being able to do just what he likes with the others, but i ain't going to gratify him. it's plain to me that my duty at present is to take care of you all, and though god knows how i set my mind upon going into the army and being a soldier like my father, i will give it up if it means leaving charlie here under him.” "and do you suppose, sir," mr. mulready asked with intense bitterness, “that i am going to keep you hero doing nothing all your life, while you are pleased to watch me?" “no, i don't," ned replied. “i shall get a clerkship or something in one of the mills, and i shall have cbarlie to live with me until he is old enough to leave school, and then i will go away with him to america or some- where. as to mother, i can do nothing for her. i think my being here makes it worse for her, for i believe you tyrannize over her all the more because you think it hurts me. i know you hated me from the first just as i hated you. as for lucy, mother must do the best she can for her. even you daren't hit a girl.” “oh, ned, how can you go on so!” mrs. mulready wailed. “you are a wicked boy to talk so." “all right, mother," ned replied recklessly; “if i am, i suppose i am. i know in your eyes he can do no wrong. and i believe if he beat you, you would think that you deserved it.” so he flung himself down in his chair and continued his breakfast. mr. mulready drank off his tea without sitting doyo, and then left the room without another word; in fact, as yet he did not know what to say.. almost speechless with passion as he was, he restrained himself from carrying out his threat and turning ned at once from the house. above all things he prized bis position and popularity, and he felt that, as ned led through the fray. said, he would indeed incur a heavy odium by turning his wife's son from his doors. captain sankey's death had thrown almost a halo over his children. mr. myl- ready knew that he was already intensely unpopular among the operative class, but he despised this so long as he stood well with the rest of the townsmen; but he dared not risk ned's going to work as an ordinary hand in one of the factories; public opinion is always against stepfathers, and assuredly this would be no exception. hating him as he did, he dared not get rid of this inso- lent boy, who had struck and defied him. he curged himself now with his rashness in letting his temper get the best of him and telling his wife openly that he had married her for her money; for this in ned's hands would be a serious weapon against him. that his wife's feelings were hurt he cared not a jot, but it would be an awkward thing to have it repeated in the town. then there was this threatening letter; what was he to do about that? other men had had similar warnings. some had defied captain lud, and fortified their mills and held them. many had had their property burned to the ground; some had been murdered. it wouldn't be a pleasant thing to drive about in the coun- try knowing that at any moment he might be shot dead. his mill was some little distance out of the town; the road was dark and lonely. he dared not risk it. mr. mulready was, like all tyrants, a coward at heart, and his face grew white again as he thought of the letter in his pocket. in the meantime mrs. mulready was alternately sobbing and uprbaiding ned as he quietly finished his breakfast. the boy did not answer, but con- tinued his meal in dogged silence, and when it was over collected his books and without a word went off to school. weeks went on, and no outwatd change took place. ned continued to live at home. mr. mulready never ad tiirough toe fray. dressed him, and beyond helping him to food entirely ignored his presence. at meal-times when he opened his lips it was cither to snap at charlie or lucy, or to snarl at his wife, whose patience astonislied ned, and who never answered except by a smile or murmured ex- cuse. the lad was almost as far separated from her now as from his stepfather. she treated him as if he only were to blame for the quarrel which bad arisen. they had never understood each other, and while she was never weary of making excuses for her husband, she could make none for her son. in the knowledge that the former had much to vex him she made excuses for him even in his worst moods. his new machinery was standing idle, his business was getting worse and worse, he was greatly pressed and worried, and it was monstrous, she told herself, that at such a time he should be troubled with ned's defiant behavior. a short time before the school christmas holidays ned knocked at the door of mr. porson's study. since the conversation which they had had when first ned heard of his mother's engagement mr. porson had seen in the lad's altered manner, his gloomy looks, and a hardness of expression which became more and more marked every week, that things were going on badly. ned no longer evinced the same interest in his work, and frequently neglected it altogether; the master, however, had kept silence, preferring to wait until ned should himself broach the subject. “well, sankey, what is it?" he asked kindly as the boy entered. “i don't think it's any use my going on any longer, mr. porson.” “well, sankey, you have not been doing yourself much good this half, certainly. i have not said much to you about it, for it is entirely your own business. you know througii tie fray. more than nineteen out of twenty of the young fellows who get commissions, so that if you choose to give up work it is your own affair.” “i have made up my mind not to go into the army," ned said quietly. mr. porson was silent a minute. "i hope, my dear lad,” he said, “you will do nothing hastily about this. here is a profession open to you which is your own choice and that of your father, and it should need some very strong and good reason for you to abandon it. come let us talk the matter over together, my boy, not as a master and his pupil, but as two friends. - “you know, my boy, how thoroughly i have your in- terest at heart. if you had other friends whoin you could consult i would rather have given yon no advice, for there is no more serious matter than to say anything which might influence the career of a young fellow just starting in life. terrible harm often results from well- intentioned advice or opinions carelessly expressed to young men by their elders; it is a matter which few men are sufficiently careful about; but as i know that you have no friends to consult, ned, and as i regard you with more than interest, i may say with affection, i think it would be well for you to tell me all that there is in your mind before you take a step which may wreck your whole life. "i have been waiting for some months in hopes that you would open your mind to me, for i have seen that you were unhappy; but it was not for me to force your confidence,” "i dont know that there's much to tell,” ned said wearily. “everything has happened just as it was cer- tain it would do. mulready is a brute; he ill-treats my mother, he ill-treats charlie and lucy, and he would ill- treat me if he dared.” “all this is bad, ned,” mr. porson said gravely; “but through the frat. of course much depends upon the amount of his iil- treatment. i assume that he does not actively ill-treat your mother." "no," ned said with an angry look in his face; "and he'd better not." “yes, ned, he had better not, no doubt," mr. porson said soothingly; "but what i want to know, what it is essential i should know if i am to give you any advice worth having, is what you mean by ill-treatmentis he rough and violent in his way with her? deos he threaten her with violence? is he coarse and brutal?" “no," ned said somewhat reluctantly; "he is not that, sir; he is always snapping and snarling and finding fault." "that is bad, ned, but it does not amount to ill-treat- ment. when a man it put out in business and things go wrong with him it is unhappily too often his custom to vent his ill-temper upon innocent persons; and i fancỹ from what i hear-you know in a little place like this every one's business is more or less known-mr. mulready has a good deal to put him out. he has erected new machinery and dare not put it to work, owing as i hear- for hehas lain the documents before the magistrates—for his having received threatening letters warning him against doing so. · this is very trying to the man. then, ned, you will excuse my saying that perhaps he is somewhat tried at home. it is no pleasant thing for a man to have a young fellow like yourself in the house taking up an attitude of constant hostility. i do not say that his con- duct may or may not justify it; but yon will not deny that from the first you were prepared to receive him as an enemy rather than as a friend. i heard a story some weeks ago in the town, which emanated no doubt from the servants, that you had actually struck him.” through the fray. % "he hit charlie, sir," ned exclaimed. “that may be,” mr. porson went on gravely; "and i have no doubt, ned, that you considered then, and that you consider now, that you were acting rightly in inter- fering on behalf of your brother. but i should question much whether in such a matter you are the best judge. you unfortunately began with a very strong prejudice against this man; you took up the strongest attitude of hostility to him; you were prepared to find fault with everything he said and did; you put yourself in the posi- tion of the champion of your mother, brother, and sister against him. under such circumstances it was hardly possible that things could go on well. now i suppose, ned, that the idea which you have in your mind in de- ciding to give up the profession you have chosen, is that you may remain as their champion and protector hero." mother, whatever happened.” "quite so, my boy; but the question is, are you being kind?” . ned looked surprised. “that you intend to be so, ned, i am sure. the question is, are you going the right way to work? is this championship that you have taken upon yourself increasing her happiness, or is it not?” ned was silent. “i do not think that it is, ned. your mother must be really fond of this man or she would not have married him. do you think that it conduces to the comfort of her home to see the constant antagonism which prevails between you and him? is it not the faot that this ill- temper under which she suffers is the result of the irri- tation caused to him by your attitude? do you not add to her burden rather than relieve it?”' ned was still silent. he had so thoroughly persuaded through the fray. himself that he was protecting his mother, his brother, and sister from mr. mulready that he had never consid. ered the matter in this light. “does your mother take his part or yours in these quarrels, ned?" “she takes his part, sir," said ned indignantly. “very well, ned; that shows in itself that she does not wish for your championship, that in her eyes the trouble in the house is in fact caused by you. you must remember that when a woman loves a man she makes ex- cuses for his faults of temper; his irritable moods, sharp expressions, and what you call snapping and snarling do not seem half so bad to her as they do to a third person, especially when that third person is her partisan. in- stead of your adding to her happiness by renouncing your idea of going into the army, and of deciding to remain here in some position or other to take care of her, as, i suppose, is your intention, the result will be just the contrary. as to your sister, i think the same thing would happen. “your mother is certainly greatly attached to her and owing to her changed habits-for i understand that she is now a far more active, and i may say, ned, a more sensible woman than before her marriage-i see no rea- son why lucy should not be happy with her, especially if the element of discord-i mean yourself-were out of the way. as to charlie, at the worst i don't think that he would suffer from your absence. his stepfather's temper will be less irritable; and as charlie is away at school all day, and has to prepare his lessons in the even- ing, there is really but slight opportunity for his step- father treating him with any active unkindness, even should he be disposed to do so. "did i think, my boy, that your presence here wonld be likely to benefit your family i should be the last per- through the fray. son to advise you to avoid making a sacrifice of your pri- vate wishes to what you consider your duty; but upon the contrary i am convinced that the line which you have, with the best intention, taken up has been alto- gether a mistake, that your stay at home does vastly more harm than good, and that things would go on very much better in your absence.” this was a bitter mortification for ned, who had hith- erto nursed the idea that he was performing rather a heroic part, and was sacrificing himself for the sake of his mother. "you don't know the fellow as i do," he said sullenly at last. “i do not, ned; but i know human nature, and i know that any man would show himself at his worst under such circumstances as those in which you have placed him. it is painful to have to say, but i am sure that you have done harm rather than good, and that things will get on much better in your absence.” “i believe he is quite capable of killing her," ned said passionately, “if he wanted her out of the way." "that is a hard thing to say, ned; but even were it so, we have no reason for supposing that he does want her out of the way. come, sankey, i am sure you have plenty of good sense. hitherto you have been acting rather blindly in this matter. you have viewed it from one side only, and with the very best intentions in the world have done harm rather than good. “i am convinced that when you come to think it over you will see that, in following out your own and your father's intenions and wishes as to your future career, you will really best fulfil his last injunctions and will show the truest kindness to your mother. don't give me any answer now, but take time to think it over. try and see the case from every point of view, and i think s as to njunction don't give through the fray. you will come to the conclusion that what i have been saying, although it may seem rather hard to you at first, is true, and that you had best go into the army, as you had intended. i am sure in any case you will know that what i have said, even if it seems unkind, has been for your good.” "thank you, mr. porson,” ned replied; “i am quite sure of that. perhaps you are right, and i have been making a fool of myself all along. but anyhow i will think it over.” through the fra y. chapter xi. the new machinery. it is rather hard for a lad who thinks that he has been behaving somewhat as a hero to come to the conclusion that he has been making a fool of himself; but this was the result of ned sankey's cogitation over what mr. porson had said to him. perhaps he arrived more easily at that conclusion because he was not altogether unwill- ing to do so. it was very mortifying to allow that he had been altogether wrong; but, on the other hand, there was a feeling of deep pleasure at the thought that he could, in mr. porson's deliberate opinion, go into the army and carry out all his original hopes and plans. his heart had been set upon this as long as he could remem- ber, and it had been a bitter disappointment to him when he had arrived at the conclusion that it was his duty to abandon the idea. he did not now come to the conclu- sion hastily that mr. porson's view of the case was the correct one; but after a fortnight's consideration he went down on new year's day to the school, and told his master that he had made up his mind. "i soe, sir,” he said, “now that i have thought it all over, that you are quite right, and that i have been be- having like an ass, so i shall set to work again and try and make up the lost time. i have only six months longer, for easter is the time when mr. simmonds said that i should be old enough, and he will write to the through the fray. iord-lieutenant, and i suppose that in three months after that i should get my commission." "that is right, ned. i am exceedingly glad you have been able to take my view of the matter. i was afraid you were bent upon spoiling your life, and i am heartily glad that you have been able to see the matter in a dif- ferent light.” a day or two afterward ned took an opportunity of telling his mother that he intended at easter to remind mr. simmonds of his promise to apply for a commission for him; and had he before had any lingering doubt that the decision was a wise one it would have been dissipated by the evident satisfaction and relief with which the news was received; nevertheless, he could not help a feeľng of mortification at seeing in his mother's face the gladness which the prospect of his leaving occasioned her. it was some time since ned had seen his friend bill swinton, for bill was now regularly at work in mr. mul- ready's factory and was only to be found at home in the evening, and ned had been in no humor for going out. he now, however, felt inclined for a friendly talk again, and the next sunday afternoon he started for varley. "well, maister ned,” bill said as he hurried to the door in answer to his knock, "it be a long time surely sin oi saw thee last-well-nigh six months, i should say.” "it is a long time, bill, but i haven't been up to any- thing, even to coming up here. put on your cap and we will go for a walk across the moors together.” in a few seconds bill joined him, and they soon left the village behind. “oi thought as how thou didn't feel oop to talking loike, maister ned. oi heared tell as how thou did'st not get on well wi' foxey; he be a roight down bad un, he be; it were the talk of the place as how you gived bin a tho ugi the fra Ý. nigh every saturday. however, oi ha' thrashed pretty nigh every young chap in varley, and they be beginning now to leave oi alone.” "that's right, bill; i am sure i have no right to preach to you wlien i am always doing wrong myself; still i am quite sure you will be glad in the long run that you had nothing to do with king lud. i know the times are very hard, but burning mills and murdering masters are not the way to make them better; you take my word for that. and now how are things going on in varley?” "no great change here,” bill replied. "polly powlett bain't made up her moind yet atween tchaps as is arter her. they say as she sent john stukeley, the smith, to the roight about last sunday; he ha' been arter her vor the last year. some thowt she would have him, some didn't. he ha'larning, you see, can read and wroite foine, and ha' got a smooth tongue, and knows how to talk to gals, so some thought she would take him; oi knew well enough she wouldn't do nowt of the koind, for oi ha' heard her say he were a mischievous chap, and a cuss to varley. thou know'st, maister ned, they do say, but in course oi knows nowt about it, as he be the head of the luddites in this part of yorkshire. "luke marner he be dead against king lud, lié be, and so be many of the older men here; it's most the young uns as takes to them ways; and nateral, polly shie thinks as luke does, or perhaps," and bill laughed, “it's polly as thowt that way first, and luke as thinks as she does. however it be, she be dead set agin them, and she's said to me jest the same thing as thou'st been a-saying; anyhow, it be sartain as polly ha' said no to johir stakeley, not as she said nowt about it, and no one would ha' known aboot it ef he hadn't gone cussing and swearing down at the 'dog.' through the fray. the hostility was among the hands thrown out of em- ployment, or who found that they could now no longer make a living by the looms which they worked in their own houses. hitherto mr. mulready had cared nothing for the good-will of his hands. he had simply regarded them as machines from whom the greatest amount of work was to be obtained at the lowest possible price. they might grumble and course him beneath their breaths; they might call him a tyrant belind his back, for this he cared nothing; but he felt now that it would have been better had their relations been different; for then he could have trusted them to do their best in defense of the mill. having once determined upon defying king lud, mr. mulready went before the magistrates, and laying before them the threatening letters he had received, for the first had been followed by many others, he asked them to send for a company of infantry, as he was going to set his mill to work. the magistrates after some delibera- tion agreed to do so, and wrote to the commanding officer of the troops at huddersfield asking him to station a de- tachment at marsden for a time. the request was complied with. a company of in- fantry marched in and were billeted upon the town. a room was fitted up at the mill, and ten of them were quartered here, and upon the day after their arrival the new machinery started. now that the step was taken, mr. mulready's spirits rose. he believed that the presence of the soldiers was ample protection for the mill, and he hoped that ere they left the town the first excitement would have cooled down, and the luddites have turned their attention to other quarters. ned met bill on the following sunday. "i suppose, bill," he said, "there is a rare stir about foxey using his new machinery?" throug the fray. "day, that there be, and no wonder," bill said angrily, "there be twenty hands turned adrift. oi bee one of them myself.” "you, bill! i had no idea you had been discharged.” "ay; oi have got the sack, and so ha' my brother and young jarge marner, and most o'ť young chaps in the mill. oi suppose as how foxey thinks as the old hayds will stick to t’ place, and is more afeerd as the young uns might belong to king lud, and do him a bad turn with the machinery. oi tell ye, maister ned, that the ner as you goes as an officer the better, vor oi caan't bide here now and hold off from the others. oi have had a dog's loife for some time, and it ull be worse now. it would look as if oi hadn't no spirit in the world, to stand being put upon and not join the others. t'other chaps scarce speak to me, and the gals turn their backs as oi pass them. oi be willing vor to be guided by you as far as oi can; but it bain't in nature to stand this. oi'a as lief go and hang myself. oi would go and list to- morrow, only oi don't know what regiment you are going to.” “well, bill, it is hard," ned said, “and i am not sur- prised that you feel that you cannot stand it; but it won't be for long now. easter will be here in a fort- night, and then i shall see mr. simmonds and got him to apply at once. i met him in the street only last week, and he was talking about it then. he thinks that it will not be long after he sends in an application before i get my commission. he says he has got interest in london at the horse guards, and will get the application of the lord lieutenant backed up there; so i hope that in a couple of months at latest it will all be settled.” “oi hope so, oi am sure, vor oi be main sick of this. however, oi can hold on for another couple of months; they know anyhow as it ain't from cowardice as i doan't through the fray. join them. i fowt jack standfort yesterday and licked un; though, as you see, oi ’ave got a rare pair of black eyes to-day. if oi takes one every saturday it's only eight more to lick, and oi reckon oi can do that.” "i wish i could help you, bill," ned said; “if father had been alive i am sure he would have let you have a little money to take you away from here and keep you somewhere until it is time for you to enlist; but you see i can do nothing now." "doan't you go vor to trouble yourself aboot me, maister ned. oi shall hold on roight enow. the thought as it is for two months longer will keep me up. oi can spend moi evenings in at luke's. he goes off to the ‘coo;' but polly doan't moind moi sitting there and smoking moi pipe, though it bain't every one as she would let do that.” ned laughed. “it's a pity, bill, you are not two or three years older, then perhaps polly mightn't give you the same answer she gave to the smith.” "lor' bless ce," bill said seriously, “polly wouldn't think nowt of oi, not if oi was ten years older. oi bee about the same age as she; but she treats me as if i was no older nor her jarge. no, when polly marries it won't be in varley. she be a good many cuts above us, she be. oi looks upon her jest as an elder sister, and oi doan't moint how much she blows me up and she does it pretty hot sometimes, oi can tell ee; but oi should just loike to hear any one say a word agin her; but theere no one in varley would do that. every one has a good word for polly; for when there's sickness in the house, or owt be wrong, polly's always ready to help. oi do believe that there never was such a gal. if it hadn't been for her oi would ha' cut it long ago. oi wouldn't go agin what yo raid, llaister nod; but oi am danged if oi could ha' stood it ef it hadn't been for polly." tarough the fray. "i suppose," ned said, "that now they have got the soldiers down in marsden it will be all right about the mill.” “oi caan't say,” bill replied; "nateral they doan't say nowt to me; but oi be sure that some'ats oop. they be a-drilling every night, and there will be trouble avore long. oi doan't believe as they will venture to attack the mill as long as the sojers be in marsden; but oi wouldn't give the price of a pint of ale for foxey's loife ef they could lay their hands on him. he'd best not come up this way arter dark.” “he's not likely to do that,” ned said. “i am sure he is a coward or he would have put the mill to work weeks ago.” secure in the protection of the troops, and proud of the new machinery which was at work in his mill, mr. mulready was now himself again. his smile had re. turned. he carried himself jauntily, and talked lightly and contemptuously of the threats of king lud. ned disliked him more in this mood than in the state of de- pression and irritation which had preceded it. the tones of hatred and contempt in which he spoke of the starving workmen jarred upon him greatly, and it needed all his determination and self-command to keep him from ex- pressing his feelings. mr. mulready was quick in per- ceiving, from the expression of ned's face, the annoyance which his remarks caused him, and reverted to the sub- ject all the more frequently. with this exception the home life was more pleasant than it had been before. mr. mulready, in his satisfaction at the prospect of a new prosperity, was far more tolerant with his wife, and her spirits naturally rose with his. she had fully shared his fears as to the threats by the luddites, and now agreed cordially with his diatribes against the work people, adopting all his opinions as her own, through the fray. trouble there is with my husband is entirely your mak- ing. i only wonder that he puts up with your ways as he does. if his temper was not as good as yours is bad he would not be able to do so.” "all right, mother," ned said. "he is an angel, he is, we all know, and i am the other thing. well, if you are contented, that's the great thing, isn't it? i only hope you will always be so; but there,” he said, calming himself with a great effort as his father's last words again came into his mind, “don't let's quarrel, mother. i am sorry for what i have said. it's quite right that you should stick up for your husband, and i do hope that when i go you will, as you say, be more comfortable and happy. perhaps you wiil. i am sure i hope so. well, i know i am not nice with him. i can't help it. it's my beastly temper, i suppose. that's an old story. come, mother, i have only a short time to be at home now. let us both try and make it as pleasant as we can, so that when i am thousands of miles away, perhaps in india, we may have it to look back upon. you try and leave my friends alone and i will try and be as pleasant as i can with your husband.” mrs. mulready was crying now. “you know, ned, i would love you if you would let me, only you are so set against my husband. i am sure he always means kindly. look how he takes to little lucy, who is getting quite fond of him." “yes, i am very glad to think that he is, mother," ned said earnestly. “you see lucy is much younger, and naturally remembers comparatively little about her father, and has been able to take to mr. mulready with- out our prejudices. i am very glad to see that he really does like her-in fact i do think he is getting quite fond of her. i shall go away feeling quite casy about her. i wish i could say as much about charlie. he is not through the fray. strong, like other boys, and feels unkindness very sharply. i can see him shrink and shiver when your husband speaks to him, and am afraid he will have a very bad time of it when i am gone.” "i am sure, ned, he will get on very well,” mrs. mul- ready said. “i have no doubt that when he gets rid of the example you set him i don't want to begin to quar- rel again--but of the example you set him of dislike and disrespect to mr. mulready, that he will soon be quite different. he will naturally turn to me again instead of looking to you for all his opinions, and things will go on smoothly and well.” "i am sure i hope so, mother. perhaps i have done wrong in helping to set charlie against mulready. per- haps when i have gone, too, things will be easier for him. if i could only think so i should go away with a lighter heart. well, anyhow, mother, i am glad we have had this talk. it is not often we get a quiet talk together now." "i am sure it is not my fault,” mrs. mulready said in a slightly injured tone. "perhaps not, mother," ned said kindly. “with the best intentions, i know i am always doing things wrong. it's my way, i suppose. anyhow, mother, i really have meant well, and i hope you will think of me kindly after i have gone." “you may be sure i shall do that, ned,” his mother said, weeping again. “i have no doubt the fault has been partly mine too, but you see women don't under- stand boys, and can't make allowances for them.” and so ned kissed his mother for the first time since the day when she had returned home from her wedding tour, and mother and son parted on better terms than they had done for very many months, and ned went with a lightened heart to prepare his lessons for the next slay through the fray. chapter xii. murdered! in spite of ned's resolutions that he would do nothing to mar the tranquillity of the last few weeks of his being at home, he had difficulty in restraining his temper the following day at tea. never had he seen his stepfather in so bad a humor. had he known that things had gone wrong at the mill that day, that the new machine had broken one of its working parts and had brought every- thing to a standstill till it could be repaired, he would have been able to make allowances for mr. mulready's ill-humor. not knowing this he grew pale with the efforts which he made to restrain himself as his stepfather snarled at his wife, snapped at lucy and charlie, and grumbled and growled at everything throughout the meal. every- thing that was said was wrong, and at last, having silenced his wife and her children, the meal was completed in gloomy silence. the two boys went into the little room off the hall which they used of an evening to prepare their lessons for next day. charlie, who came in last, did not chut the door behind him. “that is a nice man, our stepfather," ned said in a cold fury. "his ways get more and more pleasant every day; such an amiable, popular man, so smiling and pleasant!” “oh! it's no use saying anything," charlie said in an imploring voice, "it only makes things worse." through the fray. charlie was almost heart-broken, and sat up till long past his usual time, waiting for his brother's return. at last his eyes would no longer keep open, and he stumbled upstairs to bed, where he fell asleep almost as his head touched the pillow, in spite of his resolution to be awake until ned returned. downstairs mrs. mulready kept watch. she did not expect ned to return, but she was listening for the wheels of her husband's gig. it was uncertain at what time he would return; for when he rose from the tea- table she had asked him what time he expected to be back, and he had replied that he could not say; he should stop until the repairs were finished, and she was to go to bed and not bother. so at eleven o'clock she went upstairs, for once before when he had been out late and she had sat up he had been much annoyed; but after she got in bed she lay for hours listening for the sound of the wheels. at last she fell asleep and dreamed that ned and her husband were standing at the end of a precipice grappling fiercely together in a life-and-death struggle. she was awaked at last by a knocking at the door; she glanced at her watch, which hung above her head; it was but half-past six. “what is it, mary?” “please, mum, there's a constable below, and he wants to speak to you immediate." mrs. mulready sprang from the bed and began to dress herself hurriedly. all sorts of mischief that might have come to ned passed rapidly through her mind; her hus- band had not returned, but no doubt he had stopped at the mill all night watching the men at work. his ab- sence scarcely occasioned her a moment's thought. in a very few minutes she was downstairs in the kitchen, where the constable was standing waiting for her. she through the fray. knew him by sight, for marsden possessed but four con- stables, and they were all well-known characters. “what is it?" she asked; “has anything happened to my son?" "no, mum," the constable said in a tone of surprise, “i didn't know as he wasn't in bed and asleep, but i have some bad news for you, mum; it's a bad job altogether.” “what is it?" she asked again; “is it my husband?” “well, mum, i am sorry to say as it be. a chap came in early this morning and told me as summat had hap- pened, so i goes out, and half a mile from the town i finds it just as he says." “but what is it?” mrs. mulready gasped. “well, mum, i am sorry to have to tell you, but there was the gig all smashed to atoms, and there was the little black mare lying all in a heap with her neck broke, and there was—" and he stopped. "my husband!” mrs. mulready gasped. “yes, marm, i be main sorry to say it were. there, yards in front of them, were mr. mulready just stiff and cold. he'd been flung right out over the hoss' head. i expect he had fallen on his head and must have been killed roight out; and the worst of it be, marm, as it warn't an accident, for there, tight across the road, about eighteen inches above the ground, was a rope stretched tight atween a gate on either side. it was plain enough to see what had happened. the mare had come tearing along as usual at twelve mile an hour in the dark, and she had caught the rope, and in course there had been a regular smash.” the pretty color had all gone from mrs. mulready's face as he began his story, but a ghastly pallor spread over her face, and a look of deadly horror came into her eyes as he continued. "oh, ned, ned," she wailed, “how could you!" and then she fell senseless to the ground. through the fray. the constable raised her and placed her in a chair. "are you sure the master's dead?” the servant asked, wiping her eyes. “sure enough,” the constable said. “i have sent the doctor off already, but it's no good, he's been dead hours and hours. but,” he continued, his professional in- stincts coming to the surface, “what did she mean by saying, 'oh, ned, how could you! she asked me, too first about him; ain't he at home?" "no, he ain't,” the servant said, “and ain't been at home all night; there were a row between him and mais- ter last even; they had a fight. maister charlie he ran into the parlor as i was a clearing away the tea-things, hallowing out as maister was a-killing ned. missis she ran in and i heard a scream, then maister he droye off, and a minute or two later maister ned he went out, and he ain't come back again. when i went in with the caudles i could see missis had been a crying. that's all i know about it.” “and enough too,” the constable said grimly. “this here be a pretty business. well, you had best get your missis round and see about getting the place ready for the corpse. they have gone up with a stretcher to bring him back. they will be here afore long. i must go to justice thompson's and tell him all about it. this be a pretty kittle of fish, surely. i be main sorry, but i have got my duty to do.” an hour later williams the constable with a companion started out in search of ned sankey, having a warrant in his pocket for his arrest on the charge of willful murder. the excitement in maraden when it became known that mr. mulready had been killed was intense, and it was immensely heightened when it was rumored that a warrant had been issued for the arrest of his stepson on through the fray. the charge of murder. quite a little crowd hung all day round the house with closed blinds, within which their so lately active and bustling townsman was lying. all sorts of conjectures were rife, and there were many who said that they had all along expected harm would come of the marriage which had followed so soon after the death of captain sankey. the majority were loud in expression of their sympathy with the dead mill- owner, recalling his cheery talk and general good temper. others were disposed to think that ned had been driven to the act; but among very few was there any doubt as to his guilt. it was recalled against him that he had before been in the dock for his assault upon mr. hathorn, and that it had been proved that he had threatened to kill his master. his sullen and moody demeanor at the marriage of his mother told terribly against him, and the rumors of the previous quarrel when ned had assaulted his stepfather, and which, related with many exaggera- tions, had at the time furnished a subject of gossip in the town, also told heavily to his disadvantage. williams having learned from the servant that ned was in the habit of going up to varley had first made his inquiries there; but neither bill nor luke marner, who were, the constable speedily learned, his principal friends there, had seen him. varley was greatly excited over the news of the murder. many of the men worked at balready's mill, and had brought back the news at an early hour, as all work was of course suspended. there was no grief expressed in varley at mr. mul- ready's death, indeed the news was received with jubi- lant exultation. "a good job too,” was the general verdict; and the constable felt that were ned in the vil- lage he would be screened by the whole population. he was convinced, however, that both bill swinton and luke marner were ignorant of his whoreabouts, so gen- througii the fray. uine had been their astonishment at his questions, and deep their indignation when they learned his errand. “thou duss’n’t believe it, luke?” bill swinton said as he entered the latter's cottage. "no, lad, oi duss'n't,” luke said; “no more does polly here, but it looks main awkward,” he said slowly stroking his chin, “if as how what the constable said is right, and there was a tight atween them that evening.” "maister ned were a hot ’un," bill said; "he allus said as how he had a dreadful temper, though oi never seed nowt of it in him, and he hated foxey like poison; that oi allows; but ynless he tells me hisself as he killed him nowt will make me believe it. he might ha' picked up summat handy when foxey hit him and smashed him, but oi don't believe it of maister ned as he would ha done it arterward.” “he war a downright bad ’un war foxey,” luke said, "vor sure. no worse in the district, and there's many a one as would rejoice as he's gone to his account, and oi believe as whoever's done it has saved captain lud from a job; but there, it's no use a talking of that now. now, look here, bill, what thou hast got to do be this. thou hast got to find the boy; oi expect he be hiding some- wheres up on t'moors. thou knowst better nor oi wheere he be likely vor to be. voind him out, lad, and tell him as they be arter him. here be ten punds as oi ha had laying by me for years ready in case of illness; do thou give it to him and tell him he be heartily welcome to it, and can pay me back agin when it suits him. tell him as he'd best make straight for liverpool and git aboard a ship there for 'merikee-never moind whether he did the job or whether he didn't. things looks agin him now, and he best be on his way." “oi'll do’t,” bill said, “and oi'll bid thee good-by, luke, and thee too, polly, for ye won't see me back through the fray. “well, it may be so," mary assented. “it is possible he may have done it, meaning really only to give him a fright and a shake; but i hope he didn't. still if that was how it happened i will shake hands, bill, and wish you good-by and good luck, for it would be best for him to get away, for i am afraid that the excuse that he only moant to frighten and not to kill him will not save him. i am sorry you are going, bill, very sorry; but if yor were my own brother i would not say a word to stop you. didn't his feyther give up his life to save little janey? and i would give mine to save his. but i do think it will be good for you, bill; times are bad, and it has been very hard for you lately in varley. i know all about it, and you will do better across the seas. you will write, won't you, sometimes?" "never fear," bill said huskily, "oi will wroite, polly; good-by, and god bless you all; but it mayn't be good-by, for oi mayn't foind him;" and, wringing the hauds of luke and polly, bill returned to his cottage, hastily packed up a few things in a kit, slung it over his shoul- der on a stick, and started out in search of ned. late that evening there came a knock at the door of luke's gottage. on opening it he found bill standing there. "back again, bill!—then thou hasn't found him?" "no," bill replied in a dejected voice. "oi ha' hoonted high and low vor him; oi ha' been to every place on the moor wheer we ha' been together, and wheer oi thowt as he might be a-waiting knowing as oi should set out to look for him as soon as oi heard the news. oi doin't think he be nowhere on the moor. oi have been a-tramping ever sin’oi started this mourning. twice oi ha' been down maarsten to see if so be as they've took him, but nowt ain't been seen of him. oi had just coom from there now. thou'st heerd, oi suppose, as the througtİ tİİe fra). crowner's jury ha found as foxey wer murdered by him; but it bain't true, you know, luke-be it?" bill made the assertions stoutly, but there was a trem- ulous eagerness in the question which followed it. he was fagged and exhausted. his faith in ned was strong, but he had found the opinion in the town so unanimous against him that lie longed for an assurance that sonic one beside himself believed in ned's innocence. "oi doàn't know, bill,” luke Šfarner said, stroking his chin as he always did when he was thinking; oi doan't know, bill-oi hoape he didn't do it, wi' all my heart. but oi doan't knaw aboot it. he war sorely tried-that be sartain. but if he did it, he did it; it makes no difference to me. it doan't matter to me one snap óv the finger wliether the lad killed foxcy or whether he didn't—that bain't my business or yours. what consarn's me is, as the son of the man as saved my child's loife åt t' cost of his own be hunted by the con- stables and be in risk of his loife. that's t' question as comes home to me-oi've had nowt else ringing in my ears all day. oi ha' been oot to a searching high and low. oi ain't a found him, but oi ha made oop moi moind whaat i be agoing to do." they had moved a little åway from the cottage now, but luke lowered his voice: oi be a-going dowi to t' town in the morning to give moiself oop vor the murder of foxey." bill gave an exclamation of astonishment: “but thou didn'st do it, luke?" "i míoight ha' done it for ow¢ thou knaw'st, bill. ho wer the worst of maisters, and, as thou knaw'st, bill, oi bated him joost as all the country-side did. he's been warned by king lud and ha' been obliged to get the sojèrs at his factory. well, thoa khówest it was nateral as he would drive down last noight to see how ť cbaps ire dormell, thone en obligea: he's . i through the fray. at t' engine was a-getting on, and it coomed across my moind as it wer a good opportunity vor to finish un; so ther thou hast it.” bill gazed in astonishment through the darkness at his companion. “but it bain't true, luke? thou wast talking to me arter thou coom'd out of the coo at noine o'clock, an thou saidst as thou was off to bed." "nowt of the koind,” luke replied. "oi told ye, thou knaw'st, as i wer a-going down to t' toon and oi had got a job in hand. oi spoke mysterous loike, and you noticed as how oi had got a long rope coiled up in moi hand.” bill gave a gasp of astonishment. “that's what thou hast got to say,” luke said dog- gedly; "only astead o' its being at noine o'clock it war at ten. oi were just a-slipping owt of the cottage, t' others were all asleep and knew nowt aboot moi having goone out." bill was silent now. “oi wish oi had a-thowt of it,” he said at last; "oi would ha' doon it moiself.” “oi wouldn't ha' let thee, bill,” luke said quietly. “he be a friend of thine, and oi knaw thou lovest him loike a brother, and a soight mor'n most brothers; but it be moi roight. the captain gave his loife vor moi child's, and oi bee a going vor to give mine for his. that will make us quits. besides, thou art young; oi be a-getting on. jarge, he will be a-arning money soon; and polly, she can get a place in sarvice, and ’ul help t' young uns. they will manage. oi ha' been thinking it over in all loites, and ha' settled it all in moi moind.” bill was silent for a time and then said: “ther be one thing agin' it, luke, and it be this: as we can't hear nowt of maister ned, oi be a thinking as through the fray e he ha' made straight vor liverpool or bristol or london, wi' a view to going straight across the seas or of 'listing, or doing somewhat to keep out of t’ way. he be sure to look in t papers to see how things be a-going on here; and as sure as he sees as how you've gived yourself up and owed up as you ha' done it, he will coom straight back again and say as how it were him. "maister ned might ha' killed foxey in a passion, but not loike this. he didn't mean to kill him, but only vor to give him a shaake and frighten him. but oi be sartin sure as he wonldn't let another be hoonged in his place. so ye see thou'd do more harm nor good.” “oi didn't think of that,” luke said, rubbing his chin. "that be so, sure-ly. he'd be bound to coom back agin. well, lad, oi will think it over agin avore moorning, and do thou do t' same. thou kuaw'st moi wishes now. we ha' got atween us to get maister ned off-that be the thing as be settled. it doan't matter how it's done, but it's got to be done soomhow; and oi rely on thee to maake moi story good, whatever it be. “there can't be nowt wrong about it—a loife vor a loife be fair, any way. there be more nor eno' in york- shire in these toimes, and one more or less be of no account to any one.” "oi be thy man, luke,” bill said earnestly. “what- ever as thou sayest oi will sweer to; but i would reyther change places.” "that caan't be, bill, so it bain't no use thinking aboot it. oi knaw thou wilt do thy best vor polly ariel ľ young uns. it ’ull be rough on her, but it hain't to be helped; and as she will be going away from varley and settling elsewhere, it wouldn't be brought up again her as she had an uncle as were a luddite and got hoong for killing a bad maister. good-noight, lad! oi will see thee i't morning.” through the fray. and wild laughter she over and over again accused ned as the murderer of her husband. dr. green, when quus- tioned, peremptorily refused to give any information whatever as to his patient's opinions or words. “the woman is well-nigh a fool at the best of times," he said irritably, "and at present she knows no more what she is saying than a baby. her mind is thrown completely off any little balance that it had and she is to all intents and purposes a lunatic.” only with his friend mr. porson, who called upon him after the first visit had been paid to mrs. mulready im- mediately after her husband's body had been brought in, did dr. green discuss in any way what had happened. “i agree with you, porson, in doubting whether the poor boy had a hand in this terrible business. we both know, of course, that owing to the bad training and total absence of control when he was a child in india his tem- per was, when he first came here, very hot and ungov- ernable. his father often deplored the fact to me, blaming himself as being to a great extent responsible for it, through not having had time to watch and curb him when he was a child; but he was, as you say, an ex- cellently disposed boy, and your testimony to the efforts which he has made to overcome his faults is valuable. but i cannot conceal from you, who are a true friend of the boy's, what i should certainly tell to no one else, namely, that i fear that his mother's evidence will be terribly against him. “she has always been prejudiced against him. she is a silly, selfish woman. so far as i could judge she cared little for her first husband, who was a thousand times too good for her; but strangely enough she appears to have had something like a real affection for this man mul- ready, who, between ourselves, i believe, in spite of his general popularity in the town, to have been a bad fel- through the fray. low. one doesn't like to speak ill of the dead under ordinary circumstances, but his character is an important element in the question before us. of course among my poorer patients i hear things of which people in general are ignorant, and it is certain that there was no employer in this part of the country so thoroughly and heartily detested by his men.” "i agree with you cordially,” mr. porson said. “un- fortunately i know from ned's own lips that the lad hated his stepfather; but i can't bring myself to believe that he has done this," "i hope not,” the doctor said gravely, "i am sure i hope not; but i have been talking with his brother, who is almost heart-broken, poor boy,and he tells me that there was a terrible scene last night. it seems that mulready was extremely cross and disagreeable at tea-time; nothing, however, took place at the table; but after the meal was over, and the two boys were alone together in that little study of theirs, ned made some disparaging remarks about mulready. the door, it seems, was open. the man overheard them, and brutally assaulted the boy, and indeed charlie thought that he was killing him. he rushed in and fetched his mother, who interfered, but not before ned had been sadly knocked about. mul- ready then drove off to his factory, and ned, who seems to have been half-stunned, went out almost without say- ing a word, and, as you know, hasn't been heard of since. “it certainly looks very dark against him. you and i, knowing the boy, and liking him, may have our doubts, but the facts are terribly against him, and unless he is absolutely in the position to prove an alibi, i fear that it "i cannot believe it,” mr. porson said, "although i admit that the facts are terribly against him. pray, if you get an opportunity urgo upon his mother that her through the fray. talk will do ned horrible damage and may cost him his life. i shall at once go and instruct wakefield to appear for him, if he is taken, and to obtain the best profes- sional assistance for his defense. i feel completely un- hinged by the news, the boy has been such a favorite of mine ever since i came here; he has fought hard against his faults, and had the makings of a very fine character in him. god grant that he may be able to clear himself of this terrible accusation!” - ned's first examination was held on the morning after he had given himself up, before mr. simmonds and mr. thompson. the sitting was a private one. the man who first found mr. mulready's body testified to the fact that a rope had been laid across the road. constable williams proved that when he arrived upon the spot nothing had been touched. man and horse lay where they had fallen, the gig was broken in pieces, a strong rope was stretched across the road. he said that on taking the news to mrs. mulready he had learned from the servants that the prisoner had not slept at home that night, and that there had been a serious quarrel between him and the deceased the previous evening. after hearing this evidence ned was asked if he was in a position to aocount for the time which had elapsed between his leaving home and his arrival at his nurse's cottage. he replied that he could only say that he had been wandering on the moor. the case was remanded for a week, as the evidence of mrs. mulready and the others in the house would be necessary, and it was felt that y mother could not be called upon to testify against her son with her husband lying dead in the house, "i am sorry indeed to gee you in this position," mr. slipmondo said to ned. "my friendship for your lata througii the fray. father, and i may say for yourself, makes the position doubly painful to me, but i can only do my duty. i should advise you to say nothing at this period of the proceedings; but if there is anything which you think of importance to say, and which will give another complex- ion to the case, i am ready to hear it.” "i have nothing to say, sir," ned said quietly, "ex- cept that i am wholly innocent of the affair. as you may see by my face i was brutally beaten by my step- father on the evening before his death. i went out of the house scarce knowing what i was doing. i had no fixed intention of going anywhere or of doing anything, i simply wanted to get away from home. i went on to the moors and wandered about, i suppose for some hours. then i threw myself down under the shelter of a pile of stones and lay there awake till it was morning. then i determined to go to the house of my old nurse and to stop there until i was fit to be seen. in the afternoon i heard what had taken place here, and that i was accused of the murder, and i at once came over here and gave myself up.” "as you are not in a position to prove what you state," mr. simmonds said, “we have nothing to do but to re- mand the case until this day week. i may say that i have received a letter from dr. green saying that he and mr. porson are ready to become your bail to any amount; but we could not think of accepting bail in a charge of inurder." ned bowed and followed the constable without a word to the cells. his appearance had not been calculated to create a favorable impression. his clothes were stained and muddy; his lips were swollen, his eyes were discolored and so puifed that he could scarcely see between the lids, his forehead wag bruisod and out in several places. he had paeaed two sleepless nighte; hia voice bad lost its through the fray. ned spoke in a hard unnatural voice, without the slightest tone of trouble or emotion. mr. porson per- ceived at once that his nerves were brought up to such a state of tension by the events of the preceding forty- eight hours that he was scarce responsible for what he was saying. "i think i meant for you, ned. i cannot pretend to have any feeling for the man who is dead, especially when i look at your face." “yes, it is not a nice position for me," ned said coldly, "just at the age of seventeen to be suspected of the mur- der of one's stepfather, and such a nice stepfather too, such a popular man in the town! and not only sus- pected, but with a good chance of being hung for it!” “ned, my dear boy,” mr. porson said kindly, don't talk in that way. you know that we, your friends, are sure that you did not do it.” “are you quite sure, sir?" ned said. "i am not quite sure myself. i know i should have done it if i had had the chance. i thought over all sorts of ways in which i might kill him, and i wouldn't quite swear that i did not think of this plan and carry it out, though it doesn't quite seem to me that i did. i have no very definite idea what happened that night, and certainly could give but u vague account of myself from the time i left the house till next morning, when i found myself lying stiff and half-frozen on the moor. anyhow, whether i killed him or not it's all the same. i should have done so if i could. and if some one else has saved me the trouble i suppose i ought to feel obliged to him." mr. porson saw that in ned's present state it was use- less to talk to him. two nights without sleep, together with the intense excitement he had gone through, had worked his brain to such a state of tension that he was not responsible for what he was saying. further con. through the fray. versation would do him harm rather than good. what he required was rest and, if possible, sleep. mr. porson therefore only said quietly: "we will not talk about it now, ned; your brain is over-excited with all you have gone through. what you want now is rest and sleep.” “i don't feel sleepy, mr. porson. i don't feel as if i should ever get to sleep again. i don't look like it, do i?" "no, ned, i don't think you do at present; but i wish you did, my boy. well, remember that we, your old friends, all believe you innocent of this thing, and that we will spare no pains to prove it to the world. i see," he said, looking at the table, “that you have not touched your breakfast. i am not surprised that you could not eat it. i will see that you have a cup of really good tea sent you in." "no," ned said with a laugh which it pained mr. por- son to hear, “i have not eaten since i had tea at home. it was only the day before yesterday, but it seems a year." on leaving the cell mr. porson went to dr. green, who lived only three or four doors away, told him of the state in which he had found ned, and begged him to give him a strong and, as far as possible, tasteless seda- tive, and to put it in a cup of tea. “yes, that will be the best thing," the doctor replied. "i had better not go and see him, for talking will do him harm rather than good. we shall be having him on our hands with brain-fever if this goes on. i will go round with the tea myself to the head constable and tell him that no one must on any account be permitted to see ned, and that rest and quiet are absolutely necessary for him. i will put a strong dose of opium into the kea." ten minutes later dr. green called upon the chief through the hrÁt. . constable and told him that he feared from what he had heard from mr. porson that ned was in a very sritical state, and that unless he got rest and sleep he would probably have an attack of brain-fever, even if his mind did not give way altogether. “i was intending to have him removed at once,” the officer said, “to a comfortable room at my own house. he was only placed where he is temporarily. i exchanged a few words with him after the examination and was struck myself with the strangeness of his tone. won't you see him?" “i think that any talk is bad for him,” the doctor said. “i have put a strong dose of opium in this tea, and i hope it will send him off to sleep. when he recovers i will see him.” “i think, doctor," the constable said significantly, "it would be a good thing if you were to see him at once. you see, if things go against him, and between ourselves the case is a very ugly one, if you could get in the box and say that you saw him here, and that, in your opinion, his mind was shaken, and that as likely as pot he had not been responsible for his actions from the time he left his mother's house, it might save his life.” "that is a capital idea,” dr. green said, "and porson's evidence would back mine. yes, i will go in and see him even if my visit does do him harm.” "i will move hiin into his new quarters first,” the offi- cer said; “then if he drinks the tea he may, if he feels sleepy, throw himself on the bed and go off. he will be quiet and undisturbed there." two or three minutes later the doctor was shown into à comfortable room. a fire was burning brightly, and the tea was placed on a little tray with a new roll and a pat of butter. pÜrougii tÚ É fray. ned's mood had somewhat changed. he received the doctor with a boisterous laugh. "how are you, doctor? here i am, you sce, monarch of all i survey. this is the first time you have visited me in a room which i could consider entirely my own, not a bad place either.” “i hope you will not be here long, ned,” dr. green said, humoring him. “we shall all do our best to get you out as soon as we can.” “i don't think your trying will be of much use, doc- tor; but what's the odds as long as you are happy!” "that's right, my boy, nothing like looking at matters cheerfully. you know, lad, how warmly all your old friends are with you. would you like me to bring charlie next time i come?” "no, no, doctor," ned said almost with a cry. "no. i have thought it over, and charlie must not see me. it will do him harm and i shall break down. i shall have to see him at the trial-of course he must be there-that will be bad enough.” “very well,” the doctor said quietly, "just as you like, ned. i shall be seeing you every day, and will givo him news of you. i am going to see him now.” "tell him i am well and comfortable and jolly," ned said recklessly. "i will tell him you are comfortable, ned, and i should like to tell him that you had eaten your breakfast." "oh, yes! tell him that. say i ate it voraciously','s and he swallowed down the cup of tea and took a bite at the roll. “i will tell him," dr. green said. "i will come in again this evening, and will perhaps bring in with me a litile medicine. you will be all the better for a soothing draught.” through the fray. . "i want no draughts,” ned said. “why should i? i am as right as pinepence." “very well. we will see,” the doctor said. "now i must be going my rounds." as-soon as he had gone ned began pacing up and down the room, as he had done the whole of the past night without intermission. gradually, however, the powerful narcotic began to take effect. his walk became slower, his head began to droop, and at last he stumbled toward the bed in the corner of the room, threw himself heavily down, and was almost instantly sound asleep. five minutes later the door opened quietly and dr. green entered. he had been listening outside the door, had noticed the change in the character of ned's walk, and having heard the fall upon the bed, and had no fear of his rous- ing himself at his entrance. the boy was lying across the bed, and the doctor, who was a powerful man, lifted him gently and laid him with his head upon the pillow. he felt his pulse, and lifted his eyelid. “it was a strong dose,” he said to himself, "far stronger than i should have dared give him at any other time, but nothing less would have acted, with his brain in such an excited state. i must keep in the town to-day and look in from time to time and see how he is going on. it may be that i shall have to take steps to rouse him." at the next visit dr. green looked somewhat anxious as he listened to the boy's breathing and saw how strongly he was under the influence of the narcotic. “under any other circumstances," he said to the chief constable, who had entered the room with him, "i should take strong measures to arouse bim at once, but as it is i will risk it. i know it is a risk both for him and me, for a nice scrape i should get in if he slipped through my fingers; but through the fray. . dr. green found ned looking all the better for his wash. the swelling of his face had now somewhat abated, but the bruises were showing out in darker colors than before; still he looked fresher and better. "here is your breakfast, ned, and if you don't enjoy it jane will be terribly disappointed." "i shall enjoy it, doctor. i feel very weak; but i do think i am hungry." “you ought to be, ned, seeing that you have eaten nothing for two days." the doctor removed the cloth which covered the tray. the meal consisted of three kidneys and two eggs, and a great pile of buttered toast. the steam curled ont of the spout of a dainty china teapot, and there was a small jug brimful of cream. the tears came into ned's eyes. "oh! how good you are, doctor!" “nonsense, good!" the doctor said; "come, eat away, that will be the best thanks to jane and me.” ned needed no pressing. he ate languidly at first; but his appetite came as he went on, and he drank cup after cop of the fragrant tea, thick with cream. with the exception of one egg, he cleared the tray. “there, doctor!" he said, as he pushed back his chair; "if you are as satisfied as i am you must be contented indeed." “i am, ned; that meal has done us both a world of good. ah! here is porson, just arrived at the right moment." “how are you, ned?" the master asked heartily. "i am quite well, sir, thank you. sleep and the doc- tor, and the doctor's cook, have done wonders for me. i hear you came yesterday, sir, but i don't seem to remem- ber much about it.” “yes, i was here, ned,” mr. porson said, “but you terough thr fray through varley; the lights weren't out, and i wondered what bill would say if i were to knock at his door and he opened it and saw what a state my face was in. then i went out on the moor, and it seems to me that i walked about for hours, and the longer i walked the more angry i was. at last-it could not have been long before morning, i think--i lay down for a time, aad then when it was light i made up my mind to go over and see abi- jah. i knew she would he with me. that's all i re- member about it. does my mother think i did it?” dr. green hesitated a moment. “your mother is not in a state to think one way or the other, ned; she is in such a state of grief that she hardly knows what she is saying or doing.” in fact mrs. mulready entertained no doubt whatever upon the subject, and had continued to speak of ned's wickedness until dr. green that morning had lost all patience with her, and told her she ought to be ashamed of herself to be the first to accuse her son, and that if he was hung she would only have herself to blame for it. ned guessed by the doctor's answer that his mother was against him. “it is curious," he said, “she did not take on so after my father's death, and he was always kind and good to her, while this man was just the reverse.” "there's never any understanding women,” dr. green said testily, “and your mother is a singularly inconse- quent and weak specimen of her sex. well, ned, and so that is all you can tell us about the way you passed that unfortunate evening. what a pity it is, to be sure, that you did not rouse up your friend bill. his evidence would probably have cleared you at once. as it is, of course we believe your story, my boy. the question is, will the jury believe it?" "i don't seem to care much whether they do or not," through the fray. ned said sadly, "unless we find the man who did it. every one will think me guilty even if i am acquitted. fancy going on living all one's life and knowing that everyone one meets is thinking to himself, 'that is the man who killed his stepfather'-it would be better to be hung at once." “you must look at it in a more hopeful way than that, ned,” mr. porson said kindly; "many will from the first believe, with us, that you are innocent. you will live it down, my boy, and sooner or later we may hope and be- lieve that god will suffer the truth to be known. at the worst, you know you need not go on living here. the world is wide, and you can go where your story is un- known. "do not look on the darkest side of things. and now, for the present, i have brought you down a packet of books. if i were you i would try to read anything is better than going on thinking. you will want all your wits about you, and the less you worry your mind the better. mr. wakefield will represent you at the exami- nation next week; but i do not see that there will be much for him to do, as i fear there is little doubt that you will be committed for trial, when of course we shall get the best legal assistance for you. i will tell him ex- actly what you have said to me, and he can then come and see you or not as he likes. i shall come in every day. i have already obtained permission from the mag- istrates to do so. i shall go now and see charlie and tell him all about it. it will cheer him very much, poor boy. you may be sure he didn't think you guilty; still, your assurance that you know nothing whatever about it will be a comfort to him.” “yes," ned said, “charlie knows that i would not tell a lie to save my life, though he knows that i might possibly kill any one when i am in one of my horrible through the fray. tempers; and i did think i was getting over them, mr. porson!” he broke out with a half sob. "i have really tried hard." “i know you have, ned. i am sure you have done your best, my boy, and you have been sorely tried; but; now, i must be off. keep up your spirits, hope for the best, and pray god to strengthen you to bear whatever · may be in store for you, and to clear you from this charge." that evening when mr. porson was in his study the servant came in and said that a young man wished to speak to him. “who is it, mary?” "he says his name is bill swinton, sir.” “oh! i know," the master said; "show him in." bill was ushered in. “sit down, bill,” mr. porson said; "i have heard of you as a friend of sankey's. i suppose you have come to speak to me about this terrible business?” “ay,” bill said, "that oi be, sir, seeing as how ned always spake of you as a true friend, and loiked you hearty. they say too as you ha' engaged lawyer wake- field to defend him.” "that is so, bill. i am convinced of the boy's inno- cence. he has always been a favorite of mine. he has no rclations to stand by him now, poor boy, so we who are his friends must do our best for him." "surely,” bill said heartily; "and dost really think as he didn't do it?" "i may say i am quite sure he did not, bill. didn't you think so too?” "no, sir,” bill said; "it never entered my moind as he didn't do it. oi heard as how t' chap beat maister ned cruel, and it seemed to me natural loike as he should sarye him out. oi didn't suppose as how he meant por througii tih fray. to kill him, but as everyone said as how he did the job it seemed to me loike enough; but of course it didn't make no differ to oi whether so be as he killed un or not. maister ned's moi friend, and oi stands by him; still oi be main glad to hear as you think he didn't do it; but will the joodge believe it?” “ah! that i cannot say," mr. porson replied. "i know the lad and believe his word; but at present ap- pearances are sadly against him. that unfortunate affair that he had with my predecessor induced a general idea that he was very violent-tempered. then it has been notorious that he and his stepfather did not get on well together, and this terrible quarrel on the evening of mr. mulready's death seems only too plainly to account for the affair; still, without further evidence, i question if a jury will find him guilty. it is certain he had rope when he went out, and unless the prosecution can prove that he got possession of a rope they cannot bring the guilt home to him." "no, surely,” bill assented, and sat for some time without further speech; then he went on, "now, sir, what oi be come to thee about be this. thou bee'st his friend and knaw'st best what 'ould be a good thing for him. now we ha' been a-talking aboot a plan, luke marner and oi, as is maister ned's friends, and we can get plenty of chaps to join us. we supposes as arter the next toime as they has him up in coort they will send him off to york castle to be tried at the 'sizes,” “yes; i have no doubt he will be committed after liis next appearance, bill; but what is the plan that you inil your friend luke were thinking of?”. "well, we was a-thinking vor twenty or so on us to coom down at noight and break open t' cells. there ke only t' chief constable and one other, and they wouldn't be no good agin us, and we corld oet: maister nedost through the fray. and away long afore t sojers would have toime to wake up and coom round; then we could hide un up on t' moor till there was toime to get un away across the seas. luke he be pretty well bent on it, but oi says as before we did nothing oi would coom and ax thee, seeing as how thou bee'st a friend of his." “no, bill,” mr. porson said gravely. “it would not do at all, and i am glad you came to ask me. if i thought it certain that the jury would find a verdict of guilty, and that ned, innocent as i believe him of the crime, would be hung, i should say that your plan might be worth thinking of; for in that case ned might possi- bly be got away till we his friends here could get at the bottom of the matter. still it would be an acknowledg- ment for the time of his guilt, and i am sure that ned himself would not run away without standing his trial even if the doors of his cell were opened. i shall see him to-morrow morning, and will tell him of your scheme on his behalf. i am sure he will be grateful, but i am pretty certain that he will not avail himself of it. if you will come down to-morrow evening i will let you know exactly what he says.” as mr. porson expected, ned, although much moved at the offer of his humble friends to free him by force, altogether declined to accept it. "it is just like bill,” he said, “ready to get into any scrape himself to help me; but i must stand my trial. i know that even if they cannot prove me guilty i cannot prove i am innocent; still, to run away would be an ac- knowledgment of guilt, and i am not going to do that." on the day appointed ned was again brought up before the magistrates. the examination was this time in pub- lic, and the justice-room was crowded. ned, whose face was now recovering from the marks of ill usage, was pala and quiet. he listened in silence to the evidence prova through the frat. ing the finding of mr. mulready's body. the next wit- ness put into the box was one of the engineers at the factory; he proved that the rope which had been used in upsetting the gig bad been cut from one which he had a short time before been using for moving a portion of the machinery. he had used the rope about an hour before mr. mulready came back in the evening, and it was then whole. after it had been done with it was thrown out- side the mill to be out of the way, as it would not be required again. after he had given his evidence mr. wakefield asked: “did you hear any one outside the mill when mr. mulready was there?” “no, sir; i heard nothing." "any one might have entered the yard, i suppose, and found the rope ?? “yes; the gates were open, as we were at work." “would the rope be visible to any one who entered the yard?" “it would not be seen plainly, because it was a dark night; but any one prowling about outside the mill might have stumbled against it.” “you have no reason whatever for supposing that it was mr. edward sankey who cut this rope more than anyone else?" “no, sir." charlie was the next witness. the boy was as white as a sheet, and his eyes were swollen with crying. he glanced piteously at his brother, and exclaimed with a sob, “oh! ned." "don't mind, charlie," ned said quietly. “tell the whole story exactly as it happened. you can't do me any harm, old boy." so encouraged oharlie told the whole story of the quarrel arising in the first place from his stepfather's ill tomper at the tea-table. through the fray. “your brother meant nothing specially uppleasant in calling your stepfather foxey?” mr. wakefield asked. "no, sir; he had always called him so even before he knew that he was going to marry mother. it was a name, i believe, the men called him, and ned got it from them." “i believe that your stepfather had received threaten- ing letters, had he not?”. “yes, sir, several; he was afraid to put his new ma- chines to work because of them.” "thank you, that will do,” mr. wakefield said. “i have those letters in my possession,” he went on to the magistrates. "they are proof that the deceased had enemies who had threatened to take his life. shall i produce them now?" "it is hardly worth while, mr. wakefield, though they can be brought forward at the trial, i may say, indeed, that we have seen some of them already, for it was on account of these letters that we applied for the military to be stationed here,” it was not thought necessary to call mrs. mulrendy; but the servant gave her evidence as to what she had heard of the quarrel, and as to the absence of ned from home that night. "unless you are in a position to produce evidence, mr. wakefield, proving clearly that at the time tho murder was committed the prisoner was at a distance from the spot, we are prepared to commit him for trial.” mr. wakefield intimated that he should reserve his evidence for the trial itself, and ned was then formally committed, the examination in no way altered the tone of public opinion, the general opinion was that ned had followed his stepfather to the mill, intending to attack him, that he had stumbled onto the coil of rope, and the idea oc- through the fray. curred to him of tying it across the road and upsetting the gig on its return. charlie's evidence as to the sav- age assault upon his brother had created a stronger feel- ing of sympathy than had before prevailed, and had the line of defense been, that, smarting under his injuries, ned had suddenly determined to injure his stepfather by upsetting the gig, but without any idea of killing him, the general opinion would have been that under such provocation as ned had received a lengthened term of imprisonment would have been an ample punishment. more than one, indeed, were heard to say, “well, if i were on the jury, my verdict would be, served him right." still, although there was greater sympathy than before with ned, there were few, indeed, who doubted his guilt. after ned was removed from court he was taken back by the chief constable to his house, and ten minutes later he was summoned into the parlor, where he found charlie and lucy waiting him. lucy, who was now ten years old, sprang forward to meet him; he lifted her, and for awhile she lay with her head on his shoulder and her arms round his neck, sobbing bitterly, while charlie clung to his brother's disengaged hand. “don't cry, lucy, don't cry, little woman; it will all come right in the end;" but lucy's tears were not to be stanched. ned sat down, and after a time soothed her into stillness, but she still lay nestled up in his arms. "it was dreadful, ned,” charlie said, “having to go into court as a witness against you. i had thought of running away, but did not know where to go to, and then mr. porson had a talk with me and told me that it was of the greatest importance that i should tell overy- thing exactly word for word, just as it happened. he said every one knew there had been a quarrel, and that if i did not tell everything it would seem as if i was through the fray. keeping something back in order to screen you, and that would do you a great deal of harm, and that, as really you were not to blame in the quarrel, my evidence would be in your favor rather than against you. he says he knew that you would wish me to tell exactly what took place.” “certainly, charlie; there is nothing i could want hid. i was wrong to speak of him as foxey, and to let fly as i did about him; but there was nothing intended to offend him in that, because, of course, i had no idea that he could hear me. the only thing i have to blame myself very much for is for getting into a wild passion. i don't think any one would say i did wrong in going out of the house after being knocked about so; but if i had not got into a passion, and had gone straight to bill's, or to abijah, or to mr. porson, which would have been best of all, to have stopped the night, all this would not have come upon me; but i let myself get into a blind passion and stopped in it for hours, and i am being pun- ished for it." “it was natural that you should get in a passion," charlie said stoutly. “i think any one would have got in a passion.” "i don't think you would, charlie," ned said, smiling. "no," charlie replied; "but then you see that is not my way. i should have cried all night; but then i am not a great, strong fellow like you, and it would not be so hard to be knocked about.” "it's no use making excuses, charlie. i know i ought not to have given way to my temper like that. now, lucy dear, as you are feeling better, you must sit up and talk to me. how is mother?" “mother is in bed,” lucy said. “she's always in bed now; the house is dreadful, ned, without you, and they say you are not to come back yet,” and the tears came very near to overflowing again. through the fra y. "ah! well, i hope i shall be back before long, luoy." “i hope so," lucy said; “but you know you will soon be going away again to be a soldier.” “i shall not go away again now, lucy," ned said qui. etly. “when i come back it will be for good.” "oh! that will be nice,” lucy said joyously, "just as it used to be, with no one to be cross and scold about everything.” “hush! little woman, don't talk about that. he had his faults, dear, as we all have, but he had a great deal to worry him, and perhaps we did not make allowances enough for him, and i do think he was really fond of you, lucy, and when people are dead we should never speak ill of them.” “i don't want to," lucy said, "and i didn't want him to be fond of me when he wasn't fond of you and charlie or mother. it seems to me he wasn't fond of mother, and yet she does nothing but cry; i can't make that out, can you?” ned did not answer; his mother's infatuation for mr. mulready had always been a puzzle to him, and he could at present think of no reply which would be satisfactory to lucy. a constable now came in and said that there were other visitors waiting to see ned. he then withdrew, leaving the lad to say good-by to his brother and sister alone. ned kept up a brave countenance, and strove to make the parting as easy as possible for the others, but both were crying bitterly as they went out. ned's next visitors were dr. green and mr. porson. “we have only a minute or two, my boy,” mr. porson said, “for the gig is at the door. the chief constable is going to drive you to york himself. you will go half- way and sleep on the road to-night. it is very good of him, as in that way no one will suspect that you are any through tie fray, but a pair of ordinary travelers. keep up your spirits, my boy. we have sent to london for a detective from bow street to try and ferret out something of this mys- terious business, and even if we do not succeed, i have every faith that it will come right in the end. and now good-by, my boy, i shall see you in a fortnight, for of course i shall come over to york to the trial to give evi- dence as to character." “and so shall i, ned, my patients must get on with- out me for a day or two,” the doctor said. “mr. wake- field is waiting to see you. he has something to tell you whioli may help to cheer you. he says it is of no legal value, but it seems to me important." through the fray. chapter xv. not guilty. as soon as mr. porson and the doctor had left him. mr. wakefield appeared. “well, sankey, i hope you are not downcast at the magistrates' decision. it was a certainty that they would have to commit you, as we could not prove a satisfactory alibi. never mind, i don't think any jury will find against you on the evidence they have got, especially in the face of those threatening letters and the fact that several men in mulready's position have been murdered by the luddites." "it won't be much consolation to me, sir, to be ac- quitted if it can't be proved to the satisfaction of every one that i am innocent.” “tut, tut! my boy; the first thing to do is to get you out of the hands of the law. after that we shall have time to look about us and see if we can lay our hands on the right man. a curious thing has happened to-day while i was in court. a little boy left a letter for me at my office here; it is an ill-written scrawl, as you see, but certainly important." ned took the paper, on which was written in a scrawl- ing hand: "sir, maister sankey be innocent of the murder of foxey. i doan't want to put my neck in a noose, but it so be as they finds him guilty in coort and be a-going to hang him, i shall come forward and say as how i did it. i bean't agoing to let him be hung for this job. a loife for a loife, saes oi; so tell him to keep up his heart." tirougu tue fray. there was no signature to the paper. ned looked up with delight in his face. “but won't the letter clear me, mr. wakefield ? it shows that it was not me, but some one else who did it.” "no, sankey, pray do not cherish any false hopes on that ground. the letter is valueless in a legal way. to you and to your friends it may be a satisfaction; but it can have no effect on the court. there is nothing to prove that it is genuine. it may have been written by auy friend of yours with a view of obtaining your acquit- tal. of course we shall put it in at the trial, but it can- not be accepted as legal evidence in any way. still a thing of that sort may have an effect upon some of the jury.' ned looked again at the letter, and a shade came over his face now that he looked at it carefully. he recog- nized in a moment bill's handwriting. he had himself instructed him by setting him copies at the time he was laid up with the broken leg, and bill had stuck to it so far that he was able to read and write in a rough way. ned's first impulse was to tell mr. wakefield who had written the note, but he thought that it might get bill into a scrape. it was evidently written by his friend, solely to create an impression in his favor, and he won- dered that such an idea should have entered bill's head, which was by no means an imaginative one. as to the young fellow having killed mr. mulready it did not even occur to ned for a moment. as, seated by the side of the chief constable, he drove along that afternoon, ned turned it over anxiously in his mind whether it would be honest to allow this letter to be produced in court, knowing that it was only the device of a friend. finally he decided to let matters take their course. "i am innocent,” he said to himself, "and what i have througi tue fra y. got to live for is to clear myself from this charge. mr. wakefield said this letter would not be of value one way or the other, and if i were to say bill wrote it he might insist upon bill's being arrested, and he might find it just as hard to prove his innocence as i do." the assizes were to come on in three weeks. ned was treated with more consideration than was generally the case with prisoners in those days, when the jails were terribly mismanaged; but mr. simmonds had written to the governor of the prison asking that every indulgence that could be granted should be shown to ned, and mr. porson had also, before the lad left marsden, insisted on his accepting a sum of money which would enable him to purchase such food and comforts as were permitted to be bought by prisoners, able to pay for them, awaiting their trial, thus ned obtained the boon of a separate cell, he was allowed to have books and writing materials, and to have his meals in from outside the prison. the days, however, passed but slowly, and ned was heartily glad when the time for the assizes was at hand and his suspense was to come to an end. his case came on for trial on the second day of the sessions. on the previous evening he received a visit from mr. wakefield, who told him that mr. porson, dr. green and charlie had come over in the coach with him. “you will be glad to hear that your mother will not be called," the lawyer said. "the prosecution, i sup. pose, thought that it would have a bad effect to call upon à mother to give evidence against her son; besides, she could prove no more than your brother will be able to do. if they had called her, green would have given her a certificate that she was confined to her bed and could not possibly attend. however i am glad they did not call her, for the absence of a witness called against the through tile fray. prisoner, but supposed to be favorable to him, always counts against him.” “and you have no clue as who did it, mr. wakefield?” “not a shadow," the lawyer replied. “ve have had a man down from town ever since you have been away, but we have done no good. he went up to varley and tried to get into the confidence of the croppers, but some- how they suspected him to be a spy seut down to inquire into the luddite business, and he had a pretty narrow escape of his life. he was terribly knocked about before he could get out of the public-house, and they chased him all the way down into marsden. luckily he was a pretty good runner, and had the advantage of having lighter shoes on than they had, or they would have killed him to a certainty. no, my lad, we can prove nothing; we simply take the ground that you didn't do it; that he was a threatened man and unpopular with his hands; and there is not a shadow of proof against you except the fact that he had ill-treated you just before.” "and that i was known to bear him ill-will,” ned said sadly. “yes, of course that's unfortunate," the lawyer said uneasily. “of course they will make a point of that, but that proves nothing. most boys of your age do ob- ject to a stepfather. of course we shall put it to the jury that there is nothing uncommon about that. oh! no, i do not think they have a strong case; and jr. grant, who is our leader, and who is considered the best man on the circuit, is convinced we shall get a verdict." “but what do people think at marsden, jr. waku- field? do people generally think i ain guilty?" "pooh! pooh!” mr. wakefield said hastily. “what does it matter what people think? most people are fools. the question we have to concern ourselves with is what do the jury think, or at any rate with what they think is through the fray. proved, and mr. grant says he does not believe any jury could find you guilty upon the evidence. he will work them up. i know he is a wonderful fellow for working up.” mr. grant's experience of juries turned out to be well founded. ned, as he stood pale, but firm and composed in the dock, felt that his case was well-nigh desperate when he heard the speech for the prosecution. his long and notorious ill-will against the deceased, “one of the most genial and popular gentlemen in that part of the great county of yorkshire,” was dwelt upon. evidence would be brought to show that even on the occasion of his mother's marriage the happiness of the ceremonial was marred by the scowls and menacing appearance of this most unfortunate and ill-conditioned lad; how some time after the marriage this young fellow had violently assaulted his stepfather, and had used words in the hear- ing of the servants which could only be interpreted as a threat upon his life. this indeed, was not the first time that this boy had been placed in the dock as a prisoner. upon a former occasion he had been charged with as- saulting and threatening the life of his schoolmaster, and although upon that occasion he had escaped the conse- quences of his conduct by what must now be considered as the ill-timed leniency of the magistrates, yet the facts were undoubted and undenied. then the counsel proceeded to narrate the circum. stances of the evening up to the point when mr. mul. ready left the house. "beyond that point, gentlemen of the jury,” the counsel said, “nothing certain is known. the rest must be mere conjecture; and yet it is not hard to imagine the facts. the prisoner was aware that the deceased had gone to the mill, which is situated a mile and a half from the town. you will be told the words which the pris- througii thie fray. oner used: 'it will be my turn next time, and when it comes i will kill you, you brute. “with these words on his lips, with this thought in his heart, he started for the mill. what plan he in- tended to adopt, what form of vengeance he intended to take, it matters not, but assuredly it was with thoughts of vengeance in his heart that he followed that dark and lonely road to the mill. once there he would have hung about waiting for his victim to issue forth. it may be that he had picked up a heavy stone, may be that he had an open knife in his hand; but while he was waiting, probably his foot struck against a coil of rope, which, as you will hear, had been carelessly thrown out a few min- utes before. “then doubtless the idea of a surer method of venge- ance than that of which he had before thought came into his mind. a piece of the rope was hastily cut off, and with this the prisoner stole quietly off until he reached the spot where two gates facing each other on opposite sides of the lane afforded a suitable hold for the rope. whether after fastening it across the road he remained at the spot to watch the catastrophe which he had brought about, or whether he hurried away into the darkness secure of his vengeance we cannot tell, nor does it mat- ter. you will understand, gentlemen, that we are not in a position to prove these details of the tragedy. i am telling you the theory of the prosecution as to how it happened. murders are not generally done in open day with plenty of trustworthy witnesses looking on. it is seldom that the act of slaying is witnessed by human eye. the evidence must therefore to some extent be circum- stantial. the prosecution can only lay before juries the antecedent circumstances, show ill-will and animus, and lead the jury step by step up to the point when the mur- derer and the victim meet in some spot at some time througii the fray. when none but the all-seeing eye of god is upon them. this case is, as you see, no exception to the general rule. "i have shown you that between the prisoner and the deceased there was what may be termed a long-standing feud, which came to a climax two or three hours before this murder. up to that fatal evening i think i shall show you that the prisoner was wholly in fault, and that the deceased acted with great good temper and self- command under a long series of provocations; but upon this evening his temper appears to have failed, and i will admit frankly that he seems to have committed a very outrageous and brutal assault upon the prisoner, still, gentlemen, such an assault is no justification of the crime which took place. unhappily it supplies the cause, but it does not supply an excuse for the crime, “your duty in the case will be simple. you will have to say whether or not the murder of william mulready is accounted for upon the theory which i haye laid down to you and on no other. should you entertain no doubt upon the subject it will be your duty to bring in a per- diet of guilty; if you do not feel absolutely certain you will of course give the prisoner the benefit of the doubt." the evidence called added nothing to what was known at the first examination. the two servants testified to the fact of the unpleasant relations which had from the first existed between the deceased and the prisoner, and detailed what they knew of the quarrel. charlie's evi- dence was the most damaging, as he had to state the threat which ned had uttered before he went out. the counsel for the defense asked but few questions in cross-examination. he elicited from the servants, how- ever, the fact that mr. mulready at home was a very different person from mr. mulrendy as known by people in general. they acknowledged that he was by no means a pleasant master, that he was irritable and fault-finding, tiirough the fray. the man who perpetrated this crime, they need not go far to look for him. had they not heard that he was hated by his work people? evidence had been laid before them to show that he was a marked man, that he had received threatening letters from secret associations which had, as was notori- ous, kept the south of yorkshire, and indeed all that part of the country which was the seat of manufacture, in a state of alarm. so imminent was the danger consid. ered that the magistrates had requested the aid of an armed force, and at the time this murder was committed there were soldiers actually stationed in the mill, besides a strong force in the town for the protection of this man from his enemies. the counsel for the prosecution had given them his theory as to the actions of the prisoner, but he believed that that theory was altogether wide of the truth. it was known that an accident had taken place to the ma- chinery, for the mill was standing idle for the day. it would be probable that the deceased would go over late in the evening to see how the work was progressing, as erery effort was being made to get the machinery to run on the following morning. “what so probable, then, that the enemies of the deceased-and you know that he had enemies, who had sworn to take his life-should choose this opportunity for attacking him as he drove to or from the town. that an enemy was prowling round the mill, as has been suggested to you, i admit readily enough. that he stumbled upon the rope, that the idea occurred to him of upsetting the gig on its return, that he cut off a portion of the rope and fixed it between the two gateposts across the road, and that this rope caused the death of william mulready. all this i allow; but i submit to you that the man who did this was a member of the secret associaion which is a terror to the land, and through the fray. was the terror of william mulready, and there is no proof whatever, not even the shadow of a proof, to connect this lad with the crime. "i am not speaking without a warrant when i assert my conviction that it was an emissary of the association known as the luddites who had a hand in this matter, for i am in possession of a document, which unfortu- nately i am not in a position to place before you, as it is not legal evidence, which professes to be written by the man who perpetrated this deed, and who appears, al- though obedient to the behests of this secret association of which he is a member, to be yet a man not devoid of heart, who says that if this innocent young man is found guilty of this crime he will himself come forward and confess that he did it. “therefore, gentlemen of the jury, there is every rea- son to believe that the slayer of william mulready is indeed within these walls, but assuredly he is not the most unfortunate and ill-treated young man who stands in the dock awaiting your verdict to set him free." the summing up was brief. the judge commenced by telling the jury that they must dismiss altogether from their minds the document of which the counsel for the defense had spoken, and to which, as it had not been put into court, and indeed could not be put into court, it was highly irregular and improper for him to have alluded. they must, he said, dismiss it altogether from their minds. their duty was simple, they were to con. şider the evidence before them. they had heard of the quarrel which had taken place between the deceased and the prisoner. they had heard the throat cand by the prisoner that he would kill the deceased if he had an op- portunity, and they had to decide whether he had, in accordance with the theory of the prosecution, carried that threat into effect; or whether on the other hand, as through the fray. the defense suggested, the deceased had fallon a victim to the agent of the association which had threatened his life. he was bound to tell them that if they entertained any doubt as to the guilt of the prisoner at the bar they were bound to give him the benefit of the doubt. the jury consulted together for a short time, and then expressed their desire to retire to consider their verdict. they were absent about half an hour, and on their return the foreman said in reply to the question of the judge that they found the prisoner “not guilty." a perfect silence reigned in the court when the jury entered the box, and something like a sigh of relief fol- lowed their verdict. it was expected, and indeed there was some surprise when the jury retired, for the general opinion was that whether guilty or innocent the prosecu- tion had failed to bring home unmistakably the crime to the prisoner. that he might have committed it was certain, that he had committed it was probable, but it was assuredly not proved that he and none other had been the perpetrator of the esime. of all the persons in the court the accused had ap- peared the least anxious as to the result. he received almost with indifference the assurances which mr. wake- field, who was sitting at the solicitor's table below him, rose to give him, that the jury could not find a verdict against him, and the expression of his face was unchanged when the foreman announced the verdict. he was at once released from the dock. his solicitor, dr. green, and mr. porson warmly shook his hand, and charlie threw his arms round his neck and cried in his joy and excitement. "it is all right, i suppose," ned said as, surrounded by his friends, he left the court, “but i would just as lief the verdict had gone the other way.” "oh! ned, how can you say so?" charlie exclaimed. through the fray. “well, no, charlie," ned corrected himself. "i am glad for your sake and lucy's that i am acquitted; it would have been awful for you if i had been hung-it is only for myself that i don't care. the verdict only means that they have not been able to prove me guilty, and i have got to go on living all my life knowing that i am suspected of being a murderer. it is not a nice sort of thing, you know," and he laughed drearily. “come, come, ned,” mr. porson said cheerily, "you mustn't take too gloomy a view of it. it is natural enough that you should do so now, for you have gone through a great deal, and you are overwrought and worn ont; but this will pass off, and you will find things are not as bad as you think. it is true that there may be some, not many, i hope, who will be of opinion that the verdict was like the scotch verdict 'not proven,' rather than ‘not guilty;' but i am sure the great majority will believe you innocent. you have got the doctor here on your side, and he is a host in himself. mr. simmonds told me when the jury were out of the court that he was convinced you were innocent, and his opinion will go a long way in marsden, and you must hope and trust that the time will come when your innocence will be not only believed in, but proved to the satisfaction of all by the discovery of the actual murderer.” “ah!" ned said, “if we ever find that out it will be all right; but unless we can do so i shall have this dread- ful thing hanging over me all my life.” they had scarcely reached the hotel where mr. porson, the doctor, and charlie were stopping, when mr. sim- monds arrived. “i have come to congratulate you, my boy," he said, shaking hands with ned. “i can see that at present the verdict does not give so much satisfaction to you as to your friends, but that is natural enough. you have been tiirougii the fra y. : : unjustly accused and have had a very hard time of it, and you are naturally not disposed to look at matters in a cheerful light; but this gives us time, my boy, and time is everything. it is hard for you that your inno- cence has not been fully demonstrated, but you have your life before you, and we must hope that some day you will be triumphantly vindicated.” "that is what i shall live for in future," ned said. "of course now, mr. simmonds, there is an end of all idea of my going into the army. a man suspected of a murder, even if they have failed to bring it home to him, cannot ask for a commission in the army. i know there's an end to all that." "no," mr. simmonds agreed hesitatingly, “i fear that for the present that plan had better remain in abeyance; we can take it up again later on when this matter is put straight.” “that may be never," ned said decidedly, "so we need say no more about it.” “and now, my boy,” mr. porson said, “try and eat some lunch. i have just ordered a post-chaise to be round at the door in half an hour. the sooner we start the better. the fresh air and the change will do you good, and we shall have plenty of time to talk on the road.” through the fray. chapter xvi. luke marner's sacrifice. not until they had left york behind them did ned ask after his mother. he knew that if there had been anything pleasant to tell about her he would have hearal ·it at once, and the silence of his friends warned him that the subject was not an agreeable one. "how is my mother?” he asked at last abruptly., "well, ned," mr. green replied, “i have been expect- ing your question, and i am sorry to say that i have nothing agreeable to tell you." “that i was sure of,” ned said with a hard laugh. "as i have received no message from her from the day i was arrested i guessed pretty well that whatever doubt other people might feel, my mother was positive that i had murdered her husband.” "the fact is, ned,” dr. green said cautiously, "your mother is not at present quite accountable for her opinions. the shock which she has undergone has, i think, - hinged her mind. worthless as i believe him to have been, this man had entirely gained her affections. she has not risen from her bed since he died. "sometimes she is absolutely silent for hours, at others she talks incessantly; and painful as it is to tell you so, her first impression that you were responsible for his death is the one which still remains fixed on her mind. she is wholly incapable of reason or of argument. at times she appears sane and sensible enongh and talks of through the fray. other matters coherently; but the moment she touches on this topic she becomes excited and vehement. it has been a great comfort to me, and i am sure it will be to you, that your old servant abijah has returned and taken up the position of housekeeper. “as soon as your mother's first excitement passed away i asked her if she would like this, and she eagerly as- sented. the woman was in the town, having come over on the morning after you gave yourself up, and to my great relief she at once consented to take up her former position. this is a great thing for your sister, who is, of course, éutirely in her charge, as your mother is not in a condition to attend to anythitig. i was afraid at first that she would not remain, so indignant was she at your mother's believing your guilt; but when i assured her that the poor lady was not responsible for what she said, and that her mind was in fact unhinged altogether by the calamity, she overcame her feelings; but it is comic to see her struggling between her indignation at your mother's irresponsible talk and her consciousness that it is necessary to abstain from exciting her by contra- diction.” dr. green had spoken as lightly as he could, but he knew how painful it must be to ned to hear of his moth- er's conviction of his guilt; aid how much it would add to the trials of his position. ned liimself had listened in silence. he siglied heavily when the doctor had finished. “abijah will be a great comfort,” he said quietly, "' wonderful comfort; but as to my poor mother, it will of course be a trial. still, no wonder that, when she heard me say those words when i went out, she thinks that i did it. however, i suppose that it is part of my punish- ment.” "have you tliought anything of your future plans, through the fray. for her actions. i tell you this in order that you may not be wounded by your reception. “since that fatal day she has not left her bed. she declares that she has lost all power in her limbs. of course that is nonsense, but the result is the same. she keeps her bed, and, as far as i can see, is likely to keep it. this is perhaps the less to be regretted, as you will thereby avoid being thrown into contact with her; for i tell you plainly such contact, in her present state of mind, could only be unpleasant to you. were you to meet, it would probably at the least bring on a frightful attack of hysterics, which in her present state might be a serious matter. therefore, my boy, you must make up your mind not to see her for awhile. i have talked the matter over with your old nurse, who will remain with your mother as housekeeper, with a girl under her. you will, of course, take your place as master of the house, with your brother and sister with you, until your mother is in a position to manage—if ever she shonld be. but i trust at any rate that she will ere long so far recover as to be able to receive you as the good son you have ever been to her." “thank you," ned said quietly. “i understand, loctor.” ned did understand that his mother was convinced of his guilt and refused to see him; it was what lie ex- pected, and yet it was a heavy trial. very cold and hard he looked as the postchaise drove through the streets of marsden. people glanced at it curionsly, and as they saw ned sitting by the side of the men who were know it as his champions they hurried away to spread the news that young sankey bad been acquitted. the hard look died out of ned's face as the door opened, and lucy sprang out and threw her arms rotind his neck and cried with heliyht ai secing him; and ali- through tiie fray. "i dare say what you say is true," he would reply; “but i could not do it-i must go on alone. it is as much as i can bear now." and his friends saw that it was useless to urge him further. on the day after his return to marsden luke marner and bill swinton came back on the coach from york, and after it was dark ned walked up to varley and knocked at bill's door. on hearing who it was bill threw on his cap and came out to him. for a minute the lads stood with their hands clasped firmly in each other's without a word being spoken. "thank god, maister ned,” bill said at last, "we ha' got thee again!" “thank god too!” ned said; "though i think i would rather that it had gone the other way.” they walked along for some time without speaking again, and then ned said suddenly: “now, bill, who is the real murderer?” bill stopped his walk in astonishment. "the real murderer!” he repeated; "how ever should oi know, maister ned?” “i know that you know, bill. it was you who wrote that letter to mr. wakefield saying that the man who did it would be at the trial, and that if i were found guilty he would give himself up. it's no use your deny- ing it, for i knew your handwriting at once." bill was silent for some time. it had never occurred 'to him that this letter would be brought home to him. “come, bill, you must tell me," ned said. “do not be afraid. i promise you that i will not use it against him. mind, if i can bring it home to him in any other way i shall do so; but i promise you that no word shall ever pass my lips about the letter. i want to know who througii the fray. is the man of whose crime the world believes me guilty. the secret shall, as far as he is concerned, be just as much a secret as it was before." “but oi dunno who is the man, maister ned. if oi did oi would ha' gone into the court and said so, even though oi had been sure they would ha' killed me for peaching when oi came back. oi dunno no more than a child.” “then you only wrote that letter to throw them on to a false scent, bill? who put you up to that, for i am bure it would never have occurred to you?” “no,” bill said slowly, “oi should never ha' thought of it myself; luke told oi what to wroit, and i wroited it.” “oh, it was luke! was it?" ned said sharply. “then the man who did it must have told him.” "oi didn't mean to let out as it waar luke,” bill said in confusion; "and oi promised him solemn to say nowt about it.” “well," ned said, turning sharp round and starting on his way back to the village, “i must see luke himself.' bill in great perplexity followed ned, muttering: "oh, lor'! what ull luke say to oi? what a fellow oi be to talk, to be sure!” nothing further was said until they reached luke's cottage. ned knocked and entered at once, followed sheepishly by bill. “maister ned, oi be main glad to see thee,” luke said as he rose from his place by the fire; while polly with a little cry, "welcome!” dropped her work. "thanks, luke-thanks for coming over to york to sive evidence. how are you, polly? there! don't cry -i ain't worth crying over. at any rate, it is a satis- faction to be with three people who don't regard me as a murderer. now, polly, i want you to go into the other tiirougii tiie fray. urder. room, for i have a question which i must ask luke, and i don't want even you to hear the answer." polly gathered her work together and went out. then ned went over to luke, who was looking at him with surprise, and laid his hand on his shoulder. “luke," he said, "i want you to tell me exactly how it was that you came to tell bill to write that letter to mr. wakefield?” luke started and then looked savagely over at bill, who stood twirling his cap in his hand. "oi couldn't help it, luke," he said humbly. “oi didn't mean vor to say it, but he got it out of me some- how. he knawed my fist on the paper, and, says he, sudden loike, ‘who war the man as murdered foxey?' what was oi vor to say? he says at once as he knowed the idea of writing that letter would never ha' coom into my head; and so the long and short of it be, as your name slipped owt somehow, and there you be." “now, luke," ned said soothingly, “i want to know whether there was a man who was ready to take my place in the dock had i been found guilty, and if so, who he was. i shall keep the name as a secret. i give you my word of honor. after he had promised to come forward and save my life that is the least i can do, though, as i told bill, if i could bring it home to him in any other way i should feel myself justified in doing so. it may be that he would be willing to go across the seas, and when he is safe there to write home saying that he did it." “yes, oi was afraid that soom sich thawt might be in your moind, maister ned, but it can't be done that way. but oi doan't know," he said thoughtfully, “perhaps it moight, arter all. perhaps the chap as was a-coomin' forward moight take it into his head to go to ameriky oi shouldn't wonder if he did. in fact, now oi thinks through the fray. on't, oi am pretty sure as he will. yes. oi can say for sartin as that's what he intends. a loife vor a loife you know, maister ned, that be only fair, bean't it?". "and you think he will really go?" ned asked eagerly. “ay, he will go,” luke said firmly, “it's as good as done; but,” he added slowly, “i dunno as he's got money vor to pay his passage wi'. there's some kids as have to go wi' him. he would want no more nor just the fare. but oi doan't see how he can go till he has laid that by, and in these hard toimes it all take him some time to do that." "i will provide the money," ned said eagerly. "abi- jah would lend me some of her savings, and i can pay her back some day.” “very well, maister ned. oi expect as how he will take it as a loan. moind, he will pay it back if he lives, honest. oi doau't think as how he bain't honest, that chap, though he did kill foxey. very well,” luke went on slowly, “then the matter be as good as settled. oi will send bill down to-morrow, and he will see if thou canst let un have the money. a loife vor a loife, that's what oi says, maister ned. that be roight, bain't it?” don't quite see what that has to do with it, except that the man who has taken this life should give his life to make amends.' “yes, that be it, in course,” luke replied. “yes; just as you says, he ought vor to give his loife to make amends." that night ned arranged with abijah, who was de- any plan that would tend to clear ned from the suspicion which hủng over him. bill came down next morning, and was told that a hundred pounds would be forthcom- ing in two days. through the fray. "i will say good-by, sir. i hope you won't think i was taking a liberty in thinking you would be sorry if we were all to go without your knowing it.” ned roused himself at her words. "it is not that, polly. it is far from being that. but i want to ask you a question. you remember the night of mr. mulready's murder? do you remember whether your father was at home all that evening?" polly opened her eyes in surprise at a question which seemed to her so irrelevant to the matter in hand. “yes, sir,” she replied, still coldly. “i remember that night. we are not likely any of us to forget it. feyther had not gone to the cow.' he sat smoking at home. bill had dropped in, and they sat talking of the doings of the luddites till it was later than usual. fey- ther was sorry afterward, because he said if he had been down at the 'cow' he might have noticed by the talk if any one had an idea that anything was going to take place." “then he didn't go out at all that night, polly?” “no, sir, not at all that night; and now, sir, i will say good-by.” “no, polly, you won't, for i shall go back with you, and i don't think that you will go to america." “i don't understand,” the girl faltered. “no, l'olly, i don't suppose you do; and i have not understood till now. you will see when you get back.” "if you please,” mary said hesitatingly, “i would rather that you would not be there when feyther comes back. of course i shall tell him that i have been down to see you, and i know he will be very angry.” "i think i shall be able to put that straight. i can't let your father go. god knows i have few enough true friends, and i cannot spare him and you; and as for bill swinton, he would break his heart if yen went"! througi the frat. "bill's only a boy; he will get over it,” polly said in a cåreless tone, but with a bright flush upon her cheek. “he is nearly as old as you are, polly, and he is one of the best fellows in the world. i know he's not your equal in education, but å steadier, better fellow, never was.” mary made no reply, and in another minute the two set out together for varley. in spite of ned's confident aggurance that he would appease luke's anger, mary was frightened when, as they entered the cottage, she saw luke standing moodily in front of the fire. “oi expected this," he said in a tone of deep bitter- nesg. “oi were a fool vor to think as you war different to other gals, and that you would give up your own wishes to your feyther's." "oh, feyther!” polly cried, "don't speak so to me. beat me if you like, i desérte to be beaten, but don't speak to me like that. i am ready to go anywhere you like, and to be a good daughter to you; forgive me for this oncc disobeying you.” "luke; old friend," ned said earnestly, putting his hand on the cropper's shoulder, "don't be angry with polly, she has done me a great service. i have learned the truth, and know what you meant now by # life for a life. you were going to sacrifice yourself for me. you were going to take upon yourself a crime which you never committed to clear me. you went to york to de- clare yourself the murderer of mulready, in case i had been found guilty. you were going to emigrate to america to send home a written confession." “who says as how oi didn't kill foxey?" luke said doggedly. "if oi choose to give myself oop now who is to gaingay me?” "mary and bill can both gaingay you," ned said. "they can prove that you did not stir out of the house that night. come, luke, it's of no use. i feel with all tiirougii tiie fray. my heart grateful to you for the sacrifice you were will- ing to make for me. i thank you as deeply and as heartily as if you had made it. it was a grand act of self-sacrifice, and you must not be vexed with polly that she has prevented you carrying it out. it would have made me very unhappy had she not done so. when i found that you were gone i should certainly have got out from bill the truth of the matter, and when your confession came home i should have been in a position to prove that you had only made it to screen me. be- sides, i cannot spare you. i have few friends, and i should be badly off indeed if the one who has proved himself the truest and best were to leave me. i am go. ing to carry on the mill, and i must have your help. i have relied upon you to stand by me, and you must be the foreman of your department. come, luke, you must say you forgive polly for opening my eyes just a little sooner than they would otherwise have been to the sacrifice you wanted to make for me,” luke, who was sorely shaken by mary's pitiful sobş, could resist no longer, but opened his arms, and the girl ran into them. "there, there,” he said, “don't ee go on a crying, girl; thou hasn't done no wrong, vor indeed it must have seemed to thee flying in the face of natur to go away wi'out saying good-by to majster ned. well, şir, oi be main sorry as it has turned out so. oi should ha' lojked to ha' cleared thee; but if thou won't have it oi caan't help it, oi think thou beest wrong, but thou know'st best." “never mind, luke, i shall be cleared in time, i trust,” ned said. "i am going down to the mill to- morrow for the first time, and shall see you there. you have done me good, luke. it is well, indeod, for a man to know that he has such a friend as you have proved yourself to be." tiirougii the fray. ; great suffering at present. so if it had been possible i would gladly have let the new machinery stand idle until the feeling against it had passed away; but as i see that the mill has been running at a loss ever since prices fell, it is quite clear that we must use it at once.” the next morning ned called the foreman into his office at the mill, and told him that he had determined to set the new machinery at work at once. "i am sorry to be obliged to do so," he said, “as it will considerably reduce the number of hands at work; but it cannot be helped, it is either that or stopping alto- gether, which would be worse still for the men. be as careful as you can in turning off the hands, and as far as possible retain all the married men with families. the only exception to that rule is young swinton, who is to be kept on whoever goes. that evening luke marner called at the house to see ned. "be it true, maister ned, as the voreman says, the new machines is to be put to work?”. “it is true, luke, i am sorry to say. i would have avoided it if possible; but i have gone into the matter with mr. porson, and i find i must either do that or shut up the mill altogether, which would be a good deal worse for you all. handwork cannot compete with ma- chinery, and the new machines will face a dozen yards of cloth while a cropper is doing one, and will do it much better and more evenly.” "that be so, surely, and it bain't no use my saying as it ain't, and it's true enough what you says, that it's better half the hands should be busy than none; but those as gets the sack won't see it, and oi fears there will be mischief. oi don't hold with the luddites, but oi tell ye the men be getting desperate, and oi be main sure as there will be trouble afore long. your loife won't be safe, maister ned.” through the fraŤ. more creply threatening. throughout the whols of the west riding open drilling was carried on, the mills at marsden, woodbottom, and oftewells were all threatened. in answer to the appeais of the mill-owners the number of troops in the district was largely increased. infantry were stationed in marsden, and the th king's bays, the th pussars, and the scots greys were alternately billeted in the place. the roads to ottewells, woodbottom, and lugards mill were patrolled regularly, and the whole country was excited and alarmed by constant rumors of attacks upon the milla, ned went on his way quietly, asking for ng special protection for his mill or person, seemingly indifferent to the excitement which prevajled. except to the work- men in the mill, to the doctor, and ņir. porson he seldom exchanged a word with any one during the day. mr. Şimmonds and several of his father's old friends had on his return made advances toward him, but he had resoļutely declined to meet them. dir. porson and the doctor had remonstrated with him. "it is no use," he replied. “they congratulated me on my acquittal, but i can tell by their tones that there is not one of them who thoroughly believes in his heart that i am innocent." the only exception which ned made was mr. cart- wright, a mill-owner at liversedge. he had been slightly acquainted with captain sankey; and one day soon after ned's return as he yas walking along the street oblivious, as ysual, of every one passing, mr. cartwright came up and placing himse f in front of him, said heartily: "i congratulate you with all my heart, sankey, on youç escape from this rascally business. i krety that your innocence would be proved! i woulà kar e staked my life that your father's son nuvei nad awy hand in guon a black affair as this, i am heartily glad.” as qsual, o vimse e in front my heart, iney that through tiie hra y. there was no withstanding the frank cordiality of the yorkshireman's manner. ned's reserve melted at once before it. "thank you very much,” he said, returning the grasp of his hand; “but i am afraid that though i was acquit. ted my innocence wasn't proved, and never will be. you may think me innocent, but you will find but half a dozen people in marsden to agree with you." “pooh! pooh!” mr. cartwright said. “you must not look at things in that light. most men are fools, you know; never fear. we shall prove you innocent some day. i have no doubt these rascally luddites are at the bottom of it. and now, look 'here, young fellow, i hear that you are going to run the mill. of course you can't know much about it yet. now i am an old hand and shall be happy to give you any advice in my power, both for your own sake and for that of your good father. now i mean what i say, and i shall be hurt if you refuse. i am in here two or three times a week, and my road takes me within five hundred yards of your mill, so it will be no trouble to me to come round for half an hour as i pass, and give you a few hints until you get well into harness. there are dodges in our trade, you know, as well as in all others, and you must be put up to them if you are to keep up in the race. there is plenty of room for us all, and now that the hands are all banding themselves against us, we mill-owners must stand together too." ned at once accepted the friendly offer, and two or three times a week mr. cartwright came round to tha mill, went round the place with ned, and gave him his advice as to the commercial transactions. ned found this of inestimable benefit. mr. cartwright was ac- quainted with all the buyers in that part of yorkshire, and was ablo several times to prevent ned from entering through tne fray. into transactions with men willing to take advantage of his inexperience. sometimes he went over with mr. cartwright to his mill at liversedge and obtained many a useful hint there as to the management of his business. only in the mat- ter of having some of his hands to sleep at the mill ned declined to act on the advice of his new friend. "no," he said; “i am determined that i will have no lives risked in the defense of our property. it has cost us dearly enough already. but though ned refused to have any of his hands to sleep at the mill, he had a bed fitted up in his office, and every night at ten o'clock, after charlie had gone to bed, he walked out to the mill and slept there. heavy shut- ters were erected to all the lower windows, and bells were attached to these and to the doors, which would ring at the slightest motion. a cart one evening arrived from huddersfield after the hands had left the mill, and under ned's direction a number of small barrels were carried up to his office. although three months had now elapsed since his re- turn home he had never once seen his mother, and the knowledge that she still regarded him as the murderer of her husband greatly added to the bitterness of his life. of an evening after lucy had gone to bed he assisted charlie with his lessons, and also worked for an hour with bill swinton, who came regularly erery evening to be taught. bill had a strong motive for self-improvement. weil had promised him that some day he should be foreiau to the factory, but that before he could take such a position it would, of course, be necessary that he should be able to read and write well. but an even higher incertive was bill's sense of his great inferiority in point of education to polly powlett. he entertained a deep affection for through the fray. her, but he knew how she despised the rough and igno- rant young fellows at varley, and he felt that even if she loved him she would not consent to marry him unless he were in point of education in some way her equal; there- fore he applied himself with all his heart to improving his education. it was no easy task, for bill was naturally somewhat slow and heavy; but he had perseverance, which makes up for many deficiencies, and his heart being in his work he made really rapid progress. sometimes ned would start earlier than usual, and walk up with bill swinton, talking to him as they went over the subjects on which he had been working, thri condition of the villagers, or the results of bill's sunda: rambles over the moors. on arriving at varley ned generally went in for hal" an hour's talk with luke marner and mary powlett be fore going off for the night to sleep at the inill. wit!! these three friends, who all were passionately convinced! of his innocence, he was more at his ease than anywhere else, for at home the thought of the absent figure up.. stairs was a never-ceasing pain. “the wind is very high to-night, ned said one oven. ing as the cottage shook with a gust which swept down. from the moor. “ay, that it be,” luke agreed; "but it is nowt to a storm oi saw when oi war a young chap on t' coast!” “i did not know you had ever been away from varley,'? ned said, “tell me about it, luke.” “well, it coomed round i' this way. one of tchaps from here had a darter who had married and gone to live nigh t' coast, and he went vor a week to see her. “theere'd been a storm when he was there, and he told us aboot the water being all broke up into furrowes, vor all the world like a plowed field, only each ridge wur tarough the fray. twice as high as one of our houses, and they came a moving along as fast as a horse could gallop, and when they hit the rocks vlew up into t’air as hoigh as the steeple o' marsden church. it seemed to us as this must be a lie, and there war a lot of talk oor it, and at last vour on us made up our moinds as we would go over and see vor ourselves. “it war a longer tramp nor we had looked vor, and though we sometoimes got a lift i' a cart we was all pretty footsore when we got to the end of our journey. the village as we was bound for stood oop on t' top of a flat- tish hill, one side of which seemed to ha' been cut away by a knife, and when you got to the edge there you were a standing at the end o' the world. oi know when we got thar and stood and looked out from the top o' that wall o' rock thar warn't a word among us. “we was a noisy lot, and oi didn't think as nothing would ha' silenced a cropper; but thar we stood a-look- ing over at the end of the world, oi should say for five ininutes, wi'out a word being spoke. oi can see it now. there warn't a breath of wind nor a cloud i' the sky. it seemed to oi as if the sky went away as far as we could see, and then seemed to be doubled down in a line and to coom roight back agin to our feet. it joost took away our breath, and seemed somehow to bring a lump into the throat. oi talked it over wi’ the others afterward and we'd all felt just the same. “it beat us altogether, and you never see a lot of crop- pers so quiet and orderly as we war as we went up to t’ village. most o' t' men war away, as we arterward learned, fishing, and twomen didn't knaw what to make o us, but gathered at their doors and watched us as if we had been a party o' obbers coom down to burn the place and carry 'em away. however, when we found sally white-that war the name of the woman as had through the fray. married rom varley—she went round the village and told 'em as we was a party of her friends who had joost walked across yorkshire to ha' a look at the sea. an- other young chap, jack purcell war his name, as was sally's brother, and oi, being his mate, we stopt at sally's house. the other two got a lodging close handy. “vor the vurst day or two vokes war shy of us, but arter that they began to see as we meant no harm. of course they looked on us as foreigners, just as we crop- pers do here on anyone as cooms to varley. then sally's husband coom back from sea and spoke up vor us, and that made things better, and as we war free wi' our money the fishermen took to us more koindly. “we soon found as the water warn't always smooth and blue like the sky as we had seen it at first. the wind coom on to blow the vurst night as we war thar, and the next morning the water war all tossing aboot joost as sally's feyther had said, though not so high as he had talked on. still the wind warn't a blowing much, as sally pointed owt to us; in a regular storm it would be a different sort o' thing altogether. we said as we should loike to see one, as we had coom all that way o' purpose. the vorth noight arter we got there sally's husband said: “you be a going vor to have your wish; the wind be a getting up, and we are loike to have a big storm on the coast tomorrow.' and so it war. oi can't tell you what it war loike, oi've tried over and over again to tell polly, but no words as oi can speak can give any idee of it. "it war not loike anything as you can imagine. standing down on the shore the water seemed all broke up into hills, and as if each hill was a-trying to get at you, and a-breaking itself up on the shore wi' a roar of rage when it found as it couldn't reach you. the noise war so great as you couldn't hear a man standing beside through the fray. and we hears as the loights had been shown and the ves. sel war running in close. down we goes wi' the others, and soon a boat cooms ashore. as soon as she gets close the men runs out to her; the sailors hands out barrels, and each man shoulders one and trudges off. we does the same and takes the kegs up to t’top, whar carts and horses was waiting for 'em. oi went oop and down three toimes and began to think as there war moor hard work nor fun aboot it. oi war a-going to knock off when some one says as one more trip would finish the cargo, so down oi goes again. just when oi gets to bottom there war a great shouting oop at top. "they're just too late,' a man says; the kegs be all safe away except this lot,' for the horses and carts had gone off the instant as they got their loads. now we must run for it, for the revenue men will be as savage as may be when they voinds as they be too late.' 'where be us to run?' says oi. 'keep close to me, oi knows the place,' says he. “so we runs down and voinds as they had tumbled the bar'ls into t’ boat again, and t'men war just pushing her off when there war a shout close to us. “shove, shove! shouts the men, and oi runs into t' water loike ť rest and shooved. then a lot o' men run up shout- ing, “stop! in the king's name! and began vor to fire pistols. “nateral oi wasn't a-going to be fired at for nowt, so oi clutches moi stick and goes at 'em wi’ the rest, keeping close to t' chap as told me as he knew the coontry. there was a sharp foight vor a minute. oi lays aboot me hearty and gets a crack on my ear wi' a cootlas, as they calls theer swords, as made me pretty wild. “we got the best o't. “coom on,' says the man to me, there's a lot moor on 'em a-cooming. so oi makes off as hard as oi could arter him. he keeps straight along at t' edge o' t' water. it war soft rowing at first. through the fray. vor t place war as flat as a table, but arter running vor a few minutes he says, 'look owt! oi didn't know what to look owt vor, and down oi goes plump into t' water. vor all at once we had coomed upon a lot o' rocks cov- ered wi’ a sort of slimy stuff, and so slippery as you could scarce keep a footing on 'em. oi picks myself up and rollers him. by this toime, maister, oi war beginning vor to think as there warn't so mooch vun as oi had ex- pected in this koind o’ business. oi had been working two hours loike a nigger a-carrying tubs. oi had had moi ear pretty nigh cut off, and it smarted wi' the salt water awful. oi war wet from head to foot and had knocked the skin off moi hands and knees when oi went down. however there warn't no toime vor to grumble. oi vollers him till we gets to t’ foot o' trocks, and we keeps along 'em vor aboot half a mile. “the water here coombed close oop to trocks, and presently we war a-walking through it. “be’st a going ror to drown us all?' says oi. “we are jest there,' says he. "ten minutes later we couldn't ha’ got along.' t' water war a-getting deeper and deeper, and t’ loomps of water cooms along and well-nigh took me off my feet. oi was aboot to turn back, vor it war better, thinks oi, to be took by t'king's men than to be droonded, when he says, 'here we be.' he climbs oop t rocks and oi follows him. arter climbing a short way he cooms to a hole i' rocks, joost big enough vor to squeeze through, but once inside it opened out into a big cave. a chap had struck a loight, and there war ten or twelve more on us thar. “we had better wait another five ininutes,' says one, 'to see if any more cooms along. arter that the tide ull be too high.' “we waits, but no one else cooms; me and moi mate war t' last. then we goes to t’ back of the cave, whar 't nok sloped down lower and lower till we had to crawl tarough the fray. or it will be the worse for you. do you know what i have got here, lads? this is powder. if you doubt it, one of you can come forward and look at this barrel with the head out by my side. now i have only got to fire my pistol into it to blow the mill, and you with it, into the air, and i mean to do it. of course i shall go too; but some of you with black masks over your faces, who, i uppose, live near here, may know something about me, and may know that my life is not so pleasant a one that i value it in the slightest. as far as i am concerned you might burn the mill and me with it without my lifting a finger; but this mill is the property of my mother, brother, and sister. their living depends upon it, and i am going to defend it. let one of you stir a single step forward and i fire this pistol into this barrel beside me.'' and ned held the pistol over the open barrel. a dead silence of astonishment and terror had fallen upon the crowd. the light was sufficient for them to see ned's pale but determined face, and as his words came out cold and steady there was not one who doubted that he was in earnest, and that he was prepared to blow himself and them into the air if necessary. a cry of terror burst from them as he lowered the pistol to the barrel of powder. then in wild dismay every man threw down his arms and fled, jostling each other fiercely to make their escape through the doorway from the fate which threatened them. in a few seconds the place was cleared and the assailants in full flight across the country. ned laughed contemptuously. then with some difficulty he lifted the broken door into its place, put some props behind it, fetched a couple of blankets from his bed, and lay down near the powder, and there slept quietly till morning. luke and bill swinton were down at the factory an hour before the usual time. the assailants had for the through the fray. most part come over from huddersfield, but many of the men from varley had been among them. the terror which ned's attitude had inspired had been so great that the secret was less well kept than usual, and as soon as people were astir the events of the night were known to most in the village. the moment the news reached the ears of luke and bill they hurried down to the mill without go- ing in as usual for their mug of beer and bit of bread and cheese at the “brown cow.” the sight of the shattered door at once told them that the rumors they had heard were well founded. they knocked loudly upon it, "hullo!” ned shouted, rousing himself from his slumbers; "who is there? what are you kicking up all this row about?" "it's oi, maister ned, oi and bill, and glad oi am to hear your voice. it's true, then, they haven't hurt thee?" “not a bit of it," ned said as he moved the supports of the door. “i think they got the worst of it.” "if so be as what oi ha' heard be true you may well say that, maister ned. oi hear as you ha' gived 'em such a fright as they won't get over in a hurry. they say as you was a-sitting on the top of a heap of gunpowder up to the roof with a pistol in each hand.” “not quite so terrible as that, luke; but the effect would have been the same. those twelve barrels of powder you see there would have blown the mill and all in it into atoms." "lord, maister ned," bill said, "where didst thou get that powder, and why didn't ye say nowt about it? oi ha' seen it up in the office, now oi thinks on it. oi wondered what them barrels piled up in a corner and covered over wi’ sacking could be; but it warn't no busi- ness o' mine to ax." through the fray. “no, bill, i did not want any of them to know about it, because these things get about, and half the effect is lost unless they come is a surprise; but i meant to do it if i had been driven to it, and if i had, king lud would have had a lesson which he would not have forgotten in a hurry. now, luke, you and bill had better help me carry them back to their usual place. i don't think they are likely to be wanted again." “that they won't be,” luke said confidently; "the luddites all never come near this mill agin, not if thou hast twenty toimes as many machines. they ha' got a froight they won't get over. they told me as how some of the chaps at varley was so froighted that they will be a long toime afore they gets round. oi'll go and ask to-night how that methurdy chap, the blacksmith, be a feeling. oi reckon he's at the bottom on it. dang un for a mischievous rogue! varley would ha' been quiet enough without him. oi be wrong if oi shan't see him dangling from a gibbet one of these days, and a good riddance too." the powder was stowed away before the hands began to arrive, all full of wonder and curiosity. they learned little at the mill, however. ned went about the place as usual with an unchanged face, and the hands were soon at their work; but many during the day wondered how it was possible that their quiet and silent young employer should have been the hero of the desperate act of which every one had heard reports more or less exaggerated. a lad had been sont over to marsden the first thing for some carpenters, and by nightfall a rough but strong door had been hung in place of that which had been shattered. by the next day rumor had carried the tale all over marsden, and ned on his return home was greeted by charlie with: “why, ned, there is all sorts of talk in the place of through the fray. lucy did not exactly understand, but she shook her head gravely in general dissent to ned's view. “why did you not tell us when you came home to breakfast yesterday?" charlie asked. "because i thought you were sure to hear sooner or later. i saw all the hands in the mill had got to know about it somehow or other, and i was sure it would soon get over the place; and i would rather that i could say, if any one asked me, that i had not talked about it to any one, and was in no way responsible for the absurd stories which had got about. i have been talked about enough in marsden, goodness knows, and it is disgusting that just as i should think they must be getting tired of the subject here is something fresh for them to begin upon again.” as they were at tea the servant brought in a note which had just been left at the door. it was from mr. thompson, saying that in consequence of the rumors which were current in the town he should be glad to learn from ned whether there was any foundation for them, and would therefore be obliged if he would call at eight o'clock that evening. his colleague, mr. sim- monds, would be present. ned gave an exclamation of disgust as he threw down the note. “is there any answer, sir?” the servant asked. “the boy said he was to wait." "tell him to say to mr. thompson that i will be there at eight o'clock; but that—no, that will do. it wouldn't be civil,” he said to charlie as the door closed behind the servant, "to say that i wish to goodness he would let my affairs alone and look to his own.” when ned reached the magistrates at the appointed hour he found that the inquiry was of a formal character. besides the two justices; major browne, who commanded sant through the fray. the troops at marsden, was present; and the justices' clerk was there to take notes. mr. simmonds greeted ned kindly, mr. thompson stifily. he was one of those who had from the first been absolutely convinced that the lad had killed his step- father. the officer, who was of course acquainted with the story, examined ned with a close scrutiny. “will you take a seat, ned?” mr. simmonds, who was the senior magistrate, said. “we have asked you here to explain to us the meaning of certain rumors which are current in the town of an attack upon your mill.” "i will answer any questions that you may ask," ned said quietly, seating himself, while the magistrates' clerk dipped his pen in the ink and prepared to take notes of his statement. "is it the case that the luddites made an attack upon pour mill the night before last?" "it is true, sir." “will you please state the exact circumstances." “there is not much to tell," ned said quietly. “i have for some time been expecting an attack, having received many threatening letters. i have, therefore, made a habit of sleeping in the mill, and a month ago i got in twelve barrels of powder from huddersfield. be- fore going to bed of a night i always pile these in the middle of the room where the looms are, which is the first as you enter. i have bells attached to the shutters and doors to give me notice of any attempt to enter. the night before last i was awoke by hearing one of them ring, and looking out of the window made out a crowd of two or three hundred men outside. they be- gan to batter the door, so, taking a brace of pistols which i keep in readiness by my bed, i went down and took my place by the powder. when they broke down the door and entered i just told them that if they came any fura through the fray. ther i should fire my pistol into one of the barrels, the head of which i had knocked out, and, as i suppose they saw that i meant to do it, they went off. that is all i have to tell, so far as i know.” the clerk's pen ran swiftly over the paper as ned qui- etly made his statement. then there was a silence for a minute or two. “and did you really mean to carry out your threat, mr. sankey?” “certainly," ned said. “but you would, of course, have been killed yourself.” “naturally," ned said dryly; “but that would havo been of no great consequence to me or any one else. as , the country was lately about to take my life at its own ex- pense it would not greatly disapprove of my doing so at my own, especially as the lesson to the luddites would have been so wholesale a one that the services of the troops in this part of the country might have been dispensed with for some time.” “did you recognize any of the men concerned?” “i am glad to say i did not,” ned replied. “some of them were masked. the others were, so far as i could see among such a crowd of faces in a not very bright light, all strangers to me.” “and you would not recognize any of them again were you to see them?” "i should not," ned replied. “none of them stood out prominently among the others.”' “you speak, mr. sankey,” mr. thompson said, “as if your sympathies were rather on the side of these men, who would have burned your mill, and probably have murdered you, than against them.” “i do not sympathize with the measures the men are taking to obtain redress for what they regard as a griev- ance; but i do sympathize very deeply with the amount through the fray. chapter xviii. ned is attacked. as ned had-foreseen and resented, the affair at the mill again made him the chief topic of talk in the neigh- borhood, and the question of his guilt or innocence of the murder of his stepfather was again debated with as much earnestness as it had been when the murder was first committed. there was this difference, however, that whereas before he had found but few defenders, for the impression that he was guilty was almost universal, there were now many who took the other view. the one side argued that a lad who was ready to blow himself and two or three hundred men into the air was so desperate a character that he would not have been likely to hesitate a moment in taking the life of a man whom he hated, and who had certainly ill-treated him. the other side insisted that one with so much cool cour- age would not have committed a murder in so cowardly a way as by tying a rope across the road which his enemy had to traverse. one party characterized his conduct at the mill as that of the captain of a pirate ship, the other likened it to any of the great deeds of devotion told in history—the death of leonidas and his three hundred, or the devotion of mutius scævola. had ned chosen now he might have gathered round himself a strong party of warm adherents, for there were many who, had they had the least encouragement, would have been glad to shake him by the hand and to show tarough the fray their partisanship openly and warmly; but ned did not choose. the doctor and mr. porson strongly urged upon him that he should show some sort of willingness to meet the advances which many were anxious to make. “these people are all willing to admit that they have been wrong, ned, and really anxious to atone as far as they can for their mistake in assuming that you were guilty. now is your time, my boy; what they believe to-day others will believe to-morrow; it is the first step toward living it down. i always said it would come, but i hardly ventured to hope that it would come so soon." "i can't do it, mr. porson; i would if i could, if only for the sake of the others; but i can't talk, and smile, and look pleasant. when a man knows that his mother lying at home thinks that he is a murderer how is he to go about like other people?" “but i have told you over and over again, ned, that your mother is hardly responsible for her actions. she has never been a very reasonable being, and is less so than ever at present. make an effort, my boy, and mix with others. show yourself at the cricket-match next week. you know the boys are all your firm champions, and i warrant that half the people there will flock round you and make much of you if you will but give them the chance." but ned could not, and did not, but went on his way as before, living as if marsden had no existence for him, intent upon his work at the mill, and unbending only when at home with his brother and sister. his new friend, cartwright, was, of course, one of the first w congratulate him on the escape the mill had had of destruction. "i was wondering what you would do if they came," he said, “and was inclined to think you were a fool for pot following my example and having some of your hands through the fray. time afterward, to carry her away for a week's visit at liversedge. for this ned was really grateful. lucy's life had been a very dull one. she had no friends of her own age in marsden, for naturally at the time of mr. mulready's death all intimacy with the few acquaintances they had in the place had been broken off, for few cared that their children should associate with a family among whom such a terrible tragedy had taken place. charlie was better off, for he had his friends at school, and the boys at porson's believed in ned's innocence as a point of honor. in the first place, it would have been something like a reflection upon the whole school to ad- mit the possibility of its first boy being a murderer; in the second, ned had been generally popular among them, he was their best cricketer, the life and soul of all their games, never bullying himself and putting down all bul- lying among others with a strong hand. their cham- pionship showed itself in the shape of friendship for charlie; and at the midsummer following mr. mulready's death he had received invitations from many of them to stay with them during the holidays, and had indeed spent that time on a series of short visits among them. he himself would, had he had his choice, have re- mained at home with ned, for he knew how lonely his brother's life was, and that his only pleasure consisted in the quiet evenings; but ned would not hear of it. "you must go, charlie, both for your sake and my own. the change will do you good; and if you were to stop at home and refuse to go out people would say that you were ashamed to be seen, and that you were crushed down with the weight of my guilt. you have got to keep up the honor of the family now, charlie; i have proved a failure." it was september now, and six months had elapsed since the death of mr. mulready. the getting in of the through the fray. “have you heard the news, sankey?” “no, i have heard no news in particular.” “horsfall has been shot.” "you don't say so!" ned exclaimed. “yes, he has been threatened again and again. he was over at huddersfield yesterday afternoon; he started from the 'george' on his way back at half-past five. it seems that his friend eastwood, of slaithwaite, knowing how often his life had been threatened, offered to ride back with him, and though horsfall laughed at the offer and rode off alone, eastwood had his horse saddled and rode after him, but unfortunately did not overtake him. "about six o'clock horsfall pulled up his horse at the warren-house inn at crossland moor. there he gave a glass of liquor to two of his old work-people who hap- pened to be outside, drank a glass of rum and water as he sat in the saddle, and then rode off. a farmer named parr was riding about a hundred and fifty yards behind him. as horsfall came abreast of a plantation parr no- ticed four men stooping behind a wall, and then saw two puffs of smoke shoot out. horsfall's horse started round at the flash, and he fell forward on his saddle. “parr galloped up, and jumping off caught him as he was falling. horsfall could just say who he was and ask to be taken to his brother's house, which was near at hand. there were lots of people in the road, for it was market day in huddersfield, you know, and the folks were on their way home, so he was soon put in a cart and taken back to the warren-house. it was found that both balls had struck him, one in the right side and one in the left thigh. i hear he is still alive this morning, but cannot live out the day.” “that is a bad business indeed,” ned said. "it is indeed. horsfall was a fine, generous, high- spirited fellow, but he was specially obnoxious to the through the fra y. luddites, whose doings he was always denouncing in the most violent way. whose turn will it be next, i wonder? the success of this attempt is sure to encourage them, and we may expect to hear of some more bad doings. of course there will be a reward offered for the apprehen- sion of the murderers. a laborer saw them as they were hurrying away from the plantation, and says he should know them again if he saw them; but these fellows hang together so that i doubt if we shall ever find them out.” after mr. cartwright had gone ned told luke what had happened. “i hope, luke, that none of the varley people have had a hand in this business?” “oi hoape not,” luke said slowly, “but ther bain't no saying; oi hears little enough of what be going on. oi was never much in the way of hearing, but now as i am head of the room, and all the hands here are known to be well contented, oi hears less nor ever. still matters get talked over at the 'cow.' oi hears it said as many of the lads in the village has been wishing to leave king lud since the work was put out, but they have had mes- sages as how any man turning traitor would be put out of the way. it's been somewhat like that from the first, and more nor half of them as has joined has done so he- cause they was afeared to stand out. they ain't tried to put the screw on us old hands, but most of the young uns has been forced into joining "bill has had a hard toime of it to stand out. he has partly managed because of his saying as how he has been sich good friends with yon that he could not join to take part against the maisters; part, as oi hears, because his two brothers, who been in the thick of it from the first, has stuck up agin bill being forced into it. oi wish as we could get that blacksmith out of t' village; he be at the bottom of it all, and there's nowt would please me more than to hear as the constables had laid their hands through the fray. on him. oi hear as how he is more violent than ever at that meeting-house. of course he never mentions names or says anything direct, but he holds forth agin traitors as falls away after putting their hands to the plow, and as forsakes the cause of their starving brethren because their own stomachs is full.” "i wish we could stop him," ned said thoughtfully. “i might get a constable sent up to be present at the meetings, but the constables here are too well known, and if you were to get one from another place the sight of a stranger there would be so unusual that it would put him on his guard at once. besides, as you say, it would be very difficult to prove that his expressions ap- plied to the luddites, although every one may under- stand what he means. one must have clear evidence in such a case. however, i hope we shall catch him trip- ping one of these days. these are the fellows who ought to be punished, not the poor ignorant men who are led away by them.” the feeling of graiitude and respect with which ned was regarded by the workpeople of his district, owing to his action regarding the hand-frames, did something to- ward lightening the load caused by the suspicion which still rested upon him. although he still avoided all in- tercourse with those of his own station, he no longer felt the pressure so acutely. the hard, set expression of his face softened somewhat, and though he was still strangely quiet and reserved in his manner toward those with whom his business necessarily brought him in contact, he no longer felt absolutely cut off from the rest of his kind. ned had continued his practice of occasionally walking up with bill swinton to varley on his way to the mill. there was now little fear of an attempt upon his life by the hands in his neighborhood; but since the failure on the mill he had incurred the special enmity of the meu through the fray. who had come from a distance on that occasion, and he knew that any night he might be waylaid and shot by them. it was therefore safer to go round by varley ihan by the direct road. one evening when he had been chat- ting rather later than usual at luke marner's, luke said: "oi think there's something i' t'wind. oi heerd at t' cow this evening that there are some straangers i'tle village. they're at t' dog. oi thinks there's soom sort oy a council there. oi heers as they be from hud. dersfield, which be the headquarters o' general lud in this part. however, maister, oi doan't think as there's any fear of another attack on thy mill; they war too badly scaared t’other noight vor to try that again.” when ned got up to go bill swinton as usual put on his cap to accompany him, as he always walked across the moor with him until they came to the path leading down to the back of the mill, this being the road taken by the hands from varley coming and going from work. when they had started a minute or two george, who had been sitting by the fire listening to the talk, got up and stretched himself preparatory to going to bed, and said in his usual slow way: “oi wonders what they be a-doing to-noight. twice while ye ha' been a-talking oi ha’ seen a chap &-looking in at t' window- " “thou hast!” luke exclaimed, starting up. "dang theo, thou young fool! why didn't say so afore? oi will hoide thee when oi comes back rarely! polly, do thou run into gardiner's, and hoskings', and burt's; tell 'em to cotch up a stick and to roon for their loives across t' moor toward t' mill. and do thou, jarge, roon into sykes' and wilmot's and tell 'em the same; and be quick if thou would save thy skin. tell 'em t' maister be loike to be attacked.” catching up a heavy stick luke hurried off, running through the frat. into two cottages near and bringing on two more of the mill hands with him. he was nearly across the moor when they heard the sound of a shot. luke, who was running at the top of his speed, gave a hoarse cry as of one who had received a mortal wound. two shots fol- lowed in quick succession: a minute later luke was dashing down the hollow through which the path ran down from the moor. now he made out a group of moving figures and heard the sounds of conflict. his breath was coming in short gasps, his teeth were set; fast as he was running, he groaned that his limbs would carry him no faster. it was scarce two minutes from the time when the first shot was fired, but it seemed ages to him before he dashed into the group of men, knocking down two by the impetus of his rush. he was but just in time. a figure lay prostrate on the turf; another stand- ing over him had just been beaten to his knee. but he sprang up again at luke's onward rush. his assailants for a moment drew back. “thou’rt joist in toime, luke," bill panted out. “oi war well-nigh done." “be t' maister shot?" “no, nowt but a clip wi’ a stick." as the words passed between them the assailants again rushed forward with curses and execrations upon those who stood between them and their victim. “moind, luke, they ha' got knoives!” bill exclaimed. “oi ha' got more nor one slash already.” luke and bill fought vigorously, but they were over- matched. anger and fear for ned's safety nerved luke's arm, the weight of the last twenty years seemed to drop off him, and he felt himself again the sturdy young crop- per who could hold his own against any in the village. but he had not yet got back his breath, and was panting heavily. the assailants, six in number, were active and through the fray. top of his speed the time seemed long indeed to those who were waiting. when he returned they set to work at once to examine the injuries. ned appeared to have received but one blow. the blood was slowly welling from a wound at the back of his head. “that war maade by a leaded stick, oi guess,” luke said; it's cut through his hat, and must pretty nigh ha' cracked his skool. one of you bathe un wi’ the water while we looks arter bill.” polly gave an exclamation of horror as the light fell apon bill swinton. he was covered with blood. a clean cut extended from the top of the ear to the point of the chin, another from the left shoulder to the breast, while a third gash behind had cut through to the bone of the shoulder-blade. “never moind t' water, lass,” luke said as polly with trembling hands was about to wash the blood from the eut on the face, “the bluid won't do un no harm-thou must stop t' bleeding.” polly tore three or four long strips from the bottom of her dress. while she was doing so one of the men by luke's directions took the lantern and gathered some short dry moss from the side of the slope, and laid it in a ridge on the gaping wound. then luke with polly's assistance tightly bandaged bill's head, winding the strips from the back of the lead round to the chin, and again across the temples and jaw. luke took out bis knife and cut off the coat and shirt from the arms and shoulder, and in the same way bandaged up the other two wounds. after george had started to fetch the lantern, luke had at polly's suggestion sent two men back to the village, and these had now returned with doors they had taken off the hinges. when bill's wounds were bandaged he and ned were placed on the doors, ned giving a faint groan as he was moved. through the fray. “that's roight,” luke said encouragingly; "he be a-cooming round.” two coats were wrapped up and placed under their heads, and they were then lifted and carried off, polly hurrying on ahead to make up the fire and get hot water. "say nowt to no one,” luke said as he started. "till t' master cooms round there ain't no saying what he'd loike done. maybe he won't have nowt said aboot it." the water was already hot when the party reached the cottage; the blood was carefully washed off ned's head, and a great swelling with an ugly gash running across was shown. cold water was dashed in his face, and with a gasp he opened his eyes. "it be all roight, maister ned,” luke said soothingly; "it be all over now, and you be among vriends. ye've had an ugly one on the back o' thy head, but i dowt thou wilt do rarely now.” ned looked round yaguely, then a look of intelligence came into his face. “where is bill?” he asked. “he be hurted sorely, but oi think it be only loss o' blood, and he will coom round again; best lie still a few minutes, maister, thou wilt feel better then; polly she be tending bill.” in a few minutes ned was able to sit up; a drink of cold brandy and water further restored him. he went to the bed on which bill had been placed. “he's not dead?” he asked with a gasp, as he saw the white face enveloped in bandages. “no, sure-lie,” luke replied cheerfully; "he be a long way from dead yet, oi hoape, though he be badly cat about." “have you sent for the doctor?” ned asked. “no!" “then send for dr. green at once, and tell him from me to come up here instantly." througii tiie fray. “poor old bill,” ned said sadly, going up to the bed- side and laying his hand on the unconscious figure. “i fear you have given your life to save one of little value to myself or any one else.” "don't say that, master ned,” polly said softly; "you cannot say what your life may be as yet, and if so be that bill is to die, and god grant it isn't so, he himself would not think his life thrown away if it were given to sare yours.” but few words were spoken in the cottage until dr. green arrived. ned's head was aching so that he was forced to lie down. polly from time to time moistened bill's lips with a few drops of brandy. george had been ordered off to bed, and luke sat gazing at the fire, wish- ing that there was something he could do. at last the doctor arrived; the messenger had told him the nature of the case, and he had come provided with lint, plaster, and bandages. “well, ned,” he asked as he came in, "have you been in the war again?" "i am all right, doctor. i had a knock on the head which a day or two will put right; but i fear bill is very seriously hurt.” the doctor at once set to to examine the bandages. “you have done them up very well,” he said approv- ingly; "but the blood is still oozing from them. i must dress them afresh; get me plenty of hot water, polly, i have brought a sponge with me. can you look on with. out fainting?!” "i don't think i shall faint, sir,” polly said quietly; “if i do, feyther will take my place.” in a quarter of an hour the wounds were washed. drawn together, and bandaged. there was but little fresh bleeding, for the lad's stock of life-blood had nearly all flowed away. through the fray, "a very near case,” the doctor said critically; "as close a shave as ever i saw. had the wound on the face been a quarter of an inch nearer the eyebrow it would have severed the temporal artery. as it is it has merely laid open the jaw. neither of the other wounds are se rious, though they might very well have been fatal.” “then you think he will get round, doctor?” ned asked in a low tone. “get round! of course he will,” dr. green replied cheerily. "now that we have got him bound up we will soon bring him round. it is only a question of loss of blood.” “hullo! this will never do," he broke off as ned sud- denly reeled and would have fallen to the ground had not luke caught him. “pour this cordial down swin- ton's throat, polly, a little at a time, and lift his head as you do it, and when you see him open his eyes, put a pillow under his head; but don't do so so till he begins to come round. now let me look at ned's head. “it must have been a tremendous blow, luke," he said seriously. “i only hope it hasn't fractured the skull. however, all this swelling and guffusion of blood is a good sign. give me that hot water. i shall put a lancet in here and get it to bleed freely. that will be a relief to him." while he was doing this an exclamation of pleasure from polly showed that bill was showing signs of return- ing to life. his eyes presently opened. polly bent over him. “lie qniet, bill, dear; you have been hurt, but the doctor says you will soon be well again. yes; master ned is all right too. don't worry yourself about him." an hour later both were sleeping quietly. “they will sleep till morning," dr. green said, “per- haps well on into the day; it is no use my waiting any longer, i will be up the first thing." through the fray. so he drove away, while polly took her work and sat down to watch the sleepers during the night, and luke, taking his stick and hat, set off to guard the mill till daylight. ned woke first just as daylight was breaking; he felt stupid and heavy, with a splitting pain in his head. he tried to rise, but found that he could not do so. he accordingly told george to go down in an hour's time to marsden, and to leave a message at the house saying that he was detained and should not be back to breakfast, and that probably he might not return that night. the doc- tor kept his head enveloped in wet bandages all day, and he was on the following morning able to go down to marsden, although still terribly pale and shaken. his appearance excited the liveliest wonder and commisera- tion on the part of charlie, lucy, and abijah; but he told them that he had had an accident, and had got & nasty knock on the back of his head. he kept his room for a day or two; but at the end of that time he was able to go to the mill as usual. bill swinton was longer away, but broths and jellies soon built up his strength again, and in three weeks he was able to resume work, although it was long before the ugly scar on his face was healed. the secret was well kept, and although in time the truth of the affair became known in varley it never reached marsden, and ned escaped the talk and com- ment which it would have excited had it been known, and, what was worse, the official inquiry which would have followed. the huddersfield men naturally kept their own council. they had hastily buried their dead comrade on the moor, and although several of them were so severely knocked about that they were unable to go to work for some time, no rumor of the affair got about outside the circle of the conspirators. it need hardly be said that this incident drew ned and bill even more through the fray. a person could be tried twice for the same offense, after he has been acquitted the first time, and he believes that the fear is ever present in her mind that some fresh evi- dence may be forthcoming which may unmistakably bring the guilt home to him. i have talked it over with ned several times, and he now takes the same view of it as i do. the idea of his guilt has become a sort of mono- mania with her, and nothing save the most clear and convincing proof of his innocence would have any effect upon her mind. if that is ever forthcoming she may recover, and the two may be brought together again. at the same time i think that you might very well call upon her, introducing yourself by saying that as i was a friend of captain sankey's and of her son's you were desirous of making her acquaintance, especially as you heard that she was such an invalid. she has no friends whatever. she was never a very popular woman, and the line every one knows she has taken in reference to the murder of her second husband has set those who would otherwise have been inclined to be kind against her. other people may be convinced of ned's guilt, but you see it seems to everyone to be shocking that a mother should take part against her son.” accordingly mrs. porson called. on the first occasion when she did so mrs. mulready sent down to say that she was sorry she could not see her, but that the state of her health did not permit her to receive visitors.. mrs. porson, however, was not to be discouraged. first she made friends with lucy, and when she knew that the girl was sure to have spoken pleasantly of her to her mother she opened a correspondence with mrs. mul- ready. at first she only wrote to ask that lucy might be allowed to come and spend the day with her. her next letter was on the subject of lucy's music. the girl had long gone to a day-school kept by a lady in througe the fray. marsden, but her music had been neglected, and mrs. porson wrote to say that she found that lucy had & taste for music, and that baying been herself well taught she should be happy to give her lessons twice a week, and that if mrs. mulready felt well enough to see her she would like to have a little chat with her on the subject. this broke the ice. luey's backwardness in music had long been a grievance with her mother, who, as she lay in bed and listened to the girl practicirg below had fretted over the thought that she could obtain no good teacher for her in marsden. mrs. porson's offer was therefore too tempting to be refused, and as it was nec- essary to appear to reciprocate the kindness of that lady, she determined to make an effort to receive her. the meeting went off well. having once made the effort mrs. mulready found, to her surprise, that it was pleasant to her after being cut off for so many months from all intercourse with the world, except such as she gained from the doctor, her two children, and the old serrant, to be chatting with her visitor, who exerted her- self to the utmost to make herself agreeable. the taik was at first confined to the ostensible subject of mrs. porson's visit; but after that was satisfactorily arranged the conversation turned to marsden and the neighborhood. many people had called upon mrs. por- son, and as all of these were more or less known to mrs. mulready, her visitor asked her many questions concern- ing them, and the invalid was soon gossiping cheerfully over the family histories and personal peculiarities of her neighbors. "you have done me a world of good,” she said when mrs. porson rose to leave. "i never see any one but the doctor, and he is the worst person in the world for a gossip. he ought to know everything, but somehow he seems to know nothing. you will come again, won't through toe tray. you? it will be a real kindness, and you have taken so much interest in my daughter that it quite seems to me as if you were an old friend.” and so the visit was repeated; but not too often, for mrs. porson knew that it was better that her patient should wait and long for her coming, and now that the ice was once broken, mrs. mulready soon came to look forward with eagerness to these changes in her monoto- nous existence. for some time ned's name was never mentioned be- tween them. then one day mrs. porson, in a careless manner, as if she had no idea whatever of the state of the relations between mother and son, mentioned that ned had been at their house the previous evening, say- ing: “my husband has a wonderful liking and respect for your son; they are the greatest friends, thongh of course there is a good deal of difference in age between them. i don't know any one of whom john thinks so highly." mrs. mulready turned very pale, and then in a con- strained voice said: "mr. porson has always been very kind to my sons." then she sighed deeply and changed the subject of con- versation. "your wife is doing my patient a great deal more good than i have ever been able to do,” dr. green said one day to the schoolmaster. “she has become quite a dif- ferent woman in the last five or six weeks. she is always up and on the sofa now when i call, and i notice that she begins to take pains with her dress again; and that, you know, is always a first-rate sign with a woman. i think she would be able to go downstairs again soon, were it not for her feeling about ned. she would not meet him, i am sure. you don't see any signs of a change in that quarter, i suppose ?” through the fray. "no," mrs. porson replied. “the last time i men- tioned his name she said: 'my son is a most unfortunate young man, and the subject pains me too much to dis- cuss. therefore, if you please, mrs. porson, i would rather leave it alone.' so i am afraid there is no chance of my making any progress there." through the fray. “you had better come down, sankey. the door must give way ere long; we must make a stand there. if they once break in, it will soon be all up with us.” calling together three or four of the soldiers the man- ufacturer hurried down to the door. they were none too soon. the panels had already been splintered to pieces and the iron plates driven from their bolts by the tremendous blows of the hammer, but the stout bar still stood. through the yawning hoies in the upper part of the door the hammermen could be seen at work without. five guns flashed out, and yells and heavy falls told that the discharge had taken serious effect. the ham- mering ceased, for the men could not face the fire. leaving ned and one of the soldiers there, mr. cart- wright hurried round to the other doors, but the assault had been less determined there and they still resisted; then he went upstairs and renewed the firing from the upper windows. the fight had now continued for twenty minutes, and the fire of the luddites was slackening; their supply of powder and ball was running short. the determined resistance, when they had hoped to have effected an easy entrance by surprise, had discouraged them; several had fallen and more were wounded, and at any time the soldiers might be upon them. those who had been forced by fear to join the associa- tion-and these formed no small part of the whole-had long since begun to slink away quietly in the darkness, and the others now began to follow them. the groans and cries of the wounded men added to their discomfiture, and many eagerly seized the excuse of carrying these away to withdraw from the fight. gradually the firing ceased, and a shout of triumph rose from the little party in the mill at the failure of the attack. the defenders gathered in the lower floor. "i think they are all gone now," ned said, "shall througii tie fray. we go out, mr. cartwright, and see what we can do for the wounded? there are several of them lying round the door and near the windows. i can hear them groan- ing." "no, ned,” mr. cartwright said firmly, “they must wait a little longer. the others may still be hiding close ready to make a rush if we come out; besides, it would likely enough be said of us that we went out and killed the wounded; we must wait awhile.” presently a voice was heard shouting without: “are you all right, cartwright?” “yes," the manufacturer replied. “who are you?” the questioner proved to be a friend who lived the other side of liversedge, and who had been aroused by the ringing of the alarm-bell. he had not ventured to approach until t'e firing had ceased, and had then come on to see the issue. hearing that the rioters had all departed, mr. cartwright ordered the door to be opened. the wounded luddites were liited and carried into the mill, and mr. cartwright sent at once for the nearest surgeon, wi.o was speedily upon the spot. long before he arrived the hussars had ridden up, and had been dispatched over the country in search of the rioters, of whom, save the dead and wounded, no signs were visible. as day dawned the destruction which had been wrought was clearly visible. the doors were in splinters, the lower window-frames were all smashed in, scarce a pane of glass remained in its place throughout the whole building, the stonework was dotted and splashed with bullet marks, the angles of the windows were chipped and broken, there were dark patches of blood in many places in the courtyard, and the yard itself and the roads leading from the mill were strewn with guns, picks, levers, hammers, and pikes, which had been thrown away by the discomfited rioters in their tatreat, through the fray. - they have had a lesson for once," mr. cartwright said as he looked round; "they won't attack my mill again in a hurry. i need not say, sankey, how deeply i am obliged to you for your timely warning. how did you get to know of it?”. ned related the story of his being awakened by mary powlett. he added: “i don't think, after all, my warn- ing was of much use to you. you could have kept them out anyhow." "i don't think so,” mr. cartwright said. “i imagine that your arrival upset all their plans; they were so close behind you that they must have heard the knocking and the door open and close. the appearance of lights in the mill and the barking of the dog would, at any rate, have told them that we were on the alert, and seeing that they ran on and opened fire. i have no doubt that their plan was to have stolen quietly up to the windows and commenced an attack upon these in several places, and had they done this they would probably bave forced an entrance before we could have got together to resist them. no, my lad, you and that girl have saved the mill between you." “you will not mention, mr. cartwright, to any one how i learned the news. the girl's life would not be safe were it known that she brought me word of the intention of the luddites." “ you may rely on me for that; and now, if you please, we will go off home at once and get some breakfast. amy may have heard of the attack and will be in a rare fright until she gets news of me." mr. cartwright's house was about a mile from the mill. when they arrived there it was still closed and quiet, and it was evident that no alarm had been excited. mr. cartwright's knocking soon roused the servants, and a few minutes later amy hurried down. . fray. through the fray. "what is it, papa? what brings you back so early? it is only seven o'clock now. how do you do, mr. san- key? why, papa, how dirty and black you both look! what have you been doing? and, oh, papa! you have got blood on your hands!" “it is not my own, my dear, and you need not be frightened. the attack on the mill has come at last and we have given the luddites a handsome thrashing. the danger is all over now, for i do not think the mill is ever likely to be attacked again. but i will tell you all about it presently; run and get breakfast ready as soon as you can, for we are as hungry as hunters, i can tell you. we will go and have a wash, and will be ready in ten minutes." “we can't be ready in ten minutes, papa, for the fires are not lighted yet, but we will be as quick as we can; and do please make haste and come and tell me all about this dreadful business.” in half an hour the party were seated at breakfast. amy had already been told the incidents of the fight, and trembled as she heard how nearly the rioters had burst their way into the mill, and was deeply grateful to ned for the timely warning which had frustrated the plans of the rioters. in vain did the soldiers scour the country. the lud- dites on their retreat had scattered to their villages, the main body returning to huddersfield and appearing at their work as usual in the morning. large rewards were offered for information which would lead to the apprehension of any concerned in the attack, but these, as well as the notices offering two thousand pounds for the apprehension of the murderers of mr. horsfall, met with no responses. scores of men must have known who were concerned in these affairs, but either fidelity to the cause or fear of the conse- quenoes of treachery kept them silent. through the fra y. "no, sir, except that john stukeley has not been about since. the smithy was not opened the next morning and the chapel was closed yesterday. they say as he has been taken suddenly ill, but feyther thinks that per- haps he was wounded. of course men don't speak much before feyther, and i don't talk much to the other women of the village, so we don't know what's going on; any- how the doctor has not been here to see him, and if he had been only ill i should think they would have had dr. green up. old sarah james is nursing him. i saw her this morning going to the shop and asked her how he was; she only said it was no business of mine. but she doesn't like me because sometimes i nurse people when they are ill, and she thinks it takes money from her; and so it does, but what can i do if people like me to sit by them better than her? and no wonder, for she is very deaf and horribly dirty." "i don't think they are to be blamed, polly,” ned said, smiling. "if i were ill i should certainly like you to nurse me a great deal better than that bad-tempered old woman.” the attack on cartwright's mill made a great sensation through that part of the country. it was the most de- termined effort which the luddites had yet made, and although it showed their determination to carry matters to an extremity, it also showed that a few determined men could successfully resist their attacks. nothing else was talked about at marsden, and as mr. cartwright everywhere said that the success of the re- sistance was due entirely to the upsetting of the plans of the rioters by the warning ned had given him, the latter gained great credit in the eyes of all the peaceful inhab- itants. but as it would make ned still more obnoxious to the luddites, major browne insisted on placing six soldiers permanently at the mill, and on four accompany- through the frat. days,” luke replied. “oi suppose they got frighted and were obliged to call him in." “they had better have done so at first," ned said; "they might have been quite sure that he would say nothing about it to the magistrates whatever was the matter with stukeley. i thought that fellow would get into mischief before he had done." “it war a bad day for the village when he coomed," luke said; "what wi' his preachings and his talk, he ha’ turned the place upside down. i doan't say as varley had ever a good name, or was a place where a quiet chap would have chosen to live. for fighting and drink there weren't a worse place in all yorkshire, but there weren't no downright mischief till he came. oi wur afraid vor a bit when he came a-hanging aboot polly, as the gal might ha' took to him, for he can talk smooth and has had edication, and polly thinks a wonderful lot of that. oi were main glad when she sent him aboot bis business.” “well, there is one thing, luke; if anything happens to him it will put an end to this luddite business at var- ley. such a lesson as that in their midst would do more to convince them of the danger of their goings-on than any amount of argument and advice.” "it will that,” luke said. "oi hear as they are all moighty down in the mouth over that aífair at cart- wright's. if they could not win there, when they were thirty to one, what chance can they have o' stopping the mills? ci consider as how that has been the best noight's work as ha' been done in yorkshire for years and years. there ain't a-been anything else talked of in varley since. i ha' heard a score of guesses as to how you found owt what was a-going on in toime to get to the mill—thank god there ain't one as suspects as our polly brought you the news. my own boys doan't know, and ain't &-going to; pot they would say & word ag through tile fray. would harm polly for worlds, but as they gets a bit bigger and takes to drink, there's no saying what mightn't slip out when they are in liquor. so you and oi and bill be the only ones as all ever know the ins and outs o' that there business.” through the fray. "never mind that now, john; that's all past and gone." “ay, that's all past and gone. i only wanted to say as i wish you well, polly, and i hope you will be happy, and i am pretty nigh sure of it. bill here tells me that you set your heart on haring young sankey cleared of that business as was against him. is that so?" “that is so, john; he has been very kind to us all, to feyther and all of us. he is a good master to his men, and has kept many a mouth full this winter as would have been short of food without him; but why do you ask me?" "just a fancy of mine, gal, such a fancy as comes into the head of a man at the last. when you get back send luke here. it is late and maybe he has gone to bed, but tell him i must speak to him. and now, good-by, polly, god bless you! i don't know as i hasn't been wrong about all this business, but it didn't seem so to me afore. just try and think that, will you, when you hear about it. i thought as i was a-acting for the good of the men." "i will always remember that,” polly said gently. then she took the thin hand of the man in hers, glanced at bill as if she would ask his approval, and reading acquiesence in his eyes she stooped over the bed and kissed stukeley's forehead. then without a word she left the cottage and hurried away through the dark. ness. a few minutes later luke marner came in, and to bill's surprise stukeley asked him to leave the room. in five minutes luke came out again. "go in to him, bill," he said hoarsely. "oi think he be a-sinking. for god's sake keep him up. give him that wine and broath stuff as thou canst. keep him going till oi coom back again; thou doan't know what depends on it." through the fray, hurrying back to his cottage luke threw on a thick coat, and to the astonishment of polly announced that he was going down into marsden. “what! on such a night as this, feyther?" “ay, làss, and would if it it wore ten toimes wurse. get ye into thy room, and go down on thy knees, and pray god to keep john stukeley alive and clear-headed till oi coomes back again.” it was many years since luke marner's legs had carried him so fast as they now did into marsden. the driving rain and hail which beat against him seemed unheeded as he ran down the hill at the top of his speed. he stopped at the doctor's and went in. two or three mitutes after the arrival of this late visitor dr. green's housekeeper was astonished at hearing the bell ring vio lently. on answering the bell she was ordered to arouse john, who had already gone to bed, and to tell him to put the horse into the gig instantly. “not on such a night as this, doctor! sureley you are not a-going out on such a night as this!" “hold your tongue, woman, and do as you are told instantly,” the doctor said with far greater spirit than usual, for his housekeeper was, as a general thing, mis- tress of the establishment. with an air of greatly offended dignity she retired to carry out his orders. three minutes later the doctor ran out of bis room as he heard the man-servant descending the stairs. “john," he said, “i am going on at once to mr. thompson's; bring the gig round there. i shan't want you to go further with me. hurry up, man, and don't lose a moment-it is a matter of life and death." a quarter of an hour later dr. green, with mr. thompson by his side, drove off through the tempest toward varley. through thk fra y. the next morning, as ned was at breakfast, the doctor was announced. "what a pestilently early hour you breakfast at, ned! i was not in bed till three o'clock, and i scarcely seemed to have been asleep an hour when i was obliged to get up to be in time to catch you before you were off.” "that is hard on you indeed, doctor," ned said, smil. ing; “but why this haste? have you got some patient for whom you want my help? you need not have got up early for that, you know. you could have ordered anything you wanted for him in my name. you might have been sure i should have honored the bill. but what made you so late last night? you were surely never ont in such a gale!” “i was, ned, and strange as it seems i never went in answer to a call which gave me so much satisfaction, my dear lad, i hardly know how to tell you. i have a piece of news for you; the greatest, the best news that man could have to teil you." ned drew a long breath and the color left his cheeks. “you don't mean, doctor, you can't mean”—and he paused. “that you are cleared, my boy. yes; that is my news. thank god, ned, your innocence is proved.” ned could not speak. for a minute be sat silent and motionless. then he bent forward and covered his face with his hands, and his lips moved as he murmured a deep thanksgiving to god for this mercy, while lucy and charlie, with cries of surprise and delight, leaped fron the table, and when ned rose to his feet, threw their arms round his neck with enthusiastic delight; while the doctor wrung his hand, and then, taking out his pocket-handkerchief, wiped his eyes, violently declar- ing, as he did so, that he was an old fool. “tell me all about it, doctor. how has it happened? what has brought it about?” tarough the fray. mulready, but simply to oblige mary powlett, whose heart was bent upon your innocence being proved. he signed the deposition in the presence of thompson, my- self, and bill swinton.” “and you think it is true, doctor, you really think it is true? it is not like luke's attempt to save me?'' “i am certain it is true, ned. the man was dying, and there was no mistake about his earnestness. therə is not a shadow of doubt. i sent swinton back in the gig with thompson and stayed with the man till half. past two. he was unconscious then. he may linger a few hours, but will not live out the day, and there is little chance of his again recovering consciousness. thompson will to-day send a copy of the deposition to the home secretary, with a request that it may be made public through the newspapers. it will appear in all the yorkshire papers next saturday, and all the world will know that you are innocent." “what will my mother say?" ned exclaimed, turning pale again. "i don't know what she will say, my lad, but i know what she ought to say. i am going round to thompson's now for a copy of the deposition, and will bring it for her to see. thompson will read it aloud at the meeting of the court to-day, so by this afternoon every one will know that you are cleared." abijah's joy when she heard that ned's innocence was proved was no less than that of his brother and sister. she would have rushed upstairs at once to tell the news to her mistress, but ned persuaded her not to do so until the doctor's return. “then he will have to be quick,” abijah said, "for if the mistress' bell rings, and i have to go up before he comes, i shall never be able to keep it to myself. she will see it in my face that something has happened. if through the fray. the bell rings, miss lucy, you must go up, and if she asks for me, say that i am particular busy, and will be up in a few minutes.” the bell, however, did not ring before the doctor's re. turn. after a short consultation between him and ned, abijah was called in. "mr. sankey agrees with me, abijah, that you had better break the news. your mistress is more accus- tomed to you than to any one else, and you understand her ways. here is the deposition. i shall wait below here till you come down. there is no saying how she will take it. be sure you break the news gently." abijah went upstairs with a hesitating step, strongly in contrast with her usual quick bustling walk. she had before felt rather aggrieved that the doctor should be the first to break the news; but she now felt the difficulty of the task, and would gladly have been spared tire responsibility. “i have been expecting you for the last quarter of an hour, abijah,” mrs. mulready said querulously. "you know how i hate to have the room untidy after i have dressed. why, what's the matter?” she broke off sharply as she noticed abijah's face. “why, you have been crying!” “yes, ma'am, i have been crying,” abijah said un- - steadily, “but i don't know as ever i shall cry again, for i have heard such good news as will last me the rest of my whole life.” “what news, abijah?” mrs. mulready asked quickly. “what are you making a mystery about, and what is that paper in your hand ?” "well, ma'am, god has been very good to us all. i knew as he would be sooner or later, though sometimes i began to doubt whether it would be in my time, and it did break my heart to see maister ned going about so through the fray. had so long overshadowed him had passed away, and the look of cold reserve had vanished with it, and he was prepared again to receive the world as a friend. he was most moved when, early in the day, mr. porson and the whole of the boys arrived. as soon as he had left mrs. mulready, dr. green had hurried down to the school. house with the news, and mr. porson, as soon as he heard it, had announced it from his desk, adding that after such news as that he could not expect them to con- tinue their lessons, and that the rest of the day must therefore be regarded as a holiday. he yielded a ready assent when the boys entreated that they might go in a body to congratulate ned. ned was speechless for some time as his old friend wrung his hand, and his former schoolfeilows clustered round him with a very babel of congratulations and good wishes. only the knowledge that his mother was ill above prevented them from breaking into uproarious cheering. in the afternoon, hearing that his mother was still awake, ned, accompanied by mr. porson, went out for a stroll, telling harriet that she was to remain at the open door while he was away, so as to prevent any one from knocking. it was something of a trial to ned to walk through the street which he had passed along so many times in the last year oblivious of all within it. every man and woman he met insisted on shaking hands with him. tradesmen left their shops and ran out to greet him, and there was no mistaking the general en- thusiasm which was felt on the occasion, and the desire of every one to atone as far as possible for the unmerited suffering which had been inflicted on him. when he returned at six o'clock he found harriet still on the watch, and she said in low tones that abijah had just come downstairs with the news that her mistress had faller asleep. through the fray. atter a hasty word, or to form a hasty judgment. he was ever busy in devising schemes for the benefit of his workpeople, and to be in sankey's mill was considered as the greatest piece of good fortune which could befall a hand. four years after the confession of john stukeley ned married the daughter of his friend george cartwright, and settled down in a handsome house which he had built for himself a short distance out of marsden. lucy was soon afterward settled in a house of her own, having married a young land-owner with ample estates. mrs. mulready, in spite of the urgent persuasions of her son and his young wife, refused to take up her resi- dence with them, but established herself in a pretty little house close at hand, spending, however, a considerable portion of each day with him at his home. the trials through which she had gone had done even more for her than for ned. all her querulous listlessness had disap- peared. she was bright, cheerful, and even-tempered. ned used to tell her that she grew younger looking every day. her pride and happiness in her son were unbounded, and these culminated when, ten years after his accession to the management of the mill, ned acceded to the re. quest of a large number of manufacturers in the district, to stand for parliament as the representative of the mill- owning interest, and was triumphantly returned at the head of the poll. of the other characters of this story little need be said. dr. green and mr. and mrs. porson remained ned's closest friends to the end of their lives. mary powlett did not compel bill swinton to wait until the situation of foreman of the mill became vacant, but married him two years after the death of john stukeley. bill became in time not only foreman but the confidential manager of the complete guide to blacksmithing, horseshoeing, carriage and wagon building and painting= cksmithing for all general mechanical work, this is the most valuable book for the farmer, blacksmith, the complete carpenter, carriage and wagon building, paint- y guide too ing and varnishing trades published. the do- partment on blacksmithing is based on the various text books by prof. a. langwitz, direct- or of the shoeing school of the royal veterinary college at dresden, while the chapters on car- riage and wagon building, painting, varnish- ing, are by charles f. adams, one of the most successful builders in wisconsin, the language employed is 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cloth......$ . bound in paper....... m. a. donohue & co., chicago through the sikh war george alfred henty, hal hurst through the sikh war percy thrfatens to shoot the iekkymen. mxululi tim! sikii w.\k ['.: -,n * .!' ..vr >.)t- :i' i'. : i !• \'l v . :, " . i' .' i . ..! ,j v'v . .* .li .\ i v . >' through the sikh war a tale of the conquest of the punjaub g. a. henty author of " bene the briton," "the dash for khartoum," " held fast for england," " with clive in india," &c. with twelve illustrations by hal hurst and map of the punjaub new york charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons. preface my dear lads, among the many wars by which, province by province, the empire of india was won, few, if any, were more brilliant and hard fought than those which terminated in the annexa- tion of the punjaub. it is satisfactory to know that the conquest of the sikhs—a brave and independent race—was not brought about by any of the intrigues which marred the brilliancy of some of our early conquests, or by greed for additional territory, but was the result of a wanton invasion of the states under our protection by the turbulent soldiery of the punjaub, who believed themselves invincible, and embarked upon the conflict with a confident belief that they would make themselves masters of delhi, if not drive us completely out of india. it was fortunate for britain that the struggle was not delayed for a few years, and that there was time for the punjaub to become well contented with our rule before the outbreak of the mutiny; for had the punjaub declared against us at that critical period it would assuredly have turned the scale, and the work of conquering india must needs have been undertaken anew. i have endeavoured, while keeping my hero well in the foreground, to relate the whole of the leading incidents in the two sikh wars. yours sincerely, g. a. henty. ■ contents chap. page i. eastward ho! > ii. the shadow of war iii. at the castle iv. a ra d from the h lls v. retr but on vi. a s ege > vii. startl ng news " viii. in the serv ce ' ix. moodkee and kero'/.eshah x. al wa . and sobraon xi. an ambush l xii. a pr soner xiii. escape xiv. treachery xv. the news of the massacre xvi. seven hours of suspense xvii. w th sher s ngh xviii. rejo n ng xix. ch ll anvval a xx. gujerat xxi. ret red ^ illustrations page percy threatens to shoot the ferrymen . . frontispiece percy learns the punjaum language percy and h s uncle enter the zenana percy shoots the assass n dur ng the attack on the fortress the commander- n-ch ef thanks percy for h s report . percy and h s followers are attacked by daco ts . . percy awakes, to f nd that the guards are v g lant . . percy and akram attempt to escape from pr son . . . "is me dead?" percy asked as he re ned up h s horse . percy s carr ed out of the f ght wounded .... percy takes part n the battle of ch ll anwalla . . percy has an interv ew w th sher s ngh .... map of the punjaub to face p. through the sikh war a story of the conquest of india chapter i eastward ho! ^roves, here is a letter for you," dr. bubear, the ^ head-master of a large school at dulwich, said, as ^ the boys rose from their places to leave the school- si room at the conclusion of their work. the lad addressed, a boy of about f fteen, went up to the desk. "it is from your father's lawyers, messrs. sims & ham- mond. i have received one from them myself. i think you will find it satisfactory," and he nodded kindly. "you had better stop in here to read it, for it looks somewhat bulky, and i fancy contains an inclosure." percy groves returned to his seat, and did not open the letter until he was alone in the school-room. it was a long time since he had received one. fifteen months before he had lost his father. major groves had returned on half-pay a year before his death, being obliged to quit the service from the effects of a severe wound which he received at the storming of ghuznee. his regiment had been absent several years from england, and after he had left the service and taken a house at dulwich, he had made but few acquaintances, spend- ing most of his time at the military club to which he belonged. ii through the sikh war percy, who was an only child, had been born in india—his mother dying when he was five years old. his father had kept him three years longer with him, and had then sent him home to england to the care of his grandfather, who had, however, died a year later; and from that time percy had known no home but dr. bubear's, until his father returned and took up his residence near the school. a few days before his death major groves had a long talk with his son. "i am troubled about you, percy," he said. "besides my half-pay i have but three thousand pounds—a sum sufficient indeed to finish your education, pay your expenses at the university if you decide to go into one of the learned profes- sions, and to help you a bit until you make your way. i have written to three or four of my old friends, who will, when the time comes, do their best to procure you a commission in the army, in case you have a fancy then, as i know you have now, for soldiering. lastly, there is my brother. we have never kept up much correspondence, but we have always been good friends; he was in the army himself, but sold out after only serving a year, as he saw that there was very little chance of active sevice in europe. he knocked about the world for some years and then went out to india, and the next i heard of him was that he had entered the service of runjeet singh, the leader of the sikhs, who had great respect for european troops, and employed a number of foreign officers—italian, german, and a few english—to train his troops on our method. "i have not heard of him for some three or four years, but when i did he was still in the sikh service, and held the rank of colonel, and was, i heard, high in favour with runjeet singh, and there i have no doubt he is still, that is if he is alive. no doubt he is married to some dusky princess, and has probably accumulated a fortune. these adventurers, as europeans in the service of native princes are generally called, either get murdered soon after they get out there, or else eastward ho! l accumulate large fortunes. i have no doubt that if he is alive he will take charge of you. "the life is an adventurous one, and i do not say that i should advise you to adopt it; but in that respect you must decide for yourself, when you reach the age to do so. if your uncle is able to push your fortune out there you might do worse than stay with him; if, on the other hand, when you get to the age of seventeen or eighteen, you do not care to remain in india, you must come home and get the officers to whom i have written to use their influence to obtain a commission for you, which they will, i have no doubt, be able to do, as the son of an officer forced to retire from the service in conse- quence of wounds is always considered to have a claim. "in that case the knowledge that you will obtain of indian methods and languages would be a very great assistance to you. but mind, if you do go out to your uncle it will not be possible for you afterwards to choose one of the learned pro- fessions, for however much you may try to educate yourself out there, you will not be up to the mark of lads who have gone through the regular course of schooling here." "i don't care for that, father; i have always made up my mind to be a soldier, as you were. i should like very much to go out to my uncle if he will have me." the major was silent for a few minutes. "i don't know that it is a wise step," he murmured to him- self; "but the boy has no friends here—my old comrades will do what they can for him when the time comes, but until then he will have but a lonely life. "very well, percy," he went on, turning to his son, "i will write to your uncle. it may be eighteen months before you get an answer from him—that is all the better. work hard at school, lad, and learn as much as you can, for you will get but little learning out there. if your uncle does not care to have you, or thinks that things are too disturbed and unsettled out there for him to undertake the responsibility, you must through the sikh war fall back on the other plan and remain at dr. bubear's until you are seventeen. i have written letters to the friends who promised to see after your commission; you will find them in my desk. keep them by you until you are leaving school, and then post them, that is if your wish to go into the army is unchanged. if it should be changed, messrs. sims & hammond, my lawyers, will put you in the way of carrying out your wishes in whatever direction they may lie." there had been several such talks between father and son, and percy knew that he should not have his father long with him. he listened, therefore, gravely to his words, but with- out showing emotion; for although when alone he often gave way to tears, he knew that the major, himself a quiet and self-restrained man, was adverse to any display of feeling. the boy did not think the end was so near, and though pre- pared in some way for the blow, it was a terrible shock to him when his father, five days later, expired. he had again become a boarder at dr. bubear's, remaining there during the holidays as well as in school-time. two or three times old friends of his father had come to see him, and had taken him out for the day. this was the only change he had had, but he had worked hard and risen considerably in his place in the school. in accordance with instructions from messrs. sims & hammond he had gone regularly to a riding-school, as the major, knowing the sikhs to be a nation of horsemen, had thought it desirable that he should learn to have a good seat on a horse. the lawyers had also arranged that he should twice a week have lessons in hindustani, and he was allowed to work at this instead of greek. his progress was comparatively rapid, as after a time the language he had heard spoken for the first eight years of his life came back to him rapidly. he had hardly begun to look for a reply from his uncle when dr. bubear handed him the letter, which he doubted not contained the answer. he had hardly hoped that it would be favourable, for during the eastward ho! intervening time he had learned something of what was going on in the punjaub, and knew that since runjeet singh's death there had been many troubles there, and that things were in a very unsettled state. this information he had received from one of the boys whose father was a director of the east india company. the doctor's words, however, gave him some hope, and when alone he opened the letter with less trepidation than he would other- wise have felt. messrs. sims & hammond wrote as fol- lows :— "we have pleasure in forwarding to you a communication from colonel roland groves, which was inclosed in one sent to us. in the latter he expressed his readiness to receive you, while pointing out that the position of affairs in the punjaub was unsettled in the extreme. he doubtless speaks further of this in his letter to you. as our late client, your father, instructed us that we were to be guided entirely by your decision in the matter, we leave it in your hands, observing, however, that in the face of your uncle's statements with regard to the country, it appears to us that to go out to him at present would be an exceedingly ill-advised and rash step. should you, however, decide upon doing so, we will, upon hearing from you, take the necessary steps for obtaining your outfit and securing your berth. a client of ours in calcutta, will, we doubt not, arrange on your arrival there for forwarding you up the country to your uncle." having read this, percy broke the seal of the inclosure and read as follows:— "my dear nephew,—i am filled with grief to learn from a letter, forwarded to me after his death, that your father is no more. it is many years since i saw him; but we were always capital friends, though as unlike in disposition as two brothers could be. he tells me that he has no friends in england in whose charge he could place you, and asks if i will have you out with me until you are of an age to enter the army at home, through the sikh war if, indeed, you do not decide to follow my example and take service with one of the native princes. "as far as taking charge of you goes, i am perfectly ready to do so—indeed more than ready; for it will give me great pleasure to have poor hugo's son with me and to treat him as my own, for i am childless. but the sort of career i have chosen is pretty nearly closed. the company have most of india under their thumb, and allow no english except their own officials to take service with the protected princes. at present the punjaub is independent, but i don't think it can remain so much longer. since the death of the old lion, as runjeet singh was called, things have gone from bad to worse. one ruler after another has been set up, and either dethroned or assassinated. the army is practically master of the coun- try; and one of its first steps was to demand the dismissal of all foreign officers, and the greater part of us were accordingly discharged. "some of them left the country; others, like myself, are living on the estates granted us by runjeet singh, and on the pickings, which were considerable, that had come to us during our term of service, and we are waiting to see what may be the next turn of the wheel. life here is something like that of a baron of old in england. my house is, in fact, a fortress perched on a rock. i have a garrison of several hundred picked men, and as i am a much easier master than most of these sikhs, who wring the last farthing from the culti- vators, i could raise a thousand more at a couple of days' notice. still the place is not impregnable; and in the present disturbed state of the land, where there is practically no law save that of might, i might be besieged by some powerful rajah, and in the event of the place being taken there is no doubt what my fate would be. "however, at present the great men are too intent upon quarrelling with each other to trouble about me, especially as they know that the place is not to be taken without hard eastward ho! knocks. moreover, although we who take service with foreign princes have no claim whatever for protection from our own countrymen, the fact of my being an englishman is to some extent a safeguard. however, i want to put the case fairly before you; and if you come out here i will do my best for you—i will try to fill, as far as i can, your father's place. at the same time i warn you that the position here is a perilous one, and that there is no predicting how matters may turn out. my own opinion is, however, that our people can never permit the state of things that prevails here to go on, and will be forced to interfere before long. the sikhs think that they are fully a match for us. i know better. they are brave, but so impatient of discipline, that although they look well enough on parade they would become a mere mob when fighting began. "i need not say that the annexation of the punjaub by the english would suit me admirably, but there will be a time of great trouble and danger before that can be accomplished. i daresay you wonder that i do not come home, having made, as you may suppose, a fortune amply sufficient to live upon there. but i do not think i shall ever do that; i have lived too long in india to settle down to english ways. now that your poor father has gone i have not a single friend in eng- land, and the humdrum life would kill me in no time, after having for four-and-twenty years lived in an atmosphere of intrigue, excitement, and danger. "now you know all about it, percy, and can judge for yourself. by the time you get this letter you will be almost fifteen, and, as your father tells me that he has talked the matter over with you, capable of forming some sort of an opinion. as far as money goes, do not let that influence you one way or the other. the old lion was one of the most liberal of paymasters; and although one spends money freely out here, i took care to transmit a considerable portion of the presents i received and the money i earned to a firm who act as my agents in calcutta, so as to be in safety if at any time i is through the sikh war had to make a bolt of it. that money will some day be yours whether you come out to me or not, for i have no one else to leave it to; and i am, by the same messenger who carries this letter to the british agent at loodiana, sending instructions to my agents that in case of anything happening to me, the money is to be transferred to your name, and they are to communi- cate with the firm who are, as your father tells me, his lawyers in ixmdon. "i don't know whether i am acting altogether wisely in agreeing to your coming out; and i certainly should not have done so if it had not been that your father, who must have been perfectly aware of the disturbed state of this country, evidently wished that it should be so. well, if the life has its dangers, it has its advantages. in our army at home an officer is but one bit of a great machine; his life is a routine, and in peace time as dull as ditch-water. here a man has, every day and every hour, need of his brains, his courage, quickness, and spirit. in war-time we f ght the enemies of the mahara- jah; in peace we have to combat the intrigues of our enemies and rivals, to guard against the dangers of assassination, to countermine the approaches of the enemy, to be ready for instant flight, or sudden favour and promotion. "it is a man's life, percy, and to a man of spirit worth a hundred existences at home. if i knew you personally i could form a better idea as to whether i ought to say to you, stay where you are, or, come here. your father says that he thinks you have a fair share of pluck and determination, and that he considers you to be as sharp and shrewd as most boys of your age. as he was the last man in the world to speak one word beyond what he considered due, i take it that his estimate of your character is in no way too flattering. "think it over yourself, percy. can you thrash most fel- lows your own age? can you run as far and as fast as most of them? can you take a caning without whimpering over it? do you feel, in fact, that you are able to go through fully as eastward ho! much as any of your companions? are you good at planning a piece of mischief, and ready to take the lead in carrying it out? for though such gifts as these do not recommend a boy to the favour of his schoolmaster, they are worth more out here than a knowledge of all the dead languages. it is pluck and endurance, and a downright love of adventure and danger, that have made us the masters of the greater part of india, and will ere long make us rulers of the whole of it; and it is of no use anyone coming out here, especially to take service with one of the native princes, unless he is disposed to love danger for its own sake, and to feel that he is willing and ready to meet it from whatever quarter it may come. however, there is no occasion for you to make up your mind at present upon more than the point whether you will come out to me for three or four years; when it will be time enough to make your final decision. in any case you may always consider me your affectionate uncle, roland." percy read the letter through very carefully. it was some- thing like what he had expected, for his father had in his last days spoken much to him of his brother. "he was cut out for the life he has led, percy," he had said to him. "he was the leader in all mischief at school; he had any amount of energy and life. he would not have made a good officer in the king's service; for he was impatient of authority, and would have been at loggerheads with the adju- tant, and perhaps with the colonel, in no time. once he set his mind to do a thing he would do it, whatever it was; and his straightforwardness and loyal nature would certainly win for him the confidence of any of these indian princes, accus- tomed as they are to being surrounded with intriguers ready at all times to take sides with the most powerful, and to sell themselves to the highest bidder. he will tell you frankly whether he thinks you had better come out to him or stay at home. but mind, if you do go out he will expect a good deal of you, and if you don't do credit to him as well as to your- through the sikh war self, he will have no hesitation in packing you off home again at an hour's notice." percy was pleased to see that, although he warned him of the difficulties and dangers of the position, his uncle clearly did wish him to come out to him, and he had no hesitation whatever in making his decision. after reading the letter for the third time, he placed it in his pocket and went across to the doctor's. "i expected you, groves," the latter said, when he was shown into his study. "so your uncle is willing to receive you, but leaves the choice entirely to yourself. that is what messrs. sims & hammond said in their letter to me. evi- dently they think it a very foolish business, but say that as they are bound by their instructions they have only to carry them out if you decide to go, but they hope that i shall use my influence to induce you to decide upon remaining here. i have no intention of doing so. it was for your father to make his choice, and he made it. he knows the country and he knows your uncle's character, and as he thought the opening a good one for you, i do not feel that it lies within my province to influence your decision in any way. i need hardly ask what the decision is. i know that you have been looking forward to the receipt of this letter, and the ardour with which you have worked at hindustani, as your master tells me, shows that your wishes lay in that direction. so you have made up your mind to go?" "yes, sir. my uncle does not try to persuade me to come, but he says that he will be very glad to have me with him. he lives in a fortified castle with a lot of retainers, like a feudal baron, he says." "then i am quite sure no more need be said," the doctor replied smiling; "i don't think any boy could withstand the prospect of living in a fortified castle. and now i suppose you want to go and see the solicitors?" "if you please, sir." eastward ho! "very well. i will give you leave off school this afternoon. if you find that there is a ship sailing shortly you will have many preparations to make, and as i am quite sure your thoughts will be too occupied to think of lessons you may consider them at an end. if, however, you find it will be some little time before you are able to sail, i shall expect you to put the matter altogether out of your head until the time approaches, and to work as hard as you can; though we will give up latin, and you can devote yourself entirely to hindu- stani. let me see you when you return from the lawyer's. you know the way to london bridge. you cross that, and anyone you meet will then direct you to fenchurch street. you had better have your dinner before you start." messrs. sims & hammond did not conceal from percy their opinion that his decision to go out to join his uncle savoured of lunacy. "we are willing to carry out your father's instruc- tions," the senior partner said, shrugging his shoulders. "we considered it our duty to express our opinion frankly on the subject to him. having done that without avail, our duty in the matter is at- an end. we find it a not unusual thing for our clients to prefer their own opinions to ours, not unfre- quently to their own cost. since we have received your uncle's communication yesterday, we have made inquiries as to the vessels loading for calcutta, and find that the india- man the deccan will sail in ten days' time. that will, i take it, be sufficient time for you to make your preparations. one of our clerks will at once go with you to take your berth, and then accompany you to some outfitter's to get all that is requisite. your father left with us a list of the clothing and other matters he considered would be required in the event of your going." five minutes later percy set out in charge of an elderly clerk, and by the close of the afternoon the passage was taken and the whole of the outfit ordered, and percy walked back to dulwich quite overwhelmed at the extent of the wardrobe that through the sikh war his father had deemed necessary for him for the voyage. several suits of clothes had, in accordance with the instruc- tions on the list, been ordered, of a size considerably too large for him at present. major groves had appended a note to the list, saying that he did not consider it necessary that a large stock of such clothes should be provided, as there would be no difficulty in having them made in india, and that, moreover, percy would probably, to some extent, wear native attire. the ten days passed rapidly. percy, although nominally free from the school-room, nevertheless worked with ardour at his hindustani. "you have made great progress, groves," his teacher said on the last day. "i should advise you strongly to work several hours a day at it during the voyage. some of the passengers who are returning to india are sure to have with them native servants and ayahs, and you had best take every opportunity of speaking with them. you must remember that there are a large number of dialects, and even of distinct languages, in india; and it is probable that you will find your hindustani of little use to you in northern india. still, it will greatly facilitate your learning the other languages, and most of the educated natives understand it, as, like french on the conti- nent, it is the general medium of communication between the natives of different parts of the country. possibly you may find among the servants on board a native of northern india, and may be able to commence your study of punjaubi with him." two days before the vessel sailed percy went by appointment to the lawyer's office, and mr. hammond took him to the shipping office and introduced him to the captain of the deccan. "i will give an eye to the lad as far as i can, mr. ham- mond," captain grierson said; "though, to tell you the truth, i would almost as lief have a monkey as a boy to look after. still i don't feel the responsibility as great as that of my young eastward ho! lady passengers. do what i may, they will indulge in flirta- tion, and i have to bear the brunt of the anger of the relatives to whom they are consigned in india, when they discover that my charges have already disposed of themselves on the voyage." during those last days percy was the object of the greatest envy and admiration of his school-fellows. to be going all the way out to india by himself was in itself splendid; but the idea that he was to live in a castle with armed retainers, and the possibility of a siege and all other sorts of unknown dangers, seemed almost too great a stroke of good fortune to fall to the lot of anybody. most of his effects had been sent direct on board the deccan, but he had obtained from the store where they had been deposited, the cases containing his father's rifles, double-barrelled gun and pistols, and the fact that he was the possessor of such arms greatly heightened the admiration of his companions. but even the knowledge that the pistols were in his cabin, and the other arms stowed below with the greater portion of his belongings, scarcely sufficed to keep up his spirits as he stood, a solitary and rather forlorn boy, on the deck of the great ship as she warped out through the dock-gates. the doctor had come down early to see him on board, but had been obliged to return at once to his duties at the school, and everyone but himself seemed to have friends to see them off. the entrance to the docks was crowded with people wav- ing their handkerchiefs and shouting adieux to those on board, while many who were to land at gravesend were on deck chat- ting with their friends. the captain stopped good-naturedly by his side for a moment as he passed along. "all alone, groves, eh? you will soon make friends, and i think you are really better off than those who haven't got over saying their last good-byes yet. i always think it is much better to finish all that sort of thing at home, instead of pro- longing the pain. here, harcourt," he called to a young through the sikh war fellow about sixteen, in a midshipman's dress, "you haven't anything to do just at present. give an eye to this youngster; he is going out to join an uncle in india, and is all alone on board. introduce him to the other midshipmen when you get an opportunity. i have told the steward to mess him with you; he will be much more comfortable there than he would be with the people in the cabin aft. you will like that arrange- ment, won't you, groves?" "very much indeed, sir," percy said, feeling as if a great load had been lifted off his mind. harcourt led him down between decks to the ward-room, as they called it, where the third and fourth officers and the four midshipmen messed. "this is our palace, groves. a bit of a hole in compari- son with the saloon, but a snug little den, too, when everything is going on well and everyone is in good temper. i will tell the others that the skipper has made you free of it. the third and fourth officers are both good fellows, and i think you will find it comfortable. if you don't, you have got the saloon to fall back upon." "i am sure to find it comfortable," percy said confidently. "i have come fresh from school, you know, and am not ac- customed to luxuries; i should find it miserable among all those grown-up people. i only wish i was going out as a midshipman instead of a passenger, so as to have something to do." "ah, well, you can talk to the skipper about that. perhaps he will put you on a watch if you ask him. i don't say the work is very lively, for it isn't; but i know that i should be very sorry to have to make the voyage with nothing to do but walk about with my hands in my pockets. however, i must go on deck now. we had our breakfast long ago; we dine at two bells, that is one o'clock. if you can't hold on until then i will get our steward to bring you a biscuit." "i can hold on very well. i had a cup of tea and something to eat before i left." eastward ho! percy followed harcourt on deck again, and feeling now more settled as to his position, was able to look on with inter- est and pleasure at what was being done around him. the passengers had settled themselves a little; some had got out their chairs, and were seated chatting in groups, but the ladies for the most part were below arranging their cabins. men in couples walked up and down the waist smoking, or leaned against the bulwarks discussing the voyage and their mutual acquaintances. most of the sails had now been set, for the wind was favourable, and the great ship was running fast down the river and was just passing woolwich. a sailor, bare- footed and with his trousers turned up to his knees, was sluic- ing the decks with water. others were coiling up ropes. others again, dressed more in accordance with percy's ideas as to the neatness of a sailor's costume, were standing at the sheets and braces in readiness to trim the sails to port or star- board, as the sharp turns of the river brought the wind on one quarter or the other. percy was surprised at the silence that reigned among so many men, but he understood the reason when the sharp orders were shouted from the quarter-deck where the first officer was standing by the side of the pilot. then there was a hauling of ropes and a creaking of blocks, and the towering pile of yards and sails swung over. now and then the ship's course was suddenly changed to avoid some barge or smaller craft that got in her way, sometimes missing by the smallest margin running them down. on one or two of these occasions a mate shouted angrily down at those in charge of these craft, and these shouted as angrily back again. once past erith the river widened and the dangers of collision ceased, for the craft were all proceeding in the same direction; for the stream was now running too strongly for the barges to attempt to make their way against it, even by hugging the shore and keeping in back waters. at twelve o'clock the luncheon bell rang, and the passengers disappeared from deck. but percy was so g through the sikh war absorbed in watching the shore that he was quite surprised when harcourt touched him on the shoulder and said: "there are two bells, youngster. you must keep your ears open or you will be missing your meals; for they do not ring for us, and anyone who does not turn up to his grub goes with- out it." the voyage was a very pleasant one to percy groves. the captain did not allow him to act as a volunteer midshipman; but it was not long before he ceased to regret this decision, for he found among the four or five native servants returning to india with their masters one from the punjaub. the man's duties on board occupied but a very small portion of his time, as he had little to do except wait on his master at meals; and he was very glad to arrange, for what seemed to percy a ridicu- lously small sum, to spend five or six hours a day in conversa- tion with him. accordingly, after breakfast and dinner the two took seats up in the bow, percy on a low stool, the native squatted beside him, and there spent hours, at first in learning the punjaubi equivalents for hindustani words, and then, as time went on, in conversation. the native knew a little hindustani, and could get on fairly in english, so that they were able from the first to compre- hend each other; and as percy's former studies helped him materially, he picked up punjaubi quickly, and by the end of the voyage was able to express himself in it with considerable freedom. he was always up early in the morning, and until breakfast-time chatted with any officers or midshipmen off duty, and sometimes with the early risers among the passengers— two or three of whom, when they found that the lad was a first- class passenger on his way out to india to join an uncle, became very friendly with him, being struck with the steady way in which he passed the greater portion of the day in preparing himself, as far as possible, for the life he was about to lead. "why don't you come aft, groves?" one of them asked him. percy learns the punjaubi langfage. eastward ho! "i should feel altogether strange, sir. the two officers and the midshipmen are all very kind and friendly, and we live very well there, and i feel much more at home than i should do with the ladies. i have not been accustomed to ladies. i do not remember my mother, and for years i lived altogether at school. after my father came back, and i lived at home with him, only gentlemen came to the house. i like it all very much, and should not like to change. besides, if i got to know a good many passengers, i might not be able to spend so much time in work; and i do so want when i join my uncle to be able to be useful to him, which i could not be if i did not know anything of the language." "well, i am sure, groves, your uncle ought to be pleased when you join him to know how hard you have worked. it would be a very good thing if every young cadet and writer who went out would do as you do, and prepare himself for his work out there, instead of wasting six months in lounging about, trying to make himself agreeable to the women on board. he would not only find it very useful out there, but he would find it very profitable. for a young fellow who, on arrival, was able to speak one of the languages pretty fluently, would be certain to attract the notice of the authorities, and would find himself in a responsible and well-paid berth, while the others were kept at desks in calcutta or bombay, or sent out as assistants to unimportant posts. "it is my servant who is teaching you, and he tells me that you are making wonderful progress, and that you already know as much of the language as many officers who have been in india for years. i can tell you, too, that you could not have taken up a more useful dialect than punjaubi. at present, of course, the punjaub is independent, and the consequence is there are very few officials who have taken the trouble to learn the language; but no one doubts that the time is not very far distant when we shall have to interfere there, and in a few years we may have to take it over altogether. in that case i through the sikh war need hardly say that there will be a great demand for officials able to speak the language; and should you enter the company's service, you would have every chance of obtaining a post there of greater importance and profit than you could hope to reach after years of service under ordinary conditions. "i myself am stationed in the province south of the sutlej, which the sikhs at any rate consider to be a part of the pun- jaub, and am pretty well acquainted with what is going on at lahore. i don't know your uncle personally, although of course i know him well by reputation. he was one of the best of the european officers in the sikh service; and although, like all the others, he was dismissed at the bldding of the mutinous soldiery, i have always heard him spoken well of. he was popular among the men of the two regiments that he commanded, and bore an excellent reputation among the natives generally, abstaining from the high-handed exactions by which some of the foreign officers amassed large sums of money. he is said to have been prompt in action, to have maintained excellent order amongst his men, to have pro- tected the natives against any acts of plunderng or misconduct, and the districts where he was stationed were contented and prosperous. "like most of the other foreign officers, he held himself altogether aloof from court intrigues. doubtless they were perfectly right in doing so; but for all that, as matters have turned out, it might have been better for the punjaub had these officers gone beyond their duties" and thrown their whole weight into the scale in favour of some strong man who would have put a stop to the dissensions that if they continue will certainly bring ruin upon the country. "however, their position was a very difficult one. the sikh chieftains were always adverse to runjeet singh's policy of europeanizing his army, and were extremely jealous of the favour he extended to the europeans in his service; conse- quently the position of these officers was, from the moment of eastward ho! his death, an extremely delicate one. moreover, it is probable that the indian authorities would have viewed with consider- able disfavour the passing of the affairs of the punjaub into the hands of european adventurers, of whom only two or three were english. the foreigners, of course, would have had no sympathy whatever with our aims, and would indeed have been formidable opponents in case of trouble, their interests lying entirely in the maintenance of the present state of things in the punjaub. "you are going out to the most troubled portion of india, youngster; and i almost wonder at your uncle allowing you to come, for there will be a great convulsion there before matters finally settle down." "so he told me when he wrote, sir. i am only going out to him till i get old enough to either go into the army or to enter the company's service, if my father's friends can obtain a commission or a writership for me." "get a writership, my boy, if you have the chance. the civil service is vastly better paid than the military. well, it may be that we shall be thrown together again out there. it is nearly time for our commissioner at loodiana to go home for his furlough, and i think it very probable that i shall be appointed to his post during his absence, in which case i am pretty certain to be in communication with your uncle; and • it may be that when the time comes i shall be able to lend you a helping hand to enter the service. if you stick to work as you are doing now, i shall certainly feel justified in recom- mending you as one who would prove a valuable young officer in the punjaub if we become its masters, or on the frontier if the country still maintains its independence. in the mean- time, if there be trouble in the punjaub and you have to fly for your life, remember you will find a hearty welcome at loo- diana." the voyage was free from any incidents of importance. the deccan rounded the cape without experiencing any throw jh the sikh war unusually bad weather, and except for one or two minor gales the weather was fine throughout the voyage. most of the passengers were delighted when she dropped anchor at last in the hooghly, but much as percy longed to see the wonders of india, he was almost sorry when the voyage came to an end, for the time had passed very pleasantly to him. this had been especially the case towards the latter portion; for his studies had increased in interest as he acquired a knowledge of the language, and by the end of the voyage he had come to know a good many of the passengers. his first friend, mr. fullarton, had spoken warmly to others in favour of the quiet lad, of whom they caught sight when they hap- pened to stroll forward to smoke a cigar, occupied so intently upon his conversations with the native beside him. "i hate book-worms," one of them had said when mr. fullarton had first spoken to him on the subject. "give me a lad with pluck and spirit, and i don't care a snap of the finger whether he can construe euripides or solve a problem in high mathematics. what we want for india are men who can ride and shoot, who are ready at any moment to start on a hundred-mile journey on horseback, who will scale a hill fort with a handful of men, or with half a dozen sowars tackle a dacoit and his band. what do the natives care for our learn- ing? it is our pluck and fighting powers that have made us their masters." "that is all very true, lyndhurst, and i thoroughly agree with you that of all ways of choosing officials for india examinations would be the very worst; but this lad is not a book-worm at all in your sense of the word. he knows that it will be of great advantage to him when he arrives in india to be able to speak the language, and he has accordingly set himself to do it with a dogged perseverance that would do credit to a man. look how he has utilized the voyage, while the cadets and ensigns and young civilians have thrown away six months of their lives in absolute idleness. besides, i am eastward ho! sure the boy does not lack either pluck or spirit. i am up a good deal earlier than you are in the morning, and i see him going about the rigging like a monkey. he is quite as much at home up there as are any of the midshipmen, some of whom have been four or five years at sea. i saw him sky-larking the other evening with two or three of them, and i can tell you he quite held his own. he is certainly a favourite with all the officers. i should be ready to wager that when the time comes he will turn out well, whatever circumstances he may fall upon. he is a merry fellow too, and has one of the most infectious laughs i ever heard; he is no more like your ideal book-worm than i am." the only time that percy came aft and mixed with the other passengers was when they practised rifle or pistol shooting, sometimes at empty bottles thrown into the sea, sometimes at bottles swinging from one or other of the yardarms. this amusement was practised three or four times a week, for it was a matter of importance to every man, military or civilian, to be a good shot. it was useful in the hunting of tigers and other big game. life might depend upon proficiency with a pistol if attacked by a fanatic or in a brush with dacoits, while for men likely to be engaged with the fierce tribesmen of the hills, or in conflict with sikh, beloochee, pathan, or afghan, a quick eye and a steady hand were essential. encouraged by mr. fullarton, percy got out his pistols on the first day when the practice began, and never missed an opportunity afterwards. "never mind the rifle," his friend said; "you are not likely to do tiger-hunting at present, and you will have plenty of time and opportunities for that later on. stick to your pistol practice; you are going among a wild set of people, where the knife is readily drawn in a quarrel, and where men do not hesitate to rid themselves of a foe or a rival by assassination. practise with your pistols steadily on every occasion here, and keep it up afterwards; it may be of more use to you than everything you have learnt at school from the :> through the sikh war day when you first went there. you know i approve of your sticking to your punjaubi, but you can well spare an hour three or four times a week; and although it may do you more good in your future career to be a good linguist than to be a good pistol-shot, the last may be the means of savjng your life, and unless you can do that, your study of languages will be so much time thrown away." and so by the end of the voyage percy became a very fair shot with the pistol, and indeed there were few of the passen- gers who could break a swinging bottle more frequently than he. he was surprised, when the anchor dropped, at the eagerness evinced by the majority of the passengers to get on shore. he himself looked on quietly, for the captain had said to him early that morning, "there is no use in your hurrying ashore, groves; you know no one there, and an hour earlier or later will make no difference to you. i shall be going off this afternoon and will take you with me, and after i have been to the shipping office i will go with you to the people you have letters for. i know them personally, and an introduction from me will probably interest them more in you than will the formal letter those lawyer fellows are likely to have written." the captain's introduction was of great benefit to percy. the agent took an interest in him, and put him up at his house for a fortnight. at the end of that time he arranged for him to take a passage up country in a native craft that two or three officers had chartered to convey them to delhi, beyond which town there would be no difficulty in hiring a boat to the point at which he would disembark, and thence travel up by road. he enjoyed his journey much, although it occupied a considerable time. he could have gone very much faster by road; but time was no particular object, and the agent thought that he would be cheated right and left in his bargains for vehicles, and might not improbably have some of his bag- gage stolen. percy greatly preferred the passage by river, and eastward ho! when finally he had to take to a close vehicle, he congratulated himself that he had accomplished the greater part of the journey free from the dust, heat, and inconveniences of land travel. he learned that he would have done much better had he taken his passage from england to the other side of india and ascended the indus, but he supposed that his uncle had directed him to come via calcutta because his own agent was there and could make the arrangements for him, and he per- haps considered that the passage thence by water would be much safer than one through the recently-conquered province of scinde. this was indeed, as he afterwards learnt, the reason why calcutta had been chosen instead of bombay. there had, about the time his uncle wrote, been a number of robberies, sometimes accompanied by murder, of persons travelling up the indus in boat, and it was for this reason the longer and safer route up the jumna had been chosen. he left the boat at sultanpoor, and had about a hundred miles of travel thence through umballah and sirhind to loodiana, a station in what was known as the protected district. here on the frontier of the punjaub were stationed some british troops with a resi- dent, whose special duty was to keep the government in- formed of what was going on upon the other side of the sutlej. the agent had advised him on his arrival at loodiana to go straight to the residency. "it is probable that your uncle will have written to the resident about your coming, and that instructions as to the best course for pursuing your journey may be awaiting you there. it is a long way from loodiana to his place, which lies quite in the north of the punjaub, and but a short distance from the afghan frontier. he will know about what time you will arrive, and may even have sent down one of his officers to accompany you on the way. he could not, of course, guess that you would know any of the languages, and it would be through the sikh war impossible for you, speaking nothing but english, to make your way alone through the punjaub. even as it is, i should advise you, should you on arriving at loodiana find no one there from your uncle, to send up word that you have arrived, and to wait quietly, even if it be a month, till you hear from him." fi through the sikh war here. they are encamped on the plain over there. you will know the tent by a blue flag flying before it. "i told your uncle that i had made your acquaintance on board the ship, and that i thought he would be very well pleased with you. i did not tell him anything about your having picked up so much punjaubi, but left it for you to give him a pleasant surprise. of course you will put up here for to-night." i shall be knocking off work in a quarter of an hour, and in the meantime you may as well go and have your bath, after which you will feel more comfortable. i will send a man across to your fellows to tell them you have arrived, and will be ready to start in the morning. by the way, i think it would be as well if you went over there at once; it would please them, and there is nothing like making a good impres- sion. my buggy will be at the door in ten minutes, and i will drive you out there. so you had better have a prelim- inary wash now, and can take your bath after we get back." touching the bell a servant entered. mr. fullarton gave him orders to take percy to a room, to have what boxes he required carried up there, and to pile the rest in the hall. by the time percy had got rid of son c of the dust of travel, and changed his travelling suit for another, the resident was ready, and they were soon driving over the sandy plain in a light trap drawn by a wiry looking native pony. in a few minutes they reached a small tent, before which waved a blue flag. as they approached a stir was seen. a native officer ran out of the tent, ranged his men in military order, and placing himself in front of them saluted as the resident drove up. "good afternoon, nand chund; i have brought the col- onel's nephew over to see you. he has just arrived, and will be ready to start with you to-morrow, but even before eating he wished to see the officer whom his uncle had chosen as his escort." the sikh raised his hand to his cap in salute to percy, and the shadow of war . said in his native tongue: "all happiness to the nephew of my good lord!" "thank you, nand chund," percy replied in the same tongue, "i am sure that you must be an officer in whom my uncle has great trust and confidence or he would not have chosen you for such a mission." the sikh looked greatly surprised at being thus answered in his own language. "i did not know," he said, "that the young sahib had ac- quired our tongue. my lord told me you would not under- stand me, and that i should have to explain to you by signs anything that it was necessary for you to know." "i speak your language but poorly at present, but i hope to do so well before i have been long with you," percy answered. "my uncle was well, i hope, when you left him?" "he was well, sahib; though much troubled by the machina- tions of powerful ones who are his enemies; but his heart was light at the news that you would soon be with him." after a little further conversation percy drove off with mr. fullarton, after having, at a hint from the latter, handed to the officer twenty rupees, to be laid out in providing a feast for the troopers. "they will all be as drunk as hogs to-night," mr. fullarton said; "the sikhs are one of the few races in india who drink to excess. they do so from the highest to the lowest. the old lion himself used to be drunk every night. however, as they will have a good meal before setting-to at the liquor, you will see that they will all be as fresh and bright in the morning as if they had touched nothing stronger than tea. they have wonderful constitutions, and after a few hours' sleep shake off the effects of a carouse that would make an englishman ill for three or four days." after an hour's drive they returned to the residency. as they entered the house percy was greeted by his former instructor, who had been out when he first arrived, and who now conducted him to his room. through the sikh war "it is far better here than on board the ship, sahib," he said. "there ram singh was of no account, even the com- mon sailors pushed and jostled him; here he is fullarton sahib's butler, and gives orders to all the servants." "no doubt you feel it in that way," percy laughed. "i feel it is better because here is a great cool room and quiet, and a bath ready for me without having to wait for an hour for my turn. it is certainly very much more comfortable, but there are drawbacks too. there was no dust on board ship, no occasion for an armed guard, no fear of disturbance or troubles." "that is so, sahib; but what would life be worth if some- times we did not have a change and adventure. as i have told you, i have had my share of it, and now i am well content to be the head servant of the kurra-sahib. but my lord is young, and it is well for him that he should learn to bear him- self as a man, and to face danger." "well, it may be so, ram singh, but just at present it seems to me that i should prefer a peaceful life for a few years." "the sooner a cockerel learns to use his spurs, the better fighting bird he will turn out," the man said sententiously. "yes, that is all very well," percy replied. "but if he gets badly mauled when he is a cockerel he is likely to shirk fighting afterwards." after taking his bath and dressing himself in a suit of white linen, percy went down to dinner. he was pleased to find himself alone with mr. fullarton, who in the course of the evening told him much more than he had hitherto known of the state of affairs in the punjaub. "things look very bad," he said. "but it is possible that they may go on for months and even years before the crisis comes. as to this, however, your uncle will be able to tell you more than i can. mine is, of course, the official view of matters, gleaned from the reports of men in our pay at i^ahore and other places in the punjaub. the reports of such men. the shadow of war however, are always open to grave suspicion. as they take bribes from us they may take bribes from others, or may be are in some way interested in deceiving us. your uncle will doubtless be much better informed. although he has taken no active part in the plots and conspiracies that have been continually going on ever since the death of runjeet singh, he must have been more or less behind the scenes throughout, and will certainly have tried and trusted agents at lahore. "at present you are only interested in these matters as far as they concern the safety of your uncle and yourself. still it is always useful in a country like this to have an insight into what is going on around you. should there be trouble, remem- ber that the sikhs value courage, quickness, and decision above all things. i am not supposing for a moment that you are likely to show the white-feather, still you may be involved in danger that would shake the nerves of hardened men. the thing to remember is always to assume an air of courage and coolness. to show weakness would forfeit the respect of your own people, and would in no way alter the fate that would befall you if you fell into the hands of your foes. you know the old saying—'assume a virtue if you have it not.' that you should be alarmed in such a position would be only natural, but you must if possible conceal the fact, and must nerve your- self to put on as great an air of coolness and indifference as you can muster. remember there are very few men who do not feel horribly uncomfortable when exposed to great dangers, and that bravery exists not so much in having no feeling of fear as of concealing all expression of it. "when you hear a man boasting that he has never felt fear, and that he enjoys being under fire, take my word for it he is a liar. in the heat of battle, and especially in the excitement of a cavalry charge, the sensation of fear is lost; but in the preliminary stage i never knew a man yet who, speaking hon- estly, would not confess that he felt horribly nervous. i will not keep you up any longer, you have had a long journey through the sikh war to-day and must be early in bed. you will be called before daybreak, for you may be sure your men will be here before the sun is up, and they will be gratified to find that you are prepared to be off. i need not repeat now what i told you on board the ship, that should you have to fly for your life you will meet with a warm welcome here." it was still dark when percy was aroused by ram singh. "it is time to get up, sahib. i have water boiling, and there will be a cup of tea ready for you as soon as you have had your bath. the bheesti is outside with the water-skin." "all right! " percy said, jumping out of bed. "send him in." taking a bath consisted of squatting down in the corner of the room, where the floor was made to slope to a hole which carried off the water poured from a skin over the head of the bather. as he dressed, percy drank a cup of tea and ate a couple of biscuits, while ram singh packed up his trunk again. he had just finished when he heard the trampling of horses. he at once went out. "you are in good time, nand chund." "it would not have done to have kept the sahib waiting," the sikh said, "though we scarce expected to find him ready for us so soon." he then ordered the baggage-horses to be brought up, and four strong ponies were led forward. percy's trunks, which had all been made of a size suited to such transport, were firmly lashed one on each side of each saddle. when this was done a handsome horse was brought forward for percy. he was about to turn to enter the house to say good-bye to mr. fullarton, who had the night before told him he should be up before he started, when the resident made his appear- ance. "i always rise before the sun," he said, "and take a drive or a ride, and am back before it gets too hot for pleasure. then i have a bath, change of clothes, and am ready for my the shadow of war work. early morning and evening are the only times that life is enjoyable here, and unless one takes exercise then one cannot expect to keep in health. good-bye, groves. tell your uncle to keep me informed of what is going on whenever he gets an opportunity. take care of yourself, and, whatever comes, keep your head clear and your wits sharpened. many a life is thrown away from want of prompt decision at a critical moment." percy shook hands with his kind friend, and then leapt into the saddle without putting his foot into the stirrup, a trick he had learned at the riding-school. a murmur of approval ran through the men, who muttered to themselves, "he under- stands a horse; a brisk young fellow, he will do no discredit to our lord." then he took his place by the side of nand chund, waved his hand to mr. fullarton, and started. his companion at once put his horse to a hand gallop. "surely you do not mean to travel far at this speed?" percy said. "the pack-animals will not be able to keep up with us." "they will follow, sahib. you see i have left four men in charge of them." "yes, and you have eight men here. where are the other four, for i counted sixteen yesterday?" "they started before dark, sahib, with the four other bag- gage animals. two of them we shall find when we halt for food, when the sun gets high. they will have pitched a tent in the shade of some tree, and will have the meal cooked in readiness for us. the other two will have gone forward to the point where we shall rest for the night. they have another tent, and will have the evening meal in readiness. so it will be each day. they will travel by night, we by day. at the end of three days we shall have reached a point where care will be a necessity, and will then travel in a body." "but from whom have we reason to fear danger?" percy asked. the shadow of war by night. the colonel would have come himself to meet you, but in the first place his visit to loodiana would be seized upon by his enemies as a proof that he was leagued with the british, and in the second his presence is required in the castle, where, so long as he is present, there is little fear of any sudden surprise or attack, but were he away some traitor might corrupt a guard or open a gate, and thus let in the troops of an enemy." "but there is no civil war, nand chund. how then could a chief venture to attack my uncle?" "there is no war," the sikh repeated, "but the sirdars never hesitate to collect their followers and attack a rival when they have a chance. even in the days of runjeet singh this was so; for although his hand was a heavy one, it was easy to bribe those about him to place the matter in a favourable light, and a handsome present would do the rest. but since the lion has passed away there has been no power in the land. the government has been feeble, and the great sirdars have done as it pleases them, so there is everywhere rapine and confusion. those who are strong take from those who are weak; the traders who prospered and grew rich in the old days now fly the land or bury their wealth, and assume the appear- ance of poverty; the markets are deserted, and towns flourish- ing under runjeet are now well-nigh deserted." "but why have they a special animosity against my uncle?" "first because he is a european, secondly because he is wealthy, thirdly because those who fly from the extortion or the tyranny of others find a refuge with him, lastly because the district under his charge is flourishing and prosperous while others are impoverished. merchants elsewhere clamour for the rights that he gives those under his protection, and for taxes as light as those imposed by him in his district." "but i thought that all europeans had been deprived of commands," percy said. "that is true, but in this country a man only surrenders a through the sikh war profitable post when he can no longer hold it. even runjeet singh's orders to governors to surrender their posts to others were often disobeyed, and he was obliged to march armies to enforce them. it is far more so now. three years ago my lord was nominally deprived of his command of the district as well as that of his troops by the orders of the court at lahore, but he was too wise to obey. had he opened the gates he would assuredly have been taken a prisoner to lahore, and there have been put to death; so he held on, and none have cared to undertake the work of turning him out. "still the man appointed as his successor is, we may be sure, only waiting his opportunity. he belongs to the family of one of the most powerful of the princes—one who could put ten thousand men in the field; but the colonel has nearly two thousand good soldiers, and such strong walls that with these he could repulse an open attack by three times that number. besides this all the district is in his favour. they dread nothing so much as that another should take his place, and the news that an army was advancing would at once swell his force by three thousand fighting men. moreover, he has allies among the hill tribes who have never, save under the pressure of force, acknowledged the authority of i^ahore. it is not until his rival's relations have made some compact with another sirdar equally powerful that they are likely to attack us openly. "treachery, however, is always to be feared, and still more the knife of the assassin. we believe that the soldiers can be trusted to a man; but who can tell? gold is very powerful, and among two thousand there must be some who would sell their dearest friend were the bribe sufficiently large." "but they say that the power of the nobles is broken, and that it is the army that is master," percy remarked. "that is so. the soldiers are the lords of the punjaub. runjeet singh's policy was to strengthen the army, which under its foreign officers was always faithful to him. after the shadow of war his death there was no strong hand, and the force which the old lion had trained to conquer his foes turned upon the country and became its master. they clamoured for the dis- missal of all foreign officers, for increase of pay, for the right to choose their own leaders, and all these things they obtained. there is no longer discipline or order. they oppress the people, they dictate terms to the court, they can make or unmake maharajahs. if at present they are quiet, it is be- cause they have everything they can ask for. thus then there is no one to control the sirdars, who can do as it pleases them, if only they keep on good terms with the leaders of the army. that would matter but little, but when they wish to attack each other they have but to buy the services of a regiment or two and the thing is done. there lies the danger of our lord. "those most hostile to him would not dare to attack with their own followers, but they will sooner or later obtain the assistance of some of the military chiefs; the more so that these are hostile themselves to our lord because he is a for- eigner, and at present the cry is, death to the foreigner. it is only because the colonel had so good a name in the army, —for all knew that although nowhere was discipline more strict, he was always just and kindly, that no man was punished without cause, that he had no favourites, that he oppressed none, and used all the influence he possessed with the old maharajah to obtain the pay for his men regularly,—that the military chiefs have so far failed to get the soldiers to consent to any movement against him. "besides, the troops are aware that he is a brave leader, and know that his men will die in his defence. therefore, it would need a higher bribe than usual to induce them to risk their lives in a struggle from which they would gain nothing. it is far easier to revolt for extra pay than to obtain the money by an attack on the colonel's fortress. thus, for aught we know, it may be years before serious trouble comes. it will depend upon what events occur. at present the soldiers are t through the sikh war well content to do nothing but eat and drink at the expense of the people. in time they will become restless, and then, who knows, they may attack and plunder the strong places, or they may make war upon the english. they believe that they are invincible. they have an immense number of guns, and they think that because the sikhs have conquered cashmere and wrested territory from the afghans, and hold all the country north of the sutlej, nothing can withstand them. i know nothing, i am but an ignorant man as to all things outside our country; but i know that the english conquered scinde although its sirdars and soldiers were many and brave, that they made themselves masters of afghanistan, and even after their great misfortune there came back and again took cabul and punished the afghans; and i say to myself, why should the sikhs want to fight this people, who do not interfere with them, and who have always respected the treaties they have made with us? "the old lion, who feared no one and who spread his rule far and wide, always kept friends with the english, although most of his chiefs would have taken advantage of their trouble in afghanistan to go to war with them. he knew the power of the foreigners, and was always ready to engage white officers to teach his soldiers. he had a wiser head than any of the soldiers who are now ready to raise the cry of war with the english; and i know our lord's opinion is, that should we engage in a struggle with his people we shall assuredly be beaten. but what avail are these things with men puffed up with pride, and with the belief that they are invincible. it is certain that some day or other the army will clamour for war with the english, and who is there to say them nay? not the boy, maharajah dhuleep singh, nor the ranee, his mother and guardian. then we shall see how things will go." "there is no doubt how things will go," percy said. "the english will conquer the country, as they have all the other parts of india that have tried their strength with them." the shadow of war "they have never fought a country like ours," the officer said a little proudly. "the army is a hundred and fifty thousand strong, and the chiefs must all join, so there will be two hundred thousand at least, and all good fighting men. they are well armed and have vast stores of guns and ammuni- tion; they have been taught to fight in european fashion. we are told that if all the british troops in india came against them they would number scarce fifty thousand." "that may be," percy agreed, "but they would win—they always have won, and often against odds quite as great. be- sides, when your two hundred thousand men are in the field you would have your whole fighting power, while if it were necessary england could send out army after army as strong as that now in india. how far is it to our first halting-place? the sun is beginning to get very hot." "it is three hours' ride from loodiana. going at an easy pace we shall be there in another hour." percy was heartily glad when his companion pointed out a yellow speck under a clump of trees and told him it was the tent. "i brought with us only small tents, such as the soldiers use on their expeditions," he said, "so as to excite the less attention; they are mere shelters from the sun and night air." "that is all we want, nand chund." "they weigh only a few pounds, sahib, and can be carried by a horseman in addition to his ordinary baggage. we have three or four of them with us, so that we can at any time pitch one should we arrive at a halting-place before the bag- gage animals." a quarter of an hour later percy was lying under the shade of the tent, the sides of which were tied up to permit the air to pass freely through. in a short time tiffin was served, con- sisting of an excellent pillau of fowl, a dish of meat prepared with savoury condiments, followed by an assortment of deli- cious fruit. the drink consisted of water cooled in a porous jar, flavoured with the juice of a slightly acid fruit. is through the sikh war "i would have brought wine," the officer said apologetically, "but my lord your uncle said that you would not be accus- tomed to it, and that, riding in the sun, it was better you should take only cooling liquors. he has sent, however, a tin filled with an herb that with hot water makes a drink of which he is very fond; it is sent up to him in a chest from calcutta. he said you would know what to do with it. he calls it tea." "i am glad of that," percy said. "there is no difficulty in preparing it. it needs but boiling water poured over it. i will have some this evening. i am very fond of it too, but i am accustomed to drink it with sugar and milk." "we have sugar," the man said, "but milk will be difficult to obtain. our master never uses it with his tea." "i shall get accustomed to it," percy said, "though i am sure i sha'n't like it so well at first. at what time do we move on again?" "in about six hours, if it so pleases you. it is ten o'clock now, by four the sun will have lost some of its power." "how many hours' ride shall we have?" "three hours at a canter. we are doing but a short jour- ney to-day, as it is the first. after this we shall never be less than eight hours in the saddle; that is, if it is not too much for you." "oh, it is not too much," percy replied, "but i shall feel rather stiff for the first day or two, after not having ridden for so many months; but i certainly should be glad to travel as much as possible in the evening." "we can do that, sahib, for we shall have a moon for the next week." "how may days will it take us altogether?" "we are now but half a mile from aliwal, where we shall cross the sutlej, and shall encamp to-night near sultanpoor. as i told you, we are to-day travelling as if going to lahore. to-morrow we shall strike north and shall camp near adinana- the shadow of war gar. the next morning we shall cross the ravee, and shall then turn to the north-west, pass by kailapore and sealkote, cross the chenab and jhelum rivers, then ride north some forty miles, where we shall strike the hills and reach our lord's district, which extends some thirty miles either way among the hills. this is the route by which i hope to travel, but if i hear of danger by the way we shall of course strike off to the right or left as may be most convenient. the journeys are from thirty to forty miles a day. our horses could, of course, go much farther, but we must regulate our speed by that of the baggage animals. we shall be fully a week upon the road. coming down we did it in five days in order to be in time for your arrival." "those eight trunks are not all filled with my things," percy said with a laugh. "you must not think i travel about with all that luggage. four of them are mine, the other four are filled with things my uncle wrote to his agents at home to get for him and send out with me. i have no idea what is in them." "the baggage is nothing if we were travelling in peaceful times," the sikh said, "but at present the lighter one goes the less likelihood of being meddled with. as it is, you will not know your boxes when we come up with the baggage animals this evening. it would never have done to be travelling through the punjaub at present with boxes of english make; they would be looted by the first party of soldiers who came across them. i had them measured the evening you came to my tent, and carpenters were at work all night to make boxes that would contain them. then the boxes would be sewn up in matting before the animals started this morning, and marked with native marks to the address of a merchant in jummoo. the road for the first four days is the same as if we were going there. thus if the matting is cut, the native box will be seen inside. "the four men with them are dismounted, and their horses through the sikh war led by those who came on here ahead of us. jummoo was the safest place that we could choose to address the packages to, for ghoolab singh is one of the most powerful of our chiefs; the most powerful perhaps. he is brother of dhyan singh, who was runjeet singh's chief counsellor, and uncle of heera singh, who succeeded his father after his murder by ajeet singh. he it is who is your uncle's principal enemy, as it is his son who obtained the appointment of governor of the district. baggage directed to a merchant in jummoo is there- fore less likely to be interfered with than if intended for another town, as complaints laid before ghoolab by an influ- ential merchant might cause inquiries to be made and punish- ment to be dealt out to those who have interfered with his goods in transit. ghoolab's name is still powerful, even with the soldiers, and his influence among the leaders is quite sufficient to obtain some sort of redress for injuries committed upon those wealthy enough to pay for his protection." "it seems a curious state of things to anyone coming straight from england," percy said, "where the law protects everyone, and where the richest and most powerful dare not wrong the poorest peasant." "that is good," the sikh said thoughtfully, twirling his moustache, "but in that case how can the rich obtain any advantage from their money? how, indeed, can they become rich?" "by the rents they obtain from those who cultivate their estates; from mines and from money invested in public funds or companies." "and what do they find for their retainers to do?" "they have no retainers; that is, no armed retainers. of course, they have servants who do the service of their houses and look after the stables and gardens and so on, but they do not carry arms themselves, nor do any of their servants." "but if they are wronged by a neighbour, what do they do then?" the shadow of war "they simply go to the courts of law for redress, just as anyone else would do. the cases are heard and the decisions given by the judges, and the richest man has to obey them just the same as the poorest." "it sounds very good," the sikh said thoughtfully, "but it seems to me that your country must be a very bad one for f ghting men and those who live by adventure." "those who want to fight can enter the army and fight the battles of their country abroad, while those fond of adventure can go to sea or can visit wild countries, or can go out to the colonies, where it is a hard, rough life, but where an active man can acquire wealth." "now the sahib had better lie down and get a sleep till it is time to be moving," nand chund said rising. "my men are all asleep already, it is getting too hot even to talk." at the castle objection we will share your bivouac. far better to lose a few hours than to run the risk of having our throats cut." "as you will," nand chund said. "you are very welcome to stay with us, if it so pleases you." as they rode the strangers chatted with nand chund, percy reining back his horse and riding among the men. after travelling about five miles nand chund ordered a halt, the baggage animals were unloaded, a tent pitched, and two of his men began to prepare a meal, while the others looked to the horses. the two strangers also dismounted and spoke for a time together, then one said to the sikh officer: "you will think that we do not know our own minds, but we have concluded that as the moon is bright and our horses fairly fresh we will push on to sealkote." "it is for you to decide," nand chund said. "you are welcome to stay with us, and free to ride on if you prefer it." after a few inquiries about the way the two men mounted and rode on. as soon as the sound of the horses' hoofs became faint chund spoke to one of his men, who immediately left the party and glided away to the right. "i have sent him to watch them," nand chund said to percy; "i warrant they will halt before they are gone half a mile. my man will keep in the fields till he gets near them, and will bring us word if they move on." "what do you suspect them to be?" "i have no doubt they are enemies. they may have been on our track since we started, or only for the last day's march, but they are watching us no doubt." "what makes you think so, nand chund?" "many things. it was unlikely that they would be upon this by-path instead of on the main road. that they should offer to stop with us when they were so well mounted, was singular, also their change of intentions when they found that we were going to halt. their conversation too was not that of honest men." at the castle three hours passed, and then kuzam glided into the camp. "what is your news, ruzam?" "theyhave just left," the man said; "i have been close to them all the time listening to their talk. they have been watching you from a spot half a mile away. they would have come up to hear what you were saying, but neither would stay behind alone, saying what was true enough, that we also might be watching them, and if they separated they might be taken singly. for the same reason neither would stay while the other rode forward. i could have shot one, but i could not have been sure of killing the second before he rode off, and so thought it better to be quiet. at last they concluded that you had really encamped for the night, and that they could safely ride off with the news. it was unfortunate that the moonlight was so bright, for it prevented my crawling up close enough to attack them before they could mount." "did you hear what roads are likely to be beset?" "no, they did not enter into particulars; but they said that they would be sure to have you, as there would be parties on every road. it is the young sahib they are anxious to capture; and the orders were strict that he was to be taken un- harmed, and that all the rest of us were to be killed or taken prisoners." "we will delay no longer," nand chund said. "we will leave the tent standing and put some fresh wood on the fire. they can be at sealkote in an hour, and perhaps will return with a party without delay. load up the horses and let us be off. did you hear them say where they have come from, ruzam?" "yes, sahib, there were six of them at loodiana. they must have got news from someone in the fortress of the object of our journey, they arrived there on the day after you did. the morning we started one man was sent off with the news while the others followed us, not together but singly, so that every road we could take should be followed and our steps through the sikh war traced. each night one man has been despatched with the news of our halting-places." "you see, sahib," nand chund said to percy, "i was not wrong in saying that our ride would be a dangerous one, and truly so far our enemies have been more than a match for us; now we must see if we cannot double upon them." as soon as the baggage was packed the party mounted, and to percy's surprise the officer led the way back along the road by which they had come. "it is of no use our going forward," he said. "doubtless they will take some little time in getting the members of the band, who are at sealkote, together and making a start—we can calculate on at least an hour for that—but that only gives us three hours' start. they will, i hope, make sure that we have continued our journey, and will ride on fast so as to overtake us before daylight. we will go back for a mile and then turn off across the fields by some country track, and we may hope before we have travelled very far to hit upon another leading in the direction we want to go. we shall have the moon for another five or six hours, and after that we will travel by torchlight. we have brought some torches with us. one will be enough to show us any ditches or nullahs when we are proceeding across country, when we are on a road we can do without it." two of the men dismounted, and giving their horses to their comrades went on ahead searching for some track across the fields. after half an hour's riding one was found, it was a mere pathway used by peasants, and turning off on it the party followed it in single file. "would it not be better to leave the baggage behind us," percy asked the officer. "then we could go on at a gallop. it would be a nuisance to lose all the things, but that would be of no odds in comparison to our lives." "no, sahib, the colonel's boxes may be of importance. and at any rate, it has not come to that yet. if we are at the castle attacked and have to ride for it, of course we must leave them, for whatever may be in the boxes the colonel sets your life at a much higher value. but i hope now we shall outwit them. the road we were travelling will be known to them, and it is along that they will be gathering, therefore we may well give them the slip. we will cross the chenab at daylight at gazerabad, and cross the jhelum by boats a few miles below jetalpore. they would be on the watch for us there. then i think we shall be safe till we get near the colonel's fortress. that of course will be the most dangerous portion of the jour- ney, since they will know by whatever road we travel it is for that point we are making. we will halt in a grove, and i shall send two of the men off on horseback by different roads. we may calculate that one of them at least will reach the fortress, and the colonel will then send out a force sufficient to beat off any attack likely to be made, for, as our strength is known, some thirty or forty men will have been considered ample for the work." "that seems a very good plan," percy agreed. "i wonder that they should dare to venture into my uncle's district, where, as you say, the people are all favourable to him." "there are many valleys and nullahs in which they could conceal themselves; besides, much of the country is unculti- vated, and they could lie hid for a fortnight without much fear of being discovered if they took provisions with them and encamped near water." all night the journey continued. percy was so sleepy that he several times dozed off in his seat, and woke with a start, finding himself reeling in the saddle. at times, however, he was obliged to pay attention to their course, for it was often a mere track, that even the men walking ahead had difficulty in following. there were deep nullahs to be crossed, and once or twice wide water-courses, dry now, but covered with stones and boulders. these were, as nand chund told him, foaming torrents in the wet season, and at such times quite through the sikh war impassable. occasionally the track turned off in a direction quite different to that they were following; and they then directed their course by the stars, a man going ahead with a torch until they came again upon cultivated ground and struck upon a path leading in the right direction. the two rivers were crossed safely, and they then rode north for two days. percy felt thankful indeed when, after pushing on all that last night, nand chund, upon arriving at a clump of bushes, decided to halt just as daylight was beginning to break in the east. the two best-mounted men received their instructions, and at once rode on at a brisk pace, while the rest entered the bushes and dismounted, the men with their long knives clearing a space sufficiently large for the party. a fire was lit and food cooked, then four men were placed on watch at the edge of the thicket, and the rest threw themselves down to sleep. it seemed to percy that he had hardly closed his eyes, but he knew he must have slept for some hours, from the heat of the sun blazing down upon him, when nand chund put his hand on his shoulder and said: "all is well, sahib. a party of horse are approaching, and i doubt not that the colonel is with them." percy leapt to his feet and made his way to the edge of the thicket. "they are our men," nand chund said; "they are riding in regular lines." a minute or two later he added, "there is the colonel himself at their head—the officer with the white horse-hair crest to his helmet." unless so informed percy would have had no idea that the tall bearded man in silk attire was an "englishman, until he leapt from his horse beside him, exclaiming heartily, "well, percy, my boy, i am glad indeed to see you safe and sound. i have been in a fidget about you for the last week; for i have had news that bands of strange horsemen had been seen on the roads, and there were reports that some of them had at the castle entered my district, though where they had gone none knew. however, all is well that ends well. i was delighted when two fellows rode into the fortress this morning, within a few minutes of each other, with the news that you had got thus far, and were hiding here till i came out to fetch you. you may imagine we were not long in getting into the saddle. well, this has been a rough beginning, lad; but your troubles are at an end now. you may be sure that there is no foe near at hand who will venture to try conclusions with four hundred of the best troops in the punjaub. i hardly fancied that you would have come, percy. i don't know when i have been so pleased as when i received the letter from mr. fullar- ton at loodiana, saying that you had come out with him, and would probably be there in a few days." "i was very glad to come, uncle,—very. it did not take me five minutes to decide about coming after i had read your letter." "you are something like what i expected you to be, percy, although not altogether. i fancied that you would be more like what your father was at your age. it seems but yesterday that we were boys together, though it is so many years ago. but i don't see the likeness—i think you are more like what i was. your father, dear good fellow as he was, always looked as if he had a stiff collar on. even from a boy he was all for method and order; and no doubt he was right enough, though i hated both. well, you may as well mount, and you can tell me about your voyage as we ride back. you have done your work well, nand chund. i knew that i could safely trust the boy in your charge. have you been troubled by the way?" "only once have we absolutely seen them, sahib;" and the officer gave the colonel a short account of the incident of the pretended travellers. "so they were at loodiana the day after you arrived? then someone must have sent off word of the object of your go through the sikh war mission as soon as you started. we must find out these traitors, nand chund, and make an end of them. however, we will talk that over afterwards." by this time the horses had been led out from the thicket. the colonel watched percy critically as he mounted, and nodded approvingly as he sprang into the saddle. "that is right, lad; i see that you are at home on a horse. we shall make a sikh of you before long. how have you got on with him, nand chund? you must have been quite in a fog, percy, as to what was going on. your tongue must have had quite a holiday since you left loodiana." "the young sahib speaks punjaubi very fairly, colonel, and we had no difficulty in understanding each other." "speaks punjaubi!" the colonel repeated. "you must be dreaming, nand chund. how can the boy have learned the language. i suppose you mean hindustani—though how he could have picked that up in an english school is more than i can understand. there was no such thing heard of when i was a boy." "it is punjaubi he speaks, colonel, though he told me he could also make himself understood in hindustani," the officer said in the native language. "nand chund tells me that you can speak punjaubi, percy, but in truth i can hardly believe him." "i don't speak it very well yet, uncle, but i can get on with it. i worked five or six hours a day on the voyage out with a punjaubi servant of mr. fullarton. i thought it would be of great use for me to know something of the language when i arrived. as to the hindustani, i have had a master at school twice a week for more than a year before i sailed." "i am delighted, percy. you must have worked hard indeed to speak as fluently as you do, and it does you tremendous credit. i own i should never have thought of spending my time on board ship learning a language. you do take after your father more than me, after all; it is just the sort of thing at the castle he would have done. well, i am pleased, boy,—very pleased. mr. fullarton spoke in very favourable terms about you when he wrote. i wondered then how he should know anything about a boy of your age who chanced to be a fellow-pas- senger, but thought it was merely a bit of civility on his part, and meant nothing. i suppose he heard from his servant that you were working up the language with him, and so came to take an interest in you. perhaps you sat near him at table?" "no, uncle; i took my meals with the second and third officers and the midshipmen. the captain offered to put me there; it was so much nicer than going among a lot of grown-up people, and of course it gave me a great deal more time for work. but towards the end of the voyage i came to know most of the passengers. mr. fullarton was the first to be kind to me. he used very often to come forward to where i was working with ram singh—that was the name of his ser- vant,—and he would explain things about the grammar that i could not understand and ram singh could not tell me, for of course he didn't know anything about grammar." "well, you can ride, you can talk punjaubi fairly, and you know something of hindustani. that is a capital beginning, percy. have you any other accomplishments?" "nothing that i know of," percy laughed, "except that on the way out i practised pistol-shooting; and before we got to calcutta there were not many on board who shot much better. mr. fullarton made me practise from the first, and told me that to shoot straight was one of the most valuable accomplish- ments i could have in india." "he was perfectly right," the colonel said heartily. "a quick eye and hand with the pistol are invaluable, especially in a country like this, where assassination is the most ordinary way of getting rid of an enemy. my pistol has saved my life several times, and the fact that i am a dead shot has no doubt saved me from many other such attempts. even the most through thf. sikh war desperate men hesitate at undertaking a job which involves certain death; for even if they planted a dagger between my shoulders before i had time to lay hands on the butt of a pistol, they would be killed to a certainty by my men. you must keep that up, lad, till you can hit an egg swinging at the end of a string nine times out of ten at twelve paces. it is very seldom that you want to use a pistol at a longer range than that. now, am i at all like what you expected me to be?" "i don't think i had formed any distinct idea about you, uncle. father said you were taller than he was and bigger, and of course i expected you to be very sunburnt and brown, and that perhaps you would have a beard, as most of the sikhs have beards; i thought too, that perhaps you would dress to some extent like a native; but i did not expect to see you altogether like a sikh." "we all adopted the native costume to a great extent," the colonel said. "of course there was always a prejudice against us, and anything like a european dress would have constantly kept it before the minds of our men that we were foreigners. the dress, too, was lighter and more easy than our own in a climate like this, and i don't think anyone could deny for a moment that it is a good deal more picturesque." the colonel was indeed in the complete garb of a sikh warrior of rank. on his head he wore a close-fitting steel cap, beautifully inlaid with gold. a slender shaft rose three inches above the top, and in this was inserted a plume of white horse-hair, that fell down over the helmet. from the lower edge of the steel cap fell a curtain of light steel links, cover- ing the forehead down to the eyebrows, and then falling so as to shield the cheeks and the neck behind. in front was a steel bar, inlaid like the helmet. this was now pushed up, but when required it could be lowered down over the nose almost to the chin, so as to afford protection against a sword- stroke from the side. a robe of thickly quilted silk fell from through the sikh war joining, their feeling of independence would revolt against any dictation on such a subject. it has all along been very difficult to get them to submit to anything like european discipline, but to attempt to introduce uniformity of garb would produce a revolution among them. there is no such thing as uniformity even in the attire of the most highly- favoured troops of the native princes, and the appearance of their escort and retinue is varied in the extreme. "richly-dressed nobles ride side by side with men whose armour and trappings have come down to them from many generations. some carry lances, some matchlocks, some only swords; some are pretty nearly naked to the waist, others are swathed up to the eyes in gaudy-coloured robes. so that a man's arms are serviceable, and he is willing to learn his drill, is obedient to discipline and of good behaviour, i care noth- ing for his clothes; though as far as i can i discourage any from dressing more showily than the rest, and of course insist that all are fairly dressed in accordance with their notions. you must remember that until the days of marlborough there were nothing like uniforms in european armies, especially among the cavalry. and even in his time there was very considerable latitude in the matter of dress." "i suppose i shall have to dress in sikh fashion, uncle?" "it will be certainly better, lad. indoors their dress is easy and flowing, and you will find it comfortable. your european dress will at once mark you out, and should there be troubles your chances of escape would be vastly greater in sikh costume, than in anything which would at once point you out as a european. in the course of a year you will speak the language like a native, for, as you may suppose, you will hear nothing else, except when we are alone together. and indeed to me punjaubi now comes much more naturally than english. if it were not that i have always made a point of getting a box of european books sent up from calcutta whenever an opportunity offers, i should almost have forgotten at the castle my native tongue. there, that is the fortress. it looks fairly strong, does it not?" they had just ascended a brow, and as they did so the stronghold came suddenly into view. it stood on a rocky spur, running out from the hills behind it. this broke sud- denly away at the foot of the walls, and seemed to percy to be almost perpendicular on three sides. "it looks tremendously strong, uncle. surely nobody could scale those rocks?" "no; except by treachery it is impregnable on the sides you see, or at any rate on two of them. on the side facing us it is very steep, indeed almost inaccessible. there is a footpath cut for the most part in the rock. it zigzags up the face, and there is a small gateway, though you can't see it from here, by which the fortress is entered from this side. there are three places that can only be climbed by ladders, and when these are removed nothing, unless provided with wings, could get up. the weakest side is, of course, that which we don't see, where the spur runs up to the hills behind. i have taken every pains to strengthen it there, and have blasted a cut thirty feet deep and as many wide, at the foot of the wall across the shoulder. i have, in- deed, very largely added to the strength of the whole place since i was first appointed governor ten years ago. at that time i only resided here occasionally, sometime^jnoving about in the towns and villages, at others absent, often for months, with my three regiments, on some military expedition. but i foresaw that there would be troubles at runjeet singh's death, and quietly and steadily prepared for them. "i knew the weak points of the place. for when i was first appointed, my predecessor, as is often the case, declined to hand over the fortress to me, and i had to capture it. it was no easy matter then, but i managed one night with a hundred picked men to scale the rock unnoticed, when a storm was raging. then we threw up a rope with a grapnel to the top <;<; through the sikh war of the wall, drew up a rope-ladder, and so got a footing; we crept along the walls with scarcely any opposition, for the sentries were cowering under shelter of the parapet, and we reached the gate before the garrison had taken the alarm. the rest was easy; we threw open the gates, fired a couple of guns as a signal, and the main body of my troops, who had moved unperceived to a point a quarter of a mile away, hur- ried up, and we were speedily masters of the place. i at once resolved that i would do my best to avoid being turned out in so summary a manner. so far i have succeeded. there have been two or three attempts to take the place, but none of them were serious, for i take care that my sentries don't sleep at their posts, and it would need a regular siege by a large force to take it; i mean, of course, by sikhs. the british have proved over and over again that rock fortresses considered impregnable can be taken without serious difficulty by deter- mined men." "how large is it, uncle?" "it is about a quarter of a mile from end to end, and at the widest point it is about two hundred and fifty yards from wall to wall. so there is plenty of room not only for my troops but for a large number of fugitives from the country round. i have grain stored away sufficient for a year, even if the strength of the garrison was doubled. water was of course the principal difficulty. there were some large tanks when i took possession, but i have greatly added to them. of course all the water that falls on the roofs in the rainy season is carefully collected and stored; and in addition, i have constructed troughs to a streamlet six miles away in the hills. this brings me down sufficient water for our daily needs without touching the supply in the tanks, which is stringently preserved in case of a siege, for, of course, an enemy would as a first step intercept my supply from the hills. "the supply in the tanks is certainly ample for many at the casti.e i'. months, and would of course be replenished in the wet season, so i have no anxiety on that head. i always keep a consid- erable amount of salt in the magazines, and on the approach of an enemy, cattle would be driven in, slaughtered, and salted; but in fact meat is a matter of minor necessity here, for although the sikhs have no objection to eat it, they can do very well without it, and are perfectly content if they can get plenty of the native grain and a proportion of rice." the road wound up the valley under the foot of the rock on which the fortress stood, and then climbed the hill by zigzags cut at an easy gradient until it reached the level of the shoul- der, which it followed down to the castle, a quarter of a mile away. the wall on this side was much higher than that on the other faces. the gate was flanked by two massive stone towers, and two others rose at the angles. a drawbridge was lowered as they approached, and over this they crossed the deep fosse that had been cut by the colonel. ten cannon were placed on the wall and four on each of the towers. "it would be a hard nut to crack, percy," his uncle said, as they rode into the gateway. "it would indeed, uncle. no wonder you have been left here unmolested." passing through the gateway they were faced by another wall, which extended in a semicircle in front of them. four cannon frowned down on the gateway from embrasures, and the para- pet, which was very high, was closely loop-holed for musketry. turning to the right, they rode between the end of this wall and the main one, and then turning sharply to the left rode into the town. percy had expected to find only a barrack, but there was a main street with shops on either side, where commodities of all kinds were sold. p.ehind these were the buildings where the troops were lodged, and in the centre of the town stood a large and handsome stone building, the resi- dence of the governor. everything was scrupulously clean through the sikh war and tidy. women were drawing water from conduits, chil- dren played about unconcernedly, and everything looked so quiet and peaceful that percy wondered vaguely whether the inhabitants shared to any extent in the doubts that his uncle had expressed to him of his ability to hold the place against such a force as might possibly be brought against it. percy am) ims incle enter the . nana. chafi'er iv a raid from the hii.c as the party rode through the street the people looked up in surprise at the young european riding by the side of the governor. it was evident that though the secret of his coming had reached the ear of an enemy, it had been well preserved in the town. on his alighting at the entrance to the governor's house the colonel said, "now i will introduce you to my wife. she is most anxious to see you, and is quite delighted at the thought of your coming." passing through the great hall, where the colonel received visitors, listened to complaints, and administered justice, they passed through a richly-carved doorway into an inner room. here was a table and writing-desk, with a large eng- lish arm-chair. "i never could fall into the eastern custom of sitting tailor- ways and writing on a pad on my knees, but have kept, as you see, to a table and comfortable chair. this we may call my private business sanctum." drawing aside a heavy curtain in one corner of the room he entered an ante-chamber, whose walls were covered with elaborate carvings. a cushioned divan ran round it, and there was a thick carpet over the greater part of the marble floor. another curtain was drawn aside, and they then entered the principal room of the zenana. a lady some forty through the stkh war years old was seated on a divan, and rose at once as they came in. "welcome back, my lord," she said to the colonel. "i knew that with the force you took with you there was no reason for anxiety, but in spite of that i was anxious. i always am when you go beyond the walls. one can never say what will happen." "you are a great deal more nervous for me than you are for yourself," the colonel said. "this is my nephew, who has come so many thousand miles to be with us. you can speak to him in your own tongue, for i find, to my astonishment, that he has studied it on board ship during the voyage to such good purpose that he can get along very fairly." "i am glad of that," she said, holding her hand out to . percy. "i have been wondering how i should talk with you when my lord is not here to interpret, and how i should be able to manage things when you understood nothing that was said. i am very glad you have come. i have no children, and hitherto my lord has not cared to follow our custom and to adopt one. not that i have been lonely for eight years, for since the death of runjeet singh my lord has always dwelt with me, and i have never been alone, except when he made short tours through his district. now you will be as a son; and even when he is away i shall feel that there is someone whom i can trust entirely to look after the defence of the fortress during his absence." "i am sure there are numbers of my officers whom you can trust entirely, mahtab." "there are many whom we think we can trust, roland; but who can say with certainty? have we not seen at lahore how one after another proved faithless to their benefactors? who can say of another man that he cannot be bought? percy is young yet—he is but fifteen, you tell me—but in another three years he will be grown up, and will become your right hand, providing he is not tired of our life here." a raid from the hili,s "oh, there is no fear of that!" percy broke in. "there will be heaps for me to do. in the first place, i have to learn to speak the language perfectly, then i have to acquire the manners and customs of the people and how to drill troops. i hope, uncle, you will begin soon to teach me to ride as well as the sikhs do." "that part is not difficult, percy. the sikhs may be called a nation of horsemen, but it would be more true to say that they are a nation of men who ride horses. i admit that they have firm seats, and can sit their horses up and down hill in the roughest country, but as for taking a leap either wide or high they would not be in it with english cavalry- men. what with their peaked-up saddles and their short stirrups and sharp bits they check a horse's speed and spoil his temper, while they themselves have no freedom of action, and could no more stand up in their saddles to deliver a downright blow than they could fly. i had a fair seat on horseback when a boy, and used to ride to hounds, and dur- ing the short time i was in the army rode more than one steeple-chase, but i was certainly nothing particular as a horseman. here i am considered extraordinary. i hope in a short time to make you as good a rider as i am. nor will you be long in learning your drill, for that is simple enough, being little more than forming from column into line and from line into column. "a regiment that can do that is considered as fairly com- petent. i have got my men to charge in fair order, instead of each man going off at a bat as fast as his horse can lay foot to the ground, and with that i am satisfied. it is useless to teach them skirmishing and outpost work, for these seem to come naturally to them. therefore all the drill that there is to be learnt may be acquired by a sharp fellow in the course of a week. indeed, recruits generally take their places in the ranks at once, and soon get hustled into knowing what they have got to do. through the sikh war "as to the language, i grant that it will take some hard work before you learn to speak like a native, still as you will hear no other tongue you will pick it up naturally and with- out much regular work except to acquire the niceties of the language. nand chund speaks it very correctly, and i will give you into his special charge, and if you talk to him and he corrects you for a couple of hours a day it will be quite enough in the way of work. you may also, if you like, go on with your hindustani. i have a factotum, a sort of secre- tary and steward rolled into one, who speaks it fluently; and it would be as well that you should understand it, for although it would be no use to you here, it may be valuable if in the future your lot is cast in other parts of india. you will every day.do a little sword exercise. nand chund is a good swords- man. when you have learnt all he can teach you i will put you on with some others so that you may learn a trick from one and a trick from another. your pistol shooting you will of course keep up." "and when you have nothing better to do," mahtab said, "i shall always be glad to have you here. two or three of my maids are wonderful story-tellers, and know among them, i think, all the stories of the history of the punjaub. i don't say that these are all strictly true, but certainly they are all founded on fact, and as they are all about war, and love, and stratagems, and wonderful exploits, imprisonments, and es- capes, they will amuse you, and at the same time be good practice." "i shall like that very much, aunt. do you speak any english yourself?" "a little," mahtab said. "i can hardly talk it at all, but my lord taught me so that if he wished to write to me, or i to him, we could send letters to each other, and should these fall into others' hands they would not be understood." "we have found it useful several times," the colonel said. "she has sent me warnings that have enabled me to avoid a raid from the hills : falling into traps; and once, that was before i was governor here, i was able, when engaged on an expedition three hun- dred miles away, to warn her of a plot to seize her in her house. the messenger i sent was captured, but as there was nothing upon him save a scrap of paper with a few words they did not understand, they tossed it with contempt on the ground. my man was a sharp fellow, and happened to be bare-footed, and presently he managed to shift his position so as to stand on the piece of paper and grasp it with his toes. he was led off a prisoner, but made his escape in the night and brought my chit to my wife, who, being warned, assem- bled some friends of mine, and when the fellows came to carry out their design beat them off handsomely." "i can see that it must be very useful in that way, uncle, and that it would be just the same as a secret code. does aunt remain shut up here, or does she go about as ladies do in england?" "not quite so freely as that, percy, but she certainly does not remain shut up. the sikh women have much more lib- erty than those in other parts of india, and naturally i have persuaded her to adopt our customs in that respect to a con- siderable extent. it is true that when she goes out she is always veiled; but that is a concession to the general feeling. in fact her veil is no thicker than that worn by english ladies, certainly no thicker than a widow's, and even that she throws aside when travelling with me outside a town." "i am at home in this district," the lady said. "my father was a rajah, and was lord of this territory until runjeet singh's troops overcame him. he was killed in the defence of his fortress; not this, but another thirty miles away. your uncle was in command of one of the regiments, and my mother and i were sent to lahore under his escort. he saw and took a fancy to me. he was so kind and considerate on the journey, that in spite of his being an enemy i fell in love with him. when we arrived in lahore runjeet singh asked throuo.h the sikh war him what present he should make him for his good services, and when he said he should choose my hand, runjeet gave it willingly, and with it a jaghir—that is," she added, seeing that percy looked puzzled, "a grant of land—of a considera- ble portion of my father's territory. it was partly on that account that some years afterwards he was chosen as governor of the district, and i doubt whether, valiant as he is, he would ever have taken this fortress, had it not been that two of my father's old retainers, who had lived here for many years, acted as guides, and showed him a way up the rock they had been in the habit of using as boys." "and now, wife," the colonel broke in, "we are both of t s forgetting that the boy has had nothing to eat this morn- ing, and i only swallowed a mouthful before starting." "it is all ready, roland, though i had forgotten all about it." she clapped her hands, and on an attendant entering gave orders that a meal should be served. four young women brought in a table, which they placed before her divan. two english chairs were set beside it, and in a minute or two a variety of dishes were placed on the table. "i suppose you would rather have a cut off a joint, percy, than all these messes," the colonel said as they did justice to the meal. "i don't know, uncle. they are very nice, but i don't think there is so much flavour in the meat as there is in an english joint." "certainly there is not, as a rule, in india; but i think that our sheep, which pasture right up among the hills, make as good mutton as we have at home. still i don't pretend to be a judge; i own that i have quite forgotten the flavour of english meat." the next six months' life at the fortress was, with one exception, uneventful. percy worked steadily at punjaubi, and had come to speak so well that he could pass as a native a raid from the hills in an ordinary conversation. he had learnt his drill, and now took his place regularly in the ranks of the cavalry regiment as an under officer. an hour a day was devoted to sword exercise and pistol shooting, and for an hour he worked at hindustani. the hot hours of the day were generally spent in mahtab's company, talking to her, or listening to the long stories of her attendants. when it became cool he mounted his horse and rode down to the plain with his uncle. an escort always accompanied them to prevent a surprise. there he went through a course of horsemanship, his uncle teaching him to leap over substitutes for hurdles, or across a wide trench dug out for the purpose. after he had taken these obstacles a few times one of the best sikh horsemen would take him in hand, and he learnt to perform the feats of lean- ing over and picking up a handkerchief or a javelin from the ground, carrying off a ring hanging from a string, or lifting a tent-peg from the ground at the point of his spear. one day a mounted man rode in at full speed. he dis- mounted at the door of the colonel's residence, and the servant took in word that he had brought news of importance and begged to be allowed to see him at once. the man was covered with dust, and had a bandage stained with blood round his head. he made his salaam and then stood waiting to be questioned. "where do you come from?" the colonel asked. "from the village of jaegwar, your excellency." "what has happened there?" "last night, sahib, the turgars from the hills came down upon us. they burnt the village and killed many. they have carried off the cattle and the women. three of the villages have been destroyed. we did our best, but we were taken by surprise, and but few of us escaped. i myself got a deep graze with a bullet as i rode off. i have come to pray for your lordship's protection, and that it will please you to punish these robbers and to recover the women and stolen property." through the sikh war "i will do what i can," the colonel said quietly, "and can promise you that i will teach these mountain robbers a lesson. whether i can recover what they have carried off is another matter." he struck the bell and a servant entered. "let this man's horse be put in the stable and well fed. see that he himself has food, and tell the hakim to see to his wound. send an orderly to nand chund, sohan verdi, and i.al boghra, and beg them to come here immediately." "who are these turgars, uncle?" "they are a tribe of hill robbers on the other side of the river. the country nominally belongs to cashmere, but the government at sirinagur has no more authority over these hill tribes than it has over the highlanders of scotland. jaegwar lies forty miles to the north, and it w ill be a troublesome busi- ness to punish these beggars, who differ in no respect from the pathan hill tribes along the whole range of mountains on the northern side of the indus. it is some years since i had trouble with any of them, for on the last occasion i punished them so heavily they have been quiet ever since. no doubt some reports have reached them of the state of confu- sion in the punjaub, and they think to take advantage of it. however, they will find out their mistake. i am just as much bound to protect my district as if i were still a dutiful servant of lahore; as indeed i am, save in the matter of resigning my governorship, for only ten days since i sent off the annual amount at which the district was taxed when i took charge of it. "the sum is not a large one; for at that time it was, i should say, the poorest district in the punjaub, though now, thanks to the fact that life and property are both secure here, the population has increased fourfold, and the revenue tenfold. still i have no doubt the amount i send is very useful at lahore, where the treasury is said to be empty; and it enables my agent there to urge that i am faithful to the government, though i refuse to resign my post, where i was placed by — — a raid from the hills runjeet singh, or to hand over the people he entrusted to my care to men who seek only to extort their last penny from them and to grind them into the dust." the servant now announced that the three officers were in attendance. they were at once shown in, and the colonel informed them of the news he had received. "these robbers must be punished, and punished heavily," he went on, "for if they were permitted to plunder my people without retaliation we should have half a dozen of these hill clans following their example. the question is, what force can we send without unduly weakening the garrison here? cavalry would be of little use, but i will take fifty troopers. we may find level bits of country where they can be made useful. of course i will take the four mountain guns and the ten camel guns, and the st company of artillery, to whom they belong. but our chief dependence must be on infantry. i should say we could spare four hundred very well; that will leave an ample force against any sudden attack on the place; as to a serious expedi- tion, i should certainly have warning from lahore in time to return before it could arrive here. i shall myself accompany the expedition, and, sohan verdi, you will take the command of the fort in my absence. i know that i need not tell you to be vigilant. nand chund will go with me in command of the troop of cavalry, and you, lal boghra, of the infantry. take no. and companies of each of the regiments. as rundoop koor commands the camel battery, he will of course be in charge of the guns. let the troops cook a meal at once and parade in an hour." the officers saluted, and were about to retire when he added, "we will take no tents with us, or baggage of any kind, but i will see that there is an ample supply of grain and flour. anything else that we may require we must take from the enemy." "you will let me go with you, i hope, uncle?" percy exclaimed as soon as the officers had left the room. through the sikh war "certainly, percy, it will be a good introduction for you to mountain warfare." "thank you, uncle; it will be a splendid change, and i shall enjoy it immensely. can these turgar fellows fight?" "they can fight in their way well enough, but they are no good against disciplined troops." "what is their way, uncle?" "their villages are all fortified, for when they are not engaged in plundering the villages of the plains they are con- stantly having petty wars with each other. otherwise their only idea of fighting is to make sudden rushes down upon a column or a convoy struggling along some defile or up some breakneck path. these rushes are formidable enough against unsteady troops, but disciplined men who keep their heads and show a bold front can beat them off again easily enough. i need not say that one has to be careful on these expeditions, for a man who straggled away from the main body, under the belief that there was no enemy near, would be cut off to a certainty; so you will be pleased to remember that whatever happens you are to keep near me. now i will go and give orders about the bullock carts and the provisions; there is no time to be lost. you had better go in and see mahtab, and tell her what has happened. ask her to get us something to eat before we start, and to see that provisions for our private consumption are put into the carts." percy was rather nervous at the mission, as he was afraid that his aunt would be alarmed at the thought of the colonel going into danger. she, however, took the news very coolly. "we had many such expeditions when we first came here," she said. "of course there is danger, but it is very slight; and the colonel has so often been in great danger and has come out unharmed, that i have ceased to worry about small things. the cannon generally do the work, and the tribesmen run before the infantry can attack them. the real danger is from surprises, and your uncle has had far too much experi- a raid from the hills ence to be caught unawares. but you must be careful, percy, not to wander away, or to get excited and dash on ahead; you must keep near to him." "so he has ordered me, aunt, and i shall be very careful." "i hope you will," she said seriously. "there is no glory- to be gained in these hill fights, but foolhardiness may very well cost anyone his life. these tribesmen have plenty of courage, and are quite reckless of their lives if they can but cut down an enemy; they are as patient and watchful as wild beasts in pursuit of prey." the preparations were soon made; the troops who were to take part in the expedition fell in at the appointed time, and the colonel, after making a careful inspection of them, placed himself at their head and led the way through the gate. percy rode beside him, and immediately behind came the troop of cavalry; the artillery followed. the little guns were carried on the backs of the camels, the four mountain guns each drawn by as many animals. the infantry followed the battery, twelve bullock carts bringing up the rear. "i am going to send the horse straight on, percy. it is pretty certain the hillmen will have recrossed the river and be up in their villages before this; their tactics are always to strike a blow, collect their plunder, and be off again to the hills long before a force can be collected to oppose them. still the cavalry will give the peasants confidence, and they will return to their homes when they hear that a force, how- ever small, has arrived for their protection. they will be there by midnight, and will be able to gather news from the peasantry as to the villages these robbers came from, and inquire about roads and guides, so that when we get there to-morrow night no time need be lost about those matters. it is an important thing with these hill tribesmen to strike back as quickly as possible. i found when i first came here that nothing impressed them so much as the promptitude with which they were chased and punished. it was so different to so through the sikh war the dawdling way in which native operations are conducted, that it took them completely by surprise. you know the old saying—he who gives quickly gives twice, and it is just as true of a blow as it is of money." half the journey was accomplished that day. the night was cold enough to render blazing fires most enjoyable, and percy when he lay down felt the comfort of the long sikh coat made of sheep-skin with the wool inside, and the outside decorated with patterns worked in coloured threads. the following evening they reached jaegwar, and the colonel took up his quarters in the principal house in the village, to which some of the inhabitants were now returning. nand chund made his report as they were eating their supper. "there were about five hundred of them came down, colonel, in seven different parties. as far as i can make out about three hundred of them were turgars, and the others were nagas and kotahs. they killed about eighty men and carried off seventy or eighty women, and four or five hundred head of cattle. they burned four villages, and set on fire two or three houses here. fortunately there was no wind, and the flames did not spread." "now as to the road, nand chund." "the track, for they say it is nothing more up to the turgar villages, crosses the river about two miles north of this place. there are five villages, all lying within a circle of about three miles. the nearest of them is six miles beyond the river. the fighting force is put as from twelve to fifteen hundred, but of course if the two other tribes aid them it would more than double that. there are some steep places on the road, and one very deep and narrow valley, quite a ravine i should say, to be passed through. if they get to know of our coming that is no doubt the place where they will f ght. if we get through there before they can gather to oppose us they will, of course, make their stand at their villages, which are all high up on the hills." a ral"b from the hills "the men have made two marches of twenty miles each," the colonel said; "it would be as well that they should have a day's rest before we advance, for it will be a heavy day's work. besides, i would rather that the turgars should hold the ravine or any other strong points they may have. were we to march through these before they were ready to oppose us, they would say afterwards that we could never have got through had they known we were coming, but if we show them that they can no longer rely upon being able to arrest the advance of a column, it may be a long time before they ven- ture upon another raid like this. however strong the place is, you may be sure we shall be able to turn them out of it. that rocket tube will astonish them. besides, however strong the valley is we ought to be able to outflank it. another advantage of a fight there is, that if we turn them out with a good deal of loss we shall carry the villages more easily, for it will shake their courage if they find they are unable to hold the place they had relied on as the main defence of their villages." accordingly the force rested the next day, and on the morning following started before it was light, and reached the ford across the river just as day was breaking. "i have no doubt they are prepared for us," the colonel said, as he watched the troops and guns making their passage. "they would hardly have expected that a force would make its appearance here so soon, but they are sure to have placed scouts on the hills to give them warning." "it is a wild-looking country," percy said, as the increasing light enabled them to see hill rising behind hill. "yes. a battery or two of horse artillery, knowing the country well and taking post on the hills, would make it very hot for us. fortunately there is no fear of anything of that sort. the wall pieces are all they have, besides muskets and matchlocks. the road seems to go straight up the hill and over the crest," he went on, after examining the ground with his field-glasses. through the sikh war "ah! i can make out a group of three or four men, just to the left of that bush there. do you see the smoke?—they have just lighted a fire. that is a signal, i have no doubt; as you see, the smoke is getting thicker and thicker." three or four minutes later two other columns of smoke were seen rising, one two or three miles to the right, the other as much to the left. "take a dozen of your troopers, nand chund, and skirmish up the hill; a compinv of infantry shall follow you. if you f nd only a handful of men there, drive them off; if they are in force, get near enough to draw their fire and find out their strength, and then fall back again upon the supporting com- pany. we shall not be far behind. but it is hardly likely that you will be pressed, they will not be able to gather to offer any serious opposition until we get some miles further." the little party of cavalry rode on, a company of infantry following close behind them. colonel groves waited until he saw the rest of the force cross the ford, and then set forward again. he had handed his glasses to percy, who sat watching the advanced party as it ascended the hill. the horsemen had scattered along the hillside, and were several hundred yards ahead of the infantry. "they are firing, uncle," he exclaimed presently. "i don't see the smoke, but i heard the sound of shots. there! i saw a puff of smoke just now." "how many guns did you hear, percy?" "five or six: i should say that is about all there are. i saw three standing up, and there may have been two or three more engaged in making the fire." "it is hardly likely that they would have more than five or six men on watch. even if they knew yesterday that we had come to the village, they would hardly keep more than a lookout here." this was evidently the case, as the horsemen were seen to pass over the crest, and one of them soon reappeared and galloped down the hill. a raid from the hills s "nand chund reports, colonel," he said when he arrived at the head of the column, "there were but four men, they fired a few shots at us. when we reached the top of the hill they were half-way down the other side. there is a good deal of bush and some wood down there. nand chund says that he will not advance further till the company in support joins him, as there might be a force hidden there." "quite right. tell him that at any rate he is not to mount the next hill until we come up." when the force arrived at the crest they saw nand chund and the footmen drawn up beyond the bush in the hollow. "it is a good deal steeper beyond, uncle." . "yes, a great deal steeper. there will be some little diffi- culty in getting our guns up; and if i mistake not, there is a body of men on the opposite crest." a trooper was sent on to nand chund telling him to ad- vance no farther until the whole force came up. when the force was united the colonel said: "this hill is too steep for you to act with effect, nand chund. ride along the valley with the troop for a mile or so, climb the hillside, and then come back along the crest till within a quarter of a mile of them, and as soon as you see them begin to fall back before our advance, charge and take them in flank if they are not too strong, and chase them down the other side, but do not pursue too far." the cavalry at once rode off. two companies of infantry were then thrown forward in skirmishing order, the rest of the force followed two or three hundred yards behind them. when the skirmishers were half-way up the hill the enemy- opened fire. orders had been given to them to pay no atten- tion to this, but to keep their muskets slung behind them, and to press forward. when they arrived within a hundred yards of the enemy they were to lie down and return their fire until the column came up. the order was carried out; but just as the colonel reached their line he saw nand chund's horse- through the sikh war men coming along the top at full speed. "forward, men, at the double!" he shouted; and. the troops, leaping to their feet, climbed rapidly up the hill. but it was over before they reached the top. the hillmen had not awaited the arrival of the cavalry, but had fled down the hill behind, the sowars pur- suing them and cutting down several before they reached some very broken ground at its foot; from this they opened a sharp fire, and the cavalry at once retired up the hill again. the track now, instead of ascending the next rise, followed the valley down. "you see," the colonel said when he reached the crest, "tha valley makes a sharp bend half a mile down. no doubt that defile lies up there. you can see that the next hill is very much more lofty and rugged-looking. well, nand chund, what force was there?" "somewhere about a hundred, colonel. i should not have charged them, but i saw they were beginning to make off." "they are gathering like a snowball," the colonel remarked. "i expect that when we reach the defile we shall find their whole force there." for another two miles they followed the valley, which grew narrower as they advanced, the sides being more and more precipitous. parties of men had been seen moving about higher up, and presently a scattering fire was opened. the colonel ordered two parties, each a hundred strong, to make their way up the hill on either side and then to advance along it, keeping abreast of the column. "if the opposition is serious," he said, "i will aid you with the guns." in a short time the hillsides were dotted with puffs of smoke. little could be seen of the enemy, who lay behind rocks, occasionally running back and then dropping again behind fresh shelter as the troops advanced. the fire on both sides momentarily became hotter. the four mountain guns now opened fire, throwing shell high up on the hillside. retribution right column move round to assist the cavalry to cut off the enemy's retreat. let the infantry of the left column join us here for the attack on this gate. the fellows are evidently in strong force." indeed the wall was fringed with smoke, and the bullets were pattering round thick and fast. the men, however, had at once been placed in shelter behind a stone wall, and re- mained inactive for half an hour. when percy and nand chund rode back within a minute or two of each other, their reports were similar. there were no gates in the side walls, while behind the wall on the other side there was a deep pre- cipitous ravine, with but a few feet between its upper edge and the wall. the colonel gave the order that f fty of the infantry should remain on either side to fire down into the ravine as the enemy retired across it, and the rest should join him. the cavalry were to take post just out of fire on both flanks, to cut off any fugitives who might drop from the walls, and endeavour to escape from the top of the hill. the time had not been lost, for the four mountain guns had kept up a steady fire at the gates in front, which were, when the two bodies of infantry came up, already torn and splin- tered, one of them being evidently thrown off its hinges. then two of the companies advanced through the inclosures in skirmishing order, and when within fifty yards of the wall opened fire at its defenders, aided by the whole of the guns. after waiting for five minutes to allow the fire to have its effect, the colonel gave the word and the column ran forward towards the gate. a heavy fire was opened through the broken planks. "don't wait to return it," the colonel, who was riding at the head of column, shouted. "throw yourselves against the gate, your weight will burst it down." with a cheer the men rushed on, and as they reached the gate there was a crash. the shattered gate fell, and they poured into the village. through the sikh war the resistance was slight, for as soon as the column began to advance the fire from the wall had suddenly ceased. ten or twelve men were shot or bayoneted at the gates, but as the troops spread through the village they met with no more antagonists. the doors of the houses stood open, but the hearths were cold, and the women and children had evidently been sent away early in the morning. as soon as he entered the gate and saw that resistance was over, the colonel shouted to the men behind to follow him, and rode straight through the village for the gate behind. he was, however, only in time to see the last of a crowd of men hurrying out through it; but an outbreak of firing both to the right and left showed that the parties posted there were harassing the fugitives in their retreat. as soon as the men behind him came up he led them through the gate, bade them spread along the edge of the ravine and to open fire on the tribesmen, parties of whom were already beginning to mount the opposite side of the ravine. the fire was maintained with considerable effect until all were out of range, then the various detachments were called in by the sound of the bugle, and the troops ordered to cook a meal. while this was being done a thorough search was made through the village. in the chief's tower a consid- erable quantity of gunpowder was found stored, and as soon as the troops had finished their dinner fire was applied to every house in the village, and a length of fuse thrust into the powder. as they marched out through the gates by which the enemy had retreated, there was a heavy explosion, and the tower fell in ruins. they then moved towards the next village, in which direc- tion the enemy had retreated. they crossed the ravine, and then kept along a valley to the foot of the hill on which the village stood. the ground was covered with scrub and bush, and they were half-way up when there was a tremendous yell, and on either side a great number of half-naked figures sprang retribution up, poured in a volley of matchlock balls, arrows, and spears, and then flung themselves upon the column. against younger troops the sudden assault might have been successful, but colonel groves' men were all old soldiers, and though taken by surprise faced both ways without confusion, and poured withering volleys into the enemy. many fell, but the rest came on, and for a minute or two there was a f erce fight—bayonet against sword or spear; but the tribes- men in vain attempted to break the lines, and soon, in obedi- ence to a shout from their leader, sprang away and threw themselves down among the bushes, vanishing almost as sud- denly as they had appeared. the troops now assumed the offensive, and pouring volleys into the bushes as they ad- vanced, swept through them, bayoneting all they found, until the turgars again leapt to their feet and fled. the march was now resumed up the hill, and the village, which was found deserted, was taken possession of. here the colonel determined to halt for the night. sentries were placed at the gates and on the walls, and the troops fell out and scattered among the houses. "i fancy that there will be no more fighting," colonel groves said to his nephew, who had ridden close beside him throughout the day. "they have had a tremendous lesson. i counted over fifty bodies as i crossed the ravine, and at least three times that number must have fallen in the attack upon us. we have destroyed one of their villages, and this is in our hands, and they must see that, unless they submit, the others will share the same fate. they have done their utmost and failed. i think they have had enough of it." late in the afternoon, indeed, a mounted man, accompa- nied by two foot-men, one of whom carried a white flag, was seen approaching the walls. colonel groves ordered them to be admitted, and they were brought before him. "we don't want to fight any more," the chief said. "i daresay not," the colonel replied, "but we are perfectly through the sikh war ready to go on fighting. you began it, and we have no inten- tion of stopping yet." "what conditions will you give?" the chief asked. "the only conditions i will grant are these—the return of all the captives taken away, of every head of cattle, and of all articles stolen; the payment of a fine of five hundred cat- tle; and the delivery into my hands of the eldest sons of your twelve principal chiefs to hold as hostages for your good behaviour in the future. if these conditions are not accepted i shall burn your villages, and destroy your plantations and crops." "we have not got all the prisoners," the chief said; "there were others with us who have taken their share." "i shall reckon with them afterwards. i am only asking you to give up the prisoners and spoil you have in your hands. i shall find, when i have punished the other two tribes that were engaged with you, what captives they have, and if any are missing i shall return here and burn your vil- lages over your heads." "we cannot pay five hundred cattle." "oh, yes, you can! i know pretty well how many you have, and five hundred will not leave you altogether without some. i will not abate one from my demand, but i will con- sent to take the value of any deficiency in gold and silver ornaments, taken at their weight in metal. those are my first conditions and my last, and you can carry them back to your chief." "the three principal chiefs are killed," the man said, "but i will take your message back to my tribe." "you had best return with an answer to-night, for at day- break we shall fire this place and advance against the other villages." "will they agree, do you think?" percy asked when the chief retired. "they will agree," the colonel replied confidently. "the retribution threat of destroying their plantations will induce them to yield. their houses they can soon build up again, but, with the greater part of their cattle gone, the destruction of their plantations would mean starvation to all." the colonel was not mistaken. there was no reply that night, but at daybreak on the following morning a procession was seen approaching the village. it consisted of more than half of the women who had been carried off, four hundred cattle from the plains, and five hundred of the little hill cattle. there were also twelve lads, a few of whom were almost men, while others were but four or five years old. ambassadors soon arrived from the naga and kotah tribes. these had, as the colonel learnt from a captured native, sent contingents who had taken part in the fight on the previous day. similar conditions to those imposed on the turgars were demanded, except that the fine for each tribe was fixed at three hundred head of cattle only, the colonel knowing that they were poorer in this respect than the turgars. for two days messengers went and came, and it was only when at last the troops were upon the point of starting against them that they yielded, and on the following morning the captives, hostages, and cattle arrived at the village. the chiefs of all three tribes were ordered to attend that afternoon. the colonel addressed them, and severely admonished them as to their behaviour in the future. "if again," he said, "there is any outrage whatever upon your peaceable neigh- bours on the other side of the river, i warn you that no mercy will be shown you. your villages will be destroyed, your plantations rooted up, your crops burned, and your country made desert from end to end. i punished your neighbours ten years ago, and i have punished you now. the next time i have to bring a force across the river i will root you out altogether." the chiefs all gave the most solemn assurances that they would in future abstain from forays across the river, and in through the sikh war order to mingle clemency with justice, and to disembarrass himself of the trouble of looking after a number of prisoners, he restored to each of the tribes eight out of the twelve hos- tages that had been handed over, retaining only the sons of four leading chiefs. upon the following morning the expe- dition marched back, two companies of the infantry and the guns forming the column, while the cavalry and the rest of the infantry looked after the great herd of cattle that had been collected, and escorted the rescued women, many of whom were completely prostrated by what they had gone through. the total loss of the column was but fifteen killed and fifty- three wounded. "i am glad to be back again," the colonel said as they rode across the river. "it has been a very successful little expedi- tion, and the lesson has been so severe that i do not think we are likely to have any more frontier trouble for some time. the other tribesmen will all be awed at the punishment we have inflicted." "what will you do with the hostages, uncle?" "i shall keep them for three or four months, and then send them back with a message to the effect that, feeling the tribes have been sufficiently punished, and being assured that they can now be relied upon to abstain from giving trouble, i am willing to trust them, and will therefore no longer deprive the chiefs of their children. such clemency will aid the effect of the sharp lesson we have administered." the joy of the villagers at the return of their wives, daugh- ters, and cattle was unbounded, and blessings were showered on the governor, who had shown himself so zealous and power- ful in protecting those under his rule. another two days' journey took them to the fortress, where their arrival with the eleven hundred captured cattle was hailed with lively satisfaction by the garrison. things returned to their normal state. percy studied, rode, and drilled during the day, and spent his evenings in the retribution zenana with his uncle and aunt, and from the former received a detailed account of the course of sikh politics since the death of runjeet singh. up to the time of the death of the maharajah in the most friendly relations had been maintained between the pun- jaub and the british. he was succeeded by his son, khurruk singh. he was a weak man, who possessed neither the firm- ness nor ambition of his father, and the real power was in the hands of nonehal singh, his son. he was a fiery young man, and shared to the full the hostility felt toward the british by most of the sikh chiefs. his father died, and there was a general idea that the young rajah would speedily declare war against the english. he was, however, killed on his return from his father's funeral, by the elephant on which he was riding running against a beam supporting some stonework, which fell and killed both nonehal and another prince who was riding with him. there was little doubt that the affair was not an accident, but that the ma/ /ha.d been bribed by the adherents of shere singh, a reputed son of runjeet singh, who had many power- ful supporters in his claim to the throne. the chief of these was dhyan singh, the prime minister of runjeet, who had been removed from his office by khurruk singh, and who, with his two brothers, had been all-powerful during the later years of the lion. a number of the chiefs, however, were by no means disposed to again submit to what was practically the rule of dhyan and his brothers. shere singh had the advan- tage that, like nonehal, he was very popular with the army, and for the moment he obtained possession of lahore. he was, however, expelled by the mother of the late nonehal, an able and ambitious woman. she, however, made the mistake of refusing dhyan any employment, and the ex-vizier soon organized a party sufficiently strong to recall shere singh. the ranee ordered the gates to be shut, but general ventura ordered the soldiers to open them, and the ranee fled. as through the sikh war soon as shere singh was seated on the throne, he handed over the entire management of business to dhyan singh, and gave himself up to hunting, and drinking, and other pleasures. dhyan was greatly offended at the conduct of the prince, who owed his elevation to the throne to him, and endeavoured to persuade him to act in a manner more worthy of his position, assuring him that the sikhs would never submit to be governed by a prince who neglected all public affairs, and was habitually drunk. the prince was offended at the remonstrances of his minister. his boon companions fanned the flame of anger, and persuaded him while in a fit of drunkenness to sign an order for the execution of dhyan singh. the latter, however, was kept well informed by his agents in the maharajah's house- hold of what was going on, and saw that his only hope of safety was in striking the f rst blow. he therefore gave orders to ajeet singh that the rajah should be killed. the officer was more rapid than the agents of shere singh, and the latter was shot immediately, and his son was at the same time mur- dered. ajeet, however, either from disappointment at not receiving from dhyan a reward equal to his expectations, or from some other cause, shot him in the back, and he fell dead a few hours after the murder of the maharajah. heera singh, dhyan's son, a great favourite with the troops, knew that the death of the maharajah had been determined upon by his father, and had left the city and gone to the camp of general avitabile, another of the european officers of the i'unjaub army. when the messenger arrived with the news that his father too was dead, he was in the act of haranguing the troops and preparing them for the news of the death of shere singh. heera ascended to the flat roof of avitabile's house, and sent messages to all the sirdars who happened to be in lahore, begging them to come to him. on their arrival he unbuckled his sword and handed it to them, saying, "i am left alone and fatherless, and i throw myself on your protection. either kill mc or give me your support." retribution the sirdars at once declared that they would follow him. heera then harangued the soldiers, and offered them an in- crease of three rupees a month in their pay if they would declare for him. ventura and avitabile both espoused his cause, and with their troops marched against lahore, where ajeet singh had caused dhuleep singh, a child of four years old, and the only lineal descendant of runjeet left alive, to be proclaimed maharajah, and himself vizier. it was night when heera arrived in lahore. his guns blew open the delhi gate of the town, and then a desperate battle commenced in the streets. roth sides had artillery, and the battle raged until the morning with terrible slaughter. heera's troops were victorious; the fort was stormed, and ajeet killed by a soldier as he tried to escape. every man in the fort was killed and the city given up to plunder, and horrible cruelties perpetrated upon the connections and friends of ajeet singh. heera had no intention of grasping the dangerous position of maharajah, and as soon as the fighting was over he went and saluted the child dhuleep as maharajah, assuming him- self the position of prime minister his father had occupied. this was in . at that time the british were occupied in conquering gwalior, and the signal overthrow of the mahrat- tas on the fields of maharajaypoor and punniar served for the moment to abate the eagerness of the army for a war against them. they were, however, as usual, mutinous and clamor- ous for still further increase in their pay, and the treasury at lahore being empty, heera singh had the greatest difficulty in complying with their demands, and in order to do so he caused an uncle, who like dhyan and ghoolab had amassed enormous possessions, to be murdered, and used his wealth as a means of quieting the troops. these, however, soon advanced fresh demands, and heera being unable to satisfy them was murdered. at his death dhuleep singh's mother appointed her brother juwaheer as vizier. the choice was not pleasing to the sol- fi through the sikh war diers, who invaded the palace and murdered him before the eyes of his sister and her child. #ghoolab singh, the last sur- vivor of the three great brothers, was invited to take the office of vizier, but he wisely declined the dangerous post. his possessions were vast, and his power almost equal to that of the ruler of the punjaub. he was virtually supreme in all the northern territories that had been conquered in the time of runjeet, and from his residence at jummoo ruled over all cashmere, together with the country stretching up to the borders of afghanistan. he it was who was the mover in the intrigues against col- onel groves. one of the first demands made by the soldiers upon the accession of heera singh to power had been the immediate dismissal of all the foreign officers in his service, and greatly against his inclination, for he knew that these men alone had the power of keeping the mutinous soldiery in any degree of order, he had been forced to accede to it. most of them had left the country at once, knowing that mur- der would speedily follow dismissal; but colonel groves having, since the death of runjeet, successfully defeated all attempts to turn him out of his governorship and fortress, had determined to await the end, being sure that ere long the hatred of the sikhs against the british would bring about a war that might entirely change the position. it was a few months after percy's arrival that ghoolab re- fused to accept the post of vizier. "that is good news, uncle, is it not?" he asked, when a messenger arrived bearing a letter containing the news, from a member of the court at lahore who was in the colonel's pay and interest. "i don't know, percy, i rather think it would have been better if he had accepted the post. in the first place he would have had his hands so full that he would not have had time to give much attention to my affairs. then if he had sent strong bodies of troops to attack this place, as likely retribution as not they would have said that they were being sacrificed in his interest, and it would have been an occasion for a fresh mutiny. and lastly, the viziership has of late been fatal to its holders, and ghoolab might have formed no exception, and i might have been freed from my most dangerous enemy. now he will be able to carry on his intrigues from jummoo without interruption. since the death of runjeet his hands have been tied to a certain extent, first by his brother dhyan, and then by heera being prime minister, and he had to take care that no movement of his endangered their popularity or position. now that his two brothers and his nephew have gone, he need consult only what he thinks is his own interest, and it is distinctly his interest that his son should be governor of this district, which is flourishing and capable of being squeezed to a large extent, and which lies so close to his own territories." "is it only on account of this that he is your enemy, uncle?" "no, the matter is of much longer standing. it began at one of the battles against the afghans. the sirdars and their troops commanded by ghoolab did very badly, and had it not been for the courage and obstinacy of my three regiments and those of portalis we should have been defeated. runjeet always managed to keep himself thoroughly well acquainted with what was going on, and ghoolab was for a time in con- siderable disgrace, while very handsome presents were made to portalis and myself, and three months' pay given to each of our officers and soldiers. i warned portalis that ghoolab would not forgive us, but he was a little headstrong and scoffed at the danger. three months after, he fell by the knife of an assassin. he was a good comrade and friend of mine, and was indeed the only man among the european officers i really cared for, and i did not hesitate to denounce ghoolab to runjeet in open durbar as the author of his assas- sination. of course i could not prove it, but the maharajah was certainly of my opinion, and ghoolab was ordered to go '.in through the sikh war and live on his estates, and was for some months in great disgrace. "all my acquaintances warned me that i was throwing away my life by thus venturing to denounce one of the all-powerful trio of brothers. but, as you see, i have lived through it thus far. still, it has only been by the most unceasing caution and wariness. i have had at least a dozen narrow escapes from assassination, and during the lifetime of runjeet singh the intrigues against me were incessant; but the old lion knew when he was well served, and stuck to me staunchly. he was, in the last year of his life, compelled by the pressure brought upon him to sign my dismissal, but he sent me a private note by the hands of a trusty messenger. it con- tained only a few words. '/ am obliged to yield, but there is no reason why you should do so. the sioord should always protect the head.' i was aware of what was going on at court, and had already resolved to hold ray governorship till the last. but i was very glad to get the old man's note; he had been a kind and good master to me, and i should not have liked to take action that might appear rebellion against him. what others said or thought i did not care. now i had the old lion's approval, my conscience was perfectly easy. "ghoolab himself commanded the force that came to put his son in possession, and the fact that he had to retire after losing some hundreds of men, without accomplishing his object, did not, as you may suppose, in any way diminish his feeling of unfriendliness towards me. i get constant and accurate intelligence of what takes place at jummoo, and i know that i am constantly in his thoughts, and that denuncia- tions of me form one of his staple subjects of conversation among his intimates. i need hardly tell you how great is the terror among the inhabitants of my districts at the thoughts of falling into ghoolab's hands. the cruelty which he dis- played in his conquest of cashmere was appalling, thou- sands of people being put to death by all forms of torture. retribution ) the trade of this district would be destroyed, the merchants plundered, and under one excuse or other all private property would be confiscated by him. therefore i am well served. the traders have naturally agents and correspondents all over the punjaub, who inform them of every rumour current, and these accounts are promptly transmitted to me, so that i get the earliest possible intelligence of every movement or in- trigue as soon as it is set on foot, and no body of men can be set in motion within a couple of hundred miles of this fortress without my receiving news of it in the course of a day or two." a few days later the colonel said when they met at breakfast: "there -is trouble coming, percy. i have had a letter from my agents at lahore, saying that several of the punches—as the leaders of the soldiers are called—have for the last day or two been loudly denouncing me, saying that it is a disgrace to the sikh nation that an insolent foreigner should not only remain among them, but, in the teeth of his dismissal by the ruler of lahore, maintain himself by force of arms as the governor of a district of the punjaub. as the ranee has no vizier, and is entirely helpless in the hands of the soldiers, there can be no doubt that she will authorize an expedition against me, and will indeed be glad to agree to a project which will remove a number of her insolent soldiery from the city. the clamour for a war against the british grows daily in strength, and most of the leading sirdars are in this matter in agreement with the troops, and the ranee cannot but think that it is very much better that they should occupy themselves in an expedition against a man in whom she has, of course, no interest, than embark in a great war which may end by costing her infant son his kingdom." "what are you going to do, uncle?" the colonel shrugged his shoulders. "sharpen my sword, see that the guns are in good order, and overhaul our stock of ammunition. i feel quite convinced that we can repel all attacks by a mutinous horde like this, provided only that through the sikh war there is no treachery at work. that is our one weak point." "you have never found out yet, uncle, who it was sent ghoolab the news of my coming here?" "no, i have no ground for suspicion against anyone. nand chund, and two or three of the officers of whose fidelity i feel absolutely sure, have been quietly trying to find out ever since you came here, but without success. azim bund, my steward, has also been trying in other quarters, but he too has altogether failed. of course the traitor may be a member of my house- hold and not one of my officers; in that case his treachery would be of little importance. although by getting news of your coming he might have struck me a heavy blow, in other respects he can tell them nothing beyond the fact that i am alive and well, and very much on my guard. he may give them the number of cannons i have got, the amount of ammunition in stock, and the state of the food magazines, but the news can give them no satisfaction and can do me no harm. "it is altogether different if it is an officer. in every considerable body of men there are a certain number who think they have a grievance of some kind; they have either been punished unjustly, or think they have been overlooked in promotion and that their services have not been sufficiently recognized. in some it is merely the desire for a change of any sort; and when the men know, as of course they do know, that the soldiers of the army are enriching themselves both at the expense of the government and of the population, they may feel dissatisfied with their dull life and regular pay here. at any rate there must be many who could be worked up by an astute rascal, and a gate thrown open, or a rope-ladder lowered over the wall, might lay the place at the mercy of our enemies. i have no fear whatever of this section being nu- merous enough to get up anything like a formidable mutiny, but a party of only twenty determined men might any night retribution break their way in here and cut all our throats long before the troops could come to our assistance, might seize my wife's jewels and valuables, and make their escape by means of a rope-ladder over the wall. that, i think, is the most danger- ous contingency. i always sleep with three brace of pistols within reach of my hand, and you know i have warned you to keep arms by your bedside; still, though we might sell our lives dearly, you may be sure that the attack would not be made except by a force sufficient for the purpose." "why don't you keep a strong guard in the house, uncle?" "because, my boy, i don't know who the traitors are. the officer in command might be the very man himself, and he might so contrive it that the guard was composed of men whom he had corrupted. where should we be then?" "but you might appoint nand chund to be always officer of the guard?" "constable of the palace—eh, percy?" "well, you might call him what you like, uncle, but surely he would be able to pick out a dozen men of whose fidelity he was assured. the duty would not be severe, they would only have to furnish the two sentries at the door, instead of these being sent from one or other of the regiments." "i will think of it, percy. just at present there is less ground for fear than usual, for if an expedition is on foot to attack us openly, such a plot as this would most certainly be delayed until there was a force outside where the conspirators could betake themselves after carrying their designs into execution. the fact that, even were they successful, they would certainly be pursued, and for the most part hunted down and slaughtered by the cavalry, has, no doubt, been one of the reasons why no such attempt as that we are talking of has been made long ago." "well, i do hope that when an army approaches you will do what percy suggests," mahtab, who had been listening silently to the conversation, said to her husband. "you have through the sikh war escaped so many times, roland, that you have come to think that no attempt against your life will ever succeed, and cer- tainly it is likely that ghoolab, while organizing an open assault upon you, will take measures to secure his aim being carried out in other ways if possible." "very well, wife; you may consider it settled that on the day when an attacking force crosses the boundary of the prov- ince, nand chund shall be installed as chief of a special bodyguard here." chapter vi a siege not a day passed now without messengers coming in with warnings of approaching danger, and one morning early the officer on guard reported that a large number of persons could be seen approachng by the road from the south. "do they look like troops?" the colonel asked. "no, sahib; they are on horseback and on foot, and there are many carts among them." "i have no doubt then, kur aloof, that they are merchants of the towns coming in here for refuge. the enemy cannot be far off, and they know how the soldiers would squeeze them if they had a chance." "will you let all those people in here, uncle? they will eat up our provisions and drink up our water." "as i told you, percy, we have sufficient of both for a number double that at present within the walls. did four times the total now here arrive the supplies would still hold out six months, and two months is the utmost that the siege is likely to last. one need never be afraid of a long siege by men commanded by leaders having no authority over them. a powerful prince might send troops on a siege and order them to maintain it until they captured the place, even if it took them ten years to do so, but at present the punjaub is without a master, and the troops have only been induced i through the sikh war # to come here by the prospect of plunder. but as soon as they find that they make but little impression upon us, and that the siege, with its labours, and hardships, and dangers, may continue for many months, they will soon get tired of it, and in the absence of a controlling power will march away. "they have a good many deserters from our service among them, and little as they love europeans they will utilize their services, and i anticipate that for a while at least it will be made very hot for us. there are a score of points on that hillside half a mile away where guns can be posted to play on us, while we could make but a feeble return, and there is nothing like a plunging fire kept up night and day to weaken the spirits and lower the confidence of a garrison. that will be the time when the traitors, if there are any, will be busy among the men, and it will need unceasing care and vigilance to prevent trouble." in a short time the people seen in the- valley below began to enter the fortress. they were, as the colonel had antici- pated, merchants and other people having something to lose, from the various towns in the district. most of them brought with them carts laden with their choicest merchandise, and all had their portable valuables and money with them. they reported that news had come in the evening before, that a very large force had arrived at a point within fifteen miles of the frontier of the province, and that the soldiers had been promised the sack of all the towns and villages as an induce- ment for them to undertake the siege of the fortress. "but how am i to feed so many mouths?" the colonel asked one of the leading merchants, with a smile. "we know that our lord has great stores laid up in his magazines," the merchant answered, "and we are, of course, ready to pay for all that he will let us have." "i have no doubt that the magazines will hold out as long as it is necessary," the colonel replied, "and as i regard all who enter here as my guests, each man, woman, and child a siege shall draw rations of what food we have as long as it lasts. it has been bought out of the revenues of the province, and as each of you contributed, so shall you now share. but you know you will fare worse if the place is taken and you are round here than you would have done had you remained quietly at home." the merchant shook his head. "there could be no worse, sahib. the soldiers plunder, kill, burn, and destroy as they did in cashmere; they can do no more if they find us here. but we are not afraid of their taking the fortress. it is strong, and everyone knows my lord's valour and experience. the army will never be able to win their way in here." "i hope not, my friends; i will certainly do my best to prevent them from doing so. and now about yourselves. the stream of fugitives grows broader and thicker every hour, and if it goes on like this, by nightfall we shall have over five thousand persons here in addition to the strength of the gar- rison. against that i say nothing, a thousand at least will be able-bodied men capable of bearing arms, and i shall expect each to do his best; but where am i to stow so great a num- ber? the barracks are already full, and but few indeed will be able to find lodging in the houses of the traders. i have tents and straw for two thousand people, but how can they be pitched? the ground is solid rock. there is no way of driving tent-pegs, and i see not how they can be erected." "we might spread them over the carts, and so obtain a protection from the night air and a shelter for the women and children, and they might even erect poles in the carts them- selves and stay them by ropes to the sides." "that is a very good idea, and i will order the officer in charge of the stores to issue a tent to each owner of a cart, the others must manage as best they can. i daresay five hun- dred can be stowed away in the lofts of the stables and in other places not in use, while some with poles leaned against a wall and canvas spread over them can make shelters good enough through the sikh war on a pinch. the oxen must be given over to one of my officers, who will see that they are fed from the granaries and will kill them for food." the colonel had not over-estimated the number of those likely to arrive, and before nightfall over five thousand had entered the fortress. stringent orders were laid down that none save the regular troops should be allowed to approach the walls, and each party as it arrived was conducted to the spot allotted to it. every open space was covered with shel- ters of one kind or another, the larger constructed of tents, the smaller of shawls and blankets. the principal street was left clear of such erections in order to admit of a free passage for the troops, but it was ordered that all cooking operations should be performed there, as fires would be dangerous in the extreme among the crowded tents. when night came, strong guards were placed on the walls, especially on that facing the shoulder of the hill, upon which any open attack must fall. percy's idea was carried out, and a body-guard composed of six men from each of the two infantry regiments, and an equal number from the cavalry, marched into the governor's house under the command of nand chund. their instruc- tions were that no one was to be allowed to enter the house, whatever he might allege to be the nature of his business, unless furnished with a written order to do so from the governor. percy had been busy all day seeing that the new-comers fell into their places, and in aiding them to shake down in some sort of comfort, and he was thoroughly tired out when he joined the colonel and his wife in their room that evening. "well, uncle, i am glad it is coming at last. it is much better to know the worst than to go on wondering when it was going to begin." "i don't know, percy. i have been in so many troubles and frays and battles since i came out here, that the thought that we might have to stand a siege was no very great trouble a siege to me; besides, there was always the possibility that some- thing might occur to postpone it altogether. the soldiers and most of the sirdars seem bent upon having a fight with the english, and i greatly hoped that it would begin before ghoolab's intrigues against me had come to a head. how- ever, now it has come we must make the best of it, and i have no great fear of the result. while you have been busy with these people this afternoon i have been superintending the mounting of two heavy howitzers as mortars, and if they erect batteries on the hill, as i expect they will, we will see if we cannot drop a few shell among them. nothing un- steadies artillerymen more than finding that the earthworks in front of them do not as they expect protect them, and that by no ingenuity can they defend themselves from missiles that seem to drop down from the sky upon them." "but how do you do that, uncle?" "simply by the amount of powder you put in. a mortar is always fixed at a certain angle, and of course you fix a howitzer the same way when you use it for that purpose. with a mortar the amount of powder of a given strength required to send a shell to a given distance is known to every artilleryman, but with a howitzer one must get it by experi- ment. you first put in the amount of powder you think sufficient. the ball is fired up into the air, and you watch where it drops. if it is short you add an ounce or two of powder, as the case may be. if it is too far you decrease the charge until you find that the shell drops just behind the enemy's earthworks among the artillerymen serving a gun. having once got the exact charge of course you stick to it. this sort of thing annoys the sikhs, who are not much accus- tomed to shell. a few of them were sent up to lahore, and i managed to get hold of one and had several hundred cast here to fit those two howitzers, and had a large number of fuses made and stored away for future use. if they try to climb the rocks, a few shells rolled down from the walls are likely to be very effective." through the sikh war "what are to be my duties principally, uncle?" "your chief duty will be to watch, percy, especially at night. the officers will, of course, go their rounds frequently, but as there may be a traitor among them, i can place no absolute reliance on their vigilance. i shall myself be about as much as possible, but as i shall have to look after every- thing in the daytime i must take some rest at night; one can- not do two or three months without sleep. i shall release you from all duty during the day, although in case of a serious attack you will take your place on the wall; otherwise i wish you to sleep in the day and to keep a sharp look-out on every- thing at night, being constantly upon the walls seeing that the sentries are vigilant, and listening intently for anything that might indicate a movement from below. i shall tell off four of nand chund's party to accompany you, for if treachery is intended there would be no hesitation in planting a dagger in your heart and then getting rid of your body over the wall. you are nearly sixteen now, and strong and active, but on a dark night that would avail nothing against a lurking assassin." "shall i begin to-night, uncle?" "there is no occasion for that. the enemy have not arrived yet, and indeed no one would dream of attempting to ascend the crai'g unaided. i fancy they will try an open assault to begin with. when they find that fails they may try surprise." about midnight an officer reported that a dull confused sound could be heard down the valley. the colonel took a couple of signal rockets, with which one of the boxes brought by percy from england was filled, and proceeded, accompanied by his nephew, nand chund, and four of his guard, to the wall at the lower end of the rock. lanterns placed on the ground were burning here, and a party of artillerymen were standing by the four guns looking down the valley. "how far do you think they are away?" the colonel asked the officer in command there. a siege "a party of them have just crossed the wooden bridge over the stream, sahib. i heard the trampling of their horses upon it distinctly." "that is fourteen hundred and thirteen yards from the foot of the rock. drive those wedges a little farther. that is right. i cut those nicks upon them the other day when we had got the exact depression i required to lay the guns on the bridge. now let us wait until another body of them are crossing." three or four minutes later the sound in the distance became suddenly louder. "now, nand chund, fire that rocket. i think you have got it about the right angle." the rocket flew up in the air, and burst some distance away throwing out a dozen fire-balls. their light enabled the gov- ernor to see right down the valley. some slight alteration in the direction of the guns was made, and then one after another they were fired. another rocket was now thrown up, and by its light the dark mass of men on or behind the bridge could be seen to be broken up and retreating. almost at the same moment four guns were fired from an upper bastion. "that is grape, percy," the colonel said. the officer there was told to wait till the men could see a body of troops advancing up the valley. "listen, there go the cavalry scampering back as hard as the horses can lay their feet to the ground. i doubt whether we shall hear anything more of them to-night." "they could hardly hope to have passed without our notic- ing them. they must have been sure that we should have warning of their coming." "no doubt, lad, but they may not have calculated on our opening fire upon them in the dark. they will not have reckoned upon the rockets, and hoped, i have no doubt, to push a part of their force past the place and up on to the brow before morning, for they would know well enough that they through the sikh war could not pass under the fire of our guns when the sun was once up." "but how will they get there, uncle? now we have shown them that it is almost as dangerous by night as by day." "probably they will march round among the hills, and come down upon us. there will be no difficulty in infantry doing it, and they may manage to drag a few light guns with them, but they can't get anything like heavy artillery up there except by bringing them along below, and taking them up the regular road. that is the first of the difficulties they have to encounter, and as i have a large stock of blue lights i don't see how they are going to get up the hill, which is commanded by a dozen of our guns. they will be safe enough from our fire as they pass along under the craig, for there is not a gun that can be depressed sufficiently to bear upon them there, though we can annoy them by pitching shell and hand- grenades down upon them. still, determined men might manage that, and might even make their way up the hill in face of our fire, but they could never drag heavy guns up a road which we can sweep with grape. so you see they have got a stiff problem to solve before they can get a battering-gun to play on our northern walt." for another hour they kept watch. there was still a con- fused sound from the lower end of the valley, but nothing to indicate any renewed advance. they therefore returned to the house. percy was aroused at daybreak, and at once made his way to the battery, where they had been the night before. the colonel and several of his officers were already there. the lower end of the valley was occupied by a great mass of men, horses, and waggons. tents had been erected here and there, and the banners of their occupants were hying before them. "how strong do you think they are, uncle?" percy asked. "it is difficult to say, mixed up as all arms are in such confusion just as they reached the ground last night, but we a siege guess them at about fifteen thousand. they have four bat- teries of field guns. there they are away to the right. they evidently came up together, and have kept something like order. we can make out several heavy guns mixed up with the waggons, but whether there are ten or twenty of them i could give no opinion. do you see that large tent with the red and white flag? those are the colours of ghoolab singh, and the tent no doubt is occupied by his son, the gentleman who was named my successor a week after the death of the old lion. he has been waiting some time, and is likely to wait longer. he is no doubt the nominal leader of the expe- dition; but i believe that he has none of the talent of his father or uncles, and matters will be directed really by the chiefs of the army. i have no doubt a council has been going on all night as to what the next move shall be, and the decis- ion they have probably arrived at is to wait until they can get a better idea of the fortress and its surroundings." a considerable movement was now going on in the enemy's camp, and the wind bore the sound of trumpets to the fortress. "they are trying to get into something like order," nand chund remarked. "the waggons are drawing out of the mass to take up their positions in the rear, and the assembly calls of the different regiments are sounding. ah! there is a party going out to reconnoitre." as he spoke a party of horsemen rode out to the left of the camp. several bright banners streamed in the air, and an escort of some fifty cavalry followed them. they mounted the hill on the opposite side of the valley until they reached a spot two or three hundred feet higher than the summit of the fortress, and just opposite to it. as soon as their object had been made out the colonel had sent word to the gunners at the batteries along that face ordering them not to fire. "i do not wish to make any more bitter enemies," he said to his officers in reply to their look of surprise when he issued the order. "at present they are only fighting against me as through the sikh war instruments of ghoolab singh, and except on the ground that i am a foreigner, the soldiers have no animosity against me. if we were now to kill two or three of their favourite leaders, and perhaps some of the sirdars who have been bribed into entering upon this business, it would create an active animos- ity against me. of course, when fighting begins they must all take their chance, but i don't wish to slay anyone before a single shot has been fired on their side." the group of officers, who were but half a mile away, re- mained for ten minutes closely examining the fortress. they then slowly returned to camp. "our guns would carry easily enough into the midst of the camp, sahib," one of the officers remarked. "i know they would, but i won't begin, for the same rea- son that i would not fire at the group of officers. we will let them open the ball." an hour later a body of men which they estimated at five thousand marched away with two of the batteries of field guns, and soon were lost to sight as they wound round the hills skirting the valley. "we shall see them at daylight to-morrow established on the hillside above us," the colonel said. "i have thought several times of establishing a fort near the crest there; but i should not be able to give it much support by my guns, and its garrison would not make any prolonged resistance when they once found themselves cut off altogether from us. with troops one could rely upon thoroughly, such a fort would immensely hinder the operations, and indeed they could do nothing until it was captured. "it is a standard rule with us out here, percy," he said afterwards, " never to count upon the natives unless you are with them yourself. the sikhs are brave, but they want good leaders, and are not to be relied upon unless under the eye of an officer they respect. they may hate us as europeans, but in the wars of runjeet singh they fought like lions under our a siege / command. you will see that that will be their weak point if they come to blows with the british. they will fight, and fight pluckily, but without europeans to lead them they will fall into disorder, and there will be no one to rally and control them, to take advantage of any temporary success, or to re- trieve a temporary failure. they don't know it themselves, but they will speedily learn it. given english officers, the natives of india fight as well as our own men. the sepoy regiments in clive's days, and ever since, have shown them- selves worthy of fighting by the side of their white comrades; but they would be worth very little if deprived of their euro- pean officers. another thing against them is the slowness with which they work their guns. a battery of british artillery would fire five shots while they fire one, and their infantry are proportionately slow in their movements. we have all tried, but tried in vain, to get them to work with smartness. it does not seem, however, to be in them." that night a vigilant watch was kept along the northern wall, but nothing was heard; and it was not till an hour after sunrise that a column was seen coming along the side of the hill above them. the guns were all manned and ready for action, but the colonel delayed giving the order until the enemy breached a sort of terrace on the face of the hill half a mile away, and three hundred feet higher than the level of the fortress. "now," he said, "we will give them a hint to come no further. we could not prevent their establishing them- selves on that terrace, but they must learn that they can come no nearer. two or three shots will be a sufficient hint." the guns opened fire, and the enemy, who were just com- mencing a further descent, retired hastily, and a few minutes later their field guns opened fire. they were no match, how- ever, for the much heavier pieces on the walls; and after half an hour's exchange of shots they drew back their guns, two of which had been dismounted by well-aimed shots from the wall. some of the party established themselves well back on the throl'gh the sikh war terrace, where they were out of sight of the fortress, but the main body ascended the hill again and encamped on the crest. occasionally a gun was run forward, discharged, and with- drawn: and to this f re the garrison made no reply, the guns being very badly aimed, some of the shot flying right over the fortress, while others struck the ground outside the wall. "now we shall have quiet for a time, sahib," nand chund said to percy, who was standing next to him. "they have done so much, and will want to settle what the next movement is to be." "i think it will be our turn to move next, nand chund," the colonel, who had overheard his remark, observed. "to- night when it gets dark we will sally out, and see if we cannot take those gentlemen with the guns by surprise." "it may be, colonel, that they will expect a sally, and will move their whole force down again on to the terrace after nightfall." "it all depends who their leader is. if he is an enterpris- ing fellow, that is what he would do." "i )o you know, uncle, i have been thinking that their camp down in the valley is smaller to day than it was yesterday." "do you think so, percy? i will go to the battery at the other end and have a look at it. it is possible that they may have sent off another party to join those fellows up there. if they have done that, they intend to try the effect of a coup demain, and to attack us in earnest some time before morning." after a close examination of the enemy's camp, the colonel and his officers were all of opinion that although it occupied as much space as before, there were fewer men moving about than upon the preceding day. "you have sharp eyes, percy, and it is well that you noticed it. had you not done so we might have run our heads into a trap, and instead of surprising them been surprised our- selves, and that by greatly superior numbers. i shall abandon the idea now and prepare to resist a serious assault to-night, a siegf and we will have every man capable of bearing arms in readiness. we will keep only a few men on the walls, and let the rest lie down at once with orders that they are to sleep if they can, as there will be no sleep for them to-night. nand chund, do you post half a dozen of your men at different points on the walls; let them keep a vigilant watch down upon the town itself, and see that no flag or other signal is waved from a roof or window. it may well be that there has been some arrangement made with a traitor here to give notice by signal of any intended sortie on our part." following his uncle's advice, percy lay down for some hours; but he could not sleep, being too excited at the thought of the conflict that would probably take place during the night. when he went in to dinner the colonel was absent, being engaged in mustering and assigning to their various posts the able-bodied men among the fugitives. these were posted round the circuit of the walls, which were all, with the exception of the northern face, entrusted to their charge. "it is probable," he told them, "that the enemy will make a diversion on this side when they attack on the other. it will not, however, be serious, for they can do nothing unless with the assistance of friends on the wall." among the servants of the traders were a good many who had served in the army. these were stationed at the guns, and enjoined to open fire upon the enemy's camp if they brought the heavy artillery they had there into play. to each battery and section of the wall a number of blue lights and fire-balls were served out—one or more of the former was to be lighted every few minutes, and the fire-balls occasionally thrown into the valley, so that no considerable body of the enemy could escape observation. the traders were appointed as commanders at the various points. of the garrison a thou- sand men were placed on the north wall; the rest were sta- tioned close at hand in readiness to support them, or to move to any point threatened. through the sikh war "percy," the ranee—as she was usually called in the fortress—said, as they sat waiting the colonel's return, "i want you to devote yourself to the protection of my husband to-night. i have no fear of the wall being carried by assault, it is too strong and will be too well defended for that, but i do fear for his life. that we have one or more traitors here we are sure, and an occasion like this with its confusion and excitement will afford them just the opportunity they desire. when all are engaged in repulsing the attack of an enemy it would be easy for an assassin to use knife or pistol without fear of the action being noticed, and the colonel will be think- ing of nothing but directing his men and repulsing the attack. therefore, i pray you station yourself near him. leave the fighting to others, and keep your eye closely upon those about him, and your pistol in your hand in readiness for action." "i will do so, aunt. if there is anyone here who wants to assassinate him, it is just the time he would choose for the attempt. i think it would be as well to ask nand chund to pick me out four of his best men, and to hand them over to my orders. however sharply i might look out in the dark- ness and confusion, someone might spring suddenly forward upon uncle from the side opposite that on which i was stand- ing; but with five of us on the watch, we ought to be able to prevent anyone getting near him. i will tell no one the pur- pose for which i require the men, and will bid nand chund be equally silent. there is no saying who the traitor may be, perhaps someone we have never thought of suspecting; and if he knew we were on the watch he might drop it alto- gether. i only hope he will try it, it would be the best thing that could happen, as it would relieve us from the uncertainty we have been feeling. nand chund himself with the rest of his men will, i know, be on duty here; for i heard uncle give him his orders, which were that he was to suffer nothing, not even the entry of the enemy into the town, to induce him to leave the house, as traitors would be very likely to take advan- a siege tage of the confusion to rush in and perhaps to kill you, and plunder and fire the place. there will be one advantage of my having these men with me. uncle might send me round with a message to some other part of the wall, and i should be obliged for a time to be absent; but with them round him, i could leave him for a few minutes without fear." "do not do it if you can help it, percy; the night will be dark, and if you keep well behind him he may not notice you, for he will have other things to think about. should he send you on a message, take it yourself if it is of great importance; if not, send one of the men in your place. i rely upon you more than on anyone else. ah, here is roland at last." by ten o'clock everyone was at his appointed post. the colonel took percy with him on a circuit round the walls, where he exhorted everyone to be watchful and vigilant and to preserve absolute silence until they could hear the enemy in motion down the valley. "i have no fear there whatever," he said, as he returned to the northern wall. "even were there a score of men among our troops who have been bought over to play a treacherous part, they could do nothing where there are so many around them on the watch. treachery strikes when least expected. it is powerless among a multitude, and all the traders and others from the towns know that their lives are at stake, and are just as well aware as i am that the place on that side is all but impregnable unless the assailants were aided from within. they can be trusted, therefore, to keep their eyes well open. i shall not assign you any special duty, percy. i have told ram bund, your commander, that i shall keep you near myself, but there is no occasion for you to stay close to me. if you see any point specially threatened you can go there and encourage the men by your voice and presence, but i have no fear whatever that they will gain a footing on the wall. "i shall take my post over the gateway, that is where i fancy through the sikh war the brunt of the attack will fall. they will either try to fill up the cut there with faggots or bundles of grass, or throw planks over and then blow in the gate. at least that is how we should act under the same circumstances, and as, if they make the attack, they must have some fellow of uncommon enterprise in command, it is likely he will proceed in the same course. as for the wall, it is fifty feet from the parapet to the bottom of the cut, and there are no native indian troops who would try to scale such a wall on ladders in the face of a strong and determined garrison. of course, if they could have brought their heavy guns up here, made a breach in the wall, and half filled up the cut with its ruins, it would have been a different affair altogether, though even then i feel sure that we could beat them off. as it is they can only reckon on finding us quite unprepared for an attack, and on carrying the place by a sudden rush. i believe myself that a quarter of an hour will see the end of it, and that as soon as they under- stand we are fully prepared they will give up the idea as hopeless. now we have nothing to do but to wait. i expect the attack about an hour before daybreak, which is the hour at which they will think they are most likely to find the sentinels drowsy." chapter vii startling news the hours passed slowly as the garrison awaited the attack of the enemy. the men had been told that they could all lie down where they stood, leaving only the officers and sen- tries on watch: and the top of the wall and the yard behind were crowded with sleeping figures wrapt in their mantles. about two o'clock those on watch were sensible of a low con- fused sound in the air. "they are moving," the colonel said to percy, who was sitting on the parapet, against which he was leaning. "it is probable that they have been ordered to leave their shoes behind them; and in any case the walk of a sikh in his soft leather shoes is almost noiseless, besides they are as yet a long distance away. they are coming down the hill," he contin- ued a quarter of an hour later; "the noise is certainly more distinct. but i give them credit for the manner of their ap- proach. we should scarce notice the noise if we were not prepared for it, and a drowsy sentry would take it for the wind rising among the hills. one can hardly imagine that ten thousand men are moving down towards us." two or three of the officers came up to report that they were sure the enemy were stirring, and the colonel ordered them to get all the men quietly under arms. another half-hour passed. ii through the sikh war "they are a long time in coming, uncle," percy said in a low voice. "they are; they might have been here long before this. if i did not want to give them a lesson i would send up a rocket in order to find out what they are doing. i believe they are only a short distance away now, but we will wait for them to begin." in a short time they were convinced that the enemy were within a hundred yards at most from the wall. quiet as their movements were, a low hum as of orders being given in sup- pressed tones could be heard. on the walls all were in readi- ness. at a distance of a few yards apart men stood with port-fires in one hand and matches in the other, while between them lines of muskets rested on the parapet. several times the watchers thought they could make out dim figures on the opposite side of the deep cut at the foot of the wall. sud- denly a bright light burst out exactly opposite the gate, and a moment later twenty guns opened, sending their balls crashing through the drawbridge and gate. at the same instant a rocket soared into the air from over the gateway, and a mo- ment later a line of blue lights flashed out along the wall. a mass of men were rushing forward towards the gate, all carry- ing great bundles on their heads, while a tremendous yell burst from thousands of throats. it was answered by one of defi- ance from the wall. the assailants paused for a moment in astonishment at the line of lights, and the proof that the garrison were prepared; but the pause was momentary, and they rushed forward again. the leaders were but a few yards from the edge of the cut when the colonel shouted "fire!" a flash of flame ran along the wall, and twenty guns loaded to the muzzle with grape poured their contents among the enemy. like a field of wheat levelled by the blast of a tornado the mob of men were swept to the earth, the few that remained erect throwing down their bundles and flying for their lives. percy, mind- percy mioots the assassin ht r ng the attack on the fortress. startling news ful of his special work, had, the moment the light flashed out opposite the gate, summoned the four men, who were stand- ing a short distance away, and stood on the watch near his uncle. for a few minutes there was a duel between the guns of the fortress and the sikh cannon, which had been drawn down by hand, the wheels thickly wrapped with cotton cloths to pre- vent the slightest sound being made. the infantry kept up a storm of fire, which was replied to by volleys of musketry from the defenders. the din was tremendous, and presently another body of men carrying long beams and planks again rushed forward. many of them reached the edge of the moat and tried to push the poles across, but the destruction was so great from the musketry fire from the walls, and from six guns which had been kept in reserve loaded with grape, that the survivors again fell back followed by the exultant shouts of the garrison. at the moment that they had advanced the two port-fires over the gate went out simultaneously, and before others could be lighted percy saw a figure that had been crouching under the parapet a short distance off spring forward. the guard nearest to him also observed the movement, and threw himself in the man's way. a knife flashed in the air and he fell. his assailant then sprung towards the colonel, whose back was turned to him, when a ball from percy's pistol struck him in the head and he fell dead in his tracks. the pistol-shot at- tracted no attention amid the roar of firearms, and percy, without paying further attention to the fallen man, ordered the remaining three guards to redouble their vigilance. "the scoundrel may not be alone," he said. "the attempt may be repeated." with the retirement of the second body of men charged to bridge the fosse the enemy lost heart. it was evident even to the most determined that success was impossible, now that the garrison were prepared. the guns, too, suffered so terri- startling news felt quite confused, and thought of nothing but that the attack might be repeated. i will go and see who it is as soon as it is light." by this time some hot coffee had been prepared, and percy had already partaken of it when the colonel returned. as he entered his wife threw herself into his arms. "thank god you have returned safe, roland, and have once more escaped the dangers that threatened you." "the dangers were not great this time, love, being only from a stray bullet; for the artillery conf ned their fire to the gate, in hopes no doubt that a lucky shot might bring the drawbridge down. not that this was likely, for i had it fas- tened up by half a dozen chains, anyone of which would have held it." "it was not the bullets of the enemy, but the knife of an assassin that i feared," she said. "pooh, pooh, my love! you are always dreaming of assas- sins." "and not without reason, roland; had it not been for percy's pistol you would not be alive now." the colonel looked surprised at percy. "what does this mean, lad? i did not hear you fire, and, indeed, did not notice you from the time when the attack began to the time when it was over. do you mean to say that my life was attempted, and that you saved me?" "it was aunt's doing, not mine, uncle." percy then related the injunctions his aunt had given him and the results. "you have saved my life again, mahtab," he said embracing his wife tenderly. "at least this time you and percy have done it between you. and who is the traitor?" "that percy does not know; he did not think of examining the body." "then we will do so at once," the colonel said, putting on his cap again. "daylight will soon be breaking, and as soon as it does the soldiers will be at work removing from the wall through the sikh war the bodies of those who fell in the fight. i heard just now that there were twenty-five men killed by the enemy's musket- fire, and another twenty or thirty hit in the hand or arm as they fired over the wall. come along, percy, you will know exactly where the man fell." calling a couple of his guards and bidding one bring a lantern with him, the colonel, accompanied by percy, went to the wall, where the latter at once pointed out the body of the man he had shot, lying close to that of the guard who had fallen by his knife. "throw the light on his face," the colonel said, and as the soldier did so he uttered an exclamation of surprise and disgust. "it is azim bund—the scoundrel! he was the last man i should have suspected. he was penniless when i picked him up years ago. he professed the greatest attachment for me, and being clever and shrewd i raised him step by step until at last he became my confidential steward. he was bound to me by every tie of gratitude, and i certainly thought him absolutely devoted to my interests. ever since the attempt to seize you on your way here showed that there was a traitor in the fortress, he has appeared most earnest in his attempts to discover him; and to think that all this time it was the scoundrel himself! mahtab has never liked the man, though she never suspected his fidelity. i suppose he had been heavily bribed, and had the promise of some good place from ghoolab singh. well, he richly deserved the fate that has befallen him. i am glad that it was not a soldier, for i like to think that all my men are faithful to me to the last. "that was a good shot of yours, percy, your ball struck him just in the centre of the forehead. well, there is one thing, there need be no fear at present of another attempt of this kind. this fellow would never have dared to make a confi- dant. an officer might enlist some of his men in such a plot, but a man in azim's position would not venture to do so. a startling news ") steward is not often popular with the men he looks after, .and i don't think this fellow was any exception to the rule. do you two men remain with the body until the morning, and see that no one touches it. you can search his pockets now, but it is not likely that such a cunning knave would be carrying any documents that would incriminate him, about on his person." "there is nothing in his pockets, sahib," one of the sol- diers said, "but i can feel he has a heavy belt round his body." "take it off and examine it." it was found that a hundred gold mohurs were sewn up in the belt. "the first instalment of the price of my life," the colonel said. "here is one apiece for you, men; the rest shall be laid out in charity. there must be scores of people who have been made homeless in the last day or two. "in the morning make a thorough search of the fellow's clothes, he may have some paper sewn up in them. now, percy, we will go back to the house." the ranee was greatly agitated when she heard who was the author of the attack upon the colonel's life. "it is terrible, roland, to think that we can trust no one, and that for months your life has been endangered by that man. i cannot think why he waited so long." "he was waiting for a safe opportunity, as he thought," the colonel replied. "our private apartments are always locked at night, and during the day the opportunities for putting a knife into me without suspicion falling upon him were not frequent. no doubt he knew that ghoolabwas going to send an army here, and it was probably arranged that the affair should not take place until it arrived, as with me out of the way the garrison would probably surrender, and ghoolab's son would only have to enter and take possession; and would, moreover, gain a certain amount of credit for what would be regarded as his capture of the place. he might, perhaps, startling news the south. some of the merchants at once sent off messengers to gather news, and by nightfall the colonel learnt that it was reported that the mother of the maharajah had consented to the demands of the army to make war against the british. an officer who had passed through the nearest town had stated that he was the bearer of despatches, ordering the force who were besieging the fortress to return at once to lahore. "that must have been very welcome news for every man in camp," the colonel said. "the soldiers must be already sick of the business, which must have cost them at least a thousand men, counting those that died after the fight from their wounds; and they must have seen well enough that this was nothing to what the loss would be before the place was cap- tured. the leaders must be even more glad; the fact that no movement has been made since the repulse shows that they are at their wits' end as to what their next move should be. they must have known that another repulse might cause a mutiny among the troops, and might even cost them their lives. they must have been glad indeed at the news of their recall. "and now, percy, we must lose no time in warning our friends of what is intended. they may have got news already from lahore; but we cannot risk that—their agents there may be imprisoned or killed, therefore you had better prepare to start for ixxxliana in an hour's time. nand chund shall go with you again with fifty men. there will no doubt be many sirdars moving with their followers towards lahore, and you will therefore excite little attention; and if questioned, nand chund will say that he is on his way to join the army. no, it will not be quite true; but that is a matter that will not rest at all heavily on his conscience. lying is not considered a great moral offence at any time by the sikhs, or indeed by any natives of india; and to deceive an enemy in time of war, is considered absolutely meritorious. there will be no occasion for you to say anything one way or another; he will . through the sikh war appear as the head of the expedition, and you will pass unno- ticed and unquestioned. nand chund is perfectly capable of talking for himself and half a dozen others. fondness for. using his tongue at all times is one of his principal failings." "am i to come straight back again, uncle?" the colonel thought for a minute or two. "i will leave that entirely in your hands, percy; you are old enough now to act on your own account. if you can be useful—and it is probable that you may be very useful owing to your acquaint- ance with the language and the knowledge that you have gained of the people—to the resident at loodiana, i should say that it would be best for you to put yourself at his service. it would be a very useful beginning for you, and would give you a claim that might be of great advantage to you in the future. besides, i should think you would wish to see what is going on, and there are likely to be some stirring events in the next few months. here we shall have a quiet time of it, for with a war with england on their hands no one will think of troubling about us, and they will need every man for the work they have cut out for themselves. do you agree with me, mahtab?" "yes, i shall be sorry, very sorry for him to go; but i think it would be best for him. you always tell me that if my peo- ple go to war with yours it is sure to end in the punjaub being annexed. there will then be no career for him here, and it will be better so since his life would be, as yours has been, one of constant danger. thus then, it will be much better for him to make friends with officers in the company's ser- vice, so that he may, as you have pointed out many times, become an officer of theirs when they are masters of the punjaub." "you will want a servant; indeed you had better have two. they must be trusty men above all things, and shrewd fellows too, whom you can, if necessary, despatch on difficult errands. i should say you had better let nand chund pick you out two of his men, unless you have any fancy yourself." startling news "he spoke very highly to me of those he chose for me last night, uncle. however, i will speak to him." "do so, percy; a man may be faithful and an excellent guard, and yet not be the one you would choose as a servant. you want two cheery good-tempered fellows, who will always do what they are told without grumbling. i should say that you had better have pathans, for a sikh's sympathies would certainly be with his countrymen. i will walk down with you myself and have a chat with nand chund; next to a good horse and good arms, a good servant is the most important point on entering on a campaign; a handy fellow will make you comfortable under almost all circumstances, while with one who has not a knack of cooking, or of managing things for your comfort, you will be in all sorts of straits." when the matter was explained to the officer he said: "you could not do better than take akram chunder, he is a pathan, and one of the men you had last night. he was sohan verdi's own man for a time; but the major is hot-tempered, and spoke sharply to him one day, and he chose to go back into the ranks again. sohan has told me more than once that he was one of the best men he ever had. he is a good soldier, he has been in your service for ten years, and he has a high character for courage. i do not think that the young sahib can do better than take him. as to the other he shall have my own man, bhop lal. he is an invaluable man in the field, merry, good-tempered, eager to please, ready to do any- thing for his master's comfort. here, however, he has been too long inactive, and is getting idle. were i going on a campaign i should be sorry indeed to part with him; but as it is i can find a man who will suit'me just as well, and he is the very man for the young sahib; he is intelligent and trust- worthy, a good groom and cook." "then percy cannot do better than try them. send for them to come to my house at once, i will myself speak to them and see how they like the proposal; a man who goes through the sikh war unwillingly had much better stop behind. i am obliged to you, nand chund, for giving up your man to my nephew." ten minutes later the servant announced that the two men were at the door, and they were at once brought in. "my nephew is going to loodiana," the colonel began, "and it may be- that he will remain with his friends. you have, of course, both heard the news that the maharanee has yielded to the wishes of the army, and that they are going to war with the english. my nephew is going to join his own people, and will, i daresay, remain with them until the war is over. he wants two servants, good fellows who can be thoroughly relied upon, who can look after his comfort in the field, carry messages if necessary from one end of the country to the other, and who can be relied upon to be thoroughly faithful and devoted to him. i have consulted nand chund, and he has strongly recommended you both. i do not wish you to go unless you are perfectly willing to do so. while you are with him, you will receive double pay, and a present will not be wanting when he returns here if he gives a good report on your services. now, what do you say?" both men expressed their willingness to follow percy, and it was evident by their manner that they considered it no small honour to have been selected to attend upon the col- onel's nephew. "that is settled then," the colonel said. "i need tell you nothing about your duties, for you are both accustomed to the work. i will see that you are well mounted. have you each good arms and a brace of pistols?" both replied in the affirmative. "make your preparations at once. nand chund will start in half an hour with fifty men to escort my nephew to loodiana." the men saluted and retired, and the colonel gave orders that two good horses should be picked out for them. three quarters of an hour later percy rode out from the gate of the fortresswith his escort, his two followers falling in in the rear. startijng news being this time unencumbered by baggage animals, the march was more rapid than it had been on the way up. as the country was full of armed parties making their way to lahore, their passage attracted no attention until they turned off from the road to that city. after that they avoided towns, and riding without a halt for twelve hours they crossed the sutlej on the evening of the fifth day, and on the following morning rode into loodiana. a considerable change had taken place since percy had left it six months before. then there were but two or three battalions of troops stationed there, now the long line of tents showed that this force was largely augmented, and that six or seven thousand men were collected in the camp. it was evident that the british authorities were alive to the coming danger, and that they would not be surprised by the unprovoked invasion of the sikhs. sir henry hardinge had arrived in july as governor- general, and being warned by the residents at loodiana and other frontier stations of the probability that the sikh army would insist upon war, and overcome any opposition on the part of the maharanee, he had quietly made preparations for the event by moving up considerable bodies of troops to the north-west. it had indeed for some time been evident, that unless ghoolab singh accepted the office of prime minister troubles must come. he was the one man in the country whose personal power and influence would enable him to control the mutinous army, and his refusal to accept the post rendered it certain that the struggle would come sooner or later. ghoolab possessed talent and astuteness equal to that of his brother dhyan, and was, like him, convinced that the power of england was too great for that of the sikhs; he was, there- fore, strongly against war. on the other hand his position was a difficult one. had he attempted to stem the tide of popular clamour his own army would have turned against him, and he might have lost both his possessions and his life. he through the sikh war was therefore obliged to temporize, and believed that he would gain advantages whichever way the struggle went. to the sikhs, then, he professed a complete agreement with their views, but at the same time under one excuse or another he remained at jummoo, replying to their repeated requests that he would advance with his army to lahore, by saying that he was perfectly ready to do so, but that he thought it would be in all respects better to keep his army as a separate force and so co-operate with the main body. on the other hand he sent secret messages to the british, assuring them of his friend- ship, and promising them that whenever he saw the opportu- nity he would throw the whole weight of his influence and power into the scale on their side. nand chund and his detachment of cavalry did not enter loodiana, but took leave of percy when they came within sight of the place, and started at once on their return. "i shall travel by another road," he said, "and if we should be questioned hereafter we can strongly deny any report that we have paid a visit to ix)odiana, for were it known it would excite a feeling against our lord, who would be accused of being in communication with the english. there is, it is true, no cause whatever to fear another attack upon the fortress while the war continues, but it might prejudice him afterwards, and if things go badly with the sikhs some fanatic might endeavour to take vengeance upon him." "give my love to my uncle and aunt, and tell them i hope to see them again before long." percy's two followers closed up behind him, and as soon as the troops had started he rode with them into loodiana. the resident was alighting from his horse at the door of his bungalow when percy rode up. "ah, groves, is it you?" he said. "i was wondering whether i should see you soon. i heard that an army had marched to attack your uncle's place, and a few days ago my agent at lahore wrote me there were rumours that they had startling news been repulsed with very heavy loss, which i was glad to hear, not only for your sake, but because a reverse of that sort would not raise the spirits of their army. how did it all end, and what are you here for? but you can tell me that while we are having tiffen; you know it is about my hour. you have become a regular young sikh. i did not recognize you at the first glance in that finery." "i have worn it ever since i have been there," percy said. "i did not like it at first, but i soon got accustomed to it, and it is certainly cooler than my own clothes. but there is such a prejudice against europeans that my uncle thought that i had much better follow his example and dress in the fashion of the country. i brought a couple of english suits down with me in my valise, but i was obliged to ride down in this dress in order to escape notice. shall i change before tiffen, sir?" "no, you look very well as you are, groves. have you come far this morning?" "only about ten miles. i came down with an escort of fifty men, and crossed the sutlej yesterday evening. they left me a couple of miles outside the town." "well, you had better go in to your old room and have a wash while i take my bath. tiffen will be ready in a quarter of an hour." two or three officers were present at tiffen, and these had difficulty at first in crediting mr. fullarton's assurance that the young sikh to whom he introduced them was really an english lad. at tiffen percy related the events of the siege of the fortress at his host's request. "it must be a strong place by your description," mr. fullarton said when percy concluded his narration, "and would puzzle even british troops to carry it by assault. still i have no doubt our engineers would manage somehow to get heavy guns on to the hill commanding it, and once there it could not hold out long." through the sikh war "my uncle was quite aware of that, sir; but the sikhs are very clumsy with their cannon, and he calculated that the troops would soon be tired of the siege. but it would cer- tainly be a very difficult matter to get heavy guns up there. there is some sort of road round behind through the hills, but i believe it is a mere track, and uncle thought it hardly possible at any rate for the sikhs to bring heavy artillery along it. the only other road is that commanded by the guns of the fortress, and runs but a little more than a quarter of a mile away from it. the guns could not be taken up without very heavy loss." after the officers had left, mr. fullarton asked, "and how about yourself, groves? what are you thinking of doing, and what can i do for you?" "my uncle thought i might be of use, sir. i can speak punjaubi well enough to pass as a native, and he thought that you might accept my services as a volunteer, and might find me useful in obtaining information, communicating with any of the sikh nobles who might be friendly, or in any other way. i have two men with me, both of whom can be trusted thor- oughly, either as messengers or to go into the sikh camp if necessary to gather information. i started the moment the sikhs moved away from before the fortress, and we had news that they were summoned to join the main army at lahore as the maharanee had given way to the wishes of the war-party. the news was so important that my uncle sent me off at once, thinking that probably your agent at lahore might be unable to send you news, as anyone known to be in communication with you would probably be arrested at once when war was finally determined on." "you are the first bearer of the news," mr. fullarton said. "it is ten days since i had a message from lahore. it was in that letter my agent sent me the news that the first assault on the fortress had failed. he said then that the war-party had completely gained the ascendency, and that he thought startling news the final decision would shortly be taken. he warned me that he might be unable to send me further news at present as he was in very bad odour, it being known he was in commu- nication with me, and that he was sure to be watched if not imprisoned. "not having heard, i felt no doubt whatever that war had been decided upon and wrote accordingly to the authorities, but i have had no absolute certainty until now, as other causes may have prevented my agent from writing. take a seat out in the verandah for a few minutes. i must send off a de- spatch at once with the news, and also inform brigadier wheeler, who is in command here, that the reports that the sikhs have determined on war are now confirmed. after i have sent the despatches off i will join you again and talk over what you were saying about volunteering." chapter viii in the service percy was not kept waiting long, for in twenty minutes mr. fullarton joined him in the verandah. "now about yourself, groves. i have no doubt that you will be able to make yourself very useful, and i at once accept your services as a volunteer in the civil service. i do not know yet whether i myself shall accompany the troops if they march from here. if i do i will take you with me, if not i will introduce you to general wheeler, and transfer your services to him. there is a great dearth of men who speak punjaubi, and i am quite sure he will be very glad to have someone with him so well acquainted with the language as you are. i expect him here shortly; he is sure to come across to talk matters over with me as soon as he receives my note. i will introduce you to him then. before he comes you had better change and get into english dress. he is a soldier of the old school, and might regard your present attire as a sort of masquerading, and receive an unpleasant impression of you." half an hour later general wheeler and three or four offi- cers of his staff rode up to the door and had a long interview with the resident. at its conclusion a servant brought a message to percy that mr. fullarton desired to see him. he had by this time changed his clothes. i in the service "this is the young gentleman of whom i have been speak- ing to you, general," the resident said as percy entered. "he is the nephew of the colonel groves who has been many years in the sikh service. his father was an officer in our own army. he speaks punjaubi like a "native. he has vol- unteered, and will, i am sure, be very useful to us. i came out with him in the same ship from england, and formed a high idea of his intelligence. it is, i believe, his wish to enter the service of the company later on. he is not with- out some little experience in war, for but a week ago he took part in the defence of his uncle's fortress when attacked by fifteen thousand sikhs, whom they beat off handsomely. i have been telling general wheeler, groves, that you might be very useful in obtaining information or in communications with the natives, and that the fact that there might be some little peril in the work would not be any obstacle to your undertaking it. i said that i was going to keep you by me as a sort of civilian aide-de-camp, but the general has been good enough to say that he will attach you to his staff nominally as interpreter, but in fact as an extra aide-de-camp; and as my assistant and myself both speak the language well, while the general is short of officers who know it, i feel that you will be of more service to him than to me. but i consider you as lent only, and i shall be glad at any time if general wheeler no longer requires your services to take you on in the capacity of an extra assistant." "can you ride?" general wheeler asked. "but i suppose i need hardly ask that, as you have been living among the sikhs." "yes, i can ride, sir, in the sikh fashion or the english." "mr. fullarton tells me that you could pass as a native." "in anything like an ordinary conversation i could, sir; and as i have worn the native dress for the last ten months i am perfectly at home in it." "very well, then, you can consider yourself as from the through the sikh war present time attached to my staff. major clissold, vill you see after him? i should think that you, as adjutant-general of the division, will find him even more useful than i should do as an aide-de-camp." "you can leave us now, groves," mr. fullarton said, "but wait outside and major clissold will speak to you presently." percy bowed and withdrew. the conversation still contin- ued to turn upon him. "i should think one might put him in general orders, clis- sold, either as an extra aide-de-camp or as attached to your department. i don't know what the rules of the service are with regard to the uniform of volunteers attached to the army. it is so seldom done now that i really do not know, but in the old days they were dressed, i believe, as officers." "no, that won't do," mr. fullarton laughed. "i am going to make a civilian of him. if he does well in the campaign he might perhaps get gazetted as an ensign, but it would be very much better for him to have a claim on the civil side. therefore, i shall take upon myself to appoint him as my deputy-assistant. i shall write to sir henry hardinge asking that the temporary appointment may be confirmed, seeing the urgent necessity for more officers up in the language and with a knowledge of the country. so we may consider the appointment made. now i lend him to you, and you can put it in general orders that the temporary services of deputy- assistant groves have been placed by me at your disposal as interpreter, and that he is henceforth attached to the head- quarter staff of the division. that will give him an established position, and he can wear his civilian clothes, a white helmet, and so on." "i think that will be a very good plan," the general said. "he has two servants with him. they are pathans, both first-rate fellows, whom he will employ when necessary to obtain information. i would suggest that they be put on rations as a matter of convenience to groves, and they could through the sikh war tal fellow to serve under. he may work you hard, for there will be an immense deal of work to be done, but he is always pleasant and agreeable to his subordinates, and is very much liked in the force. i have some writing to finish, but in about an hour i shall be ready to start with you, so you may as well warn your two fellows to be ready. i have a forage cap that i have only worn once or twice, for it is too small for me. i will tell ram singh to put a pugaree on, and if necessary put some folded cotton inside the lining to make it fit you." an hour later they rode into the head-quarter camp. "i have brought you your interpreter, clissold," mr. fullar- ton said as he entered that officer's tent, followed by percy, their horses being held by the latter's men. "where are you going to stow him? as there is no getting tent furniture here, i have told my man to send over what is necessary; but as i did not know whether groves would have a tent to himself or not i told him to wait till i returned before he started." "no, i have put him in a tent with hunt. we can't afford a tent each for subalterns, so they are doubled up two together. but hunt happens to be an odd man, which is lucky. orderly," he called out, and as the soldier entered, "tell mr. hunt i shall be glad if he will step here." a minute later a young officer entered. "hunt, here is the young gentleman who, as i told you, will have to share your tent. he is a volunteer in the civil service. mr. ful- larton has kindly lent him to us for a time as interpreter, which i am sure we want badly enough on the staff, for none of you young fellows are of the slightest use with the natives. he is the son of an officer late of our service and has been for the last six months with his uncle, who was one of runjeet singh's colonels, and still holds the fortress he was appointed to some time ago, although ordered by the sikhs to leave. i am sure you will get on well together, and i hope that you will make him as comfortable as you can, and introduce him to the other aides. he will mess with you for the present." in the service the young officer shook hands with percy. "if you will come with me i will show you our tent." "if you don't mind, hunt, i will come with you," mr. fullarton said; "then i can see what is wanted in the way of furniture." the tent was a square one with double canvas, the two walls being four feet apart, thus making a passage round it, one side being utilized as a bath-room and receptacle for luggage, the other being used by the servants as their living and sleeping apartment. there was a carpet spread over the floor, a native camp-bed, two folding chairs, a table, and a portable bath. "all you want, as far as i can see," mr. fullarton said, "is another charpoy and a couple more chairs." "that is all," hunt agreed; "this is all the furniture one is allowed, which we think rather hard. do you think the sikhs are going to cross the sutlej, sir?" "of course, they may do so, but the general impression is that it will not be in force; they may begin by making raids, but probably the real fighting will take place when we get across. well, now, i shall leave you, groves; i think you will get on very well, and i daresay we shall meet pretty nearly every day." "are those two fellows yours?" hunt asked, as, going out of the tent with mr. fullarton, he saw the two natives sitting like statues on their horses in front of the tent, while one of them held the bridle of percy's horse. "yes, they are my two servants; they are two of my uncle's soldiers. both have been officers' servants, they are extremely useful fellows, and i can trust them thoroughly. one is a pathan from the hill frontier of afghanistan, the other is from cashmere, therefore neither of them have any special leanings towards the sikhs." "that is a capital horse of yours?" "yes, he is very fast, and has much more endurance than the horses of the plains. my uncle bred him. he has a through the sikh war european sire, and his dam is considered as having some of the best blood in the punjaub. what shall i tell my men to do with the horses?" "they can picket yours over there; that line of horses all belong to the staff. their own they can put with that line behind, those are the horses of the orderlies. i will go across with you and see about it, or some of the soldiers will be interfering." the horses were soon picketed, and the men brought percy's saddle and valises to his tent. by night he felt quite at home. the aides-de-camp were pleasant young men, and having already been spoken to by major clissold, received the new- comer cordially. percy had inquired of hunt as to the messing arrangements. "i am well supplied with money," he said, "and wish, of course, to pay my share of all expenses." "that can easily be managed," hunt replied. "the way it is arranged is this. there were five of us: long and myself are the general's aides-de-camp; humphreys and lascelles, who are deputy-assistant-quartermaster-generals;.and egerton, who is an assistant-adjutant-general. they are all lieutenants. we brought up with us a certain amount of mess stores, prin- cipally liquor, which are all common property. i will see to-morrow what stock is left, and you can hand me over a sixth of the value, which will go to the fund for general ex- penses. however, these are not heavy, for being under can- vas we draw rations—meat and bread—and i buy what i can get in the way of vegetables, game, and so on, from the coun- try people. of course, if you leave us before our store of liquor is exhausted, i shall, as it were, buy your share back again." percy found the society very agreeable. his experience of the junior officers' mess on board a ship had prepared him for the tone of light chaff and fun that prevailed. although by some four years the youngest of the party, the fact that he was acquainted with the country they expected shortly to invade gave him a certain weight with the others, none of whom had in the service been in that part of india before. he was asked innumerable questions as to the sikhs, and what he thought of their fighting powers; and had to recount in full detail the story of the attempt to storm the fortress. "that uncle of yours must be an uncommonly plucky fellow to hold on there in the face of the whole of the sikhs, and he must be amazingly liked by his troops for them to stick to him against their own countrymen." "that is not so wonderful," percy said, "for the sikhs are constantly fighting against each other. most of his men have served under him for eight or ten years. the rest were re- cruited in his district, which was only conquered by the sikhs in runjeet's time, so they are still considered as interlopers by the natives. still, of course, there is always the fear of treachery; and my uncle nearly lost his life while the attack was going on; the man who attempted it was one of those he trusted most thoroughly, being his steward and the head of his household." "you did not tell us about that," hunt said. "how was it?" and percy had to tell the story. "and you shot him? well, i have never shot a man yet, and i don't know how i should feel. were you very uncom- fortable afterwards?" "not in the slightest. he was going to kill my uncle, and i fired and he went down, and i thought nothing more about it till i mentioned it to my uncle after it was all over." "i suppose you are a good shot?" "i am a fair shot," percy said. "i have practised nearly every day since i left england, except when i was travelling up country. mr. fullarton advised me to do so on board ship, and my uncle kept me regularly at that and riding and sword exercise every day, partly because he said these things would be most useful to me, and partly because the sikhs look up to anyone who can do things better than they can." "it must be awfully jolly to be able to speak the language, through the sikh war groves?" lieutenant egerton said, "and i hear you speak it like a native. you must have a wonderful knack of picking up languages to have learnt it so completely in six months." "it was not exactly in six months. i had studied hindu- stani before i left england; and luckily mr. fullarton had a punjaubi servant with him, and i worked with him regularly five or six hours a day throughout the voyage, so that i was able to get on pretty fairly with the language by the time i got out here." "i wish i had spent my voyage as well," egerton laughed, "instead of spending it spooning with a young woman who was on her way out to be married, and who did marry the man a week after she landed." "these things are very sad, egerton," lieutenant lascelles laughed. "i suppose you were heart-broken for a time." "not quite. i will do her justice to say that she made no secret of her engagement, and never flattered me with the hope that she intended to break it. at the same time she had no objection to flirt with me, it being an understood thing on both sides that it was to end with the "voyage. it was very pleasant while it lasted; but it would have been very much wiser to have done as groves did, and spent the hot hours of the day in getting up a language. i should be a hundred a year better off if i had passed in one of the dialects, and besides, i should have had much better chance of getting a good appointment." "ah, well, you can console yourself, egerton, by thinking that if you had you would now be in some small cantonment down in bengal, instead of having a chance of seeing what- ever fun may be going on here." "that is a consolation certainly, hunt; but i don't care how soon the fun begins, for i own that i am getting sick of bar- gaining for bullocks and working like a horse eight or ten hours a day. it is all very well for you aides-de-camp, whose work consists in writing a few letters for the chief and can- in the service tering across with some message; but for us hard-worked quartermasters it is no holiday here. i do hope most heartily that the sikhs will not be long before they begin their raids, and give us a decent excuse for fighting them." "how strong do you think they are likely to turn out, groves? they tell us a hundred thousand." "i should say a good deal more than that," percy replied. "there will be over a hundred thousand troops, for all who have passed through the ranks will be certain to rejoin them. then the great sirdars can put almost as many fighting men into the field." "that sounds serious, and i suppose there is no doubt they will fight bravely." "that they are sure to do," percy said. "what force do you think we shall be able to put in the field?" "there are over ten thousand men at ferozepore, with twenty-four guns. here we have, by the field state to-day, seven thousand two hundred and thirty-five, and twelve guns. at umballa there are about thirteen thousand men, with thirty-two guns. you see, ever since hardinge came out he has seen this thing brewing, and has been quietly preparing for it. when he landed in india last year there were at these three stations only between thirteen and fourteen thousand men and forty-eight guns, and in the last eighteen months he has increased the force by seventeen thousand men and twenty guns. "at meerut there are about ten thousand men and twenty- six guns, but as that place is two hundred and fifty miles away, we can't count upon any assistance from there at first, if the sikhs should take it into their head to cross the sutlej. of course if we invade we shall wait until the meerut force is brought up before we advance. sir henry arrived at um- balla on the second, and was to leave yesterday. ostensibly he is not here for any warlike purpose whatever, but is occu- pied in making an inspection of the protected district, inter- - through the sikh war viewing the chiefs, and ascertaining what their feeling is towards us. these states voluntarily put themselves under our protection some five-and-thirty years ago, having no desire to fall under the sway of l^ahore; and they have greatly benefited, for runjeet singh would assuredly have annexed the whole territory between the sutlej and the jumma, if he had not been warned that if he attacked these petty princes he would bring us into the field against him. it has always been a sore point with the sikhs beyond the sutlej that we prevented them from obtaining what they considered their natural boundaries. the protected states are indeed to a great extent sikh, and even now, although they owe the con- tinuance of their existence as separate states to our protection, and the chiefs are all with us, the sympathies of the great body of the people are entirely with the sikhs across the sutlej. "runjeet singh was wise enough to know that he would have risked losing all he had were he to try to wrest them from us.- had he thought himself strong enough he would have risked a war for it, for the country south of the sutlej is far more fertile than it is to the north, and it would largely in- crease the revenues of the punjaub did it form part of it. this is the real cause of their hostility to us, and of their present threatening attitude. sir henry is going, as i said, among the chiefs here. some of these are really friendly, others only pretend to be so. but there is one thing certain, if any misfortune happened to our arms the whole country would be up against us; and in any case we shall have to take every possible precaution to guard our depots and communi-" cations, for directly fighting begins it would be unsafe for small parties to travel about the country." percy's stay in camp was of very short duration, for on the following evening major clissold sent for him. "the general has just received a despatch from head- quarters, groves; the news from the north is to the effect that in the service the sikhs are making great preparations there, and majo broadfoot, the chief political agent at head-quarters, requests that you will at once proceed there to join him, as he wishes to question you as to your own personal observations of the state of feeling as you came down. i think it probable he will keep you with him for the present; and as you may have more important work to do there than buying bullocks and so on, i hope for your sake he will do so, though i shall be sorry to lose you, for i have already found by your work to- day that you would be a very valuable assistant. still there is nothing like being at head-quarters and having the eye of the chief of your department upon you. you had better start this evening late." "very well, sir, i will be off in half an hour. i suppose i can ride round and say good-bye to mr. fullarton." "certainly. there is no absolute occasion to start until morning, but it is always well to show zeal, and it will no doubt please broadfoot if you arrive there by daybreak. you needn't start till two o'clock; it is only a three hours' ride. the head-quarter camp is close to basseean." "i am sorry you are going," hunt said when percy returned to his tent and told him the news, "and i hope you will be back again in a day or two. if not, it will save me the trouble of taking stock of our liquors, which i was going to do to-mor- row morning. we shall be glad at any rate to have had you as our guest for a day, and shall all be sorry at your leaving." percy at once rode over to the residency. "you are in luck, groves," mr. fullarton said when he told him of the order he had received. "there is nothing like getting to head-quarters; it is there that honours and rewards fall thickest; and if broadfoot keeps you with him you may be sure that any recommendation he makes in your favour will be attended to. i have heard this afternoon that the sikhs are certainly marching down towards ferozepore, and are within a few miles of the river. of course they may not cross. through the sikh war once or twice before they have come down, but without cross- ing. still, if they are in earnest there is no doubt it means serious fighting, for the force at ferozepore is quite isolated and will at once be cut off if the sikhs cross near the town, and there will be no chance of relieving it until we get together a force sufficient to give battle. sit down a moment and i will write a letter of introduction for you to broadfoot; it will put you on a pleasanter footing with him." the next morning before sunrise percy with his two fol- lowers rode into the head-quarters camp. he had at mr. fullarton's recommendation bought a pony, or "tat" as it is called, to carry his valises and his dress as a young sikh sirdar. "i should stick to that, groves; it may be of use to you. there is no saying what work broadfoot may give you." percy was, on his arrival, directed to the tent of the political agent. when the orderly took in his name he was at once called in. "i did not expect you so soon, mr. groves," major broadfoot said looking up; "nor did i expect," he added smiling, "to see quite so young a man." "i daresay not, sir," percy replied. "this is a letter mr. fullarton has given me for you." "sit down while i read it," the major said as he opened it. he read it through. "mr. fullarton speaks of you in extremely high terms, groves, and as i know him well i am sure he would not praise unduly. now tell me what is the opinion of your uncle and the people about him as to the state of affairs. does he think that the sikhs will be mad enough to cross the sutlej?" "he has no doubt whatever about it, sir; he is convinced that the troops have for a long time made up their minds to conquer the protected states, and as they are completely masters of the situation in i^ hore there is nothing to prevent them doing so. such was also the opinion of all his native officers, and although we did not have much communication with the people on the way down, all whom we did speak to seemed to think that war was certain." in the service "the news we received from lahore has always been the other way," major broadfoot said. "i have received a mes- sage this morning to the same effect, but captain nicholson reported yesterday from ferozepore that a considerable sikh force had arrived within three miles of the river. orders have been sent for a general forward movement of the troops. sir henry is going to ride over to loodiana this morning to inspect the force there." "i have two followers, sir, who can be trusted to obtain any news you may desire to get. if you like, one of them will cross the river and make his way to the sikh force opposite ferozepore and find out its strength and whether there is any intention of crossing; or if you prefer it, i will go myself. i have always been accustomed to wear the sikh dress since i came out, and could, i think, pass without suspicion." "it is most important that we should obtain some definite news," major broadfoot said, "and i am much obliged to you for your offer, but i do not think i can entertain it. it is too great a risk for you to run to go yourself, and the importance of the question is so great i should not dare to forward infor- mation, which would perhaps involve the movements of the whole army, merely upon the report of a native, however trust- worthy he may be." "i do not believe there is any danger whatever in my going, sir. i might take my two men with me, and should disguise myself in a dress similar to theirs. my own, which is that of a young sirdar, might so far attract attention that i might be questioned, while three of us in ordinary soldiers' dress could move about without being noticed in any way. that is just the sort of work that i came here to do, and my uncle thought that as a boy i could pass unquestioned where a man could not do so. one of my men is five- or six-and-thirty, so i could pass well enough as his son if any questions were asked, which i don't think would be the case." "well, groves, if you are ready to go i do not think myself through the sikh war justified in refusing your offer, as it is of such extreme impor- tance to find out the intentions of the sikhs. when will you start?" "i would give the horses an hour's rest, sir, and then i will be off, if i can get a disguise by that time." "that i can manage for you. i have numbers of natives in my pay, and can get what you require, a native dress with shield, tulwar, and matchlock, in a quarter of an hour. fer- ozepore is twenty miles from here, and the sikh force some four miles farther; but, of course, you won't be able to cross the river there, and must do it ten or twelve miles higher up and then ride round. are you well mounted?" "very well mounted, sir." "then i will get you a strong native 'tat.' your being mounted on a good horse would attract attention. here," he went on, pointing to a map, "is a point where the river is almost if not quite fordable for cavalry; at any rate you will not have to swim your horses far. i should advise you to make for that. it is as you see about ten miles above feroze- pore. it is not at all likely to be guarded; and should it be so, you could of course give out that you are natives of one of the protected states, say of putiala, making your way to join the sikh army that you hear is going to free you from the dominion of the english. as you have at present no tent of your own, you had better come across here in half an hour to make your change of clothes. i am myself going over to sir henry's, and may be detained there some time, but i will tell my servants to get breakfast ready for you. we must not send you off fasting." three hours later percy and his two followers arrived at the bank of the sutlej. they had been directed to the ford by a peasant in a village near, and crossed without difficulty, being only obliged to swim their horses for twenty or thirty yards in the middle of the stream. when they reached the opposite bank they rode up to a small party of armed sikhs in the service who were watching them. percy had asked bhop lal to act as spokesman. "we hear that the army is going to cross the river and to sweep the english away," he said, "and we have come over to join them. our rajah is all in favour of the feringhees, but most of us are the other way, and we were not going to stop quietly at home without taking a share in the good work, so my brother and son have come off with me without waiting to ask for leave. there are thousands of others who will do the same as soon as they are sure that the army is really in the field; but there has been so much talk about it for the last two years without anything coming of it, that they are waiting to see if it is true this time." "it is quite true," one of the men replied. "there are ten thousand men now opposite ferozepore, and the rest are on their way down from lahore. there will be fifty thou- sand of them at least, with, they say, over a hundred and fifty guns. what can the english do against them? they have not ten thousand men they can put in the field, and these are scattered over the country, and will be crushed before they can assemble." "that they assuredly will," bhop lal agreed confidently. "fifty thousand men could sweep away every white soldier this side of the jumna, and there will be nothing to prevent them marching on to delhi if they choose." "we shall see about that," the man replied. "fifty thou- sand is only a beginning, and there will be another fifty after them in a very short time; and i for one don't see why we should not drive the feringhees altogether out of india." "that is the way to talk," bhop lal said cordially. "we shall always have trouble till the last of them have gone, and who so fit as the sikhs to be masters in their place! how far is it to this camp you speak of?" "about twelve miles. ride two miles farther and you will come upon a broad road. turn to the left, and it will bring you there." chapter ix moodkee and ferozeshah two hours after crossing the river, percy with his two com- panions saw on the plain the camp of the sikhs. as they did not wish to enter until evening, they turned off from the road and rode into a clump of thick bush a quarter of a mile away, and there waited until sunset. then they mounted again and rode boldly into camp. with the exception of the tents of a few of the military chiefs and sirdars, the troops were not under canvas, although many had erected shelters of bushes or blankets. here and there some attempt at regular- ity marked the places where regiments of the regular troops had established themselves. here the horses were picketed in line, but among the followers of the sirdars every man had fastened up his horse just where it pleased him, without the smallest attempt at order. the new-comers chose a vacant spot at the edge of the encampment, picketing their three horses together, and raised in front of them a rough tent consisting of a couple of blankets supported by some sticks they had cut in the bush. here they lighted a fire and cooked a meal. one or two of the sikhs strolled across to question them, and bhop lal and his comrades repeated the story that had been told at the ford, which was accepted as perfectly satisfactory. they in turn asked a few questions as to the various sirdars present, and as i through the sikh war to which body they had better attach themselves. when they had finished their meal they sauntered off into the camp. there was but one topic of conversation among the troops. they were to cross the sutlej, if not on the next day, on the one following. a portion of the army was to besiege feroze- pore, while the rest marched forward to sweep away the brit- ish forces at loodiana and umballa. it was evident from their conversation that they greatly under-estimated the brit- ish strength at each of these cantonments, and that the gradual arrival of reinforcements had passed entirely unnoticed by the sikhs on the northern side of the sutlej. they anticipated no difficulty whatever in destroying the british forces at the first onset. their statement as to the number of troops who would take the field at once, agreed with those of the soldiers at the ford, and they deemed that this fifty thousand men would amply suffice to conquer the whole country north of the jumna, and that with their full fighting power they should be able to overrun the whole of india. "we have heard all that we want," percy said to the men after they had strolled for an hour in the sikh camp. "we had best move quietly off at once before the camp begins to get quiet. our fire will have burnt out by this time, and even if they should notice us moving, the men near will sup- pose that we are merely shifting our quarters, and are moving over to the sirdar we have decided to follow." they had some difficulty in finding their tent again in the darkness, and as soon as they did so the blankets were taken down, rolled up, and strapped behind the saddles. the picket pegs were pulled up, and leading their horses they moved off, skirting for a time the line of the camp, but grad- ually increasing their distance until two hundred yards away from it, when they thought it quite safe to mount and ride off in the darkness. they had some trouble in striking the road again; when they did so they halted for a consultation. it was decided to turn off and encamp again for three or four moodkee and ferozeshah hours in order to rest the horses, and then to make for the river bank and wait there until the first light of morning showed them a point where they could swim their horses across, for the presence of the guard at the ford rendered it impossible for them to use that passage again. this plan was carried out, and they arrived at the bank, some three or four miles below the ford, just as daylight began to appear. the bed of the river was wide, and the stream, broken by sand-banks, flowed in several channels. "there will be no great difficulty in crossing anywhere here," percy said; "the channels are nowhere very wide, and even if we are swept down the stream it will not matter, as we can rest after each swim. we had better start at once. should there be any sikhs about they will hardly make us out till it gets lighter, and we may hope to be pretty well beyond musket-shot before they can come down to the water's edge. they will not be likely to try to follow us across, and if they do so, with the start of a quarter of an hour we ought to be able to throw them off our track." they were not disturbed while making the passage. this was, however, more difficult than percy had anticipated, for the current in two of the channels was very strong and swept them down some distance before they could obtain a footing on the sand-bank. apparently no watch whatever was kept by the sikhs excepting at the fords, and nothing was seen of the enemy. on reaching the opposite bank they gave the horses a short rest to recover their breath, and then rode on to basseean. "what! are you back already?" major broadfoot said when percy was shown into his tent. "i did not expect you back until to-morrow at the earliest. have you really been in the sikh camp?" "yes, sir; we were there about three hours, which was quite sufficient to learn everything that we required;" and he then gave the officer the news that they had gathered. the commander-in-chief thanks percy for his report. moodkee and ferozeshah lahore government during the last two years, and several most unfriendly proceedings on the part of the durbar, the governor- general had continued to evince his desire to maintain the relations of amity and concord which had so long existed between the two states. the attitude of the sikhs, however, had continued to be more and more unfriendly, and the army had now, without a shadow of provocation, invaded british territory. the governor-general therefore declared the possessions of maha- rajah uhuleep singh, on the left or british bank of the sutlej, confiscated and annexed to the british territory. the ranks of all sirdars, zemindars, and tenants in the said possessions who should evince their fidelity to the british government should be respected. the governor-general called upon all chiefs and sirdars to co-operate cordially with the british government. those who did so would find their interest pro- moted thereby, while those who took the opposite course would be considered as enemies and treated accordingly. the inhabitants of all the territories on the left bank of the sutlej were requested to abide peacefully in their respective villages, and all parties of men found in arms would be treated as disturbers of the public peace. fortunately the sikhs after crossing on the th, instead of marching at once upon basseean, halted until their heavy guns were taken across on the th. on the afternoon of the th general wheeler, who had marched at daybreak, arrived in front of basseean; and on the th general gough, the com- mander-in-chief, arrived there with the force from umballa. had the sikhs pushed forward at once after crossing, basseean with its great stores of provisions must have fallen into their hands, and a week or ten days must have elapsed before arrangements for provisioning the umballa force could have been made. in that case the whole sikh army would have been able to concentrate its efforts upon the capture of feroze- pore, which, in the absence of any fortifications capable of through the sikh war withstanding powerful artillery, could scarcely have been defended successfully. percy had been kept actively employed during the three days that intervened between his return to basseean and the arrival of the column from umballa, in the work of carrying copies of the general's proclamation over the country, and delivering them to the head men of the villages. he acted as interpreter to the officers who, attended by small escorts of cavalry, performed this work, and was on horseback from day- light to dark each day. after the arrival of general wheeler's division he spent his evenings with his acquaintances there. the troops were all in high spirits because the long uncertainty was at an end, and that at last they were to meet the men who had so insolently been threatening an invasion. the fact that the odds would be enormously against them was considered a matter of no importance whatever, for the british troops had so long been accustomed to victory in india that the idea of a reverse was not entertained for a moment among the soldiers, although among the officers, who were aware of the bravery and fighting power of the sikhs, the prospect was regarded with a good deal of anxiety. all the accounts received bore out the correctness of the information that percy had obtained. twenty-five thousand sikhs, all regular soldiers, had taken possession of the wells round the village of ferozeshah, half-way between basseean and ferozepore, and entirely cut the communication between the two places; for owing to scarcity of water no other road could be used for the advance of an army except that passing through ferozeshah. the sikhs were well aware of this fact, and on their arrival they had at once begun to throw up strong intrenchments. another sikh army of twenty-three thousand, and sixty-seven guns, under tej singh, remained watching the british force at ferozepore. the british force at basseean consisted of three thousand eight hundred and fifty europeans and eight thousand natives, moodkee and ferozeshah with forty-two guns, and on the morning of the th of de- cember marched for ferozepore. they reached their camp- ing ground round the village of moodkee at one o'clock in the day, and as soon as arms were piled began to cook their dinner. a few sikh horsemen had retired from the village on their approach, and some scouts were sent out to ascertain if there was any considerable body of the enemy near at hand; these returned in a short time, saying that a large force had taken up a position three miles away. there were, indeed, twelve thousand of them, principally cavalry, with twenty guns. from friends at basseean they had learnt that an advance was to be made by the british, and thinking that it would be but an advance-guard, lal singh had with this body of troops left the camp at ferozeshah early in the morning and had taken up his position before the arrival of the british army at mood- kee. as soon as the news was received the troops got under arms and moved forward, the artillery and cavalry leading the way and the infantry following in support. when they had gone two miles the enemy was seen ahead of them. the country was a dead flat, covered at short intervals with a low thick jungle and dotted with sandy hillocks. it was difficult to judge of the strength of the sikh force, but in order to oblige them to display it, the cavalry, with five troops of horse-artillery, moved forward, and as the infantry formed into line opened fire. this was answered by a very heavy cannonade on the part of the enemy; but in a very short time the rapid fire of the horse-artillery, aided by two field batteries, so discomfited the enemy's gunners that their fire gradually subsided. in order to allow the infantry to advance without the artil- lery in front of them being pushed forward too closely to the jungle, sir hugh gough ordered a portion of the cavalry to make a movement on the enemy's flanks. the d light dragoons, the governor-general's body-guard, the th light cavalry, and a portion of the th lancers dashed round the moodkef. and ferozeshah relief. it was late in the evening before the column came in, and in order to give the men time to recover from their fatigue it was decided to halt for another day. it was settled that the sick, wounded, and baggage should be left in the little fort at moodkee, with a regiment and a half of infantry to protect them should the enemy's cavalry work round to the rear of the army. messengers were sent off to ferozepore to inform sir john littler, who commanded there, of the victory at moodkee, and to order him to leave five thousand men to hold the town and watch tej singh, and to march with his five thousand remaining men and twenty- one guns to join the commander-in-chief, both forces to march at three o'clock on the morning of the st. sir henry hardinge offered to serve as a military man under sir hugh gough, and was appointed second in command of the army. the marches were well timed, and the junction with sir john littler's force was effected at the village of misriwala, within sight of the sikh camp, at one o'clock. the british force after the junction had been effected con- sisted of five thousand six hundred and seventy-four euro- peans and twelve thousand and f fty-three natives, with sixty- five guns; the sikhs numbered twenty-five thousand regular troops and ten thousand irregulars, with eighty-eight guns; while tej singh with his twenty-three thousand regulars and twenty-seven guns was only ten miles distant. the country was a dead flat studded with trees and jungle, and the clouds of dust that rose beneath the feet of the troops rendered it extremely difficult to direct their movements in such a coun- try. skirmishers were sent forward to ascertain the exact position of the enemy, but the troops were allowed to rest for some time after their hot and dusty march. the commander- in-chief would gladly have waited until next morning before calling upon them for the efforts that would be necessary to carry a position so strong as that occupied by the sikhs. it was, however, impossible to wait, for there was no water, and through the sikh war moreover tej singh with his army would certainly be up be- fore morning. at moodkee percy had seen but little of the fighting, although for some hours he had been under fire. his place was behind major broadfoot, who was with the commander- in-chief's staff. the jungle at first and the darkness after- wards shut out the absolute conflict from view; and as the enemy's cannon-balls flew overhead or ploughed up the sand, and the air resounded with the sharp short ping of their musket- balls, his feeling as he sat inactive on horseback was one of far greater discomfort than he had felt when exposed to an even heavier fire at the attack on his uncle's fortress. that the british were winning he knew by the advance that was from time to time made by the party, and by the fact that the f ring gradually receded. "you have been under fire before, groves," major broad- foot said to him, "so i suppose you don't mind it." "i certainly don't like it, sir. before, i had something to do and did not think much of the danger, and i should not at all mind if you were to send me with a message into the thick of it, but to sit here doing nothing with balls buzz- ing about is certainly very unpleasant." "it is unpleasant; i find it so myself," the major said; "but as my post is here with the commander-in-chief, and- there is no errand on which i can send you, we must sit it out. if the general wants to send a message and his aides-de- camp are all away, i will tell him that you will carry it for him." there was, however, no message to be sent. beyond the fact that the troops were steadily advancing, the commander- in-chief himself knew but little of what was going on. it was a soldier's battle. except for the flank movements of the cavalry there was no manoeuvring. each regiment pressed straight forward, pushing the enemy back wherever it found him. moodkf.e and ferozeshah "we shall see more of it to-day, groves," the major said as they were waiting for the orders for the troops to advance against the sikh intrenchments. "there is daylight, and as the task of carrying that position will certainly be a severe one, sir hugh will move forward with the men, and is likely to be in the thick of it." the sikh intrenchment was about a mile in length and half a mile in breadth, including within its area the strong village of ferozeshah. the sikhs had the advantage of being thor- oughly acquainted with the country, and as they were prepared for an attack upon either side of their position, it was decided that the effort should be made against the long front. the british were formed in three divisions, commanded respec- tively by major-general gilbert, sir john littler, and brigadier- general wallace. they were formed in line, with the whole of the artillery in the centre, with the exception of a troop of horse-artillery on each flank and one in support. the second line was composed of the cavalry and the reserve under sir harry smith. the artillery were first moved to the front, and the battle began by a discharge from a mortar battery. the sikhs did not reply, and the whole of the artillery then opened fire to ascertain the position of the enemy's batteries, when the sikhs at once responded. the whole line then advanced and again the artillery opened fire. this movement was repeated until the guns were within three hundred yards of the enemy's intrenchments. in spite of the much more rapid fire of their guns, our artillery were unable to silence that of the enemy, whose pieces were pro- tected to a great extent by the earthworks. seeing this, the general gave the order for the infantry to advance to storm the intrenchments. general littler's division directed its march against the village, and by so doing caused an opening in the line between it and brigadier wallace's division. in spite of the terrible storm of grape from the enemy's batteries and the heavy sikh musketry fire, littler's men held through the sikh war on their way until close up to the works. then they were unable longer to withstand the storm of fire, and fell back. the left brigade of the reserve under sir harry smith was at once ordered forward to fill up the opening left in the line, and advanced against the village with splendid bravery. wallace's and gilbert's divisions on the right and centre were more successful than that of i>ittler, and gallantly stormed the intrenchments in front of them in spite of the desperate bravery of the sikhs; but just as they had achieved this feat night fell suddenly, as it does in india. the air was obscured by dust and smoke; none knew the position of the troops to the right or left of them. great piles of dry forage were alight in the sikh camp, and frequent explosions of loose powder took place. sir harry smith's brigade had stormed the village and held it, but were in complete ignorance of what was taking place elsewhere; while littler's division, which had suffered terribly in its advance, had retired, but no one knew in which direc- tion. just before dark the d dragoons, on the extreme right, were ordered to charge, and dashed headlong into the sikh camp, adding to the utter confusion that prevailed there, and cutting down numbers of the enemy, but losing themselves ten officers and a hundred and twenty men out of four hundred. to advance further was hopeless. there was no saying what obstacles might be encountered in the darkness—friends might fire into each other, regiments lose their way and be destroyed, and all order and regularity be lost. consequently sir hugh tlough, fearing to keep his men in a position in which they would be exposed to be overthrown piecemeal by rushes of the enemy, told the officers about him to ride off and order all the troops to abandon the positions they had won, and retire outside the intrenchments, and there to lie down in readiness for a renewed attack in the early morning. wallace's and gilbert's divisions obeyed the orders, sir harry smith's received none, but after holding the village until about ten moodkee and ferozeshah o'clock at night, and knowing nothing of the position of the troops on his right, he abandoned it and also fell back. the position of the british was most serious; the where- abouts of the divisions of sir harry-smith and general littler could not be discovered, and the other two divisions, thinned by their losses, might be attacked in the morning by a vastly superior force, for it was probable that tej singh with his army would arrive during the night. the sikhs had withdrawn their guns as the british rushed forward to the assault, so that their artillery was still intact, and as soon as they found that their intrenchments were evacuated they advanced and kept up a continuous fire of cannon and musketry at the unseen foe, who were lying but a hundred and fifty yards away. the fire of one of the batteries was so destructive that sir henry hardinge mounted his horse and called to the oth regiment: "my lads, we shall have no sleep until we take those guns." the regiment leapt to its feet and at once advanced, and, sup- ported by the st bengal europeans, again stormed the intrench- ments, drove the sikhs from their guns, spiked them, and retired. percy had had nothing to do during the advance, but when the orders were given for the troops to retire he had assisted to carry them to the different regiments, as the whole of sir henry hardinge's staff, with the exception of his son, had been killed or wounded, as had most of those of sir hugh gough. major broadfoot had fallen. captain nicholson, assistant political agent, was also killed, and indeed all the political agents with one exception were either killed or wounded. percy had felt almost bewildered with the roar and din of the battle; but the feeling of excitement was so great, that although officer after officer fell round him the thought of danger to himself scarcely entered his mind. he mechani- cally followed with the rest of the staff as the general had rid- den hither and thither along the line, but he felt almost as one through the sikh war in a dream until he was called upon with all the rest of the officers round the general to carry orders to the troops to retire. on his return from this duty, sir henry hardinge begged of him to ride off and to try and discover the whereabouts of the missing divisions; and, accompanied by his two men, who had kept a short distance behind him during the fight, and had both escaped unwounded, he rode about for some hours in the jungle, but without success. he was, indeed, himself lost, and at last threw himself off his horse to wait till morning should show him the bearings of the enemy's camp. but few words had been exchanged between him and his followers during the ride, for he was still dazed by the battle, and was parched with thirst and exhausted by fatigue and emotion. "it has been a terrible day," he said, as he threw himself down on the ground after flinging the bridle over a bough of a low tree to prevent the horse from straying. "it has, indeed, sahib," akram chunder replied. "never did i hear so terrible a roar of fire. i thought that my time had come, for it seemed as if every man must be swept away. it looked like madness to attack such a position. i did not think that men could do it." "it was wonderful," bhop lal joined in; "truly the british are marvellous fighters. the sikhs are no cowards, and yet though they must have been two to one, and had strong intrenchments behind which their guns were sheltered, they could not withstand them. i have wondered often how it was that so many kingdoms have been conquered, so many armies defeated, by your countrymen. now i wonder no longer. when you said that the english would certainly beat the sikhs i thought you were wrong, thought it was not for me to contra- dict you. now i sec that you were right. the sikhs have found their masters, and after all their boasting have been defeated on their own ground, and with numbers, position, and everything in their favour." "they are not defeated yet," percy said; "they have again moodkf.f. and ferozfshah lfi entered their intrenchments, and if tej singh comes up dur- ing the night their numbers will be overwhelming." "the english will win," bhop lal said carelessly; "they are not to be conquered. besides, the sikhs move slowly, and tej singh will not be up till morning." they had some bread and cold meat in their valises. percy had a flask of brandy and water, and his two followers' water- skins hung from their horses' saddles. percy was only able to eat a few mouthfuls, and then fell asleep; but his follow- ers ate a hearty meal, and remained smoking and talking until, when day began to break, they aroused their master. bhop lal climbed up into the highest tree he could find, and exclaimed: "there are the intrenchments, sahib, two miles away at least." they mounted and rode off with all speed, and found the troops already forming up. the commander-in-chief and sir henry hardinge placed themselves in front of the troops in order to prevent them from firing. moving round to the right, they entered the intrenchments with but slight opposi- tion. the enemy's guns were taken in reverse, and wheeling round, past the village of ferozeshah, the british line swept down through the sikh encampment, and did not halt until they reached the works on the opposite side. scarcely had they won the sikh position and captured his guns, seventy- four in number, when the army of tej singh appeared in view, marching towards them. the divisions of smith and littler, which had passed the night in the jungle, had joined the force just as they entered the enemy's works, and the troops now prepared to defend the position they had won. no attack, however, was made. the crowd of sikh fugi- tives made for the army they saw advancing to their assist- ance, and rushing down in confusion disordered its front line and communicated their panic to the newly-arrived troops. t through the sikh war after opening fire for some time at a distance that rendered it perfectly innocuous, tej singh's troops turned and marched away to the river, which they crossed without a halt. the british were too weak in cavalry to follow up the en- emy. several regiments had been sent off at daybreak to ferozepore in order to water their horses, as they would have been useless against the sikh intrenchments, while those that remained were unfit for active work, the animals having been twenty-four hours without food or water. the delight of the army was immense at this unexpectedly easy termination of a fight that at one time had looked well- nigh lost, and as sir hugh gough and the governor-general rode down their lines they saluted them with outbursts of cheers. the loss, however, had been heavy, and had fallen chiefly upon the europeans, who had four hundred and eighty-eight killed and eleven hundred and three wounded out of a total of six hundred and ninety-four killed and one thousand seven hundred and twenty-one wounded, of whom five hundred and ninety-five died subsequently or were permanently disabled. as soon as the sikhs retreated, every effort was made to succour the wounded, and by noon all were in quarters at ferozepore and provided with cots and blankets. among the killed were major somerset, military secretary to the governor-general; colonel wallace; major baldwin, an old l'eninsular officer; and many other officers distin- guished for their bravery. the d, which went into the battle weak in numbers, had seven officers killed and ten wounded, and seventy-six rank and file killed, and one hun- dred and fifty-four wounded. this regiment belonged to general littler's division, which had advanced against the strongest part of the sikh position. after the engagement was over percy reported himself to captain mills, the only one of the political officers who had escaped unwounded. moodkee and ferozeshah "i am glad that lad went through it uninjured," sir henry hardinge said when captain mills reported that he was the only assistant available for service. "he is a very plucky young fellow, and i noticed him several times during the fight. he was always cool and collected even under the heaviest fire, and major broadfoot reported to me very strongly upon his conduct in going into the sikh camp and obtaining for us a trustworthy report of their strength and intentions. he mentioned that he was only a volunteer serving without pay, and appointed temporarily by the resi- dent at loodiana on the civil staff. i shall be glad if, when you send in a written report to me, you will specially men- tion his name." although the sikh invasion had been repelled with such heavy loss of guns and men, the british were in no condition to follow up their advantage. were they to cross the river they might expect to meet forces far larger than those they had defeated. they were without heavy guns with which to attack fortified towns, and their numbers were altogether in- sufficient for such an enterprise as the conquest of the pun- jaub. they were therefore forced for a time to remain inactive, pending the arrival of reinforcements and siege- guns. chapter x aliwal and soiiraon finding that the british army did not follow up its suc- cess at ferozeshah, the sikhs determined to maintain their position on the left bank, and proceeded to construct a bridge of boats at sobraon, not far from the spot where they had crossed the river in their flight. in front of the head of this bridge an exceedingly strong work was thrown up. the position was very well chosen, the bridge being placed in a curve of the river, and the artillery posted on the bank, which on their side was high, was therefore able to sweep the ground across which a force must advance to attack the work. ten thousand men under the sirdar runjoor singh were also thrown across the river near loodiana, in order not only to menace the place with its small garrison, but to cut off the passage of supplies for ferozepore and to interrupt the com- munications between the two posts. as soon as the force at meerut, consisting of the th and th lancers, the th and d foot, and the d and th native regiments, arrived with the battering-train, steps were taken to reinforce loodiana and basseean with some heavy guns; additional troops were sent to each of these posts, and the sick, with the women and children, were removed thence and sent to umballa. sir harry smith's division was increased to seven thousand i aliwal and sobraon men and twenty-four guns, and he was despatched to drive the force that threatened loodiana across the river and to cover the line of the british communications. the whole country in that quarter was in a state of disorder. the advance of runjoorsingh had caused great excitement among the peasantry, while it created something like a panic among the european residents of umballa and simla, either of which places could have been reached and plundered by the sikhs, who from the crossing point near loodiana were two days' march nearer to them than was the army of the com- mander-in-chief. it was all-important to sir harry smith to reach loodiana, where, being on the flank of the sikh army should they advance, it would be necessary for them to meet and defeat him before they ventured upon a raiding expedi- tion. but to do this it was necessary to pass within a short distance of runjoor singh's position, and as the column passed along the sikhs sallied out, opened a heavy fire, and cut off a considerable portion of the baggage of the force, taking several officers prisoners. sir harry smith did not suffer himself to be diverted from his object or to be forced to fight a battle save on ground of his own choosing. without returning the fire he pressed forward until he reached loo- diana, the troops being completely exhausted with the efforts they had made. some more political officers having come up with the force from meerut, sir henry hardinge had placed percy's services at the disposal of sir harry smith. "he is a mere lad," he said to the latter, "but you will find him quite as valuable for most purposes as any older man would be. he speaks the language like a native, can go in disguise and obtain any information you may require, and has plenty of pluck. he was close behind the commander-in-chief and myself all through the fight here, and was one of the few of the staff who escaped uninjured. he is a volunteer serving without pay, no doubt in the hope of obtaining civil employment under the through the sikh war government in the future. this he has already richly earned, not only by his service in the battle of ferozeshah, but by ob- taining most valuable news by going in disguise to the sikh camp before they crossed the river. poor broadfoot reported on his conduct very warmly indeed, in almost the last official document he sent me in, and having seen the young fellow under fire i shall certainly, at the proper time, take advantage of broadfoot's report to recommend him to the board of directors for an appointment in the civil service, and for special employment upon this frontier." being recommended to him in such a manner, sir harry smith had at once taken percy upon his staff, and more than once sent for him and questioned him as to the country, the width of the river, and other points; and as percy had on his way down crossed the sutlej not far from aliwal, he was able to give some valuable information on the subject. as soon as they reached loodiana he went to see his friend mr. fullar- ton. • "back again, groves? you were fortunate in getting through that fight at ferozeshah, where poor broadfoot and several other politicals were killed or wounded. i had a note from him written the day before, saying how useful he had found you. you have come up with sir harry smith, i suppose?" "yes, sir, they are very short of officers who speak the language, and so sent me on with him." "it shows they think well of you; i am glad you are doing credit to my recommendation. you see it was very much better for you to go with the army than to remain here with me. now you have been through two battles, and have fairly earned your right to a permanent post in the service. but, mind, don't let them put you on the uncovenanted branch; you will get very few chances of real promotion there. should an offer be made to you, you had better decline respectfully and say that you would rather wait in the hope of entering the company's service in the regular way. three or four years' aliwal and s i ra n waiting would do you no harm, though i do not suppose you will have to wait anything like that time before you get appointed to our service." "i am quite content to wait, sir, for at my age it would be absurd to think of getting such an important appointment; but i am very glad, indeed, to have found the opportunity of seeing so much." "we shall have another battle here in a day or two," mr. fullarton said. "i have just seen sir harry. he says he must give the troops a couple of days' rest before he advances to attack runjoor singh. indeed there is no hurry; now that he is here the sikhs dare not advance, and he is therefore master of the situation. it was a bad affair losing so much of the baggage at buddeewal, but the general was right in not bringing on a battle. the troops were worn out with their long march, and would have fought at a great disadvan- tage. it would not have made much difference to the white soldiers, who are always ready to fight however tired they may be; but it is not so with the natives. fatigue, hunger, or thirst always depress their spirits, and a native who, in the morning, would have fought stoutly by the side of our own men, would be worth nothing if taken into the field tired and hungry on the evening of the same day. i hear that some of the native regiments did not do at all well at ferozeshah, and i have no doubt that this was the reason of it. they will have a very short march before they fight this time." after a day's rest the force moved out again to buddeewal. runjoor singh's force had just received a reinforcement of four thousand regular troops, with twelve guns, and his army now amounted to nineteen thousand men and sixty guns. early in the morning of the th of january sir harry smith marched from buddeewal towards the enemy. the sikhs were so inspirited by the success that had attended their attack on the column during its passage—a success which they attributed to fear on the part of the british—that, instead of through the sikh war waiting to be attacked in the intrenchments they had formed, they moved forward, and took up their post in the open, the village of aliwal being the key of the position. the troops were already advancing in order of battle, and a column was at once directed to attack and carry the village, the artillery preparing the way. by a heavy fire. the sikh guns opened all along their line, but their fire was very wild; most of the shot went far overhead, and the attacking force suffered but little. they did not fire a shot in return, but when within a short distance of the village went at it with a rush, carrying it at the point of the bayonet, and driving the sikh infantry headlong before them. the guns defending it fell into their hands, and as soon as they established themselves in the village, the rest of the force moved forward with admi- rable regularity, and the whole sikh line was driven backwards, leaving their guns behind them. the th lancers charged the enemy, who were falling back sullenly and in order. the sikhs threw themselves down on the ground and slashed at the horses with their swords as they passed over them, or discharged their muskets at their riders, and the regiment lost upwards of a hundred men killed and wounded. as they fell back the horse-artillery opened upon the dense masses of sikhs, the infantry continued their steady advance, and the cavalry again and again charged. instead of retiring towards their intrenchments, which having been denuded of their guns were now untenable, the enemy retreated direct upon the river, which they crossed at the ford. their loss was comparatively small to that which they had suffered at ferozeshah, but the whole of their guns fell into the hands of the british. only one had been carried across the river. this was cap- tured and spiked by the irregular horse and horse-artillery, who crossed the river in pursuit. the total loss of the british in killed and wounded in the battle of aliwal was only four hundred—an astonishingly small amount when it is considered aliwai. and sobraon that they attacked a brave enemy of double their strength both in men and guns. the victory was a most important one. it relieved the north-west of all fear of invasion, and enabled the commander-in-chief to direct his whole attention to concen- trating his force against the main body of the sikh army at sobraon. percy had watched the conflict from a distance. he had, as usual, taken his place among the staff when the general mounted his horse to advance against the sikh intrenchments; but when sir harry smith's eye fell upon him he said, "you will not ride with me to-day, mr. groves. i can have no occasion for your services as a political officer, and will not have you risk your life uselessly by your exposing yourself to fire. you will, therefore, please follow at considerable dis- tance, and will, when we get within the enemy's range, take up any position you like that will enable you to see what is going on and at the same time keep you out of fire." percy looked a little downcast, and sir harry added kindly: "it is no reflection on your courage, lad, that i send you back. the governor-general himself told me how fearlessly you had exposed yourself at ferozeshah; but as i do not re- quire you on duty i have no justification for taking you with me under a heavy fire." percy brightened up as he rode off. sir harry smith's staff were for the most part strangers to him, as he had not been connected with it until it marched, and he had feared at first that it might be thought the general had ordered him to the rear because he doubted his steadiness under fire. "i am only to look on to-day," he said to his two followers as they joined him when he reined up his horse on a little knoll affording a view of the enemy's position half a mile away. "and a very good thing too, sahib," bhop lal said bluntly. "i had quite enough of being shot at the other day, and have no stomach for sitting on horseback again doing nothing while g through the sikh war they are pelting us with shot and bullets. if the sahib said 'charge!' i would follow into the middle of the sikh in- campment, but as for sitting doing nothing i want no more of it." "besides," akram chunder put in, "we know all about it now; for if what people say is true as to runjoor singh's strength, the odds are not so great as they were at ferozeshah, even though they have seventy guns to our thirty. but what is that? the british are not to be stopped by guns; they will do as they did the other day, go right at the sikhs and beat them. the sikhs have thrown away their only chance by coming out from their intrenchments. besides, they will not fight so well as they did last time. then they thought they were invincible, now they know that the british are better fighters than they are, and that makes all the differ- ence." "we may as well dismount," percy said, "and picket the horses down behind. we can see well enough over the jungle on foot, and if the sikh gunners should notice three mounted men they might take us for officers of importance and send a few shot in this direction." the sikh gunners, however, were too occupied with the foes marching against them to notice the detached figures, and no shot came in their direction during the battle. percy and his two followers watched the capture of aliwal, and then saw the whole british force advance, and with scarce a pause push back the sikhs all along the line. "truly it is wonderful," bhop lal said, stroking his beard. "these men in red coats make no more of the fire of sixty guns than if they were children's playthings. as for the sikh infantry, though more than twice their numbers, they seem to sweep them before them like chaff. i thought i knew something of fighting, but i feel to-day that i know nothing, for i have seen nothing like this from the day when i first handled a sword." ai.iw'al and sobraon "the loss cannot have been very heavy," percy said, "it has been done too quickly." "that is the way, sahib," akram chunder remarked. "if men have but the courage to go on in the face of a heavy fire they suffer much less than if they hesitate and delay; but it is only lions who rush forward with sixty cannon firing at them, to say nothing of thousands of men with muskets. that is what takes the life out of the sikh fighting. they are brave, but they are accustomed to victory, and when they see men rushing on against them in spite of the fire which they thought would have swept them all away, they lose their con- fidence in themselves, and say, what use is it to fight against men like these?" "bring up the horses, bhop lal; we may as well ride forward now that the battle is nearly over, for i believe the roll of musketry and the discharge of guns still going on are caused by our troops firing at the sikhs as they recross the river." great was the satisfaction that prevailed among the troops at the splendid victory they had gained over an enemy of nearly thrice their force in men and guns, and that with a loss which, considering the numbers engaged and the strength of the intrenchments, was trifling. as after so crushing a defeat as this there was little chance of loodiana being again threat- ened, or of any large force endeavouring to intercept our communications, sir harry smith marched back with his army and rejoined the commander-in-chief on the th of february. on the following day the heavy guns from delhi arrived, and orders were given for the whole force to prepare for the attack on sobraon. during the fortnight that sir harry smith had been absent the sikhs had continued to labour unceasingly at their intrenchments, which were erected under the super- intendence of two or three of the foreign officers who had been in runjeet singh's service. these were not regarded through thf. sikh war by the sikhs with the same hostility with which they viewed colonel groves and two or three other english-speaking officers. they had, indeed, been deprived of their commands at the demand of the army, who objected to the european discipline and to the severe methods by which it was enforced; but several of them had been allowed to remain in the country, and the sikhs, when the war began, gladly availed themselves of their scientific knowledge in the erection of intrench- ments. the enemy had surrounded their position with works of great strength, which could only be surmounted by the aid of scaling-ladders. the works were so arranged that they afforded complete protection to three lines of infantry, one above another, who could thus pour a tremendous fire upon an advancing foe. these works were held by , men with seventy guns. they were connected by a well-built bridge, and also by a ford, with another camp of , men across the river, and the guns of this force, placed on the high bank, were in a position to play upon the flanks of an army advanc- ing against sobraon. to attack this formidable position sir hugh gough had but , men, of whom were europeans and natives. his force, therefore, was numerically inferior by men to that with which he attacked the sikhs at eerozeshah. his artillery force had, however, been augmented to ninety-nine guns by the addition of thirty-four heavy guns and mortars, and the commander-in-chief relied upon his artillery to clear the way for the assault of his infantry. the army was to be in motion at half-past three in the morning, in order that darkness should not, as at moodkee and ferozeshah, intervene to prevent the full results of victory being obtained. the troops were under arms punctually, and at precisely the hour named marched in silence against the sikh position. the battering guns and most of the f eld batteries took up their post in an extended semicircle, so as to open fire against aliwal and sobraon every point of the sikh intrenchments. it was intended that they should commence the attack as soon as it was light enough for the men to point their guns. a heavy mist, however, hung over the country, and it was not until half-past six that this lifted sufficiently to allow a view to be obtained of the enemy's works. then the cannon opened along the whole line, and a storm of shot and shell was poured in by the gun and mortar batteries, while rockets were discharged in numbers against the intrenchments. the sikhs replied with equal vigour, and for a time the roar of artillery was unbroken. it had been intended that the cannonade should be continued for four hours before the infantry were called upon to make their advance, but so rapidly did the gunners work their pieces that the ammunition carried with them was becoming exhausted long before that time had elapsed, and the elephants who should have brought up reserves had become unmanageable from their terror at the tremendous din. but even had the fire continued during the whole day, it could not have made any serious impression upon such strong and extended earthworks, and its object was rather to shake the courage of the defenders than to produce any material damage. the loss of the sikhs was afterwards found to have been heavy, but they and their general were confidant that they could repulse any attack upon the tremen- dous works they had erected, tej singh having been assured by his chief engineer, a french officer named mouton, that the position was absolutely impregnable. while the artillery duel was in progress the british infantry had remained inactive in the rear of the guns, longing for the time when they should be called upon to take their share in the action; and there was a general feeling of satisfaction when the fire began to slacken, and orders were given for the advance to begin. on the left were two brigades of general sir robert dick's division; these were to commence the engagement. the seventh brigade, commanded by general through the sikh war stacey, was to lead the attack, headed by the oth foot rein- forced by the d, and supported by the other brigade. general gilbert's division was in the centre, sir harry smith's on the right, while brigadier-general campbell's com- mand was thrown back between gilbert's right and sir harry smith's left. a part of the cavalry threatened to cross a ford and attack the enemy's horse on the opposite bank, the rest of the cavalry were in reserve. at nine o'clock stacey's brigade, supported by three batteries, moved to the attack. the former marched steadily on in line, the latter took up successive posi- tions at a gallop, until within three hundred yards of the heavy batteries of the enemy. the fire of cannon, camel guns, and musketry was so tremendous, that it seemed to the lookers-on impossible that any troops could advance successfully under it. the two british regiments, and the d and th native infantry brigaded with them, advanced, however, with splen- did bravery. this brigade had not been present at the previ- ous battles, and had been specially selected for the desperate service of effecting the first breach in the enemy's lines because their ranks were still intact, and they had not gone through the terrible ordeal at ferozeshah which had, in spite of their eventual success, greatly impressed those engaged in it with the courage and obstinacy of the sikhs in defending a strong position. well did the seventh brigade deserve the confidence the commander-in-chief placed in it. with scarcely a pause the troops pressed steadily forward, surmounted every obstacle until they reached the crest of the intrenchments, and drove the sikhs from their guns. the moment the success of the attack was apparent general gilbert and sir harry smith were ordered to advance with their divisions, and brigadier ashburnham began to move forward his brigade to support stacey. gilbert's advance took him in front of the centre and strongest portion of the enemy's line, and although unsupported by artillery, the th and the st light infantry dashed forward under a withering aliwal and sobraon s fire and crossed a dry nullah in front of the intrenchments, but they then found themselves in front of a high wall too steep for them to climb and exposed to a terrible fire from above. to remain there would have been to be annihilated, and the regiments were withdrawn, but only to charge again at a fresh point. thrice they reached the walls, thrice they had to fall back, each time followed by the sikhs, who cut the wounded to pieces. the second division, however, managed at several points to effect a lodgment within the intrenchments, while stacey's and ashburnham's brigade maintained themselves in the position the former had captured, in spite of the des- perate efforts of the sikhs, who in vast numbers swarmed down upon them and tried to recapture it. thus for a while the battle raged, nor were the british able to advance beyond the points where they had gained a footing, until the sappers cut a narrow opening through the works, by which the cavalry were able to pass in single file. as soon as the d dragoons had entered the work they formed up, and charging along in the rear of the intrenchment, cut down the sikh gunners in their batteries and captured their field-guns. as their fire ceased the rest of the infantry poured into the works, and advancing along the whole line, while the field batteries which had entered joined their fire to that of the musketry, they pressed the sikhs before them in masses across the river. the bridge was an excellent one, but one of the sikh commanders had caused two of the boats forming it to be removed, in order that his men, seeing there was no mode of retreat should defend their works the more desperately. the river had risen during the night, and the ford, which had the day before been but breast-deep, was now scarcely passable. the scene was a terrible one; the crowded masses of the enemy threw themselves into the river, and strove to cross by wading and swimming, while the guns of the british horse- through the sikh war artillery, which had come up, played upon them unceasingly, and the infantry poured volleys of musketry into them, all feeling of pity being for the time dissipated by the fury with which the murder of our wounded by the sikhs during the early portion of the fight had inspired the troops. hundreds of the enemy fell under the cannonade; very many hundreds were drowned. the battle terminated at noon, the infantry having been engaged without intermission for three hours. sixty-seven cannon were captured, and upwards of two hundred camel guns. this great and decisive victory cost those engaged in it dearly. the th foot had officers, sergeants, and men killed and wounded; the st euro- pean light infantry, officers, sergeants, and men; the st, officers and men; the th, officers and men; the d, officers and n men. these were the heaviest losses, but all the regiments engaged suffered severely, as the total loss was in killed and wounded. the losses among the staff of officers were small compared to those which they had suffered at ferozeshah, as it was not necessary at sobraon for the governor-general and commander-in-chief to expose themselves close to the enemy's intrenchments as they had done on that occasion. general sir robert dick, who had gone through the peninsular war, and led the d highlanders at waterloo, was killed as he led his men forward against the sikh intrenchments; and brigadier- generals m'laren and taylor also fell. the loss of the sikhs was never known; but the carnage was, in proportion to the numbers engaged, enormous, and many of their leading sirdars were among the slain. at ferozeshah, the greater proportion of the loss among the assailants was caused by the grape-shot from the enemy's guns. at sobraon, on the other hand, in spite of the number and weight of the enemy's guns, and of their very numerous camel pieces, it was the musket that inflicted the great proportion of loss. this was due, in the first place, to the fact that a aliwal and sobraon large number of the skilled sikh gunners had fallen in the previous battles, and that the artillery fire was in consequence very wild and ill-directed. in the next place, the artillerymen were unable to depress their pieces sufficiently to play upon the british when they reached the foot of the intrenchments, while the infantry, well sheltered behind their earthworks, were able to keep up a murderous fire upon their helpless foes. these facts account for the unusually large number of men wounded in proportion to the killed. as the division of sir harry smith had only reached the camp two days before the battle, percy remained attached to his staff and rode behind him in the engagement. he had wished his two men to remain in camp, but they resolutely declined to do so. "if you were killed, sahib, how could we face the colonel, and tell him that while you were killed we were cooking our dinners four miles away? no, sahib, whatever comes, we must ride behind the general's escort. had we not seen feroze- shah, we should say that success to-morrow is impossible, for the intrenchments there were but dirt-heaps in comparison to the great works opposite. we can see with our own eyes how big and high they are. they say there are three lines of para- pets for the infantry to fire over, besides all their guns. but now we know that nothing is impossible to the white troops, and believe that somehow, though we cannot say how, they will capture it, and drive the sikhs across the river. if we live through it, it will be a thing to talk of for the rest of our lives; and if we die, you will tell the colonel, sahib, that we did our duty. he told us to watch over you, and though no watching can turn the course of shot or bullet, we can at least be near to carry you off should you fall wounded." however, percy escaped without being hit, as did most of the staff, though he did his share in carrying orders to the officers commanding the different regiments in the division. as they rode back from the field after the engagement was over the general called him up to his side. through the sikh war "i ought to have kept you out of the battle, lad," he said kindly; "but i did not like to baulk you again. you have done very well, and i shall mention your name in my report as among the members of my staff who did good service." the battle of sobraon completely broke the power of the sikhs. in these and the preceding fights all the picked regiments of the regular infantry had been destroyed or dis- persed, and two hundred and twenty of their guns captured. no time was lost by the commander-in-chief in following up his success. a bridge of boats had been already thrown across the river half-way between ferozepore and sobraon, and mes- sages were sent to sir john grey, who commanded a force there, and to sir john littler at ferozepore, to cross at once. at daybreak next morning six regiments crossed the sutlej from ferozepore, while sir john grey, with two regiments of cavalry, three of infantry, and a battery, crossed by the new bridge, both forces thus placing themselves on the road by which the defeated sikhs would retire upon lahore. this speedy movement completed their discomfiture. cut off from the capital, and deprived of the leadership of all the principal sirdars, they dispersed to their homes, and the bridge at sobraon having been repaired on the day following the battle, the british crossed without opposition. ghoolab singh, who had all this time been negotiating secretly with the british, while promising the sikhs that he was on the eve of advancing to join them with his whole force, now endeavoured to figure as mediator, and came secretly into the british camp with the object of persuading the governor- general to abstain from making an advance against lahore. sir henry hardinge refused to receive him, and sent a mes- sage to him by his political officers that terms of peace would be dictated at the capital. the crafty sirdar was not to be defeated; riding back to lahore, he took the young maharajah and rode with him to the british camp. sir henry received the young prince kindly, but was not to be diverted from his aliwal and sobraon purpose of moving forward to lahore, where the army arrived without a shot being fired. here terms of peace were dictated to the humble sikhs- the expenses of the war, estimated at a million and a half, were to be paid, all the guns taken were to be retained, and all others that had been used against us during the war were to be handed over; the troops were to be disbanded, and the fertile province known as the jalindar doab, situated between the beas and sutlej rivers, was to be handed over to the british. many of the officers considered that it would have been better to have annexed the whole of the punjaub, but even with the army that was marching from scinde under sir charles napier the force was insufficient for the work. the sikhs had strongly fortified cities, that could scarcely have been taken without a regular battering train, and the hot season was coming on. besides, although the army trained with so much care by runjeet singh had been broken up and scattered, the sikh nation had as yet taken but little part in the struggle. it was, however, certain that they would, under their great chiefs, fight desperately to preserve their indepen- dence, and the whole of the dispersed soldiery would speedily be reunited under the banners of the leaders. the crafty ghoolab singh gained the advantages he had hoped, for the treasury of lahore was empty, and with the greatest difficulty half a million was raised to pay the first instalment of the indemnity. ghoolab singh, therefore, out of his vast resources paid another half million, on condition that cashmere should be handed over to him, and that from being merely the governor of that province, he should become its independent ruler. the price paid by him for this rich province was absurdly inadequate, but so far as the british were concerned the bargain was a politic one. there was little doubt that a second war would, sooner or later, have to be undertaken; ghoolab singh could put a very large army into the field, and by making him ruler of cashmere his inter- through the sikh war ests were at once separated from those of the sikhs, and his neutrality, if not his active alliance, were secured in any future struggle. it was arranged that a british force should remain in lahore for a year, nominally to insure the payment of the rest of the indemnity, but really to maintain the authority of the maharanee and the boy maharajah, who were in no way responsible for the war against us, and who doubtless would have been overthrown by some ambitious sirdar, aided by the disbanded troops, had they been left unsupported by british bayonets. chaeter xi an ambush mr. fullarton had accompanied the army to lahore, his knowledge of the country and people being so valu- able that the governor-general sent over on the evening after the sikh intrenchmentsatsobraon had been stormed, to request him to join the army at once, as loodiana had for the present ceased to be a station of importance. he had, as soon as he joined the camp, claimed percy groves' services, and in the negotiations that followed, and as interpreter between the british and sikh authorities, he was found of great use, espe- cially after they reached lahore, where many of the sikh sir- dars, especially those whose possessions lay in the jalindar doab, considered it prudent to come in and to assume an appearance of friendship with the british. "now, groves, what are your wishes as to entering the service?" mr. fullarton said to him one day, when the vari- ous court ceremonials were over, and preparations were begin- ning for the withdrawal of the main body of the army. "the governor-general mentioned your name to me to-day, and said that you had rendered very valuable services during the cam- paign. mr. broadfoot had reported most favourably of you; you had acted as aide-de-camp to the commander-in-chief at ferozeshah and to sir harry smith at sobraon; the latter had mentioned you in his report, as sir hugh gough and himself i through the sikh war had both observed your coolness and readiness to carry mes- sages under the heaviest fire at ferozeshah; and that since then your services as interpreter have been very valuable. "he said that you had earned an appointment, and that he should be glad to write to the board of directors to request one for you, but that he feared the board would consider you too young. he said, however, if you strongly desired to enter the service at once, he would put the matter in such a light that they could hardly refuse; for as you had been doing man's work throughout this campaign, you could do it during peace time. i think his own opinion was that it would be better for you to wait for another two or three years, for that, if you received an appointment now, you might be sent down to an office in calcutta. you see that at your age you could hardly occupy a post that would not only place you in communication with native chiefs, as the british representative, but might place you in a position where, as political officer, you might have to requisition the assistance of troops and of officers old enough to be your father." "i quite think so," percy said, "and would much rather not enter the service for another three years, sir; even then i shall only be nineteen." "that is about the right age to enter," mr. fullarton said, "and you will have great advantages over other young fellows just out. there would be your record in your favour, and your knowledge of the language and people, and you would be certain to obtain an appointment in this province such as a man direct from england could hardly hope for until after at least ten years' service. i think if i were you, i should turn my attention for the next two years to acquiring as thorough a knowledge of the pathan language as you now have of punjaubi. when we have annexed the punjaub, which is a question of a few years, we shall be in direct contact with the hill tribes, who are nominally subject to afghanistan, but are practically independent, and if you happened to be stationed in any of an ambush the northern districts you would find the knowledge of that language invaluable. you have evidently a knack of picking up languages, and your knowledge of punjaubi will, of course, help you considerably in learning pathan." as percy was anxious, now that everything was settled, to return as speedily as possible to his uncle's, he at once wrote a formal request that his services as a volunteer might be dispensed with. the next day mr. fullarton said to him: "i informed sir henry hardinge yesterday evening that you had sent in your resignation, and he requests me to bring you to him this morn- ing that he might say good-bye to you, and thank you for your services." the commander-in-chief was with the governor-general when mr. fullarton called at the palace, where he had taken up his quarters, but on his name being taken in he was requested to enter at once, which he did with percy. "i should have been sorry had you gone without saying good-bye to me, mr. groves," sir henry said. "both the commander-in-chief and myself have noted your conduct very favourably, and reports to the same effect have been made by mr. broadfoot and sir harry smith. i think you are wise to decide to wait another three years before entering the service. i shall write to the board of directors requesting them to appoint you to their civil service at once. but i shall ask them to date the appointment three years on, and at the same time to send instructions to the officer who will remain as resident here to the effect that should there be any signs of fresh trouble before that time, he can at once ante-date the appointment and employ you in any way in which your knowl- edge of the country and language, and your zeal and activity, can be utilized. should i still be in india, i shall make it a point to see that you have an appointment in this province; and should i return to england before that time, your name will be placed in the list i leave behind for my successor of through the sikh war promising and intelligent officers. sir hugh gough will also, he tells me, keep an eye on your interests, and doubtless you will receive a notification from the court in due time as to your appointment. you will do well, after you receive it, to write to the resident here, telling him that although you do not wish for employment until the date of your appointment, your services are at his disposal should they be required. i have no doubt mr. fullarton will, before leaving, speak to him personally on the matter." the commander-in-chief added a few words, and percy on returning to the house began preparations for his departure. "we shall have to be careful as we ride back, sahib," bhop lal said. "things are quiet enough about here, but from what i learn the country is overrun with disbanded soldiers. they have gone back for the most part to their own villages; but what will they do there? they have lived an idle life for years, and quite considered themselves masters of«the country. they will never set to at steady work to plough the fields, they will soon tire out their friends, and then they will wander away and gather in bands, and become dacoits. i hear in the bazaar that the country is everywhere unsafe for travel; that merchants dare not send their goods except in strong parties guarded by a force of disbanded soldiers they pay to act as guards. the peasants are robbed and plundered, and things are even worse than they were before the war began. after getting through the battles without so much as a scratch, it would be unfortunate, indeed, should ill befall us now that the war is all over." "there is one thing, bhop lal. we shall have no dangers except from an accidental encounter with robbers. now that ghoolab singh is ruler of cashmere, he will have too many other matters to think of to trouble further about my uncle and his little district." "nothing is too small, as nothing is too large, sahib," akram chunder said, "for the greed of ghoolab singh. he an ambush may now have a kingdom, but that will not prevent him from fleecing a trader if he has an opportunity. see how he has filled his coffers at the expense of the people. has he not paid half a crore of rupees to your people for cashmere, and i doubt not he would have paid three times as much if it had been needed. there are many other sirdars could have paid the half crore, but they say that ghoolab could buy up any four of them. it is true there is no fear that he will now try to seize the colonel sahib's government by force, at least until fresh troubles begin; but if he can have him quietly removed you may be sure he will do so, as he could then easily enough get the maharanee and the lahore durbar to confirm the former appointment of his son as governor. "the colonel need no longer fear force, but he must be more than ever on his guard against treachery. still, sahib, i agree with you that just at present ghoolab must have too many things to think of to be giving attention to your matter, and that we can travel without fear of him. as for the bud- mashes, we shall have to be careful of them, as my comrade says; and we must mind that no one suspects for a moment that you are english; for although the people here are respect- ful enough, you may be sure that outside the range of your guns there is not a sikh, save perhaps the humblest cultivators, who is not full of rage and hatred against the english. have you not defeated them in four battles, humbled their national pride, and taken their richest province? to be suspected of being an englishman would be your death-warrant in the smallest village of the punjaub. the sahib would do well to-morrow not to wear his dress of a sirdar, but to dress as he did when we visited the camp of tej singh. then, if we are questioned, it is we who will do the talking; while, if you are dressed as a chief, it is to you the questions will be put. besides, most of the sirdars are known by name, at least to the bulk of the people, and it would be difficult for you to reply to close questioning; whereas, passing as disbanded an ambush "there is nothing new, everything is quiet, and they say that most of the english will soon march away." "we will make short work of the maharanee and her son as soon as they go," the man said savagely. "they are but puppets now in the hands of the english, and have signed away the best doab in the punjaub so as to buy protection for dhuleep singh. he is no longer a sikh prince, and we will speedily place one of our own sirdars on the throne." "that is what we all mean to do," bhop lal agreed; "we want no boy as our ruler now, but a sirdar who can lead us to battle. it will be different next time; last time we despised the english, and so they beat us; next time it will be they who will make too sure, and we shall beat them." "where are you going?" "we are thinking of taking service under ghoolab singh." "the old fox is a traitor," the man said angrily, while a general murmur broke from his comrades. "there is no doubt that he played us false," bhop lal agreed; "but now that he is master of cashmere he may think it his interest to go with us next time; and besides, at present his gold is as good as another's, and none of the other sirdars will increase their forces until the english have retired; so there is just the choice of taking service with ghoolab or of starving." "there is no occasion to starve for those who have got arms," the man said; "and we find it easier to help ourselves and to be our own masters than to serve anyone else. you had better join us, comrades." "thank you; we have thought it over, you may be sure; but we have had enough of marching about and sleeping in the air for the present, and we are likely at any rate to sleep and eat our meals in peace with ghoolai). there is little chance of any rising for a long time yet, and till then, at any rate, there will be peace in cashmere. when fighting begins again here, we have made up our minds to come back, if we through the sikh war find that ghoolab has forgotten that he is a sikh. and now, with your permission, we will be riding on," and bhop lal turned his horse, and with his companions trotted off. "we got through that well enough," percy remarked. "they did not think we were worth robbing, sahib; and as we are well armed, it would not have been worth their while to meddle with us. besides, you see their horses are on the other side of the grove, and they must have noticed that we were well mounted, and could have got a long start before they were off. it is as likely as not that they did not believe my story, but thought we were on our way to join some other band we knew of. i have no fear of these fellows' if we meet them openly in the daytime. the danger will be if we come upon them suddenly, and they attack us before they see what we are." in the course of the day they passed several parties of threes and fours, sometimes mounted and sometimes on foot; but they did not draw rein, and contented themselves with the exchange of passing salutations. only once they came upon a large party. it consisted of twenty carts laden with mer- chandise, and escorted by some thirty men armed to the teeth. "you see they get employment both ways, sahib," akram chunder remarked; "some of them make money by turning robbers, others make money by selling their services to mer- chants to protect their goods from robbers. no doubt those carts are on their way down from serinagur and jummoo, and are laden with shawls and embroidery, and such other goods as the merchants think the english officers at lahore will be glad to buy to send home to their friends." "i should think they will make a good venture," percy said, "for the bazaars at lahore are very poorly stocked. trade has been bad there for a long time, owing to the troubles and disturbances, and i hear that many of the traders who had remained fled when the news came of the defeat at sobraon, fearing that the english army would act as the sikhs would through the sikh war i might as well close and lock the gates, and go away to earn my bread at some other business. the country is being ruined fast. there are even those who say that it would be better the english should come and be our masters; there would be peace then, and they would soon put a stop to robbery and dacoitism, as they have done wherever they have established their rule, and the peasants would be able to plough their fields, and the traders to carry on their business without fear of any man so long as they paid their taxes and kept the law. i do not say that those are my opinions," he added hastily, "but i know that such is the talk among the peasants, who have had, it must be owned, a rough time since runjeet singh died. heavily taxed they were in his time, but beyond that they had nought to complain of; but of late, what with one trouble and another, their lot has been hard." "there is no doubt about that," bhop lal agteed heartily. "i have been a soldier, but i have been a peasant too, and know where the shoe pinches. perhaps things will be better now." the man shrugged his shoulders. "i see not how this is to be," he said; "the i^ hore durbar is under the protection of foreigners, and no one heeds it, as it has no power save in the city. better a thousand times a prince who can make himself obeyed, even were it ghoolab singh, or else a strong foreign rule. i would rather have a native prince, but far better than the nominal rule of a boy, protected by foreign bayonets, would be the rule of the foreigners themselves, for they, at least, can make the law respected, punish ill-doers, and preserve peace and order." "i fancy there are a great many who think as you do," bhop lal said; "but these for the most part keep their thoughts to themselves. well, we shall see what we shall see. things will never go on long as they are at present; and, as you say, the l'unjaub will either be ruled by a strong native prince, or it will, like scinde, become a possession of the english. i an ambush have had enough of f ghting, and mean to remain quiet until one or other of these things comes about." "there are many like you; but some of the soldiers who come through say they would like to fight the english again." "then take my word for it," a soldier sitting by said, "the men who said that were not among those who fought on the sutlej. there were brave men there, and plenty of them, but i do not believe one of those that fought there will ever wish to fight the white troops again. there was no withstanding them. they came on as if they minded the rain of iron and lead no more than if it had been a thunder-shower. it was that which beat us; we were told by our chiefs that it was impossible, absolutely impossible, for men to force their way into our lines, and when we saw them do it, we said to our- selves it is hopeless to fight against such men; and we who, under runjeet, have won victory after victory, and that against stout fighters like the afghans, lost heart for the first time in our lives, when we felt that we, though two to one, were no match for these terrible soldiers." "is it true," the keeper of the khan asked, "as all have told me, that they neither plunder nor rob; and though really masters of lahore, the english go about quietly, ill-treating none?" "jt is quite true; they have discipline; brave as these men are, they are quiet and orderly, as our troops never were even in the days when runjeet was strong and firm. not a man has been robbed, nor a woman insulted, since they crossed the sutlej. they are our enemies, but they are a great people." "if you have aught to lose, gentlemen," the other said, "be careful how you ride to-morrow; scarce one has arrived from the north for the last week who does not complain bitterly of being robbed on the way. some were wounded sorely, having ventured on resistance. they say there are as many as two hundred disbanded soldiers lurking among the woods and bushes between this and the next town. the sirdar lal miz- through the sikh war rah, moved by the complaints of the country people, cleared the road of them a few days since, breaking up their parties, and killing many; therefore, at present they are more cautious. that is how the convoy got through safely yesterday. i should advise you, therefore, to travel by country roads, though even these are not safe, for the robbers, finding that people have deserted the main road and have taken to these paths, have beset them also." "we have nothing to lose but our lives," bhop lai said, "but as these are somewhat precious to us, we will take all the care we can to avoid these gentry you speak of." after a consultation with percy, it was agreed that, as time was no particular object, they would strike off at once to the west, travel for a day in that direction, and then make north, thereby getting well out of the line followed by travellers from lahore. "after having been through three battles," percy said, "it would be folly to risk getting our throats cut merely for the sake of saving a day's journey." accordingly the next morning they took this route. they passed several villages in the course of the day; as they were seen approaching, men and women ran into their houses and closed the doors, and not a soul was to be seen in the streets as they passed through. "we need not have been afraid of being questioned," percy said; "it is evident that the whole population of the country is scared by the exactions of these disbanded soldiers, and that they are only too glad to see us pass by without interfering with them. it would have been well for the country if the sutlej had risen another foot on the day of the storming of sobraon, it would have relieved the country of some thousands more of these plunderers." they met with no adventure whatever until they arrived within a few miles of the fortress. then, as they were riding along through a wood, a party of men on foot suddenly sprang percy and i s followers are attacked by dacoits. an ambush out from among the trees. before they had time to draw their swords akram chunder and percy were struck from their horses. bhop lal, who happened to be a horse's length behind his comrades, snatched his pistol from his belt, and shot two of the assailants; then a ball from a matchlock struck him, and he fell from his horse. as he lay he was gashed with a dozen severe wounds, and was speedily stripped of his arms and clothes; the party then gathered round the two prisoners. "i know this man," one of them said, stooping over akram chunder; "he is one of the men at the white colonel's for- tress. i know him because he was servant to one of the officers, and when i went in there with ghee, he bought some of me and came back accusing me of having sold him false weight. he fetched his master, who examined my scales, and found that somehow a bit of lead had got stuck under one of them, and the villain had me flogged, and told me if ever i entered the place again he would cut off my ears. i swore i would pay this fellow out some day, and having changed my appearance somewhat went back some time ago to find him and pay him with a knife stab if i got a chance, but i heard from a friend i had there that he had gone away; he had ridden off with a party that went with the colonels' nephew. the rest had returned all but this fellow and another; and as it was just when the war broke out, it was supposed they had gone with the young sahib to act as his servants, for both were accustomed to that sort of work." "well, there are three of them here," the other said; "maybe it is a lucky day for us, and that the third of them is the white lad." "sure enough it's the governor's nephew," one of the men exclaimed as he walked across to percy, who was lying a little apart. "i have seen him a dozen times at the fortress." "then this is a fortunate day for us indeed," the leader of the party exclaimed; "put them both on their horses again and mount without delay; we will settle what to do with them through the sikh war afterwards. we have two strings to our bow: it is certain that we can get a handsome ransom from the colonel, but i fancy ghoolab singh would give us still more. you remember the talk there was of a party of his men lying in ambush here to capture this lad as he came up two years ago; and everyone knows it was his doing that the place was besieged three months since." "would it not be as well to give this fellow a stab and leave him here?" the man who had recognized akram chunder asked. "not at all," the leader said harshly; "at any rate not at present. we may find him useful if we want to send a mes- senger in to the white colonel. besides, if we ransom the boy to his uncle it is no use setting him against us by killing his servant. even if the colonel agreed to leave us unmolested, some of his men might take the matter up and make the coun- try too hot for us. i am always against killing unless there is something to be gained by it, and i see nothing to be gained by this fellow's death." percy had been stunned by the blow from the heavy cudgel that struck him off his horse, but he heard the latter part of the conversation. he knew that resistance would be fatal, and submitted quietly to be placed on his horse. his hands were first bound in front of him, the reins were then cut and two horsemen, one on either side of him, took the ends. akram chunder was similarly treated, and, surrounded by the whole party, numbering about twenty, they rode off. by their dress and attire he judged the men into whose hands they had fallen were not discharged soldiers but regular dacoits, and when he heard one of them address the leader by the name of goolam tej, he recognized it as that of a dacoit who had for years been a scourge to that part of the country, although he had seldom ventured to molest the villages in the colonel's district, knowing how speedy and relentless would be the pursuit. he had heard numberless stories of the atrocities committed by an ambush this band; how they had tortured men and women to force them to reveal the hiding-places of their money; how they had slaughtered not only those who ventured to offer resistance, but their wives and families. however, he had no fear as to his own safety; there was nothing to be made by killing him, while there might be a large sum to be obtained as a ransom from his uncle or by his sale to ghoolab singh. the band were all mounted on wiry little ponies, and for some hours they rode at a rapid pace. they halted in a wood at the foot of the hills. here the leader, upon asking the question whether any of them had ascertained beyond the possibility of doubt that the man they had left behind was dead, was furious at finding that none of them had done so. the men who had stripped him declared they felt quite certain of it: "he had half a dozen wounds any one of which must have killed him," one of them said; "and that being so, i did not think of putting my hand on his heart to feel if it beat. make yourself easy, goolam tej, the fellow is dead beyond all doubt." "there is never any saying," his leader replied; "some men are so tough that they get over wounds which should have been sufficient to kill them a dozen times. it is always well to make sure, either by a stroke with a dagger through the heart, or by cutting off the head. there is no great trouble about either job, and it prevents mistakes occurring. if i determine on sending to ghoolab singh first, i don't want the colonel to know what has happened till we are at the other end of the country. if that fellow should be found on the road, and his wounds bound up, he may recover so far as to tell them what has happened, and then we shall have the col- onel scouring the whole country with his force. besides, he may send to lahore and lay a complaint before the durbar, and as he and the boy are english they would get up a hue and cry after us through the whole of the punjaub. i daresay the man is dead, still there ought not to be a possibility of a through the sikh war doubt about it, and i blame myself as much as i do you for not having given a thought to the matter." on dismounting, percy's legs were firmly bound, and he was laid down on the ground at a short distance from his follower, a dacoit with a gun and sword taking his seat by each of them, so that even conversation was impossible. the next morning they started up the hills, and after some hours' riding crossed the crest, and then, leaving the bridle-path by which they had travelled, dismounted and led their horses along the steep face of the hill until they reached a perpendicular crag standing out from it, upon the summit of which stood a castellated building. a long shed had been erected upon a comparatively flat piece of ground among the trees at its foot; into this the dacoits led their ponies, and then mounted a path a few inches wide cut in the rock, and leading up to a strong door which gave access to the building. a watchman on the wall had seen them coming, and as they entered they were greeted with cries of joy by a number of women. percy saw at once that the building was ancient, but that it had recently been roughly repaired, and doubted not that it was a deserted fortalice that the band had occupied and made their head-quarters. during that day's ride the dacoits had taken the precaution of bandaging the eyes of their prisoners, and only unloosened the wraps when, on nearing the place, the ground had become so steep and difficult that it was nec- essary for them to have the use of their eyes. the prisoners were taken to a small room in a little tower at one of the angles of the building, their cords were then unloosened, and they were left alone together. "this is a nice fix that we are in, akram chunder," percy said. "it is, indeed, sahib. i care not so much for myself, but to think that you, after going through those battles, should be seized by these robbers within a few miles of home, cuts me to the heart." an ambush "i am awfully sorry for bhop lal," percy said. "do you think he was killed?" "that i cannot say, not having seen his wounds, but if they were not in a vital place he may live through them, for he is as hard as a piece of iron, and was not given to drink. men who drink have but little chance of making a good recovery. he would have the sense, i know, to lie still and sham dead; but i hope ere this he may have carried the news to your uncle. he would obtain help and assistance from the first passer-by when he told his story, for there is not a peasant in the district who does not love the colonel." chapter xii a prisoner i ercy went to the window and looked out. there were three of these, mere arrow slits, and from each of them he had a view of the wood stretching away down the hillside into a narrow valley, which a short distance down took a turn and the hills cut off further view. "where are we, think you, akram chunder?" "i have no idea, sahib, beyond the fact that by the position of the sun we are looking eastward. i should say the place where we halted yesterday was some thirty miles to the north- east of the fortress; it may have been more, but it certainly was not less, or i would have known the country. to-day we were mounting all the time till the last hour, and then i could feel that we descended sharply. i should say that we were some six hours on horseback; we travelled part of the way at a trot, but more often walked, so at five miles an hour we should be thirty from our camp of last night. if we travelled straight to the east all the time we may have crossed the main crest of the hills; if not, we may be anywhere among them, for they tied the bandages so carefully over my eyes that i could see nothing, not even the road under the horse's feet." "it would not have helped you much had you done so," percy said with a laugh; "one road is a good deal like another." a prisoner "the shadows would have shown me the direction in which we were travelling, sahib, more accurately than i could tell by the heat of the sun." "so they would, akram. i did not think of that. at any rate we may take it that we are in some very out-of-the-way spot, where it would be difficult for anyone to find us without a guide." "that is so, sahib. i can see nothing but trees, and no signs of human handiwork. this place could not be seen at a great distance, for it does not rise very much above the tops of the trees. the rock was about thirty feet high where we mounted it, though it must be well-nigh double that on the lower face. the building itself is not any great height; though it could be seen well enough from that valley down there, it could not be made out from above, and even from the hillside was scarcely visible. it would be a difficult place to capture except by a force provided with cannon, for it occu- pies the whole of the top of this crag, and, as far as i could see, that is quite unclimbable except by the path up which we mounted. above the gate there was a projecting turret, and the loopholes of those at the corners both commanded it. a dozen men with muskets ought to be able to hold that path against any number; for even if they got up to the gate, i noticed as i entered that there are holes in the floor of the turret above by which they could fire down or pour hot lead on the heads of any trying to break open the gate." "you heard what they said about the ransom?" "i heard them, sahib, and only hope that they will go direct to the colonel; but i am afraid they will try ghoolab singh first. they know that he has plenty of money in his treasure-chests." "i am afraid so too, akram. the fact that ghoolab tried to catch me before shows that he thinks he could work upon my uncle through me; and as he seems to have set his mind upon obtaining possession of the fortress, i should think he would pay any sum these scoundrels elected to ask." or, through the sikh war the man nodded. "he will pay anything, sahib; it is not only that he wants the place, but that he owes the colonel a grudge for having held it so stoutly in spite of him, and ghoolab never forgets an injury or forgives one he hates." "i see no chance, of making our escape," percy said, again examining the windows. "none, sahib; a rat could hardly creep through these loop- holes, and had we means to cut away the stone we should be no nearer escape, unless we had also a rope, and that a long one, for we are at the lower angle of the rock, and i should say these loopholes must be eighty feet above the ground. we have nothing to make a rope of, as you see they have stripped me to my cumberband, and have taken away your coat; so our clothes, if torn up and twisted together, would scarce make a rope eighty feet long that would support its own weight. i see no shadow of a chance of escape that way, nor in any way if the guard is vigilant. we may have a better chance if we are tnken to ghoolab; he would not have us at jummoo, for should any c omplaint be laid against him on your account, he would, of course, deny that he knows aught about you; but wherever we are taken, we shall probably f nd better chances of escape than there are here. once free, we might manage; it is not likely that any of these dacoits can know that i'm from cashmere, and you may be sure i shall not let them find out that i speak the language. if we could get out, then, i could pass as a peasant, and however hot the pursuit, we ought to be able to evade it." five days passed; the prisoners had nothing to complain of in their treatment, being kept well supplied with food. this was always brought in by two armed men, while two others stood at the door, partly, percy guessed, to prevent any attempt to escape, partly to see that they held no conversation with those who brought in the food. "they can't trust each other," akram chunder said; "they know well enough that the bribe you could offer for assistance a prisoner to escape would be too much for any single dacoit to resist, and their leader is wise not to trust them." "the sooner we are out of this the better," percy said. "i am heartily tired of looking out of these loopholes, and don't care how soon i am on my way to cashmere. how long will it be, do you think, before a message can come from ghoolab singh?" "if he is at jummoo a messenger should be able to go and come in five or six days, sahib; but it will probably be some little time before he can get an interview with ghoolab. this is the fifth day since we were brought here; if we hear nothing to-morrow it will be either that he is not there, or that the dacoit has demanded so large a sum for you that he is unwill- ing to give it. ghoolab is too fond of money to pay if he can help it; and it is quite possible that when the messenger gets there he will seize and torture him until he reveals the position of this place, and will then send a force to capture you without the necessity of paying for you. i wonder whether the dacoits have foreseen that possibility. it is just the sort of thing that ghoolab would delight in." "i hope he won't attempt anything of the sort," percy said; "if the dacoits find themselves surrounded and attacked here, they would likely enough avenge themselves upon him by cutting our throats before his men could force their way in." "that is just what they would do, sahib; but as ghoolab would foresee the risk, it will, i hope, prevent him from carrying out that plan. he will learn from the messenger that the place can hardly be taken by a sudden surprise, and, therefore, he may think it better to pay the sum demanded, provided it is not too large, to running the risk of losing you altogether. he would not be ill-pleased to hear of your death, for he would reckon that were you out of the way, sooner or later the fortress and district would fall into his hands: but doubtless he would rather have you, in order that he may drive through the sikh war a good bargain with the colonel and get him to hand the place over in exchange for you." "i hope my uncle will do nothing of the sort," percy said. akarm chunder shook his head. "you are his son by adoption," he said, "and to save your life he will give up the fortress." "well, i hope at any rate he will negotiate for some time, akram, in which case it will be hard if we don't manage to slip away somehow. i wish we had our knives with us." "what for, sahib? the stonework of the windows is solid, and it would take us an immense time to enlarge one of the loopholes so that we could slip through." "i was not thinking of that; but if we had our knives we could get off one of the back legs of the charpoy, so that its loss would not be noticed, and cut it up into wedges, which we could drive in all round the door if we heard a row going on outside. the door is a very strong one, and if we could fasten it like that inside they might not be able to break it open before ghoolab's men could fight their way in." "that is a good idea, sahib, and if we had knives we would carry it out, but without them i don't see that we could do anything. we might move the two charpoys against the door, but half a dozen men pushing on the other side would soon drive them out of the way." "no, there is nothing to be done," percy agreed; "and i do hope that ghoolab will quite see that in the event of his trying to take the place, the dacoits will be pretty sure to finish me before his men can get in." that evening they unlashed the thin binding that held one of the beds together, and each one armed himself with one of the legs. "it is not much of a weapon," percy said, "but it is some- thing anyhow, and it would be a thousand times better to make a fight of it than to stand still and have one's throat cut. we will take it by turns to keep awake to-night, so as to hear if there is anything stirring." a prisoner the night, however, passed without any unusual sound being heard. just after daybreak they heard a shout. "that is likely to be the messenger returning," akram chunder said. "if it had been an enemy, they would have come in the dark." "but they would not be able to find their way," percy objected. "they would make the messenger act as their guide, sahib; there would be no difficulty about that. besides if it had been an enemy, we should have heard other shouts; the whole place would be in a turmoil. i have no doubt that it is the messenger, and we shall presently hear what ghoolab says." an hour passed, and then the door opened and the men brought in food. "you are to eat this quickly," one said, speaking for the first time since they had been imprisoned; "you have to mount and ride in a quarter of an hour; and goolam tej bade me tell you that you had best eat a good meal, for you have a long ride before you, and may not get another before nightfall." when, after eating a hearty meal, percy and his follower mounted and made off, escorted by twelve of the dacoits, they congratulated themselves that they had escaped the danger they feared. "i think that your life is quite safe now, sahib," akram said. "whatever ghoolab singh may threaten, he will scarcely ven- ture to do you harm. he was always opposed to war with the english, knowing that they would assuredly defeat the soldiers, and he is far-sighted enough to see that ere long the punjaub will belong to them. it is true that another time the sikhs might put a larger force in the field than that with which they last fought; but so can the english, for had the war lasted two weeks longer, the army that was coming up from scinde would have joined that which fought at sobraon and would have well- nigh doubled its strength. this being so, ghoolab singh, who has received the kingdom of cashmere at the hands of through the sikh war the english, would fear that, did he murder one of your race, troubles would arise when the english became masters of the punjaub. in the case of your uncle he would have no scruples, for, as all know, englishmen who take service with native princes do so without the consent of their government, and forfeit all right to their protection, besides, it will be repre- sented that the colonel was in fact a rebel against the durbar, since he held by force the government of which he had been deprived by the orders of runjeet singh and his ministers, and that his life was thereby forfeited. he may not know that you have been serving as an officer in the english army; but you must let him hear that, and that the governor-general himself has promised you an appointment in the company's service, and has taken great interest in you, and that, should anything befall you, he will assuredly punish whoever may be the author of the deed. i think that if ghoolab had known that, he would not have accepted the dacoits' offer. before, you were only a relative of a man with no friends save his own soldiers, and had he executed you publicly as a rebel in the market-place of jummoo there would have been no one to gainsay him. hut now that you are known to the governor- general and the commander-in-chief, he will see that he can- not act as he will without drawing upon himself the anger of the english authorities, when the colonel reports the fact to them."' "there is something in that, akram, but not much. were he asked to explain why he had put one of english blood to death, he would simply reply that he was the nephew of a man who had set the government of ljhore at defiance, had main- tained himself by arms, had inflicted heavy losses on the force sent to place the lawful governor appointed by the durbar in power; that the person executed had taken part in this act of rebellion, and that his life was justly forfeited. as all this would be in a way true, there could really be no answer to it, and the english would certainly not embroil themselves with a prisoner a powerful prince, with whom they were anxious to keep on good terms, on such a matter. still, if i do see ghoolab him- self, i shall certainly make the most of the kind expressions of sir henry hardinge and the commander-in-chief when i left them at lahore. i should hardly think, however, that he will see me. he would prefer being able to deny, without chance of contradiction, that he knew anything at all about me." "but in that case, sahib, how could he use you as the means of forcing the colonel to give up the fortress and his governor- ship of the district?" "i should think that most likely he will send word to my uncle that he has learned i have fallen into the hands of some dacoits, and that if my uncle will surrender the fortress he will take measures to rescue me from these men, who will otherwise put me to death." "the colonel will never believe that," akram said decid- edly; "he will guess at once that you are in the hands of ghoolab." "very likely he will, akram, but he won't be able to prove it, and ghoolab will know well enough that if he were to put me out of the way my uncle could not accuse him of my death, as he would have no evidence of my death to produce in sup- port; and indeed, if bhop lal recovered and took him the news of our being carried off, all he could say would be a conf rmation of ghoolab's story, and would show that i had indeed been carried off by a band of dacoits. it will most likely be known that goolam tej's band were in the neigh- bourhood, and were doubtless the party who attacked us." akram chunder was silent. he could not gainsay percy's argument, and it seemed to him that ghoolab singh had indeed the game completely in his hands. "i am afraid it is as you say, sahib," he remarked after a while, "and that we shall have, as we agreed, to slip out of their hands somehow. i see no chance at present." through the sikh war "certainly not," percy agreed; "we have no arms, and though they have not tied us this time, they must be sure that we dare not try to escape, surrounded as we are by them, for they would be able to shoot us down before we had ridden ten yards. moreover, the wood is too dense for us to force our way through, and even if we got away at first, we should be overtaken." the road they were traversing was a mere, track cut through the dense forest, and it was with difficulty that they rode two abreast. six of the dacoits rode ahead of them, six behind, those immediately following them having, as they observed when they mounted, their pistols in their hands, in readiness to shoot at the first indication of an attempt to escape. "do you think we are going towards jummoo?" percy asked after they had ridden for some three hours. "i cannot say for certain, sahib, but i think not. i feel sure that jummoo lies much to the right, and i believe that we shall come down into the valley of cashmere somewhere between that and serinagur. winding about as we have been doing in the bottom of valleys, it is very difficult to judge which way we are really going." "i agree with you, akram. i have been watching the way in which the sun falls upon us, and as you say, though we have wound and turned a good deal, i do not think we have ridden to the right as we should have done had we been making for jummoo. it does not make much difference whether wc are taken there or to serinagur," percy said; "the end of the journey will be a prison in any case." "there is no doubt about that, but i would rather they took us to serinagur, sahib. tihoolab singh has been years at jum- moo, and you may be sure that in that time he has built new and strong prisons, from which it would be very hard to escape. serinagur is an old place, and its prisons would not be like those of jummoo, and ought to be much easier to get out of; besides, being so much farther from the frontier, they might percy awakes, to find that t ie guaki>s are vigilant. a prisoner not watch us so closely, thinking we should know it would be next to impossible for men ignorant of the language to make their way down the valley, however disguised." half an hour later they passed through a village, and as the forest thinned as they approached it, and the path became broader, the dacoits closed in on both sides of the prisoners and completely surrounded them. the inhabitants fled into their houses as the troop rode through. no halt was made, and they presently came upon a broad road, and following this again began to mount. all day they travelled among very lofty hills, but towards evening made a long and steep descent. "i think i know that last pass we went through," akram chunder said; "i believe we are now descending into the valley of cashmere. if i am right, this road will fall into it ten miles below serinagur." shortly afterwards a halt was called, the dacoits turned their horses loose to graze, and proceeded to light a fire to cook the food they had brought with them. they gave the prisoners a share, but when the meal was concluded tied them securely hand and foot and placed two guards over them. these were relieved at short intervals, and one of the men kept the fire burning briskly. percy woke several times in the night, and each time found the guard vigilant; and being convinced that there was no possibility of an escape while in their charge, he at once went off to sleep again. in the morning their bonds were loosed, and they resumed their journey. about mid-day they came down into a wide flat valley. a large river meandered with many turns and windings down it, and smaller streams fell into it at many points. "are those small rivers for the most part navigable?" percy asked, pointing to the silver threads among the bright green expanse of vegetation. "yes, sahib, the rivers are the roads throughout the valley; it is by them that the peasants take in their products to a prisoner would gladly have left the punjaub alone, but they were forced against their will into annexing first the provinces beyond the sutlej, now jalindar, and next time perhaps the rest of the country, but there can be no aggressions from cashmere." "no, sahib, but the same necessity may arise here as else- where. the english hate oppression, and if ghoolab or his successors grind down the people beyond a certain point, they will interfere. moreover, cashmere is necessary to them. through it runs the best road over the great northern chain of mountains. it is, quite as much as afghanistan, the door of india, and round the valley at its northern end are trouble- some tribes, whom the rulers of cashmere have never been able to keep in order; the boundaries of china are not far away. a generation dr two at the outside and the english will be rulers at serinagur i think, sahib. what a blessing it would be to the country! in the first place, there would be neither over-taxation nor oppression. all would live and till their lands and work their loom, secure of enjoying their earnings in peace. money would flow into the country, for the sahibs would come in great numbers from the plains, for health and for sport, and would spend their money freely, and would buy our manufactures from the weavers and silver- smiths at f rst hand, while now they have to be sent down to market at great expense, and in troublous times at great risk. there, you see, sahib, we are taking the northern road; in two hours we shall be at serinagur." "all the better, akram; this is a lovely view, and i should be a long time before i was tired of looking at it; but i am eager to see what kind of a place we are going to be shut up in, so as to judge our chance of escape. i wish we could get hold of a couple of long knives and hide them somewhere about us, before we reach the town;" for the clothes they had worn when they were captured had been restored to them before starting. through the sikh war "one might persuade one of these fellows riding by us to part with his knife, sahib; but our pockets are empty; at least mine are, and i don't suppose they have left you any better provided." "no, akram, but i have twenty gold pieces wrapped up in flannel and stowed away in a flap-pocket at the bottom of my holster. my uncle had it made on the day i left him. he said that it might be useful to have a small store of money there in case i ever fell among thieves; and it is so contrived that even if anyone put his hand right down to the bottom of the holster he would not suspect that there was a pocket there, for the flap exactly fits it, and makes a sort of false bottom. the money was stowed away there, and i have never thought of it since." "it must be well hidden, sahib," akram chunder said with a laugh, "for i have put the saddle on and off a hundred times, and put your pistols and sometimes food into the hol- ster, and never for a moment suspected that there was money lying there. are you sure that it hasn't been taken?" percy put his hand down into the holster. "it is all right, akram, i can feel the roll of flannel under the flap." "well, sahib, if you can get out four pieces it is hard if i don't manage to get a couple of knives from this fellow next to me; as for the rest, if we can but hide them about us they may prove the means of our getting free from prison. thinking it over, it seemed to me that our greatest difficulty was that we had no means of bribing anyone." percy managed to get out four gold pieces, and passed them quietly to his follower. "comrade," the latter said in a low voice to the dacoit rid- ing beside him, "you have two knives in your girdle, at what do you value them?" the man looked keenly at his prisoner. their clothing had been searched with scrupulous care, and he felt sure that no hiding-place could have been overlooked. a prisoner "it depends on who wanted to buy," he said cautiously. "suppose i wanted to buy." "then they would be worth two gold pieces each." "that is beyond my means. i would not mind giving a gold piece for each of them." "where are the pieces to come from?" "that is my business; perhaps i have them hidden in my mouth, or my ears, or my hair." "i dare not do it," the man said; "it might be noticed." "not if you managed it well," akram said. "you might ride close up to me when the road happens to be narrow, and pass them in a moment; besides we are not thinking of escape now; but they may be useful to us afterwards." "it is too great a risk," the man repeated irresolutely. "well, i will give you three pieces for the two, though it is hard that you should beggar me." the man nodded, and presently akram saw him shift the two knives to the side of his girdle next to him. a short distance farther on he glanced round at the two men riding behind. they were laughing and talking together, and evidently paying but little attention to the prisoners. a moment later he touched his horse's rein, and his knee rub- bed against akram's. the latter passed three gold pieces into his hand, snatched the knives from his girdle, and thrust them under his coat, and the dacoit at once drew off to his former position. riding close together, akram had no difficulty in passing one of the knives to percy, who then again opened the flap in the holster and took the money from its flannel inclosure and handed seven pieces to akram. "where do you mean to hide them?" he asked. "in the folds of my waist-sash; that is the only place to put them at present. of course if they search us they will discover the money and the knives, but they will be so sure that the dacoits have taken everything from us that they may not think it worth while to do so. if they once leave us in a through the sikh war room alone we can hide them away so that nothing but a care- ful search will find them; but at present we must trust to chance." they were now approaching the town, which extends some two miles on either side of the river jelum, across which sev- eral bridges are thrown. percy was disappointed at the appearance of the place, which contained no buildings of sufficient importance to tower above the rest. he was most struck with the green appearance of the roofs. on remark- ing this to akram, the latter replied: "they are gardens, sahib; the roofs are for the most part flat, and they are overlaid with a deep covering of earth, which keeps the houses warm in winter and cool in summer. the soil is planted with flowers, and forms a terrace, where the family sit in the cool of the evening." "that explains it. it is a pity the same thing is not done in other towns; it looks wonderfully pretty." the people they passed on the road were dressed somewhat differently to those of india; the men wore large turbans and a great woollen vest with wide sleeves; while the women were for the most part dressed in red gowns, also with large loose sleeves. round the head was a red twisted handker- chief, over which was thrown a white veil, which did not, however, cover the face. "is the language at all like punjaubi?" percy asked. "no, sahib, it differs altogether from all the indian tongues, so far as i have heard, and is therefore very difficult to be learned by the natives of other parts." before reaching the town the horsemen turned off from the main road, and making a wide detour so as to avoid it alto- gether, continued their course along the foot of the hills on the left of the valley, and after proceeding some two miles above the upper end of the city, mounted the hill, and in half an hour reached a building standing at considerable height above the valley. a prisoner "that is just as we expected, sahib. you see we have avoided the town, and ghoolab will, if questioned, be able to affirm that we have never been brought there. none of the people we met on the road will have noticed us, dressed as we are, in the middle of this band, whom they will take to be the following of some sirdar." "if that is to be our prison, akram, it does not look any- thing like such a difficult place to get out of as the dacoit's castle; but of course it all depends on where they put us." they stopped at the entrance to the building. they were evidently expected, for an officer came out at once, followed by six armed men. he addressed no questions to the dacoits, but simply nodded as they led the two prisoners forward. two of the men took the bridles of the horses and led them inside the gates, which were then closed. percy and akram dismounted, and the officer, entering a door from the court-yard, ordered them in punjaubi to follow him. to percy's great satisfaction he led the way up a staircase, instead of, as the lad had feared might be the case, down one leading into some subterranean chamber. after ascending some twenty steps they went along a narrow passage, at the end of which was a strong door studded with nails. one of the men produced a key and opened it, and on entering percy found himself in a chamber some fifteen feet square. it was not uncomfortably furnished, and had two native bed- steads. the floor was covered with rugs. a low table stood in the centre, and there were two low wooden stools near it. percy's first glance, however, was towards the window. it was of good size, and reached to within a foot from the floor. it was, however, closed by a double grating of strong iron bars, with openings of but four or five inches square. "do not fear, no harm is intended you," the officer said. "for a time you must make yourselves as comfortable as you can here. your servant will be allowed to be with you. if there is anything you require it will be supplied to you." through the sikh war so saying he left the room, and the door was then locked. "thank goodness you are left with me, akram," percy exclaimed. "the thing i have been dreading most of all is that we should be separated; and if that had been so, i should have lost all hope of escape." "i have feared that too, sahib, though i did not speak of it; but before we think of anything farther, let us hide one of the knives and half the money in the beds." "why not hide them both?" percy asked. "because we might be moved suddenly, sahib. ghoolab might order us to be taken to another prison, or might send for us down to jummoo; there is never any saying; so it is well to keep some of the money about us. of course we may be searched, but in that case we should loose but half. how- ever, i do not think they will do that now. they will make quite sure that the dacoits will have taken everything there was to take." chapter xiii escape having carefully hidden one of the knives and nine pieces of gold in the beds, they divided the remaining eight pieces between them. akram took off his turban, unrolled his hair, and hid his four pieces in it. he then, with the point of a knife, unripped two or three stitches in the lining of percy's coat and dropped his money into the hole. "how about the knife, akram? that is a much harder thing to hide." "it must be hidden on you, sahib, so that if we are sepa- rated you will be able to use it if you see an opportunity." he took the knife, and with it cut off a strip an inch wide from his cloak; then he pulled up one of the legs of percy's long sikh trousers, and with the strip of cloth strapped the knife tightly against the side of the shin-bone; the handle came close up to the knee, the point extended nearly to the ankle-bone. "there is no fear of that shifting," he said when he had fastened the bandage and pulled the leg of the trouser down again. "and even if they felt you all over they might well omit to pass their hands over the leg below the knee." "it is certainly a capital hiding-place, akram; i should never have thought of putting it there, and it is the last place they would think of searching for anything. now, we can have a look at the window; it is very strongly grated." i through the sikh war akram shook his head. "there is no getting through there, sahib; these bars have not been up many years. the stone- work is perfect, and with only our knives it would be absolutely impossible to cut through that double grating. the room has doubtless been meant for someone whom they wanted to hold fast and yet to treat respectfully. • we may give up all idea of escaping through the window. that stonework was evidently put up at the same time as the gratings. you see the rest of the wall is of brick." "i don't see it, akram; it is all covered with this white plaster." "yes, sahib; but all the houses here are built of brick, that is to say of brick and woodwork, and i noticed this one is also; besides, if you look at the plaster carefully you can make out the lines of the courses of brick underneath it; it is a thin coat, and badly laid on." "it is a nuisance it is there," percy remarked. "if it hadn't been for that it might have been possible with our knives to have cut away the mortar between the bricks, and so have got them out one by one, till we made a hole big enough to get through. of course it would be a long job, but by replacing the bricks carefully in their places and working at night it might have been managed. but this white plaster renders it quite impossible unless the whole thing could be done in one night, which would be out of the question. there is the floor; we must examine that presently. i have read of escapes from prison by men who managed to raise a flooring stone, made a hole underneath big enough to work in, and so made their way either into another room or through the out- side wall. it would need time, patience, and hard work; but unless we are able to bribe the man who brings us in food, that is how it must be done." he pushed aside one of the rugs. the floor was composed of smooth slabs of stone about a foot square. "it could not be better," he said. "there should be no great difficulty in escape getting up a couple of these slabs. they are fitted pretty closely, but we ought to be able to find one where there is room for the blade of a knife to get in between it and those next to it." "that is good, sahib; i should never have thought of get- ting out that way. however, if you tell me what to do i will do it;" and akram went to the place where he had hidden his knife. "there is no hurry, akram. we can fix on a stone while there is daylight, but we can't begin until we are sure that everyone is asleep. they may bring us in some food at any moment; and before we begin in earnest we shall have to find out the hours at which they visit us, and how late they come in at night." at this moment they heard steps coming along the passage. "sit down on that stool," percy said, while he threw him- self down on one of the charpoys. "we must look as dull and stupid as we can." a man brought in a dish of boiled rice and meat. akram addressed him in punjaubi, but he shook his head and went out without a word. "if none of these fellows speak anything but their own language, sahib, it will be difficult to try and get them to help us, for it will not do to let out that i can talk the language; for if we once get free, that will be our best hope of getting through the country." "we will try the other way first at any rate, akram. the money we have is not suff cient to induce a man to risk his life in assisting us, and he might possibly think he could do better by betraying us; in which case we might be separated and put in a much worse place than this." "that is true enough, sahib; at the same time the money we have is a very large amount here. he would not get above three or four rupees a month, so that it would be four or five years' pay. still there is the danger of his betraying us. escape they filled the cracks with water, drew the rug over the place, and then returned to their seats. presently akram said: "we might try wedges, sahib." "so we might, i did not think of that; and there are the beds, of course." "yes; i could cut away some pieces from the under part of the framework of one of the beds." "that will do capitally." it was slow work cutting out a piece of bamboo sufficiently large to make a couple of dozen of wedges, and it was dark long before akram had finished. it took another three hours to split it up and make it into wedges. as soon as these were completed, they drove them in close to each other along one side of the stone, pressing them in with the haft of a knife with their united weight. when all were wedged in akram tried the stone. "it is as firm as ever, sahib." "yes; i did not expect that we should be able to move it, especially as we have not hammered in the wedges. if it does not move by morning we must tap them in, giving a tap every four or five minutes; that would not be noticed; but i hope we shall find it is loose then. you see the crack is full of water, and so the wedges will swell and exercise a tremen- dous pressure. in some places they split stone like that." they threw themselves down on the beds and slept till morning broke. percy was the first to open his eyes, and at once leapt up, ran across the room, moved the rug, and exam- ined the stone. "it has moved, akram. the side opposite the wedges is jammed hard up against the next stone." "it is as firm as ever, sahib," akram said, trying it with his knife. "yes, because it is held by the pressure of the wedges. when we get them out we shall find that it is loose from the cement." through the sikh war they found, however, that there was no possibility of get- ting out the strips of wood. "we have only to wait," percy said. "as soon as they are dry they will be loose." it was, however, two days before the moisture had evaporated sufficiently for them to be able to draw out the wedges. "now, let us both put our knives in on this side and try and lift it." repeated trials showed them that this could not be done. in the evening, however, when the lamp was brought them, they heated the point of one of the knives in the flame until it had so far lost its temper that they were able to bend the point over by pressing it on one of the flags. again heat- ing it they dipped it in water to harden. they then ground the point down on one of the stones until they were able to pass it down the joint that the action of the wedges had widened. the bent point caught under the stone, and they had no difficulty in raising it. "there is the f rst step done," percy exclaimed in delight. "you had better warm the knife and straighten the point again." they experienced no great difficulty in getting up the next stone, which they had loosened in a similar way to the first while waiting for the wedges to dry. as soon as this was up they began cutting into the cement. the surface was hard, and the knives at first did little more than scratch it; but below they found it much softer and got on more rapidly. as they removed the cement they placed the powder a hand- ful at a time on the window-sill, and blew it gradually out through the grating. after three nights of continuous work they had made a hole a foot deep and come down upon wooden planking. "this is doubtless the ceiling of the room underneath," percy said. "there can be no one sleeping there or they would have heard the scratching overhead." by lifting up percy and akram attempt to escape from prison. escape the stones, which they always replaced at daybreak, they could hear voices, and did not recommence their work at night till they were well assured that no one was stirring be- low. as the stones they had taken out were next to the wall, they now commenced operations on the brickwork. this they found much easier, as the mortar was nothing like so hard as the cement, and on cutting it out between the bricks they had no great difficulty in moving these. after two nights' work they had taken them all out with the exception of the outside layer, as they were able to calculate by the thickness of the wall at the window. during the daytime the bricks that had been removed were stowed away in the hole. "we shall be out to-night," percy said exultantly, as they replaced the flags for the last time. "this last layer will be easy work, for as soon as we have cut round one brick we shall be able to pull it in, and can then get a hand through the hole, and the others will come quite easily as soon as we cut away the mortar a bit. there will be no occasion to tear up the rugs to make a rope. we are not more than eighteen or twenty feet from the ground, and two or three of them knotted together will be enough. we will set one of the beds over the hole and tie the end to that." percy felt nervous all day, being in fear every time he heard a footstep in the passage that something might occur which would upset all their plans. they had now been ten days in their prison, so there was time for a messenger to have gone to jummoo, and thence to the fortress and back. still he hoped that his uncle would at any rate refuse to accept cihoolab singh's first offer, whatever it might be, and that lengthy negotiations would go on. nothing out of the ordi- nary routine happened; their guard came three times a day as usual with their food; and after his last visit percy sprang from the couch. "hurrah! next time he comes he will find the place empty, akram. now let us set to work at once." through the sikh war four hours of hard work sufficed to make a hole large enough for them to crawl through. the charpoy was brought over the hole, the money stowed away in their clothes, and the rugs knotted. then, feet foremost, percy wriggled out through the hole, holding the rope tightly, and slid down to the ground, while two minutes later akram stood beside him. they had already taken off their turbans and rewound them much more loosely, so as to resemble closely those worn in cashmere. they started at once up the hill, and continued their course until they reached a wood high up on the moun- tain side. they had already determined upon their course. it was of the greatest importance that they should obtain dresses of the country, for though they might have made their way along the hills they would have difficulty in buying food, and might find horsemen already posted at the various passes by which the mountain ranges were traversed. at daybreak akram took off his long coat, arranged his clothes in the fashion of cashmere peasants, and started boldly for the town. "the shops will soon be open," he said, "and unless any- one happens to go round to the back of our prison, which is not likely, they will not find out that we are gone until the man enters at nine o'clock with our food, and long before that i shall be here again. you need not be uneasy about me, sahib. being really a native of the valley, no one can suspect me of being anything else." soon after eight o'clock he returned with two complete suits, in which they were soon attired. as the natives of cashmere are fairer than those of the plains of india, it needed but a slight wash of some dye akram had brought up with him to convert percy's bronzed face to the proper tint, and as soon as this was done they descended the hill and came upon the main road below the city. soon afterwards some horsemen passed them, galloping at a furious rate. these did not even glance at the supposed peasants, but continued their course down the valley. other and much larger bodies of horsemen escape afterwards passed them, but, like the first, without asking a question. "doubtless they think we have at least twenty miles start," akram said. "i expect the first party were going right down to the mouth of the valley, warning all the towns and villages to be on the look-out for us. the others, when they think they must have passed us, will scatter and occupy all the roads and passes. some of them will push on until almost within sight of the fortress, so as to catch us there if we manage to get through the woods and pass the lines of watchers." at a leisurely pace they proceeded down the valley, akram sometimes entering into conversation with peasants they met, and going into shops and buying provisions; he learnt in the villages that strict orders had been given to watch for a sikh with a young englishman who had escaped from a prison at serinagur. akram joined in their expressions of wonder as to how an englishman could have got there, and how the escape had been managed, and mentioned that he was on his way to visit some relations at jummoo. when near the mouth of the valley he purchased some cot- ton cloths, such as peasants working in the fields would wear, and presently they put on these and left those behind them that had proved so useful, percy's skin being stained brown wherever exposed by this more scanty costume. thus attired they issued out from the mouth of the valley and went forward into ghoolab singh's country, as they agreed that this was the place where they were the least likely to be looked for. they had been four days on their way down from serinagur, and decided to travel still farther west, so as to return to the for- tress from the side opposite to that where a watch was likely to be kept up for them. three days' more walking, and, having made the detour, they approached the fortress on the west. they met with no suspicious party on their way, and as they ascended the zigzag road from the valley felt with delight that they were now per- through the sikh war fectly safe. as usual the drawbridge was down and the gates open, and they passed in without question from the men on guard there. as they went down the street they saw a figure they recognized, and percy ran forward and exclaimed: "bhop lal, i am indeed glad to see you! so those rascally dacoits did not kill you after all?" "blessed be the day, sahib!" bhop lal exclaimed with delight. "there has been sore grief over you. the colonel has been in a terrible state since i was carried in here and told him how you had been seized by dacoits, and still more has he been troubled since, ten days ago, he learned from a messenger of ghoolab singh that you had fallen into the clutches of that notorious scamp goolam tej. the ranee is ill and keeps her bed. "ah, akram chunder! truly i am rejoiced to see you also. i was glad indeed that you were with the young sahib, for i knew you to be a man of resources." "it was the young sahib himself who devised the plan by which we escaped, bhop lal; and how are your wounds?" "they are very sore yet, and the hakim says that it will be many weeks before i am fit to sit in the saddle again; but now that our sahib is back safely i shall have no more to fret about, and shall mend rapidly." by this time they had arrived at the door of the colonel's residence, and percy ran in. "you cannot enter here, fellow," a servant said, as he was about to push aside the hangings of the entrance to the private apartments. percy laughed, and without waiting to explain pushed the man aside and ran in. "well, uncle, here i am," he exclaimed, as he entered the room where his uncle was sitting writing. the latter leapt to his feet with a cry of joy. "why, percy, is it you in this disguise? welcome back, my boy, a thousand times! but before you tell me anything, escape come in to see mahtab, who has been downright ill from grief since bhop lal brought in the news of your being carried off by dacoits." the ranee's delight at seeing percy was unbounded, and it was some time before she and her husband could sit down quietly and listen to his story. "all is well that ends well," the colonel said when he had brought it to a conclusion. "you have had a bad time of it, percy; but i doubt if your aunt and i have not had a worse. of course, i was a good deal troubled when i heard that you were carried off; but as to that bhop lal could tell us noth- ing, having been shot down at once, and so hacked that he knew nothing of what took place until he was revived by water being poured down his throat. three traders coming along the road on their way here had found him, and as soon as they learned from him who he was and what had occurred, they bandaged his wounds and had him carried here in a dhoolie. they reported that they had seen nothing of you, and one of them at once rode back with me with a troop of horse to the spot where they had found your man, and as, after a most careful search, we could find no trace of blood, we concluded that you had been carried off. "we followed the traces of the band for some distance, but then lost them just as it was becoming dark. as they had had some eight hours' start of us, and were making for the mountains, we gave up the pursuit and returned here. i made sure that in the morning i should receive a message from the rascal demanding a ransom for you, but as the day went on i became more uneasy, as the idea struck me that they might not be dacoits, but fellows in the pay of ghoolab. it certainly did not seem likely that he could have heard that you would be on your way back; but his men might have been there for weeks, for he would guess that when the war was over you would be making your way back here again. "for the next six days i sent out parties of horsemen all through the sikh war over the country, but could obtain no news whatever, and was getting in a terrible state of mind when a man rode in with a letter from ghoolab singh. he stated that he had learned that you were in the power of dacoits somewhere among the mountains. he said that it would be a long and difficult task to find them, but that he would use every effort to do so, and would either by force or bribery obtain you and restore you if i, on my part, would undertake to resign the govern- ment that i held in defiance of the orders of the durbar. as a rebel, he felt that he should not be justif ed in exerting himself on my behalf, but if i would submit to the orders of the durbar he would guarantee that my past conduct should be overlooked and that you should be restored to me. i had very little doubt that you were already in the scoundrel's hands when he sent the message, but in any case i saw that he had me on the hip. i don't suppose he expected a direct answer to his proposal, and he did not get one. i sent an answer back that i was ready to pay any reasonable sum for your ransom; but as for resigning my governorship and hand- ing over the fortress, i wished to know what guarantee he could offer that i should be permitted to retire from the punjaub in safety with my family and treasures. to that i received an answer that he was ready to take the most solemn pledge for my safety, and that he was sending off to lahore to obtain a free pardon for me from the durbar, and a permis- sion for me to retire with all my family and as many of my followers as might wish to accompany me across the sutlej. i then wrote back that this would be perfectly satisfactory, but that, naturally, i should require that you should be handed over to me prior to my evacuating the fortress. to this i received no answer. i thought perhaps he was waiting for a reply from lahore, but i now understand that before the messenger returned with my second letter you had already slipped through his fingers. i should have liked to have seen him when he received the news of your escape. now, percy, escape tell us all about your adventures since you left us. there was no believing any of the reports that reached us about the various battles. i know, of course, that the sikhs must have been thoroughly thrashed, or we should never have had a british occupation of lahore. beyond that i really know nothing for certain." it took some time for percy to describe all the military operations. "i knew that it would be so," the colonel said gleefully when he concluded. "i told them over and over again that if they thought, because they had won victories over the afghans and other tribes, that they were a match for the eng- lish they were completely mistaken. "they scoffed at the idea of defeat; but now they find that i was right, and so was old runjeet singh. these fellows have plenty of courage and plenty of dash, but though a good many thousand have been drilled in our fashion they cannot be called soldiers. they have no generals and no officers to speak of, and when it came to fighting they would be nothing better than a mob. still our fellows must have fought well to turn them out of their strong intrenchments. in the open field i had no doubt whatever as to the result, but behind earthworks discipline does not go for much, and a brave fel- low who is a good shot counts for nearly as much as a trained soldier. now you may as well get yourself into decent clothes again, percy, and while you are doing that i will go out and see your man, and tell him that i am well pleased with his conduct, and that he and his comrade shall both be well rewarded for the dangers they have passed through." in the evening percy went more into details, and the colo- nel was highly pleased to hear that he had attracted the attention of the heads of the army, and that the governor- general himself had promised to apply at once for a civil appointment for him. "what are you thinking of doing, uncle?" through the sikh war "i shall hold on, percy. you say there is to be a british resident at lahore, and that probably troops will remain there permanently, in which i agree with you, for it is mor- ally certain that if the maharanee and her son are making peace with us and surrendering the jalindar doab, they would be turned out and probably massacred the moment the troops retired. well, with an english resident there, and being to a great extent under british protection, and having besides no regular army, lahore will be glad enough to let me alone. so there is only ghoolab. he is not very certain of his posi- tion yet, and i have no doubt he knows as well as we do that before long there will be another war, which will end in our people annexing the whole of the punjaub. i think, there- fore, that there is no chance of his trying again to take this place by force. he may, of course, and i daresay he will, try assassination again, but i shall be on my guard." "i think, uncle, there ought to be more care at the gate. we came in without being questioned, and we might, for aught the guard knew, have been two men sent by ghoolab to assassinate you. i think that every man coming into the place ought to be questioned as to his busines." "but they would lie, my boy. what is the use of ques- tioning?" "ah! but i would not let them in, uncle, unless they could prove that they had business with some person living in the fort. you are not recruiting now, and if you were you could get plenty of men well known in the district. i don't say that you could keep assassins out, whatever the means you adopt; but i do think that if it were known in the district that no one is admitted within the walls until after he has given a satisfactory account of himself, ghoolab would find it more difficult to get men to undertake so hazardous a busi- ness." as the ranee thoroughly agreed with percy the colonel consented to make more rigid rules, although still maintain- escape ing his opinion that no precautions of the sort would be of the slightest avail in keeping a determined man from enter- ing the place. the next morning another horseman came in from ghoolab. the colonel laughed as he read the letter he had brought. "the old fox still hopes to catch you again, percy; he simply continues negotiations, and asks what guarantee i can offer on my part that i will retire from the fortress if you are, as i demand, given up to me before i surrender. i will put him out of his agony." so the colonel wrote a short note to the effect that his nephew had returned, and having informed him who was the brigand into whose hands he had fallen, there was no longer any need for any further negotiations on the subject. "you must be doubly careful now, roland," the ranee said when her husband told her what he had written to ghoolab. "he has always been your bitter enemy, but he will be more so than ever now. i do beg that you will again have that guard you had during the siege, and that you will have the two men who have proved so faithful to percy to sleep always at the entrance to our apartments." "i hate being guarded," the colonel said; "still, if it will make you more comfortable, of course it shall be as you wish." when the officers of the garrison understood that ghoolab had again been foiled, there was a general opinion that too great precautions for the colonel's safety could hardly be taken. the watch at the gate was carried out most vigilantly, for the colonel was so much beloved by his men that each con- sidered himself personally responsible for his safety, and whatever might be the story told by strangers arriving at the gate, they were not allowed to pass until the trader or other person they wished to see was brought down to the gate to vouch for the truth of the statement. through the sikh war during the next three months seven or eight men whose story proved to be false were seized and imprisoned. the officers were all in favour of applying torture to them to extract the truth, but the colonel would not hear of it. "i will have no one tortured in my district. such a thing has never been done to my knowledge since i was appointed governor ten years ago, and i won't have it begun now. in the second place, you cannot depend in the slightest upon anything that may be told under torture. and lastly, if i knew it for certain, as i think it probable, that they were agents of ghoolab, i should really be none the wiser. they came here with a false story, and, therefore, for no good purpose. consequently they should be punished. therefore, let each man who is convicted of lying be kept for a week in the cells; then give him a sound flogging, shave off his hair, moustache, and beard, and turn him out. that will be quite enough to deter other people from following his example." this decision met with general approval, and was in each case carried into effect, the shaven men being turned out from the gates amid the gibes and jeers of the soldiers, with many threats of what would happen if they were again found in the neighbourhood. six months after his return to the fortress percy received a letter (forwarded to him by mr. henry lawrence, the resident at lahore, from the court of directors), saying that in accord- ance with the very strong recommendation of the governor- general he had been appointed to the civil service of the company on the date of his attaining his nineteenth birthday, that a note had also been made of his willingness to serve at an earlier period if required, and that instructions had been given to that effect to the resident at lahore, who was author- ized to employ him if required, in which case his appointment would date from the day of his commencing service. the time passed pleasantly to percy. he rode, practised shooting and sword exercise, and worked for several hours a chapter xiv treachery bhop lal and his comrade were delighted when they heard that percy was again going off, and that, as before, they were to accompany him as his servants. "there will be no fighting or adventures this time," percy said. "i expect your life will be just as quiet there as it is here. still it will be a change, and i suppose that sometimes i shall have to ride out from mooltan to see people in the dis- trict. your being a pathan will be a great advantage, bhop lal, on this occasion, just as akram chunder's being a native of cashmere got me out of a bad scrape last time. as a pathan you will be able to gather intelligence, as the popula- tion is largely composed of your countrymen. of course, on your journey you will take your arms with you, but you will have no occasion for them there as the followers of a peaceable civil servant." "arms are always useful," akram chunder said. "the pathans are quarrelsome fellows, though bhop lal is an exception. the population of mooltan are said to be the most turbulent of those of any town in the punjaub. you will miss your horse, sahib. i suppose it is in ghoolab singh's stables. the one you ride now is a good one, but not so good as sultan." "my uncle has just given me sheik. he says it will be more useful to me than to him." treachery "then, sahib, you need never fear being caught when you are once on his back. even with the colonel's weight there is not a horse in the district can touch him, and with you in the saddle he will go like the wind." before starting colonel groves presented the two men with horses of his own breeding. "without being comparable with sheik, they are powerful and well-bred horses, fast, and capable of accomplishing long journeys. as i know you will serve my nephew as well and faithfully as you did last time, i shall never regret having parted with the horses," he said to them. "one or other of you will always be with him, and it is useless for a master to be well mounted if his followers cannot keep pace with him. i do not say that either of these horses could keep up with sheik if he were pressed, but at least you will find few that can go faster." the men were overjoyed with the present. the sikhs, like the indian irregular cavalry, provided their own horses and equipments, and it was a matter of personal pride to be well mounted. to be the possessors of animals like these, uniting the hardiness of the native horse with the power and speed of their english sire, was an unhoped-for pleasure, and they expressed their thanks in the warmest terms. as it was evident that mr. agnew would very shortly be leaving for mooltan, and that therefore speed was necessary, percy and his two men started at daylight next morning and rode by long stages down to lahore. until the last halt before reaching the city percy had ridden in native dress, as, although things had now settled down a good deal, the feeling was as strong as ever against the british, who still, at the earnest request of the maharanee and the durbar, maintained a force at lahore to support the young maharajah's authority. it was, therefore, advisable to avoid attention until they reached the capital. as soon as they axrived there percy rode to the residency. through the sikh war "i am glad you have come, mr. groves," the resident said as he was ushered into the study. "you must have come down fast indeed. i told my messenger to carry my note as quickly as he could, but i hardly fancied that you could have been down for another three days; and mr. agnew starts to-morrow, so you are just in time." "you did not mention in your letter, sir, the day on which he would set out; but i came down as rapidly as i could in order to catch him here if possible." at this moment a gentleman in civilian dress, with a young officer, entered the room. they hesitated on seeing that the resident was engaged. "come in, mr. agnew," sir frederick currie said. "this is mr. groves. he has come down post-haste to take up his appointment as your assistant." "i am very glad that you have arrived in time, mr. groves. i have learnt a good deal about you from the memorandum handed over to sir frederick by his predecessor, and shall be very glad to have your assistance. this is lieutenant anderson of the st bombay fusiliers, who also accompanies me. we will leave sir frederick to his work at present and talk over matters. i need not ask if you are well mounted," he went on when they were seated in another room; "the speed with which you have come down shows that. are there any preparations you want to make in the way of hiring servants?" "i have two excellent men, sir. they were with my uncle for many years, and accompanied me through the last cam- paign. they are thoroughly trustworthy, are up to their work in every way, and have plenty of courage." "you are fortunate, mr. groves, in getting two such men. sikh servants as a rule are not to be depended upon, especially in any trouble with their countrymen; while servants from other parts of india are of little use here from their ignorance of the language. do you know anything in reference to the situation at mopltan?" treachery "nothing, sir. i know, of course, that moolraj's conduct was very doubtful during the last campaign, and that it was considered probable he would have attacked general napier's force coming from scinde had it not been too strong to be meddled with. i do not know anything more than that." "as you know he succeeded his father as dewan of mooltan, and in fact of all the country beyond the jhelum, in . he nominally remained neutral, but there was very little doubt that he would have taken part in the war had he seen his opportunity, and would have joined the sikhs with every man he could put in the field on the condition that when we were crushed his government should be altogether independent of that of lahore. the passage of general napier's army overawed him at that time. he had promised to pay to lahore a large sum of money in return for the confirmation by the durbar of his succession to his father's office; but when once firmly established in it he declined to pay the stipulated amount, and with the army in a state of mutiny the durbar was unable to compel him to do so; nor had he paid the regular revenue of the province. "accordingly one of the first measures of the durbar after things had settled down at the end of our campaign was to send a force against him. moolraj, however, completely defeated it. henry lawrence then acted as mediator, and matters were arranged on the basis that moolraj should pay up a considerable amount of arrears, and should, for three years from last autumn, pay a fixed sum annually. last november he paid a visit here, and expressed to john law- rence, who had succeeded his brother henry as resident, that he wished to give up his position as dewan of mooltan and its province, his reason being that by the new arrangement the people under his government had the right of appeal to lahore, which interfered greatly with his power of taxation. "lawrence recommended him not to carry out his deter- mination; but he insisted on sending in his resignation to the treachery "yes; i am aware that he has done so," mr. agnew said. "the matter was brought up at the first durbar i attended, by one of ghoolab singh's party, and i was asked whether i would give my approval to a force being sent against your uncle; but as both the lawrences strongly protested against civil war when the matter was brought before them one after the other, i threw my weight altogether against such a proj- ect, especially at the present time when there will be trouble at mooltan. but, indeed, the majority of the durbar were equally opposed to any action being taken, first upon the ground that the revenue was punctually paid by colonel groves, which was much more than could be said for most of the other sirdars; and in the second place, because the fort had already repulsed an attack by fifteen thousand of the regulars, or as they call them khalsa troops, with great loss, and that another attempt might prove equally disastrous. but at bot- tom i think the real reason for the opposition to the pro- posal was that, were your uncle to be succeeded by ghoolab singh's son, the district would virtually become part of cash- mere, and ghoolab's power is already much too great and threatening. from the instructions left by the two lawrences for the guidance of their successors, i know that upon this ground alone, if upon no other, they opposed any operation that would tend to increase ghoolab singh's dangerous authority." "at what time do we mount to-morrow, mr. agnew?" "we do not mount at all. our party, with our servants and baggage, will go down the river in boats. the troops will march, and we shall join each other at the eedgah, a mile or so from the fort of mooltan. there will be a boat for ourselves, one for our servants and baggage, and a flat for our horses." "that will be much more pleasant, sir, than a march through the heat. i enjoyed my journey up from calcutta by water very much indeed." through the sikh war the journey was performed by easy stages, as the rate of travel by the boats had to be timed by that of the troops; but on the th of april they arrived at the eedgah, a spacious mohammedan building, round which the troops had already pitched their camp. upon the journey percy had been able to be of considerable service to the party in their communica- tions with the natives at the various points at which they stopped. mr. agnew and lieutenant anderson had both some knowledge of the language, but were unable to converse with anything like the facility that he had attained. mr. agnew had with him several moonshis to translate for him and to act as clerks. the conversation in the boat had naturally turned upon the subject of moolraj's probable course. "i am wholly unable to understand," mr. agnew said, the f rst time the matter was discussed, "what the man's object is in resigning the governorship. it is, of course, less profit- able than it was, owing in the first place to certain districts being taken from his jurisdiction, and in the second, because the right of appeal to lahore by persons who consider them- selves oppressed renders it impossible for him to carry his exactions to so great an extent as before. had moolraj been a peace-loving man i should understand his resigning an office he considered no longer profitable; but he is an ambitious one, and has always been credited with the desire and inten- tion of one day making himself independent of lahore, just as ghoolab has done. his natural course would have been to announce that he could not afford to pay so heavy a sum annually, and to declare that if pressed he should defend him- self; especially as, on the last occasion, he defeated the troops sent from lahore. resignation means the annihilation of his hopes, and a descent from the rank of dewan to that of a sirdar of no great consideration. his conduct is an entire mystery to me. it is the very last thing one would have ex- pected from a man of his character. if it had only been decided in a moment of irritation i could have understood treachery it; but it is six months since he first sent in his resignation; he has again and again had opportunities of withdrawing, but has persisted in resigning. what do you think, khan singh?" "i can understand it no more than you can, sahib," the new dewan replied. "i do not see what design he could have in thus maintaining his resignation if he did not intend to carry it out." "that is the point," mr. agnew said thoughtfully. "if he wanted to raise the flag of rebellion he could have done so at any time, for they say that his troops are well paid and de- voted to him." "if he never meant all along to resign," lieutenant ander- son remarked, "it seems to me that he could only have pre- tended to do so in the hope that the durbar would send a considerable force with his successor, and yet something less than an army, in which case he might have surprised and destroyed it, and thus have scored a material and moral success to begin with. he would scarcely have calculated upon his successor being accompanied by three british officers." "that does seem a feasible explanation, anderson. no doubt in that case our coming up with twelve hundred troops and a battery will have altogether destroyed his calculations, for although he might feel himself strong enough to defy lahore, now that the resources of the government are so diminished, he would never be mad enough to think that he could oppose with the remotest hope of success the power of england." upon the morning after their arrival at eedgah, moolraj rode in with a small party of his officers and had an interview with mr. agnew. he expressed his satisfaction that his suc- cessor had arrived, and that he should now be relieved of a government that was burdensome to him. he said that he would return in the afternoon, when he would inform them of through the sikh war the arrangements he had made for handing over the fort on the following morning. this promise he fulfilled, and the arrangements were then completed for the fort to be trans- ferred to khan singh early the next morning, moolraj saying that he himself would be present to see that matters went off smoothly. that evening when percy went to his room he found his two men waiting for him there. "what are you sitting up for?" he asked. "you know i never want you after dinner." "we wanted to speak to you, sahib," bhop lal said. "is it true that the fort is to be handed over to-morrow morning to khan singh?" "it is quite true, bhop lal; the arrangements have all been made with moolraj this afternoon." "and will you go into the fort with khan singh, sahib?" "no. mr. agnew and lieutenant anderson are going with him; and as there are arrangements to be made for the pur- chase of provisions for the troops, and other matters, mr. agnew asked me to remain here." "that is a comfort indeed, sahib." "why so? do you think there is going to be trouble?" "i don't know that there will be trouble to-morrow, sahib; i cannot say what the plans of moolraj are; but there is going to be trouble. you told me this morning to try and find out the sentiments of the people, so i dressed myself as a peasant and went boldly into the town. everyone there thinks there will be fighting. they say the troops will never accept khan singh as their dewan instead of moolraj, and the budmashes of the city all seem to be of the same opinion. "they are not, they say, going to submit, like the people of lahore, to be governed by a man who is but a servant of the feringhees. what they will do i don't know, but the place is all in an uproar, and i greatly fear there will be trouble. now that we know you are going to remain here, we treachery shall no longer be anxious. the ghoorkas and the guns can defend the place if the sikh cavalry go over, and at any rate . we will have sheik and our own horses saddled and in readi- ness either for fighting or flight." the next morning, as soon as mr. agnew was up, percy went to him and told him what he had learned from bhop lal. the officer, however, made light of it. "all that was, of course, to be expected, mr. groves. soldiers may grumble when a leader who has paid and fed them well is removed; but one must not take their grumbling in earnest. as soon as they learn that they will not be disbanded, but that their new dewan will take them all into his service and will treat them well and liberally, they will soon be contented enough. as to the rabble of the town, no doubt they would be ready enough for any mischief, providing the troops were with them; but as soon as they learn that the fort has been handed over and that the troops have accepted khan singh as their dewan, they will know better than to give trouble. moolraj is going with us to the fort, and his influence will easily bring the troops to a better frame of mind." percy had so much confidence in bhop lal, and the latter was so evidently convinced there was danger of serious trouble, that he by no means shared mr. agnew's sanguine anticipa- tion that all would pass off well. he felt, however, that it would be altogether out of place for him, a newly-joined assistant, to urge his opinion against that of mr. agnew, and he therefore merely bowed and said: "very well, sir, i hope that it will all go off well, and that your anticipations as to the troops accepting khan singh will be realized." an hour later moolraj, with a number of officers, rode up to the eedgah. mr. agnew, lieutenant anderson, and khan singh mounted, and started with the two companies of ghoorkas who were to be placed in possession of the fort. still feeling extremely uneasy, percy first looked to the prim- through the sikh war ing of his pistols, placed them and his sword in readiness near the table at which he was sitting, and then proceeded to interview the natives who came in offering to furnish supplies of grain, forage, and other provisions. an hour and half elapsed, and then akram chunder came in. "is anything the matter, akram?" "i don't know, sahib. i have been on the roof of the house looking towards the fort, and it seemed to me half an hour since that there was a sudden confusion at the bridge over the ditch. there were a number of men gathered round there, and directly afterwards i saw a group of horsemen, i think moolraj and his officers, gallop away towards the city. then presently i saw an elephant with a few footmen coming this way, but no signs of the white sahibs. the elephant is com- ing hither, and i can see by the trappings that it belongs to a person of importance. will you call the troops under arms, sahib?" "no; i can't do that until i know something definite. as likely as not they will refuse to take orders from me. besides, there can be no danger from this elephant and a handful of footmen, and if all is well mr. agnew would naturally be very indignant at my interference." putting his pistols in his coat pockets and taking his sword in his hand, percy went to the door. the elephant was now but two or three hundred yards distant, but a native who had run on ahead was close at hand. "my master, rung ram, brother of the dewan moolraj, sends his greeting. the white officer is badly hurt, and he is bringing him hither; he and khan singh have themselves bound up his wounds as they brought him along in the howdah." percy at once called the servants to the door and then hur- ried forward to meet the coming party, anxious to discover which officer it was that had been wounded. when he came up with them he saw mr. agnew supported in his seat by treachery rung ram and khan singh. he was conscious, and leaning forward said to percy: "order the troops under arms at once, mr. groves." percy hurried away to the camp, and in two minutes the trumpets were calling to arms and the men hurrying out from their tents, surprised at this sudden summons. as soon as he saw that the troops were falling in, percy returned to the house. mr. agnew had been carried into his room and laid on the couch. "you were right, mr. groves, and i regret that i did not treat the warning you gave me as one of importance. sit down, please, and take pen and paper. i must send off a despatch at once to sir frederick currie. i am too weak to talk much, and you will learn what has happened from the despatch i dictate to you." percy was about to begin when bhop lal entered. "there are a party of ghoorkas carrying a litter approach- ing, sahib." "go out at once, mr. groves, and see if it is anderson they are bringing in. i did not know what had become of him, and am most anxious concerning his fate." "your horse is ready, sahib," bhop lal said as percy hur- ried out. "bring it round at once, and mount your own and ride with me." the party were still but half-way between the fort and the eedgah when percy started, and dashing forward at full gallop he was soon alongside. lieutenant anderson was lying motionless on the litter. "is he dead?" percy asked as he reined up his horse. "no, sahib; he is insensible from loss of blood, but his heart beats." "how did it happen?" percy asked the native officer in command of the party. "i had just placed the sentries at the gate when, as the two through the sikh war officers rode over the bridge, one of moolraj's soldiers who was standing on it rushed at the sahib agnew, knocked him off his horse with a spear, and then struck him twice with a sword. then a trooper of the escort who was riding behind him spurred his horse forward against the sahib's assailant, and knocked him into the ditch. lieutenant anderson raised the sahib agnew. moolraj, who was riding by him, pushed on across the bridge, and forcing his horse through the crowd rode away. a sirdar on an elephant then came forward, and the sahib was lifted into the howdah. khan singh got off his horse, and also mounted with the sirdar and mr. agnew. it seemed to me that all was over. our men, who had piled their arms, had run to them when i cried out; but directly afterwards some of moolraj's own party rushed at lieutenant anderson as he was remounting his horse and cut him down. they then rode off and the crowd dispersed, fearing no doubt that our men, who now crowded the wall, would fire on them; but this we did not do; we had no one to give orders, and feared that if we fired it might make matters worse. so when the place was clear i went out with this party, and finding that the white officer still lived, thought it best to bring him here at once." while the native officer had been telling the story the party with the dhooly had continued their way, and percy rode for- ward at full speed to acquaint mr. agnew with what had happened. "order that everything possible shall be done for him," mr. agnew said when he had made his report, "and go on with the despatch. every moment is of importance. i will tell you what happened first; and you can then tell the rest as you have heard it, for i myself know nothing about it." mr. agnew then dictated the first part of the despatch, say- ing that he had entered the fort with moolraj and khan singh. the former had handed over the keys to him, the ghoorkas had taken possession and had replaced the mooltan sentries. treachery seeing that moolraj's soldiers looked sullen and discontented mr. agnew addressed them, telling them that they would not lose by the change of governors, but that their services would be retained on the same terms as before. then, thinking by their manner that he had allayed their discontent, he had ridden out of the fort. he was conscious of receiving a heavy blow that knocked him from his seat, and remembered nothing more until he found himself in a howdah on an elephant, with rung ram, who had been introduced to him as moolraj's brother-in-law, bandaging up his wounds. when percy had written the native officer's report of the affair, mr. agnew dictated an earnest appeal to the resident to send forward troops with all possible speed, as it was likely they would be besieged in the building, which certainly could not hold out for many days against the whole force at mooltan. this letter was at once sent off, and another was then dic- tated to lieutenant edwardes, a young political officer who had with him a sikh force of twelve companies of infantry, three hundred and fifty troopers, two cannon, and two camel guns. he was on the other side of the indus, and was occu- pied in settling the country and collecting revenue. lieuten- ant edwardes was urged to advance immediately with all speed to his assistance. this letter also despatched, mr. agnew dictated a letter to moolraj calling upon him to prove that he was innocent of all complicity in the attacks by at once arresting the crimi- nals and coming in in person to the eedgah. at the time that moolraj received this letter he was presiding over a coun- cil, while the garrison, which was composed of afghans, hindus, and sikhs, were taking the oath of allegiance to him. he briefly replied to mr. agnew's letter, saying that he could not comply with his request, for the garrison of the fort were all in rebellion, and the british officers had better look to their own safety. on the following evening a strong body of through the sikh war moolraj's cavalry swept down and carried off the whole of the baggage animals of the force, the troops offering no active opposition. as, with the loss of the baggage animals, there was no possibility of the column retiring, the force was called into the building and ordered to prepare to repel an attack. mr. agnew was now so far recovered as to be able to get up and to issue the necessary instructions to the native officers. "things look very bad, sahib," bhop lal said as he and his comrade came into percy's room when he went in with the intention of snatching a few hours' sleep, as he had been up the whole night before with lieutenant anderson. "you think we shall not be able to defend ourselves until help comes?" percy asked. "there will be no defence at all, sahib. there have been men all day in camp moving about under pretence of selling things, but really as messengers from moolraj and his officers, calling upon the men not to fire upon their brethren, but to join those who were resolved to fight to the death against the feringhees and the traitor lahore government who are their servants. all in mooltan—sikh, mohammedan, and hindu —had united for the common cause. moreover, resistance, it was said, would be vain; no help could reach the eedgah, and all who drew sword in defence of the feringhees would be slain." "and were they successful, bhop lal?" "you will see, sahib, that not a shot will be fired when moolraj advances against the place." percy went down again to mr. agnew, and told him what he had heard. "i cannot doubt what you tell me, mr. groves; your man's information proved right before. but in any case there is nothing to be done. anderson can scarcely stand. i am not fit to be out of bed. you and your two men, with perhaps the moonshis, seem to be alone to be relied on; and i need not say that resistance, even by two or treachery three hundred men, would be hopeless, and would but entail the death of all. escape, as far as anderson and myself are concerned, is out of the question. we could not sit our horses half a mile, and the motion would cause our wounds to burst out bleeding again at once. it is not to be thought of. danger for us there can be none. moolraj can have no object in murdering two defenceless men, especially as he must know that such a crime would never be forgiven, and would involve him in a desperate war with england. at present he can assert that the attack upon us was the work of fanatics, and that he regrets the matter greatly, as, although • determined to free himself from the dictation of lahore, he had no thought of any hostility towards the british. our lives, therefore, are perfectly safe. but i see no use in your waiting to share the captivity that we may probably have to undergo for a time, and i should recommend you to mount and ride off with your two men this evening." "i can't do that, sir," percy said bluntly. "i cannot desert you and mr. anderson, wounded as you are. it is possible, too, that the troops will, after all, prove faithful. but in any case it is impossible that i should leave you. it would be a bad beginning indeed of my service in the com- pany were i to run away and leave two of its wounded officers behind me." mr. agnew was silent for a minute. "i cannot press the point, mr. groves," he said gravely, "for i feel that were i placed as you are i might myself disobey instructions. stay, therefore, if you will; but i give you my stringent orders, and i will write them down and hand them to you in the morning, that if the troops here mutiny and surrender the place to moolraj you are, if possible, to effect your escape and carry the news at full speed to lieutenant edwardes. if he marches on alone, ignorant of what has happened here, he will be met and overwhelmed by the whole of moolraj's forces, and it is even probable that his troops, when they hear through the sikh war that those here have fraternized with the enemy, may also go over in a body. but whether they do so or not, it is of the highest importance that you should warn lieutenant edwardes of the treachery of the troops here. i shall put that down in writing in the morning, and i rely upon you to carry out the order. you can do no possible good to us by staying, and would probably indeed do us harm, as it might excite the passions of the mooltan men when they enter to see one of us still uninjured, and blood once shed we might all be killed." "very well, sir; if you give me the written order i shall, of course, obey it, and, indeed, i acknowledge that your view of the matter seems to me unanswerable. the destruction of lieutenant edwardes' force would be a great misfortune, for it would immensely encourage the people here, and would enable them to make all their preparations for war undis- turbed, as it would be a long while before the lahore people could get together an army capable of capturing mooltan. "i see that i cannot be of use to you, and i agree with you. moolraj will naturally protect you and treat you well, as he cannot wish to bring down the vengeance of the government of india upon him." the two men were still waiting in percy's room when he returned to it. "get the horses in readiness to mount at any moment," he said. "i have mr. agnew's orders that if the troops here join moolraj, i am to ride at all speed to carry the news to lieutenant edwardes, who was ordered to advance from dera- kutteh-khan and to cross the ferry at leia, where i shall probably find him. it is ninety miles away, but our horses will carry us there." "it would be better to start to-night, sahib. we shall be hotly pursued if we go off in the daytime." "i know that," percy replied: "but it must be risked. until it is certain that the troops here intend to join moolraj i cannot go." treachery "very well, sahib, whatever are your orders we shall obey them. if we get but a fair start there are not many horses in mooltan that will be able to overtake us." "that is so, bhop lal; and any that do come up with us we shall probably be able to give a good account of." "we will watch by turns to-night, sahib; it is possible these rascals may intend to surrender the place to moolraj before morning." chapter xv the news of the massacre the night of the th of april passed off quietly. in the morning the guns of the fort opened fire against the eed- gah. a single shot only was fired in reply by the battery of the garrison, and then the whole of the artillerymen quitted their guns. the fort continued to fire for some time, but the distance was too great for any damage to be done, and the fire presently ceased. mr. agnew and percy went to the gunners and exhorted them to return to their duty, but the men lis- tened in sullen silence and gradually dispersed. in a short time they began to leave the building in parties of twos and threes, and by mid day half the garrison had deserted. "here are your orders, mr. groves," mr. agnew said, plac- ing a letter in percy's hands. "you can use your own judg- ment as to going now or waiting until nightfall. my own opinion is, that it would be best for you to start at once. i do not know why moolraj delays, for he must know that he will meet with no resistance. however, at night the place may be surrounded, and you might have more difficulty in getting off. in the next place, as you are ignorant of the country, you might miss your way and lose much precious time. and lastly, every hour is of consequence to edwardes. even now emissaries from mooltan may be at work among his troops. i have mentioned in my orders that as the troops the news of the massacre here have refused to fire and are deserting in great numbers, it is evident that moolraj can enter whenever he chooses; and as it is of paramount importance to warn lieutenant edwardes to arrest his march, i have ordered you to start immediately, as you have expressed your willingness to undertake the ser- vice, although it is undoubtedly one of great danger. i have said that your own wishes would have led you to remain here with myself and anderson and to share our fate whatever it might be, but that you have yielded to my anxiety that lieu- tenant edwardes should be warned. i have also inclosed a note to edwardes, saying that your services will be at his disposal until you receive orders from the resident." "i will start at once, sir, as you think it best," percy said, much moved at the thoughtful kindness of the wounded officer; "and there is little doubt i shall get through safely. i am splendidly mounted, and my men have also very good horses. i trust, sir, that i shall ere long meet you again." "i hope so, confidently, mr. groves. it is evidently mool- raj's interest to treat us well, even if he keeps us as hostages, and i cannot think there is any danger. good-bye, lad, and a safe ride to you!" percy then went in and said good-bye to lieutenant ander- son, and with a heavy heart went out to his men. "i am ready to start," he said; "get the horses to the back entrance without attracting more notice than you can help. these fellows might oppose our leaving. i will follow you in a minute or two and join you at the gate." "there are many more of them about there, sahib, than there are at the main entrance. they are slinking away by scores, and i do not think that there is even a sentry on guard at this end. if we bring the horses up here and you mount, akram chunder shall mount also and lead my horse. i will run forward and unbar the gate, and if any of the fellows standing about interfere with me the three of us will be able to overpower them. we will have our pistols in readiness." through the sikh war "very well, perhaps thnt will be the best plan. i see there are very few of them about here. do you fetch up the horses at once; i will get a couple of bottles of wine and some bread for our joruney." percy was at the door of the court-yard again before the men came up with the horses. as they did so several of the soldiers standing about moved forward with scowling faces. they were, however, unarmed, having ostentatiously piled their muskets when the firing ceased. percy drew the pistols from his holster, slipped the bottles and bread into their place, and leapt into the saddle. "stand back, men," he said authoritatively; "any one who interferes with us will get a bullet in his head. keep abreast of me, akram," he went on; "lead the other horse between us." bhop lal ran forward ahead to the gate and began to undo the bars. several of the men loitering near ran to stop him, but as percy and akram rode up they shrank back from the four levelled pistols. bhop lai threw the gate open, and leaping on his horse they rode out together, regardless of the angry shouts that pursued them. "we will ride quietly for a while," percy said, reining his horse into a canter when they had gone a few hundred yards. "we shall be within sight of the walls of mooltan as we ride along between it and the river, and if we are galloping hard they may suspect something. the great point is to get to the ferry at beelun before they are close to us. once across we can laugh at them." when they had gone half a mile akram chunder looked back. "they are after us, sahib. there are fifty horsemen at least just coming out from behind the eedgah, and," he added, "there are four men away to our right galloping at the top of their speed towards mooltan." "then we will quicken our pace," percy said, touching his the news of the massacre horse with his heel. "we have six miles to ride to the ferry. we will gain another quarter of a mile on them if we can." the horses were now put to their full speed and went along at almost racing pace. when abreast of the fort of mooltan, which lay a mile away on their right, they could perceive that they had sensibly increased their lead. they had gone a quarter of a mile further when there was the boom of a heavy cannon, and a ball ploughed up the field a short dis- tance behind them. "i expected that," percy said. "those fellows from eedgah have taken them the news of our escape. they are only wasting their shot. the betting is a thousand to one against their hitting us at this distance, going the pace we are." six guns were fired, but none of the shots came as near them as the first had done, and in twenty minutes they drew up their horses at the ferry. the boat was not there but was coming across and was within a couple of hundred yards of the shore. "do you dismount, sahib, and stand by your horse," akram chunder said; "they will take us for natives. but if they see you they may refuse to bring their boat up, for the sound of the cannon will have told them that something is wrong." percy did as his follower suggested. "how slowly they come!" he said impatiently. "there is time, sahib; it would not do to shout to them to hurry. we will dismount and lead our horses down to the water's edge; if you keep close to their heels you will not be noticed." some twenty country people got out of the boat when it touched the shore. percy's men at once led their horses on board and he followed. the four boatmen looked surprised at seeing an englishman, but made no remark. the news of the massacre the road was a good one, and for some time they rode fast; then they reined in their horses and proceeded at a slower pace. "we have ninety miles in all to do," percy said, "and we must not risk foundering the horses. they have had no exercise since they left ij.hore and we must husband their strength. the troopers are not likely to pursue more than thirty miles from the ferry at the outside, perhaps not half that. when they learn that we are keeping our distance ahead of them they will see that they have little chance of overtaking us and will not care about killing their horses in a hopeless pursuit." whenever they passed through a village they went through at a regular pace as if in no way pressed for time. the natives were doubtless aware of the attack on the two english officers, but could hardly know that the sikh troops had proved faithless, and would imagine that the white officer and his two men were riding ahead of that force on its way to join lieutenant edwardes. before leading the horses out from the stable the men had f lled their bags with grain, and after riding twenty miles from the ferry they stopped for two hours under some trees on elevated ground, where they could command a view down the long straight road two or three miles. as there were no signs of their pursuers at the end of that time they felt sure that these had given the chase up as hopeless, and therefore continued their journey at the pace the horses could best keep up. soon after they started night fell, and the riding was much more pleasant than it had been during the heat. they halted again for three hours at midnight, finished their bread and wine, and gave the horses another good feed. at eight o'clock in the morning they approached leia, but hearing from some peasants that no force had arrived there up to the previous evening, they made a circuit of the town and crossed the river at the ferry, two or three miles distant through the sikh war from it. as they rode into the next village they saw that the street was crowded with sikh soldiers, who were engaged in cooking their food. "are you from mooltan?" a young officer asked, running out as they drew rein at the house where they had been told lieutenant edwardes had taken up his quarters. "we are," l'ercy said, as he threw himself off his horse. "we left the eedgah at one o'clock yesterday." "how are agnew and anderson? doing well, i hope?" "they were both doing well when i left them, as far as their wounds went; but they are in a desperate positon." "why, the place is a strong one; i know it well," lieuten- ant edwardes said. "twelve hundred men with a battery of artillery ought to be able to hold it at least some days against all the troops in mooltan." "they might have done so if the troops had fought," percy said; "but they have gone over to moolraj. half of them had left when i came away, and the others were leaving fast. i do not think there would be a score of men left them by sun- set yesterday. i have a note for you, and i shall be glad if you will read mr. agnew's written orders to me. you will see that i did not leave the two wounded officers willingly." by this time they had entered the house. "sit down and take something to eat while i glance through these papers. mr. agnew does you full justice," he went on, more warmly than he had before spoken, after read- ing the two documents. "you were, of course, obliged to obey orders, and could have been of no use to them under the circumstances. agnew was evidently thinking much more of me than of himself. what do you think will happen to them?" "mr. agnew was perfectly conf dent that as it was clearly to the interest of moolraj not to draw the english into the quarrel between him and lahore, he would protect and take good care of them." the news of the massacre g "i sincerely hope so," lieutenant edwardes replied; "but moolraj showed a very hostile front to us when napier passed through with his force to join sir hugh gough. he professed to stand neutral, but there was no doubt he would not have been neutral had he dared fight. besides, there are the mooltan rabble to deal with. agnew would have done better to surrender at once to moolraj directly he saw that the sikhs had turned traitors. if he puts it off till night the budmashes of mooltan, knowing that the eedgah is no longer defended, may take the matter in hand, in which case i would not give a rupee for the lives of the two englishmen." "when did the messenger reach you with the news?" percy asked. "at eight o'clock last night. so you have gained some fourteen hours upon him, as the despatch is dated half-past eleven." "i was well mounted," percy said. "i might have been here some hours earlier, but my horse is a very valuable one, and i knew that an hour or two could make little difference." "i sent off a messenger as soon as i got agnew's despatch, to lieutenant taylor, who is with general van cortlandt, who is, as i daresay you know, an officer in the sikh service at bunnoo, begging him to send me a regiment of cavalry and four guns at once. i then issued orders for my force to start at daylight, and we have marched twelve miles. i intended to go on to leia and halt there for the night and to move forward quietly till van cortlandt's detachment joined me, and then push forward with all speed. what you have told me now, of course, changes the situation altogether. i shall go forward to leia as i intended, but shall halt there and intrench myself, and wait to be attacked. i may be able to raise my force considerably from the pathan portion of the population, between whom and the sikhs there is a long- standing enmity. i see mr. agnew has placed your services through the sikh war at my disposal, mr. groves. i shall be glad indeed to have an englishman with me. it is a great relief to have someone to chat with and discuss matters in one's own language. of course you are quite new to this district. i suppose you have only just come up country. you have dropped, indeed, into a very hot corner for a young civilian." percy laughed. "i daresay you think i look very young even for a young civilian, mr. edwardes." lieutenant edwardes joined in the laugh. "well, i was thinking so. of course you must be twenty or you would not have been sent up from calcutta, but you do not look more than eighteen." "i am a month or two under that age," percy said; "but i do know the country pretty well, though not on this side of the punjaub; and in fact i speak both punjaubi and pathan almost as well as i do english." he then gave lieutenant edwardes a sketch of his life since his arrival in india. "i congratulate myself very heartily," lieutenant edwardes said cordially. "you will indeed be of assistance to me. i can quite understand now your being in the service so young and your being appointed as assistant to agnew. it will be an immense comfort to me having with me one who under- stands the people so thoroughly, and can speak both with the sikhs and afghans. but it is time for me to be moving forward, or i shall not get my men across in time to occupy leia before nightfall. i will leave a party of fifty men here, so you and your two followers can rest yourselves and your horses and join me to-morrow." "thank you. i feel quite capable of going on with you, but i certainly should be glad to let the horses have twenty- four hours' rest after doing something like a hundred miles since they started yesterday." "you may as well take possession of these quarters. i think it is the best house in the place, and as the owners are afghans they are ready to do anything they can for us." the news of the massacre l» a quarter of an hour later the sikhs started on their forward march. percy found his men had been told that they were to have a halt till the following morning, and so, after seeing they had comfortable quarters and paying a visit to his horse, he lay down and slept until evening. then he got up and had a meal, walked round the village and had a talk with the sikh officer of the detachment, and then turned in again until the next morning, when, as soon as the sun was up, he started with the detachment, and presently joined lieutenant ed- wardes at leia. the latter had occupied the town without opposition, moolraj's governor, with the small body of troops he had with him, having retired at his approach. the next few days were occupied in throwing up intrench- ments round the town. they heard that moolraj was about to cross the chenab with five thousand men on his way to attack them, but as he hoped that van cortlandt's regiment with the four guns would join him before moolraj could arrive, lieu- tenant edwardes determined to maintain his position. one morning, however, he came with a serious face into percy's room. "i have terrible news," he said; "a messenger has just returned—the one i sent with a letter to mr. agnew telling him that i would be with him as soon as possible. on the way he met moolraj's force, and, mingling with them, learned what had happened at mooltan after you left. by nightfall there remained at the eedgah only some twelve men, the native clerks, and the officers' servants. mr. agnew had already sent to moolraj to say that he was ready to surrender, and begging him to come in person to take over the place. whether moolraj delayed purposely in order that the work should be finished before he arrived was a matter of doubt, but at any rate he did not come. soon after dark a mob of the ruffians of the town with some soldiers, among whom were many of the sikh mutineers, proceeded to the eedgah, burst in the doors, and with shouts of 'death to the feringhees!' g through the sikh war rushed in. mr. agnew was sitting by the bedside of anderson. they had heard the tumult of the approaching mob, and doubtless felt that their fate was at hand. agnew rose as they entered, and was cut down at once and despatched by two or three blows. they then rushed at anderson and hacked him to pieces." "this is terrible indeed," percy said, much moved at the news of the death of the two gentlemen with whom he had spent the last fortnight. "do you think that moolraj was a party to this atrocity?" "they say that agnew's head was taken to him, and, in his presence and with his apparent approval, treated with every indignity. certainly he rewarded his murderer with a large present and a robe of honour, and also gave presents to the man who had taken the principal part in the murder of anderson. from my own knowledge of moolraj, although he is doubtless ambitious, i should say that he is a weak man, without courage or resolution. i do not think he had any- thing to do with the first attack on the two officers, but seeing that the harm was done, knowing that he would be blamed for it, and being really in the hands of his turbulent soldiery, he resolved to throw in his lot with them, and from that moment he was, like many other timid men when driven to the wall, in favour of desperate measures. he would, no doubt, con- sider that by allowing, if he did not direct, the murder of the two officers, he bound the soldiers all the more closely to his interests, as the deed would put an end to all possibility of a reconciliation. "of course this sad affair altogether alters my position. i was ready to push forward at all hazards until i heard from you that the sikhs had mutinied: then the necessity for speed was at an end, for it was evident that the eedgah would be captured the day you left. another serious circumstance has occurred that renders it more than doubtful whether i can maintain myself here. one of the native officers has just through the sikh war bidding they levelled the four hundred forts that constituted the strength of their country, and many of them had already sent in offers of service. for the next two or three days there was no outward change in the position. a good many afghans were recruited, and messengers had arrived, saying that the whole of van cort- landt's force were on the march to join him; but as these had not arrived, while moolraj's force, which was provided with eighty guns, had approached within a day's march, edwardes deemed that it would be imprudent to remain longer when he was more than doubtful of the fidelity of two-thirds of his men. he accordingly evacuated leia and recrossed the indus. he had hardly done so when he received news that the bulk of the enemy's army had suddenly changed their course and marched north; and he therefore directed a body of some two hundred pathans who had not yet crossed the river to remain there. four hundred of the enemy occupied leia, and the pathans were ordered to retire across the river if they advanced. thinking it probable that they would not do so, as a retreat is of all things the most distasteful to men of this race, he sent over fifty more men to reinforce them. the enemy did advance; the pathans defended the bank of a nullah, and after a time took the offensive, rushed across the nullah and fell furiously upon the enemy, whom they utterly routed, pursuing them a long distance and retaking possession of leia. the town, however, was not retained, for edwardes had just received orders to undertake no operations on the eastern side of the indus, but to confine himself to preventing the passage of the river by the enemy and to maintaining order in his district. he therefore marched his whole force a few miles up the river to the fort of girang, where he awaited the arrival of general cortlandt with his command. that officer joined him there on the th of may, with the mohammedan regiment of loobdan khan and a battery of six guns. moolraj did not attempt to cross the river, and by the the news of the massacre g th further reinforcements had arrived, bringing up kd- wardes' force to about four thousand eight hundred men, of whom four thousand were believed to be faithful, while the eight hundred sikhs were known to be disaffected. more than this, he had heard from bhawul khan, the rajah of bhawulpoor, a state on the southern side of the river ghara, that he was ready to move in a short time against mooltan from the south, and with this assistance lieutenant edwardes felt strong enough to offer to undertake the blockade of mooltan for the rest of the hot season and through the rains, if commissioned to do. the first step taken, however, was the capture of dera-ghazee-khan, a strong place on the west- ern bank of the indus, interrupting his communication with bhawulpoor and forming a strong outlying post to mooltan. the governorship of this place and the country round had been given by moolraj to one of his followers named julal khan, belonging to the lugharee tribe, to the great anger of a powerful chief, kowrah khan, a personal enemy of julal. kowrah at once made his submission to the british, and sent his son gholam hyder with a contingent of men to join general cortlandt, who was moving with a part of the force to besiege the town. on the th of may gholam hyder told general cortlandt that he was ready to go on in advance, to raise the whole of his father's clan, and with them alone to drive julal khan and the troops with him across the river. general cortlandt accepted the offer, though doubting much gholam hyder's ability to carry it out. however, the young man at once left the column with his contingent and rode rapidly on ahead to his father's place. having obtained the latter's consent, messengers were sent off in all directions to call upon the tribe to assemble, and the same night a desperate attack was made upon the town. the men of the lugharee tribe, who formed the principal part of the garrison, fought stoutly, and the combat continued without through the sikh war success on either side; but when morning broke gholam hyder khan led his men forward with such bravery that after a severe hand-to-hand contest he gained a complete victory, killing numbers of the lugharees, among whom was one of their chiefs, and making another prisoner. some of the gar- rison shut themselves in the fort, but capitulated in a few hours on condition of being allowed to cross the river unmolested. moolraj's force moved to koreyshee with the intention of crossing by boat and retaking the town, and, failing in doing this, of opposing any attempt on the part of edwardes to cross. they found that the boats had been removed, and the two armies remained for over a week watching each other across the wide river. kowrah khan and his son received the thanks of sir frederick currie, and the durbar bestowed an additional rank upon them. they shortly afterwards joined the army with four hundred horsemen of their tribe, who fought gallantly through the whole campaign. they received no pay for their services, but at the end of the war were rewarded by the grant of an estate and pension. by this time, although communications were still uncertain, lieutenant edwardes learnt that, for the present, no british force would advance against mooltan. the commander-in- chief felt that, in the first place, no confidence whatever could be placed upon the sikhs, who would be a source of danger rather than of aid. in the second, it would take a consider- able time to collect an army sufficiently large for the purpose. lastly, it was considered extremely unadvisable to engage a large british force upon arduous operations during the hot season. the rebellion of moolraj was against the sikh government, and the durbar at lahore was called upon to take active steps to repress it. later on moolraj would be called to account by the british for the murder of the two officers. the news of the massacre the lahore government had accordingly despatched three columns, who were to converge upon mooltan and blockade the town. these were commanded respectively by the rajah sher singh, sheik emamoodeen, and jowahir mull dutt. the nawab of bhawulpoor's troops were to form a fourth column and to meet the others before mooltan. the three sikh columns, however, made very little progress, the com- manders being each doubtful what the others would do, and uncertain as to the fidelity of their troops. the nawab of bhawulpoor was perfectly ready to do his share of the busi- ness, but he altogether declined to march upon mooltan until, he saw the other columns making fair progress in that direc- tion. lieutenant edwardes, on learning of the hesitation of the three sikh commanders, again wrote offering to undertake the blockade of mooltan with his own force in conjunction with that of the nawab of bhawulpoor. he had now got rid of his sikh regiment, which he had just sent off accom- panied by two hundred and f fty pathan horsemen, and under the general command of a pathan chief, to garrison the fort of mithun kote, where they were out of the way of doing mis- chief, and far removed from the influence of their co-relig- ionists at mooltan. the passage of the indus at this time was difficult and hazardous. augmented by the melting snow on the hills it was rushing down in a mighty river fifteen miles wide, and it was impossible for either army to cross in the face of the other. at the beginning of june, however, the nawab crossed the river and advanced towards soojabad; and hav- ing sent a pressing request to sir frederick currie that edwardes should have permission to co-operate with him, the injunction against that officer crossing the indus was removed, to his immense satisfaction and that of percy. by this time the pathan force had increased to three thou- through the sikh war sand men, while two thousand of the same race had joined general cortlandt, so that it was possible to leave a force sufficient to ensure order in the district west of the indus, and yet to carry a considerable number to reinforce the nawab. the prospect was all the brighter since a pathan officer who had come to leia when edwardes occupied that town, under the pretence of negotiating on the part of mool- raj, now sent him information that the pathan officers at mooltan, who had from the first taken no part in the attack on the eedgah, and were altogether opposed to the war, would desert as soon as an opportunity offered, and with their men join the british. slow as the nawab's advance was, it alarmed moolraj, and his army was ordered to fall back from the indus and take post at soojabad. edwardes was well informed by his spies of the movements of the enemy. they broke up their camp by the river before daylight on the oth of june, and before nightfall he had conveyed a portion of his army across the wide river in the great fleet of boats he had collected. gen- eral cortlandt was to follow with the rest the next morning, for they had been joined by so many of the chiefs from bunnoo and by zemindars of the dstrict, that he had no fear of disturbance breaking out in his rear, so long at any rate as all went well at the front. percy had been very busy during the halt at dera-ghazee- khan in marshalling the native levies as they arrived, acting as lieutenant edwardes' mouthpiece, and paying complimen- tary visits to the chiefs and thanking them for their loyalty. bhop lai had acted as drill-instructor to the pathan recruits, who were formed into companies as they arrived; and edwardes would have appointed him to the command of one of these bodies, but he declined the offer, saying that although ready to aid at other times, in the day of battle his place was by his master's side, and nothing would induce him the news of the massacre to leave it. akram chunder, not being able to speak the pathan language, could not be utilized in the same way as his comrade, and indeed the pathans would hardly have obeyed anyone not of their own nationality save an english- man; and he therefore continued his usual work as percy's attendant, looking after his horse and cooking for him and lieutenant edwardes, who took their meals together. percy was delighted when forward move was at last made. lieutenant edwardes had at first thought of attaching him to general cortlandt's column, but he afterwards decided to take him with him, feeling how great was the comfort of hav- ing someone with him to whom he could talk over all his plans and difficulties, and whose opinion, however modestly given, he came, as time went on, to regard as valuable. when the force reached the opposite bank of the river, edwardes learned from coolies who had been forced to assist in carrying the enemy's baggage and were now returning to their homes, that they had halted at khangurh. this was a disappointment, as it showed that they were making for soo- jabad instead of, as he had hoped, for mooltan; and a few hours later he received a letter saying that two thousand men with four guns had already been sent from mooltan to sooja- bad, and orders had been issued for another two thousand men to march there. had the nawab shown a little more activity he could easily have possessed himself of soojabad,' in which case the army of the indus must have fallen back to mooltan, against which town the allies could then have marched without opposition; whereas moolraj was now con- centrating his whole force at soojabad, and it was evident that a battle would have to be fought there before advancing against mooltan. the next day edwardes' anxieties were greatly increased by the news that the column of jowahir mull dutt, which was at last approaching leia, was in a state of disorganization, through the sikh war and that one of the cavalry regiments had deserted and joined moolraj. this fresh proof of the general disaffection of the sikhs was alarming, especially as the sikh force at btmnoo was composed almost entirely of old soldiers who had fought against us on the sutlej. fearing for the safety of his assistant, lieutenant taylor, at that place, he sent him orders to leave bunnoo and establish himself at dera-ismail-khan. chapter xvi seven hours of suspense t ieutenant edwardes pressed forward with all speed. .l' in hopes of effecting a junction with the bhawulpoor forc- before the mooltan army could fall upon them. unfortu- nately the river jelum intervened between the allies, and had the rebel army used expedition they could have annihilated the bhawulpoor contingent before edwardes joined them. the latter had already made every preparation for his advance, having sent on messengers ahead to collect boats at koreyshee, with instructions that his ally should avoid battle if possible and retire before the enemy until joined by him. on reaching the jelum late in the evening he heard that the mooltan force had just arrived at a point three miles from the camp of his ally, but had established themselves and evidently did not intend to attack until the next morning. "you had better start at once across the river, groves, and see that the nawab's force is in a position to defend itself if the enemy attack before i can get across. its commander is an old man, and, as i hear from our agent, peer lbraheem khan, hopelessly muddle-headed and inefficient. you will find lbraheem him- self a thoroughly good and reliable officer, and he will aid you in every way. it is he who has got all these boats col- lected in readiness for us. two or three of the nawab's regiments are commanded by englishmen. if you find that seven hours of suspense passage during the night under the command of foujdar khan, a capable and energetic native officer who acted as edwardes' adjutant-general. a halt was ordered, and percy and peer ibraheem tried to get the men into line and to remedy the tremendous confusion that prevailed, baggage animals, waggons, elephants, and guns being all mixed up in the column. there was the more occasion for haste, as the rising sun showed the enemy marching towards them. their object had evidently been to take possession of the ferry and thus separate the two allied forces; but the night march of the bhawulpoor men and the passage of the pathans had fore- stalled them, and they at once took up their position on the salt hills of the village of noonar and their guns in a few minutes opened. two or three of the nawab's guns were with the greatest difficulty extricated from the confused mass and returned the fire of the enemy, and the phawulpoor men, uttering, as was their custom before fighting, the name of the rajah in a sonorous shout, rushed headlong without order or regularity against the enemy. in vain percy and peer ibraheem and their own officers shouted to them to stand their ground. they went forward at a run until they were checked by volleys of musketry from the traitorous sikh troops, while the guns swept them with grape. though accustomed to irregular warfare, the nawab's troops were new to fighting disciplined soldiers, and, confounded at the storm of lead and shot to which they were exposed, they fell back in disorder. at this time lieutenant edwardes, who had crossed the river in a small boat, arrived upon the spot. he found the most utter confusion prevailing; the excitement had appar- ently dissipated the remains of sense in futteh muhommud's brain, and the old man was sitting under a tree counting his beads apathetically, while a group of officers were standing round vainly endeavouring to recall his shattered senses and to get him to issue orders. lieutenant edwardes at once took seven hours of suspense it was now but eight o'clock in the morning, and for sev- eral hours this body of undisciplined troops would have to support in patience the fire of the enemy, a situation most trying even for the most disciplined soldiers. for six hours it continued without slackening. the enemy's guns were directed principally to the right, where the bhawulpoor artil- lery continued to fire steadily, but sufficient shot fell among the pathans to work them up into a state of desperation, so that numbers kept leaping to their feet and demanding to be led against the enemy instead of lying there to be killed with- out even firing a shot. at two o'clock futteh muhommud recovered his senses suff ciently to issue an order for his army to retire, and as it was supposed that the order was authorized by edwardes it was obeyed, and without the latter being aware of what was taking place the bhawulpoor force gradually fell back. from his position on the opposite hill rung ram, who was in com- mand of the enemy, observed the movement and at once prepared to take advantage of it. he sent forward his cav- alry to reconnoitre, and moved his infantry and artillery slowly down the hill. hitherto ten camel guns that the pathans had brought across the river with them had been silent, as the men were partly concealed in the jungle, and lieutenant edwardes was anxious to avoid betraying their position and drawing the fire of the enemy upon them by the use of these small pieces, which could do but little execution at that distance. it was now necessary to run the risk, and the camel guns opened upon the enemy's cavalry, who cantered back to their lines in disorder. their guns, however, at once began to play, and their shot tore into the jungle, rendering it more difficult than ever for lieutenant edwardes to restrain the impetuosity of his men. the enemy's cavalry soon rallied and again advanced. as nothing had been heard of the guns, and the moment was most critical, edwardes ordered fouj- seven hours of suspense sung overhead they disappeared from sight, dropping among the canes as suddenly as if each had been mortally struck. they had believed that the only guns opposed to them, those on the right, had left the field, and at the discharge in regu- lar order of guns of equal weight and calibre, the truth broke upon them that the force under the white officer who had so long withstood them had crossed the river and was ranged on the f eld before them. not only had the guns arrived, but van cortlandt had managed to send two of his mussulman infantry regiments with them, and these, breathless with the speed at which they had hurried after the guns, now came clattering up. they were ordered to lie down to the right and left of the guns, while the pathans took post behind them. for a few minutes the guns of the contending forces dis- charged volleys of grape at each other, but cortlandt's gun- ners were better trained and cooler. two of the enemy's pieces were silenced and as the men serving the others were in confusion, edwardes gave the word for the mussulman regiments to charge. with a cheer the brave fellows dashed forward at full speed, but not so swiftly but that a little party of seven or eight of the pathans' mounted officers dashed past them, and charging the guns captured two of them while the gunners were in the act of hastily withdrawing them before the approach of the charging infantry. the infantry cap- tured the only other gun which awaited the assault. during the charge cortlandt's guns poured grape into the canes where the enemy's infantry were lying. hearing their own artillery retiring, the infantry abandoned their cover and retreated at full speed, rallying, however, at the point where their guns halted, when the artillery on both sides renewed their duel. the pathans were now ordered to charge, and with a yell expressive of their delight at the prospect of avenging their losses during the long hours of the day, they rushed forward through the smoke. seven hours of suspense of peer ibraheem the bhawulpoor men were brought up in time to join in the final charge and pursuit of the enemy. he accompanied the native cavalry as they chased the fugi- tives across the country, and it was almost dark before he returned to the scene of battle. edwardes shook him warmly by the hand as he dismounted. "it has been a great day, groves, but i would not go through those seven hours' waiting again for any money that could be offered me; it was an awful time." "it was, indeed," percy agreed. "i thought at one time that it was all up with us." "so did l it was well indeed that you were able to bring up the nawab's men in time. they were not wanted for the fighting, but if it had not been for their horse the rebels would have got away in some sort of order, and their leaders might have taken them in a body into mooltan. as it is, i expect the great proportion of them will scatter to their homes. i have just sent off a messenger with my report of the engage- ment to the resident. it will be a relief to him, for although he gave way at last to my entreaties, i know he thought i ought never to have crossed the indus. now, if they will but give us leave, i think that we can take mooltan." a few days later lieutenant lake, who had been appointed political agent to the nawab, arrived at the camp, thereby relieving edwardes of the anxiety caused by the inefficiency of futteh muhommud, as lake's auhority completely overrode that of the general. he was, too, an intimate friend of edwardes, and being full of life and animation, he was a great addition to the pleasure of the little mess. marching forward, they were joined by sheikh emamoodeen with the remains of his division. his sikh troops had all deserted him, and he had with him but a few mussulman infantry and a strong body of cavalry. on the st of july the force started for its last march towards mooltan. they had received news that the sikh gooroo—a through the sikh war man regarded with the greatest veneration—had, after consult- ing the stars, declared that day to be a most auspicious one, and that moolraj had decided, therefore, upon again giving battle. he came out in great force, and took up his position at a bridge across a wide and deep canal. as this could not be forced without heavy loss, edwardes moved along the west of the canal towards mooltan. moolraj followed on the other side of the canal, crossed by a bridge near mooltan, and at one o'clock moved forward against edwardes in order of battle. the bhawulpoor men, commanded by eieutenant lake, were on the right; general cortlandt's two regiments and ten guns were on the right centre; the pathan levies were next to these, having on their left sheikh emamoodeen's troops. the battle began on the right, lieutenant lake seizing some mounds in front of him, and placing his guns there opened a heavy fire on the enemy's left. this was returned by the sikh guns, and in a short tjme the battle became general along the whole line. the village of suddoosam was in the centre of the enemy's position. his troops lay for the most part concealed in jungle, the guns occupying two or three small villages. the allies were superior in artillery, and the rebel guns were presently obliged to withdraw from their position. the order was then given for an advance, and the whole line pressed forward. village after village was captured at the point of the bayonet, the sikhs, inflamed with religious ardour, offering most determined resistance, favoured by the nature of the ground, which was largely covered with jungle and date groves and intersected by irrigation canals. there was, however, no check in the advance a brilliant charge was made by one of cortlandt's regiments led by mr. quin, a young man who had a few days before come up as clerk or writer to lieutenant edwardes. the guns were captured, the whole line then went forward with a rush, and the enemy broke and fled in complete disorder. percy is c arried oct of the fight wounded. seven hours of suspense ,s.~. the loss on the part of the allies in killed and wounded was under three hundred; that of the enemy was vastly greater, being the result to a large extent of the cowardice of moolraj, who was the first to leave the field, and who, in order to check pursuit, planted guns at the bridge over the canal, with orders to allow no one to pass. the sikh fugitives on their arrival were fired at by the artillery; the greater part of the crowd, pressed hard by their pursuers, forced a passage, but hundreds were drowned in trying to cross the canal. at the close of the day the allied force halted for the night within range of the guns of the fortress. percy saw but little of the fight, as early in the advance he was struck by a matchlock ball while riding forward with the pathan cavalry. he for a moment lost sensibility and fell. when he recovered himself his two followers were beside him. "where am i hit?" he asked. "in the left shoulder, sahib; it is a bad wound, and will be troublesome, but thanks be to allah, it might have been much worse. now that you have recovered i will fetch up a dhooly with its bearers and carry you on after the others. the white sahibs will know best what should be done with your wound." a few minutes later percy was placed in a dhooly, and was borne in the rear of the advancing troops, and as soon as these halted for the night he was brought forward to the house which had been chosen by edwardes as his head-quarters. "not badly hurt, i hope, groves?" that officer said, running out from the house as soon as he heard that percy was outside. "i have been wondering what has become of you, but had no idea you had been hit." "i do not think that it is serious," percy said. "my left shoulder-bone is smashed, i think, by a ball, but my men were close behind me, and bandaged it up; then one of them fetched a dhooly for me, and we have been following pretty close behind you all the afternoon." through the sikh war "lake and i will bandage it up properly, and will soon have you comfortable. it is a nuisance that we haven't an english surgeon with us. these native doctors are quite useless. if it is nothing worse than a smashed shoulder i think we can manage well enough, and you may hope to be about again with your arm in a sling before long. the only thing we have to be afraid of in this hot place is fever. still, i hope that we shall avoid that." during the weeks that followed percy lay on a charpoy. the heat was terrible, although everything possible was done by putting tatties in front of all the windows and keeping them soaked with water; bhop lal and his comrade sat by turns night and day fanning him, while a punka made of a door taken off its hinges, was kept constantly going overhead. he was not alone in his misfortunes, for lieutenant edwardes was lying, also wounded, in a bed in the same room. two days after the battle he had, on the news that the enemy were again sallying out, hastily thrust his pistols into his belt, but being engaged in giving orders he paid little heed to what he was doing. the hammer of one of the pistols caught in his scarf, and without looking down he seized the barrel in his right hand to pull it down, when the pistol exploded. the ball went through the palm of his hand, shattering the bones and inflicting a wound that deprived him of the use of his right hand for life. fortunately, twelve days later, an english surgeon arrived from lahore, and at once afforded him some relief from the intense pain he was suffering from the unskillful treatment of a native surgeon. percy, too, gained great benefit from the arrival of the doctor, and was in a few days able to be about with his arm strapped tightly to his side. immediately after the battle of suddoosam edwardes had written off to lahore begging that a few heavy guns might be sent to him, in order that he might undertake the siege of the place, which he, lieutenant lake, and general cortlandt were convinced could s through the sikh war in a great national effort to wipe out the defeats of the last campaign and to restore to the punjaub its lost territory. so far sher singh had resisted these entreaties, and had given every evidence of his desire to remain faithful to the government of lahore. but from the first he had been almost powerless in the hands of his troops. numbers of them had deserted and made their way to mooltan. constant commu- nications were kept up with the rebels, and it was certain that at the first opportunity that offered the whole force would go over in a body to moolraj. while the battles of korey- shee and suddoosam were being fought, the divisions remained inactive at a little more than a day's march from mooltan, and moolraj showed, by sending out every available man to attack the force of edwardes, that he had no fear whatever of hostility on the part of the sikhs. when, therefore, a few days after suddoosam, sher singh's army advanced and encamped within half a mile of the allies, a heavy burden was added to the various anxieties of the wounded english commander. sher singh himself visited him frequently, and was profuse in his declarations of loyalty, as were the two officers next in command, utturand shumsher singh; but while the former hoped that his troops would remain faithful, his two lieutenants were absolutely convinced that they would all go over to the enemy. edwardes felt that should the understanding between the sikhs and moolraj be complete, and the former fall upon his flank while the whole mooltan force attacked him in front, his position would be one of the greatest difficulty. it was a great relief to him when two or three more english officers came up, and he was at last certain that the orders he issued from his bed of sickness would be thoroughly carried out by them. it was a still heavier load off his mind when general whish arrived with his force, and assumed the command of the siege operations. by this time he himself was able to get about, and percy's seven hours of suspense wound was almost completely healed. on the th of septem- ber the plans for the siege were arranged at a council of the chief political and military officers. the trenches were opened, but at a much greater distance than usual, as the ground outside the walls was largely occupied with houses and gardens and cut up by small canals. this was all in the hands of the enemy, and it would be necessary to advance gradually step by step. on the th the fighting began, an attempt being made to carry some houses and ruins occupied by the rebels. the latter, however, defended themselves stoutly, and but little ground was gained. the sikhs, who were skilled in defensive warfare, had thrown up numerous intrenchments and stockades in front of our lines, but on the th they were attacked and a large village was carried, but only after desperate fighting, some two hundred and fifty men being killed or wounded on the british side. a point was gained, however, close enough to the walls for the establishment of the battering guns, and a few days at most would have seen the british flag waving over the walls of mooltan, when suddenly sher singh with his whole army went over to the enemy. thi* defection entirely changed the situation. the addi- tion of the sikh force of disciplined soldiers to the army of moolraj raised it to a strength far exceeding that of the besiegers. even without this addition it had only been by very hard fighting that the british had won their way forward. these difficulties had now been enormously increased. the communications might be threatened and cut off, and even the officers most sanguine of the success of the siege now felt that it was no longer feasible with so small a force. but their decision to abandon the siege was arrived at chiefly upon other grounds. until now, although moolraj had been joined by a great many sikh deserters, the sikh nation still stood irresolute, and it was hoped that the capture of mooltan would have decided them to abstain from engaging in a con- seven hours of suspense position. this he did, but as soon as the english artillery began to play upon him his troops retired hastily, their con- duct increasing the suspicion felt by moolraj of their inten- tions. the ill feeling between the allies increased until on the th of october sher singh marched away with his army to join the sikh force already in arms, plundering and burning all the mahomedan villages through which he passed. the news of his defection was followed immediately by the revolt of the sikh troops at bunnoo and other places, and in the course of two or three weeks the whole sikh nation was under arms; and the work that had been done, and as was hoped completed, at moodkee, ferozeshah, aliwal, and so- braon, had to be begun afresh. percy groves was not with the british force that fell back from its position four or five hundred yards from the walls of mooltan. three or four days before sher singh's defection major edwardes had said to him: "mr. groves, i think it would be best for you to take up your quarters with sher singh's force. his position is a diffi- cult one; he is weak and vacillating, and it would be well that he should have someone by his side to whom he could ap- peal frequently; the presence too of a british officer would strengthen his authority with his troops. i have no doubt he is well disposed, but the influence brought to bear on him is tremendous. as a son it would be contrary to sikh notions of honour to oppose his father, however much he might differ from him. then there are the appeals to his patriotism and to his religion. he knows that the whole of his men are in favour of revolt, and there are but two or three of his officers who are not of the same way of thinking. i do not say that there is not some danger in your taking up your abode among them, for if he goes over he will go over suddenly; but, even if he does, i cannot think that he would suffer you to be injured. he is not a fanatic, and would see that did any harm come to you he would have no hope whatever of pardon. rj through the sikh war you will, of course, ride in here at once should you discover that there is any change in his attitude towards us." percy accordingly moved across to sher singh's camp, a tent being erected there for him. he liked the rajah, of whom he had seen a good deal since his arrival, and, like edwardes, was convinced that his assurances of loyalty were made in good faith, and believed he would be perfectly safe whatever might happen, and that he was sure to have warning of any change in sher singh's intentions. chapter xvii with sher singh sher singh had at once acceded to the proposal of major edwardes that percy groves should establish himself in his camp. "let him come," he said; "he will see that all i say to you is true, and that i am a faithful servant of the maharajah. there is nothing i wish to hide from him or from you. i have sworn to you over and over again, that i am faithful; and did he live in my tent, he would see how true i am to my oath." the rajah, indeed, was sore that his fidelity should be suspected, and in his conversations with percy, after the latter had established himself in a tent close to him, he frequently complained that after having so long withstood the entreaties of his father and the wishes of his troops, he should be suspected. percy did his best to assure him that personally major edwardes had no doubt of his loyalty, and that he feared only that he might not be able to control the troops. "but i have so far controlled them," sher singh said; "have i not brought them here instead of allowing them to march into mooltan. why, then, should i be doubted now? if i had wished to go, would it not have been better that i should have done so before these white troops arrived? you had hard work in beating moolraj alone; if i had joined him before, edwardes and the bhawulpoor troops would have been destroyed." through the sikh war "had you joined moolraj, rajah, we should never have crossed the indus, nor would the troops of the nawab have been here. major edwardes knows well that you have done your best, and believes that did your troops revolt you would ride into our camp. it is not your good-will that he doubts, but your power over your soldiers. we know that they are in hourly communication with the enemy, that they go freely in and out of the town, that messengers pass between them and their countrymen who have gone over; and it is easy to under- stand that, placed as we are here, and carrying on a siege with but scant forces for such an operation, he cannot but be most anxious regarding a force like yours lying so close to him. but he has still strong hopes that you will be able to keep them firm. were it otherwise, he would not have sent me here. it is anxiety, and not suspicion, that causes him so earnestly to beg you to stand firm." bhop lal and akram chunder were both charged to learn as much as they could from the soldiers as to their intentions. their reports were favourable to the rajah. "the soldiers are all for moolraj," bhop lal said. "they speak of the rajah by the nickname of 'the mahomedan.' it is he alone who keeps them here, for though uttur singh and shumsher both support him, they are almost alone among his officers. sher singh is a powerful rajah, and his family one of the first among the sirdars of the punjaub. that is the reason why he has been able to keep them from going over, for they fear that if they did so in the face of his opposition, they would afterwards suffer at the hands of himself and his family, even if their cause were victorious. all seem agreed that there is no chance of the rajah's throwing in his lot with his father, and they curse him as one who is false to his family, his country, and his religion." it was then a complete surprise to percy when, after retiring to bed on the night of the th of september, he was suddenly aroused by the entrance of a body of armed men into his tent. with shf.r singh they belonged, as he saw at once, to the rajah's own body- guard, and were commanded by one of his most trusted officers. "no harm is intended," the latter said; "the rajah's orders are that you are to be honourably treated, but i must beg you to rise and dress at once, as we are going to move our camp." seeing that resistance would be altogether useless, percy at once rose. after putting on his clothes he saw that his arms had been taken possession of by the soldiers, and that he was in fact a prisoner. without making a remark, he passed out of the tent, and saw his two men standing there with very crestfallen faces, holding his horse, and surrounded by a body of sikhs. he mounted, and the sikh cavalry at once closed in round them. the tents had been struck already, the baggage packed, and the troops formed up. uttur and shumsher singh had, as he afterwards learned, done their utmost to carry off the men under their command to the brit- ish lines, but they had been surrounded by officers entreat- ing, abusing, and threatening them and stirring up their soldiers till they were forced to abstain from opposing the popular demand. uttur singh had then mounted his horse, and with great difficulty made his way through the crowd, riding off to carry the intelligence to major edwardes, followed by two other officers. shumsher singh had been carried off as a prisoner, and was confined in his tent; but the next night he managed to crawl out under the bottom of the tent, and made his way in common clothes and bare-footed several miles to the brit- ish camp, killing on the road one of sher singh's vedettes, who tried to arrest him. two, therefore, out of the three sikh leaders justified major edwardes' belief in their fidelity. on arriving at the new place of encampment under the walls of the fort, percy remained for an hour in the centre of with sher singh to interfere with our movements. i did it, too, as much for your protection as my own, for some of the troops might have rushed in and killed you had you not been in the hands of my own guard." "i thank you for that, rajah," percy said quietly; "but my life is of little consequence in comparison to other matters. until now it has only been a question of the overthrow of a dewan who refused to render obedience to his government, and whom you and your army were despatched to conquer. instead of this, your army has gone over and joined his. you know, even better than i do, what that means: that all the punjaub will be up, and that tens of thousands of .lives will be lost. i can only hope that you, like myself, are here against your will." "no," the rajah said passionately. "i was faithful, and i was doubted. i withstood the entreaties of my father, the adjurations of the chief men of my religion, and the wishes of my army; but when i found that in spite of all this, i was suspected, it was useless for me to strive longer. i am no longer a general of the durbar of lahore, but a sikh prince." "i am truly sorry to hear it," percy said gravely, "for your own sake, and for that of the punjaub. there can be but one end to it. if, when the whole khalsa army was intact, the sikhs could not withstand the advance of a weak british force to lahore, what chance have they against such an army as will be collected now? the last time england astonished the sikhs by her clemency, and by taking so little when all was in her power. she thought that her strength and her clemency would alike have made such an impression that the sikhs would henceforth be content and remain in peace. this time she will assuredly make no such mistake, and i consider that your highness' defection will lead to the de- struction of the independence of the punjaub." "that we shall see," the rajah said. "last time but a small portion of our sirdars took up arms. you had but to through the sikh war fight against troops who had long lost their discipline; now you will have the whole of the sikh nation against you." "were the sikh nation ten times as numerous as they are," percy said quietly, "the end would be the same. however, as your highness has now taken your course, it is useless for me to endeavour to dissuade you. i have to thank you for having taken means to secure my safety, but i should have thanked you still more had you ordered your bodyguard to conduct me to our camp instead of bringing me here." "that i could not do," sher singh replied; "it would have caused my own men to suspect me; but, be assured that you will be well and honourably treated. i told you i regarded you as a guest in my camp, and as a guest you will always be treated; save in the matter of your liberty, every wish you may express will be granted; and if at any time you have any complaint to make, send me a message and i will come and see you and set matters right." in the morning, when sher singh's men were about to march against the british camp, bhop lal said to percy: "there will be no fighting, sahib. the sikhs are very angry at the refusal of moolraj to admit them into the town, and they say they have not revolted in order to fight for moolraj, but for their country. they may advance, because the guns of mooltan look down into their camp, and they dare not therefore refuse; but they will soon be back here again. they are eager to march away, and will do so ere long. mooltan is nothing to them, and they know well enough that moolraj is fighting for himself alone, and that were the brit- ish expelled, there would be another war to decide whether moolraj or the sikhs were to be masters of the punjaub." until the sikhs marched away on the th of october percy did not again see sher singh. the rajah, indeed, sent him a message that contained the most bitter complaints against major edwardes for having, by the letter that was inter- cepted, increased the doubts of moolraj as to his loyalty. with shf.r singh percy replied that he, of course, knew nothing of the letter; but that a general like sher singh must know well that in war it was always a matter of policy on the part of a leader to cause disunion, if possible, between allies opposed to him, and that doubtless he himself would, under similar circum- stances, have acted in precisely the same manner. there was no actual prohibition against percy leaving his tent, but the officer in command of the guard, who kept a vigilant watch round it, strongly advised him not to do so. "the rajah has given you into my charge," he said, "and holds me responsible for your safety. but how can i guaran- tee that, if you go about in the camp? i might surround you with a guard, and yet a musket or pistol ball fired by a fanatic might hit you. it is far better that you should remain in your tent, where you are out of sight of all, and out of their thoughts. if they once see you about, the fanatics might stir up the men to demand your life, and to insist that sher singh should give us some stronger proof of his hostility to the english, as moolraj did when he permitted the murder of the two p^nglish officers; and although the rajah wishes you well, he may be unable to resist the demands of the troops, who are rather his masters than he theirs." percy felt the justice of the argument, and remained quietly in his tent, where he learned from his two followers all that was passing, as these in their native costume were able to move about freely among the sikhs, of whom indeed but few were aware that the servants of the british officer, who had been carried off with them, had also been taken. both the men, being mahomedans, burned with indignation at the atrocities committed by the sikhs upon the mussulman villages on the line of march, where they burned the houses, robbed the peo- ple, defiled the mosques, and murdered the priests. "is that the way to fight for the independence of their country, sahib? are there not great numbers of mahomedans in the punjaub, and is it not enough to have to fight the through the sikh war english without making every mahomedan hostile to them? it was not so before. mahomedans and sikhs were of one mind as to the independence of the punjaub. now the mahomedans will be as one man in their hopes that the british will win. they know that under the british masters every man can worship in his own way without interference; and they must see now that if the sikhs conquer, they will root out the mahomedans from among them. akram and i followed you, sahib, and stood the fire of the sikh guns because our lord had bidden us guard you, but except for that our hearts were rather with the sikhs than with your countrymen, for have we not taken sikh pay and fought under sikh standards? henceforth it is different. the sikhs have showed themselves our bitter enemies, and all our hopes must now be with the english." "you see no chance of my escape?" "none at all at present; four guards watch day and night near your tent. we are forced to picket our horses in the lines of the sikh troopers, and your horse is placed among those of the rajah, whence we have to fetch it every morning for the march. a party of sowars always ride with us to fetch it, and accompany us back. of course we both have knives, which we have stolen at night from sleeping men; and we could get other arms, but we do not see that at present we could do anything with the n." "no, there is no possibility of escaping in the daytime," percy agreed. "the men who ride beside me always have chains between their horses' bits and mine, so there is no possibility of my making a sudden dash for it, as i otherwise would have done. if i once got beyond the range of their pistols i should have little fear of being overtaken, for there can be few horses in the camp that are a match for sheik." day after day passed; the officer in charge of percy in no way relaxed his vigilance; the orders of sher singh being most emphatic as to the care to be exercised in guarding his with sher singh prisoner. he learned from his followers the rumours current in the camp that the sikh troops at bunnoo and rhotas had also mutinied, and were upon the point of effecting a junction with sher singh's force. they were considered the flower of the sikh army, being composed entirely of old soldiers with trained cavalry and artillery. sher singh was marching to lahore, and although the people there were for the time powerless in face of the force that had been hurried up to hold the city as soon as the defection of sher singh was known, they were reported as ready to rise at the first appear- ance of the army before their walls. some of the sikh cavalry had been pushed on ahead of the army, with orders to destroy the bridge of boats across the ravee, a mile and a half from lahore. they succeeded in burning some of the boats, but were then driven off by the th light dragoons under colonel havelock. so far no large force of the british had arrived. a brigade with one english regiment had been pushed forward, and one of cavalry had assembled at ferozepore, and native reports stated that large reinforcements were going forward tc general whish and others advancing towards ferozepore. sher singh's army moved but slowly, and it was still the opinion of many british officers that, although constrained to desert us at mooltan, he would be glad to make his peace as soon as a strong british army approached him. at the end of the first week in november the first british division under general thackwell crossed the sutlej and advanced towards lahore, and two days later the commander- in-chief, with general gilbert's division, followed it. the heavy guns had not yet come up, but were only a short distance behind, and the general was anxious to interpose his force between lahore and the sikh army, which might any day advance to its attack. he remained for two days at lahore, thackwell's division having already advanced. "they will be here in two or three days, sahib," akran through the sikh war chunder said one morning to percy. "we have a strong posi- tion here on the right bank of the chenab, and how the english are going to cross i don't know; still they will do it somehow, that is quite certain. now, sahib, is the time. you must look to yourself; so long as the sikhs are confident of victory no doubt you will be as well treated as you are at present; but if they are defeated, as we very well know they will be, who could answer for your life? sher singh will have enough to do to look after his own safety, and even if the soldiers did not rush in and kill you, these men of your guard will not want to be encumbered with a prisoner, and they would know that, after a defeat, no one is likely to inquire much about you. so you must try to escape. the worst of it is, that with your friends so close, they will be more watch- ful than ever, for this is the time that you would be naturally trying to get away to join them. the officer looks so sharp after the guard, that i fear there is no chance of giving them liquor and making them drunk or of drugging them. they are forbidden even to speak to us as we go in and out. we are allowed to attend on you by the rajah's orders, but i have no doubt the officer is afraid we might try to bribe his men. bhop lal and i have talked it over in every way, but we can see no means of getting you out." "i can see no way myself, akram; the sentries are very vigilant, they keep constantly on the move, and they challenge anyone who approaches within twenty yards. if they were to march during the night i would take my chance of slipping off my horse, for it is impossible, chained as it is to the others, to dash through with it. that is the only possibility of escape that i can see at present." "i can see no other, sahib, but unfortunately they never have marched at night; still they may do so, and the first time they do we might try it. the worst of it is, that we shall not be near you, sahib. you see, on the march we always have to keep with the cavalry, among whom our horses are picketed." through the sikh war "i understand, sahib; and you may be sure bhop lal and i will act according to your orders." two days later there was a great hubbub heard in the camp. bhop lal, looking out from the door of the tent, said: "the army has come, sahib. the sikhs on the other bank are retiring." percy went to the entrance of the tent, which faced the river, and stood there looking out. numbers of horse and foot could be seen crossing. a cloud of dust rose a mile and a half away, while in camp there was the deep rumble of guns as these were brought up to the river to command the passage. "they are cavalry, sahib," bhop lal said, as amid the cloud of dust there was a sparkle of steel, and a body of horse came dashing forward. almost at the same instant the crack of guns was heard and shells burst over and among the sikhs on the other side of the river, greatly hastening their move- ments. the bed of the river was of great width, but was now for the most part dry. on the other side the bank was high, and from its foot a very wide bed of sand extended to what, in the wet season, was a green island in the middle of the river. the stream itself ran on the sikh side of the island. before the british cavalry and guns came up, the last of the sikh force on the other side were well on their way across the river, but the guns were at once unlimbered and sent shot after shot into them, until they were almost across and out of range, for the width from bank to bank was nearly two miles. not content with this, two british batteries moved down from the bank, and charged across the sand, from time to time firing at the sikhs retreating across the ford; but when they came near the edge of the river the sikh batteries on the high bank opened upon them. "they will have to fall back," percy said; "the guns here are much heavier than theirs, and they can never remain there in the open exposed to this fire." it was not long before the officers commanding the british with sher singh batteries discovered this, and gave the order for the guns to limber up. some confusion was visible among them. the horses were taken from two of the guns and attached to another. "that gun has got into a quicksand or something of that sort," percy said, "and they can't move it." the sikhs were not long in seeing this. the fire of their guns was redoubled, and the infantry at once paused in their passage of the ford and returned in great numbers to the left bank and opened a heavy musketry fire. "they will have to leave the guns behind them," percy said, as the artillery mounted and rode off. the guns, indeed, dragged so heavily through the deep sand that a squadron of the d light dragoons galloped forward to cover their retreat. dashing over the sand they swept round the island where some hundreds of the enemy were drawn up, cut their way through them, sabring numbers, and then, in spite of the fire of six guns on the opposite bank, cantered back again. they had only one man wounded and two horses killed. other charges were made by the d dragoons and th light cavalry, but the sikhs took refuge in nullahs, and kept up such a galling musketry fire that the cavalry drew off. the sikhs now exultingly advanced to the abandoned gun, and as from the river bed the british force could no longer be seen, numbers of them made their way across the sand, ascended the high bank, and opened fire at the troops halted within rifle-shot. "they won't be there long," percy said to his men. "you will see them coming back quicker than they went in a minute or two: look at that body of cavalry sweeping down upon them." the sikhs, too, saw the -danger, and came rushing in a confused mass down the bank. the cavalry, as he learned afterwards, consisted of the th dragoons under colonel havelock, supported by the th light cavalry. the impetu- through the sikh war themselves there and defend the ford until the whole army can cross, or they will march this way and attack the camp while the army opposite tries to cross the river." "there would be great risk in that, sahib, for the sikhs could throw their whole force on those that have crossed and destroy it before they could get any aid from their friends on the other side." "yes, it would be very dangerous, too dangerous to try, i should say, against another european force; but you see, akram, we have been so accustomed to win battles in india that we feel quite confident of victory even when the odds are three or four to one against us." early in the morning of the st of december percy heard an unusual stir in the sikh camp. "what is the matter?" he asked the officer of the guard when the latter as usual came in for a talk with him. "a peasant came across before daylight with the news that a large force of your people have marched somewhere down the river. we had thought that they might try to cross at the ford of ghuree-kee puttum, and were ready to receive them, but they have not gone there. it is supposed they have gone to wuzeerabad." "how far is that away?" "twenty-four miles." "have you any force there?" "no, it is a very bad ford, and unless they get some boats they can hardly cross there; but we would not stop them if we could. how the british, who know so much of the art of war, can throw themselves like this into our hands is more than we can tell. we shall let them march up some miles, so that they can no longer retreat to the ford, then we shall fall upon them and exterminate them. we know their force, for the peasant, who was awakened by the noise made by the camp followers and the growling of the camels and the rum- bling of guns, crept up and counted them as they passed. with sher singh there were five batteries, two of them native; five regiments of cavalry, four of them native; two white regiments of foot, and five regiments and a half of sepoys. if you put them at five hundred men to each regiment, there are less than four thousand foot. what is that against the force we can bring against them? they will get to wuzeerabad to-day, but it is a long march. the white troops will not be ready for much at the end of it, and few will get across to-night. it will be mid-day to-morrow before they are all over, even if they have boats, so that at most they will not arrive nearer than twelve miles by to-morrow night. the next day we shall finish with them." percy thought it was as well to keep to himself his convic- tion that the sikhs would not find it so easy a business as they anticipated; yet he saw that unless our main army moved across to the attack, and so occupied a large portion of the sikh force, or else considerably reinforced that advancing up the river bank, the position of the latter was indeed a peril- ous one. but he still felt confident in their power to resist an attack made upon them. "i^ should be glad," he said to his two followers, as he talked the matter over during the day, "if they would move this tent of ours somewhere farther back from the bank. that battery below us is sure to come in for its share of the fire from the guns on the other side, and any ball that goes too high is as likely as not to pass through this tent." "you may be sure that our guard won't wait here when that happens, sahib; they may leave the tent standing, but they will certainly march themselves and you off out of range." late in the afternoon a heavy fire was opened by the bat- teries on the opposite bank, and as the shells exploded, some over the sikh batteries, some farther back over the bank, a great hubbub arose. the artillerymen ran down to their guns and replied to the fire. drums and bugles called the troops under arms, orders were shouted in all directions, and the through the sikh war noises of the horses and baggage animals added to the uproar. the guard at once ran up and surrounded the tent. "come out, sahib," the officer said, "we are going to pull it down at once." "all the better," percy replied; "i have no desire to be shot by my friends." the tent was speedily lowered, and it and its contents carried by the men half a mile from the bank and there re- erected. all the other tents along the bank were similarly removed. as percy had foreseen, the fire from the distant guns inflicted but little damage upon the sikh batteries, so these, after replying for a short time, ceased to waste their ammuni- tion, and the men retired behind the shelter of the bank, where they remained until the british fire ceased. upon the following morning percy learned from the officer of his guard that a sikh horseman, who had been sent down the river, had reported that only a battery of artillery, two regiments of cavalry, and a brigade of infantry had crossed on the previous night, some wading the ford and others being brought over in boats, by which the guns had been conveyed across. at night he heard that it was two o'clock before all had crossed and the march began, and they would probably halt at doorewal, which was twelve miles on the way, somewhere about nightfall. the sikhs reported that the cavalry were scouting in their front and on their left flank, and that the troops were marching in several columns, so that they could at once open out into order of battle if attacked. the guards were in high spirits that night, and sat round a fire laughing and talking until morning. the vigilance of the sentries, however, was in no way relaxed, and the officer sev- eral times peeped into the tent to see that all was right. before daybreak there was a hum of movement in the camp, and percy knew that the sikhs were mustering for the attack. through the sikh war ing they would be so weakened, we should march across and destroy them. that was indeed the plan advocated by many of our leaders, but it was thought best to destroy this army first; for you see we can fall upon them when entangled in rice-fields and jungle, whereas here we should suffer from the batteries on their bank before we came to close quarters." as the officer had been very civil to him throughout the march, percy abstained from dashing his confidence by the expression of a doubt. "you are going to fall upon them during the march?" "yes, and all the regular horse are to ride round and capture their baggage and then charge down on their rear. the river is on their right, and not a man ought to escape if the affair is well managed." throughout the day the guns of the british batteries across the river again maintained their fire, the sikhs making no reply. percy from time to time listened attentively, hoping to hear the rattle of musketry that would tell him that lord gough was making a vigorous attempt to cross the river in order to give aid to the little column that was cut off from him. he heard that the british were constructing two bat- teries close to the river, and was astonished that they should be permitted to do this without interruption. "i was mistaken," the officer said to him at eight o'clock. "i thought that the batteries were still manned, and that a regiment was there. i find that the guns have been withdrawn, and that every man has gone to the fight. it is very strange that, seeing everything is silent, the english do not send a party across the river to reconnoitre. their commander must be asleep," the sikh said contemptuously. "but why has the passage been left open to them?" "what do we care if they do cross? your tent is almost the only one left standing. if we saw them appear on the river bank we should mount and ride at once; there are the horses all standing ready. almost all the baggage is moved rejoining away. i think sher singh would be glad if they did cross to-day, then we should come back and attack them in the morning. with the river in their rear, how many would escape?" it was past mid-day when an exclamation burst from percy's guard, as the boom of a gun some six or seven miles away was heard. "the battle has begun," the sikhs exclaimed. there was an animated discussion among them as to the distance, but it was agreed at last that it must be somewhere in the neighbourhood of the village of sadoolapore, which was situated close to a ford, and the british had probably halted there in order to have a loophole for retreat. the halt had indeed been made at this point in order that the infantry brigade of general godby, which the commander-in-chief had sent to reinforce them, might cross the ford; they had not, however, as yet arrived. the column having halted, pre- pared to take their breakfast. while so engaged a cannon- shot fell close by, and nicholson's irregular pathan horse at once went out in the direction from which the shot was fired, and were soon in contact with the enemy, whose artillery opened a heavy fire. the troops at once formed up for battle. in front of them were three small villages surrounded by plantations, which afforded an admirable cover for the enemy, and would have enabled them to mass unperceived and to pour down upon our line. seeing the disadvantage of the position, general thack- well, who was in command of the force, ordered them to fall back so as to have clear ground in front of them. the move- ment caused shouts of exultation among the unseen enemy, who construed it into a movement of retreat. some time, however, elapsed before the sikh forces had all assembled, but as soon as they had done so their batteries opened fire, while yells of defiance, mingled with the blowing of horns and the beating of drums, added to the tumult of cannon and musketry. through the sikh war the british infantry lay down on the ground, and the storm of iron and lead swept over them almost harmlessly. great bodies of the sikh cavalry now showed on both flanks, with the evident intention of penetrating to the rear, but the cavalry, aided by the horse-artillery, met and checked them on both flanks; while three other batteries, placed in the intervals of the infantry regiments, replied to those of the enemy, and their accurate fire caused considerable confusion among the sikh gunners, whose fire gradually slackened and at last ceased, though the infantry still maintained their posi- tion in front. the extreme rapidity with which for two hours the british artillery worked their guns had almost exhausted the supply of ammunition they had brought with them, and when general thackwell consulted his officers whether he should now take the offensive and attack the sikhs, the reply was an almost unanimous negative. it was about four o'clock in the after- noon, and there were but two hours' daylight left. the enemy's infantry were intact, and were in full force to the front. the three villages constituted a very strong position. the nature of the ground beyond was altogether unknown, but it was believed that sugar-cane fields extended to the sikh intrenchments; the troops were already exhausted with the long day's exposure to the sun. godby's brigade had not yet crossed, and with but two white regiments it would have been perilous indeed to engage in a conflict on unknown ground against an enemy of vastly superior strength, and containing the bunnoo regiments, the flower of the sikh army. the force, too, was already weakened by the strong detachment covering the head of the ford, and by a larger body detached to guard the baggage in the rear. it was therefore determined to rest for the night in the position occupied, and to renew the engagement in the morning, when it was hoped that godby's brigade would have joined. the loss had been but small, twenty-one men killed and fifty-one wounded, most of rejoining whom belonged to the artillery, against which arm the sikh fire had been mainly directed. to the surprise and disappointment of the british it was discovered in the morning that the sikhs had evacuated their position in front of them. godby's brigade had been all night crossing the river in three or four little boats, and joined the force at nine o'clock. upon advancing into the villages it was found that the sikh loss had been very large, great numbers of dead being discovered here and among the sugar-canes behind. the cavalry were at once sent ahead to endeavour to discover the course taken by the sikhs, and learned from villagers that they had passed during the night along the roads leading towards the jhelum river; but though the cavalry pressed far in pursuit they did not succeed in coming up with them. the infantry marched twelve miles in the direction they had taken, and then halted for the night. it was not until that morning that lord gough sent a small force across the river and discovered that the sikhs had left thirty-six hours before. for four hours percy had listened anxiously to the continu- ous roll of artillery. when it ceased at four o'clock the men round him shouted triumphantly that all was over, and the feringhees annihilated; but no news had been received, when percy, feeling worn out with the excitement and the worry of the day, threw himself down on his bed. at ten o'clock he heard a horse approaching at a gallop. a few words were said, of which he could not gather the import, but as they were followed by a volley of execrations his heart gave a bound of delight, for he felt that the sikhs had failed in their attack. two minutes later the officer entered his tent. "you are to mount and ride with us at once, sahib," he said shortly. percy asked no questions, feeling that silence was at pres- ent the safest policy. his first thought was for his men, who always slept in the camp of the sowars, where his horse was picketed. he had not seen them all day, and had no doubt rejoining that he could scarce make out the figures riding beside him. it went to his heart to leave sheik, and he wondered whether he could lean forward and unbuckle the chains. however, he abandoned the idea, for even could he do so the rattle of the ends of the falling chains would at once rouse the men. he knew nothing of the country on either side of the road they were following, and would assuredly come to grief did he attempt to gallop over it, therefore he fell back upon his original plan. taking his feet from the stirrups and letting go the reins he quietly lifted himself back out of the saddle, and then holding on by it let himself slip off noiselessly over the crupper. as he did so he stooped low on the ground. the troopers behind were riding two and two, with an interval of some feet be- tween them. they passed along on either side of him, but the horses of the two last troopers, who were riding closer to- gether than the others, swerved suddenly, nearly unseating their riders, and causing them to burst into angry exclamations. "what can the brutes have shied at?" one asked the other. "it might be anything," was the reply. "lots of carts have been passing down the road, and i suppose something has dropped off one of them." as soon as they had passed, percy left the road. he found that the ground on either side was covered with low scrub bushes. among these he made his way cautiously, and had gone but fifty yards when he heard a sudden shout, followed by a string of furious exclamations, and a minute later the troopers came galloping back along the road. he stooped among the bushes as they passed, although confident that he could not be seen. he had almost expected they would rein in their horses as they came to the point where he had left the road, and indeed they would certainly have done so if the troopers had told the officer of the sudden start their horses had given them. as they rode on without a check he con- rejoining . haste. sometimes the bullock-carts were provided with cur- tains, and no doubt contained the ladies of the zenana of some zemindar of the district, who with his retainers was with the army. the spot where percy was hidden was at the very edge of the cultivated ground, and beyond wide fields stretched away as far as he could see. here and there peasants were at work as usual, heeding very little the events passing round them, and conf dent they would suffer no molestation at the hands of the british, and that any change would be likely to benefit rather than to harm them. as the sun gained power percy began to feel the torture of thirst, but he well knew that there was no hope of obtaining water, as he could not quit his place of concealment until night again fell, for his dress would betray him even at a considerable distance. he had intended to watch until he saw english troops coming along, but he had been walking all night, and as the heat increased found it impossible to keep his eyes open. besides, as he told himself, there was no certainty whatever that the british cavalry would come along that day. after having allowed themselves to be checked for a day and a half by deserted earthworks there might be still farther delay, and even after crossing a day might elapse before any farther advance was made. he was turning this over in his mind when his thoughts gradually became con- fused, and he was soon sound asleep. the sun was setting when he awoke. on looking round he saw that the road was entirely deserted, and determined there- fore to push forward through the fields at once in hope of dis- covering water, for he woke with a raging thirst. he had walked for half an hour when he saw a cloud of dust on the road, and at once leapt down into a small nullah, and there, concealed from sight, ran towards the road. when he heard the tramping of horses and the rumbling of wheels he took off his white helmet and raised his head sufficiently high to look through a tuft of grass at the edge of the nullah. a moment through the sikh war later he was standing on the top of the bank waving his hat to the troops passing along the road fifty yards away. the glimpse he had caught of the white faces had been enough, it was a battery of british horse-artillery. the order was given to halt, and an officer rode up to meet him. "who are you, sir?" "my name is groves. i am in the civil service, and was assistant to major edwardes before mooltan. i was attached by him to sher singh's force, and was carried off by it when he deserted. i effected my escape last night." the officer held out his hand. "i am very glad to see you," he said. "of course, we heard that sher singh had carried off a political officer. what are you going to do now? what can i do for you? my orders are to push forward at once. the th lancers are ahead of us; did you see any of them?" "the first thing you can do for me is to give me something to drink," percy said, "for i have had nothing since yester- day." the officer at once pulled out his flask and handed it to him. "thank you very much," percy said, after taking a drink. "no, i did not see anything of the cavalry. i was walking all last night; and when it got hot this morning i could not keep awake. i only started again half an hour ago. they must have passed before that, for i saw nothing of them." "are there any of the rebels along on this road?" percy shook his head. "there were not fifty men left in the camp on the bank of the chenab all yesterday," he said. "i was there, and was expecting you to cross all day." "yes, we made a hideous mess of it," the officer said in a tone of deep disgust. "if we had crossed yesterday, as we ought to have done, we should have come on the rear of sher singh's army when he was engaged with thackwell, and have smashed him into a cocked hat. it has been an astounding through the sikh war "i have come to report myself as having escaped from sher singh's camp," he said. there was a sudden exclamation, and one of the gentlemen sprang from his chair. "why, groves, is it you? i should' hardly have known you again. why, it is more than two years since we met." "some months more, mr. fullarton. i am indeed pleased to meet you again." "groves is an old friend of mine," mr. fullarton said, turning to the other gentleman. "you know he was carried off by sher singh when he deserted from whish's camp before mooltan. we have heard, indeed, from messages sher singh has from time to time sent in that he was with him and well, but i have been anxious as to what might happen if we defeated the sikhs. i am proud of groves, for he is, if i may say so, a protege of mine, and it was partly through me that he made his first start in the service." "entirely through you, sir," percy saic| warmly. "i owe my position entirely to you." "not entirely by a long way, groves. i accepted your services as a volunteer when we were badly off for interpreters, but it was solely to your own good conduct and bravery that you owed your permanent appointment. sir henry hardinge and lord gough both personally recommended him in very strong terms to the court of directors;" he added to the other officer. "i will carry him off to my tent. i expect he has nothing but what he stands in." "one moment, fullarton; he may have some valuable information to give us." "no; i am sorry i have nothing to tell you but what is known already, that sher singh has retreated towards the jhelum. i was not with him in the fight yesterday. i had been left under & guard here in camp, and i only went away with them at ten o'clock at night, and managed to escape from them four hours afterwards. i hid until i saw a battery of our rejoining horse-artillery coming along this afternoon, and went with them into heylah. i picked up a sikh horse there and started at once to report myself to you." "then i will not detain you, mr. groves. you will, of course, address a report to me as to your stay in sher singh's camp and your treatment by him. i shall no doubt be able to find you plenty to do in the course of a day or two." "in the first place, groves," mr. fullarton said as they reached his tent, which was close by, "i suppose you must want something to eat?" "i shall be very glad of something, sir, for i have had nothing to-day. i found that the troops at heylah had had nothing since they marched in the morning, and there did not seem any chance of their getting anything to-night, so it was of no use my thinking of getting food there." "that accounts for your starting back again at once," mr. fullarton said with a smile as he touched a bell. percy's old friend, ram singh, entered. "get some food directly, ram singh. this is mr. groves, your old pupil on the voyage." the man salaamed. "i am glad to see you, sahib. you have grown since then." "so i ought to have done." percy laughed. "i was not fifteen when i landed here. that is more than four years ago. i owe a great deal, ram singh, to the lessons i had from you." "i don't think, mr. fullarton," he went on when the man retired to get some food, "that hunger had much to do with my coming over to-night. i was very anxious about my two men, they are the same two i had with me when i came to you at loodiana. they have been with me ever since, and i would not on any account that harm should come to them." he then related the instructions he had given them as to joining him if they made their escape. "it is quite possible that they may be in the camp now," mr. fullarton said. "i know that a few prisoners were taken through the sikh war by the th lancers, who were the first to cross the ford. when they went on to join thackwell they handed over their prisoners to one of the other corps. we have all been too busy to-day to think about them, but the first thing in the morning i will go with you and see if your men are among them. it is too late to do it to-night. now tell me all about your sojourn with sher singh, and how you managed to escape from the sikhs." the next morning early mr. fullarton went out with percy, and found that the prisoners taken by the cavalry who had first crossed had been handed over to the charge of the th dragoons, and at once went over to the camp of that regi- ment. mr. fullarton was well known to the officer in com- mand of the corps, who on learning from him the object of his visit at once ordered the prisoners to be paraded. "there are ten of them, i think," he said. "i have not questioned them; i thought some of you political gentlemen would want to do that, and all i had to do was to take care of them." he walked across with them to the guard-tent, from which the prisoners were just being brought out. l'ercy gave an exclamation of satisfaction as, in the last two who came out, he recognized his followers. they on their part would have run forward, but the habits of discipline prevailed, and giving the military salute they fell in with the others. "those are my two men, sir," percy said to the officer. "i suppose it is all right, fullarton, for me to let them go?" "certainly, i can answer for them myself, for i recognize them as having been with groves when he first joined, and i know they rode behind him in all the battles on the sutlej. they are thoroughly good and trustworthy fellows; and in- deed their presence here shows that they must have run con- siderable risks from our men as well as the sikhs, in obeying his instructions to meet him here. however, i will give you a written receipt for them, and that will take all respon- through the sikh war ing; and had to do so at once. on the way we agreed that if the sikhs got the best of it we would stay with them, as in that case they would doubtless return to the camp; but that if they were beaten we would get away if we could, for you would certainly be moved. if you were moved at night we knew that you would, as agreed, try to make your escape and join us here. if you were moved in the day, and had no chance of escaping, we made up our minds to follow and to get you away if possible, for we considered your life would be in danger, and that, however great the risk, you would be willing to try to escape. "when we got near your people we were with the body of cavalry, who were to move round their left flank and fall upon their baggage. as soon as we got out of the shelter of some sugar-cane fields a battery of the artillery opened at us, and over went men and horses. it was very uncomfortable, almost as bad as it was at ferozeshah, for although it was but a single battery every shot told. they were firing grape and shrapnel, and many of the shell burst just in front of us and cut big gaps in the line. then a regiment of dragoons rode at us, and though they were but a handful the sikhs would not wait for them, but bolted back into the canes. all this was done three or four times, and bhop lal and i saw that the sikh game was up. their cavalry were beaten on the other flank just as thorough as we were, and the infantry never stirred a foot beyond their shelter. so the next time we rode back into the canes we separated from the rest. there was no difficulty whatever about it. the different troops had all got mixed up together. half the party we were with had been killed, and the rest had enough to think of without bothering about us. "there were plenty of others drawing off, some wounded, some who did not want any more of it. we dismounted as soon as we separated from the others, so that our heads should not show above the canes, led our horses back for a rejoining mile, and then mounted and rode till we got to a nullah, in which we hid ourselves. the firing went on for some time, then it stopped, and we knew that the sikhs had had enough of it. we agreed that it was best to wait where we were and f nd out what they were going to do. if they marched back to the camp we could slip into the ranks again and come with them; if they did not, we would come on alone and reconnoitre. we did not know how many troops had been left there, so when it got dark i made my way back again, and bhop lal took charge of the horses. i got in among the infantry,,and found them half mad with rage that they had not been ordered to advance. they had suffered heavily, for the canes were a poor protection against shot and shell, and many hundreds had been killed there. i learned that the orders were that the whole force were to march towards the jhelum at midnight. so i went back to bhop lal, and we rode till close to the old camp; then he went in on foot to see what was going on. "it was not long before he was back again, saying that the place was entirely deserted, and that your tent had been left standing. so we rode straight in and waited there. at day- break i went to the river and saw that some regiments of cav- alry were preparing to cross. i hurried back to the tent, and we talked it over. we did not know which way you had gone, and might miss you if we went in search of you. we guessed that it would have been dark before you set out, and as we had your positive orders to wait, we made up our minds to do so. we took off our arms and laid them down on the ground, and sat quietly at the door of the tent till a white cavalry regiment rode up. we did not feel comfortable, for we were not sure that they would not cut us down at once. but as our horses were standing there and we could have rid- den away had we chosen, we hoped they would see that we were not enemies. "none of the officers could speak punjaubi, so after trying through the sikh war to question us we were handed over to a guard. the other men you saw were brought in later, and we were all transferred together to another dragoon regiment, put in a tent, and made prisoners. we did not feel uncomfortable then, for we knew that your people do not kill prisoners, and that we should presently be questioned by someone who knew the language, and would be able to explain how we came there; but we were terribly anxious about you, and when we saw you we were ready to shout with joy. will the sahib tell us how he escaped?" "just as we had planned, akram. i rode with them for three hours, by which time they were all sleepy. then i slipped over the crupper of the horse, and as soon as they had passed on hid in the scrub. then i walked back till morn- ing, and lay down among some bushes till, late in the afternoon, i saw a battery of our own artillery come along. they took me on to heylah. there i got a horse and rode back at once, hoping to find you here. it was ten o'clock when i arrived, too late to make inquiries about you then; but i heard that ten prisoners had been taken, and came over with mr. fullar- ton the f rst thing this morning to see if you were among them." chapter xix chillianwalla "there was a long pause after the battle of sadoolapore. a the country between heylah and the sikh position, fif- teen miles distant, was covered with dense jungle, and a great number of native wood-cutters were employed in cutting roads through it. skirmishes often took place between the sikh regular cavalry and our patrols. on the th of december sher singh moved ten thousand men to dingee. as this movement threatened the wuzeerabad ford, a force was despatched there to bar the passage, which if effected would have placed sher singh between the british force and lahore. the sikhs retired again, and nothing was done until the th of january, when the british force concentrated at lussoore. it was known that considerable reinforcements had joined sher singh, among these being two troops of horse-artillery from peshawur. these batteries had been disciplined by a british officer, and had been presented to chuttur singh by the resident at lahore, to enable him to repel the attacks of the afghans. they were in all respects exactly similar to those used in the company's service, and were a most valuable addition to sher singh's strength. during the si\ weeks that had elapsed since the battle, percy had been kept busily employed; at one time buying provisions, at another questioning villagers as to routes and chtllianwalla intrenchments, to reach which they had to cross the ravine from their camp on a narrow wooden footbridge thrown over it. at a council of war held on the evening of the arrival of the army at dingee, it was determined that an attempt should be made to outflank the sikh intrenchments, to attack russool on the sikh left, and so to intercept their retreat to the river. this successful, all their guns, magazines, and stores would be captured, although doubtless the infantry would escape through the jungle. the next morning the troops were put in motion; for a time they marched without difficulty, as the jungle had been cut for them, but after that their movements were slow. several pathan deserters came in as they advanced, and gave information as to the route and position. after a march of some miles a halt was made. the troops ate some of the food carried in their haversacks, and an allowance of grog was served out. the direction of the line of march, which had hitherto been direct upon the heights of russool, where the sikh camp was plainly visible, was now changed, and sweeping round they reached a long bare hill in front of the village of chillianwalla, turning out some sikhs who were stationed in a small intrenchment there. lord gough's intention was to encamp for the night at this spot, where plenty of water was obtainable, so that the troops could rest and prepare for the fight in the morning, when the whole day would be available for the operations. the ground was marked out for the different regiments to occupy, and the men were in the act of falling out, when a large^bedy of men were seen some distance in the front, and several guns opened fire. the sikhs had left their intrench- ments, and were drawn up in the jungle. battery after battery opened fire, and the british artillery at once responded, while the troops fell into their ranks again. lord gough issued orders for the battle to begin. he has been blamed by many for so doing, but it is difficult to see how it could have been throuoh the sikh war avoided. the sikh army was at hand in full force; it was out of the question to retreat, equally out of the question to remain passive under the fire of the enemy. inaction or retreat would equally have been interpreted as evidence of fear, and would have vastly encouraged the enemy. the troops, although tired by their march through the jungle under the sun, had not had a long day's work. that the dispo- sitions for battle were hurried, incomplete, and faulty is undeniable, but that it should have taken place was under the circumstances inevitable. the din of the cannonade was prodigious, echoed as it was by the surrounding hills. the sikh batteries were almost invisible, and the british artillerymen directed their fire solely at the flashes and smoke rising from the jungle. the posi- tion of the infantry was equally hidden, and it was only by the sparkle of the sun on bayonet and spearhead that any in- dication of its line was obtainable. but having determined upon attacking, it was necessary that some plan of operation should be decided upon, some specific object of attack as- signed to each of the commanding officers of divisions and brigades. no such orders were given, and without any in- structions whatever beyond the order to advance and capture the enemy's guns, the british force, numbering some eighteen thousand, of whom but a small proportion were white troops— there being but four regiments of english infantry and three of cavalry—moved forward to attack a force estimated at forty thousand, with sixty-two guns, entirely hidden in a jungle, and in an exceedingly broken and difficult ground. the two infantry divisions of major-general gilbert and brigadier-general colin campbell advanced boldly to the attack, and plunging into the jungle were at once engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with the sikhs. the cavalry on the right flank, consisting of the th royal lancers, the th dragoons, and two regiments of native cavalry, were ordered to ad- vance. they were commanded by lieutenant-colonel pope, chillianwalla an officer of the native cavalry. he was unfortunately in such infirm health that he could not mount his horse without assist- ance, and had no experience whatever of the command of a brigade of cavalry. the result was that owing partly to the difficulty of keeping a straight line in the jungle, the force not only overlapped the troops of horse-artillery placed be- tween them and gilbert's division, but got in front of gil- bert's infantry. the guns were therefore unable to afford them any assistance. moving forwards at a walk, the cavalry found themselves opposed both by infantry and cavalry. colonel pope was wounded severely in the head. the troops, being without orders, faced about in different directions as fresh opponents appeared, and presently came to a halt. the sikh cavalry boldly skirmished up to them, and then, under the belief that the order had been given to retreat, the cavalry turned and galloped back, hotly pursued by the sikhs. in their retreat they rode right over the batteries of horse-artillery, disor- ganizing the gunners and carrying off the horses in their rush; while the sikhs, of whom there were but a handful, following hard in the rear of the flying troopers, cut down the artillery men, captured six guns, and continued their pursuit until close to lord gough and the head-quarter staff. then a couple of guns, judiciously placed, opened upon them, and they fell back, checked by the appearance of a couple of squadrons of the lancers, which had been rallied by their officers. had the cavalry, when they first came in contact with the enemy, received the orders to charge, the result would proba- bly have been altogether different. indeed the colonel of one of the cavalry regiments requested permission from i'ope to charge, but it was refused. the men who fled thus pre- cipitately had shown an almost reckless valour at kamnuggur, and would, under other circumstances, have distinguished themselves equally here; but cavalry at a walk are the most throcgh the sikh war defenceless of troops, and broken up as they were by the jungle, unable to see what was going on on either side, exposed to a fire from hiden foes, and feeling that they were badly handled, it is not surprising that when they came to a halt they were liable to turn and go about with alacrity at the first sound of retreating hoofs at any portion of the line. while this was happening a battery of horse-artillery, with some 'squadrons of cavalry from three of the regiments en- gaged, had most gallantly repulsed the attack of a large body of the enemy's horse on our extreme left. godby's brigade of infantry, which had been deprived of a chance of taking part in the battle of sadoolapore, were the first of the infantry to come in contact with the enemy. its advance was assisted by a well-directed fire of a horse-artillery battery which pre- pared the way. it plunged into the jungle with a cheer, and dashing forward through every obstacle and driving its defend- ers before it, came upon an open space, the opposite side of which was thickly lined by the enemy. our troops dashed across this under a tremendous fire of musket and artillery, fired a volley, and hurled themselves upon the sikhs, who broke and fled. pursuit was impossible; the jungle was so thick that none could see ten yards ahead. orders were given to collect the wounded—an imperative duty, for the sikhs mur- dered every man left behind. suddenly, as they were engaged in the work, a tremendous fire opened upon them from the rear. a large body of sikhs had worked their way through the jungle and cut them off, while a strong body of their cavalry issued into the open space and charged down upon them. as quick as thought the horse-artillery swept their guns round, loaded with grape, and poured in their fire, creating terrible havoc among the sikh horse, and sending them flying back into the jungle. the infantry faced about and retired steadily, but were pressed by a crowd of the enemy. then general gilbert, who was with the brigade, gave the word, and the second battalion of chiu.ianvvat.i.a the bengal europeans turned and went at them with a cheer. the sikhs fought desperately each for himself, but they were swept backward and bayoneted in great numbers. three of their guns were taken and spiked, and another captured by one of the native regiments of the brigade. the left brigade of gilbert's division was even more severely treated. the fighting was desperate; the th cap- tured and spiked several guns in the sikh intrenchment, but could carry off only five of them for want of horses. as it still pushed forward the brigade was swept with grape and musketry. the th native infantry suffered terribly, losing its colonel, seven other officers, and three hundred and twenty-two men killed and wounded. the th native infan- try suffered as heavily, losing eleven officers and two hundred and eighty-five men killed and wounded. both the native regiments lost their colours. the brigade was at length unable to withstand the attack directed against it, and fell back. pennycuick's brigade of colin campbell's division were as roughly handled; they had, through some blunder or other, advanced unsupported by artillery, and orders were given by their commander that they were not to fire but to charge the enemy's guns. the th, the european regiment of the bri- gade, the strongest battalion of the force, advanced in mag- nificent order under a terrific fire of musketry and artillery, drove all opposition before them, and captured the guns op- posed to them. they had commenced spiking them, when some of the bunnoo regiments, lying concealed in the brush- wood on rising ground behind the guns, opened a tremendous fire of musketry. the troops were thrown into some confu- sion by this sudden attack, and fell back, and as they did so they were literally mown down by the enemy's fire. general pennycuick fell dead; his son, a young ensign, stood across his father's body and defended it until he fell dead beside it. colonel brooks was also killed. eleven other officers fell, chillianwalla so, on the ground that any wounded left behind would be massacred. the troops, especially the sepoys, were, however, so distressed by thirst, that the wounded were as far as possi- ble collected, and the force concentrated round chillianwalla. had the enemy attacked at night the consequence would have been terrible, for the regiments were broken up and separated, and the confusion was absolute; but at eight o'clock the rain came down in torrents, and this and the fact that their own loss had been severe, especially among the gunners, checked the ardour of the sikhs, and probably saved the british force. in the morning the enemy were seen encamped on an eminence three miles distant. the cavalry scoured the field of battle to collect any wounded that had been left, and bring in the captured guns. twelve small cannon, however, were the only trophies of the fight. the rolls were called, and the loss ascertained: it consisted of eighty-nine officers, two thousand three hundred and fifty-seven men killed and wounded—an enormous loss in proportion to the number of men engaged. six guns were lost, together with the ammuni- tion that had accompanied several of the corps into the fight. it was so far a drawn battle that the armies at night occu- pied the same positions they had held at the commencement of the battle, but the advantage was all with the sikhs, for the fighting strength of the four english regiments that had formed the backbone of the force was lessened by half; while the sikhs had proved to their delight that british troops were not always invincible, and that occasionally they were even subject to panic. the result was that their confidence was greatly increased, and their losses were far more than balanced by the great number of recruits who, at the news of the repulse of the british attack, poured into sher singh's camp. the british army remained stationary at chillianwalla from the th of january to february. i^irge numbers of the sikhs at various times penetrated to dingee, and cut the lines of communication through that place; there was indeed another through the sikh war line open through hayleh, where the force that had been en- gaged at sadoolapore had remained since that battle, to pre- vent the sikhs from advancing towards lahore. the regiments that had been left behind at ramnnggur rejoined the army, their place being taken by the d regiment from lahore. general whish's force which had captured mooltan was now on its way to join that of lord gough. the siege of mooltan had been renewed after the departure of sher singh's army, and reinforcements having reached general whish, it was pushed on with great vigour. two breaches were effected in the walls of the fort, and the great mosque, which was used as a magazine by the rebels, was pierced by a shell, which caused a terrific explosion, entirely destroying the building, leaving a great chasm where it had stood, levelling the sikh works near it, and killing five hundred men. soon after this misfortune, moolraj, finding further resistance impossible, came out and surrendered unconditionally, just as the british columns were formed up in readiness to storm the breaches. he was taken to calcutta and there tried; he was found guilty, but it being considered that he had acted under a pressure from his troops that he was unable to resist, he was sentenced only to imprisonment for life. at the battle of chillianwalla percy groves had been severely wounded. he was sitting on his horse with mr. fullarton and two or three other political officers at a distance of a hundred yards from the head-quarters staff, when pope's cavalry issued in headlong flight from the jungle. an excla- mation of dismay burst from each member of the little party. "it is a regular stampede," mr. fullarton exclaimed; "there come the sikhs after them! why, they are compara- tively a handful! what on earth possesses the men? why, they will be over the guns! did you ever see such madness?" on came the fugitives. "to the right there!" mr. fullarton shouted, "or these madmen will ride us down." percy takes part in tub battle of chilli anwaixa. chiluanwalla they had but just got clear of the front when the cavalry swept past; before they could go farther half a dozen sikh horsemen rode at them. the civilians all carried pistols, and these they used with some effect. two of the sikhs fell, the rest rushed on them. percy had no sword, and thought that his end had come; when there was a shout, and his two followers rode past him, and f ercely fell upon the sikhs. percy turned round in time to see two of the civilians cut down by the tulwars of the other sikhs, while mr. fullarton tried with his pistol to ward off a blow aimed at him. the force of the blow struck it down and the sword fell on his shoulder. before the sikh had time to strike again he was shot by bhop lal, and the latter and his comrade then attacked the remaining two sikhs furiously. akram chunder ran one through with his sword. bhop lal seriously wounded the other, who wheeled his horse round and fled at full speed. a moment later there was a thunder of hoofs, and the lancers who had rallied, came dashing down. percy, furi- ous at seeing mr. fullarton fall, exclaimed, "give me one of those tulwars, bhop lal." the man sprang from his horse and handed him the one. that had fallen from the hand of the sikh he had shot. as the lancers came along percy with his two companions fell in behind them. they rode over many of the sikh horse- men; the rest fled, and were hotly pursued back to the jungle, many of them being cut down. the impetus of the charge took the lancers well into the wood. a blaze of musketry flashed out in front of them; a fresh troop of horsemen charged down, and a moment later they were engaged in a hand-to-hand contest. a tall sikh rode at percy, and they at once engaged in single combat. percy's steady training at the fortress with sword and tulwar was useful to him now. the sikh's shield gave him an advantage, but this was counter- balanced by percy's being accustomed to thrust as well as strike. for some time the contest was doubtful, and then, through the sikh war after feinting at the sikh's head to make him throw up his shield, percy ran him through the body. he heard a warning shout from bhop lal as he did so, and the next moment another sikh rode at him, knocking his horse off its legs, while at the same moment a crashing blow fell on his helmet. after that he remembered nothing. w hen he opened his eyes it was dark. presently he could hear talking all round him; he listened, and heard that the language was punjaubi. he wondered to himself how he had got there, then he recalled a fight and gradually recollected his horse falling. "i must be wounded," he said to himself. "yes, my head throbs fearfully; but how is it that i am here? the sikhs always kill the wounded." he made an effort to raise himself on one elbow, when he felt a hand laid on him, and a voice which he recognized as that of akram chunder whispered in his ear: "do not stir, sahib; thanks to the great one that you have recovered. we were sure that you were not dead; the blow was a heavy one, but as you were falling when he struck, the tulwar did not catch you quite fairly, and the helmet helped to turn it, so that, instead of cleaving your skull, it has but shaved off a portion of your scalp and half your ear." "put how is it you are here with me?" "we were both fighting, sahib, and knew that you could hold your own against the sikh you were engaged with. sud- denly, just as from the corner of my eye i saw that you had disposed of him, another rode at you. i gave a shout, and cut down the man i was fighting with; but before i could turn my horse you were down. i shot the sikh, and then i and bhop lal, who had just rid himself of his man, leapt off our horses, intending to lift you on to one of them; but at that moment the lancers began to fall back, and we saw that it was too late, so each seizing you under one arm, we sprang with you into a bush. "then, while bhop lal stayed with you, i ran out again, through the sikh war bushes, to see if they could do anything for his comrade, but this was not likely, for there are scores of wounded men round here. however, we tore off some rags and wetted them, and laid them on your wound, and we poured a little of it into my water-flask to sprinkle your face, and drop between your lips from time to time, and then bhop lal went back again with the remainder." "but how has the battle ended, akram?" "it has ended just as it began—the white troops have all gone up to chillianwalla and the other villages there. the sikhs hold the jungle. they captured six of the guns our cavalry rode over, and they have lost twelve, but all small ones. i hear that almost all their gunners are killed, for the british took several of the batteries, though they could not hold them; and you know, sahib, the sikhs will never leave their guns, but will stand by them till they are cut down. the men about here don't know what is going to be done. some say that they will attack to-morrow; others say that though they have shown that they are more than a match for the feringhees, it would be too much to attack them in their own positions, especially as they have not enough gunners to work the pieces." "perhaps we shall attack in the morning, akram." "i do not think so, sahib; they say that one of the white regiments had scarcely a man left, and that the others have lost half their strength. the general, sahib, is a great man for fighting, but he must see that until he gets more troops he can never force his way through the jungle up to russool." there was presently a sound of someone forcing his way through the bushes, then a voice said, "i bring orders that all are to fall back. it is not that we are beaten, as everyone knows; we have won a great victory, and have taught the feringhees that they are not invincible, but food and water cannot be brought down here, therefore all must go up and get food and drink and rest for the night. the feringhees have had enough, and will not attack again to-morrow morning; but if they do, we will come down again and welcome them." chillianwalla there was a murmur of satisfaction, for the sikhs had taken up their position some hours before the british attacked them, and were eager for food, as although spirits had been freely served out, the supply of food in the camp was small, and many had eaten nothing that day. bhop lal moved off with the others, but in five minutes was back again. as in the dark he was unable to find the clump of bush in which percy was hidden, akram called to him in a low voice. "how is the sahib?" bhop lal asked, as he pushed his way in. "i am better," percy answered. "you have saved my life between you. have they all gone?" "all that can walk, sahib; there are numbers of wounded lying about, but there is nothing to prevent our starting off now." "i don't think that i can walk yet," percy said. "perhaps in a little time i may be able to do so." "i am afraid not, sahib; but that makes no difference; we can carry you easily. akram, do you stoop down on one side, and i will do so on the other. now, sahib, put your arms round our necks; we will clasp our hands under you, and you can sit then as in a chair." percy himself was able to give but little assistance, but he felt himself lifted up and held firmly; then slowly and steadily the two men carried him through the jungle. once or twice they were asked by a figure on the ground who they were, but the answer in their own language, that they were looking for a comrade who had fallen, sufficed, as it was too dark under the trees for it to be seen that they were already carrying a burden. "it was well that they didn't know we had you with us, sahib. had they done so, we should like enough have had a musket-ball after us. a wounded sikh is as dangerous as one standing on his feet." but percy did not reply; he only heard the words as if spoken a long distance off. a little farther and he was con- through the sikh war scious of nothing. his bearers carried him a hundred yards beyond the jungle, and then laid him down again, sprinkled some water in his face, and poured a few drops between his lips; but as he gave no sign of returning consciousness, akram chundersaid, "we had better take him on again. it is from loss of blood he has fainted, and we must get him to camp. first, i will again try to bandage his wound." he unwound several yards of muslin from his turban, and bound up percy's head. then they lifted him and went for- ward, this time at a faster pace than before, for there was now no fear of giving percy pain. they had to be careful, how- ever; the ground they were crossing was that over which the . cavalry had retreated, and it was thickly dotted with the bodies of the fallen. once past this, they pressed rapidly up the slope to chillianwalla. to their surprise they approached unchal- lenged, for they had been afraid that their reply in a native tongue would have brought a shot from a sentry; but such was the confusion, and so exhausted were the men, that while some regiments had thrown out sentries, others had not done so, and they were fortunate in having come upon an unguarded spot. a little farther and they entered the village. numbers of men were lying asleep in the streets. presently an officer came along. "what have you there?" "an officer, sahib, wounded," akram chunder, who had picked up a few words of english, replied. "where have you got him from?" the officer asked in hin- dustani. akram could understand the question, but could not answer it in the same language, and answered him in punjaubi. "we brought him out from the jungle over there, sahib." "i don't understand you," the officer muttered; and then aload in hindustani, "come along with me to those lights, that is one of the hospitals." they went with him to the door of one of the largest buildings in the village, and entered. the floor was covered chillianwalla with prostrate figures. four or five surgeons with orderlies holding torches were engaged in bandaging, probing for bul- lets, or, in one case, in amputating. "doctor," the officer said, "here are two fellows who look like sikhs, though i suppose they are not; they have got a wounded officer, but where they found him i have no idea. do any of you speak punjaubi? they may be able to tell us what those fellows over there are doing." but none of the surgeons spoke the language. "we will just see who the man is they have brought in," the officer, who was a colonel, said; "he seems dead by his attitude. put him down there, men." the two men understood his gesture, and laid percy on the floor. "he is not dead, but he is mighty near it," the surgeon said, as he felt his pulse. "ah, this is what it is, a cut from one of those tulwars. he is bleeding to death. give me that brandy bottle, orderly." he poured a spoonful or two between percy's lips, then laid some lint over the wound, and firmly bandaged it. "give him another spoonful, orderly, while i go on to the next; he will come round presently." "is it mortal, doctor?" "no, it is a very nasty wound, but i don't think it has cut through the skull; the sword must have been turned a little i will examine it in the morning when i get breathing time." "i know him now," the colonel said; "it is that young civilian who came in the day we crossed the chenab. yes, these are the two native servants who always rode behind him. come along with me, men; i must take you to someone who talks punjaubi. you shall come back to your master after- wards; he is lucky in having two such faithful servants." the men did not fully understand him, but akram chunder gathered the meaning, and with a look at their master they followed the officer from the hospital. chapter xx gujerat the officer kept on nearly to the end of the village, and then opened a door and went in. "mansfield, you un- derstand punjaubi. these two fellows are the servants of that young civilian—groves, i think, is his name—the man that was with edwardes, you know, at mooltan, and was taken prisoner by sher singh, and escaped after the battle of sadoolapore." "yes, i know him. what of him?" "they have just brought him in with his head laid open badly with a tulwar. he has pretty nearly bled to death, but the surgeon who has dressed his wounds thinks he will get over it. i want you to ask these fellows where they have brought him from. i expect he is one of the party who were fallen upon by the sikhs who came on after our cavalry. i know there were two of them killed, and fullarton is desper- ately wounded. i cannot understand how it was our fellows didn't find groves when they were collecting the wounded." "where did you bring your master in from?" major mans- field asked in punjaubi. "we have brought him in from the jungle over there, sahib," akram chunder replied. "from the jungle?" major mansfield repeated. "he joined the lancers who came up and drove back the through the sikh war "the information is most valuable if true," sir henry lawrence said. "i suppose there is no doubt these two men are mr. groves' servants; because, as you say, he was brought in insensible. that is a very important point, for they might be two sikhs sent in with this story to put us off our guard." "major mansfield says that he recognizes their faces, sir henry." "i would not say that i absolutely recognize them, but they certainly look to me like the two men whom i have seen riding with mr. groves." "do not let us make any mistake about it. the matter can be easily settled. if these men have been in camp for a month they must be well known." "i will find one of mr. fullarton's men, sir. gro%res was living in his tent, so any of the servants there would know them." while the major was away sir henry lawrence cross- examined akram chunder and bhop lal as to their story. in three or four minutes major mansfield returned, bringing with him ram singh. "this is mr. fullarton's servant, sir." "do you know these two men?" sir henry asked. "yes, sahib, i know them well. they are mr. groves' servants. they have been with him for four or five years; they were with him at ferozeshah and sobraon." "so they were," lord gough said, getting up from the camp-chair in which he was sitting and looking at them closely. "i remember their being with him at ferozeshah. mr. groves carried messages for me several times when most of my staff were down, and i noticed then how coolly those fellows rode after him whenever he moved away from my side." "there is no farther doubt about the story," sir henry lawrence said, "and these men have clearly saved mr. groves in the way they have stated." through the sikh war know how you are to draw rations here, and there will be no means of buying anything." he thought a little, and when, half an hour later, the prin- cipal surgeon stopped beside him to ask him how he felt he said, "i feel queer about the head, and weak, but that is all. i am worrying about my men, sir. i do not see how they are to draw rations." "i can manage that," the surgeon replied. "if they are willing to help here i will put them on the list as hospital orderlies and draw rations for them with the others. i shall be very glad if they will do so, for i am short of hands, and want help terribly. we never calculated on such a crowd of wounded as we have got, and as, at present, they certainly won't be able to spare us fighting men to act as hospital order- lies, i shall be very pleased to have your fellows. then one of them will be able to look specially after you." akram chunder and his companion embraced the offer with great satisfaction when percy translated it, and were soon at work in their new duties. as soon as the morning meal had been served percy told akram that he had better go at once to sir henry lawrence to get the order for their horses. "there is no time to be lost about that," he said. "they are so good that they will be snapped up at once for the use of officers who have lost their own chargers." akram found the horses, as he had hoped, in the lines of the lancers, but when he produced his order and claimed them he was scoffed at. "look here, bill; here is a likely tale," one of the men said to another. "this chap has got an order signed henry lawrence, to take the horses belonging to himself and another chap wherever he may find them in camp, and i am blowed if he doesn't pitch upon these two chargers that the major and captain wilkins have chosen for themselves. why, anyone can see with half an eye that they are english hunters, or have got a lot of english blood in them anyway. you get out of this, johnny, or i may put my fist between your two eyes." through the sikh war no help for it. groves is certainly lucky in having two such servants, and it would be a shame indeed for them to lose their horses after having behaved so uncommonly well." so the horses were taken over and picketed with those of the surgeons', and for the next three weeks the two men worked in the hospital. percy had for a few days been very ill; fever set in from the inflammation of his wound; but as soon as that abated he gained strength rapidly, and at the end of three weeks took his discharge and reported himself to sir henry lawrence as ready for service. "you won't be fit for service for another month, mr. groves. but it is just as well for you to be out of hospital, for you will pick up strength faster now than you would in there." by this time the camp extended over a large space of ground. everything was in excellent order, and but few signs were visible of the terrible struggle that had taken place a few weeks before. percy shared a tent with another young civilian. his head was still bandaged up, and it would be a long time before he could wear any but the softest head-gear. he consulted the doctors rather anxiously as to whether the hair would grow again on the patch, three inches wide, from the top of his head down to his ear. "probably it will, but there is no saying, groves. if it does grow it will probably come white." "i don't much care what colour it comes," percy said, "if only it does come so as to hide my ear, or rather my half ear." "i should not bother about that," the surgeon said. "you can let the hair at the top of the head grow long, it will hide the scar, ear and all. it will look better than a white patch there." "i suppose it would," percy said, regarding himself in the little hand-mirror rather ruefully. "a white patch certainly would not look well, and the people one meets would be always gujerat asking how it came, which would be a frightful nuisance. still, if it comes white i could dye it, i suppose." "i should not bother about it, groves; it is an honourable scar." "yes, that is all very well, doctor; but it is a scar for all that." during the fortnight that had elapsed before the camp was broken up, percy did no work, but took a short ride morning and evening. during the heat of the day he sat in the shade at the entrance of his tent and read. on the nth of february the sikhs made a great demon- stration, drove in a patrolling party, and seemed as if they wished to bring on another battle. a column threatened the rear of the camp, and the spies brought in news that they had determined upon attacking us. lord gough had no wish to bring on a battle on ground where the sikhs, if beaten, could again retire into the jungle. the army therefore remained in their lines. it was observed that the array of tents round russool had considerably diminished. the next day it had entirely disappeared. great anxiety was felt in camp as to what had become of the sikhs, and all sorts of reports were current as to sher singh's intentions. some believed that he intended to cross the chenab at wuzeerabad, and to march upon lahore. the garrison there was a very weak one, and could have offered but a slight resistance if attacked by so large a force, aided as it certainly would be by a rising of the populace. another report was to the effect that sher singh had stated that his intention was to make forced marches to umritsur, to cross the sutlej, and advance to delhi and capture and sack the place before any force could be gathered to arrest his prog- ress. were not one or other of these plans intended, the only explanation why the sikhs should desert their strongly intrenched and almost inacessible position, was that they found extreme difficulty in supplying their force with food through the sikh war there; and indeed it was known from deserters that they had for some time been suffering from famine. moreover they might consider that if successfully attacked on the flank they would be cut off by the deep ravine between their intrench- ments and russool, and by the river still farther behind, from making their escape. late in the evening of the th some spies brought in the information that sher singh was marching for gujerat. in the neighbourhood of this town the sikhs had, in past times, gained several important victories, and they regarded the locality as being specially sacred and propitious to them. the country round was rich and fertile, and they would have no difficulty in obtaining provisions. it is true that they would have to f ght in the open, but their confidence had been restored by their success at chillianwalla. there was, too, a probability that from gujerat the approach of general whish's force, which was hurrying up from mooltan, might be intercepted. chuttur singh had joined his son with a force from the peshawur district a few days after the battle, and the army with which he retired was little short of fifty thousand men. on the th percy rode out with a number of other english officers to inspect the sikh works round russool. these were found to be extremely formidable, well placed, and constructed with great skill, and all congratulated themselves that the army had been spared the terrible loss that would certainly have befallen it in carrying the position. that evening brigadier cheape of the royal engineers, who had conducted the siege of mool- tan, arrived with a body of native cavalry, having pushed on rapidly and left the main body of general whish's force some days in the rear. on the morning of the th news came that the sikhs had occupied gujerat, capturing the small body of pathan horse stationed there under the command of lieutenant nicholson. major lawrence was also a prisoner in sher singh's camp, hav- gujerat ing, with his wife, been treacherously handed over to the sikhs by an afghan chief with whom they had taken refuge. the next morning at four o'clock the troops marched for lussoore. conflicting reports came in as to the course of the sikh army; but the balance of probability was that they were still remaining in the vicinity of gujerat. general whish had already sent a force to bar their passage should they try to cross at wuzeerabad. the army moved slowly forward so as to be able to meet the sikhs should they advance, but no engagement was desired until whish, with the bengal and bombay troops who had been engaged with him in the siege of mooltan, should join. on the th the army reached shadeewal, effected a junc- tion with two of general whish's brigades, and was now ready to encounter the enemy. on the following morning it advanced towards gujerat, across a plain cultivated in many places and dotted with clumps of trees. the drums of the sikhs beating to arms could be heard in the distance, and the line of battle was formed. general gilbert's division was on the right. next to him was the division of general whish. separated from them by a deep nullah was colin campbell's division, and on the left the bombay troops under brigadier- general dundas. each of these divisions was accompanied by batteries of field and horse artillery. i'art of the cavalry was on either flank, while two regiments of native cavalry and two of infantry were in rear covering the baggage. the sikhs opened fire while our force was still a considerable distance away, and the line was halted and the artillery and skirmishers moved to the front. just behind the line of the infantry there was a lofty mound commanding a view of the whole plain, and on this the staff and all the political officers who were free to choose their position took up their post. "it will be nothing to-day," akram chunder said to percy. they had dismounted, bhop i^al taking charge of the three horses while his comrade had posted himself just behind his through the sikh war master. "if they could not stop the english before, when they had great intrenchments and heavy guns, what chance can they have now?" the british guns speedily opened fire, and very soon ob- tained the mastery over those of the sikhs, whose fire slack- ened. in a short time their guns were withdrawn, the infantry falling back with them to a village in a strong position where they were almost hidden from sight. the british infantry moved forward as soon as the enemy's fire slackened, penny's brigade of gilbert's division advancing to storm the village. it was flanked by two sikh batteries, and the brigade advanced under a shower of balls, dashed across a deep nullah, poured in a heavy volley, and then went at the village with the bayo- net. the sikhs in the village fought stoutly, many of them shutting themselves up in the houses and defending them- selves till the last. as soon as the british showed on the other side of the village the guns of the sikh batteries opened upon them. the bat- tery of horse-artillery galloped up and replied vigorously; the whole line of infantry pressed forward, and the enemy deserted their guns and fled. the d bengal europeans, that had suf- fered heavily at chillianwalla, sustained a loss of six officers and one hundred and forty-three men killed or wounded, while of the two native regiments with them the st lost one hundred and twenty-eight and the th forty-four killed or wounded. this position carried, the whole line advanced, and although the enemy fought with dogged courage they were everywhere beaten back. harvey's brigade with considerable loss car- ried the village of chowta-kabrah gallantly. the sikhs as they retired were pounded by the guns of three troops of horse-artillery, but the enemy's artillery fire was so heavy that one battery had to send to the rear for horses before it could move its guns, while another suffered such losses that they were obliged to get men from the th foot to work the through the sikh war forward on their beats as unconcernedly as if absolutely unconscious of the events that were taking place. fifty-three guns were captured. they had in almost every case been defended to the last. one large gun had been the object of fire by a whole british battery. all the men had been killed but two; but as the british line advanced these two alone continued to work it. one fell with a musket-ball, but the other, unaided, fired two more rounds, and only when the british line was close at hand sought safety in flight. the afghan horse, after leaving the field, did not draw rein until they crossed the river jhelum, a distance of over thirty miles. the loss of the army in this great victory was comparatively trifling, but officers and men were killed, officers and men wounded. the loss of the sikhs was very large. they had brought sixty pieces of artillery into the field, and carried off but seven of them. general gilbert's division followed up the enemy with such rapidity that the sikh chief- tains, despairing of successful resistance, surrendered in num- bers. chuttur singh and sher singh were among the first to propose surrender, and all the other leaders, with the excep- tion of two, came in. forty-one guns were handed over, and , men laid down their arms. in all, the enemy lost guns during the campaign. their possession of so large an amount of ordnance was a great surprise to the british, who had believed that in the previous campaign they had captured almost the whole of the sikh guns. the greater portion of these pieces had doubtless been hidden by the sirdars, those captured in the sutlej campaign having for the most part been the artillery of the regular army. as a proof that this was the case, an immense number of guns were found buried in the earth at govindghur when we took possession of that place. all the sikhs who surrendered or were captured after the battle of gujerat were allowed to return to their homes after being deprived of their arms. they were permitted to carry away their clothes and horses. percy has an interview with sher singh. gujerat chuttur singh and sher singh surrendered at wuzeerabad. they came in on elephants, with a few retainers and a small escort of bunnoo infantry. all had to lay down their arms before crossing the ford to meet lord gough, who with his staff and a large number of officers was on the opposite bank. sher singh had released major lawrence from his confine- ment, and had sent him to the british head-quarters to negoti- ate the terms of surrender, and that officer met him as with his father he crossed the bridge. the scene was an impressive one, as chuttur singh and his son, the two men who had involved their country in the struggle and had brought such terrible disasters upon it, dismounted from their elephants and paid their respects to the british general. sher singh was a rebel against his own government as well as against us, but at least he had not ill-treated the three or four british officers, or the two british ladies, who had fallen into his hands, and had sent back unharmed the few british soldiers who had been captured and brought into his camp. major edwardes' despatches too had completely established the fact that he had for a long time, under most difficult circumstances, been faithful, and that he had at last yielded to something very like force on the part of his soldiers. although, there- fore, his reception by lord gough was cold, it was very differ- ent to that which he would have received had his rebellion, like that of moolraj, been sullied by the murder in cold blood of english prisoners. as the rajah drew off from his interview with the commander- in-chief his eye fell upon percy. he ordered his mahout to stop his elephant. percy rode forward to him, and conversed with him for several minutes, sher singh expressing his satis- faction that he had met with no injury in effecting his escape. "i liked you, and always treated you well, did i not? and you will stand my friend now?" he asked anxiously. "i am but a young officer, and my friendship can little avail your highness," percy said; "but assuredly i will testify, and g through the sikh war have already testified, that i was well treated. i was allowed to keep my servants and my horses, i was well fed and cared for, and, save that i had not my liberty, had everything that i could desire. i thank your highness sincerely for the manner in which i was treated." percy was reining back his horse when he heard a low whinny. he turned round with a start, and saw one of the rajah's officers struggling with his horse, which was trying to turn aside out of the procession. "why, sheik, is it you?" percy shouted in delight. and the horse, rearing up, all but unseated its rider, made two bounds to his side, and thrust its head against his hand. the little stir caused sher singh to look around. "it is my horse, rajah," percy said; "it knows me again." the rajah nodded. "i had forgotten it," he said. "i knew that you had escaped, and never gave a thought to your horse. you must give it up, aliram; it is the property of the sahib." with an angry scowl the native alighted. "i shall not leave you horseless," percy said. and riding back through the officers, who were looking on in amazement at the scene, he joined his two followers, who were sitting their horses at some little distance in the rear. both gave a loud exclamation of pleasure as percy rode up, leading sheik. he was himself mounted on bhop lal's horse. he dismounted and sprang on to sheik. "bhop lal, mount your own horse and take the one you are on to the sikh officer. you will find him standing there. he annexed sheik, but i don't want to give him the mortification of tramping on foot after the rajah." bhop lal did as he was ordered, and then rejoined percy, who was overjoyed at recovering the splendid animal his uncle had given him. on the th of march the governor-general issued a proc- lamation declaring the punjaub annexed to the british do- minions in india. a large pension was assigned to dhuleep gujerat singh, who was placed under the tuition of an english officer, and the administration of the punjaub was intrusted to a board consisting of sir henry lawrence, his brother john, and mr. mansell, a civilian, to whom was assigned the finan- cial administration of the province. two days after the surrender of sher singh, percy obtained two months' leave of absence, and started for djarma, which was distant about a hundred miles from wuzeerabad. the passage of gilbert's division north had already restored tran- quillity, and he followed the main road as far as rawal pin- dee, where a british garrison had been left, without encoun- tering the slightest interruption. then he struck off along the foot of the hills on his way to the fortress thirty miles off. at rawal pindee he heard that his uncle had ridden in with two hundred horsemen on the arrival of general gilbert at the town, and had placed his troops at the general's disposal. there was, however, no occasion for their services, the afghans having already evacuated the district of peshawur, and there being no longer any sikh force under arms sufficient to offer resistance to the british column. "we need not be afraid of ghoolab singh this time, sahib," akram chunder said as they rode out of rawal pindee. "no. the old fox has played his game as well now as he did in the last campaign. throughout, he continued to prom- ise to join sher singh, as we learnt when we were prisoners, while, on the other hand, he lent money to our people when they needed it for purchasing provisions. but it was not until just before gujerat, when he saw that there was no longer the least doubt which side would prove triumphant, that he really put his troops in motion and offered to act in any way he might be required against the sikhs. however, he knows now that there is no possibility of his ever getting a foothold across the jhelum. it is certain that in a week or two we shall hear that the whole of the punjaub is annexed by eng- land, and i and my uncle might pay him a visit at serinagur through the sikh war first, because i am an obstinate beggar, and would not be turned out; secondly, because my wife would not have liked to leave her native land, and would never have been happy in england; thirdly, because the people of my district have been rich and prosperous under me, and i was not going to hand them over to be pillaged and robbed by one of these sikh harpies. now, however, the case is altogether changed. if i go, i go of my own free will and choosing. mahtab has gone, and there is no longer anything to tie me to india. lastly, i can with confidence hand over the district to english administrators, secure that the people will not be taxed unfairly, and will be safe from all oppression and extortion. during the last two years i have reduced my force here con- siderably. i was certain that after the lesson we gave them, there was no fear of their ever again making an open assault on the place. i began by not filling up vacancies caused by death or from men being superannuated. fortunately, there is a good deal of cultivable land down this valley, and, indeed, in other parts of the district, and i have given grants of small holdings to all who were willing to take their discharge." "i noticed that there was a great change in the valley be- low, since i went away, uncle, that fields have been marked out, and that there was quite a village down where the sikhs were encamped when they besieged us." "yes, over two hundred holdings have been taken up there. i granted them free of all taxes for the first three years, gave those men who had no savings a little assistance in the way of a loan, and in time there will be a large and, i hope, thriv- ing village there. i have urged the men to keep up a certain organization among themselves,—to form, in fact, a kind of military colony, so as to be in a position to resist dacoits or attacks by the marauding hill tribes. i have similarly settled that other valley three miles to the north; altogether i have given a start to nearly a thousand of the men. they have through the sikh war pany's employment, and all have expressed their willingness to remain in the district and hold themelves in readiness to join should they receive a message from you. i have but eight hundred men left now, and have given it to be under- stood that i shall give them fifty rupees each when they are disbanded, and a grant of land large enough to keep them. i have no doubt the grant will be confirmed, as the authori- ties will be glad enough to see a body of men, who might be troublesome if turned adrift, settle down as cultivators, so adding to the revenue. well, there is nothing to stay for. i will put it in orders this evening, that as the whole country has now been taken over by the british government, the force will be disbanded to-morrow." the next day the troops paraded for the last time. the colonel made them a little speech, thanking them for the f delity they had shown, and expressing his deep regret at leaving them. he told them that if a force should be raised by the british for service on the frontier, his nephew would endeavour to procure enrolment in its ranks for such of them as desired it; that he had set aside a tract of land for them, and that nand chund had his authority to divide it fairly among them; and that he himself, as a token of his apprecia- tion of their faithful services, had directed fifty rupees to be given to each man in addition to the pay due to him, and that his vakeel was writing for each a paper testifying to his services, which he himself would sign, and which they would find useful in their dealings with british officials. when he had finished the men broke their ranks and crowded round him, tears flowing down most of their faces, calling down blessings upon him, and pouring out their regret at leaving the service of so good and kind a master. it was with some difficulty that the colonel, who was himself deeply affected, extricated himself from them and returned to his residence. the next morning he and percy started. the colonel had made a very handsome present to bhop lal and retired akram chunder, and they of course accompanied them; but in addition the whole of the cavalry mounted and formed a voluntary escort to them as far as rawal pindee. travelling quietly they reached head-quarters on the day when the proclamation was read to the troops, amid the boom- ing of cannon, announcing to the punjaub that it was now an integral portion of british india. percy introduced his uncle to mr. fullarton, and the latter took him to sir henry law- rence, with whom, during a stay of a week in the british camp, he had several long conversations, the chief-commis- sioner being desirous of ascertaining the views of one of such long experience in the country. colonel groves was strongly of opinion that henceforth there would be no more trouble in the punjaub. "the sikh power is altogether broken," he said; "the former danger to india existed in the fact that hitherto they had been so suc- cessful in. war that they had come to consider themselves almost invincible, and that the great army runjeet had got together was demoralized by inactivity, and each man thirsted for an opportunity to distinguish himself, and dreamt of a share in the plunder of india. the population in general were, in his opinion, peace-loving and industrious; they had suffered terribly under the exactions of the grasping sirdars, who amassed fortunes out of their toil, and of the tax- gatherers, who had to collect vast sums for the maintenance ol the army. that army had ceased to exist—gujerat and chillianwalla had accounted for the greater part of those who had escaped ferozeshah and sobraon. i believe," he said, "that in the course of a generation there will be no more orderly or loyal province than the punjaub. there will be always a certain number of restless and adventurous spirits, but for these there will in time, i presume, be an opening in the regiments which, when you feel that you can trust them, will be raised here as in other parts of india. there is no finer fighting material to be found than among the sikhs, and through the sikh war the f delity with which they have fought to the last for their country is an earnest of that which they will show to our colours when they once take a pride in them." he then instanced the conduct of his own men, who had proved faithful to him throughout, and had fought as bravely against the sikh forces as they had formerly done under the sikh flag. "they were for the most part," he said, "men of hill tribes, and pathan rather than sikh by blood, and should you be raising a force for the defence of the frontier against afghans or hill men, you would find them admirably suited to the service. they are already well drilled and accustomed to discipline, and i promised them, when i disbanded them the other day, that i would speak to you in their favour, and would guarantee their fidelity should they be admitted into the company's service." "i will think the matter over," sir henry lawrence said; "a force of that kind, if it could be relied upon, would be of immense service." "well, sir henry, there is one ready at hand. if i might venture to suggest, i should say, if my nephew happens to have an appointment in the punjaub, it would be useful he should go for a week or two to the district with the officer charged to raise the force; in a few days he would produce a squadron two hundred strong of well-drilled cavalry, and four or five hundred infantry, with a complement of native officers thoroughly up to their work." "your nephew will certainly have an appointment in the punjaub, colonel groves. he has proved himself a most efficient and zealous officer, and his knowledge of punjaubi and pathan, and of the country, would be thrown away in any- other province. i had his early record in my hands when i was resident at lahore. major edwardes has written very strongly of the valuable assistance mr. groves rendered him, and he has been very useful during the late campaign. i can promise you that his appointment will show that his services retired have been thoroughly appreciated. i consider him an exceed- ingly promising young officer, and shall be glad to have an assistant on whom i can so thoroughly rely in any emer- gency." "there is one thing i want to say to you, sir, and that is, that, when i disbanded my regiments, i gave to each man a grant of an acre or two of land in a valley so far untilled, but good land, and capable of irrigation. i had previously planted a thousand of them in two similar colonies, both of which are doing well. i hope that the grants may be confirmed." "that they certainly would in any case, colonel droves; it is a great thing to have so many men, who might otherwise be troublesome, settled on the land; but, indeed, as your grants were made previous to the formal annexation, they would in any case remain good." at the end of the week colonel groves left the camp and took a boat to go down the indus. the short stay among his countrymen, from whom he had been for many years separated, had done him good, and dispelled the melancholy thoughts with which he had ridden down from the fortress, which had been for some twelve years his home. he had met with great hospitality during his stay in camp, for all were interested in the talk and adventures of one who had been among the best known of runjeet singh's officers, and his hearty and genial manner had won for him the liking of all who met him. ten days later percy, who was getting somewhat tired of idleness, received a message saying that he was to appear before the commissioners on the following day. sir henry, as president, addressed him when he appeared. "mr. groves, i am happy to say that my brother and mr. mansell thoroughly agree with me that at the present moment experience rather than age must guide us in the distribution of our appointments. although you have been but a short time in the company's service, you have a wide experience in the country, and your knowledge of its languages is invalu- ketlred days, and i shall be obliged if you will assist him in raising half that number in your neighbourhood. no doubt the force will be considerably increased later; at present it is but an experiment, and while it is desirable that the corps should start with a number of trained men, we have decided that it would be better to have an admixture of recruits from pathan tribes on the other side of the indus, both because they will know the country there, and because it is undesirable that the whole force should be composed of men acquainted with each other." percy expressed his thanks to the commissioners for the honour they had done him in the appointment, and especially for having selected him to the post he should have preferred to all others. "i can answer, sir," he said, "that should any emergency ever occur, i could in the course of a couple of days raise a thousand men for any service required." ten years later percy was able to fulfil the promise. he had three years before been removed to a more important appointment, that of the district between the jhelum and chenab rivers, when the news of the outbreak of the mutiny sent a thrill through india, and it was evident that it would extend over the whole of the bengal army. he received a message from mr. montgomery, commissioner at lahore— sir john lawrence, who had succeeded his brother as chief- commissioner of the punjaub, being at the time at rawal pindee—saying, "come to me at once." ten minutes later he was on horseback, and, accompanied by his two faithful servants, rode to lahore, and on his arrival was at once received by the commissioner. "mr. groves," he said, "i fear there is no doubt that the sepoys throughout the punjaub will go with the rest. we have a few days' respite, but i fear that it is certain they will rise. they must be disarmed if possible, crushed if neces- sary. i think that the sikhs as a whole will be true to us. they have experienced ten years of good government, and i through the sikh war believe they appreciate it. if they are faithful, we may not only hold this province, but help the north-west; if they are against us, india is lost for a time. my intention is, as soon as the sepoys have been dealt with, to raise regiments among the sikhs, and march them south. what do you think?" "it will depend a great deal on their chiefs, sir; if they are faithful, i believe the people in general will at any rate not take part against us." "i have received assurances of fidelity from the rajah of putiala and many others; some have offered to place their troops at our disposal, others not only troops but money." "then i have no doubt of the population, sir; they have always looked to their chiefs, and if they are staunch the peo- ple will follow their lead." "why i have specially sent for you is this, mr. groves. you know your old district thoroughly, and have personal influence there; would you undertake to raise a force at once, whom you could trust to fight against the sepoys? there are the garrisons at peshawur, nowshera, rawal pindee, and other places." "i think i can undertake that, sir." "then, in heaven's name, start at once. take a fresh horse from my stable, get remounts wherever you can, and ride as if for your life. the troops at meerut and delhi have both risen and massacred the officers and all the europeans; and although it may be a few days before the news is generally known, you are aware how strangely fast news travels in india, and assuredly this will be the signal for the rising of the sepoys everywhere. i hope to be able to deal with those here and at mean meer." feeling half-stupefied at the intelligence of the risings at meerut and delhi, percy hurried off. "i have to ride with all speed to djarma," he said to his followers; "it is a matter of life and death, and i have not a moment to lose. the commissioner has ordered one of his retired own horses to be brought round for me to start with, and i shall change as often as i can on the road. do you follow on as quickly as you can." five minutes later he dashed out through the northern gate of lahore. he had already performed a long and rapid ride, and had nearly two hundred miles before him; but he made the journey without rest, save to eat something whenever a fresh horse was being procured for him, and in twenty hours from his leaving lahore he rode into djarma. the force there had, he heard, been summoned six hours previously by a messenger from sir john lawrence to join him instantly at rawal pindee. in half an hour after his arrival he had de- spatched a dozen messengers to the valleys where his uncle's men had been settled; then he threw himself down on a couch, and ordered that he should not be disturbed for four hours. at the end of that time he was aroused, and going out found that some four hundred men from the valley below had already come in; the greater portion were old soldiers, but some had brought their sons in with them, and all were equally ready to serve. three hours more, and the force had swelled to twelve hundred men, and included many of the colonel's old officers, among them nand chund, who had saved money and settled down quietly after the troops had been disbanded. the old soldiers had all brought their arms with them, and the new recruits had also for the most part arms of some kind; others were found, and distributed among them. the old officers naturally fell into their positions, and the vacancies were filled up by men who had been under- officers. there were two hundred cavalry-men among them, but of these not more than half had horses of any kind; but messen- gers had also been sent off to many of the land-owners in that part of the district, begging them to lend horses for the ser- vice of the government, and assuring them of payment for through the sikh war them on a fair scale should they not be returned; and a suffi- cient number for the unmounted men were now forthcoming. eight hours after his arrival at djarma, percy rode out at the head of two hundred cavalry and one thousand infantry. nand chund was left behind, with directions to raise instantly another regiment of infantry and as many horsemen as he could engage in the whole district, and to join him as speed- ily as possible. "i could raise five regiments if it were necessary," nand chund said; "when the people know that you are to be their leader, every man who can bear arms will be ready to follow you." "a regiment will be enough for the present, nand chund. no one can say how many will be required afterwards. choose young and active men; we shall have long marches and much to go through. you can say that i have no doubt that all who do faithful duty will be permanently retained in the service if they choose." % percy did not go to rawal pindee, for he knew that there were european troops there, and the place was safe, and he feared that his force might be detained there. his corps made a tremendous day's march, and placed themselves on the main northern road, where, three hours later, the sepoys came along from the attock and nusserabad. warned of their approach by the clouds of dust, percy placed his troops in a grove, and when they came along, with drums beating and colours flying, poured in a volley and attacked them. taken by surprise, great numbers were killed, and the rest fled and were pursued by him at the head of the cavalry, and very few of them succeeded in effecting their escape. the next morning percy marched his infantry as far as attock, and leaving them there to prevent the passage of any mutineers, pushed forward with the cavalry to peshawur. here he aided the irregular cavalry under colonel nicholson in cutting up the sepoys who had mutinied at the frontier sta- through the sikh war men, willing to serve for a year, was officered and sent up to djarma, together with two hundred infantry, to be in readi- ness to put down any trouble that might arise with the hill tribes. the rest received two months' pay and returned to their homes, with the understanding that they would, if called upon to do so, rejoin the ranks. the month that followed was full of anxiety to all. until delhi fell the strain was very great, for although the punjaub was quiet and apparently loyal, the eyes of every native in india were f xed upon the desperate struggle round the city which had for so long been the scat of empire, and it was not until the british flag again floated over the blood-stained city, that india recognized that the british would assuredly emerge victorious from the struggle with the great army it had raised and disciplined. when at length the strength of the mutiny was crushed by the final capture of lucknow, and there remained but the work of pursuit and punishment to be carried out, percy groves took his leave and went home. he had been fifteen years absent, and was now thirty. he did not go alone, for he took with him a wife and two children, having five years before married the sister of a young civilian in his own district. she had many relatives in the service, and some of these had been among the early victims of the mutiny, and a married sister had been among those so long besieged in lucknow. the anxiety had told so much upon his wife, that percy was strongly advised to take her to england directly he could get away from his work, and as soon as he felt that he could be spared he sent in his application, which was at once acceded to. his name had been included by sir john lawrence in the lists of those to whose efforts it was chiefly due that the punjaub had been saved, and when the list of honours came out his name was included in those on whom the honour of tj.b. had been bestowed. before leaving he had the satisfaction of seeing his two s through the sikh war fortune for us both, and i want you at home. it has been dull work for me since i came back, without anyone to care for here. i am nearly sixty now, and i want a comfortable home for the remainder of my life, and if you go away again i shall be doing something rash, marrying again, or something of that sort. of course, it is for you to choose; but if you go back to india alone, when you can live here with your wife and children, i shall consider you to be a greater fool than i took you to be." "well, you need not consider that, uncle," percy laughed. "i have been thinking it over myself, and had pretty well come to the conclusion to retire. i have no particular ambi- tion to become a lieutenant-governor, or even a governor: certainly none to be working out there alone, with annie and the children in england; and the thought that you would like me at home has had its full share in deciding me. to tell you the truth, i have already sent in my request to be allowed to retire, but i had intended to say nothing about it until i could surprise you with the news that it was all settled. i used to think that, did i return, i should have no one i. knew in england except you; but annie's friends and relations, and there are any number of them, have naturally become mine, and i am now thoroughly equipped that way." "i am glad to hear it, percy; heartily glad. i reckoned on your good sense as well as upon your affection for me, and i am indeed glad that it is settled. i have had two or three talks on the subject with annie. she says she hoped and thought you would retire, but that she would not say a word to influence you one way or the other. you are very fortunate in your wife, lad." "i have been very fortunate all round, uncle; no man has more reason for being thankful and grateful than i have, to god in the first place for all the blessings i have received, and next to him to you." "tut, tut, percy, you have brought as much pleasure into g. a. henty's stories for boys. previous volumes. condemned as a nihilist: a story of escape from siberia. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by walter page r. crown vo, beautifully bound, olivine edges, $ . . (copyrighted.) v (, £t godfrey bullen, the young hero, suspected of nihilism, is sent with convicts to sibe- ria; and his final escape from prison l fe, after numerous exciting adventures, affords material for a narrative absorbing and thrilling. the pictures of siberian prison-life give the book a peculiar interest. in greek waters: a story of the greek war of inde- pendence. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. s. stagey, and a map. crown vo, beautifully bound, olivine edges, $ . . - /\ (copyrighted.) the scenes of this story are laid in and near greece during the greek war for national independence. horace beveridge and his father, enthusiastic sympathizers with the greeks, take an active part in their struggle aga nst turkish rule. they own a well- armed schooner in which they cruise for nearly two years, sharing in numerous fights and rescues on shore and at sea. beric the briton: a story of the roman invasion. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. park nson. crown vo, beautifully bound, olivine edges, $ . . (copyrighted.) the story of a young briton during the reign of nero. he takes a prominent part in the war against tne romans; is finally made a prisoner, and taken to rome, where he becomes a gladiator. the story is full of vivid pictures of savage britain and cultured roman life, of thrilling scenes n the arena, ana n the city during that interesting period, including a description of the burning of rome. redskin and cowboy. a tale of the western plains. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . (copyrighted.) the central interest of this story is found in the many adventures of hugh tunstall, a cumberland lad, who finds it necessary to flee from h s uncle's house. he makes his way to new york, and from thence goes to the wildest districts of texas, where he becomes a cowboy on a cattle ranche. his experiences present in picturesque form the toilsome, exciting, adventurous life of a cowboy, while the perils of a frontier settle- ment are vividly set forth. subsequently, the hero crosses through the indian territory i. to mexico, where the interest of the story is sustained in a fight with brigands. the dash for khartoum. a tale of the nile expedi- tion. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by john schon- berg and j. nash, and plans. crown svo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . (copyrighted.) in the record of recent british history there is no more captivating page for boys than the story of the nile campaign, and the attempt to rescue general gordon. it is this memorable campaign wh ch mr. henty has chosen as the central theme of his. romance. this is a book which will hold the boy spell-bound who loves daring deeds, and danger, and the clash of deadly tight. held fast for england. a tale of the siege of gibraltar. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne, crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . (copyrighted.) this story deals with the siege of gibraltar in - , by the united forces of france and spain. the hero of the tale, an english lad resident in gibraltar, takes a brave and worthy part in the long defence, and it is through his varied experiences that we learn with what bravery, resourcefulness, and tenacity the rock was held for england. g. a. henty's stories for boys. st. george for england. a tale of cressy and poitiers. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne, in black and tint. crown vo, handsomely bound, $ . . "mr. henty has developed for himself a type of historical novel for boys which bids fair to supplement on their behalf, the historical labors of sir walter scott in the land of fiction." — standard. maori and settler. a story of the new zealand war. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ - . i the renshaws emigrate to new zealand during the period of the war with the natives. during the eventful voyage out, and in the subsequent adventures among the maoris, there are many breathless moments in which the odds seem hopelessly against the party, but they succeed in establishing themselves happily in one of the pleasantest of the new zealand valleys. a final reckoning. a tale of bush life in aus- tralia. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by w. b. wollen. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . the hero, a young english lad, after rather a stormy boyhood, emigrates to australia, and gets employment as an officer in the mounted police. a few years of active work on the frontier, where he has many a brush with both natives and bush-rangers, gain him promotion to a captaincy, and he eventually settles down to the peaceful life of a squatter. the bravest of the brave: or, with peterborough in spain. by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by h. m. paget. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . there are few great leaders whose lives have so completely fallen into oblivion as that of the earl of peterborough. th s is largely due to the fact that it was over- shadowed by the glory of marlborough. his career as general extended over little more than a year, and yet, in that time, he showed a genius for warfare which has never been surpassed. . for name and fame: or, through afghan passes. by §, g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "here we have not only a rousing story, replete with all the varied forms of excite- ment of a campaign, but an instructive history of a recent war, and, what is still more useful, an account of a territory and its inhabitants which must for a long time possess a supreme interest for engl shmen, as being the key to our indian empire." — glasgow orange and green: a tale of the boyne and limerick.  by g. a. henty. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . htrau. "an extremely spirited story, based on the struggle in ireland, rendered memorable by the defence of 'derry and the siege of limerick." — saturday review. popular books for young people. li girl neighbours: or, the old fashion and the new. by sarah tytler. with full-page illustrations by c. t. garland. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "one of the most effective and quietly humorous of miss tytler's stories. * girl neighbours' is n pleasant comedy, not so much of errors as of prejudices got rid of, very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written." — spectator. the log of the "flying fish." a story of aerial and submarine peril and adventure. by harry collingwood. with full-page illustrations by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edge;, $ . . "the ' flying fish,' that marvellous achievement of science, actually surpasses all jules verne's creations: with incredible speed she flies through the air, skims over the surface of the water, and darts along the ocean bed. we strongly recommend our school-boy friends to possess themselves of her log." — athenaum. the missing merchantman. by harry coll ng- wood. with full-page pictures by w. h. overend. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "mr. collingwood is facile princeps as a teller of sea stories for boys, and the present is one of the best productions of his pen." — standard. the rover's secret: a tale of the pirate cays and lagoons of cuba. by harry coll ngwood. with full-page illus- trations by w. c. symons. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . "a book that will rejoice the hearts of most lads. we doubt whether, since the days of captain marryat, there has arisen a writer who combined fertility of invention i» stirring episodes, with practical knowledge of seafaring life, in the degree to whu.* mr. collingwood attains in this volume." — scottish leader. the pirate island: a story of the south pacific. by harry coll ngwood. illustrated by full page pictures by c. j. stan land and j. r. wells, in black and tint. crown vo, hand- somely bound, $ . . "a capital story of the s-n; indeed, in our opinion, the author is superior, in some respects, as a marine novelist, to the better known m . clarke russell." — the times. the congo rovers: a tale of the slave squadron. by harry coll ngwood. with i> full-page iliustrations by j. schon- berg, in black and tint. crown vo, handsomely bound, $ . . "mr. collingwood carries us off for another cruise at sea. in 'the congo rovers/ and boys will need no pressing to join the daring crew, w'..ich seeks adventures and meets with any number of them." — the times. i popular books for young people. 'twixt school and college. a tale of self-reliance. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., r.n., author of "the hermit hunter of the wilds," etc. with full-page illustrations by w. park nson. crown vo, handsomely bound, oli%ine edges, s . . a story, the attractiveness of which lies less in the narration of startling adventures than in the incidents of home life which fill up the interval between the school life and college life of fred hallam. the hero is presented by his father with an outlying cottage and garden on the farm, and the gift is turned to pleasant account as a place of residence for a whole menagerie of pels dear to the heart of most healthy-minded boys. hussein the hostage: or, a boy's adventures in pers a. by g. norway. with full-page illustrations by john schonberg. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . the narrative of the adventures of young prince hussein and his faithful follower, askar, in their endeavor to free their oppressed tribe from the persian yoke. the book has the same originality of conception and treatment which characterized the author's previous story, — " the loss of john humble." the loss of john humble. what led to it, and what came of it. by g. norway. with full-page illustrations by john schonberg. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $i. . "it is not every day that so fresh and real and appropriate a story for young people comes into the reviewer's hands. . . . the people in the story are strongly individual- ized; the pictures of a swedish home are charming, and the minute account of the life of the lost men is as realistic as robinson crusoo." — boston literary world, highways and high seas. cyril harley's adven- tures on both. by f. frankfort moore. with full-page illus- trations by alfred pearse. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, js . . "it is pleasant to come across such honest work. the author breathes a vein or genuine humor, his captain chink being a real achievement in characterization." — scots observer. under hatches: or, ned woodthorpe's adventures. by f. frankfort moore. with full-page illustrations by a. forest er. crown svo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . the wigwam and the war-path. stories of the red indians. by ascott r. hope. with full-page pictures by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . silas verney. being the story of his adventures in the days of king charles the second. a tale for boys. by kdgar p cker ng. illustrated by alfred pearse. crown svo, $ . . popular books pok young people. the search for the talisman. a story of labrador. by henry fr th. with full-page illustrations by j. schonberg. crown vo, handsomely bound, $ . . stories of old renown. tales of knights and heroes. by ascorr r. hope. with illustrations from designs by gordon browne. crown vo, handsomely bound, $ . . reefer and rifleman. a tale of the two services. by j. percy-groves, late th inniskillings. with full-page illustrations by john schonberg. crown vo, handsomely bound, $l . the war of the axe: or, adventures in south africa. by j. percy-groves. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, handsomely bound, $ . . white lilac. a story of two girls. by amy walton, author of "susan," "the llawthornes," etc. with full- page illustrations. crown vo, handsomely bound, $ . . miss willowburn's offer. by sarah doudney. with full-page illustrations. crown vo, handsomely bound, $ . . hetty gray: or, nobody's bairn. by rosa mul- holland. with full-page illustrations. crown svo, handsomely bound, $ . . four little mischiefs. by rosa mulholland. with full-page pictures in colors by gordon browne. mo, cts. the late miss hollingford. by rosa mulholland. illustrated. , cts. meg's friend. by al ce corkran. with full- page illustrations by robert fowler. crown vo, $ . . adventures of mrs. wishing-to-be. by al ce corkran. with full-page pictures in colors. mo, cts. joan's adventures, at the north pole and elsewhere. by al ce corkran. illustrated. mo, cts. naughty miss bunny: her tricks and troubles. by clara mulholland. with illustrations. rao, cts. popular books for young people. l books of adventure for boys. beautifully illustrated, and bound in cloth. price $ . per volume. stories of the sea in former days: narratives of wreck and rescue. tales of captivity and exile. illustrated. famous discoveries by sea and land. illustrated. stirring events of history. illustrated. jack o' lanthorn. a tale of adventure. by henry fr th. with full-page illustrations. brothers in arms. a story of the crusades. by f. bayford harr son. with full-page illustrations. scribner's beautifully illustrated list of books for the young, - , containing full descriptions of their most popular juveniles, and announcements for the present season, now ready. it includes stories by frances hodgson burnett, howard pyle, h. h. boyesen, thomas nelson page, frank r. stockton, edward eggleston, mrs. burton harrison, jules verne, robert louis stevenson, mary mapes dodge, rossiter johnson, and other popular writers. it will be mailed to any address on application. i popular books for young people. new volumes just published. uniform with,the henty books. westward with columbus. by gordon stables, cm., m.d., r.n., author of "twixt school and college," etc. with full-page illustrations by alfred pearse. crown svo, handsomely hound, olivine edges, $ . . "this is a delightfully interesting and breezy story of the days of columbus. with- out being absolutely a life of the great hero, it is truthfully historical, and bristling with adventure from beginning to end. there is not a dull page in it. although the young hero sails with columbus, and participates in all his adventures, he is by birth and parentage an english lad, so that much of the interest centres in england and is descrip- tive of the life led in those times in that country." the wreck of the golden fleece: the story of a north sea fisher-boy. by robert le gh on. with full-page illus- trations by frank brangwyn. crown vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . the scene of this story is on the suffolk coast of england, at the period of the french revolution. there are descriptions of north sea fishing and the wild life of tha fisher- folk— an exciting rescue from shipwreck, and later on in the story, a voyage in a plague-stricken convict ship, all narrated by the hero, a lowestoft fisher lad. the pilots of pomona: a story of the orkney islands. by robert le ghton. with full-page illustrations by john le ghton, and a map. crown svo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $ . . (copyrighted.) the scene of this story is laid in the orkney islands. halcro ericson, the hero, hap- pens upon many exciting adventures, through which he carries himself with quiet cour- age. the finding of treasure-trove, the cliff-climbing adventures, the fishing expedition, the escape from drowning, the lonely arctic voyage, the experiences with smugglers, and the trial for murder on a false accusation, all serve to show the spirit of the lad, while they carry forward a breathless narrative. charles scribner's sons. - broadway, new york. true to gold flag am property o university of michigan libraries artes scientia veritas или i was from gunt bruise . bad boat illulululu it ils initiating -- artes scientia library veritas of the vof michigan விபப ப பபபinitiiiiiiiiiii பெயர் universi pllur cebor நttithini பாபkun -.-..- .- : தரபmilnadhimuninthininpintittutthuhuயாபா gin ukrisplan gis-peninsulam-as strcumspice வியாயாயாயாய hெiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiihiiii. மெயimunimmunயைப்பாhimuninamunnnis pearson tries the ice.—page . true to the old flag: a tale of the american war of independence. by g. a. henty, author of “with clive in india,” “the lion of the north,” “in freedom's cause,” “the dragon and the raven,” “the young carthaginian,” etc., etc. illustrated. new york: a. l. burt, publisher. juvenils collection stech juv.coll. -tib. seterre dir church - . hul pref a ce. my dear lads : you have probably been accustomed to regard the war between england and ber colonies in america as one in which we were not only beaten, but to some extent humiliated. owing to the war having been an unsuccessful one for our arms, british writers have avoided the subject and it has been left for american historians to describe. these, writing for their own countrymen and draw- ing for their facts upon gazettes, letters, and other documents emanating from one side only, have naturally, and no doubt insensibly, given a very strong color to their own views of the events, and english writers have been too much inclined to accept their account implicitly. there is, however, another and very different side to the story, and this i have endeavored to show you. the whole of the facts and details connected with the war can be relied upon as accurate. they are drawn from the valuable account of the struggle written by major stedman, who served under howe, clinton, and preface. cornwallis, and from other authentic contemporary sources. you will see that although unsuccessful- and success was, under the circumstances, a sheer impossibility — the british troops fought with a bravery which was never exceeded, and that their victories in actual conflict vastly outnumbered their defeats. indeed, it may be doubted whether in any war in which this country has been engaged have our soldiers exhibited the qualities of endurance and courage to a higher degree. yours very sincerely, g. a. henty contents. chapter i. a frontier farm..... chapter ii. an indian raid........ chapter iii. the redskin attack........ chapter iv. the fight at lexington... chapter v. bunker's hill......... ........ chapter vi. scouting ...... chapter vii. in the forest ... ....... ...... chapter viii. quebec................. chapter ix. the surprise of trenton..... ......... chapter x. a treacherous planter...... ........ contents. pags ...... chapter xi. the capture of philadelphia. chapter xii. the settler's hut....... .................... chapter xiii. saratoga....... chapter xiv. rescued....... chapter xv. the island refuge..... chapter xvi. the great storm. ....... ........ chapter xvii. the scout's story ...... ....... chapter xviii. the siege of savannah... chapter xix. in an american prison..... .. ... .. .... ....... chapter xx. the war in south carolina......... ....... chapter xxi. the end of the struggle........ true to the old flag. chapter . a frontier farm. “ concord, marcb , . “ my dear cousin: i am leaving next week with my husband for england, where we intend to pass some time visiting his friends. john and i have determined to accept the invitation you gave us last summer for harold to come and spend a few months with you. his father thinks that a great future will ere many years open in the west, and that it is therefore well the boy should learn some- thing of frontier life. for myself, i would rather that he stayed quietly at home, for he is at present over fond of adventure; but as my husband is medi- tating selling his estate here and moving west, it is perhaps better for him. “ massachusetts is in a ferment, as indeed are all the eastern states, and the people talk openly of armed resistance against the government. my hus- band being of english birth and having served in the king's army cannot brook what he calls the rebellious talk which is common among his neigh- bors, and is already on bad terms with many around us. i myself am, as it were, a neutral. as an american woman, it seems to me that the colonists have been dealt with somewhat bardly by the english true to the old flag. parliament, and that the measures of the latter bave been high-handed and arbitrary. upon the other hand, i naturally incline toward my husband's views. he maintains that as the king's army has driven out the french and gives protection to the colony, it is only fair that the colonists should contribute to its expenses. the english ask for no contributions toward the expenses of their own country, but demand that at least the expenses of the protection of the colony shall not be charged upon the heavily taxed people at home. as to the law that the col- ony shall trade only with the mother country, my husband says that this is the rule in the colonies of spain, france, portugal, and the netherlands, and that the people here, who can obtain what land they choose and till it without rent, should not grumble at paying this small tax to the mother country. however it be, i fear that troubles will come, and this place being the head and focus of the party hostile to england, my husband, feeling himself out of accord with all his neighbors,, saving a few loyal gentlemen like himself, is thinking much and seriously of selling our estate here and of mov- ing away into the new countries of the west, where he will be free from all the disputation and con- tentious talk which occupies men's time here. “ indeed, cousin, times have sadly changed since you were staying with us five years ago. then our life was a peaceful and quiet one; now there is nothing but wrangling and strife. the dissenting clergy are, as my husband says was the case in eng- land before the great civil war, the fomenters of this discontent. there are many busy bodies who pass their time in stirring up the people by violent harangues and seditious writing; therefore every one takes one side or the other and there is neither peace nor comfort in life. true to the old flag. co “accustomed as i have always been to living in ease and affluence, i dread somewhat the thought of a life on the indian frontier. one has heard so many dreadful stories of indian fights and massa- cres that i tremble a little at the prospect; but i do not mention this to john, for as other women are, like yourself, brave enough to support these dangers, i would not appear a coward in his eyes. you will see, cousin, that as this prospect is before us, it is well that harold should learn the ways of a frontier life. moreover, john does not like the thought of leaving him here while we are in england, for, as he says, the boy might learn to become a rebel in bis absence; therefore, my dear cousin, we have re- solved to send him to you. an opportunity offers in the fact that a gentleman of our acquaintance is, with his family, going this week west with the in- tention of settling there, and he will, he tells us, go first to detroit, whence he will be able to send harold forward to your farm. the boy himself is delighted at the thought and promises to return an accomplished backwoodsman. john joins me in kind love to yourself and your husband, and believe me to remain your affectionate cousin, “mary wilson.” four months after the date of the above letter a lad some fifteen years old was walking with a man of middle age on the shores of lake huron. behind them was a large clearing of about a hundred acres in extent; a comfortable house, with buildings for cattle, stood at a distance of some three hundred yards from the lake; broad fields of yellow corn waved brightly in the sun; and from the edge of the clearing came the sound of a woodman's ax, true to the old flag. showing that the proprietor was still enlarging the limits of his farm. surrounding the house, at a distance of twenty yards, was a strong stockade some seven feet in height, formed of young trees pointed at the upper end, squared, and fixed firmly in the ground. the house itself, although far more spacious and comfortable than the majority of back- wood farm-houses, was built in the usual fashion, of solid logs, and was evidently designed to resist attack. william welch bad settled ten years before on this spot, which was then far removed from the nearest habitation. it would have been a very imprudent act, under ordinary circumstances, to have established himself in so lonely a position, so far removed from the possibility of assistance in case of attack. he settled there, however, just after pontiac, who was at the head of an alliance of all the indian tribes of those parts, had, after the long and desperate siege of fort pitt, made peace with us upon finding that his friends the french had given up all thought of further resistance to the english and had entirely abandoned the country. mr. welch thought, therefore, that a permanent peace was likely to reign on the frontier, and that he might safely establish himself in the charming location he had pitched upon, far removed from the confines of civilization. the spot was a natural clearing of some forty acres in extent, sloping down to the water's edge, and a more charming site could hardly have been true to the old flag. chosen. mr. welch had brought with him three farm-laborers from the east, and as time went on he extended the clearing by cutting down the for- est giants which bordered it. but in spite of the beauty of the position, the fer- tility of the soil, the abundance of his crops, and the advantages afforded by the lake, both from its plen- tiful supply of fish and as a highway by which he could convey his produce to market, he had more than once regretted his choice of the location. it was true that there had been no indian wars on a large scale, but the indians had several times broken out in sudden incursions. three times he had been attacked, but fortunately only by small parties which he had been enabled to beat off. once, when a more serious danger threatened him, he had been obliged to embark with his wife and child and his more valuable chattels in the great scow in which be carried his produce to market, and had to take refuge in the settlements, to find on his return his buildings destroyed and his farm wasted. at that time he bad serious thoughts of abandoning his location altogether, but the settlements were ex- tending rapidly toward him, and with a prospect of having neighbors before long and the natural reluc- tance to give up a place upon which he had expended so much toil, he decided to hold on, hoping that more quiet times would prevail until other settlers would take up land around him. the house had been rebuilt more strongly than before. he now employed four men, and had been - true to the old flag. unmolested since his return to his farm, three years before the date of this story. already two or three locations had been taken up on the shores of the lake beyond him, a village had grown up thirty-five miles away, and several settlers had established themselves between that place and bis home. “so you are going out fishing this morning, harold ?" mr. welch said. “i hope you will bring back a good supply, for the larder is low. i was looking at you yesterday, and i see that you are becoming a first-rate hand at the management of a canoe.” : “so i ought to be,” the boy said, “considering that for nearly three months i have done nothing but shoot and fish.” “ you have a sharp eye, harold, and will make a good backwoodsman one of these days. you can shoot nearly as well as i can now. it is lucky that i had a good stock of powder and lead on hand; firing away by the hour together as you do con- sumes a large amount of ammunition. see, there is a canoe on the lake; it is coming this way, too. there is but one man in it; he is a white by his clothes.” for a minute or two they stood watching the boat, and then seeing that its course was directed toward the shore, they walked down to the edge of the lake to meet it. “ah! pearson, is that you ?” mr. welch asked. “i thought i knew your long, sweeping stroke at a distance. you have been hunting, i see; that is a fine stag you have got there. what is the news?” true to the old flag. “about as bad as can be, master welch,” the hunter said. “the iroquois have dug up the toma- bawk again and are out on the war-path. they have massacred john brent and his family. i heard a talk of it among some hunters i met ten days since in the woods. they said that the iroquois were restless and that their chief, war eagle, one of the most troublesome varmints on the whole frontier, had been stirring 'em up to war. he told 'em, i heard, that the pale-faces were pushing further and further into the injun woods, and that unless they drove 'em back the redskin bunting- grounds would be gone. i hoped that nothing would come of it, but i might have known better. when the redskins begin to stir there's sure to be mischief before they're quiet again.” the color bad somewbat left mr. welch's cheeks as the hunter spoke. “this is bad news indeed, pearson,” he said gravely. “ are you sure about the attack on the brents ?” “sartin sure," the hunter said. “i met their herder; he had been down to johnson's to fetch a barrel of pork. just when he got back he heard the injun yells and saw smoke rising in the clear- ing, so he dropped the barrel and made tracks. i met him at johnson's, where he had just arrived. johnson was packing up with all haste and was going to leave, and so i said i would take my canoe and come down the lake, giving you all warning on the way. i stopped at burns' and hooper's. burns true to the old flag. said he should clear out at once, but hooper talked about seeing it through. he's got no wife to be skeary about, and reckoned that with his two hands he could defend his log hut. i told him i reckoned he would get his har raised if the injuns came that way ; but in course that's his business.” “what do you advise, pearson? i do not like abandoning this farm again to the mercy of the redskins.” “it would be a pity, master welch, that's as true as gospel. it's the likeliest clearing within fifty miles round, and you've fixed the place up as snug and comfortable as if it were a farm in the old prov- inces. in course the question is what this war eagle intends to do. his section of the tribe is pretty considerable strong, and although at present i ain't heard that any others have joined, these injuns are like barrels of gunpowder : when the spark is once struck there's no saying how far the explosion may spread. when one band of 'em sees as bow another is taking scalps and getting plunder and honor, they all want to be at the same work. i reckon war eagle has got some two hun- dred braves who will follow him ; but when the news spreads that he has begun his work, all the iroquois, to say nothing of the shawnees, dela- wares, and other varmint, may dig up the hatchet. the question is what war eagle's intentions are. he may make a clean sweep down, attacking all the outlying farms and waiting till he is joined by a lot more of the red reptiles before attacking the true to the old flag. settlements. then, on the other hand, he may think himself strong enough to strike a blow at gloucester and some other border villages at once. in that case he might leave the outlying farms alone, as the news of the burning of these would reach the settlements and put 'em on their guard, and he knows in course that if he succeeds there he can eat you all up at his leisure.” “the attack upon brent's place looks as if he meant to make a clean sweep down,” mr. welch said. “ well,” the hunter continued thoughtfully, “i don't know as i sees it in that light. brent's place was a long way from any other. he might have wished to give his band a taste of blood and so raise their spirits, and he might reasonably conclude that naught would be known about it for days, perhaps weeks to come. then, again, the attack might have been made by some straggling party without orders. it's a dubious question. you've got four hands here, i think, and yourself. i have seen your wife shoot pretty straight with a rifle, so she can count as one, and as this young un here has a good idea too with bis shooting-iron, that makes six guns. your place is a strong one, and you could beat off any strag- gling party. my idea is that war eagle, who knows pretty well that the place would make a stout fight, won't waste his time by making a regular attack upon it. you might hold out for twenty-four hours; the clearing is open and there ain't no shelter to be had. he would be safe to true to the old flag. lose a sight of men, and this would be a bad begin. ning and would discourage bis warriors greatly. no, i reckon war eagle will leave you alone for the present. maybe he will send a scout to see whether you are prepared ; it's as likely as not that one is spying at us somewhere among the trees now. i should lose no time in driving in the animals and getting well in shelter. when they see you are prepared they will leave you alone, at least for the present. afterward there's no saying—that will depend on how they get on at the settlements. if they succeed there and gets lots of booty and plenty of scalps, they may march back without touching you; they will be in a hurry to get to their villages and have their feasts and dancings. if they are beaten off at the settlements i reckon they will pay you a visit for sure; they won't go back without scalps. they will be savage like and won't mind losing some men for the sake of having something to brag about when they get back. and now, master welch, i must be going on, for i want to take the news down to the settlements before war eagle gets there, and he may be ahead of me now for aught i know. i don't give you no advice as to what you had best do; you can judge the circum- stances as well as i can. when i have been to the settlements and put 'em on their guard maybe shall be coming back again, and in that case you know jack pearson's rifle is at your disposal. you may as well tote this stag up to the house. you won't be doing much hunting just for the present, and the meat may come in handy.” true to the old flag. the stag was landed, and a minute later the canoe shot away from shore under the steady stroke of the hunter's powerful arms. mr. welch at once threw the stag over his shoulders and, ac- companied by harold, strode away toward the bouse. on reaching it he threw down the stag at the door, seized a rope which hung against the wall, and the sounds of a large bell rung in quick sharp strokes summoned the hands from the fields. the sound of the woodman's ax ceased at once, and the shouts of the men as they drove the cattle toward the house rose on the still air. “what is the matter, william ?” mrs. welch asked as she ran from the house. “i have bad news, my dear. the indians are out again and i fear we have trouble before us. we must hope that they will not come in this direction, but must be prepared for the worst. wait till i see all the hands and beasts in the stockade, and then we can talk the matter over quietly.” in a few minutes the hands arrived, driving be- fore them the horses and cattle. “what is it, boss?” they asked. “was that the alarm-bell sure enough ?” “the indians are out again,” mr. welch said, “and in force. they have massacred the brents and are making toward the settlements. they may come this way or they may not; at any rate, we must be prepared for them. get the beasts into the sheds, and then do you all take scythes and set to work to cut down that patch of corn, which is high true to the old flag. enough to give them shelter; there's nothing else which will cover them within a hundred yards of the house. of course you will take your rifles with you and keep a sharp lookout; but they will have heard the bell if they are in the neighborhood, and will guess that we are on the alert, so they are not likely to attempt a surprise. shut one of the gates and leave the other ajar, with the bar handy to put up in case you have to make a run for it. harold will go up to the lookout while you are at work.” having seen that all was attended to, mr. welch went into the house, where his wife was going about her work as usual, pale, but quiet and resolute. “now, jane,” he said, “sit down and i will tell you exactly how matters stand as far as pearson, who brought the news, has told me. then you shall decide as to the course we had better take.” after he had told her all that pearson had said and the reasons for and against expecting an early attack, he went on: “now, it remains for you, my dear, to decide whether we shall stay and defend the place till the last against any attack that may be made, or whether we shall at once embark in the scow and make our way down to the settlements.” “what do you think, william ?" his wife asked. “i scarcely know myself,” he answered ; “but if i had quite my own way i should send you and nelly down to the settlements in the scow and fight it out here with the hands." “you certainly will not have your own way in true to the old flag. that,” his wife said. “if you go of course i go; if you stay i stay. i would a thousand times rather go through a siege here and risk the worst than go down to gloucester and have the frightful anxiety of not knowing what was happening here. besides, it is very possible, as you say, that the indians may attack the settlement itself. many of the people there have bad no experience in indian war, and tbe redskins are likely to be far more successful in their surprise there than they would be here. if we go we should have to leave our house, our barns, our stacks, and our animals to the mercy of the savages. your capital is pretty nearly all embarked here now, and the loss of all this would be ruin to us. at any rate, william, i am ready to stay here and to risk what may come if you are. a life on the frontier is necessarily a life of danger, and if we are to abandon everything and to have to commence life afresh every time the indians go on the war- path, we bad better give it up at once and return to massachusetts.” “very well, my dear,” her husband said gravely. “ you are a true frontiersman's wife; you have chosen as i should have done. it is a choice of evils; but god has blessed and protected us since we came out into the wilderness—we will trust and confide in him now. at any rate,” he went on more cheerfully, “there is no fear of the enemy starving us out. we got in our store of provisions only a fortnight since, and have enough of every- thing for a three months' siege. there is no fear true to the old flag. welch and harold came on duty. the men they relieved reported that all was silent in the woods, and that they had heard no suspicious eries of any kind. when the men had retired to their room mr. welch told harold that he should take a turn round the stockade and visit the dogs. harold was to keep watch at the gate, to close it after he went out, to put up the bar, and to stand beside it ready to open it instantly if called upon. then the farmer stepped out into the darkness and, treading noiselessly, at once disappeared from harold's sight. the latter closed the gate, replaced the heavy bar, and stood with one hand on this and the other holding his rifle, listening intently. once he thought he heard a low growling from one of the dogs, but this presently ceased and all was quiet again. the gate was a solid one, formed of strong timbers placed at a few inches apart and bolted to horizontal bars. presently he felt the gate upon which his hand rested quiver as if pressure was applied from with- out. his first impulse was to say “is that you ?” but mr. welch had told him that he would give a low whistle as he approached the gate; he there- fore stood quiet with his whole attention absorbed in listening. · without making the least stir he peered through the bars and made out two dark figures behind them. after once or twice shaking the gate, one took his place against it and the other sprang upon his shoulders. harold looked up and saw a man's head appear true to the old flag. lowed by the war-whoop, which the redskins would have raised at once on finding that they were dis- covered had they been about to attack in force. seeing that all was quiet, i conjectured that it was probably an attempt on the part of a spy to dis- cover if we were upon the alert. then i heard your call and at once came on. i do not expect any at- tack to-night now, as these fellows must have been alone; but we will all keep watch till the morning. you have done very well, harold, and have shown yourself a keen watchman. it is fortunate that you had the presence of mind neither to stir nor to call out when you first heard them, for bad yon done so you would probably have got an arrow between your ribs, as poor wolf has done.” when it was daylight and the gate was opened the body of an indian was seen lying without; a small mark on his forehead showed where ilarold's bullet bad entered, death being instantaneous. his war-paint and the embroidery of his leggings showed him at once to be an iroquois. beside him lay bis bow, with an arrow which had evidently been fitted to the string for instant work. harold shuddered when he saw it and congratulated himself on baving stood perfectly quiet. a grave was dug a short distance away, the indian was buried, and the house- hold proceeded about their work. the day, as was usual in households in america, was begun with prayer, and the supplications of mr. welch for the protection of god over the house- bold were warm and earnest. the men proceeded true to the old flag. to feed the animals; these were then turned out of the inclosure, one of the party being always on watch in the little tower which had been erected for that purpose some ten or twelve feet above the roof of the house. from this spot a view was ob- tainable right over the clearing to the forest wbich surrounded it on three sides. the other hands pro- ceeded to cut down more of the corn, so as to ex- tend the level space around the house. true to the old flag. chapter ii. an indian raid. that day and the next passed quietly. the first night the man who was on watch up to mid- night remarked to mr. welch when he relieved him that it seemed to him that there were noises in the air. “what sort of noises, jackson-calls of night- birds or animals? if so the indians are probably around us.” “no," the man said ; "all is still round here, but i seem to feel the noise rather than hear it. i should say that it was firing very many miles off.” “the night is perfectly still and the sound of a gun would be heard a long way.” “i cannot say that i have heard a gun; it is rather a tremble in the air than a sound.” when the man they had relieved had gone down and all was still again, mr. welch and harold stood listening intently. “jackson was right,” the farmer said ; "there is something in the air. i can feel it rather than hear it. it is a sort of murmur no louder than a whisper. do you hear it, harold ?” “i seem to hear something,” harold said. “it . true to the old flag. тев might be the sound of the sea a very long way off, , just as one can hear it many miles from the coast on a still night at home. what do you think it is ?” “if it is not fancy,” mr. welch replied, “and i do not think that we should all be deceived, it is an at- tack upon gloucester.” “but gloucester is thirty-five miles away,” harold answered. “ it is,” mr. welch replied ; “but on so still a night as this sounds can be heard from an immense distance. if it is not this i cannot say what it is.” upon the following night, just as mr. welch's watch was at an end, a low whistle was heard near the gate. “who is there?” mr. welch at once challenged. “ jack pearson, and the sooner you open the gate the better. there's no saying where these red devils may be lying round.” harold and the farmer instantly ran down and opened the gate. “i should advise you to stop down here,” the hunter said as they replaced the bars. “if you did not hear me you certainly would not hear the red- skins, and they'd all be over the palisade before you had time to fire a shot. i'm glad to see you safe, for i was badly skeared lest i should find nothing but a heap of ashes here.” the next two men now turned out, and mr. welch led his visitor into the house and struck a light. true to eae old flag. “halloo! pearson, you must have been in a skirmish,” he said, seeing that the hunter's head was bound up with a blood-stained bandage. “it was all that,” pearson said, “and wuss. i went down to gloucester and told 'em what i had heard, but the darned fools tuk it as quiet as if all king george's troops with fixed bayonets had been camped round 'em. the council got together and palavered for an hour, and concluded that there was no chance whatever of the iroquois venturing to attack such a powerful place as gloucester. i told 'em that the redskins would go over their stockade at a squirrel's jump, and that as war eagle alone had at least a hundred and fifty braves, while there warn't more than fifty able- bodied men in gloucester and all the farms around it, things would go bad with 'em if they didn't mind. but, bless yer, they knew more than i did about it. most of 'em had mored from the east and had never seen an injun in his war-paint. gloucester had never been attacked since it was founded nigh ten years ago, and they didn't see no reason why it should be attacked now. there was a few old frontiersmen like myself among 'ern who did their best to stir 'em up, but it was no manner of good. when the council was over we put our heads together, and just went through the township a-talking to the women, and we hadn't much difficulty in getting up such a skear among 'em that before nightfall every one of 'em in the farms around made their husbands move into the stockade of the village. t'rur to the old flag. “when the night passed off quietly most of the men were just as savage with us as if it had been a false alarm altogether. i p'inted out that it was not because war eagle had left 'em alone that night that he was bound to do so the next night or any night after. but in spite of the women they would have started out to their farms the fust thing in the morning, if a man hadn't come in with the news that carter's farm had been burned and the whole of the people killed and scalped. as carter's farm lay only about fifteen miles off this gave 'em a skear, and they were as ready now to believe in the injuns as i had tried to make 'em the night before. then they asked us old hands to take the lead and promised to do what we told 'em, but when it came to it their promises were not worth the breath they had spent upon 'em. there were eight or ten houses outside the stockade, and in course we wanted these pulled down; but they wouldn't hear of it. howsomever, we got 'em to work to strengthen the stockades, to make loop-holes in the houses near 'em, to put up barricades from house to house, and to prepare generally for a fight. we divided into three watches. “well, just as i expected, about eleven o'clock at night the injuns attacked. our watch might just as well have been asleep for any good they did, for it was not till the redskins had crept up to the stockade all round and opened fire between the timbers on 'em that they knew that they were near. i do 'em justice to say that they fought stiff true to the old flag. enough then, and for four hours they held the line of houses ; every redskin who climbed the stockade fell dead inside it. four fires bad been lighted directly they attacked to enable us to keep 'em from scaling the stockade, but they showed us to the enemy, of course. “the redskins took possession of the houses which we had wanted to pull down, and precious hot they made it for us. then they shot such showers of burning arrows into the village that half of the houses were soon alight. we tried to get our men to sally out and to hold the line of stock- ade, wnen we might have beaten 'em off if all the village had been burned down; but it were no man- ner of good ; each man wanted to stick to his wife and family till the last. as the flames went up every man who showed himself was shot down, and when at last more than half our number had gone under the redskins brought up fagots, piled 'em against the stockade outside, and then the hull tribe came bounding over. our rifles were emptied, for we couldn't get the men to hold their fire, but some of us chaps as knew what was coming gave the redskins a volley as they poured in. “i don't know much as happened after that. jack robins and bill shuter, who were old pals of mine, and me made up our minds what to do, and we made a rush for a small gate that there was in the stockade, just opposite where the injuns came in. we got through safe enough, but they had left, men all round. jack robins he was shot dead. true to the old flag. bill and i kept straight on. we had a grapple with some of the redskins; two or three on 'em went down, and bill and i got through and had a race for it till we got fairly into the forest. bill had a ball in the shoulder and i had a clip across the head with a tomahawk. we had a council, and bill went off to warn some of the other settlements and i concluded to take to the water and paddle back to you, not knowing whether i should find that the redskins had been before me. i thought any way that i might stop your going down to gloucester, and that if there was a fight you would be none the worse for an extra rifle.” mr. welch told the hunter of the visit of the two indian spies two nights before. waal,” the hunter said, “i reckon for the pres- ent you are not likely to be disturbed. the injuns have taken a pile of booty and something like two hundred scalps, counting the women and children, and they moved off at day break this morning in the direction of tottenham, which i reckon they'll attack to-night. howsoinever, bill has gone on there to warn ’em, and after the sack of gloucester the people of tottenham won't be caught napping, and there are two or three old frontiersmen who bave settled down there, and war eagle will get a hot reception if he tries it. as far as his band is concerned you're safe for some days. the only fear is that some others of the tribe, hurrying up at hear- ing of his success, may take this place as they go past. and now i guess i'll take a few hours' sleep. i haven't closed an eye for the last two nights." true to the old flag, he had made but a few steps when a yell arose, so loud and terrible that for a moment his heart seemed to stop beating. then from the corn-fields leaped up a hundred dark figures; then came the sharp crack of rifles, and two of the hands dashed down at full speed toward the house. one had fallen. the fourth man was in the watch-tower. the surprise had been complete. the indians had made their way like snakes through the long corn, whose waving had been un perceived by the sentinel, who was dozing at his post, half-asleep in the heat of the sun. harold saw in a moment that it was too late for him to regain the house; the redskins were already nearer to it than he was. “now, nelly ! into the boat again-quick !” he said. “we must keep out of the way till it's all over.” nelly was about twelve years old, and her life in the woods had given her a courage and quickness beyond her years. without wasting a moment on cries or lamentations she sprang back into the canoe. harold took his place beside her, and the light craft darted rapidly out into the lake. not until he was some three or four hundred yards from the shore did haroid pause to look round. then, when be felt he was out of gunshot distance, he ceased paddling. the fight was raging now around the house; from loop-holes and turret the white puffs of smoke darted angrily out. the fire had not been inef- fectual, for several dark forms could be seen lying true to the old flag. round the stockade, and the bulk of the indians, foiled in their attempt to carry the place at a rush, had taken shelter in the corn and kept up a scatter- ing fire round the house, broken only on the side facing the lake, where there was no growing crop to afford them shelter. “they are all right now,” harold said cheerfully. “do not be anxious, nelly; they will beat them off. pearson is a bost in himself. i expect he must have been lying down when the attack was made. i know he was scouting round the house all night. if he had been on the watch those fellows would never have succeeded in creeping up so close un- observed.” “i wish we were inside,” nelly said, speaking for the first time. “if i were only with them i should not mind.” “i am sure i wish we were,” harold agreed. “it is too hard being useless out here when such a splendid fight is going on. ah! they have their eyes on us !” he exclaimed as a puff of smoke burst out from some bushes near the shore and a ball came skipping along on the surface of the water, sinking, however, before it reached it. “ those indian muskets are no good,” harold said contemptuously, “and the trade powder the indians get is very poor stuff ; but i think that they are well within range of my rifle.” the weapon which harold carried was an english rifle of very perfect make and finish which his father had given him on parting. true to the old flag. “now," he said, “ do you paddle the canoe a few strokes nearer the shore, nelly. we shall still be beyond the range of that fellow. he will fire again and i shall see exactly where he is lying.” nelly, who was efficient in the management of a canoe, took the paddle, and dipping it in the water the boat moved slowly toward the shore. harold sat with his rifle across his knees, looking intently over the bows of the boat toward the bush from which the shot had come. that's near enough, nelly," he said. the girl stopped paddling, and the hidden foe, seeing that they did not mean to come nearer the shore, again fired. harold's rifle was in an instant against his shoulder; he sat immovable for a moment and then fired. instantly a dark figure sprang from the bush, staggered a few steps up the slope, and then fell headlong. “that was a pretty good shot,” harold said. “your father told me when i saw a stag's borns above a bush to fire about two feet behind them and eighteen inches lower. i fired a foot below the flash, and i expect i hit him through the body. i had the sight at three hundred yards and fired a little above it. now, nelly, paddle out again. see !” he said, “ there is a shawl waving from the top of the tower. put your hat on the paddle and wave it." “ what are you thinking of doing, harold ?" the girl asked presently. mail u' var wm unha s wismul “that was a pretty good shot.”—page . true to the old flag. " that is just wbat i have been asking myself for the last ten minutes," harold replied. “it is quite clear that as long as the siege is kept up we cannot get back again, and there is no saying how long it may last. the first thing is, what chance is there of their pursuing us? are there any other canoes on the lake within a short distance ?” “they have one at braithwaite's,” the girl said, “ four miles off ; but look, there is pearson's canoe lying by the shore." “so there is,” harold exclaimed. “i never thought of that. i expect the indians have not noticed it. the bank is rather high where it is lying. they are sure to find it sooner or later. i think, nelly, the best plan would be to paddle back again so as to be within the range of my rifle while still beyond the reach of theirs. i think i can keep them from using the boat until it is dark.” “but after it is dark, harold ?” “well, then, we must paddle out into the lake so as to be well out of sight. when it gets quite dark we can paddle in again and sleep safelyanywhere a mile or two from the house." an hour passed without change. then nelly said : “there is a movement in the bushes near the canoe.” presently an arm was extended and proceeded to haul the canoe toward the shore by its head-rope. as it touched the bank an indian rose from the bushes and was about to step in, while a number of flashes true to the old flag. of smoke burst out along the shore and the bullets skipped over the water toward the canoe, one of them striking it with sufficient force to penetrate the thin bark a few inches above the water's edge. harold had not moved, but as the savage stepped into the canoe he fired, and the indian fell heavily into the water, upsetting the canoe as he did so. a yell of rage broke from his comrades. “i don't think they will try that game again as long as it is daylight,” harold said. “paddle a little further out again, nelly. if that bullet had hit you it would have given you a nasty blow, though i don't think it would have penetrated; still we may as well avoid accidents.” after another hour passed the fire round the house ceased. “ do you think the indians have gone away ?" nelly asked. “i am afraid there is no chance of that,” harold said. “i expect they are going to wait till night and then try again. they are not fond of losing men, and pearson and your father are not likely to miss anything that comes within their range as long as daylight lasts.” “but after dark, harold ?” “oh, they will try all sorts of tricks; but pear- son is up to them all. don't you worry about them, dear.” the hours passed slowly away until at last the sun sank and the darkness came on rapidly. so. long as he could see the canoe, which just floated true to the old flag. above the water's edge, harold maintained his posi- tion; then taking one paddle, while nelly handled the other, he sent the boat flying away from the shore out into the lake. for a quarter of an hour they paddled straight out. by this time the outline of the shore could be but dimly perceived. harold doubted whether it would be possible to see the boat from shore, but in order to throw the indians off the scent, should this be the case, he turned the boat's head to the south and paddled swiftly until it was perfectly dark. “i expect they saw us turn south," he said to nelly. “the redskins have wonderful eyes; so if they pursue at all they will do it in that direction. no human being, unless he borrowed the eyes of an owl, could see us now, so we will turn and pad- dle the other way.” for two hours they rowed in this direction. “ we can go into shore now,” harold said at last. “we must be seven or eight miles beyond the house.” the distance to the shore was longer than they expected, for they had only the light of the stars to guide them and neither had any experience in night traveling. they had made much further out into the lake than they had intended. at length the dark line of trees rose in front of them, and in a few minutes the canoe lay alongside the bank and its late occupants were stretched on a soft layer of moss and fallen leaves. “what are we going to do to-morrow about eating ?” nelly asked. true to the old flag. “there are four or five good-sized fish in the bottom of the canoe,” harold replied. “fortu- nately we caught more than i could carry, and i in- tended to make a second trip from the house for these. i am afraid we shall not be able to cook them, for the indians can see smoke any distance. if the worse comes to the worst we must eat them raw, but we are sure to find some berries in the wood to-morrow. now, dear, you had better go to sleep as fast as you can ; but first let us kneel down and pray god to protect us and your father and mother.” the boy and girl knelt in the darkness and said their simple prayers. then they lay down, and harold was pleased to hear in a few minutes the steady breathing which told him that his cousin was asleep. it was a long time before he followed her example. during the day he had kept up a brave front and bad endeavored to make the best of their position, but now that he was alone he felt the full weight of the responsibility of guiding his companion through the extreme danger which threatened them both. he felt sure that the in- dians would prolong the siege for some time, as they would be sure that no reënforcements could possibly arrive in aid of the garrison. moreover, he by no means felt so sure, as he had pretended to his companion, of the power of the defenders of the house to maintain a successful resistance to so large a number of their savage foes. in the daylight he felt certain they could beat them off, but darkness true to the old flag. neutralizes the effect both of superior arms and better marksmanship. it was nearly midnight be- fore he lay down with the determination to sleep, but scarcely had he done so when he was aroused by an outburst of distant firing. although six or seven miles from the scene of the encounter, the sound of each discharge came distinct to the ear along the smooth surface of the lake, and he could even hear, mingled with the musketry fire, the faint yells of the indians. for hours, as it seemed to bim, he sat listening to the distant contest, and then he, unconsciously to himself, dozed off to sleep, and awoke with a start, to find nelly sitting up beside him and the sun streaming down through the boughs. he started to his feet. “bless me,” he exclaimed, “i did not know that i had been asleep. it seems but an instant ago that i was listening—” and here he checked him- self—“ that is, that i was wide awake, and here we are in broad daylight." harold's first care was to examine the position of the canoe, and he found that fortunately it had touched the shore at a spot where the boughs of the trees overhead drooped into the water beyond it, so that it could not be seen by any one passing along the lake. this was the more fortunate as be saw some three miles away a canoe with three fig- ures on board. for a long distance on either side the boughs of the trees drooped into the water, with only an opening here and there such as that through which the boat had passed the night before. true to the old flag. “we must be moving, nelly. here are the marks where we scrambled up the bank last night. if the indians take it into their heads to search the shore both ways, as likely enough they may do, they will be sure to see them. in the first place let us gather a stock of berries, and then we will get into the boat again and paddle along under this arcade of boughs till we get to some place where we can land without leaving marks of our feet. if the indians find the place where we landed here they will suppose that we went off again before daylight.” for some time they rambled in the wood and suc- ceeded in gathering a store of berries and wild fruit. upon these nelly made her breakfast, but harold's appetite was sufficiently ravenous to en- able him to fall to upon the fish, which, he declared, were not so bad after all. then they took their places in the canoe again and paddled on for nearly a mile. “ see, harold !” nelly exclaimed as she got a glimpse through the boughs into the lake," there is another canoe. they must have got the braith- waite boat. we passed their place coming here, you know. i wonder what has happened there." “what do you think is best to do, nelly ?” har- old asked. “your opinion is just as good as mine about it. shall we leave our canoe behind, land, and take to the woods, or shall we stop quietly in the canoe in shelter here, or shall we take to the lale and trust to our speed to get away ? in which true to the old flag. case, you know, if they should come up i could pick them off with my gun before they got within reach." “i don't think that would do,” the girl said, shaking her head. “you shoot very well, but it is not an easy thing to hit a moving object if you are not accustomed to it, and they paddle so fast that if you miss them once they would be close alongside --at any rate we should be within reach of their guns—before you could load again. they would be sure to catch us, for although we might paddle nearly as fast for a time, they would certainly tire us out. then as to waiting here in the canoe, if they came along on foot looking for us we should be in their power. it is dreadful to think of taking to the woods with indians all about, but i really think that would be our safest plan.” “i think so too, nelly, if we can manage to do it without leaving a track. we must not go much further, for the trees are getting thinner ahead and we should be seen by the canoes.” fifty yards further harold stopped paddling. “here is just the place, nelly." at this point a little stream of three or four feet wide emerged into the lake; harold directed the boat's head toward it. the water in the stream was but a few inches deep. “now, nelly," he said, “ we must step out into the water and walk up it as far as we can go-it will puzzle even the sharpest redskins to find our track then." true to the old flag. they stepped into the water, harold taking the head-rope of the canoe and towing the light boat- whicb, when empty, did not draw more than two inches of water-behind him. he directed nelly to be most careful as she walked not to touch any of the bushes, which at times nearly met across the stream. , “a broken twig or withered leaf would be quite enough to tell the indians that we came along this way,” he said. “where the bushes are thick you must manage to crawl under them. never mind about getting wet-you will soon dry again.” slowly and cautiously they made their way up the stream for nearly a mile. it had for some dis- tance been narrowing rapidly, being only fed by little rills from the surrounding swamp land. harold had so far looked in vain for some spot where they could land without leaving marks of their feet. presently they came to a place where a great tree had fallen across the stream. “this will do, nelly,” harold said. “now, above all things you must be careful not to break off any of the moss or bark. you had better take your shoes off ; then i will lift you on to the trunk and you can walk along it without leaving a mark." it was hard work for nelly to take off her drenched boots, but she managed at last. harold lifted her on to the trunk and said : “walk along as far as you can and get down as lightly as possible on to a firm piece of ground. it rises rapidly here and is, i expect, a dry soil where the upper end of the tree lies.” true to the old flag. “how are you going to get out, harold ?" “i can swing myself up by that projecting root.” before proceeding to do so harold raised one end of the canoe and placed it on the trunk of the tree; then having previously taken off his shoes, he swung himself on to the trunk; hauling up the light bark canoe and taking especial pains that it did not grate upon the trunk, he placed it on his head and fol- lowed nelly along the tree. he found, as he had expected, that the ground upon which the upper end lay was firm and dry. he stepped down with great care, and was pleased to see as he walked forward that no trace of a footmark was left. “be careful, nelly," he exclaimed when he joined her, “not to tread on a stick or disturb a fallen leaf with your feet, and above all to avoid breaking the smallest twig as you pass. choose the most open ground, as that is the bardest." in about a hundred yards they came upon a large clump of bushes. “now, nelly, raise those lower boughs as gently and as carefully as you can. i will push the canoe under. i don't think the sharpest indian will be able to take up our track now.” very carefully the canoe was stowed away, and when the boughs were allowed to fall in their nat- ural position it was completely hidden from sight to every passer-by. harold took up the fish, nelly had filled her apron with the berries, and carrying their shoes—for they agreed that it would be safer not to put them on-they started on their journey through the deep forest. od true to the old flag. chapter iii. the redskin attack. mr. welch was with the men two or three hun- dred yards away from the house when the indians suddenly sprang out and opened fire. one of the men fell beside him; the farmer stooped to lift him, but saw that he was shot through the head. then he ran with full speed toward the house, shouting to the hands to make straight for the gate, disregarding the cattle. several of these, however, alarmed at the sudden outburst of fire and the yells of the indians, made of their own accord for the stables as their master rushed up at full speed. the indians were but fifty or sixty yards behind when mr. welch reached his gate. they had all emptied their pieces, and after the first volley no shots had been fired save one by the watchman on the lookout. then came the crack of pearson's rifle just as mr. welch shut the gate and laid the bar in its place. several spare guns had been placed in the upper chambers, and three reports rang out together, for mrs. welch had run upstairs at the first alarm to take her part in the defense. in another minute the whole party, now six in all, were gathered in the upper room. trul to the old flag. “where are nelly and harold ?" mr. welch ex- claimed. “i saw the canoe close to the shore just before the indians opened fire,” the watchman answered. “you must have been asleep,” pearson said savagely. “where were your eyes to let them red- skins crawl up through the corn without seeing 'em? with such a crowd of 'em the corn must have been a-waving as if it was blowing a gale. you ought to have a bullet in yer ugly carkidge, instead of its being in yer mate's out there." while this conversation was going on no one had been idle. each took up his station at a loop-hole, and several shots were fired whenever the movement of a blade of corn showed the lurking-place of an indian. the instant the gate had been closed war eagle had called his men back to shelter, for he saw that all chance of a surprise was now over, and it was contrary to all redskin strategy to remain for one moment unnecessarily exposed to the rifles of the whites. the farmer and his wife had rushed at once up into the lookout as the indians drew off, and to their joy saw the canoe darting away from shore. “ they are safe for the present, thank god !” mr. welch said. “it is providential indeed that they had not come a little further from the shore when the redskins broke out. nothing could have saved them had they fairly started for the house.” “what will they do, william ?” asked his wife anxiously. true to the old flag. “i cannot tell you, my dear. i do not know wbat i should do myself under the circumstances. however, the boy bas got a cool head on his shoulders and you need not be anxious for the present. now let us join the others. our first duty is to take our share in the defense of the house. the young ones are in the hands of god. we can do nothing for them.” “ well ?” pearson asked, looking round from his loop-bole as the farmer and bis wife descended into the room, which was a low garret extending over the whole of the house. “do you see the canoe ?” “yes, it has got safely away,” william welch said ; “but what that lad will do now is more than i can say.” pearson placed his rifle against the wall. “now keep your eyes skinned,” he said to the three farm hands. “ one of yer's done mischief enough this morning already, and you'll get your har raised as sure as you're born unless you look out sharp. now," he went on, turning to the welches, “let us go down and talk this matter over. the injuns may keep on firing, but i don t think they'll show in the open again as long as it's light enough for us to draw bead on 'em. yes," he went on as he looked through a loop-hole in the lower story over the lake, “there they are, just out of range." what do you think they will do ?” mrs. welch asked. the hunter was silent for a minute. “it ain't a easy thing to say what they ought to true to the old flag. do, much less what they will do; it ain't a good outlook any way, and i don't know what i should do myself. the whole of the woods on this side of the lake are full of the darned red critters. there's a hundred eyes on that canoe now, and go where they will they'll be watched.” “but why should they not cross the lake and land on the other side ?" mr. welch said. “if you and i were in that canoe,” the hunter answered, “that's about what we should do; but, not to say that it's a long row for 'em, they two young uns would never get across; the injuns would have 'em before they had been gone an hour. there's my canoe lying under the bushes; she'd carry four and would go three feet to their two." “i had forgotten about that,” william welch said, and then added after a pause : “ the indians may not find it.” “you needn't hope that,” the hunter answered ; “they have found it long before this. i don't want to put you out of heart; but i tell ye ye'll see them on the water before many minutes have passed." “then they are lost,” mrs. welch said, sinking down in her chair and bursting into tears. “ they air in god's hands, ma'am,” the hunter said, " and it's no use trying to deceive you.” “would it be of any use," william welch asked after a pause, “ for me to offer the redskins that my wife and i will go out and put ourselves in their hands if they will let the canoe go off without pur- suit ?" true to the old flag. “not it,” the hunter replied decidedly. “you would be throwing away your own lives without saving theirs, not to mention, although that doesn't matter a straw, the lives of the rest of us here. it will be as much as we can do, when they attack us in earnest, to hold this place with six guns, and with only four the chance would be worth nothing. but that's neither here nor there. you wouldn't save the young ones if you gave up. you can't trust the word of an injun on the war-path, and if they went so far as not to kill 'em they would carry 'em off ; and after all i ain't sure as death ain't better for 'em than to be brought up as injuns. there,” he said, stopping suddenly as a report of a musket sounded at some little distance off, “ the injuns are trying their range against 'em. let's go up to the lookout.” the little tower bad a thick parapet of logs some three feet high, and crouching behind this they watched the canoe. “he's coming nearer in shore, and the girl has got the paddle,” pearson muttered. “what's he doing now?" a puff of smoke was seen to rise near the border of the lake, then came the sharp crack of harold's rifle. they saw an indian spring from the bushes and fall dead. • well done, young un,” pearson exclaimed. “i told yer he'd got his head screwed on the right way. he's keeping just out of range of their guns, and that piece of his can carry twice as far as theirs. i true to the old flag. reckon he's thought of the canoe and means to keep 'em from using it. i begins to think, mr. welch, that there's a chance for 'em yet. now let's talk a little to these red devils in the corn.” for some little time pearson and william welch turned their attention to the indians, while the mother sat with her eyes fixed upon the canoe. “he is coming closer again,” she exclaimed pres- ently. “ he's watching the canoe, sure enough,” pearson said. then came the volley along the bushes on the shore, and they saw an indian rise to his feet. “ that's just where she lies,” pearson exclaimed ; “ he's getting into it. there! well done, young un.” the sudden disappearance of the indian and the vengeful yell of the hidden foe told of the failure of the attempt. “i think they're safe now till nightfall. the in- juns won't care about putting themselves within range of that ’ere rifle again.” gradually the fire of the indians ceased, and the defenders were able to leave the loop-holes. two of the men went down and fastened up the cattle, which were still standing loose in the yard inside the stockade; the other set to to prepare a meal, for mrs. welch could not take her eyes off the canoe. the afternoon seemed of interminable length not a shot was fired. the men, after taking their dinner, were occupied in bringing some great tubs on to the upper story and filling them to the brim with water from the well. true to the old flag. this story projected two feet beyond the one below it, having been so built in order that in case of attack the defenders might be able to fire dowa upon any foe who might cross the stockade and at- tack the house itself; the floor boards over the projecting portion were all removable. the men also brought a quantity of the newly cut corn to the top of the house, first drenching it with water. the sun sank, and as dusk was coming on the anxious watchers saw the canoe paddle out far into the lake. “an old frontiersman couldn't do better,” pear- son exclaimed. “he's kept them out of the canoe as long as daylight lasted; now he has de- termined to paddle away and is making down the lake,” he went on presently. “it's a pity he turned so soon, as they can see the course he's taking." they watched until it was completely dark, but before the light quite faded they saw another canoe put out from shore and start in the direction taken by the fugitives. “will they catch them, do you think ?” mrs. welch asked. “no, ma'am,” pearson said confidently. “the boy's got sense enough to have changed his course after it gets dark, though whether he'll make for shore or go out toward the other side is more than i can say. you see, they'll know that the injuns are all along this side of the lake, but then on the other hand they'll be anxious about us and'll want to keep close at hand. besides, the lad knows noth- true to the old flag. ing of the other side; there may be injuns there for aught he knows, and it's a skeary thing for a young un to take to the forest, especially with a gal in his charge. there ain't no saying what he'll do. and now we've got to look after ourselves, don't let us think about 'em at present. the best thing we can do for them, as well as for ourselves, is to hold this here place. if they live they'll come back to it sooner or later, and it'll be better for 'em to find it standing and you here to welcome 'em than to get back to a heap of ruins and some dead bodies." “when will the redskins attack, do you think ?” the farmer asked. “we may expect 'em any time now,” the hunter answered. “the injuns' time of attack is generally just before dawn, but they know well enough they ain't likely to ketch us asleep any time, and as they know exactly wbat they have got to do they'll gain nothing by waiting. i wish we had a moon; if we had we might keep 'em out of the stockade. but there—it's just as well it's dark after all, for if the moon was up the young uns would have no chance of getting away.” the garrison now all took their places at the loop- holes, having first carried the wet fodder to the roof and spread it over the shingles. there was nothing to do now but to wait. the night was so dark that they could not see the outline of the stockade. presently a little spark shot through the air, followed by a score of others. mr. welch had true to the old flag, taken bis post on the tower, and he saw the arrows whizzing through the air, many of them falling on the roof. the dry grass dipped in resin which was tied round the arrow-heads was instantly ex- tinguished as the arrows fell upon the wet corn, and a yell arose from the indians. the farmer descended and told the others of the failure of the indians' first attempt. “that 'ere dodge is a first-rate un,” pearson said. “we're safe from fire, and that's the only thing we've got to be afeard on. you'll see 'em up here in a few minutes." everything was perfectly quiet. once or twice the watchers thought that they could hear faint sounds, but could not distinguish their direction. after half an hour's anxious waiting a terrific yell was heard from below, and at the doors and win- dows of the lower rooms came the crashing blows of tomabawks. the boards had already been removed from the flooring above, and the defenders opened a steady fire into the dark mass that they could faintly make out clustered round the windows and doors. at pearson's suggestion the bullets had been removed from the guns and heavy charges of buckshot bad been substituted for them, and yells of pain and surprise rose as they fired. a few shots were fired up from below, but a second discharge from the spare guns completed the effect from the first volley. the dark mass broke up, and in a few seconds all was as quiet as before. true the old flag. two hours passed and then slight sounds were heard. “they've got the gate opened, i expect,” pearson said. “fire occasionally at that; if we don't hit 'em the flashes may show us what they're doing.” it was as be had expected. the first discharge was followed by a cry, and by the momentary light they saw a number of dark figures pouring in through the gate. seeing that concealment was no longer possible, the indians opened a heavy fire round the house; then came a crashing sound near the door. “just as i thought,” pearson said. “they're going to try to burn us out." for some time the noise continued as bundle after bundle of dried wood was thrown down by the door. the garrison were silent, for, as pearson said, they could see nothing, and a stray bullet might enter at the loop-holes if they placed them- selves there, and the flashes of the guns would serve as marks for the indians. presently two or three faint lights were seen ap- proaching. “ now,” pearson said, “pick 'em off as they come up. you and i'll take the first man, welch. you fire just to the right of the light, i will fire to the left; be may be carrying the brand in either hand.” they fired together and the brand was seen to drop to the ground. the same thing happened as the other two sparks of light approached ; then it true to the old flag. was again quiet. now a score of little lights flashed through the air. “ they're going to light the pile with their flam- ing arrows,” pearson said. “war eagle is a good leader.” · three or four of the arrows fell on the pile of dry wood. a. moment later the flames crept up and the smoke of burning wood rolled up into the room above. a yell of triumph burst from the indians, but this changed into one of wrath as those above emptied the contents of one of the great tubs of water on to the pile of wood below them. the flames were instantly extinguished. “what will they do next?" mrs. welch asked. “it's like enough,” pearson replied, “that they'll give the job up altogether. they've got plenty of plunder and scalps at the settlements, and their at- tacking us here in such force looks as if the hull of 'em were on their way back to their villages. if they could have tuk our scalps easy they would have done it; but war eagle ain't likely to risk losing a lot of men when he ain't sartin of winning after all. he has done good work as it is and has quite enough to boast about when he gits back. if he were to lose a heap of his braves here it would spoil the success of his expedition. no, i think as he will give it up now.” “he will be all the more anxious to catch the children,” mrs. welch said despondently. “ it can't be denied, ma'am, as he will do bis best that way,” pearson answered. “it all depends, true to the old flag. though, on the boy. i wish i was with him in that canoe. howsomever, i can't help thinking as he will sarcurn vent 'em somehow.” the night passed without any further attack. by turns half the garrison watched while the other lay down, but there was little sleep taken by any. with the first gleam of daylight mrs. welch and her husband were on the lookout. “ there's two canoes out on the lake,” pearson said. “they're paddling quietly ; wbich is which i can't say." as the light became brighter pearson pronounced postively that there were three men in one canoe and four in the other. “i think they're all injuns," he said. “they must have got another canoe somewhere along the lake. waal, they've not caught the young uns yet.” “the boats are closing up to each other,” mrs. welch said. “ they're going to have a talk, i reckon. yes, one of 'em's turning and going down the lake, while the other's going up. i'd give a heap to know where the young uns have got to.” the day passed quietly. an occasional shot to- ward the house showed that the indians remained in the vicinity, and indeed dark forms could be seen moving about in the distant parts of the clearing. “ will it be possible,” the farmer asked pearson wben night again fell, “ to go out and see if we can discover any traces of them ?” true to the old flag. “worse than no use,” pearson said positively. “ we should just lose our har without doing no good whatever. if the injuns in these woods—and i reckon altogether there's a good many hundred of 'em—can't find 'em, ye may swear that we can't. that's just wbat they're hoping, that we'll be fools enough to put ourselves outside the stockade. they'll lie close round all night, and a weasel wouldn't creep through 'em. ef i thought there was jest a shadow of chance of finding them young uns i'd risk it, but there's no chance—not a bit of it.” a vigilant watch was again kept up all night, but all was still and quiet. the next morning the indians were still round them. “don't ye fret, ma’am !” pearson said as he saw how pale and wan mrs. welch looked in the morn- ing light. “you may bet your last shilling that they've not caught 'em.” "why are you so sure ?” mrs. welch asked. “ they may be dead by this time.” “not they, ma'am. i'm as sartin as they're liv. ing and free as i am that i'm standing here. i know these injuns' ways. ef they had caught 'em they'd jest have brought 'em here and would have fixed up two posts, jest out of rifle range, and would have tied them there and offered you the choice of giving up this place and your scalps or of seeing them tortured and burned under your eyes. that's their way. no, they ain't caught 'em alive, nor they ain't caught 'em dead neither; for ef they true to the old flag. . had they'd have brought their scalps to have shown yer. no, they've got away, though it beats me to say how. i've only got one fear, and that is that they might come back before the injuns have gone. now i tell ye what we bad better do—we better keep up a dropping fire all night and all day to- morrow and so on until the redskins have gone. ef the young uns come back across the lake at night and all is quiet they'll think the injuns have taken themselves off, but if they hear firing still going on they'll know well enough that they're still around the house.' william welch at once agreed to this plan, and every quarter of an hour or so all through the night a few shots were fired. the next morning no indians could be seen, and there was a cessation of the dropping shots which had before been kept up at the house. “ they may be in hiding,” pearson said in the afternoon, “ trying to tempt us out; but i'm more inclined to think as how they've gone. i don't see a blade of that corn move; i've had my eyes fixed on it for the last two hours. it are possible, of course, that they're there, but i reckon not. i ex- pect they've been waiting ever since they gave up the attack, in hopes that the young uns would come back ; but now as they see that we're keeping up a fire to tell them as how they're still round us, they've given it up and gone. when it gets dark to-night i'll go out and scout round.” at ten o'clock at night pearson dropped lightly true to the old flag. from the stockade on the side opposite to the gate, as he knew that if the indians were there this would be the point that they would be watching; then crawling upon his stomach he made his way slowly down to the lake. entering the water and stooping low, he waded along by the edge of the bushes for a distance of a mile; then he left the water and struck into the forest. every few min- utes he could hear the discharges of the rifles at the house, but, as before, no answering shots were heard. treading very cautiously, he made a wide détour and then came down again on the clearing at the end furthest from the lake, where the indians bad been last seen moving about. all was still. keeping among the trees and moving with great caution, he made his way for a considerable dis- tance along the edge of the clearing; then he dropped on his hands and knees and entered the corn-field, and for two hours he crawled about, quartering the ground like a dog in search of game. everywhere he found lines where the indians had crawled along to the edge nearest to the house, but now here did he discover a sign of life. then, still taking great care, he moved down toward the house and made a circuit of it at a short distance outside the stockade; then he rose to his feet. “ yer may stop shooting," he shouted. “the pesky rascals are gone.” then he walked openly up to the gate; it was opened at once by william welch. “ are you sure they have gone?" he asked. true to the old flag. “ sure as gospel,” he answered," and they've been gone twenty-four hours at least.” “how do you know that ?" “easy enough. i found several of their cooking- places in the woods; the brands were out, and even under the ashes the ground was cold, so they must have been out for a long time. i could have walked straight on to the house then, but i thought it safer to make quite sure by searching everywhere, for they might have moved deeper into the forest and left a few men on guard here in case the young uns should come back. but it ain't so; they've gone, and there ain't a living soul any where nigh the clearing. the young uns can come back now, if they will, safely enough." before doing anything else the farmer assembled the party together in the living-room, and there solemnly offered up thanks to god for their deliver- ance from danger and implored his protection for the absent ones. when this was over he said to his wife: “now, jane, you had better lie down and get a few hours' sleep. it is already two o'clock, and there is no chance whatever of their returning to- night, but i shall go down to the lake and wait till morning. place candles in two of the upper win- dows. should they be out on the lake they will see them and know that the indians have not taken the house." morning came without any signs of the absent ones. at day break pearson went out to scout in true to the old flag. avig. the woods, and returned late in the afternoon with the news that the indians had all departed, and that for a distance of ten miles at least the woods were entirely free. when it became dark the farmer again went down to the lake and watched until two, when pearson took his place. mr. welch was turning to go back to the house when pearson placed his hand on his shoulder. “ listen !” he said, and for a minute the mon stood immovable. “what was it ?” the farmer asked. “i thought i heard the stroke of a paddle," pearson said ; “it might bave been tho jump of a fish. there! there it is again!” he lay down and put his ear close to the water. “there's a canoe in the lake to the north’ard. i can hear the strokes of the paddle plainly.” mr. welch could hear nothing. some minutes passed, then pearson exclaimed: “there ! i saw a break in the water over there! there it is !” he said, straining his eyes in the dark- ness. “that's a canoe, sure enough, although they have ceased paddling. it's not a mile away.” then he arose to his feet and shouted “halloo !" at the top of his voice. an answering shout faintly came back across the water. he again hailed loudly, and this time the answer came in a female voice. "it's them, sure enough. i can swear to nelly's voice." true to the old flag. william welch uncovered his head and, putting his hand before his face, returned fervent thanks to god for the recovery of his child. then he dashed off at full speed toward the house. before he reached it, however, he met his wife running down to meet him, the shouts having informed her that something was seen. hand in hand they ran down to the water's edge. the canoe was now swiftly approaching. the mother screamed: “nelly, is that you ?”. “mamma! mamma!" came back in the girl's clear tones. with a low cry of gladness mrs. welch fell senseless to the ground. the strain which she had for four days endured had been terrible, and even the assurances of pearson had failed to awaken any strong feeling of hope in her heart. she bad kept up bravely and bad gone about her work in the house with a pale, set face, but the unexpected relief was too much for her. two minutes later the bow of the canoe grated on the shore and nelly leaped into her father's arins. “where is mamma ?” she exclaimed. “she is here, iny dear, but she has fainted. the joy of your return has been too much for her.” nelly knelt beside her mother and raised her head, and the farmer grasped harold's hand. “my brave boy,” he said, “i have to thank you for saving my child's life. god bless you !" he dipped his hat in the lake and sprinkled true to the old flag. just as it had been going on so long. our provi- sions were all gone and nelly was getting rery bad for want of water. i of course got a drink at the lake this morning. so we agreed that if everything was still again to-night we would go back to the place where we had hidden the canoe, launch it, and paddle here. everything was quiet, so we came along as we had arranged. when i saw the lights in the windows i made sure all was right; still it was a great relief when i heard the shout from the shore. i knew, of course, that it wasn't a redskin's shout. besides, indians would have kept quiet till we came alongside.” very hearty were the commendations bestowed on the boy for his courage and thoughtfulness. “you bebaved like an old frontiersman,” pear: son said. “i couldn't have done better myself. you only made one blunder from the time you set out from shore.” “ what was that ?” harold asked. “ you were wrong to pick -the berries. the red- skins, of course, would find where you had landed, they'd see the marks where you lay down, and would know that you had paddled away again. had it not been for their seeing the tracks you made in picking the berries they might have sup- posed you had started before day break and bad gone out of sight across the lake; but them marks would have shown 'em that you did not take to your canoe until long after the sun was up, and therefore that you couldn't have made across the true to the old flag. lake without their seeing you, but must either bare landed or be in your canoe under shelter of the trees somewhere along the shore. it's a marvel to me that they didn't find your traces, however care- ful you were to conceal 'em. but that's the only error you made, and i tell you, young un, you have a right to be proud of having outwitted a hull tribe of redskins." true to the old flag. chapter iv. 'the fight at lexington. harold remained for four months longer with bis cousin. the indians had made several attacks upon settlements at other points of the frontier, but they had not repeated their incursion in the neigh- borhood of the lake. the farming operations had gone on regularly, but the men always worked with their rifles ready to their band. pearson had pre- dicted that the indians were not likely to return to that neighborhood. mr. welch's farm was the only one along the lake that had escapell, and the loss the indians bad sustained in attacking it had been so heavy that they were not likely to make an ex- pedition in that quarter, where the chances of booty were so small and the certainty of a desperate re- sistance so great. other matters occurred which rendered the re- newal of the attack improbable. the news was brougbt by a wandering hunter that a quarrel had arisen between the shawnees and the iroquois, and that the latter had recalled their braves from the frontier to defend their own villages in case of hos- tilities breaking out between them and the rival tribe. true to the old flag. there was no occasion for harold to wait for news from home, for his father had before starting definitely fixed the day for his return, and when that time approached harold started on his east- ward journey, in order to be at home about the date of their arrival. pearson took him in his canoe to the end of the lake and accompanied him to the set- tlement, whence he was able to obtain a conveyance to detroit. here he took a passage in a trading boat and made his way by water to montreal, thence down through lake champlain and the hudson river to new york, and thence to boston. the journey had occupied him longer than he expected, and mr. and mrs. wilson were already in their home at concord when he arrived. the meeting was a joyful one. his parents had upon their return home found letters from mr. welch and his wife describing the events which had hap- pened at the farm, speaking in the highest terms of the courage and coolness in danger which harold had displayed, and giving him full credit for the saving of their daughter's life. upon the day after harold's return two gentle- men called upon captain wilson and asked him to sign the agreement which a number of colonists had entered into to resist the mother country to the last. this captain wilson positively refused to do. “i am an englishman,” he said, “and my sympa- thies are wholly with my country. i do not say that the whole of the demands of england are justifi. able. i think that parliament bas been deceived as true to the old flag. to the spirit existing here. but i consider that it has done nothing whatever to justify the attitude of the colonists. the soldiers of england have fought for you against french and indians and are still stationed here to protect you. the colonists pay nothing for their land; they pay nothing to- ward the expenses of the government of the mother country; and it appears to me to be perfectly just that people here, free as they are from all the bur- dens that bear so heavily on those at home, should at least bear the expense of the army stationed here. i grant that it would have been far better had the colonists taxed themselves to pay the extra amount, instead of the mother country taxing them ; but this they would not do. some of the colonists paid their quota, others refused to do so, and this being the case, it appears to me that england is perfectly justified in laying on a tax. nothing could bare been fairer than the tax that she pro- posed. the stamp-tax would in no way bave affect- ed the poorer classes in the colonies. it would have been borne only by the rich and by those engaged in such business transactions as required stamped documents. i regard the present rebellion as the work of a clique of ambitious men who have stirred up the people by incendiary addresses and writings. there are, of course, among them a large number of the men-among them, gentlemen, i place you—who conscientiously believe that they are justified in doing nothing whatever for the land which gave them or their ancestors birth, who ruet to the old flag. would enjoy all the great natural wealth of this vast country without contributing toward the ex- pense of the troops to whom it is due that you enjoy peace and tranquillity. such, gentlemen, are not my sentiments. you consider it a gross hardship that the colonists are compelled to trade only with the mother country. i grant that it would be more profitable and better for us bad we an open trade with the whole world ; but in this england only acts as do all other countries toward their colonies. france, spain, portugal, and the netherlands all monopolize the trade of their colonies; all, far more than does england, regard their colonies as sources of revenue. i repeat, i do not think that the course that england has pursued toward us bas been always wise, but i am sure that nothing that she has done justifies the spirit of disaffection and rebellion which is ripe throughout these colonies.” “the time will come, sir,” one of the gentlemen said, " when you will have reason to regret the line which you have now taken.” “no, sir,” captain wilson said baughtily. “the time may come when the line that i have taken may cost me my fortune, and even my life, but it will never cause me one moment's regret that i have chosen the part of a loyal english gentleman.” when the deputation had departed harold, who had been a wondering listener to the conversation, asked his father to explain to him the exact position in which matters stood. it was indeed a serious one. the success of eng. true to the old flag. land in her struggle with france for the supremacy of north america had cost her a great deal of money. at home the burdens of the people were extremely heavy. the expense of the army and navy was great, and the ministry, in striving to lighten the burdens of the people, turned their eyes to the colonies. they saw in america a population of over two million people, subjects of the king, like themselves, living free from rent and taxes on their own land and paying nothing whatever to the ex- penses of the country. they were, it is true, forced to trade with england, but this obligation was set wholly at naught. a gigantic system of smuggling was carried on. the custom-bouse officials bad no force at their disposal which would have enabled them to check these operations, and the law enforc- ing a trade with england was virtually a dead letter. their first step was to strengthen the naval force on the american coast and by additional vigilance to put some sort of check on the wholesale smug- gling which prevailed. this step caused extreme discontent among the trading classes of america, and these set to work vigorously to stir up a strong feeling of disaffection against england. the rev- enue officers were prevented sometimes by force from carrying out their duties. after great consideration the english government came to the conclusion that a revenue sufficient to pay a considerable proportion of the cost of the army in america might be raised by means of a stamp-tax imposed upon all legal documents, re- true to the old flag. ceipts, agreements, and licenses—a tax, in fact, resembling that on stamps now in use in england. the colonists were furious at the imposition of this tax. a congress, composed of deputies from each state, met, and it was unanimously resolved that the stamp-tax should not be paid. meetings were every where held, at which the strongest and most treasonable language was uttered, and such violent threats were used against the persons employed as stamp.collectors that these, in fear of their lives, rə- signed their posts. the stamp-tax remained uncollected and was treated by the colonists as if it were not in existence. the whole of the states now began to prepare for war. the congress was made permanent, the mili- tia drilled and prepared for fighting, and everywhere the position grew more and more strained. massa- chusetts was the headquarters of disaffection, and here a total break with the mother country was openly spoken of. at times the more moderate spirits attempted to bring about a reconciliation be- tween the two parties. petitions were sent to the houses of parliament, and even at this time had any spirit of wisdom prevailed in england the final con- sequences might have been prevented. unfortu- nately the majority in parliament were unable to recognize that the colonists had any rights upon their side. taxation was so heavy at home that men felt indignant that they should be called upon to pay for the keeping up of the army in america, to which the untaxed colonists, with their free true to the old flag. farms and houses, would contribute nothing. the plea of the colonists that they were taxed by a chamber in which they were unrepresented was an- swered by the statement that such was also the case with manchester, leeds, and many other large towns which were unrepresented in parliament. in england neither the spirit nor the strength of the colonists was understood. men could not bring themselves to believe that these would fight rather than submit, still less that if they did fight it would be successfully. they ignored the fact that the population of the states was one-fourth as large as that of england; that by far the greater proportion of that population were men trained, either in bor- der warfare or in the chase, to the use of the rifle ; that the enormous extent of country offered almost insuperable obstacles to the most able army com- posed of regular troops, and that the vast forests and thinly populated country were all in favor of a population fighting as guerrillas against trained troops. had they perceived these things the english people would have hesitated before em barking upon such a struggle, even if convinced, as assuredly the great majority were convinced, of the fairness of their demands. it is true that even had england at this point abandoned altogether ber determination to raise taxes in america the result would probably have been the same. the spirit of disaffection in the colony bad gone so far that a retreat would have been considered as a confession of weakness, and a separation of the colonists from true to the old flag. the mother country would have happened ere many years had elapsed. as it was, parliament agreed to let the stamp-tax drop, and in its place established some import duties on goods entering the american ports. the colonists, however, were determined that they would submit to no taxation whatever. the english government, in its desire for peace, aban- doned all the duties with the exception of that on tea; but even this concession was not sufficient to satisfy the colonists. these entered into a bond to use no english goods. a riot took place at boston, and the revenue officers were forced to withdraw from their posts. troops were dispatched from england and the house of commons declared massachusetts to be in a state of rebellion. it must not be supposed that the colonists were by any means unanimous in their resistance to eng. land. there were throughout the country a large number of gentlemen, like captain wilson, wholly opposed to the general feeling. new york refused to send members to the congress, and in many other provinces the adhesion given to the disaffected movement was but lukewarm. it was in the new england provinces that the spirit of re- bellion was hottest. these states had been peopled for the most part by puritans—men who had left england voluntarily, exiling themselves rather than submit to the laws and religion of the country, and among them, as among a portion of the irish population of america at the present time, the feel- true to the old flag. ing of hatred against the government of england was, in a way, hereditary. so far but few acts of violence had taken place. nothing could be more virulent than the language of the newspapers of both parties against their opponents, but beyond a few isolated tumults the peace had not been broken. it was the lull before the storm. the great majority of the new eny- land colonists were bent upon obtaining nothing short of absolute independence; the loyalists and the english were as determined to put down any revolt by force. the congress drilled, armed, and organized ; the english brought over fresh troops and prepared for the struggle. it was december when harold re- turned home to his parents, and for the next three months the lull before the storm continued. the disaffected of massachusetts had collected a large quantity of military stores at concord. these general gage, who commanded the troops at boston, determined to seize and destroy, seeing that they could be collected only for use against the government, and on the night of april the grenadier and light infantry companies of the various regiments, eight hundred strong, under command of lieutenant-colonel smith, of the tenth regiment, and major pitcairne, of the marines, embarked in boats and were conveyed up charles river as far as a place called phipp's farm. there they landed at midnight, having a day's provisions in their haver- sacks, and started on their march to concord, twenty miles distant from boston. true to the old flag. the design bad been discovered by some of the revolutionary party in the town, and two of their number were dispatched on horseback to rouse the whole country on the way to concord, where the news arrived at two o'clock in the morning. captain wilson and his household were startled from sleep by the sudden ringing of the alarm-bells, and a negro servant, pompey, who had been for many years in their service, was sent down into the town, which lay a quarter of a mile from the house, to find out what was the news. he returned in half an hour. “me tink all de people gone mad, massa. dey swarming out of deir houses and filling de streets, all wid guns on deir shoulders, all de while shout- ing and halloing . down wid de english down wid de red-coats ! dey shan't have our guns; dey shan't take de cannon and de powder. dere were ole massa bill emerson, the preacher, wid his gun in his hands, shouting to de people to stand firm and to fight till de last; dey all shout, “we will.' dey bery desperate; me fear great fight come on." “what are you going to do, father ?” harold asked. “nothing, my boy. if, as it is only too likely, this is the beginning of a civil war, i have deter- mined to offer my services to the government. great numbers of loyalists have sent in their names offering to serve if necessary, and from iny knowl- edge of drill i shall, of course, be useful. to-day i can take no active part in the fight, but i shall take true to the old flag. my borse and ride forward to meet the troops and warn the commanding officer that resistance will be attempted here." “may i go with you, father?” “yes, if you like, my boy. pompey, saddle two horses at once. you are not afraid of being left alone, mary ?” he said, turning to his wife. “there is no chance of any disturbance here. our house lies beyond the town, and whatever takes place will be in concord. when the troops bave captured the guns and stores they will return." mrs. wilson said she was not frightened and had no fear whatever of being left alone. the horses were soon brought round, and captain wilson and his son mounted and rode off at full speed. they made a détour to avoid the town, and then, gaining the high-road, went forward at full speed. the alarm bad evidently been given all along the line. at every village the bells were ringing, the people were assembling in the streets, all carrying arms, while numbers were flocking in from the farm- houses around. once or twice captain wilson was stopped and asked where he was going. “i am going to tell the commander of the british force, now marching hither, that if he advances there will be bloodshed—that it will be the begin- ning of civil war. if he has orders to come at all hazards, my words will not stop him; if it is left to his discretion, possibly he may pause before he brings on so dire a calamity.” it was just dawn when captain wilson and true to the old flag. harold rode into lexington, where the militia, one hundred and thirty strong, bad assembleil. their guns were loaded and they were ready to de- fend the place, which numbered about seven brin- dred inhabitants. just as captain wilson rode in a messenger ran up with the news that the head of the british column was close at hand. some of the militia bad dispersed to lie down until the english arrived. john parker, who commanded them, ordered the drums to beat and the alarm-guns to be fired, and his men drew up in two ranks across the road. “it is too late now, harold,” captain wilson said. “let us get out of the line of fire.” the british, hearing the drums and the alarm- guns, loaded, and the advance company came on at the double. major pitcairne was at their head and shouted to the militia to lay down their arms. it is a matter of dispute, and will always remain one, as to who fired the first shot. the americans assert that it was the english; the english say that as they advanced several shots were fired at them from behind a stone wall and from some of the ad- joining bouses, which wounded one man and hit major pitcairne's borse in two places. the militia disregarded major pitcairne's orders to lay down their arms. the english fired; several of the militia were killed, nine wounded, and the rest dispersed. there was no further fighting and the english marched on unopposed to concord. as tbey approached the town the militia re- . s inz co.sk - !!. the beginning of the war.–page . true to the old flag. treated from it. the english took possession of a bridge behind the place and held this while the troops were engaged in destroying the amniunition and gun-carriages. most of the guns had been re- moved and only two twenty-four-pounders were taken. in destroying the stores by fire the court- house took flames. at the sight of this fire the militia and armed countrymen advanced down the hill toward the bridge, the english tried to pull up the planks, but the americans ran forward rapidly. the english guard fired; the colonists re- turned the fire. some of the english were killed and wounded and the party fell back into the town. half an hour later colonel smith, having performed the duty that he was sent to do, resumed the home- ward march with the whole of his troops. then the militiainen of concord, with those from many villages around and every man in the district capable of bearing arms, fell upon the retiring english. the road led through several defiles, and every tree, every rock, every depression of ground was taken advantage of by the americans. scarcely a man was to be seen, but their deadly fire rained thick upon the tired troops. this they vainly at- tempted to return, but they could do nothing against an invisible foe, every man of whom possessed a skill with his rifle far beyond that of the british soldier. very many fell and the retreat was fast becoming a rout, when, near lexington, the column met a strong reënforcement which had been sent true to the old flag. out from boston. this was commanded by lord percy, who formed his detachment into square, in which colonel smith's party, now so utterly ex- hausted that they were obliged to lie down for some time, took refuge. when they were rested the whole force moved forward again toward boston, barassed the whole way by the americans, who from behind stone walls and other places of shelter kept up an incessant fire upon both flanks, as well as in the front and rear, against which the troops could do nothing. at last the retreating column safely arrived at boston, spent and worn out with fatigue. their loss was sixty-five men killed, one hundred and thirty-six wounded, forty-nine missing. such was the beginning of the war of independ, ence. many american writers have declared that previous to that battle there was no desire for in- dependence on the part of the colonists, but this is emphatically contradicted by the language used at the meetings and in the newspapers which have come down to us. the leaders may not have wished to go so far—may not have intended to gain more than an entire immunity from taxation and an ab- solute power for the colonists to manage their own affairs. but experience has shown that when the spark of revolution is once lighted, when resistance to the law has once commenced, things are carried to a point far beyond that dreamed of by the first leaders. those who commenced the french revolution were moderate men who desired only that some true to the old flag. slight check should be placed on the arbitrary power of the king—that the people should be relieved in some slight degree from the horrible tyranny of the nobles, from the misery and wretchedness in which they lived. these just demands increased step by step until they culminated in the reign of terror and the most horrible scenes of bloodshed and massacre of modern times. men like washington and franklin and adams may have desired only that the colonists should be free from imperial taxation, but the popular voice went far beyond this. three years earlier wise counsels in the british parliament might have averted a catastrophe and delayed for many years the separation of the colonies from their mother country. at the time the march began from bos- ton to concord the american colonists stood virtu- ally in armed rebellion. the militia throughout new england were ready for fight. arms, ammu- nition, and military stores were collected in rhode island and new hampshire. the cannon and mili- tary stores belonging to the crown had been carried off by the people, forty cannon being seized in rhode island alone. such being the case, it is non- sense to speak of the fray at lexington as the cause of the revolutionary war. it was but the spark in the powder. the magazine was ready and primed, the explosion was inevitable, and the fight at lex- ington was the accidental incident which set fire to it. the efforts of american writers to conceal the true to the old flag. real facts of the case, to minimize the rebellious language, the violent acts of the colonists, and to make england responsible for the war because a body of troops were sent to seize cannon and mili- tary stores intended to be used against them are so absurd, as well as so untrue, that it is astonishing how wide a credence such statements have received. from an eminence at some distance from the line of retreat captain wilson and his son watched sor- rowfully the attack upon the british troops. when at last the combatants disappeared from sight through one of the defiles captain wilson turned his horse's head homeward. “the die is cast,” he said to his wife as she met him at the door. “the war has begun, and i fear it can have but one termination. the colonists can place forces in the field twenty times as numerous as any army that england can spare. they are in- ferior in drill and in discipline, but these things, which are of such vast consequence in a european battle-field, matter but little in such a country as this. skill with the rifle and knowledge of forest warfare are far more important. in these points the colonists are as superior to the english soldiers as they are in point of numbers. nevertheless, my dear, my duty is plain. i am an englishman and have borne his majesty's commission, and i must fight for the king. harold has spoken to me as we rode home together, and he wishes to fight by my side. i have pointed out to him that as he was born bere he can without dishonor remain neutral true to the old flag. in the struggle. he, however, insists that as a loyal subject of the king he is entitled to fight for him. he saw to-day many lads not older than himself in the rebel ranks, and he has pleaded strongly for permission to go with me. to this i have agreed. which would you prefer, mary--to stay quietly here, where i imagine you would not be molested on account of the part i take, or will you move into boston and stop with your relations there until the struggle has ended one way or the other ?” as mrs. wilson had frequently talked over with her husband the course that he would take in the event of civil war actually breaking out, the news that he would at once offer his services to the brit- ish authorities did not come as a shock upon her. even the question of harold accompanying his father had been talked over; and although her heart bled at the thought of husband and son being both engaged in such a struggle, she agreed to acquiesce in any decision that harold might arrive at. he was now nearly sixteen, and in the colonies a lad of this age is, in point of independence and self-reliance, older than an english boy. harold, too, had already shown that he possessed discretion and coolness as well as courage, and although now that the moment had come mrs. wilson wept pas- sionately at the thought of their leaving her, she ab- stained from saying any word to dissuade them from the course they had determined upon. when she recovered from her fit of crying she said that she would accompany them at once to boston, as in true to the old flag. the first place their duties might for some time lie in that city, and that in any case she would obtain far more speedy news there of what was going on throughout the country than she would at concord. she would, too, be living among her friends and would meet with many of the same convictions and opinions as her husband's, whereas in concord the whole population would be hostile. captain wilson said that there was no time to be lost, as the whole town was in a tumult. he there- fore advised her to pack up such necessary articles as could be carried in the valises on the horses' backs. pompey and the other servants were to pack up the most valuable effects and to forward them to a relation of mrs. wilson's who lired about three miles from boston. there they would be in safety and could be brought into the town if necessary. pompey and two other old servants were to remain in charge of the house and its contents. jake, an active young negro some twenty-three or twenty- four years old who was much attached to harold, whose personal attendant and companion he had always been, was to accompany them on horseback, as was judy, mrs. wilson's negro maid. as evening fell the five horses were brought round, and the party started by a long and circuitous route, by which, after riding for nearly forty miles, they reached boston at two o'clock next morning. true to the old flag. chapter v. bunker's hill. the excitement caused by the news of the fight at concord was intense, and as it spread through the colonies the men every where rushed to arms. the fray at lexington was represented as a wanton outrage, and the facts wholly ignored that the colonists concerned in it were drawn up in arms to oppose the passage of the king's troops, who were marching on their legitimate duty of seizing arms and ammunition collected for the purpose of warring against the king. the colonial orators and news- paper writers affirmed then, as they have affirmed since, that up to the day of lexington no one had a thought of firing a shot against the government. a more barefaced misstatement was never made. men do not carry off cannon by scores and ac- cumulate everywhere great stores of warlike am- munition without a thought of fighting. the colonists commenced the war by assembling in arms to oppose the progress of british troops obeying the orders of the government. it matters not a whit on which side the first shot was fired. american troops have many times since that event fired upon rioters in the streets, under circumstances no true to the old flag. stronger than those which brought on the fight at lexington. from all parts of new england the militia and volunteers poured in, and in three days after the fight twenty thousand armed men were encamped between the rivers mystic and roxburgh, thus besieging boston. they at once set to work throwing up formidable earth works, the english troops remaining within their intrenchments across the neck of land joining boston with the mainland. the streets of boston were crowded with an ex- cited populace when captain wilson and his party rode into it at two in the morning. no one thought of going to bed and all were excited to the last degree at the news of the battle. all sorts of reports prevailed. on the colonial side it was affirmed that the british in their retreat had shot down the women and children ; while the soldiers affirmed that the colonists had scalped many of their number who fell in the fight. the latter statement was officially made by lord percy in his report of the engagement. captain wilson rode direct to the house of his wife's friends. they were still up and were de lighted to see mary wilson, for such exaggerated reports had been received of the fight that they were alarmed for her safety. they belonged to the moderate party, who saw that there were faults on both sides and regretted bitterly both the obstinacy of the english parliament in attempting to coerce the colonists and the determination of the latter to true to the old flag. oppose by force of arms the legitimate rights of the mother country. until the morning the events of the preceding day were talked over; a few hours' repose were then taken, after which captain wilson went to the headquarters of general gage and offered bis services. although boston was the headquarters of the dis- affected party, no less than two hundred men came forward as volunteers in the king's service, and captain wilson was at once appointed to the com- mand of a company of fifty men. before leaving the army he had taken part in several expeditions against the indians, and his knowledge of forest warfare rendered him a valuable acquisition. boston was but poorly provisioned, and as upon the day when the news of lexington reached new york two vessels laden with flour for the use of the troops at boston were seized by the colonists and many other supplies cut off, the danger of the place being starved out was considerable. general gage therefore offered no opposition to the exit from the city of those who wished to avoid the horror of a siege, and a considerable portion of the population made their way through to the rebel lines. every day brought news of fresh risings throughout the country; the governors of the various provinces were powerless; small garrisons of english troops were disarmed and made prisoners; and the fortress of ticonderoga, held only by fifty men, was captured by the americans without resistance. in one month after the first shot was fired the whole of the american colonies were in rebellion. true to the old flag. the news was received in england with astonish- ment and sorrow. great concessions had been made by parliament, but the news had reached america too late to avoid hostilities. public opinion was divided; many were in favor of granting at once all that the colonists demanded, and many officers of rank and position resigned their com- missions rather than fight against the americans. the division, indeed, was almost as general and complete as it had been in the time of our own civil war. in london the feeling in favor of the colo- nists was strong, but in the country generally the determination to repress the rising was in the ascendant. the colonists had with great shrewd- ness dispatched a fast-sailing ship to europe upon the day following the battle of lexington, giving their account of the affair and representing it as a massacre of defenseless colonists by british troops; and the story thus told excited a sympathy which would not, perhaps, have been extended to them had the real facts of the case been known. repre- sentatives from all the colonists met at philadelphia to organize the national resistance, but as yet, although many of the bolder spirits spoke of alto- gether throwing off allegiance to england, no resolution was proposed to that effect. for the first six weeks after his arrival at boston captain wilson was engaged in drilling his com- pany. harold was, of course, attached to it, and entered with ardor upon his duties. captain wilson did not attempt to form his men into a band of true to the old flag. regular soldiers ; accuracy of movement and regu- larity of drill would be of little avail in the warfare in which they were likely to be engaged. accuracy in shooting, quickness in taking cover, and steadi- ness in carrying out any general orders were the principal objects to be attained. most of the men had already taken part in frontier warfare. the majority of them were gentlemen–englishmen who, like their captain, had come out from home and purchased small estates in the country. the dis- cipline, therefore, was not strict, and off duty all were on terms of equality. toward the end of may and beginning of june considerable reënforcements arrived from england, and, as a step preparatory to offensive measures, general gage on june issued a proclamation offer- ing in his majesty's name a free pardon to all who should forthwith lay down their arms, john han- cock and general adams only excepted, and threat- ening with punishment all who should delay to avail themselves of the offer. this proclamation had no effect whatever. near the peninsula of boston, on the north, and separated from it by the charles river, which is navigable and about the breadth of the thames at london bridge, is another neck of land called the peninsula of charlestown. on the north bank, opposite boston, lies the town of charlestown, be- hind which in the center of the peninsula rises an eminence called bunker's hill. bunker's hill is sufficiently high to overlook any part of boston and true to the old flag. near enough to be within cannon-shot. this hill was unoccupied by either party, and about this time the americans, hearing that general gage had come to a determination to fortify it, resolved to defeat bis resolution by being the first to occupy it. a bout nine in the evening of june a detach- ment from the colonial army, one thousand strong, under the command of colonel prescott, moved along the charlestown road and took up a position on a shoulder of bunker's hill, which was known as breed's hill, just above the town of charles- town. they reached this position at midnight. each man carried a pick and shovel, and all night they worked vigorously in intrenching the position. not a word was spoken, and the watch on board the men-of-war in the harbor were ignorant of what was going on so near at hand. at day break the alarm was given, and the lively opened a cannonade upon the redoubt. a battery of guns was placed on copp's hill, behind boston, distant twelve bun- dred yards from the works, and this also opened fire. the americans continued their work, throw. ing up fresh intrenchments, and singularly only one man was killed by the fire from the ships and redoubt. a breastwork was carried down the hill to the flat ground, which, intersected by fences, stretched away to the mystic. by nine o'clock they had completed their intrenchments. prescott sent off for reënforcements, but there was little harmony among the colonial troops. disputes between the contingents of the various true to the old flag. provinces were common; there was no head of sufficient authority to enforce his orders upon the whole; and a long delay took place before the reënforcements were sent forward. in the mean time the english had been preparing to attack the position. the fifth, thirty-eighth, forty-third, and fifty-second regiments, with ten companies of the grenadiers and ten of the light infantry, with a proportion of field-artillery, embarked in boats and, crossing the harbor, landed on the outward side of the peninsula near the mystic, with a view of outflanking the american position and surrounding them. the force was under the command of major-general howe, under whom was brigadier-general pigott. upon seeing the strength of the american posi- tion, general howe halted and sent back for further reënforcements. the americans improved the time thus given them by forming a breastwork in front of an old ditch. here there was a post-and-rail fence. they ran up another by the side of this and filled the space between the two with the new-mown hay, which, cut only the day before, lay thickly over the meadows. two battalions were sent across to reënforce howe, while large reënforcements, with six guns, arrived to the assistance of prescott. the english had now a force consisting, according to different authorities, of between two thousand and two thousand five hundred men. the colonial force is also variously estimated and had the advantage true to the old flag. both in position and in the protection of their intrenchments, while the british bad to march across open ground. as individual shots the col- onists were immensely superior, but the british had the advantages given by drill and discipline. the english lines advanced in good order, steadi- ly and slowly, the artillery covering them by their fire. presently the troops opened fire, but the dis- tance was too great and they did but little execu- tion. incumbered with their knapsacks they ascended the steep hill toward the redoubt with difficulty, covered as it was by grass reaching to their knees. the colonists did not fire a shot until the english line had reached a point about one hundred and fifty yards from the intrenchments. then prescott gave the order, and from the redoubt and the long line of intrenchments flanking it flashed a line of fire. each man had taken a steady aim with his rifle resting on the earth work before him, and so deadly was the fire that nearly the whole front line of the british fell. for ten minutes the rest stood with dogged courage firing at the hidden foe, but these, sheltered while they loaded and only exposing themselves momentarily while they raised their heads above the parapets to fire, did such deadly execution that the remnant of the british fell back to the foot of the hill. while this force, which was under the command of general pigott, had been engaged, another division under howe himself moved against the rail fence. the combat was a repetition of that true to the old flag. a bích had taken place on the hill. here the americans reserved their fire until the enemy were close; then, with their muskets resting on the rails, mrsllcrive plan of the action at bunkers hill, on the " of june . between his majesty's troops, under the command of major gen. howe and the american porc b . scale of yards .....royalists d ..... americans brindstile prawo dw asari do a falcon charles stown lively wullimi strand ra spart copps hi rodoubt & battery hva esgoto bogo boston brig they poured in a deadly fire, and after in vain try- ing to stand their ground the troops fell back to the shore. true to the old flag. captain wilson was standing with harold on copp's hill watching the engagement. “what beautiful order they go in !” harold said, looking admiringly at the long lines of red-coated soldiers. “it is very pretty,” captain wilson said sadly, “ and may do in regular warfare; but i tell you, harold, that sort of thing won't do here. there is scarce a man carrying a gun behind those intrench- ments who cannot with certainty hit a bull's-eye at one hundred and fifty yards. it is simply murder, taking the men up in regular order against such a foe sheltered by earthworks.” at this moment the long line of fire darted out from the american intrenchments. “look there !” captain wilson cried in a pained voice. “ the front line is nearly swept away! do you see them lying almost in an unbroken line on the hillside ? i tell you, harold, it is hopeless to look for success if we fight in this way. the brav- est men in the world could not stand such a fire as that.” “what will be done now ?” harold asked as the men stood huddled upon the shore. “ they will try again,” captain wilson said. “look at the officers running about among them and getting them into order.” in a quarter of an hour the british again advanced both toward the redoubt and the grass fence. as before the americans withheld their fire, and this time until the troops were far closer than before, lla se" the second advance at bunker's hill. - page . true to the old flag. and the result was even more disastrous. some of the grenadier and light infantry companies who led lost three-fourths, others nine-tenths of their men. again the british troops recoiled from that terrible fire. general howe and his officers exerted them- selves to the utmost to restore order when the troops again reached the shore, and the men gal- lantly replied to their exhortations. almost impos- sible as the task appeared, they prepared to under- take it for the third time. this time a small force only were directed to move against the grass fence, while the main body, under howe, were to attack the redoubt on the hill knapsacks were taken off and thrown down and each man nerved himself to conquer or die. the ships in the harbor prepared the way by opening a heavy cannonade. general clinton, who was watch- ing the battle from copp's hill, ran down to the shore, rowed across the harbor, and put himself at tbe head of two battalions. then with loud cheers the troops again sprang up the ascent. the ameri- can ammunition was running short, many of the men not having more than three or four rounds left, and this time they held their fire until the brit- ish troops were within twenty yards. these had not fired a shot, the order being that there was to be no pause, but that the redoubt was to be carried with the bayonet. for a moment they wavered wben the deadly volley was poured in upon them. then with a cheer they rusbed at the intrench- inents. all those who first mounted were shot true to the old flag. down by the defenders, but the troops would not be denied, and pouring over the earth works leaped down upon the enemy. for a few minutes there was a hand-to-hand fight, the americans using the butt ends of their muskets, the english their bayonets. the soldiers were ex- bausted with the climb up the hill and their exer- tions under a blazing sun, and the great majority of the defenders of the redoubt were therefore enabled to retreat unbarmed, as, fresh and active, they were able to outrun their tired opponents, and as the balls served out for the english field-pieces were too large, the artillery were unable to come into action. the colonists at the rail fence maintained their position against the small force sent against them till the main body at the redoubt had made their escape. the british were unable to continue the pursuit beyond the isthmus. in the whole history of the british army there is no record of a more gallant feat than the capture of bunker's hill, and few troops in the world would, after two bloody repulses, bave moved up the third time to assail such a position, defended by men so trained to the use of the rifle. ten hundred and fifty-four men, or nearly half their number, were killed and wounded, among whom were eighty-three officers. in few battles ever fought was the pro- portion of casualties to the number engaged so great. the americans fought bravely, but the ex- traordinary praise bestowed upon them for their valor appears misplaced. their position was one of true to the old flag. great strength, and the absence of drill was of no consequence whatever in such an engagement. they were perfectly sheltered from their enemy's fire wbile engaged in calmly shooting him down, and their loss up to the moment when the british rusbed among them was altogether insignificant. their casualties took place after the position was stormed and on their retreat along the peninsula, and amount- ed in all to one hundred and forty-five killed and captured and three hundred and four wounded. it may be said that both sides fought well, but from the circumstances under which they fought the highest credit is due to the victors. the battle, however, though won by the english, was a moral triumph for the americans, and the british parliament should at once have given up the contest. it was from the first absolutely certain that the americans, with their immense superiority in numbers, could, if they were only willing to fight, hold their vast country against the british troops, fighting with a base thousands of miles away. the battle of bunker's hill showed that they were so willing—that they could fight sternly and bravely : and this point once established, it was little short of madness for the english government to continue the contest. they had not even the ex- cuse of desiring to wipe out the dishonor of a de- feat. their soldiers had won a brilliant victory and had fought with a determination and valor never exceeded, and england could have afforded to say, “ we will fight no more. if you, the inhabitants of true to the old flag. a vast continent, are determined to go alone, are ready to give your lives rather than remain in con- nection with us, go and prosper. we acknowledge we cannot subdue a nation in arms.” from the height of copp's hill it could be seen that the british had suffered terribly. captain wilson was full of enthusiasm when he saw the suc- cess of the last gallant charge of the english sol- diers, but he said to harold : “it is a disastrous victory. a few such battles as these and the english army in america would cease to exist." but although they were aware that the losses were heavy they were not prepared for the truth. the long grass bad hidden from view many of those who fell, and when it was known that nearly half of those engaged were killed or wounded the feeling among the english was akin to consterna- tion. the generalship of the british was wholly un- worthy of the valor of the troops. there would have been no difficulty in placing some of the ves- sels of light draught so far up the mystic as to out- flank the intrenchments held by the colonists. indeed, the british troops might have been landed further up the mystic, in which case the americans must have retreated instantly to avoid capture. lastly, the troops, although fighting within a mile of their quarters, were incumbered with three days' provisions, and their knapsacks, constituting, with their muskets and ammunition, a load of one hun- true to the old flag. dred and twenty-five pounds. this was indeed heavily handicapping men wbo bad, under a blazing sun, to climb a steep hill, with grass reaching to their knees and intersected by walls and fences. american writers describe the defenders of the position as inferior in numbers to the assailants, but it is due to the english to say that their estimate of the number of the defenders of the intrenchments differs very widely from this. general gage esti- mated them as being fully three times as numerous as the british troops. it is probable that the truth lies between the two accounts. captain wilson returned with harold greatly dis- pirited to his house. “ the lookout is dreadfully bad,” he said to his wife after describing the events of the day. “ so far as i can see there are but two alternatives—either peace or a long and destructive war with failure at its end. it is even more hopeless trying to conquer a vast country like this, defended by irregulars, than if we had a trained and disciplined army to deal with. in that case two or three signal victories might bring the war to a conclusion ; but fighting with irregulars a victory means nothing beyond so many of the enemy killed. there are scarcely any cannon to take, no stores or magazines to capture. when the enemy is beaten be disperses, moves off, and in a couple of days gathers again in a fresh position. the work has no end. there are no fort. resses to take, no strategical positions to occupy, no great roads to cut. the enemy can march any- . true to the old flag. where, attack and disperse as he chooses, scatter, and re-form when you have passed by. it is like fighting the wind.” “well, john, since it seems so hopeless, cannot you give it up? is it too late ?" “ altogether too late, mary, and if i were free to-morrow i would volunteer my services again next day. it is not any the less my duty to fight in my country's cause because i believe the cause to be a losing one. you must see that yourself, dear. if england had been sure to win without my aid i might have stood aloof. it is because every one's help is needed that such services as i can render are due to her. a country would be in a bad way whose sons were only ready to fight when their suc- cess was a certainty.” the congress determined now to detach canada from the english side and prepared a force for the invasion of that colony, where the british had but few regular troops. captain wilson was one morning summoned to headquarters. on his return he called together four or five of the men best acquainted with the coun- try. these had been in their early days hunters or border scouts and knew every foot of the forest and lakes. “i have just seen the general,” captain wilson said. “a royalist brought in news last night that the rebels are raising a force intended to act against montreal. they reckon upon being joined by a considerable portion of the canadians, among whom true to the old flag. there is, unfortunately, a good deal of discontent. we have but two regiments in the whole colony. one of these is at quebec. the rebels, therefore, will get the advantage of surprise, and may raise the colony before we are in a condition to resist. general howe asked me to take my company through the woods straight to montreal. we should be landed a few miles up the coast at night. i suppose some of you know the country well enough to be able to guide us.” several of the men expressed their ability to act as guides. “i've fought the injuns through them woods over and over again,” said one of them, a sinewy, weath- er-beaten man of some sixty years old, who was known as peter lambton. he had for many years been a scout attached to the army and was one of the most experienced hunters on the frontier. he was a tall, angular man, except that he stooped slightly, the result of a habit of walking with the head bent forward in the attitude of listening. the years which had passed over him bad had no effect upon his figure. he walked with a long, noiseless tread, like that of an indian, and was one of the men attached to his company in whom, wisely, captain wilson had made no attempt to instil the very rudiments of drill. it was, the captain thought, well that the younger men should have such a knowledge of drill as would enable them to perform simple maneuvers, but the old hunters would fight in their own way, a way infinitely better adapted true to the old flag. for forest warfare than any that he could teach them. peter and some of his companions were in receipt of small pensions, which had been bestowed upon them for their services with the troops. men of this kind were not likely to take any lively in- terest in the squabbles as to questions of taxation, but when they found that it was coming to fighting they again offered their services to the government as a matter of course. some were attached to the regular troops as scouts, while others were divided among the newly raised companies of loyalists. peter lambton had for the last four years been settled at concord. during the war with the french he had served as a scout with the regiment to which captain wilson belonged, and bad saved that officer's life when with a portion of his com- pany he was surrounded and cut off by hostile indians. a strong feeling of friendship had sprung up between them, and when, four years before, there had been a lull in the english fighting on the frontier, peter had retired on his pension and the savings which he had made during his many years' work as a bunter, and had located himself in a cot- tage on captain wilson's estate. it was the many tales told him by the hunter of his experiences in indian warfare that had fired harold with a desire for the life of a frontier hunter, and had given him such a knowledge of forest life as had enabled him to throw off the indians from his trail. on harold's return the old hunter bad listened with ex- treme interest to the story of his adventures and true to the old flag. had taken great pride in the manner in which he bad utilized his teachings. peter made bis appear- ance in the city three days after the arrival of cap- tain wilson there. “i look upon this here affair as a favorable occur- rence for harold,” he said to captain wilson. “ the boy has lots of spirits, but if it had not been for this he might have grown up a regular town greenhorn, fit for nothing but to walk about in a long coat and to talk pleasant to women; but this'll jest be the making of him. with your permission, cap, i'll take him under my charge and teach him to use his eyes and his ears, and i reckon he'll turn out as good an injun fighter as you'll see on the frontier." “but it is not indians that we are going to fight, peter," captain wilson said. “i heartily wish it was." “it'll be the same thing," peter said ; “not here, in course; there'll be battles between the regulars and the colonists, regular battles like that at quebec, where both parties was fools enough to march about in the open and get shot down by hundreds. i don't call that fighting ; that's jest killing, and there ain't no more sense in it than in two herd of buffalo charging each other on the prairie. but there'll be plenty of real fighting—. expeditions in the woods and injun skirmishes, for you'll be sure that the injuns'll join in, some on one side and some on the other; it ain't in their nature to sit still in their villages while powder's true to the old flag. being burned. a few months of this work will make a man of him, and he might have a worse teacher than peter lambton. you jest hand him over to my care, cap, and i'll teach him all i know of the ways of the woods, and i tell yer there ain't no better kind of edication for a young fellow. he larns to use the senses god has given him, to keep his head when another man would lose his presence of mind, to have the eye of a hawk and the ear of a hound, to get so that he scarcely knows what it is to be tired or hungry, to be able to live while other inen would starve, to read the signs of the woods like a printed book, and to be in every way a man and not a tailor's figure.” • there is a great deal in what you say, old friend,” captain wilson answered, “and such a training cannot but do a man good. i wish with all my heart that it had been entirely with red foes that the fighting was to be done. however, that cannot be helped, and as he is to fight he could not be in better hands than yours. so long as we re- main here i shall teach him what drill i can with the rest of the company, but when we leave this town and the work really begins i shall put him in your charge to learn the duties of a scout.” the young negro, jake, had also enlisted, for throughout the war the negroes fought on both sides, according to the politics of their masters. there were only two other negroes in the company, and captain wilson had some hesitation in enlisting them, but they made good soldiers. in the case of true to the old flag. jake, captain wilson knew that he was influenced in bis wish to join solely by his affection for harold, and the lad's father felt that in the moment of danger the negro would be ready to lay down his life for him. there was great satisfaction in the band 'when they received news that they were at last about to take the field. the long inaction had been most wearisome to them, and they knew that any fight- ing that would take place round boston would be done by the regular troops. food, too, was very scarce in town, and they were heartily weary of the regular drill and discipline. they were, then, in bigh spirits as they embarked on board the thetis sloop-of-war and sailed from boston harbor. it was a pitiful parting between mrs. wilson and her husband and son. it had been arranged that she should sail for england in a ship that was leav- ing in the following week and should there stay with her husband's family, from whom she had a warm invitation to make their home her own until the war was over. the thetis ran out to sea. as soon as night fell her bow was turned to land again, and about mid- night the anchor was let fall near the shore some twenty miles north of boston. the landing was quickly effected, and with three days' provisions in their knapsacks the little party started on their march. one of the scouts who had come from tbat neighborhood led them by paths which avoided all true to the old flag. villages and farms. at day break they bivouacked in a wood and at nightfall resumed the march. by the next morning they had left the settlements be- bind and entered a belt of swamp and forest ex- tending west to the st. lawrence. true to the old flag. chapter vi. scouting. a party of six men were seated around a fire in the forest which covered the slopes of the northern shore of lake champlain. the spot had been chosen because a great tree had fallen, bringing down several others in its course, and opening a vista through which a view could be obtained of the surface of the lake. the party consisted of peter lambton, harold, jake, ephraim potter, another old frontiersman, and two indians. the company under captain wilson bad made its way safely to the st. lawrence after undergoing considerable hardships in the forest. they had been obliged to depend entirely on what game they could shoot and such fish as they could catch in the rivers whose course they followed. they had, however, reached montreal without loss, and there they found that general carleton had in all about five hundred regulars and about two hundred volunteers who had recently been engaged. it was clear that if the people of canada were as hostile to the connection with england as were those of the other colonies, the little force at the disposal of the english general could do nothing to rom true to the old flag. defend the colony against the strong force wbich the americans were collecting for its invasion. fortunately this was not the case. although the canadians were of french descent and the province had been wrested by arms from france, they for the most part preferred being under english rule to joining the insurgent colonies. they had been in no way oppressed by england, their property bad been respected, and above all things no attempt had ever been made to interfere with their religion. in the new england provinces the hard puritan spirit of the early fathers had never ceased to prevail. those who had fled from england to obtain freedom of worship had been intolerant persecutors of all religion different from their own. the consequence was that the priests of canada were wholly opposed to any idea of union with the insurgent colonists. their influence over the people was great, and although these still objected to the english rule and would have readily taken up arms against it under other circumstances, they had too little sympathy with the new englanders to join in their movement, which, if successful, would have placed canada under the rule of the united states instead of that of england. the upper classes of canadians were almost to a man loyal to the english connection. they had been well treated and enjoyed a greater state of in- dependence than had been the case under french rule. moreover, they were for the most part de- scended from old french families, and their sympa- true to the old flag. thies were entirely opposed to popular insurrection. thus when captain wilson and his party reached montreal they found that, in spite of the paucity of english troops under the command of general carleton, the position was not so bad as had been feared by general gage. it was possible, and in deed probable, that upper canada might fall into the hands of the americans, and that even quebec itself might be captured ; but unless the people joined the americans the success of the latter would be but temporary. with the spring the navigation of the river would be open and reënforcements would arrive from england. the invaders would then be at a disadvantage. separated from home by a wide tract of forest-covered country, they would have the greatest difficulty in transporting artillery, ammunition, and stores, and fighting as an army in invasion they would be placed in a very different position to that occupied by the colonists fighting on their own ground. it was probable that for a time the tide of invasion would succeed. the indians of the five nations, as those dwell- ing near the british frontier at this point were called, had volunteered their services to the gen- eral to cross the frontier to recapture ticon- deroga and crown point, which had been seized by the americans, and to carry the war into the colonies. but general carleton, an exceedingly humane and kind-hearted man, shrank from the horrors that such a warfare would entail upon the colonists. he accepted the services of the indians true to the old flag. as far as the absolute defense of canada from in. vasion, but refused to allow them to cross the frontier. on the arrival of captain wilson with his little force he was ordered to march at once to the fort of st. john's, which was held by a party of regular troops. on arriving at that place the two scouts had been sent down toward lake champlain to watch the proceedings of the enemy. harold had obtained leave from his father to accompany the scouts, and jake had been permitted to form one of the party. peter lambton had grumbled a little at this last addition to the number he knew jake's affection for his young master, and the great strength of the negro would have rendered him useful in a band-to- hand fight, but he was altogether unaccustomed to forest work, and his habit of bursting into fits of laughter on the smallest provocation, as is the manner of his race, enraged the scout to the last degree. indeed, he had not left the fort above an hour when he turned savagely on the negro. “ look-ee here,” he said, “if that's the way ye're a-going on, the sooner ye turns yer face and tramps back to the fort the better. when you were at concord it done no harm to make as much noise as a jackass braying whenever you opened that mouth of yours, but it won't do in the forests. it would cost us our har and your wool ef yer were to make that noise with the enemy anywhere within fifteen miles of yer. i ain't a-going, if i knows it, to risk true to the old flag. my sculp on such a venture as this, still less i ain't a going to see this young chap's life thrown away. his father hez put him in my charge, and i ain't a-going to see him sacrificed in no such way. so ye've got to make up yer mind; yer have got to keep that mouth of yours shut tight or yer've got to tramp back to the fort.”. jake gave many promises of silence, and although at first he often raised his voice to a point far ex- ceeding that considered by the hunters safe in the woods, he was each time checked by such a savage growl on the part of peter or by a punch in the ribs from harold that he quickly fell into the ways of the others and never spoke above a loud whisper. at a short distance from the fort they were joined by the two indians, who were also out on a scouting expedition on their own account. they had pre- viously been well known both to peter and ephraim. they were warriors of the seneca tribe, one of the five nations. they had now been for two days on the north shore of lake champlain. they were sitting round a fire eating a portion of a deer which had been shot by harold that morning. so far they had seen nothing of the enemy. they knew that three thousand men, under schuyler and montgomery, had marched to the other end of the lake. the colonists had been sending proclamations across the frontier to the inhabitants, saying that they were coming as friends to free them from the yoke of true to the old flag. england and calling upon them to arise and strike for freedom. they were also in negotiation with some of the chiefs of the five nations and with other indian tribes to induce them to join with them. “i propose,” peter said when the meal was fin- ished and he had lighted his pipe, "to go down the lake and see what they're doing. deer tail here tells me that he knows where there's a canoe. he, harold, and me will go and reconnoiter a bit; the other three had best wait here till we comes back with news. in course, chief,” he continued to the other indian, after explaining to him in his own language what he intended to do, you'll be guided by circumstances--you can see a long way down the lake, and ef anything should lead you to think that we're in trouble, you can take such steps as may seem best to you. it's mighty little i should think of the crowd of colonists ; but ef, as you say, a number of the ivarriors of the five nations, indig- nant at the rejection of their offers by the english general, have gone down and joined the colonists, it'll be a different affair altogether.” the elk, as the second seneca chief was called, nodded his assent. in a few words peter told har- old what had been arranged. jake looked down- cast when he heard that he was not to accompany his master, but as he saw the latter had since leav- ing the fort obeyed without questioning every sug- gestion of the scout, he offered no remonstrance. a quarter of an hour later peter rose, deer tail true to the old flag. followed his example, and harold at once took up his rifle and feli in in their steps. there was but little talk in the woods, and the matter having been settled, it did not enter the mind either of peter or of the indian to say a word of adieu to their com- rades. harold imitated their example, but gave a · nod and a smile to jake as he started. half an hour's tramp took them to the shore of the lake. here they halted for a minute while the indians closely examined the locality. with the wonderful power of making their way straight through the forest to the required spot, which seems to be almost an instinct among indians, deer tail had struck the lake within two hundred yards of the point which he aimed at. he led the way along the shore until he came to a spot where a great maple had fallen into the lake; here he turned into the forest again, and in fifty yards came to a clump of bushes; these he pushed aside and pointed to a canoe which was lying hidden among them. peter joined him, the two lifted the boat out, placed it on their shoulders, and carried it to the lake. there were three paddles in it. peter motioned harold to take his place in the stern and steer, while he and the indian knelt forward and put their paddles in the water. “keep her along on the right shore of the lake, about fifty yards from the trees. there's no fear of any one lurking about near this end." the canoe was light and well made and darted quickly over the water under the strokes of the two true to the old flag. paddlers. it was late in the afternoon when they started, and before they had gone many miles dark- ness had fallen. the canoe was run in close to shore, where she lay in the shadow of the trees until morning. just as the sun rose the redskin and peter simultaneously dipped their paddles in the water and sent the canoe under the arches of the trees. they had at the same instant caught sight of four canoes making their way along the lake. “them's injuns,” peter whispered. “they're scouting to see if the lake's free. if the general could have got a couple of gunboats up the sorrel the enemy could never have crossed the lake, and it would have given them a month's work to take their guns round it. it's lucky we were well under the trees or we should have been seen. wbat bad we best do, deer tail ?” for two or three minutes the scouts conversed together in the indian tongue. “the seneca agrees with me,” peter said. “it's like enough there are injuns scouting along both shores. we must lay up here till nightfall. ef we're seen they'd signal by smoke, and we should have them canoes back again in no time. by their coming i expect the expedition is starting, but it won't do to go back without being sure of it.” the canoe was paddled to a spot where the bushes grew thickly by the bank. it was pushed among these, and the three, after eating some cooked deer's flesh which they had brought with them, prepared to pass the day. true to the old flag. “the seneca and i'll keep watch by turns,” the scout said. “we'll wake you if we want ye.” harold was by this time sufficiently accustomed to the ways of the woods to obey orders at once without offering to take his turn at watching, as his inclination led him to do, and he was soon sound asleep. it was late in the afternoon when he was awoke by the scout touching him. “theres' some critters coming along the bank,” he said in a whisper. “they ain't likely to see us, but it's best to be ready.” harold sat up in the canoe, rifle in hand, and listening intently heard a slight sound such as would be produced by the snapping of a twig. presently he heard upon the other side of the bushes, a few yards distant, a few low words in the indian tongue. he looked at his companions. they were sitting immovable, each with his rifle directed toward the sound, and harold thought it would fare badly with any of the passers if they happened to take a fancy to peer through the bushes. the indians had, however, no reason for supposing that there were any enemies upon the lake, and they consequently passed on without examining more closely the thicket by the shore. not until it was perfectly dark did peter give the sign for the continuance of the journey. this time, instead of skirting the lake, the canoe was steered out toward its center. for some time they paddled, and then several lights were seen from ahead. “ i thought so, the scout said. “they've crossed true to the old flag. to the isle la motte and they're making as many fires as if they war having a sort of picnic at home. we must wait till they burns out, for we daren't go near the place with the water lit up for two or three hundred yards round. it won't be long, for i reckon it must be past eleven o'clock now.” the fires were soon seen to burn down. the paddles were dipped in the water and the canoe approached the island. “i'd give something," peter said, “to know whether there's any redskins there. ef there are, our chance of landing without being seen ain't worth talking of; ef there ain't we might land a hull fleet; at any rate we must risk it. now, harold, the chief and me'll land and find out how many men there are here, and ef we can how long they're likely to stop. you keep the canoe about ten yards from shore, in the shadow of the trees, and be ready to move close the instant you hear my call. i'll jest give the croak of a frog. the instant we get in you paddle off without a word. ef ye hears any shouts and judges as how we've been seen, ye must jest act upon the best of yer judgment." the boat glided noiselessly up to the shore. all was still there, the encampment being at the other side of the island. the two scoats, red and white, stepped noiselessly on to the land. harold backed the canoe a few paces with a quick stroke upon the paddle, and seeing close to him a spot where a long branch of a tree dipped into the water, he guided true to the old flag. the canoe among the foliage and there sat without movement, listening almost breathlessly. ere many minutes had elapsed he heard footsteps coming along the shore. they stopped when near him. three or four minutes passed without the slightest sound, and then a voice said, in tones which the speaker had evidently tried to lower, but which were distinctly audible in the canoe : “i tell yer, redskin, it seems to me as how you've brought us here on a fool's errand. i don't see no signs of a canoe, and it ain't likely that the british would be along the lake here, seeing as how there's a score of canoes with your people in them scouting ahead.” “i beard canoe,” another voice said, “first at other end of the island and then coming along here." “ and ef yer did,” the first speaker said, “ likely enough it was one of the canoes of your people.” “ no," the indian answered. “if canoe come back with news would have come straight to fires." “well, it ain't here, anyway,” the first speaker said, “and i don't believe yer ever heard a canoe at all. it's enough to make a man swear to be called up jest as we were making ourselves comfortable for the night on account of an injun's fancies. i wonder at the general's listening to them. how- ever, we've got our orders to go round the island and see ef there's ariy canve on either shore; so we'd better be moving, else we shall not get to sleep be- fore morning.” true to the old flag. harold held his breath as the group passed opposite to him. fortunately the trunk of the tree grew from the very edge of the water, and there were several bushes growing round it, so that at this point the men had to make a slight détour in- land. harold felt thankful indeed that he had taken the precaution of laying his canoe among the thick foliage, for although the night was dark it would have been instantly seen had it been lying on the surface of the lake. even as it was, a close in- spection might have detected it, but the eyes of the party were fixed on the shore, as it was there, if at all, that they expected to find an empty canoe lying harold was uneasy at the discovery that there were still some redskins on the island. it was pos- sible, of course, that the one he had heard might be alone as a scout, but it was more likely that others of the tribe were also there. after landing, peter and the seneca made their way across the island to the side facing the ameri- can shore. creeping cautiously along, they found a large number of flat-bottomed boats, in which the americans had crossed from the mainland, and which were, peter thought, capable of carrying two thousand men. they now made their way toward the spot where the forces were encamped. the fires had burned low, but round a few of them men were still sitting and talking. motioning to the seneca to remain quiet, peter sauntered cautiously out on to the clearing where the camp was formed. true to the old flag. he had little fear of detection, for he wore no uni- form, and his bunter's dress afforded no index to the party to which he was attached. a great portion of the americans were still in their ordinary attire, it having been impossible to furnish uniforms for so great a number of men as had been suddenly called to arms throughout tbe colonies. from the arbors of boughs which had been erected in all directions, be judged tbat the force had been already some days upon the island. but large numbers of men were sleeping in the open air, and picking his way cautiously among them, he threw himself down at a short distance from one of the fires by which three or four men were sitting. for some time they talked of camp matters, the shortness of food, and want of provisions. “it is bad here," one said presently; "it will be worse when we move forward. schuyler will be here to-morrow with the rest of the army, and we are to move down to isle-aux-noix, at the end of the lake, and i suppose we shall land at once and march against st. john's. there are only a couple of hundred britishers there, and we shall make short work of them.” “ the sooner the better, i say,” another speaker remarked “i am ready enough to fight, but i hate all this waiting about. i want to get back to my farm again.” “you are in a hurry, you are,” the other said. “ you don't suppose we are going to take canada true to the old flag. in a week's time, do you? even if the canadians join us, and by what i hear that ain't so sartin after all, we shall have to march down to quebec, and that's no child's play. i know the country there. it is now september . another month and the winter will be upon us, and a canadian winter is no joke, i can tell you.” “the inore reason for not wasting any more time,” the other one grumbled. “if montgomery had his way we should go at them quickly enough, but schuyler is always delaying. he has kept us waiting now since the th of last month. we might have been half-way to quebec by this time.” “yes,” the other said, if the britishers had run away as we came; but we have got st. john's and fort chamblée to deal with, and they may hold out some time. however, the sooner we begin the job the sooner it will be over, and i am heartily glad that we move to-morrow.” peter had now obtained the information he re- quired, and rising to his feet again, with a grum- bling remark as to the hardness of the ground, he sauntered a way toward the spot where he had left the indian. just as he did so a tall figure came out from an arbor close by. a fire was burning just in front, and peter saw that he was a tall and hand- some man of about forty years of age. he guessed at once that he was in the presence of the colonial leader. “ you are, like myself,” the new-comer said, “unable to sleep, i suppose ?" true to the old flag. “ yes, general,” peter answered. “i found i could not get off, and so i thought i'd stretch my legs in the wood a bit. they're lying so tarnal thick down there by the fires, one can't move with- out treading on 'em.” “ which regiment do you belong to ?" “ the connecticut,” peter replied, for he knew by report that a regiment from this province formed part of the expedition. “as good men as any i have," the general said cordially. “their only fault is that they are in too great a hurry to attack the enemy." “i agree with the rest, general," peter said. it's dull work wasting our time here when we're wanted at home. i enlisted for six months, and the sooner the time's up the better, say i.” “ you have heard nothing moving ?” the general asked. “ one of the chippe was told me tbat he heard a canoe out in the lake. ah! here he is.” at that moment five or six men, headed by an indian, issued from the wood close by. it was too late for peter to try to withdraw, but he stepped aside a pace or two as the party approached. “ well, have you found anything ?” the general asked. “no finá," the unippeiva said shortly. “i don't believe as there ever was a canoe there,” the man who followed him said. “it was jest a fancy of the injun's.” “no fancy,” the indian asserted angrily. “canoe there. no find.” true to the old flag. “ it might have been one of our own canoes,” montgomery said in a conciliatory tone. “ the in- dians are seldoin mistaken. still, if no one has landed it matters not either way.” “only as we have had a tramp for nothing,” the colonist said. “ however, there's time for a sleep yet. hullo!” he exclaimed as his eye fell on peter lambton. “what, peter! why, how did you get here? why, i thought as how-general,” he ex- claimed, sharply turning to montgomery,“ this man lives close to me at concord. he's a royalist, he is, and went into boston and joined the corps they got up there.” “seize him !” montgomery shouted, but it was too late. as the man had turned to speak to the general peter darted into the wood. the chippewa, with- out waiting to hear the statement.of the colonist, at once divined the state of things, and uttering his war-whoop dashed after the fugitive. two or three of the colonists instantly followed, and a inoment later three or four indians who had been lying on the ground leaped up and darted like phantoms into the wood. the general no sooner grasped the facts than he shouted an order for pursuit, and a number of the men most accustomed to frontier work at once fol- lowed the first party of pursuers. others would have done the same, but montgomery shouted that no more should go, as they would only be in the others' way, and there could not be more than two or three spies on the island. true to the old flag. after the chippewa's first war-cry there was si- lence for the space of a minute in the forest. then came a wild scream, mingled with another indian yell; a moment later the leading pursuers came upon the body of the chippewa. his skull had been cleft with a tomahawk and the scalp was gone. as they were clustered round the body two or three of the indians ran up. they raised the indian wail as they saw their comrade and with the rest took up pursuit. peter and the seneca were now far among the trees, and as their pursuers had nothing to guide them, they reached the spot where they had left the canoe unmolested. on the signal being given, harold instantly pad- dled to the shore. not a word was spoken until the canoe was well out in the lake. occasional shots were heard on shore as the pursuers fired at objects which they thought were men. presently a loud indian cry rose from the shore. “they see us,” peter said. “we're out of shot and can take it easy.” the redskin said a few words. “you're right, chief. the chief says," he explained to harold, “ that as there are redskins on the island they have probably some canves. the moon's jest getting up beyond that hill, and it'll be light enough to see us half across the lake. it would not matter if the water was free; but what with injuns prowling along the shores and out on the lake, we shall have to use our wits to save our true to the old flag. har. look !” he exclaimed two or three minutes later as two columns of bright flame at a short dis- tance from them shot up at the end of the island. “they're injun signals. as far as they can be seen injuns will know that there are enemies on the lake. now, paddle your hardest, harold, and do you, chief, keep your eyes and your ears open for sights and sounds." under the steady strokes of the three paddles the bark canoe sped rapidly over the water. when the moon was fairly above the edge of the hill they balted for a moment and looked back. the two columns of fire still blazed brightly on the island, which was now three miles astern, and two dark spots could be seen on the water about half-way be- tween them and it. “you can paddle, my lads,” peter lambton said to the distant foes, “but you'll never ketch us. i wouldn't heed you if it weren't for the other varmint ahead.” he stood up in the canoe and looked anxiously over the lake. “it's all clear as far as i can see at present,” he said. “ can't we land. peter, and make our way back on foot ?" “bless you,” peter said, “there ain't a native along the shore there but has got his eye on this canoe. we might as well take her straight back to the island as try to land. better; for we should get a few hours before they tried and shot us there, true to the old flag. while the injuns would not give us a minute. no, we must just keep to the water; and now paddle on again, but take it quietly. it's no odds to let them varmints behind gain on us a little. you needn't think about them. when the danger comes we shall want every ounce of our strength.” for balf an hour they paddled steadily on. the pursuing canoes were now less than a mile behind them. “i'd give a good deal," muttered the scout, “ for • a few black clouds over the moon; we'd make for shore then and risk it. it will be getting daylight before long. ab !” he exclaimed, pausing suddenly as the chief stopped rowing, “a canoe on each side is rowing out to cut us off.” harold was now paddling forward, while the scout had the place at the stern. the former was surprised to feel the canoe shooting off from its former course at right angles toward the shore; then, curving still more round, they began to paddle back along the lake. the canoes which had been pursuing them were nearly abreast of each other. they had embarked from opposite sides of the island, but they had been gradually drawing together, although still some distance apart, when peter tnrned his canoe. see- ing his maneuver, both turned to head him off, but by so doing they occupied an entirely different position in relation to each other, one canoe being nearly half a mile nearer to them than the other. “take it easy,” peter said. “these varmints will true to the old flag. cut us off and we've got to fight, but we can cripple the one nearest to us before the other comes up.” the boats were now darting over the water in a line which promised to bring the leading canoe almost in collision with that of peter. when with- - in two bundred yards of each other peter ceased rowing. “now,” he said, “harold, see if you can pick one of them fellows off. it's no easy matter, traveling · at the pace they are. you fire first." harold took a steady aim and fired. a yell of derision told that he had missed. the indians stopped paddling. there was a flash and a ball struck the canoe. at the same moment peter fired. “ there's one down !” he exclaimed. the seneca fired, but without result; and the three unwounded indians in the canoe—for it had contained four men—replied with a volley. harold felt a burning sensation, as if a hot iron passed across his arm. “ hit, boy ?” peter asked anxiously as he gave a short exclamation. “nothing to speak of,” harold replied. “ the varmints are lying by waiting for the other canoe. paddle straight at 'em." the indians at once turned the boat and paddled to meet their companions, who were fast approach- ing. “now," peter exclaimed, “we've got 'em in a line—a steady aim this time.” the three rifles spoke out; one of the indians fell in true to the old flag. into the boat and the paddle of another was struck from his grasp. “now,” the scout shouted," paddle away. we've got 'em all fairly behind us.” day broke just as they were again abreast of the island. one canoe was following closely, two others were a mile and a half behind, while the one with which they had been engaged had made for the shore. “what do you mean to do?" harold asked peter. “i mean to run as close as i can round the end of the island, and then make for the place where they must have embarked on the mainland. they may have seen the signal fires there, but will not know what has been going on. so now row your best. we must leave the others as far behind as possible.” for the first time since they started the three paddlers exerted themselves to the utmost. they had little fear that there were any more canoes on the island, for had there been they would have joined in the chase. it was only necessary to keep so far from the end of the island as would take them out of reach of the fire. several shots were dis- charged as they passed, but these fell short as the canoe shot along at its highest rate of speed, every stroke taking it further from its nearest pursuer. at the end of an hour's paddling this canoe was a mile and a half behind. its rowers had apparently somewhat abated their speed in order to allow the true to the old flag. other two boats to draw up to them, for the result of the encounter between their comrades and the fugitives had not been of a nature to encourage them to undertake a single-handed contest with them. true to the old flag. chapter vii. in the forest. see, peter!” harold exclaimed; “there is a whole fleet of boats ahead.” “i sees 'em," peter said, “and have seed 'em for the last quarter of an hour. it's schuyler with the rest of wbat they calls their army. steer a little out of the course; we must pass close by 'em. they won't suspect nothing wrong and will suppose we are merely carrying a message.” in half an hour they were abreast of the flotilla, consisting of flatboats laden with troops. with them were two or three indian canoes. peter steered so as to pass at a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. they rowed less strongly now, but still vigorously. there was a shout from the boat. “all well on the island ?” “all well," peter shouted back, waving his band, and without further word the canoe passed on. “ there! do you hear that ?" peter exclaimed. “ they're firing shots from the canoes to call their attention. the chances are they won't hear them, for the rattle of their oars and the talking and the row they're making are enough to drown the sound true to the old flag. of a cannon. now put it on again as hard as you can. another hour will take us to the landing- place.” they could see when the flotilla came up to the pursuing boats that the canoes which accompanied it turned their heads and joined in the pursuit, but they were now near three miles ahead and there was no chance whatever of their being overtaken. they slackened their speed slightly as they ap- proached the land, and rowed up to the landing- place without any signs of extraordinary haste. a few men were loitering about. “ what's the news from the island ?” one asked as they landed. “ all well tbere,” peter said. “ did you see anything of schuyler ?” “yes, we met him about half-way across." “what have you come for ?” “general montgomery says that no spare flints have been sent over for the firelocks.” “i'll swear that some went,” one of the men ex- claimed, “ for i packed a sack of them myself in one of the boats.” “i s'pose they have been mislaid," peter said. “perhaps some of the stores have got heaped over 'em. ef you are quite sartin, we have had our journey for nothing." “as sartin as life,” the man replied. “i'll swear to the sackful of flints; and tarnation heavy they was too.” “ well, then, i need not trouble about it further," true to the old flag. peter said. “we'll take a rest and paddle back in an hour or two. was there any marks on the sack, so as i may tell the general how to look for it ??? “ marks!" the man repeated. “why, it bad *flints' written on it in big black letters six inches long. it must turn up, anyhow. they'll find it when they come to shift the stores." then, accompanied by his two companions, peter strolled quietly through the little village. stop- ping at a small store, he purchased some flour and tea; then he followed the road inland and was soon out of sight of the village; he stopped for a moment and then shook his head. “it's no use trying to hide our trail here,” he said. “the road's an inch thick in dust, and do what we will they'll be able to see where we turn off. it's our legs as we have got to trust to for a bit. we've got a good half-hour's start of the canoes; they were a long three miles behind when we struck the shore.” leaving the road, he led the way with a long, swinging stride across tue cultivated land. twenty minutes' walk took them into the forest, which ex- tended from the shore of the lake many miles in- land. “ take off your boots, harold,” he said as he entered the wood. “them heels will leave marks that a redskin could pick up at a run. now tread, as near as you can, in the exact spot where the seneca has trodden before you. he'll follow in my track, and you may be sure that i'll choose the true to the old flag. hardest bits of ground i can come across. there, the varmints are on shore !”. as he spoke an angry yell rose from the distant village. at a long, steady pace, which taxed to the utmost harold's powers as a walker, they kept their way through the woods, not pursuing a straight course, but turning, winding, and zigzagging every few minutes. harold could not but feel impatient at what seemed to him such a loss of time, especially when a yell from the edge of the wood told that the indians bad traced them thus far-showed, too, that they were far nearer than before. but, as peter afterward explained to him, all this turning and winding made it necessary for the indians to follow every step, as they would an animal, to guess the direction they had taken. the weather had been dry and the ground was hard ; therefore the most experienced trapper would be obliged to pro- ceed very slowly on the trail and would frequently be for a time at fault; wbereas had they continued in a straight line the indians could have followed i at a run, contenting themselves with seeing the trail here and there. they came across two or three little streams running down toward the lake. these they followed, in some cases up, in others down, for a considerable distance, leaving the bed where the bushes grew thick and hid the marks of their feet as they stepped out from the water. harold would gladly have gone at a run, but peter never quickened his pace. he knew that the in- dians could not pick up the trail at a rate faster true to the old flag. , than that at which they were going, and that great delay would be caused at each of the little streams, as it would be uncertain whether they had passed up or down. as the time passed the indian yells, which bad, when they first entered the wood, sounded so alarm- ingly near, died away, and a perfect stillness reigned in the forest. it was late in the afternoon before peter halted. “we can rest now,” he said. “it'll be hours be- fore the critters can be here. now let us have some tea." he began to look for some dried sticks. harold offered to assist. “ you sit down," the scout said. “a nice sort of fire we should get with sticks of your picking up! why, we should have a smoke that would bring all the injuns in the woods on to us. no, the sticks as the seneca and me'll pick up won't give as much smoke as you can put in a tea-cup; but i wouldn't risk even that if we was nigh the lake, for it might be seen by any redskins out in a canoe. but we are miles back from the lake, and there ain't no other open space where they could get a view over the tree-tops.” harold watched the indian and the scout collect- ing dry leaves and sticks, and took particular notice, for future use, of the kinds which they selected. a light was struck with a flint and steel, and soon a bright blaze sprang up, without, so far as harold could see, the slightest smoke being given off. then true to the old flag. the hunter produced some food from bis wallet and a tin pot. he had at the last spring they passed filled a skin which hung on his shoulder with water, and this was soon boiling over the fire. a handful of tea was thrown in and the pot removed. some flour, mixed with water, was placed on a small iron plate, which was put on the red-hot ashes. a few cakes were baked, and with these, the cold venison, and the tea an ample meal was made. after nearly an hour's balt they again proceeded on their way. a consultation had taken place be- tween peter and the seneca as to the best course to be pursued. they could, without much difficulty or risk, have continued the way through the woods be- yond the lake, but it was important that they should reach the other side by the evening of the following day, to give warning of the intended attack by the americans. there were, they knew, other redskins in the woods besides those on their trail, and the nearer they approached the shore the greater the danger. they had determined that they would at all hazards endeavor to obtain another canoe and cross the lake. until nightfall they continued their course, and then, knowing that their trail could no longer be followed, they made down to the lake. they were many miles distant from it, and harold was completely worn out when at last he saw a gleam of water through the trees. he was not yet to rest. entering the lake they began wading through it at a few feet from the edge. after an hour's walking thus they entered the true to the old flag. bushes, which thickly covered the shore, and made their way through these until they came to a spot sufficiently open for them to lie down; and harold, wrapping himself in the blanket which he carried over his shoulder, was sound asleep in less than a minute. when he woke the sun was shining brightly. “get up, youngster. we're in luck,” the scout said. “here's a canoe with two of the varmints making toward the shore. by the way they're going they'll land not far off.” the scout led the way, crawling on his hands and knees, to the water's edge, to where the seneca was sitting watching the canoe through a cover of green leaves. the course that the boat was taking would lead it to a point some three hundred yards from where they were sitting. “we shall have no difficulty in managing them," harold said, and grasped his rifle eagerly. “not too fast,” peter said. “the chances are that the varmints have friends on shore. like enough they have been out fishing.” the shore formed a slight sweep at this point, and the bushes in which they were hidden occupied the point at one extremity. in the center of the little bay there was a spot clear from bushes; to this the canoe was directed. as it approached the shore two other indians appeared at the water's edge. one of them asked a question, and in reply a paddler held up a large bunch of fish. “just as i thought. like enough there are a dozen of them there,” said peter. true to the old flag. on reaching the shore the men sprang out, taking their fish with them. the canoe was fastened by its head-rope to the bushes, and the indians moved a short distance inland. “there is their smoke," peter said, indicating a point some thirty feet from the lake, but so slight was it that even when it was pointed out to him harold could hardly make out the light mist rising from among the bushes. presently he looked round for the seneca, but the indian had disappeared. “he's gone scouting,” peter said in answer to harold's question. “ef there are only four of them it would be an easy job, but i expect there's more of the red varmints there." in ten minutes the seneca returned as noiselessly as he had gone. he opened his hand aud all the fingers twice; the third time he showed only three fingers. “ thirteen," peter said. “too many of them even for a sudden onslaught.” the indian said a few words to peter; the latter nodded, and deer tail again quietly stole away. “he's going to steal the boat,” peter said. “it's a risky job, for where it lies it can be seen by 'em as they sit. now, you and me must be ready with our shooting-irons to cover him if need be. ef he's found out before he gets the boat he'll take to the woods and lead them away from us; but ef he's fairly in the boat, then we must do our best for him. ef the wust comes to the wust, i reckon we can · hold these bushes agin 'em for some time; but in true to the old flag. the end i don't disguise from ye, youngster, they'll beat us." harold now sat intently watching the canoe. it seemed an age to him before he saw a band emerge from the bushes and take hold of the head-rope. the motion given to the canoe was so slight as to be almost imperceptible; it seemed as if it was only drifting gently before the slight breeze which was creeping over the surface of the lake. half its length had disappeared from the open space, when an indian appeared by the edge of the water. he looked at the canoe, looked over the lake, and with- drew again. the hand had disappeared in the bushes on his approach. the movement of the canoe, slight as it was, had caught his eye, but, sat- isfied that it was caused only by the wind, he had returned to his fire again. the band appeared again through the bushes, and the canoe was drawn along until hidden from the sight of those sitting by the fire. again the watchful indian appeared, but the boat was lying quietly by the bushes at the full length of its head-rope. he stooped down to see that this was securely fastened and again re- tired. harold held his breath, expecting that every moment the presence of the seneca would be dis- covered. scarcely had the indian disappeared than the seneca crawled out from the bushes. with a sweep of his knife he cut the rope of the canoe and noiselessly entered it, and as he did so gave a shove with his foot, which sent it dancing along the shore toward the spot where harold and his companion true to the old flag. were hidden. then he seized the paddle, and in half a dozen strokes brought it within reach of them. harold and peter stepped into it; as they did so there was a sudden shout. the indian had again strolled down to look at the canoe, whose movements, slight as they had been, bad appeared suspicious to him. he now, to his astonishment, saw it at the point with two white men and an in- dian on board. he had left his gun behind him and, uttering his war-cry, bounded back for it. “round the p'int, quick !” peter exclaimed. “ they'll riddle us in the open.” two strokes took the canoe round the projecting point of bushes, and she then darted along the shore, driven by the greatest efforts of which the three paddlers were capable. had the shore been open the indians would have gained upon them, but they were unable to force their way through the thick bushes at anything like the rate at wbich the canoe was flying over the water. the first start was upward of a hundred yards, and this was in- creased by fifty before the indians, arriving at the point, opened fire. this distance is beyond any. thing like an accurate range with indian guns. several bullets struck the water round the canoe. “now steer out,” peter said as the firing sudden- ly ceased. “they're making a détour among the bushes and'll come down ahead of us ef we keep near the shore.” two or three more shots were fired, but without effect, and the canoe soon left the shore far behind. true to the old flag. “now,” peter said, “i think we're safe. it's not likely they've another canoe anywhere near on this side, as most of 'em would have gone with the ex- pedition. ef the firing has been heard it will not attract much attention, being on this side, and i see nothing in the way of a boat out in the lake. still, these redskins' eyes can see 'most any distance. now, chief,” he went on to the indian in his native language, “the young un and i'll lie down at the bottom of the boat; do you paddle quietly and easily, as ef you were fishing. the canoe with a single indian in it will excite no suspicion, and even ef you see other canoes, you had better keep on in that way unless you see that any of 'em are intend- ing to overhaul you." the chief nodded assent. peter and harold stretched themselves at full length in the canoe, and the indian paddled quietly and steadily on. for an hour not a word was spoken in the canoe. harold several times dozed off to sleep. at last the seneca spoke: “many boats out on water-american army.” harold was about to raise his head to look out when peter exclaimed. "lie close, harold. ef a head were shown now it would be wuss than ef we had sat up all the time. we know there are injun canoes with the flats, and they may be watching us now. we may be a long way off, but there's no saying how far a redskin's eyes can carry. can you see where they are going to, chief ?” he asked the seneca. “are true to the old flag. they heading for isle-aux-noix, as we heard 'em say they were going to do ?” the seneca nodded. “going to island.” “then,” peter said, “the sooner we're across the lake the better.” the seneca again spoke, and after a consultation with peter laid in his paddle.. “what is he doing now ?” harold asked. “our course lies pretty near the same way as theirs," peter said. “the island is but a short dis- tance from the shore, near the mouth of the sorrel, so where we're going would take us right across their line. we fooled them yesterday, but are not likely to do it again to-day. so the chief has stopped paddling and makes as if he were fishing. i doubt wbether it will succeed, for he would hardly be fishing so far out. but we'll soon see. it's bet- ter so than to turn and paddle in any other direc- tion, as that would be sure to excite their sus- picions." the fleet of boats had already passed the spot where the canoe would bave crossed had she been going directly across the lake when she was first seen, and was therefore now ahead of it. the great flotilla kept on as if the canoe with its single oc- cupant in its rear had not excited suspicion. the seneca, however, knew that sharp eyes must be upon him. the manner in which the canoe bad baffled pursuit the day before must have inflicted a severe blow upon the pride of the indians, and al- true to the old flag. though, having driven them off the lake, they could have no reason for suspecting that their foes could have obtained a fresh canoe, the seneca knew that their vigilance would not sleep' for a moment. therefore, although bending over the side of the canoe as if watching his lines, his eyes were never off the boats. “there are canoes making for the shore both ways,” he said at last. “it is time that my white brother should take the paddle.” peter and harold at once sat up in the boat and looked round the lake, which at this point was about ten miles wide. the canoe was four miles from the eastern side; the flotilla was a mile further up the lake and the same distance nearer to the western shoré. four or five canoes were detaching them- selves from the flotilla, apparently rowing direct for the shore. it would have been easy for the canoe to have regained the eastern side long before she could have been cut off, but here they might find the chippewas. the indians whose boat they had taken would assuredly follow along the shores of the lake in hopes that something might occur to drive them back. besides, had they landed there they would be unable to carry in time the news of the approaching attack upon st. john's. for the same reason it was important to land up the lake near the canadian end. peter rapidly took in the situation. he saw that it was possible, and only just possible, to reach the shore at a point opposite to that at which they true to the old flag. now were before the hostile canoes could cut them off from it. if they headed them there they would be obliged to run down to the other end of the lake before effecting a landing, wbile he could not calculate on being able to beat all the canoes, most of which carried four paddlers, who would strain every nerve to retrieve their failure of the previous day. not a word was spoken as the boat darted through the water. harold, unaccustomed to judge dis- tances, could form no idea whether the distant canoes would or would not intercept them. at present both seemed to him to be running toward the shore on nearly parallel courses, and the shorter distance that the indians would have to row seemed to place them far ahead. the courses, however, were not parallel, as the indians were gradually turning their canoes to intercept the course of that which they were pursuing. as the minutes went by and the boats converged more and more toward the same point, harold saw how close the race would be. after twenty minutes' hard paddling the boats were within a quarter of a mile of each other, and the courses which they were respectively taking seemed likely to bring them together at about a quarter of a mile from the shore. there were three indian canoes, and these kept well together. so close did the race appear that harold expected every moment to see peter sweep the head of the canoe round and make a stern chase of it by run- ning down the lake. this peter had no inten- true to the old flag. tion of doing. the canoes, he saw, traveled as fast as his own and could each spare a man to fire occasionally, while he and his companions would all be obliged to continue paddling. better accustomed to judge distances than harold, he was sure, at the speed at which they were going, he would be able to pass somewhat ahead of his foes. “row all you know, harold,” he said. “now, chief, send her along." harold had been ro'ving to the utmost of his strength, but he felt by the way the canoe quivered at every stroke that his companions were only now putting out their extreme strength. the boat seemed to fly through the water, and he began to think for the first time that the canoe would pass ahead of their pursuers. the latter were clearly also con- scious of the fact, for they now turned their boats' heads more toward the shore, so that the spot where the lines would meet would be close to the shore itself. the canoes were now within two hundred yards of each other. the indians were nearer to the shore, but the oblique line that they were following would give them about an equal dis- tance to row to the point for which both were making. harold could not see that there was the slightest difference in the rate at which they were traveling. it seemed to him that the four canoes would all arrive precisely at the same moment at the land, which was now some five or six hundred yards distant. another two minutes' paddling, and when the true to the old flag. from the shore.' the indians in the overturned boat did not wait to right it, but scrambled into the other canoes, and both were soon paddling at the top of their speed from the shore, not without further damage, for the guns in the bushes again spoke out, and peter and the seneca added their fire the instant they leaped from the boat to shore, and another of the indians was seen to fall. harold was too breathless when he reached the bank to be able to fire. he raised his gun, but his bands trembled with the exertion that he had undergone, and the beating of his heart and his short panting breath rendered it impossible for him to take a steady aim. a minute later jake burst his way through the bushes. “ ab! massa harold,” he exclaimed. “bress de lord dat we was here. what a fright you hab giben me, to be sure. we hab been watching you for a long time. ephraim and de redskin dey say dey saw little spot far out on lake, behind all dose boats; den dey say other boats set off in chase. for a long time jake see nothing about dat, but at last he see dem. den we hurry along de shore, so as to get near de place to where de boats row; ebery moment me tink dat dey catch you up. ephraim say no, berry close thing, but he tink you come along first, but dat we must shoot when dey come close. we stand watch for some time, den ephraim say dat you no able to get to dat point. you hab to turn along de shore, so we change our place and run along, and sure 'nough de boat's head true to the old flag. : turns, and you come along in front of us. den we all shoot, and the redskins dey tumble over.” “ well, jake, it is fortunate indeed that you were on the spot, for they could scarcely have missed all of us. besides, even if we had got to shore safely they would have followed us, and the odds against us would have been heavy.” “that ar war a close shave, peter,” ephraim said, “an all-fired close shave i call it.” “it war, ephraim, and no mistake.” “why didn't yer head down along the lake ?" “ because i got news that the colonists air going to attack st. john's to-morrow, and i want to get to the fort in time to put 'em on their guard. be- sides, both sides of the lake are sure to be full of hostile injuns. those canoes paddled as fast as we did, and in the long run might have worn us out." “did you have a fight on the lake two nights ago ? me and the redskin thought we heard firing.” “ we had a skirmish with 'em," peter said ; “a pretty sharp shave it war, too, but we managed to slip away from them. altogether we've had some mighty close work, i can tell yer, and i thought more than once as we were going to be wiped out." while they were speaking the men had already started at a steady pace through the woods, away from the lake, having first drawn up the canoe and carefully concealed it. it was late at nighï when they reached fort st. john. a message was at once dispatched to a party of the senecas who were at their village, about six- true to the old flag. teen miles away. they arrived in the morning and, together with a portion of the garrison, moved out and took their place in the wooded and marshy ground between the fort and the river. scouts were sent along the sorrel, and these returned about one o'clock, saying that a large number of boats were coming down the lake from isle-aux-noix. it had been determined to allow the colonists to land with- out resistance, as the commander of the fort felt no doubt of his ability, with the assistance of his in- dian allies, to repulse their attack. some twelve hundred men were landed, and these at once began to advance toward the fort, led by their two gen- erals, schuyler and montgomery. scarcely had they entered the swamp, when from every bush a fire was opened upon them. the invaders were staggered, but pushed forward, in a weak and un- decided way, as far as a creek which intercepted their path. in vain general montgomery endeav- ored to encourage them to advance. they wavered and soon began to fall back, and in an hour from the time of their landing they were again gathered on the bank of the river. here they threw up a breastwork, and as his numbers were greatly inferior the british officer in command thought it unadvisa- ble to attack them. after nightfall the colonists took to their boats and returned to isle-aux-noix, their loss in this their first attempt at the invasion of canada being nine men. a day or two later the indians again attempted to induce general carleton so permit them to cross true to the old flag. the frontier and carry the war into the american settlements, and upon the general's renewed refusal · they left the camp in anger and remained from that time altogether aloof from the contest. st. john's was now left with only its own small garrison. captain wilson was ordered to fall back with his company to montreal, it being considered that the garrison of st. john's was sufficient to de- fend that place for a considerable time. as soon as the indians had marched away, having sent word to the colonists that they should take no further part in the fight, montgomery, who was now in command, schuyler having fallen sick, landed the whole of the force and invested the fort. an american officer, ethan allen, had been sent with a party to try to raise the colonists in rebellion in the neighborhood of chamblée. he had with him thirty americans and was joined by eighty cana- dians. dazzled by the success which had attended the surprise of ticonderoga, he thought to repeat the stroke by the conquest of montreal. he crossed the river in the night about three miles below the city. peter and some other scouts who had been watching his movements crossed higher up and brought the news, and thirty-six men of the twen- ty-sixth regiment, captain wilson's company, and two or three hundred loyal canadians, the whole under the command of major campbell, attacked ethan allen. he was speedily routed and with thirty-eight of his men taken prisoners. the siege of st. john's made but little progress. the place true to the old flag. was well provisioned, and the americans encamped in the low, swampy ground around it suffered much from ill health. the men were mutinous and inso lent, the officers incapable and disobedient. so far the invasion of canada, of which such great things had been hoped by the americans, appeared likely to turn out a complete failure. true to the old flag. chapter viii. quebec. general carleton, seeing that montgomery's whole force was retained idle before st. john's, be- gan to hope that the winter would come to his as- sistance before the invaders had made any serious progress. unfortunately he had not reckoned on the utter incapacity of the officer in command of fort chamblée. major stopford, of the seventh regiment, had a hundred and sixty men and a few artillerymen, and the fort was strong and well provided with provisions. american spies had found the inhabitants around the place favorable to the americans. major brown was sent down by montgomery with a small detach. ment, and being joined by the inhabitants sat down before the fort. they had only two six- pounders and could have effected nothing had the fort been commanded by a man of bravery and resources. such was not the character of its com- mander, who, after a siege of only a day and a half, surrendered the place with all its stores, which were of inestimable value to the in vaders, who were upon the edge of giving up the siege of the fort, their ammunition being entirely exhausted; but the six true to the old flag. tons of gunpowder, the seventeen cannon, mortars, and muskets which fell into their hands enabled them to carry on the siege of st. john's with re- newed vigor. there was no excuse whatever for the conduct of major stopford in allowing these stores to fall into the hands of the americans, as even had he not possessed courage to defend the fort be might, before surrendering, have thrown the whole of the ammunition into the river, upon which tbere was a safe sally-port, where he could have carried on the operation entirely unmolested by the enemy. the colors of the seventh regiment were captured and sent to congress as the first trophy of the war. the siege of st. john's was now pushed on by montgomery with vigor. colonel maclean, with eight hundred indians and canadians, attempted to relieve it, crossing the st. lawrence in small boats. on nearing the other bank they were received with so heavy a fire by the americans posted there that they were obliged to retire without effecting a landing. provisions and ammunition were now running short in st. john's, there was no hope whatever of relief from the outside, and the officer commanding was therefore obliged to surrender on november after a gallant defense. as there were only some fifty or sixty regulars in montreal general carleton was unable to defend that town, and upon the news of the fall of st. john's he at once retired to quebec and montreal was occupied by the americans. in the mean time true to the old flag. another expedition had been dispatched by the americans under arnold. this officer, with fifteen hundred men, had started for quebec from a point one hundred and thirty miles north of boston. suf- fering enormous fatigue and hardship, the force made its way up the river ; past rapids, cataracts, and through swamps they dragged and carried their boats and stores. they followed the bed of the river up to its source, and then crossing the water- shed descended the chaudière and duloup rivers on to the st. lawrence within a few miles of quebec. this was a wonderful march-one scarcely equaled in the annals of military history. cross- ing the st. lawrence in canoes, arnold encamped with his little force upon the heights of abraham. such a daring attempt could not have been under- taken had not the americans been aware of the ex- treme weakness of the garrison at quebec, wbich consisted only of fifty men of the seventh regi- ment, two hundred and forty of the canadian militia, a battalion of seamen from the ships-of-war under the command of captain hamilton, of the lizard, two hundred and fifty strong, and the co- lonial volunteers under colonel maclean. the fortifications were in a ruinous condition. it was fortunate that colonel maclean, who had come from the sorrel upon the surrender of st. john's by forced marches, arrived on the very day on which arnold appeared before the city. directly he ar- rived arnold attacked the city at the gate of st. lonis, but was sharply repulsed. he then desisted true to the old flag. from active operations and awaited the arrival of montgomery, who was marching down from mont- real. the flotilla in which carleton was descend- ing the river was attacked by the americans, who came down the sorrel, and was captured, with all the troops and military stores which it was bring- ing down. general carleton himself escaped in a small boat under cover of night and reached quebec. captain wilson's company had been attached to the command of colonel maclean and with it ar. rived in quebec in safety. upon the arrival of montgomery with his army the city was summoned to surrender. a strong party in the town were favorable to the invaders, but general carleton treated the summons with contempt and turned all the inhabitants who refused to join in the defense of the city outside the town. the winter had now set in in earnest and the dif- ficulties of the besiegers were great. arnold's force had been much weakened by the hardships that they had undergone, montgomery's by desertions; the batteries which they erected were overpowered by the fire of the defenders, and the siege made no progress whatever. the men became more and more disaffected and mutinous. many of them had nearly served the time for which they had enlisted, and montgomery feared that they would leave him when their engagement came to an end. he in vain tempted the besieged to make a sally. carle- ton was so certain that success would come by wait- ing that he refused to allow himself to hazard it by a sortie. true to the old flag. the weather was fighting for him, and the be- siegers bad before them only the alternatives of taking the place by storm or of abandoning the sieye altogether. they resolved upon a storm. it was to take place at day break on december . montgomery determined to make four attacks- two false and two real ones. colonel james livingstone with two hundred canadians was to appear before st. john's gate, and a party under colonel brown were to feign a movement against the upper town, and from high ground there were to send up rockets as the signal for the real attacks to commence—that led by montgomery from the south and that under arnold from the north west- both against the lower town. the false attacks were made too soon, the rockets being fired half an hour before the main columns reached their place of attack. the british were not deceived, but judging these attacks to be feints, left but a small party to oppose them and marched the bulk of their forces down toward the lower town. their assistance, however, came too late, for before they arrived the fate of the attack was already de- cided. the americans advanced under circum- stances of great difficulty. a furious wind with cutting hail blew in their faces; the ground was slippery and covered with snow. half an hour before the english supports arrived on the spot montgomery, with his leading company, reached the first barricade, which was undefended; passing through this they pressed on toward the supon john coffin and bairnsfeather in the battery. - page . true to the old flag. next. the road leading to it was only wide enough for five or six persons abreast. on one side was the river, on the other a steep cliff; in front was a leg hut with loop-holes for musketry and a battery of two three-pounders. it was held by a party of thirty canadians and eight militiamen under john coffin, with nine sailors under bairnsfeather, the captain of a transport, to work the guns. montgom- ery with sixty men pushed on at a run to carry the battery, but when within fifty yards bairns- feather discharged his pieces, which were loaded with grape-shot, with deadly aim. montgomery, his aid-de-camp macpherson, lieutenant cheeseman, and ten others fell dead at the first discharge, and with them the soul of the expedition fled. the remaining officers endeavored to get the men to advance, but none would do so, and they fell back without losing another man. so completely cowed were they that they would not even carry off the bodies of their general and his companions. these were brought into quebec next day and buried with the honors of war by the garrison. the force under arnold was far stronger than that under montgomery. the canadian guard ap- pointed to defend the first barrier fled at the approach, but the small body of sailors fought bravely and were all killed or wounded. arnold was shot through the leg and disabled. morgan, who commanded the advanced companies, led his men on and carried the second barrier after an ob- stinate resistance. they were attacking the third true to the old flag. when maclean with his men from the upper town arrived. the british then took the offensive and drove the enemy back, and a party going round fell upon their rear. fifty were killed in arnold's column, four hundred taken prisoners, and the rest retreated in extreme disorder. thus ended the assault upon quebec—an assault which was all but bopeless from the first, but in which the americans showed but little valor and determination. in fact, throughout the war it may be said that the americans, when fighting on the defensive behind trees and intrenchments, fought stubbornly; but that they were feeble in attack and wholly incapable of standing against british troops in the open. it would now have been easy for carleton to have sallied out and taken the offensive, but he preferred holding quebec quietly. he might have easily driven the americans from their position before the walls, but with the handful of troops under his orders he could have done nothing toward carrying on a serious campaign in the open. until spring came and the rivers were opened no reënforcements could reach him from england, while the americans could send any number of troops into canada. carleton therefore preferred to wait quietly within the walls of quebec, allow- ing, the winter, hardships, and disunion to work their natural effects upon the invaders. arnold sent to washington to demand ten thou- sand more troops, with siege artillery. several true to the old flag. regiments were sent forward, but artillery could not be spared. eight regiments entered canada, but they found that instead of meeting, as they had ex- pected, an enthusiastic reception from the inhabit- ants, the population were now hostile to them. the exactions of the invading army had been great, and the feeling in favor of the english was now all but universal. on may two frigates and a sloop-of-war made their way up the river to quebec. the americans endeavored to embark their sick and artillery above the town. reënforced by the marines, the garrison sallied out and attacked the enemy, who fled with precipitation, leaving their provisions, cannon, five hundred muskets, and two hundred sick behind them. the british pursued them until they reached the mouth of the sorrel. the arrival of the fleet from england brought news of what had taken place since captain wil- son's company had marched from boston, a short time after the battle of bunker's hill. immediately after the battle the colonists had sent two deputies, penn and lee, with a petition to parliament for the restoration of peace. this petition was supported by a strong body in parliament. the majority, however, argued that from the conduct of the amer- icans it was clear that they aimed at unconditional, unqualified, and total independence. in all their proceedings they had behaved as if entirely separated from great britain. their professions and petition breathed peace and moderation ; their actions and true to the old flag. preparations denoted war and defiance; every at- tempt that could be made to soften their hostility bad been in vain; their obstinacy was inflexible ; and the more england had given in to their wishes, the more insolent and overbearing had their de- mands become. the stamp-tax had been repealed, but their ill-will had grown rather than abated. the taxations on imports had been entirely taken off save on one small item, but rather than pay this they had accumulated arms and ammunition, seized cannon belonging to the king, and every where pre- pared for armed resistance. only two alternatives remained for the british nation to adopt-either to coerce the colonists to submission or to grant them their entire independence. these arguments were well founded. the con- cessions which had been made had but encouraged the colonists to demand more. no good wbatever would have come from entering into negotiation ; there remained but the two alternatives. it would have been far better bad parliament, instead of de- ciding on coercion, withdrawn altogether from the colonies, for although hitherto the americans had shown no great fighting qualities, it was clear that so small an army as england could spare could not permanently keep down so vast a country if the people were determined upon independence. they might win every battle-might overpower every considerable force gathered against them, but they could only enforce the king's authority over a mere fractional portion of so great an area. england, true to the old flag. however, was unaccustomed to defeat; her spirit in those days was proud and high; and by a large majority parliament voted for the continuance of the war. the next step taken was one unworthy of the country. it tended still further to imbitter the war and it added to the strength of the party in favor of the colonists at home. attempts were made by the government to obtain the services of large numbers of foreign troops. negotiations were entered into with russia, holland, hesse, and other countries. most of these proved ineffectual, but a considerable number of troops were obtained from hesse. the news of these proceedings excited the amer- icans to renewed efforts. the force under wash- ington was strengthened and he took possession of dorchester heights, commanding the town of bos- ton. a heavy cannonade was opened on the city. the british guns answered it, but the american position gave them an immense advantage. gen- eral howe, who was in command, at first thought of attempting to storm the heights, but the tremen- dous loss sustained at the battle of bunker's hill deterred him from the undertaking. his supineness during the past four months had virtually lost the american colonies to england. he had under his command cight thousand troops, who could have routed with ease the undisciplined levies of wash- ington. instead of leading his men out against the enemy he had suffered them to be cooped up for months in the city, and had failed to take possession true to the old flag. of the various heights commanding the town. had he done this boston might have resisted a force many times as strong as that which advanced against it, and there was now nothing left for the english but to storm the heights with enormous loss or to evacuate the city. the first was the alternative which had been chosen when the americans seized bunker's hill; the second was that which was now adopted. having adopted this resolution, howe carried it out in a manner which would in itself be sufficient to condemn him as a military leader. nothing was done to destroy the vast stores of arms and ammuni- tion, and two hundred and fifty pieces of cannon were left for the colonists to use against england. no steps were taken to warn ships arriving from england of the surrender of the town. the conse- quence was that in addition to the vast amount of stores captured in the town, numbers of the british store-ships fell into the hands of the americans- among them a vessel which, in addition to carbines, bayonets, gun-carriages, and other stores, had on board inore than seventy tons of powder, while washington's whole stock was all but exhausted. but worse even than this hurried and unnecessary abandonment of vast munitions of war was the deser- tion of the loyalist population. , boston was full of loyalists, among whom were many of the wealthier and better-born persons in the colony, who from the commencement of the troubles had left their homes, their fortunes, and their families to rally round the true to the old flag. standard of their sovereign. the very least that howe could have done for these loyal men would have been to have entered into some terms of ca pitulation with washington, whereby they might have been permitted to depart to their comes and to the enjoyment of their property. nothing of the sort was attempted, and the only choice offered to a loyalist was to remain in the town, exposed to certain insult and ill-treatment, perhaps to death, at the hands of the rebels, or to leave in the transports for england or halifax and to be landed here penni- less and starving. howe's conduct in this was on a piece with his behavior throughout the campaign ; but he was little if at all inferior to the other generals, who vied with each other in incapacity and folly. never in the whole history of england were her troops led by men so inefficient, so sluggish, and so inca- pable as those who commanded her armies in the american revolutionary war. the first ships from england which arrived at quebec were followed a few days later by the niger and triton, convoy transports, with troops. the british now took the offensive in earnest. from the west captain forster marched from detroit with forty men of the eighth regiment, a hundred canadians and some indians, against a pass called the cedars, situated fifteen leagues above montreal. this was held by four hundred men with two cannon. as soon as the british force opened fire the americans surrendered. the fol- true to the cld flag. lowing day forster's force, advancing, came upon a hundred and forty men under major sherbourne, who were marching to reënforce the garrison at the cedars. these were forced to retreat and a hundred of them taken prisoners. arnold, with seven hundred men, advanced against the british force. the british officer, fearing that in case of an attack the indians with him might massacre the prisoners, released the whole of them, four hundred and seventy-four in number, under the promise that an equal number of british prisoners should be returned. this engagement was shamefully broken by the americans, who raised a number of frivolous excuses, among others that prisoners taken by the british were ill-treated -an accusation which excited the indignation of the prisoners themselves, some of whom wrote to members of congress stating that nothing could be kinder or more courteous than the treatment which they received. while forster was advancing toward montreal from the west, carleton was moving up against the americans at sorrel from quebec. at the death of montgomery wooster had taken the command of the main american force. he had been suc- ceeded by thompson, but the latter dying of small- pox, sullivan took his place. the new commander determined to take the offensive against the english, and dispatched a force of about two thousand men to attack general fraser, who held a post at a place called three kivers.' true to the old flag. a canadian peasant brought news to general fraser of the approach of the americans, and as he had received reënforcements from below he de- termined to anticipate their attack. his move- ments were completely successful. some of the americans fought well, but the rest dispersed with but little resistance. two hundred were killed and a hundred and fifty taken prisoners. the rest suc- ceeded in returning to sorrel. the main body of the british army now came up the river in their ships, and as they approached sorrel sullivan broke up his camp and retreated. at the same time arnold, who commanded at montreal, evacuated the town and joined sullivan's army at st. john's. had the english pushed forward with any energy the whole of the american army of invasion would have fallen into their hands. they were complete. ly broken in spirits, suffering terribly from sickness, and were wholly incapable of making any defense. burgoyne, who commanded the advance of the english army, moved forward very slowly, and the americans were enabled to take to their boats and cross, first to isle-aux-noix and then to crown point. an american historian who saw them after they landed says: “ at the sight of so much priva- tion and distress i wept until i had no more power to weep. i did not look into a tent or but in which i did not find either a dead or dying man. of about five thousand men full half were invalids. in little more than two months they had lost by desertion and death more than five thousand men.” true to the old flag. captain wilson and his company were not present with the advance of the british troops. general howe, after evacuating boston, had sailed with his army to halifax, there to wait until a large body of reënforcements should be sent in the spring from england. general carleton had in his dispatches mentioned favorably the services which the little company of loyalists from boston had performed, and lord howe wrote requesting that the company should be sent down by ship to halifax, as he was about to sail from new york to undertake opera- tions on a large scale, and should be glad to bare with him a body of men accustomed to scouting and acquainted with the country. accordingly the company was embarked in a transport and reached halifax early in june. on the th they sailed with the army and arrived at sandy hook on the th. on july the army landed on staten island, op- posite long island, and soon afterward lord howe, brother of general howe, arrived with the main army from england, raising the total force to nearly thirty thousand men. it consisted of two battalions of light infantry, two of grenadiers, the fourth, fifth, tenti, seventeenth, twenty-second, twenty-third, twenty-seventh, thirty-fifth, thirty- eighth, fortieth, forty-second, forty-third, forty- fourth, forty-fifth, forty-ninth, fifty-second, fifty- fifth, sixty-third, and sixty-fourth regiments of foot, part of the forty-sixth and seventy-first regi- ments, and the seventeenth regiment of light dragoons. there were besides two battalions of true to the old flag. volunteers from new york, each a thousand strong. had this force arrived, as it should have done, three months earlier, they might have achieved great things; but the delay had enabled the americans to make extensive preparations to meet the coming storm. lord howe brought with him a communication from parliament, giving him and his brother full power to treat with the americans on any terms which they might think fit. upon his arrival lord howe addressed a letter to dr. franklin, informing him of the nature of his communication, expressing hopes that he would find in america the same dis- position for peace that he brought with him, and requesting his aid to accomplish the desired end. dr. franklin, in answer, informed lord howe that prior to the consideration of any proposition for friendship or peace, it would be required that great britain should acknowledge the independence of america, should defray the expense of the war, and indemnify the colonists for all damages com- mitted.” after such a reply as this lord howe had no alternative but to commence hostilities, which he did by landing the army in gravesend bay, long island. the enemy offered no opposition to the landing, but retreated at once, setting fire to all the houses. and granaries and taking up a position on the wooded heights which commanded the line by which the english must advance. the american main force, fifteen thousand true to the old flag. strong, were posted on a peninsula between mill creek and wallabout bay, and bad constructed a strong line of intrenchments across the end of the peninsula. the intrenchments were strengthened by abattis and flanked with strong redoubts. five thousand remained to guard this post, and ten thou- sand, under general puttenham, advanced to hold the line of wooded hills which run across the island. in the center of the plain, at the foot of these hills, stood the village of flatbush. the hessian division of the british army, under general de heister, advanced against this, while general clinton, with the right wing of the eng- lish army, moved forward to attack the enemy's left. this force marched at nine o'clock at night on august ; general sir william howe himself ac- companied it. the line of bills trended away greatly to the left, and the enemy bad neglected to secure the passes over the hills on this flank; con- sequently at nine o'clock in the morning the brit- ish passed the range of hills without resistance and occupied beford in its rear. had sir william howe now pushed on vigorously the whole of puttenham's force must have been captured. in the mean time the hessians from flatbush at- tacked the center of the americans, and after a warm engagement routed them and drove them in- to the woods with a loss of three pieces of cannon. on the british left general grant also advanced, true to the old flag. and at midnight carried a strong pass on the enemy's left. retiring, they held a still stronger position further back and offered a fierce resistance new york .......british ......americans hudsons river bucking brookland ferry ferry governors dakiand parish Şeab inge ridge and by w. home to get into the enemy rear red a vandyke sir will. howe columns a vandykes mi moto gowanse cove route of str will. flores colume... sorulan otte which gon. grant al ordered to purse now who usa m flat busk gap gen. grants column camp of the british denices ferry new utrecht sketch of the british position on long island. zgravesend gravesend send bae english miles true to the old flag. until the fires at bedford showed that the english had obtained a position almost in their rear, when they retreated precipitately. the victory was a complete one, but it had none of the consequences which would have attended it had the english pushed forward with energy after turning the american left. six pieces of cannon were captured and two thousand men killed or taken prisoners. the english lost seventy killed and two hundred and thirty wounded. so impetuously did the english attack that even sir william howe admitted that they could have carried the intrenchments. he alleges he did not permit them to do so, because he intended to take the position by regular approaches and wished therefore to avoid the loss of life which an immedi. ate assault would have occasioned. on the th and th regular approaches were commenced, but on the th, under cover of a fog, the americans embarked in boats and succeeded in carrying the whole of their force, without the loss of a man, across to the mainland. the escape of this body of men was disgraceful in the extreme to the english commanders. they had a great fleet at their disposal, and had they placed a couple of frigates in the east river, be- tween long island and new york, the escape would have been impossible, and general washington and his army of fifteen thousand men must have been taken prisoners. whether this misfortune would have proved conclusive of the war it is now too late true to the old flag.. to speculate; but so splendid an opportunity was never before let slip by an english general, and the negligence was the more inexcusable inasmuch as the fleet of boats could be seen lying alongside of the american position. their purpose must have been known, and they could at any moment have been destroyed by the guns of a ship-of-war taking up its position outside them. lord howe dispatched the american general sullivan, who had been taken prisoner on long island, to congress, repeating his desire to treat. a committee of three members accordingly waited on lord howe, who informed them that it was the most ardent wish of the king and government of great britain to put an end to the dissatisfaction between the mother country and the colonists. to accomplish this desire every act of parliament wbich was considered obnoxious to the colonists should undergo a revisal and every just cause of complaint should be removed if the colonists would declare their willingness to submit to the authority of the british government. the committee replied that it was not america which had separated herselt from great britain, but great britain had separa- ted herself from america. the latter had never declared herself independent until the former had made war upon her, and that even if congress were willing to place america in her former situation, it could not do so, as the declaration of independence had been made in consequence of the congregated voice of the whole people, by whom alone it could true to the old flag. be abolished. the country was determined not to return under the domination of england. the negotiations were therefore broken off. lord howe published a declaration to the people of america giving the answer of the committee to his offer of reconciliation. he acquainted them with the fact that the parent country was willing to receive into its bosom and protection all who might be willing to return to their former obedience. in taking this step, lord howe was convinced that a majority of the inhabitants of america were still willing to enter into an accommodation of the dif- ferences between the two powers, and the con- viction was not ill founded. the declaration, how- ever, produced but little effect, for the dominant section, that resolved to break off all connection with england, had acquired the sole management of affairs, and no offers which could possibly have been made would have been accepted by them. convinced that all further negotiations would be ineffectual, lord howe prepared to carry his army across from long island to new york, where the american army had taken up their post after the retreat from long island. the armies were sepa- rated by the east river, with a breadth of about thirteen hundred yards. a cannonade was kept up for several days. on september some ships-of- war were brought up to cover the passage. wash- ington, seeing the preparations, began to evacuate the city and to abandon the strong intrenchments which he had thrown up. at eleven o'clock on the true to the old flag. morning of the th the men-of-war opened a heavy fire, and clinton's division, consisting of four thousand men in eighty-four boats, sailed up the rirer, landed on manhattan island at a place called kipp's bay and occupied the heights of inclenberg, the enemy abandoning their intrenchments at their approach. general washington rode toward kipp's bay to take the command of the troops stationed there, but found the men who had been posted at the lines running away, and the brigades who should have supported them flying in every direction, heedless of the exertions of their generals. puttenham's division of four thousand men was still in the lower city and would be cut off unless the british advance should be checked. washing- ton therefore made the greatest efforts to rally the fugitives and to get them to make a stand to check the advancing enemy, but in vain, for as soon as even small bodies of red-coats were seen advanc- ing they broke and fled in panic. howe as usual delayed giving orders for an advance, and thus permitted the whole of putten- ham's brigade, who were cut off and must have been taken prisoners, to escape unbarmed. and thus with comparatively little loss the americans drew off, leaving behind them only a few heavy cannon and some bayonets and stores. so rapid bad been their flight at the approach of the english that only fifteen were killed, two men falling on the english side. true to the old flag. chapter ix. the surprise of trenton. the americans, finding that they were not pur- sued, rallied from their panic and took up a posi- tion at harlem and kingsbridge. so great was the disorganization among them that had the british advanced at once they would have taken the place with scarcely any loss, strong as it was by nature and by the intrenchments which washington had prepared. great numbers deserted, disputes broke out between the troops of the various states, insub- ordination prevailed, and the whole army was utterly disheartened by the easy victories which the british had obtained over them. washington re- ported the cowardice of his troops to congress, who passed a law inflicting the punishment of death for cowardice. before leaving new york the americans had made preparations for burning the whole town, but the speediness of their retreat prevented the preparations being carried into effect. fire was set to it in several places and a third of the town was destroyed. the position taken up by the enemy was so strong that it was determined to operate in the rear. true to the old flag. some redoubts were thrown up to cover new york during the absence of the main part of the british force. a portion of the british army was landed at a point threatening the retreat of the americans, and a series of skirmishes of no great importance took place. the enemy fell back from their most ad. vanced works, but no general move was undertaken, although, as the numbers on both sides were about even and the superior fighting powers of the eng lish had been amply demonstrated, there could have been no doubt as to the result of a general battle. lord howe, however, wasted the time in a series of petty movements, which, although generally suc- cessful, had no influence upon the result and served only to enable the americans to recover from the utter depression which had fallen upon them after the evacuation of long island and the loss of new york. gradually the americans fell back across a coun- try so swampy and difficult that it was now no longer possible to bring on a general action. their retreat had the effect of isolating the important positions of kingsbridge and fort washington. the latter post was of the utmost importance, inas- much as it secured the american intercourse with the jersey sbore. the fortifications were very strong and stood upon rising and open ground. it was garrisoned by three thousand of the best american troops under the command of colonel magaw. washington was gradually withdrawing true to the old flag. his army, and had already given orders that fort washington should be evacuated ; but general lee, who was second in command, so strongly urged that it should be retained that, greatly against his own judgment, he was obliged to consent to its being defended, especially as colonel magaw in- sisted that the fort could stand a siege. on the night of november the british passed some troops across the creek, and lord howe summoned the place to surrender on pain of the garrison being put to the sword. maga w bad upon the previous day received large numbers of reënforcements, and replied that he should defend the fort. soon after day break on the th the artillery opened on both sides. five thousand hessians, under the com- mand of general knyphausen, moved up the hill, penetrated some of the advanced works of the enemy, and took post within a hundred yards of the fort. the second division, consisting of the guards and light infantry, with two battalions of hessians and the thirty-third regiment, landed at island creek, and after some stiff fighting forced the enemy from the rocks and trees up the steep and rugged mountain. the third and fourth divisions fought their way up through similar defenses. so steep was the hill that the assailants could only climb it by grasping the trees and bushes, and so obstinate was the defense that the troops were sometimes mixed up together. the bravery and superior numbers of the british troops bore down all resistance, and the whole of true to the old flag. the four divisions reached their places round the fort. they then summoned it to surrender, and its commander, after half an hour's consideration, see- ing the impossibility of resisting the assault which was threatened, opened the gates. upon the english side about eight hundred men were killed and wounded, of whom the majority were hessians. these troops fougbt with extrenie bravery. the american loss, owing to their supe- rior position, was about one hundred and fifty killed and wounded, but the prisoners taken amounted to over three thousand. on the th lord howe landed a strong body on the jersey shore under lord cornwallis, who marched to fort lee and surprised it. a deserter had inforined the enemy of his approach and the garrison had fled in disorder, leaving their tents, provisions, and military stores behind them. lord cornwallis, pushing forward with great energy, drove the americans out of new jersey. another expedition occupied rhode island. cold weather now set in and the english went into winter quarters. their success had been com- plete, without a single check, and had they been led vigorously the army of washington might on two occasions have been wholly destroyed. in such a case the moderate portion of the population of the colonies would have obtained a hearing and a peace honorable to both parties might have been arrived at. the advantage gained by the gallantry of the true to the old flag. british troops was, however, entirely neutralized by the lethargy and inactivity of their general, and the colonists had time given them to recover from the alarm which the defeat of their troops had given them to put another army in the field and to prepare on a great scale for the following cam- paign. the conduct of general howe in allowing wash- ington's army to retire almost unmolested was to the officers who served under him unaccountable. his arrangements for the winter were even more singularly defective. instead of concentrating his troops he scattered them over a wide extent of country at a distance too great to support each other, and thus left it open to the enemy to crush them in detail. general howe now issued a proclamation offer- . ing a free pardon to all who surrendered, and great numbers of colonists came in and made their sub- mission. even in philadelphia the longing for peace was so strong that general washington was obliged to send a force there to prevent the town from declaring for england. during the operations which had taken place cince the landing of the british troops on long island captain wilson's company had taken but little part in the operations. all had been straight- forward work and conducted on the principles of european warfare. the services of the volunteers as scouts had not, therefore, been called into requisi- tion. the success which at first attended the ex- true to the old flag. pedition had encouraged captain wilson to hope for the first time since the outbreak of the revolu- tion that the english might obtain such decisive suc- cesses that the colonists would be willing to accept some propositions of peace such as those indicated by lord howe--a repeal of all obnoxious laws, free- dom from any taxation except that imposed by themselves, and a recognition of the british au- thority. when he saw that lord howe, instead of actively utilizing the splendid force at his disposal, frittered it away in minor movements and allowed washington to withdraw with his beaten army un. molested, his hopes again faded, and he felt that the colonists would in the long run succeed in gain- ing all that they contended for. when the army went into winter quarters the com- pany was ordered to take post on the delaware. there were four frontier posts, at trenton, borden- town, white horse, and burlington. trenton, oppo- site to which lay washington with the main body of his army, was held by only twelve hundred hes- sians, and bordentown, which was also on the dela- ware, was, like trenton, garrisoned by these troops. no worse choice could have been made. the hessians were brave soldiers, but their ignorance of the language and of the country made them pecul- iarly unsuitable troops for outpost work, as they were unable to obtain any information. as foreign- ers, too, they were greatly disliked by the country people. nothing was done to strengthen these frontier true to the old flag. posts, which were left wholly without redoubts or intrenchments, into which the garrison could with- draw in case of attack. captain wilson's little company were to act as scouts along the line of frontier. their headquar- ters were fixed at bordentown, where captain wilson obtained a large house for their use. most of the men were at home at work of this kind, and peter lambton, ephraim, and the other frontiers- men were dispatched from time to time in different directions to ascertain the movements and intentions of the enemy. harold asked his father to allow him, as before, to accompany peter. the inactivity of a life at a quiet little station was wearisome, and with peter he was sure of plenty of work, with a chance of adventure. the life of exercise and activity which he had led for more than a year had strengthened his muscles and widened his frame, and he was now able to keep up with peter, how- ever long and tiresome the day's work might be. jake, too, was of the party. he had developed into an active soldier, and although he was but of litttle use for scouting purposes, even peter did not object to his accompanying him, for the negro's un- failing good temper and willingness to make himself useful bad made him a favorite with the scout. the weather was now setting in exceedingly cold. the three men had more than once crossed the delaware in a canoe and scouted in the very heart of the enemy's country. they were now sitting by the bank watching some drifting ice upon the river. t'rue to the old flag. “ there won't be many more passages of the river by water,” peter remarked. “another ten days and it'll be frozen right across. “then we can cross on foot, peter." “yes, we can do that,” the scout said, “and so can the enemy. ef their general has got any inter- prise with him, and ef he can get them chaps as he calls soldiers to fight, he'll be crossing over one of these nights and capturing the hull of them hessians at trenton. what general howe means by leaving 'em there is more nor i can think; he might as well have sent so many babies. the critters can fight, and fight well too, and they're gooil soldiers; but what's the good of 'em in a frontier post ? they know nothing of the country; they can't speak to the people nor ask no questions nor find out nothing about what's doing the other side of the river. they air no more than mere machines. what was wanted was two or three battalions of light troops, who would make friends with the country people and larn all that's doing opposite. if the americans are sharp they'll give us lots of trouble this winter, and you'll find there won't be much sitting quiet for us at bordentown. fortunately bordentown and trenton ain't far apart, and one garrison ought to be able to arrive to the assistance of the other before it's over- powered. we shall see. now, i propose that we cross again to-night and try and find out what the enemy's doing. then we can come back and man- age for you to eat your christmas dinner with yer true to the old flag. father, as you seem to have bent yer mind upon that, though why it matters about dinner one day more than another is more nor i can see." that night the three scouts crossed the river in the canoe. avoiding all houses, they kept many miles straight on beyond the river and lay down for a few hours before morning dawned; then they turned their faces the other way and walked up to the first farm-house they saw. “can we have a drink of milk ?” the hunter asked. “ you can," the farmer replied, “and some break- fast if you like to pay for it. at first i was glad to give the best i had to those who came along, but there have been such numbers oing one way and the other, either marching to join the army or run- ning away to return to their homes, that i should be ruined if i gave to all comers." “we're ready to pay,” peter said, drawing some money from his pocket. “ then come in and sit down." in a few minutes an excellent breakfast was put before them. “you are on your way to join the army, of course ?” the farmer asked. “jest that,” peter replied. “we think it's about our time to do a little shooting, though i don't sup- pose there'll be much done till the spring.” "i don't know,” the farmer said. “i should not be surprised if the general wakes up them germans when the delaware gets frozen. i heard some talk true to the old flag. about it from some men who came past yesterday, their time was expired, they said, and they were going home. i hear, too, that they are gathering a force down near mount holly, and i reckon that they are going to attack bordentown.” “is that so ?" peter asked. “in that case we might as well tramp in that direction. it don't matter a corn shuck to us where we fight so as it's soon. we've come to help lick these british and we means to do it.” “ah!" the farmer said, “i have heard that senti- ment a good many times, but i have not seen much come of it yet. so far it seems to me as the licking has been all the other way.” “that's so," peter agreed. “but every one knows that the americans are just the bravest people on the face of the habitable arth. i reckon their dander's not fairly up yet; but when they be- gin in arnest you'll see what they'll do." the farmer gave a grunt which might mean any- thing. he had no strong sympathies either way, and the conduct of the numerous deserters and dis- banded men who had passed through his neighbor- bood had been far from impressing him favorably. “i don't pretend to be strong either for the con- gress or the king. i don't want to be taxed, but i don't see why the colonists should not pay some- thing toward the expenses of the government; and now that parliament seems willing to give all we ask for, i don't see what we want to go on fight- ing for.” true to tËe old flag. “waal!" peter exclaimed in a tone of disgust· “you're one of the balf-hearted ones." “i am like the great majority of the people of this country. we are of english stock and we don't want to break with the old country; but the affairs have got into the hands of the preachers, and the newspaper men, and the chaps that want to push themselves forward and make their pile out of the war. as i read it, it's just the civil war in england over again. we were all united at the first against what we considered as tyranny on the part of the parliament, and now we have gone setting up de- mands which no one dreamed of at first and which most of us object to now, only we have no longer the control of our own affairs." “ the great heart of this country beats for free- dom,” peter lambton said. “pooh !” said the farmer contemptuously. “the great heart of the country wants to work its farms and do its business quietly. the english general has made fair offers which might well be accepted; and as for freedom, there was no tyranny greater than that of the new england states. as long as they managed their own affairs there was neither freedom of speech nor religion. no, sir, what they called freedom was simply the freedom to make every one else do and think like the majority.” “waal, we won't argue it out,” peter said, “ for i'm not good at argument, and i came here to fight and not to talk. besides, i want to get to mount holly in time to jine in this battle, so i guess we'll be moving.” true to the old flag. paying for the breakfast, they started at once in the direction of mount holly, which lay some twenty-five miles away. as they approached the place early in the afternoon they overtook several men going in the same direction. they entered into conversation with them, but could only learn that some four hundred and fifty of the militia from philadelphia and the counties of gloucester and sailing had arrived on the spot. the men whom they had overtaken were armed countrymen who were going to take a share in the fight on their own account. entering the place with the others, peter found that the information given him was correct. “ we better be out of this at once,” he said to harold, “and make for bordentown.” “ you don't think that there is much importance in the movement,” harold said as they tramped along. “ there ain't no importance whatever," peter said, "and that's what i want to tell 'em. they're never thinking of attacking the two thousand hes- sians at bordentown with that ragged lot." “but what can they have assembled them for within twelve miles of the place?” harold asked. “it seems to me," the hunter replied, “that it's jest a trick to draw the germans out from borden- town and so away from trenton. at any rate, it's well that the true account of the force here should be known. these things gets magnified, and they may think that there's a hull army here.” true to the olt flag. it was getting dusk when they entered borden. town, and harold was glad when he saw the little town, for since sunset on the evening before they bad tramped nearly sixty miles. the place seemed singularly quiet. they asked the first person they met what had become of the troops, and they were told that colonel donop, who commanded, had marched an hour before with his whole force of two thousand men toward mount holly, leaving only eighty men in garrison at bordentown. “we are too late,” harold said. they have gone by the road and we kept straight through the woods and so missed them.” • waal, i hope no harm’ill come of it. i sup- pose they mean to attack at daybreak, and in course that rabble will run without fighting. i hope when the colonel sees as how thar's no enemy there worth speaking of he'll march straight back again." unfortunately this was not the case. the mili- tia, according to their orders, at once dispersed when their outposts told them of the approach of the british, but the german officer, instead of returning instantly, remained for two days near mount holly, and so gave time to washington to carry out his plans. captain wilson's company had gone out with the force, and peter and his companions had the house to themselves that night. harold slept late, being thoroughly fatigued by his long march the day be- fore, carrying his rifle, blanket, and provisions. peter woke him at last. true to the old flag. « now, young un, you've had a good sleep; it's eleven o'clock. i'm off to trenton to see what's doing there. will you go with me or will you stop here on the chance of eating your dinner with your father?” “oh, it's christmas day,” harold said, stretch- ing. “ well, wbat do you think, peter—are they likely to come back or not ?” “they ought to be back, there's no doubt about that, but whether they will or not is a different affair altogether. i've never seed them burry themselves yet, not since the war began; things would have gone a good deal better if they had; but time never seems of no consequence to them. they marched twelve miles last night, and i reckon it's likely they'll halt to-day and won't be back till to-morrow. i feel oneasy in my mind about the whole affair, for i can't see a single reason for the enemy sending that weak force to mount holly, unless it was to draw away the troops from here, and the only motive there could be for that would be because they intended to attack trenton.” “ very well, peter, i will go with you.” accompanied by jake they set out at once for trenton. on arriving there they found no partic. ular signs of vigilance. since the hessians had reached trenton their discipline had much relaxed. a broad river separated them from the enemy, who were known to be extremely discontented and dis- organized. they had received instruction on no ac- count to cross the river to attack the colonials, and true to the old flag. the natural consequence of this forced inactivity bad manifested itself. discipline was lax and but a slight watch was kept on the movements of the enemy across the stream. ignorant of the language of the people, they were inca pable of distinguishing between those who were friendly and those who were hostile to the crown, and they behaved as if in a conquered country, taking such necessaries as they required without payment, and even sending parties to a considerable distance on plundering ex- peditions. peter, on his arrival, proceeded to the head- quarters of colonel rhalle, who was in command- an officer of great bravery and energy. one of his officers was able to speak english, and to bim peter reported the departure of the force from borden- town, of which colonel rhalle was already aware, and the weakness of the american force at mount holly. he stated also his own belief that it was merely a feint to draw off colonel donop, and that preparatory to an attack on trenton. the officer treated the information lightly, and pointing to the mass of ice floating down the river asked whether it would be possible for boats to cross. “when the river freezes,” he said, “there may be some chance of attack. till then we are absolute-- ly safe.” peter, shaking his head, rejoined his companions and told them of the manner in which his advice had been received. “but it would be difficult to cross the river," true to the old flag. harold said. “look at the masses of ice on the water." “it would be difficult,” the hunter admitted, " but not by no manner of means impossible. determined men could do it. waal, i've done my duty and can do no more. ef the night passes off quietly we'll cross again before day break and go right into the yankee camp and see what they're up to. now, harold, you can take it easy till nightfall; there's naught to be learned till then, and as we shall be on foot all night ye may as well sleep to-day.” returning to a spot on the bank of the river at a short distance from the town, they made a fire, on which jake cooked some steaks of venison they had procured. after smoking a pipe the hunter set the example by stretching himself on the ground near the fire and going to sleep. used as he was to night marches, he had acquired the faculty of going to sleep at any hour at will. jake and harold were some time before they followed his example, but they too were at last asleep. at sunset they were on their feet again, and after taking supper pro- ceeded along the river. the night passed off quietly, and harold became convinced that his companion's fears were un- founded. toward morning he suggested that it was time to be crossing the river. “i'm not going yet," the hunter said. “before i start we'll go down to trenton ferry, a mile below the town. ef they come over at all it's likely enough to be there. there'll be time then to get true to the old flag. back and cross before it's light. it's six o'clock now.” they kept along the road by the river until they were within a quarter of a mile of the ferry. pres- ently they saw a dark mass ahead. “jerusalem !” peter exclaimed. “there they are.” they immediately discharged their rifles and ran back at full speed to the outposts, which were but a quarter of a mile from the town. the americans had also pressed forward at full speed, and the out- posts, who had been alarmed by the discharge of the rifles, were forced at once to abandon the post and to run into the town, whither they had, on hearing the rifles, already sent in one of their number with the news. here all was in confusion. the hessian leader was trying to collect his troops, who were hurrying in from their quarters, but many of them thought more of storing their plunder away in the wagons than of taking their places in the ranks. washington had crossed with twenty-five hun- dred men and a few field-pieces, and upon gain- ing the jersey side had divided his troops into two detachments, one of which marched by the river side, the other by an upper road. hurrying for- ward they surrounded the town, and placing their field-pieces in the road opened fire on the astonished hessians. rhalle had by this time succeeded in as- sembling the greater part of his force and charged the americans with his usual courage. he received, true to the old flag. however, a mortal wound as he advanced. his troops immediately lost heart, and finding their re- treat cut off at once surrendered. a body of hes- sian light horse succeeded in making their escape. the casualties were few on either side, but a thou- sand prisoners were taken. two other divisions of the americans had attempted to cross, the one at bordentown, the other at mackenzie's ferry, but both had failed owing to the quantity of floating ice. washington retired across the delaware the same afternoon. the consequences of this success were great. the spirits of the americans, which had fallen to the lowest ebb in consequence of the uninterrupted series of defeats, rose greatly. they found that the british were not invincible, and that if unable to oppose them in great battles they might at least inflict heavy losses on them and weary them out with skirmishes and surprises. the greatest joy reigned throughout the various states; fresh levies were ordered ; the voices of the moderate party, which had been gaining strength, were silenced, and the determination to continue the war vigor. oulsy was in the ascendency. the lesson given at trenton was wholly lost upon the english commander-in-chief. instead of at once ordering general leslie to advance from princeton and to hold the enemy in check by reoccupying and fortifying trenton, he allowed colonel donop to abandon bordentown and to fall back to prince- ton—thus laying it open to washington to cross true to the old flag. the delaware again and carry the war into new jersey. washington, after waiting eight days, see- ing the indecision and ineptitude of the british general, again crossed with four thousand men and occupied trenton. peter lambton and his two companions were not among the prisoners taken at trenton. on enter- ing the town harold was about to join the hessians assembling under colonel rhalle, but peter gave a violent tug to his coat. “come along, young un,” he said. “the darned fools have let themselves be caught in a trap and they'll find there's no way out of it. in ten minutes the americans will be all round the place, and as i don't wish to spend a year or two in a yankee prison at present i'm going to make tracks at once. fighting aren't no good now. men who'll let ’emselves be caught in a trap like this'll never be able to cut their way out of it. come on.” much against his will harold yielded to peter's wishes, and the three kept straight on through the town by the river side and issued into the country beyond before the americans bad surrounded it. a minute or two after leaving the town the light horse galloped past. “there are some more out of the hole, and i reckon that's about all. there, do ye hear the guns? the yanks have brought their artillery over-i reckon the fight won't last long." for two or three minutes there was a roar of musketry; then this suddenly ceased. true to the old flag. “ i thought as much," peter said. “they've sur- rendered. if they had only kept together and fought well they should have cut their way through the enemy. lord ! what poor things regular soldiers are in the dark! a frontiersman would just as soon fight in the dark as in the light; but here are the men who climbed up the hill to fort washing- ton--and that was no child's play-no better nor a pack of women when they're attacked half-asleep and balf-a wake just as day is breaking.” the three comrades walked to bordentown, which, they were relieved to find, had not been attacked. a few miles beyond this place they met colonel donop marching back at full speed with his corps, having received the news of the disaster at trenton from the horsemen who had fled. they joined their company and marched to princeton. a fortnight later lord cornwallis, with the forces at lrunswicl', under general grant, advanced to princeton and then moved forward to attack the army at trenton. general washington on his ap- proach retired from the town and, crossing a'rivulet at the back of it, took post on some high ground there, with the apparent intention of defending him. self against an attack. it was late in the afternoon, and a heavy cannonade was kept up till night-time. lord cornwallis determined to attack next morn- ing. at two in the morning washington retired suddenly, leaving his fires burning. quitting the main road he made a long circuit through allen- town and marched with all speed toward prince- ton, which place he intended to surprise. when true to the old flag. lord cornwallis advanced he had left the seven- teenth, fortieth, and fifty-fifth regiments there. on arriving at trenton he had sent word back for the seventeenth and fifty-fifth to advance to maidenhead, a village half-way between princeton and trenton. colonel mawhood, who commanded, marched at daylight, but scarcely had he started when he met washington advancing with his army. the morning was foggy, and it was at first supposed that the enemy were a body of british troops marching back to princeton, but it was soon found that the force was a hostile one. its strength could not be seen on account of the fog, and he deter- mined to engage it. possessing himself of some high ground, he sent his wagons back to princeton and ordered the fortieth regiment to come out to his assistance. as the americans advanced, the artillery on both sides opened fire. the leadings columns of the colonists soon showed signs of disorder. the seventeenth regiment fixed bayonets and with great gallantry charged the enemy in front of them, driving them back with considerable slaughter; and so far did they advance that they were separated from the other battalions, and cutting their way through the american force the regiment pursued its march to maidenhead. the fortieth and fifty- fifth fought stoutly, but were unable to make their way through the american force, and fell back to brunswick, while the americans occupied prince- ton. at daybreak lord cornwallis discovered the retreat of the american army, and being apprehen- true to the old flag. sive for the safety of brunswick, where great stores of the army were accumulated, marched with all baste toward that town. brigadier matthew, the officer commanding there, on hearing of the approach of the enemy at once dispatched the store wagons toward the rear and drew up his small command to defend the place to the last. the gallant resistance before princeton had delayed the americans so long that the ran of the army of cornwallis was already close to their rear as they approached brunswick. seeing this, washington abandoned his design on that town and crossed the millstone river, breaking down the bridge at kingston to stop pursuit. washington now overran east and west jersey, penetrated into essex county, and making himself master of the country opposite to staten island, thus regained almost all the district which the eng- lish had taken from him in the autumn. all this greatly heightened the spirit and courage of the americans, while the loyalists and the eng- lish troops were disheartened and disgusted at see- ing an army of thirty thousand fine troops kept in- active, while the enemy, with but four thousand men, who were wholly incapable of opposing an equal number of english troops, were allowed to wander unchecked, to attack and harass the eng- lish pickets, and to utilize the whole of the resources of their country. had general home entertained a fixed desire to see english authority overthrown in america he could not have acted in a manner more calculated to carry those wishes into effect. true to the old flag. chapter x. a treacherous planter. it must not be supposed that the whole of the time was spent in scouting and fightin“. between the armies lay a band of no man's land. here, as elsewhere, thủ people of the country wer divided in their opinions, but generally mad very little dis- play of these, whatever they might be. it is true that as a rule non-combatants were but little inter- fered with; still, a warm and open display of sym- pathy with one side or the other w us likely to be attended by the loss of cattle and damage to crops when tie other party got the upper hånd. in some other states feeling ran much higher. in the carolinas the royalists were most cruelly perse- cuted. their property was destroyed and they were in many cases shot down without mercy; but generally throughout the colonies a considerable latitude of opinion was allowed. this was especially so in the zone between the armies in the erseys. none could tell what the positions of " armies a week hence might be, and any persecution inflicted by the one party might lead to retaliation upon a shift of positions a few weeks later. a general toleration therefore reigned. true to the old flag. next to peter lambton, harold's greatest friend in the corps was a young man named harvey. he was of good family and belonged to new york. being a strong loyalist, he had, like many other gentlemen, enlisted for service under the old flag. he had naturally many acquaintances among the county families, and harold often accompanied him in bis visits to one or other of them. during the winter, when things were quiet, the duties of the scouts were light, and it was the babit among them that one-third should be on outpost duty at a time, the rest being free to move about as they liked. the scouts had no fixed order or posi- tion. they went out alone or in twos or threes, as it pleased them, their duty simply being to watch everything that was going on along the enemy's line of outposts, to bring in the earliest news of any intended movements, and to prevent dashing parties of the enemy's horsemen from making raids into or behind the british lines. they were not, of course, expected to check bodies of cavalry starting on a raid, but simply to obtain information of their hav- ing left tbeir lines and of the direction taken, and then to hurry back to the british posts, whence a force of cavalry would be sent out to intercept or check the invaders. many dashing exploits were performed by the cavalry on both sides in the way of getting bebind their opponents' quarters, cutting off provision trains, attacking small posts, and carry- ing off straggling parties. one of the houses to which harold used most true to the old flag. frequently to accompany his friend harvey was situated nearly half-way between the rival armies and was about eight miles from either. the owner -mr. jackson—was a man of considerable wealth, and the house was large and well appointed. he had before the troubles began a fine business as a lawyer in new york, but wben the outbreak of hostilities put a stop to all business of a legal kind in that city he had retired to his country house. although himself born in england, he professed to be entirely neutral, but his family were undis- guisedly loyal. it consisted of his wife and two daughters, girls of seventeen and eighteen years old. when the english army advanced to the neigh- borhood of his property mr. jackson was always ready to offer his hospitality to the officers of corps which might be stationed near him, and he similarly opened his bouse to the americans when they in turn advanced as the british turned back. being, as he always made a point of saving, perfectly neu- tral in the struggle, he was glad to meet gentlemen, irrespective of the opinions they beld. the line taken by mr. jackson was one which was very largely pursued among the inhabitants of the coun- try houses and farms scattered over what was throughout the war a debatable land. so frequent were the changes of the position of the armies that none could say who might be in possession in a week's time, and it was therefore an absolute neces- sity for those who wished to live unmolested to ab- stain from any strong show of partisanship. true to the old flag. as is always the case in struggles of this kind, the female population were more enthusiastic in their partisanship and more pronounced in their opinions than the men ; and although, upon the ar- rival of a troop of cavalry or a detachment of foot belonging to the other side, the master of the house would impartially offer what hospitality he was capable of, it was not difficult to perceive, by the warmth or coldness of the female welcome, wbat were the private sentiments of the family. harold was not long in discovering, from the frequency with which harvey proposed an excur- sion to the jacksons' and from his conduct there, that isabelle, the eldest daughter, was the object which mainly attracted him. the families had long been friends, and harvey, although now serving as a simple scout, was of a position equal to her own. the friends were always cordially received by mr. jackson, and harold was soon as intimate there as his comrade. they usually left their quarters a lit- tle before dusk and started back late at night. often as mr. jackson pressed them to stay, they never accepted his invitation. the scouts, from their activity and ubiquitous ness, were the bêtes-noirs of the americans, whose most secret plans were constantly detected and foiled by the sagacity and watchfulness of these men, whose unerring rifles made frequent gaps in the ranks of the officers. they therefore spared no pains, whenever there was a chance, of killing or capturing any of these most troublesome foes, and true to the old flag. harvey and harold knew that a report of their presence at the jacksons' would suffice to bring a party of horsemen from the american lines. their visits, therefore, were always made after dark and at irregular intervals, and in spite of their inclina- tion to the contrary, they made a point of return- ing at night to their quarters. other visitors were often present at the jacksons', the sons and daughters of neighbors, and there was generally music and singing, and sometimes the young people stood up for a dance. the scouts wore no regular uniform, although there was a general similarity in their attire, which was that of an ordinary backwoods hunter. when off duty they were allowed to dress as they pleased, and at mr. jackson's the two friends were attired in the ordinary dress of colonists of position. at these little gatherings political subjects were never discussed, and a stranger spending an evening there would not have dreamed that the house stood be- tween two hostile armies, that at any moment a party of horsemen belonging to one side or other might dash into the court-yard, and that even those laughing and talking pleasantly together might be of opinions diametrica ' v opposea. harvey and harold were introduced to visitors simply as friends from new york, and although the suspicions as to their character and position might be strong, no one thought of asking questions. “i do not like that fellow chermside,” harvey said one night as he and his friend were returning to their quarters. true to the old flag. they were mounted; for although when on duty the scouts worked on foot, many of them, who were men of property, kept horses which they used when not so engaged. harvey had two horses, and one of these was always at harold's service. “ i am not surprised you don't like him,” harold replied with a laugh, “and i imagine the dislike is mutual. when two gentlemen are paying atten- tions to one lady they seldom appreciate each other's merits very cordially." “i don't think it is entirely that,” harvey laughed. “isabelle and i understand each other, and i have no fear of his rivalry; but i do not like him." “i do not think i like him myself,” harold said more seriously; "and yet i do not know why i should not. when he has been there alone with us and the family he has frequently used expressions showing his strong leaning toward the loyalists' side.” “i don't put much faith in that,” harvey said. “he knows how strongly mr. jackson and the girls lean toward the crown, and would say anything that be thought would please isabelle. i have spoken to her and she thinks that he is sincere; in fact, she has rather a good opinion of him. how- ever, we shall see. it was rather curious that that party of morgan's cavalry should have ridden up the other night and searched the house two hours after we left. you see, we had agreed to sleep there that night and only changed our minds after true to the old flag. the others had all left, when we remembered that we were both for duty early next morning. it might have been a coincidence, of course, but it bad an ugly look. i think mr. jackson thought so too, for he did not ask us to stop to-night; anyhow i wish chermside's plantation was not so near this and that he did not drop in so often.” a week later they paid another visit. when dinner was over harold was chatting with mr. and mrs. jackson. harvey was sitting at the piano, where the eldest girl was playing, and the younger was looking out of window. “ we are going to have another fall of snow," she said. “there is not a star to be seen. oh !" she exclaimed suddenly. “ what is it, my dear ?” mr. jackson asked. “there is a rocket gone up from the woods." “ a rocket!” mr. jackson repeated. “yes, papa ; there are the stars falling now.” “ that is a curious thing,” mr. jackson said, while the others went to the window. they stood watching for some minutes, but nothing was to be seen. “i do not like that rocket,” mr. jackson said as they left the window. “it means something. it can only be a signal. people don't let off rockets for amusement nowadays. did you meet any one on the road?” “no, sir,” harvey said, “not a soul.” “i do not like it,” their host repeated. “it means mischief of some sort or other. i do not wish to agb mr. jackson's suspicions aroused. - page , tr true to the old flag. seem in hospitable, but my advice to you is, get on your horses at once and ride to your quarters. you are on duty to-morrow, and you told me you would pass near here on your way toward the enemy's lines. you might look in as you go past and hear whether anything came of it. if i mistake not we shall have another visit from morgan's horse this erening.” much against their inclination the young men followed mr. jackson's advice. the next day they, with peter and jake, stopped at the house as they passed. “i was right,” their host said as the two young men entered. “an hour after you left twenty of morgan's horse rode up here. they would not take my word that we were alone, but searched the house from top to bottom and were evidently greatly disappointed at finding no one. i have been mak- ing inquiries this morning and find that all the servants were in the house at the time my daughter saw the rocket, so i hope that i have no traitor here. still, it is clear that some one must be keep- ing watch over your movements.” “have you asked, sir,” harvey said after a pause, “whether any one came after we had ar. rived ?" “i do not see how any one could come, but i will ask.” he rang the bell and a negro servant appeared. “ did any one come to the house yesterday, cæsar, after these gentlemen came—any beggar or ped- dler, or any one of that sort ?” true to the old flag. “no, sir, no one came except massa chermside. he get off his horse and ask if you hab any visitors. i said that massa harvey and massa wilson were here. he say he call again another night when the family alone, and rode off.” “ just what i expected, sir,” harvey said when the servant left the room. “i have always doubted that fellow's honesty." “oh, nonsense !” mr. jackson replied. “you must be mad, harvey. chermside's father was an old friend of mine, and i have known the young fellow since he was a child. i should as soon sus- pect one of my own daughters of being capable of such an act of gross treachery as laying a plot to bring the american cavalry down upon guests of mine. the idea is preposterous. bless me, how amused the girls will be at your suspecting their old playfellow !” “i hope i may be mistaken, sir,” harvey said,“ but harold's opinion of him agrees with mine, and in talking it over last night we buth put our finger on him as the man who fired the rocket. well, now, we must be pushing on. we are bound for the ford where morgan's horse must have come over, and shall hear from our fellows there whether they rode straight bere after crossing, as if so there can be no doubt whatever that the rocket was a signal.” upon arriving at the ford they found that mor- gan's horse had only crossed an hour before the time at which they arrived at mr. jackson's. one of the scouts had instantly taken word to the nearest cav. true to the old flag. alry outpost, but the enemy bad recrossed the river before these had arrived on the spot. after three days on duty at the front the party returned to their lines, and the next time that the young men rode out to their friends they took with them jake and peter, to whom they related the circumstances. the scouts proceeded on foot and separated from the others a mile before reaching the house, having arranged that peter should scout round it, while jake should proceed to the plantation of mr. cherm- side and keep a sharp lookout there. they had arranged with mr. jackson that no mention of the rocket should be made to any one, however intimate with the family. “i am glad to see you again,” the host said as they entered the room where the family were as- sembled, “ although i own that these two raids of morgan's horse have made me uneasy. the girls have been immensely amused at your suspicions of young chermside.” “how could you think such a thing ?" isabelle said. “he was here on the following evening and was as indignant as we were at the thought of treachery being at work. he quite agreed with us that the coming of the yankees could hardly have been accidental.” “ you said nothing about the rocket, i hope ?" harvey asked. “no, we kept quite silent about that, as you made such a point of it; but it seemed ridiculous warna wa ev wyth a treacherous friend caught.–page true to the old flag. as jake spoke he held out a rocket. several times while jake had been speaking the planter bad tried to interrupt him, but each time jake, who had not released his hold of him, gave him so violent a shake that he was fain to be silent. “ this is a scandalous indignity,” he exclaimed furiously when jake finished. “what do you mean, sir," be demanded of harvey, “ by setting this nigger to watch my abode? i will have satis- faction for this treatment.” “it seems, sir,” mr. jackson said, signing to har- vey to be silent, “ that you have been detected in a gross act of treachery. my friends have suspected you of it, but i indignantly denied it. could we be- lieve, i and my family, that you, whom we have known as a child, would betray our guests to the americans? loyalists and republicans are alike welcome here. i do not ask my friends their opinions. my house is neutral ground, and i did not think that any who used it would bave had the treachery to turn it into a trap; still less did i imagine you would do so. these gentlemen would be perfectly within their right did they take you out and hang you from the nearest tree; but for my sake i trust that they will do so; but should the american cavalry ever again visit this house under circumstances which may lead it to be sup- posed that they have been brought here to capture my guests, i shall let them punish you as you deserve. no word of mine will be raised in your favor. now, sir, go, and never again enter this true to the old flag. house, where the loathing and contempt that i feel for you will, i know, be shared by the ladies of my family.” at a nod from harold jake released his hold of the captive, who, without a word, turned and left the room. not a word was spoken for a minute or two after he had left. the youngest girl was the first to speak. “the wretch !” she exclaimed. “to think that herbert chermside should turn out such a mean traitor! papa, i would have let them hang him at once. it would have served him right. now he may do us all harm.” “i do not know that you are not right, ada," mr. jackson replied gravely. “i am far from saying that i acted wisely. young chermside has many friends among the americans, and it is possible that he may work us harm. however, my position as a neutral is well established. officers on both sides have at times been welcomed here, and his report, therefore, that our friends here are often with us can do us no harm. henceforth he must be regarded as an enemy, and there will always be danger in these visits. so long as the american outposts are within an hour's ride he can have the road watched, and although he is not likely to ven- ture upon signaling with rockets, he may send or take word on horsebaek. a bonfire, too, might be lit at the other side of the bill to call them over. altogether you will never be safe from home except true to the old flag. when you have a strong body of your own troops between this and the river.” “i am glad to say,” harvey answered, “that in consequence of the news of morgan's raids on this side a body of two hundred infantry and a troop of cavalry are to move to-morrow and take up their position by the ford, so we shall be safe from any surprise from that direction." “i am very glad to hear it,” mr. jackson said. “it will relieve me of a great anxiety. but pray be watchful when you are in this neighborhood. you have made a bitter enemy, and after what he has proved himself capable of we cannot doubt that he would hesitate at nothing. i understand," he went on with a smile toward his eldest daughter, “ what is at the bottom of his conduct, and as i have long suspected his hopes in that quarter i am not surprised that he is somewhat hostile to you. still, i never for a moment deemed him capable of this." the next day mr. jackson learned that his neigh- bor had left his plantation and had told his servants that he was not likely to return for some time. shortly after this a series of bad luck attended the doings of the british scouts. several parties were killed or captured by the enemy and they were constantly baffled by false reports, while the americans appeared to forestall all their movements. it was only when enterprises were set on foot and carried out by small bodies that they were ever successful, anything like combined action by the orders of the officers constantly turning out ill. true to the old flag. “there must be a traitor somewhere,” peter said upon the return of a party from an attempt which, although it promised well, bad been frustrated, to carry off a number of cattle from one of the american depots. “it ain't possible that this can be all sheer bad luck. it ain't no one in our com- pany, i'll be bound. we ain't had any new re- cruits lately, and there ain't a man among us whom i could not answer for. there must be a black sheep in gregory's or vincent's corps. the enemy seem up to every move, and between us we have lost more than thirty men in the last few weeks. there ain't no doubt about it—there's a traitor somewhere and he must be a clever one, and he must have pals with him, or he couldn't send news of what we are doing so quickly. it beats me al- together, and the men are all furious.” “i've been talking with some of our men,” peter said a few days afterward, “and we agree that we are bound to get to the bottom of this matter. we're sartin sure that the traitor don't belong to us. what we propose is this, that the hull of us shall go up together, without saying a word to a soul, and scatter ourselves along the river at all the points where a chap going with a message to the enemy would be likely to cross. the night we go out we'll get the three captains all to give orders to their men for an expedition, so that whoever it is that sends messages from here would be sure to send over word to the yankees; and it'll be hard if we don't ketch him. what do you say ?” true to the old flag. “i think the plan is a very good one,” harold answered. “if you like i will go with my father and ask gregory and vincent to send their men." captain wilson at once went to these officers. they were as much irritated and puzzled as were their men by the failures which had taken place, and agreed that next evening an order should be issued for the men of the three corps to act in com- bination, and to allow it to leak out that they in- tended to surprise an american post situated near the river, twenty-one miles distant. captain wil. son's scouts, instead of going with the others, were to act on their own account. on the day arranged, as soon as it became dark, the forty scouts quietly left their quarters in small parties and made their way toward the river, striking it at the point where a messenger would be likely to cross upon his way to give warning to the american post of the attack intended to be made upon it. they took post along the river at a dis- tance of fifty or sixty yards apart and silently awaited the result. several hours passed and no sound broke the stillness of the woods. an hour before dawn peter lambton heard a slight crack, as that of a breaking twig. it was some distance back in the woods, but it seemed to him by the di- rection that the man who caused it would strike the river between himself and jake, who was stationed next to him. he noiselessly stole along toward the point. another slight sound afforded him a sure indication of the direction in which the man, who- true to the old flag. ever he might be, was approaching. he hastened his steps, and a minute later a negro issued from the wood close to him. he stood for an instant on the river bank and was about to plunge in, when peter threw his arms around him. although taken by surprise, the negro struggled desperately and would have freed himself from the grip of the old scout had not jake run up instantly to his comrade's assistance. in a minute the negro was bound and two shots were then fired, the con- certed signal by which it would be known along the line that a capture had been effected. in a few minutes the whole body was assembled. the negro, who refused to answer any questions, was carried far back into the woods and a fire was lighted. “now, nigger,” peter said, taking as captor the lead in the matter, “jest tell us right away where you was going and who sent you.” the negro was silent. “ now, look ye here, darky, you're in the hands of men who are no jokers. ef you tell us at once who put ye on to this trick no harm will happen to you; but ef ye don't we'll jest burn the skin off your body bit by bit.” still the negro was silent. “half a dozen of yez,” peter said, “as have got iron ramrods shove them into the fire. we'll soon find this nigger's tongue." not a word was spoken until the ramrods were heated red-hot. “now,” peter said, “two of yez clap your ram- rods against this darky's flanks.” t'rue to the old flag. the negro struggled as the men approached him and gave a terrific yell as the hot iron was applied to his sides. “ i will tell you, sars-oh! have mercy upon me and i will tell you eberyting!” “i thought,” peter said grimly, “ that you'd find a tongue soon enough. now, then, who sent you ?” “my massa,” the negro answered. “and who is your master ?” the negro was again silent, but as, at a nod from peter; the men again raised the ramrods, he blurted out: “ massa chermside." the name was known to many of the scouts, and a cry of anger broke from them. “i thought as much,” harvey said. “i suspect- ed that scoundrel was at the bottom of it all along. where is he ?” he asked the negro. “me not know, sar.” “ you mean you won't say,” peter said. “ try the vartue of them ramrods again." “no! no!” tbe negro screamed. “me swear me do not know where him be. you may burn me to death if you will, but i could not tell you." “i think he is speaking the truth,” harvey said. “wait a minute. have you done this before ?” he asked the negro. “yes, sar. eight or ten times me swim de river at night." “ with messages to the americans ?" “yes, sar; messages to american officers.” true to the old flag. "have you any written message—any letter ?” “no, sar, me never take no letter. me only carry dis.” and he took out from his hair a tiny ball of paper smaller than a pea. it was smoothed out and upon it were the words general washington.” “where i go, sar, i show dem dis, and dey know den dat de message can be believed." “but how do you get the message? how do you see your master ?” “massa's orders were dat me and two oders were to meet him ebery night after it got dark at a tree a mile from de place where de soldiers are. some- times he no come. when he come he gibs each of us a piece of money and tell us to carry a message across the river. we start by different ways, swim across de water in different places, take de message, and come back to de plantation.” “a pretty business !" peter said. “now you must come back with us to the post and tell your story to the commanding officer. then we must see if we can't lay hands on this rascally master of yours” upon the news being told, the general in com- mand sent a party out, who, after searching the house and out-buildings of the plantation in vain, set fire to them and burned them to the ground. the negroes were all carried away and employed to labor for the army. the town and all the surround- ing villages were searched, but no trace could be obtained of the missing man. one of the men of true to the old flag. gregory's corps of scouts disappeared. he had re- cently joined, but his appearance as a man with beard and whiskers in no way agreed with that of tbe planter. he might, however, have been dis- guised, and his disappearance was in itself no proof against him, for the scouts were under no great dis- cipline, and when tired of the service often left without giving notice of their intention of doing so. it was, moreover, possible that he might have fallen by an enemy's bullet. the strongest proof in favor of the deserter being chermside was that henceforth the scouts were again as successful as before, often surprising the enemy successfully. now that the ford nearest to mr. jackson's was strongly guarded, the young men had no apprehen- sion of any surprise, although such an event was just possible, as the cavalry on both sides often made great circuits in their raids upon each other's country. that chermside was somewhere in the neighborhood they believed, having indeed strong reason for doing so, as a rifle was one evening fired at them from the wood as they rode over, the ball passing between their heads. pursuit at the time was impossible, but the next day a number of scouts searched the woods without success. soon after they beard that chermside had joined the americans and obtained a commission in a body of their irregular horse. harvey was now formally engaged to isabelle jackson, and it was settled that the wedding should true to the old flag. take place in the early spring at new york. when not on duty he naturally spent a good deal of his time there, and harold was frequently with bim. since he had been fired at in the woods isabelle had been in the highest state of nervous anxiety lest her lover's enemy should again try to assassinate him, and she begged harold always to come over with him if possible, as the thought of his riding alone through the wood filled her with anxiety. although he had no order to do so, jake, when- ever he saw harold and his friend canter off toward the jacksons', shouldered his rifle and went out after them to the house, where, so long as they stayed, he scouted round and round with the utmost vigilance. very often harold was ignorant of his presence there, but when, after his return, he found by questioning him how he had been employed, he remonstrated with him on such ex- cessive caution. “ can't be too cautious, massa," jake said. “you see dat fellow come one of dese days." jake's presentiment turned out correct. one evening when with several friends the young men were at mr. jackson's the sound of the report of a rifle was heard at a short distance. “ that must be jake's rifle !” harold exclaimed. “quick, harvey, to your horse.” it was too late. as they reached the door a strong party of american cavalry dashed up to it. “surround the house !" an officer shouted. “do not let a soul escape.” true to the old flag. the young men ran upstairs again. “we are caught,” harvey said. “escape is cut off. the yankee cavalry are all round the house. good-by, isabelle. we shall meet one of these days again, dear.” the girl threw herself into his arms. “be calm, love,” he said. “do not let this scoundrel have the satisfaction of triumphing over you." a moment later chermside, accompanied by sev- eral soldiers, entered the room. “i am sorry to disturb so pleasant a party," he said in a sneering voice, “but if americans choose to entertain the enemies of their country they must expect these little disagreeables." mr. jackson abruptly turned his back upon him, and no one else spoke, although he was personally well known to all. “these are the two men,” he said to the soldiers -“two of the most notorious scouts and spies on the frontier. we will take them to headquarters, where a short shrift and two strong ropes will be their lot.” “ the less the word spy is in the mouth of such a pitiful traitor as yourself the better, i should say," harvey said quietly; and walking forward with harold he placed himself in the hands of the soldiers. no one else spoke. isabelle had fainted when she heard the threat of execution against her lover. ada stood before her with a look of such anger true to the old flag. and contempt on her young face that chermside fairly winced under it. “ to horse !” he said sullenly, and turning, fol- lowed his men and prisoners downstairs. the troop, harold saw, numbered some two hun- dred sabers. they had with them a number of riderless horses, whose accouterments showed that they belonged to an english regiment; most of the men, too, had sacks of plunder upon their horses. they had evidently made a successful raid, and had probably attacked a post and surprised and driven off the horses of a squadron of cavalry, and were now on their return toward their lines. “this is an awkward business, harold,” harvey said as in the midst of their captors they galloped off from the jacksons'. “of course it's all nonsense about our being hung. still, i have no wish to see the inside of a prison, where we may pass years be- fore we are exchanged. once handed over to the authorities we shall be safe, but i shall not feel that we are out of danger so long as we are in this scoundrel's hands. fortunately there are officers of superior rank to himself with the squadron, other- wise i have no doubt at all that he would hang us at once.” such was indeed the case, and chermside was at that moment fuming intensely at the chance which had thrown his rival in his hands at a time when be was powerless to carry out his vengeance. he had, indeed, ventured to suggest that it would be less trouble to hang the prisoners at once, but the major true to the old flag. in command had so strongly rebuked him for the suggestion that he had at once been silenced. “i blush that i should have heard such words from the mouth of an american officer. it is by such deeds, sir, that our cause is too often dis- graced. we are soldiers fighting for the independ. ence of our country, not lawless marauders. had these men been taken in their civilian dress over on our side of the river they would have been tried and hung as spies; but they were on neutral ground, and in fact in the rear of their own posts. there is no shadow of defense for such an accusa- tion. should i ever hear a similar suggestion i shall at once report your conduct to general wash- ington, who will know how to deal with you." “i wonder what has become of jake,” harold said to his comrade. “i trust he was not shot down.” not he," harvey said. “he made off after fir- ing his rifle, you may be sure, when he saw that there was nothing to be done. the fellow can run like a bare, and i have no doubt that by this time he has either got back to the village and given the alarm there or has made for the ford. there are one hun- dred cavalry there now as well as the infantry. jake will be there in an hour from the time he started. the dragoons will be in the saddle five minutes later, and it is just possible they may cut off our retreat before we have crossed the river. peter is on duty there, and if he happens to be at the post when jake arrives he will hurry up with all the scouts he can collect.” true to the old flag. jake bad taken flight as harvey supposed. he had, after firing his rifle, taken to the wood, and had remained near the house long enough to see which way the cavalry rode when they started. then he made for the post at the ford at the top of his speed. it was less than an hour from starting when he arrived there, and three minutes later the cavalry trumpets were blowing “ to horse!” after giving his message to the officer in command jake went into the village, where the sounds of the trum. pet brought all the soldiers into the little street. “ hullo, jake! is that you ?” a familiar voice asked. “what the tarnal is up now ?" jake hastily related what had taken place. “ tarnation !" peter exclaimed. “this is a bad job. they're making, no doubt, for finchley's ford, fifteen mile down the river. with an hour's start they're sure to be there before us.” “what are you going to do, peter? are you tinking of running wid de cavalry ?" “thinking of running to the moon !" the scout said contemptuously. “you can run well, i don't deny, jake, but you couldn't run fifteen mile with the dragoons; and if you could you'd get there too late. yer bellows are going pretty fast already. now don't stand staring there, but hurry through the camp and get all our boys together. tell them to meet by the water side. get gregory and vin- cent's men as well as our own. there's twenty or thirty altogether in the place.” without asking a question jake ran off to carry true to the old flag. out the orders, and in a few minutes twenty-four men were collected together on the bank. “now, you fellows,” peter said, “we've got to rescue these two young chaps out of the hands of the yankees. them who don't want to jine, and mind you the venture is a risky one, bad better say so at once and stop behind." no one mored. “what i propose is this: we'll take the ferry- boat, which ain't no good to no one seeing as how the yankees are one side of the river and we the other, and we'll drop down the stream about ten mile. then we'll land on their side of the river and strike inland, hiding the boat under the bushes somewhere. they'll halt for the night when they're safe across the river. there's five or six hundred of their infantry camped on the ford. there's two hundred on our side, but the yankees'll ride through in the dark and get across before the red-coats are awake. now, i propose that after we've landed we make a sweep round until we get near the yanks' camp. then the rest'll wait and two or three of us'll go in and see if we can't get the young fellows out of wharever they've put 'em. then we'll jine you and make a running fight of it back to the boat.” the others assented. the boat was amply large enough for all, and pulling her out into the stream they dropped down, keeping under shelter of the trees on the british side. half an hour after they had started they heard the faint sound of distant musketry. true to the old flag. “ there,” peter said, “the yanks are riding through the british camp, close to the ford.” a few more shots were heard and then all was silent. the stream was swift, for it was swollen by recent rains, and at three in the morning the boat touched the bank about a mile above the ford. the party disembarked noiselessly, and fastening the boat to a tree moved along toward the camp. when they were within four or five hun- dred yards of the village peter chose jake and two others of his band, and telling the rest to re- main where they were, ready for action, he struck inland. he made a détour and came in at the back of the camp. here there were no sentries, as the only danger to be apprehended was upon the side of the river. peter therefore entered boldly. in front of the principal house a sentry was walking up and down, and he, in the free-and-easy manner usual in the american army, gladly entered into conversation with the new-comers. “all pretty quiet about here ?" peter asked. we're from the west, and have jest come down to do a little fighting with the britishers. i reckon they ain't far off now ?" “they are just across the river," the sentry said. “ have you come far ?" “we've made something like two hundred mile this week, and mean to have a day or two's rest be- fore we begin. we've done some injun fighting, my mates and me, in our time, and we says to our- true to the old flag. selves it was about time we burned a little powder against the red-coats. things seem quiet enough about here. nothing doing, eh ?”! “not much," the sentry said; “ just skirmishes. some of our cavalry came across through the red- coats late to-night. i hear they have got a quantity of plunder and some fine horses, and they have brought in a couple of the british scouts.” “and what have they done with 'em ?” peter asked. “strung 'em up, i suppose.” “no, no; we ain't fighting indians now; we don't hang our prisoners. no, they are safe under guard over there in the cavalry camp, and will be taken to headquarters to-morrow.” “ waal,” peter said, stretching himself, “i feel mighty tired and shall jest look for a soft place for an hour's sleep before morning.” so saying he sauntered away, and the sentry resumed his walk. peter and his three companions now moved off toward the spot where, as the sentry had indicated, the cavalry were encamped. they were not in tents, but were sleeping wrapped up in their blankets. two tents bad been erected, lent prob- ably by the infantry on the spot. one was much larger than the other and sentries were placed be- fore each. they had some difficulty in making their way, for the night was dark and the cavalry had picketed their horses without order or regu- larity. in their search they had to use great caution to avoid stumbling over the sleeping men, true to the old flag. but at last they saw the tents faintly against the sky. they crawled cautiously up. there were two sentries on the smaller tent. “now, jake,” peter whispered, “you're the blackest and so had better do the trick. don't cut a hole in the tent, for they'd be safe to hear the canvas tear. crawl under. it's been put up in haste and ain't likely to be pinned down very tight. they're safe to be bound, and when you've cut the cords and given them tirne to get the use of their feet, then crawl along and jine us.” jake dia as he was instructed. one of the sentries was pacing up and down before the en- trance, the other making a circuit round the tent. the circle was a somewhat large one to avoid stumbling over the tent ropes. jake, watching his opportunity, had no difficulty in crawling up and squeezing himself under the canvas before the sentry returned. “hush !” he whispered as he let the canvas fall behind him. “it's jake." · both the captives were fast asleep. jake, feeling about in the darkness, found them one after the other, and putting his hands on their mouths to prevent them making an exclamation he woke them, and soon cut the cords with which they were bound hand and foot. then in whispers he told them what had happened. they chafed their limbs to produce circulation, for they had been tightly tied, and then one by one they crawled out of the tent. harvey went first and was safely across before true to the old flag. the sentry returned. harold followed, but as he went in his hurry he struck a tent rope. “what's that ?" the sentry in front asked sharp- ly. “bill, was that you ?” “no,” his comrade replied. “something's up. look into the tent.” and so saying he ran round behind, while the . sentry in front rushed into the tent and, kicking about with his feet, soon found that it was empty. jake, on hearing the exclamation, at once crawled from the tent, but as he did so the sentry, running round, saw him and leveled his rifle. before he could fire a shot was heard and the man fell dead. jake started to his feet and joined his friends. the other sentry also discharged his rifle, and the whole camp awoke and sprang to their feet. the horses, alarmed at the sudden tumult, plunged and kicked; men shouted and swore, every one asking what was the matter. then loud cries were heard that the sentry was shot and the prisoners had escaped. running closely together and knocking down all who stood in their way, the fugitives hurried in the darkness until at the edge of the camp and then started at full speed. the trumpets were now sounding to horse and several shots were fired after them. many of the horses had not been unsaddled and mounted men at once dashed off. several had seen the little party rush away, and the horsemen were speedily on their track. the six men ran at the top of their speed and were soon close to their hidden friends. true to the old flag. “this way! this way! i see them !” shouted a voice, which harold and harvey recognized as that of their enemy, who a minute later galloped up with half a dozen troopers. it was not until he was within a few yards that his figure was clearly dis- cernible; then peter lambton's rifle flashed out and the planter fell from his horse with a bullet in his brain. jake and the other two men also fired, and the horsemen, astonished at their number, reined in their horses to await the coming up of more of their comrades. in another minute the fugitives were with their friends, and at a rapid trot the whole ran up the river bank toward the spot where they had hidden their boat. the country was covered with brushwood and forest, and as the cavalry, now swollen to a consid- erable force, advanced, they were greeted by so heavy a fire that, astonished at this strong force of foes upon their side of the river and not knowing how numerous they might be, they halted and waited for the infantry to come up. long before the enemy were prepared to advance against the unknown foe the scouts reached their boat and crossed in safety to the other side. shortly after this adventure mr. jackson and his family moved for the winter to new york, where soon after their arrival the wedding between har- vey and isabelle took place, the former retiring from the corps of scouts. true to the old flag chapter xi. the capture of philadelphia. during the course of the spring of a large num- ber of loyal colonists had volunteered their services. they had been embodied into battalions, and when the army prepared to take the field they were placed in garrisons in new york and other places, thus permitting the employment of the whole of the british force in the field. the americans bad occupied themselves in strongly fortifying the more defensible positions, especially those in a mountain tract of country called the manor of courland. this was converted into a sort of citadel, where large quantities of provisions, forage, and stures of all kinds were collected. about fifty miles from new york, up the north river, was a place called peekskill, which served as a port to the manor of courland. the country was so difficult and mountainous that general howe shrank from engaging his army in it. he determined, however, to attack and destroy peekskill, and a party of five hundred men, under the command of colonel bird, of the fifteenth regiment, were sent up the river in two transports to destroy it. the garrison, con- sisting of eight bundred men, set fire to the place true to the old flag. and withdrew without firing a shot. the british completed the destruction of the stores and returned to new york. a little later two thousand men were sent on a similar expedition against the town of danbury, another place on the confines of courland manor, where great stores had also been collected. they proceeded up the east river and landed at camp's point. they started on foot at ten o'clock at night, and after a ten hours' march arrived at eight o'clock at danbury. the enemy evacuated the place on their approach, and the english set fire to the great magazines filled with stores of all kinds. the news of the march of the english bad spread rapidly, and the enemy assembled from all quarters and posted themselves under the command of gen- eral arnold at a town called ridgefield, through which the english would have to pass on their re- turn. here they threw up intrenchments. it was late in the afternoon when the english, fatigued with the long march, arrived at this spot. they did not hesitate, but when the americans opened fire they boldly assailed the intrenchments and car- ried them with the bayonet. they were unable to march further, and lying down so as to form an oblong square, slept till morning. all night the americans continued to come up in great force, and in the morning as the troops advanced a terrible fire was opened upon them from the houses and stone walls in which the country abounded. the british had to fight every foot of their way. gen- true to the old tlag. eral wooster had brought up some field-artillery on the side of the americans. gradually the column fought its way forward until it arrived within half a mile of camp's point. here two strong bodies of the enemy barred their way. the column were by this time greatly exhausted; the men had had no real rest for three days and two nights and several dropped on the road with fatigue. brigadier-gen- eral erskine picked out four hundred of those who were in the best condition and attacked the two bodies of the enemy with such vigor that he put them utte, ly to flight, and the column again ad- vancing reached their destination without further molestation. nearly two hundred men, including ten officers, were killed and wounded on the part of the british ; the loss of the americans was still greater, and general wooster and some field-officers were among the slain. many other skirmishes took place with varied success. the americans at bond wick, seven miles from brunswick, twelve hundred in number, were surprised and routed by cornwallis, while on the other hand the american colonel meigs carried out a most dashing expedition by crossing to long island and destroying quantity of stores at a place called sag harbor, burning a dozen brigs and sloops which lay there, taking ninety prisoners, and re- turning safely across the sound. in june washington with eight thousand men was encamped in a strong position at middlebrook. general howe, although he had thirty thousand true to the old flag. stead of doing so he sailed down to chesapeake bay and there disembarked the whole army, which had been pent up in transports from july to august . not till september did they advance in ear- nest toward philadelphia. the americans thus had ample time to take up a strong position and fortify it. this they did on the other side of brandy wine creek. under cover of a cannonade the british ad- vanced, mastered the fort, and carried the intrench- ments. general sullivan, with a considerable force, had now arrived, accompanied by general wash- ington himself. he took up his position a short dis- tance from the brandywine, his artillery well placed and his flanks covered with woods. the following afternoon the british attacked. the americans fought well, but the british were not to be denied, and rushing forward drove the enemy from their position into the woods in their rear. here they made a stand and were only dis- lodged after a desperate resistance. the greater portion of them fled in all directions. washington himself, with his guns and a small force, retreated eight miles from chester and then marched by derby to philadelphia. here he waited three days rallying his troops, and then having recruited his stores from the magazines, marched a way. all this time the british remained inactive on the ground they had won. in the battle the americans lost three hundred killed, six hundred wounded, and four hundred prisoners. several guns were also taken. the british lost one hundred killed and four hundred wounded. true to the old flag. on september they advanced toward phila- delphia. the american general wayne had con- cealed himself in the woods with fifteen hundred men, with the intention of harassing the rear of the british army. news of this having been obtained, major-general grey was dispatched at once to sur- prise him ; he ordered his men not to load, but to rely wholly on the bayonet. the success of the ex- pedition was complete. general wayne's outpost was surprised and the british troops rushed into his encampment. three hundred of the americans were killed or wounded and one hundred taken prisoners. the rest escaped through the woods. on the english side one officer was killed and seven privates killed and wounded. the capture of philadelphia was an important advantage to the british, but it could not be thor- oughly utilized until the fleet could come up the river to the town. the american congress, wbich had sat at pbiladelphia until general howe ap- proached the town, had taken extensive measures for rendering the passage impracticable. three rows of chevaux-de-frise, composed of immense beams of timber bolted and fastened together and stuck with iron spikes, were sunk across the chan- nel, and these lines were protected by batteries. at these forts were fourteen large row-boats, each carrying a heavy cannon, two floating batteries carrying nine guns each, and a number of fire-ships and rafts. the forts commanding the chevaux-de-frise were true to the old flag. abandoned on the approach of the british, and cap- tain hammond, of the roebuck, succeeded, in spite of the opposition of the enemy's boats and batteries, in making an opening through the chevaux-de-frise sufficiently wide for the fleet to pass. large numbers of troops having been sent away from germantown, a place seven miles from phila- delphia, where the main body of the british army were posted, general washington determined to attempt the surprise of that position. for this pur- pose he reënforced his army by drawing fifteen hundred troops from peekskill and one thousand from virginia, and at day break on october , under cover of a thick fog, he made an attack on the troops posted at the head of the village. half of the british force lay on one side of the village and half on the other, and had the attack upon the place succeeded the british army would have been cut in two. the village was held by the fortieth regiment, who, fighting obstinately, were driven back among the houses. the americans were pushing forward in five heavy columns, when lieutenant-colonel musgrave, who commanded the fortieth, threw himself into a large stone house. here he offered a desperate resistance, and so im- peded the advance of the enemy that time was given for the rest of the british troops to get under arms. . general washington ordered a whole brigade of infantry to attack the house and turned four guns against it. colonel musgrave and his men resisted true to the old flag. desperately and held the post until major-general grey, with the third brigade, and brigadier-gen- eral agnew, with the fourth brigade, came up and attacked the enemy with great spirit. the engage- ment was for some time very hot. at length a part of the right wing fell upon the enemy's flank, and the americans retired with great precipitation. the fog was so dense that no pursuit could be attempted. on the part of the english six hundred were killed and wounded. the loss of the americans amounted to between two and three hundred killed, six hundred wounded, and four hundred taken prisoners. general howe had on the previous night been acquainted with the intention of gen- eral washington to attack the place, and had be taken the proper measures to have received them the american army would have been destroyed. he took no measures whatever, gave no warning to the army, and suffered the camp to be taken by surprise. after this battle the feet and army united, cleared away the chevaux-de-frise across the dela- ware, and took the forts commanding them after some hard fighting. the passage of the delaware being thus opened and the water communication secured, the army went to their winter quarters at philadelphia. captain wilson and his son had taken no part in any of these operations, as a short time after the capture of harold and harvey by the american true to the old flag. cavalry the company had been disbanded. the men when they entered the service had volunteered for a year. this time already had been greatly exceeded—twenty months had passed since the battle of bunker's hill—and although the men were willing to continue to give their services so long as it appeared to them that there was a pros- pect of a favorable terminatior of the war, no such hope any longer remained in their minds. the great army which england had sent over had done nothing toward restoring 'b king's authority in the colonies, and if after a year fighting its outposts were still within a few miles of new york, how could it be expected or evin hoped that it could ever subdue a country containing hundreds of thousands of square miles? the retreat from the delaware and the virtual handing over of new jersey again to washington was the finishing stroke which decided the volunteers to demand their discharge, according to the terms of their engagement. except during the canadian cam- paign they had bad but little fighting, nor in such a warfare as that which general howe was carrying on was there much scope for their services. many of the gentlemen who formed the majority of the company, and who for the most part had friends and connections in england, sailed for that country; some had left wives and families on their estates when they took up arms; and most of them, de- spairing of the final success of the war, bad instruct- - ed their agents to sell these estates for any sum that true to the old flag. they would fetch; others-among them captain wilson—now followed their example. it was but a mere tithe of the value of the property that was obtained, for money was scarce in the colonies, and so many bad sold out and gone to england, rather tban take part on one side or the other of the fratricidal strife, that land and houses fetched but nominal prices. mrs. wilson had long since gone to england, and her husband, having made arrangements for the disposal of his property, now determined to join her. fortunately be possessed means irrespective of his estate in america. this had come to him through his wife, and his own fortune and the money obtained by the sale of his commission had remained invested in english securities. while determined on this course for himself, he left it to his son to choose his own career. harold was now nearly eighteen, and his life of adventure and responsibility had made a man of him. his father would have preferred that he should have returned with him to england, but harold finally decided upon remaining. in war men's passions become heated, the original cause of quarrel sinks into comparative insignificance, and the desire for vic- tory, the determination to resist, and a feeling of something like individual hatred for the enemy become predominant motives of the strife. this was especially the case in the american war. on both sides there were many circumstances which heightened the passions of the combatants. the true to the old flag. loyalists in the english ranks had been ruined by the action of their opponents—many had been reduced from wealth to poverty, and each man felt a deep passion of resentment at what he regarded his personal grievance. then, too, the persistent misrepresentations both of facts and motives on the part of the american writers and speakers added to the irritation. the loyalists felt that there were vast numbers throughout the colonies who agreed with them and regarded congress as a tyrannical faction rather than the expression of the general will. in this, no doubt, they were to some extent mistaken, for by this time the vast majority of the people had joined heart and soul in the conflict. men's passions had become so stirred up that it was difficult for any to remain neutral; and although there were still large numbers of loyalists throughout the states, the vast bulk of the people had resolved that the only issue of the contest was complete and entii a separation from the mother country. harold had now entered passionately into the struggle. he was in constant contact with men who had been ruined by the war. he heard only one side of the question, and he was determined, so long as england continued the struggle, to fight on for a cause which he considered sacred. he was unable to regard the prospects of success as hopeless; he saw the fine army which england had collected ; he had been a witness of the defeat of the americans whenever they ventured to stand the shock of the british battalions; and in spite of the true to the old flag. unsatisfactory nature of the first campaign, he could not bring himself to believe that such an army could fail. when the company was disbanded he decided to continue to serve as a scout, but, sharing in the general disgust in the army at the incapacity of general howe, he determined to take ship again for canada and take service under general bur- goyne, who was preparing with a well-appointed army to invade the states from that side. when he communicated his determination to peter lambton the latter at once agreed to accom- pany him. “i've gone into this business,” the hunter said, “and i mean to see it through. settling down don't suit me. i ain't got any friends at new york, and i'd be miserable just loafing about all day dcing nothing. no, i'll see this business out to the ind, and i'd much rather go with you than any one else.” jake was of the same opinion. accustomed all his life to obey orders and to the life on his master's plantation, he would not have known what to do if left to his own devices. captain wilson pointed out to him that he could easily obtain work on the wharves of new york or as a laborer on a farm, but jake would not listen to the proposal and was hurt at the thought that he could leave his young master's side as long as harold continued in the war. accordingly the day after captain wilson sailed true to the old flag. for england the three comrades embarked in a ship for halifax, whence another vessel took them to quebec. they then sailed up the river to montreal and took service as scouts in general burgoyne's army. for political reasons general burgoyne had been appointed to the command of the expedition which had been prepared, and general carleton, naturally offended at being passed orer, at once resigned the governorship. his long residence in canada, his knowledge of the country, of the manners of its inhabitants and the extent of its resources, and his acquaintance with the character of the indians, rendered him far more fit for command than was general burgoyne. in military knowledge and ex- perience, too, he was his superior, and bad he retained a command the fate of the expedition would probably have been very different. the army under general burgoyne consisted of seven thousand one hundred and seventy-three men, exclusive of artillerymen. of these about half were germans. the canadians were called upon to furnish men sufficient to occupy the woods on the frontier and to provide men for the completion of the fortifications at sorel, st. john's, chamblée, and isle-aux-noix, to furnish horses and carts for carriage, and to make roads when neces- sary. a naval force was to go forward with him on the lake. the indian question had again to be decided. several tribes volunteered to join the british. general burgoyne hesitated, as general true to the old flag. carleton had done before, to accept their services, and only did so finally on the certainty that if he refused their offers they would join the americans. he resolved to use them as little as possible. he knew that their object in all wars was murder and destruction, and although he wished to conquer the americans, he did not desire to exterminate them. on june , , general burgoyne advanced from st. john's. the naval force had preceded the army and opened a way for its advance. the troops were carried in a flotilla of boats, and under the protection of the fleet passed lake champlain and landed at crown point. harold and his companions had joined the army a fortnight previously, and as they crossed the lake with the fleet they could not but remember their last expedition there. at crown point they were joined by one thousand indians, who marched round the lake, and at this place general burgoyne gave them a great feast and afterward made a speech to them, exborting them to abstain from all cruelty, to avoid any ill-treatment of unarmed combatants, and to take as prisoners all combatants who fell into their hands. but while thus exhorting the indians to behave with humanity and moderation, the general took a most ill-judged step, which not only did the english cause great harm, but was used by the americans with much effect as a proof of the cruel way in which england warred against the colonists. he issued a proclamation threatening to punish with true to the old flag. the utmost severity all who refused to attach them- selves to the british cause, and at the same time he magnified the ferocity of the indians, pointing out with great emphasis their eagerness to butcher those who continued hostile to the mother country, whose interests they had espoused. this proclamation was naturally construed by the americans as a threat to deliver over to the tender mercies of the indians to slay, scalp, and destroy all who ventured to resist the authority of the king. the americans had fallen back on the approach of the british, and upo' the landing being effected the scouts were instantly sent forward. among the indians who had joined at crown point were the senecas-among them their old friend deer tail. the scouts received no particular orders and were free to regulate their own movements. their duty was to reconnoiter the country ahead and to bring in any information they might gather as to numbers and position of the enemy. finding that peter and his companions were about to start, deer tail said that instead of waiting for the feast he would take five of his warriors and accompany them. it was at ticonderoga that the americans had prepared to make their first stand. the place lies on the western shore of the lake a few miles to the north ward of the narrow inlet uniting lake cham- plain to lake george. it was to reconnoiter the fort that the party now set out. news had been true to the old flag. brought that the americans had been executing great additional works, and the british general was anxious to learn the nature of these before he ad- vanced. it was certain that the enemy would on their side have sent out scouts to ascertain the movements of the royal army, and the party proceeded with the greatest care. they marched in the usual fasbion- in indian file; the seneca chief led the way, fol- lowed by one of his braves ; then came peter, harold, and jake; the other senecas marched in the rear. when they came within a few miles of the fort their progress was marked with profound caution. not a word was spoken, their tread was noiseless, and the greatest pains were taken to avoid stepping on a twig dried stick. the three scouts when they left st ohn's bad abandoned their boots and had taken to indian moccasins. several times slight murmurs were heard in the forest, and once a party of four american frontiersmen were seen in the wood. the party halted and crouched in the bushes. the senecas turned toward peter as if asking if an attack should be made, but the latter shook his head. a single shot would have been heard far away in the woods and their further proy- ress would have been arrested. their object now was not to fight, but to penetrate close to the amer- ican intrenchments. when the enemy had passed on the party con- sinued its way. as they neared the fort the caution observed increased. several times they halted, true to the old flag. while the seneca, with one of his braves, crawled forward to see that all was clear. at last they stood on the edge of a great clearing. before them, just within gun-shot range, stood the fort of ticon- deroga. peter lambton was well acquainted with it, and beyond the fact that the space around had been cleared of all trees and the stockades and earthworks repaired, little change could be seen. as he was gazing the indian touched his shoulder and pointed to a high hill on the opposite side of the narrow straits. this had been cleared of trees and on the top a strong fort had been erected. many cannon were to be seen along its crest, the roofs of huts, and a large number of men. half- way up the bill was another battery and a third still lower down to sweep the landing. “they've been working hard," the hunter said, " and the army'll have a mighty tough job before it. what do you think of that, harold ?" “it is a very strong position,” harold said, " and will cost us a tremendous number of men to take it. the fort cannot be attacked till that bill has been carried, for its guns completely command all this clearing.” for some time they stood gazing at the works, standing well back among the trees, so as to be screened from all observation. at last harold said : “look at that other hill behind. it is a good bit higher than that which they have fortified and must be within easy range both of it and the fort. i don't see any works there—do you ?” true to the old flag. peter and the seneca chief both gazed long and earnestly at the bill and agreed that they could see no fortification there. “ it won't do to have any doubt about it,” peter said. “we must go round and have a look at it.” • we shall have to cross the river,” harold re- marked. “ay, cross it we must,” peter said. “that hill's got to be inspected.” they withdrew into the wood again and made a circuitous deviation till they came down upon the river, two miles above ticonderoga. they could not reach the water itself, as a road ran along parallel with it and the forest was cleared away for some distance. a number of men could be seen going backward and forward on the road. having made their observations, the scouts re- tired again into a thick part of the forest and waited till nightfall. “how are we to get across ?” harold asked peter. “it's a good long swim, and we could not carry our muskets and ammunition across." “ easy enough,” the scout said, “didn't you notice down by the road a pile of planks ? i suppose a wagon has broke down there, and the planks have been turned out and nobody has thought any- thing more about 'em. we'll each take a plank, fasten our rifle and ammunition on it, and swim across ; there won't be any difficulty about that. then when we've seen what's on the top of that 'ere bill we'll tramp round to the other end of the true to the old flag. lake. i heard that the army was to advance half on each side, so we'll meet 'em coming.” when it was perfectly dark they left their hiding- place and crossed the clearing to the spot where peter had seen the planks. each took one of them and proceeded to the river side. peter, harold, and jake divested themselves of some of their clothes and fastened these with their rifles and ammunition to the planks. to the indians the question of getting wet was one of entire indiffer- ence, and they did not even take off their hunting shirts. entering the water the party swam noise- -lessly across to the other side, pushing their planks before them. on getting out they carried the planks for some distance, as their appearance by the water's edge might excite a suspicion on the part of the americans that the works had been re- connoitered. after hiding the planks in the bushes they made their way to sugar hill, as the eminence was called. the ascent was made with great circumspection, the indians going on first. no signs of the enemy were met with, and at last the party stood on the summit of the hill. it was entirely unoccu- pied by the americans. : “well, my fine fellows," laughed the scout, “i reckon ye've been doing a grist of work, and ye might jest as well bave been sitting down quietly smoking yer pipes. what on arth possessed ye to leave this hill unguarded ??? in point of fact general st. clair, who commanded true to the old flag. the americans, had perceived that his position was commanded from this spot. he had only three thousand men under him, and he considered this number too small to hold ticonderoga, mount inde- pendence, and sugar hill. the two former posts could afford no assistance to the garrison of a fort placed on sugar hill, and that place must therefore fall if attacked by the british. on the other hand, he hoped that should the attention of the english not be called to the importance of the position by the erection of works upon it, it might be over- looked, and that general burgoyne on his arrival might at once attack the position which he had pre- pared with so much care. having ascertained that the bill was unoccupied, peter proposed at once to continue the march. harold suggested to him that it would be better to wait until morning, as from their lofty position they would be able to overlook the whole of the enemy's lines of defense and might obtain informa- tion of vital importance to the general. peter saw the advantage of the suggestion. two of the in- dians were placed on watch, and the rest of the party lay down to sleep. at daybreak they saw that the delay had been fully justified, for they had now a view of the water which separated ticon- deroga from mount independence, and perceived that the americans had made a strong bridge of communication between these posts. twenty-two piers had been sunk at equal distances, and between them boats were placed, fastened with chains to the true to the old flag. chapter xii. the settler’hut. before starting they stood for a minute or two looking over the forest which they were to traverse. to harold's eye all appeared quiet and still. here and there were clearings where settlers had estab- lished themselves, but with these exceptions the forest stretched away like a green sea. “ tarnation !” peter exclaimed. “we'll bave all our work to get through safely, eh, chief ?” the seneca nodded. “ what makes you say so?” harold asked in surprise. “i see nothing." peter looked at him reproachfully. “ i'm downright ashamed of ye, lad. you should have been long enough in the woods by this time to know smoke when you see it. why, there it is curling up from the trees in a dozen-ay, in a score of places. there must be hundreds of men out scouting or camping in them woods." harold looked fixedly again at the forests, but even now he could not detect the signs which were so plain to the scout. “you may call me as blind as a bat, peter," he said with a laugh, " but i can see nothing. look- true to the old flag. ing hard i imagine i can see a light mist here and there, but i believe it is nothing but fancy." “it's clear enough to me, lad, and to the redskins. what do you say, chief ?" “ too much men," the seneca replied senten- tiously. for another minute or two he and peter stood watching the forest, and then in a few words con- sulted together as to the best line to follow to avoid meeting the foe who, to their eyes, swarmed in the forest. “it's mighty lucky,” the hunter said as they turned to descend the bill, which was covered with trees to its very summit, “ that they're white men and not redskins out in the woods there. i don't say that there's not many frontiersmen who know the way of the woods as well as the redskins. i do myself, and when it comes to fighting we can lick 'em on their own ground; but in scouting we ain't nowhere—not the best of us. the redskin seems to · have an instinct more like that of an animal than a man. i don't say as he can smell a man a mile off as a dog can do, but he seems to know when the enemy's about ; his ears can hear noises which we can't; his eyes see marks on the ground when the keenest-sighted white man sees nothing. if that wood was as full of redskins as it is of whites to- day, our sculps wouldn't be worth a charge of powder.” “you are not going to follow the shores of the lake, i suppose ?” harold asked. true to the old flag. “no,” peter said. “they'll be as thick as peas down there watching for the first sight of our fleet. no, we must just keep through the woods and be as still and as silent as ef the trees had ears. you'd best look to the priming of yer piece before we goes further, for it's likely enough you'll have to use it before the day's done, and a miss-fire might cost you yer life. tell that nigger of your'n that he's not to open his mouth again till i gives him leave." with a long, stealthy tread the party descended the mountain and took their way through the woods. every hundred yards or so they stopped and listened intently. wben any noise, even of the slightest kind, was heard, all dropped to the ground until the chief bad scouted round and discovered the way was clear. once or twice they heard the sound of men's voices and a distant laugh, but they passed on without seeing those who uttered them. presently they again heard voices, this time raised as if in angry dispute. the seneca would, as before, have made a long détour to avoid them, but peter said : “ let's have a squint at what's going on, chief." with redoubled caution they again advanced until they stood at the edge of the clearing. it was a patch of land some hundred yards wide and ex- tending from the shore of the lake nearly a quarter of a mile inland. in the center stood a log hut, neatly and carefully built. a few flowers grew around the house, and the whole bore signs of greater neatness and comfort than was usual in the cabins of the backwood settlers. true to the old flag. the point where the party had reached the edge of the wood was immediately opposite the house. near it stood a group of some twenty men, one of whom, apparently their leader, was gesticulating angrily as he addressed a man who stood facing him. “i tell ye, ye're a darned royalist-ye're a traitor to the country, and i've a mind to hang ye and all belonging to ye to the nearest bough." “i tell you," the man answered calmly, but in the still air every word he said could be heard by those at the edge of the forest, “i hae naething to do with the trouble ane way or the ither. i am a quiet settler, whose business only is to mak a hame for my wife and bairn; but if you ask me to drink suc- cess to the congress and confusion to the king's troops, i tell you i willna do it; not even if you are brutal enough, but this i canna believe possible, to carry your threats into execution. i hae served my time in a king's regiment. with the bounty i received instead o' pension on my discharge i settled here wi' my wife and bairn, and no one shall say that duncan cameron was a traitor to his king. we do no harm to any one; we tak no part for or against you; we only ask to be allowed to live in peace.” “that ye shall not,” the man said. “the king's troops have got injuns with 'em, and they're going to burn and kill all those who won't take part with 'em. it's time we should show 'em as we can play at that game too. now ye’ve either got to swear true to the old flag. friends were placed, but keeping down toward the lake so as to be out of their line of fire. “make down to 'em, harold,” peter said. “ tell 'em they'd best go to some neighbor's and stop there for a day or two. the army'll be here to- morrow or next day. be quick about it, and come back as fast as ye can. i tell ye we're in a hornet's nest, and it'll be as much as we can do to get out of it." a scattering fire was now being exchanged be- tween the redskins behind the shelter of the trees and the americans firing from the windows of the log house. harold was but two or three minutes absent. “all right, peter!” he exclaimed as he rejoined them. “ come along, then,” the hunter said. “now, chief, let's make up round the top of this clearing and then foot it.” the chief at once put himself at the head of the party and the nine men strode away again through the forest. it was no longer silent. behind them the occupants of the hut were still keeping up a brisk fire toward the trees, while from several quarters shouts could be heard, and more than once the indian war-whoop rose in the forest. “that's jest what i was afeard of,” peter mut- tered. “there's some of those darned varmint with 'em. we might have found our way through the whites, but the redskins'll pick up our trail as sar- tin as if we were driving a wagon through the woods." true to the old flag. going along at a swinging noiseless trot the party made their way through the forest. presently a prolonged indian whoop was heard in the direction from which they had come. then there were loud shouts and the firing ceased. “ one of the red reptiles has found our trail," peter said. “he's with a party of whites, and they've shouted the news to the gang in the clear- ing. waal, we may calculate we've got thirty on our trail, and as we can hear them all round it'll be a sarcumstance if we git out with our sculps." as they ran they heard shouts from those behind, answered by others on both flanks. shots, too, were fired as signals to call the attention of other parties. several times the seneca chief stopped and listened attentively, and then changed his course as he heard suspicious noises ahead. those behind them were coming up, although still at some dis- tance in the rear. they could hear the sound of breaking trees and bushes as their pursuers followed them in a body. “ef it was only the fellows behind,” peter said, “we could leave them easy enough, but the wood seems alive with the varmint.” it was evident the alarm had spread through the forest, and that the bands scattered here and there were aware that an enemy was in their midst. the dropping fire which the pursuers kept up afforded an indication as to the direction in which they were making, and the ringing war-whoop of the hostile indians conveyed the intelligence still more surely. true to the old flag. was strewn with broken crockery and portions of wearing apparel. harold looked round. several of the party were bleeding from slight wounds. “ now to the windows,” peter said as he barred the door. “pile up bedding and anything else that ye can find against the shutters, and keep yerselves well under cover. don't throw away a shot; we'll want all our powder, i can tell ye. quickly now- there ain't no time to be lost.” wbile some began carrying out his instructions below, others bounded upstairs and scattered them- selves through the upper rooms. there were two windows on each side of the house-one at each end. disregarding the latter, peter and harold took post at the windows looking toward the forest from which they had just come. the chief and an- other indian posted themselves to watch the other side. at first no one was to be seen. the party who had fired at them as they ran across the open had waited for the coming up of the strong band , who were following before venturing to show them- selves. the arrival of the pursuers was heralded by the opening of a heavy fire toward the house. as the assailants kept themselves behind trees no reply was made, and the defenders occupied them- selves by piling the bedding against the shutters, which they had hastily closed. loop-holes had been left in the walls when the hut was first built ; the moss with which they were filled up was torn out, and each man took his post at one of these. true to the old flag. as no answering shot came from the house, the as- sailants became bolder and one or two ventured to show themselves from behind shelter. in a moment harold and peter, whose rifles would carry more truly and much further than those of the indians, fired. “ two wiped out !" peter said as the men fell and shouts of anger arose from the woods. “that'll make them careful.” this proof of the accuracy of the aim of the be- sieged checked their assailants, and for some time they were very careful not to expose themselves. from both sides of the forest a steady fire was maintained. occasionally an answering shot flashed out from the house when one of the enemy incau- tiously showed an arm or a part of his body from behind the trees, and it was seldom the rifles were fired in vain. four or five of the americans were shot through the head as they leaned forward to fire, and after an hour's exchange of bullets the at- tack ceased. “what are they going to do now?” harold asked. “i expect they're going to wait till nightfall,” peter said. “there's no moon and they'll be able to work up all round the house. then they'll make a rush together at the door and lower windows. we'll shoot down a good many on 'em, and then they'll burst their way in or set fire to the hut, and there'll be an end of it. that's what'll happen.” “and you think there is no way of making our way out?” harold asked. true to the old flag. “it's a mighty poor chance, if there's one at all,” the hunter replied. “i should say by the fire there must be nigb a hundred of 'em now, and it's likely that by nightfall there'll be three times as many. as soon as it gets dusk they'll creep out from the woods and form a circle round the house and grad- ually work up to it. now let's cook some vittles ; we've had nothing to eat this morning yet, and it must be nigh eleven o'clock. i don't see why we should be starved, even if we have got to be killed to-night.” one of the party was left on watch on each side of the house, and the others gathered in the room below, where a fire was lit and the strips of dried deer flesh which they carried were soon frying over it. harold admired the air of indifference with which his companions set about preparing the meat. every one was aware of the desperate nature of the position, but no allusion was made to it. the negro had caught the spirit of his companions, but his natural loquacity prevented his imitating their habitual silence. “dis bad affair, massa harold,” he said. “we jess like so many coons up in tree, wid a whole pack ob dogs round us, and de hunters in de distance coming up wid de guns. dis child reckon dat some ob dem hunters will get hit hard before dey get us. jake don't care one bit for himself, massa, but he bery sorry to see you in such a fix.” “it can't be helped, jake,” harold said as cheer- fully as he could. “it was my firing that shot true to the old flag. which got us into it, and yet i cannot blame myself. we could not stand by and see those ruffians murder a woman and child.” “dat’s so, massa harold ; dere was no possin bility of seeing dat. i reckon dat when dose rascals come to climb de stairs dey'll find dat it are bery bard work.” “i don't think they will try, jake. they are more likely to heap brush wood against the door and windows and set it alight, and then shoot us down as we rush out. this hut is not like the one i had to defend against the iroquois. that was built to repel indians' attacks; this is a mere squatter's hut." after the meal was over peter and the seneca chief went upstairs, looked through the loop-holes, and talked long and earnestly together; then they rejoined the party below. “the chief and i are of opinion, peter said to harold, “ that it are of no manner of use our wait- ing to be attacked here. they'd burn us out to a sartinty; we should have no show of a fight at all. anything's better than that. now, what we propose is that directly it gits fairly dark we'll all creep out and make for the lake. even ef they have formed their circle round us, they ain't likely to be as thick there as they are on the other side. what they'll try to do, in course, is to prevent our taking to the forest; and there'll be such a grist of 'em that i don't believe one of us would git through alive if we tried it. now they'll not be so strong true to the old flag. toward the lake, and we might break through to the water. i don't say as there's much chance of our gitting away, for i tell you fairly that i don't believe that there's any chance at all; but the chief here and his braves don't want their sculps to hang in the wigwams of the chippewas, and i myself, ef i had the choice, would rather be drownded than shot down. it don't make much difference, but of the two i had rather. ef we can reach the lake we can swim cut of gunshot range. i know you can swim like a fish, and socan jake, and the injuns swim as a matter of course. ef we dive at first we may git off ; it'll be so dark they won't see us with any sartinty beyond fifty yards. when we're once fairly out in the lake we can take our chance." “and is there a chance, peter? although, if there is none, i quite agree with you that i would rather be drowned than shot down. if one were sure of being killed by the first shot that would be the easiest death; but if we were only wounded they would probably hang us in the morning." “ that's so," the hunter said. “waal, i can hardly say that there's a chance, and yet i can't say as how there ain't. in the first place, they may have some canoes and come out after us; there's pretty safe to be sore along the shore here. the settlers would have had 'em for fishing." “but what chance will that give us?” harold asked. “waal,” the hunter replied, “i reckon in that case as our chance is a fair one. ef we dive and true to the old flag. it was perfectly dark when the bars were noiselessly removed from the door and the party stole out. everything seemed silent, but the very stillness made the danger appear more terrible. peter had impressed upon harold and jake the necessity for moving without making the slightest noise. as soon as they left the house the whole party dropped on their hands and knees. peter and the seneca chief led the way; two of the braves came next; harold and jake followed; the remaining indians crawled in the rear. peter had told his comrades to keep as close as possible to the indians in front of them, and grasping their rifles they crept along the ground. as they led the way peter and the seneca carefully removed from before them every dried twig and threw it on one side. the distance to be traversed from the but to the water was about two hundred yards, and half of this was passed over before they encountered any obstacle. then suddenly there was an exclamation, and peter and the seneca .sprang to their feet as they caine in contact with two men crawling in the opposite direction. they were too close to use their rifles, but a crushing blow from the seneca's tonia- hawk cleft down the man in front of him, while peter drew his long knife from its sheath and buried it in the body of his opponent. the others had also leaped to their feet, and each as he did so fired at the dark figures which rose around them. they had the advantage of the sur- prise; several scattered shots answered their volley, true to the old flag. then with their rifles clubbed they rushed forward. for a moment there was a hand-to-hand fight. harold had just struck down a man opposite to him when another sprang upon him; so sudden was the attack that he fell from the shock. but in an in- stant jake buried his knife between his opponent's shoulders and dragged harold to his feet. “run for your life, massa harold. de whole gang's upon us !" and indeed the instant the first shot broke the silence of the woods a babel of sounds arose from the whole circuit of the clearing; shouts and yells burst out from hundreds of throats. there was no further use for concealment, and from all sides the men who had been advancing to the attack rushed in the direction where the conflict was taking place. this lasted but a few seconds. as peter had ex- pected, the line was thinner toward the lake than upon the other sides, and the rush of nine men had broken through it. shouts were heard from the woods on either side extending down to the water, showing that the precaution had been taken by the assailants of leaving a portion of their force to guard the line of forest should the defenders break through the circle. at headlong speed the little band rushed down to the water's side, dropped their ammunition pouches by its edge, threw their rifles a few yards into the water, to be recovered, perhaps, on some future occasion, and then dived in. the nearest of the pursuers were some thirty yards behind when true to the old flag. they neared the water's edge. swimming as far under water as they could hold their breath, each came to the surface for an instant and then again dived. momentarily as they showed themselves they heard the rattle of musketry behind, and the bullets splashed thickly on the water. the night, however, was so dark that the fire could only be a random one. until far out from the shore they continued diving and then gathered together. “ we're pretty well out of range now," peter said, “and quite out of sight of the varmints. now we can wait a bit and see what they do next.” the enemy were still keeping up a heavy fire from the shore, hallooing and shouting to each other as they fancied they caught a glimpse of their enemies. “there must be two or three hundred of 'em," peter said. “we've fooled 'em nicely so far." by the crashing of the bushes the fugitives could hear strong parties making their way along the shore in either direction. an hour passed, during which the fugitives floated nearly opposite the clearing. “hullo !” peter exclaimed presently. “there's a canoe coming along the lake. i expect they got it from cameron's.” as he spoke a canoe appeared round the point. two men were standing up holding blazing torches; two others paddled ; while two, rifle in hand, sat by them. almost at the same moment another canoe, similarly manned, pushed out from the shore im- mediately opposite. true to the old flag. “i wish we had known of that canoe," peter said ; “it would have saved us a lot of trouble ; but we had no time for looking about. i suspected them settlers must have had one laid up some- wheres. now," he went on,“let's make our plans. the canoes are sure to keep pretty nigh each other. they'll most likely think as we've gone down the lake and'll not be looking very sharply after us at present. it'll never do to let 'em pass us. now jake and i and two of the injuns will take one canoe and the chief and three of his braves the other. we must move round so as to get between 'em and the shore and then dive and come up close to 'em. now, harold, do you swim out a bit further and then make a splash so as to call their attention. do it once or twice till you see that they've got their eyes turned that way. then be very quiet, so as to keep 'em watching for another sound. that'll be our moment for attacking 'em." they waited till the two canoes joined each other and paddled slowly out from shore. then the eight swimmers started off to make their détour, while harold swam quietly further out into the lake. the canoes were about three hundred yards from shore and were paddling very slowly, the occupants keep- ing a fixed look along the lake. there was perfect quiet on the shore now, and when harold made a slight splash with his hand upon the water he saw it was heard. both canoes stopped rowing, the steerers in each case giving them a steer so that they lay broadside to the land, giving each man a true to the old flag. view over the lake- they sat as quiet as if carved in stone. again harold made a splash, but this time a very slight one, so slight that it could hardly reach the ears of the listeners. a few words were exchanged by the occupants of the boats. “ they are further out on the lake, bill,” one said. “i am not sure," another answered. “i rather think the sound was further down. listen again.” again they sat motionless. harold swam with his eyes fixed upon them. every face was turned his way and none was looking shoreward. then, almost at the same instant, there was a shout from both boats. the men with torches seemed to lose their balance. the lights described a half circle through the air and were extinguished. a shout of astonishment broke from the occupants, mingled with the wild seneca war-yell, and he knew that both canoes were upset. there was the sound of a desperate struggle going on. oaths and wild cries rose from the water. heavy blows were struck, while from the shore arose loud shouts of dismay and rage. in two min- utes all was quiet on the water. then came peter's shout: “this way, harold. we'll have the canoes righted and bailed in a minute. the varmin's all wiped out.” with a lightened heart harold swam toward the spot. the surprise had been a complete success. true to the old flag. the occupants of the canoes, intent only upon the pursuit and having no fear of attack—for they knew that the fugitives must have thrown away their rifles— were all gazing intently out on the lake, when close to each canoe on the shore side four heads rose from out of the water. in an in- stant eight bands had seized the gunwales, and be- fore the occupants were aware of their danger the canoes were upset. taken wholly by surprise the americans were no match for their assailants. the knives of the latter did their work before the frontiersmen had thoroughly grasped what had happened. two or three, indeed, had made a desperate fight, but they were no match for their opponents and the struggle was quickly over. on harold reaching the canoes he found them already righted and half-emptied of water. the paddles were picked up, and in a few minutes, with a derisive shout of adieu to their furious enemy on the shore, the two canoes paddled out into the lake. when they had attained a distance of about half a mile from the shore they turned the boats' heads and paddled north. in three hours they saw lights in the wood. “there's the troops,” peter said. “soldiers are never content unless they're making fires big enough to warn every redskin within fifty miles that they're coming." as they approached the shore the challenge from the english sentinel came over the water : true to the old flag. “ who comes there?” “ friends,” peter replied. “give the pass-word.” “how on arth am i to give the pass-word,” peter shouted back, “when we've been three days away from the camp ?” “if you approach without the pass-word i fire,” the sentinel said. “i tell ye,” peter shouted, “we're scouts with news for the general.” “i can't help who you are," the sentinel said. “i have got my orders.” “pass the word along for an officer,” harold shouted. “we hare important news.” the sentry called to the one next him, and so the word was passed along the line. in a few min- utes an officer appeared on the shore, and after a short parley the party were allowed to land, and peter and harold were at once conducted to the headquarters of general burgoyne. true to the old flag. chapter xiii. saratoga. “what is your report ?” asked general bur- goyne as the scouts were conducted into his tent. “we have discovered, sir, that the americans bave strongly fortified mount independence, which faces ticonderoga, and have connected the two places by a bridge across the river, which is pro- tected by a strong boom. both positions are, how- ever, overlooked by sugar hill, and this they have entirely neglected to fortify. if you were to seize this they would have to retire at once." the general expressed his satisfaction at the news and gave orders that steps should be taken to seize sugar hill immediately. he then questioned the scouts as to their adventures and praised them highly for their conduct. the next day the army advanced, and at night- fall both divisions were in their places, having arrived within an hour or two of each other from the opposite sides of the lake. sugar hill was seized the same night, and a strong party were set to work cutting a road through the trees. the next morning the enemy discovered the british at work erecting a battery on the bill, and their gen- true to the old flag. eral decided to evacuate both ticonderoga and mount independence instantly. their baggage, provisions, and stores were embarked in two hun- dred boats and sent up the river. the army started to march by the road. the next morning the english discovered that the americans had disappeared. captain lutwych immediately set to work to destroy the bridge and boom, whose construction bad taken the americans nearly twelve months' labor. by nine in the morning a passage was effected, and some gunboats passed through in pursuit of the enemy's convoy. they overtook them near skenesborough, engaged and captured many of their largest craft, and obliged them to set several others on fire, together with a large number of their boats and barges. a few hours afterward a detachment of british troops in gunboats came up the river to skenes- borough. the cannon on the works which the americans had erected there opened fire, but the troops were landed, and the enemy at once evacu- ated their works, setting fire to their store-houses and mills. while these operations had been going on by water brigadier-general fraser, at the head of the advance corps of grenadiers and light infantry, pressed hard upon the division of the enemy wbich had retired by the hubberton road and overtook them at five o'clock in the morning. the division consisted of fifteen hundred of the best colonial troops under the command of colonel francis. they were posted on strong ground and true to the old flag. sheltered by breastworks composed of logs and old trees. general fraser's detachment was inferior in point of numbers to that of the defenders of the position, but as he expected a body of the german troops under general reidesel to arrive immedi- ately he at once attacked the breastworks. the americans defended their post with great resolution and bravery. the reënforcements did not arrive so soon as was expected, and for some time the british made no way. general reidesel, hearing the fire in front, pushed forward at full speed with a small body of troops. among these was the band, which he or- dered to play. the enemy, hearing the music and supposing that the whole of the german troops had come up, evacu- ated the position and fell back with precipitation. colonel francis and many others were killed and two hundred taken prisoners. on the english side one hundred and twenty men were killed and wounded. the enemy from skenesborough were pursued by colonel hill, with the ninth regiment, and were overtaken near fort anne. finding how small was the force that pursued them in comparison to their own, they took the offensive. a hot engagement took place, and after three hours' fighting the americans were repulsed with great slaughter and forced to retreat after setting fire to fort anne and fort edward. in these operations the british captured one true to the old flag. hundred and forty-eight guns, with large quantities of stores. at fort edward general schuyler was joined by general st. clair, but even with this ad- dition the total american strength did not exceed forty-four hundred. instead of returning from skenesborough to ticonderoga, whence he might have sailed with his army up to lake george, general burgoyne pro- ceeded to cut his way through the woods to the lake. the difficulties of the passage were immense : swamps and morasses had to be passed, bridges had to be constructed over creeks, ravines, and gulleys. the troops worked with great vigor and spirit. major-general phillips had returned to lake george and transported the artillery, provisions, and bag- gage to fort george and thence by land to a point on the hudson river, together with a large number of boats for the use of the army in their intended descent to albany. so great was the labor entailed by this work that it was not until july that the army arrived on the hudson river. the delay of three weeks had afforded the enemy time to recover their spirits and recruit their strength. general arnold arrived with a strong reënforcement, and a force was de- tached to check the progress of colonel st. leger, who was coming down from montreal by way of lake ontario and the mohawk river, to effect a junction with general burgoyne. general burgoyne determined to advance at once. the army was already suffering from want true to the old flag. of transportation, and he decided to send a body of troops to bennington, twenty-four miles to the eastward of the hudson river, where the americans had large supplies collected. instead of sending light infantry he dispatched six hundred germans—the worst troops he could have selected for this purpose, as they were very heavily armed and marched exceedingly slowly. several of the officers remonstrated with him, but with his usual infatuated obstinacy be maintained his dis- position. on approaching bennington colonel baum, who commanded the germans, found that a very strong force was gathered there. he sent back for re- enforcements, and five hundred more germans, under lieutenant-colonel breyman, were dispatched to his assistance. long, however, before these slowly moving troops could arrive colonel baum was attacked by the enemy in vastly superior pum- bers. the germans fought with great bravery and several times charged the americans and drove them back. fresh troops continued to come up on the enemy's side, and the germans having lost a large number of men, including their colonel, were forced to retreat into the woods. the enemy then advanced against colonel breyman, who was ignorant of the disaster that had befallen baum, and with his detachment had occupied twenty-four hours in marching sixteen miles. the germans again fought well, but after a gallant resistance were obliged to fall back. in these two affairs they lost six hundred men. true to the old flag. in the mean time colonel st. leger had com- menced his attack upon fort stanwix, which was defended by seven hundred men. the american general herkimer advanced with one thousand men to its relief. colonel st. leger detached sir john johnson with a party of regulars and a num- ber of indians, who had accompanied him, to meet them. the enemy advanced incautiously and fell into an ambush. a terrible fire was poured into them, and the indians then rushed down and at- tacked them hand to hand. the americans, al- though taken by surprise, fought bravely and succeeded in making their retreat, leaving four hundred killed and wounded behind them. colonel st. leger had no artillery which was capable of making any impression on the defenses of the fort. its commander sent out a man who, pretending to be a deserter, entered the british camp and informed colonel st. leger that general burgoyne had been defeated and his army cut to pieces, and that general arnold, with two thousand men, was advancing to raise the siege. colonel st. leger did not credit the news, but it created a panic among the indians, the greater portion of whom at once retired without orders, and st. leger having but a small british force with him was compelled to follow their example, leaving his artillery and stores 'behind him. on september general burgoyne, having with immense labor collected thirty days' provisions on the hudson, crossed the river by a bridge of boats true to the old flag. and encamped on the heights of saratoga. his movements had been immensely bampered by the vast train of artillery which he took with him. in an open country a powerful force of artillery is of the greatest service to an army, but in a campaign in a wooded and roadless country it is of little utility and enormously hampers the operations of an army. had general burgoyne, after the capture of ticon- deroga, pressed forward in light order without artillery he could unquestionably have marched to new york without meeting with any serious opposition, but the six weeks' delay had enabled the americans to collect a great force to oppose him. on the th, as the army were advancing to still- water, five thousand of the enemy attacked the british right. they were led by general arnold and fought with great bravery and determination. the brunt of the battle fell on the twentieth, tiventy-fourth, and sixty-second regiments. for four hours the fight continued without any advan- tage on either side, and at nightfall the americans drew off, each side baving lost about six hundred men. after the battle of stillwater the whole of the indians with general burgoyne left him and returned to canada. hampered with his great train of artillery, un- provided with transportation, in the face of a power- ful enemy posted in an exceedingly strong position, general burgoyne could neither advance nor re- treat. the forage was exhausted and the artillery la trce to the old flag. horses were dying in great numbers. he had hoped that sir william howe would have sailed up the hudson and joined him, but the english commander-in-chief had taken his army down to philadelphia. sir henry clinton, who commanded at new york, endeavored with a small force at his command to make a diversion by operating against the american posts on the hudson river, but this was of no utility. burgoyne's army was now reduced to little more than five thousand men, and he determined to fall back upon the lakes. before doing this, however, it would be necessary to dislodge the americans from their posts on his left. leaving the camp under the command of general hamilton, bur- goyne advanced with fifteen hundred men against them. but scarcely had the detachment start- ed when the enemy made a furious attack on the british leſt. major ackland, with the grenadiers, was posted here, and for a time defend- ed himself with great bravery. the light infantry and twenty-fourth were sent to their assistance, but, overpowered by numbers, the left wing was forced to retreat into their intrenchments. these the enemy, led by general arnold, at once attacked with great impetuosity. for a long time the result was doubtful, and it was not until the american leader was wounded that the attack ceased. in: the mean time the intrenchments defended by the german troops under colonel breyman had also been attacked. here the fight was obstinate, but true to the old flag. the german intrenchments were carried, colonel breyman killed, and his troops retreated with the loss of all their baggage and artillery. two hun- dred prisoners fell into the hands of the americans. that night the british army was concentrated on the heights above the hospital. general gates, who commanded the americans, moved his army so as to entirely inclose the british, and the latter, on the night of october , retired to saratoga, being obliged to leave all their sick and wounded in hospital. these were treated with the greatest kindness by the americans. an attempt was now made to retreat to fort george or fort edward, but the americans had taken up positions on each road and fortified them with cannon. only about thirty-five hundred fighting men now remained, of whom but one-half were brit- ish, and scarcely eight days' provisions were left. the enemy, four times superior in point of num- bers, held every line of retreat and eluded every attempt of the british to force them to a general engagement. the position was hopeless, and on october a council of war was held and it was determined to open negotiations for a surrender. two days were spent in negotiations, and it was finally agreed that the army should lay down its arms and that it should be marched to boston, and there allowed to sail for england on condition of not serving again in north america during the contest. the cana- dians were to be allowed to return at once to their true to the old flag. own country. on the th the army laid down its arms. it consisted of thirty-five hundred fighting men and six hundred sick and nearly two thousand boatmen, teamsters, and other non- effectives. never did a general behave with greater incom- petence than that manifested by general burgoyne from the day of his leaving ticonderoga, and the disaster which befell his army was entirely the re- sult of mismanagement, procrastination, and faulty generalship. had harold remained with the army until its surrender his share in the war would have been at an end, for the canadians, as well as all others who laid down their arms, gave their word of honor not to serve again during the war. he had, however, with peter lambton and jake, accompanied colonel baum's detachment on its march to bennington. scouting in front of the column, they had ascertained the presence of large numbers of the enemy, and had by hastening back with the news enabled the german colonel to make some preparations for resistance before the attack was made upon him. during the fight that ensued the scouts, posted behind trees on the german left, had assisted them to repel the attack from that quarter, and when the germans gave way they effected their escape into the woods and managed to rejoin the army. they had continued with it until it moved to the hospital heights after the disastrous attack by the americans on their camp. general burgoyne then true to the old flag. sent for peter lambton, who was, be knew, one of his most active and intelligent scouts. “could you make your way through the enemy's lines down to ticonderoga ?” he asked. “i could try, general,” peter said. “me and the party who work with me could get through if any one could, but more nor that i can't say. the yanks are swarming around pretty thick, i reckon, but if we have luck we might make a shift to get through.” “i have hopes,” the general said, “ that another regiment, for which i asked general carleton, has arrived there. here is a letter to general powell, who is in command, to beg him to march with all his available force and fall upon the enemy posted on our line of communication. unless the new regiment has reached him he will not have a suffi- cient force to attempt this, but if this has come up he may be enabled to do so. he is to march in the lightest order and at full speed, so as to take the enemy by surprise. twelve hours before he starts you will bring me back news of his coming and i will move out to meet him. his operations in their rear will confuse the enemy and enable me to operate with a greater chance of success. i tell you this because if you are surrounded and in difficulties you may have to destroy my dispatch. you can then convey my instructions by word of mouth to general powell if you succeed in getting through." upon leaving headquarters peter joined his friends. true to the old flag. “it's a risksome business,” he went on after in- forming them of the instructions he had received, “ but i don't know as it's much more risksome than stopping here. it don't seem to me that this army is like to get out of the trap into which their general has led 'em. whatever he wanted to leave the lakes for is more nor i can tell. however, general- ing ain't my business, and i wouldn't change places with the old man to-day, not for a big sum of money. now, chief, what do you say? how's this 'ere business to be carried out ?” the seneca, with the five braves who bad from the first accompanied them, were now the only in- dians with the british army. the rest of the red- skins, disgusted with the dilatory progress of the army and foreseeing inevitable disaster, had all be- taken themselves to their homes. they were, moreover, angered at the severity with which the english general had endeavored to suppress their tendency to acts of cruelty on the defenseless settlers. the redskin has no idea of civilized war- fare. his sole notion of fighting is to kill, burn, and destroy, and the prohibition of all irregular operations and of the infliction of unnecessary suffer- ing was in his eyes an act of incomprehensible weakness. the seneca chief remained with the army simply because his old comrade did so. he saw that there was little chance of plunder, but he and his braves had succeeded in fair fight in obtain- ing many scalps, and would, at least, be received with high honor on their return to their tribe. true to the old flag. they now struck off to the right, and by day- break were far round beyond the american army, on their way to ticonderoga. they had walked for fifteen hours when they halted, and it was not until late in the afternoon that they continued their journey. they presently struck the road which the army had cut in its advance, and keeping parallel with this through the forest they arrived the next morning at fort edward. a few hours' rest here and they continued their march to ticonderoga. this place had been attacked by the americans a few days previously, but the garrison had beaten off the assailants. on the march they had seen many bodies of the enemy moving along the road, but their approach had in every case been detected in time to take refuge in the forest. on entering the fort peter at once proceeded to general powell's quarters and delivered the dispatch with which he had been in- trusted. the general read it. “no renëforcements have arrived,” the general said, “and the force here is barely sufficient to de- fend the place. it would be madness for me to set out on such a march with the handful of troops at my disposal.” he then questioned peter concerning the exact position of the army, and the latter had no hesita- tion in saying that he thought the whole force would be compelled to lay down their arms unless some reënforcements reached them from below. this, however, was not to be. general clinton int ran m donald cameron's despair.–page . true to the old flag. whether their interference had saved him and his family. upon arriving at the spot whence harold had fired the shot which had brought discovery upon them, they saw a few charred stumps alone remaining of the snug house which had stood there. in front of it, upon the stump of a tree, cameron himself was sitting in an attitude of utter depression. they walked across the clearing to the spot, but although the sound of their footsteps must have reached his ear, the man did not look up until har- old touched him on the shoulder. “ what has happened ?” he asked. “who has done this ruin ?” the man still remained with his head bent down, as if he had not heard the question. “we had hoped that you had escaped," harold 'went on. “we were hidden in the wood when we saw those ruffians drive your wife and daughter out, and it was the shot from my rifle that killed their leader and brought them down on us; and a narrow escape we bad of it; but we hoped that we had diverted tbem from their determination to kill you and your family.” cameron looked up now. “i thank ye, sir," he said. “i thank ye wi' a' my hairt for your interference on our behalf. i heerd how closely ye were beset that night and how ye escaped. they thought nae mair o’us, and when the royal army arrived the next day we were safe; but ye might as weel ha' let the matter gang on- better, indeed, for then i should be deed instead o' true to the old flag. suffering. this wark,” and he pointed toward the remains of the bouse, “is redskin devilry. a fort- night sin' a band o’ indians fell upon us. i was awa'. they killed my wife and burned my house and ba’ carried off my bairn." “who were they ?” harold asked. “i dinna ken," cameron replied ; “ but a neebor o' mine whose place they attacked, and whom they had scalped and left for deed, told me that they were a band o' the iroquois who had come down from lake michigan and advanced wi' the british. he said that they with the other redskins desairted when their hopes o'plunder were disappointed, and that on their way back to their tribes they burned and ravaged every settlement they cam' across. my neebor was an old frontiersman; he had fought against the tribe and knew their war-cry. he deed the next day. he was mair lucky than i am." “the tarnal ruffians !” peter exclaimed ; "the murdering varmints ! and to think of 'em carrying off that purty little gal of yours! i suppose by this time they're at their old game of plundering and slaying on the frontier. it's naught to them which side they fight on; scalps and plunder is all they care for.” the unfortunate settler had sat down again on the log, the picture of a broken-hearted man. har- old drew peter a short distance away. “ look here, peter,” he said. “ now burgoyne's army has surrendered and winter is close at hand, it is certain that there will be no further operations true to the old flag. here, except perhaps that the americans will recap- ture the place. what do you say to our undertak- ing an expedition on our own account to try and get back this poor fellow's daughter? i do not know whether the seneca would join us, but we three—of course i count jake—and the settler might do something. i have an old grudge against these iroquois myself, as you have heard ; and for aught i know they may long ere this have murdered my cousins.” “the seneca will jine," peter said, “ willing enough. there's an old feud between his tribe and the iroquois. he'll jine fast enough. but mind, youngster, this ain't no child's play; it ain't like fighting them american clodhoppers. we'll have to deal with men as sharp as ourselves, who can shoot as well, hear as well, see as well, who are in their own country, and who are a hundred to one against us. we've got hundreds and hundreds of miles to travel afore we gets near 'em. it's a big job; but if, when ye thinks it all over, you're ready to go, peter lambton ain't the man to hold back. as you say, there's naught to do this winter, and we might as well be doing this as anything else.” the two men then went back to the settler. “cameron,” harold said, “it is of no use sitting here grieving. why not be up in pursuit of those who carried off your daughter ?” the man sprang to his feet. “in pursuit !” he cried fiercely ; “in pursuit! do ye think donald cameron wad be sitting here true to the old flag. quietly if he kenned where to look for his daughter - where to find the murderers o' his wife? but what can i do? for three days after i cam' back and found what had happened i was just mad. i couldna think nor rest, nor do aught but throw mysel' on the ground and pray to god to tak’ me. when at last i could think, it was too late. it wad hae mattered naething to me that they were a hundred to one. if i could ha' killed but one o' them i wad ha’ died happy ; but they were gone, and how could i follow them—how could i find them? tell me where to look, mon-show me the way; and if it be to the ends o'the airth i will go after them.” “we will do more than that,” harold said. “my friends and myself have still with us the seven men who were with us when we were here before. five are senecas, the other a faithful negro who would go through fire and water for me. there is little chance of our services being required during the winter with the british army. we are interest- ed in you and in the pretty child we saw here, and if you will, we will accompany you in the search for her. peter lambton knows the country well, and if any one could lead you to your child and res- cue her from those who carried her off, he is the man." • truly !” gasped the scotchman. “and will ye truly gang wi’ me to find my bairn? may the guid god o heaven bless you !" and the tears ran down his cheeks. true to the old flag. “git your traps together at once, man," peter said. “let's go straight back to the fort; then i'll set the matter before the chief, who will, i warrant me, be glad enough to jine the expedition. it's too late to follow the track of the red varmints; our best plan will be to make straight for the st. lawrence; to take a boat if we can git one ; if not, two canoes; and to make up the river and along ontario. then we must sell our boat, cross to erie, and git fresh canoes and go on by detroit into lake huron, and so up in the country of these reptiles. we shall have no difficulty, i reckon, in discovering the whereabout of the tribe which has been away on this expedition.” the scotchman took up the rifle. “i am ready,” he said, and without another word the party started for the fort. upon their arrival there a consultation was held with the seneca. the prospect of an expedition against his hereditary foes filled him with delight, and three of his braves also agreed to accompany them. jake received the news with the remark: “all rigbt, massa harold. it make no odds to dis chile whar he goes. you say de word—jake ready.” half an hour sufficed for making the preparations, and they at once proceeded to the point where they had hidden the two canoes on the night when they joined general burgoyne before his advance upon ticonderoga. these were soon floating on the lake, and they started to paddle to the mouth of the true to the old flag. sorel, down this river into the st. lawrence, and thence to montreal. their rifles they had recov- ered from the lake upon the day following that on which ticonderoga was first captured, deer tail having dispatched to the spot two of his braves, who recovered them without difficulty by diving and brought them back to the fort. at montreal they stayed but a few hours. an ample supply of ammunition was purchased and provisions sufficient for the voyage; and then em- barking in the two canoes they started up the st. lawrence. it was three weeks later when they arrived at detroit, which was garrisoned by a british force. here they heard that there had been continuous troubles with the indians on the frontier; that a great many farms and settlements had been destroyed and numbers of persons murdered. tbeir stay at detroit was a short one. harold obtained no news of his cousins, but there were so many tales told of indian massacres that he was filled with apprehension on their account. his worst apprehensions were justified when the canoes at length came within sight of the well-remembered clearing. harold gave a cry as he saw that the farm-house no longer existed. the two canoes were headed toward shore, and their occupants dis- embarked and walked toward the spot where the house had stood. the site was marked by a heap of charred embers. the out-houses had been destroyed, and a few fowls were the only living things to be seen in the fields. true to the old flag. “a chief's eyes are not blind," the redskin an- swered with a slight smile of satisfaction at having for once succeeded when his white comrade was at fault. “let my friend look up tbe bill—two dead men there." harold looked in the direction in which the chief pointed, but could see nothing. the hunter ex- claimed: “ there's something there, chief, but even my eyes couldn't tell they were bodies.” the party proceeded to the spot and found two skeletons. a few remnants of clothes lay around, but the birds had stripped every particle of flesh from the bones. there was a bullet in the fore- head of one skull; the other was cleft with a sharp instrument. “it's clear enough,” the hunter said, “ there's been a surprise. likely enough the hull lot was killed without a shot being fired in defense.” true to the old flag. chapter xiv. rescued. harold was deeply touched at the evidences of the fate which had befallen the occupants of his cousin's plantation. “if there are any more of these to be found," pointing to their remains, “we might learn for a certainty whether the same fate befell them all.” the seneca spoke a word to his followers and the four indians spread themselves over the clearing. one more body was found-it was lying down near the water as if killed in the act of making for the canoe. “ the others are probably there,” peter said, pointing to the ruins. “the three hands was killed in the fields, and most likely the attack was made at the same moment on the house. i'm pretty sure it was so, for the body by the water lies face down- ward with his head toward the lake. he was no doubt shot from behind as he was running. there must have been injuns round the house then, or he would have made for that instead of the water.” the seneca touched peter on the shoulder and pointed toward the farm. a figure was seen ap- proaching. as it came nearer they could see that true to the old flag. he was a tall man dressed in the deer-skin shirt and leggings usually worn by hunters. as he came near harold gave an exclamation : “it is jack pearson !" “ it are jack pearson," the hunter said, “but for the moment i can't recollect ye, though yer face seems known. why !” he exclaimed in changed tones, “it's that boy harold growed into a man.” “it is,” harold replied, grasping the frontiers- man's hand. “and ye may know me too,” peter lambton said, “ though it's twenty year since we fought side by side against the mohawks.” “why, old hoss, are you above ground still ?” the hunter exclaimed heartily. “i'm glad to see you again, old friend. and what are you doing here, you and harold and these senecas ? for they is senecas sure enough. i've been in the woods for the last hour and have been puzzling myself nigh to death. i seed them injuns going about over the clearing sarching, and for the life of me i couldn't think what they were a-doing. then i seed 'em gathered down here, with two white men among 'em, so i guessed it was right to show myself.” “they were searching to see how many had fallen in this terrible business,” harold said, point- ing to the ruins. the hunter shook his head. “i'm afeared they've all gone under. i were here a week afterward; it were just as it is now. i found the three hands lying killed and sculped in true to the old flag. the fields; the others, i reckon, is there. i has no doubt at all about bill welch and his wife, but it may be that the gal has been carried off.” “do you think so ?” harold exclaimed eagerly. “if so, we may find her too with the other." “what other ?” pearson asked. harold gave briefly an account of the reason which had brought them to the spot and of the ob- ject they had in view. “you can count me in,” pearson said. “there's just a chance that nelly welch may be in their hands still; and in any case i'm longing to draw a bead on some of the varmints to pay 'em for this,” and he looked round him, “and a hundred other massacres round this frontier.” “i'm glad to hear ye say so," peter replied. “i expected as much of ye, jack. i don't know much of this country, having only hunted here for a few weeks with a party of delawares twenty year afore the iroquois moved so far west.” “i know pretty nigh every foot of it,” jack pearson said. “when the iroquois were quiet i used to do a deal of hunting in their country. it are good country for game.” “well! shall we set out at once ?” harold asked, impatient to be off. “we can't move to-night,” pearson answered ; and harold saw that peter and the indians agreed with him. “why not?” he asked. “every hour is of im- portance.” true to the old flag. “that's so,” peter said, “ but there's no going out on the lake to-night. in half an hour we'll have our first snow-storm, and by morning it will be two foot deep.” harold turned his eyes toward the lake and saw what his companions had noticed long before. the sky was overcast and a thick bank of hidden clouds was rolling up across the lake, and the thick mist seemed to hang between the clouds and the water. “that's snow,” peter said. “it's late this year, and i'd give my pension if it was a month later." “that's so," pearson said. “snow ain't never pleasant in the woods, but when you're scouting round among injuns it are a caution. we'd best make a shelter afore it comes on.” the two canoes were lifted from the water, un- loaded, and turned bottom upward ; a few charred planks which had formed part of the roof of the out- houses were brought and put up to form a sort of shelter. a fire was lit and a meal prepared. by this time the snow had begun to fall. after the meal was over pipes were lit and the two hunters earnestly talked over their plans, the seneca chief throwing in a few words occasionally; the others listened quietly. the indians left the matter in the hands of their chief, while harold and cameron knew that the two frontiersmen did not need any suggestion from them. as to jake, the thought of asking questions never entered his mind. he was just at present less happy than usual, for the negro, like most of his race, hated cold, and the prospect true to tir old flag. of wandering through the woods in deep snow made him shudder as he crouched close to the great fire they had built. peter and jack pearson were of opinion that it was exceedingly probable that the welches bad been destroyed by the very band wbich had carried off little janet cameron. the bodies of indians who had been on the war-path with the army had retired some six weeks before, and it was about that time pearson said that the attack on the settle- ments had been made. “i heard some parties of redskins who had been with the british troops had passed through the neighborhood, and there was reports that they were greatly onsatisfied with the results of the cam- paign. as likely as not some of that band may have been consarned in the attack on this place three year ago, and passing nigh it may have de- termined to wipe out that defeat. an injun never forgives. many of their braves fell here, and they could scarcely bring a more welcome trophy back to their villages than the scalps of welch and his men." “now, the first thing to do,” peter said, “ is to find out what particular chief took his braves with him to the war; then we've got to find his village; and there likely enough we'll find cameron's daugh- ter and may be the girl from here. how old was she ?” “ about fifteen,” pearson said, “and a fine girl, and a pretty girl too. i dun know," he went on true to the old flag. after a pause, “ which of the chiefs took part in the war across the lakes, but i suspect it were war eagle. there's three great chiefs, and the other two were trading on the frontier. it was war eagle who attacked the place afore, and would be the more likely to attack it again if he came any- wheres near it. he made a mess of it afore and’d be burning to wipe out his failure if he had a chance." “ where is his place ?” “ his village is the furthest of them all from here. · he lives up near the falls of sault ste. marie, betwixt lakes superior and huron. it's a village with nigh three hundred wigwams." “ it ain't easy to see how it's to be done. we must make to the north shore of the lake. there'll be no working down here through the woods, but it's a pesky difficult job—about as hard a one as ever i took part in." "it is that,” pearson said ; “it can't be denied. to steal two white girls out of a big injun village ain't a easy job at no time; but with the snow on the ground it comes as nigh to an impossibility as anything can do." for another hour or two they talked over the route they should take and their best mode of pro- ceeding. duncan cameron sat and listened with an intent face to every word. since he had joined them he had spoken but seldom ; his whole soul was taken up with the thought of his little daughter. he was ever ready to do his share and more than true to the old flag. by hiding up the canoes at different places we give ourselves so much more chance of being able to get to one or the other. they're all large canoes, and at a pinch any one of them might hold the hull party, with the two gals throwed in. but,” he added to harold in a low voice,“ don't you build too much on these gals, harold. i wouldn't say so while that poor fellow's listening, but the chance is a desperate poor one, and i think we'll be mighty lucky ef we don't leave all our scalps in that 'ere redskin village.” the traps were soon placed in the canoes, and just as the sun burst out the three boats started. it was a long and toilsome journey. stormy weather set in, and they were obliged to wait for days by the lake till its surface calmed. on these occasions they devoted themselves to hunting and killed several deer. they knew that there were no indian villages near, and in such weather it would be im- probable that any redskins would be in the woods. they were enabled, therefore, to fire without fear of the reports betraying their presence. the senecas took the opportunity of fabricating snow-shoes for the whole party, as these would be absolutely necessary for walking in the woods. harold, jake, and duncan cameron at once began to practice their use. the negro was comical in the extreme in his first attempts, and shouted so loudly with laughter each time that he fell head foremost into the snow that peter said to him angrily : “look a-here, jake, it's dangerous enough letting true to the old flag. off a rifle at a deer in these woods, but it has to be done because we must lay in a supply of food; but a musket-shot is a mere whisper to yer shouting. thunder ain't much louder than you laughing—it shakes the bull place and might be heard from here well-nigh to montreal. ef you can't keep that mouth of your'n shut ye must give up the idee of learning to use them shoes and must stop in the canoe while we're scouting on shore.” jake promised to amend, and from this time when he fell in the soft snow-wreaths he gave no audible vent to his amusernent; but a pair of great feet, with the snow-shoes attached, could be seen waving above the surface until he was picked up and righted again. harold soon learned, and cameron went at the work with grim earnestness. no smile ever crossed his face at his own accidents or at the wild vagaries of jake, which excited silent amusement even among the indians. in a short time the falls were less frequent, and by the time they reached the spot where they were determined to cross the lake at the point where lakes huron and michigan join, the three novices were able to make fair progress in the snow-shoes. the spot fixed upon was about twelve miles from the village of war eagle, and the canoes were hidden at distances of three miles apart. first pearson, harold, and cameron disembarked ; jake, peter, and one of the indians alighted at the next point; and the seneca chief and two of his followers true to the old flag. they had before crossing the lake cooked a supply of food sufficient for some days. intense as was the cold outside, it was perfectly warm in the tent. the entrance as they crept into it was closed with a blanket, and in the center a lamp composed of deer's fat in a calabash with a cotton wick gave a sufficient light. “ what is the next move ?” harold asked. “the chief'll start, when it comes dusk, with pearson," peter said. “when they git close to the village he'll go in alone. he'll paint iroquois before he goes." “cannot we be near at hand to help them in case of a necessity ?” harold asked. “no,” peter said. “it wouldn't be no good at all. ef it comes to fighting they're fifty to one, and the lot of us would have no more chance than two. if they're found out, which ain't likely, they must run for it, and they can get over the snow a deal faster than you could, to say nothing of cameron and jake. they must shift for themselves and'll make straight for the nearest canoe. in the forest they must be run down sooner or later, for their tracks would be plain. no, they must go alone.” when night came on the seneca produced his paints, and one of his followers marked his face and arms with the lines and flourishes in use by the iroquois; then without a word of adieu he took his rifle and glided out from the tent, followed by pear- son. peter also put on his snow-shoes and prepared to follow. true to the old flag. a mile and more with the squaws coming and going for wood and the hunters going out on the chase. i've crossed a dozen tracks or more on my way back. ef it wasn't for that we daren't have gone at all, for ef the snow was new fallen the sight of fresh tracks would have set the first injun that come along a-wondering; and when a redskin begins to wonder he sets to to ease his mind at once by finding out all about it, ef it takes him a couple of days' sarch to do so. no, you can lie down now for some hours. they won't be here till morning." so saying, the scout set the example by wrapping himself up and going to sleep, but cameron's eyes never closed until the blanket was drawn on one side again and in the gray light of the winter morning the seneca and pearson crawled into the tent. “what news ?” harold asked, for oameron was too agitated to speak. “both gals are there,” pearson answered. an exclamation of thankfulness broke from harold. a sob of joy issued from the heart of the scotchman, and for a few minutes his lips moved as he poured forth his silent thankfulness to god. “waal, tell us all about it," peter said. “i can ask the chief any questions afterward." “we went on straight enough to the village,” the hunter began. “it are larger than when i saw it last, and war eagle's influence in the tribe must have increased. i didn't expect to find no watch, true to the old flag. the redskins having, so far as they knew, no enemies within five hundred mile of 'em. there was a lot of fires burning and plenty of redskins moving about among 'em. we kept on till we got quite close, and then we lay up for a time below a tree at the edge of the clearing. there were a sight too many of 'em about for the seneca to go in yet awhile. about balf an hour arter we got there we saw two white gals come outen one of the wigwams and stand for awhile to warm theirselves by one of the fires. the tallest of the two, well-nigh a woman, was nelly welch. i knew her, in course. the other was three or four years younger, with yaller hair over her shoulders. nelly seemed quiet and sad-like, but the otber 'peared more at home-she laughed with some of the redskin gals and even jined in their play. you see,” he said, turning to cameron, “she'd been captured longer and children's spirits soon rise again. arter awhile they went back to the wig- wam. when the fires burned down and the crowd thinned and there was only a few left sitting in groups round the embers, the seneca started. for a long time i saw nothing of him, but once or twice i thought i saw a figure moving among the wigwams. presently the fires burned quite down and the last injun went off. i had begun to wonder what the chief was doing, when he stood beside me. we made tracks at once and have been tramping in a long circle all night. the chief can tell ye his part of the business hisself.” “ well, chief, what have you found out ?" peter asked. true to the old flag. the indian answered in his native tongue, which peter interpreted from time to time for the benefit of his white companions : “when deer tail left the white hunter he went into the village. it was no use going among the men, and he went round by the wigwams and listened to the chattering of the squaws. the tribe were all well contented, for the band brought back a great deal of plunder which they had picked up on their way back from the army. they had lost no braves and every one was pleased. the destruc- tion of the settlement of the white man who had repulsed them before was a special matter for re- joicing. the scalps of the white man and his wife are in the village. war eagle's son, young elk, is going to marry the white girl. there are several of the braves whose heads have been turned by her white skin and her bright eyes, but young elk is going to have her. there have been great feast- ings and rejoicings since the return of the warriors, but they are to be joined to-morrow by beaver's band, and then they will feast again. when all was quiet i went to the wigwam where the white girls are confined. an old squaw and two of war eagle's daughters are with them. deer tail had listened while they prepared for rest and knew on which side of the wigwam the tall white maiden slept. he thought tbat she would be awake. her heart would be sad and sleep would not come to her soon, so be crept round there and cut a slit in the skin close to where she lay. he put his head in at the true to the old flag. hole and whispered, “do not let the white girl be afraid; it is a friend. does she hear him ? she whispered, “yes.' 'friends are near,' he said. “the young warrior, harold, whom she knows, and others, are at hand to take her away. the iroquois will be feasting to-morrow night. when she hears the cry of a night-owl let her steal away with her little white sister and she will find her friends waiting. then deer tail closed the slit and stole away to his friend the white bunter. i have spoken." “jest what i expected of you, chief,” peter said warmly. “i thought as how you'd manage to git speech with 'em somehow. if there's a feast to- night it's hard ef we don't manage to get 'em off.” “i suppose we must lie still all day, peter.” “ you must so," the hunter said. “not a soul must show his nose outside the tent except that one of the redskins'll keep watch to be sure that no straggler has come across our tracks and followed 'em up. ef he was to do that he might bring the hull gang down on us. ye'd best get as much sleep as ye can, for ye don't know when ye may get an- other chance." at nightfall the whole party issued from the tent and started toward the indian village. all ar- rangements had been made. it was agreed that pearson and the seneca should go up to the village, the former being chosen because he was known to nelly. peter and one of the redskins were to take post a hundred yards further back ready to give true to the old flag. assistance in case of alarm, while the rest were to remain about half a mile distant. cameron had asked that he might go with the advance party, but upon peter pointing out to him that his com- paratively slow rate of progression in snow-shoes would, in case of discovery, lead to the recapture of the girls, he at once agreed to the decision. if the flight of the girls was discovered soon after leaving the camp, it was arranged that the seneca and peter should hurry at once with them to the main body, while the other two indians should draw off their pursuers in another direction. in the event of anything occurring to excite the suspicion of the indians before there was a chance of the girls being brought safely to the main body, they were to be left to walk quietly back to camp, as they had nothing to fear from the indians. peter and the seneca were then to work round by a circuitous route to the boat, where they were to be joined by the main body, and to draw off until an- other opportunity offered for repeating the at- tempt. it was eight o'clock in the evening when pearson and the seneca approached the village. the fires were burning high, and seated round them were all the warriors of the tribe. a party were engaged in a dance representing the pursuit and defeat of an enemy. the women were standing in an outer circle clapping their hands and raising their voices in loud cries of applause and excitement as the dance became faster and faster. the warriors true to the old flag. bounded high, brandishing their tomahawks. a better time could not have been chosen for the evasion of the fugitives. nelly welch stood close to a number of indian girls, but slightly behind them. she held the hand of little janet cameron. although she appeared to share in the interest of the indians in the dance, a close observer would have had no difficulty in perceiving that nelly was preoccupied. she was, indeed, intently listening for the signal. she was afraid to move from among the others lest her absence should be at once de- tected, but so long as the noise was going on she despaired of being able to hear the signal agreed upon. presently an indian brave passed close to her, and as he did so whispered in her ear in english, “behind your wigwam—friends there." then he passed on and moved round the circle as if intending to take his seat at another point. the excitement of the dance was momentarily increasing, and the attention of the spectators was riveted to the movements of the performers. hold- ing janet's hand, nelly moved noiselessly away from the place where she had been standing. the movement was unnoticed, as she was no longer closely watched, a flight in the depth of winter ap- pearing impossible. she kept round the circle till no longer visible from the spot she had left. then leaving the crowd she made her way toward the nearest wigwams. once behind these the girl stole rapidly along under their shelter until they stood behind that which they usually habited. two true to the old flag. figures were standing there. they hesitated for a moment, but one of them advanced. “jack pearson !” nelly exclaimed, with a low cry of gladness. “jest that same, nelly, and right glad to see you. but we've no time for greeting now; the hull tribe may be after us in another five minutes. come along, pretty,” he said turning to janet. “you'll find somebody ye know close at hand.” two minutes later the child was in her father's arms, and after a moment's rapturous greeting be- tween father and child and a very delighted one between nelly welch and her cousin harold the flight was continued. “how long a start do you think we may have ?” “half an hour may be. the women may be some time afore they miss her, and they'll sarch for her everywhere afore they give the alarm, as they'll be greatly blamed for their carelessness." there had been a pause in the flight for a few seconds when the seneca and pearson arrived with the girls at the point where peter and the other indians were posted, two hundred yards from the camp. up to this point the snow was everywhere thickly trampled, but as the camp was left further behind the footprints would naturally become more scarce. here pearson fastened to the girls' feet two pairs of large moccasins; inside these wooden soles had been placed. they therefore acted to some extent like snow-shoes and prevented the girls' feet from sinking deeply, while the prints which true to the old flag. “what is that?” “i'm afeared that without waiting to find the tracks they may send off half a dozen parties to the lake. they'll be sure that friends have taken the gals away and will know that their only chance of escape is by the water. on land we should be bunted down to a certainty, and the redskins, know- ing that the gals could not travel fast, will not hurry in following up the trail. so i think they'll at once send off parties to watch the lake and'll like enough make no effort to take up the trail till to-morrow morning.” this was said in a low whisper, for although they were more than two miles from the village it was necessary to move as silently as possible. “you had best tell the others what you think, pearson. it may make a difference in our move- ments.” a short halt was called, and the seneca and peter quite agreed with pearson's idea. “ we'd best make for the canoe that's furthest off. when the redskins find the others, which they're pretty sure to do, for they'll huntevery bush, they're likely to be satisfied and to make sure they'll ketch us at one or the other.” thus much decided upon, they continued their flight, now less rapidly, but in perfect silence. speed was less an object than concealment. the indians might spread and a party might come across them by accident. if they could avoid this they were true to the old flag. sure to reach their canoe before morning and un- likely to find the indians there before them. it was about twelve miles to the spot where they had hidden the canoe, and although they heard dis- tant shouts and whoops ringing through the forest, no sound was heard near them. true to the old flag. chapter xv. the island refuge. the night was intensely cold and still and the stars shone brightly through the bare boughs over- head. “ are you sure you are going all right ?" neily asked harold. “it is so dark bere that it seems impossible to know which way we are going." “ you can trust the indians,” harold said. “even if there was not a star to be seen they could find their way by some mysterious instinct. how you are grown, nelly! your voice does not seem much changed, and i am longing to see your face." “i expect you are more changed than i am, harold,” the girl answered. “you have been going through so much since we last met, and you seem to have grown so tall and big. your voice has changed very much, too; it is the voice of a man. how in the world did you find us bere?” pearson had gone on ahead to speak to the seneca, but he now joined them again. “ you mustn't talk,” he said. “i hope there's no redskins within five miles of us now, but there's never any saying where they may be.” there was, harold thought, a certain sharpness in true to the old flag. ice up into cakes again and again, while the frost as often bad bound them together. they had struck the river within a few hundred yards of the place where the canoe was bidden, and after a short consultation between the seneca chief, peter lambton, and pearson, moved down toward that spot. “what are you thinking of doing ?” harold asked when they gathered round the canoe. “ we're going to load ourselves with the ammu- nition and deer's flesh,” peter said, “and make for a rocky island which lies about a mile off here. i noticed it as we landed. there's nothing to do but to fight it out to the last there. it are a good place for defense, for the redskins won't like to come out across the open, and even covered by a dark night they'd show on this white surface." “perhaps they won't trace us.” “not trace us !" the trapper repeated scornfully. “why, when daylight comes they'll pick up our track and follow it as easy as you could that of a wagon across the snow.” they were just starting when harold gave a little exclamation. “ w bat is it, lad ?” “a flake of snow fell on my face.” all looked up. the stars had disappeared. an- other flake and another fell on the upturned faces of the party. “let's thank the good god,” peter said quietly. “ there's a chance for our lives yet. half an hour's snow and the trail'll be lost.” true to the old flag. faster and faster the snow-flakes came down. again the leaders consulted. “we must change our plans now," peter said, turning to the others. “ so long as they could easily follow our tracks it mattered nothing that they'd find the canoe here; but now it's altogether different. we must take it along with us.” the weight of the canoe was very small. the greater part of its contents had already been re- moved. there was a careful look round to see that nothing remained on the bank; then four of the men lifted it on their shoulders, and the whole party stepped out upon the ice. the snow was now falling heavily, and to harold's eyes there was noth- ing to guide them in the direction they were follow- ing. even the indians would have been at a loss had not the seneca, the instant the snow began to fall, sent on one of his followers at full speed to- ward the island. harold wondered at the time what his object could be as the indian darted off across the ice, but he now understood. every min- ute or two the low hoot of an owl was heard, and toward this sound the party directed their way through the darkness and snow. so heavy was the fall that the island rose white before them as they reached it. it was of no great extent—some twenty or thirty yards across and perhaps twice that length. it rose steeply from the water to a height of from ten to fifteen feet. the ground was rough and broken, and several trees and much brush wood grew in the crevices of the rock. the indian started off across the ice-page . true to the old flag. the seneca and the hunters made a rapid exam- ination of the island and soon fixed upon the spot for their camp. toward one end the island was split in two and an indentation ran some distance up into it. here a clear spot was found some three or four feet above the level of the water. it was completely hidden by thick bushes from the sight of any one approaching by water. there the canoe was turned over, and the girls, who were both suf- fering from the intense cold, were wrapped up in blankets and placed under its shelter. the camp was at the lower end of the island and would there- fore be entirely hidden from view of indians gathered upon the shore. in such a snow-storm light would be invisible at a very short distance, and peter did not hesitate to light a fire in front of the canoe. for three hours the snow continued to fall. the fire had been sheltered by blankets stretched at some distance above it. long before the snow ceased it had sunk down to a pile of red embers. a small tent bad now been formed of blankets for the use of the girls; brush wood had been heaped over this, and upon the brushwood snow had been thrown, the whole making a shelter which would be warm and comfortable even in the bitterest weather. a pile of hot embers was placed in this little tent until it was thoroughly heated ; blankets were then spread, and the girls were asked to leave the shelter of the canve and take their place there. true to the old flag. the canoe itself was now raised on four sticks three feet from the ground; busbes were laid round it and snow piled on, thus forming the walls of which the canoe was the roof. all this was finished long before the snow had ceased falling, and this added a smooth white surface all over, so that to a casual eye both tent and hut looked like two natural ridges of the ground. they were a cheer- ful party which assembled in the little but. the remainder of the embers of the fire had been brought in, and intense as was the cold outside, it was warm and comfortable within. tea was made and the pipes filled, and they chatted some time be- fore going to sleep. duncan cameron was like a man transfigured. his joy and thankfulness for the recovery of his daughter were unbounded. harold's pleasure, too, at the rescue of his cousin was very great, and the others were all gratified at the success of their ex- pedition. it was true that the indians had as yet gained no scalps, but harold had promised them before starting that should the expedition be suc- cessful they should be handsomely rewarded. “we mustn't reckon as we are safe yet," peter said in answer to one of harold's remarks. « the redskins ain't going to let us slip through their fingers so easy as all that. they've lost our trail and have nothing but their senses to guide 'em, but an injun's senses ain't easily deceived in these woods. ef this snow begins again and keeps on for two or three days they may be puzzled; but ef it stops true to the old flag. they'll cast a circle round their camp at a distance beyond where we could have got before the snow ceased, and ef they find no new trails they'll know that we must be within that circle. then as to the boats, when they find as we don't come down to the two as they've discovered and that we've not made off by land, they'll guess as there was another canoe hidden somewhere and they'll sarch high and low for it. waal, they won't find it; and then they'll suppose that we may have taken to the ice and they'll sarch that. either they'll git to open water or to the other side. ef there's open water any- where within a few miles they may conclude that we've carried a canoe, launched it there, and made off. in that case, when they've sarched everywhere they may give it up. ef there ain't no such open water they'll sarch till they find us. it ain't likely that this island will escape 'em. with nine good rifles here we can hold the place against the hull tribe, and as they'd show up against the snow they can no more attack by night than by day.” “i don't think our food will hold out beyond seven or eight days,” harold said. “jest about that,” peter answered; “ but we can cut a hole in the ice and fish, and can hold out that way, if need be, for weeks. the wust of it is that the ice ain't likely to break up now until the spring. i reckon our only chance is to wait till we git an- other big snow-storm and then to make off. the snow will cover our trail as fast as we make it, and once across to the other shore we may git away true to the old flag. dians was placed on watch, and two or three hours later he reported that the indians were now entirely out of sight and were when last seen scouting along the edge of the forest. “now," peter said, “ the sooner we git another snow-storm the better. ef we'd been alone we could have pushed on last night, but the gals was exhausted and would soon have died of the cold. now with a fresh start they'd do. ef we can't cross the lake i calculate that we're about thirty mile from a pint on the north shore below the falls of ste. marie, and we could land there and strike across through the woods for the settlement. it'd be a terrible long journey round the north of huron, but we must try it ef we can't get across.” “but we could go off by night, surely,” harold said, " even if there is no fresh snow.” “we could do that,” peter replied; “no doubt of it. but ef they were to find our track the next day, ay, or within three days, they'd follow us and overtake us afore we got to the settlements. ef we was alone itd be one thing; but with the gals it'd be another altogether. no, we must stop here till a snow-storm comes, even ef we have to stop for a month. there's no saying how soon some of them injuns may be loafing round, and we daren't leave a trail for 'em to take up." they had scarcely ceased speaking when a low call from the indian placed on watch summoned the chief to his side. a minute later the latter rejoined the group below and said a few words to peter. true to the old flag. “ jest as i thought!" the latter grumbled, rising with his rifle across bis arm. “here are some of the varmints coming out this 'ere way. likely enough it's a party of young braves jest scouting about on their own account to try and get honor by discovering us when their elders have failed. it would have been better for them to have stopped at home.” the party now crept up to the top of the rock, keeping carefully below its crest. “ef you show as much as a hair above the top line,” peter said, “ they'll see you sartin.” “would it not be as well,” harold asked, “ for one of us to show himself? there is no possibility of further concealment, and if they go off without any of them being killed the others might be less bitter against us than they would if they had lost some of their tribe.” peter laughed scornfully. “ye haven't had much to do with injuns, lad, but i should have thought you'd have had better sense nor that. haven't these injuns been a-murdering and a-slaying along the frontier all the summer, fall- ing on defenseless women and children ? marcy and pity ain't in their natur, and fight or no fight, our scalps will dry in their wigwams if they git us into their power. they know that we can shoot and mean to, and that'll make 'em careful of at- tacking us, and every hour is important. now," he said to the others, “ each of you cover a man and fire straight through your sights when i gives the - watching the indians' approach.–page . true to the old flag. word. there's others watching 'em, you may be sure, and ef the whole five go down together it'll make 'em think twice afore they attack us again." peering between some loose rocks so that he could see without exposing his head above the line, har- old watched the five indians approaching. they had evidently some doubts as to the wisdom of the course they were pursuing, and were well aware that they ran a terrible risk standing there in the open before the rifles of those concealed should the fugitives be really there. nevertheless the hope of gaining distinction and the fear of ridicule from those watching them on shore should they turn back with their mission unaccomplished inspired them with resolution. when within three hundred yards of the island they halted for a long time. they stood gazing fixedly, but although no signs of life could be perceived, they were too well versed in indian warfare to gain any confidence from the ap- parent stillness. throwing themselves flat on the snow and following each other in single line, by which means their bodies were nearly concealed from sight in the track which their leader made through the light, yielding snow, they made a com- plete circuit of the island. they paused for some time opposite the little forked entrance in which the camp was situated, but apparently saw nothing, for they kept round until they completed the circuit. when they reached the point from which they had started there was apparently a short consultation among them. then they continued their course in true to the old flag. the track that they had before made until they reached a spot facing the camp. then they changed order, and still prone in the snow advanced abreast toward the island. “the varmints have guessed that ef we're here this is the place where we'd be bid,” peter whispered in harold's ear. as the indians had made their circuit the party in the island had changed their position so as always to keep out of sight. they were now on the top of the island, which was a sort of rough plateau. the girls had been warned when they left them to remain perfectly quiet in their shelter whaterer noise they might hear. peter and the seneca watched the indians through holes which they had made with their ramrods through a bank of snow. the others remained flat in the slight depression behind it. at the distance of one hundred and fifty yards the indians stopped. "the varmints see something !" peter said. “maybe they can make out the two snow heaps through the bushes; maybe they can see some of our footsteps in the snow. they're going to fire!” he exclaimed. “up, lads! they may send a bul- let into the hut whar the gals is hid.” in an instant the line of men sprang to their feet. the indians, taken by surprise at the sudden ap- pearance of a larger number of enemies than they expected, fired a hasty volley and then sprang to their feet and dashed toward the shore. but they were deadly rifles which covered them. peter, true to the old hlag. harold, and pearson could be trusted not to miss even a rapidly moving object at that distance, and the dien were all good shots. not in regular order, but as each covered his man the rifles were dis- charged. four out of the five indians fell and an arm of the fifth dropped useless by his side; how- ever, he still kept on. the whites reloaded rapidly, and harold was about to fire again when pearson put his hand on his shoulder. “don't fire. we've shown them that we can shoot straight. it's jest as well at present that they shouldn't know how far our rifles will carry.” the four senecas dashed out across the snow and speedily returned each with a scalp hanging at his belt. a loud yell of anger and lamentation had risen from the woods skirting the shore as the indians fell, but after this died away a deep silence reigned. “what will be their next move?” cameron asked peter as they gathered again in their low but, hav- ing placed one of the indians on watch. “ we'll hear nothing of 'em till nightfall,” peter said. “their first move, now they know as we're here, will be to send off to fetch up all the tribe who're in search of us. when it comes on dark they'll send scouts outside of us on the ice to see as we don't escape-not that they'd much mind ef we did, for they could track us through the snow and come up with us whenever they chose. no, they may be sure we'll stay where we are. it may be they'll attack us to-night, maybe not. it'd be a true to the old flag. thing more risksome than redskins often undertake to cross the snow under the fire of nine rifles. i ain't no doubt they'd try and starve us out, for they must know well enough that we can have no great store of provisions. but they know as well as we do that ef another snow-storm comes on we might slip away from 'em without leaving a foot-mark be- hind. it's jest that thought as may make 'em at- tack.” “ well, we can beat them off if they do,” harold said confidently. “ waal, we may and we may not," the scout answered. “anyhow we can kill a grist of 'em afore they turn us out on this 'ere island.” “ that's sartin enough,” pearson put in; “but they're a strong tribe, and ef they can harden their hearts and make a rush it's all up with us. i allow that it's contrary to their custom, but when they see no other way to do with they may try." “i suppose if they do try a rusb,” harold said, “ they will do it against this end of the island ?” “yes, you may bet your money on that,” the scout answered. “in other places the rock goes pretty nigh straight up from the water, but here it's an easy landing. being so close to 'em they're sure to know all about it; but even ef they didn't, the chap that got away would tell 'em. i don't much expect an attack to-night-the bands won't be back yet. they'll have a grand palaver to-night, and there'll be a big talk afore they decide what is best to be done; so i think we're safe for tonight. true to the old flag. and approval. the process of blasting was one wholly unknown to them. “i will mak’ the holes," cameron said. “i hae seen a deal of blasting when i was in the army. i oan heat the end of a ramrod in a fire and hammer it to the shape of a borer.” “a better way than that, cameron,” harold said, “ will be to heat the end of a ramrod white- hot. you will melt holes in the ice in half the time it would take you to bore them. that was what i was thinking of doing.” “right you are, lad !” pearson said. “ let's set about it at once." a large fire was now lighted outside the hut, for there was no longer any occasion for secrecy. the ends of three or four of the ramrods were placed in the fire, and two lines of holes were bored in the ice across the mouth of the little cove. these lines were twelve feet apart, and they calculated that the ice between them would be completely broken up, even if the fractures did not extend a good way be- yond the lines. the holes were of rather larger diameter than the interior of a gun-barrel. it was found that the ice was about fifteen inches thick, and the holes were taken down ten inches. three or four charges of powder were placed in each ; a stick of a quarter of an inch in diameter was then placed in each hole, and pounded ice was rammed tightly in around it until the holes were filled up, a few drops of water being poured in on the top so as to freeze the whole into a solid mass. there was true to the old flag. no fear of the powder being wetted, for the frost was intense. then the sticks were withdrawn and the holes left filled with powder. with the heated ramrods little troughs were sunk half an inch deep, connecting the tops of the holes; lines of powder were placed in these trenches ; narrow strips of skin were laid over them and the snow was then thrown on again. the two lines of trenches were connect- ed at the ends at the shore, so that they could be fired simultaneously. while the men were occupied with this work the girls had cooked some venison steaks and made some cakes. it was just nightfall when they had finished, and all sat down and enjoyed a hearty meal. peter and one of the senecas undertook the watch for half the night, when they were to be relieved by pearson and the chief. the early part of the night passed off quietly, but an hour before morning the party were aroused by the sharp crack of two rifles. seizing their arms all rushed out. “what is it, pearson ?” “two of their scouts,” pearson answered, point- ing to two dark bodies on the snow at a distance of about one hundred yards. “i suppose they wanted to see ef we was on the watch. we made 'em out almost as soon as they left the shore, but we let 'em come on until we was sartin of our aim. there ain't no more about as we can see, so ye can all turn in again for another hour or two.” there was no fresh alarm before morning, and true to the old flag. when the sun rose it shone over a wide expanse of snow, unbroken save where lay the bodies of the two indians--whose scalps already hung at the belt of the seneca—and those of their four comrades who had fallen in the first attack. the day passed quietly. toward the afternoon two indians were seen approaching from the shore. they were unarmed and held their hands aloft as a sign of amity. peter and pearson at once laid down their guns, left the island, and advanced to meet them. they were indian chiefs of importance. “why have my white brothers stolen in at night upon the village of war eagle and slain his young men ?" “it's what you've been doing all last year, chief,” pearson, who spoke the dialect better than peter, replied. “but we injured no one. we didn't kill women and children, as your warriors have done in the white villages. we only came to take what you had stolen from us, and ef your young men have been killed it's only because they tried to attack us.” “the white men must see,” the chief said, “ that they cannot get away. the water is hard and their canoe will not swim in it. the snow is deep and the tender feet cannot walk through it. my warriors are very numerous and the white men cannot fight their way through them. the white settlements are very far away and their friends cannot reach them; and it will be many months before the water softens, and long before that the white men will have eaten their moccasins." true to the old flag. “ waal, chief,” pearson said, “we're in a tight hole, i grant you; but i'm far from allowing that we ain't no chances left to us yet. what do you propose? i suppose you've some proposition to make.” “let the white men leave behind them their guns and their powder and the maidens they have taken from war eagle's camp, then let them go in peace. they shall not be harmed.” pearson gave a short laugh. “war eagle must think the white men are fool- ish. what's to prevent the red warriors from taking all our sculps when our arms are in their hands ?” “the word of a great chief,” war eagle said. “ war eagle never lies.” “you may not lie, chief,” pearson said bluntly, “but i've known many a treaty broken afore now. you and your people may not touch us, but there's other redskins about, and i wouldn't give a beaver's skin for our sculps ef we were to take the back trail to the settlements without arms in our hands. bh- sides that, we've among us the father of the gal who was stole far away off from lake champlain and a relative of ber whose parents you've killed down on the lake. ef we were to agree to give up our arms, it stands to reason it ain't likely they'd agree to give up the gals. no, no, chief; your terms aren't reasonable. but i tell ye what we will do: ef you'll give us your word that neither you nor your tribe'll molest us in our retreat we'll go back to the hief," po broken put the true to the old flag. chapter xvi. the great storm. “ let us overhaul our packages,” harold said, “and see what provisions we have left. it would be as well to know how we stand.” it was found that they had a sufficient supply of flour to last with care for a fortnight. the meal was nearly exhausted ; of tea they had an abun- dance; the sugar was nearly out and they had three bottles of spirits. “ could we not make the flour last more than the fourteen days by putting ourselves on half-rations ?” harold asked. “we might do that,” peter said, “ but i tell you the rations would be small even for fourteen days. we've calkilated according to how much we eat when we've plenty of meat, but without meat it'd be only a starvation ration to each. fortunately we've fish-books and lines, and by making holes in the ice we can git as many fish as we like. waal, we can live on them alone if need be, and an ounce or two of flour, made into cakes, will be enough to go with ’em. that way the flour would last us pretty nigh two months. i don't say that if the wust comes to the wust we might not hold on right to the spring true to the old flag. on fish. the lake's full of 'em, and some of 'em have so much oil in 'em that they're nigh as good as meat." “do you think, peter, that if the indians make one great attack and are beaten off they will try again ?” “no one can say," peter answered. “injun natur' can't never be calkilated on. i should say if they got a thundering beating they ain't likely to try again ; but there's never no saying.” “ the sooner they attack and get it o'er the better," cameron said. “i hae na slept a wink the last twa nights. if i doze off for a moment i wake up thinking i hear their yells. i am as ready to fight as ony o' you when the time comes, but the thought o'my daughter here makes me nervous and anxious. what do you say, jake?” “it all de same to jake, massa cameron. jake sleeps bery sound, but he no like de tought ob eating noting but fish for five or six months. jake nebber bery fond ob fish." “you'll like it well enough when you get used to it, jake,” pearson said. “it's not bad eating on a pinch, only you want to eat a sight of it to satisfy you. well, let's see how the fish'll bite.” four holes were cut in the ice at a short distance apart. the hooks were attached to strong lines and baited with deer's flesh, and soon the fishing be- gan. the girls took great interest in the proceed- ing. nelly was an adept at the sport, having generally caught the fish for the consumption of true to the old ul rlal flag. “why, this business ain't nothing to that affair we had by lake champlain. that were as bad a business, when we was surrounded in that log hut, as ever i went through—and i've been through a good many. pearson and me nigh got our har raised more nor once in that business of pontiac's. he were a great chief and managed to get up the biggest confederation agin' us that's ever been kdown. it were well for us that that business didn't begin a few years earlier when we was fighting the french; but you see, so long as we and they was at war the indians hoped as we might pretty well ex- terminate each other, and then they intended to come in and finish off whoever got the best of it. waal, the english they drove the french back and finally a treaty was made in europe by which the french agreed to clear out. “it was jest about this time as pontiac worked upon the tribes to lay aside their own quarrels and jine the french in .fighting agin' us. he got the senecas, and the delawares, and the shawnees, the wyandots, and a lot of other tribes from the lakes and the hull country between the niagara river and the mississippi. “jack pearson and me, we happened to be with the miamis when the bloody belt which pontiac were sending round as a signal for war arrived at the fort there. jack and me knew the redskins pretty well, and saw by their manner as something unusual had happened. i went to the commandant of the fort and told him as much. he didn't think "ppi, true to the old flag. much of my news. the soldier chaps always despises the redskins till they see 'em come yelling along with their tomahawks, and then as often as not it's jest the other way. howsumdever, he agreed at last to pay any amount of trade goods i might promise to the miamis if the news turned out worth finding out. i discovered that a great palaver was to be held that evening at the chief's village, which was a mile away from the fort. “i'd seen a good deal of the miamis and had fought with 'em against the shawnees, so i could do as much with 'em as most. off pearson and i goes to the chief; and i says to him, "look ye here, chief, i've good reasons to believe you've got a mes. sage from pontiac and that it means trouble. now don't you go and let yourself be led away by him. i've heard rumors that he's getting up a great con- federation agin' the english. but i tell you, chief, if all the redskins on this continent was to jine together, they couldn't do nothing agin the english. i don't say as you mightn't wipe out a number of little border forts, for no doubt you might; but what would come of it? england would send out as many men as there are leaves in the forest, who would scorch up the redskin nations as a fire on the prairie scorches up the grass. i tell yer, chief, no good can come on it. don't build yer hopes on the french; they've acknowledged that they're beaten and are all going out of the country. it'd be best for you and your people to stick to the english. they can reward their friends handsomely, true to the old flag. and ef you jine with pontiac, sooner or later trouble and ruin will come upon you. now i can promise you, in the name of the officer of the fort, a good english rifle for yerself and fifty guns for your braves and ten bales of blankets ef yer'll make a clean breast of it and first tell us what devilry pontiac is up to and next jine us freely-or anyway hold aloof altogether from this conspiracy till yer see how things is going “waal, the chief he thought the matter over and said he'd do his best at the palaver that night, but till that was over and he knew what the council decided on he couldn't tell me what the message was. i was pretty well satisfied, for prairie dog were a great chief in his tribe, and i felt pretty sartin he'd git the council to go the way he wanted. i told him i'd be at the fort and that the gov- ernor would expect a message after the council was over. “it was past midnight when the chief came with four of his braves. he told us that the tribe had received a bloody belt from pontiac and a message that the mingoes and delawares, the wyandots and shawnees were going to dig up the hatchet against the wbites, and calling upon him and his people to massacre the garrison of the fort and then march to jine pontiac, who was about to fall upon detroit and fort pitt. they were directed to send the belt on to the tribes on the wabash, but they loved the english and were determined to take nu part against them; so they delivered the belt to their true to the old flag. friend the white commander, and hoped that he'd tell the great king in england that the miamis were faithful to him. the governor highly applauded their conduct and said he'd send the news to the english governor at new york, and at once ordered the presents which i promised to be delivered to the chief for bimself and his braves. when they'd gone he said : “«you were right, peter. this news is important indeed, and it's clear that a terrible storm's about to bust upon the frontier. whether the miamis will keep true is doubtful; but now i'm on my guard they'll find it difficult to take the fort. but the great thing is to carry the news of what's happened to detroit, to put them on their guard. will you and pearson start at once ? "in course we agreed, though it was clear that the job was a risksome one, for it wouldn't be no easy matter to journey through the woods with the hull redskin tribes out on the war-path. “the commander wanted me to carry the belt · with me, but i said, 'i might jest as well carry my death-warrant to the first redskins as i come across.' major gladwin, who commanded at detroit, knew me, and i didn't need to carry any proof of my story. so afore the miamis had been gone balf an hour jack and me took the trail for detroit. we had got a canoe hid on the lake a few miles away, and we was soon on board. the next morning we seed a hull fleet of canoes coming down the lake. we might have made a race with 'em, but being true to the old flag. near detroit we would jest say good-by to him and tramp in. “why should my wbite brothers hurry? he said. “it is not good for them to go on alone, for the woods are very full of indians. but,' i said, the hatchet's buried between the whites and the redskins, so there's no danger in the woods. the chief waved his band. "my white brothers have joined the wyandots, and they will tarry with them until they go into detroit. there are many red- skins there, and there will be a grand palaver. the wyandots will be present. “ jack and me made no signs of being dissatisfied, but the position weren't a pleasant one, i can tell you. here was the redskins a-clustering like bees around detroit, ready to fall upon the garrison and massacre 'em, and we, who was the only men as knew of the danger, was prisoners among the red- skins. it was sartin, too, that though they mightn't take our lives till they had attacked the garrison, they was only keeping us for the pleasure of tor- turing us quietly arterward. the situation was plain enough ; the question was, what were to be done? there was about sixty of the varmints around us sitting by their fires and looking as ef they didn't even know as we was there, but we knew as sharp eyes was watching us and that afore we'd gone five yards the hull lot would be on our track. “ jack and me didn't say much to each other, for we knew how closely we was watched and didn't true to the old flag. “ the third morning, after a runner had come in, the chief gave the word for a move and we set out. we saw they wasn't taking the direct line to de- troit, although still going in that direction, and after two hours' marching through the woods we got down on to the detroit river. here was a big encampment, and some three or four hundred shawnees and delawares was gathered here. a chief come up to us as we entered the open. he gave an order to the wyandots, and in a minute we was bound hand and foot, carried to a small wigwam, and chucked down inside like two logs of wood. “ after a little talk jack and i agreed as after all we bad a better chance of escaping now than when we was watched by a hull tribe, and we concluded that there weren't no time to be lost. the wyan- dots bad no doubt been brought up in readiness to strike the blow, and even if we'd known nothing about the belt, we'd have been sure that mischief was intended when these three bands of red varmints had gathered so close to the fort. it was sartin we couldn't do nothing till night, but we both strained our cords as much as possible to get 'em to stretch a bit and give us a better chance of slipping out of 'em. no one come near us for some time, and as we could hear the sound of voices we guessed that a great council was taking place, and we agreed at once to loosen the knots, so as to be in readiness for work, as like enough they'd put a sentry over us at night. true to the old flag. “it was a risky thing to try, for we might be dis- turbed at any minute. still we thought it were our only chance, so jack set to work with his teeth at my knots and in a quarter of an hour had loosened them; then i undone his. we unbound our thongs and then fastened 'em up again so that to the eye they looked jest the same as before, but really with a jerk they'd fall off. “i must teach you how to do that, harold, some time; ye may find it of use. the knots was tied up as tightly as before, and it would have needed a close examination to see that we was not tied as tight as ever. not a word was spoken and we was as quiet as mice, for we could hear two redskins talking outside. you may guess we was pretty slick about it; and i don't know as ever i felt so thankful as when we laid ourselves down again, jest as we had been throwed, without the slit in the tent having opened and a red face peered in. “a quarter of an hour later a redskin come in and looked at us. seeing, as it seemed to him, as we hadn't moved, he went out again. jest before nightfall two on 'em came in together, rolled us over, and looked at the knots; they found as these was all right; then one sat down jest in the door of the tent and the other took his place outside. we waited some hours. “at last the fires burned low and the camp got quiet. we knew it was well-nigh hopeless to wait for 'em all to be asleep, for redskin natur' is a rest- less one, and especially when there's anything on true to the old flag. hand they'll turn out two or three times in the night to smoke their pipes by the fires, and they'd be the more restless since, as we'd seen, there was only four or five wigwams and all would be sleep- ing on the ground. at last i thought the time were come and gave jack a nudge and we both sat up. “it were a ticklish moment, young un, i can tell ye, for we knew that it were scarce possible to get off without the alarm being raised. ef the wigwam had stood close to the edge of the forest it would have been compar’tively easy, for once among the trees we might bave hoped to have outrun 'em, though the moon was so pesky bright; but unfortu- nately it was built not far from the river, and we should have to cross the hull clearing to gain the woods. the chances weren't good, i can tell you, but it was clear as we had to try 'em. we had purposely moved about pretty often so that our movements would not attract the attention of the injun now. it didn't take a minute to slip out of the cords, which, tight as they looked, really were not fastened at all, there being two loose double ends between our arms and our bodies. we could see the outside sentry through the open door, and we waited till he turned his back and looked out on the river. then sudilenly i gripped the redskin sitting at the entrance by the neck with both my hands, pretty tight as you may reckon, and jack ketched his knife from his helt and buried it in his body. true to the old flag. “that was soon over, and not a sound made as would have startled a mouse. then, standing up, i made a spring on to the sentry, while jack used his knife as before. we let him drop softly down and prepared to bolt, when of a sudden the war-whoop sounded not twenty feet away. one of the redskins, finding the ground hard, i suppose, was strolling up to speak to the sentry when he saw us tackle him. for a moment he were too much sur. prised to holler, but when he did he gave a yell as brought the hull tribe to their feet. jack had taken up the sentry's rifle. “* ye'd better have held yer tongue,' he said as he leveled on the redskin, and before the whoop was out of his lips the bullet hit him and he went down like a log. it didn't need to look round to see as there was no chance of getting to the trees, for two hundred redskins was between us and them. “we must take to the river, jack,' i said. it were but thirty yards away. i expected every moment, as we run, to hear the rifle bullets whistle round us, but i guess pontiac had given orders that no gun was to be fired lest it might be heard at the fort. anyhow, not a shot was fired and we got down safe to the bank. true to the old flag.' chapter xvii. the scout's story. “luckily enough there was a canoe lying close at our feet. 'shove it out, jack,' says i, and then keep along the bank. we gave it a shove with all our strength and sent it dancing out into the river. then we dived in and swum down close under the bank. there was bushes growing all along, and we came up each time under 'em. the redskins was some little distance behind us as we reached the river, and in course thought we had throwed our- selves flat in the canoe. in a minute or two they got another and paddled off to it, and we soon beard the shout as they raised when they found it was empty. by this time we was a hundred yards be- low the spot where we had taken to the water, and knowing as they would be off along the bank and would find us in no time, we scrambled straight up and made for the trees. “we was within fifty yards of the edge of the forest, and none of the redskins was near us, as the hull body bad clustered down at the spot where we had jumped in. we hadn't fairly set foot on the bank afore they saw us and with a whoop—which sometimes wakes me even now in my sleep and true to the old flag. makes me sit up with the sweat on my forehead- they started. i could run faster then than i can now, and ye may guess i went my best. we plunged into the trees and went as hard as we could foot it, the redskins being fifty or sixty yards behind. “our hope was to find a place with a thickish underwood. it was darker a deal under the trees than in the clearing, still it was not dark enough to hide us from red:kin eyes. we run straight, for we knew they could see us, and arter about four hun. dred yards we come upon a place where the under- growth grew thick. here we began to dodge 'em, turning now one way and now another, keeping al- ways low in the bushes. they had lost us by sight now, but there was so many of 'em that we pretty nigh despaired of getting through. some of 'em had tried to follow us, but the best part had run straight on for a bit, and then, when sure they had headed us, scattered right and left, so that they were ahead of us now as well as on our traces, and we could hear 'em shouting all round us, so we did the only thing there was to be done and made the best of our way back to the clearing, keeping low and taking good care not to cross any patch where the moonlight through the trees fell on the ground. “it were lucky for us that it was a camp of braves. had it been an ordinary redskin encamp- ment there would have been squaws, and boys, and wuss still, dogs, who would have seed us the moment we got back; but being all braves on the war-path true to the old flag. the hull gang had started arter us, and not a soul had remained in the clearing. we did not rest there long, you may be sure, but made straight down to the water. there we picked out a canoe, crossed the river, and got into the shade of the trees the other side. then we kept along down it till we got close to the fort of detroit. “we could see a good many smoldering fires out afore it, and guessed that a strong body of red- skins, pretending to be friends, had camped there. we made round 'em and reached the gate of the fort safe. the sentries wouldn't let us in, but when a sergeant was fetched it turned out as he knew us, seeing that we had been scouting out from thar in the summer. pretty thankful we was when the gate closed arter us. our news would keep, so we waited till morning afore we saw the major, and then told him the whole history of the matter, and how pontiac had raised all the tribes east of the mis- sissippi against us. we found that pontiac had been into the camp with fifty of his warriors three days afore, profess- ing great friendship, and had said that in two or three days he would call again and pay a formal visit. “detroit then was but a trading post, defended by a stockade twenty feet bigh and twelve hundred yards in circumference. about fifty houses of trad- ers and storekeepers stood within it. the garrison was composed of one hundred and twenty men of the eighteenth regiment and eight officers. true to the old flag. like with our rifles, so that in case of any sudden attack we could keep them back for a moment or two. i noticed that pontiac carried in his hand a wampum belt. i noticed it because it was green on one side and white on the other, and it turned out arterward that when he twisted that belt with two hands it was to be the signal for an attack. “pontiac spoke soft for a time. he was a fine redskin; that can't be denied. he was a catawba by birth, but had been adopted into the tribe of ottawas and had risen to be their chief. he were a great brave and one of the best speakers i ever heard. he was a wise chief, as you may guess by the way he got all the tribes to lay aside their private quarrels and make common cause against us. i watched him close. he kept his eyes on the major and spoke as cool and as calm as if he had nothing on his mind; but i could see the warrior glancing about, wondering, no doubt, what had be- come of the soldiers. presently the chief changed his tone and began to pretend as he was in a rage at some grievance or other. “ the major jest put his whistle to his lips, and in a moment from behind the houses the soldiers and traders marched out rifle in band. you never saw a more disgusted crew than them redskins. i'll do pontiac justice to say that he never so much as moved, but jest went on talking as if he hadn't noticed the troops at all. the major answered him in the same way, and after half an hour's talk the redskins went out again without so much as a knife true to the old flag. having been shown. major gladwin gave jack and me papers testifying as how we had saved detroit from destruction, and sent an account of it to gov. ernor amherst, and to this day jack and me draws special pensions for that 'ere business besides what we earned as british scouts.” “ that was an adventure, peter !” harold said. “they did not take detroit after all, did they ?” “no; we beat 'em off handsome when they tried it. then they laid siege to fort pitt and tried very hard there too, but the place held out till some troops who had come up marched out from here and raised the siege. at some of the little places they succeeded. lots of settlers was massa- cred. at fort sandusky ensign paulli and the garrison was massacred by a party of hurons and otta was who come in as friends. this was on the same day as they had intended to do for us at detroit. “at st. joseph's an english ensign with four- teen soldiers was killed by the pottawatomies, but nowhere did pontiac obtain any real successes. the french in illinois were preparing to leave and he couldn't git no assistance from them. after the siege of fort pitt was raised peace was patched up again. pontiac's confederacy, finding as they hadn't got none of the successes he promised 'em, was beginning to break up, and the english saw no chance of doing any good by hunting the red- skins among the forests, so both parties was willing for peace. true to the old flag. “pontiac never gave any more trouble, and some years arterward, coming into one of the towns, he was killed by an injun who had a private grudge agin' him. and now i'm longing for a quiet pipe, and you'd better turn in. there's no saying whether we'll have a quiet night of it.” a fortnight passed without further incident. then the sky became overcast, and peter and the indians agreed that snow would soon fall. all hands were at once set to work to make up their stores into packages. the deer-skins and blankets were tied in bundles; besides these there were only two kegs of powder and about two hundred pounds of frozen fish. harold was in high glee at the thought that their imprisonment was to come to an end, although there was no doubt that the attempt would be a hazardous one, as the backwoodsmen were sure that the instant the snow began to fall the indians would be out in great numbers round the island to prevent the defenders taking advantage of the storm. several times harold observed the two back- woodsmen talking with the seneca chief and look- ing at the sky, and he thought that their counte- nances expressed some anxiety. " what is it, peter ?” he asked at length. “don't you think we shall have a snow-storm ?” “we may have snow," peter said, “but i think it's more than a snow-storm that's coming. the clouds are flying past very fast, and it seems to me as ef we're in for a big gale of wind.” true to the old flag. on sech a big sheet of ice will move it, and like enough you'd see it piled up in a bank forty feet high on this side of the lake, and there'll be a strip of clear water balf a mile wide on the other. that's why we must take the canoe." harold was silent. in the face of such a prob- ability, it was clear that they must incumber them- selves with the canoe. the prevision of the scout proved well founded. before evening the wind was blowing with tre- mendous force. small flakes of snow were driven before it, inflicting stinging blows on the face and eyes of those who ventured out of shelter. as it became dark the lookout announced that he could see large numbers of indians starting from the shore at some distance to the right and left of them, showing that the redskins were fully alive to the possibility of the garrison of the island taking ad- vantage of the storm, which would hide their trail, to effect their escape. every hour the fury of the gale increased, and it was unanimously agreed that until it diminished it would be impossible for the girls and for men carry- ing a canoe to face it. two men were placed on watch at the mouth of the cove, where mines similar to the first had been sunk in the ice in a semicircle some little distance outside that before exploded. this precaution had been taken on the day succeeding the great repulse of the enemy, although the scouts felt assured that the attempt would not be repeated. but it was true to the old flag. was no longer a brilliant wbite. every particle of snow had been swept away and the dull gray of the rough ice lay unbroken. he made his way at once to the hut of the men, and just as he reached the entrance peter (who had also been out to reconnoiter) came up, and before harold had turned to speak he put his head into the but. “turn out,” he said. “i tell ye we're in a fix. this ain't no common gale. i don't know as ever i've been in a worse one." “what's the use of turning out ?” pearson asked. “we can't do nothing and it's warmer here a sight than it is outside.” “i tell ye ye've got to go. the ice is breaking up fast and it's level with the top of the island al- ready. unless i'm mistaken there'll be forty foot of ice piled over this island afore an hour.” this was, indeed, alarming news. and in a min- ute the occupants of the hut were all in the open air. “you can call in your scouts, seneca. there ain't no fear of an attack to-night. no mortal soul- not even an injun—could stand the force of the wind out on the lake." a very short examination sufficed to show the truth of peter's anticipations. already the upper part of the bank was sliding over the rock, and it was clear that in a very short time the whole would be covered. what is to be done, peter ?” harold shouted. true to the old flag. we must take to the canoe. there's clear water on the other side.” harold crossed the island and saw that what peter said was correct. a broad strip of black water stretched away in the darkness toward the shore. the whole ice sheet was moving bodily be- fore the wind, and as the island stood up in its course the ice to windward of it was forced up over it, while under its lee the lake was clear. not a mo- ment was lost. the canoe was got out, carried over the rocks, and carefully lowered into the water un- der shelter of the island. all the stores and pro- visions were lowered into it. a deer-skin was spread on the bottom, and the girls, having been helped down into the boat, were told to lie down and were then covered with blankets. the men wrapped themselves up in skins and blankets and took their places in the canoe, the four indians taking paddles. quickly as the preparations had been made, there were but a few feet of the island uncovered by the ice as the last man descended into the boat and they pushed off and, after a couple of strokes, lay with the boat's head facing toward the island at a distance of fifty yards from it. although some- what sheltered from the wind, the indians were obliged to paddle hard to maintain their position. harold wondered at first that they had not kept closer to the island, but he soon understood their reason for keeping at a distance. the massive blocks of ice, pressed forward by the irresistible true to the old flag. force behind, began to shoot from the top of the island into the water, gliding far on be- neath the surface with the impetus of the fall, and then shooting up again with a force which would have destroyed the canoe at once had they touched it. soon a perfect cataract of ice was falling. peter and pearson took tbeir places on each side of the bow of the canoe, with poles to push off the pieces as they drifted before the gale toward the shore. the work required the utmost strength and care. one touch from the sharp-edged blocks would have ripped open the side of the bark canoe like a knife, and in the icy cold water, incumbered by floating fragments of ice, even the best swimmer could not have gained the solid ice. the peril was great, and it needed all the strength and activity of the white men and the skill of the paddlers to avoid the dan- ger which momentarily threatened them. so quickly did the blocks float down upon them that pearson thought it might be impossible to avoid them all. the skins, therefore, were hung round the boat, dropping some inches into the water, and these, although they could not have prevented the boat from being stove in by the larger fragments, yet protected its sides from the contact of the smaller ones. for upward of an hour the struggle continued, and harold felt something like despair at the thought of a long night passed in a such a struggle. presently sounds like the booming of cannon were heard above the gale. true to the old flag. “what is that ?” he shouted to the seneca chief, • next to whom he was sitting. “ice break up," the chief replied. “break up altogether.” this proved to be the case. as the ice was driven away from the further side of the lake the full force of the wind played upon the water there, and as the streak widened a beavy sea soon got up. the force of the swell extended under the ice, aiding the effect of the wind above, and the vast sheet began to break up. the reports redoubled in strength, and frequently the ice was seen to heave and swell. then with a sound like thunder it broke and great cakes were forced one on the top of another, and soon, instead of a level plain of ice, a chaos of blocks were tossing about on the waves. harold watched the change with anxiety. no longer was the channel on either side marked by regular defined lines, but floating pieces encroached upon it, and looking toward the shore the channel appeared to be altogether lost. the danger was overwhelming, but the indians, paddling with in- creased strength, urged the boat forward unti) within ten yards of the island. a few minutes before such an approach would have assured the immediate destruction of the boat. but harold saw with surprise that almost simul- taneously with the breaking up of the ice-sheet the fall of blocks from the island had ceased. a mo. ment's reflection showed him the reason of this phenomenon. with the break-up of the ice-field tu, true to the old flag. the pressure from behind had suddenly ceased. no longer were the blocks piled on the island pushed forward by the tremendous pressure of the ice-field. the torrent was stayed and they could approach the island with safety. as soon as they were as- sured that this was so the canoe was brought close to the rocks. pearson leaped ashore, climbed the rocks and the ice piled twenty feet above them, and with his pole convinced himself that at this point there were no loose blocks likely to fall. having satisfied himself on this head he descended again and took his place in the boat. this was moored by a rope a few feet long to a bush growing from a fissure in the rock close to the water's edge. he and peter remained on watch with their poles to fend off any pieces of ice which might be brought round by the waves, while the rest of the crew, wrapping themselves up in their blankets, lay down at the bottom of the boat. the next morning the storm still raged and the lake presented the appearance of an angry sea. sheltered under the lee of the island, the party were protected from its effects, although the light canoe rose and fell on the heavy swell. the ice had wholly disappeared from the lake, the pieces having been ground to atoms against each other in the storm. along the line of shore there was a great bank of ice as high as the tree-tops. “ the ways of the lord are won'erful,” donald cameron said. “the storm which threatened to true to the old flag. · be our destruction hae proved our salvation. when it abates we shall be able to paddle down the lake without fear of interruption.” “ yes,” peter said, " the varmints are not likely to follow us. in the first place, unless they thought of taking their canoes into the forest when the storm first began, which ain't likely, as they was a-thinking only of cutting off our escape, they'd 're been smashed into tinder. in the second place, they couldn't ketch us if they had canoes, for as we've eight paddles, counting them we made out of the seats when we was on shore, we'd be able to laugh at 'em. and lastly, they've had such a taste of the quality of our rifles that even if they had a dozen canoes on hand i doubt if they'd care to attack us. no, sir, when this storm's over we have nothing to do but paddle down to the settle- ments at the other end of the lake.” toward the afternoon the storm abated, and next morning the sun was shining brilliantly and the waves had gone down sufficiently to enable the canoe to start on her voyage. “now, boys,” pearson said cheerfully, “ef ye don't want to git froze up again you'd best be sharp, for i can tell ye about thirty-six hours of this weather and the lake'll be solid again.” five minutes later the canoe with its eight sturdy paddlers started on its way, speeding like an arrow from the ice-covered island which had done them such good service in their greatest need. “now, jake," peter said, "the more strength true to the old flag. you put into that paddle of your'n the sooner you'll have a piece of meat atween your jaws.” the negro grinned. “don't talk ob bim, massa peter; don't say a word about him until i see him. fish bery good when dere's noting else to eat, but jake never want to see him again. he hab eat quite enough for de rest ob his life.” cameron, who was not accustomed to the use of the paddle, sat in the stern with the two girls; but the others were all used to the exercise, and the boat literally bounded along at each stroke from the sinewy arms, and by nightfall they had reached the opposite shore. after some hours' work to- gether two of them had rested, and from that time they took it by turns, six paddles being kept con- stantly going. without any adventure they arrived safely at the end of the lake. the clearing where nelly had lived so long and where her father and mother had been killed was passed in the night, much to harold's satisfaction, as he was afraid that she would have been terribly upset at the many sad memories which the sight of the place could not but call up. on their way down they had seen many gaps in the forest caused by the gale, but it was not until they reached the landing-place that the full effect of its destructive force was visible. several scows and other boats lay wrecks upon the shore, every house in the little village was leveled to the ground, the orchards were ruined, palings and fences torn down, and the whole place strewn with fragments. true to the old flag. of the english would induce the colonists to make peace, she came forward, recognized their independ- ence, and engaged herself to furnish a large fleet for their assistance. the colonists joyfully accepted the offer, seeing that the intervention of france in the struggle would completely alter its conditions. heretofore the british had been enabled to send over men and stores at will, but were they blockaded by a french fleet their difficulties would be immensely increased. as there had been no cause of quarrel between england and france, this agreement was an act of wanton hostility on the part of the latter. on ob- taining information of the signature of the treaty between france and the colonies, the english am. bassador was recalled from paris and both countries prepared vigorously for war. the first result was that the english deemed it prudent to evacuate philadelphia and retreat to new york. washington endeavored to cut off their retreat, and a battle took place at freehold court- house, in which the americans were worsted. washington drew off his army and the british army continued its march to new york without further opposition. early in may the french sent off a fleet of twelve ships of the line and six frigates carrying a large number of troops commanded by count d'estaing. an english fleet, under admiral byron, was lying at portsmouth, and this sailed on june in pursuit; for it was not until that time that information was received of the intended des- tination of the french fleet. true to the old flag. d'estaing reached the american coast upon the very day on which the english army reëntered new york, and after making a demonstration before that town the french fleet sailed for rhode island to expel the british troops, under sir robert pigott, who held it. lord howe sailed with the fleet from new york to give battle to that of d’estaing. for two days the fleets maneuvered in sight of each other. howe, being inferior in force, wished to gain the weather- gauge before fighting. failing to do this on the third day he offered battle, but a tremendous storm prevented the engagement and dispersed both fleets. the french vessels retired to boston and the english to new york. taking advantage of the departure of the french fleet, sir robert pigott attacked the american force, which had crossed to rhode island to act with the french, and drove them from it. while crossing the atlantic the fleet under admiral byron had met with a tremendous storm, which had entirely dis- persed it, and the vessels arrived singly at new york. when their repairs were completed the whole set out to give battle to the french, but d'estaing, finding that by the junction of the two english fleets he was now menaced by a superior force, sailed away to the west indies. after his departure an expedition was sent down along the coast to georgia and east florida. this met with great success. savannah was captured and the greater part of south carolina was oc- true to the old flag. ppp elap. (t a depaneelei . °f . wild e moytar... r , e a - guns . se d a a store men . sarasa lp $ a . lee.. ** de elzealan mysla ang road to plan of the siege of savannah, with the joint attack of the french and americans, on the othoctober . in which they were defeated by his majesty's forces under the command of major gen. augustin prevost. _ _ scale of yards quota in wzzzzzsÁvanna pp a . w ns-n ch s . single . attacking forces s ...... french ......americans e a cica gal true to the old flag. cupied. the majority of the inhabitants joyfully welcomed the troops and many companies of volun- teers were raised. harold had arrived in new york early in the spring. he had been offered a commission, but he preferred remaining with his two comrades in the position of scout. in this way he had far greater independence, and while enjoying pay and rations sufficient for his maintenance, he was to a great ex- tent master of his own movements. at an earlier period of the war he was offered by general howe a commission in the army, and his father would have been glad had he accepted it. harold, however, although determined to fight until the struggle be- tween the colonists and the mother country came to an end one way or the other, bad no great liking for the life of an officer in the regular army, but had resolved at the conclusion of the war to settle down upon a farm on the lakes-a life for which he felt far more fitted than for the strict discipline and regularity of that of an officer in the army. · as, with the exception of the attack by the french fleet and american army upon rhode island, both parties remained quiet all through the summer of , the year passed uneventfully to him, and the duties of the scouts were little more than nominal. during the winter fighting went on in the carolinas and georgia with varied success. in the spring of harold and his comrades were, with a party of scouts, sent down to georgia, where constant skirmishes were going on and the true to the old flag. services of a body of men accustomed to outpost duty rere required. they were landed in may and joined general prevost's force on the island of st. john, situated close to the mainland and con- nected with it by a bridge of boats, at the end of which on the mainland a post bad been erected. shortly afterward general prevost left for savan- nah, taking with him most of the troops, which were carried away in the sloops which had formed the bridge of boats. on the american side general lincoln commanded a considerable army, which bad been dispatched by congress to drive the eng- lish from that state and the carolinas. lieutenant-colonel maitland, who commanded the post on the mainland, was left with only a flat- boat to keep up his communication with the island. he had under his command the first battalion of the seventy-first highlanders, now much weakened in numbers, part of a hessian regiment, some pro- vincial volunteers, and a detachment of artillery, the whole not exceeding five hundred effective men. hearing that general lincoln was advancing against him, colonel maitland sent all his sick, baggage, and horses across to the island and placed the post as far as possible in a defensive position. most of the scouts who had come down from new york had accompanied general prevost to savannah, but harold, with peter lambton, jake, and three or four others, had been ordered to remain with colo- nel maitland, and were sent out to reconnoiter when the enemy were known to be approaching. true to the old flag. it was as peter predicted. the highlanders took post behind a hedge and maintained a desperate re- sistance to the advance of the enemy. harold and his comrades for some time fought with them. “it's time for us to be out of this,” peter said presently. “let's jest get back to the fort.” “ we cannot fall back till they do, peter.” “i don't see that,” peter said. “we're scouts, and i don't see no advantage in our chucking away our lives because these hot-beaded highlanders choose to do so. peter lambton's ready to do a fair share of fighting, but when he's sure that fight- ing ain't no good, then he goes." and suiting the action to the word, peter rose from bis recumbent position and began to make his way back to the camp, taking advantage of every bit of cover. harold could not help laughing. for an instant he remained irresolute, and then, seeing the over- whelming forces with which the enemy were ap- proaching, he called to jake and followed peter's example. so obstinately did the highlanders fight that they did not retreat until all their officers were killed or wounded, and only eleven men out of the two companies succeeded in regaining the camp. the whole force of the enemy now advanced against the works, and halting at a distance of three hundred yards opened a tremendous fire from their cannon on the intrenchments. the defenders re- plied, but so overwhelming was the force of the assailants that the hessians abandoned the portion of the works committed to them and fell back. mov the highlanders maintained a desperate resistance.–page . true to the old flag. the enemy pressed forward and had already gained the foot of the abattis, when colonel mait- land brought up a portion of the seventy-first upon the right, and these gallant troops drove the amer- icans back with slaughter. colonel maitland and his officers then threw themselves among the hes- sians and succeeded in rallying them and bringing them back to the front. the provincial volunteers had also fought with great bravery. they had for a time been pressed backward, but finally main- tained their position. the americans, finding that all their efforts to carry the post were unavailing, fell back to the for- est. on the english side the loss amounted to one bundred and twenty-nine. the americans fought in the open and suffered much more heavily. the position of matters was suddenly changed by the arrival of count d’estaing with a fleet of forty- one ships of-war off the coast. the american gen- eral, lincoln, at once proposed to him to undertake a combined movement to force the english to quit georgia. the arrival of the french fleet was wholly unexpected, and the experiment, a frigate of fifty guns, commanded by sir james wallace, having two or three ships under his convoy, fell in with them off the mouth of the savannah river. al though the experiment had been much crippled by a gale through which she had recently passed, sir james wallace would not haul down his flag and opposed a desperate resistance to the whole of the french fleet, and did not surrender until the expe- true to the old flag. town and embark on board vessels lying in the river, there to await the issue of the fight; but the french commander refused the request in a letter couched in insulting terms. the position of savannah was naturally strong. the river protected one of its sides and a deep swamp partially flooded by it covered another. the other two were open to the country, which in front of them was for several miles level and clear of wood. the works which had been thrown up on these sides were extremely strong. when the french first landed there were but ten pieces of cannon upon the fortifications, but so incessantly did the garrison work that before the conclusion of the siege nearly one hundred pieces of artillery were mounted on the redoubts and batteries erected round the town. upon the side of the swamp there was not much fear of attack, but three redoubts were erected to prevent a surprise from this direction. the defense on the right face of the town was con- ducted by colonel maitland. the defense on the left, consisting of two strong redoubts and several batteries, was commanded by lieutenant-colonel cruger. in the center were several strong works, of which general prevost himself took the special supervision. the whole british line, except where the swamp rendered no such defense necessary, was surrounded by a thick abattis. the french fire made no sensible impression upon the english defenses, and finding that the british artillery equaled his own, d’estaing determined to true to the old flag. defended it, was covered by the fire of numerous batteries of artillery. the water of the bay was too shallow to admit of the larger men-of-war pass- ing, and the passage was defended by fort moul- trie, a very formidable work. admiral arbuthnot, with the renown, romulus, roebuck, richmond, blonde, raleigh, and virginia frigates, with a favor- able wind and tide ran the gantlet of fort moultrie, succeeded in passing up without great loss, and co- operated on the sea face with the attack of the army on the land side. a force was landed on sullivan's island, on which fort moultrie stvod, and the fort, unprepared for an attack in this direction, was obliged to surrender. the american cavalry force which had been col- lected for the relief of the town was defeated by the english under general tarleton. the trenches were pushed forward with great vigor and the bat- teries of the third parallel opened at short range on the town witb great execution. the advances were pushed forward at the ditch, when the garrison, seeing that further resistance was impossible, sur- rendered. five thousand prisoners were taken, one thousand american and french seamen, and ten french and american ships-of-war. with the fall of charleston all resistance ceased in south carolina. the vast majority of the inhab- itants made their submission to the british govern- ment and sereral loyalist regiments were raised. colonel tarleton, with one hundred and seventy cavalry and one hundred mounted infantry, was dis- true to the old flag. mills, a few miles distant, leaving the defense of camden to major m’arthur, with some provincials and convalescent soldiers and a detachment of the sixty-third regiment which was expected to arrive during the night. the army marched in the following order : the first division, commanded by lieutenant-colonel webster, consisting of four companies of light in- fantry and the twenty-third and thirty-tbird regi- ments, preceded by an advanced guard of forty cavalry. the second division, consisting of provin- cial troops and two battalions of the seventy-first regiment, followed as a reserve. the dragoons of the legion formed the rear-guard. the force marched at ten o'clock on the night of august , intending to attack at day break the next morning, but it happened that at the very same hour in which the british set out, general gates with his force were starting from rugeley's mills with the inten. tion of attacking camden in the morning. at two o'clock in the night the advanced guards of the two armies met and fired into each other. in the confusion some prisoners were taken on both sides, and the generals finding that the two armies were face to face halted and waited till morning. lord cornwallis placed webster's division on the right; the second division, which was under the command of lord rawdon, on the left; the battalion known as the volunteers of ireland were on the right of lord rawdon's division and communicated with the thirty-third regiment on true to the old flag. nearly three-quarters of an hour were driven into total confusion and forced to give way on both sides. their rout was completed by the cavalry, . plan dragoons ain page plan of the battle & fought near camden august th . cans ... british .... americans english mile valo is. wha carole when they set sthe american column w * a chililaskan kerana by smart opro dereert-er transsi chestnut förd ay ya proad from car britisk troops to rugeley's moreho who continued their pursuit twenty-two miles from the field of action. between eight and nine hundred of the enemy true to the old flag. bread and no beef. for five days it was supported on indian corn, which was collected in the fields, five ears being served out as a daily allowance to each two soldiers. they had to cook it as they could, and this was generally done by parching it over the fire. one of the officers of the quarter- master's department found some of the loyal militia grating their corn. this was done by breaking up a canteen and punching holes in the bottom with their bayonets, thus making a kind of rasp. the idea was communicated to the adjutant-general and afterward adopted for the army. the soldiers supported their hardships and priva- tions cheerfully, as their officers were no better provided than themselves and the fare of lords cornwallis and rawdon was the same as their own. the toilsome march came to an end at last, and the army had rest after its labors. the only other incident of importance which occurred was an action between a force under colonel tarleton and one of considerably superior strength under general sumpter strongly posted on a commanding position. the british attack was repulsed, but general sump- ter being badly wounded was carried off the field during the night, and the force under his command at once dispersed. no other event occurred, and the army passed its time in winter quarters till the spring of . during this winter the enemies of great britain were reënforced by the accession of the dutch. at true to the old flag. this time the efforts which england was called upon to make were indeed great. in europe france, spain, and holland were banded against her; in india our troops were ivaging a desperate war with hyder ali; while they were struggling to retain their hold on their american colonies. here, in deed, the operations had for the last two years lar- guished. the reënforcements which could be spared were extremely small, and although the british had almost uniformly defeated the ameri- cans in every action in which there was any ap- proach to equality between the forces engaged, they were unable to do more than hold the ground on which they stood. victorious as they might be, the country beyond the reach of their rifles swarmed with their enemies, and it became increasingly clear to all impartial observers that it was impossi- ble for an army which in all did not amount to more than twenty thousand men to conquer a con- tinent in arms against them. harold was not present at the later events of the campaign of . he and jake had been with the column of major fergusson. peter lambton had not accompanied him, having received a bullet wound in the leg in a previous skirmish, which, al- though not serious, had compelled him to lay up for a time. “me no like de look ob dis affair, massa harold,” jake said as the americans opened fire upon the troops gathered at the top of king's mountain. “ dese chaps no fools; dey all backwoodsmen; dey true to the old flag. know how to fight de redskins; great hunters all ob dem." “yes,” harold agreed, “ they are formidable op- ponents, jake. i do not like the look of things. these men are all accustomed to fighting in the woods, while our inen have no idea of it. their rifles are infinitely superior to these army muskets, and every man of them can hit a deer behind the shoulder at the distance of one hundred and fifty yards, while at that distance most of our men would miss a haystack.” the scouts and a few of the provincials who had been accustomed to forest warfare took up their position behind trees and fought the advancing enemy in their own way. the mass of the defend- ers, however, were altogether puzzled by the stealthy approach of their foes, who advanced from tree to tree, seldom showing as much as a limb to the fire of the defenders and keeping up a deadly fire upon the crowd of soldiers. had there been time for major fergusson, before being attacked, to have felled a circle of trees and made a breast work round the top of the hill, the result might have been different. again and again the british gallantly charged down with the bayo- net, but the assailants as they did so glided away among the trees after firing a shot or two into the advancing troops, and retreated a hundred yards or so, only to recommence their advance as soon as the defenders retired again to their position. the loss of the assailants was very slight, the few who true to the old flag. fell being for the most part killed by the rifles of the scouts. “ it am no use, massa harold,” jake said. “ jest look how dem poor fellows am being shot down. it's all up wid us dis time." when upon the fall of major fergusson bis suc- cessor in coinmand surrendered the post, the de- fenders were disarmed. the kentucky men, accus- tomed only to warfare against indians, had no idea of the usages of war and treated the prisoners with great brutality. ten of the loyalist volunteers of carolina they bung at once upon trees. there was some discussion as to the disposal of the rest. the border men having accomplished their object were anxious to disperse at once to their homes. some of them proposed that they should rid themselves of all further trouble by shooting them all. this was overruled by the majority. presently the prisoners were all bound, their hands being tied behind them, and a hundred of the border men surrounded them and ordered them to march across the country. jake and several other negroes who were among the captives were separated from the rest, and being put up at auction were sold as slaves. jake fell to the bid of a tall kentuckian, who without a word fastened a rope round his neck, mounted his horse, and started for his home. the guards conducted the white prisoners to woodville, eighty miles from the scene of the fight. this distance was accom- plished in two days' march. many of the unfortu- nate men, unable to support the fatigue, fell and true to the old flag. “ dat were a bery easy affair," jake said. “me tell you all about it.” “have you shut the door again, jake? there is a sentry coming along the passage every five minutes." “me shut him, massa, but dere ain't no fastening on dis side, so jake will sit down wid him back against him.” harold got up and partly dressed himself and then sat down by the side of his follower. “no need to whisper,” jake said. “de walls and de doors bery thick, no one hear. but de sentries on de walls hear if we talk too loud." the windows were without glass, which was in those days an expensive article in america, and the mildness of the climate of virginia rendered glass a luxury rather than a necessity. confident that even the murmur of their voices would not be overheard if they spoke in their usual way, jake and harold were enabled to converse comfortably. “well, massa," jake said, “my story am not a long one. dat man dat bought me he rode in two days someting like one hundred miles. it wor a lucky ting dat jake had tramp on his feet de last four years, else soon enough he tumble down, and den de rope round him neck hang him. jake awful footsore and tired when he git to de end ob dat journey. de kentucky man he lib in a clearing not far from a village. he had two oder slaves; dey hoe de ground and work for him. he got grown-up son, who look after dem while him fader true to the old flag. away fighting. dey not afraid ob de niggers run- ning away, because dere plenty redskin not far away, and nigger scalp jest as good as white man's. de oder way dere wor plenty ob villages, and dey tink nigger git caught for sure if he try to run away. jake make up his mind he not stop dere bery long. de kentuckian was a bery big, strong man, but not so strong as he was ten years ago, and jake tink he more dan a match for him. jake pret- ty strong himself, massa.” “i should think you were, jake,” harold said. “there are not many men, white or black, who can lift as great a weight as you can.” “for a week jake work bery bard. dat ken- tuckian bab a way ob always carrying his rifle about on his arm, and as long as he do dat dere no chance ob a fair fight. de son he always hab a stick and he mighty free wid it. he hit jake seberal times, and me say to him once, 'young man, you better mind what you do.' me suppose dat he not like de look dat i gib him. he speak to his fader, and he curse and swear awful, and stand wid de rifle close by and tell dat son ob his to larrup jake. dat he do, massa, for some time. jake not say noting, but he make a note ob de affair in his mind. de bery next day de son go away to de village to buy some tings he want. de fader he come out and watch me at work ; he curse and swear as usual; he call me lazy hound and swear he cut de flesh from my back; presently he come quite close and shake him fist in jake's face. dat was a true to the old flag. “ bery well, massa harold; if you say so, dat's all right. jake can git de wood easy enough ; dere's plenty ob pieces among de fire-wood dat would do for us.” “roll it with strips of stuff the same way as the ladder steps, so as to prevent it making a noise when it strikes the wall. in addition to the ladder we shall want a length of rope long enough to go from this window to the ground, and another length of thin rope more than twice the height of the wall.” “ bery well, massa harold, me understand ex- actly what's wanted; but it'll take two or tree days to make de ladder, and me can only work ob a night.” “there is no burry, jake; do not run any risk of being caught. we must choose a dark and windy night. bring two files with you, so that we can work together, and some oil.” “ all right, massa. now me go.” “shut the door quietly, jake, and do not forget to lock it behind you,” harold said as jake stole noiselessly from the cell. a week passed without jake's again visiting harold's cell. on the seventh night the wind had got up and whistled around the jail, and harold, expecting that jake would take advantage of the opportunity, sat down on his bed without undress- ing and awaited his coming. it was but half an hour after the door had been locked for the night that it quietly opened again. true to the old flag. “here me am, sar, wid eberyting dat's wanted ; two files and some oil, de rope-ladder, de short rope for us to slide down, and de long thin rope and de piece ob wood six feet long and thick as de wrist.” they at once set to work with the files, and in an hour had sawn through two bars, making a hole sufficiently wide for them to pass. the rope was then fastened to a bar. harold took off his shoes and put them in his pocket and then slid down the rope into the court-yard. with the other rope jake lowered the ladder and pole to him and then slid down himself. harold had already tied to the pole, at four inches from one end, a piece of rope some four feet long, so as to form a loop about half that length. the thin rope was put through the loop and drawn until the two ends came together. noiselessly they stole across the yard until they reached the opposite wall. the night was a very dark one, and although they could make out the outline of the wall above them against the sky- line, the sentry-boxes at the corners were invisible. harold now took hold of the two ends of the rope, and jake, stepping back a few yards from the wall, threw the pole over it. then harold drew upon the rope until there was a check, and he knew that the pole was hard up against the edge of the wall. he tied one end of the rope-ladder to an end of the double cord and then hauled steadily upon the other. the rope running through the loop drew the ladder to the top of the wall. all this was done quickly and without noise. true to the old flag. neither harold nor jake bad had much ex- perience in boat-sailing, but the wind was with tbem and the boat ran rapidly down the river, and before daylight they were many miles from their point of starting. the banks of the james river are low and swampy, and few signs of human babi- tation were seen from the stream. it widened rapidly as they descended and became rougher and rougher. they therefore steered into a sheltered spot behind a sbarp bend of the river and anchored. in the locker they found plenty of lines and bait, and setting to work had soon balf a dozen fine fish at the bottom of the boat. they pulled up the kedge and rowed to shore and soon made a fire, finding flint and steel in the boat. the fisu were broiled over the fire upon sticks. the boat was hauled in under some overhanging bushes, and stretching themselves in the bottom, harold and jake were soon fast asleep. the sun was setting when they woke. “what you going to do, sar?” jake asked. “ are you tinking ob trabeling by land or ob sailing to new york ?” “neither, jake,” harold answered. “i am thinking of sailing down the coast inside the line of keys to charleston. the water there is comparative- ly smooth, and as we shall be taken for fishermen it is not likely that we shall be overhauled. we can land ocasionally and pick a few ears of corn to - eat with our fish, and as there is generally a breeze night and morning, however still and hot the day, true to the old flag. we shall be able to do it comfortably. i see that there is an iron plate here which has been used for making a fire and cooking on board, so we will lay in a stock of dry wood before we start.” the journey was made without any adventure. while the breeze lasted they sailed; when it fell calm they fished, and when they had obtained a sufficient supply for their wants they lay down and slept under the shade of their sail stretched as an awning. frequently they passed within hail of other fishing-boats, generally manned by negroes. but beyond a few words as to their success, no questions were asked. they generally kept near the shore, and when they saw any larger craft they either hauled the boat up or ran into one of the creeks in which the coast abounds. it was with intense pleasure that at last they saw in the distance the masts of the shipping in charleston harbor. two hours later they landed. they fastened the boat to the wharf and made their way into the town unquestioned. as they were walking along the principal street they saw a well-known figure sauntering leisurely toward them. his head was bent down and he did not notice them until harold hailed him with a shout of “halloo ! peter, old fellow, how goes it ??? peter, although not easily moved or excited, gave a yell of delight which astonished the passers- by. “ ah! my boy,” he exclaimed, “ this is a good sight for my old eyes. here have i been a-fretting true to the oid flag. . chapter xx. the war in south carolina. the fishing-boat was disposed of for a few pounds, and harold and jake were again fitted out in the semi-uniform worn by the scouts. on de- cember , the very day after their arrival, a con- siderable detachment of troops, under general leslie, arrived, and on the th marched, fifteen hundred strong, to join lord cornwallis. harold and his mates accompanied them, and the united army proceeded northwest, between the roanoke and cata w ba rivers. colonel tarleton was detached with a force of one thousand men, consisting of light and german legion infantry, a portion of the seventh regiment and of the first battalion of the seventy-first, three hundred and fifty cavalry, and two field-pieces. his orders were to pursue and destroy a force of some eight hundred of the enemy under general morgan. the latter, finding himself pressed, drew up his troops for action near a place called the cow pens. then ensued the one action in the whole war in which the english, being supe- rior in numbers, suffered a severe defeat. tarleton, confident of victory, led his troops to the attack without making any proper preparations true to the old flag. infantry companies under colonel hall. the river was five hundred yards across, and the stream so strong that the men, marching in fours, had to sup- port one another to enable them to withstand its force. the ford took a sharp turn in the middle of the river. the night being dark, the guards were not per- ceived until they had reached this point, when the enemy immediately opened fire upon them. the guide at once fled without his absence being noticed until it was too late to stop him. colonel hall, not knowing of the bend in the ford, led his men straight forward toward the opposite bank, and al- though their difficulties were much increased by the greater depth of water through which they had to pass, the mistake was really the means of saving them from much loss, as the americans were assem- bled to meet them at the head of the ford, and would have inflicted a heavy loss upon them as they struggled in the stream. they did not perceive the change in the direction of the column's march until too late, and the guards on landing met them as they came on and quickly routed and dispersed them. the british lost four killed, among whom was colonel hall, and thirty-six wounded. the rest of the division then crossed. colonel tarleton, with the cavalry, was sent against five hundred of the americans who had fallen back from the various fords, and burning with the desire to re- trieve the defeat of the cowpens, the legion horse true to the old flag. lery. while the cannonade continued the british formed in order of attack. the seventy-first, with a provincial regiment supported by the first battal- ion of the guards, formed the right; the twenty. third and thirty-third, led by colonel webster, with the grenadiers and second battalion of guards, formed the left. the light infantry of the guards and the cavalry were in reserve. when the order was given to advance the line moved forward in perfect steadiness, and at one hundred and fifty yards the enemy opened fire. the english did not fire a shot till within eighty yards, when they poured in a volley and charged with the bayonet. the first line of the enemy at once fell back upon the second ; here a stout resist- ance was made. posted in the woods and shelter- ing themselves behind trees, they kept up for some time a galling fire which did considerable execution. general leslie brought up the right wing of the first battalion of guards into the front line and colonel webster called up the second battalion. the enemy's second line now fell back on their third, which was composed of their best troops, and the struggle was a very obstinate one. the americans, from their vastly superior num- bers, occupied so long a line of ground that the english commanders, in order to face them, were obliged to leave large gaps between the different regiments. thus it happened that webster, who with the thirty-third regiment, the light infantry, and the second battalion of guards turned toward true to the old flag. the left, found himself separated from the rest of the troops by the enemy, who pushed in between him and the twenty-third. these again were separated from the guards. the ground was very billy, the wood exceedingly thick, and the english line became broken up into regiments suparated from each other, each fighting on its own account and ignorant of what was going on in other parts of the field. the second battalion of guards was the first that broke through the wood into the open grounds of guilford court-house. they immediately attacked a considerable force drawn up there, routed them, and took their two cannon with them; but, pursu- ing them with too much ardor and impetuosity toward the woods in the rear, were thrown into confusion by a beavy fire from another body of troops placed there, and being instantly charged by washington's dragoons, were driven back with great slaughter and the cannon were retaken. at this moment the british guns, advancing along the road through the wood, issued into the open and checked the pursuit of the americans by a well- directed fire. the seventy-first and the twenty- third now came through the wood. the second battalion of guards rallied and again advanced, and the enemy were quickly repulsed and put to flight. the two guns were recaptured with two others. colonel webster, with the thirty-third, returned across the ravine through which he bad driven the true to the old flag. enemy opposed to him and rejoined the rest of the force. the americans drew off in good order. the twenty-third and twenty-first pursued with the cavalry for a short distance and were then re- called. the fight was now over on the center and left, but on the right heavy firing was still going on. here general leslie, with the first battalion of guards and a hessian regiment, bad been greatly impeded by the excessive thickness of the woods, which rendered it impossible to charge with the bayonet. as they struggled through the thicket the enemy swarmed around them, so that they were at times engaged in front, flanks, and rear. the enemy were upon an exceedingly steep rise, and lying along the top of this they poured such a beavy fire into the guards that these suffered exceedingly; nevertheless they struggled up to the top and drove the front line back, but found another far more numerous drawn up behind. as the guards struggled up to the crest they were received by a tremendous fire on their front and flanks and suf- fered so heavily that they fell into confusion. the hessian regiment, which had suffered but slightly, advanced in compact order to the left of the guards, and wheeling to the right took the enemy in the flank with a very heavy fire. under cover of this the guards re-formed and moved forward to join the hessians and complete the repulse of the enemy op- posed to them. they were again attacked both in the flank and the rear, but at last they completely dispersed the troops surrounding them and the battle came to an end. true to the old flag. be exposed on its retreat to the most cruel persecu- tions by the enemy. three days after the battle lord cornwallis re- tired, leaving seventy of the wounded who were unable to move under the protection of a flag of truce. from guilford court-house be moved his troops to wilmington, in north carolina, a seaport where he hoped to obtain provisions and stores, especially clothing and shoes. general greene, left unmolested after his defeat, reassembled his army, and receiving reënforcements, marched at full speed to attack lord rawdon at camden, thinking that he would, with his greatly superior force, be able to destroy him in his isolated situation. the english commander fortified his position and the american general drew back and encamped on hobkirk hill, two miles distant, to • await the coming of his heavy baggage and cannon, together with some reënforcements. lord rawdon determined to take the initiative, and marching out with his whole force of nine hundred men, advanced to the attack. the hill was covered at its foot by a deep swamp, but the english marched round this and stormed the position. the americans made an obstinate resistance, but the english climbed the hill with such impetuosity, in spite of the musketry and grape-shot of the enemy, that they were forced to give way. several times they returned to the attack, but were finally driven off in confusion. one hundred prisoners were taken, and lord raw- don estimated that four hundred of the enemy were true to the old flag. colonel cruger, being uneasy at the length of time which had elapsed since he had received any communication, sent harold and the two scouts out with instructions to make their way toward the en- emy's lines and, if possible, to bring in a prisoner. this they had not much difficulty in doing. find- ing out the position of two parties of the americans, they placed themselves on the road between them. no long time elapsed before an american officer came along. a shot from peter's rifle killed his horse, and before the officer could recover his feet he was seized by the scouts. they remained hidden in the wood during the day and at night returned with their prisoner to ninety-six, thirty miles dis- tant, avoiding all villages where resistance could be offered by hostile inhabitants. from the prisoner colonel cruger learned that lord rawdon had retreated from camden and that he was therefore entirely isolated. the position was desperate, but he determined to defend the post to the last, confident that lord rawdon would as soon as possible undertake an expedition for his release. the whole garrison was at once set to work, stockades were erected, earth works thrown up, a redoubt formed of casks filled with earth construct- ed, and the whole strengthened by ditches and abattis. block-houses were erected in the village to enable the troops to fire orer the stockades, and covered communications made between the various works. the right of the village was defended by true to the old flag. a regular work called the star. to the left was a work commanding a rivulet from which the place drew its supply of water. colonel cruger offered the volunteers, who were a mounted corps, permission to return to charleston, but they refused to accept the offer, and tarning their horses into the woods, determined to share the fate of the garrison. in making this offer the colo- nel was influenced partly by motives of policy, as the stock of provisions was exceedingly scanty, and he feared that they would not last if the siege should be a long one. besides this, be feared that, as had already too often happened, should the place fall, even the solemnn engagement of the terms of the surrender would not be sufficient to protect the loy- alists against the vengeance of their countrymen. on may general greene with his army ap- peared in sight of the place and encamped in a wood within cannon-shot of the village. he lost no time, and in the course of the night threw up two works within seventy paces of the fortifications. the english commander did not suffer so rash and dis- dainful a step to pass unpunished. the scouts, who were outside the works, brought in news of what was being done, and also that the working parties were protected by a strong force. the three guns which constituted the entire artillery of the defenders were moved noiselessly to the salient angle of the star opposite the works, and at eleven o'clock in the morning these suddenly opened fire, aided by musketry from the parapets. true to the old flag. at length one day, to the delight of the garrison, an american royalist rode right through the pickets under the fire of the enemy and delivered a verbal message from lord rawdon to the effect that he had passed orangeburg and was on his march to raise the siege. lord rawdon had been forced to remain at charleston until the arrival of three fresh regiments from ireland enabled him to leave that place in safety and march to the relief of ninety-six. his force amounted to eighteen hundred infantry and one hundred and fifty cavalry. general greene had also received news of lord rawdon's move- ments, and finding from his progress that it would be impossible to reduce the fort by regular ap- proaches before his arrival, he determined to hazard an assault. the american works had been pushed up close to the forts, the third parallel had been completed, and a mine and two trenches extended within a few feet of the ditch. on the morning of june a heavy cannonade was begun from all the american batteries. the whole of the batteries and trenches were lined with riflemen, whose fire prevented the british from showing their heads above the parapets. at noon two parties of the enemy advanced under cover of their trenches and made a lodgment in the ditch. these were followed by other parties with hooks to drag down the sand-bags and tools to over- throw the parapet. they were exposed to the fire of the block-houses in the village, and major true to the old flag. chapter xxi. the end of the struggle. being unable to obtain any supplies at wilming- ton, lord cornwallis determined to march on into virginia and to effect a junction with the british force under general arnold operating there. arnold advanced to petersburg and cornwallis effected a junction with him on may . the marquis de la fayette, who commanded the colonial forces here, fell back. just at this time the count de grasse, with a large french fleet, arrived off the coast, and after some consultation with general washington determined that the french fleet and the whole american army should operate together to crush the forces under lord cornwallis. the english were hoodwinked by reports that the french fleet was intended to operate against new york, and it was not until they learned that the count de grasse had arrived with twenty-eight ships of the line at the mouth of the chesapeake bay that the true object of the expedition was seen. a portion of the english fleet encountered them, but after irregular actions, lasting over five days, the english drew off and retired to new york. the commander-in-chief then attempted to effect a diversion, in order to draw off some of the enemy true to the old flag. and fall on the french rear with his whole force and then turn northward and force his way through maryland, pennsylvania, and the jerseys. in the night the light infantry, the greater part of the guards, and part of the twenty-third were embarked in boats and crossed to the gloucester side of the river before midnight. at this critical moment a violent storm arose which prevented the boats re- turning. the enemy's fire reopened at day break, and the engineer and principal officers of the army gave it as their opinion that it was impossible to resist longer. only one eight-inch shell and a bun- dred smal} ones remained. the defenses had in many places tumbled to ruins, and no effectual resistance could be opposed to an assault. accordingly lord cornwallis sent out a flag of truce and arranged terms of surrender. on the th the fleet and reënforcements arrived off the mouth of the chesapeake. had they left new york at the time promised the result of the cam- paign would have been different. the army surrendered as prisoners of war until exchanged, the officers with liberty to proceed on parole to europe and not to serve until exchanged. the loyal americans were embarked on the bonito sloop-of-war and sent to new york in safety, lord cornwallis having obtained permission to send off the ship without her being searched, with as many soldiers on board as he should think fit, so that they were accounted for in any further exchange. he true to the old flag. was thus enabled to send off such of the inhabitants and loyalist troops as would have suffered from the vengeance of the americans. the surrender of lord cornwallis' army virtually ended the war. the burden entailed on the people · in england by the great struggle against france, spain, holland, and america, united in arms against her, was enormous. so long as there ap- peared any chance of recovering the colony the english people made the sacrifices required of them, but the conviction that it was impossible for them to wage a war with half of europe and at the same time to conquer a continent had been gaining more and more in strength. even the most sanguine were silenced by the surrender of york- town, and a cry arose throughout the country that peace should at once be made. as usual under the circumstances, a change of ministry took place. negotiations for peace were at once commenced, and the war terminated in the acknowledgment of the entire independence of the united states of america. harold with his companions had fallen back to charleston with lord rawdon after the relief of ninety-six and remained there until the news ar rived that the negotiations were on foot and that peace was now certain. then he took his discharge and sailed at once for england, accompanied by jake; peter lambton taking a passage to canada to carry out his intention of settling at montreal. true to the old flag. land, but after her death his family and farm had so increased that it was inconvenient to leave them ; his father therefore returned with him to canada and ended his life there. jake lived to a good old age and was 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"we wish every english boy capable of understanding it could read the book, an it is calculated to foster the noblest and purest motives for action in everyday life,"— school- mistress. london: blackie & son, & old bailey, e.c.; glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. r v i r with clive in india: or the beginnings of an empire by g. a. henty, author of "under drake's flag;" "facing death;" "winniuj his spun;" "the comet of horse;" ac. ac. ] wits twelve pvll-pagb illustrations by gordon browns. london: blackie & son, & old bailey, e.c.; glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin. . pc c. /cfrut preface. my deak lads,—in the following pages i have endeavoured to give yru a vivid picture of the wonderful events of the ten years, which at their commencement saw madras in the hands of the french, calcutta at the mercy of the nabob of bengal, and english influence apparently at the point of extinction in india, and which ended in the final triumph of the english both in bengal and madras. there were yet great battles to be fought, great efforts to be made before the vast empire of india fell altogether into british hands; but these were but the sequence of the events i have described. the historical details are, throughout the story, strictly accurate, and for them i am indebted to the history of these events written by mr. orme, who lived at that time, to the lift of lord clive, recently published by lieutenant-colonel malleson, and to other standard authorities. in this book i have devoted a somewhat smaller space to the personal adventures of my hero than in my other historical tales, but the events themselves were of such a thrilling and exciting nature that no deeds of fiction could surpass them. i hope and believe then that you will follow the career of my hero, charlie marry at, with as much interest as you have manifested in the adventures of the many characters to whou i have hitherto i: troduced you. a word as to the orthography of the names and places. an entirely new method of spelling indian words has lately been invented by the indian authorities. this is no doubt more correct than the rough and ready orthography of the early traders, and i have therefore adopted it fur all little known words. but there are indian names which have become household words in england, and should never be changed, and as it would be considered a gross piece of pedantry and affectation on the part of a tourist on the continent, who should, on his return, say he had been to genova, firenze, and wien, instead of genoa, florence, and vienna, it is, i consider, an even worse offence to transform arcot, cawnpoor, and lucknow, into arkat, kahnpur, and laknao. i have tried, therefore, so far as possible, to give the names of well-known personages and places in the spelling familiar to englishmen, while the new orthography has been elsewhere adopted. yours very sincerely, g. a. henty. c contents. chap. pa b i. leaving home ii. the young writer, iii. a brush with privateers iv. the pirates of the pacific v. madras, vi. the arrival of clivb, " vii. the siege of arcot viii. the grand assault, ix. the battle of kavaripak, x. the fall of seringam, xi. an important mission, xii. a murderous attempt xiii. an attempt at murder, xiv. the siege of ambur, xv. the pirates' hold xvi. a tiger hunt xvii. the capture of ghebiah xviii. the "black hole" of calcutta, xix. a daring escape, xx. the rescue of the white captive, .... xxi. the battle outside calcutta xxil plassey xxiii. plassey xxiv. mounted infantry xxv. besieged in a pagoda, xxvl the siege of madras, xxvii. masulipatam, xxviii. the defeat of lally xxix. the siege of pondicherry, xxx. home, illustration& page a brush with privateers, .... frontispiece, cuve leading the storming party at devikota, . . . tim kelly discoursing on horrible reptiles, . . . the bazaars of trichinopoli charlie's mission to bajah boorhau, the fate of the assassins, "if you attack us, we will blow up the magazine," . . how charlie dealt with his superior officers, . . . "i am here, dear!" he said in a whisper, .... charlie surprised by the french at trinavady, . . . the sudden conversion of a faithless ally, . . . welcome home! with clive in india. chapter l leaving home. lady in deep mourning was sitting crying bitterly by a fire in small lodgings in the town of yarmouth. beside her stood a tall lad of sixteen. he was slight in build, but his schoolfellows knew that charlie marryat's muscles were as firm and hard as those of any boy in the school. in all sports requiring activity and endurance rather than weight and strength he was always conspicuous. not one in the school could compete with him in long-distance running, and when he was one of the hares there was but little chance for the hounds. he was a capital swimmer and one of the best boxers in the school. he had a reputation for being a leader in every mischievous prank; but he was honourable and manly, would scorn to shelter himself under the semblance of a lie, and was a prime favourite with his masters as well as his schoolfellows. his mother bewailed the frequency with which he re- turned home with blackened eyes and bruised face; for between dr. willet's school and the fisher lads of yar- mouth there was a standing feud, whose origin dated so far back that none of those now at school could trace it. the choice of a profession. consequently fierce fights often took place in the narrow rows, and sometimes the fisher hoys would be driven back on to the broad quay shaded by trees, by the river, and there being reinforced from the craft along the side would reassume the offensive and drive their opponents back into the main street. it was but six months since charlie had lost his father, who was the officer in command at the coast-guard station, and his scanty pension was now all that remained for the support of his widow and children. his mother had talked his future prospects over many times with charlie. the latter was willing to do anything, but could suggest nothing. his father had but little naval interest, and had for years been employed on coast-guard service. charlie agreed that although he should have liked of all things to go sea, it was useless to think of it now, for he was past the age at which he could have entered as a midshipman. the matter had been talked over four years before with his father; but the latter had pointed out that a life in the navy without interest is in most cases a very hard one. if a chance of distinguishing himself happened promotion would follow; but if not, he might be for years on shore, starving on half-pay and waiting in vain for an appointment, while officers with more luck and better interest went over his head. other professions had been discussed but nothing deter- mined upon, when lieutenant marryat suddenly died. charlie, although an only son, was not an only child, as he had two sisters both younger than himself. after a few months of effort mrs. marryat found that the utmost she could hope to do with her scanty income was to main- tain herself and daughters and to educate them until they should reach an age when they could earn their own living as governesses, but that charlie's keep and education were beyond her resources. she had, therefore, very reluc- tantly written to an uncle whom she had not seen for many years; her family having objected very strongly to crusty but kind. her marriage with a penniless lieutenant in the navy. she informed him of the loss of her husband, and that although her income was sufficient to maintain herself and her daughters, she was most anxious to start her son, who was now sixteen, in life, and therefore begged him to use his influence to obtain for him a situation of some sort. the letter which she now held in her hand was the answer to the appeal. "my dear niece," it began,—" since you, by your own foolish conduct and opposition to all our wishes, separated yourself from your family and went your own way in life, i have heard little of you, as the death of your parents so shortly afterwards deprived me of all sources of information. i regret to hear of the loss which you have suffered. i have already taken the necessary steps to carry out your wishes. i yesterday dined with a friend who is one of the directors of the hon. east india company, and at my request he has kindly placed a writership in the company at your son's service. he will have to come up to london to see the board next week, and will probably have to embark for india a fort- night later. i shall be glad if he will take up his abode with me during the intervening time. i shall be glad also if you will favour me with a statement of your in- come and expenses, with such details as you may think necessary. i inclose four five-pound bank-notes, in order that your son may obtain such garments as may be im- mediately needful for his appearance before the board of directors and for his journey to london. i remain, my dear niece, yours sincerely, joshua tufton." "it is cruel," mrs. marryat sobbed—"cruel to take you away from us and send you to india, where you will most likely die of fever, or be killed by a tiger, or stabbed bv one of those horrid natives, in a fortnight." an indian writership. "not so bad as that, mother, i hope," charlie said sympathizingly, although he could not repress a smile; "other people have managed to live out there and have come back safe." "yes," mrs. marryat said sobbing; "i know how you will come back. a little, yellow, shrivelled up old man with no liver, and a dreadful temper, and a black servant. i know what it will be." this time charlie could not help laughing. "that's looking too far ahead altogether, mother. you take the two extremes. if i don't die in a fortnight i am to live to be a shrivelled old man. i'd rather take a happy medium, and look forward to coming back before my liver is all gone, or my temper all destroyed, with lots of money to make you and the girls comfortable. there is only one thing, i wish it had been a cadetship instead of a writership." , "that is my only comfort," mrs. marryat said. "if it had been a cadetship i should have written to say that i would not let you go. it is bad enough as it is; but if you had had to fight, i could not have borne it." charlie did his best to console his mother by telling her how every one who went to india made fortunes, and how he should be sure to come back with plenty of money, and that when the girls grew up he should be able to find rich husbands for them; and at last he suc- ceeded in getting her to look at matters in a less gloomy light. "and i'm sure, mother," he said, "uncle means most kindly. he sends twenty pounds, you see, and says that that is for immediate necessities; so i have no doubt he means to help to get my outfit, or at any rate to advance money which can repay him out of my salary. the letter is rather stiff and business-like, of course, but i suppose that's his way; and you see he asks about your income, so perhaps he means to help for the girls' education. i should go away very happy if i knew that you would be able to get on comfortably. of course it's a long way family details. off, mother, and i should have liked to stay at home to be - a help to you and the girls; but one can't have all one wishes. as far as i am concerned myself, i would rather go out as a writer there, where i shall see strange sights and a strange country, than be stuck all my life at a desk in london. what is uncle like?" "he is a short man, my dear, rather stiff and pompous, with a very stiff cravat. he used to give me his finger to shake when i was a child, and i was always afraid of him. he married a most disagreeable woman only a year or two before i married myself. but i heard she died not very long afterwards;" and so mrs. marry at got talking of her early days and relations, and was quite in good spirits again by the time her daughters returned from school, and she told them what she was now coming to regard as the good fortune which had befallen their brother. the girls were greatly affected. they adored their brother, and the thought that he was going away for years was terrible to them. nothing that could be said pacified them in the slightest degree, and they did nothing but cry until they retired to bed. charlie was much affected by their sorrow; but when they had retired he took his hat and went out to tell the news of his approaching departure to some of his chums. the next day mrs. marryat wrote thanking her uncle for his kindness, and saying that charlie would go round to london by the packet which sailed on the following monday, and would, if the wind were fair and all went well, reach london on the wednesday. school was, of course, at once given up, and the girls also had a holiday till their brother's departure. when the ne- cessary clothes were ordered there was little more to do, and charlie spent the time when his boy friends were in school, in walking with the girls along the shore, talking to them of the future, of the presents he would send them home, and of the life he should lead in india; while at other times he went out with his favourite the yarmouth packet. schoolfellows, and joined in one last grand battle with the smack boys. on monday morning, after a sad farewell to his family, charlie embarked on board the yarmouth belle, a packet which performed the journey to and from london once a fortnight. she was a roomy lugger built for stowage rather than speed, and her hold was crammed and her deck piled with packages of salted fish. there were five or six other persons also bound for london, the journey to which was in those days regarded as an arduous under- taking. as soon as the yarmouth belle issued from the mouth of the river she began to pitch heavily, and charlie, who from frequently going out with his father in the revenue cutter, was a good sailor, busied himself in doing his best for his afflicted fellow-passengers. towards evening the wind got up, and shifting ahead the captain dropped anchor off lowestoft. the next morning was finer, and the yarmouth belle continued her way. it was not, however, till thursday afternoon that she dropped anchor in the pool. charlie was soon on shore, and giving his trunk to a porter desired him to lead the way to bread street, in which his uncle resided, for in the last century such things as country villas were almost unknown, and the merchants of london for the most part resided in the houses where they carried on their business. keeping close to the porter to see that he did not make off with his trunk, for charlie had received many warnings as to the extreme wickedness of london, he followed him through the busy streets, and arrived safely at his uncle's door. it was now dusk, and charlie on giving his name was shown upstairs to a large room which was lighted by a fire blazing in the hearth. standing with his back to this was a gentleman whom he at once recognized from his mother's description as her uncle, although he was a good deal more portly than when she had seen him last. "so you are my grand-nephew," he said, holding out a curious reception. what charlie considered to be a very limp and flabby hand towards him. "yes, uncle," charlie said cheerfully; "and we are very much obliged to you, mamma and i, for your kind- ness." "humph!" the old gentleman grunted. "and how is it," he asked severely," that you were not here yesterday? my niece's letter led me to expect that you would arrive yesterday." "we came as fast as we could, uncle," charlie laughed; "but of course the time depends upon the wind. the captain tells me that he has been as much as three weeks coming round." mr. tufton grunted again as if to signify that such un- punctuality was altogether displeasing to him. "you are tall," he said, looking up at charlie, who stood half a head above him, "and thin, very thin. you have a loose way of standing which i don't approve of." "i'm sorry i'm loose, sir," charlie said gravely, "if you do not approve of it; but you see running about and playing games makes one lissom. i suppose, now that's all over and i am going to spend my time in writing, i shall get stiffer." "i hope so, i hope so," mr. tufton said encouragingly, and as if stiffness were one of the most desirable things in life. "i like to see young men with a sedate bearing. and you left my niece and grand-nieces well, i hope?" "quite well, thank you, sir," charlie said; "but, of course, a good deal upset with parting from me." "yes," mr. tufton said; "i suppose so. women are so emotional. now there's nothing i object to more than emotion." as charlie thought that this was probably the case, he was silent, although the idea vaguely occurred to him that he should like to excite a little emotion in his uncle by the sudden insertion of a pin, or some other such means. the silence continued for some little time, and then mr. charlie's great-uncle. tuffcon said, "i always dine at two o'clock; but as pro- bably you are hungry—i have observed that boys always are hungry—some food will be served you in the next room. i had already given my housekeeper orders. no doubt you will find it prepared. after that you may like to take a walk in the streets. i have supper at nine, by which hour you will, of course, have returned." charlie, as he ate his meal, thought to himself that his uncle was a pompous old gentleman, and that it would be very hard work getting on with him for the next three weeks. however he consoled himself by the thought "kind is as kind does" after all, and i expect the old gentleman is not as crusty as he looks. charlie had handed to mr. tufton a letter which his mother had given him, and when he returned from a ramble through the streets he found that gentleman sitting by the fire with lights upon a small table beside him. upon this mrs. marryat's letter lay open. "so you have soon become tired of the streets of lon- don, grand-nephew?" he said. "there is not much to see, sir. the lamps do not burn very brightly, and the fog is coming on i thought that if it grew thicker i might lose my way, and in that case i might not have been in at the hour vou named for sup- per." "humph!" the other gentleman grunted. "so your mother has taught you to be punctual to meals. but, no; boys' appetites teach them to be punctual then if never at any other time. and why, sir," he asked severely," did my niece not write to me before?" "i don't know sir," charlie said. "i suppose she did not like—that is, she didn't think—that is" "think, sir! like, sir!" said his uncle. "what right had she either to think or to like? her duty clearly was to have made me acquainted at once with all the circum- stances. i suppose i had a right to say whether i ap- proved of my grand-nieces going tramping about the ( ) the rights a relation. world as governesses or not. it isn't because a woman chooses by her folly to separate herself from her family that they are to be deprived of their rights in a matter of this kind. eh, sir, what do you say to that?" and mr. tufton looked very angry indeed. "i don't know, sir," charlie said. "i have never thought the matter over." "why, sir, suppose she had made you a tinker, sir, and you turned out a thief, as likely as not you would have done, and you'd been hung, sir, what then? am i to have such discredit as this brought upon me without my having any option in the matter?" "i suppose not, sir," charlie said. "i hope i shouldn't have turned out a thief even if i'd been a tinker; but perhaps it was because my mother feared that this might be the case that she did give you the option." his uncle looked at him keenly; but charlie, though with some difficulty, maintained the gravest face. "it is well she did so," mr. tufton said; "very well. if she had not done so, i should have known the reason why. and you, sir, do you like the thought of going to india?" "yes, uncle, i like the thought very much, though i would rather, if i may say so, have gone as a cadet." "i thought so," mr. tufton said sarcastically; "i was sure of it. you wanted to wear a red coat and a sword, and to swagger about the streets of calcutta, instead of making an honourable living and acquiring a fortune." "i don't think, sir," charlie said, "that the idea of the red coat and sword entered into my mind; but it seemed to me the choice of a life of activity and adventure against one as a mere clerk." "had you entered the military service of the company, even if you didn't get shot, you could only hope to rise to the command of a regiment, ranking with a civilian very low down on the list. the stupidity of boys is unaccountable. it's a splendid career, sir, that i have opened to you; but if i'd known that you had no ambition ( ) b the board of directors. i would have put you into my own counting-house, though there, that wouldn't have done either, for i know you would have blotted the ledger and turned all the accounts topsy-turvy. and now, sir, supper is ready;" and the old gentleman led the way into the next room. upon the following day charlie was introduced by his uncle to the director who had given him his nomination, and was told by him that the board would sit upon the following day, and that he must call at the india house at eleven o'clock. the ordeal was not a formidable one. he was shown into a room where eight or ten elderly gentlemen were sitting round a large table. among these was his friend of the day before. he was asked a question or two about his age, his father's pro- fession, and his place of education. then the gentleman at the head of the table nodded to him, and said he could go, and instructions would be sent to him, and that he was to prepare to sail in the lizzie anderson, which would leave the docks in ten days' time, and that he would be for the present stationed at madras. much delighted at having got through the ordeal so easily, charlie returned to his uncle's. he did not venture to penetrate into the latter's counting-house, but awaited his coming upstairs to dinner, to tell him the news. "humph!" said his uncle; "it is lucky they did not find out what a fool you were at once. i was rather afraid that even the two minutes would do it. after dinner i will send my clerk round with you to get the few things which are necessary for your voyage. suppose you will want to, what you call amuse yourself, to see the beasts at exeter change, and the playhouses. here are two sove- reigns; don't get into loose company, and don't get drinking, sir, or out of the house you go." charlie attempted to express his thanks, but his uncle stopped him abruptly. "hold your tongue, sir; i am doing what is right; a thing, sir, joshua tufton always has done, and doesn't expect to be thanked for it. all i ask an indian outfit. you is, that if you rob the company's till and are hung, don't mention that you are related to me." after dinner was over, charlie went out under the charge of an old clerk and visited tailors' and outfitters' shops, and found that his uncle's idea of the few necessaries for a voyage differed very widely from his own. the clerk in each case inquired from the tradesmen what was the outfit which gentlemen going to india generally took with them, and charlie was absolutely appalled at the magnitude of the orders. four dozen shirts, ten dozen pairs of stockings, two dozen suits of white cotton cloth, and everything else in proportion. charlie in vain re- monstrated, and even implored the clerk to abstain from ordering what appeared to him such a fabulous amount of things, and begged him at anyrate to wait until he had spoken to his uncle. the clerk, however, replied that he had received instructions that the full usual outfit was to be obtained, and that mr. tufton never permitted his orders to be questioned. charlie was forced to submit, but he was absolutely oppressed with the magnitude of his outfit, to carry which six huge trunks were required. "it is awful," charlie said to himself," positively awful. how much it will all come to, goodness only knows; three or four hundred pounds at least." in those days before steam was thought of, and the journey to india was often of six months' duration, men never came home more than once in seven years, and often remained in india from the day of their arrival until they finally retired, without once revisiting england. the outfits taken out were therefore necessarily much larger than at the present time, when a run home to england can be accomplished in three weeks, and there are plenty of shops in every town in india where all european articles of necessity or luxury can be purchased. after separating from the clerk charlie felt altogether unable to start out in search of amusement. he wandered about vaguely till supper-time, and then attempted to •jo a peremptory party. address his uncle on the subject. "my dear uncle," he began, "you've been so awfully kind to me that i really do not like to trespass upon you. i am positively fright- ened at the outfit your clerk has ordered; it is enormous. i'm sure i can't want so many things possibly, and i would really rather take a, much smaller outfit, and then, as i want them i can have more things out from england and pay for them myself." "you don't suppose," mr. tufton said sternly, "that i'm going to have my nephew go out to india with the outfit of a cabin-boy. i ordered that you were to have the proper outfit of a gentleman, and requested my clerk to order a considerable portion of the things to be made of a size which will allow for your growing, for you look to me as if you were likely enough to run up into a lanky giant of six feet high. i suppose he has done as i ordered him. don't let me hear another word on the subject." chapter ii. the young writer. or the next four days charlie followed his uncle's instructions and amused himself. he visited exeter change, took a boat and rowed down the river to greenwich, and a coach and visited the palace of hampton court. he went to see the coaches make their start in the morning for all places in england, and marvelled at the perfection of the turn-outs. he went to the playhouses twice, in the evening, and saw mr. garrick in his performance as richard the third. on the fifth day a great surprise awaited him. his uncle at breakfast had told him briefly that he did not wish him to go out before dinner, as some one might want to see him, and charlie, supposing that a messenger might be coming down from the india house, waited indoors, and an hour later he was astonished when the door of the room opened and his mother and sisters entered. with a shout of gladness and surprise charlie rushed into their arms. "my dear mother, my dear girls, this is an unex- pected pleasure indeed! why, what has brought you here?" "didn't you know we were coming, charlie? didn't uncle tell you?" they exclaimed. "not a word," charlie said. "i never dreamt of such a thing. what, has he called you up here to stay till i go?" mil tufton's grand-nieces. "oh, my dear, he has been so kind," his mother said, "and so funny! he wrote me such a scolding letter, just as if i had been a very naughty little girl. he said he wasn't going to allow me to bring disgrace upon him by living in wretched lodgings at yarmouth, nor by his grand-nieces being sent out as governesses. so he ordered me at once, ordered me charlie, as if i had no will of my own, to give up the lodgings and to take our places in the coach yesterday morning. he said we were not to shame him by appearing here in rags, and he sent me a hundred pounds, every penny of which, he said, was to be laid out in clothes. as to the future, he said it would be his duty to see that i brought no further dis- grace upon the family." "yes, and he's been just as kind to me, mother. as i told you when i wrote, he had ordered an enormous outfit, which will, i am sure, cost hundreds of pounds. he makes me go to the playhouses and all sorts of amusements, and all the time he has been so kind he scolds, and grumbles, and predicts that i shall be hanged." "i'm sure you won't," kate, his youngest sister, said indignantly. "how can he say such a thing!" "he doesn't mean it," charlie laughed; "it's only his way. he will go on just the same way with you, i have no doubt; but you mustn't mind, you know, and musn't laugh, but must look quite grave and serious. ah! here he is. oh, uncle, this is kind of you!" "hold your tongue, sir," said his uncle, "and try and learn not to speak to your elders unless you are addressed. niece mary," he said, kissing her upon the forehead, "i am glad to see you again. you are not so much changed as i expected. and these are my grand-nieces, elizabeth and kate, though why kate i don't know. jt is a fan- ciful name and new to the family, and i am surprised that you didn't call her susanna, after your grand- mother." a painful duty. kate made a little face at the thought of being called susanna. however, a warning glance from charlie closed her lips just as she was about to express her decided preference for her own name. mr. tufton kissed them both, muttering to himself: "i suppose i ought to kiss them. girls always expect to be kissed at every opportunity. what are you laugh- ing at, grand-niece?" "i don't think girls expect to be kissed except by people they like," kate said; "but we do like kissing you, uncle," throwing her arms round his neck and kiss- ing him heartily; "because you have been so kind to charlie and have brought us up to see him again." "you have disarranged my white tie, niece," mr. tufton said, extricating himself from kate's embrace. "niece mary, i fear that you have not taught your daughters to restrain their emotions, and there is nothing so dreadful as emotional women." "perhaps i have not taken so much pains with their education in that way as in some others," mrs. marry at said smiling. "but of course, uncle, if you object to be kissed, the girls will abstain from doing so." "no," mr. tufton said thoughtfully. "it is the duty of nieces to kiss their uncles, in moderation—in modera- tion, mind, and it is the duty of the uncles to receive those salutations, and i do not know that the duty is altogether an unpleasant one. i am myself unaccustomed to be kissed, but it is an operation to which i may accus- tom myself in time." "i never heard it called an operation, uncle," lizzie said demurely; "but i now understand the meaning of the phrase of a man's undergoing a painful operation. i used to think it meant cutting off a leg, or something of that sort, but i see it's much worse." her uncle looked at her steadily. "i am afraid, grand-niece, that you intend to be sar- castic. this is a hateful habit in a man, worse in a words of advice. woman. cure yourself of it as speedily as possible, or heaven help the unhappy man who may some day be your husband. and now," he said, "ring the bell. the housekeeper will show you to your rooms. my nephew will tell you what are the hours for meals. of course you will want to be gadding about with him. you will understand that there is no occasion to be in to meals; but if you are not present when they are upon the table you will have to wait for the next. i cannot have my house turned upside down by meals being brought up at all sorts of hours. you must not expect me, niece, to be at your beck and call during the day, as i have my business to attend to; but of an evening i shall, of course, feel it my duty to accompany you to the playhouse. it will not do for you to be going about with only the pro- tection of a hair-brained boy." the remainder of charlie's stay in london passed most pleasantly. they visited all the sights of town, mr. tufton performing what he called his duty with an air of protest, but showing a general thoughtfulness and desire to please his visitors, which was very apparent even when he grunted and grumbled the most. on the evening before he started he called charlie down into his counting-house. "to-morrow you are going to sail," he said, "and to start in life on your own account, and i trust that you will, as far as possible, be steady and do your duty to your employers. you will understand that . although the pay of a writer is not high there are opportunities for advancement. the company have the monopoly of the trade of india, and in addition to their great factories at bombay, calcutta, and madras they have many other trad- ing stations. those who by their good conduct attract the attention of their superiors rise to positions of trust and emolument. there are many who think that the com- pany will in time enlarge its operations, and as they do so, superior opportunities will offer themselves, and since a generous friend. the subject of india has been prominently brought before my notice i have examined the question and am deter- mined to invest somewhat largely in the stock of the company, a step which will naturally give me some influ- ence with the board. that influence i shall, always sup- posing that your conduct warrants it, exercise on your behalf. as we are now at war with france, and it is possible that the vessel in which you are proceeding may be attacked by the way, i have thought it proper that you should be armed. you will, therefore, find in your cabin a brace of pistols, a rifle, and a double-barrel shot- gun, which last, i am informed, is a useful weapon at close quarters. should your avocations in india permit your doing so, you will find them useful in the pursuit of game. i hope that you will not be extravagant; but as a matter of business i find that it is useful to be able to give entertainments to persons who may be in a position to benefit or advance you. i have, therefore, arranged that you will draw from the factor at madras the sum of two hundred pounds annually in addition to your pay. it is clearly my duty to see that my nephew has every fair opportunity for making his way. now, go upstairs at once to your mother. i have letters to write, and am too busy for talking." so saying, with a peremptory wave of his hand he dismissed his nephew. "well, mother," charlie said after telling her of his uncle's generosity, "thank goodness you will be all right now anyhow. no doubt uncle intends to do something for you and the girls, though he has said nothing at pres- ent beyond the fact that you are not to be in wretched lodgings and they are not to go out as governesses. but even if he should change his mind, and i don't think he ever does that, i shall be able to help you. oh, he is kind, isn't he?" the parting was far less sad than that which had taken place at yarmouth. charlie was now assured that his the east indiaman. mother and sisters would be comfortable and well cared for in his absence; while his mother, happy in the lighten- ing of her anxiety as to the future of her daughters and as to the prospects of her son, was able to bear with better heart the thought of their long separation. mrs. marryat and the girls accompanied him on board ship. mr. tufton declined to join the party, under the plea that in the first place he was busy, and in the second that he feared there would be an emotional display. he sent, however, his head clerk with them, to escort the ladies on their return from the docks. the lizzie anderson was a fine ship of the largest size, and she was almost as clean and trim as a man-of- war. she carried twelve cannon, two of them thirty-two pounders, which were in those days considered large pieces of ordnance. all the ships of the company, and, indeed, all ocean-going merchantmen of the day, were armed, as the sea swarmed with privateers and the black flag of the pirates was still occasionally to be seen. the girls were delighted with all they saw, as, indeed, was charlie, for accustomed as they were only to the coasting vesselswhich frequented theport of yarmouth,this floating castle appeared to them a vessel of stupendous size and power. this was charlie's first visit also to the ship, for his uncle had told him that all directions had been given, that the trunks with the things necessary for the voyage would be found in his cabin at the time of starting, and the rest of the luggage in the hold. everything was in order, and charlie found that his cabin companion was a doctor in the service returning to madras. he was a pleasant man of some five or six and thirty, and assured mrs. marryat that he would soon make her son at home on board ship, and would, moreover, put him up to the ways of things upon his arrival in india there were many visitors on board saying good-bye to their friends, and all sat down to lunch, served in the the start for the east. saloon. when this was over the bell rang for visitors to go ashore. there was a short scene of parting in which charlie was not ashamed to use his handkerchief as freely as did his mother and sisters. five minutes later the great vessel passed through the dock gates. charlie stood at the stern waving his hand- kerchief as long as he could catch a glimpse of the figures of his family, and then, as with her sails spread and the tide gaining strength every minute beneath her, the vessel made her way down the river, he turned round to examine his fellow passengers. these were some twenty in number, and for the most part men. almost all were, in some capacity or other, civil or military, in the service of the company; for at that, time their monopoly was a rigid one, and none outside its boundary were allowed to trade in india. the company was indeed solely a great mercantile house of business. they had their own ships, their own establishments, and bought and sold goods like other traders. they owned a small extent of country round their three great trading towns, and kept up a little army, composed of two or three white regiments, and as many composed of natives, trained and disciplined like europeans, and known as sepoys. hence the clergy- man, the doctor, a member of the council of madras, four or five military officers, twice as many civilians, and three young writers besides charlie, were all in the employment of the company. "well, youngster," a cheery voice said beside him, "take your last look at the smoke of london, for it will be a good many years before you see it again, my lad. you've blue skies and clear ones where you're going, except when it rains, and when it does there is no mistake about it." the speaker was the captain of the lizzie anderson, a fine sailor-like man of some fifty years, of which near forty had been spent in the service of the company. "i'm not a londoner," charlie said smiling, "and fellow passengers. have no regret for leaving its smoke. do you think we shall make a quick voyage?" "i hope so," the captain said, "but it all depends upon the wind. a finer ship never floated than the lizzie anderson; but the company don't build their vessels for speed, and it's no use trying to run when you meet a frenchman. those fellows understand how to build ships, and if they could fight them as well as they build them we should not long be mistress of the sea." most of the people on board appeared to know each other, and charlie felt rather lonely till the doctor came up and began to chat with him. he told him who most of his fellow passengers were: "that gentleman there, walking on the other side of the deck as if not only the ship but the river and banks on both sides belonged to him, is one of the council. that is his wife over there with a companion holding her shawl for her. that pretty little woman next to her is the wife of captain tibbets, the tall man leaning against the bulwarks. those two sisters are going out to keep house for their uncle, one of the leading men in madras, and, i suppose, to get husbands, which they will most likely do before they have been there many weeks. they look very nice girls. but you soon get acquainted with them all. it is surprising how soon people get friendly on board ship, though, as a rule, they quarrel like cats and dogs before they get to the end of it." "what do they quarrel about?" charlie asked sur- prised. "oh, about anything or nothing," the doctor saim. "they all get heartily sick of each other and of the voyage, and they quarrel because they have nothing else to do. you will see we shall be as happy a party as possible till we get about as far as the cape. after that the rows will begin, and by the time we get to india half the people won't speak to each other. have you been down the river before? that's gravesend. i, see the a suspicious sail. captain is getting ready to anchor. so, i suppose the tide has nearly run out. if this wind holds we shall be fairly out at sea when you get up to-morrow. you snore, i hope?" ^ "no, sir, i don't think so," charlie said. "i hoped you did," the doctor said, "because i'm told i do sometimes. however, as i usually smoke a cigar on deck the last thing, i hope you will be fairly asleep before i am. if at any time i get very bad and keep you awake you must shake me." charlie said it took a good deal to keep him awake, and that he should probably get accustomed to it ere long. "it's better to do that," he said with a laugh, " than to keep on waking you for the next four or five months." a week later the lizzie anderson was running down the spanish coast with all sail set. she was out of sight of land, and so far had seen nothing likely to cause un- easiness. they had met many vessels homeward bound from the mediterranean, and one or two big ships which the captain pronounced to be indiamen. that morning, however, a vessel was seen coming out from the land. she seemed to charlie's eyes quite a small vessel, and he was surprised to see how often the captain and officers turned their glasses towards her. "i fancy our friend over there is a french privateer," the doctor remarked to him; "and i should not be sur- prised if we found ourselves exchanging shots with her before many hours are over." "but she's a little bit of a thing," charlie said. "surely she would never venture to attack a ship like ours." "it's the size of the guns, not the size of the ship, that counts, my boy. she has the advantage of being able to sail three feet to our two, and probably, small as she is, she carries half as many men again as we do. however, .we carry heavy metal, and can give a good account of ourselves. those thirty-twos will astonish our friend if she comes within range" the two privateers. the stranger was a large schooner, and the tautness of the spars and rigging showed that she was in beautiful order. she crossed the line upon which the merchant- man was sailing some two miles in her rear, and then bearing up followed in her wake. charlie stood near the captain, who, instead of watch- ing her, was sweeping the horizon with his glass. pres- ently he paused and gazed intently at a distant object. "i thought so," he said to the first officer. "i fancied that fellow wasn't alone. he would hardly have ven- tured to try his strength with us if he had been. send a man up to the tops and let him see what he can make her out to be. i can only see her topmasts, but i can make out no yards." presently the look-out came down and reported that the distant vessel appeared to be a large fore-and-aft schooner bearing down upon them. "she will not be up for two hours yet," the captain said. "it will be getting dark then. it is not likely they will engage at night, but they will keep close and show their teeth at daybreak." it soon became known that the belief of the captain was that the vessel in their wake, and that which could be seen approaching on the beam, were french privateers, and soon all were preparing in their own way for what might happen. the sailors cleared the decks and loosed the guns. the gentlemen went below and shortly re- turned bringing up rifles and fowling-pieces. small- arms and cutlasses were brought up and piled round the masts. "why don't you put on more sail, sir?" mr. ashmead, the member of the council, said to the captain. "my wife, sir, objects to the sound of firearms, and i must really beg that you will increase your speed . as it is we are losing rather than gaining upon that vessel behind. the duty of the ships of the company is to try not to fight." in for a fight. "if they can help it," the captain added quietly. "not to tight if they can help it, mr. ashmead. but unfor- tunately, the choice upon the present occasion lies with the gentlemen yonder and not with us. it is not of the slightest use adding to the sail we carry, for at our very lest speed those schooners could sail round and round us. as night comes on i intend to shorten sail and put the ship into fighting trim. in the morning i shall again increase it, but i shall not make any attempt to escape a combat which it depends entirely on those privateers to bring on or not as they choose. i am sorry that mrs. ashmead should be exposed to the unpleasantness of listening to the explosion of firearms, and that my other lady passengers should be exposed to the danger which cannot but arise more or less from a naval conflict. how- ever, i hope, sir, that there need be no great anxiety as to the result. the company has given us a heavy armament, and you may be sure that we shall all do our best." seeing the gentlemen go below for their guns charlie asked one of the other young writers, a lad of about his own age, named peters, with whom he had become very friendly, to go below with him. he had not yet ex- amined the arms that his uncle had given him, for he had not thought of them since he saw the gun-cases under his berth on his first arrival on board ship. he found the doctor already in his cabin putting together a heavy double-barrelled gun. "well, youngster," he said, "so we're likely to have a brush. i see you have a couple of gun-cases under your berth. you are a good deal better provided than most lads who go out as writers. ah! that's a beautiful piece of yours," he said, as charlie unlocked one of the cases and took out a rifle, a small bore and a heavy barrel, and beautifully finished. "with a greased patch and a heavy charge that ought to carry a bullet far and true. have you had any practice?" treparing for the enemy. "not with this gun, sir. i used sometimes to practise shooting at gulls with a musket on board the cutter my father commanded, and i got to be a fair shot with it." "then you ought to be able to do good work with such a piece as that. what is in the other case? ah! that's a beauty too," he said as he examined the double-barrelled gun. "made extra strong and heavy, i see, so as to carry bullets. you'll find your shoulder ache at first, but you'll get accustomed to it in time. i'm always in favour of heavy barrels. they shoot stronger and straighter than your light guns, are not so liable to get bent or bruised if a stupid servant drops one across a stone, and, after all, two or three pounds difference in weight does not make any material difference when you're accustomed to it. although, i grant a heavy gun does not come quite so quickly up to the shoulder for a snap shot." "now, peters," charlie said, "you take the double- barrel; i will use the rifle. mine will come into play first, but, as my uncle said when he gave it me, yours will do mast execution at close quarters." at dusk the schooners, having exchanged some signals by flags, took up their positions, one on each quarter of the ship, at a distance of some two miles. "do not you think," charlie asked his friend the doctor, "that they are likely to try and board us to- night?" "no," the doctor said. "these privateers generally depend upon their long guns. they know that we shall be on the watch all night, and that in a hand-to-hand fight they would lose a considerable number of men, while by keeping at a distance and maintaining a fire with their long guns, they rely upon crippling their opponents, and then ranging up under their stern, pour- ing in a fire at close quarters until they surrender. an- other thing is that they prefer daylight, as they can then see whether any other vessel is approaching. were one of our cruisers to hear a cannonade in the night she caution in the dark. would come down and might take them unaware. no, i think you will see that at daylight, if the coast is clear, such was evidently the captain's opinion also, as he ordered sail to be still further shortened, and all, save the watch on deck, to turn in at once. the lights were all extinguished, not that the captain had any idea of evad- ing his pursuers, but that he wished to avoid offering them a mark for their fire should they approach in the darkness. ( » » chapter iii. a brush with privateers. he night passed quietly. once or twice lights were seen as the schooners showed a lantern for a moment to notify their exact position to each other. as soon as dawn broke every man on board the lizzie anderson was at his post. the schooners had drawn up a little, but were still under easy sail. the moment that the day grew clear enough for it to be perceived that no other sail could be seen above the horizon, fresh sail was spread upon the schooners and they began rapidly to draw up. on the previous evening the four heavy guns had been brought aft, and the indiaman could have made a long running fight with her opponents had the captain been disposed. to this, however, he ob- jected strongly, as his vessel was sure to be hulled and knocked about severely, and perhaps some of his masts cut down. he was confident in his power to beat off the two privateers, and he therefore did not add a stitch of canvas to the easy sail under which he had been holding on all night. presently a puff of smoke shot out from the bow of the schooner from the weather quarter, followed almost instantaneously by one from her consort. two round shot struck up the water, the one under the indiaman's stern, the other under her forefoot. "the rascals are well within range," the captain said quietly "see, they are taking off canvas again. they a surprise for the frenchmen. intend to keep at that distance and hammer away at us. just what i thought would be their tactics." two more shots were fired by the schooners. one flew over the deck between the masts and plunged harmlessly in the sea beyond, the other struck the hull with a dull crash. "it is lucky the ladies were sent into the hold," the captain said; "that shot has gone right through their cabin. now, my lads, have you got the sights well upon them? fire!" the four thirty-two pounders spoke out almost at the same moment, and all gazed over the bulwarks anxiously to watch the effect, and a cheer arose as it was seen how accurate had been the aim of the gunners. one shot struck the schooner to windward in the bow, a foot or two above the water-level; another went through her foresail close to the mast." "a foot more, and you would have cut his foremast asunder." the vessel to leeward had been struck by only one shot, the other passing under her stern. she was struck just above her deck-line, the shot passing through the bulwark, and, as they thought on board the merchantman, narrowly missing if not actually striking the mainmast. "there is some damage done," dr. rae said, keeping his glass fixed on the vessel; "there is a good deal of running about on deck there." it was evident that the display of the heavy metal carried by the indiaman was an unpleasant surprise to the privateers. both lowered sail and ceased firing, and there was then a rapid exchange of signals between them. "they don't like it," the captain said laughing; "they see that they cannot play the game they expected, and that they've got to take as well as to give. now it depends upon the sort of stuff their captains are made of, whether they give it up at once or come straight up to close quarters. ah! they mean fighting." coming to close quarters. as he spoke a cloud of canvas was spread upon the schooners, and sailing more than two feet to the merchant- man's one they ran quickly down towards her, firing rapidly as they came. only the merchantman's heavy guns replied, but these worked steadily and coolly and did considerable damage. the bowsprit of one of their opponents was shot away. the sails of both vessels were pierced in several places, and several rugged holes were knocked in their hulls. "if it were not that i do not wish to sacrifice any of the lives on board unnecessarily," the captain said, " i would let them come alongside and try boarding. we have a strong crew, and with the sixty soldiers we should give them such a reception as they do not dream of. however, i will keep them otf if i can. now, mr. james," he said to the first officer, "i propose to give that vessel to leeward a dose; they are keeping about abreast, and by the course they are making will range alongside at about a cable's length. when i give the word pour a broadside with the guns to port upon that weather schooner. at that mo- ment, gentlemen," he said, turning to the passengers, "i shall rely upon you to pick off the steersman of the other vessel, and to prevent another taking his place. she steers badly now, and the moment her helm is free she'll run up into the wind. as she does so i shall bear off', run across her bow, and rake her deck with grape as we pass. will you, mr. barlow, order your men to be in readiness to open fire with musketry upon her as we pass." the schooners were now running rapidly down upon the indiaman. they were only able to use the guns in their bows, and the fire of the indiaman from the heavy guns on her quarter was inflicting more damage than she received. "let all hands lie down on deck," the captain ordered, "they will open with their broadside guns as they come up. when i give the word let all the guns on the port side be trained at the foot of her mainmast, and fire as a crushing broadside. you get the line. on the starboard side lie down till i give the word." it was a pretty sight as the schooners, throwing the water high up from their sharp cut-waters, came running along heeling over under the breeze. as they ranged alongside their topsails came down, and a broadside from both was poured into the indiaman. the great ship shook as the shot crashed into her, and several sharp cries told of the effect which had been produced. then the captain gave the word, and a moment afterwards an ir- regular broadside, as the captain of each gun brought his piece to bear, was poured into the schooner from the guns on the port side. as the privateer heeled over her deck could be plainly seen, and the shot of the indiaman, all directed at one point, tore up a hole around the foot of the mainmast. in an instant the spar tottered and with a crash fell alongside. at the same moment three of the passengers took a steady aim over the bulwark at the helmsman of the other privateer, and simultaneously with the reports of their pieces the man was seen to fall. another sprang forward to take his place, but again the rifles spoke out; and he fell beside his comrade. freed from the strain which had counteracted the pressure of her mainsail the schooner flew up into the wind. the indiaman held on her course for another length and then her helm was put up, and she swept down across the bows of the privateer. then the men leaped to their feet, the soldiers lined the bulwarks, and as she passed along a few yards only distant from her foe, each gun poured a storm of grape along her crowded deck while the troops and passengers kept up a continuous fire of musketry. "that will do," the captain said quietly; "now we may keep her on her course, they have had more than enough of it." there was no doubt of that, for the effect of the iron storm had been terrible, and the decks of the schooner the crippled schooners. were strewn with dead and dying. for a time after the merchantman had borne upon her course the sails of the schooner napped wildly in the wind, and then the foremast went suddenly over the side. "i should think you could take them both, captain thompson," one of the passengers said. "they are as good as taken,' the captain answered, "and would be forced to haul down their flags if i were to wear round and continue the fight. but they would be worse than useless to me. i should not know what to do with their crews, and should have to cripple myself by putting very strong prize crews upon them, and so run the risk of losing my own ship and cargo. no, my business is to trade and not to fight. if any one meddle with me i am ready to take my own part; but the company would not thank me if i were to risk the safety of this ship and her valuable cargo for the sake of sending home a couple of prizes which might be recaptured as they crossed the bay, and would not fetch any great sum if they got safely in port." an examination showed that the casualties on board the lizzie anderson amounted to three killed and eight wounded- the former were sewn in hammocks with a round shot at their feet and dropped overboard, the clergy- man reading the burial service. the wounded were carried below and attended to by the ship's surgeon and dr. eae. the ship's decks were washed and all traces of the conflict removed. the guns were again lashed in their places, carpenters were lowered over the side to repair damages, and when the ladies came on deck an hour after the conflict was over, two or three ragged holes in the bulwarks and a half dozen in the sails were the sole signs that the ship had been in action, save that some miles astern could be seen the two crippled privateers with all sails lowered at work to repair damages. two or three days afterwards charlie marryat and his friend peters were sitting beside dr. rae, when the latter said: getting up history. "i hope that we shan't find the french in madras when we get there." "the french in madras!" charlie exclaimed in surprise. "why, sir, there's no chance of that, is there?" "a very great chance," the doctor said; "don't you know that they captured the place three years ago?" "no, sir; i'm ashamed to say that i know nothing at all about india except that the company have trading stations at bombay, madras, and calcutta." "i will tell you about it," the doctor said; "it is as well that you should understand the position of affairs at the place to which you are going. you must know that the company hold the town of madras and a few square miles of land around it as tenants of the nawab of the carnatic, which is the name of that part of india. the french have a station at pondicherry, eighty-six miles to the sou'-west of madras. this is a larger and more important town than madras, and of course the greatest rivalry prevails between the english and french. the french are much more powerful than the english and exercise a predominating influence throughout the carnatic. the french governor monsieur dupleix is a man of very great ability and far-seeing views. he has a considerable force of french soldiers at his command, and by the aid which he has given to the nawab upon various occasions he has obtained a predominating influence in his councils. "when war was declared between england and france iii the year ' , the english squadron under commodore barnet was upon the coast, and the company sent out orders to mr. morse, the governor of madras, to use every effort to destroy the french settlement, of whose rising power they felt the greatest jealousy. dupleix, seeing the force that could be brought against him, and having no french ships on the station, although he was aware that a fleet under admh-al la bourdonnais was fitting out and would arrive shortly, dreaded the contest, and pro- posed to mr. morse that the indian colonies of the two the frknch in madras. nations should remain neutral and take no part in the struggle in which their respective countries were engaged. mr. morse, however, in view of the orders he had received from the company, was unable to agree to this. dupleix then applied to the nawab, who at his request forbade his european tenants to make war on land with each other, an order which they were obliged to obey. "in july, , la bourdonnais arrived with his fleet, and chased the small english squadron from the indian seas. dupleix now changed his tactics, and regardless of the injunction which he himself had obtained from the nawab he determined to crush the english at madras. he supplied the fleet with men and money and ordered the admiral to sail for madras. the fleet arrived before the town on the th of september, landed a portion of its troops, six hundred in number, with two guns, a short distance along the coast, and on the following day disem- barked the rest, consisting of a thousand french troops, four hundred sepoys, and three hundred african troops, and summoned madras to surrender. madras was in no position to offer any effectual resistance. the fort was weak and indefensible. the english inhabitants con- sisted only of a hundred civilians and two hundred soldiers. governor morse endeavoured to obtain from the nawab the protection which he had before granted to dupleix, a demand which the nawab at once refused. i was there at the time and quite agreed with the governor that it was useless to attempt resistance to the force brought against us. the governor, therefore, surrendered on the st. the garrison and all the civilians in the place not in the service of the company were to become prisoners of war, while those in the regular service of the company were free to depart, engaging only not to carry arms against the french until exchanged. these were the official conditions; but la bourdonnais, influ- enced by jealousy of dupleix, and by the promise of a bribe of forty thousand pounds, made a secret condition the first blow to the mahomed an rule . with mr. morse by which he bound himself to restore madras in the future, upon the payment of a large sum of money. this agreement dupleix, whose heart was set upon the total expulsion of the english, refused to ratify. "a good many of us considered that by this breach of the agreement we were released from our parole not to carry arms against the french, and a dozen or so of us in various disguises escaped from madras and made our way to fort st. david, a small english settlement twelve miles south of pondicherry. i made the journey with a young fellow named clive, who had come out as a writer about two years before. he was a fine young fellow, as unfitted as you are, i should think, marryat, for the dull life of a writer, but full of energy and courage. at fort st. david we found two hundred english soldiers and a hundred sepoys, and a number of us having nothing to do at our own work volunteered to aid in the defence. "after dupleix had conquered madras,the nawab awoke to the fact of the danger of allowing the french to become all-powerful by the destruction of the english, and ordered dupleix to restore the place. dupleix refused, and the nawab sent his son maphuz khan to invest the town. dupleix at once despatched a detachment of two hundred and thirty french and seven hundred sepoys, commanded by an engineer officer named paradis, to raise the siege. on the nd of november the garrison of madras sallied out and drove away the cavalry of maphuz khan, and on the th, paradis attacked his army and totally defeated it. "this, lads, was a memorable battle; it is the first time that european and indian soldiers have come into contest, and it shows how immense is the superiority of europeans. what paradis did then, opens all sorts of possibilities for the future, and it may be that cither we or the french are destined to rise from mere trading companies to be rulers of indian states. such, i know, is the opinion of young clive, who is a very longheaded and ambitious young fellow. i remember his saying to me one night a troublesome leak. remains to be seen. if we are expelled, the effect of our defeat is likely to operate disastrously at calcutta if not at bombay. the french will be regarded as a powerful people whom it is necessary to conciliate, while we shall be treated as a nation of whom they need have no fear, and whom they can oppress accordingly. if we are successful and absolutely obtain possession of the carnatic, our trade will vastly increase, fresh posts and commands of all sorts will be established, and there will be a fine career open to you young fellows in the service of the company." after rounding the cape of good hope the ship en- countered a series of very heavy gales, which drove her far out of her course up the eastern coast of africa. in the last gale her foremast was carried away, and she put in to a small island to refit. she had also sprung a leak, and a number of stores were landed to enable her to be taken up into shallow water and heeled over in order that the leak might be got at. the captain hurried on the work with all speed. "had it not been for this," charlie heard him say to mr. ashmead, "i would have rigged a jury-mast and pro- ceeded; but i can't stop the leak from the inside without shifting a great portion of the cargo, and our hold is so full that this would be difficult in the extreme. but i own that i do not like delaying a day longer than necessary here. the natives have a very bad reputation, besides which it is suspected that one if not more pirates have their rendezvous in jthese seas. several of our merchantmen have mysteriously disappeared without any gale having taken place which would account for their loss. the captain of a ship which reached england two or three days before we sailed, brought news that when she was within a fortnight's sail of the cape the sound of guns was heard one night, and that afterwards a ship was seen on fire low down on the horizon. he reached the spot soon after daybreak and found charred spars and other wreckage, but though he cruised about all day the bay in the island. he could find no signs of any boata complaints have been made to government, and i hear that there is an intention of sending two or three sloops out here to hunt the pirates up; but that will be of no use to us." upon the day of their arrival at the island a native sailing boat was seen to pass across the mouth of the bay. when half across she suddenly tacked round and sailed back in the direction from which she had come. before proceeding to lighten the ship the captain had taken steps to put himself in a position of defence. for some distance along the centre of the bay the ground rose abruptly at a distance of some thirty yards from the shore, forming a sort of natural terrace; behind this a steep hill rose. the terrace, which was forty feet above the water level, extended for about a hundred yards, when the ground on either side of the plateau dropped away as steeply as in front. the guns were the first things taken out of the ship, and, regardless of the remon- strances of the passengers at what they considered to be a waste of time, captain thompson had the whole of them taken up on the terrace. a small battery was thrown up by the sailors at the two corners, and in each of these two of the thirty-two pounders were placed. the broadside guns were ranged in line along the centre of the terrace. "now," the captain said when at the end of the second day the preparations were completed by the transport of a quantity of ammunition from the ship's magazine to the terrace, "i feel comfortable. we can defend our- selves here against all the pirates of the south seas. if they don't come we shall only have lost our two days' work, and shall have easy minds for the remainder of our stay here, which we should not have had if we had been at the mercy of the first of those scoundrels who happened to hear of our being laid up." the next morning the work of unloading the ship began, the bales and packages being lowered from the ship as camping ashore. they were brought up from the hold into boats alongside, and then taken to the shore and piled there at the foot of the slope. this occupied three days, and at the end of that time the greater portion of the cargo had been re- moved. the ship, now several feet lighter in the water than before, was brought broadside to shore until her keel touched the ground. then the remaining cargo was shifted, and by the additional aid of tackle and purchases on shore fastened to her masts, she was heeled over until her keel nearly reached the level of the water. it was late one evening when this work was finished, and the following morning the crew were to begin to scrape her bottom, and the carpenters were to repair the leak, and the whole of the seams under water were to be corked and repitched. hitherto all had remained on board; but previous to the ship being heeled over, tents constructed of the sails were erected on the terrace, beds and other articles of necessity landed, and the passengers, troops, and crew took up their temporary abode there. chapter iv. the pirates of the pacific. regular watch was set both on the plateau and on board ship. towards morning one of the watch on board hailed the officer above: "i have fancied, sir, for some time that i heard noises. it seems to me like the splash of a very large number of oars." "i have heard nothing," the officer said; "but you might hear sounds down there coming along on the water before i do. i will go down to the water's edge and listen." he did so, and was at once convinced that the man's ears had not deceived him. although the night was perfectly still and not a breath of wind was stirring, he heard a low rustling sound like that of the wind passing through the dried leaves of a forest in autumn. "you are right, johnson, there is something going on out at sea beyond the mouth of the bay. i will call the captain at once." captain thompson on being aroused also went down to the water-side to listen, and at once ordered the whole party to get under arms. he requested mr. barlow, the young lieutenant in charge of the troops, to place half his men across each end of the plateau. the back was defended by a cliff which rose almost perpendicularly from it to a height of some hundred feet; the plateau the approach of the sea rovers. being some thirty yards in depth from the sea face to its foot. the male passengers were requested to divide them- selves in two parties, and to join the soldiers in defending the position against flank attacks. the guns were all loaded, and the sailors then set to work dragging up bales of goods from below, and placing them so as to form a sort of breastwork before the guns along the sea face. the noise at sea had by this time greatly increased, and although it was still too dark to see what was passing, captain thompson said that he had no doubt whatever that the boats had one or more large ships in tow. "had it not been for that," he said, "they would long ago have been here. i expect that they hoped to catch us napping, but the wind fell and delayed them. they little dream how well we are prepared. did they know of our fort here, i question whether they would have ventured upon attacking us at all, but would have waited till we were well at sea, and then our chance would have been a slight one. well, gentlemen, you will allow that the two days were not wasted. i think now the pirates are well inside the bay. in half an hour we shall have light enough to see them. there, listen! there's the splash of their anchors. there, again! i fancy there are two ships moored broadside on, stem and stern." all this time the work on shore had been conducted in absolute silence, and the pirates could have had no in- timation that their presence was discovered. presently against the faintly dawning light in the east the masts of two vessels could be seen. one was a large ship, the other a brig. almost at the same time the rough sound of boats' keels grounding on the shore could be heard. "just as i thought," the captain whispered; "they have guessed that some of us will be ashore, and will make a rush upon us here when the ships open fire." the word was passed along the guns that every one was to be double-shotted, and that their fire was at first the pirates' reception. to be directed at the brig. they were to aim between wind and water, and strive to sink her as speedily as possible. as the light gradually grew, brighter the party on the plateau anxiously watched for the moment when, the hull of the indiaman becoming plain to the enemy, thefte would open fire upon it, and so give the signal for the fight. at the first alarm the tents had all been lev- elled, and a thick barricade of bales erected round a slight depression of the plateau at the foot of the cliff in its rear. here the ladies were placed for shelter. as the light increased it could be seen that in addition to the two ships were a large number of native dhowa presently from the black side of the ship a jet of fire shot out, and at the signal a broadside was poured into the indiaman by the two vessels. at the same moment with a hideous yell hundreds of black figures leaped to their feet on the beach and rushed towards the, as yet unseen, position of the english. the captain shouted "fire!" and the twenty guns on the plateau poured their fire simultaneously into the side of the brig. the captain then gave orders that two of the light guns should be run along the terrace to take position on the flanks, and aid the soldiers against the attacks. this time charlie had lent his rifle to peters, and was himself armed with his double-barrel gun. "steady, boys," mr. hallam, the ensign who commanded the soldiers at the side where charlie was stationed, cried; "don't fire a shot till i give the word, and then aim low." with terrific yells the throng of natives, waving curved swords, spears, and clubs, rushed forward. the steep ascent checked them, but they rushed up until within ten yards of the line of soldiers on its brow. then mr. hallam gave the word to fire, and the soldiers and pas- sengers poured a withering volley into them. at so short a distance the effect was tremendous. completely swept away, the leading rank fell down among their comrades, and these for a moment recoiled. then gathering them- the assault of the fort. selves together they again rushed forward, while those in their rear discharged volleys of arrows over their heads. among the defenders every man now fought for him- self, loading and firing as rapidly as possible. sometimes the natives nearly gained a footing on the crest, but each time the defenders with clubbed muskets beat them back again. the combat was, however, doubtful, for their assailants were many hundred strong, when the defenders were gladdened with a shout of "make way, my hearties. let us come to the front and give them a dose." in a moment two ship's guns loaded to the muzzle with bullets were run forward, and poured their contents among the crowded masses below. the effect was decisive. the natives, shaken by the resistance they had already experienced and appalled by the destruction wrought by the cannon, turned and fled along the shore, followed by the shots of the defenders, and by two more rounds of grape which the sailors poured into them before they could reach their boats. similar success had attended the defenders of the other flank of the position, and all hands now aided in swinging round the guns which had done such good service, to enable them to bear their share in the fight with the ships. in the middle of the fight the party had heard a great cheer from those working the seaward guns, and they now saw its cause. the brig had disappeared below the water, and the sailors were now engaged in a contest with the ship. the pirates fought their guns well, but they were altogether over- matched by the twenty guns playing upon them from a commanding position. already the dhows were hoisting their sails, and one of the cables of the ship suddenly dis- appeared in the water, while a number of men sprang upon the ratlins. "fire at the masts," captain thompson shouted; "cripple her if you can. let all with muskets and rifles try to keep men out of the rigging." the ship was anchored within three hundred yards of ( ) d flight of the pirates. the shore, and although the distance was too great for anything like accurate fire, several of the men dropped as they ran up the shrouds, the sailors worked their guns with redoubled vigour, and a great shout arose as the mainmast, wounded in several places, fell over the side. "sweep her decks with grape," the captain shouted, "and shes ours. mr. james, take all the men that can be spared from the guns, man the boats, and make a dash for the ship at once. i see the men are leaving her. they're crowding over the side into their boats. most likely they'll set fire to her. set all your strength putting it out. we will attend to the other boats." it was evident now that the pirates were deserting the ship. they had fallen into a complete trap, and instead of the easy prey on which they calculated, found them- selves crushed by the fire of a heavy battery in a com- manding position. captain thompson, seeing that the guns of the ship were silent and that all resistance had ceased, now ordered the sailors to turn their guns on the dhows and sink as many as possible. these, crowded together in their efforts to escape, offered an easy mark for the gunners, whose shot tore through their sides smashing and sinking them in all directions. in ten minutes the last of those that floated had gained the mouth of the bay and, accompanied by the boats crowded with the crews of the two pirate vessels, made off, followed by the shot of the thirty-two pounders until they had turned the low promontory which formed the head of the bay. long ere this mr. james and the boats' crews had gained the vessel, and were engaged in combating the fire, which had broken out in three places. the boats were sent back to shore and returned with captain thompson and the rest of the sailors, and this reinforcement soon enabled them to get the mastery of the flames. the ship was found to be the dover castle, a new and very fast ship of the company's service, of which all traces had been lost since she left bombay two the indiaman's prize. years before. she was now painted entirely black and a snake had been added for her figure-head. the original name, however, still remained upon the binnacle and ship's bell. her former armament had been increased and she now carried thirty guns, of which ten were thirty- two pounders. a subsequent search showed that her hold was stored with valuable goods, which had, by the marks upon the bales, evidently belonged to several ships which she had no doubt taken and sunk after removing the pick of their cargoes. the prize was a most valuable one, and the captain felt that the board of directors would be highly delighted at the recovery of their ship, and still more by the destruction of the two bands of pirates. the deck of the ship was thickly strewn with dead. among them was the body of a man who by his dress was evidently the captain. from some of the pirates who still lived, captain thomp- son learned that the brig was the original pirate, that she had captured the dover castle, that from her and sub- sequent prizes they had obtained sufficient hands to man both ships, all who refused to join being compelled to walk the plank. these were the only two pirate ships in those seas, so far as the men knew. their rendezvous was at a large native town on the mainland, at the mouth of a river three days' sail distant. the news of the indiaman being laid up refitting at the island was brought by the native craft they had seen on the day after their arrival, and upon its being known the natives had insisted in joining in the attack. the pirate captain, whose interest it was to keep well with them, could not refuse to allow them to join, although he would gladly have dispensed with their aid, believing his own force to be far more than sufficient to capture the vessel, which he supposed to be lying an easy prize at his hands. another ten days were spent in getting the cargo and guns on board the lizzie anderson, and in fitting out both ships for sea. then mr. james and a portion of the crew a man overboard. being placed on board the prize, they sailed together for india. the dover castle proved to be much the faster sailer, but captain thompson ordered her to reduce sail and to keep about a mile in his wake, as she could at any time close up when necessary; and the two together would be able to oppose a determined front even to a french frigate, should they meet with one on their way. the voyage passed without incident, save that when rounding the southern point of ceylon a sudden squall from the land struck them. the vessel heeled over sud- denly, and a young soldier who was sitting on the bulwarks to leeward was jerked backwards and fell into the water. charlie marryat was on the quarter-deck, leaning against the rail, watching a shoal of flying-fish passing at a short distance. in the noise and confusion caused by the sudden squall, the creaking of cordage, the flapping of sails, and the shouts of the officers to let go the sheets, the fall of the soldier was unnoticed, and charlie was startled by perceiving in the water below him the figure of a struggling man. he saw at once that he was unable to swim. without an instant's hesitation charlie threw off his coat and kicked off his shoes, and with a loud shout of "man overboard!" sprang from the tafl'rail and with a few vigorous strokes was alongside the drowning man. he seized him by the collar and held him at a distance. "now," he said, "don't struggle, else i'll let you go. keep quiet and i can hold you up till we're picked up." in spite of the injunction the man strove to grasp him, but charlie at once let go his hold and swam a pace back as the man sunk. when he came up he seized him again, and again shouted, " keep quite quiet, else i'll leave go." this time the soldier obeyed him, and turning him on his back and keeping his face above water, charlie looked around at the vessel he had left. the indiaman was still in confusion. the squall had been sudden and strong. the sheets had been let go, the canvas was flapping in safe on board. the wind, and the hands were aloft reducing sail. she was already some distance away from him. the sky was bright and clear, and charlie, who was surprised at seeing no attempt to lower a boat, saw a signal run up to the masthead. looking the other way he saw at once why no boat had been lowered. the dover castle was but a quarter of a mile astern. carrying less sail than her consort, she had been better prepared for the squall, and was running down upon him at a great rate. a moment later a boat was swung out on davits and several men climbed into it. the vessel kept on her course until scarcely more than her own length away. then she sud- denly rounded up into the wind, and the boat was let fall and rowed rapidly towards him. all this time charlie had made no effort beyond what was necessary to keep his own head and his companion's face above the water. he now lifted the soldier's head up, and shouted to him that aid was at hand. in another minute they were dragged into the boat. this was soon alongside the ship, and three minutes later the dover castle was pursuing her course in the track of the lizzie anderson, having signalled that the pair had been rescued. charlie found that the soldier was an irish lad of some nineteen years old. his name, he said, was tim kelly, and as soon as he had recovered himself sufficiently to speak he was profuse in his professions of gratitude to his preserver. tim, like the majority of the recruits in the company's service, had been enlisted while in a state of drunkenness, had been hurried on board a guardship, where, when he recovered, he found a number of other unfortunates like himself. he had not been permitted to communicate with his friends on shore, but had been kept in close confinement until he had been put in uniform and conveyed on board the lizzie anderson half an hour before she sailed. the company's service was not a one. there was no fighting in india, and neither glory, nor promotion to be won. the climate in madras roads. was unsuited to europeans, and few indeed of those who sailed from england as soldiers in the company's service ever returned. the company then were driven to all sorts of straits to keep up even the small force which they then maintained in india, and their recruiting agents were by no means particular as to the means they employed to make up the tale of recruits the vessels did not again communicate until they came to anchor in madras roads, as the wind was fair and captain thompson anxious to arrive at his destination. during these few days tim kelly had followed charlie about like a shadow. having no duties to perform on board, he asked leave to act as charlie's servant; and charlie was touched by the efforts which the grateful fellow made to be of service to him. upon their arrival they saw to their satisfaction that the british flag was waving over the low line of earthworks which constitute the british fort. not far from this, near the water's edge, stood the white houses and stores of the company's factors, and behind these again were the low hovels of the black town. the prospect was not an inviting one, and charlie wondered how on earth a landing was to be effected through the tremendous surf which broke upon the shore he soon found that until the wind went down and the surf moderated somewhat, no communication could be effected . the next morning, however, the wind lulled, and a crowd of curious native boats were seen putting off from the shore. charlie had, after the vessel anchored, rejoined his ship with tim kelly, and he now bade good-bye to all on board; for only the doctor, two civilians, and the troops were destined for madras, all the rest going on in the ship to calcutta, after she had discharged that portion of her cargo intended for madras. charlie had during the last twelve hours been made a great deal of, on account of the gallantry he had displayed in risking his life for that of the soldier. peters and one of the other the surf-boat. young writers were also to land, and taking his seat with these in a native boat, paddled by twelve canoe men, he started for the shore. as they approached the line of surf charlie fairly held his breath, for it seemed impossible that the boat could live through it. the boatmen, how- ever, ceased rowing outside the line of broken water, and lay on their paddles for three or four minutes. at last a wave larger than any of its predecessors was seen approach- ing. as it passed under them the steerman gave a shout. in an instant the rowers struck their paddles into the water and the boat dashed along with the speed of a racehorse on the crest of the wave. there was a crash. for a moment the boat seemed to the lads engulfed in white foam, and then she ran high up upon the beach. the rowers seized the boys and leaping out carried them be- yond the reach of the water before the next wave broke upon them, and then triumphantly demanded a present for their skilful management. this the lads were glad to give, for they considered that their escape had been something miraculous. for a while they stood on the shore watching other boats with the soldiers and baggage coming ashore, and then being accosted by a gentleman in the employment of the company, followed him to the residence of the chief factor. here they were told that rooms would be given them in one of the houses erected by the company for the use of its employe's, that they would mess with the other clerks residing in the same house, and that at nine o'clock in the morning they would report them- selves as ready for work. charlie and his friends amused themselves by saunter- ing about in the native town, greatly surprised by the sights and scenes which met their eyes; for in those days very little was known of india in england. they were, however, greatly disappointed. visions of oriental splen- dour, of palaces and temples, of superbly dressed chiefs with bands of gorgeous retainers had floated before their the black town. mind's eye. instead of this they saw squalid huts, men dressed merely with a rag of cotton around them, every- where signs of squalor and poverty. madras, however, they were told that evening, was not to be taken as a sample of india. it was a mere collection of huts which had sprung up round the english factories. but when they went to a real indian city they would see a very different state of things. chapter v. madras. |fter the young writers had seen the native town they returned to the beach and spent the afternoon watching the progress of land- ing the cargo of the lizzie anderson. they were pleased to see their own luggage safely ashore, as it would have been greatly damaged had the boat con- taining it been swamped, a misfortune which happened to several of the boats laden with cargo. it was very amusing each time that one of these boats arrived to see a crowd of natives rush down into the water waist deep, seize it and drag it up beyond the next wave. many of them would be knocked down, and some swept out by the retreating wave, only to return on the next roller. all could swim like fish, and any of these events were greeted with shouts of laughter by the rest. when the packages were landed a rope was put round them, and through this a long bamboo pole was inserted, which would be lifted on to the shoulders of two, four, or six porters, according to its weight, and these would go off at a hob- bling sort of trot with their burden to the factoiy. their own baggage was taken up to the quarters allotted to them, and at the hour named for dinner the new-comers met for the first time those with whom they were to be associated. all were dressed in white suits, and charlie was struck the life of a writer. with the pallor of their faces and the listless air of most of them. the gentleman to whom they had first been introduced made them acquainted with the others. "how refreshingly healthy and well you look!" a young man of some six-and-twenty years old, named johnson, said. "i was something like that when i first came out here, though you'd hardly think it now. eight years of stewing in this horrible hole takes the life and spirits out of anyone. however, there's one consolation, after eight or ten years of quill-driving in a stuffy room one becomes a little more one's own master, and one's duties begin to be a little more varied and pleasant. one gets a chance of being sent up occasionally with goods or on some message or other to one of the native princes, and then one gets treated like a prince, and sees that india is not necessarily so detestable as we have contrived to make it here. the only bearable time of one's life is the few hours after dinner, when one can sit in a chair in the verandah and smoke and look at the sea. some of the fellows play billiards and cards; but if you will take my advice you won't go in for that sort of thing. it takes a lot out of one, and fellows that do it are, between you and me, in tbe bad books of the big-wigs. besides, they lose money, get into debt, and all sorts of mischief comes of it." the speaker was sitting between charlie and peters, and was talking in a tone of voice which would not be overheard by the others. "thank you," charlie said. "i for one will certainly take your advice. i suppose one can buy ponies here. i should think a good ride every morning early, before work, would do one good." "yes, it is not a bad thing," johnson said. "a good many fellows do it when they first come out here; but after a time they lose their energy, you see, though some do keep it up. what appetites you fellows have! it does one good to see you eat." an indian meal. "i have not the least idea what we are eating," charlie said laughing; "but it's really very nice whatever it is. but there seems an immense quantity of pepper, or hot stuff of some kind or other, which one would have thought, in this tremendous heat, would have made one hotter instead of cooler." "yes," their new friend answered. "no doubt all this pepper and curry do heat the blood; but you see it is done to tempt the appetite. meat here is fearfully coarse and tasteless. our appetites are poor, and were it not for these hot sauces we should eat next to nothing. will you have some bananas?" "they are nice and cool," peters said as, having peeled the long fruit as he saw his companion doing, he took a bite of one; "but they have very little taste." "most of our fruit is tasteless," johnson said, "except, indeed, the mango and mangostine. they are equal to any english fruit in flavour, but i would give them all for a good english apple. its sharpness would be de- licious here; and now, as you have done, if you will come and sit in the verandah of my room we will smoke a cigar and have something cool to drink, and i will answer as well as i can the questions you've asked me about the state of things here." when they had seated themselves in the extremely comfortable cane chairs in a verandah facing the sea, and had lit their cigars, their friend began: "madras isn't much of a place now; but you should have seen it before the french had it. our chiefs think of nothing but trade, and care nothing how squalid and miserable is the place in which they make money. the french have larger ideas. they transformed this place, cleared away that portion of the native town which sur- rounded the factory and fort, made wide roads, formed an esplanade, improved and strengthened the fortifica- tions, forbad the natives to throw all their rubbish and offal on the beach, and made, in fact, a decent place of co a summary of the situation. it. we hardly knew it when we came hack, and what- ever the company may have thought, we were thoroughly grateful for the french occupation. one good result, too, is that our quarters have heen greatly improved; for not only did the french huild several new houses, but at present all the big men, the council and so on, are still living at fort st. david, which is still the seat of ad- ministration. so you see we have got better quarters; we are rid of the stenches and nuisances of the native town; the plague of hies which made our life a burden is abated; and we can sit here and enjoy the cool sea breeze without its being poisoned before it reaches us by the heaped-up filth on the beach. it must have wrung dupleix's heart to give up the place over which they ex- pended so much pains, and after all it didn't do away with the fighting. in april we sent a force from fort st. david—before we came back here,—four hundred and thirty white soldiers and a thousand sepoys, under the command of captain cope, to aid a fellow who had been turned out of the rajahship of tanjore. i believe he was a great blackguard, and the man who had taken his place was an able ruler liked by the people." "then why should we interfere on behalf of the other?" charlie asked. "my dear marryat," their host said compassionately, "you are very young yet, and quite new to india. you will see after a time that right has nothing at all to do with the dealings of the company in their relations to the native princes. we are at present little people living here on sufferance among a lot of princes and powers who are enemies and rivals of each other. we have, moreover, as neighbours another european colony con- siderably stronger than we are. the consequence is, the question of right cannot enter into the considerations of the company. it may be said that for every petty kingdom in southern india there are at least two pre- tenders, very often half a dozen. so far we have not the rival rajahs. gl meddled much in their quarrels, but the french have been much more active that way. they always side with one or other of these pretenders, and when they get the man they support into power, of course he repays them for their assistance. in this manner, as i shall explain to you presently, they have virtually made themselves masters of the carnatic outside the walls of fort st. david, and this place. "well, our people thought to take a leaf out of the french book, and as the ex-rajah offered us in payment for our aid the possession of devikota, a town at the mouth of the river kolrun, a place likely to be of great use to us, we agreed to assist him. cope with the land forces had marched to the border of the tanjore terri- tory, and the guns and heavy baggage were to go by sea; but, unfortunately, we had a tremendous gale just after they sailed. the admiral's flag-ship, the namur, of seventy-four guns, the pembroke, of sixty, and the hospital ship, ajmllo, were totally lost, and the rest of the fleet scattered in all directions. cope entered the tanjore territory, but found the whole population at- tached to the new rajah. it was useless for him, there- fore, to march upon tanjore, which is a really strong town, so he marched down to devikota, where he hoped to find some of the fleet. not a ship, however, was to be seen, and as without guns cope could do nothing, he returned here, as we had just taken possession again. "then he went to fort st. david, and there was a great discussion among the big-wigs. it was clear from what cope said that our man had not a friend in his own country. still, as he pointed out, devikota was a most important place for us. neither madras nor fort st. david has a harbour, and devikota, therefore, where the largest ships could run up the river and anchor, would be of immense utility to us. as this was really the reason for which we had gone into the affair it was decided to repeat the attempt. by this time major g the expedition to devikota. lawrence, who commands the whole of the company's forces in india, and who had been taken a prisoner in one of the french sorties at the siege of pondicherry, had been released, so he was put at the head of the ex- pedition, and the whole of the company's english troops, eight hundred in all, including the artillery, and fifteen hundred sepoys, started on board ship for devikota . i must tell you that lawrence is a first-rate fellow, the only really good officer we have out here, and the affair couldn't have been in the hands of a better man. "the ships arrived safely at the mouth of the kolrun, and the troops were landed on the bank of the river opposite the town, where lawrence intended to erect his batteries, as, in the first place, the shore behind the town was swampy, and in the second the rajah of tanjore, who had got news of our coming, had his army encamped there to support the place. lawrence got his guns in position and tired away, across the river, at the earthen wall of the town. in three days he had a breach. the enemy didn't return our fire, but occupied themselves in throwing up an entrenchment across the side of the fort. we made a raft and crossed the river, but the enemy's matchlock men peppered us so severely that we lost thirty english and fifty sepoys in getting over. the enemy's en- trenchment was not finished, but in front of it was a deep rivulet which had to be crossed. "lawrence gave the command of the storming party to clive. he is one of our fellows, a queer, restless sort of chap, who was really no good here, for he hated his work and always seemed to think himself a martyr. he was not a favourite among us, for he was often gloomy and discontented, though he had his good points. he was straightforward and manly, and he put down two or three fellows here who had been given to bully the young ones, in a way that astonished them. he would never have made a good servant of the company, for he so hated his work that when he had been out here about a year he narrow escapes of clive. crs tried to blow out his brains. he snapped the pistol twice at his head, but it didn't go oft' though it was loaded all right. strange, wasn't it? so he came to the conclusion that he wasn't meant to kill himself, and went on living till something should turn up." "yes," charlie said; "dr. rae spoke to us about him during the voyage. he knew him at the siege of fort st. david, and pondicherry." "yes," johnson said. "he came out there quite in a new light. he got transferred into the military ser- vice, and was always in the middle of the fighting. major lawrence had a very high opinion of him, and so selected him to lead the storming party. it really seems almost as if he had a charmed life. lawrence gave him thirty-three english soldiers and seven hundred sepoys. the rest of the force were to follow as soon as clive's party gained the entrenchments. clive led the way with his europeans, with the sepoys supporting behind, and got across the rivulet with a loss of only four men. he waited on the other bank till he saw the sepoys climbing up, and then again led the english on in advance towards the unfinished part of the entrenchment. the sepoys, however, did not move, but remained waiting for the main body to come up. the enemy let clive and his twenty-nine men get on some distance in advance, and then their cavalry, who had been hidden by a pro- jection of the fort, charged suddenly down on him. they were upon our men before they had time to form, and in a minute twenty-six of them were cut to pieces. clive and the other three managed to get through the tanjore horsemen and rejoin the sepoys. that was almost as narrow a shave for his life as with the pistol. lawrence now crossed with his main body and advanced. "again the tanjore horsemen charged; but this time we were prepared, and lawrence let them come on till within a few yards, and then gave them a volley which killed fourteen and sent the rest scampering away. lawrence g the politics of the carnatic. pushed forward. the garrison, panic-stricken at the defeat of their cavalry, abandoned the breach and escaped to the opposite side of the town, and devikota was ours. a few days later we captured the fortified temple of uchipuran. a hundred men were left there, and these were afterwards attacked by the rajah of tanjore with five thousand men, but they held their own and beat them off. a very gallant business that! these affairs showed the rajah that the english could fight, a point which, hitherto, the natives had been somewhat sceptical about. they were afraid of the french, but they looked upon us as mere traders. he had, too, other things to trouble him as to the state of the carnatic, and so has- tened to make peace. he agreed to pay the expenses of the war, and to cede us devikota and some territory round it, and to allow the wretched ex-rajah, in whose cause we had pretended to fight, a pension of four hun- dred a year, on condition that we kept him shut up in one of our forts. not a very nice business on our side, was it? still we had gained our point, and, with the exception of the ex-rajah, who was a bad lot after all, no one was discontented. "when the peace was signed our force returned to fort st. david. while they had been away there had been a revolution in the carnatic. now this was rather a com- plicated business; but as the whole situation at present turns upon it, and it will not improbably cause our expul- sion from southern india, i will explain it to you as well as i can. now you must know that all southern india, with the exception of a strip along the west coast, is governed by a viceroy, appointed by the emperor at delhi. he was called the subadar of the deccan. up till the end of 'forty-eight nizam ul-mulk was viceroy. about that time he died, and the emperor appointed his grand- son, muzaffar jung, who was the son of a daughter of his, to succeed him. but the subadar had left five sons. four of these lived at delhi, and were content to enjoy a hostile combination. their life there. the second son, however, nazir jung, was an ambitious man, who had rebelled even against his father. naturally he rebelled against his nephew. he was on the spot when his father died while the new subadar was absent. nazir, therefore, seized the reins of government and all the resources of the state. the emperor has troubles enough of his own at delhi, and muzaffar had no hope of aid from him. he therefore went to satarah, the court of the marattas, to ask for their assistance. there he met chunda sahib. this man was the nephew of the last nawab of the carnatic, dost ali. dost ali had been killed in a battle with them in ; and they afterwards captured trichinopoli, and took chunda sahib, who commanded there, prisoner, and had since kept him at satarah. had he been at liberty he would no doubt have succeeded his uncle, whose only son had been murdered; but as he was at satarah the subadar of the deccan bestowed the government of the carnatic upon anwarud-din. "chunda sahib and muzaffar jung put their heads together and agreed to act in concert. muzaffar, of course, desired the subadarship of the deccan, to which he had been appointed by the court of delhi. chunda sahib wanted the nawabsnip of the carnatic, and advised his ally to abandon his intention of asking for maratta aid, and to ally himself with the french. a correspon- dence ensued with dupleix, who, seeing the immense advantage it would be to him to gain what would virtually be the position of patron and protector of the subadar of the deccan and the nawab of the carnatic, at once agreed to join them. muzaffar raised thirty thousand men, and chunda sahib six thousand—it is always easy in india to raise an army with a certain amount of money and lavish promises—marched down and joined a french force of four hundred strong, commanded by dauteuil the nawab advanced against them, but was utterly defeated at ambur, the french doing pretty well the whole of the ( e go chunda sahib. work. the nawab was killed, and one of his sons, maphuz khan, taken prisoner. the other, mahummud ah, bolted at the beginning of the fight. arcot, the capital of the carnatic, surrendered next day. "huzaffar jung proclaimed himself subadar of the dec- can, and appointed chunda sahib nawab of the carnatic. muzaffar jung conferred upon dupleix the sovereignty of eighty-one villages adjoining the french territory. muzaflar, after paying a visit to pondicherry, remained in the camp with his army, twenty miles distant from that place. chunda sahib remained as the guest of dupleix at pondicherry. "on the receipt of the news of the battle of ambur, mr. floyer, who is governor at fort st. david, sent at once to chunda sahib to acknowledge him as nawab, which, in the opinion of every one here, was a very foolish step. mahummud ali had fled to trichinopoli, and sent word to mr. floyer that he could hold the place, and even re- conquer the carnatic, if the english would assist him. i know that admiral boscawen, who was with the fleet at fort st. david, urged mr. floyer to do so, as it was clear that chunda sahib would be a mere tool in the hands of the french. when chunda sahib de- layed week after week at pondicherry, mr. floyer began to hesitate, but he could not make up his mind, and admiral boscawen, who had received orders to return home, could no longer act in contravention to them, and was obliged to sail. "the instant the fleet had left, and we remained vir- tually defenceless, chunda sahib, supplied with troops and money by dupleix, marched out from pondicherry and joined muzaflar jung with the avowed intention of marching upon trichinopoli. had he done this at once he must have taken the place, and it was a ques- tion of weeks and days only of our being turned alto- gether out of southern india. nothing, indeed, could have saved us. muzaflar jung and* chunda sahib, how- the siege of tanjore. ever, disregarding the plan which dupleix had marked out for them, resolved, before marching on trichinopoli, to conquer tanjore, which is the richest city in southern india the rajah had only a few weeks before made peace with us, and he now sent messengers to nazir jung, muzaffar's rival in the deccan, and to the english, im- ploring their assistance. both parties resolved at once to grant it, for alone both must have been overwhelmed by the alliance between the two indian princes and the french, and their only hope of a successful resistance to this combination was in saving trichinopoli. "the march of these allies upon tanjore opened the road to trichinopoli, and captain cope with a hundred and twenty men were at once despatched to reinforce muham- mud ali's garrison. of this little force he sent off twenty men to the aid of the rajah of tanjore, and these, under cover of the night, passed through the lines of the be- siegers and into the city, which was strongly fortified and able to stand a long siege. the english at once entered into a treaty with nazir jung, promising him six hundred english troops to assist him in maintaining his sovereignty of the deccan, and in aiding to place muhammud ali in the nawabship of the carnatic. tan- jore held out bravely. for some weeks the rajah had thrown dust in the eyes of chunda sahib by pretending to negotiate. then when the allies attacked he defended the city for fifty-two days, at the end of which one of the gates of the town had been captured, and the city was virtually at the mercy of the besiegers; he again delayed them by entering into negotiations for surrender. in vain dupleix continued to urge chunda sahib to act energetically and to enter tanjore. "chunda sahib, however, although he has a good head for planning, is irresolute in action. his troops were discontented at the want of pay. the french contingent also was demoralized from the same cause. the troops feared to engage in a desperate struggle in the streets os success of the allies. of a town abounding with palaces, each of which was virtually a fortress, especially as it was known that nazir jung was marching with all speed to fall upon their rear. so at last the siege was broken up, and the army fell back upon pondicherry. "meanwhile cope's detachment of a hundred men, with six thousand native horsemen, escorted muhammud ali to join nazir jung at valdaur, fifteen miles from pondi- cherry. lawrence was busy at work at fort st. david, organizing a force to go to his aid. dupleix saw that it was necessary to aid his allies energetically. the army on its return from the siege of tanjore was reorganized, the french contingent increased to two thousand men, and a supply of money furnished from his private means. "the army set out to attack nazir jung and his ally at valdaur. when the battle began, however, the french contingent mutinied and refused to fight; and the natives, panic-stricken by the desertion of their allies, fell back on pondicherry. chunda sahib accompanied his men. muzaffar jung surrendered to his uncle, the usurper. in three or four days the discipline of the french army was restored, and on the th of april it attacked and defeated a detachment of nazir jung's army, and a few days later captured the strong temple of tiruvadi, sixteen miles from fort st. david . "some months passed before the french were complete- ly prepared; but on september the first, d'auteuil, who commanded the french, and chunda sahib attacked the army of the native princes, twenty thousand strong, and defeated it utterly, the french not losing a single man. muhammud ali, with only two attendants, fled to arcot, and the victory rendered chunda sahib virtual master of the carnatic. muzaffar jung, after his surrender to his uncle, had been loaded with chains, and remained a prisoner in the camp, where, however, he managed to win over several of the leaders of his uncle's army. gingee was stormed by a small french force, and the french treachery. officer there entered into a correspondence with the con- spirators, and it was arranged that when the french army attacked nazir jung these should declare against him. "on the . th december the french commander, with eight hundred europeans, three thousand sepoys, and ten guns, marched against nazir jung, whose army of twenty-five thousand men opposed him. these, however, he defeated easily. while the battle was going on, the conspirators murdered nazir jung, released muzaffar jung, and saluted him as subadar. his escape was a fortunate one, for his uncle had ordered him to be exe- cuted that very day. muzaffar jung proceeded to pondi- cherry, where he was received with great honours. he bouring countries, with chunda sahib as his deputy, conferred the highest dignities upon him, and granted the french possession of all the lands and forts they had conquered. he arranged with dupleix a plan for common action, and agreed that a body of french troops should remain permanently at his capital." nominated dupleix nawab chapter vi. the arrival of clive. have nearly brought down the story to the present time," mr. johnson said. "one event has taken place, however, which was of importance. muzaffar jung set out for hyderabad accompanied by a french contingent under bussy. on the way the chiefs who had conspired against nazir jung mutinied against his successor. muzaffar charged them with his cavalry; two of the three chief conspirators were killed, and while pursuing the third muzaffar was himself killed. bussy at once released from confinement a son of nazir jung, proclaimed him subadar of the deccan, escorted him to hyderabad, and received from him the cession of considerable fresh grants of terri- tory to the french. the latter were now everywhere triumphant, and trichinopoli and tanjore were, with the three towns held by the english, the sole places which resisted their authority. muhammud ali deeming further resistance hopeless had already opened negotiations with dupleix for the surrender of trichinopoli. dupleix agreed to his conditions; but when muhammud ali found that count bussy with the flower of the french force had been despatched to hyderabad, he gained time by raising fresh demands which would require the ratification of the subadar. "luckily for us mr. floyer had been recalled and his the english position menaced. place taken by mr. saunders, who is, everyone says, a man of common sense and determination. muhammud ali urged upon him the necessity for the english to make common cause with him against the enemy, for if trichinopoli fell it would be absolutely impossible for the english to resist the french and their allies. early this year, then, mr. saunders assured him that he should be assisted with all our strength, and muhammud ali there- upon broke off the negotiations with the french. most unfortunately for us major lawrence had gone home to england on sick leave. captain gingen, who now com- mands our troops, is a wretched substitute for him; cap- tain cope is no better. "early this year mr. saunders sent cope with two hundred and eighty english and three hundred sepoys to trichinopoli. benefiting by the delay which was caused before dupleix, owing to the absence of his best troops at hyderabad, could collect an army, cope laid siege to madura, but was defeated and had to abandon his guns. three thousand of muhammud ali's native the english now appeared lost. dupleix planted the white flags, emblems of the authority of france, in the fields within sight of fort st. david. with immense efforts mr. saunders put into the field five hundred english troops, a thousand sepoys, a hundred africans, and eight guns under the command of captain gingen, whose orders were to follow the movements of the army with which d'auteuil and chunda sahib were marching against trichinopoli. "luckily chunda sahib, instead of doing so at once, moved northwards to confirm his authority in the towns of north and south arcot, and to raise additional levies. great delay was caused by this. on arriving before the important fortress of valkonda, chunda sahib found before it the troops of captain gingen, who had been reinforced by sixteen hundred troops from trichinopoli. troops thereupon deserted the cause of trichinopoli uesieged. the governor of the place, not knowing which party was the stronger, refused to yield to either, and for a fortnight the armies lay at a short distance from each other, near the fortress, with whose governor both con- tinued their negotiations. gingen then lost patience and attacked the place, but was repulsed, and the governor at once admitted the french within the fortress. the next day the main body of the french attacked us, the guns of the fortress opening fire upon us at the same time. our men, a great portion of whom were recruits just joined from england, fell into a panic and bolted, abandoning their allies and leaving their guns, ammunition, and stores in the hands of the enemy. luckily dauteuil was laid up with gout. if he had pressed on there remained only the two or three hundred men under cope to offer the slightest resistance. trichinopoli must have fallen at once, and we, without a hundred soldiers here, should have had nothing to do but pack up and go. as it was, gingen's beaten men were allowed to retreat quietly towards trichinopoli. "the next day dauteuil was better and followed in pursuit, and gingen had the greatest difficulty in reach- ing triehinopoli. there at the present moment we lie shut up, a portion of our force only remaining outside the walls. the place itself is strong. the town lies round a lofty rock on which stands the fortress, which commands the country for some distance round. still there is no question that the french could take it if they attacked it. our men are utterly dispirited with defeat. cope and gingen have neither enterprise nor talent. at present the enemy, who are now under the command of colonel law, who has succeeded dauteuil, are contenting themselves with beleaguering the place. bxit as we have no troops whatever to send to its rescue, and muhammud ali has no friends elsewhere to whom to look for aid, it is a matter of absolute certainty that the place must fall, and then dupleix will only have to request us to leave, a sore strait. and we shall have nothing else to do but to go at once. so i should advise you not to trouble yourself to unpack your luggage, for in all probability another fortnight will see us on board ship. "there, that's a tremendous long yarn i've been telling you, and not a pleasant one. it's a history of defeat, loss of prestige and position. we have been out-fought and out-diplomatized, and have made a mess of everything we put our hand to. i should think you must be tired of it. i am; i haven't done so much talking for years." charlie and peters thanked their new acquaintance warmly for the pains he had taken in explaining the various circumstances and events which had led to the present unfortunate position, and charlie asked, as they stood up to say good-night to mr. johnson, "what has become of clive all this time?" "after the conquest of devikota," mr. johnson said, "the civilians in the service were called back to their posts; but to show that they recognized his services the authorities allowed clive to attain the rank of captain, which would have been bestowed upon him had he re- mained in the military service, and they appointed him commissary to the army, a post which would take him away from the office-work he hated. almost directly afterwards he got a bad attack of fever and was forced to take a cruise in the bay of bengal. he came back in time to go with gingen's force; but after the defeat of valkonda he resigned his office, i suppose in disgust, and returned to fort st. david. in july some of the com- ." pany's ships came in with some reinforcements. there were no military officers left at fort st. david, so mr. pigot, a member of the council, started with a large con- voy of stores, escorted by eighty english and three hundred sepoys. clive volunteered to accompany them. they had to march thirty or forty miles to verdachelam, a town close to the frontier of tanjore, through which the convoy to trichinopoli would be able to pass unopposed, at work as writers. but the intervening country was hostile to the english. however, the convoy passed unmolested, and after seeing it safely to that point pigot and clive set out to return with an escort of twelve sepoys. they were at once attacked, and for miles a heavy fire was kept up on them. seven of the escort were killed, the rest reached fort st. david in safety. pigot's report of clive's conduct, strengthened by that previously made by major lawrence, induced the authorities to transfer him per- manently to the army. he received a commission as captain and was sent off, with a small detachment remain- ing at st. david's, to devikota. there he placed himself under captain clarke, who commanded, and the whole body, numbering altogether a hundred english, fifty sepoys, with a small field-piece, marched up to trichi- nopoli, and i hear managed to make its way in safety. he got in about a month ago." "and what force have we altogether, here and at st. david's, in case trichinopoli falls?" "what with the detachment that came with you, and two others which arrived about ten days back, we have altogether about three hundred and fifty men. what on earth could these do against all the force of the nawab, the subadar, and three or four thousand french troops?" the prospect certainly seemed gloomy in the extreme, and the young writers retired to their beds on this the first night of their arrival in india, with the conviction that circumstances were in a desperate position. the next day they set to work, and at its end agreed that they should bear the loss of their situations, and their expulsion from the country, with more than resignation. it was now august, the heat was terrible, and as they sat in their shh-t-sleeves at their desks, bathed in perspiration, at their work of copying invoices, they felt that any pos- sible change of circumstances would be for the better. the next day, and the next, still further confirmed these ideas. the nights were nearly as hot as the days. ships in sight. tormented by mosquitos they tossed restlessly in their beds for hours, dozing off towards morning and awaking unrefreshed and worn out. when released from work at the end of the third day charlie and peters strolled down together to the beach and bewailed their hard fate. "there are two ships coming from the south," charlie said presently. "i wonder whether they're from england or fort st. david!" "which do you hope they will be?" peters said. "i hope they're from st. david's," charlie answered. "even if they made a quick voyage they couldn't have left england many weeks after us, and although i should be glad to get news from home, i am still more anxious just at present for news from st. david's. between our- selves i long to hear of the fall of trichinopoli. every- one says it is certain to take place before long, and the sooner it does the sooner we shall be out of this frightful place." after dinner they again went down to the beach and were joined by dr. rae, who chatted with them as to the ships, which were now just anchoring. these had already signalled that they were from st. david's, and that they had on board mr. saunders the governor and a detachment of troops. already the soldiers from the lizzie anderson, aided by a number of natives, were at work pitching tents in the fort for the reception of the new-comers, and con- jecture was busy on shore among the civilians as to the object of bringing troops from st. david's to madras, that is, directly away from the scene of action. "it is one of two things," dr. eae said: "either trichi- nopoli has surrendered and they are evacuating fort. st. david, or they have news that the nawab is marching to attack us here. i should think it to be the latter, for though the french did strengthen it during their stay here. if, then, the authorities have determined to abandon one of the two towns, and to concentrate all their force fort st. david the arrival of clive. for the defence of the other, i should have thought they would have held on to st. david's. there is a boat being lowered from one of the ships, so we shall soon have news.' a signal from the ship announced that the governor was about to land, and the principal persons at the factory assembled on the beach to receive him. dr. rae and the two young writers stood a short distance from the party. as the boat was beached mr. saunders sprang out and, surrounded by those assembled to meet him, walked at once towards the factory. an officer got out from the boat and superintended the debarkation of the baggage, which a number of coolies at once placed on their heads and carried away. the officer was following them when his eye fell upon dr. rae. "ah! doctor," he said, "how are you? when did you get out again from england?" "only three or four days since, captain clive. i did not recognize you at first. i am glad to see you again." "yes, i have cast my slough," captain clive said laugh- ing, "and have, thank god, exchanged my pen for a sword, for good." "you were able to fight, though, as a civilian," dr. rae said laughing. "yes, we had some tough fighting behind the ramparts of st. david's and in the trenches before pondicherry; but we shall have sharper work still before us, or i am mis- taken." "what! are they going to attack us here?" dr. rae exclaimed. "oh no, just the other way," captain clive said; "we are going to carry the war into their quarters. it is a secret yet, and must not go farther." and he included the two writers in his look. "these are two fresh comers, captain clive. they came out in the same ship with me. this is mr. marryat, this mr. peters. they are both brave young gentlemen, and had an opportunity of proving it on the way out, for we were twice engaged. the first time with privateers; young volunteers. the second, a very sharp affair, with pirates. that ship lying off there is a pirate we captured." "aha!" captain clive said, looking keenly at the lads. "well young gentlemen, and how do you like what you have seen of your life here?" "we hate it, sir," charlie said; "we would hoth of us a thousand times rather enlist under you as private soldiers. oh, sir, if there is any expedition going to take place, do you think there is a chance of our being allowed to go as volunteers?" "i will see about it," captain clive said smiling. "trade must be dull enough here at present, and we want every hand that can hold a sword or a musket in the field. you are sure you can recommend them?" he said, turning to dr. rae with a smile. "most warmly," the doctor said; "they both showed great coolness and courage in the affairs i spoke of. have you any surgeons with you, captain clive? if not, i hope that i shall go with any expedition that will take place. the doctor here is just recovering from an attack of fever and will not be fit for weeks for the fatigues of active ser- vice. may i ask who is to command the expedition?" "i am," clive said quietly. "you may well look sur- prised that an officer who has but just joined should have been selected; but in fact there is no one else. cope and gingen are both at trichinopoli, and even if they were not——" he paused, and a shrug of the shoulders ex- pressed his meaning clearly. "mr. saunders is good enough to feel some confidence in my capacity, and i trust that i shall not disappoint him. we are going—but this, mind, is a profound secret till the day we march—to attack arcot. it is the only possible way of relieving trichin- opoli." "to attack arcot?" dr. rae said, astonished. "that does indeed appear a desperate enterprise with such a small body as you have at your command, and these, entirely new recruits. but i recognize the importance a bold stroke. of the enterprise. if you should succeed it will draw oft chunda sahib from trichinopoli. it's a grand idea, captain clive, a grand idea, though i own it seems to me a desperate one." "in desperate times we must take desperate measures, doctor," captain clive said. "now i must be going on after the governor. i shall see you to-morrow. i will not forget you, young gentlemen." so saying he pro- ceeded to the factory. it was afterwards known that the proposal to effect a diversion by an expedition against arcot was the proposal of clive himself. upon arriving at trichinopoli he had at once seen that all was lost there. the soldiers were utterly dispirited and demoralized; they had lost all con- fidence in themselves and their officers, who had also lost confidence in themselves. at trichinopoli nothing was to be done, and it must be either starved out, or fall an easy prey should the enemy advance to the assault. clive had then, after a few days' stay, made his way out from the town and proceeded to fort st. david, where he had laid before the governor the proposal which he believed to be the only possible measure which could save the english in india. the responsibility thus set before mr. saunders was a grave one. upon the one hand he was asked to detach half of the already inadequate garrisons of fort st. david and madras upon an enterprise which, if un- successful, must be followed by the loss of the british possessions, of which he was governor; he would have to take this great risk, not upon the advice of a tried veteran like lawrence, but on that of a young man, only a month or two back a civilian; and it was to this young man, untried in command, that the leadership of this desperate enterprise must be intrusted. upon the other hand, if he refused to take this responsibility the fall of trichinopoli, followed by the loss of the three english ports, was certain. but for this no blame or responsibility the pen thrown aside. could rest upon him. many men would have chosen the second alternative; but mr. saunders had since clive's return seen a good deal of him, and had been impressed with a strong sense of his capacity, energy, and good sense. circumstances, was also his warm supporter; and mr. saunders at last determined to adopt clive's plan, and to stake the fortunes of the english in india on this des- perate venture. accordingly, leaving a hundred men only at fort st. david, he decided to cany the remainder to madras, and that clive, leaving only fifty behind as a garrison there, should, with the whole available force, march upon arcot. the next morning, as charlie and peters were at breakfast, a native entered with a letter from the chief factor to the effect that their services in the office would be dispensed with, and that they were, in accordance with their request, to report themselves to captain clive as volunteers. no words can express the joy of the two lads at receiving the intelligence, and they created so much noise in the exuberance of their delight that mr. johnson came in from the next room to see what was the matter. "ah!" he said, when he heard the cause of the uproar; "when i first came out here i should have done the same, and should have regarded the certainty of being knocked on the head as cheerfully as you do. eight years out here takes the enthusiasm out of a man, and i shall wait quietly to see whether we are to be transferred to calcutta or shipped back to england." a quarter of an hour later, charlie and peters joined captain clive in the camp. "ah!" he said," my young friends, i'm glad to see you. there is plenty for you to do at once. we shall march to-morrow, and all preparations have to be made. you will both have the rank of ensign while you serve with me. i have only six other officers, two of whom are civilians under the most trying the march to arcot. who, like yourselves, volunteered at st. david's. they are of four or five years' standing, and as they speak the language they will serve with the sepoys under one of my military officers; another officer, who is also an ensign, will take the command of the three guns. the europeans are divided into two companies; one of you will be at- tached to each. the remaining officer commands both." during the day the lads had not a moment to them- selves, and were occupied until late at night in superin- tending the packing of stores and tents, and the following morning, the th of august, , the force marched from madras. it consisted of two hundred of the com- pany's english troops, three hundred sepoys, and three small guns. they were led, as has been said, by eight european officers, of whom only clive and another had ever heard a shot fired in action, four of the eight being young men in the civil service who had volunteered. charlie was glad to find that among the company to which he was appointed was the detachment which had come out with him on board ship; and the moment these heard that he was to accompany them as their officer, tim kelly pressed forward and begged that he might be allowed to act as charlie's servant, a request which the lad readily complied with. the march the first day was eighteen miles, a distance which in such a climate was sufficient to try to the utmost the powers of the young recruits. the tents were soon erected, each officer having two or three native servants, that number being indispensable in india . charlie and peters had one tent between them which was shared by two other officers, as the column had moved in the lightest order possible in india . "sure, mr. marryatt," tim kelly said to him confiden- tially, " that black hathen of a cook is going to pison ye. i have been watching him, and there he is putting all sorts of outlandish things into the mate. he's been pounding them up on stones, for all the world like an apothecary, and tim and the cook. even if he manes no mischief, the food isn't fit to set before a dog, let alone a christian and a gintleman like yourself. if you give the word, sir, i knock him over with the butt end of my musket, and do the cooking for you meself." "i'm afraid the other officers wouldn't agree to that, tim," charlie said laughing. "the food isn't so bad as it looks, and i don't think an apprenticeship among the irish bogs is likely to have turned you out a first-rate cook, tim, except, of course, for potatoes." "shure, now, yer honor, i can fry a rasher of bacon with any man" "perhaps you might do that, tim, but as we've no bacon here, that won't help us. no, we must put up with the cook, and i don't think any of us will be the worse for the dinner." on the morning of the th clive reached conjeveram, a town of some size, forty-two miles from madras. here clive gained the first trustworthy intelligence as to arcot. he found the garrison outnumbered his own force by two to one, and that although the defences were not in a posi- tion to resist an attack by heavy guns, they were capable of being defended against any force not so provided. clive at once despatched a messenger to madras, begging that two eighteen-pounders might be sent after him, and then without awaiting their coming he marched forward against arcot. ( ) f chapter vii. the siege of arcot. rom conjeveram to arcot is twenty-seven miles, and the troops, in spite of a delay caused by a tremendous storm of thunder and light- ning, reached the town in two days. the garrison, struck with panic at the sudden coming of a foe when they deemed themselves in absolute security, at once abandoned the fort, which they might easily have maintained until chunda sahib was able to send a force to relieve it. the city was incapable of defence after the fort had been abandoned, and clive took possession of both without firing a shot. he at once set to work to store up provisions in the fort, in which he found eight guns and an abundance of ammunition, as he foresaw the likelihood of his having to stand a siege there; and then, leaving a garrison to defend it in his absence, marched on the th of september with the rest of his forces against the enemy, who had retired from the town to the mud fort of timari, six miles south of arcot. after a few discharges with their cannon they retired hastily, and clive marched back to arcot . two days later, however, he found that they had been reinforced, and as their position threatened his line of communications he again advanced towards them. he found the enemy about two thousand strong drawn up in a grove under cover of the guns of the fort. the grove was inclosed by a bank and the first fight. ditch, and some fifty yards away was a dry tank inclosed by a bank higher than that which surrounded the grove. in this the enemy could retire when dislodged from their first position. charlie's heart beat fast when he heard the order given to advance. the enemy outnumbered them by five to one, and were in a strong position. as the english advanced, the enemy's two field-pieces opened upon them. only three men were killed, and, led by their officers, the men went at the grove at the double. the enemy at once evacuated it and took refuge in the tank, from behind whose high bank they opened tire upon the english. clive at once divided his men into two columns, and sent them round to attack the tank upon two sides. the movement was completely successful. at the same moment the men went with a rush at the banks, and upon reaching the top opened a heavy fire upon the crowded mass within. these at once fled in disorder. clive then summoned the fort to surrender; but the commander, seeing that clive had no battering train, refused to do so, and clive fell back upon arcot again until his eighteen-pounders should arrive. for the next eight days the troops were engaged in throwing up defences, and strengthening and victualling the fort. the enemy gaining confidence gathered to the number of three thousand and encamped three miles from the town, proclaiming that they were about to besiege; and at midnight on the th clive sallied out, took them by surprise, and dispersed them. the two eighteeen-pounders for which clive had sent to madras were now well upon the road, under the protection of a small body of sepoys, and were approaching conjeveram. the enemy sent a considerable body of troops to cut off the guns, and clive found that the small number which he had sent out to meet the approaching party would not be sufficient. he therefore resolved to take the whole force, leaving only sufficient to garrison the fort. the post which the left in garrison. enemy occupied was a temple near conjeveram, and as this was twenty-seven miles distant, the force would be obliged to be absent for at least two days. as it would probably be attacked and might have to fight hard, he decided on leaving only thirty europeans and fifty sepoys within the fort. he appointed dr. rae to the com- mand of the post during his absence, and placed charlie and peters under his orders. "i wonder whether they will have any fighting," charlie said, as the three officers looked from the walls of the fort after the departing force. "i wish we had gone with them," peters put in; "but it will be a long march in the heat." "i should think," dr. rae said, "that they are sure to have fighting. i only hope they may not be attacked at night. the men are very young and inexperienced, and there is nothing tries new soldiers so much as a night attack. however, from what i hear of their own wars, i believe that night attacks are rare among them. i don't know that they have any superstition on the sub- ject, as some african people have, on the ground that evil spirits are about at night; but the natives are cer- tainly not brisk after nightfall . they are extremely sus- ceptible to any fall of temperature, and as you have, of course, noticed, sleep with their heads covered completely up. however, we must keep a sharp look-out here to- night." "you don't think that we are likely to be attacked, sir, do you?" "it is possible we may be," the doctor said. "they will know that captain clive has set out from here with the main body and has left only a small garrison. of course they have spies and will know that there are only eighty men here, a number insufficient to defend one side of this fort, to say nothing of the whole circle of the walls. they have already found out that the english can fight in the open, and their experience at timari will make tim and the insects. them shy of meeting us again. therefore it is just possible that they may be marching in this direction to- day, while clive is going in the other, and that they may intend carrying it with a rush. i should say, to-day let the men repose as much as possible; keep the sentries on the gates and walls, but otherwise let them all have absolute quiet. you can tell the whites, and i will let the sepoys know, that they will have to be in readiness all night, and that they had better therefore sleep as much as possible to-day. we will take it by turns to be on duty, one going round the walls and seeing that the sentries are vigilant, while the others sit in the shade and doze off if they can. we must all three keep on the alert during the night." dr. rae said that he himself would see that all went well for the first four hours, after which charlie should go on duty; and the two subalterns accordingly made themselves as comfortable as they could in their quarters, which were high up in the fort and possessed a window looking over the surrounding country. "well, tim, what is the matter with you?" they asked that soldier as he came in with an earthenware jar of water which he placed to cool in the window; "you look pale." "and it's pale i feel, your honour, with the life frightened fairly out of me a dozen times a day. it was bad enough on the march, but this place just swarms with horrible reptiles. shure an' it's a pity that the holy st. patrick didn't find time to pay a visit to india. if he'd driven the varmint into the sea for them, as he did in ireland, the whole population would have become christians out of pure gratitude. why, yer honour, in the cracks and crevices of the stones of this ould place there are bushels and bushels of 'em. there are things they call centipades, with a million legs on each side of them, and horns big enough to frighten ye; of all sizes up to, as long as my hand and as thick as my finger, and they say that a bite from one of them will put a man in a battle with a spider a raging fever, and maybe kill him. then there are scorpions, the savagest looking little bastes ye ever saw, for all the world like a little lobster with his tail turned over his back, and a sting at the end of it. then there's spiders, some of 'em nigh as big as a cat." "oh, nonsense, tim!" charlie said; " i don't think from what i've heard that there's a spider in india whose body is as big as a mouse." "it isn't their body, yer honour, it's their legs. they're just cruel to look at. it was one of 'em that gave me a turn a while ago. i was just lying on my bed smoking my pipe, when i saw one of the creatures as big as a saucer, i'll take my oath, walking towards me with his wicked eye fixed full on me. i jumped off the bed and on to a bench that stood handy. 'what are ye yelling about, tim kelly?' said corporal jones to me. 'here's a riotous baste here, corporal, says i, that's meditating an attack on me.' 'put your foot on it, man,' says he. 'it's mighty fine,' says i, 'and i in my bare feet.' so the corporal tells pat murphy, my right-hand man, to tackle the baste. i could see pat didn't like the job ayther, yer honour, but he's not the boy to shrink from his duty; so he comes and he takes post on the form be my side, and just when the cratur is making up his mind to charge us both, pat jumps down upon him and squelched it. shure, yer honour, the sight of such bastes is enough to turn a christian man's blood." "the spider had no idea of attacking you, kelly," peters said laughing; "it might possibly bite you in the night, though i do not think it would do so, or if you took it up in your fingers." "the saints defind us, yer honour! i'd as soon think of taking a tiger by the tail. the corporal, he's an englishman, and lives in a country where they've got snakes and reptiles; but it's hard on an irish boy, dacently brought up within ten miles of cork's own town, to be exposed to the like. and do ye know, yer honour, a basket of snakes. s when i went out into the town yesterday, what should i see but a man sitting down against a wall with a little bit of a flute in his hand and a basket by his side. well, yer honour, i thought maybe he was going to play a tune, when he lifts up the top of the basket and then began to play. ye may call it music, yer honour, but there was nayther tune nor music in it. then all of a suddint two sarpents in the basket lifts up their heads, with a great ear hanging down on each side, and began to wave them- selves about." "well, tim, what happened then?" charlie asked, struggling with his laughter. "shure it's little i know what happened after, for i just took to my heels, and i never drew breath till i was inside the gates." "there was nothing to be frightened at, tim," charlie said; "it was a snake-charmer. i have never seen one yet, but there are numbers of them all over india, those were not ears you saw, but the hood. the snakes like the music and wave their heads about in time to it. i believe that although they are a very poisonous snake and their bite is certain death, there is no need to be afraid of them, as the charmers draw out their poison fangs when they catch them." "do they, now?" tim said in admiration; "i wonder what the regimental barber would say to a job like that now. he well nigh broke dan sullivan's jaw yesterday in getting out a big tooth, and then swore at the poor boy for having such a powerful strong jaw. i should like to see his face if he was asked to pull out a tooth from one of them dancing sarpents. i brought ye in some fruits, yer honours. i don't know what they are, but you may trust me they're not poison. i stopped for half an hour beside the stall till i saw some of the people of the country buying and ating them. so then i judged that they were go and lie down and get a a night attack. sleep, if the spiders will let you, for you will have to be under arms all night, as it is possible that we may be attacked." the first part of the night passed quietly. double sentries were placed at each of the angles of the walls. the cannons were loaded and all ready for instant action. dr. rae and his two subalterns were upon the alert, visiting the posts every quarter of an hour to see that the men were vigilant. towards two o'clock a dull sound was heard, and although nothing could be seen the men were at once called to arms and took up the posts to which they had already been told off on the walls. the noise continued. it was slight and confused, but the natives are so quiet in their movements that the doctor did not doubt that a considerable body of men were sur- rounding the place, and that he was about to be attacked. presently one of the sentries over the gateway perceived something approaching. he challenged, and immediately afterwards fired. the sound of his gun seemed to serve as the signal for an assault, and a large body of men rushed forward at the gate, while at two other points a force ran up to the foot of the walls and endeavoured to plant ladders. the garrison at once collected at the points of attack, a few sentries only being left at intervals on the wall, to give notice should any attempt be made elsewhere. from the walls a heavy fire of musketry was poured upon the masses below, while from the windows of all the houses around, answering flashes of fire shot out, a rain of bullets being directed at the battlements. dr. rae himself commanded at the gate; one of the subalterns at each of the other points assailed. the enemy fought with great determination; several times the ladders were planted and the men swarmed up them, but as often these were hurled back upon the crowd below. at the gate the assailants endeavoured to hew their way with axes through it, but so steady was the fire directed from the a gathering storm. loopholes which commanded it upon those so engaged, that they were each time forced to recoil with great slaughter. it was not until nearly daybreak that the attack ceased, and the assailants, finding that they could not carry the place by a coup de mam, fell back. the next day the main body of the british force returned with the convoy. news arrived the following day that the enemy were approaching to lay siege to the place. the news of the capture of arcot had produced the effect which clive had anticipated from it. it alarmed and irritated the besiegers of trichinopoli, and inspired the besieged with hope and exultation. the maratta chief of gutti and the rajah of mysore, with whom muhammud ali had for some time been negotiating, at once declared in his favour. the rajah of tanjore and the chief of pudicota, adjoining that state, who had hitherto remained strictly neutral, now threw in their fortunes with the english, and thereby secured the com- munications between trichinopoli and the coast. chunda sahib determined to lose not a moment in recovering arcot, knowing that its recapture would at once cool the ardour of the new native allies of the english, and that with its capture that last hope of the besieged in trichinopoli would be at an end continuing the siege, he despatched three thousand of his best troops with a hundred and fifty frenchmen to reinforce the two thousand men alreadynear arcot under thecommand of his son riza sahib. thus the force about to attack arcot amounted to five thousand men, while the garrison under clive's orders had, by the losses in the defence of the fort, by fever and disease, been reduced to one hundred and twenty europeans and two hundred sepoys, while four out of the eight officers were hors de combat. the fort which this handful of men had to defend was in no way capable of offering a prolonged resistance. its walls were more than a mile in circumference and were in a very bad state of repair. the rampart was narrow commencement of the siege. and the parapet low, and the ditch in many places dry. the fort had two gates. these were in towers standing beyond the ditch, and connected with the interior by a causeway across it. the houses in the town in many places came close up to the walls, and from their roofs the ramparts of the forts were commanded. on the rd september riza sahib with his army took up his position before arcot. their guns had not, how- ever, arrived, with the exception of four mortars, but they at once occupied all the houses near the fort, and from the walls and upper windows kept up a heavy fire on the besieged. clive determined to make an effort at once to drive them from this position, and he accord- ingly, on the same afternoon, made a sortie. so deadly a fire, however, was poured into the troops as they advanced that they were unable to make any way, and were forced to retreat into the fort again after suffering heavy loss. on the night of the th, charlie marryat, with twenty men carrying powder, was lowered from the walls, and an attempt was made to blow up the houses nearest to them; but little damage was done, for the enemy were on the alert, and they were unable to place the powder in effective positions, and with a loss of ten of their number the survivors with difficulty regained the fort. for the next three weeks the position remained un- changed. so heavy was the fire which the enemy, from their commanding position, maintained, that no one could show his head for a moment without running the risk of being shot. only a few sentinels were kept upon the walls to prevent the risk of surprise, and these had to remain stooping below the parapet. every day added to the losses. captain clive had a series of wonderful escapes, and indeed the men began to regard him with a sort of superstitious reverence, believing that he had a charmed life. one of his three remaining officers, seeing an marvellous escapes of cxive. enemy taking deliberate aim at him through a window, endeavoured to pull him aside. the native changed his aim and the officer fell dead. on three other occasions sergeants who accompanied him on his rounds were shot dead by his side, yet no ball touched him. provisions had been stored in the fort, before the commencement of the siege, sufficient for sixty days, and of this a third was already exhausted when on the th of october the french troops serving with riza sahib received two eighteen-pounders and seven smaller pieces of artillery. hitherto the besiegers had contented themselves with harassing the garrison night and day, abstaining from any attack which would cost them lives until the arrival of their guns. upon receiving these they at once placed them in a battery which they had prepared on the north-west of the fort and opened fire. so well was this battery placed, and so accurate the aim of its gunner, that the very first shot dismounted one of the eighteen-pounders in the fort; the second again struck the gun and com- pletely disabled it. the besieged mounted their second heavy gun in its place, and were preparing to open fire on the french battery, when a shot struck it also and dismounted it. it was useless to attempt to replace it, and it was during the night removed to a portion of the walls not exposed to the fire of the enemy's battery. the besiegers continued their fire, and in six days had demolished the wall facing their battery, making a breach of fifty feet wide. clive, who had now only the two young subalterns serving under him, worked indefatigably. his coolness and confidence of bearing kept up the courage of his little garrison, and every night, when darkness hid them from the view of the enemy's sharpshooters, the men laboured to prepare for the impending attack. works were thrown up inside the fort to command the breach. two deep trenches were dug, one behind the other, the one close to the wall the other some distance farther preparations for the grand assault. back. these trenches were filled with sharp iron three- pointed spikes, and palisades erected extending from the ends of the ditches to the ramparts, and a house pulled down in the rear to the height of a breastwork, behind which the garrison could fire at the assailants as they endeavoured to cross the ditches. one of the three field- pieces clive had brought with him he mounted on a tower flanking the breach outside. two he held in reserve, and placed two small guns, which he had found in the fort when he took it, on the flat roof of a house in the fort commanding the inside of the breach. from the roofs of some of the houses around the fort the besiegers beheld the progress of these defences; and biza sahib feared, in spite of his enormously superior numbers, to run the risk of a repulse. he knew that the amount of provisions which clive had stored was not large, and thinking that famine would inevitably compel his surrender, shrank from incurring the risk of dishear- tening his army by the slaughter which an unsuccessful attempt to carry the place must entail. he determined at anyrate to increase the probability of success and utilize his superior forces by making an assault at two points simultaneously. he therefore erected a battery on the south-west, and began to effect a breach on that side also. clive on his part had been busy endeavouring to obtain assistance. his native emissaries, penetrating the enemy's lines, carried the news of the situation of affairs in the fort to madras, fort st. david, and trichinopoli. at madras a few fresh troops had arrived from england, and mr. saunders, feeling that clive must be relieved at all cost, however defenceless the state of madras might be, des- patched on the th of october a hundred europeans and a hundred sepoys under lieutenant innis. these after three days' marching arrived at trivatoor, twenty-two miles from arcot. riza sahib had heard of his approach and sent a large body of troops with two guns to attack the maratta chief. him. the contest was too unequal. had the british force been provided with field-pieces they might have gained the day, but after fighting with great bravery they were forced to fall back with a loss of twenty english and two officers killed and many more wounded, while the sepoys suffered equally severely. one of clive's messengers reached murari reo, the maratta chief of gutti. this man was a ferocious free- booting chief, daring and brave himself, and admiring those qualities in others. hitherto his alliance with muhammud ali was little more than nominal, for he had dreaded bringing upon himself the vengeance of chunda sahib and the french, whose ultimate success in the strife appeared certain. clive's march upon arcot, and the heroic defence which the handful of men there were opposing to overwhelming numbers, excited his highest admiration. as he afterwards said, he had never before believed that the english could fight, and when clive's messenger reached him he at once sent back a promise of assistance. riza sahib learned almost as soon as clive himself that the marattas were on the move. the pros- pects of his communications being harassed by these daring horsemen filled him with anxiety. murari reo was encamped with six thousand men at a spot thirty miles to the west of arcot, and he might at any moment swoop down upon the besiegers. although, therefore, riza sahib had for six days been at work effecting a new breach, which was now nearly open to assault, he sent on the th of october a flag of truce with an offer to clive of terms if he would surrender arcot. the garrison were to be allowed to march out with their arms and baggage, while to clive himself he offered a large sum of money. in case of refusal he threatened to storm the fort and put all its defenders to the sword. olive returned a defiant refusal, and the guns again opened on the second breach. on the th of november the marattas began to show ferrets and rabbits. themselves in the neighbourhood of the besieging army. the force under lieutenant innis had been reinforced, and was now under the command of captain kilpatrick, who had a hundred and fifty english troops with four field-guns. this was now advancing. four days later the new breach had attained a width of thirty yards, but clive had prepared defences in the rear similar to those at the other breach; and the difficulties of the besiegers would here be much greater, as the ditch was not ford- able. the fifty days which the siege had lasted had been terrible ones for the garrison. never daring to expose themselves unnecessarily during the day, yet ever on the alert to repel an attack, labouring at night at the defences with their numbers daily dwindling, and the prospect of an assault becoming more and more imminent, the work of the little garrison was terrible; and it is to the defences of lucknow and cawnpore, a hundred years later, that we must look to find a parallel in english warfare for their endurance and bravery. both charlie marryat and peters had been wounded, but in neither case were the injuries severe enough to prevent their continuing on duty. tim kelly had his arm broken by a ball, while another bullet cut a deep seam along his cheek and carried away a portion of his ear. with his arm in splints and a sling, and the side of his face covered with strappings and plaster, he still went about his business. "ah! yer honours," he said one day to his masters, "i've often been out catching rabbits, with ferrits to drive 'em out of their holes, and sticks to knock 'em on the head as soon as they showed themselves; and it's a divarshun i was always mightily fond of, but i never quite intered into the feelings of the rabbits. now i understand them complately, for ain't we rabbits ourselves. the officers, saving your presence, are the ferrits who turn us out of our holes on duty, and the niggers yonder with their muskets and their matchlocks are the men with sticks ready to knock us on head directly we show ourselves. tim kelly's resolve. if it plase heaven that i ever return to the ould country again, i'll niver lend a hand at rabbiting to my dying day." chapter viii. the grand assault. he th of november was a mahommedan festival, and riza sahib determined to utilize the enthusiasm and fanatic zeal which such an occasion always excites among the followers of the prophet, to make his grand assault upon arcot, and to attack at three o'clock in the morning. every pre- paration was made on the preceding day, and four strong columns told off for the assault. two of these were to attack by the breaches, the other two at the gates. rafts were prepared to enable the party attacking by the new breach to cross the moat, while the columns advancing against the gates were to be preceded by elephants, who, with iron plates on their foreheads, were to charge and batter down the gates. clive's spies brought him news of the intended assault, and at midnight he learned full particulars as to the dis- position of the enemy. his force was now reduced to eighty europeans and a hundred and twenty sepoys. every man was told off to his post, and then, sentries being posted to arouse them at the approach of the enemy, the tittle garrison lay down in their places to get two or three hours' sleep before the expected attack. at three o'clock the firing of three shells from the mortars into the fort gave the signal for assault. the men leaped up and stood to their arms, full of confidence in repulse of the storming parties. their ability to resist the attack. soon the shouts of the advancing columns testified to the equal confidence and ardour of the assailants. not a sound was heard within the walls of the fort until the elephants advanced towards the gates. then suddenly a stream of fire leaped out from loophole and battlement. so well directed and continuous was the fire, that the elephants, dismayed at the outburst of fire and noise, and smarting from innumerable wounds, turned and clashed away, trampling in their flight multitudes of men in the dense columns packed behind them. these, deprived of the means upon which they had relied to break in the gates, turned and retreated rapidly. scarcely less prolonged was the struggle at the breaches. at the first breach a very strong force of the enemy marched resolutely forward. they were permitted with- out a shot being fired at them to cross the dry ditch, mount the shattered debris of the wall, and pour into the interior of the fort. forward they advanced until, without a check, they reached the first trench bristling with spikes. then, as they paused for a moment, from the breastwork in front of them, from the ramparts, and every spot which commanded the trench, a storm of musketry was poured on them, while the gunners swept the crowded mass with grape and bags of bullets. the effect was tre- mendous. mowed down in heaps the assailants recoiled, and then, without a moment's hesitation, turned and fled. three times, strongly reinforced, they advanced to the attack, but were each time repulsed with severe slaughter. still less successful were those at the other breach. a great raft capable of carrying seventy conveyed the head of the storming party across the ditch, and they had just reached the foot of the breach when clive, who was himself at this point, turned two field-pieces upon them with deadly effect. the raft was upset and smashed, and the column, deprived of its intended means of cross- ing the ditch, desisted from the attack. ( ) u the siege raised. among those who had fallen at the great breach was the commander of the storming party, a man of great valour. four hundred of his followers had also been killed, and riza sahib, utterly disheartened at his repulse at all points, decided not to renew the attack. he had still more than twenty men to each of the defenders; but the obstinacy of their resistance and the moral effect produced by it upon his troops, the knowledge that the maratta horse were hovering in his rear, and that kilpatrick's little column was close at hand, determined him to raise the siege. after the repulse of the assault the heavy musketry fire from the houses around the fort was con- tinued. at two in the afternoon he asked for two hours' truce to bury the dead. this was granted, and on its conclusion the musketry fire was resumed and continued until two in the morning. then suddenly it ceased. under cover of the fire riza sahib had raised the siege and retired with his army to vellore. on the morning of the l th clive discovered that the enemy had disappeared. the joy of the garrison was im- mense. every man felt proud and happy in the thought that he had taken his share in a siege which would not only be memorable in english history till the end of time, but which had literally saved india to us. the little band made the fort re-echo with their cheers when the news came in. caps were thrown high in the air, and the men indulged in every demonstration of delight. clive was not a man to lose time. the men were at once formed up and marched into the abandoned camp of the enemy, where they found four guns, four mortars, and a great quantity of ammunition. a cloud of dust was seen approaching, and soon a mounted officer riding forward announced the arrival of captain kilpatrick's detach- ment. not a moment was lost, for clive felt the impor- tance of at once following up the blow inflicted by the repulse of the enemy. three days were spent in con- clive pursues the enemy. tinuous labour in putting the fort of arcot again in a position of defence; and leaving kilpatrick in charge there, he marched out with two hundred europeans, seven hundred sepoys, and three guns, and attacked and took timari, the little fort which before baffled him. this done he returned towards arcot to await the arrival of a thousand maratta horse which murari reo had promised him. when these arrived, however, they proved un- willing to accompany him. upon their way they had fallen in with a portion of riza sahib's retreating force and had been worsted in the attack; and as the chance of plunder seemed small while the prospect of hard blows was certain, the freebooting horsemen refused absolutely to join in the pursuit of the retreating enemy. just at this moment the news came in that reinforcements from pondicherry were marching to meet riza sahib at arni, a place seventeen miles south of arcot, twenty south of vellore. it was stated that with these reinforcements a large sum of money was being brought for the use of riza sahib's army. when the marattas heard the news, the chance of booty at once altered their intentions, and they declared themselves ready to follow clive. the greater portion of them, however, had dispersed plundering over the country, and great delay was caused before they could be collected. when six hundred of them had been brought together clive determined to wait no longer, but started at once for arni. the delay enabled riza sahib, marching down from vellore, to meet his reinforcements, and when clive, after a forced march of twenty miles, approached arni, he found the enemy, composed of three hundred french troops, two thousand five hundred sepoys, and two thousand horse- men, with four guns, drawn up before it. seeing their immense superiority in numbers these advanced to the attack. clive determined to await them where he stood. the position was an advantageous one. he occupied a space the battle of arm. of open ground some three hundred yards in width. on his right flank was a village. on the left a grove of palm-trees. in front of the ground he occupied were rice fields, which, it being the wet season, were very swampy and altogether impracticable for guns. these fields were crossed by a causeway which led to the village, but as it ran at an angle across them, those advancing upon it were exposed to the fire of the english front. clive posted the sepoys in the village, the maratta horse- men in the grove, and the two hundred english with the guns on the ground between them. the enemy advanced at once. his native cavalry with some infantry marched against the grove, while the french troops with about fifteen hundred infantry moved along the causeway against the village. the fight began on the english left. there the maratta cavalry fought bravely. issuing from the palm grove they made repeated charges against the greatly superior forces of the enemy. but numbers told, and the mar- attas, fighting fiercely, were driven back into the palm grove, where they with difficulty maintained them- selves. in the meantime the fight was going on at the centre. clive opened fire with his guns on the long column marching almost across his front to attack the village. the enemy, finding themselves exposed to a fire which they were powerless to answer, quitted the cause- way, and formed up in the rice fields fronting the english position. the guns, protected only by a few frenchmen and natives, remained on the causeway. clive now despatched two of his guns and fifty english to aid the hard-pressed marattas in the grove, and fifty others to the village with orders to join the sepoys there, to dash forward on to the causeway and charge the enemy's guns. as thecolumn issued from the village along the causeway at a rapid pace the french limbered up their guns and retired at a gallop. the infantry, dispirited at their dis- appearance, fell back across the rice fields, an example indian opinion of british prowess. which their horsemen on their right, already dispirited by the loss which they were suffering from the newly arrived english musketry and the discharges of the field-pieces, followed without delay. clive at once ordered a pursuit. the marattas were despatched after the enemy's cavalry, while he himself with his infantry advanced across the causeway and pressed upon the main body. three times the enemy made a stand, but each time failed to resist the impetuosity of the pursuers, and the night alone put a stop to the pursuit, by which time the enemy were com- pletely routed. the material loss had not been heavy, for but fifty french and a hundred and fifty natives were killed or wounded; but the army was broken up, the morale of the enemy completely destroyed, and it was proved to all southern india, which was anxiously watching the struggle, that the english were in the field of battle superior to their european rivals. this assurance alone had an immense effect. it confirmed in their alliance with the english many of the chiefs whose friendship had hitherto been lukewarm, and brought over many waverers to our side. in the fight eight sepoys and fifty of the maratta cavalry were killed or disabled, the english did not lose a single man. many of riza sahib's soldiers came in during the next few days and enlisted in the british force. the marattas captured the treasure the prospect of which had induced them to join in the fight, and the governor of arni agreed to hold the town for muhammud ali. clive moved on at once to conjeveram, where thirty french troops and three hundred sepoys occupied the temple, a very strong building. clive brought up two eighteen-pounders from madras and pounded the walls, and the enemy seeing that the place must fall, evacuated it in the night and retired to pondicherry. north arcot being now completely in the power of the english, clive returned to madras, and then sailed to fort st. david to concert measures with mr. saunders dupleix and his lieutenants. for the relief of trichinopoli. this place still held out, thanks rather to the feebleness and indecision of colonel law, who commanded the besiegers, than to any efibrt on the part of the defenders. governor dupleix, at pondicherry, had seen with sur- prise the result of clive's dash upon arcot. he had, however, perceived that the operations there were wholly secondary, and that trichinopoli was still the all-im- portant point. the fall of that place would more than neutralize clive's successes at arcot, and he, therefore, did not suffer clive's operations to distract his attention here. strong reinforcements and a battering train were sent forward to the besiegers, and by repeated messages he endeavoured to impress upon law and chunda sahib the necessity of pressing forward the capture of trichi- nopoli. but dupleix was unfortunate in his instruments. law was always hesitating and doubting. chunda sahib, although clever to plan, was weak in action, indecisive at moments when it was most necessary that he should be firm. so then, in spite of the entreaties of dupleix, he had detached a considerable force to besiege clive. dupleix seeing this, and hoping that clive might be detained at arcot long enough to allow of the siege of trichinopoli being brought to a conclusion, had sent the three hundred french soldiers to strengthen the force of riza sahib. he had still an overpowering force at trichinopoli, law having nine hundred trained french soldiers, a park of fifty guns, two thousand sepoys, and the army of chunda sahib twenty thousand strong. inside trichinopoli were a few english soldiers under captain cope and a small body of troops of muhammud ali; while outside the walls, between them and the besiegers, was the english force under gingen, the men utterly dispirited, the officer without talent, resolution, or confidence. before leaving the troops with which he had won the battle of ami, clive had expressed to the two young the moonshee. writers his high appreciation of their conduct during the siege of arcot, and promised them that he would make it a personal request to the authorities at fort st. david that they might be permanently transferred from the civil to the military branch of the service; and such a request made by him was certain to be complied with. he strongly advised them to spend every available mo- ment of their time in the study of the native language, as without that they would be useless if appointed to command a body of sepoys. delighted at the prospect now open to them of a permanent relief from the drudgery of a clerk's life in madras, the young fellows were in the highest spirits; and tim kelly was scarcely less pleased when he heard that charlie was now likely to be always employed with him. the boys lost not a moment in sending down to madras to engage the services of a native "moonshee" or teacher. they wrote to their friend johnson asking him to arrange terms with the man who understood most english, and to engage him to remain with them some time. a few days later tim kelly came in. "plase, yer honours, there's a little shrivelled atomy of a man outside as wants to spake wid ye. he looks for all the world like a monkey wrapped up in white clothes, but he spakes english after a fashion, and has brought this letter for you. the cratur scarce looks like a human being, and i misdoubt me whether you had better let him in." "nonsense, tim," charlie said, opening the letter; "it's the moonshee we are expecting from madras. he has come to teach us the native language." "moonshine, is it! by jabers, and it's a mighty poor compliment to the moon to call him so. and is it the language you're going to larn now shure, mr. charles, i wouldn't demane myself by larning the lingo of these black hathens. isn't for them to larn the english, and mighty pleased they ought to be to get themselves to spake like christians." tim's opinion of the vernacular. "but who's going to teach them, tim?" "oh, they larn fast enough," said tim. "you've only got to point to a bottle of water, or to the fire, or whatever else you want, and swear at them, and they understand directly. i've tried it myself over and over again." "there, tim, it's no use standing talking any longer; bring in the moonshee." from that moment the little man had his permanent post in a corner of the boys' room, and when they were not on duty they were constantly engaged in studying the language, writing down the names of every object they came across and getting it by heart, and learning every sentence, question, and answer which occurred to them as likely to be useful. as for tim, he quite lost patience at this devotion to study on the part of his master, who, he declared to his comrades, went on just as if he intended to become a nigger and a hathen himself. "it's just awful to hear him, corporal m'bean, jabbering away in that foreign talk with that little black monkey moonshine. the little cratur atwisting his shrivelled fingers about, that looks as if the bones were coming through the skin. i wonder what the good father at blarney, where i come from, you know, corporal, would say to sich goings-on. faith, then, and if he were here, i'd buy a bottle of holy water and sprinkle it over the little hathen. i suspict he'd fly straight up the chimney when it touched him." "my opinion of you, tim kelly," the corporal, who was a grave scotchman, said, "is that you're just a fule. your master is a brave young gentleman, and is a deal more sensible than most of them, who spend all their time in drinking wine and playing cards. a knowledge of the language is most useful. what would you do yourself if you were to marry a native woman and couldn't speak to her afterwards." "the saints defind us!" tim exclaimed; "and what put such an idea in yer head, corporal? it's nayther dupleix' counter-stroke. more nor less than an insult to suppose that i, a dacent boy, and brought tip under the teaching of father o'shea, should marry a hathen black woman; and if you weren't my suparior officer, corporal, i'd tach ye better manners." fortunately at this moment charlie's voice was heard shouting for his servant, and tim was therefore saved from the breach of the peace which his indignation showed that he meditated. december passed quietly, and then in january, , an insurrection planned by dupleix broke out. the governor of pondicherry had been suffering keenly from disappointments, which, as time went on, and his entreaties and commands to law to attack trichinopoli were answered only by excuses and reasons for delay, grew to despair, and he resolved upon making another effort to occupy the attention of the man in whom he already recognized a great rival, and to prevent his taking steps for the relief of trichinopoli. law had over and over again assured him that in the course of a very few weeks that place would be driven by famine to surrender; and, as soon as clive arrived at foit st. david, dupleix set about taking steps which would again necessitate his return to the north, and so give to law the time which he asked for. supplies of money were sent to riza sahib together with four hundred french soldiers. these marched suddenly upon punemalli and captured it, seized again the fortified temple of conjeveram, and from this point threatened both madras and arcot had this force possessed an active and determined com- mander, it could undoubtedly have carried out dupleix's instructions, captured madras, and inflicted a terrible blow upon the english. fortunately it had no such head. it marched indeed against madras, plundered and burnt the factories, levied contributions, and obtained possession of everything but the fort, where the civilians and the few men who constituted the garrison daily expected to be attacked, in which case the place must have fallen. this, ioc native appreciation of strong rulers. however, the enemynevereven attempted,contenting them- selves with ravaging the place outside the' walls of the fort. the little garrison of arcot, two hundred men in all, were astonished at the news that the province which they had thought completely conquered was again in flames, that the road to madras was cut by the occupation of con- jeveram by the french, and that madras itself was, save the fort, in the hands of the enemy. the fort itself, they knew, might easily be taken, as they were aware that it was defended by only eighty men. the change in the position was at once manifest in the altered attitude of the fickle population. the main body of the inhabitants of southern india were hindoos, who had for centuries been ruled by foreign masters. the mahommedans from the north had been their conquerors, and the countless wars which had taken place, to them signified merely whether one family or another were to reign over them. the sole desire was for peace and pro- tection, and they, therefore, ever inclined towards the side which seemed strongest. their sympathies were no stronger with their mahommedan rulers than with the french or english, and they only hoped that whatever power was strongest might conquer; and that after the hostilities were over their daily work might be conducted in peace, and their property and possessions be enjoyed in security. the capture and defence of arcot, and the battle of arni, victors; and the signs of deep and even servile respect which greeted the conquerors wherever they went, and which absolutely disgusted charlie marryat and his friend, were really sincere marks of the welcome to masters who seemed able and willing to maintain their rule over them. with the news of the successes of riza sahib all this changed. the natives no longer bent to the ground as the english passed them in the streets. the country people who had flocked in with their products to the markets absented themselves altogether, and the whole had brought english as their final arcot again menaced. population prepared to welcome the french as their new masters. in the fort the utmost vigilance was observed. the garrison laboured to mend the breaches and complete the preparations for defence. provisions were again stored up, and they awaited anxiously news from clive. that enterprising officer was at fort st. david, busy in making his preparations for a decisive campaign against the enemy round trichinopoli, when the news of the rising reached him. he was expecting a considerable number of fresh troops from england, as it was in january that the majority of the reinforcements despatched by the company arrived in india, and mr. saunders had written to calcutta begging that a hundred men might be sent thence. these were now, with the eighty men at madras, and the two hundred at arcot, all the force that could be at his disposal, for at fort st . david there was not a single available man. with all the efforts that clive, aided by the authorities, could make, it was not until the middle of february that he had completed his arrangements. on the th the hundred men arrived from bengal, and, without the loss of a day, clive started from madras to only a small force to hold the fort, had moved down to meet him. form a junction with the from arcot, who, leaving chapter ix. the battle of kavaripak. he troops from arcot had already moved some distance on their way to madras, and clive, therefore, with the new levies, joined them on the day after his leaving madras. the french and riza sahib let slip the opportunity of attacking these bodies before they united. they were well aware of their movements, and had resolved upon tactics, calculated in the first place to puzzle the english commander, to wear out his troops, and to enable them finally to surprise and take him entirely at a disadvan- tage. the junction with the arcot garrison raised the force under clive's orders to three hundred and eighty english, thirteen hundred sepoys, and six field-guns, while the enemy at vendalur, a place twenty-five miles south of madras, where they had a fortified camp, had four hundred french troops,twothousand sepoys,two thousand five hundred cavalry, and twelve guns. hoping to sur- prise them there clive marched all night. when the force approached the town they heard that the enemy had disappeared, and that they had started apparently in several directions. the force was halted for a few hours, and then the news was obtained that the enemy had united their forces at conjeveram, and that they had marched away from that place in a westerly direction. doubting not that they a trying marcr were about to attack arcot, which, weakened by the departure of the greater portion of its garrison, would be in no position to defend itself against a sudden coup de main by a strong force, give set his troops again in motion. the french, indeed, had already bribed some of the native soldiers within the fort, who were to reply to a signal made without if they were in a position to open the gates. however, by good fortune their treachery had been discovered, and when the french arrived they re- ceived no reply to their signal; and as arcot would be sure to fall if they defeated clive, they marched away without attacking it, to take up the position which they had agreed upon beforehand. it was at nine in the evening that clive at vendalur obtained intelligence that the enemy had assembled at conjeveram. the troops had already marched twenty-five miles, but they had had a rest of five hours, and clive started with them at once, and reached conjeveram, twenty miles distant, at four in the morning. finding that the enemy had again dis- appeared he ordered the troops to halt for a few hours. they had already marched forty-five miles in twenty-four hours, a great feat when it is remembered that only the arcot garrison were in any way accustomed to fatigue, the others being newly raised levies. the greater portion of the sepoys had been enlisted within the fortnight preceding. "i don't know, mr. marryat, whether the french call this fighting; i call it playing hide and seek," tim kelly said. "shure we've bin marching with only a halt of two or three hours since yisterday morning, and my poor feet are that sore that i daren't take my boots off me, for i'm shure i'd never git 'em on agin. if the french want to fight us why don't they do it square and honest, not be racing and chasing about like a lot of wild sheep." "have you seen the moonshee, tim? he is with the baggage." a surprise by the enemy. "shure and i saw him," tim said. "the cart come in just now, and there was he perched up on the top of it like a dried monkey. you don't want him to-night, shure, yer honour." "oh no, i don't want him, tim. you'd better go now, and get to sleep at once if you can, we may be off' again at any minute." arcot is twenty-seven miles from conjeveram. clive felt certain that the enemy had gone on to that place, but, anxious as he was for its safety, it was absolutely necessary that the troops should have a rest before starting on such a march. they were, therefore, allowed to rest until twelve o'clock, when, refreshed by their eight hours' halt and breakfast, they started upon their long march towards arcot, making sure that they should not find the enemy until they reached that place. had clive possessed a body of cavalry, however small, he would have been able to scour the country, and to make himself acquainted with the real position of the french. cavalry are to a general what eyes are to a man, and without these he is liable to tumble into a pit- fall such was the case on the present occasion. having no doubt that the enemy were engaged in attacking arcot the troops were plodding along carelessly and in loose order, when, to their astonishment, after a six- teen-mile march, as they approached the town of ka- varipak just as the sun was setting, a fire of artillery opened upon them from a grove upon the right of the road but two hundred and fifty yards distant. no- thing is more confusing than a surprise of this kind, especially to young troops, and when no enemy is thought to be near. the french general's plans had been well laid. he had reached kavaripak that morning, and allowed his troops to rest all day, and he expected to obtain an easy victory over the tired men who would, unsuspicious of danger, be pressing on to the relief of arcot. so far his a well-laid trap. ill calculations had been correct, and the english marched unsuspiciously into the trap laid for them. the twelve french guns were placed in a grove, round whose sides, facing the point from which clive was approaching, ran a deep ditch with a high bank forming a regular battery. a body of french infantry were placed in sup- port of the guns, with some sepoys in reserve behind the grove. parallel with the road on the left ran a deep water-course, now empty, and in this the rest of the infantry were stationed, at a point near the town of kavaripak, and about a quarter of a mile further back than the grove. on either side of this water-course the enemy had placed his powerful cavalry force. for a moment when the guns opened there was con- fusion and panic among the british troops. clive, how- ever, ever cool and confident in danger, and well seconded by his officers, rallied them at once. the position was one of extreme danger. it was possible, indeed, to retreat, but in the face of an enemy superior in infantry and guns, and possessing so powerful a body of cavalry, the oper- ation would have been a very dangerous one. even if accomplished it would entail an immense loss of morale and prestige to his troops. hitherto under his leading they had been always successful, and a belief in his own superiority adds immensely to the fighting power of a soldier. even should the remnant of the force fight its way back to madras the campaign would have been a lost one, and all hope of saving trichinopoli would have been at an end. "steady, lads, steady," he shouted. "form up quietly and steadily. we have beaten the enemy before, you know, and we will do so again." while the troops, in spite of the artillery fire, fell into line, clive rapidly surveyed the ground. he saw the enemy's infantry advancing up the water-course, and so sheltered by it as to be out of the fire of his troops. he saw their cavalry sweeping down on the other side of the a stout resistance. water-course, menacing his left and threatening his bag- gage. the guns were at once brought up from the rear, but before these arrived the men were falling fast. three of the guns he placed to answer the french battery, two of them he hurried to his left with a small body of english and two hundred sepoys, to check the advance of the enemy's cavalry. the main body of his infantry he ordered into the water-course, which afforded them a shelter from the enemy's artillery. the baggage carts and baggage he sent half a mile to the rear, under the pro- tection of forty sepoys and a gun. while this was being done the enemy's fire was continuing, but his infantry advanced but slowly, and had not reached a point abreast of the grove when the british force in the water-course met them. it would not seem to be a very important matter at what point in the water-course the infantry of the two opposing parties came into collision, but matters apparently trifling in themselves often decide the fate of battles; and, in fact, had the french artillery retained their fire until their infantry were abreast of the grove, the battle of kavaripak would have been won by them, and the british power in southern india would have been destroyed. clive moved confidently and resolutely among his men, keeping up their courage by cheerful words, and he was well seconded by his officers. "now, lads," charlie marryat cried to the company of which he was in command, "stick to it. you *ught to be very thankful to the french for saving you the trouble of having to march another twelve miles before giving you an opportunity of thrashing them." the men laughed and redoubled their fire on the french infantry, who were facing them in the water- course at a distance of eighty yards. neither party liked to charge. the french commander knew that he had only to hold his position to win the day. his guns were mowing down the english artillery-men. the english party on the left of the water-course with diffi- a critical position. culty held their own against the charges of his horsemen, and were rapidly dwindling away under the artillery fire, while other bodies of his cavalry had surrounded the baggage, and were attacking the little force told off do o' o to guard it. he knew, too, that any attempt the english might make to attack the battery, with its strong de- fences, must inevitably fail. the situation was becoming desperate. it was now ten o'clock; the fight had gone on for four hours. no advantage had been gained, the men were losing con- fidence, and the position grew more and more desperate. clive saw that there was but one chance of victory the grove could not be carried in the front, but it was just possible that it might be open in the rear, choos- ing a sergeant who spoke the native language well, he bade him leave the party in the water-course and make his way round to the rear of the grove, and dis- cover whether it was strongly guarded there or not. in twenty minutes the sergeant returned with the news that there was no strong force there. clive at once took two hundred of his english infantry, the men who had fought at arcot, and quietly left the water-course and made his way round towards the rear of the grove. before he had gone far the main body in the water-course, surprised at the sudden withdrawal of the greater portion of the english force and missing the presence of clive himself, began to lose heart. they no longer replied energetically to the fire of the french infantry. a movement of retreat began, the fire ceased, and in a minute or two they would have broken in flight. at this moment clive returned. as he moved forward he had marked the dying away of the english fire, and guessing what had happened, had given over the com- mand of the column to lieutenant keene, the senior officer, and hurried back to the water-course. he arrived there just as the troops had commenced to run away. throwing himself among them, with shouts and exhor- c -) ii a bold stroke for victory. tations, he succeeded in arresting their flight, and hy assurances that the battle was as good as won elsewhere, and that they had only to hold their ground for a few minutes longer to ensure victory, he got them to advance to their former position and to reopen fire on the french, who had, fortunately, remained inactive instead of ad- vancing and taking advantage of the cessation of the english fire. in the meantime lieutenant keene led his detachment, making a long circuit, to a point three hundred yards immediately behind the grove. he then sent forward one of his officers, ensign symmonds, who spoke french perfectly, to reconnoitre the grove. symmonds had pro- ceeded but a little way when he came upon a large number of french sepoys, who were covering the rear of the grove, but who, as their services were not required, were sheltering themselves there from the random bullets which were flying about. they at once challenged, but symmonds answering them in french, they being unable to see his uniform in the darkness, and supposing him to be a french officer, allowed him to advance. he passed boldly forward into the grove. he proceeded nearly through it, until he came within sight of the guns, which were still keeping up their fire upon those of the english, while a hundred french infantry, who were in support, were all occupied in watching what was going on in front of them. symmonds returned to the detachment by a path to the right of that by which he had entered, and passed out without seeing a soul. lieutenant keene gave the word to advance, and, following the guidance of mr. symmonds, entered the grove. he advanced unobserved until within thirty yards of the enemy. here he halted and poured a volley into them. the effect was instan- taneous. many of the french fell, and the rest, astounded at this sudden and unexpected attack, left their guns and fled. sixty of them rushed for shelter into a building a complete success. at the end of the grove, where the english surrounded them and forced them to surrender. by this sudden stroke the battle of kavaripak was won. the sound of the musketry fire and the immediate cessation of that of the enemy's guns, told clive that the grove was captured. a few minutes later fugitives arriving from the grove informed the commander of the enemy's main body of infantry of the misfortune which had befallen them. the french fire at once ceased and the troops withdrew. in the darkness it was impossible for clive to attempt a pursuit. he was in ignorance of the direction the enemy had taken; his troops had already marched sixty miles in two days, and he would, more- over, have been exposed to sudden dashes of the enemy's cavalry. clive, therefore, united his troops, joined his baggage, which the little guard had gallantly defended against the attacks of the enemy's cavalry, and waited for morning. at daybreak not an enemy was to be seen. fifty frenchmen lay dead on the field and sixty were captives. three hundred french sepoys had fallen. there were, besides, many wounded. the enemy's artillery had been all captured. the british loss was forty english and thirty sepoys killed, and a great number of both wounded . the moral effect of the victory was immense. it was the first time that french and english soldiers had fought in the field against each other in india, the french had proved to the natives that they were enormously their superiors in fighting power. hitherto the english had not done so. the defence of arcot had proved that they could fight behind walls, but the natives had themselves many examples of gallant defences of this kind. the english troops under gingen and cope had suffered themselves to be cooped up in trichinopoli and had not struck a blow in its defence. at kavaripak the natives discovered that the english could fight as well, or better than the french. the latter were somewhat stronger tricuinopoli to be relieved. numerically than their rivals; they had double the force of artillery, were half as strong again in sepoys, and had two thousand five hundred cavalry, while the english had not a single horseman. they had all the advantages of surprise and position, and yet they had been entirely defeated. thenceforth the natives of india regarded the english as a people to be feared and respected, and for the first time considered their ultimate triumph over the french to be a possibility. as the policy of the native princes had ever been to side with the strongest, the advantage thus gained to the english cause by the victory of kavaripak was enormous. on the following day the english took possession of the fort of kavaripak and marched to arcot. scarcely had they arrived there when clive received a despatch from fort st. david, ordering him to return there at once with all his troops, to march to the relief of trichinopoli, where the garrison was reported to be in the sorest straits from want of provisions. the force reached fort st. david on the th of march. here preparations were hurried forward for the advance to trichinopoli, and in three days clive was ready to start. just as he was about to set out a ship arrived from england, having on board some more troops, together with major lawrence and several officers, some of whom were captains senior to clive. major lawrence, who had already proved his capacity and energy, of course took command of the expedition, and treated clive, who had served under him at the siege of pondicherry, and whose successes in the field had attracted his high admira- tion, as second in command, somewhat to the discontent of the officers senior to him in rank. the force consisted of four hundred europeans, eleven hundred sepoys, and eight guns, and escorted a large train of provisions and stores. during these months which the diversion, caused by the attack of riza sahib the blunders of the french. and the french upon madras, had given to the besiegers of trichinopoli, they should have long since captured the town. in spite of all the orders of dupleix, law could not bring himself to attack the town, and the french governor of pondicherry saw with dismay that the two months and a half which his efforts and energy had gained for the besiegers had been entirely wasted, and that it was probable the whole fruits of his labours would be thrown away. he now directed law to leave only a small force in front of trichinopoli, and to march with the whole of his army, and that of chunda sahib, and crush the force advancing under lawrence to the relief of trichinopoli. law, however, disobeyed orders, and, indeed, acted in direct contradiction to them. he maintained six hundred french troops and many thou- sands of native before trichinopoli, and sent but two hundred and fifty french, and about three hundred and fifty natives—a force altogether inferior in numbers to that which it was sent to oppose—to arrest the progress of lawrence's advancing column the position which this french force was directed to occupy was the fort of koiladi, an admirable position. as the two branches of the kavari were here but half a mile apart, had law concentrated all his force here he could, no doubt, have successfully opposed the english. lawrence, however, when the guns of the fort opened upon him, replied to them by the fire of his artillery, and as the french force was insufficient to enable its com- mander to fight him in the open, he was enabled to take his troops and convoy in safety past the fort. when law heard this he marched out and took his position round a lofty and almost inaccessible rock called el- miseram, and prepared to give battle. lawrence, how- ever, after passing koiladi, had been joined by a hundred english and fifty dragoons from trichinopoli. these acted as guides, and led him by a route by which he avoided the french position, and effected a junction with the siege raised. two hundred europeans and four hundred sepoys from trichinopoli, and with a body of maratta cavalry under murari reo. law having failed to attack the english force upon its march, now, when its strength was nearly doubled, suddenly decided to give battle, and advanced against the force which, wearied with its long march, had }ust begun to prepare their breakfast. the french artil- lery at once put the maratta cavalry to flight. lawrence called the men again under arms, and sent clive forward to reconnoitre. he found the french infantry drawn up with twenty-two guns, witli large bodies of cavalry on either flank. opposite to the centre of their position was a large caravansary, or native inn, with stone buildings attached. it was nearer to their position than to that occupied by the english, and clive saw at once that if seized and held by the enemy's artil- lery, it would sweep the whole ground over which the english would have to advance. he galloped back at full speed to major lawrence, and asked leave at once to occupy the building. obtaining permission he advanced with all speed to the caravansary with some guns and infantry. the negligence of the french in allowing this move- ment to be carried out was fatal to them. the english artillery opened upon them from the cover of the inn and buildings, and to this fire the french in the open could reply only at a great disadvantage. after a cannonade lasting half an hour, the french, having lost forty european and three hundred native soldiers, fell back, the english having lost only twenty-one. disheartened at this result, utterly disappointed at the failure which had attended his long operations against trichinopoli, without energy or decision, law at once raised the siege of the town, abandoning a great portion of his baggage, and destroying great stores of ammunition and supplies, i crossed an arm of the kavari and took post in the great fortified temple of seringam. a step in rank. the delight of the troops so long besieged in trichino- poli, inactive, dispirited, and hopeless, was extreme, and the exultation of muhammud ali and his native allies was no less. captain cope, towards the end of the siege, had been killed in one of the little skirmishes which occasionally took place with the french. charlie marryat and peters had, owing to some of the officers senior to them being killed or invalided, and to large numbers of fresh recruits being raised, received a step in rank. they were now lieutenants, and each com- manded a body of sepoys two hundred strong. at charlie's request tim kelly was detached from his company and allowed to remain with him as soldier servant. after the retreat of the french and the settling down of the english force in the lines they had occupied, charlie and his friend entered trichinopoli, and were surprised at the temples and palaces there. although very inferior to tanjore, and in no way even comparable to the cities of the north-west of india, trichinopoli was a far more important city than any they had hitherto seen. they ascended the lofty rock and visited the fort on its summit, which looked as if, in the hands of a resolute garrison, it should be impregnable to attack. the manner in which this rock, as well as that of elmiseram and others lying in sight, rose sheer up from the plain, filled them with surprise; for although these natural rock fortresses are common enough in india, they are almost without an example in europe. after visiting the fort they rambled through the town, and were amused at the scene of bustle in its streets and at the gay shops, full of articles new and curious to them, in the bazaars. "they are wonderfully clever and ingenious," charlie said. "look what rough tools that man is working with, and what delicate and intricate work he is turning out. if these fellows could but fight as well as they work, and were but united among themselves, not only a question waiting for the answer. should we be unable to set a foot in india, but the em- peror, with the enormous armies which he would be able to raise, would be able to threaten europe. i suppose they never have been really good fighting men. alex- ander, a couple of thousand years ago, defeated them, and since then the afghans and other northern peoples have been always overrunning and conquering them. i can't make it out. these sepoys, after only a few weeks' training, fight almost as well as our own men. i wonder how it is that, when commanded by their own country- men, they are able to make so poor a fight of it. we had better be going back to camp again, peters, at any moment there may be orders for us to do something. with major lawrence and clive together we are not likely to stop here long inactive." the ekvirons of trichixopum, to illustrate the military operations of - . chapter x. the fall of seringam. lthough called an island, seringam is in fact a long narrow tongue of land running between the two branches of the river kavari. in some places these arms are but a few hundred yards apart, and the island can therefore be defended against an attack along the land. but the retreat of the french by this line was equally difficult, as we held the narrowest part of the neck, two miles from koiladi. upon the south our forces at trichinopoli faced the french across the river. upon the other side of the kolrun, as the northern arm of the kavari is called, the french could cross the river and make their retreat, if necessary, in any direction. the two principal roads, how- ever, led from paichandah, a strong fortified position on the bank of the river, facing the temple of seringam. clive saw that a force crossing the river, and taking up its position on the north, would entirely cut off law's army in the island, would intercept any reinforcements sent by dupleix to its rescue, and might compel the surrender of the whole french army. the attempt would, of course, be a dangerous one. the french force was considerably stronger than the english, and were the latter divided into two portions, entirely cut off from each other, the central point between them being occupied by the french, the latter would have an opportunity of throwing his whole force a bold determination. upon one after the other. this danger would have been so great that, had the french been commanded by an able and active officer, the attempt would never have been made. law, however, had shown amply that he had neither energy nor intelligence, and major lawrence therefore accepted clive's proposal. but to be successful it was necessary that both portions of the english force should be well commanded. major lawrence felt confident in his own capacity to withstand law upon the southern bank, and in case of necessity he could fall back under the guns of trichin- opoli. he felt sure that he could, with equal certainty, confide the command of the other party to captain clive. there was, however, the difficulty that he was the junior captain present, and that already great jealousy had been excited among his seniors by the rank which he occupied in the councils of lawrence. fortunately the difficulty was settled by the native allies. major lawrence laid his plans before muhammud ali and his allies, whose co-operation and assistance were absolutely necessary. these, after hearing the proposal, agreed to give their assistance, but only upon the condition that clive should be placed in command of the expeditionary party. they had already seen the paralysing effects of the incapacity of some english officers. clive's defence of arcot and the victories of arni and kavaripak had excited their intense admiration, and caused them to place unbounded confidence in him. therefore they said, "if captain clive commands we will go. unless he commands we do not." major lawrence was glad that the pressure thus placed upon him enabled him, without incurring a charge of favouritism, to place the command in the hands of the officer upon whom he most relied. on the night of the th of april clive set out with a force composed of four hundred english, seven hundred sepoys, three thousand maratta cavalry, a thousand tanjore cav- alry, six light guns and two heavy ones. descending the the french hemmed in. river he crossed the island at a point three miles to the east of law's camping ground, and marched to samieaveram, a town nine miles north of the island, and commanding the roads from the north and east. the movement was just made in time. dupleix, utterly disgusted with law, had resolved to displace him. d'auteuil, the only officer he had of sufficient high rank to take his place, had not when previously employed betrayed any great energy or capacity. it appeared, nevertheless, that he was at anyrate superior to law. on the th of april, therefore, he despatched d'auteuil with a hundred and twenty french, and five hundred sepoys, with four guns and a large convoy to seringam, where he was to take the command. when he arrived within fifteen miles of samieaveram, he learned that clive had possession of that village, and he determined upon a circuitous route by which he might avoid him. he therefore sent a messenger to law to acquaint him with his plans in order that he might aid him by making a diversion. clive in the meantime had been at work. on the day after his arrival at samieaveram, he attacked and cap- tured the temple of mansurpet, half-way between the village and the island. the temple was lofty and stood on rising ground, and commanded a range of the country for many miles round. on its top clive established a signal station. upon the following day he carried the mud fort of lalgudi, which was situated on the north bank of the river two miles to the east of paichandah, which now remained law's only place of exit from the island. d'auteuil, after sending word to law of his inten- tions, marched from utatua, where he was lying, by a road to the west which would enable him to move round samieaveram to paichandah. clive captured one of the messengers and set off with his force to intercept him. d'auteuil, however, received information by his spies of clive's movement, and not wishing to fight a a night surprise. battle in the open with a superior force, fell back to utatua, while clive returned to samieaverain. law, too, had received news of clive's movement. here was a chance of retrieving the misfortunes of the campaign. paichandah being still in his hands, he could sally out with his whole force and that of chunda sahib, seize samieaveram in clive's absence, and extend his hand to d'auteuil, or fall upon clive's rear. instead of this he repeated the mistake he had made before trichinopoli; and instead of marching out with hi whole force, he sent only eighty europeans, of whom forty were deserters from the english army, and seven hundred sepoys. the english returned from their march against d'auteuil. the greater portion of the troops were housed in two temples, a quarter of a mile apart, known as the large and small pagoda. clive with several of his officers was in a caravansary close to the small pagoda. charlie's company were on guard, and, after paying a visit to the sentries and seeing that all were on the alert, he returned to the caravansary. the day had been a long one, and the march under the heat of the sun very fatiguing. there was therefore but little conversation, and charlie, finding on his return from visiting the sentries that his leader and the other officers had already wrapped them- selves in their cloaks and lain down to rest, imitated their example. half an hour later the french column arrived at samieaveram. the officer in command was a daring and determined man. before reaching the place he had heard that the english had returned, and finding that he had been forestalled, he might well have returned to law. he determined, however, to attempt to surprise the camp. he placed his deserters in front, and when the column, arriving near the sepoy sentinel, was challenged, the officer in command of the deserters, an irishman, stepped forward, and said that he had been sent by major lawrence to the support of captain clive. as the other english-speaking soldiers now came up the sentry and native officer with a scene of confusion. him were completely deceived, and the latter sent a soldier to guide the column to the english quarter of the camp. without interruption the column marched on through lines of sleeping sepoys and marattas until they reached the heart of the village. here they were again chal- lenged. they replied with a volley of musketry into the caravansary and another into the pagoda. then they rushed into the pagoda, bayoneting all they found there. charlie, who had just dropped off to sleep, sprang to his feet, as did the other officers. while, confused by the noise and suddenness of the attack, others scarcely under- stood what was happening, clive's clear head and ready judgment grasped the situation at once. "gentlemen," he said calmly, "there is no firing going on in the direc- tion of the great pagoda. follow me there at once." snatching up their arms the officers followed him at a run. the whole village was a scene of wild confusion. the firing round the pagoda and caravansary were con- tinuous. the maratta horsemen were climbing into their saddles and riding away out into the plain, the sepoys were running hither and thither. at the pagoda he found the soldiers turning out under arms, and give, ordering his officers to do their best to rally the native troops in good order against the enemy, at once moved forward towards the caravansary with two hundred eng- lish troops. on arriving there he found a large body of sepoys firing away at random. believing them to be his own men, for the french and english sepoys were alike dressed in white, he halted the english a few yards from them, and rushed among them, upbraiding them for their panic, striking them, and ordering them instantly to cease firing and to form in order. one of the sepoy officers recognized clive to be an englishman, struck at him and wounded him with his sword. clive, still believing him to be one of his own men, was furious at what he considered an act of insolent insubor- dination, and seizing him, dragged him across to the a miraculous escape. main army, he determined to rid himself of this enemy in his midst. the pagoda was very strong and only two men could enter abreast. clive led his men to the attack, but so well did the french defend themselves that after losing an officer and fifteen men, clive determined to wait till morning. the french officer, knowing that he was surrounded, and beyond the reach of all assistance, resolved upon cutting a way through, and at daylight his men sallied out from the temple. so fierce, however, was the tire with which the english received him that twelve of his men were instantly killed, and the rest ran back into the temple. clive, hoping that their commander would now sur- render without further effusion of blood, advanced to the gateway and entered the porch to offer terms. he was him- self so faint from the loss of blood from his wounds that he could not stand alone, but leaned against a wall, supported by two sergeants. the officer commanding the deserters came out to parley, but, after heaping abuse upon clive, levelled his musket and discharged it at him. he missed clive, but killed the two sergeants who were supporting him. the french officer in command, indignant at this con- duct, rushed forward at once to disavow it, and stated that he had determined to defend the post to the last, solely for the sake of the deserters, but that the conduct of their officer had released him from that obligation, and he now therefore surrendered at once. the instant day broke and clive saw that law was not, as he expected, at hand, he despatched the maratta horse in pursuit of the french sepoys. these were overtaken and cut to pieces, and not one man of the force which law had despatched against clive returned to the island. the english loss was heavy. the greater portion of the oc- cupants of the small pagoda were bayoneted by the french when they entered, and as fifteen others were last attkmpt to raise the siege . killed in the attack, it is probable that at least one-fourth of the english force under clive were killed. clive's own escapes were extraordinary. in addition to those of being killed by the french sepoys, among whom he ran by mistake, and of death at the hands of the treacherous deserter, he had one almost as close when the french fired their volley into the caravansary. a box at his feet was shattered, and a servant who slept close to him was killed. some days passed after this attack without any fresh movement on either side. major lawrence then deter- mined to drive back d'auteuil. he did not despatch clive against him, as this would involve the risk that law might again march out to surprise samieaveram. he therefore directed clive to remain at that place and watch the island while he sent a force of a hundred and fifty english, four hundred sepoys, five hundred marattas, with four guns to attack d'auteuil from his own force, under captain dalton. this officer in the advance marched his troops near samieaveram, and, making as much show with them as he could, impressed d'auteuil with the idea that the force was that of clive. accordingly he broke up his camp at utatua in the night, abandoned his stores, and retreated hastily upon valconda. dalton then marched to samieaveram, and placed his force at clive's disposal, and, to prevent any disputes arising as to pre- cedence and rank, offered himself to serve under him as a volunteer. not only d'auteuil but law was deceived by dalton's march. from the lofty towers of seringam he saw the force marching towards utatua, believed that clive with his whole force had left samieaveram, and did now what he should have before done, crossed the river with all his troops. clive's look-out on the temple of man- surpet perceived what was going on and signalled the news to clive, who at once set out with his whole force, and, before law was prepared to issue out from paichandah, the surrender of law. clive was within a mile of that place. law might still have fought with a fair chance of success, as he was far stronger than his enemy, hut he was again the victim of indecision and want of energy, and, covered by paichandah, he fell back across the river again. on the th of may clive captured paichandah, and then determined to give a final blow to d'auteuil's force, which had, he learned, again set out to endeavour to relieve law. he marched to utatua to intercept him. d'auteuil, hearing of his coming, instantly fell back again to valconda. the native chief of this town, how- ever, seeing that the affairs of the french were desperate, and willing, like all his countrymen, to make his peace with the strongest, had already accepted bribes from the english, and upon d'auteuil's return closed the gates and refused to admit him. clive soon arrived and d'auteuil, caught between two fires, surrendered with his whole force. had law been a man of energy he had yet a chance of escape. he had still seven or eight hundred french troops with him, two thousand sepoys, and four thousand of chunda sahib's troops. he might then have easily crossed the kavari at night and fallen upon lawrence, whose force there now was greatly inferior to his own. chunda sahib in vain begged him to do so. his hesi- tation continued until, three days after the surrender of d'auteuil, a battering train reached lawrence, whereupon law at once surrendered, his chief stipulation being that the life of chunda sahib should be spared. this promise was not kept. the unfortunate prince had preferred to surrender to the rajah of tanjore, who had several times intrigued secretly with him, rather than to muhammud ali or the english, whom he regarded as his implacable enemies. had he placed himself in our hands his life would have been safe. he was murdered by the treach- erous rajah within twenty-four hours of his surrender. with the fall of seringam terminated the contest for ( i the mastership of the carnatic. the supremacy of the carnatic between the english and french, fighting respectively on behalf of their puppets, muhammud ali and chunda sahib. this stage of the struggle was not a final one, but both by its circumstances and by the prestige which we acquired in the eyes of the natives it gave us a moral ascendency which even when our fortunes were afterwards at their worst was never lost again. muhammud ali had himself gained but little in the struggle. he was indeed nominally ruler of the carnatic, but he had to rely for his position solely on the support of the english bayonets. indeed the promises of which he had been obliged to be lavish to his native allies to keep them faithful to his cause, when that cause seemed all but lost, now came upon him to trouble him, and so precarious was his position that he was obliged to ask the english to leave two hundred english troops and fifteen hundred of their sepoys to protect the place against murari reo and the rajahs of mysore and tanjore. the fatigues of the expedition had been great, and when the force reached the sea-coast major lawrence was forced to retire to fort st. david to recover his health, while clive, whose health had now greatly broken down, betook himself to madras, which had, when the danger of invasion by the french was at an end, become the headquarters of the government of the presidency. there were, however, two french strongholds dangerously near to madras, covelong and chengalpatt. two hundred recruits had just arrived from england, and five hundred natives had been enlisted as sepoys. mr. saunders begged clive to take the command of these and reduce the two fortresses. he took with him two twenty-four pounders, and four officers, of whom two were charlie marryat and peters, to both of whom clive was much attached, owing to their courage, readiness, and good humour. covelong was first attacked. it mounted thirty guns and was garrisoned by fifty french and three hundred sepoys. "i don't like the look o' things, mr. charles," tim unsteadiness of new levies. kelly said; "there's nothing but boys altogether, white and black. does it stand to reason that a lot of gossoons who haven't learnt the goose step, and haven't as much as a shred of faith ayther in themselves or their officers, are fit to fight the french?" "oh, i don't know, tim," charlie said. "boys are just as plucky as men in their way, and are ready to do all sorts of foolhardy things which men would hesitate to attempt." "and that is so, mr. charles, when they've only other boys to dale with; but as they're growing up they take some time before they're quite sure they're a match for men. that's what it is, yer honour, i tell ye, and you will see it soon." tim's predictions were speedily verified. the very morning after they arrived before the fort the garrison made a sally, fell upon the troops, and killed one of their officers. the whole of the new levies took to their heels and fled away from the fight. clive with his three officers threw himself among them, and for some time in vain attempted to turn the tide. it was not, indeed, until several had been cut down that the rout was arrested, and they were brought back to their duty. a day or two later a shot striking a rock killed or wounded four- teen men, and excited such a panic that it was some time before the rest would venture near the front. the enemy with a considerable force marched from chengalpatt to relieve the place. clive left half his force to continue the siege, and with the rest marched out and offered battle to the relieving force. daring and confidence as usual prevailed. had the enemy attacked there is little doubt they would have put clive's raw levies to flight. they were, however, cowed by his attitude of defiance, and retreated hastily. the governor of covelong at once lost heart and surrendered the place, which he might have maintained for months against the force before it, and on the fourth day of the siege capitulated. a few hours : clive returns to england. afterwards the enemy from chengalpatt, ignorant of the fall of the fort, again advanced, and clive met them with his whole force. taken by surprise they suffered heavily. clive pursued them to the gates of their fort, to which he at once laid siege. fortunately for the english, the com- mander of this place, like him of covelong, was cowardly and incapable. had it not been so, the fort, which was very strong, well provisioned, and well garrisoned, might have held out for an indefinite time. as it was it surrendered on the fourth day, and clive took possession on the st of august. he returned to madras, and there, a short time afterwards, married miss maskelyne. finding his health, however, continuing to deteriorate, he sailed for europe in february, . it was but five years since he had first taken up arms to defend fort st. david, an unknown clerk without prospects and without fortune, utterly dis- contented and disheartened. madras was in the hands of the french. everywhere their policy was triumphant, and the soil surrounded by the walls of st. david's alone remained to the english in southern india. in the five years which had elapsed all had changed. the english were masters of the carnatic. the french were broken and discredited. the english were regarded by the natives throughout the country as the coming power, and of this great change no slight portion was due to the energy and genius of clive himself. chapter xi. an important mission. few days after the return of the expedition against covelong and chengalpatt, charlie received a note from governor saunders requesting him to call upon him at eleven o'clock. charlie, of course, attended at government house at the time named, and found captain clive with mr. saunders. "i have sent for you, mr. marryat, to ask you if you are ready to undertake a delicate and somewhat dangerous mission. captain clive tells me that he is convinced that you will be able to discharge the duties satisfactorily. he has been giving me the highest report of your con- duct and courage, and he tells me that you speak the language with some facility." "i have been working hard, sir," charlie said, "and have had a moonshee for the last year; and as, except when on duty, i have spoken nothing but the native language with him, i can now speak it almost as fluently as i can english." "so captain clive has been telling me," mr. saunders said; "and it is indeed on that ground that i select you for the service. your friend mr. peters has equally dis- tinguished himself in the field, captain clive tells me, but he is greatly your inferior in his knowledge of the vernacular.' instruction for the mission. this was indeed the case. peters had but little natural aptitude for foreign languages, and after working hard for a time with the moonshee he found that he was he lost heart; and although he had continued his lessons with the moonshee, he had done so only to the extent of an hour or so a day, whereas charlie had devoted his whole leisure time to the work. "the facts of the case are these, mr. marryat. owing to the failure of muhammud ali to fulfil the ridiculously onerous terms extorted from him by some of his native allies during the siege of trichinopoli, several of them are in a state of discontent, which is likely soon to break out into open hostilities. the rajahs of mysore and tanjore are, have learned, already in communication with pondicherry, and will, i believe, shortly acknowledge the son of chunda sahib, whom dupleix has declared ruler of the carnatic. murari reo has already openly joined the french. their influence in the deccan is now so great that bussy may be said to rule there. now, there is a chief named boorhau reo, whose territory lies among the hills, and extends from the plain nearly up to the plateau land of the deccan. his position, like that of many of the other small rajahs, is precarious. in days like the present, when might makes right, and every petty state tries to make profit out of the constant wars at the expense of its neighbour, the position of a chief surrounded by half a dozen others more powerful than himself is by no means pleasant. boorhau reo feels that he is in danger of being swallowed by the nizam or by the marattas, and he earnestly desires to ally himself with us, believing, as he says, that we are destined to be masters here. i have assured him that, although gratified at his expressions of friendship, we can enter into no alliance with him. the position of his territory would enable him to be of great assistance to us in any war in which the whole force of the deccan, controlled as it is at making so little with charlie that charlie as a military agent. present by bussy, might be utilized against us in the carnatic. he would be able to harass convoys, cut com- munications, and otherwise trouble the enemy's move- ments. but although we see that his aid would be very useful to us in case of such a war, we do not see how on our part we could give him any protection. we have now, with the greatest difficulty, brought affairs to a successful conclusion in the carnatic, but dupleix is active and energetic and well supported at home. many of the chiefs lately our allies have, as i have just said, declared against us or are about to do so, and it is out of the question for us to think of supporting a chief so far removed from us as boorhau. i have, therefore, told him that we greatly desire his friendship, but are at present powerless to protect him should he be attacked by his northern neighbours. he is particularly anxious to train his men after the european fashion, as he sees that our sepoys are a match for five times their number of the untrained troops of the indian princes. "this brings me to the subject before us. i have written to him to say that i will send to him an english officer capable of training and leading his troops, and whose advice may be useful to him upon all occasions; but that, as were it known that he had received a british officer and was employing him to train his troops, it would excite the instant animosity of bussy and of the peishwar, i should send one fam- iliar with the language and who may pass as a native. captain clive has strongly recommended you for this difficult mission." "i fear, sir, that i could hardly pass as a native. the moonshee is constantly correcting mistakes which i make in speaking." "that may be so," mr. saunders said; "but there are a score of dialects in southern india, and you could be passed upon nineteen of the twenty peoples who speak them as belonging to one of the other." ( parting from an old friend. "if you think, sir, that i shall do," charlie said, "i shall be glad to undertake the mission." "very well, mr. marryat, that is understood then. you will receive full instructions in writing, and will understand that your duty is not only to drill the troops of this chief, but to give him such advice as may suit his and our interests, to strengthen his good feeling towards us, and to form as far as possible a compact little force which might at a critical moment be of immense utility. you will, of course, master the geography of the country, of which we are all but absolutely ignorant, find out about the passes, the mountain paths, the defensible positions. all these things may some day be of the highest impor- tance. you will have a few days to make your arrange- ments and settle as to the character you will adopt. this you had better do in consultation with some one who thoroughly understands the country. it is intended that you shall go down to trichinopoli with the next convoy, and from there make your way to the stronghold of boorhau." "shall i take any followers with me?" "yes," mr. saunders said. "as you will go in the character of a military adventurer who has served among our sepoys long enough to learn european drill, you had better take two, three, or four men, as you like, with you as retainers. you might pick out two or three trusty men from the sepoys you command." charlie left government house in high spirits. it was certainly an honour to have been selected for such a post. it was quite possible that it would be a dangerous one. it was sure to be altogether different from the ordinary life of a subaltern in the company's army. peters was very sorry when he heard from charlie that they were at last to be separated. it was now nearly two years since they had first met on board the lizzut anderson, and since that time they had been constantly together, and were greatly attached to each other. charlie, perhaps, tim urges his claims. had taken the lead. the fact of his having a stock of firearms, and being able to lend them to peters, had given him perhaps the first slight and almost imperceptible advantage. his feat of jumping overboard to rescue tim kelly had been another step in advance, and although charlie would have denied it himself there was no doubt that he generally took the lead, and that his friend was accustomed to lean upon him and to look to him always for the initiative. it was therefore a severe blow to peters to find that charlie was about to be sent on detached service. as for tim kelly, he was uproarious in his grief when he heard that he was to be separated from his master. "shure, mr. charlie, yell never have the heart to lave a poor boy that sarved ye be night and day for eighteen months. tim kelly would gladly give his life for ye, and ye wouldn't go and lave him behind ye and go all alone among these black thaves of the world." "but it is impossible that i can take you, tim," charlie said . "you know yourself that you cannot speak ten words of the language. how then could you possibly pass undetected, whatever disguise you put on?" "but i'd never open my mouth at all at all, yer honour, barring for mate and drink." "it's all very well for you to say so, tim," charlie answered; "but i do not think that anything short of a miracle would silence your tongue. but leave us now, tim, and i will talk the matter over with mr. peters. i should be glad enough to have you with me if we could arrange it." the moonshee was taken into their counsels, and was asked his opinion as to the disguise which charlie could adopt with least risk of detection. the moonshee replied that he might pass as a bheel. these hill tribes speak a dialect quite distinct from that of the people around them, and the moonshee said that if properly attired charlie would be able to jass anywhere for one of these the moonshee's opinion of tim. people, provided always that he did not meet with another of the same race. "you might assert," he said, "that your father had taken service with some rajah on the plain, and that you had there learned to speak the language. in this way you would avoid having to answer any difficult questions regarding your native place; but as to that, you can get up something of the geography before you leave." "there are several bheels among our sepoys," charlie said. "i can pick out three or four of them who would be just the men for me to take. i believe they are gener- ally very faithful and attached to their officers." when tim again entered the room he inquired anxiously if his master hit upon any disguise which would suit him. "what do you say, mr. moonshine?" tim said. the moonshee shook his head. between these two a perpetual feud had existed ever since the native had arrived at arcot to take his place as a member of charlie's establishment. in obedience to charlie's stringent orders tim never was openly rude to him; but he never lost an opportunity of making remarks of a disparaging nature as to the value of charlie's studies. the moonshee, on his part, generally ignored tim's existence altogether, addressing him, when obliged to do so, with a ceremonious civility which annoyed tim more than open abuse would have done. "i think," he said gravely in reply to tim's demand, "that the very worshipful one would have most chance of escaping detection if he went in ra^s, throwing dust on his hair and passing for one afflicted." "and what does he mean by afflicted, mr. charles?" the irishman said wrathfully, as the two young officers laughed. "he means one who is a born fool, tim." tim looked furiously at the moonshee. "it would," the latter said sententiously, "be the char- acter which the worshipful one would support with the greatest ease." a disguise fixed upon. "the black thief is making fun of me," tim muttered; "but i'll be aven with him one of these days or my name isn't tim kelly. i was thinking, yer honour, that i might represent one deaf and dumb." "but you're always talking, tim, and when you're not talking to others you talk to yourself. it's quite impossible you could go as a dumb man; but you might go, as the moonshee suggests, as a half-witted sort of chap with just sense enough to groom a horse and look after him, but with not enough to understand what's said to you or to answer any questions." "i could do that asy enough, mr. charles." "and you have to keep from quarrelling, tim. i hear you quarrelling on an average ten times a day; and as in such a character as we're talking about you would, of course, be exposed to all sorts of slights and unpleasant- nesses, you would be in continual hot water." "now, yer honour," tim said reproachfully, " -ou're too hard on one entirely. i like a bit of a row as well as any man, but it's all for divarsion; and i could go on for a year without quarrelling with a soul. just try me, mr. charles, just try me for a month, and if at the end of that time you find me in your way, or that i don't keep my character, then send me back agin to the regiment." it was arranged that the moonshee should remain with peters, who, seeing that charlie owed his appointment to a post which promised excitement and adventure, to his skill in the native languages, was determined that he would again set to in earnest and try and master its intricacies. the moonshee went down to the bazaar and purchased the clothes which would be necessary for the disguises, and charlie found in his company four. sepoys who willingly agreed to accompany him in the character of his retainers upon his expedition. as to their costume there was no difficulty. when off duty the sepoys in the company's service were accustomed to dress in their native attire. consequently it needed only charlie in a new character. the addition of a tulwar or short curved sword, a shield thrown over one shoulder, a long matchlock, and two or three pistols and daggers stuck into a girdle to complete their equipment. charlie himself was dressed gaily in the garb of a military officer in the service of an indian rajah. he was to ride, and a horse, saddle, and gay housings were procured. he had at last given in to tim's entreaties, and that worthy was dressed as a syce or horse-keeper. both charlie and tim had had those portions of their skin exposed to the air darkened, and both would pass muster at a casual inspection. charlie in thus concealing his nationality desired only to hide the fact that he was an officer in the company's service. he believed that it would be impossible for him to continue to pass as a bheel. this, however, would be of no consequence after a time. many of the native princes had europeans in their service. runaway sailors, deserters from the english, french, and dutch armed forces in their posses- sions on the sea-coast, adventurers influenced either by a love of a life of excitement, or whom a desire to escape the consequences of folly or crime committed at home had driven to a roving life—such men might be found in many of the native courts. once settled, then, in the service of the rajah, charlie intended to make but little farther pretence or secrecy as to his nationality. out- wardly he would still conform to the language and appear- ance of the character he had chosen, but he would allow it to be supposed that he was an englishman, a deserter from the company's service, and that his comrades were sepoys in a similar position. his employment, then, at the court of the rajah would have an effect the exact reverse of that which it would have done had he appeared in his proper character. deserters were of all men the most opposed to their countrymen, to whom they had proved traitors. in battle they could be relied upon to fight des- perately, for they fought with roijes round their necks. charlie's mission to rajah boorhau. page . the fort of ambur. hi therefore, while the appearance of an english officer as instructer of the forces of the rajah would have drawn upon himself the instant hostility of all opposed to the british, the circulation of a report that his troops were being disciplined by some english and native deserters from the company's forces would excite no suspicion whatever. to avoid attracting attention charlie marryat and his party set out before daylight from madras. their appear- ance, indeed, would have attracted no attention when they once had passed beyond the boundaries of the portion of the town occupied by the whites. in the native quarter the appearance of a small zemindar or landowner attended by four or five armed followers on foot, was of such com- mon occurrence as to attract no attention whatever; and, indeed, numbers of these come in to take service in the sepoy regiments, the profession of arms being always considered honourable in india. for a fortnight they travelled by easy stages without question or suspicion being excited that they wore not what they seemed. they were now among the hills, and soon arrived at ambur, the seat of the rajah. the town was a small one, and above it rose the fortress, which stood on a rock rising sheer from the bottom of the valley, and standing boldly out from the hill-side. the com- munication was effected by a shoulder which, starting from a point half-way up the rock, joined the hill behind it. along this shoulder were walls and gateways. an enemy attacking these would be exposed to the fire from the summit of the rock. from the point where the shoulder joined the rock a zigzag road had been cut with enormous labour, in the face of the rock, to the summit. "it is a strong place," charlie said to tim kelly, who was walking by his horse's head, "and should be able to hold out against anything but starvation, that is to say, if properly defended." "it's a powerful place, surely,'' tim said; "and would a hard nut to crack. puzzle the ould boy himself to take. even captain clive, who is afeard of nothing, would be bothered by it." as they rode up the valley two horsemen were seen spurring towards them from the town. they drew rein before charlie, and one bowing said: "my master, the rajah, sends his greeting to you, and begs to know if you are the illustrious soldier, nadir ali, for whom his heart has been longing." "will you tell your lord that nadir ali is here," charlie said, "and that he longs to see the face of the rajah." one of the horsemen at once rode off, and the other took his place by the side of charlie; and having intro- duced himself as captain of the rajah's body-guard, rode with him through the town. had charlie appeared in his character as english officer the rajah and all his troops would have turned out to do honour to his arrival. as it was, a portion of the garrison only appeared at the gate and lined the walls. through these the little party passed, and up the sharp zigzags, which were so steep that had it not been that his dignity prevented him from dis- mounting, charlie would gladly have got off and pro- ceeded on foot; for it was as much as the animal could do to struggle up the steep incline. at each turn there was a gateway, with little flanking towers on which jingalls or small wall-pieces commanded the road. "faith, then, it's no fool that built this place. i shouldn't like to have to attack it wid all the soldiers of the king's army, let alone those of the company." "it is tremendously strong, tim, but it is astonishing what brave men can do." in the after ware which england waged in india the truth of what charlie said was over and over again proved. numerous fortresses, supposed by the natives to be absolutely impregnable, and far exceeding in strength that just described, have been carried by assault by the dash and daring of english troops reception by the rajah. they gained at last the top of the rock. it was uneven in surface, some portions being considerably more elevated than others. roughly, its extent was about a hundred yards either way. the lower level was covered with buildings occupied by the garrison and storehouses. on the upper level, some forty feet higher, stood the palace of the rajah. it communicated with the courtyard below by a broad flight of steps. these led to an arched gate- way, with a wall and battlements, forming an interior line of defence should an assailant gain a footing in the lower portion of the stronghold. alighting from his horse at the foot of the steps charlie, followed by his five retainers, mounted to the gateway. here another guard of honour was drawn up. passing through these they entered a shady courtyard, on one side of which was a stone pavilion. the flat ceiling was supported by massive columns closely covered with intricate sculpture. the roof was arabesqued with deeply cut patterns picked out in bright colours. a fountain played in the middle. on the farther side the floor, which was of marble, was raised, and two steps led to a wide recess, with windows of lattice stonework giving a view over the town and valley below. in this recess were piles of cushions and carpets, and here reclined the rajah, a spare and active- looking man of some forty years old. he rose as charlie approached, the soldiers and sepoys remaining beyond the limits of the pavilion. "welcome, brave nadir ali," he said courteously; "my heart is glad, indeed, at the presence of one whose wis- dom is said to be far beyond his years, and who has learned the arts of war of the infidels from beyond the seas." then inviting charlie to take a seat on the divan with him.hequestioned him as to his journeyand theevents which were taking place in the plains, until the attendants, having handed round refreshments, retired at his signal. "i am glad to see you, sahib," he said when they were alone; "though, in truth, i looked for one older than charlie's mission explained. yourself. the great english governor of madras tells me, however, in a letter which i received four days since, that you are skilled in war, that you fought by the side of that great captain glive at arcot, arni, kavaripak, and at trichinopoli, and that the great warrior himself chose you to come to me. therefore i doubt neither your valour nor your prudence, and put myself in your hands wholly. the governor has already told you, doubtless, of the position in which i am placed here." "governor saunders explained the whole position to me," charlie said. "you arc at present menaced on all sides by powerful neighbours. you believe that the for- tunes of the english are on the increase, and as you think the time may come ere long when they will turn the french out of the deccan and become masters there, as they have already become masters in the carnatic, you wish to fight by their side, and share their fortunes. in the meantime you desire to be able to defend yourself against your neighbours, for at present the english are too far away to assist you. to enable you to do this i have been sent to drill and discipline your troops like our sepoys, and to give you such advice-as may be best for the general defence of your country. have brought with me five soldiers, four bheels, and one of my country- men. the latter will be of little use in drilling your troops, for he is ignorant of the language, and has come as my personal attendant. the other four will assist me in my work. your followers here will, no doubt, discover in a very short time that i am an english- man. let it be understood that i am a deserter, that i have been attracted to your court by the promise of high pay, and that i have assumed the character of a bheel lest my being here might put you on bad terms with the english." charlie then asked the rajah as to the strength of his military force. "in time of peace," the rajah said, "i keep three hun- dred men under arms; in case of taking the field, three the plan of proceeding. thousand. to defend ambur against an attack of an enemy i could muster ten thousand men." "you could not call out three thousand men without attracting the attention of your neighbours?" charlie asked. "no," the rajah said; "that would bring my neighbours upon me at once." "i suppose, however, you might assemble another five hundred men without attracting attention." "oh, yes," the rajah said; "eight hundred men are not a force which could attract any great attention." "then i should propose that we begin with eight hun- dred," charlie said. "for a month, however, i will -con- fine myself to the troops you at present have. we must in the first place train some officers. if you will pick out those to whom you intend to give commands and sub- commands, i will choose from the men, after drilling them for a few days, forty of the most intelligent as what we call non-commissioned officers. for the first month we will work hard in teaching these officers and sub-officers their duties. then, when the whole eight hundred assemble, we can divide them into four parties. there will be one of my drill-instructors to each party, ten under officers, and four or five of the officers whom you will appoint. six weeks' hard work should make these eight hundred men fairly acquainted with drill. the english sepoys have often gone out to fight with less. at the end of the six weeks let the five hundred men you have called out, in addition to your body-guard of three hundred, return to their homes, and replace them by an equal number of fresh levies, and so proceed until you have your three thousand fighting men thoroughly trained. in nine months all will have had their six weeks of exercise, and could take their places in the ranks again at a day's notice. two hundred of your men i will train in artillery; although i do not belong to that branch of the service, i learned the duties at arcot." ( ) k the rajah's hopes for the future the rajah agreed heartily to charlie's proposals, well pleased at the thought that he should, before the end of a year, be possessed of a trained force which would enable him to hold his own against his powerful neighbours until an opportunity might occur when, in alliance with the english, he should be able to turn the tables upon them, and to aggrandize himself at their expense. chapter xii. a murderous attempt. andsome rooms with a suite of attendants were assigned to charlie in the rajah's palace, and he was formally appointed commander of his forces. the four sepoys were ap- pointed to junior ranks, as was also tim kelly, who, however, insisted on remaining in the position of chief attendant upon his master, being, in fact, a sort of major-domo and valet in one, looking after his comforts when in the palace, and accompanying him as personal guard whenever he rode out. "you niver know, yer honour, what these natives may be up to. they'll smile with you one day and stab ye the next. they're treacherous varmint, yer honour, if you do but give 'em the chance." at first charlie perceived that his position excited some jealousy in the minds of those surrounding the rajah. he therefore did all in his power to show to them that he in no way aspired to interfere in the inter- nal politics or affairs of the little state,—that he was a soldier and nothing more. he urged upon the rajah, who wished to have him always by him, that it was far better that he should appear to hold aloof, and to avoid all ap- pearance of favouritism, or of a desire to obtain dominance in the counsels of the rajah. he wished that the appoint- ments to the posts of officers in the new force should be discontent among the noble& made by the rajah, who should lend an ear to the advice of his usual councillors; but that once appointed they should be under his absolute command and control, and that he should have power to dismiss those who proved themselves indolent and incapable, to promote active and energetic men, wholly regardless of influence or position. the next morning charlie and his four assistants set to work to drill the three hundred men of the garri- son, taking them in parties of twenty. they were thus able, in the course of a few days, to pick out the most active and intelligent for the sub-officers, and these with the existing oflicers of the body and the new ones ap- pointed by the rajah, were at once taken in hand to be taught their duty. for a month the work went on steadily and without interruption, and from morn till night the courtyard echoed with the words of command. at the end of that time the twenty officers and forty sub-officers had fairly learned their duty. the natives of india are very quick in learning drill, and a regiment of newly raised sepoys will perform manoeuvres and answer to words of command in the course of a fortnight as promptly and regularly as would one of english recruits in three months. a good many changes had taken place during the month's work. many of the officers became disgusted with hard and con- tinuous work, to which they were unaccustomed, while some of the sub-officers showed a deficiency of the quick- ness and intelligence needed for the work. their places, however, were easily filled, and as the days went on all took an increasing degree of interest, as they acquired facility of movement, and saw how quickly, according to the euro- pean methods, manoeuvres were gone through. at the end of a month, then, the sixty men were able in turn to instruct others, and a body of five hundred men being called out, the work of drilling on a large scale began. the drill-ground now was a level space in the valley below the town, and the whole population assembled day the new levies. after day to look on with astonishment at the exercises. the four great companies, or battalions as charlie called them, were kept entirely separate, each under the com- mand of one of the sepoys, under whom were a propor- tion of the officers and sub-officers. every evening charlie came down for an hour and put each body through its drill, distributing blame or praise as it was deserved, thus keeping up a spirit of emulation between the battalions. at the end of a fortnight, when the simpler manoeuvres had been learned, charlie, for two hours each day, worked the whole together as one regi- ment, and was surprised himself to find how rapid was the progress which each day effected. the rajah himself often came down to the drill-ground and took the highest interest in the work. he himself would fain have had regular uniforms, similar to those worn by the sepoys in the service of the european powers, provided for the men; but charlie strongly urged him not to do so. he admit- ted that the troops would look immensely better if clad in regular uniform than as a motley band, each dressed according to his own fancy. he pointed out, however, that while the news that the rajah was having some of his men drilled by european deserters would attract but little attention among his neighbours, the report that he was raising sepoy battalions would certainly be received by them in a hostile spirit. "by all means," charlie said, "get the uniforms made for the whole force and keep them by you in store. they can be at once served out in case of war, and the sight of a number of sepoy battalions where they ex- pected only to meet an irregular force, will have an immense effect upon any force opposed to you." the rajah saw the force of this argument, and at once ordered five thousand suits of white uniforms, similar to those worn by the sepoys in the english and french service, to be made and stored up in the magazines. while his lieutenants were drilling the main body charlie training a native forc& himself took in hand a party of forty picked men, and instructed them in the use of field-guns. the superiority of europeans in artillery was one of the reasons which gave to them such easy victory in their early battles with the native forces in india. the latter possessed a very powerful artillery in point of numbers, but there was no regular drill nor manner of loading. they were in the habit, too, of allowing each gun to cool after it was fired before being loaded again. it was thought, therefore, good practice if a gun were discharged once in a quarter of an hour. they were then utterly as- tounded and dismayed at the effects of the european guns, each of which could be loaded and fired twice, or even three times, a minute. so month passed after month until rajah boorhau was in a position to put, if necessary, five battalions of sepoys, each seven hundred strong, into the field, with thirty guns, served by trained artillerymen. so quietly had the work gone on that it attracted no attention among his neighbours. the mere rumour that the rajah had some european deserters in his service, and that these were drilling four or five hundred men, was considered of so little moment that it passed altogether unheeded. the accounts of the state of affairs in the carnatic, which reached charlie, were not satisfactory. dupleix, with his usual energy, was aiding the son of chunda sahib with men and money in his combat with the british protege*, and most of the native allies of the latter had fallen away from him. trichinopoli was again be- sieged, and the fortunes of england, lately so flourishing, were waning again. in the deccan french influence was supreme. bussy, with a strong and well-disciplined french force, maintained salabut jung, whom the french had placed on the throne, against all opponents. at one time it was the peishwar, at another the marattas, against whom bussy turned his arms, and always with success, circumspection necessary. and the french had acquired the four districts on the coast known as the northern sircas. it was in vain that charlie endeavoured to gain an accurate knowledge of the political position, so quickly and continually did this change. at one time the peishwar and the nizam, as the subadarof thedeccanwas now called, would be fight- ing in alliance against one or other of the maratta chiefs. at another time they would be in conflict with each other, while the rajah of mysore, murari reo, and other chiefs were sometimes fighting on one side, sometimes on another. proud of his rapidly increasing force, boorhau reo would, more than once in the course of the year, have joined in the warfare going on around. charlie, however, succeeded in restraining him from doing so, pointing out that the victor of one day was the vanquished of the next, and that it was worse than useless to join in a struggle of which the conditions were so uncertain, and the changes of fortune so rapid, that none could count upon others for aid, however great the assistance they might have rendered only a short time before. "were you to gain territory, rajah, which you might, perhaps, largely do, from the efficient aid which you might render to one party or the other, you would be the object of a hostile combination against which you could not hope to struggle." the rajah yielded at once to charlie's arguments; but the influence of the latter added to the hostility which the favour shown him by the rajah had provoked among many of the leading men of the state. where the sides were often so closely balanced as was the case in these intestine struggles, the aid of every rajah, however small his following, was sought by one or other of the com- batants, and the counsellors of those able to place a re- spectable force in the field were heavily bribed by one side or the other. those around rajah boorhau found their efforts completely baffled by the influence of the the conspirators at work. english commander of his forces, and a faction of increas- ing strength and power was formed to overthrow him. the rajah himself had kept his secret well, and one or two only of his advisers knew that the englishman was a trusted agent of the company. the soldiers were much attached to their english leader they found him always just and firm. complaints were always listened to, tyranny or ill-treatment by the officers suppressed and punished, merit rewarded. among the officers the strictness of the discipline alienated many, who contrasted the easy life which they had led before the in- troduction of the european system, with that which they now endured. so long as they were engaged in mastering the rudiments of drill they felt their disadvantage; but when this was acquired each thought himself capable of taking the place of the english adventurer and of leading the troops he had organized to victory. already charlie had received several anonymous warnings that danger threatened him. the rajah was, he knew, his warm friend, and he, in his delight at seeing the formidable force which had been formed from his irregular levies, had presented him, as a token of his gratitude, with large sums of money. in those days this was the method by which indian princes rewarded european officers who rendered them ser- vice, and it was considered by no means derogatory to the latter to accept the money. this was, indeed, the univer- sal custom, and charlie, knowing that captain clive had received large presents of this kind, had no hesitation in following his example. the treasures stored up by many of these indian princes were immense, and a lac of rupees, equivalent to ten thousand pounds, was considered by no means a large present. charlie, foreseeing that sooner or later the little state would become involved in hosti- lities, took the precaution of forwarding the money he had received down to madras, sending it piecemeal, in charge of native merchants and traders. it was by these tim alarmed for charlie's safety. paid into the madras treasury, where a large rate of interest for all monies lent by its employe's was given by the company. for those at home he felt no uneasiness. it was very seldom that their letters reached him; but he learned that they were still in high favour with his uncle, that his mother continued installed as the head of his house, and that the girls were both at excellent schools. charlie mentioned to the rajah the rumours which had reached him of a plot against him. the rajah assured him of his own support under all circumstances, and offered that a strong guard should be placed night and day over the apartments he occupied. this charlie declined. "a guard can always be cor- rupted," he said. "my irish servant sleeps in my ante- room, my four lieutenants are close at hand, and know- ing that the soldiers are, for the most part, attached to me, i do not think that open force will be used. i will, however, cause a large bell to be suspended above my quarters, its ringing will be a signal that i am attacked, in which case i rely upon your highness putting your- self at the head of the guard and coming to my assis- tance." tim kelly was at once furious and alarmed at the news that danger threatened his master, and took every precaution that he could imagine to ensure his safety. he took to going down to the town himself to purchase provisions, and so far as possible prepared these himself. he procured two or three monkeys, animals which he held in horror, and offered them a portion of everything that came on the table, before he placed it before his master. charlie at first protested against this, as his dinner became cold by waiting, but tim had an oven prepared and ordered dinner half an hour before the time fixed by his master. each dish as brought in was, after a portion had been given to a monkey, placed in the oven, and thus half an hour was given to allow the the monkey guards. poison to work. this was done without charlie's know- ledge, the oven being placed in the ante-room, and the dishes thence brought in in regular order by the body servant, whom even tim allowed to be devoted to his master. one day charlie was just sitting down to his soup when tim ran in. "for the love of heaven, mr. charles, don't put that stuff to your mouth. it's pisoned, or, at anyrate, if it isn't, one of the other dishes is." "poisoned, tim! nonsense, man; you are always thinking of poisonings and plots." "and it's lucky for your honour that i am," tim said. "jist come into the next room and look at the monkeys." charlie went in. one of the little creatures was lying upon the ground evidently in a state of great agony. the other was sitting up rocking itself backwards and forwards like a human being in pain. "they look bad, poor little beasts," charlie said; "but what has that got to do with my soup?" "shure, yer honour, isn't that jist what i keep the cratures for, just to give thorn a taste of everything yer honour has, and i claps it into the oven there to kape it warm till i've had time to see by the monkeys whether it's good." "it looks very serious," charlie said gravely. "do you go quietly out, tim, call two men from the guard- house and seize the cook, and place one or two men as sentries over the other servants. i will go across to the rajah." the latter, on hearing what had happened, ordered the cook to be brought before him, together with the various dishes prepared for the dinner. the man upon being interrogated vehemently denied all knowledge of the affair. "we shall see," the rajah said. "eat up that plate of soup." proof of his guilt. these orders were carried out, and on the following morning the dishes were placed in the cell of the prisoner. when removed at night they were found to be untouched. the next evening several of the dishes were found to have lost some ounces in weight. the third evening all but one had been tasted. "let the prisoner be brought in again," the rajah ordered when informed of this. "dog," he said, " you have be- trayed yourself. had you been innocent you could not have known in which of the dishes the poison had been placed. you have eaten of all but one. if that one contains poison you are guilty." then turning to an attendant he ordered him to take a portion of the untouched food and to throw it to a dog pending the experiment the prisoner was removed. half an hour later the attendant returned with the news that the dog was dead. "the guilt of the man is confirmed," the rajah said. "let him be executed." "will you give him to me, your highness?" charlie asked. "his death would not benefit me now, and to save his life he may tell me who is my enemy. it is of no use punishing the instrument and letting the instigator go free." "you are right," the rajah agreed. "if you can find out who bribed him, justice shall be done though it were the highest in the state." charlie returned to his own quarters, assembled his lieutenants and several other of his officers, and had the man brought before him. "hossein," he said, "you have taken money to take my life. i looked upon you as my faithful servant. i had done you no wrong. it has been proved that you attempted to poison me. you, when driven by hunger, ate small quantities, which you thought would pass un- observed, of all the dishes but one. that dish has been given to a dog and he has died. you knew then which charlie's magnanimity. was the poisoned dish. the rajah has ordered your execution. i offer you life if you will tell me who it was that tempted you." the prisoner preserved a stolid silence. "we had better proceed to torture him at once," one of the rajah's officers said. the man turned a little paler. he knew well the horrible tortures which would in such an instance be inflicted to extort the names of those who had bribed him. "i will say nothing," he said firmly, "though you tear me limb from limb." "i have no intention of torturing you," charlie said. "a confession extorted by pain is as likely to be false as true, and even did you tell me one name there might still be a dozen engaged in it who would remain unknown. no, hossein, you have failed in your duty, you have tried to slay a master who was kind to you and trusted you." "no, sahib," the man exclaimed passionately. "you did not trust me. the food i sent you was tested and tried. i knew it; but i thought that the poison would not have acted on the monkeys until you had eaten the dish. the fool who sold it me deceived me. had you trusted me i would never have done it. it was only when i saw that i was suspected and doubted without cause that my heart turned against you, and i took the gold which was offered to me to kill you. i swear it by the prophet." charlie looked at him steadily. "i believe you," he said. "you were mistaken. ] had no suspicions. my servant feared for me and took these precautions without telling me. however, hossein, i pardon you, and if you will swear to me to be faithful in future i will trust you. you shall again be my cook, and i will eat the food as you prepare it for me." "i am my lord's slave," the man said in a low tone. "my life is his." a foe becomes a guardian. charlie nodded, and the guard standing on either side of the prisoner stepped back, and without another word he left the room a free man. charlie's officers remonstrated with him upon having not only pardoned the man, but restored him to his posi- tion of cook. "i think i have done wisely," charlie said. "i must have a cook, for tim kelly here is not famous that way, and although he might manage for me when alone, he certainly could not turn out a dinner which would be suitable when i have some of the rajah's kinsmen and officers dining with me. did i get another cook he might be just as open to the offers of my enemies as hossein has been, and do you not think that, after what has passed, hossein will be less likely to take bribes than any other man?" henceforth the oven was removed from the ante-cham- ber, and charlie took his meals as hossein prepared them for him. the man said little, but charlie felt sure from the glances that he cast at him that he could rely upon hossein now to the death. tim kelly, who felt the strongest doubts as to the prudence of the proceeding, observed that hossein no longer bought articles from men who brought them up to sell to the soldiers, but that every morning he went out early and purchased all the supplies he desired from the shopkeepers in the town. tim mentioned the fact to his master, who said: "you see, tim, hossein has determined that i shall not be poisoned without his knowing it. the little ped- lars who come up here with herbs, and spices, and the ingredients for curry might be bribed to sell hossein poisoned goods. by going down into the town and buy- ing in the open market it is barely possible that the goods could be poisoned . you need have no more anxiety whatever, tim, as to poison. if the attempt is made again it will probably be by sword or dagger." a change of sleeping-place. "well, yer honour," said tim, "anything's better than pison. i've got to sleep almost with one eye open. and you've got sentries outside your windows. what a pity it is that we ain't in a climate where one can fasten the windows and boult the shutters! but now the wet season is over again ye might have yer bed put, as ye did last year, on the roof of your room, with a canopy over it to keep off the dew. ye would be safe thin, except from anyone coming through the room where i sleeps." charlie's bed-room was at the angle of a wall, and on two sides he could look down from his windows two hundred feet, sheer into the valley below. the view from the flat terraced roof was a charming one, and, as tim said, charlie had, in the fine weather, converted the ter- race into a sleeping-room. a broad canopy, supported by poles at the corner, stretched over it, and even in the hottest weather the nights were not unpleasant here. chapter xiii. an attempt at murder. he house, of which the bed-room occupied by charlie formed part, was elsewhere two stories higher, this room jutting out alone into the angle of the wall. the rest of the suite of rooms were in the house itself, but access could be obtained to this room through the window, which looked on to the terrace of the wall. charlie's lieutenants always took pains to place men upon whom they could thoroughly rely as sentries on this terrace. one night, a fortnight after the events which have been described, charlie was asleep on his bed on the flats above his room. on one side the house rose straight beside it. on two others was the fall to the valley, on the fourth side was the wall, along which two sentries were pacing to and fro. from time to time, from a door some distance along the side of the house, opening on to the wall, a white figure came out, stretched himself as if unable to sleep, looked for a while over the parapet down into the valley, appeared to listen intently, and then sauntered into the house again. it was the cook, hossein. it was his custom. successive sentries had for many nights past seen him do the same, but in a country where the nights are hot, a sleepless servant attracts but little attention. upon the occasion of one of these visits to the parapet he stood in an attitude of deep attention longer than usual. then he carelessly j hossein to the rescue. sauntered back. it was but a moment later that his face appeared at the window next to that of charlie's bed-room. he stretched his head out and again listened intently. then he went to tim, who was sleeping heavily on a couch placed there, and touched him. he put his hand on his lips as tim sprang up. "take arm," he said in hindostanee. "bad man coming." tim understood the words, and seizing a sword and pistol which lay close to the bedside, followed hossein, who had glided up the stairs with a drawn tulwar in his hand. at the moment he did so there was a noise of heavy bodies dropping, followed by a sudden shout from charlie. there was a sound of clashing of arms and the report of a pistol. as tim's eyes came on a level with the terrace he saw hossein bound with uplifted blade into the midst of a group of men in the corner. three times the blade rose and fell, and each time a loud shriek followed. then he disappeared in the midst. tim was but a few seconds behind him. discharging his pistol into the body of one of the men, and running his sword into another, he, too, stood by the side of his master. charlie, streaming with blood, was half sitting half lying in the angle of the parapet. hossein, his turban off, his long hair streaming down his back, was standing over him, fighting furiously against some ten men who still pressed forward, while several others lay upon the ground. in spite of the arrival of charlie's two allies they still pressed forward, but the shots of the pistols had been echoed by the muskets of the sentries. loud shouts were heard, showing that the alarm was sounding through the palace. one more desperate effort the assailants made to beat the two men who opposed them over the parapet, but hossein and the irishman stood firm. the weight and numbers of their opponents, however, told upon them, when the first of the sentries appeared upon the platform, followed closely by his comrade, and both with levelled bayonets charged into the fray. the assailants now ( ) l the assassins in a trap. thought only of escape, but their position was a desperate one. some rushed to the end of the terrace and tried to climb the ropes by which they had slid down from the upper roof of the house. others endeavoured to rush down the staircase, but tim with one of the sentries guarded this point, until a rush of feet below told that the guard were coming to their assistance. it was well that help was at hand, for the conspirators, desperate at finding themselves in a trap, gathering themselves together rushed with the fury of wild beasts upon tim and the sentry. one was impaled upon a bayonet, another cut down by tim, and then, borne back by the weight of their opponents, they were hurled backwards down the stairs. as the assailants followed them with a rush, the guard sprang through the open window from the terrace below into the room. there was a short and desperate conflict. then two of the conspirators bounded up the staircase on to the roof, ran to the parapet and leaped over into the valley, two hundred feet below. they were the last of the eighteen men who had lowered themselves from the roof above to attack charlie. as soon as tim picked himself up he hastened to ascend the stairs again, and to run to the side of his master. charlie was insensible. leaning against the parapet, too weak to stand, but still holding his sword and ready to throw himself once more before him, stood hossein, who now, seeing tim approach, and that all danger was over, dropped his sword and sank upon the ground. a minute or two later the rajah himself, sword in hand, hurried up. he was greatly concerned and excited at the sight which met his eyes. charlie was at once lifted and carried down to one of the rajah's own rooms, where he was instantly attended to. a hasty examination showed that only two of the attack- ing party still breathed. none of those who had fallen above survived, so fierce and deadly had been the blows struck by hossein and tim. charlie himself had cut the fate op the assassins. pace . an attempt at revolution. down one and shot another before he fell, slashed in many places, just as hossein bounded through his assailants. the bodies of the dead were by the rajah's orders laid together for identification in the morning. the two who still lived were carried to the guard-room, and their wounds dressed in order that the names of their employers might be obtained from them. in the meantime charlie's lieutenants had hastily formed a body of their soldiers together, and these at once fell upon a number of men who were crowding up the steps to the palace with shouts of "death to the englishman." a few volleys poured among these effectually scattered them, and they broke and hurried down the steep road, through the gates to the town, the sentries on the way offering no opposition, but many falling under the fire from the parapet of the fort. in ten minutes all was over. the gates were again closed and a strong guard placed over them, and the attempted insurrection was at an end. the native surgeon who attended charlie pronounced that none of the five wounds he had received, although for the most part severe, were necessarily fatal, and that there was every chance of his recovery. hossein's wounds, three in number, were pronounced to be more dangerous, one being a deep stab in the body given by a man who had rushed at him as he was guarding the blow of another. tim's wounds were comparatively slight, and he suffered more from the bruises he had received when hurled back- wards down the stone staircase. however, with one arm in a sling and his head bandaged, he was able to take his place by his master's bedside. having heard from him that it was entirely due to hossein that charlie's life had been saved, the rajah directed that every attention should be paid to him, and several times during the night tim stole away to his bedside to press his hand, and call down blessings upon him. the stanching of his wounds and the application of strong restoratives presently caused charlie to open his eyes. a vigilant guard. "the lord be praised, mr. charles," tim said, "that you're coming to yourself again. don't you trouble, sir. we've done for the murdhering rascals, and plase god you'll soon be about again. jist drink this draught, yer honour, and go off to sleep if you can. in the morning i'll tell you all about it. you're in the rajah's own room," he continued, seeing charlie's eyes wander wonderingly around him, "and all you've got to do is just to lie still and get well as soon as you can." it was a fortnight before charlie, still very weak and feeble, was able to totter from his room to that in which hossein was lying. he himself knew nothing of what had passed after he fell. the conflict had to him been little more than a dream. awakened from sleep by the sound of his assailants as they dropped from the ropes, he had leaped up as a rush of figures came towards him, catching up his sword and pistol as ho did so. he had shot the first and cut down the next who rushed at him, but at the same moment he had felt a sharp pain and remembered no more. tim heard from hossein, when the latter, two days after the fight, was able to speak, that he had suspected that some renewed attempt might be made upon his master's life, and that for many nights he had not slept, contenting himself with such repose as he could snatch in the daytime, between the intervals of preparing meals. a few minutes before the attack he fancied he heard a movement on the roof of the house, and running to charlie's room he had from the window seen some dark figures sliding down the wall. then he roused tim and rushed up to the rescue. tim eloquently described to his master the manner in which hossein sprung upon his foes, and cut his way through in time to drive back those who were hacking at him as he lay prostrate, and how he found him standing over him, keeping at bay the whole of his assailants. charlie with difficulty made his way to the bedside of a time op convalescence. the brave mahommedan. the latter, however, did not know him. he was in the delirium of fever. he was talking rapidly to himself. "he trusted me," he said. "he gave me my life. should i not give mine for him? anyone else would have had me hung as a dog. i will watch; i will watch; he shall see that hossein is not ungrateful." charlie's eyes filled with tears as he looked at the wasted form of his follower. "is there any hope for him?" he asked the doctor. "it is possible, just possible that he may live," the latter said. "allah only knows." "do all you can to save him," charlie said; "i shall be ever grateful to you if you do." tim, now that his master could dispense with his services, transferred his attentions to the bedside of hossein, and was unremitting in the care and attention with which he kept the bandages on his head cool with fresh water, and wetted his hot lips with refreshing drinks. it was another week before his illness took a turn. then the fever left him, and he lay weak and helpless as an infant. strong soups now took the place of the cooling drinks, and in a few days the native doctor was able to say confidently that the danger was passed, and that hossein would recover. in the meantime the investigations of the rajah had brought to light the details of the conspiracy. the wounded men had confessed that they were employed by three of the principal persons at the rajah's court, one of them being the rajah's brother. the information, how- ever, was scarcely needed, as it was found in the morning that their apartments were empty, they having fled with the men who had attacked the gates of the palace. these consisted partly of soldiers whom they had bribed, and of desperadoes from the town, who had singly entered the fort during the day, and had been concealed in the apart- ments of the conspirators until the signal for attack was the weak point of ambur. of the defence was the hill behind the town. this sloped up gradually to a point higher than the level of the pro- jecting rock upon which the castle stood. it then rose in rugged cliffs some two hundred feet higher, and then fell away again steeply to its summit. this was too far back for the fire of guns placed upon it to injure the castle or town. guns placed, however, at the foot of the rocky wall would dominate the castle and render it at last untenable. charlie had often looked with an anxious eye at this point, and one morning, accompanied by the rajah, he rode up to examine the position. the highest point' of the slope at the foot of the crag was nearly opposite the castle, and it was here that an active enemy, making his way along the slope, would place his guns. here charlie determined to establish a battery. news had arrived that the rajah's brother had raised a force of three thousand men, and that with seven thousand marattas he was about to march. this force charlie felt certain that he could meet and defeat in the open. but more disquieting news was that bussy, hearing that the rajah's troops had been trained by an englishman, had advised the nizam to declare for his rival and to send a considerable force to his assistance, if necessary. fresh messengers were sent off with new assurances of the rajah's loyalty to the nizam. "it may not do much good," charlie said, "but if we can induce him to remain quiet until we have defeated murari reo, it will be so much gained." charlie himself despatched a messenger to mr. saunders begging that assistance might be sent to the rajah. having decided upon the position for a battery, energetic steps were taken to form it . a space large enough for the construction of the battery, and for the tents and stores of the artillery- men and two hundred infantry, was marked out, and the rajah ordered the whole population of ambur, men, women, and children, to assist at the work. the troops, too, were all employed, and under charlie's superintend- a people at work. ence a wondrous change was soon effected. the spot chosen was levelled, a strong earthwork was erected round it, and then the surrounding ground was removed. this was a work of immense labour, the ground consisting first of a layer of soil, then of debris which had fallen from the face of the rock above, stones and boulders, to the depth of some fifteen feet, under which was the solid earth. the slope resembled an ant-hill. the soldiers and able-bodied men broke up the boulders and rock with sledge-hammers, or, when necessary, with powder, and blasted the rock when needed. the women and chil- dren carried away the fragments in baskets. the work lasted for a fortnight, at the end of which a position of an almost impregnable nature was formed. at the foot of the earthworks protecting the guns, both at the face and sides, the ground, composed of great boulders and stones, sloped steeply out, forming a bank fifteen feet deep. at its foot, again, the solid rock was blasted away so as to form a deep chasm thirty feet wide and ten feet high round the foot of the fort. for a hundred yards on each side the earth and stones had been entirely removed down to the solid rock. ten guns were placed in the battery, and the fire of these swept the slopes behind the town and castle, rendering it impossible, until the fort was carried, for an enemy to attack the town on that side, or to operate in any way against the only point at which an attack could be made upon the castle. the rajah was delighted at this most formidable acces- sion to the defensive power of his fortress, which was now in a position to defy any attack which could be made against it. a store of provisions and ammunition was collected there, and the command given to one of char- lie's sepoy lieutenants, with a hundred trained artillery- men, and two hundred infantry. numbers of cattle had been driven into the town and castle, and stores of pro- visions collected. ready for the enemy. it was but two days after the battery was complete that the news arrived that the rajah's brother with murari reo had entered the rajah's dominions, and was marching up the valley to the assault. the rajah had in the first place wished to defend a strong gorge through which the enemy would have to pass, this having hitherto been considered the defensible point of his capital against an invasion. charlie pointed out, however, that although no doubt a successful defence might be made here, it would only be a repulse which would leave the enemy but little weakened for further operations. he argued that it was better to allow them to advance to the point where the valley opened out into a plain, some two miles wide. he had no doubt whatever that the rajah's troops would be able to inflict a crushing defeat upon the invaders, who would be so disheartened thereby that they would be little likely to renew the attack. two bodies of troops, each three hundred strong, were sent down to the gorge, with orders to remain in hiding among the heights, to allow the invading army to pass unmolested, and then to inflict the greatest possible loss upon them as they returned. these were under the com- mand of another of charlie's lieutenants, who received orders from him to erect breastworks of rock on the slopes above the entrance to the gorge, after the enemy had passed on, and to line these with a portion of his men who should pour a heavy fire into the enemy as they came down the valley, while the rest were to line the heights above the gorge and to roll down rocks upon those who passed through the fire of their comrades. the uniforms were served out to the soldiers, and charlie surveyed with pride the five battalions of trained troops which with twelve guns marched down into the valley and took up their post beyond it, at a point which he had carefully chosen, where the guns of the castle would be able to play upon an advancing body of troops. a body of trained artillerymen were told off for this the approach of the marattas. service, and the last-raised levies were posted in the castle and on the walls of the town. the position was so chosen that the flanks of the line rested on the slopes on either side. these were broken by inclosures and gardens, into which on either side half a battalion was thrown forward so as to deliver a flanking tire upon an enemy advancing against the centra across the valley, two hundred yards in front of the position, the stream which watered it made a sharp turn, running for some distance directly across it, and several small canals for the irrigation of the fields rendered the ground wet and swampy. across the line occupied by his troops, a breast- work had been thrown up, and in front of this rows of sharp-pointed stakes had been stuck in the ground altogether the position was a formidable one. an hour or two after the position so carefully prepared had been taken up, large bodies of maratta horse were seen dashing up the valley, and smoke rising from several points showed that they had begun their usual work of plundering and destroying the villages on their way. a few discharges from the field-pieces,—those in the castle had been ordered to be silent until the raising of a white flag gave them the signal to open fire,—checked the ad- vance of the horsemen, and these waited until their infantry should arrive. the force of murari reo was at that time the most formidable of any purely native army of southern india. recruited from desperadoes from all the maratta tribes, well disciplined by its leader, it had more than once fought without defeat against bodies of europeans, while it had in all cases obtained easy victories over other native armies. presently the horsemen opened, and a compact body of three thousand maratta infantry, accompanied by an equal number of the irregulars of the rajah's brother, advanced to the attack, while the cavalry at their sides swept down upon the flanks of the rajah's position, and a warm reception. thirty pieces of artillery opened fire. not a shot was fired in return, charlie ordering his men to lie down behind the breastworks until they received the word of command to show themselves. the maratta horsemen, compelled by the bends of the stream to keep near the foot of the slopes, came forward in gallant style, until suddenly from every wall and every clump of bushes on the slopes above them a tremendous fire of musketry broke out, while the twelve field-guns, six of which were posted on either side of charlie's centre, poured a de- structive fire into them. so deadly was the rain of iron and lead that the maratta horsemen instantly drew bridle, and leaving the ground strewn with their dead, galloped back. by this time the infantry, covered by the fire of their artillery, had reached the stream. this was waist deep, and the banks were some two feet above its level. as they scrambled up after crossing it, from the line of embankment in front of them a tremendous fire was opened. although mowed down in scores the seasoned warriors of the maratta chief, cheered on by his voice as, recklessly exposing himself, he rode among them, pressed forward. ever increasing numbers gained a footing across the stream, those in front keeping up a heavy fire at the breastwork, whose face was ploughed by their cannon-shot. as they advanced the guns of the castle opened fire, not upon those in front, for these were too near the line of entrenchment, but upon the struggling mass still crossing the stream, into which a ceaseless fire of musketry was poured from the slopes on their flanks. still the maratta infantry struggled bravely on until within a few yards of the entrenchments. then, suddenly with a mighty shout the rajah's troops leaped to their feet, poured a volley from the crest of the breastwork into the enemy, and then with fixed bayonets flung themselves upon them. the effect was decisive. the marattas had at the commencement of the fight scarcely defeat of the assailants. outnumbered the troops of the rajah in front of them, and had derived but little assistance from the levies of their ally, who indeed had contented themselves with keeping up a fire upon the defenders of the slopes. they had already suffered very severely, and the charge made upon them along the whole line was irresistible. before the bayonets crossed they broke and fled, hotly pursued by the troops of the rajah. these, in accordance with charlie's orders, did not scatter, but kept in a close line, four deep, which advanced pouring tremendous volleys into their foe. in vain did murari reo endeavour to rally his men. his infantry, all order lost, fled at the top of their speed, their flight covered by their cavalry, who sacrificed themselves in two or three brilliant charges right up to the line of pursuers, although suffering terribly from the withering volleys poured into their ranks. the troops were now formed into heavy columns, and these rapidly marched down the valley after their flying enemy. an hour later the sound of heavy firing was heard in front, and at redoubled speed the troops pressed onward. when they arrived, however, at the gorge they found that the last of the fugitives had passed through. the ground in front was strewn with dead and dying, for as the mass of fugitives had arrived at the gorge, the infantry from above had opened fire upon them. several times the frightened throng had recoiled, but at last, impelled by the greater fear of their pursuers behind, they had dashed forward through the fire, only to fall in hundreds in the gorge, crushed beneath the rain of rocks showered down upon them from above. chapter xiv. the siege of ambur. he victory was a complete and decisive one a thousand of the best troops of murari reo had fallen, besides some hundreds of their irregular allies, whose loss was incurred almost wholly at the gorge in the retreat. the rajah was in the highest state of delight at the splendid result obtained by the european training of his troops, and these, proud of their victory over such formidable opponents, were full of enthusiasm for their young english leader. the rejoicings in ambur that night were great, and all felt confident that the danger was at an end. -" what think you," the rajah said to charlie, as, the long feast at an end, they sat together in the divan smok- ing their narghileys, "will be the result when the news of the defeat of murari reo reaches hyderabad?" "it is difficult to say," charlie replied. "it is possible, of coufse, that it may be considered that it is better to leave you in peace; but upon the other hand it may be that they will consider that you are so formidable a power that it is absolutely necessary to crush you at once, rather than to give you the chance of joining against them in the war which must sooner or later take place between them and the english. in that case it will be a very different affair from that which we have had to-day. still, i should send oft' a messenger to-morrow to acquaint a more formidable invasion. the nizam with the defeat you inflicted upon the marattas who have invaded you, to assure him again of your loyalty, and to beg him to lay his authority upon murari reo not to renew the attack.' ten days later a messenger arrived from the nizam ordering the rajah to repair at once to hyderabad to ex- plain his conduct. the latter sent back a message of humble excuses, saying that his health was so injured by the excitement of recent events that he was unable to travel, but that when he recovered he would journey to hyderabad to lay his respects at the feet of the nizam. two or three days later a messenger arrived from mr. saunders with a letter to charlie. in this he expressed his great satisfaction at the defeat murari reo had re- ceived, a defeat which would for some time keep him quiet, and so relieve the strain upon the english. affairs had, he said, since the departure of clive for england, been going badly. dupleix had received large reinforce- ments, and the english had suffered several reverses. mr. saunders begged him to assure the rajah of the respect and friendship of england, and to give him the promise that if he should be driven from his capital he would be received with all honour at madras, and should be reinstated in his dominions, with much added terri- tory, when the english were again in a position to take the field in force and to settle their long feud with the french. ten days later they heard that the army of the nizam, of fifteen thousand troops, with eight hundred french under bussy, were marching against them, and that the horsemen of murari reo were devastating the villages near the frontier. a council of war was held. charlie would fain have fought in the open again, believing that his trained troops, flushed with their recent victory, would be a match even for the army of the nizam. but the rajah and the rest of the council, alarmed at the presence of the french troops, who had hitherto proved invincible the french and the nizam. against vastly superior forces of natives, shrank from such a course, and it was decided that they should con- tent themselves with the defence of the town and castle. orders were accordingly issued that the old men, the women, and children should at once leave the town, and, under guard of one battalion of troops, take refuge in an almost impregnable hill fort some miles away. one battalion was placed in garrison in the castle. the other three, with the irregulars, took post in the town, whence they could, if necessary, retreat into the castle. the day following the removal of the non-combatants the enemy appeared coming down the valley, having marched over the hills, while the maratta cavalry again poured up from below. charlie had taken the command of the town, as it was against this that the efforts of the enemy would be first directed. it was an imposing sight as the army of the nizam wound down the valley, the great masses of men with their gay flags, the elephants with the gold em- broidery of their trappings glistening in the sun, the bands of horsemen careering here and there, the lines of artillery drawn by bullocks, and, less picturesque but far more menacing, the dark body of french infantry who formed the nucleus and heart of the whole. the camp was pitched just out of range of the guns of the fort, and soon line after line of tents, gay with the flags that floated above them, rose across the valley. charlie had mounted to the castle the better to observe the movements of the enemy, and he presently saw a small body of horse- men ride out of the camp and mount the hillside across the valley. a glass showed that some of these were native officers, while others were in the dark uniform of the french. "i have no doubt," charlie said to the rajah, "that is the nizam himself with bussy gone up to reconnoitre the position. i wonder how he likes the look of it. i wish we could have turfed the battery above and the the opening of the siege. newly stripped land. we might in that case have given them a pleasant surprise. as it is they are hardly likely to begin by an attack along the slopes in the rear of the town, and you will see that they will commence the attack at the farther face of the town. the battery above cannot aid us in our defence there, and although the castle may help it will only be by a direct fire. if they try to carry the place by a coup de main i think we can beat them off, but they must succeed by regular approaches. we must inflict as much loss as we can and then fall back. however, it will be sometime before that comes." the next morning charlie found that the enemy had during the night erected three batteries on the slopes facing the north wall of the town, that farthest removed from the castle. they at once opened fire, and the guns on the walls facing them replied, while those on the castle hurled their shot over the town into the enemy's battery. for three days the artillery fire was kept up without intermission. the guns on the wall were too weak to silence the batteries of the besiegers, although these were much annoyed by the fire from the fort, which dismounted four of their guns and blew up one of their magazines. several times the town was set on fire by the shell from the french mortars; but charlie had organized the irregulars into bands with buckets, and these succeeded in extinguishing the flames before they spread. seeing that the mud wall of the town was crumbling rapidly before the besiegers' fire, charlie set his troops to work and levelled every house within fifty yards of it, and with the stones and beams formed barri- cades across the end of the streets beyond. many of the guns from other portions of the walls were removed and placed on these barricades. the ends of the houses were loopholed, and all was prepared for a desperate defence. charlie's experiences at arcot stood him in good stead, the assault of the breach. and he imitated the measures taken by clive at that place. when these defences were completed he raised a second line of barricades some distance further back, and here, when the assault was expected, he placed one of his battalions, with orders that if the inner line of entrenchments was can-ied they should allow all the defenders of that post to pass through, and then resist until the town was completely evacuated, when they were to fall back upon the fort. he had, however, little fear that his position would be taken at the first assault. upon the evening of the third day the besiegers' fire had done its work, and a gap in the wall some eighty yards wide was formed. the garrison were ordered to hold themselves in readiness, and a strict watch was set. towards morning a distant hum in the nizam's camp pro- claimed that the troops were mustering for the assault. the besiegers' guns had continued their fire all night, to revent working parties from placing obstacles in the reach. as the first shades of daylight appeared the fire ceased, and a great column of men poured forward to the assault. the few remaining guns upon the end wall opened upon them, as did the infantry who lined the parapet, while the guns in the castle at once joined in. the mighty column, however, composed of the troops of the nizam, pressed forward, poured over the fragments of the wall, and entered the clear space behind it. then from house- top and loophole, and from the walls on either side, a con- centrated fire of musketry was poured upon them, while twelve guns, four on each barricade, swept them with grape. the head of the column withered away under the fire, long lines were swept through the crowded mass, and after a minute or two's wild firing at their concealed foes, the troops of the nizam, appalled and shattered by the tremendous fire, broke and fled. the instant they had cleared the breach, the guns of the besiegers again ( ) m a short truce. opened furiously upon it, to check any sortie which the besieged might attempt. an hour later the besiegers hoisted a white flag and requested to be allowed to bury their dead and remove their wounded. this charlie agreed to, with the proviso that these should be carried by his own men beyond the breach, as he did not wish that the enemy should have an opportunity of examining the internal defences. the task occupied some time, as more than five hundred dead and dying lay scattered in the open space. during the rest of the day the enemy showed no signs of resuming the assault. during the night they could be heard hard at work, and although a brisk fire was kept up to hinder them, charlie found that they had pushed trenches from the batteries a considerable distance round each corner of the town. for four days the besiegers worked vigorously, harassed as they were by the guns of the fort and by those of the battery high up on the hillside, which were now able to take in flank the works across the upper angle of the town. at the end of that time they had erected and armed two batteries, which at daylight opened upon the walls which formed the flanks of the clear space behind the breach. although suffering heavily from the fire of the besieged, and losing many men, these batteries kept up their fire unceasingly night and day, until great gaps had been made in the walls, and charlie was obliged to withdraw his troops from them behind the line of barricades. during this time the fire of the batteries in front had been unceasing, and had destroyed most of the houses which formed the connecting line between the barricades. each night, however, the besieged worked to repair damages, and to fill up the gaps thus formed with piles of stones and beams, so that, by the end of the fourth day after the repulse of the first assault, a line of barricades stretched across the line of defence. the enemy this time prepared to attack by daylight, the final assault. and early in the morning the whole army of the nizam marched to the assault. heedless of the fire of the castle, they formed up in a long line of heavy masses along the slope. one huge column moved forward against the main breach, two advanced obliquely towards the great gaps in the walls on either side. the latter columns were each headed by bodies of french troops. in vain the guns of the fort, aided by those of the battery on the hill, swept them, the columns advanced without a check until they entered the breaches. then a line of fire swept along the crest of the barricade from end to end, and the can- non of the besieged roared out. pressed by the mass from behind, the columns advanced torn and rent by the fire, and at last gained the foot of the barricade. here those in front strove desperately to climb up the great mound of rubbish, while those behind covered them with a storm of bullets aimed at its summit. more than once the troops of the rajah, rushing down the embankment, drove back the struggling masses, but so heavily did they suffer from the fire when they thus exposed them- selves, that charlie forbade them to repeat the attempt. he knew that there was safety behind, and was unwil- ling that his brave fellows should throw away their lives. in the centre of the position the native troops, although they several times climbed some distance up the barricade, were yet unable to make way. but the french troops at the flanks were steadily forcing their way up. many had climbed up by the ruins of the wall, and from its top were firing down on the defenders of the barricade. inch by inch they won their way up the barricade, already thickly covered with dead, and then charlie, seeing that his men were beginning to waver, gave the signal. the long blast of a trumpet was heard even above the tremendous din. in an instant the barricades were de- serted, and the defenders rushed into the houses. the falling back to the stronghold. partition walls between these on the lower floors had already been knocked down, and without suffering from the heavy fire which the assailants opened as soon as they gained the crest of the barricade, the defenders retreated along these covered ways until in rear of the second line of defence. this was held by the battalion placed there until the whole of the defenders of the town had left it by the gate leading up to the fort. then charlie with- drew this battalion also, and the town remained in the hands of the enemy, who had lost, charlie reckoned, fully fifteen hundred men in the assault. during the fight tim and the faithful hossein, now fully recovered and promoted to the rank of an officer, had remained close beside him, and were, with him, the last to leave the town. the instant the evacuation was complete, the guns of the hill battery opened upon the town and a tremendous fire of musketry was poured upon it from every point of the castle which commanded it; while the guns, which from their lofty elevation, could not be depressed sufficiently to bear upon the town, directed their fire upon the bodies of troops still beyond the walls. the enemy had cap- tured the town, indeed, but its possession aided them but little in their assault upon the fort. the only advantage it gave them would have been that it would have enabled them to attack the lower gate of the fort, protected by its outer wall from the fire of the hill battery. charlie had, however, perceived that this would be the case, and had planted a number of mines under the wall at this point. these were exploded when the defenders of the town entered the fort, and a hundred yards of the wall were thus destroyed, leaving the space across which the enemy must advance to the attack of the gate exposed to the fire of the hill battery, as well as of the numerous guns of the fort bearing upon it. two days passed without any further operations on the part of the enemy, and then bussy, seeing that nothing the fort on the bill whatever could be done towards assaulting the fortress so long as the battery remained in the hands of the besieged, determined to make a desperate effort to carry it, ignorant of its immense strength. at night, therefore, he ordered two bodies of men, each fifteen hundred strong, to mount the hillside, far to the right and left of the town, to move along at the foot of the wall of rock, and to carry the battery by storm at daybreak. charlie, believing that such an attempt would be made, had upon the day follow- ing the fall of the town taken his post there, and had ordered a most vigilant watch to be kept up each night, placing sentries some hundred yards away on either side to give warning of the approach of an enemy. towards daybreak on the third morning a shot upon the left, followed a few seconds later by one on the right, told that the enemy were approaching. a minute or two afterwards the sentries ran in, climbed from the ditch by ladders which had been placed there for the purpose, and, hauling these up after them, were soon in the battery with the news that large bodies of the enemy were ap- proaching on either flank. scarcely were the garrison at their posts when the french were seen approaching. at once they broke into a run, and, gallantly led, dashed across the space of cleared rock in spite of the heavy fire of musketry and grape. when they came, however, to the edge of the deep gulf in the solid rock they paused. they had had no idea of meeting with such an obstacle as this. it was easy enough to leap down, but impossible to climb up the steep face ten feet high in front of them, and which, in the dim light, could be plainly seen. it was, however, impossible for those in front to pause. pressed upon by those behind, who did not know what was stopping them, large numbers were compelled to jump into the trench, where they found themselves unable either to advance or retreat. by this time every gun on the upper side of the castle had opened on the assailing columns, taking them in recalled. already so greatly injured their prestige—he had better return to madras, where, as mr. saunders said, the services of so capable an officer were greatly needed. he warned him, however, to be careful in the extreme how he made his way back, as the country was in a most disturbed state, the maratta bands being every- where out plundering and burning. subsequent infor- mation that the marattas were swarming in the plains below, determined charlie to accept an offer which the rajah made him, that he should, under a strong escort, cross the mountains and make his way to a port on the west coast in the state of a friendly rajah, where he would be able to take ship and coast round to madras. the rajah promised to send charlie's horses and other presents down to madras when an opportunity should offer; and charlie, accompanied by the four sepoys, all of whom had been promoted to the rank of officers, by tim kelly and hossein, who would not separate himself a moment from his side, started from ambur with an escort of thirty horsemen. the rajah was quite affected at the parting, and the army which he had formed and organized paraded before him for the last time and then shouted their farewell. charlie himself, although glad to return among his coun- trymen, from whom he had been nearly two years separated, was yet sorry to leave the many friends he had made. his position was now a very different one from that which he held when he left madras. then he was a newly made lieutenant, who had distinguished himself, indeed, under clive, but who was as yet un- known save to his commander, and who was as poor as when he had landed eighteen months before in india. now he had gained a name for himself, and his success- ful defence of ambur had been of immense service to the company. he was, too, a wealthy man, for the presents in money alone of the rajah had amounted to over twenty- five thousand pounds, a sum which in these days may the pirate flotilla. appear extraordinary, but which was small to that fre- quently bestowed by wealthy native princes upon british officers who had done them a good service. clive him- self after his short campaign had returned to england with a far larger sum. for several days the party rode through the hills with- out incident, and on the fifth day they saw stretched at their feet a rich flat country dotted with villages, beyond which extended the long blue line of the sea. the dis- tance was greater than charlie imagined, and 'twas only after two days' long ride that he reached calicut, where he was received with great honour by the rajah, to whom the leader of the escort brought letters of introduction from the eajah of anibur. for four days charlie re- mained as his guest, and then took a passage in a large native vessel bound for ceylon, whence he would have no difficulty in obtaining passage to madras. these native ships are very high out of water, rising considerably towards the stem and stern, and in form they somewhat resemble the chinese junk, but are with- out the superabundance of grotesque painting, carving, and gilding which distinguish the latter. the rajah accompanied charlie to the shore, and a salute was fired by his followers in honour of the departure of the guest. the weather was lovely, and the clumsy craft with all sail set was soon running down the coast. when they had sailed some hours from calicut, from behind a head- land four vessels suddenly made their appearance. they were lower in the water and much less clumsy in appear- ance than the ordinary native craft, and were propelled not only by their sails but by a number of oars on each side. no sooner did the captain and crew of the ship behold these vessels than they raised a cry of terror and despair. the captain, who was part owner of the craft, ran up and down the deck like one possessed, and the sailors seemed scarcely less terrified. "what on earth is the matter?" charlie exclaimed. "tulagi angria!" "what vessels are those, and why are you afraid of them?" "tulagi angria! tulagi angria!" the captain cried, and the crew took up the refrain. the name that they uttered fully accounted for their terror. chapter xv. the pirates' hold. ivagi, the founder of the maratta empire, had, in , seized and fortified vijiyadrug, or, as the english call it, gheriah, a town at the mouth of the river kanui, one hundred and seventy miles south of bombay, and also the island of suwarndrug, about half way between gheriah and bom- bay. here he established a piratical fleet. fifty years later kanhagi angria, the commander of the maratta fleet, broke off" this connection with the successors of sivagi, and set up as a pirate on his own account. kan- hagi not only plundered the native vessels, but boldly preyed upon the commerce of the european settlements. the ships of the east india company, the french com- pany, and the dutch were frequently captured by these pirates. tulagi angria, who succeeded his father, was even bolder and more successful, and when the man-of- war brig the restoration, with twenty guns and two hundred men, was fitted out to attack him, he defeated and captured her. after this he attacked and captured the french man-of-war jujritre, with forty guns, and had even the insolence to assail an english convoy, guarded by two men-of-war, the vigilant, of sixty-four guns, and the ruby, of fifty. the dutch, in , sent a fleet of seven ships of war, two bomb-vessels, and a strong body of troops against gheriah. the attack was, the eastern rovers. however, repulsed with considerable loss. from that date the pirates grew bolder and bolder, and were a per- fect scourge to the commerce of western india. charlie marryat had, of course, frequently heard of the doings of these noted pirates, and the cry of tulagi angria at once explained to him the terror of the master and crew. "what is it, mr. charles, what on earth is the bothera- tion about? is it the little ships they're afeered of?" "those ships belong to a pirate called tulagi angria," charlie said, "and i am very much afraid, tim, that we are likely to see the inside of his fortress." "but shure, yer honour, we're not afeered of those four little boats." "we are, tim, and very much afraid too. each of those boats, as you call them, carries four or five times as many men as this ship. they are well armed, while we have only those two little guns, which are useless except for show. if the crew were englishmen we might attempt a defence, although even then the odds would be terribly against us; but with these natives it is hope- less to think of it, and the attempt would only ensure our throats being cut." it was clear that the idea of resistance did never even enter the minds of the crew of the trader. some ran to and fro with gesticulations and cries of despair, some threw themselves upon the deck of the vessel, tore their hair, and rolled as if in convulsions. some sat down quietly with the air of apathetic resignation, with which the natives of india are used to meet what they consider the inevitable. hossein, who at the first alarm had bounded to his feet with his hand on his knife, subsided into an attitude of indifference when he saw that charlie did not intend making any defence. "it's mighty lucky," tim said, "that yer honour left all your presents to be forwarded to madras. i thought you were wrong, mr. charles, when you advised me to send them thousand rupees the rajah gave me, along with an unequal struggle. "good," the maratta said emphatically. "tulagi angria will be glad to have you. when your people capture any of our men, which is not often, they hang them. tulagi is glad to have people he can hang too." after being stripped of any small valuables on their persons the captives were taken on board one of the pirate boats. a score of the marattas remained in charge of the trader. her head was turned north, and, accompanied by the four maratta boats, she proceeded up the coast again. another trader was captured on the way, but two others evaded the pirates by running into the port of calicut. the trader was a slow sailer, and they were eight days before they approached gheriah. early in the morning a heavy cannonade was heard in the distance, causing the greatest excitement among the marattas. every sail was hoisted, the sweeps got out, and leaving the trader to jog along in their rear, the four light craft made their way rapidly along the coast. the firing became heavier and heavier, and as it became light three large ships could be seen about two miles ahead, surrounded by a host of smaller craft. "that's a big fight, mr. charles," tim exclaimed. "it reminds me of three big bulls in a meadow attacked by a host of little curs." "it does, tim; but the curs can bite. what a fire they are keeping up. but those war-ships ought to thrash any number of them. count the ports, i can see them now." "the biggest one," tim said, "has got twenty-five." "yes; and the others eighteen and nine. they are two frigates, one of fifty and the other of thirty-six guns, and a sloop of eighteen. i can't make out the colours, but i don't think they're english." "they're not english, yer honour," tim said con- fidently, "or they would soon make an end of them var- mint that's tormenting them." destruction of a dutch fleet. the scene as the boats approached was very exciting. the three ships were pouring their broadsides without intermission into the pirate fleet. this consisted of vessels of all sizes, from the jwpitre and restoration down to large rowing galleys. although many were sunk, and more greatly damaged by the fire of the dutch, they swarmed round the great ships with wonderful tenacity, and while the larger vessels fought their guns against those of the men-of-war, the smaller ones kept close to them, avoiding as much as possible their for- midable broadsides, but keeping up a perpetual musketry fire at their bulwarks and tops, throwing stink-pots, and shooting burning arrows through the ports, and getting alongside under the muzzles of the guns and trying to climb up into the ports. the four newly arrived craft joined in the fray "this is mighty unpleasant, yer honour," tim said, as a shot from one of the dutch men-of-war struck the craft they were in, crashing a hole through her bulwarks, and laying five or six of her crew upon the deck, killed or wounded by the splinters. "here we are in the middle of a fight in which we've no consarn whatever, and which is carried on without asking our will or plea- sure; and we are as likely to be killed by a christian shot as these haythen niggers. hear them yell, yer honour. a faction fight's nothing to it. look, yer honour, look! there's smoke curling up from a hatchway of the big ship. if they haven't set her afire!" it was as tim said. a cloud of black smoke was rising from the dutch fifty-gun frgate. a wild yell of triumph broke from the marattas. the fire of their guns upon her redoubled, while that from the man-of-war died away as the crew were called off to assist in extinguish- ing the flames. now the smaller boats pressed still more closely round her, and a rain of missiles was poured through the open ports. several times the marattas climbed on board, but each time were driven out again. the triumph of the freebooters. the smoke rose thicker and thicker, and tongues of flame could be seen shooting up. "she is doomed," charlie exclaimed. "even if unmo- lested the crew could not extinguish the fire now. it has got too much hold. ah! the other frigate is on fire now." fresh yells of triumph rose from the marattas. on board the sloop every sail was hoisted in spite of the continued fire of muskets and arrows, which killed many of the sailors employed. the jupitre, however, ran alongside her and grappled with her, and a furious com- bat could be seen proceeding on the decks. meanwhile the flames mounted higher and higher on board the two frigates. the crew now could be seen leaping overboard from the ports, choosing any death rather than that by fire. it was but a choice. many were drowned, the rest cut or shot down by the marattas. down came the dutch flag, fluttering from the masthead of the sloop, and the wild maratta yell proclaimed that the victory was everywhere complete. the frigates were now a sheet of flames, and the maratta craft drew away from them, until with two tremendous explosions their maga- gines blew up and they sank beneath the waters. "i should scarcely have believed it possible," charlie said, "that three fine ships of war, mounting a hundred and four guns, could be destroyed by a fleet of pirates, how- ever numerous. well, tim, there is no doubt that these natives can fight when well led. it is just as well, you see, that we did not attempt to offer any resistance in that clumsy craft we were on board." "you're right there, yer honour. they would have aten us up in five minutes. it makes my heart bleed to think of the sailors of those two fine ships, i don't be- lieve that a soul has escaped; but in the small one some may have been taken prisoners." when the fight was over the craft in which were the captives ran alongside the flagship of the pirate leader, the pirate hold. and the captain reported to'him the capture he had made. fortunately tulagi angria was in a high state of delight at the victory he had just won, and instead of ordering them to be instantly executed, he told the captain to take them on to suwarndrug and to imprison them there until his arrival. he himself with the rest of his fleet, and the captured dutch sloop, sailed into gheriah, and the craft in which charlie and his companions were imprisoned con- tinued her course to the island stronghold of the pirates. suwarndrug was built on a rocky island. it lay within gunshot of the shore. here, when kanhagi angria had flrst revolted from the authority of the maratta kingdom, the ruler of the deccan had caused three strong forts to be built in order to reduce the island fort. the pirates, however, had taken the initiative and had captured these forts, as well as the whole line of sea- coast, a hundred and twenty miles in length, and the country behind, twenty or thirty miles broad, extending to the foot of the mountains. on their arrival at suwarndrug the prisoners were handed over to the governor, and were imprisoned in one of the casemates of the fort. the next day they were taken out and ordered to work, and for weeks they laboured at the fortifications with which the pirates were strengthening their already naturally strong position. the labour was very severe, but it was a consolation to the captives that they were kept together. by charlie's advice they exerted themselves to the utmost, and thus succeeded in pleasing their masters, and in escaping with but a small share of the blows which were liberally dis- tributed among other prisoners, native and european, employed upon the work. charlie, indeed, was appointee! as a sort of overseer, having under him not only his own party but thirty others, of whom twenty were natives, and ten english sailors, who had been captured in a mer- chantman. although closely watched he was able to cheer these men by giving them a hope that a chance of arrival of an english fleet. escape from their captivity might shortly arrive. all expressed their readiness to run any risk to regain their liberty. from what he heard the pirates say, charlie learned that they were expecting an attack from an expedition which was preparing at bombay. the english sailors were confined in a casemate adjoining that occupied by charlie and his companions. the guard kept over them was but nominal, as it was considered impossible that they could escape from the island, off which lay a large fleet of the pirate vessels. one morning upon starting to work they perceived by the stir in the fortress that something unusual was taking place, and presently, on reaching the rampart, they saw in the dis- tance a small squadron approaching. they could make out that it consisted of a ship of forty-four guns, one of sixteen, and two bomb vessels, together with a fleet of native craft. the pirate fleet were all getting up sail. "it's a bold thing, tim, to attack this fortress with only two ships, when the pirates have lately beaten a dutch squadron mounting double the number of guns." "ah, yer honour, but thin there is the union jack floating at the masthead. do you think the creeturs don't know the differ?" "but the dutchmen are good sailors and fought well, tim. i think the difference is that in the last case they attacked the dutch, while in the present we are attack- ing them. it makes all the difference in the world with indians. let them attack you and they'll fight bravely enough. go right at them and they're done for. look, the pirate fleet are already sailing away." "and do you think the english will take the fort, yer honour?" "i don't know, tim. the place is tremendously strong, and built on a rock. there are guns which bear right down on the ships if they venture in close, while theirs will ( j * n the bombardment of suwarndrug. do but little damage to these solidly built walls. suwarn- drug ought to resist a fleet ten times as strong as that before us." "shure thin, yer honour, and will we have to remain here all our lives, do ye think?" "no, tim, i hope not. besides i think that we ought to be able to render some assistance to them." "and how will we do it, yer honour? you have but to spake the word and tim kelly is ready to go through fire and water, and so is hossein; ye may be shure of that." seeing that the pirates were now mustering round their guns, and that the ships were ranging up for action, charlie thought it prudent to retire. hitherto no atten- tion had been paid to them, but 'twas probable enough that when the pirates' blood became heated by the fight, they would vent their fury upon their captives. he, therefore, advised not only the native officers but the sailors to retire to their casemates, which, as the guns placed in them did not command the position taken up by the ships, were at present untenanted by any of the garrison. presently the noise of guns proclaimed that the engagement had begun. the boom of the cannon of the ships was answered by an incessant fire from the far more numerous artillery of the fortress, while now and then a heavy explosion close at hand told of the bursting of the bombs from the mortar-vessels, in the fortress. charlie had been thinking of the best measures to be taken to aid his friends ever since the squadron came in sight, and after sitting quietly for half an hour he called his officers around him. "i am convinced," he said, "that if unaided from within, the ships will have no chance whatever of taking this fortress; but i think that we may help them. the upper fort, which contains the magazine, commands the whole of the interior. but its guns do not bear upon the ships where they are anchored. probably the place charlie's plan to aid the fleet. at present is almost deserted. as no one pays any at- tention to us, i propose, with tim kelly and the ten english sailors, to seize it. we can close the gate and discharge the guns upon the defenders of the sea face. we could not, of course, defend it for five minutes if they attacked us; hut we would threaten to blow up the magazine if they did so. i propose that to-morrow morn- ing you four and hossein shall strip to your loin-clothes, and just before it becomes light go along the walls, and stop up, with pieces of wood, the touch-holes of as many of the cannon as you can. it would not do to use nails, even if we had them. no one will notice in the dark that you are not marattas, and if you scatter about you may each manage to close up four or five guns at least. it is, i know, a desperate service, and if discovered you will be instantly killed. but if it succeeds the pirates, scared by discovering, just as our ships open fire, that a number of their guns are disabled, while we take them in the rear from the fort behind, may not improbably surrender at once. at anyrate it's worth trying, and i for one would rather run the risk of being killed, than be con- demned to pass my life the slave of these pirates, who may at any moment cut our throats in case of any reverse happening to them." the four native officers at once stated their willingness to join in the plan. hossein did not consider any reply necessary. with him it was a matter of course to do whatever charlie suggested. the latter then went into the next casemate and unfolded his plan to the sailors, who heartily agreed to make an effort for their liberty. the fire continued all day unabated, and at nightfall, when a man as usual brought the captives food, he exult- ingly told them that no damage whatever had been effected by the guns of the fleet. in the evening the party cut a number of pieces of wood; these, measuring by the cannon in the casemate, they made of just suffi- cient size and length to push down with a slight effort spikes for thb guns, through the touch-hole. when pushed down to their full length they touched the interior of the cannon below, and were just level with the top of the touch-hole. thus it would be next to impossible to extricate them in a hurry. they might, indeed, be broken and forced in by a solid punch of the same size as the touch-hole, but this would take time, and would not be likely to occur on the moment to the pirates. the skewers, for this is what they resembled, were very strong and tough, being made of slips of bamboo. the prisoners had all knives which they used for cutting their food. with these the work was accomplished. towards morning the five natives, with the skewers hidden away in their loin-clothes and their turbans twisted in maratta fashion, stole out from the casemate. charlie had ordered, that in case they should see that the ships had drawn off from the position they occupied on the preceding day, they should return without attempting to carry out their task. he himself, with tim, joined the sailors, and, first ascending the ramparts and seeing that the ships were still at anchor abreast of the fort, he and his comrades strolled across the interior of the fort in the direction of the magazine. they did not keep together, nor did all move directly towards the position which they wished to gain. the place was already astir. large numbers of the pirates thronged the interior. groups were squatted round fires, busy in cooking their breakfasts, numbers were coming from the magazine with powder to fill up the small magazines on the walls, others again were carry- ing shot from the pyramids of missiles piled up here and there in the courtyard. none paid any attention to the english prisoners. presently a dull boom was heard. there was a whistling sound, and with a thud, followed by a loud explosion, a bomb fell and burst in the open space. this was the signal for action. the seizure of the magazine. the pirates in a moment hurried down to the bastions overlooking the sea, and the englishmen gathered in a group near the entrance to the magazine. besides their knives they had no arms, but each had picked up two or three heavy stones. a minute after the explosion of the shell the cannonade of the ships broke out. it was answered by only a few guns from the fortress, and yells of astonishment and rage were heard to arise. a moment later five natives ran up to the group of english- men. their work had been well done, and more than three-fourths of the guns on the sea face had been rendered temporarily useless. charlie gave the word, and with a rush they entered the upper fort. there were but two or three men there, who were just hurrying out with their bags of powder. these, before they realized the position, were instantly knocked down and bound. the gate of the fort was then shut and barred, and the party ran up to the bastion above. not a single pirate was to be seen there. the six guns which stood there were at once loaded with grape, and a heavy discharge was poured into the crowded masses of pirates upon the bastions on the sea face. these, already greatly disturbed at finding that most of their guns had in some way been rendered useless, were panic-stricken at this sudden and unexpected attack from the rear. many of them broke from their guns and fled to shelter, others endeavoured to turn their cannon to bear upon the magazine. the wildest confusion raged. at last some of their leaders rallied the men, and with yells of fury a rush was made towards the magazine. they were received with another discharge of grape, which took terrible effect. many recoiled, but their leaders, shouting to them that the guns were discharged, and there were but a dozen men there, led them on again. charlie leaped upon the edge of the parapet and shouted: success of the plan. "if you attack us we will blow up the magazine. i have but to lift my hand and the magazine will be fired." the boldest of the assailants were paralysed by the threat. confusion reigned throughout the fortress. the fleet kept up their fire with great vigour, judging by the feebleness of the reply that something unusual must be happening within the walls. the gunners, dis- heartened by finding their pieces useless, and unable to extract the wooden plugs, while charlie's men continued to ply them with grape, left their guns and with the greater portion of the garrison, disorganized and panic- stricken, retired into shelter. a shell from the ships falling on to a thatched building set it on fire. the flames rapidly spread, and soon all the small huts occu- pied by the garrison were in flames. the explosion of a magazine added to the terror of the garrison, and the greater portion of them, with the women and children, ran down to the water, and taking boats attempted to cross to fort goa, on the mainland. they were, however, cut off by the english boats and captured . commodore james, who commanded the squadron, now directed his fire at fort goa, which was being feebly attacked on the land side by a maratta force, which had been landed from the maratta fleet accompanying the english ships, a few miles down the coast. the fort shortly surrendered; but while the marattas were marching to take possession, the governor, with some of his best men, took boat and crossed over to the island, of which, although the fire had ceased after the explosion of the magazine, the english had not taken possession. the fire from its guns again opened, and as commodore james thought it probable that the pirates would in the night endeavour to throw in large reinforcements, he determined to carry it by storm. the ships opened fire upon the walls, and under cover of this half the seamen were landed; these ran up to the gate and thundered at ip you attack us, we will blow up the magazine." page . surrender of the fort. it with their axes. charlie and his companions aided the movement by again opening a heavy fire of grape upon the guns which bore upon the sally-port, and when the gates were forced the garrison, utterly dispirited by the cross-fire to which they were subjected, at once laid down their arms. chapter xvi. a tiger hunt. ommodore james was greatly astonished at the easy success which he had gained. the extraordinary cessation of tire from the sea face and the sound of artillery within the walls had convinced him that a mutiny among the gar- rison must have taken place; but, upon entering the fort he was surprised indeed at being received with a hearty english cheer from a little body of men on the summit of an interior work. the gate of this was at once thrown open, and charlie, followed by his party, advanced towards the commodore. "i am captain marryat, sir, of the company's service in madras, and was captured three months ago by these pirates. when you attacked the place yesterday i ar- ranged to effect a small diversion, and with the assistance of these five native officers, of my soldier servant here, and these ten men of the merchant service, we have, i hope, been able to do so. the native officers disabled the greater portion of the guns during the night, and when you opened fire this morning we seized this inner work, which is also the magazine, and opened fire upon the rear of the sea defences. by dint of our guns and of menaces to blow up the place if they assaulted it, we kept them at bay until their flag was hauled down." "then, sir," commodore james .'aid warmly; "i have the return of the fleet. to thank you most heartily for the assistance you have given. in fact it is you who have captured the fortress. i was by no means prepared to find it so strong, and, indeed, had come to the conclusion last night that the force at my command was wholly insufficient for its capture. fortunately, i determined to try the effect of another day's fire. but had it not been for you this would assuredly have been as ineffectual as the first. you have, indeed, performed a most gallant action, and i shall have great pleasure in reporting your conduct to the authorities at home." the sailors had now landed in considerable force. the garrison were disarmed and taken as prisoners on board the ships. very large quantities of powder were found stored up, and strong parties at once began to form mines for the blowing up of the fortifications. this was a labour of some days; when they were completed and charged a series of tremendous explosions took place. many of the bastions were completely blown to pieces; in others the walls were shattered. the prisoners were again landed and set to work, aided by the sailors. the great stones which composed the walls were toppled over the steep faces of the rock on which the fort stood, and at the end of a fortnight the pirate hold of suwarndrug, which had so long been the terror of the indian seas, had disappeared. the fleet returned to bombay, for it was evidently wholly insufficient to attempt an assault on gheriah, defended as that place would be by the whole pirate fleet, which had, even without the assistance of its guns, proved itself a match for a squadron double the strength of that under the command of commodore james. the rejoicings at bombay were immense, for enormous damage had been inflicted on the commerce of that place by this pirate hold, situated but eighty miles from the port. commodore james and his officers were feted, and charlie marryat had his full share of honour; the gal- clive at bombay. lant sailor everywhere assigning to him the credit of its capture. charlie would now have sailed at once for madras, but the authorities wished him to remain, as clive was shortly expected to arrive with a considerable force which was destined to act against the french at hyderabad. the influence of bussy with the nizam rendered this important province little better than a french possession, and the territory of our rivals upon the sea-coast had been im- mensely increased by the grant of the five districts known as the northern sirdars to bussy. it was all that the english could do to hold their own around madras, and it was out of the question for them to think of attempt- ing single-handed to dislodge bussy from hyderabad. between the nizam, however, and the peishwar of the deccan there was a long-standing feud, and the company had proposed to this prince to aid him with a strong english force in an attack upon hyderabad. colonel scott had in the first place been sent out to command this expedition; but when clive, wearied with two years' life of inactivity in england, applied to be appointed to active service, the directors at once appointed him governor of fort st. david, and obtained for him the rank of lieutenant-colonel in the rojral army. they directed him to sail at once for bombay with three com- panies of the royal artillery, each a hundred strong, and three hundred infantry recruits. upon his arrival there he was to give colonel scott any assistance he required. that officer, however, had died before clive arrived. upon reaching bombay clive found that events had occurred in the south which would prevent the intended expedition from taking place. the french government had suddenly recalled dupleix, the great man whose talent and statesmanship had sustained their cause. on his return to france, instead of treating him with honour for the work he had done for them, they even refused to repay him the large sums which he had advanced from expedition against gheriah. his private fortune to carry on the struggle against the english, and dupleix died in poverty and obscurity. in his place the french governor had sent out a man by the name of godchen, who was weak and wholly destitute of ability. at the time of his arrival the english were hardly pressed, and a strong french fleet and force were expected on the coast. when, however, mr. saunders proposed to him a treaty of neutrality between the indian possessions of the two powers he at once accepted it, and thus threw away all the advantages which dupleix had struggled so hard to obtain. the result of this treaty, however, was that the english were unable to carry out their pro- posed alliance with the peishwar against the nizam and bussy. upon clive's arrival charlie at once reported himself to him. for a time, however, no active duty was assigned to him, as it was uncertain what steps would now be taken. finally it was resolved that, taking advantage of the presence of clive and his troops, and of a squadron which had arrived under admiral watson, the work com- menced by commodore james should be completed by the capture of gheriah and the entire destruction of the pirate power. the peishwar had already asked them to aid him in his attack upon angria, and commodore james was now sent with the protector and two other ships to reconnoitre gheriah, which no englishman then living had seen. the natives described it as of enormous strength, and it was believed that it was an eastern gibraltar. commo- dore james found the enemy's fleet at anchor in the har- bour. notwithstanding this he sailed in until within cannon-shot, and so completely were the enemy cowed and demoralized by the loss of suwarndrug that they did not venture out to attack him. after ascertaining the position and character of the defences, he returned, at the end of december, to bombay, and reported that while exceedingly strong the place was the gibraltar of the east. by no means impregnable. the maratta army under the command of ramajee punt marched to blockade the place on the land side; and on the th of february, , the fleet, consisting of four ships of the line, of seventy, sixty- four, sixty, and fifty guns, a frigate of forty-four and three of twenty, a native ship called a grab, of twelve guns, and five mortar ships, arrived before the place. besides the seamen the fleet had on board a battalion of eight hundred europeans and a thousand sepoys. the fortress of gheriah was situated on a promontory of rock a mile and a quarter broad, lying about a mile up a large harbour forming the mouth of a river. the pro- montory projects to the south-west on the right of the harbour on entering, and rises sheer from the water in perpendicular rocks fifty feet high. on this stood the fortifications. these consisted of two lines of walls, with round towers, the inner wall rising several feet above the outer. the promontory was joined to the land by a sandy slip, beyond which the town stood. on this neck of land between the promontory and the town were the docks and slips on which the pirate vessels were built or repaired, and ten of these, among which was the derby, which they had captured from the company, lay moored side by side close by the docks when the fleet arrived off the place. charlie marryat had been sent by clive as commissioner with the maratta army. a party of maratta horsemen came down to bombay to escort him to chaule, at which place the maratta army were assembled for their march. he was accompanied by tim and hossein, who were, of course, like him, on horseback. a long day's ride took them to their first halting place, a few miles from the foot of a splendid range of hills which rise like a wall, from the low land, for a vast distance along the coast. at the top of these hills—called in india, ghauts —lay the plateau of the deccan, sloping gradually awny to the ganges, hundreds of miles to the east. a journey on horseback. "are we going to climb up to top of them mountains, your honour?" "no, tim, fortunately for our horses. we shall skirt their foot, for a hundred and fifty miles, till we get behind gheriah." "you wouldn't think that a horse could climb them," tim said. "they look as steep as the side of a house." "in many places they are, tim, but you see there are breaks in them. at some points, either from the force of streams or from the weather, the rocks have crumbled away, and the great slopes, which everywhere extend half-way up, reach the top. zigzag paths are cut in these which can be travelled by horses and pack animals. there must be quantities of game," charlie said to the leader of the escort, " on the mountain sides." "quantities?" the maratta said. "tigers and bears swarm there, and are such a scourge that there are no villages within miles of the foot of the hills. even on the plateau above, the villages are few and scarce near the edge, so great is the damage done by wild beasts. but that is not all. there are numerous bands of dacoits, who set the authority of the peishwar at defiance', plunder travellers and merchants going up and down, make raids into the deccan, and plunder the low land nearly up to the gates of bombay. numerous expeditions have been sent against them, but the dacoits know every foot of the hills. they have numerous impregnable strongholds on the rocks, which you can see rising sheer up hundreds of feet from among the woods on the slopes, and can, if pressed, shift their quarters and move fifty miles away among the trees, while the troops are in vain searching for them." "i suppose there is no chance of their attacking us," charlie said. "the dacoit never fights if he can help it, and then only when driven into a corner, or when there appears a chance of very large plunder. he will always leave a strong with the marattas. party of armed men, from whom nothing but hard blows is to be got, in peace." the journey occupied five days, and was most enjoyable. the officer of the escort, as the peishwar's agent, would have requisitioned provisions at each of the villages, but charlie insisted, under one pretence or another, on buying a couple of sheep or kids at each halting place, for the use of his own party and the escort. for a few copper coins an abundant supply of fruit and vegetables was obtainable; and, as each night they spread their rugs under the shade of some overhanging tree and smoked their pipes lazily after the very excellent meal which hossein always prepared, charlie and tim agreed that they had spent no pleasanter time in india than that occupied by their journey. charlie was received with much honour by ramajee punt, and was assigned a gorgeous tent next to his own. "people in england, mister charles," said tim that evening, "turn up their noses at the thought of living in tents, but what do they know of them? the military tent is an uncomfortable thing, and as for the gipsy tent, a dacent pig wouldn't look at it. now this is like a palace, with its carpet under foot and its sides covered with silk hangings, and its furniture fit for a palace. father murphy wouldn't believe me if i told him about it on oath. if this is making war, yer honour, i shall be in no hurry for pace." the maratta force took up its position beleaguering the town on the land side some weeks before the arrival of the fleet, commodore james with his two ships block- ading it at sea. there was little to do, and charlie accepted with eagerness an offer of ramajee punt that they should go out for two or three days' tiger hunting at the foot of the hills. "well, mr. charles," tim said when he heard of the intention, "if you want to go tiger hunting, tim kelly is not the boy to stay behind. but shure, yer honour, if tim upon tigers. the creeturs will lave ye alone why should you meddle with them. i saw one in a cage at arcot, and it's a haste i shouldn't wish to see on a lone road on a dark night. it had a way of wagging its tail that made you feel un- comfortable like to the sole of yer boots, and after looking at me for some time, the baste opened its mouth and gave a roar that shook the whole establishment. it's a baste safer to let alone than to meddle with." "but we shall be up on the top of an elephant. we shall be safe enough there, you know." "maybe, yer honour," tim said doubtfully; "but i mind me that when i was a boy me and my brother peter was throwing sods at an old tom-cat of my mother's who had stolen our dinners, and it ran up a wall ten feet high. well, yer honour, the tiger is as big as a hundred tom-cats, and by the same token he ought to be able to run up a wall" "a thousand feet high, tim? he can't do that; indeed, i question whether he could run up much higher than a cat. we are to start this evening and shall be there by midnight. the elephants have gone on ahead." at sunset the party started. it consisted of eamajee punt, one of his favourite officers, and a score of soldiers. an officer had already gone on to enlist the services of the men of two or three villages as beaters. a small but comfortable tent had been erected for the party and supper prepared . the native shikari or sportsman of the neighbourhood had brought in the news that tigers were plentiful, and that one of unusual size had been com- mitting great depredations, and had only the day before carried off a bullock into the thickets a mile from the spot at which they were encamped. "the saints preserve us!" tim said when he heard the news; "a cat big enough to carry off a mouse in her mouth as big as a bullock." "it seems almost impossible, tim, but it is a fact that tigers can carry in their mouths full-sized bullocks for the hunt begins. considerable distances, and that they can kill them with one stroke of their paw. however, they are not as for- midable as you would imagine, as you will see to-mor- row." in the morning the elephants were brought out. charlie took his place in the front of a howdah with tim behind him. three rifles were placed in the seat, and these tim was to hand to his master as he discharged them. ramajee punt and his officer were also mounted on elephants, and the party started for their destination. "it's as bad as being at sea, mr. charles," tim said. "it does roll about, tim. you must let your body go with the motion just as on board ship. you will soon get accustomed to it." on reaching the spot, which was a narrow valley with steep sides running up into the hill, the elephants came to a stand. the mouth of the valley was some fifty yards wide, and the animal might break from the trees at any point. the ground was covered with high coarse grass. ramajee punt placed himself in the centre, assigning to charlie the position on his right, telling him that it was the best post, as it was on this side the tiger had been seen to enter. soon after they had taken their places, a tre- mendous clamour arose near the head of the valley. drums were beaten, horns blown, and scores of men joined in with shouts and howls. "what on arth are they up to, mr. charles?" "they are driving the tiger this way, tim. now, sit quiet and keep a sharp look-out, and be ready to hand me a rifle the instant i have fired." the noise increased and was plainly approaching. the elephant fidgeted uneasily. "that baste has more sinse than we have," said tim; "and would be off if that little black chap, astraddle of his neck, didn't keep on patting his head." presently the mahout pointed silently to the bushes ahead, and charlie caught sight for a moment of some a somersault with a tiger. yellow fur. apparently the tiger had heard or scented the elephants, for it again turned and made up the valley. presently a redoubled yelling, with the firing of guns, showed that it had been seen by the beaters. ramajee punt held up his hand to charlie as a signal that next time the tiger might be expected. suddenly there was a movement among the bushes, a tiger sprang out about half-way between charlie's elephant and that of ramajee punt. it paused for a moment on seeing them, and then, as it was about to spring forward, two balls struck it. it sprang a short distance, however, and then fell, rolling over and over. one ball had broken a foreleg, the other had struck it on the head. another ball from ramajee punt struck it as it rolled over and over, and it lay immovable. "why didn't you hand me the next rifle, tim?" charlie said sharply. "it went clane out of my head altogether. to think now, and you kilt it in a moment. the tiger is a poor baste anyhow. i've seen a cat make ten times as strong a fight for its life. holy moses!" the last exclamation was called from tim's lips by a sudden jerk. a huge tiger, far larger than that which had fallen, had sprung up from the brushwood and leaped upon the elephant. with one fore-paw he grasped the howdah, with the other clung to the elephant's shoulder an inch or two only behind the leg of the mahout. charlie snatched the rifle from tim's hand and thrust the muzzle into the tiger's mouth, just as the elephant swerved round with sudden fright and pain. at the same moment the weight of the tiger on the how- dah caused the girths to give way, and charlie, tim, and the tiger fell together on the ground. charlie had pulled his trigger just as he felt himself going, and at the same moment he heard the crack of ramajee punt's rifle. the instant they touched the ground tim and charlie cast themselves over and over two or three times and then leaped to their feet, charlie grasping his rifle to make n«n "o tim claims the honours. the best defence he could if the tiger sprang upon him. the creature lay, however, immovable. "it is dead, tim," charlie exclaimed; "you needn't be afraid." "and no wonder, yer honour, when i pitched head first smack on to his stomach. it would have killed a horse." "it might have done, tim, but i don't think it would have killed a tiger. look there." charlie's gun had gone oft' at the moment when the howdah turned round, and had nearly blown off a portion of the tiger's head, while almost at the same instant the ball of ramajee punt had struck it in the back breaking the spine. death had, fortunately for tim, been instan- taneous. the tiger last killed was the great male which had done so much damage, the first, a female. the natives tied the legs together, placed long bamboos between them, and carried the animals off in triumph to the camp. the elephant on which charlie had ridden ran some distance before the mahout could stop him. he was, indeed, so terrified by the onslaught of the tiger that it was not considered advisable to endeavour to get him to face another that day. ramajee punt, therefore, invited charlie to take his seat with him on his elephant, an arrangement which greatly satisfied tim, whose ser- vices were soon dispensed with. "i'd rather walk on my own feet, mister charles than ride any more on those great bastes. they're uncom- fortable anyhow. it's a long way to fall if the saddle goes round, and next time one might not find a tiger handy to light on." two more tigers were killed that afternoon, and, well pleased with his day's sport, charlie returned to the hunting camp. the next day hossein begged that he might be allowed to accompany charlie in tim's place, and as the irishman was perfectly willing to surrender it, the change was agreed upon. the march was a longer a man-eater. one than it had been on the previous morning. a notorious man-eating tiger was known to have taken up his abode in a large patch of jungle at the foot of an almost perpendicular wall of rock about ten miles from the place where the camp was pitched. the patch of jungle stood upon a steep terrace whose slopes were formed of boulders, the patch being some fifty or sixty yards long and thirty deep. "it is a nasty place," ramajee punt said, "to get him from. the beaters cannot get behind to drive him out, and the jungle is too thick to penetrate." "how do you intend to proceed?" charlie asked. "we will send a party to the top of the hill and they will throw down crackers. we have brought some rockets, too, which we will send in from the other side. we will take our places on our elephants at the foot of the terrace." the three elephants took their posts at the foot of the boulder-covered rise. as soon as they had done so the men at the top of the rock began to throw down numbers of lighted crackers, while from either side parties sent rockets whizzing into the jungle. for some time the tiger showed no signs of his presence, and charlie began to doubt whether he could be really there. the shikaris, however, declared that he was certainly in the jungle. he had on the day before carried off a woman from a neighbouring village, and had been traced to the jungle, round which a watch had been kept all night. suddenly, uttering a mighty roar, the tiger bounded from the jungle and stood at the edge of the terrace. startled at his sudden appearance the elephants recoiled, shaking the aim of their riders. three shots were, however, fired almost at the same moment, and the tiger with another roar bounded back into the jungle. "i think," the rajah said, " that he is badly hit. listen to his roarings." the tiger for a time roared loudly at intervals. then a wounded tiger. the sounds became lower and less frequent, and at last ceased altogether. in vain did the natives above shower down crackers. in vain were the rockets discharged into the jungle. an hour passed since he had last been heard. "i expect that he's dead," charlie said. "i think .so too," ramajee punt replied; "but one can never be certain. let us draw off a little and take our luncheon. after that we can try the fireworks again. if he will not move then we must leave him." "but surely," charlie said, "we might go in and see whether he's dead or not." "a wounded tiger is a terrible foe," the ramajee an- swered. "better leave him alone." charlie, however, was anxious to get the skin to send home, with those of the others he had shot, to his mother and sisters. it might be very long before he had an opportunity of joining in another tiger hunt, and he resolved that if the tiger gave no signs of life when the bombardment of the jungle with fireworks recommenced, he would go in and look for his body. a narrow escape. charlie. the attack was so sudden and instantaneous that the latter had not even time to raise his rifle to his shoulder. almost instinctively, however, he discharged both of the barrels, but was at the same moment hurled to the ground, where he lay crushed down by the weight of the tiger, whose hot breath he could feel on his face. he closed his eyes only to open them again at the sound of a heavy blow, while a deluge of hot blood flowed over him. he heard hossein's voice, and then became insensible. when he recovered he found him- self lying with his head supported by hossein outside the jungle. "is he dead?" he asked faintly. "he is dead, sahib," hossein replied. "let the sahib drink some brandy and he will be strong again." charlie drank some brandy and water which hossein held to his lips. then the latter raised him to his feet. charlie felt his limbs and his ribs. he was bruised all over, but otherwise unhurt, the blood which covered him having flowed from the tiger. one of the balls which he had fired had entered the tiger's neck, the other had broken one of its forelegs, and charlie had been knocked down by the weight of the animal, not by the blow of its formidable paw. hossein had sprung forward on the instant, and with one blow of his sharp tulwar, had shorn clear through skin and muscle and bone, and had almost severed the tiger's head from its body. it was the weight upon him which had crushed charlie into a state of insensibility. here he had lain for four or five minutes before hossein could get the frightened natives to return and assist him to lift the great carcass from his master's body. upon examination it was found that two of the three bullets first fired had taken effect. one had broken the tiger's shoulder and lodged in his body, the other had struck him fairly on the chest and had passed within an inch or two of his heart. double-dealing. "i thought," ramajee punt said, as he viewed the body, "that one of his legs must have been rendered useless. that was why he lay quiet so long in spite of our efforts to turn him out." charlie was too much hurt to walk, and a litter was speedily formed and he was carried back to the camp, where his arrival in that state excited the most lively lamentations on the part of tim. the next morning he was much recovered, and was able in the cool of the evening to take his place in a howdah, and to return to the camp before gheriah. a few days later the fleet made its appearance off the town, and the same evening tulagi angria rode up to ramajee punt's camp. charlie was present at the in- terview, at which angria endeavoured to prevail on ramajee punt and charlie to accept a large ransom for his fort, offering them each great presents if they would do their utmost to prevail on admiral watson and colonel clive to agree to accept it. charlie said at once that he was sure it was useless, that the english had now made a great effort to put a stop to the ravages which he and his father before him had, for so many years, inflicted upon their commerce, and that he was sure that nothing short of the total destruction of the fort and fleet would satisfy them. the meeting then broke up, and charlie, supposing that angria would immediately return, went back to his tent, where he directed hossein at once to mingle with the men who had accompanied angria, and to find out any- thing that he could concerning the state of things in the fort. hossein returned an hour later. "sahib," he said, "ramajee punt is thinking of cheat- ing the english. he is keeping angria a prisoner. he says that he came into his camp without asking for a safe- conduct and that therefore he shall detain him. but this is not all. angria has left his brother in command of the fort, and ramajee, by threatening angria with instant execution, has induced him to send an order g destruction of the pirate fleet. to deliver the fort at once to him. ramajee wants, you see. sahib, to get all the plunder of the fort for himself and his marattas." "this is very serious," charlie said, "and i must let the admiral know at once what is taking place." when it became dark charlie, with tim and hossein, made his way through the maratta camp, down to the .shore of the river. here were numbers of boats hauled up on the sand. one of the lightest of these was soon got into the water and rowed gently out into the force of the stream. then the oars were shipped and they lay down perfectly quiet in the boat, and drifted past the fort without being observed. when they once gained the open sea the oars were placed in the rowlocks, and half an hour's rowing brought them alongside the fleet. charlie was soon on board the flag-ship, and in- formed the admiral and colonel clive what hossein had heard. it was at once resolved to attack upon the follow- ing day. the two officers did not think it was likely that the pirates would, even in obedience to their chief's orders, surrender the place until it had been battered by the fleet. the next morning the fort was summoned to surrender. no answer was received, and as soon as the sea breeze set in, in the afternoon the fleet weighed anchor and pro- ceeded towards the mouth of the river. the men-of-war were in line on the side nearest to the fort to protect the mortar vessels and smaller ships from its fire. passing the point of the promontory they stood into the river, and anchored at a distance of fifty yards from the north face of the fort. a gun from the admiral's ship gave the signal, and a hundred and fifty pieces of cannon at once opened fire, while the mortar vessels threw shell into the fort and town. in ten minutes after the fire began a shell fell into one of angria's large ships and set her on fire. the flames soon spread to the others fastened to- gether on either side of her, and in less than an hour this surrender of the stronghold. fleet, which had for fifty years been the terror of the malabar coast, was utterly destroyed. in the meantime the fleet kept up their fire with the greatest vigour upon the enemy's works, and before night- fall the enemy's fire was completely silenced. no white flag, however, was hung up, and the admiral had little doubt that it was intended to surrender the place to the marattas. as soon, therefore, as it became quite dark, colonel clive landed with the troops, and took up a posi- tion between the marattas and the fort, where, to his great disappointment and disgust, kamajee punt found him in the morning. the admiral again summoned the fort, declaring that he would renew the attack and give no quarter unless it was surrendered immediately. the governor sent back to beg the admiral to cease from hostilities until next day, as he was only waiting for orders from angria to surrender. angria declared that he had already sent the orders. at four in the afternoon, therefore, the bombardment was renewed, and in less than half an hour a white flag appeared above the wall. as, however, the garrison made no further sign of surrender, and refused to admit colonel clive with his troops when he advanced to take possession, the bombardment was again renewed more vigorously than ever. the enemy were unable to support the violence of the fire, and soon shouted over the walls to clive that they surrendered, and he might enter and take possession. he at once marched in, and the pirates laid down their arms and surrendered themselves prisoners. it was found that a great part of the fortifications had been destroyed by the fire, but a resolute garrison might have held the fort itself against a long siege. two hun- dred guns fell into the hands of the captors, together with great quantities of ammunition and stores of all kinds. the money and effects amounted to a hundred and twenty thousands pounds, which was divided among the captors. the rest of angria's fleet, among them two large ships on a storm at sea the stocks, was destroyed. ramajee punt sent parties of his troops to attack the other forts held by the pirates. these, however, surrendered without resistance, and thus the whole country which the pirates had held for seventy years fell again into the hands of the marattas, from whom they had wrested it. admiral watson and the fleet then returned to bombay in order to repair the damages which had been inflicted upon them during the bombardment. there were great rejoicings upon their arrival there, the joy of the inhabi- tants, both european and native, being immense at the destruction of the formidable pirate colonies which had so long ravaged the seas. after the repairs were completed, the fleet with the troops which had formed the expedition were to sail for madras. charlie, however, did not wait for this, but, finding that one of the company's ships would sail in the course of a few days after their return to bombay, he obtained leave from colonel clive to take a passage in her and to proceed immediately to madras. tim and hossein of course accompanied him, and the voyage down the west coast of india and round ceylon was performed without any marked incident. when within but a few hours of madras the barometer fell rapidly. great clouds rose up upon the horizon, and the captain ordered all hands aloft to reduce sail. "we are in," he said," for a furious tempest. it is the breaking up of the monsoon. it is a fortnight earlier than usual. i had hoped that we should have got safely up the hoogly before it began." half an hour later the hurricane struck them, and for the next three days the tempest was terrible. great waves swept over the ship, and every time that the captain attempted to show a rag of canvas it was blown from the bolt ropes. the ship, however, was a stout one and weathered the gale. upon the fourth morning the passengers, who had, during the tempest, been battened driven to the hoogly. below, came on deck. the sky was bright and clear, and the waves were fast going down. a good deal of sail was already set, and the hands were at work to repair "well, captain," charlie said to that officer, "i con- gratulate you on the behaviour of the ship. it has been a tremendous gale, and she has weathered it stoutly." "yes, captain marryat, she has done well. i have only once or twice been out in so severe a storm since i came to sea." "and where are we now?" charlie asked, looking round the horizon. "when shall we be at madras?" "well," the captain said with a smile, "i am afraid that you must give up all idea of seeing madras just at present. we have been blown right up the bay, and are only a few hours' sail from the mouth of the hoogly. i have a far larger cargo for that place than for madras, and it would be a pure waste of time for me to put back now. i intend, therefore, to go to calcutta first, discharge and fill up there, and then touch at madras on my way back. i suppose it makes no great difference to you." "no indeed," charlie said. "and i am by no means sorry of the opportunity of getting a glimpse of calcutta, which i might never otherwise have done. i believe things are pretty quiet at madras at present, and i have been so long away now that a month or two sooner or later will make but little difference." a few hours later charlie noticed a change in the colour of the sea, the mud-stained waters of the hoogly discolouring the bay of bengal far out from its mouth. the voyage up was a tedious one. at times the wind fell altogether, and, unable to stem the stream, the ship lay for days at anchor, the yellow tide running swiftly by it. "the saints presarve us, mr. charles! did you ever see the like?" tim kelly exclaimed. "there's another dead body floating down towards us, and that is the eighth charlie arrives at calcutta. i've seen this morning. are the poor hathen craturs all committing suicide together?" "not at all, tim," charlie said, " the hoogly is one of the sacred rivers of india, and the people on its banks, instead of burying their dead, put them into the river and let them drift away." "i calls it a bastly custom, yer honour, and i wonder it is allowed. one got athwart the cable this morning, and it frightened me nigh out of my sinses, when i happened to look over the bow, and saw the thing bob- bing up and down in the water. this is tadious work, yer honour, and i'll be glad when we're at the end of the voyage." "i shall be glad too, tim. we have been a fortnight in the river already, but i think there is a breeze getting up, and there is the captain on deck giving orders.' in a few minutes the ship was under way again, and the same night dropped her anchor in the stream abreast of calcutta. charlie shortly after landed, and, proceeding to the company's offices, reported his arrival and that of the four sepoy officers. hossein, who was not in the company's service, was with him merely in the character of a servant. as the news of the share charlie had had in the capture of suwarndrug had reached calcutta he was well received, and one of the leading merchants of the town, mr. haines, who happened to be present when charlie called upon the governor, at once invited him warmly to take up his residence with him during his stay. hospitality in india was profuse and general. hotels were unknown, and a stranger was always treated as an honoured guest. charlie, therefore, had no hesitation whatever in accepting the offer. the four native officers were quartered in the barracks, and, returning on board ship,charlie, followed by tim and hossein, and by some coolies bearing his luggage, was soon on his way to the bungalow of mr. haines. on his way he was surprised at the number and size of the a merchant's bungalow. dwellings of the merchants and officials, which offered a very strong contrast to the quiet and unpretending build- ings round the fort of madras. the house of mr. haines was a large one, and stood in a large and carefully kept garden mr. haines received him at the door, and at once led him to his room, which was spacious, cool, and airy. outside was a wide verandah, upon which, in accordance with the customs of the country, servants would sleep. "here is your bath-room," mr. haines said, pointing to an adjoining room; "i think you will find everything ready. we dine in half an hour." charlie was soon in his bath, a luxury which in india every european indulges in at least twice a day. then in his cool white suit, which at that time formed the regular evening dress, he found his way to the drawing- room. here he was introduced to the merchant's wife, and to his daughter, a girl of some thirteen years old, as well as to several guests who had arrived for dinner. the meal was a pleasant one, and charlie, after being cooped up for some weeks on board ship, enjoyed it much. a dinner in india is to one unaccustomed to it a striking sight. the punkah waving slowly to and fro overhead drives the cool air which comes in through the open windows down upon the table. each guest brings his own servant, who, either in white or coloured robes, and in turbans of many different hues and shapes, according to the wearer's caste, stands behind his master's chair. the light is always a soft one, and the table richly gar- nished with bright-coloured tropical flowers. charlie was the hero of the hour, and was asked many questions concerning the capture of suwarndrug, and also about the defence of ambur, which, though now an old story, had excited the greatest interest through india . presently, however, the conversation turned to local topics, and charlie learned from the anxious looks and earnest tones of the speakers that the situation was con- sidered a very serious one. he asked but few questions the situation in bengal. then; but after the guests had retired and mr. haines pro- posed to him to smoke one more quiet cigar in the cool of the verandah before retiring to bed, he took the opportunity of asking his host to explain to him the situation, with which he had no previous acquaintance. "up to the death of ali kerdy, the old viceroy of bengal, on the th april, we were on good terms with our native neighbours. calcutta has not been, like madras, threat- ened by the rivalry of a european neighbour. the french and dutch, indeed, have both trading stations like our own, but none of us have taken part in native affairs. ali kerdy has been all powerful, there have been no native troubles, and therefore no reason for our interfer- ence. we have just gone on as for many years previously, as a purely trading company. at his death he was suc- ceeded in the government by suraja dowlah, his grandson. i suppose in all india there is no prince with a worse reputation than this young scoundrel has already gained for himself for profligacy and cruelty. he is constantly drunk, and is surrounded by a crew of reprobates as wicked as himself. at the death of ali kerdy, sokut jung, another grandson of ali, set up in opposition to him, and the new viceroy raised a large force to march against him. as the reputation of sokut jung was as infamous as that of his cousin it would have made little difference to us which of the two obtained the mastery; within the last few days, however, circumstances have occurred which have completely altered the situation. "the town of dacca was about a year ago placed under the governorship of rajah ragbullub, a hindoo officer in high favour with ali kerdy. his predecessor had been assassinated and plundered by order of suraja dowlah, and when he heard of the accession of that prince he determined at once to fly, as he knew that his great wealth would speedily cause him to be marked out as a victim. he therefore obtained a letter of recommenda- tion from mr. watts, the agent of the company at their the danger of calcutta. factory at cossimbazar, and sent his son kissendas with a large retinue, his family and treasures, to calcutta. two or three days after his accession suraja dowlah des- patched a letter to mr. drake, our governor, ordering him to surrender kissendas and the treasures immediately. the man whom he sent down arrived in a small boat with- out any state or retinue, and mr. drake, believing that he was an impostor, paid no attention to the demand, but expelled him from the settlement. two days ago a letter came from the viceroy, or, as we generally call him, the nabob, to air. drake, ordering him instantly to demolish all the fortifications which he understood he had been erecting. mr. drake has sent word back assuring the nabob that he is erecting no new fortifications, but simply executing some repairs in the ramparts facing the river, in view of the expected war between england and france. that is all that has been done at present; but seeing the passionate and overbearing disposition of this young scoundrel there is no saying what will come of it." "but how do we stand here?" charlie asked. "what are the means of defence, supposing he should take it into his head to march with the army which he has raised to fight against his cousin, to the attack of calcutta?" "nothing could be worse than our position," mr. haines said. "ever since the capture of madras, nine years ago, the directors have been sending out orders that this place should be put in a state of defence. during the fifty years which have passed peacefully here, the fortifications have been entirely neglected. instead of the space round them being kept clear, warehouses have been built close against them, and the fort is wholly unable to resist any attack. the authorities of the company here have done absolutely nothing to carry out the orders from home. they think, i am sorry to say, only of making money with their own trading ventures; and although several petitions have been presented to them by the merchants here urging upon them the dangers which might arise at the death of the approach of the enemy. ali, they have taken no steps whatever, and indeed have treated all warnings with scorn and derision." "what force have we here?" charlie asked. "only a hundred and seventy-four men, of whom the greater portion are natives." "what sort of man is your commander?" "we have no means of knowing," mr. haines said. "his name is minchin. he is a great friend of the governor's, and has certainly done nothing to counteract the apathy of the authorities. altogether to my mind things look as bad as they possibly can." a week later, on the loth of june, a messenger arrived with the news that the nabob with fifty thousand men was advancing against the town, and that in two days he would appear before it. all was confusion and alarm. charlie at once proceeded to the fort, and placed his services at the disposal of captain minchin. he found that officer fussy and alarmed. "if i might be permitted to advise," charlie said, "every available man in the town should be set to work at once pulling down all the buildings around the walls. it would be clearly impossible to defend the place when the ramparts are on all sides commanded by the musketry fire of surrounding buildings." "i know what my duty is, sir," captain minchin said, "and do not require to be taught it by so very young an officer as yourself." "very well, sir," charlie replied calmly. "i have seen a great deal of service, and have taken part in the defence of two besieged towns; while you, i believe, have never seen a shot fired. however, as you're in command you will, of course, take what steps you think fit; but i warn you that unless those buildings are destroyed the fort cannot resist an assault for twenty-four hours." then bowing quietly he retired, and returned to mr. haines' house. that gentleman was absent, having gone to the governor's. he did not come back until late in the imbecility of the authorities. evening. charlie passed the time in endeavouring to cheer up mrs. haines and her daughter, assuring them that if the worst came to the worst there could be no difficulty in their getting on board ship. mrs. haines was a woman of much common sense and presence of mind, and under the influence of charlie's quiet chat she speedily recovered her tranquillity. her daughter ada, who was a very bright and pretty girl, was even sooner at her ease, and they were laughing and chatting brightly when mr. haines arrived. he looked fagged and dis- pirited. "drake is a fool," he said, "just as hitherto he has scoffed at all thought of danger, now he is prostrated at the news that danger is at hand. he can decide on nothing. at one moment he talks of sending messengers to suraja dowlah, to offer to pay any sum he may demand in order to induce him to retire; the next he talks of defending the fort to the last. we can get him to give no orders, to decide on nothing, and the other officials are equally impotent and imbecile." on the th the army of the nabob approached. cap- tain minchin took his guns and troops a considerable distance beyond the walls, and opened fire upon the enemy. charlie, enraged and disgusted at the folly of conduct which could only lead to defeat, marched with them as a simple volunteer. the result was what he had anticipated. the enemy opened fire with an immensely superior force of artillery. his infantry advanced and clouds of horsemen swept round the flanks and menaced the retreat. in a very few minutes captain minchin gave the order to retire, and abandoning their guns the english force retreated in all haste to the town. charlie had, on setting out, told mr. haines what was certain to occur, and had implored him to send all his valuables at once on board ship, and to retire instantly into the fort. upon the arrival of the troops at the gate they found it almost blocked with the throng of ( ) p two infamous englishmen. he had no idea what had taken place until mr. haines joined him. "have you seen them safely off?" charlie asked. "my wife has gone," mr. haines said; "my daughter is still here. there has been a horrible scene of confusion. although the boats were amply sufficient to carry all, no steps whatever had been taken to secure order. the consequence was, there was a wild rush; women and children were knocked down and trampled upon. they leaped into the boats in such wild haste that several of these were capsized and numbers of people drowned. j kept close to my wife and child till we reached the side of the stream. i managed to get my wife into a boat, and then a rush of people separated me from my daughter, and before i could find her again the remaining boats had all pushed off. many of the men have gone with them, and among them, i am ashamed to say, several of the officers. however, i trust the boats will come up again to-morrow and take away the rest. two have remained, a guard having been placed over them, and i hope to get ada off to her mother in the morning." towards morning mr. haines again joined charlie. "what do you think?" he said. "those cowardly villains, drake and minchin, have taken the two boats and gone off on board ship!" "impossible!" charlie exclaimed. "it is too true," mr. haines said. "the names of these cowards should be held as infamous as long as the english nation exists. come, now, we are just assembling to choose a commander. mr. peeks is the senior agent; but i think we shall elect mr. holwell, who is an energetic and vigorous man." it was as mr. haines had expected. mr. holwell was elected, and at once took the lead. he immediately assigned to charlie the command of the troops. little was done at the council beyond speaker after speaker rising to express his execration of the conduct of the repulse of the first attack. governor and captain minchin. with' daybreak the enemy's fire recommenced. all day long charlie hurried from post to post encouraging his men and aiding in working the guns. two or three times when the enemy showed in masses, as if intending to assault, the fire of the artillery drove them lack, and up to nightfall they had gained but little success. the civilians as well as the soldiers had done their duty nobly, but the loss had been heavy from the fire of the enemy's sharpshooters in the surrounding buildings, and it was evident that however gallant the defence the fort could not much longer resist. all day long signals had been kept flying for the fleet, two miles below, to come up to the fort; but although these could be plainly seen, not a ship weighed anchor. chapter xviii. the "black hole" of calcutta. t nightfall, when the fire of the enemy slack- ened, charlie went to mr. holwell. "it is impossible, sir," he said, "that the fort can hold out, for in another three or four days the whole of the garrison will be killed. the only hope of safety is for the ships to come up and remove the garrison, which they can do without the slightest danger to themselves. if you will allow me, sir, i will swim down to the ships and represent our situation. cowardly and inhuman as mr. drake has proved himself, he can hardly refuse to give orders for the fleet to move up." "i don't know," said mr. holwell; "after the way in which he has behaved there are no depths of infamy of which i believe him incapable. but you are my right hand here. supposing mr. drake refuses, you could not return." "i will come back, sir," charlie answered. "i will, if there be no other way, make my way along by the river bank. it is comparatively free of the enemy, as our guns command it. if you will place mr. haines at the corner bastion with a rope, he will recognize my voice, and i can regain the fort." mr. holwell consented, and as soon as it was perfectly dark charlie issued out at the water-gate, took off his charlie goes for aid. coat, waistcoat, and boots, and entered the stream. the current was slack; but he had no difficulty in keeping himself afloat until he saw close ahead of him the lights of the ships. he hailed that nearest him. a rope was thrown and he was soon on board. upon stating who he was a boat was at once lowered, and he was taken to the ship upon which mr. drake and captain minchin had taken refuge. upon saying that he was the bearer of a message from the gentleman now commanding the fort he was conducted to the cabin, where mr. drake and captain minchin, having finished their dinner, were sit- ting comfortably over their wine with captain young, the senior captain of the company's ships there. "i have come, sir," charlie said to mr. drake, "from mr. holwell, who has, in your absence, been elected to the command of the fort. he bids me tell you that our losses have been already very heavy, and that it is im- possible that the fort can hold out for more than twenty- four hours longer. he begs you, therefore, to order up the ships to-night, in order that the garrison may em- bark." "it is quite out of the question," mr. drake said coldly —" quite. it would be extremely dangerous. you agree with me, captain young, that it would be most dan- gerous?" "i consider that it would be dangerous," captain young said. "and you call yourself," charlie exclaimed indignantly, "a british sailor! you talk of danger, and would desert a thousand men, women, and children, including two hun- dred of your own countrymen, and leave them at the mercy of an enemy!" "you forget whom you are speaking to, sir," mr. drake said angrily. "i forget nothing, sir," charlie replied, trying to speak calmly. "then, sir, mr. holwell has charged me that if— which, however, he could not believe for a moment to be disgrace to the name of englishmen. possible—you refuse to move up the ships to receive the garrison on board, that you would at least order all the boats up, as these would be amply sufficient to carry them away. even in the daytime there would be no danger for the ships, and at night, at least boats might come up without being exposed to any risk whatever." "i shall certainly do nothing of the sort," mr. drake said. "the danger is even greater for the boats than for the ships." "and am i, sir, to return to the garrison of that fort, with the news that you utterly desert them, that you intend to remain quietly here while they are sacrificed before your eyes? is it possible that you are capable of such infamy as this?" "infamy!" exclaimed the three men, rising to their feet. "i place you in arrest at once, for your insolence," mr. drake said. "i despise your arrest as i do yourself. i did not believe it possible," charlie said, at last giving vent to his anger and scorn; "and england will not believe that three englishmen so cowardly, so infamous as yourselves, are to be found. as for you, captain minchin, if ever after this i come, across you, i will flog you publicly first, and shoot you afterwards like a dog if you dare to meet me. as for you, mr. drake—as for you, captain young—you will be doomed to infamy by the contempt and loathing which englishmen will feel when this deed is known. cowards, base, infamous cowards!" charlie stepped back to go. "seize him!" mr. drake said, himself rushing forward. charlie drew back a step, and then with all his strength smote the governor between the eyes, and he fell in a heap beneath the table. then charlie grasped a de- canter. "now," he said, "if either of you hounds move a finger i'll brain you." death of mr. haines. the two officers stood paralysed. charlie walked to the door and sprang up the cabin stairs, and as he did so, heard shouts for assistance from behind. he gained the deck, walked quietly to the bulwark, and placing his hand upon it, sprang over the side into the river. he swam to shore, and, climbing up the bank, made his way along it back to the fort, where he arrived without any misadventure. a fury of indignation seized all in the fort when the result of charlie's mission became known. with daybreak the attack recommenced, but the garri- son all day bravely repulsed every attempt of the enemy to gain a footing. the fire from the houses was, however, so severe, that by nightfall nearly half the garrison were killed or wounded. all day the signals to the fleet were kept flying, but not a ship moved. all night an anxious watch was kept in hopes that at the last moment some returning; feeling; of shame might induce do o the recreants to send up the boats of the ships. but the night passed without a movement on the river, and in the morning the fleet were seen still lying at anchor. the enemy recommenced the attack even more vigor- ously than before. the men fell fast, and, to charlie's great grief, his friend mr. haines was shot by a bullet as he was standing next to him. charlie anxiously knelt beside him. "it is all over with me," he murmured. "poor little ada. do all you can for her, marryat. god knows what fate is in store for her." "i will protect her with my life, sir," charlie said earnestly. mr. haines pressed his hand feebly in token of grati- tude, and two or three minutes later breathed his last. by mid-day the loss had been so heavy that the men would no longer stand to their guns. many of the euro- pean soldiers broke open the spirit stores, and soon drank to intoxication. after a consultation with his officers mr. holwell agreed that further resistance was hopeless. the surrender of calcutta. the flag of truce was therefore hoisted, and one of the officers at once started for the nabob's camp, with instruc- tions to make the best terms he could for the garrison. when the gates were opened the enemy, seizing the opportunity, rushed in in great numbers, and as resis- tance was impossible the garrison laid down their arms. charlie at once hurried to the spot where ada and the only other european lady who had not escaped, were anxiously awaiting news. both were exhausted with weeping. "where is papa, captain marryat?" ada asked. charlie knew that the poor girl would need all her strength for what she might have to undergo, and at once resolved that, for the present at least, it would be better that she should be in ignorance of the fate of her father. he therefore said that for the present mr. haines was unable to come, and had asked him to look after her. it was not until five o'clock that the nabob entered the fort. he was furious at hearing that only five lacs of rupees had been found in the treasury, as he had expected to become possessed of a vastly larger sum. kissendas, the first cause of the present calamities, was brought before him; but the capricious tyrant, contrary to expectation, received him courteously, and told him he might return to dacca. the whole of the eurasians, or half-castes, and natives found in the fort were also allowed to return to their homes. mr. holwell was then sent for, and after the nabob had expressed his resentment at the small amount found in the treasury he was dismissed, the nabob assuring him of his protection. mr. holwell re- turned to his english companions, who, one hundred and forty-six in number, including the two ladies, were drawn up under the verandah in front of the prison. the nabob then returned to his camp. some native officers went in search of some building where the prisoners could be confined, but every room in the fort had already been taken possession of by the shut up in the dungeon. nabob's soldiers and officers. at eigbt o'clock they re- turned with the news that they could find no place vacant, and the officer in command at once ordered the prisoners into a small room, used as a guard-room for insubor- dinate soldiers, eighteen feet square. in vain they protested that it was impossible the room could contain them, in vain implored the officer to allow some of them to be confined in an adjoining cell the wretch was deaf to their entreaties. he ordered his soldiers to charge the prisoners, and these, with blows of the butt-ends of the muskets and prods of the bayonets, were driven into the narrow cell. tim kelly had kept close to his master during the preceding days. the whole of the four native officers who had so distinguished themselves under charlie were killed during the siege. hossein, who would fain have shared his master's for- tunes, was forcibly torn from him when the english prisoners were separated from the natives. the day had been unusually hot. the night was close and sultry, and the arched verandah outside further hin- dered the circulation of the air. this was still heavy with the fumes of powder, creating an intolerable thirst. scarcely were the prisoners driven into their narrow cell, where even standing wedged closely together there was barely room for them, than cries for water were raised. "tim, my boy," charlie said to his companion, "we may say good-bye to each other now, for i doubt if one will be alive when the door is opened in the morning." on entering, charlie, always keeping ada haines by his side, had taken his place against the wall farthest from the window, which was closed with iron bars. "i think, yer honour," tim said, "that if we could get nearer to the window we might breathe a little more easily." "ay, tim; but there will be a fight for life round that window before long. you and i might hold our own if we could get there, though it would be no easy matter a struggle for life. where all are struggling for life, but this poor little girl would be crushed to death. besides, i believe that what chance there is, faint as it may be, is greater for us here than there. the rush towards the window, which is be- ginning already as you see, will grow greater and greater; and the more men struggle and strive, the more air they require. let us remain where we are. strip off your coat and waistcoat, and breathe as quietly and easily as you can. every hour the crowd will thin, and we may yet hold on till morning." this conversation had been held in a low voice. charlie then turned to the girl. "how are you feeling, ada?" he asked cheerfully. "it's hot, isn't it?" "it is dreadful," the girl panted, "and i seem choking from want of air; and oh, captain marryat, i am so thirsty!" "it is hot, my dear, terribly hot, but we must make the best of it; and i hope in a few days you will join your mamma on board ship. that will be pleasant, won't it?" "where is papa?" the girl wailed. "i don't know where he is now, my child. at anyrate we must feel very glad that he's not shut up here with us. now take your bonnet off and your shawl, and undo the hooks of your dress, and loosen everything you can. we must be as quiet and cheerful as possible. i'm afraid, ada, we have a bad time before us to-night. but try to keep cheerful and quiet, and above all, dear, pray god to give you strength to carry you through it, and to restore you safe to your mamma in a few days." as time went on the scene in the dungeon became terrible. shouts, oaths, cries of all kinds, rose in the air. round the window men fought like wild beasts, tearing each other down, or clinging to the bars for dear life, for a breath of the air without. panting, struggling, crying, men sank exhausted upon the floor, and tb« last remnants a night of agony. of life were trodden out of them by those who surged implored them to keep quiet for their own sakes. , his voice was lost in the terrible din. men, a few hours ago rich and respected merchants, now fought like maddened beasts for a breath of fresh air. in vain those at the window screamed to the guards without, imploring them to bring water. their prayers and entreaties were re- plied to only with brutal scoffs. several times charlie and tim, standing together against the wall behind, where there was now room to move, lifted ada between them, and sat her on their shoulders in order that, raised above the crowd, she might breathe more freely. each time, after sitting there for a while, the poor girl begged to come down again, the sight of the terrible struggle ever going on at the window being too much for her, and when released, leaning against charlie, supported by his arm, with her head against his shoulder, and her hands over her ears to shut out the dreadful sounds which filled the cell. hour passed after hour. there was more room now, for already half the inmates of the place had succumbed. the noises, too, had lessened, for no longer could the parched lips and throats utter articulate sounds. charlie and tim, strong men as they were, leaned utterly exhausted against the wall, bathed in perspiration, gasping for air. "half the night must be gone, tim," charlie said, "and i think, with god's help, we shall live through it. the numbers are lessening fast, and every one who goes leaves more air for the rest of us. cheer up, ada dear, 'twill not be very long till morning." "i think i shall die soon," the girl gasped. "i shall never see papa or mamma again. you have been very kind, captain marryat, but it is no use." "oh, but it is of use," charlie said cheerfully. "i don't mean to let you die at all, but to hand you over to mamma safe and sound. there, lay your head against forward to get near wateri water! me, dear, and say your prayers, and try and go off to sleep." presently, however, ada's figure drooped more and more, until her whole weight leaned upon charlie's arm. "she has fainted, tim," he said. "help me to raise her well in my arms, and lay her head on my shoulder. that's right. now you'll find her shawl somewhere under my feet; hold it up and make a fan of it. now try to send some air into her face." by this time not more than fifty out of the hundred and forty-six who entered the cell were alive. suddenly a scream of joy from those near the window proclaimed that a native was approaching with some water. the struggle at the window was fiercer than ever. the bowl was too wide to pass through the bars, and the water was being spilt in vain; each man who strove to get his face far enough through to touch the bowl being torn back by his eager comrades behind. "tim," charlie said, "you are now much stronger than most of them. they are faint from the struggles. make a charge to the window. take that little shawl and dip it into the bowl or whatever they have there, and then fight your way back with it." "i will do it, yer honour," said tim, and he rushed into the struggling group. weak as he was from ex- haustion and thirst, he was as a giant to most of the poor wretches who had been struggling and crying all night, and in spite of their cries and curses he broke through them and forced his way to the window. the man with the bowl was on the point of turning away, the water being spilt in the vain attempts of those within to obtain it. by the light of the fire which the guard had lit without, tim saw his face. "hossein," he exclaimed, "more water, for god's sake! the master's alive yet." hossein at once withdrew, but soon again approached a welcome mouthful. with the bowl. the officer in charge angrily ordered him to draw back. "let the infidel dogs howl," he said. "they shall have no more." regardless of the order, hossein ran to the window, and tim thrust the shawl into the water at the moment when the officer, rushing forward, struck hossein to the ground: to the side of his master. had those who still remained alive been aware of the supply of water which he carried in the shawl they would have torn it from him; but none save those just at the window had noticed the act, and inside it was still entirely dark. "thank god, yer honour, here it is," tim said; "and who should have brought it but hossein. shure, yer honour, we both owe our lives to him this time, for i'm sure i should have been choked by thirst before morn- i°g" ada was now lowered to the ground, and forcing her teeth asunder a corner of the folded shawl was placed between her lips, and the water allowed to trickle down. with a gasping sigh she presently recovered. "that is delicious," she murmured. "that is delicious." raising her to her feet, charlie and tim both sucked the dripping shawl, until the first agonies of thirst were relieved. then tearing off a portion in case ada should again require it, charlie passed the shawl to mr. holwell, who, after sucking it for a moment, again passed it on to several standing round, and in this way many of those who would otherwise have succumbed were enabled to hold on until morning. presently the first dawn of daylight appeared, giving fresh hopes to the few survivors. there were now only some six or eight standing by the window, and a few standing or leaning against the walls around. the room itself was heaped high with the dead. a cry of anguish rising from the water dashed from their lips. they the the survivors released. it was not until two hours later that the doors were opened and the guard entered, and it was found that of the hundred and forty-six englishmen inclosed there the night before, but twenty-three still breathed. of these very few retained strength to stagger out through the door. the rest were carried out and laid in the verandah. when the nabob came into the fort in the morning he ordered mr. holwell to be brought before him. he was unable to walk, but was carried to his presence. the brutal nabob expressed no regret for what had happened, but loaded him with abuse on account of the paucity of the treasure, and ordered him to be placed in confinement. the other prisoners were also confined in a cell. ada, the only english female who had survived the siege, was torn, weeping, from charlie's arms, and conveyed to the zenana, or ladies' apartments, of one of the nabob's gen- erals. a few days later the english captives were all con- veyed to moorshedabad, where the rajah also returned after having extorted large sums from the french and dutch, and confiscated the whole of the property of the english in bengal. the prospect was a gloomy one for the captives. that the english would in time return and extort a heavy reckoning from the nabob, they did not doubt for a moment. but nothing was more likely than that at the news of the first disaster which befell his troops the nabob would order his captives to be put to death. upon the march up the country charlie had, by his cheerfulness and good temper, gained the good-will of the officer commanding the guard, and upon arriving at their destination he recommended him so strongly to the com- mander of the prison that the latter, instead of placing him in the apartment allotted to the remainder of the prisoners, assigned a separate room to him, permitting tim, at his request, to occupy it with him. it was a room of fair size, in a tower on one of the angles of the in an indian prison. walla it had bars, but these did not prevent those behind them looking out at the country which stretched around. the governor of the prison, finding that charlie spoke the language fluently, often came up to sit with him, con- versing with him on the affairs of that unknown country england. altogether they were fairly treated. their food was plentiful, and beyond their captivity they had little to complain of. over and over again they talked about the possibilities of effecting an escape, but on enter- ing the prison they had noticed how good was the watch, how many and strong the doors through which they had passed. they had meditated upon making a rope and escaping from the window; but they slept on the divan, each with a rug to cover them, and these torn into strips and twisted would not reach a quarter of the way from their window to the ground, and there was no other material of which a rope could possibly have been formed. "our only hope," charlie said one day, " is in hossein. i am sure he will follow us to the death, and if he did but know where we are confined he would not, i am cer- tain, rest night or clay till he had opened a communication with us. see, tim, there is my regimental cap, with its gold lace. let us fasten it outside the bars with a thread from that rug. of course we must remove it when we hear anyone coming." this was speedily done, and for the next few days one or other remained constantly at the window. "mr. charles!" tim exclaimed in great excitement one day; "there is a man i've been watching for the last half hour. he seems to be picking up sticks, but all the while he keeps getting nearer and nearer, and two or three times it seems to me that he has looked up in this direction. charlie joined tim at the window. "yes, tim, you are right that's hossein, i'm pretty sure." a friend outside. the man had now approached within two or three hundred yards of the corner of the wall. he was ap- parently collecting pieces of dried brushwood for firing. presently he glanced in the direction of the window. charlie thrust his arm through the bar and waved his hand. the man threw up his arm with a gesture which, to a casual observer, would have appeared acci- dental, but which the watchers had no doubt what- ever was intended for them. he was still too far off from them to be able to distinguish his features, but they had not the least doubt that it was hossein. ( ) chapter xix. a daring escape. nd what's to be done next, mister charles? that's hossein, sure enough, but it don't bring us much nearer to getting out." "the first thing is to communicate with him in some way, tim." "if he'd come up to the side of the moat, yer honour might spake to him." "that would never do, tim. there are sure to be sentries on the walls of the prison. we must trust to him. he can see the sentries and will know best what he can do." it was evident that hossein did not intend doing any- thing at present, for still stooping and gathering brush- wood he gradually withdrew farther and farther from the wall. then they saw him make his sticks into a bundle, put them on his shoulder, and walk away. during the rest of the day they saw no more of hossein. "i will write," charlie said—" fortunately i have a pencil—telling him that we can lower a light string down to the moat if he can manage to get underneath with a cord which we can hoist up, and that he must have two disguises in readiness." "i don't think hossein can read," tim said, "any more than i can myself." "i daresay not, tim. but he will probably have friends removing the bars. in the town. there are men who were employed in the english factory at kossimbazar hard by. these will be out of employment and will regret the expulsion of the english. we can trust hossein. at any rate i will get it ready. now the first thing we have to do is to loosen one of these bars. i wish we had thought of doing it before. however, the stonework is pretty rotten and we shall have no difficulty about that. the first thing is to get a tool of some sort." they looked round the room and for some time saw nothing which could in any way serve. the walls, floor, and wide bench running round, upon which the cushions which served as their beds were laid, were all stone. there was no other furniture of any kind. "divil a bit of iron do i see in the place, mister charles," tim said. "they don't even give us a knife for dinner, but stew all their meats up into a smash." "there is something, tim," charlie said, looking at the door. "look at those long hinges." the hinges were of ornamented iron-work, extending half across the door. upon one of the scrolls of this iron- work they set to work. chipping a small piece of stone off an angle of the wall outside the window, with great difficulty they thrust this under the end of the scroll as a wedge. another piece, slightly larger, was then pushed under it. the gain was almost imperceptible, but at last the piece of iron was raised from the woodwork suf- ficiently to allow them to get a hold of it with theii thumbs. then little by little they bent it upwards until at last they could obtain a firm hold of it. the rest was comparatively easy. the iron was tough and strong, but by bending it up and down they succeeded at last in breaking it off. it was the lower hinge of the door upon which they had operated, as the loss of a piece of iron there would be less likely to catch the eye of anyone coming in. they collected some dust from the corner of the room, moistened it, and rubbed it on to the wood so the preparations concluded. as to take away its freshness of appearance; and they then set to work with the piece of iron, which was of a curved shape, about three inches long, an inch wide, and an eighth of an inch thick. taking it by turns they ground away the stone round the bottom of one of the bars. for the first inch the stone yielded readily to the iron, but below that it became harder and their progress was slow. they filled the hole which they had made with water to soften the stone and worked steadily away till night, when, to their great joy, they found that they had reached the bottom of the bar. they then enlarged the hole inwards in order that the bar might be pulled back. fortunately it was much decayed by age, and they had no doubt that by exerting all their strength together they could bend it sufficiently to enable them to get through. at the hour when their dinner was brought they had ceased their work, filled up the hole with dust collected from the floor, put some dust of the stone over it and smoothed it down, so that it would not have been noticed by anyone casually looking from the window. it was late at night before they finished their work. their hands were sore and bleeding, and they were com- pletely worn out with fatigue. they had saved from their dinner a good-sized piece of bread. they folded up into a small compass the leaf from his pocket-book upon which charlie had written in hindustanee his letter to hossein, and thrust this into the centre of the piece of bread. then charlie told tim to lie down and rest for three hours while he kept watch, as they must take it in turns all night to listen in case hossein should come out- side. the lamp was kept burning. just as charlie's watch was over he thought he heard a very faint splash in the water below. two or three minutes later he again thought he heard the sound. he peered out of the window anxiously, but the night was dark and he could see nothing. listening intently, it seemed to him several times that he heard the same faint a message through the air. sound. presently something whizzed by him, and looking round, to his delight he saw a small arrow with a piece of very thin string attached. the arrow was made of very light wood. round the iron point was a thick wrapping of cotton, which would entirely deaden its sound as it struck a wall. it was soaked in water, and charlie had no doubt that the sound he heard was caused by its fall into the moat after ineffectual trials to shoot through the window. round the centre of the arrow a piece of greased silk was wrapped. charlie took this off, and found beneath it a piece of paper on which was written in hindustanee: "if you have a bar loosed, pull the string and haul up a rope; if not, throw the arrow down. i will come again to-morrow night." tim had by this time joined charlie, and they speedily began to pull in the string. presently a thicker string came up into their hands. they continued to pull, and soon the end of a stout rope, in which knots were tied every two feet, came up to them. they fastened this to one of the bars and then took hold of that which they had loosened, and, putting their feet against the wall, exerted themselves to the utmost. the iron was tougher than they had expected, but they were striving for liberty, and with desperate exertions they bent it inwards, until at last there was room enough for them to creep through, "can you swim, tim?" "not a stroke, yer honour, shure you should know that when you fished me out of the water," "very well, tim; as i kept you up then 'twill be easy enough for me now to take you across the moat. i will go first, and when i get into the water will keep hold of the rope till you come down. take off your boots, for they would be heard scraping against the wall. be sure you make as little noise as possible, and lower yourself quietly into the water." charlie then removed his own boots, squeezed him- self through the bars, and grasping the rope tightly the knotted rope. began to descend. he found the knots of immense assistance, for had it not been for them, unaccustomed as he was to the work, he would have been unable to pre- vent himself from sliding down too rapidly. the win- dow was fully sixty feet above the moat, and he was very thankful when at last he felt the water touch his feet. lowering himself quietly into it, he shook the rope to let tim know that he could begin his descent. before tim was half-way down charlie could hear his hard breathing and muttered ejaculations to himself: "shure i'll never get to the bottom at all, my arms are fairly breaking. i shall squash mr. charles if i fall on him." "hold your tongue, tim," charlie said in a loud whisper. tim was silent, but the panting and puffing increased, and charlie swam a stroke or two away expecting every moment that tim would fall. the irishman, however, held on, but let himself into the water with a splash which aroused the attention of the sentry above, who instantly challenged. tim and charlie remained per- fectly quiet. again the sentry challenged. then there was a long silence. the sentry probably was unwilling to rouse the place by a false alarm, and the splash might have been caused by the fall of a piece of decayed stone from the face of the wall. "tim, you clumsy fellow," whispered charlie, "you nearly spoiled all." "shure, yer honour, i was kilt entirely, and my arms were pulled out of my sockets. holy mother, who'd have thought 'twould be so difficult to come down a rope! the sailors are great men entirely." "now, tim, lie quiet, i will turn you on your back and swim across with you." the moat was some twenty yards wide. charlie swam across towing tim after him, and taking the greatest pains to avoid making the slightest splash. the opposite onue more free. side was of stone-work and rose six feet above the water. as soon as they touched the wall a stout rope was lowered to them. "now, tim, you climb up first.' "is it climb up, yer honour? i couldn't do it if it was to save my sowl. my arms are gone altogether and i'm as weak as a child. you go, mister charles, i'll hould on by the rope till morning. they can but shoot me." "nonsense, tim! here, i will fasten the rope round your body. then i will climb up and we will pull you up after me." in another minute charlie stood on the bank and grasped the hand of his faithful follower. hossein threw himself on his knees and pressed his master to him. then he rose, and at a word from charlie they hauled tim to the top. the rope was taken off him, and noise- lessly they made their way across the country. not a word was spoken till they were at a considerable distance from the fort. "where are you taking us, hossein?" charlie asked at last. "i have two peasants' dresses in a deserted cottage a quarter of a mile away." not another word was spoken until they reached the hut, which stood at the end of a small village. when they had entered this charlie first thanked in the warmest terms his follower for having rescued them. "my life is my lord's," hossein answered simply; "he gave it me. it is his again whenever it is useful to him." "no, hossein, the balance is all on your side now. you saved my life that night at ambur; you saved it that night at calcutta, for, without the water you brought us, i question whether we could have lived till morning. now you have procured our freedom. the debt is all on my side now, my friend." "hossein is glad that his lord is content," the mahom- medan murmured; "now what will my lord do?" disguised as natives. "have you any place in the town to which we could go, hossein?" "yes, sahib, i hired a little house. i was dressed as a trader. i have been here for two months, but i could not find where you were confined, although i have tried all means, until i saw your cap." "it was foolish of me not to have thought of it before," charlie said. "well, hossein, for a little time we had better take refuge in your house. they will not think of searching in the city, and as calcutta is in their hands there is nowhere we could go. besides, i must discover, if possible, where miss haines is kept a prisoner, and rescue her if it can be done." "the white girl is in the zenana of rajah dulab ram," hossein replied. "where is the rajah's palace?" "he has one in the city, one at ajervam, twenty miles from here. i do not know at which she is lodged." "we must find that out presently," charlie said. "it is something to know she is in one of two houses. now, about getting back into the town?" "i have thought of that," hossein said. "i have bought a quantity of plantains and two large baskets. after the gates are opened you will go boldly in with the baskets on your heads. no questions are asked of the country people who go in and out. i have some stain here which will darken your skins. i will go in first in my merchant's dress which i have here. i will stop a little way inside the gate, and when i see you coming will walk on. do you follow me a little behind. my house is in a quiet street. when i reach the door, do you come up and offer to sell me plantains. if there are people about i shall bargain with you until i see that no one is noticing us. then you can enter. if none are about you can follow me straight in." hossein now set about the disguises. a light was struck, and both tim and charlie were shaved up to the tim's native modisty. lino which the turban would cover. charlie's whiskers, which were somewhat faint, as he was still under twenty-one years old, gave but little trouble. tim, how- ever, grumbled at parting with his much more bushy appendages. the shaven part of the heads, necks, and faces were then rubbed with a dark fluid, as were the arms and legs. they were next wrapped in dark blue clothes in peasant fashion and turbans wound round their heads. hossein then, examining them critically, announced that they would pass muster anywhere. "i feel mighty quare," tim exclaimed; "and it seems to me downright ondacent to be walking about with my naked legs." charlie laughed. "why, tim, you are accustomed to see thousands of men every day with nothing on but a loin-cloth." "yes, yer honour, but then they're hathens, and it seems natural for them to do so; but for a dacent boy to go walking about in the streets with a thing on which covers no more than his shirt, is onnatural altogether. mother of moses, what a shindy there would be in the streets of cork if i were to show myself in such a state!" charlie now lay down for a sleep till morning, while tim, who had had three hours' repose, settled himself for a comfortable chat with hossein, to whom sleep appeared altogether unnecessary. between hossein and tim there was a sort of brotherly attachment, arising from their mutual love of their master. during the two years which tim had spent apart from all europeans save charlie, he had contrived to pick up enough of the lan- guage to make himself fairly intelligible; and since the day when hossein had saved charlie's life at ambur the warmest friendship had sprung up between the good humoured and warm-hearted irishman and the silent and devoted mahommedan. tim's friendship even ex- tended so far as to induce a toleration of hossein's religion. he had come to the conclusion that a man who hossein's adventures. at stated times in the day would leave his employment, whatever it might be, spread his carpet, and be for some minutes lost in prayer, could not be altogether a hathen, especially when he learned from charlie that the mahom- medans, like ourselves, worship one god. for the sake of his friend, then, he now generally excluded the mahom- medans from the general designation of heathen, which he still applied to the hindoos. he learned from hossein that the latter, having observed from a distance the europeans driven into the cell at calcutta, perceived at once how fatal the con- sequences would be. he had, an hour or two after they were confined there, approached with some water, but the officer on guard had refused to let him give it. he had then gone into the native town, but being unable to find any fruit there, had walked out to the gardens and had picked a large basketful. this he had brought as an offering to the officer, and the latter had then consented to his giving one bowl of water to the prisoners, among whom, as he had told him, was his master. for bringing a second bowl contrary to his orders hossein had, as tim saw, been struck down, but had the satisfaction of believing that his master and tim had derived some benefit from his effort. on the following morning, to his delight, he saw them issue among the few survivors from the dungeon, and had, when they were taken up the country, followed close behind them, arriving at the town on the same day as themselves. he had ever since been wan- dering round the prison. he had taken a house so close to it that he could keep a watch on all the windows facing the town, and had day after day kept his eyes fixed upon these without success. he had at last found out from one of the soldiers that the white prisoners were confined on the other side of the prison, but until he saw charlie's cap he had been unable to discover the room in which they were confined. in the morning they started for the town. groups of news of ada haines. peasants were already making their way towards the gate with fruit and grain, and keeping near one of these parties, while sufficiently distant to prevent the chance of their being addressed, charlie and tim made their way to the gate, the latter suffering acutely in his mind from the impropriety of his attire. no questions were asked as they passed the guard. they at once perceived hossein standing a little way off, and followed him through the busy streets. they soon turned off into a quieter quarter, and stopped at a house in a street in which scarcely any one was stirring. hossein glanced round, as he opened the door, and beckoned to them to enter at once. this they did, and were glad, indeed, to set down the heavy baskets of plantains. "my lord's room is upstairs," hossein said, and led the way to a comfortably furnished apartment. "i think that you might stay here for months unsuspected. a sweeper comes every day to do my rooms down-stairs. he believes the rest of the house to be untenanted, and you must remain perfectly quiet during the half hour he is here. otherwise, no one enters the house but myself." hossein soon set to work and prepared an excellent breakfast. then he left them, saying that he would now devote himself to finding out whether the young white lady was in the town palace of the rajah. he returned in the afternoon. "she is here, sahib," he said. "i got into conversation with one of the retainers of the rajah, and by giving him some wonderful bargains in delhi jewelry succeeded in opening his lips. i dare not question him too closely, but i am to meet him to-morrow to show him some more silver bracelets." "it is fortunate, hossein, that you have some money, for neither tim nor i have a rupee." "thanks to the generosity of my lord," hossein said, "i am well supplied." the next day hossein discovered that the windows a message prepared. of the zenana were at the back of the palace, looking into the large garden. "i hear, however," he said, "that the ladies of the zenana are next week going to the rajah's other palace. the ladies will, of course, travel in palan- quins; but upon the road i might get to talk with one of the waiting-women, and might bribe her to pass a note into the hands of the white lady." "i suppose they will have a guard with them, hossein?" "surely, a strong guard," hossein answered. the time passed until the day came for the departure of the rajah's zenana. charlie wrote a note as follows:— "my dear ada, i am free and am on the look-out for an opportunity to rescue you. contrive to put a little bit of your handkerchief through the lattice-work of the window of your room, as a signal to us which it is. on the second night after your arrival we will be under it with a ladder. if others, as is probable, sleep in your room, lie down without undressing more than you can help. when they are asleep get up and go to the window and open the lattice. if any of them wake, say you are hot and cannot sleep, and wait quietly till they are off again. then stretch out your arm and we shall know you are ready. then we will put up the ladder, and you must get out and come to us as quickly as possible. once with us you will be safe." this note was wrapped up very small and put into a quill. as soon as the gates were open hossein and his companions left the town and proceeded as far as a grove half-way between the town and the rajah's country palace. "they are sure to stop here for a rest," hossein said. "i will remain here and try to enter into conversation with one of them. it will be better for you to go on for some distance and then turn aside from the road. when they have all passed, come back into the road again and i will join you." after waiting two hours hossein saw two carts full of gaining an accomplice. women approaching, and had no doubt that these were the servants of the zenana. as he had expected, the drivers halted their cattle in the shade of the trees, and the women, delighted to enjoy their liberty, alighted from the carts and scattered in the grove. presently one of them, a middle-aged woman, approached the spot where hossein had seated himself. hossein drew out a large and beautiful silver bracelet of delhi workman- ship. "would you like to buy this?" he asked. "how should i buy it?" she said; " i am only a servant. it is very beautiful;" and she looked at it with longing eyes. "i have two of them," he said, "and they will both be yours if you will do me a service." "what is it?" she asked. "they will be yours if you will give this quill to the little white girl who is in the zenana." the woman hesitated. "it is dangerous," she said. "not at all," hossein replied. "it only gives her news of a friend whom she thought was dead. it will cheer her heart and will be a kind action. none can ever know it." "give them to me," the woman said, holding out her hand; "i will do it." "no," hossein replied. "i will give you one now, the other when i know that the note is delivered. i shall be watching to-morrow. if she places her handkerchief in her lattice, i shall know that she has got it. wben she does this i will bury the other bracelet a few inches in the ground just under that window. you can dig it up when you will." "i understand," the woman said; "you can trust me. we all like the white girl. she is very gentle, but very sad. i would gladly give her pleasure." hossein handed to her the bracelet and the quill. she bid them in her dress and sauntered away. the rajah's zenana. hossein lay back as if taking a sleep, and so remained until, half an hour later, he heard the shouts of the drivers to the women to take their places in the carts. then the sound of retreating wheels was heard. hossein was about to rise when he heard the clatter of horses' hoofs. looking round he saw eight elephants, each carrying a closed pavilion, moving along the road escorted by a troop of horsemen. in the pavilions, as he knew, were chapter xx. the rescue of the white captive. fter the cavalcade had passed hossein rose to his feet and followed them, allowing thein to go some distance ahead. presently he was joined by charlie and tim, and the three walked quietly along the road until within sight of the rajah's palace. in front stood a great court-yard; behind, also surrounded by a high wall, was the garden. as this was always devoted to the zenana they had little doubt that the rooms of the ladies were on this side, and two hours later they were delighted at seeing a small piece of white stuff thrust through one of the lattices. the woman had been faithful to her trust. ada had received the letter. they then retired to a distance from the palace, and at once set to work on the fabrication of a ladder. hossein, followed by charlie, who better enacted the part than tim, went into a village and purchased four long bamboo poles, saying he wanted them for the carrying or burdens. charlie placed these on his shoulder and fol- lowed hossein. when they arrived at the grove they set to work, having brought with them all the necessary materials. the bamboos were spliced together two and two, and while charlie and tim set to to bore holes in these, hossein chopped down a young tree, and cutting it into lengths prepared the rungs. it took them all that even- the meeting with ada. ing and the greater part of the next day before they had satisfactorily accomplished their work. they had then a ladder thirty feet long, the height which they judged the window to be above the terrace below. it was strong and at the same time light. they waited until darkness had completely fallen, and then taking their ladder went round to the back of the garden. they mounted the wall, and sitting on the top dragged the ladder after them and lowered it on the other side. it was of equal thick- ness the whole length, and could therefore be used in- differently either way. they waited patiently until they saw the lights in the zenana windows extinguished. then they crept quietly up and placed the ladder under the window at which the signal had been shown, and found that their calculations were correct, and that it reached to a few inches below the sill. half an hour later the lattice above opened. they heard a murmur of voices, and then all was quiet again. after a few minutes charlie climbed noiselessly up the ladder, and just as he reached the top an arm was stretched out above him, and a moment afterwards ada's face ap- peared. "i am here, dear," he said in a whisper; "lean out and i will take you." the girl stretched out over the window. charlie took her in his arms and lifted her lightly out, and then slowly descended the ladder. no sooner did he touch the ground than they hurried away, ada sobbings with excitement and pleasure on charlie's shoulder, tim and hossein bearing the ladder; hossein having already carried out his promise of concealing the second bracelet under the window. in a few minutes they had safely surmounted the wall, and hurried across the country with all speed. before leaving the town hossein had purchased a cart with two bullocks, and had hired a man, who was recom- mended to him by one of his co-religionists there as one upon whose fidelity he could rely. this cart was await- i am here, dear," he said in a whisper. fage ada hears sad news. ing them at a grove. paying them the amount stipulated, hossein took the ox-goad and started the bullocks, tim walking beside him, while charlie and ada took their places in the cart. they were sure that a hot pursuit would be set up. the rage of the nabob at the escape of charlie and his servant had been extreme, and the whole country had been scoured by parties of horsemen, and they were sure that the rajah would use every possible means to discover ada before he ventured to report to the nabob that the prisoner committed to his charge had escaped. "of course i can't see you very well," ada said, " but i should not have known you in the least." "no, i am got up like a peasant," charlie answered. "we shall have to dress you so before morning. we have got things here for you." "oh how delighted i was," ada exclaimed," when i got your note! i found it so difficult to keep on looking sad and hopeless when i could have sung for joy. i had been so miserable. there seemed no hope, and they said some day i should be sent to the nabob's zenana—wretches! how poor mamma will be grieving for me, and papa! —ah! captain marryat, he is dead, is he not?" "yes, my dear," charlie said gently; "he was killed by my side that afternoon. with his last breath he asked me to take care of you." "i thought so," ada said, crying quietly. "i did not think of it at the time; everything was so strange and so dreadful that i scarcely thought at all. but afterwards on the way here, when i turned it all over it seemed to me that it must be so. he did not come to me all that after- noon. he was not shut up with us in that dreadful place, and everyone else was there. so it seemed to me that he must have been killed, but that you did not like to tell me." "it was better for him, dear, than to have died in that terrible cell. thank god your mamma is safe, and some ( ot) * b thrown off the scent. day you will join her again. we have news that the english are coming up to attack calcutta. a party are already in the hoogly, and the nabob is going to start in a few days to his army there. i hope in a very very short time you will be safe among your friends." after travelling for several hours they stopped. charlie gave ada some native clothes and ornaments, and told her to stain her face, arms, and legs, to put on the bangles and bracelets, and then to rejoin them. half an hour later ada took her seat in the cart, this time trans- formed into a hindoo girl, and the party again proceeded. they felt sure that ada's flight would not be discovered until daybreak. it would be some little time before horsemen could be sent off in all directions in pursuit, and they could not be overtaken until between eleven and twelve. the waggon was filled with grain, on the top of which charlie and ada were seated. when daylight came charlie alighted and walked by the cart . un- questioned they passed through several villages. at eleven o'clock hossein pointed to a large grove at some little distance from the road. "go in there," he said," and stay till nightfall. do you then come out and follow me. i shall go into the next village and remain there till after dark. i shall then start and wait for you half a mile beyond the village." an hour after the waggon had disappeared from sight the party in the grove saw ten or twelve horsemen galloping rapidly along the road. an hour passed and the same party returned at an equal speed. they saw no more of them, and after it became dark they continued their way, passed through the village, which was three miles ahead, and found hossein waiting a short distance beyond. ada climbed into the cart and they again went forward. "did you put the rajah's men on the wrong track, hossein? we guessed that you had done so when we saw them going back." the journey to the coast. "yes," hossein said. "i had unyoked the bullocks and had lain down in the caravanserai when they arrived. they came in, and their leader asked who i was. i said that i was taking down a load of grain for the use of the army at calcutta. he asked where were the two men and the woman who were with me. i replied that i knew nothing of them. i had overtaken them on the road, and they had asked leave for the woman to ride in the cart. they said they were going to visit their mother, who was sick. he asked if i was sure they were natives, and i counterfeited surprise and said that certainly they were, for which lie allah will, i trust, be merciful, since it was told to an enemy. i said that they had left me just when we had passed the last village and had turned off by the road to the right, saying they had many miles to go. they talked together and decided that as you were the only people who had been seen along the road they must follow and find you, and so started at once, and daresay they're searching for you now miles away." their journey continued without any adventure until within a few miles of calcutta . hossein then advised them to take up their abode in a ruined mud hut at a distance from the road. he had bought at the last village a supply of provisions sufficient to last them for some days. "i shall now," he said," go into the town, sell my grain, bullocks, and cart, and find out where the soldiers are." as soon as the news of the nabob's advance against calcutta reached madras, mr. pigot, who was now governor there, despatched a force of two hundred and thirty men under the orders of major kilpatrick. the party reached falta on the hoogly on the nd of august, and there heard of the capture of calcutta. by detach- ments who came down from some of the company's minor posts the force was increased to nearly four hundred. but sickness broke out among them, and finding himself un- able to advance against so powerful an army as that of mother and child. the nabob, major kilpatrick sent to madras for further assistance. when the news reached that place clive had recently arrived with a strong force, which was destined to operate against the french at hyderabad. the news, however, of the catastrophe at calcutta at once altered the destination of the force, and on the th of october the expedition sailed for calcutta. the force consisted of two hundred and fifty men of the th foot, the first regiment of the regular english army which had been sent out to india; five hundred and seventy men of the madras european force; eighty artillerymen; and twelve hundred sepoys. of the nine hundred europeans only six hundred arrived at that time at the mouth of the hoogly, the largest ship, the cumberland, with three hundred men on board, having grounded on the way. the remainder of the fleet, consisting of three ships of war, five transports, and a fire-ship, reached falta between the th and th of december. hossein had returned from calcutta with the news that the party commanded by major kilpatrick had been for some weeks at falta, and the party at once set off towards that place, which was but forty miles distant . travelling by night and sleeping by day in the woods, they reached falta without difficulty, and learning that the force was still on board ship they took possession of a boat moored by the bank some miles higher up and rowed down.. great was their happiness indeed at finding them- selves once more among friends. here were assembled many of the ships which had been at calcutta at the time it was taken, and to ada's delight she learned that her mother was on board one of these. they were soon rowed there in a boat from the ship which they had first boarded, and ada on gaining the deck saw her mother sitting among some other ladies, fugitives like herself. with a scream of joy she rushed forward, and with a cry of, "mamma, mamma!" threw herself into her a happy meeting. mother's arms. it was a moment or two before mrs. haines could realize that this dark-skinned hindoo girl was her child, and then her joy equalled that of her daughter. it was some time before any coherent con- versation could take place, and then ada, running back to charlie, drew him forward to her mother and presented him to her as her preserver, the captain marryat who had stayed with them at calcutta. mrs. haines' gratitude was extreme, and charlie was soon surrounded and con- gratulated by the officers on board, to many of whom, belonging as they did to the madras army, he was well known. foremost among them, and loudest in his ex- pressions of delight, was his friend peters. "you know, charlie, i suppose," he said presently, "that you are a major now?" "no, indeed," charlie said. "how is that?" "when the directors at home received the report of commodore james that the fort of suwarndrug had been captured entirely through you, they at once sent out your appointment as major. you are lucky, old fellow. here are you a major, while i'm a lieutenant still. however, don't think i'm jealous, for i'm not a bit, and you thoroughly deserve all, and more than you've got." "and this is tim," charlie said; "he has shared all my adventures with me." tim was standing disconsolately by the bulwark, shift- ing uneasily from foot to foot with the feeling of the extreme shortness of his garments stronger upon him than ever. peters seized him heartily by the hand. "i am glad to see you, tim, very glad. and so you've been with major marryat ever since?" "for the lord's sake, mr. peters," tim said in an earnest whisper, "git me a pair of trousers. i'm that ashamed of myself in the presence of the ladies that i'm like to drop." "come along below, tim; come along, charlie. there mrs. haines' plans. are lots of poor fellows have gone done and uniforms are plentiful. we'll soon rig you out again." "there is one more introduction, peters. this is my man hossein. he calls himself my servant; i call him my friend. he has saved my life twice, and has been of inestimable service. had it not been for him i should still be in prison at moorshedabad." peters said a few hearty words to hossein and they then went below, returning on deck in half an hour, charlie in the undress uniform of an officer, tim in that of a private in the madras infantry. mrs. haines and ada had gone below, where they could chat unrestrained by the presence of others, and where an attempt could be made to restore ada to her former ap- pearance. mrs. haines had heard of her husband's death on the day after the capture of calcutta, mr. holwell having been permitted to send on board the ships a list of those who had fallen. she had learned that ada had survived the terrible night in the dungeon, and that she had been sent up country a captive. she almost despaired of ever hearing of her again, but had resolved to wait to see the issue of the approaching campaign. now that ada was restored to her she determined to leave for england in a vessel which was to sail in the course of a week with a large number of fugitives. mr. haines was a very wealthy man, and had intended retiring altogether in the course of a few months, and she would therefore be in the enjoyment of an ample fortune in england. among those on board the ships at falta was mr. drake, who at once, upon hearing of charlie's arrival, ordered him to be arrested. major kilpatrick, however, firmly refused to allow the order to be carried out, saying, that as charlie was under his orders as an officer in the madras army, mr. drake had no control or authority over him. he could, however, upon clive's arrival lay the case before him. a week later mrs. haines and ada sailed for england, a baffled cowakd. the latter weeping bitterly at parting from charlie, who promised them that when he came home to england on leave he would pay them a visit. he gave them his mother's address; and mrs. haines promised to call upon her as soon as she reached england, and give her full news of him, adding that she hoped that his sisters, the youngest of whom was little older than ada, would , be great friends with her. very slowly and wearily the time passed at falta. the mists from the river were deadly, and of the two hundred and thirty men whom kilpatrick brought with him from madras in july only about thirty remained alive, and of these but ten were fit for duty when clive at last arrived. the fleet left falta on the th of de- cember and anchored off moiapur on the following day. the fort of baj-baj, near this place, was the first object of attack, and it was arranged that while admiral watson should bombard with the fleet, clive should attack it on the land side. clive, who now held the rank of lieutenant-colonel in the army, had manifested great pleasure at again meeting the young officer who had served under him at arcot, and who had in his absence obtained a fame scarcely inferior to his own by the defence of ambur and the capture of suwarndrug. a few hours after clivc's arrival mr. drake had made a formal complaint of the assault which charlie had committed; but after hearing from charlie an account of the circumstances clive sent a contemptuous message to mr. drake, to the effect that charlie had only acted as he should himself have done under the same circumstances, and that at the present time he should not think of depriving himself of the services of one gallant soldier, even if he had maltreated a dozen civilians. as clive had been given paramount authority in ben- gal, and as mr. drake had every reason to suppose that he himself would be recalled as soon as the circumstances a careless watch. attending the capture of calcutta were known in england, he was unable to do anything further in the matter, and charlie landed with clive on the th. the force con- sisted of two hundred and fifty europeans, and twelve hundred sepoys, who were forced to drag with them, having no draft animals, two field-pieces and a waggon of ammunition. the march was an excessively fatiguing one. the country was swampy in the extreme, and intersected with water-courses, and after a terribly fa- tiguing night march and fifteen hours of unintermittent labour, they arrived at eight o'clock in the morning at the hollow bed of a lake, now perfectly dry. it lay some ten feet below the surrounding country, and was bordered with jungle. in the wet season it was full of water. on the eastern and southern banks lay an abandoned village, and it was situated about a mile and a half from the fort of baj-baj. clive was ill, and unable to see after matters himself; indeed, accustomed only to the feeble forces of southern india, who had never stood for a moment against him in battle, he had no thought of danger. upon the other hand the troops of the nabob, who had had no experience whatever of the superior fighting powers of the europeans, and who had effected so easy a con- quest at calcutta, flushed with victory, regarded their european foes with contempt, and were preparing to annihilate them at a blow. manak cband, the general commanding the nabob's forces, informed by spies of the movements of the english troops, moved out with fifteen hundred horse and two thousand foot. so worn-out were the british upon their arrival at the dried bed of the lake, that, after detaching a,small body to occupy a village near the enemy's fort, from which alone danger was expected, while another took up the post in some jungles by the side of the main road, the rest threw them- selves down to sleep. some lay in the village, some in the shade of the bushes along the sides of the hollow. their surprised by the enemy. arms were all piled in a heap sixty yards from the east- ern bank. the two field-pieces stood deserted on the north side of the village. not a single sentry was posted. manak chand, knowing that after marching all night they would be exhausted, now stole upon them and sur- rounded the tank on three sides. happily he did not perceive that their arms were piled at a distance of sixty yards from the nearest man. had he done so the eng- lish would have been helpless in his hands. after wait- ing an hour, to be sure that the last of the english were sound asleep, he ordered a tremendous fire to be opened on the hollow and village. astounded at this sudden attack the men sprang up from their deep sleep, and a rush was instantly made to their arms. clive, ever coolest in danger, shouted to them to be steady, and his officers well seconded his attempts. unfortunately the artillerymen, in their sudden surprise, instead of rushing to their cannon, joined the rest of the troops as they ran back to their arms, and the guns at once fell into the hands of the enemy. these had now climbed the eastern bank, and a fire from all sides was poured upon the troops huddled together in a mass. "major marryat," clive said, "if we fall back now, fatigued as the men are and shaken by this surprise, we are lost. do you take a wing of the sepoy battalion and clear the right bank. i will advance with the main body directly on the village." "come on, my lads," charlie shouted in hindustanee; "show them how the men of madras can fight." the sepoys replied with a cheer, advanced with a rush against the bank, drove the defenders at once from the point where they charged, and then swept round the tank towards the village, which clive had already at- tacked in front. the loss of charlie's battalion was small, but the main body, exposed to the concentrated fire, suffered more heavily. they would not, however, be denied. reaching the bank they poured a volley into the ( the defeat of manak chand. village and charged with the bayonet, just as charlie's men dashed in at the side. the enemy fled from the village, and taking shelter in the jungles around opened fire. the shouts of their officers could be heard urging them again to sally out and fall upon the british;- but at this moment the party which had been sent forward along the road, hearing the fray, came hurrying up and poured their fire into the jungle. surprised at this reinforcement the enemy paused as they were issuing from the wood, and then fell back upon their cavalry. the british artillerymen ran out and seized the guns and opened with them upon the retiring infantry. clive now formed up his troops in line and advanced against the enemy's cavalry, behind which their infantry had massed for shelter. manak chand ordered his cavalry to charge, but just as he did so a cannon-ball from one of dive's field-pieces passed close to his head. the sensation was so unpleasant that he at once changed his mind. the order for retreat was given, and the beaten army fell back in disorder to calcutta. * chapter xxi. the battle outside calcutta. fter the defeat of the enemy, who had sur- prised and so nearly annihilated him, clive marched at once towards the fort of baj-baj. on the way he met major kilpatrick, who was advancing, with a force which had been landed from the ships when the sound of firing was heard, to his assistance. the fleet had at daybreak opened a heavy fire upon the ramparts, and by the afternoon effected a breach. as his men were greatly fatigued and had had but an hour's sleep, clive determined upon delaying the attack until the morning, and a party of two hundred and fifty sailors with two guns were landed to take part in the storming. many of these sailors had drunk, freely before landing, and^ss, night fell some of them strolled towards the fort. one of the number named strahan moved along, unob- served by the enemy, to the foot of the breach, climbed up it, and came suddenly upon a party of its defenders sitting round a fire smoking. strahan immediately fired his pistol among them with a shout of, "the fort is mine!" and then gave three rousing cheers. the enemy leaped to their feet and ran off for a little way. then seeing strahan was alone they rushed back and attacked him, firing as they came. strahan, drawing his cutlass, de- a drunken sailor's freak. fended himself vigorously for some time, but his weapon broke oil at the hilt just as a number of sepoys and men of the th, who had been awaked from their sleep by the shouting and firing, came running up. reinforcements of the garrison also joined their friends, but these were dis- pirited by the sudden and unexpected attack, and as the troops continued to stream up the breach the garrison were pressed, and, losing heart, fled through the opposite gate of the fort. the only casualty on the british side was that captain campbell, marching up at the head of the sepoys, was mistaken for an enemy by the sailors and shot dead. strahan was in the morning severely reprimanded by the admiral for his breach of discipline, and retiring from the cabin said to his comrades: "well, if i am flogged for this here action, i will never take another fort by myself as long as i live." manak chand was so alarmed at the fighting powers shown by the english in these two affairs, that, leaving only a garrison of five hundred men at calcutta, he re- tired with his army to join the nabob at moorshedabad. when the fleet arrived before the town the enemy sur- rendered the fort at the first shot, and it was again taken possession of by the english. major kilpatrick was at once sent up with five ships and a few hundred men to cap- ture the town of hoogly, twenty miles farther up. the defences of the place were strong. it was held by two thousand men, and three thousand horsemen lay around it. the ships, however, at once opened a cannonade upon it, and effected a breach before night, and at daybreak the place was taken by storm. two days after the capture of calcutta the news arrived that war had again been declared between eng- land and fiance. it was fortunate that this was not known a little earlier; for had the french forces been joined to those under manak chand the reconquest of calcutta would not have been so easily achieved. the nabob, furious at the loss of calcutta and the capture and the situation at calcutta. sack of hoogly, at once despatched a messenger to the governor of the french colony of chandranagore, to join him in crushing the english. the governor, however, had received orders that in the event of war being de- clared between england and france he was, if possible, to arrange with the english that neutrality should be observed between them; he therefore refused the nabob's request, and then sent messengers to calcutta to treat. the territory op calcutta in . the nabob had gathered an army of ten thousand foot and fifteen thousand horse, and advanced against calcutta, arriving before the town on the nd february, . clive's force had now, owing to the arrival of some rein- forcements from europe and the enlisting of fresh sepoys, been raised to seven hundred european infantry, a hun- dred artillerymen, and fifteen hundred sepoys, with four- teen light field-pieces. the whole of the town of calcutta was surrounded by a deep cut, with a bank behind, called the maratta ditch. a mile beyond this was a large salt-water lake, so that the attack on the nabob's camp. an enemy advancing from the north would have to pass within a short distance of clive's intrenched position out- side the town, affording him great opportunities for a flank attack. on the day of their arrival clive marched out, but the enemy opened a heavy fire, and he retired. clive determined to attack the enemy next morning. admiral watson, at his request, at once landed five hun- dred and sixty sailors, under the command of captain warwick of the thunderer. a considerable portion of the enemy had crossed the maratta ditch and encamped within it. the nabob himself pitched his tent in the garden of omichund (a native calcutta merchant, who, though in the nabob's camp from motives of policy, sym- pathized entirely with the english), which occupied an advanced bastion within the maratta ditch. the rest of the army were encamped between the ditch and the salt- water lake. clive's intentions were to march first against the bat- tery which had played on him so effectually the day before, and having carried this, to march directly against the garden in which the nabob was encamped. the force with which he started at three o'clock in the morning of the rd consisted of the five hundred and sixty sailors, who drew with them six guns; six hundred and fifty european infantry, a hundred european artillery, and eight hundred sepoys. half the sepoys led the advance, the remainder covered the rear. soon after daybreak the sepoys came in contact with the enemy's advanced guard, placed in ditches along a road leading from the head of the lake to the maratta ditch. these discharged their muskets and some rockets and took to flight. one of the rockets caused a serious disaster. the sepoys had their ammunition pouches open, and the contents of one of these was fired by the rocket. the flash of the flame communicated the fire to the pouch of the next sepoy, and so the flame ran along the line, killing, wounding, and scorching many, and causing the greatest confusion. a military failure. two of the guns which had broken down, clive reached the main road, again formed his men in column, and ad- vanced towards the city. the odds were overwhelmingly against him. there were guns, infantry, and cavalry, both in front and be- hind them. the column pressed on in spite of the heavy fire, crossed the ditch, and attacked a strong body of the enemy drawn up on the opposite side. while it did so, a great force of the nabob's cavaly swept down on the rear, and for a moment captured the guns. ensign yorke, of the th foot, faced the rear com- pany about, and made a gallant charge upon the horse- men, drove them back, and recaptured the guns. clive's whole army was now across the ditch, and it was open to him either to carry out his original plan of attacking omichund's garden, or of marching forward into the fort of calcutta. seeing that his men were fatigued and worn out with six hours of labour and marching under the most difficult circumstances, he took the latter alternative, entered calcutta, and then, following the stream, marched back to the camp which he had left in the morning. his loss amounted to thirty-nine euro- peans killed and eighteen sepoys, eighty-two europeans wounded and thirty-five sepoys; the casualties being caused almost entirely by the enemy's cannon. the expedition, from a military point of view, had been an entire failure. he had carried neither the bat- tery nor omichund's garden. had it not been for the fog he might have succeeded in both these objects; but, upon the other hand, the enemy were as much discon- certed by the fog as he was, and were unable to use their forces with any effect. military critics have decided that the whole operation was a mistake; but although a mis- take and a failure its consequences were no less decisive. the nabob, struck with astonishment at the daring and dash of the english in venturing with so small a force to attack him, and to march through the very heart of his ( ) ^ s a a moral success. camp, was seized with terror. he had lost thirteen hundred men in the fight, among whom were twenty- four rajahs and lesser chiefs, and the next morning he sent in a proposal for peace. a less determined man than clive would, no doubt, have accepted the proposal. calcutta was still besieged by a vastly superior force, supplies of all kinds were running short, the attack of the previous day had been a failure. he knew, however, the character of asiatics, and determined to play the game of bounce. the very offer of the nabob showed him that the latter was alarmed. he therefore wrote to him, saying, that he had simply marched his troops through his highness' camp to show him of what british soldiers were capable; but that he had been careful to avoid hurting any one except those who actually opposed his progress. he concluded by expressing his willingness to accede to the nabob's proposal and to negotiate. « the nabob took it all in. if all this destruction and confusion had been wrought by a simple march through his camp, what would be the result if clive were to take into his head to attack him in earnest. he therefore at once withdrew his army three miles to the rear, and opened negotiations. he granted all that the english asked: that all the property and privileges of the com- pany should be restored, that all their goods should pass into the country free of tax, that all the company's fac- tories, and all moneys and properties beljnging to it or its servants, should be restored or made good, and that permission should be given to them to fortify calcutta as they pleased. having agreed to these conditions, the nabob, upon the th of february, retired with his army to his capital, leaving omichund with a commission to propose to the english a treaty of alliance, offensive and defensive, against all enemies. this proposal was a most acceptable one, and clive determined to seize the opportunity to the french colony. crush the french. his previous experiences around madras had taught him that the french were the most formidable rivals of england in india. he knew that large reinforcements were on their way to pondicherry, and he feared that the nabob, when he recovered from his panic, might regret the conditions which he had granted, and might ally himself with the french in an effort again to expel the english. he therefore determined at once to attack the french. the deputies sent by monsieur renault, the governor of chandranagore, had been kept waiting from day to day under one pretence or another, and they now wrote to the governor that they believed that there was no real intention on the part of the english to sign an agreement of neutrality with him, and that they would be the next objects of attack. m. renault immediately sent messen- gers to the nabob, urging upon him that if the english were»allowed to annihilate the french they would be more dangerous enemies than ever, and suraja-u-dowlah, hav- ing now recovered from his terror, wrote at once to cal- cutta, peremptorily forbidding any hostilities against the french. to show his determination he despatched fifteen hundred men to hoogly, which the english had aban- doned after capturing it, with instructions to help the french if attacked, and he sent a lac of rupees to m. renault to aid him in preparing for his defence. give, unwilling to face a coalition between the french and the nabob, was in favour of acceding to the nabob's orders. the treaty of neutrality with the french was drawn up, and would have been signed had it not been for the obstinate refusal of admiral watson to agree to it. '-' between that officer and clive there had never been any cordial feeling, and from the time of their first con- nection, at the siege of gheriah, differences of opinion, frequently leading to angry disputes, had taken place between them.. nor was it strange that this should be so; both were brave and gallant men; but while watson disputes between clive and the admiral had the punctilious sense of honour which naturally belongs to an english gentleman, clive was wholly un- scrupulous as to the means which he employed to gain his ends. between two such men it is not singular that disagree- ments arose. admiral watson, impelled by feelings of per- sonal dislike to clive, often allowed himself to be carried to unwarrantable lengths. on the occasion of the capture of calcutta he ordered captain eyre coote, who first en- tered it, to hold it in the king's name, and to disobey clive's orders, although the latter had been granted a commission in the royal army as lieutenant-colonel, and was, moreover, the chief authority of the company in all affairs on land. upon clive's asserting himself admiral watson absolutely threatened to open fire upon his troops. apparently from a sheer feeling of opposition he now opposed the signing of the treaty with the french, and several days were spent in stormy altercations. circumstances occurred during this time which streng- thened the view he took and changed those of clive and his colleagues of the council. just then the news reached suraja-u-dowlah that delhi had been captured by the afghans, and, terrified at the thought that the victorious northern enemy might next turn their arms against him, he wrote to clive, begging him to march to his assistance, and offering a lac of rupees a month towards the expense of his army. on the same day that clive received the letter he heard that commodore james and three ships, with reinforcements from bombay, had arrived at the mouth of the hoogly, and that the cumberland, with three hundred troops, which had grounded on her way from madras, was now coming up the river. almost at the same moment he heard from omichund, who had accompanied the nabob to moorshedabad, that he had bribed the governor of hoogly to offer no opposi- tion to the passage of the troops up the river. clive was now rendy to agree to admiral watson's views, and to the expedition against the french. advance at once against chandranagore; but the admiral again veered round and refused to agree to the measure unless the consent of the nabob was obtained. he wrote, however, himself, a threatening, and indeed violent, letter to the nabob, ordering him to give his consent. the nabob, still under the influence of his fears from the afghans, replied in terms which amounted to consent, but the very next day, having received news which calmed his fears as to the afghans, he wrote peremptorily forbidding the expedition against the french. this letter, however, was disregarded, and the expedition pre- pared to start. it consisted of seven hundred europeans and fifteen hundred native infantry, who started by land, a hundred and fifty artillery proceeding in boats, escorted by three ships of war and several smaller ves- sels under admiral watson. the french garrison consisted only of a hundred and forty-six french and three hundred sepoys. besides these were three hundred of the european population and sailors of the merchant ships in port, who had been hastily formed into a militia. the governor, indignant at the duplicity with which he had been treated, had worked vigorously at his defences. the settlement ex- tended along the river banks for two miles. in the centre stood the fort, which was a hundred and twenty yards square, mounting ten thirty-two pounder guns on each of its four bastions. twenty four-pounder guns were placed on the ramparts, facing the river on the south. on an outlying work commanding the water- gate eight thirty-two pounders were mounted. m. renault set to work to demolish all the houses within a hundred yards of the fort, and to erect batteries com- manding the approaches. he ordered an officer to sink several ships in the only navigable channel, about a hun- dred and fifty yards to the south of the fort, at a point commanded by the guns of one of the batteries. the officer was a traitor. he purposely sank the ships in such charlie sent to reconnoitre a position as to leave a channel through which the eng- lish ships might pass, and then, seizing his opportunity, deserted to them. on approaching the town clive, knowing that charlie could speak the native language fluently, asked him whether he would undertake to reconnoitre the position of the enemy, with which he was entirely unacquainted. charlie willingly agreed. when, on the night of the th of march, the army halted a few miles from the town, charlie, disguising himself in a native dress and accom- panied by hossein, left the camp and made his way to the town. this he had no difficulty in entering. it extended a mile and a half back from the river, and con- sisted of houses standing in large gardens and inclosures. the whole of the europeans were labouring at the erec- tion of the batteries and the destruction of the houses surrounding them, and charlie and his companion, ap- proaching closely to one of these, were pounced upon by the french officer in command of a working party, and set to work with a number of natives in demolishing the houses. charlie, with his usual energy, threw himself into the work, and would speedily have called attention to himself by the strength and activity which he dis- played, had not hossein begged him to moderate his efforts. "native man never work like that, sahib. not when he's paid ever so much. work still less, no pay. the french would soon notice the sahib if he laboured like that." thus admonished charlie adapted his actions to those of his companions, and after working until dawn ap- proached he managed, with hossein, to evade the atten- tion of the officer, and, drawing off, hurried away to rejoin clive. the latter was moving from the west by a road leading to the northern face of the fort. it was at the battery which renault was erecting upon this road that charlie had been labouring. the latter informed clive chapter xxii, plassey. s the english troops advanced they were met on the outskirts of the settlement by the enemy, who contested bravely every garden and inclosure with them. the british force was, however, too strong to be resisted, and gradually the french were driven back until they formed in rear of the battery. clive at once took possession of the houses surrounding it, and from them kept up all day a heavy fire upon the defenders, until at nightfall these fell back upon the fort after spiking their guns. the loss of this position compelled the french to abandon the other out- lying batteries, from which, during the night, they with- drew their guns into the fort. the next four days clive spent in bringing up the guns landed from the fleet and establishing batteries round the fort, and on the th he opened fire against it. on the same day the three men- of-war, the kent of sixty-four guns, the tiger of sixty, and the salisbury of fifty, anchored just below the channel which the governor believed he had blocked up. the next four days were spent by the fleet in sounding, to dis- cover whether the statements of the french deserter were correct. during this time a heavy cannonade was kept up unceasingly between clive and the fort. in this the garrison had the best of it, silenced some of the english guns, killed many of the assailants, and would certainly the attack on ohandranagoke. have beaten off the land attack had the fleet not been able to interfere in the struggle. all this time the governor was hoping that aid would arrive from the nabob. the latter, indeed, did send a force under rajah dulab ram, but the governor of hoogly, bribed by omichund, sent messages to this officer urging him to halt, as chandranagore was about to surrender, and he would only incur the anger of the english uselessly. on the morning of the d, having ascertained that a channel was free, the fleet advanced. the tiger leading, made her way through the passage and taking up a posi- tion abreast of the north-east bastion of the fort, opened a heavy fire upon it with her guns, and harassed the besieged with a musketry fire from her tops. the kent was on the point of anchoring opposite the water gate, when so heavy a fire was poured upon her, that in the confusion the cable ran out and the ship dropped down till she anchored at a point exposed to a heavy cross fire from the south-east and south-west bastions. owing to this accident the salisbury was forced to anchor a hun- dred and fifty yards below the fort. the french fought with extreme bravery. vastly superior as were the english force and guns, the french fire was maintained with the greatest energy and spirit, the gunners being directed and animated by m. de vignes, captain of one of the ships which had been sunk. no advantage was gained by the tiger in her struggle with the north-east bastion, and the guns of the south-west bastion galled the kent so severely, that the admiral, neglecting the south-east bastion, was forced to turn the whole of his guns upon it. de vignes concentrated his fire against one point in the kent, and presently succeeded in setting her on fire. the conflagration spread, a panic ensued, and some seventy or eighty men jumped into the boats alongside. the officers, however, rallied the rest of the crew. the fire was extinguished, the men returned to their duty, and the cannonade was recommenced. a valiant defence. after the battle had raged for two hours the fire of the fort began to slacken, as one after another of the guns was dismounted. m. renault saw that the place could be no longer defended. of his hundred and forty-six soldiers, over ninety had been killed and wounded. col- lecting the remainder and their officers, with twenty sepoys, the governor ordered them to leave the fort immediately, making a detour to avoid the english who were aiding the fleet by attacking the land side, and to march to kossimbazar to join m. law who commanded there. then, there remaining in the fort only the clerks, women, and wounded, he hoisted a flag of truce. terms were speedily arranged. the governor and all the civilians and natives were allowed to go where they chose with their clothes and linen. the wounded french soldiers were to remain as prisoners of war. chandranagore cost the english two hundred and six men. the attack upon the french colony was blamed by many at the time, for in the hour of english distress they had offered to remain neutral instead of joining the nabob in crushing us. upon the other hand there was force in the arguments with which admiral watson had defended his refusal to sign the treaty of neutrality. that treaty would not be binding unless ratified by pondicherry, and to pondicherry it was known that the most powerful fleet and army france had ever sent to india was on its way. it was also known that bussy, at the court of the nizam of the deccan, was in communica- tion with the nabob. thus then in a short time english interests in india might be menaced more formidably than ever before, and the crushing out of the french colony, almost at the gates of calcutta, was a measure of extreme importance. it was hard upon the gallant governor of chandranagore, but public opinion generally agreed that the urgency of the case justified the course adopted by the english authorities at calcutta. suraja-u-dowlah was filled with fury at the news of unworthy intrigues. the capture of chandranagore, but hearing a rumour two days later that the afghans were upon their march to attack him, he wrote letters to clive and watson con- gratulating them upon their success, and offering to them the territory of chandranagore on the same terms upon which it had been held by the french. but the young tyrant of moorshedabad was swayed by constantly fluctuating feeling. at one moment his fears were upper- most, the next, his anger and hate of the english. instead of recalling the army of rajah dulab ram, as he had promised, he ordered it to halt at plassey, a large village twenty-two miles south of moorshedabad. the english were represented at his court by mr. watts, who had the greatest difficulty in maintaining his position in the con- stantly changing moods of the nabob. one day the latter would threaten to order him to be led to instant execution, the next he would load him with presents. besides mr. watts the english affairs were conducted by omichund, who, aided by the sets or native bankers whom suraja-u-dowlah had plundered and despoiled, got up a conspiracy among the nabob's most intimate followers. the history of these intrigues is the most unpleasant feature in the life of clive. meer jaffier, the nabob's general, himself offered to mr. watts to turn traitor if the succession to the kingdom was bestowed upon him. this was agreed to upon his promise to pay not only immense sums to the company but enormous amounts to indeed, were these demands that even meer jaffier, anxious as he was to conclude the alliance, was aghast. the squadron was to have two million and a half rupees and the same amount was to be paid for the army, presents amounting to six millions of rupees were to be distri- buted between clive, major kilpatrick, the governor, and the members of the council. clive's share of these enormous sums amounted to two million eighty thousand rupees. in those days a rupee was worth half a crown. the principal the english side. so enormous, a disgraceful transaction. never did an english officer make such a bargain for himself. but even this is not the most dishonourable feature of the transaction. omichund had for some time been kept in the dark as to what was going forward, but obtaining information through his agents he questioned mr. watts concerning it. the latter then informed him of the whole state of affairs, and omichund, whose services to the eng- lish had been immense, naturally demanded a share of the plunder. whether or not he threatened to divulge the plot to the nabob, unless his demands were satisfied, is doubtful. at anyrate it was considered prudent to pacify him, and he was accordingly told that he should receive the sum he named. clive and the members of the council, however, although willing to gratify their own extortionate greed at the expense of meer jaffier, determined to rob omichund of his share. in order to do this two copies of the treaty with meer jaffier were drawn up on different coloured papers. they were exactly alike, except that in one the amount to be given to omi- chund was entirely omitted. this was the real treaty. the other was intended to be destroyed after being shown to a friend of omichund in order to convince the latter that all was straight and honourable. all the english authorities placed their signatures to the real treaty, but admiral watson indignantly refused to have anything to do with the fictitious one, or to be a party in any way to the deceit practised on omichund. in order to get out of the difficulty, clive himself forged admiral watson's signature to the fictitious treaty. a more disgraceful transaction was never entered into by a body of english gentlemen. that mr. drake and the members of his council, the pitiful cowards who fled from calcutta and refused to allow the ships to draw off its brave garrison, should consent to such a transaction was but natural, but that clive, the gallant and dashing commander, should have stooped to it, is sad indeed. it the nabob forced into war. may be said that to the end of his life clive defended his conduct in this transaction, under the excuse that omichund was a scoundrel. the indian was not, indeed, an estimable character. openly he was the friend and confidant of the nabob, while all the time he was engaged in bribing and corrupting his officers and in plotting with his enemies. this, however, in no way alters the facts that he rendered inestimable service to the english, and that the men who deceived and cheated him were to the full as greedy and grasping as himself, without, in the case of the governor and his council, having rendered any service whatever to the cause. at last the negotiations were complete. more and more severely did clive press upon the nabob. having compelled him to expel law and the french, first from moorshedabad and then from his dominions, he pressed fresh demands upon him, until the unfortunate prince, driven to despair, and buoyed up with the hope that he should receive assistance from bussy, who had just expelled the english from their factory at vizapatam, ordered meer jaffier to advance with fifteen thousand men to reinforce rajah dulab ram at plassey. clive in fact forced on hostilities. his presence, with that of a considerable portion of his army, was urgently required at madras. he was sure, however, that the instant he had gone, and the english force was greatly weakened, the nabob would again commence hostilities; and the belief was shared by all in india. he was, therefore, determined to force on the crisis as soon as possible, in order that, the nabob being disposed of, he should be able to send reinforcements to madras. while these negotiations had been going on charlie marryat had remained in calcutta. he had been severely wounded in the attack on chandranagore, and was carried down to calcutta in a boat. on arriving there he heard that the lizzie anderson had just cast anchor off the fort. he caused himself at one? to be conveyed on board, the advance towards plassey. and was received with the greatest heartiness and pleasure by his old friend, the captain, and assiduously attended by the doctor of the ship. in order that he might have as much air as possible the captain had a sort of tent, with a double covering, erected on deck. during the daytime the sidesof this were lifted so that the air could pass freely across the bed. charlie's wound was a severe one, and hail he been nursed in a hospital on shore, it is probable that it would have been fatal. thanks, however, to the comforts on board ship, the freshness and coolness of the situation, and the care of all surrounding him, he was, after some weeks' illness, pronounced convalescent, and was sufficiently recovered to join the force with which clive marched against plassey. this force consisted of nine hundred and fifty european infantry, a hundred artillerymen, fifty sailors, and two thousand one hundred sepoys. the artillery consisted of eight six-pounders and two small howitzers. the army of the nabob was fifty thousand strong, and against such a force it was indeed an adventurous task for an army of three thousand men, of whom only one-third were euro- peans to advance to the attack. everything depended, in fact, upon meer jaffier and his two colleagues in treachery, rajah dulab ram and yar lutf khan. the nabob on hearing of clive's advance had sent to m. law, who was with a hundred and fifty men at a place over a hundred miles distant, to which he had in accordance with the orders of clive been obliged to retire, and begged him to advance to join him with all speed. the nabob had with him forty or fifty frenchmen commanded by m. st. frais, formerly one of the council of chandranagore. these had some field-pieces of their own, and also directed the native artillery of fifty-three guns, principally thirty- two, twenty-four, and eighteen pounders. had clive been sure of the co-operation of meer jaffier and his confederates, who commanded three out of the four divisions of the nabob's army, he need not have hesitated. a council of war. but he was till the last moment in ignorance whether to rely upon them. the nabob, having become suspicious oi' meer jaffier, had obtained from him an oath sworn on the koran of fidelity, and although the traitor continued his correspondence with clive his letters were of a very dubious character, and clive was in total ignorance as to his real intentions. so doubtful, indeed, was he, that when only a few miles of ground and the river bhagirathi lay between him and the enemy, clive felt the position so serious that he called a council of war, and put to them the question whether they should attack the nabob or fortify themselves at katwa, and hold that place until the rainy season, which had just set in with great violence, should abate. all the officers above the rank of subalterns, twenty in number, were present. clive himself, contrary to custom, gave his vote first in favour of halting at katwa. major kilpatrick.who commanded the company's troops, major grant of the th, and ten other officers voted the same way. major eyre coote declared in favour of an immediate advance. he argued that the troops were in high spirits and had hitherto been every- where successful, and that a delay would allow m. law and his troops to arrive. he considered that if they determined not to fight they should fall back upon cal- cutta . charlie marryat supported him, as did five other officers, all belonging to the indian service. the decision taken, the council separated, and clive strolled away to a grove and sat down by himself. there he thought over in his mind the arguments which had been advanced by both sides. he saw the force of the arguments which had been adduced by major eyre coote and charlie marryat, and his own experience showed him that the daring course is always the most prudent one in fighting with asiatics. at last he came to a conclusion. rising, he returned to the camp, and meeting major coote on the way informed him that he had changed his mind and would fight the next day. tim in despair. charlie returned to his tent after the council broke up disheartened at the result. he was greeted by tim. "shure, yer honour, hossein is in despair. the water has filled up the holes where he makes his fires, and the rain has soaked the wood. yer dinner is not near cooked yet, and half the dishes are spoilt." "it does not matter a bit, tim," charlie sr.id. "you know i'm not particular about my eating, though hossein will always prepare a dinner fit for an alderman." "we are going to fight them to-morrow, yer honour, i hope," tim said. "it's sick to death i am of wading about here in the wet like a duck. it's as bare as the bogs of ould ireland, without the blessings of the pigs and potatoes, to-say nothing of the colleens." "no, tim, i'm afraid we're going to stop where we are for a bit. the council of war have decided not to fight." "shure and that's bad news," tim said, "the worst i've heard for many a day. what if there be fifty thousand of 'em, mister charles, haven't we bate 'em at long odds before, and can't we do it agin?" "i think we could, tim," charlie replied; "but the odds of fifty-three heavy cannon, which the spies say they've got, to our ten pop-guns is serious. however, i'm sorry we're not going to fight, and i'm afraid that you must make up your mind to the wet, and hossein his to giving me bad dinners for some weeks to come, that is to say if the enemy don't turn us out of this." a few minutes later lieutenant peters entered the tent. "is it true, charlie, that we are not going to fight after all?" "true enough," charlie said. "we are to wait till the rains are over." "rains'" peters said in disgust; "what have the rains got to do with it. if we had a six weeks' march before us i could understand the wet weather being a hindrance. men are not water-rats, and to march all day in these heavy downpours, and to lie all night in the mud would a change of plans. soon tell upon our strength. but here we are within a clay's march of the enemy, and the men might as well get wet in the held as here. every one longs to be at the enemy, and a halt will have a very bad effect. what have you got to drink, charlie?" "i have some brandy and rum;. nothing else," charlie said. "but what will be better than either for you is a cup of tea; hossein makes it as well as ever. i suppose you have dined?" "yes, half an hour ago." just as charlie finished his meal, major eyre coote put his head into the tent. "marryat, the chief has changed his mind. we cross the river the first thing in the morning and move at once upon plassey." "hurrah!" charlie shouted; "clive is himself again. that is good news indeed." "you will move your sepoys down to the river at day- break, and will be the first to cross. there is no chance of any opposition, as the spies tell us that the nabob has not arrived yet at plassey." several other officers afterwards dropped into the tent, for the news rapidly spread through the camp. there was, as had been the case at the council, considerable differ- ences of opinion as to the prudence of the measure, but among the junior officers and men the news that the enemy were to be attacked at once was received with hearty satisfaction. "here, major," a fellow subaltern of peter's said, as he entered the tent followed by a servant, "i have brought in half a dozen bottles of champagne. i started with a dozen from calcutta, and had intended to keep these to celebrate our victory. but as in the first place all heavy baggage is to be left here, and in the second, it has occurred to me that possibly i may not come back to help to drink it, we may as well turn it to the good pur- pose of drinking success to the expedition." some of the bottles were opened and a merry evening ( ) t a toilsome march. was spent, but the party broke up early, for they had a heavy day's work before them on the morrow. at daybreak the troops were in movement towards the banks of the bhagirathi. they had brought boats with them from chandranagore, and the work of cross- ing the river continued without intermission until four in the afternoon, when the whole force was landed on the left bank. here clive received another letter from meer jaffier, informing him that the nabob had halted at mankarah and intended to intrench himself there. he suggested that the english should undertake a circuitous march and attack him in the rear; but as this march would have exposed clive to being cut off from his communica- tions, and as he was still very doubtful of the good faith of the conspirators, he determined to march straight forward, and sent word to meer jaffier to that effect. from the point where clive had crossed the bhagirathi it was fifteen miles to plassey, following as they did the curves of the river. it was necessary to do this as they had no carriage, and the men were obliged to tow their sup- plies in boats against the stream. orders were issued that as soon as the troops were across they should prepare to eat their dinners, as the march was to be resumed at once. the rain was coming down in a steady pour as the troops, drenched to the skin, started upon their march. the stream, swollen by the rains, was in full flood, and the work of towing the heavy-laden barges was wearisome in the extreme. all took a share in the toil. in many cases the river had overflowed its banks, and the troops had to struggle through the water, up to their waists, while they tugged and strained at the ropes. charlie, as a mounted officer, rode at the head of his sepoys who formed the advance of the force. three hundred men preceded the main body who were towing the boats, to guard them from any sudden surprise. tim marched beside him, occasionally falling back and taking a turn at the ropes. "this is dog's work, mister charles," arrival at plassey. he said. "it's lucky that it's raining, for the river can't make us wetter than we are. my hands are fairly sore with pulling at the ropes." "ah, tim, you're not fond of ropes, you know. you remember that night at moorshedabad." "faith, yer honour, and i'll not forget it if i live to be as old as methusalah. well, yer honour, it will be hard on us if we do not thrash them niggers to-morrow after all the trouble we are taking to be at them." at one o'clock in the morning the weary troops reached the village of plassey. they marched through it, and halted and bivouacked in a large mango grove a short distance beyond. chapter xxiii. plassey. carcely had the soldiers taken off their packs when the sound of martial music was heard. charlie was speaking at the time to major coote. "there are the enemy, sure enough," the latter said. "that old rascal meer jafficr must have been deceiving us when he said that the nabob had halted at mankarah. i'm afraid he means to play us false." "i expect," charlie remarked, " that he does not know what he means himself. these asiatics are at any time ready to turn traitors, and to join the strongest. at present jaffier does not know which is the stronger, and i think it likely enough that he will take as little, share as he can in the battle to-morrow till he sees which way it is going. then if we are getting the best of it the rascal will join us for the sake of the advantages which he expects to gain. if the day is going against us he will do his best to complete his master's victory; and should proofs of his intended treachcry ever come to light he will clear himself by saying that he intended to deceive us all along, and merely pretended to treat with us in order to throw us off our guard, and so deliver us into the hands of his master." "yes," major eyre coote replied. "these mahommedan chiefs are indeed crafty and treacherous rascals. the whole history of india shows that gratitude is a feeling the enemy's position. altogether unknown to them, and that whatever favours a master may have lavished upon them they are always ready to betray him if they think that by so doing they will better their position. now i shall lie down and try to get a few hours' sleep before morning. i am wet to the skin, but fortunately in these sultry nights that matters little." "i must go my rounds," charlie said, "and see that the sentries are on the alert. if the men were not so tired i should have said that the best plan would have been to make a dash straight at the enemy's camp. it would take them quite unprepared, even if they know, as i daresay they do, that we are close at hand, and they would lose all the advantage of their artillery." "yes, if we had arrived an hour before sunset so as to be able to learn something of the nature of the ground, that would be our best course," major coote agreed. "but, even if the troops had been fresh, a night attack on an unknown position is a hazardous undertaking. good- night, i must see clive and take his last orders." at daybreak the english were astir, and the position of the enemy became visible. he occupied strongly in- trenched works which the rajah dulab ram had thrown up during his stay. the right of these works rested on the river, and extended inland at a right angle to it for about two hundred yards, and then swept round to the north at an obtuse angle for nearly three miles. at the angle was a redoubt mounted with cannon. in advance of this was a mdund covered with jungle. half-way between the intrenchnients and the mango grove were two large tanks near the river surrounded by high mounds of earth. these tanks were about half a mile from the english position. on the river bank, a little in advance of the grove, was a hunting-box belonging to the nabob, surrounded by a masonry wall. clive took possession of this immediately he heard the sound of the nabob's music on his arrival . a desperate position. soon after daylight the nabob's troops moved out from their intrenchments, and it was evident that he was aware of the position of the english. the french with their four field-guns took up their post on the mound of the tank nearest to the grove, and about half a mile dis- tant from it, and in the narrow space between them and the river two heavy guns under a native officer were placed. behind the french guns was the division of mir mudin khan, the one faithful general of the nabob. it consisted of five thousand horse and seven thousand foot. extending in the arc of a circle towards the village of plassey, were the troops of the three traitor generals, rajah dulab ram, yar lutf khan, and meer jaffier. thus the english position was almost surrounded, and in advancing against the camp they would have to expose themselves to an attack in rear by the troops of the con- spirators. these generals had between them nearly thirty- eight thousand troops. from the roof of the hunting-box clive watched the progress of the enemy's movements. he saw at once that the position which they had taken up was one which would entail the absolute destruction of his force should he be defeated, and that this depended entirely upon the course taken by the conspirators. against such a force as that opposed to him, if these remained faithful to their master, success could hardly be hoped for. however, it was now too late to retreat, and the only course was to show a bold front. clive accordingly moved his troops out from the mango trees to a line with the hunting-box. the europeans were formed in the centre with three field- pieces on each side. the native troops were on either flank. two field-guns and the two howitzers were placed a little in advance of the hunting-box facing the french position on the mound. at eight o'clock in the morning of the d of june, a memorable day in the annals of india, the preparations on both sides were complete, and st. frais opened the battle the retreat to the grove. by the discharge of one of his guns at the english. at the signal the whole of the artillery round the long curve opened their fire. the ten little guns replied to this overwhelming discharge, and for half an hour continued to play on the dense masses of the enemy. but however well they might be handled they could do little against the fire of the fifty pieces of cannon concentrated upon them. had these been all served by european artillery- men the british force would have been speedily annihil- ated as they stood. the natives of india, however, were extremely clumsy gunners. they fired but slowly, and had the feeblest idea of elevation. consequently their balls, for the most part, went far over the heads of the english, and the four field-guns of st. frais did more execution than the fifty heavy pieces of the nabob. at the end of half an hour, however, clive had lost thirty of his men, and determined to fall back to the mango grove. leaving a party in the hunting-box and in the brick- kilns in front of it, in which the guns had been posted, to harass st. frais battery with their musketry tire, he withdrew the rest of his force into the grove. here they were in shelter, for it was surrounded by a high and thick bank. behind this the men sat down, while parties set to work piercing holes through the banks as embrasures for the guns. the enemy, on the retreat of the british within the grove, advanced with loud shouts of triumph, and bringing their guns closer, again opened fire. the british had by this time pierced the holes for their field-pieces, and these opened so vigorously that several of the enemy's cannon were disabled, numbers of their gunners killed, and some ammunition waggons blown up. on the other hand the english, now in perfect shelter, did not suffer at all, although the tops of the trees were cut off in all directions by the storm of cannon balls which swept through them. although the english fire was producing considerable repulse of the cavalry. loss among the enemy, this was as nothing in compari- son to his enormous numbers, and at eleven o'clock clive summoned his principal officers around him, and it was agreed that as meer jaffier and his associates, of whose position in the field they were ignorant, showed no signs of drawing off or of treachery to their master, it was impossible to risk an attack upon the front, since they would, as they pressed forward, be enveloped by the forces in the rear. it was determined, therefore, that unless any unexpected circumstance occurred they should hold their present position till nightfall, and should at midnight attack the enemy's camp. a quarter of an hour later a tremendous tropical shower commenced, and for an hour the rain came down in torrents. gradually the enemy's fire slackened. the english had tarpaulins to cover their ammunition, which, therefore, suffered no injury. the natives had no such coverings, and their powder was soon completely wetted by the deluge of rain. mir mudin khan, knowing that his own guns had been rendered useless, believed that those of the english were in a similiar condition, and leading out his cavalry made a splendid charge down upon the grove. the english were in readiness. as the cavalry swept up a flash of fire ran from a thousand muskets from the top of the embankments, while each of the field-guns sent its load of grape-shot through the embrasures into the throng of horsemen. the effect was decisive. the cavalry recoiled before the terrible fire, and rode back with their brave leader mortally wounded. this blow was fatal to the fortunes of suraj-u-dowlah. when the news of the death of his brave and faithful general reached him he was struck with terror. he had long suspected meer jaffier of treachery, but he had now no one else to rely upon. sending for that general he reminded him in touching terms of the benefits which he had received at the hands of his father, and conjured surrounded by traitors. him to be faithful to him. throwing his turban upon the ground, he said, "jaffier, you must defend that turban." jaffier responded with assurances of his loyalty and sincerity, ana promised to defend his sovereign with his life. then riding off he at once despatched a messenger to clive informing him of what had happened, and urging him to attack at once. as long as mir mudin khan lived it is probable that meer jaffier was still undecided as to the part he should play. while that general lived it was possible, even probable, that the english would be defeated, even should the traitors take no part against them. his death, however, left the whole management of affairs in the hands of the three conspirators, and their course was now plain. scarcely had meer jaffier left the nabob than the unhappy young man, who was still under twenty years old, turned to rajah dulab ram for counsel and advice. the traitor gave him counsel that led to his destruction. he told him that the english could not be attacked in their position, that his troops exposed to the fire of then- guns were suffering heavily and losing heart, and he advised him at once to issue orders for them to fall back within their intrenchments. he also advised him to leave the field himself, and to retire to moorshedabad, leaving it to his generals to annihilate the english should they venture to attack them. suraj-u-dowlah, at no time capable of thinking for himself, and now bewildered by the death of the general he knew to be faithful to him, and by his doubts as to the fidelity of the others, fell into the snare. he at once issued orders for the troops to retire within their intrenchments, and then mounting a swift camel, and accompanied by two thousand horsemen, he left the field and rode off to moorshedabad. the movement of retirement at once commenced . the three traitor generals drew off their troops, and those of mir mudin khan also obeyed orders and fell back. st. the advance of the british. frais, however, refused to obey. he saw the ruin which would follow upon the retreat, and he pluckily continued his fire. clive, after the council had decided that nothing should be done till nightfall, had lain down in the hunting-box to snatch a little repose, his thoughts having kept him awake all night. major kilpatrick, seeing the retirement of the enemy, and that the french artillerymen remained unsupported on the mound, at once advanced with two hundred and fifty europeans and two guns against it, sending word to clive what he was doing. clive, angry that any officer should have taken so important a step without consulting him, at once ran after the detachment and severely reprimanded major kilpatrick for moving from the grove without orders. immediately, however, that he comprehended the whole position he recognized the wisdom of the course kilpatrick had taken, and sent him back to the grove to order the whole force to advance. st. frais, seeing that he was entirely unsupported, fired a last shot, and then limbering up fell back in perfect order to the redoubt at the corner of the intrenchment, where he again posted his field-pieces in readiness for action. looking round the field clive saw that two of the divisions which formed the arc of the circle were march- ing back towards the intrenchments, but that the third, that on the left of their line, had wheeled round and was marching towards the rear of the grove. not having received the letter which meer jaffier had written to him, he supposed that this movement indicated an intention to attack his baggage, and he therefore detached some european troops with a field-gun to check the advance. upon the gun opening fire the enemy's division halted. it ceased its advance but continued apart from the rest of the enemy. in the meantime clive had arrived upon the mound which st. frais had left, and planting capture of the nabob's camp. his guns there opened fire upon the enemy within their intrenchments. the indiansoldiers and inferior officers, knowing nothing of the treachery of their chiefs, were indignant at being thus cannonaded in their intrenchments by a foe so in- ferior in strength, and horse, foot, and artillery poured out again from the intrenchments and attacked the british. the battle now raged in earnest. clive posted half his infantry and artillery on the mound of the tank nearest to the enemy's intrenchments, and the greater part of the rest on rising ground two hundred yards to the left of it, while he placed a hundred and sixty picked shots, europeans and natives, behind the tank close to the intrenchments, with orders to keep up a continuous musketry fire upon the enemy as they sallied out. the enemy fought bravely. st. frais worked his guns unflinchingly at the redoubt, the infantry poured in volley after volley, the cavalry made desperate charges right up to the british lines. but they had no leader, and were fighting against men well commanded and con- fident in themselves. clive observed that the division on the enemy's extreme left remained inactive and detached from the army, and it for the first time struck him that this was the division of meer jaffier. relieved for the safety of his baggage, and from the attack which had hitherto threatened in his rear, he at once determined to carry the hill in advance of st. frais's battery, and the redoubt occupied by the french leader. strong columns were sent against each position. the hill was carried without opposition, and then so heavy and searching a fire was poured into the intrenched camp that the enemy began to fall back in utter confusion. st. frais finding himself isolated and alone in the redoubt, as he had before been on the mound, was forced to retire. at five o'clock the battle was over, and the camp of the nabob of bengal in the possession of the english. the british loss was trifling. seven european and sixteen the result of the battle. native soldiers were killed, thirteen europeans and thirty- six natives wounded. it was one of the decisive battles of the world, for the fate of india hung in the balance. had clive been defeated and his force annihilated, as it must have been if beaten, the english would have been swept out of bengal. the loss of that presidency would have had a decided effect on the struggle in madras, where the british were with the greatest difficulty main- taining themselvesagainstthe french. henceforth bengal, the richest province in india, belonged to the english, for although for a time they were content to recognize meer jaffier and his successors as its nominal rulers, these were but puppets in their hands, and they were virtual masters of the province. after the battle meer jaffier arrived. conscious of his own double-dealing he by no means felt sure of the reception he should meet with. it suited clive, however, to ignore the doubtful part he had played, and lie was saluted as nabob of bengal. it would have been far better for him had he remained one of the great chiefs of bengal. the enormous debt with which clive and his colleagues had saddled him crushed him. the sum was so vast that it was only by imposing the most onerous taxation upon his people that he was enabled to pay it, and the discontent excited proved his destruction. omichund had no greater reason for satisfaction at the part which he had played in the ruin of his country. the fact that he had been deceived by the forged treaty was abruptly and brutally communicated to him, and the blow broke his heart. he shortly afterwards became insane and died before eighteen months were over. suraj-u-dowlah fled to moorshedabad, where the rem- nants of his army followed him. at first the nabob endeavoured to secure their fidelity by issuing a con- siderable amount of pay. then, overpowered by his fears of treachery, he sent off the ladies of the zenana and all his treasures on elephants, and a few hours afterwards the murder of a tyrant. he himself, accompanied by his favourite wife and a slave with a casket of his most valuable jewels, fled in disguise. a boat had been prepared and lay in readiness at the wharf of the palace. rowing day and night against the stream the boat reached rajmahal, ninety miles distant, on the night of the fourth day following his flight. here the rowers were so knocked up by their exertions that it was impossible to proceed farther, and they took refuge in a deserted hut by the bank. the following morning, however, they were seen by a fakir, whose ears the young tyrant had had cut off thirteen months previously, and this man, recognizing the nabob even in his disguise, at once took the news to meer jaffier's brother, who happened to reside in the town. the latter immediately sent a party of his retainers, who captured the nabob without difficulty. he was again placed in the boat and taken back to moorshedabad, where he was led into the presence of meer jaflier. the wretched young man implored the mercy of his triumphant successor, the man who owed station and rank and vvealtli to his grandfather, and who had nevertheless betrayed him to the english. his entreaties so far moved meer jaffier that he was irresolute for a time as to the course he should pursue. his son, however, mirav, a youth of about the same age as the deposed nabob, insisted that it was folly to show mercy, as meer jaffier would never be safe so long as suraj-u-dowlah remained alive, and his father at last assigned the captive to his keeping, knowing well what the result would be. in the night suraj-u-dowlah was murdered. his mangled remains were in the morning placed on an elephant and exposed to the gaze of the populace and soldiery. suraj-u-dowlah was undoubtedly a profligate and rapacious tyrant. in the course of a few months he alienated his people and offended a great number of his most powerful chiefs. the war which he undertook a black business. against the english, although at the moment unprovoked, must still be regarded as a patriotic one, and had he not soiled his victory by the massacre of the prisoners, which he first permitted and then approved, the english would have had no just cause of complaint against him. from the day of the arrival of clive at calcutta he was doomed. it is certain that the nabob would not have remained faithful to his engagements when the danger which wrung the concessions from him had passed. nevertheless the whole of the circumstances which followed the signature of the treaty, the manner in which the unhappy youth was alternately cajoled and bullied to his ruin, the loath- some treachery in which those around him engaged with the connivance of the english, and lastly the murder in cold blood, which meer jaifier, our creature, was allowed to perpetrate, rendered the whole transaction one of the blackest in the annals of english history. chapter xxiv. mounted infantry. few days after plassey colonel clive sent for charlie. "marryat," he said, "i must send you back with two hundred men to madras. the governor there has been writing to me by every ship which has come up the coast, begging me to move down with the bulk of the force as soon as affairs are a little settled here. that is out of the question. there are innumerable matters to be arranged. meer jaffier must be sustained. the french under law must be driven entirely out of bengal. the dutch must be dealt with. altogether i have need of every moment of my time, and of every man under my orders, for at least two years. however, i shall at once raise a bengal native army, and so release the sepoys of madras. if there be any special and sore need i must, of course, denude myself here of troops to succour madras; but i hope it will not come to that. in the meantime i propose that you shall take back two hundred of the madras europeans. lawrence will be glad to have you, and your chances of fighting are greater there than they will be here. bengal is overawed, and so long as i maintain the force i now have, it is unlikely in the extreme to rise; whereas battles and sieges, great and small, are the normal condition of madras." drill and discipline. no difficulty in obtaining volunteers, for as soon as the nature of the force was known the men were eager to engage in it. to this troop the two little field-pieces would be committed. a few days after the scheme had been sanctioned ensign anstey was at work drilling the recruits as cav- alry. charlie and peters were instructed by him also in the drill and words of command, and were soon able to assist. two months were spent in severe work, and at the end of that time the little regiment were able to execute all simple cavalry manoeuvres with steadiness and regularity. the natives were all men who had lived on horseback from their youth, and therefore re- quired no teaching to ride. they were also, at the end of that time, able to act as infantry with as much regu- larity as the ordinary sepoys. when so engaged four horses were held by one man, so that a hundred and fifty men were available for fighting on foot. the work had been unusually severe, but as the officers did not spare themselves, and charlie had promised a present to each man of the troop when fit for service, they had worked with alacrity, and had taken great interest in learning their new duties. at the end of two months they were inspected by colonel lawrence and governor pigot, and both expressed their highest gratification and surprise at their efficiency, and anticipated great benefits would arise from the organization. so urgent, indeed, was the necessity that something should be done for the restoration of order, that charlie had with difficulty obtained the two months necessary to attain the degree of perfection which he deemed neces- sary. the day after the inspection the troop marched out from madras. ensign anstey commanded the white troop, the other three were led by native officers. cap- tain peters commanded the squadron composed of the white troop and one of the others. a lieutenant hal- lowes, whom peters knew to be a hard-working and the first skirmish. energetic officer, was, at charlie's request, appointed to the command of the other squadron. he himself com- manded the whole. they had been ordered in the first place to move to arcot, which was held by a garrison of muhammud ali. the whole of the country round was greatly disturbed. french intrigues and the sight of the diminished power of the english had caused most of the minor chiefs in that neighbourhood to throw off their allegiance. a body of maratta horse were ravaging the country districts, and it was against these that charlie determined in the first place to act. he had been permitted to have his own way in the clothing and arming of his force. each man carried a musket, which had been shortened some six inches, and hung in slings from the saddle, the muzzle resting in a piece of leather, technically termed a bucket. the ammunition pouch was slung on the other side of the saddle, and could be fastened in an instant by two straps to the belts which the troopers wore round their waists. the men were dressed in brown, thick cotton cloth, called karkee. round their black forage caps was wound a long length of blue and white cotton cloth, forming a turban, with the ends hanging down to protect the back of the neck and spine from the sun. having obtained news that the maratta horse, two thousand strong, were pillaging at a distance of six miles from the town, charlie set off the day following his arrival to meet them. the marattas had notice of his coming; but hearing that the force consisted only of two hundred horse, they regarded it with contempt. when charlie first came upon them they were in the open country, and seeing that they were prepared to attack him, he drew up his little force in two lines. the second line he ordered to dismount to act as infantry. the two guns were loaded with grape, and the men of the first line were drawn up at sufficient intervals to allow an infantryman to pass between each horse. defeat of the marattas. with shouts of anticipated triumph the maratta horse swept down. the front line of english horsemen had screened the movements of those behind, and when the enemy were within fifty yards, charlie gave the word. the troopers already sat musket in hand, and between each horse an infantry soldier now stepped forward, while towards each end the line opened and the two field-pieces were advanced. the maratta horsemen were astonished at this sudden manoeuvre, but, pressed by the mass from behind, they still continued their charge. when but fifteen yards from the english line, a stream of fire ran along this from end to end, every musket was emptied into the advancing force, while the guns on either flank swept them with grape. the effect was tremendous. scarcely a man of the front line survived the fire, and the whole mass halted and recoiled in confusion. before they could recover themselves another volley of shot and grape was fired into them. then charlie's infantry ran back, and the cavalry, closing up, dashed upon the foe, followed half a minute afterwards by the lately dis- mounted men of the other two troops, ten white soldiers alone remaining to work and guard the guns. the effect of the charge of these two hundred disciplined horse upon the already disorganized mob of maratta horsemen was irresistible, and in a few minutes the marattas were scattered and in full flight over the plain, pursued by the british cavalry, now broken up into eight half troops. the rout was complete, and in a very short time the last maratta had fled, leaving behind them three hundred dead upon the plain. greatly gratified with their success, and feeling confident now in their own powers, the british force returned to arcot. charlie now determined to attack the fort of vellore, which was regarded as impregnable. the town lay at the foot of some very steep and rugged hills, which were surmounted by three detached forts. the rajah, encour- aged by the french, had renounced his allegiance to the forts of vell re. muhammud ali, and had declared himself independent. as, however, it was certain that he was prepared to give assistance to the french when they took the field against the english, charlie determined to attack the place. the french had received large reinforcements, and had already captured many forts and strong places around pondi- cherry. they were, however, awaiting the arrival of still larger forces, known to be on the way, before they made a decisive, and, as they hoped, final attack upon the english. the rajah's army consisted of some fifteen hundred infantrj'- and as many cavalry. these advanced to meet the english force. charlie feigned a retreat as they came on, and retired to a village some three miles dis- tant. the cavalry pursued at full speed, leaving the in- fantry behind. upon reaching the village charlie at once dismounted all his men, lined the inclosures, and received the enemy's cavalry, as they galloped up, with so heavy a fire that they speedily drew rein. after trying for some time to force the position they began to fall back, and the english force again mounted, dashed upon them and completed their defeat. the broken horsemen, as they rode across the plain, met their infantry advancing, and these, disheartened at the defeat of the cavalry, fell back in great haste, and abandoning the town, which was without fortification, retired at once to the forts commanding it. charlie took possession of the town, and spent the next two days in reconnoitring the forts. the largest and nearest of these faced the right of the town. it was called suzarow. the second, on an even steeper hill, was called guzarow. the third, which lay some distance behind this, and was much smaller, was called mortz azur. charlie determined to attempt in the first place to carry guzarow, as in this, which was considered the most inaccessible, the rajah himself had taken up his position, having with him all his treasure. charlie saw that it would be next to im- the capture of a hill fort. buttons having been cut off, lest these should strike against the rocks, and the muskets had been swathed up in thick coverings. the men, as they gained the upper ridge, spread along at the foot of the walls until the whole body had gathered there. they could hear the voices of the sentries thirty feet above them, but these, having no idea of the vicinity of an enemy, did not look over the edge of the wall. indeed, the parapets of the indian fortifications were always so high that it was only from projecting towers that the foot of the wall could be seen. when the english force were assembled, the lad- ders, which, like everything else, had been muffled, were placed against the walls, and, headed by their officers, the troops ascended. the surprise was complete. not until the leaders of the storming party stood upon the parapet was their presence perceived. the guards dis- charged their firelocks and fled hastily. as soon as twenty men were collected on the wall charlie took the command of these and hurried forward towards the gate. hallowes was to lead the next party along the opposite direction, peters was to form the rest up as they gained the wall, and to follow charlie with fifty more, while anstey was to hold the remainder in reserve, to be used as circumstances might demand. the resistance, however, was slight. taken absolutely by surprise the enemy rushed out from their sleeping places. they were immediately fired upon from the walls. the greater part ran back into shelter, while some of the more determined, gathering together, made for the gate. but of this charlie had already taken possession, and received them with so vigorous a fire that they speedily fell back. when the whole circuit of the walls was in his possession, charlie took a hundred of his men and descended into the fort. each building as he reached it was searched, and the garrison it contained made to come out and lay down their arms, and were then allowed to depart through the gate. upon reaching the rajah's the completion ok the work. quarters he at once came out and surrendered himself. two guns were discharged to inform the little body in the town of the complete success of the movement; and the guard on the road then fell back and joined the party with the guns. thus, without losing a man, the fort of guzarow, re- garded by the natives as being impregnable, was carried. fifteen lacs of rupees were found in the treasury. of these, in accordance with the rules of the service, half was set aside for the company, the remainder became the property of the force. of this half fell to the officers, in proportion to their rank, and the rest was divided among the men. the share of each trooper amounted to nearly two hundred pounds. knowing how demoral- izing the possession of such a sum would be, charlie assembled his force next morning. he pointed out to them that as the greater part of the plunder was in silver, it would be impossible for them to carry it on their persons. he advised them, then, to allow the whole sum to remain in the treasury, to be forwarded under an escort to madras, each soldier to receive an order for the amount of his share upon the treasury there. this was agreed to unanimously, and charlie then turned his atten- tion to the other forts. the guns of guzarow were turned against these, and a bombardment commenced. suzarow, which extended partly down the slope, was much exposed to the fire from guzarow, and, although no damage could be done to the walls at so great a distance, the garrison, suffering from the fire, and intimidated by the fall of guzarow, lost heart. large numbers deserted, and the governor, in the course of two days, thought it prudent to obey the orders which the rajah had, upon being made captive, sent to him to surrender. the next day the governor of mortz azur followed his example, and vellore and its three strong forts were thus in the possession of the english. at vellore charlie nearly lost one of his faithful fol- tim and a cobra lowers. early in the morning hossein came into charlie's room. "sahib," he said, "something is the matter with tim." "what is the matter?" charlie said, sitting up in his bed. "i do not know, sahib. when i went to him he did not move. he was wide awake and his eyes are staring. when i went beside him he shook his head a little and said, 's-s-s-h.' he seems quite rigid, and is as pale as death." charlie leaped out and hurried to tim. the latter was lying on the ground in the next room. he had carried off' three or four cushions from the rajah's divan and had thrown these down, and had spread a rug over him. he lay on his back exactly as hossein had de- scribed. as charlie hurried up tim again gave vent to the warning " s-s-s-h." "what is the matter, tim? what is the matter, my poor fellow?" tim made a slight motion with his head for his master to bend towards him. charlie leant over him, and he whispered: "there is a sarpent in bed with me." "are you quite sure, tim?" "he woke me with his cold touch," tim whispered. "i felt him crawling against my foot, and now he is laying against my leg." charlie drew back for a minute and consulted with hossein. "lie quite still, tim," he said, "and don't be afraid. we will try to kill him without his touching you; but even if he should bite you, with help ready at hand there will be no danger." charlie now procured two knives, the one a sharp surgical knife, from a case which he had brought, the other he placed in a charcoal fire, which one of the men speedily fanned until the blade had attained a white heat. charlie had decided that if the snake bit tim he would chapter xxv. besieged in a pagoda. few days later charlie received a message from the rajah of permacoil, saying that he was besieged by a strong native force aided by the french. he at once moved his force to his assistance. he found that the besiegers, among whom were two hundred french troops, were too strong to be attacked. he therefore established himself in their rear, attacked and captured convoys, and prevented the country people from bringing in provisions. several times the besieging infantry advanced against him, but before these he at once fell back, only to return as soon as they retired to their camp. whenever their horse ventured out against him, he beat them back with considerable loss. ten days after his arrival, the enemy, finding it im- possible to maintain themselves in the face of so active an enemy, and suffering greatly from want of provisions, raised the siege and fell back. as soon as they had drawn off charlie entered the fort. the rajah received him with the greatest warmth. he was, however, much distressed at the capture of a hill fort at some distance from permacoil. in this he had stowed his wives and treasure, thinking that it would be unmolested. the french, however, had, just before charlie's arrival, detached a strong force with some guns, and these had captured the place. the force which had accomplished the attack on a pagoda. this had, he now heard, marched to trinavody, a fort and town thirty miles away, upon the road by which the force which had besieged the town was retiring. the treasure was a considerable one, amounting to seven lacs of rupees, and as the rajah stated his willingness that the troops should take possession of this if they could but rescue his women, charlie at once determined to attempt the feat. the main body of the enemy would not reach the place until the afternoon of the following day. charlie soon collected his men, and making a detour through the country arrived next morning within a mile of trinavody. the town was a small one, and the fort one of the ordinary native forts, built in a parallelogram with flanking towers. the place, however, contained a very large and solidly built pagoda or temple. it was sur- rounded by a wall forty feet high, and at the gateway stood an immense tower with terraces rising one above the other. capturing a native, charlie learnt that the fort was tenanted only by the troops of the native rajah of the place, the french detachment being encamped in the pagoda. he at once rode forward with his troops, dashed through the native town, and in through the wide gateway of the tower into the court-yard within. beyond two or three straggling shots from the sentries he had so far encountered no opposition, and the native troops in the court-yard, thrown into wild confusion by this sudden appearance of a hostile force, threw down their arms and cried for mercy. from the temple within, however, the french infantry, a hundred strong, opened a brisk fire. charlie sent some of his men on to the tower, whence their fire commanded the flat roof of the temple, and these speedily drove the defenders from that post. the field-pieces were unlimbered and directed towards the gate of the inner temple, while a musketry fire was kept up against every window and loophole in the building. the gate gave way after a few shots had been fired, and charlie led his party to the assault. the french defended the assailants besieged. themselves bravely, but they were outnumbered, and were driven righting from room to room until the survi- vors laid down their arms. the assault, however, had cost the british a loss of twenty-five men. the rajah of permacoil's treasure and his women fell into the hands of the captors. chaidie ordered the chests to be brought down and placed in bullock waggons. just as he was about to order his men, who were scattered through the temple looting, to form up, he heard a shout from the tower, and looking up saw one of his men there gesticulating wildly. he ran up the tower, and on reaching the first terrace saw to his surprise the whole of the force which he believed to be fifteen miles distant already entering the town. the french officer in com- mand, knowing the activity and dash of his opponent, and fearing that an attempt might be made to carry trinavody and recapture the rajah's treasure, had marched all night. when within a mile of the place he heard what had hap- pened, and at once pushed forward. charlie saw that already his retreat was cut off, and i imning to the edge of the terrace shouted to peters to hurry out with all the men already in the court-yard, to occupy the houses outside the gate, and to keep back the advancing enemy. summoning another party to the tower, four guns upon the terrace were at once loaded, and these opened upon the head of the enemy's column as they entered the street leading to the temple. in a short time a brisk fight began. the enemy planted guns to bear upon the tower. the cannon of the fort joined in the assault, the infantry pressed forward through the houses and inclosures to the temple and were soon engaged with the men under captain peters, while the guns and musketry from the tower also opened upon them. having seen that the preparations to repulse an im- mediate attack were complete, charlie again ran down to the court-yard. the weak point of the defences was the preparations for defence. gateway. this was fifty feet wide and unprovided with gates, and charlie at once set a strong party to work to form a barricade across it. for some hours the party outside the gates maintained their position, but they were gradually driven back, and towards evening, by charlie's orders, they retired within the temple. the barricade was now eight feet high, the face was formed of large slabs of stone piled one upon another backed by a considerable thickness of earthwork. this, however, although capable of resisting a sudden rush of infantry, would, charlie knew, be incapable of resisting artillery. during the night he divided his men in two parties, which alternately slept and worked at the inner defences which he had designed. these consisted of two walls running from each side of the gateway to the temple. they were placed a few feet farther back than the edge of the gateway, so that an enemy advancing to the storm would not see them until within the gate. these walls he intended to be eight feet high, and to be backed with earth four feet high, so as to form a bank on which the defenders could stand and fire into the space between them. to obtain materials he pulled down several buildings forming a part of the temple. the distance from the gateway to the temple was fifty yards, and although the men worked without ceasing the wall had made but little progress when daylight dawned. during the night charlie lowered one of his men from the wall farthest from the enemy with instructions to make his way as fast as possible to madras to ask for succour. in the morning charlie found that the enemy had on their side been also busy. a house which faced the end of the street leading to the temple had been pulled down and a battery of four guns erected there. as soon as it was light the combat began. the enemy had sixteen pieces of artillery besides those on the fort, and while the four guns in front played unceasingly upon the barricade taken in a trap. up so heavy a fire that by the afternoon the inner as well as the outer barricade was knocked to pieces. by this time, however, the inner walls were completed, and the english awaited the storm with confidence. the doorway of the temple had been closed and blocked up behind, but the doors had been shattered to pieces by the entrance now stood open. inside the temple, out of the line of fire, charlie had the two little field-pieces, each crammed to the muzzle with bullets, placed in readiness to fire. the lower floor of the tower had been pierced above the gateway, and here two huge caldrons filled with boiling lead, stripped from the roof, stood ready for action. at three in the afternoon, after a furious cannonade, the fire of the enemy's battery suddenly ceased. they had formed communications between the houses on either side of the street, and at the signal the troops poured out from these in large bodies and rushed to the assault. the guns from the tower, which had been awaiting the moment, poured showers of grape among them, but, believing that the temple now lay at their mercy, the enemy did not hesitate but rushed at the gateway. not a shot was fired as they entered. scrambling over the remains of the two barricades the enemy poured with exulting shouts into the court-yard. then those in front hesitated. on either hand, as far as the doorway of the temple, extended a massive wall eight feet high, roughly built certainly, but far too strong to be battered down, too steep to be scaled. they would have retreated, but they were driven forward by the mass which poured in through the gateway behind them; and seeing that their only safety was in victory they pressed forward again. not a defender showed himself until the head of the column had reached a point two-thirds of the distance across the court-yard. then suddenly on either side the wall was lined by the british, who at once opened a shot which gateway, and the a terrible reception. tremendous fire on the mass below. at the same moment the guns were run into the doorway and poured then- contents into the struggling mass. pent up between the walls, unable to return the fire poured down upon them, with lanes torn through them by the discharge of the cannon, the greater portion of the mass strove to turn and retire. the officer in command, a gallant french- man, called upon the survivors of the fifty french infantry who had led the attack to follow him, and rushed forward upon the guns. here, however, charlie had posted his europeans, and these, swarming out from the temple, poured a volley into the advancing french and then charged them with the bayonet. the pressure from behind had now ceased. streams of boiling lead poured through the holes above the arch- way had effectually checked the advance, and through this molten shower the shattered remnants of the assault- ing column now fled for their lives, leaving two hundred and fifty of their best men dead behind them. as the last of the column issued out the guns of the battery again angrily opened fire. as charlie had anticipated, the enemy, finding how strong were the inner defences, abandoned all further idea of attack by the gateway; and leaving only two guns there to prevent a sortie, placed their whole artillery on the western side of the pagoda, and opened fire to prevent a breach there. for a week the siege continued, and then charlie determined to evacuate the place. the rajah's treasure was made up into small sacks which were fastened to the horses' croups. had it not been for these animals he would have defended the place to the last, confident in his power to devise fresh means to repel fresh assaults. the store of forage, however, collected by the enemy for their own use in the temple was now exhausted. charlie directed peters with twenty men to sally out from the gate at midnight, to enter the nearest house on the right hand side, and to follow the communications made by the ( ) x safely out. enemy before the assault until they came to the end of the street. lieutenant hallowes with a similar party was to take the left side. if they found any guards within the houses they were to overpower these, and, rushing straight on, to attack the battery and spike the guns. should they find the houses deserted they were to gather in the houses nearest the battery, when peters was to fire his pistol as a signal to hallowes, and both parties were to attack the battery. one of the inner walls had been pulled down, and the main body of the force, having the wounded and the ladies of the rajah's zenana in their centre, were to pally out the instant the guns were taken. the plan was carried out with the greatest success. the houses on both sides of the street were found to be deserted, and as peters fired his pistol, the party dashed at the flanks of the battery. the french gunners leaped to their feet, and, believing that they were attacked in front, discharged their cannon the grape-shot swept along the empty street and through the gateway, and charlie, leading one of the troops, at once dashed down the street. at their first rush peters and hallowes had carried the battery, cutting down the gunners. immedi- ately behind, however, the enemy had posted a support several hundred strong, and these speedily advanced to recover the battery. leaving their horses in charge of a small party, charlie dismounted his men and joined peters, and his fire quickly checked the assault. in the meantime the rest of the defenders of the temple rode down the street; and leaving a few men with the horses of peters' and hallowes' detachments, rode out into the open country. after driving back his assailants charlie led his party back to their horses, mounted them, and speedily rejoined the main body. an hour later they were well on their way towards permacoil, which they reached next day. the rajah was delighted at recovering his family. the invasion of the northern sirkars. affairs, count de lally had sent to replace m. moracin, who had for years ably managed the province. he then marched with his troops to join the main army under count de lally. this force having taken fort st. david had operated against tanjore, where it had suffered a repulse. the news of this reached the northern sirkars soon after the departure of bussy, and anandraz, the most powerful chief of the country, rose in rebellion, and sent a messenger to calcutta begging the assistance of the english to drive out the french. while the rest of the bengal council, seeing that bengal was at the time threatened with invasion from the north and menaced with troubles within, considered that it would be an act little short of madness to send troops at a time when they could be so little spared to assist a chief, who, even from his own accounts, was only able to raise three thousand irregular followers, clive thought other- wise. he saw the great value of the northern sirkars, whose possession would complete the line of british ter- ritory along the sea-coast from calcutta down to madras. he saw, too, that a movement here would effect a diver- sion in favour of madras. the situation there appeared very serious, and he could spare no troops which would suffice to turn the scale. but even should madras be lost the gain of the northern sirkars would almost com- pensate for the disaster. having gained the council to his views he sent lieutenant-colonel forde, who commanded the company's troops in bengal, with five hundred euro- peans, two thousand natives, and six six-pounders by sea to vizagapatam, a port which anandraz had seized. these landed on the th of october, . had conflans been an efficient officer he could have crushed anandraz long before the arrival of the english. he had under his orders a force composed of five hundred european troops, men trained by bussy and accustomed to victory, four thousand native troops, and a brigade of artillery. instead of marching at once to crush the charlie joins the expedition. rebellion, he sent messenger after messenger to lally begging for assistance. it was only when he heard from lally that he had directed moracin with three hundred european troops to support him that he moved against anandraz. his opportunity had, however, slipped from his hands. he had thrown away six weeks, and when upon the march the news reached him of the landing of the english, he took up the very strong position within sight of the fort peddapur and intrenched himself there. clive had sent to madras the news that he was despatching colonel forde to the sirkars, and begged that any body of troops who might be available might be forwarded. charlie's corps had already been recalled towards madras to keep the bodies of french who were converging in that direction at a distance as long as possible, so as to allow the victualling of madras to go on uninterrupted. mr. pigot now instructed charlie to hand over the command of that force to peters, and with fifty men to make his way north and to effect a junction with forde, who was entirely deficient in cavalry. avoiding the french force, charlie reached vizagapatam upon the d of december, and found that forde had marched on the previous day. he started at once, and on the evening of the d came up to forde, who had arrived in sight of the french position. charlie had already made the acquaintance of colonel forde in bengal, and forde was glad to obtain the assist- ance and advice of an officer who had seen so much service. an hour after arriving charlie rode out with his com- mander and reconnoitred the french position, which was, they concluded, too strong to be attacked. in point of numbers the forces were about even. conflans had, in addition to his five hundred europeans, six thousand native infantry, five hundred native cavalry, and thirty guns. forde had four hundred and seventy europeans, one thousand nine hundred sepoys, and six guns. anan- draz had forty europeans, five thousand infantry, five chapter xxvi. the siege of madras. c?j* rl) ^ weary °f inactivity, the marquis de con- flans and colonel forde arrived simultan- eously, on the th of december, at a deter- '' mination to bring matters to a crisis. con- flans had heard from a deserter that forde had omitted to occupy a mound which, at a short distance from his camp, commanded the position. he determined to seize this during the night, and to open fire with his guns, and that his main army should take advantage of the con- fusion which the sudden attack would occasion to fall upon the english. forde, on his part, had determined to inarch at four o'clock in the morning: to a village named condore, three miles distant, whence he could threaten the french flank. ignorant of each other's intentions the english and french left their camps at night. forde marched at a quarter past four, as arranged with anan- draz; but the rajah and his people, with the usual native aversion to piinctuality, remained quietly asleep, and a few minutes after daybreak they were roughly awakened by a deadly fire poured by six guns into the camp. the rajah sent messenger after messenger to forde urging him to return, and he himself with his frightened army hurried towards condore. forde had, indeed, retraced his steps immediately he heard the fire of the guns, and soon defeat of the british sepoys. met the rajahs rabble in full flight, and uniting with them marched back to condore. conflans supposed that the fire of his guns had driven the whole of his opponents in a panic from chambol, and determining to take advantage of the confusion inarched with his force against them. forde at once pre- pared for the battle. in the centre he placed the english, including the rajah's forty europeans. next to these, on either side, he placed his sepoys, and posted the troops of anandraz on the right and left flanks. he then advanced towards the enemy. the french guns opened tire. forde halted . in the position in which he found himself his centre occupied a held of indian corn, so high that they were concealed from the enemy. conflans had moved towards the english left, with the intention ap- parently of turning that flank, and after the artillery battle on both sides had continued for forty minutes he ordered his troops to advance. in madras both the english and french dress their sepoys in white. in bengal, however, since the raising of sepoy regiments after the recapture of calcutta, the english had clothed them in red. conflans, therefore, thought that the force he was about to attack was the english contingent, and that if he could defeat this the rout of his enemy would be secured. the french advanced with great rapidity and attacked the sepoys in front and flank so vigorously that they broke in dis- order. the rajah's troops fled instantly, and in spite of the exhortations of forde the sepoys presently followed their example, and fled with the rajah's troops to chambol pursued by the enemy's horse. they would have suffered even more severely than they did in this pursuit had not charlie marryat launched his little squadron at the enemy's horse. keeping his men well together he made repeated charges, several times riding through and through them, until at last they desisted from the pursuit, and forming in a compact body fell back towards the a hot pursuit. the defeat of the french against their camp. to reach this he had to pass along a narrow valley commanded by the french heavy guns. these opened tire, but the eng- lish pressed forward without wavering. the defenders, not yet recovered from the effects of their defeat in the plain, at once gave way, and retreated in the utmost confusion towards rajanmahendri. had the cavalry of anandraz been at hand to follow up the advantage great numbers might have been captured. as it was, charlie marryat with his little force harassed them for some miles, but was unable to effect any serious damage on so strong a body. the english captured thirty-two pieces of cannon, and all the stores, ammunition, and tents of the french. forde at once despatched a battalion of sepoys under captain knox in pursuit, and this officer pressed on so vigorously that he approached rajahmahendri the same evening. two more native battalions reached knox during the night. so thoroughly dispirited were the enemy that the sight of the red-coated sepoys of knox, whom they could not distinguish from english, induced them to abandon rajahmahendri in all haste, although it contained a strong mud fort with several guns. the godavery is two miles wide, and all night the passage of the river in boats continued, and when at daybreak next morning knox broke into the town he found fifteen europeans still on the banks expecting a returning boat. these he captured; and seeing upon the opposite bank a party about to disembark guns and stores from another boat, he opened fire from the guns of the fort towards it, and although the shot could scarcely reach half-way across the river, such was the terror of the enemy that they forsook the boat and fled. knox at once sent a boat across and brought back that containing the guns. the french retreated to masulipatam, the capital of the pro- vince, a part which rivalled madras hi its commerce. madras besieged. forde determined to follow them there, but he was hindered by want of money to pay his troops. this the rajah anandraz, who had promised to supply money, now, excited and arrogant by the victory which he had done nothing towards gaining, refused to supply, and many weeks were spent in negotiations before forde was able to move forward. charlie was no longer with him. the very day before the fight of condore letters had arrived from madras stating the urgency of the position there, and upon the night after the battle colonel forde ordered charlie to return to aid in the defence of that city, before which the french had appeared on the th of november. several skirmishes took place outside the city, and the english then retired within the fort. the force consisted of six- teen hundred white troops and two thousand three hun- dred sepoys. the nabob, who had also retired into the town, had two hundred horse and a huge retinue of attendants. on the morning of the th the french occupied the town, and the next day the english made a sortie with six hundred men. these, for a while, drove the french before them through the streets of madras; but as the french gradually rallied, the fire upon the english was so heavy that the sortie was repulsed with a loss of two hundred soldiers and six officers, killed, wounded, and prisoners. the french loss had been about the same. had not a large quantity of the french troops broken into the wine-stores on their arrival and drunk to a point of intoxication it is probable that none of the british party would have returned to the fort. the sortie had, however, the effect that saubinet, one of the best of the french officers, was killed, and count d'estaign, an able general, taken prisoner. for some time the siege pro- ceeded slowly, the french waiting for the arrival of their siege artillery by ship from pondicherry. the fort of madias was now a far more formidable the french open their trenches. post than it had been when the french before captured it. in the year mr. smith, an engineer, had marked out the lines for a considerable increase in the fortifica- tions. the ditch was dug and faced with brick, but on account of the expense nothing further had been done. the french had added somewhat to the fortifications during their stay there in . nothing had been done by the english when they recovered the town until the news of the preparations which the french were making for the siege of the place had been received. four thousand natives were then set to work, and these in eighteen months had completed the fortifications, as de- signed by mr. smith, just before the arrival of the french. the latter determined to attack from the northern side. here the fort was protected by a demi-bastion next to the sea, and by the royal bastion, the wall between the two being covered by a work known as the north ravelin. the defence was also strengthened by the fire of the north-west lunette and pigot's bastion. against these the french threw up four batteries. lally's battery, erected by the regiment of that name, was on the sea- shore directly facing the demi-bastion. to its right was the burying-ground battery, facing the royal bastion. against the western face of this position the french regiment of lorraine erected a strong work, while farther round to the west, on a rising ground, they threw up a battery called the hospital battery, which kept up a cross- fire on the english position. to prevent the french from pressing forward along the strip of shore between the fort and the sea, the english erected a strong stockade, behind which was a battery called the fascine battery. a few days after the siege began it was found that the numbers crowded up in the fort could scarcely be ac- commodated, and the rajah was, therefore, invited to leave by sea, on board a ship which would land him at the dutch settlement of negapatam, whence he might journey through the tanjore country to trichinopoli. this pro- charlie enters madras. posal he willingly accepted, and embarked with his wife, women, and children, his other followers leaving by the land side opposite to that invested by the french. thus the garrison were relieved of the embarrassment and con- sumption of food caused by four hundred men and two hundred horse. charlie rode with his troop without interruption through the country, avoiding' all bodies of the enemy until he reached the sea fifteen miles north of madras. here he hired a native boat, and leaving the troops under the command of ensign anstey, sailed for madras in order to inform the garrison of forde's victory over the french, and to concert with the governor as to the measures which he wished him to carry out to harass the enemy. he was accompanied only by tim and hossein. the wind was fair, and starting an hour before sunset the boat ran into madras roads two hours later. the harlem, which had that day arrived with artillery for the french from pondicherry, fired at the little craft, and the native boatmen were about to turn the head of their craft northward again. charlie, however, drew his pistol, and hossein took his place with his drawn tulwar by the helmsman. the' boatmen, thereupon, again continued their course, and though several shots fell near them they escaped untouched, and anchored just outside the surf abreast of the fort. the english had taken the precaution of erecting a number of huts under the walls of the fort for the boatmen, in order to be able to communicate with any ship arriving, or to send messages in or out. as soon as the boat anchored a catamaran put out and brought charlie and his followers to shore. there was great joy at the receipt of his news, and the guns of the fort fired twenty-one shots towards the enemy in honour of the victory. governor pigot was in general command of the defence, having under him colonel lawrence in command of the troops. the latter, after inquiring from charlie the char- the siege makes little progress. on board only some invalids, but brought the welcome news that three other ships with troops would soon be up. she had on board, too, thirty-seven chests of silver and many military stores, among them hand-grenades and large shell, which were most welcome to the garrison, who had nearly expended their supply. the native boats went off from the fort and brought on shore the am- munition and stores. in the afternoon the shaftesbury was attacked by the two french ships the bristol and the harlem. she fought them for two hours, and then sailed in and anchored again near the fort. the french ships lay off at a distance, and these and one of their batteries played upon the shaftesbury after she had anchored, and continued to do so for the next three days. many of the guns of the fort were dismounted by the artillery fire, which had continued with scarcely any intermission for a month. the parapets of the ramparts were in many places beaten down, and the walls ex- posed to the enemy's fire greatly damaged. the enemy now opened their breaching battery close to the works, and on the th two breaches had been effected, and lally ordered his principal engineer and artillery officers to give their opinion as to the practicability of an assault. these, however, considered that the assault would have no prospect of success, as the guns command- ing the ditch were still uninjured, and the palisades which stormers must climb over before reaching the breach untouched. so heavy a cross-fire could be brought to bear by the besieged upon an assaulting column that it would be swept away before it could mount the breach. these officers added their opinion that, considering the number of men defending the fort in comparison with those attacking it, final success could not be looked for, and further prosecution of the works would only entail a useless loss of life. on the th of february the french attacked mahom- med issoof's men and those of captain preston, the whole g the french abandon the siege. under the command of major calliaud, who had come up from trichinopoli and had taken station three miles in rear of the french position. the greater part of the natives, as usual, behaved badly, but calliaud with the artillery and a few sepoys defended himself till night- fall and then drew off. for the next week the french continued to fire, and their approaches were pushed on. several sorties were made, but matters remained unchanged until the th, when six english ships were seen standing into the roads, and that night the french drew out from their trenches and retreated. the next morning six hundred troops landed from the ships, and the garrison, who had so stoutly resisted the assaults made upon them for forty- two days, sallied out to inspect the enemy's works. fifty-two cannon were left in them, and so great was the hurry with which the french retreated that they left forty-four sick in the hospital behind. the fort fired during the siege , rounds from their cannon, shells, threw hand-grenades, and expended , musketry cartridges. thirty pieces of cannon and five mortars had been dismounted during the siege. of the europeans the loss in killed, wounded, and prisoners was five hundred and seventy-nine. three hundred and twenty-two sepoys were killed and wounded, and four hundred and forty deserted during the siege. in spite of the resolution with which the french had pushed the siege it was from the first destined to failure. the garrison were well provisioned, had great stores of ammunition, and plenty of spare cannon to replace those disabled or dismounted. the works were strong and the garrison not greatly inferior in number to the besiegers. the french, on the other hand, had to bring their artillery, ammunition, and stores by water from pondicherry, and the activity of the english parties in their rear rendered it extremely difficult for them to receive supplies of food by land. lally had disgusted even the french officers again in the field. and soldiers by his arrogance and passionate temper, while by the sepoys he was absolutely hated. during the siege charlie had been most active in the defence. colonel lawrence had assigned no special post to him, but used him as what would now be called his chief of the staff. he was ever where the fire was thickest, encouraging the men, and during the intervals of comparative cessation of fire he went about the fort seeing to the comforts of the men in their quarters, to the issue of stores, and other matters. upon the very morning after the french had withdrawn he asked to be allowed to rejoin his troop, which was with major calliaud, and at once started to rejoin colonel forde. he wished to take the whole of his corps with him; but colonel law- rence considered that these would be of extreme use in following up the french and in subsequent operations, as cavalry was an arm in which the english were greatly de- ficient. colonel forde had been terribly delayed by the conduct of rajah anandraz, and the delay enabled the french again to recover heart. he was not able to move forward until the st of march. on the th he arrived before masulipatam, and the following day charlie joined him with his troop. the fort of masulipatam stood in an ex- tremelydefensible position. it was surrounded bya swamp on three sides. the other face rested on the river. from the land side it was only approachable by a causeway across the swamp, and this was guarded by a strong ravelin, which is the military name for an outwork erected beyond the ditch of a fortress. it was in all respects cap- able of a prolonged defence. in form it was an irregular parallelogram about eight hundred yards in length and six hundred yards wide, and on the walls were eleven strong bastions. the morass which surrounded it was of from three to eighteen feet in depth. on the approach of forde, conrlans evacuated the town, which,also surrounded by swamps and lying two miles to the north-west of the tim's opinion of the situation. field-pieces, watched the british and rendered the col- lection of provisions difficult. du rocher had several strong places with european and sepoy garrisons near him, in which to retire in case forde should advance against him. "well, mister charles," tim said one morning, "this is altogether a quare sort of a siege. here we are with a place in front of us with ten times as many guns as we have got, and a force well nigh twice as large. even if there were no walls and no guns i don't see how we could get at 'cm barring we'd wings, for this bog is worse than anything in the ould country. then behind us we've got another army, which is, they say, with the garrisons of the forts, as strong as we are. we've got little food and less money, and the troops are grumbling mightily, i can tell you." on the th of march, while his batteries were still in- complete, forde received certain news that the nizam of the deccan, the old ally of the french, was advancing with an army of forty thousand men to attack him. no british commander ever stood in a position of more imminent peril. this completed the terror of anandraz. du rocher had caused reports to be circulated that he intended to march against that chief's territories, and the news of the approach of the nizam, who was his suzerain lord, completed his dismay. he refused to advance another penny. colonel forde had already expended the prize- money gained by the troops, his own private funds, and those ot his officers in buying food for his troops, and the men were several months in arrear of their pay. "i'm afraid, yer honour," tim said that evening to charlie, "that there's going to be a shindy." "what do you mean by a shindy,tim?" "i mane, yer honour, that the men are cursing and swearing, and saying the divil a bit will they fight any longer. it's rank mutiny and rebellion, yer honour; but there's something to be said for the poor boys. they charlie tries argument. up vizapatam and the rest of the ground we won by the battle of condore. the whole of the fruits of the campaign would be lost, and we should only hold that portion of the northern sirkars on which our troops here are encamped." "i beg your pardon, colonel," charlie said; "you are right and i am wrong. i will start at once." putting himself at the head of his five-and-twenty men charlie rode off at once in pursuit of the rajah. he found him encamped in a village. charlie had already instructed his men as to the course which they were to pursue, and halted them at a distance of fifty yards from the rajah's tent. then dismounting, and followed by tim as his orderly and hossein as his body-servant, he walked to the tent. he found anandraz surrounded by his chief officers. the rajah received him coldly; but charlie, paying no attention to this, took a seat close to him. "i am come, rajah," he said, "from colonel forde to point out to you the folly of the course which you have pursued. by the line which you have taken so far, it is evidently your intention to cross the godavery and retire to your own country. what chance have you of accom- plishing this? by this time the cavalry of the nizam will be scattered over the whole country between this and the godavery. at rajahmahendri is du rocher with his army, who will take you in flank. even sup- posing that you reach your own country, what is the future open to you? if the english are finally successful they will deprive you of your rank and possessions for deserting them now. if the french are victorious they and the nizam will then turn their attention to you, and you cannot hope to escape with life when your treason has brought such troubles upon them." the rajah looked for a minute doubtful, and then, en- couraged by the murmurs of the officers around him, who were weary of the expedition and its labours although their troops had not fired a single shot, he said obsti- decisive measures prevail. nately: "no more words are needed. i have made up my mind." "and so have i," charlie said, and with a sudden spring he leaped upon the rajah, seized him by the throat, and placed a pistol to his ear. hossein drew his sword and rushed to his side. tim ran outside and held up his arm, and the little body of cavalry at once rode up, and half of them dismounting, entered the tent with drawn swords. so astounded were the officers of the rajah at charlie's sudden attack, that for a moment they knew not what to do, and before they could recover from their surprise charlie's troopers entered. "take this man," charlie said, pointing to the rajah, "to that tree and hang him at once. cut down any of these fellows who move a finger." the rajah was dragged to the tree almost lifeless with terror. "now, rajah," charlie said, "you either give instant orders for your army to march back to masulipatam, or up you go on that branch above there." the terrified rajah instantly promised to carry out charlie's orders and to remain faithful to the english. the officers were brought out from the tent and received orders from the rajah to set his troops instantly in motion on their way back. the rajah was led to his tent and there kept under a guard until the army was in motion. when the whole of it was well on its way charlie said: "now, rajah, we will ride on. we will say no more about this little affair, and i will ask colonel forde to forgive your ill-behaviour in leaving him. but mind, if at any future time you attempt to disobey his orders or to retire from the camp, i will blow out your brains, even if i have to follow you with my men into the heart of your own palace." upon their return to the british camp charlie explained to colonel forde the measures which he was obliged to take to convince the rajah of the soundness of his a march through a swamp. and seven hundred sepoys, was to be delivered against the breach in the bastion, mounting ten guns, in the north- east angle of the fort. at ten o'clock the force drew up under arms. the fire of the batteries was kept up much later than usual in order that the enemy should have no time to repair the breaches. the hour of midnight was fixed for the attack, as at that time the title was at its lowest and the water in the ditches round the ramparts not more than three feet deep. captain knox and his party started first. the main body should have set out half an hour later, but were detained owing to the unaccountable absence of captain callender, the officer who was to command it. as this officer was afterwards killed the cause of his absence was never explained. the party started without him, and before they could reach the ditch they heard the sound of firing from the farther corner of the fort, telling that knox was already at work. "shure, yer honour," muttered tim, as he made his way through the swamp knee-deep beside his master," this is worse than the day before plassey. it was water then but this thick mud houlds one's legs fast at every step. l*ve lost one of my boots already." it was indeed hard work; but at last the head of the column reached the ditch just as a fresh burst of firing told that the rajah anandraz was attacking the ravelin. the french, in their belief in the absolute security of the place, had taken but few precautions against an attack, and it was not until the leading party had waded nearly breast-high througli the ditch and began to break down the palisade beyond it, that they were discovered. then a heavy artillery and musketry fire from the bastions on the right and left was opened upon the assailants. cap- tain fisher with the first division attacked the breach; captain maclean with the second covered them by opening fire upon the bastion on their right; while the third, led by captain yorke, replied to that on their left. charlie, taken by surprise. although superior in rank to any of these officers, had no specific command, but accompanied the party as a simple volunteer. the storming party soon mounted the breach, and yorke's division joined it on the top. yorke, turning to the left, seized the bastion which was firing on maclean; while fisher turned along the ramparts to the right to secure the bastions in that direction. just as yorke was setting out he saw a strong body of french sepoys advancing between the foot of the ramparts and the buildings of the town. these had been sent directly the firing was heard, to reinforce the bastion just carried . without a moment's hesitation yorke ran down the ram- part, seized the french officer who commanded, and ordered him to surrender at once, as the place was already taken. confused and bewildered the officer gave up his sword and ordered the sepoys to lay down their arms. they were then sent as prisoners into the bastion. yorke now pushed forward with his men at the foot of the rampart and carried two out of three of the bastions on that side. the men, however, separated from the rest and alone in the unknown town, were beginning to lose heart. suddenly they came upon a small magazine, and some of the men called out, "a mine!" seized with a sudden panic the whole division ran back, leaving yorke alone with two native drummer boys, who continued to beat the advance. the soldiers, however, did not stop running until they reached the bastion. captain yorke went back, and found that many of the soldiers were pro- posing to leave the fort altogether. he swore that he would cut down the first man who moved, and some of the men who had served with him in the th, ashamed of their conduct, said that they would follow him. heading the thirty-six men who had now come to their senses, captain yorke again advanced with the drummer boys. just as he was setting out, charlie, who had at first gone with fisher's division, hearing an entire cessa- a deadly discharge. tion of fire on the other side, ran up to see what was going on. "major marryat," captain yorke said, "will you rally these fellows and bring them after me. they've been frightened with a false alarm of a mine and have lost their heads altogether." charlie, aided by tim, exerted himself to the utmost to encourage and command the soldiers, shaming them by telling them that while they, european soldiers, were cowering in the bastion, their sepoy comrades were winning the town. "unless," he said, "in one minute the whole of you are formed up ready to advance, i will take care that not one shall have a share in the prize- money that will be won to-night." the men now fell in, and charlie led them after cap- tain yorke. the first retreat of the latter's division had given the french time to rally a little, and as he now made along the rampart towards the bastion on the river, the french officer in command there having turned a gun and loaded it with grape discharged it when the english were within a few yards. captain yorke fell badly wounded. the two black drummer boys were killed, as were several of the men, and sixteen others were wounded. charlie, hurrying along with the rest of the party, met the survivors of captain yorke's little band coming back carrying their wounded officer. "there," charlie shouted to his men, "that is your doing. now retrieve yourselves. show you are worthy of the name of british soldiers." with a shout the men rushed forward and carried the bastion, and this com- pleted the capture of the whole of the wall from the north-east angle to the river. in the meantime captain fisher with his division was advancing to the right along the rampart. maclean's men had joined him, and they were pushing steadily for- ward. colonel forde continued with the reserve at the bastion first taken, receiving reports from both divisions carrying all before them. as they advanced, and sending the necessary orders. as fast as the prisoners were brought in they were sent down the breach into the ditch, where they were guarded by sepoys, who threatened to shoot any that tried to climb up. meanwhile all was disorder in the town. greatly superior as were the besieged to their assailants in number, they could, if properly handled, have easily driven them back. instead, however, of disregarding the attack by knox at the south-west angle, which was clearly only a feint, and that of anandraz on the ravelin, which might have been disregarded with equal safety, and concentrating all their forces against the main attack, they made no sus- tained effort against either of the columns which were rapidly carrying bastion after bastion. conflans appeared to have completely lost his head as messenger after mes- senger arrived at his house by the river with news of the progress of the english columns. as fisher's division advanced towards the bastion in which was the great gate, the french who had gathered there again attempted to check his progress. but his men reserved their fire until close to the enemy, and then discharging a volley at a few yards distance they rapidly cleared the bastion. fisher at once closed the great gates, and thus cut off all the defenders of the ravelin and prevented any of the troops within from joining these and cutting their way through the rajah's troops, which would have been no difficult matter. just as the division were again advanc- ing, captain callender, to the astonishment of everyone, appeared and took his place at its head. a few shots only were fired after this, and the last discharge killed captain callender. by this time conflans, bewildered and terrified, had sent a message to colonel forde offering to surrender on hon- ourable terms. colonel forde sent back to say that he would give no terms whatever; that the town was in his power and further resistance hopeless, and that if it the garrison lay down their arms. continued longer he would put all who did not surrender to the sword. on the receipt of this message conflans immediately sent round orders that all his men were to lay down their arms and to fall in in the open space by the water. the english assembled on the parade by the bastion of the gateway. captain knox's column was marched round from the south-west into the town. a strong body of artillery kept guard over the prisoners till morning. then the gate was opened and the french in the ravelin entered the fort and became prisoners with the rest of the garrison. the whole number of prisoners exceeded three thousand, of whom five hundred were europeans and the rest sepoys. the loss of the english was twenty-two europeans killed and sixty-two wounded. the sepoys had fifty killed and a hundred and fifty wounded. the rajah's people, who had kept up their false attack upon the ravelin with much more bravery and resolution than had been expected, also lost a good many men. considering the natural strength of the position, that the garrison was, both in european troops and sepoys, considerably stronger than the besiegers, that the fort mounted a hundred and twenty guns, and that a relieving army enormously superior to that of the besiegers was within fifteen miles at the time the assault was made, the capture of masulipatam may claim to rank among the very highest deeds ever performed by british arms. chapter xxviii. the defeat of lallt. large quantity of plunder was obtained at masulipatain. half was at once divided among the troops, according to promise, and the other half retained until the permission, applied for by colonel forde, was received from madras for its division among them. the morning after the capture of the town the maratta horse of salabut jung appeared. the nizam was furious when he found that he had arrived too late; but he resolved that when the three hundred french troops, daily expected by sea, arrived, he would besiege forde in his turn, as with the new arrivals du rocher's force would alone be superior to that of forde, and there would be in addition his own army of forty thousand men. the ships arrived off the port three days later, and sent a messenger on shore to conflans. finding that no answer was returned and that the fire had entirely ceased, they came to the con- clusion that the place was captured by the english, and sailed away to pondicherry again. had du rocher taken the precaution of having boats in readiness to com- municate with them, inform them of the real state of affairs, and order them to land farther along the coast and join him, forde would have been besieged in his turn, although certainly the siege would have been ineffectual. rajah anandraz, greatly terrified at the letters from home. at madras to disband the corps, and allow them to return home. their commander, however, pointed out to them that the position was still a critical one; that the french possessed a very powerful army at pondicherry, which wtould shortly take the field; and that the english would need every one of their soldiers to meet the storm. if victorious there could be no doubt that a final blow would be dealt to french influence, and that the com- pany would then be able to reduce its forces. a few months would settle the event, and it would, he knew, be useless to apply for their discharge before that time. he thought he could promise them, however, that by the end of the year at latest their services would be dispensed with. the men, although rather disappointed, retired, content to make the best of the circumstances. deser- tions were very frequent in the sepoy force of the com- pany, as the men, returning to their native villages and resuming their former dress and occupation, were in no danger whatever of discovery. but in charlie's force not a single desertion had taken place since it was raised, as the men knew that by leaving the colours they would forfeit their share of the prize-money, held for them in the madras treasury. "have you heard from home lately?" peters asked. "yes," charlie said. "there was a large batch of letters lying for me at madras. my eldest sister, who has now been married three years, has just presented me with a second nephew. katie and my mother are well." "your sister is not engaged yet?" peters asked. "no. katie says she's quite heart-whole at present. let me see—how old is she now? it is just eight years and a half since we left england, and she was twelve years old then. she is now past twenty. she would do nicely for you, peters, when you go back. it would be awfully jolly if you two were to fall in love with each other." "i feel quite disposed to do so," peters said laughing, ( ) the eve of a great struggle. "and there's hossein, yer honour. fire and water wouldn't keep him away from you, though what he'll do in the colds of the winter at home is more than i know. it makes me laugh to see how his teeth chatter and how the creetur shivers of a cold morning here. but cold or no cold he'd follow you to the north pole, and climb up it if yer honour told him." charlie laughed. "he is safe not to be put to the test there, tim. however, you may be sure that if hossein is willing to go to england with me, he shall go. he has saved my life more than once; and you and he shall never part from me so long as you are disposed to stay by my side." for some months no great undertaking was attempted on either side. many petty sieges and skirmishes took place, each party preparing for the great struggle which was to decide the fate of southern india. at last in january, , the rival armies approached each other. captain sherlock, with thirty europeans and three hun- dred sepoys, were besieged by the french in the fort of vandivash, which had shortly before been captured by them from the french. lally was himself commanding the siege, having as his second in command m. bussy, of whom, however, he was more jealous than ever. lally's own incapacity was so marked that the whole army, and even lally^s own regi- ment, recognized the superior talents of bussy. but although lally constantly asked the advice of his sub- ordinate, his jealousy of that officer generally impelled him to neglect it. when the english under colonel coote, who now com- manded their forces in madras, were known to be ad- vancing against him, bussy strongly advised that the siege should be abandoned and a strong position taken up for the battle. the advice was unquestionably good, but lally neglected it, and remained in front of vandi- vash until the english were seen approaching. the facing each other. french cavalry, among whom were three hundred euro- pean dragoons, and a cloud of maratta horse moved for- ward against the english, whose troops were scattered on the line of march. colonel coote brought up two guns, and these, being kept concealed from the enemy until they came within two hundred yards, opened sud- denly upon them, while the sepoys tired heavily with their muskets. the marattas rapidly turned and rode off, and the french cavalry, finding themselves alone, retired in good order. colonel coote now drew up his army in order of battle, and marched his troops so as to take up a position in front of some gardens and other inclosures which extended for some distance from the foot of the mountains out on to the plain. these in- closures would serve as a defence in case the army should be forced to retire from the open. the french remained immovable in their camp. see- ing this, colonel coote marched his troops to the right, the infantry taking up their post in the stony ground at the foot of the mountain, at a mile and a half from the french camp. some of the french cavalry came out to reconnoitre, but being fired upon returned. finding that the french would not come out to attack, colonel coote again advanced until he reached a point where, swinging round his right, he faced the enemy in a position of great strength. his right was now covered by the fire of the fort, his left by the broken ground at the foot of the hills. as soon as the english had taken up their position the french sallied out from their camp and formed in line of battle. the french cavalry were on their right; next to these was the regiment of lorraine, four hundred strong; in the centre the battalion of india, seven hundred strong. next to these was lally's regiment, four hundred strong, its left resting upon an intrenched tank, which was held by three hundred marines and sailors from their fleet, with four guns. twelve other guns were in line. the infantry battle. who commanded the british artillery, turned two of his g^ins and opened fire upon them. fifteen men and horses fell at the first discharge, throwing the rest into some confusion, and at the next deadly discharge the whole turned and rode off. seeing the enemy retreating, many of the irregular horse rode back, and, joining charlie's, troop, pursued them round to the rear of their own camp. for a short time a cannonade was kept up by the guns on both sides, the english fire, being better directed, caus- the cavalry he at once gave the order to advance. coote ordered the europeans of his force to do the same, the sepoys to remain on their ground. the musketry fire began at one o'clock. the english, according to coote's orders, retained theirs until the enemy came close at hand. following the tactics which were afterwards repeated many times in the peninsula, the lorraine regi- ment, forming a column twelve deep, advanced against that of coote, which received them in line. the french came on at the double. when within a distance of fifty yards, coote's regiment poured a volley into the front and flanks of the column. although they suffered heavily from this fire the french bravely pressed on with levelled bayonets, and the head of the column, by sheer weight, broke through the english line. the flanks of the eng- lish, however, closed in on the sides of the french column, and a desperate hand-to-hand fight ensued. in this the english had all the advantage, attacking the french fiercely on either side, until the latter broke and ran back to the camp. colonel coote, who was with his regiment, ordered it to form in regular order again before it advanced, and rode off to see what was going on in the rest of the line. as he was passing on a shot struck an ammunition waggon in the intrenched tank held by the french. this exploded, killing and wounding eighty men, among whom was the commander of the post. the rest of its occupants, panic- advance of the british. stricken by the explosion, ran back to the next tank. their panic communicated itself to the sepoys there, and all ran back together to the camp. colonel coote at once sent orders to major brereton, who commanded draper's regiment, to take possession of the tank before the enemy recovered from the confusion which the ex- plosion would be sure to cause. the ground opposite that which draper's regiment occupied was held by lally's regiment, and in order to prevent his men being exposed to a flanking fire from these, draper ordered them to file off to the right. bussy, who commanded at this wing, endeavoured to rally the fugitives, and gathering fifty or sixty together, added two companies of lally's regiment to them, and posted them in the tank; he then returned to the regiment. as major brereton, moving up his men, reached the intrenchment a heavy fire was poured upon him. major brereton fell, mortally wounded, and many of his men were killed. the rest, however, with a rush carried the intrenchment, and firing down from the parapet on the guns on lally's left, drove the gunners from them. two companies held the intrenchment, and the rest formed in the plain on its left to prevent lally's regiment attacking it on this side. bussy wheeled lally's regiment, detached a portion of it to recover the intrenchment, and with the rest marched against draper's troops in the plain. a heavy musketry fire was kept up on both sides until the two guns, posted by draper's regiment, and left behind when they attacked the intrenchment, came up and opened on the french. these began to waver. bussy, as the only chance of gaining the day, put himself at their head, and endeavoured to lead them forward to attack the english with the bayonet . his horse, how- ever, was struck with a ball and soon fell; the english fire was redoubled, and but twenty of lally's men kept round him. two companies of the english rushed for- ward and surrounded the little party, who at once sur- g defeat of lally's armv. rendered bussy was led a prisoner to the rear, and as he went was surprised at the sight of the three hundred grenadiers, the best troops in the english army, remain- ing quietly in reserve. while on either flank the french were now beaten, the fight in the centre, between the european troops of the english and french companies, had continued, but had been confined to a hot musketry and artillery fire. but upon seeing the defeat of their flanks the enemy's centre likewise fell back to their camp. from the moment when the lorraine regiment had been routed, four field-pieces kept up an incessant fire into their camp to prevent them from rallying. the three english regiments now advanced in line and en- tered the enemy's camp without the least opposition. the lorraine regiment had passed through it a mass of fugitives, the india regiment and lally's went through rapidly, but in good order. lally had in vain endeavoured to bring the sepoys forward to the attack to restore the day. the french cavalry, seeing the defeat of lorraine's regiment, advanced to cover it, their appearance com- pletely intimidating the english irregular horse. charlie's troop were too weak to charge them single-handed. re- animated by the attitude of their cavalry, the men of the lorraine regiment rallied, yoked up four field-pieces which were standing in the rear of the camp, and moved off in fair order. they were joined in the plain by lally's regi- ment and the india battalion, and the whole, setting fire to their tents, moved off in good order. the four field- pieces kept in the rear, and behind these moved the cavalry. as they retired they were joined by the four hundred and fifty men from the batteries opposite van- divash. colonel coote sent orders to his cavalry to harass the enemy. these followed them for five miles, but as the native horse would not venture within range of the enemy's field-guns, charlie, to his great disappointment, was able to do nothing. the result of the battle. upon neither side did the sepoys take any part in the battle of vandivash. it was fought entirely between the two thousand two hundred and fifty french, not including those in their battery, and sixteen hundred english, excluding the grenadiers, who never fired a shot. twenty-four pieces of cannon were taken and eleven waggons of ammunition, and all the tents, stores, and bag- gage that were not burned. the french left two hundred dead upon the field. a hundred and sixty were taken prisoners, of whom thirty died of their wounds before the next morning. large numbers dropped upon the march and were afterwards captured. the english had sixty-three killed and a hundred and twenty-four wounded. the news of this victory reached madras on the fol- lowing morning, and excited as much enthusiastic joy as that of plassey had done at calcutta, and the event was almost as important a one. there was no longer the slight- est fear of danger, and the madras authorities began to meditate an attack upon pondicherry. so long as the great french settlement remained intact, so long would madras be exposed to fresh invasions, and it was certain that france, driven now from bengal, would make a desperate effort to regain her shaken supremacy in madras. the force, however, at the disposal of the madras authorities was still far too weak to enable them to undertake an enterprise like the siege of pondicherry, for their army did not exceed in numbers that which lally possessed for its defence. accordingly, urgent letters were sent to clive to ask him to send down in the summer as many troops as he could spare, other reinforce- ments being expected from england at that time. the intervening time was spent in the reduction of chittapett, karical, and many other forts which held out for the french. after the battle of vandivash charlie kept his promise to his men. he represented to mr. pigot that they had the tkoop disbanded. already served some months over the time for which they were enlisted, that they had gone through great hard- ships, and performed great services, and that they were now anxious to retire to enjoy the prize-money they had earned. he added that he had given his own promise that they should be allowed to retire if they would ex- tend their service until after a decisive battle with the french. mr. pigot at once assented to charlie's request, and ordered that a batta of six months' pay should be given to each man upon leaving. the troop, joined by many of their comrades, who had been at different times went down sick and wounded to madras, formed up there on parade for the last time. they responded with three hearty cheers to the address which charlie gave them, thanking them for their services, bidding them farewell, and hoping that they would long enjoy the prize-money which they had gallantly-won. then they delivered over their horses to the authorities, drew their prize-money from the treasury, and started for their respective homes, the english portion taking up their quarters in barracks until the next ship should sail for england. "i am sorry to leave them," charlie said to peters as they stood alone upon the parade. "we have gone through a lot of stirring work together, and no fellows could have behaved better." "no," peters agreed. "it is singular that, contemptible as are these natives of india when officered by men of their own race and religion, they will fight to the death when led by us." a great convoy enters the town. and to prevent the enemy from receiving food from the surrounding country. early in june the british squadron off the coast was joined by two ships of the line, the norfolk and pantlier, from england, and a hundred europeans and a detach- ment of european and native artillery came down from bombay. around pondicherry ran a strong cactus hedge strengthened with palisades, and the french retired into this at the beginning of july. they were too strongly posted there to be attacked by the force with which the english at first approached them, and they were expect- ing the arrival of a large body of troops from mysore with a great convoy of provisions. on the th these approached. major moore, who was guarding the english rear, had a hundred and eighty european infantry, fifty english horse, under peters, sixteen hundred irregular horse, and eleven hundred sepoys. the mysoreans had four thousand good horse, a thousand sepoys, and two hundred europeans, with eight pieces of cannon. the fight lasted but a few minutes. the british native horse and sepoys at once gave way, and the english infantry retreated in great disorder to the fort of trivadi, which they gained with a loss of fifteen killed and forty wounded. peters' horse alone behaved well. several times they charged right through the masses of mysorean horse, but when five-and-twenty were killed and most of the rest, including their commander, severely wounded, they also fell back into the fort. colonel coote, when the news of the disaster reached him, determined, if possible, to get possession of the fort of vellenore, which stood on the river ariangopang, some three miles from pondicherry, and covered the approaches of the town from that side. the english encampment was at perimbe' on the main road leading through an avenue of trees to pondicherry. colonel coote threw up a redoubt on the hill behind perirnbe- and another on the a cowardly commander. avenue, to check any french force advancing from pondi- cherry. these works were finished on the morning of the th of july. the next morning the french army advanced along the river ariangopang, but coote marched half his force to meet them, while he moved the rest as if to attack the redoubts interspersed along the line of hedge. as the fall of these would have placed the attacking force in his rear lally at once returned to the town. the same evening the mysoreans, with three thousand bullocks carrying their artillery and drawing their baggage, and three thousand more laden with rice and other provisions, arrived on the other bank of the ariangopang river, crossed under the guns of the redoubt of that name and entered the town. the fort of vellenore was strong, but the road had been cut straight through the glacis to the gate, and the french had neglected to erect works to cover this passage. coote took advantage of the oversight and laid his two eighteen-pounders to play upon the gate, while two others were placed to fire upon the parapet. the english batteries opened at daybreak on the l th, and at nine o'clock the whole of the french army with the mysoreans advanced along the bank of the river. coote at once got his troops under arms, and advanced towards the french, sending a small detachment of europeans to reinforce the sepoys firing at the fort of vellenore. by this time the batteries had beaten down the parapet and silenced the enemy's fire. two companies of sepoys set forward at full run up to the very crest of the glacis. the french commander of the place had really nothing to fear, as the sepoys had a ditch to pass and a very imperfect breach to mount, and the fort might have held out for two days before the english could have been in a position to storm it. the french army was in sight, and in ten minutes a general engagement would have begun. in spite of all this the coward at once hoisted a flag of truce and surrendered. the europeans and sepoys ran pressing the siege. g by the greater portion of the mysorean horse from pondi- cherry, was attacked and defeated, and nine hundred bullocks laden with baggage captured. shortly after- wards the rest of the mysorean troops left pondicherry and marched to attack trinomany. seeing that there was little fear of their returning to succour pondicherry the english now determined to com- plete the blockade of that place. in order to have any chance of reducing it by famine it was necessary to obtain possession of the country within the hedge, which with its redoubts extended in the arc of a circle from the river ariangopang to the sea. the space thus included con- tained an area of nearly seven square miles, affording pasture for the bullocks, of which there were sufficient to supply the troops and inhabitants for many months. therefore, although the army was not yet strong enough to open trenches against the town, and indeed the siege artillery had not yet sailed from madras, it was de- termined to get possession of the hedge and its redoubts. before doing this, however, it was necessary to capture the fort of ariangopang. this was a difficult under- taking. the whole european force was but two thousand strong, and if eight hundred of these were detached across the river to attack the fort, the main body would be scarcely a match for the enemy should he march out against them. if on the other hand the whole army moved round to attack the fort the enemy would be able to send out and fetch in the great convoy of pro- visions collected at jinji. mr. pigot therefore requested admiral stevens to land the marines of thefleet. although, seeing that a large french fleet was expected, the admiral was unwilling to weaken his squadron, he complied with the request, seeing the urgency of the case, and four hundred and twenty marines were landed. on the d of september two more men-of-war, the america and medivay, arrived, raising the fleet before pondicherry to seventeen ships of the line. they con- g a french sortie. voyed several company's ships who had brought with them the wing of a highland regiment. the same evening coote ordered four hundred men to march to invest the fort of ariangopang, but colonel monson, second in command, was so strongly against the step that at the last moment he countermanded his orders. the change was fortunate, for lally, who had heard from his spies of the english intentions, moved his whole army out to attack the—as he supposed— weakened force. at ten at night fourteen hundred french infantry, a hundred french horse, and nine hundred sepoys marched out to attack the english, who had no suspicion of their intent. two hundred marines and five hundred sepoys proceeded in two columns. marching from the valdore redoubt one party turned to the right to attack the tamarind redoubt, which the english had erected on the red hill. having taken this they were to turn to their left and join the other column. this skirted the foot of the red hill to attack the redoubt erected on a hillock at its foot on the th july. four hundred sepoys and a company of portuguese were to take post at the junction of the valdore and oulgarry avenues. the regiments of lorraine and lally were to attack the battery in this avenue, lorraine's from the front, while lally's marching outwards in the fields was to fall on its right flank. the indian battalion with the bourbon volunteers, three hun- dred strong, were to march from the fort of ariangopang across the river to the villages under the fort of vellenore, and as soon as the fire became general were to fall upon the right rear of the english encampment . at midnight a rocket gave the signal and the attack immediately commenced. the attack on the tamarind redoubt was repulsed, but the redoubt on the hillock was captured and the guns spiked. at the intrenchment on the oulgarry road the fight was fierce, and colonel coote himself brought down his troops to its defence. storming the advanced works. the attack was continued, but as, owing to some mistake, the column intended to fall upon the english rear had halted and did not arrive in time, the regiments of lorraine and lally drew off, and the whole force retired to the town. the ships arriving from england brought a commission appointing monson to the rank of colonel, with a date prior to that of colonel coote, ordering him, however, not to assert his seniority so long as coote remained at madras. coote, however, considered that it was intended that he should return to bengal, and so handing over the command to monson he went back to madras. colonel monson at once prepared to attack the hedge and its redoubts. leaving sufficient guards for the camp he advanced at midnight with his troops divided into two brigades, the one commanded by himself, the other by major smith. major smith's division was first to attack the enemy outside the hedge in the village of oulgarry, and, driving them hence, to carry the vellenore redoubt, while the main body were to make a sweep round the red hill and come down to the attack of the valdore redoubt. smith moving to the right of the oulgarry avenue attacked that position on the left, and the advance led by captain myers carried by storm a redoubt in front of the village and seized four pieces of cannon. major smith, heading his grenadiers, then charged the village, tore down all obstacles, and carried the place. the day had begun to dawn when colonel monson approached the valdore redoubt. but at the last moment, making a mistake in their way, the head of the column halted. at this moment the enemy perceived them and discharged a twenty-four pounder, loaded with small shot, into the column. eleven men were killed and twenty- six wounded by this terrible discharge, among the latter colonel monson himself, his leg being broken. the grenadiers now rushed furiously to the attack, swarmed round the redoubt, and although several times repulsed, ( ) a charlie on board ship. he at once ordered the captured redoubts to be fortified to prevent the enemy again taking the offensive, and erected a strong work called the north redoubt near the sea-shore and facing the madras redoubt. a few days later, on a party of sepoys approaching the ariangopang redoubt, the occupants of that place were seized with a panic, aban- doned the place, and went into the town. the english had now possession of the whole of the outward defences of pondicherry, with the exception of the two redoubts by the sea-shore. a day or two later colonel coote advancing along the sea-beach as if with a view of merely making a recon- naissance, pushed on suddenly, entered the village called the blancherie, as it was principally inhabited by washer- women, and attacked the madras redoubt. this was carried, but the same night the garrison sallied out again and fell upon the party of sepoys posted there. ensign macmahon was killed, but the sepoys, although driven out from the redoubt, bravely returned and again attacked the french, who, thinking that the sepoys must have received large reinforcements, fell back into the village, from which, a day or two later, they retired into the town. the whole of the ground outside the fort, between the river ariangopang and the sea, was now in the hands of the english. the french still maintained their com- munications with the south by the sandy line of coast. by this time the attacks which the english from trich- inopoli and madura had made upon the mysoreans, had compelled the latter to make peace and recall their army which was still hovering in the neighbourhood of pondi- cherry. charlie, who had been suffering from a slight attack of fever, had for some time been staying on board ship for change. in the road of pondicherry three of the french indiamen, the hermione, baleine, and the compagnie des indes, were at anchor near the edge of the surf, under the cover of a hundred guns mounted on the sea face of the the cutting out of the hermione. fort. these ships were awaiting the stormy weather at the breaking of the monsoon, when it would be difficult for the english fleet to maintain their position off the town. they then intended to sail away to the south, fill up with provisions, and return to pondicherry. admiral stevens, in order to prevent this contingency which would have greatly delayed the reduction of the place, determined to cut them out. charlie's health being much restored by the sea breezes, he asked leave of the admiral to accom- pany the expedition as a volunteer. on the evening of the th, six-and-twenty of the boats of the fleet, manned by four hundred sailors, were lowered and rowed to the tiger, which was at anchor within two miles of pondi- cherry, the rest of the fleet lying some distance farther away. when at midnight the cabin lights of the hermione were extinguished, the expedition started. the boats moved in two divisions, one of which was to attack the hermione, the other the baleine. the third vessel lay nearer in shore, and was to be attacked if the others were captured. the night was a very dark one, and the boats of each division moved in line with ropes stretched from boat to boat to ensure their keeping together in the right direction. charlie was in one of the boats intended to attack the hermione. tim accompanied him, but the admiral had refused permission for hossein to do so, as there were many more white volunteers for the service than the boats would accommodate. they were within fifty yards of the hermione before they were discovered, and a scattering musket fire was at once opened upon them. the crews gave a mighty cheer, and casting off the ropes, separated, five making for each side of the ship, while two rowed forward to cut the cables at her bows. the compagnie dcs indes opened fire upon the boats, but these were already alongside the ship, and the sailors swarmed over the side at ten points. the combat was a short one. the seventy men on board fought bravely for the two ships brought out. a minute or two, but they were speedily driven below. the hatches were closed over them, and the cables being already cut, the mizzen top-sail, the only sail bent, was hoisted, and the boats, taking tow-ropes, began to row her away from shore. the instant, however, that the cessation of fire informed the garrison the ship was captured, a tremendous cannon- ade was opened by the guns of the fortress. the light- ning was flashing vividly, and this enabled the gunners to direct their aim upon the ship. over and over again she was struck, and one shot destroyed the steering wheel, cut the tiller rope, and killed two men who were steering. the single sail was not sufficient to assist in steering her, and the men in the boats rowed with such energy that the ropes continually snapped. the fire continued from the shore, doing considerable damage, and the men in the boats, who could not see that the ship was moving through the water, concluded that she was anchored by a concealed cable and anchor. the officer in command, therefore, called up the frenchmen from below, telling them he was about to fire the ship. they came on deck and took their places in the boats, which rowed back to the tiger. upon arriving there captain dent, who commanded her, sternly rebuked the officer, and said that unless the boats returned instantly and brought the hermione out he should send his own crew in their boats to fetch her. the division thereupon returned and met the ship half a mile off shore, the land wind having now sprung up. the baleine had been easily captured, and having several sails bent she was brought out without difficulty. no attempt was made to capture the third vessel. the rains had now set in, but the english laboured steadily at their batteries. the french were becoming pressed for provisions, and lally turned the whole of the natives remaining in the town, to the number of fourteen hundred men and women, outside the fortifications. on their arrival at the english lines they were refused per- chapter xxx. home. he fire of the batteries increased, and by the th of january the enemy's fire was com- pletely silenced. the provisions in the town were wholly exhausted, and on the th the town surrendered, and the next morning the english took possession. three days afterwards lally was embarked on board ship to be taken a prisoner to madras, and so much was he hated that the french officers and civilians assembled and hissed and hooted him, and had he not been protected by his guard, would have torn him to pieces. after his return to france he was tried for hav- ing, by his conduct, caused the loss of the french posses- sions in india, and being found guilty of the offence, was beheaded. at pondicherry two thousand and seventy-two military prisoners were taken, and three hundred and eighty-one civilians. five hundred cannon and a hundred mortars fit for service, and immense quantities of ammunition, arms, and military stores fell into the hands of the cap- tors. pondicherry was handed over to the company, who, a short time afterwards, entirely demolished both the fortress and town. this hard measure was the con- sequence of a letter which had been intercepted from the french government to lally, ordering him to raze madras to the ground, when it fell into his hands. homeward bound. charlie, after the siege, in which he had rendered great services, received from the company, at colonel coote's earnest recommendation, his promotion to the step of lieutenant-colonel, while peters was raised to that of major. a fortnight after the fall of pondicherry they returned to madras and thence took the first ship for england. it was now just ten years since they had sailed, and in that time they had seen madras and calcutta rise from the rank of two trading stations, in constant danger of destruction by their powerful neighbours, to that of vir- tual capitals of great provinces. not as yet, indeed, had they openly assumed the sovereignty of these territories, but madras was, in fact, the absolute master of the broad tract of land extending from the foot of the mountains to the sea, from cape comorin to bengal, -while calcutta was master of bengal and oressa, and her power already threatened to extend itself as far as delhi. the conquest of these vast tracts of country had been achieved by mere handfuls of men, and by a display of heroic valour and constancy scarce to be rivalled in the history of the world. the voyage was a pleasant one and was, for the times, quick, occupying only five months. but to the young men, longing for home after so long an absence, it seemed tedious in the extreme. tim and hossein were well content with their quiet easy life after their long toils. they had nothing whatever to do, except that they in- sisted upon waiting upon charlie and peters at meals. the ship carried a large number of sick and wounded officers and men, and as these gained health and strength the life on board ship became livelier and more jovial. singing and cards occupied the evenings, while in the daytime they played quoits, rings of rope being used for that purpose, and other games with which passengers usually wile away the monotony of long voyages. it the arrival in london. was late in june when the madras sailed up the thames, and as soon as she came to anchor the two officers and their followers landed. the din and bustle of the streets seemed almost as strange to charlie as they had done when he came up a boy from yarmouth. hossein was astonished at the multitude of white people, and inquired of charlie why, when there were so many men, england had sent so few soldiers to fight for her in india, and for once charlie was unable to give a satisfactory reply. "it does seem strange," he said to peters, "that when such mighty interests were at stake, a body of even ten thousand troops could not have been raised and sent out. such a force would have decided the struggle at once, and in three months the great possessions, which have cost the company twelve years' war, would have been at their feet. it would not have cost them more, indeed, nothing like as much as it now has done, nor one tithe of the loss in life. somehow england always seems to make war in driblets." charlie knew that his mother and kate had for some years been residing at a house which their uncle had taken in the fashionable quarter of chelsea. they looked in at the office, however, to see if charlie's uncle was there, but found that he was not in the city, and, indeed, had now almost retired from the business. they there- fore took a coach, placed the small articles of luggage which they had brought with them from the ship on the front seats, and then, hossein and tim taking their places on the broad seat beside the driver, they entered the coach and drove to chelsea. charlie had invited peters, who had no home of his own, to stay with him, at least for a while. both were now rich men, from their shares of the prize-money of the various forts and towns in whose capture they had taken part, although charlie possessed some twenty thousand pounds more than his welcome! friend, this being the amount of the presents he had re- ceived from the rajah of ambur. alighting from the carriage, charlie ran up to the door and knocked. inquiring for mrs. marryat, he was shown into a room in which a lady, somewhat past middle age, and three younger ones were sitting. they looked up in surprise as the young man entered. ten years had changed him almost beyond recognition, but one of the younger ones at once leaped to her feet and exclaimed, "charlie!" his mother rose with a cry of joy, and threw herself into his arms. after rapturously kissing her he turned to the others. their faces were changed, yet all seemed equally familiar to him, and in his delight he equally embraced them all. "hullo!" he exclaimed, when he freed himself from their arms. "why, there are three of you! what on earth am i doing? i have somebody's pardon to beg, and yet, although your faces are changed, they seem equally familiar to me. which is it? but i need not ask," he said, as a cloud of colour flowed over the face of one of the girls, while the others smiled mischiev- ously. "you are katie," he said, "and you are lizzie, cer- tainly, and this is—why, it is ada! this is a surprise, indeed; but i shan't beg your pardon, ada, for i kissed you at parting, and quite intended to do so when i met again, at least if you had offered no violent objection how you are all grown and changed, while you, mother, look scarcely older than when i left you. but, there, i have quite forgotten peters. he has come home with me, and will stay till he has formed his own plans." he hurried out and brought in peters, who, not wish- ing to be present at the family meeting, had been paying the coachman, and seeing to the things being brought into the house. he was warmly received by the ladies, a happy party. as the friend and companion of charlie in his adventures, scarcely a letter having been received from the latter without mention having been made of his comrade. in a minute or two mr. tufton, who had been in the large garden behind the house, hurried in. he was now quite an old man, and under the influence of age and the cheerful society of mrs. marryat and her daughters, he had lost much of the pomposity which had before dis- tinguished him. "ah! nephew," he said, when the happy party had sat down to dinner, their number increased by the arrival of mrs. haines, who had a house close by, "wilful lads will go their own way. i wanted to make a rich mer- chant of you, and you have made of yourself a famous soldier. but you've not done badly for yourself after all, for you have in your letters often talked about prize- money." "yes, uncle, i have earned in my way close upon a hundred thousand pounds, and i certainly shouldn't have made that if i had stuck to the office at madras, even with the aid of the capital you offered to lend me to trade with on my own account." there was a general exclamation of surprise and plea- sure at the mention of the sum, although this amount was small in comparison to that which many acquired in those days in india. "and you're not thinking of going back again, charlie?" his mother said anxiously. "there can be no longer any reason for your exposing yourself to that horrible climate, and that constant fighting." "the climate is not so bad, mother, and the danger and excitement of a soldier's life there at present render it very fascinating. but i have done with it. peters and i intend, on the expiration of our leave, to resign our commissions in the company's service, and to settle down under our own vines and fig-trees. tim has already katie's opinion. elected himself to the post of my butler, and hossein intends to be my valet and body-servant." immediately after their arrival charlie had brought in his faithful followers and introduced them to the ladies, who, having often heard of their devotion and faithful services, had received them with a kindness and cordiality which had delighted them. lizzie, whose appearance at home had been unexpected by charlie, for her husband was a landed gentleman at sevenoaks, in kent, was, it appeared, paying a visit of a week to her mother, and her three children, two boys and a little girl, were duly brought down to be shown to, and admired by, their uncle charles. "and how is it you haven't married, katie? with such a pretty face as yours it is scandalous that the men have allowed you to reach the mature age of twenty-two unmarried." "it is the fault of the hussy herself," mr. tufton said. "it is not from want of offers, for she has had a dozen, and among them some of the nobility at court; for it is well known that john tufton's niece will have a dowry such as many of the nobles could not give to their daughters." "this is too bad, kate," charlie said laughing. "what excuse have you to make for yourself for remaining single with all these advantages of face and fortune?" "simply that i didn't like any of them," katie said. "the beaux of the present day are contemptible. i would as soon think of marrying a wax doll. when i do marry, that is, if ever i do, it shall be a man, and not a mere tailor's dummy." "you are pert, miss," her uncle said. "do what i will, charlie, i cannot teach the hussy to order her tongue." "katie's quite right, uncle," charlie laughed. "and i must make it my duty to find a man who will suit her blackie & son's books for young people. new series for season . by g. a. henty. with clive in india: ob the beginnings of an empire. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. manville fenn. the golden magnet: a tale of the land of the incas. by ascott r. hope. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by john c. hutcheson. picked up at sea: ob the gold miners of mintirne creek. blackie & son's new publications. by alice hall. cheep and chatter: ob lessons from field and tree. by lewis hough. dr. jolliffe's boys: . a tale of weston school. by henry frith jack o' lanthorn: by rosa mulholland. hetty gray: or nobody's baton. by george sand. translated from thk french by mrs. corkran. the wings of courage: and the cloud- spinner. a tale of adventure. by kate wood. a waif of the sea: ob the lost found. by annie e. armstrong. madge's mistake: a recollection of girlhood. t blackie & son's new publications. with clive in india: or the beginnings of an empire. by g. a. hexty, author of "facing death," " under drake's flag," "the young buglers," &c. avith full-page illustrations printed in black and tint. in crown vo, cloth elegant, bevelled boards, olivine edges, *. the period between tho landing of clivo as a young writer in india and the close of his career was critical and eventful in the extreme. at its commencement tho english wero traders existing on sufferance of the native princes. at its close they were masters of bengal and of the greater part of southern india. tho author has given a full and accurate account of the historical events of that stirring time, and battles and sieges follow each other in rapid succession, while he combines with his narrative a tale of daring and adventure, which gives a lifelike interest to the volume. the golden magnet: a tale of the land of the incas. by geo. manville fekn, author of " in the king's name," " nat the naturalist," "off to the wilds," &c. with full-page pictures printed in black and tint. in crown vo, cloth elegant, bevelled boards, olivine edges, «. this is a story of adventure such as will be sure to be attractive to most lads of quick imagination, and like most of mr. fenn's stories it contains gonuine doscriptivo passages and accurate touches of natural history, which not only incroaso its interest but enhance its value. the tale is of a romantic lad who leaves home where his father conducts a failing busi- ness to seek his fortune in south america, first by finding his uncle, who is owner of a coffee plantation on the banks of tho orinoco; and secondly by endeavouring to discover some of that treasure which legends declare was ages ago hidden by the peruvian rulers and the priests of that myste- rious country, to preserve it from the spanish invaders. the hero of the story is accompanied by a faithful companion, who, in the capacity both of comrade and henchman, does true service and shows the dogged courage of the english lad during the strange adventures which befall them. tho plot of the story is simple, but the movement is rapid and full of strange excitement. there are few lads who will not follow it with keen enjoyment from beginning to end. blacme & son's new publications. under drake's flag. a tale of the spanish main. by g. a. henty, author of "the young buglers," " the cornet of horse," "in times of peril," &c . illustrated by full-page pictures printed in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, bevelled boards, price qs. "under drake's flag," is a story of the days when england and spain struggled for the supremacy of the sea, and england carried off the palm. the heroes of the story sail as lads with drake in the expedition in which the pacific ocean was first seen by an englishman from a tree-top on the isthmus of panama, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. the historical portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but this, although very useful to lads, will perhaps bo less attractive than the great variety of exciting adventure through which the young adventurers pass in tho course of their voyages. "a stirring book of drake's time, and just such a book as the youth of this mari- time country are likely to prize highly."—daily telegraph. in the king's name: or the cruise of the kestrel. by g. manville fenn, author of " off to the wilds," "middy and ensign," &c. illustrated by full-page pictures printed in black and tint. crown vo, cloth extra, bevelled boards, price *. "in the king's name" is a spirited story of the jacobite times, con- cerning tho adventures of hilary leigh, a young naval officer in the preventive service off tho coast of sussex, on board tho kestrel. leigh is taken prisoner by the adherents of the pretender, amongst whom is an early friend and patron who desires to spare the lad's life, but will not release him. the narrative is full of exciting and often humorous incident. "mr. manville form baa already won a foremost place among writers of stories for boys. 'in the king's name' is, we are inclined to think, the best of all his pro- ductions in this held. it haa the great quality of always * moving on'—adventure following adventure in constant succession."—daily new. "told with the freshness and nerve which characterize all mr. fenn* writing* and put him in the front rank of writers for boys,"—otuhdaril g blackie & son's new publications. by sheer pluck: a tale of the ashanti war. by g. a. hehty, author of " facing death," "under drake's flag," " the march to coomassie," &c . with full-page illustrations printed in black and tint. in crown vo, cloth elegant, bs. tho ashanti campaign seems but an evont of yesterday, but it happened when tho generation now rising up were too young to have made them- selves acquainted with its incidents. tho author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the details of tho campaign, of which ho was himself a witness. his hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, finds himself at coomassie just before the outbreak of the war, is detained a prisoner by tho king, is sent down with the army which invaded the british protectorate, escapes, and accompanies tho english expedition on their march to coomassie. the wigwam and the war-path: stories of the red indians. by ascott b. hope, author of "stories of old renown," "buttons," &c. with full-page pictures by gordon browne, printed in black and tint in crown vo, cloth elegant, «. tho interest taken by boys in stories of the north american indians is probably as keen as ever. at all events the works of fenimore cooper and other writers about tho red men and tho wild hunters of the forests and prairies aro still among the most popular of boys' books. "the wigwam and tho war-path " consists of stories of rod indians which are none tho less romantic for being true. they aro taken from the actual records of those who have been made prisoners by the red men or have lived among thom, joining in their expeditions and taking part in their semi-savage but often picturesque and adventurous life. the stories are conscientiously told, and may be regarded as truthful pictures of scenes, events, and occurrences which are full of interest not only for youthful readers, but in a great measure for those of older growth. blackie & son's new publications. stories of old renown. tales of knights and heroes, by ascott r. hope, author of "spindle stories," "the old tales of chivalry," "stories of long ago," &c. &c. with nearly illustrations, of which are full-page size, from drawings by gordon browne. crown vo, cloth elegant, design on side, bevelled boards, olivine edges, *. a series of the beat of the stories of noble knighthood and old ro- mance, told in refined and simple language, and adapted to young readers. a book possessing remarkable boys who love to hear of great deeds and nown. attractions, especially for enterprises or high re- 'ascott r. hoiw here breaks new ground, and he deserves as much credit for his t of subject as for his mode of treatment."—a- "ogier the dane, robert of sicily, and other old-world heroes find their deeds embedded in beautiful type, and garnished witb animated sketches by gordon browne. it is a charming gift book."—land and water, "mr. hope's style is quite in accord with his theme, and the simplicity with which he recounts these stories of old renown' is by no means the least part of their attractiveness. mr. gordon browne has furnished some excellent drawings to illustrate the text, in many of which we recognize the touch of his late father, mr. hablot k. browne, and these drawings recall the time when *phiz* was at his freshest and his beet."—pictorial world, lo blackk & son's new publications. picked up at sea: or the gold miners of minturne creek, and other stories. by john c. hutcheson, author of "caught in a trap," "the penang pirate," &c. with full-page pictures in colour. in crown vo, cloth extra, s. (id. "picked up at sea," is tho story of a young english lad, rescued in mid atlantic from a watery grave, and taken out west by a party of gold diggers to the wild regions of tho black hills in dakota. hero, after warring with tho clemonts during months of unceasing toil in their search for the riches of the earth, and having the result of their indefatigable labour well nigh torn from their grasp when on the verge of victory by a desperate onslaught of sioux braves under " spotted tail," success at last rewards the efforts of the adventurous band and their protege-. the talc abounds in exciting scenes and stirring incidents—about mining mishaps, shooting exploits, and fights with the hostile indians,—all tending to show that pluck and perseverance when allied to a good cause invariably win in the long run all tho world over. the remainder of the book consists of spicy yarns of life afloat and ashore by an "old salt," detailing adventures amongst pirates and brigands, cut-throats and mutineers, in which heroism comes out in rolicf as opposed to cowardice and cravenly fear; while the dangors of tho deep and tho perils of those who " go down to the soa in ships " are not forgotten. de. jolliffe's boys: a tale of weston school. by lewis hough, author of "phil crawford," &c. with full-page pictures in black and tint. in crown vo, cloth extra., s. (id. a story of school life which will bo read with genuine interest, especially as it exposes some of the dangers which even in these days of high instruc- tion may beset lads who aro ill instructed at home or nave been thrown among vicious or unscrupulous companions. the descriptions of some of the characters of the boys at dr. jolliffc's aro vivid and truthful,—that of the worst boy being not too revolting, although it is necessarily painful as conveying a very distinct impression which should be useful in warning lads against giving way to overweening personal conceit and envy of the achievements of others. perhaps the best touch in the book is the subtle description of the manner in which the best boy may exhibit weakness of purpose and some meannesses under the influence of flattery and of tempo- rary luxury. the narrative throughout is bright, easy, and lighted by touches of humour, and tho plot is so well sustainod that tho reader goes on to tho end without abatement of the keen interest which is provoked in the very first chapter. blackie <st son's new publications. garnered sheaves. a tale for boys. by mrs. emma baymond pitman, author of "mission life in greece and palestine," &c. with full- page illustrations printed in black and tint crown vo, cloth extra, price *. d. this tale gives in narrative form the history and adventures of a class of sunday-school boys. each boy's career is full of interest. in some chapters we are taken to america, during the civil war, and mingle in scenes relat- ing to the battle-field; while, in other chapters, we listen to the quiet teachings of one of god's faithful servants, who strove to "garner sheaves for christ." the wide difference between tho honourable upright youth, and one who is clever and cunning, but dishonest, is here depicted by incidents from the life; and it is proved that "godliness hath promise of the life that now is," as well as of that which is to come. from this tale sunday- school teachers may learn that their " labour shall not be in vain in the lord." '"garnered heaves' is a charming story of the after life and labours of two sunday-school scholars whose careers were diverse in their character and influence." —christian union. "the incidents are well depicted, and the characters are true to lifa . . . we shall be glad of more such sheaves as these."—freeman. "it should be read by every youth who is leaving school and home for business."— literary world. my governess' life: or earning my living. by mrs. emma raymond pitman( author of "mission life in greece and palestine," "heroines of the mission field," "vestina's martyrdom," "profit and loss," &c. &c. with full-page illustrations. cloth neat, s. d. this story, told in the first person, is largely concerned with a young woman cast upon the world by ner father's death, and compelled to earn her living by the exercise of whatever talent she possesses. some of the minor characters in the narrative are skilfully depicted, notably the old cornish couple who figure in the little methodist chapel; and the young man of science, who is shown to have missed his way in substituting science for faith in a personal god, but by painful chastening is recovered and led to the cross of christ as a humble believer. finally, he marries the heroine of the story, and turns out a good and useful man. the aged clergyman is a fine specimen of culture and christian charity. the scenes of boarding-school life here depicted are full of vivacity and reality. blackis & son's new publications. life's daily ministry. a story of everyjay service for others. by mrs. emma ray- mond pitman, author of "mission life iu greece and p;des- tine," " heroines of the mission field," "vestina's martyr- dom," "profit and loss," &c. &c . with full-page illustrations printed in black and tint. crown vo, cloth neat, s. d. a story of solf-sacrifice in various forms, and of some touching expe- riences of life. some of the characters are very attractive, others very repulsive; but all tend to show that true honour and happiness are to be found in serving others, according to our capacity, and so imitating him *' who went about doing good." some experiences of a sincere and gifted, but doubting youth, helpless through spinal disoase and destined to early death, and his attainment of faith, light, and peace, are peculiarly affect- ing. his brother, the medical student, is eventually brought back to faith in his mother's god, after wandering very far in sin and folly. olive forrester, the chief heroine of the story, presents an example of saintly self-denial for the sake of her dead sister's children. florence godfrey's faith. a story of australian life. by mrs. emma raymond pitman, author of " heroines of the mission field," &c . with . full- page illustrations printed in black and tint. crown vo, cloth extra, price *. d. this tale traces the career and adventures of a family who were forced to leave manchester during tho time of the cotton famine, and seek a home in australian wilds. florence, the central character of the story, is a very lovely one; and in spite of girlish timidity, girlish fear, and natural shrink- ing, succeeds in raising a christian church in the wilderness. the story teaches the lesson of perseverance in well-doing, and shows how faithful effort is rewarded. "this ia a clever, and what ib better still, a good book, written with & freshness and power which win the reader's sympathies, and carry the story along unflagginglj to the close."—christian olobe. m a story which will be eagerly read by boys, and which can hardly foil to promote the growth of a manly type of christian character."—literary world. "this is a very interesting book, and a suitable present for young men or women. the influence of the tale is pure and bracing."—freeman. "mrs. pitman's works are all to be prized for their ennobling character-pure, elevating, interesting, and intellectual."—christian union, blackie & son's new publications. brother and sister: or the trials of the moore family. by elizabeth j. lysaqht, author of "nearer and dearer," &c. with full-page illus- trations in black and tint. crown vo, cloth gilt, price s. d. an interesting story for young people, showing by the narrative of the vicissitudes and struggles of a family which has "come down in'the world," and of the brave endeavours of its two younger membors, how the pressure of adversity is mitigated by domestic affection, mutual confidence, and hopeful honest effort. "a pretty story, and veil told. the plot is cleverly constructed, and the moral is excellent."—athenaum. "a charming story, admirably adapted for young people, which relates the brave endeavours of the two youngest members of a family which has become reduced in circumstances to mitigate the pressure of adversity."—society. dora: or a girl without a home. by mrs. b. h. bead, author of "the lawyer's daughter," &c. &c. with full-page illus- trations. crown vo, cloth elegant, s. d. the story of a friendless orphan girl, who is placed as pupil-teacher at the school in which she was educated, but is suddenly removed by hard and selfish relatives, who employ her as a menial as well as a govorness. through a series of exciting adventures sho makes discoveries respecting a large property which is restored to its rightful owners, and at the same time she secures her escape from her persecutors. the character of dora is a very sweet one, and the interest of the story is so sustained that it can scarcely fail to please the reader. unravelled skeins: or tales for the twilight. by gregson gow. illustrated by four facsimile designs in black and tint. crown vo, cloth elegant, price *. c?. "for a volume of neat stories carefully told commend as to this."—scotsman. myths and legends of ancient greece and rome a hand-book of greek and boman mythology, by e. m. berens. illustrated from antique sculptures in a highly interesting and instructive manner. cloth elegant, price ' s. d. "written in a spirit of reverent sympathy and of well-sustained interest, while its absolute purity should secure it a place in every family."— schoolmaster. blackie & son's new publications. jack ' lanthorn. a tale of adventure. by henry frith, author of "through flood, through fire," "on the wings of the wind," &c. with full-page illustrations, printed in black and tint. in crown vo, cloth elegant, if. d. this is a story which will be chiohy attractive to boys, and most boys will read it with gonuiae interest, for it is told in a straightforward fashion by the hero himself, a lad whose father was a bristol tradesman in the days when george the third was king, and when "jack the painter" was trying to set fire to the shipping in government dockyards. the boy, who tells his own history, gets into certain scrapes, and at the sea-coast makes the acquaintance of jack o' lanthorn, a sailor and the keeper of a light- ship. the lad and a companion accidentally drifting out to sea in an open boat, discover in a singular manner the approach of the spanish fleet, and jack o' lanthorn accompanies the hero of the tale to report what they have seen. seized by a press-gang they are taken off to sea, and eventu- ally take part in the defence of gibraltar, and have some strange adventures of their own. the author of the book has not only kept closely to the history of the time, but has preserved the speech and manner of the narrator. the episodes are striking, the plot full of peculiar interest, and there have been few books published recently which so well represent the spirit of those entertaining stories of tho sea which made the reputation of marryat and of the author of "tom cringle's log." a waif of the sea: or, the lost found. by kate wood, author of "lory bell," &c . with full-page illustrations. in small vo, cloth extra, s. d. "a waif of the sea" is the kind of story which is likely to enlist the sympathies of a large number of readers, for it deals very pathetically with the sorrows and trials of children, and of mothers who aro separated from their children. with a gentle and affecting strain of religious feeling which is neither too prominent nor too precise, tho narrativo is full of human interest, and the lives and struggles of the people of a poor london neighbourhood are well portrayed without unnecessary coarseness on the one hand or a too romantic colouring on the other. the child-character of "little birdie" and her short but affecting story will attract and delight many readers, while tho grown-up personages in the book are very accurately and pleasingly drawn. one of the charms of the story is its easy transition from town to country, and the freshness imparted to the descriptive touches both of "golden square" and of the "old manor house." c blackie & son's new publications. episodes of the sea in former days: records of suffering and saving. a book for boys. with engraved title and frontispiece. cloth elegant, *. d. stories of shipwreck, famine, mutiny, and the other misfortunes which befall the mariner, will always be appreciated by those who love to read of deeds of daring, and to ponder on the lessons which may be drawn from thorn. this volume comprises narratives of occurrences which have become historical, such as the ever-memorable mutiny of the bounty, and many others of equal interest. episodes of captivity and exile in various parts of europe. a book for boys. with engraved title and frontispiece. cloth elegant, *. d. captivity and escape is at all times an attractive subject for youthful minds, presenting as it does to them scenes of adventurous daring, hard- ship, and suffering, calculated to excite their natural ardour and draw forth thoir ready sympathies. the talos embodied in this volume will bo found to comprise those of the most fascinating description. episodes of history: stirring incidents in the lives of men and nations. a book for youth. with engraved title and frontispiece. cloth elegant, *. d. in the compilation of this volume the object has been to give a series of sketches stretching over a long term of time, rather than a finished picture of any definite period. these have been collected during an extensive course of reading, and the only attempt made at classification has been to place the articles in chronological order. episodes of discovery in all ages. a book for youth. with engraved title and frontispiece. cloth extra, *. d. in this work will bo found accounts of a few of the most famous dis- coverers and explorers of former days. the materials from which this volume has been compiled were gathered from scarce records and other trustworthy sources; and the wholo forms a series of incidents of unex- ampled interest in the world's history. blackie & son's new publications. adventures of mrs. wishing-to-be. by alice corkran, author of "latheby towers," &c. with full-page pictures in colours. crown vo, cloth extra, s. the strange adventures of a very young lady, showing how she met with the wonderful people of nursery legend and the manner of her introduction to them. a tale for the little ones. "simply a charming book for little girls. we have a good deal of confidence hi recommending the book, which is, moreover, well illustrated."—saturday review. naughty miss bunny: her tricks and troubles. a story for little children. with illustrations in colours. by clara mulholland. crown vo, cloth extra, price s. this is a book which will amuse quite little folks, as a story of the way- ward tricks of a spoiled child, and tho scrapes into which they lead her. the story consists of small incidents such as please small listeners, who will be interested not only in miss bunny's naughtiness, but in her reformation. "this naughty child is positively delightful. papas should not omit * naughty miss bunny' from their list of juvenile presents."—land and water. new light through old windows. a series of stories illustrating fables of - ssop. by gregson gow. with full-page pictures in colours. crown vo, cloth extra, is. a series of stories designed to bring before the young mind, in a new and entertaining form, some of the shreds of wit and wisdom which have come down to us from ancient times in the guise of fables. although amusement has been a chief end aimed at, most of the tales will bo found to suggest some important truth, or teach some sound lesson in practical morality. "racy, pointed, and fitted to delight young folks."—freeman. "entertaining for young and old alike."—ltfc madge's mistake. a recollection of girlhood. by annie e. armstrong. with coloured illustrations. small vo, cloth extra, is. d. this is a lively, interesting little story, the characters are well marked, and the plot, although simple, is so well worked out as to lead the reader, young or old, on to the last word. blackie & son's new publications. troubles and triumphs of little tim. a city story. by gregson gow, author of "tales for the twilight" with two illustrations in colour. foolscap vo, pp., cloth extra, is. d. "htrong in character and full of incident, and the narrative all through u in- teresting and touching."—edinburgh daily review. "an unmistakable undercurrent of sympathy with the struggles of the poor, and an ability to describe their feelings under various circumstances, eminently charac- teristic of dickens, are marked features in mr. cow's story."—a'orta briiitk mail the happy lad. a story of feasant life in norway. from the norwegian of bjornstjerne bjornson. with frontispiece in colour. fools- cap vo, pp., cloth extra, *. d. "the lad is happy from being a plucky boy, a good son, and a successful lover."— glatgoic herald. into the haven. by amnie s. swan, author of " shadow lives," "thankful best," &c. with two illustrations printed in colour. foolscap vo, pp., cloth extra, is. d. "no story more attractive ... by reason of its breezy freshness and unforced pathos, as well as for the wholesome practical lessons it conveys."—christian leader. box of stories. packed for young folk by horace happyman. a series of interesting tales for the young. with illustrations printed in colours. foolscap vo, pp., cloth extra, is. d. jeanne d'arc, the patriot martyr: and other narratives of female heroism in peace and war. illustrated by pictures printed in colours. foolscap vo, cloth extra, is. gel. blackie & son's new publications. fireside fairies and flower fancies: stories for girls. with frontispiece in colour. f'cap vo, pp., cloth extra, price *. "nine stories are included, all for girls, encouraging them to try and do their duty. young servants would find this book very interesting."—tht schoolmutrest. to the sea in ships: stories of suffering and saving at sea. with frontis- piece in colour. f'cap vo, pp., cloth extra, price *. "to the sea in shipt records several noted disasters at sea, such as the foundering of the london and the wreck of the a tlantic. it also contains narratives of success- ful rescues. this is a capital book for boys."—school guardian. jack's victory: and other stories about dogs. with frontispiece in colour. f'cap vo, pp., cloth extra, price *. "every boy, and some girls, take great delight in reading about dogs. well, jack was a dog; a famous and wonderful one, too. ho became leader of a team in green- land, and some rare exploits he took part in. he would not steep in a house; he would not bide from an enemy; he would not harm the defenceless. besides ' jack's victory' there are ten other stories about dogs in this volume. these narratives are not old ones, but are fresh and pleasing."—the schoolmistrest. the story of a king, told by one of his soldiers. with frontispiece in colour. f'cap vo, pp., cloth extra, price *. "this book recounts the boyhood and reign of charles xii. of sweden. the wars in which he was engaged and the extraordinary victories he won are well described, and equally so are the misfortunes which latterly came on him and his kingdom through bis uncontrollable wilfulness."—aberdeen journal. bhckie & son's new publications. little daniel: a story of a flood on the rhine. with frontispiece in colour, f'cap vo, pp., cloth extra, price is. "a simple and touching story of a flood on the rhino, told as well as george eliot bo graphically wrote of the mill on the fioss."—governus. prince alexis: a tale of old bussia. with frontispiece in colour. f'cap vo, pp., cloth extra, price is. this is a legend wrought into a story, rendering a fiction of life in russia, something more than a hundred years ago; a state of things which, as the author says, "is now impossible, and will soon become incrodible." it i- like a romance of old bagdad, in which the colouring and the charac- ters and manners are russian instead of arabian. sasha the serf, and other stories of eussian life. with frontispiece in colour. f'cap vo, pp., cloth extra, price *. tho stories in the volume comprise:—the life of sasha, a poor boy who, by his love of knowledge and his industry, saved the life of his lord, and finally roso to wealth and gained his freedom,—incidents of remarkable personal bravery in the russian army,—an interesting story of humble life in russia,— a story of russian mining lifo,—a bear-hunt in russia, :c. &c. true stories of foreign history. a series of interesting tales. with frontispiece printed in colours. f'cap vo, pp., cloth extra,'price *. the book contains stories—of some of tho early printers,—how quentin matsys the antwerp smith becamo a groat painter,—the rise and fall of jean ango the fisherman of dieppe,—the early trials of fritz kiirner the tailor's son, who could not learn his father's trado but who became commander-in-chief of the brunswick forces,—of polish patriotism,—tho heroism of casabianca tho little french midshipman, &c. &c. ,-' blackie & saris new publications. mffibi the little brown bird: a story of industry. with frontispiece in colours. medium vo, cloth elegant, price d. this book contains two tales, tha first intended to inculcate habits of industry, and the other to show that mediocrity with perseverance achieves a more honourable career than " talent" wasted or misapplied. the maid of domremy: and other tales. with frontispiece in colours. medium vo, cloth elegant, price qd. "the maid of domromy" is in fact joan of arc, whose story is well ren- dered into something less than twenty pages. other sections of the little volume treat of the "feast of cherries; "something about royal chil- dren;" "the black douglas;" "what a boy did," and "johanna sebus." these are all narratives of fact. little eeic: a story of honesty. with frontispiece in colours. medium vo, cloth elegant, price d. this is a pure juvenile fiction, illustrative of truthfulness and honesty. it is full of interest from beginning to ond, and well suited as a reward book for sunday schools. uncle ben the whaler: and other stories. with frontispiece in colours. medium vo, cloth elegant, price d. "uncle ben the whaler" is an "old salt" who tells a group of children a very interesting tale of his careor as a seaman in the arctic waters. the other stories in the volumo are:—three iiandfuls of grain,—the golden rule,—the broken jar. blackie & son's new publications. the palace of luxury: and other stories. with frontispiece in colours. medium vo, cloth elegant, price rf. a youth named seekpeace is shown under the guidance of the fairy pureheart all the deceptions in the palace of luxury,—madam sunshine's parable about the swan of fortune,—the colorado beetle's talk with the weathercock,—and other short amusing stories. the charcoal burner: or kindness repaid. with frontispiece in colours. medium vo, cloth elegant, price c?. this is a most interesting story of a poor charcoal-burner in a german forest, who discovers and relieves a wounded officer, and is himself after- wards strangely delivered from death by the same officer. the tale incul- cates the duty of always showing kindness and of forgiving an injury. willie black: a story of doing right. with frontispiece in colours. medium vo, cloth elegant, price qd. it is a tale of a little shoe-black to whom a gentleman gave half-a-crown by mistake for a penny, and it shows all the good that came to this little boy through soeking to restore the silver coin to its owner. proving how it is always best to do right. the horse and his ways: stories of man and his best friend. with frontispiece in colours. medium vo, cloth elegant, price oj. a series of interesting anecdotes about the courage of the horse; ita friendship, its docility, its sagacity, and its power of memory. a new series op fourpenny reward books. each paget, ismo, illustrated, in picture boards. brave and true. by gregson cow. poor tom olliver. by julia goddard. the children and the water-lily. by julia goddard. johnnie tupper's temptation. by gregsok gow. fritz's experiment. by letitia m'clintock. climbing the hill. by annie s. swan. a year at coverley. by annie s. swan. lucy's christmas-box: or, how georgie found his cousin. %• these littlo books have been specially written with the aim of inculcating some sound moral,such as obedience to parents, love for brothers and sisters, kindness to animals, perseverance and diligence leading to success, kc. &c. blackie & sun's book list. approved by the science and art department, south kensington. yere roster's jdrawing £opy-books. with instructions and paper to draw on. superior edition, in numbers, at d. popular edition (a selection) at \d. complete edition, in twelve parts, at is. (each part complete in itself.) fart i—elementary. al initiatory lessons. a letters and numerals. b familiar objects (straight lineal b domestic objects (simple). part ii.- bject . domestic objects (flati. domestic objects (perspective). dl leaves (flat). da leaves (natural). part ltx—plants. el plants (simple forms). ea plants (more complex forms). g flowers (simple forms). g flowers (more complex forms). part iv.-orhament. elementary forms. is simple forms (fretwork, ironwork, ac ) advanced (carving, sculpture, ac.). ornament (classic, renaissance, ac.). part v.-trees. jl oak, fir, ac., with "tonch" for each tree. j s beech. elm, ac., do. do. j oak, cbestnat, bireb. ac., do. do. j larch, poplar, lime, wiuow. ac., do. part vl—landscape. kl rustic landscape in outline. kl shaded objects and landscape. k shaded landscape and rustic scenes. k i advanced landscape and rural scenes. part vh.-marine. ml boats, foregrounds, and nautical bits. ms fishing craft, coasters, and traders. m yachts and vessels of every rig and sail. ml coast scenes, waves, ac. farts viii and ix-animals. birds and quadrupeds. a poultry, various breeds, british small birds. british wild animals. horses (arab, hunter, dray, ac.). horses (racer, trotter, pony, mule, ac). dogs (seventeen species). cattle, sheep, pigs, goats, ac . otf cattle, sheep, lambs, ass and foal, ac. foreign wild animals aud birds. part x-human figure. q features (from the antique and from the life)- q _ heads. hands, ac. (from cast and life). q rustic figures, by duncan. q figure, from the antique (outline). part xl-practical geometry. rl definitions and simple problems. r practical geometry (circle. polygon, eillpse). r applied geometry for practical mechaniet,t£c- fart xel-mechanical drawing. ti initiatory and simple subjects. ta details of tools and working parts, ac. t models for working drawings, ac. t i details of machines and engines. z blank exercise book. popular edition, a selection of the above numbers printed on thin paper, price id. each number. the following are in print:—a, , c, d, e , e:j, o li, , , j , kl, ml, m , , , , o , q, rl, u , r , r , tl, t , to, t , ts, z. *' if any parent who reads these lines has a boy or girl who wishes to learn how to be an artist, let us boldly recommend vera foster's drawing book. it is not only the cheapest but by far the beat that we have seen."—graphic. "it would he difficult to over-rate the value of this work-a work that is not to be estimated by its cost: one is great, the other very small."—ah journal. national competition in writing and drawing. mr. verb foster has awarded prizes for writing and drawing for manv tears. prizes, in sums of from bx. to £ . have been already distributed, amounting to about £ . list of prize-takers for last year and scheme for the fourteenth annual competition, , will be sent post free on application to mr. verb foster, belfast, or to the publishers. blackie & son's book list. sanctioned bv the committee of council on education* poyntee's jsouth j^ensington prawing-jbook. this new series of drawing-books has been issued under the direct superintendence of £. j. foyntf.k, r.a., who hu selected the examples for the moit part from object* in the south kensington museum. the original drawings have been made under mr. poynter's supervision by pupils of the national art training school. freehand drawing. bach book hat fine cartridge paper to draw on. freehand, elementary. simple forms, leaves, and flowers. four books, m. each. freehand, first grade. simple objects, ornament (flat and perspective). six books, qd. each. freehand, second grade. ornament (greek, renaissance, ac ). four books, if. each. tub samb subjects on cabds. elementary freehand cards, four packets, price d. each. first grade freehand cards, six „ „ if. od. „ , econd grade freehand cards, four „ „ la. fid. „ "the choice of subjects is admirable; there is not an ugly drawing in the book, and the infinite variety of curves that may be found in glass-work, porcelain, shells, scroll-work, mimical instruments, ac., is illustrated with great skill in mr. poynter's models."—pall mali gazette. "mr. poynter's is probably the beet series of the kind yet published.**— the academy. elementary human figure. each book hat fine cartridge paper to draw on. book f.—michael angelo's " david"—features (eye, nose, etc.). price sixpence. books ii. and iii.—hands and feet. in preparation. the subjects of these books are taken from actual examples in the south kensington museum. they are executed in fac timiu of charcoal drawings. elementary perspective drawing. by . j. cahtlidoe, lecturer in the national art training school, south kensington. four books, if. each. book !i } *ot grade examination of the department. jutt ready. book iii.—accidental vanishing points. ) book iv.-"-— - f /» active preparation. books for young readers suitable fob prizes, rewards, gifts, &c . classified according to price. all elegantly bound in extra cloth. "the books are not too fine to be bandied. they are good serviceable volumes for reading; but besides this they are issued with a degree of taste and artistic finish uhirh make them rank among the most prised visitors of the season. messrs. blackie a son are new workers in this field of literature, but at the first step they have equalled their ablest competitors.'' —ihtxiiniss coraira. book at s. d. the universe; or, the infinitely great and infinitely little. by f. a. pouchbt, m.d. books at s. with clive in india. by g. a. henty. under drake's flag. by g. a. henty. the golden magnet. by g. manvtlle easy studies in water-color, with fenn. coloured plates. in the king's name. by g. manvule sketches in water-color, with plates. fens. books at s. by sheer pluck. by g. a. hentt. stories of old renown. by ascott e. the wigwam and the war-path. by hope illustrated by gordon browne. ascott r. hope. nat the naturalist. by g. manville facing death. by g. a. henty. fknn. books at s. d. cheep and chatter. by alice hah. picked up at sea. by j. c. hutcheson. dr. joluffe's boys. by lewis hooqh. brother and sister. by mrs. lysaoht. dora, by lire. r. h. read. garnered sheaves. by mrs. e. r pit- man. life's daily ministry. by mrs. pitman. florence godfrey's faith. by mrs. pit- man. my governess life. by mrs. pitman unravelled skeins. by grboson gow. myths and legends of ancient greece and rome. book at s. simple lessons in water-color, with plates. books at s. d. jack o' lanthorn. by henry frith. episodes of captivity and exile. a waif of the sea. by kate wood. episodes of personal adventure. hetty gray. by rosa mcldolland. episodes of history. the ball of fortune. by chas. pbarce. episodes of discovery in all ages. the family falling. by dari.ey dale. the newspaper reader. episodes of the sea in former days. the british biographical reader. episodes of foreign life and manners. london past and present. mackie & son's books for young readers. books at s. the wings of courage. by george sand. four little mischiefs. by rosa mtjl- hollard. our dolly. by mrs. r. h. read. fairy fancy. by sirs. r. h. read. books at is. d. by annie e. / mrs. wishin s-to-be. by alice cokkran new light through old windows. by oreoson oow. naughty miss bunny. by clara ucl- hollakd. madge's mistake. strong. troubles and triumphs of little tim. by greoson oow. the happy lad. by bj rn n. into the haven. by annie . st ah. box of stories. packed by horace happyxan. the patriot martyr: and other narrative* of female heroism. books at is. the new boy at merrlton. the blind boy of dresden and his sister. jon of iceland: a true story. stories from shakespeare. every man in his place. fireside fairies and flower fancies. to the sea in ships. little daniel: a story of a flood on the rhine. books the little brown bird: astory of industry. the maid of domremy: and other tales. little eric: a story of honesty. uncle ben the whaler: and other stories. the palace of luxury: and other stories. the charcoal-burner: or, kindness re- paid. jack's victory: and other stories abont dogs. the story of a king: told by one of his soldiers. prince alexis, or "beauty and the beast." sasha the serf: stories of russian life. true stories of foreign history. at d. willy black: a story of doing right the horse and his ways. the shoemaker's present: a legendary story. lights to walk by: stories for the young. the little merchant: and other stories. nicholina: a story about an iceberg. books at d. brave and true. by greoson oow. poor tom olllver. by jclia ooddard. the children and the water-luy. by jolia goddard. johnnie tupper's temptation. by oreoson oow. fritz's experiment. by letitia m'clih- tock. climbing the hill. by annie . swah. a year at coverley. by annie s. swan lucy's christmas-box; or. how oeorgic found his cousin. london: blackie & son, old bailey, e.c.; glasgow, edinburgh, and dublin.